I 
 
 ■r.r.vr.f./ ( .'
 
 Wenderholme. 
 
 A STOR Y OF LANCASHIRE AND YORKSHIRE, 
 
 BY 
 
 PHILIP GILBERT HAMERTON, 
 
 AUTHOR OF "the INTELLECTUAL LIFE," ETC. 
 
 " It takes a deal o' sorts to make a world." 
 
 Popular Proverb. 
 
 i J 3 J i y t 
 
 J 1 > 
 
 
 
 J I J- 
 
 BOSTON: 
 ROBERTS BROTHERS. 
 
 1890,
 
 Author's Edition. 
 
 'i.iV 
 
 fc I t C I I i 
 
 University Press: 
 John Wilson & Son, Cambridge.
 
 I r 
 
 TO AN OLD LADY IN YORKSHIRE. 
 
 You remember a time when the country in which this story is placed 
 was quite different from what it is to-day ; when the old proprietors 
 lived in their halls undisturbed by modern innovation, and neither 
 enriched by building leases, nor humiliated by the rivalry of mighty 
 manufacturers. You have seen wonderful changes come to pass, — the 
 valleys filled with towns, and the towns connected by railways, and the 
 fields covered with suburban villas. You have seen people become 
 richer and more refined, though perhaps less merry, than they used to 
 be ; till the simple, unpretending life of the poorer gentlefolks of the past 
 has become an almost incredible tradition, which few have preserved 
 in their memory. 
 
 When this story was first written, some passages of it were read to 
 ^ you, and they reminded you of those strong contrasts in the life of the 
 V North of England which are now so rapidly disappearing. Wender- 
 '^ HOLME is therefore associated with you in my mind as one of its first 
 ly, hearers, and I dedicate it to you affectionately. 
 
 427805
 
 PREFACE 
 
 TO THE AMERICAN EDITION. 
 
 IT happened, some time before this story was originally 
 composed, that the author had a conversation, about 
 the sale of novels, with one of the most eminent publish- 
 ers of iiction in London.* The result of his experience 
 was, that in the peculiar conditions of the English market 
 short novels did not pay, whilst long ones, of the same 
 quality, were a much safer investment. Having incurred 
 several successive losses on short novels, my friend, the 
 publisher, had made up his mind never to have any thing 
 more to do with them, and strongly recommended me, 
 if I attempted a work of fiction, to go boldly into three 
 volumes at once, and not discourage myself by making an 
 experiment on a smaller scale, which would only make 
 failure a certainty. The reader may easily imagine the 
 effect of such a conversation as this upon an author who, 
 whatever may have been his experience in other depart- 
 ments of literature, had none at all in the publication cf 
 novels. The practical consequence of it was, that, when 
 the present story was written, commercial reasons pre- 
 vailed, as they unhappily so often do prevail, over artistic 
 
 • This publisher was not a member of the firm of Messrs. W. Black- 
 wood & Sons, who afterwards purchased the copyritjht of Wcudfrholme, 
 nor was the story ever offered to him ; but his opinion h.id grc.it influ- 
 ence with the author on account of his large experience.
 
 viii Preface to the American Edition. 
 
 reasons, and the book was made far longer than, as a 
 work of art, it ought to have been. 
 
 The present edition, though greatly abridged, is not 
 by any means, from the author's point of view, a muti- 
 lated edition. On the contrary, it rather resembles a 
 building of moderate dimensions, from which excres- 
 cences have been removed. The architect has been 
 careful to preserve every thing essential, and equally 
 careful to take away every thing which had been added 
 merely for the sake of size. The work is therefore at 
 the present time much nearer in character to the origi- 
 nal conception of the designer than it has ever been 
 before. 
 
 Notwithstanding the defect of too great length, and 
 the difficulty which authors often experience in obtain- 
 ing recognition in a new field, Wenderholme was very 
 extensively reviewed in England, and, on the whole, 
 very favorably. Unfortunately, however, for the author's 
 chances of profiting by the suggestions of his critics, it 
 so happened that when any character or incident was 
 selected for condemnation by one writer, that identical 
 character or incident was sure to be praised enthusias- 
 tically by another, who spoke with equal authority and 
 decision, in some journal of equal importance. The same 
 contradictions occurred in criticisms by private friends, 
 people of great experience and culture. Some praised 
 the first volume, but did not like the third ; whilst oth- 
 ers, who certainly knew quite as much about such mat- 
 ters, considered that the book began badly, but improved 
 immensely as it went on, and finished in quite an admir- 
 able manner, like a horse that has warmed to his work. 
 These differences of opinion led me to the rather dis- 
 couraging conclusion that there is nothing like an ac-
 
 Preface to the American Edition. ix 
 
 cepted standard of right and wrong in the criticism of 
 fiction ; that the critic praises what interests or amuses 
 him, and condemns what he finds tiresome, with little 
 reference to any governing laws of art. I may observe, 
 however, that the book had an artistic intention, which 
 was the contrast between two classes of society in Lan- 
 cashire, and that the militia was used as a means of 
 bringing these two classes together. I may here reply 
 to one or two objections which have been made as to the 
 manner in which this plan was carried out. 
 
 Most of the local newspapers in the north of England 
 at once recognized the truth of local character in the 
 book ; but one Manchester critic, with a patriotism for 
 his native county which is a most respectable senti- 
 ment, felt hurt by my descriptions of intemperance, and 
 treated them as a simple calumny, arguing that the best 
 answer to them was the industry of the county, which 
 would not have been compatible with such habits. I 
 have never desired to imply that all Lancashire people 
 were drunkards, but there are certain nooks and corners 
 of the county where drinking habits were prevalent, in 
 the last generation, to a degree which is not exaggerated 
 in this book. Such places did not become prosperous 
 until the energy of the better-conducted inhabitants pro- 
 duced a change in the local customs ; and I need hardly 
 say that the hard drinkers themselves were unable 
 to follow business either steadily or long. Downright 
 drunkenness is now happily no longer customary in the 
 middle classes, and in the present day men use stimu- 
 lants rather to repair temporarily the exhaustion pro- 
 duced by over-work than for any bacchanalian pleasure. 
 In this more modern form of the drinking habit I do 
 not think that Lancashire men go farther than the
 
 X Preface to the America7i Editioii. 
 
 inhabitants of other very busy counties, or countries, 
 where the strain on human energy is so great that there 
 is a constant temptation to seek help from some kind of 
 stimulating beverage. 
 
 The only other objection to the local truth of Wender- 
 holme which seems to require notice is that which was 
 advanced in the Saturday Review. The critic in that 
 periodical thought it untrue to English character to 
 represent a man in Colonel Stanburne's position as 
 good-natured enough to talk familiarly with his infe- 
 riors. Well, if modern literature were a literature of 
 types, and not of persons, such an objection would un- 
 doubtedly hold good. The typical Englishman, when 
 he has money and rank, is certainly a very distant and 
 reserved being, except to people of his own condition ; 
 but there are exceptions to this rule, — I have known 
 several in real life, — and I preferred to paint an excep- 
 tion, for the simple reason that reserve and pride are 
 the death of human interest. It would be possible 
 enough to introduce a cold and reserved aristocrat in a 
 novel of English life, — such personages have often been 
 delineated with great skill and fidelity, — but I maintain 
 that they do not excite sympathy and interest, and that 
 it would be a mistake in art to place one of them in a 
 central situation, such as that of Colonel Stanburne in 
 this volume. They may be useful in their place, like a 
 lump of ice on a dinner-table. 
 
 On the first publication of Wenderhohne, the author 
 received a number of letters /rom people who were quite 
 convinced that they had recognized the originals of the 
 characters. The friends and acquaintances of novelists 
 always amuse themselves in this way ; and yet it seldom 
 happens, I believe, that there is any thing like a real
 
 Preface to the American Edition. xi 
 
 portrait in a novel. A character is suggested by some 
 real person, but when once the fictitious character exists 
 in the brain of the author, he forgets the source of the 
 original suggestion, and simply reports what the imagi- 
 nary personage says and does. It is narrated of an 
 eminent painter, famous for the saintly beauty of his 
 virgins, that his only model for them was an old man- 
 servant, and this is a good illustration of the manner 
 in which the imagination operates. Some of my corre- 
 spondents made guesses which were very wide of the 
 mark. One lady, whom I had never thought about in 
 connection with the novel at all, recognized herself in 
 Mrs. Prigley, confessed her sins, and promised amend- 
 ment ; an illusion scarcely to be regretted, since it may 
 have been productive of moral benefit. A whole town- 
 ship fancied that it recognized Jacob Ogden in a wealthy 
 manufacturer, whose face had not been present to me 
 when I conceived the character. A correspondent rec- 
 ognized Dr. Bardly as the portrait of a surgeon in Lan- 
 cashire who was never once in my mind's eye during 
 the composition of the novel. The Doctor was really 
 suggested by a Frenchman, quite ignorant of the Lan- 
 cashire dialect, and even of English. But, of all these 
 guesses, one of the commonest was that Philip Stan- 
 burne represented the author himself, probably because 
 he was called Philip. There is no telling what may 
 happen to us before we die ; but I hope that the sup- 
 posed original of Jacob Ogden may preserve his sanity 
 to the end of his earthly pilgrimage, and that the author 
 of this volume may not end his days in a monastery. 
 
 P. G. H
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 Chapter 
 
 I. Manners and Customs of Shayton .... i 
 
 II. Grandmother and Grandson 5 
 
 III. At the Parsonage i6 
 
 IV. Isaac Ogden becomes a Backslider .... 29 
 V. Father and Son 42 
 
 VI. Little Jacob is lost 52 
 
 VII. Isaac Ogden's Punishment 59 
 
 VIII. From Sootythorn to Wenderholme .... 69 
 
 IX. The Fugitive 87 
 
 X. Christmas at Milend 94 
 
 XI. The Colonel goes to Shayton 106 
 
 XII. Ogden's New Mill 119 
 
 XIII. Stanithburn Peel 130 
 
 XIV. At Sootythorn 136 
 
 XV. With the Militia I43 
 
 XVI. A Case of Assault 15° 
 
 XVII. Isaac Ogden again ^S5 
 
 XVIII. Isaac's Mother comes 161 
 
 XIX. The Colonel at Whittlecup 170 
 
 XX. Philip Stanburne in Love I74 
 
 XXI. The Wenderholme Coach 179 
 
 XXII. Colonel Stanburne apologizes 185
 
 XIV 
 
 Contents. 
 
 Chapter 
 
 XXIII. Husband and Wife 193 
 
 XXIV. The Colonel as a Consoler 201 
 
 XXV. Wenderholme in Festivity 212 
 
 XXVI. More Fireworks 225 
 
 XXVII. The Fire 229 
 
 XXVIII. Father and Daughter 238 
 
 XXIX. Progress of the Fire 241 
 
 XXX. Uncle Jacob's Love Affair 249 
 
 XXXI. Uncle Jacob is accepted 252 
 
 XXXII. Mr. Stedman relents 258 
 
 XXXIII. The Saddest in the Book 265 
 
 XXXIV. Jacob Ogden free again 273 
 
 XXXV. Little Jacob's Education 280 
 
 XXXVI. A Short Correspondence 284 
 
 XXXVII. At Wenderholme Cottage 286 
 
 XXXVIII. Artistic Intoxication 290 
 
 XXXIX. Good-bye to Little Jacob ....... 301 
 
 PART II. 
 
 L After Long Years 303 
 
 II. In the Dining- Room 318 
 
 III. In the Drawing-Room 322 
 
 IV. Alone 327 
 
 V. The Two Jacobs 331 
 
 VI. The Sale 336 
 
 VII. A Frugal Supper 340 
 
 VIII. At Chesnut Hill 345 
 
 IX. Ogden of Wenderholme 354 
 
 X. Young Jacob and Edith 357
 
 Contents, xv 
 
 Chapter 
 
 XI. Edith's Decision 366 
 
 XII. Jacob Ogden's Triumph 374 
 
 XIII. The Blow-Out 380 
 
 XIV. Mrs. Ogden's Authority 389 
 
 XV. Lady Helena returns 393 
 
 XVI. The Colonel comes 400 
 
 XVII. A Morning Call 404 
 
 XVIII. Money on the Brain 409 
 
 XIX. The Colonel at Stanithburn 418 
 
 XX. A Simple Wedding 425 
 
 XXI. The Monk 431
 
 WENDERHOLME. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 
 I 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF SHAYTON. 
 
 T was an immemorial custom in Sliayton for families to 
 restrict themselves to a very few Christian names, usually 
 taken from the Old Testament, and these were repeated, gen- 
 eration after generation, from a feeling of respect to parents, 
 very laudable in itself, but not always convenient in its con- 
 sequences. Thus in the family of the Ogdens, the eldest son 
 was always called Isaac, and the second Jacob, so that if they 
 had had a pedigree, the heralds would almost have been 
 driven to the expedient of putting numbers after these names, 
 — as we say Henry VIII. or Louis XIV. The Isaac Ogden 
 who appears in this history may have been, if collateral Isaacs 
 in other branches were taken into account, perhaps Isaac 
 the fortieth ; indeed, the tombstones in Shayton churchyard 
 recorded a number of Isaac Ogdens that was perfectly bewil- 
 dering. Even the living Isaac Ogdens were numerous enough 
 to puzzle any new-comer ; and a postman who had not been 
 accustomed to the place, but was sent there from Rochdale, 
 solemnly declared that " he wished all them Hisaac Hogdens 
 was deead, every one on 'em, nobbut just about five or six, 
 an' then there'd be less bother about t' letters." This wish 
 may seem hard and unchristian, — it may appear, to readers 
 who have had no experience in the delivery of letters, that
 
 2 Wenderholme. Part i. 
 
 to desire the death of a fellow-creature merely because he 
 happened to be called Isaac Ogden implied a fearful degree 
 of natural malevolence; but the business of a postman culti- 
 vates an eagerness to get rid of letters, whereof the lay mind 
 has no adear.ate concepLion ; and when a bachelor Isaac 
 Ogden got a letter from an affectionate wife, or an Isaac 
 Ogden, who never owed a penny, received a pressing dun 
 from an impatient and exasperated creditor, these epistles 
 were returned upon the postman's hands, and he became 
 morbidly anxious to get rid of them, or " shut on 'em," as he 
 himself expressed it. Some annoying mistakes of this kind 
 had occurred in reference to our Mr. Isaac Ogden at the time 
 when he was engaged to Miss Alice Wheatley, whose first 
 affectionate letter from her father's house at Eatherby had 
 not only miscarried, but actually been opened and read by 
 several Isaac Ogdens in Shayton and its vicinity; for poor 
 Miss Alice, in the flurry of directing her first epistle to her 
 lover, had quite forgotten to put the name of the house where 
 he then lived. This was particularly annoying to Mr. Ogden, 
 who had wished to keep his engagement secret, in order to 
 avoid as long as possible the banter of his friends ; and he 
 sware in his wrath that there were far too many Isaac Ogdens 
 in the world, and that, however many sons he had, he would 
 never add to their number. This declaration was regarded 
 by his mother, and by the public opinion of the elder gene- 
 ration generally, as little better than a profession of atheism ; 
 and when our little friend Jacob, about whom we shall have 
 much to say, was christened in Shayton church, it was believed 
 that the misguided father would not have the hardihood to 
 maintain his resolution in so sacred a place. He had, how- 
 ever, the courage to resist the name of Isaac, though it was 
 pressed upon him with painful earnestness ; but he did not 
 dare to offend tradition so far as to resist that of Jacob also, 
 though the objections to it were in truth equally cogent. 
 On his rttirement to Twislle Farm, an out-of-the-way little
 
 Chap. I. Manner s and Customs of Shay ton. 3 
 
 estate up in the hill country near Shayton, Mr. Ogden, who 
 was now a widower, determined, at least for the present, to 
 educate his child himself. And so it was that, at the age of 
 nine, little Jacob was rather less advanced than some other 
 boys of his age. He had not begun Latin yet, but, on the 
 other hand, he read English easily and with avidity, and 
 wrote a very clear and legible hand. His friend Doctor 
 Bardly, the Shayton medical man, who rode up to Twistle 
 Farm very often (for he liked the fresh moorland air, and 
 enjoyed a chat with Mr. Ogden and the child), used to exam- 
 ine little Jacob, and bring him amusing books, so that his 
 young friend had already several shelves in his bedroom 
 which were filled with instructive histories and pleasant tales. 
 The youthful student had felt offended one day at Milend, 
 where his grandmother and his Uncle Jacob lived, when a 
 matronly visitor had asked whether he could read. . 
 " He can read well enough," said his grandmother. 
 " Well, an' what can he read ? can he read i' th' Bible ? " 
 The restriction of Jacob's reading powers to one book 
 offended him. Could he not read all English books at 
 sight, or the newspaper, or any thing? Indeed, few people 
 in Shayton, except the Doctor, read as much as the little 
 boy at Twistle Farm ; and when his uncle at Milend dis- 
 covered one day what an appetite for reading the child had, 
 he was not altogether pleased, and asked whether he could 
 " cast accounts." Finding him rather weak in the elementary 
 practice of arithmetic, Uncle Jacob made him "do sums" 
 whenever he had an opportunity. Arithmetic (or " areth- 
 mitic," as Uncle Jacob pronounced it) was at Milend consid- 
 ered a far higher attainment than the profoundest knowledge 
 of literature ; and, indeed, if the rank of studies is to be 
 estimated by their influence on the purse, there can be no 
 doubt that the Milend folks were right. Without intending 
 a pun (for this would be a poor one), Uncle Jacob had never 
 found any thing so interesting as interest, and the annual
 
 4 WenderJiolme, Part i. 
 
 estimate which he made of the increase of his fortune brought 
 home to his mind a more intense sense of the delightfulness 
 of addition than any school-boy ever experienced. But arith- 
 metic, like every other human pursuit, has its painful or 
 unpleasant side, and Uncle Jacob regarded subtraction and 
 division with an indescribable horror and dread. Subtraction, 
 in his vivid though far from poetical imagination, never meant 
 any thing less serious than losses in the cotton trade ; and 
 division evoked the alarming picture of a wife and eight 
 children dividing his profits amongst them. Indeed, he never 
 looked upon arithmetic in the abstract, but saw it in the 
 successes of the prosperous and the failures of the unfortu- 
 nate, — in the accumulations of rich and successful bachelors 
 like himself, and the impoverishment of struggling mortals, 
 for whom there was no increase save in the number of their 
 children. And this concrete conception of arithmetic he 
 endeavored to communicate to little Jacob, who, in conse- 
 quence of his uncle's teaching, already possessed the theory 
 of getting rich, and was so far advanced in the practice of 
 it that, by keeping the gifts of his kind patrons and friends^ 
 he had nearly twenty pounds in the savings bank.
 
 Chap, il Grandmother and Grandson. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 GRANDMOTHER AND GRANDSON. 
 
 MRS. OGDEN, at the time when our story commences, 
 was not much above sixty, but had reached an appear- 
 ance of old age, though a very vigorous old age, which she kept 
 without perceptible alteration for very many years afterward. 
 Her character will develop itself sufficiently in the course of 
 the present narrative to need no description here ; but she 
 had some outward peculiarities which it may be well to 
 enumerate. 
 
 She is in the kitchen at Milend, making a potato-pie, 
 or at least preparing the paste for one. Whilst she delib- 
 erately presses the rolling-pin, and whilst the sheet of paste 
 becomes wider and thinner under the pressure of it as it 
 travels over the soft white surface, we perceive that Mrs. 
 Ogden's arms, which are bare nearly to the elbow, are strong 
 and muscular yet, but not rounded into any form that suggests 
 reminiscences of beauty. There is a squareness and a rigidity 
 in the back and chest, which are evidences rather of strength 
 of body and a resolute character than of grace. The visage, 
 too, can never have been pretty, though it must in earlier life 
 have possessed the attractiveness of health ; indeed, although 
 its early bloom is of course by this time altogether lost, 
 there remains a firmness in the fleshy parts of it enough to 
 prove that the possessor is as yet untouched by the insidious 
 advances of decay. The cheeks are prominent, and the jaw 
 is powerful ; but although the forehead is high, it suggests no 
 ideas of intellectual development, and seems rather to have
 
 6 Wenderholme. part i. 
 
 grown merely as a fine vegetable-marrow grows, than to have 
 been developed by any exercise of thought. The nose is 
 slightly aquiline in outline, but too large and thick ; the lips, 
 on the contrary, are thin and pale, and would be out of har- 
 mony with the whole face if the eyes did not so accurately 
 and curiously correspond with them. Those eyes are of an 
 exceedingly light gray, rather inclining to blue, and the mind 
 looks out from them in what, to a superficial observer, might 
 seem a frank and direct way ; but a closer analyst of charac- 
 ter might not be so readily satisfied with a first impression, 
 and might fancy he detected some shade of possible insin- 
 cerity or power of dissimulation. The hair seems rather 
 scanty, and is worn close to the face ; it is gray, of that 
 peculiar kind which results from a mixture of very fair hairs 
 with perfectly white ones. We can only see a little of it, 
 however, on account of the cap. 
 
 Although Mrs. Ogden is hard at work in her kitchen, mak- 
 ing a potato-pie, and although it is not yet ten o'clock in the 
 morning, she is dressed in what in any other person would 
 be considered rather an extravagant manner, and in a man- 
 ner certainly incongruous with her present occupation. It is 
 a theory of hers that she is so exquisitely neat in all she 
 does, that for her there is no danger in wearing any dress 
 she chooses, either in her kitchen or elsewhere ; and as she 
 has naturally a love for handsome clothes, and an aversion 
 to changing her dress in the middle of the day, she conies 
 downstairs at five o'clock in the morning as if she had just 
 dressed to receive a small dinner-party. The clothes that 
 she wears just now have in fact done duty at past dinner- 
 parties, and are quite magnificent enough for a-lady at the 
 head of her table, cutting potato-pies instead of fabricating 
 them, if only they were a little less shabby, and somewhat 
 more in harmony with the prevailing fashion. Her dress is 
 a fine-flowered satin, which a punster would at once acknowl- 
 edge in a double sense if he saw the farinaceous scatterings
 
 Chap. II. Grandmother and Grandson. 7 
 
 which just now adorn it ; and her cap is so splendid in rib- 
 bons that no writer of the male sex could aspire to describe 
 it adequately. She wears an enormous cameo brooch, and a 
 long gold chain whose fancy links are interrupted or con- 
 nected by little glittering octagonal bars, like the bright glass 
 bugles in her head-dress. The pattern of her satin is occa- 
 sionally obscured by spots of grease, notwithstanding Mrs. 
 Ogden's theory that she is too neat and careful to incur any 
 risk of such accidents. One day her son Isaac had ventured 
 to call his mother's attention to these spots, and to express 
 an opinion that it might perhaps be as well to have two ser- 
 vants instead of one, and resign practical kitchen-work ; or 
 else that, if she would be a servant herself, she ought to 
 dress like one, and not expose her fine things to injury ; but 
 Mr. Isaac Ogden received such an answer as gave him no 
 encouragement to renew his remonstrances on a subject so 
 delicate. " My dresses," said Mrs. Ogden, " are paid for out 
 of my own money, and I shall wear them when I like and 
 where I like. If ever my son is applied to to pay my bills 
 for me, he may try to teach me economy, but I 'm 'appy to 
 say that I 'm not dependent upon him either for what I eat 
 or for what I drink, or for any thing that I put on." The 
 other brother, who lived under the same roof with Mrs. 
 Ogden, and saw her every day, had a closer instinctive feel- 
 ing of what might and might not be said to her, and would 
 as soon have thought of suggesting any abdication, however 
 temporary, of her splendors, as of suggesting to Queen Vic- 
 toria that she might manage without the luxuries of her 
 station. 
 
 When the potato-pie stood ready for the oven, with an 
 elegant little chimney in the middle and various ornaments 
 of paste upon the crust, Mrs. Ogden made another quantity 
 of paste, and proceeded to the confection of a roly-poly 
 pudding. She was proud of her roly-polies, and, indeed, ot 
 every thing she made or did ; but her roly-polies were really
 
 8 WenderJiolme. Part i. 
 
 good, for, as her pride was here more especially concerned, 
 she economized nothing, and was liberal in preserves. She 
 had friends in a warm and fertile corner of Yorkshire who 
 were rich in apricots, and sent every year to Milend several 
 large pots of the most delicious apricot preserve, and she 
 kept this exclusively for roly-polies, and had won thereby a 
 great fame and reputation in Shay ton, where apricot-puddings 
 were by no means of everyday occurrence. 
 
 The judicious reader may here criticise Mrs. Ogden, or 
 find fault with the author, because she makes potato-pie and 
 a roly-poly on the same day. Was there not rather too much 
 paste for one dinner, — baked paste that roofed over the 
 savory contents of the pie-dish, and boiled paste that en- 
 closed in its ample folds the golden lusciousness of those 
 Yorkshire apricots ? Some reflection of this kind may arise 
 in the mind of Jacob Ogden when he comes back from the 
 mill to his dinner. He may possibly think that for to-day 
 the pie might have been advantageously replaced by a beef- 
 steak, but he is too wise not to keep all such reflections 
 within his own breast. No such doubts or perplexities will 
 ever disturb his mother, simply because she is convinced that 
 no man can eat too much of her pastry. Other people's 
 pastry one might easily get too much of, but that is different. 
 
 And there is a special reason for the pudding to-day. 
 Lvttle Jacob is expected at dinner-time, and little Jacob loves 
 pudding, especially apricot roly-poly. His grandmother, not 
 a very affectionate woman by nature, is, nevertheless, dot- 
 ingly fond of the lad, and always makes a little feast to 
 welcome him and celebrate his coming. On ordinary days 
 they never have any dessert at Milend, but, as soon as dinner 
 is over. Uncle Jacob hastily jumps up and goes to the 
 cupboard where the decanters are kept, pours himself two 
 glasses of port, and swallows them one after the other, 
 standing, after which he is off again to the mill. When little 
 Jacob comes, what a difference ! There is a splendid dessert
 
 Chap. II. Grmicimot/ier and Grandson. 9 
 
 of gingerbread, nuts, apples, and fruits glacis; there are 
 stately decanters of port and sherry, with a bottle of spark- 
 ling elder-flower wine in the middle, and champagne-glasses 
 to drink it from. There is plenty of real champagne in the 
 cellars, but this home-made vintage is considered better for 
 little Jacob, who feels no other effect from it than an almost 
 irresistible sleepiness. He likes to see the sparkling bubbles 
 rise ; and, indeed, few beverages are prettier or pleasanter to 
 the taste than Mrs. Ogden's elder-flower wine. It is as clear 
 as crystal, and sparkles like the most brilliant wit. 
 
 But we are anticipating every thing ; we have jumped from 
 the very fabrication of the roly-poly to the sparkling of the 
 elder-flower, of that elder-flower which never sparkled at 
 Milend, and should not have done so in this narrative, until 
 the pudding had been fully disposed of. The reader may, 
 however, take that for granted, and feel perfectly satisfied 
 that little Jacob has done his duty to the pudding, as he is 
 now doing it to the nuts and wine. He has a fancy for 
 putting his kernels into the wine-glass, and fishing them out 
 with a spoon, and is so occupied just now, whilst grandmother 
 and Uncle Jacob sit patiently looking on. 
 
 " Jerry likes nuts," says little Jacob ; " I wonder if he likes 
 wine too." 
 
 " It would be a good thing," said Mrs. Ogden, with her 
 slow and distinct pronunciation, — " it would be a good thing 
 if young men would take example by their 'orses, and drink 
 nothing but water." 
 
 "Nay, nay, mother," said Uncle Jacob, " you wouldn't wish 
 to see our lad a teetotaller." 
 
 " I see no 'arm in bein' a teetotaller, and I see a good 
 deal of 'arm that 's brought on with drinking spirits. I wish 
 the lad's father was a teetotaller. But come" (to little Ja- 
 cob), " you '11 'ave another glass of elder-flower. Well, willn't 
 ye now ? Then 'ave a glass of port ; it '11 do you no 'arm." 
 
 Mrs. Ogden's admiration for teetotalism was entirely theo-
 
 lO Weiider holme, part i. 
 
 retical. She approved of it in the abstract and in the dis- 
 tance, but she could not endure to sit at table with a man 
 who did not take his glass like the rest; the nonconformity 
 to custom irritated her. There was a curate at Shayton who 
 thought it his duty to be a teetotaller in order to give weight 
 to his arguments against the evil habit of the place, and the 
 curate dined occasionally at Milend without relaxing from 
 the rigidity of his rule. Mrs. Ogden was always put out by 
 his empty wine-glass and the pure water in his tumbler, and 
 she let him have no peace ; so that for some time past he 
 had declined her invitations, and only dropped in to tea, 
 taking care to escape before spirits and glasses were brought 
 forth from the cupboard, where they lay in wait for him. The 
 reader need therefore be under no apprehensions that little 
 Jacob was likely to be educated in the chilly principles of 
 teetotalism ; or at least he may rest assured that, however 
 much its principles might be extolled in his presence, the 
 practice of it would neither be enforced nor even tolerated. 
 
 "I say, I wish my son Isaac was a teetotaller. I hear tell 
 of his coming to Shayton time after time without ever so much 
 as looking at Milend. Wasn't your father in the town on 
 Tuesday ? I know he was, I was told so by those that saw 
 him ; and if he was in the town, what was to hinder him from 
 coming to Milend to his tea ? Did he come down by himself, 
 or did you come with him, Jacob ? " 
 
 " I came with him, grandmother." 
 
 " Well, and why didn't you come here, my lad ? You 
 know you 're always welcome." 
 
 " Father had his tea at the Red Lion. Well, it wasn't 
 exactly tea, for he drank ale to it ; but I had tea with him, 
 and we 'd a lobster." 
 
 " I wish he wouldn't do so." 
 
 "Why, mother," said Uncle Jacob, " 1 see no great 'arm in 
 drinking a pint of ale and eating a lobster; and if he didn't 
 come to Milend, most likely he 'd somebody to see ; very
 
 Chap. II. Grandmother and Grandson. 1 1 
 
 likely one of his tenants belonging to that row of cottages 
 he bought. I wish he hadn't bought 'em ; he '11 have more 
 bother with 'em than they're worth." 
 
 " But what did he do keeping a young boy like little Jacob 
 at the Red Lion t Why couldn't he send him here ? The lad 
 knows the way, I reckon." Then to her grandson, — " What 
 time was it when you both went home to Twistle Farm ? " 
 
 " We didn't go home together, grandmother. Father was 
 in the parlor at the Red Lion, and left me behind the bar, 
 where we had had our tea, till about eight o'clock, when he 
 sent a message that I was to go home by myself. So I 
 went home on Jerry, and father stopped all night at the Red 
 Lion." 
 
 " Why, it was after dark, child ! and there was no moon ! " 
 
 " I 'm not afraid of being out in the dark, grandmother ; I 
 don't believe in ghosts." 
 
 " What, hasn't th' child sense enough to be frightened in 
 the dark ? If he doesn't believe in ghosts at his age, it 's a 
 bad sign ; but he 's got a father that believes in nothing at 
 all, for he never goes to church ; and there 's that horrid Dr. 
 Bardly " — 
 
 " He isn't horrid, grandmother," replied little Jacob, with 
 much spirit ; "he 's very jolly, and gives me things, and I love 
 him ; he gave me a silver horn." 
 
 Now Dr. Bardly's reputation for orthodoxy in Shayton was 
 greatly inferior to his renown as a medical practitioner ; but 
 as the inhabitants had both Mr. Prigley and his curate, as well 
 as several Dissenting ministers, to watch over the interests 
 of their souls, they had no objection to allow Mr. Bardly to 
 keep their stomachs in order ; at least so far as was com- 
 patible with the freest indulgence in good living. His bad 
 name for heterodoxy had been made worse by his favorite 
 studies. He was an anatomist, and therefore was supposed 
 to believe in brains rather than souls ; and a geologist, there- 
 fore he assigned an unscriptural antiquity to the earth.
 
 12 Wcndcrholme. I'art i. 
 
 " I 'm sure it 's that Dr. Bardly," said Mrs. Ogden, " that 's 
 ruined our Isaac." 
 
 " Why, mother, Bardly 's one o' th' soberest men in Shayton ; 
 and being a doctor beside, he isn't likely to encourage Isaac 
 i' bad 'abits." 
 
 " I wish Isaac weren't so fond on him. He sets more store 
 by Dr. Bardly, and by all that he says, than by any one else 
 in the place. He likes him better than Mr. Prigley. I 've 
 heard him say so, sittin' at this very table. I wish he liked 
 Mr. Prigley better, and would visit with him a little. He 'd get 
 nothing but good at the parsonage ; whereas they tell me — 
 and no doubt it's true — that there's many a bad book in 
 Dr. Bardly's library. I think I shall ask Mr. Prigley just to 
 set ceremony on one side, and go and call upon Isaac up at 
 Twistle Farm ; no doubt he would be kind enough to do so." 
 
 " It would be of no use, mother, except to Prigley's appe- 
 tite, that might be a bit sharpened with a walk up to Twistle ; 
 but supposin' he got there, and found Isaac at 'ome, Isaac 
 'ud be as civil as civil, and he 'd ax Prigley to stop his 
 dinner; and Prigley 'ud no more dare to open his mouth 
 about Isaac's goin's on than our sarvint lass 'ud ventur to 
 tell you as you put too mich salt i' a potato-pie. It's poor 
 folk as parsons talks to ; they willn't talk to a chap wi' ten 
 thousand pound till he axes 'em, except in a general way in 
 a pulpit." 
 
 "Well, Jacob, if Mr. Prigley were only just to go and 
 renew his acquaintance with our Isaac, it would be so much 
 gained, and it might lead to his amendment." 
 
 " Mother, I don't think he needs so much amendment. 
 Isaac 's right enough. I believe he 's always sober up at 
 Twistle; isn't he, little 'un ? " 
 
 Little Jacob, thus appealed to, assented, but in rather a 
 doubtful and reserved manner, as if something remained 
 behind which he had not courage to say. His grandmother 
 observed this.
 
 Chap. II. G^'andmotlier a^id Grandson. 1 3 
 
 " Now, my lad, tell me the whole truth. It can do your 
 father no 'arm — nothing but good — to let us know all about 
 what he does. Your father is my son, and I 've a right to 
 know all about him. I 'm very anxious, and 'ave been, ever 
 since I knew that he was goin' again to the Red Lion. I 
 'oped he 'd given that up altogether. You must tell me — 
 I insist upon it." 
 
 Little Jacob said nothing, but began to cry. 
 
 " Nay, nay, lad," said his uncle, " a great felly like thee 
 should never skrike. Thy grandmother means ndut. Mother, 
 you 're a bit hard upon th' lad ; it isn't fair to force a child 
 to be witness again' its own father." With this Uncle Jacob 
 rose and left the room, for it was time for him to go to the 
 mill ; and then Mrs. Ogden rose from her chair, and with the 
 stiff stately walk that was habitual to her, and that she never 
 could lay aside even under strong emotion, approached her 
 grandson, and, bending over him, gave him one kiss on the 
 forehead. This kiss, be it observed, was a very exceptional 
 event. Jacob always kissed his grandmother when he came 
 to Milend ; but she was invariably passive, though it was 
 plain that the ceremony was agreeable to her, from a certain 
 softness that spread over her features, and which differed 
 from their habitual expression. So when Jacob felt the old 
 lady's lips upon his forehead, a thrill of tenderness ran 
 through his little heart, and he sobbed harder than ever. 
 
 Mrs. Ogden drew a chair close to his, and, putting her 
 hand on his brow so as to turn his face a little upwards that 
 she might look well into it, said, " Come now, little un, tell 
 granny all about it." 
 
 What the kiss had begun, the word " granny " fully accom- 
 plished. Little Jacob dried his eyes and resolved to tell his 
 sorrows. 
 
 "Grandmother," he said, "father is so — so" — 
 
 " So what, my lad ? " 
 
 " Well, he beats me, grandmother ! "
 
 > 
 
 14 Wenderholme. part i. 
 
 Now IMrs. Ogden, though she loved Jacob as strongly as 
 her nature permitted, by no means wished to see him entirely 
 exempt from corporal punishment. She knew, on the au- 
 thority of Scripture, that it was good for children to be 
 beaten, that the rod was a salutary thing ; and she at once 
 concluded that little Jacob had been punished for some fault 
 which in her own code would have deserved such punishment, 
 and would have drawn it down upon her own sons when they 
 were of his age. So she was neither astonished nor indignant, 
 and asked, merely by way of continuing the conversation, — 
 
 " And when did he beat thee, child ? " 
 
 If Jacob had been an artful advocate of his own cause, 
 he would have cited one of those instances unhappily toe 
 numerous during the last few months, when he had beew 
 severely punished on the slightest possible pretexts, or eveh 
 without any pretext whatever ; but as recent events occupy 
 the largest space in our recollection, and as all troubles 
 diminish by a sort of perspective according to the length of 
 time that has happened since their occurrence, Jacob, of 
 course, instanced a beating that he had received that very 
 morning, and of which certain portions of his bodily frame, 
 by their uncommon stiffness and soreness, still kept up the 
 most lively remembrance. 
 
 " He beat me this morning, grandmother." 
 
 "And what for?" 
 
 " Because I spilt some ink on my new trowsers that I 'd put 
 on to come to Milend." 
 
 " Well, then, my lad. all I can say is that you deserved it, 
 and should take better care. Do you think that your father 
 is to buy good trowsers for you to spill ink upon them the 
 very first time you put them on? You '11 soon come to ruin 
 at that rate. Little boys should learn to take care of their 
 things \ your Uncle Jacob was as kerfle * as possible of his 
 things ; indeed he was the kerflest boy I ever saw in all my 
 
 * Careful.
 
 Chap. II. Grandmother mid Grandson. 15 
 
 life, and I wish you could take after him. It 's a very great 
 thing is kerfleness. There 's people as thinks that when 
 they 've worn * their money upon a thing, it 's no use lookin' 
 after it, and mindin' it, because the money 's all worn and 
 gone, and so they pay no heed to their things when once 
 they 've got them. And what 's the consequence ? They find 
 that they have to be renewed, that new ones must be bought 
 when the old ones ought to have been quite good yet ; and 
 so they spend and spend, when they might spare and have 
 every thing just as decent, if they could only learn a little 
 kerfleness." 
 
 After this lecture, Mrs. Ogden slowly rose from her seat 
 and proceeded to put the decanters into a triangular cupboard 
 that occupied a corner of the room. In due course of time 
 the apples, the gingerbread, and the nuts alike disappeared 
 in its capacious recesses, and were hidden from little Jacob's 
 eyes by folding-doors of dark mahogany, polished till they 
 resembled mirrors, and reflected the window with its glimpse 
 of dull gray sky. After this Mrs. Ogden went into the 
 kitchen to look after some household affairs, and her grand- 
 son went to the stable to see Jerry, and to make the acquaint- 
 dlice of some puppies which had recently come into the world, 
 but were as yet too blind to have formed any opinion of its 
 beauties. 
 
 * Spent.
 
 1 6 IVender holme. Part i 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 AT THE PARSONAGE. 
 
 MRS. OGDEN'S desire to bring about a renewal of the 
 acquaintance between her son Isaac and Mr. Prigley 
 was not an unwise one, even if considered independently of 
 his religious interests. Mr. Prigley, though by no means a 
 man of first-rate culture or capacity, was still the only gentle- 
 man in Shayton, — the only man in the place who resolutely 
 kept himself up to the standard of the outer world, and 
 refused to adopt the local dialect and manners. No doubt 
 the Doctor was in a certain special sense a gentleman, and 
 much more than a gentleman, — he was a man of high attain- 
 ment, and had an excellent heart. But, so far from desiring 
 to rise above the outward ideal of the locality, he took 
 a perverse pleasure in remaining a little below it. His 
 language was a shade more provincial than that of the 
 neighboring manufacturers, and his manners somewhat more 
 rugged and abrupt than theirs. Perhaps he secretly enjoyed 
 the contrast between the commonplace exterior which he 
 affected, and the elaborate intellectual culture which he knew 
 himself to possess. He resembled the house he lived in, 
 v/hich was, as to its exterior, so perfectly commonplace that 
 every one would pass it without notice, yet which contained 
 greater intellectual riches, and more abundant material for 
 reflection, than all the other houses in Shayton put together. 
 Therefore, if I say that Mr. Prigley was the only gentleman 
 in the place, I mean externally, — in language and manner. 
 The living of Shayton was a very meagre one, and Mr.
 
 Chap. III. At the Parsonage. 17 
 
 Prigley had great difficulty in keeping himself above water ; 
 but there is more satisfaction in struggling with the difficul- 
 -ties of open and avowed poverty than in maintaining deceitful 
 appearances, and Mr. Prigley had long since ceased to think 
 about appearances at all. It had happened some time ago 
 that the carpets showed grievous signs of wear, and in fact 
 were so full of holes as to be positively dangerous. They had 
 been patched and mended over and over again, and an in- 
 genious seamstress employed by Mrs. Prigley, and much 
 valued by her, had darned them with variously colored wools 
 in continuation of the original patterns, so that (unless on 
 close inspection) the repairs were not very evident. Now, 
 however, both Mrs. Prigley and the seamstress, notwithstand- 
 ing all their ingenuity and skill, had reluctantly come to the 
 conclusion that to repair the carpets in their present advanced 
 stage of decay it would be necessary to darn nothing less than 
 the whole area of them, and Mrs. Prigley declared that she would 
 rather manufacture new ones with her knitting-needles. But 
 if buying carpets was out of the question, so it was not less out 
 of the question for Mrs. Prigley to fabricate objects of luxury, 
 since her whole time was taken up by matters of pressing 
 necessity ; indeed, the poor lady could only just keep up with 
 the ceaseless accumulations of things that wanted mending j 
 and whenever she was unwell for a day or two, and unable to 
 work, there rose such a heap of them as made her very heart 
 sink. In this perplexity about the carpets, nature was left to 
 take her course, and the carpets were abandoned to their fate, 
 but still left upon the floors ; for how were they ever to be re- 
 placed ? By a most unfortunate coincidence, Mr. Prigley dis- 
 covered about the same time that his shirts, though apparently 
 very sound and handsome shirts indeed, had become deplor- 
 ably weak in the tissue ; for if, in dressing himself in a hurry, 
 his hand did not just happen to hit the orifice of the sleeve, 
 it passed through the fabric of the shirt itself, and that with 
 so little difficulty that he was scarcely aware of any impedi-
 
 1 8 Wenderholme. Paki- i. 
 
 ment ; whilst if once the hem were severed, the immediate 
 consequence was a rent more than a foot long. Poor Mrs. 
 Frigley had mended these patiently for a while ; but one 
 day, after marvelling how it happened that her husband 
 had become so violent in his treatment of his linen, she tried 
 the strength of it herself, and, to use her own expressive 
 phrase, " it came in two like a sheet of wet paper." It was 
 characteristic of the Prigleys that they determined to renew 
 the linen at once, and to abandon carpets for ever. 
 
 Shayton is not in France, and to do without carpets in 
 Shayton amounts to a confession of what, in the middle class, 
 is looked upon as a pitiable destitution. Mr. Prigley did not 
 care much about this ; but his wife was more sensitive to 
 public opinion, and, long after that heroic resolution had been 
 taken, hesitated to put it in execution. Day after day the 
 ragged remnants remained upon the floor, and still did Mrs. 
 Prigley procrastinate. 
 
 Whilst things were in this condition at the parsonage, the 
 conversation took place at Milend which we have narrated in 
 the preceding chapter ; and as soon as Mrs. Ogden had seen 
 things straight in the kitchen, she " bethought her," as she 
 would have herself expressed it, that it might be a step to- 
 wards intercourse between Isaac Ogden and the clergyman 
 if she could make little Jacob take a fancy to the parsonage. 
 There was a little boy there nearly his own age, and as Jacob 
 was far too niuch isolated, the acquaintance would be equally 
 desirable for him. The idea was by no means new to her ; 
 indeed, she had long been anxious to find suitable playmates 
 for her grandson, a matter of which Isaac did not sufficiently 
 perceive the importance ; and she had often intended to take 
 steps in this direction, but had been constantly deterred by 
 the feelings of dislike to Mr. Prigley, which both her sons did 
 not hesitate to express. What had Mr. Prigley done to them 
 that they should never be able to speak of him without a 
 shade of very perceptible aversion or contempt ? They had
 
 Chap. III. At the Parso7tage. 19 
 
 no definite accusation to make against him ; they did not 
 attempt to justify their antipathy, but the antipathy did not 
 disguise itself. In an agricultural district the relations between 
 the parson and the squire are often cordial ; in a manu- 
 facturing district the relations between the parson and 
 the mill-owners are usually less intimate, and have more the 
 character of accidental neighborship than of natural alliance. 
 
 The intercourse between Milend and the parsonage had 
 been so infrequent that Mrs. Prigley was quite astonished 
 when Betty, the maid-of-all-work, announced Mrs. Ogden as 
 she pushed open the door of the sitting-room. But she was 
 much more astonished when Mrs. Ogden, instead of quietly 
 advancing in her somewhat stiff and formal manner, fell for- 
 ward on the floor with outstretched arms and a shriek. Mrs. 
 Prigley shrieked too, little Jacob tried manfully to lift up his 
 grandmother, and poor Betty, not knowing what to say under 
 circumstances so unexpected, but vaguely feeling that she 
 was likely to incur blame, and might possibly (though in some 
 manner not yet clear to her) deserve it, begged Mrs. Ogden's 
 pardon. Mr. Prigley was busy writing a sermon in his study, 
 and being suddenly interrupted in the midst of what seemed 
 to him an uncommonly eloquent passage on the spread of 
 infidelity, rushed to the scene of the accident in a state of 
 great mental confusion, which for some seconds prevented 
 him from recognizing Mrs. Ogden, or Mrs. Ogden's bonnet, 
 for the lady's face was not visible to him as he stood amazed 
 in the doorway. " Bless me ! " thought Mr. Prigley, " here 's 
 a woman in a fit ! " And then came a dim and somewhat 
 unchristian feeling that women liable to fits need not just 
 come and have them in the parlor at the parsonage. " It 's 
 Mrs. Ogden, love," said Mrs. Prigley ; " and, oh dear, I am so 
 sorry ! " 
 
 By the united efforts of the parson and his wife, joined to 
 those of Betty and little Jacob, Mrs. Ogden was placed upon 
 the sofa, and Mr. Prigley went to fetch some brandy from the
 
 20 Wenderholme. Part I, 
 
 dining room. On his way to the door, the cause of the acci- 
 dent became apparent to him in the shape of a yawning rent 
 in the carpet, which was dragged up in great folds and 
 creases several inches high. He had no time to do justice to 
 the subject now, and so refrained from making any obser- 
 vation ; but he fully resolved that, whether Mrs. Prigley liked 
 it or not, all ragged old carpets should disappear from the 
 parsonage as soon as Mrs. Ogden could be got out of it. 
 When Mrs. Prigley saw the hole in her turn, she was over- 
 whelmed with a sense of culpability, and felt herself to be 
 little better than a murderess. 
 
 " Betty, run and fetch Dr. Bardly as fast as ever you can." 
 
 " Please let me go," said little Jacob ; " I can run faster 
 than she can." 
 
 The parson had a professional disapproval of Dr. Bardly 
 because he would not come to church, and especially, per- 
 haps, because on the very rare occasions when he did present 
 himself there, he always contrived to be called out in time to 
 escape the sermon ; but he enjoyed the Doctor's company 
 more than he would have been willing to confess, and had 
 warmly seconded Mrs. Prigley's proposal that, since Mrs. 
 Ogden, in consequence of her accident, was supposed to need 
 the restoration of " tea and something to it," the Doctor 
 should stay tea also. The arrival of Isaac and Jacob gave 
 a new turn to the matter, and promised an addition to the 
 small tea-party already organized. 
 
 It was rather stiff and awkward just at first for Isaac and 
 Jacob when they found themselves actually in the parson's 
 house, and forced to stop there to tea out of filial attention to 
 their mother ; but it is wonderful how soon Mr. Prigley con- 
 trived to get them over these difficulties. He resolved to 
 take advantage of his opportunity, and warm up an acquaint- 
 ance that might be of eminent service in certain secret 
 projects of his. Shayton church was a dreary old building of 
 the latest and most debased Tudor architecture; and, though
 
 Chap. III. At the Parso7ia^e. 21 
 
 i> 
 
 it sheltered the inhabitants well enough in their comfortable 
 old pews, it seemed to Mr. Prigley a base and degraded sort 
 of edifice, unfit for the celebration of public worship. He 
 therefore nourished schemes of reform ; and when he had 
 nothing particular to do, especially during the singing of the 
 hymns, he could not help looking up at the flat ceiling and 
 down along the pew-partitioned floor, and thinking what might 
 be done with the old building, — how it would look, for 
 instance, if those octagon pillars that supported those hateful 
 longitudinal beams were crowned with beautiful Gothic arches 
 supporting a lofty clerestory above ; and how the organ, 
 instead of standing just over the communion-table, and pre- 
 venting the possibility of a creditable east window, might be 
 removed to the west end, to the inconvenience, it is true, of 
 all the richest people in the township, who held pews in a 
 gallery at that end of the church, but to the general advance- 
 ment of correct and orthodox principles. Once the organ 
 removed, a magnificent east window might gleam gorgeously 
 over the renovated altar, and Shayton church might become 
 worthy of its incumbent. 
 
 And now, as he saw, by unhoped-for good-luck, these three 
 rich Ogdens in his own parlor, it became Mr. Prigley's 
 earnest wish to keep them there as long as possible, and 
 cultivate their acquaintance, and see whether there was not 
 some vulnerable place in those hard practical minds of theirs. 
 As for the Doctor, he scarcely hoped to get any money out 
 of him ; he had preached at him over and over again, and, 
 though the Doctor only laughed and took care to keep out 
 of the way of these sermons, it was scarcely to be expected 
 that he should render good for evil, — money for hard lan- 
 guage. Nobody in Shayton precisely knew what the Doctor's 
 opinions were ; but when Mr. Prigley was writing his most 
 energetic onslaughts on the infidel, it is certain that the type 
 in the parson's mind had the Doctor's portly body and plain 
 Socratic face.
 
 2 2 Woiderholme. Part i 
 
 Mrs. Prigley had rather hesitated about asking the man to 
 stay tea at the parsonage, for her husband freely expressed 
 his opinion of him in privacy, and when in a theological 
 frame of mind spoke of him with much the same aversion that 
 Mrs. Prigley herself felt for rats and toads and spiders. And as 
 she looked upon the Doctor's face, it seemed to her at first 
 the face of the typical "bad man," in whose existence she 
 firmly believed. The human race, at the parsonage, was 
 divided into sheep and goats, and Dr. Bardly was amongst 
 the goats. Was he not evidently a goat? Had not nature 
 herself stamped his badness on his visage I His very way of 
 laughing had something suspicious about it ; he seemed always 
 to be thinking more than he chose to express. What was he 
 thinking? There seemed to be something doubtful and wrong 
 even about his very whiskers, but Mrs. Prigley could not 
 define it, neither can we. On the contrary, they were re- 
 spectable and very commonplace gray whiskers, shaped like 
 mutton-chops, and no doubt they would have seemed only 
 natural to Mrs. Prigley, if they had been more frequently 
 seen in Shayton church. 
 
 It was a very pleasant-looking tea-table altogether. Mrs. 
 Prigley, who was a Miss Stanburne of Byfield, a branch of 
 the Stanburnes of Wenderholme, possessed a little ancestral 
 plate, a remnant, after much subdivision, of the magnificence 
 of her ancestors. She had a tea-pot and a coffee-pot, and a 
 very quaint and curious cream-jug ; she also possessed a pair 
 of silver candlesticks, of a later date, representing Corinthian 
 columns, and the candles stood in round holes in their grace- 
 ful acanthus-leaved capitals. Many clergymen can display 
 articles of contemporary manufacture bearing the most flat- 
 tering inscriptions, but Mr. Prigley had never received any 
 testimonials, and, so long as he remained in Shayton, was not 
 in the least likely to enrich his table with silver of that kind. 
 Mrs. Prigley, whilst apparently listening with respectful at- 
 tention to Mrs. Ogden's account of a sick cow of hers (in
 
 Chap. III. At the Parso7iaze. 
 
 <b 
 
 23 
 
 which Mrs. Ogden seemed to consider that she herself, and 
 not the suffering animal, was the proper object of sympathy), 
 had in fact been debating in her own mind whether she 
 ought to display her plate on a mere chance occasion like the 
 present ; but the common metal tea-pot was bulged and shabby, 
 and the thistle in electro-plate, which had once decorated its 
 lid, had long since been lost by one of the children, who had 
 fancied it as a plaything. The two brass candlesticks were 
 scarcely more presentable ; indeed, one of them would no 
 longer stand upright, and Mrs. Prigley had neglected to have 
 it repaired, as one candle sufficed in ordinary times ; and 
 when her husband wrote at night, he used a tin bed-candle- 
 stick resembling a frying-pan, with a tin column, not of the 
 Corinthian order, sticking up in the middle of it, and awk- 
 wardly preventing those culinary services to which the utensil 
 seemed naturally destined. As these things were not pre- 
 sentable before company, Mrs. Prigley decided to bring forth 
 her silver, but in justice to her it is necessary to say that she 
 would have preferred something between the two, as more 
 fitted to the occasion. For similar reasons was displayed 
 a set of old china, of whose value the owner herself was 
 ignorant ; and so indeed would have been the present writer, 
 if he had not recognized Mrs. Prigley's old cups and saucers 
 in Jacquemart's ' Histoire de la Porcelaine.' 
 
 The splendor of Mrs. Prigley's tea-table struck Mrs. Ogden 
 with a degree of surprise which she had not art enough to 
 conceal, for the manners and customs of Shayton had never 
 inculcated any kind of reticence as essential to the ideal of 
 good-breeding. The guests had scarcely taken their places 
 round this brilliant and festive board when Mrs. Ogden said, — 
 
 " You 've got some very 'afidsome silver, Mrs. Prigley. I 'd 
 no idea you 'd got such 'andsome silver. Those candlesticks 
 are taller than any we 've got at Milend." 
 
 A slight shade of annoyance passed across the countenance 
 of the hostess as she answered, " It came from Wenderholme \
 
 24 Wender holme. Part i. 
 
 there 's not much of it except what is on the table ; there 
 were six of us to divide it amongst." 
 
 " Those are the Stanburne arms on the tea-pot," said the 
 Doctor ; " I 've hoftens noticed them at Wendrum 'all. They 
 have them all up and down. Young Stanburne 's very fond 
 of his coat-of-arms, but he 's a right to be proud of it, for it 's 
 a very old one. He 's quite a near relation of yours, isn't he, 
 Mrs. Prigley.?" 
 
 " M) father and his grandfather were brothers, but there 
 was a coolness between them on account of a small estate in 
 Yorkshire, which each thought he 'd a right to, and they had 
 a lawsuit. My father lost it, and never went to Wenderholme 
 again ; and they never came from Wenderholme to Bytield. 
 When my Uncle Reginald died, my father was not even asked 
 to the funeral, but they sent him gloves and a hatband." 
 
 " Have you ever been at Wenderholme, Mrs. Prigley ? " 
 said Isaac. 
 
 "Never! I've often thought I should like to see it, just 
 once ; it 's said to be a beautiful place, and I should like to 
 see the house my poor father was born in." 
 
 " Why, it 's quite close to Shayton, a great deal nearer than 
 anybody would think. It isn't much more than twelve or 
 fourteen miles off, and my house at Twistle is within nine 
 miles of Wenderholme, if you go across the moor. There is 
 not a single building of any kind between. But it 's thirty 
 miles to Wenderholme by the turnpike. You have to go 
 through Sootythorn." 
 
 " It 's a very nice estate," said Uncle Jacob ; and, to do him 
 justice, he was an excellent judge of estates, and possessed 
 a great fund of information concerning all the desirable 
 properties in the neighborhood, for he made it his business 
 to acquire this sort of knowledge beforehand, in case such 
 properties should fall into the market. So that when Uncle 
 Jacob said an estate was "very nice," you may be sure it 
 was so.
 
 Chap. III. At the Parsonage. 25 
 
 "There are about two thousand acres of good land at 
 Wendrum," he continued, " all in a ring-fence, and a very 
 large moor behind the house, with the best shooting any- 
 where in the whole country. Our moors join up to Mr. 
 Stanburne's, and, if the whole were put together, it would be 
 a grand shooting." 
 
 " That is," said Mr. Prigley, rather maliciously, " if Mr 
 Stanburne were to buy your moor, I suppose. Perhaps he 
 might feel inclined to do so if you wished to sell." 
 
 Mrs. Ogden could not endure to hear of selling property, 
 even in the most remote and hypothetical manner. Her 
 back was generally as straight as a stone wall, but it became, 
 if possible, straighter and stifTer, as, with a slight toss of the 
 head, she spoke as follows : — 
 
 "We don't use selling property, Mr. Prigley; we're not 
 sellers, we are buyers." 
 
 These words were uttered slowly, deliberately, and with the 
 utmost distinctness, so that it was not possible for any one 
 present to misunderstand the lady's intention. She evidently 
 considered buying to be the nobler function of the two, as 
 implying increase, and selling to be a comparatively degrad- 
 ing operation, — a confession of poverty and embarrassment. 
 This feeling was very strong, not only in Shayton, but for 
 many miles round it, and instances frequently occurred of 
 owners who clung to certain properties against their pecuniary 
 interest, from a dread of it being said of them that they had 
 sold land. There are countries where this prejudice has no 
 existence, and where a rich man sells land without hesitation 
 when he sees a more desirable investment for his money ; 
 but in Shayton a man was married to his estate or his estates 
 (for in this matter polygamy was allowed) ; and though the 
 law, after a certain tedious and expensive process, technically 
 called conveyancing, permitted divorce, public opinion did not 
 permit it. 
 
 Mr. Prigley restored the harmony of the evening by admit-
 
 26 Wender holme. part i 
 
 ting that the people who sold land were generally the old land- 
 owners, and those who bought it were usually in trade, — > 
 not a very novel or profound observation, but it soothed the 
 wounded pride of Mrs. Ogden, and at the same time flattered 
 a shade of jealousy of the old aristocracy which coexisted 
 with much genuine sympathy and respect. 
 
 " But we shouldn't say Mister Stanburne now," observed 
 the Doctor ; " he 's Colonel Stanburne." 
 
 "Do militia officers keep their titles when not on duty?" 
 asked Mr. Isaac. 
 
 " Colonels always do," said the Doctor, " but captains 
 don't, in a general way, though there are some places where 
 it is the custom to call 'em captain all the year round. I 
 suppose Mr. Isaac here will be Captain Ogden some of these 
 days." 
 
 " I was not aware you intended to join the militia, Mr. 
 Isaac," said the clergyman. " I am very glad to hear it. It 
 will be a pleasant change for you. Since you left business, 
 you must often be at a loss for occupation." 
 
 " I 've had plenty to do until a year or two since in getting 
 Twistle Farm into order. It 's a wild place, but I 've im- 
 proved it a good deal, and it amused me. I sometimes wish 
 it were all to be done over again. A man is never so happy 
 as when he 's very busy about carrying out his own plans." 
 
 "You made a fine pond there, didn't you?" said Mr. 
 Prigley, who always had a hankering after this pond, and 
 was resolved to improve his opportunity. 
 
 " Yes, I need a small sheet of water. It is of use to me 
 nearly the whole year round. I swim in it in summer, I 
 skate on it in winter, and in the spring and autumn I can 
 sail about on it in a little boat, though there is not much 
 room for tacking, and the pond is too much in a hollow to 
 have any regular wind." 
 
 " Ah ! when the aquatic passion exists in any strong form," 
 said Mr. Prigley, " it will have its exercise, even though on a
 
 Chap. III. At the Parsonage. 27 
 
 small scale. One of the great privauous ;o me m Shayton 
 is that I never get any swimming." 
 
 " My pond is very much at your service," said Mr. Isaac, 
 politely. "I am sorry that it is so fai off, but one cannot 
 send it down to Shayton in a cart, as one might send a 
 shower-bath." 
 
 Mrs. Ogden was much pleased to see her scheme realizing 
 itself so naturally, without any ingerence of her own, and 
 only regretted that it was not the height of summer, in order 
 that Mr. Prigley might set off for Twistle Farm the very next 
 morning. However enthusiastic he might be about swim- 
 ming, he could scarcely be expected to explore the too cool 
 recesses of the Twistle pond in the month of November, — 
 at least for purposes of enjoyment; and Mrs. Ogden was 
 not Papist enough to encourage the good man in any thing 
 approaching to a mortification of the flesh. 
 
 Little Jacob had been admitted to the ceremony of tea, and 
 had been a model of good behavior, being "seen and not 
 heard," which in Shayton comprised the whole code of eti- 
 quette for youth when in the presence of its seniors and 
 superiors. Luckily for our young friend, he sat between the 
 Doctor and the hostess, who took such good care of him that 
 by the time the feast was over he was aware, by certain feel- 
 ings of tightness and distension in a particular region, that 
 the necessities of nature were more than satisfied, although, 
 like Vitellius, he had still quite appetite enough for another 
 equally copious repast if only he had known where to put it. 
 If Sancho Panza had had an equally indulgent physician at 
 his side, one of the best scenes in Don Quixote could never 
 have been written, for Dr. Bardly never hindered his little 
 neighbor, but, on the other hand, actually encouraged him to 
 do his utmost, and mentally amused himself by enumerating 
 the pieces of tea-cake and buttered toast, and the helpings to 
 crab and potted meat, and the large spoonfuls of raspberry- 
 jam, which our hero silently absorbed. The Doctor, perhaps,
 
 28 Wendcrholme. Part i 
 
 acted faithfully by little Jacob, for if nature had not intended 
 boys of his age to acomplish prodigies in eating, she would 
 surely never have endowed them with such vast desires ; and 
 little Jacob suffered no worse results from his present excesses 
 than the uncomfortable tightness already alluded to, which, as 
 his vigorous digestion operated, soon gave place to sensations 
 of comparative elasticity and relief. 
 
 The parson's children had not been admitted to witness 
 and partake of the splendor of the festival, but had had their 
 own tea — or rather, if the truth must be told, their meal of 
 porridge and milk — in a nursery upstairs. They had been 
 accustomed to tea in the evening, but of late the oatmeal- 
 porridge which had always been their breakfast had been 
 repeated at tea-time also, as the Prigleys found themselves 
 compelled to measures of still stricter economy. People must 
 be fond of oatmeal-porridge to eat it with pleasure seven hun- 
 dred times a-year ; and whenever a change did come, the 
 children at the parsonage relished it with a keenness of 
 gastronomic enjoyment which the most refined epicure might 
 envy, and which he probably never experienced. There were 
 five little Prigleys, and it is a curious fact that the parson's 
 children were the only ones in the whole parish that did not 
 bear Biblical names. All the other households in Shayton 
 sought their names in the Old Testament, and had a special 
 predilection for the most ancient and patriarchal ones ; but 
 the parson's boys were called Henry and William and Rich- 
 ard, and his girls Edith and Constance — not one of which 
 names are to be found anywhere in Holy Scripture, either in 
 the Old Testament or the New.
 
 Chap. IV. Isaac Ogdeu becomes a Backslider. 29 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ISAAC OGDEN BECOMES A BACKSLIDER. 
 
 ABOUT a month later in the year, when December 
 reigned in all its dreariness over Shayton, and the wild 
 moors were sprinkled with a thin scattering of snow, little 
 Jacob began to be very miserable. 
 
 His grandmother had gone to stay a fortnight with some 
 old friends of hers beyond Manchester, and his father had 
 declared that for the next two Sunda5'^s he should remain at 
 Twistle, and not "go bothering his uncle at Milend." Mr. 
 Prigley had walked up to the farm, and kindly offered to 
 receive little Jacob at the parsonage during Mrs. Ogden's 
 absence ; but Mr. Isaac had declined the proposal rather 
 curtly, and, as Mr. Prigley thought, in a manner that did not 
 sufficiently acknowledge the kindness of his intention. In- 
 deed, the clergyman had not been quite satisfied with his 
 reception ; for although Mr. Isaac had shown him the pond, 
 and given him something to eat, there had been, Mr. Prigley 
 thought, symptoms of secret annoyance or suppressed irrita- 
 tion. Little Jacob's loneliness was rendered still more com- 
 plete by the continued absence of his friend the Doctor, who, 
 in consequence of a disease then very prevalent in the neigh- 
 borhood, found his whole time absorbed by pressing profes- 
 sional duties, so that the claims of friendship, and even the 
 anxious interest which he took in Mr. Isaac's moral and 
 physical condition, had for the time to be considered in abey- 
 ance. We have already observed that Mr. Jacob Ogden of 
 Milend never came to Twistle Farm at all, so that his absence
 
 30 Wenderholme. Part i. 
 
 was a matter of course ; and as he was not in the habit of 
 writing any letters except about business, there was an entire 
 cessation of intercourse with Milend. 
 
 It had been a part of Mr. Isaac's plan of reformation not 
 to keep spirits of any kind at the farm, but he had quite 
 enough ale and wine to get drunk upon in case his resolution 
 gave way. He had received such a lecture from the Doctor 
 after that evening at the parsonage as had thoroughly fright- 
 ened him. He had been told, with the most serious air that 
 a doctor knows how to assume, that his nervous system was 
 already shattered, that his stomach was fast becoming worth- 
 less, and that, if he continued his present habits, his life would 
 terminate in eighteen months. Communications of this kind 
 are never agreeable, but they are especially difficult to bear 
 with equanimity when the object of them has lost much of 
 the combative and recuperative powers which belong to a 
 mind in health ; and the Doctor's terrible sermon produced 
 in Mr. Isaac not a manly strength of purpose that subdues 
 and surmounts evil, and passes victoriously beyond it, but an 
 abject terror of its consequences, and especially a nervous 
 dread of the Red Lion. He would enter that place no more, 
 he was firmly resolved upon that. He would stay quietly at 
 Twistle Farm and occupy himself, — he would try to read, — 
 he had often regretted that business and pleasure had together 
 prevented him from cultivating his mind by reading, and now 
 that the opportunity was come, he would seize it and make 
 the most of it. He would qualify himself to direct little 
 Jacob's studies, at least so far as English literature went. As 
 for Latin, the little he ever knew had been forgotten many 
 years ago, but he might learn enough to judge of his boy's 
 progress, and perhaps help him a little. He knew no modern 
 language, and had not even that pretension to read French 
 which is so common in England, and which is more injurious 
 to the character of the nation than perfect ignorance, whilst it 
 is equally unprofitable to its intellect. If Mr. Isaac were an
 
 CHAP. IV. Isaac Ogden becomes a Backslider. 3 1 
 
 ignorant man, he had at least the great advantage of clearly 
 knowing that he was so, but it might not even yet be too late 
 to improve himself. Had he not perfect leisure ? could he 
 not study six hours a day, if he were so minded ? This would 
 be better than destroying himself in eighteen months in the 
 parlor at the Red Lion. 
 
 There were not many books at Twistle, but there were 
 books. Mr. Isaac differed from his brother Jacob, and from 
 the other men in Shayton, in having long felt a hankering 
 after various kinds of knowledge, though he had never pos- 
 sessed the leisure or the resolution to acquire it. There was 
 a bookseller's shop in St. Ann's Square, in Manchester, which 
 he used to pass when he was in the cotton business on his 
 way from the exchange to a certain oyster-shop where it was 
 his custom to refresh himself ; and he had been occasionally 
 tempted to make purchases, — amongst the rest, the works of 
 Charles Dickens and Sir Walter Scott, and the ' Encyclopaedia 
 Britannica.' He had also bought Macaulay's ' History of 
 England,' and subscribed to a library edition of the British 
 poets in forty volumes, and a biographical work containing 
 lives of eminent Englishmen, scarcely less voluminous. 
 These, with several minor purchases, constituted the whole 
 collection, — which, though not extensive, had hitherto much 
 more than sufficed for the moderate wants of its possessor. 
 He had read all the works of Dickens, having been enticed 
 thereto by the pleasant merriment in ' Pickwick ; ' but the 
 Waverley Novels had proved less attractive, and the forty 
 volumes of British poets reposed uncut upon the shelf which 
 they adorned. Even Macaulay's History, though certainly 
 not less readable than any novel, had not yet been honored 
 with a first perusal ; and, as Mr. Ogden kept his books in a 
 bookcase with glass doors, the copy was still technically a 
 new one. 
 
 He resolved now that all these books should be read, all 
 except perhaps the ' Encyclopedia Britannica ; ' for Mr. Ogden
 
 32 Wendei'holme. Part i 
 
 was not then aware of the fact, which a successful man has 
 recently communicated to his species, that a steady reading 
 of that work according to its alphabetical arrangement may 
 be a road to fortune, though it must be admitted to be an ar- 
 duous one. He would begin with Macaulay's History ; and 
 he did begin one evening in the parlor at Twistle Farm after 
 Sarah had removed the tea-things. He took down the first 
 volume, and began to cut the leaves ; then he read a page oi 
 two, but, in spite of the lucid and engaging style of the his- 
 torian, he felt a difficulty in fixing his attention, — the diffi- 
 culty common to all who are not accustomed to reading, and 
 which in Mr. Ogden's case was perhaps augmented by the 
 peculiar condition of his nervous system. So he read the 
 page over again, but could not compel his mind to follow 
 the ideas of the author: it would wz-ndex to matters of every- 
 day interest and habit, and then there came an unutterable 
 sense of blankness and dulness, and a craving — yes, an all 
 but irresistible craving — for the stimulus of drink. There 
 could be no harm in drinking a glass of wine, — everybody, 
 even ladies, might do that, — and he had always allowed him- 
 self wine at Twistle Farm. He would see whether there was 
 any in the decanters. What ! not a drop ? No port in the 
 port decanter, and in the sherry decanter nothing but a shal- 
 low stratum of liquid which would not fill a glass, and was 
 not worth drinking. He would go and fill both decanters 
 himself : there ought always to be wine ready in case any one 
 should come. Mr. Prigley might walk up any day, or the 
 Doctor might come, and he always liked a glass or two of 
 port. 
 
 There was a nice little cellar at Twistle Farm, for no inhab- 
 itant of Shayton ever neglects that when he builds himself 
 a new house ; and Mr. Ogden had wine in it to the value of 
 three hundred pounds. Some friends of his near Manches- 
 ter, who came to see him in the shooting season and help him 
 to kill his grouse, were connoisseurs in port, and he had been
 
 Chap. IV. Isaac Ogden becomes a Backslider. 33 
 
 careful to "lay down" a quantity of the finest he could get. 
 He was less delicate in the gratification of his own palate, 
 and contented himself with a compound of no particular 
 vintage, which had the advantage of being exceedingly strong, 
 and therefore allowed a sort of disguised dram-drinking. It 
 need therefore excite little surprise in the mind of the reader 
 to be informed that, when Mr. Isaac had drunk a few glasses 
 of this port of his, the ner\'ous system began to feel more 
 comfortable, and at the same time tempted him to a still 
 warmer appreciation of the qualities of the beverage. His 
 mind was clearer and brighter, and he read Macaulay with a 
 sort of interest, which, perhaps, is as much as most authors 
 may hope for or expect ; that is, his mind kept up a sort 
 of double action, following the words of the historian, and 
 even grasping the meaning of his sentences, and feeling their 
 literary power, whilst at the same time it ran upon many 
 subjects of personal concern which could not be altogether 
 excluded or suppressed. Mr. Ogden was not very delicate 
 in any of his tastes ; but it seemed to him, nevertheless, that 
 clay tobacco-pipes consorted better with gin-and-water than 
 with the juice of the grape ; and he took from a cupboard 
 in the corner a large box of full-flavored havannas, which, 
 like the expensive port in the cellar, he kept for the gratifica- 
 tion of his friends. 
 
 Now, although the first five or six glasses had indeed done 
 no more than give a beneficial stimulus to Mr. Ogden's brain, 
 it is not to be inferred, as Mr. Ogden himself appeared to 
 infer, that the continuation of the process would be equally 
 salutary. He went on, however, reading and sipping, at the 
 late of about a glass to a page, smoking at the same time 
 those full-flavored havannas, till after eleven at night. 
 Little Jacob and the servants had long since gone to bed ; 
 both decanters had been on the table all the evening, and 
 both had been in equal requisition, for Mr. Ogden had been 
 varying his pleasures by drinking port "and sherry alternately
 
 34 Wenderholmc. Part i 
 
 At 'as*. Jie eloquence of Macaulay became no longer intelli- 
 gible, for though his sentences had no doubt been constructed 
 originally in a perfectly workmanlike manner, they now 
 seemed quite out of order, and no longer capable of holding 
 together. Mr. Ogden put the book down and tried to read 
 the Manchester paper, but the makers of articles and the 
 penny-a-liners did not seem to have succeeded better than 
 Macaulay, for their sentences were equally disjointed. The 
 reader rose from his chair in some discouragement and looked 
 at his watch, and put his slippers on, and began to think 
 about going to bed, but the worst of it was he felt so thirsty 
 that he must have something to drink. The decanters were 
 empty, and wine would not quench thirst ; a glass of beer 
 might, perhaps — but how much better and more efficacious 
 would be a tall glass of brandy-and-soda-water ! Alas ! he 
 had no brandy, neither had he any soda-water, at least he 
 thought not, but he would go down into the cellar and see. 
 He took a candle very deliberately, and walked down the 
 cellar-steps with a steady tread, never staggering or swerving 
 in the least. " Am I drunk ? " he thought ; " no, it is impos- 
 sible that I should be drunk, I walk so well and so steadily. 
 I 'm not afraid of walking down these stone steps, and yet if 
 I were to fall I might hit my forehead against their sharp 
 edges, sharp edges — yes, they have very sharp edges ; they 
 are ver}' new steps, cut by masons ; and so are these walls 
 new — good ashlar stones; and that arched roof — that arch 
 is well made : there isn't a better cellar in Shayton." 
 
 There was no soda-water, but there were bottles whose 
 round, swollen knobs of corks were covered with silvery foil, 
 that glittered as Mr. Ogden's candle approached them. The 
 glitter caught his eye, and he pulled one of the bottles out. 
 It wasn't exactly soda-water, but it would fizz ; and just now 
 Mr. Ogden had a morbid, passionate longing for something 
 that would "fizz," as he expressed it in his muttered soliloquy. 
 So he marched upstairs with his prize, in that stately and
 
 Chav. IV. Isaac Ogden becomes a Backslider. 35 
 
 deliberate manner which marks his particular stage of intoxi- 
 cation. 
 
 " It 's good slekk ! " * said Mr. Ogden, as he swallowed a 
 tumblerful of the sparkling wine, " and it can do me no harm 
 — it's only a lady's wine." He held it up between his eye 
 and the candle, and thought that really it looked very nice 
 and pretty. How the little bubbles kept rising and spark- 
 ling! how very clear and transparent it was! Then he sat 
 down in his large arm-chair, and thought he might as well 
 have another cigar. He had smoked a good many already, 
 perhaps it would be better not ; and whilst his mind was re- 
 solving not to smoke another, his fingers were fumbling in 
 the box, and making a sort of pretence at selection. At 
 last, for some reason as mysterious as that which decides the 
 famous donkey between two equidistant haystacks, the lingers 
 came to a decision, and the cigar, after the point had been 
 duly amputated with a penknife, was inserted between the 
 teeth. After this the will made no further attempt at resist- 
 ance, and the hand poured out champagne into the tumbler, 
 and carried the tumbler to the lips, with unconscious and in- 
 stinctive regularity. 
 
 Mr. Isaac was now drunk, but it was not yet proved to him 
 that he was drunk. His expedition to the cellar had been 
 perfecdy successful ; he had walked in the most unexcep- 
 tionable manner, and even descended those dangerous stone 
 steps. He looked at his watch — it was half-past twelve ; 
 he read the hour upon the dial, though not just at first, and 
 he replaced the watch in his fob. He would go to bed — it 
 was time to go to bed ; and the force of habits acquired at the 
 Red Lion, where he usually went to bed drunk at midnight, 
 aided him in this resolution. But when he stood upon his legs 
 this project did not seem quite so easy of realization as it 
 
 * Slake; it is good slake — it slakes thirst well. The expression 
 yras actually used by a carter, to whom a gentleman gave champagne in 
 order to ask his opinion of the beverage.
 
 36 Wenderhohne. Pari i. 
 
 had done when viewed in theory from the arm-chair, " Go 
 to bed ! " said Mr. Isaac ; " but how are we to manage it ? " 
 
 There were two candles burning on the table. He blew 
 one of them out, and took the other in his hand. He took 
 up the volume of Macaulay, with an idea that it ought to be 
 put somewhere, but his mind did not successfully apply itself 
 to the solution of this difficulty, and he laid the book down 
 again with an air of slight disappointment, and a certain 
 sense of failure. He staggered towards the doorway, steadied 
 himself with an effort, and made a shot at it with triumphant 
 success, for he found himself now in the little entrance-hall. 
 The staircase was a narrow one, and closed by a door, and 
 the door of the cellar was next to it. Instead of taking the 
 door that led up to his bedroom, Mr. Ogden took that of the 
 cellar, descended a step or two, discovered his mistake, and, 
 in the attempt to turn round, fell backwards heavily down the 
 stone stair, and lay at last on the cold pavement, motionless, 
 and in total darkness. 
 
 He might have remained there all night, but there was a 
 sharp little Scotch terrier dog that belonged to little Jacob, 
 and was domiciled in a snug kennel in the kitchen. The 
 watchful animal had been perfectly aware that Mr. Ogden 
 was crossing the entrance on his way to his bedroom, but if 
 Feo made any reflections on the subject they were probably 
 confined to wonder that the master of the house should go 
 to bed so unusually late. When, however, the heavy thud of 
 Mr. Ogden's body on the staircase and the loud, sharp clatter 
 of the falling candlestick came simultaneously to her ears, 
 Feo quitted her lair at a bound, and, guided by her sure 
 scent, was down in the dark cellar in an instant. A less 
 intelligent dog than Feorach (for that was her Gaelic name 
 in the far Highlands where she was born) would have known 
 that something was wrong, and that the cold floor of the 
 cellar was not a suitable bed for a gentleman ; and no sooner 
 had Feorach ascertained the state of affairs than she rushed 
 fo the upper regions.
 
 Chap. IV. Isaac Ogden becomes a Backslider. 37 
 
 Feorach went to the door of little Jacob's chamber, and 
 there set up such a barking and scratching as awoke even 
 him from the sound sleep of childhood. Old Sarah came 
 into the passage with a lighted candle, where Jim joined her, 
 rubbing his eyes, still heavy with interrupted sleep. " There 's 
 summat wrong," said old Sarah ; " I 'm feared there 's sum- 
 mat wrong." 
 
 " Stop you here," said Jim, " I '11 wake master : he 's gotten 
 loaded pistols in his room. If it 's thieves, it willn't do to 
 feis:ht 'em wi' talk and a tallow candle." 
 
 Jim knocked at his master's door, and, having waited in 
 vain a second or two for an answer, determined to open it. 
 There was no one in the room, and the bed had not been 
 slept upon. 
 
 " Hod thy din, dog," said Jim to Feorach ; and then, with 
 a grave, pale face, said, " It isn't thieves ; it 's summat 'at 's 
 happened to our master." 
 
 Now Lancashire people of the class to which Jim and 
 Sarah belonged never, or hardly ever, use the verb to die, 
 but in the place of it employ the periphrase of something 
 happening ; and, as he chanced to use this expression now, 
 the idea conveyed to Sarah's mind was the idea of death, 
 and she believed that Jim had seen a corpse in the room. 
 He perceived this, and drew her away, whispering, " He isn't 
 there : you stop wi' little Jacob." So the man took the 
 candle, and left Sarah in the dark with the child, both 
 trembling and wondering. 
 
 Feorach led Jim down into the cellar, and he saw the dark 
 inert mass at the bottom of the steps. A chill shudder 
 seized him as he recognized the white, inanimate face. One 
 of Mr. Ogden's hands lay upon the floor; Jim ventured to 
 touch it, and found it deadly cold. A little blood oozed from 
 the back of the head, and had matted the abundant brown 
 hair. Perhaps the hand may have been cold simply from 
 contact with the stone flag, but Jim did not reflect about this, 
 
 437805
 
 38 Wcnderliolme. Part i. 
 
 and concluded that Mr. Ogden was dead. He went hastily 
 back to old Sarah. " Master Jacob," he said, " you must go 
 to bed." 
 
 " No, I won't go to bed, Jim ! " 
 
 " My lad," said old Sarah, "just come into your room, and 
 I '11 light you a candle." So she lighted a candle, and then 
 left the child, and Jim quietly locked the door upon him. 
 The lock was well oiled, and Jacob did not know that he 
 was a prisoner. 
 
 " Now what is 't? " said old Sarah, in a whisper. 
 
 " Master 's deead : he 's fallen down th' cellar-steps and 
 killed hisself." 
 
 Old Sarah had been fully prepared for some terrible com- 
 munication of this kind, and did not utter a syllable. She 
 simply followed the man, and between them they lifted Mr. 
 Ogden, and carried him, not without difficulty, up the cellar- 
 steps. Sarah carried the head, and Jim the legs and feet, 
 and old Sarah's bed-gown was stained with a broad patch ol 
 blood. 
 
 It is one of the most serious inconveniences attending a 
 residence in the country that on occasions of emergency it 
 is not possible to procure prompt medical help ; and Twistle 
 Farm was one of those places where this inconvenience is 
 felt to the uttermost. When they had got Mr. Ogden on the 
 bed, Jim said, "I mun go an' fetch Dr. Bardly, though I 
 reckon it 's o' no use ; " and he left Sarah alone with the 
 body. 
 
 The poor woman anticipated nothing but a dreary watch 
 of several hours by the side of a corpse, and went and 
 dressed herself, and lighted a fire in Mr. Ogden's 100m. 
 Old Sarah was not by any means a woman of a pusillani- 
 mous disposition ; but it may be doubted whether, if she had 
 had any choice in the matter, a solitary watch of this kind 
 would have been exactly to her taste. However, when the 
 fire was burning briskly, she drew a rocking-chair up to it,
 
 Chap. IV. Isaac Ogdeu becojnes a Backslider. 39 
 
 and, in order to keep up her courage through the remauider 
 of the night, fetched a certain physic-bottle from the kitchen, 
 and her heavy lead tobacco-pot, for like many old women 
 about Shayton she enjoyed the solace of a pipe. She did 
 not attempt to lay out the body, being under the impression 
 that the coroner might be angry with her for having done so 
 when the inquest came to be held. 
 
 The physic-bottle was full of rum, and Sarah made herself 
 a glass of grog, and lighted her pipe, and looked into the 
 fire. She had drawn the curtains all round Mr. Ogden's 
 bed ; ample curtains of pale-brown damask, with an elabo- 
 rate looped valance, from whose deep festoons hung multi- 
 tudes of little pendants of turned wood covered with flossy 
 silk. The movement communicated to these pendants by 
 the act of drawing the curtains lasted a very long time, and 
 Sarah was startled more than once when on looking round 
 from her arm-chair she saw them swinging and knocking 
 against each other still. As soon as the first shock of alarm 
 was past, the softer emotions claimed their turn, and the old 
 woman began to cry, repeating to herself incessantly, " And 
 quite yoong too, quite yoong, quite a yoong man 1 " 
 
 Suddenly she was aware of a movement in the room. 
 Was it the little dog ? No ; Feorach had elected to stay 
 with his young master, and both little Jacob and his dog 
 were fast asleep in another room. She ventured to look at 
 the great awful curtained bed. The multitudinous pendants 
 had not ceased to swing and vibrate, and yet it was now a 
 long time since Sarah had touched the curtains. She wished 
 they would give up and be still ; but whilst she was looking 
 at them and thinking this, a little sharp shock ran round the 
 whole valance, and the pendants rattled against each other 
 with the low dull sound which was all that their muffling of 
 silk permitted; a low sound, but an audible one, — audible 
 especially to ears in high excitement ; a stronger shock, a 
 visible agitation, not only of the tremulous pendants, but
 
 40 
 
 Wenderholme. Part i 
 
 even of the heavy curtain-folds themselves. Then they open, 
 and Mr. Ogden's pale face appears. 
 
 " Well, Sarah, I hope you 've made yourself comfortable, 
 you damned old rum-drinking thief ! D'ye think I can't 
 smell rum t Give me that bottle." 
 
 Sarah was much too agitated to say or do any thing what- 
 ever. She had risen from her chair, and stood looking at 
 the bed in speechless amazement. Mr. Ogden got up, and 
 walked towards the fire with an unsteady pace. Then he 
 possessed himself of the rum-botde, and, putting it to his lips, 
 began to swallow the contents. This brought Sarah to herself. 
 
 "Nay, nay, master: you said as you wouldn't drink no 
 sperrits at Twistle Farm upo' no 'count." 
 
 But the rum had been tasted, and the resolution broken. 
 It had been broken before as to the intention and meaning 
 of it, and was now broken even as to the letter. Isaac 
 Ogden had got drunk at Twistle Farm ; and now he was 
 drinking spirits there, not even diluting them with water. 
 
 After emptying old Sarah's bottle, which fortunately did 
 not contain enough to endanger, for the present, his existence, 
 Mr. Ogden staggered back to his bed, and fell into a drunken 
 sleep, which lasted until Dr. Bardly's arrival. The Doctor 
 found the wound at the back of the head exceedingly slight ; 
 there was abrasure of the skin and a swelling, but nothing 
 more. The blood had ceased to flow soon after the accident ; 
 and there would be no worse results from it than the tempo- 
 rary insensibility, from which the patient had already recovered. 
 The most serious results of what had passed were likely, for 
 the present, to be rather moral than physical. Dr. Bardly 
 greatly dreaded the moral depression which must result from 
 the breaking down of the only resolution which stood between 
 his friend and an utter abandonment to his propensity. 
 Twistle Farm would no longer be a refuge for him against 
 the demon, for the demon had been admitted, had crossed 
 the threshold, had taken possession.
 
 «jHAi'. IV. Isaac Ogden becomes a Backslider. 41 
 
 Mr. Ogden was not in a condition to be advised, for he 
 was not yet sober, and, if he had been, the Doctor felt that 
 advice was not likely to be of any use : he had given enough 
 of it already. The parson might try, if he liked, but it seemed 
 to the Doctor that the case had now become one of those 
 incurable cases which yield neither to the desire of self- 
 preservation nor to the fear of hell ; and that if the warnings 
 of science were disregarded by a man intelligent enough to ap- 
 preciate the certainty of the data on which they were founded, 
 those of religion were not likely to have better success.
 
 42 WenderJiolme. tart i. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 FATHER AND SON. 
 
 MR. OGDEN came downstairs in the middle of the day, 
 and ordered breakfast and dinner in one meal. He 
 asked especially for Sarah's small-beer, and drank two or three 
 large glasses of it. He did not eat much, and used an unusual 
 quantity of pepper. He was extremely taciturn, contrarily to 
 his ordinary habit, for he commonly talked very freely with 
 old Sarah whilst she served him. When his repast was fin- 
 ished, he expressed a wish to see little Jacob. 
 
 '•' Good morning, papa ! I hope you are better. Sarah 
 says you were poorly last night when Feorach barked so." 
 
 " Oh, she says I was poorly, does she ? Then she lies : I 
 wasn't poorly, — I was drunk. I want you to read to me." 
 
 " Must I read in that book Mr. Prigley gave me when he 
 came ? " 
 
 " Read what you please." 
 
 So little Jacob opened for the first time a certain volume 
 
 which will be recognized by every reader when he begins : — 
 
 " ' The way was long, the wind was cold, 
 The minstrel was infirm and old.' " 
 
 " That would be difficult," said Mr. Ogden. 
 
 "What, papa?" 
 
 " I say, it would be difficult." 
 
 Little Jacob felt rather frightened. He did not understand 
 in what the supposed difficulty consisted, and yet felt that he 
 was expected to understand it. He did not dare to ask a 
 second time for enlightenment on the point, so he stood quite
 
 Chap. V. Father and Son. 
 
 43 
 
 still and said nothing. His father waited a minute in perfect 
 silence, and then burst out, — 
 
 " Why, you little confounded blockhead, I mean that it 
 would be difficult for a man to be infirm and bold at the same 
 time ! Infirm people are timid, commonly." 
 
 "Please, papa, it doesn't say infirm and bold — it says 
 infirm and old — see, papa;" and little Jacob pointed with 
 his finger to the place. 
 
 "Then you read damned badly, for you read it 'bold,' and 
 it 's ' old.' I expect you to read better than that — you read 
 badly, damned badly." 
 
 " Please, papa, I read it * old ' the first time, and not 
 ' bold.' " 
 
 " Then you mean to say I cannot trust my own ears, you 
 little impertinent monkey. I say you read it ' bold,' and I 
 heard you." 
 
 An elder person would have perceived that Mr. Ogden was 
 ill, and humored him ; and a child of a more yielding dispo- 
 sition would have submitted to the injustice, and acquiesced. 
 But little Jacob had an instinctive hatred of injustice, and his 
 whole nature rose in revolt. He had also made up his mind 
 never to tell lies — less perhaps from principle than from a 
 feeling that it was cowardly. The present was an occasion 
 which roused these feelings in all their energy. He was re- 
 quired to utter a falsehood, and submit to an injustice. 
 
 " No, papa, I said ' old.' I didn't say ' bold ' at all. It 
 was you that heard wrong." 
 
 Mr. Ogden became white with anger. " Oh, / was mis- 
 taken, was I ? Do you mean to say that I am deaf ? " 
 
 " No, papa." 
 
 " Well, then, if I 'm not deaf I have been lying. I am a 
 liar, am I ? " 
 
 The state of extreme nervous depression, in combination 
 with irritability, under which Mr. Ogden's system was labor- 
 ing that day, made him a dangerous man to contradict, and
 
 44 Weitderholme. Part i 
 
 not by any means a pleasant antagonist in argument. But he 
 was not altogether lost ; he still kept some control over him- 
 self, in proof of which may be mentioned the fact that he 
 simply dismissed little Jacob without even a box on the ear. 
 " He deserves a good thrashing," said Mr. Ogden ; " but if 
 I were to begin with him I should nearly kill him, the little 
 impudent scoundrel ! " 
 
 The afternoon was exceedingly dull and disagreeable to 
 Mr. Ogden. He walked out into his fields and round the 
 pond. He had made a small footpath for his walks, which, 
 after leaving the front-door first, went all round the pond, 
 and then up to the rocks that overlooked the little valley, and 
 from which he enjoyed a very extensive view. There were 
 several springs in the little hollow, but before Mr. Ogden's 
 settlement they had contented themselves with creating those 
 patches of that emerald grass, set in dark heather, which are 
 so preciously beautiful in the scenery of the moors. At each 
 of these springs Mr. Ogden had made a circular stone-basin, 
 with a water-duct to his pond, and it was his fancy to visit 
 these basins rather frequently to see that they were kept clean 
 and in order. He did so this afternoon, from habit, and by 
 the time he had finished his round it was nearly dark. 
 
 He was intensely miserable. Twistle Farm had been sweet 
 and dear to him because he had jealously guarded the purity 
 of the associations that belonged to it. Neither in the house 
 nor in the little undulating fields that he had made was there 
 a single object to remind him of his weakness and his sin, 
 and therefore the place had been a refuge and a sanctuary. 
 It could never again be for him what it had been ; this last 
 lamentable failure had broken down the moral defences of 
 his home, and invaded it and contaminated it for ever. What- 
 ever the future might bring, the event of the past night was 
 irrevocable; he had besotted himself with drink; he had 
 brought the miie of the outer world into his pure dwelling, 
 and defiled it. Isaac Ogden fell this tlie more painfully that
 
 CuAP. V. Father ajzd So?^. 45 
 
 he had little of the support of religion, and few of the con- 
 solations and encouragements of philosophy. A religious 
 mind would have acknowledged its weakness and repented 
 of its sin, yet in the depths of its humiliation hoped still for 
 strength from above, and looked and prayed for ultimate 
 deliverance and peace. A philosophic mind would have re- 
 flected that moral effort is not to be abandoned for a single 
 relapse, or even for many relapses, and would have addressed 
 itself only the more earnestly to the task of self-reformation 
 that the need for effort had made itself so strikingly appare.it. 
 But Mr. Ogden had neither the faith which throws itself on 
 the support of Heaven, nor the faculty of judging of his own 
 actions with the impartiality of the independent intellect. 
 He was simply a man of the world, so far as such a place as 
 Shayton could develop a man of the world, and had neither 
 religious faith nor intellectual culture. Therefore his misery 
 was the greater for the density of the darkness in which he 
 had stumbled and fallen. What he needed was light of some 
 sort ; either the beautiful old lamp of faith, with its wealth of 
 elaborate imagery, or the plainer but still bright and service- 
 able gas-light of modern thouglit and science. Mr. Prigley 
 possessed the one, and the Doctor gave his best labor to 
 the maintenance of the other ; but Mr. Ogden was unfortu- 
 nate in not being able to profit by the help which either of 
 these friends would have so willingly afforded. 
 
 No one except Dr. Bardly had suspected the deplorable 
 fact that Mr. Ogden was no longer in a state of mental sanity. 
 The little incident just narrated, in which he had mistaken 
 one word for another, and insisted, with irritation, that the 
 error did not lie with him, had been a common one during 
 the last few weeks, whenever little Jacob read to him. If 
 our little friend had communicated his sorrows to the Doctor, 
 this fact would have been a very valuable one as evidence of 
 his father's condition ; but he never mentioned it to any one 
 except his grandmother and old Sarah, who both inferred that
 
 46 JVeftderkolme. Pakt i, 
 
 the child had read inaccurately, and saw no reason to suspect 
 the justice of Mr. Ogden's criticism. The truth was, that by 
 a confusion very common in certain forms of brain-disease, a 
 sound often suggested to Mr. Ogden some other sound re- 
 sembling it, or of which it formed a part, and the mere sug- 
 gestion became to him quite as much a fact as if he had 
 heard it with his bodily ears. Thus, as we have seen, the 
 word " old " had suggested " bold ; " and when, as in that 
 instance, the imagined word did not fit in very naturally with 
 the sense of the passage, Mr. Ogden attributed the fault to 
 little Jacob's supposed inaccuracy in reading. Indeed he 
 had now a settled conviction that his son was unpardonably 
 careless, and no sooner did the child open his book to read, 
 than his father became morbidly expectant of some absurd 
 mistake, which, of course, never failed to arrive, and to give 
 occasion for the bitterest reproaches. 
 
 On his return to the house Mr. Ogden desired his son's 
 attendance, and requested him to resume his reading. Little 
 Jacob took up his book again, and this time, as it happened, 
 Mr. Ogden heard the second line correctly, and expressed his 
 satisfaction. But in the very next couplet — 
 
 " His withered cheek and tresses gray 
 Seemed to have known a better day " — 
 
 Mr. Ogden found means to imagine another error. " It 
 seems to me curious," said he, " that Scott should have de- 
 scribed the minstrel as having a ' withered cheek and tresses 
 gay ; ' there could be little gayety about him, I should imagine." 
 
