; '. *'H"- : "''j '"'''- v,X-- ; ;v 'J : - r \' '''' WIT. OF CAUF. LIBRARY* WS BY THE AUTHOR OF THIS VOLUME. THROWN TOGETHER, BY FLORENCE MONTGOMERY. I2mo. Fine Cloth. $1.50. " The author of ' Misunderstood' has given us another charming story of child-life. This, however, is not a book for children." London Athe- nceum. " A delightful story, founded upon the lives of children. There is a thread of gold in it, upon which are strung many lovely sentiments. . . One cannot read this book without being better for it, or without a more tender charity being stirred up in his heart." Washington Daily Chronicle. THWARTED. BY FLORENCE MONTGOMERY. I2mo. Extra Cloth. $1.25. "A small but very interesting book. Florence Montgomery is distin- guished by one very rare peculiarity, she understands the tragedy of child-life. Her intense love for little children has led her among them so much that she understands their nature to the core." New York Herald. " Her previous productions are characterized by a delicacy of descrip- tion, a purity of moral and tenderness of feeling that win all hearts, and ' Thwarted' will be found equally good in every respect." Si. Louis Times. *ix* For sale by Booksellers generally, or will be sent by mail, postage paid, upon receipt of the price by J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO., Publishers, 715 and 717 Market Street, Philadelphia. SEAPORT H. BY FLORENCE MONTGOMERY, AUTHOR OF " MISUNDERSTOOD," " THROWN TOGETHER," ETC. PHILADELPHIA: J. B. LIPPINCOTT & CO. 1879. TO MY FATHER THE FOLLOWING PAGES ARE DEDICATED. 2131384 CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE I. THE LONELY CHILD IN THE OLD PICTURE-GAL- LERY 9 II. THE Two BROTHERS 14 III. THE FIRST CHANGE IN THE PROGRAMME . . 17 IV. LORD SEAFORTH'S DEALINGS WITH HIS YOUNGER SON 23 V. THE STRUGGLE WITH FATE AND FORTUNE . . 26 VI. THE OLD EARL'S DYING REQUEST ... 31 VII. HAROLD FULFILS HIS PROMISE TO HIS FATHER . 34 VIII. LIFE AT SEAFORTH UNDER THE NEW REGIME . 39 IX. A SUDDEN DETERMINATION .... 46 X. THE GAMBLER'S HOME 48 XL HESTER'S MARRIED LIFE 54 XII. THE POISONING OF HESTER'S HOME-LIFE . . 60 XIII. HOW WILL HE TAKE IT? 69 XIV. FOR OLD SAKES' SAKE 76 XV. MEAN TO THE LAST 81 XVI. LADY SEAFORTH'S PLANS 85 XVII. IN THE LION'S DEN 90 XVIIL FELLOW-TRAVELLERS 95 XIX. THE MEETING OF UNCLE AND NEPHEW . . 99 XX. LADY SEAFORTH'S RECEPTION . . . .102 XXL THE GHOST IN THE PICTURE-GALLERY . . 107 XXIL THE FIRST DAY AT SEAFORTH . . . .112 XXIIL THE GAMEKEEPER'S DILEMMA . . . .118 XXIV. MUTUAL FIRST IMPRESSIONS . . . .122 XXV. LADY ALICIA FULLER/TON'S VIEW OF COUNTRY- HOUSE LIFE 127 XXVI. MOORE'S MELODIES 137 XXVIL THE MEETING UNDER THE GAINSBRO' . . .142 7 8 CONTENTS. CHAPTER PAGE XXVIII. LADY ALICIA FULLER-TON REPROVED . . 146 XXIX. GODFREY AND LITTLE JOAN . . . .150 XXX. LADY SEAFORTH'S PROCEEDINGS . . .155 XXXI. THE DEEP SEAT IN THE WEST WINDOW . 158 XXXII. THE CLASHING OF INTERESTS . . . .162 XXXIII. A RIDDLE AND ITS ANSWER . . . .166 XXXIV. THE VULNERABLE PART 171 XXXV. THE SPEECH IN THE BANQUETING-HALL . 176 XXXVI. WHAT FOLLOWED IN THE PICTURE-GALLERY . 180 XXXVII. GODFREY AT COLLEGE 184 XXXVIII. THE GATHERING OF THE CLOUD . . .187 XXXIX. THE CLOUD BURSTS 192 XL. AT LENGTH WE MEET AGAIN, LOVE . . 196 XLL HUSBAND AND WIFE 199 XLII. "NOT WANTED" 205 XLIII. THE ENCHANTED ORANGE-GROVE . . . 207 X LI V. LORD SEAFORTH AND HIS DAUGHTER . .215 XLV. JOAN'S FIRST VISIT FROM HOME . . .218 XLVI. THE ASSIZES 227 XLVII. THE DAISIES' MISTAKE 230 XLVIII. DIVIDED 237 XLIX. MR. WAUKENPHAST 243 L. THE CONVERSATION IN THE SMOKING-ROOM . 249 LI. MUTUAL RECOGNITIONS 255 LII. WHAT DOES IT ALL MEAN? .... 259 LIII. IN THE GARDENS OF MONACO . . .263 LIV. THE END OF IT ALL 266 LV. HUSBAND AND WIFE 269 LVI. GODFREY'S CONFESSION 273 LVII. GODFREY'S TWENTY-FIFTH BIRTHDAY . . 276 LVIIL THE IRONY OF FATE 282 LIX. LINCOLN'S INN FIELDS 284 LX. GODFREY'S HISTORY 287 LXI. EXPLANATIONS 293 LXII. THE FIGURES BY LORD SEAFORTH'S BEDSIDE 296 LXIII. THE MEETING OF THE LOVERS IN THE OLD PICTURE-GALLERY 299 LXIV. GODFREY'S TWENTY-SIXTH BIRTHDAY . . 302 LXV. A PEEP INTO THE FUTURE . . . .305 SEAFORTH. CHAPTER I. THE LONELY CHILD IN THE OLD PICTURE-GALLERY. EVERY old house, it is said, has its haunted chamber and its flitting ghost. Seaforth was no exception. Flitting about its rooms and corridors went a lonely little spirit ; but it was not sprite, nor shade, nor fairy. The ghost that haunted the halls of Lord Seaforth was his own and only child. She lived a little life of her own, which none cared to inquire into, among the relics of past ages, of which the old house was full. She knew no fear of the long, dark corridors and deserted rooms : the grim knights in armor were her boon companions, and the cold, silent picture- gallery was her favorite resort. Here she would spend hours by herself, playing with the pictures. Every picture was a friend to her, and she treated them as though they were alive, and talked to them, laughed with them, and quite believed they an- swered her and were in sympathy with her varying moods. ; The lonely