'J-- ,\ Ri'' In \: /^^^^^ ■■^r ^:: t::kS^- ^i:^' UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES fc>ife^ ^r ir% ^1:3 ?^^ "j^^- .J^^ 7> >> ,-i> ^?^ M^ .-^ ^i't/f^jo^-- ;^^' H '\ FROHi;i sPiKcr @r THEM V> V ci) V. '^iiiiiiiiiiiiiijiiiiiiiip "^^ UOXBOK -GiOVPMXlVC -■.MO JAALU ONE OF THEM BY CHAELES LEVEE, AUTHOK OF "hAERT LOEREQUER," " THE KNIGHT OF GWTNNE,' " THE DODD FAMILY," &C., &C. WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY "PHIZ." SECOND EDITION. 1 ' J ' ' J ,' LONDON: CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 1862. [ Tlie right of Tramslatlon is re.ierved. ] 0/ CO A: Y ') TO THE RIGHT HOXOURABLE JAMES WHITESIDE, M.P. &c. &c. &c. Mr DEAE Whiteside, Amongst all the frieiuis I can count over in mj^ o^vn country, ^ and from wliora space and the accidents of life nave separated, and may separate me to the last, there is not " One of Them" for whom I entertain a sincerer regard, united \Yith a higher hope, than your- self; and it is in my pride to say so openly, that I ask you to j accept of this dedication from Your attached friend, CHAELES LEVER. Spezia, December 20, 1860. CONTENTS. PAGE A WoKD OF Apology foe my Title 1 CHAP. I. — A Piazza after Sunset 3 II. — The Villa Capuini 9 III. — Travelling Acquaintance 15 IV.— Visitors 20 V. — Accidents and their Consequences 24 VI. — The Member for Inchabogue 33 VII. — Mrs. Pentiiony Morris . 40 VIII. — Port-na-Whapple .31 IX. — A Dinner at the Rectory ().j X. — The Laboratory / 5 XI. — A Remittance b-h XII. — A Fello.w-traveller on the Cuacii . . . . . 'Ji XIII. — How they lived at the Villa 97 XIV. — The Billiard-room 1()3 XV.— Mrs. Pentiiony Morris at her Writing-tablk . . . il-^ XVI.— A Sick-room \->\ XVIL— A Master and Man 1:29 XVIII. — Mrs. Morris AS Counsellor . . . . , . 140 yi CONTENTS. CHAP. PAGE XIX. — Joe's Diplomacy 146 XX. — A DREAKY Forenoon 154 XXI. — Mr. O'Shea upon Politics, and Things in general . . 161 XXII. — The Public Servant abroad 169 XXIII.— Broken Ties 174 XXIV. — A Day in Early Spring 185 XXV. — Behind the Scenes 193 XXVI. — A DARK Remembrance 202 XXVII. — The Fragment of a Letter 222 XXVIII.— The O'Shea at his Lodgings 225 XXIX. — Old Letters 232 XXX.— Twist, Trover, and Co 239 XX XL— In the Toils 247 XXXII. — A Drive round the Cascine at Florence . . . 257 XXXIIL— Sir William in the Gout 260 XXXIV. — A WARM Discussion 276 XXXV. — Loo AND HER Father 283 XXXVI. — A Grave Scene in Light Company .... 2S9 XXXVIL— Mr. Stocmar's Visit 295 XXXVIII. — Very Outspoken on the World at Large . . . 303 XXXIX.— From Clara 308 XL. — Quackinbossiana 314 XLI. — QUACKINBOSS AT HoME 321 XLIL— A New Location 327 XLIIL— BUNKUMVILLE 338 XLIV. — The Lecturer 344 XLV.— Of Bygones 349 XL VI. — The Doctor's Narrative 353 XLVII. — A Happy Accident 36 J XLVIIL— At Rome 366 XLIX.— The Palazzo Balbi 378 L. — Three met again 385 LI. — The Lone Villa on the Campagna .... 392 LIL— A Dinner or Two .... ... 400 CONTENTS. Vll- OHAP. PAGE LIU.— Some last Words 407 LIY.— Pound Out 411 LV.— The Manager's Room AT THE " Regent's" , . . .417 LVI.— Mk. O'Shea at Baden 422 LVII. — The Cottage near Bregenz ...... 429 LVIII. — Consultation 445 LIX. — Words OF Good Cheer 452 LX. — The Letter from Alfred Layton 458 LXI. — An Eager Guest 465 LXII. — Conclusion 470 LIST OF PLATES. Frontispiece — Vignette Title. page Doing " Mukbay" 16 A CuR-isn Saint 29 A LITTLE Addition to the Bill 35 Gaefing a Big-fish 53 The Laboratory 77 The Dispensary 80 A Thousand Pardons ! 103 The Sick-room 126 Master and Man 132 A Consultation 142 The Poker-boom 1G4 Ogden and Quackinboss . . .170 The Recognition 199 Guilty Conscience 216 Before " The House" 227 Twist, Trover, and Co 241 Super-vision 266 Loo and her Father 283 The Meeting at the Masquerade . . 290 The Guardian and his Ward 299 Mb. Dan Heron objects to being disturbed in Bed . . . . 333 The Lecture interrupted 348 " Like Old Times" .381 The Letter 384 Very like a — Madonna 393 The Hand-writing 414 The Struggle 428 Symptoms of Weakness 435 A WOED OF APOLOGY FOR MY TITLE. Befoee I begin my story, let me crave my reader's indulgence for a brief "word of explanation, for which I know no better form than a parable. There is an Eastern tale — I forget exactly where or by whom told — of a certain poor man, who, beiug in extreme distress, and sorely puzzled as to how to eke out a livelihood, bethought him to give out that he was a great magician, endowed with the most marvellous powers, amongst others, that of tracing out crime, and detecting the secret history of all guilty transactions. Day after day did he proclaim to the world his wonderful gifts, telling his fellow-citizens what a remarkable man was amongst them, and bidding them thank Destiny for the blessing of his presence. Xow, though the story has not recorded whether their gratitude was equal to the occasion, we are informed that the Caliph heard of the great magician, and sum- moned him to his presence, for it chanced just at the moment that the royal treasury had been broken into by thieves, and gems of priceless value carried away. " rind out these thieves for me," said the Caliph, " or with your own head pay the penalty of their crime." " Grant me but forty days, O king," cried he, "and I will bring them all before you." So saying, he went away, but no sooner at home and in the soli- tude of his o^vn house, than he tore his beard, beat his breast, and humbling his head to the ground, cried out, " Son of a burned father was I, not to be content with poverty and a poor existence ! Why did I ever pretend to gifts that I had not, or dare to tell men that I possessed powers that were not mine ? See to what vaingloi-y and boastfulness have brought me. In forty days I am to die an igno- minious death !" Thus grieving and self-accusing, the weary hours passed over, and the night closed in only to find him- in all the anguish of his sorrow; nor was it the least poignant of his sufterings, as he bethought him that ah-eady one of his forty days was drawing to its close, for in his heart he had destined this period to enjoyment and self-indul- gence. _ Now, though aspiring to the fame of a magician, so little learning did he possess, that it was only by recourse to a contrivance he was able to reckon the days as they passed, and calculate how much of life remained to him. The expedient he hit upon was to throw each night into an olive-jar a single date, by counting which at any time he could know how many days had elapsed. ^ 2 A wo ED OF APOLOGY FOB MY TITLE. "While his own conscience smote him bitterly for the foolish decep- tion he had practised, there were, as it happened, others who had consciences, too, and somewhat more heavily charged than his own. These were the thieves who had stolen the treasure, and who firmly believed in the magician's powers. Now, it so chanced, that on the very instant he was about to throw his first date into the jar, one of the robbers had crept noiselessly to the window, and peering through the half-closed shutter, watched what was doing within. Dimly lighted by a single lamp, the chamber was half shrouded in a mys- terious gloom ; still, the figure of a man could be descried, as, with gestures of sorrow and suffering, he approached a great jar in the middle of the room and bent over it. It was doubtless an incanta- tion, and the robber gazed with all eagerness ; but what was his terror as he beheld the man drop something into the jar, exclaiming, as he did so, in a loud voice, " Let Allah be merciful to us ! there is one of them !" With the speed of a guilty heart he hurried back to his confederates, saying, " I had but placed my eye to the chink, when he knew that I was there, and cried, ' Ha ! there is one of them !' " It is not necessary that I should go on to tell how each night a new thief stole to the window at the same critical moment to wit- ness the same ceremony, and listen to the same terrible words ; as little needful to record how, wlien the last evening of all closed in, and the whole robber band stood trembling without, the magician dropped upon his knees, and throwing in the last of his dates, cried out, " There are all of them !" The application of the story is easy. Ton, good reader, are the Caliph — the mock magician is myself. Our tale will, probably, from time to time, reveal who may be " One OF Them." ONE OF THEM. CHAPTEE I. A PIAZZA AFTEK SUNSET. One of the most depressing and languid of all objects is the aspect of an Italian city in the full noon of a hot summer's day. The mas- sive buildings, fortress-like and stern, which show no touch of life and habitation ; the glaring streets, uutraversed by a single passer ; the wide Piazza, staring vacantly in the broiling sun; the shop doors closed, all evidencing the season of the siesta, seem all waiting for the hour when long shadows shall fall over the scorched pavement, and some air — faint though it be — of coming night recal the population to a semblance of active existence. "With the air of a heated wayfarer, throwing open his coat to refresh himself, the city, at last, flings wide jalousie and shutter, and the half-baked inhabitant strolls forth to taste the " bel fresco." It is the season when nationalities are seen undisturbed by the presence of strangers. No travellers are now to be met with ; the heavy rumbling of the travelling-carriage no longer thunders over the mas- sive causeway ; no postilion's whip awakes the echoes of the Piazza ; no landlord's bell summons the eager household to the deep-arched doorway. It is the People alone are abroad — that gentle Italian people, quiet-looking, inoffensive as they are. A sort of languid grace, a kind of dignified melancholy, pervades their demeanour, not at all unpleasing ; and if the stranger come fresh from the west of Europe, with its busy turmoil and zeal of money getting, he cannot but experience a sense of calm and relief in the aspect of this easily b2 4 OXE OF THEM. satisfied and simple population. As the gloom of evening thickens the scene assumes more of life and movement. Vendors of cooling drinks, iced lemonades, and such-like, move along with gay flags flaunting over the brilliant urn- like copper tliat contains the refresh- ing beverage. Water-melons, in all the gushing richness of colour, are at every corner, and piles of delicious fruit lie under the motley glare from many a paper lantern. Along the quays and bridges, ou wide terraces or jutting bastions, wherever a breath of fresh air can be caught, crowds are seated, quietly enjoying the cool hour. jN'ot a sound to be heard, save the incessant motion of the fan, which is, to this season, what is the cicala to the hot hour of noon. One cannot help feeling struck by the aspect of a people come thus to blend, like the members of one large family. There they are, of every age, and of every condition, mingling with a sort of familiar kindliness, that seems like a domesticity. In all this open-air life, with its inseparable equality, one sees the embers of tliat old fire which once kindled the Italian heart in the days of their proud and glorious Eepublics. They are the descendants of those who, in the self-same spots, discussed the acts of Doges and Senates, haughty citizens of states, the haughtiest of all their age — and now Whether come by chance, or detained by some accident, two English travellers were seated one evening in front of the Cafe Doney, at Florence, in contemplation of such a scene as this, list- lessly smoking their cigars ; they conversed occasionally, in that ''staccato" style of conversation known to smokers. One was an elderly, fine-looking man, of that hale and hearty stamp we like to think English ; the young fellow at his side was so exactly his counterpart in lineament and feature, that none could doubt them to be father and sou. It is true that the snow-white hair of one was represented by a rich auburn in the other, and the quiet humour that lurked about the fatlier's mouth was concealed in the son's by a handsome moustache, most carefully trimmed and curled. The cafe behind them was empty, save at a single table, where sat a tall, gaunt, yellow-cheeked man, counting and recounting a number of coins the waiter had given him in change, and of whose value he seemed to entertain misgivings, as he held them up one by one to the light and examined them closely. In feature he wa& acute and penetrating, with a mixture of melancholy and intrepidity peculiarly characteristic ; his hair was long, black, and waveless, and fell heavily over the collar of his coat behind; his dress was a suit of cofiee- ONE OF THEM. 5 coloured brown — coat, ^vaistcoat, and trousers : and even to his lii^h- peaked conical hat the same tint extended. In age he might have been anything, from two-and-thirty to forty, or upwards. Attracted by an extraordinary attempt of the stranger to express himself in Italian to the waiter, the young Englishman turned round, and then, as quickly leaning down towards his father, said, in a sub- dued voice, " Only think ; there he is again ! The Yankee we met at Meurice's, at Spa, Ems, the Eighi, Como, and Heaven knows where besides ! There he is talking Italian, own brotlier to his Erench, and with the same success too !" " Well, well, Charley," said the other, good-humouredly, " it is not from an Englishman can come the sneer about such blunders. We make sad work of genders and declensions ourselves ; and as for our American, I rather like him, and am not sorry to meet him again." " You surely cannot mean that. There's not a fault of his nation that he does not, in one sliape or other, represent ; and, in a word, he is a bore of the first water." " The accusation of boredom is one of those ugly confessions which ennui occasionally makes of its own inability to be interested. Xow, for my part, the Yankee does not bore me. He is a sharp, shrewd man, always eager for information." " I'd call him inquisitive," broke in the younger. " There's an honest earnestness, too, in his manner — a rough vigour " " That recals stump-oratory, and tliat sledge-hammer school so popular ' down west.' " " It is because he is intensely American that I like him, Charlev. I heartily respect the honest zeal with which he tells you that there are no institutions, no country, no people to be compared with his own." " To me, the declaration is downright offensive ; and I think there is a wide interval between prejudice and an enliglitened patriotism. And when I hear an American claim for his nation a pre-eminence, not alone in courage, skill, and inventive genius, but in all the arts of civilisation and refinement, I own I'm at a loss whether to laugh at or leave him." " Take my advice, Charley, don't do either ; or, if you must do one of the two, better even the last than the first." Half stung by the tone of reproof in these words, and half angry with himself, perhaps, for his own petulance, the young man flung the end of his cigar away, and walked out into the street. Scarcely, however, had he done so when the subject of their brief controversy 6 ONE 01" THEM. arose, aud approaclied the Euglishman, saying, with a drawling tone and nasal accent, " How is your health, stranger ? I hope I see you pretty well ?" " Quite so, I thank you," said the other, cordially, as he moved a chair towards him. " Tou've made a considerable tour of it" — (pronounced ' tower') — '•' since we met, I reckon. You were bound to do Lombardy, and the silkworms, and tlie rice-fields, and the ancient cities, and the galleries, and such-like — and you've done them ?" The Englishman bowed assent. " Well, Sir, so have I, and it don't pay. JSTo, it don't ! It's no- ways pleasing to a man with a right sense of human natur' to see a set of half-starved, squalid loafers making a livin' out of old tombs and ruined churches, with lying stories about martyrs' thumb-nails and saints' shin-bones. That won't make a people, Sii", will it ?" " But you must have seen a great deal to interest you, notwith- standing." " At Genoa, Sir. I like Genoa — they're a wide-awake, active set there. They've got trade, Sir, and they know it." " The 'city, I take it, is far more prosperous than pleasant, for strangers ?" " Well now, Sir, that ere remark of yours strikes me as downright narrow, and, if I might be permitted, I'd call it mean illiberal. Why should you or I object to people who prefer their own affairs to the pleasant task of amusing us ?" " Nay, I only meant to observe that one might find more agree- able companions than men intently immersed in money-getting." " Another error, and a downright English error, too ; for it's one of your national traits, stranger, always to abuse the very thing that you do best. What are you as a people but a hard-workiug, indus- trious, serious race, ever striving to do this a little cheaper, and that a little quicker, so as to beat the foreigner, aud with all that you'll stand up and say there ain't nothing on this univarsal globe to be compared to loafing !" " I would hope that you have not heard this sentiment from an Englishman." " Not in them words, not exactly in them terms, but from the same platform, stranger. AYhy, when you want to exalt a man for any great service to the state, you ain't satisfied with making him a loafer — for a lord is just a loafer, aud no more nor no less — but you juake his sou a loafer, aud all his descendants for ever. AVhat would you say to a fellow that had a fast trotter, able to do his mile, on a ONE OF THEM. 7 fair road, in two forfcy-tbree, who, instead of keeping him in full work- ing condition, and making him earn his penny, would just turn him out in a paddock to burst himself with clover, and the same with all his stock, for no other earthly reason than that they were the best blood and bone to be found anywhere ? There ain't sense or reason in that, stranger, is there ?" " I don't think the parallel applies." " Maybe not, Sir ; but you have my meaning ; perhaps I piled the metaphor too higli ; but as John Jacob Byles says, ' If the charge has hit you, it don't signify a red cent what the wadding was made of.' " " I must say I think you are less than just in youx estimate of our men of leisure," said the Englishman, mildly. " I ain't sure of that. Sir ; they live too much together, like our people down south, and that's not the way to get rid of prejudices. They've none of that rough-and-tumble with the world as makes men broad-minded, and niarciful, and forgiving ; and they come at last to that wickedest creed of all, to think themselves the superfine salt of the earth. INow there ain't no superfine salt peculiar to any rank or class. Human natur' is good and bad everywhere — ay, Sir, I'll go further, I've seen good in a Nigger !" "I'm glad to hear you say so," said the Englishman, repressing, but not without difficulty, a tendency to smile. " Yes, Sir, there's good amongst all men, even the Irish." " I feel sorry that you should make them an extreme case." " "Well, Sir," said he, drawing a long breath, " they're main ugly — main ugly, that's a fact. 'Not that they can do tis any mischief. Our constitution is a mill where there's never too much water — the more power, the more we grind ; and even if the stream do come down somewhat stocked with snags and other rubbish upon it, the machine is an almighty smasher, and don't leave one fragment sticking to the other when it gets a stroke at 'em. Have you never been in the States, stranger ?" " Never. I have often planned such a ramble, but circumstances have somehow or other always interfered with the accomplishment," " "Well, Sir, you're bound to go there, if only to correct the wrong impressions of your literary people, who do nothing but slander and belie us." " Not latterly, surely. You have nothing to complain of on the part of our late travellers." " I won't say that. They don't make siich a fuss about chewing and whittling, and the like, as the first fellows ; but they go on a 8 ONE OF THE-\r. sueering about political dishonesty, Taukec sliarpness, and trade rogueries, that ain't noways pleasing — and what's more, it ain't fair. But as I say, Sir, go and see for yourself, or, if you can't do that, send your son. Isn't that young man there your son r" The young Englishman turned and acknowledged the allusion to himself by the coldest imaginable bow, and that peculiarly unspecu- lative stare so distinctive in his class and station. " I'm unreasonable proud to see you again, Sir," said the Yankee, rising, "Too much honour!" said the other, stiffly. " No it ain't — no honour whatever. It's a fact, though, and that's better. Tes, sir, I like i/ou .'" The young man merely bowed his acknowledgment, and looked even more haughty than before. It was plain, however, that the American attached little significance to the disdain of his manner, for he continued in the same easy, unembarrassed tone : " Yes, Sir, I was at Lucerne that morning when you flung the boatman into the lake that tried to pi*event your landing out of the boat. I saw how you buckled to your work, and I said to my- self, 'There's good stuff there, though he looks so uncommon con- ceited and proud.' " " Charley is ready enough at that sort of thing," said the father, laughing heartily; and, indeed, after a moment of struggle to main- tain his gravity, the young man gave way and laughed too. The American merely looked from one to the other, half sternly, and as if vainly trying to ascertain the cause of their mirth. The elder Englishman was quick to see the awkwardness of the moment, and apply a remedy to it. " I was amused," said he, good-huraouredl}-, " at the mention of what had obtained for my son your favourable opinion. I believe that it's only amongst the Anglo-Saxon races that pugnacity takes place as a virtue." " "Well, Sir, if a man hasn't got it, it very little matters what other qualities he possesses. They say courage is a bull-dog's property ; but would any one like to be lower than a bull-dog ? Besides, Sir, it is what has made t/ou great, and us greater." There was a tone of defiance in this speech evidently meant to provoke a discussion, and the young man turned angrily round to accept the challenge, when a significant look from his father re- strained him. "With a few common-place observations dexterously thrown out, the old man contrived to change the channel of con- O^TE OF THEIM. 9 versation, and then, reminded hj liis watcli of the lateness of the hour, he apologised for a hasty departure, and took his leave. "Well, "was I right?" said the young man, as he walked along at his father's side. " Is he not a bore, and the worst of all bores too — a quarrelsome one ?" " I'm not so sure of that, Charley. It was plain he didn't fancy onr laughing so heartily, and wanted an explanation which he saw no means of asking for ; and it was, perhaps, as a sort of reprisal he made that boastful speech ; but I am deeply mistaken if there be not much to like and respect in that man's nature." " There may be some grains of gold in the mud of the Arno there, if any one would spend a life to search for them," said the youth, contemptuously. And with this ungracious speech the conversation closed, and they walked on in silence. CHAPTEE II. THE VILLA C A P R I N I. It was a few days after the brief scene we have just recorded that the two Englishmen were seated, after sunset, on a little terraced plateau in front of an antiquated Villa. As they are destined to be intimate acquaintances of our reader in this tale, let us introduce them by name — Sir William Heathcote and his son Charles. With an adherence to national tastes which are rapidly fading away, they were enjoying their wine after dinner, and the spot they had selected for it was well chosen. Erom the terrace where they sat, a perfect maze of richly wooded glens could be seen, crossing and recrossing each other in every direction. Erom the depths of some arose the light spray of boiling mountain torrents ; others, less wild in character, were marked by the blue smoke curling up from some humble homestead. INIany a zig-zag path of trellis-vines straggled up the hill-sides, now, half buried in olives, now, emerging in all the grotesque beauty of its own wayward course. The tall maize and the red lucerne grew luxuriously beneath the fig and the pome- granate, while here and there the rich soil, rent with heat, seemed unable to conceal its affluence, and showed the yellow gourds and the melons bursting up through the fruitful earth. It was such a scene 10 ONE OF THEM. as at once combined Italian luxuriance with the verdant fresliness of a Tyrol landscape, and of wliicli the little territory that once called itself the Duchy of Lucca can boast many instances. As background to the picture, the tall mountains of Carrara, lofty enough to be called Alps, rose, snow-capped and jagged in the distance, and upon their summits the last rays of the setting sun now glowed with the ruddy brilliancy of a carbuncle. These Italian landscapes win one thoroughly from all other scenery, after a time. At first they seem hard and stern ; there is a want of soft distances ; the eye looks in vain for the blended shadows of northern landscape and that rustic character so suggestive of country life; but in their clear distinctness, their marvellous beauty of outline, and in that vastness of view imparted by an atmosphere of cloudless purity, there are charms indisputably great. As the elder Englishman looked upon this fair picture, he gave a faint sigh, and said, " I was thinking, Charley, what a mistake we make in life in not seeking out such spots as these when the world goes well with us, and we have our minds tuned to enjoyment, instead; of coming to them careworn and weaiy, and when, at best, they only distract us momentarily from our griefs." "And my thought," said the younger, "was, what a blunder it is to come here at all. This Villa life was only endurable by your Italian noble, who came here once a year to squabble with his " Fattore" and grind his peasants. He came to see that they gave him his share of oil and didn't water his miserable wine ; he neither had society nor sport. As to our English country-house life, what can compare with it!" " Even that we have over-civilised, making it London in every- thing — London hours, London company, topics, habits, tastes, all smacking of town life. Who, I ask you, thinks of liis country existence, now-a-days, as a period of quietness and tranquil enjoy- ment ? AVho goes back to the shade of his old elms to be with him- self or some favourite author that he feels to like as a dear friend ?" "No; but he goes for famous hunting and the best shooting in Europe, it being no disparagement to either that he gets back at evening to a capital dinner and as good company as he'd find in town." " May is of my mind," said Sir WiUiam, half triumphantly ; " she said so last night." " And she told me exactly the reverse this morning," said the younger. " She said the monotony of this place was driving her mad. Scenery, she remarked, witliout people, is pretty much what a panorama is, compared to a play." OTifE OF THEM. 11 " May is a traitress ; and here slie comes to make confession to whicli of us she lias been false," said Sir AYilliam, gaily, as be arose to place a cbair for the young girl who now came towards them. " I have heard you both, gentlemen," said she, with a saucy toss of her head, " and I should like to hear why I should not agree with each and disagree afterwards, if it so pleased me." " Oh ! if you fall back upon prerogative " began Sir William. " I have never quitted it. It is in the sovereignty of my woman's will that I reconcile opinions seemingly adverse, and can enjoy all the splendours of a capital and all the tameness of a village. I showed you already how I could appreciate Paris ; I mean now to prove how charmed I can be with the solitudes of Marlia." " Which says, in plain English," said, the young man, 'Hhat jou. don't care for either." " Will you condescend to be a little more gallant than my cousin, Sir," said she, turning to Sir William, "and at least give me credit for having a mind and knowing it ?" There was a pettish half-seriousness in her tone that made it almost impossible to say whether she was amused or angry, and to this also the changeful expression of her beautiful features con- tributed, for, though she smiled, her dark grey eyes sparkled like one who invited a contradiction. In this fleeting trait was the secret of her nature. May Leslie was one of Fortune's spoiled children — one of those upon whom so many graces and good gifts had been lavished, that it seemed as though Eate had exhausted her resources, and left herself no more to bestow. She had surpassing beauty, youth, health, high spirits, and immense wealth. By her father's will she had been contracted in marriage with her distant relative, Charles Heathcote, with the proviso that if, on attaining the age of nineteen, she felt averse to the match, she should forfeit a certain estate in Wales, which had once belonged to the Heathcotes, and contained the old residence of that family. Sir William and his son had been living in the retii'ement of a little G-erman capital, when the tidings of this wardship reached them. A number of unfortunate speculations had driven the Baronet into exile from England, and left him with a pittance barely sufficient to live in the strictest economy. To this narrow fortune Charles Heathcote had come back, after serving in a most extrava- gant Hussar regiment, and taken his part in an Indian cam- paign, and the dashing soldier first heard, as he lay w^ounded in the hospital, that he must leave the service, and retii-e into ob- scurity. If it had not been for his strong affection for his father, 12 OKE OP THEM. Charles would have enlisted as a private soldier, and taken Lis chance for future distinction, but he could not desert him at such a moment, nor separate himself from that share of privation which should be henceforth borne in common ; and so he came back, a bronzed, brave soldier, true-hearted and daring, and, if a little stern, no more so than might be deemed natural in one who had met sucb a heavy reverse on the very threshold of life. Eather and son were at supper in a little arbour of their garden, near Weimar, when the post brought them the startling news that May Leslie, who was then at Malta, Avould be at Paris in a few days, where she expected to meet them. When Sir AVilliam had read through the long letter of the lawyer, giving an account of the late General Leslie's will, with its strange condition, he handed it to his son, without a word. The young man read it eagerly : his colour changed once or twice as he went on, and his face grew harder and sterner ere he finished. " Do you mean to accept this wardship r" asked he, hurriedly. " There are certain reasons for which I cannot decline it, Charley," said the other, mildly. " All my life long I have been Tom Leslie's debtor, in gratitude, for as noble a sacrifice as ever man made. We were both suitors to your mother, brother ofiicers at the time, and well received in her father's house. Leslie, however, was much better looked on than myself, for I was then but a second son, while he was the heir of a very large estate. There could not have been a doubt that his advances would have outweighed mine in a father and mother's estimate, and as he was madly in love, there seemed nothing to prevent his success. Finding, however, in a conversation with your mother, that her afiections were mine, he not only relinquished the place in my favour, but, although most eager to purchase his troop, suffered me, his junior, to pass over his head, and thus attain the rank which enabled me to marry, Leslie went to India, where lie married, and we never met again. It was only some seven or eight months ago I read of his being named governor of a Mediter- ranean dependency, and the very next paper mentioned his death, when about to leave Calcutta." " It is, then, most probable tliat when making this will, he had never heard of our reverses in fortune ?" said the young man. " It is almost certain he had not, for it is dated the very year of that panic which ruined me." " ^nd, just as likely, might never have left such a will, had he known our altered fortunes ?" " I'm not so sure of that : at all events, I can answer for it tliat no ONE OF THEM. 13 cbange in our conditiou would have made Tom Leslie alter the will, if he had once made it in our fovour." "I have no fancy for the compact, read it how you may," said Charles, impatiently ; " nor can I say which I like least, the notion of marrying a woman who is bound to accept me, or accepting a forfeit to release her from the obligation." " I own it is — embarrassing," said Sir "William, after a moment's hesitation in choosing a suitable word. "A downright indignity, I'd call it," said the other, warmly, " and calculated to make tlie man odious in the woman's eyes, whichever lot befel him." " The wardship must be accepted, at all events," said Sir William, curtly, as he arose and folded up the letter. " Tou are the best judge of that ; for if it depended upon me " " Come, come, Charley," said Sir William, in his tone of habitual kindness, " this life of quiet obscurity and poverty that we lead here has no terrors for me. I have been so long away from England, that if I went back to-morrow I should look in vain for any of my old companions. I have forgotten the habits and the ways of home, and I have learned to submit myself to twenty things here which would be hardships elsewhere, but I don't like to contemplate the same sort of existence for yott : I want to speculate on a very different future ; and if — if ^ay, you need not feel so impatient at a mere conjecture." " "Well, to another point," said the young man, hastily. " We have got, as you have just said, to know that we can live very comfortably iind contentedly, here, looking after our celery and seakale, and watching our silver groschen ; are you so very certain that you'd like to change all this life, and launcli out into an expensive style of living, to suit the notions of a rich heiress, and, what is worse again, to draw upon Jier resources to do it ?" " I won't deny that it will cost me severely, but, until we see her and know her, Charley, until we find out whether she may be one whose qualities will make our sacrifices easy " " "Would you accept this charge if she were perfectly portionless, and without a shilling in the world ?" " If she were Tom Leslie's daughter, do you mean ?" " Ay, any one's daughter." " To be sure I would, boy : and if I were only to consult my own feelings in the matter, I'd say that I'd prefer this alternative to the other." 14 ONE OF THEM. " Then I have no more to say," said the son, as he ^Yalked aTray. "Within a mouth after this conversation, the little cottage was shut up, the garden wicket closed with a heavy padlock, and to an}^ chance inquirer after its late residents, the answer returned Avas, that their present address was Place Vendome, Paris. " Tell me your company," said the old adage ; but, alas ! the maxim had reference to other habits than our present day ones. "With what company now does not every man mix ? Bishops discuss crime and punishment with ticket-of-leave men ; fashionable exquisites visit the resorts of thieves ; " swell people" go to hear madrigals at Covent Garden ; and, as for the Eing, it is equally the table-land to peer and pickpocket. If, then, you would hazard a guess as to a man's man- ners, now-a-days, ask not his company, but his whereabouts. Eun your eye over the addresses of that twice-remanded insolvent, ranging from Norfolk-street, Strand, to Berkeley-square, with Boulogne-sur- Mer, St. John's AVood, Cadiz, the New Cut, Bermondsey, and the Edgeware-road, in the interval, and say if you cannot, even out of such slight materials, sketch off" his biography. " The style is the man," says the adage; and we might with as much truth say, " the street is the man." In his locality is written Lis ways and means, his manners, his morals, his griefs, joys, and ambitions. "We live in an age prolific in this lesson. Only cast a glance at the daily sacrifices of those who to reside within the periphery of greatness, submit to a crushing rent and a comfortless abode. Think of him, who, to date his note " street, Berkeley- square," denies himself honest indulgence, all because the world has come to believe that certain spots are the " Eegions of the Best," and that they who live there must needs be that grand English ideal — respectable. Dear me, what unheard-of sacrifices does it demand of humble fortunes to be Eespectable ! what pinching, and starving, and saving ! what self-denial and what striving ! what cheerless little dinner parties to other Eespectables ! what dyeing of black silks and stoving of old ostrich feathers ! And how and wherefore have we wandered off in this digression ! Simply to say, that Sir "\\^illiam Heathcote and his ward were living in a splendid quarter of Paris, and after that rambled into Germany, and thence to Como and down to Eome, very often delighted with their choice of residence, enjoying much that was enjoyable, but still, shall we own it, never finding the exact place they seemed to want, nor exactly the people witli whom they were willing to live in intimacy. They had been at Baden in the summer, at Como in the late autumn, at Eome in the winter, at ONE OF THEM. 15 Castellamare iu the spring — everywhere in its season, and yet some- how And so they began to try that last resource of bored people — places out of the season and places out of common resort — and it was thus that they found themselves at Florence in June and in Marlia in July. CHAPTER III. TRAVELLING ACQUAINTANCE. About the same hour of the same evening which we have just chronicled, a group of persons sat under some spreading chesnut-trees beside a brawling little rivulet at the Bagni de Lucca. They were travellers, chance acquaintances thrown together by the accidents of the road, and entertained for each other those varied sentiments of like and dislike, those mingled distrusts, suspicions, and beliefs which, however unconsciously to ourselves, are part of the education tra- velling impresses, and which, when long persevered in, make up that acute, but not always amiable, individual we call " an old traveller." "We are not about to present them all to our reader, and will only beg to introduce to his notice a few of the notabilities tlien present. Place aus dames ! then ; and, first of all, we beg attention to the dark-eyed, dark-haired, and very delicately featured woman who in half-mourning, and with a pretty but fantastically costumed girl beside her, is working at an embroidery-frame close to the river. She is a Mrs. Peuthony Morris, the wife or the widow — both opinions prevail — of a Captain Penthony Morris, killed in a duel, or in India, or alive in the Marshalsea, or at Baden-Baden, as may be. She is striking-looking, admirably dressed, has a most beautiful foot, as you may see where it rests upon the rail of the chair placed in front of her, and is, altogether, what that very smartly dressed, much-beringed, and essenced young gentleman near her has already pronounced her, "a stunning fine woman." He is a Mr. Mosely, one of those unhappy young Londoners whose family fame is ever destined to eclipse their own gentility, for he is imme- diately recognised, and drawlingly do anen inquire some twenty times a day, " Ain't he a so]i of Trip and Mosely's, those fellows in Bond-street ?" Unhappy Trip and Mosely ! why have you ren- dered yourselves so great and illustrious ? why have your tasteful 16 ONE OF THEM. devices in gauze, your " sacrifices" in chalis, your '' last new things in grenadine," made sucla celebrity around you, tliat Tom Mosely, " out for Lis travels," can no more escape the shop than if he were lan- guishing at a customer over a " sweet article in white tarlatane ?" In the tvro comfortable arm-chairs side by side sit two indubitable specimens, male and female, of the Anglo-Saxon family : Mr. Morgan, that florid man, wiping his polished bald head, and that fat lady fanning with all her might. Are they not English ? They are " out," and, judging from their recorded experiences, only dying to be " in " again. " Such a set of cheating, lying, lazy set of rascals are these Italians ! Independence, sir ; don't talk to me of that humbug ! What they want is English travellers to fleece and English women to marry." Near to these, at full length, on two chairs, one of which re- clines against a tree at an angle of about forty degrees, sits our Yankee acquaintance, whom we may as well present by his name, Leonidas Shaver Quackinboss ; he is smoking a " Virginian" about the size of a marshal's baton, and occasionally sipping at a " cobbler," which with much pains he has compounded for his own drinking. Various others of different ranks and countries are scattered about, and in the centre of all, at a small table with a lamp, sits a short, burly figure, with a strange mixture of superciliousness and drollery in his face, as though tiiere were a perpetual contest in his nature whether he would be impertinent or amusing. This was jNIr, Grorman O'Shea, Member of Parliament for Inchabogue, and for three weeks a Lord of the Trea- surv when O'Connell was king. Mr. O'Shea is fond of public speaking. He has a taste for pro- posing, or seconding, or returning tlianks that verges on a passion, so that even in a private dinner with a friend he has been known to arise and address his own companion in a set speech, adorned with all the graces and flowers of post-prandial eloquence. Upon the present occasion he has been, to his great delight, deputed to read aloud to the company from that magic volume by which the Conti- nent is expounded to Englishmen, and in whose pages they are instructed in everything, fi'om passports to pictures, and drilled in all the mysteries of money, postiug, police regulations, domes, dinners, and Divine service by a Clergyman of the Established Church. In a word, he is reciting John Murrav. To understand the drift of the present meeting, we ought to men- tion that, in the course of a conversation started that day at the table d'hote, it was suggested that such of the company as felt dis- posed might make an excursion to Marlia to visit a celebrated Villa there, whose gardens alone were amongst the great sights of Northern I ^ ^' ONE OF THEM. 17 Italy. All had heard of tins charming residence ; views of it had been seen in every print-shop. It had its historical associations from a very early period. There were chambers where murders had been committed, conspiracies held, confederates poisoned. King and Kaiser had passed the night there ; all of which were duly and faith- fully chronicled in " John," and impressively recited by Mr. Gorman O'Shea iu the richest accents of his native Doric. " There you have it now," said he, as he closed the volume ; " and I will say, it hasn't its equal anywhere for galleries, terraces, carved architraves, stuccoed ceilings and frescoes, and all the other balderdash peculiar to these places." "Oh, Mr. O'Shea, what profanation!" interposed Mrs. Morris - " walls immortalised by Griotto and Cimabue!" "Haven't they got stunning names of their own?" broke iu Quackinboss, " That's one of the smartest dodges to secure fame; Tou must be something out of the common. There was a fellow up at Syracuse townland. Measles. North Carolaina, and his name was Flay Han-is ; they called him Flea " " That ceilinfi: of the 2;reat hall was a work of Guido's, vou said ?" inquired Mrs. Morris. " A pupil of Guido's, a certain Simone Afiretti, who afterwards made the designs for the Twelve Apostles in the window of the chapter-room at Sienna," read out JMr. O'Shea. "Who can vouch for one word of all that. Sir?" burst in Mr. Morgan, with a choleric warmth. " Who is to tell me, Sir, that you didn't write that, or Peter Xoakes, or John Mui'ray himself, if there be such a man." " I can vouch for the last," said a pale, gentle-looking young fellow, who was arranging the flies in a fishing-book under a tree at a little distance. " If it will relieve you from any embarrassments on the score of belief, I can assist you so far." If there was a faint irony in this speech, the mild look of the speaker and his softened accents made it seem of the very faintest, and so even the bluff Mr. Morgan himself appeared to acknowledge. " As you say so, Mr. Layton, I will consent to suppose there is such a man ; not that the fact, in the slightest degree, toucaes my original proposition." " Certainly not, Tom," chimed in Mrs. Morgan, in a thick voice, like one drowning. " But if you doubt Guido, you may doubt Eaphael, Titian, Michael Angelo," burst in Mrs. Morris, with a holy terror in her voice. "Well, ma'am, I'm capable of all that — and worse." c 18 ONE OF THEM. What that "worse" was there is no saying, though possibly Mr. Mosely was trying to guess at it in the whisper he ventured to Mrs. Morris, and which made that hidy smile incredulously. "I now, Sir, rise to put the original motion," said O'Shea, assum- ing that parliamentary tone which scandal pretended he displayed everywhere but in the House : " is it the opinion of this committee that we should all go and visit the Villa Capriui ?" "Are we quite sure it is to be seen," interposed Mr. Laytou; " it may be occupied, and by persons who have no fancy to receive strangers." " The observation strikes me as singularly narrow and illiberal, Sir," burst in Morgan, with warmth, " Are we of the nineteenth century to be told that any man — I don't care how he calls himself — has a A^ested right in the sight or inspection of objects devised, and designed, and completed centuries before he was born?" "Well put, Tom — remarkably well put," smothered out Mrs. Morgan. " Will you say, Sir" — assumed he, thus cheered on to victory — " will you say, Sir, that if these objects, frescoes, bas-reliefs, or what- ever other name you give them, have the humanising influence you assume for them — which, by the way, I am quite ready to dispute at another opportunity with you or that other young gentleman yonder, whose simpering sneer would seem to disparage my sentiment " " If you mean me. Sir," took up Mr. Mosely, " I wasn't so much as attending to one word you said." "No, Tom, certainly not," burst in Mrs. Morgan, answering with energy some suddenly ejaculated purpose of her wrathy spouse. "I simply meant to say," interposed Layton, mildly, "that such a visit as we propose might be objected to, or conceded in a way little agreeable to ourselves." " A well- written note, a gracefully worded request, which nobody could do better than Mr. Alfred Layton " began Mrs. Morris, when a dissenting gesture from that gentleman stopped her. " Or perhaps," continued she, "Mr. Gorman O'Shea would so far assist our project ?" " My motion is to appear at the bar of the house — I mean at the gate-lodge — sending in our names, with a polite inquiry to know if we may see the place," said Mr. O'Shea. " Well, stranger, I stand upon your platform," chimed in Quack- inboss ; " I'm in no manner of ways ' posted' up in your Old World doings, bvit I'd say tliat you've lixed the question all straight." " Show-places are show-places; the people who take them know OITE OF THEM. 19 it," blurted out Mr. Morgau. "Ay, and wbat's more, they're proud of it." " They are, Tom," said Ins wife, authoritatively. " If you'd give me one of them a present, for the living in it, I'd not take it. No, Sir, I'd not," reiterated Morgan, with a fierce energy. " AVhat is a man in such a case, Sir, but a sort of appraiser, a kind of agent to show off his own furniture, telling you to remark that cornice, and not to forget that malachite chimney-piece ?" " Very civil of him, certainly," said Layton, in his low, quiet voice, which, at the same time, seemed to quiver with a faint irony. " No, Sir, not civil, only boastful ; mere purse-pride, nothing more." " Nothing, Tom — absolutely nothing." " "What's before the house this evening — the debate looks ani- mated ?" said a fine bright-eyed boy of about fourteen, who lounged carelessly on Layton' s shoiilder as he came up. " It was a little scheme to visit the Villa Caprini, my Lord," said Mosely, not sorry to have the opportunity of addressing himself to a person of title. "How jolly, eh, Alfred? "What say you to the plan?" said the bo}', merrily. Layton answered something, but in a tone too low to be over- heard. " Oh, as to that," replied the boy, quickly, " if he be an English- man who lives there, surely some of us must know him." " The very remark I was about to make, my Lord," smiled in Mrs. Morris. " AVell, then, we agree to go there, that's the main thing," said O'Shea. " Two carriages, I suppose, will hold us ; and, as to the time, shall we say to-morrow ?" To-morrow was unanimously voted by the company, who now set themselves to plot the details of the expedition, amidst which not the least knotty was, who were to be the fellow-travellers with Mr. and Mrs. Morgan, a post of danger assuredly not sought for with any heroic intrepidity, while an equally eager intrigue was on foot about securing the presence of the young Mai'quis of Agincourt and his tutor, Mr. Layton. The ballot, however, routed all previous machinations, deciding that the young Peer was to travel with the Morgans and Colonel Quackinboss, an announcement which no de- ference to the parties themselves could prevent being received with a blank disappointment, except by Mr. Layton, who simply said, "We shall take care to be in time, Mrs. Morgan." And then, dra^ving his pupil's arm within his own, strolled uegLigeutly away. c2 20 ONE OF THEM. CHAPTEE lY. \t:sitoks. "I FORETOLD all tbis," Said Charles Heatlicote, peevisWy, as a servant presented a number of visiting-cards witli a polite request from the owners to be allowed to visit the Yilla and its gardens. " I often warned you of the infliction of inhabiting one of tliese celebrated places, which our inquisitive countrymen tvill see and their wives ivill write about." " Who are they, Charley ?" said May, gaily. " Let us see if we may not know some of them." " Know them. Heaven forbid ! Look at the equipages they have come in, only cast an eye at the two leathern conveniences now before the door, and say, is it likely that they contain any acquain- tances of ours ?" " How hot they look, broiling down there ! But who are they, Charley ?" "Mrs. Pentbony Morris — never heard of her; Mr. Algernon Mosely — possibly the Bond-street man ; Mr. and Mrs. Thomas 'Rica Morgan, of Plwmnwrar, however that be pronounced ; Mr. Layton and friend — discreet friend, who will not figure by name ; Mr. Gor- man O'Shea, by all the powers ! and, as I live, our Yankee again !" " jNTot Quackinboss, surely r" broke in Sir AVilliam, good- liumouredly. " Yes. There he is : ' L^.S. A., Colonel Leonidas Shaver Quackin- boss;' and there's tbe man, too, witbhis coat on his arm, on that coach-box." " I'll certainly vote fop my Transatlantic friend," said the Baronet, "and consequently for any party of whicb he is a member." " As for me !" cried May — " Pve qi;ite a curiosity to see him ; not to say that it would be downright churlishness to refuse any of our countrymen the permission thus asked for." " Be it so. I only stipulate for not playing Cicerone to our amiable visitors ; and the more surely to escape such an indignity, I'm off till dinner." " Let Fenton wait on those gentlemen," said the Baronet, "and go round with them througli the house and tlie grounds. Order luncheon also to be read}'." There was a little, a very little, irritation, per- haps, in his voice, but May's pleasant smile quickly dispelled the OXE OF THEM. ^ 21 momentary cbagrin, and liis good-humoured face was soon itself agaiu. If I liave not trespassed upon my reader's patience by minute descriptions of the claaracters I have introduced to him, it is in the expectation that their traits are such as, lying lightly on the surface, require little elucidation. Nor do I ask of him to bestow more atten- tion to their features than he would upon those of travelling ac- quaintances with whom it is his fortune to journey in company for a brief space. Strange enough, indeed, is that intimacy of travelling acquaint- anceship ! familiar, without friendship — frank, without being cordial. Curious pictvires of life might be made from these groups thrown accidentally together in a steam-boat, or railroad, at the gay watering- place, or the little fishing-village in the bathing season. How free is all the intercourse of those who seem to have taken a TOW with themselves never to meet each other again ! with what humorous zest do they enjoy the oddities of this one, or the eccen- tricities of that, making up little knots and cliques, to be changed or dissolved within the day, and actually living on the eventualities of the hour, for their confidences ! The contrasts that would repel in ordinary life, the disparities that would discourage, have actually invited intimacy ; and people agree to associate, even familiarly, with those whom, in the recognised order of their daily existence, they would have as coldly repelled. There was little to bind those together whom we have represented as seated under the chesnut-trees at the Bagni de Lucca. They en- tertained their suspicious, and distrusts, and misgivings of each other to a liberal extent ; they wasted no charities in their estimate of each other ; and, wherever posed by a difficulty, they did not lend to the interpretation any undue amount of generosity ; nay, they even went further, and argued, from little peculiarities of dress, manner, and de- meanour, to the whole antecedents of him they criticised, and took especial pains in their moments of confidence to declare that they had only met Mr. for the first time at Ems, and never saw Mrs. " till they were overtaken by the snow-storm on the Splugen." Such-like was the company who now, headed by the obsequious butler, strolled leisurely through the spacious saloons of the Villa Caprini. "Who is there, in this era of universal vagabondage, has not made one of such groups ? Where is the man that has not strolled, '' John Murray" in hand, along his Dresden, his Yeuice, or his Home ! staring at ceilings, and gazing ruefully at time-discoloured frescoes — grieved 22 ONE OF THElf. to acknowledge to his own heart liow little lie could catch of a con- noisseur's enthusiasm, or an antiquarian's fervour — wondering within himself wherefore he could not feel like that other man, whose rap- tures he was reading, and with sore misgivings that some nice sense had been omitted in his nature. AYonderfully poignant and painful things are these little appeals to an inner consciousness. How far such sentiments were distributed amongst those who now lounged and stared through salon and galler}', we must leave to the reader's ovm appreciation. They looked pleased, convinced, and astonished^ and, be it confessed, "bored" in turn; they were called upon to ad- mire much they did not care for, and wonder at many things which did not astonish them ; they were often referred to histories which they had forgotten, if they ever knew them, and to names of whose celebrity they were ignorant ; and it was with a most honest sense of relief they saw themselves reach the last room of the suite, where a few cabinet pictures and some rare carvings in ivory alone claimed their attention. " A ' Virgin and Child,' by Murillo," said the guide. " The ninth ' Virgin and Child,' by all that's holy !" said Mr. 0'Shea> "The ninth we have seen to-day !" " The blue draper}', ladies and gentlemen," continued the in- exorable describer, " is particularly noticed. It is ' glazed' in a man- ner only known to Mui'illo." "I'm glad of it, and I hope the secret died with him," cried Mr, Morgan. " It looks for all the world like a bathing-dress." " The child squints. Don't he squint ?" exclaimed Mosely. " Oh, for shame !" cried Mrs. Morris. " Mr. Lay ton is quite shocked with your profane criticism." " I did not hear it, I assure you," said that gentleman, as he arose from a long and close contemplation of a " St, John," by Salvator. " ' St. John preaching in the "Wilderness !' " said Quackinboss ; " too tame for my taste. He don't seem to roll up his sleeves to the work — does he ?" "It's not stump-oratory, surely?" said Layton, with a quiet smile. "Ain't it, though ! "Well, stranger, I'm in a con-siderable unmixed error if it is not ! You'd like to maintain that because a man doesn't rise up from a velvet cushion and lay his hand upon a grand rail- ing, all carved with grotesque iutricucies, all his sentiments must needs be common-place and vulgar ; but I'm here to tell you, Sir, that you'd hear grander things, nobler things, and greater things. OJTE OF THEM. 23 from a moss-covered old tree-stump in a western pine-forest, by the mouth of a plain, hardy son of hard toil, than you've often listened to in what you call your place in Parliament. Now that's a fact !" There was that amount of energy in the way these words were uttered that seemed to say, if carried further, tlie discussion might become contentious. Mr. Layton did not show any disposition to accept the gage of battle, but turned to seek for his pupil. '' You're looking for the Marquis, Mr. Layton," asked Mrs. Morris, "ain't you? I think you'll find hiiai in the shrubberies, for he said all this only bored him, and he'd go and look for a cool spot to smoke his cigar." " That's what it all comes to," said Morgan, as soon as Layton had left the room ; " that's the whole of it ! You pay a fellow — a ' double first' something or other from Oxford or Cambridge — five hundred a year to go abroad with your son, and all he teaches him is to choose a cheroot." " And smoke it, Tom," chimed in Mrs. Morgan. " There ain't no harm in a weed. Sir, I hope ?" said Quackinboss. " The thinkers of this earth are most of 'em smoking men. What do you say. Sir, to Humboldt, Niebuhr, your own Bulwer, and all our people, from John C. Colhoun to Daniel Webster. When a man puts a cigar between his lips, he as good as says, ' I'm a reflecting — I'm not in no ways to be broke in upon.' It's his own fault. Sir, if he doesn't think, for he has in a manner shut the door to keep out intruders." " Filthy custom !" muttered Mr. IMorgau, with a garbled sentence, in which the word " America " was half audible, " What's this he's saying about eating — this Italian fellow ?" said Mr. Mosely, as a servant addressed him in a foreign language. " It is a polite invitation to a luncheon," said Mrs. Morris, modestly turning to her fellow-travellers for their decision. '• Do any of us know our host ?" asked Mr, O'Shea. " He is a Sir William Heathcote." " There was a director of the Central Trunk Line of that name, who failed for half a million sterling," whispered Morgan ; " shouldn't wonder if it were he." "All the more certain to give us a jolly feed, if he be !" chuckled Mosely, " I vote we accept." " That of course,'* said Mrs. Morris, "Well, I know him. I reckon," drawled out Quackinboss, " and 24 OXE OF THEM. I rajther suspect you owe this here politeness to my company. Yes, Sir!" said he, half fiercely, to O'Shea, upon whose face a sort of in- credulous smile was breaking — "yes, Sir !" " Being our own countryman, Sir— an Englishman — I suspect," said Mr. Morgan, with warmth, " that the hospitality has been extended to us on wider grounds." " But why should we dispute about the matter at all," mildly re- marked Mrs. Morris. " Let us say yes, and be grateful." " There's good sense in that," chimed in Mosely, " and I second it." " Carried with unanimity," said O'Shea, as, turning to the servant, he muttered something in broken French. " Well, I'm sure, I never!" mumbled Quackinboss to himself; but what he meant, or to what new circumstance in his life's experience he alluded, there is unhappily no explanation in this history ; but he followed the rest with a droopiug head and an air of half melancholy resignation that was not by any means unusual with him. CHAPTER V. ACCIDENTS AND THEIK CONSEQUENCES. When the young Marquis had made his escape from sight- seeing, and all its attendant inflictions, he was mainly bent on what he would himself have called being " very jolly"— that is to say, going his own way unmolested, strolling the road he fancied, and following out his own thoughts. Not that these same thoughts absolutely needed for their exercise or development any extraordinary advan- tages of solitude and retirement. He was no deep-minded sage, re- volving worlds to come — no poet, in search of the inspiring influence of nature — no subtle politician, balancing the good and evil of some nice legislation. He was simply one of those many thousand Eng- land yearly turns out from her public schools of fine, dashing, free- hearted, careless boys, whose most marked feature in character is a wholesome liorror of all that is mean or shabby. Less than a year before he had been a midshipman in her Majesty's gun-boat Mos- quito ; the death of an elder brother had made him a Marquis, with the future prospect of several thousands a year. Ho had scarcely seen or known liis brother, so he grieved very little for his loss, but he sorrowed sincerely over the change of for- ONE OF TnEM. 25 tune that called him from his sea life and companions to an " on- shore" existence, and, instead of the gun-room and its gay guests, gave him tlie proprieties of station and the requirements of high rank. One of his guardians thought he ought to go into the Guards ; another, advised a university ; both agreed upon a tutor, and Mr. Layton was found, a young man of small fortune, whose health, in- jured by over-reading for honours, required change of scene and rest. They had been companions for a very short time, but had, as the young lord would have said, "hit it off" admirably together; that is to say, partly from a just appreciation of his pupil, and partly out of a natural indolence of disposition, Layton interfered very little with him, gave him no troublesome tasks, imposed no actual studies, but contented himself with a careful watch over the boy's disposition, a gentle, scarce perceptible, correction of his faults, and an honest zeal to develop any generous trait in liis natiu-e, little mindful of the disappointments his trustfulness must incur. Layton' s theory was that we all become wise too early in life, and that the world's lessons should not be too soon implanted in a fresh, unsuspecting nature. His system was not destined to be sorely tested in the present case. Harry Montserrat, Marquis of Agincourt, was a fortunate subject to illustrate it by. There never was a less suspectful nature ; he was frank, generous, and brave ; his faults were those of a hot, fiery temper, and a disposition to resent, too early and too far, what with a little patience he might have tolerated or even forgiven. The fault, however, which Layton was more particularly guardful against, was a certain over-consciousness of his station and its power, which gradually began to show itself. In his first experience of altered fortune he did nothing but regret the past. It was no compensation to him for his careless sea life, with all its pleasant associations, to become of a sudden invested with station, and treated with what he deemed over-deference. His reefer's jacket was pleasanter " wear" than his padded frock-coat ; the nimble boy who waited on him in the gun-room he tliought a far smarter attendant than his obsequious valet ; and, with all his mid- shipman's love of money-spending and squandering, tlie charm of extravagance was gone when there were no messmates to partake of it ; nor did his well-groomed nag, and his well-dressed tiger, suggest one-half the enjoyment he had often felt in a pony ride over the clifls of Malta, with some others of his mess, where falls were rife and tumbles frequent. These, I say, were first thoughts , but gradually others took tbeir places. The enervation of a life of ease began soon to show itself, and lie felt the power of a certain station. In the 26 OJiTE OF THEM. allowance his guardian made him, be bad a far greater sum at bis disposal than be ever possessed before ; and in tbe title of bis rank be soon discovered a magic that made tbe world beneatb bim very deferential and very obliging, "That boy bas been very ill brougbt up, Mr. Layton; it will be your chief care to instil into bim proper notions of the place be is to occupy one of these days," said an old Earl, one of his guardians, and who was most eager that every trace of bis sea life should be eradicated. " Don't let him get spoiled, Layton, because he's a Lord," said the other guardian, who was an old Admiral. "There's good stuff in tbe lad, and it would be a thousand pities it should be corrupted." Layton did bis best to obey each ; but the task bad its difficulties. As to tbe boy himself, the past and the present, the good and the evil, the frank young middy and the rich lordling, warred and con- tended in bis nature ; nor was it very certain at any moment wliich would ultimately gain the mastery. Such, without dwelling more minutely, was he who now strolled along through shrubbery and parterre, half listless as to the way, but very happy withal, and very light-hearted. There was something in the scene that recalled England to bis mind. There were more trees and turf than usually are found in Italian landscape, and there was, half bidden between hazel and alder, a clear, bright river, that brawled and fretted over rocks, or deepened into dark pools, alternately. How the circling eddies of a fast-flowing stream do appeal to young hearts ! what music do they bear in the gushing waters ! Avhat a story is there in that silvery current as it courses aloue; througli wavins: meadows, or beneath tall mountains, and along some dark and narrow gorge, emblem of life itself in its light and shade, its peaceful intervals and its hours of struggle and conflict ! Eorcing his way through the brushwood that guarded the banks, the boy gained a little ledge of rock, against which the current swept with violence, and then careered onward over a shallow, gravelly bed till lost in another bend of the stream. Just as Agin- court reached the rock be spied a fishing-rod deeply and securely fastened in one of its fissures, but whose taper point was now bend- ing like II whip, and springing violently under the struggling eflbrts of a strong fish, lie was nothing of an angler. Of honest "■ Izaak" and bis gentle craft be absolutely knew nought, and of all the mys- teries of hackles and green drakes he was utterly ignorant ; but his Bailor instinct could tell him when a spar was about to break, and ONE OF THEM. 27 tbis he now saw to be the case. The strain was great, and every jerk now threatened to snap either line or rod. He looked hurriedly around him for the fisherman, whose interests were in such grave peril ; but seeing no one near, he endeavoured to withdraw the rod. "While lie thus struggled, for it was fastened with care, the eftorts of the fish to escape became more and more violent, and at last, just as the boy had succeeded in his task, a strong spring from the fish snapped the rod near the tip, and at the same instant snatched it from the youth's hand into the stream. "Without a second's hesita- tion, Agincourt dashed into the river, which rose nearly to his shoulders, and, after a vigorous pursuit, reached the rod, but only as the fish had broken the strong gut in two, and made his escape up the rapid current. The boy was toilfully clambering up the bank, with the broken rod in his hand, when a somewhat angry summons in Italian met his ears. It was time enough, he thought, to look for the speaker when he had gained dry land, so he patiently fought his way upwards, and at last, out of breath and exhausted, threw himself full length in the deep grass of the bank. " I believe I am indebted to you. Sir, for my smashed tackle and the loss of a heavy fish besides?" said Charles Heathcote, as he came up to Avhere the youth was lying, his voice and manner indi- cating the anger that moved him. " I thought to have saved' the rod and caught the fish too," said the other, half-indolently ; " but I only got a wet jacket for my pains." " I rather suspect, young gentleman, you are more conversant with a measuring-yard than a salmon-rod," said Heathcote, inso- lently, as he surveyed the damaged fragments of his tackle. " "What do you mean by that, sir?" cried the boy, springing with a bound to his feet, and advancing boldly towards his adversary. " Simply that it's not exactly the sort of sport you follow in Bond- street," retorted Heathcote, whose head was full of " Mosely and Trip," and felt certain that a scion of that great house was before him. " You must be a rare snob not to know a gentleman when you see him," said Agincoui-t, with an insolent defiance in his look. " Perhaps I'd be a better judge if I saw him after a good Avash- ing," said Heathcote, who, with one hasty glance at the river, now turned a fierce eye on the youth. Agincourt's gun-room experiences had not taught him to decline an oflered battle, and he threw oif his cap to show that he was ready 28 ONE OF THEM. and williug to accept the clialleuge, wlieu suddenly Layton sprang between tbem, crying out, " What's the meaning of all this r" "The meaning is, that your young friend there has taken the liberty, first, to smash my fishing gear, and then to be very insolent to me, and that I had very serious intentions of sending him to look for the one and pay forfeit for the other." " Yes, I broke his rod, and I'll pay for it, or, if he's a gentleman, I'll beg his pardon, or fight him," said the boy, in a tone of ill- repressed anger. " When there is an evident mistake somewhere," said Layton, gently, " it only needs a moment of forbearance to set it right." " Here's how it all happened," broke in the boy, eagerly. And in a few words he related his chance arrival at the spot, how he had seen the rod in what he deemed imminent danger, and how, with the best intentions, he had interfered to save it. " I beg you to accept all my excuses for what I have said to you," said Heathcote, with a frank and manly courtesy. " I am c^iiite ashamed of my ill-temper, and hope you'll forgive it." " To be sure I will. But what about the rod — you can't easily get such another in these parts ?" The boy looked eagerly at Layton as he spoke. Layton as quickly gave an admonitory glance of caution, and the youth's instinctive good breeding understood it. " I think you came over with a party of friends to see the Villa," said Heathcote, to relieve the awkward pause between them. " Not friends, exactly ; people of our hotel." Heathcote smiled faintly, and rejoined : " Some of our pleasantest actpaintances come of chance intimacies — don't you think so ?" " Oh, for the matter of that, they're jolly enough. There's a Avon- derful Londoner, and a rare Yankee, and there's an Irishman would make the fortune of the Haymarket." " You must own, Harry, they are all most kind and good-natured to you," said Layton, in a tone of mild half-rebuke. " Well, ain't 1 just as — what shall I call it ? — polite and the like to them ? Ay, Layton, frown away as much as you like, they're a rum lot." " It is young gentlemen of this age who, now-a-days, are most severe on the manners and habits of those they chance upon in a journey, not at all aware that, as the world is all new to them, their criticism may have for its object things of every-day frequency." V -sx. ONE OF THEM. 29 The yoiitli looked somewhat vexed at this reproof, but said no- thing. " I have the same unlucky habit myself," said Heathcote, good- humouredly. " I pronounce upon people with wonderfully little knowledge of them, and no great experience of the world neither : and — case in point — your American acquaintance is exactly one of those I feel the very strongest antipathy to. "We have met at least a dozen times during the winter and autumn, and the very thought of finding him in a place, would decide me to leave it." It was not Layton's business to correct what he deemed faulty in this sentiment, but in the sharp glance he threw towards his pupil, he seemed to convey his disapproval of it. " ' My Coach,' Mr. Layton, is dying to tell us both we are wrong, Sir," said the boy ; " he ]ikes the ' kernal.' " And this he said with a nasal twang whose imitation was not to be mistaken. Though Heathcote laughed at the boy's mimicry, his attention was more taken by the expression " my Coach," which not only revealed the relations of tutor and pupil between them, but showed, by its familiarity, that the youth stood in no great awe of his preceptor. Perhaps Layton had no fancy for this liberty before a stranger ; perhaps he felt ashamed of the position itself; perhaps he caught something in Heathcote's quick glance towards him — whatever it was, he was irritated and provoked, and angril}^ bit his lip, without uttering a word. " Oh, here come the sight-seers ! they are doing the grounds, and the grottoes, and the marble fountains," cried the boy, as a large group came out from a flower-garden and took their way towards an orangery. As they issued forth, however, Mrs. Morris stopped to caress a very large St. Bernard dog, who lay chained at the foot of an oak-tree. Charles Heathcote had not time to warn her of her danger, when the animal sprang fiercely at her. Had she not fallen suddenly backward, she must have been fearfully mangled ; as it was, she re- ceived a severe wound in the wrist, and, overcome by pain and terror together, sank fainting on the sward. For some time the confusion was extreme. Some thought that the dog was at liberty and fled away in terror across the park ; others averred that he was — must be — mad, and his bite fatal ; a few tried to be useful ; but Quackinboss hurried to the river, and, filling his hat with water, s])rinkled the cold face of the sufferer and washed the wound, carefully binding it up with his handkerchief in a quick business-like wav, that showed he was not new to such casualties. so ONE OF THEM. Laytou, meanwhile, took cliarge of tlie little girl, wliose cries and screams were heartrending. " "What a regular day of misfortunes, this!" said Agiucourt, as he followed the mournful procession while they carried the still fainting figure back to the house. " I fancy you'll not let another batch of sight-seers into your grounds in a hurry." " The ill-luck has all befallen our guests," said Heathcote. " Our share of the mishap is to be associated with so much calamity." Ail that care and kindness could provide waited on Mrs. Morris, as she was carried into the Villa and laid on a bed. May Leslie took all upon herself, and, while the doctor was sent for, used such remedies as she had near. It was at once decided that she should not be removed, and after some delay the company departed without her ; the day that had dawned so pleasantly thus closing in gloom and sadness, and the party so bent on amusement returning homeward depressed and dispirited. " They're mean vicious, these Alp dogs, and never to be trusted," said Quackinboss. " Heroines will be heroine," said Mrs. Morgan, gruffly. " Or rather won't be heroines when the occasion comes for it. She fainted off like a school-girl," growled out Morgan. " I should think she did !" muttered Mosely, " when she felt the beast's teeth in her." " A regular day of misfortunes !" repeated Agincourt. *' And we lost the elegant fine luncheon, too, into the bargain," said O'Shea. " Every one seemed to think it wouldn't be genteel to eat after the disaster." " It is the fate of pleasure parties," said Layton, moodily. And so they jogged on in silence. And thus ended a day of pleasure, as many have ended before it. Assuredly, they who plan pic-nics are not animated by the spirit of an actuary. There is a marvellous lack of calculation in their composition, since, of all species of entertainment, there exists not one so much at the mercy of accident, so thoroughly dependent for success on everything going right. Like the AValcheren expedition, the " wind must not only blow Irom the right point, but with a certain graduated amount offeree." What elements of sunshine and shade — what combinations of good spirits, and good temper, and good taste — what guidance, and what moderation — w'hat genius of direc- tion, and what "respect for minorities !" "We will not enter upon the material sources of success, though, indeed, it should be owned ONE OF THEM. 31 tliey are generally better looked to, and more cared for, than the moral ingredients thus massed and commingled. It was late when the party reached the Bagui, and wishing each other a half-cold good night, separated. And now, one last peep at the Villa, where we have left the sujfferer. It was not until evening that the Heathcotes had so far recovered from the shock of the morning's disaster, and its consequences, as to be able to meet and talk over the events, and the actors in them. "Well," said Sir William, as they all sat round the tea-table, *' what do you say to my Yankee, now ? Of all that company, was there one that showed the same readiness in a difficulty, a quick- witted aptitude to do the right thing, and at fhe same time so unob- trusively and quietly, that when everything was over it was hard to say who had done it ?" ' '• I call him charming. I'm in ecstasies with him," said May, whose exaggerations of praise or censure were usually unbounded. '■' I'm quite ready to own he ' came out' strong in the confusion," said Charles, half unwillingly ; " but it was just the sort of incident that such a man was sure to figure well in." '• Show me the man who is active and ready-minded in his benevo- lence, and I'U show you one who has not to go far into his heart to search for generous motives. I maintain it, Quackinboss is a fine fellow!" There was almost a touch of anger in Sir William's voice as he said these words, as though he would regard any disparagement of the American as an offence to himself. " I think Charley is a little jealous," said May, with a sly malice ; " he evidently wanted to carry the wounded lady himself, when that great giant interposed, and, seizing the prize, walked away as though he were only carrying a baby." " Jfimcied it was the tutor was disappointed," said Charles; "and the way he devoted his cares to the little girl, when deprived of the mamma, convinced me he was the party chiefly interested." "Which was the tutor?" asked May, hastily. " You don't mean the man with all the velvet on his coat ?" " No, no ; that was Mr. O'Shea, the Irish M.P., who, by the way, paid i/oti the most persevering attention." "A hateful creature, insufferably pretentious and impertinent. The tutor was, then, the pale young man in black ?" "A nice, modest fellow," broke in Sir William; "and a fine boy that young Marquis of Agincourt. I'm glad you asked him up here, Charles. He is^to come on Tuesday, is he not ?" 32 ONE OF THEM. " Yes, I said Tuesday, because I can't get my tackle to rights before that ; and I promised to make liim a fly-fisher, I owe him the reparation." " You included the tutor, of course, in your invitation ?" asked bis father. " No. How stupid ! I forgot him altogether." " Oh ! that was too bad," said May. *' Indeed!" cried Charles, turning towards her with a look of such malicious significance that she blushed deeply, and averted her head. "Let us invite them all up here for Tuesday, ]\Iay," said Sir "William. " It would be very unfair if they were to carry away only a disagreeable memory of this visit. Let us try and efi'ace the first unhappy impression." " All right," said Charles, " and I'll dash off a few lines to Mr. Layton, I think his name is, to say that we expect he will favour us with his company for a few days here. Am I not generosity itself. May?" said he, in a low whisper, as he passed behind her chair. A blush still deeper than the first, and a look of offended pride, were her only answer. " I must go in search of these good people's cards, for I forget some of their names," said Charles ; " though I believe I remember the important ones." This last sally was again directed towards May, but she, appa- rently, did not hear it. " Who knows but your patient up-stairs may be Avell enough to meet her friends, May?" said Sir William. "Perhaps so. I can't tell," answered she, vaguely; for she had but heard him imperfectly, and scarcely knew what she was re- plying. ONE OF TIIEir. 33 CHAPTEE VI. THE 3IEMBER FOR INCHABOGUE. Me. O'Shea lay in liis bed at the Bagni di Lucca. It was late of the afternoon, and he bad not yet risen, being one of those who deem, to travesty the poet, That the best of all ways, To shorten our days. Is to add a few hours to the night, my dear. In otlier words, be was iuefFably bored and wearied, sick of the place, the people, and himself, and only wearing over the time as one might do the stated term of an imprisonment. « His agent — Mr. iMabony, the celebrated Mr. Miles Mahony, who was agent for all the Irish gentlemen of Mr. O' Shea's politics, and who had either estates very much encumbered, or, no estates at all — bad written him tliat letter, which might be stereotyped in every agent's office, and sent off indis- criminately by post, at due intervals, to any of the clients, for there was the same bead-roll of mishaps and calamities Ireland has been suffering under for centuries. Take any traveller or guide-book experience of the land, and it is a record of rain that never ceased. The Deluge was a passing April shov.er compared to the national climate. Ask any proprietor, however, more especially if a farmer, and lie would tell you, "We're ruined, entirely ruined, with the drought" — perhaps he'd have called it '• druth." " If the rain doesn't fall before twenty-four hours, there will be no potatoes, no grass, no straw, the wheat won't fill, the cattle will be destroyed," and so on ; just as if the whole population was not soaked through like a wet sponge, and the earth a sludge of mud and swamp, to which Holland seemed a sand-bank in comparison ! Then came the run- away tenants, only varied by those who couldn't be induced to "rim," on any terms. There was the usual " agrarian outrage," with the in- creased police force quartered on the barony in consequence, and perhaps a threat of a special commission, with more expense besides. There was the extract of the judge's charge, saying that he never remembered so "heavy a calendar," the whole winding up with an urgent appeal to send over ten or twenty pounds to repair the chapel, D 34 OjS'e op tuem. or the priest's house, or contribute to some local object, " at your indifference to which there is very great discontent at this moment." A pleasant postscript also mentioned that a dissolution of Parlia- ment was daily expected, and that it would be well you'd " come home and look after the borough, where the Tories were working night and day to increase their influence." " Bad luck to them for Tories !" muttered he, as he threw the crumpled document from him. " I'd have been well off to-day if it wasn't for them. There's no telling the money the contested elec- tions cost me, while, to make out that I was a patriot, I couldn't take a place, but had to go on voting and voting out of the purity of my motives. It was an evil hour when I took to politics at all. Joe ! Joe !" cried he aloud, following up the appeal with a shrill whistle. " Tear and ages, sure the house isn't on fire !" said a man, rushing into the room with an air and manner that little indicated the respect due from a servant to his master; " not to say." added he, ''that it's not dacent or becomin' to whistle after me, as if I was a tarrier or a bull-dog." V " Hold your prate, will you?" said Mr. O'Shea, " "Why would I ? 'Tis humiliated I am before all in the place." ""WiU you hold your prate?" muttered his master, in a deeper tone, while, stretching forth his hand, he seemed in search of any missive to hurl at his mutinous follower. " If I do, then, it's undher protest, mind that. I put it on record that I'm only yieldin' to the ' vis magiory.' " " What o'clock is it ?" yawned out O'Shea. " It wants a trifle of four o'clock." " And the day — what's it like ?" " Blazin' hot — hotter than yesterday — hotter than New Orleens," Mr. Quackinbosh says." " D— n Mr. Quackinbosh, and New Orleens too !" growled out O'Shea. " With all my heart. He's always laughing at what he calls wy Irish, as if it wasn't better than Jds English !" " Any strangers arrived ?" " Devil a one. Ould Pagnini says he'll be ruined entirely— there never was such a set, he says, in the house before — notliiug called for but tlie reg'lar meals, and no wine but the drink of the country, that isn't wine at all." " He's an insolent scoundrel !" " He ia not. He is the dacentest man I seen, since I come to Italy." X ONE OF THEM. 35 " "Will you hold your prate, or do you -R-ant mc to kick you down stairs ?" " I do not !" said lie, "with a stem doggedness that -was almost comic. " Did you order breakfast ?" " I did, -^vhen I heard you screech out. ' There he is,' says ould Pan ; ' I wish he'd be in the same hurry to call for his bill.' " " Insolent rascal ! Did you blacken his eye ?" ^ "I did not." " What did you do, then r" " I did nothing." " "What did you say ? — ^you're ready enough -with a bad tongue when it's not called for — ^what did you say ?" " I said people called for their bills when they vrere lavin' a house, and too lucky you'll be, says I, if he pays it when he calls for it." This seemed too much for Mr. O'Shea's endurance, for he sprang out of bed and hurled a heavy old olive-wood inkstand at his follower. Joe, apparently habituated to such projectiles, speedily ducked his head, and the missive struck the frame of an old looking-glass, and carried away a much-ornamented but very frail chandelier at its side. " There's more of it," said Joe. " Damage to furniture in settin'- room, forty-six pauls and a half." "With this sage reflection he pushed the fragments aside with his foot, and then, turning to the door, he took from the hands of a waiter the trav containins: his master's breakfast, arranging it deliberately before him with the- most unbroken tranquillity of demeanour. " Didn't you say it was chocolate I'd have instead of coffee ?" said O'Shea, angrily. " I did not ; they grumble enough about sending up anything, and I wasn't goin' to provoke them," said Joe, calmly. " ISTo letters, I suppose, but this ?" " Sorra one." " "What's going on below ?" asked he, in a more lively tone, as though dismissing an unpleasant theme. " Any one come — anythiuw doing?" " Nothing ; they're all off to that ViUa to spend the day, and not to be back till late at night." " Stupid fun, after all ; the road is roasting, and the place, when you get there, not worth the trouble ; but they're so proud of visitiuf a baronet, that's the whole secret of it, those vulgar Morgans and that Yankee fellow." These mutterings he continued while he went on dressing, and D2 36 ONE or THEM. though not intended to be addressed to Joe, he was in no vrise dis- concerted when that free-and-easy individual replied to them. " 'Tour master's not coming with us, I believe,' said Mrs. Morgan to me. ' I'm sure, however, there must have been a mistake. It's so strange that he got no invitation.' " ' But he did, ma'am,' says I ; ' he got a card like the rest.' " " "Well done, Joe ; a lie never choked you. Go on," cried O'Shea, laughing. " ' But you see, ma'am,' says I, ' my master never goes anywhere in that kind of promiscuous way. He expects to be called on and trated with " differince," as becomes a member of Parliament ' " ' Por Ireland ?' says she. " 'Yes, ma'am,' says I. ' We haven't as many goats there as in other parts I'm tould of, nor the females don't ride straddle legs, with men's hats on thim.' " " You didn't say that ?" burst in O'Shea, with a mock severity. " I did, and more — a great deal more. AVhat bvisiness was it of hers that you were not asked to the pic-nic ? What had she to say to it ? Why did she follow me down the street the other morning, and stay watching all the time I was in at the banker's, and though, when I came out, I made believe I was stuffin' the bank-notes into my pocket. I saw by the impudent laugh on her face that she knew I got nothing ?" " By the way, you never told me what Twist and Trover said." "I did." " "Well, what was it? Tell it again," said O'Shea, angrily. " Mr. Trover said, ' Of course, whatever your master wants, just step in there and show it to Mr. Twist ;' and Mr. Twist said, ' Are you liere again,' says he, ' after the warnin' I gave you ? Go back and tell your master 'tis takin' up his two last bills lie ought to be, instead of passiu' more.' " ' Mr. Trover, Sir,' says I, ' sent me iu.' " ' 'Well, Mr. Twist sent you out again,' says he, ' and there's your -answer.' " ' Short and sweet,' says I, goin' out, and pretendiug to be putting up the notes as I went." " Did you go down to the other fellow's — Macapes ?" " I did ; but as he secu me coming out of the other phice, he only ballyragged me, and said, ' We only discount lor them as has letters of credit on us.' " ' Well,' says I, ' but who knows that they're not coming iu the post now P OKE OF THEM 37 " ' "We'll wait till we see them,' says he. " ' By my conscience,' says I, ' I hope you'll not eat your breakfast till they come.' And so I walked away. Oh; dear ! isn't it a sus- picious world ?" " It's a rascally world !" broke out O'Shea, with bitterness. " It is!" assented Joe, with a positive energy there was no gain- saying. "Is Mr. Layton gone Avith the rest this morning?" " He is, and the Marquis. They're a horseback on two ponies not worth fifty shilling apiece." " And that counter-jumper Mosely, I'll wager he, too, thinks him- self first favourite for the heiress." "Well, then, in the name of all that's lucky, why don't you thry your own chance?" said Joe, coaxingly, " Isn't it because I did try that they have left me out of this in- vitation ? Isn't it because they saw I was like to be the winning horse that they scratched me out of the race ? Isn't it just because G-orman O'Shea was the man to carry off" the prize that they wouldn't let me enter the lists ?" "There's only two more as rich as her in all England," chimed in Joe, " and one of them will never marry any but the Emperor of Roosia." " She has money enough !" muttered O'Shea. "And neither father nor mother, brother, sister, kith or kin," con- tinued Joe, in a tone of exultation that seemed to say he knew of no such good luck in life as to stand alone and friendless in the world. " Those Heathcotes are related to her." " No more than they are to you. I have it all from Miss Smithers, the maid. ' We're as free as air, Mr. Rouse,' says she ; ' wherever we have a " conceit," we can follow it.' That's plain talking, any- how." " AVould you marry Smithers, Joe ?" said his master, with a roguish twinkle in his eye. " Maybe, if I knew for Avhat ; though, by my conscience, she's no beauty !" " I meant, of course, for a good consideration." " Not on a bill, though — money down — hard money." "And how much of it?" asked O'Shea, with a knowing look. " The price of that place at Kinsale." " The ' Trout and Triangle,' Joe?" laughed out his master. " Are you still yearning after being an innkeeper in your native town ?" 38 ONE GF THEM. " I am just that," replied Joe, solemnly. " 'Tis what I'd rather be than Lord Mayor of Dublin!" '' Well, it is an honourable ambition, no doubt of it. Nothing can be more reasonable, besides, than a man's desire to fill that station in life whicb, to his boyish ideas, seemed high and enviable." This speech Mr. O'Shea delivered in a tone by vrhich he occasionally turned to rehearse oratorical eiiects, and which, by some strange sympathy, always appeared to please his follower. " Tes, Joe," continued he, " as the poet says, ' The child is father of the man.' " " You mane the man is father of the child," broke in Joe. " I do not, booby ; I meant what I have said, and what "Words- worth said before me." " The more fool he, then. It's nobody's father he'd be. Arrah ! that's the way you always spoil a fine sintiment with something out of a poet. Poets and play-actors never helped a man out of a ditch !" " "Will you marry this Smithers, if that be her name ?" said O'Shea, angrily. " Eor the place " " I mean as much." " I would, if I was treated — ' raysonable,' " said he, pausing for a moment in search of the precise word he wanted. Mr. O'Shea sighed heavily ; his exchequer contained nothing but promises ; and none knew better than his follower what such pledges were worth. " It would be the making of you, Joe," said he, after a brief silence, " if I was to marry this heiress." " Indeed it might be," responded the other. " It would be the grand event of t/oii,r life, that's what it would be. What could I not do for you ? You might be land-steward — you might be under-agent, bailifl", driver — eh r" " Yes," said Joe, closing his eyes, as if he desired to relish the vision undisturbed by external distractions. " I have always treated you as a sort of friend, Joe — ^you know that." "I do. Sir. I do, indeed." " And I mean to prove myself your friend, too. It is not the man who has stuck faithfully by me that I'd desert. AVliere's my dressing-gown?" " She was torn under the arm, and I gave her to be mended ; put this round you," said he, draping a much befi-ogged pelisse over his master's shoulders. ONE OF THEM. 39 '• These are not my slippers, you stupid ass." '■' They are the ould ones. Dou't you remember shying one of the others, yesterday, at the organ-boy, and it fell in the river and was lost r" Mr. O'Shea's brow darkened as he sat down to his meal. " Tell Pan," said he, " to send me up some broth and a chop about seven. I must keep the house to-day, and be indisposed. And do you go over to Lucca, and raise me a few Naps on my ' rose-amethyst' ring. Three will do — five would be better, though." Joe sighed. It was a mission he had so often been charged with and never came well out of, since his master would invariably insist on hearing every step of the negotiation, and as unfailingly revenged upon his envoy all the impertinences to which the treaty gave rise. '' Don't come back with any insolent balderdash about the stone being false, or having a flaw in it. Holditch values it at two hun- dred and thirty pounds ; and, if it wasn't a family ring, I'd have taken the money. And mind you don't be talking about whose it is — it's a gentleman waiting for his letters " " Sure I know," burst in Joe ; "his remittances, that ought to be here every day." " Just so : and that merely requires a few JS'aps " " To pay his cigars " " There's no need of more explanation. Away with you ; and tell Bruno I'll want a saddle-horse to-morrow, to be here at the door by two o'clock." Joe took his departure, and Mr. O'Shea was left to his own medi- tations. It may seem a small cause for depression of spirit, but, in truth, it was always a day of deep humiliation to Mr. O'Shea when his necessities compelled him to separate liimself from that cherished relic, his great-grandmother's ring. It had been reserved in his family, as a sort of cliarm, for genei-ations ; his grand-uncle Luke had' married on the strength of it ; his own father had flashed it in the eyes of Bath and Cheltenham, for many a winter, with great success; and he himself had so significantly pointed out incorrect items in his hotel bills, with the forefinger that bore it, that landlords bad never pressed for payment, but gone away heart-full of the man who owned such splendour. It would be a curious subject to inquire how many men have owed their distinction or success in life to some small adjunct, some ad- ventitious appendage of this kind ; a horse, a picture, a rare bronze, a statue, a curious manuscript, a fragment of old armour, have made 40 ONE OP THEM. tlieir owners fomous, when tliey have had the craft to merge their iden- tity in the more absorbing interest of the wondrous treasure. And thus, the man that owns the winner of the Derby, a great cup carved by Cellini, or a chef-d'oeuvre of Claude or Turner, may repose upon the fame of his possession, identified as he is with so much greatness. Oh ! ye possessors of show places, handsome wives, rare gardens, or costly gems, in what borrowed bravery do ye meet the world ! Not that in this happy category Mr. O'Shea had his niche; no, he was only the owner of a ring — a rose-amethyst ring — whose purity was per- haps not more above suspicion than his own. And yet it had done him marvellous service on more than one occasion. It had asto- nished the bathers at St. Leonard, and dazzled the dinner company at Tunbriflge Wells ; Harrowgate had winked under it, and Malvern gazed at it with awe ; and society, so to say, was divided into those who knew the man from the ring, and those who knew the ring from the man. CHAPTER YII. 3IRS. PENTHONY MORRIS. Our reader has been told how Mrs. Penthony Morris stormed the Villa Caprini, established herself, child, maid, and Skye terrier within its walls, and became, ere many days went over, a sort of influence in the place. It is not in chemistry alone that a single ingredient, minute, and scarce perceptible, can change the property and alter all the quality of the mass with which it is mingled. Hu- man nature exhibits phenomena precisely alike, and certain indi- viduals possess the marvellous power of tinging the world they mix in, with their own hue and colour, and flavouring society with sweet or bitter, as temper induces them. The first and most essential quality of such persons is a rapid— an actually instinctive — apprecia- tion of the characters they meet, even passingly, in the world's in- tercourse. They have not to spell out temperaments slowly and laboriously. To them men's natures are not written in phonetic signs or dark symbols, but in letters large and legible. They see, salute, speak witli you, and they understand you. Not, perhaps, as old friends know you, with reference to this or that minute trick of mind ONE OF THEM. 41 or temper, but, with a far wider range of your character than even old friends have taken, they know your likes and dislikes, the tilings you fear and hope, the weak points you would fortify, and sometimes the strong ones you would mask — in a word, for all the purposes ot intercourse, they arc able to estimate your strength and weakness, and all this, ere, perhaps, you have noted the accents of their voice or the colour of their eyes. The lady of whom it is now our business to speak was one of this gifted class. "Whence she came, and how she became sucli, we are not about to enter upon. She had had her share of trials, and yet was both young and good-looking ; her good looks in no wise evi- dencing the vestiges of any sorrow. Whether a widowed or deserted wife, she bore bereavement admirably ; indeed, so far as one could see, she professed a very rare ethical philosophy. Her theory was, the world was a very nice world, the people in it very nice people ; Life itself a very nice thing : and that people, generally speaking, only needed their own consent to bo very happy and contented. She had, it is true, some very able adjuncts to carry out her system. There was scarcely an acquirement that she did not possess rea- sonably well ; she spoke several languages, sang, rode, drew, played billiards most gracefully, and could manufacture the most charming cigarettes that ever were smoked. Some of these are envied qua- lities, and suggest envy ; but against this she was careful to guard, and this by a very simple method indeed. In whatever she did, tried, or attempted, slie always asked your advice. She had carefully studied the efiect of the imputed superiority of tliose who counsel their neighbours, and she saw in its working one of the most tangible of all human weaknesses. The tendency to guide and direct others is a very popular one. Grenerous people practise it out of their gene- rosity ; gentle natures indulge in the practice in very sympathy. To stern moralists it is an occasion for the hard lessons they love to in- culcate. The young are pleased witli its importance, the old are gratified to exercise their just prerogative. " Tell me how do you do this," or " Teach me how to correct that," " What w^ould you advise in my place," or " What reply would you give to that," are appeals that involve a very subtle flattery. Every man, and more decisively, too, every woman, likes to be deemed shrewd and worldly-wise. Now, Mrs. Morris had reflected deeply over tliis trait, and saw to what good account care and watchfulness might turn it. He who seeks to be guided by another makes his appeal in a guise of humility, besides, which is always a flatteiy, and when this is done artfully, with every aid from good looks and a graceful manner, success is rarely 42 ONE OF THEiT. wauting; and lastly, it is the only form of selfishness the -svorld neither resents nor repudiates. He who comes to you -with a perfectl}^ finished tale of his misfor- tunes, with " Finis" written on the last volume of his woes, is simply a bore ; whereas he who approaches you while the catastrophe yet hangs impending, has always an interest attached to him. He may marry the heiress yet, he may be arrested on that charge of forgery, obtain that Cross of the Bath, or be shot in that duel : you axe at least talking to a man Fortune has not done with, and this much is something. Mrs. Morris had been little more than a fortnight domesticated at the Villa Caprini, where her weakness still detained her, and yet she had contrived to consult Sir William about her fortune, invested, almost entirely, in '' Peruvians," which her agent, Mr. Halker, had told her were " excellent;" but whether the people of that name, or the country, or the celebrated Bark, was the subject of the invest- ment, she really professed not to know. To May Leslie she had confided the great secret of her heart — an unpublished novel ; a story mainly comprised of the sad events of her own life, and the propriety of giving which to the world was the dis- puted question of her existence. •As to Charles, she had consulted him how best to disembari'ass herself of the attentions of Mr. Mosely, who was really become a persecutor. She owned that in asking his counsel she could not im- part to him all the^ circumstances which he had a right to be pos- sessed of — she appealed to his delicacy not to qviestion her. So that whether wife or widow, he knew not what she might be, and, iu fact, she even made of the obscurity another subject of his interest, and so involved him in her story that he could think of nothing else. Slie managed each of these confidences with such consummate skill, that each believed himself her one sole trusted friend, depositary of her cares, refuge of her sorrows ; and while thus insinuating herself into a share of their sympathy, she displayed, as though by mere accident, many of her attractions, and gave herself an opportunity of showing how interesting she was in her sorrow, and how fascinating in her joy ! The Heathcotes — father, son, and niece — were possessed of a very ample share of the goods of fortune. They had health, wealth, freedom to live where and how they liked. They were well disposed towards each other, and towards the world ; inclined to enjoy life, and suited to its eujoyment. But somehow, pretty much like some mass of complicated machinery, which by default of some small piece of OI^'E or TlIEiT. 43 ineclianism — a spring, a screw, or a pinion the more — stands idle and inert — all its force useless, all its power unused, they had no pursuit — did nothing. Mrs. jMorris was exactly the motive power wanting, and by her agency interests sprang up, occupations were created, pleasures invented, "Without bustle, without even excitement, the dull routine of the day grew animate ; the hours sped glibly along. Little Clara, too, was no small aid to this change. In the quiet monotony of a grave household a child's influence is magical. As the sight of a butterfly out at sea brings up thoughts of shady alleys and woodbine-covered windows, of " the grass and the flowers among the grass," so will a child's light step and merry voice throw a whole flood of sunny associations over the sad-coloured quietude of some old house. Clara was every one's companion, and everywhere — with Charles as he fished, with May Leslie in the flower-garden, with old Sir William in the orangery, or looking over pictiu:es beside bim in the long-galleried library. Mrs. Morris, herself, was yet too great an invalid for an active life. Her chair would be wheeled out into the lawn, under the shade of an immense weeping ash, and there, daring the day, as to some "general staflV came all the " reports" of what was doing each morning. Newspapers and books would be littered about her, and even letters brought her to read, from dear friends, with whose names conversation had made her familiar. A portion of time was, however, reserved for Clara's lessons, which no plan or project was ever suffered to invade. It may seem a somewhat dreary invitation if we ask' our readers to assist at one of these mornings. Piunock, and Mrs. Barbauld, and Magnall, are, perhaps, not the company to their taste, nor will they care to cast up multiplications, or stumble through the blotted Prench exercise. AVell, we can only pledge ourselves not to exaggerate the infliction of these evils. And now to our task. It is about eleven o'clock of a fine summer's day, in Italy, jMrs. Morris sits at her embroidery-frame, under the long-branched willow, Clara, at a table near, is drawing, her long silky curls falling over the paper, and even interfering with her work, as is shown by an impatient toss of her head, or even a hastier gesture, as with her hands she flings them back upon her neck. " It was to Charley I said it, mamma," said she, without lifting her head, and went on with her work. '• Have I not told you, already, to call him Mr. Charles Heathcote, or INIr. Heathcote, Clara ?" " But he says he won't have it." "What an expression — 'won't have it!' " 44 0>*E OF TUEM. " Well, I know," cried she, witli impatience ; and then laughingly- said, " I've forgot, in a hurry, old dear Lindley Murray." " I beg of you to give up that vile trash of doggerel rhyme. And now what was it you said to Mr. Heathcote ?" " I told him that I was an only child, ' a violet on a grassy bank, in sweetness all alone,' as the little book says." " And then he asked about your papa ; if you remembered him ?" '' No, mamma." " He made some mention, some allusion to papa ?" " Only a little sly remark of how fond he must be of me, or / of him.''' , "And what did you answer?" " I only wiped my eyes, mamma ; and then he seemed so sorry to have given me paiu, that he spoke of something else. Like Sir Guyou, He talked of roses, lilies, and the rest, The shady alley, and the upland swelling ; Wondered what notes birds warbled in their nest. What tales the rippling river then was telling." "And then you left him, and came away?" said her mother. " Yes, mamma. I said it was my lesson time, and that you were so exact, and so punctual, that I did not dare to be late." " Was it then he asked if mamma had always been your governess, Clara ?" " No ; it was May asked that question. May Leslie has a verj'- pretty way of pumping, mamma, though you'd not suspect it. She began with the usual ' Are you very fond of Italy ? or don't you prefer England ? and then what part of England ?' " Mrs. Morris bit her lip, and coloured sligiitly ; and then, laying her work on her lap, stared steadfastly at the girl, still deeply intent on her drawing. "I like them to begin that way," continued Clara. " It costs no trouble to answer sucli bungling questions ; and whenever they push me closer, I've an infallible method, mamma — it never fails." " What's that ?" asked her mother, dryly. "I just say, as innocently as possible, ' I'll run and ask mamma ; I'm certain she'll be delighted to tell you.' And then, if you only saw the shame and confusion they get into, saying, ' On no account, Clara dearest. I had no object in asking. It was mere idle talking,' and so on. Oh dear! what humiliation all their curiosity costs them." "Ton try to be too shrewd, too cunning. Miss Clara," said her mother, rebukingly. " It is a knife that often cuts with the handle. OKE OF THEM. 45 Be satisfied with discovering people's intentions, and don't plume yourself about the cleverness of finding them out, or else, Clara" — and here she spoke more slowly—" or else, Clara, they will find yoi'^ out, too." " Oh, surely not, while I continue the thoughtless, guileless little child mamma has made me," said she. And the tears rose to her eyes, with an expression of mingled anger and sorrow it was sad to see in one so young. " Clara !" cried her mother, in a voice of angry meaning ; and then, suddenly checking herself, she said, in a lower tone, " let there be none of this." " Sir William asked me how old I wa?, mamma." "And you said ?" " I believed twelve. Is it twelve ? I ought to know, mamma, something for certain ; for I was eleven two years ago, and then I have been ten since that ; and when I was your sister, at Brighton, I was thirteen." "Do you dare " But ere she said more the child had buried her head between her hands, and, by tlie convulsive motion of her shoulders, showed that she was sobbing bitterly. The mother con- tinued her work, unmoved by this emotion. 8he took occasion, it is true, when lifting up the ball of Avorsted which had fallen, to glance furtively towards the child ; but, except by this, bestowed no other notice on her. "Well," cried the little girl, with a half wild laugh, as she flung back her yellow hair, "Anderson says. On joy comes grief — on mirth comes sorrow; We laugh to-day, that we may cry to-morrow. And I believe one is just as pleasant as the other — eh, mamma? You ought to know." " This is one of your naughty days, Clara, and I had hoped we had seen the last of them," said her mother, in a grave, but not severe, tone. " The naughty days are much more like to see the last of we," said the child, half aloud, and with a heavy sigh. " Clara," said her mother, in the same calm, quiet voice, "I have made you my friend and my confidante, at an age when any other had treated you with strict discipline and reserve. You have been taught to see life — as my sad experience revealed it to me, too — too late." "And for me, too — too soon!" burst in the child, passionately. 46 ONE OF THEM. "Here's poor Clara breaking her heart over her exercise," burst in Sir William, as he came forward ; and stooping over the child, kissed her twice on the forehead. " Do let me have a favour to-daj, and let this be a holiday." " Oh yes, by all means," cried she, eagerly, clapping her hands. " The lizard can lie in the sun, and bask 'Mid the odour of fragrant herbs ; Little knows he of a wearisome task, Or the French irregular verbs. " The cicala, too, in the long deep grass, All day sings happily, And I'd venture to swear, He has never a care For the odious rule of three. " And as for the bee. And his industry " " Oh, what a rhyme," laughed in Mrs. Morris, " Oh, let her go on," cried Sir William. " Go on, Clara." " And as for the bee. And his industry, I distrust liis toilsome hours ; For he roves up and down, Like a ' man upon town,' With a natural taste for flowers. " There, mamma, no more — not another the whole day long, I promise you," cried slie, as she threw her arms around her neck and kissed her affectionately. " Oh, these doggerel rhymes Are like nursery chimes. That sang us to sleep long ago. " I declare I'm forgetting already, so I'll go and look for Charley, and help him to tie greendrakes, and the rest of them." " What a strange child !" said Sir William, as he looked fondly after her as she fled across the lawn. " I have never seen lier so thoroughly liappy before," said JMrs. Morris, with a faint sigh. " This lovely place, these delicious gardens, these charming old woods, the Axilla itself, so full of objects of interest, have made up a sort of fair3'-tale existence for her which is positive enchantment. It is, indeed, liigh time we should tear our- selves away from fascinations which will leave all life afterwards a very dull aftair." " Oh, that day is very distant, I should hope," said he, with sincere ONE OF THEM. 47 cordiality ; " indeed, my ward and myself were, tbis very morning, plotting by what pretext, by what skilful devices, we could induce you to spend your autumn with us." Mrs. Morris covered ber face, as if to conceal her emotion ; but a faint sob was still audible from beneath her handkerchief. " Oh !" cried she, in a faint and broken voice, " if you but knew in what a wounded heart you have poured this balm ! — if I could tell — what I cannot tell you — at least, not yet No, no, Sir "William, we must leave this. I have already written to my agent about letters for Alexandria and Cairo. You know," she added, with a sad smile, "the doctors have sentenced me to Egypt for the winter." " These fellows are mere alarmists. Italy is the best climate in the world, or, rather, it has all the climates in the world ; besides, I have some wonderful counsel to give you about your bonds. I in- tend that Miss Clara shall be the great heiress of her day. At all events, you shall settle it -^dth May." And so, with that dread of a scene, a sort of terror about everything emotional — not verv unna- tural in j^entlemen of a certain time of life, and with stronc: san- guineous temperaments — Sir "William hun'ied away and left her to her own reflections. Thus alone, Mrs. Morris took a letter from her pocket, and began to read it. Apparently the document had been perused by her before, for she passed hastily over the first page, scarcely skimmino- the lines with her eye. It was as if to give increased opportunitv for judgment on the contents that she muttered the words as she read them. They ran thus : " A month or six weeks back our proposal might have been accepted, so at least Collier thinks ; but he is now in funds, has money in abundance, and you know xoliat he is at such moments. "When Collier went to him at his lodgings in Iving-street, he found him in high spirits, boasting that he occupied the old quarters of tlie French Emperor — that he had even succeeded to his arm-chair and his writing-table. 