 " Please, papa, it isn't gay, but gray." 
 
 " Then why the devil do you read so incorrectly ? I have 
 always to be scolding you for making these absurd mistakes I " 
 
 If little Jacob had had an older head on his shoulders he 
 would have acquiesced, and tried to get done with the read- 
 ing as soion as possible, so as to make his escape. But it was 
 repugnant to him to admit that he had made a blunder of 
 which he was innocent, and he answered, —
 
 Chap. V. Father and Son. 
 
 47 
 
 " But, papa, I read it right — I said gray; I didn't say^<^;'." 
 
 Mr. Ogden made a violent effort to control himself, and 
 said, with the sort of calm that comes of the intensest emo- 
 tion, — 
 
 " Then you mean to say I am deaf." 
 
 Little Jacob had really been thinking that his father might 
 be deaf, and admitted as much. 
 
 " Fetch me my riding-whip." 
 
 Litde Jacob brought the whip, expecting an immediate ap- 
 plication of it, but Mr. Ogden, still keeping a strong control 
 over himself, merely took the whip in his hands, and began 
 to play with it, and look at its silver top, which he rubbed a 
 little with his pocket-handkerchief. Then he took a candle 
 in his right hand, and brought the flame quite close to the 
 silver ornament, examining it with singular minuteness, so as 
 .apparently to have entirely ceased to pay attention to his 
 son's reading, or even to hear the sound of his voice. 
 
 " Is this my whip ? " 
 
 " Yes, papa." 
 
 " Well, then, I am either blind or I have lost my memory. 
 My whip was precisely like this, except for one thing — my 
 initials were engraved upon it, and I can see no initials here." 
 
 Little Jacob began to feel very nervous. A month before 
 the present crisis he had taken his father's whip to ride with, 
 and lost it on the moor, after dark, where he and Jim had 
 sought for it long and vainly. Litde Jacob had since con- 
 sulted a certain saddler in Shayton, a friend of his, as to the 
 possibility of procuring a whip of the same pattern as the 
 lost one, and it had fortunately happened that this saddler 
 had received two precisely alike, of which Mr. Isaac Ogden 
 had bought one, whilst the other remained unsold. There 
 was thus no difficulty in replacing the whip so as to deceive 
 Mr. Ogden into the belief that it had never been lost, or 
 rather so as to prevent any thought or suspicion from pre- 
 senting itself to his mind. When the master of a house has
 
 48 VVenderJiolme. Pari- r. 
 
 given proofs of a tyrannical disposition, or of an uncontrol- 
 lable and unreasonable temper, a system of concealment 
 naturally becomes habitual in his household, and the most 
 innocent actions are hidden from him as if they were crimes. 
 Some trifling incident reveals to him how sedulously he is 
 kept in ignorance of the little occurrences which make up the 
 existence of his dependants, and then he is vexed to find him- 
 self isolated and cut off from their confidence and sympathy. 
 
 Mr. Ogden continued. "This is not my whip ; it is a whip 
 of the same pattern, that some people have been buying to 
 take me in. Fetch me my own whip — the one with my 
 initials." 
 
 Little Jacob thought the opportunity for escaping from the 
 room too good to be thrown away, and vanished. Mr. Ogden 
 waited quietly at first, but, after ten minutes had escaped, 
 became impatient, and rang the bell violently. Old Sarah 
 presented herself. 
 
 " Send my son here." 
 
 On his reappearance, little Jacob was in that miserable 
 state of apprehension in which the most truthful child will lie 
 if it is in the least bullied or tormented, and in which indeed 
 it is not possible to extract pure truth from its lips without great 
 delicacy and tenderness. 
 
 " Have you brought my whip ? " 
 
 " Please, papa," said little Jacob, who began to get very red 
 in the face, as he always did when he told a downright fib — 
 "please, papa, that's your whip." There was a mental reser- 
 vation here, slightly Jesuitical ; for the boy had reflected, 
 during his brief absence, that since he had given that whip to 
 Mr. Ogden, it now, of course, might strictly be said to belong 
 to him. 
 
 "What has become of my whip with I. O. upon it.? " 
 
 " It 's that whip, papa; only you — you told Jim to clean 
 the silver top, and — and perhaps he rubbed the letters off." 
 
 "You damned little lying sneaking scoundrel, this whip is
 
 Chap, V. Father mid Son. 
 
 49 
 
 perfectly new; but it will not be new long, for I will lay it 
 about you till it isn't worth twopence." 
 
 The sharp switching strokes fell fast on poor little Jacob. 
 Some of them caught him on the hands, and a tremendous 
 one came with stinging effect across his lips and cheek ; but 
 it was not the first time he had endured an infliction of this 
 sort, and he had learned the art of presenting his body so as 
 to shield the more sensitive or least protected places. On 
 former occasions Mr. Ogden's anger had always cooled after 
 a score or two of lashes, but this time it rose and rose with 
 an ever-increasing violence. Little Jacob began to find his 
 powers of endurance exhausted, and, with the nimble ingenu- 
 ity of his years, made use of different articles of furniture as 
 temporary barriers against his enemy. For some time he 
 managed to keep the table between Mr. Ogden and himself, 
 but his father's arm was long, and reached far, and the child 
 received some smarting cuts about the face and neck, so then 
 he tried the chairs. Mr. Ogden, who was by this time a furi- 
 ous madman, shivered his whip to pieces against the furniture, 
 and then, throwing it with a curse into the fire, looked about 
 him for some other means of chastisement. Now there hung 
 a mighty old hunting-whip in a sort of trophy with other 
 memorials of the chase, and he took this down in triumph. 
 The long knotted lash swung heavily as he poised it, and 
 there was a steel hammer at the end of the stick, considered 
 as of possible utility in replacing lost nails in the shoes of 
 hunters. 
 
 A great terror seized little Jacob, a terror of that utterly 
 hopeless and boundless and unreasoning kind that will some- 
 times take possession of the nervous system of a child — a 
 terror such as the mature man does not feel even before 
 imminent and violent death, and which he can only conceive 
 or imagine by a reference to the dim reminiscences of his 
 infancy. The strong man standing there menacing, armed 
 with a whip like a flail, his eyes glaring with the new and 
 
 4
 
 50 Wender holme. part i. 
 
 baleful light of madness, became transfigured in the child's 
 imagination to something supernatural. How tall he seemed, 
 how mighty, how utterly irresistible ! When a Persian trav- 
 els alone in some wide stony desert, and sees a column of dust 
 rise like smoke out of the plain and advance rapidly towards 
 him, and believes that out of the column one of the malignant 
 genii will lift his colossal height, and roll his voice of thunder, 
 and wield his sword of flame, all that that Persian dreads in 
 the utmost wildness of his credulous Oriental imagination this 
 child felt as a present and visible fact. The Power before 
 him, in the full might and height of manhood, in the fury of 
 madness, lashing out the great thong to right and left till 
 it cracked like pistol-shots — with glaring eyes, and foaming 
 lips out of which poured curses and blasphemies — was this 
 a paternal image, was it civilized, was it human ? The aspect 
 of it paralyzed the child, till a sharp intolerable pain came 
 with its fierce stimulus, and he leaped out from behind 
 his barricade and rushed towards the door. 
 
 The lad had thick fair hair in a thousand natural curls. 
 He felt a merciless grip in it, and his forehead was drawn vio- 
 lently backwards. Well for him that he struggled and writhed ! 
 for the steel hammer was aimed at him now, and the blows 
 from it crashed on the furniture as the aim was continually 
 missed. 
 
 The man-servant was out in the farm-buildings, and old 
 Sarah had been washing in an out-house. She came in first, 
 and heard a bitter cry. Many a time her heart had bled for 
 the child, and now she could endure it no longer. She 
 burst into the room, she seized Ogden's wrist and drove her 
 nails into it till the pain made him let the child go. She had 
 left both doors open. In an instant litde Jacob was out of 
 the house. 
 
 Old Sarah was a strong woman, but her strength was 
 feebleness to Ogden's. He disengaged himself quite easily, 
 and at every place where his fingers touched her there was a
 
 Chap. V. Father and Son. 5 1 
 
 mark on her body for days. The child heard curses follow- 
 ing him as he flew over the smooth grass. The farm was 
 bounded by a six-foot wall. The curses came nearer and 
 nearer ; the wall loomed black and high. " I have him now," 
 cried Ogden, as he saw the lad struggling to get over the wall. 
 Little Jacob felt himself seized by the foot. An infinite 
 terror stimulated him, and he wrenched it violently. A sting 
 of anguish crossed his shoulders where the heavy whip-lash 
 fell, — a shoe remained in Ogden's hand.
 
 Wejiderholme. part i. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 LITTLE JACOB IS LOST. 
 
 /'~\GDEN flung the shoe down with an imprecation, and the 
 ^-^ whip after it. He then climbed the wall and tried to 
 run, but the ground here was rough moorland, and he ftll 
 repeatedly. He saw no trace of little Jacob. He made his 
 way back to the house, sullen and savage, and besmeared 
 with earth and mud. 
 
 "Give me a lantern, damn you," he said to old Sarah, 
 " and look sharp ! " ^ 
 
 Old Sarah took down a common candle-lantern, and pur- 
 posely selected one with a hole in it. She also chose the 
 shortest of her candle-ends. Ogden did not notice these 
 particulars in his impatience, and went out again. Just then 
 Jim came in. 
 
 "Well," said old Sarah, "what d'ye think master's done? 
 He 's licked little Jacob while * he 's wenly f kilt him, but t' 
 little un 's reight enough now. He '11 never catch him." 
 
 " What ! has little Jacob run away .'' " 
 
 " Ay, that he has ; and he can run, can little Jacob ; and he 
 knows all th' places about. I 've no fears on him. Master's 
 gone after him wi' a lantern wi' a hoile in it, and auve a hinch 
 o' cannle. It 's like catchin' a bird wi' a pinch o' salt." 
 
 " Little un 's safe enough, I 'se warrant him." 
 
 "We mun just stop quite t till th' ould un 's i' bedd, and 
 then we '11 go and seech § little Jacob." 
 
 In a quarter of an hour Ogden came back again. His 
 
 * Till. t Almost. X Quiet. § Seek.
 
 Chap. VI. Little Jacob is Lost. 53 
 
 light had gone out, and he threw the lantern down on the 
 kitchen-floor without a word, and shut himself up in his 
 sitting-room. 
 
 The furniture was in great disorder. The chairs were all 
 overturned, the mahogany table bore deep indentations from 
 the blows of the hammer. Some pieces of old china that had 
 ornamented the chimney-piece lay scattered on the hearth. 
 He lifted up a chair and sat upon it. The disorder was rather 
 pleasing to him than otherwise ; he felt a bitter satisfaction in 
 the harmony between it and the state of his own mind. A 
 large fragment of broken china lay close to his foot. It be- 
 longed to a basin, which, having been broken only into three 
 or four pieces, was still repairable. Ogden put it under his 
 heel and crushed it to powder, feeling a sort of grim satisfac- 
 tion in making repair out of the question. 
 
 He sat in perfect inaction for about a quarter of an hour, 
 and then rang the bell. " Bring me hot water, and, stop — 
 put these things in their places, will you ? " 
 
 Old Sarah restored some order in the room, removed the 
 broken china, and brought the hot water. 
 
 " Now, bring me a bottle of rum." 
 
 " Please, Mestur Ogden, you 've got no rum in the house." 
 
 " No, but you have." 
 
 " Please, sir, I 've got very little. I think it 's nearly all 
 done." 
 
 "D'ye think I want to rob you? I'll pay ye for't, damn 
 you ! " 
 
 " Mestur Ogden, you don't use drinkin' sperrits at Twisde 
 Farm." 
 
 Ogden gave a violent blow on the table with his fist, and 
 shouted, " Bring me a bottle of rum, a bottle of rum ! D 'ye 
 think you 're to have all the rum in the world to yourself, you 
 drunken old witch?" 
 
 There was that in his look which cowed Sarah, and she 
 reflected that he might be less dangerous if he were drunk. 
 So she brought the rum.
 
 54 Wender holme. Part i. 
 
 Ogden was pouring himself a great dose into a tumbler, 
 when a sudden hesitation possessed him, and he flung the 
 bottle from him into the fireplace. There was a shivering 
 crash, and then a vast sheet of intolerable flame. The intense 
 heat drove Ogden from the hearth. He seized the candle, 
 and went upstairs into his bedroom. 
 
 Sarah and Jim waited to see whether he would come down 
 again, but he remained in his room, and they heard the boards 
 creak as he walked from wall to wall. This continued an 
 hour. At last old Sarah said, — 
 
 "I cannot bide no longer. Let's go and seech th' childt ;" 
 and she lighted two lanterns, which, doubtless, were in better 
 condition, and better provided with candles, than the one she 
 had lent to Mr, Ogden. 
 
 They went into the stable and cowhouse (or mistle as it was 
 called in that country), and called in the softest and most win- 
 ning tones their voices knew how to assume. "Little Jacob, 
 little Jacob, come, my lad, come; it's nobbut old Sarah an' 
 Jim. Mestur 's i' bedd." 
 
 They went amongst the hay with their lanterns, in spite of 
 the risk of setting it on fire, but he v/as not there. He was 
 not to be found in any of the out-buildings. Suddenly an idea 
 struck Jim. 
 
 " If we 'd nobbut his bit of a dog, who 'd find him, sure 
 enough." 
 
 But Feorach had disappeared. Feorach was with her young 
 master. 
 
 They began to be rather alarmed, for it was very cold, and 
 intensely dark. The lad was certainly not on the premises. 
 They set off along the path that led to the rocks. They ex- 
 amined every nook and cranny of the huge masses of sand- 
 stone, and their lanterns produced the most unaccustomed 
 effects, bringing out the rough projections of the rock against 
 the unfathomable black sky, and casting enormous shadows 
 from one rock to another. Wherever their feet could tread
 
 Chap. VI. Little Jacob is Lost. 55 
 
 they went, missing nothing ; but the lad was not amongst the 
 rocks. It began to be clear to them that he could not even 
 be in a place of such shelter as that. He must be out on the 
 open moor. 
 
 "We mun go and tell Mestur," said Jim. " If he's feared 
 about th' childt, he willn't be mad at him." 
 
 So they returned straight to the house, and went to Mr. 
 Ogden's room. He had gone to bed, but was not asleep. If 
 he thought about little Jacob at all, his reflections were prob- 
 ably not of an alarming kind. The child would come back, of 
 course. 
 
 " Please, sir," said Jim, " Master Jacob isn 't come back, 
 and we can't find him." 
 
 " He 11 come back," said Ogden. 
 
 " Please, sir, I 'm rather feared about him," said Jim ; " it 's 
 nearly two hours sin' he left the house, and it 's uncommon 
 cold. We 've been seekin' him all up and down, old Sarah 
 and me, and he 's nowhere about th' premises, and he isn't 
 about th' rocks neither." 
 
 Mr. Ogden began to feel rather alarmed. The paroxysm 
 of his irritation was over by this time, and he had become 
 rational again ; indeed his mind was clearer, and, in a certain 
 sense, calmer, than it had been for two or three days. For 
 the last half-hour he had been suffering only from great pros- 
 tration, and a feeling of dulness and vacancy, which this new 
 anxiety effectually removed. Notwithstanding the violence of 
 his recent treatment of his son — a violence which had fre- 
 quently broken out during several months, and which had 
 culminated in the scene described in the last chapter, when it 
 had reached the pitch of temporary insanity — he really had 
 the deepest possible affection for his child, and this paternal 
 feeling was more powerful than he himself had ever con- 
 sciously known or acknowledged. When once the idea was 
 realized that little Jacob might be suffering physically from 
 the cold, and mentally from a dread of his father, which the
 
 56 Wender holme. Part i. 
 
 events of the night only too fully justified, Mr. Ogden began 
 to feel the tenderest care and anxiety. " I '11 be down with 
 you in a moment," he said. " See that the lanterns are in 
 good order. Have the dogs ready to go with us — they may 
 be of some use." 
 
 He came downstairs with a serious but quite reasonable 
 expression on his face. He spoke quite gently to old Sarah, 
 and said, with a half-smile, " You needn't give me a lantern 
 with a hole in it this time ;" and then he added, " I wasted all 
 that rum you gave me." 
 
 " It 'ud 'ave been worst wasted if you 'd swallowed it, Mestur." 
 
 '* It would — it would ; but we may need a little for the lad 
 if we find him — very cold, you know. Give a little to Ji'n. 
 if you have any ; and take a railway rug, or a blanket from 
 my bed, to wrap him in if he should need it." 
 
 The dogs were in the kitchen now — a large mastiff and a 
 couple of pointers. Mr. Ogden took down a little cloak that 
 belonged to Jacob, and made the dogs smell at it. Then he 
 seemed to be looking about for something else. 
 
 " Are ye seekin' something, Mr. Ogden ? " 
 
 " I want something to make a noise with, Sarah." She 
 fetched the little silver horn that had been the Doctor's last 
 present to his young friend. " That 's it," said Mr. Ogden ; 
 " he '11 know the sound of that when he hears it." 
 
 The little party set out towards the moor. Mr. Ogden led 
 it to the place where Jacob had crossed the wall ; and as Jim 
 was looking about with his lantern he called out, " Why, 
 master, here 's one of his shoes, and — summat else." 
 
 The " summat else " was the great whip. 
 
 Mr. Ogden took the shoe up, and the whip. They were 
 within a few yards of the pond, and he went down to the 
 edge of it. A slight splash was heard, and he came back 
 without the whip. The weight of the steel hammer had sunk 
 it, and hidden it from his eyes for ever. He carried the little 
 shoe in his right hand.
 
 Chap. VI. Little Jacob is Lost. 57 
 
 When they had crossed the wall, Mr. Ogden bent down 
 and put the shoe on the ground, and called the dogs. The 
 pointers understood him at once, and went rapidly on the 
 scent, whilst the little party followed them as fast as they 
 could. 
 
 It led out upon the open moor. When they were nearly a 
 mile from the house, Mr. Ogden told Sarah to go back and 
 make a fire in little Jacob's room, and warm his bed. The 
 two men then went forward in silence. 
 
 It was bitterly cold, and the wind began to rise, whistling 
 over the wild moor. It was now eleven o'clock ; Mr. Ogden 
 looked at his watch. Suddenly the dogs came to a stand- 
 still ; they had reached the edge of a long sinuous bog with 
 a surface of treacherous green, and little black pools of 
 peat-water and mud. Mr. Ogden knew the bog perfectly, as 
 he knew every spot on the whole moor that he was accus- 
 tomed to shoot over, and he became terribly anxious. "We 
 must mark this spot," he said ; but neither he nor Jim carried 
 a stick, and there was no wood for miles round. The only 
 resource was to make a little cairn of stones. 
 
 When this was finished, Mr. Ogden stood looking at the 
 bog a few minutes, measuring its breadth with his eye. He 
 concluded that it was impossible for a child to leap over it 
 even at the narrowest place, and suggested that little Jacob 
 must have skirted it. But in which direction — to the right 
 hand or the left ? The dogs gave no indication ; they were 
 off the scent. Mr. Ogden followed the edge of the bog to 
 the right, and after walking half a mile, turned the extremity 
 of it, and came again on the other side till he was opposite 
 the cairn he had made. The dogs found no fresh scent j 
 they were perfectly useless. " Make a noise," said Mr. Ogden 
 to Jim ; " make a noise with that horn." 
 
 Jim blew a loud blast. There came no answering cry. 
 The wind whistled over the heather, and a startled grouse 
 ^vhirred past on her rapid wings.
 
 58 Wenderholme. Part i. 
 
 An idea was forcing its way into Mr. Ogden's mind— 7 a 
 hateful, horrible, inadmissible idea — that the foul black pit 
 before him might be the grave of his only son. How ascer- 
 tain it ? They had not the necessary implements ; and what 
 would be the use of digging in that flowing, and yielding, 
 and unfathomable black mud ? He could not endure the 
 place, or the intolerable supposition that it suggested, and 
 went wildly on, in perfect silence, with compressed lips and 
 beating heart, stumbling over the rough land. 
 
 Old Sarah warmed the little bed, and made a bright fire 
 in Jacob's room. When Ogden came back, he went there at 
 once, and found the old woman holding a small night-gown 
 to the fire. His face told her enough. His dress was covered 
 with snow. 
 
 " Th' dogs is 'appen mistaken," she said ; " little Jacob 
 might be at Milend by this time." 
 
 Mr. Ogden sent Jim down to Shayton on horse-back, and 
 returned to the moor alone. They met again at the farm at 
 three o'clock in the morning. Neither of them had any news 
 of the child. Jim had roused the household at Milend, and 
 awakened everybody both at the parsonage and the Doctor's. 
 He had given the alarm, and he had done the same at the 
 scattered cottages and farm-houses between Twistle Farm 
 and Shayton. If Jacob were seen anywhere, news would be 
 at once sent to his father. Dr. Bardly was not at home ; he 
 had left about noon for Sootythorn on militia business, and 
 expected to go on to Wenderholme with Colonel Stanburne, 
 where he intended to pass the night.
 
 Chap. VII. Isaac Ogdeiis PunishrneiU. 59 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 ISAAC OGDEN'S PUNISHMENT. 
 
 DURING what remained of the night, it is unnecessary 
 to add that nobody at Twistle Farm had rest. The 
 search was continually renewed in various directions, and 
 always with the same negative result. Mr. Ogden began to 
 lose hope, and was more and more confirmed in his supposi- 
 tion that his son must have perished in the bog. Jim returned 
 to Shayton, where he arrived about half-past four in the 
 morning. When the hands assembled at Ogden's mill, Mr. 
 Jacob told them that the factory would be closed that day, 
 but that he would pay them their full wages ; and he should 
 feel grateful to any of the men who would help him in the 
 search for his little nephew, who had unfortunately disap- 
 peared from Twistle on the preceding evening, and had not 
 been since heard of. He added, that a reward of a hundred 
 pounds would be given to any one who would bring him news 
 of the child. Soon after daylight, handbills were posted in 
 every street in Shayton ofiFering the same reward. Mr. Jacob 
 returned to Milend from the factory, and prepared to set out 
 for Twistle. 
 
 The sun rose in clear frosty air, and the moors were cov- 
 ered with snow. Large groups began to arrive at the farm 
 about eight o'clock, and at nine the hill was dotted with 
 searchers in every direction. It was suggested to Mr. Ogden 
 by a ^policeman that if he had any intention of having the 
 pond dragged, it would be well that it should be done at 
 once, as there was already a thin coat of ice upon it, and it
 
 6o Wenderholme. Part i. 
 
 would probably freeze during the whole of the day and fol- 
 lowing night, so that delay would entail great additional labor 
 in the breaking of the ice. An apparatus was sent up from 
 Shayton for this purpose. Mr. Ogden did not superintend 
 this operation, but sat alone in his parlor waiting to hear the re- 
 sult. There was a tap at the door, and the policeman entered. 
 
 "We 've found nothing in the pond, Mr. Isaac, except — " 
 
 " Except what .? " 
 
 " Only this whip, sir, that must belong to you ; " and he 
 produced the whip with the steel hammer. " It may be an 
 important hindication, sir, if it could be ascertained whether 
 your little boy had been playin' with it yesterday evenin'. 
 You don't remember seein' him with it, do you, sir.? " 
 
 Mr. Ogden groaned, and covered his face with his hands. 
 Then his whole frame shook convulsively. Old Sarah came in. 
 
 " I was just askin' Mr. Ogden whether he knew if the little 
 boy had been playin' with this 'ere whip yesterday — we've 
 found it in the pond ; and as I was just sayin', it might be a 
 useful hindication." 
 
 Old Sarah looked at the whip, which lay wet upon the table. 
 "I seed that whip yistady, but I dunnot think our little lad 
 played wi' it. He didn't use playin' wi' that whip. That 
 there whip belongs to his father, an' it 's him as makes use 
 on it, and non little Jacob." 
 
 Mr. Ogden removed his hands from his face, and said, 
 *' The whip proves nothing. I threw it into the pond yester- 
 day myself." 
 
 The policeman looked much astonished. " It 's a fine good 
 whip, sir, to throw away." 
 
 " Well, take it, then, if you admire it. I 'II make ye a pres- 
 ent of it." 
 
 " I 've no use for it, sir." 
 
 " Then, I reckon," said old Sarah, " as you 'aven't got a 
 little lad about nine year old ; such whips as that is consith- 
 ered useful for thrashin' little lads about nine year old,"
 
 Chap. VII. Isaac Ogdens Punishment. 6i 
 
 Mr. Ogden could bear this no longer, and said he would gc 
 down to the pond. When he had left the room, old Sarah 
 took up the whip and hung it in its old place, over the silver 
 spurs. The policeman lingered. Old Sarah relieved her 
 mind by recounting what had passed on the preceding even- 
 ing. " I am some and glad * as you brought him that there 
 whip. 'J'h' sight of it is like pins and needles in 'is een. 
 You 've punished 'im with it far worse than if you 'd laid it 
 ovver his shoulthers." 
 
 Mr. Ogden gave orders that every one who wanted any 
 thing to eat should be freely supplied in the kitchen. One of 
 old Sarah's great accomplishments was the baking of oat- 
 cake, and as the bread in the house was soon eaten up, old 
 Sarah heated her oven, and baked two or three hundred oat- 
 cakes. When once the mixture is prepared, and the oven 
 heated, a skilful performer bakes these cakes with surprising 
 rapidity, and old Sarah was proud of her skill. If any thing 
 could have relieved her anxiety about little Jacob, it would 
 have been this beloved occupation — but not even the pleas- 
 ure of seeing the thin fluid mixture spread over the heated 
 sheet of iron, and of tossing the cake dexterously at the 
 proper time, could relieve the good heart of its heavy care. 
 Even the very occupation itself had saddening associations, 
 for when old Sarah pursued it, little Jacob had usually been 
 a highly interested spectator, though often very much in the 
 way. She had scolded him many a time for his " plagui- 
 ness ; " but, alas ! what would she have given to be plagued 
 by that small tormentor now ! 
 
 The fall of snow had been heavy enough to fill up the 
 smaller inequalities of the ground, and the hills had that 
 aspect of exquisite smoothness and purity which would be 
 degraded by any comparison. Under happier circumstances, 
 the clear atmosphere and brilliant landscape would have been 
 
 * " Some and glad " is a common Lancashire expression, meaning 
 " consideralily glad."
 
 62 Wenderhobne. pakt i. 
 
 in the highest degree exhilarating ; but I suppose nobody at 
 Twistle felt that exhilaration now. On the contrary, there 
 seemed to be something chilling and pitiless in that cold 
 splendor and brightness. No one could look on the vast 
 sweep of silent snow without feeling that somewhere under its 
 equal and unrevealing surface lay the body of a beloved child. 
 
 The grave-faced seekers ranged the moors all day, after a reg- 
 ular system devised by Mr. Jacob Ogden. The circle of their 
 search became wider and wider, like the circles from a splash 
 in water. In this way, before nightfall, above thirty square 
 miles had been thoroughly explored. At last, after a day that 
 seemed longer than the longest days of summer, the sun 
 went down, and one by one the stars came out. The heav- 
 ens were full of their glittering when the scattered bands of 
 seekers met together again at the farm. 
 
 The fire was still kept alive in little Jacob's room. The 
 little night-gown still hung before it. Old Sarah changed 
 the hot water in the bed-warmer regularly every hour. Alas ! 
 alas ! was there any need of these comforts now ? Do 
 corpses care to have their shrouds warmed, or to have hot- 
 water bottles at their icy feet ? 
 
 Mr. Ogden, who had controlled himself with wonderful 
 success so long as the sun shone, began to show unequivocal 
 signs of agitation after nightfall. He had headed a party on 
 the moor, and came back with a sinking heart. He had no 
 hope left. The child must certainly have died in the cold. 
 He went into little Jacob's bedroom and walked about alone 
 for a few minutes, pacing from the door to the window, 
 and looking out on the cold white hills, the monotony of 
 which was relieved only by the masses of black rock that rose 
 out of them here and there. The fire had burnt very briskly, 
 and it seemed to Mr. Ogden that the little night-gown was 
 rather too near. As he drew back the chair he gazed a 
 minute at the bit of linen ; his chest heaved with violent 
 emotion, and then there came a great and terrible agony. He
 
 Chap. VII. Isaac Ogden s Punishment. 63 
 
 sat down on the low iron bed, his strong frame shook and quiv- 
 ered, and with painful gasps flowed the bitter tears of his 
 vain repentance. He looked at the smooth little pillow, un- 
 touched during a whole night, and thought of the dear head 
 that had pressed it, and might never press it more. Where 
 was it resting now ? Was the frozen snow on the fair cheek 
 and open brow, or — oh horror, still more horrible! — had he 
 been buried alive in the black and treacherous pit, and were 
 the dear locks defiled with the mud of the bog, and the bright 
 eyes filled with its slimy darkness for ever ? Surely he had 
 not descended into that grave ; they had done what they 
 could to sound the place, and had found nothing but earth; 
 soft and yielding — no fragment of dress had come up or 
 their boat-hooks. It was more endurable to imagine the 
 child asleep under the snow. When the thaw came they 
 would find him, and bring him to his own chamber, and lay 
 him again on his own bed, at least for one last night, till the 
 coffin came up from Shayton. 
 
 How good the child had been ! how brutally Ogden felt 
 that he had used him ! Litde Jacob had been as forgiving as 
 a dog, and as ready to respond to the slightest mark of kind- 
 ness. He had been the light of the lonely house with his 
 innocent prattle and gayety. Ogden had frightened him into 
 silence lately, and driven him into the kitchen, where he had 
 many a time heard him laughing with old Sarah and Jim, and 
 been unreasonably angry with him for it. Ogden began to 
 see these things in a different light. " I used him so badly," 
 he thought, "that it was only natural he should shun and 
 avoid me." And then he felt and knew how much sweet and 
 pure companionship he had missed. He had not half en- 
 joyed the blessing he had possessed. He ought to have made 
 himself young again for the child's sake. W'ould it have 
 done him any harm to teach little Jacob cricket, and play at 
 ball with him, or at nine-pins ? The boy's life had been ter- 
 ribly lonely, and his father had done nothing to dissipate or
 
 64 Wcnderholme. Part i. 
 
 mitigate its loneliness. And then there came a bitter sense 
 that he had really loved the child with an immense affection, 
 but that the coldness and roughness and brutality of his out- 
 ward behavior had hidden this affection from his son. In 
 this, however, Mr. Ogden had not been quite so much to 
 blame as in the agony of his repentance he himself believed. 
 His self-accusation, like all sincere and genuine self-accusa- 
 tion, had a touch of exaggeration in it. The wrong that he 
 had done was attributable quite as much to the temper of the 
 place he lived in as to any peculiar evil in himself as an in- 
 dividual man. He had spoiled his temper by drinking, but 
 every male in Shayton did the same ; he had been externally 
 hard and unsympathetic, but the inhabitants of Shayton car- 
 ried to an excess the English contempt for the betrayal of the 
 softer emotions. In all that Ogden had done, in the whole 
 tenor of his life and conversation, he had merely obeyed the 
 great human instinct of conformity. Had he lived anywhere 
 else — had he even lived at Sootythorn — he would have 
 been a different man. Such as he was, he was the product 
 of the soil, like the hard pears and sour apples that grew in 
 the dismal garden at Milend. 
 
 He had been sitting more than an hour on the bed, when 
 he heard a knock at the door. It was old Sarah, who an- 
 nounced the arrival of Mr. Prigley and Mrs. Ogden. Mr. 
 Prigley had been to fetch her from the place where she was 
 visiting, and endeavored to oflfer such comfort to her during 
 the journey as his heart and profession suggested. As on 
 their arrival at Milend there had been no news of a favor- 
 able or even hopeful kind, Mrs. Ogden was anxious to pro- 
 ceed to Twistle immediately, and Mr. Prigley had kindly 
 accompanied her. 
 
 The reader may have inferred from previous pages of this 
 history, that although Mr. Prigley may have been a blameless 
 and earnest divine, he was not exactly the man best fitted to 
 influence such a nature as that of Isaac Ogden. He had
 
 Chap. VII. Isauc Ogdens P2mishment. 05 
 
 little understanding either of its weakness or its strength — 
 of its weakness before certain forms of temptation, or its 
 strength in acknowledging unwelcome and terrible facts. 
 After Mrs. Ogden had simply said, " Well, Isaac, there 's no 
 news of him yet," the clergyman tried to put a cheerful light 
 on the subject by expressing the hope that the boy was safe 
 in some farmhouse. Mr. Ogden answered that every farm- 
 house within several miles had been called at, and that Twistle 
 Farm was the last of the farms on the moor side. It was 
 most unlikely, in his opinion, that the child could have re- 
 sisted the cold so long, especially as he had no provisions of 
 any kind, and was not even sufficiently clothed to go out ; 
 and as he had certainly not called at any house within seven 
 or eight miles of Twistle, Mr. Ogden could only conclude 
 that he must have perished on the moor, and that the thick 
 fall of snow was all that had prevented the discovery of his 
 body. 
 
 Mrs. Ogden sat down and began to cry very bitterly. The 
 sorrow of a person like Mrs. Ogden is at the same time quite 
 frank in its expression, and perfectly monotonous. Her regrets 
 expressed themselves adequately in three words, and the 
 repetition of them made her litany of grief — "Poor little 
 lad \ " and then a great burst of weeping, and then " Poor little 
 lad ! " again, perpetually. 
 
 The clergyman attempted to " improve " the occasion in 
 the professional sense. " The Lord hath given," he said, 
 " and the Lord bath taken away ; " then he paused, and 
 added, " blessed be the name of the Lord." But this brought 
 no solace to Ogden's mind. " It was not the Lord that took 
 the lad away," be answered ; " it was his father that drove 
 him away." 
 
 The great agony came over him again, and he flung himself 
 on his breast upon the sofa and buried his face in the cush- 
 ions. Then his mother rose and came slowly to his side, and 
 knelt down by him. Precious maternal feelings, that had 
 
 s
 
 66 Wenderholme. Part i. 
 
 been, as it were, forgotten in her heart for more than twenty 
 years, like jewels that are worn no more, shone forth once 
 more from her swimming eyes. " Isaac, lad," she said, with 
 a voice that sounded in his ears like a far-off recollection of 
 childhood, — " Isaac, lad, it were none o' thee as did it, — it 
 were drink. Thou wouldn't have hurt a hair of his head." 
 Atid she kissed him. 
 
 It was a weary night at Twistle. Nobody had any hope 
 let'.", but they felt bound to continue the search, and relays 
 of men came up from Shayton for the purpose. They were 
 divided into little parties of six or eight, and Mr. Jacob 
 directed their movements. Each group returned to the house 
 after exploring the ground allotted to it, and Mr. Ogden fe- 
 verishly awaited its arrival. The ever-recurring answer, the 
 sad shake of the head, the disappointed looks, sank into the 
 heart of the bereaved father. About two in the morning he 
 got a little sleep, and awoke in half an hour somewhat stronger 
 and calmer. 
 
 It is unnecessary to pursue the detail of these sufferings. 
 The days passed, but brought no news. Dr. Bardly came 
 back from Wenderholme, and seemed less affected than would 
 have been expected by those who knew his love and friend- 
 ship for little Jacob. He paid, however, especial attention to 
 Mr. Isaac, whom he invited to stay with him for a few weeks, 
 and who bore his sorrow with a manly fortitude. The Doctor 
 drank his habitual tumbler of brandy- and-water every evening 
 before going to bed, and the first evening, by way of hospi- 
 tality, had offered the same refreshment to his guest. Mr. 
 Ogden declined simply, and the offer was not renewed. For 
 the first week he smoked a great deal, and drank large quan- 
 tities of soda-water, but did not touch any intoxicating liquor. 
 He persevered in this abstinence, and declared his firm re- 
 solve to continue it as a visible sign of his repentance, and 
 of his respect to the memory of his boy. He was very gentle 
 and pleasant, and talked freely with the Doctor about ordi-
 
 Chap. VII. Isaac O^deiis PunisJniieiit. 67 
 
 cb 
 
 nary subjects ; but, for a man whose vigor and energy had 
 manifested themselves in some abruptness and rudeness in 
 the common intercourse of life, this new gentleness was a 
 marked sign of sadness. When the Doctor's servant, Martha, 
 came in unexpectedly and found Mr. Ogden alone, she often 
 observed that he had shed tears ; but he seemed cheerful 
 when spoken to, and his grief was quiet and undemonstrative. 
 
 The search for the child was still actively pursued, and 
 his mysterious disappearance became a subject of absorbing 
 interest in the neighborhood. The local newspapers were full 
 of it, and there appeared a ver}' terrible article in the ' Sooty- 
 thorn Gazette ' on Mr. Ogden's cruelty to his child. The 
 writer was an inhabitant of Shayton, who had had the mis- 
 fortune to have Mr. Jacob Ogden for his creditor, and had 
 been pursued with great rigor by that gentleman. He got 
 the necessary data from the policeman who had brought the 
 whip back from the pond, and wrote such a description of it 
 as made the flesh of the Sooty thorn people creep upon their 
 bones, and their cheeks redden with indignation. The Doc- 
 tor happened to be out of the house when this newspaper 
 arrived, and Mr. Isaac opened it and read the article. The 
 facts stated in it were true and undeniable, and the victim 
 quailed under his punishment. If he had ventured into 
 Sootythorn, he would have been mobbed and pelted, or per- 
 haps lynched. He was scarcely safe even in Shayton ; and 
 when he walked from the Doctor's to Milend, the factory 
 operatives asked him where his whip was, and the children 
 pretended to be frightened, and ran out of his way. A still 
 worse punishment was the singular gravity of the faces that 
 he met — a gravity that did not mean sympathy but censure. 
 The ' Sootythorn Gazette ' demanded that he should be pun- 
 ished — that an example should be made of him, and so on. 
 The writer had his wish, without the intervention of the law. 
 
 After a few weeks the mystery was decided to be insoluble, 
 and dismissed from the columns of the newspapers. Even
 
 68 Wenderholme. part i. 
 
 the ingenious professional detectives admitted that they were 
 at fault, and could hold out no hopes of a discovery. Mr. 
 Ogden had with difficulty been induced to remain at the Doc- 
 tor's during the prosecution of these inquiries ; but Dr. Bardly 
 had represented to him that he ought to have a fixed address 
 in case news should arrive, and that he need not be wholly 
 inactive, but might ride considerable distances in various 
 directions, which indeed he did, but without result. 
 
 Mrs. Ogden remained at Milend, but whether from the 
 strength of her nature, or some degree of insensibility, she did 
 not appear to suffer greatly from her bereavement, and pur- 
 sued her usual household avocations with her accustomed 
 regularity. Mr. Jacob went to his factoiy, and was absorbed 
 in the details of business. No one put on mourning, for the 
 child was still considered as possibly alive, and perhaps his 
 relations shrank from so decided an avowal of their abandon- 
 ment of hope. The one exception to this rule was old Sarah 
 at Twistle, who clad herself in a decent black dress that she 
 had by her. " If t' little un 's deead," she said, " it's nobbut 
 reight to put mysel' i' black for him ; and if he isn't I 'm so 
 sore in my heart ovver him 'at I 'm fit to wear nought else."
 
 Chap. VIII. From Sooty tJiorn to Wender holme. 69 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 FROM SOOTYTHORN TO WENDERHOLME. 
 
 THE next scene of our story is in the Thorn Hotel at the 
 prosperous manufacturing town of Sootythorn, a place 
 superior to Shayton in size and civilization and selected by 
 the authorities as the head-quarters of Colonel Stanburne's 
 regiment of militia. 
 
 Dr. Bardly arrived at the Thorn the morning after Isaac 
 Ogden's relapse, having driven all the way from Shayton, 
 through scenery which would have been comparable to any 
 thing in England, if the valleys had not been spoiled by cot- 
 ton-mills, rows of ugly cottages, and dismal-looking coal-pits. 
 
 "Colonel Stanburne's expecting you, Doctor," said Mr. 
 Garley, the landlord of the Thorn ; " he 's in the front sitting- 
 room." 
 
 The Colonel was sitting by himself, with the * Times ' and 
 a little black pipe. 
 
 " Good morning. Dr. Bardly ! you 've a nice little piece of 
 work before you. There are a lot of fellows here to be exam- 
 ined as to their physical constitution — fellows, you know, 
 who aspire to the honor of serving in the twentieth regiment 
 of Royal Lancashire Militia." 
 
 " Perhaps I 'd better begin with the hofficers," said the 
 Doctor. 
 
 The Colonel looked alarmed, or affected to be so. " My 
 dear Doctor, there's not the least necessity for examining 
 officers — it isn't customary, it isn't legal ; officers are always 
 perfect, both physically and morally."
 
 70 Wenderholmc. part i. 
 
 A theory of this kind came well enough from Colonel 
 Stanburne. He was six feet high, and the picture of health. 
 He brought forth the fruits of good living, not, as Mr. Garley 
 did, in a bloated and rubicund face and protuberant corpo- 
 ration, but in that admirable balance of the whole human 
 organism which proves the regular and equal performance 
 of all its functions. Dr. Bardly was a good judge of a man, 
 and he had the same pleasure in looking at the Colonel that 
 a fox-hunter feels in contemplating a fine horse. Beyond this, 
 he liked Colonel Stanburne's society, not precisely, perhaps, 
 for intellectual reasons — for, intellectually, there was little 
 or nothing in common between the two men — but because 
 he found in it a sort of mental refreshment, very pleasant to 
 him after the society at Shayton. The Colonel was a dif- 
 ferent being — he lived in a different world from the world 
 of the Ogdens and their friends ; and it amused and inter- 
 ested the Doctor to see how this strange and rather admirable 
 creature would conduct itself under the conditions of its 
 present existence. The Doctor, as the reader must already 
 feel perfectly assured, had not the weakness of snobbishness 
 or parasitism in any form whatever ; and if he liked to go to 
 Wenderholme with the Colonel, it was not because there was 
 an earl's daughter there, and the sacred odor of aristocracy 
 about the place, but rather because he had a genuine pleasure 
 in the society of his friend, whether amongst the splendors of 
 Wenderholme, or in the parlor of the inn at Sootythorn. 
 
 The Colonel, too, on his part, liked the Doctor, though he 
 laughed at him, and mimicked him to Lady Helena. The 
 mimicry was not, however, very successful, for the Doctor's 
 Lancashire dialect was too perfect and too pure for any mere 
 ultramontane (that is, creature living beyond the hills that 
 guarded the Shayton valley) to imitate with any approxima 
 tion to success. If the Colonel, however, notwithstanding 
 all his study and effort, could not succeed in imitating the 
 Doctor's happy selection of expressions and purity of style,
 
 Chap. VIII. From Sootythorn to Wenderkolme. 71 
 
 he could at any rate give him a nickname — so he called 
 him Hoftens, not to his face, but to Lady Helena at home, 
 and to the adjutant, and to one or two other people who 
 knew him, and the nickname became popular ; and, after a 
 while, the officers called Dr. Bardly Hoftens to his face, 
 which he took with perfect good-nature. The first time that 
 this occurred, the Doctor (such was the delicacy of his ear) 
 believed he detected something unusual in the way an impu- 
 dent ensign pronounced the word often, and asked what he 
 meant, on which the adjutant interposed, and said, — "Don't 
 mind his impudence. Doctor ; he 's mimicking you." " Well," 
 said the Doctor, simply, " I wasn't aware that there was hany 
 thing peculiar in my pronunciation of the word, but people 
 hoftens are unaware of their own defects." But we anticipate. 
 
 They lunched at the Thorn with the adjutant, a fair-haired 
 and delicate-looking little gentleman of exceedingly mild and 
 quiet manners, whose acquaintance the Doctor had made 
 very recently. Captain Eureton had retired a year or two 
 before from the regular army, and was now living in the 
 neighborhood of Sootythorn with his old mother whom he 
 loved with his whole heart. He had never married, and now 
 there was little probability of his ever marr)-ing. The people 
 of Sootythorn would have set him down as a milk-sop if he 
 had not seen a good deal of active service in India and at 
 the Cape ; but a soldier who has been baptized in the fire of 
 the battle-field has always that fact in his favor, and has 
 little need to give himself airs of boldness in order to impose 
 upon the imagination of civilians. 
 
 " I believe, Dr. Bardly," said Eureton, " that we are going 
 to have an officer from your neighborhood, a Mr. Ogden. 
 His name has been put down for a lieutenant's commission." 
 
 " Yes, he 's a neighbor of mine," answered the Doctor, 
 rather curtly. 
 
 " You should have brought him with you, Doctor," said 
 Colonel Stanburne, "that we might make his acquaintance.
 
 72 Wender holme, part i. 
 
 I 've never seen him, j'ou know, and he gets his commission 
 on your recommendation. I should like, as far as possible, 
 to know the officers personally before we meet for our first 
 training. What sort of a fellow is Mr. Ogden? Tell us all 
 about him." 
 
 The Doctor felt slightly embarrassed, and showed it in 
 his manner. Any true description of Isaac Ogden, as he 
 was just then, must necessarily seem very unfavorable. Dr. 
 Bardly had been to Twistle that very morning before day- 
 light, and had found Mr. Ogden suffering from the effects of 
 that fall down the cellar-steps in a state of drunkenness. 
 The Doctor had that day abandoned all hope of reclaiming 
 Isaac Ogden, and saving him from the fate that awaited him. 
 
 " I 've nothing good to tell of Mr. Ogden, Colonel Stan- 
 burne. I wish I hadn't recommended him to you. He 's an 
 irreclaimable drunkard ! " 
 
 " Well, if you 'd known it you wouldn't have recommended 
 him, of course. You found it out since, I suppose. You 
 must try and persuade him to resign. Tell him there '11 be 
 some awfully hard work, especially for lieutenants." 
 
 "I knew that he drank occasionally, but I believed that it 
 was because he had nobody to talk to except a drunken set 
 at the Red Lion at Shayton. I thought that if he came into 
 the regiment it would do him good, by bringing him into more 
 society. Shayton 's a terrible place for drinking. There 's a 
 great difference between Shayton and Sootythorn." 
 
 " What sort of a man is he in other respects .'' " asked the 
 Colonel. 
 
 " He 's right enough for every thing else. He 's a good- 
 looking fellow, tall, and well-built ; and he used to be pleas- 
 ant and good-tempered, but now his nervous system must be 
 shattered, and I would not answer for him." 
 
 "If you still think he would have sufficient control over 
 himself to keep sober for a month we might try him, and 
 see whether we cannot do him some good. Perhaps, as you
 
 Chap. VIII. From Sooty tJiorn to Wendevholme. 73 
 
 thought, it 's only want of society that drives him to amuse 
 himself by drinking. Upon my word, I think I should take 
 to drinking myself if I lived all the year round in such a 
 place as Sootythorn — and I suppose Shayton 's no better." 
 
 Captain Eureton, who was simple and even abstemious in 
 his way of living, and whose appetite had not been sharpened, 
 like that of the Doctor, by a long drive in the morning, fin- 
 ished his lunch in about ten minutes, and excused himself 
 on the plea that he had an appointment with a joiner about 
 the onlerly-room, which had formerly been an infant-school 
 of some Dissenting persuasion, and therefore required re- 
 modelling as to its interior fittings. We shall see more of 
 him in due time, but for the present must leave him to the 
 tranquil happiness of devising desks and pigeon-holes in 
 company with an intelligent workman, than which few occu- 
 pations can be more delightful. 
 
 " Perhaps, unless you 've something to detain you in Sooty- 
 thorn, Doctor, we should do well to leave here as early as 
 possible. It 's a long drive to Wenderholme — twenty miles, 
 you know ; ancT I always make a point of giving the horses 
 a rest at Rigton." 
 
 As the Doctor had nothing to do in Sootythorn, the Colonel 
 ordered his equipage. When he drove alone, he always pre- 
 ferred a tandem, but when Lady Helena accompanied him, 
 he took his seat in a submissive matrimonial manner in the 
 family carriage. As Wenderholme was so far from Sooty- 
 thorn, the Colonel kept two pairs of horses ; and one pair 
 was generally at Wenderholme and the other in Mr. Garley's 
 stables, where the Colonel had a groom of his own perma- 
 nently. The only inconvenience of this arrangement was 
 that the same horses had to do duty in the tandem and the 
 carriage ; but they did it on the whole fairly well, and the 
 Colonel contented himself with the carriage-horses, so far as 
 driving was concerned. 
 
 The Doctor drove his own gig with the degree of skill
 
 74 Wendcr holme. part i. 
 
 which results from the practice of many years ; but he had 
 never undertaken the government of a tandem, and felt, per- 
 haps, a slight shade of anxiety when John Stanburne took the 
 reins, and they set off at full trot through the streets of Sooty- 
 thorn. A manufacturing town, in that particular stage of its 
 development, is one of the most awkward of all possible places 
 to drive in — the same street varies so much in breadth that 
 you never can tell whether there will be room enough to pass 
 when you get round the corner ; an?t there are alarming 
 noises of many kinds — the roar of a cotton-mill in the 
 street itself, or the wonderfully loud hum of a foundry, or the 
 incessant clattering hammer-strokes of a boiler-making estab- 
 lishment — which excite and bewilder a nervous horse, till, if 
 manageable at all, he is manageable only with the utmost 
 delicacy and care. As Colonel Stanburne seemed to have 
 quite enough to do to soothe and restrain his leader, the 
 Doctor said nothing till they got clear of the last street ; but 
 once out on the broad turnpike, or " Yorkshire Road," the 
 Colonel gave his team more freedom, and himself relaxed 
 from the rigid accuracy of seat he had hitherto maintained. 
 He then turned to the Doctor, and began to talk. 
 
 " I say. Doctor, why don't you drive a tandem ? You — you 
 ought to drive a tandem. Ton my word you ought, seriously, 
 now." 
 
 The Doctor laughed. He didn't see the necessity or the 
 duty of driving a tandem, and so begged to have these points 
 explained to him. 
 
 " Well, because, don't you see, when you 've only got one 
 horse in your dog-cart, or gig, or whatever two-wheeled vehicle 
 you may possess, you 've no fun, don't you see ? " 
 
 The Doctor didn't see, or did not seem to see. 
 
 " I mean," proceeded the Colonel, explanatorily, " that you 
 haven't that degree of anxiety which is necessary to give a 
 zest to existence. Now, when you've a leader who is almost 
 perfectly free, and over whom you can only exercise a control
 
 Chav. V ill. From Soolyikorn 1 Wenderholnie. 75 
 
 of — the most gentle and persuasive kind, you're always 
 slightly anxious, and sometimes you 're very anxious. For 
 instance, last time we drove back from Sootythorn it was 
 pitch dark, — wasn't it, Fyser ? " 
 
 Here Colonel Stanburne turned to his groom, who was 
 sitting behind ; and Fyser, as might be expected, muttered 
 something confirmatory of his master's statement. 
 
 " It was pitch dark ; and, by George ! the candles in the 
 lamps were too short to last us ; and that confounded Fyser 
 forgot to provide himself with fresh ones before he left Sooty- 
 thorn, and — didn't you, Fyser ? " 
 
 Fyser confessed his negligence. 
 
 " And so, when the lamps were out, it was pitch dark ; so 
 dark that I couldn't tell the road from the ditch — upon my 
 word, I couldn't ; and I couldn't see the leader a bit, I could 
 only feel him with the reins. So I said to Fyser, ' Get over 
 to the front seat, and then crouch down as low as you can, so 
 as to bring the horses' heads up against the sky, and tell me 
 if you can see them.' So Fyser crouched down as I told him ; 
 and when I asked him if he saw any thing, he said he did 
 think he saw the leader's ears. Well, damn it, then, if you 
 do see 'em, I said, keep your eye on 'em." 
 
 " And were you going fast ? " asked the Doctor. 
 
 " Why, of course we were. We were trotting at the rate of, 
 I should say, about nine miles an hour ; but after a while, 
 Fyser, by hard looking, began to see rather more distinctly — 
 so distinctly that he clearly made out the difference between 
 the horses' heads and the hedges ; and he kept calling out 
 ' right, sir,' ' left, sir,' ' all right, sir,' and so he kept me 
 straight. If he 'd been a sailor he 'd have said ' starboard ' 
 and ' port ; ' but Fyser isn't a sailor." 
 
 " And did you get safe to Wenderholme ? " 
 
 " Of course we did. Fyser and I always get safe to Wen- 
 derholme." 
 
 " I shouldn't recommend you to try that experiment hoftens."
 
 76 Wender holme. Part i. 
 
 "Well, but you see the advantage of driving tandem. If 
 you 've only one horse you know where he is, however dark it 
 is — he 's in the shafts, of course, and you know where to find 
 him : but when you 've got a leader you never exactly know 
 where he is, unless you can see him." 
 
 The Doctor didn't see the advantage. 
 
 The reader will have gathered from this specimen of Colonel 
 Stanburne's conversation that he was a pleasant and lively 
 companion ; but if he is rather hasty in forming his opinion 
 of people on a first acquaintance, he may also infer that the 
 Colonel was a man of somewhat frivolous character and very 
 moderate intellectual powers. He certainly was not a genius, 
 but he conveyed the impression of being less intelligent and 
 less capable of serious thought than nature had made him. 
 His predominant characteristic was simple good-nature, and 
 he possessed also, notwithstanding a sort of swagger in his 
 manner, an unusual share of genuine intellectual humility, that 
 made him contented to pass for a less able and less informed 
 man than he really was. The Doctor's perception of charac- 
 ter was too acute to allow him to judge Colonel Stanburne 
 on the strength of a superficial acquaintance, and he clearly 
 perceived that his friend was in the habit of wearing, as it 
 were, his lighter nature outside. Some ponderous Philistines 
 in Sootythorn,.who had been brought into occasional contact 
 with the Colonel, and who confounded gravity of manner 
 with mental capacity, had settled it amongst themselves that 
 he had no brains ; but as the most intelligent of quadrupeds 
 is at the same time the most lively, the most playful, the most 
 good-natured, and the most affectionate, — so amongst human 
 "beings it does not always follow that a man is empty because 
 he is lively and amusing, and seems merry and careless, and 
 says and does some foolish things. 
 
 An hour later they reached Rigton, a little dull village 
 quite out of the manufacturing district, and where it was the 
 Colonel's custom to bait. The remainder of the drive was in
 
 QnKv.viw. Froifi Sooty thorn to We7ider holme. "j"] 
 
 summer exceedingly beautiful ; but as it passed through a rich 
 agricultural country, whose beauty depended chiefly on luxuri- 
 ant vegetation, the present time of the year was not favorable to 
 it. All this region had a great reputation for beauty amongst 
 the inhabitants of the manufacturing towns, and no doubt fully 
 deserved it ; but it is probable that their faculties of appre- 
 cialion were greatly sharpened by the stimulus of contrast. 
 To get fairly clear of factory-smoke, to be in the peaceful 
 quitit country, and see no buildings but picturesque farms, was 
 a definite happiness to many an inhabitant of Sootythorn. 
 There were fine bits of scenery in the manufacturing district 
 itself — picturesque glens and gorges, deep ravines with hid- 
 den rivulets, and stretches of purple moorland \ but all this 
 scenery lacked one quality — amenity. Now the scenery from 
 Rigton to Wenderholme had this quality in a very high degree 
 indeed, and it was instantly felt by every one who came from 
 the manufacturing district, though not so perceptible by trav- 
 ellers from the south of England. The Sootythorn people 
 felt a soothing influence on the nervous system when they 
 drove through this beautiful land ; their minds relaxed and 
 were relieved of pressing cares, and they here fell into a state 
 very rare indeed with them — a state of semi-poetical reverie. 
 The reader is already aware that Wenderholme is situated 
 on the opposite side of the hills which separate Shayton from 
 this favored region, and close to the foot of them. Great 
 alterations have been made in the house since the date at 
 which our story begins, and therefore we will not describe it 
 as it exists at present, but as it existed when the Colonel 
 drove up the avenue with the Doctor at his side, and the faith- 
 ful Fyser jumped up behind after opening the modest green 
 gate. A large rambling house, begun in the reign of Queen 
 Elizabeth, but grievously modernized under that of King 
 George the Third, it formed three sides of a quadrangle, and, 
 as is usual in that arrangement of a mansion, had a great hall 
 in the middle, and the principal reception rooms on each side
 
 yS WenderJiolme. Part i 
 
 on the ground floor. The house was three stories high, and 
 there were great numbers of bedrooms. An arched porch in 
 the centre, preceded by a flight of steps, gave entrance at 
 once to the hall ; and over the porch was a projection of the 
 same breadth, continued up to the roof, and terminated in a 
 narrow gable. This had been originally the centre of enrich- 
 ment, and there had been some good sculpture and curious 
 windows that went all round the projection, and carried it en- 
 tirely upon their mullions ; but the modernizer had been at 
 work and inserted simple sash-windows, which produced a 
 deplorable effect. The same owner, John Stanburne's grand- 
 father, had ruthlessly carried out that piece of Vandalism over 
 the whole front of the mansion, and, except what architects 
 call a string-course (which was still traceable here and there), 
 had effaced every feature that gave expression to the original 
 design of the Elizabethan builder. 
 
 The entrance-hall was a fine room fifty feet long, and as 
 high as two of the ordinary stories in the mansion. It had, no 
 doubt, been a splendid specimen of the Elizabethan hall ; but 
 the modernizer had been hard at work here also, and had put 
 himself to heavy expense in order to give it the aspect of a 
 thoroughly modern interior. The wainscot which had once 
 adorned the walls, and which had been remarkable for its 
 rich and fanciful carving, the vast and imaginative tapestries, 
 the heraldic blazonries in the flaming oriels, the gallery for 
 the musicians on twisted pillars of sculptured chestnut, — all 
 these glories had been ruthlessly swept away. The tapestries 
 had been used as carpets, and worn out ; the wainscot had 
 been made into kitchen cupboards, and painted lead-color ; 
 and the magnificent windows had been thrown down on the 
 floor of a garret, where they had been trodden under foot and 
 crushed into a thousand fragments: and in place of these 
 things, which the narrow taste of the eighteenth century had 
 condemned as barbarous, and destroyed without either hesita- 
 tion or regret, it had substituted — what t — absolute emptiness
 
 QnKv.Miw. From Sootythorn to Wenderholme. 79 
 
 and negation ; for the heraldic oriels, sash-windows of the 
 commonest glass ; for the tapestry and carving, a bare wall of 
 yellow-washed plaster ; for the carved beams of the roof, a 
 blank area of whitewash. 
 
 The Doctor found Lady Helena in the drawing-room ; a 
 little woman, who sometimes looked very pretty, and some- 
 times exceedingly plain, according to the condition of her 
 health and temper, the state of the weather, and a hundred 
 things beside. Hence there were the most various and con- 
 tradictory opinions about her ; the only approach to unanim- 
 ity being amongst certain elderly ladies who had formed the 
 project of being mother-in-law to John Stanburne, and failed 
 in that design. The Doctor was not much accustomed to 
 ladyships — they did not come often in his way ; indeed, if the 
 truth must be told, Lady Helena was the only specimen of the 
 kind he had ever enjoyed the opportunity of studying, and he 
 had been rather surprised, on one or two preceding visits to 
 Wenderholme, to find that she behaved so nicely. But there 
 are ladyships and ladyships, and the Doctor had been for- 
 tunate in the example which chance had thrown in his way. 
 For instance, if he had known Lady Eleanor Griffin, who 
 lived about ten miles from Wenderholme, and came there 
 occasionally to spend the day, the Doctor would have formed 
 quite a different opinion of ladyships in general, so much do 
 our impressions of whole classes depend upon the individual 
 members of them who are personally known to us. 
 
 Lady Helena asked the Doctor a good many questions 
 about Shayton, which it is quite unnecessary to report here, 
 because the answers to them would convey no information to 
 the reader which he does not already possess. Her ladyship 
 inquired very minutely about the clergyman there, and whether 
 the Doctor "liked" him. Now the verb "to like," when ap- 
 plied to a clergyman, is used in a special sense. Everybody 
 knows that to like a clergyman and to like gooseberry-pie are 
 ver}' difTerent things ; for nobody in England eats clergyman,
 
 8o WenderJiolme. Part i. 
 
 though the natives of New Zealand are said to appreciate cold 
 roast missionary. But there is yet another distinction — 
 there is a distinction between liking a clergyman and liking 
 a layman. If you say you like a clergyman, it is understood 
 that it gives you a peculiar pleasure to hear him preach, and 
 that you experience feelings of gratification when he reads 
 prayers. And in this sense could Dr, Bardly say that he 
 liked the reverend incumbent of his parish ? certainly not ; 
 so he seemed to hesitate a little — and if he said "yes" he 
 said it as if he meant no^ or a sort of vague, neutral answer, 
 neither negative nor affirmative. 
 
 " I mean," said Lady Helena, " do you like him as a 
 preacher ? " 
 
 " Upon my word, it 's so long since I heard him preach 
 that I cannot give an opinion." 
 
 " Oh ! I thought you attended his church. There are other 
 churches in Shayton, I suppose." 
 
 " No, there 's only one," said the imprudent and impolitic 
 Doctor. 
 
 Lady Helena began to think he was some sort of a 
 Dissenter. She had heard of Dissenters — she knew that 
 such people existed — but she had never been brought into 
 contact with one, and it made her feel rather queer. She 
 felt strongly tempted to ask what place of worship this man 
 did attend, since by his own confession he never went to his 
 parish church ; but curiosity, and the natural female tendency 
 to be an inquisitor, were kept in check by politeness, and 
 also, perhaps, a little restrained by the perfectly fearless 
 aspect of the Doctor's face. If he had seemed in the least 
 alarmed or apologetic, her ladyship would probably have 
 assumed the functions of the inquisitor at once ; but he 
 looked so cool, and so very capable of a prolonged and 
 vigorous resistance, that Lady Helena retired. When she 
 began to talk about Mrs. Prigley, the Doctor knew that she 
 was already in full retreat.
 
 Chap. VIII. From Sooty thorn to Wcnderholme. 8i 
 
 A little relieved, perhaps (for it is always disagreeable to 
 quarrel with one's hostess, even though one has no occasion 
 to be afraid of her), the Doctor gladly told Lady Helena all 
 about Mrs. Prigley, and even narrated the anecdote about 
 the hole in the carpet, and its consequences to Mrs. Ogden, 
 •which put Lady Helena into good humor, for nothing, is more 
 amusing to rich people than the ludicrous consequences of 
 a certain kind of poverty. The sense of a pleasant contrast, 
 all in their own favor, is delightful to them • and when the 
 Doctor had told this anecdote, Lady Helena became agree- 
 ably aware that she had carpets, and that her carpets had no 
 holes in them — two facts of which use and custom had made 
 her wholly unconscious. Her eye wandered with pleasure 
 over the broad soft surface of dark pomegranate color, with 
 its large white and red flowers and its nondescript ornaments 
 of imitated gold, and the ground seemed richer, and the 
 flowers seemed whiter and redder, because poor Mrs. Prig- 
 ley's carpets were in a condition so lamentably different. 
 
 " Mrs. Prigley 's a relation of yours, Lady Helena, — rather 
 a near relation, — perhaps you are not aware of it ? " 
 
 Lady Helena looked, and was, very much surprised. " A 
 relation of mine. Dr. Bardly ! you must be mistaken. I 
 believe I know the names of all my relations ! " 
 
 "I mean a relation of your husband — of Colonel Stan- 
 burne. Mrs. Prigley was a Miss Stanburne of Byfield, and 
 her father was brother to Colonel Stanburne's father, and 
 was born in this house." 
 
 "That's quite a near relationship indeed," said Lady 
 Helena ; " I wonder I never heard of it. John never spoke 
 to me about Mrs. Prigley." 
 
 " There was a quarrel between Colonel Stanburne's father 
 and his uncle, and there has been no intercourse between 
 their families since. I daresay the Colonel does not even 
 know how many cousins he had on that side, or what mar- 
 riages they made." On this the Colonel came in. 
 
 6
 
 82 Wenderholme. Part i. 
 
 " John, dear, Dr. Bardly has just told me that we have 
 some cousins at Shayton that I knew nothing about. It 's the 
 clergyman and his wife, and their name is Prig — Prig" — 
 
 " Prigley," suggested the Doctor. 
 
 "Yes, Prigley; isn't it curious, John? did you know about 
 them ? " 
 
 " Not very accurately. I knew one of my cousins had 
 married a clergyman somewhere in that neighborhood, but 
 was not aware that he was the incumbent of Shayton. I 
 don't know my cousins at all. There was a lawsuit between 
 their father and mine, and the two branches have never eaten 
 salt together since. I haven't the least ill-will to any of them, 
 but there's an awkwardness in making a first step — one 
 never can tell how it may be received. What do you say. 
 Doctor? How would Mrs. Prig — Prigley and her husband 
 receive me if I were to go and call upon them ? " 
 
 " They 'd give you cake and wine." 
 
 "Would they really, now? Then I'll go and call upon 
 them. I like cake and wine — always liked cake and wine." 
 
 The conversation about the Prigleys did not end here. 
 The Doctor was well aware that it would be agreeable to 
 Mrs. Prigley to visit at Wenderholme, and be received there 
 as a relation ; and he also knew that the good-nature of the 
 Colonel and Lady Helena might be relied upon to make 
 such intercourse perfectly safe and pleasant. So he made 
 the most of the opportunity, and that so successfully, that by 
 the time dinner was announced both John Stanburne and his 
 wife had promised to drive over some day to Shayton from 
 Sootythorn, and lunch with the Doctor, and call at the 
 parsonage before leaving. 
 
 Colonel Stanburne's conversation was not always very pro- 
 found, but his dinners were never dull, for he would talk, 
 and make other people talk too. He solemnly warned the 
 Doctor not to allow himself to be entrapped into giving 
 gratuitous medical advice to Lady Helena. " She thinks
 
 Chap. VIII. Froiu Sooiytliom to Wenderholme. 83 
 
 she 's got fitteen diseases, she does, upon my word j and 
 she 's a sort of notion that because you 're the regimental 
 doctor, she has a claim on you for gratuitous counsel and 
 assistance. Now I consider that I have such a claim — if a 
 private has it, surely a colonel has it too -r- and when we 
 come up for our first training I shall expect you to look at 
 my tongue, and feel my pulse, and physic me as a militiaman, 
 at her Majesty's expense. But it is by no means so clear to 
 me that my wife has any right to gratuitous doctoring, and 
 mind she doesn't extort it from you. She 's a regular screw, 
 my wife is ; and she loses no opportunity of obtaining benefits 
 for nothing." Then he rattled on with a hundred anecdotes 
 about ladies and doctors, in which there was just enough truth 
 to give a pretext for his audacious exaggerations. 
 
 When they returned to the drawing-room, the Colonel made 
 Lady Helena sing; and she sang well. The Doctor, like 
 many inhabitants of Shayton, had a very good ear, and 
 greatly enjoyed music. Lady Helena had seldom found so 
 attentive a listener ; he sought old favorites of his in her 
 collection of songs, and begged her to sing them one after 
 another. It seemed as if he never would be tired of listen- 
 ing. Her ladyship felt pleased and flattered, and sang with 
 wonderful energy and feeling. The Doctor, though in his 
 innocence he thought only of the pure pleasure her music 
 gave him, could have chosen no better means of ingratiating 
 himself in her favor ; and if there had not, unhappily, been 
 ti'iat dark and dubious question about church attendance, 
 which made her ladyship look upon him as a sort of Dis- 
 senter, or worse, the Doctor would that night have entered 
 into relations of quite frank and cordial friendship with Lady 
 Helena. English ladies are very kind and forgiving on many 
 points. A man may be notoriously immoral, or a gambler, 
 or a drinker, yet if he be well off they will kindly ignore and 
 pass over these little defects ; but the unpardonable sin is 
 failure in church attendance, and they will not pass over that.
 
 84 Wenderhohte. Paut i. 
 
 Lady Helena, in her character of inquisitor, had discovered 
 this symptom of heresy, and would have been delighted to 
 find a moral screw of some kind by which the culpable 
 Doctor might be driven churchwards. If the law had per- 
 mitted it, I have no doubt that she would have applied mate- 
 rial screws, and pinched the Doctor's thumbs, or roasted him 
 gently before a slow fire, or at least sent him to church be- 
 tween two policemen with staves ; but as these means were 
 beyond her power, she must wait until the moral screw could 
 be found. A good practical means, which she had resorted to 
 in several instances with poor people, had been to deprive 
 them of their means of subsistence ; and all men and women 
 whom her ladyship's little arm could reach knew that they 
 must go to church or leave their situations ; so they attended 
 with a regularity which, though exemplary in the eyes of men, 
 could scarcely, one would think (considering the motive), be 
 acceptable to Heaven. But Lady Helena acted in this less 
 from a desire to please God than from the instinct of domi- 
 nation, which, in her character of spiritual ruler, naturally 
 exercised itself on this point. It seldom happens that the 
 master of a house is the spiritual ruler of it ; he is the tem- 
 poral power, not the spiritual. Colonel Stanburne felt and 
 knew that he had no spiritual power. 
 
 This matter of the Doctor's laxness as a church-goer had 
 been rankling in Lady Helena's mind all the time she had 
 been singing, and when she closed the piano she was ready 
 for an attack. If the Doctor had been shivering blanketless 
 in a bivouac, and she had had the power of giving him a 
 blanket or withholding it, she would have offered it on condi- 
 tion he promised to go to church, and she would have with- 
 held it if he had refused compliance. But the Doctor had 
 blankets of his own, and so could not be touched through a 
 deprivation of blanket. She might, however, deprive the old 
 woman he had recommended, and at the same time give the 
 Doctor a lesson, indirectly.
 
 Chap. vin. From Sootythorn to Wenderholme. 85 
 
 " I forgot to ask you, Dr. Bardly, whether the old woman 
 you recommended for a blanket was a churchvvoman, and 
 regular in her attendance." 
 
 " Two questions very easily answered," replied that auda- 
 cious and unhesitating Doctor ; " she is a Wesleyan Metho- 
 dist, and irregular in her attendance." 
 
 "Then I'm — very sorry — Dr. Bardly, but I cannot give 
 her a blanket, as I had promised. I can only give them to 
 our — own people, you know ; and I make it essential that 
 they should be ^ood church-people — I mean, very regular 
 church-people." 
 
 " Very well ; I '11 give her a blanket myself." 
 
 The opportunity was not to be neglected, and her ladyship 
 fired her gun. She had the less hesitation in doing so, that 
 it seemed monstrously presumptuous in a medical man to 
 give blankets at all ! What right had he to usurp the especial 
 prerogative of great ladies ? And then to give a blanket to 
 this very woman whom, for good reasons, her ladyship had 
 condemned to a state of blanketlessness ! 
 
 " I quite understand," she said, with much severity of 
 tone, " that Dr. Bardly, who never attends public worship 
 himself, should have a fellow-feeling with those who are 
 equally negligent." 
 
 It is a hard task to fight a woman in the presence of her 
 husband, who is at the same time one's friend. The Doctor 
 thought, " Would the woman have me offer premiums on hypoc- 
 risy as she does ? " but he did not say so, because there was 
 poor John Stanburne at the other end of the hearth-rug in a 
 state of much uncomfortableness. So the Doctor said nothing 
 at all, and the silence became perfectly distressing. Lady 
 Helena had a way of her own out of the difficulty. Though 
 it was an hour earlier than the usual time for prayers, she rang 
 the bell and ordered all the servants in. When they were 
 kneeling, each before his chair, her ladyship read the prayers
 
 86 Wenderholme. Part i. 
 
 .lerself, and accentuated with a certain severity a paragraph 
 in which she thanked God that she was not as unbelievers, 
 who were destined to perish everlastingly. It was a satisfac- 
 tion to Lady Helena to have the Doctor there down upon his 
 knees, with no means of escape from the expression of spir- 
 itual superiority.
 
 Chap. IX. The Fugitive. 87 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE FUGITIVE. 
 
 *' T SAY, Doctor," said John Stanburne, when her ladyship 
 
 -I- was fairly out of hearing, and half-way in her ascent of 
 the great staircase — "I say, Doctor, I hope you don't mind 
 what Helena says about you not being — you know some 
 women are so — indeed I do believe all women are so. They 
 seem laudably anxious to keep us all in the right path, but 
 perhaps they 're just a little too anxious." 
 
 The Doctor said he believed Lady Helena meant to do 
 right, but — and then he hesitated. 
 
 " But you don't see the sense of bribing poor people into 
 sham piety with blankets." 
 
 "Well, no, I don't." 
 
 " Neither do I, Doctor. There 's a Roman Catholic family 
 about three miles off, and the lady there gives premiums on 
 going to mass, and still higher premiums on confession. She 
 has won a great many converts ; and there 's a strong antag- 
 onism between her and Helena — a most expensive warfare 
 it is too, I assure you, this warfare for souls. However, it's 
 an ill wind that blows nobody good, and the poor profit by it, 
 which is a consolation, only it makes them sneaks — it makes 
 them sneaks and hypocrites. Doctor, come into my study, 
 will you, and let 's have a weed 1 " 
 
 The "study," as John Stanburne called it, was a cosey little 
 room, with oak wainscot that his grandfather had painted 
 white. It contained a small bookcase, and the bookcase con- 
 tained a good many novels, some books of poetry, a treatise
 
 88 Wender holme. Part i. 
 
 on dog-breaking, a treatise on driving, and a treatise on fish- 
 ing. The novels were very well selected, and so was the 
 poetry ; and John Stanburne had read all these books, many 
 of them over and over again. Such literary education as he 
 possessed had been mainly got out of that bookcase ; and 
 though he had no claim to erudition, a man's head might be 
 worse furnished than with such furniture as that. There was 
 a splendid library at Wenderholme — a big room lined with 
 the backs of books as the other rooms were lined with paper 
 or wainscot ; and when Stanburne wanted to know something 
 he went there, and disturbed his ponderous histories and en- 
 cyclopaedias ; but he used the little bookcase more than the 
 big library. He could not read either Latin or Greek. Few 
 men can read Latin and Greek, and of the few who can, 
 still fewer do read them ; but his French was very much above 
 the usual average of English French — that is, he spoke flu- 
 ently, and would no doubt have spoken correctly if only he 
 could have mastered the conjugations and genders, and imi- 
 tated the peculiar Gallic sounds. 
 
 The society of ladies is always charming, but it must be 
 admitted that there is an hour especially dear to the male sex, 
 and which does not owe its delightfulness to their presence. 
 It is the hour of retirement into the smoking-room. When the 
 lady of the house has a tendency to make the weight of her 
 authority felt (and this will sometimes happen), the male mem- 
 bers of her family and their guests feel a schoolboyish sense of 
 relief in escaping from it ; but even when she is very genial and 
 pleasant, and when everybody enjoys the light of her counte- 
 nance, it must also be confessed that the timely withdrawal of 
 that light, like the hour of sunset, hath a certain sweetness of 
 its own. 
 
 " My wife 's always very good about letting me sit here, and 
 smoke and talk as long as I like with my friends, after she's 
 gone to bed," said Colonel Stanburne. " You smile because 
 I seem to value a sort of goodness that seems only natural,
 
 Chai». IX. The Fugitive. 89 
 
 but that 's on account of your old-bachelorish ignorance of 
 womankind. There are married men who no more dare sit 
 an hour with a cigar when their wives are gone to bed than 
 they dare play billiards on Sunday. Now, for instance, I was 
 staying this autumn with a friend of mine in another county, 
 and about ten o'clock his wife went to bed. He and I wanted 
 to talk over a great many things. We had been old school- 
 fellows, and we had travelled together when we were both 
 bachelors, and we knew lots of men that his wife knew nothing 
 about, and each of us wanted to hear all the news that the 
 other had to tell ; so he just ventured, the first night I was 
 there, to ask me into his private study and offer 'me a cigar. 
 Well, we had scarcely had time to light when his wife's maid 
 knocks at the door and says, ' Please, sir. Missis wishes to see 
 you ; ' so he promised to go, and began to look uncomfortable, 
 and in five minutes the girl came again, and she came three 
 times in a quarter of an hour. After that came the lady her- 
 self, quite angry, and ordered her husband to bed, just as if 
 he had been a little boy ; and though he seemed cool, and 
 didn't stir from his chair, it was evident that he was afraid of 
 her, and he solemnly promised to go in five minutes. At the 
 expiration of the five minutes in she bursts again (she had 
 been waiting in the passage — perhaps she may have been 
 listening at the door), and held out her watch without one 
 word. The husband got up like a sheep, and said ' Good- 
 night, John,' and she led him away just like that ; and I sat 
 and smoked by myself, thinking what a pitiable spectacle it 
 was. Now my wife is not like that ; she will have her way 
 about her blankets, but she 's reasonable in other respects." 
 
 They sat very happily for two hours, talking about the 
 regiment that was to be. Suddenly, about midnight, a large 
 watch-dog that inhabited a kennel on that side of the house 
 began to bark furiously, and there was a cry, as of some 
 woman or child in distress. The Colonel jumped out of his 
 chair, and threw the window open. The two men listened
 
 90 WenderJiolme. Part i. 
 
 attentively, but it was too dark to see any thing. At length 
 Colonel Stanburne said, "Let us go out and look about a. 
 little — that was a human cry, wasn 't it?" So he lighted a 
 lantern, and they went. 
 
 There was a thick wood behind the house of Wenderholme, 
 and this wood filled a narrow ravine, in the bottom of which 
 was a little stream, and by the stream a pathway that led up 
 to the open moor. This moor continued without interruption 
 over a range of lofty hills, or, to speak more strictly, over a 
 sort of plateau or table-land, till it terminated at the enclosed 
 pasture-lands near Shayton. John Stanburne and the Doctor 
 walked first'along this pathway. The watch-dog's kennel was 
 close to the path, at a little green wooden gate, where it 
 entered the garden. 
 
 The dog, hearing his master's step, came out of his kennel, 
 much excited with the hope of a temporary release from the 
 irksomeness of his captivity ; but his master only caressed 
 and spoke to him a little, and passed on. Then he began to 
 talk to the Doctor. The sound of his voice reached the ears 
 of a third person, who came out of the wood, and began to 
 follow them on the path. 
 
 The Doctor became aware that they were followed, and 
 they stopped. The Colonel turned his lantern, and the light 
 of it fell full upon the intruder. 
 
 " Why, it 's a mere child," said the Colonel. " But what on 
 earth 's the matter with the Doctor ? " 
 
 Certainly that eccentric Doctor did behave in a most 
 remarkable manner. He snatched the lantern from the 
 Colonel's hand without one word of apology, and having 
 cast its beams on the child's face, threw it down on the 
 ground, and seized the vagrant in his arms. " The Doctor's 
 mad," thought the Colonel, as he picked up the lantern. 
 
 " Why, // 'j little Jacob I" cried Dr. Bardly. 
 
 But this conveyed notliing to the mind of the Colonel. 
 What did he know about little Jacob?
 
 Chap. IX. The Fugitive. 9 1 
 
 Meanwhile the lad was telling his tale to his friend. 
 Father had beaten him so, and he 'd run away. " Please, 
 Doctor, don't send me back again." The child's feet were 
 bare, and icy cold, and covered with blood. His clothes were 
 wet up to the waist. His little dog was with him. 
 
 " It 's a little boy that 's a most particular friend of mine," said 
 the Doctor ; " and he 's been very ill-used. We must take 
 care of him. I must beg a night's lodging for him in the house." 
 
 They took him into the Colonel's study, before the glowing 
 fire. " Now, what 's to be done ? " said the Colonel. " It 's 
 lucky you 're a doctor." 
 
 " Let us undress him and warm him first. We can do eveiy 
 thing ourselves. There is a most urgent reason why no domes- 
 tic should be informed of his being here. His existence here 
 must be kept secret." 
 
 The Colonel went to his dressing-room and brought towels. 
 Then he set some water on the fire in a kettle. The Doctor 
 took the wet things off, and examined the poor little lacerated 
 feet. He rubbed little Jacob all over with the towels most 
 energetically. The Colonel, whose activity was admirable to 
 witness, fetched a tub from somewhere, and they made 
 arrangements for a warm bath. 
 
 " One person must be told about this," said Dr. Bardly, 
 " and that 's Lady Helena. Go and tell her now. Ask her 
 to get up and come here, and warn her not to rouse any of 
 the servants." 
 
 Her ladyship made her appearance in a few minutes in a 
 dressing-gown. " Lady Helena," said the Doctor, " you 're 
 wanted as a nurse. This child requires great care for the 
 next twenty-four hours, and you must do every thing for him 
 with your own hands. Is there a place in the house where 
 he can be lodged out of the way of the servants ? " 
 
 Lady Helena had no boys of her own. She had had one 
 little girl at the beginning of her married life, who had lived, 
 and was now at Wenderholme, comfortably sleeping in the
 
 92 Wender holme. Part i 
 
 prettiest of little beds, in a large and healthy nursery in the 
 left wing of the building. She had had two little boys since, 
 but they were both sleeping in Wenderholme churchyard. 
 When she saw little Jacob in his tub, the tears came into her 
 eyes, and she was ready to be his nurse as long as ever he 
 might have need of her. 
 
 " I '11 tell you all about him. Lady Helena, when we 've put 
 him to bed." 
 
 Little Jacob sat in his tub looking at the kind, strange lady, 
 and feeling himself in a state of unrealizable bliss. " You 
 must be very tired and very hungry, my poor child," she said. 
 Little Jacob said he was very hungry, but he didn't feel tired 
 now. He had felt tired in the wood, but he didn't feel tired 
 now in the tub. 
 
 The boy being fairly put to bed, female curiosity could not 
 wait till the next day, and she sought out the Doctor, who was 
 still with the Colonel in his study. " I beg to be excused, 
 gentlemen," she said, " for intruding in this room in an unauth- 
 orized manner, but I want to know all about that little boy." 
 
 The Doctor told his history very minutely, and the history 
 of his father. Then he added, " I believe the only possible 
 chance of saving his father from killing himself with drinking 
 is to leave him for some time under the impression that the 
 boy, having been driven away by his cruelty, has died from 
 exposure on the moor. This may give him a horror of drink- 
 ing, and may effect a permanent cure. There is another 
 thing to be considered, the child's own safety. If we send 
 him back to his father, I will not answer for his life. The 
 father is already in a state of hirritability bordering on insan- 
 ity — in fact he is partially insane; and if the child is put 
 under his power before there has been time to work a thorough 
 cure, it is likely that he will beat him frequently and severely — 
 he may even kill him in some paroxysm of rage. If Isaac 
 Ogden knew that the child were here, and claimed him to- 
 morrow, I believe it would be your duty not to give him up, and
 
 Chap. IX. The Fugitive. 93 
 
 I should urge his uncle to institute legal proceedings to 
 deprive the father of the guardianship. A man in Isaac 
 Ogden's state is not fit to have a child in his power. He has 
 beaten him very terribly already, — his body is all bruises; 
 and now if we send him back, he will beat him again for 
 having run away." 
 
 These reasons certainly had great weight, but both the 
 Colonel and Lady Helena foresaw much difficulty in keeping 
 the child at Wenderholme without his presence there becom- 
 ing immediately known. His disappearance would make 
 a noise, not only at Shayton, but at Sootythorn, and every- 
 where in the neighborhood. The relations of the child were 
 in easy circumstances, and a heavy reward would probably 
 be offered, which the servants at Wenderholme Hall could 
 scarcely be expected to resist, still less the villagers in the 
 neighboring hamlet. It would be necessary to find some very 
 solitary person, living in great obscurity, to whose care little 
 Jacob might be safely confided — at any rate, for a few days. 
 Lady Helena suggested two old women who lived together in 
 a sort of almshouse of hers on the estate, but the Colonel said 
 they were too fond of gossip, and received too many visitors, 
 to be trusted. At last the Doctor's countenance suddenly 
 brightened, and he said that he knew where to hide little Jacob, 
 but where that was he positively refused to tell. All he asked 
 for was, that the child should be kept a close prisoner in the 
 Colonel's sanctum for the next twenty-four hours, and that the 
 Colonel would lend him a horse and gig — not a tandem.
 
 94 Wenderholme. Tart i 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 CHRISTMAS AT MILEND. 
 
 IT is quite unnecessary to inform the reader where Dr. Bardly 
 had determined to hide little Jacob. His resolution be- 
 ing decidedly taken, the Colonel and he waited till the next 
 night at half-past twelve, and then, without the help of a single 
 servant, they harnessed a fast-trotting mare to a roomy dog- 
 cart. Little Jacob and Feorach were put where the dogs 
 were kept on shooting expeditions. And both fell asleep 
 together. It was six o'clock in the morning when the Doctor 
 arrived at his destination. 
 
 Mr. Isaac Ogden, whose wretchedness the reader pities 
 perhaps as much as the Doctor did, continued his researches 
 for some weeks in a discouraged and desultory way, but little 
 Jacob was perfectly well hidden. Mrs. Ogden had been 
 admitted into the secret by the Doctor, and approved of his 
 policy of concealment. Under pretext of a journey to Man- 
 chester with Dr. Bardly, to consult an eminent physician 
 there, she absented herself two days from Milend and went 
 to visit her grandson. The truth was also known to Jacob 
 Ogden, senior, who supported his mother's resolution, which 
 would certainly have broken down without him. It pained 
 her to see her son Isaac in the misery of a bereavement which 
 he supposed to be eternal. The Doctor took a physiological 
 view of the case, and argued that time was a necessary condi- 
 tion of success. " We aren't sure of having saved him yet," 
 said the Doctor: "we must persevere till his constitution has 
 got past the point of craving for strong drink altogether."
 
 Chap. X. Christmas at Milcnd. 95 
 
 Matters remained in this state until Christmas Eve. Pe- 
 riodical festivals are highly agreeable institutions for happy 
 people, who have the springs of merriment within them, 
 ready to gush forth on any pretext, or on the strength of 
 simple permission to gush forth ; but it is difficult for a man 
 oppressed by a persistent weight of sorrow to throw it off 
 because the almanac has brought itself to a certain date, and 
 it is precisely at the times of general festivity that such a 
 man feels his burden heaviest. It may be observed also, 
 that as a man, or a society of men, approaches the stage of 
 matui ty and reflection, the events of life appear more and 
 more to acquire the power of coloring the whole of existence ; 
 so that the faculty of being merry at appointed times, and 
 its converse, the faculty of weeping at appointed times, both 
 give place to a continual but quiet sadness, from which we 
 never really escape, even for an hour, though we may still be 
 capable of a manly fortitude, and retain a certain elasticity, 
 or the appearance of it. In a word, our happiness and 
 misery are no longer alternative and acute, but coexist in a 
 chronic form, so that it has ceased to be natural for men to 
 wear sackcloth and heap ashes on their heads, and sit in the 
 dust in their wretchedness ; and it has also ceased to be 
 natural for them to crown themselves with flowers, and anoint 
 themselves with the oil of gladness, and clothe themselves in 
 the radiance of purple and cloth-of-gold. No hour of life is 
 quite miserable enough or hopeless enough for the sackcloth 
 and the ashes — no hour of life is brilliant enough for the 
 glorious vesture and the flowery coronal. 
 
 A year before, Isaac. Ogden would have welcomed the 
 Christmas festivities as a legitimate occasion for indulgence 
 in his favorite vice, without much meditation (and in this 
 perhaps he may have resembled some other very regular 
 observers of the festival) on the history of the Founder of 
 Christianity. But as it was no longer his desire to celebrate 
 either this or any other festival of the Church by exposing
 
 96 WenderJiolme. Part l 
 
 himself to a temptation which, for him, was the strongest 
 and most dangerous of all temptations — and as the idea of 
 a purely spiritual celebration was an idea so utterly foreign 
 to the whole tenor of his thoughts and habits as never even 
 to suggest itself to him — he had felt strongly disposed to 
 shun Christmas altogether, — that is, to escape from the 
 outward and visible Christmas to some place where the days 
 might pass as merely natural days, undistinguished by any 
 sign of national or ecclesiastical commemoration. He had 
 determined, therefore, to go back to Twistle Farm, from 
 which it seemed to him that he had been too long absent, 
 and had announced this intention to the Doctor. But when 
 the Doctor repeated it to Mrs. Ogden, she would not hear 
 of any such violation of the customs and traditions of the 
 family. Her sons had always spent Christmas Eve together ; 
 and so long as she lived, she was firmly resolved that they 
 always should. The pertinacity with which a determined 
 woman will uphold a custom that she cherishes is simply 
 irresistible — that is, unless the rebel makes up his mind to 
 incur her perpetual enmity ; and Isaac Ogden was less than 
 ever in a condition of mind either to brave the hostility of 
 his mother or wound her tenderer feelings. So it came to 
 pass that on Christmas Eve he went to Milend to tea. 
 
 Now on the tea-table there were some little cakes, and 
 Mrs. Ogden, who had not the remotest notion of the sort of 
 delicacy that avoids a subject because it may be painful to 
 somebody present, and who always simply gave utterance to 
 her thoughts as they came to her, observed that these little 
 cakes were of her own making, and actually added, " They 're 
 such as I used makin' for little Jacob — he was so fond 
 on 'em." 
 
 Isaac Ogden's feelings were not very sensitive, and he 
 could bear a great deal ; but he could not bear this. He set 
 down his cup of tea untasted, gazed for a few seconds at the 
 plateful of little cakes, and left the room.
 
 Chap. X. Christmas at Milcnd. 97 
 
 The Doctor was there, but he said nolhhig. Jacob Ogderj 
 did not feel under any obligation to be so reticent. " Mother," 
 he said, " I think you needn't have mentioned little Jacob — 
 our Isaac cannot bear it ; he knows no other but what th* 
 little un 's dead, and he 's as sore as sore." 
 
 This want of delicacy in Mrs. Ogden arose from an all but 
 total lack of imagination. She could sympathize with others 
 if she suffered along with them — an expression which might 
 be criticised as tautological, but the reader will understand 
 what is meant by it. If Mrs. Ogden had had the toothache, 
 she would have sympathized with the sufferings of another 
 person similarly afflicted so long as her own pangs lasted ; 
 but if a drop of creosote or other powerful remedy proved 
 efficacious in her own case, and released her from the tortur- 
 ing pain, she would have looked upon her fellow-sufiferer as 
 pusillanimous, if after that she continued to exhibit the out- 
 ward signs of torment. Therefore, as she herself knew that 
 little Jacob was safe it was now incomprehensible by her 
 that his father should not feel equally at ease about him, 
 though, as a matter of fact, she was perfectly well aware that 
 he supposed the child to be irrecoverably lost. Mrs. Ogden, 
 therefore, received her son Jacob's rebuke with unfeigned 
 surprise. She had said nothing to hurt Isaac that she knew 
 of — she " had only said that little Jacob used being fond o' 
 them cakes, and it was quite true." 
 
 Isaac did not return to the little party, and they began to 
 wonder what had become of him. After waiting some time 
 in silence, Mrs. Ogden left her place at the tea-tray, and 
 went to a little sitting-room adjoining — a room the men 
 were more accustomed to than any other in the house, and 
 where indeed they did every thing but eat and sleep, Mr. 
 Ogden had gone there from habit, as his mother expected, 
 and there she found him sitting in a large rocking-chair, and 
 gazing abstractedly into the fire. The chair rocked regularly 
 but gently, and its occupant seemed wholly unconscious — 
 
 7
 
 98 Wenderholme. Part i. 
 
 not only of its motion, but of every other material circum- 
 stance that surrounded him. 
 
 Mrs. Ogden laid her hand upon his shoulder, and said, 
 " Isaac, willn't ye come to your tea ? we 're all waiting for 
 you." 
 
 The spell was broken, and Ogden suddenly started to his 
 feet. " Give me my hat," he said, " and let me go to my own 
 house. I 'm not fit to keep Christmas this year. How is a 
 man to care about tea and cakes when he 's murdered his 
 own son ? I 'm best by myself ; let me go' up to Twistle 
 Farm. D 'ye expect me to sing songs at supper, and drink 
 rum-punch ? " 
 
 " There '11 be no songs, and you needn't drink unless you 
 like, but just come and sit with us, my lad — yoo always used 
 spendin' Christmas Eve at Milend, and Christmas Day too." 
 
 " It signifies nought what I used doin'. Isaac Ogden isn't 
 same as he used to be. He 'd have done better, I reckon, 
 if he 'd altered a month or two sooner. There 'd have been 
 a little lad here then to make Christmas merry for us all." 
 
 " Well, Isaac, I 'm very sorry for little Jacob ; but it cannot 
 be helped now, you know, and it 's no use frettin' so much 
 over it." 
 
 " Mother," said Isaac Ogden, sternly, " it seems to me that 
 you We not likely to spoil your health by frettin' over my little 
 lad. You take it very easy it seems to me, and my brother 
 takes it easy too, and so does Dr. Bardly — but then Dr. 
 Bardly was nothing akin to him. Folk says that grand- 
 mothers care more for chilther than their own parents does ; 
 but you go on more like a stepmother nor a grandmother." 
 
 This was hard for Mrs. Ogden to bear, and she was strongly 
 tempted to reveal the truth, but she forebore and remained 
 silent. Ogden resumed, — 
 
 " I cannot tell how you could find in your heart to bake 
 them little cakes when th' child isn't here to eat 'em." 
 
 The effort to restrain herself was now almost too much for
 
 Chav. X. Christmas at Milend. 99 
 
 Mrs. Ogden, since it was the fact that she had baked the said 
 little cakes, or others exactly like them, and prepared various 
 other dainties, for the especial enjoyment of Master Jacob, 
 who at that veiy minute was regaling himself therewith in the 
 privacy of his hiding-place. Still she kept silent. 
 
 After another pause, a great paroxysm of passionate regret 
 seized Ogden — one of those paroxysms to which he was 
 subject at intervals, but which in the presence of witnesses 
 he had hitherto been able to contend against or postpone. 
 "Oh, my little lad ! " he cried aloud, "oh, my little innocent 
 lad, that I drove away from me to perish ! I'd give all I 'm 
 worth to see thee again, little 'un ! " He suddenly stopped, 
 and as the tears ran down his cheeks, he looked out of the 
 window into the black night. " If I did but know," he said, 
 slowly, and with inexpressible sadness — "mother, mother, if 
 I did but know where his bits o' bones are lying ! " 
 
 It was not possible to witness this misery any longer. All 
 Dr. Bardly's solemn injunctions, all dread of a possible re- 
 lapse into the terrible habit, were forgotten. The mother had 
 borne bitter reproaches, but she could not bear this agony 
 of grief. " Isaac,'' she said, " Isaac, my son, listen to me : 
 thy little lad is alive — he 's alive and he 's well, Isaac." 
 
 Ogden did not seem to realize or understand this commu- 
 nication. At last he said, " I know what you mean, mother, 
 and I believe it. He 's alive in heaven, and he can ail 
 nothing, and want nothing, there." 
 
 "I hope he'll go there when he 's an old man, but a good 
 while after we go there ourselves, Isaac." 
 
 A great change spread over Ogden's face, and he began to 
 tremble from head to foot. He laid his hand on his mother's 
 arm with a grasp of iron. His eyes dilated, the room swam 
 round him, his heart suspended its action, and in a low hiss- 
 ing whisper, he said, " Mother, have they found him "i " 
 
 " Yes — and he 's both safe and well." 
 