child had no companions, and so made play- mates of grandfathers, and great-uncles, and great-great- aunts, who had all been dead and buried years and years before she was born. But they had been children once, and their pictures A* 9 I0 SEA FORTH. seem to have been mostly painted when they were merry little boys and girls. For very smiling faces looked down upon little Joan from the walls, and in the games that some of them were playing she would have been very glad to join. There were groups of children playing on the grass, making daisy-chains, and twining them round each other's old-fashioned hats; groups of children chasing butterflies and dancing on the smooth lawn, or standing by the lake, feeding great white swans. Then there were separate pictures of companionless children like little Joan : a little girl with a kitten in her arms, another leading a pet lamb crowned with flowers, a little boy clinging round the neck of a great Newfound- land dog. But the favorite of all was a half-length picture of a youth of eighteen, with a thoughtful face and dark, earnest eyes. Under this picture was written, " Godfrey, Earl of Seaforth; painted 1763." All the other Earls of Seaforth in the gallery were called Harold, and she often wondered why this was the only one who was called Godfrey. She would talk to this picture by the hour. There was something about the grave, earnest expression of the beautiful face which seemed to invite her confidence. She never had this feeling for any of the children's pictures. They looked at each other, or at their pet animals or flowers, not at her. " Godfrey, Earl of Sea- forth ; painted 1763," was the only one who looked straight at her, with his kind, understanding eyes. She had the greatest faith and trust in this picture. She would put down her dolls and other treasures in front of it, when she was called away from the picture-gallery, and say, " Take care of them till I come back. I know I can trust you ;" just as a happier child might have con- SEA FORTH. II fided its little possessions to the care of an elder brother; and of course they were there when she returned. " I knew I could trust you," she would say, exultingly, when she found everything exactly as she had left it. She would not for a moment have thought of entrusting her treasures to any of the other pictures. She would play with them in her gay moods, holding out her hands in imaginary claspings, or twining fancied daisy-chains with the Harolds and the Godfreys, the Joans and the Bridgets, of long ago; but only to him did she tell out her childish thoughts and fancies, the mournful regrets and wondering lamentations of which her little life was full. " You think of nothing but play," she would say some- times to the laughing groups of children ; " and I want a grave talk to-day." And, unhappily, the days when little Joan wanted "a grave talk" came round very often. For she knew well that she was an un-wanted, unloved child. She had had early instilled into her that she was a dis- appointment and a mistake, and that as such she was regarded by every one, servants, tenants, and parents included. For her nurse used often to tell her (and the story fascinated while it saddened her) of the circumstances which had attended her birth, of all the preparations which had been made to welcome the heir, and of the terrible disappointment she had occasioned. " Tell it me again," she would say, when the tale was finished; "tell me more and more about it." And then the nurse would begin again, and paint a vivid picture of the unlighted bonfires, the silent joy-bells, of the ten- antry separating in silence and returning to their homes in gloom; of the depression and disappointment that seemed spread all around, and the mournful silence that I2 SEA FORTH. reigned in the house ; how that it was her father himself who had sent all the crowds away and forbidden any sign or sound of rejoicing ; of how her mother had said, "Take it away : I do not wish to see it." The nurse would proceed to point a moral to her tale by telling her how good she ought to be, how submissive, how obedient, to try and make up to her father and mother for the great grief she had caused them. And, poor child ! she was as obedient and as submissive as pos- sible to her parents ; but all this made her shrink from them, made her wish to keep out of their way, to be by herself, and to see them as little as possible. The nurse was not aware of the deep effect her tales had upon the child, nor of the lasting impression they were destined to make upon her, for little Joan never said anything at the time. But in the silence of the picture-gallery she would pour out all her feelings to the picture she loved so well. And " Godfrey, Earl of Sea- forth ; painted 1763," always seemed to understand and to be in sympathy with her. Every feeling seemed to find an answer in his earnest eyes. He looked sorry, or tender, or pitying, according to the mood she was in and to the demands she was making upon him. So infinite was the expression the master-hand of the painter had thrown into the work ! There were times when the sense of being a disappoint- ment and un-wanted overwhelmed the child. "Godfrey, Earl of Seaforth ; painted 1763!" she would sometimes say; "how I wish I had been you! How happy your father and mother must have been when you were born ! How the joy-bells must have rung and the cannons fired ! There was no hushing of chimes and sending away of tar-barrels then / And your mother did not say, ' Take it away : I do not wish to see it' !" SEA FORTH. 