'A splendid augury, Tom,' said he, laughing. * Who knows but T, too, shall be " restored" one of these days.' After some bantering he stopped suddenly, and said, ' By the way, what the devil brings you here ? Isn't it something about Loo ? They sav you want to marry her yourself. Collier — is tliat true ?' Not heed- ing C.'s denial, given in all solemnity, ho went on to show that vou could be no possible use to Collier — that he himself could utilise your abilities, and give your talents a fitting sphere ; whereas in Collier's set you would be utterly lost. C. said it was as good as a 48 ONE OF THEM. play to hear liis talk of all the fine things you might have done, and might yet do, in concert. ' Then there's Clara, too,' cried he, again ; ' she'll make the greatest hit of our day. She can come out for a season at the Haymarket, and she can marry whoever she likes.' Once in this vein, it -was very hard to bring him back to anything like a bargain. Indeed, Collier says he wouldn't hear of any but immense terms — ridiculed the notion of your wanting to be free, for mere freedom's sake, and jocularly said, 'Tell me frankly, whom does she want to marry ? or who wants to marry her ? I'm not an unrea- sonable fellow if I'm treated on " the square." ' Collier assured him that you only desired liberty, that you might take your own road in life. ' Then let her take it, by all means,' cried he. ' I am not molesting her — never have molested her, even when she went so far as to call herself by another name ; she needn't cry out before she's hurt ;' and so on. C. at last brought him to distinct terms, and he said, ' She shall cut the painter for five thousand ; she's worth to me every guinea of it, and I'll not 'take less.' Of course Collier said these were impossible conditions ; and then they talked away about other matters. You know his boastful way, and how little reliance can be laid on any statement he makes ; but certain it is, Collier came away fully impressed with the flourishing condition of his pre- sent fortune, his intimacy with great people, and his actual influence with men in power. That this is not entirely fiibulous I have just received a most disagreeable proof. When Collier rose to go away, he said, ' By the way, you occasionally see Nick Holmes ; well, just give him a hint to set his house in order, for they are going to stop payment of tliat Irish pension of his. It appears, from some cor- respondence of Lord Cornwallis that has just turned up, Nick's pen- sion was to be continued for a stated term of years, and that lie has been in receipt of it for the last six years without any right what- ever. It is very hard on Nick,' said he, ' seeing that he sold himself to the devil, not at least to be his own master in this world. I'm sorry for the old dog on family grounds, for he is at least one of my father-in-laws.' I quote his words as Collier gave them, and to-day I have received a Treasury order to forward to the Lords a copy of the letter or warrant under which I receive my pension. I mean simply to refer them to my evidence on Shehan's ti'ial, where my testimony hanged both lutlier aud son. If this incident shows nothing else, it demonstrates the amount of information he has of what is doing or to be done in Downiug-street. As to the pension, I'm not much afraid ; my revelations of IbOS would be worse than the cost of me in the budget. ONE OF THEiT. 49 " If I find tliat uotliiug cim be done with Ludlow, I don't think I shall remain here longer, and the chances are that I shall take a run as far as Baden, and who says not over the Alps after ? Don't be frightened, dear Loo, we shall meet at the same table d'hote, drink at the same public spring, bet on the same card at rouge-et-noir, and I will never betray either of us. Of ; your Heathcotes, I can learn next to nothing. There was a baronet of the name who ruined him- self by searches after a title — an earldom, I believe — and railroad specidations, but he died, or is supposed to have died, abroad. At all events, jour present owners of the name keep a good house, and treat you handsomely, so that there can be no great mistake in knowing them. Sufficient for the day is the evil — as the old saying is ; and it is a wise one, if we imderstood how to apply it. " I have been twice witli Hadson and Reames, but there is nothino- to be done. They say that the town does not care for a wife's book against her husband ; they have the whole story better told, and on oath, in the Divorce Court, A really slashing volume of a husband against his wife might, however, take ; he could say a number of things would amuse the public, and have a large sympathy with him. These are Hadson's or Reames's words, I don't know which, for they always talk together. How odd that yoio should have thought of the ballet for Clara just as I had suggested it ! Of course, till free of Ludlow, it is out of the question. I am sorry to seal and send off such a disagreeable letter, dear Louisa, but who knows the sad exi- gencies of this weary world better than your affectionate father, " N. Holmes. "I accidentally heard yesterday that there was actually a Mrs. Penthony Morris travelling somewhere in Switzerland. Washington Irving, I believe, once chanced upon a living Ichabod Crane, when he had flattered himself that the name was his own invention. The complication in the present case might be embarrassing. So bear it in mind." " Tant pis pour elle, whoever the other Mrs. Morris may be," said she, laughing, as she folded up the letter, and half mechanically re- garded the seal. "Ton ought to change your crest, respectable father mine," muttered she; "the wags might say that your port- cullis was a gallows." And then, with a weary sigh, she closed her eyes, and fell a-thinking. That quiet, tranquil, even-tempered category of mankind, whose present has few casualties, and whose future is, so far as human fore- E 5Q ONE or THEM. siglat can extend, assured to tbem, can form not the slightest concep- tion of the mingled pleasure and pain that chequer the life of " the adventurer." The man who consents to gamble existence has all the violent ecstasies of joy and grief that wait on changeful fortunes. *' Shall I hit upon the right number this time ? AYill red win once more ? Is the run of luck, good or ill, or, it may be, exhausted ?" These are the questions ever risiug to his mind, and what contrivance, what preparation, what spirit of exigency, do they evoke ! Theirs is a hand-to-hand conflict with Pate — they can subsidise no legions, skulk behind no parapets — in open field must the war be carried on ; and what a cruel war it becomes when every wound festers into a crime ! This young and pretty woman, on whose fair features not a pain- ful line was traced, and whose beautifully chiselled mouth smiled with a semblance of inward peace, was just then revolving thoughts little flattering to humanity generally. She had, all young as she was, arrived at the very ungracious conclusion, that what are called the good are mere dupes, and that every step in life's ladder only lifts us higher and higher out of the realm of kindly sympathies and afiections. Eeading the great moralist in a version of their own, such people deem all virtue " vanity," and the struggles and sacrifices it en- tails '"vexation of spirit." Let us frankly own that IMrs. Morris did not lose herself in any world of abstractions ; she was eminently prac- tical, and would no more have thrown away her time in specidatious on humanity generally than would a whist-player, in the crisis of the odd trick, have suffered his mind to wander away to the manufactory where the cards were made, and the lives and habits of those who made them. And now she had to think over Sir William, of whom she was half afraid ; of Charles, whom she but half liked ; and of May, whom she half envied. There were none of them very deep or difficult to read, but she had seen enough of life to know that many people, like fairy tales, are simple in perusal, but contain some subtle maxim, some cunning truth, in their moral. Were these of this order ? She could not yet determine; how, therefore, should we? And so we leave her. 0^'E OF THJEM. 51 CHAPTEE VIII. P O R T - N A - AV H A P P L E. ALTnoTJGH time has not advanced, nor any change of season oc- curred to tinge the landscape with colder hues, we are obliged to ask our reader's company to a scene as unlike the sunny land we have been sojourning in as possible. It is a little bay on the extreme north coast of Ireland, closely landlocked by rugged cliifs, whose basalt formation indicate a sort of half-brotherhood with the famed Causeway. Seen from the tail precipices above, on a summer's day, when a vertical sunlight would have fallen on the strip of yeUow crescent -like beach along which white-crested waves slowly came and went, the spot was singularly beautiful, and the one long, low, white cottage which faced the sea would have seemed a most enviable abode, so peaceful, so calm it looked. Closely girt in on three sides by rocky cliffs whose wild, fantastic outlines presented every ima- ginable form, now rising in graceful pinnacles and minarets, now, standing out in all the stern majesty of some massive fortress or donjon keep, some blue and purple heaths might be seen clothing the little shelves of rock, and, wherever a deeper cleft occurred, some taU, broad-leaved ferns ; but, except these, no other vegetation was to be met with. Indeed, the country for miles around displayed little else than the arid yellowish grass that springs from light sandy soil, the scant pasturage of mountain sheep. Directly in front of the bay, and with a distinctness occasionally startling, might be seen rising up from the sea a mass of stately cliffs, which seemed like a reflexion of the Causeway. This was Stafla, something more than thirty odd miles ofl", but which, in the thin atmosphere of a calm day, might easily be traced out from the little cove of Port-na-"Whapple. Port-na-Whapple had once been a noted spot amongst fishermen ; the largest " takes" of salmon — and of the finest fish on the coast — had been made there. Por three or four weeks in the early autumn the little bay was the scene of a most vigorous activity, the beach covered with rude huts of branches and boat canvas, the strand crowded with people, all busily engaged salting, drying, or packing the fish ; boats launching, or standing in, deep-laden with their speckled freight ; b2 53 02fE OF THEil. great fires blazing in every sheltered nook, where the cares of house- hold were carried on in common, for the fishermen who frequented the place lived like one large family. They came from the same village in the neighbourhood, and, from time out of mind, had resorted to this bay as to a spot especially and distinctively their own. They had so identified themselves with the place, that they were only known as Port-na-AVhapple men; a vigorous, stalwart, sturdy race of fellows were they, too, that none molested or interfered with willingly. About forty years before the time we now speak of, a new pro- prietor had succeeded to the vast estate, which had once belonged to the Mark-Kers, and he quickly discovered that the most valuable part of his inheritance consisted in the fishing royalties of the coast. To assert a right to what nobody had ever believed was the actual pro- perty of any one in particular, was not a very easy process. Had the Port-na-Wiiapple men been told that the air they breathed, or the salt sea they traversed, were heritable, they could as readily have believed it, as that any one should assert his claim to the strip of sandy beach where they and their fathers before them had fished for ages. Sir Archibald Beresford, however, was not a man to relinquish a claim he had once preferred ; he had right and parchment on his side, and he cared very little for prescription, or what he called the pre- judices of a barbarous peasantry. He went vigorously to work, served the trespassers with due notice to quit, and proceeded against the delinquents at sessions. For years and years the conflict lasted, with various and changeful successes. Now, the landlord would seem triumphant, he had gained his decree, taken out his execution against the nets, the boats, and the tackle, but when the hour of enforcing the law arrived, his bailifts had been beaten ignominiously from the field, and the fishermen left in fidl possession of the territory. Driven to desperation by the stubborn resistance, Sir Archy determined on a bolder stand. He erected a cottage on the beach, and established himself there with a strong garrison of retainers well armed, and prepared to defend their rights. Port-na-Whapple was at length won, and although some bloody aftrays did occasionally occur between the rival parties, the llsliermen were compelled to abandon the station and seek a livelihood elsewhci'e. AV^ith a confidence inspired by some years of security. Sir Archy dimiuished his garrison, till at length it was his habit to come down to the bay accompanied by only a single servant. The old feud appeared to have died out ; not indeed that the landlord met those signs of respect from his tenantry which imply good understanding between them ; no welcome met him when he came, no regrets fol- .1 K- >^ ONE OF THEM. . 53 lowed him wben he departed, and even few of the couutiy people accorded the courtesy of touching their hat as they met him passingly on the road. He was a " hard man," however, and cared little for such slicrhts. At length — it was a season when he had exceeded his usual stay at the coast — there came a period of great distress amongst the fishermen. Day after day the boats went out and returned empty. It was in vain that they passed days and nights at sea, venturing far out upon that wild northern ocean — the most treacherous in ex- istence — in vain they explored the bays, more perilous still than the open sea. Their sole subsistence was derived from the sea, and what was to be done ? Gaunt famine was stamped on many a hardy face, and strong men dragged their limbs lazily and languidly, as if in sickness. As Sir Archy had never succeeded in obtaining a tenant for the royalty of Port-na "Whapple, he amused himself gaffing the salmon, which he from time to time sent as presents to his friends ; and even now, in this season of dearth, many a well-filled hamper found its way up the steep cliffs to be despatched to some remote corner of the kingdom. It was on one of these days that an enor- mous fish — far too big for any basket — was carefully encased in a matting, and sent off by the Coleraiue coach, labelled, "The largest ever gaffed at Port-ua- Whapple." Many an eye, half- azed with hunger, saw the fish, and gazed on the superscription as it was sent into the village, and looks of ominous meaning were cast over the deep cliffs towards the little cottage below. The morning after this, while Sir Archibald's servant was at the post for his letters, a boat rowed into the little cove, and some men, having thrown out the anchor, waded ashore. " "What brings you here, fellows ?" cried Sir Archy, hauglitily, as he met them on the beach. " We are come to gaff a bigger fish than yours o' yesterday," said the foremost, striking him on the forehead with the handle of the gaff ; and he passed the spear through his heart while he yet reeled under the blow. > -•• . • Notwithstanding the most active exertions of the Government of the day and the local magistrature, the authors of the foul deed were never discovered, and although there could be no doubt they were well known to a large population, none betrayed them. More strange still, from that day and hour not a fish was ever taken at Port-na- Whapple ! The property had fallen into Chancery, and the interests of the claimants not being very closely guarded, the fishermen were again at liberty to fish wherever they pleased. The privilege was of no value; the fish had deserted the spot, and even when they 54 • ONE OF THEM. swarmed at Carrig-a-rede, and all along the shore, not one ever was taken there! That the place was deemed "nncannie," and that none frequented it, need not cause any wonder, and so the little cot- tage fell into ruin, tlie boat-house was undermined by the sea and carried away, and even of the little boat-pier only a few bare piles now remained to mark the place, when at length there arrived from Dublin a doctor to take charge of the Ballintray Dispensary, and not being able to find a habitable spot in the village, he was fain to put the old cottage in repair, little influenced by the superstition that attached to the unholy place. He was an elderly man, whose family consisted of his wife and a single servant, and who, from the day of his first arrival, showed a decided repugnance to forming acquaintance with any, or holding other intercourse with his neighbours, tlian what the cares of his profession required. In person he was tall, and even stately ; his features those of a man once handsome, but now disfigured by two red blotches over the eyes, and a tremulousness of the nether lip^ indications of long years of dissipation, which his watery eye and shaking hand abundantly confirmed. Either, too, from a conscious- ness of his infirmity, or a shame not less deeply rooted, he never met the eyes of those he addressed, but turned his gaze either askance or to the ground, giving him then an expression very diflerent from the look he wore when alone and unobserved. At such times the face was handsome but haughty, a character of almost defiant pride in the eye, while the angles of the mouth were slightly drawn down, as one sees in persons of proud temperament. A few words will sufiice for so much of his history as the reader need know. Herbert Layton had the proud distinction of being a Fellow of Trinity Col- lege, Dublin, at the age of twenty-one, and, three years later, won, against many distinguished competitors, the chair of medicine in the university. His whole academic career had been a succession of triumphs, and even able men made this excuse for not obtainino* honours, that they were " in Laj^ton's division." His was one of those rare natures to which acquirements the most diverse and opposite are easy. The most critical knowledge of the classics was combined in him witli a high soaring acquaintance with science, and while he carried away the gold medal for verse composition, the very same week announced him as prizeman for microscopic researches. And while he thus swept the college of honours, he was ever foremost in all athletic games and manly exercises. Indeed, the story goes that the gown in which he won his fellowship had been hastily thrown over the jacket of the cricketer. If the blemish served to afflict those ONE OF TITEir. 55 who felt the truest friendship for him, it rather contributed to ex- ao-werate the prestige of his name that he was haughty and even overbearing in manner ; not meanly condescending to be vain of his successes and the high eminence he had won — far from it, no man treated such triumphs with such supercilious levity, boldly declaring that they were within the reach of all, and that it was a smiple ques- tion of application to any— his proud demeanour had its source in a certain sense of self-reliance, and a haughty conviction that the occasion had not come — might never come — to show the world the great " stuff that was in him ;" and thus, many a rumour ran, " Lay- ton is sorry for having taken to medicine ; it can lead to nothing : at the Bar he must have gained every eminence — entered Parliament — risen. Heaven knows to what, or where. Layton cannot conceal his dissatisfaction with a career of no high rewards." And thus they soup-ht for the explanation of that demeanour which hurt the pride of many and the sympathy of all. Partly from the aggressive nature of the passion of self-esteem, never satisfied if, with each day, it has not made farther inroad, partly, perhaps, from the estrangement of friends, wearied out by endless pretensions, Layton at last lived utterly conipauionless and alone. His habits of hard work made this the less remarkable ; but stories were soon abroad that he had abandoned himself to drink, and that the hours believed to be passed in study were in reality spent in debauch and intoxication. His appearance but unhappily gave some corroboration to the rumour. He had grown careless in bis dress, slouching in his walk ; his pale, thoughtful face was often flushed with a glow exercise never gives ; and his clear, bright eye no longer met another's with boldness. He neglected, besides, all his col- legiate duties, his pupils rarely could obtain sight of him, his class- room was always deserted, a brief notice " that tlie Eegius Professor was indisposed, and would not lecture," remaining afiixed to the door for the entire session. While this once great reputation was thus crumbling away, there arose another, and, the time considered, a far more dangerous impu- tation. It was the terrible period of 1807, and men said that Layton was deep in all the designs of the Emmet party. So completely was the insurrection limited to men of the very humbler walks in life, so destitute was the cause of all support from persons of station or influence, that it is scarcely possible to picture the shock — almost passing belief — of the world when this report began to gain currency and credit. "Were the public to-morrow to learn that some great and trusted political leader was found out to be secretly in the pay of 56 ONE OF THEM. Trance or Kussia, it ^rould not excite more incredulous horror than at that day was caused bj imputing rebellious projects to Herbert Layton. The honour of the University was too deeply involved to suffer such a charge to be rashly circulated. The board summoned the Regius Professor to attend before them. He returned his reply to the summons on the back of a letter constituting him a member of the " United Irishmen," the great rebel association of the day. As much out of regard to their own fame as in pity for a rashness that might have cost him his life, they destroyed the document and deprived him of his fellowship. From tlie day that he wandered forth a ruined, houseless, destitute man, little is known of him. At long intervals of time men would say, " Could that have been poor Herbert, that, ' Layton,' taken up by the police for drunkenness, or accused of some petty crime ? AVas it he who was charged with sending threatening letters to this one, or making insolent demands on that ?" Another would say, " I could swear I saw Layton as a witness in one of those pot-house trials where the course of law proceedings is made the matter of vulgar jest." Another met him hawking quack medicines in a remote rural district. . It is not necessary we should follow him through these changes, each lower than the last in degradation. We arrive by a bound at a period when he kept a small apothecary's shop in a little village of North Wales, and where, with seeming reformation of character, he lived discreetly, and devoted himself assiduously to the education of an only son. By dint of immense effort, and sacrifices the most painful, he suc- ceeded in entering his boy at Cambridge ; but in his last year, his means failing, he had obtained a tutorship for him — no less a charge than that of the young Marquis of Agincourt — an appointment to which his college tutor had recommended him. Almost immediately after this, a vacancy occurring in the little village of Ballintray for a dispensary doctor, Layton applied for the appointment, and obtained it. Few, indeed, of the electors had ever heard of his name, but all were astonished at the ample qualifications tendered by one willing to accept such humble duties. The rector of the parish, Dr. Millar, Avas, though his junior, perhaps, the only one well conversant with Layton's story, for he had been his contemporary at the L^iversity. On the two or three occasions on which they met. Dr. Millar never evinced by the slightest allusion any knowledge of the otlier's ante- cedents. He even, by adroit reference to English life and habits, in ONE OF THEM. 57 contradistinction to Irish, seemed to infer that his experiences were more at home there ; and whatever miglit have been Layton's own secret promptings, there was nothing in the clergyman's manner to provoke the slightest constraint or awkwardness. The reader is now sufficiently informed to accompany us to the little cottage on the beach of Port-na-Whapple. It is a warm autumnal afternoon, the air calm and still, but the great sea comes heaving in, wave swelling after wave, as though moved by a storm. Strange contrast to that loud thundering ocean the little peaceful cottage, whose blue smoke rises in a thin, straight column into the air. The door is open, and a few ducks, with their young brood, are waddling up and down the blue stone step, as though educating their young in feats of difficulty and daring. On a coarse wooden perch within the hall sits a very old grey parrot, so old that his feathers have assumed a sort of half woolly look, and his bleared eyes only open at intervals, as tliough he had seen quite enough of this world already, and could afford to take it easily. In the attitude of the head partially thrown forward and slightly on one side, there is a mock air of thought and reflection, marvellously aided by a habit the creature has of muttering to himself such little broken ends of speech as he possesses. Layton had bought him a great many years back, having fancied he could detect a resemblance in him to a once famed vice-provost of Trinity, after whom he called him " Doctor Barret," a name the bird felt proud of, as well he might, and seemed even now, in his half dotage, to warm up on hearing it. Through the open door of a little room adjoining might be seen a very pale, sickly woman, who coughed almost incessantly as she bent over an embroidery- frame. Though not much more than middle-aged, her hair was perfectly white, and deep discolorations — the track of tears for many a day — marked her worn cheeks. On the opposite side of the hall, in a small room whose furniture was an humble truckle-bed, and a few shelves with physic-bottles, the doctor was engaged at his toilet, if, by so pretentious a term we may record the few preparations he was making to render his every- day appearance more presentable. As he stood thus in trousers and shirt, his broad chest and powerful neck exposed, he seemed to testify even yet to the athletic vigour of one who was known as the best hurler and racket-player of his day. He had been swimming a long stretch far out to sea, and the air and exercise together had effaced many of those signs of dissipation which his face usually wore, while in his voice there was a frank boldness that only came back to him at some rare intervals. 58 ONE OF THEM. " I can foney, Grace," cried he, loud enougli to be heard across the ball, " that Millar is quite proud of bis condescension. The great rector of the parish, man of fortune besides, stooping to invite the dispensary doctor ! Twelve hundred per annum associating -u-itb eighty ! To be sure he says, ' Ton will only meet two friends and neighbours of mine' — as though to intimate, ' I am doing this on the sly ; I don't mean to make you a guest on field-days.' " She muttered something, speedily interrupted by a cough, and he not caring to catch her words, went on : " It is a politeness that cuts both ways, and makes we as uncom- fortable as him. This waisi?fcoat has a beggarly account of empty button-holes, and as for my coat, nothing but a dim candlelight would screen its deficiencies. I was a fool to accept !" cried he, impa- tiently. " Don't go, Tom ! don't go !" screamed the parrot, addressing him by a familiar sobriquet. " And why not. Doctor ?" said Layton, laughing at the apropos. " Don't go ! don't go !" repeated the bird. " Give me your reasons, old boy, and not impossible is it I'll agree with you. "Wbat do you say, Grace ?" added he, advancing to the door of his room the better to catch her words. " It is to them the honour is done, not to you," said she, faintly, and as though the speech cost her heavily. " Yery hard to persuade the rector of that — very hard to convince the man of silver side-dishes and cut decanters that he is not the patron of him who dines off delf and drinks out of pewter. Is this cravat too ragged, Grace ? I think I'd better wear my black one." " Tes, the black one," said she, coughing painfully. " After all, it is no grand occasion — a little party of four." " What a swell ! what a swell !" shrieked the parrot. " Ain't I ? By Jove," laughed Layton, " the Doctor is marvellous in his remarks to- da}-." " There, I have done my best with such scanty 'properties,' " said he, as he turned away from the glass. " The greatest peril to a shabby man is the self-imposed obligation to show he is better than he looks. It is an almost invariable blunder." She muttered something inaudibly, and, as usual, he went on with his own thoughts. " One either assumes a more dictatorial tone, or takes more than his share of the talk, or is more apt to contradict the great man of the company — at least / do." " Don't go, Tom! don't !• don't!" called out Doctor Barret. 05TE OP THEM. 59 "Not go? — after all tliese splendid' preparations!" said Layton, with a laugh, " After yourself exclaiming ' What a swell !' " " It'll never pay — never pay — never pay !" croaked out Poll. " That I'm sure of, Doctor. I never knew one of these politic things that did ; but yet we go on through life practising them in the face of all their failure, dancing attendance at levees, loitering in ante- chambers, all to be remembered by some great man who is just as likely to hate the sight of us. However, this shall be ray last trans- gression." The faint female voice muttered some indistinct words about what he " owed to himself," and the " rightful station that belonged to him," but he speedily cut the reflection short as he said, " So long as a man is poor as I am, he can only hold his head high by total estrangement from the world. Let him dare to mix with it, and his threadbare coat and patched shoes will soon convince him that they will extend no equality to him who comes among them in such beggarly fashion. With what authority, I ask, can he speak, whose very poverty refutes his sentiments, and the simple question stands forth unanswerable : * If this man knew so much, why is he as we see him ?' " " This is, then, to say that misfortune is never unmerited. Surely you do not mean that, Herbert ?" said she, with an eagerness almost painful. " It is exactly what I would say — That for all the purposes of worldly judgments upon men, there is no easier rule than to assume that they who fail deserve failure. Eichelieu never asked those wlio sought high command, ' Are you skilful in the field ? are you clever in strategy ?' biit ' Are you lucky ?' " A deep sigh was her only answer. " I wonder who Millar's fourth man is to be ? Colonel Karstairs I know is one ; a man of importance to me, Grace," said he, laughing ; " a two-guinea subscriber to the dispensary ! How I wish I were in a more fitting spirit of submissiveness to my betters ; and, by ill fortune, this is one of my rebellious days !" " Don't go, Tom ! Don't go, I say !" yelled out Poll. " Prophet of evil, and evil prophet, hold your tongue ! I will go," said he, sternly, and as if answering a responsible adviser ; and setting his hat on, with a certain air of dogged defiance, he left the house. His wife arose, and with feeble steps tottered to the door of the cottage to look after him. A few steps brouglit him to the foot of the cliff", up the steep face of which a zig-zag path led upwards for fully four hundred feet, a narrow track trodden by the bare feet of hardy mountaineers, into some semblance of a pathway, but such as 60 ONE OF THEM. few denizens of towns would willingly have taken. Layton, however' stepped along like one whose foot was not new to the heather ; nay, the very nature of the ascent, the bracing air of the sea, and some- thing in the peril itself of the way, seemed to revive in the man his ancient vigour; and few, seeing him from the beach below, as he boldly breasted the steep bluff, or sprang lightly over some fissured chasm, would have deemed him one long since past the prime of life — one, who had spent more than youth, and its ambitions, in excess. At first, the spirit to press onward appeared to possess him entirely, but ere he reached the half ascent he turned to look down on the yellow strip of strand, and the little cottage, up to whose very door- sill now the foam seemed curling. Never before had its isolation seemed so complete. Not a sail was to be seen seaward, not even a gull broke the stillness with his cry ; a low, mournful plash, with now and then a rumbling half thunder, as the sea resounded within some rocky cavern, were the only sounds, and Layton sat down on a mossy ledge, to drink in the solitude in all its fulness. Amidst thoughts of mingled pain and pleasure, meaaories of long-past struggles, college triumphs and college friendships, came dreary recollections of dark reverses, when the world seemed to fall back from him, and leave him to isolation. Pew had ever started with more ambitious yearnings^ few with more personal assurances of success. "Whatever he tried he was sure to be told, " There lies your road, Layton ; tliat is the path will lead you to high rewards." He had, besides — strange inexplicable gift — that prestige of superiority about him that made men cede the place to him, as if by prescription. " And what had come of it all ? — what had come of it all?" he cried out aloud, suddenly awaking out of the past to face the present. ""Why have I failed?" asked he wildly of himself. " Is it that others have passed me in the race ? Have my successes been discovered to have been gained by trick or fraud ? Have my acquirements been pronounced mere preten- sions ? These, surely, cannot be alleged of one whose fame can be attested by almost every scientific and literaiy journal of the empire. No, no ! the explanation is easier — tlie poet was wrong — l^ortune is a Deity, and some men are born to be unlucky." AVith a sudden start he arose, and ralUed from these musings. He quickly bethought himself of his engagement, and continued his way upward. "When he reached the table-land at top it wanted but a few minutes of five o'clock, and five was tlie hour for which he was invited, and there was yet two miles to walk to the ,Eectory. Any one who has lived for a considerable space estranged from society ONE OF TIIEM. Gl and its requirements, will own to the sense of slavery impressed by a return to the habits of tlie world. He will feel that every ordi- nance is a tyranny, and the necessity of being dressed for this, or punctual for that, a downright bondage. Thus chafing and irritable, Layton walked aloug. Never was man less disposed to accept hospitality as a polite attention, and more than once did he halt, irresolute whether he should not retrace his steps towards home. " No man," thought he, " could get off more cheaply. They would ascribe it all to my ignorance. What should a poor devil with eighty pounds a year know of politeness ? and when I had said, I had forgotten the invitation, they would forget mer Thus self-accusing and self-disparaging, he reached the little avenue gate, which by a trim gravel walk led up to the parsonage. The neat lodge, with its rustic porch, all overgrown Avith a rich iaponica — the well-kept road, along whose sides two little paved channels conducted the water— the flower plats at intervals in the smooth emerald turf, were all assurances of care and propriety ; and as Layton marked them, he muttered, " This is one of the lucky ones." As Layton moved on with laggard step, he halted frequently to mark some new device or other of ornamental gardening. Now it was a tasteful group of rock-work, over which gracefully creepers hung in festoons ; now it was a little knot of flowering shrubs, so artfully intermingled as to seem as though growing from a single stem ; now a tiny fish-pond could be descried through the foliage ; even the rustic seats placed at points of commanding view^ seemed to say how much the whole scene had been planned for enjoyment, and that every tint of foliage, every undulation of the sward, every distant glimpse caught through a narrow vista, had all been artfully contrived to yield its share of pleasure. " I wonder," muttered he, bitterly, to himself — " I wonder when this man j)reaches on a Sunday against wealth and its temptations, re- minding others that out of this world men take nothing, but go out upon their new pilgrimage naked aud poor, does he ever turn a thought to all these things, so beautiful now, and with that vitality that will make them beautiful, years and years after he himself has become dust? I have little doubt," added he, hurriedly, " that he says all this, and believes it too. Here am I, after just as many determina- tions to eat no man's salt, nor sit down to any board better than my own — here I am to-day creeping like a poor parasite to a great man's table — ay, he is a great man to me I 62 ONE OF THEM. " How strange is the casuistry, too, with which humhle people like myself persuade themselves that they go into the world against their will ; that they do so purely from motives of policy, forgetting all the while how ignoble is the motive they lay claim to. " The old Eoman moralist told us that poverty had no heavier in- fliction in its train than that it made men ridiculous, but I tell him he is wrong. It makes men untrue to themselves, false to their own hearts, enemies to their own convictions, doing twenty things every day of their lives that they affect to deem prudent, and know to be contemptible. I wish my worthy host had left me imnoticed!" He was at last at the door, and rang the bell with the impatient boldness of one chafing and angry with himself. There was a short delay, for the servants were all engaged in the dining-room, and Lay ton rang again. " Doctor Millar at home ?" asked he, sternly, of the well-powdered footman who stood before him. " Yes, Sir ; he's at dinner." " At dinner ! I was invited to dumer !" " I know. Sir ; and the doctor waited for half an hour beyond the time ; but he has only gone in this moment." It is just possible, in Layton's then frame of mind, that he had turned away and left the house, never to re-enter it, when a slight circumstance determined him to the opposite. This was the footman's respectful manner as he took the hat from his hand, and threw wide the door for him to pass onward. Ay, it is ever so ! Things too trivial and insignificant for notice in this life are every hour in- fluencing ou.r actions and swaying our motives. Men have stormed a breach for a smile, and gone out in black despair Anth life just for a cold word or a cold look. So much more quickly does the heart influence than the head, even with the very cleverest amongst us. As Layton entered the diniug-room, his host rose to receive him, and, with a polished courtesy, apologised for having gone to table be_ fore his arrival, '' I gave you half an hour, doctor, and I would have given you longer, but that I am aware a physician is not always master of his time. Colonel Karstairs you are acquaiuted with. Let me present you to IVIr. Ogden. Doctor Layton, Mr. Ogden." There is no manner that so impresses the world with the idea of self-sufficiency and pretension as that of the bashful man contending against his own diffidence ; and this same timidity, that one woidd imagine so easily rubbed oft" by contact with the world, actually increases with age, and, however glossed over by an assumed ease ONE OF TIIEM. 63 and a seeming indifference, lives to torment its possessor to his last day. Of this Lay ton was an unhappy victim ; and while imbued with a consummate self-esteem, he had a painful consciousness of the criticism that his manner and breeding might call forth. The result of this conflict was to render him stern, defiant, and even overbear- ing — traits which imparted their character even to liis features in first intercourse with strangers. "I don't know how Halford managed it," said Mr. Ogden, as he reseated himself at table, " but I've heard him say that his pro- fessional engagements never lost him a dinner." Simple as were these words, they contained a rebuke, and the air of the man that uttered them did not diminish their siffuificance. Mr. Ogden was a thin, pale, pock-marked man, with an upstand- ing head of grey hair, a very high and retreating forehead, and a long upper lip — one of those men in whom the face, disproportionately large for the head, always gives the impression of a self-sufficient nature. He had a harsh, sharp voice, with an articulation of a most painful accuracy, even his common-places being enunciated Avith a sort of distinct impressiveness, as though to imply that his copper was of more value than another man's gold. JSTor was this altogether a delusion ; he had had a considerable experience of mankind and the world, and had contrived to pass his bad money on them as excellent coin of the realm. He was — and it is very distinctive in its mark — one of those men who always live in a class above their own, and, whatever be the recognition and the acceptance they have there, are ever regarded by their rightful equals as something peculiarly privi- leged and superior. "My Lord" would have called him a useful man ; his friends all described him as " influential." But he was something greater than either — he was a successful man. "We are constantly told that the efficiency of our army is mainly owing to the admii-able skill and ability of its petty officers. That to their unobtrusive diligence, care, and intelligence, we are indebted for all those qualities by which a force is rendered manageable, and victories are won. Do we not see something very similar in our Biu'eaucracy ? Is not our Govern- ment itself almost entirely in the hands of "petty officers?" The great minister who rises in his place in Parliament the exponent of some grand policy, the author of some extensive measure, is, after all, little more than the mouthpiece of some " Mr. Ogden" in Dowu- ing-street; some not very brilliant or very statesman-like person- age, but a man of business habits, every-day intelligence, and long G4< OXE OF THEM. official traditions — one of those three or four men in all England who can say to a ininistei', " It can't be done," and yet give no rea- son why. The men of this Ogden stamp are, in reality, great influences in a country like ours, where frequent changes of government require that the traditions of office should be transmitted through something higher and more responsible than mere clerks. They are the stokers who keep the fires alight and the steam up till a new captain comes aboard, and, though neither commanders nor pilots, they do manage to influence the course of the ship, by the mere fact that they can diminish the force of her speed or increase its power without any one being very well aware of how or wherefore. Such men as these are great people in that dingy old house, whose frail props Avithout are more than emblems of what goes on within. Of their very offices men speak as of the Holy of Holies ; places where none enter fearlessly save secretaries of state, and at whose door inferior mortals wipe their feet with heart-sinking fear and low- ness of spirit, rehearsing not unfrequently the abject words of sub- missiveuess with which they ai-e to approach such greatness. It is curious, therefore, to see one of these men in private life. One wishes to know how M. Houdin will look without his conjuring rod, or what Coriolanus will do in plain clothes ; for, after all, he must come into the world unattended with his belongings, and can no more carry Downing-street about with him than could Albert Smith carry " China" to a dinner-party. And now the soup has been brought back, and the fish, somewhat cold and mangled, to be sure, has been served to Doctor Layton ; the servant has helped him to an admirable glass of sherry, and the dinner proceeds pleasantly enough — not, however, without its casual- ties. But of these the next chapter will tell us. ONE OF THEM. 65 CHAPTEE IX. A DINNER AT THE RECTORY. There are men who have specialities for giving admirable " little dinners," and little dinners are unquestionably the ne plus ultra of social enjoyment. To accomplish these there are far more require- ments necessary tban the world usually wots of. They are not the triumphs of great houses, with regiments of yellow plush and gold candelabra; they affect no vast dining-rooms, nor a private band. They are, on the contrary, the prerogatives of moderate incomes, middle-aged or elderly hosts, usually bachelors, with small houses furnislied in the perfection of comfort without any display, but where everythiiig, from the careful disposal of a fire-screen to the noiseless gait of the footman, shows you that a certain supervision and disci- pline prevail, even though you never hear an order and rarely see a servant. Where these people get their cooks, I never could make out ! It is easy enough to understand that fish and soup, your sirloin and your woodcock, could be well and carefully dressed, but who devised that exquisite little entree ? what genius presided over that dish of maccaroni, that omelette, or that soufile ? "Whence, besides, came the infinite taste of the whole meal, \vith its few dishes, served in an order of artistic elegance? And that butler, too; how quiet, how observant, how noiseless his ministration ! how steady his decanter hand ! Where did they find him ? And that pale sherry, and that Chablis, and that exquisite cup of Mocha? Don't tell me that you or I can have them all as good, that you know his wine-merchant, and have the receipt for his coffee. Tou might as well tell me you could sing like INIario because you employ his hairdresser. No, no ; they who accomplish these things are peculiar organisations. They have great gifts of order and system, the nicest perceptions of taste, considerable refinement, and no small share of sensuality. Thev possess a number of high qualities in miniature, and are, so to say, "great men seen through the wrong end of a telescope." Of this the Eeverend Doctor MiUar was a pleasing specimen. With that consciousness of having done everything possible for vour com- fort which makes a good host, he had a racy gratification iu quietlv 66 ONE OF THEM. watcliing your enjoyment. Easily and unobtrusively marking your taste for tliis or preference for that, he would contrive that your likings should be gratified, as though by mere accident, and never let you know yourself a debtor for the attentions bestowed upon you. It was his pride to have a perfect establishment : would that all vanity were as harmless and as pleasurable to others ! And now to the dinner, which, in our digression, we are forgetting. " Try these cutlets. Doctor," interposed the host, " It is a receipt I brought back with me from Provence ; I think you'll find them good." " An over-rich, greasy sort of cuisine is the Proven9ale," remarked Ogden. " And yet almost every good cook of France comes from that country," said Lay ton, Ogden raised his large double eye-glass to look at the man who thus dared to " cap " a remark of his, " I wish we could get out of the bastard French cookery all the clubs give us now-a-days," said the Colonel. " Tou neither see a good English joint, nor a well-dressed entree." " An emblem of the alliance," said Layton, " where each nation spoils something of its own in the effort to be more palatable to its neighbour." " Apparently then. Sir, the great statesmen who have promoted this policy are not fortunate enough to enjoy your sanction?" said Ogden, with an insolent air. " My sanction is scarcely the word for it. They have not certainly my approval." " I hope you like French wines though. Doctor," said the host, eager to draw the conversation into some easier channel. " Taste that Sauterne." " It only wants age to be perfect," said the Doctor, sipping. "All these French white wines require more time than the red." Ogden again looked through his glass at the dispensary doctor who thus dared to give judgment on a question of such connoisseur- ship ; and then, with the air of one not easily imposed on, said : *' Tou have travelled much abroad, perhaps ?" Layton bowed a silent assent. " I think I saw a German diploma amongst the papers you for- warded to our committee ?" said Karstairs. " Yes, I am a doctor of medicine of Gottingen." " A university, I verily believe, only known to Englishmen through Canning's doggerel," said Ogden, ONE OF THEM. 67 " I trust not, Sir. I hope that Blunieiibach's name alone would rescue it from such oblivion." " I like the Germans, I confess," broke in the Colonel. " I served with Arentschild's Hanoverians, and never knew better or pleasanter fellows." " Oh, I by no means undervalue Germans !" said Ogden. " I think we, at this very moment, owe them no small gratitude for sug- gesting to us the inestimable practice of examination for all public employment." " In my mind, the greatest humbug of an age of humbug !" said Lay ton, fiercely. " Nay, Doctor, you will, I'm certain, recal your words when I tell you that my friend here, Mr. Ogden, is one of the most distinguished promoters of that system." " The gentleman would confer a far deeper obligation upon me by sustaining than by withdrawing his thesis," said Ogden, with a sar- castic smile. " To undertake the task of sustaining the cause of ignorance against knowledge," said Layton, quietly, " would be an ungrateful one always. In the present case, too, it would be like pitting myself against that gentleman opposite. I decline such an oifice." " So, then, you confess that such would be your cause, Sir ?" said Ogden, triumphantly. " No, Sir ; but it would partake so much the appearance of such a struggle, that I cannot accept it. "What I called a humbug was the attempt to test men's fitness for the public service by an examina- tion, at which the most incapable might distinguish himself, and the ablest not pass. Tlie system of examination begot the system of ' grinding ' — a vulgar term for a more vulgar practice, and a system the most fatal to all liberal education, limiting study to a question- and-answer formula, and making acquirements only desirable when within the rubric of a Government commission. Very diiferent would have been the result if the diploma of certain recognised edu- cational establishments had been required as qualification to serve the State ; if the law ran, ' Tou shall be a graduate of this university, or that college, or possess the licentiate degree of that school.' " "Tour observations seem, then, rather directed against certain commissioners than the system they practise?" said Ogden, sarcas- tically. " Scarcely, Sir, My experience is very limited. I never met but one of tliem!" The Colonel laughed heartily at this speech — lie couldn't help it F 2 G8 ONK OF THEM. and even the host, mortified as he was, gave a half-smile. As for Ogden, his pale face grew a shade sicklier, and his green eyes more fishy. " To question the Post-office clerk or the landing waiter," con- tinued Layton, with fresh warmth — for when excited he could rarely control himself — " to test some poor aspirant for eighty pounds per annum in his knowledge of mathematics or his skill in physical geo- graphy, while you make governors that cannot speak correctly, and vice-governors whose despatches are the scorn of Downing-street ; to proclaim that you want your tide-waiter to be a moral philosopher, but that the highest offices of the State may be held by any political partisan active enough, troublesome enough, and noisy enough to make himself worth purchase ; you demand logarithms and special geometry from a clerk in the Customs, while you make a millowner a cabinet minister on the simple showing of his persevering: and your commissioners, too — ' Quis custodiet, ipsos custodes!' " "You probably, however, submitted to be examined once on a time for your medical degree ?" asked Ogden. " Tes, Sir; and that ordeal once passed, I had ample leisure to unlearn the mass of useless rubbish required of me, and to address myself to the real cares of my profession. But do you suppose that if it were demanded of me to subject myself to another exami- nation to hold the humble post I now fill, that I should have ac- cepted it ?" " I really cannot answer that question," said Ogden, super- ciliously. " Then I will. Sir. I would not have done so. Eighty pounds a year is a very attractive bribe, but it may require too costly a sacri- fice to win it." " The neighbourhood is a very poor one," struck in Millar, " and, indeed, if it had not been for the strenuous exertions of my friend Colonel Karstairs here, we should never liave raised the forty pounds which gives us the claim for as much more in the presenttnents." " And yet you got two hundred and thirty for a regatta in June last !" said Layton, with a quiet smile. " The way of the world. Doctor ; the way of the world ! Men are never stingy in what regards their own amusements !" " That is the port. Doctor, the other is Lafitte," said the Rector, as he saw Layton hesitate about a choice. And now the talk took a capricious turn, as it will do occasionally in those companies where people are old fashioned enough to " sit " after dinner, and let the decaliter circulate. Eveu here, however ONE OF THEM. 69 conversation could not run smoothly. Ogden launched into the manufacture of wines, the chemistry of adulterations, and the grape disease, on every one of which Layton found something to correct him — some slip or error to set right — an annoyance all the more poignant, tliat Karstuirs seemed to enjoy it heartily. From fabri- cated wines to poisons the ti'ansition was easy, and they began to talk of certain curious trials wherein the medical testimony formed the turning-point of conviction. Here, again, Layton was his supe- rior in information, and made the superiority felt. Of what the most subtle tests consisted, and wherein their fallacy lay, he was thoroughly master, while his retentive memory supplied a vast variety of curious and interesting illustration. Has our reader ever " assisted" at a scene where the great talker of a company has unexpectedly found himself confronted by some un- known, undistinguished competitor, who, with the pertinacity of an actual persecution, will follow him through all tlie devious windings of an evening's conversation, ever present to correct, contradict, amend, or refute? In vain the liunted martyr seeks out some new line of country, or starts new game ; his tormentor is ever close behind him. Osrden wandered from law to literature. He tried art, scientific discovery, religious controversy, agriculture, foreign travel, the drama, and field sports ; and Layton followed him through all — always able to take up the theme and carry it beyond where the other had halted. If Millar underwent all the tortures of an un- happy host at this, Karstairs was in ecstasy. He had been spending a week at the Eectory in Ogden's company, and it seemed a sort of just retribution now that this dictatorial personage sliould have met his persecutor. Layton, ahvays drinking deeply as the wine came to him, and excited by a sort of conflict, which, for years back, he had never known, grew more and more daring in his contradictions, less deferential, and less fearful of oftending. Whatever little reserve he had felt at first, oozed away as tlie evening advanced. The law of physics is the rule of morals, and as the swing of the pendulum is greater in proportion to the retraction, so the bashful man, once emancipated from his reserve, becomes the most daringly aggressive of mortals. Xot content with refuting, he now ridiculed ; his vein of banter was his richest, and he indulged it in all the easy freed'ora of one who defied reprisals. Millar tried once or twice to interpose, and was at last fain to suggest that, as the decanters came round un touched, they should adjourn to coffee. Ogden rose abruptly at tlie intimation, and, muttering something inaudible, led the way into the drawing-room. 70 ONE OF THEM. " You have been too hard upon him, Doctor," whispered Karstairs, as he walked along at Layton's side. " Tou should be more care- ful ; he ia a mau of note on the other side of the Channel ; he was a Treasury Lord for some six months once ; and is always in office somewhere. I see you are rather sorry for this yourself." " Sorry ! I'm sorry to leave that glorious Madeira, which I know I shall never taste again," said Laytou, sternly. " Are you a smoker, Doctor Layton ?" said the host. " If so, don't forget this house gives all a bachelor's privileges. Try these cheroots ?" " Liberty Hall !" chimed in the Colonel, with a vacant laugh. "Not a bad name for your dining-room, Millar," said Ogden, bitterly. A slight shrug was the parson's answer. " Is this man a fretpent guest here ?" he asked again, in a low whisper. " It is his first time. I need scarcely say, it shall be his last," re- plied Millar, as cautiously. " I felb for you, Millar. I felt what pain he must have been giving you, though for myself, I pledge you my word, it was most amusing; his violence, his presumption, the dictatorial tone in which he aflirmed his opinions, were high comedy. I was half sorry when you proposed coffee." Under pretence of admiriug some curiously carved chessmen, Kax'stairs had withdrawn the Doctor into a small room adjoining ; but, in reality, his object was the friendly one of suggesting greater caution and more reserve on his part. "I don't say," whispered he — "I don't say that you w^eren't right, and he wrong, in everything. I knownothiug about false quautities in Latin, or German metaphysics, or early Cliristian art. You may be an authority in all of them. All I say is, he ia a great Govern- meut ofhcial, and you are a village doctor." " Tiiat was exactly why I couldn't let slip the opportunity," broke in L;iyton. " Let me tell you an incident I once witnessed in my old days of coach travelling. I was going up from Liverpool to London in the Umpire, that wonderful, fast coach that astonisliod the world, by makiug the journey in thirty-six hours. I sat behind the coachman, and was struck by the appearance of the man on the box- seat, who, though it was the depth of winter, and the day one of cutting sleet and cold wind, wore no upper coat, or any protection against the weather, lie was, as you may imagine, speedily wet through, and pieauuted in his dripping and soaked habiliments as sorry a spectacle ONE OF THEM. 71 as need be. In fact, if any man's external could proclaim want and privation, his did. These signs of poverty, however, could not screen him from tlie application of ' IVon't you remember the coachman, Sir ?' He, with no small difficulty, for he was nearly benumbed with cold, extricated a sixpence from his pocket and tendered it. The burly driver flung it contemptuously back to him with insult, and sneeringly asked him, how he could dare to seat himself on the box when he was travelling like a pauper ? The traveller never answered a word ; a slight flush once, indeed, showed how the insult stung him, but he never uttered a syllable. " ' If I had you down here for five minutes, I'd teach you as how you'd set yourself on the box-seat again !' cried coacliee, whose passion seemed only aggravated by the other's submission. Scarcely Avere the words spoken, when the dripping traveller began to descend from the coach. He was soon on the ground, and almost as he touched it, the coachman rushed upon him. It was a hand-to-hand conflict, which, however, could not have lasted four minutes. The stranger not only ' stopped' every blow of the other, but followed each ' stop' by a well-sent-in one of his own, dealt with a force that, judging from his size, seemed miraculous. "With closed eyes, a smashed jaw, and a disabled wrist, the coachman was carried away; while the other, as he drank ofi" a glass of cold water, simply said, ' If that man wishes to know where to find me again, tell him to ask for Tom Spring, Crane-alley, Borough-road !' " Karstairs followed the anecdote with interest, but somehow, for he was not a very brilliant man, though " an excellent officer," missed the application. "Capital — excellent — by Jove!" cried he. "I'd have given a crown to have seen it." Layton turned away in half ill-humour. " And so it was Tom Spring himself," said the Colonel. " Who'd have guessed it?" Layton made no reply, but began setting the chessmen upon the board at random. " Is this another amongst your manifold accomplishments, Sir ?" asked Ogden, as he came up to the table. " I play most games," said Layton, carelessly ; " but it's only at billiards that I pretend to any skill." "I'm a very unworthy antagonist," said Ogden; "but perhaps you will condescend to a game with me — at chess, I mean?" " With pleasure," said Layton, setting the pieces at once. He won the first move, and just as he was about to begin, he stopped, and said, "I wish I knew your strength." 72 ONE OF THEM " The players give me a knight, and generally beat me," said Ogden. " Oh ! I understand. Will you allow me to fetch a cheroot ? I move king's knight's pawTi one square." He arose as he spoke, and walked into tlie adjoining room. Ogden moved his queen's pawn. Layton, from the adjoining room, asked the move, and then said, " king's bishop to knight's first square;" meanwhile continuing to search for a cigar to his liking. " Do you purpose to continue the game without seeing the board ?" asked Ogden, as he bit liis lip Avith impatience, "Not if you prefer otherwise," said Layton, who now came back to his place, with his cigar fully lighted. " You see what an inexorable enemy I have, Millar," said Ogden, with an affected laugh ; " he will uot be satisfied unless my defeat be ignominious." " Is it so certain to be a defeat, George ?" said the Rector. " Chess was always your great game. I remember how the Windsor Club entertained you on the occasion of your victory over that Swiss player, Eshwald." "And so you have beaten Eshwald," broke in Layton, hastily. " We must give no quarter here." And with this he threw away his cigar, and bent down over the board. " We shall only disturb them, Karstairs ; come along into the drawing-room, and let us talk parish business," said the Rector. " Our little dinner has scarcely gone off so well as I had expected," said Millar, when they were alone. " I meant to do our Doctor a service, by asking him to meet Ogden, who has patronage and influ- ence in every quarter ; but I suspect that this evening will be remem- bered grievously against him." " T confess I was highly amused at it all, and not sorry to see your friend Ogden so sorely baited. You know well what a life he has led us here for the last week." "A hard hitter sometimes, to be sure," said the Rector, smiling " but a well-meaning man, and always ready for a kind action. I wish Layton had used more moderation — more deference towards him." " Your Madeira did it all, Millar. AVhy did you give the fellow such insinuating tipple as that old '31 wine ?" " I can't say that I was not forewarned," continued Millar. " I was told, on his coming down to our neighbourhood, to be careful of him. It was even intimated to me that his ungovernable and ONE or THEM. 73 overbearing tLMn})er had wrecked his whole fortune in life; for of course one can easily see such a man ought not to be sentenced to the charge of a village dispensary." "No matter how clever you are, there must be discipline; that's what I've always told the youngsters in my regiment." The Hector sighed ; it was one of those hopeless little sighs a man involuntarily heaves when he finds that his companion in a tete-a-tete is always " half an hour behind the coach." "I intended, besides," resumed Millar, "that Ogden should liave recommended to the Government the establishment of a small hospital down here ; an additional fifty or sixty pounds a year would have been a great help to Lay ton." "And of course he'll do it, when you ask him," said the hearty Colonel. " Now that lie has seen the man, and had the measure of his capacity, he'll be all the readier to serve him." " The cleverest of all my school and college companions sacrificed his whole career in life by shooting the pheasant a great Minister had just ' marked.' He was about to be invited to spend a week at Drayton; but the invitation never came." " I protest, Millar, I don't understand that sort of thing." " Have you never felt, when walking very fast, and eagerly intent upon some object, that if an urchin crossed your path, or came rudely against you, it was hard to resist the temptation of giving him a box on the ear? I don't mean to say that the cases are parallel, but great people do somehow acquire a habit of thinking that the road ought always to be cleared for them, and they will not endure what- ever interferes with their wishes." " But don't you think if you gave Layton a hint " " Isn't that like it ? Hear that " A loud burst of laughter from the adjoining room cut short the coUoquy, and Layton's voice was heard in a tone of triumph, saying, " I saw your plan — I even let you follow it up to the last, for I knew you were checkmated." " I'm off my play — I have not touched a chessman these three years," said Ogden, pettishly. " Nor I for three times three years ; nor was it ever my favourite game." " I'm coming to crave a cup of tea from you, Millar," said Ogden, entering the drawing-room, flushed in the cheek, and with a flurried manner. "Who won the game?" asked the Colonel, eagerly. ' " Doctor Layton was tlie conqueror ; but 1 don't regard myself as 74 ONE OP TUEM. an ignoble foe, notwithstanding," said Ogden, with a sort of look of appeal towards the Doctor. "I'll give you a bishop and play you for " He stopped in some confusion, and then, with an effort at a laugh, added, " I was going to say fifty pounds, quite forgetting that it was possible you might beat me." " And yet, Sir, I have the presumption to think that there are things which I could do fully as well as Doctor Layton." Layton turned hastily round from the table, where, having half filled a large glass with brandy, he was about to fill up with soda- water ; he set down the unopened soda-water bottle, and drinking off the raw spirit at a draught, said, " What are they ? let's hear them, for I take the challenge ; these gentlemen be my witnesses that I accepted the gage before I knew your weapon." Here he replenished his glass, and this time still higher than before, and drank it ofi". " Tou have, doubtless, your speciality, your pet subject, art or science, what is it ? or have you more than one ? Tou're not like the fellow that Scott tells us could only talk of tanned leather — eh, Millar, you remember that anec- dote ?" The Eector started with that sort of spasm that unobtrusive men feel when first accosted familiarly by those almost strangers to them. " Better brandy than this I never tasted," said Layton, now filling out a bumper, while his hand shook so much that he spilled the liquor over the table ; " and, as Tom Warrendar used to say, as he who gives you unpleasant advice is bound in honour to lend you money, so he who gives you light claret, if he be a man of honour, will console you with old brandy, afterwards ; and you are a man of honour, Millar, and a man of conscience, and so is our Colonel here — albeit nothing remarkable in other respects ; and as for that public servant, as he likes to call himself — the public servant, if I must be candid — the public servant is neither more nor less than " Here he stretched out his arm to its full length to give by the gesture greater emphasis to what he was about to utter, and then staring half wildly, half insolently around him, he sank down heavily into a deep arm-chair, and as his arms dropped listlessly beside him, fell back insensible. " I will say that I never felt deeper obligation to a brandy-bottle ; it is the first enjoyable moment of the whole evening," said Ogden, as he sat down to the tea-table. In somewhat less than half an hour afterwards Layton awoke with ONE OF THEM. 75 a sort of start, and looked wildly and confusedly around him. What, or how much lie remembered of the events of the evening, is not possible to say, as, with a sudden spring to his feet, he took his hat, and with a short " good night," left the house, and hurried down the avenue. CHAPTEE X. THE LABOKATORY. There was a small closet-like room in Layton's cottage which he had fitted up, as well as his very narrow means permitted, as a labo- ratory. Everything in it was, of course, of the very humblest kind, soda-water flasks were fashioned into retorts, and even blacking-jars held strange chemical mixtures. Here, however, he spent most of his time in the search of some ingredient by which he hoped to arrest the progress of all spasmodic disease. An accidental benefit he had himself derived from a certain salt of ammonia had suggested the inquiry, and for years back tliis had constituted the main object of all his thoughts. Determined, if his discovery were to prove a success, it should burst upon the world in all its completeness, he had never revealed to any one but his son the object of his studies. Alfred, indeed, was made participator of his hopes and ambitions ; he had seen all the steps of the inquiry, ana understood thoroughly the train of reasoning on which the theory was based. The young man's patience in investigation, and his powers of calculation, were of immense value to his father, and Layton deeply regretted the absence of the one sole assistant he could or would confide in. A certain im- patience, partly constitutional, partly from habits of intemperance, had indisposed the old man to those laborious calculations by which chemical discovery is so frequently accompanied, and these he threw upon his son, who never deemed any labour too great, or any inves- tigation too wearisome, if it should save his father some part of his daily fatigue. It was not for months after Alfred's departure that Layton could re-enter his study, and resume his old pursuits. The want of the companionship that cheered him, and the able help that seconded all his eftorts, had so damped his ardour, that he had, if not abandoned his pursuit, at least deferred its prosecution inde- finitely. At last, however, by a vigorous cflbrt he resumed his old 76 ONE OP THEM. labour, and in the interest of his search he soon regained much of hia former ambition for success. The investigations of chemistry have about them all the fluctuating fortunes of a deep and subtle game. There are the same vacillations of good and bad luck ; the same tides of hope and fear ; the almost certain prospect of success dashed and darkened by failure ; the grief and disappointment of failure dispelled by glimpses of bright hope. So many are the disturbing influences, so subtle the causes vehich derange experiment, where some infinitesimal excess or deficiency, some minute accession of heat or cold, some chance adulteration in this or that ingredient, can vitiate a whole course of inquiry, requir- ing the labour of weeks to be all begun again, that the pursuit at length assumes many of the features of a game, and a game only to be won by securing every imaginable condition of success. Perhaps this very character was what imparted to Layton's mind one of the most stimulating of all interests ; at all events, he ad- dressed himself to his task like one who, bafiled and repulsed as he might be, would still not acknowledge defeat. As well from the in- defatigable ardour he showed, as from the occasional bursts of boast- ful triumph in anticipation of a great success in store, his poor ailing wife had grown to fancy that his pursuit was something akin to those wonderful researches after the elixir vitae, or the philosopher's stone. She knew as little of his real object as of the means he employed to attain it, but she could see the feverish eagerness that daily gained on him, mark his long hours of intense thought, his days of labour, his nights of wakefulness, and her fears were that these studies were undermining his strength and breaking up his vigour. It was, then, with a grateful joy at her heart she saw him invited to the Rectory — admitted once more to tlie world of his equals, and the notice of society. She had waited hour by hour for his return home, and it was already daybreak ere she heard him enter the cottage, and repair to his own room. AVho knows what deep and heartfelt anxieties were hers as she sought her bed at last ? what sorrowful forebodings might not have oppressed her ? what bitter tearsh ave coursed along her worn cheeks ? for his step was short and impatient as he crossed the little hall, and the lieavy slam of his door, and the harsh grating of the lock, told that he was ruffled and angry. The morning wore on heavily — drearily to her, as she watched and waited, and at last she crept noiselessly to the door, and tapped at it gently. " Who's there ? Come in !" cried he, roughly. ONE OF THEM. 77 " I came only to ask if you would not have your breakfast?" said she, timidly. " It is already near eleven o'clock." " So late, Grrace ?" said he, with a more kindly accent, as he offered her a seat. " I don't well know how the time slipped over ; not that I was engaged in anything that interested me — I do not believe I have done anything whatever — no, nothing," muttered he, vaguely, as his wearied eve ranged over the table. " You are tired to-day, Herbert, and you need rest," said she, in a soft, gentle tone. " Let this be a holiday." " Mine are aU holidays now," replied he, with an effort at gaiety. Then suddenly, with an altered voice, he added : " I ought never to have gone there last night, Grace. I knew well what would come of it. I have no habits, no temper, no taste for such associates. What other thoughts could cross me as I sat there, sipping their claret, than of the cold poverty that awaited me at home ? what pleasure to me could that short hour of festivity be, when I knew and felt I must come back to this ? And then, the misery, the insult of that state of watchfiilness, to see that none took liberties with me, on the score of my humble station." . • " But surely, Herbert, there is not any one " "I don't know that," broke he in. "He who wears finer linen than you is often a terrible tyrant, on no higher or better ground. If any man has been taught that lesson, I have ! The world has one easy formula for its guidance. If you be poor, you must be either incompetent or improvident, or both ; your patched coat and shabby hat are vouchers for one or the other, and sleek success does not trouble itself to ask which." " The name of Herbert Layton is a sure guarantee against such depreciation," said she, in a voice tremulous with pride and emotion. " So it might, if it had not earned a little extra notoriety in police courts," said he, with a laugh of intense bitterness. " Tell me of your dinner last night," said she, eager to withdraw him from the vein she ever dreaded most. " Was your party a plea- sant one?" ■ . • -, .! ? . " Pleasant ! — no, the very reverse of pleasant ! AVe had discussion instead of conversation, and in lieu of those slight difterences of sen- timent which flavour talk, we had stubborn contradictions. All my fault, too, Grace. I was in one of my unhappy humours, and actually forgot I was a dispensary doctor and in the presence of an ex-Trea- sury Lord, with great influence and high acquaintances. You can fancy, Grace, how boldly I dissented from all he said." " But if you were in the right, Herbert " 78 ONE OF THEM. " Which is exactly what I was not ; at least, I was quite as often in the wrong. My amusement was derived from seeing how power- less he was to expose the fallacies that outraged him. He was stunned by a fire of blank cartridge, and obliged to retreat before it. But now that it's all over, I may find the amusement a costly one. And then, I drank too much wine " She gave a heavy sigh, and turned away to hide her look. " Tes," resumed he, with a fierce bitterness in his tone, " the momentary flush of self-esteem — Dutch courage, though it be — is a marvellous temptation to a poor, beaten- down, crushed spirit, and wine alone can give it ; and so I drank, and drank on." " But not to excess ?" said she, in a half-broken whisper. " At least to unconsciousness. I know nothing of how or when I quitted the Rectory, nor how I came down the cliffs and reached this in safety. The path is dangerous enough at noonday with a steady head and. a cautious foot, and yet last night assuredly I could not boast of either." Another and a deeper sigh escaped her, despite her efibrts to stifle it. " Ay, Grace, the Doctor was right when he said to me, * Don't go there.' How well if I had but taken his advice ! I am no longer fit for such associates. They live lives of easy security — they have not the cares and struggles of a daily conflict for existence ; we meet, therefore, on unequal grounds. Their sentiments cost them no more care than the Trench roll upon their breakfast-table. They can afford to be wrong as they can afford debt, but the poor wretch like myself, a bare degree above starvation, has as little credit with fine folk as with the huckster. I ought never to have gone there ! Leave me now," added he, half sternly ; " let me see if these gases and essences will not make me forget humanity. No, I do not care for breakfast — I cannot eat!" With the same noiseless step she had entered, she now glided softly from the room, closing the door so gently, that it was only when he looked round that he was aware of being alone. For a moment or two he busied himself with the objects on the table ; he arranged phials and retorts, he lighted his stove, and stood fanning the charcoal till the red mass glowed brightly, and then, as though forgetting the pursuit he was engaged in, he sat down upon a chair, and sank into a dreamy reverie. Another low tap at the door aroused liim from his musings, and the low voice he knew so well gently told him it was his morning to attend the dispensary, a distance fully three miles oflf. More than one com- ONE OF THEM. 79 plaint had been already made of his irregularity and neglect, and, in- tending to pay more attention in future, he had charged his wife to keep him miudful of his duties. " You will scarcely reach Ballintray before one o'clock, Herbert," said she, in her habitually timid tone, " What if I should not try ? What if I throw up the beggarly office at once ? What if I burst through this slavery of Patrons, and Chairmen, and Boards ? Do you fancy we should starve, Grace ?" " Oh no, Herbert," cried she, eagerly ; " I have no fears for our future." " Then your courage is greater than mine," said he, bitterly, and with one of the sudden changes of humour which often marked him. " Can't you anticipate how the world would pass sentence on me, the idle debauchee, who would not earn his livelihood, but must needs forfeit his subsistence from sheer indolence ? — ay, and the world would be right, too. He who breaks stones upon the high road will not perform his task the better because he can tell the chemical con- stituent of every fragment beneath his hammer. Men want common work from common workmen, and there are always enough to be found. I'll set out at once." With this resolve, uttered in a tone she never gainsaid or replied to, he took his hat and left the cottage. There is no more aggressive spirit than that of the man who, with the full consciousness of great powers, sees himself destined to fill some humble and insignificant station, well knowing the while the inferiority of those who have conquered the high places in life. Of all the disqualifying elements of his own character, his unsteadiness, his want of thrift, perseverance, or conduct, his deficiency in tact or due courtesy, his stubborn indifference to others, — of all these he will take no account as he whispers to his heart, " I passed that fellow at school ! — I beat this one at college ! — how often have I helped yonder celebrity with his theme ! — how many times have I written his exercise for that great dignitary !" Oh, what a deep well of bitterness lies in the nature of one so tried and tortured, and how cruel is the war that he at last wages with the world, and, worse again, with his own heart ! Scarcely noticing the salutations of the country people as they touched their hats to him on the road, or the more familiar addresses of the better-to-do farmers as they passed, Layton strode onwards to the little village where his dispensary stood. " Ter unco late, Docther, this morning," said one, in that rebuke- ful tone the northern Irishman never scruples to employ when he thinks he has just cause of complaint. 80 ONE OF THEM. " It's Da the way to heal folk to keep them waitin* twa hours at a closed door," said another. "I'se warrant he's gleb eneuch to call for his siller when it's due to him," said a third. " My gran'mither is just gane hame ; she would na bide any longer for yer comin'," said a pert-looking girl, with a saucy toss of her head. " It's na honest to take people's money and gie naething for it," said an old white-haired man on crutches ; " and I'll ju^t bring it before the Board." Layton turned an angry look over the crowd, but never uttered a word. Pride alone would have prevented him from answering them, had he not the deeoer motive that in his conflict with himself he took little heed of what they said. " Where's the key, Sandy ?" cried he, impatiently, to an old cripple who assisted him in the common work of the dispensary. The man came close and whispered something secretly in his ear. " And carried the key away, do you say ?" asked Layton, eagerly. " Just so, Sir. There was anither wi' him — a stranger — and he was mare angry than his Eev'rance, and said, ' What can ye expec'. Is it like that a man o' his habits could be entrusted with such a charge as this?' " " And Doctor Millar— what did he reply ?" " Na much ; he just shook his head this w^ay, and muttered, ' 1 hoped for better — I hoped for better!' I diuna think they'd have taken away the key, but that old Jonas Graham kem up at the time, and said, ' It's mare than a month since we seen him ' — yourself he meant — ' down here, and them as has the strength for it would rather gae all the gait to Coleraiue than tak their chance o' him.' For a' that," said Sandy, " I opened the dispensary door, and was sarvin' out salts and the like, when the stranger said, ' Is it to a cretur like that the people are to trust their health ? Just turn the key in the door, Millar, and you'll certainly save some one from being poisoned this morning.' And so he did, and here we are." And poor Sandy turned a rueful look on the surrounders as he finished. " I can't cm-e you as Kings used to cure the evil, long ago, by royal toucli, good people," said Layton, mockingly ; " and your Guardians, or Governors, or whatever they call themselves, have shut me out of my own premises. I am a Priest cut off from his Temple." " I'm na come here to ask for charity," said a stout old fellow, who stood alongside of a shaggy mountain pony ; " I'm able to pay ye for a' your docther's stuff, and your skill besides." J\A/J'' ONE OF THEM. 81 " Well spoken, and like a man of independence," said Layton. " Let us open the treaty with a gill of brandy, and you shall tell me your case while I am sipping it." And with these words he led the way into a public-house, followed by the farmer, leaving the crowd to disperse when and how they pleased. AV^hatever the nature of those ailments now so confidentially im- parted, they were long enough in narration not only to require one, or two, or three gills, but a fall bottle of strong mountain whisky, of which it is but fair to say the farmer took his share. Layton's powers as a talker were not long in exercise ere they gained their due influence over his companion. Of the very themes the countryman deemed his own, he found the Doctor knew far more than himself; while by his knowledge of life and human nature generally, he surprised his listener, who actually could not tear himself away from one so full of anecdote and observation. Partly warned by the lateness of the hour — for already the market was over and the streets deserted — and partly by the thick utterance of his companion, whose heavy, bloodshot eye and sullen look now evidenced how deeply he had exceeded, the farmer at last arose to go away. "You're not 'flitting,' as you call it hereabouts," said Layton, half stupidly. " Tou're not thinking of leaving me alone to my own company, are you ?" " I maun be thinkin' of home ; it's more than twalve miles o' a mountain that's afore me. There's na anither but yoursel had made me forget it a' this while," said the farmer, as he buttoned his coat and prepared for the road. " Just tell me now what's to pay for the bit o' writin' ye gav' me." " You've had a consultation, my friend — not a visit, but a regular consultation. You've not been treated like the outer popidaee, and only heard the oracles from afar, but you have been suflered to sit down beside the Augur, to question him, and to drink with him. Pay — nothing to pay ! I'll cure your boy, there's my word on't. These cases are specialities with me. Bell used to say, ' Ask Layton to look at that fellow in such a ward ; he's the only one of us under- stands this sort of thing. Layton will tell us all about it.' And I'm Layton ! Ay, Sir, this poor, shabby, ill-dressed fellow that you see before you, is that same Herbert Layton ; so much for brains and ability to work a man's way in life ! Order another quart of Ila whisky, man — that's my fee ; at least it shall be to-day. Tell them to send me pen, ink, and paper, and not disturb me ; tell them, besides — ^no nevermind, 7'lltell them tliat ! And now, good day, my honest G 82 ONE OF THEM. fellow. TowVe been my pliysician to-day, as much as / have been yours. Tou have cured a sick heart — cheated it, at least — out of one paroxysm, and so, a good journey, and safe home to you. Send me news of your boy, and good-by." And his head dropped as he spoke ; his arms fell heavily at his sides ; and he appeared to have sunk into a profound sleep. The stupor was but brief; the farmer was not well out of the village when Layton, calling for a basin of cold water, plunged his face and part of his head in it, baring his brawny throat, and bathing it with the refreshing liquid. As he was thus employed, he caught sight of his face reflected in a much-cracked mirror over the fireplace, and stood gazing for a few seconds at his blotched and bloated countenance. " A year or two left still, belike," muttered he. " Past insuring, but still seaworthy, or, at least" — and here his voice assumed an in- ■ tense mockery in tone — " at least, capable of more shipwreck !" The sight of the writing materials on the table seemed to recal him to something he had half forgotten, and, after a pause of reflection, he arranged the paper before him and sat down to write. With the ease of one to whom composition was familiar, he dashed oflT a somewhat long letter ; but, though he wrote vrith great rapidity, he recurred from time to time to the whisky-bottle, drinking the strong spirits undiluted, and, to all seeming, unmoved by its potency. " There," cried he, as he finished, " I have scuttled my own ship ; let's see what will come of it." He called for the landlord to give him wax and a seal. Neither were to be had, and he was fain to put up with a wafer. The letter closed and addressed, he set out homewards ; scai-cely, however, beyond the outskirts of the village, than he turned away from the coast and took the road towards the Eectory. It was now the early evening, one of those brief seasons when the wind lulls and a sort of brief calm supervenes in the boisterous climate of northern Ireland. Along the narrow lane he trod, tall foxgloves and variegated ierns grew luxuriantly, iuipartiug a half-shade to a scene usually desolate and bare ; and Layton lingered along it as though its calm seclusion soothed him. At last he found himself at a low wall, over which a stile led to a little woodland path. It was the Rectory ; who could mistake its trim neatness, the order and elegance which pervaded all its arrangements? Taking this path, he walked leisurely onward, till he came to a small ilower-garden, into which three windows opened, their sashes reaching to the ground. AVhile yet uncertain whether to advauce or retii'e, he heard Ogden's sharp voice from within the room. His tone was loud, and had the vibration of one ONE OF THEM. 83 speaking in anger. " Even on your own showing, Millar, another reason for getting rid of him. Yott can't be ambitious, I take it, of newspaper notoriety, or a controversy in the public papers. Now, Layton is the very man to drag you into* such a conflict. Ask for no explanations, inquire for no reasons, but dismiss him by an act of your Board. Your Colonel there is the chairman ; he couldn't refuse what you insist upon, and the thing will be done without your pro- minence in it." Millar murmured a reply, but Layton turned away without listen- ing to it, and made for the hall door. " Give this to your master," said he, handing the letter to the servant, and turned away. The last flickerings of twilight guided him down the steep path of the cliff", and, wearied and tired, he reached home. "What a wearisome day you must have had, Herbert," said his wife, as she stooped for the hat and cane he had thrown beside him on sitting down. " I mustn't complain, Grace," said he, with a sad sort of smile. " It is the last of such fatigues." " How, or what do you mean ?" asked she, eagerly. " I have given it up. I have resigned my charge of the dispensary. Don't ask my reasons, girl," broke he in, hastily, " for I scarcely know them myself. All I can tell you is, it is done." " I have no doubt you were right, Herbert," began she. " I feel assured " " Do you ? Then, by Heaven ! you have a greater confidence in me than I have in myself. I believe I was more than two parts drunk when I did it, but doubtless the thought will sober me when 1 awake to-morrow morning; till when, I do not mean to think of it," "You have not eaten, I'm sure." " I cannot eat just yet, Grace ; give me a cup of tea, and leave me. I shall be better alone for a while." o2 84 ONE OF THEM, CHAPTER XI. A REMITTANCE. "A LETTER — a long letter from Alfred," said Layton's wife, as she knocked at his door on the following morning. " It has been lying for four days at the office in Coleraine. Only think, Herbert, and I fretting and fretting over his silence." " Is he well ?" asked he, half gruffly. "Quite well, and so happy; in the midst of kind friends, and enjoying himself, as he says he thought impossible when absent from his home. Pray read it, Herbert. It will do you infinite good to see how cheerfully he writes." " No, no ; it is enough that I know the boy is well. As to being happy, it is the affair of an hour, or a day, with the luckiest of us." "There are so many kind messages to you, and so many anxious inquiries about the laboratory. But you must read them. And then there is a Bank order he insists upon your having. Poor fellow ! the .first money he has ever earned " " How much is it, Grace ?" asked he, eagerly. " It is for twenty pounds, Herbert," said she, in a faltering accent, which, even weak as it was, vibrated with something like reproach. " Never could it be more welcome," said he, carelessly. " It was thoughtful, too, of the boy ; just as if he had known all that has happened here." And with this he opened the door, taking hurriedly from her hand the letter and the money-order. " No ; not this. I do not want his letter," said he, handing it back to her, while he mut- tered over the lines of the Bank cheque. " Why did he not say — or order ?" said he, half angrily. " This necessitates my going to Cole- raine myself to receive it. It seems that I was overrating his thought- fulness, after all." " Oh, Herbert!" said she, pressing both her hands over her heart, as though an acute pain shot through it. " I meant what I have said," said he, roughly ; " he might have be- thought him what are twelve weary miles of road to one like me, as well as that my clothes are not such as suit appcjirance in the streets of a town. It was not thoughtful of him, Grace." " The poor dear boy's first few pounds ; all that he could call hia own " ONE or THEM. 85 " I know that," broke he in, harshly ; " and in wliat other way could they have afforded him a tithe of the pleasure ? It was a wise selfish- ness suggested the act ; that is all you can say of it." " Oh, but let ine read you how gracefully and delicately he has done it, Herbert ; how mindful he was not to wound one senti- ment " " * Pay to Herbert Layton, Esquire' " — read he, half aloud, and not heeding her speech. " He ought to have added ' M.D. ;' it is as ' the Doctor' they should know me down here. Well, it has come right opportunely, at all events. I believe I was the owner of some fifteen shillings in the world." A deep, tremulous sigh was all her answer. " Fifteen and ninepence," muttered he, as he counted over the pieces in his hand. " Great must be the self-reliance of the man who, with such a sum for all his worldly wealth, insults his patrons and resigns his office — eh, Grace ?" There was in his tone a blended mockery and seriousness that he often used, and which, by the impossibility of answering, always dis- tressed her greatly. " It is clear you do not think so," said he, harshly. " It is evident you take the vulgar view of the incident, and condemn the act as one dictated by ill-temper and mere resentment. The world is always more merciful than one's own fireside, and the world will justify me." " When you have satisfied your own conscience, Herbert- " I'll take good care to make no such appeal," broke he in. " Be- sides," added he, with a bitter levity, " men like myself have not one, but fifty consciences. Their after-dinner conscience is not their waking one next morning ; their conscience in the turmoil and bustle of life is not their conscience as they lie out there on the white rocks, listening to the lazy plash of the waves. Not to say that, after forty, every man's conscience grows casuistical — somewhat the worse for wear, like himself." It was one of Lay ton's pastimes to sport thus with the feelings of his poor wife, uttering at random sentiments that he well knew must pain her deeply ; and there were days when this spirit of annoyance overbore his reason and mastered all his self-control. " What pleasant little sketches Alfred gives of his travelling acquaintances !" said she, opening the letter, and almost asking to be invited to read it. " These things have no value from one as untried in life as he is," broke he in, rudely. " One only learns to decipher character hy tlj" 86 ONE OF THEM. time the world has become very wearisome. Does he tell you bow he likes his task ? How does he fancy bear-leading ?" " He praises Lord Agincourt very much. He calls him a fine, generous boy, with many most attaching qualities." " They are nearly all such in that class in very early life, but, as Swift says, the world is full of promising princes and bad kings." "Lord Agincourt would appear to be sincerely attached to Alfred." " So much the worse ; such friendships interfere with the work of tuition, and they never endvu-e after it is over. To be sure, now and then a tutor is remembered, and if he has shown himself discreet about his pupil's misdeeds, reserved as to his short-comings, and only moderately rebukeful as to his faults, such virtue is often rewarded with a Bishopric. What have we here, Grace ? Is not that a row- boat rounding the point yonder, and heading into the bay ?" So rare an event might well have caused astonishment, for since the place had been deserted by the fishermen the land-locked waters of the little cove had never seen the track of a boat. " Who can it be ?" contiiuied he ; " I see a round hat in the stern- sheets. Look, he is pointing where they are to land him, quite close to our door here." Stimulated by an irrepressible curiosity, Herbert arose and walked out, but scarcely had he reached the strand when he was met by Colonel Karstairs. " I couldn't trust my gouty ankles down that precipice. Doctor," cried he out, "and although anything but a good sailor, I came round here by water. What a charming spot you have here, when one does reach it !" " It is pi'etty ; and it is better — it is solitary," said Layton, coldly ; for somehow he could not avoid connecting the Colonel with a scene very painful to his memory. " I don't think I ever saw anything more beautiful," said Kar- stairs, as he gazed around him. " The wUd, fantastic outlines of those rocks, the variegated colours of the heath blossom, the golden strand, and the cottage itself, make up a fairy scone." " Let me show you the interior, though it dispel the illusion," said Layton, as he moved towards the door. " I hope my visit is not inconvenient," said Karstairs, as he entered and took a seat; "and I hope, besides, when you hear the object of it, you will, at least, forgive me." He waited for a reply of Bom.e sort, but Layton only bowed his head stiflly, and suffered him to continue : " I am a sorry diplomatist. Doctor, and have not the vaguest idea of how to approach a point of any difiiculty ; but what ONE OF THEM. 87 brought me here this moruing was simply this : you sent that letter" — here he drew one from his pocket, and handed it to Laytou — " to our friend the Eector." " Yes ; it is my hand, and I left it myself at the parsonage." " Well, now, Millar has shown it to no one but myself — indeed, he placed it in my hands after reading it — consequently, its contents are unknown save to our two selves ; there can, therefore, be no diffi- culty in your withdrawing it. You must see that the terms you have employed towards him are not such as — are not civil, I mean ; in fact, they are not fair. He is an excellent fellow, and sincerely your friend besides. jS'ow, don't let a bit of temper get the mastery over better feeling, nor do not, out of a momentary pique, tiirow up your appointment. jSTone of us, nov/-a-days, can aftord to quarrel with his bread-and-butter ; and though you are certainly clever enough and skilful enough not to regard such an humble place as this, yet, remember you had a score of competitors when you looked for it. Not to say that we all only desire to know how to be of service to you, to make your residence amongst us agreeable, and — and all that sort of thing, which you can understand far better than I can say it!" Nor, to do the valiant Colonel justice, was this a very dif- ficult matter, seeing that, in liis extreme confusion and embarrass- ment, he stammered and stuttered at every word, while, to increase his difficulty, the manner of Layton was cold and almost stately. " Am I to suppose. Sir," said he, at length, " that you are here on the part of Doctor Millar r" " No, no ; nothing of the kind. Millar knows, of course, the step I have taken ; perhaps he concurs in it — indeed, I'm sure he does. He is your sincere well-wisher. Doctor — ^a man who really wants to be your friend." " Too much honour," said Layton, haughtily. " Not to say how arduous the task of him who would protect a man against himself; and such I opine to be the assumed object here." " I'm sure, if I had as much as suspected how you would have taken my interference," said the Colonel, more hurt by Layton's tone than by his mere words, " I'd have spared myself my mission." " You had no right to have anticipated it, Sir. It was very natural for you to augur favourably of any intervention by a Colonel— a C.B., with other glorious distinctions — in regard to a poor dispensary doctor, plodding the world wearily, with a salary less than a butler's. You had only to look down the cliff, and see the humble cottage where he lived, to calculate what amount of resistance could such a man offer to any proposal that promised him bread." 88 ONE OF THEM. " I must say I wish you would not mistake me," broke iu Kar- stairs, with warmtli. " I am not stating anything with reference to you. Sir ; only with respect to tliose judgments the world at large would pronounce upon ?ne." " Am I to conclude, then," said the Colonel, rising, and evidently in anger — " am I to conclude, then, that this is your deliberate act — that you wish to abide by this letter — that you see nothing to recal nor retract in its contents ?" Laytou bowed an assent. " This is too bad — too bad," muttered the Colonel, as he fumbled for his gloves, and dropped them twice over iu his confusion. " I know well enough where the sting lies : you are angry with Ogden — you suspect that he has been meddling. "Well, it's no affair of mine ; you are the best judge. IS^ot but a little prudence might have shown you that Ogden was a dangerous man to offend — a very dangerous man ; but of course you know best. I have only to ask pardon for obtruding my advice unasked, a stupid act always, but I'm right sorry for it." " I am very grateful for the intention, Sir," said Lay ton, with dignity. " That's all I can claim," muttered the Colonel, whose confusion increased every moment. " It was a fool's errand, and ends as it ought. Good-by !" Layton arose, and opened the door with a respectful air. Karstairs offered his hand, and, as lie grasped the other's warmly, said, " I wish you would let me talk this over with your wife, Layton." The Doctor drew liaughtily back, and, with a cold stare of astonish- ment, said, " I have addressed you by your title, Sir ; / have mine. At all events, there is nothing in your station nor in my own to warrant this familiarity." " Ton are quite riglit — perfectly right — and I ask pardon." It was a liberty never to be repeated, and the bronzed, weather-beaten face of the old soldier became crimson with shame as he bowed deeply and passed out. Layton walked punctiliously at his side till he reached the boat, neither utteriug a word ; and thus they parted. Layton stood for a moment gazing after the boat. Perhaps he thought that Karstairs would turn his head again towards the shore ; perliaps — who knows ? — he hoped it. At all events, the old Colonel never once looked back, and the boat soon rounded the point and was lost to view. ONE OF THEM. 89 There are men so combative in their natures that their hio: L 104 ONE OF THEM. the caprice of genius, mingled with a spirit that seemed to whisper that, after all, " cannons" were only vanity, and " hazards" themselves but vexation of spirit. He was, though a little past his best years, a good-looking fellow — a thought too pluffy, perhaps, and more than a thought too swaggering and pretentious ; but, somehow, these same attributes did not detract from the display of certain athletic graces of wliich the game admits, for, after all, it was only Antinous fallen a little into flesh, and seen in his waistcoat. It was mainly to this accomplishment he owed the invitations he received to the Villa. Charles Heathcote, fully convinced of his own superiority at the game, was piqued and irritated at the other's success ; while Sir William was, perhaps, not sorry that his son should receive a slight lesson on the score of his self-esteem, particu- larly where the price should not be too costly. The billiard-roora thus became each evening the resort of all in the Villa. Thither May Leslie fetched her work, and Mrs. Morris her crochet needles, and Clara her book ; while around the table itself were met young Heath- cote, Lord Agincourt, O'Shea, andLayton. Of course the stake they played for was a mere trifle — a mere nominal prize, rather intended to record victory than reward the victors — ;just as certain taxes are maintained more for statistics than revenue — and half-crowns changed hands without costing the loser an after-thought; so at least the spectators understood, and all but one believed. Her quiet and practised eye, however, detected in Charles Heathcote's manner something more significant than the hurt pride of a beaten player, and saw under all the external show of O'Shea's indifierence a pur- pose-like energy, little likely to be evoked for a trifling stake. Under the pretext of marking the game, a duty for which she had offered her services, she was enabled to watch what went forward without attracting peculiar notice, and she could perceive how, from time to time, Charles and O'Shea would exchange a brief word as they passed — sometimes a monosyllable, sometimes a nod — and at such times the expression of Heathcote's face would denote an in- creased anxiety and irritation. It was while thus watching one evening, a chance phrase she overheard confirmed all her suspicions — it was while bending down her head to show some peculiar stitch to May Leslie that she brought her ear to catch what passed. "This makes three hundred," whispered Charles. " And fifty," rejoined O'Shea, as cautiously. "Nothing of the kind," answered Charles, angrily. " You'll find I'm right," said the other, knocking the balls about to drown the words. " Are you for another game ?" asked he, aloud. ONE OF THEM. 105 " No ; I've had enough of it," said Charles, impatiently, as he drew out his cigar-case — trying to cover his irritation by searching for a cigar to his liking. "I'm your man, Inch-o'-brogue," broke in Agincourt; for it was by this impertinent travesty of the name of his borough he usually called him. "What, isn't the pocket-money all gone yet?" said the other, contemptuously. " Not a bit of it, man. Look at that," cried he, drawing forth a long silk purse, plumply filled. "There's enough to pay off the mortgage on an Irish estate, I'm sure !" While these freedoms were being interchanged, Charles Heathcote had left the room, and strolled out into the garden. Mrs. Morris, affecting to go in search of something for her work, took occasion also to go ; but no sooner had she escaped from the room than she fol- lowed him. Why was it, can any one say, that May Leslie bestowed more than ordinary attention on the game at this moment, evincing an in- terest in it she had never shown before ? Mr. O'Shea had given the young Marquis immense odds ; but he went further, he played off a hundred little absurdities to increase the other's chances — he turned his back to the table — he played with his left hand — he poked the balls without resting his cue — he displayed the most marvellous dexterity, accomplishing hazards that seemed altogether beyond all calculation ; for, all crafty and subtle as he was, vanity had got the mastery over him, and his self-conceit rose higher and higher with every astonished expression of the pretty girl who watched him. While May could not restrain her astonishment at his skill, O'Shea's efforts to win her praise redoubled. " I'U yield to no man in a game of address," said he, boastfully : "to ride across country, to pull a boat, to shoot, fish, fence, or swim There, my noble Marquis, drop your tin into that pocket and begin another game. I'll give you eighty-five out of a hundred." " Isn't he what Quackinboss would call a 'ternal swaggerer, May ?" cried Agincourt. " He is a most brilliant billiard-player," said May, smiling coiu'- teously, with a glance towards the recess of the window, where Layton was leaning over Clara's chair and reading out of the book she held in her hand. " How I wish you would give me some lessons," added she, still slyly stealing a look at the window. " Charmed — only too happy. You overwhelm me with the ho- nour. Miss Leshe, and my name is not O'Shea if I do not make you 106 ONE or THEM. an admirable player, for I've remarked already you have great correct- ness of eye." " Indeed !" " Astonisliing ; and with that, a wonderfully steady hand." " How you flatter me." "Flatter? ah, you little know me, Miss Leslie!" said he, aa he passed before her. May blushed, for at the moment Layton had lifted his eyes from the book and turned them full upon her. So steadfastly did he con- tinue to look, that her cheek grew hotter and redder, and a something like resentment seemed to possess her ; while he, as though suddenly conscious of having in some degree committed himself, held down his head in deep confusion. May Leslie arose from her seat, and, with a haughty toss of her bead, drew nigh the table. " Are you going to join us, May ?" cried the boy, merrily. " I'm going to take my first lesson, if Mr. O'Shea will permit me," said she ; but the tone of her voice vibrated less with pleasure than resentment. " I'm at my lessons, too, May," cried Clara from the window. " Is it not kind of him to help me ?" " Most kind — most considerate !" said IMaj, abruptly ; and then, throwing down the cue on the table, she said, " I fancy I have a head- ache. I hope you'll excuse me for the present." And almost ere Mr. O'Shea could answer, she had left the room. Clara speedily followed her, and for a minute or two not a word was uttered by the others. " I move that the House be counted," cried the Member for Inch. " What has come over them all this evening ? Do you know, Layton ?" " Do / know ? Know what ?" cried Alfred, trying to arouse him- self out of a reverie. " Do you know that Inch-o' -brogue has not left me five shillings out of my last quarter's allowance?" said the boy. " Tou must pay for your education, my lad," said O'Shea. " I didn't get mine for nothing. Layton there can teach you longs and shorts, to scribble nonsense-verses, and the like, but for the real science of life, ' how to do tliem as has done yow,' you must come to fellows like me." " Yes, there is much truth in that,^^ said Layton, who, not having heard one word the other had spoken, corroborated all of it, out of pure distraction of mind. ONE OF THEM. 107 The absurdity was too strong for Agincourt and O'Shea, and they both laughed out. " Come," said O'Shea, slapping Lay ton on the shoulder, " wake up, and roll the balls about. I'll play you your own game, and give you five-and-twenty odds. There's a sporting offer !" " Make it to me" broke in Agincourt. " So I would, if you weren't pumped out, my noble Marquis." " And could you really bring yourself to win a boy's pocket-money — a mere boy ?" said Layton, now suddenly aroused to full conscious- ness, and coming so close to O'Shea as to be inaudible to the other. " Smallest contributions thankfully received, is my motto," said O'Shea. " Not but, as a matter of education, the youth has gained a deuced sight more from me than yoio .'" "The reproach is just," said Layton, bitterly. "I liave neglected my trust — grossly neglected it — and in nothing more than suffering him to keep your company." " Oh ! is that your tone P" whispered the other, still lower. *' Thank your stars for it, you never met a man more ready to humour your whim." " What's the ' Member ' plotting ?" said Agincourt, coming up be- tween them. " Do let me into the plan." " It is something he wishes to speak to me about to-morrow at eleven o'clock," said Layton, with a significant look at O'Shea, " and which is a matter strictly between ourselves." " All right," said Agincourt, turning back to the table again, while O'Shea, with a nod of assent, left the room. " We must set to work vigorously to-morrow, Henry," said Layton, laying his hand on the boy's shoulder. " You have fallen into idle ways, and the fault is all my own. Tor both our sakes, then, let us amend it." " Whatever you like, Alfred," said the boy, turning on him a look of real affection ; " only never blame yourself if you don't make a genius of me. I was always a stupid dog !" " You are a true-hearted English boy," muttered Layton, half to himself, " and well deserved to have fallen into more careful hands than mine. Promise me, however, all your efforts to repair the past." " That I will," said he, grasping the other's hand, and shaking it in token of his pledge. " But I still think," said he, in a slightly broken voice, " they miglit have made a sailor of me ; they'll never make a scholar !" " We must get away — we must leave this," said Layton, speaking half to himself. " I'm sorry for it," replied the boy. " I like the old Villa, and I 108 ONE OF THEM. like Sir "William and Charley, and the girls, too ! Ay, and I like that trout stream under the alders, and that jolly bit of grass land where we have just put up the hurdles. I say, Layton," added he, with a sigh, " 1 wonder when shall we be as happy as we have been here ?" " Who knows ?" said Layton, sorrowfully. " I'm sure / never had such a pleasant time of it in my life. Have you?" " I? — I don't know — that is, I believe not. I mean, never," stammered out Layton, in confusion. " Ha ! I fancied as much. I thought you didn't like it as well aa 2did." " Why so ?" asked Layton, eagerly. " It was May put it into my head the other morning. She said it was downright cruelty to make you come out and stop here ; that you coiddn't, with all your politeness, conceal how much the place bored you !" " She said this ?" *' Tes ; and she added, that if it were not for Clara, with her German lessons and her little Venetian barcarolles, you would have been driven to desperation." " But you could have told her, Henry, that I delighted in this place — that I never had passed such happy days as here." " I did think so when we knew them first, but latterly it seemed to me that you were somehow sadder and graver than you used to be. Tou didn't like to ride with us ; you seldom came down to the river ; you'd pass all the morning in the library ; and, as May said, you only seemed happy when you were giving Clara her lesson in German." " And to whom did May say this ?" " To me and to Clara." " And Clara — did she make any answer ?" " Not a word. She got very pale, and seemed as though she would burst out a crying. Heaven knows why ! Indeed, I'm not sure the tears weren't in her eyes as she hurried away ; and it was the only day I ever saw May Leslie cross." " /never saw her so," said Layton, half rebukefully. " Then you didn't see her on that day, that's certain ! She snubbed Charley about his riding, and wouldn't suffer Mrs. Morris to show her something that had gone wrong in her embroidery ; and when we went down to the large drawing-room to rehearse our tableau — that scene you wrote for us — she refused to take a part, and said, ' Get Clara ; she'll do it better !' " ONE OF THEM. 109 " And it was tlius our little theatricals fell to the ground," said Layton, musingly ; " and I never so much as suspected all this!" *' Well," said the boy, -with a hesitating manner, " I believe I ought not to have told you. I'm sure she never intended I should ; but somehow, after our tiif " "And did you quarrel with her ?" asked Layton, eagerly. " Not quarrel exactly ; but it was what our old commander used to call a false-alarm fire ; for I thought her unjust and unfair towards you, and always glad when she could lay something or other to your charge, and I said so to her frankly." "And she?" " She answered me roundly enough. * "When you are a little older, young gentleman,' said she, ' you'll begin to discover that our likings and dislikings are not always under our own control.' She tried to be very calm and cool as she said it, but she was as pale as if going to faint before she finished." " She said truly," muttered Layton to himself; " our impulses are but the shadows our vices or virtues throw before them." Then laying his arm on the boy's shoulder, he led him away, to plan and plot out a future course of study, and repair all past negligence and idleness. Ere we leave this scene, let us follow Mrs. Morris, who, having quitted the house, quickly went in search of Charles Heathcote. There was that in the vexed and angry look of the young man, as he left the room, that showed her how easy it would be in such a moment to become his confidante. Through the traits of his resentment she could read an impatience that could soon become indiscretion. " Let me only be the repository of any secret of his mind," muttered she — " I care not what — and I ask nothing more. If there be one door of a house open — be it the smallest — it is enough to enter by." She had not to go far in her search. There was a small raised terrace at the end of the garden — a favourite spot with him — and thither she had often herself repaired to enjoy the secret luxury of a cigar — for Mrs. Morris smoked whenever opportunity permitted that indulgence without the hazard of forfeiting the good opinion of such as might have held the practice in disfavour. Now, Charles Heathcote was the only confidant of this weakness, and the mystery, small as it was, had served to establish a sort of bond between them. "I knew I should find you here," said she, stealing noiselessly to his side, as, leaning over the terrace, he stood deep in thought. " Give me a cigar." 