W. Child. 
 
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 _ 
 
THE STEWARD: 
 
 A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 
 
 
 BY HENRY COCKTON. 
 
 AUTHOR OF "SYLVESTER SOUND/' <THE SOMNAMBULIST," "THE 
 LOVE MATCH," "VALENTINE Vox, ETC." 
 
 With Portrait of the Author, and Twenty-two Illustrations on Steel, 
 by Onwhyn. 
 
 LONDON: 
 W. M. CLARK, 16 & 17, WARWICK LANE, PATERNOSTER ROW. 
 
 MDCCCL. 
 
c > 
 
 P. P. THOMS, PRINTER, WARWICK SQUARB. 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PART I. Corney discovering George at his Devotions. 
 
 The Widow overpowered by Sir John's Declaration. 
 
 D'Almaine introducing George into Congenial Society. 
 
 The Widow objects to part with Juliana. 
 PART II The unexpected Visitor. 
 
 The Confession. 
 
 Corney discovers that he has been Robbed. 
 
 The Day is named. 
 
 PART III. Corney's Portrait Framed and Glazed. 
 Freeman's Attack on George. 
 
 The Letter. 
 
 The Forced Rejection. 
 PART IV. The Deed. 
 
 The Conscience- Stricken. 
 
 The Intelligence. 
 
 The Suppliant. 
 PART V. Corney Confesses he's a Courtin*. 
 
 George's Emotion at witnessing the Dsath of Lejeuae. 
 
 Aunt Ann objects to Corney's going to Foreign Parts. 
 
 D'Almaine struck with Admiration. 
 PART VI. The Proof of Affection. 
 
 The Attack. 
 
 PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR. 
 
 M1G205O 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Par- 
 CHAP. I. The Introduction 1 
 
 CHAP. II. Lejeune's First Visit to the Hall 4 
 
 CHAP. III. The Failure 23 
 
 CHAP. IV. The Fatigue 27 
 
 CHAP. V. The Manifestation of Love : 34 
 
 CHAP. VI. The Declaration 45 
 
 CHAP. VII. George's Week in London 60 
 
 CHAP. VIII. The Day> Named 107 
 
 CHAP. IX. The Reconciliation llf! 
 
 CHAP. X. The Momentous Question 133 
 
 CHAP. XI. The Forced Rejection 142 
 
 CHAP. XII. The Advice 148 
 
 CHAP. XIII. The Test 15:, 
 
 CHAP. XIV. The Ring 165 
 
 CHAP. XV. The Widow's Decision . . . . . . . . 176 
 
 CHAP. XVL The Deed 197 
 
 CHAP. XVII. The Intelligence 206 
 
 CHAP. XVIII. Jane's Firmness Developed 223 
 
 CHAP. XIX. The Mourners at the Hall 230 
 
 CHAP. XX. The Funeral 240 
 
 CHAP. XXL The Will 246 
 
 CHAP. XXII. The Last of Poor Richard Lejeune % :69 
 
 CHAP. XXIIL The Departure for Italy 281 
 
 CHAP. XXIV. D'Almaine at the Hall . 299 
 
 CHAP. XXV. Corney's Wedding 324 
 
 CHAP. XXVI. George's Security . . . . . . . 361 
 
 CHAP. XXVII. Juliana and Charles are United 370 
 
 CHAP. XXVIIL The Conclusion 377 
 

 
 

objects to part with Jalianou 
 
THE STEWARD: 
 
 A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 THE INTRODUCTION . 
 
 " 
 
 THE true character cf an Old English Gentleman was never sustained 
 better than by Sir John Fitzgerald Croly, Knight, of Croly Hall, Suf- 
 folk. He lived on his estate, which was worth between four and five 
 thousand a-year ; and, while his judgment, local position, and general 
 influence, commanded the respect of the wealthy, his mercy as a magis- 
 trate, combined with his exuberant generosity as a man, very naturally 
 endeared him to the poor. 
 
 Sir John had two sons, the brothers, whose history we are now 
 about to trace, the name of the elder being George, and that of the 
 younger Charles. Charles was all life and animation, full of health and 
 manly vigour, as amiable and as generous in disposition as Sir John 
 himself; but George was a hypocrite a heartless hypocrite, wrapped 
 in the cloak of religion. He was originally intended for the church, 
 and had constantly expressed the most earnest desire to return to the 
 University with the view of being ordained ; but Sir John, who had dis- 
 covered his real character, and who had compelled him to leave the 
 University because he could trust him in Cambridge no longer, discoun- 
 tenanced that which he most sincerely felt would be an awful 
 desecration. 
 
 " I know you," said he, on the last occasion on which this subject 
 was reverted to ; " I know you, George, better than you know yourself; 
 but you have sufficient knowledge of yourself to know that religion with 
 you is but a mask." 
 
 " Why should I wear it?" demanded George. 
 
 " To deceive! to deceive, sir!" replied* Sir John. " But you need 
 not even hope to deceive me." 
 
 " I have no wish to deceive you," said George ; " and if my conduct 
 has not been at all times strictly irreproachable " 
 
 " If your conduct has not been at all times strictly irreproachable, 
 sirl What do you mean? You, whose fraudulently contracted debts 
 No. 1. 
 
2 THE STEWARD ! 
 
 I have paid a dozen times you, whom I have twice saved from trans- 
 portation you, whose vices and crimes, whose frauds and forgeries 
 caused the premature death of your too fond mother, who was so in- 
 fatuated that her love for you increased in proportion as your title to 
 her affection diminished you presume to say, as if it were a mere hy- 
 pothesis, ' if your conduct has not been at all times strictly irreproach- 
 able !' Can you imagine for one moment that I have forgotten these 
 things? I promised her, whose death you so heartlessly accellerated, 
 that I would not reveal them, nor will I ; but I cannot forget them, 
 I cannot, forget." , 
 
 " IS. or forgive, :: rejoinerl George, " nor forgive, like a Christian: nor 
 will you admit that a r man may repent." 
 
 ".God fort id that I should uot admit that," said Sir John. (i Could 
 7 believe that yoo had repented, not a syllable, having reference to the 
 past, should ever again 'escape my lips ; but repentance is a virtue of 
 which you have no practical knowledge ; under that very mask, which 
 you artfully ask me why you should wear, your conduct your general 
 conduct now is just as irreproachable as ever! You may imagine that, 
 because my fatherly; fride has prompted me to invest you nominally 
 with the Stewardship of my estate, I confide in your judgment and in- 
 tegrity! I have not the slightest confidence in either. I have watched 
 you with the eye of a lynx, and you have succeeded in inspiring the 
 conviction that I have a dishonorable, heartless son : a son who prays 
 with fervour only, when he prays for his father's death ! " 
 
 " You wrong me," said George, with an affected sigh ; " but I must 
 bear all meekly. My feelings must be wounded still: still must I in 
 silence endure persecution, though it rend my very heartstrings. Yet 
 will I once more appeal to you. Will you consent to my attaining 
 the only dearly cherished object I have on earth?" 
 
 " Your ordination! " cried Sir John. " God forbid ! I do not pretend, 
 George, to know your real motive ; but I feel convinced that you have 
 some deep design, therefore, never revert to the subject again." 
 
 Neither of this, nor of any other conversation of a similar character, 
 had Charles the slightest knowledge. He was studying for Aeljlar, and 
 resided principally in Town ;' and although, when at home, he ctfuld not 
 but observe a marked coolness existing between Sir John and George ; 
 he ascribed it, on the one hand, to the fact of their always living to- 
 gether, and, on the other, to George's characteristic taciturnity. 
 
 There was, however, one who was not acquainted with, the nature 
 and substance of these conversations, and that was Cornelius Craske, 
 commonly called Corney Craske, the son of one of Sir John's oldest 
 tenants. Corney, whose father held but a small occupation, not more 
 than forty acres, with scarcely sufficient capital to work that, had been 
 sent to school by Sir John, and subsequently taken into his service, 
 He was the most especial favourite of George, for he would never ap- 
 pear either to see or to know of any of George's delinquencies. It is true 
 he watched him narrowly; but George had no conception of that: it 
 is also true that, by virtue of listening, he had acquired a knowledge of 
 all those transactions which Sir John and George were equally anxious 
 
A ROMANCE OP REAL LIFE. J 
 
 to conceal; but, as he never breathed a syllable on the subject to any 
 one but his father, they could have no suspicion that those transactions 
 were not to him unknown. To his father he communicated all that 
 transpired. Secrets he was able to keep from all the world but him : 
 he hoarded them in his breast as misers hoard their gold, in the full 
 conviction of security; and, as he overheard the whole of the conver- 
 sation just recorded, he went to him with the view of making another 
 deposit, 
 
 " Well Dad," said he, as he entered, " and how goes it now?" 
 "Oh! middlin', Corney, middlin'," replied the old man. " How are 
 yow, and how do they find 'emselves up at the Hall?" 
 
 " All right but two on 'em: they don't feel right. There's been such 
 a mortal kick up again this morning." 
 " What about, Corney, eh, what about?" 
 
 "The old game again! One wants to be a parson, and the other 
 won't have it." 
 
 " Oh, Sir John and Mr. George! Ah, I see. Well, I on'y know one 
 thing and that ain't two, if I was Sir John, and I found his mind right 
 on 'termined, I wouldn't stand out a mite longer." 
 
 " Well, he'd make a regular beauty ot a parson no doubt ; here, 
 a man who's been twice saved from transportation!" 
 ^ " On'y once, Corney ; come, come, on'y once. Don't make him a 
 single mite worse than he is." 
 
 " I tell you twice he's been saved! Sir John said so to-day." 
 " But not afore yow, Corney? not afore yow?" 
 " No; but he told him, and I heard it all. I thought there was going 
 to be suffen up fresh so I planted myself at my old post again." 
 
 "Ah, the keyhole, Corney; I'm mortal afeared o' that old post o' 
 yourn. I doubt, Corney bor, yow'l be catched one o' these times, and 
 if yow be, down goes yar castie. But is this a fresh case o' forgery 
 then?" 
 
 " No, if seems to be an old un; but Sir John told him flat he'd saved 
 him twicjp." 
 
 " Well* Coney bor, all I can say is, know nothin'. Let what yow know 
 go along o' what yow don know ; that's the way to get on, bor : know 
 nothin'. I know'd a man as made heaps o' money by knowin' nothin'. 
 They chose him -on the old corporation, and when they went to tell 
 him they'd chose him, says he, ' I can t sarve.' * Why not?' says they. 
 "Cause,' says he, 'I know nothin'!' Then,' says they, <yar the very 
 man we want!' So they had him in, and by knowin' nothin' he purty 
 well feathered his nest." 
 
 " And who knows," gaid Corney, " I shan't feather mine. If it should 
 by-and-by be known that I know all, they may make it answer my 
 purpose then to know nothing. '' 
 
 "^It answers your purpose to know nothin' now," returned Craske. 
 ** It's yar bread. Whatever Mr. George does, ain't nothin' to do along 
 o' yow. All yow have to do is to pick up yur crumbs and know 
 nothin'. If yow lose yar bread, bor, through knowin' what you know, 
 yow'll stiver get it again by teliin' others. Take my advice, bor, an'^do 
 
THE STEWARD: 
 
 yar duty, an' when yow've done that yow've done all ; an' whatever yow 
 know, bor, about Mr. George, be sure that yow never know uothin'. 
 
 This was certainly very good advice, but it did not go far enough for 
 Corney: he had an impression that the knowledge he had acquired 
 might, eventually, be made available, and with this impression he re- 
 turned. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 LEJEUNE'S FIRST VISIT TO THE HALL. 
 
 THAT there exists a strong prejudice against members of the legal 
 profession generally, is a fact which may be held to be indisputable: 
 that the great majority of them are supposed by the community at 
 large to be actuated by no other principle than that of self-interest, is 
 also an incontrovertible truth: but how strong soever this prejudice, 
 may be however deeply rooted the conviction that chicanery and 
 dishonour form their general characteristics it may here be recorded 
 that even slander never breathed upon the bright reputation of 
 Mr. Lejeune, tuder whose immediate guidance Charles studied for the 
 bar. 
 
 Taught in early youth to depend upon his own exertions, he had 
 raised^ himself by diligence and probity to eminence; but being not 
 only intellectual and eloquent, but high-minded, amiable, and just, he 
 sought not, and therefore omitted to gain, those honours which are 
 usually conferred upon men whose motives are not quite so stubbornly 
 pure. 
 
 Contemning the heartless cunning, the subtle jugglery, practised by 
 the majority of those with whom he came in contact, he early resolved 
 on the pursuit of one course, and from, that he never swerved. He 
 \vould never consent to advocate the cause of an oppressor, but was 
 ever ready to vindicate that of the oppressed. There were many by 
 whom he was surrounded, who cared not whom they ruined if they 
 could but ensure the success of their clients, however tyrannous or 
 vicious those clients might be:. there were many who held it to be their 
 duty to pursue any prescribed course, no matter what misery they 
 might thereby entail upon the innocent; but he could never be tempted 
 to conduct any cause which he did not believe to be perfectly just; nor 
 did he ever fail, when wealthy villains sought the destruction of the 
 comparatively helpless, to thunder the naked truth into their unwilling 
 ears. 
 
 But although, while performing his public duty, he would make the 
 court ring with his indignant eloquence in prir^te he was mild and 
 unassuming in the extreme. He had been called upon to endure much 
 mental affliction. He married early to a lady of great personal beauty 
 and rare accomplishments, whom he tenderly loved, and who \vas 
 attached to him devotedly. Four daughters were the fruit of this mar- 
 
A ROMANCE OP REAL LIFE. $ 
 
 riage; but while giving birth to the fourth, it pleased God to take her 
 to himself. 
 
 This, to Lejeune, was a heavy blow indeed, and for some time his 
 reason appeared to have deserted him ; but he eventually rallied. He 
 had his children still ; and as they grew up in semblance of her who 
 gave them birth, his fortitude and resignation strengthened as they 
 grew, until he became comparatively happy. 
 
 At the age of eighteen, however, one of them died: a few weeks 
 elapsed, and another followed and in less than three months from that 
 period, a third was called away; thus leaving him but one upon earth 
 to claim his affection and that one so delicate that he scarcely 
 expected that even she would be spared. Gradually, however, by 
 virtue of care and skill, the symptoms which immediately preceded the 
 death of her sisters disappeared, and at the age of twenty-one, Juliana, 
 although delicate still, enjoyed sufficient health to cause him to banish 
 his fears. 
 
 Now, at this particular period. Sir John pressingly invited Lejeune 
 -and Juliana to spend a month at the Hall; and as this was well- 
 timed it being just at the commencement of the long vacation Le- 
 jeune, ever anxious for Juliana to have a change of scene, accepted the 
 invitation, and when the preliminaries for their departure had been 
 arranged, they posted to the Hall accompanied by Charles. 
 
 On their arrival Sir John received them with all the warmth of pure 
 friendship, and when he had sufficiently expressed the pleasure he 
 really felt, he introduced Juliana to the Widow Wardle, his house- 
 keeper, of whom she had heard much, and whom the reader will be 
 better acquainted with anon. 
 
 " Now, dear," said the Widow, with an affectionate expression, which 
 -at once won the heart of Juliana, t: come with me: I'll endeavour to 
 make you so happy !" 
 
 " Stop," said Charles playfully : " Miss Lejeune, you must, not believe 
 anything Mrs. Wardle may say about me." 
 
 " Indeed," said Juliana, with a gentle smile, " I feel already that I must! 
 you expect me to hear that, like other young people, although you con- 
 duct yourself admirably abroad, you are very, very naughty at home !" 
 " He's a sad dog, 'a sad dog," interposed Sir John, as Juliana took 
 the widow's arm and retired : " but come," he added, " come, let us 
 have a glass of wine. Mr. Lejeune," he continued, as he again grasped 
 his hand, " I am happy to see you, and the only request I have to make 
 is, that while you are here you will consider yourself at home. Now, 
 Charles my boy, pass that bottle." 
 
 Having had a glass of wine, they took a stroll round the garden, the 
 -extent and beauty of which quite astonished Lejeune ; while Juliana, 
 delighted with the elegant manners and affectionate solicitude of the 
 Widow, went with her from room to room, admiring every thing she 
 saw; and certainly the taste displayed justified her highest admiration, 
 At six precisely dinner was announced, and the party, consisting of 
 Sir John, Mr. Lejeune, Charles, George, Juliana, and the Widow, sat 
 down to a most unique banquet. 
 
THE STEWARD: 
 
 During dinner George scarcely uttered a word. He was dressed in 
 a peculiarly formal style, while his manners and neckcloth were equally 
 stiff. Charles, on the contrary, chatted with all : he moreover delighted 
 all but George; and as Sir John was in excellent spirits, while Lejeune 
 and Juliana were highly pleased with their reception 1 , every thing passed 
 off gaily. 
 
 " Well," said Sir John, when the cloth had been removed, < I sup- 
 pose, Charles, you have made up your mind to be the Lord High 
 Chancellor of England?" 
 
 "Of course," replied Charles, "what can be more natural? 
 odds against me can't be very great, seeing that the number of candi- 
 dates for the office is so small ! But perhaps you would be satisfied if 
 I were only Lord Chief Justice of the Court of Queen's Bench, or the 
 mere Chief Baron of the Exchequer? Any berth of that sort would 
 satisfy me ; I 'm not at all ambitious." 
 
 " Oh! either would do," rejoined Sir John. 
 
 " Well, suppose then we say the Chief Baron at once. Perhaps I'd 
 better get measured for my wig, to begin with? I may receive the 
 appointment when I little expect it!" 
 
 "I never yet heard of such a case," said Lejeune. "Very little 
 experience will show that you'll expect much more than you'll get. 
 I would, nevertheless, hold up the honours of a profession to every 
 member and every student: they tend to inspire emulation, without 
 which eminence can never be attained. I don't believe that there ever 
 was a man who unexpectedly received any legal appointment," 
 
 "I don't suppose there ever was," said Sir John; " but how do you 
 get on with your elocution, Charles ? are you able to make a tidy 
 speech yet?" 
 
 "A tidy speech?" replied Charles; " you should hear me! But then 
 you've no idea of the practice I've had. I'm at it every morning. 
 Immediately on leaping out of bed, I convert my chamber into the 
 court. I stick that old portrait of yours before the glass, and there's 
 my lord staring me full in the face. On my right I establish a row of 
 "boots these are the gentlemen of the jury: on my left is the cup- 
 board, or witness-box; while on the cane-bottomed chairs before me 
 are seated a lot of my learned friends. Well, I conceive the case 
 opened. It 's an action for anything say, for breach of promise and 
 then I begin. If I'm for the plaintiff, of course I pile up the pathetic: 
 if for the defendant, I reduoe the thing at once to a mere bagatelle. 
 For the plaintiff, I describe ia tones and strains which bring tears into 
 the eyes of the row of boots I mean the intelligent gentlemen of the 
 j urv how firmly, how fondly, how passionately she loved the recreant, 
 fease, and black-hearted defendant. If for him, I transfer her affection. 
 to his pocket, and undertake to show that she never loved him at all. 
 And I'm as likely to be right in the one case as in the other; for how 
 can I tell whether she loved him or not? In a case of this kind, how- 
 ever, give me the plaintiff. I see a tear starting in every eye: I hear 
 the ladies sighing and sobbing around me and while the intelligent 
 gentlemen of the jury are blowing their noses with unexampled violence, 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 
 
 lest it should be thought that they could shed a tear, I behold the judge 
 working his facial muscles and screwing up his mouth into all sorts of 
 shapes, as if from the depths' of his emotion he would say < I '11 tell you 
 what it is: I can't stand this much longer.' This will strike into your 
 rural mind an idea of the deep sensation I create, and yet you ask if I 
 am able to make a tidy speech! Were Demosthenes himself to rise 
 again, he would never, in my bedroom, beat me.' 
 
 The style in which this was delivered, was of a character so faceti- 
 ous, that it convulsed them all with laughter j but that which seriously 
 pleased Sir John most, was the fact of Charles having preserved " that 
 old portrait." 
 
 "He'll do!" he exclaimed; "Mrs. Wardle! he'll do!" 
 
 " Do?" echoed Charles ; " I don't know that I ought to be satisfied with 
 the office of Chief Baron." 
 
 ' What a powerful effect eloquence has!" observed the Widow. 
 
 "It is the. very soul of the profession," said Lejeune. 
 
 " Why!" cried Sir John, "Mrs. Wardle! why even you will want to 
 take a few lessons on elocution after this!" 
 
 " I shall be most happy to do so/' returned the Widow with a 
 smile. "I fear the majority of us do not sufficiently cultivate the art 
 of speaking well, although it is an art which we are daily and hourly 
 called upon to exercise. The influence of a graceful delivery is con- 
 spicuous in every sphere: it commands attention it creates' admira- 
 tionand while its power is pleasing to those who feel themselves 
 bound to attend, it invests those by whom the accomplishment has been 
 acquired with an unaffected air of superiority. We see its effect m 
 every position in which we may be placed, and in every occupation m 
 which we may be engaged: we see its effect upon children, who are 
 charmed by a graceful delivery, while the impression made upon them 
 is lasting: we see its effect in portraying present pleasure and prospec- 
 tive happiness, and in defending ourselves and others from the calum- 
 nies of the envious: in short, we almost hourly see its effects in our 
 common intercourse with society, both upon strangers and upon friends 
 and yet, despite the advantages with which it manifestly teems, the art 
 of speaking well has been generally so neglected, that comparatively 
 few are able to enforce their views even in private circles, when they feel 
 that all around are attending to what they say, without feeling so ner- 
 vous and confused as to fce unable to say what they wish to say, or to 
 control what they really do say, if indeed they know what they are 
 sayino- at the time. In a professional point of view, it is more impor- 
 tant still. In the pulpit, for example, how great are its effects? and 
 how highly its value should be appreciated? But as the power of per- 
 suasion consists chiefly in delivery, and as neither the sensation created 
 at the time, nor the impression that may be subsequently felt, depends 
 upon what is said so much as upon the manner of saying it, its influ- 
 ence is equally felt in promulgating sacred truths from the pulpit, and 
 in proving guilt or innocence at the bar. I feel," she added "that I 
 ought not to have spoken on this subject in the presence of Mr. Lejeune, 
 but I hope that I have proved th*t I appreciate its importance and 
 
8 THE STEWARD: 
 
 that therefore I^shall be extremely happy to receive a few lessons from 
 Mr. Charles." 
 
 "That's rich," said Charles; " conspicuously rich. I shall want a 
 few lessons from you." 
 
 " You have had one already," observed Juliana. 
 
 " Very well ! Then we '11 call this the first of the series." 
 
 "I perfectly agree with you, madam," said Lejeune; "the art of 
 speaking well is not sufficiently cultivated." 
 
 "Well," interposed Sir John, slyly, " if we grant that it might with 
 advantage be cultivated more extensively among men, there surely 
 can* exist no necessity for teaching that art to the ladies !" 
 
 " These gentlemen," said the Widow, addressing Juliana, "are going 
 to be very severe upon us now. I therefore think, dear, we had better 
 withdraw from the contest." 
 
 " I think," said Juliana, with a smile, " that we shall leave one advo- 
 cate at least." 
 
 " Yes, dear," said the Widow, " we shall leave an advocate; but we 
 don't know which side he will take." 
 
 " Very true," returned Juliana, " but he must in our absence con- 
 sider himself retained for the defendants." 
 
 They then retired, and Lejeune immediately afterwards, turning to 
 Sir John, said, " that's a clever woman a very clever woman." 
 
 " Mrs. Wardle, you mean. Yes, she has the reputation of being one 
 of the most intellectual women in the county." 
 
 " If she do not deserve that reputation," said Lejeune, " the county 
 must possess some rare specimens of intelligence. Is she at all related 
 to you?" 
 
 " Oh! not at all. She is the daughter of a clergyman, the widow of 
 a clergyman, and the mother of a clergyman, her son having just been 
 ordained." 
 
 " Has she lived with you long?" 
 
 " Between three and four years . She came soon after the death of 
 poor Wardle an amiable, honourable, upright man, if ever there were 
 one on earth. He was our incumbent : he also acted as my steward ; 
 for, having no private property, he found an additional two hun- 
 dred a-year come in well. But of course I never regarded him but as 
 a friend, and as a friend he was most sincere. Poor Wardle ! I shall 
 never forget the tervour, the intense thrilling fervour with which he 
 seized my hand just before he expired, on hearing me say that I would 
 take care of her. He could not speak: he tried, and failed but his 
 gaze was sufficiently eloquent for me. But, come," he added, unable 
 to conceal his emotion, " Charles, pass the bottle : we '11 drink to his 
 memory." 
 
 George at this moment applied his handkerchief to his eyes, and 
 realty appeared to weep. 
 
 " Well," said Sir John, having recovered himself, " have you young 
 gentlemen nothing to say?" 
 
 "Yes, said Charles, " 1 have. I have to propose to you the health 
 dbfone whose character corresponds, with that of him whose memory we 
 
A ROMANCE OP REA.L LIFE. 
 
 have just drank in silence. I know him to be amiable: I know him to 
 be honourable. I could but in his presence I will not say more, know- 
 ing that to a man of his acute sensibility, it is sometimes painful to be 
 praised. I'll therefore simply give you health and prosperity to one 
 of my best friends, Mr. Lejeune." 
 
 " Sir John, and gentlemen," said Mr. Lejeune, when the toast had 
 been duly honoured, "I thank you sincerely for the compliment you 
 have paid me. My friend Charles has ever commanded my esteem, 
 and in proposing health and happiness to you, Sir John, I beg to assure 
 you that your friendship is an honour which I hope throughout life to 
 en-joy." 
 
 " Mr. Lejeune," replied Sir John, " I am proud to hear that my boy 
 has succeeded in winning the esteem of one so well able to appreciate 
 those gentlemanly feelings which are the germs of true nobility of cha- 
 racter. It is an honour to him, and I have not the slightest doubt 
 
 But we can say more on that subject when we are alone. I dare say," 
 he added with a smile, " I dare say there's plenty of room for im- 
 provement. We '11 nevertheless drink his health. Charles, my boy, I 
 was going to say something but never mind that." 
 
 " Well," said Charles. " that is one of the most unique specimens of 
 a compliment on record. We have long had Coke upon Littleton: we 
 must now have ' Croly upon his son.' 4 1 was going to say something 
 but never mind that.' But, father," he added with earnestness, " I 
 do mind it, because I know your heart so well I was going to say 
 something but never mind that. I have however something more to 
 say, I have to say that I feel much pleasure in proposing health and 
 happiness to old brother George. The only fault I have to find with 
 him is that he won't talk. Good health to you, old fellow," he added, 
 taking George's hand. "We don't waste much time together: but I 
 think of you though I don't see you. Good health to you, old boy!" 
 
 ''Gentlemen," said George, in the most solemn style, "there is 
 nothing perhaps in this lower world more touching than the moral 
 beauty of brotherly love. Be assured that I reciprocate those sacred 
 feelings of fraternal affection, the warm manifestation of which you have 
 just witnessed. I thank you for drinking the health of so humble an 
 individual as myself, and beg to be permitted to propose to you the 
 health of the ladies." 
 
 The toast was drank, but George's style created a sensation which 
 was not very pleasing. 
 
 " Well," said Charles, " now that we have drunk the health of the 
 ladies in the aggregate, I have to propose one in particular. I do it 
 because it appears George dare not do it, and while I know that 
 Mr. Lejeune won't do it, I am quite sure that you, father, can't do it, 
 because you don't know her sufficiently well. I propose to you health, 
 long life, and pure happiness, to one of the most amiable creatures in 
 the world Miss Lejeune." 
 
 " Having," said Lejeune, " to return thanks for the compliment you 
 have been pleased to pay my daughter, of whom I can enly say that 
 she is a good girl, I embrace with pleasure the opportunity of proposing 
 
10 THE STEWARD: 
 
 the health of Mrs. Wardle a lady in whom you, Sir John, have caused 
 me to feel a somewhat unusual interest, and who, I hope, if she ever 
 should marry again, will have a second husband equally excellent with. 
 the first." 
 
 "Now then, George," said Charles, "there's a chance for you. 
 Come, go on !" 
 
 " I beg t6 return thanks," said George, " for Mrs. Wardle. She is 
 a pious person, and one whom I believe to be inspired with the pure 
 spirit of Christianity." 
 
 The expression of Sir John's countenance, during die delivery of 
 this brief speech, was certainly of a most extraordinary character, but 
 it passed off unnoticed by George and Lejeune, and they very toon 
 .afterwards rejoined the ladies. 
 
 There are men in whose presence we can feel no pleasure. If they 
 speak we are disgusted ; and even if they say nothing, they annoy us. 
 They have the power to please us only when they go, and when they 
 are gone we feel released from an influence which weighs our spirits 
 down. Now George possessed this influence over the mind of Sir 
 John, who could not be really gay in his presence; but when he left 
 the room, which he did immediately after he had had coffee, Sir John 
 became himself again, his spirits revived, and the time passed delight- 
 fully till midnight. 
 
 When, however, all had retired, Sir John sat down coolly, with th<s 
 view of asking himself a few questions, having reference to the widow 
 and Lejeune. In the first place, why was Lejeune anxious to ascertain 
 all about the widow? secondly, what did he mean by saymg, when he 
 proposed her health, that she was a lady in whom he felt an unusual 
 interest ? a somewhat unusual interest ! 
 
 "He is a widower," thought he, "and not very old; and she is a 
 widow. He saw and admired her. Well, very natural ! She's a very 
 fine woman an elegant woman ; and when he heard her converse he 
 was charmed. Well, can't a man of his years see and admire a fine 
 woman without wishing to have her ? Did I ever wish to have her ? 
 No, I never gave it a thought. Why, then, should he ? It was but 
 natural for him to inquire who and what she was; it was but natural 
 for him to be pleased with her intelligence: there is nothing extraor- 
 dinary in the fact of his perceiving that she was a very superior 
 woman; but why should he feel this unusual interest? He doesn't 
 mean to marry and take her away? I can't spare her. Where: c:m I 
 get another like her ? She musn't go, she mustn't leave me ? How 
 can 1 do without her ? But does he mean this ? that's the point. 
 Can he mean it ? Pooh ! the thing is absurd ! and yet w here's the 
 absurdity? In what does it consist? Why should he not marry her? 
 why should he not at once propose to her, and take her away with 
 him? Who could blame him ? who could blame her ? But, is it at 
 all likely that he entertains such an idea ? Why should he not enter- 
 tain the idea ? I certainly can't see v% he should not; nor can 1 see 
 why, if he does not entertain it, he should feel this unusual interest. 
 And yet, perhaps, after all, I may have attached more importance to 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 11 
 
 the words than they warrant. He feels an interest. Very well ! She 's 
 an interesting woman. But an unusual interest ! Well ! She is an. 
 unusually interesting woman. This may be what he means : no doubt 
 he means this, and this only. I feel sure that he can mean nothing 
 else. I must, however, think a little more about this. It will never 
 do for me to lose her. I must watch this gay young gentleman. True, 
 that will be of little use ; for if he should mean to marry her, who 's 
 to prevent him ? Still I must keep my eye upon him, I shall then 
 know, at all events, what he really means." 
 
 During this reverie the features of Sir John assumed every variety 
 of expression, and having made up his mind to keep a sharp look out, 
 he thoughtfully retired to bed. 
 
 Now, while Sir John had been thus anxiously engaged, Corney 
 Craske had been quietly adding to his knowledge of George's religious 
 devotions. He had heard much of George's private piety, but he did 
 not believe quite so much as he had heard, and having resolved on 
 ascertaining the exact nature of those devotional exercises for which 
 the pious man had obtained so much credit, he slipped into an ante- 
 room before George retired, having that day discovered an aperture 
 through which he was able to command a view of the whole chamber. 
 
 Through this ante-room George had to pass, and before he did so 
 he locked the door. 
 
 "Hallo," whispered Corney; "but never mind that. I ca^i unlock 
 that quietly when he 's asleep." 
 
 George also locked the door of his chamber, and immediately lighted 
 a library lamp, by which it was supposed that he pursued his midnight 
 studies, as that lamp had every morning to be trimmed. He then 
 opened a large chest, which stood near the bed, and which Corney 
 perceived contained nothing but bottles ; and having carefully selected 
 one and drawn the cork, he got his water-bottle and glass, sat down, 
 mixed a bumper, and drank it right off. 
 
 " Well," thought Corney, " this, I suppose, is the opening of the 
 service. What 's the next move ?" 
 
 George replenished the glass, and produced a large box of cigars, 
 and when he had drawn two chairs for his legs, he began to smoke 
 luxuriously. 
 
 " Oh !" said Corney, " this then is what he calls smoking of a morn- 
 ing for the benefit of his precious health : and this is how the wine and 
 spirits goes which he 's allus a- wanting for the sick and pious poor ! 
 Now, this is what I call a right clown, regular robbery. * Send the 
 poor when they are sick,' says Sir John, * whatever they may require.' 
 * Corney,' says this pious beauty, ' let me have a bottle of brandy, or a 
 bottle of pale sherry, or a bottle of the best old port, and I '11 take it 
 myself/ Yes, he does take it himself, and this is how he takes it ! 
 Go it," he added,, as George mixed again, " you '11 soon pull that bottle 
 out at this rate, and then, dear, you'd better have another. But why 
 don't you talk or sing, or do something ?" 
 
 But George did not utter a word, nor did his countenance betray the 
 slightest emotion. There he sat, silently smoking and drinking until 
 
\2 THE STEWARD: 
 
 the brandy-bottle had been drained, when he lifted up the window, 
 threw the empty bottle out, and then proceeded to open another. 
 
 " Artful," thought Corney. " That's how the bottles goes ! Well, I 
 wondered what he did with his dead men, but now I see he pops 'em 
 out o' the window, and this accounts forBorley allus kicking up a shine 
 about the mobs o' broken bottles he finds in his garden. Now I know, 
 that 's it. There you are. He picks up enough on 'em to arm the 
 walls of Chany, and this is the blessed game every night. What, 
 again !" he added, as George coolly lighted another cigar; " how many 
 more are you going to pull out ? But what do you do with the ends ? 
 Oh, I see, you 'stablish them with the ashes in that little box, which 
 you empty, I s'pose, of a morning. But how about the pious devo- 
 tions ? I s'pose, p'raps, he hasn't got the steam up yet; and I s'pose 
 when it is up he'll go in howdacious. We shall see. I 'm in no hurry, 
 dear. Pray take your time. Don't distress yourself at all on my 
 account, deal', I beg. I shall stop and see it out, therefore don't put 
 yourself at all out of the way. But why don't you do suffen ? Sing, 
 laugh, or cry; I don't care a button which; ony do sufFen. You 'pear 
 so dull. Come, give us a song, or a psalm, no matter which. Your 
 society, I must say, is not very jolly. Come, send I may live, if I'd 
 ony drink half ot what you have, I'd have put all the songs 1 know 
 along of all I don't know, and sung 'em all merrily together afore 
 this!" 
 
 But no : George still kept drinking and smoking in silence, until he 
 found the water-bottle empty, when he drank off a bumper of brandy 
 neat, threw off his clothes, extinguished the light, and then gloomily 
 .rolled into bed. 
 
 " Good night," whispered Corney: " God bless you. If you're not 
 a beauty I don't know who is, 80 these are your midnight devotions 
 are they. Well, having stopped out the whole of the service, I s'pose 
 now I may as \\ell go. But stay, I've got to unlock that door. I marn't 
 make a muddle of it: wait till he's sound." 
 
 Corney accordingly watched and listened until he heard George first 
 breathe hard, and then snore ; when conceiving that of course he was 
 all right then, he on tiptoe, prepared to depart. 
 
 As he knew the room to be perfectly empty, he had no fear of kick- 
 ing against anything in it. He nevertheless moved very stealthily along 
 and eventually found the door. 
 
 " Now," said he, " all I have to do, is to unlock this careful. If he 
 hears any noise, he '11 be out in a second. Why where 's the lock ? 
 Oh ! here you are. But where 's the key? Done like a dinner! The 
 varmint has taken it intu his bed -room !" 
 
 And this was the fact. Having locked the door, George, as usual, 
 had put the key into his pocket. 
 
 " Well," thought Corney, " this is a go ! this is what I call a 
 go ! Stop now, let me consider calm. Don't be flustered : don't be 
 flustered : look at it cool, I'm here. Very well. I want to get out. 
 Well ! How am I to get out > That 's the point. I must either go 
 through this door or out of that window. The window. The window 1 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE, 13 
 
 How far shall I have to drop ? About forty feet. That won't do. I 
 should break my blessed neck. Now don't be flustered. The chances 
 is now reduced to this door. Now how is a door to be opened when 
 it's locked and you haven't the key to unlock it ? Now that's all 
 you've got to consider. Look at it cool ! look at it cool ! don't be 
 flustered ! look at it cool. In the first place the door may be busted 
 open. But that won't do : that '11 kick up a noise ; and he '11 be out 
 in the twinkling of an eye. So that's settled, so far. In the next 
 place the lock may be taken off. But where's the tools ? I have no 
 tools, and having none that dodge falls to the ground. Now be quiet 
 be quiet : whatever you do, don't be flustered. The thing now amounts* 
 just to this: you must either remain all night where you are, or knock 
 at his door and tell him you have got in here quite by mistake. Now 
 there's two courses take your choice. Now stop a 'minute : let me con- 
 sider. If I remain here all night, in the first place it won't be much of a 
 comfort: in the next place he's quite sure to find me in the morning. 
 So there's nothing particularly tempting in that. On the other hand, 
 if I should knock at his door the chances are that he '11 up with that 
 blunderbuss of his and blow my brains out before he. can know who I 
 am ! That won't be much of a treat. But even s'pose he shouldn't do 
 this s'pose I manage to let him know who I am before he can open 
 his bed-room door what excuse can I make for being here ? Let 's- 
 see how it '11 answer : ' Who's there ?' he'll say, in the first place, 
 safe. * Me, sir,' says I. * Why what business have you there ?' says 
 he. ' Begs pardon, sir,' says I, 'I got in here quite by mistake.' ' But 
 what ' says he, ' have you been about all this time ?' ' Sat down, 
 sir, permisku.s,' says I, * and fell asleep/ ' What !' says he, ' sit down 
 on the bare boards ?' There you see he'd bowl me out in a twinkling, 
 for he 's just about ten times as artful as a fox, and five-and-twenty . 
 times as suspicious as a weasel. Besides, I don't believe I could rftake 
 him understand it was only me a knockin' at the door : I believe 
 that being three parts fresh as he must be, he'd jump out o' bed 
 atween asleep an' awake, catch hold o' that blessed old blunderbuss 
 fierce, and let fly at the first man he came to. So that cock won't 
 fight. No : here I must remain. I shall have a very comfortable night 
 of it no doubt. But it's no use, so make up your mind to it you must. 
 What's done they say can't be undone, and that's true, because I can't 
 undo that door. I once heard a song sung which goes with a whole lot 
 o' voices beginning with, ' Stay, prithee stay.' What they mean by the 
 prithee I don't know exact, but as it goes on to tell you that * here you 
 must stay till morning bright,' and ' here you must stay,' and * here you 
 must stay,' it states my case to a toucher. Well ! what I shall do in the 
 morning bright, and what I shall say when he finds me here, I shall 
 have lots o' time to consider : for the present all that I've got to do is 
 to turn my mind to my lodgings the first lodgings unfurnished I ever 
 had. If there was such a thing as a bed in the room I shouldn't care ! 
 or even a comfortable sofa, or a nice easy chair, or a common arm-chair, 
 or a- chair with a mere back, or a chair without a back, or a box, or & 
 bench, or a stool, or a rug, or a little bit o' carpet, or even a door-mat: 
 
14 THE STEWARD: 
 
 but here we hav'nt a single individdival thing upon the face o' the earth. 
 But, come," he added, " let's sit down somewhere. I think, p'raps, 
 the best place'll be in the corner, 'cause then there'll be two backs you 
 know, to hold me up. Well," he continued, having seated himself; 
 " even this is better than standing ! Come ! there's some comfort in 
 this ! Now look here : here 's a lesson for life : a lesson taught by 
 what I call practicable experience. Look here. You said just now 
 you shouldn't mind if there was a bed : you then came down to a sofa, 
 then to an easy chair, and then by degrees you dropped as low as a 
 mat. Well, now you have got even lower than a mat, and yet you find 
 some comfort. Now what does this prove ? Why it just proves this, 
 that when you can't get what you like, you can make shift with what 
 you can get . It 's nonsense to say we can't bear this or that : we 
 don't know what we can bear till the Must o' the case comes. And it 
 is to this Must o' the case, Corney, bor, that you should turn your par- 
 ticular attention. There's the ladder of Ambition chalked out from the 
 door-mat up to the warm feather bed, and although it's more pleasant 
 to run up that ladder than down, it matters not a bit what stave you 
 are on so long as you accommodate your mind and body to it. That 's 
 what we used to call at school philosophy, and I fancy that I'm a phi- 
 losopher now; for these bare boards these philospher's boards are 
 pretty well as hard as the philosopher's stone. I must however say 
 that I should like to have a little drop o' that beauty's brandy, just 
 now! but as I can't get it, I can do without it, and there we've the Must 
 o' the case again ! But come," he added, " let 's have a snooze. You'll 
 be sitting and thinking here all the blessed night if you don't mind, and 
 then you know you won't be worth twopence in the morning." 
 
 Having thrust his hands down to the very bottom of his breeches 
 ^pockets, and dropped his head over his right shoulder against the wains- 
 cot, he soon fell asleep, and continued to sleep till the stable clock struck 
 six, when he awoke and began instantaneously to shiver. 
 
 "Oh!" said he, " how cruel cold. I'm like a mask of ice. My 
 blood's friz. Corney, where's your philosophy now. Philosophy 
 won't keep the cold out, will it ?" 
 
 Corney was herewith disgusted, and rose and went to the window, 
 and saw Peter Borley, the gardener, in a rage, for the bottle which 
 George had thrown into the garden had evidently cut up some favourite 
 plant. 
 
 Presently he heard George yawn, and on taking his post at the crevice 
 he saw him helping himself to a bumper of brandy. This was soon 
 dispatched, and George began to dress, which Corney very naturally 
 held to be a blessing. 
 
 " Now," said he, " what 's to be done ? How am I to work it ? I 
 musn't be standing up ! That won't do at any price. No, I must get 
 into this blessed corner again and pretend to be right dead asleep. 
 If he shouldn't notice me why then I can quietly follow him out and 
 there'll be an end of the matter. If he should cast his eye upon 
 me as he passes through, why then I must set my wits to work, 
 and make the best of it. Hark ! Here he comes ;" And Corney, 
 
A ROMANCE OP REAL LIFE. 15 
 
 having placed himself in a picturesque position, kept one eye half 
 open, and watched for his appearance. 
 
 " Hallo !" exclaimed George, with a start, the very moment he 
 entered the ante-room. " Why, what's all this ? Hallo /" he added, 
 shaking Corney violently by the collar. " Ar.e you dead ? Do you 
 hear ?" 
 
 " Where am I ?" inquired Corney, with an appropriate expression 
 of innocence. 
 
 " Where are you !" cried George. " You are where you ought 
 not to be. Pray what's the meaning of all this ?" 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir," said Corney. " Don't know I'm sure, sir. I 
 feel very cold." 
 
 " Cold, sir ! How came you here?" 
 
 " That's a puzzle, sir," replied Corney, looking as confused as if his 
 intellects had been in reality scattered. 
 
 "I see how it is sir," said George; " I see it clearly. You drank 
 last night till you were tipsy, sir, and then like a drunken beast went 
 to sleep there." 
 
 " That '11 do!" thought Corney. " That 's just the very thing," 
 
 " What have you to say for yourself ?" continued George. 
 
 " I hope you'll forgive me this once," replied Corney, " I hope you 
 will : It shadl never occur again. I didn't drink but little, sir, I didn't 
 indeed, but I s'pose that little overcame me." 
 
 "Now, sir," said George, sternly; "listen. Of all the vices by which 
 human nature can be degraded, that of Drunkenness is at once the 
 most disgusting, and the most dangerous. It is the germ of every 
 other vice practised under Heaven. Eecklessness and profligacy are 
 its immediate fruits, and these swell constantly into atrocious crimes. 
 Show me a drunkard, and I'll show you a beast: nay, I'll show you 
 something worse than a beast for a beast will not drink more than 
 nature requires, I'll show you a being in the form of a man, repudi- 
 ating that Reason which is the highest and which ought to be the 
 most dearly cherished gift of God ! Beware of this vice as you value 
 your soul ! beware of it, sir, or it will almost imperceptibly plunge you 
 into the vortex of inextricable ruin." 
 
 *' Well, I hope you'll excuse me this once, sir," said Corney. 
 
 " { Excuse you ? How can I excuse you? What excuse can their be 
 for a man like you? Had you been out had you met with old asso- 
 ciates and friends there might have been some slight excuse for you, 
 seeing that society unhappily, to a certain extent, prescribes what is 
 understood by conviviality ; but for a man to drink as you must hare 
 drank in secret and alone, it is, sir, disgusting in the extreme." 
 
 " I could say suften," thought Corney, " but I dussent." 
 
 " Now, sir," continued George ; " mark me. If I ever again perceive 
 in you'the slightest indication of an indulgence in this most odious vice, 
 I'll immediately procure your discharge. Eecollect, sir! Go and sin 
 no more," 
 
 " Well," thought Corney, as he hastened down stairs, " this is middlin 1 
 certney, considerin'. ' In secret and alone !' Comin' from him this was 
 
16 THE STEWARD: 
 
 rich. But never miad. I've got over it quite as well as I expected. 
 Let's rush to the fire and have a jolly warm." 
 
 George, having thus performed that which he conceived would be 
 considered his duty mounted his horse and rode round the adjoining 
 farm ; and while Charles and Lejeune were with Borley in the garden, 
 Sir John and the Widow were in the breakfast-room alone. 
 
 " I should like," said Sir John, " to have a party to-day. Can it be 
 managed?" 
 
 " Certainly, Sir John," replied the Widow. " What sort of a party 
 would you like to have ?" 
 
 " One of your own sort, Mrs. Wardle. I '11 leave it entirely to you. 
 The parties whom you invite are always agreeable." 
 
 " You flatter me, Sir John." 
 
 " Not at all. They always are so. Therefore take your own ponies 
 immediately after breakfast, and drive round and invite whom you 
 please. By the way, Mrs. Wardle, what do you think of our friend 
 Lejeune," 
 
 " Oh! he is indeed a most gentlemanly man," replied the Widow; 
 " so calm, so elegant in his manners, so polite so exceedingly polite." 
 
 " Take care, Mrs. Wardle ! take care of your heart," said Sir John, 
 as the Widow smiled. " These fascinating fellows are dangerous dogs." 
 
 " I hope," said the widow, archly, " that Fm in no danger?" 
 
 " I hope not, I merely warn you. All I have to say, is take care of 
 your heart." 
 
 " That, Sir John, is locked up securely." 
 
 "Aye! but he may obtain possession of the key!" 
 
 " The key, Sir John," said the widow, with emotion, " the key is in 
 the grave ! " 
 
 " Why what have I said! " cried Sir John, on perceiving tears spring 
 into her eyes. " You know, Mrs. Wardle, you know that I wouldn't 
 wound your feelings for the world. Come, come, come there, I must 
 not, I find, jest any more. But," he added, with a view of changing 
 the subject, " what do you think of Miss Lejeune?" 
 
 " Oh ! she's a love!" replied the widow, with her usual smile. "A 
 little angel ! so endearing, so affectionate ; she is indeed a charming 
 little girl." 
 
 " Don't you wish that she was a few years older for my sake?" 
 
 " If she were a few years older," replied the widow, " I don't know 
 what I might think /" 
 
 "But even as it is! why there's only about thirty years differ- 
 ence! I must think about this, Mrs. Wardle. You have really 
 recommended her to me so strongly that I must think, Mrs. Wardle, I 
 must think!" 
 
 He then gaily left the room, and, as he did so, his thoughts reverted 
 to his reverie the preceding night. That Lejeune had already made an 
 impression upon the widow, was a fact which seemed to him to be 
 abundantly clear, and that the impression thus made had prepared her 
 to meet him half-way, was, in his judgment, equally certain. Now, 
 what was to be done?" 
 
A. ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 17 
 
 "If," thought he, "I allow this to go much further, the affair will 
 have gone too far to be prevented. But what did she mean, when T 
 mentioned her heart, by saying that the key was in the grave? Diet 
 she mean that she could never love another? She naust have meant 
 that. But Lejeune, notwithstanding, might marry her and take her 
 away from me! Hearts do not always go with hands. Instead of 
 winning her heart to gain her hand, he may gain her hand to win her 
 heart. And who's to prevent it? Why, I'll prevent it: I'll marry her 
 myself, and there'll be an end of the matter. But stop, stop, stop, do- 
 nothing hastily. Reflect reflect deeply: consider: turn the matter 
 over in your mind before you come to any decision. I will do so; but 
 he shall not have her." 
 
 During breakfast Lejeune, as if conscious of ail that had been passing 
 in .the mind of Sir John, although, of course, it never entered hip im- 
 agination, for one moment, paid the Widow the most marked attention. 
 He chatted with her, laughed with her, addressed nearly the whole of 
 his observations to her; in short, his gaiety and politeness were exr 
 oessive. Of course, Sir John noticed all this and didn't like it. He 
 wouldn't bring his mind to approve of it at all! He felt it, under 
 the circumstances, to be an infringement upon his privileges ; and 4 
 peculiarly dangerous infringement too ! Still he appeared not to be in 
 the slightest degree annoyed. He chatted with Juliana, exchanged jests 
 with Charles, and apparently enjoyed himself much; but in reality he 
 experienced he could not but experience a series of very unpieasing 
 sensations. After breakfast the ponies were put to the phaeton, and the 
 Widow and Juliana, accompanied by Charles on horseback, left "the 
 Hall, when Sir John and Lejeune conversed, for some time together, on 
 the subject of Charles's progress and general conduct, and then took a 
 ride round the park. . 
 
 George had taken breakfast with one of Sir John's tenants, a fine,; 
 open-hearted old farmer, named Freeman, to whose daughter, Jane, it 
 was supposed George was paying his addresses; 
 
 Being the elder son, George was, of course, attacked constantly by 
 the female branches of the neighbouring families, with a view to a con- 
 quest. - They could not think of a party without inviting George: they 
 could Hot dream of a dance without pressing George to come : if they 
 met him on the road they must stop and speak to George: if they 
 visited the Hall, George .was still the chief magnet. Sir John was a 
 secondary being altogether; and, as for Charles! the yeung ladies cer- 
 tainly wished that he had been the first-born ; but they had been care- 
 fully instructed to regard him as a mere nonentity compared with George. 
 
 George, however, saw through all this, and treated their efforts to 
 enthral him with contempt. He would scarcely speak with civility to- 
 any one ol them ; and, frequently, bitter was the mortification experienced. 
 by gentle, and obedient girls, who had been specially desired to assail' 
 hjm. He would treat them with the utmost rudeness he would hardly 
 look at them! Still, although his manners while with them were stiflf 
 and repulsive in the extreme although he was thoroughly, heartily' 
 hated, it could not be forgotten that he was the elder son ! 
 No, 2. 
 
18 THE STEWARD: 
 
 He seldom, however, consented to meet them, and never remained 
 long where they were. He would often, when Sir John had a party at 
 the Hall, ride over to Freeman's, and spend the evening there; and, as 
 Jane believed this to be a sacrifice to her, she invariably felt proud, if 
 not happy. 
 
 Now, Jane was a singularly beautiful girl, elegant in form, and grace- 
 ful in deportment. She was an only child, the pride of her father's 
 heart ; but she was an exceedingly simple girl, and George had taught 
 her to be ambitious. She conceived that at the death of Sir John he 
 would, of course, be " Sir George," and the idea of becoming " Lady 
 Croly " perpetually haunted her vivid imagination. 
 
 " What," thought she, " will the world say then! When, instead of 
 jogging to market in a common gig, I go in my own carriage and desire 
 it to be driven from shop to shop; will it not be delightful! Oh, what 
 a fuSs there -will be when I appear! ' What can I have the pleasure ot 
 showing you, my lady? I can recommend this to your ladyship strongly. 
 Is there any other article I can show your ladyship? Thank you my 
 lady. Smith, Lady Croly's carriage/ Oh! that will be delicious! 
 And then when I go to the theatre dressed in magnificent style my 
 fingers covered vrith rings, and my stomacher studded with brilliants: 
 with gold ear-drops, bracelets, and armlets and chains, and a lovely 
 tiara of beautiful pearls, every eye will be fixed upon Lady Croly! 
 And then when we have our bespeak, and I see it announced, ' By ex- 
 press desire and under the immediate patronage of Sir George and 
 Lady Croly!' I shall go nearly frantic with joy!" 
 
 Freeman knew nothing whatever of this. George had not only 
 never proposed for her, but he had never even mentioned the subject 
 to him ; and when Jane, on one occasion, slyly hinted that it might be 
 Mr. George's intention to propose, he replied briefly, " Silly girl silly 
 girl pooh! Don't fill your head with any such nonsense." He en- 
 couraged George's visits chiefly in consequence of his being at once 
 the son and the Steward of his landlord conceiving, naturally, that 
 Ms friendship might be advantageous and as nothing was ever said 
 in his presence which could lead him to imagine for one moment that 
 George entertained the slightest feeling of affection for Jane, he never 
 gave the subject a thought. 
 
 Having immediately after breakfast on this occasion accompanied 
 Freeman over his farm, he returned to the Hall and ascertained that 
 they were going to have a set party. At first he resolved on absenting 
 himself entirely from it ; but, on reflection, knowing that this party had 
 been invited expressly in order to meet Lejeune, and feeling that his 
 absence on the occasion would be regarded by him as a slight, that 
 might tend to create a prejudice in his mind against him, which he 
 held it to be, under the circumstances, wise to avoid, he determined 
 not only on being present, but on making every effort that might be 
 consistent with the character he had assumed, to propitiate him \vitji 
 whom the course of events seemed to indicate that he should have to 
 deal anon. He saw the influence that Lejeune had over Charles, and 
 fancied that it might be extended to Sir John. It had never occurred 
 to Hm before, but it was then, in his judgment, quite clear that Le- 
 
A ROMANCE OP REAL LIFE. 19 
 
 jeune's good opinion might be eventually of great importance. He, 
 therefore, sought him, and devoted the remaining part of the . morning 
 to him ; and, as he could converse agreeably when he pleased, which 
 was indeed very seldom, he to some extent succeeded in removing that 
 unfavourable impression which his previous taciturnity and stiffness had 
 created. In the meantime the Widow had enlisted nearly all the 
 conventionally pleasant people in the neighbourhood, and as she and 
 Juliana worked together on their return, for they had already become 
 almost inseparable, the preparations, which gave evidence of the most 
 refined taste, were satisfactorily completed before the guests began to 
 arrive. 
 
 These guests, however, were not exclusively those who had been 
 invited, for, as in all parts of the provinces, the Aristocratic circles are 
 studded with younger sons, the chief energies of whose powerful 
 minds are patriotically devoted to fox and fortune hunting, so here 
 there were several of these valuable young members of society, who 
 had crept in with the view of ascertaining if Juliana were likely to 
 answer their purpose. 
 
 The characteristics of these young philanthropists, of course, are well- 
 known. They are at once the most ostentatious and the meanest ot all 
 the creatures upon earth. They are not worth a shilling: they very 
 seldom have a shilling. They sponge upon all above them, and treat 
 all who are in the social scale, beneath them, with contempt ; except, 
 indeed, when they meet with a tradesman out, when they sometimes 
 will condescend to say, " Jones, how are yar?" but will add, " Ob, 
 Jones! lend me half a sovereign, will yar? I've left my purse at 
 home ; I'll send it by one of our fellows in the morning." When Jones, 
 of course, lends the half sovereign ; and of course, never has it returned. 
 
 * Hallo, Harry," said one of these interesting youths on this occasion, 
 just before dinner was announced, "you here! Whom did you come 
 with?" 
 
 " I came with the Flakes," replied Harry. 
 
 " Oh, ah; I came with the Balshalls. I say," he added, glancing at 
 Juliana, " any tin?" 
 
 " Lot's, I understand." 
 
 " What's the figure? 1 ' 
 
 " Can't say." 
 
 " Any more of them?" 
 
 "No; she's an only child." 
 
 " What's he?" 
 
 " An eminent Barrister I hear." 
 
 " Oh; a Barrister. Barrister's are what they make judges of; ah." 
 
 " What do you think of her? Not much of a beauty?" 
 
 " Oh, I don't know! Pretty fair! But what's beauty compared with 
 the tin? Can get beauty any where. Tin's the ticket: that's a much 
 scarcer commodity than beauty." 
 
 Dinner was now announced, and on descending from the drawing- 
 room they found everything prepared in the most recherche style. Juli- 
 ana was, of course, the great attraction. Every eye was turned constantly 
 
20 THE STEWARD: 
 
 upon her, and while those who sat near her were indefatigable in their 
 attentions, those who were at a distance made every effort to catch 
 her glance. Charles was, as usual, the gayest of the gay, and,^ as 
 even George had made up his mind to be agreeable, they appeared to 
 be one of the most happy parties ever formed. 
 
 The ladies, notwithstanding, very soon after dinner retired ; and while 
 the gentlemen were enjoying themselves unrestrained by their presence, 
 they were freely discussing the varied merits of that highly important 
 subject which comprehends the management of husbands. 
 
 It will here be right to explain that the introduction of this subject 
 sprang immediately from the fact that a lady whom they had been in 
 the constant habit of meeting, was on this occasion absent, in conse- 
 quence, it was affirmed, of the shocking interference of her husband, who 
 had had the audacity to complain of some portion of her dress an in- 
 terference at which she indignantly fired, and declared that she would 
 not go out at all. 
 
 One contended that the majority of husbands were really too bad i 
 be managed: another pronounced them to be tyrants at heart; a third 
 suggested the expediency of passing a law to bring them under subjec 
 tion ; a fourth argued that they were never intended to reign paramount ; 
 while a fifth undertook to make it manifest that, as they could not estab- 
 lish their claim to intellectual superiority, their presumption ought 
 not to be endured. At length the Widow was appealed to, and that 
 appeal was followed by the most marked attention. 
 
 " Nature, my dears," said the Widow, with a smile, " has, in her vast 
 and inscrutable wisdom, inspired you with a high admiration of the 
 men. You love them, some of you passionately, but all of you love 
 them, and most of you spoil them." 
 " Spoil them!" they exclaimed. 
 
 "Ay, my dears, the great majority of you spoil them; for, although 
 you might have formed a just estimate of them before you had them, 
 you don't know how to manage them now you have got them." 
 
 "Mrs. Wardle! Mrs. Wardle! My dear!" interposed half-a-dozen 
 married ladies at once. 
 
 " Experience," pursued the Widow, " has fully convinced me that 
 you do not know, and, therefore, cannot appreciate your own power: 
 it has proved to me that in your hands husbands are but as wax that 
 YOU can make the good ones bad, and the bad ones good that you 
 possess so much power over their habits, tempers, feelings, and general 
 character that there not only ought not to be, but, were you to exercise 
 that power, there really might not be a bad husband in the world." 
 
 "Good gracious!" they exclaimed; "why, what an extraordinary 
 doctrine!" 
 
 " You have read, dears," continued the Widow " probably when you 
 were girls of a practice which once prevailed of punishing parents for 
 the faults of their children, it being held that as the children were under 
 their control, they ought to have taught them better. Now so strongly 
 do I feel that you have the power to control your husbands, and to teach 
 them better, that I should be inclined to hold you publicly responsible 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE, 21 
 
 for their faults, did I not know that, by neglecting the due exercise of 
 your power, you in private sufficiently punish yourselves. We must 
 never, my dears, allow it for one moment to escape us that wives have 
 duties to perform, as well as rights to maintain; and while I hold it to 
 be one of their chief duties to guide the tempers, the habits, and the 
 passions of their husbands, I conceive it to be their most inalienable 
 right to make their husbands love them ; and they are dear good souls, 
 too, and worth all the trouble. I know married ladies who, although 
 they might be just as happy as birds, are comparatively wretched 
 And why? Because they all go the wrong way to work." 
 
 "But which way are they to go to work?" exclaimed several, who 
 couldn't at all appreciate the prudence involved in the Widow's ob- 
 servations. 
 
 The Widow smiled, and said, " The management of husbands, my 
 dears, is an art an art which, as your happiness depends solely upon it, 
 ought to form your chief study. Some of you probably, when very young, 
 conceived that all you had to do in this beautiful world was to win the 
 affections of those who are now your husbands as a nephew of mine, 
 when a medical student, fancied that all he had to do was to pass the 
 College of Surgeons and Apothecaries Hall but as wives, we have 
 something more to do : we have a far higher duty to perform we have, 
 in order to perpetuate happiness, to keep those affections secure! When 
 my nephew had obtained his diploma from the College, and his certifi- 
 cate from the Hall, he conceived for a time that nothing more was 
 required ; but he very soon found that he had to study diligently still, 
 or sacrifice every hope of prosperity and consequent happiness. It is 
 the study, my dears, the constant study of the character of the man to 
 whom a woman is united, which forms the very basis of a wife's 
 felicity. I hare known girls and so have you doubtless who have 
 been before marriage, induced almost to believe that they were angels ; 
 and when, after marriage, they tound that they were treated but as 
 mortals, they began to look round ! They had no conception of its 
 being necessary to study the characters of their husbands, although to 
 that particular study they ought to have directed their almost undivided 
 attention . Besides, my dearg," continued the Widow, playfully, " we 
 do not sufficiently maintain our dignity I We appear in general to have 
 but a very imperfect knowledge of our own importance. We should 
 take a more enlarged a more elevated view of our own position. We 
 should perfectly understand that in the scale of society we are the most 
 important people after all! Look at our influence! take it in any 
 point of view, and we shall find that we have infinitely more than the 
 men. There are popular novelists. Who are their readers? Could 
 they have become popular without us? There are popular preachers. 
 Who are their hearers? We are principally; and from us their popu- 
 larity has been derived. Look at our charities, our fancy fairs, our 
 fetes, our assemblies of every character and description. What would 
 they be without us? Go to the metropolis: who attend our religious 
 meetings? We do, twenty to one. Go into the provinces : who support the 
 various branches of the parent societies ? We do almost exclusively. We 
 
2 THE STEWARD: 
 
 are the patronesses of everything connected with refinement and 
 b enevolence we are, my dears, in fact, the most influencial people 
 in the world! Reproachfully it is said whenever anything wrong 
 occurs ' Oh, there's a woman in the case: ah, a woman is sure to be 
 at the bottom of everything bad.' But, do you not perceive, my dears, 
 that this although constantly said as a reproach is, in reality, an 
 acknowledgement of our influence? And if we have as we have most 
 certainly sufficient influence over the men to cause them to do evil, 
 we have at least an equally powerful influence over them when our 
 aim is to cause them to do good; and it is, my dears, by virtue of the 
 due and discreet exercise of this influence that wives are enabled to 
 manage their husbands ." 
 
 " Well," said Mrs. Montague, " certainly, I must agree with a great 
 deal of what you have said. The theory is all very well and very 
 flattering ; but let us take a practical view of the matter. .Suppose I 
 will put it hypothetically suppose that you had a very awkward hus- 
 band one whom you could do nothing with." 
 
 " Nay, don't suppose that," rejoined the Widow, " because you suppose 
 an utter impossibility, There is no such man in existence." 
 
 11 Well, let that be admitted; but suppose you had one who would 
 not be controlled who would have his own way now, what would you 
 do with him?" 
 
 " Why, my dear," replied the Widow, " I should never, at first, 
 think of opposing him. I should study his character, and while yielding, 
 acquire an influence over him ; and, when I found him sufficiently sub- 
 dued to be assailable, I should gradually bring that influence to bear." 
 u Then you would humour him." 
 " Of course." 
 
 " But why should they be humoured?" 
 
 " Do they not humour us? We must, my dear, humour them, in 
 order to ensure our own happiness. Besides, with such men, direct 
 opposition tends only to confirm obstinacy ; whereas by gentle treatment 
 they are to be subdued, I will give you a perfectly analogous case : 
 The other day I went over to Cambridge, to see my son. Thomas 
 drove me, and we had Sir John's favourite grey. Well, we had scarcely 
 got a mile on the road, when the horse took it into his head to stop and 
 back. Now, Thomas had studied the character of that horse, and, by 
 virtue of that study, knew that the more he whipped him, the more 
 obstinate he would become. He, therefore, gave me the r4ns and went 
 up to his head, and spoke to him mildly, and patted and coaxed him, 
 which had the effect desired, for we had no more trouble with him: he 
 went along beautifully after that. Now had Thomas lashed him when 
 he was naughty and stopped, he would, in all probability, have kicked 
 the gig to pieces, but, as he spoke to him calmly, and humoured him a 
 little, we had an extremely pleasant journey. I call this, my dear, an 
 analogous case because it is thus with the men. If we oppose them 
 to begin with, or lash them with our tongues, they will, so to speak, 
 kick at once over the traces ; but if we study their characters and humour 
 them a little, we shall travel together with pleasure through life." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 23 
 
 As the time had now arrived for the gentlemen to rejoin them, no 
 more was said on the subject then; but although they enjoyed them- 
 selves highly throughout the evening, it was clear that the Widow's 
 " Theory" had made an impression on them all. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE FAILURE, 
 
 As Sir John suspected still that Lejeune had conceived an ardent affection 
 for the Widow, and as he regarded the politeness with which they ad- 
 dressed each other as manifestations of reciprocal esteem, he resolved 
 on delicately sounding Lejeune, with the view of ascertaining at once 
 whether his suspicions had, in reality, sufficient foundation or not. 
 
 But then, how was this to be done? He couldn 't ask him the question! 
 He could 'nt say to him, " Do you love Mrs. Wardle?" or " Have you 
 any wish or intention to marry her?" or " Would you like to have 
 her?" or " Don't you think she'd make a very excellent wife?" This 
 was a difficulty upon which he for some time dwelt and was puzzled; 
 but he, nevertheless, made up his mind at length to teuch the matter 
 lightly, and leave the rest to chance. 
 
 He, accordingly embracing the very first opportunity which offered 
 commenced thus: "Now, my dear Lejeune, if there be anything 
 which I can do, at all calculated to add to your comfort, I do beg of 
 you to tell me so frankly." 
 
 " I feel it to be impossible," replied Lejeune, "to make any addition 
 to my comfort here. You are too kind, Sir John too considerate: you 
 load me with obligations." 
 
 " Not at all! Nothing can givo me greater pleasure than the con- 
 sciousness of having imparted pleasure to those around me. And, then, 
 that dear little daughter of yours: is she happy?" 
 
 " I have not, Sir John, seen her so happy for years. But how can 
 she be otherwise than happy, entertained as she is by Mrs. Wardle, 
 with the most affectionate solicitude? I can never feel sufficiently grate- 
 ful to that amiable and interesting person." 
 
 " She's a kind, good creature," observed Sir John. 
 
 " She's a treasure," said Lejeune. " But you know her value, and I 
 cannot feel surprised at the fact of her being regarded as a treasure by 
 you. She has completely fascinated my Juliana, and really her manners 
 are so endearing that I expect we shall have a scene when they part." 
 
 " She is, I know, very much attached to Juliana," said Sir John. 
 " But," he added with a peculiar expression, " do you not think it 
 strange that a woman like that should not have managed to get another 
 husband." 
 
 " Not at all," replied Lejeune, " you make her so happy in her present 
 position, that, if happiness be ker object and I believe that it is she 
 can scarcely, in any state, hope for more." 
 
24 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " Still, women are women,'' returned Sir John, " and you know, Le- 
 ]eune, what women are. But I don't believe that, since Wardle's death, 
 she has even had an offer!" 
 
 "Now you surprise me, indeed!" said Lejeune. " I can well under- 
 stand that a woman of her intelligence appreciating the happiness she 
 at present enjoys would be unwilling to run the risk of accepting an 
 offer : but the fact of her never having had an offer made her is strange, 
 as you say, in the extreme. Do you think if any one were to propose 
 I mean, of course, one to whom she could have no objection no rea- 
 sonable personal objection she would have him?" 
 
 " Don't know," replied Sir John, who became apprehensive that the 
 next question put to him would have immediate reference to Lejeune's 
 personal pretensions " can't tell. As I said before : women are women, 
 and you know what women are. But, he added conceiving that it 
 'wouldn't do at all to be questioned any farther upon this particular 
 -point "the morning's wearing away! Shall we have a quiet turn 
 round the park^jj^ 
 
 " As you please," replied Lejeune; " I am quite at your disposal." 
 " Then we'll go," said Sir John; who rang the bell immediately and 
 ordered the horses. 
 
 " Now," thought he, " there can be no doribt about the matter. It is 
 manifest, not only that he means to propose, but that he has made up 
 'his mind to have her. But he shall not have her! I'll have her my- 
 self. Her ' affectionate solicitude' Ah. ' I can never feel sufficiently 
 grateful to that amiable and interesting person.' No. ' She's a trea- 
 sure. 1 Yes. i She has fascinated my Juliana' Aye, and at' the same 
 time has fascinated him!* Do you think that if any one were to pro- 
 pose?' Why, the very next question would have been, ' Do you think 
 -that if / were to propose she would have me?' I stopped just in time 
 but fust in time. Had I allowed the subject to be pursued any further, 
 of course, out it would have come. Now, how am I to act? Why, 
 break the ice at once. But how? And when? All the morning she's 
 engaged, so she is all the evening! Well, then defer it till night; 
 Wait till all the rest have retired, and then you can calmly discu&s the 
 -whole- matter, without the slightest chance or fear of being interrupted. 
 It shall be so. But, should she refuse? Pooh! How can she refuse? 
 "What can she object to? My age? She's not a girl. My face? Well, 
 I don't know; nor will I pretend to say, but I think there is nothing 
 very objectionable in that! I used to be considered a fine, handsome 
 fellow. Age, certainly, makes a wonderful difference in a man's appear- 
 ance ; but, for an old one, I should like to know what's the matter with, 
 -me. I have health, and I have wealth; I have, moreover, a title to 
 give her, such as it is. She wilJ, at all events, be l Lady Croly,' instead 
 -of Mrs. Wardle, and I never knew a woman by whom a title was not 
 regarded as a thing to be desired. Why, then, should she object? 
 What is there to object to? She 'ii not object. This night, if I live, 
 it shall be settled." 
 
 The horses were now brought ; and he and Lejeune prepared to mount, 
 Hbut, just as they were about to do so, they observed a post-chaise in 
 
A ROMANCE OF HEAL LIFE. 25 
 
 the distance, dashing through the park, in the direction of the Hall. 
 They therefore waited, and as it. approached, Lejeune recognized his 
 confidential clerk, who, on alighting, drew him aside, and communicated 
 something which, on the instant, filled him with consternation. 
 
 "Good God!" he exclaimed, "Phillips, lam utterly ruined. I'll 
 return with you at once. Sir John," he added, tremulously turning 
 from the clerk, " I am sorry that I must leave you." 
 
 "Leave!" cried Sir John, " why what has occurred?" 
 
 ft Something, so important, that I must immediately return to town." 
 
 "Well, but, my dear fellow, why are you so agitated? Come, 
 1st me daim now the privilege of a friend, and enquire what has 
 happened?" 
 
 " My dear Sir John, I cannot enter into particulars indeed I do not 
 yet know the particulars myself, but I fear that I am a ruined man." 
 
 "God forbid!" exclaimed Sir John, earnestly. " Let us hope not: 
 come, let us hope not. Go and see go and see; and, Lejeune," he 
 added, grasping his hand, " you must promise that you'll write to me 
 and let me know the worst." 
 
 " I will write I will. But my poor girl, she must know nothing of 
 this!" 
 
 "Certainly not certainly not; I'll manage that. I'm glad she's 
 out. Now, don't lose a moment; but remember, if I can render you 
 any assistance, command me." 
 
 Lejeune shook him warmly by the hand, and then hastily entered 
 the chaise with his clerk. 
 
 " You promise," cried Sir John, " to write and let me know ail!" 
 
 " I do," replied Lejeune, and immediately started. 
 
 Sir John now went in search of Charles, who was out with Juliana 
 and the Widow; and as Charles shortly afterwards saw him riding 
 alone he immediately turned and galloped towards him . 
 
 " My boy," said Sir John, as Charles approached, " I fear that 
 something serious has happened to Lejeune." 
 
 " I hope not," cried Charles . u Has he fallen from his horse?" 
 
 " No, my boy, no ; I fear that something worse than that has hap- 
 pened. Just as we were about to take a ride together, a post-chaise 
 idashed up to the Hall, when in an instant a gentleman alighted and 
 summoned him hastily to town. 
 
 " Some highly important case, perhaps," said Charles, " upon which 
 his opinion is required." 
 
 " No, my boy, no; he had just time to tell me that he feared he was 
 a ruined man." 
 
 "A ruined man! Why what on earth can have occurred! A 
 ruined man! Why, what can ruin him? He never speculates! Did 
 he say no more?" 
 
 " He promised to write and let me know all, and wished his daugh- 
 ter, of course, 'to be kept in ignorance of the matter. But silence: they 
 approach. We must tell her he's gone, and having eased her mind as 
 to the cause, we'll go and talk the affair over together privately. Well," 
 he added, addressing Juliana, " have you had a pleasant ride?" 
 
26 THE STEWARD : 
 
 " Oh, delightful," replied Juliana; " but where is papa?" 
 
 "What would you say now," returned Sir John, playfully, "if I 
 were to tell you he's gone to get married?" 
 
 " Sir John, you are a droll man," observed Juliana. 
 
 " Well, but what else could he want to leave in such haste for? 
 What do you think Mrs. Wardle? You have had some experience 
 in these matters " 
 
 " But has he really left?" enquired Juliana. 
 
 Yes; he left just now in a post chaise, which was not at the door 
 two minutes before he was off. Is not that a clear case of elope- 
 ment?" 
 
 " Certainly he has eloped," said the Widow; " but business, perhaps, 
 was the cause?" 
 
 " Well," returned Sir John, "you have guessed it pretty nearly. 
 We shall, however, soon have him back." 
 
 " It must be something very important," observed Juliana, " or he 
 never would have left in such haste," 
 
 "Bless you! he had no time for anything! The gentleman who 
 came in the post-chaise hurried him away as if it had been a case of 
 life or death." 
 
 " And it is a case of life or death most likely," said Charles, " such 
 cases, of course, admit of no delay. Well, ladies," he added, " do 
 you extend your ride?" 
 
 The Widow perceived that Juliana had no desire to do so then ; she, 
 therefore, replied, " We think not this morning," and at once returned 
 with them to the Hall." 
 
 " Now, my boy," said Sir John, having retired to the library, " I 
 shall not rest until I know more of this matter." 
 
 " Nor shall I," returned Charles. " It must be something of great 
 importance. He is not a man whom trifles can alarm ; but I am al- 
 together at a loss to conjecture how he can be ruined! He enters into 
 no speculations. He holds mortgages, certainly, but the amount of 
 each does not exceed two-thirds of the ascertained value of the 
 property ." 
 
 " There is something, my boy, of which you have no knowledge. I am 
 unable of course to conceive what it is ; but I'll not allow a man like 
 that to be struck down, if it be in my power to prevent it, without in- 
 flicting any material injury upon myself or upon those who are more 
 immediately connected with me." 
 
 " Shall I go up," said Charles, " and ascertain what it is?" 
 
 "Do so, my boy. Go at once. It were folly to speculate now upon 
 the manner in which assistance can be rendered. Go and learn exactly 
 how the case stands, and then we shall know how to act. Now let me see ! 
 How shall we manage? Shall we send for a post-chais-j? Yes! and 
 when it comes you can get in at once, and be off like Lejeune. That'll 
 do ! will it not?" 
 
 " Exactly," said Charles ; " and will tend to allay the fears of Juliana, 
 who is not, I perceive, quite satisfied yet." 
 
 " Well, then, send Bob at once. Tell him to order a chaise to be 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 27 
 
 here as soon as possible. Tell him to see it off. He need not hurry 
 back. It may as well come without him." 
 
 Charles accordingly gave Bob the necessary instructions, and then 
 
 returned to the library, where he and Sir John had a biscuit and a 
 
 glass of wine together, and continued to converse until they saw the 
 
 chaise approaching, when they went out at once upon the lawn. The 
 
 chaise had no sooner pulled up than Charles entered, and having shaken 
 
 hands with Sir John, who closed the door, gave the word, and was oft. 
 