13 Poor child ! this was the hardest part of all, and her little voice would be choked with sobs as she repeated the cold, cruel words, and then be lost in a passionate burst of tears. But even in moods like this the beautiful eyes in the picture would smile down sympathy and comfort. She often wondered what the past events of the family history could have been, that made it so all-important that she should have been a boy, and her advent so disastrous to her father and mother. Her young spirit cried out sometimes in a sudden re- bellion against the injustice of her lot. " Could I help it ?" she would passionately cry, kneeling in an agony of grief before the picture, and raising her streaming eyes and clasped hands to the calm face above her. The picture could soothe and quiet her, but it could give no answer. No ! It could throw no light upon the past ; could not tell her why a shadow should have rested on her young life from its beginning, nor why on her fair young brow should be written the cold, cruel words, "Not wanted." Had the little heart not been so tender, had the pas- sionate longing for love not been so great, who shall say what evil might have come out of such a childhood? Who shall say what a cold, crushed, and hardened being might have been made at last of a child who bore such" a brand on her brow? SEA FORTH. CHAPTER II. THE TWO BROTHERS. THE family of Seaforth was one of the most ancient in Great Britain, and the property had been in its hands, and had descended in direct line from father to son, un- entailed, for generations. And it had been the glory and pride of the family that it should have been so. No vaurien, no graceless spend- thrift, had ever darkened the pages of the family history ; and the property had always been as safe and as sure to be handed down to its legal heir as if it had been entailed and tied up to the utmost Unfits of the law. About thirty years before the opening of our story in the first chapter, the possessor of Seaforth was a widower, with two sons. He was a great invalid. This fact, and the great distance of Seaforth from London, kept him quite stationary, and rendered the boys' home-life an isolated and monotonous one. In due time they went to school and college, like other boys, and returned three times a year to spend their holidays at home. Harold, the eldest, was a self-contained and silent boy, of a proud and overbearing disposition, with an iron will, an overweening sense of his own importance, and a great love of power, but a boy of rigid integrity and unsullied conduct. From his boyhood he was trustworthy, and his father could always rely on his word and on his sense of duty and honor. Godfrey, the younger, was as careless and light-hearted as his brother was grave and stern. He was weak, yield- SEAFORTH. J S ing, and easily led, with no sense of responsibility, no reverence for any one or anything, and very little prin- ciple. To please himself and to enjoy the passing hour was to him of far greater importance than all the honor and duty in the world. At school and at college he was as idle, as thoughtless, and as extravagant as his brother was strict and conscientious. Between two natures so opposite there could be but little sympathy, and the brothers were from childhood always at variance. As years went on, mutual indifference deepened into mutual antipathy. For, as his sons grew on into man- hood, the old earl failed yearly in health, and lived more and more the life of an invalid. He felt himself daily less able to cope with a wild and troublesome youth, and was thankful to delegate his parental authority to his eldest son, who was so able and so willing to exercise it. Godfrey chafed against and resented the perpetual espionage his brother kept up upon him, both at college and at home. He hated the austere virtue of Harold's character. Harold, on his side, had a profound contempt for Godfrey's vacillating disposition, and lived in per- petual dread of his bringing disgrace upon the family name. And in Harold's eyes there could be no crime more venial. He loved his name, his home, and his family traditions with a proud and absorbing affection. To him there was but one place in the world, one house, one name ; and it angered him to know that his pride of birth and family was totally unshared by his only brother. To Harold a life spent at Seaforth was a dream of all that was perfect. He asked for nothing better than to establish himself there so soon as his college life should be over, and to nurse