 Ogden rushed out of the house, and paced the garden-walk
 
 loo WenderJiolme. Part i. 
 
 hurriedly from end to end. The intensity of his excitement 
 produced a commotion in the brain that needed the counter- 
 stimulus of violent physical movement. It seemed as if the 
 roof of his skull must be lifted off, and for a few minutes 
 there was a great crisis of the whole nervous system, to which 
 probably his former habits may have more especially exposed 
 him. When this was over, he came back into the house, 
 feeling unusually weak, but incredibly calm and happy. Mrs. 
 Ogden had told the Doctor and Mr. Jacob what had passed, 
 and the Doctor without hesitation set off at once for his own 
 house, where he ordered his gig, and drove away rapidly on 
 the Sootythorn road. 
 
 " Mother," said Isaac, when he came in, " give me a cup 
 of tea, will you ? " 
 
 " A glass of brandy would do you more good." 
 
 " Nay, mother, we 've had enough of brandy, it will not do 
 to begin again now." 
 
 He sat down in evident exhaustion and drank the tea 
 slowly, looking rather vacantly before him. Then he laid his 
 head back upon the chair and closed his eyes. The lips 
 moved, and two or three tears ran slowly down the cheeks. 
 At last he started suddenly, and, looking sharply round him, 
 said, " Where is he, where is he, mother } where is little 
 Jacob, my little lad, my lad, my lad ? " 
 
 "Be quiet, Isaac — try to compose yourself a little; Dr. 
 Bardly 's gone to fetch him. He '11 be with us very soon." 
 
 Mr. Ogden remained quietly seated for some minutes with- 
 out speaking, and then, as his mind began to clear after the 
 shock of the great emotion it had passed through, he asked 
 who had found his boy. and where they had found him, and 
 when. 
 
 These questions were, of course, somewhat embarrassing 
 to his mother, and she would probably have sheltered herself 
 behind some clumsy invention, but her son Jacob interposed. 
 
 " The fact is, Isaac, the loss of your little 'un seemed to be
 
 Chap. X. Chvistmas at Milend. i o i 
 
 doin' you such a power o' good 'at it seemed a pity to spoil it 
 by tellin' you. And it 's my opinipji as .mother 's leJ:, th' cat 
 out o' th' bag three week too soon as it is.'.' u 
 
 " Do you mean to tell me," said Isaac,;-' th^t- you ;knew the 
 child was found, and hid him from-his i)wn fittiier ? '' ■ » ■ 
 
 "Isaac, Isaac, you mun forgive us," said the mother; "we 
 did it for your good." 
 
 " Partly for his good, mother," interposed Jacob, " but still 
 more for th' sake o' that child. What made him run away 
 from Twistle Farm, Isaac Ogden ? answer me that." 
 
 Isaac remained silent. 
 
 " Do you fancy, brother Isaac, that any consideration for 
 your feelin's was to hinder us from doin' our duty by that 
 little lad ? What sort of a father is it as drives away a child 
 like that with a horsewhip? Thou was no more fit to be 
 trusted with him nor a wolf wi' a little white lamb. If he 'd 
 been brought back to thee two days after, it 'ud a' been as 
 much as his life was worth. And I '11 tell thee what, Isaac 
 Ogden, if ever it conies to my ears as you take to horse- 
 whippin' him again, I '11 go to law wi' you and get the guardi- 
 anship of him into safer hands. There 'd be little difficulty 
 about that as it is. I 've taken my measures — my witnesses 
 are ready — I 've consulted lawyers ; and I tell you candidly, 
 I mean to act at once if I see the least necessity for it. Little 
 Jacob was miserable for many a week before you drove him 
 out o' th' house, an' if we 'd only known, you would never 
 have had the chance." 
 
 " Nay, Jacob," interposed Mrs. Ogden, " you 're a bit too 
 hard on Isaac; he's the child's own father, and he had a 
 right to punish him within reason." 
 
 " Father ! father ! " cried Jacob, scornfully ; " there isn't a 
 man in Shayton as isn't more of a father to our little un 
 than Isaac has been for many a month past. There isn't a 
 man in Shayton but what would have been kinder to a nice 
 little lad like that than he has been. What signifies havin' 
 begotten a child, if fatherin' it is to stop there?"
 
 I02 Wender holme. Part I. 
 
 At last Isaac Ogden lifted up his face and spoke. 
 
 " Brother Jacob, you .have said nothing but what is right 
 and true, and you have' all acted right both by me and him. 
 But If-t us itart fresh.. , I.'ve turned over a new leaf ; I 'm not 
 such as I used to be. I mean to be different, and to do dif- 
 ferent, and I will be a good father to that child. So help me 
 God ! " 
 
 He held out his hand, and Jacob took it and shook it 
 heartily. The two brothers looked in each other's face, and 
 there was more of brotherly affection in their look than there 
 had ever been since the dissolution of their partnership in 
 the cotton business, which had taken place some years before. 
 Mrs. Ogden saw this with inexpressible pleasure. "That's 
 right, lads — that's right, lads; God bless you! God bless 
 both on you ! " 
 
 The customs of Shayton were mighty, especially the cus- 
 tom of drinking a glass of port-wine on every imaginable 
 occasion. If a Shayton man felt sorry, he needed a glass of 
 port-wine to enable him to support his grief ; but if he felt 
 glad, there arose at once such a feeling of true sympathy be- 
 tween his heart and that joyous generous fluid, that it needed 
 some great material impediment to keep them asunder, and 
 such an impediment was not to be found in any well-to-do 
 Shayton household, where decanters were always charged, 
 and glasses ever accessible. So it was inevitable that on an 
 occasion so auspicious as this Mr. Jacob Ogden should drink 
 a glass — or, more probably, two glasses — of port ; and his 
 mother, who did not object to the same refreshment, bore him 
 company. 
 
 " Now Isaac, lad, let 's drink a glass to mother's good 
 health." 
 
 Mr. Ogden had not made any positive vow of teetotalism, 
 and though there might be some danger in allowing himself 
 to experience afresh, however slightly, the seductive stimulus 
 of alcohol whole centuries of tradition, the irresistible power
 
 Chap. X. Christmas at Mileiid. 103 
 
 of prevalent custom, and the deep pleasure he felt in the new 
 sense of brotherly fellowship, made his soul yearn to the wine. 
 
 " Here's mother's good health. Your good health, mother," 
 he said, and drank. Jacob repeated the words, and drank 
 also, and thus in a common act of filial respect and affection 
 did these brothers confirm and celebrate their perfect recon- 
 ciliation. 
 
 Isaac now began to show symptoms of uneasiness and 
 restlessness. He walked to the front door, and listened 
 eagerly for wheels. " How fidgety he is, th' old lad ! " said 
 Jacob j " it 's no use frettin' an' fidgetin' like that ; come and 
 sit thee down a bit, an' be quiet." 
 
 " How long will he be, mother ? " 
 
 Before Mrs. Ogden could reply, Isaac's excited ear detected 
 the Doctor's gig. He was out in the garden inmiediately, 
 and passed bareheaded through the gate out upon the public 
 road. Two gig-lamps came along from the direction of 
 Sootythorn. He could not see who was in the gig, but some- 
 thing told him that little Jacob was there, and his heart beat 
 more quickly than usual. 
 
 Perhaps our little friend might have behaved himself some- 
 what too timidly on this occasion, but the Doctor had talked 
 to him on the road. He had explained to him, quite frankly, 
 that Mr. Ogden's harshness had been wholly due to the irri- 
 table state of his nervous system, and that he would not be 
 harsh any more, because he had given up drinking. He had 
 especially urged upon little Jacob that he must not seem 
 afraid of his father ; and as our hero was of a bold disposi- 
 tion, and had plenty of assurance, he was fully prepared to 
 follow the Doctor's advice. 
 
 Isaac Ogden hails the gig ; it stops, and little Jacob is in 
 his arms. 
 
 " Please, papa, I wish you a merry Christmas and a happy 
 New Year ! " 
 
 Little Jacob's pony was sent for, and the next morning his
 
 1 04 Wendcrholme. Part i. 
 
 father and he rode together up to Twistle Farm. Until the 
 man came for the pony, old Sarah had not the faintest hope 
 that little Jacob was in existence, and the shock had nearly 
 been too much for her. The messenger had simply said, " I 'm 
 comed for little Jacob* tit." "And who wants it?" Sarah 
 said ; for it seemed to her a desecration for any one else to 
 mount that almost sacred animal. "Why, little Jacob wants 
 it hissel, to be sure." And this (with some subsequent 
 explanations of the most laconic description) was his way of 
 breaking the matter delicately to old Sarah. 
 
 The old woman had never spent an afternoon, even the 
 afternoon of Christmas Day, so pleasantly as she spent that. 
 How she did toil and bustle about ? The one drawback to 
 her happiness was that she did not possess a Christmas 
 cake ; but she set to work and made tea-cakes, and put such 
 a quantity of currants in them that they were almost as good 
 as a Christmas cake. She lighted a fire in the parlor, and 
 another in little Jacob's room ; and she took out the little 
 night-gown that she had cried over many a time, and, strange 
 to say, she cried over it this time too. And she arranged the 
 small bed so nicely, that it looked quite inviting, with its 
 white counterpane, and clean sheets, and bright brass knobs, 
 and pretty light iron work painted blue. When all was ready, 
 it occurred to her that since it was Christmas time she would 
 even attempt a little decoration ; and as there were some ever- 
 greens at Twistle Farm, and some red berries, she went and 
 gathered thereof, and attempted the adornment of the house — 
 somewhat clumsily and inartistically, it must be confessed, 
 yet not without giving it an air of festivity and rejoicing. 
 She had proceeded thus far, and could not " bethink her " 
 of any thing else that needed to be done, when, suddenly 
 casting her eye on her own costume, she perceived that it 
 was of the deepest black ; for, being persuaded that the dear 
 child was dead, she had so clothed herself out of respect for 
 * The possessive is omitted in the genuine Lancashire dialect.
 
 Chap. X. Christmas at Milend. 105 
 
 his memory. She held her sombre skirt out with both her 
 hands as if to push it away from her, and exclaimed aloud, 
 " I '11 be shut o' thee, onyhow, and sharply too ; " and she 
 hurried upstairs to change it for the brightest garment in her 
 possession, which was of sky-blue, spotted all over with 
 yellow primroses. She also put on a cap of striking and 
 elaborate magnificence, which the present writer does not 
 attempt to describe, only because such an attempt would 
 incur the certainty of failure. 
 
 That cap had hardly been assumed and adjusted when it 
 was utterly crushed and destroyed in a most inconsiderate 
 manner. A sound of hoofs had reached old Sarah's ears, 
 and in a minute afterwards the cap was ruined in Master 
 Jacob's passionate embraces. You may do almost any thing 
 you like to a good-tempered old woman, so long as you do 
 not touch her cap ; and it is an undeniable proof of the 
 strength of old Sarah's affection, and of the earnestness of 
 her rejoicing, that she not only made no remonstrance in 
 defence of her head-dress, but was actually unaware of the 
 irreparable injury which had been inflicted upon it.
 
 io6 WenderJiolme. Part i 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE COLONEL GOES TO SHAYTON. 
 
 *" I ^HE next time the Doctor met Colonel Stanburne at 
 -*- Sootythorn, he gave such a good account of Mr. Isaac 
 Ogden, that the Colonel, who took a strong interest in little 
 Jacob, expressed the hope that Mr. Ogden would still join the 
 regiment ; though in the time of his grief and tribulation he 
 had resigned his commission, or, to speak more accurately — 
 for the commission had not yet been formally made out and 
 delivered to him — he had withdrawn his name as a candidate 
 for one. The Colonel, in his friendly way, declared that the 
 Doctor was not a hospitable character. " I ask you to Wen- 
 derholme every time I see you, and you come and stay some 
 times, though not half often enough, but you never ask me 
 to your house ; and, by Jove ! if I want to be invited at all, I 
 must invite myself." The Doctor, who liked John Stanburne 
 better and better the more he knew of him, still retained the 
 very erroneous notion that a certain state and style were 
 essential to his happiness ; and, notwithstanding many broad 
 hints that he had dropped at different times on the subject, 
 siill hung back from asking him to a house where, though 
 comfort reigned supreme, there was not the slightest preten- 
 sion to gentility. The old middle-class manner of living still 
 lingered in many well-to do houses in Shayton, and the 
 Doctor faithfully adhered to it. Every thing about him was 
 perfectly clean and decent, but he had not marched with the 
 times; and whilst the attorneys and cotton-spinners in Sooty- 
 thorn and elsewhere had the chairs of ihcir dining rooms
 
 Chap. XL The Colonel goes to Sliayton. 107 
 
 covered with morocco leather, and their drawing-rooms filled 
 with all manner of glittering fragilities, and Brussels carpets 
 with pretty little tasteful patterns, and silver forks, and nap- 
 kins, and a hundred other visible proofs of the advance of 
 refinement, the worthy Doctor had not kept up with them at 
 all, but lagged behind by the space of about thirty years. He 
 had no drawing-room ; the chairs of his parlor were of an 
 ugly and awkward pattern, and their seats were covered with 
 horsehair ; the carpet was cheap and coarse, with a mon- 
 strous pattern that no artistic person would have tolerated 
 for a single day ; and though the Doctor possessed a silver 
 punch-ladle and teapot, and plenty of silver spoons of every 
 description, all the forks in the house were of steel ! Indeed, 
 the Doctor's knives and forks, which had belonged to his 
 mother, or perhaps even to his grandmother, were quite a 
 curiosity in their way. They had horn handles, of an odd 
 indescribable conformation, supposed to adapt itself to the 
 hollow of the hand, but which, from some misconception of 
 human anatomy on the part of the too ingenious artificer, 
 seemed always intended for the hand of somebody else. 
 These handles were stained of such a brilliant green, that, in 
 the slang of artists, they " killed " every green herb on the 
 plate of him who made use of them. The forks had spring 
 guards, to prevent the practitioner from cutting his left hand 
 with the knife that he held in his right ; and the knife had a 
 strange round projection at what should have been the point, 
 about the size of a shilling, which (horrible to relate !) had 
 been originally designed to convey gravy and small fragments 
 of viands, not prehensible by means of the two-pronged fork, 
 into the human mouth ! In addition to these strange relics of 
 a bygone civilization the Doctor possessed two large rocking- 
 chairs, of the same color as the handles of his knives. The 
 Doctor loved a rocking-chair, in which he did but share a 
 taste universally prevalent in Shayton, and defensible on the 
 profoundest philosophical grounds. The human creature loves
 
 io8 Wender holme. Part i. 
 
 repose, but a thousand causes may hinder the perfect enjoy- 
 ment of it, and torment him into restlessness at the very time 
 when he most longs for rest. He may sit down after the 
 business of the day, and some mental or bodily uneasiness 
 may make the quiet of the massive easy-chair intolerable to 
 him. The easy-chair does not sympathize with him, does not 
 respond to the fidgety condition of his nervous system ; and 
 yet he tries to sit down in it and enjoy it, for, though fidgety, 
 he is also weary, and needs the comfort of repose. Now, the 
 rocking-chair — that admirable old Lancashire institution — 
 and the rocking-chair alone, responds to both these needs. 
 If you are fidgety, you rock ; if not, you don't. If highly ex- 
 cited, you rock boldly back, even to the extremity of danger ; 
 if pleasantly and moderately stimulated, you lull yourself with 
 a gentle motion, like the motion that little waves give to a 
 pleasure boat. It is true that the bolder and more emphatic 
 manner of rocking has become impossible in these latter days, 
 for the few upholsterers who preserve the tradition of the 
 rocking-chair at all make it in such a highly genteel manner, 
 that the rockers are diminished to the smallest possible arc ; 
 but the Doctor troubled himself little concerning these achieve- 
 ments of fashionable upholstery, and regarded his old rocking- 
 chairs with perfect satisfaction and complacency — in which, 
 without desiring to ofifend against the decisions of the fashion- 
 able world, we cannot help thinking that he was right. 
 
 A large green rocking-chair, with bold high rockers and 
 a soft cushion like a small feather-bed, a long clay pipe quite 
 clean and new, a bright copper spittoon, and a jug of strong 
 ale, — these things, with the necessary concomitants of a 
 briskly burning fire and an unlimited supply of tobacco, formed 
 the ideal of human luxury and beatitude to a generation now 
 nearly extinct, but of which the Doctor still preserved the 
 antique traditions. In substance often identical, but in out- 
 wardly visible means and appliances differing in every detail, 
 the pleasures of one generation seem quaint and even ridicu-
 
 Chap. XI. The Colonel goes to Shay ton. 109 
 
 lous in comparison with the same pleasures as pursued by its 
 successor. Colonel Stanburne smoked a pipe, but it was a 
 short meerschaum, mounted in silver ; and he also used a 
 knife and fork, and used them skilfully and energetically, but 
 they were not like the Doctor's grandmother's knives and 
 forks. 
 
 And yet, when the Colonel came to Shayton, he managed 
 to eat a very hearty dinner at one p.m. with the above-named 
 antiquated instruments. After the celery and cheese, Dr. 
 Bardly took one of the rocking-chairs, and made the Colonel 
 sit down in the other ; and Martha brought a fresh bottle of 
 uncommonly fine old port, which she decanted on a table in 
 the corner that did duty as a sideboard. When they had 
 done full justice to this, the Doctor ordered hot water \ and 
 Martha, accustomed to this laconic command, brought also 
 certain other fluids which were hot in quite a different sense. 
 She also brought a sheaf of clay tobacco-pipes, about two 
 feet six inches long, and in a state of the whitest virginity — 
 emblems of purity ! emblems, alas ! at the same time, of all 
 that is most fragile and most ephemeral ! 
 
 " Nay, Martha," said the Doctor, " we don't want them clay 
 pipes to-day. Colonel Stanburne isn't used to 'em, I reckon. 
 Bring that box of cigars that I bought the other day in 
 Manchester." 
 
 The Colonel, however, would smoke a clay pipe, and he 
 tried to rock as the Doctor did, and soon, by the effect of 
 that curious sympathy which exists between rocking-chairs 
 (or their occupants), the two kept time together like mu- 
 sicians in a duet, and clouds of the densest smoke arose 
 from the two long tobacco-pipes. 
 
 It had been announced to the inhabitants of the parsonage 
 that the representative of the house of Stanburne intended 
 to call there that afternoon ; and though it would be an 
 exaggeration to state that the preparations for his reception 
 were on a scale of magnificence, it is not an exaggeration to
 
 iio Wenderhohne. Part i 
 
 describe them as in every respect worthy of Mrs. Prigley's 
 skill as a manager, and her husband's ingenuity and taste. 
 New carpets they could not buy, so it was no use thinking 
 about them ; and though Mrs. Prigley had indulged the hope 
 that Mrs. Ogden's attention would be drawn to the state of 
 her carpets by that accident with which the reader is already 
 acquainted, so as to lead, it might be, to some act of gener- 
 osity on her part, this result had not followed, and indeed 
 had never suggested itself to Mrs. Ogden, who had merely 
 resolved to look well to her feet whenever she ventured into 
 the parlor at the parsonage, as on dangerous and treacherous 
 ground. Under these circumstances Mrs. Prigley gradually 
 sank into that condition of mind which accepts as inevitable 
 even the outward and visible signs of impecuniosity ; and 
 though an English lady must indeed be brought low before 
 she will consent to see the boards of her floors in a condition 
 of absolute nakedness, poor Mrs. Prigley had come down to 
 this at last ] and she submitted without a murmur when her 
 husband expressed his desire that "that old rag" on the floor 
 of the drawing-room might be removed out of his sight. 
 When the deal boards were carpetless, Mrs. Prigley was pro- 
 ceeding with a sigh to replace the furniture thereon ; but her 
 husband desired that it might be lodged elsewhere for a few 
 days, during which space of time he kept the door of the 
 drawing-room locked, and spent two or three hours there 
 every day in the most mysterious seclusion, to the neglect of his 
 parochial duties. Mrs. Prigley in vain endeavored to discover 
 the nature of his occupation there. She tried to look through 
 the key-hole, but a flap of paper had been adapted to it on the 
 inside to defeat her feminine curiosity ; she went into the 
 garden and attempted to look in at the window, but the blind 
 was down, and as it was somewhat too narrow, slips of paper 
 had been pasted on the glass down each side so as to make 
 the interstice no longer available. The reverend master of the 
 house endeavored to appear as frank and communicative as
 
 Chap. XI. The Colond goes to Shay ton. 1 1 1 
 
 usual, by talking volubly on all sorts of subjects except the 
 mystery of the drawing-room ; but Mrs. Prigley did not con- 
 sider it consistent with her self-respect to appear to take any 
 interest in his discourse, and during all these days she pre- 
 served, along with an extreme gentleness of manner, the air 
 of a person borne down by secret grief. An invisible line of 
 separation had grown up between the two ; and though both 
 were perfectly courteous and polite, each felt that the days 
 of mutual confidence were over. There was a difference, 
 however, in their respective positions ; for the parson felt tran- 
 quil in the assurance that the cloud would pass away, where- 
 as his wife had no such assurance, and the future was dark 
 before her. It is true, that, notwithstanding the outward se- 
 renity of her demeanor, Mrs. Prigley was sustained by the 
 inward fires of wrath, which enable an injured woman to 
 endure almost any extremity of mental misery and distress. 
 
 We have seen that the Shayton parson had that peculiar 
 form of eccentricity which consists in the love of the Beau- 
 tiful. He had great projects for Shayton Church, which as 
 yet lay hidden in the privacy of his own breast ; and he had 
 also projects for the parsonage, of which the realization, to 
 the eye of reason and common-sense, would have appeared 
 too remote to be entertained for an instant. But the enthu- 
 siasm for the Beautiful does not wait to be authorized by the 
 Philistines, — if it did, it would wait till the end of all things ; 
 and Mr. Prigley, poor as he was, determined to have such a 
 degree of beauty in his habitation as might be consistent with 
 his poverty. Without being an artist, or any thing approach- 
 ing to an artist, he had practised the drawing of the simpler 
 decorative forms, and was really able to combine them very 
 agreeably. He could also lay a flat tint with a brush quite 
 neatly, though he could not manage a gradation. When it 
 had been finally decided that carpets could no longer be 
 afforded, Mr. Prigley saw that the opportunity had come for 
 the exercise of his talents ; but he was far too wise a man to
 
 1 1 2 WenderJiolme. Part i. 
 
 confide to his wife projects so entirely outside the orbit of 
 her ideas. He had attempted, in former days, to inoculate 
 her mind with the tastes that belong to culture, but he had 
 been met by a degree of impenetrability which proved to 
 him that the renewal of such attempts, instead of adding to 
 his domestic happiness by creating closer community of ideas, 
 might be positively detrimental to it, by proving too pi linly 
 the impossibility of such a community. Mrs. Prigley, like 
 many good women of her class, was totally and absolutely 
 devoid of culture of any kind. She managed her house ad- 
 mirably, and with a wonderful thrift and wisdom ; she was 
 an excellent wife in a certain sense, though more from duty 
 than any great strength of affection ; but beyond this and 
 the Church Service, and three or four French phrases which 
 she did not know how to pronounce, her mind was in such a 
 state of darkness and ignorance as to astonish even her hus- 
 band from time to time, though he had plenty of opportuni- 
 ties for observing it. 
 
 But what was he doing in the drawing-room ? He was 
 doing things unheard of in the Shayton valley. In the days 
 of his youth and extravagance he had bought a valuable 
 book on Etruscan design ; and though, as we have said else- 
 where, his taste and culture, though developed up to a certain 
 point, were yet by no means perfect or absolutely reliable, 
 still he could not but feel the singular simplicity and grace of 
 that ancient art, and he determined that the decoration of his 
 drawing-room should be Etruscan. On the wide area of the 
 floor he drew a noble old design, and stained it clearly in 
 black and red ; and, when it was dry, rubbed linseed-oil all 
 over it to fix it. The effect was magnificent ! the artist was 
 delighted with his performance ! but on turning his eye from 
 the perfect unity of the floor, with its centre and broad bor- 
 der, to the old paper on the walls, which was covered with a 
 representation of a brown angler fishing in a green river, 
 with a blue hill behind him, and an equally blue church-
 
 Chap. XI. The Colonel gocs to Shay ton. i 13 
 
 steeple, and a cow who had eaten so much grass that it had 
 not only fattened her but colored her with its own green- 
 ness — and when the parsoa counted the number of copies 
 of this interesting landscape that adorned his walls, and 
 saw that they numbered sixscore and upwards — then he felt 
 that he had too much of it, and boldly resolved to abolish it. 
 He looked at all the wall-papers in the shop at Shayton, but the 
 endurable ones were beyond his means, and the cheap ones 
 were not endurable — so he purchased a quantity of common 
 brown parcel-paper, of which he took care to choose the 
 most agreeable tint ; and he furtively covered his walls with 
 that, conveying the paper, a few sheets at a time, under his 
 topcoat. When the last angler had disappeared, the parson 
 began to feel highly excited at the idea of decorating all that 
 fresh and inviting surface. He would have a frieze — yes, he 
 would certainly have a frieze ; and he set to work, and copied 
 long Etruscan processions. Then the walls must be divided 
 into compartments, and each compartment must have its 
 chosen design, and the planning and the execution of this 
 absorbed Mr. Prigley so much, that for three weeks he did 
 not write a single new sermon, and, I am sorry to say, scarcely 
 visited a single parishioner except in cases of pressing neces- 
 sit}^ As the days were so short, he took to working by 
 candle-light ; and when once he had discovered that it was 
 possible to get on in this way, he worked till two o'clock in the 
 morning. He made himself a cap-candlestick, and with this 
 crest of light on the top of his head, and the fire of enthusi- 
 asm inside it, forgot the flying hours. 
 
 The work was finished at last. It was not perfect ; a good 
 critic might have detected many an inaccuracy of line, and 
 some incongruousness in the juxtaposition of designs, which, 
 though all antique and Etruscan, were often of dissimilar 
 epochs. But, on the whole, the result justified the proud 
 satisfaction of the workman. The room would be henceforth 
 marked with the sign of culture and of taste : it was a little 
 
 Temple of the Muse in the midst of a barbarian world. 
 
 8
 
 1 1 4 Wender holme. Part i 
 
 But what would Mrs. Prigleysay? The parson knew that 
 he had done a bold deed, and he rather trembled at the 
 consequence. " My love," he said, one morning at breakfast- 
 time, " I Ve finished what I was doing in the drawing-room, 
 and you can put the furniture back when you like ; but I 
 should not wish to have any thing hung upon the walls — ■ 
 they are sufficiently decorated as it is. The pictures " (by 
 which Mr. Prigley meant sundry worthless little lithographs 
 and prints) — "the pictures may be hung in one of the bed- 
 rooms wherever you like." 
 
 Mrs. Prigley remained perfectly silent, and her husband 
 did not venture to ask her to accompany him into the scene 
 of his artistic exploits. He felt that in case she did not 
 approve what he had done, the situation might become embar- 
 rassing. So, immediately after breakfast, he walked forth 
 into the parish, and said that he should probably dine with 
 Mr. Jacob Ogden, who (by his mother's command) had 
 kindly invited him to do so whenever he happened to pass 
 Milend about one o'clock in the day. And in this way the 
 parson managed to keep out of the house till tea-time. It 
 was not that Mr. Prigley dreaded any criticism, for to criti- 
 cise, one must have an opinion. Mrs. Prigley on these matters 
 had not an opinion. All that Mr. Prigley dreaded was the 
 anger of the offended spouse — of the spouse whom he had 
 not even gone through the formality of seeming to consult. 
 
 He was punished, but not as he had expected to be pun- 
 ished. Mrs. Prigley said nothing to him on the subject ; 
 but when they went into the drawing-room together at night, 
 she affected not to perceive that he had done any thing what- 
 ever there. Not only did she not speak about these changes, 
 but, though Mr. Prigley watched her eyes during the whole 
 evening to see whether they would rest upon his handiwork, 
 they never seemed to perceive it, even for an instant. She 
 played the part she had resolved upon with marvellous per- 
 sistence and self-control. She seemed precisely as she had
 
 Chap. XI. The Colonel goes to Shayto7i. 115 
 
 always been : — sulky ? not in the least ; there was not the slight- 
 est trace of sulkiness, or any thing approaching to sulkiness 
 in her manner — the Etruscan designs were simply invisible 
 for her, that was all. 
 
 They were not so invisible for the Colonel when he came 
 to pay his visit at the parsonage, and, in his innocence, he 
 complimented Mrs. Prigley on her truly classical taste. He 
 had not the least notion that the floor was carpetless because 
 the Prigleys could not afford a carpet — the degree of pov- 
 erty which could not afford a carpet not being conceivable 
 by him as a possible attribute of one of his relations or 
 friends. He believed that this beautiful Etruscan design was 
 preferred by Mrs. Prigley to a carpet — to the best of car- 
 pets — on high aesthetic grounds. Ah ! if he could have read 
 her heart, and seen therein all the shame and vexation that 
 glowed like hidden volcanic fires ! All these classical deco- 
 rations seemed to the simple lady a miserable substitute for 
 the dear old carpet with its alternate yellow flourish and 
 brown lozenge ; and she regretted the familiar fisherman 
 whose image used to greet her wherever her eyes might rest. 
 But she felt a deeper shame than belongs to being visibly 
 poor or visibly ridiculous. The room looked poor she knew, 
 and in her opinion it looked ridiculous also ; but there was 
 something worse than that, and harder far to bear. How 
 shall I reveal this bitter grief and shame — how find words 
 to express the horror I feel for the man who was its unpardon- 
 able cause ! Carried away by his enthusiasm for a profane 
 and heathen art, Mr. Prigley had actually introduced, in the 
 frieze and elsewhere, several figures which — well, were di- 
 vested of all drapery whatever ! " And he a clergyman, too ! " 
 thought Mrs. Prigley. True, they were simply outlined ; and 
 the conception of the original designer had been marvellously 
 elegant and pure, chastened to the last degree by long de- 
 votion to the ideal ; but there they were, these shameless 
 nymphs and muses, on the wall of a Christian clergyman !
 
 1 1 6 Wenderholme. Part i 
 
 John Stanburne, who had travelled a good deal, and who had 
 often stayed in houses where there were both statues and 
 pictures, saw nothing here but the evidence of cultivated 
 taste. " What will he think of us ? " said Mrs. Prigley to 
 herself ; and she believed that his compliments were merely 
 a kind way of trying to make her feel less uncomfortable. 
 Siie thought him very nice, and he chattered as pleasantly as 
 he possibly could, so that the Doctor, who had come with 
 him, had no social duty to perform, and spent his time in 
 studying the Etruscan decorations. Colonel Stanburne apolo- 
 gized for Lady Helena, who had intended to come with him ; 
 but her little girl was suffering from an attack of fever — not 
 a dangerous fever, he hoped, though violent. 
 
 The Doctor, who had not before heard of this, was sur- 
 prised ; but as he did not visit Wenderholme professionally 
 (for Wenderholme Hall was, medically speaking, under the 
 authority of the surgeon at Rigton, whose jealousy was already 
 awakened by our Doctor's intimacy with the Colonel), he 
 reflected that it was no business of his. The fact was, that 
 little Miss Stanburne was in the enjoyment of the most per- 
 fect health, but her mother thought it more prudent to let the 
 Colonel go to Shayton by himself in the first instance, so as 
 to be able to regulate her future policy according to his 
 report. Mr. Prigley came in before the visitor had exhausted 
 the subject of the fever, which he described with an accuracy 
 that took in these two very experienced people, for he de- 
 scribed from memory — his daughter having suffered from 
 such an attack about six months earlier than the very recent 
 date the Colonel found it convenient to assign to it. 
 
 It was, of course, a great satisfaction to the Prigleys that 
 the head of the Stanburnes should thus voluntarily renew a 
 connection which, so far as personal intercourse was con- 
 cerned, was believed to have been permanently severed. It 
 was not simply because the Colonel was a man of high 
 standing in the county that they were glad to become ac-
 
 Chap. XL The Colonel goes to Shay ton. iiy 
 
 quainted with him — there were certain clannish and romantic 
 sentiments which now found a satisfaction long denied to 
 them. Mrs. Prigley felt, in a minor degree, what a Highland 
 gentlewoman still feels for the chief of her clan; and she 
 was disposed to offer a sort of loyalty to the Colonel as the 
 head of her house, which was very different from the common 
 respect for wealth and position in general. The Stanburnes 
 had never taken any conspicuous part in the great events of 
 English history, but the successive representatives of the 
 family had at least been present in many historical scenes, 
 in conflicts civil and military, on the field, on the quarter-deck 
 of the war-ship, in stormy Parliamentary struggles ; and the 
 present chief of the name, for other descendants of the family, 
 inherited in an especial sense a place in the national life of 
 England. Not that Mrs. Prigley had any definite notions 
 even about the historj?^ of her own family ; the sentiment of 
 birth is quite independent of historical knowledge, and many 
 a good gentlewoman in these realms is in a general way 
 proud of belonging to an old family, without caring to inquire 
 very minutely into the history of it, just as she may be 
 proud of her coat-of-arms without knowing any thing about 
 heraldry. 
 
 The Colonel, in a very kind and graceful manner, expressed 
 his regret that such near relations should have been sepa- 
 rated for so long by an unfortunate dispute between their 
 fathers. " I believe," he said, " that your side has most to 
 forgive, since my father won the lawsuit, but surely we ought 
 not to perpetuate ill-feeling, generation after generation." 
 Mr. Prigley said that no ill-feeling remained ; but that though 
 he had often wished to see Wenderholme and its owner, he 
 knew that, as a rule, poor relations were liked best at a dis- 
 tance, and that not having hitherto had the pleasure of knowing 
 Colonel Stanburne, he must be held excusable for having 
 supposed him to be like the rest of the world. John Stan- 
 burne was not quite satisfied with this somewhat formal and
 
 1 1 8 Wenderkolme. Part i, 
 
 dignified assurance, and was resolved to establish a more 
 intimate footing before he left the parsonage. He exerted 
 himself to talk about ecclesiastical matters and church archi- 
 tecture, and when Mr. Prigley offered to show him the church, 
 accompanied him thither with great apparent interest and 
 satisfaction. The Doctor had patients to visit, and went his 
 own way.
 
 Chap. XII. Ogden s New Mill, 119 
 
 CHAPTER XIL 
 
 OGDEN'S NEW MILL. 
 
 /^UR Jacob, or big Jacob, or Jacob at Milend, as he now 
 
 ^-^ began to be called in the Ogden family, to distinguish 
 him from his nephew and homonym, had arrived at that point 
 in the career of every successful cotton-spinner when a feeling 
 of great embarrassment arises as to the comparative wisdom 
 of purchasing an estate or " laying down a new mill." When 
 his brother Isaac retired from the concern with ten thousand 
 pounds, Jacob had not precisely cheated him, perhaps, but 
 he had made a bargain which, considered prospectively, was 
 highly favorable to his own interest j and since he had been 
 alone, the profits from the mill had been so considerable that 
 his savings had rapidly accumulated, and he was now troubled 
 with a very heavy balance at his bankers, and in various 
 investments, which, to a man accustomed to receive the large 
 interest of successful cotton-spinning, seemed little better 
 than letting money lie idle. Mrs. Ogden had three hundred 
 a-year from five or six very small farms of her own, which 
 she had inherited from her mother, and this amply sufficed 
 for the entire expenses of the little household at Milend. 
 Jacob spent about a hundred and fifty pounds a-year on 
 himself personally, of which two-thirds were absorbed in 
 shooting, — the only amusement he cared about. His tailor's 
 bill was incredibly small, for he had the excuse, when in 
 Shayton, of being constantly about the mill, and it was natu- 
 ral that he should wear old fustian and corduroy there ; and
 
 I20 Wenderholme. Part i 
 
 as for his journeys to Manchester, it was his custom on these 
 occasions to wear the suit which had been the Sunday suit 
 of the preceding year. His mother knitted all his stockings 
 for him, and made his shirts, these being her usual occupa- 
 tions in an evening. His travelling expenses were confined 
 to the weekly journeys to Manchester, and as these were 
 always on business, they were charged to the concern. If 
 Jacob Ogden had not been fond of shooting, his persona] 
 expenses, beyond food and lodging (which were provided for 
 him by his mother), would not have exceeded fifty pounds 
 a-year ; and it is a proof of the great firmness of his character 
 in money matters that, although by nature passionately fond 
 of sport, he resolutely kept the cost of it within the hundred. 
 His annual outlay upon literature was within twenty shil- 
 lings \ not that it is to be supposed that he spent so large a 
 sum as one pound sterling in a regular manner upon books, 
 but he had been tempted by a second-hand copy of Baine's 
 * History of Lancashire,' which, being much the worse for 
 wear, had been marked by the bookseller at five pounds, 
 and Jacob Ogden, by hard bargaining, had got it for four 
 pounds nine shillings and nvnepence. After this extrava- 
 gance he resolved to spend no more " foolish money," as he 
 called it, and for several years made no addition to his library, 
 except a book on dog-breeding, and a small treatise on the 
 preservation of game, which he rightly entered amongst his 
 expenses as a sportsman. We are far from desiring to imply 
 that Jacob Ogden is in this respect to be considered a repre- 
 sentative example of the present generation of cotton-manu- 
 facturers, many of whom are highly educated men, but he 
 may be fairly taken as a specimen of that generation which 
 founded the colossal fortunes that excite the wonder, and 
 sometimes, perhaps, awaken the envy, of the learned. When 
 nature produces a creature for some especial purpose, she 
 does not burden it with wants and desires that would scatter 
 its force and impair its efficiency. The industrial epoch had
 
 Chap. XII. OQ:dens New Mill. 1 2 1 
 
 <b 
 
 to be inaugurated, the manufacturing districts had to be 
 created — and to do this a body of men were needed who 
 should be fresh springs of pure energy, and reservoirs of all 
 but illimitable capital ; men who should act with the certainty 
 and steadiness of natural instincts which have never been 
 impaired by the hesitations of culture and philosophy — men 
 who were less nearly related to university professors than to 
 the ant, and the beaver, and the bee. And if any cultivated 
 and intellectual reader, in the thoughtful retirement of his 
 library, feels himself superior to Jacob Ogden, the illiterate 
 cotton-spinner, he may be reminded that he is not on all 
 points Ogden's superior. We are all but tools in the hands 
 of God ; and as in the mind of a writer great delicacy and 
 flexibility are necessary qualities for the work he is appointed 
 to do, so in the mind of a great captain of industry the most 
 valuable qualities may be the very opposite of these. Have 
 we the energy, the directness, the singleness of purpose, the 
 unflinching steadiness in the dullest possible labor, that 
 mark the typical industrial chief ? We know that we have 
 not ; we know that these qualities are not compatible with 
 the tranquillity of the studious temperament and the medi- 
 tative life. And if the Ogdens cannot be men of letters, 
 neither can the men of letters be Ogdens. 
 
 It is admitted, then, that Jacob Ogden was utterly and 
 irreclaimably illiterate. He really never read a book in his 
 life, except, perhaps, that book on dog-breaking. Whenever 
 he tried to read, it was a task and a labor to him ; and as 
 literature is not of the least use in the cotton trade, the 
 energy of his indomitable will had never been brought to 
 bear upon the master)^ of a book. And yer you could not 
 meet him without feeling that he was very intelligent — that 
 he possessed a kind of intelligence cultivated by the closest 
 observation of the men and things within the narrow circle 
 of his life. Has it never occurred to the reader how won- 
 derfully the most illiterate people often impress us with a
 
 1 2 2 VVe7idei' holme. Part I 
 
 sense of their intelligence — how men and women who never 
 learned the alphabet have its light on their countenance and 
 in their eyes ? In Ogden's face there were clear signs of 
 that, and of other qualities also. And there was a keenness 
 in the glance quite different from the penetration of the 
 thinker or the artist — a keenness which always comes from 
 excessively close and minute attention to money matters, and 
 from the passionate love of money, and which no other 
 passion or occupation ever produces. 
 
 In all that related to money Jacob Ogden acted with the 
 pitiless regularity of the irresistible forces of nature. As 
 the sea which feeds the fisherman will drown him without 
 remorse — as the air which we all breathe will bury us under 
 heaps of ruin — so this man, though his capital enabled a 
 multitude to live, would take the bed from under a sick 
 debtor, and, rather than lose an imperceptible atom of his 
 fortune, inflict the utmost extremity of misery. Even Hanby, 
 his attorney, who was by no means tender-hearted, had been 
 staggered at times by his pitilessness, and had ventured upon 
 a feeble remonstrance. On these occasions a shade of stern- 
 ness was added to the keenness of Ogden's face, and he 
 repeated a terrible maxim, which, with one or two others, 
 guided his life : " If a man means to be rich, he must have 
 no fiine feelings;" and then he would add, "/mean to be 
 rich." 
 
 Perhaps he would have had fine feelings on a Sunday, for 
 on Sundays he was religious, and went to church, where he 
 beard a good deal about being merciful and forgiving which 
 on week-days he would have attributed to the influence of 
 the sentiments which he despised. But Ogden was far too 
 judicious an economist of human activities to be ignorant of 
 the great art of self-adaptation to the duties and purposes of 
 the hour; and as a prudent lawyer who has a taste for music 
 will take care that it shall not interfere with his professional 
 work, so Jacob Ogden, who really had rather a taste for
 
 Chap. XII. Ogden s New Mill. 123 
 
 religion, and liked to sit in church with gloved hands and 
 a clean face, had no notion of allowing the beautiful senti- 
 ments which he heard there to paralyze his action on a 
 week-day. Every Sunday he prayed repeatedly that God 
 would forgive him his debts or trespasses as he forgave his 
 debtors or those that trespassed against him ; but that was 
 no reason why he should not, from Monday morning to 
 Saturday night inclusively, compel everybody to pay what he 
 owed, and distress him for it if necessary. After all, he 
 acted so simply and instinctively that one can hardly blame 
 him very severely. The truest definition of him would be, 
 an incarnate natural force. The forces of wealth, which are 
 as much natural forces as those of fire and frost, had incar- 
 nated themselves in him. His sympathy with money was so 
 complete, he had so entirely subjected his mind to it, so 
 thoroughly made himself its pupil and its mouth-piece, that 
 it is less accurate to say that he had money than that he 
 was money. Jacob Ogden was a certain sum of money 
 whose unique idea was its own increase, and which acted in 
 obedience to the laws of wealth as infallibly as a planet acts 
 in obedience to the cosmic forces. 
 
 It is only natural that a man so endowed and so situated 
 should grow rich. In all respects circumstances were favor- 
 able to him. He had robust health and indefatigable energy. 
 His position in a little place like Shayton, where habits of 
 spending had not yet penetrated, was also greatly in his favor, 
 because it sheltered him in undisturbed obscurity. No man 
 who is born to wealth, and has lived from his infancy in the 
 upper class, will confine his expenditure during the best years 
 of manhood to the pittance which sufficed for Ogden. It 
 was an advantage to him, also, that his mind should be empty, 
 because he needed all the room in it for the endless details 
 concerning his property and his trade. No fact of this nat- 
 ure, however minute, escaped him. His knowledge of the 
 present state of all that belonged to him was so clear and
 
 124 WeiiderJiolme. part i. 
 
 accurate, and his foresight as to probable changes so sure, 
 that he anticipated every thing, and neutralized every cause 
 of loss before it had time to develop itself. 
 
 That a man whose daily existence proved the fewness of 
 his wants should have an eager desire for money, may appear 
 one of the inconsistencies of human nature ; but in the case 
 of Jacob Ogden, and in thousands of cases similar to his, 
 there is no real inconsistency. He did not desire money in 
 order to live luxuriously ; he desired it because the mere pos- 
 session of it brought increased personal consideration, and 
 gave him weight and importance in the little community he 
 lived in. And when a man relies on wealth alone for his po- 
 sition — when he is, obviously, not a gentleman — he needs a 
 great quantity of it. Another reason why Jacob Ogden never 
 felt that he had enough was because the men with whom he 
 habitually compared himself, and whom he wished to distance 
 in the race, did not themselves remain stationary, but enriched 
 themselves so fast that it needed all Jacob Ogden's genius for 
 money-getting to keep up with them ; for men of talent in 
 every order compare themselves with their equals and rivals, 
 and not with the herd of the incapable. It was his custom 
 to go to Manchester in the same railway carriage with four or 
 five men of business, who talked of nothing but investments, 
 and it would have made Jacob Ogden miserable not to be 
 able to take a share in these conversations on terms of per- 
 fect equality. 
 
 "I'm sure," thought Mrs. Ogden, "that our Jacob's got 
 something on his mind. He sits and thinks a deal more than 
 he used doin'. He 's 'appen * fallen in love, an' doesn't like 
 to tell me about it, because it's same as tellin' me to leave 
 Milend." 
 
 Mrs. Ogden was confirmed in her suspicions that very even- 
 ing by the fact that " our Jacob " shut himself up in the little 
 sitting-room with a builder. "If it's to build himself a new 
 
 * rcrliaps.
 
 Chap. XII. Ogdeii s New Mill. 125 
 
 'ouse and leave me at Milend, I willn't stop; and if it's to 
 build me a new 'ouse, I shall never live there. I shall go an' 
 live i' th' Cream-pot." 
 
 The idea of Mrs. Ogden living in a cream-pot may appear 
 to soHie readers almost as mythical as the story of that other 
 and much more famous old lady who lived in a shoe ; but 
 although a cream-pot would not be a bad place to live in if 
 one were a mouse, and the rich fluid not dangerously deep, it 
 is not to be supposed that Mrs. Ogden entertained such a 
 project in an obvious and literal sense. Her intentions were 
 rational, but they need a word of explanation. She possessed 
 a small farm called the Cream-pot ; and of all her small farms 
 this was her best beloved. Therefore had she resolved, years 
 and years before, that when Jacob married she would go to 
 the Cream-pot, and dwell there for the days that might remain 
 to her. 
 
 She waited till the builder had gone, and then went into 
 the little room. Jacob was busy examining a plan. " I wish 
 you wouldn't trouble yourself about that buildin', Jacob," said 
 Mrs. Ogden ; " there needs no buildin', for as soon as ever 
 you get wed I shall go to th' Cream-pot." 
 
 Her son looked up from his plan with an air of the utmost 
 astonishment. Mrs. Ogden continued, — 
 
 " I think you might have told me about it a little sooner. 
 I don't even know her name, not positively, though I may 
 guess it, perhaps. There's no doubt about one thing — 
 you '11 have time enough to repent in. As they make their 
 bed, so they must lie." 
 
 "What the devil," said Jacob, thinking aloud and very 
 loudly, — "what the devil is th' ould woman drivin' at.?" 
 
 " Nay, if I 'm to be sworn at, I 've been too long i' this 
 'ouse already." 
 
 And Mrs. Ogden, with that stately step which distinguished 
 her, made slowly for the door. 
 
 In cases where the lady of a house acts in a manner which
 
 126 Wenderhobne. Part i. 
 
 is altogether absurd, the male or males, whose comfort is in a 
 fijreat degree dependent upon her good temper, have a much 
 better chance of restoring it than when she is but moderately 
 unreasonable. They are put upon their guard ; they are 
 quite safe from that most fatal of errors, an attempt to bring 
 the lady round by those too direct arguments which are sug- 
 gested by masculine frankness \ they are warned that judicious 
 management is necessary. Thus, although Jacob Ogden, in 
 the first shock of his astonishment, had not replied to his 
 mother in a manner precisely calculated to soothe her, he at 
 once perceived his error, and saw that she must be brought 
 round. In politer spheres, where people beg pardon of each 
 other for the most trifling and even imaginary offences, the 
 duty of begging pardon is so constantly practised that (like 
 all well-practised duties) it is extremely easy. But it was im- 
 possible for Jacob Ogden, who had never begged pardon in 
 his life. 
 
 " I say, mother, stop a bit. You 've gotten a bit o' brass o' 
 your own, an' I 'm layin' down a new mill, and I shall want 
 o' th' * brass I can lay my hands on. I willn't borrow none, 
 out of this 'ouse, not even of my brother Isaac ; but if you 
 could lend me about four thousand pound, I could give a 
 better finish to th' new shed." 
 
 " Why, Jacob, you never told me as you were layin' down a 
 new mill." 
 
 " No, but I should a' done if you 'd a' waited a bit. I never 
 light made up my mind about it while last night." 
 
 It was not Jacob Ogden's custom to be confidential with his 
 mother about money matters, and she on her part had been 
 too proud to seek a confidence that was never offered ; but 
 many little signs had of late led her to the conclusion that 
 Jacob was in a period of unusual prosperity. He had bought 
 one or two small estates for three or four thousand pounds 
 
 • All the. In Lancashire the word all is abbreviated, as in Scotland, 
 to a', but pronounced o.
 
 Chap. XII. Ogdens New Mill. 127 
 
 each, and then had suddenly declared that he would lay out 
 no more money in "potterin' bits o' property like them, but 
 keep it while he 'd a good lump for summat o' some use." The 
 decision about the new mill proved to Mrs. Ogden that the 
 '• lump " in question was already accumulated. 
 
 " Jacob," she said, " how much do you reckon to put into 
 th' new mill ? " 
 
 " Why, 'appen about forty thousand ; an' if you'll lend me 
 four, that '11 be forty-four." 
 
 This was a larger sum than Mrs. Ogden had hoped ; but she 
 showed no sign of rejoicing beyond a quiet smile. 
 
 " And where do you think of buildin' it ? " 
 
 " Well, mother, if you don't mind sellin' me Little Mouse 
 Field, it 's the best mill-site in all Shayton. There 's that 
 water-course so handy ; and it'll increase the valley* of our 
 land round about it." 
 
 Mrs. Ogden was perfectly soothed by this time. Jacob 
 wanted to borrow four thousand pounds of her. She had coal 
 under her little farms, of which the accumulated produce had 
 reached rather more than that amount ; and she promised the 
 loan with a facetious hope that the borrower would be able to 
 give her good security. As to Little Mouse Field, he was 
 quite welcome to it, and she begged him to accept it as a 
 present. 
 
 " Nay, mother ; you shouldn't give me no presents bout t 
 givin' summat to our Isaac. But I reckon it 's all one ; for all 
 as I have, or shall have, '11 go to little Jacob." 
 
 "Eh, how you talk, lad! Why, you'll get wed an' have 
 chilther of your own. You 're young enough, an' well off 
 beside." 
 
 " There 's no need for me to get wed, mother, so long as th' 
 
 old woman lasts, an' who '11 last a long while yet, I reckon. 
 
 There 's none o' these young ladies as is kerfie enough to do 
 
 for a man like me as has been accustomed to see his house 
 
 • Value. t Without.
 
 1 2 8 Wenderholme. Part i. 
 
 well managed. Why, they cannot neither make a shirt nor a 
 puddin'." 
 
 These disparaging remarks concerning the " Girl of the 
 Period " filled (as they were designed to fill) Mrs. Ogden 's 
 mind with tranquillity and satisfaction. To complete her 
 good-humor, Jacob unrolled the plans and elevation of his new 
 mill. The plans were most extensive, but the elevation did 
 not strike the spectator by its height ; for as the site was not 
 costly, Jacob Ogden had adopted a system then becoming 
 prevalent in the smaller towns of the manufacturing districts, 
 where land was comparatively cheap — the system of erecting 
 mills rather as sheds than on the old five-storied model. His 
 new mill was simply a field walled in and roofed over, with 
 a tall engine house and an enormous chimney at one end. 
 People of aesthetic tastes would see nothing lovely in the long 
 straight lines of roofs and rows of monotonously identical 
 windows which displayed themselves on the designs drawn by 
 Ogden's architect ; but to Ogden 's eyes there was a beauty 
 here greater than that of the finest cathedral he had ever 
 beheld. He was not an imaginative person ; but he had quite 
 enough imagination to realize the v!sta of the vast interior, 
 the roar of the innumerable wheels, the incessant activity of 
 the living makers of his wealth. He saw himself standing in 
 the noble engine-room, and watching the unhurried see-saw of 
 the colossal beams ; the rise and fall of the pistons, thicker 
 than the spear of Goliath, and brighter than columns of silver ; 
 the revolution of the enormous fly-wheel ; the exquisite truth 
 of motion \ the steadiness of man's great creature, that never 
 knows fatigue. That engine-room should be the finest in all 
 Shayton. It should have a plaster cornice round its ceiling, 
 and a great moulded ornament in the middle of it ; the gas- 
 lights should be in handsome ground-glass globes ; and about 
 the casings of the cylinders there should be a luxury of mahog- 
 any and brass. 
 
 " But, Jacob," said his mother, when she had duly adjusted
 
 Chap. XII. Ogdeiis New MilL 129 
 
 her spectacles, and gradually mastered the main features of 
 the plan, " it seems to me as you 've put th' mill all o' one 
 side, and th' engine nobbut half-fills th' engine-house." 
 
 Ogden had never heard of Taymouth Castle and the old 
 Earl of Breadalbane, who, when somebody asked him why he 
 built his house at the extremity of his estate, instead of in the 
 middle of it, answered that he intended to "brizz yint." * 
 But, like the ambitious Earl, Ogden was one of those who 
 " brizz yint." 
 
 " Why, mother," he said, " this 'ere 's nobbut half the new 
 mill. What can you do with forty-five thousand ? " 
 
 * Push beyond.
 
 130 Wenderholme. part j. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 STANITHBURN PEEL. 
 
 " T TELENA! " said Colonel Stanburne one morning when 
 
 -^ -L he came clown to breakfast, " I 've determined on a 
 bold stroke. I 'm going to take the tandem this morning to 
 Stanithburn Peel, to see young Philip Stanburne and get him 
 to accept a captaincy in the new regiment." 
 
 Her ladyship did not see why this should be called a bold 
 stroke, so she asked if the road were particularly dangerous 
 to drive upon, and suggested that, if it were, one horse would 
 be safer than two. 
 
 " That 's not it. The sort of courage wanted on the present 
 occasion, my dear Helena, is moral courage and not physical 
 courage, don't you see ? Did you never hear the history of 
 the Stanburnes of Stanithburn ? Surely female ignorance 
 does not go so far as to leave you uninformed about such a 
 distinguished family as ours .-' " 
 
 " I know the history of its present representative, or at least 
 as much of it as he chooses to tell me." 
 
 " Error added to ignorance ! I am not the representative 
 of the family. We of Wenderholme are only a younger branch. 
 The real representative is Philip Stanburne, of Stanithburn 
 Peel." 
 
 " I scarcely ever heard of him before. I had some vague 
 notion that such a person e.xistcd. Why does he never come 
 here ? "
 
 Chap. XIII. Stanitkbum Peel. 131 
 
 "It's a long story, but you will find it all in the county 
 histories. In Henry the Eighth's time Sir Philip Stanburne 
 was a rebel and got beheaded, some people say hanged, for 
 treason, so his estates were confiscated. Wenderholme and 
 Stanithburn Tower were given back to the family in the next 
 generation, but the elder branch had only Stanithburn, which 
 is a much smaller estate than this. Since then they married 
 heiresses, but always regularly spent their fortunes, and now 
 young Philip Stanburne has nothing but the tower with a 
 small estate of bad land which brings him in four or five 
 hundred a-year." 
 
 " Not much certainly ; but why does he never come here ? " 
 
 " My father used to say that there had been no intercourse 
 between Stanithburn and Wenderholme for three hundred 
 years. Most likely the separation was a religious quarrel, 
 to begin with. The elder branch always remained strictly 
 Roman Catholic ; but the Wenderholme branch was more 
 prudent, and turned Protestant in Queen Elizabeth's time." 
 
 " All this is quite a romantic story, but those county 
 histories are so full of archaeology that one does not venture 
 to look into them. Would it not be better to write to Mr. 
 Philip Stanburne ? There is no knowing now he may receive 
 you." 
 
 The Colonel thought it better to go personally. " I 'm not 
 clever, Helena, at persuading people with a pen ; but I can 
 generally talk them round, when I have a chance of seeing 
 them myself." 
 
 The distance from Wenderholme to Stanithburn Peel was 
 exactly twenty-five miles ; but the Colonel liked a long drive, 
 and the tandem was soon on its way through the narrow but 
 well-kept lanes that traversed the stretch of fertile country 
 which separated the two houses. The Colonel lunched and 
 baited his horses at a little inn not often visited by such a 
 stylish equipage, and it was nearly three o'clock in the after- 
 noon when he began to enter the hilly country near the Peel.
 
 132 WenderJiolme, Part i. 
 
 The roads here were not so good as those in the j^lain, and 
 instead of being divided from the fields by hedges they 
 passed between gray stone walls. The scenery became more 
 and more desolate as the horses advanced. There was little 
 sylvan beauty left in it except that of the alders near a rapid 
 stream in the valley, and the hills showed the bare limestone 
 in many places through a scanty covering of grass. At 
 length a turn of the road brought the Colonel in sight of the 
 Tower or Peel of Stanithburn itself, an edifice which had little 
 pretension to architectural beauty, and lacked altogether that 
 easily achieved sublimity which in so many Continental build- 
 ings of a similar character is due to the overhanging of 
 machicoulis and tourelles. It possessed, however, the dis- 
 tinguisjiing feature of a battlement, which, still in jDerfect 
 preservation, entirely surrounded the leads of the flat roof. 
 Beyond this the old Tower retained no warlike character, but 
 resembled an ordinary modern house, with an additional 
 story on the top of it. There were, alas ! some modern sash- 
 windows, which went far to destroy the character of the 
 edifice ; yet whatever injury the Philistinism of the eighteenth 
 century might have inflicted upon the building itself, it had 
 not been able to destroy the romantic beauty of its site. 
 The hill that separates Shayton from Wenderholme is of 
 sandstone; and though behind Twistle Farm and elsewhere 
 there are groups of rocks of more or less picturesque interest, 
 they are not comparable to the far grander limestone region 
 about the Tower of Stanithburn. The Tower itself is situated 
 on a bleak eminence, half surrounded by a curve of the 
 stream already mentioned; but a mile below the Tower the 
 stream passes through a ravine of immense depth, and in 
 a series of cascades reaches the level of the plain below. 
 Above Stanithburn Peel, on the other hand, the stream 
 comes from a region of unimaginable desolation — where 
 the fantastic forms of the pale stone lift themselves, rain- 
 worn, like a council of rude colossi, and no sound is heard
 
 Chap. XIII. Stanitlibum Pcel. 133 
 
 but the wind and the stream, and the wild cry of the 
 plover. 
 
 A very simple gateway led from the public to a private 
 road, which climbed the hill till it ended in a sort of farm- 
 yard between the Peel and its outbuildings. When the 
 Colonel arrived here, he was received by a farm-servant, who 
 showed the way to the stable, and said that his master was 
 out fishing. By following the stream, the Colonel would be 
 sure to find him. 
 
 John Stanburne set off on foot, not without some secret 
 apprehension. " Perhaps Helena was right, " he thought ; 
 " perhaps I ought to have written. They say he is a strange, 
 eccentric sort of fellow, and there is no telling how he may 
 receive me." 
 
 Philip Stanburne, of the Peel, was in fact reputed to be 
 morbid and misanthropic, with as much justice as there 
 usually is in such reports. After his father's death he had 
 been left alone with his mother, and the few years that he 
 lived in this way with her had been the sweetest and happiest 
 of his life. When he lost her, his existence became one of 
 almost absolute solitude, broken only by a weekly visit to a 
 great house ten miles from Stanithburn, where a chaplain 
 was kept, and he could hear mass — or by the occasional 
 visits of the doctor, and one or two by no means intimate 
 neighbors. In country places a difference of religion is a 
 great impediment to intercourse ; and though people thought 
 it quite right that Philip Stanburne should be a Catholic, they 
 never could get over a feeling of what they called " queerness " 
 in the presence of a man who believed in transubstantiation, 
 and said prayers to the Virgin Mary. Like many other 
 recluses, he was credited with a dislike to society far differ- 
 ent from his real feeling, and much less creditable to his 
 good sense. Habit had made solitude endurable to him, and 
 there was something agreeable, no doubt, in the sense of his 
 independence, but there was not the slightest taint of mis-
 
 134 Wenderholme. part i. 
 
 anthropy in his whole nature. He naturally shrank from 
 the society of Sootythorn because it was so strongly Protes- 
 tant ; and there were no families of his own creed in his 
 immediate neighborhood. His way of living was too simple 
 for the entertainment of guests. Having no profession by 
 which money might be earned, he was reduced to mere 
 economy, which got him a reputation for being stingy and 
 unsociable. 
 
 The Colonel walked a mile along the stream without per- 
 ceiving anybody, but at length he saw Philip Stanburne, very 
 much occupied with his fly-book, and accompanied only by 
 a dog, which began to bark vigorously as soon as he per- 
 ceived the presence of a stranger. A quarter of an hour 
 afterwards the two new acquaintances were talking easily 
 enough, and the recluse of the Tower began to feel inclined 
 to join the militia, though he had asked for time to consider. 
 
 " I have heard," said the Colonel, " that the name which 
 your house still keeps, and from which our own name comes, 
 is due to some stone in your stream — stone in the burn, or 
 stane i' th' burn, and so to Stanithburn and Stanburne. 
 Is there any particular stone here likely to give a ground 
 for the theory, or is it only a tradition ? " 
 
 " I have no doubt," said Philip Stanburne, " of the accu- 
 racy of tradition in this instance. Come and look at the 
 Stone itself." 
 
 He turned aside from the direct path to the Tower, and 
 they came again to the brink of the stream, which had here 
 worn for itself two channels deep in the limestone. Between 
 these channels rose an islanded rock about thirty feet above 
 the present level of the water. A fragment of ruined building 
 was discernible on its narrow summit. 
 
 As the two men looked together on the stone from which 
 their race had taken its name centuries ago, both fell under 
 the influence of that mysterious sentiment, so different from 
 the pride of station or the vanity of precedence, which binds
 
 Chap. XIII. Stanitkbuvn Peel. 155 
 
 us to the past. Neither of them spoke, but it is not an 
 exaggeration to say that both felt their relationship then. 
 Had not the time been when Stanburne of the Peel and Stan- 
 burne of Wenderholme were brothers ? A fraternal feeling 
 began to unite these two by subtle, invisible threads.
 
 136 Wender holme. Part l 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 AT SOOTYTHORN. 
 
 NOT manj'^ days after the little events narrated in the 
 preceding chapter, Mr. Philip Stanburne awoke in a 
 small bedroom on the second floor of the Thorn Inn, or 
 Thorn Hotel, at Sootythorn. It was a disagreeable, stuffy 
 little room ; and an extensive four-poster covered fully one- 
 half the area of the floor. There was the usual wash-hand 
 stand, and close to the wash-hand stand a chair, and on the 
 chair the undress uniform of a militia officer. Philip Stan- 
 burne lay in the extensive four-poster, and contemplated the 
 military equipment, of which the most brilliant portions were 
 the crimson sash, and the bright, newly gilded hilt of a 
 handsome sword. As it was only the undress uniform, there 
 was nothing particularly striking in the dress itself, which 
 consisted of a plain dark-blue frock-coat, and black trowsers 
 with narrow red seam. Nevertheless, Captain Stanburne felt 
 no great inclination to invest his person with what looked 
 very like a disguise. His instincts were by no means mili- 
 tary ; and the idea of marching through the streets of Sooty- 
 thorn with a drawn sword in his hand had little attraction 
 for him. 
 
 When he drew up his blind, the view from the window was 
 unpleasantly different from the view that refreshed his eye 
 every morning at Stanithburn Peel. The Thorn Inn was 
 higher than most of the houses in Sootythorn, and Philip 
 Stanburne had a view over the roofs. Very smoky they all
 
 Chap. XIV. At SootytJlom. 1 37 
 
 were, and still smokier were the immense chimney-stalks of 
 the cotton-mills. " One, two, three, four," began Philip, aloud, 
 as he counted the great chimneys, and he did not stop till he 
 had counted up to twenty-nine. The Thorn Inn was just in 
 the middle of the town, and there were as many on the other 
 side — a consideration which occurred to Philip Stanburne's 
 reflective mind, as it sometimes occurs to very philosophical 
 people to think about the stars that are under our feet, on 
 the other side of the world. 
 
 " What a dirty place it is ! " thought Philip Stanburne. 
 " I wish I had never come into the militia. Fancy me 
 staying a month in such a smoky hole as this ! I wish I 
 were back at the Peel. And just the nicest month in the 
 year, too ! " However, there he was, and it was too late to 
 go back. He had to present himself at the orderly-room at 
 half-past nine, and it was already a quarter to nine. 
 
 On entering the coffee-room of the hotel he found half-a- 
 dozen gentlemen disguised like himself in military apparel, 
 and engaged in the business of breakfast. He did not know 
 one of them. He knew few people, especially amongst 
 the Protestant gentry ; and he literally knew nobody of the 
 middle class in Sootythorn except Mr. Garley the innkeeper, 
 and one or two tradesmen. 
 
 Philip had no sooner entered the coffee-room than Mr. 
 Garley made his appearance with that air of confidence 
 which distinguished him. Mr. Garley was not Philip Stan- 
 burne's equal in a social point of view, but he was immensely 
 his superior in aplomb and knowledge of the world. Thus, 
 whilst Captain Stanburne felt slightly nervous in the presence 
 of the gentlemen in uniform, and disguised his nervousness 
 inder an appearance of lofty reserve, Mr. Garley, though 
 little accustomed to the sight of military men, or of gentle- 
 men wearing the appearance of military men, was no more 
 embarrassed than in the presence of his old friends the 
 commercials. "Good morning, Captain Stanburne," said
 
 1 38 Wender holme. Part i, 
 
 Mr. Garle}'' ; " good morning to you, sir ; 'ope you slep well j 
 'ope you was suited with your room," 
 
 Philip muttered something about its being "rather small." 
 "Well, sir, it is rather small, as you say, sir. I could have 
 wished to have given you a better, but you see, sir, I kep the 
 best room in the 'ouse for the Curnle ; and then there was 
 the majors, and his lordship here. Captain Lord Henry 
 Ughtred, had bespoke a good room more than six weeks 
 ago ; so you see, sir, I wasn't quite free to serve you quite 
 so well as I could have wished. Sorry we can't content all 
 gentlemen, sir. What will you take to breakfast. Captain 
 Stanburne ? Would you like a boiled hegg, new-laid, or a 
 little fried 'am, or shall I cut you some cold meat ; there 's 
 four kinds of cold meat on the sideboard, besides a cold 
 beefsteak-pie ? " 
 
 As he finished his sentence, Mr. Garley drew a chair out, 
 the seat of which had been under the table, and, with a 
 mixture of servility and patronage (servility because he was 
 temporarily acting the part of a waiter, patronage because he 
 still knew himself to be Mr. Garley of the Thorn Hotel), he 
 invited Philip Stanburne to sit down. The other gentlemen 
 at the table had not been engaged in a very animated con- 
 versation, and they suspended it by mutual consent to have 
 a good stare at the new-comer. For it so happened that 
 these men were the swell clique, which had for its head 
 Captain Lord Henry Ughtred, and for its vice-captain the 
 Honorable Fortunatus Brabazon ; and the swell clique had 
 determined in its own corporate mind that it would have as 
 little to do with the snobs of Sootythorn as might be. It 
 was apprehensive of a great influx of the snob element into 
 the regiment. There was a belief or suspicion in the clique 
 that there existed cads even amongst the captains ; and as 
 the officers had not yet met together, a feeling of great 
 circumspection predominated amongst the members of the 
 clique. Philip Stanburne ventured to observe that it was a
 
 Chap. XIV. At Sootythom. 139- 
 
 fine morning ; but although his next neighbor admitted that 
 fact, he at once allowed the conversation to drop. Mr. 
 Garley had given Philip his first cup of tea ; but, in his 
 temporary absence, Philip asked a distinguished member of 
 the swell clique for a second. The liquid was not refused, 
 yet there was something in the manner of giving it which 
 might have turned the hottest cup of tea in Lancashire to a 
 lump of solid ice. At length Lord Henry Ughtred, having 
 for a length of time fixed his calm blue eyes on Philip (they 
 were pretty blue eyes, and he had nice curly hair, and a 
 general look of an overgrown Cupid), said, — 
 
 " Pray excuse me ; did I not hear Mr. Garley say that 
 your name was Stanburne ? " 
 
 " Yes, my name is Stanburne." 
 
 " Are you Colonel Stanburne's brother, may I ask ? " 
 
 " No ; the Colonel has no brothers." 
 
 " Ah, true, true ; I had forgotten. Of course, I knew Stan- 
 burne had no brothers. Indeed, he told me he 'd no relations 
 — or something of the kind. You're not a relation of his, 
 I presume ; you don't belong to his family, do you ? " 
 
 Philip Stanburne, in these matters, had very much of the 
 feeling of a Highland chief. He was the representative of 
 the Stanburnes, and the Colonel was head of a younger 
 branch only. So when he was asked in this way whether he 
 belonged to the Colonel's family, he at once answered "no," 
 seeing that the Colonel belonged to his family, not he to the 
 Colonel's. He was irritated, too, by the tone of his ques- 
 tioner ; and, besides, such a relationship as the very distant 
 one between himself and Colonel Stanburne was rather a 
 matter for poetical sentiment than for the prose of the outer 
 world. 
 
 Mr. Garley only made matters worse by putting his word in. 
 " Beg pardon, Captn Stanburne, but I 've always 'eard say that 
 your family was a younger branch of the Wendrum family." 
 
 " Then you were misinformed, for it isn't."
 
 140 We^iderJwlme. part i 
 
 " Perhaps it isn't just clearly traced out, sir," said Mr. 
 Garley, intending to make himself agreeable ; " but all the 
 old people says so. If I was you, sir, I 'd have it properly 
 traced out. Mr. Higgin, the spinner here, got his pedigree 
 traced out quite beautiful. It 's really a very 'andsome pedi- 
 gree, coats of arms and all. Nobody would have thought 
 Mr. Higgin 'ad such a pedigree ; but there 's nothin' like 
 tracin' and studyin', and 'untin' it all hup." 
 
 Philip Stanburne was well aware that his position as chief 
 of his house was very little known, and that he was popularly 
 supposed to descend from some poor cadet of Wenderholme ; 
 but it was disagreeable to be reminded of the popular belief 
 about him in this direct way, and in the hearing of witnesses 
 before whom he felt little disposed to abate one jot of his 
 legitimate pretensions. However, pride kept him silent, even 
 after Mr. Garley's ill-contrived speech, and he sought a 
 diversion in looking at his watch. This made the others 
 look at their watches also ; and as it was already twenty-five 
 minutes after nine, they all set off for the orderly-room, the 
 swell clique keeping together, and Philip Stanburne following 
 about twenty yards in the rear. 
 
 The streets of Sootythorn were seldom very animated at 
 ten o'clock in the morning, except on a market-day ; and 
 though there was a great deal of excitement amongst the 
 population of the town on the subject of the militia, that 
 population was safely housed in the fifty-seven factories of 
 Sootythorn, and an officer might pass through the streets in 
 comparative comfort, free from the remarks which would be 
 likely to assail him when the factories loosed. With the ex- 
 ception of two or three urchins who ran by Philip's side, and 
 stared at him till one of them fell over a wheelbarrow, nothing 
 occurred to disturb him. As the orderly-room was very near, 
 Captain Stanburne thought he had time to buy a pocket-book 
 at the bookseller's shop, and entered it for that purpose. 
 
 Whilst occupied with the choice of his pocket-book he 
 heard a soft voice close to him.
 
 Chap. XIV. At Sootythoru. 141 
 
 " Papa wishes to know if you have got Mr. Blunting's 
 Sermons on Popery." 
 
 " No, Miss Stedman, we haven't a copy left, but we can 
 order one for Mr. Stedman if he wishes it. Perhaps it would 
 be well to order it at once, as there has been a great demand 
 for the book, and it is likely to be out of print very soon, 
 unless the new edition is out in time to keep up the supply. 
 Four editions are exhausted already, and the book has only 
 been out a month or two. We are writing to London to-day ; 
 shall we order the book for you. Miss Stedman ? " 
 
 The lady hesitated a little, and then said, " Papa seemed 
 to want it very much — yes, you can order it, please." 
 
 There was something very agreeable to Philip Stanburne's 
 ear in what he had heard, and something that grated upon 
 it harshly. The tone of the girl's voice was singularly sweet. 
 It came to him as comes a pure unexpected perfume. It was 
 amongst sounds what the perfume of violets is amongst odors, 
 and he longed to hear it again. What had grated upon him 
 was the word "' Popery ; " he could not endure to hear his 
 religion called " Popery." Still, it was only the title of some 
 Protestant book the girl had mentioned, and she was not re- 
 sponsible for it — she could not give the book any other title 
 than its own. Philip Stanburne was examining a quantity of 
 morocco contrivances (highly ingenious, most of them) in a 
 glass case in the middle of the shop, and he turned round to 
 look at the young lady, but she had her back to him. She 
 was now choosing some note-paper on the counter. Her 
 dress was extremely simple — white muslin, with a little sprig ; 
 and she wore a plain straw bonnet — for in those days women 
 ^/d^wear bonnets. It was evident that she was not a fashion- 
 able young lady, for her whole dress showed a timid lagging 
 behind the fashion. 
 
 When she had completed her little purchases Miss Stedman 
 left the shop, and Captain Stanburne was disappointed, for 
 she had given him no opportunity of seeing her face ; but
 
 142 Wcnder holme. part i. 
 
 just as he was leaving she came back in some haste, and 
 they met rather suddenly in the doorway. " I beg your 
 pardon," said the Captain, making way for her — and then 
 he got a look at her face. The look must have been agree- 
 able to him, for when he saw a little glove lying on the 
 mat in the doorway, he picked it up rather eagerly and pre- 
 sented it to the fair owner. " Is this your glove, Miss — Miss 
 Stedman ? " 
 
 Now Miss Stedman had never in her life been spoken to 
 by a gentleman in military uniform, with a sword by his side, 
 and the fact added to her confusion. It was odd, too, to hear 
 him call her Miss Stedman, but it was not disagreeable, for 
 he said it very nicely. There is an art of pronouncing names 
 so as to turn the commonest of them into titles of honor ; 
 and if Philip had said " your ladyship," he could not have 
 said it more respectfully. So she thanked him for the glove 
 with the warmth which comes of embarrassment, and she 
 blushed, and he bowed, and they saw no more of each other 
 
 — that day. 
 
 It was a poor little glove — a poor little cheap thread glove ; 
 but all the finest and softest kids that lay in their perfumed 
 boxes in the well-stocked shops of Sootythorn, — all the pale 
 gray kids and pale yellow kids which the young shopmen so 
 strongly recommended as " suitable for the present season," 
 
 — were forgotten in a month, whereas Alice Stedman's glove 
 was remembered for years and years.
 
 Chat. XV. Wiik the Militia, 143 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 WITH THE MILITIA. 
 
 THE officers met at the orderly-room, after which they 
 all went to the parade-ground at once ; the field-officers 
 and the Adjutant on horseback, the rest on foot. 
 
 Philip Stanburne followed the others. He knew nobody 
 except the Colonel and the Adjutant, who had just said " Good 
 morning " to him in the orderly-room ; but they had trotted 
 on in advance, so he was left to his own meditations. It was 
 natural that in passing the bookseller's shop he should think 
 of Miss Stedman, and he felt an absurd desire to go into the 
 shop again and buy another pocket-book, as if by acting the 
 scene over again he could cause the principal personage to 
 reappear. " I don't think she 's pretty," said Philip to him- 
 self — "at least, not really pretty; but she's a sweet girl. 
 There 's a simplicity about her that is very charming. Who 
 would have thought that there was any thing so nice in Sooty- 
 thorn?" Just as he was thinking this, Philip Stanburne 
 passed close to one of the blackest mills in the place — an 
 old mill, — that is, a mill about thirty years old, for mills, like 
 horses, age rapidly ; and through the open windows there 
 came a mixture of bad smells on the hot foul air, and a deaf- 
 ening roar of machinery, and above the roar of machinery a 
 shrill clear woman's voice singing. The voice must have been 
 one of great power, for it predominated over all the noises 
 in the place ; and it either was really a very sweet one or 
 its harshness was lost in the noises, whilst it rose above them 
 purified. Philip stopped to listen, and as he stopped, two
 
 144 WendcrJiolme. Part i. 
 
 other officers came up behind him. The footpath was nar- 
 row, and as soon as he perceived that he impeded the circu- 
 lation, Philip went on. 
 
 " That 's one o' th' oudest mills i' Sootythorn," said one of 
 the officers behind Captain Stanburne ; " it 's thirty year oud, 
 if it 's a day." 
 
 The broad Lancashire accent surprised Captain Stanburne, 
 and attracted his attention. Could it be possible that there 
 were officers in the regiment who spoke no better than that ? 
 Evidently this way of speaking was not confined to an indi- 
 vidual officer, for the speaker's companion answered in the 
 same tone, — 
 
 " Why, that 's John Stedman's mill, isn't it ? " 
 
 "John Stedman ? John Stedman? it cannot be t' same as 
 was foreman to my father toward thirty year sin' ? " 
 
 When Philip Stanburne heard the name of Stedman, he 
 listened attentively. The first speaker answered, " Yes, but it 
 is — it's t' same man." 
 
 " Well, an' how is he ? he must be well off. Has he any 
 chilther?" 
 
 " Just one dorter, a nice quiet lass, 'appen eighteen year 
 old." 
 
 " So she 's the daughter of a cotton-spinner," thought Philip, 
 " and a Protestant cotton-spinner, most likely a bigot. Indeed, 
 who ever heard of a Catholic cotton-spinner? I never did. I 
 believe there aren't any. But what queer fellows these are to 
 be in the militia ; they talk just like factory lads." Then, from 
 a curiosity to see more of these extraordinary officers, and 
 partly, no doubt, from a desire to cultivate the acquaintance 
 of a man who evidently knew something about Miss Stedman, 
 Philip left the causeway, and allowed the officers to come up 
 with him. 
 
 " I beg your pardon," he said ; " no doubt you are going 
 to the parade-ground. Will you show me the way? I was 
 following some officers who were in sight a minute or two
 
 Chap. XV. Witk the Militia. 145 
 
 since, but they turned a corner whilst I was not looking at 
 them, and I have lost my guides." 
 
 To Captain Stanburne's surprise he was answered in very 
 good English, with no more indication of the Lancashire 
 accent than a clearly vibrated r, and a certain hardness in the 
 other consonants, which gave a masculine vigor to the language, 
 not by any means disagreeable. The aspirate, however, was 
 too frequently omitted or misplaced. 
 
 "We are going straight to the parade-ground ourselves, so 
 if you come with us you cannot go wrong." There was a short 
 silence, and the same speaker continued, " The Colonel said 
 we were to consider ourselves introduced. I know who you 
 are — you're Captain Stanburne of Stanithburn Peel; and 
 now I '11 tell you who we are, both of us : I 'm the Doctor — 
 my name 's Bardly. I don't look like a doctor, do I ? Per- 
 haps you are thinking that I don't look very like an officer 
 either, though I 'm dressed up as one. Well, perhaps I don't. 
 This man here is called Isaac Ogden, and he lives at Twistle 
 Farm, on a hill-top near Shayton, when he 's at home." 
 
 This queer introduction, which was accompanied by the 
 oddest changes of expression in the Doctor's face, and by a 
 perpetual twinkle of humor in his gray eye, amused Philip 
 Stanburne, and put him into a more genial frame of mind 
 than his experience of the swell clique at breakfast-time. Isaac 
 Ogden asked Stanburne what company he had got, and on 
 being told that it was number six, informed him that he him- 
 self was only a lieutenant. 
 
 " He 's lieutenant in the grenadier company," said the Doc- 
 tor, " and on Sunday morning we shall see him like a butter- 
 fly with £ pair of silver wings.* He 's only a chrysalis to-day ; 
 his wings haven't budded yet. He 's very likely put 'em on 
 in private — most of them put on their full uniform in private, 
 
 * For the information of some readers, it may be well to explain that 
 the epaulettes of flank companies, which were of a peculiar shape, used 
 to be called wings. 
 
 10
 
 146 Wenderholme. Tarp 1. 
 
 as soon as ever it comes from the tailor's. It 's necessary to 
 try it on, you know — it might not fit. Tlie epaulettes would 
 fit, though ; but they generally take their epaulettes out of 
 the tin box and put them on, to see how they look in the 
 glass." 
 
 " Well, Doctor,", said Stanburne, " I suppose )ou are 
 describing from personal experience. When your own epau- 
 lettes came, you looked at yourself in the glass, I suppose." 
 
 Here an indescribably comic look irradiated Dr. Bardly's 
 face. " You don't imagine that / have laid out any money on 
 epaulettes and such gear? The tailor tried to make me buy 
 a full uniform, of course, but it didn't answer with me. What 
 do I want with a red coat, and dangling silver fringes over my 
 shoulders? I've committed one piece of tomfoolery, and 
 that 's enough — I 've bought this sword ; but a sword might 
 just possibly be of use for a thief. There was a man in Shay- 
 ton who had an old volunteer sword always by his bedside, and 
 one night he put six inches of it into a burglar ; so you see a 
 sword may be of use, but what can you do with a bit of silver 
 fringe ? " 
 
 " But I don't see how you are to do without a full uniform. 
 How will you manage on field days, and how will you go to 
 church on Sundays ? " 
 
 " Get leave of absence on all such occasions," said the Doc- 
 tor ; "so long as I haven't a full uniform I have a good 
 excuse." The fact was, that the Doctor's aversion to full 
 dress came quite as much from a dislike to public ceremonies 
 as fiom an objection to scarlet and silver in themselves. He 
 had a youthful assistant in the regiment who was perfectly 
 willing to represent the medical profession in all imaginable 
 splendor, and who had already passed three evenings in full 
 uniform, surrounded by his brothers and sisters, and a group 
 of admiring friends. 
 
 The day was a tiresome idle day for everybody except the 
 Adjutant, who shouted till his throat was sore, and the ser-
 
 Chap. XV. WHk the Militia. 147 
 
 geants, on whom fell the real work of the companies. After 
 lunch, the important matter of billets had to be gone into, 
 and it was discovered that it was impossible to lodge all the 
 men in Sootythorn. One company, at least, must seek accom- 
 modation elsewhere. The junior captain must therefore 
 submit, for this training, to be banished from the mess, and 
 sent to" eat his solitary beefsteak in some outlandish village, 
 or, still worse, in some filthy and uncouth little manufacturing 
 town. His appetite, it is true, might so far benefit by the 
 long marches to and from the parade-ground that the beef- 
 steak might be eaten with the best of sauces ; but the ordi- 
 nary exercises of the regiment would have been sufficient 
 to procure that, and the great efforts of Mr. Garley at the 
 Thorn might have been relied upon for satisfying it. So the 
 junior captain was ordered to take his men to Whittlecup, a 
 dirty little town, of about six thousand inhabitants, four miles 
 distant from Sootythorn ; and the junior captain was Philip 
 Stanburne. 
 
 Behold him, therefore, marching at the head of his rabble, 
 for the men as yet had neither uniforms nor military bearing, 
 on the dusty turnpike road ! The afternoon had been un- 
 commonly hot for the season of the year ; and a military 
 uniform, closely buttoned across the breast, and padded with 
 cotton wool, is by no means the costume most suitable for 
 the summer heats. There were so few lieutenants in the 
 regiment (there was not one ensign) that a junior captain 
 could not hope for a subaltern, and all the work of the 
 company fell upon Philip Stanburne and his old sergeant. It 
 was not easy to keep any thing like order amongst the men. 
 They quarrelled and fought during the march ; and it became 
 necessary to arrange them so as to keep enemies at a distance 
 from each other. Still, by the time they reached the pre- 
 cincts of Whittlecup several of the men were adorned with 
 black eyes ; and as a few had been knocked down and 
 tumbled in the dust by their comrades, the company presented
 
 148 Wender holme. Part 1 
 
 rather the appearanCe of a rabble after a riot than of soldiers 
 in hfer Majesty's service. Philip Stanburne's uniform was 
 white with dust ; but as the dust that alighted on his face 
 was wetted by perspiration, it did not there remain a light- 
 colored powder, but became a thick coat of dark paste. 
 Indeed, to tell the truth, the owner of Stanithburn had never 
 been so dirty in his life. 
 
 Now there was a river at the entrance to Whittlecup, and 
 over the river a bridge ; and on the bridge, or in advance of 
 it (for the factories had just loosed), there stood a crowd of 
 about three thousand operatives awaiting the arrival of the 
 militia-men. 
 
 The Lancashire operative is not accustomed to restrain 
 the expression of his opinions from motives of delicacy, and 
 any consideration for your feelings which he may have when 
 isolated diminishes with the number of his companions. 
 Three factory lads may content themselves with exchanging 
 sarcastic remarks on your personal appearance when you are 
 out of hearing, thirty will make them in your presence, three 
 hundred will jeer you loudly ; and from three thousand, if 
 once you are unlucky enough to attract their attention, there 
 will come such volleys of derision as nobody but a philoso- 
 pher could bear with equanimity. 
 
 Not only was the road lined on both sides with work 
 people, but they blocked it up in front, and made way for 
 the militia-men so slowly, that there was ample time for 
 Philip Stanburne to hear every observation that was directed 
 against him. Amidst the roars of laughter which the appear- 
 ance of the men gave rise to, a thousand special commentaries 
 might be distinguished. 
 
 " Them chaps sowdiers ! Why, there 's nobbut one sowdier 
 i' th' lot as I can see on." 
 
 " Where is he ? I can see noan at o'." 
 
 " Cannot ta see th', felly wi' th' red jacket ? " 
 
 " Eh, what a mucky lot ! "
 
 Chap. XV. Wzlk the Militia. 149 
 
 *' They'll be right uns for fightin', for there 's four on 'em 
 'as gotten black een to start wi'." 
 
 " Where 's their guns ? " 
 
 " They willn't trust 'em wi' guns. They 'd be shootin' one 
 another." 
 
 " There 's one chap wi' a soourd." 
 
 " Why, that 's th' officer." 
 
 " Eh, captain ! " screamed a factory girl in Philip's ear, 
 '• I could like to gi' thee a kiss, but thou 's getten sich a mucky 
 face ! " 
 
 " I wouldn't kiss him for foive shillin'," observed another. 
 
 " Eh, but I would ! " said a third ; " he 's a nice young felly. 
 I '11 kiss him to-neet when he 's washed hissel ! "
 
 1 50 WenderJiolme. Fart i. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 A CASE OF ASSAULT. 
 
 THE officers' mess was rather a good thing for Mr. 
 Garley. He charged five shillings a-head for dinner 
 without wine ; and although both the Colonel and the large 
 majority of his officers were temperate men, a good deal of 
 profit may be got out of the ordinary vinous and spirituous 
 consumption of a set of English gentlemen in harder exercise 
 than usual, and more than usually disposed to be convivial. 
 Even the cigars were no inconsiderable item of profit for Mr. 
 Garley, who had laid in a stock large enough and various 
 enough for a tobacconist. 
 
 A dense cloud of smoke filled the card-room, and through 
 it might be discerned a number of officers in red shell- 
 jackets reposing after the labors of the day, and wisely 
 absolving nature from other efforts, in order that she might 
 give her exclusive care to the digestion of that substantial 
 repast which had lately been concluded in the mess-room. 
 There was a party of whist-players in a corner, and the rattle 
 of billiard-balls came through an open door. 
 
 Captain Eureton's servant came in and said that there was 
 an innkeeper from Whittlecup who desired to speak to the 
 Adjutant. The Captain left the card-room, and the officers 
 scarcely noticed his departure, but when he came back their 
 attention was drawn to him by an exclamation of the Colonel's. 
 " Why, Eureton, what 's the matter now ? how grave you 
 look ! " 
 
 The Adjutant came to the hearth-rug where John Stan-
 
 Chap. XVI. A Casc of Assault. 151 
 
 burne was standing, and said, " Is not Captain Stanburne 
 a relation of yours, Colonel ? " 
 
 " Cousin about nine times removed. But what 's the matter ? 
 He 's not ill, I hope." 
 
 "Very ill, very ill indeed," said Eureton, with an expres- 
 sion which implied that he had not yet told the whole truth. 
 " There 's no near relation or friend of Captain Stanburne 
 in the regiment, is there. Colonel ? " 
 
 "None whatever; out with it, Eureton — you're making 
 me very anxious ; " and the Colonel nervously pottered with 
 the end of a new cigar. 
 
 " The truth is, gentlemen," said Eureton, addressing him- 
 self to the room, for every one was listening intently, " a 
 great crime has been committed this evening. Captain Stan- 
 burne has been murdered — or if it's not a case of murder 
 it 's a case of manslaughter. He has been killed, it appears, 
 whilst visiting a billet, by a man in his company." 
 
 The Colonel rang the bell violently. Fyser appeared — ■ 
 he was at the door, expecting to be called for. 
 
 "Harness the tandem immediately." 
 
 " The tandem is at the door, sir, or will be by the time you 
 get downstairs. I knew you would be wantin' it as soon as 
 I 'eard the bad news." 
 
 The Doctor was in the billiard-room, trj'ing to make a 
 cannon, to the infinite diversion of his more skilful brother 
 officers. His muscular but not graceful figure was stretched 
 over the table, and his scarlet shell-jacket, whose seams were 
 strained nearly to bursting by his attitude, contrasted power- 
 fully with the green cloth as the strong gas-light fell upon 
 him. Just as he was going to make the great stroke a strong 
 hand was laid upon his arm. 
 
 " Now then, Isaac Ogden, you 've spoiled a splendid stroke. 
 I don't hoftens get such a chance." 
 
 "You 're wanted for summat else. Doctor. Come, look 
 sharp ; the Colonel 's waiting for you."
 
 1 5 2 Wenderholme. Part i. 
 
 In common with many members of his profession, Dr. 
 Bardly had a dislike to be called in a hurried and peremptory 
 manner, and a disposition, when so called, to take his time. 
 He had so often been pressed unnecessarily that he had 
 acquired a general conviction that cases could wait — ant' 
 he made them wait, more or less. In this instance, however, 
 Isaac Ogden insisted on a departure from the Doctor's usual 
 customs, and threw his gray military cloak over his shoulders, 
 and set his cap on his head, and led him to the street-door, 
 where he found the tandem, the Colonel in his place with 
 the Adjutant, Fyser already mounted behind, and the leader 
 dancing with impatience. 
 
 The bright lamps flashed swiftly through the dingy streets 
 of Sootythorn, and soon their light fell on the blossoming 
 hedges in the country. Colonel Stanburne had been too 
 much occupied with his horses whilst they were in the streets ; 
 but now on the broad open road he had more leisure to talk, 
 and he was the first to break silence. 
 
 " You don't know any further details, do you, Eureton ? " 
 
 " Nothing beyond what I told you. The innkeeper who 
 brought the news was the one Captain Stanburne was billeted 
 with, and he quitted Whittlecup immediately after the event. 
 He appears quite certain that Captain Stanburne is dead. 
 The body was brought to the inn before the man left, and 
 he was present at the examination of it by a doctor who had 
 been hastily sent for." 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir," said Fyser from behind, " I asked the 
 innkeeper some questions myself. It appears that Captain 
 Stanburne was wounded in the head, sir, and his skull was 
 broken. It was done with a deal board that a Hirish militia- 
 man tore up out of a floor. There was two Hirish that was 
 quarrellin' and fightin', and the Captain put 'em both into a 
 hempty room which was totally without furnitur', and where 
 they 'd nothink but straw to lie upon ; and he kep 'em there 
 under confinement, and set a guard at the door. And then
 
 Chap. XVI. A CuSC of Assmilt. I 53 
 
 these two drunken Hirish fights wi' their fists — but fisls isn't 
 bloody enough for Hirish, so they starts tearin' up the boards 
 o' the floor, and the guard at the door tried to interfere be- 
 tween 'em, but, not havin' no arms, could do very little • and 
 the Captain was sent for, and as soon as hever one o' these 
 Hirish sees him he says, * Here 's our bloody Captain,' and 
 he aims a most tremenjious stroke at him with his deal board, 
 and it happened most unfortunate that it hit the Captain with 
 the rusty nail in it." 
 
 " I wonder it never occurred to him to separate the Irish- 
 men," observed Eureton, in a lower tone, to the Colonel. 
 " He ought not to have confined them together." 
 
 " Strictly speaking, he ought not to have placed them in 
 confinement at all at Whittlecup, but sent them at once under 
 escort to headquarters." 
 
 "What's this that we are meeting?" said the Adjutant. 
 " I hear men marching." 
 
 The Colonel drew up his horses, and the regular footfall ot 
 soldiers became audible, and gradually grew louder. " They 
 march uncommonly well, Eureton, for militia-men who have 
 had no training ; I cannot understand it." 
 
 " There were half-a-dozen old soldiers in Captain Stan- 
 burne's company, and I suppose the sergeant has selected 
 them as a guard for the prisoners." 
 
 The night was cloudy and dark, and the lamps of the 
 Colonel's vehicle were so very splendid and brilliant that they 
 made the darkness beyond their range blacker and more im- 
 penetrable than ever. As the soldiers came nearer, the 
 Colonel stopped his horses and waited. Suddenly out of the 
 darkness came a corporal and four men with two prisoners. 
 The Colonel shouted, " Halt ! " 
 
 " Have you any news of Captain Stanburne ? " 
 
 " He 's not quite dead, sir, or was not when we left." 
 
 The tall wheels rolled along the road, and in a quarter of
 
 154 WenderJwlme. , Part i. 
 
 an hour the leader had to make his way through a little crowd 
 of people in front of the Blue Bell. 
 
 The Doctor was the first in the house, and was led at once 
 to young Stanburne's room. The Whittlecup surgeon was 
 there already. No professional men are so ticklish on pro- 
 fessional etiquette as surgeons are, but in this instance there 
 could be little difficulty of that kind. " You are the surgeon 
 to the regiment, I believe," said the Whittlecup doctor ; " you 
 will find this a very serious case. I simply took charge of it 
 in your absence." 
 
 The patient was not dead, but he was perfectly insensible. 
 He breathed faintly, and every few minutes there was a rat- 
 tling in the throat, resembling that which precedes immediate 
 dissolution. The two doctors examined the wound together. 
 The skull had been fractured by the blow, and there was a 
 gash produced by the nail in the board. The face was ex- 
 tremely pale, and so altered as to be scarcely recognizable. 
 The innkeeper's wife, Mrs. Simpson, was moistening tho pale 
 lips with brandy. 
 
 When the Colonel and Captain Eureton had seen the pa- 
 tient, they had a talk with Dr. Bardly in another room. The 
 Doctor's opinion was that there were chances of recovery, 
 but not very strong chances. Though Philip Stanburne had 
 enjoyed tolerably regular health in consequence of his tem- 
 perate and simple way of living, he had by no means a robust 
 constitution, and it was possible — it was even probable — 
 that he would succumb ; but he tnight pull through. Dr. 
 Bardly proposed to resign the case entirely to the Whittlecup 
 doctor, as it would require constant attention, and the sur- 
 geon ought to be on the spot.
 