 Sir John now sought Juliana, and having found her with the Widow. 
 
 exclaimed " Another elopement ! Bless my life and soul ! why, what 
 
 sort of a case can this fee ! Charles is off now!" 
 
 "Charles off!" echoed Juliana. 
 
 " Oh ! yes. A post-chaise came dashing up while we were on the 
 lawn. No ceremony! in he must go! and that on the very same 
 business.'' 
 
 " Why, it must be a very important case," observed the Widow. 
 " When I was young," remarked Sir John, " these things required 
 a deal of deliberation ; but now everything appears to be conducted in 
 the midst of hurry and bustle." 
 
 " There is one consolation even in that," said the Widow- " The 
 more haste they make, the sooner we shall have the pleasure of seeing 
 them again." 
 
 " Well," said Juliana, " I am glad that papa has not been summoned 
 alone. Had he been, I might have thought that something unpleasant 
 had occurred respecting him personally." 
 
 " Oh! they are both engaged in it," returned Sir John. 
 " Perhaps," suggested the Widow, " Mr. Lejeune is gone to receive 
 some high appointment! Who knows? ' Mr. Justice Lejeune' would 
 sound nicely, would it not? ' Lord Lejeune ' would be an elegant 
 alliteration." 
 
 Juliana shook her head slightly and smiled, when Sir John, appre- 
 hensive of raising delusive hopes, said, "Doubtless it is some impor- 
 tant case upon which Lejeune's opinion is required," and left them. 
 
 The dinner that day passed off flatly ; and it may be recorded that, 
 while Sir John failed to act upon his previously fixed determination to 
 propose to the Widow that night, the absence of Charles was never 
 before so much felt by Juliana. 
 
 CHAPTER IY. 
 
 THE FUGITIVE. 
 
 IMMEDIATELY on his arrival in town, Charles went to the house of 
 Lejeune, and having ascertained that he had gone to his brother's, he 
 followed and found him there. As, however, it was intimated to him 
 that they were in close conversation, he would not allow himself to be 
 announced, but waited until Lejeune was about to depart in a most 
 distressing state of excitement. 
 
'28 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " My dear fellow!" he exclaimed on seeing Charles, " why how is 
 this? How is it that you are here?" 
 
 " The governor sent me," said Charles, as he pressed Lejeune's 
 trembling and feverish hand. u But what on earth has occurred?" 
 
 ** Come," said Lejeune, abstractedly, "conie: we'll go home. But," 
 he added, with earnestness, " how did you leave my poor child?" 
 
 " With her mind quite at ease," replied Charles. " We induced her 
 to believe that your opinion was required on some case of pressing 
 importance." 
 
 " Pressing, indeed, Charles," rejoined Lejeune, mournfully; " press- 
 ing indeed." 
 
 They then entered the chaise which was waiting at the door, and in 
 ten minutes they were at home. 
 
 * Now," said Charles, " let me entreat you to be calm. The affair- 
 whatever it is may not be so bad as your present fears lead you to 
 expect. What is it? For heaven's sake subdue this agitation. You 
 k now that you are not the strongest man in the world, and this violent 
 excitement cannot in any case do good, while it may do much harm . 
 Come, let me know the worst." 
 
 " Charles," said Lejeune, with an expression of intensity, " I am 
 ruined. The fruits of ^, life of struggles of honourable struggles 
 have been withered by one blast. After all my anxiety to place my 
 poor child far beyond the reach of want, I have been, by one -blow, 
 struck down ; and she must be struck down with me." 
 
 " My dear friend," said Charles, " even I have hacl sufficient expe- 
 rience to know that our first fears are very seldom realised. They 
 may, for a time, appear to be justified, but they cause the imagination 
 to teem with the apprehension of evils which, in general, may be at 
 least partially averted. Now, let us look at the whole case calmly. 
 How can you have been so completely struck down as you imagine? 
 What has happened?" 
 
 " I have lost every shilling," replied Lejeune. " My brother Richard 
 on whose judgment I placed unlimited confidence whom I, and all 
 with whom he was connected, conceived to be a wealthy man and 
 whom I allowed to draw upon me to any amount he might require 
 ^became, a short time since, involved in a mining speculation, which 
 has been proved to have been one of those monstrous bubbles by which 
 the world has of late been amazed . He is ruined ; and I am ruined, too. 
 His liabilities are infinitely greater than he can meet, while the amount 
 of mine exceeds all I have the power to pay." 
 
 " Then you have not speculated yourself? 1 ' 
 
 " I never did : I never would. But in Ms hands I thought I was 
 safe." 
 
 " Of course. But perhaps some arrangement can be made. What 
 sort of men were the projectors?" 
 
 " Some of the first men in the City men of immense wealth and in- 
 fluence. But tJiey have taken care to get out." 
 
 "Oh! I see," said Charles, thoughtfully; " I see." 
 
 " The last shares sold," continued Lejeune, " were purchased by 
 Richard ; and immediately after that sale the bubble burst." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 2<? 
 
 "A bad job," said Charles; "a very bad job. But let me begot 
 you not to be excited: something may be done yet. How does your 
 brother bear up against it?" 
 
 " I found and left him almost mad more, much more, on my account 
 than his own. He concealed it from me until the last, in the vain hope 
 of being able, at least, to save me; but one of my bills became due 
 yesterday, and has, of course, been dishonoured." 
 
 " How many have you out?" 
 
 " Seven, for three thousand each." 
 
 " Do you know where they are?" 
 
 " They are all, I believe, in the hands of that usurer Lumplon, 
 whom you have seen here, and who, it is said, has cleared seventy 
 thousand pounds by the transaction." 
 
 "Well, he must be seen," said Charles; " he must be seen. I wish 
 that they had been in the hands of any other man. But something 
 may be done even with him. Have you any objection to my calling on 
 your brother?" 
 
 " I should feel indeed obliged if you would call and talk to him, and 
 try to make the best of it. Go, my dear Charles go at once." 
 
 " And you will promise to make every effort to subdue that excite- 
 ment which is now but too manifest?" 
 
 "I will," replied Lejeifne, whose agitation was still excessive; and 
 Charles having pressed his hand warmly again, left him, and called upon 
 Richard, whom he found, to his amazement, quite cheerful. 
 
 "Ah!" he exclaimed, as Charles entered the room. "Well, now, 
 this is kind. But I knew you would come I was sure of it. Now, 
 then, draw up, and let's enjoy ourselves like Christians." 
 
 Charles looked at him with an expression of surprise ; but he at once" 
 drew up to the table, on which were placed various dishes of fruit, and 
 two bottles of wine. 
 
 "Now help yourself," he continued, " and then we'll go to business. 
 Have you brought the cheque with you?" 
 
 " The cheque?" said Charles. " What cheque?" 
 
 " What cheque! Why the cheque you promised to bring me! the 
 cheque for ten thousand!" 
 
 "~Oh! the cheque!" cried Charles, who now perceived that he was 
 labouring under some delusion. 
 
 " Why, you hadn't, forgotten it, had you?" 
 
 " Forgotten it!" said Charles. 
 
 "Well, then, where is it?" 
 
 " I have not drawn it yet." 
 
 " Then, draw it now." 
 
 " You shall have it in the morning," 
 
 "I must have it now!" 
 
 "Well, but you can't get it cashed till the morning." 
 
 " That doesn't matter; I like a man to perform his promise. If you 
 don't draw it now, you're not a man of your word." 
 
 " Well, but I've not my book with me!" 
 
 "Who are your bankers?" 
 
30 THE STEWARD: 
 
 "Oh!" cried Charles, "I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll run and get it. 
 It .will not take me long. I shall not be gone more than twenty minutes." 
 
 "Them do so. Don't trifle with me. There's a good fellow: don't 
 trifle with me, now! But stop!" he added suddenly; "Stop, I'll not 
 trust you!" 
 
 "Not trust me? What! not trust me ? 
 
 " Send for the book." 
 
 " How can I send for it when it's locked up? But, let one of your 
 servant's go with me." 
 
 " Very well ! that'll do. n 
 
 " Shall I ring the bell?" said Charles. 
 
 " Do so do so yes, do so." 
 
 The bell was rung accordingly, and when the servant entered, Richard 
 addressing him said, "Now, sir, I want you to go with this gentleman 
 and bring him back with you." Then drawing him aside, he added in 
 a whisper, " Now mind! that's Johnson, Don't leave him for an instant!" 
 
 "Johnson!" said the servant; "that's Mr. Charles Croly!" 
 
 "Hush!" His name is Johnson, I tell you! Stick to him, and don't 
 come back without him." 
 
 Charles and the servant then quitted the room, and as they did so, 
 Eichard, whose eyes rolled wildly, replenished his glass. 
 
 " "VVTiy, what's the matter with master?" enquired the servant. " Is 
 he mad?" 
 
 " I fear that he is," replied Charles. 
 
 " Why, he said your name was Johnson!" 
 
 c * Johnson? 5 ' 
 
 " Yes; and when I told that you were Mr. Croly, he said, f Hush! his 
 name is Johnson, I tell you.' " 
 
 "Poor fellow," said Charles, "poor fellow! Come with me. Who is 
 his medical man?" 
 
 * Why, sir, Dr. Greene attends him when he's out o' sorts." 
 
 " Where does he live?" 
 
 " In Russell Square." 
 
 11 Then call a coach at once, and we'll go to Dr. Greene." 
 
 A coach was called, and they proceeded to the residence of the doc- 
 tor, whom, fortunately, Charles found at home. 
 
 "Dr. Greene," said Charles, on being ushered into the room in 
 which the doctor had been reading, " you are, I believe, the professional 
 friend of Mr. Lejeune Mr. Richard Lejeune?" 
 
 " I am," replied the doctor. " Is he not well?" 
 
 " I fear," said Charles, " that his reason is affected." 
 
 " Good God! you don't mean that? But how how affected?" 
 
 Charles explained to him the substance of all that had occurred. 
 
 " Well," said the doctor, " I'll go with you at once . But that cheque. 
 You had better draw one for the amount. I'll give you one of mine. 
 He may not ask for it, but if he should, it may tend to tranquillize his 
 mind." 
 
 The cheque was drawn, and Charles returned with the Doctor. 
 
 But where was Richard Lejeune? He was not to be found. The 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 31 
 
 dra\ving-rooi in which Charles had left him was in precisely the same 
 state as before, while the servants had no knowledge of his having 
 left the house. Every room was searched, but without effect, when it 
 struck Charles that he might have gone to call upon his brother, and, 
 as the Doctor agreed with Charles, in thinking this extremely pro- 
 bable, they hastened to Lejeune's: but, no; he was not there; nor had 
 he been. Lejeune himself, they ascertained, was in a high state of 
 fever. He had been ordered to bed by his medical man, who was then 
 with him. But, Eichard; what had become ot him? They returned 
 to the house and sent the servants in every direction, but no tidings of 
 him could be heard. 
 
 " Who is Mr. Johnson?" enquired the Doctor. 
 
 No one there knew. 
 
 " He's gone," he added, " probably to call upon him. We must 
 not give him up ; he may shortly return. Let us wait." 
 
 They did wait : they waited till past two o'clock ; when the Doctor, 
 filled with gloomy apprehensions, went home, and Charles who was 
 equally apprehensive, returned to Lejeune. 
 
 Mr. Raymond, "the medical man, was still there. Lejeune had be- 
 come delirious, but he recognized Charles, whose hand he grasped and 
 kept in his, and talked in an incoherent strain about his brother. The 
 delirium, however, was but slight; still neither Charles nor Mr. Ray- 
 mond would leave the room : they remained by the bedside together 
 until eight in the morning, when, as Lejeune had become some- 
 what tranquil -Charles left, with the view of renewing his search after 
 Richard. 
 
 Every friend whom the servants could think of was applied to in 
 vain : not one had either seen or heard anything of him . Handbills 
 were issued ; advertisements were sent to the papers ; every effort was 
 made to discover him, dead or alive, without effect, until at length, 
 both Charles and the Doctor gave him up for lost. 
 
 Meanwhile, Lejeune had been reduced almost to a state of coma; 
 and as Charles, Dr. Greene, and Mr. Raymond agreed that if some arrange- 
 ment were made, having reference to those bills, the knowledge of 
 the fact would have al^ once a very favourable effect; Charles 
 called upon Mr. Campbell, a highly respectable solicitor, and one of 
 Lejeune's personal friends and, having explained to him the whole 
 of the circumstances, went with him to see Lumplon, the presumed 
 holder of the bills. 
 
 Lumplon was an extremely illiterate man ; he could scarcely write 
 his own name. His parents were neither poor nor respectable : they 
 had acquired the property they possessed by the pursuit of the 
 most despicable practices, and had taught their son only to " get money," 
 no matter by what means. He began life on his own account, as a 
 money lender on a small scale. He would have tangible security 
 plate, jewellery, or goods of any description worth-three or four times 
 the amount of the sum advanced ; and as these goods were almost in- 
 variably forfeited, he extended his sphere of action increased the 
 amount of his advances got small tradesmen in his power and 
 
32 THE STEWARD: 
 
 crushed them purchased whole stocks of men who were about to fail 
 dabbled in bubbles, and sometimes got one up himself; and thus, by 
 sacrificing conscience, and contemning every just and manly feeling,. 
 his wealth increased, until, at the period of which this history treats, 
 he was " a 200,000 man." 
 
 " Now," said Charles, on reaching this man's residence, " I must 
 leave the matter entirely in your hands; conduct it as you please, and 
 make what arrangement you please." 
 
 "Very well," returned Mr. Campbell: who, having ascertained that 
 Lumplon was at home, sent in his card, and they were immediately 
 afterwards ushered into the presence of a hard-mouthed, gross, repulsive 
 looking man, sitting at a table, with a cash-box, a bill-book, and a pile 
 of bills before him. 
 
 " Mr. Lumplon, I believe, I have the pleasure to address," said Mr. 
 Campbell, 
 
 "Well," said Lumplon, gruffly; "what's your business?" 
 
 *' I have called on account of the Lejunefi " 
 
 " Then you have called on account of two dishonourable men." 
 
 " Nay, nay- not so," said Mr. Campbell, mildly. 
 
 " I say," cried Lumplon, " that every man is a dishonourable man. 
 whose bills are dishonoured! Have you come to take this one up." 
 
 " No, not exactly to take it up " 
 
 " Then, what have you come lor?" 
 
 " To see if some arrangement could be made " 
 
 " Some arrangement! Pay me the amount of that bill, in hard cash, 
 sir! That's the only arrangement that can be made. But why did 
 they send you? Why didn't they come here themselves?" 
 
 " One has been driven by his losses to distraction " 
 
 " Distraction!" cried Lumpton, with a sneer. " Which is that?'' 
 
 " Richard." 
 
 " And where is he?" 
 
 " We can't ascertain. ' 
 
 " Oh! he's off! Gone! Run away from his creditors! I thought 
 as much. But we '11 ferret him out. We '11 advertise him, to begin 
 with." 
 
 " He has, already, been advertised." 
 
 " By whom?" 
 
 " His friends have sent advertisements to all the daily papers " 
 
 "Indeed. Very clever; mighty clever! And do you mean to insult 
 me, by supposing that I'm fool enough not to see through that? It's 
 meant for a blind, but it can't blind me !" 
 
 " I can assure you," said Charles = 
 
 " I want none of your assurance. I want my money, and will have 
 it! IFe '/Hind him! He shan't escape us! If he's above ground we'll 
 have him. And, pray, where's the other?" 
 
 "At home," replied Mr. Campbell; " at home, on abed of sickness." 
 
 " Then I'll have him off his bed of sickness!" 
 
 " But surely, you would not think" 
 
 " What's he to me? I want my money! and, if it's not paid before 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 33 
 
 twelve to-morrow, I '11 arrest him. It 's all very well, and very con- 
 venient to be ill, but it won't do for me. I '11 not have it! I '11 not be 
 robbed at this rate! I'll not be robbed at all!" 
 
 " There 's no intention to rob you in this case," said Charles. 
 
 " What care I for the intention, if it 's done?" cried Lumploa. 
 " Every man robs who dosen't take up his bills ; every man, in every 
 case who doesn't pay twenty shillings in the pound, sir, is a robber!" 
 
 " I fear," said Mr. Campbell, " that in this case you will have to take 
 ten, if not less." 
 
 "Ten! I'll have twenty! That's what you've come for, then! 
 That's the arrangement you'd like me to make! I'll have twenty 
 shillings in the pound, sir! One, perhaps, is pretty well done up, now; 
 but the other can pay it, and shall. Ten shillings in the pound ten 
 devils! Tell him from me, that unless, to begin with, this bill is paid 
 in full before twelve o'clock to-morrow, the law shall take its course." 
 
 " He is too ill," said Charles, " to be spoken to on the subject." 
 
 " I don't care a button about his being ill. He may pretend to be 
 as ill as he likes: the bill is due, and the money I'll have." 
 
 " When will the next become due?" inquired Charles. 
 
 " In fourteen days," replied Lumplon. 
 
 "Well," continued Charles, "if you'll wait another day, I '11 endea- 
 vour to get the amount of that which is due." 
 
 "What's the use of driving things off from day to day? Besides, 
 where are you to get the money?" 
 
 "Why, rather than Mr. Lejeune should be disturbed, I'd endeavour 
 to induce my father to advance it," 
 
 " Is your father a rich man?" 
 
 " He's rich enough to do that." 
 
 " Well now, mark me. I'm not to be trifled with. I '11 wait another 
 day, in order to show that I Ve no inclination to be harsh ; but if you 
 deceive me, down comes the law upon Lejeune with all its force." 
 
 Thus ended their interview with the man who wished to show that 
 he had no disposition to be harsh ! 
 
 " Well," said Charles, on leaving the house, " what do you think of 
 him for a beauty? n 
 
 "He's a brute!" replied Mr. Campbell, "a hog! I'm disgusted-. 
 What's a man to do with such a beast? But can you manage to get 
 this money in time?" 
 
 " I 've no doubt of it ; I feel quite sure that I can : and then we shall 
 have fourteen days to think about how the next bill is to be managed. 
 Did you notice the frightful expression of his countenance when you spoke 
 of ten shillings in the pound?" 
 
 "I did." 
 
 " ' I '11 have twenty twenty shillings in the pound!' And with such 
 men the idea of twenty shillings in the pound appears to comprehend 
 all the virtues. They seem to imagine that he who pays * twenty shil- 
 lings in the pound ' performs the whole duty of man : no matter what 
 sort of a man he may be however profligate, however dishonourable-, 
 however vile he is, in their view, a good man, if he can pay * twenty 
 No. 3. 
 
34 THE STETVARD: 
 
 shillings in the pound;' whereas, he who, from any cause, ever paid 
 less, must necessarily be, as that wretch said, a robber! * Twenty 
 shillings in the pound,' like charity, will indeed ' cover a multitude of 
 sins.' Affection, piety, generosity, honour, friendship, love, and truth, 
 are nothing compared with ' twenty shillings in the pound.' It is correct, 
 in a commercial point of view, to attach importance to it, of course ; 
 but then the only distinction drawn by men like that bear, between a 
 really honest man and a rogue is that which is involved in his power to 
 pay this ' twenty shillings in the pound.' " 
 
 "You are right," said Mr. Campbell; "quite right. The idea of 
 Lejeune, for instance, being denounced as a robber, when there is not a 
 more honourable man in existence. Poor fellow! This is, indeed, a 
 heavy blow. But, then, he has talent and standing. His professional 
 reputation is equal to the fortune he has lost." 
 
 " Doubtless," said Charles, " as far as he is concerned ; but he re- 
 gards that fortune as his daughter's. It is chiefly that which weighs 
 him down ; but, if we can manage to get him over this, I have no fear 
 of a provision for her." 
 
 They now reached Lejenne's, and having ascertained from Mr. Ray- 
 mond that his patient continued in precisely the same state, and that, 
 therefore, it would be better for them not to see him then, Charles took 
 his leave, went to dine with Dr. Greene, and started that night by the 
 mail. 
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 THE MANIFESTATION OF LOVE. 
 
 DURING the absence of Charles from the Hall, George had been endea- 
 vouring to win the affections of Juliana: not that he loved her, that, 
 with him, was out of the question entirely ; but because he conceived 
 that by his union with her, he should acquire more influence over Sir 
 John. 
 
 He did not directly propose to her, nor did he verbally hint that he 
 intended to propose ; but he paid her the most marked attention; ac- 
 companied her and the Widow in their drives ; pressed her hand while 
 assisting her to alight; joined her while walking in the garden; pre- 
 sented bouquets, and glanced and sighed in short, he did all in his 
 power to induce her to believe that he was never really happy but in 
 her presence. 
 
 To Juliana, this was very annoying. She did not like the man; 
 independently of which she had made a discovery, which was, that 
 she dearly loved Charles. 
 
 " How extremely polite Mr. George has become," said the Widow, 
 with one of her playful smiles, while Charles was on his road to the 
 Hall. 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 35 
 
 " He is very attentive," observed Juliana. 
 
 "Attentive! He has really become quite gallant. To what, dear, 
 c m we ascribe the change?" 
 
 " I really cannot tell," said Juliana; " can you?" 
 
 " I can guess, dear! I think that I can guess." 
 
 "What then do you imagine it to be?" 
 
 " Merely your presence, my dear, nothing more." 
 
 " My presence cannot surely have such an effect?" 
 
 " It has had, dear, rest assured of that. And yet," she added, aichly, 
 " you do not appear to appreciate his politeness very highly." 
 
 " I hope that I exhibit no discourtesy," said Juliana. 
 
 "No, dear, no absolute discourtesy; but you manifest no warmth of 
 feeling ; you give him no encouragement whatever." 
 
 " Why should I?" enquired Juliana. 
 
 " I think that I can tell, my dear, why you should not." 
 
 "Indeed! well now, why should I not?" 
 
 " Because, dear, your heart is not his." 
 
 " That is true," said Juliana, " very true." 
 
 " Your heart," pursued the Widow, " belongs to another." 
 
 "Indeed!" said Juliana, whose face and neck became crimson, "In- 
 deed I know nothing whatever about it." 
 
 The Widow smiled and kissed her, and then said in tones of deep 
 affection, " I know of no man more worthy of you." 
 
 Juliana now knew that her secret had been in some way revealed. 
 How she had revealed it she had then no conception ; but the fact of 
 the Widow having perceived it, more firmly convinced her that she 
 really loved; and when Charles in the morning arrived at the Hall, 
 she felt so embarrassed, so deeply confused, that she knew not in what 
 way to welcome him back. 
 
 " Now," said he, as he pressed her hand, "the first thing that you 
 want to know is, why your papa is not with me. I'll, therefore, explain 
 at once. The case is not decided." 
 
 " He is well, I hope?" enquired Juliana. 
 
 " Better than he has been. He has not been well. The journey 
 was too suddenly undertaken. I have" to go up to town again to-night*" 
 
 " To-night!" cried Juliana. 
 
 "Yes; by the mail: so you may form some idea of what an im- 
 portant case it is." 
 
 " Why didn't you write, Charles?" enquired Sir John. 
 
 " I've been so much engaged," replied Charles, " that I really have 
 not had time. But that little affair," he added, " you wished me to 
 see about : perhaps I had better explain it to you now." 
 
 " I wish you would," returned Sir John, who at once led the way 
 to the library. " Well," he added, "now then, what's all this about?" 
 
 Charles then proceeded to relate all that had occurred ; but when he 
 had arrived at that part of the narration which referred to the disap- 
 pearance of Richard Lejeune, Sir John stopped him. 
 
 " What sort of a man is he?" he eagerly enquired. 
 
 " In appearance do you mean?" 
 
36 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " A fine, tall, gentlemanly fellow," replied Charles, " with a noble 
 voice, and a commanding presence." 
 
 " With large grey whiskers?" 
 
 Unusually large." 
 
 "Good God!" cried Sir John. "The very man! Why he was; 
 here!" 
 
 " Here!" exclaimed Charles. 
 
 " He came here the very morning after you left." 
 
 " I see," said Charles : " he started at once and travelled all night. 
 I see. Well! and what did he say?" 
 
 "I'll tell you; I was alone, the women were out for a drive, when 
 up dashed a carriage and four. The door was opened, and the very 
 man whom you have just described, alighted, and enquired for me. 
 He was ushered in, and then in a. loud, commanding voice, he thus 
 began: * I have the honour to address Sir John Croly, of Croly Hall!' 
 I bowed, of course, and offered him a chair. ' You, Sir John Croly, 
 of course,' he continued, ' can have no personal knowledge of me : I 
 am the Emperor of China, and I want my illustrious brother, who is 
 here, to assist me in negotiating a loan for the purpose of enabling me 
 at once to exp.! the barbarous English from my empire.' Well! I 
 scarcely knew what to say; but I ventured to hint that I thought it 
 strange that the Emperor of China should come to England to nego- 
 tiate a loan for the expulsion of the English! 'Psha!' he exclaimed, 
 ' In England loans can be raised for any earthly purpose ; but none are 
 raised so readily as those which are intended for the destruction of the 
 liberties of man! Christian England,' he added, ' will lend money 
 to force men to repudiate their faith in the Great Redeemer! But 
 where is this illustrious relative of mine ?' he continued, ' where is he ? 
 I command his immediate presence !' ' I'll endeavour to bring him to 
 your majesty/ said I. * But perhaps,' I added, * your majesty will ho- 
 nour me by taking a glass of wine ?' ' With all my heart !' he replied, 
 and I ordered the wine ; and while he was helping himself, I slipped 
 out and enquired of th post-boys if they knew anything of him ; but 
 no all they knew was that he arrived at the Angel that morning, and 
 that they were ordered to drive him here. Well, as true as I'm alive, 
 Charles, I didn't know what to do . That he was a lunatic I could have 
 no doubt, but who he was, I of course had no idea. At length it struck 
 me that I ought to take him to Dr. Briggs, who had then two or three 
 insane patients I knew; and this no sooner occurred to me than I re- 
 solved on re-entering the room, and addressing him again as ' your 
 majesty,' which seemed to do very well, right or wrong. I accordingly 
 re-entered, and informed his majesty that I would conduct him to his* 
 illustrious relation, it his majesty would condescend to allow me to do 
 so. This appeared to meet his views, and I ordered my horse ; and 
 when his majesty had taken another glass of wine, he allowed me to 
 conduct him to his carriage. He wished me to enter with him : but 
 that wouldn't do. I excused myself with all humility, and mounted 
 and rode by the side of the carriage until it stopped, by my direction,. 
 
A ROMANCE OF BEAL LIFE. 37 
 
 at the house of Dr. Briggs. Fortunately the Doctor was at home, and 
 having briefly explained to him how the case stood, I introduced him 
 to his majesty, who was at once conducted to a room in which I left 
 him, impressed with the idea of his being a prisoner of war !" 
 
 " Then," said Charles, " he used no violence ?" 
 
 " None whatever. When the Doctor informed him that the safety of 
 the British empire demanded his temporary incarceration, he replied, 
 ' Well, well ; I submit to my fate' as tranquilly as if nothing had oc- 
 curred. 
 
 " Then he is there still ?" 
 
 " Yes ; and the Doctor is making every effort to discover who he is." 
 
 " Well !" said Charles, " thank God he is safe. Does Miss Lejeune 
 know anything of this ?" 
 
 " No ; nor have I told Mrs. Wardle. I would not mention it, fearing 
 it might alarm them." 
 
 " It is fortunate they happened to be out at the time. Had Juliana 
 seen him, the consequences might have been frightful." 
 
 " Then you think with me that this is the man ?" 
 
 " No doubt of it ; I can have no doubt ; but in order that we may 
 be sure, we'll ride over presently and see him." 
 
 " We will," said Sir John, " we will. Now proceed. You have told 
 me what occurred up to the time of Kichard Lejeune's disappearance. 
 Now go on." 
 
 Charles continued; he explained all minutely, and when he had 
 stated the result of his interview with Lumplon, he asked Sir John 
 whether he had done right or wrong. 
 
 " Right, my boy" replied Sir John quite right. You shall have 
 the money. And now," he added, " go to the women, or they may sus- 
 pect that something has happened which we are anxious to conceal." 
 
 Charles accordingly left the library, and found Juliana looking 
 even more embarrassed than before. 
 
 " Well," said he, with his usual gaiety, " how do you ladies propose 
 to spend the day ?" 
 
 " In any way you may suggest," replied the Widow " with this sti- 
 pulation that it be in your society." ' 
 
 " Really," said Charles, bowing, " your politeness cannot fail to be 
 appreciated. But," he added, turning to Juliana, " have you no com- 
 pliment to pay me ?" 
 
 " We are in partnership," said the Widow, taking Juliana's arm. 
 " What one says, the other means. Is it not so, dear ?" 
 
 Juliana smiled slightly, and blushed. 
 
 " Then," said Charles, conceiving that Juliana had some suspicion 
 that all was not right, " I must beg of you to dissolve that partnership 
 for five minutes at least. I have something to say to that partner of 
 yours, which is not quite necessary for you to hear." 
 
 " About home, I suppose," said the Widow, archly. " Well ! it's 
 hardly fair to separate us ; but I'll spare her for five minutes : mind ! 
 no more !" 
 
3S THE STEWARD: 
 
 Charles smiled and drew Juliana's arm in his, and then led her into 
 the garden. 
 
 " Well," said he, gaily, " have you enjoyed yourself during my ab- 
 sence ?" 
 
 " Much ;" replied Juliana tremulously. " Sir John and Mrs. Wardle 
 are exceedingly kind." 
 
 " They are both good creatures," said Charles. " But how is it you 
 are not gay this morning ? You look so pensive ! Are you not happy ?" 
 " Oh yes, indeed !" exclaimed Juliana, fervently " I am indeed 
 very, very happy !" 
 
 " Then why look so sad ? Is it because your papa is not here ?" 
 " No, it is not that: indeed it is not. But," she added, recollecting 
 herself, " I should have been much pleased had he been able to return 
 with you." 
 
 " So should I !" said Charles. " But if the fact of his not being here 
 be not the cause of your looking so serious, what is the cause ?" 
 
 " Do I look unusually serious?" 
 
 " Of course you do ! I like to see you merry ! I like to see you 
 smile ! There ! now you look like yourself again ! By your looking 
 so pensive, I feared that you were not happy !" 
 
 "I am happy" returned Juliana "indeed most happy, believe me. 
 But are you really going to leave us again this evening?" 
 
 " I must, this business is of the most urgent character." 
 
 " I wish it were settled," said Juliana. 
 
 " So do I, with all my heart!" returned Charles. 
 
 " When do you think it will be settled?" 
 
 " In a few days, I hope." 
 
 " What is the nature of the case?" 
 
 "It is a case which threatens to involve in ruin two highly respect- 
 able men. But come," he added playfully, not wishing to be pressed 
 on this subject, '' we have exceeded the time allowed! We shall be 
 scolded by your partner! By the way she appears to be most ardently 
 attached to you." 
 
 " She is a dear good soul," said Juliana, " I love her." 
 
 Now while they were thus conversing in the garden, Sir John was 
 intent on ascertaining the cause of Juliana's embarrassment, which, of 
 course, he had noticed. 
 
 " What's the matter with Miss Lejeune this morning?" said he to 
 the Widow. " She does not appear to be in very high spirits!" 
 
 " She is happy enough," replied the Widow, with a smile. 
 
 " She didn't appear to me to be particularly happy just now!" 
 
 " You mean when Mr. Charles arrived." 
 
 " Exactly; she looked so confused !" 
 
 " Perhaps his arrival was the cause of that confusion? " 
 
 " Eh what why, you don't mean that? " 
 
 "Mean what, Sir John?" 
 
 " Why, that his arrival was the cause of her embarrassment." 
 
 " I said, perhaps it was the cause." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 39 
 
 " Well, but Mrs. Wardle now look here when I talk to you, I 
 talk, you know, to a woman of experience. Now do you mean to say 
 that they love each other? " 
 
 " No, Sir John ; I don't say that they do ." 
 " Well, but what do you think? " 
 " I think that they are worthy of each other." 
 "Yes, yes; but that's not what I mean. Do you think that they 
 really love each other?" 
 
 " I'll tell you, Sir John, what I know: I know that she loves him; 
 but whether he loves her or not, I don't know. " 
 
 Oh, that's it she loves Mm. Well, I'm not surprised at it; but 
 do you think that he ever induced her to believe that he loves her?' 1 
 " I don't think that he ever did." 
 
 " Never told her that he loved her? never you know what I 
 mean never proposed?" 
 
 " I know, Sir John, that he never did." 
 
 "Well, what do you think of it? I speak to you in confidence: 
 what is your opinion?" 
 
 " My opinion is, that a more gentle, amiable creature never lived. 
 I have had opportunities of testing her character, and the result has 
 convinced me that there cannot on earth breathe a spirit more pure." 
 
 Tears sprang into the eyes of Sir John, for he thought of his wife, 
 whom heaven had claimed, and whose spirit he believed to be too pure 
 for earth. 
 
 " Well," said he, having somewhat subdued his emotion, " we'll talk 
 this matter over another time; but not a word on the subject to her. 
 Here they come! Now, then," he added, addressing Charles as he 
 entered, " have you ordered the horses?" 
 
 " I have not," replied Charles; " but I will do so." 
 "Aye do," said Sir John; "its getting late. We are going to the 
 Bank," he added, turning to the Widow ; " but we have to make a call 
 on the road, so that if you ladies are going for a drive, you may as well 
 drive into the town, and then we can all come home together." 
 
 This was willingly agreed to of course ; and when the horses were 
 saddled, Sir John and Charles proceeded to the house of Dr. Briggs. 
 
 " Well," said Sir John, having introduced Charles to the Doctor, 
 " how is your patient?" 
 
 "Very calm very tranquil," replied the Doctor; " always talking 
 about money. He either wants a loan, or is going to raise a loan, or 
 knows how a loan can be raised . He and I are going into partnership . 
 He talks about thousands as if they were farthings. He conceived a 
 scheme this morning while we were at breakfast, by which we are to 
 make half a million in a month! But I've not been able at present to 
 ascertain who he is.'' 
 
 " My son Charles knows him well," said Sir John. 
 " Indeed? " said the Doctor. 
 
 " The same man," said Charles; "I am satisfied now. Will you da 
 me the favour to let me see him? " 
 
 " Most certainly, But he is some great man, is he not? " 
 
THE STEWARD: 
 
 " He has been a man o great influence," replied Charles. " I sup- 
 pose that he is not very violent." 
 
 " Oh, dear me, no not at all. He is, in fact, one of the most gentle- 
 manly men I ever met with: shall I bring him in here?" 
 
 1 If you please," replied Charles. The same man," he added 
 when the Doctor had left the room" I feel convinced. Poor fellow! 
 Wealth, ambition, religion, or love ! If a man be an enthusiast in 
 either, he is lost. I wonder whether he'll know me." 
 
 " Hush ! " said Sir John, " here he is ;" and Kichard Lejeune hastily 
 entered with the Doctor. 
 
 "Oh, oh!" said he, addressing Charles; " Well, how does he get on 
 'With those shares?" 
 
 " Very well," replied Charles. 
 That's right: I knew they would sell. Has he sent me any money?" 
 
 "A cheque," replied Charles, recollecting that he had one for 
 10,0001. in his pocket: "Here it is." 
 
 Good ah ! ten thousand very good. Tell him that I have two 
 
 - hundred more, which I'll sell him at three-and-a-half premium." 
 
 " Very well," said Charles, " I'll tell him. By-the-bye, do you 
 -know a Charles Croly?" 
 
 " Croly? Croly? I have heard of him. . What does he want? " 
 
 He is anxious for you to introduce him to your brother." 
 " My brother, sir? My brother's dead." 
 " I hope not," said Charles. 
 
 11 1 tell you, eir, that he has been dead twenty years." 
 " I beg pardon," said Charles, perceiving that the Doctor wished him 
 
 not t be contradicted, " I beg pardon; I thought he was alive." 
 
 " Alive ! His soul still lives ; I saw it the other night, and we went 
 together to look at his bones. Why, they were just like so many 
 honeycombs; and when we pinched them they crumbled into dusj. 
 But how about that loan? " 
 
 " Oh," replied Charles, "that's going on well." 
 
 " Well, I told you it would: I knew it as well Will you dine with 
 me to-day?" 
 
 " I must beg to be excused." 
 
 " Well, then, come to-morrow, and bring your friend with you: I 
 -like the look of him. Sir," he added, taking Sir John by the hand: 
 I am happy to know you. Are you personally acquainted with the 
 King of France?" 
 
 " I have not that honour," replied Sir John. 
 
 " Honour, sir ! why he's about the most paltry fellow in the uni- 
 -verse. I expect to lose sixty thousand pounds by that man. Now 
 what do you think of that? Isn't that enough, sir, to drive a man 
 mad? When I think of it," he added, as if confidentially, " I am mad. 
 But I don't allow any one to know it. No, sir, I have been a fool ; 
 but I'm not quite fool enough for that. Now, have you anythino- more 
 . to say to me?" 
 
 " No," leplied Charles, " except that I shall call upon Mr. Lejeune" 
 
 "Lejeune! Lejeune! Don't call upon him. I know him. He's a 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 41 
 
 villain ! he ruined his brother. I would not be tortured with that 
 man's reflections for worlds. Good morning," he added; "I have to 
 draw up a prospectus. Good morning." 
 
 He then left the room in haste, closely followed by the Doctor, during 
 whose absence Sir John and Charles stood and looked at each other, 
 but spoke not a word. 
 
 " You mentioned the name of Lejeune," said Dr. Briggs, on his 
 return. " He is constantly speaking of Lejeune, but always with an 
 expression of contempt." 
 
 " His name is Lejeune," observed Charles, " and his losses in 
 which he involved his brother have thus affected his mind." 
 
 " I understand," said the Doctor; " I see. I shall now know how to 
 act. Has his brother been utterly ruined?" 
 
 " Not utterly," replied Charles: "the whole of his property is lost, 
 but he has a profession." 
 What is he?" 
 " A barrister ?" 
 
 " What, the Lejeune, of whose powerful advocacy we hear so much?' 
 " The same." 
 
 " Do you think," said Sir John, " that his insanity is likely to be 
 permanent?" 
 
 "No, I do not," replied the Doctor; "I do not. Had he been the 
 cause of his brother's death, his recovery would have been much more 
 hopeless ; but as it is as the ruin he has caused may yet be repaired 
 all we have to do, I apprehend, is to inspire him with the conviction 
 that his brother is again prosperous and happy. This will be a work 
 of time, doubtless, but I have no fear of bringing him round eventu- 
 ally." 
 
 " Then," said Charles, " you will undertake the charge of him?" 
 " With pleasure." 
 
 " Very well. Then in your hands I leave him. I shall frequently 
 have the pleasure of seeing you, and of course I shall feel happy to 
 hear of any favourable change," 
 
 " Every care shall be taken of him," said the Doctor. " He shall 
 have the best treatment my experience can suggest," 
 
 "I leave him," said Charles, "entirely in your hands, and that 
 with the most perfect confidence." 
 
 He and Sir John then took leave of the Doctor, re-mounted their 
 horses, and proceeded to the Bank ; and when arrangements had been 
 made for Charles to receive the sum required in London the following 
 morning, they joined the Widow and Juliana, \vho had been driving 
 about the town, and with them returned to the Hall. 
 
 During their drive Juliana had marvelled greatly 'at the Widow's 
 silence on the subject which then engrossed all her thoughts. She 
 expected that the Widow would have asked her, why Charles had led 
 her into the garden? what he had to explain? the nature of their pri- 
 vate conversation? and so on: but as the Widow had been enjoined by 
 Sir John not to allude to the subject, and as Juliana dared not allude 
 to it herself, not a word having reference to it passed. 
 
42 THE STEWARD: 
 
 The dinner hour arrived, but George did not join them: he, in the 
 early part of the morning, heard that Charles had returned, but he did 
 not appear. They therefore sat down without him, and Charles endea- 
 voured by all means at his command to dispel that embarrassment 
 under which Juliana still laboured. And in this, to a certain extent, 
 he succeeded, but not effectually: she tried to look gay, but that there 
 was something beneath the surface of that gaiety, was a fact which she 
 could not conceal. 
 
 " Do you think," said Sir John, when she and the Widow had re- 
 tiredj "that Miss Lejeune has the slightest suspicion that all is not 
 right at home? " 
 
 *' I thought so before we went out," replied Charles, " and therefore 
 took her into the garden, for the purpose of ascertaining if it were so; 
 but I don't believe now that she has the slightest conception of there 
 being anything wrong." 
 
 " She appears to be so serious, so thoughtful, so confused to-day. 
 How do you account for it?" 
 
 " I can't account for it. Perhaps the continued absence of her father 
 is the cause." 
 
 " Is she very fond of her father?" 
 
 " Very: she is indeed devoted to him." 
 
 " She is then the same gentle, amiable, affectionate girl at home that 
 she appears to be here?" 
 
 " Just the same." 
 
 " Well," said Sir John thoughtfully, " that's right. Pass the wine. 
 Poor Lejeune's affection for her, I suppose, is intense." 
 
 " She appears to be all the world to him." 
 
 " Then why is he thus struck down? If she be all the world to 
 him, why should the loss of his money so deeply affect him, seeing that 
 he has her still?" 
 
 " But for her that loss would never have weighed him down. Had 
 she not been in existence, it would never have preyed upon his mind. 
 I know him too well to imagine for one moment that he would allow 
 the loss of his money to afflict him thus, were it not for the fact oi his 
 regarding that money as hers and not his own." 
 
 " Well," said Sir John, who was evidently anxious to touch upon, 
 some point which he scarcely knew how to approach, " there is certainly 
 a great deal in that." 
 
 " Were it not for that," pursued Charles, " he'd care but little about 
 the money. The profits of one-half his practice would always be suffi- 
 cient for him. Nor would he care so much about the loss even now, 
 if his brother were in a position of affluence ; but as he is struck down, 
 and as she has no other relation upon earth of whom she has the 
 slightest knowledge, to fly to for protection in the event of her father's 
 death, he naturally feels as every man must feel, that to leave a young 
 creature like that unprovided for at least, if not in a state of destitu- 
 tion, would be one of the heaviest calamities that could befal her." 
 
 " But don't you think," returned Sir John, " that a good girl like 
 her so amiable, so elegant, and so accomplished could always, 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 43 
 
 either with or without a fortune, secure a highly respectable 
 home?" 
 
 " You ask me that question, I am convinced," replied Charles, " merely 
 in order to hear how I shall answer it. But you don't require an an- 
 swer. You know that there are hundreds of young creatures equally 
 amiable, equally elegant, and equally accomplished, who are now in a 
 state of degradation, oppressed and trampled upon by those to whom 
 they cannot but feel that they are infinitely superior, and groaning with 
 the conviction that poverty and virtue have reduced them to a state of 
 slavery the most galling." 
 
 "Well," said Sir John, "that's true; that's true'; pass the wine; 
 that's very true. Then she has no relations?" 
 
 " None; with the exception of her uncle Richard." 
 
 " And he has no children?" 
 
 " He never was married." 
 
 " Well, that's a blessing, as far as it goes. But, has she no lover? 
 No one who is paying his addresses to her?" 
 
 " Not to my knowledge." 
 
 " What do you think?" 
 
 " I think not : in fact I feel sure that she has not." 
 
 " How do you account for that ? " 
 
 "I can't, of course, account for it." 
 
 "No, but I can." 
 
 " You can ?" said Charles, fixing his eyes upon Sir John with the 
 most intense earnestness, "you can?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Sir John. 
 
 " But how; how can you account for it?" 
 
 " The man whom she loves, Charles, is too blind to see it." 
 
 "Well, but who is he? Who is this man? I'd no idea of anything 
 of the kind! Who is he?" 
 
 " I know him," replied Sir John with a smile; " I know him." 
 
 " Any one about here?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " What, one of the young Whites?" 
 
 "No." 
 
 " One of the Balshalls?" 
 
 " No ; I don't believe you'd guess right in a month." 
 
 " But I want to know who he is." 
 
 " Why are you so anxious to know?" 
 
 "Why, of course, her father left her under your protection?" 
 
 " Of course he did ; but he did n't leave her affections under my 
 protection ! If a girl chooses to fall in love I can't avoid it! Besides, 
 he upon whom her affections are fixed is a man whom I believe to be 
 worthy of her, Charles !" 
 
 " Then, he can't be one of those fellows about here. Is it George? 
 Is he the man?" 
 
 " No ; but I wonder that you never thought of her." 
 
 " Thought of her! I have thought of her; I am thinking of her con- 
 tinually. We have been like brother and sister; she ought to be mine." 
 
44 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " Well, but have you ever named the subject to her?" 
 
 " Never." 
 
 " Never proposed to her?" 
 
 " That I should never have thought of doing, without first consult- 
 ing you." 
 
 " Well, but would you marry a girl, merely because she and you 
 happen to have lived together like brother and sister, without abso- 
 lutely loving her?" 
 
 " I do love her! No man can love her more than I do." 
 
 " Then why not mention the matter before?" 
 
 " Because I was a fool, and never thought it necessary to do so. I 
 have long regarded her as being virtually mine, although I never 
 breathed a syllable to her on the subject. But who is this fellow?" 
 
 " I '11 tell you, Charles; now that I know what your feelings are, I '11 
 tell you: Being anxious to ascertain the real cause of her embarrass- 
 ment, this morning, when you arrived, I spoke to Mrs. Wardle about 
 it, while you were in the garden, and, in answer to my inquiries, she 
 told me plainly, but, of course, confidentially, that the sole cause of 
 Miss Lejeune's embarrassment was your arrival, and that you were 
 the man whom she loved." 
 
 " Why of course!" exclaimed Charles, feeling greatly relieved. 
 
 " Then you are not surprised at it?" 
 
 "Surprised! Not at all. I always felt that she loved me. I have 
 looked upon her as being just as much mine as if the whole matter had 
 been arranged. Don't attribute this feeling of confidence to vanity: 
 ascribe it to a species of instinct if you will, for I felt as secure as I could 
 have felt had she given me ten thousand proofs of her love." 
 
 " Well," said Sir John, "then it appears to be all settled." 
 
 " You were pleased to say just now," said Charles, " that he upon 
 whom her affections are fixed is a man whom you believe to be worthy 
 of her. I am proud of having inspired that belief. But is there one 
 in the world whom you'd like that man to have in preference to her?" 
 
 "No, Charles, no!" replied Sir John; "I believe you to be worthy 
 of each other. And I'll make you both happy, my boy! for you are 
 my boy, and always were. But now," he continued, as Charles took 
 his hand and pressed it warmly, " we must not be too fast: we must go 
 very quietly to work, and then all will be well. The cause of Lejeune's 
 extreme depression is, doubtless, as you have stated, the fear of his 
 daughter being left comparatively destitute and unprotected. That cause 
 can now be entirely removed. You will see in the morning how he is : 
 you will set his mind at rest on the subject of the over-due bill, and it 
 you find an opportunity, you can delicately mention the other matter, 
 and propose for her at once. Until, however, this has been done, don't 
 say a single word on the subject to her. You have not time this even- 
 ing to say much ; but don't say anything : don't in any way allude to it. 
 I have my reasons for wishing you not. And now," he added, rising, 
 "it's time for you to think about the mail. We'll just go up and have 
 a cup of coffee, and then I'll go with you to the inn." 
 
 As they entered the drawing-room, Juliana rose, and with manifest 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 45 
 
 timidity enquired of Charles if he really meant to leave them. Charles 
 took her hand, and said he was compelled to go, with an expression 
 which inspired her with joy, 
 
 " We were induced/' said the Widow, archly, " by your keeping from 
 us so long, to hope that you had altered youi mind." 
 
 " He would not leave," observed Sir John, " if he were not com- 
 pelled, I know! Now," he added, "we only want one cup of coffee, and 
 then we'll start." 
 
 " But you are not going?" exclaimed the Widow. 
 
 " Only to see him off," replied Sir John. " The carriage, I hear is 
 now at the door." 
 
 " Really," said the Widow, " you quite startled me: I began to fear 
 that we should lose you!" 
 
 Sir John looked at her and smiled, as she poured out the coffee. What 
 was passing in his mind at the time, he never explained; but it was 
 perfectly evident that he was thinking about something! And so was 
 Charles; aye! and so was Juliana, who met his glance constantly and 
 blushed, while to him she never appeared to look so beautiful before. 
 
 " Now, then, now, my boy, time's up," said Sir John. And Charles 
 rose, and shook hands with the Widow, and lingered behind as she and 
 Sir John left the room, and then took the hand of Juliana, and pressed 
 it, and kissed it, and then exclaimed fervently, " God bless you!" 
 
 " God bless you." The kiss had an electric effect, which in an instant 
 subsided; but " God bless you!" sank into her heart. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 THE DECLARATION. 
 
 THE fact of Charles having left town, and the cause had been com- 
 municated to Lejeune by Dr. Greene; and although, as he said, there 
 was no absolute necessity for it, seeing that he could immediately have 
 raised the sum required, the generous anxiety evinced by Sir John 
 and Charles at once affected and relieved him. 
 
 When, therefore, Charles entered the chamber in which he was lying, 
 apparently in a state of exhaustion lor although he had somewhat 
 rallied, he was still extremely languid he pressed his hand and said, 
 " Charles, your noble generosity and the kindness of Sir John quite 
 unman me. But how did you leave my poor girl?" 
 
 " Well quite well" replied Charles " and happy." 
 
 ** Then she has no knowledge of this sad affair ?" 
 
 "Not the slightest." 
 
 " Poor girl! she will know it too soon." 
 
 " I see no necessity for her knowing it at ail." 
 
 " How can we contrive to conceal it from her? 1 ' 
 
 " I'll explain," replied Charles with a smile, " but not now : we'll 
 talk about that by-and-bye." 
 
46 THE STEWARD: 
 
 Lejeune looked at him earnestly for a moment, and appeared to 
 wonder why he smiled. 
 
 "All will yet be well," resumed Charles. "If you will but suffer 
 your mind to be at ease and recover your strength, all will yet be 
 well." 
 
 Lejeune moved his head mournfully, and after a pause said, " Have 
 you seen my brother?" 
 
 " He's not in town," replied Charles. " It is supposed he has left in 
 order to avoid the importunities of those by whom he has been in- 
 volved.' 1 
 
 " Oh, he should have met them," said Lejeune. " He should have 
 met them. To fly from a difficulty is but to tempt it to follow with 
 increased force. Have you seen that man Lumplon this morning?" 
 
 " Not yet : I'm now going. I merely called here first to see how 
 you were." 
 
 " You have been troubling Sir John on my account : and of course 
 I appreciate his friendship and yours ; but I wish that you had not 
 ^rone down : Ross, the stockbroker, would have got it for me at once. 
 Perhaps you will do me the favour to call upon him now?" 
 
 "I have the money with instructions to apply it to this purpose, and 
 I must of course ace upon those instructions." 
 
 " Well, well. It shall soon be returned. You'll not be gone long ?" 
 
 " Not an hour/' replied Charles, who again pressed his hand and 
 left, to call upon his amiable friend Lumplon. 
 
 " Well," said Lumplon, with his characteristic sweetness of expres- 
 sion as Charles entered the room in which he was engaged in pre- 
 cisely the same interesting manner as before " have you brought me 
 the money?" 
 
 " I have," replied Charles. 
 
 11 Oh," said Lumplon, with an accomplished grunt. " Very well. 
 Where is it?" 
 
 Charles handed the notes to him, which he carefully counted, and 
 then said, in tones just as sweet as before, " Now then the noting ;" 
 and when Charles paid him for that he added, " Now the interest. Let 
 me see. Four days. Three thousand hundred and fifty a-year 
 eight and twopence three farthings a-day four days I want one 
 pound twelve and eleven pence." 
 
 " Anything more ?" inquired Charles, again drawing out his purse. 
 
 "More? No. You'd have robbed me of the interest I suppose?" 
 
 " Robbed you!" said Charles, contemptuously. 
 
 "Robbed! yes, robbed! There's no bandbox at- all about me ! I 
 say robbed : and what is it better than a robbery to keep back money 
 that's due?" 
 
 " Why you incomprehensible hog!" cried Charles, "I never thought 
 of it." 
 
 "Did'nt you? I did, you see; which makes all the difference. But 
 don'f put yourself in a passion. It's no go! I'm not to be done." 
 
 " Who wants to do you? But it's of no use to talk to a man like 
 you." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 47 
 
 "Who asked you to talk? I don't want you to talk: I want my 
 money; that's all I want of you." 
 " How much do you say?" 
 
 " I told you once. One pound, twelve, and elevenpence." 
 
 Charles gave him one pound thirteen, which he counted and exa- 
 mined minutely; when, fixing upon a shilling, he said, "What! do 
 you want to palm bad money upon me? Look at that." 
 
 " Well," said Charles, looking at the shilling, " that's a good one." 
 
 " Is it? then keep it, and give me another." 
 
 Charles, whose patience was nearly exhausted, gave him another, and 
 then received the bill. 
 
 " Now let him recollect," said Lumplon, " that these bills fall due one 
 after another like life, with only fourteen days between 'em ; and if they're 
 not paid at the time, down comes the law. I'm not going to wait for 
 the money day after day, as I've done in this case, and then be called 
 an incomprehensible hog as a reward for my kindness. I'll have the 
 money when the money's due; and if ever you dare to bring fellows 
 here again to talk to me about their ten shillings in the pound, or even 
 nineteen and eleven pence three farthings, I'll have 'em kicked out of 
 the house." 
 
 "You may think yourself fortunate," said Charles, "that the ac- 
 ceptor of these bills is an honourable man." 
 
 " An honourable man, when his very first bill was dishonoured?" 
 
 " To honour a bill is merely a conventional term; but like all of your 
 caste, you confound that term with the sentiment of honour." 
 
 " I like the term just as well as the sentiment." 
 
 " No doubt, and much better: for a rogue is not an honourable man, 
 and yet a rogue may honour his bill . But I say again that you may 
 think yourself fortunate that Mr. Lejeune is an honourable man ; for if 
 he were not, having just enough to take up these bills and no more, 
 and having had, as you are aware, no consideration for those bills not 
 even to the amount of a shilling he'd put his twenty thousand pounds 
 in his pocket and go abroad, instead of staying here to impoverish 
 himself by giving it to a man like you." 
 
 " Oh! he would, would he? Oh ! then I couldn't stop him?" 
 
 " No ! youVe no claim on him, nor can you have until the next bill 
 becomes due," 
 
 " Have you anything else to say?'* 
 
 " Yes," replied Charles ; " I want my change:" 
 
 " What change?" 
 
 " My change out of the one pound thirteen." 
 
 " Oh ! the penny?" said Lumplon ; " I have no halfpence." 
 
 " Then send for some. To use your own words, a man must be a 
 robber to keep back that which is due!" 
 
 Lumplon twisted his mouth into all sorts of shapes, as he searched 
 every pocket he had about him. He did however eventually find a 
 penny, which he handed to Charles, who took it, of course, and then, 
 without ceremony, left him. 
 
 " I wonder," thought Charles as he quitted the house, " whether that 
 
< 3 THE STEWARD : 
 
 man expects to go to heaven. I don't suppose he thinks much about it, 
 but if he had George to talk to him a little, he might, I think, be in- 
 duced to tremble. I'll ask George when I go down again, what he'd 
 give for that man's chance. And yet, how many thousands are there 
 who have an equal chance with him! who care not whom they crush 
 to enrich themselves, and who nevertheless call themselves Christians! ' 
 
 Having promised to return within the hour, Charles went back at 
 once to Lejeune, whom he still found languid, but calm. 
 
 " Well," said he, pressing his hand again warmly, " you look more 
 composed: you feel somewhat revived, do you not?" 
 
 " Slightly," replied Lejeune, " slightly. I have been thinking," he 
 added, " during your abesnce, about what you said to me this morning 
 when you smiled. You said that you would explain to me how this 
 heavy loss might be effectually concealed from the knowledge of Ju- 
 liana. Now, how can it be done? She must necessarily know of it 
 some time or other." 
 
 " Not necessarily," returned Charles; " but I'll proceed to explain. 
 My lather and I had a long conversation on this subject last evening, 
 and we came to this conclusion that the cause of the loss of this 
 money pressing so heavily upon your mind, is attributable almost 
 solely to the fact of your having regarded the money as hers." 
 
 " It was hers: I saved it for her," said Lejeune. 
 
 " Well," resumed Charles, " we then thought that if you were relieved 
 of all anxiety on her account, as far as pecuniary matters are con- 
 cerned, the cause of your depression being thus removed, the effect of 
 that cause would soon cease to exist." 
 
 "What do you mean?" inquired Lejeune, with an expression of 
 intense anxiety. 
 
 " I love Juliana," replied Charles calmly, " but with all the fervour 
 of truth : I love her ardently, and have long felt that we were indeed 
 destined for each other. Her gentle bearing, the sweetness of her dis- 
 position, and the purity of her mind, are the charms by which I have 
 been inspired; and if manly devotion, faith, honour, and truth can 
 ensure her happiness, she shall be happy." 
 
 Lejeune took his hand and held it in his, and after a pause during 
 vrhich he seemed to be lost in a reverie said, " Does she know any- 
 thing of this?" 
 
 " No," replied Charles, " I have never breathed a syllable to her on 
 the subject." 
 
 " You said that you and Sir John had a long conversation. Did you 
 explain this to him?" 
 
 " I did : he knows all. He was moreover pleased to say he believed 
 that we were worthy of each other, and wished me at once to name the 
 subject to you," 
 
 " Charles," said Lejeune, still pressing his hand, " you know how 
 highly I esteem you. I do not believe that if she were yours, you 
 would ever revert to this loss, in order to prove to her how grateful she 
 ought to be : I do not believe that you would ever make her feel that 
 she came to you portionless. I am convinced that you would be to her 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 49 
 
 all that a husband should be; but I can say no more until I have seen 
 her. I am not aware that her affections are engaged : I am not aware 
 that they have yet been awakened: I must see her, and, by causing her 
 to develope her feelings, ascertain how her heart inclines." 
 
 " And if you discover that it inclines in that direction ?" 
 
 " I shall then say, ' Take her, and be happy!' " 
 
 " Then in order," said Charles, " that you may prove this beyond 
 all doubt, I here pledge you my honour, that until you have seen her, 
 I'll neither say a word to heron the subject, nor even hint at the nature 
 of this conversation. But -when," he added, " when do you think you 
 will be able to undertake the journey?" 
 
 Lejeune shook his head, and fainlly smiled. 
 
 " Make up your mind to recover at once," pursued Charles, with the 
 view of inspiring him with more lively feelings. " Make up your mind 
 to it, and then we shall very soon be able to return together." 
 
 " Charles," said Lejeune, " my constitution has been by a series of 
 domestic afflictions so impaired, that I can hope to recover only by slow- 
 degrees. It is not alone the exhaustion which the recent excitement has 
 induced: I have a chronic affection of the heart, which, when I am 
 prostrate, renders restoration very tardy indeed. Some time must 
 elapse before I shall be able to get about again ; and as Juliana must 
 in a very few days know the cause of my prolonged absence from her, 
 it will perhaps be better to write to her at once and let her know, 
 Charles, that I am not well." 
 
 " I have already told her that you are not well; but I certainly at the 
 same time led her to believe that you would in a few days rejoin her." 
 
 " Exactly. But she had better be told that I am not at all likely tc 
 do so. Besides, Charles, I wish her to be near me." 
 
 " Shall I go and bring her home?" 
 
 " You, of course, will not alarm her. When she hears that I am 
 confined to my room she will, I know, be anxious to return ; and when 
 she expresses that anxiety, why you need not endeavour to induce her 
 to remain." 
 
 " I quite understand. I'll start to-night." 
 
 "I don't like night travelling, Charles. You were travelling all lasi: 
 night." 
 
 " Oh, that's a matter of no consequence! Besides, we get in at four 
 o'clock ! I can therefore have a good five hours' sleep at the inn before 
 I go on to the Hall." 
 
 "Well, Charles, well: I must leave it to you. But let me see you 
 again before you go," 
 
 " I will," replied Charles, who then took his leave, and went to call 
 upon Dr. Greene with the view of explaining to him how he had dis- 
 covered Richard. 
 
 Dr. Greene, who belonged to that very select caste whose elegant man- 
 ners add lustre to learning, and who was at once a philosopher and a 
 gentleman a combination, of which posterity perhaps may have the 
 pleasure of finding the fossil remains received him with the most re- 
 fined courtesy. Charles indeed had become quite a favorite of the doc 
 IS T 0. 4. 
 
50 THE STEWARD I 
 
 tor; and, although they had dined together but once, and had been 
 perfect strangers up to the period of Richard Lejeune's disappearance, 
 they now were as frank and as friendly, and understood each other as 
 well as if they had been in the habit of associating for years. 
 
 " Well," said Charles, having explained where Richard was, and how 
 he got there, " now what would you advise?" 
 
 " When do you return?" 
 
 " To-night." 
 
 " To-morrow's Sunday; I'll go with you. If I find that the gentle- 
 man in whose charge you left him does not know exactly how to treat 
 him, I shall advise his removal: if I find he's with a man of experience 
 and skill, I shall then say, lot him remain where he is." 
 
 " He has the reputation of being exceedingly skilful." 
 
 " In the country," said the Doctor, with a smile, " a fortunate man 
 may soon obtain that. But we shall see ." 
 
 " And now," said Charles, "how are we to act with the servants? I 
 mean, of course, the servants of Richard Lejeune." 
 
 " We had better go and give them some further instructions, in order 
 that for the present they may remain where they are. If we tell them 
 where he is to be found, we may as well at once tell the creditors, who 
 imagine that he has left the country to avoid them, and of whom, the 
 majority I understand have expressed their anxiety to come to some 
 terms. I saw his solicitor yesterday, when he told me that the result 
 of his communications with them has proved that they will readily 
 accept anything he has the power to offer." 
 
 Having conversed for some time upon the various subjects con- 
 nected with Richard Lejeune's failure, they went to his house, gave the 
 servants the necessary instructions, and then called upon his solicitor, 
 to whom of course they explained all. They then returned to dine, 
 and as the Doctor after dinner had a patient to see, while Charles 
 had to call upon Lejeune, they met at the inn at the appointed time, 
 and started together by the mail. 
 
 Now, during the whole of that day, George kept aloof from Juliana, 
 not that he had perceived that his attentions were displeasing, but 
 because he had received the following letter that morning from one of 
 his old associates by whom, when at Cambridge, he was regarded as 
 at once the most reckless and the most brilliant fellow of them all the 
 contents of which letter engrossed all his thoughts : 
 
 " DEAR GEORGE, 
 
 " What in the name of all the Gods are you up to, 
 buried alive as you must be down there? What are you doing? Why 
 don t you come up, and have a spree? Come up, and spend a jolly week 
 with us in town! come up on Monday! We shall have a glorious week 
 of it, old fellow! I'll send you a programme: On Tuesday there'll be 
 a slashing mill between the Billingsgate Beauty and the Wapping Snob 
 entre notts, the Beauty's safe ! I'm laying out six to four on him. 
 Well : on Wednesday the St. Giles's Pet is going to run the Badger 
 twenty miles for a hundred : on Thursday I fight a Main of Cocks against 
 
A KO31ANCI5 OP REAL LIFE. 51 
 
 Bandy Bill: on Friday I've a match with the Nobby Sweep to shoot afc 
 twenty pigeons, for fifty a-side ; and on Saturday, my white dog, Blazer, 
 will kill a hundred rats against Batcher Bob's Blacktail, a dog nearly 
 double his weight. So you see, my trump, you'll have lots cf sport, 
 and that of the right sort, too. Now, will you come? There are lots 
 of regular Bricks in Town who would be, I know, delighted to meet you 
 Bricks, old fellow! your sort, to a hair! Therefore make up your 
 mind at once, to come, and let me hear from vou to-morrow. 
 
 "Yours, 
 
 " And no mistake, 
 
 " GUSTY D'ALITAIXE." ' 
 
 That this interesting letter should have unsettled him will not appear 
 extraordinary, when it is known that these are the very sports which he 
 had patronised extensively while at Cambridge, and which invariably 
 afforded him the most intense delight. 
 
 But how was he to go? That was the question. What excuse could 
 he make to Sir John? It would be of no use to tell him that he wished 
 to attend some benevolent meeting in town. No; that wouldn't do. 
 George felt that he would immediately smell one rat, if he didn't the 
 whole hundred! How, then, was he to manage? He couldn't tell. 
 Every scheme which he conceived was found calculated to arouse the 
 well-founded suspicions of Sir John, and it was the solution of this 
 problem which occupied his thoughts throughout the day. 
 
 In the morning, however, when Charles returned, he was struck with 
 an idea that the thing might be arranged through him. He therefore 
 made up his mind to name it the first opportunity, and then went as 
 usual to church. 
 
 In the meantime Charles introduced Dr. Greene, and when he had 
 handed him over to Sir John, he immediately joined Juliana, whom he 
 found somewhat tremulous still. 
 
 " I did think," she observed, as he led her on to the lawn, " that you 
 would have brought papa down with you this time!" 
 
 " He is not well," replied Charles. " He has had a slight attack of his 
 old complaint." 
 
 " He is not, I hope, confined to his chamber?" 
 
 " For the present he is." 
 
 "Dear me!" said Juliana, with an expression of alarm; "I must re- 
 turn to him." 
 
 "Oh!" cried Charles, " there's no necessity for that." 
 
 " Indeed I must. I know the nature of his complaint so well that I 
 dread being absent from him." 
 
 " Are you then a physician?" said Charles, with a smile. 
 
 " I sometimes fancy," replied Juliana, " that when he is ill, my pre- 
 sence soothes him." 
 
 11 No doubt, no doubt," returned Charles, with a look of admiration. 
 " But he is not ill that is to say, not seriously ill. He'll very soon be 
 all right again. 
 
 " I must, nevertheless, go," said Juliana; "I shall be extremely sorry 
 
52 THE STEWARD: 
 
 to leave the delightful society I have found down here, but I 
 caunot feel really happy anywhere, with the knowledge of papa 
 beinp: ill." 
 
 " "Well," returned Charles, " I cannot but appreciate your affection, 
 but I really must beg of you not to be alarmed. If you desire to 
 return and it certainly is a very natural desire I '11 abstain from, 
 endeavouring to persuade you not to do so; but, I pledge you my 
 honour, that there is nothing in this illness to justify the slightest 
 apprehension. But let us hear what Mrs. Wardle says about it; how- 
 ever she will be able to part with you I can't imagine. Still, if you 
 decide upon going, Dr. Greene returns to-morrow, and I will with 
 pleasure accompany you with him." 
 
 " That is kind," said Juliana, " very kind; believe me, I feel it to be 
 very kind indeed." 
 
 "Mrs. Wardle!" cried Charles, as the Widow crossed the lawn: 
 " Mrs. Wardle, of course, you '11 not be surprised to hear that this 
 tiresome young lady is going to leave you?" 
 
 " Leave us!" cried the Widow; " leave us! Why when?" 
 
 " She's off to-morrow!" 
 
 " Oh ! no, no, no, no ; indeed she is not." 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, dear, I must, poor papa is very ill." 
 
 "Now, did I say very ill?" interposed Charles. 
 
 " Is he not very ill?" enquired the Widow. 
 
 " I said, that he had had a slight attack." 
 
 " That's another thing," resumed the Widow; " that alters the case 
 entirely. No, dear, we cannot spare you yet; indeed, I'll not part 
 with you!" 
 
 " Then," said Juliana, " we '11 be together still." 
 
 "There's a love!" exclaimed the Widow, embracing her warmly. 
 " There's a dear!" 
 
 " What I mean," said Juliana, " by being together still, is, that we 
 will go to town together. You will go with me, will you not?" 
 
 " I should like it dearly; but how can I leave?" 
 
 " Oh, I am sure that Sir John will spare you," replied Juliana; "I'll 
 ask him myself." 
 
 " Well," said Charles, "if you decide upon going, Mrs. Wardle had 
 better go with us. It will be an agreeable change for her, and g l know 
 it will be very pleasing to you." 
 
 " I '11 go and ask him at once," said Juliana. 
 
 " He is," observed Charles, " now engaged with Dr. Greene. Go 
 in and talk the matter over calmly together. I see no necessity for 
 your going at all; still, if you decide upon going, the journey can be 
 arranged as I stated." 
 
 He then led them in; and, while Juliana was explaining to the 
 Widow how necessary it was for her to go to town, he went into the 
 library, in which Sir John and Dr. Greene were conversing, of course,, 
 about liichard Lejeune. 
 
 " Mr. Croly," said the Doctor, as Charles entered, " we are going to 
 see this poor man : will you ride over with us?" 
 
A ROMANCE OP REAL LIFE. 53 
 
 " Well," replied Charles, "it is painful to see him, but I'll go; have 
 you ordered the horses?" 
 
 "I have," returned Sir John, "here they are. You can mount 
 Eobert's mare; he can saddle the grey and follow us." 
 
 They then proceeded slowly to the house of Dr. Briggs, and, when Dr. 
 Greene had been introduced to him, he conducted them into the parlour. 
 
 " Dr. Greene," said Sir John, " is poor Lejeune's physician, and being 
 anxious to see him, he has come down with my son Charles." 
 
 " How is he?" inquired Dr. Greene. 
 
 "Why," replied Dr. Briggs, "he has not been so tranquil this 
 morning: he has been rather violently denouncing a man named Lump- 
 Ion, whom he accuses of having robbed him of thousands. He. is, 
 however, quite calm now. I'll bring him in." 
 
 " That's not a bad sign," said Dr. Greene, during the absence of Dr, 
 Briggs ; " it shows that his reason is veering round to the point at which 
 it left him." 
 
 Dr. Briggs now re-entered with Richard Lejeune, who no sooner saw 
 Dr. Greene, than he violently seized him by the collar, and exclaimed, 
 11 Villain! I have got you at last!" 
 
 "Back, sir! back! " exclaimed Dr. Briggs, in tones of authority 
 " back!" and Richard at onoe relinquished his hold, and stepping back, 
 burst into tears. 
 
 " Do you not know Dr. Greene?" inquired Charles. 
 
 " Yes, Doctor, yes," he replied, taking Charles's hand, " I know you 
 well ; but they treat me very cruelly here. There stands the man who 
 has robbed me of a million, and yet they'll not allow me to strangle 
 him! Doctor," he added in a whisper, while looking very cautiously 
 round, " you and I'll go together and leave them here. Don't take any 
 notice; we'll leave them behind." 
 
 " What do you say?" inquired Dr. Briggs. 
 
 " Nothing, nothing," replied Richard, " nothing at all; nothing at all. 
 But," he added, turning to Sir John, " what have you done with those 
 shares?" 
 
 " I have not sold them yet," replied Sir John. 
 
 "Then sell them 'at once; they must be sold! I want the money. 
 As for that villain there! Let me lee me grasp him!" 
 
 " Now," said Dr. Briggs, as he pointed to the door, * 4 come with me;" 
 and poor Richard Lejeune at once followed him, with all the humility 
 of a slave. 
 
 "He is worse than I expected," said Dr. Greene "much ^ worse. 
 Dr. Briggs acted quite right in taking him away. His excitement 
 would only have increased, had he remained-" 
 
 Dr. Briggs now returned, when Sir John and Charles left him with 
 Dr. Greene and went into the garden, where Charles explained the 
 substance of his last conversation with Lejeune, and then alluded to 
 the affectionate anxiety of Juliana. 
 
 " Then," said Sir John, " you return with her in the morning?" 
 
 " Why, as Dr. Greene returns in the morning, we may as well ac- 
 company him." 
 
54 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " The Doctor appears to be a perfect gentleman." 
 
 " He is one of the most accomplished men I ever met with." 
 
 Having consulted for some time together, the Doctors repaired to 
 the garden, and, when Dr. Briggs had promised to dine with them that 
 day, the visitors remounted and left. 
 
 " Well," said Sir John, " what do you think of the Doctor's skill?" 
 
 " I am perfectly satisfied," replied Dr. Greene ; " I believe him to be 
 a very clever man. He is pursuing the very course whieh I should 
 pursue, and I have not the slightest doubt that it will lead to the re- 
 covery of poor Lejeune." 
 
 " I am very glad to hear it," returned Sir John. " Then you think 
 that he had better remain where he is?" 
 
 " Most certainly, I do ; his removal now would tend only to increase 
 his excitement." 
 
 As they entered the park, Charles perceiving George in the distance, 
 clapped spurs to his horse, and approached him. 
 
 " Well, old fellow," he cried, shaking him heartily by the hand. 
 " how are you?" 
 
 "Thank God!" replied George, "I am well." 
 
 " That's right; how are things getting on in the country?" 
 
 " The crops are looking remarkably healthy. We shall, I have no 
 doubt, be blessed with an abundance. Do I know that gentleman 
 whom you have just left?" 
 
 "I think not; his name is Greene Dr. Greene. He has been with 
 us to see poor Richard Lej eune, who is now a patient of Dr. Briggs." 
 
 "Indeed! is he seriously ill?" 
 
 " He is, George, unhappily, insane." 
 
 " Good God! To what do you ascribe his insanity?" 
 
 " To heavy pecuniary losses." 
 
 "Behold!" cried George, "the power of Mammon! The lust of 
 wealth corrodes men's hearts ; the loss of it drives them mad. They 
 think much more of worldly losses than they do of that irrecoverable 
 loss the loss of their eternal souls ! No worldly loss can ever drive a 
 real Christian mad: he has but to inspire the consolations of religion 
 to hold such calamities, as they are called, in contempt." 
 
 " Do not religious enthusiasts sometimes go mad?" 
 
 " They who are termed religious enthusiasts do, often ; but they 
 are in reality those who have been suddenly brought to a sense of 
 their sins, of which the enormity shocks their reason." 
 
 " You should have been with me yesterday, in town," said Charles; 
 " I went to see a man to whom I should like to hear you talk. He is- 
 just the fellow for you! rich as Croesus and hard as nails." 
 
 " The people in town, I fear, are more corrupt than ever." 
 
 " They are, I believe, more artful." 
 
 " I have not been in town for some time." 
 
 " Why don't you go up, occasionally?" 
 
 " I have no great desire to do so." 
 
 "Oh, it would be a change for you. What say you, now: will 
 you ge up with me in the morning?" 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 55 
 
 " Are you going again to-morrow?" 
 
 " Yes; with Miss Lejeune and Dr. Greene. Go with us?" 
 
 "Well, I should like to go with yott; but perhaps I had better not. 
 It might not be approved of." 
 
 "Not approved of! What, not by the governor? Nonsense! Why 
 not?" 
 
 "He might, perhaps, object to my leaving." 
 
 " Not at all ; he'll not object. Leave it to me ; I'll manage that : 
 I '11 tell him, that I want you to go up with me which will be, indeed 
 the truth, for I really should like you to go. I'll mention it to 
 him after dinner." 
 
 This met George's views exactly. He knew that Charles was so 
 great a favourite that Sir John would deny him nothing, and as the 
 request was to come from him, the whole thing appeared to be 
 settled. 
 
 On reaching the Hall, Sir John was met by Juliana, who took his 
 arm affectionately, and led him across the lawn . 
 
 " You have heard," she said, " of the illness of my poor papa : you 
 have also heard, doubtless, that I contemplate returning to town in the 
 morning. Now although believe me I appreciate it highly I cannot 
 sufficiently express to you my sense of your kindness to me since I 
 have been here." 
 
 "Pooh, pooh!" cried Sir John. "I'll not hear a word of it! Your 
 father can love you but little more than I do." 
 
 " You are kind," said Juliana, " very, very kind, while I am so bold 
 that I am about to tax your kindness still farther." 
 
 " Well my dear! well!'' cried Sir John, as Juliana hesitated. "Well! 
 go on!" 
 
 " I am about to ask a very great favour." 
 
 " A very great favour, no doubt! You are just the style of person 
 to ask a great favour. But ask and have: ask and have. Now what 
 is it?" 
 
 " I have Sir John to ask," said Juliana " if you will allow dear Mrs . 
 Wardle to accompany me and spend a few days with me in town." 
 
 Sir John slightly started; and looked at Juliana, and then said, 
 " Have you named the subject to her my dear?" 
 
 " I have, Sir John," replied Jujiana, 
 
 " And does she desire to go?" 
 
 " Oh yes ! that is to say and that is all I undertook to ask if you 
 can spare her." 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," replied Sir John. " By all means, yes : yes : 
 certainly my dear! Hun and tell her at once run and tell her." 
 