the estate for his invalid father until the time should come when it should be all his own. 1 6 SEA FORTH. Life he had no wish to see; travel and adventure formed no part of his plans. His programme of life was an irre- proachable career at college, a brilliant coming of age, a happy marriage with some beautiful and high-principled woman, and then a useful and honored life in a place every stone of which he idolized, and every tree of which he held dear. The younger son's day-dream was altogether different. He held the monotonous life at Seaforth in abhorrence. To him it was the acme of dulness, pomp, and formality. His great desire was to escape from it as soon as possible, to enter the army early, and so become his own master at once, and to pass his life as far away from his brother as could possibly be. Within a few months of Harold's coming of age (which in the Seaforth family was not till five-and-twenty), both brothers had succeeded in carrying out the first part of their respective programmes. Harold was established at Seaforth, the prop and sup- port of his invalid father, and the recognized master of all. Godfrey was a captain in a cavalry regiment, in every way removed from his brother's control. His career, so far, had been just what might have been predicted. He had plunged headlong into a life of reckless extravagance, had developed a passion for gambling, and already had he three times applied to his father to pay his debts and give him a fresh start. He was on the eve of a fourth application when he was summoned to Seaforth to attend his brother's coming of age. Godfrey's career had, of course, been pain and grief to Harold. Antipathy had ripened into dislike ; but an event now occurred which converted antipathy and dis- like into bitter, undying hatred. SEAFORTH. CHAPTER III. THE FIRST CHANGE IN THE PROGRAMME. IT was within, as we have already said, a few months of his coming of age that Harold took up his permanent residence at Seaforth. It was at about the same time, too, that the old rector of the place died, and the living changed hands. A young college friend, whose character closely resembled his own, was chosen by Harold to fill the vacant place. This young man, Edward Stanhope by name, brought with him to the rectory his newly-married wife and his orphaned and penniless sister. Beautiful, high-principled, and full of character, the young girl was just the kind of woman Harold had dreamed of in his wife. Before he was aware of it him- self, indeed, from the hour of his introduction to her, he fell deeply in love with her. The rector and his wife were not slow to perceive it, and did all they could to assist and encourage him. An intimacy sprang up between the Hall and the rectory. Almost daily was Harold to be found there ; and, for a time, the hard, stern man for- got his duties at home, neglected his usual avocations, and gave himself up to winning the beautiful girl who exercised so powerful an influence over him. The situation was patent to all. The only person unaware of it was Hester herself. So far was it from her thoughts to connect anything of sentiment with the cold, stern man, whom she looked upon solely as her brother's friend and patron, that the idea of his being in love with 2* 1 8 SEAFORTH. her, or indeed with any one, never entered her mind for a moment. Herself in the heyday of youth and hope, gifted with tender feelings, quick susceptibilities, and strong powers of affection and devotion, Harold, with his rigid integrity untempered by tenderness, and his total want of sympathy and imagination, was the very last man in the world to interest her. All unconscious of the meshes which were being woven round her, she pursued her way unthinkingly; and, unfortunately, her way was such that Harold's hopes strengthened day by day. Her natural goodness made her kind to every one, Harold among the rest. She always did what she could to please others and make them happy, and, at his re- quest, would sing or play at any moment, and for any length of time, as she would have done for any one who asked her. Moreover, she took pleasure in doing it, for she had a beautiful voice, and an inborn delight in music for its own sake. It was quite as much to please herself as to give pleasure to him that she would sing song after song all through the soft summer evenings. She would have done just the same had she been quite alone. She was quite unaware of him, as he sat silent and enthralled, her voice going through and through him and raising feelings within him never experienced before. And Harold, meanwhile, de- ceived by her kindness and her willingness to comply with his every request, deceived also by her manner of doing it, mistaking her delight in the performance for its own sake for delight in the performance of his wishes, began to fancy his feelings were returned. And on this all his future hopes now hung. He, for the first time, felt himself completely in the hands of another, and realized that that other had the power to SEA FORTH. T 9 withhold or bestow