 Chap. XVII. Isaac Ogden Agam. 155 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 ISAAC OGDEN AGAIN. 
 
 AS the lieutenant of the Grenadier Company, Mr. Isaac 
 Ogden was appointed to do captain's work at Whittle- 
 cup in the place of Philip Stanburne. 
 
 For many weeks Mr. Ogden had displayed a strength of 
 resolution that astonished his most intimate friends. Without 
 meanly taking refuge in the practice of total abstinence, he 
 had kept strictly within the bounds of what in Shayton is con- 
 sidered moderation. 
 
 The customs of the mess at Sootythorn were not likely to 
 place him in the power of his old enemy again ; for although 
 the officers were not severely abstinent, their utmost convivi- 
 ality scarcely extended beyond the daily habits of the very 
 soberest of Shaytonians. 
 
 Viewing the matter, therefore, from the standpoint of his 
 personal experience, Dr. Bardly looked upon Ogden as now 
 the most temperate of men. It is true that as a militia officer 
 he could not follow a new rule of his about not entering inns, 
 for the business of the regiment required him to visit a dozen 
 inns every day, and to eat and sleep in one for a month to- 
 gether ; and it is obvious that the other good rule about not 
 drinking spirits at Twistle Farm could not be very advantage- 
 ous to him just now, seeing that, although it was always in 
 force, it was practically efficacious only during his residence 
 under his own roof. It seems a pity that he did not legislate 
 for himself anew, so as to meet his altered circumstances ; but 
 the labors of regimental duty appeared so onerous that ex-
 
 156 Wenderholme. Part \ 
 
 traordinary stimulation seemed necessary to meet this ex- 
 traordinary fatigue, and it would have appeared imprudent 
 to confine himself within rigidly fixed limits which necessity 
 might compel him to transgress. So in point of fact Mr. 
 Ogden was a free agent again. 
 
 Whilst Philip Stanburne had remained at the Blue Bell, 
 Lieutenant Ogden had been in all respects a model of good 
 behavior. He had watched by Philip's bedside in the even- 
 ings, sometimes far into the night, and the utmost extent of 
 his conviviality had been a glass of grog with the Whittlecup 
 doctor. But the day Philip Stanburne was removed, Lieuten- 
 ant Ogden, after having dined and inspected his billets, began 
 to feel the weight of his loneliness, and he felt it none the less 
 for being accustomed to loneliness at the Farm. Captain 
 Stanburne's illness, and the regular evening talk with the 
 Whittlecup doctor, had hitherto given an interest to Isaac 
 Ogden's life at the Blue Bell, and this interest had been 
 suddenly removed. Something must be found to supply its 
 place ; it became necessary to cultivate the acquaintance of 
 somebody in the parlor. 
 
 It is needless to trouble the reader with details about the 
 men of Whittlecup whom Mr. Ogden found there, because 
 they have no connection with the progress of this history. But 
 he found somebody else too, namely, Jeremiah Smethurst, a 
 true Shaytonian, and one of the brightest ornaments of the 
 little society that met at the Red Lion. When Jerry saw his 
 old friend Isaac Ogden, whom he had missed for many weeks, 
 his greeting was so very cordial, so expressive of good-fellow- 
 ship, that it was not possible to negative his proposition that 
 they should " take a glass together." 
 
 Now the keeper of the Blue Bell Inn knew Jerry Smethurst. 
 He knew that Jerry drank more than half a bottle of brandy 
 every night before he went to bed, and without giving Mr. 
 Ogden credit for equal powers, he had heard that he came 
 from Shayton, which is a good recommendation to a vendor
 
 Chap. XVII. Isaac Ogdeji Again. 157 
 
 of spirituous liquors. He therefore, instead of bringing a 
 glass of brandy for each of the Shayton gentlemen, uncorked 
 a fresh bottle and placed it between them, remarking that they 
 might take what they pleased — that there was 'ot warter on 
 the 'arth, for the kettle was just bylin, an' there was shugger 
 in the shugger-basin. 
 
 The reader foresees the consequences. After two or three 
 glasses with his old friend, Isaac Ogden fell under the 
 dominion of the old Shayton associations. Jerry Smethurst 
 talked the dear old Shayton talk, such as Isaac Ogden had 
 not heard in perfection for many a day. For men like the 
 Doctor and Jacob Ogden were, by reason of their extreme 
 temperance, isolated beings — beings cut off from the heart- 
 iest and most genial society of the place — and Isaac had 
 been an isolated being also since he had kept out of the Red 
 Lion and the White Hart. 
 
 " Why should a man desire in any way 
 To vary from the kindly race of men .'' " 
 
 That abandonment of the Red Lion had been a moral gain — 
 a moral victor}' — but an intellectual loss. Was such a fellow 
 as Parson Prigley any compensation for Jerry Smethurst ? 
 And there were half-a-dozen at the Red Lion as good as 
 Jerry. He was short of stature — so short, that when he sat 
 in a rocking-chair he had a difficulty in giving the proper im- 
 petus with his toes ; and he had a great round belly, and a 
 face which, if not equally great and round, seemed so by 
 reason of all the light and warmth that radiated from it. It 
 was enough to cure anybody of hypochondria to look at Jerry 
 Smethurst's face. I have seen the moon look rather like it 
 sometimes, rising warm and mellow on a summer's night ; but 
 though anybody may see that the moon has a nose and eyes, 
 she certainly lacks expression. It was pleasant to Isaac 
 Ogden to see the friendly old visage before him once again. 
 Genial and kind thoughts rose in his mind. Tennyson had 
 not yet written " Tithonus," and if he had, no Shaytonian
 
 158 WenderJiolme. Part r. 
 
 would have read it — but the thoughts in Ogden's mind were 
 these : — 
 
 " Why should a man desire in any way 
 To vary from the kindly race of men, 
 Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance, 
 Where all should pause, as is most meet for all ?" 
 
 The " goal of ordinance," at Shayton, being death from 
 delirium tremens. 
 
 Mr. Smethurst would have been much surprised if anybody 
 had told him that he was inducing Ogden to drink more than 
 was good for him. It seemed so natural to drink a bottle of 
 brandy ! And Jerry, too, in his way, was a temperate man — 
 a man capable of self-control — a man who had made a reso- 
 lution and kept it for many years. Jerry's resolution had 
 been never to drink more than one bottle of spirits in an 
 evening ; and, as he said sometimes, it was " all howin' to 
 that as he enjy'd sich gud 'ealth." Therefore, when Mr. 
 Simpson had placed the bottle between them, Mr. Smethurst 
 made a little mental calculation. He was strong in mental 
 arithmetic. " I 've 'ad three glasses afore Hogden coom, so 
 when I 've powered him out three glasses, the remainder '11 be 
 my 'lowance." Therefore, when Isaac had mixed his third 
 tumbler, Jerry Smethurst rang the bell. 
 
 " Another bottle o' brandy." 
 
 Mr. Simpson stood aghast at this demand, and his eyes 
 naturally reverted to the bottle upon the table. " You 've not 
 finished that yet, gentlemen," he ventured to observe. 
 
 " What 's left in it is my 'lowance," said Mr. Smethurst. 
 "Mr. Hogden shalln't 'ave none on 't." 
 
 " Well, that is a whimmy gent," said Mr. Simpson to him- 
 self — but he fetched another bottle. 
 
 They made a regular Red Lion evening of it, those two. 
 A little before midnight Mr. Smethurst rose and said Good 
 night. He had finished his bottle, and his law of temper- 
 ance, always so faithfully observed, forbade him one drop
 
 Chap. XVII. Isaac Ogdcu Again. 159 
 
 more. The reader probably expects that Mr. Smethurst was 
 intoxicated ; but his genial nature was only yet more genial. 
 He lighted his bed-candle with perfect steadiness, shook 
 Ogden's hand affectionately, and mounted the stair step by 
 step. When he got into his bedroom he undressed himself 
 in a methodical manner, laid his clothes neatly on a chair, 
 wound his watch up, and when he had assumed his white 
 cotton night-cap, looked at himself in the glass. He put his 
 tongue out, and held the candle close to it. The result of 
 the examination was satisfactory, and he proceeded to pull 
 down the corners of his eyes. This he did every night. The 
 bugbear of his life was dread of a coming fit, and he fancied 
 he might thus detect the premonitory symptoms. 
 
 Meanwhile Mr. Ogden, left by himself, took up the " Sooty- 
 thorn Gazette," and when Mr. Simpson entered he found him 
 reading, apparently. " Beg pardon, sir," said Mr. Simpson, 
 " but it 's the rule to turn the gas out at twelve, and it 's a 
 few minutes past. I '11 light you your bed-candle, sir, and 
 you can sit up a bit later if you like. You '11 find your way 
 to your room." 
 
 Ogden was too far gone to have any power of controlling 
 himself now. The type danced before his eyes, the sentences 
 ran into one another, and the sense of the phrases was a 
 mystery to him. He kept drinking mechanically ; and when 
 at length he attempted to reach the door, the candlestick 
 slipped from his hand, and the light was instantly extinguished. 
 
 A man who is quite drunk cannot find the door of a dark 
 room — he cannot even walk in the dark; his only chance 
 of walking in broad daylight is to fix his eye steadily on 
 some object, and when it loses its hold of that, to fasten it 
 upon some other, and so on. Ogden stumbled against the 
 furniture and fell. The deep insensibility of advanced drunk- 
 enness supervened, and he lay all night upon the floor. The 
 servant-girl found him there the next morning when she came 
 to clean the room.
 
 i6o Wenderholme. Part i 
 
 He could not go to Sootythorn that day, and the true reason 
 for his absence soon became known to Dr. Bardly, who asked 
 leave to drive over to Shayton to see a patient of his own. 
 He drove directly to Milend. 
 
 " Well, Mrs. Ogden," said the Doctor, " I Ve come wi' bad 
 news for you this time. Your Isaac's made a beast of him- 
 self once more. He lay all night last night dead drunk upo' 
 th' parlor-floor o' th' Blue Bell Inn i' Whittlecup." 
 
 " Why — you don't say so, Dr. Bardly ! Now, really, this 
 is provokin', and 'im as was quite reformed, as one may say. 
 I could like to whip him — I could." 
 
 " Well, I wish you 'd just go to Whittlecup and take care 
 of him while he stops there. If he 'd nobbut stopped at 
 Sootythorn I could have minded him a bit mysen, but there 's 
 nout like his mother for managin' him." 
 
 Little Jacob was staying at Milend during his father's mili- 
 tary career, and so Mrs. Ogden objected — "But what's to 
 become o' th' childt.?" 
 
 "Take him with ye — take him with ye. It'll do him a 
 power o' good, and it '11 amuse him rarely. He '11 see the 
 chaps with their red jackets, and his father with a sword, and 
 a fine scarlet coat on Sundays, and he '11 be as fain as fain." 
 
 So it was immediately decided that Mrs. Ogden and little 
 Jacob should leave for Whittlecup as soon as they possibly 
 could. A fly was sent for, and Mrs, Ogden hastily filled two 
 large wooden boxes, which were her portmanteaus. Little 
 Jacob was at the parsonage with the youthful Prigleys, and 
 had to be sent for. Mrs. Ogden took the decanters from the 
 corner cupboard, and drank two glasses of port to sustain 
 her in the hurry of the occasion. " Well, who would have 
 thought," she said to herself, as she ate a piece of cake — 
 " who would have thought that I should go and stop at Whit- 
 tlecup } I wonder how soon Mary Ridge will have finished 
 my new black satin."
 
 Chap. XVIII, Isaac s Mother comes. i6i 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 ISAAC'S MOTHER COMES. 
 
 MRS. OGDEN and her grandson reached Sootythov . 
 rather late that evening — namely, about eight o'clock , 
 and as it happened that she knew an old maid there — one 
 Miss Mellor — whose feelings would have been wounded if 
 Mrs. Ogden had passed through Sootythorn without calling 
 upon her, she took the opportunity of doing so w- ,ist the 
 horse was baited at the inn. The driver took the flv straight 
 to the Thorn ; and when Mr. Garley saw a lady and a little 
 boy emerge therefrom he concluded that they intended to 
 stay at his house, and came with his apologies for want of 
 room. " But we can let you 'ave a nice parlor, mum, to take 
 your tea, and I can find you good bedrooms in the town." 
 
 Mrs. Ogden declined these obliging propositions, in the 
 hope that Miss Mellor would offer her a night's lodging. It 
 was not that she loved Miss Mellor so much as to desire to 
 stay longer under her roof than was necessary to keep her in 
 a good temper, but she had made sundry reflections on the 
 road. " If I stop at th' Thorn they '11 charge me 'appen 'alf- 
 a-crown for my bedroom, and Jane Mellor 'ad a nice spare 
 bedroom formerly. It really is no use throwin' money away 
 on inn-keepers. And then there 's our tea ; they '11 make me 
 pay eighteenpence or two shillin' for 't at Garley's, and very 
 likely charge full as much for little Jacob. It 's quite enough 
 to 'ave to pay seven shillin' for th' horse and fly." And in 
 any case there would be time to get on to VVhittlecup after 
 the horse had had his feed. 
 
 II
 
 1 62 Wenderholme. Part i 
 
 But Miss Mellor, who had not been to Shayton or heard 
 direct news of Shayton for several years, was so delighted to 
 see Mrs. Ogden that she would not hear of her going for- 
 ward that night. " It 's lucky I 'appened to be at 'ome," said 
 Miss Mellor, "for I'm often out of an evening." It was 
 lucky, certainly, for little Jacob, who got a much better tea 
 than he would have done at the Thorn Inn, with quantities 
 of sweet things greatly to his taste. Little Jacob was con- 
 vinced that there was nobody in the world so kind and gen- 
 erous as his grandmother, yet he conceived an affection for 
 Miss Mellor also before the close of the evening. 
 
 " The devil take the people," said Isaac Ogden, when he 
 got back from Sootythorn to the Blue Bell, and had gone as 
 usual to his bedroom there — " the devil take the people, 
 they 've hidden all my things ! " 
 
 Just then came a gentle knock at the door, and the ser- 
 vant-maid entered. " Please, sir, your mother 's come, and 
 she says you aren't to sleep here any more, sir ; and she 's 
 fetched your things to lodgings that she 's took over Mr. 
 Wood's, the shoemaker's." 
 
 It is at all times vexatious and humiliating to the indepen- 
 dent spirit of a man to be disposed of by female authority, 
 but it is most especially so when the authority is one's mamma. 
 A grown-up man will submit to his mother on most points if 
 he is worth any thing, but the best of sons does not quite 
 like to see his submission absolutely taken for granted. 
 In this case there was an aggravation in the look of the 
 servant-girl. Notwithstanding the respectful modesty of her 
 tone, there was just a twinkle of satire in her eye. It 
 was plain that she was inwardly laughing at the Lieuten- 
 ant. " Damn it ! " he said, " this house is good enough for 
 me ; I don't want to leave it." Yet he did leave, never- 
 theless. 
 
 The next day was Sunday, and it was a satisfaction to 
 Mrs. Ogden to think that Isaac would be professionally com-
 
 CHAr. XVIII. Isaacs Mother co7nes. 163 
 
 pelled to attend public worship. Little Jacob was one of the 
 crowd of spectators who gathered round the company when 
 it was mustered for church-parade. He was proud of his 
 resplendent papa — a papa all scarlet and silver ; and it was 
 a matter of peculiar anxiety with him that they should sit in 
 the same pew. Mr. Ogden gratified him in this respect, and 
 the child felt himself the most important young personage in 
 Whittlecup. A steady attention to the service is not com- 
 monly characteristic of little boys ; and on this occasion little 
 Jacob's eye was so continually caught by the glitter of his 
 father's gold sword-knot and the silver embroidery on his 
 sleeve, that he followed the clergyman much less regularly 
 than usual. 
 
 The neighborhood of Whittlecup was not aristocratic, but 
 there were one or two manufacturing families of rather a 
 superior description. One of these families, the Anisons, 
 were at church not far from the pew which the Ogdens 
 occupied. They lived at a house near Whittlecup called 
 Arkwright Lodge, in a comfortable manner, with most of 
 those refinements of civilization which are to be met with in 
 the houses of rich professional men in London. Mr. Anison, 
 indeed, was a manufacturer of the new school, whilst Jacob 
 Ogden belonged to the old one. Men of the Anison class 
 sometimes make large fortunes, but they more frequently 
 content themselves with a moderate independence and a 
 sufficient provision for their families. Money does not seem 
 to them an end in itself, but they value the comforts and 
 refinements which it procures and which cannot be had 
 without it. Jacob Ogden, on the other hand, did not care a 
 fig for comforts and refinements, and had no domestic objects : 
 his only purpose was the inward satisfaction and the outward 
 glory of being rich. Mr. Anison worked in moderation, spent 
 a good deal, saved something, and kept a very hospitable 
 house, where everybody who had the slightest imaginable 
 claim upon his kindness was always heartily welcome.
 
 164 Wcnderholme. Part 1. 
 
 After Philip Stanburne's accident he had been immediately 
 moved to Arkwright Lodge, in compliance with the surgeon's 
 advice and Mr. Anison's urgent request. Here he had rap- 
 idly passed into a state of agreeable convalescence, and 
 found the house so pleasant that the prospect of a perfect 
 recovery, and consequent departure, was not very attractive 
 to him now. 
 
 When the service in Whittlecup church was over, Joseph 
 Anison went straight to Mr. Ogdea's pew and reminded him 
 that he had promised to dine that day at Arkwright Lodge. 
 When they got out of the church, Isaac presented his mother 
 to Mr. Anison, and to Mrs. Anison also, who joined them in 
 the midst of that ceremony. This was followed by a polite 
 little speech from Mrs. Anison (she was an adept in polite 
 little speeches), to the effect that, as Mr. Ogden had kindly 
 promised to eat a dinner and pay his first call at the Lodge 
 at the same time, his duties in the militia having prevented 
 him from calling during the week, perhaps they might hope 
 that Mrs. Ogden would allow them to call upon her at once 
 at her lodgings, and then would she come with her son to the 
 Lodge to spend the afternoon ? So when the militia-men 
 were disbanded, the Anisons accompanied the Ogdens to the 
 lodging over Mr. Wood's, the shoemaker. 
 
 It was a very fine May morning, and they had all come on 
 foot. There are families in Sootythorn (perhaps also there 
 may be families out of Sootythorn) who, though living within 
 a very short distance of their parish church, go thither always 
 in their carriages — on the same principle which causes the 
 Prince of Wales to go from Marlborough House to St James's 
 Palace in a state-coach — namely, for the maintenance of 
 their dignity. But though the Anisons' carriage was an 
 institution sufiiciently recent to have still some of the charms 
 of novelty, they dispensed with it as much as possible on 
 Sundays. 
 
 The young ladies had gone slowly forwards towards the
 
 Chap. XVIII. Isaac s Mother comcs. 165 
 
 Lodge with the clergyman, who had a standing invitation to 
 dine there whenever he came to Whittlecup. Mrs. Ogden's 
 great regret in going to dine at the Lodge was for the dinner 
 she left behind her, and she did not hesitate to express it. 
 " It seems quite a pity," she said, " to leave them ducks and 
 green peas — they were such fine ducks, and we 're all of us 
 very fond o' ducks, 'specially when we 've green peas to 'em." 
 After this little speech, she paused regretfully, as if meditat- 
 ing on the delightfulness of the ducks, and then she added, 
 more cheerfully, " But what — ducks are very good cold, and 
 they '11 do very well for supper to-morrow night, when our 
 Isaac comes back from Sootythorn." 
 
 The dinner at the Lodge was good enough to compensate 
 even for the one left untasted at the shoemaker's, and nobody 
 did better justice to it than the Rev. iVbel Blunting. A man 
 may well be hungry who has preached vehemently for seventy 
 minutes, and eaten nothing since seven in the morning, which 
 was Mr. Blunting's habitual breakfast-hour. He was a very 
 agreeable guest, and worth his salt. He had a vein of rich 
 humor approaching to joviality, yet he drank only water. On 
 this matter of teetotalism he was by no means fanatical, but 
 he said simply that in his office of minister it was useful to 
 his work amongst the poor. Mrs. Ogden sat next to him at 
 table, and was perfectly delighted with him. The Rev. Abel 
 perceived at once what manner of woman she was, and 
 talked to her accordingly. When he found out that she 
 came from Shayton, he said that he had a great respect for 
 Shayton, it was such a sound Protestant community — there 
 was not a single Papist in the place — Popery had no hold 
 there. Unfortunately, when Mr. Blunting made this observa- 
 tion, there happened to be a lull in the talk, and it was 
 audible to everybody, including Philip Stanburne, who was 
 well enough to sit at table. Poor Mrs. Anison began to feel 
 very uncomfortable, but as Mr. Blunting sat next to her, she 
 whispered to him that they had a Roman Catholic at table.
 
 1 66 WenderJiolme. Part i. 
 
 This communication not having been loud enough to be 
 heard by Mrs. Ogden, who, never having sat down with a 
 Roman Catholic in her life, was incapable of imagining such 
 a contingency, that lady replied, — 
 
 " Shayton folk believe i' th' Bible." 
 
 " And may I ask," said Philip, very loudly and resolutely 
 from the other end of the table, " what Catholics be- 
 lieve in.-"" 
 
 " Why, they believe i' th' Koran." 
 
 The hearers — and everybody present had heard Mrs. Og- 
 den distinctly — could not credit their ears. Each thought 
 that he must be mistaken — that by some wholly unaccount- 
 able magic he had heard the word " Koran " when it had 
 been pronounced by no mortal lips. Nobody laughed — 
 nobody even smiled. There is a degree of astonishment 
 which stuns the sense of humor. Every one held his breath 
 when Mr. Blunting spoke. 
 
 " No, ma'am," he said, respectfully, " you are somewhat 
 mistaken. You appear to have confounded the Papal and 
 the Mohammedan religions." 
 
 What Mrs. Ogden's answer may have been does not matter 
 very much, for Mr. and Mrs. Anison both saw the necessity 
 for an immediate diversion, and talked about something else 
 in the most determined manner. On reflection, Philip 
 Stanburne thought his Church quite sufficiently avenged 
 already. " As I believe in the Koran," he said to Miss 
 Anison, " I may marry four wives. What an advantage tliat 
 will be!" 
 
 " You horrible man ! " 
 
 " Why am I a horrible man ? Why are you so ungracious 
 to me .'' The Sultan and the Viceroy of Egypt are like me 
 — they believe in the Koran — and they act upon their belief 
 as I intend to do. Yet a Christian queen has been gracious 
 to Ihem. She did not tell them they were horrible men. 
 Why should you not be gracious to me in the same way?
 
 Chap. XVIII. Isaac s Mother comes. 167 
 
 When I have married my four wives, you will come and visit 
 me, won't you, in my palace on the Bosphorus ? Black 
 slaves shall bring you coffee in a little jewelled cup, and 
 your lips shall touch the amber mouth-piece of a diamonded 
 chibouque." 
 
 " But then your four wives will all be Orientals, and I 
 shall not be able to talk to them." 
 
 The Misses Anison were not the only young ladies at the 
 table. Philip Stanburne had a neighbor on his left hand 
 who interested him even more than the brilliant girl on his 
 right. This was Miss Alice Stedman, whom he had seen in 
 the bookseller's shop at Sootythorn. 
 
 " And if you believe in the Koran," said Miss Stedman, 
 " you ought to show it by refusing to drink wine." 
 
 " Ah, then, I renounce Mohammed, that I may have the 
 pleasure of drinking wine with you. Miss Stedman ! " This 
 was said with perfect grace, and in the little ceremony which 
 followed, the young gentleman contrived to express so much 
 respect and admiration for his fair neighbor, that Mrs. Anison 
 took note of it. " Mr. Stanburne is in love with Alice," she 
 said to herself. 
 
 " Would you renounce your religion for love ? " asked 
 Madge Anison, in a low tone. 
 
 Philip felt a sudden sensation, as if a doctor had just 
 probed him. Garibaldi felt the corresponding physical pain 
 when Nelaton found the bullet. 
 
 He turned slowly and looked at Madge. There was a 
 strange expression about her lips, and the perennial merri- 
 ment had faded from her face. " Are you speaking seriously, 
 Miss Anison, I wonder?" 
 
 The talk was noisy enough all round the table to isolate 
 the two completely. Even Miss Stedman was listening to 
 her loud-voiced neighbor, the Lieutenant. Madge Anison 
 looked straight at Philip, and said, " Yes, I am speaking 
 seriously."
 
 1 68 Wenderholme. Part i. 
 
 " I believe I should not, now. But nobody knows what 
 he may do when he is in love." 
 
 " You are in love." 
 
 This time the room whirled, and the voices sounded like 
 the murmur of a distant sea. In an instant Philip Stanburne 
 passed from one state of life to another state of life. A 
 crisis, which changed the whole future of four persons there 
 present, occurred in the world of his consciousness. His 
 imagination rioted in wild day-dreams ; but one picture rose 
 before him with irresistible vividness — a picture of Alice 
 kneeling with him under a canopy, before the high altar at 
 St. Agatha's. 
 
 A slight pressure on his left arm recalled him to the actual 
 world. The ladies were all leaving their seats, and Madge 
 had kindly reminded him where he was. 
 
 " A sad place for drinking is Shayton," observed Mr. 
 Blunting, as he poured himself a glass of pure water. " I 
 wonder if one could do any good there ? " 
 
 " They 're past curing, mostly, are Shayton folk," answered 
 John Stedman. " Are not they, Mr. Ogden?" 
 
 " There 's one here that is, I 'm afraid," answered Isaac, 
 with much humility. 
 
 Mr. Blunting inquired, with sympathy in his tone, whether 
 Mr. Ogden had himself fallen under temptation. When 
 Isaac confessed his backslidings of the past week, the rev- 
 erend gentleman requested permission to see him in private. 
 Isaac had a dislike to clergymen in general, and in matters 
 of religion rather shared the latitudinarian views of his friend 
 Dr. Bardly ; but he was in a state of profound moral dis- 
 couragement, and ready to be grateful to any one who 
 held out prospects of effectual help. So it ended by his 
 accepting an invitation to take tea at the parsonage at Sooty- 
 thorn. 
 
 " If you take tea with Mr. Blunting," said Joseph Anison, 
 "you must mind he doesn't inoculate you with his own sort
 
 Chap. XVIII. Isaac s Mother covies. 1(39 
 
 of intemperance, if he cures you of your little excesses. He 
 drinks tea enough in a year to float a canal-boat. It 's a 
 terribly bad habit. In my opinion it 's far worse than drink- 
 ing brandy. The worst of it is that it makes men like gossip 
 just as women do. Stick to your brandy-bottle, Mr. Ogden, 
 like a man, and let Mr. Blunting empty his big tea-pot ! "
 
 1 /O Wenderholme. part i. 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE COLONEL AT WHITTLECUP. 
 
 WHILST the gentlemen were still in the dining-room, 
 Mr. Blunting saw a horse pass the window — a rider- 
 less, yet harnessed horse — followed by another horse in an 
 unaccustomed manner ; and then came a lofty vehicle, drawn 
 by the latter animal. I have described this equipage as it 
 appeared to Mr. Blunting ; but the experienced reader will 
 perceive that it was a tandem, and by the association of ideas 
 will expect to see Fyser and the Colonel. 
 
 Colonel Stanburne came into the dining-room, and soon 
 made himself at home there. He had never happened to 
 meet Joseph Anison or Mr. Stedman, but he knew the incum- 
 bent of Sootythorn slightly, and the other two men were his 
 own officers, though he had as yet seen very little of either 
 of them. The Stanburnes of Wenderholme held a position 
 in all that part of the country so far above that to which 
 their mere wealth would have entitled them (for there were 
 manufacturers far richer than the Colonel), that Joseph An- 
 ison felt it an honor that the head of that family should have 
 entered his gates. "He 's only calling on young Stanburne," 
 thought Joseph Anison ; "he isn't calling upon us." 
 
 " I came to thank you and Mrs. Anison," said the Colonel, 
 " for having so kindly taken care of our young friend here. 
 He seems to be getting on uncommonly well ; and no won- 
 der, when he 's in such good quarters." 
 
 " Captain Stanburne is gaining strength, I am glad to say,"
 
 Chap. XIX. The Coloiiel at Wliittlecup. 171 
 
 replied the master of the house. " He rather alarmed us 
 when he came here, he seemed so weak ; but he has coine 
 round wonderfully." 
 
 " I am very much better, certainly," said the patient himself. 
 
 'i'he commanding officer hoped he would be fit for duly 
 again at an early date, but Captain Stanburne declared that 
 he did not feel strong enough yet to be equal to the march 
 and the drill ; that he was subject to frequent sensations of 
 giddiness, which would make him most uncomfortable, if not 
 useless, on the parade-ground ; and that, in a word, he was 
 best for the present where he was. This declaration was ac- 
 companied by due expressions of regret for the way in which 
 he abused the kind hospitality of the Anisons — expressions 
 which, of course, drew forth from the good host a cordial 
 renewal of his lease. 
 
 " And what have you done with the Irishman who nearly 
 killed him.?" asked Mr. Anison of the Colonel. "I've 
 heard nothing about him. If you 'd had him shot, we should 
 have heard of it." 
 
 " It was a perplexing case. If you consider the man a 
 soldier, the punishment is most severe — in fact it is death, 
 even if he did not mean to kill. But we hardly could con- 
 sider him a soldier — he had had no military experience — a 
 raw Irish laborer, who had never worn a uniform. I have 
 been unwilling to bring the man before a court-martial. He 
 is in prison still." 
 
 " He has been punished enough," said Philip. " Pray con- 
 sider him simply as having been drunk. Irishmen are always 
 combative when they are drunk. It was not a deliberate 
 attack upon me as his officer. The man was temporarily out 
 of his senses, and struck blindly about him." 
 
 It having been settled that the Irishman was to be par- 
 doned on the intercession of Captain Stanburne, the Colonel 
 begged to be presented to Mrs. Anison. " He had not much 
 time," he said, looking at his watch ; " he had to be back in
 
 1 7 2 We7idej'holme. Part i. 
 
 Sootythorn in time tor mess, and he was anxious to pay his 
 respects to the lady of the house." 
 
 So they all went into the drawing-room. After the intro- 
 ductory bows, the Colonel perceived our friend, little Jacob 
 (who had retreated with the ladies) ; but as he had not quite 
 finished his little speech to Mrs. Anison about her successful 
 nursing, he did not as yet take any direct notice of him. 
 When the duties of politeness had been fully performed, the 
 Colonel beckoned for little Jacob, and when he came to him, 
 laid both hands on his shoulders. 
 
 " And so you 're here, too, are you, young man ? I thought 
 you were at Shayton with your grandmamma." 
 
 Lieutenant Ogden came up at this instant to excuse him- 
 self. " My mother only came to Whittlecup yesterday, Col- 
 onel, and she brought my little boy with her." Mrs. Ogden 
 approached the group. 
 
 "I'm little Jacob's grandmother," she said, "and I'm 
 mother to this great lad here " (pointing to the Lieutenant), 
 "and it's as much as ever I can do to take care of him. 
 What did you send him by himself to Whittlecup for.!* You 
 should have known better nor that ; sending a drunkard like 
 him to stop by hisself in a public-house. If he 's a back- 
 slider now, it 's 'long o' them as turned him into temptation, 
 same as a cow into a clover-field. I wish he 'd never come 
 into th' malicious (militia) — I do so." 
 
 The Colonel was little accustomed to be spoken to with 
 that unrestrained frankness whicii characterizes the in- 
 habitants of Shayton, and felt a temporary embarrassment 
 under Mrs. Ogden's onslaught. " Well, Mrs. Ogden, let 
 us hope that Mr. Isaac will be safe now under your pro- 
 tection." 
 
 " Safe ? Ay, he is safe now, I reckon, when he 's getten 
 his mother to take care of him ; and there's more on ye as 
 wants your mothers to take care on ye, by all accounts." 
 
 "Mother," said the Lieutenant, "you shouldn't talk so to
 
 Chap. XIX. The Coloiiel at Whittlecup. 173 
 
 the Colonel. You should bear in mind how he kept little 
 Jacob at Wenderholme Hall." 
 
 Mrs. Ogden was pacified immediately, and held out her 
 hand. " I thank you for that," she said, " you were very 
 kind to th' childt ; and I 've been doin' a piece of needlework 
 ever since for your wife, but it willn't be finished while 
 Christmas." 
 
 " Mother, you shouldn't say ' your wife ' — you should say 
 * her ladyship,' " observed the Lieutenant, in a low tone. 
 
 " My wife will be greatly obliged to you, Mrs. Ogden. I 
 hope you will make her acquaintance before you leave the 
 regiment; for I may say that you belong to the regiment now, 
 since you have come to be Lieutenant Ogden's commanding 
 officer." 
 
 Mrs. Anison had been first an astonished and then an 
 amused auditor of this colloquy, but she ended it by offering 
 Mrs. Ogden a cup of tea. Then the Colonel began to talk 
 to Mrs. Anison. He had that hearty and frank enjoyment of 
 the society of ladies which is not only perfectly compatible 
 with morality, but especially belongs to it as one of its best 
 attributes and privileges. Good women liked the Colonel, 
 and the Colonel liked good women ; he liked them none the 
 less when they were handsome, as Mrs. Anison was, and 
 when .they could talk well and easily, as she did. Some 
 women are distinguished by nature ; and though Mrs. Anison 
 had seen little of the great world, and the Colonel had seen 
 a good deal of it, the difference of experience did not place a 
 perceptible barrier between them. The time seemed to have 
 passed rapidly for both when the visitor took his leave.
 
 1 74 Wender holme. part i. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 PHILIP STANBURNE IN LOVE. 
 
 IF any rational and worldly-minded adviser had said to 
 Philip Stanburne a month before, "Why don't you look 
 out for some well-to-do cotton-spinner's daughter in Sooty- 
 thorn ? you might pick up a good fortune, that would mend 
 the Stanithburn property, and you might find a nice well- 
 educated girl, who would do you quite as much credit as if she 
 belonged to one of the old families" — if any counsel of this 
 kind had been offered to Philip Stanburne then, before he 
 saw Alice Stedman, he would have rejected it at once as being 
 altogether inadmissible. He, the representative of the house 
 of Stanburne, connect himself with a family of cotton-spinners ! 
 He, the dutiful son of the Church, ally himself with a mem- 
 ber of one of those heretical sects who insult her in her 
 affliction ! Our general views of things may, however, be 
 very decided, and admit, nevertheless, of exception in favor 
 of persons who are known to us. To hate Protestants in 
 general — to despise the commercial classes as a body — is 
 one thing ; but to hate and despise a gentle maiden, whose 
 voice sounds sweetly in our ears, is quite another thing. 
 
 " She 's as perfect a lady as any I ever saw," thought 
 Philip, as she walked before him in the garden at Arkwright 
 Lodge. A closer social critic might have answered, that 
 although Alice Stedman was a very admirable and good 
 young woman, absolutely free from the least taint of vul- 
 garity, she lacked the style and " go " of a young lady of the 
 world. Her deficiency in this respect may, however, have
 
 Chap. XX. Philip StanbiiTue iit Love. 175 
 
 gone far to produce the charm which attracted Philip. Alice 
 had not the aplofnb of a fine lady, nor the brilliance of a 
 clever woman ; but nature had given her a stamp of gen- 
 uineness which is sometimes effaced by the attrition of 
 society. 
 
 " It 's wrong of me to have taken possession of you, Cap- 
 tain Stanburne," said Margaret Anison ; " I see you are 
 longing to be with Alice Stedman — you would be a great 
 deal happier with her ; " and, wdthout consulting him further, 
 she called her sister, adding, " I beg pardon, Lissy, but I 
 want to say something to Sarah." 
 
 Of course, as Miss Anison had some private communi- 
 cation to make to her sister, Philip and Alice had nothing to 
 do but s'eloigner. The young gentleman offered his arm, 
 -which was accepted, and they went on down a deviously 
 winding walk. Alice looked round, and seeing nobody, said, 
 " Hadn't we better wait, or go back a little ? we have been 
 walking faster than they have." Philip did as he was bid, 
 not precisely knowing or caring which way he went. But 
 the young ladies were not there. 
 
 " I think," he said at last, " we should do better to go in 
 our first direction, as they will expect us to do. Very likely 
 Miss Anison may have taken her sister to the house, to show 
 her something, and they will meet us in the garden again, if 
 we go in the direction they calculate upon." So they turned 
 round and walked down the winding path again. 
 
 "You often come to this place, I believe," said Philip. 
 "The Anisons are old friends of yours, are they not. Miss 
 Stedman ? " 
 
 " Oh yes ; I come to stay here very often. The Anisons 
 are very kind to me." 
 
 " They are kind to me also. Miss Stedman, and yet I have 
 no claim of old acquaintance. A fortnight since I did not 
 even know their name, and yet it seems to me now as if I 
 had known them for years. You are rather an older ac-
 
 176 Wenderkolme. part i. 
 
 quaintance, Miss Stedman. I had the pleasure of seeing 
 you at Sootythorn before I came to Whittlecup." 
 
 Alice looked up at her companion rather archly, and said, 
 " You mean in the bookseller's shop ? " 
 
 " Yes, when you came to buy a book of sermons. Shall 
 I tell you what book you ordered ? I remember the name 
 perfectly. It was ' Blunting's Sermons on Popery.' " 
 
 " So you were listening, were you ? " 
 
 " I wasn't listening when I heard your voice for the first 
 time, but I listened very attentively afterwards. My atten- 
 tion was attracted by the title of the book. You know that 
 I am a Catholic, Miss Stedman ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Alice, very briefly, and in a tone which seemed 
 to endeavor not to imply disapprobation. 
 
 "And perhaps you know that Catholics don't quite like to 
 hear their religion called ' Popery.' So I was a little irri- 
 tated ; but then I reflected that as the title of the book was 
 so, you could not order it by another name than the name 
 upon its titlepage." Here there was a pause, as Alice did 
 not speak. Philip resumed, — 
 
 "Do you live in Sootythorn, Miss Stedman?" 
 
 " Not far out of the town. Indeed our house is surrounded 
 by buildings now. It used to be quite in the country." 
 
 "I — I should like to call upon Mr. Stedman very much 
 when I am quite well again." 
 
 For some seconds there was no answer. Then Alice said 
 in a low tone, almost inaudible, " I should be very glad to 
 see you again." 
 
 A heavy and rapid step on the gravel behind them abruptly 
 ended this interesti^ig conversation. 
 
 It was not Madge Anison's step. They stopped and looked 
 round. The Reverend Abel Blunting confronted them. 
 
 If poor Alice had not had that miserable habit of blush- 
 ing, the reverend gentleman would have perceived nothing 
 beyond the simple fact that the young lady was walking in
 
 Chap. XX. Philip Staiibume in Love. 177 
 
 a garden with Mr. Philip Stanburne. But Alice's face was 
 suffused with crimson, and the Icnowledge that it was so 
 made her so uncomfortable that she blushed more than ever. 
 In spite of his manhood, there was a slightly heightened color 
 on Philip's cheek also, but a good deal of this may be attrib- 
 uted to vexation at what he was disposed to consider an 
 ill-timed and unwarrantable intrusion. 
 
 " Good morning. Miss Alice 1 I hope you are quite well : 
 and you, sir, I wish you good morning; I hope I see you 
 well." 
 
 Philip bowed, a little stiffly, and Alice proceeded to make 
 hasty inquiries about her papa. Did Mr. Blunting know if 
 hei papa had changed his intentions ? 
 
 Mr. Blunting was always very polite, the defect in his 
 manners (betraying that he was not quite a gentleman) being 
 that they were only too deferential. He had a fatherly affec- 
 tion for Alice Stedman, whose spiritual guide he had been 
 from her infancy, and it was certainly the very first time in 
 her life that she had seen him without feelings of unmingled 
 satisfaction. 
 
 " I have come to fetch you myself. Miss Alice. I met your 
 p^pa in Sootythorn this morning as I was leaving in my gig, 
 and he asked if I were coming to Whittlecup. So he re- 
 quested me to offer you the vacant seat, Miss Alice, which I 
 now do with great pleasure." Here Mr. Blunting made a 
 sort of a bow. There was an unctuousness in his courtesy 
 that irritated Philip, but perhaps Philip envied him his place 
 in the gig. 
 
 " Are we going to leave immediately, then ? " inquired 
 Miss Stedman, in a tone which did not imply the most 
 perfect satisfaction with these arrangements. 
 
 " Mrs. Anison has been so kind as to invite me to dine, 
 and I have accepted." Mr. Blunting was too honest to say 
 that Miss Alice ought to dine before her drive. He accepted 
 avowedly in his own interest. He had a large body to nour- 
 
 12
 
 17^ Wenderholme. Part l 
 
 ish, he had to supply energies for an enormous amount of 
 work, and the dinners at the Sootythorn parsonage were not 
 always very succulent. He therefore thought it not wrong 
 to accept effective aid in his labors when it offered itself in 
 the shape of hospitality. 
 
 At dessert the clergyman found an opportunity of convey- 
 ing, not too directly, a little hint or lesson which he felt it 
 his duty to convey, and which had been tormenting him 
 since the meeting in the garden. The conversation, which 
 at Whittlecup, as elsewhere, very generally ran upon people 
 known to the speakers, had turned to a case of separation 
 between a neighboring country gentleman and his wife, who 
 were, or had been, of different religions. 
 
 "Marriages of that kind," said Mr. Blunting, "between 
 people of different religions, seldom turn out happily, and it 
 is a great imprudence to contract them." 
 
 Mrs. Anison expressed a hearty concurrence in this view, 
 but certain young persons present believed that, however just 
 Mr. Blunting's observation might be, considered generally, 
 there must be exceptions to a rule so discouraging.
 
 Chap. XXI. The Weiiderholme Coach. 1 79 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE WENDERHOLME COACH. 
 
 'TT^HE distance from Wenderholme to Sootythorn was rather 
 -*- inconveniently great, being about twenty miles ; and as 
 there was no railway in that direction, the Colonel determined 
 to set up a four-in-hand, which he facetiously entitled " The 
 Wenderholme Coach." The immediate purpose of the Wen- 
 derholme coach was to enable the ofificers to enjoy more fre- 
 quently the hospitalities of the Hall ; but it may be admitted 
 that John Stanburne had a natural gift for driving, and also a 
 cultivated taste for that amusement, which may have had their 
 influence in deciding him to add this item to his establishment. 
 He had driven his tandem so long now, that, though it was 
 still very agreeable to him, it no longer offered any excite- 
 ment ; but his experience of a four-in-hand was much more 
 limited, and it therefore presented many of the allurements 
 of novelty. Nothing is more agreeable than a perfect harmony 
 between our duties towards others and our private tastes and 
 predilections. It was clearly a duty to offer hospitality to the 
 ofificers ; and the hospitality would be so much more graceful 
 if Wenderholme were brought nearer to Sootythorn by a capa- 
 cious conveyance travelling at high speed, and with the style 
 befitting a company of ofificers and gentlemen. At the same 
 time, when John Stanburne imagined the charms of driving a 
 four-in-hand, his fingers tingled with anticipations of their 
 delight in holding "the ribbons." Like all men of a perfecdy 
 healthy nature, he still retained a great deal of the boy (alas 
 for him whose boyhood is at an end for ever !), and he was
 
 1 80 Wenderholme. Part i. 
 
 still capable of joyously anticipating a new pleasure. The idea 
 of the four-in-hand was not new to him. He had long secretly 
 aspired to its realization, but then Lady Helena (who had not 
 the sacred fire) was not likely to see the thing quite in the 
 same light. John Stanburne had never precisely consulted 
 her upon the subject — he had never even gone so far as to 
 say that he should like a four-in-hand if he could afford it ; 
 but he had expatiated on the delights of driving other people's 
 teams, and his enthusiasm had met with no answering warmth 
 in Helena's unresponsive breast. She had known for years 
 that her husband had a hankering after a four-in-hand, and 
 had discouraged it in her own way — namely, by steadily 
 avoiding the least expression (even of simple politeness) 
 which might be construed into approbation. In this negative 
 way, without once speaking openly about the matter, she had 
 clearly conveyed to the Colonel's mind her opinion there- 
 upon. The reader, no doubt, approves her ladyship's wisdom 
 and economy. But Lady Helena was not on all points wise 
 and economical. Her qualities of this order shone most 
 conspicuously with reference to pleasures which she did not 
 personally appreciate. It is with sins of extravagance as 
 with most other sins — we compound for those which we're 
 inclined to bv condemning those that we 've no mind to. 
 On the other hand, it may most reasonably be argued, 
 in favor of her ladyship and other good women who criticise 
 their husbands' expenditure on this excellent old principle, 
 that if they not only encouraged the outlay which procures 
 them the things they like, but also outlay for things they are 
 indifferent about, the general household expenditure would 
 be ruinously augmented. 
 
 The Colonel's manner of proceeding about the four-in-hand 
 was characteristic of a husband in his peculiar position. 
 He knew by experience the strength of \\\Q.fait accompli. He 
 wrote privily to a knowing friend of his who was spending 
 the pleasant month of May amidst the joys of the London
 
 Chap. XXI. The Wenderholme Coach. iSi 
 
 season, to purchase for him at once the commodious vehicle 
 destined to become afterwards famous as the Wenderholme 
 coach. He wrote for it on that Monday evening when Alice 
 Stedman returned from her interrupted visit to Whittlecup ; 
 and as it was sent down on a truck attached to a passenger 
 train, it arrived at the Sootythorn station within forty-eight 
 hours of the writing of the letter, and was brought to the 
 Thorn Inn by two of Mr. Garley's hacks. The officers 
 turned out to look at it after mess, and as it was known to 
 have been selected by a man of high repute in the sporting 
 world, its merits were unanimously allowed. There was a 
 complete set of silver-mounted harness for four horses in the 
 boot, carefully wrapped up in three sorts of paper ; and Lon- 
 don celerity had even found time to emblazon the Stanburne 
 arms on the panels. It is true that they were exceedingly 
 simple, like the arms of most old families, and the painter 
 had omitted to impale them with the bearings of her lady- 
 ship — an accident which might also be considered ominous 
 under the circumstances, since it seemed to imply that in this 
 extravagance of the Colonel's his wife had no part nor lot. 
 
 As the mess was just over when the coach entered Mr. 
 Garley's yard, the Colonel, with the boyish impulsiveness 
 which he did not attempt to conceal, said, " Let 's have a 
 drive in the Wenderholme coach! Where shall we go to? 
 Let 's go and look up Lieutenant Ogden at Whittlecup, and 
 see what he 's doing ! " So the two tandem horses and two 
 of Mr. Garley's hacks were clothed in the splendors of the 
 new harness, and attached to the great vehicle, whilst a dozen 
 officers mounted to the lofty outside places. They wore the 
 mess costume (red shell-jacket, &c.), and looked something 
 like a lot of scarlet geraniums on the top of a horticul- 
 turist's van. 
 
 Just as they were starting, and as the Colonel was begin- 
 ning to feel his reins properly, a youthful lieutenant who pos- 
 sessed a cornet-k-piston, and had privily carried it with him
 
 1 82 Wenderholme. Part i. 
 
 as he climbed to his place behind, filled the streets of Sooty- 
 thorn with triumphant trumpet-notes. The sound caused 
 many of the inhabitants to come to their windows, and 
 amongst others Miss Mellor and her friend, Mrs. Ogden, who 
 had been drinking tea with her that evening. " Why," said 
 Miss Mellor, " it 's a new coach ! " " And it's boun' to 'rd 
 Whittlecup, I declare," added Mrs. Ogden. She had already 
 put her things on, intending to walk back to Whittlecup with 
 little Jacob in the cool of the evening, for it was quite con- 
 trary to Mrs. Ogden's character (at once courageous and 
 economical) to hire a fly for so short a distance as four miles. 
 But when she saw the coach, it occurred to her that here was 
 a golden mean betwixt the extravagance of fly-hiring and the 
 fatigues of pedestrianism ; so she clapped little Jacob's cap 
 on his head (in a manner unsatisfactory to that young gentle- 
 man, for nobody can put a boy's cap on to suit him except 
 himself), and dragged him out at the front door, hardly taking 
 time to say good night to the worthy lady by whom she had 
 just been so hospitably entertained. 
 
 When the Colonel saw Mrs. Ogden making signs with her 
 parasol, he recognized her at once, and good-naturedly drew 
 up his horses that she might get inside. Fyser got down to 
 open the door, and the following conversation, which was 
 clearly overheard by several of the officers, and partially by 
 the Colonel himself, took place between Fyser and Mrs. 
 Ogden. 
 
 " Is this Whittlecup coach ? " 
 
 " Yes, mum." 
 
 "Is there room inside for me and this 'ere little lad ? " 
 
 " Plenty of room, mum. Step in, please ; the horses is 
 waitin'." 
 
 " Stop a bit. What's the fare as far as Whittlecup ? " 
 
 " One shilling, mum," said Fyser, who ventured thus far, 
 from his knowledge of the Colonel's indulgent disposition 
 when a joke was in the wind.
 
 Chap. XXI. The Wenderholnte Coach. 183 
 
 "The childt '11 be half-price?" said Mrs. Ogden, mixing 
 the affirmative with the interrogative. 
 
 " Very well, mum," said Fyser, and shut the door on Mrs. 
 Ogden and little Jacob. 
 
 The Colonel, since the box-seat was on the other side of 
 the vehicle, had not heard the whole of this colloquy ; and 
 when it was reported to him amidst roars of laughter, he 
 looked rather graver than was expected. " It 's a good joke, 
 gentlemen," he said, " but there is one little matter I must 
 explain to you. Our inside passenger is the mother of one 
 of our brother officers. Lieutenant Ogden, who is command- 
 ing number six company at VVhittlecup, and the little boy with 
 her is his son ; so please be very careful never to allude to 
 this little incident in his presence, you understand." 
 
 Meanwhile Mrs. Ogden found the Whittlecup coach com- 
 fortable in a supreme degree. " They 've rare good coaches 
 about Sootythorn," she said to little Jacob ; " this is as soft 
 as soft — it 's same as sittin' on a feather-bedd." A few 
 minutes later she continued : " Th' outside passengers is 
 mostly soldiers * by what I can see. They 're 'appen some 
 o' your father's men as are boun' back to VVhittlecup." 
 
 In less than half an hour the Colonel drew up in the mar- 
 ket-place at Whittlecup, at the sign of the Blue Bell. He 
 handed the reins to his neighbor on the box, and descended 
 with great alacrity. Fyser had just opened the door when 
 the Colonel arrived in time to help Mrs. Ogden politely as 
 she got out 
 
 " It 's eighteenpence," she said, and handed him the 
 money. The Colonel had thrown his gray cloak over his 
 shell-jacket, and, to a person with Mrs. Ogden's habits of 
 observation, or non-observation, looked sufficiently like a 
 
 * The reader who cares to attain the perfection of Mrs. Ogden's 
 pronunciation will please to bear in mind that she pronounced the d well 
 in "soldiers" (thus, sol-di-ers), and did not replace it with a g, accord- 
 ing to the barbarous usage of the polite world.
 
 184 Wenderholme. Part i. 
 
 coachman. He thought it best to take the money, to prevent 
 an explanation in the presence of so many witnesses. So he 
 politely touched his cap, and thanked her. It being already 
 dusk, she did not recognize him. Suddenly the love of a 
 joke prevailed over other considerations, and the Colonel, 
 imitating the cabman's gesture, contemplated the three six- 
 pences in his open hand by the light of the lamp, and said, 
 " Is there nothing for the coachman, mum ? " The lamplight 
 fell upon his features^ and Mrs. Ogden recognized him at 
 once ; so did little Jacob. Her way of taking the discovery 
 marked her characteristic self-possession. She blundered 
 into no apologies ; but, fixing her stony gray eyes full on the 
 Colonel's face, she said, " I think you want no sixpences ; 
 Stanburnes o' Wendrum Hall doesn't use wantin' sixpences. 
 Give me my eighteenpence back." Then, suddenly changing 
 her resolution, she said, " Nay, I willn't have them three six- 
 pences back again ; it 's worth eighteenpence to be able to tell 
 folk that Colonel Stanburne of Wenderholme Hall took money 
 for lettin' an old lady ride in his carriage." She said this 
 with real dignity, and taking little Jacob by the hand, moved 
 off with a steady step towards her lodging over the shoe- 
 maker's shop.
 
 CiiAP. XXII. Colonel Sianburne apologizes. 1 85 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 COLONEL STANBURNE APOLOGIZES. 
 
 THE next day Lieutenant Ogden appeared not on the 
 parade-ground at Sootythorn. Captain Stanburne 
 commanded his own company for the first time since his ac- 
 cident (his cure having been wonderfully advanced by the 
 departure of Miss Stedman from Arkwright Lodge) ; and 
 during one of the short intervals of repose which break the 
 tedium of drill, he went to pay his respects to the Colonel, 
 who was engaged in conversation with the Adjutant on a bit 
 of elevated ground, whilst Fyser promenaded his war-horse 
 to and fro. 
 
 Colonel Stanburne, who was ignorant of the cause to which 
 he owed the rapid recovery of his young friend, heartily con- 
 gratulated him, and then said, " But where is Ogden ? what 's 
 Ogden doing ? Why didn't he come to the parade-ground to 
 join the grenadier company again ? Is he taking a day's holi- 
 day with those pretty girls at Arkwright Lodge ? " 
 
 " Mr. Ogden begs to be excused from attending drill to-day. 
 I have a note from him." And Captain Stanburne handed 
 the letter to the Colonel. 
 
 As soon as John Stanburne had read the letter he looked 
 very grave, or rather very much put out, and made an ejacu- 
 lation. The ejaculation was " Damn it ! " Then he folded 
 the letter again, and put it in his pocket-book. 
 
 "Have you had any conversation with Mr. Ogden on the 
 subject of this letter ? " Captain Stanburne knew nothing 
 about it.
 
 1 86 Wenderliolme. Part i 
 
 The Colonel made a signal for Fyser, and mounted his 
 horse. Fvser mounted another, and followed his master. The 
 senior Major was telling humorous anecdotes to a group of 
 captains, and the Colonel went straight to him at a canter. 
 He told him to command the regiment in his absence, enter- 
 ing into some details about what was to be done — details 
 which puzzled the Major exceedingly, for he knew nothing 
 whatever about battalion drill, or any drill, though in some 
 former state of existence he had been an ornamental officer in 
 the Guards. This done, the Colonel galloped off the field. 
 
 The letter which had caused this sudden departure was as 
 follows : — 
 
 "Sir, — As you have thought fit to play a practical joke 
 upon my mother, I send in my resignation. 
 
 "Your obedient servant, Isaac Ogden." 
 
 There was no hesitation about the Colonel's movements ; 
 he rode straight to Whittlecup as fast as his horse could carry 
 him. He went first to the Blue Bell, where he found a guide 
 to Mrs. Ogden's lodging over the shoemaker's shop. In 
 answer to his inquiries, the shoemaker's wife admitted that 
 all her lodgers were at home, but — but — in short, they were 
 " getting their breakfast." The Colonel said his business was 
 urgent — that he must see the Lieutenant, and Mrs. Ogden 
 too — so Mrs. Wood guided him up the narrow stairs. 
 
 We may confess for John Stanburne that he had not much of 
 that courage which rejoices in verbal encounters, or if he had, 
 it was of that kind which dares to do what the man is consti- 
 tutionally most afraid to do. The reader may remember an 
 anecdote of another English officer, who, as he went into 
 battle, betrayed the external signs of fear, and in reply to a 
 young subaltern, who had the impudence to taunt him, said, 
 " Yes, I am afraid, and if you were as much afraid as I am, 
 you would run away." Yet, by the strength of his will, he con- 
 ducted himself like a true soldier. And there is that other
 
 Chai. XXII. Colonel Stanbiirne apologizes. 187 
 
 stirring anecdote about a French commander, who, when his 
 body trembled at the opening of a battle, thus apostrophized 
 it : " Tu trembles, vile carcasse ! tu tremblerais bien plus si tu 
 savais ou je vais te mener ! " If these men were cowards, 
 John Stanburne was a coward too, for he mortally dreaded 
 this encounter with the Ogdens ; but if they were not cowards 
 (having will enough to neutralize that defect of nature), 
 neither was John Stanburne. 
 
 Lieutenant Ogden rose from his seat, and bowed rather 
 stiffly as the Colonel entered, Mrs. Ogden made a just per- 
 ceptible inclination of the head, and conveyed to her mouth 
 a spoonful of boiled egg, which she had just dipped in the 
 salt. 
 
 " I beg pardon," said the Colonel, "for intruding upon you 
 during breakfast time, but — but I was anxious " — The 
 moment of hesitation which followed was at once taken ad- 
 vantage of by Mrs. Ogden. 
 
 " And is that all you 've come to beg pardon for ? " 
 
 This thrust put the Colonel more on his defence than a 
 pleasanter reception would have done. He had intended to 
 offer nothing but a very polite apology ; but as there seemed 
 to be a disposition on the part of the enemy to extort conces- 
 sions so as to deprive them of the grace of being voluntary, he 
 withdrew into his own retrenchments. 
 
 " I came to ask Mr. Ogden for an explanation about his 
 letter of this morning." 
 
 "I should think you need no explanations, Colonel Stan- 
 burne. You know what passed yesterday evening." 
 
 " He knows that well enough," said Mrs. Ogden. 
 
 " I should be glad if Lieutenant Ogden would tell me in 
 detail what he thinks that he has to complain of." 
 
 " Leaftenant ! Leaftenant ! nay, there 's no more leaftenan- 
 tin', I reckon. This is Isaac Ogden — plain Isaac Ogden — 
 an' nout elz. He's given up playin' at soldiers. He's a 
 cotton-spinner, or he were one, nobbut his brother an' him
 
 1 88 Wertder holme. part i. 
 
 quarrelled ; and I wish they hadn't done, many a time I do — ■ 
 for our Jacob 's as much as ever he can manage, now as he 's 
 buildin' a new mill; an' if he gets wed — and there's Hiram 
 Ratcliff's dorther " — Mrs. Ogden might have gone very 
 far into family matters if her son had not perceived (or im- 
 agined that he perceived) something like a smile on Colonel 
 Stanburne's face. In point of fact, the Colonel did not pre- 
 cisely smile ; but there was a general relaxation of the muscles 
 of his physiognomy from their first expression of severity, 
 betraying an inward tendency to humor. 
 
 " Well, sir," broke in Ogden, " I '11 tell you what you did, if 
 you want me. It seems that you 've set up a new carriage, a 
 four-in-hand, which looks very like a mail coach, and you drove 
 this vehicle yesterday through the streets of Sootythorn, and 
 you saw my mother on the footpath, and you made a signal to 
 her with your whip, as coachmen do, and you allowed her to 
 get inside under the impression that it was a public convey- 
 ance, so that you might make a laughing-stock of her with the 
 officers. And " — 
 
 " Pardon me," said the Colonel, " it was not " — 
 
 "You've asked me to tell you why I sent in my resignation, 
 and I 'm telling you. If you stop me, I shalln't begin it over 
 again. Let me say my say, Colonel Stanburne ; you may ex- 
 plain it away afterwards at your leisure, if you can. When 
 you got into Whittlecup, and stopped at the Blue Bell, you 
 took my mother's money — and not only that, but you asked 
 for a gratuity for yourself, as driver, to make her ridiculous in 
 the eyes of your friends on the vehicle. I suppose, though 
 your joke may have been a very good one, that you will be 
 able to understand why it is not very pleasing to me, and why 
 I don't choose to remain under you in the militia." 
 
 " If the thing had occurred as you have told it " — the 
 Colonel began, but was instantly interrupted by Mrs. Ogden. 
 
 " Do you mean to say I didn't tell him right what hap- 
 pened } If anybody knows what happened, I do."
 
 Chap. XXII. Colonel Stanbume apologizes. 189 
 
 " Let the Colonel say what he has to say, mother ; don't 
 you stop him. I 've said my say, and it's his turn now." 
 
 The Colonel told the facts as the reader knows them. " He 
 had made no sign to Mrs. Ogden," he said, " in the street at 
 Sootythorn, but she had made a sign with her parasol, which 
 he had interpreted as a request for a place. He had been 
 ignorant that Fyser had kept up her illusion about the vehicle 
 being a public one until after the fact ; and so far from en- 
 couraging the merriment of the officers, had put a stop to it by 
 telling them who Mrs. Ogden was, particularly requesting that 
 the incident might not be made a subject of pleasantry, lest 
 it should reach Mr. Ogden 's ears. On arriving in Whittlecup, 
 he had taken her money, but with the express purpose of 
 saving her the pain of an explanation. He had intended 
 Mrs. Ogden to remain ignorant — happily ignorant — of her 
 little mistake." 
 
 " Pardon me," said Isaac Ogden ; " this might have been 
 equally well accomplished without asking my mother for 
 a coachman's gratuity. That was done to make a fool of 
 her, evidently ; and no doubt you laughed about it with your 
 friends as you drove back to Sootythorn." 
 
 " Here is the only point on which I feel that I owe an 
 apology to Mrs. Ogden, and I very willingly make it. In 
 every thing else I did what lay in my power to save her from 
 ridicule, but on this point I confess that I did wrong. I 
 couldn't help it. I was carried away by a foolish fancy for 
 acting the coachman out and out. The temptation was too 
 strong for me, you know. I thought I had taken the money 
 cleverly, in the proper professional manner, and I was tempted 
 to ask for a gratuity. I acknowledge that I went too far. 
 Mrs. Ogden, I am very sorry for this." 
 
 Mrs. Ogden had been gradually softening during the 
 Colonel's explanation, and when it came to its close she 
 turned to him and said, " We 've been rather too hard upon 
 you, I think." Such an expression as this from Mrs. Ogden
 
 igo We7iderhobne. Pari- i. 
 
 was equivalent to a profuse apology. The Lieutenant added 
 a conciliatory little speech of his own : " I think my mother 
 may accept your explanation. I am willing to accept it my- 
 self." This was not very cordial, but at any rate it was an 
 expression of satisfaction. 
 
 Little Jacob had hitherto been a silent and unobserved 
 auditor of this conversation, but it now occurred to the 
 Colonel that he might be of considerable use. " Mrs. Og- 
 den," he said, " will you allow me to transfer your eighteen- 
 pence to this young gentleman's pocket ? " Mrs. Ogden 
 consented, and it will be believed that little Jacob on his 
 part had no objection. Then the Colonel drew little Jacob 
 towards him, and began to ask him questions — "What would 
 he like to be ? " Little Jacob said he would like to be a 
 coachman, as the Colonel was, and drive four horses. The 
 Colonel promised him a long drive on the coach. 
 
 " And may I drive the horses ? " 
 
 " Well, we shall see about that. Yes, you shall drive them 
 a little some day." Then turning towards Mrs. Ogden, he 
 continued, — 
 
 " Lady Helena is not at Wenderholme just now, unfortu- 
 nately ; she is gone to town to her father's for a few days, so 
 that I am a bachelor at present, and cannot invite ladies ; 
 but if it would please little Jacob to ride on the coach with 
 me, I should be very glad if you would let him. I am going 
 to drive to Wenderholme this evening as soon as our after- 
 noon drill is finished, and shall return to-morrow morning. 
 About half-a-dozen officers are going to dine with me. Og- 
 den, you '11 dine with me too, won't you ? Do — there 's a 
 good fellow ; and pray let us forget this unlucky bit of un- 
 pleasantness. Don't come full fig — come in a shell-jacket." 
 
 "Well, but you know, Colonel Stanburne, I've resigned 
 my commission, and so how can I come in a red jacket ? " 
 
 This was said with an agreeable expression of countenance, 
 intended to imply that the resignation was no longer to be
 
 Chap. XXII. Colouel Stanbume apologizes. 191 
 
 taken seriously. The Colonel laughed. " Nonsense," he 
 said; "you don't talk about resigning? It isn't a time for 
 resigning when there 's such a capital chance of promotion. 
 Most likely you '11 be a captain next training, for there 's a 
 certain old major who finds battalion drill a mystery beyond 
 the utmost range of his intellect, and I don't think he '11 
 stop very long with us, and when he leaves us there '11 be a 
 general rise, and the senior lieutenant, you know, will be a 
 captain." 
 
 Mrs. Ogden's countenance began to shine with pride at 
 these hints of promotion. After all, he would be somebody 
 at Shayton, would Captain Ogden, for she was fully deter- 
 mined that when once he should be in possession of the 
 title, it should not perish for want of use. 
 
 When the Colonel rose to take his leave, Mrs. Ogden 
 said, " Nay, nay, you shalln't go away without drinking a 
 glass of wine. There 's both port and sherry in the cup- 
 board ; and if you'd like something to eat — you must be 
 quite hungry after your ride. Why, you 've 'appen never 
 got your breakfast ? " 
 
 The Colonel confessed that he had not breakfasted. He 
 had come away from early drill just before his usual break- 
 fast-hour. 
 
 " Eh, well, I wish I 'd known sooner ; indeed I do. The 
 coffee 's quite cold, and there 's nothing worse than cold cof- 
 fee ; but Mr. Wood '11 very soon make some fresh." Colonel 
 Stanburne was really hungry, and ate his breakfast in a 
 manner which gave the greatest satisfaction to Mrs. Ogden. 
 The more he ate the more he rose in her esteem, and at 
 length she could no longer restrain her feelings of approval, 
 and said, " You can eat your breakfast ; it does me good to 
 watch ye. There 's many a young man as cannot eat half 
 as much as you do. There 's our Isaac here that 's only 
 a very poor breakfast-eater. I tell him so many a time." 
 Indeed she did tell him so many a time — namely, about
 
 192 Wenderholme. Tart i. 
 
 fifteen times whenever they breakfasted together. When the 
 Colonel had done eating, he looked at his watch and said it 
 was time to go. " Well, I 'm very sorry you 're goin' so soon 
 — indeed I am," said Mrs. Ogden, who, when he ceased to 
 eat, felt that her own pleasure was at an end. But you must 
 drink a glass of wine. It isn't bought at the Blue Bell at 
 Whittlecup — it comes from Shayton." She said this with 
 a calm assurance that it setded the question of the wine's 
 merits, just as if Shayton had been the centre of a famous 
 wine-district. Returning to the subject of breakfast-eating, 
 she repeated, " Eh, I do wish our Isaac could eat his break- 
 fast same as you do, but he 's spoiled his stomach wi' drink- 
 ing." Then addressing her son : " Isaac, I put two glasses 
 with the decanter — why don't you fill your glass?" 
 
 " I 've given up drinking." 
 
 " Do you mean to say as you 're teetotal ? " 
 
 " Yes, I do, mother ; I 'm teetotal now." 
 
 Mrs. Ogden's face assumed an expression of extreme as- 
 tonishment and displeasure. " Well," she said, " Isaac Og- 
 den, you 're the first teetotal as has been in our family ! " 
 and she looked at him in scorn. Then she resumed : " If 
 I 'd known what was to come of your meeting that teetotal 
 clergyman — for it 's him that 's done it — I 'd have prevented 
 it if I could. Turned teetotal ! turned teetotal ! Well, Isaac, 
 I never could have believed this of any son of mine 1 "
 
 Chap. XXIII. Husb and and Wife, 193 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 HUSBAND AND WIFE. 
 
 WHEN Lady Helena came back from London, she found 
 the Wenderholme coach aheady in full activity. It 
 ran from Sootythorn to Wenderholme twice a week regularly 
 with many passengers, who, so far from contributing to its 
 maintenance, did but yet further exhaust the pocket of its 
 proprietor. It happened precisely that on the day of her 
 ladyship's return the Colonel had one of his frequent dinner- 
 parties at the Hall — parties composed almost exclusively of 
 militia officers, and already known in the regiment as the 
 " Wenderholme mess." The Colonel had thought it prudent 
 to prepare Lady Helena for his new acquisition by mention- 
 ing it in a letter, so that she experienced no shock of sur- 
 prise when the four-in-hand came swinging heavily round the 
 drive in front of the house, announcing itself with loud blasts 
 from Ensign Featherby's cornet-k-piston. They had such 
 numbers of spare bed-rooms at Wenderholme that these hos- 
 pitalities caused no perceptible inconvenience, except that of 
 getting up very early the next morning, which chiefly affected 
 the guests themselves, who had to be in time for early drill. 
 On this point the Colonel was inexorable, so that the Wen- 
 derholme mess was much more popular on Saturday than on 
 Thursday evening, as the officers stayed at Wenderholme till 
 after luncheon, going to the village church in the morning 
 with the people at the Hall, and returning to Sootythorn in 
 the course of the afternoon, so as to be in time for mess. It 
 happened that the day of Lady Helena's return was a Satur?
 
 194 Wenderhohne. Part i. 
 
 day, and the Colonel thought, " She said nothing about the 
 coach to-night, but I 'm in for it to-morrow morning." How- 
 ever, when Sunday morning came, beautiful with full spring 
 sunshine, her ladyship's countenance appeared equally cloud- 
 less. Encouraged by these favorable appearances, John 
 Stanburne observed, a little before church-time, — 
 
 " I say, Helena, you haven't seen the Wenderholme coach. 
 Come and look at it ; do come, Helena — that 's a good gell 
 It 's in the coach-house." 
 
 But her ladyship replied that she had seen the coach the 
 evening before from the drawing-room window, when it ar- 
 rived from Sootythorn. 
 
 "Well, but you can't have seen it properly, you know. 
 You can't have looked inside it. Come and look inside it, 
 and see what comfortable accommodation we 've got for in- 
 side passengers. Inside passengers don't often present them- 
 selves, though, and yet there 's no difference in the fare. 
 You'll be an inside passenger yourself — won't you, now, 
 Helena?" 
 
 Her ladyship was clearly aware that this coaxing was in 
 tended to extract from her an official recognition of the new 
 institution, and she was resolutely determined to withhold it. 
 So she looked at her watch, and observed that it was nearly 
 church-time, and that she must go at once and put her things on. 
 
 As they walked to church, she said to one of the officers, 
 " We always walk to church from the Hall, even in rainy 
 weather." 
 
 " Helena's a capital walker," said the Colonel. 
 
 " It is fortunate for ladies to be good walkers," replied her 
 ladyship, " when they have no carriage-horses." 
 
 Here' was a stab ; and the worst of it was, that it might 
 clearly be proved to be deserved. The Colonel had suggested 
 in his letter to Lady Helena that she would do well to come 
 by way of Manchester to Sootythorn, instead of going by 
 Bradford to a little country station ten miles on the Yorkshire
 
 Chap. XXIII. Husband and Wife. 1 95 
 
 side of Wenderholme. Her ladyship had not replied to this 
 communication, but had written the day before her return to 
 the housekeeper at Wenderholme, ordering her carriage, as 
 usual, to the Yorkshire station. The carriage had not come ; 
 the housekeeper had only been able to send the pony car- 
 riage, a tiny basket that Lady Helena drove herself, with 
 seats for two persons, no place for luggage, and a black pony 
 a little bigger than a Newfoundland dog. Lady Helena had 
 driven herself from the station ; there had been a smart 
 shower, and, notwithstanding a thin gray cloak, which was 
 supposed to be waterproof, she had been wet through. The 
 Colonel had taken possession of all the carriage-horses for 
 his four-in-hand, and they were at Sootythorn. Her ladyship 
 would continue to be equally carriageless, since the Colonel 
 would take his whole team back with him, unless he sent 
 back the horses from Sootythorn on the day following. These 
 things occupied John Stanburne's mind when he should have 
 been attending to the service. They had always kept four 
 carriage-horses since their marriage, but never more than 
 four ; and though one of the two pairs had been often kept 
 at Sootythorn, when circumstances required them to go there 
 frequently, still her ladyship had never been left carriageless 
 without being previously consulted upon the subject, and then 
 only for twenty-four hours at the longest. The idea of setting 
 up a four-in-hand with only two pairs of horses, one of which 
 was in almost daily requisition for a lady's carriage, would 
 indeed have been ridiculous if John Stanburne had quite 
 seriously entertained it ; but, though admitting vaguely the 
 probable necessity of an fncrease, he had not yet recognized 
 that necessity in a clear and definite way. It came to his 
 mind, however, on that Sunday morning with much distinct- 
 ness. " Well, hang it ! " he thought, as he settled down in 
 his corner at the beginning of the sermon, " 1 have as much 
 right to spend my own money as Helena has. Every journey 
 she makes to town costs more than a horse. I spend nothing
 
 196 Wenderholme. Part I. 
 
 on myself — really nothing whatever. Look at my tailor's 
 bill ! I positively haven't any tailor's bill. Helena spends 
 more on dress in a month than I do in a year. And then her 
 jeweller's bill ! She spends hundreds of pounds on jewellery, 
 and I never spend one penny. Every time she goes to a 
 Drawing-room she has all her old jewels pulled to pieces and 
 set afresh, and it costs nobody knows what — it does. I '11 
 have my four-in-hand properly horsed with horses of my own, 
 by George ! and none of those confounded Sootythorn hacks 
 any more ; and Helena shall keep her carriage-horses all to 
 herself, and drive about all day long if she likes. Of course 
 I can't take her carriage-horses — she 's right there." 
 
 On her own part, her ladyship was steadily resolved not 
 to be deprived of any of those belongings which naturally 
 appertained to a person of her rank and consideration ; and 
 there had existed in her mind for several years a feeling of 
 jealous watchfulness, which scrutinized at the same time 
 John Stanburne's projects of economy and his projects of 
 expense. It had happened several times within the experi- 
 ence of this couple that the husband had taken little fits of 
 parsimony, during which he attacked the expenditure he 
 least cared for, but which, by an unfortunate fatality, always 
 seemed to his wife to be most reasonable and necessary. 
 It might perhaps have been more favorable to his tranquillity 
 to ally himself with some country girl acclimatized to the 
 dulness of a thoroughly provincial existence, and satisfied 
 with the position of mistress of Wenderholme Hall, who 
 would have let him spend his money in his own way, and 
 would never have dragged him beyond the circle of his 
 tastes and inclinations. He hated London, especially dur- 
 ing the season ; and though he enjoyed the society of people 
 whom he really knew something about, he disliked being in 
 a crowd. Lady Helena, on the other hand, was fond of 
 society, and even of the spectacle of the court. John Stan- 
 burne had regularly accompanied his wife on these annual
 
 Chap. XXIII. Husbaud a7td Wife. 197 
 
 visits to the metropolis until this year, when the militia 
 afforded an excellent pretext for staying in the country; but 
 every year he had given evidence of an increasing disposition 
 to evade the performance of his duties ; and it had come to 
 this at last, that Lady Helena was obliged to go about with 
 the Adisham family, since John Stanburne could not be 
 made to go to parties any more. He grumbled, too, a good 
 deal about the costliness of these London expeditions, and 
 sometimes talked of suppressing them altogether. There 
 was another annual expedition that he disliked very much, 
 namely, a winter expedition to Brighton ; and it had come to 
 pass that a coolness had sprung up between John Stanburne 
 and the Adisham family (who went to Brighton every year), 
 because his indisposition to meet them there had been some- 
 what too openly manifested. His old mother was the confidant 
 of these rebellious sentiments. She lived in a picturesque 
 cottage situated in Wenderholme Park, which served as a 
 residence for dowagers. She came very regularly to Wen- 
 derholme church, and sat there in a small pew of her own, 
 which bore the same relation to the big family pew that the 
 cottage bore to the Hall. John Stanburne had objected 
 very strongly to his mother's removal to the cottage, and he 
 had also objected to the separate pew, but his mother main- 
 tained the utility of both institutions. She said it was good 
 for an old woman, who found some difficulty in fixing her 
 attention steadily, not to be disturbed in her devotions by 
 the presence of too many strangers in the same pew ; and 
 as there would often be company at the Hall, she would 
 stick to her own seat. So she sat there as usual on this 
 particular Sunday, looking very nice in her light summer 
 dress. The Colonel's little daughter, Edith, had slipped 
 into her grandmamma's pew, as she often did, when they 
 were walking up the aisle. She had been staying at the 
 cottage during her mother's absence, as was her custom when 
 Lady Helena went to London ; and it had cost her, as usual.
 
 198 Wenderholme. Part i. 
 
 a little pang to leave the old lady by herself again. Besides, 
 she felt that it would be pleasanter to sit with her grand- 
 mother than with all those strange militia officers. She 
 would have felt, in the family pew, as a very young sapling 
 may be supposed to feel when it is surrounded by over 
 poweringly big trees — sufficiently protected, no doubt, but 
 more than sufficiently overshadowed. 
 
 Amongst the officers in the Wenderholme pew was Lieu- 
 tenant Ogden, and by his side a young gentleman whose 
 presence has not hitherto been mentioned, namely, little 
 Jacob. Little Jacob's curious eyes wandered over the quaint 
 old church during the sermon, and they fixed frequently upon 
 the strange hatchments and marble monuments in the chapel 
 of the Stanburnes. He had never seen such things before 
 in his life (for there were no old families at Shayton), and 
 he marvelled greatly thereat. Advancing, however, from the 
 known to the unknown, he remembered the royal arms which 
 decorated the front of the organ gallery in Shayton church, 
 and finding a similar ornament at Wenderholme, proceeded 
 to the inference that the hatchments were something of the 
 same kind, in which he was not far wrong. Gradually his 
 eyes fell upon Mrs. Stanburne's pew, and rested there. A 
 vague new feeling crept into his being; Edith Stanburne 
 seemed very nice, he thought. It was pleasant to look upon 
 her face. 
 
 Here the more rigid of my readers may exclaim, " Surely 
 he is not going to make little Jacob fall in love at that age ! " 
 Well, not as you would fall in love, respected reader, if that 
 good or evil fortune were to happen to you ; but a child like 
 little Jacob is perfectly capable of falling in love in his own 
 way. The loves of children bear about the same proportion 
 to the great passion which rules the destiny of men, that 
 their contests in fisticuffs do to the bloody work of the bayo- 
 net ; but as we may many of us remember having given Bob 
 or Tom an ugly-looking black eye, or perchance remember
 
 Chap. XXIII. Husbaud and Wife. 199 
 
 having received one from Tom or Bob, so also there may 
 linger amongst the recollections of our infancy some vision 
 of a sweet little child-face that seemed to us brighter than 
 any other face in the whole world. In this way did Edith 
 Stanburne take possession of Master Jacob's honest little 
 heart, and become the object of his silent, and tender, and 
 timid, and exceedingly respectful adoration. He intensely 
 felt the distance between himself and the heiress of Wen- 
 derholme Hall, and so he admired her as some young officer 
 about a court may admire some beautiful princess whom 
 it is his dangerous privilege to see. Children are affected 
 by the externals of ancient wealth to a degree which the 
 mature mind, dwelling amongst figures, is scarcely capable 
 of realizing ; and the difference between Wenderholme and 
 Twistle Farm, or Wenderholme and Milend, seemed to little 
 Jacob's imagination an utterly impassable abyss. But there 
 was steam in Ogden's mill, and there was a leak in John 
 Stanburne's purse, and the slow months and years were 
 gradually bringing about great changes. 
 
 Little Jacob's adventure on the moor, and his fortunate 
 arrival at the Hall, had given him a peculiar footing there. 
 Colonel Stanburne had taken a marked fancy to the lad ; 
 and Lady Helena — who, as the reader may perhaps remem- 
 ber, had lost two little boys in their infancy — was always 
 associating him with her tenderest regrets and recollections, 
 so that there was a sad kindness in her ways with him that 
 drew him very strongly towards her. Isaac Ogden spoke 
 the Lancashire dialect as thoroughly, when it suited him, as 
 any cotton-spinner in the county ; but he could also speak, 
 when he chose, a sort of English which differed from aris- 
 tocratic English by greater hardness and body, rather than 
 by any want of correctness, and he had always strictly for- 
 bidden little Jacob to speak the Lancashire dialect in his 
 presence. The lad spoke Lancashire all the more energeti- 
 cally for this prohibition when his father was not within
 
 200 Wender holme. Part i 
 
 nearing ; but the severity of the paternal law had at least 
 given him an equal facility in English, and he kept the two 
 languages safely in separate boxes in his cranium. It is un- 
 necessary to say that at Wenderholme Hall the box which 
 contained the Lancashire dialect was shut up with lock and 
 key, and nothing but the purest English was produced, so 
 that her ladyship thought that the little boy " spoke very 
 nicely — with a northern accent, of course, but it was not 
 disagreeable." 
 
 When they came out of church Lady Helena said to Lieu- 
 tenant Ogden, " Of course you will briug your little boy here 
 on Thursday for the presentation of colors ; " and then, 
 whilst Mr, Ogden was expressing his acknowledgments, she 
 interrupted him : " Why not let him remain with us till then ? 
 We will try to amuse him, and make him learn his lessons." 
 Mr. Ogden said he would have been very glad, but — in 
 short, his mother was staying at Sootythorn, and might wish 
 to keep her little grandson with her. Colonel Stanburne 
 came up just then, and her ladyship's answer was no doubt 
 partially intended for his ear. " Let me keep little Jacob till 
 to-morrow at any rate. I have several people to see in 
 Sootythorn, and must go there to-morrow. I scarcely know 
 how I am to get there, though, for I have no carriage-horses."
 
 Chap. XXIV. The Colonel as a Consoler. 201 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 THE COLONEL AS A CONSOLER. 
 
 " T SAY, Doctor," said Colonel Stanburne to Dr. Bardly, 
 -■- the day before the presentation of colors, " I wish 
 you'd look to Philip Stanburne a little. He doesn't seem to 
 me to be going on satisfactorily at all. I 'm afraid that acci- 
 dent at Whittlecup has touched his brain — he's so absent. 
 He commanded his company very fairly a short time back, 
 and he took an interest in drill, but now, upon my word, he 
 gets worse and worse. To-day he made the most absurd 
 mistakes ; and one time he marched his company right off, 
 and, by George ! I thought he was going to take them straight 
 at the hedge ; and I believe he would have done so if the 
 Adjutant hadn't galloped after him. Eureton rowed him so, 
 that it brought him to his senses. I never saw such a youth. 
 He doesn't seem to be properly awake. I 'm sure he 's ill. 
 He eats nothing. I noticed him at mess last night. He 
 didn't eat enough to keep a baby alive. I don't believe he 
 sleeps properly at nights. His face is quite haggard. One 
 might imagine he 'd got something on his conscience. If you 
 can't do him any good, I '11 see the Catholic priest, and beg 
 him to set his mind at ease. I 'm quite anxious about him, 
 really." 
 
 The Doctor smiled. " It 's my opinion," he said, " that the 
 young gentleman has a malady that neither you nor I can 
 cure. Some young woman may cure it, but we can't. The 
 lad's fallen in love."
 
 202 WenderJiolme. Part i. 
 
 "Why, Doctor, you don't believe that young fellows make 
 themselves ill about such little matters as that, do you ? Men 
 are ill in that way in novels, but never in real life. I was des- 
 perately spoony myself before I married Helena, and it wasn't 
 Helena I was spoony about either, and the girl jilted me to 
 marry a marquis ; and I think she did quite right, for I 'd 
 rather she ran away with the marquis before she was my wife 
 than after, you know. But it didn't spoil me a single meal 
 — it didn't make me sleep a wink the less. In fact I felt 
 immensely relieved after an hour or two ; for there 's nothing 
 like being a bachelor. Doctor — it's so jolly being a bache- 
 lor ; no man in his senses can be sad and melancholy because 
 he 's got to remain a bachelor." 
 
 The Doctor heartily agreed with this opinion, but observed 
 that men in love were not men in their senses. " Indeed they 're 
 not, Doctor — indeed they're not; but, I say, have you any 
 idea about who the girl is in this business of Philip's ? It 
 isn't that pretty Miss Anison, is it ? " 
 
 Now the Doctor had seen Captain Stanburne coming out 
 of Mr. Stedman's mill one day when he went there to get 
 the manufacturer's present address, and, coupling this inci- 
 dent with his leave of absence, had arrived at a conclusion 
 of his own. But he was not quite sure where young Stan- 
 burne had been during his leave of absence. 
 
 " Why, he was down in Derbyshire," said the Colonel. 
 " He told me he didn't feel quite well, and wanted a day or 
 two for rest in the country. He said he was going to fish. I 
 don't like giving leaves of absence — we're here only for 
 twenty-eight days ; but in his case, you know, after that ac- 
 cident " — 
 
 " Oh, he went down to Derbyshire, did he ? Then I know 
 for certain who the girl is. It 's Alice Stedman. Her father 
 is down there, fishing." 
 
 " And who 's she ? " 
 
 " Why, you met her at Whittlecup, at Joseph Anison's.
 
 Chap. XXIV. The Colonel as a Consoler. 203 
 
 She 's a quiet bit of a lass, and a nice-looking lass, too. He 
 might do worse." 
 
 " I say," said the Colonel, " tell me now, Doctor, has she 
 got any tin ? " 
 
 "She's safe to have thirty thousand if she's a penny ; 
 but it '11 most likely be a good bit more." Then the Doctor 
 continued, " But there 's no blood in that family. Her father 
 began as a working man in Shayton. It wouldn't be much 
 of a match for a Stanburne. It would not be doing like you, 
 Colonel, when you married an earl's daughter." 
 
 " Hang earls'- daughters ! " said the Colonel, energetically ; 
 and then, recollecting himself, he added, " Not all of em, you 
 know, Doctor — I don't want all of 'em to be hanged. But 
 this young" woman — I suppose she hasn't been presented at 
 Court, and doesn't want to be — and doesn't go to London 
 every season, and has no swell relations." The Doctor gave 
 full assurances on all these points. " Then I '11 tell you what 
 it is, Doctor ; if this young fellow 's fretting about the girl, 
 we '11 do all we can to help him. He 'd be more prudent still 
 if he remained a bachelor ; but it seems a rational sort of a 
 marriage to make. She ain't got an uncle that 's a baronet — 
 eh. Doctor?" 
 
 " There 's no danger of that." 
 
 " That 's right, that 's right ; because, look you here, Doc- 
 tor — it's a foolish thing to marry an earl's daughter, or a 
 marquis's, or a duke's ; but the foolishest thing of all is to 
 marry a baronet's niece. A baronet's niece is the proudest 
 woman in the whole world, and she 's always talking about 
 her uncle. A young friend of mine married a baronet's niece, 
 and she gave him no rest till, by good luck, one day his uncle 
 was created a baronet, and then he met her on equal terms. 
 It's the only way out of it: you must under those circum- 
 stances get your uncle made a baronet. And if you don't 
 happen to have such a thing as an uncle, what then ? What 
 can cheer the hopelessness of your miserable position ? "
 
 204 Wender holme. Part i. 
 
 After this conversation with the Doctor, the Colonel had 
 another with Philip Stanburne himself. "Captain Stan- 
 burne," he said, gravely, in an interval of afternoon drill, " I 
 consider you wanting in the duties of hospitality. I ask you 
 to the Sootythorn mess, and you never ask me to the Whit- 
 tlecup mess. I am reduced to ask myself. I beg to inform 
 you that I shall dine at the Whittlecup mess this evening." 
 
 " I should be very happy, but — but I 'm afraid you '11 have 
 a bad dinner. There 's nothing but a beefsteak." 
 
 " Permit me to observe," continued the Colonel, in the 
 same grave tone, " that there 's a most important distinction to 
 be drawn between bad dinners and simple dinners. Some of 
 the very worst dinners I ever sat down to have been elabo- 
 rate, expensive affairs, where the ambition of the cook ex- 
 ceeded his artistic skill ; and some of the best and pleasantest 
 have been simple and plain, and all the better because they 
 were within the cook's capacity. That 's my theory about 
 dining, and every day's experience confirms it. For instance, 
 between you and me, it seems to me highly probable that 
 your Whittlecup mess is better than ours at headquarters, for 
 Mr. Garley rather goes beyond what nature and education 
 have qualified him for. His joints are good, but his side- 
 dishes are detestable, and his sweets dangerous. So let us 
 have the beefsteak to-night ; there '11 be enough for both of 
 us, I suppose. And, I say," added the Colonel, "don't ask 
 anybody to meet me. I want to have a quiet hour or two 
 with you." 
 
 When drill was over, Fyser appeared on the field with a 
 led horse for the Captain, and the two Stanburnes rode off 
 together in advance of the company, which for once was left 
 to the old sergeant's care. The dinner turned out to be a 
 beefsteak, as had been promised, and there was a pudding 
 and some cheese. The Colonel seemed to enjoy it very 
 much, and ate very heartily, and declared that every thing was 
 excellent, and talked at random about all sorts of subjects.
 
 Chap. XXIV. The Coloucl as a Consoler. 205 
 
 They had the inn parlor all to themselves ; and when dinner 
 was over, and coffee had been served, and Mr. Simpson, the 
 innkeeper (who had waited), had retired into other regions, 
 the Colonel lighted a cigar, and plunged in medias res. 
 
 " I know what you went down into Derbyshire for. You 
 didn't go to fish ; you went to ask Mr. Stedman to let you 
 marry his daughter, Miss Alice Stedman." 
 
 For the first time since he had known him, Philip Stanburne 
 ■was angry with the Colonel. His face flushed at once, and he 
 asked, in a tone which was any thing but conciliatory, — 
 
 " Do you keep spies in your regiment. Colonel Stanburne? " 
 
 " Bardly saw you accidentally just as you were coming out 
 of Mr. Stedman's counting-house, and between us we have 
 made a guess at the object of your visit to Derbyshire." 
 
 "You are very kind to interest yourself so much in my 
 affairs." 
 
 " Try not to be angry with me. What if I do take an interest 
 in your affairs ? It isn't wrong, is it ? I take an interest in all 
 that concerns you, because I wish to do what I can to be of 
 use to you." 
 
 " You are very kind." 
 
 " You are angry with me yet ; but if I had plagued you with 
 questions about your little excursion, would it not have been 
 more impertinent and more irritating? I thought it best to 
 let you see that I know all about it." 
 
 " It was unnecessary to speak upon that subject until I had 
 informed you about it." 
 
 " My dear fellow, look here. It is not in the nature of 
 things that you would tell me. You have been rejected either 
 by the father or the daughter, and you are going to make 
 yourself ill about it ; you are ill already — you are pale, and 
 you never eat any thing, and your face is as melancholy as a 
 face well can be. Be a good fellow, and take me into your 
 confidence, and we will see if we cannot put you out of your 
 misery."
 
 2o6 WenderJwlme. Part i. 
 
 "That is a phrase commonly used by people who kill dis- 
 eased or wounded animals. You are becoming alarming. You 
 will let me live, I hope, such as I am." 
 
 The Colonel perceived that Philip was coming round a little. 
 He waited a minute, and then went on. 
 
 "She's a very nice girl. I met her at Mr. Anison's here. 
 I would rather you married her than one of those pretty Miss 
 Anisons. She seems a quiet sensible young lady, who will 
 stay at home with her husband, and not always be wanting 
 to go off to London, and Brighton, and the Lord knows 
 where." 
 
 Philip had had a suspicion that the Colonel was going to 
 remonstrate with him for making a plebeian alliance, but that 
 began to be dispelled. To induce him to express an opinion 
 on that point, Philip said, — 
 
 " Her father is not a gentleman, you know." 
 
 " I know who he is — a very well-to-do cotton manufacturer ; 
 and a very intelligent, well-informed man, I 'm told. A gentle- 
 man ! pray what is a gentleman ? " 
 
 " A difftcult question to answer in words ; but we all know 
 what we mean by the word when we use it." 
 
 " Well, yes ; but is it quite necessary to a man to be a 
 gentleman at all .■' Upon my word, I very often think that in 
 our line of life we are foolishly rigid on that point. I have 
 met very clever and distinguished men — men of science, and 
 artists, and even authors — who didn't seem quite to answer to 
 our notions of what a gentleman is ; and I know scores of 
 fellows who are useless and idle, and vicious too, and given 
 up to nothing but amusement — and not always the most 
 innocent amusement either — and yet all who know society 
 would recognize them as gentlemen at once. Now, between 
 ourselves, you and I answer to what is called a gentleman, and 
 your proposed father-in-law, Mr. Stedman, you say doesn't j 
 but it 's highly probable that he is superior to either of us, and 
 a deal more useful to mankind. He spins cotton, and he
 
 Chap. XXIV. The Colouel as a Consoler. 207 
 
 studies botany and geology. I wish I could spin cotton, or 
 increase my income in any honest way, and I wish I had some 
 pursuit. I tried once or twice : I tried botany myself, but I 
 had no perseverance ; and I tried to write a book, but I found 
 my abilities weren't good enough for that ; so I turned my 
 talents to tandem-driving, and now I 've set up a four-in-hand. 
 By the by, my new team 's coming to-morrow from London — 
 a friend of mine there has purchased it for me." 
 
 There was a shade of dissatisfaction on John Stanburne's 
 face as he concluded this little speech about himself. He did 
 not seem to anticipate the arrival of the new team with 
 pleasure unalloyed. The price, perhaps, may have been some- 
 what heavy — somewhat beyond his means. That London 
 friend of his was a sporting character, with an ardent appre- 
 ciation of horse-flesh in the abstract, and an elevated ideal. 
 When he purchased for friends, which he was sometimes com- 
 missioned to do, he became truly a servant of the Ideal, and 
 sought out only such realities as a servant of the Ideal might 
 contemplate with feelings of satisfaction. These realities 
 were always very costly — they always considerably exceeded 
 the pecuniary limits which had been assigned to him. This 
 was his only fault ; he purchased well, and none of the pur- 
 chase-money, either directly or indirectly, found its way into 
 his own pocket. 
 
 The Colonel did not dwell, as he might have been expected 
 to do, upon the subject of the horses — he returned almost 
 immediately to that of matrimonial alliances. 
 
 " It 's not very difficult to make a guess at the cause of Mr. 
 Stedman's opposition. Bardly tells me he 's a most tremendous 
 Protestant, earnest to a degree, and you, my dear fellow, hap- 
 pen to be a Catholic. You '11 have to let yourself be con ■ 
 verted, I 'm afraid, if you really want the girl." 
 
 " A man cannot change his faith, when he has one, because 
 it is his interest to do so. I would rather you did not talk 
 about that subject — at least, in that strain. You know my
 
 2o8 Weiiderholme. Part t. 
 
 views ; you know that nothing would induce me to profess any 
 other views." 
 
 " Bardly tells me he doesn't think Stedman will give in, so 
 long as you remain a Catholic." 
 
 "Very well." 
 