 Juliana bounded across the lawn and Sir John went into the 
 shrubbery. 
 
 Now" said he to himself confidentially " tut, tut, tut ; here's a job, 
 tut ! She'll go up there. Well! She'll attend him aye! and so 
 grateful will he be that when he recovers he'll propose, that will be the 
 result ! But that'll not do at all! I must put a stop to it! But how?" 
 I can't now refuse to let her go ! And yet by consenting I consent to 
 
56 THE STEWARD: 
 
 her going into the lion's mouth ! Well ! what's to be done? Why 
 secure her at once. You have made up your mind not to part with 
 her, therefore secure her at once. I will do so. I'll do it this night. 
 Why should I allow myself to be annoyed thus? Do it and have done 
 with it! what's the use of going on so? But I wonder whether this is the 
 effect of an understanding between them! Pooh! nonsense! How can 
 it be? No : it is the effect of mere chance. Still she is anxious to go 
 up. And why? Is it to see him or to oblige Juliana? If even there be 
 an understanding between them I cannot blame him; nor can I blame 
 her ! No breach of confidence has been committed by either. I have 
 so far as my feelings on the subject are concerned, reposed no confi- 
 dence in either . She goes however doubtless to oblige Juliana. Yet 
 if even it be so I cannot shut my eyes to the danger involved? I must 
 speak to her on the subject, and will. We must come to an under- 
 standing this night. Before I sleep, I'll explain what my views 
 really are, and let her reject me it she can." 
 
 Having decided on deferring this important explanation until all the 
 rest had retired that night; Sir John rejoined Charles and Dr. Greene, 
 in whose society he spent the remainder of the morning, while the 
 Widow and Juliana were busily engaged in preparing for their journey 
 on the morrow. 
 
 At the appointed time Dr. Briggs arrived, and they shortly after- 
 wards sat down to dinner. The Doctors were evidently delighted with 
 each other: they did not, however, engross the whole of the conversa- 
 tion : Sir John and Charles came in for their share, Avhile Dr. Greene, 
 with the true feelings of a gentleman, addressed himself repeatedly to 
 George, because of him the rest appeared to take very little notice. 
 
 " Well," said Charles, turning to Dr. Greene, when the ladies had 
 retired, " what time shall we start in the morning?" 
 
 " I am anxious to be in town as early as po|sible," replied the 
 Doctor. 
 
 " Then we had better start directly after breakfast?" 
 
 "If you please." 
 
 " George," resumed Charles, "I wish you'd go with us? I should like 
 you to go. Come, old fellow, we'll all go up together that is," he 
 added, turning to Sir John, " if you can spare him." 
 
 " Oh I can spare him/' returned Sir John, with considerable 
 hesitation. 
 
 " Very well; then that's settled ; we all go up together." 
 
 " I really have no desire to go," observed George. 
 
 "Nonsense!" cried Charles; "Four will make a pleasant travelling 
 party; we shall just fill the carriage. Besides, you and I have never 
 passed a day in Town together yet. Now don't say another word 
 about it you go." 
 
 " And while in Town," said Dr. Greene, " you will, I hope, do me 
 the favour to make my house your home ." 
 
 George bowed, and with a clever exhibition of reluctance, eventually 
 consented to accompany them. 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFrfl 57 
 
 That Sir John did not like the idea of George going was manifest; 
 still he offered no direct opposition, conceiving that between the Doctor 
 and Charles, he would be kept pretty well within bounds. 
 
 On reaching the drawing-room, Sir John found means to communi- 
 cate to the Widow the fact that he wished to have some conversation 
 with her in private before she retired to rest. This did not at all 
 amaze her ; on the contrary, feeling sure that what he had to say had 
 reference to domestic affairs, she thought it highly correct that as she 
 was about to be for a few days absent, those affairs should be referred 
 to before she left. When, therefore, Dr. Briggs had taken his leave for 
 the night, she went up with Juliana, with whom she remained until she 
 felt that Dr. Greene, Charles, and George had retired, when she returned 
 to the drawing-room and found Sir John alone. 
 
 " Mrs. Wardle," said he, placing a chair for her near him, " you are 
 going for the first time to leave me. Now I am anxious before you 
 go, to communicate something which has fur a long time occupied my 
 mind." 
 
 The Widow was all attention, but marvelled what he meant. 
 
 " Do you think," he continued," that. I look much older than I did 
 ten or twelve years ago?" 
 
 " Upon my word, Sir John," replied the Widow, smiling, " 1 perceive 
 but little difference in your appearance. You have been blessed with 
 perfect health, and have had a very excellent constitution." 
 
 " Have had! and have now sound as an acorn. I really believe that 
 I am stronger now than I was five-and-twenty years ago. But, now 
 let us come to that point on which I ieel naturally anxious to consult 
 you." 
 
 " What can he possibly mean?" thought the Widow. 
 
 " The other day," pursued Sir John, " you told me that you knew 
 Juliana loved Charles." 
 
 " I did," said the Widow, who now began to fancy that she could 
 see what he meant. 
 
 " Very well. You also said that you believed them to be worthy of 
 each other. Very good. I believed so too; I therefore embraced the very 
 first opportunity of ascertaining what his ieelings were towards her; 
 and as I found that her affection was abundantly reciprocated, I advised 
 him to speak Lejeune on the subject at once." 
 
 "I am delighted to hear it," exclaimed the Widow. " I really ain 
 delighted to hear it. This then is the cause of her immediate return?" 
 
 " Not the sole cause. It has something to do with it doubtless ; but 
 Lejeune is really ill. Well ; you will hence perceive that although 
 Juliana knows nothing whatever of what has been done, there will 
 soon be a marriage in the family. Very good." 
 
 " Then she has no idea of the subject having been named to her 
 papa." 
 
 " Not the slightest; nor do I wish her to have until he has seen her. 
 Well ; thus you see there is one marriage pretty nearly settled. But 
 this is not the only marriage in the family I contemplate." 
 
 " Indeed!" exclaimed the Widow. 
 
58 THE STEWARD. 
 
 " Oh no, I have another in view." 
 
 " Is Mr. George going to marry?" 
 
 "No; I think of marrying myself." 
 
 " Marrying atrain, Sir John ?" 
 
 Aye !" 
 
 " Oh, you are jesting!" 
 
 "Jesting! not at all. Why should I not marry again? Do you see 
 any objection to it, moral or physical?" 
 
 " Why no, Sir John: I see no objection no absolute objection. But, 
 dear me, I never supposed that such an idea ever entered your 
 imagination." 
 
 " Oh yes it has. And why should it not? Why should I not marry 
 again ? There is no law on earth to prevent it, and I hope there is not 
 one against it in heaven. I repeat, that I really think of marrying 
 again, and that is the grand point upon which I wish to consult you. 
 Do me the favour to pass the water," he added, " I'll take a little 
 brandy; but perhaps you will be kind enough to mix it forme?"- 
 
 The Widow proceeded to do so, and while thus engaged, she expe- 
 rienced a variety of the drollest sensations conceivable. " He marry. 
 again!" she thought; "to whom? Why should he marry again?" She 
 didn't like the idea at all. She couldn't approve of it. 
 
 " Thank you," said he, as she passed the glass to him, " And now 
 we'll proceed. I have been," he continued, slowly and emphatically? 
 " a widower, Mrs. Wardle, nearly fifteen years. It is now nearly 
 fifteen since heaven took from me her in whom all my earthly hopes 
 were centered, and to whom I was devotedly attached. She was an 
 angel ; but you knew her you knew her well ; you knew her virtues ; 
 you knew her worth. I must not, however, dwell upon this subject; 
 if I do I shall, I know, be unable to proceed. Well ; I have been, as 
 I said, a widower nearly fifteen years, and during the whole of that 
 time I have met with but one whom I hold to be comparable with 
 her. That one I have known many years. Her virtues I have ever 
 admired: her gentle, amiable disposition has long charmed me: her 
 pure mind has eventually inspired ine with love. She is a widow ; and 
 I remember, as well as if it were but yesterday, how ardently, how 
 fervently, and with what sublime emotion her husband pressed my 
 hand, when on his death-bed I assured him that I would take care of 
 her. -Rise, my own Adelaide, rise!" he exclaimed, as she seized his 
 hand, and, on her knees, bathed it with her tears, " rather let me clasp 
 you to my heart!" 
 
 "My friend!" cried the Widow, with the most intense emotion, "my 
 benefactor! you have now overpowered me indeed ! But," she added, 
 having somewhat recovered her composure, " however deep may be 
 my gratitude however strong my affection however pure, however 
 ardent my love for you as a brother I never, Sir John never can 
 become your wife." 
 
 " Why not? why not?" enquired Sir John anxiously. 
 
 " There is a holy barrier against it," replied the Widow. " There 
 is a solemn vow registered in heaven, which forbids it." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 59 
 
 " Explain, my dear Adelaide, explain !" 
 
 * By the death-bed of that dear man," said the Widow, \vhile gazing 
 intently at Sir John through her tears. "I promised, I solemnly pro- 
 mised, that I never would marry again." 
 
 "Indeed! Did he enjoin that promise?" 
 
 "It was enjoined by his pure and inexhaustible love. He believed 
 that no other could have the affection for me that he had: he feared 
 that I might fall into unworthy hands: he felt that I had been destined 
 for him and him alone: and as I knew his feelings as I knew that it 
 would soothe his last moments on earth I gave him that promise 
 which I held and still hold to be sacred; when he blessed me with a 
 holy fervour, smiled, and died in peace." 
 
 "Had he any religious scruples on the subject of second marriages?" 
 
 " No, I believe not: nor do I believe that if he had for one moment 
 contemplated this if he had thought it at all probable that you would 
 confer upon me the honour you designed he would ever have wished 
 me to register that vow. But why should I repine. You promised to 
 protect me : you have most generously performed that promise, and I 
 am grateful and happy. You have even made me the virtual mistress 
 of your establishment. Why, what on earth can I wish for more? 
 Your love? I feel that I have even that: I feel that you have loved 
 me, and that you will, as a sister, love me still. What more can I hope 
 for on earth? 
 
 " Certainly," said Sir John, whom this promise had greatly confused, 
 tl I appreciate the motive which prompts you to reject me " 
 
 " Pray," interrupted the Widow, " pray do not use that term. Re- 
 ject you! While I live I shall honour you, pray for you, bless you!" 
 
 " I employed the term conventionally," returned Sir John. " I 
 meant to say that I appreciate the feelings which have prompted you 
 to hold that promise sacred, Nor will I although I do not concede to 
 any man the right of extorting such a promise endeavour to tempt 
 you to break it. I will ask you merely to reflect, not on the expedi- 
 ency of violating that promise, but whether, knowing his motive for 
 enjoining it, and believing that if he had contemplated this, it never 
 would have been enjoined that promise is really of a character so 
 sacred as you have hitherto imagined. Understand, your decision, if 
 adverse, cannot diminish my affection, although I did hope to be able 
 thus to reward your devotion. If you feel that you can conscientiously 
 accept my offer, I shall be happy : if, on the contrary, you find on reflec- 
 tion, that you cannot conscientiously do so, doubt not that my affection 
 will be equally sincere, aye, and equally lasting. And now good night. 
 You I know require rest. Do not allow what I have said to disturb 
 you. Good night!" he added, taking her hand and kissing it with 
 fervour ; " good night." 
 
 The Widow retired, but not immediately, to bed. On reaching her 
 chamber she sank upon a chair, and was soon completely lost in a reve- 
 rie. Sir John's declaration had amazed her. She was bewildered ! 
 She felt that nothing on earth could delight her more than the fact of 
 her being united to him, but she also felt that the promise she had made 
 must be held inviolate. 
 
80 THE STEWARD: 
 
 Eventually, being weary of endeavouring to reconcile conflicting 
 thoughts, she prayed and went to bed, and having, after a time, fallen 
 asleep, she had a dream, in which the spirit of him by whom the pro- 
 mise had been enjoined, appeared enveloped in a cloud of surpassing 
 whiteness. The Recording Angel was near, and smiled as he pointed to 
 the register ; and when the Spirit had absolved her from her vow, he 
 smiled again. Sir John then approached and looked round with an 
 expression of wonder; and when the Spirit had joined their hands and 
 fervently blessed them, a trumpet sounded and the vision disappeared. 
 She awoke in a state of perfect ecstasy ; but although this was but a 
 dream, it caused her to sleep that night no more. 
 
 In the morning all were on the qui vive. Hie Widow was thought- 
 ful, and so was Sir John, while Juliana evinced an increased amount 
 of anxiety; but Charles and George were in the highest possible 
 spirits, their minds being filled with the most pleasing anticipations, 
 although of a character diametrically opposite, 
 
 41 Charles," said Sir John, as he drew him aside while the trunks 
 were being attached to the carriage, "I wish, during George's stay in 
 Town, you would keep your eye upon him." 
 
 41 Certainly," replied Charles, " certainly." 
 
 " Because," added Sir John, still resolved on adhering firmly to his 
 determination not to set brother against brother, " he is not so accus- 
 tomed to London life as you are, and may be picked up, or led away." 
 
 41 1 understand what you mean," replied Charles, " Fli keep my eye 
 apon him; he'll be all right." 
 
 " Will you write to me to-morrow?" 
 
 * I will." 
 
 Ail being now ready to enter the carriage, Sir John, with emotions 
 -of the most conflicting character, bade them adieu and they war* off. 
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 GEORGE'S WEEK IN TOWN. 
 
 AUGUSTUS, familiarly called GUSTY D'ALMAINE, belonged to that fast 
 and glittering caste by whom excitement is held to be the soul of 
 society. He had been essentially a " man of pleasure;" and before he 
 became a " man of business" derived all his pleasure from an associa- 
 tion with mere animals. Although intellectual himself, he seemed to 
 despise the development of intellect in others, and repudiated the 
 society of gentlemen for that of blacklegs and pugilists, with whom he 
 would drink, smoke, and bet, and against whom he was always prepared 
 4o back himself to kill anything in nature, from a pheasant to a spar- 
 row from a stag to a rat. The sporting-houses were his saloons: he 
 was intimate with every man of mark in the Ring, and was never so 
 happy as when associating with and studying the low cunning of those 
 -whom he knew to be ruffians. 
 
A KOAIANCE OF REAL LIFK. 61' 
 
 Vanity was doubtless the original germ of this passion for low- 
 society. Being the acknowledged patron of ruffians, he became their 
 idol : his princely generosity, his judgment, and his spirit were their 
 themes of admiration. They applauded him to the echo; and while 
 they applauded they nursed him so well, that he squandered the whole 
 of his patrimony amongst them. 
 
 It was then that he began to look round : it was then that he 
 opened his eyes not despairingly ! but with a view to the recovery 
 of at least some portion of that which he had lost, by the adoption o 
 the very means by which his ruin had been effected. Having bought 
 experience he determined on selling it ! and that at the highest pos- 
 sible price. He transformed pleasure; at once into a profession, and 
 became a man of business with nothing but experience for his stock. 
 in trade, and being versed in all the villainies deep in all the mys- 
 teries, by virtue of which " the race is not always to the swift, nor the 
 battle to the strong," he entered like a philsopher, into a compact 
 with one who had assisted in effecting his ruin, and as he was known, 
 to all the " Corinthians" of whom he was still recognised as one, and 
 being, moreover, a special favourite of the young officers of the 
 Guards proverbially the greatest simpletons in sporting matters 
 breathing the result was highly profitable to both, without its being, 
 suspected for one moment that any connection existed between 
 them. 
 
 George, of course, had no idea of D'Alrnaine's real position. He 
 imagined that he had still an almost inexhaustible fund at his command,,, 
 and therefore on his arrival in town having delicately refused to accept; 
 the offer of Dr. Greene he repaired to an hotel in the vicinity o 
 Lejeune's residence, changed his dress, and started in search of 
 D'Almaine. 
 
 And it may here be remarked that it was a change of dress a " change" 
 in every sense of the woid for instead of a rather puritanical suit. 
 of black, and a white cravat, he appeared in a pair of buckskin panta- 
 loons; highly polished hunting boots, adorned with silver spurs; a. 
 sporting coat, with gilt buttons ; a rich satin stock, and a waistcoat o 
 green velvet, inlaid with gold! It was an elegant dress, and he being 
 a really handsome fellow, looked the beau-ideal of a fine young English 
 Gentleman. 
 
 On reaching D'Almaine's lodgings in Regent Street, he was received; 
 with every manifestation of delight. 
 
 "You're a brick!" cried D'Almaine; "I knew you'd come up: I fell, 
 sure of it, although you didn't write. How did you come?" 
 
 " We posted up," replied George. 
 
 " We posted up! who are we?" 
 
 " My brother, and two or three women." 
 
 " Your brother's not one of our sort I suppose yet?" 
 
 " No: he's just the same." 
 
 " Well, now, have you dined?" 
 
 "No," replied George. 
 
 " Then we'll go and have a spicy dinner somewhere. But, old fellow,-.. 
 
62 THE STEWARD: 
 
 before we go, we'll open a bottle of champagne. I say," he added, as 
 he went to the sideboard, " how's the governor?" 
 
 " Oh, hearty." 
 
 "Not dead yet?" 
 
 "No, nor likely to die." 
 
 ' As true as I'm alive, these jolly old swells live on and on as if 
 they were really immortal. Now, then, old fellow, try that. I think 
 you'll find it pretty near the mark!" 
 
 " That'll do," said George, having emptied his glass; " that's about it! 
 Let's have another before you put the cork in. By Jove! this is slap!" 
 
 "Well, now," said D'Almaine, "how long are you going to stop?" 
 
 " A week," replied George. 
 
 " That'll do. And if we don't have a jolly week of it, old fellow, it 
 shall not be my fault." 
 
 Having finished the bottle, they went to a tavern and had the best 
 dinner that could be produced, and when they had sat between two and 
 three hours, recounting the scenes in which they had been engaged, and 
 indulging in high anticipations for the future, they went to see the 
 men the Billingsgate Beauty, and the Wapping Snob who were to 
 fight for a hundred a-side on the morrow. 
 
 The landlord of the house they entered was one of "the Snob's" 
 principal backers ; and on going into the large room above, which was 
 crowded, they saw the Snob an ill-looking, flat-nosed, bull-necked 
 brute, with little twinkling eyes, nearly buried between his cheek-bones 
 and his brows sitting at the head of the table in all his glory. Every 
 eye was upon him, and every heart seemed to pant for his success, while 
 all he had to do was to look as ferocious, and to speak with as much 
 confidence as possible. 
 
 Having had a few glasses of wine here, they proceeded to the house 
 of " Artful Ben," at which the " Beauty" was to show that night, and 
 there he was apparently of the self same breed, but looking much 
 more like a winner than the " Snob." 
 
 " Artful Ben," was the sobriquet of him with whom D'Almaine had 
 entered into the compact referred to. He had fought several battles, 
 and had acquired the cognomen " Artful," by the peculiar slyness of 
 his attacks, and his ability to slip like an eel from the grasp of his op- 
 ponent. He was not, however, artful only in the ring: he was artful in 
 everything. The schemes devised by D'Almaine who never, of course, 
 did the dirty work himself were carried out by him with the most 
 consummate art, and whenever D'Almaine introduced a new man, all 
 he wanted to know was what was to be done with him, and he would 
 most artfully do it. 
 
 When, therefore, George was introduced, he felt sure that D'Almaine 
 had designed some grand robbery, and being anxious to ascertain, 
 as usual, what was to be done, he artfully beckoned him out of the 
 room. 
 
 " You've got a heavy swell there," said he; " who is he?" 
 
 " A blazer," replied D'Almaine. 
 
 " Green?" 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 63 
 
 " Quite green enough for us." 
 
 " Much tin?" 
 
 " He will have lots ; he's the son of Sir John Croly, a man worth 
 a hundred thousand, at least." 
 
 " Well, what's to be done? Can you do nothing with him?" 
 
 " Anything I like! I am laying out a long ball for him. When he 
 comes into this property you'll see what I'll do with him. If we act 
 like fools and do too much to him now, we shall spoil him, and it 
 won't do at all to spoil a man like that." 
 
 "Very good; but can't we do a leetle to him? Only just aleetle? 
 
 " Yes ; you can get Jack to take such a thing of him as sixty pounds 
 to forty on the Beauty." 
 
 " Have you made him sweet upon the Beauty?" 
 
 " I've taken care of that ; but let it be done cautiously." 
 
 " Now, never you trouble your head about that; that's my business. 
 All you have to do, is to say what you want to have done. Wouldn't 
 he go a leetle further than that, think you only just a leetle?" 
 
 " Let us be content with that, to begin with. I don't know at all, 
 yet, what money he has about him. If he hasn't enough with him to 
 stake, take his I. O. U., or anything; that'll be all right." 
 
 " Very well; but I think we might go just a leetle further." 
 
 " Don't try for another pound." 
 
 " Very well," replied Ben; " what you say shall be law." 
 
 D'Almaine then returned to the room, and found George conversing 
 with the Beauty, who was boasting about what he could do and would. 
 
 " Then, you've no doubt at ail of being able to beat him?" said 
 George, as D'Almaine took a seat by his side. 
 
 " Able to beat him!" replied the beauty with a ferocious expression of 
 contempt. " I'll lick him and laugh at him ! I'd bet fifty pounds of my 
 own money if I had it, that I lick him in less than twenty minutes. 
 
 " Well, I believe you can," said D'Almaine. 
 
 " He can't stand against my right no how. There ain't half a chance 
 for him no where. I should like to have the job every mornin' afore 
 breakfast for a month." 
 
 " Well," said George, privately addressing D'Almaine, " he appears 
 to be confident enough." 
 
 " Instead of six to four," replied D'Almaine, " it's somewhere about 
 six to one. He can't lose." 
 
 " I should like to go in." 
 
 " You can't go far wrong. But wait: you may have an opportunity 
 presently of doing it to greater ad vantage, '* 
 
 Having remained here till the Beauty had left with his trainer, 
 D'Almaine took George into a more private room, in which about a 
 dozen aristocratic fellows were betting and drinking champagne, when 
 George was instantly recognised by two young noblemen who had 
 known him at Cambridge, and with whom he felt of course quite at 
 home. 
 
 The champagne went round, and the betting continued on every con- 
 ceivable event : the time the fight would last, the number of rounds, 
 
61 . THE STEWARD: 
 
 the first knock-down blow, the first blood, and so on, when one of the 
 party cried, " I'll take six to four once more on the Beauty. I think 
 he'll win too. Who'll bet six to four." 
 
 " I'll bet five to four," said George. 
 
 " That'll not dc : I must have six to four." 
 
 "Well, I'll bet six to four." 
 
 " To what amount ?" 
 
 " Sixty pounds to forty." 
 
 "I'll take it." 
 
 George' produced his pocket-book, from which he drew six ten pound 
 notes, leaving two, eighty pounds being all that he had been able to 
 come up with ; and having covered the forty, placed the whole in the 
 landlord's hands. 
 
 " You look like a hearty old brick," said he, addressing the land- 
 lord. "I'll tell you what I'll do with you. We must have a supper of 
 come sort. I'll give you three throws ior a rump and dozen." 
 ' With all my heart," cried the landlord ; " throw away." 
 1 We'll toss for the first throw," said George. 
 ' Very well : I'll go first, if you like." 
 'Then go first." 
 
 The Artful threw, and got in all twenty-five. 
 
 " A leetle too few/' said he, " but twenty-five's not always beaten." 
 
 George then took the box and threw eleven to begin with. He then 
 threw nine, when the Artful cried " I'll go your halves !" 
 
 " Not a bit of it" said George. " I've staked my steaks upon a cast, 
 and will stand the hazard of the die. The die is cast," he added, 
 throwing seven more, " the steaks are mine. Sound the alarm." 
 
 " Do what?" said the landlord. 
 
 " Strike the cymbal !" 
 
 "Touch the bell," said D'Almaine. 
 
 "Of course!" cried George. 
 
 ' Sound the loud timbrel, and let's have a spree ; 
 The landlord is in it, and we are scot free. 
 
 Waiter," he added, assuming an air of the most refined politeness ; 
 "do us the favour to order steaks for all, and when you produce them 
 on this festive board, let them possess that virtue of which either on 
 the gridiron or in the pan, procrastination is the thief." 
 
 The waiter stared and really felt that some slight explanation would 
 be agreeable. 
 
 " Don't let them be too much done," cried D'Almaine, and the waiter, 
 who understood that, disappeared . 
 
 Loo was now proposed, and two parties were formed, and George 
 was particularly fortunate. He swept two forty pound pools just 
 before supper was announced, and then got two shares of the third. 
 
 D'Almaine was delighted. " That's ours," thought he, as he winked 
 at the Artful, and the Artful thought so too : he also thought it was a 
 pity to give up, but as supper was again announced, and as it was a 
 single at botb tables, the cards were relinquished for the steaks, o f 
 which they all partook with gusto. 
 
Part 2.] 
 
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 THE STEWARD: 
 
 A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE, 
 
 BY HENRY COCKTON, 
 
 Author of "Sylvester Sound," "The Love MofpK " ^_i ,. 
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A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 65 
 
 Eleven o'clock was the time appointed for the men to be in the ring, 
 and as they had nearly forty miles to travel, they decided on starting 
 at six. It was then halt-past two, and as they neither felt inclined to 
 sleep, nor thought it worth while to go to bed, they resumed their game, 
 and continued to play until the carriages which were to convey them 
 arrived, when they had a cup of coffee each, and started for the fight. 
 
 Now, to enter into all the revolting details of a regular pugilistic 
 encounter would be so contrary to the design of this history, that the 
 idea of doing so must not be entertained . It will be quite sufficient 
 to state that ruffianism and brutality formed the chief characteristics of 
 the scene ; that the men met in the ring, surrounded by thousands of 
 spectators ; that they fought with desperation for nearly an hour ; and 
 that, after having allowed himself to be battered about the head until 
 he was almost blind, the Beauty although evidently the stronger, and 
 by far the more scientific man of the two became apparently deaf to 
 time, and lost the battle. 
 
 By this "loss" D'Almaine himself gained five hundred pounds! He 
 had caused the Beauty to be bribed to lose the fight, and while he, to 
 a trifling amount, backed him, his partner, through his agents, took 
 every bet that was offered in his favour. 
 
 " Ah," said he to George, when the fight was at'an end, "it's a pity 
 he didn't escape the last blow." 
 
 " Well, he did his best to win," said George; " although he appears 
 to be the stronger man now." 
 
 " The last bTow settled him ; knocked him out of time. Well ! it's 
 of no use fretting about it; the money's gone, and there's an end 
 of it." 
 
 " Oh!" cried the Artful, coming up at the moment, " a leetle longer 
 only a leetle and the saddle would have been on the other horse. 
 That hit that last hit conflabbergasted his intellects. And that's 
 the worst of it: a fighting man ought never to have any intellects at 
 all; they're no use to him; he doesn't want 'em; they're on'y in the 
 way ! He ought to be a mere machine, to go right ding-dong at it 
 until he's worn up." 
 
 The party then re-entered their carriages and returned to the first 
 posting town, where they dined; it was, however, manifest that few of 
 them were satisfied that the Beauty had been absolutely " deaf to time;" 
 indeed, the majority expressed their conviction that that " deafness " 
 was simulated, and one of them declared that he would never again 
 bet upon " anything that could talk." George was about the only man 
 amongst them who expressed his belief that the Beauty had done his 
 best: "I am satisfied," said he, "although a loser; if he were not, at 
 the time, insensible, I never saw a fellow insensible yet." 
 
 "That's just what I look at," observed the Artful; "if he'd had 
 no senses this wouldn't have occurred. Before we can get a perfect 
 fighting man, we must get a man without any senses at all !" 
 
 Having had a few bottles of wine after dinner, the -party returned 
 to the house of Artful Ben, where the champagne corks began to fly 
 about again, and all were apparently restored to good humour. 
 No. 5. 
 
(36 THE STEWAUD: 
 
 " Now, then," said the Artful, having followed D'Almaine, who left 
 the room while George was conversing with one of the party, u we've 
 made a tidy thing of this; but what's to be done to-morrow?" 
 
 " Can you make the Pet safe?" 
 
 " Question is, what do you want done? Don't trouble your head 
 about whether I can do it, or how I can do it; all you've got to say is 
 what you want done." 
 
 " Well, then, I want the Pet to be made safe." ^ 
 
 " Safe to win, you mean?" 
 
 " Of course." 
 
 " I know where the-Badger is, now." 
 
 " Very well ; let me know when you've made it all right, and then 
 I'll see what's to be done with Croly, to begin with." 
 
 " He won a good hundred last night, and more than that, which, of 
 course, we must have, with a leetle more to it." 
 
 " Of course I shall do the best I can. If you make it all right, 
 come into the room with a cigar in your mouth ; if you can't make it 
 right, come in with a pipe : you understand?" 
 
 "Do I know a cigar from a pipe, do you think? Do you go in; I'll 
 settle it all in an hour." 
 
 D'Almaine then returned to the room and got the dice the sound of 
 which, he knew, in their ears, was most exciting music and threw 
 against George for some more champagne an example which was 
 followed by them all. George then proposed a sweepstakes of a 
 sovereign each, which was eagerly agreed to, and the whole of them 
 drew round the table to play. 
 
 In less than an hour the Artful appeared, and as he was violently 
 puffing a cigar, D'Almaine, of course, knew that he had " made it all 
 right." 
 
 " Do you want to see the Pet?" said he, as he entered the room ; 
 " he is in the house." 
 
 " How is he?" inquired D'Almaine. 
 
 " He looks pretty well; he tells me he never felt better in his life." 
 
 " Well, let's have a look at him; let him come in." 
 
 The Artful left the room, and, in a few minutes, returned with the 
 " Pet" and his trainer. 
 
 " It's almost time for you to be in bed, young gentleman; is it not?" 
 said D'Almaine. 
 
 " I'm going, sir, directly," replied the Pet. 
 
 " Well, then, go, my boy go; good night." 
 
 The Pet bowed, and left the room. 
 
 "I don't like the look of him much," said D'Almaine; "his eyes 
 are not brilliant enough for me." 
 
 " He'll go fifteen miles," said the Artful, " very well, and perhaps a 
 leetle farther -just a leetle and it'll be all over, but the shouting." 
 
 " I don't think so," said he who had won George's money on the 
 fight, " I like him still, and I'll go another fifty or a hundred upon 
 him. I'll give you a chance," he added, turning to George; "bad as 
 he looks ; I'll give you a chance of winning your money back." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 67 
 
 "Will you go my halves?" inquired George of D'Almaine. 
 "With all my heart, old fellow! go on." 
 " Well, then, I'll bet you fifty against him." 
 il Done ; make it a hundred, if you like." 
 
 George having consulted D'Almaine replied, "A hundred be it!" 
 and the money was staked. 
 
 It was, now past eleven ; and, as George had engaged D'Almaine to 
 sup with him at the hotel, they directed a coach to be called and 
 started. 
 
 George, on reaching the hotel, ascertained that Charles had called 
 several times during the day, and being apprehensive of his calling 
 again; he ordered supper and retired to change his dress. It is 
 true, he didn't dress quite so stiffly as he had been in the habit of 
 dressing at home, but his appearance then was sufficiently puritanical 
 to cause D'Almaine to smile on his return. 
 
 " Is that your masquerade dress, old fellow?" he inquired. 
 "Yes," replied George; " will it do?" 
 
 " Slap! Why, you look like a jolly old parson, in reality! 1 under- 
 stand it ; I've been obliged to come the self-same dodge myself; and an 
 out-and-out dodge it is too! There's nothing on earth like it nothing 
 takes so well nothing goes down half so smoothly. It's an old 
 dodge, it's true ; but it'll never wear out. It's now more extensively 
 patronised than ever. It's the very thing for the country: such a 
 steady young man! such a pious young man! so much above, the 
 pomps and the vanities! You go to church, I suppose?" 
 " Can you doubt it?" 
 " And take the sacrament regularly?" 
 " Of course." 
 
 "Well, I never came it quite so strong as that; I never could, and 
 because I never would, a skinny old aunt of mine left all she had 
 away from me. Conscience, on that occasion, cost me over forty 
 thousand pounds." 
 
 " Do you think it worth the money?" 
 
 " Worth the money! It's worth nothing to any man alive! As the 
 Artful said of the Beauty's intellect ' It's of no use to him ! he doesn't 
 want it! it's only in the way!' I wish that I had known then what I 
 know now: conscience might, in that case, have gone anywhere! 
 Even now although I don't exactly want it I'd be like you for a 
 time, a regular religious griffin, for half the money." 
 
 " Which proves," said George, "hownecessary it is for me to be one, 
 seeing that I have at stake five times that amount." 
 " Isn't the property entailed?" 
 
 " I wish it was ; if it were, you wouldn't catch me sporting t/iess 
 togs ! No, Gusty, I have a game yet to win, and although I've the 
 <jards in my hand, I must mind how I play them." 
 
 " Well, but there's no doubt at all, I suppose, about your coming iu 
 for half of it?" 
 
 " Half of it! Why should I be satisfied with half of it, being the 
 elder son? The division is what I fear; Tm afraid of its being 
 
-(58 THE STEWARD . 
 
 divided. You see, Gusty, when we were at Cambridge, I went, per- 
 haps, rather too fast, and the governor did threaten to disinherit 
 me. Now although I know well that he has not done so although 
 I've ascertained, beyond all doubt, that the will which secures to me 
 all with the exception of a few legacies has not been altered he 
 has still the power to make that infernal division; which is, indeed, 
 the only thing I dread." 
 
 " I see; oh, I see! Then, do the doleful, and stick to the submissive. 
 Does your brother come it strong?" 
 
 " No; I can't complain of him! He's a very good fellow at heart, 
 but fond of study; which you and I, you know, Gusty, never could 
 tackle." 
 
 "No," said D'Almaine, as the waiter entered with the supper; " we 
 always preferred tackling something of this sort, old fellow!" 
 
 " Champagne," said George, addressing the principal waiter; "now, 
 then, old boy," he added; " come, draw up." 
 
 They then commenced, and ate an unusually hearty supper, and, 
 when the table had been cleared, George proposed " a game of some 
 sort." 
 
 " What can we play at?" inquired D'Almaine. 
 "I wonder whether they have any dice in the house?'' 
 " Safe," said D'Almaine; " they are sure to have them here." 
 The bell was rung, and the dice were ordered. 
 " Now," said George, "how shall we play?" 
 
 " Let's play as we have been playing, if you like : three throws 
 for a pound. Or, I'll tell you what I'll do: I'll bet a sovereign a 
 throw, for twenty throws, that you don't get over seven." 
 
 " Done!" cried George, and D'Almaine very dexterously changed 
 the dice for a pair which he had in his waistcoat pocket, and which 
 being loaded, for hazard would show except, indeed, by accident 
 seven, and no more. 
 
 Just, however, as they were about to commence, Charles was an- 
 nounced, when the dice, box, and all, in an instant disappeared. 
 
 " Where, on earth, have you been all day?" inquired Charles, having 
 been introduced to D'Almaine. 
 
 " The fact is," said 'George, " I met with my friend, who took me to 
 his uncle's, at Richmond, and there we have been ever since." 
 
 "Dr. Greene wanted us to dine with him to day; vremust go to- 
 morrow." 
 
 " Very well. How is Mr. Lejeune?" 
 "Better; much better." 
 
 " Thank God for that ! You will have a glass of wine with us?" 
 " Yes; but I must not stop long. I thought I'd just call again before 
 I went to bed to ascertain whether you were really lost." 
 
 "I should like you to see D'Almaine's uncle," said George; ''he is 
 one of the most benevolent old gentlemen I ever met. We must go over 
 together before I leave town." 
 
 " He would," said D'Almaine, " be delighted to see you." 
 
 " I shall be proud of the introduction," said Charles, who filled his 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE . 69 
 
 glass, and then began to converse on various topics with D'Almaine,. 
 whose appearance and manners were certainly prepossessing in the. 
 extreme. 
 
 " Well," said Charles at length, " I must say good night." 
 
 " So must I," said D'Almaine. " It's getting late." 
 
 " Late only for me," observed George. " I am not like you London: 
 people used to late hours. Good night: good night: God bless you 
 both! I'll be with you, Charles, in the morning, please God!" 
 
 Being thus left alone, he sat down and finished the bottle, and ordered 
 another, which he also drank, and then retired gloomily to bed. Aye! 
 gloomily : for however much he might drink and having long accus- 
 tomed himself to it, he was able to drink a considerable quantity with- 
 out displaying the slightest symptoms of intoxication he invariably, 
 when he drank alone, sunk into a gloomy reverie. 
 
 Having had no rest the preceding night he soon fell asleep, and slept 
 soundly till the morning, when, having dressed ia his usual style, he 
 went to have breakfast with Charles at Lejeune's. 
 
 " Dear me," said the Widow, as she entered the breakfast-room with 
 Juliana, " we feared that we had lost you." 
 
 " I went to dine with a benevolent old friend of mine at Kichmond," 
 said George, " and it was late when I returned. Howis Mr. Lpjeune?'' 
 he added, addressing Juliana. 
 
 " Much more tranquil this morning," she replied. " His prayers for 
 renewed strength appear to have been heard." 
 
 "Thank God!" exclaimed George "thank God! During illness 
 there is nothing which shines with so much lustre as Faith. Beautiful 
 as it ever unquestionably is, sickness renders it still more sublime 
 while its glory radiates the solemn bed of death!'' 
 
 " Well, but we have happily no death-bed at present to contemplate,'* 
 said Charles, perceiving the tears spring into the eyes of Juliana. " Mr. 
 Lejeune is recovering fast." 
 
 " I am indeed happy to hear it," said George. " Still God only 
 knows how soon we may be called to appear before the awful Throne 
 of Mercy and of Grace." 
 
 " Well," returned Charles, " we'll not pursue that subject now. What 
 do you think of doing with yourself this morning?" 
 
 " I thought of attending the annual meeting of the Society for the 
 propagation of the Gospel in foreign parts. Will you accompany me?" 
 
 " No," replied Charles ; " I shall be otherwise engaged. What do 
 you think of doing?" he enquired of Juliana. 
 
 " Papa wishes me to go up after breakfast and sit with him. He has, 
 I believe, something of importance to communicate." 
 
 " Well then," said Charles, who knew perfectly well what that some- 
 thing was, " you and I, Mrs. Wardle, will have a quiet walk round the 
 park, and I am not quite sure that I shall not prevail upon you to take 
 me to three exhibitions." 
 
 "I shall be indeed most happy to accompany you," said the Widow; 
 " but I fear that I shall be too troublesome." 
 
 "Well," returned Charles, "you are, I know, very troublesome gene- 
 
70 THE STEWARD: 
 
 rally; and yet it gives me pleasure to be troubled with you! Can you 
 account for that?" he enquired of Juliana. 
 
 " Yes," she replied, " I can account for it well." 
 
 After breakfast during which but little was said by either George 
 or Juliana, Charles returned to Lejeune, and remained with him until 
 the Widow was ready, when he gave up his post to Juliana, and left 
 with the Widow and George. 
 
 " My, dear," said Lejeune, taking Juliana's hand, and gazing earnestly 
 at her, " is Charles Croly paying his addresses to any one?" 
 
 Juliana looked confused, and at length replied "No, papa," as if afraid 
 to utter the words. 
 
 " How do you know that he is not, my dear?" 
 
 " Oh," she replied tremulously, " I feel sure that he is not." 
 
 " But what has induced that feeling, my love?" 
 
 Juliana was silent, while her embarrassment was intense. 
 
 " Have you any reason for supposing that he is not?" 
 
 ' Papa," said Juliana eagerly, "have you any reason to believe 
 that he is?" 
 
 " Nay, my love, do not interrogate me! I merely asked if you had 
 any reason for supposing that he is not?" 
 
 Again Juliana was silent, and became pale as marble, and looked 
 round fitfully, and scarcely breathed. 
 
 "Did you ever imagine," pursued Lejeune, cautiously "did you 
 ever believe that he loved any one?" 
 
 "Yes, papa yes!" she replied, blushing deeply, "I have believed, 
 and do believe still, that he loves me /" 
 
 "Well, my child, well, be composed!" said Lejeune. ' You are 
 worthy of his love! But how has he caused you to inspire this belief?" 
 
 "I cannot tell. He is so kind, so generous, so noble, so good! he 
 has made me feel that he loves me." 
 
 " He may be kind, generous, noble, and good, and yet not love you, 
 my dear!" 
 
 " Oh, but I am sure that he loves me." 
 
 " Has he ever told you so ?" 
 
 " No papa : his looks have convinced me : his looks alone." 
 
 " Well, my dear, assuming that he does we'll put it so assuming 
 that he loves you what then?" 
 
 Juliana looked bewildered and made no reply, 
 
 " Suppose," pursued Lejeune, " that some one loves him /" 
 
 " None can ever love him so dearly as I!" 
 
 " You love him ?" 
 
 " Forgive me, papa, but I feel that I do most fondly. I tell you 
 she added, overwhelmed with confusion " I tell you because 1 I 
 
 with 
 
 I tell you" 
 -" I tell you b 
 thought pray do not be angry with me!" 
 
 " Angry, my dear child! Angry? kiss me: I cannot be angry 
 you." 
 
 She kissed his hand and pressed it to her heart: then kissed his lips 
 with passionate fervour while her tears mingled with his. 
 
 " My child," said he in faltering accents, " my dear, my own, ray 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 71 
 
 only child how fondly I leve you none can know save those who have 
 on earth but one to love. You my child are all the world to me ! in 
 your happiness are centred all my earthly hopes. You are my life, my 
 pride, my joy! To see you happy were to see myself blessed by Him 
 whom we all have reason to adore !" 
 
 " Dear papa !" said Juliana, as the tears chased each other down her 
 cheeks " Do not weep! pray, pray do not weep! I am I am happy: 
 indeed I am happy. Do not notice my tears! they are tears of happi- 
 ness: indeed, dear papa, they are tears of joy!" 
 
 " My child," said Lejeune, having somewhat subdued his emotion, 
 "we were speaking of your love for Charles. You were saying that 
 you felt that you loved him. I am neither amazed at this nor alarmed. 
 He is all that you have described him to bekind, generous, noble, and 
 good, and I have I have reason to believe that he really. loves 
 you " 
 
 " Have you ?" said Juliana, with an expression of ecstacy " Have 
 you?" 
 
 I have." 
 
 " Then, dear papa, I am happy indeed!" 
 
 " If," pursued Lejeune, " I am correct in my conjecture, his love will 
 soon develop itself in a form which will leave no doubt of its existence. 
 Now, my child, I am not opposed to its development! There is no 
 man whom I more highly esteem there is no man whom I believe to 
 be more worthy of your love than Charles. If, therefore and I can- 
 not now doubt it you have sufficiently consulted your heart to feel 
 convinced that you have for him that rooted affection without which 
 happiness cannot endure, believe me, my child, that if he should prove 
 that he has the same affection for you, no opposition will be offered by 
 me." 
 
 11 Bless you! dear papa, bless you! Oh! how full of gladness my 
 heart feels now! how fall of joy! Bless you!" she continued, while 
 embracing him with rapture "Now ami n^t happy? Hark!" she 
 exclaimed on hearing a gentle knock at the chamber door, " Who is 
 that?" 
 
 " Mr. Raymond, my dear, doubtless." 
 
 Juliana flew to the door, and as Mr. Raymond entered he looked at 
 her enquiringly, and then at Lejeune, and at length said, " Now what is 
 the use of my endeavouring to keep you tranquil if you suffer yourself 
 to be thus excited? What's the matter? What is it all about? This 
 will never do! this will never do at all! You must _go into the coun- 
 try again, young lady," he added, affectionately pressing her hand; " 
 don't want you! I can do better without you! There, run away, and 
 let me counteract all this mischief." 
 
 Juliana, with an eloquent smile, again kissed Lejeune and disappeared, 
 and when the cause of this excitement had been briefly explained, Le- 
 jeune became perfectly calm. 
 
 Now, while this scene was being enacted, George was preparing to 
 accompany D'Almaine to witness the race between the <( Pet " and the 
 "Badger." He was dressed as before in his sporting coat, satin scar 
 
72 THE STEWARD: 
 
 buckskins, boots, and spurs, and, having mounted the finest and most 
 valuable horse he could hire, looked conspicuously aristocratic. 
 
 The place appointed for this race to come off' was an enclosed ground, 
 on the Lea Bridge Road, about five miles from Shoreditch Church, 
 Here, when George and D'Almaine arrived, thousands had assembled, 
 and the whole scene was one of intense excitement. Some were betting 
 their fifties, some their tens, while others were staking their sovereigns 
 and shillings : indeed every man on the ground appeared to be in a pe- 
 cuniary sense interested in the result. 
 
 Two o'clock had been named for the men to start, and when each 
 of them had taken a turn round the ground, they came to the scratch 
 with every eye fixed upon them. They then tossed for choice of sides, 
 and when the word " Off!" was given, away they bounded, the Badger 
 taking the lead . 
 
 During the first round, the Pet did not appear to be anxious to go 
 in front, but in the second, he made a spurt and passed the Badger 
 a feat which was rewarded by his friends with deafening cheers. The 
 Badger smiled, and allowed his opponent to go some considerable dis- 
 tance a-head, and then dashed past him, and then again dropped in 
 the rear, and thus continued to play with him until they had com- 
 pleted the thirteenth mile, when he once more shot like an arrow in 
 front and obtained a lead of two hundred yards, with an apparent de- 
 termination to keep it. At this point, the betting was five, six, and 
 seven to four in his favour, it being manifest that he was the swifter 
 and by far the stronger man. George himself bet seventy pounds to 
 forty upon him. The Pet struggled hard to diminish the distance 
 between them, but in vain: the Badger still kept the lead, and con- 
 tinued to keep it until he had completed the eighteenth mile, when 
 as the party of whom D'Almaine was the chief had made all the bets 
 they were likely to make he received his instructions, and suddenly 
 put his hand to his side and staggered! This reanimated the Pet, 
 who increased his speed, and once more passed his opponent. The 
 Badger who appeared to be in agony did not, however, give ic. 
 He made another spurt, and nearly caught the Pet, but again he put 
 his hands to his side and appeared to be unable to proceed. He was, 
 however, off again in a moment, but the next he was apparently seized 
 more violently than ever, when he stopped and fell leaving the Pet 
 to complete, the distance at his leisure. 
 
 George, immediately the fellow had fallen, rode up, with the view 
 of ascertaining the cause, but all that he could get from him was that 
 he had accidentally swallowed some cold water from the sponge, which 
 produced a knot in his side and "doubled him up." 
 
 "God bless my life!" cried D'Almaine "how unfortunate who 
 could have thought it? He had such a lead." 
 
 " I certainly thought him secure," said George. 
 
 " Secure! It was a hundred to one in his favour! What do you 
 think of this, Ben?" he inquired of the Artful, who was seriously oc- 
 cupied in pulling his lower lip, and looking exactly like a man who 
 had lost a large sum of money " Eh! What do you think of this?" 
 
A ROMANCE OP REAL LIFE. 73 
 
 " Think!'' echoed the Artful. "Think! I'm con-flabbergasted. 
 That leetle water only that leetle, you see, did it all! There's a job, 
 sir; there's a job," he added, turning to George; " did you ever, in 
 your life, sir, see anything look safer?" 
 
 "I never did," replied George, "I certainly never did." 
 
 " And all owing to that leetle Avater that leetle ! conflabbergasting 
 his inside. And that's the worst of a running-man having an inside. 
 If he had no inside there'd be nothing the matter with it; but, as it 
 is, there's safe to be something: either his heart beats too much, or 
 his liver's affected, or his Jungs are out of order, or something. We 
 shall never get a perfect running man until we get a man without 
 any inside! He should be a mere machine and go by clock-work!" 
 
 " Well, then, you'd have the works inside," said George. 
 
 "Aye; but I'd have 'em so constructed as to be able to wind him 
 up to go any given distance. If I wanted him to run twenty miles, I'd 
 wind him up to go twenty miles; if I only wanted him to run a hun- 
 dred yards, I'd wind him up, of course, accordin'." 
 
 " Well," said George, smiling, " such a machine would be useful 
 especially if it could be warranted but I'm afraid you'd not be able 
 to make it available while you have flesh and blood to deal with." 
 
 " Flesh and blood's no use, sir! Depend upon it, sir, flesh and 
 Wood's no use. You can't depend on flesh and blood it's the nature 
 of flesh and blood to deceive. See what flesh and blood's clone in 
 this case! Could anything look better? Could anything go better? 
 And yet, when it seemed to be going with ease, could anything ever 
 stop worse? Flesh and blood's not worth twopence! I'll defy you to 
 bet upon flesh and blood safe. 1 ' 
 
 George again smiled; but that smile was merely mechanical. He 
 had lost all his money: they had drawn from him every pound that 
 he had; and now the question was, <4 What's to be done?" 
 
 " Come, old fellow," cried D'Almaine, while George was endeavouring 
 to answer this question; " hang it! Don't be down!" 
 
 " I have lost all I had," returned George. 
 
 " What of that? You can easily get more," 
 
 "But how?" 
 
 *' Oh, Ben will let you have what you want. I always run to him 
 when I'm short. That'll be all right. Don't be without money. A 
 man feels so stupidly dull without money! Go and tell him you want 
 some." 
 
 " I don't know him sufficiently well." 
 
 " Nonsense; that'll be all right. I'll do it for you. Ben," he added, 
 beckoning the Artful to his side, " Mr, Croly wants a hundred let 
 him have it, will you?" 
 
 " Certainly I will does he want it now?" 
 
 " Yes; he'll give you an I. O. U. for it, and that's just as good as a 
 bank note." 
 
 George wrote the I. O. U. and received the money, and felt very 
 considerably better, and when he had offered to stand some champagne 
 they went together into the house adjoining. 
 
74 THE STEWARD: 
 
 Now, while they were there, an elderly gentleman entered a travelling 
 carriage hastily, and directed his servant to get in with him. He had 
 been on the ground during the whole of the race, and had kept his eye 
 fixed upon George. He had seen him stake the seventy pounds to forty : 
 he had also seen him give the I.O.U. and receive the hundred; but, 
 being muffled up, he was unnoticed and unknown, and had directed his 
 servant to enter the carriage lest George should recognise him. 
 
 That gentleman was no other than Sir John, who, feeling lonely at 
 the Hall in the absence of the Widow, and being anxious to ascertain 
 how they were getting on in town, had started that morning, attended 
 by Corney, and stopped on seeing the assembled multitude, ot whom 
 George was by far the most conspicuous. 
 
 Had he made himself known, George of course would neither have 
 lost the seventy pounds nor borrowed the hundred; but being resolved 
 on remaining unknown, he left the scene in the manner described, and 
 proceeded at once towards town. 
 
 To Corney, the fact of his having been desired to enter the carriage 
 with his master, was a source of considerable speculation. " What's 
 in the wind now?" he enquired of himself. " What's up? or what's 
 going to be up? Is he going to make a gentleman of me? or is he going 
 to say suffen vicious? He looks vicious enough but what does ^he 
 want" me in here for? It is certainly more comfortable inside than out; 
 but can any mortal swindle me into the belief that he has me here 
 merely to study my comfort? Shall I tell him that I much prefer my 
 outside place? Shall I say as the women who can't pay the outside fare 
 say it always makes me feel ill to ride inside? Always won't do, be- 
 cause I never rode inside before: but what's the meaning of it all? 
 that's what I want to know! If he has anything to say to me, why don't 
 he say it, instead of sitting there, and biting his lips, and knitting his 
 brows, and looking fierce, and swearing to himself for I know he's 
 swearing! no flesh can keep on looking so without swearing why 
 don't he speak, if he has anything to say? It's worse than being fixed 
 in the pillory to sit here, and ever so much less exciting! Outside on* 
 can sit and sing, and be jolly; but here it's about five-and-twenty times 
 worse than solitary confinement. I wonder how such a thing as a song 
 would tell now? a good song, sung in a tidy style? I should like to 
 try it, only I dussent! I wonder what sort of an effect it would have? 
 Shall I strike up? No, Corney, bor, it won't do. I wish he'd go to 
 sleep. I should feel a little matters comfortable then! It's worse than 
 work, sitting so! I wish, though, I'd put my other trowaers on. The 
 knees shine so in here. But who could have thought who could have 
 dreamt who could have taken it into his skull that I should have 
 had this honour? Blister the honour! I've a good mind to say it don't 
 suit me! I will! dashed if I don't! If he'd anything to say he'd have 
 said it afore this. Dashed if I don't let him know I don't like it. Sir 
 John," said he, " will you allow me to go outside again? Not being 
 used to riding inside, I feel it queer." 
 
 " Order them to stop," said Sir John. And Co rney gave the order, 
 and wasn't long about it; and when they had stopped he alighted 
 
A ROMANCE OP REAL LIFE. ?5> 
 
 without remorse, and having mounted his Dickey, again felt at 
 home. 
 
 " If I had such a thing as a million a-year," said he, " I mightn't 
 perhaps mind riding inside with him ; but as I've nothing at all like 
 that money coming in, I feel about five-and-twenty times more happy 
 here." 
 
 On his arrival in town, Sir John went direct to Lejeune's, where the 
 Widow and Juliana received him with delight. His presence indeed 
 filled them with rapture! They knew not how to express the pleasure 
 they felt : while Juliana affectionately hung on his arm, the Widow 
 kept his hand in hers, and shed tears of gladness. 
 
 " Where's Charles?" he enquired, having expressed himself happy to 
 see them so well. " Where's Charles?" 
 
 " He is gone to the city for Mr. Lejeune," replied the Widow, " and 
 we shall not have the pleasure of seeing him again until the evening ; 
 for, from there he is going to meet George at Dr. Greene's." 
 
 " Is George staying with Dr. Greene?" 
 
 " No ; being unwilling to intrude upon his kindness, he went to the 
 hotel at the corner of the square." 
 
 " Do you know where he is now?" 
 
 " We have not seen him since the early part of the morning. He 
 left us to attend a meeting." 
 
 " Did he say what meeting?" 
 
 " Yes; the annual meeting of the Society for the propagation of the 
 Gospel in foreign parts." 
 
 " Oh !" said Sir John, with an ill-concealed feeling of indignation . 
 " Well," he added, assuming an expression of gaiety, " are you going to 
 ask me to dine with you to-day?" 
 
 " Oh!" said Juliana, '" we shall be indeed happy if you will," 
 
 " Well, then, I will; and in the evening I'll put up at this hotel." 
 
 " But why, Sir John?" cried Juliana; " why not remain here?" 
 
 " My dear, I have a desire to put up at this hotel. But we shall not 
 see less of each other on that account. And now," he added, " tell your 
 papa that I am here, and while you are preparing for dinner, I'll sit 
 and chat with him." 
 
 Juliana left the room ; aad it may, as a remarkable fact, be recorded, 
 that immediately after she had done so Sir John took the Widow's hand,. 
 and kissed it! 
 
 Bearing in mind his engagement to dine with Dr. Greene, George 
 returned to town very soon after Sir John, and proceeded to dress in 
 his usual style for dinner. On the road, however, he had engaged 
 D'Almaine, his two noble friends, and Gore that other friend of his 
 who had done him the honour of winning all his money to sup with 
 him at his hotel, it having been suggested by D'Almaine that, as Gore 
 was a careless player, they might win back the money they had lost on 
 the race. 
 
 His first object, therefore, was to leave Dr. Greene's that evening as 
 early as possible, and as Charles felt anxious to rejoin Juliana it having 
 been intimated to him by Lejpuny that he was satisfied on that point 
 
;76 THE STEWARD: 
 
 "vlncli dearly concerned him they left together before ten o'clock, and 
 separated for the night on reaching Lejeune's door, neither of course 
 having the slightest idea of Sir John being then in the house. 
 
 The supper had been ordered for half-past ten, and at that time the 
 ^>arty arrived, when all being anxious for the introduction of cards, the 
 supper, although a delicious one, passed off as mechanically as if it had 
 consisted of a mere crust of bread and cheese. 
 
 " Well, I suppose," said George, " you would like a game of some 
 sort?" 
 
 " With all my heart," said Gore. " What do you propose? Whist?" 
 
 " There are five of us," observed D'Almaine, "I should say Loo." 
 
 "I hate Loo," said Gore; " I always play like a fool." 
 
 " If we have Whist, one of us must stand out. Let us all play 
 together." 
 
 " Well," returned Gore, whose apparent disinclination was of course 
 A mere ruse, " as you please." 
 
 They then commenced with a sovereign force, and certainly Gore 
 appeared to play in the most careless manner. He was even looed at 
 starting, by leading the nine when he had the ace of trumps in his 
 hand! As the game proceeded, however, he and D'Almaine who 
 told each other by signs what they held, as plainly as if they had 
 spoken looed George almost invariably whenever he played, and the 
 pool was considered worth sweeping. They took the miss as often 
 nas the rest nay, even more often but, never unless she contained 
 good cards; which, of course, they had taken care to mark. Twenty, 
 thirty, forty, and even fifty, pound pools they cleared thus, while 
 ^George very rarely got more than a single. 
 
 Of course, George's hundred pounds very soon went; he, therefore, 
 privately borrowed another hundred of D'Almaine, which he also lost, 
 and that rapidly for, with the view of recovering himself, he then 
 played with more desperation than ever. D'Almaine then lent him 
 another hundred ^-forty-five pounds of which he had to put in the 
 pool. He played, and was looed, and, of course, had to put down 
 ibrty-six pounds more. He played again, with two trumps, and was 
 looed again! when Sir John was shown into the room! 
 
 The consternation expressed at this moment by George may bn 
 imagined. He became pale as death, and violently trembled : had a 
 spectre appeared, he could not have displayed a more vehement aspect 
 of terror. 
 
 " Good evening, gentlemen," observed Sir John, endeavouring to 
 assume an air of gaiety; "enjoying yourselves, I perceive. Well! 
 don't allow me to interrupt you. I must introduce myself, I suppose ; 
 my son, it appears, will not introduce me." 
 
 " Sir John Croly, I presume," said D'Almaine. 
 
 " Yes," replied Sir John. " Now," he added, drawing a chair near 
 the table, " let me beg of you to proceed." 
 
 "Well," said one of the young noblemen, "let me see: what's the 
 board? Oh, forty -six; my deal; that'll be forty -seven." 
 
 " Put it down for me," whispered George to D'Almaine. 
 
A ROMANCE OF liEAL LIFE. , T" 
 
 "No!" said Sir John, who overheard him; " fll put it do\vn for 
 you how much?'' 
 
 " Forty-six pounds," replied Gore. 
 
 "Forty-six pounds! You are playing high, gentlemen, are yoir 
 not? I have not so much money about me ; but I'll give you a cheque 
 for the amount." 
 
 " Oh," said D'Almaine, " that is perfectly unnecessary." 
 
 Sir John, notwithstanding, produced his book, and having drawn 
 the cheque, placed it upon the table ; when the cards were dealt, and 
 George looked at his hand, but wouldn't play it; nor would he take- 
 miss. The game was between D'Almaine and Gore, who played and 
 divided the board. 
 
 "Well," said D'Almaine, "that -settles it; I said I'd leave off the 
 next single. I must go ; it's getting late." 
 
 The party perceiving, of course, how the case stood then rose,. 
 and having politely bowed to Sir John, left the room. 
 
 " Villain!" cried Sir John, 'having closed the door, " Villain! Hy- 
 pocritical villain !" 
 
 "How? " said George, having somewhat recovered his self-posses- 
 sion " How, a villain? Because I have been weak enough to play a 
 game of cards? I know it's wrong! I admit all that; but " 
 
 " Where have you been, sir?" demanded Sir John. 
 
 " I've been to dine with Dr. Greene." 
 
 " But where were you in the morning, when you went to attend a 
 Meeting for the Propagation of the Gospel? You awful hypocrite! 
 You vile associate of blacklegs and thieves ! Whom do you rob to 
 play for fifty pound boards? Where do you get the money to beJr 
 your seventy pounds to forty? And who's to pay the hundred you 
 borrowed on the ground?" 
 
 ' " I must, of course-" said George, whom these questions astounded 5 
 " I must, of course, endure every species of indignity which malice- 
 may prompt you to " 
 
 "Malice!" cried Sir John, vehemently; "what do you mean by 
 malice?" 
 
 " Who has been trumping up these tales, to set you against me? 
 Charles?" 
 
 "No, hypocrite; no! He knows nothing of you." 
 
 " Some one must have invented them!" 
 
 " They are no inventions, scoundrel! But you and I wfll come to- 
 an understanding in the morning : I cannot trust myself to say what 
 I have to say to-night." 
 
 " Will you hear me explain?" 
 
 "No, I'll not! I'll not hear you attempt to explain; feeling sure 
 that whatever explanation vou mav offer will be a mere tissue of* 
 lies!" 
 
 " Then " said George, assuming a mournful expression " Then 
 must I eadure all in silence." 
 
 " Oh, menstrous monstrous hypocrisy! But I know you too wel$ 
 to be deceived by tones which only inspire rno with indignation. I leave 
 
78 THE STEWARD: 
 
 you " he added, with increased vehemence " I leave you, lest I should 
 curse you!" 
 
 George, when Sir John had left the room, finished a bottle of cham- 
 paigne, that had just been opened, and ordered a bottle of brandy, with 
 which he retired to his chamber. 
 
 " Well," thought he, as he sank in an easy chair, with the brandy 
 and a bottle of water before him, "I have been caught: certainly I 
 have been caught; and now, how can I make it all right in the morn- 
 ing? How came he to know about that seventy to forty? Who could 
 have told him about the hundred 1 borrowed? I mentioned Charles ; 
 but Charles was not there. Can he have been pumping D'Almaine? 
 What opportunity has he had of doing so? Has he been getting it 
 out of Ben? He must have obtained his information from one of them! 
 as far as the hundred is concerned, they are the only two men who 
 knew anything about it. He must have called at Ben's house before 
 he came here : and, yet, how could he have ascertained that Ben knew 
 me? I'll see Ben in the morning; yet, why not to-night? I shall 
 have, in the morning, to make my defence, and must therefore know 
 the grounds upon which I am charged. I'll go to-night before I 
 sleep I'll know all !" 
 
 He then rang the bell, and when the porter appeared he said, " Come 
 here, my boy! Can I trust you?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied the porter; " certainly, sir." 
 
 " Well ; my governor, Sir John, I understand is in the house." 
 
 " Yes, sir; he's just gone to bed." 
 
 " Very well. Now I want to go out for half-an-hour, but I don't 
 want him to know that I am out." 
 
 "All right, sir! He needn't know anything about it. : ' 
 
 " Very good. I merely wish to see one of those gentlemen who sup- 
 ped here to-night. I'll return within an hour." 
 
 Having drawn on his boots he left the hotel, and proceeded at 
 once to the house of the Artful, where he found D'Almaine and the 
 rest discanting freely on George's terror, and Sir John's assumed 
 urbanity. 
 
 " D'Almaine," said he as he entered the room, " I want to have a 
 word with you in private." 
 
 " You'll look in again before you go?" said Gore. 
 
 " Yes," replied George, " I'll be with you in a moment. D'Almaine," 
 said he, having left the room with him, " have you had any talk with 
 m,y governor?" 
 
 " No ; only that which you heard." 
 
 " Had you seen him before he came into the room?" 
 
 " Certainly not. I wish I had, that I might have put you up to the 
 fact of his being in town." 
 
 " Had Ben seen him, think you?" 
 
 " I should say not." 
 
 " Then who could have told him of my having borrowed that hundred 
 on the ground?" 
 
 " Does he know of that?" 
 
A ROMANCE OF KEAL LIFE. 79 
 
 " He does ; and if neither you nor Ben told him, how came he to 
 know it?'' 
 
 " I pledge you my honour," replied D'Almaine, " that he never heard 
 a syllable on the subject, either directly or indirectly from me: nor do 
 I think' it likely that Ben has named it to any man alive. That, how- 
 ever, we'll soon ascertain. Ben!" he added, calling to the Artful, who 
 immediately approached, " have you seen Sir John Croly?" 
 
 " Don't know him," replied Ben " don't know him from Adam." 
 
 " Have you told any one about Mr. Croly having borrowed that hun- 
 dred of you on the ground?" 
 
 "Do you think I'm a lunatic? That's all I've got to say. Do you 
 think I'm such a stark naked fool as to do a thing like that? Is it 
 likely? is it even a leetle likely? is it like anything likely?" 
 
 "I thought not," replied D'Almaine; "but it appears that some one 
 has told Sir John!" 
 
 " Well, but who could have told him? ' 
 
 " He knows of it," said George, " and a pretty scrape I've got into in 
 consequence." 
 
 " Well," returned Ben, " that get's over me a leetle above a bit. 
 But if I ever named it to any living flesh, may the next glass of wine 
 I drink choke me! But do you think he really knows? Isn't it only 
 a mere guess, think you?" 
 
 " How could he guess at a thing like that? How could he dream of 
 such a thing, if it hadn't been intimated to him by some one? Well," 
 he added. " I'm in a mess! and I must get out of it! Now, look here: 
 I borrowed that hundred for you, D'Almaine! Do you understand?" 
 
 " Perfectly." 
 
 " And I laid that seventy pounds to forty of which he also knows- 
 on your account!" 
 
 " I understand," said D'Almaine ; " that will do. You'll get over 
 it so. Do you understand, Ben?" 
 
 " Have I got a pair of ears?" 
 
 " Very well. Then let this be stuck to." 
 
 " You can't do a better dodge than that," said Ben. " But what -wholly 
 conflabbergasts me all over is the thought of his coming to know it at all !" 
 
 " The fact amazes me" returned George ; " I can form no conception 
 of the source from which he derived his information. But come," he 
 added, " come, let's go in for five minutes. I can't stop long." 
 
 They then returned to the room, where the fact of Sir John appearing 
 amongst them, was reverted to of course." 
 
 " You had no idea of seeing him," said Gore, "had you?" 
 
 " No more," replied George, " than I had of seeing Satan!" 
 
 " Well, you'll get over that. Come, have a glass of wine. I've been 
 served so myself. I dare say all here know pretty well what it is." 
 
 George took a chair and tried to enjoy himself, but couldn't ; he 
 therefore very soon left, and returned to the hotel, when he finished his 
 brandy, and rolled into bed ; and in the morning, having on his pillow 
 weighed minutely the whole of the bearings of the case he wrote to 
 Sir John as follows : 
 
80 THE STEWARD: 
 
 "DEAR FATHER, 
 
 " I am wretched! wretched in the conviction that 
 your heart has been turned against me. 
 
 " The anger you manifested last night was just just, because I had 
 the weakness and the wickedness to become a gambler: I deeply feel its 
 justice; but the epithets which that anger prompted you to employ have 
 sunk into my soul, 
 
 " Were I an habitual worshipper of Satan, I might habitually commit 
 this sin with the semblance of temporal impunity; but as I am not, I am 
 no sooner caught at his shrine than, as if to be revenged, he betrays me. 
 
 " He it was who in this case betrayed me to you. You know that I 
 have offended by allowing myself to be tempted to play and sorely have 
 I sunered for that offence throughout the night but as you do not 
 know that I am innocent of the other offences laid to my charge, I feel 
 called upon at once to make that innocence appear. 
 
 " The bet to which you alluded of seventy pounds to forty, I laid on 
 account of D'Almaine; while the hundred pounds which I borrowed 
 was for him, and I pledge my sacred honour, for him alone. 
 
 " The only offence of which I am guilty is that of being tempted to 
 play with those Devil's books, and for that I am unfeignedly sorry. 
 
 <; This explanation which I should have given last evening had you 
 but deigned to hear it will, I trust, tend not to palliate my real offence, 
 but to mitigate your anger and I most humbly pray that God will 
 again turn your heart towards 
 
 " Your ever affectionate son, 
 
 " GEORGE CROLY."' 
 
 Having read this calmly again and again, Sir John felt that he had 
 been too severe. The fact of George having played at cards was, in 
 his judgment, venial. He was fond of a rubber at whist himself, arid 
 albeit he never played high, he was quite prepared to make every al- 
 lowance tor the temptation to which George had been exposed. The 
 bet of seventy pounds to forty, and the I. O. U. for the hundred, were 
 the things which when viewed in connexion with the fact of George 
 having left Charles and the Widow expressly in order to attend a 
 Religious Meeting had so violently excited his indignation . 
 
 " Still," thought he, with all his natural desire to judge with lenity r 
 * he might have been strongly tempted; it might have been his inten- 
 tion to go to this meeting; he might have met this D'Almaine on the 
 road. He speaks of Satan having tempted to betray him, and it cer- 
 tainly appears strange that I should have caught him not only at cards 
 but at the race, and more especially as I never before travelled that 
 way, having invariably taken the road from the forest through Strat- 
 iord to town! He also pledges his honour that the bet was made and 
 ihat the money was borrowed lor this D'Alinaine. Now, am I to 
 believe him? He has deceived me so often, that I find it hard to do 
 so. But the truth of this statement is capable of pr<.'>oi' I can prove 
 \vhether it is true or false: 1 can go to D'Almaine, before it is possible 
 for them to have any conversation on the subject: and from him I caa 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 8V 
 
 ascertain the truth or falsehood of this solemn declaration. I will do 
 so; and if I find that it is false, I'll cast him off for ever! But I hope 
 It is not ; I hope it is not ; and therefore I almost fear to go. But I 
 will! yes, I will!" 
 
 In pursuance of this resolution, he rang the bell, and desired Corney 
 to tell George that breakfast was ready. George was about to have 
 breakfast alone, but on being thus summoned, he entered Sir John's 
 room ; looking, of course, as wretched as possible. 
 
 As he entered, Sir John, took no apparent notice, but, with an ex- 
 pression of sternness, commenced his repast. Not a word, in fact, 
 was spoken by either until after breakfast, when Sir John said, " Where 
 does thisD'Almaine live?" 
 
 " In Regent-street," replied George, in mournful tones. 
 
 "I wish to see him," added Sir John; "you can take me to him," 
 
 Corney, who was in attendance, at once got Sir John's coat, and 
 when he had adjusted it, with all his accustomed alacrity and grace, 
 Sir John and George left the hotel . 
 
 " There's suffen up," said Corney, on his return to the room; " there's 
 suffen up extra; I know there is, or they'd never eye each other so 
 vicious. It's last night's job, I'll bet anything to nothing. I wonder 
 how he looked when Sir John went in. I'll bet a million he didn't feel 
 anyhow jolly ! Why don't he do the thing that's right, then? Don't 
 tell me! I say it's right on howdacious to play for a mint o' money 
 like that ! Seventy pound and forty, I heard Sir John say, and then 
 another hundred. Now, just look at that! Seventy and forty: that's 
 a hundred and ten, and then a hundred pound more : that's two hun- 
 dred and ten why it's a fortune! How long should I be saving two 
 hundred and ten pound, by putting by ten pound a year? Why, I 
 should be twenty years about it! Just look at that yet, with him, it 
 all goes like the snuff of a candle! That ain't the way to do business 
 not a bit of it. And then, that champagne : only a guinea a bottle- 
 that's all, for champagne! The waiter tells me they had a dozen of 
 this swill last night, and half-a-dozen the night before: there's eighteen 
 guineas, to begin with ; and then there's a tew extra guineas for the 
 suppers! I wonder what my old father would say, if I were to bring 
 him here, just for a spree, and order a couple of suppers and a mob ot 
 champaigne, and then leave him to pay for the lot! Send I may live! 
 wouldn't he open his eyes when they brought in the bill for his inward 
 digestion! He'd be fit to knock his head off! * Why,' he'd call out, 
 * I've swallowed two cows! I could have fattened a score of pigs, and 
 a hundred turkeys for the money!' And when he came to reckon up 
 how many hearts he could warm and how many hungry bellies he could 
 fill for the same amount, he'd hold it to be one of the greatest sins he 
 ever, in all his life, committed. And it is a sin, when you come to look 
 at it! But then, what's sin to that beauty? What does he care about 
 sin? I often hear him say he's a sinner, and I believe him ! I wonder 
 how he'll look in the other world, when all the poor people he's robbed 
 of bottles of rum, wine, and brandy come against him as they will 
 , for they'll all know it then and tax him with the swindle? I 
 No. 6. 
 
82 THE STEWAHD: 
 
 wonder what he'll say? But if they don't know him now Sir John 
 does, and so do I! I know a precious sight more than Sir John; but, 
 as old father says, it's my bread to know nothing." 
 
 While Corney was delivering this soliloquy, Sir John and George 
 were walking towards Kegent-street, in silence. Not a single observa- 
 tion was made by either ; not a word passed between them until they 
 arrived at D'Almaine's lodging, when Sir John said, " I wish to speak 
 with D'Almaine alone." 
 
 Having been announced, Sir John was shown up, while George- 
 who, of course, guessed the object of his visit remained in the parlour 
 below. 
 
 " I am happy to see you, Sir John," said D'Almaine, who bowed 
 with great politeness, and handed him a chair. 
 
 " My object," said Sir John, " in thus calling upon you, Mr. D'Al- 
 maine, is to ask you a few simple questions, which I hope you will, 
 without a moment's hesitation, answer." 
 
 " Certainly, Sir John ; if I can I will do so, with pleasure." 
 
 " You saw my son borrow a hundred pounds, yesterday ; immediately 
 after the race." 
 
 " I did ; I got him to borrow it." 
 
 " Got him to borrow it! What am I to understand by that?" 
 
 " I wanted a hundred to settle some bets, and I asked him to borrow 
 it for me." 
 
 " Well, but, my dear sir, why did you not borrow it yourself?" 
 
 " Because I'd just before had some money of the same person, and 
 didn't like to ask a second time. But I have settled all since. I merely m 
 wanted it until I returned to town ." 
 
 " Have you paid this hundred pounds, then?" 
 
 " Yes : I paid it last night." 
 
 " Have you got the I. O. U.?" 
 
 "No, that I have not; I never thought of that. But, of course, I 
 will get it and return it to Mr. Croly. Nay, I will, if you please, go 
 with you at once to the person of whom the money was borrowed/' 
 
 " You'd oblige me if you would." 
 
 " Oh, I'll go with yoa with pleasure! Certainly it ought to be re- 
 turned, but it never occurred to me." 
 
 " There is," said Sir Joh'n, " one more question I wish to ask, before 
 we go: did you authorize my son to make any bets for you on the 
 ground?" 
 
 " I asked him to lay seventy pounds to forty for me, and gave him 
 the money to do so. That was the only bet he made on my account, 
 and, of course, I wish now that he had not made that." 
 
 " Is *t usual for one gentleman to make bets for another?" 
 
 " Oh, nothing is more common than that. But," he added, with a 
 smile, " will you allow me, now, to ask you one question?" 
 
 " Certainly, certainly," replied Sir John. 
 
 " Well, being quite at a loss to know where you obtained all your 
 knowledge of these matters, I feel, of course, anxious to be informed. 
 Have you any objection to state who told you?'* 
 
A ROMANCE OP REAL LIFE. 83 
 
 " No one told me," replied Sir John. " I was on the ground my- 
 self. I was coming to town, and seeing a large number of persons 
 assembled, I stopped the carriage, and alighted, and was near my son 
 the whole of the time. You will hence perceive the cause of my anxiety 
 to ask you these questions ; and I feel obliged by the candid manner ia 
 which you have answered them." 
 
 D'Almaine bowed and rose with Sir John ; and when George had 
 joined them below, they proceeded to the house of the Artful. 
 
 Sir John seemed amazed at being conducted to a common-looking 
 public-house, and said at the door, " Are you going in here?" 
 
 " The person of whom the money was borrowed," replied D'Almaine, 
 " is the landlord of this house." 
 
 " Oh," said Sir John, as he followed him in, with an expression 
 which denoted the existence of a feeling very nearly allied to that of 
 disgust " oh." 
 
 "Ben!" cried D'Almaine, having entered the private parlour; and 
 Ben at once appeared, without his coat, it is true, but with something 
 in the similitude of an apron, of which the depth was about six inches 
 no more. " Ben," pursued D'Almaine, with a dexterous wink, " I 
 want the LO.U. which Mr. Croly gave you yesterday for that hun- 
 dred. You recollect it, do you not?" 
 
 " Do I recollect I was alive?" 
 
 " Well, vhere is it? I forgot to ask you for it when I paid you last 
 night." 
 
 *' If you had," replied Ben, who received another wink, " you would T nt 
 have had it! I think I know business a leetle better than that, if it '3 
 only a leetle. It belongs to Mr. Croly ; and of course I should 'nt think 
 of such a thing as that of giving it to any other flesh." 
 