that on which his heart was set. His whole future life, he soon realized, its happiness and its success, was dependent on his securing her for his wife. And with this knowledge there crept over him also, for the first time, a feeling of inferiority. He lost sight of himself as his admiration increased for her. At length the crisis came ; and one summer evening he made his declaration, and placed his future in the young girl's hands. Completely taken by surprise, alarmed, and slightly indignant, Hester instantly and without a moment's hesitation told him that what he asked was impossible, and begged he would never men- tion the subject again. The denouement caused a terrific fracas at the rectory. Edward Stanhope and his wife were at first incredu- lous, and then furious. Harold himself staggered under the blow ; and in justice to him we must say that the disappointment far outweighed the astonished mortifica- tion. But his friend the rector told him to wait, and not suppose for an instant that Hester's resolution was final. The girl, he said, had been taken by surprise. She was young, she was inexperienced, she was ignorant. She did not know what she was doing. Give her time, and it was almost certain she would come round. Harold suffered himself to be guided by his friend's advice, and was once more filled with hope. He made up his mind to wait till the eve of his birthday, and then renew his suit, so that he might on the same day be wel- comed by his tenantry as their future master, and present the beautiful girl to them as their future mistress. Meanwhile, great pressure was put upon Hester by her brother and his wife. Arguments, entreaties, even threats, were by turns brought to bear upon her. At last she was 20 SEA FORTH. taunted with her dependent position, and given to under- stand she was de trop in their home. Till this last means of coercion was tried, Hester's . resolution had never faltered. Her answer had always been the same, gentle, but decided. But they had gone too far. Her independent spirit rebelled against such an implication; her pride rose, and she plainly told her brother that sooner than be the wife of a man she did not care for, or a dependant in a home where she was not wanted, she would go out as a governess and work for her daily bread. Edward Stanhope was alarmed. He knew how fear- less and determined his sister was, and he was -afraid she would act up to her intention. He knew, too, how fully competent she was to undertake such a post, for she had always been the sharer of his studies, and was almost as good a classical scholar as himself, and well informed and well read to a remarkable degree. So that he felt it was no idle threat, but one she was as well able to carry out as she might become determined to fulfil. He saw that it was best to be silent for the present; and he told his wife they had overdone their part, and must let the subject drop for a time. They agreed, therefore, to leave matters as they were, and to maintain a kind of armed neutrality. It was at this juncture that there arrived at Seaforth the younger son. He had been summoned, as we have already said, to attend Harold's coming of age. He would willingly have refused the invitation ; but, being about to make a fourth application for money, he did not dare to disobey, more especially as he thought a per- sonal interview with his father would be more to his own advantage than a correspondence, which he felt sure was always overlooked by his elder brother. SEA FORTH. 21 The sequel is easy to guess. The beautiful girl at the rectory exercised the same fascination over him as she had already done over his brother, and her position woke up all his best feelings and roused his pity and indigna- tion. Certainly no one could have been found who could enter more fully into Hester's feelings than God- frey Seaforth. Sympathy, cordial and hearty, he would have accorded to any one who shared in his dislike to his elder brother; but when a young and beautiful girl was in question, every chivalrous feeling was called into play, and he could not stop at sympathy : he must come to her help. The present moment was, and had ever been, all- important in his eyes. No thought of the future, there- fore, nor of the responsibilities he was incurring, troubled his thoughts when, filled with pity for the forlorn damsel, he offered to play the part of the knight-errant and to rescue her from the meshes in which she was entangled. He never reflected for a moment on his own position, harassed as he was by difficulties, and plunging deeper and deeper into debt. Neither to his credit be it spoken did he consider what an additional burden a wife would be to him. Rash and uncalculating as ever, he invited another to share his already fallen fortunes, and to go with him to poverty and ruin. And in Hester's eyes he contrasted so favorably with his elder brother. He had all the youth, spirits, and sentiment that Harold lacked, and the chivalrous sym- pathy he showed towards herself roused all her grati- tude. There was nothing about him of that hardness and rigid love of duty that her knowledge of his brother, and her recent experience of her own, had taught her to dislike. 