 " Yes, it may be very well — it may be better than marrying. 
 It's a very good thing, no doubt, to marry a good wife, but 
 I'm not sure that the condition of a bachelor isn't really 
 better than that of the most fortunate husband in the world. 
 You see, Philip (excuse me calling you by your Christian 
 name; I wish you'd call me John), you see a married man 
 either cares about his wife or he doesn't. If he doesn't care 
 about her, what 's the use of being married to her.'' If, on the 
 other hand, he does care about her, then his happiness becomes 
 entirely dependent upon her humors. Some women — who are 
 very good women in other respects — are liable to long fits of 
 the sulks. You omit some little attention which they think is 
 their due ; you omit it in pure innocence, because your mind 
 is very much occupied with other matters, and then the lady 
 attributes it to all sorts of imaginar)' motives — it is a plan 
 of yours to insult her, and so on. Or, if she attributes it to 
 carelessness, then your carelessness is itself such a tremen- 
 dous crime that she isn't quite certain whether you ought ever 
 to be forgiven for it or not ; and she hesitates about forgiving 
 you for a fortnight or three weeks, and then she decides that 
 you shall be forgiven, and taken into her grace and favor 
 once more. But by the time this has been repeated twenty 
 or thirty times, a fellow gets rather weary of it, you know. 
 It 's my belief that women are divided into two classes — the 
 sulky ones and the scolds. Some of 'em do their sulking 
 in a way that clearly shows it 's done consciously, and inten- 
 tionally, and artistically, as a Frenchwoman arranges her 
 ribbons. The great object is to show you that the lady holds 
 herself in perfect command — that she is mistress of her own 
 manner in every thing ; and this makes her manner all the
 
 Chap. XXIV. The Colonel as a Consoler. 209 
 
 more aggravating ; because, if she is so perfectly mistress of 
 it, why doesn't she make it rather pleasanter? " 
 
 " It 's rather a gloomy picture that you have been painting, 
 Colonel, but every lover will believe that there is one excep- 
 tion to it." 
 
 "Of course he will. You believe Miss Alice Stedman is 
 the exception ; only, if you can't get her, don't fret about her. 
 She seems a very admirable young lady, and I should be glad 
 if you married her ; because, if you don't, the chances are 
 that you will marry somebody else not quite so suitable. But 
 if I could be quite sure that you would remain a bachelor, 
 and take a rational view of the immense advantages of bach- 
 elorhood, I shouldn't much regret Mr. Stedman's obduracy 
 on your account." 
 
 These views of the Colonel's were due, no doubt, to his 
 present position with Lady Helena. The causes which were 
 gradually dividing them had been slowly operating for several 
 years, but the effects which resulted from them were now much 
 more visible than they had ever previously been. First they 
 had walked together on one path, then the path had been 
 divided into two by an all but invisible separation — still they 
 had walked together. But now the two paths were diverging 
 so widely that the eye began to measure the space between 
 them, and as it measured the space widened. It is as when 
 two trains leave some great railway station side by side. For 
 a time they are on the same railroad, but after a while you 
 begin to perceive that the distance from your own train to the 
 other is gradually widening ; and on looking down to the 
 ground, which seems to flow like a swift stream, you see a 
 streak of green between the two diverging ways, and it deep- 
 ens to a chasm between two embankments ; and after that 
 they are separated by spaces ever widening — spaces of field 
 and river and wood — till the steam of the other engine has 
 vanished on the far horizon. 
 
 John Stanburne's offers of assistance were very sincere, 
 
 14
 
 2IO Wender holme. Pakt i. 
 
 but what, in a practical way, could he do? He could not 
 make Mr. Stedman come round by asking him to Wender- 
 holme. There were plenty of people at Sootythorn who 
 would have done any thing to be asked to Wenderholme, 
 but Mr. Stedman was not one of them. Him the blandish- 
 ments of aristocracy seduced not ; and there was something 
 in his looks, even when you met him merely by accident for 
 an hour, as the Colonel had met him at Arkwright Lodge, 
 which told you very plainly how obdurate he would be where 
 his convictions were concerned, and how perfectly inacces- 
 sible to the most artful and delicate coaxing. So the Colonel's 
 good offices were for the present very likely to be confined to 
 a general willingness to do something when the opportunity 
 should present itself. 
 
 The day fixed for the ceremony of presentation of colors 
 was now rapidly approaching, and the invitations had all 
 been sent out. It was the Colonel's especial desire that this 
 should take place at Wenderholme, and the whole regiment 
 was to arrive there the evening before, after a regular military 
 march from Sootythorn. The Colonel had invited as many 
 guests of his own as the house could hold ; and, in addition 
 to these, many of the Sootythorn people, and one family from 
 Whitllecup, were asked to spend the day at Wenderholme 
 Hall, and be witnesses of the ceremony. The Whittlecup 
 family, as the reader has guessed already, was that from 
 Arkwright Lodge ; and it happened that whilst the Colonel 
 was talking with Philip Stanburne about his matrimonial 
 prospects, Mr. Joseph Anison came to the Blue Bell to call 
 upon his young friend. 
 
 Philip and the Colonel were both looking out of the win- 
 dow when he came, and before he entered the room, the 
 Colonel found time to say, " Take Anison into your confi- 
 dence — hc^W be your best man, he knows Stedman so 
 well. Let me tell him all about it, will you ? Do, now, let 
 me." Philip consented, somewhat reluctantly, and Mr. An-
 
 Chap. XXIV. The Colonel as a Consoler. 2 1 1 
 
 ison had not been in the room a quarter of an hour before 
 the Colonel had put him in possession of the whole matter. 
 Mr. An ison 's face did not convey very much encouragement. 
 "John Stedman is very inflexible," he said, "where his re- 
 ligious convictions are in any way concerned, and he is very 
 strongly Protestant. I will do what I can with him. I don't 
 see why he should make such a very determined opposition 
 to the match — it would be a very good match for his daugh- 
 ter — but he is a sort of man that positively enjoys sacri- 
 ficing his interests and desires to his views of duty. If I 've 
 any advice to offer, it will be to leave him to himself for a 
 while, and especially not to do any thing to conciliate him. 
 His daughter 7nay bring him round in her own way ; she 's a 
 clever girl, though she's a quiet one — and she can manage 
 him better than anybody else." 
 
 When Mr. An ison got back to Arkwright Lodge, he had a 
 talk with Mrs. Anison about Philip's prospects, "/shouldn't 
 have objected to him as a son-in-law," said the husband ; 
 " he 'II be reasonable enough, and let his wife go to her own 
 church." 
 
 " I wish he 'd taken a fancy to Madge," said Mrs. Anison. 
 
 " Have you any particular reason for wishing so ? Do you 
 suspect any thing in Madge herself ? Do you think she cares 
 for him ? " 
 
 Mrs. Anison looked grave, and, after a moment's hesita- 
 tion, said, " I 'm afraid there is something. I 'm afraid she 
 does think about him more than she ought to do. She is more 
 irritable and excitable than she used to be, and there is a look 
 of care and anxiety on her face which is quite painful some- 
 times. And yet I fancy that when Alice was here she rather 
 encouraged young Stanburne to propose to Alice. She did 
 it, no doubt, from anxiety to know how far he would go in 
 that direction, and now he 's gone farther than she wished."
 
 2 1 2 Wenderholme. Part I. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 WENDERHOLME IN FESTIVITY. 
 
 AT length the eve of the great day arrived on which the 
 Twentieth Royal Lancashire was to possess its colors 
 — those colors which (according to the phrase so long estab- 
 lished by the usage of speech-making subalterns) it was pre- 
 pared to dye with all its blood — yes, to the very last drop 
 thereof. 
 
 Lady Helena had had a terribly busy time during the whole 
 week. Arrangements for this ceremony had been the sub- 
 ject of anxious planning for months before ; and during her 
 last stay in London her ladyship had been very active in 
 seeing tradesmen accustomed to create those temporary splen- 
 dors and accommodations which are necessary when great 
 numbers of people are to be entertained. Mr. Benjamin 
 Edgington had sent down so many tents and marquees that 
 the park of Wenderholme presented the appearance of a 
 rather extensive camp. The house itself contained even 
 more than the amount of accommodation commonly found in 
 houses of its class, but every chamber had its destined occu- 
 pant. A great luncheon was to be given in the largest of 
 the marquees, and the whole regiment was to be entertained 
 for a night and a day. 
 
 The weather, fortunately, was most propitious, the only ob- 
 jection to it being the heat, and the consequent dust on the 
 roads. Once fairly out of Sootythorn, the Colonel gave per- 
 mission to march at ease, and the men opened their jackets 
 and took their stiff collars off, and began to sing and talk
 
 Chap. XXV. Weiiderholme in Festivity. 2 1 3 
 
 very merrily. They halted, too, occasionally, by the banks 
 of clear streams, and scattered themselves on the grass, 
 drinking a great deal of water, there being fortunately noth- 
 ing stronger within reach. At the half-way house, however, 
 the Colonel gave every man a pint of ale, and drank one 
 himself, as he sat on horseback. 
 
 It was after sunset when they reached Wenderholme, and 
 the men marched into the park — not at ease, as they had 
 marched along the road, but in fairly good military order. 
 Lady Helena and a group of visitors stood by the side of 
 the avenue, at the point where they turned off towards the 
 camp. A quarter of an hour afterwards the whole regiment 
 was at supper in the tents, except the officers, who dined at 
 the Hall, with the Colonel's other guests, in full uniform. 
 The dining-room presented a more splendid and animated 
 appearance than it had ever presented since the days of John 
 Stanburne's grandfather, who kept a pack of hounds, and 
 received his scarlet-coated companions at his table. And 
 even the merry fox-hunters of yore glittered not as glittered 
 all these majors and captains and lieutenants. Their full 
 uniforms were still as fresh as when they came from the tail- 
 or's. They had not been soiled in the dust of reviews, for 
 the regiment had never been reviewed. The silver of the 
 epaulettes was as brilliant as the brilliant old plate that cov- 
 ered the Colonel's hospitable board, and the scarlet was as 
 intense as that of the freshest flower with which the table 
 was decorated. It was more than a dinner — it was a stately 
 and magnificent banquet. The Stanburnes, like many old 
 families in England, had for generations been buyers of silver 
 plate, and there was enough of the solid metal in the house 
 to set up a hundred showy houses with electro. Rarely did 
 it come forth from the strong safes where it reposed, eating 
 up in its unprofitable idleness the interest of a fortune. But 
 now it glittered once again under the innumerable lights, a het- 
 erogeneous, a somewhat barbarous, medley of magnificence.
 
 214 ' Wenderholme. part i 
 
 Lady Helena, without being personally self-indulgent — 
 without caring particularly about eating delicately or being 
 softly clad — had a natural taste for splendor, which may often 
 be independent both of vanity and the love of ease. Human 
 pomp suited her as the pomp of nature suits the mind of the 
 artist and the poet ; instead of paralyzing or oppressing her, 
 it only made her feel the more perfectly at home. John 
 Stanburne had known beforehand that his clever wife would 
 order the festivities well, and he had felt no anxiety about 
 her management in any way, but he had not quite counted 
 upon this charming gayety and ease. There are ladies who, 
 upon occasions of this kind, show that they feel the weight 
 of their responsibility, and bring a trouble-clouded visage to 
 the feast. They cannot really converse, because they cannot 
 really listen. They hear your words, perhaps, but do not re- 
 ceive their meaning, being distracted by importunate cares. 
 Nothing kills conversation like an absent and preoccupied 
 hostess ; nothing animates it like her genial and intelligent par- 
 ticipation. Surely, John Stanburne, you may be proud of Helena 
 to-night ! What would your festival have been without her ? 
 
 He recognizes her superiorities, and admires them ; but he 
 would like to be delivered from the little inconveniences 
 which attend them. That clear-headed little woman has 
 rather too much of the habit and the faculty of criticism, and 
 John Stanburne would rather be believed in than criticised. 
 Like many other husbands, he would piously uphold that an- 
 tique religion of the household which sets up the husband as 
 the deity thereof — a king who can do no wrong. If these 
 had been his views from the beginning — if he had wanted 
 simple unreasoning submission to his judgment, aid unques- 
 tioning acceptance of his actions — what a mistake he made 
 in choosing a woman like Lady Helena ! He who marries a 
 woman of keen sight cannot himself expect to be screened 
 from its keenness. And this woman was so fearless — shall 
 we say so proud ? — that she disdained the artifices of what
 
 Ciia:-'. XXV. Wenderholme in Festivity. 215 
 
 might have been a pardonable hypocrisy. She made John 
 Stanburne feel that he was living in a glass case, — nay, 
 more, that she saw through his clothes — through his skin — 
 into his viscera — into his brain. You must love a woman 
 very much indeed to bear this perpetual scrutiny, or she must 
 love you very much to make it not altogether intolerable. 
 The Colonel had a reasonable grievance in this, that in the 
 presence of his wife he found no moral rest. But her criti- 
 cisms were invariably just. For example, in that last cause 
 of irritation between them — that about the horses — Lady 
 Helena had been clearly in the right. It was, to say the 
 least, a want of good management on the Colonel's part to 
 have all the carriage-horses at Sootythorn on the day of her 
 arrival. And so it always was. She never made any obser- 
 vation on his conduct except when such an observation was 
 perfectly justified — perfectly called for, if you will ; but then, 
 on the other hand, she never omitted to make an observation 
 when it was called for. It would have been more graceful — 
 it would certainly have been more prudent — to let things 
 pass sometimes without taking them up in that way. She 
 might have let John Stanburne rest more quietly in his own 
 house, I think ; she might have forgiven his little faults more 
 readily, more freely, more generously than she did. The 
 reader perhaps wonders whether she loved him. Yes, she 
 was greatly attached to him. She loved him a great deal 
 better than some women love their husbands who give them 
 perfect peace, and yet she contrived to make him feel an irk- 
 someness in the tie that bound him. Perhaps, with all her 
 perspicacity, she did not quite thoroughly comprehend — did 
 not quite adequately appreciate — his simple, and frank, and 
 honorable nature, his manly kindness of heart, his willingness 
 to do all that could fairly be required of him, and the sincer- 
 ity with which he would have regretted all his little failures 
 in conjugal etiquette, if only he might have been left to find 
 them out for himself, and repent of them a' one.
 
 2 1 6 IV ender holme. Part i. 
 
 The digression has been long, but the banquet we were 
 describing was long enough to permit us to absent ourselves 
 from the spectacle for a while, and still find, on returning to 
 it, all the guests seated in their places, and all the lights 
 burning, though the candles may be half an inch shorter. 
 Amongst the guests are several personages to whom we have 
 not yet had the honor of being introduced, and some good 
 people, not personages, whom we know already, but have 
 lost sight of for a long time. There are two belted earls — 
 namely, the Earl of Adisham, Lady Helena's august papa ; 
 and the Earl Brabazon, who is papa to Captain Brabazon of 
 the Sootythorn mess. There are two neighboring baronets, 
 and five or six country squires from distant manor-houses, 
 some of which are not less considerable than Wenderholme 
 itself, whilst the rent-rolls which maintain them are longer. 
 Then there is a military commander, with gray whiskers and 
 one eye, and an ugly old sword-cut across the cheek. He is 
 in full uniform, with three medals and perfect ladders of 
 clasps — the ladders by which he has climbed to his present 
 distinguished position. He wears also the insignia of the 
 Bath, of which he is Grand Cross. 
 
 But of all these personages, the most distinguished in 
 point of rank must certainly be the little thin gentleman 
 who is sitting by Lady Helena. It is easy to see that he 
 is perfectly delighted with her ladyship, for he is constantly 
 talking to her with evident interest and pleasure, or listening 
 to her with pleasure still more evident. He has a broad 
 ribbon across his white waistcoat, and another round his 
 neck, and a glittering star on his black coat. It is his 
 Grace of Ingleborough, Lord Henry Ughtred's noble father. 
 He is a simple, modest little man — both agreeable and, in 
 his way, intelligent ; an excellent man of business, as his 
 stewards and agents know too well — and one of the best 
 Greek scholars in England. Habits of real work, in any 
 direction, have a tendency to diminish pride in those gifts
 
 Chap. XXV. Wenderliolme in Festivity. 2 1 7 
 
 of fortune with which work has nothing to do ; and if the 
 Duke found a better Greek scholar than himself, or a better 
 man of business, he had that kind of hearty and intelligent 
 respect for him which is yielded only by real workmen to 
 their superiors. Indeed he had true respect for excellence 
 of all kinds, and was incomparably more human, more capa- 
 ble of taking an interest in men and of understanding them, 
 than the supercilious young gentleman his son. 
 
 Amongst our acquaintances at this great and brilliant 
 feast are the worthy incumbent of Shayton and his wife, 
 Mr. and Mrs. Prigley. Whilst we were occupied with the 
 graver matters which affected so seriously the history of 
 Philip Stanburne, Lady Helena had been to Shayton and 
 called upon Mrs. Prigley, and after that they had been 
 invited to the great festivities at Wenderholme. It was kind 
 of Lady Helena, when the house was so full that she hardly 
 knew where to lodge more distinguished guests, to give the 
 Prigleys one of her best bedrooms ; but she did so, and 
 treated them with perfect tact and delicacy, trying to make 
 them feel like near relations with whom intercourse had 
 never been suspended. Mrs. Prigley was the exact opposite 
 of a woman of the world, having about as much experience 
 of society as a girl of nine years old who is receiving a 
 private education ; yet her manners were very good, except 
 so far as she was too deferential, and it was easy to see that 
 she was a lady, though a lady who had led a very retired 
 life. Mrs. Prigley had never travelled more than twenty 
 miles from her two homes, Byfield and Shayton, since she 
 was born ; she had read nothing — she had no time for read- 
 ing — and the wonder is how, under these circumstances, 
 she could be so nice and lady-like as she was, so perfectly 
 free from all taint of vulgarity. The greatest evil which 
 attends ladies like Mrs. Prigley, when they do go into soci- 
 ety, is, that they sometimes feel obliged to tell white lies, 
 and that these white lies occasionally lead them into embar-
 
 2 1 8 Wendcrholme. Part i. 
 
 rassment. Mrs. Prigley nev^er frankly and simply avowed her 
 ignorance when she thought it would not be conime il faict to 
 be ignorant. For -instance, if you asked her whether she 
 had read some book, or heard some piece of music, she 
 always answered with incredible temerity in the affirmative. 
 If your subsequent remarks called for no further display of 
 knowledge it was well — she felt that she had bravely acted 
 her part, and not been behind the age ; but if in your inno- 
 cence or in your malice (for now and then a malicious 
 person found her out and tormented her) you went into 
 detail, asking what she thought, for instance, of Becky Sharp 
 in " Vanity Fair," she might be ultimately compelled to avow 
 that though she had read "Vanity Fair" she didn't remember 
 Becky. Thus she placed herself in most uncomfortable situ- 
 ations, having the courage to run perpetual risks of detection, 
 but not the courage to admit her ignorance of any thing 
 which she imagined that a lady ought to know. When she 
 had once affirmed her former knowledge of any thing, she 
 stuck to it with astonishing hardihood, and accused the 
 imperfection of her memory — one of her worst fibs, for 
 her memory was excellent. 
 
 The conversation at a great banquet is never so pleasant 
 as that at a table small enough for everybody to hear every- 
 body else, and the only approach to a general exchange of 
 opinion on any single topic which occurred on the present 
 occasion was about the house in which the entertainment 
 was given. The Duke had never been to Wenderholme be- 
 fore, and during a lull in the conversation his eye wandered 
 over the wainscot opposite to him. It had been painted 
 white, but the carved panels still left their designs clearly 
 visible under the paint. 
 
 " What a noble room this is. Lady Helena ! " he said ; 
 "but it is rather a pity — don't you think so? — that those 
 beautiful panels should have been painted. It was done, no 
 doubt, in the last century."
 
 Chap. XXV. Wcnderholine in Festivity. 1 1 9 
 
 "Yes, we regret very much that the house should have 
 been modernized. We have some intention of restoring it." 
 
 " Glad to hear that — very glad to hear that. I envy you 
 the pleasure of seeing all these beautiful things come to light 
 again. I wish I had a place to restore, Lady Helena ; but 
 those delights are over for me, and I can only hope to 
 experience them afresh by taking an interest in the doings 
 of my friends. I had a capital place for restoration formerly 
 — an old Gothic house not much spoiled by the Renaissance, 
 but overlaid by much incongruous modern work. So I deter- 
 mined to restore it, and for nearly four years it was the 
 pleasantest hobby that a man could have. It turned out 
 rather an expensive hobby, though, but I economized in some 
 other directions, and did what seemed to be necessary." 
 
 " Does your Grace allude to Varolby Priory ? " asked Mr. 
 Prigley, timidly. 
 
 " Yes, certainly ; yes. Do you know Varolby ? " 
 
 " I have never been there, but I have seen the beautiful 
 album of illustrations of the architectural details which was 
 engraved by your directions." 
 
 Mrs. Prigley was within hearing, and thinking that it 
 would be well not to be behind her husband, said, " Oh yes ; 
 what a beautiful book it was ! " The Duke turned towards 
 Mrs. Prigley, and made her a slight bow ; then he asked in 
 his innocence, and merely to say something, "whether the 
 copy which Mrs. Prigley had seen was a colored one or a 
 plain one ? " 
 
 " Oh, it was colored," she answered, without hesitation — 
 " beautifully colored ! " 
 
 This was Mrs. Prigley's way — she waited for the sugges- 
 tions of her interlocutor, and on hearing a thing which was 
 as new to her as the kernel of a nut just cracked, assented 
 to it with the tone of a person to whom it was already 
 familiar. So clever had she become by practice in this arti- 
 fice, that she conveyed the impression that nothing could be
 
 220 WenderJiolme. Part i. 
 
 new to her ; and the people who talked with her had no idea 
 that it was themselves who supplied, h mesure, all the informa- 
 tion wherewith she met them, and kept up the conversation. 
 She had never heard of Varolby Priory before — she had 
 never heard of the album of engravings before — and there- 
 fore it is superfluous to add that, as to colored copies or 
 plain ones, she was equally unacquainted with either. Mrs. 
 Prigley had however gone a step too far in this instance, for 
 the Duke immediately replied, — 
 
 " Ah, then, I know that you are a friend of my old friend, 
 Sir Archibald. You wonder how I guessed it, perhaps? 
 It 's because there are only two colored copies of the album 
 in existence — my own copy and his." 
 
 Mrs. Prigley tried to put on an agreeable expression of as- 
 sent, intended to imply that she knew Sir Archibald (though 
 as yet ignorant of Sir Archibald's surname), when her husband 
 interposed. She made him feel anxious and fidgety. He 
 always knew when she was telling her little fibs — he knew 
 it by a certain facile suavity in her tone, which would not 
 have been detected by a stranger. 
 
 "The old mural paintings must be very interesting," said 
 the incumbent of Shayton, and by this skilful diversion saved 
 his wife from imminent exposure. 
 
 "Most interesting — most interesting: they were found 
 in a wonderful state of preservation under many layers of 
 whitewash in the chapel. And do you know, apropos of your 
 carved panels. Lady Helena, we found such glorious old 
 wainscot round a room that had been lined with lath and 
 plaster afterwards, and decorated with an abominably ugly 
 paper. Not one panel was injured — really not one panel! 
 and the designs carved upon them are so very elegant! That 
 wis one of the best finds we made." 
 
 " I should think it very probable," said Mr. Prigley, " that 
 discoveries would be made at VVenderholme if a thorough 
 restoration were undertaken,"
 
 Chap. XXV. WeiiderJwlme in Festivity. 221 
 
 " No doubt, no doubt," said the Duke, " and there is 
 nothing so interesting. Even the workmen come to take 
 an interest in all they bring to light. Our workmen were 
 quite proud when they found any thing, and so careful not 
 to injure what they found. Do induce your husband to 
 restore Wenderholme, Lady Helena ; it would make such 
 a magnificent place ! " 
 
 This talk about Wenderholme and restoration had gradu- 
 ally reached the other end of the table, and John Stanburne, 
 feeling no doubt rather a richer and greater personage that 
 evening than usual, being surrounded by more than common 
 splendor, announced his positive resolution to restore the 
 Hall thoroughly. " It was lamentable," he said, " perfectly 
 lamentable, that the building should have been so meta- 
 morphosed by his grandfather. But it was not altogether 
 past mending ; and architects, you know, understand old 
 Elizabethan buildings so much better than they used to do." 
 
 It was a delicious evening, soft and calm, without either 
 the chills of earlier spring or the sultriness of the really hot 
 weather. When the ladies had left the room, and the gentle- 
 men had sat long enough to drink the moderate quantity of 
 wine which men consume in these days of sobriety, the 
 Colonel proposed that they should all go and smoke in the 
 garden. There was a very large lawn, and there were a 
 great many garden-chairs about, so the smokers soon formed 
 themselves into a cluster of little groups. The whole lawn 
 was as light as day, for the front of the Hall was illumi- 
 nated, and hundreds of little glow-worm lamps lay scattered 
 amongst the flowers. The Colonel had managed to organize 
 a regimental band, which, being composed of tolerably good 
 musicians from Shayton and Sootythorn (both musical places, 
 but especially Shayton), had been rapidly brought into work- 
 ing order by an intelligent bandmaster. This band had been 
 stationed somewhere in the garden, and began to fill the 
 woods of Wenderholme with its martial strains.
 
 2 22 Wcnderholme. Part i. 
 
 "Upon my word, Colonel," said the Duke, stirring his cup 
 of coffee, " you do things very admirably ; I have seen many 
 houses illuminated, but I think I never saw one illuminated 
 so well as Wenderholme is to-night. Every feature of the 
 building is brought into its due degree of prominence. All 
 that rich central projection over the porch is splendid ! A 
 less intelligent illuminator would have sacrificed all those 
 fine deep shadows in the recesses of the sculpture, which 
 add so much to the effect." 
 
 " My wife has arranged all about these matters," said John 
 Stanburnej "she has better taste than I have, and more 
 knowledge. I always leave these things to her." 
 
 " Devilish clever woman that Lady Helena ! " thought his 
 Grace ; but he did not say it exactly in that way. 
 
 " All these sash-windows must be very recent. Last cent- 
 ury, probably — eighteenth century; very sad that eighteenth 
 century — wisii it had never existed, only don't see how we 
 should have got into the nineteenth ! " 
 
 The Colonel laughed. " Very difficult," he said, " to get into 
 a nineteenth century without passing through an eighteenth 
 century of some sort." 
 
 " Yes, of course, of course ; but I don't mean merely in 
 the sense of numbei"s, you know — in the arithmetical sense 
 of eighteen and nineteen. I mean, that seeing how very 
 curiously people's minds seem to be generally constituted, 
 it does not seem probable that they could ever have reached 
 the ideas of the nineteenth century without passing through 
 the ideas of the eighteenth. But what a pity it is they were 
 such destructive ideas ! The people of the eighteenth century 
 seem to have destroyed for the mere pleasure of destroying. 
 Only fancy the barbarism of my forefathers at Varolby, who 
 actually covered the most admirable old wainscot in the 
 world, full of the most delicate, graceful, and exquisite work, 
 with lath and plaster, and a hideous paper ! They preferred 
 the paper, you see, to the wainscot."
 
 Chap. XXV. Weiiderkolme in Festivity. 223 
 
 " Perhaps paper happened to be more in the fashion, and 
 the}' did not care about either. My grandfather did not 
 leave the wainscot, however, under the paper. At least, he 
 must have removed a great deal of it. There is an immense 
 lot of old carved work that he removed from the walls and 
 rooms in a lumber-garret at the top of the house." 
 
 " Is there though, really 1 " said the Duke, with much 
 eagerness; then you must let me see it to-morrow — you 
 must indeed ; nothing would interest me more." 
 
 Just then a white stream of ladies issued from the illu- 
 minated porch, and flowed down the broad stairs. Their 
 diamonds glittered in the light, flashing visibly to a consider- 
 able distance. They came slowly forward to the lawn. 
 
 " I think it is time to have the fireworks now," said Lady 
 Helena to the Colonel. 
 
 The Colonel called the officers about him, whilst the other 
 gentlemen began to talk to the ladies. " It would prevent 
 confusion," he said, "if we were to muster the men properly 
 to see the fireworks. I should like them to have good places ; 
 but there is some chance, you know, that they might damage 
 things in the garden unless they come in military order. 
 There are already great numbers of people in the park, and I 
 think it would be better to keep our men separate from the 
 crowd as much as possible." Horses were brought for the 
 Colonel and other field-officers, and they rode to the camp, 
 the others following on foot. Transparencies had been set 
 up at different parts of the garden, with the numbers of the 
 companies ; and the arrangements had been so perfectly 
 made, that in less than twenty minutes every company was at 
 its appointed place. 
 
 No private individual in John Stanburne's position could 
 afford a display of pyrotechnics sufficient to astonish such 
 experienced people as his noble guests ; but Lady Helena 
 and the pyrotechnician, or " firework-man," as her ladyship 
 more simply called him, had planned something quite suffi
 
 224 Wender holme. Part i. 
 
 ciently effective. He and his assistants were on the roof of 
 the Hall, where temporary platforms and railings had been 
 set up in different places for their accommodation ; and the 
 floods of fire that soon issued therefrom astonished many of 
 the spectators, especially Mrs. Prigley. And yet when a per- 
 fectly novel device was displayed, which the " firework-man " 
 had invented for the occasion, and Lady Helena asked Mrs. 
 Prigley what she thought of it, that lady averred that she had 
 seen it before, in some former state of existence, and had 
 "always thought it very beautiful." 
 
 Suddenly these words, " The Fiery Niagara," shone in 
 great burning letters along the front of the house, and then 
 an immense cascade of fire poured over the roof in all direc- 
 tions, and hid Wenderholme Hall as completely as the rock 
 is hidden where the real Niagara thunders into its abyss. At 
 the same time trees of green fire burned on the sides of the 
 flowing river, and their boughs seemed to dip in its rushing 
 gold, as the boughs of the sycamores bend over the swift- 
 flowing water. And behind the edge of the great cascade 
 rose slowly a great round moon.
 
 Chap. XXVI. More Fireworks. 225 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 MORE FIREWORKS. 
 
 AFTER the fiery cascade came the bouquet ; and the fire- 
 works ended with a prodigious sheaf of rockets, which 
 made the country people think that the stars were falling. 
 
 Though the Hall was still illuminated, it looked poorer 
 after the brilliant pyrotechnics ; and as this diminution of its 
 effect had been foreseen, arrangements had been made be- 
 forehand to cheer the minds of the guests at the critical mo- 
 ment by a compensation. The Venetian lanterns had been 
 reserved till now, and the band had been silent during the 
 fireworks. A large flat space on the lawn had been sur- 
 rounded by masts with banners, and from mast to mast hung 
 large festoons of greenery, and from the festoons hung the 
 many-colored lanterns. A platform had been erected at one 
 end for the band j and before the last rocket-constellation 
 had burst into momentary splendor, and been extinguished as 
 it fell towards the earth, the lanterns were all burning, and 
 the band playing merrily. Before and during the fireworks 
 the company had been considerably increased by arrivals 
 from neighboring villages and the houses of the smaller gen- 
 try, so Lady Helena passed the word that there would be a 
 diince in the space that was enclosed by the lanterns. 
 
 It had been part of our friend Philip Stanburne's duty to 
 march to Wenderholme with his company, and to dine with 
 the Colonel in the Hall ; but in his present moody and mel- 
 ancholy temper he found it impossible to carry complaisance 
 so far as to whirl about in a waltz with some young lady whom
 
 2 26 Wender holme. tart i. 
 
 he had never before seen. There was nobody there that he 
 knew; and when Lady Helena kindly offered to introduce 
 him to a partner, his refusal was so very decided that it 
 seemed almost wanting in politeness. The Colonel had not 
 mentioned Philip's love-affair to her ladyship, for reasons 
 which the reader will scarcely need to have explained to him. 
 People who have lived together for some years generally know 
 pretty well what each will think and say about a subject be- 
 fore it has been the subject of open conversation between 
 them ; and since Philip Stanburne was now treated as a near 
 relation at Wenderholme, it was clear that her ladyship would 
 be a good deal put out if she heard of his intended misalli- 
 ance. The Colonel himself was by no means democratic in 
 his aboriginal instincts ; but after his experience of married 
 life, the one quality in Lady Helena which he would most 
 willingly have done without was her rank, with its concomi- 
 tant inconveniences. He did not now feel merely indifferent 
 to rank, he positively disliked it ; and with his present views, 
 Alice Stedman's humble origin seemed a guarantee of immu- 
 nity from many of the perils which were most dangerous to 
 his own domestic peace. But Lady Helena (as he felt in- 
 stinctively, without needing to give to his thought the con- 
 sistency of words and phrases) was still in that state of mind 
 which is natural to every one who is born with the advantages 
 of rank — the state of mind which values rank too highly to 
 sacrifice it willingly, or to see any relation sacrifice it withou< 
 protesting against his folly. Hers would be the natural and 
 rational view of the matter ; the common-sense view , the 
 view which in all classes who have rank of any sort to main- 
 tain (and what class has not ?) has ever been recognized, has 
 ever persisted and prevailed. The Colonel did not go so far 
 a . to wish that he had married some other person of humble 
 provincial rank ; but he often wished that Lady Helena her- 
 self had been the daughter of some small squire, or country 
 clergyman, or cotton-spinner, if he had brought her up as
 
 Chap. XXVI. Moi^e Fii^eworks. 227 
 
 nicely as Alice Stedman had been brought up. It was not to 
 be expected that she could ever share this opinion about her- 
 self, or the opinion about Alice Stedman, which was merely a 
 reflection of it. 
 
 Owing to Philip Stanburne's exile at Whittlecup, which had 
 continued during the whole of the training, and to his natural 
 shyness and timidity, which the extreme reclusion of his ex- 
 istence had allowed to become the permanent habit of his 
 nature, he had made few acquaintances amongst the officers, 
 and not one friend. There were several men in the regiment 
 to know whom would have done Philip Stanburne a great 
 deal of good, but he missed the opportunities which presented 
 themselves. For instance, on the present occasion, though 
 several of his brother officers, who, like himself, were not 
 dancing, had gathered into a little group, Philip Stanburne 
 avoided the group, and walked away by himself in the direc- 
 tion of the great dark wood. He felt the necessity for a little 
 solitude ; he had not been by himself during the whole day, 
 and it was now nearly midnight. A man who is accustomed 
 to be alone will steal out in that way from society to refresh 
 himself in the loneliness which is his natural element — pour 
 se remettre, as a Frenchman would express it. So he followed 
 a narrow walk that led into the wood, and soon lost sight of 
 the illuminations, whilst the music became gradually fainter, 
 and at last was confined to such hints of the nature of the 
 melody as could be gathered from the occasional fortissimo 
 of a trumpet or the irregular booming of a drum. 
 
 There was, as the reader already knows, a ravine behind 
 Wenderholme Hall, which was a gash in the great hill that 
 divided Wenderholme from Shayton. All this ravine was 
 filled with a thick wood, and a stream came down the middle 
 of it from the moorland above — a little noisy stream that 
 tumbled over a good many small rocks, and made some cas- 
 cades which the inhabitants of Wenderholme showed to all 
 their visitors, and which lady visitors often more or less sue-
 
 2 28 Wenderholme. part i. 
 
 cessfully sketched. By an outlay of about a hundred pounds, 
 John Stanburne's grandfather had dammed this stream up in 
 one conveniently narrow place, and made a small pond there, 
 and the walk which Philip Stanburne was now following 
 skirted the stream till it came to the pond's edge. It turned 
 round the upper end of the tiny lake, and crossed the stream 
 where it entered by means of a picturesque wooden bridge. 
 From this bridge the Hall might be distinctly seen in the 
 daytime ; and Philip, remembering this, or perhaps merely 
 from the habit of looking down towards the Hall when he 
 crossed the bridge, stopped and looked, as if in the darkness 
 of the night he could hope to distinguish any thing at the 
 back of the house, which, of course, was not illuminated. 
 
 Not illuminated ! Why, the firework-men have applied a 
 more effective device to the back of the house than the elab- 
 orate illumination of the front ! They have invented a curling 
 luminous cloud, these accomplished pyrotechnicians ! 
 
 Philip Stanburne began to wonder how it was managed, 
 and to speculate on the probable artifice. Was the smoke 
 produced separately, and then lighted from below, or was it 
 really luminous smoke ? However produced, the effect was 
 an admirable one, and Philip admired it accordingly. *' But 
 it is odd," he thought, " that I should be left to enjoy it 
 (probably) by myself. It 's not likely that they have left 
 their dancing — I 'm sure they haven't ; I can hear the drum 
 yet, and it 's marking the time of a waltz." A gentle breeze 
 came towards him, and rippled the surface of the dark water. 
 It brought the sound of the trumpets and he recognized the 
 air. "They are waltzing still, no doubt." 
 
 The luminous smoke still rose and curled. Then a red 
 flash glared in it for an instant, " Those are not fire- 
 works," said Philip Stanburne, aloud ; " Wenderholme Hall 
 is on fire I "
 
 Chap. XXVII. The Fire. 2 2q 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 THE FIRE. 
 
 WHY, Philip," said the Colonel, " I didn't know that 
 you 'd been dancing. You 've been over-exerting 
 yourself. You look tremendously hot, and very much out of 
 breath." 
 
 " Young fellahs will dance, you know. Colonel," said the 
 General with the ladders of clasps — "young fellahs will; 
 I envy them ! " 
 
 "Where is Edith — your daughter — little Edith?" Philip 
 asked, with a scared and anxious face. 
 
 " In bed, of course, at this time of night. You don't want 
 to dance with her, a small child like her?" Then fixing his 
 eyes on Philip Stanburne's face, the Colonel exclaimed, 
 grasping his arm so strongly as to cause pain. " Something 
 is wrong, by Jove ! out with it, out with it ! " 
 
 " Where 's Edith's room ? the house is on fire ! " 
 
 John Stanburne said nothing, but turned at once with swift 
 steps towards the house. Philip followed him closely : they 
 entered by the great doorway under the porch, and passed 
 rapidly across the hall. It was quiet and empty, lighted by a 
 few lamps suspended from the ceiling by long crimson cords 
 — the portraits of the old fox-hunting Stanburnes looking 
 down with their usual healthy self-possession. The door 
 from the hall to the staircase was closed : when the Colonel 
 opened it, a smell of burning became for the first time per- 
 ceptible. He took four steps at a time. Edith's rooms were 
 nearly at the top of the house. The nurseries had been up
 
 230 Wenderkolme. p^rt i. 
 
 there traditionally, because that situation kept noisy children 
 well out of the way of guests. 
 
 Wenderholme was a lofty house, with a long lateral corri- 
 dor on each story. As they ascended, the smell of burning 
 strongly increased. The lower corridors were lighted — all 
 the guests' rooms were there. But the uppermost corridor, 
 where the servants' rooms and the nurseries were, was not 
 permanently lighted, as the sen'ants took their own bed- 
 candlesticks from below. When the Colonel got there he 
 could not see, and he could not breathe. Volumes of dense 
 smoke rolled along the dark passages. He ran blindly in 
 the direction of Edith's room. Philip tried to follow, but 
 the suffocating atmosphere affected his more delicate organ- 
 ization with tenfold force, and he was compelled to draw 
 back. He stood on the top of the great staircase, agitated 
 by mortal anxiety. 
 
 But the Colonel himself, strong as he was, could not 
 breathe that atmosphere for long. He came back out of the 
 darkness, his hands over his face. Even on the staircase 
 the air was stifling, but to him, who had breathed thick fire, 
 it was comparative refreshment. He staggered forward to 
 the banister, and grasped it. This for three or four seconds, 
 then he ran down the stairs without uttering one word. 
 
 The two passed swiftly through a complicated set of pas- 
 sages on the ground-floor and reached one of the minor 
 staircases, of which there were five or six at Wenderholme. 
 This one led directly to the nurseries above, and was their 
 most commonly used access. When they came to this, John 
 Stanburne turned round, paused for an instant, and said, 
 " Come with me, Philip ; it 's our last chance. Poor little 
 Edith ! O God, O God ! " 
 
 In this narrow stair there was no light whatever. The 
 Colonel ran up it, or leaped up it, in a series of wild bounds, 
 like a hunted animal. Philip kept up with him as he could. 
 As they rose higher and higher the temperature quickly
 
 Chap. XXVII. The Fire, . 231 
 
 increased : the walls were hot — it was the temperature of 
 a heated oven. The Colonel tried to open a door, but the 
 brass handle burnt his hand. Then he burst it open by 
 pushing against it with his shoulder. A gust of air rushed 
 up the staircase, and in an instant the room they were trying 
 to enter was illuminated by a burst of flame. For a second 
 the paper was visible — a pretty, gay paper, with tiny flowers, 
 suitable for a young girl's room — and a few engravings on 
 the walls, and the pink curtains of a little French bed. 
 
 Either by one of those unaccountable presentiments which 
 sometimes hold us back at the moment of imminent danger, 
 or else from horror at the probable fate of little Edith, the 
 Colonel paused on the threshold of the burning room. Then 
 the ceiling cracked from end to end, and fiery rafters, with 
 heaps of other burning wood, came crashing down together. 
 The heat was now absolutelv intolerable — to remain on the 
 threshold was death, and the two went down the stairs. 
 There was a strong draught in the staircase, which revived 
 them physically, and notwithstanding the extremity of his 
 mental anguish, the Colonel descended with a steady step. 
 When they came into the lighted hall he stood still, and then 
 broke into stifled, passionate sobs. " Edith ! little Edith ! " 
 he cried, "burnt to death! horrible! horrible!" Then he 
 turned to his companion with such an expression on his white 
 face as the other had never before seen there. " And, Philip, 
 the people were dancing on the lawn ! " 
 
 Then John Stauburne sat down in one of the chairs against 
 the wall, and set his elbows on his knees, and covered his 
 face with both his hands. So he sat, immovable. The house 
 was burning above him — it might burn. What were all the 
 treasures of Wenderholme to its master, who had lost the 
 one treasure of his heart ? What were the parchments and 
 the seals in the charter-room — ^what were the records of the 
 Stanburnes — what was that waggon-load of massive silver 
 which had shone at the festival that night.''
 
 2 2,2 Wenderholme. Part i 
 
 His anguish was not wild — he did not become frantic — 
 and the shock had not produced any benumbing insensi 
 bihty; for his health was absolutely sound and strong, and 
 his nervous system perfectly whole and unimpaired. But 
 the sound mind in the sound body is still capable of an 
 exquisite intensity of suffering, though it will live through 
 it without either madness or insensibility. 
 
 Philip Stanburne felt compelled to respect this bitter agony 
 of his friend \ but he was anxious to lose no more time in try- 
 ing to save the house. So at last he said, " Colonel, the house 
 is burning ! " 
 
 John Stanburne looked up, and said, "It may burn now — 
 it may burn now." Then suddenly seeming to recollect him- 
 self, he added, " God forgive me, Philip, I have not bestowed 
 one thought on the poor girl that was burnt with Edith — 
 Edith's maid ! She brought my child to me to say good- 
 night, just when the fireworks were over, and kiss me " — 
 here his voice faltered — " and kiss me for the last time.' 
 This extension of his sympathy to another did John Stan- 
 burne good. " I wonder where her parents are ; they must be 
 told — God help them !" 
 
 " And the house, Colonel ! — the house ! can you give some 
 orders ? " 
 
 "No, Philip; not fit for that — not fit for that yet, 
 you know, dear Philip. Ask Eureton, the Adjutant — ask 
 Eureton." 
 
 Then he rose suddenly, and went towards the drawing- 
 room. Some of the older ladies had come in, and were sit- 
 ting here and there about the room, which was brilliantly 
 lighted. On one of the ^^Jalls hung a portrait of Edith Stan- 
 burne, by Millais — one of his most successful pictures of 
 that class.' The Colonel went straight to this picture, but 
 could not politely get at it without begging two old ladies, 
 who were sitting on a causeuse under it, to get out of his way. 
 
 When a man who has just been brought face to face with
 
 Chap. XXVII. The Fire. 233 
 
 one of the tragical realities of life comes into what is called 
 "society" again, he is always out of tune with it, and it is 
 difficult for him to accept the legerete of its manner without 
 some degree of irritation. He appears brutal to the people 
 in society, and the people in society seem exasperatingly friv- 
 olous to him. Thus, when the Colonel came amongst these 
 bediamonded old ladies in the drawing-room, a conversation 
 took place which he was not quite sufficiently master of him- 
 self to maintain in its original key. 
 
 " Ah, here is Colonel Stanburne ! We were just saying 
 how delightful your fireworks were ; only they 've left quite a 
 strong smell of fire, even in the house itself. Don't you per- 
 ceive it. Colonel Stanburne ? " 
 
 " I want to get this picture — excuse me," and he began to 
 put his foot on the white silk damask of the causeuse, between 
 the two great ladies. They rose immediately, much aston- 
 ished, even visibly offended. 
 
 " Colonel Stanburne might have waited until we had left 
 the room," said Lady Brabazon, aloud, " if he wished to 
 .change the hanging of his pictures." 
 
 "The house is on fire ! My daughter is burnt to death ! 
 I want to save this. You ladies are still in time to save the 
 originals of your portraits." 
 
 In an instant they were out upon the lawn, running about 
 and calling out " Fire ! " They had not time to take care of 
 their dignity now. 
 
 Luckily Philip Stanburne was already with the Adjutant, 
 who was giving his orders with perfect calm, and an authority 
 that made itself obeyed. Lady Helena was not to be found. 
 
 Fyser had been summoned into the Adjutant's presence. 
 *' Fyser," he said, " what are the water supplies here ? " 
 
 " Pump-water, sir, for drinking, and the stream behind the 
 house for washing." 
 
 " No pipes of any sort in the upper rooms ? " 
 
 " No, sir."
 
 2 34 Wender holme. part i. 
 
 " Sergeant Maxwell, collect all the men who have served 
 in the army. I don't want any others at present." Then, 
 turning to Fyser, " Harness four horses to a carriage, and 
 drive to the nearest station. Telegraph for fire-engines and 
 a special locomotive. Whilst they are coming, collect more 
 horses near the station. When they arrive, leave your car- 
 nage there, and harness your team to a fire-engine, and come 
 here as fast as you can. Do you hear ? Repeat what I have 
 said to you. Very well." 
 
 Then he walked quickly towards the band, and made signs 
 to the band-master to stop. The music ceased abruptly, and 
 Captain Eureton ascended the platform. " I wish to be 
 heard ! " he said, in a loud voice. The dancers gave up their 
 dancing, and came towards the orchestra, followed by the 
 other guests. 
 
 " Excuse this interruption to your pleasures. You had 
 better not go into the Hall." 
 
 At this instant the old ladies (as has just been narrated) 
 came out of the hall-door shrieking, " Fire ! " Their cry was 
 taken up immediately, and wildly repeated amongst the crowd. 
 
 " Silence ! " shouted Eureton, with authority. " Silence ! 
 I have something to say to you." 
 
 The people crowded round him. " The Colonel wishes me 
 to act for him. Our only chance of saving the house is to 
 set to work systematically. I forbid any one to enter it for 
 the present." 
 
 " But my trunks," cried Lady Brabazon ; " I will order my 
 people to save my trunks ! " 
 
 This raised a laugh ; but Eureton's answer to it came in 
 the shape of an order. " Sergeant Maxwell," he said, " if 
 any one attempts to enter the house without leave, you will 
 have him arrested." 
 
 "Yes, sir." 
 
 The sergeant was there with a body of about forty old 
 soldiers.
 
 Chap. XXVII. The Fire. 235 
 
 " Captains of numbers one, two, three, four, and five com- 
 panies ! " shouted the Adjutant. They came forward. " You 
 will form a cordon with your men round the front of the house, 
 and prevent any unauthorized person from breaking it. All 
 who enter the cordon will be considered as volunteers, and 
 set to carry water. They will not be allowed to get out of it 
 again, on any pretext." 
 
 " Now send me Colonel Stanburne's men-servants." 
 
 Several men presented themselves. " Fetch every thing 
 you can lay your hands on in the out-houses that will hold 
 water." 
 
 " Pray accept me as a volunteer, Captain Eureton," said 
 the Duke. 
 
 " And I 'm an old soldier," said the medalled General ; 
 " you '11 have me, too, I suppose." 
 
 The cordon was by this time formed, and a quantity of 
 buckets fetched from the out-houses. 
 
 A chain was very soon formed from the brink of the rivu- 
 let to the inside of the house, and the Adjutant went in with 
 Philip Stanburne to reconnoitre. When he came out he walked 
 to the middle of the space enclosed by the cordon of militia- 
 men, and cried with a loud voice, " Volunteers for saving the 
 furniture, come forward ! " 
 
 Such numbers of men presented themselves (including the 
 Colonel's guests), that it was necessary to close the cordon 
 against many of thtra. Those who were admitted were told 
 oflf by the Adjutant in parties of a dozen each, and each 
 party placed under the command of a gentleman, with an old 
 soldier for a help. It was Philip Stanburne's duty to guide 
 and distribute the parties in the house — the Adjutant com- 
 manding outside. The Colonel, in his kind way, had shown 
 Philip Stanburne over the house on his first visit to Wender- 
 holme, so that he knew and remembered the arrangement of 
 the rooms. 
 
 Though the house did not front precisely to the west, it
 
 236 WenderJiolme. part i. 
 
 will best serve our present purposes to speak as if it had 
 done so. Supposing, then, the principal front to be the west 
 front, the back of the edifice, where Philip Stanburne first 
 discovered the fire, was to the east, whilst the south and 
 north fronts looked to the wood on each side the ravine, at 
 the opening of which Wenderholme Hall was situated. The 
 fire had been discovered towards the south-east corner of 
 the edifice, where little Edith's apartments were. The great 
 staircase was in the centre, immediately behind the entrance- 
 hall ; but there were five other staircases of much narrower 
 dimensions, two of them winding stairs of stone, the other 
 three modern stairs of deal wood, such as are commonly 
 made for servants. 
 
 Acting under Captain Eureton's directions, Philip Stan- 
 burne distributed his parties according to the staircases, and 
 other parties were stationed at the doors to receive the 
 things they brought down, and carry them to places already 
 decided upon by the Adjutant. The business of extinguish- 
 ing or circumscribing the fire was altogether distinct from 
 that of salvage. Two lines of men were stationed from the 
 side of the rivulet to the top of the great staircase. One 
 line passed full buckets from hand to hand, the other passed 
 them down again as soon as they were empty. A special 
 party, consisting of the gardeners belonging to Colonel Stan- 
 burne's establishment, a joiner, and one or two other men 
 who were employed at Wenderholme, had been formed by 
 the Adjutant for the purpose of collecting what might serve 
 as buckets, the supply being limited. Various substitutes 
 were found ; amongst others, a number of old oyster-barrels, 
 which were rapidly fitted with rope-handles. 
 
 Notwithstanding the number of men under his command, 
 and the excellent order which was maintained, it became 
 evident to Captain Eureton that it was beyond his power to 
 save the south wing of the building. Even the northern 
 end of the upper corridor was filled with dense smoke, and
 
 Chap. XXVII. The Fire. 237 
 
 towards Edith Stanburne's apartments there was a perfect 
 furnace. By frequently changing places, the men were able 
 to dispute the ground against the fire inch by inch ; and the 
 clouds of steam which rose as they deluged the hot walls had 
 the effect of making the atmosphere more supportable. If 
 the fire did not gain on them too rapidly, there seemed to 
 be a fair chance of saving some considerable proportion of 
 the mansion by means of the fire-engines, when they arrived. 
 
 Meanwhile the salvage of goods went forward with perfect 
 regularity. The influence of Captain Eureton's coolness and 
 method extended itself to every one, and the things were 
 handed down as quietly as in an ordinary removal. Hardly 
 any thing was broken or even injured ; the rooms were 
 emptied one by one, and the contents of each room placed 
 together. Every thing was saved from the charter-room — 
 Philip Stanburne took care to see to that. 
 
 What the Duke was most anxious to save was the contents 
 of the lumber-garrets, where lay the dishonored remnants of 
 the old wainscot and carved furniture of Elizabethan Wen- 
 derholme. But when he got up there with his party he 
 found that it was not quite possible to breathe. A more 
 serious discovery than the inevitable loss of the old oak 
 was that the fire was rapidly spreading northwards in the 
 garrets. 
 
 There was a little ledge round the roof outside, protected 
 by a stone parapet, and broad enough for a man to walk 
 along ; so the chain of water-carriers was continued up to 
 this ledge, and a hole was made in the slating through which 
 a tolerably continuous stream was poured amongst the burn- 
 ing lumber inside. The uselessness of this, however, shortly 
 became apparent ; the water had little or no effect — it flowed 
 along the floor, and the rafters had already caught fire. The 
 slates were so hot that it was impossible to touch them. It 
 was evident that the lead under the men's feet would soon 
 begin to melt, and the men were withdrawn into the interior.
 
 2*; 8 Wenderhobne. Part i 
 
 J 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 FATHER AND DAUGHTER. 
 
 WHEN Colonel Stanburne had removed Edith's picture, 
 he carried it away into the darkness. He could not 
 endure the idea of having to explain his action, and instinc- 
 tively kept out of people's way. Still, he could not leave it 
 out of doors ; he dreaded some injury that might happen to 
 it. Where could he put it? In one of the out-houses? A 
 careless groom might injure it in the hurry and excitement 
 of the night. No ; it would be safe nowhere but at his 
 mother's, and thither he would carry it. 
 
 There were two communications from the Hall to the 
 cottage — a carriage-drive and a little footpath. The drive 
 curved about a little under the old trees in the park, but the 
 footpath was more direct, and went through a dense shrub- 
 bery. On his way to the cottage the Colonel met no one, 
 but on his arrival there he met Lady Helena in the entrance. 
 His mother was there too. Late as it was, she had not yet 
 gone to bed. 
 
 The sight of the Colonel, bareheaded, and carrying a great 
 oil picture in his hands, greatly astonished both these ladies. 
 
 " What are you doing with that picture, John ? " said Lady 
 Helena. 
 
 " I want it to be safe — it will be safe here ; " and he reared 
 it against the wall. Then he said, " No, not here ; it will be 
 safer in the drawing-room ; open the door. Thank you." 
 
 When they got into the drawing-room, the Colonel delib- 
 erately took down a portrait of himself and hung Edith's
 
 c 1 i A P. XXVIII. I^a ther a nd Da ugh ter. 239 
 
 portrait in its place. His manner was very strange, both 
 tiie ladies thought ; his action most strange and eccentric. 
 Lady Helena thought he had drunk too much wine ; Mrs. 
 Stanburne dreaded insanity. 
 
 With that humoring tone which is often adopted towards 
 persons not in possession of their mental faculties, Mrs. 
 Stanburne said, " Well, John, I shall be glad to take care of 
 Edith's picture for you, if you think that it can be safer here 
 than at the Hall." 
 
 "Yes, it will be safer — it will be safer." 
 
 This answer, and his strange wild look, confirmed pooi 
 old Mrs. Stanburne's fears. She began to tremble visibly. 
 " Helena, Helena," she whispered, "poor John is — has" — 
 
 " No, mother, I 'm not mad, and I 'm not drunk either, 
 Helena, but I 've brought this picture here because it 's more 
 valuable to me now than it used to be, and — I don't want 
 it to be burnt, you understand." 
 
 " No, I don't understand you at all," said her ladyship ; 
 " you are unintelligible to-night. Better come home, I think, 
 and not drink any more wine. I never saw you like this 
 before. It is disgraceful." 
 
 " Helena ! " said the Colonel, in a very deep, hoarse voice, 
 "Wenderholme Hall is on fire, and my daughter Edith is 
 burnt to death!" 
 
 Just as he finished speaking, a lurid light filled the sky, and 
 shone through the windows of the cottage. Lady Helena 
 went suddenly to the window, then she left the room, left the 
 house, and went swiftly along by the little path. John Stan- 
 burne was left alone with his mother. 
 
 She took him by the hand, and looked in his face anxiously. 
 "My dear boy," she said, "it's a pity about the house, you 
 know ; but our little Edith " — 
 
 "What.?" 
 
 " Is perfecdy safe here, and fast asleep up-stairs in hei 
 own little bed!"
 
 240 Wenderkolme. Part i. 
 
 John Stanburne did not quite realize this at first. When 
 it became clear to him, he walked about the room in great 
 agitation, not uttering a word. Then he stopped suddenly, 
 and folded his mother in his arms, and kissed her. He kept 
 her hand and knelt down before the sofa ; she understood 
 the action, and knelt with him. Edith's picture was hanging 
 just above them, and as his lips moved in inaudible thanks- 
 giving, his eyes rose towards it and contemplated its sweet 
 and innocent beauty. He had had the courage to save it 
 from the burning house, but not the courage to let his eyes 
 dwell upon it thus. Fair hair that hast not been consumed 
 in cruel flame ! fair eyes that shall shine in the sunlight of 
 to-morrow ! sweet lips whose dear language shall yet be heard 
 in your father's house! — your living beauty shall give him 
 cheerfulness under this calamity ! 
 
 When they rose, his mother said, " Come and see ; " and 
 she took him up to a little dainty room which Edith loved, 
 and there, in a narrow bed curtained with pale blue silk, she 
 lay in perfect peace. The night was warm, and there was 
 a glow on the healthy cheek, and one little hand, frilled with 
 delicate lace, lay trying to cool itself upon the counterpane. 
 
 " I 'm afraid she 's rather too warm," said her grand- 
 mother. But John Stanburne thought of the fiery chamber 
 at Wenderholme.
 
 Chap. XXIX. Progress of the Fire. 24 1 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 PROGRESS OF THE FIRE. 
 
 MRS. STANBURNE'S tender sympathy for her son's 
 grief at the supposed loss of Edith, and participation 
 in his gladness at the recovery of his treasure, had for a time 
 restrained the expression of her anxiety about the fire at the 
 Hall ; but now that her son had seen little Edith, Mrs. 
 Stanburne went to the window of the bed-room and looked 
 out. The "Hall was not visible from the lower rooms of the 
 cottage, being hidden by the thick shrubbery which bounded 
 the little lawn ; but it was clearly visible from the upper 
 windows, which looked in that direction. 
 
 No sooner had Mrs. Stanburne opened the curtains and 
 drawn up the blind, than she uttered a cry of alarm. The 
 fire having originated in the garret, the carpentry of the roof 
 had been attacked early, and now a portion of it had given 
 way. A column of sparks, loftier than the Victoria Tower at 
 Westminster, shot up in the dark sky. 
 
 Mrs. Stanburne turned round in great agitation. " Let us 
 go, John — let us go to the Hall ; it will be burnt down. You 
 will be wanted to give orders." 
 
 This recalled the Colonel to himself, and for the present 
 he gave up thinking about his little Edith. " Eureton is in 
 command, and he 's a better officer than I am. He will do 
 all that can be done. But come along, mother — come along; 
 let us go there." 
 
 As they approached the Hall, it was evident to John Stan- 
 burne that- the fire had made terrible progress. The whole 
 
 16
 
 242 WendcrJwlme. Part i. 
 
 of the uppermost story was illuminated by the dread light of 
 conflagration. At the south end, which had been burning 
 longest, and where the roof had fallen in, sparks still rose 
 in immense quantities, and terrible tongues of flame showed 
 their points, darting angrily, above the lofty walls. 
 
 Eureton was in the centre of the open space still steadily 
 guarded by the cordon of militia-men. He was looking at 
 his watch, but on lifting his eyes from the dial, saw the Colo- 
 nel and Mrs. Stanburne, and went to them at once. " I have 
 been anxious to see you for some time, Colonel. Do you 
 wish to take the men under your own orders ? " 
 
 " My dear fellow, do oblige me by directing every thing just 
 as you have done. You do it ten times better than I should 
 — I know you do." 
 
 " I am sorry we have been unable to save the roof. I with- 
 drew the men from it rather early, perhaps, but wished to 
 avoid any sacrifice of life." 
 
 " Better let the whole place burn down than risk any of 
 these good fellows' lives. Is there anybody in the house now ? " 
 
 " Captain Stanburne has eight parties on the first floor re- 
 moving furniture. He has removed every thing from the upper 
 floors." 
 
 " But are they safe ? " said Mrs. Stanburne. 
 
 '' No floors have fallen in yet except part of the garret 
 floor, and one or two in the south wing. We have drenched 
 every room with water, after it was emptied ; we have left the 
 carpets on the floors purposely, because being thoroughly 
 wetted, they will help to delay the progress of the fire. We 
 have used all the blankets from the beds in the same way. 
 Every thing else has been removed." 
 
 " I hope all the visitors' things will be safe. Sonie of those 
 old ladies, you know, have wonderful lots of things in their 
 portmanteaus. I believe that in point of mere money's worth, 
 old Lady Brabazon's boxes are more valuable than all Wen- 
 derholme and its furniture too, by Jove ! "
 
 Chap. XXIX. Progress of the Fire. 243 
 
 '' I must ask the ladies to sleep at the cottage," said Mrs. 
 Stanburne. 
 
 " They are at the summer-house, watching the fire," said 
 the Adjutant. " I believe it amuses them." 
 
 " You are uncharitable," said Mrs. Stanburne ; " nobody 
 can help watching a fire, you know. A fire always fascinates 
 people." 
 
 " I wouldn't let old Lady Brabazon have her boxes, and 
 she 's furiously angry with me." 
 
 " Well, but why wouldn't you ? " 
 
 " If I let one, I must let another, and there would be no 
 end to the confusion and breakage that would ensue. I have 
 refused Lady Helena herself, but she took it very nicely and 
 kindly. It 's different with Lady Brabazon ; she 's in a rage." 
 
 " I 'II go with my mother to the summer-house, and come 
 back to you, Eureton, in ten minutes." 
 
 The summer-house in question pres-ented rather a curious 
 picture. It was not strictly a " house " at all, but simply a 
 picturesque shed with a long bench under it, which people 
 could sit down upon at noon, with their backs to the south, 
 well sheltered from the summer sun by a roof and wall of 
 excellent thatch, whilst the stream purled pleasantly at the 
 foot of a steep slope, and seemed to cool the air by its mere 
 sound. The back of the seat was towards the steep wooded 
 hill, and the front of it looked towards the south wing of the 
 house, including a very good view of the front. It was deci- 
 dedly the best view of Wenderholme which could be had ; 
 and when artists drew Wenderholme for those well-known 
 works, " Homes of the Landed Gentry," and " Dwellings of 
 the English Aristocracy," and " Ancient Seats of Yorkshire," 
 here they always rubbed their cakes of sepia and began. 
 
 The ladies were not playing the harp or the fiddle, as Nero 
 is said to have done during the burning of Rome ; but they 
 were enjoying the spectacle as most people enjoy that which 
 greatly interests and excites. Lady Adisham, John Stan-
 
 244 We7tderholme. Part I. 
 
 burne's august mother-in-law, was not there ; she was in close 
 conference with her daughter, in a part of the grounds yet 
 more private and remote. But Lady Brabazon was there, 
 and some other splendidly adorned dames, who were passing 
 an opera-glass from hand to hand. 
 
 As the Colonel and his mother approached, they had the 
 pleasure of overhearing the following fragment of conversation. 
 
 " Quite a great fire ; really magnificent ! Don't you think 
 so? We 're safe here, I believe." 
 
 "Yes ; Captain Eureton said we should be safe here." 
 
 " I wonder if Mr. Stanburne has insured his house. They 
 say he 's not at all rich. Pity his little daughter was burnt — 
 really great pity ; nice little girl ! " 
 
 " Where are we to sleep to-night, do you think ? " 
 
 " Really don't know. A la belle eioile, I suppose. That 
 horrid man that 's ordering the men about won't let us have 
 our boxes. We shall take cold. I have nothihg but this shawl." 
 
 Just then the Colonel presented himself. 
 
 " I am very sorry," he said, with some bitterness, " that my 
 house should be burnt down, if the accident has caused you 
 any inconvenience. Mrs. Stanburne is come to offer you 
 some accommodation at Wenderholme Cottage." 
 
 Lady Brabazon was going to make a speech of condolence, 
 but the Colonel prevented it by adding, " Pray excuse me — 
 I ought to be amongst the men ; " and bowing very deferen- 
 tially, he disappeared. 
 
 John Stanburne left Eureton in command, and worked him- 
 self as a volunteer amongst the water-carriers within the 
 building. The reaction from his despair about Edith made 
 his other misfortunes light, and he worked with a cheerfulness 
 and courage that did good to the men about him. 
 
 " This is hot work," he said to one of the volunteers ; 
 "have none of the men had any thing to drink.''" 
 
 " Thank you, sir, we are doing pretty well for that. We 
 take a little water from the buckets now and then."
 
 Chap. XXIX. Progress of the Fire. 245 
 
 " And the other fellows who are removing the furniture ? " 
 
 " It must be dry work for them, sir." 
 
 On this the Colonel said he could be more useful else- 
 where, and went to find out his old butler. This was very 
 easy, since the Adjutant knew where every one was posted. 
 
 The Colonel, with a small party of trustworthy sober fel- 
 lows, went down into the cellar, and returned with some doz- 
 ens of bottled ale and other liquids. He made it his business 
 to distribute refreshment amongst the men, giving the glass 
 always with his own hand, and never without some kind ex- 
 pression of his personal gratitude for the exertions they had 
 made. He took this office upon himself simply because he 
 " thought the men must be thirsty," as he expressed it ; but 
 the deepest policy could not have suggested a better thing to 
 do. It brought him into personal contact with every volun- 
 teer about the place, and in the most graceful way. 
 
 Captain Eureton was beginning to be anxious about the 
 fire-engines, and had the road cleared, and kept clear, by a 
 patrol. Fyser had been absent nearly three hours. The dis- 
 tance from Wenderholme to the little station (the same that 
 Lady Helena had arrived at on her return from London) was 
 ten miles. Supposing that Fyser drove at the rate of thir- 
 teen miles an hour, or thereabouts (which he would do on 
 such an emergency), he would be at the station in forty-five 
 minutes. He would have to seek the telegraphist in the vil- 
 lage, and wake him up, and get him to the station — all that 
 would consume twenty minutes. Then to get the engines 
 from Bradford, over thirty miles of rail, a special locomotive 
 running fifty miles an hour, thirty-six minutes. Time to get 
 the engines in Bradford to the station and to start the train, 
 say thirty minutes — total, a hundred and thirty-one minutes, 
 or two hours and eleven minutes. Then the return to Wen- 
 derholme, forty-five minutes — say three hours. " Yes, three 
 hours," said Captain Eureton to himself ; " I believe I should 
 have done better to send for the Sootythorn engines. Fyser
 
 246 Wenderholme. Part i. 
 
 would have been there in an hour and a half, and there would 
 have been no delays about the railway." 
 
 Just then a sound of furious galloping was heard in the 
 distance, and the welcome exclamation, "The engines, the 
 engines ! " passed amongst the crowd. The gates being all 
 open, and the road clear, the engines were soon in the ave- 
 nue. The drivers galloped into the middle of the space 
 enclosed by the cordon of militia-men, then they trotted a 
 few yards and stopped. The horses were covered with foam 
 and perspiration ; the men leaped down from their seats and 
 at once began to arrange the hose. 
 
 Captain Eureton went to the captain of the fire-brigade. 
 " You have lost no time ; I feared some delay on the railway." 
 
 " Railway, sir ? there is no railway from Sootythorn to this 
 place." 
 
 " But you come from Bradford." 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir, we are the Sootythorn brigade — we come 
 from Sootythorn. You telegraphed for us — anyhow, a Mr. 
 Fyser did." 
 
 " He did right. What do you think of the fire ? " 
 
 The fireman looked up. " It 's a bad one. Been burning 
 three hours? We may save the first floor, and the ground- 
 floor. Not very likely, though. Where 's water ? " 
 
 " Small stream here ; " the Adjutant led the fireman to the 
 rivulet. 
 
 " Very good, very good. House burns most at this end, I 
 see." 
 
 The hose was soon laid. There were two engines, and the 
 firemen, aided by volunteers, began to pump vigorously. Two 
 powerful jets began to play upon the south wing, and it was 
 a satisfaction to Captain Eureton to see them well at work, 
 though with little immediate effect. There being no sign of 
 Fyser, the Adjutant concluded that he was waiting for the 
 Bradford engines. 
 
 The whole remaining mass of roof now fell in with a tre-
 
 Chap. XXIX. Progress of the Fire. 247 
 
 mendous crash, and the flames enveloped the gables, issu- 
 ing from the windows of the uppermost story. The mul- 
 titude was hushed by the grandeur of the spectacle. All the 
 woods of Wenderholme, all its deep ravine, were lighted by 
 the glare, and even at Shayton the glow of an unnatural dawn 
 might be seen in the sky over the lofty moorland. 
 
 And the real dawn was approaching also, the true Aurora, 
 ever fresh and pure, bathed in her silver dews. There are 
 engines hurrying towards Wenderholme, through the beautiful 
 quiet lanes and between the peaceful fields ; and the gray 
 early light shows the road to the eager drivers and their gal- 
 loping steeds, and the breath of the pure morning fans the 
 brows of the men who sit in dark uniforms, helmeted, peril- 
 ously on those rocking chariots. 
 
 But the old house is past any help of theirs ! The floors 
 have fallen one after another. All the accumulated wood is 
 burning together on the ground-floor now : in the hall, where 
 Reginald Stanburne's portrait hung ; in the dining-room, 
 where, a few hours before, the brilliant guests had been sump- 
 tuously entertained ; in the drawing-room, where the ladies 
 sat after dinner in splendor of diamonds and fine lace. Ev- 
 ery one of these rooms is a focus of ardent heat — a red fur- 
 nace, terrible, unapproachable. The red embers will blacken 
 in the daylight, under the unceasing streams from the fire- 
 engines, and heaps of hissing charcoal will fill the nails of 
 Wenderholme ! 
 
 But the walls are standing yet — the brave old walls ! Even 
 the carving of the front is not injured. The house exists 
 still, or the shell of it — the ghost of old Wenderholme, its 
 appearance, its eidolon ! 
 
 I know who laments this grievous misfortune most. It is 
 not John Stanburne : ever since that child of his was known 
 to be in safety, he has been as gay as if this too costly spec- 
 tacle had been merely a continuation of the fireworks. It is 
 not Lady Helena : she is very busy, has been very busy all
 
 248 Wenderholme. Part i 
 
 night, going this way and that, and plaguing the people with 
 contradictory orders. She is much excited — even irritated 
 — but she is not sad. Wenderholme was not much to her ; 
 she never really loved it. If a country house had not been a 
 necessity of station, she would have exchanged Wenderholme 
 for a small house in Belgravia, or a tiny hotel in Paris. 
 
 But old Mrs. Stanburne grieved for the dear old house that 
 had been made sacred to her by a thousand interests and 
 associations. There was more to her in the rooms as they 
 had been, than there was either to Lady Helena or to the 
 proprietor himself. She had dreaded in silence the proposed 
 changes and restorations, and this terrible destruction came 
 upon her like the blow of an eternal exclusion and separa- 
 tion. The rooms where her husband had lived with her, the 
 room he died in, she could enter never more ! So she sat 
 alone in her sadness, looking on the ruin as it blackened 
 gradually in the morning, and her spirits sank low within 
 her, and the tears ran down her cheeks.
 
 Chap. XXX. Uucle Jacob's Love Affair. 249, 
 
 T 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 UNCLE JACOB'S LOVE AFFAIR. 
 
 HE fire at Wenderholme was known all over the coun- 
 -*- try the same morning, so the people who had been 
 asked to the presentation of colors stayed away. The colors 
 were given almost without ceremony, and the men came back 
 to Sooty thorn. 
 
 Jacob Ogden had got as far as Sootythorn the evening be- 
 fore with the intention of going on to Wenderholme in the 
 morning to see the ceremony, for he had been invited thereto 
 by his brother Isaac. As matters turned out, however, he 
 thought he would go to Whittlecup to fetch his mother back 
 to Milend, for the house seemed to him very uncomfortable 
 without her. 
 
 He called at Arkwright Lodge, and spent the day there. 
 The day following, Mr. Anison was to give a small dinner- 
 party composed of some of the leading manufacturers in 
 that neighborhood, so he pressed Jacob Ogden to stay it 
 over. 
 
 He stayed three days at Arkwright Lodge — three whole 
 days away from the mill — from the mills, we may now say, 
 for Jacob Ogden was already a pluralist in mills. The new 
 one was rising rapidly out of the green earth, and a smooth, 
 well-kept meadow was now trampled into mud and covered 
 with heaps of stone and timber, and cast-iron columns and 
 girders. And for three days had Jacob Ogden left this de- 
 lightful, this enchanting scene ! What a strong attraction 
 there must have been at Whittlecup, to draw him from his
 
 250 Wefider holme. Part l 
 
 industrial paradise ! He felt bound to the unpoetical Shay- 
 ton, as Hafiz was to his fair Persian valley when he sang — 
 
 " They will not allow me to proceed upon my travels, 
 Those gentle gales of Mosellay, 
 That limpid stream of Rooknabad." 
 
 "I've no time for goin' courtin'," thought Jacob to himself 
 as he sat drinking his port wine after dinner. " I 've been 
 here three days, and it 's as much as I can afford for courtin'. 
 But who's a rare fine lass is Miss Madge, an' I'll write her a 
 bit of a letter." 
 
 Before leaving the Lodge, he thought it as well to prepare 
 Mr. Anison's mind for what was to come, so he asked to go 
 and see the works. As they were walking together, Ogden 
 went abruptly into the subject of matrimony. 
 
 " Mother 's been stoppin' at Whittlecup a good bit, 'long of 
 our Isaac. I felt very lonesome at Milend 'bout th' oud 
 woman, and I thought I s'd be lonesomer and lonesomer if 
 who * 'ere deead." 
 
 " No doubt she would be a very great los-s to you," said 
 Mr. Anison ; "but Mrs. Ogden appears to enjoy excellent 
 health." 
 
 Ogden scarcely heard this, and continued, " So I 've been 
 thinkin', like, as I 'appen might get wed." 
 
 " It would certainly be a good security against loneliness." 
 
 " I can afford to keep a wife. You may look at my 
 banker's account whenever you like. I 've a good property 
 already in land and houses, and I 'm building a new mill." 
 
 " There is no necessity for going into detail," Mr. Anison 
 said deprecatingly ; " every one knows that you are a rich 
 man." 
 
 Ogden laughed, half inwardly. It was a chuckling little 
 laugh, full of the intensest self-satisfaction. " They think 
 they know," he said, "but they don't know — not right. 
 
 * The reader will please to bear in mind that who means she in the 
 pure Lancashire dialect.
 
 Chap. XXX. Uncle Jacob's Love Affair. 251 
 
 Nobody knows what I 'm worth, and nobody knows what I 
 shall be worth. I 'm one o' those as sovereigns sticks to, 
 same as if they 'd every one on 'em a bit o' stickin'-plaister 
 to fasten 'em on wi'. If I live ten year, I s'll be covered 
 over wi' gold fourteen inch thick." 
 
 " Is there any positive necessity for you to leave us now "i 
 Why not remain a little longer? " 
 
 " Do you think I 've any chance at your house ? " 
 
 Mr. Anison laughed at the eagerness of Ogden's manner. 
 Then he said, " I see no reason for you to be discouraged. 
 You cannot expect a young lady to accept you before you 
 have asked her." 
 
 Ogden hesitated a moment, and then determined to go oa 
 to Shayton and write his letter.
 
 252 Weitder holme. Part i. 
 
 A 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 UNCLE JACOB IS ACCEPTED. 
 ND this is the letter Jacob Ogden wrote : — 
 
 " Miss Margaret Anison. 
 
 "Miss, — When I was at your house this afternoon, I 
 meant to say something to you, but could not find a chance, 
 because other people came in just at the time. I wished to 
 ask you to be so kind as to marry me. I believe I shall be 
 a good husband — at any rate, I promise to do all I can to 
 be one. My wife shall have every thing that a lady wants, 
 and I will either build a new house or purchase one, as she 
 may like best. There 's a good one on sale near Shayton, 
 but I don't mind building, if you prefer it. I am well able 
 to keep my wife as a lady. I may say that I have always 
 been very steady, and not in the habit of drinking. I never 
 go into an ale-house, and I never spend any foolish money. 
 I shall feel very anxious until I receive your answer, as you 
 will easily understand \ for my regard for you is such that I 
 most sincerely wish your answer may be favorable. 
 
 "Yours truly, Jacob Ogden." 
 
 Though rather a queer letter, and singularly devoid of the 
 graces of composition and the tenderness of love, its purport, 
 at least, was intelligible. The reply showed that the lover 
 had made himself clearly understood.
 
 Chap. XXXI. Unck Jacob is accepted. 253 
 
 "My dear Sir, — The proposal contained in your letter 
 has rather surprised me, as we have seen so little of each 
 other, but after consulting my parents I may say that I do 
 not refuse, and they desire me to add that there will be a 
 room for you here whenever your business engagements per- 
 mit you to visit us. Sincerely yours, 
 
 " Margaret Anison." 
 
 It is to be supposed that Mr. Ogden felt sensations of 
 profound happiness on reading this little perfumed note ; 
 but when a man is an old bachelor by nature, he does not 
 become uxorious in a week or two ; and we may confess that, 
 after the unpleasantness of the first shock, a positive refusal 
 would have left the lover's mind in a state of far more per- 
 fect happiness and calm. His pride was gratified, his passion 
 was fortunate in dreaming of its now certain fruition, and 
 he knew that such a woman as Margaret Anison would add 
 greatly to his position in the world. He knew that she 
 would improve it in one way, but then he felt anxiously 
 apprehensive that she might deteriorate it in another. He 
 would become more of a gentleman in society with a lady 
 by his side, but a wife and family would be a hindrance to 
 his pecuniary ambition. From the hour of his acceptance 
 he saw this a good deal more clearly than he had done since 
 this passion implanted itself in his being. He had seen it 
 clearly enough before he knew Margaret Anison, but the 
 strength of a new passion acting upon a nature by no means 
 subtly self-conscious, had for a time obscured the normal 
 keenness of his sight. After re-reading Margaret's note for 
 the tenth time, Mr. Jacob Ogden said to himself : *' She 's 
 a fine girl — there isn't a finer lass in all Manchester; but 
 I 'm a damned fool — that's what I am. What have I to do 
 goin' courtin' ? Howsomever, it 's no good skrikin' over spilt 
 milk — we mun manage as well as we can. We 've plenty to 
 live on, and she can have four or five servants, if she '11
 
 254 Wenderholme. Part l 
 
 nobbut look well afther 'em." Then he went into the little 
 sitting-room, where his mother sat mending his stockings. 
 
 " Mother," he said, abruptly, " there 's news for you. Some- 
 body's boun' to be wed." 
 
 The stocking was deposited in Mrs. Ogden's lap, and she 
 looked at her son with fixed eyes. 
 
 " It 's owther our Isaac or me, and it isn't our Isaac." 
 
 "Why, then, it 's thee, Jacob." 
 
 " You 're clever at guessin', old woman ; you always was 
 a 'cute un." 
 
 " What ! are you boun' to wed somebody at Whittlecup ? " 
 
 " She doesn't live a hundred mile off Whittlecup." 
 
 Mrs. Ogden rose from her seat and laid down her stock- 
 ing, and made slowly for the door. She stopped, however, 
 midway, and with a stately gesture pointed to the mended 
 stocking. " Can she darn like that? " 
 
 " She 'appen can do, mother." 
 
 " Han you seen her do ? " 
 
 " No." 
 
 " Nor nobody else nayther. But what I reckon you think 
 you can do b'out havin' your stockin's mended when you get 
 your fine wife into th' house, and you think servants '11 do 
 every thing. But if you 'd forty servants, you 'd be badly off 
 without somebody as knew how to look afther 'em all. And 
 if they cannot do for theirselves, they cannot orther other 
 folk — not right." 
 
 " Well, but, mother," said Jacob, deprecatingly. He was 
 going to suggest consolatory considerations, founded upon 
 the apparent order and regularity of the housekeeping at 
 Arkwright Lodge, in the midst of which Miss Anison had 
 been educated. 
 
 But Mrs. Ogden was not disposed to enter into a discus- 
 sion which would have involved the necessity of giving her 
 son a hearing, and she cut short his expostulation with a 
 proverb, solemnly enunciated, —
 
 Chap. XXXI. Uiick Jacob is accepted. 255 
 
 " As they make their bed, so they must lie," and then she 
 left the room. 
 
 "Th' old woman isn't suited," thought Jacob, "but :t 
 makes nothing who it had been, she would have been just 
 the same. She used always to reckon she could like me to 
 get wed, but I knew well enough that when it came to the 
 point I could never get wed so as to suit her. Whoever I 
 wedded, she 'd always have said it should have been some- 
 body else." The fact was, that whilst Mrs. Ogden warmly 
 and sincerely approved of marriage as a sort of general 
 proposition, and had even advised her son for many years 
 past to take unto himself a wife, her jealousy only slumbered 
 so long as the said wife remained a vague impersonal idea. 
 Mrs. Ogden had not much imagination, and the mere notion 
 of a possible wife for Jacob was very far from arousing in 
 her breast the lively sensations which were sure to be aroused 
 there by a visible, criticisable young woman, of flesh and 
 blood, with the faults that flesh is heir to. Now she had 
 seen Margaret Anison, and she had thought at Whittlecup, 
 " She might happen do for our Jacob ; " but when " our 
 Jacob " announced that he had decided to espouse Margaret 
 Anison, that was quite a different thing. 
 
 Matters had been in this condition for a month or two, 
 when Jacob Ogden, whose visits to his beloved one had been 
 made rare by the exigencies of business, became somewhat 
 importunate about the fixing of his wedding-day. It was 
 not that he looked forward thereto with feelings of very 
 eager or earnest anticipation, but he had a business-like 
 preference for " fixtures " and dates over the vague promises 
 of an indefinite avenir. Miss Anison, on the contrary, seemed 
 to have a rooted objection to such rigid limitations of liberty ; 
 and, like a man in debt whose creditor proposes to draw 
 upon him for an inexorable thirtieth of next month, felt that 
 the vague intention of paying some time was for the present 
 less hard and harassing to the mind. And as the debtor
 
 256 VVender holme. Part i. 
 
 procrastinates, so did Margaret Anison procrastinate. Her 
 heart was not in this marriage, but her interest was ; and, so 
 far as she avowed to herself any purpose at all, her purpose 
 was to gain time, and keep Jacob Ogden as a resource, when 
 all chance of Philip Stanburne should be lost finally and 
 for ever. 
 
 Miss Anison, in a matter of "this kind, was a great deal 
 cleverer than Jacob Ogden, who, though not easily taken in 
 by a man in men's business, had little experience of woman- 
 kind, and none whatever of polite young ladies and their 
 ways. Margaret Anison had found a capital excuse for 
 delay in the necessity for building a new house, and she set 
 Jacob Ogden to work thereupon with an energy at least 
 equal to that which he lavished on the new mill. He wanted 
 very much to have the house close to the factory, but the 
 young lady preferred the tranquillity of the country, and 
 went to Milend expressly to select a site. She chose a little 
 dell that opened into the Shayton valley; and though of all 
 views in the world the pleasantest for Mr, Ogden would have 
 been a view of his own mills, he was denied this satisfaction, 
 and his windows looked out upon nothing but green fields. 
 " If they 'd nobbut been my own fields," Jacob thought, " I 
 wouldn't so much have cared. Not but what a good mill is 
 a prettier sight than the greenest field in Lancashire, but it 's 
 no plezur to me to look out upon other folks' property." 
 And the worst of it was, that there was no chance of ever 
 purchasing the said property, for it belonged to an ancient 
 Lancashire family, which had a wise hereditary objection to 
 parting with a single acre of land. 
 
 Mrs. Ogden, now that the engagement was a fait accompli, 
 expressed the most perfect readiness to quit Milend and go 
 and live in " th' Cream-pot," which, as the reader is already 
 aware, was the expressively rich appellative of the richest of 
 her little farms. But such was the amiable and truly filial 
 consideration displayed by Margaret Anison towards her
 
 Chap. XXXI. Uncle Jacob is accepted. 257 
 
 future mother-in-law, that she would on no account hear of 
 such an arrangement. " Mrs. Ogden," she said, " had always 
 been accustomed to Milend, and it would be quite wrong to 
 turn her out ; " indeed she " would not hear of such a thing." 
 So the obedient Jacob hurried on the construction of a man- 
 sion worthy of the young lady who had honored him with her 
 affections — a mansion to be replete with all modern comforts 
 and conveniences, such as abounded at Arkwright Lodge.
 
 258 Wenderholme. Part l 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 MR. STEDMAN RELENTS. 
 
 PHILIP STANBURNE'S life had not been settled or 
 happy since the date of his visit to Derbyshire. The 
 old tranquil existence at the Peel had become impossible for 
 him now. It was intolerable to him to be cut off from all 
 direct communication with Miss Stedman, and one day he 
 went boldly to Chesnut Hill. He went there, not under 
 cover of the darkness, as cowardly lovers do, but in the 
 broad openness of such daylight as is ever to be seen in 
 Sootythorn. I think, however, that it would have needed 
 still greater courage on his part to present himself there 
 about eight o'clock in the evening; for in the day-time Mr. 
 Stedman was usually at his factory, whereas about eight in 
 the evening a friend might count upon the pleasure of find- 
 ing him at Chesnut Hill. 
 
 The servant-maid who opened the door to Philip showed 
 him at once into the drawing-room. "What name shall I 
 say, sir?" she asked. Philip gave his name, and waited. 
 He had not inquired whether Miss Stedman was at home — 
 he felt a slight embarrassment in inquiring about Miss Sted- 
 man — and the servant on her part had simply asked him to 
 walk in. 
 
 He had waited about five minutes, when a heavy step 
 became audible in the passage, and the door of the room was 
 opened. The Reverend Abel Blunting stood before him. 
 
 "Pray sit down, sir," said the reverend gentleman; "I 
 hope you are quite well. I hope I see you well. Mr. Stcd-
 
 Chap. XXXII. Mr. Stedman relent s. 259 
 
 man is not at home — he is down at the mill — but I am 
 expecting him every minute." 
 
 Mr. Blunting's bland amiability ought no doubt to have 
 awakened amiable feelings in Mr. Stanburne's breast, but, 
 unfortunately, it had just the opposite effect. " I did not 
 come here to see Mr. Stedman," he replied; "I came to see 
 his daughter." 
 
 Now Mr. Blunting was a powerful man, both physically 
 and mentally, and a man by no means disposed to yield 
 when he considered firmness to be a duty. In the present 
 instance he did consider it necessary to prevent an interview 
 between Alice and her lover, and he quietly resolved to do 
 so at all costs. " I am sorry," he said, " that you cannot see 
 Miss Stedman." 
 
 " Why cannot I see her ? Is she not at home ? " 
 
 " She is under this roof, sir." 
 
 " Then I will see her," Philip answered, and rose to his feet. 
 
 " Pray sit down, sir — pray sit down," said Mr. Blunting, 
 without stirring from the easy-chair in which he had en- 
 sconced himself. He made a gesture with his hand at the 
 same time, which said as plainly as it could, " Calm yourself, 
 young gentleman, and listen to me." 
 
 " Pray sit down. Miss Stedman is not very well to-day ; 
 indeed she has not been really well, I am sorry to say, for 
 some time past. She does not rise until the afternoon, and 
 of course you cannot go into her bedroom." 
 
 " Why not ? Come with me if you like. The doctor may 
 go there, I suppose ? " 
 
 "The doctor goes there professionally, and so does Miss 
 Stedman's spiritual adviser." 
 
 "I could do her more good than either of you. How 
 wretchedly lonely she is ! " 
 
 " My wife comes to sit with Miss Stedman every day." 
 
 " What is the matter with her? Tell me the plain truth." 
 
 " Most willingly — most happy to reassure you, sir. There
 
 26o Wenderholme. Part i. 
 
 is really nothing serious in Miss Stedman's case ; the medical 
 men are agreed upon that. She merely suffers from debility, 
 which has been neglected for some time because she did not 
 complain. Now that the ailment is known, it will be com- 
 bated in every way. Already there is a decided improvement. 
 But in her present state of weakness, agitation of any kind 
 might be most prejudicial — most prejudicial ; and therefore 
 I hope you will easily see that I dare not accept the respon- 
 sibility of permitting an interview between you." 
 
 " I shall wait here till Mr. Stedman comes, and ask his 
 permission." 
 
 " That is a very proper course to pursue, and I highly 
 approve your resolution. But from what we both know of 
 Mr. Stedman's sentiments, it seems scarcely probable that 
 he will grant your request. You will do well, however, to 
 wait and see him. It is always the best, when there are 
 differences of opinion, that the contending parties should 
 meet personally." 
 
 Here there was a pause of a minute or two, after which 
 Mr. Blunting resumed, with great politeness of manner, — 
 
 " I fear you must need refreshment, sir, if you have come 
 from a distance. Your own residence, as I am informed, is 
 at a considerable distance from this place. In Mr. Stedman's 
 absence, I may take upon myself to offer you something. 
 Would you like a sandwich and a glass of wine .'' I cannot 
 offer to drink wine with you, being myself a total abstainer, 
 but as I know that you use it in great moderation, it is not 
 against my conscience to ring for the decanters." 
 
 Philip Stanburne had eaten nothing since six in the 
 morning, and willingly accepted the clergyman's proposition. 
 Perhaps he accepted it the more willingly that he felt the 
 need of all his courage for the approaching interview with 
 Mr. Stedman. When the decanters and the sandwich came, 
 the teetotal parson filled a wine-glass with formal courtesy, and 
 young Stanburne could not help feeling a certain liking, and
 
 Chap. XXXII. Mr. Stedman relents. 261 
 
 even admiration, for the man. In truth, without being a 
 gentleman, Mr. Blunting had many of the best qualities ^f 
 a gentleman. He was as brave as a man well could be, 
 more learned than most members of his own learned profes- 
 sion, and he had a feminine softness of manner. 
 
 Whilst Philip was engaged with his sandwiches and sherry, 
 he heard the hall-door open, and a manly step on the stonf> 
 floor. Though by no means a coward, either mora'ly or 
 physically, he had a sensitive constitution, and his pulse 
 was considerably accelerated by the knowledge that Mr. 
 Stedman had entered the house. The heavy steps passed 
 the drawing-room door, and became gradually less and less 
 audible as they ascended the stairs. 
 
 " Mr. Stedman is gone to see his daughter," said Mr. 
 Blunting. " He always goes straight to her room when 
 he returns from the mill. He is a most affectionate 
 father." 
 
 " Where his prejudices are not concerned," added Philip 
 Stanburne. 
 
 " Where his conscience is not involved, you ought to say. 
 His objection to your suit is strictly a conscientious objec- 
 tion. Personally, he likes you, and your position would be 
 an excellent one for Miss Alice ; indeed it is beyond what 
 she might have hoped for. But Mr. Stedman — ah! he is 
 coming now." • 
 
 Philip had somewhat hastily finished his sandwich, and 
 resumed his first seat. Mr. Stedman opened the door slowly, 
 and walked in. He gave no sign of astonishment on seeing 
 Philip (who rose as he entered), but simply bowed. Then 
 turning to Mr. Blunting, he said, quietly, " I think Alice 
 would be glad to see you now," on which Mr. Blunting left 
 the room. 
 
 There was an expression of deep sadness on John Sted- 
 man's face as he sat down and looked fixedly at the table. 
 His eyes looked in the direction of the decanters, but he
 
 262 Wender holme. Part i. 
 
 evidently did not see them. Suddenly recalling himself to 
 the things about him, he saw the decanters before any thing 
 else, and said, — 
 
 " Have you had a glass of wine ? Take another. Take 
 one with me." 
 
 Astonished at this reception, Philip Stanburne held his 
 glass whilst John Stedman filled it. A tremulous hope rose 
 in his breast. What if this man were relenting ? what if the 
 icy barrier were gradually thawing away t 
 
 They drank the wine in silence, and Mr. Stedman sat 
 down again. " Sit down," he said, " sit down. You are 
 come to talk to me about my daughter. You' are under my 
 roof, and are my guest. I will listen to you patiently, and I 
 will answer you plainly. I can do no more than that, can I ? " 
 
 Philip urged his suit with all the eloquence at his command. 
 John Stedman listened, as he had promised, patiently ; and 
 when his guest's eloquence had exhausted itself, he spoke in 
 this wise : — 
 
 " I explained my views to you on a former occasion, in 
 Derbyshire. It is no use going over all that ground again. 
 But since we met then, the position of matters has changed 
 somewhat. My daughter is getting nearer to her majority ; 
 at the same time, you and she have made an engagement 
 between yourselves without my sanction, and I have reason 
 to suspect that you have corresponded. Miss Margaret Ani- 
 son has been here rather too much lately, and I have politely 
 informed Miss Margaret Anison that she had better remain 
 at Arkwright Lodge. But another thing has altered matters 
 still more — that is, my daughter's health. I'm very much 
 grieved to say that I haven't a great deal of confidence in 
 her constitution. She gets weaker every day." 
 
 " Mr. Blunting says she is getting stronger again now." 
 
 "Stronger? Well, momentarily she may, by the help of 
 tonics and stimulants, but it will not last. She was never 
 really strong, but if I 'd not been so much absorbed in
 
 Chap. XXXII. Mr. Stedmoii relents. 263 
 
 business, I might have taken her more out, and given her 
 more exercise. I am ready to give up business now. I 'd 
 give up any thing for my Alice. Poor Alice, poor Alice ! " 
 
 Philip Stanburne became inoculated with Mr. Stedman's 
 openly expressed alarm. " Are you seriously afraid, sir ? " 
 he asked, with intense anxiety. 
 
 Mr. Stedman looked at him fixedly and seemed absorbed 
 in his own thoughts. " You love my girl, young man, but 
 you don't love her as I do. Ever since I have got this fear 
 into my heart and into my brain I can neither eat nor sleep. 
 I think sometimes I shall go out of my mind. A man loves 
 a daughter, Mr. Stanburne, differently from the way he loves 
 a son. If I 'd had a son, I shouldn't have felt so anxious, 
 for it seems that a lad should bear illnesses and run risks ; 
 but a tender little girl, Philip Stanburne — a tender little 
 girl, and a great rough fellow like me to take care of her!" 
 
 " Is there any change in your feelings towards me, sir ? " 
 
 " No, none at all. I always liked you very well, and I like 
 you very well still. There isn't a young fellow anywhere 
 who would suit me better, if it weren't for your being such a 
 Papist. I '11 tell you what I '11 do with you, if you like. You 
 give me an honest promise not to marry my daughter before 
 twelve months are out, and you shall see her every day if 
 you like. And if you can cheer her up and make her get 
 her strength back again, you shall have her and welcome, 
 Papist or no Papist. I 'd let her marry the Pope of Rome 
 before I 'd see her as sad as she has been during the last 
 two or three months. Stop your dinner, will you ? That 
 sandwich is nothing ; our dinner-time 's one o'clock, and it 's 
 just ten minutes to. Alice '11 get up when she knows you 're 
 here, I '11 warrant.'' 
 
 The reader will easily believe that Philip Stanburne heard 
 this speech with a joy that made him forget his anxiety about 
 Alice. He would bring gladness to her, and with gladness, 
 health. How bright the long future seemed for these two,
 
 264 Wender holme. Part l 
 
 true lovers always, till the end of their lives ! O golden 
 hope, fair promise of happy years ! 
 
 But the doctor, who had been at Chesnut Hill that morn- 
 ing, had heard a little faint sound in his polished black 
 stethoscope, which was as terrible in its import as the noise 
 of the loudest destroyers, as the crack of close thunder, the 
 roar of cannon, the hiss of the hurricane, the explosion of 
 a mine 1
 
 Chap. XXXIII. The Saddest in the Book. 265 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 THE SADDEST IN THE BOOK. 
 