 " Well, I want it to give to Mr. Croly." 
 
 " Haven't I sinews enough in my arm to hand it to him myself? 
 An I.O.U., sir," he added, turning to George, " is an I.O.U. It's 
 what I call a sacred dockiment; and although I 'd trust Mr. D'Almaine 
 with any amount of untold money, it 's against my principles to give an 
 I.O.U. to any flesh but the owner. Here it is." 
 
 " Mr. Croly is of course a friend of yours?" said Sir John. 
 
 " I look, sir, upon every man as a friend which isn't an enemy." 
 
 "But you know him well?" 
 
 ( 'Till yesterday, I did n't know him from Adam." 
 
 "What! lend a hundred pounds to a man of whom you know 
 nothing!" 
 
 " Well, it may seem strange, at first sight ; but I did it." 
 
 " Well, but tell me, my good man I beg of you to tell me what 
 could have induced you to lend a hundred pounds to a perfect stranger 
 like Mr. Croly a man of whom you know nothing, and whom you 
 never saw before?" 
 
 " His character induced me to do it his character." 
 
 { But what could you possibly know of his character?" 
 
 " I got it from Mr. D'Almaine," replied Ben, who, although at first 
 slightly confused, now saw his way clearly. " He told me he was a 
 
S4 THE STEWARD: 
 
 gentleman, which I could see from his appearance, and did n't much 
 want to be told that ; but he also told me he was a man of honour, and 
 the son of Sir John Croly, a jolly old gentleman, worth about a mint ! 
 That's the sort of character I had of him; and of course I couldn't 
 help lending a hundred to a man like that" 
 
 " Then, of course, you hold Mr. D'Almaine responsible?" 
 
 " Well, I don't suppose that he would have allowed me, in any case, 
 o lose the money. I Ve always found Mr. D'Almaine a perfect gen- 
 tleman, always up right and down straight ; and when people want any 
 money of me, why all they Ve got to do is to get him to say it's all 
 right." 
 
 " Well," said Sir John, " 1 could n't conceive what induced you to 
 lend my son this hundred pounds ; but I see now : you lent it on Mr. 
 D'Almaine's responsibility." 
 
 "Your son, sir!" rejoined the Artful, with a well-assumed expres- 
 sion of amazement. " Have I then the honour of addressing Sir John 
 Croly?" 
 
 " My name is Croly," replied Sir John. 
 
 "Bless my soul alive! I beg ten thousand pardons. I'm proud, 
 Sir John, to see you. Pray what '11 you have to take?" 
 
 " I thank you, nothing." 
 
 " Oh! Do me the honour to take a glass of pale sherry. I Ve got 
 some of the very finest in nature! Charlotte!" said he, addressing 
 his wife, who was in the bar, " A bottle of pale sherry, as quick as 
 life! Now, excuse me, Sir John," he added, " you'll excuse me; but 
 how came you to know about this I.O.U.? I 'm sure / never said a 
 word about it to flesh." 
 
 " I saw you receive it," replied Sir John. " I happened to be at the 
 time on the ground." 
 
 "Oh, that accounts for the milk in the cocoa-nut! You were on 
 the ground! Well, I wondered how you could know ; but this clears 
 it all up . Well, Sir John, now did you ever in your life see such a race?" 
 
 " I never saw one before. But it appeared to me that, had he chosen r 
 the loser might have been the winner." 
 
 " His inside went all at once," said the Artful. 
 
 "Then he was distinctly told when to let it go! I my self heard 
 the man who gave him the sponge say, ' Now, then : this round ;' and 
 he almost immediately afterwards staggered. Every man who lost 
 money on that race was robbed." 
 
 "I shouldn't mind a hundred to know who that was," said the 
 Artful, as he looked at D'Almaine, with great significance. " Now, 
 Sir John, do me the honour to try that." 
 
 Sir John poured out about half a glass, which he drank, and ap- 
 proved of, and then put a sovereign on the table. 
 
 " Did n't I ask you," said the Artful, " to do me the honour, Sir 
 John, to take a glass of wine?" 
 
 " Well; have I not taken one?" 
 
 " You have. But did I ask you to pay for it?" 
 
 " No; but that 's, of course, understood." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 85 
 
 "Not by me, Sir John: I don't do business so. I'll not have it, 
 Sir John!" 
 
 " Then give it to the servants. Good morning, I have to apologise 
 for having given you so much trouble," he added, turning to D'Al- 
 maine, with whom he shook hands, and then left with George. 
 
 " Now," said George, " I do not pretend to know exactly your object 
 in calling upon D'Almaine ; but, if it were to ascertain the truth or false- 
 hood of my statement, I hope that you are perfectly satisfied." 
 
 "I am satisfied on two points," replied Sir John; "but 1 am any- 
 thing but satisfied with your conduct on the whole. I hate hypocrisy, 
 George! I hate it intensely 1 If you had a desire to witness this race, 
 why could n't you gratify that desire without saying that you were 
 anxious to attend a meeting of the Society for the Propagation of the 
 Gospel? George! if you would but act like a man, you would be to me 
 a comfort, instead of a curse!" 
 
 " I ascertained that I had been misinformed about that meeting." 
 
 " And, therefore, you dressed in that dashing style, and went to asso- 
 ciate with blacklegs and thieves." 
 
 " I was wrong in going: I admit that I was wrong; but I associated 
 with no bad characters, to my knowledge." 
 
 " I do n't mean to say that I think D'Almaine one of them: I regard 
 him as one of their victims. That young man is ruined I see that 
 clearly. They have got him in their grasp, and will hold him till 
 they Ve drained him, and then they' 11 contemptuously cast him off. But, 
 D'Almaine," he added, thoughtfully, " D'Almaine had he not some- 
 thing to do with those bills?" 
 
 " Pray do not revive that dreadful subject." 
 
 " But is not this the man ?" 
 
 " It is he who got them cashed." 
 
 " He is the man who cashed them and then held forth those frightful 
 threats!" 
 
 "What D'Almaine!" 
 
 " The very man." 
 
 " You amaze me !" said George, who knew well that he had sug- 
 gested this course to D'Almaine, as being the only means left of in- 
 ducing Sir John to pay the bills. " I was not aware of that." 
 
 " Nor was I," rejoined Sir John, " until some time afterwards, when, 
 on further investigation, I ascertained the fact. Therefore, shun him! 
 shun him, George, as you would a viper !" 
 
 " I will !" replied George. " Henceforth I'll have no more to do with 
 
 " Upon your honour ?" 
 
 "Upon my honour. No! Had I known the fact, instead of being 
 friendly with him I should have despised him. And now," he continued 
 with great humility, " may I hope that you will forgive all my follies 
 of yesterday? I admit that I erred, but not to the extent you at first 
 imagined: I efred in associating with this D'Almaine, but as you are 
 aware, I erred iia ignorance." 
 A " George," all that I require of you is to act like a man! I have no 
 
86 THE STEWARD: 
 
 wish to withhold from you any source of rational enjoyment, I have no 
 desire to put you under any restraint: nor would I, George, if I could 
 trust you. It, of course, gives me pain to revert to the past, but 
 your career has been hitherto characterized by the vilest duplicity ! 
 Change all this: substitute integrity for hypocrisy truth for falsehood 
 ingenious ness for deceit and you will find that my heart instead of 
 being turned against you, will beat for you far more warmly than ever. 
 But," he added, as they approached Lejeune's house, "we'll say no 
 more on this painful subject, now. Remember, George, what I have 
 said." 
 
 Having arrived at Lejeune's, Sir John was greeted by Juliana and 
 the Widow with the most affectionate warmth. 
 
 "I thought," said Juliana, "that we were to have had the pleasure 
 f your company to breakfast! Why did you not come ?" 
 " My dear," replied Sir John, " I was engaged." 
 " You were engaged to take breakfast with us," said Juliana, " and I 
 don't know that we shall forgive you for allowing any other engage- 
 ment to interfere." 
 
 Sir John taking her delicate hands in his gazed and smiled, and 
 kissed her brow, 
 
 " Now," said he, " while you people are deciding upon what you 
 intend to do this fine morning, I'll go and have a chat with friend 
 Lejeune." 
 
 " But we cannot decide without you!" said Juliana. 
 "Oh, I am entirely at your disposal! I promise to agree to anything 
 you may propose." 
 
 " I have something to propose," said Charles. " I have to propose 
 that you leave me out of the question, as I wish to remain at home." 
 
 " Well," said Sir John, as he turned to Juliana, " then we'll leave 
 kim out of the question. We can spare him, can we not?" 
 Juliana was silent. 
 
 " Or," continued Sir John, who saw at a glance the object Charles 
 fead in view ; " suppose Mrs. Wardle and I take a turn round the Park, 
 aad leave you to prevail upon Charles to follow us ? Will that do? 
 I'll leave him in your hands. I'll have nothing more to do with him. 
 Mrs. Wardle,. will you do me the pleasure to accompany me?" 
 ** I shall be indeed happy to do so," replied the Widow. 
 " George, will you go with us, or have you any engagement?" 
 " I have no particular engagement," replied George. " I did think 
 >f going to the Panorama." 
 
 " Then, by all means, go. We all dine together, of course. And 
 ow Mrs. Wardle, while you are preparing, I'll g and see how friend 
 Lejeune is getting on. Let me know when you are ready." 
 
 " Have you anything particular to do this morning?" enquired Ju- 
 liana, approaching Charles with an expression of timidity, while the 
 Widow and George were conversing at the window. 
 
 " I have," replied Charles. " I have something particular to com- 
 ttunicate to you." 
 
 Juliana blushed, and felt somewhat embarrassed, when Charles took 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 8 
 
 her hand, and having affectionately pressed it, said, " It is nothing very 
 dreadful, believe ine. Now, run away and assist Mrs. Wardle. Well, 
 old fellow," he added, when Juliana and the Widow had left the room, 
 " how do you like London, now?" 
 
 " The same as ever," replied George. " It is a place to be visited ; 
 not virtuously to live in." 
 
 " That is a sweeping censure, indeed ! If true, all but visitors want 
 strength of mind to resist the temptations to vice which surround them. 
 Now, experience has proved that these visitors are in general more 
 vicious while they are here than the inhabitants themselves. The ma- 
 jority of them at least come expressly with the view of indulging in 
 those vices which they cannot with equal impunity indulge in at home. 
 I believe that in proportion to the population, there are more virtuous 
 persons living habitually in London than are to be found in your pure 
 provincial towns, of which the inhabitants in the aggregate form one 
 chaotic mass of hypocrisy !" 
 
 " Is not this censure equally sweeping and severe?" 
 
 " It is, but more just." 
 
 ** But why should there be more hypocrisy in provincial towns than 
 in the metropolis?" 
 
 " Because it is fpund to be a far more profitable trade." 
 
 " You mean religious hypocrisy, of course?" 
 
 " I do. Here a man gets but little by being a hypocrite : it is not 
 worth his wkile to assume the mask; but there it is regarded as one of 
 the chief sources of success. From the journeyman banker to the jour- 
 neyman baker from the mayor to the mace-bearer all put it on, with 
 a view to the reputation of being honourable men ; as if it were possible 
 for pseudo sanctity and honour to co-exist ! Look at your particular 
 saints in the provinces. What are they? Slimy vipers! subtle, schem- 
 ing, crafty knaves, who, while cringing to all above them, try to crush 
 all beneath them." 
 
 " I admit," said George, " that many by whom piety is assumed, 
 would, if weighed in the balance, be found wanting ; and I fear that 
 some of those who are invested with authority, have, with prayers on 
 their lips, base designs in their hearts ; but I nevertheless think that 
 you are much too severe, ascribing, as I do, the fact of hypocrisy in the 
 provinces being so conspicuous, to the proneness which exists in all 
 small communities to magnify faults." 
 
 " God alone knows their hearts," rejoined Charles. " We can judge 
 only by their acts, and it is notorious that they who envelop themselves 
 in the cloak of religion pursue practices of which the turpitude is even 
 greater than that of professional thieves." 
 
 " Well, I am glad to find that you have so high an opinion of tfre 
 virtue of those who live in the metropolis. Certainly they who reside 
 in the country ought to surpass them in virtue, having, as they have, 
 ample time for reflection; while here, in the midst of this round of 
 excitement, there appears to be no time for reflection at all !" 
 
 " He who has been accustomed to it feels as much alone while walk- 
 ing in the midst of this excitement, as he would if he were walking in 
 
88 THE STEWARD: 
 
 a wilderness. You, for example, would soon become reconciled to it: 
 yon would very soon be able to walk and think without being more 
 disturbed by this bustle and noise than you are in the country by the 
 singing of the birds." 
 
 At this moment the Widow returned with Juliana, and Sir John 
 immediately afterwards followed, and having expressed himself satisfied 
 with the progress Lejeune was making towards a state of convalescence, 
 left the house with the Widow and George, who, on being released, 
 went to call upon the Artful, partly in order to return the l.O. U., and 
 partly with the view of ascertaining from D'Almaine the nature and 
 substance of his private conversation with Sir John. 
 
 D'Almaine was there, and as George entered the room in which he 
 and the Artful were engaged in laying plans for the future, they con- 
 gratulated him warmly on his recent escape. 
 
 " I have to thank you for it," said George, " and do Avith all my 
 heart. It was done well by both of you, excellently well." 
 
 4C A leetle near the mark !" observed the Artful. 
 
 " It could not have been done better. He swallowed it all. Here's 
 your I.O.U. ; keep it until you receive the money." 
 
 " Very well. But I say ! he's nothing like a bad sort!" 
 
 " No; all I have to complain of is that he looks most infernally sharp 
 after me? 
 
 11 Well! then you must look sharp after him, that's all ! Now let's 
 have a leetle lunch. I've a howdacious ham in cut, besides a tidy 
 tongue." 
 
 *' Then produce them," said George, as the Artful rang the bell, " I 
 had but a poor breakfast." 
 
 " What did Sir John say when he left here?" inquired D'Almaine. 
 "Was he satisfied?" 
 
 u Yes; but we'll go into particulars by-and-bye." 
 
 " Will you walk with me presently: I'm going to claim forfeit of that 
 fellow against whom I was to have fought a main of cocks this evening." 
 
 " What, has he called off?" 
 
 ''No, he can't raise the money; therefore the twenty pounds aside 
 down he forfeits of course. I suppose you must stick to the governor 
 to-day?" 
 
 "I must dine with him." 
 
 " All right: I understand. But let us see you to-night. We'll get 
 something up to amuse you." 
 
 " I should like to see the white dog you talk so much about." 
 
 " I'll have him here to-night. He shall kill a few rats, just for prac- 
 tice." 
 
 " Now, gents !" cried the Artful, as the waiter appeared, " here's the 
 ham, and here's the tongue, and here's beef, and here's pickles ! pitch 
 into the whole mob, and don't be afraid!" 
 
 They then commenced, and having had a hearty meal, D'Almaine 
 left with George, to claim the forfeit. 
 
 They had scarcely however quitted the house, when the Widow, 
 addressing Sir, John, said " There's George!" 
 
A ROMANCE OP REAL LIFE. 89 
 
 " George 1" cried Sir John, who had re turned that way from the park 
 quite by accident; " so there is, and with that wretch D'Almaine. Now, 
 my dear madam, don't take the slightest notice: we'll follow him he 
 shall see me, and then he'll know that I have seen him. " 
 
 " Then he took it all in?" said D'Almaine, as Sir John and the Widow 
 approached them. 
 
 " He swallowed the whole," replied George. 
 
 " All I was afraid of," resumed D'Almaine, laughing, " was that 
 I.O.U. I was afraid that Ben would hesitate. But he did it very well. 
 He, of course, felt certain of having it again." 
 
 " Deceitful wretch," murmured Sir John as he passed them, looking 
 at George with an expression of disgust. 
 
 George saw him, and started; but immediately followed, and said, 
 <; I am telling D'Almaine that from this hour" 
 
 " Away," interrupted Sir John, " I have done with you. I'll hear no 
 explanation. I'll not hear a word not a word! there's an end of it all." 
 
 " Well, but surely" 
 
 Sir John and the Widow crossed over the road, and left George with 
 his friend D'Almaine, 
 
 " Dear Sir John," said the Widow, anxiously, " What is it that thus 
 disturbs you ?" 
 
 " Nothing that shall annoy you," replied Sir John. " Let us step in 
 here," he added, as he stopped at a confectioner's. 
 
 " Indeed," said the Widow, " I do not need any refreshment." 
 
 "" I want you to allow me to leave you here a few minutes." 
 
 " But you will not follow him ?" 
 
 " I will not: nor will I be absent long/' 
 
 Having led her into a private room, and begged of her not to feel in 
 the slightest degree alarmed, he left her there, and went over to the 
 Artful. 
 
 " I wish to have a word with you in private," said he, as the Artful 
 came forward and bowed. 
 
 " Oh! Sir John, I beg pardon. Step in here, Sir John." 
 
 " Oblige me with a pen and ink ?" 
 
 " By all means, Sir John." 
 
 " There," said Sir John, having drawn the cheque. " There's a 
 cheque for a hundred pounds in exchange for my son's I.O.U." 
 
 " Sir!" cried the Artful, with a stare of amazement, "I returned it 
 this morning!" 
 
 " I know you did; but you have it now: he brought it back. I know 
 all about it!" 
 
 11 Well, Sir John, if you know all about it, why, you know all about 
 it, and faint my fault. I certainly have got the paper again." 
 " Then let me have it at once: here's the cheque: I'm in haste." 
 The Artful produced the I.O.U , and received the cheque in exchange. 
 
 " lfe w >" sa ^ S"* J nn > " y u cari ^ en ^ mrn a ^ tne money you please ! 
 but nwi-%aaother shilling will I ever pay for him. Nor would I have 
 paid thfohad it not been to prove the peculiarly sacred character of his 
 honour 
 
90 THE STEWARD : 
 
 " Well, but Sir John, Sir, I hope you don't think " 
 
 Sir John put his cheque book in his pocket, and left without con- 
 descending to hear another word. 
 
 " Now, my dear Adelaide," said he, on his return, " I am at your 
 service ." 
 
 The Widow, who was delighted to see him again so soon, took out 
 her purse to pay for a tart which she had ordered, but left untouched. 
 
 " What have you had," he enquired. 
 
 " This tart," replied the Widow. 
 
 " Well," said Sir John, as he looked at her and smiled, " this must, 
 to a great extent, have interfered with your appetite. You'll not be 
 able, I am sure, to enjoy your dinner unless you have that which I 
 shall prescribe." 
 
 " Indeed, dear Sir John, I want nothing.'' 
 
 " Have you any cherry-brandy," he enquired of the person in attend- 
 ance. " If you have, bring two glasses. I am not going to make you 
 tipsy, Adelaide," he added ; " but some cherry-brandy we must have," 
 
 And they had it. They sat, and sipped, and conversed for some 
 time; but all that the Widow was able to ascertain was, that George- 
 for whom she endeavoured to intercede associated with persons with 
 whom he, Sir John, had forbidden him to associate, and that she should 
 know more anon. 
 
 Now, during their absence, Juliana and Charles were deeply engaged 
 in the discussion of that which to them was the most important subject 
 in the world. He had hinted at the cause of his wishing to remain at 
 home he had, in fact, stated that he was anxious to communicate 
 something of a character not very dreadful ; but whether she shrewdly 
 guessed what that something was, and trembled to hear it, or fancied 
 that it might be more effectually communicated some other time, cer- 
 tain it is, that immediately after Sir John, with George and the Widow, 
 had left the house, Juliana ran up to her chamber. 
 
 Charles thought this strange ! of course he thought it strange. 
 " Could she have misunderstood me," he enquired of himself. " I 
 thought I said distinctly that I wished to speak to her, and yet she 
 continues to keep aloof ? Shall I send for her ? Will it be correct to 
 send for her ? Why should it not he ? I will yet stop she may 
 presently be here." 
 
 He paced the room impatiently and waited. He waited by love's 
 suspense chronometer an hour! although scarcely five minutes by any 
 other chronometer in the world and, when he found that he was unable 
 to endure it any longer, he rang the bell, and sent her maid to intimate 
 to her that her presence below would not be at all displeasing. 
 
 Having received this intimation Juliana appeared, and, as she en- 
 tered the room, Charles, with an expression of gaiety which, however, 
 could not conceal his embarrassment, said, " Did you understand that I 
 wished to be alone?" . j* 
 
 v Juliana was silent. 
 
 "Did I say,"" pursued Charles, "or did I merely dream .that I said 
 that I had something to communicate to you?" 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 9J 
 
 " I understood you to say so." 
 " Then, why run away?" 
 " Forgive me," said Juliana, faintly. 
 
 "Forgive you!" he exclaimed, with a smile of admiration. "For- 
 give you! Will you ever run away from me again?" he added play- 
 fully. " Promise me that you never -will and I'll forgive you! Do you 
 promise?" 
 "I do." 
 
 " Very well : then you are forgiven. See what a forgiving creature 
 I am! And now," he continued, as he led her to a chair, "I have a 
 few questions to ask before I communicate that, which I am not quite 
 sure I have not communicated by virtue of a peculiar species of 
 electricity before. Juliana, did it ever occur to you that I loved 
 you?" 
 
 Juliana slightly started, met his gaze for an instant, and then cast 
 her eyes upon the carpet. 
 
 "' Did you ever think did you ever co'nceive it to be possible did 
 you ever dream that I loved you?" 
 
 Juliana was still silent; but she blushed- well no matter how deeply 
 she blushed. 
 
 " Did such an idea," pursued Charles, " even in your most romantic 
 moments ever enter into your imagination?" 
 
 "I have thought," replied Juliana, timidly, "I certainly have thought 
 that you had some affection for me/' 
 
 "That will not do! Affection! If I cannot love you absolutely 
 love you more than all the world, I'll not love you at all, if I can 
 help it!" 
 
 " Certainly," said Juliana, " we ought to love each other." 
 " Why, of course, we ought." 
 " I mean as brothers and sisters." 
 
 " Aye! but that's not what I mean. I mean that we that is to sa y 
 you and I ought to love each other so dearly that Heaven, while 
 smiling upon the record, will marvel that the confession should have 
 been so long withheld. But how is this confession to be made? I 
 don't pretend to be at all deep in the mysteries of a formal declaration ; 
 but it appears to me that I have something extra to do seeing that it is 
 not alone your physical loveliness I admire, but your amiable disposi- 
 tion, pure mind, and gentle spirit! Now, how am I to, go to work? 
 Teach me? What am I to* say? Give me some idea? That I love you, 
 Juliana, that I love you with all the tenderness and ardour of a man 
 you know! and, I knowing also, do not require to be told, that you love me 
 aye! and that with all the purity, and fervour which characterize the 
 most amiable of your sex I know, and, therefore, shall not think of 
 demanding any confession of you! Still I feel that there is something 
 wanted to constitute a regular declaration ! something to make it 
 complete! Now, what is that something? What have I to say? 
 Come, come! you might help me a little! Will you not in this 
 extremity assist me at all?" 
 
 " Do you really think," said Juliana, with a timid smile, " that 
 you need my assistance?" 
 
. THE STEWARD: 
 
 " Why, of course. How should I know what to say? I have had 
 no experience! Come, give me a notion a key to what is usual?" 
 
 " How is it possible for me to do so?" 
 
 u Don't you know at all what is customary on these occasions?" 
 
 "I know that you are a kind, good soul," said Juliana, " and 
 that you have adopted this playful course in order that I might 
 not feel embarrassed. Believe me, I appreciate the motive; and, 
 as regards my love for you, dear Charles, you do not wish me to confess 
 it, and I will not deny it." 
 
 " Juliana," said Charles, having kissed her brow fervently, " my own 
 Juliana, foryou jare my own I have long felt Witchcraft," he added, 
 with a smile of gaiety on perceiving tears spring into her eyes. " Witch- 
 craft, doubtless, inspired me with the feeling that we were destined for 
 each other, and so I told my father and yours." 
 
 "Have you?" enquired Juliana, anxiously, "have you then spoken 
 to them on the subject?" 
 
 " Of course!" 
 
 " And and what did they say?" 
 
 " They said, Juliana, that they believed that we were worthy of each 
 other!" 
 
 "Bless them! bless them!" exclaimed Juliana, as Charles passion- 
 ately pressed her to his heart. " OhP' she added, bursting into tears, 
 "I am so happy so very, very happy!" 
 
 "Indeed!" said Charles, drying his eyes privately. "Indeed! happy 
 and in tears! What a happy creature Niobe must have been. Am I 
 to infer from th^ fact of your being happy when you weep that you 
 are wretched when you smile? Come, this will never do this will 
 never do at all . There," he added, after a pause, during which they 
 gazed at each other with an expression of the most intense affection. 
 *' There now, run away, I have nothing more to say to you now: run 
 away. Having succeeded in making you so -wretched I am happy." 
 
 Juliana, however, did not " run away." She lingered still, and wept 
 .and smiled, and clung to Charles, as they paced the room with hearts 
 full of rapture, and thus they continued locked in each others arms 
 -until they saw Sir John and the Widow approaching, when she yielded 
 .to another sweet embrace, and having blessed him with fervour, dis- 
 appeared. 
 
 " Well, Charles," said Sir John, as he and the Widow entered the 
 xoom; " still alone, I perceive. You must have been very dull?" 
 
 "Not at all;" replied Charles, with a smile of great significance, 
 which not only Sir John but the Widow understood all having been 
 explained to her during their absence " not at all! I hope that you 
 Jhave had a pleasant walk?" 
 
 " Have you forgotten," said Sir John, " that I have had the society 
 -of Mrs. Wardle?" 
 
 " Well, it didn't occur to me at the moment. Of course it couldn T t 
 be otherwise than pleasant?" 
 
 "Really," said the Widow, "you gentlemen spoil us. You are so 
 Complimentary, so kind, so polite, that you cause us sometimes to forget 
 Jour superiority!" 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 93 
 
 ' Our superiority !" said Charles, turning to Sir John, "when they 
 carry all before them, and when it takes, moreover, all our time to- 
 please them ! They are, doubtless, impressed deeply with a sense of 
 our superiority! Why, we are their slaves! we seem to live expressly 
 for them! St. Peter, indeed, calls them the weaker vessels; but that 
 weakness is the germ of their strength ! We are morally weaker than, 
 they! for what is it but weakness which prompts us to love them, to 
 praise them, to court them, and even to adore them? I hold this to be 
 a species of infatuation, which indeed, develops nothing but weakness. 
 Superiority, forsooth ! Why they know well that they are the superior 
 swells! St. Peter is their friend; but what says St. Peter? ' Ye wives 
 be in subjection to your husbands, that if any obey not the word, they 
 also may without the word be won by the conversation of the wives." 
 Does this show our superiority? He knew their influence! in short r 
 he being a married man, knew, of course all about it. But," he added ? 
 with a smile, " I shall have a lecture presently, if I continue to talk 
 thus in the presence of Mrs. Wardle. Have you seen George?" 
 
 " Yes," replied Sir John, " I have seen him." 
 
 " He'll be here directly, no doubt," said Charles. " Now," he added, 
 looking at his watch, " you have just sufficient time to dress for 
 dinner." 
 
 " I'll go," said Sir John, as George knocked at the door" I'll be back 
 in ten minutes." 
 
 He then left the "room and met George coming in, but although he 
 looked at him, he said not a word. Nor did a single word pass between 
 them during dinner. The Widow, to whom Juliana had confided the 
 substance of all that transpired between her and Charles, was in excel- 
 lent spirits, and so indeed was Charles ; but Sir John, although he tried 
 to subdue the feelings which George's conduct had excited, found it per- 
 fectly impossible to be gay. He therefore left unusually early, anc 
 George left with him; and as they walked side by side, Sir John said< 
 "Where is that I.O.U.?" 
 
 " I have destroyed it," replied George ; " I destroyed it this morning.' 
 
 " Very well," returned Sir John, who could scarcely control his indig- 
 nation; "very well." And not another word was uttered until they 
 reached the hotel, when Sir John summoned Corney and retired. 
 
 Now, Corney, who felt quite at home in this establishment, had. 
 become a great favourite of the Porter, from whom he had drawn the 
 secret of George having gone out the preceding night when Sir John 
 had retired to rest, and conceiving it to be extremely probable that when 
 all was secure George would go out again, he made up his mind to follow 
 him, in order to see where he went, and to ascertain what he went for. 
 
 He therefore, on being dismissed for the night, prevailed upon his 
 friend to tell him when George went out; and as the porter had been* 
 instructed to let George know when Sir John had retired, the required 
 information was given to both, and both very soon left the hotel. 
 
 They had however scarcely left, when Sir John rang his bell, and the 
 Porter, who went up, was, on being questioned closely, constrained to 
 admit that Corney was out. 
 
94 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " Strange," said Sir John, " very strange. Desire him to come 
 immediately on his return." 
 
 " Is there nothing I can do, Sir John?" inquired the porter. 
 " I wish to see him; therefore, send him up the moment he returns.** 
 The porter of course promised to do so, and left him. 
 Meanwhile, Ccrney enveloped in a great coat four sizes too large for 
 him, and muffled-up in a shawl of extraordinary dimensions followed 
 George, of course unconscious of the alarming fact of his having been 
 summoned by Sir John. 
 
 '.'Now, I wonder," thought he, "what that beauty is up to; I doubt 
 he's after no good. And yet, perhaps, he is going to see life. Well, 
 I've often heard of life; and, doubtless, life ought to be seen. But 
 what sort of life do they call life? That wholly puzzles me. Now, 
 I know town's the place for improvement. I know I've improved vastly 
 siace I've been here. I've picked up a whole mob of words in that 
 kitchen which'll right on astonish the rurals at home. If, therefore, to 
 see life is to improve, I now stand an excessively out-and-out chance; 
 inasmuch as life ought to enlarge the inaccessible incomprehensiveness 
 of the highly intellectual intelligence of the mind. That's the ticket! 
 that's what makes the Londoners about five-and-twenty times as wide- 
 awake as weasels. Hallo! here you are," said he, as George entered 
 the house of the Artful; "now, then, for a taste of this incompre- 
 hensible life." 
 
 He followed, and called for a glass of ale, which he leisurely sipped 
 as he stood at the bar, while George and D'Almaine was in the little 
 bar-parlour. 
 
 Presently, he heard George swearing aloud but had, of course, no 
 idea ot its being in consequence of the I.O.U. having been given to Sir 
 John and the next moment saw him come to the door in a rage, and 
 summon the landlord from the bar. 
 
 ^ "What's up now," thought Corney, as high words arose between 
 George and the landlord. "There's something amiss and yet this 
 may be life in its cradle : I shall see it by-and-bye, perhaps, in all its 
 youth and beauty. Anything going forward up stairs?" he inquired 
 of a man who was standing beside him at the bar. 
 " Batting," replied the man. 
 
 "Oh!" said Corney, who did not at all understand what was meaat. 
 " Ratting: ah! There appears to be a good many people going up." 
 " The room is always full when there's anything of a match." 
 "Ah. But, ratting: what's that?" 
 
 " What d'you mean?" cried the man, with a scowl. " You don' knew 
 what it is, I dessay!" 
 
 " I don't, indeed," returned Corney. " I've only just come up to 
 town." 
 
 " Well, if you don' know, I'll tell you. They put a number "of 
 rats say twenty, thirty, forty, or fifty, or a hundred into the pit, 
 and the dog that kills 'em quickest wins the match." 
 " Oh, ratting!" cried Corney: "I see." 
 " A sort of rat hunt, with all the rats ketched." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 95 
 
 " I understand. Will you have a glass of ale?" 
 "I'd rather have a drain o' gin." 
 
 " Well, then, have it," said Corney, who emptied his glass, and then 
 ordered two " drains" of gin. 
 
 By this time, the storm in the bar-parlour had subsided; and 
 shortly afterwards, George and D'Almaine re-appeared, and proceeded 
 up stairs with the landlord, 
 
 " Will you go up?" said Corney, addressing his friend. 
 " They charges sixpence a-piece," replied the man. 
 "Never mind," said Corney; "come along; I'll pay for you. I 
 don't like to go alone. Will you come?" 
 
 The man consented, and they went up together, and found the 
 room crowded with persons, of whom the majority were, perhaps, the 
 most ferocious-looking fellows that ever assembled within a correspond- 
 ing space. 
 
 " Now," said D'Almaine, addressing George, " If you want to see a 
 dog kill in style, my Blazer will show you how it ought to be done. 
 But, first," he added, aloud, " if there be a dog in the room that any- 
 one happens to be sweet upon, I'll back mine against him for a tenner 
 or a twenty to kill five-and-twenty rats, and give him five pounds 
 weight." 
 
 " Mine shall kill against yours for a fiver," said a fellow who had a 
 dog under his arm. 
 
 " Yours!" cried D'Almaine; "yours is nearly double the weight." 
 " Can't help that. I didn't make him. Here he is, what he is. If 
 you like to make the match, post the money." 
 
 "Well, I don't mind for a fiver: the weight's too much, but I only 
 want to show what he can do." 
 
 " I'll bet a tenner on the little one," cried George. 
 " Done!" cried the Artful. " Make it twenty if you like?" 
 George, whom D'Almaine, had assured that no dog alive could beat 
 his, replied, " Well, then twenty let it be." 
 
 The rats were produced and counted into the pit which was formed 
 of a sheet of zinc, three feet wide, making a circle of about four yards 
 in diameter and D'Almaine having won the toss put his dog 
 amongst them. 
 
 Two time-keepers and a referee, of course had been appointed, 
 and when the dog had done his work which he did with amazing 
 quickness they agreed upon the time without the slightest hesita- 
 tion. 
 
 The pit was then cleared and fresh rats were produced, which the 
 other dog killed even quicker than D'Almaine's! the difference was not 
 more than three or four seconds, but quite sufficient to cause George' to 
 lose his twenty pounds. 
 
 Now this " sport," Corney didn't like. The blood of the dead and 
 dying rats produced a feeling of sickness which was anything but 
 agreeable. He, therefore, turned to his friend, and said, " I'll tell you 
 what it is : I can't stand much more of this game. I must go and have 
 some brandy!" 
 
THE STEWARD: 
 
 " Oh," said his companion, " stop and see the next match. I'll stand 
 a glass when we go down." 
 
 Well! Corney did stop, although he felt very queer: but before the 
 
 match was over he missed his friend ! He thought it strange ! very 
 
 strange but conceiving that his friend might feel equally queer, and 
 had gone down to order the brandy, he followed, but found no friend 
 there. 
 
 " "Well," thought he, as he stood at the bar, " he needn't have sneaked 
 off so ! I didn't want him to pay for the brandy ! He thought, I 
 suppose, I couldn't pay for it myself! What do I care? Let him go." 
 
 He then ordered sixpennyworth of brandy ::nd water ; but when he 
 was about to pay for it, he found the pocket in which he usually kept 
 his money turned inside out! This he thought even more strange than 
 the absence of his friend! He felt his other pockets: they were all out 
 for an airing! He felt for his watch, and even that was gone! 
 
 "I have been robbed!" said he, to the man who had mixed the 
 brandy and water " plundered of everything !" 
 
 " Can't help that," replied the man, " I want the money ior this six 
 of brandy." 
 
 "I tell you I've been robbed of every penny, watch and all! Did 
 you see that man come down stairs I was standing here with ?" 
 
 " I don't know what man you stood here with ; but you are the only 
 man that's been down since the -matches commenced." 
 
 "I am! that's lucky. I shall catch him yet. I'll stand here till he 
 does come down, and then I'll pounce upon him!" 
 
 " Well, but who's to pay for this six of brandy ?" 
 ' Stop a bit: stop till I get my money back." 
 
 " Stop till you get it back. If you never get it back, who's to pay 
 for it then ?" 
 
 " What's all this about," demanded the Artful, as he came down, 
 followed by George and D'Almaine. " What's the row ?" 
 
 " This fellow," said the barman, " has ordered six of brandy, and now 
 he pretends he's been robbed." 
 
 " Pretends," cried Corney, indignantly. " There's no pretending in 
 the case! Look here. They've turned every blessed individual pocket 
 I have about me inside out, and stole my watch into the bargain !" 
 
 " Where was this done ?" enquired the Artful. 
 
 " Up stairs," replied Corney, " while the rats were being killed." 
 
 George who had recognised his voice in a moment, but who had 
 kept back until he heard that Corney had been up stairs now came 
 forward, fully convinced of his having been seen, and looking at him 
 fiercely, said, " How came you here ?" 
 
 " Beg pardon," replied Corney, who now of course saw that he had 
 discovered himself. " Indeed, Sir, I beg pardon: but I hare been 
 robbed." 
 
 "Serve you right!" cried George, with an expression of ferocity. 
 " What business had you here ?" 
 
 " Do you know him, Sir ?" enquired the Artful. 
 
 " Know him," replied George. " I know him." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. ^ 97 
 
 " Well, then, we'll find out who robbed him if we can." 
 
 " Remain here till I leave," said George, sternly. " Do you hear ?" 
 
 " Til not go, Sir, till you go," replied Corney, humbly. And when 
 \reorge had entered the room with D'Almaine he begged of the Artful 
 to find out the thief. 
 
 " Now," said George, while Corney, with tears in his eyes, and with- 
 out a pocket-handkerchief to wipe them, was mournfully describing his 
 absent friend, " how came that infernal fellow here ?" 
 
 " Do you think Sir John sent him?" inquired D'Almaine. 
 
 "I don't know what to think," replied George; "I can hardly think 
 him guilty of such an act of meanneds. Besides, his object has ever 
 been to conceal all that he has discovered." 
 
 " Then of course he would not employ his servant to find you out?" 
 
 " No," said George, " no : he was never sent by him. But how 
 came tfie fellow here?*' 
 
 " Perhaps he came by mere accident? 1 ' 
 
 " Well, but look at the time! He has no right to be out at this time 
 of the night!" 
 
 " If, like you, he slipped out unknown to Sir John, you can soon 
 make that all right with him." 
 
 " Ys, if it should be so but then there's the * if !' And yet I can't 
 think that he has been sent as a spy.** 
 
 " No, no ; it isn't likely. You may make your mind easy on that 
 point at once ; and us for the other if he came out merely for a spree 
 why, for his own sake, hell not say a word to Sir John. I wouldn't 
 let the thing disturb me. It certainly is strange that he should happen 
 to come into the very house but " 
 
 "I'll be no longer in suspense," said George; "I'll ascertain at once. 
 If you'll do me the favour to leave the room for five minutes, I'll have 
 him in here." 
 
 " Shall I send him in." 
 
 " Aye, do so," replied George, who immediately assumed a severely 
 solemn aspect; "yes, do so." 
 
 Corney, who was anxiously watching for his friend, on hearing this 
 summons, was about to leave his post, but was instantly stooped by the 
 Artful. 
 
 " No, no," said he, " wait till they're all down, or as they must be 
 pretty wll all down now, come up with me into the room and point 
 him out," 
 
 They accordingly went up together; but, alas! Corney 's friend was 
 not visible there, and as it was clear that that friend had decamped, the 
 Victim, in obedience to George's summons, slowly entered the bar par- 
 lour. 
 
 " Now, sir," paid George, with an expression of solemnity, " how came 
 you here?" 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir," replied Coraey tremulously, " I hope you'll for- 
 give me. I only slipped out, sir, to see a little life." 
 
 "Life !" echoed George, in a tone of surpassing gravity, " life! In 
 guch life there is death! death to virtue, to probity, to innocence! 
 No. 7. 
 
98 4- THE STEWARD: 
 
 death to every sentiment of justice and of mercy! death to those feel-- 
 ings -which exalt the man above the grovelling level of the brute!" 
 
 " I know it's wrong, sir," said Corney ; " I know it's very wrong 
 but I hope, sir, you'll not tell Sir John of it." 
 
 " Were he to know that you were here, he would on the instant dis- 
 charge you. As for me, he knows my mission. He knows that it is to 
 watch the progress of vice to measure the strides of profligacy, and to 
 note the baneful influence of corruption! He knows that my object is 
 not like yours, the gratification of a morbid appetite, but to mark how 
 innocence is betrayed how virtue is snared and how honour is 
 blasted I" 
 
 u I hope you'll forgive me : I hope you will, sir, and not tell Sir 
 John." 
 
 " I know not," replied George, " whether I can, consistently with my 
 duty to him, forbear; but if I do, it will only be on one condition, which 
 is that you solemnly promise me never to enter a house of this descrip- 
 tion again." 
 
 " I never will, sir; indeed I never will." 
 
 " Remember that in houses of this character the scourges of society 
 assemble those scourges that are permitted to show by contrast how 
 sweet is a life of rural purity and devotion." 
 
 " I will remember ; indeed I will. Then you'll not tell Sir John, 
 sir?" 
 
 " I'll not. I feel that I ought to do so, but I'll not. Now return. 
 I'll ascertain if your watch can be recovered, and follow shortly." 
 
 Corney bowed, and having thanked him, left the house. 
 
 "Now," said he, confidentially to himself, "I'll not talk of flesh! 
 flesh I'll not think about! no! I'll talk of angels for if they didn't 
 know him, he'd deceive the whole lot. I never there don't say a word 
 about deception don't breathe the name of hypocrisy after this. Nothing 
 can come up to it ! It's what I call a right on excruciating something, 
 which makes you feel while it lasts that your knowledge of the man is 
 nothing more than one monstrous leviathan lie ! His mission : yes, his 
 mission. His mission to back a dog for twenty pounds against another, 
 to worry the life out of five-and-twenty rats ! Aye ! but then he did 
 this to watch the progress of vice, the strides of profligacy, and the influ- 
 ence of corruption! -he did it to mark how innocence was betrayed, 
 how virtue was snared, and how honour was blasted! I remember every 
 word. And if I didn't know what I do know, what should I take him 
 to be? But send I may live though, isn't it awful? Isn't it enough to 
 make a man's blood boil? isn't it enough to make him hate the sight 
 of one who pretends to such out-and-out sanctity? Who can wonder at 
 his passing for a pure and pious man? No one who knows him as I 
 do, If I hadn't known him so well, I of course should have swallowed 
 it all. And he thinks I have swallowed it all I know that's what he 
 thinks because he don't know I know what I know. That man ought 
 to be a play actor. He can take any part, rough or smooth. He can 
 speak like a parson, or swear like a trooper. He can pull a long face, 
 or drink, laugh, and be jolly: he can talk about innocence, virtue. 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LII''E. 99 
 
 and faith, and bet an even tenner upon a rat-dog. Nothing conies amiss 
 to him: I never saw his likeness in fact, I don't think there's another 
 of the sort. He gets over me altogether. But what a set of wretches, to 
 have to deal with! scourges, he calls them the scourges of society - 
 permitted or sent, like bugs and fleas, to prey upon the innocent which 
 isn't wide awake. Well, one of these scourges scourged me pretty tidy! 
 here s even-and-sixpence, besides the coppers, and old father's watch, 
 worth all a pound, and a handkerchief which cost three-and-six when 
 it was new. If he has such a haul about every a week, he'll soon be 
 able to keep his horse and gig! But, how did he get the watch out? 
 that, puzzles me; not that it's a mite of use being puzzled about it- 
 not a mite, I wonder he didn't take shirt and all ! Now, I know what 
 I'd do with that fellow: I wouldn't hang him, hanging's too good for 
 him; he should have neither judge nor jury; I'd take him as he is, 
 and I'd strip him to the hips, and tie his hands and feet fast, and lay 
 him in that rat pit. I'd then get a hundred hungry out- sized rats and 
 make them savage, and if they didn't teach him how to steal another 
 watch and another pocket-handkerchief, and another seven-and-six- 
 pence, it would be a very strange thing to me. And this is life! Well 
 might George say, that in such life there's death. And that's how he 
 gets over you. What he says about things is so true that you can't get 
 a pull; for how much virtue, how much innocence, how much justice, 
 or how much mercy, was there round that blessed rat-pit ! If he'd only 
 act up to what he says, he'd do stunning ; but he won't, and that makes 
 him what he is the cunningest card that ever deceived living flesh." 
 
 Now, as Corner's profoundest thoughts were engaged in this soli- 
 loquy, and as he unconsciously walked notwithstanding his great coat 
 and shawl at the rate of five miles an hour, he perspired with such 
 infinite freedom that he was pleased, highly pleased, when he reached 
 the hotel ; but what pen can describe the true nature of his feelings- 
 what pencil can portray his intense dissatisfaction, on receiving that start- 
 ling intelligence with which the swelling bosom of the porter teemed! 
 
 " What!" he exclaimed, with an aspect of horror. " Ah!" he added, 
 after a pause, "you're only joking," 
 
 " I tell you," said the porter, u that if he's rung once he has rung a 
 dozen times, and that he is even now waiting up to see you." 
 
 " Well, but do you, now, I say, upon your soul, now do you only 
 tell me this to .frighten me?" 
 
 " It's a fact, as I'm a man. There you are," he added, as the bell 
 rung again; "are you satisfied, now?" 
 
 " Well, but what am I to say? My life, though, here's a job! What 
 excuse am I to make? I could make a thousand; but the question is, 
 which of that thousand will do? I can't say I've been to see a friend, 
 because I don't know a soul." 
 
 " I generally get over these things best when I tell the truth," ob- 
 served the porter. 
 
 " Yes ; but if I tell the truth I shall bring another into the scrape." 
 
 " Your young master, you mean?" 
 
 "Yes; andfforf'M not do," 
 
 "Well, you know your own business. 1 have always found the 
 
KK) THE STEWARD: 
 
 truth answer the purpose best. At all events, if I were you, I'd lose 
 o more time-; I'd go u ) at once, and see him." 
 
 " Weil, but I'm so stunning hot! I'm all over wet The perspi- 
 ration pours down me to such an extent that I'm like a hot shower- 
 bath all over.* 
 
 " So much the better ; it will show that you were anxious to 
 make haste home. There, go up at once. You know what to say." 
 
 " If I do may I be blessed! However! I must go! and I should 
 not be surprised if I have to go for good. As true as I'm alive, it's 
 enough to make a man eat his head off. He couldn't want me 
 at any other time! No, he must want me on this particular night, 
 because and, of course, merely because I was out. Well! I'll go 
 up, at all events, and hear what he says, I must make the best I can 
 ef it, but bad will be the best." 
 
 He accordingly went up to Sir John's room, and knocked, and oa 
 being desired to enter, he did so, and found that Sir John had been 
 reading. 
 
 " Cornelius:" said Sir John, calmly, " Where have you been?" 
 
 " Just for a walk, Sir John," replied Corney, promptly. 
 
 " Why choose the night for a walk, when you're at liberty nearly 
 the whole of the day?" 
 
 " I only thought I should like to have a walk, Sir John. I beg 
 pardon, Sir John, for not naming it to you." 
 
 - ' Have you been walking all the time you have been out?" 
 
 " No, Sir John, not exactly all the time. I went in and had a glass 
 4f ale." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 "I don't know the sign, Sir John; but it isn't far from here; perhaps 
 nearly half a mile." 
 
 " Then you merely walked there and had this glass of ale, and walked 
 back? You are sure that you went no where else?" 
 
 " Quite sure, Sir John!" replied Corney, who now began to think he 
 was getting over it in style. 
 
 " How long did you remain in this house?" 
 
 "Perhaps five or ten minutes, Sir John." 
 
 " Oh, five or ten minutes. Then you walked half a mile, stopped 
 five or ten minutes, went no where else, but came back in a state of 
 steaming perspiration, and did all this in three hours and a half! Is 
 that what you wish me to believe?" 
 
 " I might have stopped longer, Sir John, than ten minutes. " 
 
 " Did you stop an hour?" 
 
 " I might have stopped an hour." 
 
 " Then by dint of great exertion for I perceive that you perspire 
 very freely you walked this mile in about two hours and a half!" 
 
 Corney, who was not prepared for this, and didn't at all know how 
 to get over it was silent. 
 
 " You had better," continued Sir John, " tell the truth. If you do 
 *o I may perhaps look over it ; but if you continue to prevaricate I'll 
 take you back with me: yes, I'll take you back but I'll discharge you, 
 sir, immediately on our return." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. I'j} 
 
 " I dare not, Sir John, I dare not tell the truth.' 
 
 " Dare not? Why not? Have you been in bad company?" 
 
 "I have, Sir John." 
 
 " I am sorry to hear it. I thought, Cornelius " 
 
 " If," said Corney, who now felt that Sir John was about to deliver 
 a lecture on the wrong subject " If you'll only say, Sir John, you'll 
 not tell Mr. George that I told you, you shall know the whole truth 
 from beginning to end." 
 
 ** George!", echoed Sir John, in a state of amazement, "George! 
 what has he to do with it? Have you been out, then, for him?" 
 
 "No, Sir John, not for him, I have been out with him." 
 
 " With George? well, proceed," 
 
 " But you'll not let him know, Sir John?' 
 
 "No no: proceed." 
 
 "I knew it was wrong very wrong," pursued Corney; "but a*.- 
 Mr. George went out last night, and as he told the porter to-night tc* 
 Jet him know when you had retired, I thought, as a matter of curiosity^ 
 Sir John, I'd follow him and see where he went to." 
 
 * How dare you, sir, assume the office of a spy?" 
 
 "I know it was wrong, Sir John, Tery wrong indeed; but yo^ 
 wished me to tell the whole truth." 
 
 " Did you not say that he went out last night?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir John." 
 
 " And is he out now?" 
 
 " He is ; but for goodness sake, Sir John, don't let him know I told you.' K 
 
 "Well well: goon." 
 
 "Well, Sir John, I followed him: I followed him into this public 
 house, and while I was at the bar he went into the bar-parlour " 
 
 14 Did he not see you?" 
 
 "He might have seen me, Sir John; but didn't know me: I dis- 
 guised myself in a great coat and shawl." 
 
 " Well?" 
 
 ' By-and-bye he came out of the parlcur with a gentleman that 
 dashing gentleman who was here, Mr. D'Almaine I think his name is 
 and they went up stairs with the landlord. I followed and found that . 
 some dogs were going to kill some rats in what they called a pit." 
 
 "And did George bet upon either of the dogs?" 
 
 ' Yes, Sir John. He bet upon one dog and lost twenty pounds: but 
 for Heaven's sake, Sir John, don't tell him I told you!" 
 
 "Did you happen to hear whose dog that was?" 
 
 " Yes, Sir John, Mr. D'Almaine's." 
 
 " And who won the money?" 
 
 " The landlord, Sir John. Well, the sight made me sick, and I 
 went down stairs for a small glass of brandy; but when I felt for the 
 mcney to pay for it, I found I'd been robbed of every individual thing? 
 silver, halfpence, handkerchief, and all! they even took my old 
 father's watch!" 
 
 "Well? Goon." 
 
 " Well, Sir John, I never felt so bad before in my life: and while- E 
 
}Q2 THE STEWARD: 
 
 was teiling the people how I'd been robbed, I discovered myself, Mr. 
 George knew my voice and ordered me into the bar parlour. Well, I 
 felt so ill I didn t know what to do ; but I begged of him not to tell 
 you that I'd been there, and after he had told me that you knew that 
 his object in going to such places was to see how innocence was betrayed 
 how virtue was snared, and how honour was blasted, he gave me a 
 very severe lecture, and sent me home." 
 
 "And this is the truth?" 
 
 " The whole truth, Sir John, as I hope to be saved !" 
 
 " Very well, it shall go no farther,: unless indeed you name it your- 
 self, which of course you will not do seeing that if you do I shall be 
 compelled to part with you at once. You may retire : but never again 
 go out without leave or assume the vile office of a spy." 
 
 Corney bowed and withdrew, and having told his friend the porter 
 that he had managed to get over it pretty well, he enjoined him not to 
 say a word on the subject to George. 
 
 " Now," thought Sir John, when Corney had retired, " what am I to 
 do ? He is, I fear, incorrigible, and yet he must not be abandoned. 
 No ! to cast him off were to entail not only ruin upon him, but shame 
 upon all connected with him. Bad as he is I have still a duty to per- 
 form ; I must still try to win him back to that path of rectitude from 
 which he has so lamentably strayed. Oh! what a noble youth he was 
 how kind, how generous, how affectionate with a heart as free from 
 guile as that of an infant, and a mind containing all the germs of intel- 
 lect, what promise did he give of being a good, if not indeed a great 
 man! What is he now ? A rat-killer, a dog fancier, a badger drawer, 
 a cock fighter at once a patron and a victim of the dregs of society, an 
 associate of the very scum of the earth and withal a most incompre- 
 hensible hypocrite ! Can this grievous change be ascribe-d to any want 
 of exertion or care on my part ? Can I reproach myself with having 
 in the most remote manner been the cause of this perversion of taste 
 and intellect ? True, I sent him to Cambridge ; it is also true that in 
 that accursed Barnwell his heart and mind were poisoned, but can I 
 censure myself for this ? It may be said that I ought to have nipped 
 his profligacy in the bud ; but did I not endeavour to do so by all the 
 the means at my command ? and did he not on every occasion on 
 which I discovered his delinquency declare with all the fervour of truth 
 that he had resolved on abandoning such practices for ever ? What 
 could I do more ? Have I not taken the utmost pains with him- 
 treated him with all possible kindness made every effort to ensure his 
 happiness checked him when I knew him to be wrong, and applauded 
 him when I conceived him to be right ? How, then, can I reproach 
 myself ? I feel that I cannot do it justly. Yet something must be 
 done. He must not be cast off. He is now in the midst of temptation 
 and must therefore no longer be here. When away from these scenes 
 of senseless profligacy, I must, if possible, devise some novel means to 
 reclaim him. I fear that all my efforts will be, as they havehitherto 
 been, useless: still every conceivable means must be tried. I should 
 not hold his reformation to be so hopeless were it not for his hypocrisy. 
 
A KOMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 103 
 
 One knows neither when he is touched nor when he is not, for he has, 
 unhappily, no respect for truth. That note in which he pledged his 
 * sacred honour ' proves that he is not on his ' sacred honour ' to be 
 believed. There is the difficulty! there is the curse! Were he a 
 thoughtless profligate merely, he might with comparative ease be re- 
 claimed, but as he is a deep designing hypocrite I fear that the case is 
 hopeless although it must not be given up yet in despair." 
 
 Having made up his mind to return with George as soon as he could 
 do so without causing his real motive to be suspected, Sir John rose 
 early, and while at breakfast with Charles, Juliana, and the Widow, in- 
 timated his intention to leave town on the Monday. 
 
 " Monday!" exclaimed Juliana, " next Monday ?" Do you mean the 
 day after to-morrow ?" 
 
 " Yes, dear," replied Sir John. 
 
 " Then, indeed, Sir John, we cannot possibly spare you. You must 
 stay another week with us at least!" 
 
 " Another week, my dear, may not have elapsed before I see you 
 again. 1 came merely to see how you were all getting on, and as I 
 find that you are getting on well my object of course is accomplished." 
 
 " Then you promise to come again within a week ? " 
 
 " I cannot make any absolute promise, but I think it very likely that 
 I shall do so !" 
 
 " Then, dear Mrs. Wardle can of course remain with me until you 
 return ? " 
 
 " You must settle that point between yourselves. I must leave that 
 entirely to you." 
 
 " Well, but what do you want to go at all for ?" enjoined Charles. 
 
 " I have some arrangements to make," replied Sir John, ' some ar- 
 rangements which I find it impossible to make here." 
 
 " Well," said Charles, who conceived that those arrangements might 
 have reference to himself and Juliana. " I have nothing more to say on the 
 subject. Then, of course, you return alone ?" 
 
 " George will go with me." 
 
 " Do you want him to go ?'* 
 
 " Why he will have been here a week !'* 
 
 " Yes! but I've not spent a day with him yet !" 
 
 "You have nearly the whole of to-day before you!" 
 
 " True ! but I had no idea of his leaving so soon ! Was he not tip 
 when he left ?" 
 
 " I didn't see him. w 
 
 "Well, then," said Charles, "if these ladies will allow me, I'll con- 
 sign them to you, and spend the morning with old George." 
 
 " Well, we don't want him ! Do we my dear ? " said Sir John, ad- 
 dressing Juh'ana archly. 
 
 " I hope that he will dine with us," replied Juliana. 
 
 " Of course ! That's understood ! " returned Sir John. " Of course 
 we all dine together." 
 
 Accordingly Charles immediately after breakfast took leave of Juliana, 
 arid called upon George whom he found somewhat languidly breakfast- 
 n alone. 
 
104 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " Well, old fellow," said Charles as he entered the room. " Why 
 didn't you come over and breakfast with us ? You are about the most 
 modest creature I know. I suppose you 'd no foi^mal invitation ? " 
 
 " I didn't rise till rather late," returned George, " I can't go to sleep 
 till its time to get up. The noise which the carriages produce is worse 
 than thunder." 
 
 " Well, you'll not have much more of it this time," said Charles . 
 You leave, I understand, with the Governor on Monday." 
 
 "On Monday?" 
 
 " So he has just been telling us; and I therefore left the ladies with 
 him for the purpose of spending the morning with you." 
 
 " Well," returned George, who of course understood that Sir John's 
 chief object was to get him out of town. " That's kind very kind. I 
 am quite at your disposal." 
 
 " Now," said Charles, " before we go out for a stroll, I have a secret 
 to communicate to you old fellow, which may although I don't know 
 why it should much amaze you." 
 
 " A secret !" cried George, in the full expectation of its having refer- 
 ence to himself. " What is it ? " 
 
 " It is that I am about to be married." 
 
 "Married!" cried George, who felt released on one hand, although 
 galled on the other. " Married! Why to whom ? " 
 
 " To whom should you think ? Have your eyes of late been sealed? " 
 
 " You do not mean Miss Lejeune ? " 
 
 " Why, whom else should I mean ? " 
 
 " Well, but I thought you hinted to me the other day that L^jeune 
 and his brother had been ruined." 
 
 " I did so in confidence : but what of that ? " 
 
 " She has, perhaps, some property in her own right ? " 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 " Merely, Charles, that if she has not the Governor may withhold his 
 consent to the match." 
 
 " I have his consent." 
 
 " Oh!" cried George, with an expression which effectually concealed 
 his real feelings, " if that be the case there's an end of it. I wish you 
 every possible happiness," he added, taking his hand and shaking it 
 warmly. " May you have every joy permitted here and that eternal 
 bliss promised hereafter. Well," he continued in tones of unusual gaiety 
 " and when is it to be ? Has the day been fixed ? " 
 
 " No," replied Charles. " We have not got so far as that yet. In 
 fact I've not yet obtained Juliana's consent." 
 
 " Indeed ! But of course, you 've no doubt " 
 
 "Not the slightest. We understand each other exceedingly well, 
 and I may venture to say that the marriage will take place as soon as 
 Lejeune has sufficiently recovered to take part in the ceremony." 
 
 "Well! And do you intend to reside in town ? " 
 
 "I don't know at present what arrangements may be made, but I 
 believe that they are the cause of the Governor's leaving town so soon." 
 
 " Then he is going to make arrangements at home. Ah, I see. Well, 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 105 
 
 I've no doubt they '11 be on a liberal scale. Does Mrs. Wardle return 
 with him on Monday ?" 
 
 " I believe not, in fact I feel sure that she will not. By the way,'* 
 he added, smiling, " did you ever hear the Governor call her Adelaide ?" 
 
 "Adelaide!" echoed George, with a momentary scowl. "Adelaide! 
 Never." 
 
 " He called her Adelaide yesterday, inadvertently I believe, still as 
 Adelaide he addressed her." 
 
 " Then, I suppose we are to have two marriages in the family." 
 
 "No," replied Charles, "I don't think that, although I should like 
 her as a step-mother just as well as I do in her present position, and so 
 would Juliana I know. Still I don't think that anything of that kind is 
 contemplated." 
 
 " Well," returned George, " it may not be." 
 
 "I'll ask him one of those days," said Charles, laughing, " I'll put it 
 to him whether it is to be a match or not. I'll tell him that you are 
 most anxious to know." 
 
 "Nay, I am not anxious about it at all. Mrs. Wardle is a very vir- 
 tuous person ; her piety, moreover, is unquestionable, and I really do 
 not know of one whom I should like as a step- mother so well.' 1 
 
 "I'll certainly tell him you say so," said Charles. "But," he added, 
 " there is no chance of that. They regard eath other as brother and 
 sister, but that anything beyond that is contemplated by either I don't 
 for a moment believe." 
 
 " Well," said George, "I do not see why it should not be." 
 
 " Nor do I," returned Charles, whom the idea amused, " I'll name it 
 to him if I live." 
 
 They then with an air of gaiety left the hotel, but although Charles 
 took him to various exhibitions which he conceived could not fail to 
 delight him, George was deeply engaged in his own private thoughts 
 having reference to " Adelaide," Charles, and Juliana. 
 
 " Adelaide!" thought he, " it is high time for me to look out. Ade- 
 laide! the thing speaks for itself. He would never address her as 
 Adelaide, unless he intended to make her his wife, Adelaide, indeed! 
 I see it all as clearly as if it were done. His aim is to rob me of my 
 birthright. This is to be his revenge. He has given his consent to 
 this marriage the marriage of a younger son with a girl without a 
 shilling, in order that they and their children may be supported hand- 
 somely out of the estate, while he contemplates making this Adelaide 
 his wife, that he may leave her the residue, if not absolutely, at least 
 during life, and thus reduce me, who ought to have the whole, to a 
 state of comparative beggary. I see it! / see it ! cunning as he is, 
 I see it all. I must henceforth regard him as my enemy aye, as my 
 greatest enemy for who can be a greater enemy than he who seeks to 
 rob a man of his birthright? I must be on the alert; I must watch 
 events narrowly ; I must not stand by tamely, and see myself robbed 
 of that to which by nature I am entitled. He calls me a hypocrite ! 
 well! all men are hypocrites ; but which is the greater hypocrite he 
 who assumes the character of purity, with the view of securing his 
 
106 THE STEWARD: 
 
 rights, or he who, in order to beggar a man, wears the mask of paternal 
 affection? Why he is a far greater hypocrite than I, He tries to 
 generate the belief that he has for me all the affection a father should 
 have for a son, while engaged in a series of deeply-laid schemes to 
 deprive that son of his birthright. Does such a man deserve to be 
 called father? Would that he were dead!" 
 
 That this style of reasoning tended to make George more satisfied 
 with himself is a fact which scarcely need be recorded, seeing that how- 
 ever base men may be, they seek, if not a justification for their baseness, 
 at least an excuse for its existence. He who injures another without 
 an excuse hates himself; but if he can attach blame to him whom he 
 injures if he be able to conceive, without reference to proof, that that 
 man designed to injure him, he at once pleads this as his justification. 
 Thus the robber seeks to justify himself, on the ground that society is 
 his enemy ; and thus George, who had been up to that time unable to 
 attach the slightest blame to Sir John who knew that he had been 
 kind and affectionate who knew that he had done all that a father 
 should do, and who could find no plea for disobedience, no reason to 
 cast upon him any reproach the very moment it entered into his ima- 
 gination that Sir John was designedly working against him, he seized 
 the idea to cherish as the means by which his conscience might in 
 future be hushed. 
 
 Hence, during dinner that day, he watched Sir John with the feelings 
 of an injured man, and noticed sufficient to strengthen his suspicions ; 
 bait that which confirmed them that which, in his view, placed Sir 
 John's intentions towards the Widow beyond all doubt was his undis- 
 guised politeness to her that evening at the opera, to which they all 
 repaired, Charles having, as a compliment to George, secured a box in 
 the morning. He then felt convinced that he saw in the Widow the 
 future Lady Croly ; and as he still cherished the thought that she was 
 to be made Lady Croly solely in order to injure him, his feelings, 
 although "he concealed them, amounted to those of indignation. 
 
 That night, and during the whole of the next day, George was 
 brooding. He went to church in the morning with those whom he now 
 termed "the set;" he also dined* with "the set;" and at night when 
 Sir John had retired, he went to meet D'Almaine, to whom he had 
 written a note, stating that he should be at the Artful's, to say " Good 
 bye," as he had to leave Town in the morning. 
 
 Hf re his moodiness to some extent vanished ; and as his principal 
 object was to acknowledge the fact that he owed D'Almaine two hun- 
 dred and fifty pounds, he alluded to it at once, " But," he added, " I'll 
 pay you one of these days, old fellow. I'll send it up as soon as I can 
 get it." 
 
 " All right," said D'Almaine ; " don't be in a hurry about that. I 
 don't want money ; I'll let you know when I do, which will not be, ifc 
 strikes me, just yet. But, I'll tell you what I'll do with you: come, 
 I'll give you a chance I'm always unlucky when I go double or quits, 
 but I'll give you three throws, if you like, to see whether you shall owe 
 me five hundred or nothing." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 107 
 
 "Agreed !" cried George, who was pleased with the proposition, being 
 generally fortunate with the dice, " It's Sunday night, but never mind 
 that; where's the box?" 
 
 The box and dice were produced, and George threw twenty-five. 
 
 "I shall lose it," cried D'Almaine, changing the dice; "I shall 
 lose it!" 
 
 He threw, and got ten; he threw again, and got ten, the third tine 
 he threw, and got twelve! 
 
 The dice were loaded ; but George, unconscious of that, at once gave 
 him an I.O.U. for five hundred pounds. 
 
 "Well," said D'Almaine,"! never expected to win that game! 
 Twenty five is an out and out go. But what'll you have? I'll stand 
 anything you like! Let's have some champagne." 
 
 " Aye," said George, waspishly, " let's have something." 
 
 Champagne was ordered, and they sat and drank together till six in 
 the morning ; when George returned to the hotel, washed himself, and 
 thrust his loose things into a trunk, and, almost immediately after he 
 had had breakfast with " the set/* he and Sir John, attended by Cor- 
 ney, left town. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 THE DAY IS NAMED. 
 
 -' JULIANA," said Charles, shortly after Sir John and George had left 
 them, " you are not in your usual spirits, love; are you not well?" 
 
 " Yes, dear; quite well," replied Juliana. 
 
 " Then why look so sad?" 
 
 " Do I look sad? Well, perhaps it is the loss of that dear Sir John 
 whom I love you don't know how I love him." 
 
 " Then why don't you marry him?" said Charles, looking as serious 
 as he could look. 
 
 " Marry him, dear?" 
 
 " Aye, we ought to marry those whom we love !" 
 
 "Yes, but this is a different sort of love." 
 
 c ' Love is love ; you can make neither more nor less of it! If you 
 really love him, why don't you have him? He is perfectly free! at 
 least, I'm not aware of his having any engagement! Why don't you 
 make up your mind to marry him at once?" 
 
 " When I say that I love him," replied Juliana, " I mean precisely 
 what I should were I to say that I loved my own father." 
 
 " Your father and mine are two different men. There is a law to pro- 
 hibit your marriage with the one, but there is no law at all to prevent 
 your marrying the other! Besides, by marrying him, you would at 
 once be Lady Croly! If therefore you love him and you say I don't 
 know how you love him " 
 
 " I have noticed," said Juliana, archly, "that when you have some- 
 thing very serious to say, you always begin with a jest." 
 
108 THE STEWARD: 
 
 "A jest! is it a jest for a lady to say that she loves? or is it a jest 
 to believe it? What say you Mrs. Wardle?" he added, as the Widow 
 at this moment entered the room, " I know a lady who is deeply in 
 love, but who imagines, when you mention the subject, that you are 
 jesting. Now is love a jest? You know all about it! Do ladies jest 
 when they say that they love, or do gentlemen jest when they say they 
 believe it?" 
 
 " Indeed," said the Widow smiling, " you must not appea 
 to me." 
 
 " Aye!" cried Charles, perceiving that she was about to leave the 
 room, " but I wish to appeal to you;, and I wish to ask you another 
 serious question: Is my father disengaged?" 
 
 " Disengaged!" echoed the Widow with a look of embarrassment 
 " how is it possible for me to tell?" 
 
 " What do you think?" 
 
 " I certainly think that he is." 
 
 'But do you not absolutely know that he is?" 
 
 "Well," replied the Widow, blushing deeply, " I think I may venture 
 to say that I do." 
 
 "Very well," resumed Charles, "now I'll tell you why I ask: this 
 lady loves him; she says that I don't Isnovrhow she loves him! which, 
 I presume, being interpreted, means that she loves him very dearly 
 and yet, when I strongly recommend her to marry him, she imagines 
 that I am jesting." 
 
 " Well," said the Widow, addressing Juliana, with a smile, " Sir 
 John certainly asked me once if I did not wish you were a few years 
 older for his sake." 
 
 "Mrs. Wardle!" exclaimed Juliana. "My dear! why you are almost 
 as naughty as Charles." 
 
 " Nay, my love, it is a fact! And I remember what followed. He 
 said, ' Why, there's only about thirty years difference! I must think 
 about this, Mrs. Wardle. You have really recommended her to me so 
 strongly that I must think, Mrs. Wardle, I must think!" 
 
 "Now," cried Charles, "what do you think of it now?" 
 
 " I think," replied Juliana, smiling, " that you are two very, very 
 n&ughty people." 
 
 ' But you don't think that this was said in jest?" 
 
 " Of course I do," replied Juliana. 
 
 " You are quite right, dear," interposed the Widow ; " it was." 
 
 " Don't believe it," said Charles, playfully. " Don't believe it for n 
 moment! There is such a thing as jealousy in the world!" 
 
 " But you don't believe that dear Mrs. Wardle is jealous?" 
 
 " Why of course I do! But, oh!" he added, " what an error I have 
 committed! How thoughtless I have been! how exceedingly stupid, 
 I shall never be forgiven!" 
 
 * % For what, dear?" enquired Juliana. 
 
 " For telling Mrs. Wardle that you really loved my father." 
 
 ** What do you mean, you funny man?" cried the Widow. 
 
 " I mean," leplied Charles, with an expression of mock gravity - 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LITE. 109 
 
 " that I ought not, on any account, to have mentioned the fact in your 
 presence?" 
 
 " Why not?" 
 
 "That's right, dear," said Juliana, "question him well! He has 
 teased us, and now we'll retaliate. Now, sir! why not? Answer that 
 question." 
 
 " Because," replied Charles " But don't both attack me at once." 
 
 "We'll have no mercy on you, sir! Answer this question: Why 
 ought you not to have mentioned the fact of my loving Sir John in the 
 presence of Mrs. Wardle?" 
 
 " Because I ought not to wound her feelings." 
 
 " But how came you to imagine that my feelings would in consequence 
 be wounded?" enquired the Widow. 
 
 " Aye! said Juliana, " how came you, sir, to think of such a thing?" 
 
 " Mrs. Wardle herself induced the thought." 
 
 " I induced the thought!" cried the Widow. 
 
 " Most certainly." 
 
 " But how?" 
 
 " Aye, sir, how? That's the question!" said Juliana. " How?" 
 
 " You press me very closely," said Charles, with a smile, " and I'll 
 tell you, if indeed you really wish me to do so." 
 
 " Of course we wish you to do so," returned Juliana. " How came 
 Mrs. Wardle to induce such a thought?" 
 
 " By blushing," replied Charles " deeply blushing when my father- 
 inadvertently I believe called her Adelaide!" 
 
 " You are a very tiresome creature," cried the Widow, with assumed 
 playfulness, ** and I'll not remain any longer with you." 
 
 " Is that a fact, dear?" earnestly enquired Juliana, as the Widow left 
 the room. " Did he really call her Adelaide? And do you think- 
 dear, you know what I mean! do you think that they will marry?" 
 
 "Well, I really begin to think so!" 
 
 U 0h dear! I'm so delighted! How happy they will be! I'm over- 
 joyed to hear it! I'll run up and give her a thousand kisses, and " 
 
 " Stop, stop!" cried Charles, as he gently restrained her. " You have 
 not yet named the day!" 
 
 "The day, dear!" said Juliana, tremulously, "what day do you 
 mean?" 
 
 " What ! have I been talking to you all this time, without asking you 
 even to name the day?" 
 
 " But what day, dear?" 
 
 " Why, the day on which we are to be married! The day," he con- 
 tinued, as he pressed her to his heart* while her drooping head fell upon 
 his bosom " the day on which she, whom I hold most dear, will be 
 mine for ever! the day, Juliana my own! my own treasure! on 
 which our mutual happiness will really commence ; and I pray to Him 
 in whom we confide, and in whose presence we shall be united, that it 
 may be the sweet harbinger of a long, long life of faith, peace, devotion, 
 . and joy!" 
 
 " Charles dear!" said Juliana fervently, but faintly, as she nestled 
 
THE STEWARD: 
 
 still closer to his warm and manly heart, " you overpower me. But do 
 not conceive that the tears I now shed spring from the most remote feel- 
 ing of apprehension. No, dear! in you I may confide. You have in- 
 spired me with faith, and to doubt were heresy: nay, if I could enter- 
 tain the slightest doubt of you- of your truth, your generosity and 
 honour, it would be so terrible to me that I should go mad! Forgive, 
 dear Charles, the confession of this faith: it is a sweet faith to cherish; 
 and I speak thus undisguisedly because I know your heart, and feel its 
 influence: I feel that my own is so united with it now, that there are no 
 secrets between them." 
 
 " Juliana," said Charles, having listened to her with feelings of rap- 
 ture, " I know that you believe me to be better than I am " 
 
 " Indeed, dear - " 
 
 ''Indeed," said Charles with a smile, having silenced her with a kiss, 
 
 l Tm not going to listen to any recantation! Continue to cherish the 
 
 faith you have confessed. It is a beautiful faith: hold it firmly: hold 
 
 it until I give you cause to recant, and that will be when I cease to 
 
 love you." 
 
 " And that," said Juliana, with a look of illimitable confidence " that 
 will never be!" 
 
 " Does your faith extend so far?" 
 
 " So far! There are no limits to my faith in you." 
 
 "Juliana, you fire me with ambition." 
 
 " Ambition, dear?" 
 
 " Yes ; he who is praised by her whom he loves, becomes ambitious 
 of being all for which he is praised, that that praise may not be con- 
 strued into flattery." 
 
 " That is a noble ambition indeed!" 
 
 " Very good Still I must say that you are rather severe upon me! 
 you have set me the task of being pretty nearly perfection!" 
 ; I feel that I could not have set you a task more easy." 
 
 " You think so because it is a task which you have accomplished!" 
 I never had such a task set me till now!" 
 
 " Well, if you have not acquired it, why it is innate!" 
 
 " Can that be construed into flattery, dear?" 
 
 " Can the sun be flattered?" 
 
 "No, dear! but the moon may be, because to the sun she owes her 
 lustre! You love the moon, dear?" 
 
 " I love you!" 
 
 " Call me your moon, since to me you are the sun!" 
 
 "Indeed I'll do nothing of the sort! The sun and moon, while the 
 world lasts, can never be united! They are distant friends! He just 
 gives her a look at night when it's fine: when it's not, she never sees 
 him! ^ Hence it is that she looks so coldly upon him sometimes allow- 
 ing him to see her profile merely and even when she turns the full face 
 of her beauty, it is to reprove him for not being near. I have no desire 
 to be thus separated from you: you, therefore, shall not be my moon. 
 No! you shall be my star, Juliana! tome the cynosure whose bright- 
 ness and purity shall guide me to happiness here and hereafter! But," 
 
A ROMANCE OP REAL LIFE. Ill 
 
 he added, as she gazed with the air of a devotee and he was in reality 
 her idol " we have gone quite away from the point in question!" 
 
 " The point in question?" echoed Juliana. 
 
 " Aye! Have you led me away from it in order that I might for 
 the present lose sight of that point? I simply asked you to name the 
 day, and we have ever since been talking about other matters!" 
 
 " The day, dear " said Juliana tremulously " the day you mean 
 I cannot name." 
 
 " Then," said Charles with a playful smile, " who is to name it? 
 Am I? Leave it to me? Perhaps that will be better! Upon my 
 honour I'll not hesitate one moment if you do! Leave it to me at 
 once ! You really ought to appreciate the politeness which prompts rue 
 to offer to take the responsibility upon myself ! Will to-morrow suit 
 you?" 
 
 " To-morrow, dear." 
 
 " Well the next day then? or the day after that? Believe me if 
 you will but leave it to me I'll not delay the matter until we are old." 
 
 " Dear Charles," said Juliana with a gentle smile, " I must, on this 
 subject, first speak to papa." 
 
 "I see! You are not at all disposed to relinquish your prerogative. 
 You'll not allow me to name the day although I could name one of 
 which I know you would approve." 
 
 " What day, dear, is that?" 
 
 " The day on which your father is allowed by Mr, Raymond to go 
 to church to return thanks for his recovery." 
 