110 ONE OF THEM. He took the case slowly from his pocket, and held it towards her in silence. " How vastly polite ! Choose one for me, Sir," said she, pettishly. " They're all alike," said he, carelessly, as he drew one from the number, and offered it. "And now a light," said she, "for I see yours has gone out, with- out your knowing it. Pray do mind what you're doing; you've let the match fall on my foot. Look there !" And he did look, aud saw the prettiest foot and roundest ankle that ever Parisian coquetry had done its uttermost to grace ; but he only smiled, half languidly, and said, " There's no mischief done — to either of us !" the last words being muttered to himself. Her sharp ears, however, had caught them ; and had he looked at her then, he would have seen her face a deep crimson. " Is the play over ? Have they left the billiard-room ?" asked he. " Of course it is over," said she, mockingly. " Sportsmen rarely linger in the preserves where there is no game." "What do you think of that same Mr. O'Shea? You rarely mistake people. Tell me frankly your opinion of him," said he, abruptly. " He plays billiards far better than yow," said she, dryly. " I'm not talking of his play, I'm asking what you think of him." "He's your master at whist, ecarte, and piquet. I thinJc he's a better pistol shot ; and he says he rides better." " I defy him. He's a boastful, conceited fellow. Take his own account, and you'll not find his equal anywhere. But still, all this is no answer to my question." " Yes but it is, though. When a man possesses a very wide range of small accomplishments in a high degree of perfection, I always take it for granted that he lives by them." " Just what I thought — exactly what I suspected," broke he in, angrily. " I don't know how we ever came to admit him here, as we have. That passion May has for opening the doors to every one, has done it all." " If people will have a menagerie, they must make up their mind to meet troublesome animals, now and then," said she, dryly. " And then," resumed he, " the absurdity is, if I say one word, the reply is, ' Oh, you are so jealous !' " " Naturally enough," was the cool remark. " Naturally enough ! And why naturally enough ? Is it of such fellows as Layton or O'Shea I should think of being jealous ?" ONE OF THEM. Ill " I think you might," said she, gravely. " They are, each of them, very eager to succeed iu tliat about which you show yourself suffi- ciently indifferent ; and although May is certainly bound by the terms of her father's will, there are conditions by which she can pur- chase her freedom." " Purchase her freedom ! And is that the way she regards her position ?" cried he, trembling with agitation. " Can you doubt it ? Need you do more than ask yourself ? How do you look on your own case ? And yet you are not going to bestow a great fortune. I'm certain, that do what you will, your heart tells you it is a slave's bargain." " Did- May tell you so ?" said he, in a voice thick with passion. "No." " Did she ever hint as much ?" "No." " Do you believe that any one ever dared to say it ?" " As to that, I can't say ; the world is very daring, and says a great many naughty things, without much troubling itself about their correctness." " It may spare its censure on the present occasion, then." " Is it that you will not exact her compliance ?" " I will not." " How well I read you," cried she, catching up his cold and stiU reluctant hand between both her own — " how truly I understood your noble, generous nature. It was but yesterday I was writing about you to a very dear friend, who had asked me when the marriage was to take place, and I said, ' If I have any skill in deciphering cha- racter, I should say. Never. Charles Heathcote is not the man to live a pensioner on a wife's rental ; he is far more likely to take service again as a soldier, and win a glorious name amongst those who are now reconquering India. His daring spirit chafes against the in- glorious idleness of his present life, and I'd not wonder any morning to see his place vacant at the breakfast-table, and to hear he had sailed for Alexandria.' " " Tou do me a fuller justice than many who have known me longer," said he, pensively. " Because I read you more carefully — because I considered you without any disturbing element of self-interest ; and if I was now and then angry at the lethargic indolence of your daily life, I used to correct myself, and say, ' Be patient ; his time is coming ; and when the hour has once struck for him, he'll dally no longer !' " " And my poor father " 112 ONE OF THEM. " Say, rather, your proud father, for he is the man to appreciate your noble resolution, and feel proud of his son." " But to leave him — to desert him " " It is no eternal separation. In a year or two you will rejoin him, never to part again. Take my word for it, the consciousness that his son is accomplishing a high duty will be a strong fund of consolation for absence. It is to mistake him to suppose that he could look on your present life without deep regret." " Ah ! is that so ?" cried he, with an expression of pain. " He has never owned as much to me ; but I have read it in him, just as I have read in i/ou, that you are not tlie man to stoop to an ignominious position to purchase a life of ease and luxury," " Ton were right there !" said he, w^armly. " Of course I was. I could not be mistaken." " Tou shall not be, at all events," said he, hurriedly. "How cold your hand is. Let us return to the house." And they walked back in silence to the door. CHAPTER XY. MRS. PENTHONY MORRIS AT HER WRITING-TABLE. It was late on that same night — very late. The Villa was all quiet and noiseless as Mrs. Morris sat at her writing-table, engaged in a very long letter. The epistle does not in any way enter into our story. It was to her father, in reply to one she had just received from hina, and solely referred to little family details with which our reader can have no interest, save in a passing reference to a character already before him, and of whom she thus wrote : " And so your alchemist turns out to be the father of my admirer, Mr. Alfred Layton. I can sincerely say your part of the family is the more profitable, for I should find it a very difficult problem to make five hundred pounds out of mine ! Nor can I sufficiently admire the tact with which you rescued even so much from such a wreck ! I esteem your cleverness the more, since — shall I confess it, dear papa ? — I thought that the man of acids and alkalies would turn out to be tlie rogue, and you the dupe ! Let me hasten, therefore, to make the * amende honorable,' and compliment you on your new character of chemist. ONE OF THEM. 113 " In your choice, too, of the mode of disembarrassing yourself of his company, you showed an admirable wisdom ; and you very justly ob- serve, these- are not times when giving a dog a bad name will save the trouble of hanging him, otherwise an exposure of his treasonable principles might have sufficed. Tar better was the method you selected, while, by making Mm out to be mad, you make yourself out to be benevolent. You have caught, besides, a very popular turn of the public mind at a lucky conjuncture. There is quite a vogue just now for shutting up one's mother-in-law, or one's wife, or any other disagreeable domestic ingredient, on the plea of insanity ; and a very clever physician, with what is called ' an ingenious turn of mind,' will find either madness or arsenic in any given substance. Tou will, however, do wisely to come abroad, for the day will come of a reaction, and ' the lock-up' system will be converted into the ' let-loose,' and a sort of doomsday arrive when one will be confronted with very unwel- come acquaintances." As she had written thus far, a very gentle voice at her door whispered, " May I come in, dearest ?" " Oh, darling, is it you ?" cried Mrs. Morris, throwing a sheet of paper over her half-written epistle. " I was just writing about you. My sweet May, I have a dear old godmother down in Devonshire who loves to hear of those who love me ; and it is such a pleasure, besides, to write about those who are happy." " And you call me one of them, do you ?" said the girl, with a deep sigh. " I call you one who has more of what makes up happiness than any I have ever known. Tou are very beautiful — nay, no blushing, it is a woman says it — so handsome, May, that it is downright shame of Fortune to have made you rich, too. Tou should have been left to your beauty, as other people are left to their great connexions, or their talents, or their Three per Cents. ; and then you are surrounded by those who love you. May — a very commendable thing in a world which has its share of disagreeable people ; and, lastly, to enjoj all these fair gifts, you have got youth." " I shall be nineteen on the fourth of next month, Lucy," said the other, gravely ; " and it was just about that very circumstance that 1 came to speak to you." Mrs. Morris knew thoroughly well what the speech portended, but she looked all innocence and inquiry. " Tou are aware, Lucy, what my coming of age brings with it ?" said the girl, half pettishly. t 114 OKE OF THEM. " That you become a great niillionnaire, dearest — a sort of female Rothschild, with funds and stocks in every land of the earth." " I was not speaking of money. I was alluding to the necessity of deciding as to my own fate in life. I told you that by my father's will I am bound to declare that 1 accept or reject Charles Heathcote within six months after my coming of age." " I do not, I confess, see anything very trying in all that. May. I conclude that you know enough of your own mind to say whether you like him or not. Tou are not strangers to each other. Tou have been domesticated together " " That's the very difficulty," broke in May. " There has been intimacy between us, but nothing like affection — familiarity enough, but no fondness." " Perhaps that's not so bad a feature as you deem it," said the other, dryly. " Such a tame table-land prospect before marriage may all the better prepare you for the dull uniformity of wedded life." May gave a slight sigh, and was silent, while the other continued : " Being very rich, dearest, is, of course, a great resource, for you can, by the mere indulgence of your daily caprices, give yourself a Bort of occupation, and a kind of interest in life." May sighed again, and more heavily, " I know this is not what one dreams of, my dear May," resumed she, " and I can well imagine how reluctaiit you are to seek happi- ness in toy terriers or diamond earrings ; but remember what I told you once before was the great lesson the world taught us, that every joy we compass in this life is paid for dearly, in some shape or other, and that the system is one great scheme of compensations, the only wisdom being, to be sure you have got at last what you have paid for." " I remember your having said that," said May, thoughtfully. " Tes ; it was in correction of a great mistake you had made. May, when you were deploring the fate of some one who had contracted an unequal marriage. It was then that I ventured to tell you, that what the world calls a misalliance ia the one sure throw for a happy union." " But you didn't convince me!" said May, hastily. " Possibly not. I could not expect you to look on life from the same sad eminence I have climbed to ; still I think you understood me when I showed you that as air and sunlight are blessings which we enjoy without an effort, so affection, gained without sacrifice, elicits no high sense of self-esteem — none of that self-love, which ia but the reflex of real love." ONE OF THEM. " Charles would, then, according to your theory, be emiuently happy in marrying me, for, to all appearance, tlie sacriSce vrould be considerable," said Ma}^ with a lialf bitter laugh, " J/y theory only applies to tis, dear May ; as for men, they marry from a variety of motives, all prompted by some one or other featui-e of their selfishness : this one for fortune, that for family influence, the other because he wants a home, and so on." " And not for love, at all ?" broke in May. " Alas, dearest, the man who afibrds himself the pleasure of being in love, is almost always unable to indulge in any other luxury. It is your tutor creature, there, like Layton, falls in love !" May smiled, and turned away ber head ; but the crimson flush of her cheek soon spread over her neck, and Mrs. Morris saw it. " Tes," resumed she, as if reflecting aloud, " love is the one sole dissipation of these student men, and, so to say, it runs through the dull-coloured woof of their whole after-life, like a single gold thread glittering here and there at long intervals, and it gives them those dreamy fits of imaginative bliss which their quiet helpmates trustfully ascribe to some intellectual triumph. And it is in these the poor curate forgets his sermon, and the village doctor his patient, thinking of some moss-rose he had plucked long ago !" " Do you believe that. Loo ?" asked the girl, eagerly. "I know it, dear; and, what's more, it is these very men are the best of husbands, the kindest and the tenderest. The perfume of an early love keeps tlie heart pure for many a long year after. Let us take Layton, for instance." " But why Mr. Layton ? "What do we know about him ?" " Not much, certainly ; but enough to illustrate our meaning. It is quite clear he is desperately in love." " "With whom, pray ?" asked May. And her face became crimson as she spoke. " With a young lady who cannot speak of him without blushing," said Mrs. Morris, cahnly ; and continued : " At first sight it does seem a very cruel thing to inspire such a man with a hopeless passion yet, on second thought, we see what a stream of sunlight this early memory will throw over the whole bleak landscape of his after- life. Tou are his torture now, but vou will be his benefiictor in many a dark hour of the dreary pilgrimage before him. There will be touches of tenderness in that ode he'll send to the magazine ; there will be Httle spots of sweet melancholy in that village story ; men will never know whence they found their way into the curate's heart. How little aware arc they that there's a corner there for old i2 316 ONE OF THEM. memories, embalmed amongst holier thoughts — a ■withered rose-leaf between the pages of a prayer-book !" May again sighed, and with a tremor in the cadence that was almost a sob. " So that," resumed the other, in a more flippant voice, " you can forgive yourself for your present cruelty, by thinking of all the bene- fits you are to bestow hereafter, and all this without robbing your rightful lord of one affection, one solitary emotion, he has just claim to. And that, my sweet May, is more than you can do with your worldly wealtli, for, against every cheque you send your banker, the cashier's book will retain the record." " You only confuse me with all this," said May, pettishly. " I came for counsel." " And I have given you more — I have given you consolation. I wish any one would be as generous with me/" " Oh, you are not angry with me !" cried the girl, earnestly. "Angry! no, dearest; a passing moment of selfish regret is not anger, but it is oi you, not of me, I would speak ; tell me everything. Has Charles spoken to you ?" " Not a word. It may be indifference, or it may be that, in a pense of security about the future, he does not care to trouble him- self." " Nay, scarcely that," said the other, thoughtfully. " "Whatever the cause, you will own it is not very flattering to «?e," said she, flushing deeply. " And Mr. Layton — is he possessed of the same calm philosophy ? Has he the same trustful reliance on destiny?" said Mrs. Morris, who, apparently examining the lace border of her handkerchief, yet stole a passing glance at the other's face. " How can you ask such a question ? What is 7ie to me, or I to him ? If he ever thought of me, besides, he must have remembered that the difference of station between us presents an insurmountable objection." " As if Love asked for anything better," cried Mrs. Morris, laugh- ingly. "Why, dearest, the passion thrives on insurmountable ob- jections, just the way certain fish swallow stones, not for nutriment, but to aid digestion by a difficulty. If he be the man I take him for, he must hug an obstacle to his heart as a Heaven-sent gift. Be frank with me, May," said she, passing her arm affectionately round her waist; "confess honestly that he told you as much." " No ; he never said that," muttered she, half reluctantly. " What he said was, that if disparity of condition was the only barrier be- ONE OK THEM. 117 tween us— if he were sure, or if he could even hope, that worldly- success could open an avenue to ray heart " " That he'd go and be Prime Minister of England next session, If doughty deeds My lady please ! That was his tone, was it ? Oh, dear ! and I fancied the man had something new or original about him. Truth is, dearest, it is in love as in war — there are nothing but the same old weapons to fight with, and we are lost or won, just as our great-great-grandmothers were before us." "I wish you would be serious, Lucy," said the girl, half rebuke- fuUy. " Don't you know me well enough by this time to perceive that I am never more thoughtful than in what seems my levity ? and this on principle, too, for, in the difficulties of life, Fancy will occasionally sug- gest a remedy Reason had never hit upon, just as sportsmen will tell you that a wild, untrained spaniel will often flush a bird a more trained dog had never ' marked.' And now, to be most serious, you want to choose between the eligible man who is sure of you, and the most unequal suitor who despairs of his success. Is not that your case?" May shook her head dissentingly. " Well, it is sufficiently near the issue, for our purpose. Not so ? Come, then, I'll put it differently. You are balancing whether to refuse your fortune to Charles Heathcote or yourself to Alfred Lay- ton ; and my advice is, do both." May grew very pale, and, after an effort to say something, was si'ient, " Tes, dearest, between the man who never pledges to pay, and him who offers a bad promissory note, there is scant choice, and I'd say, take neither." " I know how it will wound my dear old guardian, who loves me like a daughter," began May. But the other broke in : " Oh ! there are scores of things one can do in life to oblige one's friends, but marriage is not one of them. And then, bethink you, May, how little you have seen of the world; and surely there is a wider choice before you than between a wearied lounger on half-pay and a poor tutor." " Yes ; a poor tutor if you will, but of a name and family the equal of my own," said May, hastily, and with a dash of temper in the words. 118 ONE or THEM. " Who says so ? "Who has told you that ?" " He himself, lie told rae that though there were some painful circumstances in his family history he would rather not enter upon, that in point of station he yielded to none in the rank of untitled gentry. He spoke of his father as a man of the very highest powers." " Did he tell you what station he occupied at this moment ?" " No. And do you know it ?" " Yes," said Mrs. Morris, gravely. " Will you not tell me, Lucy ?" asked May, eagerly. " No ; there is not any reason that I should. You have just said, ' What is Mr. Layton to me, or I to him ?' and in the face of such a confession why should I disparage him ?" " So, then, the confession would disparage him ?" "It might." " This reserve is not very generous towards me, I must say," said the girl, passionately. " It is from generosity to you that I maintain it," said the other, coldly. " But if I were to tell you that the knowledge interests me deeply ; that by it I may, possibly, be guided in a most eventful decision ?" " Oh, if you mean to say, ' Alfred Layton has asked me to marry him, and my reply depends upon what I may learn about his family and their station ' " " No, no ; I have not said that," burst in May. " Not said, only implied it. Still, if it be what you desire me to entertain, I will have no concealments from you." " I cannot buy your secret by a false pretence, Loo ; there is no such compact as this between Layton and myself. Alfred asked me " " Alfred !" said Mrs. Morris, repeating the name after her, and with such a significance as sent all the colour to the girl's cheek and forehead — " Alfred ! And what did Alfred ask you ?" " I scarcely know what I am saying," cried May, as she covered her face with her hands. " Poor child !" said Mrs. Morris, tenderly, " I can find my way into your heart witliout your breaking it. Do not cry, dearest. I know as well all that he said as if I had overlieard him saying it ! The world has just its'two kinds of suitors, the one who oflers us marriage in a sort of grand princely fashion, and the other who, beseechingly proclaiming his utter unworthiness, asks us to wait — to wait for an uncle or a stepmother's death — to wait till he has got this place in ONE Of THEM. 119 the colonies, or that vicarage in Bleaksbire — to wait till he haa earned ffvme and honour, and Heaven knows what — till, in fact, he shall have won a wreath of laurel for his brows, and we have attained to a false plait for ours !" She paused a second or two to see if May would speak, but as she continued silent, Mrs. Morris went on : " There are few stock subjects people are more eloquent in condemning than what are caMed long engagements. There are some dozen of easy platitudes that every one has by heart on this theme ; and yet, if the truth were to be told, it is the waiting is the best of it — the marriage is the mistake ! That faint little flickering hope that lighted us on for years and years is extinguished at the church door, and never re- lighted after ; so that, May, my advice to you is, never contract a long engagement until you have made up your mind not to marry at the end of it ! My poor, poor child ! why are you sobbing so bitterly ? Surely I have said nothing to cause you sorrow ?" May turned away without speaking, but her heaving shoulders betrayed how intensely she was weeping. " May I see him — may /speak with hiin, May ?" said Mrs. Morris, drawing her arm affectionately around her waist. "To what end— with what view?" said the girl, suddenly, and almost haughtily. " JN'ow that you ask me in that tone, May, I scarcely know. I suppose I meant to show him how inconsiderate, how impossible, his hopes were ; that there was nothing in his station or prospects that could warrant this presumption. I suppose I had something of this sort on my mind, but, I own to you now, your haughty glance has completely routed all my wise resolutions." " Perhaps you speculated on the influence of that peculiar know- ledge of his family history you appear to be possessed of?" said May, with some pique. " Perhaps so," was the dry rejoinder. " And which you do not mean to confide to me .? " said the girl, proudly. " I have not said so. So long as you maintained that Mr. Layton was to you nothing beyond a mere acquaintance, my secret, as you have so grandly called it, might very well rest in my own keeping. If, however, the time were come that he should occupy a very dif- ferent place in your regard " " Instead of saying ' were come,' Loo, just say, ' If the time might come,' " said May, timidly. "Well, then, 'if the i\n\Q might come,' I might tell all that I know about bim." 120 ONE OF THEM. " But then it might be too late, I mean, it might come when it could only grieve, and not guide me." " Oh, if I thought that, you should never know it ! Be assured of one thing, May : no one ever less warred against the inevitable than myself. When I read, ' No passage this way,' I never hesitate about seeking another road." " And I mean to go mine, and without a guide either!" said May, moving towards the door. " So I perceived some time back," was the dry reply of Mrs. Morris, as she busied herself with the papers before her. " Good night, dear, and forgive my interruption," said May, open- ing the door. " Good night, and delightful dreams to you," said Mrs. Morris, in her own most silvery accents. And May was gone. The door had not well closed when Mrs. Morris was again, pen in hand, glancing rapidly over what she had written to catch up the clue. This was quickly accomplished, and she wrote away rapidly. It is not "in our brief" to read that letter; nor would it be "evidence;" enough, then, that we say it was one of those light, sparkling little epistles which are thrown off in close confidence, and in which the writer fearlessly touches any theme that offers. She sketched off the Heathcotes with a few easy graphic touches, giving a very pleasing portraiture of May herself, ending with these words : " Add to all these attractions a large estate and a considerable sum in the funds, and then say, dear pa, is not this what Ludlow has so long been looking for ? I am well aware of his pleasant habit of believing nothing, nor any one, so that you must begin by referring him to Doctors' Commons, where he can see the will. General Leslie died in 18 — , and left Sir William Heathcote sole executor. When fully satisfied on the money question, you can learn anything further from me that you wish ; one thing only I stipulate for, and that is, to hold no correspondence myself with L. Of course, like as in everything else, he'll not put any faith in this resolution ; but time will teach him at last. The negotiation must be confided to your own hands. Do not employ Collier, nor any one else. Be secret, and be speedy, for I plainly perceive the young lady will marry some one immediately after learning a disappointment now impending. Ee- member, my own conditions are : all the letters, and that we meet as utter strangers. I ask nothing more, I will accept nothing less. As regards Clara, he cannot, I suspect, make any difficulty ; but that may be a question for ulterior consideration. Clara is growing up pretty, but has lost all her spirits, and will, in a few months more, ONE or THEM. 121 look every day of her real age. I am sadly vexed about this ; but it comes into the long category of the things to be endured." The letter wound up with some little light and flippant allusions to her father's complaints about political ingratitude : " I really do forget, dear papa, which are our friends ; but surely no party would refuse your application for a moderate employment. The only creature I know personally amongst them is the Colonial Sec, and he says, ' They've left me nothing to give but the Bishoprics.' Better that, perhaps, than nothing ; but could you manage to accept one ? that is the question. There is an Irish M.P. here — a certain O'Shea — who tells me there are a variety of things to give in the West Indies, with what he calls wonderful pickings — meaning, I suppose, stealings. Why not look for one of these ? I'll question my friend the Member more closely, and give you the result. "It was odd enough, a few months ago, O'S., never suspecting to whom he was talking, said, ' There was an old fellow in Ireland, a certain Nick Holmes, could tell more of Government rogueries and rascalities than any man living ; and, if I were he, I'd make them give me the first good thing vacant, or I'd speak out.' Dear papa, having made so much out of silence, is it not worth while to think how much eloquence might be worth ? " Your affectionate daughter, " Lucy M." CHAPTER XVI. A SICK-ROOM. It was a severe night of early winter — one of those stormy intervals in which Italy seems to assume all the rigours of some northern land, with an impetuosity derived from her own more excitable latitude. The rain beat against the windows with distinct and separate plashes, and the wind rattled and shook the strong walla with a violence that seemed irresistible. In a large old room of a very old palace at Lucca, Alfred Layton walked to and fro, stopping every now and then to listen to some heightened effort of the gale without, and then resuming his lonely saunter. There were two large and richly ornamented fii'epluccs, and 122 OKE OF THEM. iu one of them a small fire was burning, and close to this stood a table with a shaded lamp, and by these frail lights a little brightness was shed over this portion of the vast chamber, while the remainder was shrouded in deep shadow. As the fitful flashes of the wood fire shone from time to time on the walls, little glimpses might b'e caught of a much-faded tapestry, representing some scenes from the -S^iieid ; but on none of these did Layton turn an eye nor bestow a thought, for he was deep in sorrowful reflections of his own — cares too heavy to admit of any passing distraction. He was alone, for Agincourt had gone to spend the day at the " Caprini," whither Alfred would have accompanied him, but for a letter which the morning's post had brought to his hands, and whose contents had overwhelmed him with sorrow. It was from his mother, written from a sick-bed, and in a hand that betokened the most extreme debility. And oh ! what intense expression there is in these weak and wavering Lines, wherein the letters seem to vibrate still with the tremulous motion of the fevered fingers ! — what a deep significance do we attach to every word thus written ! till at length, possessed of every syllable and every stop, we conjure up tlie scene where all was written, and feel as though we heard the hurried breathing of the sick-room She had put oflT writing week after week, but now could defer no longer. It was upwards of two months since his father had left her to go to Dublin, and, from the day he went, she had never heard from him, A paragraph, how- ever, in a morning paper, though not giving his name, unmistakably alluded to him as one who had grievously fallen from the high and honourable station he had once occupied, and spoke of the lamentable reverse that should show such a man in the dock of a police-court on the charge of insulting and libelling a public character in a ribald handbill. The prisoner was so hopelessly sunk in drunkenness, it added, that he was removed from the court, and the examination postponed. By selling one by one the little articles of furniture she had, she contrived hitherto to eke out a wretched support, and it was only when at last these miserable resources had utterly failed her that she was driven to grieve her son with her sad story. Nor was the least touching part of her troubles that in which she spoke of her straits, to avoid being considered an object of charity by her neighbours. Tho very fact of the Kector having overpaid for a few books he liad pur- chased made her discontinue to send him others, so sensitive had misery made her. And yet, strangely enough, there did not exist the same repugnance to accept of little favoui's and trifling kindnesses ONE OF THEM. 123 from the poor people about her, of whom she spoke with a deep and affectionate gratitude. Her whole heart was, however, full of one thought and one hope — to see her dear son before she died. It was a last wish, and she felt as though indulging it had given her the energy which had prolonged her life. Doubts would cross her mind from time to time if it were possible for him to come — if he could be so far his own master as to be able to hasten to her — and even if doing so, he could be yet in time; but all these would give way before the strength of her hope. " That I should see you beside my bed — that you should hold my hand as I go hence — will be happiness enough to requite me for much sorrow !" wrote she. " But if this may not be, and that we are to meet no more here, never forget that in my last prayer your name was mingled, and that when I entreated forgiveness for myself, I implored a blessing for you /" " That letter was written on the Monday before ; and where had he been on that same Monday evening f " asked he of himself. " How had he been occupied in those same hours when she was writing this ? Tes, that evening he was seated beside May Leslie at the piano, while she played and sang for him. They had been talking of German song-writers, and she was recalling here and there such snatches ol Uhland and Schiller as she could remember : while Clara, leaning over the back of his chair, was muttering the words when May forgot them, and in an accent the purest and truest. "What a happy hour was that to luml and to lier how wretched — how inexpressibly wretched — as, alone and friendless, she wrote those faint lines !" Poor Layton felt very bitterly the thought that, while he was living in an easy enjoyment of life, his mother, whom he loved dearly, should be in deep want and suffering. In the easy carelessness of a disposition inherited from his father, he had latterly been spending money far too freely. His constant visits to Marlia required a horse, and then, with all a poor man's dread to be thought poor, he was ten times more liberal to servants than was called for, and even too ready to join in whatever involved cost or expense. Latterly, too, he had lost at play ; small sums to be sure, but they were the small sums of a small exchequer, and they occurred every day, for, at the game of Pool, poor Layton' s ball was always the first on the retired list ; and the terrible Mr. O'Shea, who observed a sort of reserve with Charles Heathcote, made no scruple of employing sharp practice with the tutor. He emptied the contents of his purse on the table, and found that all his worldly wealth was a trifle over fifteen pounds, and of this he 124 ONE OF THEM. was indebted to Charles Heathcote some three or four — the losses of his last evening at the Caprini. AVhat was to be done ? A journey to Ireland would cost fully the double of all he possessed, not to say that, once there, he would require means. So little was he given to habits of personal indulgence, that he had nothing — absolutely nothing — to dispose of save his watch, and that was of little value ; a few books, indeed, he possessed, but their worth, even if he could obtain it, would have been of no service. AVith these embarrassing thoughts of his poverty came also others, scarcely less fraught with difficulty. How should he relieve himself of his charge of Lord Agincourt ? There would be no time to write to his guardians and receive their reply. He could not leave the boy in Italy ; nor dare he, without the consent of his relatives, take him back to England. How to meet these difficulties he knew not, and time was pressing — every hour of moment to him. Was there one, even one, whose counsel he could ask, or whose assistance he could bespeak ? He ran over the names of those around him, but against such, in turn, some insuperable objection presented itself. " There possibly had been a time he might have had recourse to Sir "William, frankly owning how he was circumstanced, and bespeaking his aid for the moment ; but of late the old Baronet's manner towards him had been more cold and reserved than at first — studiously courteous, it is true, but a courtesy that excluded intimacy. As to Charles, they had never been really friendly together, and yet there was a familiarity between them that made a better understanding more remote thaa ever. While he revolved all these troubles in his head, he walked up and down his room with the feverish impatience of one to whom rest was torture. At last, even the house seemed too narrow for his restless spirit, and, taking his hat, he went out, careless of the swooping rain, nor mindful of the cold and cutting wind as it swept down from the last spur of the Apennines. As the chill rain drenched him, there seemed almost a sense of relief in the substitu- tion of a bodily suffering to the fever that burned in his brain, and seeking out the bleakest part of the old ramparts, he stood breasting the storm, which had now increased to a perfect hurricane. "The rain cannot beat upon one more friendless and forlorn," muttered he, as he stood shivering there ; the strange fascination of misery suggesting a sort of bastard heroism to his spirit. " The humblest peasant in that dreary Campagna has more of sym- pathy and kindliness than I have. He has those poor as himselt and powerless to aid, but willing to befriend him." There was even ONE OF THEM. 125 in his days of depression a fierce revolt in his nature against the position he occupied in the world. The acceptance on sufferance, the recognition accorded to his pupil being his only claim to attention, were painful wounds to a haughty temperament, and, with the in- genuity of a self-tormentor, he ascribed every reverse he met in life to his false position. He accepted it, no doubt, to be able to help those who had made such sacrifices for him, and yet even in this it was a failure. There lay his poor mother, dying of very want, in actual destitution, and he could not help — could not even be with her ! Though his wet clothes, now soaked with half-frozen drift, sent a deadly chill through him, the fever of his blood rendered him uncon- scious of it, and his burning brain seemed to defy the storm, while in the wild raging of the elements he caught up a sort of excitement that sustained him. For more than two hours he wandered about in that half-frenzied state, and at length, benumbed and exhausted, he turned homeward. To his surprise, he perceived, as he drew near, that the windows were all aliglit, and the red glow of a large wood fire sent its mellow glare across the street ; but greater was his astonishment on entering to see the tall figure of a man stretched at full length on three chairs before the fire, fast asleep, a carpet-bag and a travelling- cloak beside hira. Never was Layton less disposed to see a stranger and play the host to any one, and he shook the sleeper's shoulder in a fashion that speedily awoke him ; who, starting up with a bound, cried out, " Well, Britisher, I must say this is a kinder droll way to welcome a friend." " Oh, Colonel, is it you ?" said Layton. " Pray forgive my rude- ness. But coming in as I did, without expecting any one, wet and somewhat tired " He stopped and looked vacantly about hira, as though not clearly remembering where he was. Quackiuboss had, however, been keenly examining him while be spoke, and marked in his wildly excited eyes and flushed cheeks the signs of some high excitement. " You ain't noways right ; you're wet through, and cold besides," said he, taking his hand in both his own. " Do you feel ill ?" " Tes ; that is — I feel as if— I — had— lost my way," muttered he, with long pauses between the words. "There's nothing like bed and a sound sleep for that," said the other, gently ; while, taking Layton's arm, he led him quietly along towards the half-open door of liis bedrc^ra. Passively surrendering himself to the other's care, Alfred made no resistance to all he dictated, and, removing his dripping clothes, he got into bed. 126 ONE OF THEM. " It is liere the most paia is now," said he, placing his palm on his temple, "here, and inside my head." " I wish I could talk to that servant of yours ; he don't seem a very bright sort of creetur, but I could make him of use." With tliis muttered remark, Quackinboss walked back into the sitting-room, where Layton's man was now extinguishing the lights and the fire. " Tou have to keep that fire in, I say — fire — great fire — hot water. Understand me ?" " 'Strissimo ! si," said the Tuscan,, bo wing courteously. "Well, then, do you fetch some lemons — lemons. Tou know lemons, don't you?" A shrug was the unhappy reply. " Lemong — lemong ! Tou know tliem .'"' " Limoni! oh si !" And he made the sign of squeezing them ; and then, hastening out of the room, he speedily reappeared with lemons and other necessaries to concoct a drink. " That's it — bravo, that's it ! Brew it right hot, my worthy fellow," said Quackinboss, with a gesture that implied the water was to be boiled immediately. He now returned to Layton, whom he found sitting up in the bed, talking rapidly to himself, but with all the dis- tinctness of one perfectly collected. " By Marseilles I could reach Paris on Tuesday night, and London on Wednesday. Isn't there a daily packet for Genoa ?" asked he, as Quackinboss entered. " Well, I guess there's more than's good of 'em," drawled out the other; "ill-found, ill-manned, dirty craft as ever I put foot in!" " Tes, but they leave every day, don't they ?" asked Layton, im- patiently. " I ain't posted up in their doin's, nor I don't want to, that's a fact. We went ashore with a calm sea and a full moon, coming up from CivTta-Vecchia ' ' Layton burst into a laugh at the strange pronunciation — a wild, unearthly sort of laugh that ended in a low, faint sigh, after which he lay back like one exhausted. " I'm a goin' to take a little blood from you, I am !" said Quackin- boss, producing a lancet which, from its shape and size, seemed more conversant with horse than human practice. " I'll not be bled ! How am I to travel a journey of seven, eight, or ten days and nights, if I'm bled ?" cried the sick man, angrily. "I've got to bleed you, and I'll do it!" said Quackinboss, as, taking out his handkerchief, he tore a long strip, like a ribbon, from its border. ■^, r^/\jJ' ONE OF THEM. 127 " Francesco — Prancesco !" screamed out Layton, wildly., " take this man away ; he has no right to be here. I'll not endure it. Leave me — go — leave me !" screamed he, angrily. There was that peculiar something about the look of Quackinboss that assured Francesco it would be as well not to meddle with himj and, like all his countrymen, he was quick to read an expression and profit by his knowledge. Even to the sick man, too, did the influence extend, and the determinate, purpose-like tone of his manner en- forced obedience without even an eflbrt. " I was mystery-man for three years among tlie Choctaws," said he, as he bound up Layton's arm, " and I'll yield to no one livin' how to treat a swamp fever, and that's exactly what you've got." While the blood trickled from the open vein he continued to talk on in the same strain. " I've seen a red man anoint hisself all over with oil, and set fire to it, and then another stood by with a great blanket to wrap him up afore he was more than singed, and it always succeeded in stoppin' the fever. It brought it out to the surface like. How- somever, it's only an Indian's tixin', and I don't like it with a white man. How d'ye feel now — better ?" A muttering, dissatisfied sound, but half articulate, seemed to say, " No better." " It ain't to be expected yet," said Quackinboss. " Lie down, and be quiet a bit." Although the first efiect.of the bleeding seemed to calm the suf- ferer and arrest his fever, the symptoms of the malady came back in full force afterwards, and, ere day broke, he was raving wildly. At one moment he fancied he was at work in the laboratory with his father, and he ran over great calculations of mental arithmetic with a marvellous volubility ; then he was back in his chambers at Trinity, but he could not find his books ; they were gone — lost — no, not lost, he suddenly remembered that he had sold them — sold them to send a pittance to his poor sick mother. " It's a sad story, every part of it," whispered he in Quackinboss's ear, while he clutched him closely with his hands. " It was a great man was lost, mark you ; and in a great shipwreck even the fragments of the wreck work sad destruction, and of course none will say a word for him. But remember. Sir, I am his son, and will not hear a syllable against him, from you nor any other." From this he abruptly broke off to speak of O'Shea, and his late altercation with him. " I waited at home all the morn- ing for him, and at last got a note to say that he had forgotten to tell me of an appointment he had made to ride out with Miss Leslie, but he'll be punctual to the hour to-morrow. So it's better as it is, 128 ONE OF THEM. Colonel, for you'll be here, and can act as my friend — won't you ? Tour countrymen understand all these sort of things so well. And then, if I be called away suddenly to England, don't tell them," whis- pered he, mysteriously — " don't tell them at the Villa whither I've gone : they know nothing of me nor of ray family — never heard of my ruined father, nor my poor, sick, destitute mother, dying of actual ^ant — think of that — while I was playing the man of fortune here, affecting every extravagance — yes, it was you yourself said so ; I overheard you in the garden, asking why, or how was it, with such ample means, I would become a tutor." It was not alone that these words were uttered in a calm and collected tone, but they actually recalled to the American a remark he had once made about Lay ton. " Well," said he, as if some apology was called for, " it warn't any business of mine, but I was sorry to see it." " But you didn't know — you couldn't know," cried the other, eagerly, " that I had no choice ; my health was breaking. I had overworked my head; I couldn't go on. Have you ever tried what it is to read ten hours a day ? Answer me that." " No ; but I've been afoot sixteen out of the twenty-four, for weeks together, on an Indian trail ; and that's con-siderable worse, I take it." "Who cares for mere fiitigue of body?" said Layton, con- temptuously. " And who says it's mere fatigue of body ?" rejoined the other, " when every sense a man has is strained and stretched to breakin', his ear to the earth, and his eyes rangin' over the swell of the prairies, till his brain aches with the strong effort ; for, mark ye, Choctaws isn't Pawnees : they're on you with a swoop, just like a white squall in the summer time." There is no saying how far Quackinboss, notwithstanding all his boasted skill in physic, might have been tempted to talk on about a theme he loved so well, when he was suddenly admonished, by the expression of Layton's face, that the sick man was utterly unconscious of all around him. The countenance had assumed that peculiar stern and stolid gaze which is so markedly the characteristic of an affected brain. " There," muttered Quackinboss to himself, " I've been a talkin' all this time to a poor creetur as is rayiu' mad — all I've been doin' is to make him worse." ONS OF THBM. 129 CHAPTEE XVII. A MASTER AND MAN. Who owns the smart tandem that trips along so flippantly over the slightly frosted road from the Bagni towards Lucca ? What genius, cunning in horseflesh, put that spicy pair together, perfect matches as they are in all but colour, for the wheeler is a blood chesnut, and the leader a bright grey, with bone and substance enough for hunters ? they have a sort of lithe and wiry action that re- minds one of the Hungarian breed, and so, indeed, a certain jaunty car- riage of the head, and half wild-looking expression of the eye, bespeak them. The high dog-cart, however, is unmistakably English, as well as the harness, with its massive mountings and broad straps. What an air of mingled elegance and solidity pervades the entire. It is, as it wore, all that such an equipage can pretend to compass — lightness, speed, and a dash of sporting significance, being its chief charac- teristics. It is not necessary to present you to the portly gentleman who holds the ribbons, all encased as he is in box-coats and railway wrappers ; you can still distinguish Mr. O'Shea, and as unmistakably recognise his man Joe beside him. The morning is sharp, clear, and frosty, but so perfectly still, that the blue smoke of Mr. O'Shea's cigar hangs float- ing in the air behind him, as the nimble nags spin along at something slightly above thirteen miles an hour. Joe, too, solaces himself with the bland weed, but in more primitive fashion, from a short " dudeen" of native origin : his hat is pressed down firmly over his brows, and his hands, even to the wrists, deeply encased in his pockets, for Joe, be it owned, is less amply supplied with woollen comforts than his master, and feels the morning sharp. " Now, I call this a very neat turn-out ; the sort of thing a man might not be ashamed to tool along through any town in Europe," said O'Shea. " Tou might show it in Sackville-street !" said Joe, proudly. " SackviUe-street ?" rejoined O'Shea, in an accent of contemptuous derision. " Is there any use, I wonder, in bringing you all over the world?" " There is not," said the other, in his most dogged manner. " If there wa.s," continued O'Shea, " you'd know that Dublin had K •180 ONE or THEM. no place amongst the great cities of Europe — that nobody went there — none so much as spoke of it. I'd just as soon talk of Macroom in good society." " And why wouldn't you talk of Macroom ? What's the shame in it ?" asked the inexorable Joe. " There would be just the same shame as if I was to bring you along with me when I was asked out to dinner !" " You might do worse," was the dry reply. " I'm curious to hear how." " Troth, you might ; and easy, too," said Joe, sententiously. These slight passages did not seem to invite conversation, and so, for above a mile or two, nothing was spoken on either side. At last Mr. O'Shea said : " I think that grey horse has picked up a stone ; he goes tenderly near side." " He does not ; he goes as well as you do," was Joe's answer. " Tou're as blind as a bat, or you'd see he goes lame," said O'Shea, drawing up. " There, he's thrown it now ; it was only a bit of a pebble," said Joe, as though the victory was still on his side. " Upon my life, I wonder why I keep you at all," burst out O'Shea, angrily. " So do I ; and I wonder more why I stay." " Does it never occur to you to guess why ?" "No; never." " It has nothing to say to being well fed, well lodged, well paid, and well cared for ?" " No ; it has not," said Joe, gravely ; " the bit I ate I get how I can ; these is my own clothes, and sorrow sixpence I seen o' your money since last Christmas." " Get down — get down on the road this instant. Tou shall never sit another mile beside me." " I will not get down. Why would I, in a strange counthry, and not a farthin' in my pocket !" " Have a civil tongue, then, and don't provoke me to turn you adrift on the world." " I don't want to provoke you." "What beastly stuff is that you are smoking ?" said O'Sliea, as whole cloud from Joe's pipe came wafted across him. "'Tisn't bastely at all. I took it out of your own bag this morning." " Not out of the antelope's skin ?" asked O'Shea, eagerly. ONE OF THEM, 131 " Tes ; out of the hairy bag with the little hoofs on it." A loud burst of laughter was O'Shea's reply, and, for several seconds, he could not control his mirth. " Do you know what you're smoking ? It's Russian camomile !'* "Maybe it is." " I got it to make a bitter mixture." " It's bitther, sure enough, but it has a notion of tobacco, too." O'Shea again laughed out, and longer than before. "It's just a chance that you weren't poisoned," said he at last. " Here — here's a cigar for you, and a real Cuban, too, one that young Heathcote never fancied would grace your lips." Joe accepted the boon without acknowledgment ; indeed, he scruti- nised the gift with an air of half-depreciation. "Tou don't seem to think much of a cigar," said O'Shea, testily. " "When I can get no betther," said Joe, biting off the end. O'Shea frowned and turned away. It was evident that he had some difficulty in controlling himself, but he succeeded, and was silent. The effort, however, could not be sustained very long, and at last he said, but in a slow and measured tone, " Shall I tell you a home-truth, Master Joe ?" " Yes, if you like." " It is this, then : it is that same ungracious and ungrateful way with which you, and every one like you in Ireland, receive benefits, disgusts every stranger." " Benefits !" " Tes, benefits — I said benefits." " Sure, what's our own isn't benefits," rejoined Joe, calmly. " Tour own ? May I ask if the contents of that bag were your own ?" " 'Tis at the devil I'm wishin' it now," said Joe, putting his hand on his stomach. " 'Tis tearin' me to pieces, it is, bad luck to it !" O'Shea was angry, but such was the rueful expression of Joe's face that he laughed out again. " Now he's goin' lame, if you like !" cried Joe, with a tone of triumph that said, " All the mishaps are not on my side." O'Shea pulled up, and knowing, probably, the utter inutility of employing Joe at such a moment, got down himself to see what was amiss. "No, it's the off leg," cried Joe, as his master was carefully exa- mining the near one. " I suppose he must have touched the frog on a sharp stone," said O'Sliea, after a long and fruitless exploration. K 2 132 OITE OF THEM. "I don't think so," said Joe; "'tis more lilte to be a dizaze of the bone — one of thim dizazes of the fetlock that's never cured." A deeply uttered malediction was O'Shea's answer to the pleasant prediction. " I never see one of them recover," resumed Joe, who saw his advantage ; " but the baste will do many a day's slow work — m a cart." " Hold your prate, and be hanged to you!" muttered O'Shea, as between anger and stooping, he was threatened with a small apo- plexy. " Move them on gently for a few yards, till I get a look at him." Joe leisurely moved into his master's place, and bestowed the rug very comfortably around his legs. This done, with a degree of detail and delay that seemed almost intended to irritate, he next slowly arranged the reins in his fingers, and then, with a jerk of his whip- hand, sending out the lash in a variety of curves, he brought the whipcord down on the leader with a " nip" that made him plunge, while the wheeler, understanding the hint, started off at full swing. So sudden and unexpected was the start, that O'Shea had barely time to spring out of the way to escape the wheel. Before, indeed, he had thoroughly recovered his footing, Joe had swept past a short turning of the road, leaving nothing but a light train of dust to mark his course. "Stop! pull up! stop! confound you !" cried O'Shea, with other little expletives that print is not called on to repeat, and then, boiling with passion, he set oif in pursuit. When he had gained the angle of the road, it was only to catch one look at his equipage as it disap- peared in the distance : the road dipping suddenly showed him little more than a torso of the " faithful Joe," diminishing rapidly to a head, and then vanishing entirely. "What a scoundrel! what a rascal!" cried O'Shea, as he wiped his forehead ; and then, with his fist clenched and upraised, " regis- tered a vow," as Mr. O'Connell used to say, of unlimited vengeance. If this true history does not record the full measure of the heart- devouring anger of O'Shea, it is not from any sense of its being un- deserved or unreasonable, for, after all, worthy reader, it might have pushed even your patience to have been left standing, of a sharp November morning, on a lonely road, while your carriage was driven ofi" by an insolent " flunkey." As he was about midway between the Bagni and the town of Lucca, to which he was bound, he half hesitated whether to go on or to return. There was shame in either course. Shame in going back ^<>" ONE OF THEM. 133 to recount liia misadventure ; shame in having to call Joe to a reckon- ing in Lucca before a crowd of strangers, and that vile population of the stable-yard, with which, doubtless, Joe would have achieved popu- larity before his master could arrive. Of a verity the situation was embarrassing, and in his muttered comments upon it might he read how thoroughly hia mind took iu every phase of its difficulty. " How they'll laugh at me up at the Villa. It will last Sir William for the winter ; he'll soon hear how I won the trap from his son, and he'll be ready with the old saw, ' Ah ! ill got, ill gone !' How young Heathcote will enjoy it ; and the ■widow — if she be a widow — won't she caricature me, as I stand hal- loaing out after the runaway rascal ? Very hard to get out of all this ridicule without something serious to cover it. That's the only way to get out of a laughable adventure ; so, Master Lay ton, it's all the worse for yon this morning." In this train of thought was he deeply immersed as a peasant drove past in his light " calesina." O'Shea quickly hailed the man, and bargained with him for a seat to Lucca. Six weary miles of a jolting vehicle did not contribute much to restore his calm of mind, and it was in a perfect frenzy of anger he walked into the inn-yard, where he saw his carriage now standing. In the stables his horses stood, sheeted up, but still dirty and travel- stained. Joe was absent. " He had been there five minutes ago — he was not an instant gone — he had never left his horses till now — taken such care of them — watered, fed, groomed, and clothed them — he was a treasure — there was not his like to be found." These, and such-like, were the eulogies universally bestowed by the stable con- Btituency upon one whom O'Shea was at the same time consigning in every form to the infernal gods ! The grooms and helpers wore a half grin on their faces as he passed out, and again he muttered, " All the worse foryow, Layton ; you'\i have to pay the reckoning." He was not long in finding the Barsotti Palace, where Layton lodged ; an old tumble-down place it was, with a grass-grown, mil- dewed court, and some fractured statues, green with damp, around it. The porter, indicating with a gesture of his thumb where the stranger lived, left O'Shea to plod up the stairs alone. It was strange enough that it should then have occurred to him, for the first time, that he had no definite idea about what he was coming. Layton and he had, it is true, some words, and Layton had given him time and place to continue the theme ; but in whav. „ay ? To make Layton reiterate in cold blood something he might have uttered in anger, and would probably retract, if called upon cour- teously : this would be very poor policy. While, on the other hand, 134 ONE OF THEM, to permit him to insinuate anytliing on the score of his success at play might be even worse again. It was a case for very nice manage- ment, and so O'Shea thought, as, after arriving at a door bearing Layton's name on a visiting-card, he took a turn in the lobby to consider his course of proceeding. The more he thought over it, the more difficult he found it ; in fact, at last he saw it to be one of those cases in which the eventuality alone can decide the line to take, and so he gave a vigorous pull at the bell, determined to begin the cam- paign at once. The door was not opened immediately, and he repeated his summons still louder. Scarcely had the rope quitted his hand, however, when a heavy bolt was drawn back, the door was thrown wide, and a tall athletic man, in shirt and trousers, stood before him. " "Well, stranger, you arn't much distressed with patience, that's a fact," said a strongly nasal accent, while the speaker gave a look of very fierce defiance at the visitor. " Am I speaking to Colonel Quaekinboss ?" asked O'Shea, in some surprise. " Well, Sir, if it ain't him, it's some one in his skin, I'm thinkin'." "My visit was to Mr. Layton," said the other, stiffly. " Is he at home ?" " Yes, Sir ; but he's not a goin' to see you." " I came here by his appointment." " That don't change matters a red cent, stranger ; and as I said a'ready, he ain't a goin' to see you." " Oh, then I'm to understand that he has placed himself in you/r hands ? You assume to act for him ?" said O'Shea, stiffly. " Well, if you like to take it from that platform I'll offer no objec- tion," said Quaekinboss, gravely. " Am I, or am I not, to regard you as liis friend on this occasion ?" said O'Shea, authoritatively. " I'll tell you a secret, stranger : you'll not be your own friend if ycu don't speak to me in another tone of voice. I ain't used to be halloaed at, I ain't." " One thing at a time. Sir," said O'Shea. " When I have finished the business which brought me here, I shall be perfectly at your service." " Now I call that talkin' reasonable. Step inside, Sir, and take a seat," said Quaekinboss, whose manner was now as calm as possible. Whatever irritation O'Shea really felt, he contrived to subdue it in appearance, as he followed the other into the room. O'Shea was not so deficient in tact that he could not see his best 0»£ OF THEM. 135 mode of dealing with the American was to proceed with every courtesy and deference, and so, as he seated himself opposite him, he men- tioned the reason of his coming there without anything like temper, and stated that from a slight altercation such a difference arose as required either an explanation or a meeting. . , . " He can't go a shooting with you, stranger ; he's struck down this morning," said Quackinboss, gravely, as the other finished. " Do you mean he's ill ?" " I s'pose I do, when I said he was down, Sir." " This is most unfortunate," broke in O'Shea. " My duties as a public man require my being in England next week. I hoped to have settled this little matter before my departure. I see nothing for it but to beg you will, in writing — a few lines will suffice — corroboratei the fact of my having presented myself here, according to appoint- ment, and mention the sad circumstances by which our intentions, for I believe I may speak of Mr. Layton's as my own, have been frustrated." " Well now, stranger, we are speakin' in confidence here, and I may just as well observe to you that, of all the weapons that fit a man's hands, a pen is the one I'm least ready with. I'm indifferent good with fire-arms, or a bowie, but a pen, you see, cuts the fingers that hold it, just as often as it hurts the enemy, and I don't like it." " But surely, where, the object is merely to testify to a plain matter of fact " " There ain't no such things on the 'arth as plain matters of fact, Sir," broke in Quackinboss, eagerly. " I've come to the middle period of life, and I never met one of 'em !" O'Shea made a slight, very slight, movement of impatience at these words, but the other remarked it, and said, " We'll come to that presently. Sir. Let us just post up this account of Mr. Layton's, first of all." " I don't think there is anything further to detain me here," said O'Shea, rising with an air of stiff" politeness. "Won't you take something, Sir — won't you liquor?" asked Quackinboss, calmly. " Excuse me ; I never do of a morning." " I'm sorry for it. I was a thinkiu', maybe, you'd w^arm up a bit •with a glass of something strong. I was a hopin' it's the cold of the day chilled you !" "Do you mean this for insult, Sir?" said O'Shea. "I ask you, because, really, your use of the English language is of a kind to warrant the question." 136 ONE OF THEM. " That's where I wanted to see you, Sir. You're coming up to a good boilin' point now, stranger," said Quackinboss, with a pleased look. " Is be mad — is he deranged ?" muttered O'Shea, half aloud. " No, Sir. "We "Western men are little liable to insanity ; our lives are too much abroad and open-air lives for that. It's your thoughtful, reflective, deep men, as wears a rut in their mind with thinkin', them's the fellows goes mad." O'Shea's stare of astonishment at this speech scarcely seemed to convey a concurrence in the assertion, and he made a step towards the door. *' If you're a goin', I've nothing more to say. Sir," said Quackin- boss. "I cannot see what there is to detain me here!" said the other, sternly. " There ain't much, that's a fact," was the cool reply. " There's nothing remarkable in them bottles ; it's new brandy and British gin ; and, as for myself. Sir, I can only say I must give you a bill payable at sight — whenever we may meet again, I mean — for just now this young man here can't spare me. I'm his nurse, you see. I hope you understand me r" " I beHeve I do." " Well, that's all right, stranger, and here's my hand on't.'* And even before O'Shea was well aware, the other had taken his hand in his strong grasp and was shaking it heartily. O'Shea found it very hard not to laugh outright, but there was a meaning-like determina- tion in the American's manner that showed it was no moment for mirth. It was, however, necessary to say something to relieve a very awkward pause, and so he observed, " I hope Mr. Layton's illness is not a serious one. I saw him, as I thought, perfectly well two days back." " He's main bad, Sir — very sick — very sick indeed." "Tou have a doctor, I suppose ?" " No, Sir. I have some experience myself, and I'm just a treatin' him by what I picked up among people that have very few apothe- caries — the Mandan Indians." " Without being particular, I must own I'd prefer a more civilised course of physic," said O'Shea, with a faint smile. " Very likely, stranger ; and if you had a dispute, you'd rather, mayhap, throw it into a law court, and leave it to three noisy fellows to quarrel over ; while /'d look out for two plain fellows, w ith horny ONE OF THEM. 137 hands and honest hearts, and say, ' What's the rights o' this, gentle- men ?' " " I wish you every success, I'm sure," said O'Shea, bowing. " The same to you, Sir," said the other, in a sing-song tone. « Good-by." "When O'Shea had reached the first landing, he stopped, and, lean- ing against the wall, laughed heartily. " I hope I'll be able to re- member all he said," muttered he, as he fancied himself amusing some choice company by a personation of the Yankee. " The whole thing was as good as a play ! But," added he, after a pause, " I'm not sorry its over, and that I have done with him !" Very true and heartfelt was this last reflection of the Member for Inch — a far more honest recognition than even the hearty Luigh he had just enjoyed — and then there came an uneasy after-thought, that asked, " What could he mean by talking of a long bill, payable at some future opportunity ? Surely he can't imagine that we're to renew all this if we ever meet again. No, no, Colonel, your manners and your medicine may be learned amongst the Mandans, but they won't do here with us!" And so he issued into the street, not quite reassured, but somewhat more comforted. So occupied was his mind with the late scene, that he had walked fully half way back to his inn ere he bestowed a thought upon Joe. Wise men were they who suggested that the sentence of a prisoner should not immediately follow the conclusion of his trial, but ensue after the interval of some two or three days. In the impulse of a mind fully charged with a long narrative of guilt there is a force that seeks its expansion in severity ; whereas in the brief respite of even some hours, there come doubts, and hesitations, and regrets, and palliations. In a word, a variety of considerations unadmitted before find entrance now to the mind, and are suffered to influence it. Now, though Mr. 0' Shea's first and not very unnatural impulse was to give Joe a sound thrashing and then discharge him, the in- terval we have just described moderated considerably the severity of this resolve. In the first place, although the reader may be asto- nished at the assertion, Joe was one very difficult to replace, since> independently of his aptitude to serve as groom, valet, or cook, he was deeply versed in all the personal belongings of his master. He bad been with him through long years of difficulty, and aided him in various ways, from corrupting the virtuous freeholders of Inchabogue to raising an occasional supply on the rose-amethyst ring. Joe had fought for him and lied for him, with a zealous devotion not to be 138 ONE OF THEM. forgotten. Not, indeed, that he loved his master more, but that he liked the world less, and Joe found a sincere amount of pleasure in seeing how triumphantly their miserable pretensions swayed and dominated over mankind. And, lastly, he had another attribute, not to be undervalued in an age like ours — he had no wages ! It is not to be understood that he served O'Shea out of some sense of heroic devotion or attachment : no ; Joe lived, as they say in India, on " loot." "When times were prosperous — that is, when billiards and blind-hookey smiled, and his master's pockets came home small Californias of half-crowns and even sovereigns, Joe prospered also. He drank boldly and freely from the cup when brimful, but the half- empty goblet he only sipped at : when seasons of pressure set in, Joe's existence was maintained by some inscrutable secret of his own ; for, be it known, that on O' Shea's arrival at an hotel, his almost first care was to announce, " Tou will observe my servant is on board wages; he pays for himself ;" and Joe would corroborate the myth with a bow. Bethink yourself, good reader, had you been the Member for Inch, it might have been a question whether to separate from such a follower. By the fluctuation of O'Shea's fortunes, Joe's whole conduct seemed moulded : when the world went well with his master, his manner grew somewhat almost respectful ; let the times grow worse, Joe became indifferent ; a shade lower, and he was familiar and insolent ; and, by long habit, O'Sbea had come to recognise these changes as part of the condition of a varying fortune. Little wonder was it that Joe grew to speak of his master and himself as one, complaining, as he would, " We never got sixpence out of our property. 'Tis the ruin of us paying that annuity to our mother ;" and so on. Now these considerations, and many others like them, weighed deeply on O'Shea's mind as he entered the room of the hotel, angry and irritated, doubtless, but far from decided as to how he should manifest it. Indeed, the deliberation was cut short, for there stood Joe before him. " I thought I was never to see your face again," said O'Shea, scowling at him. " How dare you have the insolence to appear be- fore me ?" " Isn't it well for you that I'm alive ? Ain't you lucky that you're not answering for my death this minute ?" said the other, boldly. " And if I didn't drive like blazes, would I be here now ? Appear before you, indeed ! I'd like to know who you'd be appearin' before, if I was murthered with them bitthers you gave me ?" ONE OF THEM. 139 " Lying scoundrel ! you think to turn it all off in this manner. Tou commit a theft first, and if the offence liad killed you, it's no more than you deserved. Who told you to steal the contents of that bag, Sir?" " The devil, I suppose, for I never felt pain like it — twistin', and teariu', and torturin' me, as if you had a pinchers in my inside, and were nippin' me to pieces !" " I'm glad of it — heartily glad of it." " I know you are — I know you well. 'Tis a corpse you'd like to see me this minute." " So that I never set eyes on you, I don't care what becomes of you." " That's enough — enough said. I'm goin'." " Go, and be !" *' No I won't. I'll go and earn my livin' ; and I'll have my carakter, too — eleven years last Lady-day ; and I'll be paid back to my own counthry ; and I'll have my wages up to Saturday next ; and the docther's bill, here, for all the stuff I tuk since I came in ; and when you are ready with all this, you can ring for me." And with his hands clasped over his stomach, and in a half-bent position, Joe shuffled out and left his master to his own reflections. The world is full of its strange vicissitudes, and in nothing more remarkably than the way people are reconciled, ignore tlie past, and start afresh in life to incur more disagreements, and set to bicker- ing again. Great kings and kaisers indulge in this pastime ; pro- found statesmen and politicians do very little else : what wonder, then, if the declining sun saw the smart tandem slipping along to- wards the Bagni, with the O'Shea and his man sitting side by side in pleasant converse ! They were both smoking, and seemed like men who enjoyed their picturesque drive, and the inspiriting pace they travelled at. " When I'll singe these " cat hairs" off, and trim him a little about the head, he'll look twice as well," said Joe, with his eye on the leader. " It's a pity to see a collar on him." " We'll take him down to Eome, and show him off over the hurdles," said his master, joyfully. " I was just thinkin' of that this minute ; wasn't that strange, now ?" " We'll have to go, for they're going to break up house here, and go off to Eome for the winter." " How will we settle with Pan ?" said Joe, thoughtfully. " A bill, I suppose." 140 ONE or THEM. Joe shook his head doubtiugly. " I'm afraid not." " Go I will, and go I must," said O'Shea, resolutely. "I'm not going to lose the best chance I ever had in life for the sake of a beggarly innkeeper." " Why would you ? Siire, no one would ask you ! For, after all, 'tis only drivin' away, if we're put to it. I don't think he'd over- take us." " Not if we went the same pace you did this morning, Joe," said O'Shea, laughing ; and Joe joined pleasantly in the laugh, and the event ceased to be a grievance from that instant. CHAPTEE XVIII. MES. MORRIS AS COUNSELLOR. The breakfast at the ViUa Caprini always seemed to recal more of English daily Life and habit tlian any other event of the day. It was not only in the luxuriously spread table, and the sideboard arrayed with that picturesque profusion so redoleut of home, but there was that gay and hearty familiarity so eminently the temper of the hour, and that pleasant interchange of news and gossip, as each tore the envelope of his letter, or caught some amusing paragraph in his paper. Mrs. Penthony Morris had a very wide correspondence, and usually contributed little scraps of intelligence from various parts of the Continent. They were generally the doings and sayings of that cognate world, whose names require no introduction, and even those to whom they are unfamiliar would rather hear in silence than own to the ignorance. The derelicts of fashion are the staple of small- talk ; they are suggestive of all the little social smartness one hears, and of that very Brummagem morality which assumes to judge them. In these Mrs. Morris revelled. No paragraph of the Morn- ing Post was too mysteriously worded for her powers of interpreta- tion ; no asterisks could veil a name from her piercing gaze. Besides, she had fashioned a sort of algebraic code of life which wonderfully assisted her divination, and being given an unhappy marriage, she could foretel the separation, or, with the data of a certain old gentle- man's visits to St. John's-wood, could predict his will with an accu- ONE OF THEM. ]11 racy that seemed marvellous. As she sat, surrounded with letters and notes of all sizes, she varied the tone of her intelligence so art- fully as to canvass the suffrage of every listener. Now it was some piece of court gossip, some " scandal of Queen Elizabeth," now a curious political intrigue, and now, again, some dashing exploit of a young soldier in India. But whether it told of good or evil fortune, of some deeply interesting event, or some passing triviality, her power of narrating it was considerable, as, with a tact all her own, she selected some one especial individual as chief listener. After a number of short notices of London, Rome, and Paris, she tossed over several letters carelessly, saying, " I believe I have given you the cream of my correspondence. Stay, here ia something about your old sloop the Mosquito, Lord Agincourt ; would you like to hear of how she attacked the forts at the mouth of the — oh, how shall I attack it ? — the Bhageebhahoo ? This is a midshipman's letter, written the same evening of the action." Though the question was addressed very pointedly, the boy never heard it, but sat deeply engaged in deciphering a very jagged hand- writing in a letter before him. It was one of those scratchy, un- finished specimens of penmanship which are amongst the luxuries persons of condition occasionally indulge in. Seeing his preoccu- pation, Mrs. Morris did not repeat her question, but suffered him to pursue his researches undisturbed. He had just begun his breakfast when the letter arrived, and now he ceased to eat anything, but seemed entirely engrossed by his news. At last, he arose abruptly, and left the room. " I hope Agincourt has not got any bad tidings," said Sir William ; " he seems agitated and uneasy." " I saw his guardian's name — SommerviUe — on the envelope," said Mrs. Morris, " It is, probably, one of those pleasant epistles which wards receive quarterly to remind them that even minors have miseries," The meal did not recover its pleasant tone after this little incident, and soon after they all scattered through the house and the grounds, Mrs. Morris setting out for her usual woodland walk, which she took each morning. A half-glance the boy had given her as he quitted the room at breakfast-time, induced her to believe that he wanted to consult her about his letter, and so, as she entered the shrubbery, she was not surprised to find Lord Agincourt there before her. 142 OTTE OF THEM, "I was just wishing it might be your footstep I heard on the gravel," said he, joining her. " May I keep you company ?" " To be sure, provided you don't make love to me, which I never permit in the forenoon." " Oh, I have other thoughts in my head," said he, sighing drearily ; " and you are the very one to advise me what to do. Not, indeed, that I have any choice about that, only how to do it, that's the question." " "When one has the road marked out, it's never very hard to decide on the mode of the journey," said she. " Tell me what your troubles are." " Troubles you may well call them," said he, with a deeper sigh. " There, read that — if you can read it — for the old Earl does not grow more legible by being older." " ' Crews Court,' " read she aloud ; " handsome old abbey it must be," added she, remarking on a little tinted sketch at the top of the letter. " Yes, that's a place of mine. I was born there," said the boy, half proudly. " It's quite princely." " It's a fine old thing, and I'd give it all this minute not to have had that disagreeable letter." " ' My dear Henry,' " began she, in a low, muttering voice, *' ' I have heard with — with ' — not abomination — oh no, ' astonishment — with astonishment, not unmixed with' — it can't be straw — is it straw ? — no, it is ' shame — not unmixed with shame, that you have so far forgiven — forgotten' — oh, that's it — ' what was done to yourself.' " " No, ' What was due to yourself,' " interrupted he ; " that's a favourite word of his, and so I know it." " * To become the — the' — dear me, what can this be with the vigorous G at the beginning ? — * to become' — is it really the Giant ? — 'to become the Giant' " The boy here burst into a fit of laughing, and taking the letter from her, proceeded to read it out. " I have spelt it all over five times," said he, " and I know it by heart. ' I have heard with astonishment, not unmixed with shame, that you have so far forgotten what was due to yourself as to become the Guest of one who for so many years was the political opponent and ever personal enemy of our house. Your ignorance of family history cannot possibly be such as that you are unaware of the claims once put forward by this same Sir William Heathcote to your father's peerage, or of the disgraceful law- proceedings iustituted to establish V^l ONE OP THEM. 143 his pretensions.' As if I ever heard a word of all this before ! aa if I knew or cared a brass button about the matter!" burst he in. " ' Had your tutor' — here comes in my poor coach for his turn," said Agincourt — " ' had your tutor but bestowed proper attention to the instructions written by my own hand for his guidance' — we never could read them ; we have been at them for hours together, and all we could make out was, ' Let him study hazard, roulette, and all other such games ;' which rather surprised us, till we found out it was ' shun,' and not ' study,' and ' only frequent the fast society of each city he visits,' which was a mistake for ' first.' " " Certainly the noble Lord has a most ambiguous caligraphy," said she, smiling ; " and Mr. Layton is not so culpable as might be ima- gined." " Ah !" cried the boy, laughing, " I wish you had seen Alfred's face on the day he received our first quarter's remittance, and read out : • Tou may drag on me like a mouse, if you please,' which was in- tended to be, ' draw upon me to a like amount, if you please ;' and it was three weeks before we could make that out ! But let me go on — where was I ? oh, at ' guidance' : ' Recent information has, however, shown me that nothing could have been more unfortunate than our choice of this young man, his father being one of the most dangerous individuals known to the police, a man familiar with the lowest haunts of crime, a notorious swindler, and a libeller by profession. In the letter which I send ofi" by this day's post to your tutor I have enclosed one from his father to myself. It is not very likely that he will show it to you, as it contains the most insolent demands for an increase of salary — " as some slight, though inadequate, compensation for an office unbecoming my son's rank, insulting to his abilities, and even damaging to his acquirements." I give you this in his own choice language, but there is much more in the same strain. The man, it would appear, has just come out of a lunatic asylum, to which place his intemperate habits had brought him ; and I may mention, that his first act of gratitude to the benevolent individual who had undertaken the whole cost of his maintenance there was to assault him in the open street, and give him a most savage beating. Captain Hone, or Holmes — a distinguished officer, as I am told — is still con- fined to his room from the consequences.' " " How very dreadful !" said Mrs. Morris, calmly. " Shocking treatment! for a distinguished officer, too!" " Dreadful fellow he must be," said the boy. " What a rare fright he must have given my old guardian ! But the end of it all is, I'm to leave Alfred, and go back to England at once. I wish I was going 144 ONE or THEM. to sea again ; I wish I was off thousands of miles away, and not to come home for years. To part with the kind, good fellow, that was like a brother to me, this way — how can I do it P And do you per- ceive, he hasn't one word to say against Alfred ? It's only that he has the misfortune of this terrible father. And, after all, might not that be any one's lot ? You might have a father you couldn't help being ashamed of." " Of course," said she ; " I can fancy such a case easily enough.'* " I know it will nearly kill poor Alfred ; he'll not be able to bear it. He's as proud as he is clever, and he'll not endure the tone of the Earl's letter. Who knows what he'll do ? Can you guess ?" " Not in the least. I imagine that he'll submit as patiently as he can, and look out for another situation." " Ah, there you don't know him !" broke in the boy ; " he can't endure this kind of thing. He only consented to take me because his health was breaking up from hard reading ; he wanted rest and a change of climate. At first he refused altogether, and only gave way when some of his college dons over-persuaded him." She smiled a half-assent, but said nothing. "Then there's another point," said he, suddenly: "I'm sure hia Lordship has not been very measured in the terms of his letter to him. I can just fancy the tone of it ; and I don't know how poor Alfred is to bear that." " My dear boy, you'll learn one of these days — and the knowledge will come not the less soon from your being a Peer — that all the world is either forbearing or overbearing. You must be wolf or lamb ; there's no help for it." " Alfred never told me so," said he, sternly. " It's moie than likely that he did not know ! There are no men know less of life than these college creatures ; and there lies the great mistake in selecting such men for tutors for our nresent-day life and its accidents. Alexandre Dumas would be a safer guide than Hero- dotus ; and Thackeray teach you much more than Socrates." " K I only had in my head one half of what Alfred knew, I'd be well satisfied," said the boy. " Ay, and what's better still, without his thinking a bit about it." " And so," said she, musingly, "you are to go back to England ?" " That does not seem quite settled, for he says, in a postscript, that Sir George Rivers, one of the Cabinet, I believe, has mentioned some gentleman, a ' member of their party,' now in Italy, and who would ])robably consent to take charge of me till some further arrangement could be come to." ONE OF THEM. 145 " Hold your cTiain till a new bear-leader turned up !" said alie, laughing. " Oh dear ! I wonder when that wise generation of guardians will come to know that the real guide for the creatures like you is a woman. Tes, you ought to be travelling with your governess — some one, whose lady-like tone and good manners would insensibly instil quietness, reserve, and reverence in your breeding, correct your bad French, and teach you to enter or leave a room without seeming to be a housebreaker !" "I should like to know who does that?" asked he, indignantly. " Every one of you young Englishmen, whether you come fresh from Brasenose, or the Mess of the Forty-something, you have all of yoa the same air of bashful bull-dogs !" " Oh, come, this is too bad ; is this the style of Charles Heathcote, for instance ?" " Most essentially it is ; the only thing is that, the bull-dog element predominating in his nature, he appears the less awkward in conse- quence." " I should like to hear what you'd say of the O'Shea." " Oh, Mr. O'Shea is an Irishman, and their ways bear the same relation to general good breeding that rope-dancing does to waltzing." " I'll take good care not to ask you for any description of myself," said he, laughingly. "You are very wrong, then, for you should have heard something excessively flattering," was her reply. " Shall I tell you who your new protector is to be ?" cried she, after a moment's pause ; " I have just guessed it : the O'Shea himself!" " O'Shea ! impossible ; how could you imagine such a thing ?" "I'm certain I'm right. He is always talking of his friend Sir George Eivers — he calls him Rivers — who is Colonial Secretary, and who is to make him either Bishop of Barbadoes or a Gold Stick at the Gambia ; and you'll see if I'm not correct, and that the wardship of a young scapegrace lordling is to be the retaining fee of this faith- ful follower of his party. Of course, there will be no question of tutorship ; in fact, it would have such an unpleasant resemblance to the farce and Mr. O'Toole, as to be impossible. Tou will simply be travelling together. It will be double harness, but only one horse doing the work !" " I never can make out whether you're in jest or in earnest," said he, pettishly. "I'm always in earnest when I'm jesting; that'is the only clue I can give you." IIG ONE OF THEM. " But all this time we have been wandering away from the only thing I wanted to think of: how to part with dear Alfred. Tou have told me nothing about that." " These are things which, as the French say, always do themselves, and, consequently, it is better never to plan or provide for ; and, re- member, as a maxim, whenever the current is carrying you the way you want to go, put in your oar as little as possible. And as to old associations, they are like old boots : they are very pleasant wear, but they won't last for ever. There, now, I have given you quite enough matter to think over; and so, good-by." As Agincourt turned his steps slowly towards the house, he mar- velled with himself what amount of guidance she had given him. CHAPTER XIX. joe's DIPLOBLA.CY. Me. O'Shea's man was not one to put his light under a bushel ; so, when he received at the post-office a very portentous-looking letter, heavily sealed, and marked " On Her Majesty's Service," he duly stopped the two or three English loungers he saw about to show them the document, on pretence of asking if any demand for postage could be made ; if it had not been wrongfully detained ; if they thought it had been opened and read ; and so on, — all these inquiries having for their object to inform the general public that the Member for Inch was in close relation and correspondence with Downing- street. In sooth, the letter had as significant an external as any gentleman in pursuit of a place might have desired. In colour, texture, and fashion, there was nothing wanting to its authenticity, and it miglit, without any disparagement to its outside, have named Mr. O'Shea a Grovernor of the Bahamas, or a Mahogany Commissioner at Euatan. It was, in fact, a document that, left negligently in the way, might have made a dun appeasable, and a creditor patient. There were few men it might not in some degree have imposed on, but of that few the O'Shea himself was one. He knew well — too well — that it foretold neither place nor employment; that it was the shell of a very small kernel ; nothing more, in short, than a note from an old friend and schoolfellow, then acting as the Private Secretary of a Cabinet Minister Ol^E OF THEM. 1 17 — one who, indeed, kept his friend O'Shea fully informed as to every- thing that fell vacant, but, unhappily, accompanied the intellip^ence with a catalogue of the applicants, usually soiiietliiug like the list of the Smiths in a Directory. So little impatient was O'Shea for the contents, that he had half eaten his breakfast, and looked tlirough Punch, before he broke the seal. The enclosure was from the hand of liis friend Tom Radwell, but whose peculiar drollery it was to correspond in the form of a mock despatch. The note, therefore, though merely containing gossip, was written with all attention to margin and caligraphy, and even in places affected the solemn style of the Office. It was headed " Secret and Confidential," and opened tlius : " SiE, — By your despatch of the ISth ult., containing four en- closures — three protested bills, and your stepmother's I for 18Z. 5s. — I am induced to believe that no material change has occurred in the situation of your affairs — a circumstance the more to be deplored, in- asmuch as her Majesty's Government cannot at this moment, with that due regard imposed on them for the public service, undertake either to reconsider your claims, or by any extraordinary exercise of the powers vested in them by the Act of Teddy the Tiler, chap. 4, sees. 9 and 10, appoint you in the way and manner you propose. So much, my dear Gorman, old Kivers declared to me this morning, confi- dentially adding, I wish that Irish party would understand that, when we could buy them altogether in a basket, as in O'Connell's day, the arrangement w^as satisfactory ; but to have to purchase them sepa- rately — each potato by himself — is a terrible loss of time, and leads to no end of higgling. Why can't you agree amongst yourselves — make your bargain, and then divide the spoUs quietly ? It is the way your forefathers understood the law of commonage, and nobody ever grumbled that his neighbour had a cow or a pig too many ! The English of all this is, they don't want you just now, and they won't have you, for you're an article that never kept well, and even when bonded, your loss by leakage is considerable. " Every Irishman I ever met makes the same mistake of offering himself for sale when the commodity is not wanted. If you see muffs and boas in Eegent-street in July, ain't they always ticketed ' a great sacrifice ?' Can't you read the lesson ? But so it is w^ith you. Tou fancy you'll induce people to travel a bad road by putting up a turnpike. " I'm sorry to say all this to you, but I see plainly politics will not do any longer as a pursuit. It is not only that all appointments are L 2 148 ON]? or THEM. so scrutinised now-a-days, but that every man's name in a division is weighed and considered in a fashion that renders a mere majority of less moment than the fact of how it was composed. If I cannot manage something for you in the West Indies, you must try Chel- tenham. " Eivers has just sent for me. " ' What of your friend O'Shea ? Didn't you teU me he was in the north of Italy ?' " ' Tes,' said I ; ' he's getting up the Italian question. He has accumulated a mass of facts which wiU astonish the House next ses- sion.' " ' Con«found his facts !' muttered he. ' Here has been Lord Som- merville with me, about some young ward of his. I don't well un- derstand what he wants, or what he wishes me to do ; but the drift is, to find some one — a gentleman, of course — who would take charge of the boy for a short time ; he is a Marquis, with large expectations, and one day or other will be a man of mark.' " I tried the dignity tone, but old Eivers interrupted me quickly : " ' Tes, yes, of course. Mere companionship, nothing more. Sound O'Shea upon it, and let me hear.' " Here, then, my dear Gorman, is the ' opening' you so long have looked for ; and if you cannot turn such a position to good profit, who can ? Nor are you the man I take you for, if you're not mar- ried into the family before this day twelvemonth ! There is no time to be lost, so telegraph back at once. A simple ' Tes' will do, if you accept, which I sincerely hope you will. AU the minor arrangements you may safely trust to me." When Mr. O'Shea had read thus far, he arose, and walking with head erect, and well thrown-out chest, towards the looking-glass, he desired to "take stock" of his appearance, and to all semblance was not displeased at the result. He was autumualising, it is true ; tints were mellowing, colours more sombre, but, on the whole, there was nothing in the landscape, viewed at due distance and with suitable light, to indicate much ravage from Time. Tour hard- featured men, like mountains in scenery, preserve the same appear- ance unchanged by years. It is your genial fellow, with mobile fea- tures, that suffers so terribly from age. The plough of Time leaves deep furrows in the arable soil of such faces. As in those frescoes which depend altogether on colour, the devastations of years are awfully felt ; whenb lack degenerates into grey, mellow browns grow a muddy yellow, and the bright touches that *' accentuated" expression ONE OF THEM. 149 are little else than unmeaTiirig blotches ! If the IMeniber for Inch had not travelled far upon the dreary road, I am bound iu truth to own that he had begun the journey. A light, faint silvering sliowed on his whiskers, like the first touch of snow on an Alpine fern in October. The lines that indicated a ready aptitude for fun had deepened, and grown more marked at the angles at the mouth — a sad sign of one whose wit was less genial and more biting than of yore. Then — worst of all — he had entered upon the pompous lustre wherein men feel an exaggerated self-importance, imagine that their opinions are formed, and their character matured. Nothing is so trying as that quarantine period, and both men and women make more egregious fools of themselves in it than in all the wild heyday of early youth. Mr. O'Shea, however, was an Irishman, and, in virtue of the fact, he had a light, jaunty, semi-careless way with him, which is a sort of electroplate youth, and looks like the real article, though it won't prove so lasting. "I must have a look into the Peerage," said he, as he turned to the bulky volume that records the alliances and the ages of the " upper ten thousand :" " ' Lady Maria Augusta Sofronia Montserrat, born' — oh, by the powers, that won't do ! — ' born 1804.' Oh, come, after all, it's not so bad ; ' died in '46. — Charlotte Hose Leopoldine, died in infancy. — Henrietta Louisa, born 1815 ; married in 1835 to Lord Julius de Eaby ; again married to Prince Beerstenshoften von Hahnsmarkt, and widowed same year, 1846.' I'll put a mark against her. And there's one more, ' Juliana de Yere, youngest daughter, born '26 ' — that's the time of day ! — born '26, and no more said. The paragraph has yet to be filled with, ' Married to the O'Shea, Member of Parlia- ment for Inchabogue, High Sherifi" of Tipperary, and head of the ancient cept known as O'Meadhlin Shamdoodhliu Naboklish O'Shea' — I wonder if they'd put it in — ' formerly Kings of Tulloch Eeardhin and Bare-ma-bookle, and all the countries west of the Galtee Moun- tains.' If pedigree would do it, O'Shea may call himself first favourite ! And now , Miss Leslie," continued he, aloud, " you have no time to lose ; make your bidding quickly, or the O'Shea will be knocked down to another purchaser. As Eugene Aram says, ' I'm equal to either fortune.' " " AVell," said Joe, entering the room, and approaching his master confidentially, " is it a place ?" " Nothing of the kind ; a friendly letter from a member of the Cabinet," replied he, carelessly. 150 ONE OF THEM. " Devil take them ! It isn't friendship we want — it's something to live on." " Tou are a low-minded, mercenary creature," said O'Shea, oratorically. " Is our happiness in this life, our self-respect, our real worth, dependent upon the accident of our station, or upon the place we occupy in the aifections of men — what we possess of their sympathy and love ? I look around me, and what do I see ?" " Sorra bit of me knows," broke in Joe. Unmindful of the interruption, O'Shea continued : " I see the high places occupied by the crafty, the subtle, and the scheming." " I wish we had one of them," muttered Joe. " I see that humble merit shivers at the door, while insolent pre- tension struts proudly in." " Ay, and more power to him, if he's able," grumbled out the other. " I see more," said O'Shea, raising his voice, and extending his arm at full length — " I see a whole nation — eight millions of men — great, glorious, and gifted — men whose genius has shed a lustre over the dull swamp of their oppressors' nature, but who one day, rising from her ashes " " Ah ! by my conscience, I knew it was comin' ; and I said to myself, ' Here's the phaynix !' " " Rising from her ashes like the Megatherion of Thebes. "Where are you now, Master Joe ?" said he, with an insolent triumph in his look. " I'd just as soon have the phaynix," said Joe, doggedly. " Go on." " How can I go on ? How could any man ? Demosthenes him- self would stand confused in presence of such vulgar interruptions. It is in such temperaments as yours men of genius meet their worst repulses. Tou are at once the fet-ce naturce of humanity, and the pestilential atmosphere that poisons — ^that poisons " " Oh ! there you are * pounded !' Poisons what ?" " Poisons the pellucid rills which should fertilise the soul of man! I'm never pounded. O'Connell himself had to confess that he never saw my equal in graceful imagery and figurative embellishment. ' Listening to O'Shea,' says he, ' is like watching a juggler with eight balls flying round and about him. Tou may think it impossible he'll be in time, but never one of them wiU he fail to catch.' That's what I call oratory. Why is it, I ask, that, when I rise in the House, you'd hear a pin drop ?" " Maybe they steal out on their tiptoes," said Joe, innocently. OKE OF THEM. 151 " No, Sir, they stand hushed, eager, anxious, as were the Greeks of old to catch the words of Ulysses. I only wish you saw old P working away with his pencil while I'm speaking." " Making a picture of you, maybe !" " You are as insolent as you are ignorant — one of those who, in the unregenerate brutality of their coarse nature, repel the attempts of all who would advocate the popular cause, I have said so over and over again. If you would constitute yourself the friend of the people, take care to know nothing of them ; neither associate with them, nor mix in their society : as Tommy Moore said of Ireland, ' It's a beautiful country to live out of.' " " And he was a patriot !" said Joe, contemptuously. " There are no patriots amongst those who soar above the mise- rable limits of a nationality. Genius has no concern with geogra- phies. To think for the million you must forget the man." " Say that again. I like the sound of that," cried Joe, admiringly, " If anything could illustrate the hopelessness of your class aud condition in life," continued O'Shea, " it is yourself. There you are, daily, hourly associated with one whose sentiments you hear, whose opinions you learn, whose judgments you record ; one eagerly sought after in society, revered in private, honoured in the senate ; and what have you derived from these unparalleled advantages ? What can you say has been the benefit from these relations ?" " It's hard to say," muttered Joe, " except, maybe, it's made me a philosopher." " A philosopher ! — you a philosopher !" " Ay ; isn't it philosophy to live without wages, and work without pay. 'Tis from yourself I heerd that the finest thing of all is to despise money." " So it is — so it would be, I mean, if society had not built up that flimsy card edifice it calls civilisation. Put out my blue pelisse with the Astracan collar, and my braided vest : I shall want to go over to the Villa this morning. But, first of all, take this to the telegraph-office, ' The O'Shea accepts.' " " Tear and ages ! what is't we've got ?" asked Joe, eagerly. " ' The O'Shea accepts ' — four words, if they charge for the ' O.' Let me know the cost at once." " But why don't you tell where we're going ? Is it Jamaica or Jerusalem ?" " Call your philosophy to your aid, and be anxious for nothing," said O'Shea, pompously. " Away ! lose no more time." If Joe had been the exponent of his feelings, as he left the room 152 ONE OF THEM. Le would probably have employed his favourite phrase, aud confessed himself " humiliated." He certainly did feel acutely the indignity that had been passed upon him. To live on a precarious diet and no pay was bad enough, but it was unendurable that his master should cease to consult with and confide in him. Amongst the shipwrecked suf- ferers on a raft, gradations of rank soon cease to be remembered, and of all equalisers there is none like misery ! Now, Mr. O'Shea and his man Joe had, so to say, passed years of life upon a raft. They had been storm-tossed and cast away for many a day. Indeed, to push the analogy further, they had more than once drawn lots who should be first devoured — that is to say, they had tossed up whose watch was to go first to the pawnbroker. 'Now, was it fair or reason- able, if his master discovered a sail in the distance, or a headland ou the horizon, that he should conceal the consoling fact, and leave hia fellow-sufierer to mourn on in misery ? Joe was deeply wounded — he was insulted and outraged. From the pain of his personal wrongs he was suddenly aroused by the telegraph clerk's demand for thirty francs. " Thirty francs for four words ?" " Tou might send twenty for the same sum," was the bland reply. " Faix, and so we will," said Joe. " Give me a pen and a sheet of paper." His first inspirations were so full of vengeance, that be actually meditated a distinct refusal of whatever it was had been oflfered to his master, and his only doubt was how to convey the insolent nega- tive in its most outrageous form. His second and wiser thoughts sug- gested a little diplomacy, and though both the consideration and the mode of efi'ectuating it cost no small time aud labour, we shall spare the reader's patience, and give him the result arrived at after nearly an houi-'s exertion, the message transmitted by Joe running thus : " Send the fullest particulars about the pay and the name of the place we're going to. " O'Shea." " I don't think there will be many secrets after I see the answer to that ; and see it I will, if I tear it open !" said Joe, sturdily, as he held his way back to the inn. A rather warm discussion ensued on the subject of his long absence, O'Shea remarking that for all the use Joe proved himself he might as well be without a servant, and Joe rejoining that, for the matter of pay and treatment, he might be pretty nearly as well oflT if be had no master ; these polite passages being interchanged while the O'Shea was busily performing with two hair-brushes, and Joe equally ONE OF THEM. 153 industriously lacing his master's waistcoat, with an artistic skill that the valet of a corpulent geutleman alone attains to, as Joe said a hundred times. " I wonder why I endure you," said O'Shea, as he jauntily settled his hat on one side of his head, and carefully arranged the hair on the other. " And you'll wondher more, when I'm gone, why I didn't go before," was Joe's surly rejoinder. " How did you come by that striped cravat, Sir ?" asked O'Shea, angrily, as he caught sight of Joe in front. "I took it out of the drawer." " It's mine, then !" " It was wonst. I didn't suppose you'd wear it after what the widow woman said of you up at the Villa — that Mrs. Morris : ' Here's the O'Shea,' says she, ' masquerading as a zebra ;' as much as to say it was another baste you was in reality." ' " She never dared to be so insolent." " She did ; I heard it myself" " I don't believe you ; I never do believe one word you say." " That's exactly what I hear whenever I say you're a man of fine fortune and good estate ; they all cry out, ' "What a lying rascal he is !' " O'Shea made a spring towards the poker, and Joe as rapidly took up a position behind the dressing-glass. " Hush !" cried O'Shea, " there's some one at the door." And a loud summons at the same time confirmed the words, "With a ready instinct Joe speedily recovered himself, and hastened to open it. " Is your master at home ?" asked a voice. " Oh, Heiithcote, is it you ?" exclaimed O'Shea ; "just step into the next room, and I'll be with you in a second or two. Joe, show Captain Heathcote into the drawing-room." " I wondher what's the matter with him ?" said Joe, confidentially, as he came back. " I never see any one look so low." " So much the better," said O'Shea, merrily ; " it's a sign he's coming to pay money. When a man is about to put you off with a promise, he lounges in with an easy, devil-may-care look, that seems to say, ' It's all one, old fellow, whether you have an I or the ready tin.' " " There's a deal of truth in that," said Joe, approvingly, and witli a look that showed how pleasurable it was to him to hear such words of wisdom. 154 ONE OF THEM. CHAPTEE XX. A DBEABT FOKENOON. O'Shea swaggered into the room where Heathcote was statiding to await him, in the attitude of one who desired to make his visit as brief as might be. "How good of you to drive over to this dreary spot," began the Member, jauntily, " where the blue devils seem to have their especial home. I'm hipped and bored here as I never was before. Come, sit down ; have you breakfasted ?" "Three hours ago." " Take some luncheon, then — a glass of sherry, at least." " Nothing — thanks — it's too early." " "Won't you have even a weed ?" said he, opening a cigar-box. " I'm provided," said the other, showing the half of a still lighted cigar. " I came over this morning, hoping to catch you at home, and make some sort of settlement about our little transactions to- gether." " My dear fellow, you surely can't think it makes any matter be- tween lis. I hope you know that it is entirely a question for your own convenience. No man has more experience of what it is to be * hit hard,' as they say. When I first came out, I got it. By Jove ! didn't I get it, and at both sides of the head, too. It was Mopus's year, when the Yorkshire Lass ran a dead heat with Skyrocket for the Diddlesworth. I stood seventeen to one, in thousands ! think of that — seventeen thousand pounds to one against the filly. It was thought so good a tiling that Naylor — old Jerry as tliey used to call liim — offered me a clean thousand to let him take half the wager. But these are old stories now, and they only bore you ; in fact, it was just to show you that every man has his turn " " I ovm. frankly," broke in Heathcote, " I am far too fuU of selfish cares to take a proper interest in your story. Just tell me if these figures are correct ?" And he turned to look out for a particular page in a small book. " Confound figures ! I wish they never were invented. If one only thinks of all the hearty fellows they've set by the ears, the close friendships they have severed, the strong iiltachments they have ONE OF THEM. 155 broken, I declare one would be justified in saying it was the devil himself invented arithmetic." " I wish he'd have made it easier when he was about it," said Heathcote. " Excellent, by Jove ! — how good ! ' made it easier' — capital !" cried O'Shea, laughing with a boisterous jollity that made the room ring. " I hope I'll not forget that. I must book that ' mot' of yours." Heathcote grew crimson with shame, and, in an angry impulse, pilcned his cigar into the fire. *' That's right," broke in O'Shea ; " these are far better smoking than your cheroots — these are Hudson's ' Grand Viziers,' made espe- cially for Abbas Pasha's own smoking." Heathcote declined, coldly, and continued his search through his note-book. "It was odd enough," said O'Shea, "just as you came in I was balancing in my own mind whether I'd go over to the Villa, or wTite to you." , , . " Write to me !" said the other, reddening. " Don't be scared ; it was not to dun you. J^o ; I was meditating whether it was quite fair of me to take that trap and the nags. Yo^ like that sort of thing ; it suits you, too. Now, I'm sobering down into the period of Park phaetons and George the Fourths: a low step to get in, and a deep, well-cushioned seat, with plenty of leg room ; that's more my style. As Holditch says, ' The O'Shea wants an arm-chair upon C springs, and Collinge's patent.' Free and easy that, from a rascally coachmaker, eh ?" " I don't want the horses. I have no use for them. I'm not quite clear whether you valued the whole thing at two hundred and fifty or three hundred and fifty ?" "We said, two fifty," replied O'Shea, in his silkiest of tones. "Be it so," muttered Heathcote; "I gave two hundred for the chesnut horse at Tattersall's." " He was dear — too dear," was the dry reply. " Esterhazy called him the best horse he ever bred." " He shall have him this morning for a hundred and twenty." " Well, well," burst in Heathcote, " we are not here to dispute about that. I handed you, as well as I remember, eighty, and two hundred and thirty Naps." "More than that, I think," said O'Shea, thoughtfully, and as if labouring to recollect clearly. " I'm certain I'm correct," said Heathcote, haughtily. " I made no other payments than these two— eighty, and two hundred and thirty." 156 ONE OF XHEM. " What a memory I liave, to be sure !" said O'Shea, laughingly. " I remember now, it was a rouleau of fifty that I paid away to Layton was ruuuing iu my head." Heathcote's lip curled superciliously, but it was only for a second, and his features were calm as before. " Two thirty and eighty make three hundred and ten, and three fifty " " Two fifty for the trap !" broke in O'Shea. " Ah ! to be sure, two fifty, make altogether five hundred and sixty Naps., lea'rtng, let me see — ninety-four — sixty-one — one hundred and twelve " " A severe night that was. You never won a game !" chimed in O'Shea. " — One hundred and twelve and seventy, making three hundred and thirty-seven in all. Am I right ?" " Correct as Cocker, only you have forgotten your walk against time, from the fish-pond to the ranger's lodge. What was it — ten Naps., or twenty ?" " Neither. It was five, and I paid it !" was the curt answer. " Ain't I the stupidest dog that ever sat for a borough ?" said O'Shea, bursting out into one of his boisterous laughs. " Do you know, I'd have been quite willing to have bet you u cool hundred about that ?" " And you'd have lost," said Heathcote, dryly. "Not a doubt of it, and deserved it, too," said he, merrily. " I have brought you here one hundred and fifty," said Heathcote, laying down three rouleaux on the table, " and, for the remainder, my note at three months. I hope that may not prove inconvenient ?" " Inconvenient, my boy ! never say the word. Not to mention that fortune may take a turn one of these days, and all this California find its way back to its own diggings." " I don't mean to play any more." " Not play any more ! Do you mean to say that, because you have been once repulsed, you'll never charge again ? Is that your soldier's pluck ?" " There is no question here of my soldier's pluck. I only said I'd not play at billiards." " May I ask you one thing ? How can you possibly expect to attain excellence in any pursuit, great or small, when you are so easily abashed ?" " May I take the same liberty with you, and ask how can it possibly concern any one but myself that I have taken this rusolu- lion ?" OlS^E OF THEM. 157 " There you have me ! a hazard and no mistake ! I may be your match at billiards, but when it comes to repartee you are the better man, Heathcote." Coarse as the flattery was, it was not unpleasing. Indeed, in its very coarseness there was a sort of mock sincerity, just as the stroke of a heavy hand on your shoulder is occasionally taken for good fellowship, though you wince under the blow. Now Heathcote was not only gratified by his own smartness, but after a moment or two he felt half sorry he had been so " severe on the poor fellow." He had over-shotted his gun, and there was really no necessity to rake him so heavily ; and so, with a sort of blundering bashfulness, he said, " Tou're not offended — you're not angry with me ?" " Offended ! angry ! nothing of the kind. I believe I am a peppery sort of fellow — at least, down in the west there they say as much of me — but once a man is my friend — once that I feel all straight and fair between us — he may bowl me over ten times a day, and I'll never resent it." There was a pause after this, and Heathcote found his position painfully awkward. He did not fancy exactly to repudiate the friend- ship thus assumed, and he certainly did not like to put his name to the bond ; and so he walked to the window and looked out with that half-hopeless vacuity bashful men are prone to. " What's the weather going to do ?" said he, carelessly. " More rain ?" "Of course, more rain ! Amongst all the humbugs of the day, do you know of oue equal to the humbug of the Italian climate ? Where's the blue sky they rave about?" " Not there, certainly," said Heathcote, laughing, as he looked up at the leaden-coloured canopy that lowered above them. " My father used to say," said O'Shea, "that it was all a mistake to talk about the damp climate of Ireland ; the real grievance was, that when it rained it always rained dirty water!" The conceit amused Heathcote, and he laughed again. " There it comes now, and with a will, too !" And at the same instant, with a rushing sound like hail, the rain poured down with such intensity as to shut out the hills directly in front of the windows. " Tou're caught this time, Heathcote. Make the best of it, like a man, and resign yourself to eat a mutton-chop here with me at four o'clock ; and if it clears in the evening, I'll canter back with you." " No, no, the weather will take up — this is only a shower. They'll expect me back to dinner, besides. Confound it, how it does come down !" 