22 SEAFORTH. Of his real character she, of course, knew nothing. Stories against him she had heard, but in her present state of feeling she was quite ready to believe he had been mismanaged and was a victim to his brother's aus- terity. She magnified him into a hero. He was, no doubt, an ill-treated younger son, whose father had been prejudiced against him. Woman-like, she took the part of the injured and oppressed, believed him, pitied him, and loved him. Everything was privately arranged by Godfrey ; and on the day previous to the coming of age the day on which Harold was intending to urge his suit again she became Godfrey's wife. The marriage took place in London, and a telegram announcing the event reached Seaforth in the evening. This, then, was the event which made Harold's cup of wrath and hatred brim over, and change the whole pro- gramme of his life. The brilliant coming of age, the happy marriage, the honored life spent among his own people, with a beautiful and beloved wife at his side, all these dreams faded away. Stunned by the blow, he was not even able to appear among his tenantry on that long-looked-for day. It dawned in silence and in gloom. The rejoicings were postponed, and it passed without festivity or mark of any kind. Postponed at first, they never afterwards took place. From that time Harold became more rigid, more hard and stern, than ever. He isolated himself entirely, shrank from society, and gave himself up to the manage- ment of the estate and the care of his invalid father. He formed for himself a sort of mill-wheel of tasks and^du- SEAFORTH. 2 3 ties. Round and round it went every day, and he with it. Every hour had its work allotted to it, every day brought with it its special occupation. One act testified to the soreness and bitterness of his feelings, but he never opened his lips on the past to any one. This was to procure, through his father's influence with the party then in power, a Crown living for Edward Stanhope, so that with his departure all association with his bygone sorrow and mortification should be swept away. His property became his idol, and upon its improve- ment he expended all his time, all his care, all his devo- tion. In this life he became to all intents and purposes completely absorbed. Years went by, and still found him living the same life, still shrinking from society, and drifting by degrees into that eccentricity which seems in- separable from want of contact with our fellow-men. CHAPTER IV. LORD SEAFORTH' s DEALINGS WITH HIS YOUNGER SON. AT the time of the marriage the old earl had been as furious with his younger son as it was in his nature to be, more especially as Godfrey's conduct towards himself on that occasion had been marked by more than his usual duplicity. The evening before his elopement he had so far imposed upon his father by a feigned interest in his brother, and even in his brother's hopes concerning his marriage, as to induce the old man to promise once more to pay all his debts, on condition of an improved be- 24 SEA FORTH. havior, and to forestall his promise by the immediate gift of a check for five hundred pounds. The utter want of principle, of a common sense of honor even, in this transaction in view of subsequent events, had finally dis- gusted the old man ; and as he afterwards brooded over the falsehoods of which, in that one short interview, God- frey had been guilty, he had lashed himself into fury, and had sworn he would withdraw his allowance, cut him off with a shilling, and, to use his own expression, "allow him to go to the dogs as fast as possible." But here Harold had interfered. True to his character, his rigid sense of duty would not allow him to coun- tenance any measures that partook of the nature of re- venge. True to his family pride, he would not allow the name of Seaforth to be degraded. True to the one af- fection of his life, he could not be a party to the sentence that would entail suffering on the woman he had loved, who must share in her husband's disgrace. But by and by, though no communication had been held with Godfrey, rumors reached Seaforth of the reck- less career in which he was plunging. Numberless bills were forwarded to Seaforth, and it became necessary for Harold and his father to lay their heads together and to resolve upon a course of action. For the crash they saw must come ; the day could not be far distant when God- frey would be obliged to leave his regiment and perhaps have to fly the country. To avoid such disgrace being brought on the family name, Godfrey must be got out of the way, must be made to sell out at once, and be bribed, by the promise of a settlement of all his difficulties, to go and live abroad for a time. Harold easily made his father see the wisdom of this plan, and the proposal was made. But it came too late. SEAFORTH. 