 " Let that be the day !" exclaimed Juliana fervently, as the tears 
 sprang into the eyes of both. "Let that be the day; and may that 
 day be hallowed I" 
 
 "Juliana," said Charles, as he endeavoured to conceal his emotion, 
 "you are a good girl a good girl God bless you! But," he added, 
 assuming an expression of gaiety, for he clearly saw that Juliana's feel- 
 ings were intense, " what would you say if my father and Mrs. Wardle 
 were to be married at the same church and on the same day?" 
 
 " That would be delightful!" replied Juliana. " It would then be a 
 happy day indeed! But do you really think, dear do you absolutely 
 believe that they will marry?" 
 
 I do " returned Charles " I certainly do. The belief has not 
 much foundation I admit : indeed the only foundation it has is the fact 
 of his having addressed her as Adelaide!" 
 
 " I know" said Juliana " I know a much stronger foundation 
 than that. She is a dear! He must love her: every one must love 
 her. She is so affectionate, so considerate, so good. And then there's 
 nothing to prevent it! not even an inconvenience! it wouldn't put 
 her out of the way at all! I should like it to be so dearly! Still she 
 might have confided in me. She might have hinted that such was at 
 least likely to be the case. Did Sir John ever say a word to you, dear, 
 on the subject?" 
 
 " Never. Until I heard him inadvertently call her ' Adelaide ' I 
 had no idea of anything of the kind being in contemplation." 
 
112 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " But do you not think that it is possible for him to have called her 
 Adelaide without having any idea of marrying her?" 
 
 " It is possible, certainly perfectly possible but not in my view at 
 all probable. Did I address you as Juliana before I had an idea of 
 marrying you?" 
 
 " Certainly not, dear!" 
 
 " Would you not have thought it strange if I had done so?" 
 
 "Well, I certainly should." 
 
 " And so would Mrs. Wardle have thought it strange had nothing of 
 the kind been contemplated by them. But she did not appear to think 
 it strange at all. She certainly blushed, but then it was clear she would 
 not have blushed if I had not been present. Nor did she seem to regard 
 it as being very extraordinary when I mentioned the fact before you. 
 8he merely called me a tiresome creature and then with a playful air 
 ran away." 
 
 " Well, I shall be indeed delighted if it be so." 
 
 " And anything which tends to inspire you with delight must be 
 -pleasing to me." 
 
 " You are a dear good soul. But you are all kind creatures. I love 
 you all you and Sir John, and Mrs. Wardle." 
 
 41 And George?" 
 
 " I will love him as the brother of my own dear Charles." 
 
 " He appears to be eccentric to those who don't know him, but I 
 believe him to possess a most excellent heart. We were talking on this 
 very subject on Saturday, and he seems to like the idea of the match 
 exceedingly. * Mrs . Wardle,' said he, ' is a very virtuous person : her 
 piety, moreover, is unquestionable ; and I really do not know of one 
 whom I should like as a step-mother so well.' So you see on all hands 
 the match is unobjectionable." 
 
 " Well, I do so long to hear all about it. Will you excuse me dear 
 for a time ? You cannot think how anxious I am to know all." 
 
 " Do you think that you'll be able to ascertain all of her ? " 
 
 "Oh, dear, yes: I feel sure that I shall." 
 
 " Then go and try; and, before you return, ascertain also whether 
 the day which we have, of course conditionally, named, will be con- 
 sented to by your papa." 
 
 Again Juliana blushed ; and again he embraced her ; and when 
 he had affectionately led her to the door, they embraced each other 
 simultaneously, and parted. 
 
 Juliana's first object was still to see the Widow, whom she found 
 sitting pensively in her own room. 
 
 " My dear Mrs. Wardle," she exclaimed, as she entered, " I am so 
 very happy to hear what I have heard. I hope that our conjectures 
 are correct?" 
 
 "What conjectures, love?" enquired the Widow, with an effort to 
 conceal the sadness which her thoughts had engendered "what 
 conjectures?" 
 
 " Those which have reference to you and Sir John. Now, are they 
 correct? Am I really to have the pleasure of addressing you as Lady 
 
A ROMANCE OP BEAL LIFE. 113 
 
 Croly? Oh, I shall be so delighted if I have ! Not that I can possi- 
 bly love you more than I do now ; but we shall be such a very happy 
 family; and Charles thinks so too and so does George." 
 
 " George, my love?" 
 
 " Yes ; he and Charles have been conversing on the subject." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "Oh, yes; and they are both so delighted! George says that he 
 knows of no one on earth whom he should like so well; and I'm 
 sure " 
 
 "Pardon me, my love, for one moment; can you tell me what 
 induced this conversation?" 
 
 " Between Charles and George?" 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well, dear, I cannot exactly say that I know; but perhaps George 
 also heard you addressed by Sir John as Adelaide?" 
 
 " No, my dear, never." 
 
 " Then perhaps Charles, being so pleased with the thought of your 
 becoming the dear wife of Sir John, named it to George." 
 
 "It may be so," returned the Widow; "but does it not, my love, 
 appear to you to be strange that a circumstance so trifling as that of 
 my having been thus addressed by Sir John, who has known me so 
 many years, should have induced the idea of there being anything 
 intended beyond the mere expression of that esteem with which we 
 have ever regarded each other?" 
 
 " Well, dear, assuming the circumstance to be slight, it merely 
 shows how slight a thing can inspire belief where there is hope." 
 
 " It is true, my love, that hope is one of the germs of belief; but as 
 far as I am concerned, I neither hope to be, nor believe that I can be, 
 on earth happier than I am. Sir John is kind, extremely kind; he 
 always has been kind to me, indeed : he could not be more kind if I 
 were his wife." 
 
 "I believe that: yes, that I believe: but I thought it would be so 
 delightful, my dear, if you and I were to be married at the same church 
 on the same day." 
 
 " My love," said the Widow, with an expression of fervour, " I may 
 explain to you, one of these days, why I ought not, in any case, to 
 marry again: but," she added, being anxious to change the subject, 
 " you spoke of marrying at the same church, and on the same day; has 
 the day on which you are to be married been named?" 
 
 "Conditionally," replied Juliana: "but, oh! I feel so disappointed ; I 
 feel so sorry that our conjectures have proved baseless. I did so hope 
 that all we imagined would be realised . It would have been so plea- 
 sant: I should have enjoyed it so much. You cannot think how de- 
 lighted I should have been. It would then, indeed, have been a happy 
 day." 
 
 " I expect, dear, it will be indeed a happy day as it is. But you said 
 that the day had been named conditionally; may I know the conditions?" 
 There is but one, and that is dear papa's consent." 
 
 thought that he had consented?" 
 .No. 8. 
 
114 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " Not to the day, dear. The day which has just been proposed by 
 Charles is that on which Mr. Kaymond consents to allow poor papa to 
 go to church to return thanks for his recovery." 
 
 " A very proper day/' observed the Widow, " a very proper day, 
 indeed ; and I hope that, for the sake of all concerned, that that day 
 will not be distant. I have reason to believe that it will not be, for 
 Mr. Raymond, who has just left, told me that so great had been the 
 improvement in your dear papa's health during the last few days, that 
 he should give him leave to get up for a short time to-morrow." 
 
 "I am very glad to hear it," exclaimed Juliana; " but the day must 
 not be named absolutely until Sir John returns, seeing that his pre- 
 sence must be held to be indispensable. That is of course understood. 
 Independently of which I shall require time to make my arrange- 
 ments." 
 
 " Of course," rejoined the Widow; "and where do you think of 
 spending the honey-moon, dear?" 
 
 " I have not yet given that a thought ; but I hope that you will 
 accompany us wherever we may go: I should be, dear, so much at a 
 loss without you." 
 
 " I'll consent, my love," said the Widow, with a smile. 
 
 " There's a dear !" said Juliana, as she kissed her affectionately. " Now 
 I'll go and speak to papa : but I must again say that I should be de- 
 lighted if Sir John were on the same day to make you Lady Croly." 
 
 " And so should I," thought the Widow, as Juliana left the room; 
 " under any other circumstances, so should I. Not for the mere sake of 
 being called Lady Croly, nor because I believe that I should be more 
 happy then than I am now ; but solely because I feel that it would 
 impart additional happiness to him, than whom a man more worthy of 
 being happy, does not breathe. I know that my refusal has given him 
 pain, and i r< gret it I regret it exceedingly; but what am I to do? 
 Am I or am I not to violate my vow? I must not, dare not, do it!" 
 
 While the Widow was thus silently engaged in weighing her duty 
 against her inclination, Juliana was delicately explaining to Lejeune 
 that which Charles had so aptly proposed* 
 
 " Well, my dear," said Lejeune, as he listened to Juliana attentively, 
 "I have not only no objection, but. I feel highly pleased that such a day 
 has been named. I do give my consent to its being on that day -a day 
 on which I trust a new era of happiness will open to us all." 
 
 "Be sure that it will, dear papa," said Juliana; "I have not the 
 slightest doubt on the subject myself. We shall be happy to see each 
 other happy. You will be happy I know that you will to see me the 
 bride of such a man, while we shall be happy to see you restored. 
 But when, papa, when do you think that Mr. Raymond will consider 
 you sufficiently recovered to venture out?" 
 
 " I hope, my love, that it will not be long before I obtain his per- 
 mission to do so." 
 
 " Beg of him, papa, not to allow you to venture out too soon ; I 
 will most earnestly do so myself. We are in no haste, papa we are 
 not in the slightest haste. Let it be a week after his permission has 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 115 
 
 been obtained. If the consequence of your going should be a relapse, 
 our happiness could not be perfect." 
 
 " My dear girl, we will act with all possible caution. We shall in a 
 few days know more than we know now. It will for the present be 
 sufficient for me to say that I consent, and for you to communicate 
 that to Charles. Is he now in the house ?" 
 
 " He is, pappa." 
 
 "Very well; then return to him at once. I shall see him again in 
 the course of the day, and then we can talk the matter over together." 
 
 "Dear papa!" cried Juliana, as she fervently embraced him, "I 
 know not how sufficiently to love you. You are so kind, so conside- 
 rate. Whatever proposition may be made, having a tendency to pro- 
 mote my happiness, you accede to." 
 
 " Can you marvel at it, my girl, when your happiness is the only 
 earthly object I have in view?" 
 
 " I cannot but marvel that I am so blest ; every one is kind to me," 
 
 " You deserve the kindness of every one; you deserve it, my child, 
 and I feel that you ever will." 
 
 " I ought to be good, and I hope I ever shall be. But, papa." she 
 added, "you say that dear uncle is abroad; can I not write to let him 
 know that I " 
 
 " Leave that to me, my love leave that to me. I don't at present 
 know his address. When I get about again I shall doubtless ascertain ; 
 and if it be possible he shall be with us. Now run away, my love ; 
 run away, and tell Charles that which he is probably anxious to 
 hear." 
 
 Juliana obeyed, and Lejeune, who imagined that, as Richard had not 
 written to him, something very dreadful had occurred, sank at once 
 into a most painful reverie. 
 
 " Well," said Charles, when Juliana had returned to him, "have you 
 been successful?" 
 
 " I have been," replied Juliana; " I have; papa has consented." 
 
 I felt that he would," 
 
 " But he did it so kindly. It gave him pleasure to hear that such a. 
 day had been named." 
 
 " I am very glad to he ;r it," said Charles, " very glad. Then I'll 
 write home to night. He of course could not tell you when that day 
 was likely to be ?" 
 
 " He could only "hope that it would be soon. I urged him not to be 
 precipitate. I begged of him not to venture out until he was even more 
 than sufficiently recovered to enable him to do so with safety. I even 
 proposed a week after he had obtained the permission of Mr. Raymond;, 
 because we are in no haste, dear, are we ? and it would be such a very 
 dreadful thing if he were to have a relapse, would it not ? Besides, 
 when I mentioned my dear uncle Richard " 
 
 " Did you, my love, mention him !" exclaimed Charles, with an ex- 
 pression of anxiety. 
 
 ' Yes, dear yes ! I hope that I have not done wrong ?" 
 
 " No, my love, not at all ! not at all icrong /" 
 
^lit) THE STEWARD: 
 
 " Why, then, did you start, when I said that I had named him ?'* 
 
 " Did I start ! Well, perhaps it was because I imagined that it 
 
 -might have disturbed your papa. You see, my love, he does not 
 
 ^exactly know where your uncle is, and he feels, of course, naturally 
 
 ^anxious to know ; as you would naturally feel anxious to know where I 
 
 was, if I were abroad and you here." 
 
 " Aye ! but you must not go abroad without me 1" 
 
 " I promise you that I never will." 
 
 " But do you really imagine that I did disturb papa by naming my 
 -dear uncle to him ?" 
 
 " Well, it might have induced him to think, that's all. But, my love, 
 did you succeed with Mrs. Wardle ?" 
 
 " Oh dear, not at all. I fear that all our conjectures are baseless. 
 "*She ascribes the fact of Sir John having thus addressed her solely to 
 the esteem which as old friends they have for each other." 
 
 " But I never heard him address her thus before." 
 
 " That, dear, may probably account for the fact of her having blushed 
 at the time. Certainly, from all that I can gather, it appears that she 
 'has made up her mind not to marry again." 
 
 " Well," said Charles with a smile, " if it be so there 's an end of it 
 at once. I must apologise to her for having mentioned it : or, perhaps, 
 -you will be kind enough to do so for me : and if you are disposed for a 
 walk before dinner, while you are dressing I'll write a note home." 
 
 Juliana consented, and during her absence Charles hastily wrote to 
 ^Sir John. 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 THE RECONCILIATION. 
 
 DURING the first three stages of their journey not a word passed between 
 
 ^ Sir John and George. They were apparently reading, but not in reality : 
 
 their thoughts were not fixed upon the books which they held. Each 
 
 wished the other to speak, but neither felt disposed to begin, until Sir 
 
 John at length finding that George's taciturnity could not be by silence 
 
 overcome alluded calmly to the note in which George had pledged his 
 
 Jionour that the hundred pounds he had borrowed, he had borrowed 
 
 for D'Almaine, and then produced the I.O.U. as an irrefragable proof that 
 
 .he was not upon his honour to be believed. 
 
 " You wrong me," said George, with a stern expression, " you every 
 >.vay wrong me." 
 
 " Wrong you !" exclaimed Sir John. 
 
 " Yes !" 
 
 i; Why, is not this a manifest proof of your falsehood ?" 
 
 " No ! Everv word in that note is substantially true. The money 
 was borrowed for D'Almaine." 
 
 " What ! George, you amaze me. You fire me with indignation." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 
 
 " And why ? Because you cannot bear to have the truth from me - 
 because you prefer the adoption of any meanness which may cause the- 
 truths I utter to be construed into lies ." 
 
 "Why was this LO.U. returned to that man," demanded Sir John, 
 with an expression of anger. " What induced you to return it ?" 
 " My honour." 
 " Your honour." 
 
 " Aye, my honour ! I had become responsible for the amount, and" . 
 felt bound to return it." . 
 
 " And was it your honour which prompted you to tell me distinctly ; 
 that you had destroyed it." 
 " It was." 
 " What !" 
 
 " I was compelled to prevaricate in order that I might not violate my^ 
 honour. That prevarication I admit : you forced me to prevaricate z 
 but every word in that note is true." 
 
 Sir John was astounded, perfectly astounded. He sank back in the- 
 carriage, and looked at George with a mingled expression of incredulity . 
 and defeat, while George returned that look with an air which might . 
 have been by any man mistaken for that of conscious innocence. 
 
 " And do you really mean to persist in that statement ?" inquired 
 Sir John, after a pause, during which he endeavoured to collect those 
 thoughts which George's boldness had confused. 
 
 " Of course," replied George, " well knowing it to be true." 
 " Then why not explain this before we left town ?" 
 " I explain ! I ! Would you have listened to any explanation from 
 me ? No. You would have treated me as usual, like a dog ; for like 
 a dog have I been treated of late, loaded with every species of contumely, 
 suspected, insulted, spurned ; and yet the father who has treated me- 
 thus has acquired the reputation of being a just man." 
 " I have, George, endeavoured to be just." 
 
 " You have not been just to me. I have received at your hands 
 neither justice nor mercy. The delinquencies of youth, and the follies of 
 inexperience, are too indelible to be erased from the heart of an angry . 
 father. No. I have committed myself, and must therefore be content . 
 to be an outcast for ever." 
 
 " Would to God," exclaimed Sir John, as tears sprang into his eyes, 
 " that forgetfulness of the past, and kindness for the future, could re- 
 claim you." 
 
 " You have not, I fear, the heart to forgive my follies, and hence you 
 cannot have the disposition to treat me kindly." 
 
 " I have the disposition to do so, George," cried Sir John, again.; 
 bursting into tears. " God knows that I have God knows that I 
 have." 
 
 The carriage at this moment stopped to change horses, and Corney,,. 
 with all his characteristic alacrity, leaped from the dickey and opened 9 
 the door. 
 
 *' Do you please to get out here, Sir John," he inquired. 
 
 " I'll get out," said George, and Corney twisted the steps down ic , 
 
118 THE STEWARD: 
 
 the twinkling of an eye ; and when George had alighted he twisted 
 them up .again, seeing that Sir John was not at all inclined to move. 
 
 " Now," thought he, " I can kick him now. I must, for I am not 
 only fit to faint, but havn 't got a copper in the universal world. " Please, 
 sir/' said he, having faithfully followed George into the Crown, " please 
 lend me a little sixpence ? I '11 pay you again honour." 
 
 " What, have you no money !" inquired George. 
 
 " I have not had a skurrick, sir, since I was robbed, and, of course, 
 I durs 'n 't draw of Sir John." 
 
 " Why did you not remind me, sir, of that disgraceful circumstance 
 before ?" 
 
 " Didn't like, sir : couldn't get my heart high enough." 
 
 " Whatever, you wish for, sir, order," said George ; " and see," he 
 added, as he gave him a sovereign, " see if you can take care of that." 
 
 Corney bowed, and withdrew ; and George ordered a bottle of Sherry. 
 He then called for a half-pint decanter, which he filled, and took with a 
 biscuit to Sir John, who appreciated this little attention under the cir- 
 cumstances more highly than he would have done had George presented 
 him with any thing ten thousand times more valuable at any other 
 time. 
 
 " George," said he, as he pulled out his purse, containing notes and 
 gold to a considerable amount, " take this and settle with the men." 
 
 George took the pmvse in silence, and returned to his sherry, the whole 
 of which he drank, and that with infinite gusto, feeling as he did that 
 by taking that half pint of wine to Sir John : he had made a most 
 " palpable hit," and having settled for every thing liberally, he re- 
 entered the carriage, and the journey was pursued. 
 
 " Now," said Corney, on taking his seat, " I'll just light this out-and- 
 out-looking cigar, and then honour myself with a few private thoughts. 
 Now, in the first place," he continued, having accomplished the object 
 he had primarly in view, " why was Sir John in tears when I opened 
 the carriage door ? Do I ask myself the question ? Why was he 
 in tears ? Why, what upon the face of the universal world would 
 cause him to shed tears, except tears of pity, which wasn't the sort of 
 tears he sported then. 1 say, what upon the face of the universal 
 world could cause him to shed tears but that beauty ? Now, I'll answer 
 myself the question plump, and when I say nothing, I hit the very middle 
 of the mark . I know what they've been up to I know it as well as 
 if I had been crammed into one of the carriage pockets. Sir John has 
 
 been let me see, what 's that word ? Oh expostriculating very 
 
 severe about his goings on in town, not about the rats ; no, he promised 
 he wouldn't, and his word is as good as a saint's : but he's been ex- 
 postriculating with him; and he, with the artfulness of Artaxerxes, and 
 he was one of the most artful swells that ever breathed, has been work- 
 ing upon his silly old feelings to such a pitch, that he could'nt stand the 
 racket any longer. Now what does this prove? What does it prove? 
 Why it proves just this, it proves that fathers are fools, universal jolly 
 out-and-out fools. All a son has to do, if he's ever such a varmant, all 
 he has to do and that beauty inside can do it stunning all he has to 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 119 
 
 do and I'll say it before a million is to touch his father's feelings : and 
 anger cuts away like blessed chaff before the wind of forbearance, for- 
 giveness, and affection. There never was, since Adam was created, 
 such universal old fools as fathers. But if / was the father of that 
 beauty in there, would / be such a fool ? Not a bit of it. I'd kick 
 him right clean out of nature! I only just wish he had me for a father, 
 Td weep for him, oh, yes ; I'd drop lots of tears ; I'd say to him fierce, 
 ' Now look here, it's no'use pulling long faces to me its no use your 
 preaching about piety, or prognostication ; you're a scamp I know 
 you to be a scamp, and a burning disgrace to your sex, therefore 
 cut it !' That's how I'd serve him. But Sir John won't do that. No, not 
 he ; he'll be touched, and shed tears, and let him have every blessed 
 inducement that is on the face of the universal world that he asks for. 
 And why ? Why, because he's a father ; and I say it again, and if I had 
 my head chopped off to-morrow, I'd still keep on saying, that fathers 
 are fools so that's settled. Now, I dessay he thinks he has stopped up 
 my mouth with that sovereign . I dessay he thinks so, because he don't 
 know that it's too late to stop it up now ; not that it would have been 
 opened to Sir John, if he had not cross-examined me so cunning ; but 
 I was obligated to open to save myself; for although father says to me, 
 ' Corney, know nothin',' he also says, * Corney, take care of number 
 one;' I must then have sacrificed one of the numbers, and as the 
 beauty was number two, I needn't say a single mite more about that. 
 But I'm stunning glad I kicked him ; he'd never have stood a drain on 
 the road if I hadn't. And that's the worst of travelling with nobs in 
 general the beauty I leave quite out of the scale ; they want nothing 
 themselves, and think if they think about it all that nobody else 
 wants nothing: that's how nobs are known to be nobs on the road. 
 IVe known them to travel a hundred miles without having the ghost of 
 a drop. Other individuals enjoy themselves; they'll get down at every 
 stage, and think they ought to get down, and have suffen; but nobs ! 
 Well, it's just the same when they are at the play. There they sit, 
 hour after hour, without having either a mite or a drain, while others 
 are all the time engaged in cracking nuts, sucking oranges, and drinking 
 gin and beer, and making their blessed lives regularly happy. There's 
 the difference between the two speres one goes to feast and "the other 
 to fast. Now / like, when Tm on the road to have a drop at every 
 house I come to; / can't enjoy myself regular without. I regard a 
 day's travelling as a day's holiday no cutting up and down stairs : 
 but nobs seem to have no holi days at all : every day seems alike to 
 them. And then comes the question : Are we, which can and will 
 enjoy ourselves, happier than the nobs? That's the point. But be- 
 fore we settle that, we must first know what happiness is, and where it 
 is to be found. We are all of us after it, that's quite clear, but then 
 we go such a jolly lot of different ways to catch it: and perhaps it's as 
 well as it is, if not better. Perhaps it's kept secret, in order to distri- 
 bute the population; for certain it is, that if it were known to be in 
 any particular place, that place would be t over-populated in no time. 
 That's it, I shouldn't wonder. It's because no particular spot should 
 
320 THE STEWARD: 
 
 be over-crowded, that's about it, no doubt; because now we are 
 tempted to run after happiness eagerly all over the face of the universal 
 world. And yet I think there's a little of it every where. I think 
 there's a little of it here. I know there is, for I now feel as happy as 
 a prince, and happier than they are inside, I'll warrant. Sir John isn't 
 happy, and as for that beauty, blister him I he can't be happy, I won- 
 der, now, whether he ever talks to himself as I do? If he does, I 
 wonder whether he likes it as well. I doubt not. If I had to think 
 his thoughts, I'd rather have no thoughts to think." 
 
 Now while Corney was thus entertaining himself or rather " honour- 
 ing" himself with his thoughts, George, by virtue of the most specious 
 eloquence, was winning back the confidence and favour of Sir John. 
 It need not here be stated how eloquent he could be ; nor need it be 
 explained that his subtle plausibility was occasionally irresistible; it 
 will be quite sufficient to record, that before they reached the Hall it 
 was mutually agreed that all that had passed should be buried in obli- 
 vion, or, at all events, never alluded to again ; and that George was to 
 be treated with the utmost kindness, and to act thenceforward like a 
 man. 
 
 Accordingly pn their arrival, dinner having been prepared, for Sir 
 John had sent word on the Saturday that they were coming, they went 
 up to their rooms to refresh themselves, and then sat down to dinner 
 together, precisely as if nothing unpleasant had ever occurred. 
 
 This somewhat puzzled Corney. He couldn't make it out: he 
 thought it odd very odd ; and when he found that they chatted with 
 Mnusual gaiety, he privately said to himself, " This is odder." 
 
 They, however took no notice of Corney's consternation : they conti- 
 nued to eat and to drink, and to chat, until the cloth was removed, 
 when Sir John, to the utter amazement of Corney, said to George, 
 " Now then, my boy ! draw up ; let's spend a happy evening together." 
 
 If Corney had had any dishes in his hand he must have dropped 
 them ; it was therefore most fortunate that he had not. He had nothing 
 but his napkin, and that he twirled and twisted into all sorts of shapes, 
 and stood and stared, and thought, until Sir John said, " Cornelius, the 
 wine, my man ! bring out the wine !" when, by dint of extraordinary 
 presence of mind, he placed the wine on the table and withdrew. 
 
 "Well,"' said George, when Corney had retired, "so Charles, I find, 
 has made up his mind to marry?" 
 
 " Tea," replied Sir John ; " and I really don't think that he could 
 have chosen a more gentle or a more amiable girl." 
 
 " She's a nice girl," rejoined George, " a very nice girl; and I most 
 sincerely hope they'll be happy. Of one thing I'm certain, and that is, 
 if she had had the whole world to choose from, she could not have 
 chosen a finer-hearted fellow than Charles." 
 
 " I'm glad to hear you say so," returned Sir John; "I'm very glad 
 indeed to hear you say so. He is a fine-hearted fellow : he is a man, 
 Creorge every inch a man." 
 
 " I know it," said George, who most cleverly concealed his real feel- 
 ings. " He is a man I know of whom any brother might be proud. 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 121 
 
 But," be added, with a very peculiar smile, " I understand that that is 
 not the only marriage contemplated." 
 
 " Eh !" said Sir John, looking up with a curious expression of coun- 
 tenance, " Eh !" 
 
 " I understand," repeated George, " that that is not the only marriage- 
 contemplated I mean in the family." 
 
 " What, do you think of marrying, then?" 
 
 " / think of marrying ! M 
 
 "Why not? Were you to meet with so gentle a creature as Miss 
 Lejeune, I should, without hesitation, recommend you to marry." 
 
 " I have not thought of anting of that kind at present. Still, I 
 understand that another marriage is in contemplation." 
 
 " In the family ? What, do you mean in this family?" 
 
 " Yes ; I understand that you are going to marry Mrs. Wardle." 
 
 " Mrs. Wardle !" exclaimed Sir John, colouring deeply, "I! Mrs. 
 Wardle !" 
 
 " I certainly understood so ." 
 
 " From whom?" 
 
 " From Charles. He told me that he had heard you call her Ade- 
 laide, and it is his impression that you are about to be united ; and I 
 certainly don't know of one whom I should like as a stepmother better 
 than Mrs. Wardle ; for she is a most virtuous and amiable person, and 
 one whom I have always held in very high esteem." 
 
 " Well," said Sir John, with a smile of satisfaction, " I am glad thta 
 she has your good opinion. She is certainly worthy of it ; and I did 
 think of repaying her thus for all her God bless my soul !" he ex- 
 claimed, with a start. " Why, what's that ?" 
 
 " I will go in!" cried a voice in the hall. " I'll not wait to be an- 
 nounced. He is here." 
 
 George instantly rushed to the door, which he opened, when a man 
 of Herculean build felled him like an ox. 
 
 "FREEMAN !" cried Sir John, with an air of command. " Stand, 
 off ! What means this monstrous outrage?" 
 
 " Villain !" groaned Freeman, half-choked with rage, as he stood with 
 clenched fists and grinding teeth over George. "Villain! heartless 
 villain !" 
 
 " Why is this ?" demanded Sir John, fiercely. 
 
 " My daughter !" cried Freeman, as he burst into tears, " My 
 daughter ! he has ruined my daughter !" 
 
 Sir John started, and trembled violently. He seemed paralysed. At 
 length he said, in broken accents, " Freeman ! Freeman! my friend, 
 can this be true?" 
 
 " True !" shouted Freeman, with uplifted hands. 
 
 " Pray be calm," said Sir John. " My dear Freeman, sit down. 
 Now pray, pray sit down." 
 
 Freeman sat down, and burying his head in his hands, sobbed 
 aloud. 
 
 "There there," continued Sir John, soothingly; "there, now be 
 tranquil be tranquil and then we'll see what can be done. Good 
 
122 THE STEWARD: 
 
 God!" he exclaimed, as he turned towards George, who was still on the 
 floor, prostrate and motionless " you have killed him! Oh, my God!" 
 he continued in agony, as he sank on his knees, by the side of his ap- 
 parently lifeless son: " help! help! Cornelius, summon assistance. 
 Help! help!" 
 
 " He moves, Sir John!" cried Corney. " See, Sir John, he moves!" 
 
 " Thank God!" exclaimed Sir John ,and sank senseless on the floor. 
 
 The whole of the servants now rushed into the room, and when 
 Corney had turned George over to them, he attended himself to Sir 
 John, while Freeman sat with his face still buried in his hands. 
 
 " Some brandy "said George faintly-*-" give me some brandy. Some 
 more," he added, having had one glass, " Why what's all this about? 
 How came I here?" 
 
 " Mr. Freeman/' said Corney, *' struck you a blow on the head." 
 
 " What!" cried George, rising with a convulsive effort "and my 
 father did he strike him too?" 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " Then how came he thus?" 
 
 " He thought you were dead, sir, and fainted." 
 
 George shook his head and felt confused. The blow had stunned him 
 but had inflicted no material injury. He rubbed his eyes again and 
 again, and having had some more brandy, became somewhat calm. It 
 was however manifest that he had made up his mind to something ; still 
 he silently assisted in restoring Sir John to a state of comparative con- 
 sciousness, and having directed him to be carefully taken to his cham- 
 ber, and sent one of the grooms for his physician, he cleared the room 
 of the rest of the servants and then locked the door. 
 
 " Now," said he, having thrown off his coat and tapped Freeman 
 coolly on the shoulder, " you struck me, like a coward ; now stand up 
 like a man!" 
 
 Freeman, thus aroused, started up, and sprang at him with all the 
 ferocity of a tiger. The odds were, apparently, fearful against George: 
 he had superior strength, height, and weight against him; but he had 
 been taught that so-called " science," of which Freeman was utterly 
 ignorant . 
 
 Swelling with rage while George was quite cool Freeman attacked 
 him again and again fiercely; but George parried every blow that was 
 aimed any one of which must have again stunned him and, while 
 doing so, struck with so much force and precision, that Freeman became 
 nearly insensible himself. 
 
 Not a word passed between them ; they made no noise : they fought, 
 like bulldogs, silently: the only sounds which were heard were those 
 produced by George's blows upon the neck and face of Freeman, from 
 whose wounds the blood flowed copiously. Still he kept on endea- 
 vouring in vain to reach George, who struck out with the rapidity of 
 lightning until seizing the gigantic form of Freeman by the hips, 
 George, with almost superhuman strength, lifted him off his legs and 
 threw him, with so much force, that the massive oaken rafters beneath 
 them trembled! 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE.' 123 
 
 Corney, who had been an eye-witness of all this that is, he had 
 witnessed it all through the key-hole no sooner found that Freeman 
 was unable to conquer George, than he resolved at all hazards on for- 
 cing the door, which he did on the instant, and boldly rushed between 
 them. 
 
 " Pray, Mr. George," he cried, as Freeman rose, in order to attack 
 George again, " pray don't do let me beg " 
 
 " Stand aside!" cried George. 
 
 " For the sake of his daughter " 
 
 " Stand aside!" repeated George, who seized Corney fiercely by the 
 collar and hurled him somewhere ! even George didn't know where 
 he went to, because he became instantaneously invisible ! 
 
 " Now," said George, still maintaining an attitude of defence, " per- 
 haps, before we go further, you will tell me why you gave me that 
 cowardly blow?" 
 
 " Kill me!" cried Freeman, " kill me, villain! You have ruined my 
 daughter kill me ;" when, rushing towards George with the despe- 
 ration of despair, he fell forward and groaned. 
 
 George then rang the bell which was quite unnecessary, seeing that 
 the servants were already at the door and when he had given them 
 instructions to attend to Freeman he went up into his room to wash his 
 hands. 
 
 The servants approached Freeman and turned him over, but when 
 they saw his face the whole of them shrank back, appalled. 
 
 " Gracious!" exclaimed one, " what are we to do with him?" 
 
 " Lift up his head," cried another, " he'll be choked." 
 
 "Where's Cornelius?" enquired a third; "he's always out of the 
 way when he's wanted." 
 
 " Somebody run up stairs," said a fourth. " and ask Mr. George what 
 on earth is to be done." 
 
 One of them ran up to George at once, and came down with instruc- 
 tions to give Freeman some brandy and wash his face well with warm 
 water. But, before they were able to act upon these instructions, George 
 himself came down, and Freeman, who had been faint, but not for a 
 moment insensible, soon revived. 
 
 Sir John's physician was now announced; and George briefly ex- 
 plained to him what had occurred and then conducted him into Sir 
 John's room, where it was soon, ascertained that although the shock 
 had rendered Sir John extremely nervous, nothing serious could be 
 reasonably apprehended. 
 
 Now Corney, during the whole of this time, was in a really unplea- 
 sant 'situation. His position, indeed, was one of exceeding difficulty, 
 inasmuch, as when George hurled him aside with so much violence, he 
 sent his head completely through one of the thin panels of the window 
 shutters glass and all in which it securely stuck; while the curtains 
 having immediately closed upon him, rendered him invisible to all in 
 the room. 
 
 Now it was seldom that Corney's philosophy deserted him. Having 
 called upon it under even these peculiar circumstances, it promptly 
 
124 THE STEWARD : 
 
 responded to his call, and he began to indulge in a few private 
 thoughts. 
 
 " Now," said he, quietly, "here I am; I am neither in nor out, and. 
 yet I am both : my head's abroad, and my body's at home. If I push 
 forward I can't get through ; if I pull back, I shall cut my throat. 
 Now, what's to be done? Don't be flustered! be cool. Question is, 
 what's to be done? If I let those who are inside know that I am here,, 
 by making a noise with my feet, the chances are that they'll handle me 
 roughly, and glass is very cutting plate glass especially! and really 
 this appears to have grown to my neck, for I feel the sharp edges all 
 round. Now, then, be calm! you're in it, and it won't do at all to be 
 dragged out of it. The only chance that my imagination can wind 
 round at present is the chance of some one coming this way outside, 
 and that chance looks hungry and poor. That beauty! blister him:. 
 don't think a mite about him now! all you have to do at the present 
 critical period of time is to turn the full flood of your intellects to one 
 particular point, and that point is how to get out of this collar. Hark! 
 no! yes! as true as I'm alive ! eh? yes! bravo! here comes 
 Borley. Now, be calm. Peter," he whispered, as Borley drew near ; 
 "Peter!" 
 
 " God's truth !" exclaimed Borley, as he started back, alarmed, " why 
 who's that?" 
 
 " Only me, Peter, Corney, Peter, Corney !" 
 
 " Why, what in the name of Nature, do you poke your head out 
 there for?" 
 
 " Hush !" said Corney, " Hush ! come closer come close. You are 
 just the very friend I've been waiting to see. I've got my head out, 
 and I can't get it in again : when I get it in, I'll tell you how I got it 
 out. Now get a lantern, there's a good Samaritan. Make no noise ; 
 I'm afraid they'll pull me in, and if they do, off goes a slice of my 
 head. Now, Peter, be quick : desert me now, and you lose me for 
 ever." * 
 
 Peter ran immediately for his lantern, and much to the satisfaction 
 oi Corney, in less than two minutes reappeared. 
 
 " You are in a fix indeed !" cried Peter. " It's well, bor, you held 
 your head sideways, thus'n; if you hadn't, this jagged piece here would 
 have walked quite clean into the juggler vein." 
 
 " Never mind, Peter," said Corney . " it didn't. Now take every 
 blessed piece off all round. That's about it." he added, as Peter pro- 
 ceeded to follow his instructions. " There, that's something like. But 
 I can't get in now: are you sure there's no jagged pieces anywhere 
 near?" 
 
 " Not a mite," replied Peter. 
 
 " Very good. Now go to the room, Peter, there's a good soul, and 
 you'll see how I'm sittiwated there." 
 
 Peter accordingly went round at once, and was perfectly astonished 
 on finding nearly the whole of the servants in the room. He pro- 
 ceeded, nevertheless, to the window in question for he felt that he had 
 one great duty to perform and having removed that part of the broken 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 125 
 
 panel which had so effectually wedged Corney in, he released his friend, 
 who seized his hand, and declared himself to be " universally 
 grateful." 
 
 This feat had no sooner been accomplished, than George and Sir 
 John's physician entered the room. It was clear that the Dcotor had 
 heard all from George, for he immediately went up to Freeman, who 
 was still where George had left him, reclining on a couch, and weep- 
 ing bitterly. 
 
 The servants were then ordered to leave the room, and the Doctor 
 having addressed Freeman, whom he knew well, with the utmost possi- 
 ble kindness, offered to take him home in his carriage. 
 
 "I have no home," said the broken-hearted man, as the big tears 
 absolutely gushed from his eyes . " I had a home a happy home - 
 but she who made it happy has been polluted by that villain !" 
 
 " Why did you not come in a proper manner, cr send for me?" said 
 George, " instead of rushing in like a burglar, and rendering men 
 insensible to begin with?" 
 
 " You must make some allowance for his feelings," urged the 
 Doctor . 
 
 " I do," replied George, " and should have done when he entered, 
 had I known at the time what induced him to come here. I should 
 have made every possible allowance for his feelings. I do not mean to 
 say that I should quietly have stood much knocking about ; but I 
 should have endeavoured to avoid him instead of doing what I have 
 done." "| 
 
 " Well," said the Doctor, " it is a sad job altogether j but I hope, 
 nay I believe, that when the first ebullition of feeling shall have sub- 
 sided, some arrangement may be made to the satisfaction of all con- 
 cerned. And now my dear sir," he added, turning to Freeman, whose 
 hand he pressed warmly, and with whom he deeply sympathised, " let 
 us go together. I have no doubt that when you reflect upon it calmly, 
 the case will not seem so desperate as it appears and very naturally 
 to be to you now. Come, my friend come. Do not suffer your 
 spirits to be crushed. Come, and we'll talk the matter over in the 
 carriage." 
 
 Freeman, whom the Doctor's soothing words had relieved, rose, 
 and having looked steadily at George for a moment, took the Doctor's 
 proffered arm, and accompanied him to the carriage. 
 
 " Dr. Farquar," said Freeman, as they rode through the park, " while 
 kindly endeavouring to raise my spirits, you said not only that 
 you hoped, but that you believed that some satisfactory arrangement 
 would be made. Have you, may I ask, any grounds for that belief?" 
 
 " I have," replied the Doctor. " On the one hand, I have Sir John's 
 honour and fine sense of justice, and on the other I have his son's 
 reputation." 
 
 " But I am not a rich man, Dr. Farquar," said Freeman ; " I'll give 
 her all I can now, and leave her all I have ; but then that is not much 
 when compared with the wealth which he will necessarily possess as the 
 heir." 
 
126 THE STETTARP: 
 
 " If he can be induced to marry her, my friend, your money will 
 be no consideration with him ; but," he added, " how came you to 
 allow him to knock you about in that style? A man possessing your 
 immense strength, one would have thought could have crushed a com- 
 paratively weak man like that." 
 
 " He's not weak, sir , he's as strong as a lion. Besides, I was hot 
 and he was cool. I was just like a child in his hands." 
 
 " Well, I should- certainly not like to have to deal with such a child; 
 but when the animal is roused in even a comparatively weak man, and 
 he has sufficient judgment to guide his strength, he becomes dangerous. 
 However, you must keep within three or four days ; most of those marks 
 will very soon disappear." 
 
 They now approached Freeman's house, and as they did so, Jane, 
 who had been in a most intense state of anxiety during her father's 
 absence, flew to the door; but the moment she beheld her father's 
 strangely disfigured face, she uttered a loud scream, and fainted. 
 
 Fortunately one of the maids caught her as she was falling; and 
 when she had been borne into the parlour, the Doctor assisted in 
 restoring her to consciousness. He then drew Freeman from the 
 room, and strongly urged him to go immediately to bed, and when he 
 had succeeded in prevailing upon him to do so, he returned to Jane, 
 who was still much alarmed. 
 
 " Well," said he, as he pressed her hand gently, " you feel bet- 
 ter now?" 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Jane, bursting into tears, " but I fear my poor 
 father has met with some dreadful accident." 
 
 " No, no, no, no/' replied the doctor, " not at all. I do assure you 
 that nothing of a serious nature has occurred. He will be all right 
 again in a day or two ; his bruises are merely superficial." 
 
 " Has he been up to the hall, sir ?" 
 
 " He has." 
 
 " Did he meet with this accident there?" 
 
 "Yes, but its a mere bagatelle; a mere trifle: he has nothing but a 
 few slight contusions." 
 
 " Sir John, I understand, has returned, sir ?" 
 
 " Yes, he returned a few hours ago." 
 
 " Did my father see Sir John?" 
 
 " I believe that he did." 
 
 "You know, sir," pursued Jane tremblingly, as the tears again 
 started, tl you know, sir you know why he saw him." 
 
 " My dear young lady I do I do." 
 
 " Oh, sir, I never can hope to be forgiven!" 
 
 " Not hope to be forgiven ! Never relinquish hope* All may yet 
 be well. Your father possesses a father's feelings, which I, as a father, 
 can appreciate ; but, be patient le patient, and all may yet be well." 
 
 "My wickedness now, sir, nearly overpowers me, but when the 
 knowledge of my disgrace becomes pnblic and public it must become, 
 seeing that George cannot marry me during Sir John's lite time I shall 
 go mad." 
 
 " He cannot marry you during Sir John's life time?' 1 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 127 
 
 "No, sir." 
 
 " Why not?" 
 
 " I know that he cannot he has told me so.'-' 
 
 " Oh!" returned the Doctor, with air expression which denoted great 
 faith in her credulity, " Oh!" 
 
 " Were it not for that, sir, my shame might be concealed, although 
 I should never, even then, cease to reproach myself." 
 
 " Then he has, of course, promised to marry you?" 
 
 " A thousand times ; and he will perform his promise." 
 
 " I doubt it," thought the Doctor, " I doubt it now" But to her 
 he said, " I hope that he will." 
 
 " Oh, I am sure of it perfectly sure. But then, sir, the disgrace I 
 shall have to endure in the interim maddens me." 
 
 " Have you pardon me for " 
 
 " You are sir," said Jane, with painful emotion, " you are sir, not only 
 my poor father's friend, but the friend of Sir John, ask me, therefore, 
 any question you please, and I will answer you as truly as if I had not 
 fallen." 
 
 Tears sprang into the Doctor's eyes, and he found it somewhat diffi- 
 cult to conceal them ; he did, however, manage to do so at length, and 
 then proceeded to put the question which, in his view, had reference, not 
 to love, but to business purely. 
 
 " I was merely," said he, " about to ask if you had been in the habit 
 of receiving letters from Mr. Croly?" 
 
 " No, sir, he never wrote to me. I have frequently sent notes to him 
 trifling notes, you understand, sir which I have written when I have 
 been alone, and thinking of him ; but if they contained any little request, 
 he always replied to them in person." 
 
 " Then you have no written promise of marriage!" 
 
 " Written promise of marriage?" echoed Jane, whom the question 
 appeared to bewilder, " Written promise!" she added, as she stared 
 at the Doctor, diagonally, as if she feared that his meaning should meet 
 her full gaze. "No, sir, no! Why do you ask?" 
 
 " Why," replied the Doctor, who felt at the time somewhat confused, 
 " generally when a man is paying his addresses to a lady, notes pass 
 from him to her, in which that promise is, at least, implied." 
 
 " He has always taught me to believe," said Jane, " that such things 
 betray < a want of confidence. He has indeed established my belief that 
 between hearts like ours no bond can be so potent as that of pure 
 affection but," she added earnestly, as a slight expression of doubt 
 shaded her singularly beautiful features, " you do not think you do 
 not believe that such a document as that which you have named a 
 written promise is, or ever can be required to bind him ?" 
 
 " Why, what did I say?" returned the Doctor, who could hardly 
 conceal his embarrassment. " What did I say at the very commence- 
 ment of our conversation? I said c Be patient, and all may yet be 
 well.'" 
 
 " May be !" exclaimed Jane, with energy. "In my sense all must 
 be well or I perish ! But you do not," she added, in a more subdued 
 
128 THE STEWARD: 
 
 tone, although with equal intensity; " you do not you cannot believe 
 for one moment that he would ever desert me, whom he loves so fondly 
 and for whose society he has so often left the brilliant assemblies at 
 the hall? Desert me!" she continued in all the pride of unbounded 
 confidence. "Never! never. You cannot believe that he ever 
 would?" 
 
 " I believe,Jj returned the Doctor " nay, I now know that if he 
 should, he is a villain." 
 
 " But lie is not a villain, sir! indeed, he is not. My father to day 
 impetuously called him a villain; but he is not one he is not, 
 believe me!" 
 
 " I hope that he is not." 
 
 " But you do not you do not believe that he is?" 
 
 ''What reason have I to entertain such a belief? I explained to 
 your father, as we were coming here, that my reasons for thinking 
 that all would end well were the confidence I have in the honour of 
 Sir John, and the value which his son appears to set upon his repu- 
 tation." 
 
 " But could Sir John, sir, if he felt disposed could he alter those 
 deeds by which George is compelled, during the life of Sir John, to 
 keep single?" 
 
 "It is, of course, impossible for me to know of the existence of any 
 such deeds." 
 
 "But they are, sir, in existence: George has told me so again and 
 again. Oh! were it not for them we might be married to-morrow! 
 But do you think, sir of course, I do not know, nor can I indeed be 
 expected to know, the nature of these things but do you think that 
 Sir John would legally alter them, so as to leave George free to 
 marry?" 
 
 " Upon my word not being a lawyer I cannot venture to give an 
 opinion on the point; but of this I feel assured, that if your marriage 
 with George depends solely upon Sir John, you are certain shortly to 
 be united." 
 
 " Oh! I am overjoyed, sir, to hear you say that! In the midst of my 
 affliction this gives me joy indeed." 
 
 " Understand," said the Doctor, " I do not say this with the view of 
 buoying you up with any false hopes! understand, I said distinctly that 
 if your marriage depends solely upon Sir John '' 
 
 " It does, sir, depend solely upon him, and upon him alone." 
 
 " Very well! If it be so, I don't think you need be under any very 
 serious apprehension." 
 
 " Do you think, sir, as I cannot see him, do you think that if I 
 were to write to Sir John " 
 
 " Have patience: have patience. Do nothing hastily. Something 
 will be decided in a very few days. In the meantime let our conver- 
 sation be confidential. I shall see Sir John again in the morning, and 
 if I find that I can promote your views, I shall be happy to do so." 
 
 " A thousand thanks !" exclaimed Jane, fervently. " Oh, sir, I feel 
 indeed grateful." 
 
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 THE STEWARD: 
 
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Carney's poTlrail framed &, glazed ? 
 
freeman 5 attack on George 
 

Forced rejection. 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 129 
 
 <l Well, well," said the Doctor, rising, " we shall see what can be done. 
 I'll now go up and ascertain how your father is getting on, and then 
 I must take my leave. No, no," he added, as Jane prepared to accom- 
 pany him, *' you need not go with me : I will leave every necessary 
 instruction, but you had better not see him until the morning." 
 
 He then went up to Freeman, and having explained to him that 
 Jane conceived that his bruises were the result of an accident, he 
 gave some instructions to one of the servants, and left Jane compara- 
 tively happy. 
 
 George, immediately after Freeman and the Doctor had left the 
 Hall, sat down as coolly as if nothing* of importance had occurred, 
 with the view of trying m his own base mind the effect of a solemn 
 denial of the fact of his having seduced Jane. 
 
 "Now." thought he, ''how am I to get over this? What if I 
 utterly repudiate the charge ? How can it be proved? What evidence 
 what collateral evidence can be adduced ? Her father never knew, 
 never even suspected, that I went to the house with any other object 
 than that of conversing with him. Not a word ever passed in his 
 presence at all calculated to excite any such suspicion ; nor can a 
 single letter be produced against me, seeing that I never wrote to her 
 in my life. Her evidence is therefore entirely unsupported. She 
 says that I have seduced her : I say that I have not. Now which 
 will be believed? Whose word will have the greater weight hers 
 or mine ? It must be recollected that she is not a soft, simple-minded 
 girl, but a girl of spirit and intelligence ! a girl, moreover, whose 
 reputation for virtue has been heretofore spotless. But have I not a 
 (Reputation equally clear ? No one here, save the governor, knows 
 anything against me. But will /^believe her? That's the grand 
 point. Can I induce him to take my word instead of hers? I fear 
 not. But suppose that I am able to do so : what then ? Freeman 
 brings his action for seduction, of course because by my flat denial 
 I shall do away at once with all idea of a compromise then comes the 
 c.rposc : everything will be publicly explained ; her statement on oath, 
 will be publicly believed, and I shall be publicly denounced as a villain \ 
 Well ! now let us take the other side of the question. I don't attempt 
 to deny it I admit the fact at once : what then? In the first place 
 Freeman will want me to marry her, which is of course out of the 
 question entirely. Well, he brings his action, and then will be the 
 time to effect a compromise. If I deny it, she will urge her father on r 
 and go through the ordeal with a view to her own partial justification ; 
 whereas, if I admit it, and offer to compromise the matter, uhe will 
 naturally shrink from a public declaration of her shame in order to 
 gain a sum of money, which she might have at once, without the pain 
 which such public declaration must of necessity inflict. This, then, is 
 clearly the course to pursue. I must admit it : I must adrn^t it with 
 every demonstration of deep sorrow. I must then refuse to marry her 
 on the ground of her having yielded aye, on the ground of her being 
 impure ! and should an action be commenced, of which there cannot 
 be a doubt, a compromise must be privately effected." 
 No. 9. 
 
130 THE STEWARD: 
 
 Now, while George was thus heartlessly weighing the two courses 
 of action proposed, Corney who had, before dinner, obtained Sir 
 John's permission to visit his father was)[describing to the old man 
 in the most graphic style the scene which had just been enacted at 
 the Hall. 
 
 " Well," said Craske, having listened to all attentively, " Well, yow 
 know, Corney bor, all this has nothin' at all to do along a' yow. As 
 they make their beds, so they must lay on em, bor ! But didn't he 
 hut yow when he sent yar head through ?" 
 
 " No, not much. But, send I may live, though what strength he 
 must have ! Why, he took M*. Freeman who weighs twenty stone 
 if he weighs a pound he took him up in his" arms like a baby ! Be- 
 tween you and me," he added very mysteriously, " I don't think he's 
 what you may call mortal ! I should be sorry to say that any man has 
 dealings with him down below; but, if lie doesn't lend him these 
 arts, and this strength, all I can say is, it's very strange to me. There's 
 something about him I can't make out. He's just as artful as the 
 Old One himself; and, if I'm not out of my reckoning, he's in some 
 secret way connected with him." 
 
 " God knows !" said Craske ; " it's hard to judge. At all events, 
 it's nothin' at all to do along of us ! it ain't no business of ourn, 
 and as such, we needn't attend to it. How did you get on in 
 Lonnon T 
 
 " Stunning !" replied Corney. " Talk of life immortal life ! Why 
 you're buried alive down here ! you know nothing." 
 
 " Don't we ?" said the old man, laying down his pipe, his natural 
 pride being by this observation somewhat wounded. " Now, just look 
 yow here. I know suffen o' these Lonnoners. I've seen 'em, and I 
 reckon 'em to be the most ignorantest set that ever walked in shoe 
 leather ! What do they know ? Nothin'. They don' know larch from 
 fir ; they don' know ash from pollard ; I doubt if they even know a 
 poplar from a thorn ! They don' know a piece o' wheat from a piece 
 o' barley ; a piece o' rye from a piece o' oats ; a piece o' mangel from 
 a piece o' turnips ; or a piece o' mustard from a piece o' tares. Don't 
 tell me about their knowledge ! They know nothin' right well. I've 
 tried 'em ! I've tried 'em often when they've been here, and of all 
 the ignoramuses I ever come across, I never yet come across the like- 
 ness o' them /" 
 
 " Do you know how to make glass ?" enquired Corney. 
 
 " Glass ! What's glass got to do with it?" 
 
 " Do you know how to make it ?" 
 
 " No; how should I know?" 
 
 " Then how should they who do make it know about farming ?" 
 \ " Aye, but you marn't pitch it quite so strong, when speakin' o' 
 them, asHo say we know nothin'." 
 
 " I meant that down here you know nothing of their style of life ; 
 that's what /meant." 
 
 "Oh, well!" said the old man, "if that's it, we don't But I 
 s'pose they're all a parcel o' pickpockets ain't they ?" 
 
A HOMAKCE OF JIEAL LIFE. 131 
 
 " Well," replied Corney, who thought of his watch, " they eer- 
 tainly are not all honest." 
 
 " I hear yow can't go up arout being robbed. They didn't rob yow, 
 did they?" 
 
 44 Yes, that they did /" 
 
 " They did ! why what did they rob y'on ?" 
 
 " Everything I had, except my clothes, and I wonder they didn't 
 take them." 
 
 " What ! did they knock you down i' th' dark, then ?" 
 
 " Knock me down ! No ; they don't do business in that way. It 
 was done in the light." 
 
 " Was there many on 'em did it?" 
 
 *' No ; only one." 
 
 44 What ! let one do it ! Didn't you do nothin' to himT' 
 
 " I didn't know it until I found all my pockets empty, and then 
 he was nowhere to be seen." 
 
 44 Do yow mean to tell me," said Craske, with the most incredu- 
 lous deliberation, " that any flesh could empty yar pockets in the 
 light arout yow knowin' nothin' at all about it?" 
 
 44 Why, they'll do it and stare you right full in the face !" 
 
 44 Woi'Q fool yow to let 'em ! But what did you lose ?" 
 
 "Why, my best silk handkerchief, a matter of seven-and-sixpence,. 
 and what's worse than all, your old watch." 
 
 44 |ta old watch ! What's that gone ? Oh, Corney, Corney ! Why, 
 I wouluh't have lost it for no sum o' money. That watch I've had 
 six-and-forty year come next Lady. Yar poor old grandfather guv it 
 to me, and his father guv it to him; and now, after keepin' store by 
 it all these years, yow've gone and let somebody steal it. There's a job! 
 What, did yow pull it out to see what o'clock it was, and have it 
 snatched out o' yar hand ?" 
 
 44 No ; / didn't pull it out, but they did !" 
 
 44 What, out of yar fob?" 
 
 4 * Yes." 
 
 44 And yow not know it?" 
 
 44 Not till after it was gone!" 
 
 44 Corney, I doubt yow're tellin' me a falsity. What ! take a watch 
 out of a man's fob, and he not know it?" 
 
 44 1 tell you they'll look at you full in the face and do it, and you 
 none the wiser/' 
 
 44 Well, but how can they? Do yow mean to say they could get 
 my watch out ^of my fob arout my knowing of it ?" 
 
 >4 Yes ; they'd have it out in the twinkling of an eye !" 
 
 " But I'd defy 'emI'd defy' em to do it ! It ain't to be done ! 
 They might go to work anyhow they liked, and couldn't do it " 
 
 " They could/' replied Corney. 
 
 "But how?" said Craske, rising. 4< Now, just show me how. 
 Here's the man, and here's the watch. Now show me how they'd take 
 it arout my knowledge." 
 
 V / can't show you how." 
 
13*2 THE STEWARD: 
 
 "No, nor no other mortal." 
 
 " All I know about it is, that it is to be dene." 
 
 " I can't believe it. It's clear agin natur' ; and what's agin natur', 
 is not to be done." 
 
 " They'd conjure it out somehow." 
 
 "I'd lay 'em the whole world they wouldn't, and win. But that's 
 Tiayther here nor there. The watch is gone, and I'm mortal sorry for 
 jt. Didn't yow send the crier round when yow found that yow'd 
 lost it ?"' 
 
 " Send the crier round ! No." 
 
 " Then yow ought to ha' done. I shouldn't ha' minded a shillin' 
 or two! Yow ought by all means to ha* sent round the crier." 
 
 " Why, how long do you think it would take him, now, to cry it in 
 every street? and how much do you think it would cost to have it 
 cried? He couldn't do it in much less than a year and a half; and 
 you couldn't give him less than a pound a week for crying ; and then 
 he'd want a man, with a directory in his hand, to tick the streets off 
 as he worked them. Send the crier round! If he did his work well 
 he'd have to go round and round for new streets are springing up 
 everywhere daily. Besides, I don't think they have a crier." 
 
 "Not a crier ! I thought they'd one to every parish." 
 
 " Well, suppose they have ; and suppose I'd set them all to work 
 at once. I couldn't have given them less than a shilling a piece, and 
 I should say there "are not less than a couple o' thousand parishes: 
 so you see it wouldn't have done to send the criers round. No : the 
 watch is gone, and there's an end of it. I'm sorry it's gone, but it's 
 no use fretting about it now. I've got a pound towards another : the 
 Beauty gave me that on the road." 
 
 " He did ! What did he give you that for ? 
 
 "Because he knew I'd been robbed." 
 
 "Then yo'v told him about it?" 
 
 ** He was lis ve at the time ! in the very same room ! We went to 
 see life, and wo did see life ! But I'll tell you what sort of life it was 
 another time. It's getting late. I must be off." 
 
 "That's right, Corney Lor: don't be over your time. But recol- 
 lect and keep a still tongue in yarhead. Whatever yow see,, or what- 
 ever yow hear, or whatever yow know, know aothin'." 
 
 Corney then left, and returned to the Hall, where he amused his 
 fellow-servants until bed-time with a graphic and somewhat bombastic 
 description of what he termed " The universal philosouhy of London 
 Life."" 
 
A EOAIANCE OF HEAL LIFE. 163 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 THE MOMENTOUS QUESTION 
 
 IN the morning, Dr. Farquar called upon Sir John, whom he found 
 still nervous, but otherwise well, and having earnestly advised him 
 not to suffer the affair immediately in question to excite him, he 
 alluded to the unhappy home of Freeman and Jane. 
 
 " Did you go home with him ?" enquired Sir John. 
 
 " I did," replied the Doctor. " The poor girl fainted the moment 
 she saw his face, and it certainly was singularly disfigured." 
 
 " Disfigured ! How came it disfigured ?'' 
 
 "Have you not heard? I perceive that you have not. Why, it 
 appears that when you had left the room, he and George had a battle. 
 George, having been rendered insensible, knew nothing of the cause 
 of Freeman's fierce attack upon him until it was all over ; but certain 
 it is they fought desperately together, and Freeman's face was awfully 
 disfigured." 
 
 " And George's too ?" 
 
 "Not at all! He has not a mark. Freeman told me, to my 
 astonishment, that he was in his hands like a child." 
 
 " I am very, very sorry it occurred." 
 
 " You must not, my dear Sir John, blame George for this. 1 He said 
 afterwards that had he known the cause of Freeman's attack, he 
 should so far have respected his feelings as to avoid him." 
 
 " Still, I am very sorry for it. You left him, I suppose, almost mad '?" 
 
 " No ; I left him comparatively calm. His bruises he appeared to 
 care but little about ; but that his feelings are deeply wounded, you 
 may conceive." 
 
 "It's a sad job a sad job a very sad job. And how does she 
 bear it,?" 
 
 " She is almost heartbroken." 
 
 " Poor girl ! Do you think that she is naturally of a forward or 
 wanton disposition?" 
 
 " I am perfectly sure that she is not. I have known her from her 
 infancy, and have had, up to this time, constant opportunities of 
 watching her conduct, and certainly a more amiable girl I never knew." 
 
 " Then you think that she is not at heart impure?" 
 
 " Had you witnessed the touching fervour with which she said to- 
 me last evening, 4 Ask me any question, and I will answer you as 
 truly as if I had not fallen,' you would have been quite as satisfied on* 
 that point as I am." 
 
 "It is that fine that beautiful girl, is it not? Freeman has but 
 one daughter?" 
 
 " He has but one, and she is beautiful indeed !" 
 
 " She is rather a lady-like creature ?" 
 
 "She is. She is, moreover, very intelligent." 
 
 " Ah !" returned Sir John, thoughtfully. " Well, I must speak to 
 
194 THE STEWARD: 
 
 George. Such a girl must not be deserted. Does she appear to be 
 fond of him?" 
 
 " Her whole soul seems centred in him," replied the Doctor; "he 
 is her idol !" 
 
 "Well, then, 1 must hear what George says. Something must be 
 done. I must hear what he says on the subject, and then you and I 
 can privately talk the matter over again. Will you dine with me 
 to-day ?" 
 
 " I'll come over in the evening. I shall be engaged till six, per- 
 haps later : I'll come over in the evening." 
 
 " Very well. In the interim I'll ascertain what George's feelings 
 on the subject really are." 
 
 Dr. Farquar then left, and Sir John shortly afterwards summoned 
 George into the library. George expected this, and had therefore 
 kept at home, with the view of meeting the case calmly and at once ; 
 and when he obeyed the summons, it was with an expression which 
 denoted deep sorrow for what had occurred. 
 
 " George," said Sir John, in a tranquil tone, " I have no desire to 
 load you with reproaches " 
 
 " I deserve them,"' interrupted George, solemnly. 
 
 " But that is not my object : my object is to converse with you on 
 this very sad affair dispassionately, in order that we may decide upon 
 what's to be done. How are we to proceed ?" 
 
 "I acknowledge my weakness : I acknowledge my error. In a mo- 
 ment of excitement my judgment was lost. I cannot but express the 
 deep sorrow I feel : I cannot but reproach myself heavily." 
 
 " But neither sorrow nor reproaches can meet the case now. Some- 
 thing must be done. Now what do you propose ?" 
 
 " I have no proposition to make," replied George. " Could not 
 some arrangement some compromise be made ?" 
 
 " What arrangement what compromise would you suggest?" 
 
 " I am not in a position to offer any suggestion : I don't know what 
 Freeman may require."' 
 
 " Why, George, as a father he will naturally require you to marry 
 the girl." 
 
 " That is of course entirely out of the question. When I speak of 
 an arrangement, I speak of it in a pecuniary point of view." 
 
 "Oh! in. a pecuniary point of view,"' returned Sir John, as he 
 looked at George searchingly. " Are you not fond of the girl ?'' 
 
 " Oh !" replied George, with something like a sneer, " she's verv 
 well !" 
 
 " Very well ! But are you not fond of her?' 
 
 " Not particularly /" 
 
 "Have you not induced her to believe that you are ?" 
 
 " Not that I know of." 
 
 <c Am I to understand that you don't like the girl, although you 
 have taken the trouble to ruhTher ?" 
 
 " I like her well enough." 
 
 " Well enough for what? well enough to marry her?" 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 136 
 
 " No, that is out of the question entirely !" 
 
 " No, it is not entirely out of the question !" 
 
 " Why, you'd surely not wish me to marry her, would you?'' 
 
 " I wish you to act like an honourable man, George, in this as well 
 as all other matters." 
 
 ' Well, but would you, under the circumstances, sanction such a 
 marriage?" 
 
 " Were I satisfied, George, that her mind is still pure were I fully 
 convinced that her heart is uncorrupted I would !'' 
 
 " How can she be pure whose virtue is gone ? How can she who 
 has sacrificed her chastity be uncorrupted?" 
 
 " I speak," replied Sir John, " of her heart and her mind.'' 
 
 " Would you have me marry a wanton ?" 
 
 ' No ! But I have yet to know that she is a wanton." 
 
 ** She who yields up her virtue is lost." 
 
 " That's true, in a general sense, quite true. But under what cir- 
 cumstances, George, did she yield? what inducements were held 
 out ? what means were employed ? what temptations were offered ?'" 
 
 "On my part, none." 
 
 " Very well. Then I have at present no more to say on the sub- 
 "ect. If she yielded through wantonness solely, she certainly is not 
 one with whom / can sympathise, or whose cause I would advocate 
 for a moment." 
 
 " But if even she had yielded to the strongest temptations " 
 
 t{ We will not pursue the subject any further now," said Sir John. 
 ; ' We shall have to revert to it again. I have several calls to make. 
 I have, in the first place, to call on Dr. Briggs, to see how poor 
 Richard Lejeune is getting on." 
 
 " I should like to go with you," said George ; " I feel anxious to 
 see him." 
 
 '" We need not both go. You go instead of me. I shall then have 
 more time on my hands." 
 
 The horses were ordered, and when Sir John had read a letter he 
 had just received from Charles, he mounted with George, and rode 
 with him through the park ; and when George turned off to visit 
 Richard Lejeune, Sir John rode thoughtfully to Freeman's. 
 
 As he approached the house, Jane by whom he was recognised in 
 an instant flew up to her room in order to avoid being seen ; and 
 when he had ascertained that Freeman was at home, he dismounted, 
 and was shown into the parlour, in which he found Freeman, whose 
 countenance was " singularly disfigured " indeed ! It could, in fact, 
 be scarcely called a countenance at all ; for, while his eyes were black 
 and swollen, and his upper lip hung down to his chin, one side of his 
 face appeared to be laughing all over, and the other particularly 
 glum. 
 
 '* Freeman," said Sir John, who, under any other circumstances 
 must have laughed, but who then was too serious to smile, ' ; I am 
 very, very sorry to see you thus." 
 
 " My own fault," said Freeman as well as he could and the best 
 
136 THE STEWARD : 
 
 he could do amounted to uo more than an almost incomprehensible 
 ^wobble "my own fault entirely. I'd no business, Sir John, to 
 come as I did. I'd just discovered it, and'also just heard that you'd 
 come home; and I don't know what possessed me I was mad !" 
 
 ** I can understand the feelings which prompted you to come," said 
 Sir John, with an expression of pure sympathy ; " but I do not believe 
 that he would have raised his hand against you, had he known the 
 real cause of your coming." 
 
 "I don't believe he would," returned Freeman. "No, I don't 
 believe he would." 
 
 "I wish, however," pursued Sir John, "that this were all that wo 
 Lad to lament." 
 
 " Had he cut me to pieces," cried Freeman, with energy, " beaten 
 me to a mummy trampled upon me, and rendered me unable to 
 move I should have cared but little, had he not ruined my child ! 
 Such a good girl! so affectionate, so virtuous, so pure! he must 
 have had the tongue, as well as the subtlety, of the Serpent !" 
 
 ** Was he often here?" enquired Sir John. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! frequently." 
 
 ** And did you encourage his visits?" 
 
 *' I did. I felt proud of his society. But as not a single w.ord ever 
 passed in my presence between him and her that could be construed 
 into anything beyond courtesy and respect, I never dreamt that his 
 object was to undermine her virtue." 
 
 *'Do } T OU think that her virtue has been really undermined." 
 
 ** No, Sir John, I do not. She is, in the world's view, destroyed; 
 "but I believe that her soul is as pure as ever ! The means by which 
 he tempted her I'm unable to conceive. She will not hear a word in 
 disparagement of him: she still believes him to be all that is honour- 
 able and just she still absolutely adores him." 
 
 ** Would you object to my having a little conversation with her?" 
 
 " Object, Sir John ! Certainly not. I should feel indeed glad if 
 you would. I'll send her to you." 
 
 " I have no desire to disturb you" 
 
 " You shall converse with her alone, Sir John ; I'll leave the room. 
 Yes, you shall converse with her alone." 
 
 "Now," thought Sir John, as Freeman withdrew, "now I shall get 
 at the truth. He is, as Freeman says, as subtle as the serpent, while 
 Iris powers of persuasion appear to be, even to the most experienced, 
 irresistible. This poor girl has had, I fear, some strong temptation ; 
 and, notwithstanding all he says about her wantonness, I feel instinc- 
 tively prejudiced in her favour. I dread to hear her tale : I dread it r 
 because I feel that it will place him in a most odious light. This is 
 110 common case of seduction. Some crafty means have been em- 
 ployed, or this sacrifice would never have been made. But why does 
 she not come ? She, perhaps, dreads the interview." 
 
 He rose and paced the room, and then went to the window ; and 
 then slowly paced the room again ; and at length he heard a tremulous. 
 tap, so gentle that he was not sure that fancy had not lent the sound. 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 137 
 
 He, however, went to the door and opened it, and there stood Jane, 
 overwhelmed with emotion. 
 
 " My poor girl," said he as he took her trembling hand, and led her 
 gently to a chair, " take courage take courage. 1 do not come here 
 to reproach ; no, no, no ! I come here as your friend as your friend,- 
 my poor girl ! There ! now let us calmly converse about matters 
 which deeply concern us both." 
 
 "I feel," said Jane, in tremulous accents " I feel, Sir John, un- 
 worthy to be in your presence. I am a guilty thing, and my spirit 
 is crushed by the weight of my shame/' 
 
 "Come, come, becalm, my poor girl!" said Sir John, as Jane 
 bowed her head, and sobbed convulsively; "come, let us talk the 
 matter over tranquilly together, in order that we may see what can be 
 done." 
 
 "Nothing can be done, Sir John nothing can be done, unless 
 you remove that barrier. Oh! remove it!" she added, sinking on 
 her knees before him, " remove it, arid the blessing of Heaven will 
 rest upon you !" 
 
 "What barrier?" enquired Sir John, as he gently raised her; 
 "what barrier, my child?" 
 
 "That," replied Jane, "which prohibits our marriage." 
 
 <{ Has he then promised you marriage ?" 
 
 "Promised promised me marriage!"' echoed Jane, with an ex- 
 pression of wonder. "A thousand times !" she added ; ** and will per- 
 form that promise. Were all the world to say that he would not, I 
 should repudiate the judgment of all the world. Nothing. can shake 
 my conviction of his truth nothing can weaken my pure faith in him. 
 It is this unbounded confidence which sustains me. Oh, Sir John! 
 were it not for that, my position would be terrible indeed !" 
 
 "You spoke of a barrier, my child," said Sir John. "Now tell 
 me calmly what it is you mean." 
 
 "Those deeds, Sir John, connected with the estate, by which 
 George is bound to remain single during your life." 
 
 "What!" cried Sir John, with feelings of indignation. "Oh!" 
 he added in a more subdued tone, "then, were it not for these 'deeds'" 
 he would marry you at once ?" 
 
 " He would, Sir John he would, and thus conceal that disgrace 
 the public knowledge of which will be otherwise inevitable. But 
 why " -she added earnestly, as fresh tears gushed forth u pardon 
 me, Sir John pray pardon me but why why, Sir John, did you 
 start when I mentioned those deeds ?" 
 
 "I started, my child," replied Sir John, "partly because I was not 
 at all aware of their existence." 
 
 " Not aware of their existence ! You not aware of their 
 existence ?" 
 
 "No ; indeed I am not." 
 
 " But there are such deeds ! I know, Sir John, that there are such 
 deeds !" 
 
 " How do you know, my child ? How do you know ?'' 
 
138 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " George told me." 
 
 "Well," said Sir John, perceiving that this evidence was held to 
 'be conclusive, " I do not say distinctly that there are no such 
 deeds : all I say is, that I have no knowledge at all of them." 
 
 " Can they not be altered, Sir John, when they are found ? Can 
 they not be legally altered ?" 
 
 4 ' My child," replied Sir John, " we must see we must see." 
 
 "And if they can be legally altered, you will alter them, Sir John 
 will you not ?" 
 
 " I will!'' replied Sir John emphatically, " I will!'' 
 
 "/ can but thank you," said Jane, with touching fervour; 
 "but Heaven will bless you ! Oh, Sir John ! wicked as I am, I feel 
 reinspired with hope. Your kindness, your goodness, has soothed a 
 wounded spirit. You are indeed the friend of the fallen !" 
 
 "My dear," said Sir John, as he took her still trembling hand and 
 pressed it, " all that / can do to promote your happiness, shall be 
 done. I fear that this marriage does not depend solely upon me; 
 but we shall see about that : we shall see we shall see. I'll speak 
 to George again on the subject, and ascertain what can be done. I 
 said that when I came here, I came as your friend. | I will act 
 like a friend to you, my child : I feel now more than ever disposed 
 to do so." 
 
 " Ten thousand thanks, Sir John !" cried Jane. ' I hope still to be 
 in a position to prove to you how grateful I can be/' 
 
 " And now," said Sir John, " before I leave, I should like to say 
 one word to your father. 
 
 Jane rose on the instant and left the room, and almost immediately 
 afterwards Freeman reappeared. 
 
 "Freeman," said Sir John, as he took his hand, " I am satisfied 
 on one point perfectly satisfied and it shall not be my fault if all 
 does not end well. Should my son come here, avoid him if you can : 
 at all events, do not speak harshly to him." 
 
 "I'll not, Sir John," returned Freeman, "I'll not. Don't you 
 think now, Sir John, that her mind's as pure as ever "?" 
 
 " I do I do : on that point I am satisfied. A few days will settle 
 it now; but in the interim, Freeman, don't speak harshly to her'' 
 
 " I can't do that, Sir John," said Freeman. " No, poor girl, I 
 can't do that." 
 
 "Very well: very well. All that I can do, Freeman, shall be 
 done." 
 
 Freeman heartily thanked him again and again; and Jane, who was 
 waiting for him near the outer door, shed tears of gratitude when he 
 approached her and pressed her hand, and told her to hope for the best. 
 
 Now, during the time Sir John was thus engaged at Freeman's, 
 George was in the garden attached to the asylum, conversing with 
 Richard Lejeune. Kichard had taken quite a fancy to him, and 
 declared, on being introduced by Dr. Briggs, that he was the firmest 
 and most sincere friend he had met with for several centuries. 
 
 " I have known him," said he, " I have known him, sir, for ages ! \ve 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 139 
 
 were boys together, and used to play with the stars. Don't you re- 
 member," he continued, addressing George " don't you remember 
 how we used to shoot with them ? Why, in those days we could send 
 them through the eye of a needle through the eye of a needle, sir, and 
 think nothing of it. But," he added, turning to the Doctor, and at 
 the same time taking George's arm, " you will excuse us. My friend 
 and I are anxious to have some private conversation. You will, I 
 know, excuse us." 
 
 The Doctor bowed, and Richard led George to the other end of the 
 garden. 
 
 " Now," said he, " 111 tell you what I want : I want to escape 
 from this citadel. I've been here long enough; but I can't effect my 
 escape unaided. The garrison can't hold out long." 
 
 k * Where is the garrison ?" enquired George. 
 
 " Concealed just behind here ; but the number is very inconsiderable ; 
 my men could make a breach, and carry the place in an hour. Now, 
 will you see that this is done ?" 
 
 " Of course !" 
 
 *' Let it be done promptly. And then the passport you can get 
 me one ?'' 
 
 ** Certainly. I had better get you one in my own name." 
 
 "What name?" 
 
 "Croly." 
 
 " Croly. Very well. I shall think of that name." 
 
 " Are you sure of it ?" 
 
 "Yes, yes Johnson I shall think of that. Let me have it with 
 all possible despatch." 
 
 "Very good." 
 
 " These walls can't stand long ! there's nothing of them ! I don't 
 know the thickness exactly, but I should say that they are not more 
 than fifty feet thick !" 
 
 " No ; I should say myself they are not more than fifty certainly 
 not more than fifty." 
 
 " Very well, then : a four-and-twenty pounder or two would blow 
 them into the air ! Let it be done. Take the command yourself, and 
 let it be done in Hush ! here comes the governor." 
 
 I wonder," said George, " that he doesn't appear in uniform P 
 
 "I have been here upwards of sixty wears, and never saw him in 
 uniform yet. He dresses thus in private clothes to mark his contempt 
 for all prisoners of war. Here he comes. Now leave me. Be 
 resolute. Adieu !" 
 
 George accordingly left him, and rejoined the Doctor. 
 
 "I am commissioned," said he, "to bring a field of artillery, in 
 order to storm this castle. You had therefore better be on" the 
 look out." 
 
 1 Does he then contemplate an escape?" enquired the Doctor. 
 
 t; Yes," replied George ; "he thinks that having been here sixty 
 years, he has been here long enough ; and as those walls are not more 
 than fifty feet thick, they are to be blown into the air with 
 
140 THE STEWARD: 
 
 few twenty-four pounders. Poor fellow ! Do you still think that he 
 will recover?" 
 