158 0NJ5 OP THEM. " Oh, faith !" said O'Shea, half mournfully, " I don't wonder that you're less afraid of the rain than a bad dinner." "No, it's not that — nothing of the kind," broke in Heathcote, hurriedly ; " at another time I should be delighted ! Who ever saw such rain as that !" " Look at the river, too. See how it is swollen already." "Ah ! I never thought of the mountain torrents," said Heathcote, suddenly. " They'll be coming down like regular cataracts by this time. I defy any one to cross at Borgo even now. Take my advice, Heath- cote, and reconcile yourself to old Pan's cookery for to-day." " What time do you dine ?" " What time will suit you ? Shall we say four or five ?" " Tour, if you'll permit me. Four will do capitally." " That's all right. And now I'll just step down to Panini myself, and give him a hint about some Burgundy he has got in the cellar." Like most men yielding to necessity, Heathcote felt discontented and irritated, and no sooner was he alone than he began to regret his having accepted the invitation. What signified a wetting ? He was on horseback, to be sure, but he was well mounted, and it was only twelve miles — an hour, or an hour and a quarter's, sharp canter ; and as to the torrents, up to the girths, perhaps, or a little beyond — it could scarcely come to swimming. Thus he argued with himself as he walked to and fro, and chafed and fretted as he went. It was in this irritated state O'Shea found him when he came back. " We're all right. They've got a brace of woodcock below stairs, and some Pistoja mutton ; and as I have forbidden oil and all the grease-pots, we'll manage to get a morsel to eat." " I was just thinking how stupid I was to — to — to put you to all this inconvenience," said he, hastily changing a rudeness into an apology. "Isn't it a real blessing for me to catch you?" cried O'Shea. " Imagine me shut up here by myself all day, no one to speak to, nothing to do, nothing to read but that old volume of the ' Wander- ing Jew,' that I begin to know by heart, or, worse again, that speech of mine on the Italian question, that whenever I've nearly finished it the villains are sure to do something or other that destroys all my predictions and ruins my argument. What would have become of me to-day if you hadn't dropped in ?" Heathcote apparently did not feel called upon to answer this inquiry, but walked the room moodily, with his hands in his pockets. O'Shea gave a little faint sigh— such a sigh as a weary pedestrian ONE OF THEM. 159 may give, as, turning the angle of the way, he sees seven miles of straight road before him, witliout bend or curve. It was now eleven o'clock, and five dreary hours were to be passed before dinner-time. Oh, my good reader, has it been amongst your life experiences to have submitted to an ordeal of this kind — to be caged up of a wet day with an unwilling guest, whom you are called on to amuse, but know not how to interest ; to feel that you are bound to employ his thoughts, with the sad consciousness that in every pause of the con- versation he is cursing his hard fate at being in your company ; to know that you must deploy all the resources of your agreeability without even a chance of success, your very efforts to amuse consti- tuting in themselves a boredom ? It is as great a test of temper as of talent. Poor O'Sliea, one cannot but pity you ! To be sure, you are not without little aids to pass time, in the shape of cards, dice, and sucb-like. I am not quite sure that a travelling roulette-table is not somewhere amongst your effects. But of what use are they all now ? None would think of a lecture on anatomy to a man who had just suffered amputation. No, no ! play must not be thought of — it must be most sparingly alluded to even in conversation — and so what remains ? O'Shea was not without reminiscences, and he " went into them like a man." He told scenes of early Trinity College life ; gave sketches of his con- temporaries, one or two of them now risen to eminence ; he gave anecdotes of Gray's Inn, where he had eaten his terms ; of Templar life, its jollities and its gravities ; of his theatrical experiences, when he wrote the " Drama" for two weekly periodicals ; of his like employ when he reported prize-fights, boat-races, and pigeon-matches for Sell's Life. He then gave a sketch of his entrance into public life, with a picture of an Irish election, dashed off spiritedly and boldly ; but all he could obtain from his phlegmatic listener was a faint smile at times, and a low muttering sound, that resolved itself into, " What snobs !" At last he was in the House, dealing with great names and great events, which he ingeniously blended up with Bellamy's and the oyster suppers below stairs ; but it was no use — they, too, were snobs! It was all snobbery everywhere. Freshmen, Templars, Pugilists, ScuUers, County Electors, and House of Commons cele- brities — all snobs ! O'Shea then tried the Turf — disparagingly, as a great moralist ought. They were, as he said, a " bad lot ;" but he knew them well, and they " couldn't hurt Mm.'' He had a variety of curious stories about racing knaveries, and could clear up several mysterious 160 ONE OF THEM. circumstances, which all the penetration of the " Eing" had never succeeded in solving. Heathcote, however, was unappeasable ; and these, too — trainers, jockeys, judges, and gentlemen — they were all snobs ! It was only two o'clock, and there were two more mortal hours to get through before dinner. With a bright inspiration he bethought him of bitter beer. Oh, Bass ! ambrosia of the barrack-room, thou nectar of the do-nothings in this life, how gracefully dost thou deepen dulness into drowsiness, making stupidity but semi-conscious ! What a bond of union art thou between those who have talked themselves out, and would, without thy consoling froth, become mutually odious ! Instead of the torment of suggestiveness which other drinks inspire, how gloriously lethargic are all thy influences, how mind-quelling, and how muddling ! There is, besides, a vague notion prevalent with yovir beer drinker, that there is some secret of health in his indulgence — that he is undergoing a sort of tonic regimen, something to make him more equal to the ascent of Mont Blanc, or the defeat of the Zouaves, and he grows in self-esteem as he sips. It is not the boastful sentiment begotten of champagne, or the defiant courage of port, but a dogged, resolute, resistant spirit, stout in its nature, and bitter to the last ! And thus they sipped, and smoked, and said little to each other, and the hours stole over, and the wintry day darkened apace, and, at last, out of a drowsy nap over the fire, the waiter awoke them, to say dinner was on the table. " Ton were asleep !" said O'Shea to his companion. "Yes, 'twas your snoring set me off!" replied Heathcote, stretch- ing himself, as he walked to the window. " Eaining just as hard as ever !" " Come along," said the other, gaily. "Let us see what old Pan has done for us." ONE OF THEM. 161 CHAPTEE XXI MR. O'SHEA UPOX POLITICS, AND THINGS IN GENERAL. It was a most appetising little dinuer that was now set before the O'Shea and Charles Heathcote. The trout from Castellano, and the mutton from Pistoja, were each admirable ; and a brace of woodcocks, shot in the first snow-storm on the Carrara mountains, were served in a fashion that showed the cook had beneiited by English teachings. " There are worse places than this, after all !" said O'Shea, as he sat at one side of the fire, Heathcote opposite, and a small table liberallv covered with decanters between them. " Wonderful Burgundy this," said Heathcote, gazing at his glass in the light. " What does he call it ?" " He calls it Lafitte. These fellows think all red wines come from the Bordeaux country. Here it is — marked seven francs." " Cheap at double the price. My governor will take every bottle of it." " Not before I leave, I hope," said O'Shea, laughing. " I trust he'll respect what they call vested interests." " Oh, by the way," said the other, indolently, "you are going ?" "Tes. Our party are getting uneasy, and I am constantly re- ceiving letters pressing me to return to England." " Want you in the House, perhaps ?" said Heathcote, as he puffed his cigar in lazy enjoyment. " Just so. Tou see, a parliamentary session is a sort of campaign in which every arm of warfare is needed. Tou want your great guns for the grand battles, your dashing cavalry charges for emer- gencies, and your light skirmishers to annoy the enemy and discon- cert his advance." " And which are you f" asked the other, in a tone of bantering in- difference. " Well, I'm what vou might call a mounted rifleman — a dash of the dragoon with a spice of the sharpshooter." " Sharp enough, I take it," muttered Heathcote, who bethought him of the billiard-table, and the wonderful " hazards" O'Shea used to accomplish. " Tou understand," resumed the Member, confidentially, " I don't come out on the Budget, or Eeform, or things of that kind ; but I 162 ONE OF THEM. lie by till I liear some one make a blunder or a mistake, no matter how insignificant, and then I'm down on him, generally with an anec- dote — something he reminds me of — and for which I'm sure to have the laugh against him. It's so easy, besides, to make them laugh; the worst jokes are always successful in the House of Commons." " Dull fellows, I suppose ?" chimed in Heathcote. " No, indeed ; not that. Go down with six or eight of them to supper, and you'll say you never met pleasanter company. 'Tis being caged up there all together, saying the same things over and over, that's what destroys them." " It must be a bore, I take it ?" sighed out Heathcote. " I'll tell you what it is," said O'Shea, as, in a voice of deepest confidence, he leaned over the table and spoke — " I'll teU you what it is. Did you ever play the game called Brag, with very little money in your pocket ?" Heathcote nodded what might mean assent or the opposite. " Tliat's what Parliament is," resumed O'Shea. " Tou sit there, night after night, year after year, wondering within yourself, 'Would it be safe for me to play this hand ? shall I venture now ?' Tou know well that if you do back your luck and lose, that it's all up with you for ever, so that it's really a mighty serious thing to risk it. At last, maybe, you take courage. Tou think you've got the cards ; it's half-past two o'clock ; the House is thin, and every one tired and sleepy. Up you get on your legs to speak. Tou're not well down again, till a fellow from the back benches, you thought sound asleep, gets up and tears all you said to tatters ; destroys your facts, scatters your inferences, and maybe laughs at your figures of speech." " Not so pleasant, that," said Heathcote, languidly. "Pleasant! it's the devil !" said O'Shea, violently ; "for you hear the pens scratching away up in the reporters' gallery, and you know it will be all over Europe next morning." " Then why submit to all this?" asked Heathcote, more eagerly. "Just as I said a while ago: because you might cliance upon a good card, and ' brag ' on it for something worth while. It's all luck." " Tour picture of political life is not fascinating," said Heathcote, coldly. " After all, do you know, I like it," resumed O'Shea. " As long as you've a seat in the House, there's no saying when you mightn't be wanted ; and then, when the session's over, and you go down to the country, you are the terror of all the fellows that never sat in 0>'K OF THEM. 108 Parlianiont. If they say a word about public matters, you put them down at once with a cool * I assure you, Sir, that's not the view we take of it in the House.' " " I'd say, ' What's that to me f " " ]S"o you wouldn't — not a bit of it; or, if you did, nobody would mind you, and for this reason — it's the real place, after all. Why do you pay Storr and Mortimer more than another jeweller ? Just because you're sure of the article. There now, that's how it is !" " There's some one knocking at the door, I think," said Heathcote ; but at the same instant Joe's head appeared inside, with a request to be admitted. " 'Tis tlie telegraph," said he, presenting a packet. " I have asked for a small thing in Jamaica — some ten or twelve hundred a year" — whispered O'Shea to his friend. " I suppose this is the reply." And at the same time he threw the portentous envelope carelessly on the table. Either Heathcote felt no interest in the subject, or deemed it proper to seem as indifferent as his host, for he never took any further notice of the matter, but smoked away as before. " Tou needn't wait," said O'Shea to Joe, who still lingered at the door. " That fellow is bursting with curiosity now," said he, as the man retired ; " he'd give a year's wages to know what was inside that envelope." " Indeed !" sighed out Heathcote, in a tone that showed how little he sympathised with such eagerness. . . If O'Shea was piqued at this cool show of indifference, he resolved to surpass it by nppearing to forget the theme altogether ; and, push- ing the bottle across the table, he said, " Did I ever tell you how it was I first took to politics ?" " No, I think not," said Heathcote, listlessly. " Well, it was a chance, and a mere chance : this is the wav it happened. Though I was bred to the Bar I never did much at the law : some say, that an agreeable man, with a lively turn in con- versation, plenty of anecdote, and a rich fancy, is never a favourite with the attorneys ; the rascals always think that such a man will never make a lawyer, and though they'll listen to his good stories by the hour in the Hall, devil a brief they'll give him, nor so much as a ' declaration.' AN-'ell, for about five vears I walked about in wig and gown, joking, and quizzing, and humbugging all the fellows that were getting business, and taking a circuit now and then, but all to no good ; and at last I thought I'd give it up, and so my friends advised me, saying, ' Get something under m2 164 ONE OF THEM. tlie Goverument, Gorman ; a snug place with a few hundreds a year, and be sure take anything that's ofl'ered you to begin with.' " Now, tliere was a room in Dublin Castle — it's the second down the corridor off the private stairs — that used to be called the Poker- room. It may be so still for anything I know, and for this reason : it was there all the people expecting places or appointments were accus- tomed to wait. It was a fine, airy, comfortable room, with a good carpet, easy-chairs, and always an excellent fire ; and here used to meet every day of their lives the same twenty or five-and-twenty people, one occasionally droppiug off, and another coming in, but so imperceptibly and gradually, that the gathering at last grew to be a sort of club, where they sat from about eleven till dark every day, chatting pleasantly over public and private events. It was thus found necessary to give it a kind of organisation, and so we named for President the oldest — that is, the longest expectant of place — who, by virtue of his station, occupied the seat next the fire, and alone, of all the members, possessed the privilege of poking it. The poker was his badge of office ; and the last act of his official life, whenever promotion separated him from us, was to hand the poker to his suc- cessor, with a solemn dignity of manner and a few parting words. I verily believe that most of us got to be so fond of the club, that it was the very reverse of a pleasure, when he had to leave it, to become, maybe, a Police Inspector at Skibbereen, Postmaster at Tory Island, or a Ganger at Innismagee ; and so we jogged on, from one Viceroy to another, very happy and contented. Well, it was the time of a great Marquis — I won't say who, but he was the fast friend of O'Connell — and we all of us thought that there would be plenty of fine things giving away, and the Poker-room was crammed, and I was the President, having ascended the throne two years and a half before. It was somewhere early in March ; a cold, raw day it was. I had scarcely entered the club, than a messenger bawled out, ' Gor- man O'Shea— Mr. Gorman O'Shea.' ' Here he is,' said I. ' Wanted in the Chief Secretary's office,' said he, ' immediately.' I gave a knowing wink to the company around the fire, and left the room. Three mortal hours did I stand in the ante-room below, seeing crowds pass in and out before I was called in ; and then, as I entered, saw a little wizened, sharp-faced man standing with his back to the fire paring his nails. He never so much as looked at me, but said, in a careless, muttering sort of way, " ' You're the gentleman who wishes to go as resident magisti-ate to Oackatoro, ain't you ?' " ' Well, indeed, Sir, I'm not quite sure,' I began. \rr. ONE OF THEM. 1G5 " ' Oh yes you are,' broke lie in. 'I know all about yon. Tour Dame has been favourably mentioned to the office. You are Mr. O'Grormau ' " ' Mr. Gorman O'Shea,' said I, proudly. " ' The same thing, Gorman O'Shea. I remember it now. Tour appointment will be made out: five hundred a year, and a retiring pension after six years ; house, and an allowance for monkeys.' " ' A what ?' asked I. " ' The place is much infested with a large species of ourang- outang, and the Governor gives so much per head for destroying them. Mr. Simpson, in the office, will give you full information. Tou are to be at your post by the 1st of August.' " ' Might I make bold to ask where Whackatory is ?' " ' Oackatoro, Sir,' said he, proudly, ' is the capital of Pighi. I trust I need not say where that is.' " ' By no means,' said I, modestly ; and, muttering my thanks for the advancement, I backed out, almost deranged to think that I didn't know where I was going. " ' Where is it ? "What is it ? How much is it, O'Shea ?' cried thirty ardent voices as I entered the club. " ' It's five hundred a year,' said I, ' without counting the monkeys. It's a magistrate's place ; but may a gooseberry-skin make a night- cap for me if I know where the devil it is !' " ' But you have accepted !' cried they out all together. " ' I have,' said I ; ' I'm to be at Fighi, wherever that is, by the 1st of August. And now,' said I, turning to the fire, and taking up the poker, * there is nothing for me to do but resign this sacred symbol of my office into the hands of my successor.' • " ' Where's O'Dowd ?' shouted out the crowd. And they awoke out of a pleasant sleep a little old fellow that never missed his day for two years at the club. " ' Gentlemen,' said I, in a voice trembling with feeling, ' the hour is come when my destiny is to separate me from you for ever ; an hour that is equally full of the past and the future, and has even no small share of present emotions. If ever there were a human insti- tution devised to cement together the hearts and affections of men, to bind them into one indissoluble mass, and blend their instincts into identity, it is the club we have here. Here we stand, like the departed spirits at the Styx, waiting for the bark of Charon to ferry us over. To what, however ? Is it to some blessed elysium of a Poor Law Commissioner's place, or is it to some unknown fate in a distant land, with five hundred a year and an allowance for monkeys ? 166 ONE OF THEM. That's tbe question, there's the rub ! as Hamlet says.' After dilating at large on this, I turned to O'Dowd. ' To your hands,' said I, ' I commit this venerable relic : keep it, guard it, honour it, and pre- serve it. Remember,' said I, ' that when you stir those coals it is the symbol of keeping alive in the heart the sparks of an undying hope ; that though they may wet the slack and water the cinders ot our nature, the fire within us will still survive, red, glowing, and generous. Isn't that as fine as great, glorious, and free, I ask you?' " ' Who is that fellow that's talking there, with a voice like La- blache ?' asked a big man at the door ; and then, as the answer was whispered in his ear, he said, ' Send him out here to me.' " Out I went, and found myself face to face with O'Connell. " ' I want a man to stand for Drogheda to-morrow ; the gentle- man I expected cannot arrive there possibly before three. "Will you address the electors, and speak till he comes ? If he isn't there by hall-past three, you shall be returned !' " ' Done !' said I. And by five o'clock on the following evening Gorman O'Shea was at the top of the poll, and declared Member for Drogheda ! That was, I may say, the first lift I ever got from Fortune. May I never!" exclaimed O'Shea, half angrily — " may I never, if he's not asleep — and snoring ! These Saxons beat the world for stupidity." The Member now suddenly betliought him that it would be a favourable moment to read his telegram, and so he tore open the envelope, and held it to the light. It was headed as usual, and addressed in full, showing that no parsimony defrauded him of his full title. The body of the despatch was, however, brief enough, and contained only one word, " Bosh !" It was clear, bold, and unmis- takable " Bosh !" Could insolence go further than that ? To send such a message a thousand miles, at the cost of one pound fourteen and sixpence ! " What the deuce ? you've nearly upset the table !" cried Heath- cote, waking suddenly up, as O'Shea, with a passionate gesture, had thrown one of the decanters into the other's lap. " I was asleep, like yourself, I suppose," said the Member, roughly. " I must say, we are neither of us the very liveliest com pany." " It was that yarn of yours about attacking monkeys with a poker, or some stuff of tliat kind, set me off," yawned Heathcote, drearily. " I had not felt the least sleepy till tlien." ONE OF TUEM. 1(37 " Here, let us fill our glasses, aud drink to the jolly time that is coming for us," said O'Shea, with all his native recklessness. " With all my heart ; but I wish I could guess from what quarter it's coming," said Heathcote, despondingly. If neither felt much disposed to converse, they each drank deeply, and although scarcely more than a word or two would pass between them, they sat thus, hour after hour, till it was long past midnight. It was after a long silence between them that Heathcote said, " I never tried so hard in my life to get drunk, without success. I find it won't do, though ; I'm just as clear-headed and as low-spirited as when I started." " Bosh !" muttered O'Shea, half dreamily. "It's no such thing!" retorted Heathcote. "At any ordinary time one bottle of that strong Burgundy would have gone to my head ; and see, now I don't feel it." " Maybe you're fretting about somethiog. It's perhaps a weiglit on your heart " " That's it !" sighed out the other, as though the very avowal were an inexpressible relief to him, " Is it for a woman V" asked O'Shea. The other nodded, and then leaned his head on his hand. " Upon my conscience, I sometimes thiulv they're worse than the Jews," said the Member, violently; "and there's no being ' up to them.' " " It's our own fault, then," cried Heathcote ; " because we never play fairly with them." " Bosh !" muttered O'Shea again. " I defy you to deny it," cried he, angrily. " I'd like a five-pound note to argue it either way," said O'Shea. As if oSended by the levity of the speech, Heathcote turned away and said nothing. , " When you get down to Eome, and have some fun over those ox-fences, you'll forget all about her, whoever she is," said O'Shea. " I'm for England to-morrow, and for India next week, if they'll have me." " Well, if that's not madness " "No, Sir, it is not," broke in Heathcote, angrily; "nor will I permit you or any other man to call it so." " What I meant was, that when a fellow had your prospects before him, India oughtn't to tempt him, even with the offer of the Gover- nor-Generalship." 168 ONE or THEM. " Forgive me my bad temper, like a good fellow," cried Heathcote, grasping the other's band; "but, in honest truth, I have no pro- spects, no future, and there is not a more hopeless vfretch to be found than the man before you." O'Shea was very near saying " Bosh !" once more, but he coughed it under. Like all bashful men who have momentarily given way to impa- tience, Charles Heathcote was over eager to obtain his companion's good will, and so he dashed at once into a full confession of all the dijQficulties that beset, and all the cares that surrounded, him. O'Shea had never known accurately, till now, the amount of May Leslie's fortune, nor how completely she was the mistress of her own fate. Neither had he ever heard of that strange provision in the will which imposed a forfeit upon her if unwilling to accept Charles Heathcote as her husband — a condition which he shrewdly judged to be the very surest of all ways to prevent their marriage. " And so you released her ?" cried he, as Heathcote finished his narrative. " Eeleased her ! No. I never considered that she was bound. How could I ?" " Fpon my conscience," muttered the O'Shea, " it is a hard case -^a mighty hard case — to see one's way in ; for if, as you say, it's not a worthy part for a man to compel a girl to be his wife just because her father put it in his will, it's very cruel to lose her only be- cause she has a fine property." " It is for no such reason," broke in Heathcote, half angrily. " I was unwilling — I am unwilling — that May Leslie should be bound by a contract she never shared in." " That's all balderdash !" cried O'Shea, with energy. " What do you mean. Sir ?" retorted the other, passionately. " What I mean is this," resumed he: "that it's all balderdash to talk of the hardship of doing things that we never planned out for ourselves. Sure, ain't we doing them every moment of our lives ? Ain't I doing something becaiise you contrived it ? and ain't you doing something else because I left it in your way ?" " It comes to this, then, that you'd marry a girl who didn't care for you, if the circumstances were such as to oblige her to accept you ?" Not absolutely — not unreservedly," replied O'Shea. ' Well, wliat is the reservation ? Let us hear it." " Her fortune ought to be suitable." *' Oh, this is monstrous !" ONE OF THEM. 169 " Hear me out before you condemn me. In marriage, as in every- thing else, you must take it out in malt or in meal ; don't fancy that you're going to get love and money too. It's only in novels such luck exists." " I'm very glad I do not share your sentiments," said Charles, sternly. " They're practical, anyway. But now to another point. Here we are, sitting by the fire in all frankness and candour. Answer me fairly two questions : Have you given up the race ?" " Yes." " "Well, then, have you any objection if I enter for the stakes myself?" " You ! Do you mean that you would propose for May Leslie ?" cried he, in amazement. " I do ; and, what's more, I don't despair of success, either." An angry flush rose to Heathcote's face, and for a moment it seemed as if his passion was about to break forth ; but he mastered it, and, rising slowly, said : " If I thought such a thing possible, it would very soon cure me of one sorrow." After a pause, he added : " As for me, I have no permission to give or to withhold. Go, by all means, and make your offer. I only ask one thing : it is, that you will honestly tell me afterwards how it has been received." " That I pledge my word to. Where do you stop in Paris ?" " At the Windsor." " Well, you shall have a despatch from me, or see niyself there, by Saturday evening; one or the other I swear to." " Agreed. I'U not wish you success, for that would be hypo- critical, but I'll wish you well over it !" And with this speech, uttered in a tone of jeering sarcasm, Heathcote said good-by, and departed. CHAPTER XXII. THE PDBLIC SERVANT ABROAD. We scarcely thought that the distinguished public servant, Mr, Ogden, was likely to occupy once more any portion of our readers' attention ; and yet it so fell out that this useful personage, being oji the Continent getting up his Austria and Js^orthern Italy for the 170 ONE OF THEM. coming session, received a few lines from the Earl of Sommerville, half mandatory, half entreating, asking him to find out the young Marquis of Agincourt, and take him back with him to England. Xow the Earl was a great man, for he was father-in-law of a Cabinet Minister, and related to half the leaders of the party, so that Mr. Ogden, however little the mission suited his other plans, was fain at once to accept it, and set out in search of his charge. "We need not follow him in hia pursuit through Lotnbardy and the Legations, down to Tuscany and Lucca, which latter city he reached at the close of a cold and dreary day of winter, cheered to him, how- ever, by the certainty that he had at length come up with the object of his chase. It was a habit with Quackinboss, whenever he sent out Layton's servant on an errand, to leave the house door ajar, that the sick man might not be disturbed by the loud summons of the bell ; and so, on the evening in question, was it found by Mr. Ogden, who, after some gentle admonitions by his knuckles, and some preparatory coughs, at last groped his way into the interior, and eventually entered the spacious sitting-room. Quackinboss had dined, and was seated at his wine beside an ample fireplace, with a blazing wood fire. An old- fashioned screen sheltered him from the draught of the ill-fitting windows, while a comfortable bvifialo rug was stretched under his feet. Tlie Colonel was in his second cigar, and in the drowsy mood of its easy enjoyment, when the harsh accents of Mr. Ogdeu's voice startled him, by asking, " Can you inform me if Lord Agincourt lives here ?" " You're a Britisher now, I expect ?" said the Colonel, as he slowly puffed out a long volume of smoke, but never moved from his seat. " My question having the precedence. Sir, it will be, perhaps, more regular to answer it first," said Ogden, with a slow pertinacity. " "Well, I ain't quite sure o' that, stranger," drawled out the other. " Mine was a sort of an amendment, and so might be put before the original motion." The remark chimed in well with the humour of one never indis- posed to word-fencing, and so he deferred to the suggestion, told his name and his object in coming, "And now, Sir," added he, " I hope not to be deemed indiscreet in asking an equal candour from you." " Tou ain't a doctor ?" asked Quackinboss. " No, Sir ; not a physician, at least." "That's a pity," said Quackinboss, slowly, as he brushed the ashes off his cigar. " Help yourself, stranger ; tliat's claret, t'other's the ^ \V; '^- S^ ^W^/rr'^f^^^^ ONE OF THEM. 171 country wine, and this is cognac — all three bad o' their kind ; but, as they say here to everything, ' Come si fa, eh ? Come si fa !' " " It is not from any disparagement of your liospitality, Sir," said Ogden, somewhat pompously, " that I am forced to recal you to my first question." "Come si fa!" repeated Quackinboss, still ruminating over the philosophy of that expi-ession, one of the very few he had ever suc- ceeded in committing to memory. " Am I to conclude, Sir, that you decline giving me the information I ask ?" "I ain't in a witness-box, stranger. I'm a sittin' at my own fire- side. I'm a smokin' my Virginian, where I've a right to, and if you choose to come in neiglibourly-like, and take a liquor with me, we'll talk it over, whatever it is ; but if you think to come Holy Office and the Inquisition over Shaver Quackinboss, you've caught the wrong squirrel by the tail, Britisher, you have!" " I must say. Sir, you have put a most forced and unfair construc- tion upon a very simple circumstance. I asked you if the Marquis of Agincourt resided here ?" " And so you ain't a doctor ?" said Quackinboss, pensively " No, Sir ; I have already told you as much." • " Bred to the law, belike ?" " : " I have studied. Sir, but not practised as a lawyer." " Well, now, I expected you was !" said Quackinboss, with an air of self-satisfaction. " You chaps betray yourselves sooner than any other class in all creation ; as Flay Harris says : ' A lawyer is a fellow won't drink out of the bung-hole, but must always be for tapping the cask for himself.' Tou ain't long in these parts ?" " No, Sir; a very short time indeed," said Ogden, drearily. " Tou needn't sigh about it, stranger, though it is main dull in these diggiu's ! Here's a people that don't understand human natur'. What I mean. Sir, is, human natur' means going ahead ; doin' a somewhat your father and your grandfather never so much as dreamt of. But what are these critturs about ? Jest sbowin' the great things that was done centeries before they was born — what pictures, and statues, and monuments their own ancestors could make, and of wliich they are jest showmen, nothing more !" " The Arts are Italy's noblest inheritance," said Ogden, senten- tiously. " That ain't my platform, stranger. Civilisation never got any- thing from painters or sculptors. They never taught mankind to be 172 ONE OF THEM. truthful, or patient, or self-denyin', or charitable. You may look at a bronze Hercules till you're black in the face, and it will never make you give a cent to a lame cripple. I'll go further again, strauijer, and I'll say that there ain't anything has thrown so many stumblin'- blocks before pro-gress as what you call tlie Arts, for there aiu't the equal o' them to make people idlers. What's all that loafing about galleries, I ask ye, but the worst of all idling ? If you want them sort of emotions, go to the real article. Sir. Look at an hospital, that's more life-like than Gerard Dow and his dropsical woman — ay, and may toucli your heart, belike, before you get away." " Though your conversation interests me much, Sir, you will pardon my observing that I feel myself an intruder." " No you ain't ; I'm jest in a talkin' humour, and I'd rather have you than tliat Italian crittur, as don't understand me." " Even the flattery of your observation, Sir, cannot make me forget that another object claims my attention." "For I've remarked," resumed Quackinboss, as if in continuation of his speech, " that a foreigner, that don't know English, wearies after a while in listenin', even though you're a tellin' him very inte- restin' things." " I perceive. Sir," said Ogden, rising, " that I have certainly been mistaken in the address. I was told that at the Palazzo Barsotti " "Well, you're jest there; that's what they call this ramsliackle old crazy consarn. Their palaces, bein' main like their nobility, would be all the better for a little washin' and smartenin' up." " Tou can perhaps, however, inform me where Lord Agincourt does live ?" "Well, he lives, as I may say, a little promiscuous. If he ain't liere, it's because he's there I You understand ?" " I cannot say very confidently that I do understand," said Ogden, slowly. " It was well as you wasn't a practisin' lawyer, Britisher, for you ain't smart! that's a fact. No, Sir; you ain't smart!" " Your countrymen's estimate of that quality has a high standard. Sir," said Ogden, haughtily. "What do you mean by my countrymen?" asked the other, quickly. "I ventured to presume you were an American," said Ogden, with a supercilious smile. " Well, stranger, you were main right ; though darn me con-sider- able if I know how you discovered it. Don't you be a goin', now ONE OF THEM. 175i that we're gettin' friendly togetlier. Set down a bit. Majbe you'd taste a morsel of something ?" " Excuse me ; I have just dined." " Well, mix a summut in your glass. It's a rare pleasure to me, stranger, to have a chat with a man as talks like a Christian. I'm tired of come si fa' — that's fact, Sir." " I regret that I cannot profit by your polite invitation," said Ogden, bowing stiffly. " I had been directed to this house as the residence of Lord Agincourt and his tutor, and as neither of them live here " " "Who told you that ? There's one of them a-bed in that room there ; he's caught swamp-fever, and it's gone up to the head. He's the tutor — poor fellow." " And the Marquis ?" " The Marquis ! he's a small parcel to have such a big direction on him, ain't he ? He's at a Villa, a few miles off; but he'll be over here to-morrow morning." " Ton are quite sure of that ?" asked Ogden. " Yes, Sir," said Quackinboss, drinking oflf his glass, and nodding, in token of salutation. " I must beg you to accept my excuses for this intrusion on my part," began Ogden. " Jest set you down there again ; there's a point I'd like to be cleared up about. I'm sure you'U not refuse me. Jest set down." Ogden resumed his seat, although with an air and manner of no small disinclination. " No wine, thank you. Excuse me," said he, stiffly, as Quackin- boss tried to fill his glass. " Tou remarked a while ago," said Quackinboss, slowly, and like a man weighing all his words, " that I was an American born. Now, Sir, it ain't a very likely thing that any man who was ever raised in the States is a goin' to deny it. It ain't, I say, very probable as he'd say I'm a Chinese, or a Mexican, or a Spaniard ; no, nor a Britisher. Whatever we do in this life, stranger, one thing, I suppose, is pretty certain — we don't say the worst of ourselves. Ain't that your plat- form, Sir ?" " I agree to the general principle." " Agreein', then, to the gen'ral principle, here's where we go next, for I ain't a goin' to let you off, Britisher — I've got a harpoon in you now, and I'U tow you after me into shoal water; see if I don't. Agreein', as we say, to the gen'ral principle, that no man likes 174 ONE OF THEM. , to make his. face blacker than it need be, what good could it do me to say that I wasn't born a free citizen of the freest country of the universe ?" " I am, really, at a loss to see how I am interested in this matter. I have not, besides, that perfect leisure abstract discussion requires. Tou will forgive me if I take my leave." He moved hastily towards the door as he spoke, followed by Quackinboss, whose voice had now assumed the full tones and the swelling modulations of public oratory. " That great land, sanctified by the blood of the pilgrim fathers, and whose proudest boast it is, that from the first day, when the star- spangled banner of Freedom dallied with the wind and scorned the sun, waving its barred folds over the heads of routed enemies — to that glorious consummation, when, from the rugged plains of New England to the golden groves of Florida " " Good-by, Sir — good evening," said Ogden, passing out and gain- ing the landing-place. " — One universal shout, floating over the Atlantic waters, pro-* claimed to the Old World that the ' Young' was alive and kickin' " " Good night," cried Ogden, from the bottom of the stairs ; and Quackinboss re-entered his chamber and banged the door after him, muttering something to himself about Lexington and Concord, Co- lumbus and Quincey Adams. CHAPTEE XXIII. BROKEN TIES. It was a sorrowful morning at the Villa Caprini on the 22nd of November. Agincourt had come to take his last farewell of his kind friends, half heart-broken that he was not permitted even to see poor Layton before he went. Quackinboss, however, was obdurate on the point, and would suffer no one to pass the sick man's door. Mr. Ogden sat in the carriage as the boy dashed hui'riedly into the house to say " Good-by." Room after room he searched in vain. No one to be met with. What could it mean ? — the drawing-room, the library, all empty ! " Are they all out, Fenton ?" cried he, at last. " No, my Lord, Sir William was here a moment since, Miss Leslie is in her room, and Mrs. Morris, I think, is in the garden." ♦ ONE OT THEM. 175 To the garden he luirried off at once, and just caught sight of Mrs. Morris aud Clara, as, side by side, they turned the angle of an alley. " At last !" cried he, as he came up with them. " At last I have found some one. Here have I been this half-hour in search of you all, over house and grounds. Why, what's the matter ? — what makes you look so grave ?" " Don't you know ? — haven't you heard ?" cried Mrs. Morris, with a sigh. ■ " Heard what ?" " Heard that Charles has gone off — started for England last night, with thg intention of joining the first regiment ordered for ludia." " I wish to Heaven he'd have taken me with him !" cried the boy, eagerly. " Very possibly," said she, dryly; "but Charles was certainly to blame for leaving a home of happiness and affection in this abrupt way. I don't see how poor Sir William is ever to get over it, not to speak of leaving May Leslie. I hope, Agincourt, this is not the way you'll treat the young lady you're betrothed to." " I'll never get myself into any such scrape, depend on't. Poor Charlie!" - - ' " Why not poor May p" whispered Mrs. Morris. " Well, poor May, too, if she cared for him ; but I don't think she did." " Oh, what a shame to say so ! I'm afraid you young gentlemen are brought up in great heresies now-a-days, and don't put any faith in love." Had the boy been an acute observer, he would have marked how little the careless levity of the remark coincided with the assumed sadness of her former manner, but he never noticed this. " Well," broke in the boy, bluntly, " why not marry him, if she cared for him ? I don't suppose you'll ask me to believe that Charlie woidd have gone away if she hadn't refused him ?" " What a wily serpent it is !" said Mrs. Morris, smiling ; " wanting to wring confidences from me whether I wUl or no." " No. I'll be hanged if I am wily — am I, Clara ?" What Clara answered was not very distinct, for her face was partly covered with her handkerchief. " There, you see Clara is rather an unhappy witness to call to cha- racter. You'd better come to me for a reputation," said Mrs. Morris, laughingly. " It's no matter, I'm going away now," said he, sorrowfully. : " Going away — where ?" 176 ONE OF THKM. * " Going back to England ; they've sent a man to capture me, aa if I •was a wild beast, and he's there at the door now — precious im- patient, too, I promise you, because I'm keeping the post-horses waiting." " Oh, make him come in to luncheon. He's a gentleman — isn't he?" " I should think he is ! A great political swell, too, a something in the Admiralty, or the Colonies, or wherever it is." ""Well, just take Clara, and she'll find out May for you, and send your travelling companion into the garden here. I'll do the honours to him till lunch-time." And Mrs. Morris now turned into a shady walk, to think over what topics she should start for the amusement of the great official from Downing-strect. If we were going to tell tales of her — which we are not — we might reveal how it happened that she had seen a good deal of such sort of people, at one era of her life, living in a Blue-Book atmosphere, and hearing much out of " Hansard." We merely mention the fact ; as to the how, it is not necessary to refer to it. Not more are we bound to say why she did not retain for such high company what, in French, is called, " the most distinguished consideration" — why, on the contrary, she thought and pronounced them the most insupportable of all bores. Our readers cannot fail to have remarked and appreciated the delicate reserve we have unvaryingly observed towards this lady — a respectful courtesy that no amount of our curiosity could endanger. Now, " charming women," of whom Mrs. M. was certainly one, have a great fondness for little occasional displays of their fascinations upon strangers. AVhether it is that they are susceptible of those emotions of vanity that sway smaller natures, or whether it be merely to keep their fascinations from rusting by want of exercise, is hard to say, but so is the fact, and the enjoyment is all the higher when, by any knowledge of a speciality, they can astonish their chance ac- quaintance. For what Lord Agincourt had irreverently styled the " great political swell," she therefore prepared herself, with such memories as some years of life had stored for her. " He'll wonder," thought she, " where I came by all my Downing-street slang. I'll certainly puzzle him with my cant of office." And so thinking, she walked briskly along in the clear frosty air over the crisped leaves tliat strewed the walk, till she beheld a person approaching from the extreme end of the alley. The distance between them was yet considerable, and yet how was it that she seemed to falter in her steps, and suddenly, clasping her heart with both hands, appeared seized with a sort of convulsion ? ONE OF Til KM. 177 At tlie same instant she threw a terrified glance on every side, and looked like one prepared for sudden flight. To these emotions, more rapid in their course than it has taken time to describe them, suc- ceeded a cold, determined calm, in which her features regained their usual expression, though marked by a paleness like death. The stranger came slowly forward, examining the trees and flowers as he passed along, and peering with his double eye-glass to read the names attached to whatever was rarest. Affecting to be gathering flowers for a bouquet, she stooped frequently, till the other came near, and then, as he removed his hat to salute her, she threw back her veil and stood, silent, before him. " Madam ! Madam !" cried he, in a voice of such intense agony as showed that he was almost choked for utterance. " How is this, Madam ?" said he, in a tone of indignant demand. " How is this f" " I have really no explanation to offer, Sir," said she, in a cold, low voice. " My astonishment is great as your own ; this meeting is not of my seeking. I need scarcely say so much." "I do not know that! — by Heaven I do not!" cried he, in a passion. " Tou are surely forgetting. Sir, that we are no longer anything to each other, and thus forgetting the deference due to me as a stranger ?" " I neither forget nor forgive !" said he, sternly. "Happily, Sir, you will not be called upon to do either. I no longer bear your name " " Oh that you had never borne it !" cried he, in agony. "There is at least one sentiment we agree in. Sir — would that I never had !" said she, and a slight — very slight — tremor shook the words as she spoke them. " Tell me at once. Madam, what do you mean by this surprise ? I know all your skill in accidents — what does this one portend ?" " Tou are too flattering, Sir, believe me," said she, with an easy smile. " I have plotted nothing — I have nothing to plot — at least in which you are concerned. The unhappy bond that once united us is loosed for ever ; but I do not see that even harsh memories are to suggest bad manners." " I am no stranger to your flippancy. Madam. Tou have made me acquainted with all your merits." " Tou were going to say virtues, George — confess you were ?" said she, coquettishly. " Gracious mercy, woman ! can you dare " " My dear Mr. Ogden," broke she in, gently, " I can dare to be N 178 ONE OF TIIEM. that which you have just told me was impossible for you — forgetful and forgiving." " Ob, Madam, this is indeed generous !" said he, with a bitter mockery. " Well, Sir, it were no bad thing if there were a little generosity between us. Don't fancy that all the forgiveness should come from you; don't imagine that I am not plaintiif as well as defendant." Then, suddenly changing her tone to one of easy indifterence, she said, " And so your impression is, Sir, that the Cabinet will undergo no change ?" She looked hurriedly round as she spoke, and saw Sir William Heathcote coming rapidly towards them. " Sir William, let me present to you Mr. Ogden, a name you must be familiar with in the debates," said she, introducing them. " I hope Lord Agincourt has not been correct in telling me that you are pressed for time, Mr. Ogden. I trust that you will give us at least a day." " Not an hour, not a minute, Sir, I mean," added he, ashamed of his violence, " I have not an instant to spare." " You'll scarcely profit by leaving us this morning," resumed Sir William. " The torrents between this and Massa are all full, and perfectly impassable." " Pray accept Sir William's wise counsels, Sir," said she, with the sweetest of all smiles. A stern look, and a muttered something inaudible, was all his reply. " What a dreary servitude must political life be, when one cannot bestow a passing hour upon society," said she, plaintively. " Mr. Ogden could tell us that the rewards are worthy of the sacrifices," said Sir William, blandly. " Are they better than the enjoyments of leisure, the delights of friendship, and the joys of home ?" asked she, half earnestly. " By Heaven, Madam !" cried Ogden, and then stopped ; when Sir William broke in : " Mrs. Morris is too severe upon public men. They are rarely called on to make such sacrifices as she speaks of." Wliile thus talking, they had reached the terrace in front of the house, where Agincourt was standing between May and Clara, hold- ing a hand of each. "Are you ready ?" asked Ogden, abruptly. " Eeady ; but very sorry to go," said the boy, bluntly. *' May we not offer you some luncheon, Mr. Ogden ? Tou will surely take a glass of wine with ua ?" ONE OF TUEM. 179 " Nothing, Sir, nothing. Tsotliing beneath the same roof with this woman," muttered he, below his breath ; but her quick ears caught the words, and she wliispered, " An unkind speech, George — most unkind !" Wliile Agincourt was taking his last affectionate farewells of the girls and Sir "William, Mr. Ogden had entered the carriage, and thrown himself deeply back into a corner. Mrs. Morris, however, leaned over the door, and looked calmly, steadfastly at him. "Won't you say good-by ?" said she, softly. A look of insulting contempt was all his answer. " Not one kind word at parting ? "Well, I am better than you ; here's my hand." And she held out her fair and taper fingers towards him. " Fiend — not woman !" was his muttered expression as he turned away. " And a pleasant journey," said she, as if finishing a speech ; while turning, she gave her hand to Agincourt : " Yes, to be siire, you may take a boy's privilege, and give me a kiss at parting," said she ; while the youth, blushing a deep crimson, availed himself of the per- mission. " There they go," said Sir William, as the horses rattled down the avenue ; " and a finer boy and a grumpier companion it has rarely been my lot to meet with. A thousand pardons, my dear Mrs. Morris, if he is a friend of yours." " I knew him formerly," said she, coldly. " I can't say I ever liked him." "I remember his name," said Sir William, in a sort of hesitating way ; " there was some story or other about him — either his wife ran away, or he eloped with somebody's wife." " I'm sure it must have been the former," said Mrs. Morris, lausrh- ing. " Poor gentleman, he does not give one the impression of a Lothario. But who have we here ? The O'Shea, I declare ! Look to your heart, May, dearest ; take my word for it, he never turned out so smartly without dreams of conquest." Mr. O'Shea cantered up at the same moment, followed by Joe in a most accurate " get- up" as groom, and dismounting, advanced, hat in hand, to salute the party. There are blank days in this life of ours in which even a pleasant visitor is a bore — times in which dulness and seclusion are the best company, and it is anything but a boon to be broken in upon. It was the O'Shea's evil fortune to have fallen on one of these. It was in vain he recounted his club gossip about politics and party to Sir K 2 ISO ONE OF THEM. AVilliam — in vain lie told Mrs. Morris the last touching episode of town scandal — in vain, even, did he present a fresli bouquet of lily-of- the-valley to May ; each in turn passed him on to the other, till he found himself alone with Clara, who sat sorrowfully over the German lesson Layton was wont to help her with, " What's the matter with you all ?" cried he, half angrily, as he walked the room from end to end. " Has there any misfortune hap- pened ?" " Charley has left us, Agincourt is just gone, the pleasant house is broken up ; is not that enough to make us sad ?" said she, sorrow- fully. " If you ever read Tommy Moore you'd know it was only another reason to make the most of the friends that were left behind," said he, adjusting his cravat at the glass, and giving himself a leer of knowing recognition. " That's the time of day, Clara !" She looked at him somewhat puzzled to know whether he had alluded to hie sentiment, his whiskers, which he was now caressing, or the French clock on the mantelpiece. " Is that one of Layton's ?" said he, carelessly turning over a water-coloured sketch of a Lueehese landscape. " Yes," said she, replacing it carefully in a portfolio. " He won't do many more of them, I suspect." " How so ? — why ? — what do you mean ?" cried she, grasping his arm, while a death-like paleness spread over her features. "Just that he's going as fast as he can. What's the mischief! is it fainting she is ?" With a low, weak sigh the girl had relaxed her hold, and, stagger- ing backwards, sunk senseless on the floor. O'Shea tugged violently at the bell : the servant rushed in, and immediately after Mrs. Morris herself; but by this time Clara had regained consciousness, and was able to utter a few words. " I was telling her of Layton's being so ill," began he, in a whisper, to Mrs. Morris. " Of course you were," said she, pettishly. " For an incon- venience, or an indiscretion, what can equal an Irishman ?" The speech was uttered as she led her daughter away, leaving the luckless O'Shea alone to ruminate over the politeness. "There it is !" cried he, indignantly. " From the Times, down to the widow Morris, it's the same story — the Irish ! the Irish ! — and it's no use fighting against it. Smash the Minister in Parliament, and you'll be told it was a speech more adapted to an Irish House of Commons ; break the Sikh squares with the bayonet, and the cry ONE or THEM. ISl is, ' Tipperary tactics.' Isn't it a wonder bow we bear it ! I ask any man, did be ever bear of patience like ours ?" It was just as bis indignation had reached this crisis that May Leslie hurriedly came into the room to search for a locket Clara bad dropped when she fainted. While O'Shea assisted her in her search, he bethought whether the favourable moment had not arrived to venture on the great question of his own fate. It was true, he was still smarting under a national disparagement ; but the sarcasm gave a sort of reckless energy to his purpose, and he muttered, " Now, or never, for it !" " I suppose it was a keepsake," said be, as be peered under the tables after the missing object. " I believe so. At least, the poor child attaches great value to it." " Oh dear!" sighed O'Shea. " If it was an old bodkin that was given me by one I loved, I'd go through fire and water to get pos- session of it." " Indeed!" said she, smiling at the unwonted energy of the pro- testation. " I would," repeated he, more solemnly. "It's not the value of the thing itself I'd ever think of. There's the ring was wore by my great-grandmother Eam, of Eam's Mountain, and though it's a rose- amethyst, worth three hundred guineas, it's only as a family token it has merit in my eyes." Now this speech, discursive though it seemed, was artfully in- tended by the Honourable Member, for while incidentally throwing out claims to blood and an ancestry, it cunningly insinuated what logicians call the " k fortiori" — how the man who cared so much for bis grandmother would necessarily adore his wife. " We must give it up, I see," said May. " She has evidently not lost it here." " And it was a heart, you say I" sighed the Member. • " Yes, a little golden heart with a ruby clasp." " Oh dear ! And to think that I've lost my own in the self-same spot !" " Tours ! Why, had you a locket, too ?" " No, my angel !" cried he, passionately, as be clasped her hand, and fell on bis knee before her, " but my heart — a heart that lies under your feet this minute I There, don't turn away — don't ! May I never, if I know what's come over me these two mouths back ! Niglit or day, it is the one image is always before me — one voice always in my ears." " How tiresome that must be," said she, laughing merrily. " There, 182 ONE OF THEM. pray let go my hand ; this is only folly, and not in very good taste, either." " Folly, you call it ? Love is madness, if you like. Out of this spot I'll never stir till I know my fate.. Say the word, and I'm the happiest man or the most abject creature You're laughing again — I wonder how you can be so cruel !" " Eeally, Sir, if I regard your conduct as only absurd, it is a favourable view of it," said she, angrily, " Do, darling of my soul ! light of my eyes ! loadstar of my whole destiny ! — do take a favourable view of it," said he, catching at her last words. " I have certainly given you no pretence to make me ridiculous, Sir," said she, indignantly. " Ridiculous ! ridiculous !" cried he, in utter amazement. " Sure it's my hand I'm oifering you. What were you thinking of ?" " I believe I apprehend you aright. Sir, and have only to say, that, however honoured by your proposal, it is one I must decHne." " "Wouldn't you tell me why, darling ? "Wouldn't you say your reasons, my angel ? Don't shake your head, my adored creature, but turn this way, and say, ' Gorman, your affection touches me : I see your love for me ; but I'm afraid of you ; you're light, and fickle, and inconstant ; you're spoiled by flattery among the women, and deference and respect amongst the men. What can I hope from a nature so pampered r' " " No, in good truth, Mr. O'Shea, not one of these objections have occurred to me; my answer was dictated by much narrower and more selfish considerations. At all events. Sir, it is final ; and I need only appeal to your sense of good-breeding never to resume a subject I have told you is distasteful tome." And with a heightened colour, and a glance which certainly betokened no softness, she turned away and left him. " Distasteful ! distasteful !" muttered he over her last words. " Women ! women ! women ! there's no knowing ye — the devil a bit ! What you'd like, and what you wouldn't, is as great a secret as the philosopher's stone! lleiglio !" sighed he, as he opened his cravat, and drew in a long breath. " I didn't take a canter like that, these five years, and it has sent all the blood to my head. I hope she'll not mention it. I hope she won't tell it to the widow," muttered he, as he walked to the window for air. " She's the one would take her own fun out of it. Upon my conscience, this is mighty like apoplexy," said he, as, sitting down, he fanned himself with a book. "Poor Mr. O'Shea!" said a soft voice; and, looking up, he saw ONE OF THEM. 183 Mrs. Morris, as, leaning over the back of his chair, she bent on him a look half quizzical and half compassionate. " Poor Mr. O'Sliea!" " Why so ? How ?" asked he, with an affected jocularity. " "Well," said she, with a faint sigh, " you're not the first man has drawn a blank in the lottery," " I suppose not," muttered he, half sulkily. " Nor wiU it prevent you trying your luck another time," said she, in the same tone. " What did she say? How did she mention it?" whispered he, confidentially. " She didn't believe you were serious at first ; she thought it a jest. Why did you fall on your knees ? it's never done now, except on the stage." " How did I know that ?" cried he, peevishly. " One ought to be proposing every day of the week to keep up with the fashions." " If you had taken a chair at her side, a little behind hers, so as not to scrutinise her looks too closely, and stolen your hand gently forward, as if to touch the embroidery she was at work on, and tlien, at last, her hand, letting your voice grow lower and softer at each word, till the syllables would seem to drop, distilled, from your heart " " The devil a bit of that I could do at all," cried he, impatiently. " If I can't make the game off the balls," said he, taking a metaphor from his billiard experiences, I'm good for nothing. But will she come round ? Do you think she'll change ?" " No ; I'm afraid not," said she, shaking her head. " Faix ! she might do worse," said he, resolutely. " Do you know that she might do worse ? If the mortgages w^as off, O'Shea-Ville is seventeen hundred a year; and, for family, we beat the county." " I've no doubt of it," replied she, calmly. " There was ancestors of mine hanged by Henry the Second, and one was strangled in prison two reigns before," said he, proudly. " The O'Sheas was shedding their blood for Ireland eight centuries ago ! Did you ever hear of Mortagh Dhub O'Shea ?" " Never !" said she, mournfully. " There it is," sighed he, drearily ; " mushrooms is bigger, now-a- days, than oak-trees." And with this dreary reflection he arose and took his hat. " Won't you dine here ? I'm sure they expect you to stop for dinner," said she ; but whether a certain devilry in her laughing eye made the speech seem insincere, or that his own distrust prompted it, he said, 184 ONE OF THEiT. " No, I'll not stop ; I couldn't eat a bit if I did." " Come, come, you mustn't take it to heart in this way," said she, coaxingly. "Do you think you could do anything for me?" said he, taking her hand in his ; " for, to tell truth, it's my pride is hurt. As we say in the House of Commons, now that my name is on the Bill, I'd like to carry it through. Ton understand that feeling?" " Perhaps I do," said she, doubtfully, while, throwing herself into a chair, she leaned back, so as to display a little more than was abso- lutely and indispensably necessary of a beautifully rounded ankle and instep. Mr. O'Shea saw it, and marked it. There was no deny- ing she was pretty — pretty, too, in those feminine and delicate graces which have special attractions for men somewhat hackneyed in life, and a " little shoulder-sore with the collar" of the world. As the Member gazed at the silky curls of her rich auburn hair, the long fringes that shadowed her fair cheeks, and the graceful lines of her beautiful figure, he gave a sigh — one of those sighs a man inadvertently lieaves when contemplating some rare object in a shop-window, which his means forbid him to purchase. It was only as he heaved a second and far deeper one, that she looked up, and with an arch drollery of expression all her own, said, as if answering him, " Tes, you are quite right ; but you know you couldn't afford it." "What do you mean — not aftbrd what?" cried he, blushing deeply. " Nor could /either," continued she, heedless of his interruption. " Faith, then," cried he, with energy, " it was just what I was thinking of." " But, after all," said she, gravely, it wouldn't do ; " privateers must never sail in company. I believe there's nothing truer than that." He continued to look at her, with a strange mixture of admiration and astonishment. " And so," said she, rising, " let us part good friends, who may hope each to serve the otlier one of these days. Is that a bargain ?" And she held out her hand, " I swear to it !" cried he, pressing his lips to her fingers. " And now that you know my sentiments " " Hush !" cried she, with a gesture of warning, for she heard the voices of servants in the corridor. " Trust me ; and good-by !" " One ought always to have an Irishman amongst one's admirers," said she, as, once more alone, she arranged her ringlets before the glass ; " if there's any fighting to be done, he's sure not to fail you." ONE Of THEM. 185 CHAPTEE XXIV. A DAT IN EARLY 8PEING. That twiliglit of the year called spring, most delightful of all seasons, is scarcely known in Italy. AVinter dies languidly away, and summer bursts forth at once, and in a few days the trees are clothed in full foliage, the tall grass is waving, and panting lizards sun themselves on the rocks over which so lately the mountain tor- rent was foaming. There are, however, a few days of transition, and these are inexpressibly delicious. The balmy air scented with the rose and the violet stirs gently through the olive-trees, shaking the golden limes amidst the dark leaves, and carrying away the sweet perfume on its breath ; rivulets run bright and clear through rocky channels, mingling their murmurs with the early cicala. The acacia sheds its perfume on the breeze — a breeze so faint, as though it loved to linger on its way ; and so, above, the lazy clouds hang upon the mountains, or float in fragments out to sea, as day wears on. What vitality there is in it all! — the rustling leaves, the falling water, the chirping birds, the softly plashing tide, all redolent of that happy season — the year's bright youth. On such a day as this Herbert Layton strolled languidly through the grounds of Marlia. Three months of severe illness had worn him to a shadow, and he walked with the debility of one who had jut^t escaped from a sick-room. The place was now deserted. The Heathcotes had gone to Rome for the winter, and the Villa was shut up and untenanted. It had been a cherished wish of poor Layton to visit the spot as soon as he could venture abroad ; and Quackinboss, the faithful friend who had nursed him through his whole illness, had that day yielded to his persuasion and brought him there. Who could have recognised the young and handsome youth in the broken-down, feeble, careworn man Avho now leaned over the palings of a little flower-garden, and gazed mournfully at a rustic bench beneath a lime-tree ? Ay, there it was, in that very spot, one chapter of his life was finished. It was there she had refused him ! He had no right, it is true, to have presumed so highly ; there was nothing in his position to warrant such daring ; but had she not en- couraged him ? That was the question ; he believed so, at least . She had seen his devotion to her, and had not repulsed it. Nay, 186 ONE OF THEM. more, she had suffered him to speak to her of feelings and emotions, of hopes, and fears, and ambitions, and only they are led to speak who talk to willing ears. "Was this encouragement, or was it the compassionate pity of one, to him, so friendless and alone ? Mav cer- tainly knew that he loved her. She had even resented his little passing attentions to Mrs. Morris, and was actually jealous of the hours he bestowed on Clara ; and yet, with all this, she had refused him, and told him not to hope that, even with time, her feeling towards him should change. " How could it be otherwise ?" cried he to himself. " What was I, to have pretended so highly ? Her husband should be able to offer a station superior to her own. So thought she, too, herself. How her words ring in my ears even yet : 'I do love rank !' Yes, it was there, on that spot, she said it. I made confession of my love, and she, in turn, told me of hers; and it was the world, the great and gorgeous prize, for which men barter everything. And then her cold smile, as I said, ' What is this same rank you prize so highly ; can I not reach it — win it ?' * I will not waste youth in struggle and conflict,' said she. ' Ha !' cried I, * these words are not yours. I heard them one short week ago. I know your teacher now. It was that false-hearted woman gave you these precious maxims. It was not thus you spoke or felt when first I knew you, May.' ' Is it not well,' said she, ' that we have each grown wiser ?' I heard no more. I have no memory for the passionate words I uttered, the bitter reproaches I dared to make her. We parted in anger, never to meet again ; and then poor Clara how I hear her faint, soft voice, as she found me sitting there alone, forsaken, as she asked me, * May I take these flowers ?' and oh ! how bitterly she wept as I snatched them from her hand, and scattered them on the ground, saying, ' They were not meant for you !' ' Let me have one, dear Alfred,' said she, just then; and she took up a little jasmine flower from the walk. ' Even that you despise to give is dear to me !' And so I kissed her on the forehead, and said, ' Grood- by.' Two partings — never to meet again !" He covered his face with his hands, and his chest heaved heavily. " It's main dreary in these diggin's here," cried Quackinboss, as he came up with long strides. " I've been a lookin' about on every side to find some one to open the house for us, but there ain't a crittur to be found. What's all this about ? Ton haven't been a cryin', have you?" Alfred turned away his head without speaking, " I'll tell you what it is, Layton," said he, earnestly, "there's no manner of niitifortune can befal iu life thai one need to fret over, but ONE OF THEM. 187 the death of friends, or sickness ; and, as these are God's own doin', it is not for us to say they're wrong. Cheer up, man ; you and I are a goin' to fight the world together." " Tou have been a true friend to we," said Layton, grasping the other's hand, while he held his head still averted. " \Yell, I mean to, that's a fact ; but you must rouse yourself, lad. We're a goin' cross seas, and amongst fellows that, whatever they do ■with their spare time, give none of it to grief. Whoever saw John C. Colhoun cry ? Did any one ever catch Dan Webster in tears ?" "I wasn't crying," said Layton; "I was only saddened to see again a spot where I used to be so happy. I was thinking of by- gones." " I take it bygones is very little use if they don't teach us some- thing more than to grieve over 'em ; and, what's more, Layton — it sounds harsh to say it — but grief, when it's long persisted in, is dowTiright selfishness, and nothing else." Layton slipped his arm within the other's to move away, but as he did so he turned one last look towards the little garden. " I see it all now," said Quackiuboss, as they walked along ; "you've been and met a sweetheart down here once on a time, that's it. She's been what they call cruel, or she's broke her word to you. Well, I don't suppose there's one man livin' — of what might be called real men — as hasn't had something of the same experience. Some has it early, some late, but it's like the measles, it pushes you main hard if you don't take it when you're young. There's no bending an old bough — you must break it." There was a deep tone of melancholy in the way the last words were uttered that made Layton feel his companion was speaking from the heart. " But it's all our own fault," broke in Quackinboss, quickly ; " it all comes of the way we treat 'em." " How do you mean ?" asked Layton, eagerly. " I mean," said tlie other, resolutely, " we treat 'em as reasonable beings, and they ain't. No, Sir, women is like Eed-men, they ain't to be persuaded, or argued with, they're to be told what is right for 'em, and good for 'em, and that's all. What does all your courting and coaxing a gal, but make her think herself something better than all creation ? AVhy, you keep a tellin' lier so all day, and she begins to believe it at last. Now, how much better and fairer to say to her, ' Here's how it is, miss, you've got to marry me, that's how it's fixed.' She'll understand that." " But if she says, ' No, I won't ' ' '^'- 188 ONE OF THEM. " Wo, no," said Quackinboss, w ith a half-bitter smile, " she'll never say that to the man as knows how to tell her his mind. Aud as for that courtship, it's all a mistake. Why, women won't coufess they like a man, just to keep the game a movin'. I'm blest if they don't like it better than marriage." Lay ton gave a faint smile, but, faint as it was, Quackinboss per- ceived it, and said : " Now, don't you go a persuadin' yourself these are all Yankee notions, and such-like. I'm a talkin' of human natur', and there ain't many as knows more of that article than Leonidas Shaver Quackinboss. All you Old- World folk make one great mistake, and nothing shows so clearly as how you're a worn-out race, used up, and done for. You live too much with your emotions and your feelin's. Have you never remarked that when the tap-root of a tree strikes down too far it gets into a cold soil ? And from that day for'ard you'll never see fruit or blossom more. That's just the very thing you're a doin'. You ain't satisfied to be active, and thi'ivin', and healthful, but you must go a speculatin' about why you are this, and why you ain't t'other. Get work to do. Sir, and do it." " It is what I intend," said Layton, in a low voice. " There ain't nothing like labour," said Quackinboss, with energy ; "work keeps the devil out of a man's mind, for, somehow, there's nothing that black fellow loves like loafing. And, whenever I see a great, tall, well-whiskered chap leaning over a balcony in a grand silk dressing-gown, with a gold stitched cap on his head, and he a yawning, I say to myself, ' Maybe I don't know who's at your elbow now ;' and when I see one of our strapping Western fellows, as he has given the last stroke of his hatchet to a pine-tree, and stands back to let it fall, wiping the honest sweat from his brow, as his eyes turn upward over the tree-tops to something higher than them, I say to my heart, ' All right there, he knows who it was gave him the strength to lay that sixty-foot stem so low.' " " You say truly," muttered Layton. " I know it. Sir ; I've been a loafing myself these last three years, and I've run more to seed in that time than in all my precious life ; but I mean to give it up." " What are your plans ?" asked Layton, not sorry to let the con- versation turn away from himself and his own afiairs. " My plans ! They are ours, I hope," said Quackinboss. " You're a coming out with me to the States, Sir. We fixed it all t'other niglit, I reckon ! I'm a goin' to make your fortune ; or, better still, to show you how to make it for yourself." o>rE or THEM. 189 Layton walked on in moorly silence, while Quaclunboss, with all the zealous warmth of conviction, described the triumphs and success be was to achieve in the New World. A very few words will suffice to inform our reader of all that he need know on this subject. During Layton's long convalescence, poor Quackinbosa felt his companionable qualities sorely taxed. At first, indeed, his task was that of consoler, for he had to communicate the death of Alfred's mother, which occurred in the early days of her son's illness. The Eector's letter, in conveying the sad tidings was everything that kindness and delicacy could dictate, and, with scarcely a reference to his own share in the benevolence, showed that all care and attention had waited upon her last hours. The blow, however, was almost fatal to Layton ; and the thought of that forlorn, deserted death-bed, clung to him by day, and filled his dreams by night. Quackinboss did his utmost, not very skilfully nor very adroitly, perhaps, but with a hearty sincerity, to combat this depression. He tried to picture a future of activity and exertion — a life of sterling labour. He placed before his companion's eyes the objects and ambi- tions men usually deem the worthiest, and endeavoured to give them an interest to him. Met in all his attempts by a dreary, hopeless indifference, the kind-hearted fellow reflected long and deeply over his next resource ; and so one day, when Layton's recovered strength suggested a hope for the project, he gave an account of his own neg- lected youth, how, thrown when a mere boy upon the world, he had never been able to acquire more than a smattering of what others learn at school. " I had three books in the world. Sir — a Bible, Robinson Crusoe, and an odd volume of "Wheatson's Algebra. And from a readin' and readin' of 'em over and over, I grew to blend 'em all up in my head together. And there was Friday, just as much a reality to me as Father Abraham ; and I thought men kept all their trade reckonings by simple equations. I felt, in fact, as if there was no more than these three books in all creation, and out of them a man had to pick all the wisdom he could. Now, what I'm a thinkin' is, that though I'm too old to go to school, maybe as how you'd not refuse to give me a helpin' hand, by readin' occasionally out of those languages I only know by name ? Teachin' an old fellow like 7ne is well-nigh out of the question ; but when a man has got a long, hard-earned experience of human natur', it's a main pleasant thing to know that oftentimes the thoughts that he is struggling with have occurred to great minds, who know how to utter them ; and so many an impression comes to be corrected, or 190 ONE OF THEM. mayhap confirmed, by those clever fellows, with their thoughtful heads." There was one feature in the project which could not but gratify Layton ; it enabled him to show his gratitude for the brotherly affection he had met with, and he accepted the suggestion at once. The first gleam of animation that had lighted his eyes for many a day was when planning out the line of reading he intended them to follow. Taking less eras of history than some of the great men who had illus- trated them, he thought how such characters would be sure to interest one whose views of life were eminently practical, and so a great law- giver, a legislator, a great general, or orator, was each evening selected for their reading. If it were not out of our track we might tell here how much Layton was amused by the strange, shrewd commentaries of his companion on the characters of a classic age ; or how he en- joyed the curious resemblances Quackinboss would discover between the celebrities of Athens and Eome and the great men of his own country. And many a time was the reader interrupted by such ex- clamations as, " Ay, Sir, just what J. Q. Adams would have said !" or, " That's the way our John Eandolph would have fixed it !" But Quackinboss was not satisfied with the pleasure thus afibrded to himself, for, with native instinct, he began to think how all such stores of knowledge and amusement might be utilised for the benefit of the possessor. " You must come to the States, Layton," he would say. " You must let our people hear these things. They're a main sharp, wide- awake folk, but they ain't posted up about Greeks and Eomans. Just mind me, now, and you'll do a fine stroke of work, Sir. Give them one of those pleasant stories out of that fellow there, Herod — Herod — what d'ye call him ?" "Herodotus?" " Ay, that's he ; and then a slice out of one of those slapping speeches you read to me t'other night. I'm blessed if the fellow didn't lay it on like Point Dexter himself; and wind up all, with what we can't match, a comic scene from Aristophanes. You see I have his name all correct ; and I ain't christened Shaver if you don't fill your hat with Yankee dollars in every second town of the Union." Layton burst out into a hearty laugh at what seemed to him a pro- ject so absurd and impossible ; but Quackinboss, with increased gravity, continued : " Your British pride, mayhap, is offended by the thought of lec- turin' to us Western folk ; but I'm here to tell you, Sir, that our own first men — ay, and you'll not disparage them — are a doin' it ONF, OF THEM. 191 every day. It's not play-actin' I'm speaking of. They don't go before a crowded theatre to play mimic with face, or look, or voice, or gesture. They've got a something to tell folk that's either en- nobling or instructive. They've got a story of some man, who, with- out one jot more of natural advantages than any of those Listening there, made himself a name to be blessed and remembered for ages. They've to show what a thing a strong will is when united with an honest heart ; and how no man, no matter how humble he be, need despair of being useful to his fellows. They've got many a lesson out of history to give a people who are just as ambitious, just as encroaching, and twice as warlike as the Athenians, about not neglecting private morality in the search after national greatness. What is the lecturer but the pioneer to the preacher. In clearing away ignorance and superstition, ain't he making way for the army of truth that's coming up ? Now I tell you, Sir, that ain't a thing to be ashamed of!" Layton was silent ; not comduced, it is true, but restrained, from respect for the other's ardour, from venturing on a reply too lightly. Quackinboss, after a brief pause, went on : " Well, it is possible what I said about the profit riled you. Well, then, don't take the dollars ; or take them, and give them, as some of our Western men do, to some object of public good — if you're rich enough." " Eich enough ! I'm a beggar," broke in Layton, bitterly. " I'm at this instant indebted to you for more than, perhaps, years of labour may enable me to repay." " I put it all down in a book. Sir," said Quackinboss, sternly, "and I threw it in the fire the first night you read out Homer to me. I said to myself, ' Tou are well paid. Shaver, old fellow, Tou never knew how your heart could be shaken that way, and what brave feel- ings were lying there still, inside of it.' " " Nay, dear friend, it is not thus I'm to acquit my debt. Even the moneyed one " " I tell you what, Layton," said Quackinboss, rising and striking the table with his clenched fist, " there's only one earthly way to part us, and that is by speaking to me of this. Once, and for ever, I say to you, there's more benefit to a man like me to be your com- panion for a week, than for you to have toiled, and fevered, and sweated after gold, as I have done, for thirty hard years." " Give me a day or two to think over it," said Layton, " and I'll tell you my resolve." " With all my heart ! Only, I would ask you not to take my show- ing of its goodness, but to reason the thing well out of your own 102 ONE OF THEM. clear bead. Many a just cause is lost by a bad lawyer, remember that." And tbus tbe discussion ended for tbe time. The following morning, wben tbey met at breakfast, Layton took the other's hand, and said : " I've thought all nigbt of what you've said, and I accept — not without many a misgiving as regards myself, but I accept." " I'd not take ten thousand dollars for the engagement. Sir," said Quackinboss, as he wrung Layton's hand. " No, Sir, I'd not take it, for even four cities of the Union." Although thus the project was ratified between them, scarcely a day passed that Layton did not experience some compunction for his pledge. Now, it was a repugnance to the sort of enterprise he was about to engage in, the criticisms to which he was to expose himself, and the publicity he was to confront ; nor could all his com- panion's sanguine assurances of success compensate him for his own heartfelt repugnance to try the ordeal. "After all," thought he, "failure, with all its pangs of wounded self-love, will only serve to show Quackinboss how deeply I feel myself his debtor when I am content to risk so much to repay him." Such was the bond he had signed, such his struggles to fulfil its obligations. One only condition he stipulated for — he wished to go to Ireland before setting out for the States, to see the last resting- place of his poor mother ere he quitted his country, perhaps for ever. Doctor Millar, too, had mentioned that a number of letters were amongst the few relics she had left, and he desired, for many reasons, that these should not fall into strangers' hands. As for Quackinboss, he agreed to everything. Indeed, he thought, that as there was no use in reaching the States before " the Fall," they could not do better than ramble about Ireland, while making some sort of preparation for the coming campaign. "How sad this place makes me!" said Layton, as they strolled along one of the leaf-strewn alleys. " I wish I had not come here." " That's just what I was a thinkin' myself," said the other. " I remember coming back all alone once over the Michigan prairie, which I had travelled about eight months before with a set of hearty companions, and whenever I'd come up to one of the spots where our tent used to be pitched, and could mark the place by the circle of greener grass, with a burnt-up patch where the fire stood, it was all I could do not to burst out a cryin' like a child ! It's a main cruel thing to go back alone to where you've once been happy in, and there's no forgettin' the misery of it ever after." " That's true," said Layton ; " the pleasant memories are erased for ever. Let us go." ONE OF THEM. 193 CHAPTER XXY. BEHIND THE SCENES. It is amongst the prerogatives of an author to inform his reader of many things which go on " behind the scenes" of life. Let me therefore ask your company, for a brief space, in a small and not ill- furnished chamber, which, deep in the recesses of back scenes, dressing-rooms, scaffolding, and machinery, is significantly entitled, by a painted inscription, " Manager's Eoom." Though the theatre is a London one, the house is small. It is one of those West-end speculations which are occasionally graced by a company of Trench comedians, a monologist, or a conjuror. There is all the usual splendour before the curtain, and all the customary squalor behind. At the present moment — for it is growing duskish of a IS'ovember day, and rehearsal is just over — the general aspect of the place is dreary enough. The box fronts and the lustre are cased in bro^^■n holland, and, though the curtain is up, the stage presents nothing- but a chaotic mass of disjointed scenery and properties. Tables, chairs, musical instruments, the half of a boat, a throne, and a guillo- tine, lie littered about, amidst which a ragged supeimumerary wan- ders, broom in hand, but apparently hopeless of where or how to begin to reduce tlie confusion to order. The manager's room is somewhat more habitable, for there is a good carpet, warm curtains, and an excellent fire, at which two gen- tlemen are seated, whose jocund tones and pleasant faces are cer- tainly, so far as outward signs go, fair guarantees that the world is not dealing very hardly with them, nor they themselves much dis- gusted with the same world. One of these — the elder, a middle- aged man somewhat inclined to corpulency, with a florid cheek, and clear, dark eye — is the celebrated Mr. Hyman Stocmar ; cele- brated, I say, for who can take up the morning papers without reading his name and knowing his wliereabouts ? As thus : " We are happy to be able to inform our readers that Mr. Stocmar is perfectly satisfied with his after season at the ' Eegent's.' Whatever other managers may say, Mr. Stocmar can make no complaint of courtly indifterence. Her Majesty has four times within the last month graced his theatre with her presence. Mr. Stocmar is at Madrid, at Vienna, at Naples. 3Ir. Stocmar is in treaty wnth Siguor Urlaccio 194f ONE OF THEir. of Turin, or Mademoiselle Voltarina of Yenice. He has engaged the Lapland voyagers, sledge-dogs and all, the Choctaw chiefs, or the Californian lecturer, Boreham, for the coming winter. Let none complain of London in November so long as Mr. Hyman Stocmar caters for the public taste ;" and so on. To look at Stocmar's bright complexion, his ruddy glow, his well-filled waistcoat, and his glossy ringlets — for, though verging on forty, he has them still ^' curly" — you'd scarcely imagine it possible that his life was passed amongst more toil, confusion, diflBculty, and distraction, than would suffice to kill five out of any twenty, and render the other fifteen deranged. I do not mean alone the worries inseparable from a theatrical direc- tion — the fights, the squabbles, the insufferable pretensions he must bear, the rivalries he must reconcile, the hates he must conciliate, — that terrible existence of coax and bully, bully and coax, fawn, flatter, trample on, and outrage, which goes on night and day behind the curtain — but that his whole life in the world is exactly a mild counterpart of the same terrible performance ; the great people, his patrons, being fifty times more difficult to deal with than the whole corps itself — the dictating Dowagers and exacting Lords, the great man who insists upon Mademoiselle So-and-So being engaged, the great lady who will have no other box than that occupied by the Eussian embassy, the friends of this tenor and the partisans of that, the classic admirers of grand music, and that larger section who will have nothing but comic opera, not to mention the very extreme parties who only care for the ballet, and those who vote the " Traviata" an unclean thing. What are a lover's perjuries to the lies such a man tells all day long ? — lies only to be reckoned by that machine that records the revolutions of a screw in a steamer. His whole existence is passed in promises, excuses, evasions, and explanations ; always paying a small dividend to truth, he barely escapes utter bankruptcy, and by a plausibility most difficult to distrust, he obtains a kind of half credit — that of one who would keep his word if he could. By some strange love of compensation, this man, who sees a very dark side of human nature — sees it in its low intrigues, unworthy pursuits, falsehoods, and depravities — who sees even the "great" in their moods of meanness — this man, I say, has the very keenest relish for life, and especially the life of London. He knows every capital of Europe : Paris, from the Chaussee d'Antin to the Boulevard Mont- Parnasse ; Vienna, from the Hof to the Volksgarten ; Eome, from the Piazza di Spagna to the Ghetto ; and yet he would tell you they are nothing, all of them, to that area between Pall-Mall and the upper gate of Hydo Park. He loves his clubs, hia dinners, his junketings to ONE OF THEM. 195 Eichmond or Greenwich, his short Sunday excursions to the country, generally to some great artiste's villa near Pulham or Chiswick, and declares to you that it is England alone offers all these in perfection. Is it any explanation ? does it give any clue to this gentleman's nature, if I say that a certain aquiline character in his nose, and a peculiar dull lustre in the eye, recal that race who, with all the odds of a great majority against them, enjoy a marvellous share of this world's prosperity ? Opposite to him sits one not unworthy — even from externals — of his companionship. He is a very good-lookino- fellow, with light brown hair, his beard and moustaches being match- less in tint and arrangement ; he has got large, full blue eyes, a wide, capacious forehead, and that style of head, both in shape and the way in which it is set on, which indicate a frank, open, and courageous nature. "Were it not for a little over-attention to dress, there is no "snobbery" about him, but there is a little too much velvet on his paletot, and his watch trinkets are somewhat in excess, not to say that the gold head of his cane is ostentatiously large and striking. This is Captain Ludlow Paten, a man about town, known to and by everybody, very much asked about in men's circles, but never by any accident met in ladies' society. By very young men he is eagerly sought after. It is one of the best things coming of age has in its gift is to know Paten and be able to ask him to dine. Older ones relish him full as much ; but his great popularity is with a generation beyond that again : the medisevals, who walk massively and ride not at all ; the florid, full cheeked, slightly bald generation, who grace club windows of a morning and the coidisses at night. These are his " set " -par excellence, and he knows them thoroughly. As for himself, or his family, no one knows, or indeed wants to know, anything. The men he associates with chiefly in life are all " cognate numbers," and these are the very people who never trouble their heads about a chance intruder amongst them ; and, although some rumour ran that his father was a porter at the Home-oflice, or a tailor at Blackwall, none care a jot on the matter : they want him ; and he couldn't be a whit more useful if his veins ran with all the blood of all the Howards. There is a story of him, however, which, though I reveal to you, is not generally known. He was once tried for a murder. It was a case of poisoning in Jersey, where the victim was a well-known man on the Turf, and who was murdered by the party he had invited to spend a Christmas with him. Paten was one of the company, and included in the accusation. Two were hanged ; Paten and another, named Collier, acquitted. Paten's name was Hunt, but he changed o2 196 ONE OF THEM, it at once, and, going abroad, entered the Austrian service, wliere, in eiglit years, he became a lieutenant. This was enough for probation and rank, and so he returned to England as Captain Ludlow Paten. Stoemar, of course, knew the story ; there were half a dozen more, also, who did, but they each and all knew that poor Paul was iuno- cent — that there wasn't a fragment of evidence against him — that he lost — actually lost — by Hawke's death ; that he was carried tipsy to bed that night two hours before the murder; that he was so overcome the next morning by his debauch tliat he was with difficulty avrakened ; that the coroner thought him a downright fool, he was so stunned by the event ; in a word, though he changed his name to Paten, and now wore a tremendous beard, and affected a slightly foreign accent, these were disguises offered up to the mean prejudices of the world rather than precautions of common safety and security. Though thus Paten's friends had passed this bill of indemnity in his favour, the affair of Jersey was never alluded to, by even his most intimate amongst them. It was a page of history to be carefully wafered up till that reckoning when all volumes are ransacked, and no blottiugs nor erasures avail ! As for himself, who, "to look at him, with his bright countenance, to hear the jocund ring of his merry laugh — who could ever imagine such a figure in a tei-rible scene of tragedy ? AVhat could such a man have to do with any of the dark machinations of crime, the death-struggle, the sack, the silent party that stole across the grass at midnight, and the fish-pond ? Oh no ! rather picture him as one who, meeting such details in his daily paper, would hastily turn the sheet to seek for plcasanter matter ; and so it was he eschewed these themes in conversation, and even when some celebrated trial would for the moment absorb all interest, giving but one topic in almost every circle. Paten would drop such common-places on the subject as showed he cared little or nothing for the event. Let us now hear what these two men are talking about, as they sat thus confidentially over the fire. Stoemar is the chief speaker. He does not smoke of a morning, because many of his grand acquaint- ances are averse to tobacco ; as for Paten, the cigar never leaves his lips. " Well, now for his story !" cried Paten. " I'm anxious to hear about him." " I'm sorry I can't gratify the curiosity. All I can tell you is where I found him. It was in Dublin. They had a sort of humble Cremornc there — a place little resorted to by the better classes ; indeed, rarely visited save by young subs from the garrison, milli- ONE OP THEM. 197 ners, and such other lost sheep ; not very -wonderful, after all, seeing that the rain usually contrived to extinguish the fireworks. Having a spare evening on my liands, I went there, and, to my astonisliment, witnessed some of the most extraordinary displays in fireworks I had ever seen. Whether for beauty of design, colour and precision, I might declare them unequalled. ' AVho's your pyrotechnist ?' said I to Barry, the proprietor. " ' I can't spare him, Mr. Stocmar,' said he, ' so I entreat you don't carry him off from me.' "'Oh!' cried I, 'it was mere curiosity prompted the question. The man is well enough here, but he wouldn't do for us. "We have got Giomelli, and Clari ' " ' Xot fit to light a squib for him,' said he, warming up in his enthusiasm for his man. ' I tell you. Sir, that fellow would teach Giomelli, and every Italian of them all. He's a great man. Sir — a genius. He was, once on a time, the great Professor of a University ; one of the very first scientific men of the kingdom, and if it wasn't for' — here he made a sign of drinking — 'he'd perhaps be this day sought by the best in the land.' " Though interested by all this, I only gave a sort of incredulous laugh in return, when he went on : " ' If I was quite sure you'd not take him away — if you.'d give me your word of honour for it — I'd just show him to you, and you'd see — even tipsy as he's sure to be — if I'm exaggerating.' " ' What is he worth to you, Barry ?' said I. " ' He's worth — not to reckon private engagements for fireworks in gentlemen's grounds, and the like — he's worth from seven to eight pounds a week.' " ' And you give him ?' " ' Well, I don't give him much. It wouldn't do to give him much ; he has no self-control — no restraint. He'd kill himself — actually kill himself.' " ' So that you only give him ?' " ' Fourteen shillings a week. Not but that I am making a little fund for him, and occasionally remitted his wife — he had a wife — a pound or so, without his knowledge.' " ' Well, he's not too dear at that,' said I. ' Xow let me see and speak with him, Barry, and if I like him, you shall have a fifty-pound note for him. You know weU enough that I needn't pay a sixpence. I have fellows in my employment would trade him out if you were to hide him in one of his rocket-canisters ; so just be reasonable, and take a good offer.' 198 ONE OF THEM. " He was not very vrilling at first, but lie yielded after a while, and so I became the owuer of the Pi-ofessor, for such they called him." " Had he no other name ?" " Tes ; an old parrot, that he had as a pet, called him Tom, and so we accepted that name ; and as Tom, or Professor Tom, he is now known amongst us." " Did you find, after all, that you made a good bargain ?" " I never concluded a better, though it has its difiiculties ; for as the Professor is almost an idiot when perfectly sober, and totally insensible when downright drunk, there is just a short twilight interval between the two, when his faculties are in good order." " What can he do at this favourable juncture ?" " "What can he not ? is the question. Why, it was he arranged all the scores for the orchestra after the fire, when we had not a scrap left of the music of the ' Maid of Cashmere.' It was he invented that sunrise, in the last scene of all, with the clouds rolling down the mountains, and all the rividets glittering as the first rays touch them. It was he wrote the third act of Linton's new comedy — the cata- strophe and all were his. It was he dashed off that splendid critique on Kistori, that set the town in a blaze ; and then he went home and Avrote the parody on ' Myrra' for the Strand, all, the same night, for I had watered tha brandy, and kept him in the second stage of delirium till morning." " What a chance ! By Jove ! Stocmar, you are the only fellow ever picks up a gem of this water!" " It's not every man can tell the stone that wiU pay for the cutting, Paten, remember that. I've had to buy this experience of mine dearly enough." " Are you not afraid that the others will hear of him, and seduce him by some tempting ofler ?" " I have, in a measure, provided against that contingency. He lives here, in a small crib, where we once kept a brown bear ; and he never ventures abroad, so that the chances are he will not be dis- covered." " How I should like to have a look at him." ''Nothing easier. Let us see, what o'clock is it? Near five. Well, this is not an unfavourable moment ; he has just finished his dinner, and not yet begun the evening." Eiuging the bell as he spoke, he gave orders to a supernumerary to send the Professor to him. While they waited for his coming, Stocmar continued to give some further account of his life and habits, the total estrangemeut from all VA ONE OF THEM. 199 companionsliip iu which lie lived, his dislike to be addressed, and the seeming misanthropy that animated him. At last the manager, getting impatient, rang once more, to ask if he were about to appear. " "Well, Sir," said the man, with a sort of unwillingness in his manner, " he said as much as that he wasn't coming ; that he had just dined, and meant to enjoy himself without business for a while." " Go back and tell him that Mr. Stocmar has something very important to tell him ; that five minutes will be enough.— You see the stuff he's made of?" said the manager, as the man left tlie room. Another, and nearly as long a delay ensued, and at last the dragging sound of heavy slipshod feet was heard approaching ; the door was rudely opened, and a tall old man, of haggard appearance and iji the meanest rags, entered, and, drawing himself proudly up, stared stead- fastly at Stocmar, without even for an instant noticing the presence of the other. " I wanted a word, just one word with you. Professor," began the manager, in an easy, familiar tone. " Men do not whistle even for a dog, when he's at his meals," said the old man, insolently. " They told you I was at my dinner, didn't they?" " Sorry to disturb you, Tom ; but, as two minutes would suffice for all I had to say " '•' Eeason the more to keep it for another occasion," was the stub- born reply. " We are too late this time," whispered Stocmar across towards Paten ; " the fellow has been at the whisky-bottle already." With that marvellous acuteness of hearing that a brain in its initial stage of excitement is occasionally gifted with, the old man caught the words, and, as suddenly rendered aware of the presence of a third party, turned his eyes on Paten. At first the look was a mere stare, but gradually the expression grew more fixed, and the bleared eyes dilated, while his whole features became intensely eager. With a shuffling but hurried step he then moved across the floor, and coming close up to where Paten stood, he laid his hands upon his shoulders, and wheeled him rudely round, till the light of the ■window fell full upon him. .■ . " Well, old gent," said Paten, laughing, " if we are not old friends, you treat me very much as though we were." A strange convulsion, half smile, lialf grin, passed over the old man's face, but he never uttered a word, but stood gazing steadily on the other. 200 ONE OF THEM. " Tou are forgetting j'ourself, Tom," said Stocmar, angrily. " That gentleman is not an acquaintance of yours." " And who told yoii, that ?" said the old man, insolently. " Ask himself if we are not." "I'm afraid I must give it against you, old boy," said Paten, good humouredly. " This is the first time I have had the honour to meet you." " It is not," said the old man, with a solemn and even haughty emphasis. " I could scarcely have forgotten a man of such impressive man- ners," said Paten. " Will you kindly remind me of where and how you imagine us to have met ?" " I will," said the other, sternly. " You shall hear the where and the how. The where Avas in the High Court, at Jersey, on the eighteenth of January, in the year 18 ; the how, was my being called on to prove the deatl], by corrosive sublimate, of Godfrey Hawke. Now, Sir, what say you to my memory — is it accurate, or not?" Had not Paten caught hold of a heavy chair, he would have fallen ; even as it was, he swayed forward and backward like a drunken man. " And you — you were a doctor in those days, it seems," said he, with an affected laugh, that made his ghastly features appear almost horrible. " Yes ; they accused me of curing folk, just as they charged yoic with killing them. Calumnious world that it is — lets no man escape !" "After all, my worthy friend," said Paten, as he drew himself haughtily up, and assumed, though by a great efibrt, his wonted ease of manner, " you are deceived by some chance resemblance, for I know nothing about Jersey, and just as little of that interesting little incident you have alluded to." " This is even more than you attempted on the trial. You never dreamed of so bold a stroke as that, there. No, no, Paul Hunt, I know you well : tliat's a gift of mine — drunk or sober it has stuck to me through life — I never forget a face — never!" " Come, come, old Tom," said Stocmar, as he drew forth a sherry docanter and a large glass from a small recess in the wall, " this is not the kindliest way to welcome an old friend or make a new one. Taste this sherry, and take the bottle back with you, if you like the flavour." Stocmar's keen glance met Paten's eyes, and as quickly the other understood his tactic. ONE OF THEM. 201 " Good wine, rare wine, if if; wasn't so cold on the stomach," said the old man, as he tossed off the second goblet. Already his eyes grew wild and bloodshot, and his watery lip trembled. " To your good health, gentlemen both," said he, as he finished the decanter. " I'm proud you liked that last scene. It will be finer before I've done with it ; for I intend to make the lava course down the moun- tain, and be seen fitfully as the red glow of the eruption lights up the picture." " "With the bay and the fleet all seen in the distance, Tom," broke in Stocmar. " Just so, Sir ; the lurid glare — as the newspaper fellows will call it — over all. Nothing like Bengal-lights and Eoman-candles ; they are the poetry of the modern drama. Ah ! Sir, no sentiment with- out nitrate of potash ; no poetry if you haven't phosphorus." And with a drunken laugh, and a leer of utter vacancy, the old man reeled from the room and sought his den again. "Good Heavens, Stocmar! wliat a misfortune !" cried Paten, as, sick with terror, he dropped down into a chair. " Never fret about it, Paul. That fellow will know nothing of what has passed when he wakes to-morrow. His next drunken bout — and I'll take care it shall be a deep one — will let such a flood of Lethe over his brain, that not one single recollection will survive the deluge. Tou saw why I produced the decanter ?" " Yes ; it was cleverly done, and it worked like magic. But only think, Stocmar, if any one had chanced to be here — it was pure chance that there was not — and then " " Egad ! it might have been as you say," said Stocmar ; " there would have been no stopping the old fellow ; and had he but got the very slightest encouragement, had been off at score." 202 ONE or THEM. CHAPTER XXYI. A DARK REMEMBRANCE. On a sea like glass, aud with a faint moonliglit streaking tlie calm, water, the Vivid, her Majesty's mail packet, steamed away for Ostend. There were very few passengers aboard, so that it was clearly from choice two tall men, wrapped well up in comfortable travelling-cloaks, continued to walk the deck, till the sandy headlands of Belgium could be dimly descried tlu'ough the pinkish grey of the morning. They smoked and conversed as they paced up and down, talking in low, cautious tones, aud even entirely ceasing to speak when by any chance a passing sailor came within earshot, " It is, almost day for day, nine years since I crossed over here," said one, " and certainly a bleaker future never lay before any man than on that morning !" " Was s7ie with you, Ludlow ?" asked the other, whose deep voice recalled the great Mr. Stocmar. " Was slie with you ?" " No ; she refused to come. There was nothing I didn't do, or threaten to do ; but in vain. I menaced her with every sort of pub- licity and exposure. I swore I'd write the whole story — giving a likeness of her from the miniature in my possession. That I'd give licr letters to the world in fac-similc of her own handj and that, while the town rang with the tragedy, as the newspapers called it, they should have a dash of melodrama or high comedy too, to heighten the interest. All in vain ; she braved everything — defied everything." " There are women with that sort of masculine temperament " "Masculine, you call it!" cried the other, scoffiugly ; "you never made such a blunder in your life. They are entirely and essentially womanly. You'd break twenty men down, smash them like rotten twigs, before you'd succeed in turning one woman of this stamp from her fixed will. I'll tell you another thing, too, Stocmar," added he, in a lower voice: "they do not fear the world the way men do. "Would you believe it ? Collins and myself left the island in a fishing- boat, and she — the woman — went coolly on board the mail packet with her maid and child, and sat down to breakfast with the pas- sengers, one of whom had actuallv served on the jury." " What pluck ! I call that pluck." ONE OF THEM. 203 " It's more like madness than real courage," said the other, peevishly ; and for some minutes they -walked on side by side without a word. " If I remember rightly," said Stoemar, " she was not put on her trial ?" " No ; there was a great discussion about it, and many blamed the Crown lawyers for not including her ; but, in truth, there was not a shadow of evidence to be brought against her. His treatment of her might have suggested the possibility of any vengeance." " Was it so cruel ?" " Cruel is no word for it. There was not an insult, nor an out- rage, spared her. She passed one night in the deep snow in the garden, and was carried senseless into the house at morning, and only rallied after days of treatment. He fired at her another time." '' Shot her!" "Yes, shot her through the shoidder — sent the bullet through here — because she would not write to Ogden a begging letter, en- treating him to assist her with a couple of hundred pounds." " Oh, ^hat was too gross !" exclaimed Stoemar. " He told her, ' You've cost me fifteen hundred in damages, and you may tell Ogden he shall have you back again for fifty.' " " And she bore all this ?" " I don't know what you mean by bearing it. She did not stab him. Some say that Hawke was mad, but I never thought so. He had boastful fits at times, in which he would vaunt all his villanies, and tell you of the infamies he had done with this man and that ; but they were purely the emanations of an intense vanity, which left him unable to conceal anything. Imagine, for instance, his boasting how he had done the ' Globe' office out of ten thousand, insured on his first wife's life — drowned when bathing. I heard the story from his own lips, and I'll never forget his laugh as he said, ' I'd have been in a hole if Mary hadn't.' " " That was madness, depend on't." " No ; I think not. It was partly vanity, for he delighted above all things to create an efiect, and partly a studied plan to exercise an influence by actual terror, in which he had a cousidei'able success. I could tell you of a score of men who would not have dared to thwart him ; and it was at last dovvm-ight desperation drove Tom Towers and Wake to" — he hesitated, faltered, and, in a weak voice, added— "to do it!" "How was it brought about ?" whispered Stoemar, cautiously. -JPaten took out his cigar-case, selected a cigar with much care, 204 ONE OF TIIEM. lighted it, and, after smoking for some seconds, began : " It all hap- pened this way : we met one night at that siugiug-place in the Hay- market. Towers, Wake, Collins, and myself were eating an oyster supper, when Hawke came in. He had been dining at the Eag, and had won largely at whist from some young cavalry swells, who had just joined. He was flushed and excited, but not from di'inking, for he said he had not tasted anything but claret-cup at dinner. ' You're a mangy-looking lot,' said he, ' with your stewed oysters and stout,' as he came up. ' AVhy, frozen-out gardenei's are fine gentlemen in com- parison. Are there no robberies going on at the Ottoman — nothing doing down at Grimshaw's ?' " ' You're very bumptious about belonging to the Eag, Hawke,' said Towers ; ' but they'll serve you the same trick they did me one of these daj^s.' " ' No, Sir, they'll never turn me out,' said Hawke, insolently. " ' More fools they, then,' said the other ; ' for you can do ten things for one that I can ; and what's more, you liave done them.' " ' And will again, old boy, if that's any comfort to you,' cried Hawke, finishing off the other's malt. ' AYaiter, fetch me some cold oysters, and score them to these gentlemen,' said he, gaily, taking his place amongst us. And so we chaffed away, about one thing or another, each one contributing some lucky or unlucky hit that had befallen him ; but Hawke always bringing up how he had succeeded here, and what he had won there, and only vexed if any one reminded him that he had been ever ' let in' in his life. " ' Look here,' cried he, at last ; ' ye're an uncommon seedy lot, very much out at elbows, and so I'll do you a generous turn. I'll take ye all over to my cottage at Jersey for a week, house and grub you, and then turn you loose on the island, to do your wicked will with it.' " ' "We take your offer — we saj'. Done !' cried Collins. " ' I should think you do ! You've been sleeping under the colon- nade of tlie Haymarket these last three nights,' said he to Collin s, ' for want of a lodging. There's Towers chuckling over the thought of having false keys to all my locks ; and Master Paul, yonder,' said he, * grinning at me, is in love with my wife. Don't deny it, man ; I broke open her writing-desk t'other day, and read all your letters to her : but I'm a generous dog ; and what's better,' added he, with an insolent laugh, ' one as bites, too — eh, Paul ! don't forget that.' " ' Do you mean the invitation to be real and bona fide ?' growled out Towers ; ' for I'm in no jesting humour.' " ' I do,' said Hawke, flourishing out a handful of bank-notes ; ONE OF THEM. 205 * there's enougli here to feed five times as many blacklegs ; aiid more costly guests a mau cau't have.' " ' You'll go, won't you ?' said Collins to me, as we walked home together afterv\-ards. " ' AVell,' said I, doubtingly, ' I don't exactly see my way.' " ' By Jove !' cried he, ' you are afraid of him.' " ' Not a bit,' said I, impatiently. ' I'm well acquainted with his boastful habit ; he's not so dangerous as he'd have us to believe.' " ' But will you go ? — that's the question,' said he, more eagerly. " ' Why are you so anxious to know ?' asked I, again. " ' I'll be frank with you,' said he, in a low, confidential tone. ' Towers wants to be certain of one thing. Mind, now,' added he, ' I'm sworn to secrecy, and I'm telling you now what I solemnly swore never to reveal ; so don't betray me, Paul. Give me your hand on it.' And I gave him my hand. " Even after I had given him this pledge he seemed to have become timorous, and for a few minutes he faltered and hesitated, totally unable to proceed. At last lie said, half inquiringly : " ' At all events, Paul, you cannot like Hawke ?' " ' Like him ! there is not the mau on earth I hate as I hate liim r " ' That's exactly what Towers said : " Paul detests him more than we do." ' " The moment Collins said these words the whole thing flashed full upon me. They were plotting to do for Hawke, and wanted to know how far I might be trusted in the scheme. " ' Look here, Tom,' said I, confidentially ; ' don't tell me any- thing. I don't want to be charged with other men's secrets ; and, in return, I'll promise not to pry after them. " Make your little game," as they say at Ascot, and don't ask whether I'm in the ring or not. Do you understand me ?' " ' I do, perfectly,' said he. ' The only point Towers really wanted to be sure of is, what of her ? What he says is, there's no telling what a woman will do.' " ' If I were merely to give an opinion,' said I, carelessly, ' I'd say, no danger from that quarter: but, mind, it's only an opinion.' " ' Wake says you'd marry her,' said he, bluntly, and with an abruptness that showed he had at length got courage to say what he wanted. " ' Tom CoUius,' said I, seriously, ' let us play fair; don't question me, and I'll not question i/oic.^ " ' But you'll come along with us ?' asked he, eagerly. . 