2 $ A letter from Godfrey to his father arrived in the mean while, coolly announcing his having sent in his papers, and his own precipitate flight from England ; alleging, as an excuse for his " misfortunes," that the promise of pay- ment of his debts, made to him on the eve of his wedding- day, had not been fulfilled, and urging his present state .of utter destitution, and that of his wife, as an argument in favor of a speedy remittance. The disgrace sat heavy on Harold's soul. The thought of the gossip at the clubs, of the family name in every mouth, was sheer pain to him ; and he registered a solemn vow that Godfrey should never return to his native country. He who had disgraced the name of Seaforth and brought upon it such dishonor, should re- enter its walls no more. Henceforth Godfrey Seaforth should be as one dead, and his name should never be mentioned. Still, for the sake of one whose fate could not be dis- severed from his, Godfrey should not starve. An allow- ance should be made him, but on certain conditions. A yearly allowance, therefore, should be his still, on condi- tion that he never returned to England. The moment he set foot on English soil the allowance ceased, and would never be renewed. To these stipulations Godfrey agreed with the utmost sang-froid. He seemed lost to all sense of shame. He settled himself at Homburg, moving to Ems and Spa at his own convenience, and in the end, when the gam- ing-tables in Europe were closed, establishing himself for good in the neighborhood of Monaco. No more letters passed between him and his father. His allowance was regularly paid ; and but for that half- yearly reminder of his existence he was, to all intents and purposes, forgotten by his father and brother. For, the B 3 26 SEAFORTH. stipulations agreed upon and the necessary arrangements concluded, his name, in all the years that followed, was never again mentioned between them. CHAPTER V. THE STRUGGLE WITH FATE AND FORTUNE. IT would seem, then, that Harold had been the victim of fate, and had been forced to relinquish the programme which he had carved out for himself. To the outside world it appeared so. What it saw was a misanthropical and slightly eccentric man, a man with no thought be- yond the management of his property, to which the devotion of his life was given. And the world wondered at what it saw; for it was apparently an aimless and purposeless expenditure of time, since the only heir to those wide acres was an out- lawed gambler. But the world did not understand the solitary man. There was not, there could not be, anything purpose- less in the life of a man like Harold. Running through all those years was a fixed and settled resolution, and a predetermined course of conditions of mind, which none knew but himself. None but himself knew what he had suffered, as none could guess how, year by year, he did battle with his feelings, with the resolute intention of overcoming them. No trial that God could have sent could have driven the iron so deeply into the proud man's soul. To have staked his life's affection and happiness on one throw, SEA FORTH. 27 and to have lost, was in itself as the bitterness of death to him. But that in his one venture the brother whom he despised and hated, of whose character he had a scorn almost amounting to horror, that that man of all others should have rushed in where he had feared to tread, and have borne off the prize before his very eyes, this it was which had been to him as gall and wormwood, and had wellnigh, at one time, driven him mad. And yet he was determined to overcome it. Come what might, do what violence he might to his feelings, never should Seaforth descend to his spendthrift and vagabond brother. Nor should Seaforth, his idol, suffer. Without a mis- tress it was shorn of half its glories, turned into a sort of magnificent shooting-box and hunting-lodge for two solitary men. It always had taken, it always ought to take, its place as one of the greatest houses in England. And take it it should still. On these two pivots his life turned j on these two points his mind was fixed ; and through all those years, appar- ently aimlessly passing, they underlay every thought, every act, and every intention. And, to pave the way for their accomplishment, he stood aside, as it were, and looked on at himself, and treated that self as if he were treating and providing for another person. A nature like his, he saw, must not be hurried. Time, much time, must be given to make the past a dreamy long-ago ; and then, then, perhaps, there might be a chance of the admission of a new future and a fresh pro- gramme of life. Others had lived through the wreck of their lives' hope, and from the ashes of the past risen into greater strength than ever. Then why not he? Others had conquered by the force of time, and he would do so too. Triumph over circumstances he must and would. Never should it be said that he had been a vie- 28 SEAFORTH. tim to fate or to evil fortune. Time he stooped to use for his own ends. Fate and fortune he scoffed at. In the power of time and habit he fully believed. So