 LET this part of our story be quickly told, for it is very 
 sad ! Let us not dwell upon this sorrow, and analyze 
 it, and anatomize it, and lecture upon it, as if it were merely 
 a study for the intellect, and caused the heart no pain ! 
 
 It is the middle of winter. The streets of Sootythorn are 
 sloppy with blackened snow, the sky is dreary and gray, and 
 dirtied by the smoke from the factory-chimneys. Sootythorn 
 is dismal, and Manchester is all in a fog. The cotton-spin- 
 ners' train that goes from Sootythorn to Manchester is run- 
 ning into a cloud that gets ever denser and yellower, and the 
 whistle screams incessantly. The knees of the travellers are 
 covered with " Guardians," and " Couriers," and " Examin- 
 ers," for there is not light enough to read comfortably. One 
 manufacturer asks his neighbor a question : " Where is John 
 Stedman of Sootythorn ? He uses comin' by this train, and 
 I haven't seen him as I cannot tell how long." 
 
 The question interests us also. Where is John Stedman ? 
 
 Not at Chesnut Hill, certainly. There is nobody at Chesnut 
 Hill but the old gardener and his wife. He tends the plants 
 in the hothouse, and keeps them comfortable in this dreary 
 Lancashire winter by the help of Lancashire coal. But the 
 house is all shut up, except on the rare days when a bit 
 of sunshine comes, and the old woman opens the shutters 
 and draws up the blinds to let the bright rays in. Every 
 thing seems ready for Alice, if she would only come. There 
 is her little pretty room upstairs, and there are twenty
 
 266 Wender holme. Part r. 
 
 things of hers in the drawing-room that wait for their absent 
 mistress. 
 
 Miss Alice is far away in the south, and her father is with 
 her — and there is a third, who never leaves them. 
 
 They had been travelling towards Italy, but when they 
 reached Avignon, Alice became suddenly worse, and they 
 stayed there to give her a long rest. The weather happened 
 to be very pure and clear, and it suited her. The winter 
 weather about Avignon is often very exhilarating and deli- 
 cious, when the keen frost keeps aloof, and the dangerous 
 winds are at rest. 
 
 As for saving Alice now, not one of the three had a vestige 
 of delusive hope. The progress of the malady had been ter- 
 ribly rapid ; every week had been a visible advance towards 
 the grave. John Stedman had hoped little from the very 
 beginning, Philip Stanburne had hoped much longer, and 
 Alice herself longest of all. But none of the three hoped any 
 longer now. 
 
 When Alice found herself settled at Avignon, she felt a 
 strong indisposition to go farther. The railway tired and 
 agitated her, and the dust made her cough more painful. 
 " Papa," she said one day, as she sat in her easy-chair look- 
 ing up the Rhone, "I think we cannot do better than just 
 remain where we are. I shall not keep you in this place very 
 long:. No climate can save me now, and this weather is as 
 pleasant as any Italian weather could be. I am cowardly 
 about travelling, and it troubles me to think of the journt-y 
 before us." Mr. Stedman feebly tried to encourage Alice, and 
 talked of the beautiful Italian coast as if they were going to 
 see it; but it soon became tacitly understood that Abce's 
 travels were at an end. 
 
 Mr. Stedman, who, since he had left England with his 
 daughter, had never considered expense in any thing in which 
 her comfort was, or seemed to be, involved, sought out a 
 pleasanter lodging than the hotel they had chosen as a teiu-
 
 Chap. XXXIII. The Saddest hi the Book. 267 
 
 porary resting-place. He found a charming villa on the slopes 
 that look towards Mount Ventoux. The view from its front 
 windows included the great windings of the Rhone and the 
 beautiful mountainous distance ; whilst from the back there 
 was a very near view of Avignon, strikingly picturesque in 
 composition, crowned by the imposing mass of the Papal 
 palace. Alice preferred the mountains, and chose a delightful 
 little salon upstairs as her own sitting-room, whilst her bed- 
 room was close at hand. There was a balcony, and she liked to 
 sit there in the mild air during the warmest and brightest hours. 
 
 Mr. Stedman's powerful and active nature suffered from 
 their monotonous life at the villa, and he needed exercise both 
 for the body and the mind. Alice perceived this, and, well 
 knowing that it was impossible for her father to do any thing 
 except in her service, plotted a little scheme by which she 
 hoped to make him take the exercise and the interest in out- 
 ward things which in these sad days were more than ever 
 necessary to him. 
 
 " Papa," she said one day, " I think if I 'd a little regular 
 work to do, it would do me good. I wish you would go 
 geologizing for me, and bring me specimens. You might 
 botanize a little, too, notwithstanding the time of the year ; it 
 would be amusing to puzzle out some of the rarer plants. It's 
 a very curious country, isn't it, papa ? I 'm sure, if I were 
 well, we should find a great deal of work to do together here." 
 Then she began to question him about the geology and botany 
 of the district, and made him buy some books which have 
 been written upon these subjects by scientific inhabitants of 
 Avignon. Her little trick succeeded. Mr. Stedman, under 
 the illusion that he was working to please his poor Alice, 
 trudged miles and miles in the countiy, and extended his ex- 
 plorations to the very slopes of Mount Ventoux itself. In this 
 way he improved the tone of his physical constitution, and 
 Alice saw with satisfaction that it would be better able to 
 endure the impending sorrow.
 
 268 Wenderkolme. Part i. 
 
 He had long ceased to treat Philip Stanburne with coldness 
 or distrust. His manner with his young friend was now quite 
 gentle, and even affectionate, tenderly and sadly genial. The 
 one point on which they disagreed was no longer a sore point 
 for either of them. One day, when they were together, they 
 met a religious procession, with splendid sacerdotal costumes 
 and banners, and Philip kneeled as the host was carried by. 
 Their conversation, thus briefly interrupted, was resumed 
 without embarrassment, and Mr. Stednian asked some ques- 
 tions about the especial purpose of the procession, without the 
 slightest perceptible expression of contempt for it. He began 
 to take an interest in the charities of the place, and having 
 visited the hospital, said he thought he should like to give 
 something, and actually left a bank-note for five hundred 
 francs, though the managers of the institution, and the nurses, 
 and the patients, were Romanists without exception. Mean- 
 while, he read his Bible very diligently every day, and the 
 prayers of the little household, in which Philip willingly 
 joined. 
 
 During one of Mr. Stedman's frequent absences on the 
 little scientific missions ordered by his daughter Alice, she 
 and Philip had a conversation which he ever afterwards 
 remembered. 
 
 " Philip," she said, " do you ever think much about what 
 might have been, if just one circumstance had been otherwise ? 
 I have been thinking a great deal lately, almost constantly, 
 about what might have been, for us two, if my health had 
 been strong and good. People say that love such as ours 
 is only an illusion — only a short dream — but I cannot 
 believe that. It might have changed, as our features change, 
 with time, but it would have remained with us all our lives. 
 Do you ever fancy us a quiet respectable old couple, living 
 at the Tower, and coming sometimes to Sootythorn together? 
 I do. I fancy that, and all sorts of things that might have 
 been — and some of them would have been, too — if I had
 
 Chap. XXXIII. The Saddest in the Book. 269 
 
 lived. There 's one thing vexes me, and that is, that I never 
 saw the Tower. I wish I had just seen it once, so that I 
 might fancy our life there more truly. How glad dear papa 
 would have been to come and stay with us, and botanize and 
 geologize amongst your rocks there! You would have let 
 him come, wouldn't you, dear? — I am sure you would have 
 been very kind to him. You will be kind to him, won't you, 
 my love, when he has no longer his poor little Lissy to take 
 care of him ? Don't leave him altogether by himself. I am 
 afraid his old age will be very sad and lonely. It grieves me 
 to think of that, for he will be old in a few years now, and 
 his poor little daughter will not be near him to keep him 
 cheerful. Fancy him coming home every evening from the 
 mill, and nobody but servants in the house ! Go and stay 
 with him sometimes, dear, at Chesnut Hill, and get him to 
 go to the Tower, and you will sometimes talk together about 
 Alice, and it will do you both good." 
 
 Philip had kept up manfully as long as he was able, but 
 the vivid picture that these words suggested of a world with- 
 out Alice was too much for him to bear, and he burst into 
 passionate tears. As for Alice, she remained perfectly calm, 
 but when she spoke again it was with an ineffable tenderness. 
 She took his hand in hers, and drew him towards her, and 
 kissed him. Again and again she kissed him, smoothing his 
 hair caressingly with her fingers — gentle touches that thrilled 
 through his whole being. " You don't know, my darling," 
 she said, " how much I love you, and how miserable it made 
 me when I thought we must be separated in this world. It 
 isn't so hard to be separated by death ; but to live both of 
 us in the same world, seeing the same sun, and moon, and 
 stars, even the same hills, and not to be together, buc always 
 living out of sight and hearing of each other, and yet so 
 near — it would have been a trial beyond my strength ! And 
 isn't it something, my love, to be together as we are now for 
 the last few weeks and days? You don't know how happy
 
 270 Wcndcrholme, Part i. 
 
 it makes me to see you and papa getting on so nicely as you 
 do. Isn't he nice, now? I don't believe he thinks a bit the 
 worse of you for being a Catholic. We shall all meet again, 
 darling — shall we not? — in the same heaven, and then we 
 shall have the same perfect knowledge, and our errors and 
 differences will be at an end for ever." 
 
 She was a good deal exhausted with saying this, and leaned 
 back in her chair, closing her eyes for a while. Philip gradu- 
 ally recovered his usual melancholy tranquillity, and they sat 
 thus without speaking, he holding both her hands in his, and 
 gently chafing and caressing them. He had not courage to 
 speak to Alice — indeed, in all their saddest and most serious 
 conversations, the courage was mainly on her side. 
 
 Whilst they were sitting thus, the sky became suddenly 
 overcast, and there came a few pattering drops of rain. 
 Alice started suddenly, and seemed to be agitated by an 
 unknown terror. She grasped Philip's hand in a nervous 
 way, and complained of a strange suffering and foreboding. 
 " I felt so calm and peaceful all the morning," she said; " I 
 wish I could feel so now." 
 
 The agitation increased, and it was evident to Philip that 
 a great change had taken place. Alice threw her arms round 
 him, and clasped him to her. " O Philip ! " she cried, wildly, 
 "don't leave me now — don't leave me even for a minute! 
 Stay, darling, stay ; it is coming, coming ! " 
 
 The pattering of the rain had ceased. It had been noth- 
 ing but a few drops — scarcely even a shower — and it had 
 ceased. 
 
 But the air was not clearer after the rain. On the contrary, 
 it had been clearer before it than it was now. The snowy 
 summit of Mount Ventoux was hidden in an opaque, thick 
 atmosphere ; mist it was not, as we northerns understand 
 mist, but a substantial thickening of the air. 
 
 Soon there was the same thickening, the same opacity in 
 the atmosphere of the remote plain that stretched to the
 
 Chap. XXXIII. The Saddest in the Book. 271 
 
 mountain's foot. It was invisible now, the Mount Ventoux, 
 the Mountain of the Winds. 
 
 And as the plain grew dark the Rhone as suddenly whitened. 
 ■It whitened and whitened, nearer and nearer Avignon ; then 
 a dull distant roar became audible, steadily increasing. A 
 violent brief squall shook the villa. What ! so frightened 
 already ? Poor children, it is nothing yet ! 
 
 Over the terrified plain, over the foaming river, comes the 
 Mistral, careering in his strength ! Well for you, walls of 
 Avignon, that you were built for the shocks of battle ! well 
 for thee, most especially, O palace of the transplanted Papacy, 
 that thy fortress-heights were erected less for pleasure than 
 for resistance ! 
 
 Louder and louder, nearer and nearer ! How the trees 
 bend like fishing-rods ! Crash, crash — they break before 
 the tempest. WMiat a clatter against the windows ! It is 
 a volley of pebbles that the Mistral carries with it as a 
 torrent does. Bang, bang — the shutters are torn off their 
 iron hinges and pitched nobody knows where — into the 
 court, on the roof-top, it may be, or into the neighbor's 
 garden ! 
 
 The intensity of the noise made all human voices inau- 
 dible. The Mistral likes to make an uproar — it is his 
 amusement, when he comes to Avignon from his mountain. 
 And he whistles at once in a thousand chimneys, as a boy 
 whistles in two steel keys ; and he makes such a clatter 
 with destroying things, that the most insured house-property 
 leaves no peace to its possessor. But straight in the midst 
 of his path rise the towers of the fortress-palace, and Peter 
 Obreri, its architect, knows in the world of spirits that they 
 resist the Mistral yet. 
 
 But alas for our poor little Alice ! This wind does not 
 suit her at all ; this unceasing, this wearisome wind — this 
 agitating, terrible wind ! She did not fear death before, in 
 the calm serene weather, when it seem.ed that her soul might
 
 272 Wenderholme. Part i. 
 
 rise in the blue ether, and be borne by floating angels. But 
 to go out into the bleak, stern tempest — to leave his encir- 
 cling arms, and be dashed no one knows whither along the 
 desolate, unfamiliar Provence, with twigs, and dead leaves, 
 and pebbles, and that choking cloud of sand ! 
 
 " Forgive me these foolish fancies," she prayed, from the 
 depths of this horror. " My soul knows her way to the havea 
 of thy rest, O Lord, my Guide and my Redeemer 1 "
 
 Chap. XXXIV. Jacob Ogden free again » 273 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 
 JACOB OGDEN FREE AGAIN. 
 
 EARLY in the month of February there came a black- 
 edged letter to Arkwright Lodge, with a French stamp 
 upon it. The letter was from Philip Stanburne, and it an- 
 nounced Alice Stedman's death. 
 
 Two days after the arrival of that letter another letter 
 arrived at Milend for Jacob Ogden. It bore the Whittlecup 
 post-mark, and had an exact outward resemblance to several 
 other letters which had come from the same place, but its 
 contents were of a new character. 
 
 Miss Anison expressed her regret that in consequence of 
 Mr. Jacob Ogden's neglect, of his readiness to postpone his 
 visits on the slightest pretexts, of the rarity and coldness of 
 his letters, she felt compelled, from a due regard to her own 
 happiness, to put an end to the engagement which had existed 
 between them. 
 
 The accusations in this letter were perfectly well founded, 
 though it is quite certain that they would never have been 
 made if Philip Stanburne's communication had been edged 
 with silver instead of black. Margaret Anison had remarked 
 with secret satisfaction that Jacob Ogden's behavior as a 
 lover gave her good reasons for retreating from her engage- 
 ment, whenever she might determine on that decisive step ; 
 but in the mean while she had never reproached him with it, 
 had never appeared aware of it when he did come, but always 
 received him in the same uniformly gracious way, as if he had 
 
 18
 
 2 74 Wenderholme. part i 
 
 been the most assiduous of adorers. She had kept this accu- 
 sation of negligence to be used against him whenever it might 
 be convenient to throw the blame of a rupture upon him; but 
 if she had finally decided to marry him, this and all other 
 faults would have been affectionately overlooked. It had been 
 highly convenient to let him sink deeper and deeper in that 
 sin of negligence, till at last, from mere carelessness and an 
 aversion to all letter-writing that was not upon business, he 
 had actually reached that depth in crime that he no longer 
 observed the common forms of society, and did not even write 
 a line of apology or excuse. Margaret never expected him to 
 be attentive to her as a husband : she intended to spend his 
 money, and, so long as that was forthcoming, cared little 
 about Jacob Ogden's manners. But it was charming to be 
 able to back out of her engagement, now that Alice was dead, 
 and do it in a dignified and honorable manner. For of all 
 sins that a lover can commit, the chief is the sin of neglect ; 
 and in this case any competent and just jury would have pro- 
 nounced the verdict "guilty." 
 
 To this letter Jacob Ogden made no reply. His feelings 
 on receiving it were, first, the most unfeigned astonishment 
 (for he thought he had been very attentive, and that " courtin ' " 
 had absorbed far too much of his time) ; next, a paroxysm of 
 indignation, with a sense of injury ; and then, when this sub- 
 sided, a sense of relief so exquisite, so delicious, and so com- 
 plete, that nobody can have any idea of it unless at some 
 period of his existence a wearing and persistent anxiety has 
 been suddenly removed for ever. The love of Margaret Ani- 
 son had been one of those masterful passions which sometimes 
 force the most prudent men to folly. He had made his offer 
 in the height of his temporary insanity, but after the engage- 
 ment had been entered upon, his old self had gradually 
 returned ; and though he was fully determined to "go through 
 with it," as a business which had to be done, he by no means 
 looked forward to the conjugal state as an improvement upon
 
 Chap. XXXIV. J ac ob Ogdeii free again. 275 
 
 his accustomed life. It was like embarking on an unknown 
 and perilous sea, in utter ignorance of the art of navigation, 
 and that sea might be a sea of troubles. The complex details 
 of married life, its endless little duties, were perplexing to a 
 man whose time and thoughts were already taken up by the 
 government of a heavy business, and the care of an increasing 
 estate. And now to escape from these new and unfamiliar 
 troubles — to remain in the old quiet life at Milend — to have 
 full control over his own expenditure, with no female criticism 
 or interference — to see his fortune growing and growing 
 without sons to establish or daughters to dower, or an ex- 
 pensive houseful of servants to eat the bank-notes in his 
 pocket-book like so many nattering mice, — ah! it was sweet 
 to him to think of this in his innermost and sincerest self ! 
 He had loved his bachelor life well enough before, but he 
 had never felt the full luxury of its independence as he did 
 now ! 
 
 Jacob Ogden enjoyed a privilege highly favorable to hap- 
 piness, but not so favorable to moral or intellectual growth. 
 He lived at peace with himself, and looking back on his life, 
 he approved of its whole course, with the single exception of 
 that hour of folly at Whittlecup. He felt and believed that 
 no man could be wiser or more perfect than he was. When 
 he humbly called his faculties " common-sense," he by no 
 means understood the word as meaning a sense which he had 
 in common with others, but rather a special faculty, to himself 
 vouchsafed by the bounteous gift of nature. He lived in ab- 
 solute independence of the good opinion of others, because 
 his mind was at peace with itself — because he always man- 
 fully did to-day what he was sure to approve to-morrow, 
 or ten years after to-morrow. Am I painting the portrait 
 of a man of pre-eminent virtues ? Not exactly, but of a 
 man who would have been pre-eminently virtuous, or pre- 
 eminently learned, if virtue or knowledge had been his 
 ideal. For he had a manly resolution, a steady unflinching
 
 276 Wender holme. part i. 
 
 determination, to live up to the standard which he fixed for 
 himself. And the inward peace which he enjoyed was due 
 to his obedience to the laws of his own nature, which thus 
 ever remained in harmony with itself in serene strength and 
 efficiency. 
 
 This peace had for a while been lost to him, and he had 
 felt a strange change and diminution in the inward satisfac- 
 tions. His communings with himself had lost their old 
 sweetness, and he no longer masticated the cud of content- 
 ment in the fair pastures of reflection and imagination. To 
 go back to those happy pastures once more — to chew that 
 sweet cud again, after months of privation — what a deep, 
 strengthening, cheering, encouraging, replenishing delight it 
 was ! 
 
 Yet there was one drawback to the plenitude of Ogden's 
 happiness, even though he had escaped the misery of the 
 wedding-day. That new mansion had been begun, he had 
 spent ;^4oo upon it already, and spoilt a pretty meadow, and 
 he had spent some money on presents for Margaret — not 
 very much, for his ideas on the subject of gift-making were 
 not very large ideas, yet still enough to plague and torment 
 him, for the loss of a sovereign would do that. To be jilted 
 did not trouble him much, but to have been cheated into 
 wasting his money ! that thought would not let him rest. It 
 followed and harassed him wherever he went, and it was the 
 cause of the following letter, which was received by Mr. 
 Joseph Anison : — 
 
 " Sir, — I am instructed by my client, Mr. Jacob Ogden, to 
 lay before you the following statement of facts. Your daugh- 
 ter, Miss Margaret Anison, by a letter bearing date , and 
 
 which is in our possession, accepted his proposal of marriage, 
 and promised marriage ; which promise she now, by a letter 
 
 bearing date , refuses to execute. In consequence of 
 
 her promise, and in conformity with her desires, our client has
 
 Chap. XXXIV. J ac ob Ogdeii free again, 277 
 
 been led into considerable expense, especially in the erection 
 of a mansion, of which Miss Anison herself selected the site. 
 The works were immediately stopped when it became known 
 to our client that Miss Anison had determined upon a breach 
 of promise, but a heavy sum had been already expended, 
 which, so far as our client is concerned, is money utterly 
 thrown away. We beg to call your attention to the fact that 
 our client and his mother offered another most commodious 
 and suitable residence to Miss Anison, situated at Milend, 
 and that she declined this, and induced our client to com- 
 mence the erection of a new and costly mansion on a site 
 which he would never have selected for himself. We there- 
 fore claim for our client damages to the amount of one thou- 
 sand pounds (;^i,ooo), and beg to inform you, that unless this 
 sum is paid before the expiration of one calendar month from 
 this date, we shall institute a suit for breach of promise of 
 marriage, and claim damages on that score to a far heavier 
 amount. The present claim, we desire it to be understood, is 
 not made on the ground of breach of promise, but is merely 
 a claim for compensation on account of outlay which our 
 client has been induced to incur. Our client has no desire to 
 push matters to the extremity of a public exposure, but will 
 not shrink from doing so if his present just claim is refused. 
 " I am, sir, your obedient servant, 
 
 "Jonas Hanby." 
 
 "You may decide for yourself, Margaret, said Mr. Anison, 
 " whether you prefer that I should pay this out of your for- 
 tune, or stand an action for breach of promise. It is not 
 usual to bring actions of this sort against women, but Ogden 
 is a most determined fellow, and he doesn't care much for 
 what people may say. He will bring his action if we don't 
 send him a cheque, and I don't think such an action would 
 be very pleasant to you. Considering circumstances, too, 
 especially the building of that new house, I am inclined to
 
 278 Wender holme. Part i. 
 
 think that he would get rather heavy damages, certainly at 
 least as much as he is asking for. Such an action would- 
 make a tremendous noise, and we should be in all the news- 
 papers. We must consider your sisters, too, who wouldn't 
 be much benefited by publicity of this kind. In short, my 
 advice is to send the cheque." 
 
 The cheque was accordingly sent to Mr. Hanby, and duly 
 acknowledged. The presents had been returned a few days 
 before. These last had been purchased of a jeweller in St. 
 Ann's Square, Manchester, who took them back in exchange 
 for an excellent gentleman's watch and a big cameo brooch. 
 The watch went into Jacob Ogden's own fob, and the brooch 
 adorned his already sufficiently ornamented mother. All 
 things considered, Jacob Ogden now felt that he could look 
 back upon the whole business with a mind at ease. He had 
 done his duty by himself. After deducting the outlay on the 
 house, and the outlay necessary for restoring the field to its 
 pristine verdure, he found that there remained to him a clear 
 surplus of four hundred and fifteen pounds seven shillings and 
 twopence, which he entered in the column of profits. *' It 's 
 been rather a good business for once, has this courtin', " said 
 Jacob to himself ; " but it 's devilish risky, and there 's no- 
 body '11 catch me at it again. If she 'd nobbut stuck to me, 
 she 'd 'ave wenly ruined me." 
 
 So, when the walls of the mansion that was to have been 
 were levelled with the ground, and the foundations buried 
 under the earth that they might be no more seen, Jacob Ogden 
 buried with them the thought and idea of marriage ; and the 
 grass grew on the field that had been so torn, and cut, and 
 burdened, and disturbed by the masons and laborers who had 
 been there. 
 
 As the field grew level and green again just as it used to 
 be, so flourished the mind of Jacob Ogden in serene and 
 productive life. But as beneath the field — beneath the waving 
 of the rich grass — there still lay the plan of the house that
 
 Chap. XXXIV. J ac ob Ogaen free again. 279 
 
 was to have been, traced out in stony foundations, so in the 
 mind of its owner there lay hidden a stony memory of the 
 plans of this strange year ; and though the surface was per- 
 fectly restored, there were hard places under his happiness 
 thf.t had not been there before.
 
 28o WeiiderJiolme. Part l 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 LITTLE JACOB'S EDUCATION. 
 
 THE rupture between Jacob Ogden and Miss Anison 
 had an immediate effect upon the fortunes of a young 
 friend of ours, who has for a long time been very much in 
 the background. Little Jacob began to occupy a larger and 
 larger place in his uncle's thoughts. For, though Uncle 
 Jacob had formerly always intended, in a general way, to 
 remain a bachelor, this had been nothing more than a sort 
 of intellectual preference for bachelorhood, deduced from his 
 general views of life, and especially from his dominant anx- 
 iety to make a fortune. But his objections to matrimony 
 were no longer of this mild kind. Like a wild animal that 
 has once felt the noose of the trapper round its neck, and 
 yet succeeded in freeing itself, he had conceived a horror of 
 the snare which was incomparably more active and intense 
 than the vague alarms of the inexperienced. His former 
 ideas about marriage had been purely negative. He had no 
 intention to marry, and there was the end of his reflections 
 on the matter. But now his preference for celibacy had 
 taken the shape of a passionate and unalterable resolution. 
 
 The increase of his fortune, which might henceforth be 
 surely relied on, led him to think a good deal about the 
 little boy at Twistle Farm, who was most probably destined 
 to inherit it ; and he determined to use a legitimate influence 
 over his brother Isaac, so that little Jacob might be educated 
 in a manner suitable to his future position. 
 
 We have said that Jacob Ogden was perfectly satisfied
 
 Chap. XXXV. Little yacoU s Education. 281 
 
 with himself, and that knowledge was not his ideal. But 
 although this is true, his views were really larger than the 
 reader may have hitherto suspected. He considered himself 
 perfect in his place ; but as little Jacob would probably have 
 a very different place in the world, he would need different 
 perfections. The qualities needed for making a large fortune 
 were, in Jacob Ogden's view, the finest qualities that a human 
 being can possess, and he knew that he possessed them ; but 
 then there were certain ornaments and accomplishments 
 which were necessary to a rich gentleman, and which the 
 manufacturer had not had time to acquire. He was not 
 foolish enough to torment himself with regrets that he did 
 not know Latin and Greek ; he had none of the silly humil- 
 ities of weak minds that are perpetually regretting their 
 " deficiencies." Whatever it was necessary for his main pur- 
 pose that he should know, he always resolutely set himself 
 to learn, and, by strenuous application, mastered ; what was 
 unnecessary for his purpose, he remained contentedly ignorant 
 about. The customary pedantries of the world, its shallow 
 pretension to scholarship, never humiliated him. He sus- 
 pected, perhaps, that genuine classical acquirement was much 
 rarer than the varnish of pseudo-scholarship, and he had not 
 that deferential faith in gentlemen's Latin and Greek which 
 is sometimes found in the uneducated. But, on the other 
 hand, as he had learned every thing that was necessary to 
 a plodding Shayton cotton-spinner, so he was determined 
 that little Jacob should learn every thing necessary to a 
 perfect English gentleman. He had not read the sentence 
 of Emerson, " We like to see every thing do its office after 
 its kind, whether it be a milk-cow or a rattlesnake \ " but the 
 sentiment in it was his own. His strong sense perceived 
 that so long as men hold different situations in the world, 
 their preparatory' training must be different ; and that, as a 
 young pigeon must learn to fly, and a young terrier to catch 
 rats, so the youthful heir of a splendid fortune, and the boy
 
 282 WcTiderholme. Part i. 
 
 who has his fortune to make, ought to receive respectively 
 a celestial and a terrestrial training. 
 
 For Jacob Ogden, himself a terrestrial, knew that there 
 was a heaven above him — the heaven of aristocracy! There 
 dwelt superior beings, in golden houses, like gods together, 
 far above the ill-used race of men that cleave the soil and 
 store their yearly dues. There is something ludicrous, if it 
 were not pathetic and painful, in the self-abasement of a man 
 so strong and resolute as Ogden before a heaven whose saints 
 and angels were only titled ladies and gentlemen, mainly 
 occupied in amusing themselves ; but to him it was the 
 World of the Ideal. And this religion had one great advan- 
 tage — it kept him a little humbler than he ever would have 
 been without it. Great was the successful cotton-spinner in 
 his eyes, but there were beings cast by nature in a nobler 
 mould. For Jacob Ogden actually believed, in all sincerity 
 and simplicity, that there was the same natural difference 
 between a loid and a plebeian that there is between a thor- 
 ough-bred and a cart-horse. This superstition, though founded 
 on a dim sense of the natural differences which do exist, erred 
 in making them the obedient servants of the artificial differ- 
 ences. There are, no doubt, thorough-breds and cart-horses 
 amongst mankind, and the popular phraseology would imply 
 that there are also asses ; but these natural differences seem 
 to be independent of title altogether, and dependent even 
 upon fortune only so far as it may help or hinder their 
 development. The superstition that lords, quA lords, are 
 wiser, and better, and braver, and more respectable than 
 other people, was more prevalent in Shayton than it is in 
 places where lords are more frequently seen. 
 
 Now, with this deeply rooted Anglican superstition about 
 the heaven of aristocracy and the angels that dwell therein. 
 Uncle Jacob naturally desired that his nephew should be 
 qualified for admission there. And he had a devout belief 
 that the states of probation for a young soul aspiring to
 
 Chap. XXXV. Little Jacob's Education. 283 
 
 celestial bliss were terms of residence at Eton and at 
 Oxford. 
 
 Little Jacob had continued his custom of staying at Milend 
 every Sunday, that he might benefit by the services of our 
 friend Mr. Prigley in the pew at Shayton Church. Isaac 
 Ogden, though he had come to church three Sundays in 
 succession after the recovery of little Jacob, and had at- 
 tended divine service regularly as an officer of militia (being 
 in that character compulsible thereunto by martial law), had, 
 I regret to say, relapsed into his old habits of negligence at 
 Twistle Farm, and spent the Sunday there in following his 
 own devices. It must be admitted, however, that he did 
 little harm, on that day or any other, to himself or any- 
 body else. He remained religiously faithful to his vow of 
 total abstinence, and spent several hours every day in giving 
 a sound elementary education to his son. 
 
 " I '11 tell you what it is, Isaac," said Uncle Jacob one day 
 when his elder brother had come on one of his rare visits to 
 Milend — "I'll tell you what it is; if you'll just let me 
 have my own way about th' eddication o' th' young un, I '11 
 leave him all my brass, and, what 's more, I don't mind payin' 
 for his schoolin' beside. I want nowt nobbut what 's reet, 
 but I '11 make sich a gentleman on him as there isn't i' o 
 Shayton nor i' o Manchester nother. And to start wi', I 
 reckon nowt of his stoppin' up at Twistle Farm same as he 
 is doin' an' idlin' away auve* his time. Let him live at 
 Milend regular for a twelvemonth, and go to Prigley six hour 
 every day, and then send him to Eton — that 's where gentle- 
 folk sends their lads to. And afther that, we '11 send him to 
 Hoxford College." 
 
 • Half.
 
 284 Wenderholme. Part i 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 A SHORT CORRESPONDENCE. 
 
 NO sooner had Mr. Prigley got into the full swing of work 
 with his young pupil, than he received a letter from our 
 friend Colonel Stanburne of VVenderholme : — 
 
 "My dear Mr. Prigley, — It would give me great pleas- 
 ure, and be of great use to me besides, if you could come over 
 here and stay with me for a fortnight or three weeks. We got 
 the house covered in just before the winter, and the works 
 have been going forward since in some parts of the interior, 
 but there are some points about internal fittings, especially 
 in the principal rooms, that I and my architect don't agree 
 about. Now, what I most want is, the advice of a competent 
 unprofessional friend ; and as I know that you have studied 
 architecture much more deeply than I have ever done myself, 
 I look to you to help me. It will probably be a long time 
 before the house is finished, but now is the time to decide 
 about the interior arrangements. Helena is at Lord Adi- 
 sham's, and so I am left alone with the architect. I wish you 
 would come. He seems to want me to adopt a different style 
 for the finishing of the interior to that which was generally 
 prevalent when Wenderholme was built. Now my notion is 
 (^puisque Toccasioti se presente) to make the place as homoge- 
 neous as possible. 
 
 " Do come. You will stay here at the Cottage. I am living 
 with my mother. 
 
 " Very faithfully yours, John Stanburne."
 
 Chap. XXXVI. A SJiort Corresponde7ice. 285 
 
 To this letter, which offered to Mr. Prigley's mind the most 
 tempting of all possible baits, for he dearly loved to dabble in 
 architecture and restorations, the reverend gentleman, being 
 bound by his engagement with the Ogdens, could only regret- 
 fully answer : — 
 
 " My dear Colonel Stanburne, — I should have accepted 
 your kind invitation with the greatest pleasure, and the more 
 so that I take a deep interest in the restoration of your noble 
 old mansion, but unfortunately I have a private pupil whom I 
 cannot leave. It is young Jacob Ogden, whose father is one 
 of your militia officers. 
 
 " Yours most truly, E. Prigley." 
 
 But by return of post Mr. Prigley got the following short 
 reply : — 
 
 " My dear Mr. Prigley, — The best solution of the diffi- 
 culty will be, to bring little Jacob with you. I know little 
 Jacob very well, and he knows me. Give my compliments to 
 his father if you have to ask his permission, and tell him we 
 will take good care of his little boy. 
 
 " Yours very faithfully, J. Stanburne." 
 
 So the end of it was, that little Jacob found himself sud- 
 denly removed to Wenderholme Cottage, where old Mrs. 
 Stanburne lived. The change was highly agreeable to him — 
 not the less agreeable that the companion of his leisure hours 
 was the beautiful little Edith.
 
 286 VVefider holme. Part l 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 AT WENDERHOLME COTTAGE. 
 
 WENDERHOLME Cottage was in fact a very com- 
 fortable and commodious house. Its claims to the 
 humble title which it bore, were, first, that its front was all 
 gables, with projecting roofs, and carved or traceried barge- 
 boards ; and, secondly, that its rooms were small. But if they 
 were small they were numerous ; and when it pleased Mrs. 
 Stanburne to receive visitors — and it often pleased that hos- 
 pitable lady so to do — it was astonishing how many people 
 the Cottage could be made to hold. 
 
 A little kindness soon wins the afifections of a child, and 
 little Jacob had not been more than three or four days at 
 Wenderholme before he began to be very fond of Mrs. Stan- 
 burne. Hers was just the sort of influence which is necessary 
 to a young gentleman at that age — the influence of a woman 
 of experience, who is at the same time a high-bred gentle- 
 woman. No doubt his old grandmother loved little Jacob 
 more than any thing else in the world ; but she was narrow- 
 minded, and despotic, and vulgar in all her ways. Mrs. 
 Ogden, too, had moments of caprice and violence, in which 
 she was dangerous to oppose, and difficult to pacify ; in short, 
 she was one of those persons, too common in her class, of 
 whom Matthew Arnold says that they are deficient in sweet- 
 ness and light. The steady unfailing goodness of Mrs. Stan- 
 burne, her uniformly gentle manners, her open intelligent 
 sympathy, produced on her young guest an effect made ten 
 times more powerful by all his early associations. It was like
 
 Chap. XXXVII. At Wendevholme Cottage. 287 
 
 coming out of a chamber where every thing was rough and 
 uncouth, into a pleasant drawing-room, full of light and ele- 
 gance, where there are flowers, and music, and books. Such 
 a change would not be agreeable to every one : whether it 
 would be agreeable or not depends upon the instinctive 
 preferences. Ladies like Mrs. Stanburne do not put every- 
 body at his ease, and it proves much in little Jacob's favor 
 that he felt happy in her presence. As Jacob Ogden, the 
 elder, had been formed by nature for the rude contest with 
 reluctant fortune, so his nephew had been created for the re- 
 finements of an attained civilization. Therefore, henceforth, 
 though he still loved his grandmother, both from gratitude 
 and habit, his young mind saw clearly that neither her pre- 
 cepts nor her example were to be accepted as authoritative, 
 and he looked up to Mrs. Stanburne as his preceptress. 
 
 Little Jacob's healthy honest face and simple manners 
 recommended him to the good lady from the first, and he 
 had not been a week under her roof before she took a kind 
 interest in every thing concerning him. The mere facts that 
 he had no mother, no sister, no brother, and that he had 
 lived alone with his father in such a place as Twistle Farm, 
 were of themselves enough to attract attention and awaken 
 curiosity ; but the story of his arrival at Wenderholme in the 
 preceding winter was also known to her, and she knew 
 how unendurably miserable his lonely home had been. Mrs. 
 Stanburne talked a good deal with Mr. Prigley about the 
 boy, and learned with pleasure his father's wonderful and 
 (as now might be hoped) permanent reformation. 
 
 " He does not seem to have neglected the little boy," she 
 said ; " he reads very well. I asked him to read aloud to 
 me yesterday, and was surprised to hear how well he read — 
 I mean, quite as if he understood it, and not in the sing-song 
 way children often acquire." 
 
 " He 's ten years old now, and he ought to read well," 
 replied Mr. Prigley ; " but he knows a great deal for a boy
 
 288 WenderJiolme. Part i. 
 
 of his age. It 's high time to send him to school, though ; 
 it 's too lonely for him at the farm I am preparing him 
 for Eton." 
 
 Mrs. Stanburne expressed some surprise at this. " Boys 
 in his rank in life don't often go to Eton, do they, Mr. 
 Prigley ? " 
 
 The clergyman smiled as he answered that little Jacob's 
 rank in life was not yet definitively settled. Mrs. Stanburne 
 replied that she thought it was, since his father was a retired 
 tradesman. 
 
 " Yes, but his uncle, Mr. Jacob Ogden of Milend, has not 
 left business ; indeed he is greatly extending his business 
 just now, for he has built an immense new factory. And this 
 little boy is to be his heir — his uncle told me so himself 
 three weeks since. This child will be a rich man — nobody 
 can tell how rich. His uncle wishes him to be educated as 
 a gentleman." 
 
 It is a great recommendation to a little boy to be heir to 
 a large fortune, and Mrs. Stanburne's natural liking for little 
 Jacob was by no means diminished by a knowledge of that 
 fact. As he was going to Eton, too, she began to look upon 
 him as already in her own rank of life, where boys were sent 
 to Eton, and inherited extensive estates. 
 
 During Mr. Prigley's frequent absences with Colonel Stan- 
 burne at the Hall, Mrs. Stanburne undertook to hear little 
 Jacob his lessons, and then the idea struck her that Jacob 
 and Edith might both write together from her dictation. In 
 this way the boy and the girl became class-fellows. Edith 
 had a governess usually, but Uie governess had gone to visit 
 her relations, and Miss Edith's education was for the present 
 under the superintendence of her grandmamma. 
 
 So between these two children an intimacy rapidly estab- 
 lished itself — an intimacy which affected the course of their 
 whole lives. 
 
 One day when they had been left alone together in the
 
 Chap. XXXVI I. At Wenderholme Cottage. 289 
 
 drawing-room, little Jacob asked the young lady some ques- 
 tion, and he began by calling her " Miss Edith." 
 
 " Miss Edith ! " said she, pouting ; " why do you call me 
 Miss ? The servants may call me Miss, but you mayn't. 
 We 're school-fellows now, and you must call me Edith. 
 And I shall call you Jacob. Why haven't you got a prettier 
 name for me to call you by.'' Jacob isn't pretty at all. 
 Haven't you another name ? " 
 
 Poor little Jacob was obliged to confess his poverty in 
 names. He had but one, and that one uncouth and unac- 
 ceptable ! 
 
 " Only one name. Why, you funny little boy, only to have 
 one name ! I 've got four. I 'm called Edith Maud Charlotte 
 Elizabeth. But I '11 tell you what I 'II do. As I 've got four 
 names and you 've only one, I '11 give you one of mine. I 
 can't call you Charlotte, you know, because you 're not a 
 girl ; but I can call you Charley, and I always will do. So 
 now I begin. Charley, come here 1 " 
 
 Little Jacob approached obediently. 
 
 " Ha, ha ! he answers to his new name already! " she cried 
 in delight, clapping her hands. " What a clever little boy he 
 is ! He 's a deal cleverer than the pony was when we changed 
 its name ! But then, to be sure, the pony never properly 
 knew its first name either." 
 
 Suddenly she became grave, and put her fingers on the 
 young gentleman's arm. " Charley," she said, " this must 
 be a secret between us two, because if grandmamma found 
 out, she might be angry with me, you know. But you like to 
 be called Charley, don't you ? isn't it nice ? '' 
 
 19
 
 290 Wenderholme. part 1. 
 
 T 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 ARTISTIC INTOXICATION. 
 
 HE London architect who was charged with the restora- 
 tion of Wenderholme gave advice which could not be 
 followed without a heavy outlay ; but in this respect he was 
 surpassed by Colonel Stanburne's amateur adviser, Mr. Prig- 
 ley, whose imagination revelled in the splendors of an ideal 
 Elizabethan interior, full of carving and tapestry, and all 
 manner of barbaric magnificence. Where the architect would 
 have been content with paper, Mr. Prigley insisted upon 
 wainscot; and where the architect admitted plain panelling, 
 the clergyman would have it carved in fanciful little arches, 
 or imitations of folded napkins, or shields of arms, or large 
 medallion portraits of the kings of England, or bas-reliefs 
 of history or the chase. 
 
 Only consider what Mr. Prigley's tastes and circumstances 
 had been, and what a painful contradiction had ever subsisted 
 between them! He had an intense passion for art — not for 
 painting or sculpture in their independent form, for of these 
 he knew little — but Mr. Prigley loved architecture mainly, 
 and then all the other arts as they could help the effect of 
 architecture. With these tastes he lived in a degree of pov- 
 erty which utterly forbade any practical realization of them, 
 and surrounded by buildings of which it is enough to say 
 that they represented the taste of the inhabitants of Shay- 
 ton. The ugliest towns in the world are English towns — 
 the ugliest towns in England are in the manufacturing dis- 
 trict — the ugliest town in the manufacturing district was the
 
 Chap, xxxviii. A 1'tistic Intoxication. 291 
 
 one consigned to Mr. Prigley's spiritual care. Here his 
 artistic tastes dwelt in a state of suppression, like Jack-in- 
 the-box. Colonel Stanburne had imprudently unfastened the 
 lid ; it flew open, and Jack sprang up with a suddenness and 
 an energy that was positively startling and alarming. 
 
 The fact is, Mr. Prigley lived in a condition of intoxication 
 during the whole time of his stay at Wenderholme Cottage — • 
 an intoxication just as real as that which he denounced in 
 Seth Schofield and Jerry Smethurst, and the other patrons of 
 the Red Lion. A man may get tipsy on other things than 
 ale or brandy; and it may be doubted whether any tipsiness 
 is more complete, or more enjoyable whilst it lasts, than that 
 which attends the realization of our ideas and the gratifica- 
 tion of our tastes. And it has been kindly ordained that 
 when we are not rich enough to realize our ideas for our- 
 selves, we take nearly as much interest in seeing them real- 
 ized by somebody else ; so that critics who could not afford 
 to build a laborer's cottage, get impassioned about Prince 
 Albert's monument or the future Palace of Justice. How 
 much the more, then, should Mr. Prigley excite himself about 
 Wenderholme, especially seeing that Colonel Stanburne had 
 done him the honor to consult his judgment, and expressed 
 the desire to benefit by his extensive knowledge, his cultivated 
 taste ! Was it not a positive duty to interest himself in the 
 matter, and to give the best advice he could ? It was a duty, 
 and it was a pleasure. 
 
 Mr. Prigley had already half decided the Colonel, when a 
 powerful ally came unexpectedly to his assistance. One 
 morning at breakfast-time, when the Colonel read his letters, 
 he said to Mrs. Stanburne, " Here 's a letter from an acquaint- 
 ance of ours who wants to come and stay here," and he 
 handed her the following note : — 
 
 *& 
 
 "My dear Colonel Stanburne, — Since I had the 
 pleasure of seeing you at Wenderholme, I liave often thought
 
 29-2 JVender holme Part i. 
 
 about what you are doing there. Having had a good deal of 
 experience with architects, restorations, &c., it has occurred 
 to me that I might be of some use. Would you present my 
 compliments to Mrs. Stanburne, and say that if it occasioned 
 no inconvenience to her, I should very much like to spend a 
 few days at Wenderholme Cottage ? I would bring nobody 
 with me except Thompson, my valet ; and though our ac- 
 quaintance is comparatively a recent one, I presume upon it 
 so far as to hope that you will not allow my visit to make any 
 difference — I mean, in asking people to meet me. I should 
 like, on the contrary, to have you all to myself, so that we 
 may talk about the restoration of Wenderholme in detail : it 
 interests me greatly. With kind compliments to Mrs. Stan- 
 burne, 
 
 "Yours very truly, Ingleborough." 
 
 " Well, dear," said Mrs. Stanburne, when she had read 
 the note, " the Duke must come, of course. I like him very 
 much — he is a very agreeable man. We needn't make any 
 fuss." 
 
 So the Duke came ; and as Colonel Stanburne had insisted 
 that Mr. Prigley should stay to meet him, he and little Jacob 
 prolonged their visit at the Cottage. " I look upon you, Mr. 
 Prigley, as a necessary shield for my ignorance. Whenever 
 you see that the Duke is puzzling me, you must divert the 
 attack by drawing it on yourself. You 're a match for him — 
 you know all the technical terms." 
 
 His Grace brought with him a heavy box of books, such as 
 made Mr. Prigley's mouth water, and several portfolios of 
 original designs for carvings, which had been executed for an 
 old mansion of his own, contemporary with Wenderholme. 
 He warmly supported Mr. Prigley's views ; and in the long 
 conversations which the three held together in the evenings, 
 whilst the Colonel consumed his habitual allowance of to- 
 bacco, the books and portfolios were triumplianlly appealed to,
 
 Chap. XXXVIII. Artistic Intoxication. 293 
 
 and it was proved in a conclusive manner that this thing ought 
 to be done, and that this other thing was absolutely indispen- 
 sable, till poor John Stanburne hardly knew what to think. 
 
 "It is an opportunity," said the Duke — "an opportunity 
 such as, we hope, may never occur again ; and it rests with 
 you, Colonel Stanburne, whether your noble old mansion is to 
 be restored, in the genuine sense of the word, so that it may 
 have once again the perfect character of an Elizabethan house 
 of the best class — or whether it is to be simply repaired so as 
 to shelter you from the weather, like any other house in the 
 neighborhood. You will never repent a liberal expenditure 
 at the right moment. I say, be liberal now ; it is an expense 
 which will not occur twice, either in your lifetime or in that 
 of your descendants for many generations. What are a few 
 thousand pounds more or less in a matter of such impor- 
 tance ? Make Wenderholme a perfect mansion of its kind. 
 Restore all the wainscot, and tapestry, and glass ; replace all 
 the carved furniture that must have been there in Queen 
 Elizabeth's time " — 
 
 " Thanks to Eureton's good management the night of the 
 fire, all our furniture is safe." 
 
 The Duke made a little gesture of impatience. " Captain 
 Eureton," he said, " did his duty most creditably on the night 
 of the fire ; but as the fire originated in the garrets, where all 
 the old remnants were accumulated, the consequence was, 
 that the most precious things in the house were destroyed, 
 and the less precious were preserved." 
 
 " A good deal more useful, though, Duke, if less precious 
 in the eyes of an antiquary." 
 
 " Useful ? Yes, that is what makes them so dangerous. 
 People admit incongruous things into their houses on the 
 wretched pretext of utility. Do you know, in my opinion, it 
 is a subject of regret that the furniture was saved that night ? " 
 
 " You worked very hard yourself in saving it." 
 
 "Of course, it was my duty to take my share of the work ;
 
 2*94 Wenderholme. Part i 
 
 but circumstances will sometimes place us in such a position 
 that duty compels us to act against what we believe to be the 
 general interest of mankind. For instance, suppose I were 
 out at sea in my yacht, and that I met with a boatful of Re- 
 publicans, such as Mazzini, Garibaldi, Louis Blanc, and Ledru 
 RoUin, all so hungry that they were just going to eat each 
 other up, and so thirsty that they were just going to drink 
 salt water and go raving mad, it would be my duty to pick 
 up the rascals, and give them food, and land them on some 
 hospitable shore, and I should do so because to save men 
 from death is an elementary duty ; but I should be rendering 
 a far better service to mankind in letting the fellows eat each 
 other, instead of assassinating their betters, and go raving 
 mad out at sea rather than disseminate insane doctrines on 
 the land." 
 
 The Colonel could not help laughing at this sally. " Do you 
 mean to compare my furniture with a set of Republicans?" 
 
 " What Radicals and Republicans are in an ancient state, 
 common-place and ignoble furniture is in a fine old mansion ; 
 and your old remnants in the lumber-room were like men of 
 refined education and ancient descent, who have been thrust 
 out of their natural place in society to make room for vulgar 
 parvenus." 
 
 " Well, but what on earth would you have me do with my 
 furniture } " 
 
 " There are many ways of getting it out of Wenderholme. 
 Why not furnish some other house with it? Why don't you 
 have a house in London ? you ought to have a house in Lon- 
 don. The furniture here is quite appropriate in a modern 
 house, though it is incongruous in an old one. Or if you had 
 a modern house anywhere, no matter where, you might fur- 
 nish it with that furniture, and then Wenderholme would be 
 free to receive things suitable for it." 
 
 Amongst other books that the Duke had brought with him 
 was VioUet-le-Duc's valuable and comprehensive " Dictionnaire
 
 CHA.P. XXXVIII. Artistic Intoxication. 295 
 
 du Mobilier ; " and the three gentlemen were soon as deep 
 in the study of chairs and bahuts as they had before been in 
 that of wainscots and stained glass. Colonel Stanburne was 
 not by nature an enthusiast in matters of this kind, and would 
 have lived calmly all his life amidst the incongruities of the 
 Wenderholme of his youth ; but nobody knows, until he has 
 been exposed to infection, whether he may not catch some 
 enthusiasm from others which never would have originated in 
 himself. From the very beginning of his stay, Mr. Prigley 
 had begun to indoctrinate John Stanburne in these matters ; 
 and after the arrival of the Duke's richly illustrated volumes, 
 the pupil's progress had been remarkable for its rapidity. He 
 now felt thoroughly persuaded that it would be wrong to miss 
 such a rare opportunity, and that economy at such a moment 
 would be unworthy of the owner of Wenderholme. He had 
 a large sum of money in the Funds, entirely under his own 
 control, and he resolved to appropriate a portion of this to 
 the restoration of the mansion, in accordance with the advice 
 of the Duke and Mr. Prigley. 
 
 One day at lunch, his Grace was lamenting the loss of the 
 old carvings in the lumber-room, when little Jacob, who dined 
 when his elders lunched, and was usually a model of good 
 behavior, in that he observed a Trappistine silence during 
 the repast, rather astonished the company by saying, " Please, 
 I know where there 's plenty of old oak." 
 
 The gentlemen took this for one of those remarks, usually 
 so little to the point, which children are in the habit of 
 making. Mrs. Stanburne kindly answered by inquiring 
 " whether there was much old oak at Twistle Farm ? " 
 
 " Oh no, I don't mean at papa's — I mean here," replied lit- 
 tle Jacob, with great vivacity. John Stanburne said, " There 
 used to be plenty, my boy, but it was all burnt in the fire." 
 
 " I don't mean that ; I never saw that. I mean, what I 
 have seen since I have been here this time, — real old oak. 
 all carved with lions and tigers — at least, I believe they are
 
 296 WenderJiolme. Pakt i. 
 
 lions and tigers — and pigs and wolves, too, and all sorts of 
 birds and things." 
 
 There was not an atom of old oak in Wenderholme Cot- 
 tage, and there was not an atom of furniture of any kind in 
 Wenderholme Hall. What could the child mean ? Had he 
 been dreaming? 
 
 Everybody's attention was drawn to little Jacob, who, be- 
 coming very red and excited, reiterated his assertion with 
 considerable boldness and emphasis. When called upon for 
 an explanation, he said that when he had been playing in the 
 great barn, amongst the hay, he had got into a long low garret 
 over the pigsties and the hen-houses, and that it was full of 
 old oak — " quite full of it," he reiterated. 
 
 Mrs. Stanburne's face assumed an expression of thought 
 and reflection, as if she were seeking inwardly for something 
 imperfectly remembered. 
 
 " It strikes me," she said, " that when my husband's father 
 modernized the house, he must have put part of the old things 
 into other lumber-rooms than those at the top of the house 
 itself. There are places amongst the out-buildings which have 
 not been opened for many years, and I believe we should find 
 something there." 
 
 The Duke became eager with anticipation. " The merest 
 fragments of the original furniture would be precious, Mrs. 
 Stanburne. If we only had some specimens, as data, the rest 
 might be reconstructed in the same taste. Let us go and look 
 up whatever may remain. This little boy will be our guide." 
 
 Little Jacob, proud and excited, led the way to the great 
 barn. It was fun to him to make the gentlemen follow him 
 up the ladder, and over the hay, to a little narrow doorway 
 that was about three feet above the hay-level. " That 's the 
 door," he said, and began to climb up the rough wall. He 
 pushed it open by using all his force in frequent shoulder- 
 thrusts, the rusty hinges gradually yielding. The adult ex- 
 plorers followed, and found themselves in total darkness.
 
 Chap. XXXVIII. Artistic hi toxic atioit. 297 
 
 " The old oak isn't here," said little Jacob ; " it 's a good 
 bit further on." 
 
 The garret they were in served as a lumber-room for dis- 
 used agricultural implements, and both the Duke and Mr. 
 Prigley hurt their shins against those awkward obstacles. At 
 last they came to a blank wall, and then to what seemed to be 
 a sort of cupboard, so far as they could guess by touching. 
 
 Behind the cupboard was a small space, into which little 
 Jacob insinuated himself, and afterwards cheerfully sang out, 
 " I 'm all right ; here 's the place ! " 
 
 The gentlemen pushed the cupboard back a foot or two, 
 and found the doorway behind it by which their guide had 
 passed. They were in a long, low attic, very dimly lighted by 
 a little hole in the wall at its remote extremity. It was full 
 of obstacles, which the Duke's touch recognized at once as 
 carved oak. 
 
 " We ought to have had lanterns," he said ; " how tantaliz- 
 ing it is not to be able to see ! " 
 
 '* I would rather have a few slates taken off," John Stan- 
 burne answered ; " that will make us a fine sky-light. I have 
 a dread of fire." 
 
 Little Jacob was sent to fetch two or three men, who in 
 half an hour had removed slates enough to throw full day- 
 light on the scene — such daylight as had not penetrated 
 there for many a long year. The old furniture of Wender- 
 holme, gray, almost white, with age, filled the place from end 
 to end in one continuous heap. 
 
 " But this is all white," said litde Jacob, " and old oak 
 ought to be brown, oughtn't it ? " 
 
 " A little linseed-oil will restore the color," the Duke re- 
 plied. Then he exclaimed, " By Jove ! Colonel, we have 
 found a treasure — we have indeed ! Let us get every thing 
 out into the yard, and then we can examine the things in detail." 
 
 The whole of the afternoon was spent in getting the old 
 oak out. The gentlemen worked with the laborers, the Duke
 
 298 Wender holme. Part i 
 
 himself as energetically as any one. His great anxiety was 
 to prevent injury to the carvings, which were very picturesque 
 and elaborate. When the things were all out of doors, and 
 the garret finally cleared, it was astonishing what a display 
 (hey made. There were six cabinets, of which four had their 
 entablatures supported by massive griffins or lions, and their 
 panels inlaid with ebony and satin-wood, or carved with bas- 
 reliefs, which, though certainly far from accurate in point of 
 design, produced a very rich effect ; whilst even the plainest 
 of the cabinets were interesting for some curious specimen of 
 turner's work or tracery. Then there were portions of three 
 or four state beds, with niassive deeply panelled testers and 
 huge columns, constructed with that disdain for mechanical 
 necessity, and that emphatic preference of the picturesque, 
 which marked the taste of the Elizabethan age. Thus, a 
 single bed-post would in one place be scarcely thicker than a 
 man's wrist, and in another thicker than his body; the weight 
 of the whole being enormously out of proportion to its 
 strength. There were a number of chairs of various pat- 
 terns, but which agreed in uniting weight with fragility, and 
 stateliness with discomfort. There were also innumerable 
 fragments, difficult at first sight to classify, but amongst which 
 might be recognized the legs of tables (constructed on the 
 same principle as the bed-posts), and pieces that had been 
 detached from chairs, and cabinets, and beds. In addition to 
 all these things, there were quantities of old wainscot, some 
 of it carved, or inlaid with various woods. 
 
 The men had come to the wainscot at last, for it was 
 reared against the walls of the garret behind the barricade 
 of furniture. As they were removing it, there was a crashing 
 of broken glass. A piece of tliis glass was brought to the 
 light, and it was found to be stained with the arms of the 
 Stanburnes (or, a bend cottised sa.), simple old bearings like 
 those of most ancient untitled houses. On this other frag- 
 ments were carefully collected, and they all bore the arms of
 
 Chap. XXXVIII. ArtisHc Intoxication. 299 
 
 Stanburne impaled with those of families with which the 
 Colonel's ancestors had intermarried. Mr. Prigley, who was 
 rather strong in heraldry, and knew the genealogy of his 
 wife's family and all its alliances much better than did John 
 Stanburne himself, recognized the martlets of Tempest, the 
 red lion of Mallory, the green lion of Sherburne, the black 
 lion of Stapleton, the chevron and cinquefoils of Falkingham, 
 the golden lozenges of Plumpton, charged with red scallop- 
 shells, in fess on a field of azure. " This has been a great 
 heraldic window, commemorating the alliances of the family ! " 
 cried Mr. Prigley, in ecstasy. " It must be restored, Colonel," 
 said the Duke, " and brought down to the present time — 
 down to you and Lady Helena." 
 
 Soon afterwards another discovery was due to the restless 
 curiosity and boyish activity of little Jacob. He had found 
 means to open one of the biggest of the cabinets, and had 
 hauled out what seemed to him an old piece of carpet folded 
 in many folds. He ran to inform the Duke of his discovery ; ^ 
 but his Grace, eagerly unfolding the supposed piece of carpet, 
 displayed a rich field of 
 
 " Arras green and blue, 
 Showing a gaudy summer morn, 
 Where with puffed cheek the belted hunter blew 
 His wreathed bugle-horn." 
 
 Other pieces of tapestry followed, and the heaviest of the 
 cabiuets was found to be nearly full of them. They con- 
 sisted almost exclusively of hunting scenes and pastorals, 
 with landscapes and foliage, which, though seldom approach- 
 ing correctness as a representation of nature, must have 
 produced, nevertheless, a superbly decorative effect when 
 hung in the halls of Wenderholme. 
 
 The Duke had said very little for nearly an hour, except in 
 ordering the men to arrange the furniture in groups. When 
 this had been accomplished to his satisfaction, he turned to 
 the Colonel, and made him the following little speech: —
 
 300 Wende7'holme, Part i. 
 
 " Colonel Stanburne, I congratulate you upon a discovery 
 which would be interesting to any intelligent person, but is 
 so most especially to the representative of the Stanburnes. 
 Here are specimens of the furniture used by your ancestors 
 from the reign of Henry VH, to that of James I. We have 
 here ample data for the complete restoration of Wender- 
 holme, even in the details of wainscot and tapestry and 
 glass. The minutest fragments in these heaps are valuable 
 beyond price. It is getting late now, but to-morrow I will 
 go through every bit of it and ticket every thing, and when 
 I leave I will send you workmen capable of doing every 
 thing that ought to be done." 
 
 Here little Jacob whispered to Mr. Prigley, " It was I 
 that found it out, wasn't it, Mr. Prigley?" to which piece of 
 self-assertion his tutor replied by the repressive monosyllable 
 " Hush ! " 
 
 But his Grace had overheard both of them, and said, 
 " Indeed we are very much obliged to you, my little boy — 
 very much obliged indeed. I should like to make you a 
 little present of some sort for the pleasure you have afforded 
 me this afternoon. You are going to Eton, I hear. Have 
 you got a watch ? " 
 
 Little Jacob pulled out a silver watch, of the old-fashioned 
 kind popularly known as turnips, from their near approach 
 to the spherical conformation. The Duke smiled as he 
 looked at it, and asked what time it was. Little Jacob's 
 watch was two hours late. " But it ticks yet," he said. 
 
 The Duke said no more just then, but when little Jacob was 
 dressed to go down to dessert, his Grace's valet, Thompson, 
 knocked at the door, and brought a gold watch with a short 
 chain, wherewith the young gentleman proudly adorned himself. 
 One of the first things he did was to go to the Duke and thank 
 him ; and he did it so nicely that the nobleman was pleased to 
 say that when little Jacob went to Eton he might " show his 
 watch to the fellows, and tell 'em who gave it him."
 
 Chap. XXXIX. Good-bye to Little Jacob. 301 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 GOOD-BYE TO LITTLE JACOB. 
 
 LITTLE Jacob was in luck's way, for the day he left Wen- 
 derholme Cottage the Colonel tipped him with a five- 
 pound note. He had a private interview, too, with Miss 
 Edith, and there was quite a little scene between the infan- 
 tine lovers. 
 
 " Are you really going away to-day, Charley ? " she said, 
 using the name she had given him. 
 
 " Yes ; Mr. Prigley says he must go back on account of 
 Shayton Church. It will be Sunday to-morrow, you know." 
 
 " And when will you come back to us again ? " 
 
 " I don't know. Perhaps never." 
 
 •' Perhaps never ! " exclaimed Miss Edith ; " and aren't you 
 very sorry .? " 
 
 " Yes, very sorry. I have been very happy here." 
 
 " Well, then, you must come again. I wish you would. I 
 like you very much. You are a nice boy," and the frank 
 young lady made him a small present — a little gold pin with 
 a turquoise in it. " Keep that ; you must never lose it, you 
 know — it is a keepsake." 
 
 When little Jacob left with Mr. Prigley, Mrs. Stanburne 
 was very kind to him, and said he must come again some time. 
 This cheered Edith's heart considerably, but still there was a 
 certain moisture in her eyes as she bade farewell to her boy- 
 friend. 
 
 And in the same way I, who write this, feel a sadness 
 coining over me which is not to be resisted. Children Jievcr
 
 302 Wenderholine. part t. 
 
 live long. When they are not carried away in little coffins, 
 and laid for ever in the silent grave, they become transformed 
 so rapidly that we lose them in another way. The athletic 
 young soldier or Oxonian, the graceful heroine of the ball- 
 room, may make proud the parental heart, but can they quite 
 console it for the eternal loss of the little beings who plagued 
 and enlivened the early years of marriage? A father may 
 sometimes feel a legitimate and reasonable melancholy as he 
 contemplates the most promising of little daughters, full of 
 vivacity and health. How long will the dear child remain to 
 him ? She will be altered in six months ; in six years she will 
 be succeeded by a totally different creature — a creature new 
 in flesh and blood and bone, thinking other thoughts and 
 speaking another language. There is a sadness even in that 
 change which is increase and progression ; for the glory of 
 noon-day has destroyed the sweet delicacy of the dewy Aurora, 
 and the wealth of summer has obliterated the freshness of the 
 spring. 
 
 In saying good-bye to little Jacob and his friend Miss 
 Edith, now, I am like some father who, under the fierce sun of 
 India, sends his children away from him, that they may live. 
 He expects to meet them again, yet these children he will 
 never meet. In their place he will see men and women in the 
 vigor of ripened adolescence. And when he quits the deck 
 before the ship sails, and the little arms cling round him for 
 the last time, and for the last time he hears the lisping voices, 
 the dear imperfect words, a great grief comes like ice upon 
 his heart, and he feels a void, and a loss, and a vain longing, 
 only less painful than what we feel at the grave's brink, when 
 the earth clatters down on the coffin, and the clergyman reads 
 his farewell.
 
 PART II. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 AFTER LONG YEARS. 
 
 IF the reader has ever been absent for many years from 
 some neighborhood where he has once lived — where 
 many faces were familiar to him, and the histories that 
 belonged to the faces — where he once knew the complex 
 relations of the inhabitants towards each other, and was at 
 least in some measure cognizant of the causes which were 
 silently modelling their existence in the future, as masons 
 build houses in which some of us will have to live — if, after 
 knowing the life of a neighborhood so intimately as this, he 
 has left that place for long years, and come back to it again 
 to visit it, that he may renew the old sensations, and revive 
 his half-forgotten ancient self, he has learned a lesson about 
 human life which no other experience can teach. The inhabi- 
 tants who have never gone away for long, the parson who 
 preaches every Sunday in the church, the attorney who goes 
 to his office every day after breakfast, the shop-keepers who 
 daily see the faces of their customers across the counter, per- 
 ceive changes, but not change. To them every vicissitude has 
 the air of a particular accident, and it always seems that it 
 might have been avoided. But the great universal change has 
 that in its aspect which tells you that it cannot be avoided ; 
 and he who has once seen it face to face knows that all things 
 are moving and flowing, and that the world travels fast in a 
 sense other than the astronomical.
 
 304 Wenderhotme. Part ii. 
 
 I have endeavored to enlist the reader's interest in a set of 
 persons who lived at Shayton and Sootythorn at the time of 
 the establishment of the militia. The first training of Colonel 
 Stanburne's regiment took place in the month of May, 1853 — 
 to be precise, it met for the first time on the 23d of that 
 month; and the 15th of the month following will long be 
 remembered in the neighborhood on account of the great fire 
 at Wenderholme Hall, which, as the reader is already aware, 
 took place under circumstances of the most exceptional pub- 
 licity. It is probable that on no occasion, from the times of 
 the Tudors to our own, were so many people collected in the 
 park and garden of Wenderholme as on that memorable 
 night. 
 
 It is the misfortune of certain positions that the virtues 
 which are necessary to those who occupy them have to be 
 translated into a money outlay before they can be ade- 
 quately appreciated. Colonel Stanburne was not an extrava- 
 gant man by nature ; he was simple in all his habits and 
 tastes, liked to live quietly at his own house, hated London, 
 and indulged himself only in an innocent taste for tandem- 
 driving, which certainly did not cost him two hundred a-year. 
 But this was John Stanburne's character in his private capac- 
 ity ; as a leader of men — as the head of a regiment — his 
 nature was very different. Whether his surroundings excited 
 him, and so caused him to lose the mental balance which is 
 necessary to perfect prudence, or whether he acted at first in 
 ignorance of the wonderful accumulativeness of tradesmen's 
 bil-s, and afterwards went on from the force of established 
 habit, it is certain that from the 23d of May, 1853, when his 
 regiment assembled for the first time. Colonel Stanburne 
 entered upon a new phase of his existence. Hitherto he 
 had lived strictly within his income, whilst from the year 1853 
 he lived within it no longer. 
 
 His whole style of living had been heightened and in- 
 creased by his position in the militia. The way he drove out
 
 Chap. I. After Long Years. 305 
 
 was typical of every thing else. Before his colonelcy he had 
 been contented with a tandem, and his tandem was horsed 
 from the four ordinary carriage-horses which were regularly 
 kept at Wenderholme. But since it had seemed convenient — • 
 nay, almost indispensably necessary — to have a commodious 
 vehicle of some kind, that he might convey his officers from 
 Sootythorn to Wenderholme every time he asked them to 
 dinner — and since he had naturally selected a drag as the 
 proper thing to have, and the pleasantest thing for himself to 
 drive — there had been an increase in his stable expenses, 
 and a change in his habits, which lasted all the year round. 
 Besides, his natural kindliness and generosity of disposition, 
 which had formerly found a sufficing expression in a general 
 heartiness and good-nature, now began to express themselves 
 in a much more expensive way — namely, by more frequent 
 and more profuse hospitality. 
 
 In the year 1865 Colonel Stanburne was still at the head 
 of his regiment of militia, and during the annual trainings 
 the Wenderholme coach has never ceased to run. Wender- 
 holme had become quite a famous place, and tourists knowing 
 in architecture came to see it from distant counties. It is a 
 perfect type now of a great Elizabethan mansion : the exte- 
 rior, especially the central mass over the porch, is enriched 
 with elaborate sculpture ; there are great mullioned windows 
 everywhere, and plenty of those rich mouldings and copings 
 which diversify the fronts of great houses of that age, and 
 crown their lofty walls. There are globes and pinnacles on 
 the completed gables, and at the intersections of the roofing 
 rise fantastic vanes of iron-work, gilded, and glittering in the 
 sunshine against the blue of the summer sky. 
 
 The interior has but one defect — it seems to require, in 
 its inhabitants, the costume of Sir Walter Raleigh and the 
 great ladies of his time. It has become like a poem or a 
 dream, and one would hardly be surprised to find Edmund 
 Spenser there reading the " Faery Queene " to the noble 
 
 20
 
 3o6 Wenderholme. Part ii. 
 
 Surrey, or imagining, in the solitude of one of its magnifi- 
 cent rooms, some canto still to be written. 
 
 Let us pause here, and look at the place simply as in a 
 picture, or series of pictures, before the current of events 
 hurries us on till we have no time left to enjoy beautiful 
 things, nor mental tranquillity enough to feel in tune with 
 this perfect peace. 
 
 It is noon in summer. Under every oak in the great ave- 
 nues lies a dark patch of shadow, and on the rich expanse of 
 the open park the sunshine glows and darkens as the thin 
 white clouds sail slowly in the blue aerial ocean. How rich 
 and stately is the rounded foliage — how perfect the fulness of 
 the protected trees ! In the midst of them stands the house 
 of Wenderholme, surrounded by soft margins of green lawn 
 and wide borders of gleaming flowers. 
 
 It is pleasant this hot day to enter the great cool hall, to 
 walk on its pavement of marble (white marble and black, in 
 lozenges), and rest the eye in the subdued light which reigns 
 there, even at noon. 
 
 Under pretext of restoration, Wenderholme had been made 
 a great deal more splendid, and incomparably more comforta- 
 ble, than it ever was in the time of its pristine magnificence. 
 In the wainscot and the furniture the architect had lavishly 
 used a great variety of strange and beautiful woods, quite 
 unknown to our ancestors ; and not contented with the stones 
 and marbles of the British islands, he had brought varieties 
 from Normandy, and Sicily, and Spain, and the Mediter- 
 ranean shores of Africa. As for the arrangements that 
 regarded comfort and convenience, John Stanburne's archi- 
 tect had learned the extent of a rich Englishman's exigence 
 when he erected the mansions of five or six great cotton- 
 manufacturers, and, strong in this experience, had made 
 Wenderholme a model place for elaborately perfect house- 
 keeping. 
 
 What had been done with the modern furniture that had
 
 Chap. I. After Long Years. 307 
 
 been saved on the night of the fire ? We may learn this, and 
 some other matters also, when the Colonel comes in to lunch. 
 
 He crosses his great hall, and goes straight to the dining- 
 room. The twelve years that have passed by have aged him 
 even more than so many dozens of months ought to have 
 done. His hair is getting prematurely gray, and his step, 
 though still firm and manly, has lost a good deal of its 
 elasticity, and something of its grace. The expression on 
 his countenance does not quite correspond with all the glory 
 of the paradise that is his, with the sunshine on the broad 
 green park and vast shade-bestowing trees, with the rich 
 peace of these cool and silent halls. When he is with other 
 people, his face is very much as it used to be ; but when he 
 is alone, as he is now, it looks weary and haggard, as if to 
 live were an effort and a care — as if some hateful anxiety 
 haunted him, and wore him hour after hour, 
 
 " Tell her ladyship that I have come in to lunch ; and stay 
 — you need not wait upon us to-day." 
 
 Lady Helena comes with her scarcely audible little step, 
 and quietly takes her place at the table. She is not very 
 much changed by the lapse of these last twelve years. She 
 is still rather pretty, and she looks as intelligent as ever, 
 though not perhaps quite so lively. But as for liveliness, 
 she has nothing to encourage her vivacity just now, for the 
 Colonel eats his slice of cold beef in silence, and scarcely 
 even looks in her direction. When he looks up at all, it is 
 at the window, — not that there is any thing particular to be 
 seen there — only the sunny garden with the fountain, fed 
 from the hills behind. 
 
 " My dear," said Lady Helena, " as the regiment is dis- 
 banded now, I suppose we have no longer any reason to 
 remain at Wenderholme ? Suppose we went up to town 
 again for the end of the season ? There are several people 
 that you promised to see, and didn't call upon before you 
 came away. There's old Lady Sonachan's ball on the 15th,
 
 3o8 Wenderholme. Part ii. 
 
 and I think we ought to do something ourselves in Grosvenor 
 Square — you know we meant to do, if the training of the 
 regiment had not been a fortnight earlier than we expected." 
 
 " I think it would be as well to stop quiedy at Wen- 
 derholme." 
 
 " I 'm afraid, dear," said Lady Helena, caressingly, " that 
 you 're losing your good habits, and going back to the ideas 
 you had many years ago, before the militia began. You 've 
 been so very nice for a long time now that it would be a pity 
 to go back again to what you used to be before you were 
 properly civilized. For you know, dear, you were not quite 
 civilized then — you were sauvage, almost a recluse ; and 
 now you like society, and it does you good — doesn't it, dear ? 
 Everybody ought to go into society — we all of us need it. 
 Do come with me to town, dear, and after that I will go with 
 you wherever you like." 
 
 " Helena," the Colonel answered, gravely, " that 's the sort 
 of game we have been playing for many years. ' Do indulge 
 me in my fancy, and then I will indulge you in some fancy of 
 your own.' It is time to put a stop to that sort of thing." 
 
 "It would be a pity, I think. Have we not been very 
 happy, my love, all these years together?" 
 
 " Yes, no doubt, of course. But I '11 tell you what it is, 
 Helena — we made a great mistake." 
 
 Lady Helena's face flushed, and her eyes filled. " A mis- 
 take ! I am grieved if you think your marriage was a mis- 
 take, John. I never think so of mine." 
 
 " It isn't that ; I don't mean the marriage. I mean some« 
 thing since the marriage. But it 's no use talking about that 
 just now. I say, put your shawl on and take a little walk 
 with me, will you ? " 
 
 They went in silence by the path that rose towards the 
 moors behind the house. When they came to the pond, the 
 Colonel seemed to pause and hesitate a little ; then he said, 
 " No, not here — on the open moor."
 
 Chap. I. After Long Years. 309 
 
 They came to the region of the heather, and the park of 
 Wenderhohne, with all the estate around it, lay spread like a 
 great map beneath them. 
 
 " Sit down here, Helena, and let us talk together quietly. 
 It may be better for both of us." Then came a long pause 
 of silence, and when Lady Helena looked in the Colonel's 
 face, she perceived that his eyes were wandering over the 
 land from one field to another, with a strange expression of 
 lingering and longing and regret. Evidently he had forgot- 
 ten that she was with him. 
 
 " Dear," she said at last, " what was that great mistake 
 you talked about ? " 
 
 He started and looked round at her suddenly. Then, lay- 
 ing his hand very gently on her shoulder, said with strange 
 tenderness, " You won't be hurt, will you ? It was mutual, 
 you know. 
 
 " Do you recollect, Helena," he went on, after a little while, 
 " the time when I first began to drive four horses ? You 
 didn't approve of it — of course I know you didn't — and 
 there were a good many other things that you didn't approve 
 of either, and your opinion was plain enough in your way 
 with me. Well, then, there were some things that you either 
 did or wanted to do, you know, which didn't quite suit me, 
 and seemed to me as unnecessary as my fancy for driving 
 four horses seemed to you. But I found out that I could keep 
 yon in a good temper, and make you indulge me in my fan- 
 cies, by indulging you in corresponding fancies of your own. 
 So whenever I resolved upon an extravagance, I stopped your 
 criticisms by some bribe ; and the biggest bribe of all — the 
 one that kept you indulgent to me year after year — was that 
 house in Grosvenor Square." 
 
 " It was your own proposing." 
 
 " That 's just what I am saying. I proposed the house in 
 town to keep you quiet — to keep you from criticising me. 
 You had got into a way of criticising me about the time of
 
 o 
 
 I o Wenderhobne. Part ii. 
 
 the fire, and I hated being criticised. So I thought, ' She 
 shall have her own way if she'll only let me have mine;' 
 and it seems you thought something of the same kind, for you 
 became very indulgent with me. That has been our mistake, 
 Helena." 
 
 " But was it such a mistake after all, darling ? Have we 
 not been very happy all these years ? I remember we were 
 not so happy just when the militia began. You were not so 
 nice with me as you have been since." 
 
 " Perhaps not — and you weren't as nice with me either, 
 Helena ; but we were nearer being right then than we ever 
 have been during the last few years. I mean to say that, if 
 we had said plainly to each other then — in a kind sort of 
 ■way, of course — what each was thinking, we should have 
 spared each other a great deal of suffering." 
 
 " We have suffered very little, love ; we have been very 
 happy." 
 
 " The punishment is yet to come. I 've been punished, in 
 my mind, for years past, and said nothing about it to you, 
 because I wanted partly to spare you, and partly to screen 
 myself, for I thought I could bring things round again." 
 
 " Do you mean about money ? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Well, but, dear, you always told me that there had been 
 no diminution in our income. Did you not tell me the truth ? ' 
 
 " All that was perfectly true. The income was not dimin- 
 ished, but the new investments weren't as safe as the old ones. 
 Don't you see, we had less capital to get our income from, 
 and our expenses were even heavier than they used to be. 
 So I invested at higher interest, to make up the difference in 
 our income, and I 've been carrying that on to an extent you 
 know nothing about." 
 
 Lady Helena began to be alarmed. Nobody knew better 
 than her ladyship that the prestige of aristocracy rested ulti- 
 maiely upon wealth, and that she could no more keep up her
 
 Chap. I. After Long Years. 311 
 
 station without a good income than her strength without food. 
 It had been a capital error of John Stanburne's from the be- 
 ginning, not to consult his wife on every detail of his money 
 transactions. She had always been perfectly prudent in not 
 letting current expenses go beyond income, although, as they 
 had only one child, there appeared to be no necessity for 
 saving. She would have advised him well if he had invited 
 her to advise him ; but though he had always told her, with 
 truth, that their income was four thousand a-year, he had not 
 told her the history of the capital sum from which this income 
 had, in consequence of some devices of his own, been drawn 
 so unfailingly. The restoration of Wenderholme had been a 
 very costly undertaking indeed. The whole outlay upon it 
 John Stanburne had never dared to calculate ; but we, who 
 have no reason for that nervous abstinence from terrible to- 
 tals, know that during the years immediately succeeding the 
 great fire, he did not, in the restoration and adornment of 
 his beautiful home, spend less than twenty-seven thousand 
 pounds. The result, no doubt, was worth even so large an 
 outlay as this ; nor was the sum in itself very wildly extrav- 
 agant, when one reflects that one of the Sootythorn cotton- 
 spinners laid out fully as much on an ugly new house about 
 half a mile beyond Chesnut Hill. But it diminished John 
 Stanburne's funded property by more than one-half, and it 
 therefore became necessary to invest the remainder more 
 productively, to keep his income up to its old level. 
 
 Whilst he is telling these things to Lady Helena in his own 
 way, let us narrate them somewhat more succinctly in ours. 
 It had happened, about three years after the fire — that is, in 
 the year 1856 — that a new bank had been established in 
 Sootythorn, called the Sootythorn District Bank, and some of 
 the capitalists both in the immediate locality and in the 
 neighboring countr}' had invested in it rather largely. Amongst 
 these was our acquaintance, Mr. Joseph Anison of Arkwright 
 Lodge, near Whittlecup, who, not having a son to succeed
 
 3 1 2 Wender holme. Part ii. 
 
 aim in liis business, did not care to extend it, and sought 
 another investment for his savings which might as nearly as 
 possible approach in productiveness the ample returns of 
 commerce. Mr. Anison was one of the original founders of 
 the new bank, and if the idea had not positively its first 
 source in his own mind, it was he who brought it to a practi- 
 cable shape, and finally made it a reality. Colonel Stanburne 
 had taken Joseph Anison into his confidence about his money 
 matters — at least so far as to show him the present reduced 
 state of his funded capital ; and he added that, with his di- 
 minished income, it had become necessary to economize by a 
 determined reduction of expenses, the most obvious means 
 to which would be the resignation of his commission in the 
 militia' — which, directly or indirectly, cost him a clear thou- 
 sand a-year — and the abandonment of the house in town, 
 which had then recently been established for the gratification 
 of Lady Helena, and furnished with the modern furniture 
 saved at the burning of Wenderholme. Mr. Anison strongly 
 dissuaded the Colonel from both these steps, urging upon him 
 the popularity which he enjoyed both in the regiment and at 
 Sootythorn, and even certain considerations of public duty 
 to which an English gentleman is rarely altogether insensible. 
 The Colonel liked the regiment, he liked his position, and it 
 may even be said, without any exaggeration of his merits, that, 
 independently of the consideration which it procured him, he 
 felt an inward satisfaction in doing something which could be 
 considered useful. To resign his commission, then, would 
 have been difficult for another reason, if not altogether im- 
 possible. The regiment, instead of coming to Sootythorn for 
 a month's training in the year, was on permanent garrison 
 duty in Ireland, and he could not gracefully leave it. 
 
 The other project — the abandonment of his house in Lon- 
 don — might have been agreeable enough to himself person- 
 ally, but he was one of those husbands who, from weakness or 
 some other cause, find it impossible to deprive a wife of any
 
 Chap. I. After Lo7ig Years. 313 
 
 thing which she greatly cares for. This defect was due in his 
 case, as it is in many others, to an inveterate habit of polite- 
 ness towards all women, even towards his wife ; and just as 
 no gentleman would take possession of a chair or a footstool 
 which a lady happened to be using, so John Stanburne could 
 no*: turn Lady Helena out of that house in town which she 
 liked so much, and which both of them looked upon as pecu- 
 liarly her own. It is easy for rough and brutal men to do 
 these things, but a gentleman will often get into money em- 
 barrassments out of mere delicacy. I don't mean to imply 
 that the Colonel's way of dealing with his wife was the best 
 way. It would have been far better to be frank with her from 
 the beginning ; but then a simple nature like John Stan- 
 burne's has such a difficulty in uniting the gentleness and the 
 firmness which are equally necessary when one has to carry 
 out measures which are sure to be disagreeable to a lady. 
 The suaviter in modo, &c., is, after all, a species of hypocrisy 
 — at least until it has become habitual ; and when the Colonel 
 was soft in manner, which he always was with women, he was 
 soft in the matter also. In a word, though no one was bettef 
 qualified to please a lady, he was utterly incapable of govern- 
 ing one — an incapacity which perhaps he shared with the 
 majority of the sons of Adam. 
 
 As retrenchment had appeared impossible, or, at least, too 
 difficult to be undertaken so long as there was the alternative 
 of a change of investments, the Colonel begged Mr. Anison, 
 as an experienced man of business, to look out for some- 
 thing good in that way ; and Mr. Anison, who, with his brother 
 capitalists, had just started the Sootythorn District Bank, 
 honestly represented to his friend that a better and a safer 
 investment was not likely to be found anywhere. As he 
 preached not merely by precept but by example, and showed 
 that he had actually staked every thing which he possessed 
 on the soundness of the speculation — he, the father of a 
 family — Colonel Stanburne was easily persuaded, and be-
 
 3 1 4 Wenderholme. par-i ii. 
 
 came one of the largest shareholders. The bank was soon 
 in a very flourishing condition — in fact it was really pros- 
 peious. and exceeded the most sanguine hopes of its origi- 
 nators. The manager was both an honorable man and a man 
 of real ability as a financier. The dividends were very large, 
 and not paid out of capital. 
 
 Afler five or six years of this prosperity, during which the 
 Colonel's aggregate income had been higher than it ever was 
 during his best days as a fund-holder, he began to conceive 
 the idea of replacing, by economy, the sum of ^27,000, 
 which had been withdrawn from his funded capital for the 
 restoration and embellishment of Wenderholme. To do this 
 he prudently began by saving the surplus of his income ; but 
 as this did not seem to accumulate fast enough for his desires, 
 he thought that, without permanently alienating his estate, he 
 might mortgage some portion of it, and invest the money so 
 procured at the higher interest received by the shareholders 
 of the Sootythorn District Bank. The mere surplus of in- 
 terest would of itself redeem the mortgage after a few years, 
 leaving the money borrowed in his own hands as a clear in- 
 crease of capital. In this way he mortgaged a great part of 
 the estate of Wenderholme to our friend Mr. Jacob Ogden of 
 Milend. 
 
 All these things were done dam Hclend — unknown to her 
 ladyship. She was not supposed to understand business, 
 and probably the Colonel, from the first, had apprehended 
 her womanish fears of the glorious uncertainties of specula- 
 tion. His conscience, however, was perfectly at ease. At 
 the cost of a degree of risk which he set aside as too trifling 
 to be dwelt upon, he was gradually — nay, even rapidly — 
 replacing the money sunk in Wenderholme ; and every day 
 brought him nearer to the time when he might live in liis 
 noble mansion without the tormenting thought that it had 
 been paid for out of his inherited capital. At the same time, 
 so far from withdrawing from the world's eyes into tiie obsca-
 
 Chap. I. After Long Years. 315 
 
 rity which is usually one of the most essential conditions of 
 retrenchment, he actually filled a higher place in the county 
 than he had ever occupied before. The taste for society 
 grows upon us and becomes a habit, so that the man who 
 a year or two since bore solitude with perfect ease, may 
 to-morrow find much companionship a real want, though an 
 acquired one. The more sociable John Stanburne became, 
 the more he felt persuaded that the house in London was 
 a proper thing to keep up, and there came to be quite an 
 admirable harmony between him and Lady Helena. She 
 had ahiays loved him very much, but in the days when he 
 had a fancy for retirement, she had felt just a shade of con- 
 tempt for the rusticity of his tastes. As this rusticity wore 
 off", l^er ladyship respected her husband more completely ; 
 and the coolness which had existed between them in the year 
 1853 was succeeded by an affectionate indulgence on both 
 sides, which was entirely satisfactory to Lady Helena, and 
 was only a little less so to the Colonel, because he knew it 
 to be a sacrifice of firmness. 
 
 He began to feel this very keenly at the time our story 
 reopens, because some very heavy misfortunes had befallen 
 the Sootythorn District Bank, and the Colonel began to 
 doubt whether, after all, his financial operations (successful 
 as they had hitherto appeared) were quite so prudent as 
 he and Mr. Anison had believed. Mr. Stedman had been 
 against the enterprise from the very first, and had openly 
 attempted to dissuade both Mr. Anison and the Colonel 
 from any participation in it ; but then Mr. Stedman, who had 
 neither the expenses of a family nor the drain of a high so- 
 cial position, could afford the utmost extremity of prudence, 
 and could literally have lived in his accustomed manner if 
 his money had been invested at one per cent. However, the 
 Bank had kept up the Colonel's position by giving him an 
 easy income for several years ; and by enabling him to put 
 by a surplus, had compensated, by the mental satisfaction
 
 3i6 Wender holme. Part ii. 
 
 which is the reward of those who save, any little anxiety 
 which from time to time may have disturbed the tranquillity 
 of his mind. But now the anxiety was no longer a light one, 
 to be compensated by thinking about savings. A private 
 meeting of the principal shareholders had been held the day 
 before, and it had become clear to them that the position of 
 the Sootythorn Bank (and consequently their own individual 
 position, for their liability was unlimited) was perilous in the 
 extreme. Immense sums had been advanced to cotton firms 
 which were believed to be sound, but which had gone down 
 within the preceding fortnight ; and many other loans were 
 believed to be very doubtful. Under these circumstances, the 
 chief shareholders — Colonel Stanburne amongst the number 
 — bound themselves by a mutual promise not to attenjpt to 
 sell, as any unusual influx of shares upon the market would at 
 once provoke their depreciation, and probably create a panic. 
 
 Whilst the Colonel had been telling all these things to 
 Lady Helena, he had not dared to look once upon her face ; 
 but when he had come to an end, a silence followed — a 
 silence so painful that he could not bear it, and turned to 
 her that she might speak to him. She was not looking in 
 his direction. She was not looking at Wenderholme, nor on 
 any portion of the fair estate around it ; but her eyes were 
 fixed on the uttermost line of the far horizon. She was very 
 pale ; her lips were closely compressed, and there was a tragic 
 sternness and severity in her brow that John Stanburne had 
 never before seen. 
 
 For a whole minute — for sixty intolerable seconds — not 
 one word escaped her. 
 
 " Helena, speak to me ! " 
 
 She turned slowly towards him, and rose to her feet. Then 
 came words — words that cut and chilled as if they were made 
 of sharp steel that had been sheathed in a scabbard of ice. 
 
 " You have been very imprudent and very weak. You are 
 not fit to have the management of your own affairs."
 
 Chap. I. After Loiig Years. 317 
 
 She said no more. She was intensely angry at her husband, 
 but in her strongest irritation she never said any thing not jus- 
 tified by the circumstances — never put herself in the wrong 
 by violence or exaggeration. She had a great contempt for 
 female volubility and scolding ; and the effect of her tongue, 
 when she used it, was to the effect of a scold's rattle what 
 the piercing of a rapier is to the cracking of a whip, 
 
 John Stanburne dreaded the severity of his wife's judgment 
 more than he would have dreaded the fury of an unreasonable 
 woman. He had not a word to offer in reply. He felt that 
 it was literally and accurately true that he had been " very 
 imprudent and very weak, and was not fit to have the man- 
 agement of his own affairs." 
 
 He covered his face with both hands in an agony of self- 
 accusation, and remained so for several minutes. Then he 
 cried out passionately, " Helena, dear Helena ! " and again, 
 "Helena! Helena!" 
 
 There was no answer. He lifted up his eyes. The place 
 she had occupied was vacant. She had noiselessly departed 
 from his side.
 
 31 8 Wender holme. part ii. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 IN THE DINING-ROOM. 
 
 ONE of the most strange and painful things about ruin 
 is, that for clays, and even weeks, after it has actually 
 come upon a man, his outward life remains in all its details 
 as it was before ; so that in the interval between the loss of 
 fortune and the abandonment of his habitual way of living 
 he leads a double life, just as a ghost would do if it were 
 condemned to simulate the earthly existence it led before 
 death amongst the dear familiar scenes. For there are two 
 sorts of separation. You get into a railway train, and take 
 ship, and emigrate to some distant colony or some alien 
 empire, and see no more the land which gave you birth, nor 
 the house which sheltered you, nor the faces of your friends. 
 This separation is full of sadness ; but there is another sepa- 
 ration which, in its effect upon the mind, is incomparably 
 more to be dreaded, whose pain is incomparably more poig- 
 nant. I mean, that terrible separation which divides you 
 from the persons with whom you are still living, from the 
 house you have never quitted, from the horses in the stable, 
 from the dog upon the hearth, from the bed you lie in, from 
 the chair you sit upon, from the very plate out of which you 
 eat your daily food ! The man who, still in his old house, 
 knows that he has become insolvent, feels this in a thousand 
 subtly various tortures, that succeed each other without inter- 
 mission. A curse has fallen on every thing that he sees, on 
 every thing that he touches — a wonderful and magical curse, 
 devised by the ingenuity of Plutus, the arch-enchanter ! The
 
 Chap. II. In the Dining-Rootn. 319 
 
 wildest fairy tale narrates no deeper sorcery than this. Every 
 thing shall remain, materially, exactly as it was ; but when 
 you go into your library you shall not be able to read, in your 
 dining-room the food shall choke you, and you shall toss all 
 night upon your bed. 
 
 And thus did it come to pass that from this hour all the 
 beauties, and the luxuries, and all the accumulated objects 
 and devices that made up the splendor of Wenderholme, 
 became so many several causes of torture to John Stanburne. 
 And by another effect of the same curse, he was compelled 
 to torture himself endlessly with these things, as a man when 
 he is galvanized finds that his fingers contract involuntarily 
 round the brass cylinders through which flows the current 
 that shatters all his nerves with agony. 
 
 The first bell rings for dinner, and the Colonel, from long 
 habit, leaves his little den, and is half-way up the grand stair- 
 case before he knows that he is moving. That great staircase 
 had been one of the favorite inventions in new Wenderholme. 
 It was panelled with rich old yew, and in the wainscot were 
 inserted a complete series of magnificent Italian tapestries, 
 in which was set forth the great expedition of the Argonauts. 
 There was the sowing of the poisoned grain, the consequent 
 pestilence of Thebes, the flight of Phryxus and Helle on the 
 winged ram with the golden fleece, the fall of poor Helle in 
 the dark Hellespont, the sacrifice of the ram at Colchis, the 
 murder of Phryxus. Above all, there was the glorious embar- 
 kation in the good ship Argo, when Jason and the Grecian 
 princes came down to the shore, with a background of the 
 palaces they left. And in another great tapestry the ship 
 Argo sailed in the open sea, her great white sail curving 
 before the wind, and the blue waves dancing before her 
 prow, whilst the warriors stood quaintly upon the deck, with 
 all their glittering arms. Then there was the storm on the 
 coast of Thrace, and the famous ploughing-scene with the 
 golden-horned bulls, and the sowing of the dragon's teeth.
 
 320 Wenderholme. PARrii. 
 
 Dragon's teeth ! John Stanburne paused long before that 
 tapestry. Had he not likewise been a sower of dragon's 
 teeth, and were not the armed men rising, terrible, around him ? 
 
 Who will help him as Medea helped Jason ? Who will pass 
 him through all his dangers in a day? 
 
 It will not be his wife — it will not be Lady Helena. She 
 is coming up the great staircase too, whilst he is vacantly 
 staring at the tapestry. He does not know that she is there 
 till the rustle of her draperies awakens him. She passes in 
 perfect silence, slowly, in the middle of the broad carpeted 
 space, between the margins of white stone. 
 
 They met again that evening at dinner. So long as the 
 men waited they talked about this thing and that. But when 
 the dessert was on the table, and the men were gone, the 
 Colonel handed the following letter to Lady Helena : — 
 
 " My dear Colonel Stanburne, — As you have been 
 aware for some time of the precarious position of the Bank, 
 the bad news I have to communicate will not find you alto- 
 gether unprepared. We have been obliged to stop payment, 
 and it will require such a large sum to meet the liabilities of 
 the company that both you and I and many other share- 
 holders must consider ourselves ruined men. God grant us 
 fortitude to bear it ! When I advised you to embark in this 
 speculation, God knows I did so honestly, and you have the 
 proof of it in the fact that I am ruined along with you. It 
 will be hard for you to descend from a station you were born 
 for and are accustomed to, and it is hard for me to see the 
 fruits of a life of hard work swept away just as I am beginning 
 to be an old man. Pray think charitably of me, Colonel Stan- 
 burne. I did what I believed to be best, and though my heart 
 is heavy, my conscience is clear still. May Heaven give 
 strength to both of us, and to all others who are involved in 
 the same ruin ! 
 
 "Yours truly, Joseph Anison."
 
 Chap. II. In the Dining-Room. 321 
 
 Lady Helena read the letter from beginning to end, and 
 then returned it to her husband without a word. Her face 
 wore an expression of the most complete indifference. 
 