206 ONE or THEM. " ' I'm not so sure of that, now,' said I ; * but if I do, it's on one only condition.' " ' And that is ?' " * That I'm to know nothing, or hear nothing, of whatever you're about. I tell you distinctly that I'll not pry anywhere, but in return, treat me as a stranger on whose discretion you cannot trust.' " ' You like sure profits and a safe venture, in fact,' said he, sueer- " ' Say one half of that again, Collins,' said I, ' and I'll cut with the whole lot of you. I ask no share. I'd accept no share in your gains here.' " ' But you'll not peach on us, Paul?' said ho, catching my hand. " ' Never,' said I, ' as long as you are on the square with me.'' " After this, he broke out into the wildest abuse of Hawke, making him out — as it was not hard to do — the greatest villain alive, mingling the attack AAath a variety of details of the vast sums he had latterly been receiving. ' There are,' he said, ' more than two thousand in hard cash in his hands at this moment, and a number of railway shares and some Peruvian bonds, part of his first wife's fortune, which he has just recovered by a lawsuit.' So close and accurate were all these details, so circumstantial every part of the story, that I perceived the plan must have been long prepared, and only waiting for a favourable moment for execution. With this talk he occupied the whole way, till I reached my lodgings. " ' And now, Paul,' said he, ' before we part, give me your word of honour once more.' " ' There's my pledge,' said I, ' and there's my hand. So long as I hear nothing, and see nothing, I know nothing.' And we said good night, and separated. " So long as I was talking with Collins," continued Paten — '• so long, in fact, as I was takiug my own side in the discussion — I did not see any difficulty in thus holding myself aloof from the scheme, and not taking any part whatever in the game played out before me ; but when I found myself alone in my room, and began to conjure up an inquest and a trial, and all the searching details of a cross-examina- tion, I trembled from head to foot. I remember to this hour how I walked to and fro in my room, putting questions to myself aloud, and in the tone of an examining counsel, till my heart sickened with fear ; and when at last I lay down, wearied but not sleepy, on my bed, it was to swear a solemn vow that nothing on earth should induce me to go over to Jersey. " The next day I was ill and tired, and I kept my bed, telling my ONE OF THEM. 207 servant to let no one disturb me on any pretest. Tcwers called, but was not admitted. Collins came twice, and tried bard to see me, but my man was firm, so tbat Tom was fain to write a few words on a card, in pencil : ' H. is ill at Limmer's ; but it is only del. tremens, and be will be all rigbt by Saturday, Tbe boat leaves Blackwall at eleven. Don't fail to be in time.' This was Thursday. There was no time to lose, if I only knew what was best to be done. I'll not weary you with the terrible tale of tbat day's tortures ; how I thought over every expedient in turn, and in turn rejected it ; now, I would go to Hawke, and tell him everything ; now, to the Secretary of State at the Home-office ; now, to Scotland-yard, to inform the police ; then I bethousht me of trying to dissuade Towers and the others from the project ; and at last I resolved to make a ' bolt' of it, and set out for Ireland by tbe night mail, and lie bid in some secluded spot till all was over. About four o'clock I got up, and throwing on my dressing- goTATi, I walked to the window. It was a dark, dull day, witb a thin rain falling, and few persons about ; but just as I was turning away from the window I saw a tall, coarse-looking fellow pass into the oyster-shop opposite, giving a glance up towards me as he went ; the next minute a man in a long camlet cloak left the shop, and walked down the street ; and, muffled though he was from head to foot, I knew it was Towers. " I suppose my conscience wasn't all rigbt, for I sank down into a chair as sick as if I'd been a month in a fever. I saw they had set a wateb on me, and I knew well the men I had to deal with. If Towers or "Wake so much as suspected me, they'd make all safe before they ventured fm-ther. I looked out again, and there was the big man, witb a dark blue woollen comforter round bis throat, reading the advertisements on a closed shutter, and then strolling negligently along the street. Thougb his hat was pressed down over his eyes, I saw them watching me as he went ; and such was my terror, that I fancied they were still gazing at me after be turned the corner. " Fully determined now to make my escape, I sat down and wrote a few lines to Collins, saying tbat a relation of mine, from"whom I had some small expectations, was taken suddenly ill, and sent for me to come over and see hiiu, so that I was obliged to start for Ireland by that night's mail. I never once alluded to Jersey, but concluded witb a kindly message to all friends, and a basty good-by. " Desiring to have my servant out of the way, I despatcbed liim with this note, and then set about making my own preparations for departure. It was now later than I suspected, so that I had barely 208 ONE OF THEM. time to pack some clothes hastily into a carpet-bag, and cautiously descending the stairs with it in my hand, opened the street door and issued forth. Before I had, however, gone ten yards from the door, the large man was at my side, and in a gruff voice offered to carry my bag. I refused as roughly, and walked on towards the cab-stand. I selected a cab, and said Euston-square ; and as I did so the big fellow mounted the box and sat down beside the driver. I saw it was no use, and affecting to have forgotten something at my lodgings, I got out, paid the cab, and retiu'ned home. How cowardly ! you'd say. No, Stocmar, I knew my men : it was not cowardly. I knew that however they might abandon a project, or forego a plan, tliey would never, never forgive a confederate tliat tried to betray them. No, no," muttered he, below his breath; "no man shall tell me it was cowardice. " "When I saw that there was no way to draw back, I determined to go forward boldly, and even eagerly, trusting to the course of events to give me a chance of escape. I wrote to Collins to say that my relative was better, and should not require me to go over ; and, in short, by eleven o'clock on the appointed Saturday, Ave all assembled on the deck of the St. Ileliei^ bound for Jersey. " Never was a jollier party met for an excursion of pleasure — all but Hawke himself ; he came aboard very ill, and went at once to his berth. He was in that most pitiable state, the commencing con- valescence of delirium tremens, when all the terrors of a deranged mind still continue to disturb and distress the recovering intellect. As we went down one by one to see him, he would scarcely speak, or even notice us. At times, too, he seemed to have forgotten the circumstance which brought us all there, and he would mutter to himself, ' It was no good job gathered all these fellows together. Where can they be going to ? AVhat can they be after ?' We had just sat down to dinner, when Towers came laughing into the cabin. ' What do you think,' said he to me, ' Hawke has just told me con- fidentially ? He said, " I'm not at all easy about that lot on deck" — meaning you all. "The devil doesn't muster his men for mere drill and parade, and the moment I land in the island I'll tell the police to have an eye on them." ' Wc laughed heartily at this polite intention of our host, and joked a good deal over the various imputations our presence might excite. Erom this we went on to talk over what wa to be done if Hawke should continue ill, all being agreed that, having come so far, it would be impossible to forego our projected pleasure, and at last it was decided that I, by virtue of certain domestic relations ascribed to me, should enact the host, and do the honours of the OKE OF THEM. 209 house, and so they filled bumpers to the Eegency, and I promised to be a mild Prince. " ' There's the tiling for Godfrey,' said Towers, as some grilled chicken was handed round ; and taking the dish from the waiter, he carried it himself to Hawke, and remained while he ate it. ' Poor devil !' said he, as he came back, ' he seems quite soft-hearted about my little attentions to him. He actually said, " Thank you, old fellow." ' " Perhaps our reader will thank us if we do not follow Paten through a narrative in which the minutest detail was recorded, nor any, even the most trivial, incident forgotten, graven as they were on a mind that was to retain them to the last. All the levities they indulged in during the voyage— which was, in fact, little other tlian an orgie from the hour they sailed to tliat they landed, dashed with little gloomy visits to that darkened sick-berth where Hawke lay — all were re- membered, all chronicled. The cottage itself— The Hawke's Nest, as it was whimsically called — he described with all the picturesque ardour of an artist. It was truly a most lovely spot, nestled down in a cleft between the hills, and so shut in from all wintry influences, that the oranges and myrtles overgrew it as though the soil were Italy. The grounds were of that half-park, half-garden order, which combines green sward and flower- ing border, and masses into one beauteous whole the glories of the forest tree with the spray-like elegance of the shrub. There was a little lake, too, with an island, over whose leafy copper beeches a little Gothic spire appeared — an imitation of some richly ornamented shrine in Moorish Spain. What was it that in this dark story would still attract him to the scenery of this spot, making him linger and dally in it as though he could not tear himself away ? Why would he loiter in description of some shady alley, some woodbine-trellised path, as though the scene had no other memories but those of a bliss- ful bygone ? In fact, such was the sort of fascination the locality seemed to exercise over him, that his voice grew softer, the word's faltered as he spoke them, and once he drew his hand across his eyes, as though to wipe away a tear. " AVas it not strange, Stocmar," broke he suddenly in, " I was never able to see her one moment alone ? She avoided it in fifty ways ! Hawke kept his room for two days after we arrived, and we scarcely ever saw her, and when we did, it was hurriedly and pass- ingly. Godfrey, too, he would send for one of us — always one, mark you, alone ; and after a few muttering words about his suftering, he'd be sure to say, ' Can you tell me what has brought them all down r 210 ONE OF THEM. liere ? I can't get it out of my head that there ain't mischief brew- ing.' Now each of us in turn had heard this speech, and we conned it over and over again. 'It's tlie woman has put tliis notion in his head,' said Towers. ' I'll take my oath it came from her. Look to that, Paul Hunt,' said he, to me, ' for you have influence in that quarter.' I retorted angrily to this, and very high words passed between us ; in fact, the altercation went so far, that, when we met at dinner, we never addressed, or noticed, each other. I'll never for- get that dinner. "Wake seemed to range himself on Towers's side, and Collins looked half disposed to take mine ; everything that was said by one, was sure to be capped by some sharp impertinence by another, and we sat there interchanging slights and sneers and half- covert insolences for hours. " If there had been a steamer for Southampton I'd have started next morning. I told Collins so when I went to my room ; but he was mucli opposed to tliis, and said, ' If we draw back now, it must be with Towers and Wake — all or none!' We passed nearly the entire night in discussing the point, and could not agree on it. " I suppose that Hawke must have heard how ill we all got on to- gether. There was a little girl — a daughter by his first wife — always in and out of the room where we were ; and though in appearance a mere infant, the shrewdest, craftiest little sprite I ever beheld. Now this Clara, I suspect, told Hawke everything that passed. I know for certain that she was in the flower-garden, outside the window, during a very angry altercation between Towers and myself, and when I went up afterwards to see Hawke he knew the whole story. " What a day that was ! I had asked Loo to let me speak a few words witli her alone, and, after great hesitation, she promised to meet me in the garden in the evening. I had determined on telling her everything. I was resolved to break with Towers and Wake, and I trusted to lier clear head to advise me how best to do it. The greater part of the morning Towers was up in Hawke's room ; he had al- ways an immense influence over Godfrey ; he knew things about him none others had ever heard of, and, when he came down stairs, he took the doctor — it was your old Professor, tluit mad fellow — into the library, and spent full an hour with him. When Towers came out afterwards he seemed to have got over his angi-y feeling towards me, and coming up in all seeming frankness, took my arm, and led me out into the shrubbery. " ' Hawke is sinking rapidly,' said he ; ' the doctor says he cannot possibly recover.' " ' Indeed !' said I, amazed. 'What does he call tlie malady ?' ONE OF THEM. 211 " * He says it's a bi-eak-up — a general smash — lungs, liver, brain, all destroyed ; a common complaint with fellows who have lived hard.' He looked at me steadily, almost fiercely, as he said this, but I seemed quite insensible to Ins gaze. ' He'll not leave her a farthing,' added he, after a moment. " ' The greater villain he, then,' said I. ' It was for Mm she ruined herself.' " ' Yes, yes, that was all true enough once ; but noii\ Master Paul — now, there's another story, you know.' " ' If you mean under the guise of a confidence to renew the in- sults you dared to pass upon me yesterday,' said I, ' I tell you at once I'll not bear it.' " ' Can't you distinguish between friendship and indifference ?' said he, warmly, ' I don't ask you to trust me with your secrets, but let us talk like men, not like children. Hawke intends to alter his will to-morrow\ It had been made in her favour ; at least, he left her this place here, and some small thing he has in Wales ; he's going to change everything and leave all to the girl.' " ' It can't be a considerable thing after all,' said I, peevishly, and not well knowing what I said. " ' Pardon me,' broke he in ; ' he has won far more than any of us suspected. He has in hard cash above two thousand pounds in the house, a mass of acceptances in good paper, and several bonds of first- rate men. I went over his papers this morning with him, and saw his book, too, for the Oaks — a thing, I suppose, he had never shown to any living man before. He has let us all in there, Paul — he has, by Jove ! for while telling us to put all upon Jeremy, he's going to win with Proserpine !' " I confess, the baseness of this treachery sickened me. " * " How Paul will storm, and rave, and curse me, when he finds it out," said he ; " but there was no love lost between us." He never liked you. Hunt — never.' " ' It's not too late yet,' said I, ' to hedge about and save our- selves.' " ' Xo, there's time still, especially if he " hops the twig." Now,' said he, after a long pause, ' if by any chance he ^ere to die to-night, */^e'd be safe — she'd at least inherit some hundreds a year, and a good deal of personal property.' " ' There's no chance of that, though,' said I, negligently. " ' Who told you so, Paul ?' said he, with a cunning cast of liis eye. ' That old drunken doctor said he'd not insure him for twenty-four hours. A rum old beast lie is ! Do you know what he said to me a p2 212 ONE OF THEM. wliile ago ? " Captain," said he, " do you kuow anyiliing about clieinistry ?" " Nothing whatever," said I. " Well," said he, with a hiccup — for he was far gone in liquor — " albumen is the antidote to the muriate ; and if you want to give him a longer line, let him have an egg to eat." ' " " Grood Heavens ! Do you mean that he suspected " "He was dead drunk two minutes afterwards, and said thatHawke was dying of typhus, and that he'd certify it under his hand. ' But no matter about liim,^ said he, impatiently. ' If Hawke goes off to- night, it will be a good thing for all of us. Here's this imp of a child !' muttered he, below his breath ; ' let us be careful.' And so we parted company, each taking his own road. " I walked about the grounds alone all day — I need not tell you with what a heavy heart and a loaded conscience — and only came back to dinner. We were just sitting down to table, when the door opened, and, like a corpse out of his grave, Hawke stole slowly in, and sat down amongst us. He never spoke a word, nor looked at any one. I swear to you, so terrible was the apparition, so ghastly, and so death-like, that I almost doubted if he were still living. " ' Well done, old boy ! there's nothing will do you such good as a little cheering up,' cried Towers. " ' She's asleep,' said he, in a low, feeble voice, * and so I stole down to eat my last dinner with you.' " ' Not the last for many a year to come,' said Wake, filling his glass. ' The doctor says you are made of iron.' " ' A man of mettle, I suppose,' said he, with a feeble attempt to langh. " ' There ! isn't he quite himself again ?' cried AVake. ' By George ! he'll see us all down yet !' " ' Down, where ?' said Hawke, solemnly. And the tone and the words struck a chill over us. " AVe did not rally for some time, and when we did, it was with an effort forced and imnatnral. Hawke took something on his ])l;ite, but eat none of it, turning the meat over with his fork in a listless way. His wine, too, he laid down when half way to his lips, and then spat it out over the carpet, saying to himself something in- audible. "'What's the matter, Godfrey? Don't you like that capital sherry ?' said Towers. " ' No,' said he, in a hollow, sepulchral voice. " ' We have all pronounced it admirable,' went on the other. It burns — everything burns,' said the sick man. a i ONE OE XUEM. 213 " I filled him a glass of iced water and handed it to him, and Towers gave me a look so full of hate and vengeance, that my hand nearly let the tumhler drop. " 'Don't drink cold water, man!' cried Towers, catching his arm; ' that is the worst thing in the world for you.' " ' It won't poison me, will it ?' said Ilawke. And he fixed his leaden, glazy gaze on Towers. " ' Wliat the devil do you mean r' cried he, savagely. ' This is an ugly jest. Sir.' " The sick man, evidently more startled by the violence of the manner than by the words themselves, looked from one to the other of us all round the table. " ' Forgive me, old fellow,' burst in Towers, with an attempt to laugb ; ' but the whole of this day, I can't say why or how, but every- thing irritates and chafes me. I really believe that we all eat and drink too well here. We live like fighting-cocks, and, of course, are always ready for conflict.' " We all did our best to forget the unpleasant interruption of a few minutes back, and talked away with a sort of over-eagerness. But Hawke never spoke ; there he sat, turning his glazed, filmy look from one to the other, as though in vain trying to catch up something of what went forward. He looked so ill — so fearfully ill, all the wliile, that it seemed a shame to sit carousing there around him, and so I whispered to Collins, but Towers overheard me, and said, " ' All wronsf. You don't know what tough material he is made of. This is the very thing to rally him — eh, Godfrey ?' cried he, louder. ' I'm telling these fellows that you'll be all the better for coming down amongst us, and that when I have made you a brew of that milk-punch you are so fond of ' " 'It won't burn my throat, will it?' whined out the sick man. " ' Burn your throat ! not a bit of it ; but warm your blood yp, give energy to your heart, and brace your nerves, so that before the bowd is finished you'll sing us "Tom Hail;" or, better still, "That rainy day I met her" — Tliat rainy day T met lior, Wlien she tripped along the street, ' And with petticoat half lifted, Showed a dainty pair of feet. How does it go?' said he, trying to catch the tune. " A ghastly grin— an expression more horrible than I ever saw on 214! ONE OF THEM. a human face before — was Ilawke's recognition of tliis appeal to liini, and beating his fingers feebly on the table, he seemed trying to recal the air. " ' I can't stand this any longer,' whispered Wake to me ; ' the man is dying!' " ' Confound you for a fool !' said Towers, angrily. * You'll see what a change an hour will make in him. I've got the receipt for that milk-punch up in my room. I'll go and fetch it.' And with this he arose, and hastily left the room. " ' Where's Tom ?' said the sick man, with a look of painful eager- ness. ' Where is he ?' " ' He's gone for the receipt of the milk-punch ; he's going to make a brew for you !' said I. " ' But I won't take it. I'll taste nothing more,' said he, with a marked emphasis. ' I'll take nothing but what Loo gives me,' muttered he, below his breath. And we all exchanged significant looks with each other. " ' This will never do,' murmured Wake, in a low voice. ' Say something — tell a story — but let us keep moving.' " And Collins began some narrative of his early experiences on the Turf. The story, like all such, was the old burden of knave and dupe — the man who trusted and the man who cheated. None of us paid much attention to the details, but drank away at our wine, and sent the decanters briskly round, when suddenly, at the mention of a horse being found dead in his stall on the morning he was to have run, Hawke broke in with ' Nobbled ! Just like me !' " Though the words were uttered in a sort of reverie, and with a bent-down head, we all were struck dumb, and gazed ruefully at each other. 'Where's Towers all this time?' said Collins to me, in a wliisper. I looked at my watch, and saw that it was forty-four minutes since he left the room. I almost started up from my seat with terror, as I thought what this long absence might portend. Had he actually gone off, leaving us all to the perils that were surround- ing us ? Was it that he had gone to betray us to the law ? I could not speak from fear when the door opened, and he came in and sat down in his place. Though endeavouring to seem easy and uncon- cerned, I could mark that he wore an air of triumph and success that he could not subdue. " ' Here comes the brew,' said he, as the servant brought in a large smoking bowl of fragrant mixture. " ' I'll not touch it !' said Hawke, with a resolute tone that startled us. ONE OF TUEM. 215 " ' What! after giving me more tliau half an hour's trouble in pre- paring it,' said Towers. ' Come, old fellow, that is uot gracious.' " ' Drink it yourselves !' said Hawke, sulkily. " ' So we will, after we have finished this Burgundy,' said Towers. ' But, meanwhile, what will you have. It's poor fun to sit here with an empty glass.' And he filled him out a goblet of the milk-punch and placed it before liim. ' Here's to the yellow jacket with black sleeves,' said he, lifting his glass; 'and may we see him the first " round the corner." ' " ' Eirst " round the corner !" ' chorused the rest of us. And Hawke, catching up the spirit of the toast, seized his glass and drank it off". " 'I knew he'd drink his own colours if he had one leg in the grave !' said Towers. " The clock on the mantelpiece struck ten at this moment. It was the hour I was to meet her in the shrubbery ; and so, pretending to go in search of my cigar-case, I slipped away and left them. As I Avas passing behind Hawke's chair, he made a gesture to me to come near him. I bent down my head to him, and he said, ' It won't do this time ; she'll not meet you, Paul.' These were the last words I ever heard him speak." When Paten had got thus far, he walked away from his friend, and, leaning Lis arm on the bulwark, seemed overwhelmed with the dreary retrospect. He remained thus for a considerable time, and only rallied as Stocmar, drawing his arm within his, said, " Come, come, this is no fresh sorrow now. Let me hear the remainder." " He spoke truly," said he, in a broken voice. " She never came ! I walked the grounds for above an hour and a half, and then I came back towards the cottage. There was a light in her room, and 1 whistled to attract her notice, and threw some gravel against the glass, but she only closed the shutters, and did not mind me. I can- not tell you how my mind was racked between the actual terror of the situation and the vague dread of some unknown evil. AVhat had produced this change in lier ? AVhy had slie broken with me ? Could it be that Towers had seen her in that long interval he was absent from the table, and, if so, to what intent ? She always hated and dreaded him ; but who could tell what influence such a man might acquire in a moment of terrible interest ? A horrible sense of jealousy — not the less maddening that it was shadowy and uncertain — now filled my mind ; and — would you believe it ? — I thought Averse of Towers for his conduct towards me than for the dreadful plot against Hawke. Chance led me, as I walked, to the bank of the little lake. 216 ONE OF them:. where I stood for some time thinking. Suddenly a splash — too heavy for the spring of a fish — startled me, and immediately after I heard tlie sound of some one forcing liis way through the close underwood beside me. Before I had well rallied from my astonishment, a voice I well knew to be that of Towers cried out, " * "Who's there ? — who are you ?' " I called out, ' Hunt— Paul Hunt !' " ' And what the devil brings you here, may I ask ?' said he, inso- lently, but in a tone that showed he had been drinking deeply. " It was no time to provoke discord ; it was a moment that demanded all we could muster of concession and agreement, and so I simply told how mere accident had turned my steps in this direction. " ' What if I said I don't believe you, Paul Hunt ?' retorted he, savagely. ' AVliat if I said that I see your whole game in this business, and know every turn and every trick you mean to play us ?' " ' If you had not drunk so much of Godfrey's Burgundy,' said I, ' you'd never have spoken this way to an old friend.' " ' Friend be !' cried he, savagely. ' I know no friends but the men who will share danger with you as well as drink out of the same bottle. AVhy did you leave us this evening ?' " ' I'll be frank with you, Tom,' said I. * I had made a rendezvous w ith Louisa ; ' but she never came.' "'Why should she?' muttered he, angrily. '"Why should she trust the man who is false to his pals ?' " ' That I have never been,' broke I in. ' Ask Hawke himself. Ask Godfrey, and he'll tell you wdiether I have ever dropped a word against you.' " ' No he wouldn't,' said he, doggedly. " ' I tell you he would,' cried I. ' Let us go to him this minute.' " ' I'd rather not, if the choice were given me,' said he, with a horrid laugh. " * Do you mean,' cried I, in terror — ' do you mean that it is all over ?' " ' All over!' said he, gravely, and as though his clouded faculties were suddenly cleared, ' Godfrey knows all about it, by this time,' muttered he, half to himself. " * Would to Heaven we had never come here !' burst I in, for my heart was breaking with anguish and remorse. * How did it happen, and where ?' " ' In tlie chair wliere you last saw him. We thought he had OT wT^i^m^ ONE OF THEM. 217 fallen asleep, and were for having him carried up to bed, when he gave a slight shndder and woke up again. " AVhere's Loo?" cried he, in a weak voice ; and then, before we could answer, he added, "Where's Hunt?" " * " Paul was here a moment ago ; he'll be back immediatel}'." " ' He gave a laugh — such a laugh I hope never to hear again. Cold as he lies there now, that terrible grin is on his face yet. " You've done it this time, Tom," said he to me, in a whisper. " What do you mean ?" said I. " Death !" said he ; " it's all up with me — your time is coming." And he gave a ghastly grin, sighed, and it was over.' " We both sat down on the damp ground, and never spoke for nigh an hour. At last Tom said, ' We ought to be back in the house, and trying to make ourselves useful, Paul.' " I arose, and walked after him, not knowing well whither I was going. AVhen we reached the little flower-garden, we could see into the dining-room. The branch of wax-candles were still lifrhted, but burnt down very low. All had left ; there was nothing there but the dead man sitting up in his chair, with his eyes staring, and his chin fallen. ' Craven-hearted scoundrels !' cried Towers. ' The last thing T said was to call in the servants, and say that their master had fainted ; and see, they have run away out of sheer terror. Ain't these hopeful fellows to go before the coroner's inquest ?' I was trembling from head to foot all this while, and had to hold Towers by the arm to support myself. ' You are not much better!' said he, savagely, ' Get to bed, and take a long sleep, man. Lock your door, and open it to none till I come to j'ou.' I staggered away as well as I could, and reached my room. Once alone there, I fell on my knees and tried to pray, but I could not. I could do nothing but cry — cry, as though my heart would burst ; and I fell off" asleep, at last, with my head on the bedside, and never awoke till the next day at noon. Oh!" cried he, in a tone of anguish, " do not ask me to recal more of this dreadful story ; I'd rather follow the others to the scaftold, than I'd live over again that terrible day. But you know the rest — the whole world knows it. It was the ' Awful Tragedy in Jersey' of every newspaper of England ; even to the little cottage, in the print-shop windows, the curiosity of the town was gratified. The Pulpit employed the theme, to illustrate the life of the de- bauchee ; and the Stage repeated tlie incidents in a melodrama. With a vindictive inquisitiveness, too, the Press continued to pry after each of us, whither we had gone, and what had become of us. I myself, 218 ONE OF TUKM. at last, tpscaped further scrutiny by the accidental circumstance of a pauper, called Paul Hunt, having died in a poor-house, furnishing tlie journalist who recorded it one more occasion for moral reilection and eloquence. Collins lived, I know not how, or where. She sailed for Australia, but I believe never went beyond the Cape." '' And you never met her since ?" " Never." " Nor have you held any correspondence together?" " None, directly. I have received some messages ; one to that purport I have already told you. Indeed, it was but t'other day tliat I knew for certain she was in Europe," " What was she in appearance — what style and manner of person ?" " You shall guess before I tell you," said Paten, smiling sadly. " A dark-eyed, dark-haired woman— brunette — tall — with a com- manding look — thin lips — and strongly-marked chin." " Here," said he, approaching the binnacle lantern, and holding out a miniature he had drawn from his breast — " here ; you can recognise the accuracy of your description." " But can that be like her ?" " It is herself; even the careless ease of the attitude, the volup- tuous indolence of the ' pose,' is all her own." " But she is the very type of feminine softness and delicacy. I never saw eyes more full of gentle meaning, nor a mouth more ex- pressive of womanly grace." " There is no flattery in the portrait ; nay, it wants the great charm she excelled in — that ever changeful look, as thoughts of joy or sad- ness would flash across her." " Good Heavens !" cried Stocmar. " How hard it is to connect this creature, as she looks here, with such a story !" " Ah, my friend, these have been the cruel ones, from the earliest times we hear of. The more intensely they are womanly, the more unrelenting their nature." " And what do you mean to do, Ludlow- ? for I own to you I think she is a hard adversary to cope with." " I'll marry her, if she'll have me." " Have you ? Of course she will." " She says not ; and she generally keeps her word." " But why should you wish to marry her, Ludlow ? Ton have already told me that you know nothing of her means, or how she lives; and, certainly, the memories of the past give small guarantee for the future. Aa for myself, I own to you, if there was not another wonum " ONE OK THEM. 219 "Nay, nay," broke in Paten, "you have never seen her — never spoken to her." " Tou forget, my dear fellow, that I have passed a life in an atmosphere of mock fascinations ; that tinsel attractions and counter- feit graces would all fail with me" " But wlio says they are factitious ?" cried Paten, angrily. " The money that passes from hand to hand, as current coin, may have some alloy in its composition a chemist might call base, but it will not serve to stamp it as fraudulent. I tell you, Stocmar, it is the whole fortune of a man's life to be associated with such a woman. They can mar or make you." " More likely the first," muttered Stocmar. And then added aloud, " And as to her fortune, you actually know nothing." " Nothing beyond the fact that there's money somewhere. The girl or she, I can't say which, has it." "And of course, in your eyes, it's like a pool at ecarte : you don't trouble your head who are the contributors r" " Not very much, if I win, Stocmar !" said he, resuming at once all the wonted ease of his jovial manner. Stocmar walked the deck in deep thought. The terrible tale lie had just heard, though not new in all its details, had impressed him fear- fully, while at the same time he could not conceive how a man so burdened with a horrible past could continue either to enjoy the present or speculate on the future. At last he said, " And have you no dread of recognition, Ludlow ? Is the danger of being known and addressed by your real name not always uppermost with you?" " No, not now. When I first returned to England, after leaving the Austrian service, I always went about with an uneasy impression upon me — a sort of feeling that when men looked at me they were trying to remember where, and when, and how, they had seen that face before ; but up to this none have ever discovered me, except Dell, the detective ofiicer, whom I met one night at Creinorne, and who whispered me softly, ' Happy to see you, Mr. Hunt. Have you been long in England?' I aft'ected at first not to understand him, and touching his hat politely, he said, 'Well, Sir — Jos. Dell. If you remember, I was there at the inquest.' I invited him to share a bottle of wine with me at once, and we parted like old friends. By the way," added he, " there was that old pyrotechnist of yours — that drunken rascal — lie knew me, too." " Well, you're not likely to be troubled with another recognition from him, Ludlow." " How so ? Is the fellow dead ?" 220 ONE OF THEM. " No ; but I've shipped him to New York by the Persia. Trub}', of the Bowery Theatre, has taken a three years' lease of him, and of course cocktails and juleps will siiorten even that." " That is a relief, by Jove !" cried Paten. " I own to you, Stocmar, the thouglit of being known by that man lay like a stone on my heart. Had you any trouble in inducing him to go ?" " Trouble ? No. He went on board drunk ; he'll be drunk all the voyage, and he'll laud in America in the same happy state." Paten smiled pleasantly at this picture of beatitude, and smoked on. " There's no doubt about it, Stocmar," said he, sententiously, " we all of us do make cowards of ourselves quite needlessly, imagining that the world is full of us, canvassing our characters and scrutinisiug our actions, when the same good world is only thinking of itself and its own affairs." " That is true in part, Ludlow. But let us make ourselves fore- ground figui-es, and, take my word for it, we'll not have to complain of want of notice." Paten made a movement of impatience at this speech, that showed Low little he liked the sentiment, and then said : " There are the lights of Ostend. What a capital passage we have made! I can't express to you," said he, with more animation, " what a relief it is to me to feel myself on the soil of the Continent. I don't know how it affects others, but to me it seems as if there were greater scope and a freer room for a man's natural abilities there." " I suppose you think we are cursed with ' respectability' at home ?" " The very thing I mean," said he, gaily ; " there's nothing I detest like it." " Colonel Paten," cried the steward, collecting his fees. " Are you Colonel ?" asked Stocmar, in a whisper. " Of course I am, and very modest not to be Major- Greueral. But here we are, inside the harbour already." "Were we free to take a ramble up the Ehiue country, and over the Alps to Como, we might, perhaps, follow the steps of the two tra- vellers we have here presented to our reader. They were ultimately bound for Italy, but in no wise tied by time or route. In fiict, Mr. Stocmar's object was to seek out some novelties for the coming season. " Niliil humauuin a me alieuum puto" was his maxim. All was acceptable that was attractive. lie catered for the most costly of all publics, and who will insist on listening to the sweetest voices, and looking at the prettiest legs in Europe, lie was on the look-out ONE OF THEM. 221 for both. "What Ludlow Paten's object was the reader may, perhaps, guess without difficulty, but there was another " transaction" in liis plan not so easily determined. He had heard much of Clara Ilawke — to give her her true name — of her personal attractions and abilities, and he wished Stocmar to see and pronounce upon her. Althougli he possessed no pretension to dispose of her whatever, he held certain letters of her supposed mother in his keeping which gave him a degree of power he believed irresistible. Now, there is a sort of limited liability slavery at this moment recognised in Europe, by which thea- trical managers obtain a lease of human ability, for a certain period, under nonage, and of which Paten desired to derive profit by letting out Clara as dancer, singer, comedian, or "figurante," according to her gifts ; and this, too, was a purpose of the present journey. The painter or the sculptor, in search of his model, has no higher requirements than those of form and symmetry ; he deals solely with externals, while the impresario must carry his investigations far be- yond the category of personal attractions, and soar into the lofty atmosphere of intellectual gifts and graces, bearing along with him, at the same time, a full knowledge of that public for whom he is pro- ceeding; that fickle, changeful, fanciful public, who sometimes, out of pure satiety with what is best, begin to long for what is second- rate. "What consummate skill must be his who thus feels the pulse of fashion, recognising in its beat the indications of this or that tendency, whether " society" soars to the classic " Norma," or descends to the tawdry vulgarisms of the " Traviata." No man ever accepted more implicitly than Mr. Stocmar the adage of "Whatever is, is best." The judgment of the day with him was absolute. The " world" a toujours raison, was his creed. When that world pronounced for music, he cried, " Long live Verdi !" when it decided for the Ballet, his toast was, " Legs against the field !" Now, at this precise moment, this same world had taken a turn for mere good looks — if it be not heresy to say " mere" to such a thing as beauty— and had actually grown a little wearied of roulades and pirouettes ; and so Stocmar had come abroad, to see what the great slave market of Europe could off'er him. Let us suppose them, therefore, pleasantly meandering along through the lihine-land, while we turn once more to those whom we have left beyond the Alps. 222 ONE or THEM. CHAPTER XXVII. THE FRAGMENT OF A LETTER. TnE following brief epistle from Mrs. Morris to lier father will save the reader the tedious task of following the Heatlicote family through an nneventful interval, and at the same time bring him to that place and period in which we wish to see him. It is dated Hotel d'ltalie, Florence : " Dear Papa, — Ton are not to feel any shock or alarm at the black margin and wax of this epistle, though its object be to inform you that I am a widow, Captain Penthony Morris liaving died some eight months back in Upper India ; but the news has only reached Mie now. In a word, I have thought it high time to put an end to this mythical personage, whose cruel treatment of me I had grown tired of recalling, and, I conclude, others of listening to. Now, although it mav be very hard on you to go into mourning for tlie death of one who never lived, yet I must bespeak your grief, iuso far as stationery is concerned, and that you write to me on the most wobegone of cream-laid, and with the most sorrow-struck of seals. " There was, besides, another and most cogent reason for my being a widow just now. The Heathcotes are liere, on their way to Komo, and, like all English people, eager to go everywhere, do everything, and know everybody ; the consequence is eternal junketing and daily dinner-parties. I need not tell you that in such a caravanserai as this is, some one would surely turn up who should recognise me; so there W'as nothing for it but to kill Captain M. and go into crape and seclusion. As my bereavement is only a sham, I perform the afilic- tion without diihculty. Our mourning, too, becomes us, and, every- thing considered, the incident has spared us much sight-seeing and many odious acquaintances. " As it is highly important that I should see and consult you, you must come out here at once. As the friend and executor of poor ' dear Penthony,' you can see me freely, and I really want your advice. Do I understand you aright about Ludlow? If so, tlio creature is a greater fool than I thought him. IManying him is purely out of the question. Of all compacts, the connubial demands implicit credulity; and if this poor man's tea were to disagree with hiui, he'd ONE OF THEM. 223 be screaming out for antidotes before tlie servants, and T conchide that he cannot expect me to believe in him. The ofter j'ou have made him on my part is a great and brilliant one, and, for the life of me, I cannot see why he should hesitate about it, though I, perhaps, suspect it to be this. Like most fast men — a very shallow class, after all — his notion is, that life, like a whist-party, requires an accomplice. Now, I would beg him to believe this is not the case, and tliat for two people who can play their cards so well as we can, it is far better to sit down at separate tables, where no suspicion of complicity can attach to us. I, at least, understand what suits my own interest, which is distinctly and emphatically to have nothing to do with him. You say that he threatens — threatens to engulph us both. If he were a woman, the menace would frighten me, but men are marvellously conservative in their selfishness, and so I read it as mere threat. " It is, I will say, no small infliction to carry all this burden of the past through a present rugged enough with its own difficulties. To feel that one can be compromised, and, if compromised, ruined at any moment — to Avalk with a half-drawn indictment over one — to mingle in a world where each fresh arrival may turn out accviser, — is very, very wearisome, and I long for security. It is for this reason I have decided on marrying Sir AVilliam instead of his son. The indiscretion of a man of his age taking a wife of mine will naturally lead to retire- ment and reclusion from the world, and we shall seek out some little- visited spot where no awkwvard memories are like to leave their cards on us. I have resigned myself to so much in life, that I shall submit to all this with as good a grace as I have shown in other sacrifices. Of course L. can spoil this })roject — he can upset the boat— but he ought to remember, if he does, that he was never a good swimmer. Do try and impress this upon him ; there are usually some flitting moments of every day when he is capable of understanding a reason. Catch one of these, dear pa, and profit by it. It is by no means certain that Miss L. would accept him ; but, certainly, smarting as she is under all manner of broken ties, the moment is favourable, and the stake a large one. Nor is there much time to lose, for it seems that young lleathcote cannot persuade the Horse Guards to give him even a ' Cornetcy,' and is in despair how he is to re-enter the service ; the inevitable consequence of wliich will be a return home here, and, after a while, a reconciliation. It is only wise people who ever know that the science of life is opportunity, everything being possible at some one moment, which, perliaps, never recurs again. "I scarcely know what to say about Clara. She has lost her spirits, though gained in looks, and she is a perfect mope, but very 224 OKE or THEM. pretty withal. She fancies herself in love with a young college man lately here, who won all the disposable hearts in the place, and might have had a share even in mine, if he had asked for it. The greater fool he that he did not, since he wanted exactly such guidance as I could give to open the secret door of success to him. By the way, has his father died, or what has become of him? In turning over some papers t'other day, the name recurred with some far from plea- sant recollections associated with it. Scientific folk used to tell us that all the constituents of our mortal bodies became consumed every seven years of life. And why, I would ask, ought we not to start with fresh memories as well as muscles, and ignore any past beyond that sliort term of existence ? I am perfectly convinced it is carrying along bygones, whether of events or people, that constitutes the greatest ill of life. One so very seldom repents of having done wrong, and is so very, very sorry to have lost many opportunities of securing success, that really the past is all sorrow. " You have forgotten to counsel me about Clara. The alternative lies between the stage and a convent. Pray say which of the two, in these changeful times, gives the best promise of permanence ; and believe me, " Tour affectionate daughter, "Louisa." ONE OF TIIEM. 22; CHAPTEE XXVIII. THE O'SHEA AT HIS LODGINGS. A VERY brief cliapter will suffice to record the doings of two of our characters, not destined to perform very foreground parts in the present drama. We mean Mr, O'Shea and Charles Heathcote. They had established themselves in lodgings in a certain locality called Maucliester-biiildings, much fiivoured by some persons who haunt the avenues of " the House," and are always in searcli of " our Borough Member." Neither the aspect of their domicile, nor their style of living, bespoke flourishing circumstances. O'Shea, indeed, had returned to town in cash, but an unlucky uiglit at the " Garot- toman" had finished him, and he returned tolas lodgings one morning at daybreak two hundred and seventeen pounds worse than nothing. Heathcote had not played ; nay, he had lived almost penuriously ; but in a few weeks all his resources were uigh exhausted, and no favourable change had occurred . in his fortunes. At the Horse Guards he had been completely unsuccessful. He had served, it is true, with distinction, but, as he had quitted the army, he could not expect to be restored to his former rank, while, by the rules of the service, he was too old to enter as a subaltern. And thus a trained soldier, who had won fame and honour in two campaigns, was, at the age of twenty-six, decided to be superannuated. It was the chance meeting of O'Shea in the street, when this dilemma was mentioned, that led to their ultimate companionship, for the Member at once swore to bring the case before the House, and to make the country ring from end to end with the enormity. Poor Heathcote, friendless and alone at the moment, caught at the promise, and a few days after- wards saw them domesticated as chums at No. — , in the locality already mentioned. " You'll have to cram me, Heathcote, with the whole case. I must be able to make an effective speech, narrating all tl)e great exploits you have done, with everywhere you have been, before I come to the grievance, and the motion for ' all the correspondence between Captain Heathcote and the authorities at the Horse Guards, respecting his application to be reinstated in the army.' I'll get a special Tuesday for the motion, and I'll have Howley in to second me, and maybe we won't shake the Treasury benches ! for you see Q 226 ONE OF TUEM. the question opens everything that ever was, or could be, said about tlie army. It opens Horse Guards cruelty and irresponsibility, those Bashi-Eazouks that rule the service like despots ; it opens the pur- chase system from end to end ; it opens the question of promotion by merit ; it opens the great problem of retirement and superannua- tion. By my conscience! I think I could bring the Thirty-nine Articles into it, if I was vexed." Tlie Member for Inch had all that persuasive power a ready tongue and an unscrupulous temper supply, and speedily convinced the young soldier that his case would not alone redound to his own advancement, but become a precedent, which shoidd benefit hun- dreds of others equally badly treated as himself. It was while thus conning over the project, O'Shea mentioned, in deepest confidence, the means of that extraordinary success which, he averred, had never failed to attend all his efforts in the House, and this was, that he never ventured on one of his grand displays without a previous rehearsal at home ; that is, he assembled at his own lodg- ings a supper company of his most acute and intelligent friends — young barristers, men engaged on the daily or weekly press — the smart squib-writers and caricaturists of the day — alive to everything ridicu- lous, and unsparing in their criticism ; and by these was he judged in a sort of mock Parliament formed by themselves. To each of these was allotted the character of some noted speaker in the House, who did his best to personate the individual by every trait of manner, voice, and action, while a grave, imposing-looking man, named Doran, was a capital counterfeit of the " Speaker." O'Shea explained to Heathcote, that the great advantage of this scheme consisted in the way it secured one against surprises; no possible interruption being omitted, nor any cavilling objection spared to the orator. " You'll see," he added, " that after sustaining these assaults, the attack of the real fellows is only pastime." The day being fixed on, the company, numbering nigh twenty, assembled, and Charles Heathcote could not avoid observing that their general air and appearance was scarcely senatorial. O'Shea assured him gravity would soon succeed to the supper, and dignity come in with the whisky-punch. This was so far borne out, that when the cloth was removed, and a number of glasses and bottles were distributed over the blackened mahogany, a grave and almost austere bearing was at once assumed by the meeting. Doran also took his place as Speaker, his cotton umbrella being laid before him as the mace. The orders of the day were speedily disposed of, and a few questions as to the supply of potables satisfactorily answered, when ■> 0. ■^n-'' m;.'-'''^' . ONE OF TIIEM. 227 O'Shea arose to bring on the case of the evening— a motion "for all tlie correspondence between the autliorities of the Horse Guards and Captain Heathcote, respecting the application of the latter to be reinstated in the service." The Secretary-at-War, a red-faced, pimply man, sub-editor of a Sunday paper, objected to the production of the papers ; and a smart sparring-match ensued, in which O'Shea suffered rather heavily, bub at last came out victorious, being allowed to state the grounds for his application. O'Shea began with due solemnity, modestly assuring the House that he wished the task had fallen to one more competent than him- self, and more conversant with those professional details which would necessarily occupy a large space in the narrative. " Surely the Honourable Member held a commission in the Clare Tencibles." " Was not tlie Honourable Member's father a band-master in the rifty-fourth ?" cried another. " To tlie insolent interruptions which have met me," said O'Shea, indignantly "Order! order!" "Am I out of order, Sir ?" asked he of the Speaker. " Clearly so," replied that functionary. " Every interruption, short of a knock-down, is parliamentary." " I bow to the authority of the Chair, and I say that the ruffianly allusions of certain Honourable Members pass by me like the idle wind that I regard not." " "Where's that from ? Take you two to one in half-crowns you can't tell," cried one. "Done!" "Order! order!'* "Spoke!" with cries of " Go on!" here convulsed the meeting ; after which O'Shea resumed his dis- course. " AVhen, Sir," said he, "I undertook to bring under the notic jf this House, and consequently before the eyes of the nation, the case of a distinguished officer, one whose gallant services in the tented field, whose glorious achievements befoi-e the enemy have made his name famous in all the annals of military distinction, I never anti- cipated to have been met by the howls of faction, or the discordant yells of disappointed and disorderly followers — mere condottieri — of the contemptible tyrant who now scowls at me from the cross- benches." Loud cheers of applause followed this burst of indignation. An animated conversation now ensued as to whether this was 228 ONE OF THEM. strictly parliamentary ; some averring that they " had heard worse," others deeming it a shade too violent, O'Shea insisting tliroiiglioiit that there never was a sharp debate in the House without far blacker insinuations, while, in the Irish Parliament, such courtesies were continually interchanged, and very much admired. "Wasn't it Lawrence Parsons who spoke of the 'highly-gifted blackguard on the other side ?' " and "Didn't John Toler allude to the 'ignorant and destitute spendthrift who now sat for the beggarly borough of Athlone ?' " cried two or three advocates of vigorous lan- guage. " There's worse in Homer," said another, settling the question on classical authority. The discussion grew warm. "What was, and what was not, admis- sible in language was eagerly debated ; the interchange of opinion, in a great measure, serving to show that there were few, if any, free- doms of speech that might not be indulged in. Indeed, Heathcote's astonishment was only at the amount of endurance exhibited by each in turn, so candid were the expressions employed, so free from all disguise the deprecatory sentiments entertained. In the midst of what had now become a complete uproar, and while one of the orators, who, by dint of lungs, had overcome all competitors, was inveighing against O'Shea as "a traitor to his party, and the scorn of every true Irishman," a fresh arrival, heated, and almost breathless, rushed into the room. "It's all over," cried he; "the Government is beaten. The House is to be dissolved on "Wednesday, and the country to go to a general election." Had a shell fallen on the table the dispersion could not have been more instantaneous. Barristers, reporters, borough agents, and penny-a-liners, all saw their harvest-time before them, and hurried away to make their engagements ; and, in less than a quarter of an hour, O'Shea was left alone with his companion, Charles Heathcote. " Here's a shindy !" cried the ex-M.P., " and the devil a chance I have of getting in again, if I can't raise five hundi-ed pounds." Heathcote never spoke, but sat ruminating over the news. " Bad luck to the Cabinet !" muttered O'Shea. " Why would they put that stupid clause into their Bill ? Couldn't they wait to smuggle it in on a committee ? Here I am clean ruined and undone, just as I was on the road to fame and fortune. And I can't even help a friend !" said he, turning a pitiful look at Heathcote. " Don't waste a thought about me !" said Heathcote, good hu- mou redly. ONE OF TUEM. 229 " But 1 will !" cried O'Shea. " I'll go down to the Horse Guards myself. Sure I'm forgetting already," added he, with a sigli, "tliat we're all ' out ;' and now, for a trifle of five hundred, there's a fine chance lost as ever man had. Ton don't know anybody could accom- modate one with a loan — of course, on suitable terms r" " Not one — not one !" " Or who'd do it on a bill at three months, with our own names ?" " None !" "Isn't it hard, I ask — isn't it cruel — ^just as I was making a figui'e in the House? I was the 'rising man of the party' — so tlie Posi called me — and the Freeman said, ' O'Shea has only to be prudent and his success is assured.' And wasn't i prudent ? Didn't I keep out of the divisions for half the session ? "Whose your father's banker, Heathcote ?" "Drummonds, I believe; but I don't know them." "Murther! but it is hard! five hundred — only five hundred. A real true-hearted patriot, fresh for his work, and without engagements, going for five hundred ! I see you feel for me, my dear fellow," cried lie, grasping Heathcote's hand. "I hear what your heart is saying this minute : ' O'Shea, old boy, if I had the money, I'd put it in the palm of your hand without the scratch of a pen between us.' " "I'm not quite so certain I should," muttered the other, half sulkily. " But I know you better than you know yourself, and I repeat it. You'd say, ' Gorman O'Shea, I'm not the man to see a first-rate lellow lost for a beggarly five hundred. I'd rather be able to say one of these days, " Look at that man on the Woolsack — or, maybe. Chief Justice in the Queen's Bench — well, would you believe it ? if I hadn't helped him one morning with a few hundreds, it's maybe in the Serpentine he'd have been, instead of up there." ' And as we'd sit over a bottle of hock in the bay-window at Eichmond, you'd say, ' Does your Lordship remember the night when you heard the House was up, and you hadn't as much as would pay your fare over to Ireland ?' " "I'm not so certain of that either," was the diy response of Heathcote. " And of what are you certain, then ?" cried O'Shea, angrily ; " for I begin to believe you trust nothing, nor any one." " I'll tell you what I believe — and believe firmly, too — which is, that a pair of fellows so completely out at elbows as you and myself, had far better break stones on a high road for a shilling a day than stand cudgelling their wits how to live upon others." 230 ONE OF THEM. " That is not my sentiment at all — suum cuiqtie — stone-breaking to the bard-lianded ; men of our stamp, Heathcote, have a right — a vested right — to a smoother existence." " AV^cll, time will tell wlio is right," said Heathcote, carelessly, as he put on his hat and walked to the door. A halt-cold good-by fol- lowed, and they parted. Hour after hour he walked the streets, unmindful of a thin misty rain that fell unceasingly. He was now completely alone in the world, and there was a sort of melancholy pleasure in the sense of his deso- lation. " My poor father !" he would mutter from time to time ; " if I could only think that he would forget me ! if I could but bring myself to believe that after a time he would cease to sorrow for me." He did not dare to utter more, nor even to himself declare how value- less he deemed life, but strolled listlessly onward, till the grey streaks in the murky sky proclaimed the approach of morning. Was it with some vague purpose, or was it by mere accident, that he found himself standing at last near the barracks at KnightsbridgOj around the gate of which a group of country-looking young fellows was gathered, while here and there a sergeant was seen to hover, as if speculating on his prey ? It was a time in which more than one young man of station had enlisted as a private, and the sharp eye of the crimp soon scanned the upright stature and well-knit frame of Heathcote. " Like to be a dragoon, my man ?" said he, with an easy, swagger- ing air. " I have some thought of it," said the other, coldly. "You've served already, I suspect," said the sergeant, in a more respectful tone. " For what regiment are you enlisting ?" asked Heathcote, coldly, disregarding the other's inquiry. "Her Majesty's Bays — could you ask better? But here's my officer." Before Heathcote had well heard the words, his name was called out, and a slight, boyish figure threw his arms about him. " Charley, how glad I am to see you," cried he. " Agincourt! — is this you?" said Heatlicote, blushing deeply as he spoke. " Yes, I have had my own way at last ; and I'm going to India, too." " I am not," said Heathcote, bitterly. " They'll not have me at the Horse Guards; I am too old, or too something or other for the ser- vice, and there's nothiug left me but to cuter the ranks." ONE OF THEM. 231 " Oh, Charley," cried tlie otlier, " if you knew of the breaking Learfc you have left bebiud you ! — if you ouly knew bow slie loves you!"" Was it that the boyisb accents of tbese few words appealed to Heatbcote's heart with all the simple force of truth ? — was it that they broke in upon bis gloom so unexpectedly — a slanting sun-ray piercing a dark cloud ? But so it is, that be turned away, and drew bis baud across bis eyes. " I was off for a day's bunting down in Leicestersbire," said Agincourt. " I sent the nags away yesterday. Come witb me, Cbarley ; we shall be back again to-morrow, and you'll see if my old guardian won't set all straight witb the War-office people for you. Unless," added be, in a balf-wbisper, "you choose in the mean while to put your trust in what I shall tell you, and go back again." " I only hope that I may do so," said Heathcote, as be wrung the other's band warmly, " and I'd bless tbe bour that led me bere this morning." It was soon arranged between them that Agincourt should drive round by Heatbcote's lodgings and take him up, when he liad packed up a few things for tbe journey. O'Sbea was so sound asleep tliat be could scarcely be awakened to bear bis companion say " good-by." Some vague, indistinct idea floated before bim that Heathcote had fallen upon some good fortune, and as be shook bis band, be mut- tered, " Go in and win, old fellow ; take all you can get, clear tbe beggars out, that's iny advice to you." xlud witb tbese sage counsels be turned on bis pillow, and snored away once more. " Wasn't that Incb-o'-brogue I beard talking to you ?" asked Agin- court. " Tes. Tbe poor fellow, like myself, is sorely hard up just now " My old governor must get bim sometbing. We'll think of him on our return; so jump in, Cbarley, or we sball be late for tbe train." How contagious was that happy boy's good humour, and bow soon did his ligbt-heartedness impart its own quality to Heatlicote's spirits. As tliey whirled along through tlie brisk fresh air of tbe morning, tbe youth recounted all that passed witb bim since they met — no very great or stirring events were they, it is true, but they were his — and they were bis first experiences of dawning manhood ; and oh, let any of us, now plodding along wearily on the shady side of life, only bethink us of tbe joyful sunshine of our youth, when the most common-place incidents came upon us witb freshness, and we gloried 232 ONE OF TKEM. in tlie thouglit of liaving a " part," an actual character to play, in that grand drama they call the World. We would not, if we could, recal his story ; we could not hope that our reader would listen as pleasurably as did Heathcote to it ; enough that we say they never felt the miles go over, nor, till their journey was ended, had a thought that they were already arrived at their destination. CHAPTEE XXIX. ^ OLD LETTERS. The little cottage at Port-na-Whapple, to which Alfred Layton had repaired to collect the last few relics of hia poor mother, had so completely satisfied all his longings for quiet seclusion, that he lingered on tliere in a sort of dreamy abstractedness far from unpleasing, Quackiuboss was with hiin, but never was there a companion less obtrusive. The honest American delighted in the spot ; he was a fisherman, and soon became acquainted with all tlie choice places for the take of salmon, while lie oftentimes strolled inland and whipped the mountain streams with no small success. In fact, the gun, the rod, and a well-trained greyhound amply supplied all the demands of the household ; and never was there a life less crossed by outward cares than theirs. Whetlier the Colonel believed or not that Layton was deeply engaged in his studies, he affected to think so, and made a point of interfering as little as possible with the otlier's time. If by a chance word now and then he would advert to their [)rojected trip to America, he never pressed the theme, nor seemed in any way to evince over-eagerness regarding it. Indeed, witli a delicacy of truest refinement, he abstained from making Layton ever feel liimself con- strained by the deep obligations he owed him, so that nothing could be freer than their intercourse ; the only theme of gloom between them being the fate of Layton's father, of which, notwithstanding all their eflbrts, they could obtain no tidings. From the day when he quitted the asylum, and was pronounced " cured," nothing was known of him. Doctor Millar had assisted in all their inquiries with a most friendly interest, and endeavoured to induce Alfred to accept the hospitalities of the vicarage; but this he declined, making weak ONE OF THEM. 233 health his apology. The Vicar, however, did not cease to show his coustant attention, feeling deeply interested in the youth. In nothing did he evince this sentiment more than the trouble he gave himself to collect the scattered papers and documents of the old Professor. The old man — accustomed ever to an existence of emergency — was in the habit of pledging his private papers and his own writings for small sums hero and there tlirough the country; and thus researches which had cost months of labour, investigations of deepest import, were often- times pawned at a public for a few shillings. Scarcely a day went over without some record being brought in by a farmer or a small village tradesman ; sometimes valueless, sometimes of great interest. Now and then they would be violent and rebellious pasquinades against men in power — his supposed enemies — versified slanders upon ima- ginary oppressors. Neither imbued with Alfred's taste, nor influenced by the ties of blood, Quackinboss took a pleasure in poring over these documents which the young man could not feel. The Professor, to him, seemed the true type of intellectual power, and he had that bold recklessness of all consequences which appealed strongly to the Yankee. He was, as he phrased it, an " all-mighty smasher," and would have been a rare man for Congress ! All Alfred's eagerness to possess himself of his father's papers was soon exceeded by the zeal of Quackinboss, who, by degrees, abandoned gun and rod to follow ovit his new pursuit. If he could not estimate the value of deep scientific calculations and re- searches, he was fully alive to the sparkling wit and envenomed satire of the various attacks upon individuals ; and so enamoured was he of these effusions, that many of the verse ones he had committed to memory. Poor Alfred! what a struggle was his, as Quackinboss would recite some lines of fearful malignity, asking him the while " if all English literature could show such another ' 'tarnal screamer' as his own parent ? "Warn't he a ' right-down scarification ?' Didn't he scald the hides of them old hogs in the House of Lords ? Well, I'm blessed if Mr. Clay could a done it better !" To the young man's mild suggestions that his father's fame would rest upon very different labours, Quackinboss would hastily offer rejoinder, " No, Sir, chemi- cals is all very well, but human uatur' is a grander study tliau acids and oxides. What goes on in a man's heart is a main sight harder reading than salts and sediments." The Colonel had learned in the course of his wanderings that a farmer, who inhabited one of the lone islands off the coast, was in possession of an old writing-desk of the Professor — the pledge for a 23^ ONE OF THEM. loan of three pounds sterling — a sum so unusually large as to imply- that the property was estimated as of value. It was some time before the weather admitted of a visit to the spot, but late of a summer's evening, as Alfred sat musingly on the door-sill of the cottage, Quackinboss was seen approaching with an old-fashioned writing- desk under his arm, while he called out, " Here it is ; and without knowin' the con-tents, I'd not swap the plunder for a raft of timber !" If the moment of examining the papei's was longed for by the im- patient Quackinboss with an almost feverish anxiety, what was his blank disappointment at finding that, instead of being the smart squibs or bitter invectives he delighted in, the whole box was devoted to documents relating to a curious incident in medical jurisprudence, and was labelled on the inner side of the lid, " Hawke's case, with all the tests and other papers." " This seems to have been a great criminal case," said Alfred, " and it must have deeply interested my father, for he has actually drawn out a narrative of the whole event, and has even journalised his share in the story. " * Stz'ange scene that I have just left,' wrote he, in a clear, exact hand. ' A man very ill — seriously, dangerously ill — in one room, and a party — his guests — all deeply engaged at play in the same house. No apparent anxiety about his case — scarcely an inquiry ; his wife — if she be his wife, for I have my misgivings about it — eager and feverish, following me from place to place, with a sort of irresolute effort to say something which she has no courage for. Patient worse — the case a puzzling one ; there is more than delirium tremens here. But what more ? that's the question. Remarkable liis anxiety about the sense of burning in the throat ; ever asking, " Is that usual ? is it invariable ?" Suspicion of course to be looked for; but why does it not extend to 7ne also ? Afraid to drink, though his thirst is excruciating. Symptoms all woi'se — pulse irregular — desires to see me alone — his wife, unwilling, tries by many pretexts to remain ; ho seems to detect her plan, and bursts into violent passion, swears at her, and cries out, " Ain't you satisfied ? Don't you see that I'm dying ?" " ' We have been alone for above an hour. He has told me all ; she is not his wife, but the divorced wife of a well-known man in office. Believes she intended to leave him ; knows, or fancies he knows, her whole project. Kage and anger have increased the bad symptoms, and made him much worse. Great anxiety about the fate of his child, a daughter of his former wife ; constantly exclaiming, " They will rob her ! they will leave her a beggar, and 1 have none to ONE OF THEM. 235 protect her." A violent paroxysm of pain — agonising pain — has left him very low. " ' " What name do you give this malady, doctor ?" he asks me. " ' " It is a gastric inflammation, but not unaccompanied by other symptoms." " ' " How brought on ?" « I a j^Q jj^g^j^ ^^^ trace these aflfections to primary causes." " ' " I can — here at least," breaks he in. " This is poison, and yoio know it. Come, Six*," he cries, " be frank and honest with one whose moments are to be so few here. Tell me, as you would speak the truth in your last hour, am I not right ?" " ' " I cannot say with certainty. There are things here I am unable to account for, and there are traits which I cannot refer to any poisonous agency." a i (( TiiiQij over the poisons ; you know best. Is it arsenic ?" *' * " ISTo, certainly not." " ' " Nor henbane, nor nicotine, nor nitre, nor strychnine — none of these?" " ' "None." " ' " How subtle the dogs have been !" muttered he. " "What fools they make of you, with all your science. The commonest money- changer will detect a spurious shilling, but you, with all your learn- ing, are bafiled by every counterfeit case that meets you. Examine, Sir ; inquire, investigate well," he cried ; " it is for your honour as a physician not to blunder here." " ' " Be calm ; compose yourself. These moments of passion only waste your strength." " ' " Let me drink — no, from the water-jug ; they surely have not drugged that ! AVhat are you doing there ?" " ' " I was decanting the tea into a small bottle that I might take it home and test it." " * " And so," said he, sighing, " with all your boasted skill, it is only after death you can pronounce. It is to aid the law, not to help the living, you come. Be it so. But mind. Sir," cried he, with a wild energy, " they are all in it — all. Let none escape. And these were my friends!" said he, with a smile of inexpressible sorrow. "Oh, what friends are a bad man's friends ! You swear to me, doctor, if there has been foul play it shall be discovered. They shall swing for it. Don't you screen them. No mumbling, Sir; your oath — your solemn sworn oath ! Take those keys and open that drawer there — no, the second one ; fetch me the papers. This was my will two months ago," said he, tearing open the seals of an envelope. "You 23G ONE OF THEM. shall see with your own eyes how I meant by her. You will declare to the world how you read in my own hand that I had left her everything that was not Clara's by right. Call her here — send for her — let her be present while you read it aloud, and let her see it burnt afterwards." " ' It was long before I could calm him after this paroxysm. At length he said : *' What a guilty conscience will be yours if this crime pass unpunished." " ' " If there be a crime, it shall not," said I, firmly. " ' " If it were to do," muttered he, in a low voice, " I'd rather they'd have shot me ; these agonies are dreadful, and all this lingering, too. Oh, could you not hasten it now ? But not yet!" cried he, wildly. " I have to tell you about Clara. They may rob her of all here, but she will be rich after all. There is that great tract in America, in Ohio, called ' Peddar's Clearings ;' don't forget the name. Peddar's Clearings, all hers ; it was her mother's fortune. Harvey Winthrop, in Norfolk, has the titles, and is the guardian when I am dead." ' " " Why I know that ere tract well ; there's a cousin of mine, Obadiah B. Quackinboss, located there, and there ain't finer buck- wheat in all tlie West than is grown on that location. But go on, let's hear about tlie sick fellow." "This is an account of chemical tests, all this here," said Alfred, passing over several leaves of the diary. " It seems to have been a difficult investigation, but ending at last in the detection of corro- sive sublimate." " And it killed him ?" " Yes ; he died on the third evening after this was written. Here follows the whole story of the inquest, and a remarkable letter, too, signed ' T. Towers.' It is addressed to my father, and marked ' Pri- vate and Secret': ' The same hand which delivers you this will put you in possession of five hundred pounds sterling ; and, in return, you will do whatever is necessary to make all safe. Tliere is no evi- dence, except yours, of consequence ; and all the phials and bottles have been already disposed of. Be cautious, and stand fast to yours, — T. T.' On a slip watered to this note was written : ' I am without twenty shillings in the world ; my shoes are falling to pieces, and my coat threadbare ; but I cannot do this.' But what have we here ?" cried Alfred, as a neatly folded note with deep black margin met his eyes. It was a short and most gracefully-worded epistle in a lady's hand, thanking Doctor Layton for his unremitting kindness and perfect delicacy in a season of unexampled suil'eriug. " I cannot," wrote she, " leave the island, dearly associated as it is with days of ha|i})iness, and now more piiin fully attached to my heart ONE OF THEM. 237 by the most terrible of afflictions, witliout tendering to the kindest of physicians my last words of gratitude." The whole conveyed in lines of strictly conventional use, gave no evidence of anything beyond a due sense of courtesy, and the rigid observance of a fitting etiquette. It was very polished in style, and elegant in phraseology ; but to have been written amid such scenes as she then lived in, it seemed a perfect marvel of unfeeling conduct. " That 'ere woman riles me con-siderable," said Quackinboss ; " she doesn't seem to mind, noways, what has happened, and talks of goin' to a new clearin' quite unconsarned like. I ain't afraid of manj' things, but I'm darned extensive if I'd not be afeard of her ! AVhat are you a poring over there ?" " It is the handwriting. I am certain I have seen it before ; but where, how, and when, I cannot bring to mind." " How could you. Sir ? Don't all your womankind write that sort of lip and down bristly hand, more like a prickly-pear fence than a Christian's writin' ? It's all of a piece with your Old "World civilisa- tion, which tries to make people alike, as the eggs in a basket; but they ain't like for all that. No, Sir, nor will any fixin' make 'em so!" " I have certainly seen it before," muttered Layton to himself. " I'm main curious to know how your father found out the * pyson' — ain't it all there ?" " Oh, it was a long and very intricate chemical investigation." " Did he bile him ?" " Boil him ? no," said he, with difficulty restraining a laugh ; " cer- tainly not." " Well, they tell me, Sir, there ain't no other sure way to discover it. They always bile 'em in France !" " I am so puzzled by this hand," muttered Alfred, half aloud. Quackinboss, equally deep in his own speculations, proceeded to give an account of the mode of inquiry pursued by Frenchmen of science in cases of poisoning, which certainly would have astonished M. Orfila, and was only brought back from this learned disquisition by Layton's questioning him about " Peddar's Clearings." " Yes, Sir," said he, " it is con-siderable of a tract, and lies between two rivers. There's the lines for a new city — Pentacolis — laid down there ; and the chief town, ' Measles,' is a thriving location. My cousin, O. B. Quackinboss, didn't stump out less than eighty dollars an acre for his clearin', and there's better land than his there." " So far as appears, then, this is an extensive property which is spoken of here?" " Well, Sir, I expect it's a matter of half a milliou of dollars now, 238 ONE OF THEM. tbougl), mayhap, twenty thousand houglit it fifteen or sixteen years back." " I wonder what steps my father took in this affair ? I'll be very curious to know if he interested himself in the matter, for, with liis indolent habits, it is just as likely that he never moved in it further." "A 'tanial shame, then, for him. Sir, when it was for a child left alone and friendless in the world ; and I'm thinkiu' indolence ain't the name to give it." For a moment an angry impulse to reply stirred Layton's blood, but he refrained, and said nothing. "I'll go further," resumed the American, "and I'll say, that if your father did neglect this duty, you are bound to look to it. Ay, Sir, there ain't no ways in this world of getting out of what we owe one to another. We are most of us ready enough to be ' generous,' but few take trouble to be 'just.' " " I believe you are right," said Layton, reflectively. " I know it. Sir — I know it," said the other, resolutely. " There's a sort of flattery in doing something more thau we are obliged to do which never comes of doing what is strict fair. Ay," added he, after a moment, " aud I've seen a man who'd jump into the sea to save a fellow-creature as wouldn't give a cent to a starving beggar on dry .land." " I'll certainly inquire after this claim, and you'll help me, Quack- inboss ?" " Yes, Sir ; and there ain't no honester man in all the States to deal with than Harvey Winthrop. I was with him the day he cow- hided Senator Jared Boles, of Massachusetts, and when I observed, ' I think you liave given him enough,' he said, ' Well, Sir, though I haven't the honour of knowing you, if that be your conscientious opinion, I'll abstain from going further ;' and he did, and we went into tlie bar togethei', and had a mint julep." " The trait is worth remembering," said Layton, dryly. " Here's another reason to cross the Atlantic," cried he, with something ot his former energy of voice and look. " Here's a great cause to sus- tain and a problem to work out. Shall we go at once ?" " There's the Asia to sail on "Wednesday, and I'jn ready," said Quackinboss, calmly. " Wednesday be it, then," cried Layton, with a gaiety that showed how the mere prospect of activity and exertion had already cheered him. ONE OF THEM. 239 CHAPTEE XXX. TWIST, TROVER, AND CO. Thet •whose notions of a banker are formed on sucli home models as Overend, and Gurney, and Drummond, and the otlier princes o' that ilk, will be probably not a little shocked to learn by what inferior dignitaries the great craft is represented abroad ; your Eng- lish banker in a foreign city being the most extraordinary agglome- ration of all trades it is well possible to conceive, combining within himself very commonly the duties of house-agent, wine-merchant, picture-dealer, curiosity-vendor, with agencies for the sale of india- rubber shoes, Cuban cigars, and cod-liver oil. He will, at a moment's notice, start you with a whole establishment from kitchen to stable, and, equally ready to do the honours of this world or the next, he will present you in society, or embalm you with every careful direction for your conveyance "homeward." "Well judging that in dealing thus broadly with mankind a variety of tastes and opinions must be consulted, they usually liunt in couples, one doing the serious, the other taking the light comedy parts. The one is the grave, calm, sensible man, with his prudent reserves and his cautious scruples ; the other, a careless dog, who only " discounts" out of fun, and charges you " commission" in mere pastime and lightness of heart. Imagine the heavy father and the light rake of comedy conspiring for some common object, and you have them. Probably the division- of-labour-science never had a happier illustration than is presented by their agreement. Who, I ask you — who can escape the double net thus stretched for his capture ? "Whatever your taste or tempera- ment, you must surely be approachable by one or the other of these. "What Trover cannot. Twist will be certain to accomplish ; where Twist fails, there Trover is sovereign. " Ah, you'll have to ask my partner about that," is the stereotyped saying of each. It was thus these kings of Brentford sniffed at the same nosegay, the world, and, sooth to say, to their manifest self-satisfaction and profit. If the compact worked well for all the purposes of catching clients, it was more admirable still in the difficult task of avoidins: them. Strange and exceptional must his station in life be to whom the secret in- telligences of Twist or Trover could not apply. Were we about to 240 ONE OF THEM. dwelJ on these gentlemen and their characteristics, we might advert to the curious fact that though their common system worked so sraootl)ly and successfully, they each maintained for tlie other the most disparaging opinion. Twist deeming Trover a light, thoughtless, iuconsiderate creature. Trover returning the compliment by regarding liis partner as a bigoted, low-minded, vulgar sort of fellow, useful behind the desk, but with no range of speculation or enterprise about him. Our present scene is laid at Mr. Trover's villa near Florence. It stands on the sunny slope of Fiezole, and with a lovely landscape of the Val d'Arno at its feet. O ye gentles, who love to live at ease, to inhale an air odorous with the jasmine and tlie orange-flower — to gaze on scenes more beautiful than Claude ever painted — to enjoy days of cloudless brightness, and nights gorgeous in starry brilliancy, ■why do ye not all come and live at Fiezole ? INIr. Trover's villa is now to let, though this announcement is not inserted as an advertise- ment. There was a rumour that it was once Boccacio's villa. Be that as it may, it was a pretty, coquettish little place, with a long terrace in front, under which ran an orangery, a sweet, cool, shady- retreat in the hot noon-time, with a gushing little fountain always rippling and hissing among rock-work. The garden sloped away steeply. It was a sort of wilderness of flowers and fruit-trees, little cared for or tended, but beautiful in the wild luxuriance of its varied foliage, and almost oppressive in its wealtli of perfume. Looking over this garden, and beyond it again, catching the distant domes of Florence, the tall tower of the Palazzo Vecchio, and the massive block of the Pitti, was a small but well-proportioned room, whose frescoes were carried from wall to ceiling by a gentle arch of the building, in which were now seated three gentlemen over their dessert. Mr. Trover's guests were our acquaintances Stocmar and Ludlow Paten. The banker and the "Impresario" were very old friends ; they had done " no end of shrewd things" together. Paten was a new acquaintance. Introduced, however, by Stocmar, he was at once admitted to all the intimacy of his host, and tliey sat there, in the free indulgence of confidence, discussing people, characters, events, and probabilities, as three such men, long case-hardened with the world's trials, well versed in its wiles, may be supposed to do. Beneatli the great broad surface of this life of ours, with its apparent impulses and motives, there is another stratum of hard stern realities, in which selfish motives and interested actions have their sphere. These gentlemen lived entirely in this layer, and never condescended to allude to what went on elsewhere. If they took a very disparaging view of life, it -Oaa^ >. r^^l^j' e->^' <^'^^ •^ \v ONE OF THEM. 241 was not so much the adnui'ation tliey bestowed on knavery as the hearty contempt tliey entertained for ■whatever was generous or trustful. Oh, how they did laugh at the poor " mufl's" who believed in anything or any one ! To listen to them was to declare that there was not a good trait in the heart, nor an honest sentiment which had not its origin in folly. And the stupid dog who paid his father's debts, and the idiot that beggared himself to portion his sisters, and the wretched creature who was ruined by giving security for his friend, all figured in a category despised and ridiculed ! " Were they happy in this theory ?" you ask, perhaps. It is very hard to answer the question. They were undoubtedly what is called "jolly," they laughed much, and seemed marvellovisly free from care and anxiety. " And so. Trover," said Stocmar, as he sipped his claret luxu- riously — " and so you tell me this is a bad season with you, out hero, few travellers, no residents, and little stirring in the way of discounts and circular notes." ""Wretched! miserable!" cried the banker. "The people who come out from England now-a-days are mostly small twenty- pounders, looking sharp to the exchanges, and watching the quo- tations like money-brokers." " Where are the fast-men all gone to ? that is a problem puzzles me much," said Paten. " They have gone over to Puseyism and stained glass, and Saint Winifred's shin-bones, and early Christian art," broke in Stocmar. " I know them well, and their velvet paletots cut in the mediaeval fashion, and their hair cut straight over the forehead." " How slow a place must become with such fellows !" sighed Paten. " The women are mostly pretty ; they dress with a sort of quaint coquetry very attractive, and they have a kind of demure slyness about them, with a fascination all its own." " We have the exact type you describe here at this moment now," said the banker. " She never goes into society, but steals furtively about the galleries, making copies of old Giottos, and such-like, and even penetrating into the monasteries with a special permission from the Cardinal-Secretary to examine the frescoes." " Is she young? is she pretty?" asked Stocmar. " She is both, and a widow, I believe — at least her letters come to the bank addressed Mrs. Penthony Morris." Paten started, but a slight kick under tlie table from Stocmav recalled him to caution and self-possession. E 242 ONE OF THEM. " Tell us more about her, Trover — all that you know, iu fact." " Five words will suffice for that. She lives here with the family of a certain Sir William Heathcote, and apparently exercises no small influence amongst them ; at least the tradespeople tell me they are referred to her for everything, and all the letters we get about transfers of stock, and such-like, are in her hand." " You have met her, and spoken with her, I suppose ?" asked Stocmar. " Only once. I waited upon her, at her request, to confer with her about her daughter, whom she had some intention of placiug at the Conservatoire at Milan, as a preparation for the stage, and some one had told her that I knew all the details necessary." " Have you seen the girl ?" " Yes, and heard her sing. Frightened enough she was, poor thing ; but she has a voice like Sontag's, just the sort of mellow, rich tone they run upon just now, and with a compass equal to Mali- bran's." " And her look P" " Stxikingly handsome. She is very young ; her mother says nigh sixteen, but I should guess her at under fifteen certainly. I thouglit at once of writing to you, Stocmar, when I saw her. I knovv how eagerly you snatch up such a chance as this ; but as you were on your uay out, I deferred to mention her till you came." " And what counsel did you give her. Trover ?" " I said, ' By all means devote her to the Opera. It is to women, iu our age, what the career of politics is to men, the only royal road to high ambition.' " " That is what I tell all my young Prime Donne," said Stocmar. " I never fail to remind them that any debutante may live to be a duchess." " And they believe you ?" asked Paten. " To be sure they do. Why, man, there is an atmosphere of cre- dulity about a theatre that makes one credit anything, except what is palpably true. Every manager fancies he is making a fortune; every tenor imagines he is to marry a princess; and every fiddler in the orchestra firmly believes in the time when a breathless audience will be listening to his ' solo.' " " I wish, with all my heart, I was on the stage, then," exclaimed Paten. " I should certainly like to imbibe some of this sanguine snirit." " You are too old a dram-drinker, Ludlow, to be intoxicated with ONE or THEM. 243 sucli light tipple," said Stocmar. " Tou have tasted of the real 'tap.' " " That have I," said he, with a sigh that told how intensely he felt the words ; and then, as if to overcome the sad impression, he asked, " And the girl, is she to take to the stage ?" " I believe Stocmar will have to decide the point ; at least, I told her mother that he w^as on his way to Italy, and tliat his opinion on such a matter might be deemed final. Our friend here," continued Ti'over, as he pointed laughingly to Stocmar — " our friend 'here buys up these budding celebrities just as Anderson would a year- ling colt, and like him, too, would reckon himself well paid if one succeed in twenty." " Ay, one in fifty, Trover," broke in Stocmar. " It is quite true. Many a stone does not pay for the cutting, but as we always get the lot cheap, we can afford to stand the risk." " She's a strange sort of woman this Mrs. Morris," said Trover, after a pause, " for she seems hesitating between the Conservatoire and a Convent." " Is the girl a Catholic ?" " No ; but her mother appears to consider that as a minor cu'cum- stance ; in fact, she strikes me as one of those people who, when they determuie to go to a place, are certain to cut out a road for them- selves." " That she is !" exclaimed Paten. " Oh, then, you are acquainted with her?" cried Trover. " No, no," said he, hurriedly. " I was merely judging from your description of her. Such a woman as you have pictured I can ima- gine, just as if I had known her all my life." " I should like to see both mother and daughter," broke in Stocmar. " I iancy she will have no objection ; at least, she said to me, ' You will not fail to inform me of your friend Mr. Stocmar's arrival here ;' and I promised as much." " AVell, you must arrange our meeting speedily, Trover, for I mean to be at Naples next week, at Barcelona and Madrid the week after. The worthy Public, for whose pleasure I provide, will, above all things, have novelty — excellence, if you can, but novelty must be procured them." " Leave it to me, and you shall have an interview to-morrow or the day after." A strange telegraphic intelligence seemed to pass from Paten to u 2 24i4! ONE or TITEM. the manager, for Stocmar qiiickly said : " By the way, dou't drop any hint that Paten is with me : he hasn't got tlie best of reputations behind tlie scenes, and it would, perhaps, mar all our arrangements to mention him." Trover put a finger to his lips in sign of secrecy, and said : " You are right there. She repeatedly questioned me on the score of your own morality, Stocmar, expressing great misgivings about theatrical folk generally." " Take my word for it, then, the lady is a fast one herself," said Stocmar, " for, like the virtuous Pangloss, she knows what wicked- ness is." " It is deuced hard to say what she is," broke in Trover. " My partner, Twist, declares she must have been a stockbroker, or a notary public. She knows the whole share-list of Europe, and can quote you the ' price current' of every security in the Old World or the New ; not to say that she is deeply versed in all the wily rela- tions between the course of politics and the exchanges, and can surmise, to a nicety, how every spoken word of a minister can react upon the money-market." " She cannot have much to do with such interests, I take it," said Paten, in assumed indifference. ■ " Not upon her own account, certainly," replied Trover ; " but such is her influence over this old Baronet, that she persuades him to sell out here, and buy iii there, just as the mood inclines hei"." " And is he so very rich ?" asked Stocmar. " Twist thinks not : he suspects that the money all belongs to a certain Miss Leslie, the ward of Sir William, but who came of age a short time back." " Now, what may her fortune be ?" said Stocmar, in a careless tone ; " in round numbers, I mean, and not caring for a few thou- sands more or less." " I have no means of knowing. I can only guess it must be very large. It was only on Tuesday last she bought in about seveu- and-twenty thousand ' Arcansas New Bonds,' and we have an order this morning to transfer thirty-two thousand more into Illinois ' Sevens.' " " All going to America !" cried Paten. " Why does she select investment there?" " That's the widow's doing. She says that the Old World is going in for a grand smash. That Louis Napoleon will soon have to throw off the mask, and either avow himself the head of tlie de- ONE OP T][EM. 245 mocracy, or bravo its vengeance, and that either cleelaratiou will bo the signal for a great war. Then, she assumes that Austria, pushed bard for means to carry on the struggle, will lay hands on the Church property of the empire, and in this way outrage all the nobles whose families were pensioned off on these resources, thus of necessity throwing herself on the side of the people. In a word, she looks for revolution, convulsion, and a wide-spread ruin, and says the Yankees are the only people who will escape. I know little or nothing of such matters myself, but she sent Twist home t'other day in such a state of alarm, that he telegraphed to Turin to transfer all liis ' Sardinians' into ' jS'ew Yorkers,' and has been seriously thinking of establishing himself in Broadway." " I wish she'd favour me with her views about theatrical property," ► said Stocraar, with a half-sneer, " and what is to become of the Grand Opera in the grand smash." " Ask her, and she'll tell you," cried Trover. " You'll never pose lier with a difficulty ; she'll give you a plan for paying olf the national debt, tell you how to recruit the finances of India, conduct the Chinese war, or oppose French intrigues in Turkey, while she stitches away at her Berlin work. I give you my word, while she was finish- ing oft' the end of an elephant's snout in brown worsted, t'other day, she restored the Murats to Naples, gave Sicily to Eussia, and sent the Pope, as head of a convict establishment, to Cayenne." " Is she a little touched in the upper story ?" asked Stocmar, laying his finger on his forehead. " Twist says not. Twist calls her the wiliest serpent he ever saw, but not mad." " And now a word about the daughter," cried Stocmar. " "What's the girl Hke ?" " Pretty — very pretty ; long eyelashes, very regular features, a beautiful figure, and the richest auburn hair I ever saw ; but, with all that, none of the mother's esprit — no smartness, no brilliancy. In fact, I should call her a regular mope." " She is very young, remember," broke in Stocmar. " That's true ; but with such a clever mother, if she really had any smartness, it would certainly show itself. Now, it is not only that she displays no evidence of superior mind, but she wears an air of depression and melancholy that seems like a sort of confession of her own insufficiency, so Twist says, and Twist is very shrewd as to character." "I can answer for it he's devilish close-fisted as to money," said Stocmar, laughing. 24G ONE OF THEM. " I remember," chimed iu Trover ; " he told me that you came into tlie bank with such a swaggering air, and had such a profusion of gold chains, rings, and watch-trinkets, that he set you down for one of the swell mob out on a tour," "Civil, certainly," said Stocmar, "but as little flattering to his own perspicuity as to myself. But I'll never forget the paternal tone in which he whispered me afterwards : ' Whenever you want a dis- count, Mr. Stocmar, from a stranger — an utter stranger — don't wear an opal pin set in brilliants ; it don't do, I assure you it don't.' " Stocmar gave such a close imitation of the worthy banker's voice and utterance, that his partner laughed heartily. " Does he ever give a dinner. Trover?" asked Stocmar. " Oh yes, he gives one every quarter. Our graver clients, who would not venture to come up here, dine with him, and he treats them to sirloins and saddles, with Gordon's sherry and a very fruity port, made especially, I believe, for men with good balances to their names." " I sliould like to be present at one of these festivals." " Ton have no chance, Stocmar ; he'd as soon think of inviting the corps de ballet to tea. I myself am never admitted to such celebra- tions." " "What rogues these fellows are, Ludlow," said Stocmar. " If you and I were to treat the world in this fashion, what would be said of us ! The real humbugs of this life are the fellows that play the heavy parts." And with this reflection, whose image was derived from his theatrical experiences, he arose, to take his coflee on the terrace. ONE or TUEM. 247 CHAPTER XXXI. IN THE TOILS. Mils. Morris gave directions that when a gentleman shou.d cull to inquire for lier he should be at once introduced, a brief note from Mr. Trover liaving apprised lier that Mr. Stocinar liad just arrived, and would wait upon her without further delay. There was not in lier air or manner the slightest trait of inqviietude or even impatience ; as she sat there, still stitching away at her Berlin elephant, she seemed an emblem of calm, peaceful contentedness. Her half-mourn- ing, perhaps, sobered down somewhat the character of her appear- ance, but these lilac-coloured ribbons harmonised well with her fair skin, and became her much. With a tact all her own, she had carefully avoided in the arrange- ment of her room any of those little artistic effects which, however successful with the uninitiated, would be certain of a significant ap- preciation from one familiar with stage " get up " and all the sugges- tive accessories of the playhouse. " No," thought she — " no half-open miniatures, no moss-roses in Bohemian glass — not even a camellia — on my work-table for Mr. Stocmar." Even Lila, her Italian greyhound, was dismissed from her accustomed cushion on that morning, lest her presence might argue effect. She knew well that such men as Stocmar have a sort of instinctive appreciation of a locality, and she determined he should have the fewest possible aids to his interpretatioii of herself. If, at certain moments, a terrible dread would cross her mind that this man might know all her history, who she was, and in what events mixed u[), she rallied quickly from these fears by recalling how safe from all discovery she had lived for several years back. Indeed, personally, she was scarcely known at all, her early married life having been passed in almost entire reclusion ; while, later on, her few acquaint- ances were the mere knot of men in Hawke's intimacy. There was also another reflection that supplied its consolation : the Stoc- mars of this world are a race familiar with secrets ; their whole existence is passed in hearing and treasui'ing up stories in wliicli honour, fame, and all future happiness are often involved ; they an; a sort of lay priesthood to the " fast" world, trusted, consulted, and confided in on all sides. " If he shovdd know me," thought she, " it 248 ONE OF THEM. is only to make a friend of liim, and no danger can come from tliat quarter." Trover's note said: " Mr. Stocmar places his services at 3'our feet, too proud if in any way they can be useful to you ;" a mere phrase, after all, which miglit mean much or little, as it might be. At the same time she bore in mind that such men as Stocmar were as little addicted to rash pledges as Cabinet ministers. Too much ha- rassed and worried by solicitation, they usually screened themselves in polite generalities, and never incurred the embarrassment of pro- mising anything, so tliat, thus viewed, perhaps, he might be sup- posed as well-intentioned towards her. Let us for a moment — a mere moment — turn to Stocmar himself, as he walked up and down a short garden alley of Trover's garden with Paten by his side, " Above all things, remember, Stocmar, believe nothing she tells you, if she only tell it earnestly. Any little truth she utters will drop out unconsciously, never with asseveration." " I'm prepared for that," replied he, curtly. " She'll try it on, too, with fifty little feminine tricks and graces ; and although you may fancy you know the whole armoury, pardi ! she has weapons you never dreamed of." " Possibly," was the only rejoinder. . " Once for all," said Paten, and there was impatience in his tone, " I tell you she is a greater actress than any of your tragedy queens behind the footlights." " Don't you know what Talleyrand said to the Emperor, Ludlow ? * I think your majesty may safely rely upon me for the rogueries.' " Paten shook his head disseutiugly ; he was very far from feeling the combat an equal one. Stocmar, however, reminded him that his visit was to be a mere reconnaissance of the enemy, which under no circumstances was to become a battle. " I am about to wait upon her with reference to a daughter she has some thoughts of devoting to the stage — voila tout ! I never heard of you in my life — never heard of her — know abso- lutely nothing of her history, save by that line in the Times news- paper some six weeks ago, wliich recorded the death of Captain Penthony Morris, by fever, in Upper India." " That will do — keep to that," cried Paten more cheerfully, as he shook his friend's hand and said good-by. Tour shrewd men of the world seldom like to be told that any cir- cumstance can arise wliich may put their acuteness to the test ; they rather like to believe themselves always prepared for every call upon ONE OF THEM. 249 their astuteness. Stocmar, therefore, set out in a half-irritation, which it took the tlirec miles of his drive to subdue. " Mrs. Penthouy Morris at home ?" asked he of the discreet- looking English servant whom Sir AVilliam's home prejudices justly- preferred to the mongrel and mustachioed domestics of native breed. " At home for Mr. Stocmar, Sir," said the man, half-inquiring, as he bowed deferentially, and then led the way up-stairs. "When Stocmar entered the room he was somewhat disappointed. Whether it was that he expected to see something more stately, haughty, and majestic, like Mrs. Siddons herself, or that he counted upon being received with a certain show of warmth and welcome, but the lady before him was slight, almost girlish in figure, blushed a little when he addressed her, and, indeed, seemed to feel the meeting as awkward a thing as need be. ^ " I have to thank you very gratefully. Sir," began she, " for con- descending to spare me a small portion of time so valuable as yours. Mr. Trover says your stay here will be very brief." " Saturday, if I must, Friday, if I can, will be the limit, Madam," said he, coldly. " Indeed !" exclaimed she. " I was scarcely prepared for so short a visit ; but I am aware how manifold must be your engagements." " Yes, Madam. Even these seasons, which to the world are times of recreation and amusement, are, in reality, to us, periods of active business occupation. Only yesterday I beard a barytone before breakfast, listened to the grand chorus in the ' Huguenots' in my bath, while I decided on the merits of a ballerina as I sat under the hands of my barber." " And, I venture to say, liked it all," said she, with an outbreak of frank enjoyment in his description. " Upon my life I believe you are right," said he. " One gets a zest for a pursuit till everything else appears valueless save the one object ; and, for my own part, I acknowledge I have the same pride in the success of my new tenor, or my prima douua, as thougli I had my share in the gifts which secure it." " I can fancy all that," said she, in a low, soft voice. And then stealing a look of half admiration at her visitor, she dropped her eyes again suddenly, with a sliglit show of confusion. " I assure y^ou," continued he, with warmth, " the season I brought out Cianchettoni, whenever he sang a little huskily I used to tell my friends I was sufl'ering with a sore-throat." 250 ONE OF THEM. " "What a deal of sympathy it betrays in your nature," said she, with a bewitching smile. " And talking of sore-throats, don't sit there in the drauglit, but take this chair, here." And she pointed to one at her side. As Stocmar obeyed, he was struck by the beauty of her profile. It was singularly regular, and more youthful in expression than her full face. He was so conscious of having looked at her admiringly, that he hastened to cover the awkwardness of the moment by plunging at once into the question of business. " Trover has informed me. Madam," began he, " as to the circumstances in which my very humble services can be made available to you. He tells me that you have a daughter " " Not a daughter, Sir," interrupted she, in a low, confidential voice, " a niece — the daughter of a sister now no more." The agitation the words cost her increased Stocmar's confusion, as though he had evidently opened a subject of family affliction. Yes, lier handkerchief was to her eyes, and her shoulders heaved convul- sively. " Mr. Stocmar," said she, with an effort which seemed to cost her deeply, " though we meet for the first time, I am no stranger to your character. I know your generosity, and your high sense of honour. I am well aware how persons of the highest station are accustomed to confide in your integrity, and in that secrecy which is the greatest test of integrity. I, a poor friendless woman, have no claim to prefer to your regard, except in the story of my misfortunes, and which, in compassion to myself, I will spare you. If, however, you are willing to befriend -me on trust — that is, on the faith that I am one not undeserving of your generosity, and entitled at some future day to justify my appeal to it — if, I say, you be ready and willing for this, say so, and relieve my intense anxiety; or if " " Madam !" broke he in, warmly, " do not agitate yourself any more. I pledge myself to be your friend." With a bound slie started from her seat, and, seizing his hand, pressed it to her lips, and then, as though overcome by the boldness of the action, she covered her face and sobbed bitterly. If Stocmar muttered some unmeaning common-places of comfort and consolation, he was in reality far more engrossed by contemplating a foot aud. ankle of matchless beauty, and which, in a moment so unguarded, had become accidentally exposed to view. "I am, then, to regard you as my friend?" said she, trying to smile through her tears, while she bent on him a look of softest ONE or THEM. 251 meaning. She did not, however, prolong a situation so critical, but at once, and with an impetuosity that bespoke her intense anxiety, burst out into the story of lier actual calamities. Never was there a narrative more difficult to follow ; broken at one moment by bursts of sorrow, heartrending regrets, or scarce less poignant expressions of a resignation that savoured of despair. There was something very dreadful, and somebody had been terribly cruel, and the world — cold- hearted and nnkind as it is — had been even iinkinder than usual. And then she was too proud to stoop to this, or accept that. " You surely would not have wished me to ?" cried she, looking into his eyes very meltingly. And then there was a loss of fortune somehow, and somewhere ; a story within a story, like a Chinese puzzle. And there was more cruelty from the world, and more courage on her part ; and then there were years of such suffering — years that had so changed her. " Ah ! Mr. Stocmar, you wouldn't know me if you had seen me in those days !" Then there came another bewitching glance from beneath her long eyelashes, as with a half-sigh she said, " Tou now know it all, and why my poor Clara must adopt the stage, for I have concealed nothing from you — nothing !" " I am to conclude, then. Madam," said he, " that the young lady herself has chosen this career ?" " Nothing of the kind, my dear Mr. Stocmar. I don't think she ever read a play in her life ; she has certainly never seen one. Of the stage, and its ambitious and triumphs, she has not the very vaguest notion, nor do I believe, if she had, would anything in the world induce her to adopt it." " This is very strange ; I am afraid I scarcely understand you," broke he in. "Very probably not, Sir; but I will endeavour to explain my meaning. From the circumstances I narrated to you a while ago, and from others which it is unnecessary for me to enter upon, I have arrived at the conclusion that Clara and I must separate. She has reached an age in which either her admissions or her inquiries might prove compromising. My object would, therefore, be to part with her in such a manner as might exclude our meeting again, and my plan was to enter her as a pupil at the Conservatoire, either at Bologna or Milan, having first selected some one who would assume the office of her guardian, as it were, replacing me in my authority over her. If her talents and acquirements were such as to suit the stage, I trusted to the effect of time and the influence of companion- ship to reconcile her to the project." 252 ONE OF THEM. " And may I ask, IMaclara, have you selected the person to whom this precious treasure is to be confided ? — the guardian, I mean." " I have seen him and spoken with him, Sir, but have not yet asked his acceptance of the trust." " Shall I be deemed indiscreet if I inquire his name ?" " By no means, Sir. He is a gentleman of well-known character and repute, and he is called — Mr. Stocmar." "Surely, Madam, you cannot mean mef^ cried he, with a start. " No other, Sir. Had I the whole range of mankind to clioose from, you would be tiie man ; you embrace within yourself all the conditions the project requires ; you possess all the special knowledge of the subject ; you are a man of the world, fully competent to decide what should be done, and how ; you have the character of being one no stranger to generous motives, and you can combine a noble action with, of course, a very inadequate, but still some personal, advan- tage. This young lady will, in short, be yours, and if her successes can be inferred from her abilities, the bribe is not despicable." " Let us be explicit and clear," said Stocmar, drawing his chair closer to her, and talking in a dry, business-like tone. " Ton mean to constitute me as the sole guide and director of this young lady, with full power to direct her studies, and, so to say, arbitrate for her future in life." " Exactly," was the calm reply. " And what am I to give in return. Madam ? "What is to be the price of such an unlooked-for benefit ?" " Secrecy, Sir — inviolable secrecy, your solemnly-sworn pledge tliat the compact between us will never be divulged to any, even your dearest friend. "When Clara leaves me, you will bind yourself that she is never to be traced to me, that no clue shall ever be found to connect us one with the other. With another name, who is to know her ?" Stocmar gazed steadfastly at her. Was it that in a moment of forgetfulness she had sullered herself to speak too frankly, for her features had now assumed a look of almost sternness, the very oppo- site to their expression hitherto. "And can you part with your niece so easily as this, Madam?" asked he. " She is not my niece. Sir," broke she in, with impetuosity ; " we are on honour here, and so I tell you she is nothing — less than nothing to me. An unhappy event — a terrible calamity — bound up our lot for years together. It is a compact we are each weary of, and I have OKE OF Tm^M. 258 long told her that I only await the arrival of her guardian to relieve myself of a charge which brings no pleasure to either of us." "Ton have given me a right to be very candid with you, Madam," said Stocmar. " May I adventure so far as to ask what necessity there can possibly exist for such a separation as this you now con- template?" " You are evidently resolved, Sir, to avail yourself of your privi- lege," said she, with a slight irritation of manner ; " but when people incur a debt, they must compound for being dunned. You desire to know why I wish to part with this girl ? I will tell you. I mean to cut off all connexion with the past ; and she belongs to it. I mean to carry with me no memories of that time ; and she is one of them. I mean to disassociate myself from whatever might suggest a gloomy retrospect ; and- this her presence does continually. Perhaps, too, I have other plans — plans so personal, that your good breeding and good taste would not permit you to penetrate." Though the sarcasm in which these last words were uttered was of the faintest, Stocmar felt it, and blushed sliglitly as he said, " You do me but justice, Madam. I would not presume so far! Now, as to the question itself," said he, after a pause, " it is one requiring some time for thought and reflection." " Which is what it does not admit of, Sir," broke she in. " It was on Mr. Trover's assurance that you were one of those who at once can trust themselves to say, ' I will,' or, ' I will not,' that I determined to see you. If the suddenness of the demand be th.e occasion of any momentary inconvenience as to the expense, I ouglit to mention that she is entitled to a few hundred pounds — less, I think, than five — which, of course, could be forthcoming." " A small consideration, certainly, Madam," said he, bowing, " but not to be overlooked." He arose and walked the room, as though deep in thought ; at last, halting before her chair, and fixing a steady but not disrespectful gaze on her, he said, " I have but one difficulty in this alFair, Madam, but yet it is one which I know not how to surmount." " State it, Sir," said she, calmly. " It is this, Madam : in the most unhappy newness of our ac- quaintance I am ignorant of many things which, however anxious to know, I have no distinct right to ask, so that I stand between the perils of my ignorance and the greater perils of possible pre-. sumption." " I declare to you fi-aukly, Sir, I cannot guess to what you allude. 254) ONE OF THEM. If I only surmised what tliesc matters were, I might possibly antici- pate your desire to hear them." " May I dare, then, to be more explicit r" asked he, half timidly. " It is for you, Sir, to decide upon that," said she, with some haughtiness. " Well, Madam," said he, boldly, " I want to know are you a widow ?" " Yes, Sir," said she, with a calm composure. ** Am I, then, to believe that you can act free and uncontrolled, without fear of any dictation or interference from others ?" " Of course. Sir." " I mean, in short, Madam, that none can gainsay any rights you exercise, or revoke any acts you execute ?" " Eeally, Sir, I cannot fancy any other condition of existence, except it be to persons confined in an asylum." " Nay, Madam, you are wrong there," said he, smiling ; " the life of every one is a network of obligations and ties, not a whit the less binding that they are not engrossed on parchment, and attested by three witnesses ; liberty to do this, or to omit that, having always some penalty as a consequence." " Oh, Sir, spare me these beautiful moralisings, which only con- fuse my poor weak woman's mind, and just say how they address themselves to me." " Thus far, Madam : that your right over the young lady cannot be contested, nor shared ?" " Certainly not. It is with me to decide for her." " When, with your permission, I have seen her and spoken with her, if I find that no obstacle presents itself, why then. Madam, I accept the charge " " And are her guardian," broke she in. " Remember, it is in that character that you assume your right over her. I need not tell a person of such tact as yours how necessary it will be to reply cau- tiously and guardedly to all inquiries, from whatever quarter coming, nor how prudent it will be to take her away at once from this." " I will malie arrangements this very day. I will telegraph to Milan at once," said he. " Oh dear!" sighed she, "what a moment of relief is this, after such a long, long period of care and anxiety !" The great sense of relief implied in these words scarcely seemed to have extended itself to Mr. Stocmar, who walked up and down the room in a state of the deepest preoccupation. OJ^>'V^'\.'\.'