 " I don't at all despair," replied the Doctor. His case is anything 
 but hopeless. He is in fact much better than he was a few days ago." 
 
 They then entered the house, and when the Doctor had given 
 a variety of explanations having reference to the eccentricities of his 
 patient, George left and returned to the Hall. 
 
 Sir John had returned home just before him, and when he had 
 listened to George's description of all that he had seen and heard 
 of Richard Lejeune, he said, '* Now then, George, let us revert to the 
 subject to which we alluded before we wont out. It appears, George, 
 that you have succeeded in winning the affections of that poor girl. 
 You have inspired her with the most unbounded confidence in your 
 honour : you have deeply impressed her with the conviction of your 
 truthfulness, and implanted in her heart a faith in your affection 
 and integrity so firm that, as she says, if all the world were to tell her 
 that you would not perform your promise, she would repudiate 
 the judgment of all the world, and cling to that pure faith still." 
 
 " Have you seen her, then?" enquired George earnestly. 
 
 " I have. I have but just left her. I went direct to Freeman's 
 when we parted at the lodge, and I certainly feel satisfied now 
 that although she has been tempted strongly tempted by you 
 to make the sacrifice she has made, her mind is uncorrupted still, and 
 she is in spirit pure as hefore." 
 
 " You say strongly tempted." 
 
 " I do, George I do." 
 
 " The temptation was not very strong." ^ 
 
 " Don't tell me that, George : don't tell me that. I now know- 
 better. You promised her marriage again and again and I have not 
 the slightest doubt that you made that promise with all your charac- 
 teristic solemnity : while the only reason you assign to her now for not 
 marrying her at once is, that, there exist certain deeds connected with 
 the estate which prohibit your marriage while I am alive." 
 
 " Oh !" said George, with an expression of bitterness, " she has told 
 you that, has she ?" 
 
 " I drew it all from her. Now don't seize the fact of her having 
 told me this as one which can in the slightest degree justify the 
 pursuit of any dishonourable course you may contemplate : she 
 told me, not with a view to your disparagement for, as Freeman 
 explained, she'll hear nothing in disparagement of you ! she told 
 me because she believed it to be- true, and felt naturally anxious 
 to have those deeds altered." 
 
 " And you told her, of course, that there were no such deeds." 
 
 " No, George; I did not. I would not shake her faith. I would 
 not diminish her confidence in you. I felt that that faith might never 
 be shaken : I felt that that confidence might'never be destroyed. I 
 did not undeceive her : she believes in the existence of those deeds 
 still. Truth compelled me to say that I had no knowledge of them ; 
 but I told her that if I found I could legally alter them, I would." j 
 
A KOMAXCE OF HEAL LIFE. 141 
 
 <{ And tliis of course induced her to believe that if I did not marry 
 her, it would not be your fault." 
 
 " Nor will it be my fault, George, if you do not feeling that 
 you are absolutely bound to do so by every principle of justice and of 
 honour."' 
 
 *' Then you would force me into this marriage ?" 
 
 "I would advise you, George, not force you. Your own repu- 
 tation, your own sense of justice, your honour, your feelings, ought 
 to force you I would merely advise."' 
 
 " Merely advise me to marry a girl whose impurity must shortly 
 become notorious ?" 
 
 " There is no necessity, George, for its becoming notorious : nor 
 can I conceive it to be otherwise than monstrous for you to tax her 
 with impurity. You have made her what she is, and now repudiate 
 her because she is what you have made her. You have gained her 
 confidence, you have won her affections, you have inspired her with 
 faith in your honour and truth; you have acquired an influence over 
 her, the strength of which nothing on earth can surpass, and now 
 having by virtue of the most refined subtlety by promises of 
 the most solemn character, and by an affectation of piety and devotion, 
 drawn her into your power and caused her to make the great sacrifice 
 she lias made you turn round upon her and call her impure ! 
 Is this your manhood? Is this your honour? Is this your philo- 
 sophy, or is it your religion, George is it your religion?" 
 
 ** I believe," said George, *' that there are but few men who have 
 not erred : I believe there are but few who have not been guilty, not 
 only of indiscretion, but of falsehood under circumstances of a 
 similar character. I have erred in this case : I admit that I have 
 erred : but the thought of being united for ever to one who has, under 
 any circumstances, yielded, is repugnant to every feeling of morality, 
 if not to every principle of sound common sense." 
 
 " I cannot see why the thought should be repugnant to either. 
 Such a marriage would neither outrage morality nor shock common 
 sense. Your morality I fear, George, is not too refined : nor is your 
 common sense too conspicuous, seeing that common sense is based 
 upon justice and truth. But we'll not pursue this: we'll proceed to 
 weigh calmly and dispassionately all the objections you may have, 
 George, to act in this case like a man. She is a beautiful girl I call 
 her an exceeding beautiful girl: she is, moreover, highly intelligent, 
 and while her appearance is lady-like in the extreme, her manners are 
 chaste and elegant. That she is amiable and affectionate, you know 
 as well as I do : that she is devoted to you heart and soul, is a 
 fact which is also well known to us both. It is true she is not rich : 
 but the importance of that to you shall be comparatively slight : it is 
 also true that she is not connected with any high families ; but those 
 with whom she is connected have always maintained that degree 
 of respectability which has commanded the respect and esteem of all 
 who knew them " 
 
 *' No doubt of it !" interrupted George, with impatience. "I have 
 
142 TH E STK WARD : 
 
 nothing to say against their respectability ; nor have I anything to say 
 against her. I have stated the only objection I have to marry 
 her, and that I hold to be sufficient." 
 
 ** You admit that she is beautiful, amiable, and intelligent : 
 you know that she has an affectionate heart, devoted fervently 
 devoted, to you ; yet because you have robbed her heartlessly robbed 
 her of that which you now affect to prize above all, you repudiate 
 her and seize upon the fact of your having, by virtue of falsehood, be- 
 trayed her, in order to justify that repudiation ! Why what a villain 
 to use the mildest term what a villain you must be ! You steal 
 from a casket a priceless gem, and then produce it in order to prove 
 that you have rendered the casket valueless. You cause her to yield 
 that which you affect to consider her brightest jewel, and then 
 you adduce the fact to show that morality prompts you to cast 
 her off. But are you really such a villain ! Reflect, George, reflect ! 
 Consider the circumstances under which she yielded ; consider 
 that the sacrifice was made to you in the plenitude of faith and confi- 
 ence. I know the subtle smoothness of your tongue: I know 
 how eloquent you can be : I know how specious you are. The 
 means which you employed were irresistible : I am convinced of it ! 
 You would not have invented those falsehoods gratuitously. You 
 would not have conceived them had you not found that they 
 were absolutely essential to success. Reflect reflect deeply ! Be 
 assured that by promptly pursuing that course to which Honour, 
 Justice, and Nature point, you will gain the applause of all virtuous 
 men ; whereas, if a contrary course be pursued, you will be by 
 all denounced as a heartless villain ! For my own part asomething 
 must be done, and that soon, I will give you three days to aecide. I 
 need not dwell upon the effect which that decision may have ; but when 
 you have decided,' I shall know how to act." 
 
 George was silent. His countenance denoted the existence of 
 fierce passions ; but he spake not a word, and Sir John left the room. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 THE FORCED REJECTION. 
 
 CORNEY was very nearly caught at the key-hole, for as Sir John rose 
 .and left George in silence, he gave no intimation of his approach until 
 he had actually touched the handle of the door ; but then, with 
 admirable presence of mind, Corney no sooner received the startling 
 intimation than he flew with surpassing velocity to one of the hall 
 chairs, which he began to polish up with as much energy and care as if 
 lie had felt it to be the last chance he should ever have of making that 
 article look at all tidy. 
 
 " All right," thought he, as Sir John slowly passed him. " Nearly 
 
A ROMANCE OP REAL LIFE. J 43 
 
 ootched very near but not exactly quite. And that's the worst of 
 knowing a little : it makes you so eager to know more, that it leads 
 you into all sorts of dangers. If I had known nothing at all about 
 this, I shouldn't have cared to know anything about it ; but as I know 
 a little, curiosity must come to tell me I ought to know all. And I 
 certainly do know pretty well all now : but I wonder what he'll do ; 
 will he marry her or not ? He ought ; but ought stands for nothing 
 with him. It's a case of heads or tails heads he will: tails he wont. 
 He don't seem to be so over-and-above sweet upon her, although Sir 
 John says she's so very fond of him. He's an article to be fond of, 
 certainly! but then there's no accounting for girls : some are foolish and 
 some arc wide awake. And I don't know I don't like the wide-awake 
 nns best : their society is ever so much more pleasant. They cheat 
 you, it's true ; but then they cheat you because they know you like to 
 be cheated. They make you believe they love you, whether they door 
 not, and nothing can be much more pleasant than that : and what can it 
 matter to you whether they do or don't, if they make you believe they 
 do, and don't undeceive you ? This is the wide-awakes' game ! instead 
 of simpering, and sighing, and sentimentalizing, they practise the art 
 of pleasing, and the art of pleasing's what I call the subsoil of 
 society. It grows and strengthens and nourishes friendship, which 
 forges the chains and handcuffs of matrimony quicker than all the real 
 love in the universal world. We all like to be pleased its natural 
 and we are always pleased with those who make us believe that they 
 are always pleased with us. The wide-awakes know this they know 
 it stunning! and therefore they manage to marry away, while those 
 who either love or wait to love remain single. But I wonder 
 what this love is. There's so much talk about it in the universal world 
 that I should like to have a taste just to see what it's like. I should 
 like to be right on dead in love. I'll warrant its nice ! I'll warrant it 
 is-, or it wouldn't be half so much thought of. I wonder, now, whether 
 if I were to try hard I could fall in love with one of our girls 
 say Sarah. I should like to try just for the fun of the thing. But 
 suppose I was to try and make her believe that I loved her, and caused 
 her to love me right on love me and then refuse to marry her, what 
 should I be ? Be ! I should be just as bad as the Beauty. That's been 
 his game I'll warrant that's the game he's been playing and now lie 
 won't have her. But how about the jewel Sir John said he stole from 
 her? How will he get over that ? If I were her father and he didn't 
 marry her, I'd have him up for the robbery, and serve him right." 
 
 " Tell Tom to saddle the Grey," said George sternly, as he left the 
 room and passed through the hall. 
 
 " Dinner, sir," said Corney " Dinner, sir, '11 be ready in about ten 
 minutes." 
 
 " Did I ask you when dinner would be ready ? I told you to order 
 the horse." 
 
 " Certainly, sir ; beg pardon, Sir," returned Corney " only thouglii 
 you didn't know it was so near dinner time." 
 
 George said no more ; but as Corney rushed from the hall, he went 
 
144 THE STEWARD: 
 
 up stairs and opened a bottle of brandy, and having drank all 
 lie deemed sufficient for his purpose, he came down gloomily, 
 mounted his horse, and slowly rode over to Freeman's. 
 
 As he passed through the gate, Freeman saw him, and left the room 
 in which he had been sitting with Jane, while she, as usual, flew to the 
 cloor to receive him. 
 
 There was, however, something repulsive in his countenance, which 
 caused her heart at once to sink within her. He dismounted and 
 entered the house, and as he did so she tried to grasp his hand, but he 
 avoided her and passed into the room. 
 
 "My dearest loVe !" she exclaimed, with an aspect which denoted the 
 most intense apprehension, " how how is it that you meet me thus 
 coldly ?" 
 
 " Sit down," he replied, with a stern expression " sit down ; and I'll 
 tell you how it is. I thought," he continued, when both were seated, 
 Jind she had her eyes riveted upon him "I thought that in you 
 I might safely confide : I thought that at least you would never betray 
 me." 
 
 " Betray you, dear George ! How could I avoid it ? When I was 
 charged with it, what could I do ?" 
 41 1 speak not of that, Madam " 
 
 " Madam !" echoed Jane, whose feelings the application of the term 
 by him appeared to electrify. " Madam oh, pray !" she added in the 
 most touching tones "pray, pray do not speak so harshly to me. 
 How how have I offended ?" 
 
 1 "By basely endeavouring to set my father against me! by 
 insinuating that I wished for his death, in order that I might be free to 
 marry you" 
 
 "Great Heaven knows that I am innocent of that !" 
 "Innocent ! Did you not allude to those deeds which I spoke of?" 
 "I did," replied Jane with comparative firmness, her strength being 
 re-animated by the unjust charge. " I did allude to those deeds not 
 with the view of setting Sir John against you not, Heaven knows, 
 with the remotest thought of insinuating any thing so dreadful as that 
 of your wishing for his death ; but solely because, having heard you 
 repeatedly wish to Heaven that those deeds were not in existence, 
 I might beg of him earnestly to alter them, if he found it were possible 
 for him to do so." 
 
 " The very fact of your alluding to them, under the circumstances, 
 conveyed to him the insinuation that I panted for his death." 
 
 "Believe me, dear George, no such terrible thought ever entered 
 into my imagination," 
 
 "I know better ! And he saw your meaning at a glance. You 
 intended to convey that foul insinuation !" 
 
 " How am I to convince you that you wrong me ? I am innocent of 
 this cruel charge, George ; I am, as I hope to be saved ! Believe me, 
 or you'll break my heart. I declare to Him " 
 
 '* Have a care," said George, with an expression of solemnity. 
 Remember that vou have an immortal soul." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 145 
 
 - I do I do : but were I on my death bed, I would fearlessly 
 declare that I never had any such intention. I never had indeed I 
 never had ! Oh ! believe me ! Do not treat me cruelly now ! You 
 know how very dear you are to me ! Could I conceive the thought of 
 injuring you, I should be a wretch indeed. But Sir John does 
 not imagine he cannot imagine that when I spoke to him I had sucli 
 a guilty thought." 
 
 44 Why, then, does he dwell upon it ? Answer me that 1" 
 
 u If he does, it is indeed a, misconception a dreadful misconception." 
 
 " Did you ever hear me utter a syllable which could, by any ingenious 
 'torturing, be construed into a wish for his death ?" 
 
 " Never, love ; never ! no no, I never did !" 
 
 " Then why throw out that vile insinuation ?" 
 
 '" Indeed, indeed, dear George, you wrong me. I most solemnly 
 declare " 
 
 ' ; I'll not hear a declaration based upon falsehood." 
 
 " What am I to do ?" cried Jane, trembling with apprehension. 
 44 You will not," she added again, bursting into tears " You will not 
 believe me." 
 
 " I cannot believe you," replied George sternly ; " and as all 
 confidence between us is destroyed " 
 
 . " No, no, no do not say that !" cried Jane. " It is not destroyed : 
 it cannot be destroyed : nothing can shake my confidence in you ; nor 
 will you cease to confide in me, when my innocence of this dreadful 
 charge has been proved." 
 
 " You deceive yourself, for be assured you shall never again deceive 
 <me. My confidence in you is gone for ever ! we therefore part 
 for ever when I leave you now." 
 
 "Part for ever !" echoed Jane, looking perfectly bewildered ; "Part 
 for ever ! You cannot impossible no, you cannot mean and yet 
 Part for ever ! I'll not believe it ! no, no, no, no you are not so> 
 unkind, you arc not so unjust, you are not so cruel. I'll not believe 
 it!" 
 
 " I say again " 
 
 "George! you will drive me mad! Do not repeat those terrible 
 words ! Recall them, dear dear love, recall them ! You did not 
 mean to utter them did you ? no, you did not could not mean to 
 wither all my fondest hopes." 
 
 " I am firm " said George "immovable !" 
 
 " No, no ; you will reflect : you will consider how improbable how 
 utterly impossible it is for me to have been thus guilty : you will see 
 how unnatural it would be for me to say a single word in dis- 
 paragement of you, to whom I am bound heart and soul, and 
 upon whom all my earthly hopes are fixed. No, no : you will, 
 on reflection, believe me " 
 
 u Never again," said George. " Never again." 
 
 " Yes, dear ; when you have proved me to be innocent." 
 
 " Innocent !" cried George, as he rose with an expression of some- 
 ihing akin to contempt! 
 No. 10. 
 
1 46 THE STEWARD I 
 
 Aye .innocent ! But, George t dear George ! pray do not leave 
 thus! I entreat you to hear me !" 
 I'll hear no more !" 
 
 "Have confidence in HI e, dear love! I never did I never will 
 Defray that confidence." 
 
 'What confide in you when you fear to confide in me !" 
 
 have no such fear : I never had : indeed, indeed I never had. In 
 you my confidence is unbounded." 
 
 False ! If your confidence in me had been unbounded, you would 
 never have alluded to those deeds." 
 
 " I am sorry truly sorry that I did so. Notwithstanding I did 
 
 iwith the purest intention, I am sorry very sorry that I did it at all. 
 
 But you will forgive me : I hope that you will forgive me, and 
 
 believe that I do not say that' which is false, when I say that 
 
 my confidence in you is unbounded." 
 
 " I'll not believe it ! How can I believe it ? You have ruined me 
 in my father's estimation so completely that I cannot remove the im- 
 pression you have created." 
 
 " Can I can I remove that unhappy impression ?" 
 " You might !" 
 
 "Then tell me how! What on earth would I not do, dear George, 
 to remove it ! Tell me how it can be done." 
 " No," replied George. " No I'll not explain." 
 'Why not, dear ? Pray do !" 
 "Where confidence is not, impure motives are conceived." 
 
 l lf you really knew my heart, dear George, you would know that 
 it is full of confidence in you. Nor will I imagine that you can 
 be actuated by any but the purest motives. Tell me pray tell me 
 I implore you to tell me how this can be done, and more especially as 
 it appears to involve another proof of my confidence." 
 " No ! my object will be doubtless misconstrued." 
 " It shall not be ! indeed, indeed it shall not." 
 " Certainly the removal of that impression from my father's mind is 
 desirable." 
 
 " It is it is, indeed." 
 
 "And there is one way in which it can be done." 
 "Can I do it?" 
 
 "You might. Mind, I do not ask you to do it; I merely 
 say that you might. You might nominally break off the match b}' 
 either you or me it must be done, although'it would be perhaps better 
 for you to do it. You might write to me and state that you reject me, 
 and that all communication between us must be at an end. This 
 would remove at once the impression you have created. Were you to 
 do this but folly ! I talk like a child : you have not sufficient confi- 
 dence in my honour to do it." 
 
 "Have I not? You shall see. I am glad that you have thus 
 put my faith to the test. It shall be done! You shall know 
 that my confidence in you is unbounded. Dictate " she added 
 on opening her desk, " Dictate to me that which you would 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 147 
 
 have me write, and no matter what it be it shall instantly be 
 written." 
 
 " I do not desire to dictate to you." 
 
 " But you know, dear, better much better than I know what will 
 have the, desired effect" 
 
 " Address me as ' Sir,' and then coldly reject me." 
 
 Jane, intent only on removing the impression which it appeared had 
 been created in the mind of Sir John, wrote " Sir Circumstances of 
 recent occurrence have induced me to write for the purpose of stating 
 that I reject you." 
 
 " Will that be sufficient, dear George ? " she enquired. 
 
 " Anything will do," said George, carelessly. " Still, you may as 
 well add, in order to make the note longer, that all correspondence 
 between us must cease." 
 
 This was added, and the note ran thus : 
 
 SIR, 
 
 " Circumstances of recent occurrence have induced me to write for 
 the purpose of stating that I reject you, and that all correspondence 
 between us must cease. 
 
 " I remain, 
 
 " Dear George, 
 " Your own and ever affectionate, 
 
 " JANE." 
 
 " What's this?" said George, having read the note. " I remain, 
 dear George, your own and ever affectionate Nonsense ! That will 
 not do." 
 
 " I have always thus subscribed myself." 
 
 " I know that you have; but don't you see that this contradicts the 
 body of the note." 
 
 " I see yes, I see now. Then what shall I put ? " 
 
 '* Respectfully yours, Jane Freeman." 
 
 The note was re- written, and submitted again to George, who said, 
 " This will do seal it, and direct it to me, and then send it up to 
 the Hall." 
 
 Jane obeyed him. The note was directed and sealed, and one of 
 the men was immediately despatched. 
 
 *' Then you thought," said Jane, with a tearful smile, " that my 
 confidence in you was not unbounded '?" 
 
 " I did," replied George. u I did." 
 
 u Why, you have acquired so much influence over me, love, that 
 were you to wish me to stand as a target to prove my confidence in 
 you, I would do it." 
 
 " Well, we shall see. For the present I must leave you." 
 
 " But this, dear, has been such a terrible quarrel. I really cannot 
 part with you yet. I began to fear that I had lost you for ever, and 
 yet I would not believe that you were in earnest. You did, however, 
 speak to me harshly very harshly you almost broke my heart. But 
 you did not really mean to speak cruelly to me. No, no ; I feel sure 
 that you did not mean it. There," she added, as she smiled, and tried 
 
THE STEWARD I 
 
 ts> check her tears, but could not, " It's all over now yes, it's all 
 over now. It's too terrible to reflect upon ; we'll think no more of it. 
 But must you really leave me so soon ?" 
 
 * k Yes," replied George, " I have not yet dined." 
 
 " "When shall I again see you, love?'' 
 
 *' When I find that that impression has been removed." 
 
 *' Heaven grant, then, that that may be soon ! Must you go ? " she 
 added, as he moved towards the door. " Well, well; I will not detain 
 you, love, now. God bless you ! God bless you ! You leave me 
 comparatively happy." 
 
 George coldly permitted her to embrace him, and left; and when 
 she had watched him until he had become lost to view, she sank on 
 the couch and wept bitterly. She felt humiliated, degraded, enslaved; 
 and she was, indeed, at the mercy of one who was merciless. Instead 
 of having influence over him, she had yielded all, and become a 
 suppliant. Had she not been prevailed upon thus to yield, she would 
 feave assumed the true dignity of her sex. She would not only have 
 felt herself insulted ; she would have resented the insult, and that with 
 becoming spirit : but, in her position, she was as those who are situated 
 'like her ever are and ever will be powerless. 
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 THE ADVICE. 
 
 ''HN his return to the Hall, George found that Sir John having been 
 through the ceremony of dining alone had just been joined by Dr. 
 Farquar. Jane's note had arrived before him, and so had a small 
 parcel containing Corney's watch, which D'Almaine, by a well-known 
 process, had recovered. 
 
 *' You remember, sir," said he, addressing Corney, who shortly 
 afterwards entered the room in which he was sitting, with a message 
 from Dr. Farquar, to the effect that he should be happy to take a glass 
 of wine with him, " You remember, sir, being in that disreputable 
 house in which you were robbed V " 
 
 "I have reason to remember it, sir," replied Corney; " I shall never 
 forget it to the day of my death. I shall never have another watch 
 like that." 
 
 " What kind of watch was it ? " 
 
 "A beauty, sir ! right on a beauty ! replied Corney, who, having 
 from the mine of his imagination raised the idea that George intended 
 to make him a present of another, felt bound in strict justice to him- 
 self to hold the lost one in very high esteem "I never see such a 
 watch, sir, before or since, and never shall see such another. It was 
 I don't know how many hundred years old ! works inside, sir, going 
 like life, and a couple of cases of silver and gold, and hands and face, 
 .sir, stunning ! " 
 
A ROMANCE OF HEAL LIFE. 
 
 '* I have a watch here," said George, " but it does not at all cor- 
 respond with your description. The one I have is a dirty old tortoise- 
 shell affair, battered about in all directions, and not worth a crown I 
 Do you know the maker's name ? " 
 
 " Swiggles, sir, Swiggles : Swiggles, Maker, six thousand six hun- 
 dred and sixty six, London. I recollect the number because of tho 
 four sixes." 
 
 George produced the watch with the view of ascertaining whether- 
 the name and number corresponded ; and the moment Corney iixeet 
 his eyes upon it, he was struck with the most intense amazement. 
 
 " Why, that's the very watch ! "' he exclaimed, with a stare which 
 denoted the existence of a feeling that some awfully satanic mystery 
 was attached to it, u As true as I'm alive, the very one ! " 
 
 "Well, but where are the gold and silver cases?" enquired' 
 George. 
 
 " You'll find it all shiny inside," replied Corney. 
 '* Shiny inside! well, it's shiny enough and the maker's name ij 
 Swiggles. Are you sure, sir, that this is the watch that you lost?" 
 4 'Quite, sir ; quite ! I should know it from a million/' 
 *' Very well: then there it is." 
 
 " I'm very much obliged to you indeed sir, and return you many 
 thanks. But may I be so bold, sir, as to ask how you got it ? " 
 
 "Ask no questions," replied George stonily, as he rose to leave the 
 room and left the watch on the table. " Be satisfied with having it 
 restored." 
 
 Well ! it is extremely painful to tax a man with ingratitude, but i 
 certainly cannot with strict truth be stated that Corney was satisfied 
 at all ! He was, on the contrary, exceedingly dissatisfied, and would 
 almost have given the watch to have had tiiat which he held to be a- 
 black looking mystery solved. 
 
 " How did he get it ?" he enquired of himself. " How, in the name 
 
 of all the spirits afloat, did he conjure it down here"? lie must I'll 
 
 say it again and again, and I'll keep on saying it he must have some 
 friendly connection with the Old One ! I have heard of men sellin^* 
 their souls : I've seen it done! I saw it at the play, and whatever 
 they wanted they had but to wish for," and there it was ready cut and 
 dried. Now, it's hard to say very hard to say that a man has sold 
 his soul : it isn't affectionate, it isn't charitable, it isn't pathetic, it 
 isn't the thing; but if this isn't a sell a dead and universal sell all 
 
 I can say is that it looks dark and like it. Here is the watch the real 
 
 identical watch that ungrateful rhinoceros robbed me of in London- 
 mark ! in London, more than seventy mile away! here it is, and. 
 who but the Old One could have brought it ? No mortal knew of the 
 robbery until the thief was gone ! no flesh knew where he went to. 
 nor where he. could be found, nor could any living soul in London 
 
 tell that this very watch belonged to me. Now look at that! just 
 
 ook at that! look at it and then see what it amounts to. Didn't the 
 Old One know the watch ? Didn't he know the thief that stole it?- 
 and didn't he know it belonged to me? Very \vc-li, then I 
 
150 THE STEWAUD: 
 
 wished to have it back he wished to have it back he wished ! 
 and back it came ! Now you know this looks black particularly 
 black! / might have wished till all was blue before he'd have 
 brought it back for me. But George wished, and back it came like 
 life. Why, isn't this exactly the same as when the man sold his soul 
 at the play? Didn't he wish? and didn't he have what he wished 
 for? and isn't this the same case exact? I can't smell any thing 
 like brimstone about it," he continued as he bent towards it cautiously, 
 for he had not yet inspired sufficient courage to touch it. " It smells 
 of smoke but that may be London smoke. I don't like the look of 
 it ! I don't like to handle it ! If it has passed through the Old One's 
 hands it may perhaps get me in his power ! I should like to wind it 
 up just to see how it goes ! He may have been playing himself with 
 the works! I should like to wind it up! But then if he should be 
 in it! Send I may live, wouldn't that be a treat ! But in it! how- 
 can he be in it ! And yet I've heard say he's in a smaller thing than 
 that. Who knows ? He may be in it ! He may at this present time 
 be hid among the works. He can twist himself into any universal 
 thing upon earth that swell can ! Nothing's too little for him ! any 
 where he can walk in! although it's a rum thing to think of his 
 being everywhere at once ! Well, then, now stop a bit let's look 
 at the thing philosophical. He's everywhere at once. Very well. 
 Everywhere. Well then, if he's everywhere, he's in the watch, it's 
 true /but so he would haVe been had it not passed through his hands. 
 What then have I to fear? I never murdered nobody! I never 
 robbed nobody! I never did nobody no harm, nor I don't owe 
 nobody twopence. Why, then, should I fear ? If he's in among the 
 works I'll wind him up among the works. But stop don't be too 
 fast he'll not stand much nonsense ! he's not the sort of swell to be 
 trifled with, mind you ! But what's he got to do along o' me ? / 
 have not sold myself to him ! The watch is mine ! I'll wind it up 
 and put it in my pocket. But should he be in it " 
 
 The bell rang it rang with a somewhat startling effect and Corney, 
 whose soul was absorbed in the sound, became so oblivious of his 
 hilosophy, that, on the impulse of the moment, he seized the watch, 
 and instinctively rushed from the room. 
 
 It must not, however, be imagined that the bell rang with violence 
 because it had a startling effect upon Corney. It did not ring with 
 violence ; it rang, in fact, somewhat more gently than usual 
 it be considered that he was at the time in the depths of his own 
 metaphysics, the fact of his having started when summoned from those 
 depths by the bell, can excite no surprise. 
 
 " Cornelius," said Sir John, as Corney entered the drawing-room, 
 " who was the bearer of that note? Who brought it ?" 
 
 " Note, Sir John ? The note for Mr. George ? " 
 
 " Yes ; whom was it left by ? " 
 
 " Jerry, Sir John, one of Mr. Freeman's men." 
 
 " Very good," returned Sir John, "that will do ; that's all I want 
 vou for." And Corney at once bowed and withdrew. 
 
A EOMAXCE OF REAL LIFE. 151 
 
 " Well," said Dr. Farquar, who had been earnestly engaged in 
 portraying the amiable characteristics of Jane, and whose eulogies had 
 been stopped by the production of her note, " as that is the case, why 
 there, of course, as far as it goes, is an end of the matter." 
 
 " But is it not strange," observed Sir John, addressing the Doctor, 
 " that she who appeared to be this morning all constancy, who 
 seemed so devotedly attached to him that nothing on earth as she fer- 
 vently declared could shake her faith in his affection and honour, 
 should so suddenly turn round and discard him ? " 
 
 " It is," replied the Doctor, " it is strange, indeed. I can't at all 
 understand it.'' 
 
 " We hear," pursued Sir John, " of the fickleness of women ; but 
 this surpasses all, if this note were written voluntarily." 
 
 " I don't think," said the Doctor, " that Freeman could have 
 prompted her to write, under the circumstances, such a note as that. 
 Have you seen her to-day ? " he added, turning to George. 
 
 "Yes." replied George, '* and the fact of our having had a few 
 angry words may have induced her to write to me thus." 
 
 *' Oh ! " said Sir John, '* you have seen her, and you had a few 
 words together angry words. Well, I'll not inquire what you 
 quarrelled about; but I think that situated as she is now, words of 
 kindness misrht have been substituted for those of ano-er." 
 
 I can tell you why we quarrelled." 
 I do not wish to hear." 
 
 " It was because I found her utterly unworthy of confidence.'' 
 
 Sir John, who was anxious not to expose George before Dr. 
 Farquar, merely observed, that he knew that she had the utmost con- 
 fidence in him ; and the subject dropped. 
 
 Sir John was, however, by no means convinced that that note tad 
 been written voluntarily. He felt sure that its tone was ascribable 
 either to George's brutality or Freeman's disgust; and therefore, 
 having the most implicit faith in Jane's constancy, and no faith at all in 
 the honour of George, he resolved on ascertaining, if possible, what 
 really induced her to write it. 
 
 He accordingly, immediately after breakfast the following morning, 
 rode over and called upon Jane ; and when she had received him with 
 unaffected pleasure, he led her to a seat, and said, with a smile of great 
 significance, " So you have discarded George, I find repudiated him 
 utterly.'' 
 ' Jane was silent. 
 
 ;< Your decision was somewhat sudden, my child, was it not ?" 
 
 Jane held down her head, and was silent still. 
 
 *' He treated you harshly, I presume very harshly. But what was 
 this desperate quarrel about?" 
 
 " Oh !" said Jane, artlessly, " it's all over now. We made it all 
 up before we parted." 
 
 "Oh!" cried Sir John, with an expression of satisfaction, "you 
 made it all up before you parted ! Well, that's right ! It was but a 
 lovers' quarrel, then, after all?" 
 
152 THE STEWARD : 
 
 ** Nothing more," replied Jane. 
 
 " Well, well ! If you made it up before you parted, why, so much 
 the better, my child ; but, as you made it up before you parted, what 
 induced you, when you had parted, to send him that note ?" 
 Jane was again silent, and felt much embarrassed. 
 ** Was that note," enquired Sir John, " written by you ?" 
 *' Yes,' Sir John," replied Jane, tremulously " yes." 
 "But, as the quarrel was at an end before he left you, how came 
 you to send it ?" 
 
 " I sent it," said Jane, in a state of confusion, " I certainly sent it." 
 " Then, of course, you wish to see him no more !" 
 "Heaven forbid," she exclaimed with fervour, "that I should ever 
 entertain such a thought!" 
 
 ** You have stated that all correspondence must cease." 
 "I am aware, Sir John yes, I am aware it is thus stated." 
 "Then you did not really mean it?" 
 *' No, Sir John, no ! that is no !" 
 
 "Then what could have induced you to write to that effect?" 
 4< I scarcely knew what I was about." 
 
 ' 4 Well, well !" returned Sir John, soothingly, "I believe it. I don't 
 think you really did know what you were about : no, I don't think you- 
 did. But I have, my dear, to ask you one question, which I hope you 
 will answer ingenuously. Do not fear me ; I have your happiness 
 nearer at heart than you imagine. I am no enemy of yours, my child/' 
 " I am sure of it ! Oh, I feel satisfied of that !" 
 *' Well, then, was this note voluntarily written T 
 Jane was again silent, and hung down her head, and felt more than 
 ever confused. 
 
 "I mean, my dear, did any one force you to write it?" 
 *' No, Sir John, no no Q\\e forced me." 
 
 " Very well : very good : I'm very glad to hear it. Where was it 
 written T 
 
 " Here, Sir John : in this room." 
 
 "Oh! in this room! Aye! Who was in the room when you 
 wrote it ?" 
 
 Jane burst into tears, and Sir John waived the point for a moment,, 
 and endeavoured to soothe her; and at length said, "Was this note 
 .written in your usual hand?" 
 
 " I felt somewhat confused at the time," replied Jane. 
 **,! see ; you couldn't write so well as you usually write, because 
 you felt confused." 
 
 * 4 1 wrote it "while in a state of agitation." 
 *'And what caused you to be agitated?" 
 *' I never can write so well as when I am alone." 
 " Of course not, my dear ; nor can I. Did he notice_the hand at 
 the time?" 
 
 " Who, Sir John ? rj 
 
 " There was no one else present, I presume ? Your father was out, 
 was he not ? " 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 
 
 " No, Sir John : he was up stairs." 
 
 " Oh, he was up stairs ! Well, but didn't George notice the hand ?'" 
 
 *' He said nothing about it to me. , But is there anything particular 
 about the writing ? " 
 
 " No, nothing particular ! It merely looks as if you were confused 
 at the time ! " 
 
 *' I was confused I was confused.'' 
 
 " But how caine you to write it in the presence of George ? " '-> 
 
 *' Did I say that I wrote it in his presence ? " 
 
 " Why, my dear, but you admitted as much ! But, come, now 
 let us understand each other perfectly. It mas written in his presence.,, 
 was it not ? " 
 
 "How am I to act?" cried Jane, tremulously, as the tears again 
 gushed from her eyes. " I have no wish, Sir John, to conceal any- 
 thing from you; and yet. if I tell you all he will be angry. What am 
 I to do ? " 
 
 "My dear girl," returned Sir John, calmly, "my object in asking 
 these questions is chiefly to ascertain how / am to act, and what/ am 
 to do; and I pledge you my honour that what you say to me now 
 shall remain, as far as 1 am concerned, unknown to him. Something, 
 in a day or two now must be done; but, although I can see pretty 
 clearly why that note was written although I know pretty well that 
 he urged you to write it I am anxious to proceed on sure grounds." 
 
 " It was certainly written at his suggestion," said Jane. 
 
 " Exactly. It was not only written at his suggestion, but he was 
 present when you wrote it.'' 
 
 " He was." 
 
 " Of course, and dictated the terms. But what was his object - 
 his ostensible object ? What did he state his object to be ? 
 
 " Merely to relieve your mind," replied Jane. 
 
 " To relieve my mind ? " 
 
 " He thought that that note might remove an impression which he 
 imagined that I had created." 
 
 " What impression did he mean ? " 
 
 " He feared that when I unfortunatel mentioned those deeds, that 
 I had induced you to fancy that he wished for your death ! " 
 
 " Oh ! in order that he might then be quite free to marry you?" 
 
 *' Exactly. But I am sure I had no intention of creating any such 
 impression I had no thought of anything so dreadful." 
 
 u No such impression was made." 
 
 " Believe me, Sir John, if I caused you for one moment to imagine 
 that he was capable of entertaining such a thought " 
 ,.. " My dear girl, you did nothing of the kind." 
 
 " I am, indeed, glad to hear you say so. He feared that I had; and 
 I began to be apprehensive that I might inadvertently have said some- 
 thing calculated to induce the idea, although, Heaven knows, I had no- 
 such bad intention." 
 
 "Then he accused you of having the intention?" 
 
 "Why," replied Jane, "lie was alarmed: he was afraid that you 
 
154 THE STEWARD : 
 
 might imagine something of the kind, and therefore he wished me to 
 write that note." 
 
 44 1 see," said Sir John, with a thoughtful expression, " I see. 
 He was afraid that his anxiety to marry you might be construed into a 
 wish for my death." 
 
 " Precisely," replied Jane, who began to feel as if that difficulty 
 had been surmounted, "Precisely. But I am quite sure that no such 
 thought as that ever entered into his imagination. He is too kind, 
 too good, too affectionate, to entertain a feeling so unnatural." 
 
 44 Certainly," returned Sir John calmly; 4 ' it would be unnatural 
 for a son to wish for his father's death it would be, under almost any 
 circumstances, unnatural but I am not in the slightest degree appre- 
 hensive that his anxiety to marry you has engendered any such wish ! 
 Nor, indeed, is my death at all necessary to your marriage. He can 
 marry you if he thinks proper, even to-morrow !" 
 
 41 And those deeds, Sir John ?" 
 
 " There are no deeds connected with the estate which amount to a 
 prohibition." 
 
 "Dear me!" exclaimed Jane. "Why, what a dreadful miscon- 
 ception then he has been labouring under ! " 
 
 44 There is nothing to prohibit your marriage now\" 
 
 " Then you have removed the prohibition ! I feel that you have ! 
 Oh !" she continued, as she shed tears of gratitude, " your kindness 
 overpowers me ; but Heaven will bless you ! Is there nothing to pre- 
 vent it? did you say nothing?" 
 
 44 He is just as much at liberty to marry you now as he would be if 
 I were in the grave. He has my consent, and whenever he feels dis- 
 posed to marry you he can do so." 
 
 4 ' Sir John," exclaimed Jane with an expression of rapture, "you 
 have inspired me with new life, and hope, and joy!" 
 
 44 1 said," observed Sir John with marked emphasis, " that when- 
 ever he feels disposed to marry you he can do so." 
 
 44 Disposed!" echoed Jane^with a look of intensity. 44 Disposed, 
 Sir John ? * Disposed?" 
 
 44 Aye ! I say that he can make you his wife whenever he feels 
 disposed !" 
 
 *' But you do not conceive that he has or ever had- the slightest 
 indisposition to do so?'' 
 
 4 ' Nay ! you ought on that subject to know his feelings best." 
 
 " Well I have not I cannot have the slightest conception that he 
 will hesitate one moment when he knows that he is free." 
 
 44 Very good!" returned Sir John. " Then all you have to do is 
 to bring him to the test." 
 
 44 The test, Sir John ! his sincerity, his constancy, and truth surely 
 cannot require to be tested? I have the utmost faith in his affection*! 
 if I had not, I should indeed be wretched ! And yet vou seem to 
 doubt!" 
 
 44 1 merely said, bring him to the test. He is free, quite free, to 
 marry you now. There is nothing to prohibit the marriage- : nothing 
 
A ROMANCE OF HEAL LIFE. 155 
 
 on earth that I am aware of to prevent it. I therefore say, bring him 
 to the test." 
 
 " But how," said Jane, whom Sir John's plain advice and apparent 
 incredulity had confused, " how is the test of which you speak to be 
 applied." 
 
 " He promised that he would marry you when he became free. 
 Very well. Tell him that he is perfectly free to do so now, and then 
 you'll hear what he says." 
 
 " But will he not be angry ? ' 
 
 "Why should he be angry? If he be sincere he'll not be angry. 
 He will, on the contrary, be pleased to find that every obstacle to his 
 marriage has been removed." 
 
 " But may I say that you told me every obstacle had been removed?" 
 
 " Certainly. You can say that you have seen me, and, that having 
 alluded to our former conversation, I stated that he was now free." 
 
 '* I know not," said Jane, whose confidence had thus been some- 
 what shaken, " I know not, Sir John, how to thank you; but believe 
 me, I feel indeed grateful for the interest you take in my most un- 
 happy case." 
 
 " If he be sincere, my girl, all will yet be well." 
 
 "But do you can you doubt his sincerity." 
 
 " I like to see sincerity proved, my dear : there is then no room 
 for doubt. But do not be dispirited. Have courage. Relinquish 
 neither faith nor hope. You have it now in your power to bring him 
 to the test, and therefore take my advice and gently do so." 
 
 "I will," returned Jane, " I will take your advice." 
 
 "Be calm," added Sir John, as he rose to leave the room. "Be 
 firm, but tranquil.' ' 
 
 Jane, who knew not then what to think, and whose embarrassment 
 was painful in the extreme, accompanied him with trembling steps to 
 the door, where he pressed her hand affectionately, and left her. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 THE TEST. 
 
 SIB. JOHN'S object in throwing a doubt on George's sincerity was of* 
 course to prepare Jane for that which she conceived to be the worst 
 to render less sudden her descent from pure faith in his truth to con- 
 viction of his faithlessness to break her faH from hope to despair. 
 
 He knew what confidence she reposed in George how ardently 
 she loved him, and how firmly she held her belief in his truth ; and 
 fearing that the shock, if it came unexpectedly, might prove, under 
 the circumstances, fatal, he thought it wise to create in her mind a 
 doubt, that she might weigh it and dwell upon it and inure herself to 
 it while she still retained hope, before the blow which he now 
 thought inevitable came to blast that hope for ever. 
 
156 THE STEWARD: 
 
 Nor was this doubt created in vain ; for Jane, during the whole of 
 that day, while still clinging to hope, accustomed her mind to suspicion. 
 
 "And is it come to "this!" she exclaimed bitterly, while dwelling 
 upon each conflicting thought as it arose. " Is it come to this ? to 
 doubt where I reposed the most unlimited confidence to suspect 
 "where I cannot cease to love ? I had no conception that he was ever 
 imagined, even by comparative strangers, to be capable of an act of 
 dishonour, and yet his father suspects him ! his father, who ought to 
 know him better than all the world besides ! I thought that he had 
 an almost universal reputation for piety, 1 sincerity, and amiability; and 
 yet his father his own dear father has caused me to doubt! But 
 I'll cease to doubt: I'll have confidence still. I'll doubt no more ! 
 I'll know ! I'll know if he be that which I hope he is, but which I 
 have been thus led to fear he is not." 
 
 She wrote to him and he treated the note with contempt. She 
 wrote to him again and her note was returned ! A third time she 
 wrote in the most touching strain imploring him for mercy's sake to 
 come to her and to that note she received the following answer : 
 
 [Miss FREEMAN, 
 
 " I must no longer be annoyed, and your communications are an 
 annoyance to me, seeing that they remind me of those unguarded 
 moments in which you betrayed me into sin. 
 
 " Repent, woman ! Have a contrite heart. Eepent ! for true 
 penitence will not be despised. Repent sincerely. Crave mercy 
 from the Fountain of all Mercy. Seek to be forgiven. Repent and 
 be saved ! 
 
 " I am, 
 
 " Your well wisher, 
 
 " GEORGE CROLY." 
 
 Jane whom the breathless perusal of this note had stunned - 
 stood and stared like a lunatic. She felt that all her fond hopes were 
 blasted that she had been cruelly deceived that she had confided in 
 a villain she felt all this and yet shed not a tear ! She could not 
 weep her indignation sustained her she stood pale and motionless 
 as a statue ! 
 
 " Jane, dear," said Freeman, who had been watching her anxiously ; 
 " Jane what is that?" 
 
 She instinctively gave him the note as she stood, and then became 
 motionless again until he had read it. 
 
 11 Villain ! " cried Freeman, having glanced at the first paragraph. 
 " Monstrous thrice accursed villain! " he added, seizing the poker 
 with the view of thrusting the note into the fire. 
 
 " No, no ! " exclaimed Jane, as she rushed towards him, "Father? 
 No! Let it for Heaven's sake, let it be preserved! Dear father," she 
 added, as she fell upon his neck, and gave vent to tears of agony, "do 
 not pray do not destroy it." 
 
 " Viper!" cried Freeman, whose rage was intense, "base cowardly 
 viper! Then lie was betrayed! you betrayed him! the wretch I'' 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 157 
 
 "Dear father," said Jane, "let us take Sir John's advice, and be 
 calm." 
 
 " Calm ! Who can be calm ?" 
 
 " We can at the same time be firm, dear father." 
 
 "I will be firm! The unmanly scoundrel! Yes, I will be firm ! 
 He shall pay dearly for this ! I'll denounce him to the world ! ^ The 
 whole world shall know what a villain he is ! " 
 
 "And what a wretched creature I am!" added Jane. '* Aye ! and 
 what a wretched creature I am! But, clear father, let us" read that 
 note again, and then we shall know better how to proceed." 
 
 " I have not read it all," replied Freeman ; " I have only read the 
 first part, in which he says that you betrayed him ! " 
 
 " Dear father, I hope that you do not suspect " 
 
 " No, no, my girl no, no ! that's out of the question." 
 
 "But, if I could be so wicked " 
 
 " If you say another word upon that point, Jane, I'll hurl the brutal 
 note into the flames ! " 
 
 "Then, I'll Hot," replied Jane, "I'll not. Head that which you 
 have not yet read, and then let me read it again." 
 
 Freeman again looked at the note ; but, short as it was, he could 
 not read it all. He had not sufficient patience to read it, and therefore 
 give it to Jane, with an expression of contempt. 
 
 " Well," said Jane, calmly, having perused it again with care, and 
 dwelt thoughtfully upon every sentence it contained. "You perceive 
 that I can read it without any strong emotion ! And why ? Because,, 
 dear father, I know the falsehood, the injustice, and the cruelty by 
 which it is characterised. And yet," she added, as a thought on 
 the instant struck her, 'Til not believe that when he wrote it he was 
 sane." 
 
 " Not what ! '' cried Freeman. 
 
 " Not sane, dear father. He must have written it while in a state of 
 enthusiasm. His mind must have been under the influence of some 
 delusion. Some feverish excitement must have overturned his reason. 
 His brain was affected. It must have been. I'll not believe that, had 
 lie been in his right senses, he would have written to me thus. I'll 
 not believe it ! He who has breathed to me the sweetest affection 
 whose claims to my love have been based upon the purest piety he by 
 whom I have been taught with surpassing tenderness to look up to, to 
 idolize, to revere ! lie write to me in this strain, and yet not be 
 mad ! I'll not believe it ! " 
 
 " My dear Jane!" said Freeman, " be no longer deceived. He is a 
 villain ! " 
 
 " No, no, dear father at least, do not yet condemn him." 
 
 " I say that he is a villain ! That note was written either to drive 
 you mad or to break your heart he cared not which." 
 
 " But does it look like the note of a sane man ? " 
 
 " It looks like the note of a dastardly hypocrite, anxious to hide his 
 villany, and to increase your shame. You were the seducer, forsooth ! 
 you betrayed him / and now he exhorts you to repentance!" 
 
158 THE STEWARD : 
 
 " It is that very style," returned Jane, " which tends to convince 
 me that when he adopted it he must have been mad. Now, dear 
 father, do let me try him again. Let us have no doubt on this subject 
 now. Let us prove absolutely prove whether he is that which you 
 have described him to be or not.'" 
 
 " I think, my child, that this has been pretty well proved. I have 
 no doubt on the subject myself." 
 
 " Then let me have the doubt which I entertain removed. Let me 
 try him once more. Let me write to him again." 
 
 " In order that you may be again grossly insulted?" 
 
 " No, he'll not again insult me ; but even if he should, what can 
 surpass the insult here ? But I'll write in a calm and conciliating 
 style, and beg of him to give me an intelligible explanation." 
 
 " Well, my dear, well ;" replied Freeman, " as you please. If he 
 should condescend to give you any further explanation, it will be 
 intelligible enough." 
 
 Jane, still hoping that her conjectures, having reference to George's 
 temporary insanity, might prove correct, went to her desk and wrote 
 as follows : 
 
 " Dear George, 
 
 " What am I to understand by the note I have just received? 
 Pray, dear, explain. 
 
 " I asked you in my former note to call ; but, perhaps, you are not 
 well : and if you be not, do not answer this now, dear, but wait until 
 'you are tranquil. 
 
 " My love, I had the pleasure of seeing Sir John this morning, and 
 he told me, with much kindness, that every obstacle to our marriage 
 had been removed. You can imagine how delighted I was to hear 
 this, dear George, and my request that you would come to me pro- 
 ceeded from my anxiety to communicate the happy intelligence to you. 
 
 " Now, will you come this evening, and converse with me on this 
 subject. Come, dear love, come ! and pour into my heart the only 
 balm that can heal that wound which you have, perhaps unconsciously, 
 inflicted. Come, love, come ; and tranquillize the mind of your own 
 devoted " JANE. 
 
 " P.S. Pray, do not answer this if you be not well." 
 
 Having despatched this note, with instructions for the servant to 
 wait for an answer, and to enquire particularly after George's health, 
 she seated herself by the side of her father to await the result with all 
 the patience at her command. 
 
 '' Well, my dear," said Freeman, who was smoking his pipe thought- 
 fully, " you are hard to be convinced." 
 
 " It is hard, dear father it is, indeed, hard to be convinced of the 
 perfidy of one whom you love." 
 
 " The conviction will soon come, my child; and when it does " 
 
 " Why, even then, I must love him still." 
 
 ' What ! when you have proved him to be a villain?" 
 
 " Heaven forbid that this should ever be proved ! But even if it 
 
A ROMANCE OP REAL LIFE. 1-59 
 
 be, I still must love him. I feel the influence he has acquired, dear 
 father, to be irresistible. I am but an automaton, of which he com- 
 mands the motive power. My feelings are but his creatures, for he 
 created those feelings, and retains dominion over them. I can 
 scarcely where lie is concerned be considered a responsible being. 
 I seek not, dear father, to rid myself of that responsibility which 
 attaches to my most unhappy fall. I mention it but to show that the 
 control I have over my feelings is but slight, and that my heart is as 
 powerfully attracted by him as moths are by the flame which destroys 
 them." 
 
 " Well, it's of no use," srtid Freeman "it's of no use to attempt 
 to bring reason to bear upon a point like this. Why, my dear, you 
 talk of his being in a state of enthusiasm ! you are a greater enthu- 
 siast than he ! But when you have proved -what you shortly mill 
 prove, other feelings will arise at least I hope so I hope so." 
 
 Jane was silent and sank into a reverie, while Freeman continued 
 to smoke his pipe sometimes puffing calmly and sometimes with 
 violence, according to the state of his feelings at the time until the 
 servant returned with the following note, which she eagerly opened 
 and read : 
 
 " WOMAU- ! 
 
 " Trouble me no more ! I thought that my former commu- 
 nication would have been sufficient to convince you that I wished not 
 to be annoyed by your indelicate importunities ; but I find that it has 
 but increased your characteristic boldness. 
 
 " You speak of marriage of our marriage ! and -you state that 
 every obstacle 1 has been removed ; but there is one obstacle which can 
 never be removed, and that obstacle is Morality ! Morality must 
 ever be a bar to such a marriage as that which you contemplate. 
 
 " I fear that it is sinful even by way of illustration to take 
 lower ground in a case of this character ; but if morality did not form 
 a barrier so insuperable as in my mind it does mere policy mere 
 worldly policy would be sufficient to prompt me to abandon the 
 thought of marrying one who so willingly yielded or who could be 
 by any means prevailed upon to yield the brightest moral ornament 
 that can adorn her sex. 
 
 " Such a marriage must be hateful in the sight of God and man. 
 Happiness never sprang from such a marriage. Checks, bickerings, 
 heart-burnings, and odious epithets, are the fruits of which such an 
 immoral marriage is the germ, and I marvel that you do not know me 
 better than to imagine that I would, by either threats or entreaties, be 
 induced to contract such a marriage as that. 
 
 " No ! I have erred, but I am not mad ! Therefore write to me no 
 more ! I will open no more of your indelicate notes, for they are 
 indelicate in the extreme ! No woman of common decency would 
 ask a man to marry her : no woman possessing that natural pride 
 which constitutes at once the charm and dignity of her sex would beg 
 of a man to make her his wife : yet this you do and I presume with- 
 
360 THE STEWARD: 
 
 out a blusli ! but if you still entertain the remotest thought that you 
 will ever be my wife, repudiate that thought as I repudiate you ! 
 
 " Think not, woman, that I bear malice. In my breast no animo- 
 sity is harboured. You have caused me much pain, but I forgive 
 you. You have placed before me strong temptations to sin, but I 
 forgive you sincerely and implore you as a friend to crave forgive- 
 ness of Him whojn you have more deeply offended. 
 
 " I am still 
 
 " Your well-wisher, 
 
 " GEORGE CROLY." 
 
 Jane, who had previously made up her mind to subdue her emotions 
 if possible, and who certainly did succeed in preserving a degree of 
 .firmness which, under the circumstances, may be said to have been 
 wonderful, having read this precious document, gave it in silence to her 
 father. 
 
 " Well," said Freeman, who had been watching her countenance 
 narrowly, and who had been led by her calmness to imagine that his 
 judgment nad been somewhat too hastily formed, " what does he say, 
 my dear? what does he say ? " 
 
 "Read, dear father," replied Jane, "read." 
 
 l( Woman !" he exclaimed as he glanced at the compellation 
 "Woman! The wretch!" 
 
 "Dear father, read! " said Jane. "Make no comments." 
 
 Freeman did read : he managed to read the note through, and 
 struggled hard to conceal the feelings of rage it inspired. 
 
 " Well," said he at length, " are you satisfied now? Are you now 
 convinced that he is a most consummate villain ? " 
 
 ; * No, dear father: no," replied Jane, " I am not convinced yet." 
 
 " Not yet convinced ! " cried Freeman. 
 
 " No: But give me some water," she added faintly " some water ! " 
 
 " Some brandy, my girl. Have some brandy :" cried Freeman, who 
 filed a glass on the instant, and held it to her lips, and then bathed 
 her temples affectionately, and wept. 
 
 " I feel better, dear father," said Jane, after a pause, during which 
 Freeman held her to his heart, while he indignantly dashed away his 
 tears. " I feel much better now." 
 
 " You feel better, my girl, but not yet convinced." 
 
 " He is not the man he appears to be." 
 
 " Do I not say that he is not? Have I not said again and again 
 that he is a villain ? " 
 
 " He is not a villain, dear father." 
 
 "Not a villain!" 
 
 "No ! " exclaimed Jane, with startling energy; as a flood of tears 
 nearly choked her utterance. " No ! my heart tells me that he is not. 
 I have been endeavouring to test his sincerity ; and he is now testing 
 the strength of my affection. No, dear father no ! he is not a 
 villain after all !" 
 
A ROMANCE OF EEAL LIFE. 1'61 
 
 " Jane, my love, Jane !" said Freeman, soothingly, "you advised 
 nut to be calm. Come, my girl, come ! take the same advice from me." 
 
 " I will, father yes, I will be cairn. It is indeed a cruel course 
 for him to pursue ; but I'll not believe that he means Hark!" she 
 added with a start, as the outer bell rang, "he is here! he is here ! 
 He has come to heal at once all the wounds he has inflicted ! Did I 
 not say that I would not believe Hush !" she whispered, as the hall 
 door was opened " hush !" 
 
 "That is Sir John's voice," said Freeman; and Jane's renewed 
 hopes sank again. 
 
 Sir John was announced, and as he entered the room, Jane, with 
 the view of composing herself in private, begged permission to retire. 
 
 " You are not well, my poor girl I see that you are not well," 
 observed Sir John, as he pressed her trembling hand. " But have cou- 
 rage, my child have courage. Come ! we'll have a little conversa- 
 tion together before I leave. Freeman," he added, when Jane had 
 left the room, " I have come to see what progress has been made. I 
 understand that several notes have passed between Jane and George, 
 and I feel, of course, anxious to ascertain their nature." 
 
 " Yon shall see them, Sir John, you shall see them/' said Free- 
 man " at least, those which he has had the heart to write to her. 
 This is the first. She had written to him, begging of him to call, and 
 this is the answer she received." 
 
 Sir John took the note, and no sooner commenced reading than he 
 knit his brows, and pressed his lips, and inwardly groaned. He, how- 
 ever, read it through, and when he had done so, he threw it on the 
 table with an expression of contempt. 
 
 *' Bad, Freeman, bad ! " said he, shaking his head. " Bad very 
 bad very bad indeed !" 
 
 '* You see, Sir John, he throws all the blame upon her. She was 
 the seducer! lie was betrayed ! " 
 
 " I see I see ! Well, what followed this ? " 
 
 " She wrote to him again : she wrote in a calm and gentle strain for 
 an explanation, and here it is." 
 
 Sir'John read it : he read it with feelings of disgust, and threw it 
 from him with intense indignation. 
 
 44 Oh Freeman, Freeman," said he, " this is a sad affair indeed ! for, 
 while you have a daughter who has been basely betrayed, I have a son 
 who has proved himself to be- I dare not say what I dare not say what. 
 Well," he added, after a pause, during which his emotions were pain- 
 ful in the extreme, " and what does the poor dear girl say to all this?" 
 
 " She'll not believe that he is in earnest." 
 
 " Not believe that he is in earnest ! " 
 
 "No." 
 
 "You amaze me!" 
 
 '* She says that he is merely testing the strength of her affection ' 
 
 'Poor girl ! -poor girl ! He has acquired a powerful influence over 
 her indeed ! But Freeman," he added, " let us not suddenly unde- 
 ceive her." 
 No. 11. 
 
162 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " There is no fear of that, Sir John ; no, not the slightest : that is 
 not to be done." 
 
 " Let us not attempt it. You understand why. That she deceives 
 herself, poor girl, we know. There never was a man more in earnest 
 than he was when these two brutal notes were written ! " 
 
 " Sir John," said Freeman, " I feel that nothing can diminish my 
 respect for you ; but, if it were not for one consideration, she should 
 not be tied to a man like that, were he worth Jmlf the world ! " 
 
 " He's not worthy of her he's not worthy of her : I feel although 
 I am his father compelled to say that he's not worthy of her." 
 
 " But she'll not believe that ! No, even now she conceives him to 
 be a perfect man! " 
 
 " Well, Freeman, well ! It is amazing it certainly is amazing ! 
 but it only shows to what an excess of credulity love like hers will 
 lead." 
 
 " One would have thought," pursued Freeman, " that two notes 
 like those would have banished all hope on that subject, if not indeed 
 all her fond love ! instead of which, they actually appear to have 
 strengthened both! There never was devotion like hers." 
 
 " Oh ! it is painful very painful, to contemplate ; and how we are 
 to act, I don't know. The last time I spoke to him on the subject I 
 tell you in confidence, Freeman I urged him to marry her by all the 
 means at my command." 
 
 " You did, Sir John?" , 
 
 " I did. I even went so far as to give him but three days to con- 
 sider with an intimation that if his decision were adverse, I should 
 know how to act, which he seemed to understand. I told him that 
 her want of fortune should make but slight difference to him, and " 
 
 " I'll give her, Sir John," interrupted Freeman " I'll give her all 
 I can down, and leave her all I have." 
 
 " But that is not the point," pursued Sir John ; " that does not ap- 
 pear to enter into his calculations. The only ostensible ground upon 
 which he refuses to marry her, is the fact of her having yielded." 
 
 " But he caused her to yield ! " 
 
 " I have urged that strongly, but, I fear, without effect. However, 
 let us wait until the three days have expired, and if his decision be 
 against the marriage, then, Freeman then I shall know how to act." 
 
 a Sir John," said Freeman, with strong emotion, " I'd no idea that 
 in you my poor child had such a friend. I knew you to be noble- 
 minded, generous, and just, but I had no thought of your having been 
 so kind to her. I thank you, Sir John ; with all a father's heart, I 
 thank you ! " 
 
 "Freeman, remember this is between ourselves. But where is this 
 poor girl?" 
 
 " I'll send her to you." 
 
 " No, no, no ! don't you leave." 
 
 " I'd rather be absent while she is with you." 
 
 " Well, then, when she comes you can leave us together." 
 
 Freeman rang the bell and summoned Jane, and when she appeared, 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 163 
 
 Sir John rose and led her to a chair, as Freeman, with the show of an 
 apology, left the room. 
 
 " Well," said Sir John, with a smile which' denoted a much lighter 
 heart than his really was then, " how is this love affair of yours pro- 
 gressing?" 
 
 4 But slowly, Sir John," replied Jane " but slowly." 
 
 " You have been writing to each other, I find." 
 
 " Have you seen the notes, Sir John, he sent to me ? " 
 
 " Yes, my dear, I have ; but I can't say that I very highly approve 
 of the style. I certainly once knew a noble young fellow who, when 
 writing to the lady to whom he paid his addresses, and to whom he 
 was ardently attached, almost invariably adopted the ironical style. But 
 they understood each other perfectly. She knew that when he said 
 that he hated her, he in reality meant that he loved her ; and, in fact, 
 she became so accustomed to this irony that, when on one occasion 
 he inadvertently declared that she was the mistress of his heart, she 
 didn't like it, and, to my knowledge, demanded an explanation. Now, 
 whether you understand George as well as this lady understood my 
 friend or not, I, of course, am unable to say ; but it certainly appears 
 to me to be a very strange style to adopt." 
 
 " Did your friend eventually marry the lady of whom you 
 speak ?" 
 
 " Oh, yes ! he would not have lost her for the world." 
 
 " Did George know him, Sir John ? " 
 
 " Not personally. He has frequently heard me speak of him." 
 
 " And this circumstance has been mentioned in his presence ? " 
 
 " Doubtless." 
 
 " Then he has adopted the same style ? " - 
 
 " Nay, I do not say that." 
 
 '* Oh, I feel sure of it ! I knew that he could never write thus to 
 me in earnest ! Sir John, you have given me the key to it all ! " 
 
 " Well, my dear, if that be the key, I am glad that I had it in my 
 possession." 
 
 " He never could have written in that style unless he wrote ironically. 
 It is so unlike him so contrary to his character so different to the 
 kind and affectionate manner in which he talks ! It shocked me, cer- 
 tainly ; but now I see it all. He has been jesting with me : and doubtless 
 when I tell him what effect these notes had, he'll laugh heartily at my 
 fears." 
 
 " It appears to me, my dear, to be a somewhat cruel jest unless, 
 indeed, you perfectly understand each other." 
 
 " Certainly he ought to have given me some intimation of its being 
 a jest ; but when he explains, I shall very soon forgive him." 
 
 " Well, my dear, how do you mean to act ? " 
 
 k - 1 scarcely know how to act, Sir John. I feel afraid to write to 
 him again ! " 
 
 " Perhaps you had better not do so at present." 
 
 " I will act upon your advice, Sir John, certainly. Whatever you 
 advise me to do, shall be done." 
 
1 64 THE STEWARD I 
 
 "Then for two days take no notice whatever unless, indeed, he 
 should call/' 
 
 " Two days! " echoed Jane. 
 
 ** I have a reason a powerful reason for thus advising you." 
 
 " Very good. But he'll surely call upon me to-morrow ! " 
 
 "He may. It is possible. If he should, you can, of course, say 
 what you please ; but if he should not call, take my advice." 
 
 "I will, Sir John I will," replied Jane. 
 
 " Very well. And now, my dear girl, I must leave you." 
 
 " I hope," said Jane, as he rose, " I hope you believe that I feel 
 grateful." 
 
 " Say nothing on that subject now," replied Sir John, who, having 
 taken leave of her, proceeded to the next room in order to have a few 
 parting words with .Freeman. - 
 
 "Now," she exclaimed, on being left alone, "this apparently 
 dreadful mystery is solved. He wrote ironically, and that interprets 
 all. Dear, dear Sir John ! how I love you for giving me the key * 
 But if even you ^had not, I should never have believed that George 
 \vas really in earnest ! This, however, clears up all doubt. Where he 
 writes ' Woman,' he means ' My love,' or perhaps * My dearest 
 love ! ' and where 4 boldness ' is written, of course he means ' fond- 
 ness.' How stupid I was not to see this before ! He means, of course, 
 the contrary of what he writes ! Now, then," she added, on taking 
 up George's last note, " I'll go through it all, and see what he really 
 does mean. I'll write it out, and when he comes I'll just prove to 
 him how perfectly well I understand him. You shall not laugh at me 
 much, Master George, after all ! I'll not tell you what my feelings really 
 were! It was rather too bad of you, though, I must say; but you 
 shall see, Master George you shall see that that which you intended 
 
 for a sting- But did he intend it for a sting ? No, no ! he is 
 
 not so cruel. He merely meant to make me a little anxious 
 until he came to explain all. I shall scold him for it, however. 
 He must be scolded ! But now let me see what he really meant to 
 write." 
 
 She then went through the note, and when she had written what she 
 imagined he meant, it stood thus : 
 
 " MY DEAREST LOVE ! 
 
 " Trouble yourself no more, I feared that my former 
 communication would have had the effect of inducing you to believe 
 that I was annoyed ; but I find that it has but increased your charac- 
 teristic fondness. 
 
 " You speak of marriage of our marriage and you state that 
 every obstacle has been removed. I am aware of it, and now Morality, 
 as well as Affection, points to the marriage we both contemplate. 
 
 " I fear that it is sinful to take lower ground in a case of this de- 
 scription ; but if Morality did not prompt me so irresistibly as it does, 
 mere policy mere worldly policy would be sufficient to induce me 
 to marry her whose devotion and confidence have been so unbounded 
 
* A EOMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 165 
 
 that she has placed even her reputation in the hands of him whom 
 she loves. 
 
 " Such a marriage must be grateful in the sight of God and man. 
 Happiness must spring from such a marriage. Checks, bickerings, 
 heartburnings, and odious epithets, can never be the fruits of which 
 such a marriage is the germ ; and I marvel that you do not know me 
 better than to imagine that I could, by either threats or entreaties, be 
 induced to forego such a marriage as that. 
 
 "No! we have erred, but we are not mad ! Therefore trouble 
 yourself no more. No man of common delicacy can wish a woman to 
 relinquish that natural pride which -constitutes at once the charm 
 and dignity of her sex ; and if you still entertain the slightest thought 
 that I shall not make you my wife, repudiate that thought, my love, 
 as I do. 
 
 " I am afraid that that idea has been entertained ; but I forgive you 
 I forgive you sincerely and I hope that we shall both be forgiven 
 by Him whom we have most certainly offended. 
 " I remain still 
 
 " Dear Jane, 
 
 " Your own affectionate 
 
 " GEORGE,'* 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 THE EING. 
 
 T.HE health of Lejeune improved daily. The removal of all appre- 
 hensions having reference to the future position of Juliana, had had 
 so powerful an effect that Mr. Raymond pronounced him convalescent, 
 and at the same time intimated to Charles that " the day" might with 
 safety be fixed. 
 
 On receiving this pleasing intelligence, Charles resolved on em- 
 bracing the earliest opportunity of naming the subject to Juliana, with 
 the view of inducing her to prepare for the event in earnest ; and as 
 an opportunity almost immediately afterwards offered, he opened 
 the matter at once. 
 
 iM-" My love," said he with a smile, as he took her right hand, " will 
 the ring which you have on this finger, fit that ? " 
 
 "Fit which, dear?" enquired Juliana, as she looked up, and 
 blushed. 
 
 " This," replied Charles, taking her left hand, and pointing to the 
 finger in question with wonderful precision. 
 
 Juliana patted him playfully on the cheek, and blushed again. 
 
 " Is it large enough ? " pursued Charles. 
 
 " Indeed," said Juliana, " I know nothing about it."' 
 
 " It appears to me to be about the size," continued Charles. " Will 
 you do me the favour to try it? " 
 
166 THE STEWARD: 
 
 "Why, dear? why do you wish to have it tried?'' 
 
 " Why, my love, it would be so ridiculous if I were, in a case like 
 this, to proceed in ignorance. Do me the favour to put it on or, 
 allow me to do so." 
 
 Juliana smiled, and averted her face, but kept her hand passively 
 in his. 
 
 "I thought so! " he added, having tried the ring. " I thought it 
 was about the size ! It fits admirably. Will you lend me this 
 ring ? " 
 
 " You do not wear rings, dear ! " 
 
 " True ; but I have taken quite a fancy to this ! " 
 
 " I'll not lend it, dear : I'll give it to you with pleasure ! But this 
 is not the correct style of ring for a gentleman. Let me present you 
 with one of a different description." 
 
 " Do so ; but in the interim lend me this. I do not want to wear it." 
 
 " Then what can you want it for ? " 
 
 " I want," replied Charles, with an expression of the most intense 
 affection "I want to purchase one precisely the same size, but of a 
 plainer and a more sacred character; for Raymond has just intimated 
 to me something which has convinced me that such a ring will, in a 
 very few days, adorn this identical finger ! " 
 
 Juliana was silent. 
 
 "Now," he continued, having kissed her hand affectionately as he 
 drew off the ring, "'the crisis is near. The ordeal will be very dread- 
 ful, doubtless, and how I shall go through the ceremony, I can't of 
 course tell; but, in order that I may inspire sufficient courage to walk 
 from the vestry to the altar, I must know when it is to be done. Now 
 what day is it to be ? " 
 
 "Indeed, dear," replied Juliana, blushing deeply, " I must leave it 
 to papa ! " 
 
 " Very well ! Will you go up at once, then, and speak to him on 
 the subject ? " 
 
 " I'd rather," replied Juliana, tremulously " I'd rather he should 
 be spoken to by you." 
 
 " Well ! will you depute me to speak to him ? " 
 
 " Had we not better hear what Mrs. Wardle says first ? " 
 
 " As you please, love. Where is she ? " 
 
 " I left her up stairs. Shall I run and tell her that you wish to 
 speak to her.? " 
 
 " Will you return with her ? " 
 
 " Can you not speak to her while I am absent ? " 
 
 " Not so well not nearly so well : I shall want your assistance, of 
 course. There ! run away and bring her down with you." 
 
 Juliana left the room, and shortly afterwards 'reappeared with the 
 Widow, who, by the archness of her smile as she entered, convinced 
 Charles tliat she understood perfectly what it was all about. 
 
 " Mrs. Wardle," said Charles, " we have a knotty point to settle 
 a very knotty point; it is, in fact, neither more nor less than the 
 Gordian knot, and we are anxious to have the benefit of your judgment 
 
A ROMANCE OF BEAL LIFE. 167 
 
 and experience. You are aware, of course, that the day named for 
 our marriage is that on which Mr. Lejeune can with safety go to 
 church to return thanks for his recovery. Very well. Now Mr. 
 Raymond has this morning intimated to me that this can be done with 
 safety now, and as neither Juliana nor I can command sufficient cou- 
 rage to fix the day, we want you to fix it for us." 
 
 " What !" exclaimed the Widow, smiling archly " can you not do 
 this yourselves ? " 
 
 " I couldn't do it for the world," replied Charles : " I'm too timid ! 
 I should blush so ! I know I should ! Please fix it for us." 
 
 " I scarcely know which to admire most," observed the Widow, 
 " your anxiety or your modesty ; and yet when I look here, I feel con- 
 strained to give the preference to the former," 
 
 " My modesty springs from my anxiety." 
 
 " But the parent is far more conspicuous than the child." 
 
 " I know," returned Charles, " that it's of no use for me to attempt 
 repartees with you. But will you do us this favour?" 
 
 " How 'can I, mv dear sir ? How is it possible for me to fix 
 the day * " 
 
 " Well, what would you advise ? " 
 
 " I would advise you, in the first place, to speak to Mr. Lejeune on 
 the subject." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
 " Well, if he should consent to the day being fixed, we'll fix the 
 day conditionally." 
 
 " Conditionally ! But what are to be the conditions ? " 
 
 " There is but one : and thathas reference to the presence of Sir John." 
 
 " Very good ! Shall I go up at once ? " 
 
 " You may as well ; and during your absence we'll endeavour to 
 come to some decision. I suppose," she added playfully, " that you 
 are not at all particular to three months or so." 
 
 " Why don't you say three years or so ? Three months ! You 
 mean three days ! " 
 
 " Well, we'll be as considerate as possible, and endeavour to meet 
 your views. You need not be absent long : it will not take us more 
 than five minutes to decide." \ 
 
 " Very good," returned Charles, who left them at once and pro- 
 ceeded to the drawing-room, in which Lejeune had been permitted 
 that morning to sit." 
 
 " Well, Charles," said Lejeune, extending his hand with a smile, 
 " I am getting a man again now, you perceive." 
 
 " I am happy indeed to see you here," returned Charles. 
 
 " Oh t I am getting on fast." 
 
 " I shall be very soon expecting you to accompany us to church," 
 observed Charles, with a look of great significance. 
 
 " Raymond was speaking to me about that this morning." 
 
 '* He told me that you would very soon be able to go." 
 
 " I shall be able, I hope, to manage it now in a few days, Charles. 
 Have you and Juliana come to any arrangement ? " 
 
IG6 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " We could not, of course, without having consulted you." 
 
 " I must leave it in your hands. You must arrange it between you. 
 I can say no more, my dear Charles, than that you have my consent to 
 fix what day you please : provided, of course, that Sir John's conve- 
 nience be consulted." 
 
 " I expect that any time will suit his convenience. I intend, how- 
 ever, to write to him to-night, for the fact is, Juliana and Mrs. Wardle 
 are now waiting for your consent to the day being fixed." 
 
 " Oh !" returned Lejeune, with a smile, ' I see. Mrs. Wardle has 
 undertaken to manage it. Mrs. Wardle is an excellent creature a very 
 excellent creature. I must in some way prove to Mrs. Wardle Lew 
 highly I esteem her. I have been thinking of this nearly the whole 
 of the morning, and I don't know that I can do better than present her, 
 on the day of your marriage, with a service of plate a tea service of 
 the most chaste and elegant design that can be met with. Now 
 I should like, Charles, to leave this commission in your hands. Will 
 you do me the favour to undertake it ? " 
 
 " Certainly," replied Charles, " if, indeed, you think it necessary." 
 
 " I hold it to be necessary," rejoined Lejeune, " to present her with 
 some substantial testimony of my respect to prove to her how grate- 
 ful. I feel for all her affectionate kindness to Juliana; and as 1 d 
 know that anything will look better on the table, when surrounded by 
 3ier friends, than a service of plate, I must get you to make choi. 
 one, without reference to expense." 
 
 " Very well," replied Charles. 
 
 " But not a word toot a syllable on the subject to them P 
 
 "No; of course not." 
 
 "When you have chosen, let me know, -and I'll send an inscription. 
 And now, as they are waiting for my consent, run and tell them that 
 you have obtained it." 
 
 Charles then returned to Juliana and the Widow, and while the 
 latter received him with an open smile, the former merely glanced at 
 him timidly. 
 
 " Well," said he, addressing the Widow, " as it appears that you are 
 to officiate as the mistress of the ceremonies, I have to announce to 
 you that Mr. Lejeune has consented to the day being fixed, and t. 
 therefore await your decision." 
 
 " Then know all men by these presents," replied the Widow, play- 
 fully assuming an air of official dignity, "that by the advice of the 
 Privy Council, it is our pleasure that this treaty of peace and pure 
 affection be signed on the twentieth instant ; and that as this is 
 the tenth, the settlement of divers highly important preliminaries pre- 
 cludes the expediency of signing the said treaty before." 
 
 u I am content," said Charles, approaching Juliana, whom even 
 before the Widow ! he affectionately embraced ; " I am perfectly con- 
 tent, and as the first official act of our mistress of the ceremonies has 
 been with so much dignity performed, I hope that she will consent to 
 retain .office, with the full assurance of our highest consideration." 
 
 He then took the Widow's hand and kissed it, even in the presence 
 
A EOMAXCE OF REAL LIFE. 169 
 
 of Juliana ! which was very extraordinary conduct on his part; not- 
 withstanding it was permitted to pass without reproof. 
 