many years, then, he gave himself in which to for- get, and in a round of occupations he hoped to hurry the moment of oblivion. A change in his feelings must thus, he thought, be wrought. Year after year, with their un- ceasing millwheel of duties, must at length obliterate the one year, or rather the few months, which had been laden with so much of joy and sorrow for him ; and every day, bearing him further and further away from what he was pleased to call the era of his weakness, would restore to him the mastery over his feelings, which for those brief and happy weeks he owned to himself he had partially, if not entirely, lost. Then, thus much accomplished, he hoped by degree's to be disposed to re-enter society, and by slower degrees still to turn his thoughts once more to marriage. Not for love. Not the old dream of a happy marriage and a beloved wife. No ! that part of his programme could never be ; therein he had been wholly vanquished ; and he knew in himself that in that nor time, nor habit, nor will, nor self-respect those gods to whom he bowed and in whom he trusted could do anything for him. Victory the first for fate and fortune, but victory how complete and final he knew too well. But he would have the outline of the programme still. With but that one exception, it should be to all intents and purposes the same. He would yet find some beauti- ful woman whom he could esteem and regard, albeit she might never kindle in him the feelings with which he had once been inspired. And with the tie of mutual in- terests, mutual hopes and fears, with children growing up around them and sharing their affection, who should say SEA FORTH. 29 that esteem and regard would not ripen into affection, and the greater part of the programme be carried out still? Still might he laugh at fate and fortune, and defy adverse circumstances to make any radical change in the life he had carved out for himself. So from the ashes of his life-wreck his will sprang, phoenix-like, in greater force than ever. The thunder- bolt of heaven had fallen hot and heavy, but he would not recognize God's hand. There was in him no thought of submission, no bowing to a higher will. He was de- termined still to carve out his own future, and to make it what he deemed it ought to be. But he could not escape like this. For when the time he had allotted to -himself in which to forget had expired, fate had scored another victory ; for, to his own dismay, he realized that his wound was as fresh as ever, and that he still shrank from the idea of any woman in his home, any face at the head of his table. Once more the old prescription, the old remedy, time. Another year must now be added, and another, and an- other ; and so the years rolled on. Yet in one sense was he worsted in the struggle, for, as it wore on, Time, who was to have been his friend, be- came in a way his enemy also; and Habit, who was to have been his help, turned out a hindrance too. For the one laid her hand upon him so heavily that all the little youth he had ever had slowly departed from him ; and the other rendered his mode of life so completely second nature to him that every day he shrank more from the thought of any alteration. The two, banded together, were making him a premature old man, in appearance, in ways, and in feelings. Grave and stern he had always been, but now he rarely smiled. His keenness for sport departed ; the good- 3* 30 SEA FORTH. fellowship of the hunting-field went against him ; he lived more and more alone. He was himself startled to find how the habit of unsociability was growing on him ; to realize how it was his instinct to turn his horse's head into a by-lane when he saw in the distance any one he was likely to know. By and by, he told himself, he would have grown so old, so morose, so unlike other people, that even with Seaforth at his back he would offer but little attraction to any young girl. And he actually began sometimes almost to wish to give the struggle up, to own himself defeated, to leave Seaforth to take care of itself in the present and in the future, and to live forever in the memory of the one love of his life. But these were his moments of weakness, when the cry of his soul was "Vanquished, vanquished!" Quickly following upon them would come the fierce reaction, and Will be predominant again. "She shall not spoil my life for me ! Overcome these feelings I must and will. Vanquished once, victor I will yet be. The triumph shall be mine still !" Little did the world as it saw, and grew used to see, the solitary man, with his set stern face, going his daily rounds, his long, monotonous rides, guess of the wild battle that was raging within him, above the din of which rose ever the resolution of which no man dreamed. We are dealing with a character over whose life no soft- ening mother's love or sister's influence had ever rested, no hallowing religious power had ever shone. Of a strength outside himself he knew nothing, nor of the power of a Voice that could still the raging of the storm within him. Napoleon's "/