\ 'i CHAPTER XLIT. A NEW LOCATION. After a great deal of discussion it was agreed between Layton and the Colonel that they should meet that day month at St. Louis. Layton was to employ the interval in seeing as nuich as he could of the country and the people, and preparing himself to appear before them at the first favourable opportunity. Indeed, though he did not confess it, he yielded to the separation the more willingly because it offered him the occasion of putting into execution a plan he for some time had been ruminating over. In some measure from a natural diffidence, and in a great degree from a morbid dread of disappointing the high expectations Quackinboss had formed of the success he was to obtain, Layton had long felt that the presence of his friend would be almost certain to ensure his failure. He could neither venture to essay the same flights before him, nor could he, if need were, support any coldness or disinclination of his audience were Quackinboss there to witness it. In fact, he wanted to disassociate his friend from any pain failure should occasion, and bear all alone the sorrows of defeat. J^esides this, he felt that, however personally painful the ordeal, lie was bound to face it. He had accepted Quackinboss's assistance under the distinct pledge that he was to try this career. In its success was he to find the means of repaying his friend, and so coi\- 328 ONE or THEM, fidently liad the Colouel always talked of that success, it would seem mere wilfulness not to attempt it. There is not, perhaps, a more painful position in life than to be obliged to essay a career to which all one's thoughts and instincts are opposed ; to do something against which self-respect revolts, and yet meet no sympathy from others — to be conscious that any backward- ness will be construed into self-indulgence, and disinclination be set down as indolence. Now this was Alfred Layton's case. He must either risk a signal failure, or consent to be thought of as one who would rather be a burden to his friends than make an honourable effort for his own support. He was already heavily in the Colonel's debt ; the thought of this weighed upon him almost insupportably. It never quitted him for an instant ; and, worse than all, it obtruded through every effort he made to acquit himself of the obligation ; and only they who have experienced it can know what pain brain labour becomes when it is followed amidst the cares and anxieties of pre- carious existence ; when the student tries in vain to concentrate thoughts that will stray away to the miserable exigencies of his lot, or stmiggle hopelessly to forget himself and his condition in the inte- rest of bygone events or unreal incidents. Let none begrudge him the few flitting moments of triumph he may win, for he has earned them by many a long hour of hardsiiip ! The sense of his utter loneliness, often depressing and dispiriting, was now a sort of comfort to him. Looking to notliing but defeat, he was glad that there was none to share in his sorrows. Of all the world, he thought poor Clara alone would pity him. Her lot was like his own — the same friendlessness — the self-same difficulty. Why should he not liave her sympathy ? She would give it freely, and with her whole heart. It was but to tell her, " I am far away, and unhappy. I chafe under dependence, and I know not how to assert my freedom. I would do something, and yet I know not what it is to be. I distrust myself, and yet there are times when I feel that one spoken word would give such courage to my heart that I could go on and hope." Could she speak that word to him ? was his ever present thought. He resolved to try, and accordingly wrote her a long, long letter. Full of the selfishness of one who loved, he told her the whole story of his journey, and the plan tliat led to it. " I have patience enough for slow toil," said he, "but I do not seek for tlie success it brings. I wanted the quick prosperity that one great effort might secure, and time afterwards to enjoy the humble fortune thus acquired. AVith merely enough for life, Clara, I meant to ask you to share it. Who are as friendlessly alone aa we are ? who are ONE OF THEM. 329 SO bereft of what is called home ? Say, have you a heart to give me — when I can claim it — and will you give it ? I am low and wretched because I feel unloved. Tell me this is not so, and in the goal before me, hope and energy will come back to me." Broken and scarce co- herent at times, his letter revealed one who loved her ardent! v, and who wanted but her pledge to feel himself happy. He pressed eagerly to know of her own life — what it was, and whether she was contented. Had she learned anything of the mystery that surrounded her family, or could she give him the slightest clue by which he could aid her in the search? He entreated of her to write to him, even though her letter should not be the confirmation of all he wished and prayed for. The very fact of his having wa-itteu this to Clara seemed to rally his spirits. It was at least a pledge to his own heart. He had placed a goal before him, and a hope. " I am glad to see you look cheerier," said Quackinboss, as they sat taliving over their plans. " The hardest load a man ever carried is a heavy heart, and it's as true as my name's Shaver, that one gets into the habit of repinin' and seein' all things black jest as one falls into any other evil habit. Old Grip Quackinboss said, one day, to Mr. Jefferson, ' Tes, Sir,' says he, ' always hearty. Sir — always cheery. There's an old lady as sweeps the crossin' in our street, and I give her a quarter-dollar to fret for me, for it's a thing I've sworn never to do for myself.' " " Well," said Layton, gaily, "you'll see I've turned over a new leaf; and whatever other faults you shall find in me, causeless depression shall not be of the number." "All right, Sir; that's my own platform. Now here's your in- structions, for I'm a goin'. I start at seven forty, by the cars for Buffiilo. That spot down there is our meetin' place — St. Louis. It looks mighty insignificant on the map, there ; but you'll see it's a thriviii' location, and plenty of business in it. You'll take your own time about being there, only be sui*e to arrive by this day month ; and if I be the man I think myself, I'll have news to tell you when you come. This crittur, Trover, knows all about that widow Morris, and the girl, too — that Clara — you w^as so fond of. If I have to tie him up to a tree. Sir, I'll have it out of him ! There's five hundred dollars in that bag. You'll not need all of it, belike, if you keep clear of 'Poker' and Bully-brag; and I advise you to. Sir — I do," said he, gravely. " It takes a man to know life, to guess some of the sharp 'uns in our river steamers. There's no other dangers to warn you of here, Sir. Don't be riled about trifles, and you'll find yourself very soon at home with us." 330 ONE OF THEM. These were bis last words of counsel as he shook Layton's hand at parting. It was witli a sad sense of loneliness Layton sat by bis window after Quackinboss had gone. For many a month back he liad had no other friend or companion : ever present to counsel, con- sole, or direct hira, the honest Yankee was still more ready with his purse than his precepts. Often as they had diftered in their opinions, not a hasty word or disparaging sentiment had ever disturbed their intercourse ; and even the Colonel's most susceptible spot — that which touched upon national characteristics — never was even casually wounded in the converse. In fact, each had learned to see with how very little forbearance in matters of no moment, and with how slight an exercise of deference for ditFerences of object and situation, Euglish and American could live together like brothers. There was but one thought which embittered the relations between them, in Layton's estimation. It was the sense of that dependence which destroyed equality. He was satisfied to be deeply the debtor of his friend, but he could not struggle between what he felt to be a fitting gratitude, and that resolute determination to assert what he believed to be true at any cost. He suspected, too — and the sus- picion was a very -gainful one — that the Colonel deemed him indolent and self-indulgent. The continued reluctance he had evinced to ad- yenture on the scheme for which they came so far, favoured this impression. As day after day he travelled along, one thought alone occupied him. At each place he stopped came the questions. Will this suit? Is this the spot I am in search of? It was strange to mark by what slight and casual events his mind was influenced. The slightest acci- dent that ruffled him as he arrived, an insignificant inconvenience, a passing word, the look of the place, the people, the very aspect of the weather, were each enough to assure him that he had not yet disco- vered what he sought after. It was towards the close of his fifth day's ramble that he reached the small town of Bunkumville. It was a newly-settled place, and, like all such, not over remarkable for com- fort or convenience. The spot had been originally laid out as tiie centre of certain lines of railroad, and intended to have been a place of consequence, but the engineers who had planned it had somehow incurred disgrace, the project was abandoned, and instead of a com- mercial town, rich, populous, and flourishing, it now presented the aspect of a spot hastily deserted, aad left to linger out an existence of decline and neglect. There were marks enough to denote the grand projects which were once entertained for the place. Great areas measured oS for squares, spacious streets staked off; here and ONE OF THEM.- 831 there massive " blocks" of building ; three or four hotels on a scale of vast proportion, and an assemblj-room worthy of a second-rate city. AVith all this, the population was poor-looking and careworn. 'No stir of trade or business to be met with. A stray bullock-car stole drearily along through the deep-rutted streets, or a traveller significantly armed with rifle and revolver rode by on his rawboned horse ; but of the sights and sounds of town life and habits, there were none. Of the hotels, two were closed ; the third was partially occupied as a barrack, by a party of cavalry despatched to repress some Indian outrages on the frontier. Even the soldiers had con- tracted some of the wild, out-of-the- world look of the place, and wore their belts over buckskin jackets, that smacked more of the prairie than the parade. The public conveyance which brought Layton to the spot only stopped long enough to bait the horses and refresh the travellers ; and it was to the no small surprise of the driver that he saw the " Britisher" ask for his portmanteau, with the intention of halting there. •' Well, you ain't a goiu' to injure your constitution with gaiety and late hours, stranger," said he, as he saw him descend ; " that's a fact." Kor was the sentiment one that Layton could dispute, as, still standing beside his luggage in the open street, he watched the stage till it disappeared in the distant pine forest. Two or three lounging, lazy-looking inhabitants had, meanwhile, come up, and stood looking with curiosity at the new arrival. "Tou ain't a valuator, are you?" asked one, after a long and careful inspection of him. " No," said Layton, dryly. "You're a lookiu' for a saw-mill, I expect," said another, with a keen glance as he spoke. " Nor that, either," was the answer, " /have it," broke in a third ; " you've got * notions' in that box, there, but it won't do down here; we've got too much bark to hew off before we come to such fixins." " T suspect you are not nearer the mark than your friends, Sir," said Layton, still repressing the slightest show of impatience. " What' 11 you lay, stranger, I don't hit it ?" cried a tall, thin, bold- looking fellow, with long hair f:\lling over his neck. "You're a preacher, ain't you? You're from the New England States, I'll be bound. Say I'm right. Sir, for you know I am." " I must give it against you, Sii', also," said Layton, preserving his gravity with an eftbrt that was not without difficulty. " I do not I 'How any one of the avocations you mention ; but in return for 332 ONE OF THEM. your five questions, may I make bold to ask one ? Which is thie hotel here ?" " It's yonder," said the tall man, pointing to a large house, hand- somely pillared, and overgrown with the luxuriant foliage of the red acanthus; " tliere it is. That's the Temple of Epicurus, as you see it a written up. Tou ain't for speculatin' in that sort, are you ?" " No," said Laytou, quietly ; " I was merely asking for a house of entertainment." " You're a Britisher, I reckon," said one of the former speakers ; " that's one of tlieir words for meat and drink." AVithout waiting for any further discussion of himself, his country, or his projects, Layton walked towards tlie hotel. From the two upper tiers of windows certain portions of military attire, liung out to air or to dry, undeniably announced a soldierly occupation ; cross- belts, overalls, and great-coats liung gracefuUy suspended on all sides. Lower down, there was little evidence of habitation ; most of the windows were closely shuttered, and through such as were open Layton saw large and lofty rooms, totally destitute of furniture, and in part unfinished. The hall-door opened upon a spacious apartment, at one side of which a bar had been projected, but the plan had gone no further than a long counter and some shelves, on which now a few bottles stood in company, with three or four brass candlesticks, a plaster bust, wanting a nose, and some cooking utensils. On the counter itself was stretched at full length, and fast asleep, a short, somewhat robust man, in shirt and trousers, his deep snoring awaking a sort of moaning echo in the vaulted room. Not exactly choosing to disturb his slumbers, if avoidable, Layton pushed his explorations a little further, but though he found a number of rooms, all open, they were alike empty and unfinished, nor was there a creature to be met with throughout. There was, then, nothing for it but to awaken the sleeper, which he proceeded to, at first, by gentle, but, as these failed, by more vigorous means. " Don't ! I say," growled out the man, without opening his e3'e3, but seeming bent on continuing his sleep ; " I'll not have it — let me be— that's all." " Are you the landlord of this hotel r" said Layton, with a stout shake by the shoulder, " AVell, then, here's for it, if you will !" cried the other, springing up, and throwing himself in an instant into a boxing attitude, while his eyes glared with a vivid wildness, and his whole face denoted passion. <~Jf # ONE OF THEM. 333 " I came here for food and lodging, and not for a boxing-match, my friend," said Layton, mildly. " And who said 1 was your friend ?" said the other, fiercely ; " who told you that we was raised in the same diggina ? and what do you mean, Sir, by disturbin' a gentleman in his bed ?" " You'll scarcely call that bench a bed, I think ?" said Layton, in an accent meant to deprecate all warmth. " And why not. Sir ? If you choose to dress yourself like a chequer-board, I'm not going to dispute whether you have a coat on. It's my bed, and I like it. And now what next ?" " I'm very sorry to have disturbed you ; and if you can only tell me if there be any other hotel in this place " " There ain't ; and there never will be, tliat's more. Elsmore's is shut up ; Chute Melchin's a blown his brains out : and so would you if you'd have come here. Don't laugh, or by the everlastin' rattle- snake, I'll bowie you !" The madly-excited look of the man, his staring eyes, retreating forehead, and restless features, made Layton suspect he was insane, and he would gladlv have retired from an interview that promised so little success, but the other walked deliberately round, and barring the passage to the door, stood with his arms crossed before him. " You think I don't know you, but I do ; I heerd of you eight weeks ago ; I knew you was comin', but darm me all blue if you sliall have it. Come out into tlie orchard — come out, I say, and let's see who's the best man. You think you'll come here and make this like the Astor House, don't ye ? and there'll be five or six hundred every night pressing up to the bar for bitters and juleps, just because you have the place ? But I say Dan Heron ain't a goiu' to quit ; he stands here like old Hickory in the mud-fort, and says, try and turn me out." By the time the altercation had reached thus far, Layton saw that a crowd of some five-and-twenty or thirty persons had assembled outside the door, and were evidently enjoying the scene with no common zest. Indeed, their mutterings of "Dan's a giviu' it to bim," " Dan's full steam up," and so on, showed where their sympa- thies inclined. Some, however, more kindly-minded, and moved by the unfriended position of the stranger, good-naturedly interposed, and having obtained Layton's sincere and willing assurance that he never harboured a thought of becoming proprietor of the Temple, nor had he the very vaguest notion of settling down at Bunkumville in any capacity, peace was signed, and Mr. Heron consented to re- ceive him as a guest. 33-1 ONE OF THEM. Taking a key from a nail on tbe wall, Dan Heron preceded him to a small elianiber, where a truckle-bed, a chair, and a basin on the floor formed the furniture ; but he promised a table, and, if the stay of the stranger warranted the trouble, some other " fixins" in a day or two. "You can come and eat a bit with me about sun-down," said Dan, doggedly, as he withdrew, for be was not yet quite satisfied what projects the stranger nursed in his bosom. Kesolved to make the best of a situation not over-promising, to go with the humour of his host so far as he could, and even, where possible, try and derive some amusement from his eccentricities, Layton presented himself punctually at meal-time. The supper was laid out in a large kitchen, where an old negreas officiated as cook. It was abundant and savoury ; there was every imaginable variety of bread, and the display of dishes was imposing. The circumstance was, however, explained by Heron's remarking that it was the supper of the officers of the detachment they were eating, a sudden call to the frontier having that same morning arrived, and to this lucky ac- cident were they indebted for this abundance. An apple-brandy " smash" of Mr. Heron's own devising wouud up the meal, and the two lighted their cigars, and in all the luxurious ease of their rocking-chairs, enjoyed their post-prandial elysium. " Them boots of yours is English make," was Mr. Heron's first remark, after a long pause. " Yes, London," was the brief reply. "I've been there — I don't like it." Layton muttered some expression of regret at this sentiment, but the other, not heeding, went on : " I've seen most parts of the world, but there ain't anything to compare with this." Lajton was not certain whether it was the supremacy of Ameinea he asserted, or the city of Bunkximville in particular, but he refrained from inquiring, preferring to let the other continue ; nor did tie seem at all unwilling. He went on to give a half-connected account of a migratory adventurous sort of life at home and abroad. He had been a cook on shipboard, a gold-digger, an auctioneer, a showman, dealt in almost every article of commerce, smuggled opium into China and slaves into New Orleans, and with all his experiences had somehow or other not hit upon the right road to fortune. Not indeed that he distrusted his star — far from it. He believed himself reserved for great things, and never felt more certain of being within their reach than at that moment. ONE OF THEM. 335 " It was I made this city we're in, Sir," said he, proudly. " I built all that mass yonder — Briggs-block ; I built the house we're sitting in ; I built that Apollonicon, the music-hall you saw as you came in, aud I lectured there, too ; and if it were not for an old ' rough' that won't keep off his bitters early of a mornin', I'd be this day as rich as John Jacob Astor: that's what's ruined me, Sir. I brought him from New York with me down here, and there's nothing from a bird- cagre to a steam-boiler that fellow can't make vou when he's sober — ay, and describe it, too. If you only heerd him talk ! Well, he made a telegraph here, and set two saw-mills a-goin', and made a machine for getting the salt out of that lake yonder, and then took to manu- facturin' maccaroni and gunpowder, and some dye stuft' out of oak bark ; and what will you say, stranger, when I tell you that he sold each of these inventions for less than gave him a week's carouse. And now I have him here under lock and key, waiting till he comes to his- self, which he's rather long about this time." "Is he ill?" asked Layton. " Well, you can't say exactly he's all right ; he gave hisself an ugly gash with a case-knife on the neck, and tried to blow hisself up arter with some combustible stuif, so that he's rayther black about the complexion ; and then he's always a screechin' and yellin' for drink, but I go in at times with a heavy whip, and he ain't unreason- able then." " He's mad, in fact," said Layton, gravely. " I only wish you and I was as sane, stranger," said the other. "There ain't that place on the globe old Poll, as we call him, couldn't make a livin' in ; he's a man as could help a Minister with his discourse, or teach a Squaw how to work mocassins. I don't know what your trade is, but I'll be bound he knows something about it you never heerd of" Mr. Heron went on to prove how universally gifted his friend was by mentioning how, on his first arrival, he gave a covirse of lectures on a plan which assuredly might have presented obstacles to many. It was only wh the room was filled, and the public itself consulted, that the theme of the lecture was determined, so that the speaker was actually called upon, without a moment for preparation, to expa- tiate upon any given subject. Nor Avas the test less trying that the hearers were plain practical folk, who usually propounded questions in which they possessed some knowledge themselves. How to open a new clearing, what treatment to apply to the bite of the whip- snake, by what contrivance to economise water in mills, how to tan leather without oak bark — such, and such like, were the theses placed 336 ONE OF THEM. before him, matters on which the public could very sufficiently pro- nounce themselves. Old Poll, it would seem, had sustained every test, and come through every ordeal of demand victorious. While the host thus continued to expatiate on this man's marvellous gifts, Laytou fell a thinking whether this might not be the very spot he sought for, and this the audience before whom he could experiment on as a public speaker. It was quite evident tliat the verdict could confer little either of distinction or disparagement : success or fiiilure were, as regarded the future, not important. If, however, he could succeed in interesting them at all — if he could make the themes of which they had never so much as heard in any way amusing or engaging — it would be a measure of what he miglit attain with more favourable hearers. He at once propounded his plan to Mr. Heron, not con- fessing, however, that he meditated a first attempt, but speaking as an old and practised lecturer. " What can you give 'em. Sir ? They're horny-handed and flat- footed folk down here, but they'll not take an old hen for a Bucks county chicken, I tell yox(, .'" " I'm a little in your friend Poll's line," said Layton, good- humouredly. " I could talk to them about history, and long ago ; what kind of men ruled amongst Greeks and Eomans ; what sort of .wars they waged ; how they colonised, and what they did witli the conquered. If my hearers had patience for it, I could give them some account of their great orators and poets." Heron shook his head dissentingly, and said Poll told 'em all that, and nobody wanted it, till he came to them chaps they call the gla- diators, and sliowed how they used to spar and hit out. " Wasn't it grand to see him, witli his great chest and strong old arms, describiu' all their movements, and how much they trusted to activity, imitating all from the wild beast — not like our boxers, who make fiefhtino: a reg'lar ' man's ' combat. Tou couldn't take up that, could you ?" " I fear not," said Layton, despondingly. " Well, tell 'em something of tlie old country in a time near their own. They'd like to hear about their great-grandfathers and grand- mothers." " Would they listen to me if I made Ireland the subject — Ireland just before she was incorporated with England, when with a Parlia- ment her own, she had a resident gentry, separate institutions, and strong traits of individual nationality ?" " Tell 'em about fellows that liad strong heads and stout hands, that though they mightn't always be right in their opinions, was willing and ready to fight for 'em. Give 'em a touch of the way they ONE OF THEM. 337 talked in their House of Parlianiput, and if you can bring in a story or two, and make 'em laugh — it ain't a'ways easy to do — but if you can do it, you may travel from Cape Cod to the Gulf of Mexico and never change a dollar." " Here goes, then ! I'll try it !" said Lay ton, at once determined to risk the effort. " When can it be ?" " It must be at once, for there's a number of 'em a-goin' west next week. Say to-morrow night, seven o'clock. Entrance, twelve cents. ; first chairs, five-and-twenty. No smokin' allowed, except between the acts." " Take all the arrangements on yourself, and give me what you think fair of our profits," said Layton. " That's reasonable ; no man can say it ain't. What's your name, stranger ?" " My name is Alfred But never mind my name ; announce me as a Gentleman from England." " Who has lectured before the Queen and Napoleon Bonaparte." " Nay, that I have never done." " Well, but you might, you know ; and if you didn't, the greater loss theirs." " Perhaps so ; but I can't consent " " Just leave them things to me. And now, one hint for yourself: when you're a windin' up, dash it all with a little soft sawder, sayin' as how you'd rather be addressin* them than the Emperor of Eoosia — that the sight of men as loves liberty, and knows how to keep it, is as good as Peat's vegetable balsam, that warms the heart without feverin' the blood — and that wherever you go the 'iiiembrance of the city, and its enlightened citizens will be the same as photographed on your heart — that there's men here ought to be in Congress, and women fit for queens ! And if you throw in a bit of the star-spangled — you know what — it'll do no harm." Layton only smiled at these counsels, offered, however, in a spirit far from jesting ; and, after a little further discussion of the plan, Heron said, " Oh, if we only could get old Poll briglit enough to write the placards — that's what he excels in — there ain't his equal for capitals, anywhere." Though Layton felt very little desire to have the individual re- ferred to associated with him or his scheme, he trusted to the impos- sibility of the alliance, and gave himself no trouble to repudiate it ; and, after a while, they parted, with a good night and hope for ttie morrow. 338 ONE OF THEM. CHAPTEE XLIII. BUNKCMVILLE. " You wouldn't believe it — no one would believe it," said Mr. Heron, as he hastily broke in upon Layton the next morning, deep in preparations for the coming event. " There's old Poll all spry and right again ; he asked for water to shave himself, an invariable sign with him that he was a goin' to try a new course." Layton, not caring to open again what might bear upon this his- tory, merely asked some casual question upon the arrangements for the evening ; but Heron rejoined : " I told Poll to do it all. The news seemed to revive him, and far from, as I half dreaded, any jealousy about another taking his place, he said, * Tliia looks like a promise of better things down here. If our Bunkumville folk will only encourage lecturers to come amongst them, their tone of think- ing and speaking will improve. They'll do their daily work in a better spirit, and enjoy their leisure with a higher zest.' " " Strange sentiments from one such as you pictured to me last night." " Lord love ye, that's his way. He beats all the Temperance 'Postles about condemning drink. He can tell more anecdotes of the mischief it works, explain better its evils on the health, and the injury it works in a man's natur', tlian all the talkers ever came out of the Mayne Convention." " Wliich scarcely says much for the force of his convictions," said Layton, smiling. "1 only wish he heard you say so, Britisher ; if he wouldn't chaso you up a pretty high tree, call me a land crab ! 1 remember well, one night, how he lectured on that very point, and showed that what was vulgarly called hypocrisy was jest neither more nor less than a diseased and exaggerated love of approbation — them's his words ; I took 'em down and sliowed 'em to him next morning, and all he said was, * I suppose I said it arter dinner.' " "Am I to see your friend and make his acquaintance?" asked Layton. "Well," said the other, with some hesitation, "I rayther suspect ONE Oli^ THEM. 339 not; he said as mu«h t1iat he didn't like meeting any one from tlie old country. It\s my idea that he vvaru't over well treated there, somehow, though he wou't say it." "But as one who has never seen him before, and in all likelihood is never to see him again " " No use ; whenever he makes up his mind in that quiet way he never changes, and he said, ' I'll do all you want, only don't bring mo forward. I have my senses now, and shame is one of 'em !' " " You increase my desire to see and know this poor fellow." " Mayhap you're a thinkin', Britisher, whether, if you could wile liiin away from we, you couldn't do a good stroke of work with him down South — eh ? wasn't that it ?" " No, on my word ; nothing of the kind. My desire was simply to know if I couldn't serve him where he was, and where he is probably to remain." " Where he is sartainly to rem-ain, I'd say, Sir — sartainly to re- main! I'd rayther give up the Temple, ay, and all the fixius, than I'd give up that man. There ain't one spot in creation he ain't fit for. Take him North, and he'll beat all the Abolitionists ever talked ; bring him down to the old South State, and hear him how lie'll make out that the Bible stands by slavery, and that Blacks are to Whites what cliildren are to their elders — a sort of folk to be fed, and nourished, and looked arter, and, maybe, eor-rected a little betimes. Petch him up to Lowell, and he'll teach the factory folk in their own mills ; and a? to the art of stump raisin', rotation of c^ops in a new soil, fattenin' hogs, and curin' salmon, jest show me one to compare with him!" " How sad that such a man should be lost ?" said Xiay.ton, half to himself. But the other overlieard him, and rejoined : " It's always with some sentiment of that kind you Britishers work out something for your own benefit. You never conquer a new territory except to propagate trial by jury and habeas corpus. Now look out here, for 1 wou't stand you're stepping in 'tween me and old Poll." It was not enough fox Layton to protest that he harboured no such intentions. Mr. Heron's experiences of mankind had inspired very difterent lessons than those of trust and confidence, and he secretly determined that no opportunity should be given to carry out the treason he dreaded. " When the lecturin'-room is a clean swept out and dusted, the table placed, and the black board with a piece of clialk a hind it, y O 340 ONE OF THEM. and tlie bills a posted, setting forth what you're a going to atump out, there ain't no need for more. If «/ow've got the stuff in you to amuse our folk, you'll see the quarter dollars a rolliu' in, in no time! If they think, however, that you're only come here to sell 'em grit for buckwheat, darm me considerable, but there's lads here would treat you to a cowhide!" Layton did not hear tliis alternative with all the conscious security of success, not to say that it was a penalty on failure far more severe and practical than any his fears had ever anticipated. Coldness he was prepared for, disapprobation he might endure, but he was not ready to be treated as a cheat and impostor because he had not satisfied the expectancies of an audience. " I half regret," said he, " that I should not have learned something .nore of your public befoi-e making my appearance to them. It u\ay not be, perhaps, too late." " "Well, I suspect it is too late," said the other, dryly. " They won't stand folks a postin' up bills, and then sayin', ' There ain't no per- formance.' You're not in the Haymarket, Sir, where you can couie out with a flam about sudden indisposition, and a lie signed by a 'pottecary." " But if I leave the town ?" " I wouldn't say you mightn't, if you had a bal-loon," said the other, laughing ; " but as to any other way, I defy you !" Layton was not altogether without the suspicion that Mr. Heron was trying to play upon his fears, and this was exactly the sort of outrage that a mind like his would least tolerate. It was, to be sure, a wild, out-of-the-world kind of place ; the people were a rough, semi- civilised-looking set ; public opinion in such a spot might take a rude form ; what they deemed unequal to their expectations, they might construe as a fraud upon their pockets ; and if so, and that their judg- ment should take the form he hinted at Still he was reluctant to accept this version of the case, and stood deeply pondering what line to adopt. " You don't like it, stranger ; now that's a fact," said Heron, as he scanned his features. " You've been a thuikin', " Oh, any rubbish I like will be good enough for these bark- cutters. "What should such fellows know, except about their corn crops and their saw-mills ? 1 needn't trouble my head about what I talk to 'em.' But now, you see, it ain't so ; you begin to perceive that Jonatlian, with his sleeves rolled up for work, is a smart man, who keeps his brains oiled and his thoughts polished, like one of Piatt's engines, and it won't do to ask him to make Trench rolls out of sawdust I" ONE OF THEM. 34)1 Layton was still silent, pai-tly employed in reviewing the difficulty of his position, but even more, perhaps, from chagrin at the tone of impertinence addressed to him. " Yes, Sir," said Heron, continuing an imaginary dialogue with himself — "yes, Sir; that's a mistake more than one of your country- men has fallen into. As Mr. Clay said, it's so hard for an Englishman not to think of us as colonists." " I've made up my mind," said Layton, at last. " I'll not lecture." " Won't you ? Then all I can say is, Britisher, look out for a busy arternoon. I told you what our people was. I warned you that if they struck work an hour earlier to listen to a preacher, it would fare ill with him if he wanted the mill to turn without water." " I repeat, I'll not lecture, come what may of it," said Layton, firmly. " Well, it ain't so very hard to guess what ivill come of it," replied the other. " This is all nonsense and folly, Sir," said Layton, angrily. " I have taken no man's money ; I have deceived no oue. Tour people, when I shall have left this place, will be no worse than when I en- tered it." " If that's your platform, stranger, come out and defend it ; we'll have a meetin' called, and I promise you a fair hearin'." " I have no account to render to any, I am not responsible for my conduct to one of you !" said Layton, angrily. " You're a beggin' the whole question, stranger ; " so just keep these arguments for the meetin'." " Meeting ! I will attend no meeting ! Whatever be your local ways and habits, you have no right to impose them upon a stranger. I am not one of you ; I will not be one of you," " That's more of the same sort of reasonin' ; but you'll be chas- tised, Britisher, see if you ain't !" " Let me have some sort of conveyance, or, if need be, a horse. I will leave this at once. Any expenses I have incurred I am ready to pay. You hear me ?" " Yes, I hear you, but that ain't enough. You're bound by them bills, as you'll see stickin' up all through the town, to appear this evening and deliver a lecture before the people of this city " " Oue word for all, I'll not do it." " And do you tell me. Sir, that when our folk is a gatherin' about the assembly rooms, that they're to be told to go home agin ; that the Britisher has changed his miud, and feels someways as if he didn't like it?" 342 ONE OF TUEM. " Tliat may be as it can ; my determiuatioii is fixed. You mjly lec- ture yourself; or you can, perhaps, induce your friend, I forget his name, to favour the company." " Well sir, if old Poll's strength was equal to it, the public wouldn't have to regret you. It ain't one o^ your stamp could replace him, that I tell you." A sudden thought here flashed across Laytou's mind, and he has- tened to profit by it. " Wliy not ask him to take my place ? I am ready, most ready, to requite his services. Tell him, if you like, that I will pay all the ex- penses of the evening, and leave him the receipts. Or say, if he prefer, that I will give him tliirty, forty, ay, fifty dollars, if he will relieve me from an engagement I have no mind for," " Well, that does sound a bit reasonable," said the other, slowly ; " though, mayhap, he'll hot think the terms so high. You wouldn't say eighty, or a hundred, would you ? He's proud, old Poll, and it's best not to ofiend him by a mean ofier." Layton bit his lip impatiently, and walked up and down the room, witliout speaking. " Not to say," resumed Heron, " that he's jest out of a sick-bed ; the exertion might give him a relapse. Tlie con-tingencies is to be calc'lated, as they say on the railroads." " If it be only a question between fifty and eighty -^ " That's it — well spoken. AVell, call it a hundred, and I'm oft" to see if it can't be done." And without waiting for a reply, Heron has- tened out of the room as he spoke. Notwithstanding the irritation the incident caused him, Layton could not, as soon as he found himself alone, avoid laughing at the absurdity of his situation. If he never went the full length of believing in the hazardous con- sequences Mr. Heron predicted, he at least saw that he must be pre- pared for any mark of public disfavour his disappointment might excite; and it was just possible such censure might assume a very unpleasant shape. The edicts of Judge Lynch are not always in ac- cordance with the dignity of the accused, and thougli tiiis considera- tion first forced him to laugh, his second thoughts were far graver. Nor were these thoughts unmixed with doubts as to what Quackin- boss would say of the matter. Would he condemn the rashness of his first ])ledge, or the timidity of his retreat? or would he indig- nantly bliune him for submission to a menace? In the midst of these considerations, Herou re-entered the room. ONE OP THEM. 343 "There, Sir; it's all signed aiid sealed. Old Poll's to do the work, and you're to be too ill to appear. That will require your stayiu' here till nightfall ; but wben the folks is at the hall, you can slip through the town and make for New Lebanon." "And I am to pay — how much did you say ?" " What you proposed yourself, Sir. A hundred dollars." " At eight o'clock, then, let me have a waggon ready," said Layton, too much irritated with his own conduct to be moved by anything in that of his host. He therefore paid little attention to Mr. Heron's account of all the ingenuity and address it had cost him to induce old Poll to become his substitute, nor would he listen to one word of the conversation reported to have passed on that memorable occasion. What cared he to hear how old Poll looked ten years younger since the bargain. He was to be dressed like a gentleman ; he was to be in full black ; lie was to resume all the dignity of the station he had once held ; while he gave tlie public what he had hitherto resolutely refused — some account of himself and his own life. Layton turned away impatiently at these details; they were all associated with too much that pained to interest or to please him. "The matter is concluded now, and let me hear no more of it," said he, peevishly. " I start at eight." And with this he turned away, leaving no excuse to his host to remain, or resume an unpalatable subject. " Your waggon shall be here at the hour, and a smart pair of horses to bowl you along. Sir," said Heron, too well satisfied on the whole to be annoyed by a passing coldness. 344 ONE OF THEM. CHAPTEE XLIA^ THE LECTCRER. Alfred Latton's day dragged drearily along, watching and waiting for the hour of departure. Close prisoner as he was, the time hung heavily on his hands, without a book or any sort of com- })aniouship to beguile its weariness. He tried various ways to pass tlie hours ; he pondered over a faintly-coloured and scarce traceable map on tlie walls. It represented America, witli all the great western amiexations, in that condition of vague obscurity in which geographers were wont to depict the Arctic regions. He essayed to journalise his experiences on the road ; but he lost patience in recording the little incidents which composed them. He endeavoured to take counsel with himself about liis future ; but he lost heart in the inquir}^, as he bethought him how little direction he had ever given hitherto to his life, and how completely he had been the sport of accident. He was vexed and angry with himself. It was the first time he had been called upon to act by his own guidance for months back, and he had made innumerable mistakes in the attempt. Had Quack- inboss been with him, he well knew all these blunders had been avoided. This reflection pained him, just as it has pained many a gifted and accomplished man to think that life and the world are often more diflBcult than book-learning. He was too much out of temper witli the town to interest himself in what went on beneath his windows, and only longed for night, that he might leave it, never to return. At last the day began to wane, the shadows fell longer across the empty street, some cawing rooks swept over the tree tops to their homes in the tall pines, and an occa- sional \vaggon rolled heavily by, with field implements in it — signs all that the liours of labour had drawn to a close. " I shall soon be oft','' muttered he ; " soon hastening away from a spot whose memory will be a nightmare to me." In the grey half-light he sat, thinking that thought which has found its way into so many hearts. What mean- ing have those little episodes of loneliness ? What are the lessons tliey are meant to teach ? Are they intended to attach us more closely to those we love, by showing how wearily life drags on in absence from them ? or are they meant as seasons of repoaCj in which we may gain strength for fresh eftbrts ? ONE OF THEM. 345 Mr. Heron broke iu upon tliese musings. He came to say that crowds were hurrying to the lecture-room, and in a few minutes more Layton might steal away, and reaching the outskirts ot" the town, gain the waggon that was to convey him to Lebanon. " You'll not forget this place, I reckon," said he, as he assisted Layton to close and fasten up his carpet-bag. " You'll be proud, one of these days, to say, ' I was there some five-aud-twenty, or maybe thirty, years back. There was only one what you'd call a first- rate hotel in the town ; it was kept by a certain Dan Heron, the man that made Bunkumville, who built Briggs-block and tlie Appolonicon. I knew liini.' Yes, Sir, I think I hear you a sayin' it." " I half suspect you are mistaken, my friend," said Layton, peevishly. " I live iu the hope never to hear the name of this place again, as assuredly I am determined never to speak of it." " "Well, you Britishers can't help envy, that's a fact," said Heron, with a sigh that showed how deeply he felt this unhappy infirmity. " Take a glass of something to warm you, and let's be moviu'. I'll see you safe through the town." Layton thankfully accepted his guidance, and each taking a share of the luggage, they set forth into the street. Night was now fast fall- ing, and they could move along without any danger of detection ; but, besides this, there were few abroad, the unaccustomed attraction of the lecture-room having drawn nearly all iu that direction. Little heeding the remarks by which Heron beguiled the way, Layton moved on, only occupied with the thought of how soon he would be miles away from this unloved spot, when his companion suddenly arrested his attention by grasping his arm, as he said, " Thei-e ; did you hear that ?" " Hear what ?" asked Layton, impatiently. " The cheerin', the shoutin' ! That's for old Poll. It's the joy of our folk to see the old boy once more about. It would be well for some of our public men if they were half as popular in their own states as he is with the people down here. There it is again !" Layton was not exactly in the fit humour to sympathise with thia success, and neither the lecturer nor his audience engaged any large share of his good will ; he, therefore, merely muttered an impatient wish to get along, while he quickened his own pace in example. " Well, I never heerd greater applause than that. They're at it again !" A wild burst of uproarious enthusiasm at the same moment burst forth and filled the air. " There ain't uo mockery there, stranger," aaid Heron ; " that ain't 3iG ONE OF THEM. like the cbeer the slaves in the Old World greet their kings with, while the police stands by to make a note of the men as hasn't yelled loud enough." Tliis taunt was wrung from him by the insufferable apatliy of Layton's manner ; but even the bitterness of the sneer failed to excite retort. " Is this our shortest road ?" was all the reply he made. " No ; this will save us something," said Heron, with the quickness of one inspired by a sudden thought ; and at the same instant he turned into a narrow' street on his left. They walked briskly along for a few minutes without speaking, when, suddenly turning the angle of the way, they found themselves directly in front of the Assembly-room, from whose three great doors the light streamed boldly out across the great square before it. The place seemed densely thronged, and even on tlie pillars outside persons were grouped, anxious at this cheap expedient to participate in the pleasure of the lecture. By this time all was hushed and quiet, and it was evident by the rapt attention of the audience that all were eagerly bent on listening to the words of the speaker. " Why have we come this way ?" asked Layton, peevishly. " Jest that you might see that sight yonder, Sir," said Heron, calmly ; " that you might carry away with you the recollection of a •set of hard-worked, horny-handed men, labourin' like Turks for a livin', and yet ready and wnllin' to give out of their hard earnins to isten to one able to instruct or improve 'em. That's why you come this way, stranger. Ain't the reason a good one ?" Layton did not reply, but stood watching with deep interest the scene of silent, rapt attention in the crowded room, from which now not the slightest sound proceeded. Drawn by an attraction he could not explain, he slowly mounted the steps and gained a place near tlie door, but from which he was unable to catch sight of the lecturer. He was speaking ; but, partly from the distance, and in part from the low tones of his voice, Layton could not hear his words. Eager to learn by what sort of appeal an audience like this could bo addressed — curious to mark the tone by whicli success was achieved • — he puslied vigorously onward till he reached one of the columns that supported the roof of the hall, and which, acting as a conductor, con- veyed every syllable to his ears. The lecturer's voice, artificially raised to reach the limits of the room, was yet full, strong, and sonorous, and it was managed with all the skill of a practised speaker. He had opened his address by mentioning the circumstances which had then brouglit him before them. He explained that but from an adverse incident — a passing indisposition — they were on that night to have ONE or THEM. 347 heard oue of those accomplished speakers who had won fame atid honovir in the old country. There was a reserve and delicacy in the mention of (he circumstances by which he became the substitute for this person that struck Layton forcibly ; he was neither prepared for tlie sentiment nor the style of the orator; but, besides, there w\'xs in the utterance of certain words, and in an occasional cadence, some- thing that made his heart beat quicker, and sent a strange thrill through him. Tlie explanation over, there was a pause — a pause of silence so perfect, that as the speaker laid down the glass of water he had been drinking, the sound was heard throughout the room. He now began, his voice low, his words measured, his manner subdued. Layton could not follow him throughout, but only catch enough to perceive that he was giving a short sketch of the relative conditions of England and Ii'eland antecedent to the Union. He pictured the one, gi-eat, rich, powerful, and intolerant, with all the conscious pride of its own strength, and the immeasurable contempt for whatever differed from it ; the other, bold, daring, and detiant, not at all unaware of its inability to cope with its more powerful neighbour in mere force, but reposing an unbounded trust in its superior quickness, its readiness of resource, its fertility of invention. He dwelt considerably on those Celtic traits, by which he claimed for Irishmen a superiority in all those casualties of life whicli demand promptitude and ready wittedness. " The gentleman, who was to have occupied this chair to-night," said he, raising his voice, so as to be heard throughout the room, would, I doubt not, have given you a very different portrait, and de- livered a very different judgment. Tou would, at this moment, have been listening to a description of that great old country we are all so proud of, endeavouring, with all the wise prudence of a careful mother, to train up a wayward and capricious child in the paths of virtue and obedience. But you will bear more patiently with me ; you will lend me a more favourable hearing, and a Idndlier sympathy, for America, too, was a runaway daughter, and though it was only a Gretna Green match yon first made with Freedom, you have lived to see the marriage solemnised in all form, and acknowledged by the whole Avorld." When the cheer which greeted these words had subsided, he went on to glance at what might possibly have been the theme of the other lecturer: " I am told," said he — " for I never saw him — that he was a young, a very young man. JJut to speak of the scenes to which I am coming, it is not enough to have read, studied, and 348 ONE OF TIIEM. reflected. A man should have done more ; he ought to have seen, heard, and acted. These confessions are boiiglit dearly, for it is at the price of old age I can make them ; but is it not worth old age to have heard Burke in all the majestic grandeur of his great powers — to have listened to the scathing whirlwind of Grattan's passion — to have sat beneath the gallery when Flood denounced him, and that terrible duel of intellect took place, far more moving than the pistol encounter that followed it? Ay, I knew them all! I have jested with Parsons, laughed with Toler, laughed and wept both, with poor Curran. Tou may find it diflBcult to believe that he who now ad- dresses you should ever have moved in the class to which such men pertained. You here, whose course of life, sustained by untiring toil, and animated by a spirit of resolute courage, moves ever upward, who are better to-day than yesterday, and will to-morrow be farther on the road than to-day, who labour the soil of which your grand- children will be the proud possessors, may have some difficulty in tracing a career of continued descent, and will be slow to imagine how a man could fall from a station of respectability and regard, and be — such as I am !" Just as the speaker had uttered these words, a cry, so wild and piercing as to thrill through every heart, resounded through the building; the great mass of men seemed to heave and swell like the sea in a storm. It was one of those marvellous mo- ments in which human emotions seem whispered from breast to breast, and men are moved by a strange flood of sympathy ; and now the crowd opened, like a cleft wave, to give passage to a young man, who, with a strength that seemed supernatural, forced hia way to tho front. There was that in his wild, excited look, that almost bespoke insanity, while he struggled to effect his passage. Astonished by the scene of commotion in front of him, and unable to divine its cause, the lecturer haughtily asked, " "Who comes here to disturb the order of this meeting ?" The answer was as quickly rendered, as, springing over the rail that fenced the stage, Alfred cried out, " My father ! my father !" and throwing his arms around him, pressed him to his heart. As for the old man, he stood stunned and speechless for a moment, and then burst into tears. f^^ryj^jj/j ,-'^ ONE OF THEM. 349 CHAPTER XLV. OF BYGONES. Were we at the outset, instead of the close of our journey, we could not help dwelling on the scene the lecture-room presented aa the discovery became whispered throughout the crowd. Our goal is, however, now almost in sight, and we must not tarry. "We will but record one thought, as we say that they who are accustomed to asso- ciate the idea of fine sympathies with fine clothes and elegance of manner, would have been astonished at the instinctive delicacy and good breeding of that dense mass of men. Many were disappointed at the abrupt conclusion of a great enjoyment, nearly all were moved by intense curiosity to know the history of those so strangely brought together again, and yet not one murmured a complaint, not one obtruded a question ; but with a few words of kindly greeting, a good wish, or a blessing, they stole quietly away and left the spot. Seated side by side in a room of the inn, old Layton and his son remained till nigh daybreak. How much had they to ask and answer of each other. Amidst the flood of questions poured forth, anything like narrative made but sorry progress ; but at length Alfred came to hear how his father had been duped by a pretended friend, cheated out of his discovery, robbed of his hard-won success, and then de- nounced as an impostor. " This made me violent, and then they called me mad. A little more of such persecution and their words miglit have come true. " I scarcely yet know to what I am indebted for my liberation. I was a patient in Swift's Hospital, when one day came the Viceroy to visit it, and with him came a man I had met before in society, but not over amicably, nor with such memories as could gratify. ' AVho is this ?' cried he, as he saw me at work in the garden, ' I think I re- member his face.' The keeper whispered something, and he replied, ' Ah ! indeed !' while he drew near where I was digging. ' AYliat do you grow here ?' asked he of me, in a half-careless tone. ' Madder,' shouted I, with a yell that made him start ; and then, recovering him- self, he hastened off to report the answer to the Viceroy. " They both came soon after to where I was. The Vicerov, with that incaution wliich makes some people talk before the insane as thougli they were deaf, said, in my hearing, ' And so you tell me he 350 ONE OT THEM. ■was once a Fellow of Trinity ?' ' Yea, my Lord,' said I, assuming the reply, ' a Kegius Professor and a Medallist, now a Madman and a Pauper. Tlie converse is the gentleman at your side. He began as a fool, and has ended as a Poor Law Commissioner !' They both turned away, but I cried out, ' Mr. Ogdeu, one word with you before you go.' He came back. ' I have beeji placed here,' said I, ' at the instance of a man who has robbed me. I am not mad, but I am friendless. The name of my persecutor is Holmes. He writes him- self Captain Nicholas Holmes ' " He would not hear another word, but hurried a^w^ay without answering me. I know no more, than that I was released ten days after — ^that I was turned out into the str^eets to starve or rob. My first tliought was to find out this man Holmes. To meet and charge him with his conduct towards me, in some public place, would have been a high vengeance ; but I sought him for weeks in vain, and at last learned he had gone abroad. " How I lived all that time I cannot tell you ; it is all to me now like a long and terrible dream. I was constantly in the hands of the police, and rarely a day passed that I had not some angry altercation with the authorities. It was in one of these one morning, when half- stupified with cold and want, I refused to nnswer further. The magistrate asked: 'Has he any friends? Is there no one who takes any interest in him ?' The constable answered, ' None, your worship ; and it is all the better, he would only heap disgrace on them !' " It was then, for the first moment of my life, the full measure of all I had become stood plainly before me. In those few words lay the sentence passed upon my character. From that hour forth I deter- mined never to utter my name again. I kept this pledge fiiithfully, nor was it difficult ; few questioned, none cared for me. I lived — if that be the word for it — in various ways. I compounded drugs for cheinista, corrected the press for printers, hawked tracts, made auction catalogues, and at last turned pyroteclmi.^t to a kind of Vauxhal!, all the while writing letters home with small remittances to yovn- mother, who had died when I was in the madhouse. In a brief interval of leisure I went down to the north, to learn what I might of her last moments, and to see where they had laid her. Tliere was a clej'gy- jnau there wlio had been kind and hospitable towards me in better days, and it was to his house I repaired." He paused, and for some minutes was silent. At length he said: " It is strange, but there are certain passages in my life, not very remarkable in themselves, that remain distinct and marked out, just ONE OF TIIEM. '351 as one sees certain portions of landscape by the glare of lightning flashes in a thunderstorm, and never forgets them after. Such was my meeting with this IMr. Mills. He was distributing bread to the poor, M ith the assistance of his clerk, on the morning that 1 came to his door. The act, charitable and good in itself, he endeavoured to render more profitable by some timely words of caution and advice ; he counselled gratitude towards those who bestowed these bounties, and thrift in their use. Like all men who have never known want themselves, he denied that it ever came save through improvidence. He seemed to like the theme, and dwelt on it w^ith pleasure, the more as the poor sycophants who received his alms eagerly echoed back concurrence in all that he spoke disparagingly of themselves. I waited eagerly till he came to a pause, and then I spoke. " ' Now,' said I, ' let us reverse this medal, and read it on the other side. Though as poor and wretched as any of those about, I have not partaken of your bounty, and I have the right to tell you that your words are untrue, your teaching unsound, and your theory a false- hood. To men like us, houseless, homeless, and friendless, you may as well preach good breeding and decorous manners, as talk of pro- vidence and thrift. Want is a disease ; it attacks the poor, w^hose constitutions are exposed to it, and to lecture us against its inroads is like cautioning us against cold, by saying, ' Take care to wear strong boots — mind that you take your great-coat — be sure that you do not expose yourself to the night air.' You would be shocked, would you not, to address such sarcastic counsels to such poor, barefoot, ragged creatures as we are ? And yet you are not shocked by enjoining things fifty times more absurd, five hundred times more difficult. Thrift is the inhabitant of warm homesteads, where the abundant meal is spread upon the board and the fire blazes on the hearth. It never lives in the hovel, where the snow-drift lodges in the chimney, and the rain beats upon the bed of straw !' " ' Who is this fellow ?' cried the Eector, outraged at being thus replied to. ' Where did he come from ?' " ' From a life of struggle and hardship,' said I, ' that if you had been exposed to and confronted with, you had died of starvation, despite all your wise saws on thrift and providence.' " ' Gracious mercy !' muttered he, ' can this be ?' and then ho stopped ; and beckoning me to follow him into an inner room, he re- tired. " ' Do I speak to Dr. Layton ?' asked he, curtly, when we were alone. " ' I was that man,' said I. ' I am nothing now.' 352 OKE OF THEM. " ' By what unhappy causes have you coiue to this ?' " ' The hick of that same thrift you were so eloquent about perhaps. I was cue of those who could write, speak, invent, and discover ; but I was never admitted a brother of tlie guild of those who save. The world, however, has always its compensations, and I met thrifty men. Some of them stole my writings, and some filched my discoveries. They have prospered, and live to illustrate your pleasant theory ; but I have not come here to make my confessions. I would learn of you certain things about what was once my home.' " He was most kind — he would have been more than kind to me had I let liim ; but I would accept of nothing. I did not even break bread under his roof, though I had fasted for a day and a half. He had a few objects left with him to give me, which I took — the old pocket- book one of them — and then I went away." The old man's narrative was henceforth one long series of struggles with fortune. He concealed none of those faults by which he had so often wrecked his better life. Hating and despising the com- panionship to which his reduced condition had brouglit him, he pro- fessed to believe there was less degradation in drunkenness than in such association. Through all he said, iu fact, there was the old defiant spirit of early days, a scornful rejection of all assistance, and even in failure and misery, a self-reliance that seemed invincible. He had come to A-merica by the invitation of a theatrical manager, who had failed, leaving him in the direst necessity and want. The dawn of day found him still telling of his wayward life, its sorrows, its struggles, and defeats. ONE OF THEM. 353 CHAPTER XLVI. THE doctor's narrative. Old Layton never questioned his son whitlier tliey were going, or for what, till the third day of their journeying together. Such, in- deed, was the preoccupation of his mind, that he travelled aloug un- mindful of new places and new people, all his thoughts deeply engaged by one single theme. Brief as this interval was, what a change had it worked in his appearance ! Instead of the wild and haggard look his features used to wear, their expression was calm, somewhat stern, perhaps, and such as might have reminded one who had seen him in youth of the Herbert Layton of his college days. He had grown more silent, too, and there was in his manner the same trait ot haughty reserve which once distinguished him. His habits of intem- perance were abandoned at once, and without the slightest reference to motive or intention he gave his son to see that he had entered on a new coiarse in life. " Have you told me where we are going, Alfred, and have I for- gotten it ?" said he, on the third day of the journey. " No, father; so many other things occurred to us to talk over that I never thought of this. It is time, however, I should tell you. We are going to meet one who would rather make your acquaintance than be the guest of a king." The old man smiled with a sort of cold incredulity, and his son went on to recount how, in collecting the stray papers and journals of the " Doctor," as they styled him between them, this stranger liad come to conceive the greatest admiration for his bold energy of tem- perament and tlie superior range of his intellect. The egotism, so long dormant in that degraded nature, revived and warmed up as the youth spoke, and he listened with proud delight at the story of all the American's devotion to him. " He is a man of science, then, Alfred ?" "Nothing of the kind." " He is, at least, one of those quick-minded fellows who in this stirring country adapt to their purpose discoveries they have had no share in making ; is he not ?" " Scarcely even that. He is a man of ordinary facultief?, many 2 A 354 ONE OF THEM. prejudices, but of a manly honesty of heart I have never seen sur- passed." " Then he is poor," said the old man, sarcastically. " I know little of his circumstances, but I believe they are ample." " Take my word for it, boy, they are not," said the other, with a bitter smile. " Fortune is a thrifty goddess, and where she bestows a generous nature she takes care it shall have nothing to give away." '• I trust your precept will not apply to this case, at all events. I have been his peusiouer for nigh a year back : I am so still. I had hoped, indeed, by this project of lecturing " " Nay, nay, boy, no success could come of that. Had you been a great name in your own country, and come here heralded by honours won already, tliey would have given you a fair hearing and a generous Recompense, but they will not take as money the unstamped metal ; tliey will not stoop to accept what the old country sends forth without acknowledgment, as good enough for them. Believe me, this race is prouder tlian our own, and it is not by unworthy sneers at them that we shall make tliem less vainglorious." " I scarcely know them, but for the sake of that one man I owe them a deep affection," said Alfred, warmly. " I have a sclieme for you," said the old man, after a pause ; " but we will talk of it later on. For the present, I want you to aid me in a plan of my own. Ever since I have been in this country I have en- deavoured to find out a person whose name aloue was known to me, and with whom I gave a solemn promise to communicate — a death- bed promise it was, and given under no common circumstances. The facts were these : " I was ouce upon a time, when practising as a physician at Jersey, sent for to attend a patient taken suddenly and dangerously ill. The case was a most embarrassing one. Tliere were symptoms so incongruous as to reject the notion of any ordinary disease, and such as might well suggest the suspicion of poisoning, and yet so skilfully and even patiently had the scheme been matured, the detection of the poison during life was very difficult. My eagerness in the inquiry was mistaken by the patient for a feeling of personal kindness towards himself — an error very familiar to all medical men in practice. He saw in my unremitting attention and hourly watching by his bedside tiie devotion of one like an old friend, and not the scientific ardour of a student. " It is just possible that his gratitude was the greater, that the man was one little likely to conciliate good feeling or draw any sympathy ONE OP THEM. 355 towards him. He was a hard, cohl, selfish fellow, whose life liad been passed amongst the worst classes of play men, and who rejected utterly all thought of truth or confidence in his old associates. I mention this to show how, in a very few days, the accident of my situation established between us a freedom and a frankness that savoured of long acquaintance. "In his conversations with me he confessed that his wife had been divorced from a former husbaud, and, from circumstances known to him, he believed she desired his death. He told me of the men to whom in particular his suspicious attached, and the reasons of the suspicions. That these men would be irretrievably ruiued if his speculations on the turf w-ere to succeed, and that there was not one of them would not peril his life to get sight of his book on the coming Derby. I was curious to ascertain why he should have surrounded himself with men so obviously his enemies, and he owned it was an act prompted by a sort of dogged courage, to show them that he did not fear them. Nor was this the only motive, as he let out by an inadvertence : he cherished the hope of detecting an intrigiie between one of his guests and his wife, as the means of liberating himself from a tie long distasteful to him. " One of the party had associated himself with him in this project, and promised him all his assistance. Here was a web of guilt and treachery, entangled enough to engage a deep interest! For the man himself, I cared nothing ; there was in his nature that element of low selfishness that is fatal to all sense of sympathy. His thoughts and speculations ranged only over suspicions and distrusts, and the only hopes he ever expressed were for the punishment of his enemies. Scarcely, indeed, did a visit pass in which he did not compel me to repeat a solemn oath that the mode of his death should be explored, and his poisoners — if there were such — be brought to trial. As he drew nigh his last his sufferings gave little intervals of rest, and his mind occasionally wandered. Even in his ravings, however, revenge never left him, and he would break out into wild rhapsodies in imita- tion of the details of justice, calling on the prisoners, and by name, to say whether they would plead guilty or not? asking them to stand forward, and then reciting with hurried impetuosity the terms of an indictment for murder. To these there would succeed a brief space of calm reason, in which he told me that his daughter — a child by a former wife — was amply provided for, and that her fortune was so far out of the reach of his enemies that it lay in America, where her uncle, her guardian, resided. He gave me his name and address, and in ray pocket-book — this old and much-used pocket-book that you see— he 2 A 2 . 356 ONE OF TKEM. wrote a few tremulous lines, accrediting me to this gentleman as the one sole friend beside him in his last struggles. As he closed the book, he said, ' As you hope to die iu peace, swear to me not to neg- lect this, nor leave ray poor child a beggar.' And I swore it. " His death took place that niglit ; the inquest followed on the day after. My suspicions were correct ; he had died of corrosive subli- mate ; the quantity would have killed a dozen men. There was a trial and a conviction. One of them I know was executed, and, if I remember aright, sentence of transportation passed on another. The woman, however, was not implicated, and her reputed lover escaped. My evidence was so conclusive, and so fatal, that the prisoners' counsel had no other resource than to damage my credit by assailing my character, and in his cross-examination of me he drew forth such details of my former life, and the vicissitudes of my existence, that I left the witness-table a ruined man. It was not a very difficult task to represent a life of poverty as one of ignominy and shame. The next day my acquaintances passed witliout recognising me, and from that hour forth none ever consulted me. In my indignation at this in- justice I connected all who could have in any way contributed to my misfortune, and this poor orphan child amongst the rest. Had I never been engaged in that ill-starred case my prospects in life had been reasonably fair and hopeful. I was in sufficient practice, in- creasing in repute, and likely to succeed, when this calamitous affair crossed me. " Patience under unmerited suffering was never amongst my virtues, and in various ways I assailed those who had attacked me. I ridi- culed the lawyer who had conducted the defence, sneered at his law, exposed his ignorance of chemistry, and, carried away by that fatal ardour of acrimony I never knew how to restrain, I more than sug- gested that, when he appealed to Heaven in the assertion of his client's innocence, he held in his possession a written confession of his guilt. For this an action for libel was brought against me ; the damages were assessed at five hundred pounds, and I spent four years in a gaol to acquit the debt. Judge, then, witli what memories I ever referred to that event of my life. It was, perhaps, the one solitary incideut in which I had resisted a strong temptation. I was offered a large bribe to fail in my analysis, and yet it cost me all the pro- sperity it had taken years of labour to accomplish ! " Imprisonment had not cooled my passion: the first thing which I did, when free, was to dramatise the trial for one of those low pot- liou!-es where Judge and Jury scenes are represented, and so accu- rately did I caricature my enemy, the counsel, that he was actually ONE OF THEM. 357 lauglied out ot court and ruiued. If I could liave traced tlic other actors iu the terrible incident, I would have pursued tiieiu witli like rancour ; but I could not ; they had left Eugland, and gone, Heaven know3 where or Iiow ! As to the orphan girl, whose interest I had sworn to watch over, any care for her now would only have insulted my own misery ; my rage was blind and undiscrimiiiating, and I would not be guided by reason. It was, therefore, iu a spirit of un- reflecting vengeance that I never took any steps regarding her, but preserved, even to this hour, a letter to her guardian — it is there, in that pocket-book — which might perhaps have vindicated her right to wealth and fortune. ' No,' thought I, ' they have been my ruin ; I will not be the benefactor of one of them !' " I kept my word: and even when my own personal distresses were greatest, I would not have raised myself out of want at the price of relinquishing that revenge. I have lived to think and feel more wisely," said he, after a pause—" I have lived to learn the great lesson that every mishap of my life was of my own procuring, and that self- indulgeuce and a vindictive spirit are enough to counterbalance ten- fold more than all the abilities I ever possessed. The world will no more confide its interests to men like me than they will take a tiger for a house-dog. I want to make some reparation for this wrono-, Alfred. I want to seek out this person I have spoken of, and, if tin's girl still live, to place her iu possession of her own. You will help me in this, will you not ?" It was not without a burning impatience that young Layton liad listened to his fatlier's narrative ; he was eager to tell him that his friend the Colonel had already addressed himself to the enterprise, all his interest being engaged by the journals and letters he had col- lected when in Ireland. Alfred now, in a few hurried words, related all this, and told how, at that very hour, Quackinboss was eagerlv prosecuting the inquiry. " He has gone down to Norfolk in search of this Wiuthrop," said he. " He will not find him there," said old Layton. " He left Norfolk, for the far west, two years back. He settled at Chicago, but he has not remained there. So much I have learned, and it is all that is known about him." " Let us go to Chicago, then," said Alfred. " It is what I would advise. He is a man of suflScient note and mark to be easily traced. It is a well-known name, and belongs to a family much looked up to. These are my credentials, if I should ever chance to come up with him." As he spoke, he unclasped a very old and much- worn leather pocket-book, searchiug through whose 3C8 ONE OF THEM. pages lie at last found \Aliat he sought for. It was a leaf, scrawled over iu a tieinbling mauuer, aud ran thus : " Consult the bearer of this, Dr. Layton, about Clara ; he is my only friend at this dreadful hour, and he is to be trusted in all things. Watch well that they who have murdered me do not rob her. He will tell you " It concluded thus abruptly, but was signed firmly, " Godfrey Hawke, Nest, Jersey," with the date ; and underneath, " To Harvey Win- throp, Norfolk, U.S." " This would be a meagre letter of credit, Alfred, to most men ; but I have heard much of this same "Winthrop ; all represent him as a fine-hearted, generous fellow, who has done already much to trace out his niece, and restore to her what she owns. If we succeed iu discovering hiiu, I mean to ofier my services to search out the girl. I saw, a short time before I left England, one of the men who were implicated in the murder. I knew him at once. The threat of reviving the old story of shame will soon place him in my power, if I can but find him ; and through Jiim I am confident we shall trace //er." To understand the ardour with which the old man entered upon this inquiry, one must have known the natures of those men to whom the interest of such a search has all the captivation of a game. It was, to his thinking, like some case of subtle analysis, in which the existence of a certain ingredient was to be tested ; it was a problem, requiring all his acuteness to solve, and he addressed himself to the task with eiaergy and zeal. The young man was not slow to associate himself in the enterprise, and, in his desire for success, there mingled generous thoughts and more kindly sympathies, which assuredly did not detract from the interest of the pursuit. The theme engrossed all their tlioughts ; they discussed it in every fashion, speculated on it in every shape, pictured to themselves almost every incident and every stage of the inquiry, imagining the various obstacles that might arise, and planning how to overcome them. Tiius journeying they arrived at Chicago, but only to learn that Winthrop had left that city, and was now established farther to the westward, at a place called Gallina. Without halting or delay they started for Gallina. The road was a new and a bad one, the horses indifi'erent, and the stages unusually long. It was on the fourth evening of the journey that they arrived at a small log-house on the skirt of a pine wood, at which they were given to expect fresh horses. They were disappointed, however, for the horses had already been sent to bring up two travellers from Gallina, and who had taken the precaution of securing a rapid transit. ONE OF THEM. 359 " We are here, then, for the night," said old Layton, with a faint sigh, as he endeavoured to resign himself to the delay. " Here they come !" said the host of the log-hut, as the rattle of a heavy waggon was heard from the dense wood. " Our Sheriff don't let the moss grow under his feet. Listen to the pace he's coming." Seated with his son heside him on the wooden bench before the door, the old man watched the arrival of the new comers. The first to descend from the waggon was a man somewhat advanced iu life, but hale and stout, with a well-bronzed face, and every semblance of a vigorous health. He saluted the host cordially, and was received with a sort of deference only accorded to men of official station. He was followed by a younger man, but who displayed as he moved evi- dent signs of being fatigued by the journey. *' Come, Seth," said the elder, "let us see what you have got for our supper, for we must be a moving briskly." "Well, Sheriff, there ain't mucli," said the host; "and what there is you'll have to share with the two gentlemen yonder ; they've just come east, and are waitin' for you to get a moroel to eat." " Always glad to chance on good company," said the Sheriff, saluting the strangers as he spoke ; and while they were interchanging their greetings, the host laid the table, and made preparation for tlie meal. " I must look after my fellow-traveller," said the Sheriff, " he seems so tired and jaded. I half fear he will be unable to go on to- night." He speedily returned with good tidings of his friend, and soon afterwards the party took their places at the supper-table. Tlie Sheriff, like his countrymen generally, was frank and out- spoken; he talked freely of the new-settled country, its advantages, and its difficulties, and at last, as the night closed iu, he made an- other visit to his friend. "All right, Seth," said he, as he came back; "we shall be able to push on. Let them * hitch' the nags as soon as may be, for we've a long journey before us." " Tou're for the Lakes, T reckon ?" said Seth, inquiringly. " Farther than that." " Up to Saratoga and the Springs, maybe ?" " Farther still." " Well, you ain't a goin' to New York at this time of year, Sheriff?" " That am I, and farther still, Seth ; I'm going to the old country, where I haven't been for more than thirty years, and where I never thought to go again." 360 ONE or THEM. " You migbt visit worse lands, Sir," said old Laytou, half reseut- fully. " Toil mistook my meaning, stranger," said the other, " if you thought my words reflected on England. There is only one land I love better." The honest speech reconciled them at once, and with a hearty sbaiie-hands and a kindly-wished good journey, they separated. " Did you remark that man who accompanied the Sheriflf?" said Layton to his son, as they stood at the door watching the waggon while it drove away. " Not particularly," said Alfred. " Well, I did my best to catch sight of him, but I could not. It struck me that he was less an invalid than one who wanted to escape observation ; be wore his hat slouched over his eyes, acd covered his mouth with his hand when he spoke." Tlie young man only smiled at what he deemed a mere caprice of suspicion, and the subject dropped between them. After a while, however, the father said : " What our host has just told me strengthens my impression. The supposed sick man ate a hearty supper, and drank two glasses of stiff brandy-and- water." " And if he did, can it concern us, father ?" said Alfred, smiling. " Tes, boy, if we were the cause of the sudden indisposition. He was tired, perhaps, when he arrived, but I saw no signs of more than fatigue in his movements, and I observed that at the first glance towards us, he hurried into the inner room and never reappeared till he left. I'm not by any means certain that the fellow had not his reasons for avoiding us." Rather treating this as the fancy of one whose mind had been long the prey of harassing distrusts than as founded on calmer reason, Alfred made no answer, and they separated for the niglit witliout recurring to the subject. It was late on the following day they reached Gallina. The first question was, if Harvey Winthrop lived thei'e? "Tes; he is our yiu'rifF," was th eanswer. They both started, and exchanged looks of strange meaning. " And he left this yesterday ?" asked old Layton. " Tea, Sir. An Englishman came two days back with some startling news for him — some say of a great fortune left him some- where — and he's off to England to make out his claim." Okl Layton and his son stood speechless and disconcerted. Tlieso were the two travellers who had passed them at the log-hut, auJ thus ONE or THEM. 361 had they spent some hours, without kuowiug it, iii the compauy of him they had beeu travelliug hundreds of miles to discover. " And his friend knew us, and avoided us, Alfred," said old Layton. " Mark that fact, boy, and observe that, where there is ground for fear in one heart, there is reason for hope in some other. We must follow them at once." CHAPTEE XLVII. A HAPPY ACCIDENT. Having written a hurried letter to Quackinboss acquainting him with the causes which should prevent him from keeping his rendezvous at St. Louis, and informing him how he had met with his father, he briefly mentioned tliat they were about to return to New Tork with all speed, in the hope of coming up with Winthrop before he sailed for England. "Come what may," he added, "we shall await you there. We long to meet you, and add your counsels to our own." This letter he addressed to St. Louis, and posted at once. It was ten days after this they reached New Tork. Their journey had been delayed by a series of accidents — a railroad smash at De- troit amongst the number ; and when they arrived at the capital, it was to learn that the Asia had sailed that very morning for Liver- pool, and at the agent's office they found that Mr. Harvey Winthrop was a passenger, and with him a certain Mr. Jacob Trover. "Trover !" repeated Alfred ; "he came out in the same ship with us, and it was in his company Quackinboss went down to the South, fully convinced that the man was the agent in some secret transac- tion." As he stood looking at the name on the agent's list with that un- reasoning steadfastness that in a difficulty often attaches us to the incident which has first awakened us to a sense of embarrassment, he heard a well-remembered voice behind him exclaim, " What ! sailed this mornin' ? well, darn me considerable, if that ain't takin' the ropes of us!" He turned, and it was Quackinboss. After the heartiest of greetings on both sides, Alfred presented his father to his friend. "Well, Sir," said the Colonel, impressively, "there ain't that man livin' I want to shake the hand of as I do yours. I know you. Sir, better, mayhap, than that youth beside you. I have studied your 362 ONE OF THEM. character in your writiu'e, and I'm here to say there ain't your supe- rior, if there be your equal, in your country or mine." " This opinion will make our intimacy very difficult," said the old man, smiling. " I can scarcely hope to keep up the delusion, even for twenty-four hours." " Yes, Sir, you can," replied the Colonel ; "jest talk the way' you write." " You have seen this, I suppose ?" said Alfred, pointing to the list of the lately departed passengers, and desirous of engaging his friend in another theme. " Yes, and gone with Winthrop, too," said the Colonel. " You wouldn't believe how he doubled on me, that man Trover. I thought I had him, too. We were a travellin' together as thick as tbieves, a tellin' each other all our bygones in life and our plans for the future, and, at last, as good as agreed we'd go partners in a mill that was for sale, about three miles from Carthage. But he wanted to see the water-power himself, and so we left the high road and set out to visit it. At our arrival, as he was gettin' out of the waggon, he sprained his ankle, and had to be helped into the house. " * I am afraid,' said he, ' there's more mischief than a sprain here ; have you any skill as a surgeon ?' " ' Well,' said I, ' I ain't so bad about a fracture or dislocasliin, and, what's better, I've got a note-book witii me full of all manner of receipts for washes and the like.' It was your journal. Doctor Lay ton, that I spoke of. It was, as you may remember, filled with hints about useful herbs and odd roots, and so on, and there was all about that case of a man called Hawke as was poisoned at Jersey — a won- derful trial that had a great hold upon me, as your son will tell you another time — but I didu't think of that at the moment ; but turniu' to the part about sprains, I began to read him what you said : * " You must generally leech at first," says he,' I began ; ' " particularly where there is great pain with swelliu'." ' " ' Ah ! I thought so,' sighed he ; ' only how are we to get leeches in a place like this, and who ia to apply them ?' " ' I'll engage to do both within half an hour,' said I ; and I put on my hat and set out. *' Now, I warn't sorry, you see, for the accident. I thought to myself, Here's a crittur goin' to be laid up ten days or a fortnight ; I'll have all the care o' him, and it's strange if he won't let out some of his secrets between whiles. I'm curious to know what's a brought him out here ; he's not travellin' like one afraid of being pursued ; he goes about openly and fearlessly, but he's always on the sharp. ONE OF THEM. 363 like a fellow that had somethin' on his mind, if one could only come at it. If there's anythin' one can be sure of, it is that a man with a heavy conscience will try to relieve himself of the load ; he's like a fellow always changin' the ballast of his boat to make her sail lighter, or a crittur that w ill be a movin' his saddle, now on the withers, now on the croup, but it won't do, never a bit, when there's a sore back underneath. It was reflectin' over these things I fell iuto a sort of dreamy way, and didn't remember about the leeclies for some time. At last I got 'em, and hastened back to the inn. " ' There's a note for you. Sir, at the bar,' said the landlord. I took it, and read : " ' Dear Colonel, — Thinking a little fresh air might serve me, I have gone out for a short drive — Tours, till we meet again, " ' J. t: " Yes, Sir, he was off; and worse, too, had carried away with him that great book with all the writin' in, and that account of Hawke's poisoniu'. I started in pursuit as quick as they could get me a waggon hitched, but I suppose I took the wrong road. I went to Utica, and then turned north as far as Albany, but I lost him. Better, perhaps, that I did so ; I was riled considerable, and I ain't sure that 1 mightu't have done sometiiin' to be sorry for. Ain't it wonderful how ill one takes anythin' that reflects on one's skill and craftiness? just as if such qualities were great ones ; and I believe in my heart we are readier to resent what insults our supposed cleverness than what is an outrage on our honesty. Be that as it may, I never came up with him after, nor heard of him, till I read his name in that sheet." " His theft of that book, connected with his companionship with Winthrop, suggests strongly the thought that his business here is the same as our own," said the Doctor. "That's the way I reasoned it, too," said the Colonel. " It is not impossible, besides, that he had some suspicion of your own object in this journey. Did the name of Winthrop ever come up in conversation between you ?" " Tes. I was once describin' my brother's location down in Ohio — I did it a purpose to see if he would show any signs of interest about Peddar's Clearin's and Holt's Acre — and tlien I mentioned, as if by chance, one Harvey Winthrop. " ' Oh, there was a man of that name in Liverpool once,' said he, ' but he died about two years gone.' 364 ONE OF THEM. *' ' Did he ?' said I, lookiu' liini hard. " * Yes,' said he — ' of a quinsy.' " It was as good as a phxy the way we looked at each other arter tliis. It was jest a game of chess, aud I said, ' Move,' and he said, *It ain't me to move — it's your turn.' Aud there we was." " The fellow was shrewd, then ?" " Yes, Sir, arter his fashion." " "We must follow him, that's certain. They will reach Liverpool by the 10th or 12th. When can we sail from this?" " There's a packet sails on Wednesday next ; that's the earliest." " That must do, then. Let them be active as they may, tliey will scarcely have had time for much before we are up with tliem." " It's as good as a squirrel-hunt," said Quackinboss. " I'm darned if it don't set one's blood a bilin' out of sheer excitement. What do you reckon this chap's arter ?" " He has perhaps found out this girl, and got her to make over her claim to this property ; or she may have died, and he has put forward some oue to personate her; or it is not improbable he may have arranged some marriage with himself, or one of his friends, for her." " Then it ain't any thin' about tlie murder ?" asked the Colonel, half disappointedly. " Nothing wluitever ; that case was disposed of years ago. AVhat- ever guilt may attach to those who escaped, the law cannot recognise now. They were acquitted, and they are innocent." " That may be good law, Sir, but it's strange justice. If I owed you a thousand dollars, and was too poor to pay it, I'm thinkin' you'd have it out of me some fine day when I grew rich enough to discharge the debt." Layton shook his head in dissent at the supposed parallel. " Ain't we always a talkin' about the fallibility of our reason and the imperfection of our judgments ? And what business have we, then, to say, ' There, come what will to-morrow of evidence or proof, my mind is made up, aud I'm determined to know nothin' more than I know now ?' " " What say you to the other side of the question — that of tlie man against whom nothing is proven, but who, out of the mere obscurity tiiat involves a crime, must live and die a criminal, just because there is no saying what morning may not bring an accusation against him ? As a man who has had to struggle through a whole life against adverse suspicions, I protest against the doctrine of not proven ! The world is too prone to tliink the worst to make such a practice any- thing short of an insufferable tyranny." ONE OF THEM. 3G5 Witli a delicacy he was never deficient in, Quackinboss respected the personal application, and made no reply. " Calumny, too," continued the old man, whose passion was now roused, " is conducted on the division-of-labour principle. One man contributes so much, and another adds so jnuch more; some are clever in susjrestins the motive, some indicate the act ; others are satisfied with moralising over human frailties, and display their skill in showing that the crime was nothing exceptional, but a mere illustra- tion of the law of original sin. And all these people, be it borne in mind, are not the bad or the depraved, but rather persons of reputable lives, safe opinions, and even good intentions. Only imagine, then, w-liat the weapon becomes when wielded by the really wicked. I myself was hunted down by honourable men — gentlemen all of them, and of great attainments. Has lie told you my story ?" said he, pointing to his son. " Yes, Sir ; and I only say that it couldn't have happened in our country here." " To be sure it could," retorted the other, quickly ; " the only difference is, that you have made Lynch law an institution, and we practise it as a social accident." Thus chatting, they reached the hotel where they were to lodge till the packet sailed. The short interval before their departure passed ofi" agreeably to all. Quackinboss never wearied at hearing the Doctor talk, and led him on to speak of America, and what he had seen of the people, with an intense interest. " Could you live here, Sir ?" asked Quackinboss, at the close of one of these discussions. " It is my intention to live and die here," said the Doctor. " I go back to England now, that this boy may pay off a long load of vengeance for me. Ay, Alfred, you shall hear my long-cherished plan at once. I want you to become a fellow of that same University which drove me from its walls. They were not wrong, perhaps — at least, I \\\\\ not now dispute their right — but I mean to be more in the right than they were. My name shall stand upon their records associated with their proudest achievements, and Layton the scholar, Layton the discoverer, eclipse the memory of Layton the rebel." This was the dream of many a year of struggle, defeat, and depres- sion, and now that it was avowed, it seemed as though his heart were relieved of a great load of care. As for Alfred, the goal was one to stimulate all his energies, and he pledged himself fervently to do his utmost to attain it. 3GG ONE OF THEM. " And I must be with you the day you win," cried Quackinboss, with an enthusiasm so nnusual with him, that both Layton and his son turned their ghances towards liim, and saw that his eyes were glassy with tears. Ashamed of his emotion, he started suddenly up, saying, " I'll go and book our berths for Wednesday next." CHAPTEE XLVIII. AT ROME. Let ua now return to some of the actors in our drama, who for a while back have been playing out their parts behind the scenes. The Heathcote family, consisting of 8ir William and his ward May Leslie, Mrs. Morris and her late husband's friend Captain Holmes, were domesticated in a sumptuous residence near the " Pincian," but neither going out into the world nor themselves receiving visitors. Sir William's health, much broken and uncertain as it was, formed the excuse for this reclusion, but the real reason was the fact, speedily ascertained by the Captain, and as speedily conveyed to his daughter, that " Society" had already decided against them, and voted the English family at the Palazzo Balbi as disfranchised. Very curious and very subtle things are the passively understood decrees of those who in each city of Europe call themselves the " World." The delicate shades by whicli recognition is separated from exclusion, the line tints, perceptible only to the eyes of fashion, by which certain frailties are relieved from being classed with grave derelictions, the enduring efficacy of the way in which the smell of the roses will cling to the broken vase of virtue and rescue its fragments from dishonour, are all amongst the strangest and most curious secrets of our civilisation. Were it not for a certain uniformity in the observances, one might be disposed to stigmatise as capricious the severity occasionally dis- played here, while a merciful lenity was exhibited there ; but a closer examination will show that some fine discriminating sense is ever at work, capable of distinguishing between genteel vice and the wicked- ness that forgets conventionalities. As iu law, so in morals, no man need criminate himself, but he who does so by an inadvertence is lost. Now the Ileathcotes were rich, and yet lived secluded. The world wanted not another count in the indictment against them. A hun- ONE OF THEM. 3G7 dred stories were circulated about them. They had come to place the " girl" in a convent. Old Sir William had squandered away all her fortune, and the scheme now was to induce her to turn Catholic and take the veil. " The old fool" — the world is complimentary on these occasions — was going to marry that widow, whom he had picked up at Leamington, or Ems, or Baden-Baden. If the Captain had not kept the Hell in the Circus, he was the very double of the man who had it. At all events, it was better not to have him in the Club, and so the banker, who was to have proposed, withdrew him. It may be imagined that some very palpable and sufficient cause was at work to induce society thus to stand on the defensive towards these new comers. K'othing of the kind. All the evidence against them was shadowy ; ail the charges such as denied detail. They were an odd set ; they lived in a strange fashion ; they knew nobody ; and to accusations like these even spotless integrity must succumb. Dressed in a robe de chambre that would have made the fortune of a French Vaudeville actor, with a gold-tasseled fez, and slippers to match, the Captain sat, smoking a splendid meerschaum, in a well- cushioned chair, while his daughter was engaged at her embroidery, opposite to him. Though it was mid-winter the sun streamed in throush the orange-trees on the terrace, and made a rainbow of the spray that dashed from the marble fountain. The room itself com- bined all the sumptuous luxury we understand by the word " com- fort," with the graceful elegance of a Southern existence. There were flowers and fresh air, and the song of birds, to be enjoyed on the softest of sofas and the best carpeted of floors. A lar^e coblet of some amber-coloured drink, in which a rock of pure ice floated, stood at the Captain's elbow, and he sipped and puffed, with his head thrown well back, in an attitude that to smokers must have some Elysian ecstasy. Nor was his daughter the least orna- mental part of the situation. A morning dress of white muslin, tastefullv trimmed with sky-blue ribbons, and a rich fall of Brussels lace over her head, making a very charming picture of the graceful figure that now bent over the embroidery-frame. " I tell you it won't do, Loo," said he, removing his pipe, and speaking in a firm and almost authoritative voice. " I have been thinking a great deal over it, and you must positively get away from this." " I know that too," said she, calmly ; " and I could have managed it easily enough but for this promised visit of Charles. He comes tlirougli on his way to Malta, and Sir William would not hear of any- thing that risked the chance of seeing liim." 3G8 ONE OF THEM". ** I'd ratlier risk that than run the hazards we daily do in this place," said he, gravely. " You forget, papa, that he knows nothing of these hazards. He is eager to see his son, for what he naturally thinks may be the last time. I'm sure I did my best to prevent the meeting. I wrote to Lord Agincourt ; I wrote to Charles himselF. I represented all the peril tlie agitation might occasion his futlier, and how seriously the parting might affect a constitution so impressionable as his, but to no purpose ; he coldly replies, ' Nothing short of my father's refusal to see me shall prevent my coming to see him,' or ' embrace him,' or 1 forget the words, but the meaning is, that come he will, and that his arrival may be counted on before the end of the week." " AVhat stay will he make ?" " He speaks of three or four days at farthest. We can learn the limit easily enough by the time of the P. and 0. steamer's sailing. Ask for it at the banker's." " I don't call in there now," said he, peevishly. " Since they took down my nnme for the club-ballot, I have not gone to the bank." She sighed heavily ; there was more than one care on her heart, and that sigh gathered in a whole group of anxieties. " They have got up all sorts of stories about us ; and it is always out of these fiilse attacks of scandal comes the real assault that storms the citadel." She sighed again, but did not speak. " So long as Heathcote keeps the house, and sees nobody, all may go on well ; but let him be about again, able to ramble amongst the galleries and churches, he is certain to meet some amiable ac- quaintance, who will startle him with a few home truths. I tell you again, we are banqueting over a powder magazine ; and even as to the marriage itself, I don't like it. Are you aware of tlie amount he is able to settle ? I couldn't believe my eyes when I read the draft. It is neither more nor less than eiglit thousand pounds. Fancy taking such a husband for eight thousand pounds!" " Ton scarcely j)ut the case fairly, papa," said she, smiling ; " the eight thousand is the compensation for losing hitn." " Are you in love with him, then ?" asked he, with a sarcastic twinkle of the eye. " I don't think so — at least, not to desperation." " It is scarcely for the sake of being ' My Lady.' " " Oh dear no, that is a snobbery quite beyond me. Now, I neither marry for the title, nor the man, nor his money, nor his station, but out of tliat mass of motives which to certain women have the force ONE OF THEM. 3G9 of a principle. I can explain what I mean, perhaps, by an illustra- tion : Were you to tell a fashionable physician, in tirst-rate practice, that if he got up out of bed at midnight, and drove off two miles to a certain corner of Eegent's Park, where, under a particular stone, he'd find a guinea, it is more than certain he'd not stir; but if you sent for the same man to a case of illness, he'd go unhesitatingly, and accept his guinea as the due recompense of his trouble. This is duty, or professional instinct, or something else witli a fine name, but it's not gold-seeking. There now, make out my meaning out of my parable, as best you may. And after all, papa, I'm not quite sure that I intend to marry him." " Why, what do you mean ?" " Oh, pray don't be frightened. I merely meant to say that there was an eventuality which might rescue me from this necessity. I have told you nothing about it hitherto, dear papa, because I inherit your own wholesome dislike to entertaining my friends with what may turn out mere moonshine. Now, however, that the project has a certain vitality in it, you shall hear it." Holmes drew his chair close to her, and, laying down his pipe, pre- pared to listen with all attention. " If I hate anything," said she, half peevishly, " it is to talk of the bygone, and utter the names of people that I desire never to hear again. It can't be helped, however ; and here goes. After the events in Jersey, you remember I left the island and came abroad. There were all sorts of confusion about H.'s affairs. The law had taken pos- session of all his papers, placed seals on everything, and resisted my application to remove them, on the vexatious plea that I was not his wife, and could not administer as such. A long litigation ensued, and at last my marriage Avas admitted, and then I took out probate and received a few thousand pounds and some little chance property ; the bulk of his fortune was, however, in America, and settled on Clara by a will, which certain writings showed was in the possession of her uncle, now nominated to be her guardian, a certain Harvey Winthrop, of JS'orfolk, Virginia. I opened a correspondence with him, and suggested the propriety of leaving Clara with me, as I had always regarded her as my own child, and hinting at the appropriate- ness of some allowance for her maintenance and education. He re- plied with promptitude and much kindness, expressed great sym- pathy for my late loss, and made a very liberal settlement for Clara. " All went on peaceably and w-ell for two years, when one morning came a letter from Winthrop of a most alarming nature. AVithout any positive charge, it went on to say that he had, for reasons which 2b" 370 ONE OF THEM. Lis delicacy would prefer to spare me, decided on himself assuming the guardianship of his niece, and that if I would kindly come to London, or name any convenient place on the Continent for our meeting, he would punctually present himself at the time agreed on. Of course I guessed what had occurred — indeed, it had always been a matter of some astonishment to me how long I had been spared ; at all events, I determined on resistance. I wrote back a letter, half Borrow, half indignation ; I spoke of the dear child as all that re- mained of consolation to ray widowed heart ; I said that though it was in his competence to withhold from me the little pittance which served to relieve some of the pressure of our narrow means, yet I would not separate myself from my darling child, even though at the cost of sharing with her a mere sufficiency for support. I told him, besides, that he should never hear from me more, nor would all his eiforts enable him to trace us. It was then I became Mrs. Penthony Morris. I suppose "Winthrop was sorry for his step ; at least, by a variety of curious advertisements in English papers he suggested that some accommodation might be arranged, and entreated me to renew intercourse with him. There were many reasons why I could not agree to this. Clara, too, was of great use to me. To a lone woman in the world, without any definite belongings, a child is in- valuable. The advertisements were continued, and even rewards oftered for such information as might lead to my discovery. All in vain : he never succeeded in tracing me, and at length gave up the pursuit. " I must now skip over some years which have no bearing on tliis incident, and come to a period comparatively recent, when, in the transaction of certain purchases of American securities, I came un- expectedly on the mention of a new railroad line through a district whose name was familiar to me. I set myself to think where, when, and how I had heard of this place before, and at last remembered it was from H., who used to talk of this property as what would one day make his daughter a great heiress. My moneyed speculations had led me into much intimacy here with a banker, Mr. Trover, over whom an accidental discovery gave me absolute power. It was no less than a forgery he had committed on my name, and of which, before relinquishing the right to take proceedings against him, I obtained his full confession in writing. AVith this tie over the man, he was my slave ; I sent him here and tliere at my pleasure, to buy, and sell, and gain information, and so on, and, above all, to obtain a full account of the value of this American property, where it lay, and how it was occupied. It was in the midst of these inquiries came a ONE OF THEM. 371 great financial crash, and my agent was obliged to fly. At first he went to Malta ; he came back, but, after a few weeks, he set out for the States. He was fully in possession of the circumstances of this property, and Clara's riglit to it, and equally so of my determination that she should never inherit it. We had, on one of the evenings he was here, a long conversation on the subject, and he cunningly asked me, " ' How was the property settled in reversion ?' " It was a point I never knew, for I never saw H.'s will. " ' The will was made four years before his death : might he not have made a later one on his death-bed ? — might he not have be- queathed the estate in reversion to yourself in case she died ? — • might she not have died ?' " All these he asked, and all of them had been my own unceasing thoughts for years back. It was a scheme I had planned and brooded over days and nights long. It was to prepare the road for it that I sent away Clara, and, under the name of Stocmar, had her inscribed at the Conservatoire of Milan. Was it tliat Trover had read my secret thoughts, or had he merely chanced upon them by mere acci- dent ? I did not dare to ask liim, for I felt that by his answer / should be as much in Ms power as he was in mine. " ' I have often imagined there might be sucli a will,' said I ; ' there is no reason to suppose it is not in existence. Could it not be searched for and found ?' " He understood me at once, and replied : " ' Have you any of Hawke's handwriting by you ?' " ' A quantity,' said I ; ' and it is a remarkable hand, very distinc- tive, and not hard to imitate — at least, by any one skilled in such accomplishments.' " He bluslied a little at the allusion, but lauglied it off'. " ' The girl could have died last year ; she might have been buried — where shall we say ?' added he, carelessly. " * At Meisner, in the Tyrol,' said I, catching at the idea that just struck me, for my maid died in that place, and I had got the regular certificate of her death and burial from the Syndic ; and I showed him the document. " ' This is admirable,' said he ; ' nothing easier than to erase this name and insert another.' " ' I cannot hear of such a thing, Mr. Trover,' said I ; ' nor can I, after such a proposal, suffer the j^aper to leave my hands.' And with this I gave it to him. " ' I could not dream of such an act, Madam,' said he, with great 2 li 2 872 ONE OF TIIEM. eeriousness ; * it would amount to a forgery. Now for one last ques- tion,' said he, after a little interval of silence ; ' what would you deem a suitable reward to the person who should discover this miss- ing will, and restore this property to the rightful owner ? Would twenty per cent, on the value appear to you too much ?' " ' I should say that the sum was a high one, but if the individual acquitted himself with all the integrity and all tlie delicacy the situa- tion demanded, never by even an implication involving any one who trusted him, conducting the transaction to its end on his own re- sponsibility and by his own unaided devices, why, theu, it is more than probable that I would judge the reward to be insufficient.' " So much, dear papa, will put you in possession of the treaty then ratified between us, I was to supply all the funds for present expenses ; Mr. Trover to incur all the perils. He was invested with full powers, in fact, to qualify himself for Botany Bay, and I promised to forward his views towards a ticket of leave if the worst were to happen him. It was a very grave treaty very laughingly and play- fully conducted. Trover had just tact enough for the occasion, and was most jocose wherever the point was a perilous one. From the letters and papers in my possession, he found details quite ample enough to give him an insight into the nature of the property, and also, what he deemed of no small importance, some knowledge of the character of this Mr. Winthrop, Clara's uncle. This person appeared to be an easy-tempered, good-natured man, not difficult to deal with, nor in any way given to suspicion. Trover was very prompt in his proceedings. On the evening after our conversation he showed me the draft of Hawke's will, dated at Jersey, about eight days before his death. It was then, for the first time, I learned that Trover knew the whole story, and who /was. This rather disconcerted mo at first. There are few tl)ings more disconcerting than to find out that a person who has for a long intercourse never alluded to your past history, has been all the while fully acquainted with it. The way he sliowed his knowledge of the subject was characteristic. In point- ing out to me Hawke's signature, he remarked, " ' I have made the wituesses — Towers, who was executed, and Collier, who, I have heard, died in Australia.' " ' How familiar you are with these names. Sir,' said I, curiously. " ' Yes, Madam,' said he ; 'I edited a well-known weekly news- paper at that tijue, and got some marvellous details from a fellow who was on the spot.' " I assure you, papa, though I am not given to tremors, I shuddered at having for my accomplice a man that I could not deceive as to ONE OF THEM. 373 my past life. It was to be such an open game between us that, in surrendering all the advantages of my womanly arts, I felt I was this man's slave, and yet he was a poor creature, lie had the technical craft for simulating a handwriting and preparing a false document, but was miserably weak in providing for all the assaults that must be directed against its authenticity. " His plan was, armed with what he called an attested copy of II.'s will, to set out for America and discover tliis Mr. Winthrop. Cleverly enough, he had bethought him of securing this gentleman's co-opera- tion by making him a considerable inheritor under the will. In fact, he charged the estate with a very handsome sum in his favour, and calculated on all the advantage of this bribe ; and, without knowing it, Mr, Winthrop was to be ' one of us.' " He sailed in due time, but I heard no more of him ; and, indeed, I began to suspect that the tw^o bank-notes I had given him, of one hundred each, had been very unprofitably invested, when by this day's post a letter reaches me to say that success had attended him throughout. By a mere accidental acquaintance on a railroad, he ' fell in ' with — that's his phrase, which may mean that he stole — some very curious documents whicli added to his credit with Winthrop. He describes this gentleman as exactly what he looked for, and with this advantage, that having latterly been somewhat unfortunate in speculation, he was the more eager to repair his fortune by the legacy. He says that only one embarrassing circumstance occurred, and this was, that Winthrop determined at once on coming over to England, so that the authenticity of the will should be personally ascer- tained by him, and all his own proceedings in tlie matter be made sure. * For this purpose,' he writes, ' we shall sail from this place by the first steamer for Liverpool, where let me have a letter addressed to the Albion to say where you are to be found. Wiuthrop's first object will be to meet you, and you must bethink you well what place you will deem most suitable for this purpose. Of course the more secluded and private the better. I have explained to him that, so overwhelmed were you by the terrible event of H.'s death, you had never entered the world since ; and, in fact, so averse to anything that might recal the past, that you had never administered to the will, nor assumed any of your rights to property, and it would be well for him, if he could, to arouse you out of this deadly lethargy, and call you back to something like existence. This explained why I had taken the journey out to America to meet him.