 "Why, Helena!" said John Stanburne, "you haven't a 
 word to say to me. It 's far more my misfortune than my 
 fault, and I think you might be kinder, under the circum- 
 stances, than you are." 
 
 " Que voulez-vous queje vous disc f " 
 
 31
 
 2,2 2 Wender holme. Part ii. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 IN THE DRAWING-ROOM. 
 
 COFFEE having been announced, the Colonel, who had 
 been sitting alone with his burgundy, and perhaps 
 drinking a little more of it than usual, followed her ladyship 
 into the drawing-room. That drawing-room was the most 
 delicately fanciful room in the whole house. It was wains- 
 coted with cedar to the height of eight feet, where the 
 panels terminated in a beautiful little carved arcade running 
 all round the noble room, and following the wall everywhere 
 into its quaint recesses. Heraldic decoration, used so pro- 
 fusely in the great hall and elsewhere, was here limited to 
 John Stanburne's own conjugal shield, in which the arms of 
 Stanburne were impaled with those of Basenthorpe. 
 
 If the Colonel could only have drunk his cup of coffee in 
 silence, or made a commonplace remark or two, and then 
 gone straight to bed, or into his own den, it might have been 
 better for them both ; but he was stung to the quick by her 
 ladyship's unsympathizing manner, and he had absorbed so 
 much burgundy in the dining-room as to have lost altogether 
 that salutary fear of his wife's keen little observations v/hi( h 
 usually kept him in restraint. It was a great pity, too, that 
 they were alone together in the drawing-room that evening, 
 and that Miss Stanburne had left Wenderholme two days 
 before on a brief visit to a country house at a distance. 
 
 His heart yearned for Helena's sympathy and support, and 
 of this she was perfectly aware ; but, with that rashness 
 which is peculiarly feminine, and which makes women play
 
 Chap. III. In the Drawiiig-Room. 323 
 
 their little game of withholding what men's hearts want, even 
 in moments of the utmost urgency and peril, she determined 
 to give him no help until he had properl}' and sufficiently 
 humiliated himself and confessed his sins before her. The 
 woman who could withhold her tenderness in such an hour as 
 this diminished, in doing so, the value of that tenderness it- 
 self ; and every minute that passed whilst it was still withheld 
 made such a large deduction from it, that if this coldness 
 lasted for an hour longer, John Stanburne felt that no subse- 
 quent kindness could atone for it. As the slow, miserable 
 minutes went by whilst Lady Helena sat yards away from him 
 at a little table in a great oriel window, saying not one word, 
 not even looking once in his direction, John Stanburne's 
 brain, already in a state of intense excitement in consequence 
 of the miseries of the day, began to suffer from an almost 
 insane irritability and impatience on account of the silence 
 and calm that surrounded him. It was a most peaceful and 
 beautiful summer evening, and the sun, as he declined towards 
 the west, sent rich warm rays into the noble room, glowing on 
 the cedar panels, and on the quaintly elegant furniture, with 
 its pervading expression of luxury and ease. This luxury 
 maddened John Stanburne, the soft carpet was hateful to his 
 feet, the easy-chair irritating to his whole body ; he hated the 
 great clusters of flowers in the Jardinieres, and the white del- 
 icate webs that were the summer curtains. Considering the 
 present temper of his mind, and his horror of every thing that 
 had cost him money, the drawing-room was the worst place 
 he could have been In. 
 
 If her ladyship would just have left that interesting bit of 
 plain hemming that she was engaged upon (and whereby she 
 was effecting an economy of about twopence a-day), and gone 
 to her husband and said one kind word to him, merely his 
 name even, and given him one caress, one kiss, their fate 
 would have been incomparably easier to endure. They would 
 have supported each other under the pressure of calamity,
 
 324 Wenderholme. Part ii 
 
 and the material loss might have been balanced by a moral 
 gain. 
 
 But she sat there silently, persistently, doing that farthing's 
 worth of plain needlework. 
 
 " Helena ! " at last the Colonel broke out, " I say, Helena, 
 I wonder what the devil we are to do ? " 
 
 " You need not swear at me, sir." 
 
 " Swear at you ! — who swears at you ? I didn't. But if I 
 did swear at you, it wouldn't be without provocation. You are 
 the most provoking woman I ever knew in my life ; upon my 
 word you are — you are, by God, Helena ! " 
 
 " You are losing your temper. Colonel Stanburne. Pray 
 remember whom you are speaking to. I am not to be sworn 
 at like your grooms." 
 
 " You never lose your temper. Now, I say that as you are 
 such a mistress of yourself under all circumstances, it 's your 
 own fault that you don't make yourself more agreeable." 
 
 " I regret that you don't think me agreeable. Colonel Stan- 
 burne." 
 
 " Well, now, are you, Helena ? Here am I under the blow 
 of a tremendous calamity, and you haven't a word to say to 
 me. If Fyser knew what had happened, he 'd be more sorry 
 than you are." 
 
 "What would you have me say to you? If I said all you 
 deserve, would you listen to it ? You appear to forget that 
 you have as yet expressed no sympathy for me, whom you 
 have ruined by your folly, whereas you are angry because I 
 have said little to you." 
 
 " You ruined, Helena ! " said John Stanburne, with a bitter 
 laugh ; ^'- you ruined — why, you never had any thing to lose ! 
 Your father allows you six hundred a-year, and he '11 continue 
 your allowance, I suppose. You never owned a thousand 
 pounds in your life. But it's different with me. I 'm losing 
 all I was born to." 
 
 The answer to this was too obvious for Lady Helena to
 
 Chap. III. ht the Dvawing-Room. 325 
 
 condescend to make it. She remained perfectly silent, which 
 irritated the Colonel more than any imaginable answer could 
 have irritated him. 
 
 He certainly was wrong so far as this, that any one who 
 asks for sympathy puts himself in a false position. Condo- 
 lence must be freely given, or it is worthless. And any dis- 
 position which her ladyship may have felt towards a more 
 wifely frame of mind was effectually checked by his advancing 
 these claims of his. She was not to be scolded into amiability. 
 
 " Hang it, Helena ! " he broke out, " I didn't think there 
 was a woman in England that would behave as you are be- 
 having under such circumstances. The thing doesn't seem to 
 make the least impression upon you. There you sit, doing 
 your confounded sewing, just as if nothing had happened, 
 you do. You won't sit there doing your sewing long. The 
 bailiffs will turn you out. They '11 be here in a day or two." 
 
 " You are becoming very coarse, sir ; your language is not 
 fit for a woman to hear." 
 
 " It 's the plain truth, it is. But women won't hear the 
 plain truth. They don't like it — they never do. But your 
 ladyship must be made to understand that this cannot go on. 
 We cannot stop here, at Wenderholme. The place will be 
 sold, and every thing in it. Now, I should just like to know 
 what your ladyship proposes to do. If my way of asking 
 your ladyship this question isn't polite enough, please do me 
 the favor to instruct me in the necessary forms." 
 
 " If you could speak without oaths, that would be some- 
 thing gained." 
 
 " Answer me my question, can't you ? Where do you mean 
 to go — what do you mean to do ? " 
 
 " I intend to go to my father's." 
 
 " Well, that 's plain. Why couldn't you tell me that sooner ? 
 You mean to go to old Adisham's. But I '11 be hanged if I '11 
 go there, to be patronized as a beggarly relation." 
 
 " Very well."
 
 326 Wenderholme. Part 11. 
 
 " Very well, is it ? It 's very well that you are to live in 
 one place, and I in another." 
 
 " A distance sufficient to protect me from your rudeness 
 would certainly be an advantage." 
 
 " Would it, indeed ? You really think so, do you ? Well, 
 if you think so, it shall be so." 
 
 " Very well." 
 
 She spoke with a calmness that was perfectly exasperating, 
 and John Stanburne's brain was too much overwrought by the 
 terrible trial of that day for him to bear things with any pa- 
 tience. He was half insane temporarily ; he could not bear 
 to see that calm little woman sitting there, with her jarring 
 self-control. 
 
 " I say, Lady Helena, if you mean to go to old Adisham's, 
 the sooner you go the better. All this house is crumbling 
 over our heads as if it were rotten." 
 
 Lady Helena rose quietly from her seat, took up her work, 
 and walked towards the door. Just as she was opening it, 
 she turned towards the Colonel, and pronounced with the 
 clearest possible articulation the following sentences: — 
 
 " You will please remember, Colonel Stanburne, that it 
 was you who turned me out of your house, and the sort of 
 language you used in doing so. /shall always remember it." 
 
 Then the door closed quietly upon her — the great heavy 
 door, slowly moving on its smooth hinges.
 
 Chap. IV. AloilC. 327 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 ALONE. 
 
 IT happened that the hall-door was open, as it usually was 
 in the fine weather, and John Stanburne, without knowing 
 it, went out upon the lawn. The balmy evening air, fragrant 
 from the sweet breath of innumerable flowers, caressed his hot 
 flushed face. He became gradually calmer as he walked in a 
 purposeless way about the garden, and, looking at his mansion 
 from many a different point of view, began to feel a strange, 
 dreamy, independent enjoyment of its beauty, as if he had 
 been some tourist or visitor for whom the name of Wender- 
 holme had no painful associations. Then he passed out into 
 the park, down the rich dark avenues whose massive foliage 
 made a premature night, and wandered farther and farther, 
 till, by pure accident, he came upon the carriage-drive. 
 
 A man whose mind is quite absent, and who is wandering 
 without purpose, will, when he comes upon a road, infallibly 
 follow it in one direction or another, not merely because it is 
 plain before the feet, but from a deep instinct in our being 
 which impels us to prefer some human guidance to the wilder- 
 ness of nature. It happened that the Colonel went in the 
 direction which led him away from the house, perhaps because 
 the road sloped invitingly that way. 
 
 Suddenly he heard a noise behind him, and had barely time 
 to get out of the way when a carriage dashed passed him at 
 full speed, with two great glittering lamps. He caught no 
 glimpse of its occupant, but he knew the carriage — Lady 
 Helena's.
 
 328 Wefider holme. Part il 
 
 For a few seconds he stood immovable. Then, bounding 
 forward, he cried aloud, "Helena! Helena!" and again and 
 again, " Helena!" 
 
 Too late ! The swift high-spirited horses were already on 
 the public road, hurrying to catch the last train at the little 
 station ten miles off. The sudden impulse of tenderness 
 which drew John Stanburne's heart after her, as she passed, 
 had no magnetism to arrest her fatal course. They had parted 
 now, and for ever. 
 
 He would have passed that night more easily if he could 
 have gone at once to the Cottage, and unburdened his wretch- 
 edness to his mother, and become, for his hour of weakness, 
 a little child again in her dear presence. But he dreaded to 
 inflict upon her the blow which in any event would only come 
 too soon, and he resolved to leave her whatever hours might 
 yet remain to her of peace. 
 
 Somehow he went back to the Hall, and got to his own den. 
 The place was more supportable to him than any other in the 
 house, being absolutely devoid of splendor. A poor man 
 might feel himself at home there. He rang the bell, 
 
 " Fyser, her ladyship has been obliged to go away this even- 
 ing for an absence of some days, and I mean to live here. 
 Make up my camp-bed, will you, in that corner } " 
 
 It was not the first time that the Colonel had retreated in 
 this manner to his den ; for when there were no guests in the 
 house, and her ladyship was away, he found himself happier 
 there than in the great reception-rooms. I think, perhaps, in 
 his place I should have preferred something between the two, 
 and would have allowed myself a couple of tolerably large 
 rooms in a pleasant part of the house ; but his mind seems to 
 have needed the reaction from the extreme splendor of new 
 Wenderholme to a simplicity equally extreme. Here, in his 
 den, it must be admitted that he had passed many of his hap- 
 piest hours, either in making artificial flies, or in reading the 
 sort of literature that suited him ; and though the place was so
 
 Chap. IV. Alo7ie. 329 
 
 crammed with things that the occupant could hardly stir, and 
 in such a state of apparent disorder that no woman would 
 have stayed in it ten minutes, he here found all he wanted, 
 ready to his hand. 
 
 This night, however, not even the litde camp-bed that he 
 loved could give him refreshing sleep ; and the leathern cylin- 
 drical pillow, on which his careless head had passed so many 
 hours of perfect oblivion, became as hard to him morally as it 
 certainly was materially. He found it utterly impossible to 
 get rest ; and after rolling and tossing an hour or two, and 
 vainly trying to read, finished by getting up and dressing 
 himself. 
 
 It was only one o'clock in the morning, but the Colonel 
 determined to go out. Unfastening a side door, he was soon 
 in the fresh cool air. 
 
 He followed the path behind the house that led to the spot 
 where he had made his confession to Lady Helena. A strange 
 attraction drew him to it, and once there, he could not get 
 away. There was no moon, and the details of the scene 
 before him were not visible in the clear starlight, but dark 
 mysterious shades indicated the situation of the Hall and its 
 shrubberies, and the long avenues that led away from it. 
 
 And here, in the solitude of the hill, under the silent stars, 
 came upon John Stanburne the hour and crisis of his agony. 
 Until now he had not realized the full extent of his misery, 
 and of the desolation that lay before him. He had known it 
 since five o'clock in the afternoon, but he felt it now for the 
 first time. As some terrible bodily disease lays hold of us at 
 first with gentle hands, and causes us little suffering, but 
 afterwards rages in us, and tears us with intolerable anguish, 
 so it had been with this man's affliction. 
 
 His brain was in a state of unnatural lucidity, casting an 
 electric light upon every idea that suggested itself. In ordi- 
 nary life a man of common powers, he possessed for this 
 hour the insight and the intensity of genius. He reviewed
 
 330 WeiiderJwlme. Part ii. 
 
 his life with Lady Helena, — the twenty years — for it was 
 twenty years ! — that they had eaten at the same table, and 
 lived under the same roof. And in all that long space of a 
 thousand weeks of marriage, he could not remember a single 
 instance in which she had been clearly in the wrong. On 
 her side, it now seemed to him, there had always been 
 intelligence and justice; on his side, a want of capacity 
 to understand her, and of justice to recognize her merits. 
 Having now, as I have said, for one hour of excitement, the 
 clear perceptions of genius, it was plain to him where he had 
 erred ; and this perception so humbled him that he no longer 
 dared to admit the faults which Lady Helena really had, her 
 constant severity and her lasting rancune. Then came the 
 bitterest hour of all, that of remorse for his own folly, for 
 his want of conjugal trust in Lady Helena, for his fatal am- 
 bition and pride. How different their life might have been 
 if he had understood her better from the first ! how different 
 if he had lived within his means ! Had he lived within his 
 means, that great foolish fete would never have been given at 
 Wenderholme, the house would not have been burned down, 
 the money lavished on its restoration would still have been in 
 the Funds, and John Stanburne would have kept out of that 
 fatal Sootythorn Bank. All his ruin was clearly traceable 
 to that fatal entertainment, and to his expensive ways as a 
 colonel of militia. He saw now quite clearly that there had 
 never been any real necessity for the profuse manner in which 
 he had thought it obligatory to do the honor of his rank. 
 There were rich colonels and there were colonels not so rich 
 — he might have done things well enough without going 
 beyond his means. " If I alone suffered from it I " he cried 
 aloud ; " but Helena, and Edith, and my mother 1 "
 
 Chap. V. The Two Jacobs. 331 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE TWO JACOBS. 
 
 THE twelve years that have passed since we had the 
 pleasure of seeing Mrs. Ogden have not deducted 
 from her charms. The reader has doubtless observed that, 
 notwithstanding the law of change which governs all sublu- 
 nary persons and things, there are certain persons, as there 
 are certain things, which, relatively at least to the rest of 
 their species, have the enviable privilege of permanence. 
 Mrs. Ogden was like those precious gems that are found in 
 the sarcophagi of ancient kings, and which astonish us by 
 their freshness and brilliance, when all around them bears 
 the impress of death and of decay. One would be tempted 
 to exclaim, *' May my old age be like hers ! " were it not that 
 advancing years, whilst deducting so little from her physical 
 or mental vigor, have not enriched her mind with a single 
 new idea, or corrected one of her ancient prejudices. How- 
 ever, though intellectual people may think there is little use 
 in living unless life is an intellectual advance, such people as 
 Mrs. Ogden are not at all of that way of thinking, but seem 
 to enjoy life very well in their own stationary way. There 
 are intellectual policemen who are always telling us to " keep 
 moving ; " but what if I find a serener satisfaction in stand- 
 ing still ? Then, if we stand still, we are to be insulted, and 
 told that we are rusty, or that we are getting the " blue- 
 mould." Et apresl Suppose we are getting the blue-mould, 
 what then ? So far as may be ascertained by the study of 
 such instances as Mrs. Ogden, the blue-mould is a great
 
 2,;^2 WendtrJiohne. Part il 
 
 comfort and a great safeguard to the system — it is moral 
 flannel. Would she have lasted as she has done without it ? 
 I say, it is a solace, amidst the rapid changes of the body 
 politic, and the new-fangled ideas which take possession of 
 the heads of ministers, to feel that there is one personage in 
 these realms who will live on in vigor undiminished, yet never 
 advance one inch. And when the British Constitution shall 
 be finally swept away, and the throne itself no more, it will 
 be something amidst the giddiness of universal experiment 
 to know that in Mrs. Ogden this country will still possess an 
 example that all is not given over to mutability, 
 
 " Now, young un," said Uncle Jacob, one day at dinner at 
 Milend, " I reckon you 've been writing no letters to that lass 
 at Wendrum ; and if you Ve written nout, there 's no 'arm 
 done. It isn't a match for such a young felly as you, as '11 
 have more brass nor Stanburne iver had in his best days. 
 We 'st 'ave no weddin' wi' bankrupts' dorthers." 
 
 " Bankrupts, indeed ! " said Mrs. Ogden. " I reckon nout 
 o' bankrupts ! Besides, Stanburne had no need to be a bank- 
 rupt if he hadn't been such a fool. And foolishness runs i' th' 
 blood. Like father, like dorther. Th' father 's been a wastril 
 with his money, and it 's easy to see 'at the dorther 'ud be 
 none so kerfle." 
 
 " Who shalln't have th' chance o' spendin' none o' my 
 brass," said Uncle Jacob. " Do you yer that, young un ? 
 Stanburne dorther shall spend none o' my brass. If you wed 
 her, yer father '11 'ave to keep both on ye, an' all yer chilther 
 beside. He 's worth about five hundred a-year, is your father ; 
 and I 'm worth — nobody knows what I 'm worth." 
 
 Young Jacob knew both his uncle and his grandmother far 
 too intimately to attempt discussion with either of them ; but 
 the news of Colonel Stanburne's bankruptcy, which in their 
 view had put an end to the dream of a possible alliance with 
 his daughter, wore a very different aspect to the young lover. 
 An attachment existed between himself and Edith Stanburne,
 
 Chap. V. The Tivo yacobi. 333 
 
 of which both were perfectly conscious, and yet nothing had 
 been said about i, openly on either side. Young Jacob 
 Ogden had felt every year more and more keenly the width 
 of the social gulf which separated them, though his education 
 at Eton and Oxford and his constantly increasing prospects 
 of future riches had already begun to build a bridge across 
 the gulf. Even in his best days Colonel Stanburne had not 
 been what in Lancashire is considered a rich man ; in his 
 best days, he had been poorer than the leading manufacturers 
 of Sootythorn ; and Jacob Ogden's mill had of itself cost more 
 money than any squire of Wenderholme had ever possessed, 
 whilst Jacob Ogden had property of many kinds besides his 
 mill, and a huge lump of money lying by ready for immediate 
 investment. The superiority in money had therefore for some 
 years been entirely on the side of the Ogdens ; but, although 
 aristocracy in England is in reality based on wealth, it has a 
 certain poetic sense which delights also in antiquity and honors. 
 Jacob Ogden and his money might have been agreeable to the 
 matter-of-fact side of English aristocratic feeling, but they were 
 unsatisfying to its poetic sense. Young Jacob was clearly 
 aware of this, and so indeed, in a cruder form, was his uncle. 
 So long therefore as the Colonel was prosperous, or appar- 
 ently prosperous, the Ogdens knew that the obstacles in the 
 way of a marriage were all but insurmountable, and no pro- 
 posal had ever been made. The Colonel's ruin changed the 
 relative situation very considerably; and, if young Jacob 
 Ogden could have permitted himself to rejoice in an event 
 so painful to one who had always been kind to him, he would 
 have rejoiced now. He did, indeed, feel a degree of hope 
 about Edith Stanburne to which he had been a stranger for 
 some years. 
 
 As young Jacob had said nothing in answer to his uncle 
 and his grandmother, they both gave him credit for a prudent 
 abandonment of his early dream. There existed, however, 
 between him and his father a much closer confidence and
 
 334 Wender holme. part il 
 
 friendship ; and Isaac Ogden (who, notwithstanding the errors 
 of his earlier life, had the views and feelings of a gentleman, 
 as well as an especial loyalty and attachment to his unfortu- 
 nate friend, the Colonel) encouraged his son in his fidelity. 
 The materials were thus accumulating for a war in the Ogden 
 family ; and whenever that war shall be declared, we may 
 rely upon it that it will be prosecuted with great vigor on both 
 sides, for the Ogdens are wilful people, all of them. 
 
 Mr. Isaac has been enjoying excellent health for these last 
 twelve years, thanks to his vow of total abstinence, to which 
 he still courageously adheres. A paternal interest in the 
 education of his son has gradually filled many of the voids 
 in his own education, so that, without being aware of it 
 himself, he has become really a well-informed man. His 
 solitary existence at Twistle Farm has been favorable to the 
 habit of study, and, like all men who have acquired the love 
 of knowledge, he sees that life may have other aims and other 
 satisfactions than the interminable accumulation of wealth. 
 Small as may have been his apparent worldly success, Isaac 
 Ogden has raised himself to a higher stand-point than his 
 brother Jacob is likely ever to attain. Amongst the many 
 expressions of sympathy which reached Colonel Stanburne 
 after his disaster, few pleased him more than the following 
 letter from Twistle Farm : — , 
 
 " My dear Colonel Stanburne, — I am truly grieved to 
 hear that the failure of the Sootythorn Bank has involved 
 you in misfortune. I would have come to Wenderholme to 
 say this personally, but it seemed that, under present circum- 
 stances, you might wish to be alone with your family. I hardly 
 know how to say what I wish to say in addition to this. For 
 some years I have spent very little, and, although my income 
 is small, I find there is a considerable balance in my favor with 
 
 Messrs. . If this could be of any use to you, pray do not 
 
 scruple to draw upon my bankers, who will be forewarned that
 
 Chap. V. The Two Jacobs. 335 
 
 you may possibly do so. Up to ;^i,ooo you will occasion me 
 no inconvenience, and, though this is not much, it might be 
 of temporary service. 
 
 *' Yours most faithfully, I. Ogden." 
 
 To this letter the Colonel returned the following reply : — 
 
 "My DEAR Ogden, — Your kind letter gave me great 
 pleasure. I am greatly obliged by your friendly offer of 
 help, which I accept as one brother officer may from another. 
 If, as is probable, I find myself in urgent need of a little 
 ready money, I will draw upon your bankers, but, of course, 
 not to such an extent as would go beyond a reasonable prob- 
 ability of repayment. 
 
 At the last meeting of creditors and shareholders, it ap- 
 peared that, although we are likely to save nothing from the 
 wreck, the Bank will probably pay nineteen shillings in the 
 pound. This is a great satisfaction. 
 
 " Yours most truly, J. Stanbupxe."
 
 33^ We^ider holme. Part ii. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE SALE. 
 
 THE Colonel would not expose himself even to the ap- 
 pearance of flight, but remained in the neighborhood 
 manfully, and went personally to Manchester, before the court 
 of bankruptcy, through which he passed very easily. His 
 name then appeared in the Manchester papers, and in the 
 " Sootythorn Gazette," in the list of bankrupts. 
 
 Bailiffs were in possession of the house and estate of Wen 
 derholme, and Mr. Jacob Ogden foreclosed his mortgages, 
 by which he became owner of a fair portion of the land. 
 
 Finally, Wenderholme Hall and the remainder of the es- 
 tate, including the Cottage, in which Mrs. Stanburne still 
 resided, were sold by auction in the large room at the Thorn 
 Inn at Sootythorn — the very place which the Colonel's regi- 
 ment of militia was accustomed to use as a mess-room. 
 
 Little had John Stanburne or his officers foreseen, whilst 
 there consuming Mr. Garley's substantial dinners, that the 
 hammer of the auctioneer would one day there transfer Wen- 
 derholme from the name of Stanburne to another name — to 
 what name ? 
 
 The room was crowded. The sale was known all over 
 Lancashire and Yorkshire. Competitors had come even from 
 distant counties. Wenderholme had been a famous place 
 since the fire, and the magnificent restoration which had suc- 
 ceeded to the fire. Drawings of it had appeared in the 
 " Illustrated London News," and, since the failure of the 
 Sootythorn Bank, the creditors had cunningly caused a vol-
 
 Chap. VI. The Sale. 337 
 
 unie to be made in which the whole place was fully illustiated 
 and described. This volume they had widely circulated. 
 
 The sale had been announced for eight o'clock in the even- 
 ing, and at ten minutes after eight precisely the auctioneer 
 mounted his rostrum. He made a most elaborate speech, in 
 which (with the help of the volume above mentioned) he went 
 over every room in the house, describing, with vulgar magnilo- 
 quence, all those glories which had cost John Stanburne so 
 dear. 
 
 There was one person present to whom the description can 
 hardly have been very agreeable. John Stanburne himself, 
 from anxiety to know the future possesssor, and the amount 
 realized, had quietly entered the room unperceived, for every 
 one was looking at the auctioneer. He had stationed himself 
 near the wall, and there bore the infliction of this torture, his 
 hat over his eyes. 
 
 At length all this eloquence had run dry, and the business 
 of the evening began. The place was put up at ;^3o,ooo, and 
 no bid was to be made of less than ;^i,ooo over its predeces- 
 sor. The first two or three bids were made by persons with 
 whom this history has no concern, but that for ;^35,ooo was 
 made by our friend Mr. John Stedman. Some one present 
 called out " thirty-six," on which Mr. Stedman replied " thirty- 
 seven," and there he ceased to bid. He knew that this was 
 the value of the remaining estate ; * he did not want the 
 house. Philip Stanburne whispered something in his ear, 
 after which he cried " forty-two," the last bid having been 
 forty-one. After that he made no further offer, and Philip 
 Stanburne's countenance fell. 
 
 The bidding hitherto had been strictly of the nature of in- 
 vestment, but now the seekers after an eligible investment 
 retired from the field, except one or two dealers in estates who 
 intended to sell the place again, at a profit, by private con- 
 
 * The reader will remember that the best part of the estate had been 
 mortgaged to Mr. Jacob Ogden. 
 
 22
 
 338 Wenderliolme. Part ii. 
 
 tract, and who looked upon its architectural and other beau- 
 ties as marketable qualities. These men went on to ;^47,ooo. 
 The place had now reached what was called a " fancy price." 
 
 There was a man of rather short stature, with fair hair, a 
 closely shaven face, a greasy cap on his head, a velveteen 
 jacket on his back, and the rest of his person clothed in old 
 corduroy. Fluffs of cotton were sticking about him, and he 
 presented the general appearance of a rather respectable 
 operative. He stood inmiediately before Philip Stanbume, 
 who did not see his face, and was rather surprised to hear him 
 call out, " Forty-eight." 
 
 " Forty-eight, gentlemen ! " cried the auctioneer ; " going 
 at forty-eight thousand — forty-nine? Forty-nine — going at 
 forty-nine! Come, who says fifty? — we must round the 
 number, you know, gentlemen — who says fifty? Going, go- 
 ing — forty-nine — only forty-nine, going — going " — 
 
 The man in the greasy cap said, " Fifty," and the auction- 
 eer, after the usual delays, hearing no other voice amidst the 
 breathless silence of the room, struck the decisive blow with 
 his little hammer, and Wenderholme was sold. 
 
 Then the auctioneer beckoned to him the man in the greasy 
 cap, and said in broad Lancashire, and in a tone of some- 
 what contemptuous familiarity, " You mun go and tell them 
 as sent you here as they '11 have to pay hup one-third as de- 
 posit-money. One-third o' fifty thousand pound is sixteen 
 thousand six hundred and sixty-six pound, thirteen and four- 
 pence, and that 's what them as sent you here has got to pay 
 hup. You can recklect that. It 's all sixes, nobbut the one 
 to start wi' and th' odd shillings." 
 
 The man in the greasy cap smiled quietly, and took out an 
 old pocket-book. " You 've got a pen and ink ? " 
 
 " I '11 write it down for ye, if ye like. And stop — tell me 
 th' name o' them as sent ye." 
 
 " There 's no need ; you '11 know it soon enough." And 
 ihe man in the greasy cap took out a cheque-book, wrote a
 
 Chap. VI The Sale. 339 
 
 cheque, filled it, signed it, crossed it, and handed it to the 
 auctioneer. The name signed was "Jacob Ogden," now 
 owner of Wenderholme. 
 
 When the auctioneer perceived his error (for the name 
 of Ogden was now mighty in the land), he was covered with 
 confusion, and profuse in perspiration and apology. Jacob 
 affected to forgive him, but in truth he had little to forgive, 
 for no incident could have been more exquisitely agreeable to 
 his feelings. To stand there in public, and in the dress he 
 usually wore at the mill, to sign a heavy cheque, to buy a fine 
 estate, to feel himself the most important man in the room, 
 to be, in his greasy cap and velveteen jacket, the envied man, 
 the observed of all obser\'ers, was for him a triumph sweeter 
 than is the triumph of some fair lady, who, in her diamonds 
 and her lace, and her exquisite cleanliness, shines in some 
 great assembly with the purity of a lily and the splendor of 
 a star.
 
 340 Wcnderlwhie. Part ii 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 A FRUGAL SUPPER. 
 
 MRS. OGDEN was sitting up for her son Jacob that 
 night, and she had prepared him a little supper of 
 toasted cheese. She had no positive knowledge of the ob- 
 ject of his journey to Sootythorn. She was aware that Wen- 
 derholme would be sold by auction one of these days, but 
 she did not know exactly whether her son intended to bid for 
 it. There was not much talk generally between the two about 
 the great financial matters — their money-talk ran chiefly 
 upon minutiae, such as the wages of a servant or the purchase 
 of a cow. 
 
 Notwithstanding the great increase of their riches, the 
 mother and son still lived at Milend in their old simple man- 
 ner. Mrs. Ogden still made all Jacob's shirts and stockings, 
 and still did a great deal of the cooking. The habits of her 
 life had been formed many years before, and she could not 
 endure to depart from them, even when the departure would 
 have been an increase to her comfort. Thus she continued 
 to keep only one girl as a servant, and did most of the work 
 of the house with her own hands. Her happiness depended 
 upon abundance and regularity of occupation ; and she acted 
 much more wisely in keeping up the activity of her habits, 
 even though these habits may have been in themselves some- 
 what inconsistent with her pecuniary position, than she would 
 have done if she had exposed herself to the certain ennui of 
 attempting to play the fine lady.
 
 chai-. VII. A Frugal Supper. 341 
 
 The girl was gone to bed when Jacob Ogden came back 
 from Sootythorn, and his mother was seated by the kitchen- 
 fire, darning one of his stockings and superintending the 
 toasted cheese. The kitchen at Milend was a clean and 
 spacious room, with stone floor nicely sanded, and plenty of 
 hams and oatcakes hanging from the ceiling. There was a 
 great clock too in one corner, with shining case, a"d a rubi- 
 cund figure above the dial, by which were represented the 
 phases of the moon. 
 
 The old lady had laid out a small supper-table in the 
 kitchen, and when Jacob came back she told him he was to 
 have his supper there, " for th' fire 'ad gone out i ' th' 
 parlor." 
 
 So he sat down to eat his toasted cheese, which was a 
 favorite supper of his, and whilst he was eating, his mother 
 took a little oatmeal-porridge with treacle. She rather feared 
 the effects of toasted cheese, believing porridge to be more 
 easily digested. 
 
 Neither one nor the other said any thing about the object 
 of the journey to Sootythorn during supper, and there was 
 nothing in Jacob's face to indicate either extraordinary news 
 or unusual elation. In fact, so accustomed was Jacob Ogden 
 to purchasing estates, that he had little of the feeling of ela- 
 tion which attends the young beginner; and after that momen- 
 tary triumph at Garley's Hotel, any excitement which he may 
 have felt had subsided, and left in his mind no other feeling 
 than the old spirit of calculation. It was the very first time in 
 his life that he had gone beyond the principle of investment, 
 and paid something over and above for the mere gratification 
 of his fancy or his pride, and his reflections were not of un- 
 mixed self-congratulation. " Anyhow," he said to himself, 
 "it'll be Ogden of Wendrum, J.P." 
 
 However late Jacob Ogden took his supper, he must neces- 
 sarily smoke his pipe after it (one pipe), and drink his glass 
 of grog. His mother usually went to bed as soon as the water
 
 34 2 Wenderholme. part ii. 
 
 joiled, but this evening she kept moving about in the kitchen, 
 first finding one little thing to set to rights, and then another. 
 At last she stood still in the middle of the floor, and said, — 
 
 " Our Jacob ! " 
 
 "What, mother?" 
 
 " Wherestabeen ? " * 
 
 " Why, you knoan that weel enough, I reckon. I 'n been 
 Sootythorn road." 
 
 *' And wh?it 'as ta been doin' ? " 
 
 " Nowt nobbut what 's reet." f 
 
 " What 'as there been at Sootythorn ? " 
 
 "There 's been a sale." 
 
 "'An X they been sellin' a mill?" 
 
 " Noah." 
 
 " And what 'an they been sellin' ? " 
 
 " Wendrum 'All." 
 
 " And who 's bout it ? " 
 
 « I have." 
 
 " And what 'an ye gin for't?" 
 
 "Fifty thousand." 
 
 " Why, it 's ta mich by th' 'auve ! " 
 
 "'Appen." 
 
 Notwithstanding the laconic form of the conversation, Mrs. 
 Ogden felt a strong desire to talk over the matter rather more 
 fully, and to that end seated herself on the other side the 
 kitchen-fire. 
 
 "Jacob," she said, as she looked him steadily in the face, 
 "I never knew thee part wi' thy brass b 'out five pussent. 
 How will ta get five pussent out o' Wendrum 'All for the fifty 
 thousand ? " 
 
 "Why, mother, there 's investments for brass, and there's in- 
 vestments for pasition. I dunnot reckon to get so much inter- 
 est out o' Wendrum, but it'll be Ogden o' Wendrum, J. P." 
 
 "Well, now, Jacob, that's what I call spendin' your money 
 
 * Where hast thou been. t Nothing but what is right. | Have.
 
 Chap. VII. A Frugal Supper. 343 
 
 for pride ! " Mrs. Ogden said this solemnly, and in as pure 
 English as she could command. 
 
 "Why, and what if it is? There's plenty more where that 
 coom from. What signifies ? " 
 
 " And shall you be going to live at Wendrum 'AH, Jacob ? 
 / willn't go there — indeed I willn't; I'll stop at Milend. 
 Why, you'll require ever so many servants. They tell me 
 there 's twenty fires to light ! And what will become o' the 
 mill when you 're over at Wendrum ? " 
 
 Mrs. Ogden's face wore an expression of trouble and dis- 
 satisfaction. Her eyebrows rose higher than usual, and her 
 forehead displayed more wrinkles. But Jacob knew that this 
 was her way, and that in her inmost soul she was not a little 
 gratified at the idea of being the Lady of Wenderholme. For 
 as an ambitious ecclesiastic, promoted to the episcopal throne, 
 rejoices not openly, but affects a decent unwillingness and 
 an overwhelming sense of the responsibilities of his office, so 
 Mrs. Ogden, at every advance in her fortunes, sang her own 
 little noliinius episcopari. 
 
 " Why, it 's thirty miles off, is Wendrum," she went on, com- 
 plainingly ; " and there 's no railway ; and you '11 never get 
 there and back in a day. One thing's plain, you'll never 
 manage the mill and the estate too." 
 
 " All the land between this 'ere mill and Wendrum 'AH is 
 mine," said Jacob, with conscious dignity ; " and I mean to 
 make a road, mother, across the hill from the mill to Wen- 
 drum 'All. It'll be nine mile exactly. And I '11 have a tele- 
 graph from th' countin'-house to my sittin'-room at Wendrum. 
 And I shall take little Jacob into partnership, and when one 
 Jacob 's i' one spot t'other Jacob '11 be i' t 'other spot. Reck- 
 lect there's two Jacobs, mother." 
 
 "Well, I reckon you'll do as you like, whatever /say. But 
 /'ll go non to Wendrum. I '11 stop 'ere at Shayton while I 
 live (it 'appen willn't be for long) — I 'm a Shayton woman 
 bred and born."
 
 344 VVenderJiolme. Part ii. 
 
 "Nonsense, mother. You'll go to Wendrum, and ride over 
 to Milend in your carriage ! " 
 
 Mrs. Ogden's face assumed an expression of unfeigned 
 amazement. 
 
 " A cayridge ! a cayridge ! Why, what is th' lad thinkin' 
 about now ! I think we shall soon be ridin' into prison. Did 
 ever anybody hear the like ? " 
 
 There is a curious superstition about carriage-keeping 
 which Mrs. Ogden fully shared. It is thought to be the 
 most extravagant, though the most respectable, way of spend- 
 ing money ; and an annual outlay which, if dissipated in 
 eating and drinking, or Continental tours, would excite no 
 remark, is considered extravagance if spent on a comfortable 
 vehicle to drive about in one's own neighborhood. Thus Mrs. 
 Ogden considered her son's proposition as revolutionary — as 
 an act of secession from the simplicity of faith and practice 
 which had been their rule of life and the tradition of their 
 family. In short, it produced much the same effect upon her 
 mind as if the Shayton parson had proposed to buy a gilded 
 dalmatic and chasuble. 
 
 " There 's folk," said Mrs. Ogden, with the air of an oracle 
 — " there 's folk as are foolish when they are young, and grow 
 wiser as they advance in years. But there 's other folk that 
 is wise in their youth, to be foolish and extravagant at an age 
 when they ought to know better." She evidently was losing 
 her faith in the prudence of her son Jacob. When they had 
 parted for the night, and Mrs. Ogden got into her bed, the 
 last thing she uttered as she stood with her nightcap on, in 
 her long white night-gown, was the following brief ejacula- 
 tion : — 
 
 " A cayridge ! a cayridge ! What are we comin' to now I " 
 
 But the last thing uncle Jacob thought, as he settled his 
 head on his lonely pillow, was, " It 'II be Ogden of Wen- 
 drum, J.P."
 
 Chap. VIII. At CJiesnut Hill. 345 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 AT CHESNUT HILL. 
 
 WE return to Garley's Hotel at the conclusion of the 
 sale. 
 
 Philip Stanburne had recognized the Colonel, and gone up 
 to him to shake hands. He had not seen him before since 
 the downfall of the Sootythorn Bank, though he had written 
 a very feeling letter, in which he had begged his friend to 
 make use of Stanithburn Peel so long as he might care to 
 remain in Yorkshire. Indeed the Colonel had received many 
 such letters. 
 
 Mr. Stedman, on looking about for Philip, saw him with the 
 Colonel, and joined them. 
 
 " Where are you staying. Colonel Stanburne ? " asked Mr. 
 Stedman. 
 
 " I have been staying with my mother lately at Wender- 
 holme Cottage. I have persuaded her to remain there. It is 
 better, I think, that an old lady should not be obliged to 
 change all her habits. I hope the new owner will allow her 
 to remain. She will have very good neighbors in the Prig- 
 leys. I gave the living of Wenderholme to Mr. Prigley when 
 the old vicar died, (about three months since. He used to be 
 the incumbent of Shayton." 
 
 ** It will be a great advance for Mr. Prigley. Shayton was 
 a poor living, but I have heard that Wenderholme is much 
 better." 
 
 " VVenderholme is worth seven hundred a-year. The Prig- 
 leys have been very poor for many years, with their numerous
 
 ■7 
 
 46 WeiiderJiol)}ie. Part ii. 
 
 family and the small income they had at Shayton. I am 
 very glad," the Colonel added, with rather a melancholy 
 smile, " that I was able to do this for them before my own ill- 
 luck overtook me. A few months later I should have missed 
 the chance." 
 
 " Do you return to Wenderholme to-night ? It is late, is 
 it not?" 
 
 " No ; I mean to sleep here in the hotel." 
 
 " Would you accept a bed at Chesnut Hill, Colonel Stan- 
 burne? Philip is staying with me." 
 
 The Colonel was only too glad to spend the rest of his 
 evening with two real friends, and they were soon in the 
 comfortable dining-room at Chesnut Hill. The Colonel had 
 often met Mr. Stedman, who had stayed once or twice for a 
 night or two at Wenderholme ; and he had dined a few times 
 at Chesnut Hill, and had stayed all night, so that the house 
 was not altogether strange to him ; though, since he had re- 
 peatedly met with Mr. Stedman at Sootythorn and at Stan- 
 ithburn Peel (where during the last twelve years he had been 
 a frequent visitor), he knew the owner of the mansion much 
 more intimately than the mansion itself. 
 
 Ever since the death of poor Alice, a warm friendship had 
 united her father and Philip Stanburne — a friendship which 
 had been beneficial to them both. Each was still sincerely 
 attached to his own convictions, but the great sorrow which 
 they had sufifered in common had drawn them together, and 
 Mr. Stedman considered the younger man as nearly related 
 to him as if the intended marriage had actually taken place. 
 Their loss had been of that kind which time may enable us 
 to accept as an inevitable void in our existence, but which no 
 amount of habit can ever obliterate from the memory. Philip 
 still remembered that conversation with Alice in which she 
 had begged him not to desert her father in his old age ; and 
 Mr. Stedman, on his part, felt that every kindness which he 
 could show to the man whom his daughter had loved was a
 
 Chap. VIII. At Chesnut Hill. 347 
 
 kindness to Alice herself. So there was a paternal and filial 
 tie between these two ; and though, after Alice's death, Philip 
 had resumed his so'itary existence at Stanithburn, and Mr. 
 Stedman continued his business as a cotton manufacturer 
 (for he felt the need of some binding occupation), they made 
 use of each other's houses, as is done by the nearest rela- 
 tives ; and Mr. Stedman spent many a summer day in bota- 
 nizing about Stanithburn, whilst his friend, when on duty in 
 the militia, always billeted himself at Chesnut Hill. 
 
 " What is the last news about our poor friend Anison ? " 
 the Colonel asked, when the three were comfortably seated in 
 Mr. Stedman's easy-chairs. 
 
 " It cannot be very good news, but it is as good as can be 
 expected. His works and Arkwright Lodge were sold by 
 auction three days since, at Whittlecup." 
 
 " And who bought them ? " 
 
 " The same man. Colonel Stanburne, who purchased Wen- 
 derholme this evening — Jacob Ogden of Shayton." 
 
 " They must be rich, those Ogdens. I know his brother 
 Isaac very well, and his nephew is a great friend of mine, but 
 I really know nothing of this Jacob." 
 
 " He is the only rich one in the family, but he is a rich one. 
 He made a great bargain at Whittlecup. He gave twenty 
 thousand for Anison's works, with every thing in them in 
 working order ; and to my certain knowledge, Joseph Anison 
 had a capital of thirteen thousand sunk in copper rollers 
 alone.* He paid four thousand for Arkwright Lodge. It 's 
 dirt cheap. The house alone cost more than that, and there 's 
 thirty acres of excellent land. I wish I 'd bought it myself. 
 I missed it by not going to that sale ; but Philip and I wanted 
 to bid for Wendei holme, and we stayed away from Whittlecup 
 so as to keep out of temptation." 
 
 * The engraved copper rollers used in calico-printing. The larger 
 printing firms sink immense sums in these rollers, far surpassing the 
 above estimate for Mr. Anison, who was only .in a moderate way of 
 
 businc^^s.
 
 34^ Wenderholme. Part ii. 
 
 "And what do you think Mr. Anison will do?" 
 " He asked Jacob Ogden to let him remain at Whittlecup 
 and manage the works for a very moderate salary, but Jacob 
 declined ; and in doing so he did what I never heard of him 
 doing before — he acted directly against his own interest. 
 He '1' never get such a manager as Anison would have been, 
 but he refused him out of spite. Twelve years ago Madge 
 Anison jilted Jacob Ogden, just when my daughter died. He 
 made her pay up a thousand for breach of promise. She's 
 an old maid now, or something very like one, for she 's over 
 thirty-three ; but Jacob Ogden hasn't forgiven her for jiltin' 
 him, and never will. Last news I had of Joseph Anison, he 
 was seeking a situation in Manchester, and his three girls '11 
 have to seek situations too. It 's a bad job there isn't one of 
 'em married — they were as fine lasses as a man need set his 
 eyes on, and in their father's good time they'd scores of 
 offers, but either they looked too high or else they were very 
 difficult to suit, for they never hooked on, somehow." 
 
 Philip Stanburne knew rather more about Madge Anison 
 by this time than Mr. Stedman did, and could have en- 
 lightened his friends concerning her had he been so minded. 
 The young lady had thrown Jacob Ogden over, as the reader 
 is already aware, for no other purpose than to leave herself 
 free for Philip Stanburne on his return from the Continent 
 after the death of Alice. When he visited his friends at 
 Arkwright Lodge, Miss Anison had not had the degree of 
 prudence necessary to conceal her designs, and Philip (to 
 his intense disgust, for all his thoughts were with the gentle 
 creature he had so recently lost) perceived that he was 
 the object which Margaret had in view. A young lady can 
 scarcely commit a greater mistake than to make advances 
 to a man so saddened as Philip was then ; for in such a 
 condition of mind he has not the buoyancy of spirit neces- 
 sary for a flirtation, and it is only through a flirtation that he 
 can be led to pay his addresses in earnest. Poor Margaret
 
 ciiAP. viii. At Chesnut Hill. 349 
 
 had fatally under-estimated the duration of Philip Stanburne's 
 sorrow, and also the keenness of his perceptions. For instead 
 of his being less observant and easier to manage than he had 
 been before that episode in his life, it had so wrought upon 
 his intellect and his feelings as to be equivalent to the experi- 
 ence of years. In a word, her project had ended in total 
 failure, and the sense of this failure gave a certain petulance 
 and irritability to her manner, and lent a sharpness of sar- 
 casm tD her tongue, which did not induce other gentlemen to 
 aspire to that happiness which Philip had refused. So she 
 was Margaret Anison still, and at the present period of our 
 story was trying, not very successfully, to obtain a situation 
 in Manchester. 
 
 It was Mr. Stedman's custom, as in Lancashire it is the 
 custom of his class, to have a little supper about nine or ten 
 o'clock — a pleasant and sociable meal, though not always 
 quite suitable to persons of feeble digestion. Colonel Stan- 
 burne, on the other hand, according to the custom of his class, 
 dined substantially at seven, and took nothing later except 
 tobacco-smoke. This evening, however, he was in a position 
 to conform to the custom of Chesnut Hill ; for though he had 
 dined at Mr. Garley's an hour before the time fixed for the 
 sale, he had felt so melancholy about it, and so anxious to 
 know who would be the future possessor of his home, that 
 he had eaten a very poor dinner indeed. But now that the 
 thing was decided, and that he found himself with two such 
 kind and faithful friends (whose manner to him was exactly 
 the same as it had been in the days of his prosperity), John 
 Stanburne's naturally powerful appetite reasserted itself at 
 the expense of Mr. Stedman's cold roast-beef, which, with 
 plenty of pickles and mashed potatoes, formed the staple of 
 the repast. 
 
 The Colonel was already beginning to learn the great art 
 of miserable men — the art which enables them to gain in 
 hours of comparative happiness the energy and elasticity
 
 350 WenderJiolme. Part ii. 
 
 necessary for future times of trial — the art of laying un- 
 happiness aside like a pinching boot, and of putting their 
 weary feet into the soft slippers of a momentary contentment. 
 Wenderholme was sold — it belonged to Mr. Jacob Ogden ; 
 why think of Wenderholme any more ? The Colonel actually 
 succeeded in dismissing the matter from his thoughts for at 
 least five minutes at a time, till a sort of pang would come 
 upon his heart, and he rapidly asked himself what the pang 
 meant, and then he knew that it meant Wenderholme. 
 
 One very curious consequence of the great event of that 
 day was this, that whereas the last time he had been to 
 Chesnut Hill (in the days of his prosperity) the place had 
 seemed to him both vulgar and unenviable, he now appre- 
 ciated certain qualities about the place which before had 
 been by him altogether imperceptible. For example, when 
 he was rich, mere comfort had never been one of his objects. 
 Having the power to create it wherever he might happen to 
 be, he had often done very well without it, and his rooms in 
 barracks, or his den in his own mansion, had been often very 
 destitute thereof. But now that it had become highly proba- 
 ble that comfort would soon be beyond his reach, he began 
 to awaken to a perception of it. The warm red flock-paper 
 on Mr. Stedman's dining-room wall, the good carpet on the 
 floor, the clean white table-cloth, the comfortable morocco- 
 covered chairs — all these things began to attract his attention 
 in quite a novel and remarkable manner. And yet hitherto 
 he had continued to live like a gentleman, therefore, what 
 will it be, I wonder, when he is reduced a good deal lower in 
 the world ? 
 
 When they had done supper, and were drinking the inevi- 
 table grog, Mr. Stedman said to the Colonel, — 
 
 " I hope you will forgive me if I am guilty of any indiscre- 
 tion. Colonel Stanburne, but you know you are with sincere 
 friends. May I ask what your own plans are .'' " 
 
 Mr. Stedman's age, and his evident good-will, made the
 
 Chap. VIII. At Ckesuut Hill. 35 1 
 
 question less an indiscretion than an acceptable proof of 
 kindness, and the Colonel took it in that way. " My dear 
 Mr. Stedman," he said in answer, "you know a position like 
 mine is very embarrassing. I am getting on in life — I mean 
 I am getting oldish ; I never had a profession by which money 
 could be earned, you know, though I have been in the army, 
 but that 's not a trade to live by. As to the colonelcy of the 
 militia, the lord-lieutenant has my resignation. No, I can't 
 see any thing very clearly just now. The only thing I 'm fit 
 for is driving a public coach." 
 
 Philip Stanburne said, " Why did you refuse to come and 
 live at the Peel? You would have been very welcome — you 
 would be welcome still." It was already publicly understood 
 that the Colonel and Lady Helena were separated, and that 
 Miss Stanburne would either follow her ladyship to Lord 
 Adisham's, or remain with her old grandmother. 
 
 " My dear Philip," the Colonel said, very sadly and affec- 
 tionately, laying his hand on Philip's hand — "my dear Philip, 
 if I were quite old and done for, I would have no false pride. 
 I would come to the Peel and live with you, and you should 
 buy me a suit of clothes once every two years, and give me 
 a little tobacco, and a sovereign or two for pocket-money. I 
 would take all this from you. But you see, Philip, though 
 I 'm not a clever man, and though I really have no profession, 
 still my bodily health and strength are left to me, thank God ; 
 and so long as I have these, I think it is my duty to try in 
 some way to earn my living for myself. You know that 
 Helena and I are separated — everybody seems to know it 
 now. Well, I got a letter from her father this morning, in 
 which — but stop, I'll show you the letter itself. Will you 
 read it, Mr. Stedman ? " 
 
 " Dear Sir, — My daughter Helena desires me to say to 
 you, that as you shared your means with her in the time of 
 your prosperity, so it is her desire that you should share her
 
 oD 
 
 2 Wendeyholme. Part II. 
 
 income now in your adversity. A sum of three hundred 
 a-year will therefore be paid to your credit at any banker's 
 you may be pleased to name. 
 
 " Your obedient servant, Adisham." 
 
 " Well," said Mr. Stedman, " you may still live very com- 
 fortably as a single man on such an income as three hundred 
 a-year. It is a great deal of money." 
 
 " I have accepted Lady Helena's offer, but not for myself. 
 I will not touch one penny of Lord Adisham's allowance. I 
 have told the banker to pay it over to my mother, whom I have 
 ruined. She has not a penny in the world. However, you 
 see Helena is provided for, since she is living at Lord 
 Adisham's (a very good house to live in), and my mother is 
 provided for, and between them they will keep Edith till I 
 can do something for her ; so my mind is easy about these 
 three ladies, and I 've nobody to provide for but myself 
 Any man with a sound constitution ought to be able to earn 
 his bread. You see, Philip, my mind is made up. There is 
 still, notwithstanding my misfortune, a spirit of independence 
 in me which will not permit me to live upon the kindness of 
 my friends. But I am very greatly obliged both to you and 
 others — to you more especially." 
 
 " Well, Colonel, haven't I a right to offer you some assist- 
 ance ? Are we not relations ? " 
 
 The Colonel looked at Philip with tender affection, and 
 gently pressed his hand. Then he said to Mr. Stedman : 
 " This young friend of yours never called me a relation of his 
 when I was prosperous, but now when I am a poor man he 
 claims me. Isn't he an eccentric fellow, to lay claim to a 
 poor relation ? " 
 
 The next morning at breakfast-time the Colonel did not 
 appear. The servant said he had risen very early, and left 
 a note.
 
 Chap. VIII. At Ckesnut Hill. 353 
 
 " My dear and kind Friends, — I came to a decision in 
 the middle of the night, but will not just now tell you what 
 it is. The decision having been come to, I am determined 
 to act upon it at once, and leave Chesnut Hill to catch the 
 early train. Pray excuse this, and believe me, with much 
 gratitude for all your kindness, 
 
 " Yours most truly, John Stanburne." 
 
 n
 
 J 54 WenderJiolme. Part ii. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 OGDEN OF WENDERHOLME. 
 
 THE Ogdens did not go to live at Wenderholme for a 
 long time, indeed Mrs. Ogden did not even go to see 
 the place ; but her son Jacob went over one day in a gig, and, 
 in the course of his stay of a few hours, settled more points 
 of detail than a country gentleman would have settled in a 
 month. He planted an agent there, and took on several 
 of Colonel Stanburne's outdoor servants, including all his 
 gamekeepers, but for the present did not seem inclined to 
 make any use of Wenderholme as a residence. He had been 
 present at the sale of the furniture, where he had bought 
 every thing belonging to the principal rooms, except a few 
 old cabinets and chairs, and other odd matters, of which the 
 reader may hear more in a future chapter. 
 
 It had always been a characteristic of the Ogdens not to 
 be in a hurry to enjoy. They would wait, and wait, for any 
 of the good things of this world — perhaps to prolong the 
 sweet time of anticipation, perhaps simply because the habit 
 of saving, so firmly ingrained in their natures, is itself a habit 
 of waiting and postponing enjoyment in favor of ulterior aims. 
 But in the case of Wenderholme, the habit of postponing a 
 pleasure was greatly helped by an especial kind of pride. 
 Both Jacob Ogden and his mother were proud to a degree 
 which may sometimes have been equalled, but can never 
 have been surpassed, by the proudest chiefs of the aristoc- 
 racy. Their pride, as I have said, was of a peculiar kind, 
 and consisted far more in an intense satisfaction with them-
 
 Chap. IX. Ogdcn of W aider holme. 355 
 
 selves and their own ways, than in any ambition to be thought, 
 or to become, different from what they were. Now, it would 
 not have been possible to imagine any thing more exquisitely 
 agreeable to this pride of theirs than that Wenderholme Hall 
 should be treated as an appendage to Milend, that the great 
 kitchen-gardens at Wenderholme should supply vegetables, 
 and the hothouse grapes, to the simple table in the little 
 plain house at Shayton. It was delightful to Mrs. Ogden to 
 be able to say, in a tone of assumed indifference or semi- 
 disapproval, " Since our Jacob bought Wenderholme, he 's 
 always been wishin' me to go to see it — and they say it 's 
 a very fine place — but I don't want to go to see it; Milend 
 is good enough for me." If the hearer expressed a natural 
 degree of astonishment, Mrs. Ogden was inwardly delighted, 
 but showed no sign of it on her countenance. On the con- 
 trary, her eyebrows would go up, and the wrinkles upon her 
 forehead would assume quite a melancholy appearance, and 
 her stony gray eyes would look out drearily into vacancy. In 
 short, the impression which both Jacob Ogden and his mother 
 wished to produce upon all their friends and acquaintances 
 after the purchase of Wenderholme was, that the mansion 
 and estate of the Stanburnes could add nothing to the im- 
 portance of the family at Milend. 
 
 So pleasant was it to Mrs. Ogden to be able to say that she 
 had never been to Wenderholme that, although she burned 
 with curiosity to behold its magnificence, she restrained herself 
 month after month. Meanwhile her son Jacob was getting 
 forward very rapidly with a project he had entertained for 
 twelve years — that is, ever since the idea of purchasing 
 Wenderholme had first shaped itself in his mind — the road 
 from his mills in Shayton to the house at Wenderholme, 
 direct across the moors. He set about this with the energy 
 of a little Napoleon (Emerson tells us that the natural chiefs 
 of our industrial classes are all little Napoleons), and in a 
 ew weeks the road existed. Posts were set up on the side
 
 356 Wender holme. Part ii. 
 
 of it, and a telegraphic wire connected the counting-house at 
 Ogden's mill with a certain little room in Wenderholme Hall, 
 which he destined for his private use. 
 
 Even already, though Jacob Ogden is still quietly living at 
 Milend, he knows incomparably more about the Wenderholme 
 property than John Stanburne ever knew, or any of John 
 Stanburne's ancestors before him. He knows the precise 
 condition of every field, or part of a field, and what is to be 
 done to it. Even in such a majtter as gardening, the gardener 
 finds him uncheatable, though how he acquired that knowl- 
 edge is a mystery, for you can hardly call that a " garden " 
 at Milend. 
 
 It follows, from all these valuable qualifications of Mr. 
 Jacob Ogden, that he was likely to be an excellent Mentor for 
 such a youth as his nephew, destined to have to support the 
 cares, and see his way through the perplexities, of property. 
 And he took him seriously in hand about this time, with the 
 consent of the lad's father, who was well aware that without 
 experience in affairs his boy's education could not (in any but 
 the narrow sense of the word, as it is used by pedagogues) be 
 considered to be complete. 
 
 Young Jacob had to get up regularly at five in the morning 
 and accompany his uncle to the mill, where he saw the hands 
 enter. After this, his time was divided between the counting- 
 house and overlooking ; but his duty at the mill was very 
 frequently broken by orders from his uncle to go and inspect 
 the improvements which were in progress on his various es- 
 tates, especially, at this particular time, the road from Shay- 
 ton to Wenderholme. The youth made these journeys on 
 horseback, and, being uncommonly well mounted, accom- 
 plished them more rapidly than his uncle Jacob, with all his 
 shrewdness, ever calculated upon. In this way the inspection 
 of the new road permitted very frequent visits to Wender- 
 h')lme Cottage, where, for the present, Miss Edith resided 
 with her grandmother.
 
 Chap. X. Youiior Jacob a7id Editk. 357 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 YOUNG JACOB AND EDITH. 
 
 THE state of affairs between Edith and young Jacob was 
 this. Nothing had been said of marriage, but their 
 attachment was as perfectly understood between them as if it 
 had been openly expressed. The misfortune of their situation 
 had been, that although many circumstances had been deci- 
 dedly favorable to them, it had never been possible to unite 
 all the favorable circumstances together at the same time, so 
 as to get themselves formally engaged. In the days of Colo- 
 nel Stanburne's splendor and prosperity the Milend influence 
 had been openly encouraging, but Lady Helena had warned 
 Edith in such a decided way against allowing herself to form 
 a plebeian attachment, the allusion to young Jacob being (as 
 it was intended to be) as intelligible as if she had named 
 him, that it had been considered prudent by both the lovers 
 to refrain from compromising the future by precipitation, and 
 they had waited in the hope that, by the pressure of con- 
 stantly increasing riches, her ladyship's opposition might 
 finally be made to give way. If Colonel Stanburne had 
 continued prosperous, the Milend influence was so strongly, 
 even eagerly, in favor of the alliance, that it would have sub- 
 sidized its candidate very largely ; and as its power of subsi- 
 dizing increased every day, it was evident that, by simply 
 waiting, his prospects would steadily improve. But the Colo- 
 nel's ruin, utter and hopeless as it was, had set the Milend 
 influence on the other side ; and nobody who knew the obsti- 
 nacy of Jacob Ogden in opposition, and the relentless lengths
 
 358 Wenderholme. Part ii. 
 
 to which he would go to get himself obeyed, or to inflict pun- 
 ishment on those who had opposed him, could doubt that, if 
 his nephew refused compliance in this instance, it would be 
 equivalent to a total renunciation of his prospects. 
 
 Edith Stanburne had inherited much of her mother's per- 
 spicacity, with the Colonel's frank and genial manner. Some 
 people, Mrs. Prigley amongst the number, disapproved of 
 Edith's manner, and considered her a " bold girl," because 
 .she looked people straight in the face, and had not yet learned 
 the necessity for dissimulating her sentiments. But what ex- 
 perienced man of the world would not give half his subtlety 
 for that boldness which comes from the perfect harmony of 
 our nature with its surroundings ? Why, that is simply a defi- 
 nition of happiness itself ! When we have learned to be 
 careful, it is because we have perceived that between our real 
 selves and the world around us there is so little harmony that 
 they would clash continually, so we invent a false artificial 
 self that may be in harmony with the world, and make it live 
 our outward life for us, talk for us in drawing-rooms and at 
 the dinner-table, and go through the weary round of public 
 pleasures and observances. 
 
 It is the worst possible sign of approaching unhappiness 
 when courage begins to give way, and this hour had come for 
 Edith. Young Jacob, relying upon the speed of his horse, 
 had, on one or two occasions, prolonged his visits to Wender- 
 holme Cottage long enough to excite his uncle's suspicions. 
 Jacob Ogden inquired whether Miss Stanburne was with her 
 mother at Lord Adisham's, or with her grandmother at Wen- 
 derholme. The young man said he " believed " she was with 
 her grandmother. 
 
 " Oh, you ' believe,' do you, young un ? Cannot you tell 
 me for certain ? " 
 
 Young Jacob was no match for his keen-eyed relations at 
 Milend, who saw through the whole matter in a minute. 
 
 " That horse o' yours is a fast un, little Jacob, but it isn't
 
 Chap. X. Young Jacob and Edith. 359 
 
 quite sharp enough to make up for three hours' courtin' at 
 Wendrum." 
 
 The next day young Jacob was sent to look over works in 
 a totally opposite direction ; and as he had a good many 
 measurements to take, there was no chance of getting any 
 time to himself. Twenty-four hours later Miss Stanburne 
 received the following letter : — 
 
 " Madam, — I have discovered that my nephew has been 
 idling his time away at Wenderholme Cottage. You may, 
 perhaps, know how he was occupied. Excuse me if I say 
 that, if my nephew idles his time away at Wenderholme Cot- 
 tage, he will never be a rich man. 
 
 " Yours truly, Jacob Ogden." 
 
 The note was very intelligible, and the consequence of it 
 was, that Edith resolved to sacrifice herself. " I love him too 
 much," she said, " to ruin him." 
 
 The reader may remember one Jerry Smethurst whom 
 Isaac Ogden met at Whittlecup when on duty in the militia, 
 and with whom he got drunk for the last time. It is twelve 
 years since then, a long interval in any place, but an especially 
 long interval in Shayton, where delirium tremens carries off 
 the mature males with a rapidity elsewhere unknown. There 
 had been hundreds of deaths from drinking in that township 
 since 1853 ; and of all the jolly companions who used to 
 meet at the Red Lion, the only one remaining was the propri- 
 etor of Twistle Farm. James Hardcastle, the innkeeper, was 
 dead ; Seth Schofield was in Shayton churchyard, and so was 
 Jerry Smethurst. A new generation was drinking itself to 
 death in that parlor, served by another landlord. 
 
 Most of these worthies had ruined themselves in fortune as 
 in health. Men cannot spend their time in public-houses 
 without their business feeling the effects of it ; and they can- 
 not fuddle their intellects with beer and brandy and preserve 
 their clearness for arithmetic. So, as the prosperity of a so-
 
 2,bo Wender holme. Part ii. 
 
 ciety is the prosperity of the individuals composing it, Shay- 
 ton was not a very prosperous localit}^, and, in comparison 
 with Sootythorn, lagged wofully behindhand in the race. A 
 few men, however, managed somehow to reconcile business 
 and the brandy-bottle, and the most successful conciliator of 
 pleasure and afifairs had been the notable Jerry Smethurst. 
 He managed it by never drinking any thing before the mill 
 was closed ; drink, to him, was the reward of the labors of 
 the day, and not their accompaniment. His constitution had 
 been strong enough to resist this double strain of laborious 
 days and convivial evenings for a much longer time than Dr. 
 Bardly ever expected ; and when the end came, which it did 
 by a single attack of delirium tremens^ succeeded by a fit of 
 apoplexy (the patient had always apprehended apoplexy), Mr. 
 Smethurst's affairs were found to be in admirable order, and 
 his only daughter, then a fine girl of fourteen, became heiress 
 to an extensive mill and a quantity of building land, as well 
 as many shops and tenements in the interior of the town 
 which would infallibly increase in value. In a word, Sarah 
 Smethurst was worth forty thousand now, and would be 
 worth a hundred thousand in twenty years ; so that, as the 
 charms of her youth faded, the man fortunate enough to win 
 her might count upon a progressive compensation in the in- 
 crease of her estate. 
 
 Jacob Ogden, senior, was very accurately acquainted with 
 Miss Smethurst's property, and could calculate its future value 
 to a nicety. He had the best opportunities for knowing these 
 matters, being one of Jerry Smethurst's trustees. When 
 Colonel Stanburne was a rich man, Jacob Ogden would have 
 preferred Miss Stanburne for his nephew to any girl in Sally 
 Smethurst's position ; for though nobody could love and ap- 
 preciate money more than Jacob did, he wished to see his 
 nephew take a higher place in society than money of itself 
 would be able to procure for him. As in mixing a glass of 
 grog tli(.' lime comes when we want no more spirit, but turn
 
 Chap. X. Votino^ Jacob and Edith. 36 1 
 
 our attention to the sugar-basin, although there can be no 
 doubt that the spirit is the main thing (since without it the 
 glass would be nothing but eau sucree), so, when we want to 
 make that composite of perfections, a gentleman, there is a 
 time when money is no longer needed, though that is the main 
 element of his strength, and we turn our attention to the 
 sugar-basin of the cotnme il faut. When Jacob Ogden, se- 
 nior, was favorable to the Wenderholme match, it was not so 
 much on account of Miss Stanburne's money as on account 
 of her decided position as a young lady of the aristocracy ; 
 and when the Colonel was ruined, he did not disapprove of 
 the match because Miss Stanburne would have no fortune, but 
 because her position as member of a county family had been 
 upset by her father's bankruptcy. 
 
 Well, if the lad could not marry like a gentleman, he should 
 marry like a prince among cotton-spinners, and contract alli- 
 ance with a princess of his own order. Sally Smethurst was 
 such a princess. Therefore it was decided that young Jacob 
 should espouse Sally Smethurst. 
 
 And a very nice lass she was, too — a nice fat lass, with 
 cheeks like a milkmaid, that anybody might have been glad 
 to kiss. Mrs. Ogden invited her to stop at Milend, and 
 young Jacob saw her every day. But the effect of this 
 acquaintance was precisely contrary to uncle Jacob's plans 
 and intentions. Sally had never been out of Shayton in her 
 life, except to a school at Lytham, and she had not a word to 
 say. Neither was her deportment graceful. A good lass 
 enough, and well to do, but not the woman with whom an 
 intelligent man would be anxious to pass his existence. 
 
 The image of Miss Stanburne, already somewhat idealized 
 by absence, was elevated to the divine by this contrast. 
 There is no surer way of making a noble youth worship some 
 noble maiden, than by presenting to him a virgin typical of 
 the commonplace, and ordering him to marry her. Edith 
 became henceforth the object of young Jacob's ardent and
 
 362 Wender holme. Part 11 
 
 chivalrous adoration. Two fortunes — his uncle's and Sally 
 Smethursl's — making in the aggregate a prodigious heap of 
 money, were offered to him as the reward of infidelity, and 
 the higher the bribe rose, the higher rose his spirit of i-e- 
 sistance. 
 
 Sally had come to Milend on a Wednesday. She was to 
 stay Sunday over, and go to Shayton Church with the Ogdens. 
 On Saturday night, at tea-time, young Jacob declared his 
 intention of going to Twistle Farm. 
 
 "Why, and willn't ye stop Sunday with us and Miss Sme 
 thurst, and go to Shayton Church ? " 
 
 " I haven't seen my father for a fortnight." 
 
 "Then, all that I 've got to say," observed Mrs. Ogden, "is, 
 that it 's your father's own wickedness that 's the cause of it. 
 If he came regularly to church, as he ought to do, you 'd be 
 sure to see him to-morrow, and every Sunday as well, and 
 you 'd have no need to go up to Twistle Farm. I could like 
 to drag him to Shayton Church by the hair of his head, that 
 I could!" Here Mrs. Ogden paused and sipped her tea-^ 
 then she resumed, — 
 
 " I declare I will ?iot have you goin' up to Twistle Farm and 
 missin' church in that way. It 's awful to think of ! You miss 
 church many a Sunday to go and stop with your father, who 
 should know better, and set you a better example." 
 
 The lad drank his scalding tea, and rose from the table. 
 He was not a boor, however ; and, offering his hand to Miss 
 Smethurst, he said, very courteously, " I am sorry. Miss Sme- 
 I hurst, not to have the pleasure of going to church with you to- 
 morrow ; it looks rude of me, but many things trouble me just 
 now, and I must talk them over, both with my father and 
 somebody else." And with that, and a simple good-night to 
 tile elder people, he left the room. 
 
 The owner of Twistle Farm had become a great recluse 
 since he gave up drinking, except during his weeks of active 
 duty in the militia, and occasional visits to his brother officers.
 
 Chap. X. Young Jacob and Edith. 36 
 
 t 
 
 In fact, a Shayton man, not in business, must either be a 
 drunkard or a recluse ; and Ogden, by his own experience, 
 had learned to prefer the latter. Young Jacob, however, had 
 a friend in Shayton who did not lead quite such a retired life, 
 and whose opinion on the present crisis it might be worth 
 while to ask for. Need I say that this friend was the worthy 
 doctor, Mr. Bardly ? 
 
 So, when the young gentleman rode through the town on 
 his way to Twistle Farm, he turned into the Doctor's yard. 
 
 The twelve years that have passed since we saw the Doctor 
 have rather aged him, but they have certainly deducted noth- 
 ing from the vigor of his mind. He received his young friend 
 with his old heartiness of manner, and made him promise 
 to stop supper with him. " You '11 ride up to Twistle Farm 
 after supper ; your father willn't be gone to bed — he sits up 
 reading till one o'clock in the morning. I wish he wouldn't. 
 I 'm sure he 's injuring his eyes." 
 
 Young Jacob laid the perplexities of his case before his 
 experienced friend. The Doctor heard him for nearly an 
 hour with scarcely a word of comment. Then he began : — 
 
 " I '11 tell you what it is, little Jacob ; you 're not inde- 
 pendent, because you haven't got a profession, don't you 
 see ? You 've had a fine education, but it 's worth nothing 
 to live by, unless you turn schoolmaster ; and in England, 
 education is altogether in the hands o' them parsons. Your 
 father isn't rich enough to keep a fine gentleman like you, 
 never talk o' keepin' a fine wife. That 's how it is as you 're 
 dependent on them at Milend, and they know it well enough. 
 You '11 always be same as a childt for your uncle and your 
 grandmother, and you '11 'ave to do just as they bid you. As 
 long as your uncle lives you '11 be a minor. I know him well 
 enough. He governs everybody he can lay his hands on, 
 and your grandmother 's exactly one o' th' same sort ; she 's 
 a governin' woman, is your grandmother — a governin' woman. 
 There 's a certain proportion of women as is made to rule 
 folk, and she 's one on 'em."
 
 3^4 Weiidcrlioimc. Taki il 
 
 " Well, but, Doctor, what would you advise me to do ? " 
 
 " I 'm comin' to that, lad. There 's two courses before you, 
 and you mun choose one on 'em, and follow it out. You mun 
 either just make up your mind to submit to them at Milend " — 
 
 " And desert Edith .? " 
 
 "Yes, to be sure, and wed Sally Smethurst beside, and be 
 manager of Ogden's mills, and collect his cottage-rents, and 
 dun poor folk, and be cowed for thirty years by your uncle, 
 and have to render 'count to him of every hour of every day 
 — for he'll live thirty years, will your uncle; or else you 
 mun learn a profession, and be independent on him." 
 
 " Independence would be a fine thing certainly, but it is 
 not every profession that would suit the aristocratic preju- 
 dices of Lady Helena. I think it very likely the Colonel 
 would give his consent, for he has always treated me very 
 kindly, and he must have seen that I was thinking of Edith, 
 but with Lady Helena the case is different. She was never 
 encouraging. She might give way before a large fortune like 
 my uncle's, and the prospect of reinstating Edith at Wender- 
 holme, but if I were a poor man in a profession all her 
 aristocratic prejudices would be active against me. Besides, 
 there are only two professions which the aristocracy really 
 recognizes, the army and the church. The army is not a 
 trade to live by, and the church " — 
 
 " Nay, never turn parson, lad, never be a parson ! " 
 
 Young Jacob smiled at the Doctor's sudden earnestness, and 
 soon reassured him, " I have no vocation for the church," he 
 said quietly but decidedly, " and shall certainly never take 
 orders." Then he went on, half talking to himself and half 
 addressing the Doctor. " There is no other profession by 
 which an income may be earned that Lady Helena would be 
 likely to tolerate. People like her look down upon attorneys 
 and — and " — 
 
 "And Doctors!" added Bardly, laughing, "except when 
 they think there 's summat wrong i' their insides, and then 
 they 're as civil as civil,"
 
 Chap. X. Youiig ^acod and Edith. 365 
 
 " I cannot see my way at all, for if I please my uncle I am 
 not to think of Edith, and if I displease him I am to have no 
 money, so that it will be no use thinking about Edith." 
 
 " Are you sure of the young woman herself ? D' ye think 
 she would have you if you had just a decent little income 
 from a profession such as doctorin' ? It strikes me 'at if 
 th' lass herself is o' your side, who '11 bring her feyther to her 
 way o' thinkin', an' her feyther '11 find ways o' makin' his wife 
 listen to him." 
 
 Young Jacob's eyes sparkled, and his heart beat. " I 
 believe she would, Doctor, I do really believe she would." 
 
 " Tell her then as you '11 be Shayton doctor. It 's worth 
 ;^5oo a-year to me ; and you might increase it, an active 
 young fellow like you. Come and learn doctorin' wi' me. 
 I '11 allow you ^250 a-year to start wi', if you get wed to Miss 
 Stanburne ; your father will do as much, — that '11 be ^500 ; 
 and you may live on that, if you live quietly. And then 
 when there 's chilther, there '11 be more brass." 
 
 Young Jacob's eyes moistened. " I 'd take help from you, 
 sir, sooner than from anybody else, but I cannot accept half 
 your income." 
 
 " Half my income, young man ! Do you know who you 
 are speaking to .-' You 're speaking to one of the Shayton 
 capitalists, sir. I 've never been much of a spender, and 
 have had neither wife nor child to spend for me. I can live 
 well enough on the interest of my railway shares, young gen- 
 tleman, and yet I 've other investments. I can say like your 
 Uncle Jacob that nobody knows what I 'm worth. How can 
 they know, if I never told 'em ? " 
 
 Here the Doctor gave a very knowing wink and a grin, and 
 shook young Jacob very heartily by the hand.
 
 366 Weiiderliolme, Part ii. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 EDITH'S DECISION. 
 
 SUCH was young Jacob's piety, that rather than remain 
 all the Sunday at Twistle Farm with that heterodox 
 father of his, he rode over to Wenderholme in order to 
 attend divine service there. 
 
 He got to church in very good time ; and when he took his 
 seat in Mrs. Stanburne's pew, the ladies had not yet arrived. 
 Indeed, even the Prigleys had not taken their places, so that 
 young Jacob had something to interest him in watching the 
 gradual arrival of the members of the congregation. 
 
 The reader may remember that Mrs. Stanburne had a small 
 pew of her own appertaining to the Cottage, whereas there 
 was a large pew appertaining to the Hall. Mrs. Stanburne 
 still remained faithful to her little pew, and the great com- 
 fortable enclosure (a sort of drawing-room without ceiling, 
 and with walls only four feet high) had been empty since the 
 departure of the Colonel and Lady Helena. 
 
 The congregation gradually constituted itself; the Prigleys 
 soon filled the pew belonging to the vicarage ; the principal 
 farmers on the Wenderholme estate penned themselves like 
 sheep (Mr. Prigley's sheep) in their narrow wooden parti- 
 tions ; and lastly came Mrs. Stanburne and Edith. When 
 people meet in a pew at church, their greetings are consider- 
 ably abridged ; and if Edith's face was more than usually 
 sad, her lover might, if he liked, attribute the expression to 
 religious seriousness. 
 
 Young Jacob kneeled whilst Mr. Prigley read the general
 
 Chap. XL EditJt s Decisio7i. 367 
 
 confession, and when he got up again his eyes wandered 
 over the pews before him, before they settled again upon his 
 prayer-book. 
 
 He gave a start of astonishment. In the great Wender- 
 holme pew, quietly in one corner of it, sat the present owner 
 of the estate ! 
 
 Young Jacob's heart beat. He knew that the plot was 
 thickening, and that a great struggle was at hand. But he 
 was in a better position to meet his uncle to-day than he 
 had been yesterday. Yesterday he had been undecided, and 
 though inwardly rebellious, had had no plans ; to-day he was 
 resolved, and had plans. The conversation with the Doctor 
 had been succeeded by another conversation with his father, 
 and the consequence was that young Jacob was resolved that, 
 rather than give up Edith, he would go to the length of a 
 rupture with the authorities at Milend. 
 
 Mr. Prigley preached one of his best sermons that day, but 
 neither of the two Jacob Ogdens paid very much attention to 
 it, I am afraid. They were polishing their weapons for the 
 combat. Each was taking the gravest resolutions, each was 
 resolving upon the sacrifice of long-cherished hopes ; for, not- 
 withstanding the hardness of the manufacturer's nature, he 
 had still rather tender feelings about " little Jacob," as he 
 still habitually called him, and it was painful to think that a 
 youth in all respects so perfectly the gentleman should not 
 succeed to a splendid position for which he had been expressly 
 and elaborately prepared. On the other hand, the manufac- 
 turer could not endure that anybody should thwart his will 
 and not be sufficiently punished for it ; and if little Jacob per- 
 sisted in marrying in opposition to the authorities at Milend, 
 the only punishment adequate to an offence so heinous was 
 the extreme one of disinheritance. 
 
 Both the hostile parties were made aware that the service 
 was at an end by the general movement of the congregation. 
 Jacob Ogden left his pew before anybody else, and walked
 
 368 WeiiderJwlme. Part ii 
 
 straight to that of Mrs. Stanburne. He bowed slightly to the 
 ladies, and beckoned to young Jacob, who came to the pew- 
 door. Then he whispered in his ear, — 
 
 "Come and have your dinner with me at Wendrum 'All. 
 
 " I cannot, uncle. I 've promised to lunch at the Cottage." 
 
 " You 'd better have your dinner with me. If you stop at 
 the Cottage, it '11 be worse for you and it '11 be worse 
 for 'er." 
 
 " Do what you like, sir ; my mind is made up." 
 
 " Very well ; you '11 rue it." 
 
 And the owner of Wenderholme walked alone across the 
 park, and dined alone in the great dining-room. During 
 dinner (an extravagance very rare at all times with him, 
 and in solitude unprecedented), he ordered a bottle of cham- 
 pagne. 
 
 Meanwhile young Jacob lunched with the two ladies at the 
 Cottage. Mrs. Stanburne saw that there was something wrong, 
 some cause of trouble and anxiety, so she did her best to 
 remove the burden which seemed to oppress the minds of the 
 young people. Old Mrs. Stanburne had great powers of con- 
 versation, and made young Jacob talk. She made him talk 
 about Oxford, and then she made him talk about his present 
 occupations, and of the transition from one to the other. 
 Finally she asked him how he liked the life of a cotton* 
 manufacturer. 
 
 " Not much, Mrs. Stanburne. But it signifies very little 
 whether I liked it or not, for I have left it." 
 
 " Left it ! Well, but is not that very imprudent ? When 
 gentlemen have a great deal of property in factories, they 
 ought to know all about it, and I have always heard that the 
 only way to do that is to pass a year or two in the trade." 
 
 "Very true. But then I shall never have any property 
 in factories, so there is no occasion for me to learn the 
 trade." 
 
 Mrs. Stanburne was much astonished, but her good-breeding
 
 Chap. XI. EdUIi s Decision. 369 
 
 struggled against curiosity. Edith did not seem to be paying 
 any attention to what was going forward ; she looked out of 
 the window, and it was evident that she was mentally absent. 
 
 " Edith," Mrs. Stanburne said at last, " do you hear what 
 Jacob says ? He says he has left business. I think it is very 
 imprudent ; and when I say so, he tells me that he will never 
 have any factories." 
 
 Edith lent the most languid attention to her grandmother's 
 piece of information. Her whole conduct was just the reverse 
 of her usual way of behaving. Formerly she had taken the 
 liveliest interest in every thing that concerned her lover, so, to 
 make her listen, he blurted out the truth suddenly in one 
 sentence. 
 
 " My uncle has disinherited me. I am going to be a doctor. 
 I am going to learn the profession with Mr. Bardly in 
 Shayton." 
 
 Mrs. Stanburne was more surprised by this news than Edith 
 was. " But why 1 " she asked, emphatically ; "zoAy has he dis- 
 inherited you? I thought you were on the best possible 
 terms. He spoke to you to-day as he was going out of 
 church." 
 
 Young Jacob was silent for a minute. Mrs. Stanburne came 
 back to the charge. " But w/iy, I say — w/ij ? " 
 
 " My uncle wants me to marry a girl of his own choosing, 
 called Sally Smethurst." 
 
 Here young Jacob paused, then he took courage and added, 
 — " and I, Mrs. Stanburne, have ventured for some years past 
 to indulge dreams and hopes which may never be realized. 
 You know what my dreams have been. I had hoped that per- 
 haps my plain common name might have been forgotten, and 
 that as you and Colonel Stanburne had always been very kind 
 to me, and Miss Edith had never wounded me by any haughti- 
 ness or coldness, I had hoped that perhaps some day any diffi- 
 culties which existed might be overcome, and that she would 
 accept me with the consent of her parents." 
 
 24
 
 370 Wenderholme. Part ii. 
 
 Edith Stanburne rose from her seat and quietly left the 
 room. There was no agitation visible in her face, but it was 
 very pale. 
 
 " My dear Jacob," Mrs. Stanburne said decidedly, " we like 
 you very much — we have always liked you very much, and you 
 have always behaved honorably, and as a gentleman. But I 
 am sure that Edith would not sacrifice your prospects. Every 
 thing forbids it ; our esteem for yourself forbids it, and our 
 pride forbids it. Besides, I have not authority to allow you 
 two young people to engage yourselves without the consent of 
 the Colonel and Lady Helena." 
 
 " May I not speak to Miss Stanburne ? " 
 
 " It would be better that you should not speak to her in pri- 
 vate, but you may speak to her if you like in my presence." 
 
 " I should be glad to know what she herself really thinks." 
 
 Mrs. Stanburne left the room, and after ten minutes had 
 elapsed, which seemed to young Jacob like a century, she 
 returned, accompanied by her grand-daughter. 
 
 Edith was still pale, but she had a look of great self- 
 possession. What was going on in her mind just then may 
 be best expressed by the following little soliloquy : — 
 
 " Poor, dear Jacob, how I do love him ! What a paradise 
 it would be, that simple, quiet life with him — at Shayton, 
 anywhere in the world ! But I love him too much to ruin 
 him, so I must be hard now." And then she acted her part. 
 
 Looking at her lover coldly, she was the first to speak. 
 " Mr. Ogden," she said, " I may sink a good deal in your es- 
 teem by what I am going to say to you, but my own future 
 must be considered as well as yours. We should be sorry to 
 sacrifice your prospects, but I am thinking of myself also. I 
 do not think that I could live contentedly as a surgeon's wife 
 at Shayton." 
 
 Young Jacob was astounded. This from Edith! The very 
 last thing he had ever anticipated was an objection of the 
 selfish kind from her. He had counted upon all obstacles
 
 Chap. XI. EditJis Decisio7i. 371 
 
 but this ; and all other obstacles were surmountable, but this 
 was insurmountable. He saw at once that it would be mad- 
 ness to marry a young lady who despised his life, and the 
 labors which he went through for her sake. 
 
 If he could only have known ! She, poor thing, was new 
 in this game of cruelty with a kind intention, and she played 
 it with even more than necessary hardness. Perhaps she felt 
 that without this overstrung hardness she could not deceive 
 him at all ; that the least approach to tenderness would be 
 fatal to her purpose. She had imagination enough to con- 
 ceive and act a part utterly foreign to her character, but not 
 miagination enough to act a part only just sufficiently foreign 
 to herself to serve her immediate end. So there was a harsh 
 excess in what she did. 
 
 " Miss Stanburne," he said at last, " this gives me great 
 pain." 
 
 The poor girl writhed inwardly, but she maintained a serene 
 countenance, and, looking young Jacob full in the face, said, 
 with a well-imitated sneer, — 
 
 "I may say with truth that it has latterly been agreeable to 
 me to think that the daughter of Colonel Stanburne would 
 one day live at Wenderholme. — But I confess I have not the 
 sort of heroism which would consent to be a surgeon's wife 
 in such a place as Shayton." 
 
 " If these are your reasons. Miss Stanburne, I have done. 
 A man would be a fool to sacrifice his prospects, and slave at 
 a profession all his life, for a woman who paid him with con- 
 tempt. And I think I may say that you dismiss me with un- 
 common coolness. I 've loved you these twelve years — 
 I 've loved you ever since I was a child. I never loved any 
 other woman \ and the reward of this devotion is, that I am 
 sent away when my prospects are clouded, without a sign of 
 emotion or a syllable to express regret. I think you might 
 say you are sorry, at any rate." 
 
 " Very well, I will say that. I am sorry."
 
 372 IVender holme. Part ii. 
 
 By a supreme effort of acting, Edith put an expression into 
 her face which conveyed the idea that she considered emotion 
 ridiculous, and young Jacob's own conduct as verging sHghtly 
 upon the absurd. This stung him to the quick. 
 
 " Miss Stanburne," he said, after a pause, " this conversa- 
 tion is leading to no good. It is useless to prolong it." 
 
 " I quite agree with you." • 
 
 And he was gone. 
 
 If he could have seen what passed after his departure, he 
 would have gone back to Shayton in a very different frame of 
 mind. Edith had acted her part and held out bravely to the 
 last, but when Jacob was once fairly out of the house, the 
 faithful heart could endure its self-inflicted torture no longer, 
 and she ran upstairs to her bed-room and locked the door, 
 and burst into bitter tears. " How good and brave he is, and 
 how he loves me ! It is hard, it is very hard, to have to throw 
 away a heart like his. But I will not be his ruin — I never 
 will be his ruin ! " Then a thousand tender recollections 
 came into her memory — recollections of the long years of 
 his faithful love and service. It had begun in their child- 
 hood, when first she called him " Charley," giving him one of 
 her own names ; it had continued year after year until this 
 very day, when he would have sacrificed all for her, and she 
 had treated him with coldness and cruelty — she who so loved 
 him ! And to think that he would never know the truth — 
 that the long dreary future would wear itself gradually out 
 until both of them were in their graves, and that he would 
 never know how her heart yearned to him, and remained 
 faithful to him always ! That thought was the hardest and 
 bitterest of them all, that he would never know ; that all his 
 life he would retain that misconception about her which she 
 herself had so carefully created ! It is easy to bear the bad 
 opinion of people we care nothing about, but when those we 
 most love disapprove, how eagerly we desire their absolution ! 
 
 Edith was not quite so strong as she herself believed. The
 
 Chap. XI. Editlis Decision. 373 
 
 late events had tried her courage to the utmost, and out- 
 wardly she seemed to have borne them well ; but they had 
 strained her nervous system a good deal, and this last trial of 
 her fortitude had been too much, even for her. Her agony 
 rapidly passed from mental grief into an uncontrollable crisis 
 of the nerves. She went through this alone, lying upon her 
 bed, sobbing and moaning, her face on the pillow, her hands 
 convulsively agitated. Then came utter vacancy, and after 
 the vacancy a slow, painful awakening to the new sadness of 
 her life.
 
 174 Wenderholme. Part ii. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 JACOB OGDEN'S TRIUMPH. 
 
 AT length the great day arrived, towards the end of Octo- 
 ber, when the new road from Shayton to Wenderholme 
 •was to be solemnly inaugurated. 
 
 Mr. Jacob Ogden had made all his arrangements with that 
 administrative ability which distinguished him. He had gone 
 into every detail just as closely as if the work of this great 
 day had been the earning of money instead of its expendi- 
 ture. The main features of the programme were : i. A pro- 
 cession from Shayton to Wenderholme by the new route. 2. 
 A grand dinner at Wenderholme. 3. A ball. 
 
 The procession was to leave Shayton at noon precisely ; 
 and about half-past eleven, a magnificent new carriage, orna- 
 mented with massive silver, and drawn by two superb gray 
 horses, whose new harness glittered in the sunshine, rolled 
 up to Mrs. Ogden's door. On the box sat a fine coachman in 
 livery, and a footman jumped down from behind to knock at 
 the Milend front door. 
 
 Just at the same moment Mr. Jacob Ogden walked quietly 
 up the drive, and when the door opened he walked in. The 
 splendid servants respectfully saluted him. 
 
 The Shayton tailor had surpassed himself for this occasion, 
 and Mr. Jacob looked so well dressed that anybody would 
 have thought his clothes had been made at Sootythorn. He 
 wore kid gloves also. 
 
 But however well dressed a man may be, his splendor can 
 never be comparable to a lady's, especially such a lady as
 
 Chap. XII. Jacob Ogdeu s Triu77tpk. 375 
 
 Mrs Ogden, who had a fearlessness in the use of colors like 
 that which distinguished our younger painters twenty }ears 
 ago. She always managed to adorn herself so that every 
 thing about her looked bright, except her complexion and her 
 eyes. Behold her as the door opens ! The Queen in all her 
 glory is not so fine as the mistress of Milend ! What shining 
 splendor ! What dazzling effulgence ! A blind man said 
 that he imagined scarlet to be as the sound of a trumpet ; 
 but the vision of Mrs. Ogden was equal to a whole brass band. 
 
 " Why, and whose cayridge is this 'ere, Jacob ? " 
 
 " Cayridge, mother ? It 's nobbut a two-horse fly, fro' Man- 
 chester, new painted." 
 
 The fact was, it was Mrs. Ogden's own carriage, purchased 
 by her son without her knowledge or consent ; but, to avoid a 
 scene before his new domestics, he preferred the above amia- 
 ble little fiction. So Mrs. Ogden stepped for the first time 
 into her carriage without being aware that she had attained 
 that great object of the nouveau riche. There was no danger 
 that she would recognize the armorial bearings which deco- 
 rated the panels and the harness. Jacob himself had not 
 known them a month before, but he had sent " name and 
 county" to a heraldic establishment in Lincoln's Inn Fields; 
 and, as his letter had been duly accompanied by a post-office 
 order, three days afterwards he had received a very neat 
 drawing of his coat of arms, emblazoned in azure and gold. 
 It was cheaper than going to the College of Arms, and did 
 just as well. 
 
 There was nobody in the new carriage except Mrs. Ogden 
 and her son. Miss Smethurst was invited, but she had a car- 
 riage and pair of her own, which she used to do honor to the 
 occasion. Many other friends of the Ogdens (friends or 
 business acquaintances) also came in their carriages, for the 
 tradesmen of those parts had generally adopted the custom of 
 carriage-keeping during the last few years. Even our friend 
 the Doctor now kept a comfortable brougham, in which he
 
 ^^^6 WenderJwlme. part ii. 
 
 joined the procession. Mr. Isaac Ogden of Twistle Farm, 
 and Mr. Jacob Ogden, Jr., his son, joined the procession on 
 horseback, riding very fine animals indeed. A pack of har- 
 riers was kept a short distance from Shayton, and it had been 
 agreed that all the gentlemen of the hunt who had invitations 
 should be asked to come as equestrians. 
 
 Jacob Ogden had contrived to give a public character to 
 his triumph by his gift of the new road to the township. The 
 magistrates for the time being were to be the trustees of it, 
 hence the magistrates (including one or two country gentle- 
 men of some standing) found themselves compelled to take 
 part in the triumph. All men were that day compelled to ac- 
 knowledge Jacob Ogden's greatness, and to do him homage. 
 
 The telegraph was already established, and when the 
 Shayton procession started on its way, the fact was known 
 instantaneously at Wenderholme. At the same moment a 
 counter-procession left Wenderholme on horseback to meet 
 the one coming from Shayton. The Yorkshire procession 
 consisted chiefly of the tenants of the estate on horseback, 
 headed by the agent. Most of them were in any thing but a 
 congratulatory frame of mind, but as they dreaded the anger 
 of their landlord, they rode forth to meet him to a man. 
 
 A holiday had been given at the mill, and all the mill hands 
 were to accompany the Shayton procession for two miles upon 
 the road, after which they were to return to Shayton, and 
 there make merry at Mr. Ogden's expense. Most of the 
 hands belonged to benefit clubs such as the Odd Fellows, the 
 Druids, the Robin Hood, and so on ; and they borrowed for 
 the occasion the banners used in the solemnities of these so- 
 cieties, and their picturesque and fanciful costumes. These 
 added immensely to the effect, and gave the procession a 
 richness and a variety which it would otherwise have lacked. 
 
 The departure of the cortege had been timed at the dinner- 
 hour, when all the mills were loosed, so that the whole Shay- 
 ton i)opulation might witness it. As it moved slowly along
 
 Chap. XII. Jacob Ogdcns Triumph. 2)11 
 
 the streets, the crowd was as dense as if Royalty itself had 
 made a progress through the town. Mrs. Ogden repeatedly 
 recognized acquaintances in the crowd, and bowed and smiled 
 most graciously from her carriage-window — indeed a queen 
 could hardly have looked more radiant or more gracious. 
 Seeing her good-humor, Jacob ventured to inform her that she 
 was "sitting in her own carriage." 
 
 " Sitting in my own cayridge ! Well, then, stop th' horses, 
 for I s'll get out." 
 
 " Nay, nay, mother, you munnut do so — you munnut do so. 
 You '11 stop o' th' procession. There 's no stoppin' now. It 's 
 too latt for stoppin'." 
 
 " Well, if I 'd known I 'd never a coom ! What is th' folk 
 sayin', thinken ye ? Why, they *re o' sayin,' one to another, 
 ' There 's Mistress Ogden in her new cayridge, an' who 's as 
 fain * as fain.' " 
 
 " Well, mother, and what if they do say so ? What means it ? " 
 
 " Draw them there blinds down." 
 