 " I will now," said the Widow, " with your permission, retire. I am 
 delighted to find that my official duties have been satisfactorily per- 
 formed." 
 
 ' You have but just entered upon them," said Charles. " You have 
 more much more to do yet ! You have not only to decide upon what 
 Tobes are to be worn on the occasion, but what we are to do after the 
 interesting ceremony, and where we are to go, with a hundred other 
 'matters, the whole of which I leave to your wisdom and experience, 
 in the full conviction that the result of your grave deliberations will 
 be quite satisfactory to the nation at large." 
 
 " The compliment is appreciated," said the Widow, bending pro- 
 foundly; " but I have an impression that when we have called Sir 
 John to our counsels, we shall find that he has something to propose 
 having reference to these matters, which will meet the views of all. 
 Will you write to him to-night? " 
 
 ' Certainly." 
 
 " Then urge him to come up as soon as possible, in order that we 
 may have the benefit of his advice and assistance." 
 
 " I will do so. I shall also send a note to old George." 
 
 " Of course, love," said Juliana. " He must be present." 
 
 " Oh he'll come. The family party would not be complete without 
 him." 
 
 " Nor will it be, my love, even with him," said Juliana. " My dear 
 uncle Richard, I fear, will not be present." 
 
 ' ; Juliana," said Charles, as he led both her and the Widow to the 
 sofa, " I have something to say to you on that subject. You under- 
 stand, of course, that he is abroad. Very well. Now you know how 
 firmly your papa and he have ever been attached to each other : you 
 also know that his absence on this occasion if indeed he be absent 
 will be regretted by us all ; but as it will of itself be more especially 
 painful to your papa, I would suggest the propriety of not even men- 
 tioning his name. I know of my own knowledge that if he can be 
 present he will ; but I also, my love, know it to be next to impossible. 
 You understand me?" 
 
 " I do, dear," replied Juliana. " I'll not mention his name in con- 
 nection with this subject again." 
 
 " To us, my love, it is a matter of comparatively slight importance ; 
 but although he is, happily, convalescent, your papa is not sufficiently 
 strong yet to bear much." 
 
 " I understand you, dear, perfectly," returned Juliana. "You con- 
 ceive that the fact of my expressing my regret might annoy him, and 
 I am sure that I would not annoy him for .worlds." 
 
 " I am sure of it quite sure of it ; I therefore ventured to offer the 
 suggestion. And now," he added gaily, " having, by virtue of calling 
 into action the tact and intelligence of our highly-accomplished 
 mistress of the ceremonies, surmounted the only difficulty that 
 remained, I must beg of you to permit me to absent myself tili'dinner 
 
170 THE STEWAED: 
 
 time, as I have a commission entrusted to me of a peculiarly pleasing 
 character/' 
 
 ' Which is, of course," said the "Widow, " to be kept a profound 
 secret?" 
 
 "Which is, of course," echoed Charles, "to be kept a profound 
 secret." 
 
 " I can guess where he is going, dear," observed Juliana, as she 
 turned to the Widow with a timid smile. " He is going to the jeweller's." 
 
 " I am," said Charles. You are quite right : " I am. Will you do 
 me the favour to accompany me?" 
 1 " Nay, dear : that would be very incorrect," 
 
 " Oh,I see ! " cried the Widow. " The jeweller's exactly ! Well, 
 I must admit " 
 
 " You don't know all," interrupted Charles, playfully. "However, 
 if you'll not go with me, I of course must go alone. We dine at the 
 usual hour, I presume." 
 
 " Yes, dear, yes." 
 
 "Very good. I'll be punctual. And now adieu ! Juliana," he 
 added, as he again affectionately embraced her, "the twentieth will 
 be a happy day indeed ! " 
 
 He then, with a joyous heart, left them not, as they imagined, with 
 the view of purchasing the ring, but for the purpose of executing that 
 commission with which he had been entrusted by Lejeune. 
 
 CHAPTER XV. 
 
 THE WIDOW S DECISION. 
 
 IN the morning, Sir John received a letter from Charles, announcing 
 that the twentieth was the day that had been fixed, and expressing a 
 hope that he would make it convenient to be in town three or four 
 days previously. 
 
 George also received a letter by the same post inviting him to the 
 ceremony, but it scarcely need be stated that the [feelings with which 
 the announcement of the twentieth inspired Sir John, were diametri- 
 cally opposed to those which it created in the malicious breast 
 of George. Sir John looked forward to the day with joy and pride; 
 George viewed its approach with hatred the most intense. 
 
 "My birthright," thought he, "is now in imminent peril. Some- 
 thing must be done ! But what? what can be done? I must dwell 
 upon this : I must dwell upon it deeply. I must bring the whole 
 strength of my mind to bear upon it. I must not in silence suffer 
 myself to be robbed ! . On the twentieth they marry : and how are 
 they to live ? Why out of the estate : how else can they live, when 
 he is but a student and she has not a shilling, while her father and her 
 uncle are both ruined men ! It is not, however, this marriage alone. 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. l7l 
 
 There are other matters pending which must tend to impoverish ma. 
 There's the contemplated marriage of the old man with his Adelaide ! 
 She must have a handsome settlement out of the estate having 
 nothing of her own. Then there's this girl Freeman! she must be 
 provided for her father having merely sufficient to work his farm. 
 The time is come for me to look out ! All these, if I dally, will be 
 pensioned upon the estate, and I shall be left comparatively penniless, 
 when I ought to inherit the whole ! Bat how how am I to prevent 
 it ? That's the question ! But into that question I'll not enter now. 
 I'll nerve myself and collect my thoughts ; and bring them to bear 
 upon that point alone !" 
 
 Sir. John was, of course, unconscious of the existence of those 
 feelings which rankled now in the breast of George. He noticed in 
 the course of the morning that George looked more gloomy than 
 usual, but that he ascribed to the fact of his having made up his 
 mind to abandon Jane. He had no conception that it proceeded from 
 an aversion to Charles's marriage, or from any apprehensions having 
 reference to the estate : indeed his mind was nearly absorbed at the 
 time in the contemplation of his own position, and especially as he 
 deemed it expedient, before making the arrangements he had in view, 
 to know the Widow's final decision on that subject of which 
 her absence had caused him to think more than ever. 
 
 " But how is this to be known? " he enquired of himself, as he sat 
 musing in the library alone. " How am I to obtain her decision, 
 without going up expressly in order to see her, and then coming down 
 again to make my arrangements ? I cannot write to her on the sub- 
 ject ! Yet, why not ? What objection can there be to it? Why not 
 write ? Why not write to her at once L ? There can be no impropriety 
 in writing: in fact, the thing might be done more effectually so. But 
 then what can I say? -I cannot urge her to violate her vow. I 
 cannot try to persuade her that Wardle did not in reality mean what 
 he said, or that the vow was not intended for universal application. 
 I don't at all hold with it : I can't say I hold with it : no man, in my 
 view, is justified in extorting such a promise as that, and especially as 
 he had not the power to leave her sufficient to provide the common 
 necessaries of life. But then, poor man, he depended upon me : yes, 
 yes, that's true : he depended upon me. I promised him that I would 
 take care of her, and he, with that promise, was satisfied. Still 
 he might have left it a little open : he might have introduced 
 a saving clause at least, he might have exempted me. But 
 he didn't. She promised that she would not marry again, and 
 that, of course, comprehends all. What, then, am I to say ? How 
 can I go to work? I can't endeavour to prevail upon her to break 
 that promise, and yet I must write with this object in view, if I 
 write at all. It's a difficult job a very difficult job. How am I to 
 put it ? I want to say 4 do,' and don't want to say 4 do.' What am 
 I to say, then ? Nothing ? Stop ! If I rightly remember, when I 
 named the subject to her, I left it thus : that she was to reflect not 
 on the expediency of violating her promise, but whether, knowing his 
 
172 
 
 THE STEWARD : 
 
 motive for enjoining it, and believing that if he had contemplated this 
 it never would have been enjoined, that promise was really of a cha- 
 racter so sacred as she imagined. That's how I left it; and that 
 appears to me to be the only point of view in which it is possible to 
 place it with any prospect of success. Well, then, put it so ; ask her if 
 she has reflected, and then you'll be able to get at the result. Well, 
 ['11 try certainly I'll try. I know I shall make a poor job of it' 
 I know I shall; nevertheless, I'll try." 
 
 He did try; and this was the letter he produced : 
 
 " DEAE ADELAIDE, 
 
 " I received, this morning, a letter from Charles, an- 
 nouncing that the day of his marriaga with our dear Juliana had 
 oeen fixed. I am glad that Lejeune has so much improved in health as 
 to have rendered it possible to name that day ; and I have not the 
 slightest doubt that it will be a very happy day indeed. 
 
 " I think, however, that it might be made happier still. I think 
 that we might have on that day an excess of happiness ; and as this 
 depends entirely upon you, I write to you for the purpose of recalling 
 your serious attention to it. 
 
 ; * You will recollect the subject on which we had some slight conver- 
 sation the night before you leit the Hall ; you will recollect that when 
 you had explained to me the circumstances under which that promise 
 was made of which I had no previous knowledge I, abstaining from 
 every effort to prevail upon you to violate that promise, begged of you 
 to consider whether it could in reality now be held to be of a character 
 so sacred as you imagined. 
 
 'Now, my dear Adelaide, I have thought of this seriously since, 
 and have endeavoured dispassionately to reconcile those circumstances 
 which at first sight appear so conflicting; but without offering any 
 direct opinion upon the subject without stating the conclusion at 
 which I have arrived, or attempting to persuade you to pursue a 
 course contrary to that which you may, perhaps, imagine you ought to 
 pursue, I would submit for your calm consideration a few questions 
 which immediately bear upon the point. 
 
 " In the first place, then, do you think that he by whom the promise 
 was enjoined ever imagined that I should propose? 
 
 11 Secondly: Do you believe that if he had imagined this, that 
 promise would have been enjoined at all ? 
 
 1 Thirdly : Do you conceive, taking into consideration the high 
 -esteem in which he held me, that if it were possible for him to sanction 
 our marriage, he would withhold his consent? and 
 
 ' Fourthly : If you can answer conscientiously answer the pre- 
 ceding questions in the negative, may you not, as far as that promise 
 is concerned, correctly consider yourself absolved ? 
 
 " Now, my Adelaide for whether you be my wife or not, you will 
 be my Adelaide still, I have suggested these questions for your con- 
 sideration, not with the view of warping your judgment, for I feel quite 
 sure that the course you will adopt will be the right course, but in 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 173- 
 
 order that you may calmly reflect upon them, and let me know your 
 final decision. 
 
 " I will not explain hovr delighted I shall be, or how happy I shall 
 feel, in the event of that decision being favourable to my suit, because 
 that might be construed into a desire on my part to influence the 
 result. Your motives, I am convinced, will, in either case, be pure ; 
 and you know me too well to render it necessary for me to say more 
 than this that, let your decision be what it may, I will be ever 
 
 " Your affectionate friend, 
 
 " JOHN CROLY." 
 
 *' Now," thought he, having read it carefully over, "f think this 
 will do. I have left the point open. I have left it entirely to her. 
 I have offered no opinion, except by implication ; nor have I placed 
 before her any sophistry to surmount. There it is, perfectly plain and 
 straightforward, and all she has to do is to decide. I have not per- 
 haps displayed quite sufficient anxiety ; it may, perhaps, appear to be 
 tantamount to saying, ' It's a matter of no consequence, say yes or 
 no t 'and yet she knows me better : she knows that it is extremely 
 delicate ground for me to touch upon ; she knows what decision I 
 should like her to come to, and therefore, as it is, it shall go." 
 
 And it did go; and a note from George went with it to this effect : 
 
 <{ MY DEAR CHARLES, 
 
 " I received your communication this morning with great 
 pleasure. The prospect of your happiness gives me joy I shall be 
 indeed delighted to be present at the ceremony, and I pray that felicity 
 here and hereafter may, like a sacred halo, encompass you and yours. 
 " I am, dear Charles, 
 
 " Your ever affectionate brother, 
 
 " GEORGE." 
 
 Now, when the Widow received Sir John's letter, Juliana, who was 
 present with Charles, exclaimed " Now we shall know when Sir 
 John will be here ! " and as the Widow had no idea of the real nature 
 of its contents, she drew towards Juliana as she opened it, in order 
 that they might read it together : but the moment " Dear Adelaide ' T 
 met Juliana's glance, she started and drew back, and smiled at the 
 Widow, who blushed, but with wonderful presence of mind proceeded 
 to hand the enclosed note to Charles. 
 
 : " From George!." said Charles, as he opened the note, and having 
 lead it, he gave it to Juliana. 
 
 " Dear me ! " she exclaimed, " how nicely he writes ! how beau- 
 tifully, dear, he expresses himself! Oh! I shall love him more and 
 more 1 But he does not say when he thinks of coming." 
 
 "They'll doubtless," said Charles, " come together. Does it say 
 there," he added, addressing the Widow, " when they think of 
 coming up ? " 
 
 "No," replied the Widow; "Sir John merely says that he has. 
 
174 THE STEWARD: 
 
 received your letter announcing that that which he believes will be a 
 very happy day, has been fixed/' 
 
 " Nothing more ? " enquired Juliana, archly. 
 
 " Nothing more on that subject, dear/' 
 
 " Not even name the day on which we may expect him ? " 
 
 "No, my love, he doesn't say a word about that." 
 
 " Dear me! that's very extraordinary." 
 
 " He scarcely had time to make up his mind,'' said Charles, as the 
 Widow placed the letter iu her bosom. "We may, by the next post, 
 hear from him again." 
 
 " I have to write to him to-night," observed the Widow, " and by 
 return we shall doubtless know all! " 
 
 " Oh ! " exclaimed Charles, with an expression of curiosity, " there's 
 some freemasonry between you! " 
 
 "Have you not appointed me mistress of the ceremonies ?" en- 
 quired the Widow, with a smile. 
 
 " But he knows nothing of that appointment," said Charles. 
 
 " It might have been anticipated, by him." 
 
 " Well, I have no desire to dive into any of your secrets : work it 
 amongst you as you please. I leave it in your hands entirely. And 
 now." he added, playfully, " what are you going to do with me this 
 morning? Are you going to take me out? or are you going to keep 
 me in? or what are you going to do with me ? only say ! " 
 
 " Well," replied the AYidow, " if you promise to be a very, very 
 good boy indeed, you shall take a nice walk with Juliana, while I 
 v/rit-3 a long official letter to Sir John/' 
 
 " But can you not go with us ? " 
 
 " I must beg to be excused. I have much to think of, and much 
 to write. They who are in office must attend to their official duties, if 
 they wish to avoid censure/' 
 
 She then struggling to assume an air of gaiety withdrew; but 
 she in reality retired with an almost broken heart ! 
 
 " You are correct," cried Juliana with an animated smile, as she 
 seized the arm of Charles when the Widow had left the room. " You 
 are perfectly correct in your conjecture, dear! It is to be! I am 
 sure of it perfectly sure ! " 
 
 " What, my love ? What ? " cried Charles. " What is to be ? " 
 
 "The marriage of Sir John with dear, dear Mrs. Wardle." 
 
 " Indeed !" 
 
 "Oh! I feel convinced of it quite convinced now! " 
 
 "Well !" said Charles. " Well ! I shall be glad if it be so :" but 
 what has induced that conviction ? " 
 
 " The fact of his having addressed her as * dear Adelaide ! ' ' 
 
 " Dear Adelaide ! What, in the letter she received from him this 
 morning ! " 
 
 " Yes ! She opened it before me in order that we might read it 
 together ; but the moment I saw that of course I drew back." 
 
 " Dear Adelaide !" repeated Charles thoughtfully, although with 
 a smile the meaning of which he would not have explained to Juliana 
 for the world. " Well ! " he added gaily. " It may be so ! " 
 
A ROMANCE OF HEAL LIFE. 175 
 
 " It is so ! " rejoined Juliana. " I am perfectly sure of it ! " 
 
 " Well, my love, if you are sure that it is so, there's an end of all 
 conjecture, of course." 
 
 " But don't you think yourself, dear, that if it were not so, he would 
 have addressed her, not as 4 Dear Adelaide,' but as * My dear Mrs. 
 Wardle?'" 
 
 '* Well ! You know what she said when you mentioned the sub- 
 ject to her before." 
 
 " Yes, love. But that was plain ' Adelaide,' not ' Dear Ade- 
 laide.' " 
 
 " Well, the difference is certainly conspicuous, but she would as- 
 cribe the fact of her being thus addressed to precisely the same 
 cause.'' 
 
 " 1'il know," said Juliana in a playful whisper. " I'll ascertain. 
 I'll ask her. Oh, I shall be so delighted if it be so !" 
 
 "In order to ; ascertain," returned Charles, " you must approach 
 the subject cautiously." 
 
 " Oh, she is such a dear good soul she'll tell me any thing." 
 
 "If that be the case," said Charles smiling, "of course you are 
 certain to know. But," he added, " will you go for a walk ? " 
 
 " With pleasure, dear," replied Juliana. "I'll run up and put on 
 my things at once. But should it be as I suspect it is, dear, will' it 
 not be delightful?" 
 
 Charles smiled, and having embraced her, said, " There, run away," 
 and Juliana left in search of the Widow. , 
 
 "My dear!" she exclaimed, having found her in tears. "What 
 on earth is the matter ? Why why are you thus ? " 
 
 " The feeling will pass off presently, love," replied the Widow 
 somewhat faintly. " I do not feel well." 
 
 Juliana flew to the eau de Cologne, and began to apply it with the 
 most affectionate solicitude ; and, although eau de Cologne was not 
 what the Widow wanted, she appreciated the kindness which 
 prompted its application. 
 
 " Do you feel better now, dear ? " inquired Juliana after a pause, 
 during which she kissed her brow and smoothed her hair and bathed 
 her temples, and performed all those little affectionate offices which 
 the kind-hearted only know how to perform. 
 
 " I shall feel better presently, my love," replied the Widow. " I 
 was merely entertaining a few sad thoughts. But do not let. me 
 detain you. You are going out with Charles." 
 
 " Nay, dear, I cannot think of leaving you thus." 
 
 "You will find, my love, when you have dressed yourself, that I 
 shall be firm again perfectly firm. Go, and when you return, I'll 
 explain what I promised." 
 
 " Explain what you promised, dear? " 
 
 " Do you not remember what I promised to explain? " 
 
 " You said once that you might explain to me " 
 
 " Yes, that is what I mean. When you return I shall have sufficient' 
 firmness to do so." 
 
176 THE STEWARD : 
 
 Juliana kissed her again, and left the room ; but so anxious was she 
 to have the promised explanation, that in less than five minutes she 
 returned. 
 
 " How do you feel now, dear ? " she enquired. 
 
 " Better, much better, my love," replied the Widow. " It was 
 but a fit of sadness, of which you shall now know the cause. Doubt- 
 less," she continued, "you thought it strange very strange that 
 when viewed in connection with my position at the Hall, Sir John 
 should address me as ' Adelaide.' I know that you thought it strange 
 when Charles alluded to it immediately after Sir John had left town : 
 but as you must, my love, have thought it still more strange that he 
 should, in his letter, have addressed me ''dear Adelaide,' I feel bound, 
 notwithstanding I know the purity of your mind, to explain to you the 
 position in which I now stand." 
 
 " There's a dear ! " cried Juliana, drawing still more closely to her ; 
 "I'm all impatience to know." 
 
 " Sir John, my love," pursued^the Widow, calmly, " has made me 
 an offer." 
 
 " He has!" cried Juliana, with an expression of joy. " Oh ! how 
 
 flad I am to hear it ! I feel so delighted ! I knew it would be so 
 felt convinced of it. Oh ! " she added, embracing her with rapture, 
 " the intelligence deserves a thousand kisses! " 
 
 " This, my love," continued the Widow, seriously " this, as you 
 will perceive, accounts for all." 
 
 " No ! " cried Juliana^ " no, dear, it does not account for your sad- 
 ness. It cannot account for that ! " 
 
 " My sadness, love, springs from the fact of my being unable to 
 accept that offer." 
 
 " Unable to accept it ! What ! not such an offer as that ! and 
 from such a dear good soul, too ? " 
 
 " He is indeed a dear good creature ! It is that which renders aiy 
 inability to meet his views so painful." 
 
 " But what inability, dear ? Why are you unable to accept this 
 offer?" 
 
 " I will, my love, briefly explain : When poor Mr. Wardle was on 
 his death-bed, I promised that I never would marry again." 
 
 " Oh, dear ! " said Juliana, with a countenance expressive of deep 
 sorrow. u Oh; what a pity ! dear me, what a pity ! And that promise 
 cannot be recalled." 
 
 "It cannot be recalled ; nor must it be broken." 
 
 " Dear, dear, how unfortunate ! It is of so sacred a character, too ! ; 
 Does Sir John know of this ? " * 
 
 " Yes, dear ; I told him the night before we left the Hall" 
 
 " And what did he say ? " f 
 
 " He expressed both amazement and regret," 
 
 " And did he, dear, endeavour to prevail upon you to break that: 
 promise ? " 
 
 " No, he could not in any direct manner do that ; but he asked 
 me to reflect, and I have reflected ; and now he has written for my 
 
ROMANCE OP REAL LIFE. J7T 
 
 decision. Bat read the letter, love : having explained thus far, 
 is nothing in it I wish to conceal from you now/' 
 
 "Dear, what an unfortunate position!" said Juliana, who took the 
 letter and read it carefully, and thought that she saw in the questions' 
 proposed sufficient to justify her in advising the Widow to hold the 
 promise in a less sacred light; but she dared not do so : she thought 
 of the solemn circumstances under which it was made, and shrank 
 from offering any advice on the subject. " You can answer the whole 
 of these questions in the negative can you not, dear * " she enquired. 
 
 "All, my love; but all includes the last! I cannot dare not con- 
 sider myself absolved from that promise." 
 
 " Dear, dear." said Juliana, as her tears began to flow, <c what a pity 
 it was mentioned at all. Oh !" she added, fervently, " that his spirit 
 could descend from heaven to absolve you! It would be done: in 
 this case I feel sure it would be done." 
 
 il 1 feel equally sure," rejoined the Widow, " that if he had imagined 
 for one moment that Sir John would have proposed, that promise 
 would never have been enjoined. But it is net, my love, so much for 
 my own sake as for the sake of Sir John that I regret this circum- 
 stance. I cannot hope to be on earth more happy than I am ; but he 
 appears to imagine that our marriage would impart additional happi- 
 ness to him." 
 
 *' And I* too, feel sure that it would. It would increase the happi- 
 ness of both. But then that cruel promise ! Oh ! how sorry I ani 
 that you made it! " 
 
 4i The thing is done, and cannot be revoked. I regret it certainly ;. 
 for there is no man on earth, my love, whose happiness I can eTer 
 feel more anxious to promote, or who is indeed more worthy of being 
 made happy; but I cannot I dare not violate that promise whic3i I 
 held, and still hold, to be sacred." 
 
 " Nor dare I advise you to do so. A promise made under such cir- 
 cumstances is of such a very solemn character. Then of course your 
 decision will be against the marriage : " 
 
 " It must be, my love, for I dare not consent/' 
 
 ** I feel very, very sorry," rejoined Juliana. " I feel grieved 
 deeply grieved ; but you cannot I see that you must not consent. 
 Oh, dear! if you could but have thought at the time that Sir John 
 might have made you an offer, what a very happy thought it wcrald 
 have been, inasmuch as poor dear Mr. Wardle, of course, would have 
 said, 'This promise does not extend to him.' But the promise vras 
 made without any reserve, and, of course, cannot now be recalled. Poor 
 Sir John ! It will be a very painful thing for him. Dear, dear me, 
 how sorry I am! " 
 
 ^ Now, my love," said the Widow, " I have, of course, explained 
 this to you in strict confidence." 
 
 " Of course, dear," returned Juliana. " But I have already done 
 very wrong : I have told Charles that I saw ' Dear Adelaide ' in the 
 letter." 
 
 i4 And what did he say, love r " 
 No. 12. 
 
178 THE STEWARD : 
 
 " He smiled." 
 
 " I perceive. Then let him know the rest with this understanding, 
 that the secret must go no farther. I do not fear him. He is, my 
 love, a man ! he has Sir John's heart, his generosity, and his honour. 
 And now, my love, leave me to write this decision. Charles, of 
 course, will he impatient/' 
 
 " Are you going to write it now, dear? " enquired Juliana. 
 
 "Yes, love." 
 
 " I wish that you would defer it until we return." 
 
 " Why, dear ?" 
 
 "Because, as you have given me permission to explain all to 
 Charles, I thought that he might perhaps be able to suggest some 
 means by which you might feel yourself virtually absolved from 
 this terrible promise." 
 
 " My mind is quite made up, my love. There stands the fact, 
 wtiich no earthly power can alter. I promised solemnly promised 
 that I never would marry again, and that promise must be per- 
 formed !" 
 
 " Certainly," returned Juliana. " / dare not advise you to break 
 it, however ardently I may wish that it had not been made, /cannot 
 see how you can do so conscientiously ; still I thought that Charles 
 might perhaps suggest something which would have the effect of con- 
 vincing you that that promise was never intended to apply and that, 
 therefore, in reality it does not apply to Sir John !" 
 
 " That it never was intended to apply to Sir John, I feel convinced 
 already, my love ; but that cannot convince me that it does not apply 
 to him, seeing that no reservation was made." 
 
 " Well, it is a very lamentable thing," said Juliana, "and I know 
 that poor Sir John will feel dreadfully grieved, for I perceive that he 
 contemplates marrying at the same church and on the very day we 
 have named, in the event of his receiving a favourable answer. Dear 
 me, though, how very pleasant that would have been ! But it is not 
 I fear that it is not to be. I never before heard of such a cruel 
 promise !" 
 
 "Kindness prompted it, my love, and affection urged it to be 
 given." 
 
 "Yes, dear. I have no doubt at all about that: but it is such a 
 very unfortunate case. Had you promised not to marry again within 
 a given time say two or three years it would not have been so bad ; 
 but the idea of promising never to marry again, under any conceivable 
 circumstances, certainly surpasses all. I'll speak, however, seriously 
 to Charles on this subject: I'll ascertain what Ms feelings are on the 
 point, and if I find that he does not consider that promise to be, under 
 the peculiar circumstances of the case, so strictly sacred as you 
 imagine, I'll get him to talk the matter over with you calmly, in order 
 to see what can be done." 
 
 The "Widow smiled sadly, and Juliana left her with, however, this 
 understanding, that if even she wrote her letter, she was not to send it 
 off until Charles had been seriously consulted. 
 
A BO MANGE OF SEAL LIFE. 179 
 
 Now it was the same morning, and about the same time, that Sir 
 John summoned George into the library, with the view of hearing his 
 final decision on the subject of his marriage with Jane. 
 
 Sir John knew, of course, what that decision would be : his conver- 
 sations with Jane had convinced him that George had made up his 
 mind to abandon her, and that those brutal notes had been sent for the 
 purpose of disgusting her so far as to render it in her view a matter of 
 slight consequence whether he married her or not. Nor was George, 
 indeed, less prepared to give, than Sir John was to receive, that 
 decision : the three days allowed for reflection having expired, he kept 
 at home expressly in order to show how promptly and how firmly he 
 could decide against the pursuit of that course which he was 
 anxious to induce Sir John to believe would, in his judgment, shock 
 morality.. 
 
 He accordingly, on being summoned, entered the library with a firm 
 step and a countenance so impassive, that, as he tranquilly drew 
 a chair near the table, no one could have imagined that the wordings 
 of his mind of which the " index " was so fair embraced ferocity, 
 implacable hatred, and revenge. 
 
 ""Well, George," observed Sir John calmly, "I hope that you have 
 reflected on that subject upon which, as you are aware, I am anxious 
 now to have your decision.'' 
 
 " I have," replied George, " I have reflected : as you wished me 
 to do so, it was of course my duty to reflect, although I felt at 
 the.time that no reflection could alter the views which I entertained 
 then." 
 
 ' You felt this at the time; and your present impression " 
 " Is," returned George, " that those views were correct." 
 4 'Then I am to understand your final decision to be against making 
 this poor girl your wife." 
 
 "That is my decision. But have you reflected? Have you re- 
 flected on the immorality of such a marriage ?" 
 
 "I have, George: I have reflected deeply, and the result is a firm 
 conviction that nothing Imt this marriage can palliate the immorality 
 by which your conduct has been characterized throughout. But 
 morality is not a word for you to employ ! The means by which you 
 accomplished this poor girl's fall your assumption of piety to aid your 
 design your monstrous falsehoods your broken promises promises 
 which you never intended to perform, and now your heartless aban- 
 donment of her prove that you ought to be the last man to speak of 
 morality !" 
 
 "Is it to be understood, then," said George, " that if a man 
 has been weak enough to adopt an immoral course, he is therefore 
 bound to pursue it ?" 
 
 " No ! I would urge you to abandon that course, and make the 
 only reparation in your power." 
 "By marrying a wanton !" 
 
 " She is no wanton, George, and you know that she is not. She is 
 no more a wanton in my sense than you are in my sense a man. You 
 
180 THE STEWARD: 
 
 have by the most specious arts caused her fall, 'and now you call her 
 a wanton. Having ensnared her, you charge her with having ensnared 
 you. Yoti are the victim! you were seduced! she, in one ol 
 your unguarded moments, triumphed over your innocence ! But, if 
 it were so, what necessity was there for those promises of marriage : 
 what necessity was there for the invention of those falsehoods r 
 Was the existence of those ' deeds' gratuitously conceived ? or were 
 they imagined in order to enable her to conquer your morality : 
 George ! there is nothing ! manly in all this ! Were you to take your 
 full share of the blame instead of endeavouring to cast it all upon her, 
 poor girl! you would act in my judgment much more like a, 
 man !" 
 
 " If," said George, without attempting to reply to this, "If you had 
 chosen any virtuous girl and wished me to marry her, I would have 
 done so if even I had deemed it a sacrifice ; but the idea of mam ing- 
 one who has forfeited all claim to that title is so utterly repugnant to 
 every correct feeling that if I could entertain it for one moment I 
 should consider that I was giving direct encouragement to vice." 
 
 " You mean," rejoined Sir John, " that if I had chosen this poor 
 girl before her fall, and wished you to marry her, you would have 
 done so; but having yourself chosen her to sacrifice, and having 
 acted towards her in a manner repugnant to every correct feeling, you 
 cannot, now that you have sacrificed her, entertain the idea of acting 
 like a man ! It is, however, useless for me to attempt to inspire you 
 \vith those feelings of which I have proved you to be utterly desti- 
 tute : it is useless for me now to appeal to your sense of honour and 
 of justice, because you have none. I regret this exceedingly : the 
 reflection that I have such a son is very painful to me ; but that 1 
 have one who really appears to take delight in proving himself to be 
 a hypocrite " 
 
 " I am no hypocrite !" exclaimed George fiercely. " I tell you 
 distinctly that I'll not marry her ! Is there any hypocrisy in that r 
 You talk of a sense of justice ! Is it just that I should be thus 
 denounced because and solely because I refuse to marry a cast off 
 girl?" 
 
 " George, I cannot converse with a man in a passion." 
 
 '*/ am not in a passion; but if even I were, it couldn't excite 
 much surprise. Why should I be thus tyrannized over : Why 
 should I be thus trampled upon ? Why should every indignity be 
 heaped upon me ? Am I the only man who has erred ? I know that 
 I am hated, and that by one for whom I have ever had the deepest 
 affection. I am hated by you, and that hatred is too strong to be 
 concealed. You would crash me annihilate me ! I know you 
 would ! You have no more regard for my feelings than you have for 
 those of a dog. And yet you are my father ! God ! that I should be 
 so offensive in the sight of him whom Nature prompts nie to- 
 re vere !" 
 
 " Are you mad, George r" enquired Sir John with emotion. 
 
 " No, I am not yet niad, but I know not how soon you may drive 
 
A ROMANCE OP REAL LIFE 181 
 
 me to madness. Your treatment has become insupportable. Whom 
 besides me do you treat in this manner r Whom else do you load 
 with reproaches ? No one ! I have to bear all ! And why ? Be- 
 cause I'll not be forced into a marriage with one whom you know to 
 be impure ! I'll not be thus forced ! Were a thousand pounds sus- 
 pended by every hair of her head I'd not marry her now ! " 
 
 " There's an end of it," observed Sir John calmly. " I shall name 
 the subject to you no more. I never had any desire to force you: 
 my only object was to induce you, George, to act like an honourable 
 man. But there's an end of it ! I have heard your decision, and now 
 / shall know how to act." 
 
 " Yes ! you'll know how to act. You have talked before of acting. 
 But how do you intend to act ? What do you mean to do ? " 
 
 "That is for vie to consider," replied Sir John, who immediately 
 rose and left the room. 
 
 " Well,'' thought George on being left alone, "I suppose that I 
 have been too violent. But what was I to do ? How else could I 
 get over it ? What was the use of my arguing the matter when I had 
 neither justice nor reason on my side ? I was compelled to be violent^ 
 Nothing but violence could have silenced his importunities. And 
 now I suppose he'll begin to work against me. Well ! a crisis appear^ 
 to be at hand. Let it come ! but "before it can come I must be pre- 
 pared to meet it. The twentieth the twentieth and this is the 
 twelfth. My mind must soon be made up, and if I be, as he says I 
 am, destitute of all those feelings which become a man, why, so, 
 much the better ! they cannot annoy me. But caution caution- 
 must ever be present. The whole design must be perfect. It must 
 be viewed in all its parts and bearings clearly ; the importance of 
 every act must be deeply considered, and the most minute cir 
 cumstance .carefully weighed. It must be done l^yes, it must ^ 
 done !" 
 
 Dreading to dwell on the design he had conceived, and yet resolv- 
 ing to render that design at least perfect, he left the house and 
 mounted his horse with the view of dining alone at one of the inns in 
 tne town. 
 
 Meanwhile Sir. John, who, although quit 
 
 ^was endeavouring to discQve? whether there had beJ 
 
 ^tSSsp to sf^ > w**w5 
 
 * OL Conscious, said he, " of havino- treated 
 
 to discovev wither (here had bn!Sj[u hU 
 
 TGfYI'ft'A tf\ 1T,r,4.'C.. U*^ ^ ... .7 , -.^ , _ 
 
 tnat he was hated. 
 
 must b mJd P fn a t , cara , cter * e y e T Averse. But someallowance 
 
 >r the v,olence of his temper. He was at the time ia 
 
 passion . he said he was not, but I know that he was. The 
 
182 THE STEWARD : 
 
 thought of this marriage upset him. Upset him ! Well ! I'll not now 
 review the whole course of his conduct towards that poor girl ; but, 
 as he has clearly set his soul against the marriage, nothing more with 
 a view to effect it can be done. I must now call on Freeman and let 
 him know the result, and ascertain what his views are on the subject 
 of an arrangement. I'll go now. He must, of course, be anxious to 
 see me, and so must that poor deluded girl." 
 
 He accordingly ordered his horse at once, and rode with a sorrowful 
 heart to Freeman's, where he saw Jane, who welcomed him warmly as 
 usual, but with an expression of anxiety the most intense. 
 
 " Well, my dear," said Sir John, " is your father at home ?" 
 
 " No, Sir John," replied Jane, " but he is on the farm. I will send 
 for him. But pardon me," she added, with a look of apprehension, 
 " have you not have you not any news, Sir John, for me ?" 
 
 " I have, my dear I have." , _ y _^__. r 
 
 " And good news ?" ^^ 
 
 "Well, my dear, you may not consider it quite so good as 
 you would wish ! But send for your father, and while the man is 
 gone, we'll talk the matter over together." 
 
 Jane immediately sent a man to let Freeman know that Sir John 
 wished to see him ; and having done so, she panted to hear that news 
 which she felt would be either life or death to her hopes. 
 
 " Now in the first place, my dear," resumed Sir John, " I must 
 inform you that I have endeavoured, by all the means at my com- 
 mand, to induce George to fulfil his promise." 
 
 " I thank you" said Jane " a thousand times, Sir John, I thank 
 you ! But have you not yet succeeded ?" 
 
 " I have not : I have not yet succeeded." 
 
 " Have I unhappily offended him again ?" " 
 
 "No, my dear; no." 
 
 . " Then what can be his objection ? There is no barrier now." You 
 have assured me and I have felt happy in the assurance that every 
 obstacle has been removed. Why, then, should he hesitate ? Why 
 should he wish for delay ?" 
 
 " He is, my dear, as fickle as the wind." 
 
 " He fickle ! He who has taught me to believe him to be as con- 
 stant as the needle to the pole ! he fickle as thejwind ! No, no, no 
 pardon me you cannot mean that !" . $ 
 
 " Indeed, my dear," replied Sir John, " I do mean it." 
 
 " But fickle, Sir John you mean, of course, that he is not always 
 in the same good spirits not always free from those little annoyances 
 which cause men to seem inconstant!" 
 
 " No, my dear, that is not what I mean : for the man who has a 
 constant heart will, although he should appear to be as fickle as the 
 wind, come back or veer round to the point from which he started ; 
 but he has not a constant heart " 
 
 " Not George ?" ; 
 
 " No, my dear. And if I were you knowing] what I do know 
 I'd have nothing more to do with him." 
 
A ROMANCE OF EEAL LIFE. 1 83 
 
 " Impossible ! You amaze me ! " 
 
 " He is not worthy of you." 
 
 " Not George ? Dear Sir John ! you surely cannot mean, 
 that ? " 
 
 " "What man possessing the feelings of a man would, under the cir- 
 cumstances, have written those notes ? " 
 
 "But they were ironical were they not ? You do not believe that 
 he was in earnest ? " 
 
 " No, I do not believe, because I know that he was." 
 
 " In earnest when he wrote them ? " 
 
 " Yes, my dear ; there never was a man more in earnest than he 
 was then." 
 
 " But why, Sir John pray tell me why he should treat me thus 
 cruelly?" 
 
 " I am unable to perceive any reason in it ! " replied Sir John, em- 
 phatically. 
 
 " But does he really hesitate of course you say that he does but 
 does he in reality refuse to perform his solemn promise ? " 
 
 " My dear girl, he does ! " 
 
 " But why ? for what reason ? What has induced this change ? 
 What is the cause of his refusal ? What what have I done ? " 
 
 " You have, my dear," replied Sir John as he took her hand, while 
 her tears gushed forth copiously, " you have, my dear, confided in his 
 honour ; you have had implicit faith in his affection and constancy, 
 and you have been deceived ! " 
 
 " Father of Mercies ! " exclaimed Jane, fervently " pity me ! pity 
 the weakness which induced me to believe that he was all perfection ! 
 But do you," she added, addressing Sir John, eagerly " do you say 
 this of your own son ? " 
 
 " Truth, my dear, compels me to do so; and my sympathy for you 
 will no longer allow me to keep you in suspense. I could have told 
 you before but I dared not tell you that your hopes on this subject 
 would never be realized : I could have told you before that you have 
 been deceived that he has no intention of making you his wife ! 
 but I abstained from doing so until I perceived that your faith in his 
 constancy had been shaken." 
 
 Jane looked at Sir John with an expression of amazement, mingled 
 with incredulity still. 
 
 " Is there any truth in man ? " she at length enquired. 
 
 " I hope so," replied Sir John ; " yes, my dear, I hope so ! " 
 
 " Then must there be truth in him ! What ! violate promises so 
 solemnly made ! made with a heart full of piety and devotion to Him 
 whose presence was invoked to record them as sacred promises 
 which were held to be holy vows, and He the attesting witness vio- 
 late them ! If, Sir John, you have urged him to this " 
 
 " My dear, can you imagine that I have done so ? " 
 
 " Some one has done it ! That his fine sense of honour, his illimi- 
 table love, his devotion and his piety, have been paralysed by some 
 potent influence, is clear. It is not in his nature to act thus, voluntarily." 
 
ISA THE STEWARD: 
 
 *' I assure yon that all I could do to induce him to act like an 
 Tiotiourable man, has been done : nay, so strongly did I urge him to 
 pejrforoi his promise that he at length fiercely turned round upon rat 
 declaring that he would not be forced ! " 
 
 " Forced I Pardon me, Sir John : I beg of you to pardon me : my 
 faith in his affection has been so firm that I might, without reflection, 
 cocisLder any one an enemy who would shake it ; but I have reason to 
 know that you have to me been a friend : it did not occur to me at 
 .the moment that if you had been anxious to prevent this marYiage, 
 you had it in your power to do so by simply refusing to alter those 
 deeds." 
 
 " There were," Sir John was about to say, " no such deeds in 
 existence;" but he abstained. 
 
 " Forgive me," she continued, " for having entertained, even for a 
 moment, the slightest doubt of you ; but I cannot help believing that 
 some evil influence has prompted him to act as he has done." 
 
 " Knowing then, my dear, that he has thus acted, would it not be 
 wise on your part to repudiate him as he repudiates you : ' 
 
 " Before that can be done, I must see him : I must hear from, his 
 own lips that he repudiates me ; and if I should, from his own lips, 
 hear this, I feel a spirit rising within rne :But no, he will not have 
 the heart to say that ! When he sees me, all his fond love will return, 
 and we shall yet be happy." 
 
 Freeman now entered the room, and Jane retired ; when Sir J-. 
 having greeted him cordially, said, " Freeman, I sent for you in order, 
 that you might know the decision " 
 
 "I am prepared for it, Sir John quite prepared for it,"' said Free- 
 man ; " I had no thought at all of its being otherwise. I felt sure that 
 he would abandon her, and he has done so." 
 
 " All my anxiety," returned Sir John, " to induce him to act like 
 art honourable man, has been construed into a desire to force him 
 into th marriage." 
 
 u Force him ! " echoed Freeman ; " his own feelings his own sense 
 of justice ought to force him. But what sense of justice can he 
 have ? He's a bad man, Sir John a lad man ! Have you explained 
 this to Jane ? " 
 
 " I have, Freeman ; yes, I thought it useless to keep her any longer 
 in suspense." 
 
 " Quite right : but how did she bear it? " ^ 
 
 " Better, much better than I expected. I find that she has more 
 spirit than I imagined she possessed." 
 
 " Her possession of that spirit, Sir John, has amazed me. His 
 perfidy, however, has inspired it. Formerly she might have Lcc-n said 
 to be a simple girl tranquil as an angel gentle and passionless as a 
 lamb but now she can develope the nerve of an amazou ! It is, Sir 
 John, the spirit of one who feels that she has been indeed deeply 
 wronged." 
 
 " It is well that she has this spirit, Freeman. It will tend to sus- 
 her ; ^Tlie blow might have broken her heart. She, however, 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 185 
 
 still clings to him and that with surpassing tenacity ! She will not 
 yet believe that his decision is final. She'll not even believe it to be 
 voluntary ! She ascribes it to some evil influence having paralysed 
 his feelings, and will not be convinced that he has abandoned her until 
 she hears him absolutely declare it! " 
 
 " No; she will not. I'm aware of it!" said Freeman. " Nor 
 will she be convinced even then. She'll cling to her faith in his 
 affection to the last." 
 
 ct But there is no prospect, Freeman, of turning him now. I have 
 not the slightest hope of it ! I feel well assured that his decision is 
 irrevocable, and therefore we must now consider what is to be 
 done." 
 
 " I scarcely know, Sir John, what can be done." 
 
 " There are, as you are aware, Freeman, two courses open, and it 
 is for you alone to choose between them. You can either bring an 
 action for seduction against him, or come to some arrangement 
 with me." 
 
 " I don't know at all what to do in the case." 
 ' Then consult some friend some mutual friend say, if you 
 please, Dr. Farquar. He knows all about this unhappy affair ; and 
 I believe him to be a strictly honourable man; consult him. I am 
 content to leave it entirely to him, and will abide by his decision. 
 \ on will, of course, bear in mind that if you bring your action with 
 the view of exposing George, you will, at the same time, cause unli- 
 jiiited publicity to be given to that poor girl's shame ; nay, she will 
 herself have to proclaim it. Whereas, by a private arrangement, all 
 this may be prevented all, in fact, may be concealed. She may be 
 away for a rime, and that to a place in which even her name will 
 be unknown, and on her return she may ostensibly hold the same 
 position as that which she occupies now. All this you will consider 
 with Dr. Farquar, who has daughters of his own, and whose sympathy 
 and strong sense of justice will. enable him to come to a correct 
 decision." 
 
 " Sir John," said Freeman, having listened most attentively, " I 
 have the utmost confidence in you. I know you to be a man of 
 hen our, and will therefore leave the case in your hands. I feel with 
 you the inexpediency of giving publicity to an affair of this character, 
 if it can by any reasonable means be avoided ; and therefore, instead 
 of consulting Dr. Farquar whom I highly respect, and by whose 
 decision I should be perfectly willing to abide I will leave it to you, 
 in the full conviction that you will do, under the circumstances, that 
 which is just." 
 
 " This confidence, Freeman, shall have .its effect. It is not mis- 
 placed, nor shall it be betrayed. I will do that which I conceive to 
 be just, and may do more than strict justice demands. And now," 
 he added, " what is to be done with this poor girl? " 
 
 ' You spoke, Sir John, of her being sent away for a time." 
 " I did ; and I think that that would be the best course to pursue. 
 I know a respectable farmer in Sussex Jn whom you may with safety 
 
186 THE STEWARD: 
 
 confide. I also know his wife, a kind-hearted, motherly creature, 
 by whom she would be treated with most affectionate tender- 
 ness. I would advise you to let her be with them. They will, I 
 know, do all in their power to make her as comfortable as possible, 
 and if this should meet her views, as well as your own, I'll write to 
 them, in order that they may make every necessary preparation to 
 receive her." 
 
 " Sir John, I am anxious to be guided by you." 
 " Well, you can speak to her on the subject calmly. We shall see 
 each other again in a day or two, and you can in the interim ascertain 
 what her feelings on this point are." 
 
 Sir John then rose ; and having expressed a wish to take leave of 
 Jane, she was called, when he begged of her in the_most affectionate 
 terms to keep up her spirits, and left. 
 
 " Well, my dear," said Freeman, when Sir John had passed 
 the gate, " it is, I find, just as I expected ! " 
 
 " It appears to be so," replied Jane; " but I'll see him ! He shall 
 tell me himself if he dare to tell me ! and if he should, I'll pour 
 into his ears a flood of truth which shall- at once overwhelm him ! 
 His solemn invocations to heaven his impious assumption of sanc- 
 tity his apparently pious appeals to the scriptures, in order to 
 prove that our proceedings were sanctioned by the Most High, with 
 his thousand blasphemies when he used to kneel and call upon 
 the angels to record his vows and to bless our loves, shall be recalled 
 to his memory, and that in tones which, if he have a heart at all, shall 
 make him tremble ! " 
 
 " I think, my dear," said Freeman, "that you had better not see 
 him." <n 
 
 '' Not see him, father ! " 
 
 " No ; I really would not unless, indeed, he should call." 
 
 " Why, what have I to fear ? " 
 
 " He may insult you." 
 
 " He may: but am I, after what has occurred, to fear this? No, 
 my father ; no. There was a time when a look from him would have 
 subdued me, but that time is past." 
 
 " But the excitement, my dear the mere excitement which such an 
 interview must induce would be injurious." 
 
 " Father, I should bejftrm ; but as calm as I am now." 
 
 "If I were you, my dear, I would treat him with contempt." 
 
 " I rcill do so ! but he shall know it." 
 
 "Well, my dear, well," returned Freeman; "I have only to 
 hope that all unnecessary excitement may be avoided. Come, kise 
 me, and be calm. Sir John has made two propositions to me; 
 but we'll not enter into them now : we'll talk them over quietly in 
 the evening." 
 
 " Sir John," said Jane, "is a kind-hearted man. I only wish but 
 wishing is useless now." 
 
 "Be of good cheer,' my love," said Freeman soothingly. " Things 
 may even now turn out better than you imagine. For my own part," 
 
A ROMANCE OF. REAL LIFE. 187 
 
 he added, " I congratulate you on having escaped from the perpetual 
 tyranny of a villain." 
 
 "A villain, indeed," said Jane, as Freeman left her, " if if my 
 apprehensions be realized ! That I must ascertain : that I must know 
 and the sooner I know it the better. He is generally riding in the 
 park about this time. I'll go : I'll .go now, and if I should see him, 
 I'll demand an explanation at once." 
 
 She accordingly dressed and proceeded to the park ; but was 
 of course unable to see him, he being in the town at the time, dining 
 alone. 
 
 Nor did he return until late in the evening, when, heated with wine, 
 he retired to his room and gloomily dwelt on that dreadful design 
 which he panted to carry into execution. This design, however, was 
 not, in his foul imagination, yet perfected. He dreaded detection, 
 and that dread hourly increased ; for although he had made up his 
 mind to do it, he could not conceive the means by which it might 
 safely be done. His conscience he had silenced ; his feelings he had 
 deadened ; his heart he had closed ; and his whole soul was set upon 
 the action : but the means of performing that action, without being 
 detected, harassed him throughout the night. 
 
 In the morning Sir John received a letter from the Widow, and, as 
 he felt sure that it contained her decision, he hesitated for some time 
 to open it fearing on the one hand and hoping on the other. He 
 did, however, eventually summon sufficient courage to break the seal, 
 and, having done so, 4 he calmly read as follows : 
 
 " MY DEAR SIR JOHN, 
 
 " I have to acknowledge the receipt of your kind, and, to me, 
 most interesting letter, this morning; and I beg to assure you that the 
 questions which you have with so much delicacy proposed, have occu- 
 pied my most serious thoughts. I have dwelt upon them deeply : I 
 have looked as far as my humble ability would allow me at every 
 point, and I cannot but feel highly honoured, and proud of the posi- 
 tion I hold in your esteem. My most earnest desire, my dear Sir 
 John, is to promote your happiness by all the means at my command. 
 It ever has been my study to do so, and I know that you will believe 
 me when I say that it ever shall be. The means, however, which are 
 not at my command, I, of course, cannot employ, however strongly I 
 may feel that, by virtue of their adoption, your happiness would be 
 enhanced. 
 
 " Now, the questions which you have so kindly proposed are four 
 in number; and, as they appear to me to comprehend every point of 
 view in which the subject can be placed, I will proceed at onc^to 
 answer those questions precisely as they stand : 
 
 " In the first place, then, I do not think that he by whom the 
 promise was enjoined, imagined that you would ever make me 
 an offer. 
 
 " Secondly, I do not believe that if he had imagined this, that'pro- 
 mise would ever have been enjoined at all. 
 
1 88 THE STEWARD ! 
 
 "Thirdly, I do not conceive, taking into consideration the high 
 esteem in which he held you, that, if it were possible for him now to 
 sanction our marriage, he would withhold his consent ; but 
 
 "Fourthly, although I can answer conscientiously answer the 
 preceding questions in the negative, I cannot I must not I dare not 
 -consider myself absolved from my solemn promise never to marry 
 again. 
 
 " You will, dear Sir John, I know, appreciate the motives which 
 have induced me to arrive at this conclusion : you will, I well know, 
 feel assured that nothing but the strongest conviction of the sacred 
 character of that promise could have prompted me to decline the high 
 honour you so kindly intended to confer: my gratitude appeals to me 
 my heart appeals to me my pride appeals to me my sense of 
 your affection appeals to me ; but that which I hold to be a sacred 
 duty must notwithstanding be performed. 
 " I remain, dear Sir John, 
 
 " With deep affection and gratitude, 
 
 " Ever yours, 
 "ADELAIDE WAKDLE." 
 
 " Well," said Sir John, having read this attentively, " she is right 
 quite right 1 she is perfectly right ! The promise was sacred, although 
 1 contend still that he had no right to enjoin it. However, that's 
 settled : no more need be said about that. Her decision is final, and 
 there's an end of it, of course. I cannot, however, but admire her 
 devotion. I respect her for it : I respect her more than ever ! at 
 the same time I more than ever regret that that solemn promise was 
 made." 
 
 He then placed the letter in one of the drawers of the library 
 'tahle, and ordered his carriage, and paced the room thoughtfully 
 until it was announced, when he entered and proceeded towards 
 the town. 
 
 George who was on the qui vive saw bim start, and immediately 
 entered the library. He also had received a letter that morning 
 a letter from D'Almaine requesting immediate payment of the amount 
 of his I U namely, five-hundred pounds and stating that he 
 would not have applied for it on any account had he not lost all 
 the money at his command. 
 
 It was not, however, in order to study or to dwell upon the 
 contents of this letter that George entered the library : it w r as with 
 the view of ascertaining whether any memoranda had been made 
 by Sir John, having reference to the contemplated arrangement with 
 Fretoian ; and as he had keys in his possession which would unlock 
 nearly the whole of Sir John's private drawers, Jie proceeded to 
 investigate, and found the Widow's letter ! 
 
 This he read he read it twice, in order to understand it per- 
 fectly, and the result was a sneer. 
 
 "Oh," said he, contemptuously, "she'll not marry again. But 
 what of that ? " he added, with a scowl. " She must be pensioned! 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE 189 
 
 and mill be pensioned on the estate ! Will she ? mill she ? We'll 
 see about that." 
 
 His search was resumed, but nothing could be found having 
 reference to Jane. 
 
 44 He has," said he, " I know, been at work upon something, . and 
 may have it with him. Where is he gone now? 'Why, in all pro- 
 bability to his solicitor, and that with instructions to alter his will, so 
 that he may leave me a comparative beggar ! I'll follow him. I 
 shall find his carriage somcivhere about the town, and if I find it, 
 then all doubt will be at an end/' 
 
 Having carefully, replaced the Widow's letter, he ordered his horse, 
 and proceeded at a somewhat rapid pace across the park ; but he 
 had scarcely passed the Lodge than he saw Jane approaching ! He, 
 however, took no apparent notice, and would have dashed past her ; 
 but as she, perceiving his design, went into, the road, and stood 
 immediately before him, he stopped. 
 
 "What now?" he demanded, with an expression of ferocity. 
 " What do you want with w0?" 
 
 "George!" said Jrrne, tremulously. 
 
 "What do you want? You know my decision, and "by that I 
 shall abide." 
 
 "Hear me!" 
 
 " You received my last note, I presume ?'' 
 . *' Yes, George, yes ; but you surely could not mean " 
 
 "That which I said there I meant, and mean still !" 
 
 " Will you hear me? " 
 
 *' No ! Nor will I be detained." 
 
 "But George! George!" she exclaimed, with energy, as she 
 attempted to seize the bridle " you shall hear me ! " 
 
 George on the instant struck his spurs into the horse, and with a 
 withering look of decision, left her. 
 
 For some moments Jane stood motionless ; but he was no sooner 
 lost to her view than she turned, and heaving a deep sigh, exclaimed, 
 " And is it so ! Is this he who was the centre of my hopes my fond 
 heart's preceptor the idol of my soul ! Monster ! But he yet shall 
 hear me ! He shall not always thus escape. I'll haunt him until I 
 have told him all, and made his false heart tremble ! " 
 
 She wept not nc, she could not weep : her indignation bore her 
 up, and she turned towards home with an aching heart, but without 
 a single tear. 
 
 Having entered the town, George found Sir John's carriage at the 
 door of his solicitor ; and feeling then perfectly convinced that Sir 
 John v/as there for the purpose of giving instructions for the draught 
 of a fresh will, he proceeded to the inn at which he had dined the 
 previous day, with the view of deciding there upon the means by 
 which his dreadful design should be accomplished. 
 
 " Now," thought he, as he sat alone with a bottle of sherry before- 
 him " now all is clear. A fresh will is to be made, and that not 
 only on the "eve of this marriage, but when his Adelaide is to be 
 
190 THE STENVARD : 
 
 pensioned ; and this girl is to be pensioned, while he is panting to 
 wreak his revenge upon me ! It must not be done ! It shall not be 
 done ! Am I to be reduced to penury held up to the scorn and 
 contempt of the world pointed at as the pitiably poor elder brother, 
 and despised as all in this world are despised, who possess not the 
 means of commanding respect when one blow, or one touch of the 
 trigger, would prevent it ? What have I to fear if this be done, without 
 exciting suspicion ? What is his life to me ? What but a prolific source 
 of insult, contumely, and apprehension ? The longer he lives the 
 more I shall be injured, while his death now would give me wealth 
 and consequent power ! Four-fifths of his estate belong to me ; 
 and the will which secures them to me is now to be superseded ! 
 Why, who but a fool would suffer this when he is in possession of 
 the power to prevent it? Who but an idiot would stand tamely 
 by and see himself struck down from affluence to poverty, when he 
 might avert the blow by simply extending his arm ! Am I such an 
 idiot ? No ! His death to me is wealth his life degradation ! And 
 what is his life? What is it to me, smarting as I am under a deep 
 sense ofj injury? But if it were not so, what is the life of one man 
 more than that of another ? If you are met by one on the road who 
 demands your purse, what is your first impulse ? Why, to shoot him 
 through the head ; and if you doso what remorse do you feel ? None. 
 If, then, no remorse is felt for the death of a man who would deprive 
 you of a paltry sum of money, the loss of which would beunfelt, which 
 you would give for a toy or spend for wine in an hour, what remorse 
 should be felt for the death of a man who seeks to deprive you of all 
 you can hope for in the world, and thus to reduce you to a state of 
 destitution ? This estate is worth seventy or eighty thousand pounds. 
 I would shoot any man on the instant if he stopped me on the road 
 and attempted to rob me of a mere five-pound note, and yet I hesitate 
 to do the same thing to the man who seeks to deprive me of seventy 
 or eighty thousand. Why, what an anomaly is this ! Why should 
 remorse be felt in the one case more than in the other ? Because 
 you are legally authorized to kill in the one and not in the other. 
 Does the law, then, create our feelings ? Are our feelings the 
 mere creatures of the law ? It must be so. We kill a man for 
 illegally attempting to rob us, and think but little of it, because the 
 law sanctions the act. We kill a man for legally attempting to rob 
 us, and tremble because the law does not sanction the act. The law, 
 then, is the creator of our feelings. They depend for existence 
 upon the law ; and all that we hear about conscience and remorse is 
 ascribable solely to the dread of the law. To act without exciting 
 suspicion, therefore, is the only real difficulty in a case of this descrip- 
 tion to be surmounted. To act without exciting suspicion now 
 stop how can that be done now? Why, the very fact of his 
 having given instructions for this fresh will in order to deprive 
 me of all to which by nature I am entitled, will, in the event 
 of his death, cause suspicion to fall at once upon me. He is 
 no common man, and therefore the investigation would be of 
 
A ROMANCE OF SEAL LIFE. 191 
 
 no common character; and even if it were, that alone would be 
 sufficient. It would be seen those instructions would prove that 
 we were not on very affectionate terms; and as I should appear 
 to be the only man with whom he was not friendly, I should be fixed 
 upon as the only man who could or would take away his life ! There's 
 the grand point : it is not his death, it is the law ! Am I, then, to 
 abandon the design ? Stay stay ! A happy thought ; yes, indeed a 
 happy thought! Strange that it should not have occurred to me 
 before. The very thing. Nothing could have been more fortunate ; 
 and to happen, too, at this very time. Now weigh it weigh it 
 calmly don't force the construction : look strictly to the natural 
 result. He has proposed to the Widow. Very well. It is clear, 
 from the questions that she has answered, that he was anxious 
 to make her his wife. Very good. Now doubtless the rest of his 
 letter was written in a most affectionate strain. Well, I'll take that for 
 granted, but nothing of which I have no absolute knowledge must 
 enter into my calculations now. He was anxious to have her, and she 
 rejected him ! that is on record : her letter, of course, will prove that 
 she rejected him. Well ! He received the intelligence this morning 
 mark, this very morning ! What, then, if he should happen to be found 
 dead to-night, with a pistol in his right hand? What would be the 
 inference ? What could be the inference ? What could his death be 
 ascribed to? What but to temporary insanity, induced by the fact of 
 his having been rejected ! How else could a jury decide, with this 
 evidence before them ? .They could bring no other verdict in ! and 
 suspicion would fall upon no one then all would be free from 
 the slightest taint. We know that if it be not strictly true, it is pro- 
 verbial, or, at all events, conventionally understood, that the amative 
 passions of a man of his age amount to a species of infatuation, to 
 which insanity is nearly allied. Well, then, will it not be taken for 
 granted that he was so infatuated with her that when he received the 
 intelligence of his being rejected, he became so depressed that self- 
 destruction was the result ? Why of course it will ! He dies 
 to-nighi !" 
 
 Having with a brutal scowl arrived at this dreadful decision, he 
 hastily finished his wine and left the inn ; and, as he rode slowly out 
 of the town, he considered how he should act at the Hall before the 
 horrible deed was done. 
 
 "I'll dine with him to-day," said he at length; "it will not be a 
 very agreeable iete-a-tetc, but it will tend to shut up the servants' 
 mouths, which I might perhaps otherwise open. He'll not say much 
 to me, I dare say : on the subject of that girl he has promised to say 
 no more, and I shall say as little on that or any other subject to him. 
 Yes, I'll dine with him I'd rather not, of course ; but I must unless, 
 indeed, I see a chance of bringing him down, when, of course, he will 
 dine no more. That infernal D'Almaine ! he must write for his money, 
 and just at this time, too. Well ! But stop," he added on reaching the 
 road which he almost invariably took on his way home ; " I may as 
 well go round. I may be waylaid again by that cursed girl. She seems 
 
192 TELE STEWARD: 
 
 desperate and her object may be to have a pop at inf. I should:, 
 astonished if she were to try it. I wish she would ! I'd soon get 
 of /*// Still, perhaps, I had better go round." 
 
 He then turned off and leaped one of the park fences, ; 
 as he approached the Hall, Corney ran in almost breathless 
 haste towards him and cried, "Mr. George! Sir! Haw you seer. 
 a m a dm an?" 
 
 * A madman ? " said Geoige with a careless air. " There are mad- 
 men enough in this sinful world. All men are mad sometimes*" 
 
 " Yes, sir I know, sir; but have you seen a real one a real insane 
 one a regular right on lunatic of a madman ? ' 
 
 "What do you mean?" 
 
 " A madman, sir a real deranged madman, which runs about and 
 bites every mortal flesh he sees \ Have you seen him, sir? :> 
 
 "No." 
 
 " Then you're lucky." 
 
 " Now, what do you mean ? " 
 
 *' Why, sir, one of that specie has just broke loose cut clean en 
 from Dr. Briggs's vanished like a mortal spirit somewhere, sir, 
 the Doctor's double-barrelled gun under his arm ! " 
 
 " Who told you of this?" 
 
 " The Doctor's been here, sir, and all his men sweating like bul- 
 locks, and 'running here and there, sir, as if they'd all turned 
 themselves. Sir John, too, he's in a fine way about it! He sei: 
 the keepers, and called the grooms, and had every horse in the si 
 mounted, and sent some one way and some another I never see 
 a job in my life before ! " 
 
 4i He escaped from Dr. Briggs's, did you not say ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir, he cut with a double-barrelled gun." 
 
 " Do you know what sort of man he is ? " J 
 
 "A fine, tall, gentlemanly man, sir, they said, which has been ihtr? 
 no time hardly." 
 
 " Lejeune ! " thought George " He has made his escap?, and I 
 without the aid of my fov.'r-and-twenty pounders. Which way did ti:L 
 Doctor go ? '' he enquired. 
 
 " Straight through the park, sir, along with Sir John. The Doctor 
 says he's sure he's concealed about here somewhere.'' 
 
 " Well, then," said George, " I suppose that I must follow them.' 
 
 " Don't, sir ! " cried Corney *' for goodness sake, don't ! I w . 
 not advise } r ou, by no means, to go. Now do stop at home : he may- 
 do you a mischief. Remember, sir, ha's got the Doctor's double- 
 barrelled gun, and it's loaded I'll be bound to say up to the muzzle. 
 Betides, sir now only, sir, just look here I'm the only mortal 
 about the premises ; and if he should come, sir, while I am alone, the 
 consequences can't be accounted for. Don't go, sir pray don't. Be 
 advised by me. If he should let fly at you, he'll bring you down like 
 life and that you'd not be a bit the better for, I know." 
 
 George, apparently regardless of this extremely touching appeal., 
 continued to look round the park with the view of catching a gli: 
 
i 
 

 The DEED.' 
 
Conscience Stnc,erb 
 
 
.. ' 
 
n; 
 
 
 
Trie Suppliant 
 
A EOMAXCE OF REAL LIFE. 193 
 
 of some one; and when at length Sir John and the Doctor appeared 
 in the distance, he struck spurs into his horse, and left Corney alone. 
 
 11 George," said Sir John, as he approached, " Lejeune has made 
 his escape." 
 
 " How long has he been gone ? " enquired George. 
 
 " I missed him about an hour ago," replied the Doctor, ll and my 
 impression is that he's concealed somewhere near." 
 ' You have sent men off, I find." 
 
 " In every direction." 
 
 *' Well, let us ride round : we may meet with him here." 
 
 " If you see him, be cautious ; he has my gun with him." 
 
 " Loaded?" 
 
 " Doubtless: he took flasks and all." 
 
 " But how did he escape ? " 
 
 " One of my stupid men who had been cleaning the giiH, incautiously 
 left it in sight of Lejeune, who, taking advantage of bis absence, en- 
 tered the room, passed through the house, and got over the gate." 
 
 " He may have taken the road to London," said George. 
 
 " If so," returned the Doctor, "my men are sure to catch him." 
 
 " I hope so I hope so," observed Sir John. " If he should reach 
 there, and call at his brother's house in Charles's absence, the conse- 
 quences may be fearful." 
 
 " He has not taken that road. He's not far off. We shall find him." 
 
 " A sad job a very sad job," said Sir John, who led the way into 
 one'*of the plantations ; but scarcely had he done so when Richard 
 walked deliberately up to the Hall. 
 
 Corney, who had been fearfully on the look out, saw him from one 
 of the upper windows cross the lawn, and, conceiving that politeness 
 would have an agreeable effect, he thus addressed him: 
 
 " Go away, my good gentleman; this isn't the house ; you've made 
 a mistake ; it's the other, farther on." 
 
 Richard looked up indignantly on being thus addressed, and said 
 with an air of authority, "Some wine, fellow! give me some wine!"' 
 
 "We don't sell it here : we don't, indeed," replied Corney. "You'll 
 get it at the other house, sir, capital ! " 
 
 " I'll have it here ! " cried Richard. 
 
 " But there's nobody at home ! " 
 
 " Are not you at home ? " 
 
 Well, Corney felt strongly at the time that he could not, with any 
 degree of propriety, deny himself; but then what was to be done ? 
 
 *' Instantly come down! " cried Richard, fiercely; "or," he added, 
 pointing to his gun, " I'll bring you down ! " 
 
 This was said in a tone so commanding that Corney was really about 
 to obey, when a pleasant thought struck him, and he said in a voice of 
 surpassing gentleness, " Put the gun down, sir: please, put it down 
 there's a good gentleman ! put the gun down." 
 Put the gun down ! Why ? " 
 
 " I can't bear the sight of a gun, I can't, indeed, sir : it sends me 
 into fits." 
 Xo. 13. 
 
1 94 THE STEWARD ! 
 
 " / never surrender my arms. Now, sir ! Do you hear ? " 
 
 " Will you wait till I open the door ? " 
 
 " Be quick, then ! I'm off to my dominions." 
 
 "That'll do," said Corney confidentially to himself, as he left the win- 
 dow " that'll do out and out ! If he'll only just wait till /open the door, 
 he'll oblige me, inasmuch as he don'-t catch me opening of it at all." 
 
 He then ran down stairs, and on reaching the servants' hall he 
 cried, " Sarah, Ann, Charlotte, Cook, all of you he's here ! " 
 
 " Gracious ! Who ? " demanded the whole of them at once. 
 
 " The madman ! " 
 
 " The madman ? Here ? " 
 
 "Run for your lives ! " 
 
 " Where are we to run to ? " 
 
 " Anywhere ! " 
 
 Sarah thought of clinging to Corney ; Cook thought of running up 
 into her bedroom and hiding beneath the clothes ; Ann thought of the 
 beer-cellar; Susan thought of the wood-house ; while Charlotte 
 thought of fainting ; but all, without giving expression to their 
 thoughts, stood and stared at each other bewildered. 
 
 " Hark ! " cried Corney, with an electric effect, as Richard entered 
 the house, having found that by simply turning the handle of the outer 
 door, he could open it. " Hark ! he's now in the house ! Let's all 
 cut into the shrubbery behind. If he should come that way, we can 
 dodge him about. He may get into the maze, and if he should, he'll 
 be right enough there come along! " 
 
 He led the way, and the women instinctively followed ; while 
 Richard, having entered the room into which he had previously been 
 shown, and finding Sir John's lunch set out, went to work with an air 
 of peculiar satisfaction. 
 
 "What's he like?" enquired Sarah, when she and the rest had 
 established themselves in what they deemed, under the circumstances, 
 an eligible situation. 
 
 " What's he like ? Why I'll tell you what he's like," replied Cor- 
 ney. " Did you ever see a regular rhinoceros ? because if you didn't, 
 he's for all the world like one: large grey whiskers, like a brace of big 
 bushes in a snow storm ! eyes like a couple of coke furnaces ! teeth 
 like the tusks of the wild boar df the wilderness ! a nose like the trunk 
 of a Chinese elephant ! hands like the claws of a Bengal tiger, and 
 stands, I should say, about thirteen foot high ! " 
 
 " Gracious ! " cried Sarah. "Lor ! if he should come here ! " 
 
 "Is he married?" enquired Cook. 
 
 " Well, I should think he is," replied Corney. " He looks quite wild 
 enough for a married man." 
 
 " Wild enough ! What do you mean by that ? " 
 
 " Why, he looks like a man driven wild by his wife." 
 
 " Well," interrupted Ann, " I don't envy his wife. I wouldn't have 
 such a monster for all I could see. I like a tallish man that I cer- 
 tainly do but thirteen foot high is out of all kind of conscience ! I 
 should like to see him too at a respectable distance," 
 
A ROMANCE OT HEAL LIFE. 195 
 
 " You'd faint," returned Corney ; " you'd go into fits." 
 
 " 1 wonder what he's up to now?" said Cook. 
 
 11 He don't know himself," replied Corney ; " and that's where the 
 philosophic part of the business is ! You see," he added, assuming 
 the air of an oracle, " when a man's mad, he's right on crazy. He's 
 insane a madman is regular insane. His intellects is what you 
 may call deranged. His upper story's conglomerated : his roof isn't 
 sound: it's either cracked or got a tile off somewhere. He hasn't his 
 right change. He's a lunatic an insane man is a real original 
 lunatic, and that of such dimensions that he's out of his mind, just 
 the same as a grocer's out of tea when he hasn't got any in stock." 
 
 "Yes, exactly," said Sarah, "Go on, Cornelius; I like to hear 
 you talk, because there allus sure to be suffen in what you say." 
 
 " Well," pursued Corney, " as I was expostulating, the intellects 
 of his mind is turned topsy-turvy, and he knows no more about any- 
 thing than nothing. He's compos mernpos, which is the French for 
 no how. He's a maniac an universal ninnyhammer which means 
 that his brains is in such fits that he's no control over their transmi- 
 gration. If he bites a piece out of your arm, he thinks it's a bit of a 
 buttock of beef; if he swallows a slice of your cheek, he thinks it's 
 part of the breast of a chicken. Very well. Now suppose I was mad, 
 I should, of course, be in a state of know-nothingness ; and suppose I 
 was promoted to that state, what should I do ? "What should I do ! 
 Why anything in life. I should kiss every girl in the universal world, 
 and knock down every man that came across me. I should eat and 
 drink just all I liked take champagne instead of beer, and put up 
 for a member of Parliament. It isn't of much use for a man in this 
 world to know nothing ; but if I knew nothing I should do all sort* of 
 unaccountable things, because I should be an unaccountable being. 
 If I were mad, 'wouldn't I have a game ! In the first place I'd kiss 
 you all regular round, and then go on a quiet expedition of pleasure. 
 I'd potter George clean off his horse, to begin with. I should like to 
 do that above a bit ! " 
 
 "But why?" enquired Ann'. "He's a nice, quiet, pious man 
 enough." 
 
 " So he may be," replied Corney, "very nice, and quiet, and par- 
 ticular pious as well ; but .what would that signify then to me ? His 
 piosity wouldn't weigh an ounce then in my scale ! I'd just as soon 
 pitch him off his horse as I'd marry you ; but I must, of course, be 
 mad to do either." 
 
 Ann curled her lip with the view of expressing contempt, while 
 Sarah smiled, and really felt delighted. 
 
 " Hark ! " cried Cook, as Sir John and George approached, having 
 scoured the plantations, examined the hedges, given notice to every far- 
 mer on the estate, and left the Doctor to ascertain if any intelligence had 
 reached home "he's coming he's coming he's certainly coming !" 
 
 ' Hold your tongue hold your tongue ! There's a stir," said Corney, 
 " but it sounds like the stir of horses. Hark ! There's the bell ! " 
 
 " And Sir John's bell ! " said Cook. 
 
196 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " Yes, we know it's Sir John's bell that we know ; but we don't 
 know who rang it. The madman can pull a rope as well as Sir 
 John, and the bell would as soon ring for one as the other ; it would 
 make no difference at all to the bell ! " 
 
 "There it is again ! " cried Cook ; " you'd better go." 
 
 " Well, we'll go if you like, for I think it's Sir John." 
 
 *' We go ! Are you a man ? afraid to go without us ! ' 
 
 " Afraid ! Pooh ! What do you mean ? Afraid ! There we see 
 the ingratitude of the sex ! My object is to protect you! Suppose 
 you were attacked in my absence, why you'd all of you go right off 
 into fits without any protection at all ! No ! I'll stick to you like a 
 man : ungrateful as you are, I'll protect you still !" 
 
 "Cornelius !" shouted Sir John at this moment, apprehensive that, 
 something very serious had happened, " Cornelius ! " 
 
 ".Here, Sir John here ! " cried Corney, whose breast Sir John's- 
 appearance reinspired with courage. " We're here! " 
 
 " Why," demanded Sir John, as he approached the shrubbery,, 
 " what is the meaning of all this? " 
 
 " The madman ! " cried Corney "the madman, Sir John ! " 
 
 " Have you seen him ? " 
 
 " Oh ! awful, Sir John ! He's been here, and he's here now." 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " In the house." 
 
 " Run round and tell George: you'll find him in the stable : tell him- 
 to come here to me." 
 
 "Shall I call to him?" 
 
 ' No, make no noise." 
 
 'IBut I dussent go alone if you'd give me the world ! I'll go> 
 anywhere with you, Sir John ; but " 
 
 " Then we'll go together/' 
 
 Corney looked at the maids with an expression which proved that 
 lie had at that time a strong prejudice in favour of remaining in their 
 society; but he, notwithstanding, followed Sir John into the stable,, 
 where, in the presence of George, he felt a little better. 
 
 "George," said Sir John, "Richard's now in the house. How are 
 we to proceed ? " 
 
 " In the house ! " cried George. " Why how long has he been there ? " 
 
 " He came very soon after you left," replied Corney. " I was at 
 one of the windows, and he wanted some wine, and threatened to shoot 
 me if I didn't give him some: so I ran down stairs and warned the 
 maids, and when we heard him enter the house, we all ran into the 
 shrubbery together." 
 
 'You should have left them there," said George, "and come in 
 search of us. We should then have had the Doctor with us. How- 
 ever, we must do the best we can as it is." 
 
 ^ How do you propose to act?" enquired Sir John. 
 
 "Why," replied George, "we must first ascertain which room he 
 is in, and then his position will teach us how to act. If he should 
 have the gun by his side, I must pounce upon him before he can raise 
 
A ROMANCE OP REAL LIFE. 197 
 
 it : if not, I shall go very quietly to work, and while we are shaking 
 2iands together, secure him." 
 
 " Well, for Heaven's sake he cautious, George pray be cautious. 
 If he should have the gun in his hand, retire. We can mount and 
 follow him, if he should escape." 
 
 " We shall be able to manage, no doubt," said George, " without 
 running much risk. But the moment I seize him, you must come to 
 ^ny aid." 
 
 This was understood, and they entered the house and searched 
 every room, but without success : no Richard Lejeune could be found. 
 It was, however, perfectly manifest that he had been into one of the 
 front parlours, and helped himself to some wine and part of a cold 
 -chicken which Corney had duly set out for Sir John ; but beyond this, 
 no trace of him could be discovered. 
 
 "It is strange," observed George, " that we saw nothing of him as 
 we returned. The Doctor is right: he is still somewhere near." 
 