* You will perceive, papa, that ]\lr. Trover knows how to lie ' with the circumstance,' and is not unitarian in his notions of falsehood. S74 ONE or TIIEM. " I am far from liking tliis visit of Mr. Winthrop. I wisl) from my heart tliat his scruples had beeu less nice, aud that he had beeu satisfied to eat his cake without inquiring whether every one else had got liis share ; but as he is coming, we must make the best of it. And now, what advice have you to give me ? Of course we cannot suffer him to come here." " Certainly not, Loo. We must have out the map, and think it over. Does Trover tell you what amount the property may be wortli ?" " He says that there are three lots. Two have been valued at something over a million of dollars ; the third — if the railroad be carried through it — will be more valuable still. It is, he says, an immense estate, and in high productiveness. Let us, however, think of our cards, papa, and not the stake ; there is much to provide. I have no certificate of my marriage with llawke." "That must be thought of," said he, musingly. " Clara, too, must be thought of — married, if possible, to some one going abroad — to Australia or New Zealand. Perhaps O'Shea." And she burst out a laughing at the thought. " Or Paten. I'd say Ludlow " A look of sickly aversion crossed his daughter's face at the sug- gestion, and she said : "Nothing on earth would induce me to consent to it." The Captain might have regarded this as a woman's weakness, but be said nothing. " It will be very difficult for me to get away at this moment, too," said she, after a pause. " I don't fancy being absent while young Heathcote is here. He will be making all manner of inquiries about Clara ; where she is, with whom, and for what ? If I were on the spot I could sup))ress such perquisitions." " After all, dear Loo, the other is the great event. I conclude, if all goes smoothly about this work, you'll never dream of the marriage with Sir William?" " Perhaps not," said she, roguishly. " I am not so desperately in love as to do an imprudence. There is, however, much to be thought of, papa. In a few days more Ludlow is to be back here with my letters, more than ever necessary at this moment, when any scandal miglit be fatal. If he were to know anything of this accession of fortune, his demands would be insupportable." " No doubt of that. At the same time, if he merely hears that your marriage with the Baronet is broken oft", he will be more tractable. How are you to obtain these letters ?" ONE OF THEM. 375 "I don't know," said she, with a stolid look. " Are you to buy them ?" " I don't know." "He will scarcely surrender them out of any impulse of geue- rositv ?" " I don't know," said she, again ; and over her features there was a sickly pallor that changed all their expression, and made her look even years older than she was. He looked at her compassionately, for there was that in her face that might well have challenged pity. " But, Loo, dearest," said he, encouragingly, " place the affair in my hands, and see if I cannot bring it to a good ending." " He makes it a condition to treat with none but myself, and there is a cowardice in this of which he knows all the advantage." " It must be a question of money, after all. It is a matter of figures." " He would say not. At the very moment of driving his hardest bargain lie would interpose some reference to what he is pleased to call 'his feelings.' I told him that even Shylock did not insult his victim with a mock sympathy, nor shed false tears over the pain his knife was about to inflict," " It was not the way to conciliate him. Loo." " Conciliate him ! Oh, how you know him !" She pressed her hands over her face as she spoke, and when she withdrew them the cheeks were scalded with tears. " Come, come. Loo, this is scarcely like yourself." " There, it's over now," said she, smiling, with a half-sad look, as she pushed lier hair back, as though to sufter the cool air to bathe her forehead. " Oh dear !" sighed she out, " if I only could have fore- seen all the perils before me, I might have borne with George Ogdeu, and lived and died what the world calls respectable." He gave a little sigh too, which might have meant that he agreed with her, or that the alternative was a hard one, or that respectability was a very expensive thing for people of small means, or a little of all three together, which was most probable, since the Captain rarely dealt in motives that were not sufficiently mixed. "And now, papa," said she, "use your most ingenious devices to show me how I am to answer all these engagements, and while I meet Mr. Winthrop in Switzerland, contrive also to be on guard here, and on outpost duty, with Mr. Ludlow Paten." " You'll do it. Loo — you'll do it, or nobody else will," said he, sipping his iced drink, and gazing on her approvingly. " What would you say to Breugenz for our rendezvous with 376 ONE OF THEM. "Winthrop?" said she, bending over tlie map. "It is as quiet and forgotten a spot as any I know of." " So it is, Loo ; and one of tlie very few where the English never go, or, at least, never sojourn." " I wish we could manage to find a email house or a cottage there. I should lilie to be what dramatists call ' discovered ' in an humbly furnished chamber, living witli my dear old father, venerable in years and virtues." " Well, it ought not to be difficult to manage. If you like, I'll set off there and make the arrangements. I could start this evening." " How good of you ! Let me think a little over it, and I will decide. It would be a great comfort to me to have you here when Charles Heathcote comes. I might need your assistance in many v^ixys, but perhaps Yes, you had better go ; and a pressing en- treaty on your part for me to hasten to the death-bed of my * poor aunt,' can be the reason for my own hurried departure. Is it not pro- voking how many embarrassments press at tlie same moment? It is an attack front, rear, and on the flanks." " You're equal to it, dear — you're equal to it," said he, with the same glance of encouragement. " I almost think I sliould go with you, papa — take French leave of these good people, and evacuate the fortress — if it were not that next week I expect Ludlow to be back here with the letters, and I cannot neglect that. Can you explain it to me," cried she, more eagerly, " there is not one in this family for whom I entertain the slightest sense of regard — they are all less than indifferent to me — and yet I W'ould do anything — endure anything — rather than they should learn my true history, and know all about my past life ; and this, too, with the certainty that we were never to meet again ?" " That is pride, Loo — mere pride." "No," said she, tremulously, "it is shame. The consciousness that one's name is never to be uttered but in scorn in tliose places wliere once it was always spoken of in honour — the thought that the fair fame we had done so much to build up should be a dreary ruin, is one of the saddest the heart can feel ; for let the world say what it will, we often give all our energies to liypocrisy, and throw passion into wliat we meant to be mere acting. Well, well, enough of moralising, now for action. You will want money for this trip, papa ; see if there be enougli there." And she opened her writing- desk, and pushed it towards him. The Captain took out bis double eye-glass, and then, with due ONE OF TIIEil. 377 deliberation, proceeded to count over a roll of Euglisb notes fresh from the bank. " In funds, I see, Loo," said he, smiling. " It is part of the last three hundred I possess in the world. I drew it out yesterday, and, as I signed the cheque, I felt as might a sailor going over the side as his ship was sinking. Do you know," said she, hurriedly, " it takes a deal of courage to lead the life I have done." "No doubt — no doubt," muttered he, as he went on counting. " Forty-five, fifty, fifty-five " " Take them all, papa ; I have no need of them. Before the month ends I mean to be a millionnaire, or ' My^ Lady.' " " I hope not the latter. Loo ; I hope sincerely not, dearest. It would be a cruel sacrifice, and really for nothing." " A partnership in an old-established house," said she, with a mocking laugh, " is always something ; but I won't prejudge events, nor throw my cards on the table till I have lost the game. And ' a propos' to losing the game, suppose that luck should turn against us — suppose that we fail to supply some essential link in this chain of fortune — suppose that Trover should change his mind, and sell us — suppose, in short, anything adverse you please, — what means are re- maining to you, papa ? Have you enough to support us in some cheap, luifrequented spot at home or abroad ?" " I could get together about two huudi'ed and forty pounds a year, not more." " One could live upon that, couldn't one ?" asked she. " Yes, in a fashion. With a number of privations you have never experienced, self-denial in fifty things you have never known to be luxiu'ies, with a small house and small habits and small acquaintances, one could rub through, but no more." " Oh, how I should like to try it !" cried she, clasping her hands together. " Oh, what would I not give to pass one year — one entire year of life — without the ever-present terror of exposure, shame, and scorn — to feel tliat when I lay down to rest at night a knock at the street door should not throw me into the cold perspiration of ague, or the coming of the postman set my heart a throbbing, as though the missive were a sentence on me ! Why cannot I have peace like this?" " Poverty has no peace, my dear Loo. It is the poorest of all wars, for it is for the pettiest of all objects. It would break my heart to see you engaged in such a conflict." 378 ONE OF TIIEM. And the Captain suft'ered his eyes to range over tlie handsome room and its fine furniture, while his thoughts wandered to a French cook, and that delicious " Chateau Margaux" he had tasted yesterday. Did she read what was passing in his mind, as, with a touch of scoi*n in her manner, she said, " Doubtless you know the world better," and left the room. CHAPTER XLIX. THE PALAZZO BALBT. The household of the Palazzo Balbi was unusually busy and active. There was a coming and a parting guest. Sir William himself was far too much occupied by the thouglits of his son's arrival to bestow much interest upon the departure of Captain Holmes. Not that this ingenious gentleman has failed in any of the requirements of his parasitical condition ; nay, he had daily improved the occasion of his presence, and ingratiated himself considerably in the old baronet's favour ; but it is, happily, the lot of such people to be always for- gotten where tlie real affections are in play. They while away a weary day — they palliate the small irritations of daily life — they suggest devices to cheat " ennui" — but they have no share in deeper sentiments ; we neither rejoice nor weep with them. " Sorry for your friend's illness !" — " Sincerely trust you may find him better !" — or, " Ah, it is a lady, I forgot ; and that we may soon see you on tliis side of the Alps again I" — " Charming weather for your journey !" — " Good-by, good-by !" And with this he shook his hand cordially enough, and forgot him. " I'm scarcely sorry he's gone," said May, " he was so deaf ! And besides, papa, he was too civil — too complaisant. I own I had become a little impatient of his eternal compliments, and the small scraps out of Shelley and Keats that he adapted to my address." "All the better for Charley, that," said the old Baronet. " You'll bear his rough frankness with more forgiveness after all this sugary politeness." He never noticed liow this random speech sent the blood to her cheeks, and made her crimson over face and neck ; nor, indeed, had he much time to bestow on it, for the servant opened the door at the instant, and announced, " Captain Heatheote." In a ONE OF THEM. 379 moment the son was in liis father's arms. " My boy, my dear boy," was all that the old man could sav, and Charles, though determined to maintain the most stoical calm throughout the whole visit, had to draw his hand across his eyes in secret. "How well you look, Charley — stouter and heavier than when here. English life and habits have agreed with you, boy." " Yes, Sir. If I can manage to keep my present condition, I'm in good working trim for a campaign; and you — tell me of yourself." " Tliere is little to say on tiiat subject. When men live to my term, about the utmost they can say is, that they are here." Though he tried to utter these words in a half jocular tone, his voice faltered, and his lips trembled ; and, as the young man looked, he saw that his father's face was careworn and sad, and that months had done the work of j'ears on him since they parted. Charles did his utmost to treat these signs of sorrow lightly, and spoke cheerfully, and even gaily. " I'd go with your merry humour, boy, with all my heart, if you were not about to leave us." "Was it anything in the interests thus touched on, or was it the chance plirase, " to leave us,'" that made youug Heathcote become pale as death while he asked, " How is May ?" " "Well — quite well ; she was here a moment back. I fancied she was in the room when you came in. I'll send for her." " No, no ; time enough. Let us have a few more minutes toge- ther." In a sort of hurried, and not very collected way, he now ran on to talk of his prospects and the life before him. It was easy to mark how the assumed slap-dasli manner was a mere mask to the bitter pain he felt, and that he knew he was causing. He talked of India as though a few days' distance — of the campaign, like a hunting party ; the whole thing was a sort of eccentric ramble, to have its requital in plenty of incident and adventure. He even assumed all the vulgar slang about " hunting down the niggers," and coming back loaded with " loot," when the old man threw his arm around him, and said, " But not to me, Charley — not to me." The chord was touched at last. All the pretended careless ease was gone, and the young man sobbed aloud as he pressed his father to his breast. . The secret which each wanted to keep to his own heart was out, and now they must not try any longer a deception. "And why must it be, Charley ? what is the urgent cause for de- serting me ? I have more need of you than ever 1 had. I want 380 ONE OF THEM. your counsel and your Iciudness ; your very presence — as I feel it this moment — is worth all my doctors." "I think you know — I think I told you, I mean— that you are no stranger to the position I stood in here. You never taught me, iatlier, that dependence was honourable. It was not amongst your lessons that a life of inglorious idleness was becoming." As with a faltering and broken utterance he spoke these words, his confusion grew greater and greater, for he felt himself on the very verge of a theme that he dreaded to touch, and at last, with a great efibrt, he said, " And besides all this, I had no right to sacrifice another to my selfishness." " 1 don't understand you, Charley." " JMaybe not. Sir ; but I am speaking of what I know for certain. But let us not go back on these things." " What are they ? Speak out, boy," cried he, more eagerly. " I see you are not aware of what I thought you knew. Tou do not seem to know that May's afi'ections are engaged — that she has given her heart to that young college man who was here long ago, as Agincourt's tutor. They have corresponded." " Corresponded !" " Tes, I know it all, and she will not deny it — nor need she, from all I can learn. He is a fine-hearted fellow, worthy of any girl's love. Agincourt has told me some noble traits of him, and he de- serves all his good fortune." "But to think that slie should liave couiracted this engagement without consulting me — that she should have written to him " " I don't sec how you can reproach her, a poor motherless girl. How could she go to you with her heart full of sorrows and anxie- ties ? She was making no worldly compact in which she needed your knowledge of life to guide her." " It was treachery to us all !" cried the old man, bitterly, for now he saw to what he owed his son's desertion of him. " It was none to me, so much I will say, father. A stupid compact would have bound her to her unhappiuess, and this she had the cou- rage to resist." " And it is for this I am to be forsaken in my old age !" exclaimed he, in an accent of deep anguish. "I can never forgive her — never !" Charles sat down beside him, and, with liis arm on the old man's shoulder, talked to him long in words of truest afi'ection. He re- called to his mind the circumstances under which May Leslie first came auiongat them, the daughter of his oldest, dearest friend, en- 1-^ 1 ONE OF THEM. 381 trusted to his care, to become, one day, hia own daughter, if she willed it. " Would you coerce her to this ? Would you profit by the au- thority you possess over her to constrain her will ? Is it thus you would interpret the last dying words of your old companion ? Do not imagine, father, that I place these things before you in cold blood or indifference. I have my share of sorrow in the matter." He was going to say more, but he stopped himself, and arising, walked towards the window. " There she is !" cried he, " on the terrace ; I'll go and meet her." And with this he went out. It is not impossible that the generous enthusiasm into which Charles Heathcote had worked himself to subdue every selfish feeling about May enabled him to meet her with less constraint and difficulty. At all events, he came towards her with a manner so like old friend- ship, that, though herself confused, she received him with equal cor- diality. " How like old times, May, is all this," said he, as, with her arm within his own, they strolled under a long vine trellis. "]f I had not to remember that next Wednesday I must be at Malta, I could almost fancy I had never been away. I wonder when we are to meet again ? and where, and how ?" " I'm sure it is not I that can tell you," said she, painfully, for in the attempt to conceal his emotion his voice had assumed a certain accent of levity that wounded her deeply. " The where matters little, May," resumed he ; " but the when is much, and the how still more." " It is fortunate, then, that this is the only point I can at all answer for, for I think I can say that we shall meet pretty much as we part." " What am I to understand by that. May ?" asked he, with an eagerness that forgot all dissimulation. " How do you find papa looking ?" asked she, hurriedly, as a deep blush covered her face. " Is he as well as you hoped to see him ?" " No," said he, bluntly ; "he has grown thin and careworn. Older by ten years than I expected to find him." " He has been much fretted of late ; independently of being sepa- rated from yoxi^ he has had many anxieties." " I have heard something of this ; more, indeed, than I like to be- lieve true. Is it possible. May, that he intends to marry ?" She nodded twice slowly, without speaking. " And his wife is to be tliis Mrs. Morris — this widow that I re- member at Marlia, long ago?" 382 ONE OF THEM. " And who is now here domeaticated with us." " AVhat do you know of her? What does any one know of her?" asked he, impatiently. " Absolutely nothing : that is, of her history, her family, or her belongings. Of herself I can only say that she is supreme in this house ; her orders alone are obeyed. I have reason to believe that papa confides the gravest interests to her charge, and for myself, / obey her by a sort of instinct." " But you like her, May ?" " I am too much afraid of her to like her. I was at first greatly attracted by fascinations perfectly new to me, and by a number of graceful accomplishments, which certainly lent a great charui to her society. But after a while I detected, or I fancied that I de- tected, that all these attractions were thrown out as lures to amuse and occupy us, while she was engaged in studying our dis- positions and examining our natures. Added to this, I became aware of the harshness she secretly bestowed upon poor Clara, whose private lectures were little else than tortures. This latter completely estranged me from her, and, indeed, was the first thing which set me at work to consider her character. From the day when Clara left this " ■ " Left this, and for where ?" cried he. " I cannot tell you ; we have never heard of her since. She was taken away by a guardian, a certain Mr. Stocmar, whom papa seemed to know, or at least thought he had met somewhere, many years ago. It was shortly after the tidings of Captain Morris's death this gentle- man arrived here to claim her." " And her mother ; was she willing to part with her?" *' She afiected great sorrow — fainted, I think — when she read the letter that apprised her of tlie necessity ; but from Clara herself I gathered that the separation was most grateful to her, and that for some secret cause I did not dare to ask — even had she known to tell — they were not to meet again for many, many years." " But all that you tell me is unnatural. May. Is there not some terrible mystery in this aftair ? Is there not some shameful scandal beneath it all ?" A heavy sigh seemed to concur with what he said. " And can my father mean to marry a woman of whose pasth'fe he knows nothing ? Is it with all these circumstances of suspicion around her that he is willing to share name and fortune with her?" " As to that, such is her ascendancy over him, that were she to as- sure him of the most improbable or impossible of events he'd not dis- ONE OF TnB\f. 383 credit her. Some secret dread of what you would say or think has dehiyed the marriage hitherto, but once you have taken your leave and are fairly off— not to return for years — the event will no longer be deferred." " Oh, May, how you grieve me. I cannot tell you the misery you have put into my heart." " It is out of my own sorrow I have given you to drink," said she, bitterly. " Tou are a man, and have a man's career before you, with all its changeful chances of good or evil ; I, as a woman, must trust my hazard of happiness to a home, and very soon I shall have none." He tried to speak, but a sense of choking stopped him, and thus, without a word on either side, they walked along several minutes. " May," said he, at last, " do you remember the line of the poet, Death and absence differ but in name?" " I never heard it before ; but why do you ask me ?" " I was just thinking that in parting moments like this, as on a death-bed, one dares to speak of things which from some sense of shame one had never dared to touch on before. Now, I want to carry away with me over the seas the thought that your lot in life is assured, and your happiness, so far as any one's can be, provided for. To know this, I must force a coniidence which you may not wish to accord me ; but bethink you, dear May, that you will never see me more. "Will you tell me if I ask about him V " About whom ?" asked she, in unfeigned astonishment, for never were her thoughts less directed to Alfred Layton. " May," said he, almost angrily, " refuse me if you will, but let there be no deceit betw^een us. I spoke of Layton." " Ask what you please, and I will answer you," said she, boldly. " He is your lover, is he not ? Tou have engaged yourself to him ?" " No." " It is the same thing. You are to be his w ife, when this, that, or t'other happens?" " No." " In a word, if there be no compact, there is an understanding be- tween you ?" " Once more, no!" said she, in the same firm voice. " Will you deny that you have received letters from him, and liave written to him again ?" An angry flush covered the girl's cheek, and her lip trembled. For 384 ONE OF THEM. an instant it seemed as if an indignant answer wonld break from her, but she repressed the impulse, and coolly said, " There is no need to deny it. I have done botli." " I knew it — I knew it !" cried he, in a bitter exultation. " Tou might have dealt more frankly with me, or might have said, ' I am in no wise accountable to you. I recognise no right in you to question me.' Had you done this, May, it would have been a warning to me, but to say, ' Ask me freely, I will tell you everything,' was this fair, was this honest, was it true-hearted ?" " And yet I meant it for such," said she, sorrowfully. " I may have felt a passing sense of displeasure that you should have heard from any other than myself of this correspondence, but even that is passed away, and I care not to learn from whom you heard it. I have written as many as three letters to Mr. Layton. This is his last to 7we." She took at the same moment a letter from her pocket, and handed it towards him. " I have no presumption to read your correspondence, May Leslie," said he, red with shame and anger together. " Your asking me to do so implies a rebuke in having dared to speak on the subject, but it is for the last time." " And is it because we are about to part, Charles, that it must be in auger ?" said she ; and her voice faltered and lier lip trembled, " Of all your faults, Charles, selfishness was not one, long ago." " No matter what I was long ago ; we have both lived to see great changes in ourselves." " Come, let us be friends," said she, taking liis hand cordially. " I know not how it is with you, but never in my life did I need a friend so much." " Oh, May, how can I serve you ?" " First read that letter, Charles. Sit down there and read it througli, and I'll come back to you by the time you've finished it." With a sort of dogged determination to sacrifice himself, no matter at what cost, Charles Heathcote took tlie letter from her, and turned away into another alley of the garden. ■^ .t On^ ^v ONE OF THEM. 385 CHAPTEE L. THREE MET AGAIN. When, on the following morning, Charles Heathcote repaired to the hotel where he had left his friend Lord Agincourt, he was sur- prised to hear the sound of voices and laughter as he drew nigh the room ; nor less astonished was he, on entering, to discover O'Shea seated at the breakfast-table, and manifestly in the process of enjoy- ing himself. Had there been time to retire undetected, Heathcote would have done so, for his head was far too full of matters of deep interest to himself to desire the presence of a stranger, not to say that he had a communication to make to his friend both delicate and difficult. O'Shea's quick glance had, however, caught him at once, and he cried out, " Here's the very man we wanted to make us com- plete — the joUiest party of three that ever sat down together." "I scarcely thought to see you in these parts," said Heathcote, with more of sulk than cordiality in the tone. " Tour delight ought to be all the greater, though, maybe, it isn't ! You look as glum as the morning I won your trap and the two nags." " By the way, what became of them ?" asked Heathcote. " I sold the chesnut to a young cornet in the Carabineers. He saw me ride him through all the bonfires in Sackville-street the night the mob beat the police, and he said he never saw his equal to face fire ; and he wasn't far wrong there, for the beast was stone blind." " And the grey ?" " The grey is here, in Eome, and in top condition ; and if I don't take him over five feet of timber my name isn't Gorman." A quick wink and a sly look towards Agincourt conveyed to Heathcote the full meaning of this speech. " And you'll want a high figure for him ?" asked he. " If I sell him— if I sell him at all ; for you see, if 'the world goes well with me, and I have a trump or two in my hand, I won't part with that horse. It's not every day in the week that you chance on a beast that can carry fifteen stone over a stiff" country — ay, and do it four days in the fortnight !" " What's his price ?" asked Agincourt. 2 c 386 ONE OF THEM. " Let him tell you," said O'Sliea, with a most expressive look at Heatlicote. " He knows him as well or better than I do." " Yes," said Heathcote, tantalising him on purpose ; " but when a man sets out by saying ' I don't want to sell my horse,' of course it means, ' If you will have him, you must pay a fancy price.' " If O'Shea's expression could be rendered in words, it might be read thus : " And if that be the very game I'm playing, ain't you a down- right idiot to spoil it ?'* " Well," said Agincourt, after a pause, " I'm just in the sort of humour this morning to do an extravagant thing, or a silly one." " Lucky fellow !" broke in Heathcote, " for O'Shea's the very man to assist you to your project." "I am!" said O'Shea, firmly and quickly; "for there's not the man living has scattered his money more freely than myself. Before I came of age, when I was just a slip of a boy, about nineteen " " Never mind the anecdote, old fellow," said Heathcote, laughingly, as he laid his hand on the other's shoulder. "Agincourt has just con- fessed himself in the frame of mind to be ' done.' Do him, therefore, by all means. Say a hundred and fifty for the nag, and he'll give it, and keep your good story for another roguery." " Isn't he polite ? — isn't he a young man of charming manners and elegant address ?" said O'Shea, with a strange mixture of drollery and displeasure. " He's right, at all events," said Agincourt, laughing at the other's face — " he's right as regards me. I'll give you a hundred and fifty for the horse without seeing him." " Oh, mother of Moses ! I wisli your guardian was like you." " Why so ? What do you mean ?" " I mean this — that I wish he'd buy me, too, withoiit seeing me!" And then, seeing that by their blank looks they had failed to catch his meaning, lie added, " Isn't he one of the Cabinet now ?" " Tes, he is Colonial Secretary." " That's the very fellow I want. He's giving away things every day, that any one of them would be the making of me." " What would you take ?" " Whatever I'd get. There's my answer, whatever I'd get. I'd be a Bishop, or a Judge, or a Boundary Commissioner, or a Trea- surer — I'd like to bo that best — or anything in reason they could offer a man of good family, and who had a seat in the House." " I think you might get him something — I'm sure you might," said Heathcote. " W^'ell, I can try, at all events. I'll write to-day." ONE OF THEM. 887 " Will you really ?" " I give you my word on it. I'll say that, independently of all personal claims of your own, you're an intimate and old friend, whose advancement I will accept as a favour done to myself." " That's the ticket. But mind, no examination — no going before the Civil Service chaps. I tell you fairly, I wouldn't take tlie Governor- Generals hip of India if I had to go up for the multiplica- tion-table. I think I see myself sitting trembling before them, one fellow asking me, ' Who invented " pitch and toss ?" ' and another inquiring, * Who was the first man ever took pepper with oysters ?' " " Leave all that to Agincourt," said Heathcote ; " he'll explain to his guardian that you were for several sessions a distinguished Mem- ber of the House " " 'Twas I that brought ' crowing' in. I used to crow like a cock when old Sibthorp got up, and set them all off laughing." " I'll mention your public services — — " " And don't say that I'm hard up. Don't make it appear that it's because I'm out at the elbows I'm going, but just a whim— the way Gladstone went to Greece the other day ; tliat's the real dodge, for they keep the Scripture in mind up in Downing- street, and it ia always the ' poor tbey send empty away.' " " And you'll dine with us here, at seven ?" said Agincourt, rising from the table. " That's as mucb as to say, * Cut your lucky now, Gorman ; we don't want you till dinner-time.' " "You forget that he has got the letter to write about you," said Heathcote. "Tou don't want him to lose a post ?" " And the grey horse ?" " He's mine ; I've bought him." *' I suppose you've no objection to my taking a canter on him this morning ?" " Eide him, by all means," said Agincourt, shaking his hand cor- dially while he said adieu. " Why did you ask him to dinner to-day ?" said Heathcote, peevishly. " I wanted you to have come over and dined with ns. My fiither is eager to see you, and so is May." " Let us go to tea, then. And how are they ? — how is he look- ing ?" " Broken — greatly broken. I was shocked beyond measure to see him so much aged since we met, and his spirits gone — utterly gone. *' Whence is all this ?" 2 c 2 388 ONE OF THEM. " He says that I deserted liim — that he was forsaken." " And is he altogether wrong, Charley ? Does not conscience prick you on that score ?" " He says, too, that I have treated May as cruelly and as unjustly ; also, that I have broken up their once happy home. In fact, he lays all at my door." " And have you seen lier /"' " Yes, we had a meeting last night, and a long talk this morning ; and, indeed, it was about that I wanted to speak to you when I found O'Shea here. Confound the fellow! he has made the thing more difficult than ever, for I have quite forgotten how I had planned it all." " Planned it all ! Surely there was no need of a plan, Charley, iu anything that you meant to say to me .'"' " Tes but there was, though. You have very often piqued me by saying that I never knew my own mind from one day to another, that you were always prepared for some change of intention in me, and that nothing would surprise you less than that I should ' throw you over' the very day before we were to sail for India." " "Was I very, very unjust, Charley ?" said he, kindly. " I think you were, and for this reason : he who is master of his Own fate, so far as personal freedom and ample fortune can make him, ought not to judge rashly of the doubts, and vacillations, and ever-changing purposes of him who has to weigh fifty conflicting in- fluences. Tlie one sufficiently strong to sway others may easily take his line and follow it ; the other is the slave of any incident of the hour, and must be content to accept events, and not mould them." " I read it all, Charley. You'll not go out ?" « I will not." Agincourt repressed the smile that was fast gathering on his lips, and, in a grave and quiet voice, said, " And why ?" " For the very reason you have so often given me. She cares for me ; she has told me so herself, and even asked me not to leave them ! I explained to her that I had given you not only a promise, but a pledge, that, unless you released me, I was bound in honour to ac- company you. She said, ' Will you leave this part of the matter to mcV and I answered, 'No, I'll go frankly to him, and say, " I'm going to break ray word with you : I have to choose between May Leslie and you, and I vote for her." ' " " What a deal of self-sacrifice it might have saved you, Charley," said he, laughing, " had you seen tliis telegram which came when I had sat down to breakfast." It came from the Horse Guards, sent ONE OF THEM. 389 by some private friend of Agincourt'a, and was in these words : " The row is over; no more drafts for India ; do not go." Heathcote read and re-read the paper for several minutes. " So then, for once, I have luck on my side. My resolve neither wounds a friend nor hurts my own self-esteem. Of course yow'll not go ?" " Certainly not. I'll not go out to hunt the lame ducks that others have wounded." " You'll let me take this and show it to my father," said Heath- cote. " He shall learn the real reason of my stay hereafter, but, for the present, this will serve to make him happy ; and poor May, too, will be spared the pain of thinking that, in yielding to her wish, I have jeopardised a true friendship. I can scarcely believe all this happiness real, Agincourt, After so long a turn of gloom and despon- dency, I cannot trust myself to think that fortune means so kindly by me. "Were it not for one unhappy thought — one only — I could say I have nothing left to wish for." " And what is that ? — is it anything in which I can be of service to you ?" " No, my dear fellow ; if it were, I'd never have said it was a cause for sorrow. It is a ease, however, equally removed from your help as from mine. I told you some time back that my father, yielding to a game of cleverly-played intrigue, had determined to marry this widow, Mrs. Penthony Morris, whom you remember. So long as the question was merely mooted in gossip, I could not allude to it, but when he wrote himself to me on the subject, I remonstrated with him as temperately as I was able. I adverted to their disproportion of age, their dissimilarity of habits ; and, lastly, I spoke out and told him that we knew nothing, any of us, of this lady, her family, friends, or connexions ; that though I had inquired widely, I never met the man who could give me any information about her, or had ever heard of her husband. I wrote all this, and much more of the same kind, in the strain of frank confidence a son might employ towards his father, particularly where they had long lived together in relations of the dearest and closest affection. I waited eagerly for his answer. Some weeks went over, and then there came a letter, not from him, but from her. The whole mischief was out : he had given her my letter, and said, ' Answer it.* I will show you her epistle one of these days. It is really clever. There wasn't a word of reproach — not an angry syllable in the whole of it. She was pained, fretted, deeply fretted by what I had written, but she acknowledged that I had, if I liked to indulge them, reasonable grounds for all my distrusts, though, per- haps, it might have been more generous to oppose them. At first, 390 ONE OK THEM. Bhe said, she had resolved to satisfy all my doubts by the names and circumstances of her connexions, with every detail of family history and fortune, but, on second thoughts, her pride revolted against a step so oifensive to personal dignity, and she had made up her mind to confine these revelations to my father, and then leave his roof for ever. * Writing,' continued she, ' as I now do, without his know- ledge of what I say — for, with a generous confidence in me that I re- gret is not felt in other quarters, he has refused to read my letter — I may tell you that I shall place my change of purpose on such grounds as can never possibly endanger your future relations wuth your fatlier. He shall never suspect, in fact, from anything in my con- duct, that my departure was influenced in the slightest degree by what has fallen from you. The reasons I will give him for my step will refer solely to circumstances that refer to myself. Go back, therefore, in all confidence and love, and give your whole aflTectiou to one who needs and who deserves it !' " There was, perhaps, a slight tendency to dilate upon what ouglit to constitute my duties and regards, but, on the whole, the letter was well written, and wonderfully dispassionate. I was sorely puzzled how to answer it, or what course to take, and might have been more so, when my mind was relieved by a most angry epistle from my father, accusing me roundly, not only of having wilfully for- saken him, but having heartlessly insulted the very few who compas- sionated his lonely lot, and were even ready to share it. " This ended our correspondence, and I never wrote again till I mentioned my approaching departure for India, and offered, if he wished it, to take Italy on my way and see him once more before I went. To this there came the kindest answer, entreating me to come and to pass as many days as I could with him. It was all affec- tion, but evidently written in great depression of mind and spirits. There were three lines of a postscript, signed * Louisa,' assuring me that none more anxiously looked forward to my visit than herself ; that she had a pardon to crave of me, and would far rather sue for it in person than on paper. * As you are coming,' said she, ' I will say no more, for when you do come, you will both pity and forgive me.' " As Heathcote had just finished the last word, the door of the room was quietly opened, and O'iShea peeped in. " Are you at the letter ? for, if you are, you miglit as well say, ' Mr. Gorman O'Shea was never violent in his politics, but one of those who always relied upon the good faith and good will of England towards his countrymen.' That's a sentence tlie Whigs delight in, and I remark it's the sure sign of a good berth." ONE OF THEM. 391 " Yea, yes, I'll book it ; don't be afraid," said Agincourt, laughing ; and the late Member for Inch retired, fully satisfied. " Go on, Charley ; tell me the remainder." " There is no more to tell ; you have heard all. Since I arrived I have not seen her. She has been for two days confined to bed with a feverish cold, and, apprehending something contagious, she will not let May visit her. I believe, however, it is a mere passing illness, and I suppose that to-morrow or next day we shall meet." " And how ? for that, I own, ia a matter would puzzle me con- siderablv." " It will all depend upon her. She must give the key-note to the concert. If she please to be very courteous and affable, and all the rest of it, talk generalities and avoid all questions of real interest, I must accept that tone, and follow it. If she be disposed to enter upon private and personal details, I have only to be a listener, except she give me an opportunity to speak out regarding the marriage." " And you wiU ?" " That I will. I suspect shrewdly that she is mistaken about our circumstances, and confounds May Leslie's means with ours. Now, when she knows that my father has about five hundred a year in the world for everything, it is just possible that she may rue her bargain, and cry ' off.' " " Scarcely, I think," said Agincourt. " The marriage would give her station and place at once, if she wants them." " What if O'Shea were to supplant Sir William ? I half suspect he would succeed. He hasn't a sixpence. It's exactly his own beat to find some one willing to support him." " Well, I'll back myself to get him a place. I'll not say it will be anything very splendid or lucrative, but something he shall have. Come, Charley, leave this to me. Let O'Shea and myself dine tete- a-tete to-day, and I'll contrive to sound him on it." " I mean to aid you so far, for I know my father would take it ill were I to dine away from home — on the first day, too ; but I own I have no great confidence in your plan, nor any unbounded reliance on your diplomacy." " No matter, I'll try it ; and, to begin, I'll start at once with a letter to Downing-street. I have never asked for anything yet, so I'll write like one who cannot contemplate a refusal." " I wish you success, for all our sakes," said Charles ; and left him. 392 ONE OF THEM CHAPTER LI. THE LONE VILLA ON THE CAMPAGNA. About halfway between Eome and Albano, and something more than a mile olF the high road, there stands, on a little swell of the Campagna, a ruined villa, inhabited by an humble family of peasants, who aid their scanty means of support by showing to strangers the view from the house-top. It is not, save for its extent, a prospect in any way remarkable. Eome itself, in the distance, is not seen in its most imposing aspect, and the Campagna offers little on which the eye cares to rest long. The " Villa of the Four Winds," however, is a place sought by tourists, and few leave Eome without a visit to it. These are, of course, the excursions of fine days in the fine season, and never occur during the dark and gloomy months of mid-winter. It was now such a time. The wind tore across the bleak plain, carrying fitful showers of cold rain, driving cattle to their shelter, and sending all to seek a refuge within doors, and yet a carriage was to be seen toiling pain- fully through the deep clay of the by-road which led from the main line, and making for the villa. After many a rugged shake and shock, many a struggling efibrt of the weary beasts, and many a halt, it at length reached the little paved court-yard, and was speedily surrounded by the astonished peasants, curious to see the traveller whose zeal for the picturesque could bid defiance to such weather. As the steps were let down, a lady got out, mufiled in a large cloak, and wearing the hood over her head, and hastily passed into the little kitchen of the house. Scarcely had she entered, than, throwing off" her cloak, she said, in a gay and easy voice, *' I have often promised myself a visit to the villa when there would be a grand storm to look at. Don't you think that I have hit on the day to keep my pledge ?" The speech was made so frankly that it pleased the hearers, nowise surprised, besides, at any eccentricity on the part of strangers ; and now the family, young and old, gathered around the visitor, and talked, and questioned, and admired her dress and her appearance, and told her so, too, with a pleasant candour not displeasing. They saw she was a stranger, but knew not from where. Her accent was not Eoman ; they knew no more; nor did she give much time for speculating, as she contrived to make herself at home I ^ •X, \N "■XX ONE OF THEM. 393 amongst them by ingratiating herself imperceptibly into the good graces of each present, from the grey-headed man, to whom she dis- coursed of cattle and their winter food, to the little toddling infant, who would insist upon being held upon her lap. The day went on, and yet never a lull came in the storm that per- mitted a visit to the roof to see the lightning that played along the distant horizon. She betrayed no impatience, however; she laugh- ingly said she was very comfortable at the fireside, and could aflbrd to wait. She expected her brother, it is true, to have met her there, and more than once despatched a messenger to the door to see if he could not descry a horseman on the high road. The same answer came always back : nothing to be seen for miles round. " Well," said she, good humouredly, " you must give me share of your dinner, for my drive has given me an appetite, and I will still wait here another hour." It would have made a pleasing picture as she sat there— her fair and beautiful features graced with that indescribable charm of expression imparted by the wish to please in those who have made the art to please their study — to have seen her surrounded with those bronzed, and seared, and careworn looks, now brightened up by the charm of a spell tliat had often worked its power on their superiors, to have marked how delicately she initiated herself into their little ways, and how marvellously the captivation of her gentleness spread its influ- ence over them. In their simple piety they likened her to the image of all that embodies beauty to their eyes, and murmured to each other that she was like the Madonna. A cruel interruption to their quiet rapture was now given by the clattering sound of a horse's feet, and, immediately after, the entrance of a man drenched to the skin and dripping from the storm. After a few hasty words of greeting the strangers ascended the stairs, and were shown into a little room, scantily furnished, but from which the view they were supposed to come for could be obtained. " What devotion to come out in such weather," said she, when they were alone. " It is only an Irishman, and that Irishman the O'Sliea, could be capable of this heroism." " It's all very nice making fun of a man when he's standing like a soaked sponge," said he ; " but I tell you what, Mrs. INIorris, the devil a Saxon would do it. It's not in them to risk a sore-throat or a pain in the back for the prettiest woman that ever stepped." " I have just said so, but not so emphatically, perhaps ; and, what is more, I feel all the force of the homage as I look at you." " Well, laugh away," said he. " When a woman has pretty teeth 39^! ONE OF THEM. or good legs slie doesu't want much provocation to sliow tlieni. But, if we are to stay any time here, couldn't we have a bit of fire ?" " Tou shall come down to the kitchen presently, and have both food and fire, for I'm sure there's something left, though we've just dined." " Dined ?— where ?" " AVell, eaten, if you like the word better ; and perhaps it is the more fitting phrase. I took my plate amongst these poor people, and I assure you there was a carrot soup by no means bad. Sir AYil- liam's c7?^ would liave probably taken exception to the garlic, which was somewhat in excess, and there was a fishy flavour, also slightly objectionable. They called it ' baccala.' " " Faith, you beat me entirely !" exclaimed O'Shea. " I can't make you out at all, at all." " I assure you," resumed she, " it was quite refreshing to dine with people who ate heartily, and never said an ill word of their neigli- bours. I regret very much that you were not of the party." " Thanks for the politeness, but I don't exactly concur with the regret." " I see that this wetting has spoiled your temper. It is most un- fortunate for me that the weather should have broken just as I wanted you to be in the very best of humours, and with the most ardent desire to serve me." If she began this speech in a light and volatile tone, before she had finished it her manner was grave and earnest. " Here I am, ready and willing," said he, quickly. " Only say the word, and see if I'm not as good as my promise." She took two or three turns of the room without speaking, then wheeling round suddenly, she stood right in front of where he sat, her face pale, and her whole expression that of one deeply occupied with one purpose. " I don't believe," said she, in a slow, collected voice, "tliat there exists a more painful position than that of a woman who, without what the world calls a natural protector, must confront the schemes of a man with the inferior weapons of her sex, and who yet yearns for the privilege of setting a life against a life." " You'd like to be able to fight a duel, then ?" asked he, gravely. " Yes. That my own hand might vindicate my own wrong, I'd consent freely to lose it the hour after." " That must needs have been no slight injury that suggests such a reparation." She uiil^- nodded in reply. ONE OF THEM. 395 "It 13 nothiug that the Heathcotes " " The Heathcotes !" broke she in, with a scornful smile ; " it is not from such come heavy wrongs. No, uo ; they are in no wise mixed up in what I allude to, and if they had been, I would need no help to deal with them. The injury I speak of occurred long ago — years before I knew you. I have told you" — here she paused, as if for strength to go on — " I have told you that I accept your aid, and on your own conditions. Very few words will suffice to show for what I need it. Before I go further, however, I would ask you once more, are you ready to meet any and every peril for my sake ? Are you prepared to encounter what may risk even your life, if called upon ? I ask this now, and with the firm assurance that if you pledge your word you will keep it." " I give you my solemn oath that I'll stand by you, if it lead me to the drop before the gaol." She gave a slight shudder. Some old memories had, perhaps, crossed her at the moment; but she was soon self-possessed again. " The case is briefly this. And mind," said she, hurriedly, " where I do not seem to give you full details, or enter into clear explana- tions, it is not from inadvertence that I do so, but that I will tell no more than I wish, nor will I be questioned. The case is this : I was married unhappily. I lived with a man who outraged and insulted me, and I met with one who assumed to pity me and take my part,- I confided to him my miseries, the more freely that he had been the witness of the cruelties I endured. He took advantage of the confi- dence to make advances to me. My heart — if I had a heart — would not have been difficult to win. It was a theft not worth guarding against. Somehow, I cannot say wherefore, this man was odious to me, more odious than the very tyrant who trampled on me ; but I had sold myself for a vengeance — yes, as completely as if the devil had drawn up the bond and I had signed it. My pact with mvself was to be revenged on him, come what might afterwards. I have told you that I hated this man ; but I had no choice. The whole wide world was there, and not another in it had ever ofiered to be my defender; nor, indeed, did he. No, the creature was a coward; he only promised that if he found me as a waif he would shelter me; he was too cautious to risk a finger in my cause, and would only claim what none disputed with him. And I was abject enough to be content with that, to be grateful for it, to write letters full of more than gratitude, protesting Oh, spare me ! if even yet I have shame to make me unable to repeat what, in my madness, I may have said to him. I thought 1 could go on throughout it all, but I cannot. 396 OSE OF THEM, The end was, my husband died ; yes ! he was dead ! and this man — who I know, for I have the proofs, had shown my letters to my husband — claimed me in marriage ; he insisted that I should be his wife, or meet all the shame and exposure of seeing my letters printed and circulated through the world, with the story of my life annexed. I refused ; fled from England, concealed myself, changed my name, did everything I could to escape discovery ; but in vain. He found me out ; he is now upon my track ; he wiU be here — here at Eome — within the week, and, with these letters in his hand, repeat his threat, he says, for the last time, and I believe him." The strength which had sustained her up to this now gave way, and she sank heavily to the ground, like one stricken by a fit. It was some time before she rallied, for O'Shea, fearful of any exposure, had not called others to his aid, but, opening the window, suffered the rude wind to blow over her face and temples. "There, there," said she, smiling sadly, "it is but seldom I show so poor a spirit, but I am somewhat broken of late. Leave me to rest my head on this chair, and do not lift me from the ground yet. I'll be better presently. Have I cut my forehead?" " It is but a slight scratch. Ton struck the foot of the table in your fall." " There," said she, making a mark with the blood on his wrist, " it is thus the Arabs register the fidelity of him who is to avenge them. Tou will not fail me, will you ?" "Never, by this hand!" cried he, holding it up firmly clenched over his head. " It's the Arab's faith, that if he wash away the stain before the debt of vengeance is acquitted, he is dishonoured ; there's a rude chivalry in the notion that I like well." She said this in his ear as he raised her from the ground and placed her on a chair. " It is time you should know his name," said she, after a few minutes' pause. " He is called Ludlow Paten. I believe he is Captain Paten about town." " I know him by repute. He's a sort of swell at the "West-end play clubs. He is amongst all the fast men." " Oh, he's fasliionable — he's very fashionable." " I have heard him talked of scores of times as one of the pleasantest fellows to be met with." " I'm certain of it. I feel assured that he must be a cheerful com- panion, and reasonably honest and loyal in his dealings witli man. He is of a class that reserve all their treachery and all their baseness for where they can be safely practised ; and, strange cuougli, men of ONE or TUEM. 807 honour know these things — men of unquestionable honour associate freely with fellows of this stamp, as if the wrong done to a woman was a venial oifence, if offence at all." "The way of the world," said O'Shea, with a half sigh. " Pleasant philosophy that so easily accounts for exerj baseness and even villany by showing that they are popidar. But come, let us be practical. "What's to be done here ? — what do you suggest ?" " Give me the right to deal with him, and leave the settlement to me.'' " The right — that is " She hesitated, flushed up for an instant, and then grew lividly pale again. "Tes," said he, taking his place at her side, and leaning an arm on the back of her chair. " I thought I never saw your equal when you were gay, and light-hearted, and fidl of spirits ; but I like you better, far better now, and I'd ratlier face the world with you than " " I don't want to deceive you," said she, hurriedly, and her lips quivered as she spoke, " but there are things which I cannot tell you — things of which I could not speak to any one, least of all to him who says he is willing to share his fate with me. It is a hard con- dition to make, and yet I must make it." " Put your hand in mine, then, and I'll take you on any condi- tions you like." " One word more before we close our bargain. It might so happen — it is far from unlikely — that the circumstances of which I dare not trust myself to utter a syllable, may come to your ears when I am your wife, when it will be impossible for you to treat them as calum- nies, and just as idle to say that you never heard of them before. How will you act if such a moment comes ?" " Answer me one plain question first. Is there any man living who has power over you — except as regards these letters, I mean ?" " None." "There is, then, no charge of this, that, or t'other ?" " I will answer no more. I have told you fairly that if you take me for your wife you must be prepared to stand in the breach be- tween me and the world, and meet whatever assails me as one pre- pared. Are you ready for this ?" "I'm not afraid of the danger " " So, then, your fears are only for the cause ?" It was with the very faintest touch of scorn these words were spoken, but he marked it, and reddened over face and forehead. "When that cause will have become my own, you'll see that I'll hesitate little about defending it." 398 ONE OF THEM. " That's all that I ask for, all tliat I wish. This is strange court- ship," said she, trying to laugh ; " but let us carry it tlirough con- sistently. I conclude you are not rich ; neither am I — at least, for the present ; a very few weeks, however, will put me in possession of a large property. It is in land in America. The legal formalities which are necessary will be completed almost immediately, and my co-heir is now coming over from the States to meet me, and establish his claim also. These are all confidences, remember, fori now speak to you freely ; and, in the same spirit that I make them, I ask you to trust me — to trust me fully and wholly, with a faith that says, ' I will wait to the eud — to the very end !' " ' " Let this be my pledge," said he, taking her hand and kissing it. " Paith," said he, after a second or two, " I can scarcely believe in my good luck. It seems to be every moment so like a dream to think that you consent to take me ; just, too, when I was beginning to feel tliat fortune had clean forgotten me. You are not listening to me, not minding a word I say. What is it, then, you are thinking of?" " I was plotting," said she, gravely. " Plotting — more plotting ! Why can't we go along now on the high road, without looking for by-paths ?" "Not yet — not yet awhile. Attend to me, now. It is not likely that we can meet again very soon. My coming out here to-day was at great risk, for I am believed to be ill, and in bed with a feverish cold. I cannot venture to repeat this peril, but you shall hear from me. My maid is to be trusted, and will bring you tidings of mo With to-morrow's post I hope to learn where Paten is, and when he will be here. You shall learn both immediately, and be prepared to act on the information. Above all things, bear in mind that though I hate this man, all my abhorrence of him is nothing — actually no- tliing — to my desire to regain my letters. For them I would forego everything. Had I but tliese in my possession, I could wait for vengeance, and wait patiently." " So that from himself personally you fear nothing ?" " Nothing, lie cannot say more of me than is open to all the world to say " She stopped, and grew red, for she felt that lier im- petuosity had carried lier further than she was aware. " llemcinber once more, then, if you could buy tliem, steal them, get thein in any way — I care not how, that my object is fulfilled — the day you place tliem in this hand it is your own !" He burst out into some rhapsody of his delight, but cliecked him- self as suddenly, wlien he saw that her face had assumed its former look of preoccupation. ONE OF TIIEM. 399 " Plotting again ?" asked he, half peevislily. " I have need to plot," said she, mournfully, as she leaned her head upon her hand ; and now there came over her countenance a look of deepest sorrow. " I grow very weary of all this at times," said she, in a faint and broken voice ; " so weary, that I half suspect it were better to throw the cards down, and say, ' There ! I've lost ! What's the stake ?' I believe I could do this. I am convinced I could, if I were certain that there was one man or one woman on the earth who would give me one word of pity, or bestow one syllable of compassion for my ftill." " But surely your daugliter Clara " " Clara is not my daughter ; she is nothing to me ; never was, never can be. We are separated, besides, never to meet again, and I charge you not to speak of her." " May I never ! if I can see my way at all. It's out of one mystery into another. Will you just tell me ?" " Ask me nothing. You have heard from me this day what I have never told another. But I have confidence in your good faiti), and can say, ' If you rue your bargain there is yet time to say so,' and you may leave this as free as when you entered it." " You never mistook a man more. It's not going back I was think- ing of; but surely I might ask " " Once for all, I will not be questioned. There never lived that man or woman who could thread their way safely through difficulties, if they waited to have every obstacle canvassed, and every possible mystery explained. You must leave me to my own guidance here, and one of its first conditions is, not to shake my confidence in my. self." " Won't you even tell me when we're to be one ?" " AVhat an ardent lover it is," said she, laughing. " There, fetch me my shawl, and let me see that you know how to put it properly on my shoulders. No liberties, Sir ! and least of all when they crush a Parisian bonnet. The evening is falling already, and I must set off homewards." " Won't you give me a seat in the carriage with you ? Surely you'd not see me ride back in such a downpour as that P" " I should think I would. I'd leave you to go it on foot rather than commit such an indiscretion. Drive back to Eorae with Mr. O'Shea alone ! What would the world say ? AVhat would Sir William Heath- cote say, who expects to make me Lady Heathcote some early day next mouth ?" " By the way, I heard that story. An old fellow, called Nick Holmes, told me " 400 ONE OF THEM. " "What old Nick told you could scarcely be true. There, will you order the carriage to the door, aud give these good people some money? Ain't you charmed that I give you one of a husband's privileges so early ? Don't dare to answer me ; an Irishman never has the discretion to reply to a liberty as he ought. Is that poor beast yours ?" asked slie, as they gained the door, and saw a horse standing, all shivering and wretched, under a frail shed. " He was tins morning, but I had the good luck to sell him before I took this ride." " I must really compliment } ou," said she, laughing heartily. " A gentleman who makes love so economically ought to be a model of order wheu a husband." And with this she stepped in, and drove away CHAPTER LII. A DINNER OF TWO. The O'Shea returned to Rome at a " slapping pace." He did his eight miles of heavy ground within forty minutes. But neither the speed nor the storm could turn his thoughts from the scene he had just passed through. It was with truth he said that he could not give credit to the fact of such good fortune as to believe she would accept him ; and yet the more he reflected on the subject, the more was he puzzled and disconcerted. When he had last seen her she refused him — refused him absolutely and flatly ; she even hinted at a reason that seemed unanswerable, and suggested that, though they might aid each other as friends, there could be no co-partnership of interests. " AVhat has led her to this change of mind. Heaven knows. It is no lucky turn of fortune on my side can have induced it ; my pro- spects were never bleaker. And tlieu," thought he, " of what nature is tliis same secret, or rather these secrets, of hers, for they seem to grow in clusters ? "What can she have done ? or what has Penthony Morris done ? Is he alive ? is he at Norfolk Island ? was he a forger, or worse ? How much does Paten know about her ? What power has he over her besides the possession of these letters ? Is Patea Penthony Morris ?" It was thus tluit his mind went to and fro, like a surging sea, restless and not advancing. Never was there a niau more tortured by his conjectures. He knew that she might marry ONE OF THEM. 401 Sir AVilliam Heathcote if she liked ; why, then, prefer himself to a man of station and fortune ? "Was it that he was more likely to enact the vengeance she thirsted for than the old Baronet ? Ay, that was a reasonable calculation. She was right there, and he'd bring Master Paten " to book," as sure as his name was O'Shea. That was the sort of thing he understood as well as any man in Europe. He had been out scores of times, and knew how to pick a quarrel, and to aggravate it, and make it perfectly beyond all possibility of arrangement, as well as any fire-eater of a French line regiment. That was, perhaps, the reason of the widow's choice of him. If she married Heathcote, it would be a case for lawyers : a great trial at Westminster, and a great scandal in the papers. " But with me it will be all quiet and peaceable. I'll get back her letters, or I'll know why." He next bethought him of her fortune. He wished she had told him more about it — how it came to her — was it by settlement — was it from the Morrises ? He wished, too, it had not been in America ; he was not quite sure that property there meant anything at all ; and, lastly, he brought to mind that though he had proposed for dozens of women, this was the only occasion he was not asked what he could secure by settlement, and how much he would give as pin-money. No, on that score she was delicacy itself, and he was one to appreciate all the refinement of her reserve. Indeed, if it came to the old busi- ness of searches, and showing titles, and all the other exposures of the O'Shea family, he felt that he would rather die a bachelor than encounter them. "She knew how^ to catch me! 'A row to fight through, and no questions asked about money, O'Shea,' says she. 'Can you resist temptation like that ?' " As he alighted at the hotel, he saw Agincourt standing at a window, and evidently laughing at the dripping, mud-stained appearance he presented. " I hope and trust that wasn't the nag I bought this morning," said he to O'Shea, as he entered the room. " The very same ; and I never saw him in finer heart. If you only witnessed the way he carried me through those ploughed fields out there ! He's strong in the loins as a cart-horse." " I must say you appear to have ridden him as a friend's horse. He seemed dead beat, as he was led away." " He's fresh as a four-year-old." " "Well, never mind, go and dress for dinner, for you're half an hour behind time already." O'Shea was not sorry to have the excuse, and hurried off to make bis toilet. 2d 402 ONE OF THEM. Freytag was aware that his guest was a " Milor," and the dinner was very good, and the wine reasonably so ; and the two, as they placed a little spider-table between them before the fire, seemed fully conscious of all the enjoyment of the situation. Agincourt said, "Is not this jolly ?" And so it was. And what is there jollier than to be about sixteen or seventeen years of age, with good health, good station, and ample means ? To be launched into manhood, too, as a soldier, without one detracting sense of man's troubles and cares — to feel that your elders condescend to be your equals, and will even accept your invitation to dinner! — ay, and more, practise towards you all those little flatteries and attentions which, however vapid ten years later, are positive ecstasies now ! But of all its glorious privileges there is not one can compare with the boundless self-confidence of youth, that implicit faith not alone in its energy and activity, its fearless contempt for danger, and its indifterence to hardships, but, more strange still, in its superior sharpness and knowledge of life! Oh dear! are we not shrewd fellows when we matriculate at Christ Church, or see ourselves gazetted Cornet in the Horse Guards Purple ? Who ever equalled us in all the wiles and schemes of mankind ? Must he not rise early who means to dupe us ? Have we not a registered catalogue of all the knaveries that have ever been practised on the unsuspecting ? Truly have we ; and if suspicion were a safeguard, nothing can harm us. Now, Agincourt was a fine, true-hearted, generous young fellow — manly and straightforward — but he had imbibed his share of this tendency. He fancied himself subtle, and imagined that a nice negotiation could not be entrusted to better hands. Besides this, lie was eager to impress Heathcote with a high opinion of his skill, and show that even a regular man of the world like O'Shea was not near a match for him. "I'm not going to drink that light claret such an evening as this," said O'Shea, pushing away his just-tasted glass. " Let us have some- thing a shade warmer." " Eing the bell, and order what you like." " Here, this will do — ' Clos Vougeot,' " said O'Shea, pointing out to the waiter the name on the wine " carte." " And if that be a failure, I'll fall back on brandy-and-water, the refuge of a man after bad wine, just as disappointed young ladies take to a convent. If you can drink that little tipple, Agincourt, you're right to do it. You'll come to Burgundy at forty, and to rough port ten years later ; but you've a wide margin left before that. How old are you ?" ONE OF THEM. 403 " I shall be seventeen my next birthday," said the other, flushing, and not -wishing to add that there were eleven months and eight days to run before that event should come cfl". " That's a mighty pretty time of life. It gives you a clear four years for irresponsible follies before you come of age. Then you may fairly count upon three or four more for legitimate wastefulness, and with a little, very little, discretion, you never need know a Je\y till you're six-and-twenty." " I beg your pardon, my good fellow," said the other, colouring, half angrily ; " I've had plenty to do witli those gents already. Ask Nathan whether he hasn't whole sheafs of my bills. My guardian only allows me twelve hundred a year — a downright shame they caU it in the regiment, and so I Avrote him word. In fact, I told him what our Major said, that with such means as mine I ought to try and manage an exchange into the Cape Rifles." " Or a black regiment in the "West Indies," chimed in O'Shea, gravely. " No, confound it, he didn't say that !" "The Irish Constabulary, too, is a cheap corps. Ton might stand that." " I don't mean to try either," said the youth, angrily. " And what does Nathan charge you ? — say for a ' thing' at three months?" " That all depends upon the state of the money-market," said Agin- court, with a look of profoundest meaning. " It is entirely a ques- tion of the foreign exchanges, and I study them like a stockbroker. Nathan said one day : ' It's a thousand pities he's a Peer ; there's a fellow with a head to beat the whole Stock Exchange.' " " Does he make you pay twenty per cent., or five-and-twenty, for short dates ?" *' You don't understand it at all. It's no question of that kind. It's always a calculation of what gold is worth at Amsterdam, or some other place, and it's a difierence of, maybe, one-eighth that deter- mines the whole value of a bill." " I see," said O'Shea, puffing his cigar very slowly. '" I have no doubt that you bought your knowledge on these subjects dearly enough." " I should think I did ! Until I came to understand the thing, I was always ' outside the ropes,' always borrowing with the ' exchanges against me' — you know what I mean ?" .. " I believe I do," said O'Shea, sighing heavily. " They have been against me all my life." " That's just because you never took trouble to study the thing. 2d2 404 ONE OF THEM. Tou rushed madly into the market whenever you wanted money, and paid whatever they asked." " I did indeed ! and, what's more, was very grateful if I got it." " And I know what came of that — how that ended." "How?" " Why, you dipped your estate, gave mortgages, and the rest .of it." ' O'Shea nodded a full assent. " Oh, / know the whole story ; I've seen so much of this sort of thing. Well, old fellow," added he, after a pause, " if I'd been ac- quainted with you ten or fifteen years ago, I could have saved you from all this ruin." O'Shea repressed every tendency to a smile, and nodded again. " I'd have said to you, ' Don't he in a hurry, watch the market, and I'll tell you when to " go in." ' " " Maybe it's not too late yet, so give me a word of friendly advice," said O'Shea, with a modest humility. " There are few men want it more." There was now a pause of several minutes, O'Shea waiting to see Low his bait had taken, and Agincourt revolving in his mind whether this was' not the precise moment for opening his negotiation. At last he said : " I wrote that letter I promised you. I said you were an out-and- outer as to ability, and that they couldn't do better than make you a Governor somewhere, though you'd not be disgusted with something smaller. I've been looking over the vacancies; there's not much open. Could you be a Mahogany Commissioner at Hondui'as ?" " Well, so far as having had my legs under that wood for many years witli pleasure to myself and satisfaction to my friends, perhaps I might." , " Do you know what I'd do if I were you ?" " I have not an idea." " I'd marry — by Jove, I would ! — I'd marry !" "I've thouglit of it half a dozen times," said he, stretching out his hand for the decanter, and rather desirous of escaping notice ; " but, you see, to marry a woman with money — and of course it's that you mean — there's always the inquiry what you have yourself, where it is, and what are the charges on it. Now, as you slirewdly guessed a while ago, I dipped my estate — dipped it so deep, that I begin to suspect it won't come up again." " But look out for a woman that has her fortune at her own dis- posal." OIs'E OF TIIEM. 405 " And no friends to advise lier." O'Shea's face, as he said this, was so absurdly droll, that Agincourt laughed aloud. " AVell, as you observe, no friends to advise her. I suppose you don't care much for connexion — I mean rank ?" " As for the matter of family, I have enough for as many wives as Bluebeard, if the law would let me have them." " Then I fancy I know the thing to suit you. She's a stunning prettv woman besides." " Where is she ?" " At Eome here." "And who is she?" " Mrs. Penthony Morris, the handsome widow, that's on a visit to the Heathcotes. She must have plenty of tin, I can answer for that, for old Nathan told me she was in all the heavy transfers of South American shares, and was a buyer for very large amounts." " Are you sure of that ?" " I can give my word on it. I remember his saying one morning, ' The widow takes her losses easily ; she minds twelve thousand pounds no more than I would a five-pound note.' " "They have a story here that she's going to marry old Heath- cote." " ISot true — I mean, that she won't have him." " And why ? It was clear enough she was playing that game for some time back." " I wanted Charley to try his chance," said xlgincourt, evading the question, " but he is spooney on his cousin May, I fancy, and has no mind to do a prudent thing." " But how am I to go in P' said O'Shea, timidly. " If she's as rich as you say, would she listen to a poor out-at-elbows Irish gen- tleman, with only his good blood to back him ?" " You're the man to do it — the very man." O'Shea shook his head. " I say you'd succeed. I'd back you against tlie field." " Will you make me a bet on it ?" " With all my heart ? What shall it be ?" " Lay me a hundred to one, in tens, and I give you my solemn word of honour I'll do my very best to lose my wager and win the widow." " Done ! I'll bet you a thousand pounds to ten : book it, with the date, and I'll sign it." While Agincourt was yet speaking, O'Shea had produced a small note-book, and was recording the bet. Scarcely had he clasped the little volume again, when the waiter entered, and handed him a note. 406 ONE or THEM. O'Sliea read it rapidly, and finishing off his glass, refilled and drank it. " I must leave you for half an hour," said he, hastily. " There's a friend of mine in a bit of a scrape with one of these French ofiicers ; but I'll be back presently." " I say, make your man fight. Don't stand any bullying with those fellows." O'Shea did not wait for his counsels, but hurried off. " This way, Sir," whispered a man to him, as he passed out into the court of the hotel ; " the carriage is round the corner." He followed the man, and in a few minutes found himself in a narrow by-street, where a single carriage was standing. The glass was quietly let down as he drew near, and a voice he had no diffi- culty in recognising, said, " I have just received a most urgent letter, and I must leave Eouie to-morrow at daybreak, for Germany. I have learned, besides, that Paten is at Baden. He was on his way here, but stopped to try his luck at the tables. He has twice broken the bank, and swears he will not leave till he has succeeded a third time. "We all well know how such pledges finish. But you must set off there at once. Leave to-morrow night, if you can, and by the time you arrive, or the day after, you'll find a letter for you at the post, with my address, and all your future directions. Do nothing with Paten till you hear ; mind that — nothing. I have not time for another word, for I am in terror lest my absence from the house should be discovered. If anything imminent occur, you. shall hear by telegraph." " Let me drive back with you ; I have much to say, much to ask you," said he, earnestly. " On no account. There, good-by — don't forget me." While he yet held her hand, the word was given to drive on, and his farewell was lost in the rattling of the wheels over the pavement. " Well, have you patched it up, or is it a fight?" asked Agincourt, when he entered the room once more. " You'll keep my secret, I know," said O'Shea, iu a whisper. " Don't even breathe a word to Heathcote, but I'll have to leave this to-morrow, get over the nearest frontier, and settle this aflair." " You'd like some cash, Avouldn't you ? — at all events, I am your debtor for that horse. Do you want more ?" " There, that's enough — two hundred will do," said O'Shea, taking the notes from his fingers ; " even if 1 have to make a bolt of it, that will be ample." " Tliis looks badly for your wager, O'Shea. It may lose you the widow, I suspect." ONE OF TUEM. 407 " Who knows," said O'Shea, laughing. " Circular sailing is some- times the short cut on hind as well as sea. If you have any good news for me from Downing-street, I'll shy you a line to say where to send ; and so, good-by." And A^incourt shook his hand cordially, but not without a touch of envy as he thought of the mission he was engaged in. CHAPTER LIII. SOJIE LAST WORDS. While Agincourt and O'Shea thus sat and conversed together, there was another fireside which presented a far happier picture, and where old Sir William sat, with his son and May Leslie, overjoyed to think tliat they were brought together again, and to separate no more. Charles had told them that he had determined never to leave them, and all their thoughts had gone back to the long, long ago, when they were so united and so happy. There was, indeed, one theme which none dared to touch. It was ever and anon uppermost in the mind of each, and yet none had courage to adventure on it, even in allusion. It was in one of the awkward pauses which this thought produced that a servant came to say Mrs. Morris would be glad to see Charles in her room. He had more than once requested permission to visit her, but somehow, now, the invitation had come ill-timed, and he arose with a half impatience to obey it. During the greater part of that morning, Charles Heathcote had employed himself in imagining by what process of persuasion, what line of argument, or at what price, he could induce the widow herself to break ofl" the engagement with his father. The guarded silence Sir William had maintained on the subject since his son's arrival was to some extent an evidence that he knew his project could not meet approval. Kor was the old man a stranger to the fact that May Leshe's manner to the widow had long been marked by reserve and estrangement. This, too, increased Sir William's embarrassment, and left him more isolated and alone. " How shall I approach such a question and not offend her ?" was Charles's puzzle, as he passed her door. So full was he of the bulletins of her indisposition, that he almost started as he saw her seated at a table, writing away rapidly, and looking, to his thinking, as well as he had ever seen her. 408 ONE OF THEM. "This is indeed a pleasant surprise," said he, as he came forward. " I was picturing to myself a sick-room and a sufferer, and I find you more beautiful than ever." "Tou surely couldn't imagine I'd have sent for you if I were not conscious that my paleness became me, and that my dressing-gown was very pretty. Sit down — no, here — at my side ; I have much to say to you, and not very long to say it. If I had not been actually overwhelmed with business, real business, too, I'd have sent for you long ago. I could imagine with very little difficulty what was upper- most in your mind lately, and how, having determined to remain at home, your thoughts would never quit one distressing theme — you know what I mean. AVell, I repeat, I could well estimate all your troubles and difficulties on this head, and I longed for a few minutes alone with you, when we could speak freely and candidly to each other, no disguise, no deception, on either side. Shall we be frank with each other?" " By all means." " Well, then, you don't like this marriage. Come, speak out honestly your mind." " "Why, when I think of the immense disproportion in age ; when I see on one side " " Fiddle faddle ! If I were seventy it wouldn't make it better. I tell you, I don't want fine speeches nor delicate evasions, therefore be the blunt, straightforward fellow you used to be, and say, ' I don't like it at all.' " "Well, here goes, I do not like it at all." " Neither do I," said she, lying back listlessly in her chair, and looking calmly at him. " I see what is passing in your mind, Charles. I read your thoughts in their ebb and flow, and they come to this : ' Why have you taken such consummate pains about an object you would regret to see accomplished ? To what end all your little coquetries, and graces, and so forth ?' Well, the question is reason- able enough, and I'll give you only one answer. It amused we, and it worried others. It kept poor May and yourself in a small fever, and I have never through life had self-command enough to deny myself the pleasure of terrifying people at small cost, making them fancy they are drowning in two feet of water." " I hope May is grateful ; I am sure Jam," said Charles, stiffl}'. " Well, if you have not been in the past, I intend you to be so for the future. I mean to relinquish the great prize I had so nearly won ; to give up the distinguished honour of being your stepmother, with all the I'ights and privileges I could have grouped around that station. ONE OF THEil. 409 I mean to abdicate all my power ; to leave the dear Heatbcotcs to the enjoyment of such happiness as their virtues and merits cannot fail to secure them, under the simple condition that they will forget me, or, if that be more than they can promise, that they will never make me the subject of their discussions, nor bring up my name, either in praise or blame. Now understand me aright, Charles," said she, earnestly ; " this is no request prompted by any pique of injured pride or wounded self-love. It is not uttered in the irritation of one who feels rejected by you. It is a grave demand, made as the price of an important concession. I exact that my name be not spoken, or, if uttered by others in your presence, that it be unacknowledged and unnoticed. It is no idle wish, believe me ; for who are the victims of the world's calumnies so often as the friendless, whose names call forth no sponsor ? They are the outlaws that any may wound or even kill, and their sole sanctuary is oblivion." " I think you judge us harshly," began Charles. But she stopped him : " No, far from it. I know you all by this time. You are far more generously minded than your neighbours, but there is one trait at- taches to human nature everywhere. Every one exaggerates any peril he has passed through, and every man and woman is prone to blacken the character of those who have frightened them. Come, I'll not discuss the matter further. I have all those things to pack up, and some notes to write before I go." " Go ! Are you going away so soon ?" " To-morrow, at daybreak. I have got tidings of a sick relative, an old aunt, who was very fond of me long ago, and who wishes to have me near her, I should like to see May, and, indeed, Sir "Wil- liam, but I believe it will be better not : I mean, that partings are gratuitous sorrows. Ton will say all that I wish. Tou will tell them how it happened that I left so hurriedly. I'm not sure," added she, smiling, " that your explanation will be very lucid or very coherent, but the chances are, none will care to question you too closely. Of course you will repeat all my gratitude for the kindness I have met here. I have had some of my happiest days with you," added she, as if thinking aloud ; " days in which I half forgot the life of trouble that was to be resumed on the morrow. And, above aU, say," said she, with earnestness, " that when they have received my debt of thanks they are to wipe out my name from the ledger, and remember me no more." Charles Heathcote was much moved by her words. The very calm alie spoke in had its efiect, and he felt he knew not what of self-ac- 410 ONE OF THEM. cusation as he thought of her lonely and friendless lot. He could not disabuse his mind of the thought that it was through offended pride she vras relinquishing the station she had so long striven to attain, and now held within her very grasp. " She is not the selfish creature I had deemed her ; she is far, far better than I believed. I have mistaken her, misjudged her. That she has gone through much sorrow, is plain ; that there may be in her story incidents which she would grieve to see a town talk, is also likely ; but are not all these reasons the more for our sympathy and support, and how shall we answer to ourselves hereafter for any show of neglect •or harshness towards her ?" AVhile he thus reflected, she had turned to the table and was busy writing. " I have just thought of sending a few farewell lines \o May," said she, talking away as her pen ran along the paper. " We all of us mistake each other in this world : we are valued for what we are not, and deemed deficient in what we have." She stopped, and then crumpling up the half- written paper in her hand, said : " No, I'll not write — at least, not now. You'll tell her everything — a}^ Charles, everything !" Here she fixed her eyes steadfastly on him, as though to look into his very thoughts. " You and May Leslie will be married, and one of your subjects of mysterious talk — when you're all alone — will be that strange woman who called herself Mrs. Penthony Morris. "What wise guesses and shrewd conjectures do I fiiucy you making ; how cunningly you'll put together fifty things that seem to illustrate her story, and yet have no bearing upon it ; and how cleverly you'll construct a narrative for her without one solitary atom of truth. "Well, she'll think of you, too, but in a different spirit, and she will be happier than I suspect if she do not often wish to live over again the long summer days and starry nights at Marlia." " May is certain to ask me about Clara, where she is, and if we are likely to see her again." " And you'll tell her, that as I did not speak of her, your own deli- cacy imposed such a reserve that you could not ask these questions. Good-by. But that I want to be forgotten, I'd give you a keepsake. Good-by — and forget me." Slie turned away at tlie last word, and passed into an inuer room. Charles stood for an instant or two irresolute, and then walked slowly away. ONE or THEM. 411 CHAPTEE LIV. FOUND OUT. QuAOKiNBOSS and the Lay tons came back in due time to England, and at once hastened to London. They had traced Winthrop and Trover at Liverpool, and heard of their having left for town, and thither they followed them in all eagerness. The pursuit had now become a chase, with all its varying incidents of good or bad fortune. Each took his allotted part, going out of a morning on his especial beat, and returning late of evening to report his success or failure. Quackinboss frequented all the well-known haunts of his country- men, hoping to chance upon some one who had seen Winthrop, or could give tidings of him. Old Layton — the Doctor, as we shall for the remainder of our brief space call him — was more practical. He made searches for Hawke's will at Doctors' Commons, and found the transcript of a brief document irregularly drawn, and disposing of a few thousand pounds, but not making mention of any American pro- perty. He next addressed himself to that world-known force, so cele- brated in all the detection of crime ; he described the men he sought for, and offered rewards for their discovery, carefully protesting the while that nothing but a vague suspicion attached to them. As for Alfred, he tried to take his share in what had such interest for the others. He made careful notes of the points assigned to him for investigation : he learned names, and addresses, and references to no end ; he laboured hard to imbue himself with the zeal of the others, but it would not do. All his thoughts, hopes, and wishes had another direction, and he longed impatiently for an opportunity to make his escape from them, and set out for Italy and discover Clara. His only clue to her was through Stocmar, but that gentleman was abroad, and not expected for some days in London. Little did the Doctor or Quackinboss suspect that Alfred's first call on every morning was at the private entrance of the Eegent's Theatre, and his daily question as invariably the same demand, " When do you expect Mr. Stocmar in town ?" Poor fellow ! he was only bored by that tiresome search, and hated every man, woman, and child concerned in the dismal history ; and 412 ONE OF THEM. yet no other subject was ever discussed — no otlier theme brought up amougst them. In vain Alfred tried to turn the conversation upon questions of public interest ; by some curious sympathy they would not be drawn away into that all-absorbing vortex, and start from what point they might, they were certain to arrive at last at the High Court of Jersey. It was on one evening, as they sat together around the fire, that, by dint of great perseverance and consummate skill, Alfred had drawn them away to talk of India and the war there. Anecdotes of personal heroism succeeded, and for every achievement of our gallant fellows at Lucknow, Quackinboss steadily quoted some not less daring exploit of the Mexican war. Thus discussing courage, they came at last to the nice question — of its characteristics in different nations, and even in individuals. " In cool daring, in confronting peril with perfect collectedness, and such a degree of self-possession as confers every possible chance of escape on its possessor, a woman is superior to us all," said the Doctor, who for some time had been silently reflecting. " One case particularly presents itself to my mind," resumed he. " It was con- nected with that memorable trial at Jersey." Alfred groaned heavily, and pushed back his chair from the group. "The case was this," continued the old man: "while the police were eagerly intent on tracing out all who were implicated in the murder, suspicion being rife on every hand, every letter that passed between the supposed confederates was opened and read, and a strict watch set over any who were believed likely to convey messages from one to the other. " On the evening of the inquest — it was about an hour after dark — the window of an upper room was gently opened, and a woman's voice called out to a countryman below, ' AVill you earn half-a-crown, my good man, and take this note to Dr. Layton's, in the town ?' He agreed at once, and the letter and the bribe were speedily thrown into his hat. Little did the writer suspect it was a policeman in dis- guise she had cliarged with her commission ! The fellow hastened off vidth his prize to the magistrate, who, having read the note, resealed it, and forwarded it to me. Here it is. I have sliown it to so many, that its condition is become very frail, but it is still readable. It was very brief, and ran thus : " ' Deak Friend, — My misery will plead for me if I tlius address ONE or THEM. 413 you. I have a favour to ask, and my broken heart tells me you will not refuse me. I want you to cut me off a lock of ray darling's hair. Take it from the left temple, where it is longest, and bring it to- morrow to his forlorn widow, " ' Louisa. Hawke.' " From the moment they read that note, the magistrates felt it an outrage to suspect her. I do not myself mean to implicate her in the great guilt — far from it — but here was a bid for S3'mpathy, and put forward in all the coolness of a delibei'ate plan ; for the policeman himself told me, years after, that she saw him at Dover, and gave him a sovereign, saying, jocularly, ' I think you look better when dressed as a countryman.' Now, I call this consummate calculation." As he was speaking, Quackiuboss had drawn near the candles, and was examining the writing. " I wonder," said he, " what the fellows who affect to decipher cha- racter in handwriting would say to this ? It's all regular and well formed." " Is it very small ? Are the letters minute ? for that, they allege, is one of the indications of a cruel nature," said Alfred. "They show a specimen of Lucrezia Borgia's, that almost requires a microscope to read it." " No," said Quackiuboss ; " that's what they call a bold, free hand ; the writing, one would say, of a slap-dash gal that wasn't agoin' to count consequences." " Let me interpret her," said Alfred, drawing the caudles towards him, and preparing for a very solemn and deliberate judgment. " "What's this r"' cried he, almost wildl3^ " I know this hand well ; I could swear to it. You shall see if I cannot." And, without another word, he arose and rushed from the room. Before the Doctor or Quackiuboss could recover from their astonishment, Alfred was back again, holding two notes in his hand. " Come here, both of you, now," cried he, " and tell me, are not these in the same writing ?" They were several short notes — invitatious or messages from Marlia about riding-parties, signed Louisa Morris. " AVhat do you say to tliat ? Is that word 'Louisa' written by the same hand or not?" cried Alfred, trembling from head to foot as he spoke. " 'Tarnel snakes if it ain't!" broke out Quackiuboss; '" and our widow woman was the wife of that murdered fellow Hawke." " And Clara his daughter !" muttered Alfred, as he covered his face with his hands to hide his emotion. 414 ONE OF THEM. " These were written by the same person, that's clear enough," said the Doctor, closely scrutinising every word and every letter ; " there are marks of identity that cannot be disputed. But who is this widow you speak of?" Alfred could only stammer out, " He'll tell you all," as he pointed to Quackinboss, for a faintish sick sensation crept over his frame, and he shook like one in the cold stage of an ague. The American, how- ever, gave a very calm and connected narrative of their first meeting with Mrs. Penthony Morris and her supposed daughter at Lucca; how that lady, from a chance acquaintance with the Heathcotes, had established an intimacy, and then a friendship there. " Describe her to me — tell me something of her appearance," burst in the old man with impatience, for as his mind followed the long- sought-for " trail," his eagerness became beyond his power of control. " Blue eyes, that might be mistaken for black, or dark hazel, had she not ? and the longest of eyelashes, the mouth full and pouting, but the chin sharply turned, and firm-looking ? Am I right ?" " That are you, and teeth as reg'lar as a row of soldiers." " Her foot, too, was perfect. It had been modelled scores of times by sculptors, and there were casts of it with a Eoman sandal, or naked on a plantain-leaf, in her drawing-room. You've seen her foot?" " It was a grand foot ! I Jmve seen it," said the American ; " and if I was one as liked monarchy, I'd say it might have done for a queen to stand on in front of a throne." " What was her voice like?" asked the old man, eagerly. " Low and soft, with almost a tremor in it when she asked some trifling favour," said Alfred, now speaking for the first time. " Herself — her very self. I know her well, by tJiaf P' cried the old man, triumphantly. " I carried those trembling accents in my memory for many and many a day. Gro on, and tell me more of her. Who was this same Morris — when, how, and where were they married?" " We never knew ; none of us ever saw him. Some said he was living, and in China or India. Some called her a widow. The girl Clara was called hers " (( No. Clara was Hawke's. She must liave been Hawke's daughter by his first wife, the niece of this AVinthrop." " She's the great heiress, then," broke in Quackinboss ; *' she's to have Peddar's Clearin's, and the whole of that track beside Grove's Eiver. There ain't such another fortune in all Ohio." £^ M ^ /r( ^^^>uiAy ONE OF THEM. 415 "And tliis was poor Clara's secret," said Alfred to Quacldnboss, in a whisper, " when she said, ' I only know that I am an orphan, and that my name is not Clara Morris.' " "Do 1/ou think, then, Sir, that such a rogue as tliat fellow Trover went out all the way to the western states to make out that gal's right to these territories?" asked Quackinboss, gravely. " Not a bit of it. He went to rob her, to cheat her, to put forward some false claim, to substitute some other in her place," cried old Layton. " Who is to say if he himself be not the man Morris, and the husband of our fair friend ? He may have fifty names for aught we know, and Morris be one of them." "You told me that Clara had been made over to a certain Mr. Stocmar, to prepare her for the stage," said Alfred to the American. But before he could reply the Doctor broke in : " Stocmar — Hyman Stocmar, of the Eegent's ?" " The same. Do you know him, father ?" " That do I, and well, too. What of him ?" " It was to his care this young lady was entrusted," said Alfred, blushing at the very thought of alluding to her. " If there should be dealings with Stocmar, let them be left to we," said the Doctor, firmly. " I will be able to make better terms with him than either of you." " I s'pose you're not going to leave a gal that's to have a matter of a million of dollars to be a stage player? She ain't need to rant, and screech, and tear herself to pieces at ten or fifteen dollars a night and a free benefit." " First to find her, then to assert her rights," said the Doctor. " How are we to find her ?" asked Alfred. " I will charge myself with that task, but we must be active, too," said the Doctor. " I half suspect that I see the whole intrigue : why this woman was separated from the young girl, why this fellow Trover was sent across the Atlantic, and what means that story of the large fortune so suddenly left to Winthrop." " I only know him slightly, Sir," said Quackinboss, breaking in, " but no man shall say a word against Harvey P. Winthrop in my hearing." " You mistake me," rejoined the Doctor. " It would be no im- pugnment of my honesty that some one bequeathed me an estate — not that I think the event a likely one. So far as I can surmise, Win- throp is the only man of honour amongst them." '• Glad to hear you say so, Sir," said the Colonel, gravely. "It's a 416 ONE OF THEM. great victory over national prejudices when a Britisher gets to say so much for one of our people. It's the grand compensation you always have for your inferiority, to call our sharpness roguery." It was a critical moment now, and it needed all Alfred's readiness and address to separate two combatants so eager for battle. He suc- ceeded, however, and, after some common-place conversation, con- trived to carry his father away, on pretence of an engagement. " Yon should have let me smash him," muttered the old man, bitterly, as he followed him from the room. " Tou should have given me fifteen minutes — ay, ten. I'd not have asked more than ten to present him with a finished picture of his model Eepublican, in dress, manner, morals, and demeanour. I'd have said, 'Here is what I, myself, have seen ' " "And I would have stopped you," broke in Alfred, boldly, "and laid my hand on Quackiuboss's shoulder, and said, ' Here is what I have known of America. Here is one who, without other tie than a generous pity, nursed me through the contagion of a fever, and made recovery a blessing to me by his friendship after — who shared heart and fortune with me when I was a beggar in both.' " " You are right, boy — ^you are right. How hard it is to crush the old rebellious spirit in one's nature, even after we have lived to see the evil it has worked us." O'S'E OF TREAf, 417 I .; CHAPTER LV. THE manager's BOOM AT THE " KECENT's." At an early hour the next morning the two Laytons presented themselves at the private door of the " Regent's. " Mr. Stocmar had returned that morning from Paris ; he had been to bed for an hour, and was now dressed and up, but so busily engaged that he had left positive orders to be denied to all except a certain high personage in the royal household, and a noble Lord, whose name he had given to the porter. " We are not either of these," said the Doctor, smiling, "but I am a very old friend, whom he did not know was in England. I have been scores of times here with him ; and to prove how I know my way through flats and side-scenes, I'll just step up to his room with- out asking you to conduct me." These pleadings were assisted con- siderably by the dexterous insinuation of a sovereign into the man's hand, and Lay ton passed in, with his son after him. ; "" True to his word, and not a little to Alfi'ed's astonishment, the Doctor threaded his way through many a dark passage and up many a frail stair till he reached the well-known, well-remembered door. He knocked sbarply, but without waiting for reply, turned the handle and entered. Stocmar, who stood at the table busily breaking the seals of a vast heap of letters, turned suddenly around and stared at the strangers with mingled surprise and displeasure. " I gave positive orders that I could not receive strangers," said he, haughtily. " May I ask, what is the meaning of this intru- sion ?" " You shall know in a few moments, Sir," said the old man, deli- berately taking a seat, and motioning to his son to do the same. " My business could be transacted with yourself alone, and it would be useless referring me to a secretary' or a treasurer. I have come here with my son " " Oh, the old story," broke in Stocmar. " The young gentleman is staae-struck ; fancies that his Hamlet is better than Kean's or Maci'eady's; but I have no time for tliis sort of thing. The golden age of prodigies is gone by, and, at all events, I have no faith in it. Make an apothecary of him, clerk in a gas-works, or anything you 2 E 418 ONE OF THEM. please, only don't come here to bother me, you understand ; my timo is too full for these negotiations." "Have you done ?" said the old man, fiercely. " Done with you^ certainly," said Stocmar, moving towards the bell. " That you have not. Tou have not even begun with me, yet. I perceive you do not remember me." *' Remember you ! I never saw you before, and I trust most sin- cerely I may never have that pleasure again. Anything wrong with the old party here?" whispered he as he turned to Alfred, and touched his finger significantly to his forehead. " Be quiet, boy," cried Lay ton, fiercely, as his son started up to resent the insolence ; " he shall soon learn whether there be or not. Our time, Sir, if not so profitable as yours, has its value for ourselves, so that I will briefly tell you what I came for. I want the addressea of two persons of your acquaintance. " This is beyond endurance. Am I to be the victim of every twaddling old bore that requires an address ? Are you aware, Sir, that I don't keep an agency ofiice ?" With a calm self-possession which amazed his son, the old man quietly said, " I want this address — and this." And he handed Stoc- mar a card with two names written in pencil. " ' Clara Hawke' — and who is Clara Hawke ? I never heard of her till now ; and ' Mrs. Hawke,' too ? My good friend, this is some self-delusion of yours. Take him away quietly, young gentleman, or my patience will not stand this any longer. I'll send for a police- man." " There is one already in waiting, Sir," said old Layton, fiercely, " and with a warrant for the apprehension of Mr. Hyman Stocmar. Ay, Sir, our laws give many a wide margin to rascality, but slave dealing is not legalised on our soil. Keep your laughter for the end, and see whether it will be so mirthful. Of that crime I mean to accuse you in an open court, the victim being myself. So, then, I have refreshed your memory a little ; you begin to recognise me now. Ay, Sir, it is the Professor, your old slave, stands before you, whom, after having starved and cheated, you put drunk on board a sailing ship, and packed off to America ; sold, too, deliberately sold, for a sum of money. Every detail of this transaction is known to me, and shall be attested by competent witnesses. My memory is a better one than you suspect. I forget nothing, even to the day and tlie hour I last stood in this room. Tea," cried he, turning to his son and address- ing him, " I was summoned here to be exhibited as a spectacle to a ONE OF THEM. 4l9 visitor, and who, think you, was tlie distinguished friend to whose scrutiny I was to be subjected ? He was one who himself had en- joyed his share of such homage — he was no less a man than the famous Paul Hunt, tried at Jersey for the murder of Godfrey Hawke and how acquitted the world well knows; and he it was who sat here, the dear friend of the immaculate Mr. Stocmar — Mr. Stocmar, the chosen associate of lords and ladies, the favoured guest of half the great houses in London. Oh, what a scandal and disgrace is here! Tou'd rather face the other charge, with all its consequences, than this one. Where is your laughter now, Stocmar? Where that jocose humour you indulged in ten minutes ago ?" "Look here, my good friend," cried Stocmar, suddenly starting up from his chair, while the great drops of sweat hung on his forehead and trickled along his pale cheeks, " don't fancy that you can pit your- self against me before the public. I have station, friends, and patrons in the highest ranks in England." " My name of Herbert Layton will suffice for all that I shall ask of it. When the true history of our connexion shall be written and laid before the world, we shall see which of us comes best out of tlie ordeal." " This, tlien, is a vengeance !" said Stocmar, trembling from head to foot. *' Not if you do not drive me to it. There never Were easier terms to escape a heavy penalty. Give me the address of these persons." " But I know nothing of them. I have not, amongst my whole acquaintance, one named Hawke." The old man made no reply, and looked puzzled and confused* Stocmar saw his advantage, and hastily added, " I am ready to pledge you my oath to this." " Ask him, then, for the address of Mrs. Penthony Morris, father, and of the young lady her reputed daughter," interposed Alfred. " Ay, what say you to this ?" " What I say is, that I am not here to be questioned as to the wliereabouts of every real or imaginary name you can think of." " Eestive again, Stocmar ? Wliat, are you so bent on your own ruin, that you will exhaust the patience of one who never could boast too much of that quality ? I tell you, that if I leave this room with- out a full and explicit answer to my demand — and in writing, too, in your own hand — that you'll not see me again except as your prose- cutor in a court of justice. And now, for the last time, Mhere la this woman ?" 2 E 2 420 ONE OF THEM. " She was in Italy ; at Rome all the winter," said Stocmar, doggedly. " I know that. And now ?" "In Germany, I believe." " That is, you know, and the place, too. "Write it there." " Before I do so, you'll give me, under your own hand, a formal release from this trumpery charge, whose worst consequence would be my appearing in public to answer it." " Nothing of the kind : not a line to that effect. I'll keep it over you till the whole of the business we are engaged in be completed. Ay, Sir, you shall not be exposed to the evil temptation to turn upon me. We have affairs to settle which will require our meeting with this woman, and as we live in an age of telegraphs, you shall not be able to warn her that we are coming ; for if you do, I swear to you more solemnly than you swore a while back to me, that I'll bring such disgrace upon your head that you'll walk tbe streets of this city as wretched an object as / was when I slept in that dog-hole behind the fire-engine." " You'll do nothing with me by your threats, old man." " Everything, all I ask, by what my threats can accomplish. Ee- member, besides, aU that we require of you wiU only serve to shorten a road that we are determined to go. Tou can only help us so far. The rest lies with ourselves." " Her address is Gebhardts-Berg, Bregenz," said Stocmar, in a low, muttering voice. rivcl ;..t »/ " Write it. Sir ; write it there," said the Doctor, pointing to a sheet of paper on the table. " There, is that enough ?" said Stocmar, as he wrote the words, and flung down the pen. , " No, there is yet the other. "Where is Clara Hawke?" " As to her, I may as well tell you she is bound to me by an indenture ; I have been at the charge of her instruction, and cau only be repaid by her successes hereafter " " More of the slave market !" broke in the Doctor. "But to the question. Wlio sold her to you ? she had neither father nor mother. AVith whom did you make your compact ? Bethink you these are points you'll have to answer very openly, and with reporters for the daily press amongst the company who listen to you. Such treaties being made public may lead to many an awkward disclosure. It were wiser not to provoke them." "I do not see why I am to incur a positive loss of money " " Only for this reason, that as you thought proper to buy without ONE OF THEM. 421 a title, you may rellnquisli without compensation. But come, we will deal by you better than you deserve. If it be, as I believe, this young lady's lot to inherit a large fortune, I will do my utmost to induce her to repay you all that you have incurred in her behalf. "Will tliat satisfy you?" . . ji J i' vu ui /•', ■ i.;;/ " It might, if I were not equally certain that you have not the slightest grounds for the expectation. I know enough of her story to be aware that there is not one from whom she expects a shilling." " Every day and hour brings us great surprise ; nothing was less looked for by the great Mr. Stocmar this morning than a visit from me, and yet it has come to pass." " And in w^iose interest, may I ask, are you taking all this trouble ? — how is it incumbent on you to mix yourself up in questions of a family to which you do not belong, nor are even known to ?" ;'- "If I could only fashion to myself a pretext for your question, I would answer it ; but to the matter, write the address there." And he pointed to the paper. Stocmar obeyed, and wrote, " The Conservatoire, at Milan." " I may warn you," added he, " that Mademoiselle Clara Stocmar, for as such is she inscribed, will not be given up to you, or to any one save myself, or by my order." " I am aware of that, and therefore you will write this order. Mr. Stocmar, you need not be told by me that the fact of this girl being an English subject once admitted, tlie law of this country will take little heed of the regulations of a musical academy ; save yourself this publicity, and write as I tell you." Stocmar wrote some hurried lines, and signed them. " Will that do?" " Perfectly," said he, folding up both papers and placing them in his pocket. "Now, Mr. Stocmar, thus far has been all business be- tween us. Tou have done me a small service, and for it I am willing to forgive a great wrong ; still, it is a fair bargain. Let us see, how- ever, if we cannot carry our dealings a little further. Here is a case where a dreadful scandal will be unburied, and one of the most fearful crimes be brought again before public notice, to herald the narrative of an infamous fraud. I am far from suspecting or insinuating that you have had any great part whatever iu these transactions, but I know that when once they have become town talk, Hyman Stocmar will figure as a prominent name throughout. He will not appear as a murderer or a forger, it is true, but he will stand forward the inti- mate friend of the worst characters in the piece, and have always some small petty share of complicity to answer for. Is it not worth 422 ONE OF TUEM. while to escape sucb open exposure as this ? What man — least of all, what man moving where you do— could court such scandal ?" Stocmar made no answer, but, leaning his head on his hand, seemed lost in thought. " I can show you how to avoid it all. I will point out the way to escape from the whole diflficulty." " How do you mean ?" cried Stocmar, suddenly. *' Leave the knaves and come over to the honest men — or desert the losing side and back the winner, if you like that better. In plain English, tell me all you know of this case, and of every one concerned in it. Give me your honest version of the scheme — how it has been done, and by whom. You know Trover and Hunt well ; say what were their separate shares. I will not betray your confidence ; and, if I can, I will reward it." " Let your son leave us. I will speak to you alone," said Stocmar, in a faint whisper. Alfred, at a signal from his father, stepped quietly away, and they were alone. It was late in the afternoon when the Doctor arose to take bis de- parture, and, though somewhat wearied, his look was elated, and hia face glowed with an expression of haughty satisfaction, such as it might have worn after a collegiate triumph years and years ago. CHAPTER LVI. MB. o'bHEA at BADEN. Althouoh Mr. O'Shea be not one of the most foreground figures in this piece, we are obliged to foUow his fortunes for a brief space, and at a moment when our interests would more naturally call us in another direction. Thus, at a dinner-party, will it occasionally hap- pen that our attention is engaged on one side, while our sympathies incline to the otlier : so, in life, the self-same incident continues to occur. We have said that he had many a sore misgiving about the enter- prise he was engaged in. He felt that he was walking completely in the dark, and towards what he knew not. Mrs. Morris was, doubt- less, a clever pilot, but she might mistake the course, she might go ONE OP TUEM. 423 wrong in her soundings, and, lastly, she miglit chance to be on the shore when the ship was scuttled. These were dire mistrusts, not to say very ungallant suspicions, to haunt the heart and the head of a bridegroom ; but, alas ! that we must own it, Mr. O'Sbea now oc- cupied that equatorial position in life equally distant from the zones of youth and age, where men are most worldly, and disposed to take the most practical views of whatever touches their interests. It was very hard for him to believe that a woman of such consummate cle- verness as the widow had ever written a line that could compromise her. He took a man's view of the question, and fancied that a cool head is always cool, and a calculating heart always alive to its arith- metic. These letters, therefore, most probably referred, to money transactions ; they were, in fact, either bills, or securities, or promises to pay, under circumstances, possibly, not the pleasantest to make public. In such affairs he had always deemed a compromise the best course ; why had she not given him a clearer insight into his mis- sion ? In fact, he was sailing with sealed orders, to be opened only on reaching a certain latitude. " At all events, I can do nothing till she writes to me ;" and with this grain of comfort he solaced himself as he went along his road, trying to feel at ease, and doing his ut- most to persuade himself that he was a lucky fellow, and '* on the best thing" that had ever turned up in his life. It is unpleasant for us to make the confession, but in his heart of hearts Mr. O'Shea thought of a mode of guiding himself through his difficulties which assuredly was little in keeping with the ardour of a devoted lover. The ex-Member for Inch was a disciple of that sect — not a very narrow one — which firmly believes that men have a sort of masonic understanding amongst them always to be true to each other against a woman, and that out of a tacit compact of mutual protection they will always stand by each other against the common enemy. If, therefore, he could make Paten's acquaintance, be intimate with him, and on terms of confidence, he might learn all the bearings of this case, and very probably get no inconaiderable in- sight into the fair widow's life and belongings. Amidst a vast conflict of such thoughts as these he rolled along over the Splugen Alps, down the Via Mala, and arrived at last at Baden. The season was at its full flood. There were a brace of Kings there, and a whole covey of Serene Highnesses, not to speak of flocks of fashionables from every land of Europe. There was plenty of gossip : the gossip of politics, of play, of private scandal. The well-dressed world was amusing itself at the top of its beut, and every one speaking ill of hia neighbour to his own heart's content. 