 " Nay, but I willn't. We aren't goin' to a funeral." 
 
 After a while Mrs. Ogden began to look at the nice blue 
 lining of her carriage somewhat more approvingly. At last 
 she said, " Jacob, I 'n never thanked thee. Thank ye, Jacob 
 — thank ye. I shalln't live to use it for long, but it '11 do for 
 little Jacob wife at afther." 
 
 When Mrs. Ogden had made this little speech, her son 
 knew that the carriage difficulty was at an end, and indeed 
 she never afterwards evinced any repugnance to entering that 
 very handsome and comfortable vehicle. 
 
 The procession moved at a walking pace for the first two 
 miles, on account of the people on foot. When these, how- 
 ever, had returned in the direction of Shayton, the speed was 
 somewhat increased, though, as the road steadily ascended 
 till it reached the Yorkshire border, the horses could not go 
 
 * Fain is a combination of happy and proud. It answers very near'.y 
 to a certain sense of the French word "content."
 
 378 WcnderJwlme, Part 11. 
 
 very fast. The road, too, being quite new, the macadam was 
 rather rough, though Jacob Ogden had sent a heavy iron 
 roller, drawn by fourteen powerful horses, from one end to 
 the other. 
 
 The weather could not possibly have been more favorable, 
 and it would be difficult to imagine a more cheerful and ex- 
 hilarating route. There had been a slight frost during the 
 night, and the air of the high moorland was deliciously fresh 
 and pure. The startled grouse frequently whirred over the 
 heads of the horsemen, and made not a few of them regret 
 the absence of their fowling-pieces, and the present necessity 
 for marching in military order. The view became gradually 
 more and more extensive, till at length, on approaching the 
 border, a splendid prospect was visible on both sides, stretch- 
 ing in Lancashire far beyond Shayton to the level land near 
 Manchester — and in Yorkshire, beyond Wenderholme and 
 Riston to the hills near Stanithburn Peel. A landmark had 
 been erected on the border, and as the Shayton procession 
 approached it, the body of horsemen from Wenderholme were 
 seen approaching it from the other side. It had been ar- 
 ranged that they should meet at the stone. 
 
 When both processions had stopped, the Wenderholme 
 agent came and presented an address to Mrs. Ogden, which 
 he read in a loud voice, and then handed to her in the car- 
 riage. She was graciously pleased to say a few words in 
 reply, which were not audible to the people about. This 
 ceremony being over, the combined procession formed itse'f 
 in order of march, and began to descend the long slope 
 towards Wenderholme. 
 
 The road entered the village, and therefore did not go quite 
 directly to the Hall. As it had been Jacob Ogden's intention 
 from the first to play the part of Public Benefactor in this 
 matter, he guarded the privacy of his mansion. 
 
 At the entrance of the village there was a triumphal arch 
 made of heather and evergreens, niul decorated with festoons
 
 Chap. XII. Jacob Ogdens Trhiniph, 379 
 
 of colored calico. Here the procession paused a second time, 
 whilst the villagers came to make their little offering to Mrs. 
 Ogden. 
 
 The lord of Wenderholme was both surprised and offended 
 by the absence of Mr. Prigley. " I '11 make him pay for 't," he 
 thought, "if he wants out* doin' at his church, or any sub- 
 scriptions, or the like o' that." Indeed, the absence of Mr. 
 Prigley was the more surprising that it was contrary to the 
 traditions of his caste, usually sufficiently ready to do honor 
 to the powers that be. 
 
 Also, Jacob Ogden thought that the church bells might ha /e 
 rung for him. But they didn't ring. A hostile Prigley or 
 Stanburne influence was apparent there also. It was irritating 
 to have the great triumph marred by this pitiful ecclesiastical 
 opposition. "He shall rue it," said Jacob, inwardly — "he 
 shall rue it ! " 
 
 A table had been set in the middle of Wenderholme green, 
 and on this table was a large and massive silver inkstand, and 
 in the inkstand a gold pen with a jewelled penholder. Here 
 Jacob Ogden descended from his carriage, and, surrounded by 
 all the chief personages in the procession, sat down under a 
 spreading oak, and signed the deed of gift by which the road 
 from Shayton to Wenderholme was transferred in trust to the 
 Shayton magistrates and their successors for ever and ever. 
 
 The inkstand bore an inscription, and was formally pre- 
 sented to Mr. Ogden. And a great shout rose — all John 
 Stanbume's former tenants distinguishing themselves in the 
 " hip, hip," &c. 
 
 After that the procession entered Wenderholme Park, and 
 Mrs. Ogden descended at the grand entrance, and moved 
 across the hall, and up the tapestried staircase. 
 
 * Any thing.
 
 380 Wenderholme. Part ii. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE "BLOW-OUT." 
 
 THE reader is not to suppose, from the parsimony which 
 marked the habitual life of Jacob Ogden and his mother, 
 that when they had made up their minds to what they called 
 a " blow-out," there would be any meanness or littleness in 
 their proceedings. Under all circumstances they acted with 
 clear minds, knowing what they were doing ; and when they 
 resolved to be extravagant, they were extravagant. The fine 
 principle of that grand and really moral motto, " Pecca for- 
 titer" was thoroughly understood and consistently acted upon 
 by the man who had won Wenderholme by his industry and 
 thrift. When he sinned, there was no weak compromise with 
 conscience — he did it manfully and boldly, and no mistake. 
 He never " muddled away " a sovereign, but his triumph cost 
 him many a hundred sovereigns, and he knew beforehand 
 precisely what he was going to spend. When it was all over 
 he would pay the piper, and lock up his cash-box again, and 
 return to his old careful ways. 
 
 The Ogdens did not receive many visitors at Milend, and 
 yet they had rather an extensive acquaintance amongst people 
 of their own class — rich people belonging to trade, and living 
 in the great manufacturing towns. And to this festivity they 
 had invited everybody they knew. The house of Wender- 
 holme, large as it was, was filled with Jacob Ogden's guests, 
 and his mother did the honors with a homely but genuine hos- 
 pitality, which made everybody feel kindly disposed to her j 
 and though they could noi help laughing a little at her now
 
 Chap. XIII. The BloW-Out. 38 1 
 
 and then, they did it without malice. The reader will remem- 
 ber that, from a sort of pride which distinguished her, she had 
 refrained from visiting Wenderholme until the completion of 
 the new road ; and as the chariot of the Olympic victor entered 
 his city by a breach in the wall, so Mrs. Ogden's carriage 
 came to Wenderholme by a route which no carriage had ever 
 before traversed. It would have been better, however, in some 
 respects, if the good lady had familiarized herself a little with 
 the splendors of Wenderholme before she undertook to receive 
 so many guests therein, for it was quite foreign to the frank- 
 ness of her nature to act the nil admirari. Thus, on entering 
 the magnificent drawing-room, where many guests were already 
 assembled, she behaved exactly as she had done when, during 
 a visit to Buxton, some friends had taken her to see Chats- 
 worth. 
 
 "Well!" she exclaimed, lifting up both her hands, "this 
 is a grand room ! " Nor was she contented with this simple 
 exclamation, but she went on examining and exclaiming, and 
 walked all round, and lifted up the curtains, and the heavy 
 tassels of their cords, and touched the tapestry on the chairs, 
 and, in a word, quite forgot her dignity of hostess in the 
 novelty of the things about her. 
 
 "Those curtains must have cost thirty shillings a-yard ! " 
 she said, appealing to the judgment of the elder ladies present, 
 " and the stuff 's narrow beside." 
 
 Impressions of splendor depend very much upon contrast, 
 so that Wenderholme seemed very astonishing to a person 
 coming directly from Milend. But such impressions are soon 
 obliterated by habit, and in a week Mrs. Ogden will have lost 
 the "fresh eye," to which she owes her present sense of en- 
 chantment. How long would it take to get accustomed to 
 Blenheim, or Castle Howard, or Compi^gne ? Would it take 
 a fortnight? However, Mrs. Ogden had the advantage of a 
 far fresher eye than nous autres, who are so accustomed to 
 gilding and glitter in public cafes and picture-galleries, that
 
 382 Weiider holme. Part ii. 
 
 we are all, as it were, princes, insensible to impressions of 
 splendor. 
 
 All that Mrs. Ogden said upon that memorable day it would 
 be tedious to relate. She thought aloud, and the burden of 
 her thoughts, their ever-recurring refrain, was her sense of the 
 grandeur that surrounded her. Jacob Ogden had bought a 
 good deal of Colonel Stanburne's fine old silver plate, and 
 this formed the main subject of Mrs. Ogden's conversation 
 during dinner. " I think our Jacob 's gone fair mad with 
 pride," she said to all the company, and in the hearing of the 
 attentive servants, "for we'd plenty of silver at Milend — 
 quite plenty for any one ; we 've all my uncle Adam's silver 
 spoons, and my aunt Alice's, and plenty of silver candlesticks, 
 and a tea-service — and I cannot tell what our Jacob would be 
 at." Then she added, with serene complacency, " However, 
 it's all paid for." 
 
 She had not the art of avoiding a topic likely to be disa- 
 greeable either to herself or anybody else, but would make 
 other folks uncomfortable, and torture her own mind by 
 dwelling upon their sores and her own. I don't think that 
 in this she was altogether wrong, or that the most delicate 
 people are altogether right in doing exactly the contrary, for 
 it is as well to grasp nettles with a certain hardihood ; but 
 she carried a respectable sort of courage to a very unneces- 
 sary excess. Thus, when she had done about the silver and 
 the general extravagance of "our Jacob," the next topic she 
 found to talk about was the absence of Mr. and Mrs. Prigley. 
 She launched forth into a catalogue of all the benefits where- 
 with she had overwhelmed Mrs. Prigley in the days of her 
 poverty at Shayton, and represented that lady as a monster 
 of ingratitude. " Why, they were so poor," Mrs. Ogden said, 
 " that they couldn't even afford carpets to their floors ; but 
 now that they're better off in the world, they turn their backs 
 on those that helped them. We were always helping them, 
 and making them presents." Every one saw that the Ogdens
 
 Chap. XIII. The BloW-Out. 383 
 
 were dreadfully sore about the absence of the vicar and his 
 wife, and it was not very good policy on Mrs. Ogden's part to 
 draw attention to it in that way ; for a parson, though orna- 
 mental, is not absolutely indispensable to a good dinner, and 
 they might have got on very well without one. 
 
 The dinner was served in the great hall at five o'clock, and 
 few of the guests, as they sat at the feast, could help lifting 
 their eyes to the wainscot, and the frescoes, and the great 
 aimorial ceiling — few could help thinking of the Colonel. 
 No one present, however, was in such a conflicting and con- 
 tradictory state of mind as young Jacob, nor was any one so 
 thoroughly miserable. The whole triumph had disgusted him 
 from beginning to end, and he was not in a humor to be 
 either charitable or indulgent, or to see things on their amus- 
 ing side. Ever since that last interview with Edith, he had 
 been moody and misanthropical, accepting the position his 
 uncle had made for him, but accepting it without one ray of 
 pleasure. Such a condition of mind, if prolonged for several 
 years, would end by making a man horribly cynical and sour, 
 and probably drive him to take refuge in the lowest pleasures 
 and the lowest aims. When the bark of love is wrecked, 
 and the noble ambition of work and independence lies feeble 
 and half dead, and we allow others to arrange all our life 
 for us, what is the use of being young? what is the use of 
 having health and riches, and all sorts of fine prospects and 
 advantages ? 
 
 When the banquet was over, the company returned to the 
 drawing-room, and young Jacob began to think that Sally 
 Smethurst was the nicest-looking young person there. His 
 uncle was pleased to observe his polite attentions to the 
 young lady, and, taking him aside, said, " That 's reet, lad — 
 that 's reet ; ax 'er to dance, and when you 've been dancin' 
 a good bit, ax her summat elz. You'll never have such 
 another chance. She 's quite fresh to this place, and she 
 never saw out like Wendrum 'All ; she 's just been tellin' my 
 mother what a rare fiiic jilnce it is."
 
 384 Wender holme. Part 11. 
 
 " Well," thought young Jacob to himself, " as I cannot have 
 Edith, why not please my uncle and my grandmother ? Sally 
 Smethurst is a nice honest-looking young woman, and I dare- 
 say she 'd make a very good sort of wife." The male nature 
 is so constituted that, when not firmly anchored in some 
 strong attachment, it easily drifts away on the fleuve du tendre, 
 and this poor youth had been cut away from his moorings. 
 What wonder, then, if he drifted ? 
 
 Sally thought him very nice, and handsome, and kind, and 
 she promised to dance with him most willingly. The dining- 
 room had been prepared for dancing, and it answered the 
 purpose all the better as there was a dais at one end of the 
 room which afforded at once a safe retreat and a. convenient 
 position for spectators, whilst at the other was a gallery for 
 musicians, now occupied by an excellent band of stringed 
 instruments from Manchester. In short, the dining-room at 
 Wenderholme had been arranged strictly on the principle of 
 the old baronial hall. The gallery was supported by fantastic 
 pillars of carved oak, and decorated with gigantic antlers 
 which had been given to Colonel Stanburne by a friend of 
 his, a mighty hunter in South Africa. 
 
 The ball went on with great spirit till after midnight, when 
 supper was served in the long gallery. Even Mrs. Ogden, 
 old as she was, had danced, and danced well too, to the 
 astonishment of the spectators. The host himself had per- 
 formed, though his proficiency might be questioned. 
 
 What with the dancing, and the negus, and the champagne, 
 and the splendors of the noble house, and the flattery of so 
 many guests, and the obsequious service of so many at- 
 tendants, and the sense of their own greatness and success, 
 not only Jacob Ogden, senior, but all the Ogdens, were a 
 little elevated that night. Young Jacob did not escape this 
 infection — at his age, how could he.-' — and having taken 
 Miss Smethurst up the grand staircase to supper, rapidly 
 approached that point which his uncle desired him to attain.
 
 Chap. XIII. The BloW-Out. 385 
 
 Amidst the noise of the talk around him, the lad went 
 further and further. He talked about Wenderholme already 
 almost as if it were his own, and forgot, for the time, his old 
 friend the Colonel and his misfortunes in an exulting sense 
 of his own highly promising position. " He intended to 
 live at Wenderholme a good deal," he said, and then asked 
 Miss Smethurst whether she would like to live at Wender- 
 holme. 
 
 But he did not hear her answer. A figure like a ghost, 
 with pale, sad, resolute face, approached silently, moving from 
 the darker end of the long gallery into the blaze of light 
 about the supper-table. 
 
 It was Mr. Prigley. 
 
 The master of the house saw him, too, and as he approached 
 said aloud, and not very politely, — 
 
 " Better late than never, parson ; come and sit down next 
 to my mother and get your supper." 
 
 But Mr. Prigley still remained standing. However, he 
 approached the table. Still he would not sit down. 
 
 Every one looked at him, and no one who had looked once 
 took his eyes off Mr. Prigley again. There was that in his 
 face which fixed attention irresistibly. The roar of the con- 
 versation was suddenly hushed, and a silence succeeded in 
 which you might have heard the breaking of a piece of bread. 
 
 Mr. Prigley went straight to Mrs. Ogden, not noticing any- 
 body else. He spoke to her, not loudly, but audibly enough 
 for every one to hear him. 
 
 " I have come to tell you, Mrs. Ogden, that Mrs. Stanburne, 
 mother of Colonel Stanburne of Wenderholme, is now lying 
 in a dying state at the vicarage." 
 
 Mrs. Ogden did not answer at once. When she had col- 
 lected her ideas, she said, " I thought Mrs. Stanburne had 
 been in her own house and well in health. If I 'd known she 
 was dyin', you may be sure, Mr. Prigley, as there should 'ave 
 been no dancin' i' this house, though she 's not a relation of
 
 o 
 
 86 Weuderhohne. part ii. 
 
 ours. We 're only plain people, but we know what 's fittin' 
 and seemly." 
 
 "Then you cannot be aware, Mrs. Ogden, of what has 
 happened at Wenderholme Cottage. Mrs. Stanburne's ill- 
 ness has been brought on by the suddenness with which the 
 present owner of Wenderholme ordered her to quit her cot- 
 tage on this estate. She was an old lady, in feeble health, 
 and the trouble of a sudden eviction has proved too much 
 for her. If there is any surgeon here, let him follow me." 
 
 This said, Mr. Prigley quitted the table without bowing to 
 anybody, and his gaunt figure and pale grave face passed 
 along the gallery to the great staircase. Dr. Bardly left his 
 place at the supper-table, and followed him. 
 
 Miss Smelhurst's young partner made no more soft speeches 
 to her that night. A great pang smote him in his breast. 
 Had he forgotten those dear friends who had been so good 
 to him in the time of their prosperity ? And what was this 
 horrible story of an eviction? Mrs. Stanburne turned out 
 of Wenderholme Cottage ! Could it be possible that his 
 uncle had gone to such a length as that .'' 
 
 The boy was down the staircase in an instant, and over- 
 took the Doctor and Mr. Prigley as they were crossing the 
 great hall. They walked swiftly and silently to the vicarage. 
 
 " You 'd better wait here, little Jacob," said Dr. Bardly ; 
 " I '11 go upstairs." And he put Jacob into a small sitting- 
 room, which was empty. 
 
 The lad had been there five minutes when the door opened, 
 and Edith came in. She looked very ill and miserable. 
 
 All the old tenderness came back into Jacob's heart as he 
 felt for her in this trial. " Miss Stanburne," he said, " dear 
 Miss Stanburne, what does he say ? " Weak and shattered as 
 she was by the trials of these last days, that word of tender- 
 ness made any farther acting impossible. She went to him, 
 took both his hands in hers, and the tears came. 
 
 "There's no hope; she's dying. Come upstairs — she 
 \vnn1s to i:ee you."
 
 Chap. XIII. The Blow-Out. 387 
 
 Mrs. Stanburne was lying in a state of extreme exhaustion, 
 with occasional intervals of consciousness, in which the mind 
 was clear. When Jacob entered the sick-room, she was in one 
 of her better moments. 
 
 " Go quite near to her," said Mr. Prigley ; " she can only 
 speak in a whisper." 
 
 There had always existed a great friendship between the 
 youth and the old lady now lying on the brink of the grave. 
 He bent down over her, and tenderly kissed her forehead. 
 
 " God bless you ! " she whispered, " it is very kind of you to 
 come." 
 
 Then she said, in answer to his enquiries, — 
 
 "I shall not live long, but I shall live rather longer than 
 they think. I shan't die to-night. I want my son — my 
 son ! " 
 
 After this supervened a syncope, which Jacob and Edith 
 believed to be death. But the Doctor, with his larger experi- 
 ence, reassured them for the present. " She will live several 
 hours," he said. 
 
 Jacob told them that she had asked for Colonel Stanburne. 
 and added, " I have not the slightest idea where he is." 
 
 Then Edith made a sign to him to follow her, and led him 
 downstairs again to the little sitting-room. " Papa is a long 
 way off ; he is in France. He must be telegraphed for." And 
 she took a writing-case and wrote an address. 
 
 Now, although there was a telegraph from Wenderholme to 
 Ogden's Mill at Shayton, there was none from Shayton to 
 Sootythorn, which was the nearest town of importance. So 
 the best way appeared to be for Jacob to ride off at once with 
 the despatch to the station, which was ten miles off. 
 
 " And you must telegraph for mamma at the same time." 
 And Edith wrote Lady Helena's address. 
 
 A little delay occurred now, because Jacob's horse had to 
 be sent for to Wenderholme Hall. Edith went upstairs, and 
 soon came down again with rather favorable news. The syn-
 
 388 Wenderholme. part ii. 
 
 cope had not lasted long, and the patient s-eemed to rally from 
 it somewhat more easily than she had done from the preced- 
 ing ones. / 
 
 " Miss Stanburne ! " Said Jacob, " will you give me a word 
 of explanation ? You were hard and unkind the last time we 
 spoke to each other." 
 
 " I did very wrong. I thought I was sacrificing myself for 
 your good. I told you nothing but lies." 
 
 Half an hour since Miss Smethurst was within a hair's- 
 breadth of being lady of Wenderholme ; but her chances are 
 over now, and she will not bring her fortune to this place — 
 her coals to this Newcastle. As her late partner in the dance 
 rides galloping, galloping through the wooded lanes to the 
 telegraph station, his brain is full of other hopes, and of a far 
 higher, though less brilliant, ambition. He will free himself 
 from the Milend slavery, and work for independence — and 
 for Edith!
 
 Chap. XIV. Mrs. Ogden s Authority. 389 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 MRS. OGDEN'S AUTHORITY. 
 
 AFTER the apparition of Mr, Prigley, the supper in the 
 long gallery changed its character completely. Until 
 he came it had been one of the merriest of festivals ; after he 
 went away, it became one of the dullest. A sense of uncom- 
 fortableness and embarrassment oppressed everybody present, 
 and though many attempts were made to give the conversation 
 something of its old liveliness, the guests soon became aware 
 that for that time it was frozen beyond hope of recovery. It 
 had been intended to resume the dancing after supper, but 
 the dancing was not resumed, and the guests who intended to 
 return to Shayton that night became suddenly impressed with 
 so strong a sense of the distance of that place from Wender- 
 holme, that all the pressing hospitality of the Ogdens availed 
 not to retain them. 
 
 Notwithstanding the Philistinism of Mrs. Ogden's character, 
 and the external hardness which she had in common with 
 most of her contemporaries in Shayton, she was not without 
 heart ; and when she heard that her son had turned old Mrs. 
 Stanburne out of the Cottage, she both felt disapproval and 
 expressed it. "Jacob," she said, "you shouldn't 'ave done 
 so." And she repeated many a time to other people in the 
 room, " Our Jacob shouldn't 'ave done so." 
 
 And when the carriages had departed, although there were 
 still many people in the house, Mrs. Ogden put her bonnet 
 on, and had herself conducted to the vicarage. 
 
 The situation there might have been embarrassing for some
 
 390 Wenderholme. Part ii. 
 
 people, but Mrs. Ogden was a woman who did not feel em- 
 barrassment under any circumstances. She did what was 
 right, or she did what was wrong, in a simple and resolute 
 way, and her very immunity from nervous reflectiveness often 
 enabled her to do the right thing when a self-conscious person 
 would hardly have ventured to do it. So she knocked at Mrs. 
 Prigley's door. 
 
 It happened that the person nearest the door at that 
 moment was Edith, who was crossing the passage from one 
 room to another. So Edith opened the door. 
 
 Mrs. Ogden walked in at once, and asked very kindly 
 after Mrs. Stanburne. Edith was pleased with the genuine 
 interest in her manner, and showed her into the little sitting- 
 room. 
 
 The news was rather more favorable than might have been 
 hoped for. Mrs. Stanburne had had no return of unconscious- 
 ness ; and though the Doctor still thought she was gradually 
 sinking, he began to be of opinion that her illness might be 
 much longer than was at first anticipated, and thought that 
 she would live to see the Colonel. 
 
 " You don't know me," said Mrs. Ogden ; " but as you 
 speak of Mrs. Stanburne as your grandmamma, I know who 
 you are. You 're Miss Edith. I 'm little Jacob's grandmamma 
 — Mrs. Ogden of Milend, whom no doubt you 've heard 
 speak of." 
 
 Edith bowed slightly, and then there was rather an awkward 
 pause. 
 
 " My son Jacob did very wrong about your grandmother 
 in turning her out of her house. I wish we could make 
 amends." 
 
 Edith tried to say something polite in acknowledgment of 
 Mrs. Ogden's advance, but it ended in tears. " I 'm afraid it 
 is too late," she said, finally. 
 
 The young lady's evident love for her grandmother won the 
 heart of Mrs. Ogden, who was herself a grandmother. "Tell
 
 Chap. XIV. Mrs. Ogdens Authority. 391 
 
 me what has been done, my dear. I know nothing about it ; 
 I only heard about it to-night. Has Mrs. Stanburne removed 
 her furniture ? " 
 
 " Not quite all yet. Most of it is here, in Mr. Prigley's out- 
 houses. It was the hurry of the removal that brought on 
 grandmamma's illness." 
 
 "Well, my dear," said the old lady, laying her hand upon 
 Edith's, " let us pray to God that she may live. And we 'U 
 have all the furniture put back into the Cottage." 
 
 " I don't think grandmamma would consent to that." 
 
 " But I '11 make my son come and beg her pardon. I '11 
 make him come ! " 
 
 Edith could not resist Mrs. Ogden's earnestness. " I will 
 try to bring grandmamma round, if she lives. You are very 
 kind, Mrs. Ogden." 
 
 "Now, if you'd like me to sit up with Mrs. Stanburne, if 
 you and Mrs. Prigley was tired, you know ? I 'm an old 
 woman, but I 'm a strong one, and I can sit up well enough. 
 I 've been used to nursing. I nursed our Isaac wife all 
 through her last illness." 
 
 " Mrs. Prigley and I can do very well for to-night ; but to- 
 morrow, in the day-time, we shall need a little rest, -and if you 
 would come we should be much obliged." 
 
 " And if there was any thing I could send from the great 
 'ouse — any jellies or blomonge .'' " 
 
 " Thank you ; if we want any thing we will send for it to the 
 Hall." 
 
 Mrs. Ogden rose to take her leave, which she did very 
 affectionately. " I am very sorry for you, my dear," she 
 said, " and I am angry at our Jacob. He shouldn't 'ave done 
 so — he shouldn't 'ave done so." 
 
 She had no notion of abdicating parental authority — no 
 idea that, because a lad happened to be twenty-one, or thirty- 
 one, or forty-one, he was to be free to do exactly as he liked. 
 And when she got back to the Hall, and the guests were in
 
 392 Wender holme. Parv ii. 
 
 bed, she treated "our Jacob" en petit gargon^ just as if he had 
 been fifteen. She informed him that Mrs. Stanburne's fur- 
 niture would be reinstated in Wenderholme Cottage immedi- 
 ately, and that if she recovered he would have to go there and 
 eat humble-pie. " An' if who doesn't get better, it '11 be thee 
 as has murdered her ; and thou '11 desarve to be hanged for 't, 
 same as Bill o' great John's * as shot old Nanny Suthers wi' 
 a pistil." 
 
 • A common form of sobriquet in Lancashire.
 
 Chap XV. Lady Helena returns. 39; 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 LADY HELENA RETURNS. 
 
 MRS. OGDEN returned to the vicarage the next day, and 
 found Mrs. Stanburne in the same condition of ex- 
 treme exhaustion. The Rigton doctor had arrived in the in- 
 terval, and relieved Dr. Bardly, who returned to Shayton. 
 The two medical men had expressed the same opinion — 
 namely, that the old lady was gradually, but quite surely, 
 sinking. 
 
 Mrs. Ogden took her place by the bedside, and relieved 
 Mrs. Prigley and Edith. The patient being perfectly con- 
 scious, and in possession of all her mental faculties, Edith 
 had told her about Mrs. Ogden's first visit; and when she 
 came near the bedside, Mrs. Stanburne held out her hand, or 
 rather attempted to do so — for she had not strength to lift it 
 — and it fell upon the counterpane. Then she whispered a 
 few words of thanks and welcome. " My son Jacob shouldn't 
 have done so — he shouldn't have done so," said Mrs. Ogden ; 
 and in reply there came faint syllables of forgiveness. Then 
 Mrs. Ogden asked Mrs. Stanburne if she would prove her for- 
 giveness by going back to Wenderholme Cottage. 
 
 " If I live, I will." 
 
 '* Live ! why you 're sure to live. You 're quite a young 
 woman. Look at me, how strong I am, and I 'm older than 
 you are. It 's nothing but the hurry and worry of leaving 
 your 'ouse that you was accustomed to that 's brought you 
 down in this way. You'll get well again — I'm sure you 
 will ; only, we must take care of you. Now we 've had enough
 
 394 
 
 Wenderholme. part ii 
 
 talking for the present, and I '11 get my sewing ; and if you 
 want any thing, I '11 fetch it for you." 
 
 'I'hen the strong old woman sat down by the bedside of the 
 weaker one, and from that time forth established herself as 
 one of her recognized nurses, and by no means the least 
 efficient. In one essential point she was superior both to 
 Edith and Mrs. Prigley — she was less melancholy and more 
 encouraging. The others could not help cr}nng, and the pa- 
 tient saw that they had been crying, which made her feel as 
 if she were assisting at her own funeral ; whereas Mrs. Og- 
 den kept a cheerful countenance, and, though as gentle as a 
 woman could be, had nevertheless a fine firmness and cour- 
 age which made Mrs. Stanburne feel that she could rely upon 
 her. Another immense advantage was, that in the presence 
 of this hale and active example of a vigorous old age, Mrs. 
 Stanburne altogether ceased to feel the burden of her years, 
 and began to consider herself simply as a sick person in a 
 state of temporary exhaustion, instead of an old woman 
 whose thread of life had come to its inevitable end. Indeed, 
 Mrs. Ogden had not been long with the invalid before both 
 of them had given up the theory that she was gradually sink- 
 ing, and replaced it by more hopeful views. 
 
 Young Jacob's interest in Mrs. Stanburne's health proved 
 to be so strong that he could hardly absent himself from the 
 vicarage ; yet though Mrs. Ogden must have been perfectly 
 well aware that he passed a good deal of his time there with 
 Miss Edith, she showed no sign of displeasure, but when she 
 found them together, seemed to consider it perfectly natural, 
 and spoke to Edith always affectionately, calling her "my 
 dear," and putting an unaccustomed tenderness even into the 
 very tones of her voice. The lord of Wenderholme and his 
 remaining guests left for Shayton in the course of the after- 
 noon, but Mrs. Ogden declared her intention of remaining 
 until her patient was out of danger ; and though her son had 
 suggested that young Jacob was not absolutely necessary as a
 
 Chap. XV. Lady Hele7ia returns. 395 
 
 nurse, Mrs. Ogden asserted that it was " a great comfort " to 
 her to have him near her, and that he should go back to 
 Milend with his grandmother at such times as she might see fit 
 to return thither. Jacob Ogden was a wilful and a mighty 
 man ; but either from habit or some genuine filial sentiment, 
 or perhaps because no man can be really happy unless he 
 is governed by a woman of some sort — either a wife, or a 
 mother, or a maiden aunt — this hard and terrible master- 
 spirit submitted to " the old woman " without question, and 
 whatever she willed was done. 
 
 In saying that all Jacob Ogden's guests went back with 
 him to Shayton, an exception must be made in the case of 
 his elder brother. Captain Ogden, as he was now generally 
 called (for the people had gradually got into the habit of giv- 
 ing militia officers their titles), remained at Wenderholme, for 
 reasons of his own. He knew that Colonel Stanburne had 
 been telegraphed for, and wished to see him. Perhaps, too, 
 he thought it might be agreeable to John Stanburne to find a 
 sincere friend in his old place, and that he might be able in 
 some degree to mitigate the painfulness of an unavoidable re- 
 turn to scenes which could not be revisited without awaken- 
 ing many regretful associations. 
 
 As all the Prigley children were at school except Conny, 
 now a young lady who was supposed to have " come out," 
 though in fact no such ceremony had taken place, from the 
 want of any society to come out in, the vicarage was able to 
 accommodate a good many guests, and the Prigleys were only 
 too happy to place it at the disposal of the family to whom 
 they owed their recent advancement in the world. It was a 
 pleasant and spacious, though not a very elegant, house ; and 
 there was a large garden, and an orchard, and a glebe of two 
 or three fields, with sufficient stabling and out-houses. They 
 had set up a small pony-carriage, or rather continued that 
 which belonged to the late vicar, which they had purchased at 
 the sale, with pony and harness complete, for the moderate
 
 396 Wenderhobne. Part il 
 
 sum of nine guineas ; and Conny Prigley set off in this ma- 
 chine to await the train by which Lady Helena was expected 
 to arrive. This arrangement was made without Mrs. Ogden's 
 knowledge, and when she came to be aware of it, she ex- 
 claimed, " Well, now, I wish I 'd known — I do indeed, I wish 
 I'd known — for there's my cayridge at the 'All, which is 
 quite at your service. Our Jacob 's gone back with Miss 
 Smethurst, and he 's left me my cayridge, which you would 
 have been quite welcome to." But the Prigleys had tact 
 enough to know, that although her ladyship rather liked to be 
 magnificent, she might not particularly care for it to be Mrs. 
 Ogden's magnificence ; and that the little green pony-carriage, 
 driven by Conny Prigley, was a more suitable vehicle to bring 
 her ladyship to the vicarage than the sumptuous chariot in 
 which Mrs. Ogden had triumphed the day before. 
 
 Lady Helena duly arrived. It did not require much expla- 
 nation from Edith to make the whole situation quite clear to 
 her perspicuous mind. She went upstairs to see Mrs. Stan- 
 burne, who was grateful to her for coming so soon, and the 
 first person she saw in the room was Mrs. Ogden. 
 
 There was a little stiffness at first, but it did not last long. 
 Lady Helena and Mrs. Ogden got into conversation about 
 the state of the patient, and then about other matters con- 
 nected with what might be called the diocese of the Lady of 
 Wenderholme. Had Mrs. Ogden been one of the examples, 
 so numerous in these days, of amazingly refined ladyhood in 
 the middle classes, Lady Helena might have been jealous of 
 her ; but how was it possible for her ladyship to feel jealous 
 of a simple old woman like Mrs. Ogden, who spoke broad 
 Lancashire, and in every movement of her body, and every 
 utterance of her lips, proclaimed the humility of her birth ? 
 Lady Helena, moreover, had a keen sense of humor, and it 
 was impossible not to feel interested and amused, as soon as 
 the first anxiety about Mrs. Stanburne was at least tempora- 
 rily tranquillized, by Mrs. Ogden's quaint turns of expression,
 
 Chap. XV. Lady Helena returns. 397 
 
 and her wonderful reliance on her own wisdom and experi- 
 ence. Even Mrs. Stanburne, ill as she was, could not help 
 smiling, as she lay in her bed of sickness, when Mrs. Ogden 
 came out with some of those sayings which were peculiarly 
 her own. 
 
 The condition of the invalid had become less distressing 
 and less alarming, though the Doctor still held out no hopes 
 of a recovery. Mrs. Ogden, however, had succeeded in 
 making the patient believe that she would get better because 
 she believed it herself, and she believed it herself because 
 the idea of a person dying of mere weakness at the early age 
 of seventy-two was not admissible to her patriarchal mind. It 
 was a great thing for Mrs. Stanburne to have somebody near 
 her who did not consider that she was used up, and she began 
 to regard Mrs. Ogden with the partiality which human nature 
 always feels for those who preach comfortable doctrine. 
 
 As there were so many ladies to nurse Mrs. Stanburne, 
 and as the invalid now gave comparatively little immediate 
 anxiety, Edith easily got Lady Helena to herself for half 
 an hour. 
 
 The young lady was firmly resolved upon one thing — 
 namely, that this opportunity for a reconciliation between 
 her father and mother should not be lost through any pusil- 
 lanimity of hers. 
 
 " Mamma," she said boldly, "why did you leave papa when 
 he was ruined ? " 
 
 " Because he ordered me to leave him ; because he turned 
 me out of the house." 
 
 " But why did he do so ? It is quite contrary to his char- 
 acter to turn anybody out. When he dismissed the servants, 
 he did it very kindly, and only because he could not afford to 
 keep them." 
 
 Lady Helena remained silent. 
 
 " Do tell me, mamma, why he behaved so. It isn't like 
 him ; you know it isn't like him."
 
 39 8 Wenderholme. Pari ii. 
 
 " There are people, Edith," said her ladyship, " who com- 
 mit great follies ; and then, when the misfortunes come which 
 they themselves have caused, they cannot endure to hear one 
 word of blame. They must be pitied and sympathized with, 
 and then they are very nice and amiable \ but if you express 
 the least censure, they fly into a passion and insult you." 
 
 "You mean that you censured papa for his imprudence, 
 and that he got angry." 
 
 " I said very little to him. I said a few words which were 
 strictly true. I never scold." 
 
 " No, mamma, you never scold ; but scolding would be 
 easier to bear than your blame. I see how it all was ; you 
 blamed papa in two or three terribly just and severe words, 
 and then, after that, you said nothing to console him in his 
 misery, and he became irritable, and said something hasty." 
 
 Lady Helena said nothing to this, but she did not look 
 displeased; and she showed no inclination either to leave 
 the room or to change the subject. 
 
 " Dear mamma, I don't think you did wrong in blaming 
 papa's imprudence; but if you had given him one word of 
 kindness afterwards, you would never have lost him." 
 
 " Is not this rather " — 
 
 " Impertinent from a daughter, you mean to say. You 
 know I don't want to be impertinent, mamma ; but I 'm old 
 enough to be of some use, and I mean to be, too, whether 
 your ladyship is quite satisfied or not. Are you aware that 
 papa will be here to-morrow 1 " 
 
 " It is natural that he should come here, as his mother is ill." 
 
 " And when he comes, we must do what we can to help him 
 to bear his afflictions, I suppose." 
 
 " Certainly." 
 
 " Well, we won't pass any more votes of censure, mamma, 
 will we > And we shall forgive him his trespasses, shall 
 we not?" 
 
 To this Lady Helena made no reply ; but her face wore
 
 Chap. XV. Lady Helejta 7'eturns. 399 
 
 a new and a softer expression. This encouraged Edith, who 
 continued : — 
 
 " He has suffered enough. He has been living all by 
 himself in a miserable little French town on the Loire. I 
 have a whole heap of his letters. Ht told me every thing 
 about his situation. Grandpapa has been allowing him three 
 hundred a-year — he has never touched a penny of it; it 
 is paid regularly to grandmamma Stanburne, who does not 
 know that she is ruined, and who fancies that papa has an 
 allowance, and lives abroad for his pleasure. His letters to 
 her are all about amusements, but he writes to me sincerely, 
 and / know what his life has been. He has got a post as 
 English master in a school, and they pay him twenty-five 
 francs a-week, but he gives lessons in the town, and gets two 
 francs a lesson, only he has not many of these. He is en 
 pension in an inn. It is a miserably lonely life. I would 
 have gone to him, but I could not leave grandmamma." 
 
 Lady Helena's eyes glistened in the firelight. They were 
 brimming with tears. " You should have told me this sooner, 
 Edith," she said, at last. 
 
 " Would you have gone to him ? Would you have gone to 
 live with him there, in his lodgings, and cheer him after his 
 day's work ? " 
 
 " I have been less happy, Edith, during these last months, 
 than I should have been with him, wherever he is, however 
 poor he is." 
 
 After this avowal of her ladyship, the chances are great, I 
 think, that the Colonel will be agreeably received at the vicar- 
 age. Miss Edith communicated as much to the worthy vicar 
 himself, who, though with Anglican discretion he would have 
 avoided intruding in the character of peacemaker, thought 
 it a duty to encourage Lady Helena in the path of charity and 
 forgiveness. 
 
 " Forgive him heartily and entirely any thing you may have 
 to forgive. Go to him at once when he comes. All your 
 days will be blessed for this."
 
 400 Wenderhobne. Part ii. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 THE COLONEL COMES. 
 
 IN the evening came a telegram from the Colonel, dated 
 from Dover, and announcing his arrival for the following 
 morning. " What a pity it is," said Lady Helena, " that he 
 did not give us a London address ! we might have spared him 
 a whole night of anxiety." She was thinking about him just 
 as she used to think about him in their happiest years. 
 
 On reference to the time-table, it appeared that the Colonel 
 would arrive at the station at about eight o'clock in the morn- 
 ing. When Captain Ogden heard of this, he said he would 
 go to meet him, and so did young Jacob ; and Mrs. Ogden 
 offered her carriage, and, in short, there was a general fuss, 
 to which Lady Helena suddenly put an end by declaring her 
 intention of going to meet him herself in the little pony- 
 carriage that belonged to the vicarage. Mr. Prigley smiled 
 approbation, and assured her ladyship that he would lend her 
 that humble equipage with great pleasure, meaning a great 
 deal more than he said. 
 
 So Lady Helena drove off in the little green carriage at 
 six o'clock in the morning ; for the station, as the reader 
 may remember, was ten miles from Wenderholme, and it was 
 necessary to bait the pony before he came back. It was a 
 rude little equipage altogether, not very well hung, and by 
 no means elegant in its proportions. The pony, too, in 
 anticipation of winter, was beginning to put on his rough 
 coat, and his harness had long since lost any brilliance it 
 might have once possessed. The morning was cold and raw,
 
 Chap. XVI. The Colonel comes. 401 
 
 and a chilly gray dawn was in the east — an aurora of the 
 least encouraging kind, which one always feels disposed to be 
 angry at for coming and disturbing the more cheerful dark- 
 ness. Some people at the vicarage were astonished that Mr. 
 Prigley should allow her ladyship to drive off alone in this 
 dreary way at six o'clock in the morning; but then these 
 people did not know all that Mr. Prigley knew. When Lady 
 Helena got into the carriage, the vicar shook hands with 
 her in an uncommonly affectionate manner, just as if she had 
 been leaving him for a very long time, and then he said 
 something to her in a very low tone. " Dear Lady Helena," 
 he said, " God bless you ! " and it is my firm belief that if 
 Mrs. Prigley had not been within sight, that vicar would have 
 given Lady Helena a kiss. 
 
 Away went the pony through the darkling lanes, with the 
 rattling machine after him. Poor pony ! he had often done 
 that long journey to the station, and done it with reasonable 
 celerity, but he had never trotted so fast as he trotted now. 
 Can it be the early morning air that so exhilarates her lady- 
 ship? Her face is so bright and cheerful that it conquers 
 the dreariness of the hour, and brings a better sunshine than 
 the gray October dawn. How little we know under what 
 circumstances we shall enjoy the purest and sweetest felicity 1 
 This little woman had been in lordly equipages, in all sorts 
 of splendid pleasures and stately ceremonies ; she had been 
 drawn by magnificent horses, with a powdered coachman on 
 the box, and a cluster of lacqueys behind ; she had gone in 
 diamonds and feathers to St. James's ; better still, she had 
 driven through the fairest scenery under cloudless skies, 
 when all nature rejoiced around her. All the luxury that 
 skilled craftsmen can produce in combination had been hers ; 
 carriages hung so delicately, and cushioned so sofdy, that 
 they seemed to float on air ; harness that seemed as if its 
 only purpose were to enhance the beauty of the horses which 
 it adorned; liveries, varnish, silver, and the rest of it. And 
 
 26
 
 402 Wender holme. Part ii 
 
 yet, of all the drives that Lady Helena had ever taken in her 
 whole life, this was the most delightful, this drive in the dreary 
 dawn of an October morning in a rattling little carriage with 
 stiff springs, painted like a park paling, and drawn by a 
 shaggy pony at the rate of six miles an hour ! 
 
 She reached the station half an hour before the train came, 
 and sat a little in the waiting-room, and walked about on the 
 platform, in a state of nervous fidgetiness and anxiety. At 
 length the bell rang, and the engine came round a curve, and 
 grew bigger and bigger, and her heart beat faster and faster. 
 "There he is, poor John, getting out of a third-class car- 
 riage ! " Lady Helena had been seeking him amongst the 
 well-to-do first-class passengers. 
 
 She ran to him, and took his hand in both hers, and said, 
 " She 's better, love — a good deal better since yesterday." 
 And the tears ran down her cheeks. 
 
 The Colonel looked at her for a moment, and took both 
 her hands, and would have said something, or perhaps gone 
 so far as to give her just one little kiss on the forehead — 
 which is a wonderful thing for an Englishman to achieve in 
 a railway station — but these good intentions were frustrated 
 by the guard, who, in rather a peremptory way, demanded to 
 know whether he had any luggage. 
 
 John Stanburne felt like a man in a dream. Going back 
 to Wenderholme, no longer his, with Helena, his own Helena 
 once more ! It was not in his nature to cherish the least 
 vindictive feeling, and that one word of his wife had wiped 
 away every evil recollection. When they got into the little 
 pony-carriage, and were out of hearing of the hostler, the 
 Colonel turned to her ladyship, and said, — 
 
 " I owe you a great many apologies, dear. I behaved very 
 badly the last time we were together, but I was upset, you 
 know. You are a good woman to come and meet me in this 
 way, and forgive me. I have meant to write to you many 
 a time and say how sorry I was, but I put it off because — 
 because" —
 
 Chap. XVI. TJic Coloiiel comes. 403 
 
 It is well that the pony was quiet, and knew its own way 
 to Wenderholme, for when they got into an uncommonly 
 retired lane, with very high hedges, her ladyship, who was 
 driving, threw the reins down, and embraced the gentleman 
 by her side in an extraordinary manner. Then came pas- 
 sionate tears, and after that she grew calmer. 
 
 " What geese we were to fancy we could live separately ! " 
 she said. 
 
 And then they talked incessantly the whole way. She 
 asked him a thousand questions about his life abroad, — how 
 he passed his evenings, whether he had found any society, 
 and so on. As the Colonel told her about his humble, lonely 
 life, she listened with perfect sympathy ; and when he said 
 that some people had been kind to him, and got him pupils, 
 she wanted to know all about them. "I'm getting on 
 famously," said the Colonel. " I 'm earning nearly sixty 
 francs a-week, and I pronounce French better than I used 
 to do."
 
 404 Wenderholme. Part il 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 A MORNING CALL. 
 
 SINCE we are obliged to leave the vicarage now, the 
 reader must be told the exact truth about Mrs. Stan- 
 burne's condition. It continued to give great anxiety for 
 several weeks, and all her friends, even including the doctors, 
 gave her up over and over again, believing that she had not 
 more than an hour or two to live ; yet she always passed 
 through these times of danger, and gradually, very gradually, 
 began to feel rather stronger in the month of December. 
 The season of the year was not favorable to her, but Dr. 
 Bardly hoped that if she could be sustained till the return 
 of spring, she would regain her strength, at least in a great 
 measure, and probably have several years of life still before 
 her. She bore the winter better than had been expected, 
 though without quitting her room at the vicarage, and in the 
 month of April entered upon a convalescence which aston- 
 ished all around her. 
 
 The old lady's illness led to very important consequences. 
 Since the period of her danger was protracted, her friends 
 remained near her day after day, and week after week, always 
 believing that they were performing the last duty by a death- 
 bed. A great sadness reigned in the vicarage during all this 
 season of watching, but it was sadness of the kind which is 
 most favorable to sympathy and good feeling. The vicar 
 and his good wife, so far from feeling the presence of the 
 invalid and their other guests a burden, were glad that it 
 was in their power to do any thing for her and for them j
 
 Chap. XVII. A Moming Call. 405 
 
 and whilst the old lady lay upon her bed of sickness she 
 was producing happier and more important results, siraply 
 by throwing certain persons together by invisible bonds of 
 mutual approval and a common anxiety, than she could ever 
 have achieved by an active ingerence in their afifairs. E\'eiy- 
 body who loved old Mrs. Stanburne was grateful to everybody 
 who gave proof of a real interest in her condition ; and the 
 majestic approach of death, whose shadow lay on the vicar- 
 age so long, subdued all its inhabitants into a more perfect 
 spiritual harmony than they would ever have attained to 
 amongst the distractions of gayer, though not happier, days. 
 Lady Helena was admirable. There was a tenderness and 
 a simplicity in her manner which pleased the Colonel greatly, 
 and won the warm approval of the vicar. She devoted her- 
 self mainly to the care of Mrs. Stanburne, but, saying that 
 exercise was necessary to enable her to do her duty as a 
 nurse, made the Colonel walk out with her every day. These 
 walks were delightful to both of them — for even though the 
 scenery about the village of Wenderholme was full of painful 
 associations, their sense of loss was more than balanced by 
 the sense of a yet larger gain ; and the future, though it 
 could not have the external brilliance of the past, promised 
 a deeper and more firm felicity. Sadness and unhappiness 
 are two very different conditions of the mind, and it does 
 not follow that because we are saddened we are incapable of 
 being very happy in a certain quiet and not unenviable way. 
 Indeed, it might even be asserted, that as 
 
 "Our sweetest songs are those which tell of saddest thought" — 
 
 so it is with life itself, as well as poetr}^, and that our sweetest 
 hours are far from being our gayest. 
 
 It had become tacitly understood that neither Lady Helena 
 nor Mrs. Ogden would offer any opposition to the marriage 
 between Jacob and Edith. Whatever Mrs. Ogden determined 
 to do, she did in a thorough and effectual manner ; and as 
 she had resolved that amends ought to be made to the Stan-
 
 4o6 Wenderholme. Part ii. 
 
 burnes for her son's conduct to the old lady, she considered 
 that the best way to do this would be to receive Edith kindly 
 into her family. In this resolution she was greatly helped 
 by a genuine approval of the young lady herself. " There 's 
 some girls as brings fortunes," she said to young Jacob, " and 
 there 's other girls as is a fortune themselves, and I think 
 Miss Stanburne will be as good as a fortune to any one who 
 may marry her." Nor had this opinion been lightly arrived 
 at, for during her frequent visits to the vicarage, Mrs. Ogden 
 had studied Edith, much in the same way as an entomologist 
 studies an insect under a microscope. 
 
 One day, when the weather became a little warmer, Lady 
 Helena said to the Colonel, " Don't you think, dear, that we 
 ought to go and call upon that old Mrs. Ogden at the Hall ? 
 She has been exceedingly kind in coming to sit with mamma. 
 I would have suggested it sooner, but I was afraid it might be 
 painful for you, dear, to go to the old house again." 
 
 So they set out and walked to the Hall together, both of 
 them feeling very strange feelings, indeed, as they passed up 
 the familiar avenue. When they came at last in sight of the 
 great house, John Stanburne paused and gazed upon it for a 
 long time without speaking. It stood just as he had left it — 
 none of the carved Stanburne shields had been removed. 
 " I 'm glad they 've altered nothing, Helena," he said. 
 
 Then they met their old gardener, who spoke to them with 
 the tears in his eyes. " It 's different for us to what it used 
 to be, my lady," he said ; " not but what Mrs. Ogden is a 
 good woman, but her son is a hard master." 
 
 "We were coming to see Mrs. Ogden," said Lady Helena; 
 " do you know if she is at home ? " 
 
 " You won't find her in the house, my lady ; but if you will 
 come this way, I '11 take you to where she is." 
 
 Nature always puts some element of comedy into the most 
 touching circumstances, and saves us from morbid feelings 
 by glimpses of the ludicrous side of life. Thus, although tlie
 
 Chap. XVII. A Moming Call. 407 
 
 gardener had had tears in his eyes when he saw the Colonel 
 and Lady Helena, there vvas a smile upon his face as he led 
 them in the direction of the stables. 
 
 " Your ladyship will find Mrs. Ogden in that carriage," he 
 said, pointing to the magnificent Ogden chariot, which stood, 
 as if to air itself, without horses, in the middle of the yard. 
 When he had said this, the gardener made his bow and disap- 
 peared, sniding with keen satisfaction at what he had just do ae. 
 
 The visitors were much surprised, but, as the gardener well 
 knew, curiosity alone was strong enough to make them go jp 
 to the carriage and see whether there was anybody inside it. 
 The Colonel peeped in at the window, and saw Mrs. Ogden 
 sitting in the vehicle, apparently in quite a settled and per- 
 manent way, for she had her knitting. 
 
 " Eh, well, it 's the Colonel and her ladyship, I declare ! " 
 cried Mrs. Ogden, opening the carriage-door. " Come and 
 get in — do get in — it's very comfortable. I often come and 
 sit here a bit of an afternoon with my knitting. But what 
 perhaps you 'd rather go and sit a bit i' th' 'ouse ? " 
 
 They got inside the carriage with the old lady, and their 
 amusement at this circumstance quite relieved those feelings 
 of melancholy which had naturally taken possession of them 
 on revisiting Wenderholme. The conversation was quite 
 agreeable and animated, and half an hour passed very rap- 
 idly. After that, the callers proposed to depart. 
 
 " Nay," said Mrs. Ogden, "youwilln't be going away so 
 soon, will you? Come into th' 'ouse, now — do come and 
 have a glass of wine." 
 
 Lady Helena promised that they would come to the house 
 another day, but said that she wished to go back to Mrs. 
 Stanburne. On this Mrs. Ogden said, " Well, then, if you 
 will go back, sit you still." And she let down the glass and 
 called out in a loud voice for the horses. 
 
 The horses were put to the carriage, and the visitors shortly 
 found themselves in motion tovvards the vicarage, which
 
 4o8 Wende'j'holme. Pari- ii. 
 
 proves the advantage of receiving friends in a small drawing- 
 room on four wheels. The incident created a great deal of 
 amusement, and even old Mrs. Stanburne laughed at it very 
 heartily. Very trifling and absurd things are often of great 
 use in putting people in a good temper, and chasing melan- 
 choly ideas ; and Mrs. Ogden's fancy for sitting in her car- 
 riage developed a wonderful amount of kindly humor at the 
 vicarage.. Nothing does people more good than laughing at 
 their neighbors, and they love their neighbors all the better 
 for having laughed at them ; so Mrs. Ogden's popularity at 
 the vicarage was increased by this incident, and I dare say 
 it accelerated Mrs. Stanburne's recovery in an appreciable, 
 though not ascertainable, degree.
 
 Chap. XVIII. Aloncy on the Brain. 409 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 MONEY ON THE BRAIN. 
 
 IMMEDIATELY after the Colonel's return from France, 
 Captain Ogden went back to his solitude at Twistle Farm, 
 but his son spent a good deal of his time with old Mrs. Og- 
 den at Wenderholme. Jacob Ogden, senior, came to Wen- 
 derholme frequently to look after the work-people on the 
 estate, but did not mark his disapproval of his nephew's pro- 
 ceedings otherwise than by quietly excluding him from all 
 participation in his affairs. Although the young man passed 
 a great deal more time at Wenderholme than his uncle did, he 
 was never requested, and he never offered, to do any of the 
 duties of an overlooker, and his uncle treated ] im strictly 
 upon the footing of a visitor — a visitor, not to himself, but 
 to his mother. There is so much firmness in the character of 
 the typical Lancashire man, that he can assume, and main- 
 tain for an indefinite length of time, an attitude towards a 
 friend or relation which would be impossible for more mobile 
 temperaments ; and young Jacob knew his uncle well enough 
 to be aware that having once decided upon his line of con- 
 duct, there was every probability that he would follow it with- 
 out deviation. Therefore, although young Jacob could have 
 made himself of the greatest use at Wenderholme without 
 interfering either with his amusement of shooting or his duti- 
 ful attendance upon Miss Edith, he paid no more attention 
 to the work-people than if they had been employed by some 
 proprietor entirely unknown to him. It is unnecessary to 
 add, that when at Twistle Farm, where he spent about
 
 4 1 o Wenderholme. Part ii. 
 
 one week out of three, he never went near his uncle's fac- 
 tories. 
 
 And yet, notwithstanding the apparent indifference with 
 which Jacob Ogden dispensed witli his nephew's services, they 
 were more than ever necessary to him. The great factories 
 at Shayton were enough of themselves to absorb the whole 
 time of a very active master; but, in addition to these, Jacob 
 Ogden was now working the calico-printing establishment at 
 Whittlecup, which had formerly belonged to Mr. Joseph Ani- 
 son, and carrying out extensive improvements, not only upon 
 the Wenderholme estate, but upon many other properties of 
 his, scattered over the neighboring parishes, and often at 
 a considerable distance from his headquarters at Milend. 
 Though his constitution was a strong one, he had always 
 taxed its strength to the utmost ; and his powers were not 
 what they had been, nor what he still believed them to be. 
 He might have gone on for many years in the old routine 
 that he had been accustomed to — for a hard-worked man 
 will endure labor that seems beyond his present strength if 
 he merely continues the habits of his better time. But a man 
 already in the decline of life cannot add to his labor without 
 danger, if it is already excessive, and especially if the new 
 labors require thought and study before they can be fully 
 mastered. The improvements at Wenderholme, to an ex- 
 perienced land-owner like Jacob Ogden, required no new 
 apprenticeship ; but that was not the case with the calico- 
 printing business at Whittlecup. It was a new trade that 
 had to be learned, and not a very easy trade — not nearly 
 so simple as cotton-spinning. He applied himself to it with 
 that indomitable will and resolution which had hitherto over- 
 come every obstacle in his career, and he rapidly acquired 
 the new knowledge that he needed. But this effort, in addi- 
 tion to the enormous burden of his daily work — the daily 
 work of a rich man who could not endure to be robbed, and 
 would trust nothing to his agents — began to tell upon his
 
 Chai. XVIII. Money on the Brain. 411 
 
 cerebral system in a peculiar manner; and these effects 
 were the more dangerous that Jacob Ogden had no concep- 
 tion of the terrible nature of the enemy that was invading 
 him, but believed this enemy might be conquered by his will 
 and perseverance, as every other obstacle had been. If he 
 had frankly consulted Dr. Bardly on the appearance of the 
 first symptoms, and followed the advice which Dr. Bardly 
 would have given, the evil would have been checked in time ; 
 but he felt a certain hostility to the Doctor, which disinclined 
 him to communications which he did not feel to be immedi- 
 ately necessary ; and even if this could have been laid aside, 
 a man so wilful as Jacob Ogden, and so accustomed to look 
 after his own affairs, would scarcely have consented under 
 present circumstances to give up the management of his busi- 
 ness to his nephew, and retire to a premature and inglorious 
 repose. 
 
 Hitherto he had gone through his work with great energy, 
 in combination with perfect calm. The energy still remained, 
 it even increased; but the calm did not remain — it was 
 succeeded by a perpetvfel hurrj' and fever. In a short time 
 after these symptoms first developed themselves, Jacob Ogden 
 could not add up a column of figures without excitement ; 
 when he came to the totals his heart beat violentlv, and he 
 began to make mistakes, which he perceived, and was after- 
 wards nervously anxious to avoid. As his malady increased, 
 he could not open a letter without emotion, or sign a cheque 
 without a strong effort of self-control ; in a word, the ner- 
 vous system was rapidly giving way. And instead of taking 
 rtst, which could alone have restored him to health — rest 
 at Wenderholme amongst his own fair fields in the beautiful 
 months of spring — he persisted and persisted, and would 
 not allow himself to be beaten. 
 
 The people about him did not know any thing of his con- 
 dition. He was more irritable, he pushed everybody faster 
 than he had formerly done, and he was constantly moving
 
 4 1 2 Wenderholmc. Part ii. 
 
 from one place to another ; but his determination to control 
 himself was so strotig, and his power of appearing well still 
 so considerable, that such people as Mrs. Ogden and young 
 Jacob (imaccustomed as they both were to that kind of suffer- 
 ing, and incapable of imagining it) had not the most distant 
 suspicion that he had become unfit for work. Indeed, al- 
 though an experienced London .physician, who had made 
 brain disease his particular study, would no doubt have seen 
 at a glance that this was a case which needed the most 
 watchful care, it may be doubted whether a country practi- 
 tioner (even so clever, naturally, as Dr. Bardly) would have 
 warned Jacob Ogden in time. 
 
 The overtasked brain translated its own dangerous condi- 
 tion by anxiety, and the anxiety was not about health, but, as 
 often happens in such instances, about that subject which had 
 most occupied the patient's mind before the approaches of 
 disease — namely, money. With all his riches, Jacob Ogden 
 grew more nervously anxious about money matters than the 
 poorest laborer on his estate. His mind ran incessantly upon 
 possible causes of loss ; and as in th^ best-regulated property 
 such causes are always infinitely numerous, he found them 
 only too easily. The thousands of details which, when in 
 health, he had carried in his head as lightly as we carry 
 the words of a thoroughly mastered language, began to tor- 
 ment him with the apprehension that they might escape his 
 memory ; and whereas, in his better days, no fact troubled 
 him except just at the moment wlien he wanted it, they now 
 importunately intruded upon his mind when they could only 
 disturb and confuse it. 
 
 At length, as his disease advanced towards its sure and ter- 
 rible development, the anxiety, which was the form it had 
 taken, and the mental hurry and worry which accompanied 
 it, arrived at such a pitch that the least delicate and acute 
 observers remarked it in Jacob Ogden's face. His mother 
 earnestly entreated him not to torment himself so much abovu
 
 Chap. XVIII. Moucy Oil the Brain. 413 
 
 Iiis affairs, but to take a partner, and allow himself more rest. 
 The advice came too late. The tender cells of the cerebrum 
 were in a state of fevered disturbance, which must now inevi- 
 tably lead to one of the forms of madness. 
 
 It broke out one night at VVenderholme. He toiled till 
 three o'clock in the morning, alone, at his accounts. There 
 was nothing in them which he would not have mastered quite 
 easily when in health, but the condition of his brain had led 
 to many errors, and the attempt to correct these had only in- 
 creased and multiplied them. He toiled and toiled till his 
 brain could no longer stand the confusion, and he went mad. 
 
 First there came a sense of strangeness to every thing about 
 him, and then a wild alarm — a terror such as he had never 
 known ! For a few minutes Reason fiercely struggled to keep 
 her seat, and would not be dispossessed. Those minutes 
 were the most fearful the man had ever passed through. He 
 sprang from his place, and paced the room from wall to wall 
 in violent agitation. " I 'm very ill," he thought ; " I cannot 
 tell what 's the matter with me. I believe I 'm going to have 
 a fit. No, it isn't that — it isn't that; I know what it is — I 
 know now — /';« going mad /" 
 
 No visible external foe can ever be so terrible as the mys- 
 terious internal avengers. They come upon us we know not 
 when nor where. They come when the doors are locked, the 
 mansion guarded, and all the household sleeps. They come 
 in their terrible invisibility, like devils taking possession. 
 The strokes of mortal disease are dealt mysteriously within ; 
 and who would not rather meet a body of armed savages than 
 invisible apoplexy or paralysis ? 
 
 For five minutes Ogden wrestled with his invisible enemy. 
 " I will not go mad," he cried aloud — "I will not ! " 
 
 And a minute afterwards the struggle ceased, and he was 
 another being, mad beyond hope of recover}'. 
 
 A strange smile came over his face, and he pressed his 
 hand upon his forehead. •' I '11 dodge them yet." he said ;
 
 4T4 Wender holme. Part ii. 
 
 "they aren't as sharp as I am. I'm sharper than the best 
 of them ! " 
 
 He began to count the jnoney in his purse. It was not 
 much — five pounds eighteen exactly. He counted the sum 
 quite correctly, over and over again ; then he looked anxiously 
 about for a place to hide it in. Whilst he was doing this, his 
 mother, who had felt anxious about him all night, and had 
 been unable to sleep, came to his room-door and listened. 
 She heard him walking about and muttering to himself. 
 Then she opened the door and went in. 
 
 He concealed his purse cunningly, and placed himself be- 
 tween the intruder and its hiding-place. 
 
 "Jacob," she said, "you ought to be in bed ; why are you 
 up like that? It 's three o'clock in the morning." 
 
 He began to talk very rapidly. He knew his mother per- 
 fectly well. " Mother," he said, " when bailiffs comes you 
 willn't tell 'em where I have hid my brass ; see, I 've hidden 
 it here, but you willn't tell 'em, mother.-"' And then he 
 lifted up a corner of the carpet and showed his little purse. 
 
 Mrs. Ogden trembled from head to foot. " Our Jacob 's 
 crazed," she said to herself — "our Jacob 's gone crazed ! " 
 
 She felt too weak to remain standing, and sat down, never 
 taking her eyes off him. He put the purse back, and covered 
 it again with great care. Then he took his memorandum- 
 book, and seemed to be making an entry. 
 
 " Let me look at that book," Mrs. Ogden said. 
 
 It was as she had feared. The entry was a hopelessly 
 illegible jumble of unmeaning lines and figures. 
 
 " Hadn't you better go to bed? " 
 
 "Go to bed, mother — not if I know it!" He said this 
 with a smile of intense cunning, and then added, confiden- 
 tially, "The bailiffs are comin' to-morrow, and Baron Roths- 
 child has bought all my property, a large price, a million ster- 
 ling — a million sterling; it's Jiaron Rothsciiild that i^oiight 
 it, mother, for a million sterling! "
 
 Chap. XVIII. Moiicy Oil the Brain. 4 1 5 
 
 The poor old woman burst into tears. "O Jacob!" she 
 said, " I wisli you wouldn't talk so ! " 
 
 "Why, mother," he replied, with an injured air, and a look 
 of intense penetration, "you know well enough what I failed 
 for. I never should have failed if it hadn't been for that 
 Sootythorn Bank ; but they came to borrow money of me at 
 Milend, and I took up shares for a hundred thousand, and 
 then the smash came, and I failed. But never you mind, 
 mother. Baron Rothschild bought my estates for a million 
 sterling. That shows I was a millionnaire. Doesn't it, 
 mother ? for if I hadn't been worth a million, Baron Roths- 
 child wouldn't have given a million for my property. He 
 vvilln't give more for property than what it's worth." 
 
 " O Jacob ! you do make me miserable with, talking so." 
 
 She did not know what to do with him. Young Jacob and 
 her son Isaac were both at Twistle Farm. At last she thought 
 of Colonel Stanburne, who was staying at Wenderholme Cot- 
 tage. She left her son for a few minutes, and sent a messen- 
 ger for the Colonel. On returning to Jacob's room, she found 
 him busy counting his money over again. He had taken the 
 purse from its hiding-place. 
 
 The strength of her own nervous system was such that 
 she bore even this appalling event with firmness. She 
 was grieved beyond power of expression, but she was not 
 overcome. 
 
 Happily there was no violence in Jacob Ogden's madness ; 
 he was not in the least dangerous. He simply kept repeat- 
 ing that story about his supposed failure, which he always 
 attributed to the Sootythorn Bank, and the purchase of his 
 property by Baron Rothschild. When the Colonel came, he 
 told him the same story in the same words. 
 
 "You are mistaken on one point," the Colonel said. "It 
 was I, Colonel Stanburne, who was ruined by the failure of 
 the Sootythorn Bank, not you. You were never ruined. You 
 purchased W'enderholme."
 
 4i6 WendcrJiolme. Part ii 
 
 Mr. Ogden looked at him with the air of a professional 
 man when a layman has advanced something which he knows 
 to be absurd. Then he shook his head, and repeated the 
 story about Baron Rothschild. 
 
 The Colonel kindly remained with him till morning, and 
 bravely watched him through the dreary hours. A messenger 
 had been despatched on horseback to Twistle Farm and to 
 Dr. Bardly. Isaac Ogden and his son were at Wenderholme 
 by breakfast-time, and the Doctor's brougham drove up very 
 shortly afterwards. 
 
 Dr. Bardly tried to be encouraging. " He has been work- 
 ing too much," he said, " and made himself too anxious ; he 
 may get round again with rest and care. Give him good 
 roast-meat and plenty of physical work." 
 
 But about ten o'clock Jacob Ogden became anxious to 
 quit Wenderholme, being full of apprehension about the bail- 
 iffs. " Better let him have his own way," said the Doctor ; 
 so he was taken to Milend. 
 
 At Milend, however, there were other causes of anxiety. 
 Th'e bailiffs tormented him at Wenderholme ; the idea of 
 Baron Rothschild haunted him at Milend. 
 
 The experiment was tried of showing him the factory and 
 the counting-house, but with most discouraging results. The 
 factory produced a degree of excitement which, if continued, 
 would probably lead to madness of an aggravated and far 
 more dangerous kind. 
 
 Specialists were telegraphed for from Manchester and from 
 London, and a consultation was held. They agreed that the 
 patient must be kept out of the way of every thing that might 
 remind him of his former career, recommending extreme tran- 
 quillity, good but simple diet, and as much physical exercise 
 as the patient could be induced to take. 
 
 These might be had conveniently in Mrs. Ogden's favorite 
 little farm, the Cream-pot. It was situated in a glen or clough, 
 out of sight of the Shaylon factory-chimneys.
 
 Chai>. x\ III. Money on the Brain. 417 
 
 So the old lady went there to live with her afiflicted son. 
 She could manage him better than anybody else, and he was 
 never dangerous. 
 
 After a time, a happy discovery was made. He counted 
 the money in his purse several times a-day, and Mrs. Ogden 
 told him that if he would dig their little garden, she would 
 pay him wages. He seized upon this idea with great joy and 
 eagerness, and she paid him a sovereign on the Saturday 
 night. The week following he worked very hard, and counted 
 the days, and spoke of his anticipated earnings with delight. 
 So his mother paid him another sovereign, and ever after- 
 wards this became the rule, and she employed him at a pound 
 a- week. 
 
 He kept all the sovereigns in his purse, and they were his 
 joy and treasure. His physical health became excellent, and 
 though his intellect gave no hope of restoration, his days 
 passed not unhappily. His mother tended him with the most 
 touching devotion, and a self-sacrifice so absolute that she 
 ceased to visit her friends, and abandoned all the little amuse- 
 ments and varieties of her life. 
 
 a?
 
 4 1 8 Wender holme. Part ii. 
 
 T 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE COLONEL AT STANITHBURN. 
 
 HE long illness and slow convalescence of Mrs. Stan- 
 
 burne, and the deplorable mental affliction which fell 
 upon Jacob Ogden, and threw a cloud of lasting sadness over 
 the whole Ogden family, produced long delays in the projects 
 of young Jacob and Edith, and were the cause of much 
 indecision on the part of the Colonel and Lady Helena. 
 Mrs. Stanburne returned to Wenderholnie Cottage in the 
 earliest days of spring, but the Colonel and his wife had 
 already stayed there for many weeks, being anxious not to 
 abuse the kind hospitality of the vicarage. The vicar's sen- 
 timents when they left him were of a mixed kind. He was 
 glad, and he was sorry. In his gladness there was no selfish 
 calculation — the Stanburnes were welcome to every thing 
 he could offer them ; but in his warm approval of Lady 
 Helena's conduct towards the Colonel, he had been a little 
 too demonstrative to be quite agreeable to Mrs. Prigley, and 
 therefore Mrs. Prigley had thought it incumbent upon her, 
 as a British matron of unspotted virtue, to make his life as 
 miserable as she could. Mrs. Ogden, too, had inflamed Mrs. 
 Prigley's jealousy in another way by coming and nursing Mrs. 
 Stanburne. What right had one of those " nasty Ogdens " 
 to come and nurse Mrs. Stanburne ? Mrs. Prigley looked 
 upon the invalid as exclusively her own property. Edith, 
 being young and insignificant, might sit a little with her 
 grandmother — but Mrs. Ogden! 
 
 If Lady ' lelena had not come just in time to take upon
 
 Chap. XIX. The Coloiiel at Stanithburn. 419 
 
 herself a good deal of this now inflamed and awakened 
 jealousy, the consequence would have been that poor Mr. 
 Prigley would have incurred grave suspicions of an amorous 
 intrigue with the old lady of Milend ; but as Lady Helena 
 was younger than Mrs. Prigley, and Mrs. Ogden a good deal 
 her senior, the vicaress paid her husband the compliment of 
 believing that he had placed his sinful affections on the more 
 eligible of the two ladies. So soon, therefore, as she had 
 ascertained to her own satisfaction the culpability of the 
 guilty pair (and when the commonest politeness was evi- 
 dence, proofs were not far to seek), the vicaress treated her 
 ladyship with the haughty coldness which is the proper behav- 
 ior of a virtuous and injured woman towards her sinful rival, 
 and she treated her husband as his abominable wickedness 
 deserved. In a word, she made life utterly insupportable 
 for Mr. Prigley. 
 
 Lady Helena saw the true situation of affairs before the 
 parson did (for he in his masculine simplicity attributed 
 his wife's behavior to any cause but the right one), and she 
 migrated at once to the Cottage with the Colonel. When 
 Mrs. Stanburne was well enough to bear the removal, she 
 was brought back to her old house, and continued steadily to 
 improve. Still her health was far from being strong enough 
 to make the idea of leaving her an admissible one, so the 
 Colonel and Lady Helena remained at Wenderholme a long 
 time. Young Jacob came frequently to see Edith, but the 
 marriage, though now agreed upon by all parties, was indefi- 
 nitely postponed. 
 
 Whilst matters were in this state of suspension, the relation 
 between Mr. Jacob Ogden and his family had to be legally 
 settled. His brother Isaac received the factories and estates, 
 in trust, conjointly with his mother, with the usufruct thereof, 
 ;^5oo a-year being set aside for the patient's maintenance. 
 On account of the urgency of the situation, but much against 
 ^the grain of his now acquired habits, Mr. Isaac Ogden quilted
 
 420 WcnderJiolme. Part it. 
 
 his solitude at Twistle Farm, and resumed, at Milend, the life 
 of a cotton-manufacturer, in partnership with his son. 
 
 Meanwhile Colonel Stanburne's position was, from the 
 financial point of view, any thing but brilliant. He had no 
 income, after paying the allowance to his mother, except a 
 share in the ;^3oo a-year remaining to his wife. He was 
 anxious to return to France and resume the humble profes- 
 sion which he had found for himself there. Lady Helena 
 said that wherever he went she would go too, and nothing 
 but the slowness of Mrs. Stanburne's recovery prevented 
 them from leaving England. 
 
 They were in this state — being, as things in life often are, 
 in a sort of temporary but indefinite lull and calm — when an 
 event occurred which produced the most important changes. 
 
 Mr. John Stedman being on a visit to his friend at Stanith- 
 burn Peel, took one of his customary long walks amongst the 
 wild rocky hills in that neighborhood, and was caught — not 
 for the first time — in a sudden storm of rain. By the time 
 the storm was over he was wet through, but being interested 
 in the search for a plant, went on wandering till rather late 
 in the evening. If he had kept constantly in movement it is 
 probable that no harm would have resulted from this little 
 imprudence, but unfortunately he found the plant he was in 
 search of, and this led him to do a little botanical anatomy 
 with a microscope which he carried in his pocket. Absoibed 
 in this occupation, he sat down on the bare rock, and forgot 
 the minutes as they passed. He spent more than an liour in 
 this way, and rose from his task with a feeling of chill, and 
 a slight shiver, which, however, disappeared when his pedes- 
 trian exercise was resumed. On returning to the Peel he 
 thought no more of the matter, and ate a hearty dinner, 
 sitting rather late afterwards with Philip Stanburne, and 
 drinking more than his usual allowance of brandy-and-water. 
 The next day he did not go out, and towards evening com- 
 plained of a slight pain or embarrassment in the chest. The
 
 Chap. XIX. The Coloiiel at Stanithburn. 421 
 
 symptoms gradually became alarming, a doctor was sent for, 
 and Mr. Stedman's illness was discovered to be a congestion 
 of both lungs. 
 
 Of this malady he died. In his will, after various legacies, 
 liberal but not excessive, to all the poor people who were his 
 relations, and the relations of his deceased wife, he named 
 " his dear friend and son, Philip Stanburne," residuary lega- 
 tee, " both in token of his own friendship and gratitude 
 towards the said Philip Stanburne, and also because in 
 making this bequest the testator believes that he is beat 
 fulfilling the wishes of his beloved daughter, Alice." 
 
 But, notwithstanding John Stedman's affectionate friend- 
 ship for the man whom Alice had loved, there still remained 
 in him much of the resolution of a stalwart enemy of Rome, 
 and the resolution dictated a certain codicil written not long 
 before his death. In this codicil he provided that, "in case 
 the said Philip Stanburne should enter any order of the 
 Church of Rome, whether secular or ecclesiastical, or endow 
 the said Church of Rome with any portion of his wealth, 
 then the foregoing will and testament should be void, and of 
 none effect. And further, that the said Philip Stanburne 
 should solemnly promise never to give or bequeath to the 
 Church of Rome any portion of this bequest, and in case of 
 his refusal to make such promise," the money should be dis- 
 posed of as we will now explain. 
 
 The testator proceeded to affirm that it was still his desire 
 to leave part of his property in such a manner as to testify 
 his gratitude to Philip Stanburne ; and therefore, if the latter 
 took orders in the Church of Rome, Mr. Stedman's bequest 
 should still pass to a person of the name of Stanburne, but 
 professing the Protestant religion — namely, to John Stan- 
 burne, formerly of Wenderholme. In this case, however, 
 a large deduction would be made from the legacy in favor of 
 an intimate friend of the testator, Joseph Anison, formerly 
 of Arkwright Lodge, near Whittlecup. All this was set forth
 
 42 2 W en der holme. Tart ii. 
 
 A^ilh that minute and tedious detail which is necessary, or is 
 supposed to be necessary, in every legal document. 
 
 Now for several years past Philip Stanburne had been 
 firmly resolved, on the death of Mr. Stedman (which would 
 release him from his promise to Alice), to enter a monastic 
 order remarkable for industry and simplicity of life, founded 
 by llie celebrated Father Muard, but since affiliated to the 
 Benedictines ; and it was a suspicion of this resolve, or per- 
 haps more than a suspicion, which had dictated Mr. Sted- 
 man's codicil. The will made no difference in Philip Stan- 
 burne's plans, and he was delighted that the Colonel should 
 inherit what would probably turn out to be a fortune. When 
 the question was formally put to him, he affirmed his intention 
 of being a monk of La Pierre qui Vire. 
 
 In consequence of this declaration, the codicil took effect. 
 The factory in Sootythorn, the house at Chesnut Hill, and a 
 capital sum of ;^2o,ooo, went to Mr. Joseph Anison ; but 
 even after all the legacies to poor relations, there still re- 
 mained a residue of ;/J"35,ooo, which passed directly to the 
 Colonel. Mr. Stedman had been much richer than any one 
 believed, and his fortune, already considerable in the lifetime 
 of his daughter, had doubled since her death. 
 
 Philip Stanburne, who had been occasionally to Wender- 
 holme since the Colonel's return, to inquire after Mrs, Stan- 
 burne, and pass an hour or two with an old friend, now pro- 
 posed to sell him Stanithburn Peel. " It would make me 
 miserable," he said, " to sell it to anybody else, but to you 
 it 's different. Buy it, and go to live there." 
 
 But he did not really sell the Peel itself. He sold the 
 land, and gave the strong old tower. The place was valued 
 by friends, mutually appointed, who received a hint from 
 Philip that they were not to count the Peel. The Colonel 
 knew nothing about this, but gave ;^2o,ooo for the estate, 
 and invested the remainder of his capital in something better 
 ihan the Sootythorn Bank.
 
 Chap. XIX. The Colonel at Stanitlibtim. 423 
 
 As Mrs. Stanburne was now well enough to be left, the 
 Colonel and Lady Helena set off one fine day for Stanith- 
 burn. The Peel had been admirably restored, though with 
 great moderation, in Philip Stanburne's quiet and persevering 
 way, and all its incongruities and anachronisms had been 
 removed. When they came to the front door, who should 
 open it but — Fyser ! 
 
 " Please, sir," he said, " would you be so kind as to take me 
 on again ? " 
 
 The Colonel said not a word in answer, but he gave honest 
 Fyser's hand such a shake that it was perfectly natural the 
 tears should come into his eyes. The tears would come into 
 anybody's eyes if his hand was squeezed like that. 
 
 Whilst her ladyship went to take her things off, Fyser said, 
 " Would you like to step this way, sir ? " The Colonel fol- 
 lowed obediently. 
 
 " This will be your den, I suppose, sir, unless you would 
 like to have it in another part of the 'ouse." 
 
 John Stanburne felt like a man in a dream. There was 
 every scrap of his old den-furniture in the place. Philip 
 Stanburne had bought it all at the Wenderholme sale — every 
 atom of it, even to his old boot-jack. And as Mr. Fyser had 
 had the arrangement of it, you may be sure that it was in the 
 old convenient and accustomed order. 
 
 But the Colonel and Lady Helena were still more surprised 
 to find in the principal rooms of the house various cabinets 
 and other things of value which had formerly been at Wender- 
 holme, and especially a museum of family relics which had 
 occupied the centre of the great hall. In these cabinets and 
 cases little plates of silver were discovered, on examination, 
 to be inlaid, and each of these little plates was engraved with 
 the inscription, " Presented to Colonel Stanburne by the Offi- 
 cers of the Twentieth Royal Lancashire Militia." 
 
 The regiment happened to be just then up for its annual 
 training under a major-commanding, no new colonel having
 
 4 -'4 Wc7ider holme. Tart ii. 
 
 as yet been appointed. And one day tliere came rather a 
 solemn deputation of officers to Stanithburn Peel, all in full 
 uniform. 
 
 The spokesman of the deputation was our old acquaintance, 
 Captain Eureton. He began by informing Colonel Stanburne 
 that, although the lieutenant-colonelcy had been offered to 
 the senior major, he had begged the lord-lieutenant to permit 
 him to remain at the head of the regiment as major-command- 
 ing ; and that now he and all the officers unanimously joined 
 in entreating Colonel Stanburne to withdraw his resignation, 
 and resume his old position amongst them. There was no 
 mistaking the earnestness and sincerity of this petition, and 
 John Stanburne consented. He was received at Sootythorn 
 at a great banquet given by the officers just before the dis- 
 banding of the regiment ; and at the review which concluded 
 th3 training, it was John Stanburne who commanded.
 
 Chap. XX. A Simple Wedding. 425 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 A SIMPLE WEDDING. 
 
 " T COULD so like to go to little Jacob weddin'/' said Mrs. 
 -I- Osden one dav in her little home at the Cream-pot, " but 
 I 'm like as if I were 'feard to leave our Jacob for one single 
 day. He 's just same as a childt, an' to-morrow 's his pay-day, 
 an' I couldn't like anybody else to pay him his week's wage. 
 But what I suppose they '11 be just as w-ell wed as if I 'd been 
 there, for that matter." 
 
 It seems to us quite a pity that Mrs. Ogden could not con- 
 trive to be at Wenderholme church on the wedding-day, for 
 she would have been well received by Mrs. Stanburne at the 
 breakfast given by that lady at Wenderholme Cottage, but 
 ever since " our Jacob misfortin' " no power on earth could 
 ger her away from the Cream-pot, and all reasoning on the 
 subject was trouble thrown away. Little Jacob's wedding- 
 day passed like all other monotonous days for Mrs. Ogden, 
 so far as action or variety was cqncerned, but she thought of 
 him from morning till night. As for the elder Jacob, he tran- 
 quilly pursued his digging in the garden, looking forward with 
 eager anticipation to the payment of his week's wages on the 
 same evening, for he had some consciousness of the lapse of 
 time, especially towards the close of the week. On Thurs- 
 days he began to ask if it were not Saturday, on Fridays the 
 question became frequent, and on Saturday itself his mother 
 had to promise a hundred times that she would pay his wages 
 at six o'clock. His old habits of energy and perseverance 
 were still visible in his daily work. He labored conscien-
 
 426 We7ider holme. Part il, 
 
 tiously to make the garden produce as much as spade labor 
 could do for it, he carefully economized every inch of ground, 
 and did all that mere physical labor could for its advantage. 
 On the other hand, wherever the intelligence of a gardener 
 was necessary, his shattered intellect was constantly at fault, 
 and he committed the wildest havoc. He rooted up the gar- 
 den-flowers as weeds, and could only recognize one or two of 
 the most familiar and most jiroductive plants. He knew the 
 carrot, for e.xample, and the potato, and these he cultivated 
 in his own strange way. His mother sacrificed the litile 
 Cream-pot garden to him entirely, and got the vegetables for 
 house use from Milend, and the fruit from Wenderholme, 
 so that he could destroy or cultivate at his own absoiute will 
 and pleasure, and this he did with the cunning and self-satis- 
 faction of the insane. 
 
 The evening of that day when little Jacob was married, his 
 grandmother had a new idea about her afiflicted son. "Ja- 
 cob," she said to him when the time for payment came, and 
 his eyes were glistening as he clutched the golden coin, 
 '• Jacob, thou shouldn't let thy money lie by same as that 
 without gettin' interest for it. There 's twenty pound in thy 
 purse by this. Lend me thy twenty pound, an' I '11 give thee 
 five per cent, that '11 make a pound a-year interest for thee." 
 
 When the magical word " interest " sounded in his ear for 
 the first time since the break-down of his mental faculties, 
 uncle Jacob's face assumed a look of intelligence which star- 
 tled his mother and gave her a gleam of hope. " Interest, 
 interest ! " he said, and paused as if lost in thought ; then he 
 added, " Compound interest ! doubles up, compound interest, 
 doubles up fast ! " These words, however, must have been 
 mere reminiscences of his former state, for he proved utterly 
 incapable of understanding the nature of even simple interest 
 as a weekly payment. Mrs. Ogden offered him sixpence as 
 a week's interest for his money, but he asked for a sovereign, 
 being accustomed to weekly payments of one pound, and he
 
 Chap. XX. A Simple Wedding. 427 
 
 seemed troubled and irritated when it was not given to him. 
 He understood the pound a week for his digging, but he 
 could not grasp any more complicated idea. His constant 
 secret occupation, when not at work, was to handle his accu- 
 mulating sovereigns. In this way, notwithstanding his insan- 
 ity and his incapability of imagining the great fortune he had 
 heaped up when in health, he enjoyed money as much as 
 ever, for the mere quantity has really very little to do with the 
 delight of the passion of avarice. It is the increase which gives 
 delight, not the quantity, and Jacob Ogden's private store 
 was incessantly increasing, so much indeed that his mother 
 had to give him a money-box. When the weekly sovereigns 
 became numerous, he was incapable of counting them, but he 
 had a certain sense of quantity and a keen satisfaction in the 
 evident increase of his store. 
 
 Little Jacob's marriage was strangely simple, considering 
 the wealth of one of the two families and the station of the 
 other; but the elder Jacob's condition, and recent events in 
 the life of Colonel Stanburne, had so sobered everybody that 
 there was not the slightest desire on either side for any 
 demonstration or display. As it concerned Lady Helena, 
 this simplicity was not displeasing to her, for reasons of her 
 own. She was glad, in her own mind, that Mrs. Ogden did 
 not come, for she keenly dreaded the" old lady's strange say- 
 ings on a semi-public occasion like the present, and the privacy 
 of the marriage was a good excuse for not inviting many of 
 her own noble friends. The bridesmaids were the Prigley 
 girls and a young sister of Lady Helena. Mr. Prigley per- 
 formed the ceremony, and there was not a stranger in the 
 little Wenderholme church, except a reporter for the " Sooty- 
 thorn Gazette," who furnished a brilliant account of this " mar- 
 riage in high life," which we have no disposition to quote. 
 
 If Mrs. Ogden had chosen to bring to bear upon poor 
 Edith all the weight of her terrible critical power as a su- 
 preme judge of housekeeping accomplishments, I am afraid
 
 428 Winder holme. Taui i 
 
 that the young lady would have come out of the ordeal igno- 
 niiniously for she could neither darn a stocking properly not 
 make a potato-pie, but criticism is often mollified by per- 
 sonal favor and partiality; and the old lady never goes far- 
 ther in the severity of censure than to say, " Little Jacob 
 wife is not much of a housekeeper, but she was never brought 
 up to it you know ; and they '11 have plenty to live upon, so 
 it willn't matter so much as it would 'ave done if they 'd been 
 poorer people." 
 
 Poverty is certainly not the evil which the young couple 
 need apprehend, for the condition of Jacob Ogden the elder 
 being considered permanent, a judicial decision transferred 
 his income to his brother Isaac, after deducting ;^i,ooo a year 
 for his maintenance, which was paid to his mother ; an en- 
 tirely superfluous formality, as she accumulated the whole of 
 it for her grandson, and kept Jacob Ogden well supplied 
 with all that he needed, or had intelligence to desire, out of 
 her own little independent fortune. Isaac Ogden was now 
 charged with the management of the business and estates. 
 It then became apparent how splendidly successful the life 
 of the cotton-manufacturer had been. At the time of the 
 opening of this history, he was already earning, or rather 
 neiiing, since the operatives earned it for him, an income lar- 
 ger than the salary of a Prime Minister, and successive years 
 raised him to a pecuniary equality with the Lord Chancellor, 
 the Archbishop of Canterbury, and the Governor-General 
 of India. At the time of his cerebral catastrophe, he was at 
 the height of his success ; and his numerous rills and rivers 
 of income, flowing from properties of all kinds, from shares, 
 from the print-works at Whittlecup, and from his enormous 
 mill at Shay ton, made, when added together, an aggregate 
 far surpassing the national allowance to princes of royal blood. 
 In a word, at the time of what Mrs. Ogden always called 
 "our Jacob's misfortin','' "our Jacob" had just got past 
 ;^5o,ooo a year, and was beginning to encourage the not
 
 ci[Ar. XX. A Simple Wedding. 429 
 
 improbable anticipation that his income would get up to the 
 hundred thousand before he died. Such as it was already, 
 it exceeded by exactly one thousand times the pittance for 
 which, as the slave of his own disordered imagination, he 
 was now toiling from morning till night. 
 
 Nothing is more difficult than to get rid of a great busi- 
 ness. Such mills as Jacob Ogden's are very difficult to let, 
 and to close them entirely would be to throw a whole neigh- 
 borhood out of work and diminish the value of property 
 within a considerable radius. There was nothing for it, 
 therefore, but to keep the business going, so Mr. Isaac Og- 
 den threw aside his habits of leisure at Twistle Farm and 
 came to live at Milend. He managed the work for some 
 time with considerable energy ; but he had been so long 
 unused to the employment, that this business life, with its in- 
 cessant claims upon time and attention, required a constant 
 effort of the will, and he felt himself incapable of continuing 
 it indefinitely. Young Jacob helped him energetically ; but 
 the vast concern which his uncle had established, with the 
 addition of the print-works at Whittlecup, required more look- 
 ing after than even he was equal to ; so in order that Isaac 
 Ogden might have some leisure at Twistle Farm, and be able 
 to join the militia at the annual training, the calico business 
 at Whittlecup had to be given up. It could not be sold 
 during old Jacob Ogden's life ; but it was let, together with 
 Arkwright Lodge, to Mr. Joseph Anison, on terms exceed- 
 ingly advantageous to the latter, who will be able, after all, 
 to give handsome dowries to his younger daughters, and to 
 leave Miss Margaret the richest old maid in Whittlecup. 
 
 Young Jacob and his wife established themselves at Wen- 
 derholme, but she soon complained that he was too much 
 away on business, and declared her intention of accompany- 
 ing him on his journeys to Milend, which she has ever since 
 been in the habit of doing. When at Milend (which has been 
 much beautified and improved), thev go a great deal to the
 
 430 WenderJiolme. tart ii. 
 
 Cream-pot, where old Mrs. Ogden still devotes herself to the 
 care of her unfortunate son. " I 'm thankful to God," she 
 says, "that our Jacob is so 'appy with his misfortin'. Every 
 time I give him his sovereign of a Saturday night he 's as 
 'appy and proud as a little lad ten year old. And he 's as 
 well in 'ealth as anybody could wish for." Young Jacob and 
 Edith are both very attentive to him, but it is thought better 
 not to bring him to Wenderholme again, nor even to Milend. 
 This makes it a great tie for poor Mrs. Ogden, but she fulfils 
 her duty with a noble self-abnegation, and tends " our Jacob " 
 with the most minute and unrelaxing care. As for her fine 
 carriage, she made a wedding-present of it to Edith, and has 
 never been in it since, not even to do a little knitting. Her 
 life is the simple old life that she was accustomed to in her 
 youth, and it suits her health so well, that if all old women 
 that one hears of did not finish some clay by dying, one 
 might almost expect her to prolong her sojourn permanently 
 upon the earth, in the green " Cream-pot " fields. But the 
 recent death of old Sarah at Twistle Farm has been a 
 serious warning, and the new Shayton clergyman is a fre- 
 quent visitor at the Cream-pot. Dr. Bardly is not so much 
 in request, on account of his heterodox views, and because 
 Mrs. Ogden's physical condition is still excellent, whatever 
 may be her spiritual state.
 
 HAP. XXI. The Mo7ik. 431 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE MONK. 
 
 THE Colonel and Lady Helena made a tour on the con- 
 tinent in the autumn, and visited the little French city 
 where he had earned his living as a teacher of English. 
 
 Young Jacob and Edith accompanied them as far as Geneva, 
 and on their way from Paris it was decided that they should 
 stop at Auxerre, and go thence to Avallon, which was not 
 very far from the monastery of La Pierre qui Vire. The 
 Colonel desired to see Philip Stanburne once again. 
 
 Through narrow and rocky valleys, indescribably pictu- 
 resque, and full of a deep melancholy poetry of their own, 
 they journeyed a whole day, and came at last to the confines 
 of the monastery, in a wild stony desert amongst the hills, 
 through which flowed a rapid stream. The ladies could not 
 enter, but young Jacob and the Colonel passed through the 
 simple gateway. A monk received them in silence, and, 
 in answer to a question of the Colonel, put his finger upon 
 his lips. He then went to ask permission to speak from his 
 superior. 
 
 The monk promised to lead the Colonel o Philip Stanburne. 
 They passed along wild paths cut in the rock and the forest, 
 with rudely carved bas-reliefs of the chief scenes of the 
 Passion erected at stated distances. They saw many monks 
 engaged in the most laborious manual occupations : some 
 were washing linen in the clear river ; others were road- 
 making, with picks and wheel-barrows ; others were hard at 
 work as masons, building the walls of some future portion of
 
 432 WenderJiolme. Part it. 
 
 the monastery, or the enclosures of its fields. All worked 
 and were silent, not even looking at the strangers as they 
 passed. At length the three came to a little wood, and, 
 having passed through the wood, to a small field on the steep 
 slope of a hill. In the field two monks were ploughing in 
 their monastic dress, with a pair of white oxen. 
 
 Suddenly the Angelus rang from the belfry of the monas- 
 tery, and its clear tones filled the quiet valley where these 
 monks had made their home. All the monks heard it, and 
 all who heard it fell instantaneously on their knees in the 
 midst of their labor, wherever they might happen to be. The 
 masons dropped their stones and trowels, the washermen 
 prayed with the wet linen still in their grasp, the ploughman 
 knelt between the handles of his plough, and the driver with 
 the goad in his right hand. The Colonel's guide dropped 
 upon the ploughed earth, and prayed. All in the valley 
 prayed. 
 
 When this was over, the two Englishmen were led forward 
 towards the oxen, and before the slow animals had resumed 
 their toil, the Colonel had recognized their driver. So this 
 was the life he had chosen — a life of rudest labor, with the 
 simplest food and the severest discipline — a life of toil and 
 silence. He knew the Colonel at once, but dared not speak 
 to him, and placed his fingers on his lips, and goaded his oxen 
 forward, and resumed his weary march. 
 
 A special permission having been procured, the monk talked 
 with John Stanburne freely, saying that he loved his new life 
 and the hardships of it, dwelling with quiet enthusiasm on 
 the beautiful discipline of his order, and leading him over 
 the rude and picturesque lands which had been reclaimed by 
 the industry of his brethren. 
 
 But when they parted, there came a great pang of regret in 
 Philip Stanburne's heart for tlic free English life that he had 
 lost — a pang of regret for Stanilhburn, and that Alice should 
 not be mistress there instead of Lady Helena.
 
 Chap. XXI. The Monk. 433 
 
 And after the service in the humble chapel of the monas- 
 tery — a service singularly devoid of the splendors of the 
 Catholic worship — a monk lay prostrate across the thresh- 
 old, doing penance. And all his brethren passed over him, 
 one by one. 
 
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