424 ONE OF THEM. Whatever, however, may be the grand event of Europe— the outf break of a war, or a revolution, the dethironeraent of a king, or the rcurder of an emperor — at such places as these the smallest incident of local origin will far out-top it in interest ; and so, although the world at this moment had a very fair share of momentous questions at issue, Baden had only tongues and ears for one, and that was the lucky dog that went on breaking the bank at rouge-et-noir about twice a week. Ludlow Paten was the man of the day. Now, it was his equipage, his horses ; now, it was the company he entertained at dinner yester- day, the fabulous sum he had given for a diamond ring, the incre- dible ofter he had made for a ducal palace on the Rhine. Around these and such-like narratives there floated a sort of atmosphere of an imaginative order : how he had made an immense wager to win a certain sum by a certain day, and now only wanted some trifle of ten or twelve thousand pounds to complete it ; how, if he continued to break the bank so many times more, M. Bennasset, the proprietor, was to give him fifty thousand francs a year for life to buy him off", vsith twenty other variations on these themes as to the future application of the money, some averring it was to ransom his wife from the Moors, and others, as positively, to pay ofi" a sum with which he had absconded in his youth from a great banking-house in London ; and, last of all, a select few had revived the old diabolic contract on his behalf, and were firm in declaring that after he retired to his room at night he was Iieard for hours counting over his gains, and disputing with the Evil One, who always came for his share of the booty, and rigidly insisted on having it in gold. Now, it was strange enough that these last, however wild the superstructure of their belief, had really a small circumstance in their favour, which was, that Paten had been met with three or four times in most unfrequented places, walking with a man of very wretched appearance and most forbid- ding aspect, who covered his face when looked at, and was only to be caught sight of by stealth. The familiar, as he was now called, had been seen by so many, that all doubt as to his existence was quite removed. These were the stories which met O'Shea on his arrival, and which formed the table-talk of the hotel he dined in ; narratives, of course, graced with all the illustrative powers of those who told them. One fact, however, impressed itself strongly on his mind — that with a man so overwhelmed by the favours of Fortune, any chance of forming ac- quaintance casually w'as out of the question. If he were cleaned out of his last Napoleon, one could know him readily enough ; but to the ONE OF THEM. 425 fellow who can break the bank at will, archdukes and princes are the only intimates. His first care was to learn his appearance. Nor had he long to wait : the vacant chair beside the croupier marked the place reserved for the great player, whose game alone occupied the attention of the bystanders, and whose gains and losses were all marked and recorded by an expectant public. " Here he comes ! That ia he, leaning on the Prince of Tours, the man with the large beard!" whispered a person in O'Shea's hearing; and now a full large man, over- weighty, as it seemed, for his years, pushed the crowd carelessly aside, and seated himself at the table. The low murmur that went round showed that the great event of the evening ■was about to " come off," and that the terrible conflict of Luck against Luck was now to be fought out. More intent upon regarding the man himself than caring to observe his game, O'Shea stationed himself in a position to watch his features, scan their whole expression, and mark every varying change im- pressed upon them. His experience of the world had made him a tolerable physiognomist, and he read the man before him reasonably well. " He is not a clever fellow," thought he, " he is only a reso- lute one ; and, even as such, not persistent. Still he will be very hard to deal with : he distrusts every man." Just as O'Shea was thus summing up to himself, an exclamation from the crowd startled him. The stranger had lost an immense " coup ;" the accumulation of five successful passes had been swept away at once, and several minutes were occupied in counting the enormous pile of Napoleons he had puslied across the table. The player sat apparently unmoved : his face, so far as beard and moustache permitted it to be seen, was calm and impassive ; but O'Shea remarked a fidgety uneasiness in his hands, and a fevered impatience in the way he continued to draw off" and on a ring which he wore on his finger. The game began again, but he did not bet, and murmuring comments around the room went on, some averrin^ that he was a bad loser, who never had nerve for his reverses, and others as stoutly maintaining that he was such a consummate master of himself that he was never carried away by impulse, but seeing fortune imfavourable, had firmness enough to endure his present defeat, and wait for a better moment. Gradually the interest of the bystanders took some other direction, and Paten was unobserved, as he sat, to all seeming, inattentive to everything that went on before him. Suddenly, however, he placed twenty thousand francs in notes upon the table, and said, " Eed." The " Black" won ; and he pushed back his chair, arose, aud strolled carelessly into another room. 120 0K8 OF TFEMk O'Shea followed him: he saw liira chatting away pleasantly with some of hia moat illustrious friends, laughingly telling how unfortu- nate he had been, and in sportive vein declaring that, from the very fact of her sex, a man should not trust too much to Fortune. " I'll go and play dominoes with the Archduchess of Lindau," said ho, laughing ; " it will be a cheap pleasure even if I lose." And he moved off towards a smaller salon, where the more exclusive of the guests were accustomed to assemble. Not caring to attract attention by appearing in a company where he was not known to any, O'Shea sauntered out into the garden, and, tempted by the fresh niglit air, sat down. Chilled after a while, he resolved to take a brisk walk before bed-time, and set out in the avenue which leads to Lichtenthal. He had plenty to think of, and the time favoured reflection. On and on he went at a smart pace, the activity of mind suggesting activity of body, and before he knew it ha strolled some miles from Baden, and found himself on the rise of the steep ascent that leads to Eberstein. He was roused, indeed, from his musings by the passage of a one-horse carriage quite close to him, and which, having gained a piece of level ground, drew up. The door was quickly opened, and a man got out ; the moonlight was full upon his figure, and O'Shea saw it was Paten. He looked around for a second or two, and then entered the wood. O'Shea determined to explore the meaning of the mystery, and crossing the low hedge, at once followed him. Guided by the light of the cigar which Paten was smoking, O'Sliea tracked him till he perceived him to come to a halt, and immediately after heard the sound of voices. The tone was angry and imperious on both sides, and, in intense eagerness, O'Shea drew uigher and nigher. " None of your nonsense with me," said a firm and resolute voice. " I know well how much you believe of such trumpery." " I tell you again that I do believe it. As certain as I give you money, so certain am I to lose. Thursday week I gave you five Naps, I lost that same night seventy thousand francs ; on "Wednesday last the same thing ; and to-night two thousand Napoleons are gone. You swore to me, besides, so late as yesterday, that if I gave you twenty Louis, you'd leave Baden, and go back to England." " So I would, but I've lost it. I went in at roulette, and came out without sixpence; and I'm sure it was not lending brought bad luck upon me,'' added he, with a bitter laugh. " Then may I be cursed in all I do, if I give you another fraction I You think to terrify mc by exposure ; but who'll stand that test beat, the man who can draw on his banker for five thousand pounds, or tho ONE 0¥ TUEM. 427 outcast who can't pay for hia dinner ? Let the world know the worst of me, and say the worst of me, I can live without it, and you may die on a dunghill." " Well, I'm glad we're come to this at last. Baden shall know to- morrow morning the whole story, and you will see how many will sit down at the same table with you. Tou're a fool — you always were a fool — to insult a man as reckless as I am. What have I to lose ? They can't try me over again any more than you. But you can be shunned and cut by your fine acquaintances, turned out of clubs, disowned on every hand " " Look here, Collier," broke in Paten : " I have heard all that rubbish fifty times from you, but it doesn't terrify me. The man that can live as I do need never want friends or acquaintances ; the starving beggar it is who has no companionship. Let us start fair to-morrow, as you threaten, and at the end of the week let us square accounts, and see who has the best of it." " I'll go into the rooms when they are the most crowded, and I'll say, ' The man yonder, who calls himself Ludlow Paten, is Paul Hunt, the accomplice of Towers, that was hanged for the murder of Godfrey Hawke, at Jersey. My name is Collier ; I never changed it ; I, too, was in the dock on that day. Here we stand, he in fine clothes, and I in rags, but not so very remote as externals bespeak us." " In two hours after I'd have you sent over the frontiers with a gendarme, as a vagabond, and without means of support, and I'd be travelling post to Italy." " To see the widow, I hope ; to persecute the wretched woman who once in her life thought you were not a scoundrel." "Ay, and marry her, too, my respected friend, if the intelli- gence can give you pleasure to hear it. I'm sorry we can't ask you to the wedding." " No, that you'U not ; she knows you, and while you cheated every one of us, she discovered you to be the mean fellow you are ; ready, as she said, to have a share in every enterprise, provided you were always spared the peril. Do you recognise the portrait there, Paul Hunt, and can you guess the painter ?" " If she ever made the speech she'll live to rue it." " Not a bit of it, man. That woman is your master. Ton did your very best to terrify her, but you never succeeded. She dares you openly ; and if I have to make the journey on foot, I'll seek her out in Italy, and say, ' Here is one who has the same hate in his heart that you have, and has less hold on life ; help him to our coumiou 428 ONE OF THEM. object. It's not a cool head will be wanting in such a moment ; so, look out ahead, Master Paul." " You hint at a game that two can play at." - " Ay, but you're not one of them. Tou were always a coward." A savage oath, and something like the noise of a struggle, followed. Neither spoke ; but now O'Shea could distinctly mark, by the crash- ing of the brushwood, that they had either both fallen to the ground, or that one had got the other under. Before he could resolve what course to take, the sharp report of a pistol rung out, the hasty rustle of a man forcing through the trees followed, and then all was still. It was not till after some minutes that he determined to go forward A few steps brought him to the place, where in a little alley of the wood lay a man upon his face. He felt his wrist, and then, turning him on his back, laid his hand on the heart ; all was still ; he was warm, as if in life, but life had fled for ever! A faint streak of moonlight had now just fallen upon the spot, and he saw it was Ludlow Paten who lay there. The ball had entered his left side, and probably pierced the heart, so instantaneous had been his death. Whilo O'Shea was thus engaged in tracing the fatal wound, a heavy pockot-book fell from the breast-pocket. He opened it ; its contents were a packet of letters, tied with a string ; he could but see that they bore the address of Paul Hunt, but he divined the rest. They were hers. The great prize, for which he himself was ready to risk life, was now his own, and he hastened away from the place, and turned with all speed towards Baden. It was not yet daybreak when he got back, and, gaining his room, locked the door. He knew not why he did so, but in the fear and turmoil of his mind he dreaded the possibility of seeing or being seen. He feared, besides, lest some chance word might escape him, some vague phrase might betray him as the w'itness of a scene he resolved never to disclose. Sometimes, indeed, as he sat there, lie would doubt the whole incident, and question whether it had not been the phantasm of an excited brain ; but there before him on tlie table lay the letters ; there they were, the terrible evidences of the late crime, and perhaps the proofs of guilt in another, too ! This latter thought nearly drove him distracted. There before him lay what secured to him the prize he sought for, and yet what, for aught he knew, might contain what would render that object a shame and a disgrace. It lay with himself to knov^f tliis. Once in her pos- session, he, of course, could never know the contents, or if by chance discovery came, it miglit come too late. lie reasoned long and auiiously with himself j he tried to satisfy his mind that there were x^ ONE OF THEM. 429 cases in whicb self-preservation absolved a man from what in less critical emergencies had been ignominious to do. He asked himself, " Would not a man willingly burn the documents whose production would bring him to disgrace and ruin ? and, by the same rule, would not one eagerly explore those which might save him from an ir- reparable false step ? At all events," thought he, " Fortune has thrown the chance in my way, and so " He read them. CHAPTEE LVII. THR COTTAGE NEAR BEEGENZ. ' Theee was something actually artistic in the choice old Holmes had made for his daughter's residence near Bregenz. It was an old- fashioned farm-house, with a deep eave, and a massive cornice beneath it. A wooden gallery ran the entire length, with a straggling stair to it, overgrown with a very ancient fig-tree, whose privilege it was ta interweave through the balustrades, and even cross the steps at will, the whole nearly hidden by the fine old chesnut-trees which clothe the Gebhardts-Berg to its very summit. It was the sort of spot a lone and sorrowing spirit might have sought out to weep away unseen, to commune with grief in solitude, and know nothing of a world she was no more to share in. Tlie simple-hearted peasants who accepted them as lodgers asked no reason for their selection of the place, nor were tliey likely, in their strange dialect, to be able to dis- cuss the point with others, save their neighbours. The chief room, which had three windows opening on a little terrace, looked out upon a glorious panorama of the Swiss Alps, with the massive mountains that lead to the Splugen, and it was at one of these Mrs. Morris — or rather, to give her that name by which for the last few pages of our story she may be called, Mrs. Hawke — now sat, as the sun was sinking, watching with an unfeigned enjoyment the last gorgeous tints of declining day upon the snow peaks. Perhaps at that monie^it the sense of repose was the most grateful of all sensations to her, for she had passed through a long day of ex- citement and fatigue. Like a great actress who had, in her imper- sonal ion of a difficult part, called forth all her powers of voice, look, and gesture, straining every fibre to develop to the utmost the passion 430 0?IE OF TITEM., she would convey, and tearing lier very heart to sliow its agony, she was now to feel the terrible depression of reaction, the dreary void of the solitude around her, and the death-like stillness of her own subdued emotions. But yet, through all this, there was a rapturous enjoyment in the thought of a task accomplished, an ordeal passed. On that same morning it was Trover had arrived with Mr. "VVin- throp, and her first meeting took place with the friend of her late husband — perhaps the one living being whom alone of all the world she felt a sort of terror at seeing. The fear he inspired was vague, and not altogetlier reasonable ; but it was there, and she could not master it. Till she met liim, indeed, it almost overcame her, but when she found him a mild old man. of gentle manners and a quiet presence, unsuspecting and frank, and extending towards her a compassionate protection, she rallied quickly from her fears, and played out her part courageously. How affecting was her grief! It was one of those toucliing pictures which, while they thrill the heart, never harrow the feelings. It was sorrow made beautiful, rather than distressing. Time, of course, long years, had dulled the bitterness of her woe, and only east the sombre colouring of sadness over a nature that might have been — who knows ? — made for joy and brightness. Unused to such scenes, the honest American could only sit in a sort of admiring i)ity of such a victim to an early sorrow ; so fair a creature robbed of her just meed of this world's happiness, and by a terrible destiny linked with an awful event ! And how lovely she was through it all ! how for- giving of that man's cruelty. He knew Hawke well, and he was no stranger to the trials a woman must have gone through who liad been chained to his coarse and brutal nature ; and yet not a harsli word fell from her, not a syllable of reproach or blame. No ; she had all manner of excuses to make for him, in the evil influences by which he was surrounded, the false and bad men who assumed to be his friends. It was quite touching to hear her allude to the happiness of their early married life : their contentment with humble fortune, their willing estrangement from a world of luxury and display, to lead an existence of cultivated pursuits and mutual affection. Wintlirop was moved as he listened, and Trover had to wipe his eyes. Of the dreadful event of her life she skilfully avoided details, dwelling only on such parts of it as might illustrate her own good qualities, her devotion to the memory of one of whom she had much to pardon, and her unceasing aftection for his child. If the episode of that girl's illness and death was only invented at the moment of telling, it lost nothing by the want of premeditation ; and Winthrop's ONE or TnETtf. 431 tears betrayed how he took to heart the desolate condition of that poor bereaved woman. *' I had resolved," said she, "never to avail myself of this fortune. To what end could I desire wealth ? I was dead to the world. If enough remained to support me through my lonely pilgrimage, I needed no more. The simple life of these peasants here offered me all that I could now care for, and it was in this obscure spot I meant to have ended my days unnoticed and unwept. My dear father, how- ever, a distinguished officer, whose services the Government is proud to acknowledge, had rashly involved himself in some speculations ; everything went badly with him, and he finished by losing all that he had laid by, to support his old age. In this emergency I bethought me of that Will ; but even yet I don't believe I should have availed myself of its provisions if it were not that my father urged me by another and irresistible argument, wliich was, that in not asserting my own claim, I was virtually denying yours. ' Think of Winthrop,' said he. ' Why should he be defrauded of his inheritance because you have taken a vow of poverty ?' He called it a vow of poverty," said she, smiling through her tears, " since I wore no better dress than this, nor tasted any food more delicate than the rough fare of my peasant neighbours." If the costume to which she thus directed her attention was simple, it was eminently becoming, being, in reality, a sort of theatrical travesty of a peasant's dress, made to fit perfectly, and admitting of a very generous view of her matchless foot and ankle — in so much, indeed, that Mr. Winthrop could not help feeling that if poverty had its privations, it could yet be eminently picturesque. If Winthrop wished from time to time to ask some question about this, or inquire into that, her answers invariably led him far a-field, and made him even forget the matter he had been eager about. A burst of emotion — some suddenly recalled event — some long-forgotten passage brought back to mind in a moment, would extricate her from any difficulty ; and as to dates — those awful sunk rocks of all unpre- pared fiction — how could she be asked for these — she, who really could not tell the very year they were then living in — had long ceased to count time or care for its onward course ? There were things he did not understand — there were things, too, that he could not reconcile with each other — but he could not, at such a moment, suggest his doubts or his difficulties, nor be so heartless as to weary that poor crushed and wounded spirit by prolonging a bceue so painful. 432 ONE OF THEM. ■When he arose to take his leave they were like old friends. With a delicate tact all her own, she distinguished him especially from Mr. Trover ; and while she gave Winthrop both her hands in his, she be- stowed upon his companion a very cold smile and a curtsey. ,,[• " Are they gone — positively gone ?" asked she of her father, who now entered the room, after having carefully watched the whole interview from a summer-house with a spy-glass. "Yes, dear; they are out on the road. I just overheard the American, as he closed the wicket, remark, * She's the most fasci- nating creature I ever talked to !' " " I hope I am, papa. When one has to be a serpent, one ought surely to have a snake's advantages ! AVhat a dear old creature that American is. I really have taken a great liking to him. There is a marvellous attraction in the man that one can deceive without an eftort, and, like the sheep who come begging to be eaten, only implores to be ' taken in again.' " ,.. " I never took ray eyes off him, and I saw that you made him cry, twice." " Three times, papa — three times, not to speak of many false attacks of sensibility that went off in deep sighs and chokings. Oh dear ! am I not wearied ? Fetch me a little lemonade, and put one spoonful—^ only one — of maraschino in it. That wretch Trover almost made me laugh with his absurd display of grief. I'll not have him here to- morrow." *' And is Winthrop to come to-morrow ?" i.. "Tes ; and this evening too. He comes to-night to tea; he is so anxious to know you, papa ; he has such a pleasant theory about tliat dear old man covered with wounds and lionours, and devoting his de- clining years to console his poor afflicted child. You have put too much maraschino in this." " One spoonful, on honour ; but I mean to treat myself more generously. Well, I'm heartily glad that the interview is over. It was an anxious thing to have before one, and particularly not know- ing what manner of man he might be." " That was the real difficulty. It's very hard to ' play up' to an. unknown audience !" " I'd not have asked them back this evening, Loo. It will be too much for you." " I did not do so. It was Winthrop himself begged permission to come, but he promised that not a syllable of business was to trans- pire, so that I have only to be very charming, which, of course, costs nothing." ONE OF THEM. 433 " I gather that all went smoothly on this morning. No difficulty anywhere?" " None whatever. The account Trover gave us is fully borne out. The property is immense. There are, however, iununierable legal details to be gone through. I can't say wliat documents and papers we shall not have to produce ; meanwliile, our American friend most generously lays his purse at our disposal, and this blank cheque is to be filled at my discretion." " Barnet and King," read he ; " an excellent house. ' Please to pay to Mrs. Hawke, or order.' Very handsome of him, this, Loo ; very thoughtful." " Very thoughtful ; but I'd as soon Trover had not been present ; he's a greedy, grabbing sort of creature, and will insist upon a large discount out of it." " Make the draft the bigger, darling ; the remedy is in your own hands." " Strange, there should be no letter from O'Shea. I was full cer- tain we should have heard something before this." " Perhaps we may by this post, dear. It ought to have arrived by this time." " Then go and see, by all means. How I hate a post that comes of an evening. One ought to begin the day with one's letters ; they are the evil fates, whose machinations all our efforts are directed against. They are, besides, the whispering of the storm that is brewing afar off, but is sure to overtake us. One ought to meet them, with a well- rested brain and refreshed spirit, not wearied and jaded and unstrung by the day's toil." And the Captain prepared to obey, but not without a variety of precautions against catching cold, which seemed somewhat to try his daughter's patience. " You really," said she, with a half bitter smile, " take very little account of the anxiety I must feel about my future husband." " Nonsense, dear ; the O'Shea is not to be thought of. It would really be a gross misuse of wealth to share it with such a man." " So it might, if one were free to choose. But it's the old story, papa," said she, with a sigh. " To be cured of the ague, one is willing to take arsenic. There, you are surely mulBed enough now ; lose no more time, and above all things don't get into a gossiping mood, and stay to talk with Trover, or be seduced by Mr. "VViuthrop's juleps, but come back at once, for 1 have a sort of feverish foreboding over me that I cannot control." 2f 434 ONE OF THEM. " How silly that is, dear ! — to have a stout heart on the high seas and grow cowardly in the harbour." " But are we in the harbour ? Are we so very certain that the voyage ia over ?" said she, with increased eagerness. " But pray go for the letters, or I will myself." He set out at last, and she watched him as he shut the wicket and crossed out upon the high road ; and then, all alone as she sat, she burst into a passionate flood of tears. Was this the relief of a nature strained like an over-bent bow ? Was it the sorrowful outburst of a spirit, which, however bold and defiant to the world, was craven to itself? or was it simply that fear had mastered her, and that she felt the approach of the storm that was to shipwreck her ? She must have been partly stunned by her sorrow, for she sat, no longer impatient, nor watching eagerly for his return, but in a sort of half lethargic state, gazing out unconsciously into the falling night that now closed in fast around her. It is neither a weak nor an ignorant theory that ascribes, even to the most corrupt natures, moments of deepest remorse, sincere and true, aspirations after better things, and a williugness to submit to the severest penalties of the past, if only there be a " future" in store lor them. Who can tell us what of these were now passing through the mind of her who sat at that window, brooding sorrowfully. "Here's a letter for you. Loo, and a weighty one, too," said Holmes, entering the room, and approaching her before she was aware. " It was charged half a dollar extra, for overweight. I trust you'll say it was worth the money." " Fetch a light ! get me a candle !" cried she, eagerly ; and she broke the seal with hands all trembling and twitching. " And leave me, papa ; leave me a moment to myself." He placed the candles at her side, and stole away. She turned one glance at the address, " To Mrs. Hawke," and she read in that one word that the writer knew her story. But the contents soon banished other thoughts ; they were her own long-coveted, long-sought letters ; there they were now before her, time-worn and crumpled, records of a terrible season of sorrow, and misery, and guilt ! She coimted them over and over; there were twenty-seven, not one was missing. She did not dare to open them ; and even in her happiness to regain them was the darkening shadow of the melancholy period when they were written — the long days of suflering and the nights of tears. So engrossed was she by the thought that they were now her own again, that the long tyranny of years had ended, and the ever-impending shame departed, that she could not turn to learn how she came by them, nor through ^' \^, Tr^y/jV^if ONE OF THEM. 435 whom. At length, this seemed to flash suddenly on her mind, and she examined the envelope, and found a small sealed note, addressed, as was the packet, " Mrs. Hawke." O'Sliea's initials were in the corner. It contained but one line, which ran thus : " I have read the enclosed.— G. O'S." Then was it that the bitterness of her lot smote her with all ita force, and she dropped down upon her knees, and laying her head ou the chair, sobbed as if each convulsive beat would have rent her very heart. Oh, the ineffable misery of an exposed shame ! the terrible sense that we are to meet abroad and before the world the stern condem- nation our conscience has already pronounced, and that henceforth we are to be shunned and avoided ! There is not left to us any longer one mood of mind that can bring repose. If we are depressed, it is in the mourning of our guilt v»'e seem to be dressed ; if for a moment we assume the air of light-heartedness, it is to shock the world by the want of feeling for our shame ! It is written that we are to be out- casts, and live apart ! " May I come in, Loo ?" said a low voice from the half-opened doorAvay. It was her father, asking for the third time before she heard him. She uttered a faint " Tes," and tried to rise ; but her strength failing, she laid her head down again between her hands. " What is this, darling ?" said he, stooping down over her. " What bad tidings have you got there ? Tell me, Loo, for I may be able to lighten your sorrow for you." " No," said she, calmly, " that you cannot, for you cannot make me unlive the past ! Bead that." " Well, I see nothing very formidable in this, dear. I can't sup- pose that it is the loss of such a lover afflicts you. He has read them. Be it so. They are now in your own hands, and neither he nor any other will ever read them again. It would have been more interest- ing had he told us how he came by them ; that was something really worth knowing, for remember. Loo — and it is, after all, the great point — these are documents you were ready and willing to have bought up at a thousand pounds, or even more. Paten often swore he'd have three thousand for them, and there they are now, safe in your own keeping, and not costing you one shilling. " Stay," said he, laughing, " the postage was about one and sixpence." " And is it nothing to cost me open shame and ignominy ? Is it nothing, that, instead of one man, two now have read the dark tracings 2f2 436 ONE OF THEM. of ray degraded heart? Oh, father, even you might feel for the misery of exposure !" " But it is not exposure : it is the very opposite ; it is, of all things, the most secret and secure. When these letters are burned, what accusation remains against you ? The memory of two loose men about town. But who'll believe them, or who cares if they be believed ? Bethink you that every one in this world is maligned by somebody, and finds somebody else to credit the scandal. Give me a bishop to blacken to-morrow, and see if I won't have a public to adopt the libel. No, no. Loo ; it's a small affliction, believe me, that one is able to dispose of with a lucifer-match. Here, girl, give them to me, and never waste another thought on them." " No," said she, resolutely, " I'll not burn them. "Whatever I may ask of the world to think of me, I do not mean to play the hypocrite to myself. Lend me your hand, and fetch me a glass of water. I cannot meet these people to-night. You must go over to the inn, and say that I am ill — call it a headache — and add, that I hope by to- morrow I shall be quite well again." " Nay, nay, let them come, dear, and the very exertion will cheer you. Tou promised that American to sing him one of his Nigger melodies — don't forget that." " Go and tell them that I have been obliged to take to bed, father," said she, in a hollow voice. " It is no falsehood to call me very ill." " My dear Loo," said he, caressingly, " all this is so unlike your- self. You that never lacked courage in your life ! you that never knew what it was to be faint-hearted !" " "Well, you see me a coward at last," said she, in a faint voice. " Go and do as I bade you, father, for this is no whim, believe me." The old man muttered out some indistinct grumblings, and left the room on his errand. She had not been many minutes alone when she heard the shai-p sounds of feet on tlie gravel, and could mark the voices of persons speaking together with rapidity. One she quickly recognised as her father's, the other she soon knew to be Trover's. The last words he uttered as he reached the door were, " Arrested at once !" " "Who is to be arrested at once ?" cried she, rushing wildly to the door. " We, if we are caught !" said Holmes. " There's no time for ex- planation now. Get your traps together, and lot us be oft" in quick time." " It is good counsel he gives you," said Trover. " The game is up, ONE OF THEM. 437 and nothing but flight can save ua. The great question is, which way to go." She pressed her hands to her temples for a moment, and then, as if recalled, by the peril, to her old activity of thought and action, said : " Let Johann fetch his cousin quickly ; they both row well, and the boat is ready at the foot of the garden. We can reach Eorschach in a couple of hours, and make our way over to St. Gall." *' And then ?" asked Trover, peevishly. *' We are, at least, in a mountain region, where there are neither railroads nor telegraphs." " She is right. Her plan is a good one, Trover," broke in Holmes. " Go fetch what things you mean to take with you, and come back at once. We shall be ready by that time." " If there be danger, why go back at all ?" said she. " Remember, I know nothing of the perils that you speak of, nor do I ask to know till we are on the road out of them. But stay here, and help us to get our pack made." "Now you are yourself again! now I know you, Loo!" said Holmes, in a tone of triumph. In less than half an hour after they were skimming across the Lake of Constance as fast as a light skiff and strong arms could bear them. The night was still and calm though dark, and the water without a ripple. For some time after they left the shore scarcely a word was spoken amongst them. At last Holmes whispered something in his daughter's ear, and she rejoined aloud : " Yes, it is time to tell me now ; for though I have submitted myself to your judgment in this hasty flight, I am not quite sure the peril was as imminent as you believed it. What did you mean by talking of an arrest ? Who could arrest us ? And for what ?" "You shall hear," said Trover; "and perhaps when you have heard, you'll agree tliat I was not exaggerating our danger." Not wishing to impose on our reader the minute details into which he entered, and the narrative of which lasted almost till they reached the middle of the lake, we shall give ia a few words the substance of his story. While dressing for dinner at the inn, he saw a carriage with four posters arrive, and, iu a very few minutes after, heard a loud voice inquiring for Mr. Harvey Winthrop. Suddenly struck by the strangeness of such a demand, he hastened to gain a small room adjoining Winthrop's and from which a door communicated, by standing close to whicli, he could overhear all that passed. 438 ONE OF THEM. He had but reached the room and locked tlie door, when he heard the sounds of a hearty welcome and recognition exchanged within. The stranger spoke with an American accent, and very soon placed the question of his nationality beyond a doubt. " Tou would not believe," said he, " that I have been in pursuit of you for a matter of more than three thousand miles. I went down to Norfolk and to St. Louis, and was in full chase into the Far "West, when I found I was on the wrong tack ; so I ' wore ship' and came over to Europe." After satisfying in some degree the astonishment this declaration excited, he went on to tell how he, through a chance acquaintance at first, and afterwards a close friendship with the Laytons, came to the knowledge of the story of the Jersey murder, and the bequest of the dying man on his daughter's behalf, his inte- rest being all the more strongly engaged because every one of the localities was familiar to him, and his own brother a tenant on tha very land. All the arts he had deployed to trace out the girl's claim, and all the efforts, with the aid of the Laytons, he had made to find out Winthrop himself, he patiently recounted, mentioning his acci- dental companionship with Trover, and the furtive mode in which that man had escaped him. It was, however, by that very flight Trover confirmed the suspicion he had attached to him, and so the stranger continued to show that from the hour of his escape they had never "lost the track." How they had crossed the Atlantic he next recorded — all their days spent in discussing the one theme — no other incident or event ever occupying a moment's attention. " We were certain of two things," said he: "there was a deep snare, and tliat girl was its victim." He confessed that, if to himself the inquiry possessed a deep interest, with old Lay ton it had become a passion. " At last," continued Trover, " he began to confess that their hopes fell, and each day's discomfiture served to chill the ardour that had sustained them, when a strange and most unlooked-for light broke in upon them by the discovery of a few lines of a note written by you to Dr. Layton himself years before, and, being produced, was at once recognised as the handwriting of Mrs. Penthony Morris." " Written by me I How could I have written to him ? I never heard of him," broke she in. " Yes, he was the Doctor who attended Hawke in his last illness, and it appeared you wrote to beg he would cut off a lock of hair for you, and bring it to you." " I remember that," said she, in a hollow voice, " though T never remembered his name was Layton. And he has this note still f '* " You shall hear. No sooner had his son " ONE OF TTIBM. 439 " Tou cannot mean Alfred Layton ?" " Yes ; the same. No sooner had he declared that he knew the hand, than they immediately traced you in Mrs. Penthony Morris, and, knowing that Stocmar had become the girl's guardian, they lost no time in finding him out. I was too much flurried and terrified at this moment to collect clearly what followed, but I gathered that the elder Layton held over him some threat whijih, if pushed to execution, might ruin him. By means of this menace, they made Stocmar confess everything. He told who Clara was, how he had gained pos- session of her, under what name she went, and where she was then living. Through some influence which I cannot trace, they interested a secretary of state in their case, and started for the Continent with strong letters from the English authorities, and a detective ofiicer specially engaged to communicate with the foreign officials, and permit, when the proofs might justify, of an arrest." *' How much do they knew, then ?" asked she, calmly. " They know everything. They know of the forged will, the false certificate of death, and "Winthrop has confirmed the knowledge. Fortunately, I have secured the more important document. I has- tened to his room while they were yet talking, opened his desk, and carried away the will. As to the certificate, the Laytons and the de- tective had set off" for Meisner the moment after reaching Bregenz to establish its forged character." " Who cares for that ?" said she, carelessly. " It is a trifling oft'ence. Where is the other — the will ?" " I have it here," said he, pointing to his breast-pocket. *' Let us make a bonfire, then," said she, " for I, too, have some inconvenient records to get rid of. I thought of keeping them as memories, but I suspect I shall need no reminders." While Trover tore the forged will in pieces, she did the like by the letters, and a match being applied to the fragments, the flames rose up, and in a few seconds the blackened remnants were carried away by the winds, and lost. " So then, Mr. Trover," said she, at length, " Norfolk Island has been defrauded of your society for this time. By the way, papa, is not this Dr. Layton your friend as well as mine ?" " Yes, Loo, he is the man of ozone and vulcanised zinc, and I don't know what else. I hoped he had died ere this." " No, papa, they don't die. If you remark, you'll see that the people whose mission it is to torment, are wonderfully long-lived, and if I were an assurance agent, I'd take far more account of men's 4 to ONE OF THEM, tempers than their gout tendencies and dropsies. "Was there any allusion to papa, Mr. Trover ?" " Yes ; old Layton seems to have a warrant, or something of the kind, against him, on a grave charge, bixt I had no mind to hear what." " So that, I suppose," said she, laughing, " I am the only ' inno- cent' in the company ; for you know, Mr. Trover, that I forged nothing, falisified nothing ; I was betrayed, by my natural simplicity of character, into believing that a fortune was left me. I never dreamed that Mr. Trover was a villain." " I don't know how you take it so easily. We have escaped trans- portation, it is true, but we have not escaped public shame and exposure," said Trover, peevishly. " She's right, though, Trover — she's right. One never gets in the true frame of mind to meet difficulties till one is able to laugh a little at them." " Not to mention," added she, " that there is a ludicrous side in all troubles. I wonder how poor dear Mr. Winthrop bears his dis- appointment, worse than mine, in so far that he has travelled three thousand miles to attain it." *■ " Oh, he professes to be charmed. I heard him say, ' Well, Quack- inboss, I'm better pleased to know that the poor girl is alive than to have a million of dollars left me." " Tou don't say the stranger was Quackinboss, the dear Yankee we were all so fond of long ago at Marlia, and wliom I never could make in love with me, though I did my very best. Oh, father, is it not provoking to think of all the old friends we are running away from ! Colonel Quackinboss, Doctor Layton, and Alfred ! every one of them so linked to us by one tender thought or another. AVhat a charming little dinner we might have had to-morrow ; the old Doctor would have taken me in, whispering a little doleful word, as we went, about the Hawke's Nest, and long ago ; and you and he would have had your scientific talk afterwards." How old Holmes laughed at the pleasant conceit ! It was really refreshing to see that good old man so cheery and light of heart ; the very boat shook with his jollity. " Listen ! — do listen !" said Trover, in an accent of terror. " I'm certain I heard the sound of oars following us." " Stop rowing for a moment," said she to the boatmen ; and as the swift skiff glided noiselessly along, she bent down her head to listen. " Yes," said she, in a low, quiet voice, *' Trover is right ; there is a boat in pu-rsuit, and they, too, have ceased pulling ONE OF THEM, 441 now, to trace us. Ha ! there they go .again, and for Lindau, too ; they have heard, perliaps, the stroke of oars in that direction." " Let our fellows pull manfully, then, and we are safe," cried Trover, eagerly. " No, no," said she, in the same calm, collected tone. " The moon has set, and there will be perfect darkness till the day breaks, full two hours off. We must be still, so long as they are within hearing of us. I know well, Trover, what a tax this imposes on your courage, but it can't be helped." " Just so. Trover," chimed in Holmes. " She commands here, and there must be no mutiny." The wretched man groaned heavily, but uttered no word of reply. " I wish that great chemical friend of yours, papa — the wonderful Dr. Layton — had turned his marvellous mind to the invention of invisible fire. I am dying for a cigar now, and I'm afraid to light one." " Don't think of it, for mercy's sake !" broke in Trover. " Pray calm yourself, I have not the slightest fancy for being over- taken by this interesting party, nor do I think papa has either — not that our meeting could have any consequence beyond mere unplea- santness. If they should come up with us, I am as ready to denounce the deceitful Mr. Trover as any of them." " This is very poor jesting, I must say," muttered he, angrily. " Tou'U fiud it perhaps a very serious earnest if we're caught." " Come, come. Loo, forgive him ; he certainly meant all for the best. I'm sure you did, Trover," said old Holmes, with the blandest of voices. " AVhy, what on earth do you mean ?" cried he. " Ton are just as deep in the plot as I am. But for you, how should I have kuown about Hawke's having any property in America, or that he had any heir to it ?" " I am not naturally suspicious, Trover," said she, with mock gravity, " but I declare I begin to believe you are a bad man — a very bad man!" " I hope and trust not. Loo," said old Holmes, fervently ; " I really hope not." " it is no common baseness that seeks for its victim the widow and the fatherless. Please to put that rug under my feet. Trover. There are barristers would give their eye-tooth for such an opening for invective. I have one fat friend in my eye would take the brief for the mere pleasure of blackguarding you. Tou know whom I mean, papa." 442 0KB OP THEM. " You may push a joke too far, Mrs. Morris—or Mrs. Hawke, rather," said Trover, rudely, " for I don't know by which name you will be pleased to be known by in future." " I am thinking very seriously of taking a new one, Trover, and the gentleman who is to share it with me will probably answer all your inquiries on that and every other subject. I trust, too, that ho wiU meet us to-morrow." " Well, if I were Trover, I'd not pester him with questions," said Holmes, laughingly. " Don't you think they might take to their oars again, now ?" asked Trover, in a very beseeching tone. "Poor Mr. Trover!" said she, with a little laugh. "It is really very hard on him ! I have a notion that this night's pleasuring on the Lake of Constance will be one of the least grateful of his recol- lections." Then turning to the boatmen, she bade them "give way" with a will, and pull their best for Eorschach. From this time out nothing was said aloud, but Holmes and his daughter spoke eagerly together in whispers, while Trover sat apart, his head turned towards where the shadow of large mountains indi- cated the shore of the lake. " A'n't you happy now, Mr. Trover ?" said she, at length, as the boat glided into a little cove, where a number of fishing-craft lay at anchor. " A'n't you happy ?" Either smarting under what he felt the sarcasm of her question, or too deeply immersed in his own thoughts, he made no reply what- ever, but as the boat grated on the shingly beach he sprang out and gained the land. In another minute the boatmen had drawn the skiif high and dry on the sand, and assisted the others to disembark. " How forgetful you are of all gallant attentions," said she, as Trover stood looking on, and never oifering any assistance whatever. " Have you got any silver in your purse, papa F" " I can't see what these pieces are," said Holmes, trying to peer through the darkness. " Pay tliese people. Trover," said she, " and be liberal with them. Kemember from what fate they have saved you." And as she spoke she handed him her purse. " We'll saunter slowly up to the village, and you can follow us." Trover called the men around him, and proceeded to settle their fare, while Holmes and his daughter moved along at an easy pace inland. " How much was there in your purse, Loo ?" asked Holmes. *' Something under twenty Napoleons, papa ; but it will be quite enough," ONE or TUEM. 443 " Enough for what, dear?" " Enough to tempt poor Mr. Trover. We ahall never see more of him." " Do you really think so ?" " I am certain of it. He was thinking of nothing else than how to make his escape all the time we were crossing the lake, and I, too, had no more pressing anxiety than how to get rid of him. Had I offered him a certain sum, we should have had him for a pensioner as long as he lived, but by making him steal the money I force him to be his own security that he'll never come back again. It was for this that I persisted iu acting on his fears in the boat : the more wretched we made him the cheaper he became, and, when he heaved that last heavy sigh, I took ten Napoleons off his price." Holmes had to stop walking, and hold his hands to his sides with laughter. The device seemed to him about the best practical joke he had ever heard of. Then ceasing suddenly, he said : " But what if he were to go back to the others. Loo, and turn ap- prover against us ?" " We are safe enough on that score. He has nothing to tell them that they do not know already. They have got to the bottom of all the mystery, and they don't want him." " Still it seems to me, Loo, that it might have been safer to keep him along with us — under our eye, as it were." " Jfot at all, papa. It is as in a shipwreck, where the plank that will save two will sink with three. The stratagem that will rescue us would be probably marred by Jiim, and, besides, he'll provide for his own safety better than we should." Thus talking they entered the little village, where, although not yet daybreak, a small cafe was open — one of those humble refresh- ment-houses frequented by peasants on their way to their daily toil. " Let us breakfast here," said she, " while they are getting ready some light carriage to carry us on to St. Gall. 1 have an old friend there, the prior of the monastery, who used to be very desirous to convert me long ago. I intend to give him a week or ten days' trial now, papa ; and he may also, if he feel so disposed, experiment upon It was in this easy chit-chat they sat down to their coffee in the little inn at Eorscliach. They were soon, however, on the road again, seated in a little country carriage drawn by a stout mountain pony. " Strange enough all this adventure seems," said she, as they ascended tlie steep mountain on foot, to relieve the weary beast. " Sometimes it appears all like a di'eam to me, and now, when I look 444 ONE OF THEM. over the lake there, and see the distant spires of Bregenz yonder, I begin to believe that there ia reality in it, and that we are acting in a true drama." Holmes paid but little attention to her words, wrapped up as he was in some details he was reading in a newspaper he had carried away from the caf(§. " What have you found to interest you so much there, papa ?" asked she, at last. Still he made no reply, but read on. "It can scarcely be that you are grown a politician again," con- tinued she, laughingly, " and pretend to care for Austria or for Italy." " This is all about Paten," said he, eagerly. " There's the whole account of it." " Account of what ?" cried she, trying to snatch the paper from bim. " Of his death." " His death ! is he dead ? Is Paten dead ?" She had to clutch his arm as she spoke to support herself, and it was only with the greatest difficulty that she kept her feet. " How was it ? Tell me how he came by his death. Was it O'Shea ?" "No, he was killed. The man who did it has given himself up, alleging that it was in an altercation between them ; a pistol, aimed at his own breast, discharged its contents in Paten's." She tore the paper from his hand, and tottering over to a bank on the roadside, bent down to read it. Holmes continued to talk over the event and all the details, but she did not hear what he said. She had but senses for the lines she was perusing. " I thought, at first, it was O'Shea, in some disguise. But it can- not be, for see, they remark here that this man has been observed loitering about Baden ever since Paten arrived. Oh, here'8 the mys- tery," cried she. " His name is Collier." **That was an old debt between them," said Holmes. " I hope there will be no discovery as to Paten's real name. It would so certainly revive the old scandal." " We can scarcely expect such good luck as that. Loo. There ia but one thing to do, dear ; we must put the sea between us and our calumniators." " How did O'Shea come by the letters if he had no hand in it ?" " Perhaps he had ; perhaps it was a concerted thing ; perhaps he bought up the letters from Collier afterwards. Is it of the least cou- aequeuce to us how he got them ?" ONE OP THEM. 445 "Yes, Collier might have read them," said she, in a hollow voice; and as Holmes, startled by the tones, turned round, he saw that she had a sickening faintuess over her, and that she trembled violently. " Where's your old courage. Loo," said he, cheeringly. " Paten is gone, Collier has a good chance of being sent after him, and here we are, almost the only actors left of the whole drama." " That's true, papa, very true; and as we shall have to play in the afterpiece, the sooner we get the tragedy out of our heads the better." They remounted the carriage, and went on their way. There, where the beech-trees bend across the road, it is there they have just disap- peared ! The brisk tramp of the pony can be heard even yet ; it grows fainter and fainter, and only the liglit train of dust now marks their passage. They are gone — and we are to see them no more ! CHAPTER LVTII. CONSULTATION. Evert host has had some experience of the fact, that there are guests of whom he takes leave at the drawing-room door, and others who require that he should accompany them to the very frontier of his kingdom, and only part with as they step into their carriage. The characters of a story represent each of these classes. Some make their exit quietly, unobtrusively ; they slip away witli a little gesture of the hand, or a mere look to say adieu. Others arise with a preten- tious dignity from their places, and, in the ruffle of their voluminous plumage, seem to say, " When we spread out our wings for flight, the small birds may flutter away to their nests." It is needless that we should tell our readers that we have readied that critical moment. The dull roll of carriages to the door, and the clank of the let-down steps, tell tliat the hour of departure has arrived, and that tlie enter- tainer will very soon be left all alone, without " One of Them." As in the real world, no greater solecism can be committed than to beg the uprising guest to reseat himself, nor is there any measure more certain of disastrous failure, so in fiction, when there is a move in the company, the sooner they all go tlie better. W^hile I am painfully impressed with this fact — while I know and 446 ONE OF THEM. feel that my last words must be very like the leave-talungs of that tiresome button holder, who, great-coated and muffled himself, will yet like to detain you in the cold current of a doorway — I am yet sensible of the deference due to those who have indulgently accom- panied me through my story, and would desire to leave no questions unanswered with regard to those who have figured before him. Mr. Trover having overheard the dialogue which had such an intimate bearing on his own fortunes, lost no time, as we have seen, in quitting the hotel at Bregenz ; and, although Winthrop expected to see him at dinner, he was not surprised to hear that he had left a message to say he had gone over to the cottage to dine with Mrs. Hawke. It was with an evident sense of relief that the honest American learned this fact. There was something too repulsive to his nature in the thought of sitting down at the same table in apparent good fellow- ship with the man whom he knew to be a villain, and whose villany a very few hours would expose to the world ; but what was to be done ? Quackinboss had insisted on the point ; he had made him give a solemn pledge to make no change in his manner towards Trover till such time as the Laytons had returned with full and in- contestable proofs of his guilt. " "We'll spoil everything, Sir," said Quackinboss, " if we harpoon him in deep water. We must go cautiously to work, and drive him up gradually towards the shallows, where, if one miss, another can strike him." Winthrop was well pleased to hear that the " chase" was at least deferred, and that he was to dine tete-a-tete with his true-hearted countryman. Hour after hour went over, and in their eager discussion of the complicated intrigue they had unravelled, they lost all recollection of Trover, or his absence. It was the character of the woman which absorbed their entire thoughts ; and while Winthrop quoted her letters so full of beautiful sentiments, so elevated, and so refined, Quackinboss related many little traits of her captivating manner and winning address. " It's all the same in natur', Sir," said he, summing up. " Where will you see prettier berries than on the deadly nightsliade ? and do you think that they was made to look so temptin' for nothing ? or wasn't it jest for a lesson to us to say, ' Be on your guard, stranger ; what's good to look at may be mortal bad to feed on.' Tliere's many a warnin' in things that don't talk with our tongues, but have a lan- guage of their own." " Very true all that, Sir," resumed the other ; " but it was always ONE OF TUEM. 44<7 a puzzle to me why people with such good faculties would make so bad a use of them." *' Aiu't it all clear enough they was meant for examples — ;jest that and no more ? You see that clever fellow yonder ; he can do fifty things you and I couldn't ; he has got brains for this, that, and t'other. "Well, if he's a rogue, he won't be satisfied with workin' them brains God has given him, because he has no right sense of thankfulness in his heart, but he'll be counterfitin' all sorts of brains that he hasn't got at all : these are the devil's gifts, and they do the devil's work." " I know one thing," said Winthrop, doggedly, " it is that sort of folk make the best way in life." " Clear wrong — all straight on end — unsound doctrine that, Sir, We never think of countin' the failures, the chaps that are in gaol, or at the galleys, or maybe hanged. We only take the two or three successful rogues that figure in high places, and we say. So much for knavery. Now let me jest ask you. How did they come there ? Wasn't it by pretendin' to be good men ? Wasn't it by mock charity, mock patriotism, mock sentiment in fifty ways, supported now and then by a bit of real action, just as a forger always slips a real gold piece amongst his counterfeits ? And what is all this but sayin', the way to be prosperous is to be good " " Or to seem good!" broke in Winthrop. " Well, Sir, the less we .question seemia', the better ! I'd rather be taken in every day of the week than I'd go on doubtin' every hour of the day, and I believe one must come very nigh to either at last." As they thus chatted, a light post-carriage rolled into tlie inn yard, and Doctor Layton and Alfred hastily got out and made for the apartment of their friends. " Just as I said — just as I foretold — the certificate forged without giving themselves the trouble to falsify the register," broke in Layton. " We have seen the book at Meisuer, and it records the death of a certain serving woman, Esther Baumhardt, who was buried there seven years ago. All proves that these people, in planning this knavery, calculated on never meeting an opponent." " Where is this Mr. Trover ?" said Alfred. " I thought we shoiJd find him here in all the abandonment of friendly ease." " He dined at the cottage with his other friends," said Winthrop, " for the which I owe him all my gratitude, for I own to you I had sore misgivings about sitting down with him." " I couldn't have done it," broke in the old doctor. " My first . mouthful would have choked me. As it is, while I wait to denounce 448 ONE OF THEM. his guilt, I have an uneasy sense of complicity, as though I knew of a crime and had not proclaimed it to the world." " "Well, Sir," said Quackinboss, slowly, and with a sententious slowness, " I ain't minded like either of you. My platform is this : Eogues is varmin ; they are to the rest of mankind what wolves and hyenas is to the domestic animals. Now, it would not be good policy, or good sport, to pison these critturs. What they desarve is^ to be hunted down ! It is a rare stimulus to a fellow's blood to chase a villain. Since I have a been on this trail I feel a matter of ten years younger." " And I am impatient to follow up the chase," said the Doctor, who, in his eagerness, walked up and down the room with a fretful anxiety. "Eemember," said Alfred, "that however satisfied we ourselves may be on every point of these people's culpability, we have no authority to arrest them, or bring them to justice. We can set the law in motion, but not usurp its action." "And are they to be let go free?" asked Quackinboss. "Is it when we have run 'em to earth we're to call off the dogs and go home ?" " He's right, though. Colonel," said Winthrop. " Down in our country, mayhap, we'd find half a dozen gentlemen who'd make Mr. Trover's trial a very speedy affair ; but here we must follow other fashions." " Our detective friend says that he'll not leave them till you have received authority from home to demand their extradition," said the Doctor. " I take it for granted forgery is an offence in every land in Europe, and, at all events, no state can have any interest in wish- ing to screen them." While they thus talked, Alfred Layton rang the bell, and inquired if Mr. Trover had returned. The waiter said, " No." " Why do you ask ?" said the Doctor. " It just occurred to me that he might have seen us as we drove up. He knows the Colonel and myself well." " And you suspect that he is off, Alfred ?" " It is not so very unlikely." " Let us down to the cottage, then, and learn this at once," said Quackinboss ; " I'd be sore riled if he was to slip his cable, while we thought him hard aground." " Yes," said the Doctor. " We need not necessarily go and ask for /^ ONE OF TITK^r. 419 him ; Winthrop can just drop in to say a 'good evening,' while we wait oi'tside." " I wish you liad chosen a craftier messenger," said Winthrop, Liughing. And now, taking their hats, tliey set out for the Gebhardts- berg. Alfred contrived to slip his arm witliin that of Quackinboss, and while the others went on in front, he sauntered slowly after with the Colonel. He had been anxiously waiting for a moment when they could talk together, and for some days back it had not been possible. If the others were entirely absorbed in the pursuit of those who had planned this scheme of fraud, Alfred had but one thought — and that was Clara. It was not as the great heiress he regarded her, not as the owner of a vast property, ail at her own disposal ; he thought of the sad story that awaited her — the terrible revelation of her father's death — and the scarcely less harrowing history of her who had supplied the place of mother to her. " She will have to learn all this," thought he, " and at the moment that she hears her- self called rich and independent, she will have to hear of the open shame and punishment of one who, whatever the relations between them, had called her her child, and assumed to treat her as her own." To make known all these to Quackinboss, and to induce him, if he co\ild, to regard them in the same liglit that they appeared to him- self, was young Layton's object. Without any preface he told all his fears and anxieties. He pictured the condition of a young girl entering life alone, heralded by a scandal that would soon spread over all Europe. Would not any poverty with obscurity be better than fortune on such conditions. Of what avail could wealth be, when every employment of it would bring up an odious history ? and lastly, how reconcile Clara herself to the enjoyment of her good for- tune, if it came associated with the bitter memory of others in suf- fering and in durance? If lie knew anything of Clara's heart, he thought that the sorrow would far outweigh the joy the tidings of her changed condition would bring her ; at least he hoped that he had so read her nature aright, and it was thus that he had con- strued it. If Quackinboss had none of that refined appreciation of sentiment which, in a certain measure, is the conventionality of a class, he had what is infinitely and immeasurably superior, a true-hearted sym- pathy with everything human. He was soi'ely sorry for "that widow-woman." He had forgotten none of the charms she threw 2 G 450 ONE OF TUEM. around tlieir eveniugs at Marlia long ago, and be wa3 slow to think that these fascinations should always be exercised as snares and de- ceptions, and, last of all, as be said, " "We have never heard lier story yet — we know nothing of bow she has been tried." " What is it, then, that you propose to do ?" asked the Colonel, at the end of a somewhat rambling and confused exposition by young Lay ton. " Simply this : abandon all pursuit of these people ; spare them and spare ourselves the pain and misery of a public shame. Their plot has failed ; they will never attempt to renew it in any shape ; and above all, let not Clara begin the bright path before her by having to pass through a shadow of suflfering and sorrow." " Ay, there is much in what you say ; and now that we have run tlie game to earth, I have my misgivings that we were not yielding ourselves more to the ardour of the pursuit than stimulated by any love of justice." While they were thus talking, the others had passed the little wicket and entered the garden of the cottage. Struck by the quiet- ness and the unlighted windows, they knocked hastily at the door, A question and answer revealed all, and the Doctor called out aloud, "They are off! they are away !" Young Lay ton pressed Quackinboss's hand, and whispered, " Thank Heaven for it !" If Winthrop laughed heartily at an escape that struck him as so cleverly effected, tlie Doctor, far more eager in pursuit than the others, passed into the house to interrogate tlie people — learn when and how, and in what direction they had fled — and trace, if so it might be, the cause of this sudden departure. "See," cried he, as the others entered the drawing-room — "see what a sudden retreat it has been. They were at their coffee ; here is her shawl, too, just as she may have thrown it off; and here, a heap of papers and letters, half burned, on the hearth." " One thing is clear enough," said Alfred ; " they discovered that they had lost the battle, and they have abandoned the field." " What do I see here r" cried the Doctor, a he picked up a half- burned sheet of paper from the mass. " This is my own writing — my application to the Patent-oflSce, when I was prosecuting my dis- covery of corrugated steel ! When and how could it have come here !" " Who can ' My dear father' be ?" asked Quackiuboss, examining a letter which he had lifted from the floor. " Oh, here's his name : ' Captain Nicholas Holmes' " ONE OF THEM. 451 " Nick Holmes !" exclaimed the Doctor ; " the fellow who stole my invention, and threw me into a madhouse! What of him? Who writes to him as ' dear father ' ?" " Our widow, no less," said the Colonel. " It is a few lines, to say she is just setting out for Florence, and will be with him within the week." " And this scoundrel was her father !" muttered the old Doctor. "Only think of all the scores that we should have had to settle if we had had the luck to be here an hour ago ! I thrashed him once in tlie public streets, it's true, but we are far from being quits yet. Come let's lose no time, but after them at once." Alfred made no reply, but turned a look on Quackinboss, as though to bespeak his interference. " AVell, Sir," said the Colonel, slowly, " so long as the pursuit involved a something to find out, no man was hotter artcr it than I w-as ; but now that we know all, that we have baffled our adversaries and beaten 'em, I ain't a goin' to distress myself for a mere ven- geance." " Which means that these people are to go at large, free to prac- tise their knaveries on others, and carry into other families the misery we have seen them inflict here. Is that your meaning ?" asked the Doctor, angrily. " I can't tell what they are a goin' to do hereafter, nor, maybe, can you either. Sir. It may be, that with changed hearts they'll try an- other way of liviu' ; it may be that they'll see roguery ain't the best thing ; it may be — who's to say, how ? — that all they have gone through of trouble and care and anxiety has made them long since sick of such a wearisome existence, and that, though not very strong in virtue, they are right glad to be out of the pains of vice, whatever and wherever they may be. At all events. Shaver Quackinboss has done with 'em, and if it was only a goin' the length of the garden to take them this minute, I'd jest say, ' No, tell 'em to slope off, and leave me alone.' " "Let me tell you, Sir, these are not your home maxims, and, for my part, I like Lynch law better than lax justice," said the Doctor, angrily. " Lynch law has its good and its bad side," said Quackinboss, "and, mayhap, if you come to consider the thing coolly, you'll see that if I was rejecting rigid legality here, it was but to take the benefit of Judge Lynch, only this time for mercy, and not for punish- ment." " Ah, there is something in that!" cried the Doctor. " 'You have 2g 2 452 ONE OF THEM. made a stronger case for yourself than I looked for ; still I owed that fellow a vengeance !" " It's the only debt a man is dishonoured in the payin', Sir. Tou know far more of life than I do, but did you ever meet the man yet that was sorry for having forgiven an injury ? I'm not sayin' that he mightn't have felt disappointed or discouraged by the result — his enemy, as he'd call him, mightn't have turned out what he ought — but that ain't the question : did you ever see one man who could say, after the lapse of years, ' I wish I had borne more malice — I'm sorry I wasn't more cruel' ?" " Let them go, and let us forgot them," said the old man, as he turned and left the room. Young Layton grasped the Colonel's hand, and shook it warmly, as he said, " This victory is all your own." CHAPTEE LIX. WORDS OF GOOD CHEER. When the key-note of some long-sought mystery has sounded there is a strange fascination in going over and over the theme, now wondering why we had not been more struck by this or that fact, how we could have overlooked the importance of this incident or that coincidence. Trivial events come up to memory as missing links in the chain of proof, and small circumstances and chance words are brought up to fill the measure of complete conviction. It was thus that this party of four sat almost till daybreak, talking over the past. Each had some era to speak of as especially his own. Winthrop could tell of Godfrey Hawke when he came a young man to the States, and married his niece, the belle and the heiress of her native city. He remembered all the praises bestowed upon the young Englishman's manners and accomplishments, together with tlie graver forebodings of others, who had remarked his inordinate love of play and his indifference as to the company in which he in- dulged it. Next came the Doctor, with his recollectious of the man broken down by dissipation and excess, and at last dying of poison. There was but little, indeed, to recal the handsome Godfrey Hawke in the attenuated figure and distorted countenance of that miserable debauchee, but there were chance traits of manner that brought up the ONE OP THEM. 453 man to Wiuthrop's miiul. There was also on the scene his beautiful wife, at that time in the fulness of her beauty. What a charm of gentleness, too, did she possess ! — how meekly and patiently did she bear herself under provocations that seemed too great for human en- durance ! The Doctor had to own that she actually forfeited some of his sympathy by the impression she gave him of being one deficient in a nice sense of self-esteem, and wanting in that element of resist- ance without which there is no real dignity of nature. '* She seemed to me," said he, " too craven, too abject by half — one of those who are born to be the subject of a tyranny, and who, in their very submis- sion, appear to court the wanton cruelty of an * oppressor.' How rightly I read^ her !" cried he ; " how truly I deciphered the inscrip- tion on her heart ! and yet, I'll be sworn, no man living could have detected under that mask of gentleness this woman of long-pondering craft, this deeply-designing plotter !" " Quackiuboss and I saw her under another aspect," said Alfred. " She was depressed and sad, but only so much so as gave an added charm to the grace of her captivations, and made her every effort to please appear somewhat of a sacrifice of herself for those around her." "Well, ain't it strange, gentlemen," said Quackinboss, "but it's a fact, " she never deceived me ? I remember the day of our visit at Marlia ; after that adventure with the dog she fainted, and I took her up in my arms and carried her to the house. I thought, by course, she was insensible. Not a bit of it : she rallied enough to open her eyes, and give me one of the most wonderful looks ever I see in my life. It was just like saying, ' Shaver, are you quite certain that you haven't got in your arms one of the loveliest creatures as ever was formed? Are you sure, Shaver Q.uackinboss, that you are ever to have such another piece of luck as this ?' And so certain was I that I heerd these very words in my ear, that I said aloud, ' Darn me pale blue if I don't wish the house was half a mile away!' And the words wasn't well out than she burst out a laughin', such a hearty, joyous laugh, too, that I knew in my heart she had neither pain nor ache, and was only a foxin'. Well, gentlemen, we always had a way of lookin' at each other arter that was quite peculiar ; it was sayin', ' Never fear, all's on honour here.' That was, at least, how I meant it, and I have a notion that she understood me as well. I have a strong notion that we understand these women critters bettor than you Britishers !" "Tou must leave me out of the category of the shrewd ones, how- ever," said Wiuthrop. " I saw her but once in my life, and yet I 454 ONE OK THiCM. cever came away from a visit with the same amount of favourable impression. She met me Hke an ol'd friend, but, at the same time, there was a delicacy and reserve about her that seemed to say, ' It is for yoit, to ratify this compact if you like. When you sign the treaty it is finished.' " From the discussion of the past they proceeded to the future, upon which all felt that Winthrop could speak with most authority, since he was Clara's kinsman and guardian. "What do you mean to do by the gal, Sir ?" asked the Colonel. " I intend to see her as soon as I can, give her the good news of her accession to fortune, and leave her to choose whether she will come back with me to the States, or would prefer that I should remain with her in Europe." " And ain't there any other alternative possible in the case, Sir?" asked Quackinboss. " Doesn't it strike you as just possible that she might say, * No,' to each of these proposals, and fix another one for herself?" " I don't quite understand you. Colonel," said the other, " I ain't a goiu' to talk riddles. Sir. What I mean is, that the young woman may have other thoughts in her head than either of your plans ; and now I'll call upon my lionor'ble friend, Mr. Alfred Layton, to address the House." Crimson with shame and confusion, young Layton turned an im- ploring look at Quackinboss ; but the Colonel was iudifierent to the appeal, and waved his liand as if bespeaking silence. " It is rather for me to speak here," said the Doctor. " My son has to begin life with a large arrear of his father's faults to redeem. He has to restore to our name, by conduct and honourable bearing, the fair repute that once attached to it. Honest industry is the safe and sure road to this, and there is no other. He has promised to try and bring back to me in Ids name the suff'rages of that university which I forfeited in mine. If he succeed, he will have made me proud of him." " I like that," broke in Quackinboss. " Square it all first with tliem critturs in the college, and then think of a wife. Go at it. Sir, and work like a nigger ; there ain't nothing will give you such courage as the very fatigue of a hard day's work. When you lie down at night so dead beat that you couldn't do more, you'll feel that you've earned your rest, and you'll not lie awake with misgivin's and fancies, but you'll sleep with a good conscience, and arise refreshed the next morniu'." " Alfred and I settled it all between us last night," said the Doctor. ONE OF xnt'ir. 455 " There was but one point we could not arrange to our satisfaction. We are largely indebted to you " " Stop her!" cried the Colonel, as though he were giving the word from the paddle-box of a steamer — " stop her ! I ain't in a humour to be angry with any one. I feel as how, when the world goes so well as it has done lately with us all, that it would be main ungrate- ful to show a peevish or discontented spirit, and I don't believe that there's a way to rile me but one— jist one — and you've a hit on't. Yes, Sir, you have !" Quackinboss began this speech calmly enough, but before he finished it his voice assumed a hard and harsh tone very rare with him. " Eemember, my dear and true-hearted friend," broke in Alfred, " that it's only of one debt we are eager to acquit ourselves. Of all that we owe you in aflection and in gratitude, we are satisfied to stand in your books so long as we live." " I aiu't a goin' to square accounts," said the Colonel ; " but if I was, I know well that I'd stand with a long balance agin' me. Meat and drink, Sir, is good things, but they ain't as good for a man as liberal thoughts, kind feelin's, and a generous trust in one's neigh- bour. AYell, I've picked up a little of all three from that young man there, and a smatterin' of otlier things besides that I'd never have larned when barking oak in the bush." Old Layton shook his head in dissent, and muttered, " You may cancel the bond, but we cannot forget the debt." " Let me arbitrate between you," said Winthrop. " Leave the question at rest till this day twelvemonth. Let each give his word not to approach it, and then time, that will have taught us many a thing in the mean while, will supply the best expedient." They gave their hands to each other in solemn pledge, and not a word was uttered, and the compact was ratified. " We shall leave this for England to-night," said tlie Doctor. " Not surely till you come as far as Milan first ?" asked Winthrop. "He's right — he's quite right!" said Quackinboss. "If a man has a Polar voyage afore him, it's no way to harden his constitution by passiu' a winter at Palermo. Ain't I right, Sir ?" It was not difficult to see that Alfred Layton did not yield a very willing assent to this arrangement, but he stole away from the room uijperceived, and carried his sorrow witli him to his chamber. He had scarcely closed his door, however, when he heard Quackinboss's voice outside. " I ain't a comin' to disturb you," said he, entering ; " but I have 456 ONE OF THEM. a word or two to say, and, mayhap, can't fiud another time to say it. Tou'll be wantin' a triile or so to begin witli, before you can turn to earn something for yourself. Tou'll find it there in tliat pocket- book — look to it now% Sir, I'll have no opposition — it's the best in- vestment ever I had. You'll marry this girl ; yes, there ain't a doubt about that, and, mayhap, one of these days I'll be a comin' to you to ask favourable terms for my brother Obadiah B. Quaekinboss, that's located down there in your own diggin's, and you'll say, ' Well, Colonel, I ain't forgotten old times ; we was thick as thieves once on a time, and so fix it all your own way.' " Alfred could but squeeze the other's hand as he turned away, hia heart too full for him to speak. "I like your father, Sir," resumed Quaekinboss, "he's a grand fellow, and if it warn't for some of his prejudices about the States, I'd say I never met a finer man." Young Layton saw well how by this digression the American was adroitly endeavouring to draw the conversation into another direction, and one less pregnant with exciting emotions. " Yes, Sir, he ain't fair to us," resumed the Colonel. " He forgets that we're a new people, and jest as hard at work to build up our new civilisation as our new cities." " There's one thing he never does, never can forget : that the warmest, fastest friend his son ever met with in life came from your country." " Well, Sir, if there be anything we Yankees are famed for, it is the beneficial employment of our spare capital. We don't sit down con- tent with three-and-a-half or four per cent, interest, like you Bri- tishers, we look upon that as a downright waste ; and it's just tho same witli our feelin's as our dollars, though you of the old country don't think so. We can't aftbrd to wait thirty, or five-and-thirty years for a friendship. We want lively sales. Sir, and quick returns. We want to know if a man mean kindly by us afore we've both of us got too old to care for it. That's how I come to like you first, and I warn't so far out in thinkin' that I'd made a good investment." Alfred could only smile good-humouredly at the speech, and tlie other went on. " You Britishers begin by givin' us Yankees certain national traits and habits, and you won't let us be anything but what you have already fashioned us in your own minds. But, arter all, I'd have you to remember we are far more like your ])eople of a century back than you yourselves are. We ain't as mealy-mouthed, and as p'lite, and as amoolh-tongued aa the moderns. But if we're plain of speech, we ONE OF TKEM. 457 are simple of liabit ; and what you so often set flown as rudeness in us, ain't anything more tlian our wish to declare that we ain't in want of any one's help or assistance, but we are able to shift for ourselves, and are independent." Quackinboss arose, as he said this, with the air of a man who had discharged his conscience of a load. He liad often smarted under what he felt to be tlie unfair appreciation of the old Doctor for America, and he thought that by instilling sounder principles into his son's mind, the seed would one day or other produce good fruit. Prom this he led Alfred to talk of his plans for the future. It was his father's earnest desire that he should seek collegiate honours in the university which had once repudiated himself The old man did not altogether arraign the justice of the act, but he longed to see his name once more in a place of honour, and that the traditions of his own triumphs should be renewed in his son's. "If I succeed," said Alfred, " it will be time enough afterwards to say what next." " You'll marry that gal, Sir, and come out to the States. I see it all as if I read it in a book." Alfred shook his head doubtfully, and was silent. " "Well, I'm a goin' to Milan with Godfrey Winthrop, and when I see the country, as we say, I'll tell you about the clearin'." "You'll write to me, too?" " Tliat I will. It may be that she won't have outright forgotten me, and if so, she'll be more friendly with me than an uncle she has never seen nor known about. I'll soon find out if her head's turned by all this good luck, or if, as 1 hope, the fortune has fallen on one as deserved it. Mayhap she'll be for goin' over to America at once, mayhap she'll have a turn for doing it grand here, in Europe. God- frey Winthrop says she'll have money enough to buy up one of these little German states, and be a Princess if she likes ; at all events you shall hear, and then in about a month hence look out for me some fine evening, for I tell you. Sir, I've got so used to it now, that I can't get through the day without a talk with you ; and though tlio Doctor and I do have a bout now and then over the Yankees, I'd like to see the man who'd abuse America before him, and say one word against England in the face of Shaver Quackinboss." 458 ONE OF THEM. CHAPTER LX. THE LETTER FROM ALFRED I>AYTON. When Sir "William Heatlicote learned that Mrs. Morris had quitted his house, goue without one word of adieu, his mind reverted to all the bygone dift'erences with his son, and to Charles did he at once ascribe the cause of her sudden flight. His health was in that state in which agitation becomes a serious complication, and for several days he was dangerously ill, violent paroxysms of passion alternating witli long intervals of apathy and unconsciousness. The very sight of Charles in his loom would immediately bring on one of his attacio of excitement, and even the presence of May Leslie herself brought him no alleviation of suffering. It was in vain that she assured him that Mrs. INIorris left on reasons known only to herself, that even to May herself she had explained nothing, written nothing. The old man obstinately repeated his conviction that she had been made the victim of an intrigue, and that Charles was at the bottom of it. How poor May strove to combat this unjust and unworthy suspicion, how eagerly she defended him she loved, and how much the more she learned to love for the defending of him. Charles, too, in this painful emergency, displayed a moderation and self-control for which May had never given him credit. Not a hasty word, or impatient expression escaped him, and he was unceasing in every attention to his father, which he could render without the old man's knowledge. It was a very sad household ; on every side there was sickness and sorrow^, but few of those consolations that alleviate pain or lighten suffering. Sir William desired to be left almost always alone, Charles walked moodily by himself in the garden, and May kept her room, and seldom left it. Lord Agincourt came daily to ask after them, but could see no one. Even Charles avoided meeting him, and merely sent him a verbal message, or a few hasty lines with a pencil. Upwards of a week had passed in this manner, when, among the letters from the post, which Charles usually opened and only half read through, came a very long epistle from Alfred Layton. His name was on the corner of the envelope, and, seeing it, Charles tossed the letter carelessly across the table to May, saying, in a peevish irony, "You may care to see what your old admirer has to say; as for me, I have no such curiosity." ONE OF THEM. 459 She paid no attention to the rude speech, and went on with her breakfast, " You don't mean to say," cried he, in the same pettish tone, " that you don't care what there may be in that letter ? It may have some great piece of good fortune to announce. He may have become a celebrity, a rich man — Heaven knows what. This may contain tlie offer of his hand. Come, May, don't despise destiny ; break the seal and read your fate." She made no answer, but, rising from the table, left the room. It was one of those days on which young Heathcote's temper so completely mastered him, that in anger with himself he would quarrel with his dearest friend. Fortunately they were now very rare with him, but when they did come he was their slave. When on service and in the field, these were the intervals in wliich his intrepid bravery, stimulated to very madness, had won him fame and honour ; and none, not even himself, knew that some of his most splendid successes were reckless indifference to life. His friends, however, learned to remark that Heathcote was no companion at such times, and they usually avoided him. He sat on at the breakfast-table, not eating, or indeed well con- scious where he was, when the door was hastily thrown open, and Agincourt entered. " Well, old fellow," cried he, " I have unearthed you at last. Tour servants have most nobly resisted all my attempts to force a passage, or bribe my way to you, and it was only by a stratagem that T contrived to slip past the porter, and pass in." " Ton have cost the fellow his place, then," said Charles, rudely ; " he shall be sent away to-day." " Nonsense, Charley; none of this moroseness with me." " And wliy not with youT' cried the other, violently. " Why not with you? You'll not presume to say that the accident of your sta- tion gives you the privilege of intruding where others are denied ? You'll not pretend that ?" A deep flush covered the young man's face, and his eyes flashed an- grily, but just as quickly a softened expression came over his counte- nance, and in a voice of mingled kindness and bantering, he said, " I'll tell you what I'll pretend, Charley ; I'll pretend to say that you love me too sincerely to mean to offend me, even when a harsh speech has escaped you in a moment of haste or anger." " Offend you!" exclaimed Heathcote, with the air of a man utterly puzzled and confused — " offend you ! How could I dream of oflend- ing you ? You were not used to be touchy, Agincourt— what, in the name of wonder, could make you fancy I meant offence ?" 460 o'sv: OF them. The look of his face, the very accent in which lie spoke, were so unaffectedly honest and sincex*e, that the youth saw at once how un- consciously his rude speech had escaped him, and that not a trace of it remained in his memory. " I have been so anxious to see you, Charley," said he, in his usual tone, " for some days back. I wanted to consult you about O'Shea. My uncle has given me an appointment for him, and I can't find out where he is. Then tliere's another thing ; that strange Yankee, Quackinboss — you remember him at Marlia, long ago. He found out, by some means, that I was at the hotel here, and he writes to beg I'll engage I can't say how many rooms for himself and some friends who are to arrive this evening. I don't think vou are listening to me, are you ?" " Yes, I hear you — go on." " I mean to clear out of the diggin's if these Yankees come, and you must tell me where to go. I don't dislike the ' Kernal,' but his following would be awful, eh ?" " Yes, quite so." " What do you mean by ' Yes ?' Is it that you agree with me, or that you haven't paid the slightest attention to one word I've said P" " Look here, Agincourt," said Charley, passing his arm inside the other's, and leading him up and down the room. " I wish I had not changed my mind ; I wish I had gone to India. I have utterly failed in all that I hoped to have done here, and I have made my poor father more unhappy than ever." " Is he so determined to marry this widow, then ?" " She is gone. She left us more than a week ago, without saying why, or for whither. I have not the slightest clue to her conduct, nor can I guess where she is." " When was it she left tliis ?" " On Wednesday week last." " The very day O'Shea started." They each looked steadfastly at the other ; and, at last Agincourt said : " Wouldn't that be a strange solution of the riddle, Charley ? On the last night we dined together you may remember I promised to try what I could make of the negotiation, and so I praised the widow, extolled her beauty, and hinted that she was exactly the clever sort of woman that helps a man on to fortune." "How I wish I had gone to India!" muttered Charles, and so immersed in his own cares as not to hear one word the other was saynig. ONE OF THEM. 461 " If I were to talk in that way, Charley, you'd be the very first to call out. What selfishness ! what an utter indifference to all feelings but your own ! Ton are merely dealing with certain points that afiect yourself, and you forget a girl that loves you." " Am I so sure of that ? Am I quite certain that an old attach- ment — she owned to me herself that she liked him, that tutor fellow of yours — has not a stronger hold on lier heart than I have ? Tliere's a letter from him. I haven't opened it. I have a sort of half suspicion that when I do read it, I'll have a violent desire to shoot him. It is just as if I knew that, inside that packet there, was an insult awaiting me, and yet I'd like to spare myself the anger it will cause me when I break the seal; and so I walk round the table and look at the letter, and turn it over, and at last " With the word he tore open the envelope, and unfolded the note. " Has he not given me enough of it ? One, two, three, ay, four pages ! When a man writes at such length, he is certain to be either very tiresome or very disagree- able, not to say that I never cared much for your friend Mr. Layton ; he gave himself airs with us poor unlettered folk " " Come, come, Charley ; if you were not in an ill mood you'd never say anything so ungenerous." It wa,s possible that he felt the rebuke to be just, for he did not reply, but seating himself in the window, began to read the letter. More than once did Agincourt make some remark, or ask some ques- tion. Of even his movements of impatience Heathcote took no note, as, deeply immersed in the contents of the letter, he continued to read on, " Well, I'll leave you for a while, Charley," said he, at last ; " per- haps I may drop in to see you this evening." "Wait; stay where you are," cried Heathcote, abruptly, and yet not lifting his eyes from the lines before him. " What a story ! — what a terrible story !" muttered he to himself. Then beckoning to Agincourt to come near, lie caught him by the arm, and in a low whisper said, " Who do you think she turns out to be ? The widow of Godfrey Hawke !" " I never so much as heard of Godfrey Hawke." " Oh, I forgot ; you were an infant at the time. But surely you must have heard or read of that murder at Jersey ? — a well-known gambler, named Hawke, poisoned by his associates, while on a visit at his house." •' And who is she?" " Mrs. Penthony Morris. Here's the whole story. But begin at the beginning." 4G2 PNE OF THEM. Seated side by side, tliey now proceeded to read tlie letter over together, nor did either speak a word till it was finished. "And to be so jolly with all that on her mind !" exclaimed Agin- court. " Why she must have the courage of lialf a dozen men." " I now begin to read the meaning of many things I never could make out : her love of retirement — she, a woman essentially of the world and society, estranging lierself from everyone ; her strange relations with Clara, a thing which used to puzzle me beyond measure ; and lastly, her remarkable injunction to me w^hen we parted, her prayer to be forgotten, or, at least, never mentioned." " You did not tell me of that." " Nor was it my intention to have done so now ; it escaped me in- voluntarily." " And what is to become of Clara ?" " Don't you see that she has found an uncle — this Mr. "Winthrop— with whom, and our friend Quackinboss, she is to arrive at Rome to- night or to-morrow ?" " Oh, these are tlie friends for whom I was to bespeak an apart- ment. So, then, I'll not leave my hotel. I'm delighted to have such neighbours." " May ought to go and meet her— she ought to bring her here ; and of course she will do so. But, first of all, to show her this letter; or shall I merely tell her certain parts of it ?" " I'd let her read every line of it, and I'd give it to Sir "William also." " Cliarles started at tlie counsel ; but after a moment he said, " I believe you are right. The sooner we clear away these mysteries, tlie sooner we shall deal frankly together." " I have come to beg your pardon. May," said Cliarles, as he stood on the sill of her door. " I could scarcely hope you'd grant it save from very pity for me, for I have gone through much this last day or two. But, besides your pardon, I want your advice. When you liave read over that letter — read it twice — I'll come back again." May made him no answer, but, taking the letter, turned away. He closed the door noiselessly, and left her. Whatever may be the shook a man experiences on learning that the individual wilh whom for a space of time he has been associating on terras of easy intimacy should turn out to be one notorious in crime or infamous in character, to a woman the revulsion of feeling under like circumstances is ten- fold more painful. It is not alone that such casualties arc so much more rare, but in the confidences between women there is so much more interchange of thought and feeling that the shock is propor- ONE OF TIIEM. 4G3 tionately greater. That a man sliould be arraigned before a tribunal is a stain, but to a woman it is a brand burnt upon her for ever. There bad been a time when May and Mrs. Morris lived together as sisters. May had felt all the influence of a character more formed than her own, and of one who, gifted and accomplished as she was, knew how to extend that influence with consummate craft. In those long ago days May liad confided to her every secret of her heart. Her early discontents with Charles Heathcote, her pettish misgivings about the easy confidence of his security, her half flirtation with young Layton, daily inclining towards something more serious still. She recalled to mind, too, how Mrs. Morris had encouraged her irri- tation against Charles, magnifying all his failings into faults, and ex- aggerating the natural indolence of his nature into the studied indif- ference of one " sure of his bond." And last of all she thought of her in her relations with Clara ; poor Clara, whose heart, overflowing with aflfection, had been repelled and schooled into a mere mockery of sen- timent. That her own fortune had been wasted and dissipated by this woman she well knew. Without hesitation or inquiry. May had signed everything that was put before her, and now she really could not tell what remained to her of all that wealth of which she used to hear so much and care so little. These thoughts tracked her along every line of the letter, and through all the terrible details she was reading ; the woman herself, in her craft and subtlety, absorbed her entire attention. Even when she had read to the end, and learned the tidings of Clara's fortune, her mind would involuntarily turn back to Mrs. Penthony Morris and her wiles. It was in an actual terror at the picture her mind had drawn of this deep designing woman that' Charles found her sitting, with the letter before her, and her eyes staring wildly and on vacancy. "I see. May," said he, gently taking her hand, and seating himself at her side, " this dreadful letter has shocked you, as it has shocked me ; but remember, dearest, we are only looking back at a peril we have all escaped. She has not separated us — she has not involved us in the disgrace of relationship to her — she is not one of us — she is not anything even to poor Clara ; and though we may feel how narrowly we have avoided all our dangers, let us be grateful for that safety, for wliich we really contributed uotliing ourselves. Is it not so, dearest May ? AVe have gained the harbour, and never knew that we had crossed a quicksand." " And, after all, Charles, painful as all this is now, and must be 46'! ONE OF THEM. when remembered hereafter, it is not without its good side. "We will all draw closer to each other, and love more foudly where we can trust implicitly." " And you forgive me, May ?" " Certainly not — if you assume forgiveness in that fashion !" Now, though this true history records that May Leslie arose with a deep flush upon her cheek, and her massive roll of glossy hair some- what dishevelled, there is no mention of what the precise fashion was in which Charles Heatlicote sued out his pardon ; nor, indeed, with our own narrow experiences of such incidents, do we dare to hazard a conjecture. " And now as to my fatlier, May. How mucli of this letter shall we tell him ?" " All ; every word of it. It will pain him as it lias pained us, or even more ; but, that pain once over, he will come back, without one reserved thought, to all his old aftection for us, and we shall be happy as we used to be." ONE OF THEM. 4^5 CHAPTEE LXI. AN EAGER GUEST. "When Lord Agincourt returned to his liotel, he vras astonished to see waiters passing in and out of his apartment with trays covered with dishes, decanters of wine, and phites of fruit, but as he cauglit the deep tone of O'Shea's voice from within, he quickly understood how that free-and-easy personage was making himself at home. " Oh, it is here you are !" said Agincourt, entering ; " and Charley and I have been just speculating whether you might not have been expiating some of your transgressions in an Austrian gaol." " I am here, as you perceive," said the O'Shea, wiping his lips with his napkin, " and doing indifferently well, too. By the way they treat me, I'm given to believe that your credit stands well with the hotel people." " "When did you arrive ?" " An hour ago ; just in time to make them roast that hedgehog. They call it a sucking-pig, bi\t I know it's a hedgehog, though T was eight-and-forty hours without eating." " How was that ?" " This way," said he, as he drew out the lining of his pockets, and showed that they were perfectly empty. " I just lefb myself enougli for the diligence fare from Bologna, and one roll of bread and a pint of wine as I started ; since that I have tasted notliing but tlie plea- sures of hope. Don't talk to me, therefore, or talk away, but don't expect me to answer you for fifteen minutes more." Agincourt nodded, and seated himself at the table, in quiet contem- plation of the O'Shea's performance. " I got an answer to my letter about you," said he, at length, and rather curious to watch tlie struggle between his hunger and his curiosity. O'Shea gave a nod, as though to say " Proceed ;" but Agincourt said nothing. "Well, go on !" cried O'Shea, as he helped liimself to half a duck, " It's a long-winded sort of epistle," said Agincourt, now deter- mined to try his patience to the uttermost. " I'll have to show it to you." " Is it Tes or No ?" asked O'Shea, eagerly, and almost choking himself with the effort to speak. 2 H 466 ONE OF THEM. " That's pretty much how you take it. You see, my uncle is one of those formal old fellows trained in official life, and who have a horror of doing anything against tlie traditions of a department " " Well, well, well ! but can't lie say whether he'll give me some- thing or not ?" " So he does say it, hut you interrupt me at every moment. "When you have read through his letter, you'll be able to appreciate the diffi- culties of his position, and also decide on what you think most con- ducive to your own interests." O'Shea groaned heavily, as he placed the remainder of the duck on his plate. " What of your duel ? How did it go oif ?" " Beautifully." " Did your man behave well ?" " Beautifully." " Was he hit ?" A shake of the head. " Was the Frenchman wounded?" "Here — flesh wound — nothing serious." " That's all right. I'll leave you now, to finish your lunch in quiet. You'll find me on the Pincian when you stroll out." " Look here ! Don't go ! Wait a bit ! I want you to tell me in one word — Can I get anything or not ?" The intense earnestness of his face as he spoke would have made any further tantalising such a cruelty, that Agincourt answered frankly, " Yes, old fellow, they've made you a Boundary Commis- sioner ; I forget where, but you're to have a thousand a year, and some allowances besides." " This isn't a joke ? You're telling me truth ?" asked he, trembling all over with anxiety. " On honour," said Agincourt, giving his hand. " You're a trump, then ; upon my conscience, you're a trump. Here I am now, close upon eight-and-thirty — I don't look it by five years, but I am — and after sitting for four sessions in Parliament, not a man did I ever find would do me a hand's turn, but it's to a brat of a boy I owe the only bit of good fortune of my whole life. That's what I call hard — very hard." " I don't perceive that it's very complimentary to myself, either," said Agincourt, struggling to keep down a laugh. But O'Shea was far too full of his own cares to have any thought for another's, and he went on muttering below his breath about national injustice and Sa.\.ou jealousy. ONE OF THEM. 407 " You'll accept this, then? Shall I say so ?" " I believe you will ! I'd like to see myself refuse a thousand a year and pickings." " I suspect I know what you have in your mind, too. I'll wager a pony that I guess it. You're planning to marry that pretty widow, and carry her out with you." O'Shea grew crimson over face and forehead, and stared at the other almost defiantly, without speaking. " An't I right ?" asked Agincourt, somewhat disconcerted by the look that was bent upon him. " You are not right ; you were never more wrong in your life." " May be so, but you'll find it a hard task to persuade me so." " I don't want to persuade you of anything ; but this I know, that you've started a subject there, that I won't talk on with you or any one else. Do you mind me now. I'm willing enough to owe you the bertli you oflered me, but not upon conditions ; do you perceive — no conditions." This was not a very intelligible speech, but Agincourt could detect the drift of the speaker, and caught him cordially by the hand, and said, " If I ever utter a word that offends you, I pledge miy honour it will be through inadvertence, and not intention." " That will do. I'm your debtor now, and witliout misgivings. I want to see young Heathcote as soon as I can. "Would I find him at home now?" " I'll get him over here to dine with us. We'll have a jolly evening together, and drink a boundless success to the Boundary Commis- sioner. If I don't mistake, too, there's another good fellow liere would like to be one of ua." " Another ! who can he be ?" " Here he comes to answer for himself." And, as he spoke, Quackin- boss lounged into the room, with his hands deep in his trousers- pockets, and his hat on his head. "Well, Sir, I hope I see you in good healtii," said he to Agin- court. " You've grown a bit since we met last, and you ain't so washy lookin' as you used to be." " Thanks. I'm all right in health, and very glad to see you, be- sides. Is not my friend here an old acquaintance of yours — the O'Shea ?" " The O'Shea," said Quackinboss, slowly, laying great stress upon the definite article. " The O'Shea ! Yes, Sir." 68 ONE OF THEM. " You may remember that we met at Lucca some time back," said O'Shea, wlio felt that the momeut was embarrassing aud uupleasant. " Yes, Sir. ' The Shaver' recollects you," said he, in a slow, drawling tone, " and, if I ain't mortal mistaken, there's a little matter of account unsettled between us." " I'm not aware of any dealings between us," said O'Shea, haughtily. "AVell, Sir, Jam, and that comes pretty much to tbe same thing. You came over to Lucca one day to see youug Layton, and you saw me, and we had a talk together about miscellaneous matters, and we didn't quite agree, and we parted with the uuderstandin' that we'd go over the figures again, and make the total all right. I hope. Sir, you are with me in all this ?" " Perfectly. I remember it all now. I went over to settle a differ- ence I liad had with Layton, and you, with that amiable readiness for a fight that distinguishes your countrymen, proposed a little row on your own account ; something — I forget what it.was now — inter- fered with each of us at the time, but we agreed to let it stand over and open for a future occasion." " You talk like a printed book. Sir. It's a downright treat to hear you. Go on," said the Colonel, seriously. "It's my turn now," broke in Agincourt, warmly, "and I must say, I expected both more good sense and TOore generosity from either of you, than to make the first moment of a friendly meeting the occa- sion of remembering an old grudge. You'll not leave this room till you have shaken hands, and become — what you are well capable of being — good friends to each other." " I have no grudge against the Colonel," said O'Shea, frankly. " Well, Sir," said Quackiuboss, slowly, " I'm thinkin' Mr. Agin- court is right. As John Eandolf of Roanoke said, ' The men who are ready to settle matters with the pistol, are seldom slow to set them right on persuasion.' Here's my hand. Sir." " You'll both dine with me to-day, I hope," said Agincourt. " My friend here," added he, taking O'Shea's arm, "has just received a Government appointment, and we are bound to ' wet his commission' for him in some good claret." Tiiey accepted the hospitable proposal readily, and now, at perfect ease together, and without one embarrassing thought to disturb their intercourse, they sat chatting away pleasantly for some time, when suddenly Quackinboss stai-ted up, saying, " Darn me a pale pink, if I haven't forgot all that I came about. Here's how it was." And, as he spoke, he took Agincourt to one side and whispered eagerly iu his ear. ONE OF THEM. 469 " But they know it all, my dear Colonel," broke in Agincourt. " Charles Heathcote has had the whole story in a long letter from Layton. I was with bim tliis morning when the post arrived, and I read the letter myself; and, so far from entertaining any of the doubts you fear, they are only impatient to see dear Clara once more, and make her ' one of them.' " "Well, Sir, I'm proud to know it," said the Colonel, "not only because it was my own readin' of 'em, but whenever I hear anything good or generous, I feel as if — bein' a human crittur myself — I came in for some of the credit of it. The doubt was never mine. Sir. It was my friend, Mr. Harvey Winthrop, that thought how, perhaps, there might be a scruple, or a hesitation, or a sort of backwardness about knowin' a gal with such a dreadful story tacked to her. ' In Eu-rope, Sir,' says he, ' they won't have them sort of things ; they ain't like our people, who are noways displeased at a bit of no- toriety.' " " There ! — look there ! — the whole question is decided already," said Agincourt, as he drew the other towards the window and pointed to the street below. " There go the two girls together ; they have driven off in that carriage, and Clara has her home once more in the midst of those who love her." " I'm bound to say, Sir," "said Quackinboss, after a moment's pause, "that you Britishers are a fine people. You have, it is true, too many class distinctions and grades of rank among you, but you have a main hearty sympathy that teaches you to deal with human sufferin' as a thing that makes all men kindred ; and whenever it's your lot to have to do a kindness, you double the benefit by the deli- cacy you throw into it." " That's a real good fellow," said O'Shea, as Quackinboss quitted the room. " Is he not ?" cried Agincourt. " If I ever harbour an ungenerous thought about Yankees, I know how to correct it, by remembering that he's ' one of them.' " 470 ONa or them. CHAPTEE LXII. CONCLUSION. Most valued reader, can you number amongst your life experiences that very suggestive one of revisiting some spot where you had once sojourned pleasantly, with scarcely any of the surroundings wliich j&rst embellished it? With all the instruction and self-knowledge derivable from such an incident, there is a considerable leaven of sorrow, and even some bitterness. It is so very hard to believe that we are ourselves more changed than all around. We could have sworn that waterfall was twice as high, and certainly the lake used not to be the mere pond we see it ; and the cedars — surely these are not the cedars we were wont to sit under with Marian long ago ? Oh dear ! when I think that I once fancied I could pass my life in this spot, and now I am actually impatient for day-dawn that I may leave it ! With something of this humour three persons sat at sunset under the old beech-trees at the Bagni di Lucca. They were characters in this true history that we but passingly presented to our reader, and may well have lapsed from his memory. They were Mr. and Mrs. Morgan and Mr. Mosely, who had, by the merest accident, once more met and renewed acquaintance. " My wife remembered you, Sir, the moment you entered tlie table d'hote room. She said, ' There's that young man of Trip and Mosely 's, that we saw here — was it three years ago ?' " " Possibly," was the dry response. " My memory is scarcely so good." " Ton know I never forget a face, Tom," broke in the lady. " I constantly do," said Mosely, tartly. ' " Yes, but you must see so many people every day of your life, such hordes passing in and passing out, as I said to Morgan, it's no wonder at all if he can't remember us." Mr. Mosely had just burnt his finger with a lucifer-match, and muttered something not actually a benediction. " Great clianges over Italy — indeed, over aU Europe — since we met last here," said Morgan, anxious to get discussion into a safer region. " Yes, the Italians are behaving admirably ; tliey've shown the world that they are fully capable of winning their liberty, and know- ing how to employ it." ONE OF rnEM. 471 " Don't believe it, Sir— bigoted set of rascals— it's all pillage — simple truth is, the Governments were all too good for them." " You're right, Tom ; perfectly right." " He'll not have many to agree with him, then; of that, madam, be well assured. The sympathies of the whole world are with these people." " Sympathies ! — I like to hear of sympathies ! Why won't sym- pathies mend the holes in their pantaloons, Sir, and give them bread to eat?" Mosely arose with impatience, and began to draw on his gloves. " Oh, don't go for a moment, Sir," broke in the lady. " I am so curious to hear if you know what became of the people we met the last time we were here ? ' " Which of them ?" " -^^ell — indeed I'd like to hear about all of them." "I believe I can tell you, then. The Heathcotes are living in Germany. The young man is married to Miss Leslie, but no great catch either, for she lost about two-thirds of her fortune in specula- tion ; still, they've got a fine place on the Elbe, near Dresden, and I saw them at the Opera there a few nights ago." " And that young fellow — Laytou, or Leighton " " Layton. He made a good thing of it. He married the girl they called Miss Hawke, with a stunning fortune ; their yacht is waiting for them now at Leghorn. They say he's the first astronomer of the day. I can only tell you, that if his wife be like her picture iu this year's Exhibition, she's the handsomest woman in England. I heard it all from Colonel Quackinboss." " And so you met Quackinboss ?" " Tes, he came out from England in Layton's schooner, and is now gone down to join Garibaldi. He says ' Come si fa ?' isn't such a poor devil as he once thought him, and if they do determine to strike a blow for freedom, an American ought to be ' One of Them.' " THE END. W. H. 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