 " Which way, sir, is it to his dominions ? " enquired Corney. 
 
 " His dominions ? " 
 
 " Yes, sir; he said he was off to his dominions." 
 
 " He would have been in his dominions by this time," said George, 
 *' if you had done that which you ought to have done." 
 
 "Frightened as I was, sir, I didn't know what to do: that's the 
 truth, sir, and nothing but the truth." 
 
 "Well," said Sir John, "it's useless talking now of what might 
 have been done. I am very, very sorry that we were not here." 
 
 " It's all for the best, Sir John, 'pend upon that," observed Corney, 
 with increased boldness. *' If you had been here, and had gone to 
 that door, he might have brought you down like a bird ! Such an 
 eye for a shot ! and such whiskers ! my patience ! There, if " 
 
 " You had better tell the girls that he has left," said Sir John, and 
 Corney, who perceived that his eloquence was not very highly appre- 
 ciated, instantly bowed, and withdrew. 
 
 CHAPTER XYI. 
 
 THE DEED! 
 
 AEOTJT an hour after Richard's retreat from the Hall that is to say 
 about five o'clock the keepers and grooms whom Sir John had 
 despatched, returned from their fruitless expedition ; and when they 
 had put up their horses, Sir John who was pacing the lawn in a state 
 of great anxiety sent them all in to have some refreshment. 
 
 George was in his own room at the time, and with a bottle of brandy 
 before him, gloomily encouraging the most revolting thoughts. 
 
 " Action ! " he at length exclaimed. " Action ! It must be done. 
 The injuries he is anxious to inflict upon me justify it : my own dear- 
 est interests demand it ! If that lunatic had brought him down, he 
 
198 THE STEWARD: 
 
 would have saved me the trouble ; but as it is, by my hand he must 
 fall ! Now, then, to be a mere machine. No maudlin sympathy no 
 sense of feeling neither fear nor affection must interpose now ! 
 Through the head, or through the heart? Which is the quicker 
 process ? The head I can see the heart I cannot. The head, then, 
 be it ! Now," he continued, as Sir John left the lawn, and slowly and 
 thoughtfully entered a glade cut through the adjoining plantation for 
 a view " now now is the time ! I'll go I'll converse with him 
 and the first chance ! The spot is just below the ear, and he shall 
 afterwards grasp the weapon ! All is still. There is no one near no 
 one to be seen for miles round, and the servants are regaling them- 
 selves in the hall. What ! " he added, as on looking round again he 
 saw some one approaching the right of the glade, " why, there's the 
 very man ! that is Lejeune ! and he has his gun with him. Stop ! 
 Why of course ! Instead of the pistols, take a gun ! I can then go 
 to the left of the glade unseen, and, having done the deed, run back 
 and give the alarm ! He will be held to be the criminal then, and, 
 being mad, what will it matter to him ? The very thing ! The 
 charge: be quick, but firm ! " 
 
 Having set aside the pistols, which he had previously loaded, and 
 which were known to belong to Sir John, he proceeded to load his 
 gun putting a full charge and a half into each barrel and drank 
 some more brandy, and stealthily descended and listened ; and heard 
 the servants laughing merrily at Corney's extravagant description of 
 Lejeune, when, feeling more than ever secure, he made at once for the 
 left of the glade, in which Sir John was in deep meditation. He 
 passed him noiselessly and unseen and went up to a hedge near a 
 narrow path which led to the Hall, and stopped until Sir John came 
 immediately opposite the spot on which he stood, when with a deadly 
 aim he fired, and his father on the instant fell ! A shriek a piercing 
 shriek was heard ; but George although it chilled his bloq^d hastily- 
 stuck his gun into the hedge, and ran with all possible speed to the 
 Hall, where he gave the alarm with vehemence. 
 
 '* Murder! Murder! Murder!" he cried. "My father has been 
 shot in the glade ! I saw him fall ! " 
 
 In an instant the whole of the men rose, and rushed with him into 
 the glade, down which they saw Richard Lejeune, in an evident state of 
 alarm, running. 
 
 " There he is !" cried George. " That's the man ! Follow ny .-' 
 and he ran with the rest until Richard turned and fired, when George 
 stopped, staggered, and fell. 
 
 This, however, did not at all check the pursuit. The men followed 
 Richard, who had started off again, and who, on being caught, was on 
 the instant overpowered. 
 
 " Murderer ! " cried one of them indignantly, as he wrested the gun 
 from the "Murderer's." hands. 
 
 " Murderer ! " echoed Richard. t; No ; I have done nothing contrary 
 to the articles of war. You have disarmed me, and I arn your prisoner, 
 but I have a right to claim all the consideration due to my exalted rank.' 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 199 
 
 " Don't hurt him," said Corriey, " he's mad. That's him : his mind 
 knows nothing about what he's done." 
 
 Having pinioned his arms and grasped him securely, they led him to 
 the spot where George was still lying, and found that he had not been 
 wounded seriously. This inspired them at once with the hope that 
 Sir John had escaped a mortal wound ; but when they found that he 
 had ceased to breathe, the whole of them stood and wept., The stoutest 
 heart was melted then ; the strongest trembled with emotion. They 
 could not speak, grief choked their utterance. He so kind, so good 
 a man their friend, their benefactor lie who had been like a father to 
 them murdered ! Had Richard Lejeune not been insane, they wou d 
 have torn him limb from limb. 
 
 The violence of the first ebullition of grief having somewhat subsided, 
 Sir John was tenderly borne to the Hall. George, supported by one of 
 the grooms, followed ; and Richard was brought in the custody of the 
 rest. 
 
 " Go," said George, tremulously, "go for Dr. Farquar. My father 
 may yet be restored." 
 
 Two of the grooms immediately mounted and gallopped off one to 
 summon Dr. Farquar and the other Dr. Briggs ; both of whom by 
 accident they met near the park, and who, on hearing what had 
 occurred, struck their spurs into their horses, and flew with the grooms 
 to the Hall. 
 
 Sir John was their first care, but he was no more ; and having ascer- 
 tained this beyond all doubt, they turned their attention to George. 
 
 " Are you sure,'' enquired George, with an expression of intensity, 
 " are you sure my father is d<?ad ? " 
 
 " Unhappily," replied Dr. Farquar, " he has for some time ceased to 
 breathe." 
 
 " This is agony, indeed !" cried George, while the tears, which he 
 could always command, flowed freely. 
 
 "It is," said Dr. Farquar, "a most dreadful occurrence. You, too, 
 are wounded, are you not?" 
 
 " Oh ! slightly, slightly ; but that's of no moment." 
 
 "Still," said Dr. Briggs, "we must examine the wound. Where 
 is it?" 
 
 ' c My arm," said George, faintly, " my arm is lacerated slightly 
 nothing more." 
 
 They examined his arm, and found that some stray shot had touched 
 it ; but although the sleeve of his shirt was saturated with blood, the 
 wounds inflicted were very superficial. 
 
 " There's nothing in this/' said Dr. Farquar, " and yet I understand 
 you fell." 
 
 " I did fall," replied George, cautiously, " but that I ascribe chiefly 
 to exhaustion." 
 
 " Aye, well," said Dr. Briggs; " that was, under the circumstances, 
 natural. Did you see Sir John fall ? " 
 
 "I did." 
 
 " And did you see poor Lejeune fire at him ? " 
 
 
200 THE STEWARD : 
 
 " No ; hearing the report and seeing my father fall, I instantly gave 
 the alarm." 
 
 " Lamentable, lamentable! very, very lamentable !" exclaimed Dr. 
 Briggs ; " very, very." 
 
 "I must," said George, with an expression of deep emotion, " I 
 must go at once and communicate this sad intelligence to Charles." 
 
 44 No," said Dr. Farquar, " although this wound is of very slight 
 importance, you are not in a fit state to go." 
 
 " Whom, then, can I send ? " 
 
 " I'll go ; I'll go at once." 
 
 ' You are, indeed, a friend. Take one of our servants with you 
 take Cornelius, he knows the house. Believe me, Dr. Farquar," he 
 .added, " I feel grateful to you very, very grateful." 
 
 The bell was rung, and Corney was desired to accompany Dr. 
 Farquar, who left immediately, when Dr. Briggs proceeded to "dress 
 George's arm : and shortly afterwards, accompanied by two servants, 
 took Richard Lejeune back in a carriage to the asylum. 
 
 " Now," thought George, on being left alone, " I am master here- 
 absolute master. The estate is mine, and nothing could have been 
 better managed. No suspicion now can possibly fall upon me. But 
 that shriek; whence did that proceed? Could it have been fancy? 
 It might have been, and yet it seemed to pierce my very heart. I ha"ve 
 heard of screech-owls ; but there are no screech-owls here. I never saw 
 one ; I never heard one ; nor did I ever hear of one being either seen 
 or heard here. It must have been the imagination, and yet, until I 
 heard that, I was firm. I'll think no more of it. If I give way to 
 these fantasies now, I may for ever be their slave. It was fancy. It 
 could have been nothing else. Ill 'have it nothing else ; and yet it had 
 a fearful effect. Coward! Fool! Having done a deed like this, I 
 must have a heart as impervious as adamant, or the rest of my life 
 must be wretched. I must despise all childish fears treat withering 
 apprehension with contempt, and be a man. What is it after all? 
 What does it amount to? One man dead. Well; suppose he was 
 my father ? Was he not about to injure me ? Why, I was, in justice 
 to myself, bound to do it. I did it merely in my own defence. Who's 
 there ? " he cried with a convulsive start, as one of the servants 
 knocked gently at the door. 
 
 The servant entered to announce that dinner was ready. 
 
 " Dinner," said George, tremulously, " dinner? Alas ! I have had 
 Thy dinner. I cannot eat; no, James, no; I cannot eat. Bring me 
 some wine," he added. "I am faint." 
 
 The wine was brought and the servant withdrew, when George 
 drank glass after glass with avidity, and rose and paced the room, and 
 went to the window, from which he saw carriages, gi"S, and 
 horsemen approaching in all directions, the intelligence of the 
 murder having been, as if by virtue of electricity, communicated 
 to all around. 
 
 He rang the bell, and when the servant entered, he said, in mournful 
 tones and apparently with deep emotion, " James, there are carriages 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LITE. 201 
 
 and horsemen approaching ; I, of course, cannot be seen. You will 
 know what to say. You can tell them that I am wounded; and, 
 although not dangerously, I am too much afflicted both in body and 
 mind to see any one now." 
 
 James bowed in silence and retired ; and George, as Sir John's friends 
 approached, watched them narrowly unseen. They were all deeply 
 affected, for Sir John was beloved by them all; and as James received 
 them with mournful respect on the lawn, they surrounded him and 
 listened to his version of the circumstances connected with the dreadful 
 event, and wept. He then pointed to the glade, and as they appeared 
 to express a wish to view the spot on which their dear friend fell, 
 George, as James led them towards it, rushed into his room with the 
 view of watching their movements so near the hedge into which he 
 had hastily thrust his gun. 
 
 "Fool! idiot!" he exclaimed, "to conceal it just there. Was 
 there ever such a doll. They say that a man who does a deed like 
 this is sure to commit some monstrous act of folly, and this is mine. 
 There ! there ! they go directly up to the hedge ! Why, of course, I 
 might have been sure that all round that spot would be closely exa- 
 mined. Oh ! " he added, in an agony of suspense, " if it should be dis- 
 covered ! The gun is mine; it will be instantly known to be mine; my 
 name is engraved on it. Stop! they leave the hedge. They go back 
 to the spot. No, no they have not. found it. Oh! this dread of 
 detection itself will cause the detection dreaded. They return, and 
 for the present I am safe. But is this your nerve? Is this your 
 courage? Is this your lion-heart"? For shance. And yet had they 
 found it, why, suspicion would have been on the instant engendered, 
 and how could I have accounted for its being there ? I could not 
 stop I might yes, I certainly might. Richard Lejeune was in the 
 house alone. Who then could tell that he did not come up into this 
 very room, and having taken the gun with him, placed it there. His 
 madness would account for the eccentricity of his carrying two guns. 
 Still, it is better much better as it is; for although nothing could 
 have been absolutely proved it might have excited suspicion. I'll 
 go as soon as the coast is clear and bring it away, when that will be 
 settled. I can conceal it beneath my cloak, which I can wear now 
 without its being deemed extraordinary. It must not remain there." 
 
 The party then slowly returned to the lawn, and having conversed 
 together for sometime in groups, they retraced their steps through the 
 park ; when George, who had watched them until they were no longer 
 to be seen, put on his cloak, with the view of recovering the gun, which 
 had already been a source of intense apprehension. 
 
 On looking round, however, he saw other friends approaching, and 
 his walk to the hedge was in consequence deferred ; indeed, they kept 
 constantly calling until it became quite dark, when he put on his cloak 
 again, left the house, and slowly oaced the lawn. 
 
 James, who happened to hear him go out, ran up to the door, and 
 said, " Is that you, sir?" 
 
 " Yes, James, yes," replied George, faintly. " Do not disturb 
 
202 THE STEWARD I 
 
 my meditations. My soul can be relieved now by solitude 
 alone." 
 
 " Beg pardon, sir," returned James, respectfully, and, of course, 
 withdrew at once from the door. 
 
 " Now," thought George, " while I am supposed to be meditating 
 here, I'll secure that which inspired me with so much alarm, and then 
 all dread of detection will be at an end." 
 
 Well, this was, under the circumstances, a great desideratum, and 
 the sooner it was accomplished the better ; and yet he continued to 
 pace the lawn. The night, though dark, was calm. The wind was 
 hushed no sound was heard a solemn silence reigned around. Jf r liy 
 then did he continue to pace the lawn ? Why did he not go to the 
 hedge '? 
 
 He dared not go ; he did not dare to stir beyond the lawn. 
 
 " I wish," thought he, as his fainting heart quivered, "I wish that 
 my rights could have been by some other means secured : that no 
 necessity had existed for this murder. Murder is a dreadful thing, 
 even to contemplate, but a far more dreadful thing is it to rest upon a 
 man's conscience. Perish the name of conscience ! It is but a bug- 
 bear, although it frights the world. I'll have no more of it. Then 
 why remain here ? Why not go at once and remove the only thing 
 by which suspicion can by any possibility be created ? What have I 
 to fear ? I fear no living man the dead are powerless. Then why 
 not go ? Superstition enthrals me still : but I mill go. And yet 
 perhaps, I may as well defer it till the morning. No one, of course, 
 can find it to-night. There's not the slightest chance of that. 
 There's no necessity for going to-night. The morning early in the 
 morning will do. Yes, I'll let it remain till the morning. And 
 why ? Because disguise it as you may you dare not go to- 
 night. And this is your courage ! Slrong -minded man! Well, am I 
 alone in this respect? Imagination will shake the courage of the 
 mightiest. Men who will fearlessly face the substance of any 
 living thing, quail before a shadow, even when they know that shadow 
 to be the mere creature of the imagination. I will not go to-night. 
 My nerves are unstrung. I do not feol well. I have surely had 
 sufficient excitement for one day. A man is not always the same he 
 is not always firm. Place any man in a position to which he has been 
 unaccustomed, and he will not feel at ease, even though he fear 
 nothing. / have nothing to fear nothing tangible to fear ; but I'll 
 not go to-night. There's no necessity for going. Early in the 
 morning will do just as well. 
 
 He then re-entered the house, and ordered coffee, and put an un- 
 usually large quantity of brandy into every cup he drank ; and as this 
 had but little effect, he had some hot brandy and water, resolved on 
 drowning, if possible, every sense of that fear which continued to 
 haunt his imagination. This was, however, unavailing. The brandy, 
 instead of inspiring him with courage, tended to increase his terror. 
 The more he drank the more horrible his apprehensions became. 
 
 Midnight approached, and he was absolutely afraid to move. 
 
A KOMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 
 
 203 
 
 He felt as if bound to the chair on which lie sat. The thought of 
 leaving the room made him shudder. The idea of going to bed was 
 too frightful to dwell upon then. 
 
 He rang the bell, and the sound even of that at the moment startled 
 him his nerves had become so relaxed. 
 
 " James," said he faintly, when the servant had entered, " my 
 brother, for whom Dr. Farquar has gone, may in an hour or two be 
 here: and as I do not feel at all inclined to sleep, I'll not go to bed. 
 I'll sit up until they arrive." 
 
 " I will," said James, " with pleasure, sir, sit up, instead of you." 
 " No, James ; you can go to bed. I am, of course, anxious to see 
 him the very moment he arrives, and if we should want any assistance 
 I'll call you. You can make up the fire, and bring some hot water : 
 they will feel faint, doubtless, after their journey." 
 
 " Very good, sir," said James, who proceeded to obey these in- 
 structions, and then added, " I beg pardon, sir, but as you expect Mr. 
 Charles so soon, would it not be better for me to sit up as well ? I 
 shall then be ready to do any thing that may be wanted. I'll rather 
 sit up, if you please." 
 
 " Very well/' replied George, who now dreaded the idea of being 
 left up alone, " then do so. Take some brandy with you, and mix it 
 for yourself." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," replied James, who poured out a wineglassful 
 of brandy, and left the room. 
 
 George, who knew, of course, that the doctor could not possibly 
 return with Charles before six o'clock, and who had said that they 
 might arrive in an hour or two, solely in order to induce the servant 
 to believe that their anticipated arrival was the cause of his sitting up, 
 then proceeded to mix more brandy and water ; but, although he drank 
 again and again lustily, he no sooner found himself alone again than 
 his horrible apprehensions returned with renewed strength to torturehim. 
 He took up a book ; but that was useless : his eyes wandered over 
 the pages in vain. His mind would not be diverted: his own 
 imagination was too strong to yield to the influence of the imagination 
 of another. 
 
 He closed the book and drank again, and stared at the fire, and en- 
 deavoured to dwell upon that which he had previously conceived to be 
 his justification ; but that availed him nothing then : the anguish of 
 remorse still tortured him, and instead of any justification appearing, 
 the parricide viewed his naked guilt with horror ! 
 
 It was then that he saw the fallacy of supposing that a man may 
 murder, and yet feel no remorse : it was then that he found that it was 
 not the dread of detection, or the fear of the law alone, that struck the 
 hearts and tortured the imaginations of men ; but the overwhelming 
 consciousness of guilt that consciousness of which the poignancy has 
 caused thousands upon thousands to confess their crimes and to give 
 themselves freely up to temporal justice preferring chains, dungeons, 
 execrations, and an ignominious death, to the moral tortures of a guilty 
 soul. 
 
204 THE STEWARD 
 
 Again and again he drank, and tried to shake his horrors off. 
 
 " Am I," said he in an energetic whisper " Am I to be eternally 
 superstition's slave ? What is it but gross superstition after all ? 
 Away with it ! despise it ! bid defiance to its power ! Great God ! " 
 he exclaimed, and sank back appalled ; for at the moment, his im- 
 agination created the figure of his father standing before him, and 
 pointing to Heaven ! 
 
 He glared at the spectre with eyes starting from their sockets, while 
 every feature with the exception of his livid lips, which quivered 
 was pale with horror, and rigid as marble. 
 
 There stood the figure, motionless ; and George continued to glare 
 until the paroxysm of terror had somewhat subsided, when his features 
 relaxed, and he spoke again. 
 
 " Would that it were a reality," said he. " Would that it were not 
 a mere phantom the creature of an overwrought imagination; but it 
 is I know it to be no more, and yet I am appalled ! " 
 
 The figure moved, and bared its breast from which blood appeared 
 to issue; and having pointed to George, raised its hand again to 
 Heaven. 
 
 " I cannot pray," said George, tremulously, "nor can I weep ; but 
 if I could, neither prayers nor tears would reanimate him now ! I'll 
 look no more /" he added, closing his eyes; but as he fancied that 
 lie felt a cold hand upon his head, he uttered a wild exclamation of 
 terror, fell upon his knees before the opposite chair, and buried his face 
 in his hands. 
 
 " Did you- call, sir ? " enquired James, who at this moment entered, 
 having fancied, as he heard a noise, that he might have been summoned. 
 
 " No, James no," replied George, faintly, " I did not call except 
 upon Him to whom all hearts are open, and all desires known ! " 
 
 " I beg pardon, sir, for interrupting you," returned James, to whom 
 the fact of George being in an attitude of devotion did not appear at 
 all extraordinary, seeing that he had acquired the reputation of being 
 *in exceedingly pious man. 
 
 "Stay," said George, rising, as James was about to retire; "this 
 lamentable occurrence has completely unmanned me." 
 
 " It is indeed dreadful to think about," said James. " But what 
 must be the feelings of him, sir, that did it? " 
 
 " You are aware," returned George after a pause, during which he 
 struggled to conceal the sudden effect of this question "of course 
 you are aware that Mr. Lejeune is insane, and therefore unconscious 
 of what he has done." 
 
 " But have madmen no sense of feeling, sir? " 
 
 " Yes ; but they have not those feelings of remorse which afflict the 
 souls of men who are held to be sane. But let us say no more 
 on this dreadful subject. You can take a chair, James, and remain 
 here until my brother comes. I feel very faint, and verv* unhappy. 
 " No wonder at that, sir: Sir John was such a good man ! " 
 " He was, as you observe, James ; he was a good roan. Mix some 
 brandy and water for me, James ; my spirits are very much depressed." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 205- 
 
 " No doubt, sir : they must be," said James, w r ho went directly to- 
 the kettle, which he had placed beside the fire, and found it empty .. 
 " Dear me, sir," he added, " I beg pardon, but I thought I had filled 
 it nearly full." 
 
 "I have been drinking a large quantity of warm water," returned 
 George. " I have felt an intolerable thirst." 
 
 Well, James thought 'that he must have been thirsty indeed; but 
 the idea of a man drinking so much boiling water interfered to some 
 extent with his notions of taste. Having, however, a kettle on the fire 
 he had just left, he went at once to replenish, and on his return mixed 
 a glass for George which could not be strictly called strong. George 
 rectified this, and then desired James to help himself, which he did;, 
 and having taken his seat on the edge of a chair, said, " I hope you'll 
 excuse me for being so bold, sir, but is this here Mr. Lejeune, sir, any 
 relation to Mr. Lejeune who was down here a short time ago ? " 
 
 44 His brother," replied George " his brother. He was formerly a 
 man of great wealth, the loss of some portion of which drove him mad, 
 another proof of the folly and wickedness of men setting their souls 
 upon sublunary things that is to say, upon the things of this world." 
 
 " It isn't the richest that's always the happiest, sir." 
 
 " No, James, it is not indeed," returned George, who now opened a 
 book and endeavoured to read ; and as this was held by James to be 
 a signal for silence, nothing more was said until morning dawned * 
 when George, impatient to recover his gun, rose, and desired James 
 to bring his hat and cloak. 
 
 " I'll walk," said he ; " the morning air will brace me. While I 
 am gone, you can be preparing breakfast. My brother must shortlj 
 arrive." 
 
 He left the house and walked slowly round the lawn, and then 
 passed the gate and looked round the park, when, as nobody could be 
 seen, he went through the plantation towards the hedge in which he 
 had deposited the only thing which he imagined could, by any possi- 
 bility, create suspicion. 
 
 He reached the hedge and saw the spot ; and then looked round 
 again anxiously, when, feeling convinced that all was secure, he 
 searched the place into which he had thrust the gun, and found, to 
 his horror, that it was not there ! 
 
 " Gone ! " he exclaimed with a most intense expression of terror. 
 "Gone! Then I am lost !" 
 
 Again he searched : he searched all round, although he knew the 
 precise spot in which he had concealed it; but no : no gun was there 1 
 
 " Good God ! " he cried, " what's to be done ? what's to be done? 
 The gun is mine it is known to be mine and he who has found it will 
 denounce me ! I have but one chance of escape but one chance ! that 
 of inducing those who may suspect me to believe that Lejeune, having 
 been in the house alone, took the gun, and concealed it there. I must 
 not, however, be seen about here : I must not even approach the spot. 
 Now," he added, as he turned towards the Hall, ' 4 firmness alone can 
 save me ! " 
 
206 THE STEWARD : 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 THE -INTELLIGENCE. 
 
 DR. FARQUAR, accompanied by Corney, reached town about half-past 
 eleven, and found that Charles had taken Juliana and the Widow to 
 one of the theatres, and had not yet returned. This had, however, 
 been scarcely ascertained, when a carriage containing the happy party 
 drew up; and as the Widow was the first to see the post-horses 
 steaming near the door, she exclaimed with an expression of pleasur- 
 able surprise, " Sir John has arrived ! I feel sure of it ! See ! why 
 there stands Cornelius ! " 
 
 They alighted, and hastened to greet Sir John, but found Dr. Far- 
 quar in the hall. 
 
 " I am happy to see you in town," said the Widow, as the Doctor 
 took her hand, and endeavoured to smile. " But Sir John," she 
 added, " has he not come up with you ? " 
 
 " No ; I brought one of his servants with me." 
 
 " But he is, I hope, well ? " 
 
 u Well, at present," replied the Doctor ; " he cannot be said to be 
 in good health. The fact is, my dear madam, he has had an attack." 
 
 " An attack! Dear me ! but I hope of no serious nature? " 
 
 " The worst is over now. He was quite free from pain when I left 
 him." 
 
 " It was not an attack of paralysis, I hope ? " said Charles. 
 ^ "Oh, no!" replied the Doctor" no such thing. Still I thought 
 I'd call, in order to ascertain if you felt at all disposed to return 
 with me." 
 
 " When do you think of returning ?" enquired Charles. 
 
 " I must return immediately." 
 
 " What ! to-night ? " 
 
 " To-night." 
 
 " Dear me ! " cried the Widow ; " you surely cannot mean that?" 
 
 " I have patients whom I must attend to early in the morning." 
 
 " Well," said Charles, who had watched his countenance narrowly, 
 " if it must be so, why there's an end of it. You must, however, 
 stop and have supper with us." 
 
 '* I really cannot stop more than half an hour." 
 
 "Oh! it shall be ready immediately," said the Widow, who directed 
 one of the servants to take Corney into the kitchen, and then went up 
 stairs with Juliana. 
 
 " Now," said Charles, on being left with the Doctor, " what is the 
 meaning of this ? I perceive, by the expression of your countenance, 
 that something serious has occurred ; and I beg of you at once to let 
 me know what it is ? " 
 
 "Charles," replied the Doctor, earnestly, "your father has met 
 with a serious accident, and I am here expressly in order to take you 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 207 
 
 back with me. I beg of you to ask me no more questions now : I'll 
 explain all to you on the road." 
 
 "Is it very, very serious?" enquired Charles. 
 
 " It is serious very ; but let us not dwell upon it now." 
 
 " Well," said Charles, tremulously, " the sooner we start the better. 
 Come up and have some supper, and then we'll be off." 
 
 " We need not be in any very extraordinary haste," said the Doctor, 
 with the view of subduing Charles's manifest alarm. " But the ladies, 
 of course, must know no more than I have told them." 
 
 " Of course not," returned Charles, who led him immediately into 
 one of the drawing-rooms, in which they found supper already set out. 
 
 Juliana and the Widow, having hastily thrown off their cloaks, at 
 once joined them; but they had scarcely done so when the Widow 
 perceived tears spring into the eyes of Charles, who made every pos- 
 sible effort to conceal them ; and being thus impressed with the con- 
 viction that Sir John's " attack " was of a far more serious character 
 than the Doctor would have them imagine, she begged to be excused 
 for " one moment," went into another room, and, having rung the bell, 
 requested one of the servants to show Cornelius up. 
 
 " There is something more in this," said the Widow, " than a slight 
 attack of illness. I feel convinced of it. I fear that something very 
 serious has occurred. Cornelius," she added, when Corney had been 
 shown into the room, " I may depend upon you I know that I may : 
 I am therefore most anxious for you to state to me exactly how Sir 
 John was attacked." 
 
 " Then you've heard of the attack, ma'am ? " enquired Corney, who 
 had been instructed by Dr. Farquar not to mention the circumstance 
 to Mr. Lejeune's servants. 
 
 " I have," replied the Widow; " but I wish to hear from you, Cor- 
 nelius, how he was attacked." 
 
 " Well, ma'am," said Corney, " then I'll tell you. You must 
 know, ma'am, that Mr. Lejeune, the madman the brother of this 
 Mr. Lejeune here " 
 
 " Mr. Lejeune a madman! " exclaimed the Widow. 
 
 11 Regular insane, ma'am ! right on raving ! " 
 
 " You amaze me ! But well, go on, Cornelius go on ! " 
 
 " Well, ma'am, he broke loose yesterday from Dr. Briggs's, with a 
 double-barrelled gun." 
 
 " From Dr. Briggs's ? Well ? yes well ? " 
 
 " Well, ma'am, he cut across the country, and they after him like 
 life ; and while they were gone, he came up to the Hall " 
 
 - : And attacked Sir John ?" 
 
 " No, ma'am ; Sir John was out then." 
 
 " Thank Heaven ! " exclaimed the Widow, who now began to think 
 that the escape of Richard Lejeune alone had caused Sir John's sup- 
 posed illness. " But what do you mean by the attack ? " she added. 
 " You can tell me all the rest another time : come to that at once, 
 Cornelius come to that." 
 
 " That's the most dreadful of the whole," replied Corney. 
 
208 IHE STEWARD: 
 
 "Dreadful ! " cried the Widow, with the most intense anxiety. 
 
 "Dreadful, indeed!" said Corney, tremulously, as the big tears 
 rolled down his cheeks ; '* for as poor Sir John was walking alone, this 
 madman went up and shot him dead ! " 
 
 The Widow gave a convulsive start, uttered a piercing scream, 
 and fainted. 
 
 Corney rang the bell with violence ; but the scream had been heard 
 by Juliana, Dr. Farquar, and Charles, the whole of whom instantly 
 rushed into the room, and found the Widow in Corney's arms. 
 
 Having assisted in placing her ( n the couch, the Doctor looked at 
 Corney fiercely, and presently drew him aside and enquired if he had 
 been foolish enough to explain all. 
 
 " Why, sir," replied Corney, " I certainly did ; but she told me 
 you'd told her about the attack." 
 
 u The attack, man!" whispered the Doctor, indignantly. " You 
 ought to have said nothing about it. Say no more." 
 
 Corney bowed, and the Doctor returned to the couch, at which 
 Juliana, assisted by her maid, was endeavouring to restore the Widow 
 with the most affectionate solicitude. 
 
 " Will you do me the favour," said the Doctor at length perceiving 
 that the Widow was about to revive " Will you do me the favour to 
 retire for a few moments? " 
 
 Charles, with Juliana and her maid, withdrew, but Corney remained 
 in the room ; and when the Widow had been restored to a state of 
 consciousness, she fixed her eyes upon the Doctor, and said, " Tell 
 me pray tell me if that which I have heard is true ? Is he is he 
 dead?" 
 
 11 My dear madam," replied the Doctor, soothingly, " I know you 
 to possess a strong mind, and although this intelligence has been 
 communicated rather too abruptly, I feel that you have sufficient 
 Christian fortitude to bear up against the lamentable loss of our friend. 
 He is, alas! no more. He is in another and a better world ; and, 
 although the heart must grieve for the loss of so good so just a man, 
 religion teaches resignation to His will." 
 
 The Widow shed tears of agony, and offered up a silent prayer. 
 v '* And now, my dear madam," continued the Doctor after a pause, 
 during which he struggled in vain to check his emotion, " let me beg 
 of you to conceal at least, for the present the fact of Eichard Le- 
 jeune being the cause of this calamity. You are, of course, aware 
 that neither Mr. nor Miss Lejeune have the slightest knowledge of his 
 being insane ; if, therefore, this were communicated to them, coupled 
 with the fact of his having been the cause of their dear friend's death, 
 the double shock would be dreadful indeed. I need not, however, 
 dwell upon this with the view of impressing its importance upon you. 
 You know well how to prepare them for that of which they must 
 necessarily become cognizant soon." 
 
 " I will act as you have suggested," observed the Widow, faintly. 
 " I was about to beg of you to allow me to return with you and 
 Charles ; but as I perceive that under all the afflicting circumstances 
 
A BOMAXCE OF HEAL LIFE. 209 
 
 it would be uncharitable to leave them, I will remain. But why return 
 to-night? As, unhappily, all is over, why not defer the journey until 
 the morning? " 
 
 " I will do so," replied the Doctor. " Cornelius, tell the men to 
 put up their horses, and be at the door at six in the morning precisely. 
 Stop," he added, " I'll first speak to Charles :" and, having opened 
 the folding doors, found Charles and Juliana both of whom now felt 
 convinced that Sir John was dead in tears. 
 
 " Charles," said he, " I think of deferring our journey till the 
 morning/' 
 
 " If," returned Charles, mournfully " if it be as^I fear that it is, I 
 see no necessity for our returning to-night." 
 
 The Doctor repeated his instructions to Corney, and when Juliana 
 had rejoined the Widow, he proceeded to explain all to Charles. 
 
 For the announcement of Sir John's death Charles was prepared ; 
 but on being told how he fell, and that he had fallen by the hand of 
 Richard Lejeune, he gave vent to a flood of tears, and became con- 
 vulsed with agony. 
 
 The Doctor, after a pause, then proceeded to describe how Richard 
 was secured ; and when he had stated that George had been shot, 
 Charles exclaimed, " Horror upon horror ! Poor George ? What! 
 is he dead too ?" 
 
 "No," replied the Doctor. "He is scarcely wounded. His arm 
 was slightly grazed by the shot ; but he fell from exhaustion." 
 
 "Thank God for that!" cried Charles <; thank God for that! 
 But oh! what a tragedy is this ! Nor will it end here. When the 
 circumstances come to the knowledge of Lejeune, another life will be 
 lost ! " 
 
 "Let us hope not let us hope not!" said the Doctor. "Mrs. 
 Wardle, in our absence, will prepare him for the blow ; and I have 
 every confidence in her judgment." 
 
 "Then she knows all?" 
 
 "Cornelius explained all to her." 
 
 " There again the blow falls heavily ! It was but the other day that 
 my poor. father sent her an offer of marriage " 
 
 "Indeed ! " 
 
 " And although she declined," pursued Charles, " having promised 
 that she never would marry again they were firmly united by the 
 bonds of pure affection." 
 
 " I always thought that he had a great affection for her." 
 
 " And therefore it is that I explain it to you, although it need no 
 longer remain a secret." 
 
 Juliana and the Widow now re-entered the room, with the view of 
 taking leave for the night; but neither could speak: their hearts were 
 too full. Charles embraced Juliana with the utmost tenderness, and 
 pressed and kissed the Widow's hand ; but all were silent, with the 
 exception of the Doctor, and even he merely said, <; Good night : good 
 night." 
 
 It was two before all had retired to rest, but neither Charles, Juliana, 
 No. 14. 
 
210 THE STEWARD: 
 
 nor the Widow could sleep. Even Corney was kept awake for more 
 than an hour, for having evidently incurred the displeasure of Dr. 
 Farquar: he entered into a minute examination of the circumstances, 
 with the view of ascertaining whether, in his calm judgment, he in 
 reality deserved the Doctor's censure or not. 
 
 " Now," said he, very quietly, *' I'll put myself at once upon trial, 
 and see what the verdict will be. In the first place, the Doctor told 
 me not to say anything about it to any of Mr. Lejeune's servants. 
 Very well : I have not said anything about it to any of Mr. Lejeune's 
 servants. Mrs. "Wardle can't be called one of Mr. Lejeune's servants. 
 Very well, then : I, of course, obeyed orders. But even suppose he 
 had told me not to say a word to anybody about it ? He didn't do 
 that: but suppose he had. Mrs. Wardle has me up, and says, ' Cor- 
 nelius, how was Sir John attacked '? ' Why, wouldn't anybody natu- 
 rally suppose that she had heard of that attack ? Why, of course ! I 
 told her the truth I told her it was done so and so and because she 
 faints, my feelings are to be wounded ! Why, what was I to do ? 
 What could I do? If I'd told her, when she asked me how it was 
 done, I didn't know, I should have told a falsehood ; because I did 
 know : If I'd told her I wouldn't tell her, that wouldn't have been 
 respectful ; and if I'd said I'd been told not to tell her, she'd have 
 wheedled it out of me somehow ! For my part, I think that I did the 
 very thing that was correct, and Dr. Farquar had no more right to 
 hurt my feelings than I have to hurt anybody else's feelings, without 
 just cause or impediment." 
 
 Having arrived at this conclusion, and dwelt upon its justice, he fell 
 asleep ; and it appeared to him that he had not slept more than ten 
 minutes when at half-past five he was aroused. lie had, however, no 
 time then to think about this. He rose on the instant, and having dressed 
 himself, found that the whole establishment was stirring, and that the 
 Widow, Juliana, Charles, and the Doctor, were then at breakfast. He 
 therefore made the most of the time that he had ; but before he 
 became half satisfied, the postchaise dashed up to the door. 
 
 Charles and the Doctor rose immediately on its arrival, and when 
 they had almost in silence taken leave of Juliana and the Widow, 
 they mournfully entered the chaise, and started. 
 
 The Doctor had the previous evening ordered a relay for every 
 stage, and as the horses had been kept ready, in expectation of his re- 
 turn, they reached the Hall before twelve o'clock, and found George in 
 a state of almost helpless dejection. 
 
 "'My brother ! " said he tremulously, as Charles entered the room 
 in which he had been sitting, with his haggard face buried in his 
 hands, " this is indeed a sad meeting. But/' he added tremulously, 
 as the tears gushed from his eyes, " we must bear it like Christians, 
 Charles welfemst bear it like Christians ! " 
 
 Charles was too deeply affected to speak. He grasped his brother's 
 trembling hand, and wept in silence until the Doctor gently intimated 
 the necessity for making some arrangements, when he said, " I must 
 leave it entirely to George." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 211 
 
 " / feel unequal to the task," said George. "I must, under these 
 afflicting circumstances, beg of some kind friend to undertake the 
 management." 
 
 44 Whom would you like to depute ? " enquired the Doctor. 
 
 " I fear that in naming you" replied George, " I should be taxing 
 your friendship too much." 
 
 " Not at all," "returned the Doctor. " Not at all." 
 
 " If you mould undertake the sad office, we should both, I am sure, 
 feel exceedingly grateful." 
 
 At this moment one of the servants entered, and informed George 
 that a man had brought a note which he had been desired to deliver 
 into his hands alone. 
 
 " Who is the man '? " enquired George. 
 
 ** One of Mr. Freeman's men," replied the servant. 
 
 " Tell him that I cannot attend to anything now." 
 
 " Oh ! you had better see the man/' said the Doctor, who feared 
 that something serious had happened to Jane. " I know Freeman so 
 well, that I am sure he would not trouble you under the circumstances 
 if his communication were not of great importance." 
 
 George left the room and saw the man, who delivered the following 
 note : 
 
 "Sin, 
 
 " Come to me immediately. 
 
 " JANE FREEMAN." 
 
 " Tell the person," said George, having glanced at the note "tell 
 the person who directed you to bring this to me, that her imperti- 
 nence, under the circumstances, is monstrous." 
 
 "Very good, sir," returned the man, bowing most respectfully; 
 " but I have another note.." 
 
 " Take it back, then," said George. " I'll not read it. I am amazed 
 that Miss Freeman has no more feeling/' 
 
 " I beg pardqp, sir," rejoined the man with great humility ; "but 
 Miss Jane told me, sir, to say, that if even you sent no answer, you 
 had better read it." 
 
 " "Better read it ! Why, what is the meaning of this insolence ? " 
 
 " I humbly beg of you to look at it, sir, because Miss Jane told me 
 it was of consequence." 
 
 George indignantly took the note, and read : 
 
 "SlR, 
 
 " / have your gun. 
 
 " JAXE FREEMAN." 
 
 The start and violent tremor which the reading of this occasioned, 
 caused the bearer to stare with astonishment. 
 
 " I hope, sir," said he, " you don't blame me for bringing it ! " 
 ' No, no, my my good man," replied George. *' No, no, no !" 
 " I only obeyed orders, sir." 
 " I know. You're quite right. Take no notice of me. This dread- 
 
212 THE STEWARD: 
 
 ful occurrence has rendered me so nervous that the slightest thing 
 produces a shock. Take this for your trouble," he added, giving the 
 man half-a-crown, "and say that I will attend to it certainly." 
 
 " The man bowed respectfully and left, when George went up to 
 his room, and exclaimed, "She has got the gun, and I am lost! It 
 has fallen into the hands of my greatest enemy ! But how came it ia 
 her possession ? That I must at once ascertain. I must, of course, 
 account for its being found there, by stating that Lejeune, on being 
 left in the house alone, must have taken it. But how came she to find 
 it ? and if she did not find it, who did ? Her father, perhaps ! he 
 found it ; and it could not have fallen into hands more ready to crush 
 me. And yet some temporizing, perhaps, is contemplated. He will 
 not denounce me at once. No ! If I will but consent to marry her, 
 nothing will be said about the gun. I see it yes, I see it clearly ! but 
 I'll set him at defiance ! But that shriek could that have proceeded 
 from her? No, no, no! that was a shriek of the. imagination. lam 
 convinced of it perfectly convinced. Some one has taken the gun to 
 her probably the man who brought the note ! That I must learn. 
 I must see her at once. No time is to be lost, for this suspense is 
 dreadful. Courage ! .Remember your life is at stake, therefore banish 
 all fear, and be firm." 
 
 He then descended and ordered his horse, and on entering the room 
 in which Charles and the Doctor had been conversing, the Doctor 
 drew him aside, and said, with a look of anxiety, " Has anything of 
 importance occurred : " 
 
 " Anything of importance r " repeated George. 
 
 " Aye, at Freeman's ? " 
 
 "Not that I am aware of." 
 
 *' I merely asked because I imagined that something might have- 
 happened." 
 
 *' I have no knowledge of any thing having happened. His daughter 
 certainly sent me a note to say that she wished to see me immediately ; 
 but I don't see how I can, with propriety, leave." 
 
 "Go to her. Something has occurred, I feel sure." 
 
 *' Well, I am anxious to be guided by you." 
 
 " This is, of course, entrc nous" said the Doctor. "You under- 
 stand. Go." 
 
 '* I will," returned George, who left the room, mounted his horse, 
 and rode hastily to Freeman's. 
 
 Jane saw him pass through the gate ; but instead of flying as usual 
 to welcome him with every demonstration of heartfelt joy, she 
 remained firmly seated until he entered the room, when she moved 
 coldly to him, and pointed to a chair. 
 
 *' I have," said he, assuming a stern expression, " received two 
 notes from you, Miss Freeman : one stating that you wished to see me,, 
 and the other informing me that you have my gun." 
 
 ** Well, sir?" returned Jane, firmly. 
 
 " Well, I wish, of course, to know where it was found, and who 
 found it." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 213 
 
 " It was found, sir, in a hedge ! near very near the spot on which 
 poor Sir John was murdered." 
 
 "In a hedge?" 
 
 "Yes in a hedge!" 
 
 "Who found it?". 
 
 " No matter. It was found, and I have it." 
 
 " No matter? Let me tell you, Miss Freeman, that it does matter ! 
 He who found it will have to give evidence to that effect. Mr. 
 Lejeune, who was for some time in the house alone, took that gun, and 
 having unhappily accomplished the dreadful deed, concealed it." 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Jane, with a look of contempt. " Was it really 
 so?" 
 
 "Of course! Who else could have concealed it there. I missed 
 it almost immediately, and felt sure that it was the weapon which 
 caused my poor father's death." 
 
 "And so it was!" 
 
 " How is it possible for you to know that? " 
 
 " That is the question. How is it possible for me to know that ? 
 We may assume, I suppose, that both barrels were loaded? " 
 
 " I know that they were. I loaded them myself." 
 
 "When?" 
 
 ""Some days ago." 
 
 " Do you generally keep loaded guns in the house ! " 
 
 " Always. But where is the gun? " 
 
 " I have it in my possession." 
 
 " Then produce it." 
 
 " No ! It is here, and here it shall remain." 
 
 *' But I insist upon its being delivered up ! " 
 
 " So you may ; but it will not be delivered up to you." 
 
 41 Why what is the meaning of this ?" demanded George, who en- 
 deavoured to assume an expression of firmness, although'he trembled 
 violently. " What does it mean ? " 
 
 " It means, sir, that as your gun is in my possession, in my pos- 
 session it shall remain, until the ministers of the law call upon me to 
 produce it." 
 
 " The ministers of the law J / call upon you to produce it." 
 
 " Then it will not be produced." 
 
 " But I must and mill have it ? " cried George with vehemence. 
 
 " You perceive," said Jane, calmly, as she drew a brace of pistols 
 from her bosom "you perceive that I am prepared for any violence 
 you may offer." 
 
 " Why what can this mean ?" asked George, struck with amaze- 
 ment. " Prepared for violence ! Did I ever assail you with vio- 
 lence?" f 
 
 " No : But being .conscious of yonr having the heart to do so, 
 I thought it quite right to be prepared." 
 
 " Will you do me the favour, Miss Freeman, to explain ? " 
 
 "What explanation can you want? Mr. Lejeune brought the gun 
 from the Hall ! of course he brought it ! you did not bring it! .Ie 
 
214 THE STEWARD: 
 
 brutally murdered your father ! you did not murder your father ? He 
 then thrust the gun into the hedge ! you did not thrust the gun into 
 the hedge ? But/' she added, with an appalling expression of in- 
 tensity, " did Mr. Lejeune hear a scream at the time ? " 
 
 George, on the instant, started convulsively, and looked at her with 
 an aspect of mingled terror and amazement. 
 
 44 A scream ! " said he, at length. " Whose scream ? " 
 
 "Mine! "replied Jane, with energy. "Mine! Murderer! 
 parricide ! / saw it all ! I saw you fire ! I saw you conceal the 
 gun ! and while you were running to give the alarm, I secured it ! *" 
 
 George, struck with horror, glared at her and trembled. 
 
 *' How came I there ?" she continued. " I'll tell you. I went in 
 order to make your false heart bleed ! to recall to your memory the 
 violated vows " 
 
 " At present," said George, " on that subject say no more. You 
 were there at the time, you say ? :r 
 
 " I was ! " 
 
 44 And you saw me fire ? " 
 
 44 I did." 
 
 " And will denounce me ? "' 
 
 " No ! " replied Jane. " Live ! " 
 
 44 Hush! " said George, as he turned towards the door. 4 ' Do not 
 speak so loud, and I'll tell you why I did it. See that there is no one 
 listening. See ! " 
 
 Jane went to the door and opened it, but there was no one near. 
 
 4 You spoke," he continued, 44 of making my heart bleed, and you 
 were going to speak of what you deem violated vows. Now lister, ! 
 Why did I do this deed ? I did it to escape tyranny. For whose 
 sake was it done ? For yours ! " 
 
 4i It is false ! " 
 
 ' 4 No, Jane; no ! it is not false ! It was done for vou, and for you 
 alone!" 
 
 " I'll not believe it! " 
 
 "' Had a thousand fathers opposed rn<% as he did, my love for you vs as 
 sufficiently strong to cause me to destroy them all. While he lived, 
 I could not marry without sacrificing my birthright." 
 
 " Why, Sir John himself told me that every obstacle had been 
 removed*." 
 
 " Those deeds are in existence still." 
 
 " Can you produce them?" 
 
 "Yes." j r 
 
 44 Then do so. I believe there are no such deeds, and that Sir JoLn, 
 instead of opposing the marriage, tried to promote it -by all the metns 
 in his power ! " 
 
 " He pretended to do so to you/' 
 
 44 Did he not give you three days to consider-? and did-Jbou not, at 
 the expiration of those three days, declare that you wourl not be 
 forced ? " 
 
 ** Forced ! " exclaimed George, ir.aking an effort to smile. "Foi c :u ! 
 
A ROMANCE OF HEAL LIFE. 215 
 
 Forced to marry her upon whom I had set my soul ! Is there nothing 
 too ridiculous for you to believe ? He told you so : now did he not ?" 
 
 "He did." 
 
 " Of course ; and your credulity is wonderful. Forced to marry 
 you, when the dearest object of my life has been to secure you ! 
 Forced indeed ! I am amazed that a strong-minded creature like you 
 should for a moment have given credence to anything so monstrous. 
 What was the whole course of my conduct towards you up to the 
 period at which I was unhappily compelled to assume that tone which 
 was foreign to my nature ? Was it not kind, affectionate, confiding ? 
 Did I not treat you with the utmost tenderness ? Could any man have 
 been more devoted to a woman than I was to you ? Have I not 
 frequently left brilliant parties at the Hall and elsewhere to sit calmly 
 by your side ? Have I not abandoned magnificent circles in order to 
 enjoy your sweet society ? Have I not, moreover, sworn to protect 
 you sworn to love and to cherish you eternally ? and have I not 
 reiterated those vows of eternal constancy before High Heaven ? How 
 then, can you believe anything so preposterous as the existence of a 
 wish on my part to desert you ? Is it not contrary to my general 
 character ? Is it not contrary to all that you know of me '? It is true 
 I might have married you in defiance of my father ; but if I had done 
 so, what would have been the consequence '? This I should have 
 been a comparative beggar ! The whole of the estate would have 
 reverted to Charles, and we should have been almost penniless. Could 
 I, under those circumstances, marry ? No ! I would not plunge you 
 into an abyss of wretchedness : nor wpuld I throw myself into that 
 pit of poverty in which men pursue their tortuous courses like vipers, 
 struggling to sustain life by any means, regardless of every feeling 
 of every principle of honour. If I could not place you in a posi- 
 tion of independence : if I could not keep you not only in the style 
 to which you have been accustomed, but in absolute affluence I 
 would not marry you at all. I saw no chance of being able to do 
 this during his life, and as it was imperative that he the only 
 obstacle to our marriage should be removed, and that at once, 
 seeing that in a short time your shame would be proclaimed to the 
 world I removed that obstacle, and now all is clear." 
 
 " I feel," said Jane, with an expression of firmness, " that I ought 
 not to listen to you at all. But although you have the serpent's 
 tongue, it shall not abuse my judgment. Do you know this hand ? " 
 she added, showing him the first note he sent her. 
 
 " I do," replied George ; " It is mine." 
 
 " And this? " she continued, pointing to the second. 
 
 " That also is mine. Both were written by me." 
 
 " You here address me coldly as ' Miss Freeman,' and call .upon 
 me to repent for having betrayed you into sin ! " 
 
 " I have done so." 
 
 " And here you address me indignantly as ' Woman !' and tell me 
 to trouble you no more. You speak of my * indelicate importunities ' 
 and ' characteristic boldness.' You state that morality must ever be a 
 
216 THE STEWARD: 
 
 bar to such a marriage as that which I did then contemplate that 
 such a marriage must be hateful in the sight of God and man and 
 that if I entertained the remotest thought of such a marriage, I was 
 to repudiate that thought as you repudiated me ! " 
 
 " True," said George, calmly; "I have written all this and more ! " 
 
 " How, then, can you reconcile these brutal expressions with your 
 solemn vows of eternal constancy ? " 
 
 " I have in my possession," replied George, a note signed * Jane 
 Freeman,' in which you repudiate me, and state that all correspondence 
 between us must cease." 
 
 " That note, sir, was written by your direction ! " 
 
 " And my notes were* written by Ms direction ! " 
 
 " May heaven forgive you ! " exclaimed Jane firmly; " May heaven 
 forgive you ! " 
 
 " I say that his influence alone caused me to write those notes ! " 
 
 "I'll not believe it!" 
 
 "Not believe it?" 
 
 "No!" 
 
 " Is it can it be conceivable that I^should ever have written such 
 notes as those voluntarily r" 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 " Why the thing is absurd on the very face of it ! How can I 
 prove my sincerity ? " 
 
 " Your sincerity, sir, has been sufficiently proved ! " 
 
 " No not yet. Will you bring it to the test ? Let me prove it by 
 marrying you immediately after the funeral." 
 
 " What ! I marry you now ? I will use your own words and say 
 repudiate the thought as I repudiate you ! " 
 
 " You employ these words, but I feel that you cannot mean that 
 which they imply." 
 
 " I mean that which they imply as sincerely, sir, as you did wh|Ji 
 they were used by you." 
 
 I did not mean that I had repudiated you." 
 
 "Then, sir, you stand self-convicted of falsehood ! for your words 
 when I met you on the road were ' You know my decision, and by 
 that I shall abide,' * that which I said there I meant, and mean 
 still ! ' " 
 
 " That was because I expected every moment that my father would 
 overtake me." 
 
 " How could you expect that, when you knew that he had gone 
 before ? Besides, what did you say to the man whom I sent to 
 deliver those notes to you this morning ? When you had read the 
 first, in which I requested you to call, did you not demand to know 
 the meaning of iny insolence ? And what induced you to alter your 
 tone ? Your love for me ? your eternal constancy ? Y^as it not the 
 announcement that your gun was in my possession ? And would you 
 have come at all had you not been prompted to do so by the fear that 
 I should exercise the power which I now possess of consigning you to 
 the scaffold ? I know that you would not ! and yet you now seek to 
 
A ROMANCE OF HEAL LIFE. 217 
 
 induce me to believe that you are, and ever have been, a pattern of 
 constancy and devotion ! Hypocrite ! hypocrite ! monstrous hypo- 
 crite ! You would marry me now! yes! and thus you would 
 prove your sincerity ! I believe you to be sincere in this. I believe 
 that you would now make me your wife notwithstanding morality 
 must ever be a bar to such a marriage ! notwithstanding such a mar- 
 riage must be hateful in the sight of God and man ! I believe that 
 you would do this ! I do not for one moment doubt your sincerity ! 
 *But rather than marry a murderer Let your eyes flash as they may ! " 
 she added, as he darted a look of ferocity at her, " you perceive 
 that I am prepared for any emergency ! Offer the slightest violence 
 approach me and you are a dead man ! " 
 
 " My dearest love " 
 
 " I'll not," cried Jane, "be thus addressed now by you." 
 
 " I have no desire to offer any violence ! " 
 
 " If I were weak enough to become your wife, how long should I 
 live ? I know that my life is in danger now ! " 
 
 " No, Jane no, no no such thing ! You torture me with these 
 suspicions ! If it be your intention to denounce me, do so at once." 
 
 " I know not," replied Jane cajmly ; " I know not what I may 
 eventually do, but at present I cannot denounce the father of my 
 child." 
 
 " Then confide in him !" 
 
 *' Never again." 
 
 " Is the fact of my having fired the fatal shot known' to any one 
 besides yourself? " 
 
 " No ! I could produce collateral evidence if I pleased, but I alor.e 
 saw you commit the dreadful deed." 
 
 '* Have you not told your father ! " 
 
 " I have not. If lie knew of it, he would denounce you on the 
 instant ! Recollect ! No innocent blood shall be shed ! no innocent 
 man shall suffer for this ! He who is supposed to be the murderer is, 
 I understand, a lunatic. He must on that ground be acquitted or 
 you must be convicted. Let that be clearly understood." 
 
 "Jane," said George, as he sank on his knee before her, " you see 
 me here a suppliant! Have mercy ! yes, I crave mercy of you of 
 you who once so fondly loved me. Let not that love be turned to 
 hate ! I'll prove to you that it was to secure affluence for you, and 
 you alone, that this deed was done. I'll prove to you if you will but 
 give me time that however much appearances may now be against 
 me, I had only your happiness at heart. I now leave you: I leave 
 you, in the full conviction that you will not denounce me, and with 
 the hope that Heaven will so influence you as to induce you yet to 
 be mine ! " 
 
 " Never ! " cried Jane, with energy. " Never ! " 
 
 "Reflect I beg of you to reflect. Despise not him who will now 
 have more reason than ever to be devoted to you! despise not him 
 who has placed both his soul and his body in jeopardy in order to 
 secure independence for you ! despise, oh ! despise not the father 
 
218 THE STEWARD: 
 
 of your child ! Reflect, Jane, reflect. The estate is now mine, 
 and you can be the envied mistress of it. I will make any settlement 
 you may please to suggest. I will place two-thirds of the whole at 
 your absolute disposal. Be assured that all I can do to promote your 
 happiness, shall be done. We can go at once to London :. we can 
 there be married privately and return : and with the exception of your 
 father, no soul here need know that we were not married months ago. 
 It is not life that I crave so much as your love, which I can now repay 
 with all that can render life brilliant ! If you should not desire to re- 
 main here, we'll go abroad, where we can live in a style of magnifi- 
 cence. Your father can go with us, of course, and remain with us. 
 Think of these things, Jane: think of them seriously. I will see you 
 in the morning and hear your decision." 
 " Hear my decision now ! " 
 
 "No, no!" cried George. " Defer it till the morning. Do not 
 decide hastily pray, do not. Believe me I will be to you all that a 
 husband should be, and all that I possess, Jane, shall be at your com- 
 mand. "We have vowed to pass through life together to have each 
 other for better for worse and that mutual vow is registered in 
 Heaven, in whose sight we are already one. Reflect upon this, and let 
 me beg of you not to decide hastily. And now," he added, " it' even 
 it be for the last time which Heaven forbid ! let me embrace you ! " 
 "No! " cried Jane firmly. " Stand off! " 
 
 " I must obey," said George, assuming an expression of humility. 
 " 1 must, henceforward, act in obedience, to your will. But shut not 
 your heart against me ! " he added, calling tears which he shed 
 copiously to his assistance, "pray pray shut not your heart against 
 me. To grant me life, and take from me all that can make life endur- 
 able, were torture the most refined. What were life to me, Jane, 
 without your love r what but one continued round of misery ? Pity 
 me ! you have a compassionate heart, pity and forgive me. I leave 
 you now with a broken spirit, and an almost broken heart; but as 
 you hope for mercy, be merciful to me! " 
 
 Jane, although George had been apparently convulsed with agony, 
 remained unmoved until he had left, when she gave free vent to a 
 passionate flood of tears. 
 
 "Now," thought George, having passed the gate, " there are two 
 courses open before me, and one of them must be pursued : either I 
 must marry her, or she must follow him ! If I marry her, I deprive 
 her at once of the power of bearing witness against me, seeing that in 
 a case of this kind the law will not allow a wife to give evidence 
 against her husband. If I do not marry her, it will not only be 
 dangerous to allow her to live, but dangerous to compass her death ! 
 Marriage is therefore the preferable course, if even there should subse- 
 quently exist the necessity for adopting the other as well. But will she 
 now consent to this marriage ? I think that she will, although I had no 
 conception of her having such a nerve as that which she developed this- 
 morning. Her firmness is amazing! it certainly amazed me! I ex- 
 pected tears as well as reproaches, but I find that she has the spirit of 
 
A ROMANCE OF HEAL LIFE. 219 
 
 an amazon ! We shall see to-morrow how she will act. It is clear 
 that she will not yet denounce me, although she may eventually do 
 so ; and if even she should not, she will keep me in a state of torturing 
 suspense. But if the worst should come to the worst if even she 
 should denounce me, could I not easily and effectively ascribe her 
 denunciation to malice ? I seduced and then abandoned her. This could 
 be proved ; would not the charge, then, at once be believed to have sprung 
 from the spirit of revenge ? Why, of course ! And yet the gun 
 she has that in her possession, and would produce it. Well, could I 
 not say that I left it in her possession ? and would the statement of 
 my having done so appear extraordinary? No ! But the collateral 
 evidence of which she speaks ! what is that ? Some one, probably, 
 saw her take the gun home. Well, might she not have taken it out, with 
 the view. of being seen to bring it home ? It is clear that she alone saw 
 me commit the deed, and that, therefore, her evidence must be totally 
 unsupported. Still, although I were not convicted, the fact of the 
 accusation being made public, ought to be avoided if possible ; for 
 many would believe her, and it would not do for me to be even sus- 
 pected. No, I must marry her. If I do not, it will be utterly impos- 
 sible for me to feel, even for a moment, secure. What necessity may 
 prompt me to do after marriage, I need not dwell upon now : the 
 marriage must be consummated ; and, notwithstanding her manifest 
 reluctance, I feel quite convinced that the temptations I have offered 
 are far'too strong to be resisted by her." 
 
 On his return to the Hail, George found Dr. Farquar in the library 
 alone. Having, in the most friendly spirit, undertaken to arrange all 
 the preliminaries for the funeral, he had been writing to various 
 tradesmen; and when the notes had been despatched, he enquired of 
 George if anything had happened at Freeman's. 
 
 "No," replied George. " Jane was anxious to ascertain from me 
 the full particulars of this sad event." 
 
 " Very natural," said the Doctor. " Of course you explained all 
 to her?" 
 
 -I did." 
 
 ki I'm glad of it very glad. She is an affectionate girl, and it will 
 give me much pleasure to hear of a reconciliation." 
 
 " Well," returned-George, *' I must marry her." 
 
 " I am delighted to hear you say so. I know that she has reposed 
 the utmost confidence in you, and it would be lamentable indeed if that 
 confidence were betrayed. I know her well: I have known her from 
 her infancy, and I do not know a more amiable girl. That which has 
 occurred, and of which, of course, you know that I am cognizant, may 
 still be concealed from the world ; and I most sincerely hope that it 
 will be concealed." 
 
 " I am sure," returned George, " that I am anxious to conceal it; 
 but how can it be effectually done now?" 
 
 " By a strictly private marriage every difficulty might be sur- 
 mounted : and so deep an interest do I feel in the fate of that poor girl, 
 that I should really have great pleasure rearranging such a marriage.' 7 
 
220 THE STEWARD I 
 
 "It would, as you observe, have to be strictly private." 
 
 " Under the circumstances, of course ! But I would undertake to 
 arrange that." 
 
 "But I know not whether she would consent to such a marriage." 
 
 " Will you depute me to obtain her consent ? " 
 
 " I will : for I'll marry her at once, provided all that has occurred 
 be forgiven, if not forgotten." 
 
 " Very well. What has occurred cannot now be revoked, but it 
 may be buried in oblivion. In doing this, you will act like a man of 
 honour : indeed you will excuse me for speaking so freely on the 
 subject I conceive it to be, under the circumstances, the only 
 honourable course you can pursue." 
 
 " I think so myself: I have, indeed, always thought so ; but although 
 my poor father, in your presence, and in the presence of others, ap- 
 peared to wish me to marry her, such was not in reality the fact ; but 
 on that point, of course, I must now say no more." 
 
 " Well, I certainly did imagine that he was anxious for the mar- 
 riage. However, we will not now dwell upon that. You depute me 
 to obtain her consent?" 
 
 " I do; and if you would arrange it for us, I should be happy." 
 
 " Very good," replied the Doctor. " I'll call, on my way home, 
 and see what can be done." 
 
 " Now," thought George, when the Doctor had left, "have* I done 
 right or wrong ? My impression is certainly that *I have done right, 
 seeing that whether she consents or refuses to consent, his interpo- 
 sition can do no harm. SheMl not denounce me to him ! of that I 
 feePsure ; but he may, and in all probability will, by placing her 
 position in a strong light, induce her to consent, when all danger will 
 be at an end. She shall live in affluence ! Oh, yes ! She shall have 
 all that can render life brilliant! It may be brilliant, but it shall be 
 short ! She has, however, yet to be secured." 
 
 The Doctor, delighted with his mission, on leaving the Hall hastened 
 to Freeman's ; and as Jane was still alone, Freeman having gone to 
 one of the neighbouring markets, he sat down beside her with an air 
 of cheerfulness which she, whom Sir John's death had plunged into 
 misery, could not at all understand. 
 
 "I have news for you," said he, " news| which I think will delight 
 you, notwithstanding the loss of our mutual friend. I have just left the 
 Hall, where I have had some conversation with George about you. 
 I urged him strongly to perform his promise now : I stated that in 
 doing so he would be acting like a man of honour, and told him plainly 
 that it was, in my judgment, the only honourable course he could pur- 
 sue. He agreed with me and said that that had always been his im- 
 pression, but that poor Sir John, although he appeared in my presence 
 and in the presence of others to be favourable to the marriage, was 
 in reality opposed to it a fact of which I had no previous knowledge. 
 Well,, finding that he was earnestly disposed to do that which I conceive 
 to be right, I suggested to him the expediency of a strictly private 
 marriage, and stated that I should feel great pleasure in arranging such 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 221 
 
 a marriage at once. He then said that he was not quite sure that you 
 would consent to a private marriage, and when I asked him if he 
 would depute me to obtain your consent, he promptly replied, " I will r 
 I will marry her at once, provided all that has occurred be forgiven, 
 if not forgotten." 
 
 " Yes," said Jane, who had listened to all with a sardonic smile,, 
 "he would marry me now; but I'll not marry him ! no such marriage 
 can ever take place." 
 
 "Indeed!" cried the Doctor, with a look of intense astonishment. 
 " You amaze me ! I know that he has not of late treated you well : I 
 am aware that the notes you have lately received are harsh and unbe- 
 coming;, but if they were written under the influence of fear " 
 
 " Dr. Farquar, is it at all likely that they were ? " 
 
 "Why, my dear, it appears that they were ; and if Sir John were 
 really opposed to the marriage, it is not at all improbable that they 
 were written by his direction." 
 
 " But I feel that Sir John was not opposed to the marriage. He 
 told me himself that he had done all in his power to promote it He- 
 even told me that he had given this what shall I call him ? three 
 days to consider, and that at the expiration of the three days his de- 
 cision was that he would not be forced." 
 
 " Well, my dear girl, assuming that Sir John wished to force him,, 
 and that he, resolved on not being forced, wrote those notes volun- 
 tarily, would it not be better to forgive him ?" 
 
 "It is not alone the fact of his having written those notes which 
 prompts me now to repudiate him as he then repudiated me." 
 
 " Oh ! but you really must forgive." 
 
 " Never, sir ! Never ! " 
 
 " You must not be so merciless. You must regard it as a mere loverV 
 quarrel ; shake hands, kiss, and be friends." 
 
 " No, Dr. Farquar ! that can never be ! " 
 
 " But why not, my dear girl ? " cried the doctor, " why not ? Now 
 I'll tell you how I meant to arrange it : I intended to take you both 
 to Norwich, to procure a licence there, which can easily be done, have* 
 you privately married by a friend of mine, and then bring you back at 
 once, without a single soul here being any the wiser." 
 
 " Dr. Farquar, believe me, I feel indeed grateful for the interest you 
 take in my welfare, but I assure you solemnly assure you that under 
 the circumstances I will not marry that man." 
 
 " Well, but it is, my dear girl, at the circumstances I look. Were- 
 it not for thoSe circumstances I should not be at all anxious about it."" 
 
 " I know, of course, what you allude to, and deeply feel my degrada- 
 tion I hope that I feel my fallen condition as I ought; but I'd rather 
 have my shame proclaimed than be the wife of a man like that." 
 
 . "Why, my dear girl, to me this really appears to be inexplicable T 
 When I reflect upon your apparently ardent affection for him, and the 
 unbounded confidence you professed to have in him, this sudden- 
 change I cannot at all understand. Do you remember the conversa- 
 tion we had on this subject a short time ago ? " 
 
222 THE STEVVATID ! 
 
 " I do," replied Jane. " I remember it well : and in all that I said 
 of my fond affection for him, my confidence in him, and my devotion 
 to him, I was sincere." 
 
 "And yet because no matter mider what influence they were 
 written he sent you those notes, you give all your fond love to the 
 winds ! I really had no conception that love could be so easily 
 shaken off. But it is not so," he added, as Jane sighed deeply : " nor 
 must you suffer pique to blind your judgment. Forgive him : I 
 believe that he is truly sorry for what has occurred. Therefore open 
 your heart and forgive him." 
 
 " Impossible," replied Jane; "impossible !" 
 
 " But why, my dear girl why impossible ? Pardon me for thus 
 strongly urging the expediency of your forgiving him, under the cir- 
 cumstances : believe me, it is for your sake, and that of all you hold 
 dear, that I advise you to consent to this marriage;" 
 
 " I do believe it! I believe it most sincerely, and feel grateful to 
 you : indeed I feel grateful ; but I must repeat that to such a marriage 
 I never can consent." 
 
 " But the form is the same, whether in public or in private you'll 
 be married at church, though without parade." 
 
 " My dear sir, I do not allude to the form. When I say that I 
 never can consent to such a marriage, I mean that I can never consent 
 to marry such a man." 
 
 " Well, my dear, well, you perhaps know best. I should have 
 thought that if even you never had that strong affection for him which 
 I was led to believe you had, an offer from such a man would not have 
 been deemed ineligible. Certainly, under existing circumstances, I 
 could not have supposed it possible for such an offer to be rejected." 
 
 "Such an offer," returned Jane calmly, "might not be deemed 
 ineligible : doubtless within a few miles' circle a thousand might be 
 found who would be delighted with such an offer ; but I firmly believe 
 that not one of that thousand, if she knew what / know, would 
 hesitate for a moment to reject it with scorn ! My love for him was 
 ardent and pure : my confidence in him was unbounded ; but he who 
 was all the world to me once, I now feel constrained to despise." 
 
 " Well, " said the Doctor, more puzzled than ever, " I can't under- 
 stand it. I can't understand it at all." 
 
 " He understands it, Dr. Farquar," said Jane. " He understands 
 it well ! he requires no explanation from me." 
 
 " Still, my dear girl, notwithstanding this mysterious offence, I 
 must think that if an arrangement can be made, it will be better for all 
 concerned. You will, I am sure, pardon me for reminding you once 
 more of the position in which you now stand." 
 
 " I am prepared," replied Jane calmly, yet firmly, " to bear whatever 
 humiliation and disgrace may attach to that position, but I am not 
 prepared to become the wife of a villain I " 
 
 "Then," said the Doctor, "my mission is at an end. I would, 
 however! advise you still to weigh all the circumstances calmly. I 
 would advise you' to reflect deeply, in order that your present decision 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 223 
 
 may be reversed. Let me beg of you to do so, and what has passed 
 between us shall remain unknown, until I have seen you again. You, 
 I know, regard me as a friend " 
 
 " I do I do, indeed ! and hence the necessity for acting in oppo- 
 sition to your advice is so painful. It may look like ingratitude, but 
 in reality it is not. Believe me, I feel grateful to you for all your 
 kindness; but on this awful subject, my mind is made up." 
 
 "Well, reflect, my dear girl. I will see you to-morrow, when I 
 hope to hear you say, * Notwithstanding he has treated me harshly- 
 perhaps cruelly I feel, under the circumstances, bound to consent.' 
 There, I'll not hear another word now," he added., as he took her hand 
 and pressed it warmly. " In the morning, early in the morning, I'll 
 be here. ' 
 
 He then left, and dwelt upon that sudden change which he could 
 not but hold to be marvellous. 
 
 CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 JANE'S FIRMNESS DEYELOPED. 
 
 GEORGE, notwithstanding the apprehensions which tortured him, went 
 that night to bed. He would not have done so too glad would he 
 have been to pass the night in the society of some one ; but as he 
 feared that the fact of his sitting up again would be deemed at least 
 extraordinary by Charles, and as he hoped, feeling worn out by fear 
 and fatigue, to be able to sleep undisturbed, lie placed a bottle of 
 brandy by his side, and at length laid his head upon the pillow. 
 
 He was, however, afraid even then to close his eyes ; but he had 
 not the power to keep them open: he therefore went almost imme- 
 diately to sleep ; and as his imagination was active, although his body 
 was exhausted, it commenced its career free from the guidance of 
 judgment. 
 
 He had a dream. He dreamt that Jane had denounced him, and then 
 the whole process of law passed in review before him. Tlie coroner 
 issued a warrant for his apprehension on the charge of murder. He was 
 captured, and fully committed for trial on that charge; and during the 
 time which elapsed between his committal and his trial, he heard all 
 that was said of him throughout the country, and read the papers, 
 which descanted upon the enormity of his crime. He wrote out his 
 defence voluminously, prepared a new mode of cross-examining the 
 witnesses, and when the day of trial came, there he stood at the bar! 
 Jane appeared, with a brace of pistols still in her bosom; but she 
 fainted, and was carried out of court. Freeman was called, and gave 
 the evidence of Jane. D'Almaine appeared next, but he proved him to 
 be a blackleg; and when Corney stood up, he took him by the throat 
 and strangled him there and then. Judgment of death was accordingly 
 pronounced, when he returned to the prison, and heard the condemned 
 
224 THE STEWABD : 
 
 sermon ; and then got the hangman into his cell, where they smoked 
 and drank together until the bell began to toll, when he was pinioned 
 and conducted to the scaffold, and heard the ribald jests and violent 
 execrations of the mob assembled, and shook hands with the hang- 
 man in the most friendly spirit, and gave the signal boldly, when the 
 bolt was withdrawn; and with the imaginary full he awoke, and found 
 himself in a most intense state of perspiration. 
 
 He sat up in bed for some time and had some brandy, and then 
 went to sleep again, and dreamt that he and Jane were married ; that 
 the child, on being born, denounced him as a murderer ; that he 
 strangled the child on the instant, and then gradually poisoned the 
 mother. 
 
 Again he awoke and drank more brandy, resolved on going to sleep 
 no more : but he dropped off again, and dreamt that Richard Lojeune 
 had had his reason restored, and that, as an act of retributive justice^ 
 lie had been deprived of reason, and placed with a great variety of 
 maniacs, among whom he found himself pricked and tortured by a 
 multitude of mischievous imps. 
 
 From this dream he was drawn into another, in which he stood be- 
 fore the Judgment Seat with angels in robes of surpassing whiteness 
 on the right, and a host of black-looking demons on the left, demand- 
 ing his person, with hideous grimaces and most terrific howls, as their 
 lawful prize. The judgment was given, and he was seized ; and just 
 as they were throwing him into a furnace, his extraordinary struggles 
 awoke him again. 
 
 "I'll have no more of it!" he cried, and rose and washed and 
 dressed 1 i aself with feelings of indignation ; when, as the day began to 
 dawn, he went to the stable and saddled his horse, and then rode round 
 by Freeman's. 
 
 He had, of course, no expectation of seeing Jane at that- early 
 hour; but as it had occurred to him that he ought, under the circum- 
 stances, to make his peace with her father, he passed the house and 
 lingered near, until Freeman came out with the view of riding round 
 his farm. 
 
 " Freeman," said he, as he approached him with a countenance in- 
 dicative of sorrow, "I know not whether you can forgive me for the 
 attack which I made upon you that night." 
 
 " I care nothing about your attack upon me," replied Freeman 
 " nothing: all I care for is my daughter, whom you heartlessly 
 ruined." 
 
 " I am prepared to make every reparation in my power." 
 
 " What ! have you not abandoned her ? " 
 
 " No ! Nor shall she ever be abandoned by me ! " 
 
 " What do you mean, sir ? what do you mean ? How can you tell 
 me that, after having sent her those brutal notes?" 
 
 *' Those notes, Freeman, I was compelled to write." 
 
 " Compelled to write them ? " 
 
 " Yes, by my father." 
 
 " Alas ! poor Sir John cannot contradict you now ! How could he 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 225 
 
 compel you to write those notes, when as he himself told us he did 
 all he could to induce you to act like an honourable man? " 
 
 "That he told you so, Freeman, I have no doubt; but he was in 
 reality opposed to the marriage." 
 
 " I'll not believe it ! I will not believe him to have been a. 
 hypocrite ! " 
 
 k 'The term hypocrite, Freeman, is a very harsh term to apply to & 
 man who is, unhappily, no more !" 
 
 " I do not apply that term to him. I do not believe that he ever 
 was a hypocrite. I believe that he tried to induce you to do that which 
 was right, and that therefore he never was opposed to the marriage.'* 
 " How is it, then, now that his influence is at an end, that I am* 
 anxious to prove my sincerity by performing my promise at once? " 
 " Are you anxious to do so ? " 
 " I am ! and Dr. Farquar knows that I am." 
 " Dr. Farquar ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I have even deputed him to arrange the marriage, in the 
 event of Jane consenting to forgive all that has passed, and to hav? 
 the marriage ceremony performed without parade." 
 
 "Dr. Farquar," said Freeman, " is an honourable man. I would 
 trust him with my life. I must see Dr. Farquar on the subject." 
 
 "Do so," said George. "He is not up yet; but let us take a 
 turn round the farm, and then call upon him. You will find that he 
 himself suggested the expediency of an immediate arrangement, and I 
 quite agreed with him that the marriage ought now to be as private as 
 possible." 
 
 " Of course," returned Freeman ; " it must be private now. But," 
 he added impatiently, " the Doctor, I know, is an early riser: let us 
 go to him at once." 
 
 "With all my heart," said George, who, as he rode by Freeman's 
 side, endeavoured to inspire him with confidence in the purity of his 
 intentions, and to some extent succeeded in removing that prejudice 
 against him which Freeman had had so much cause to entertain. 
 
 On arriving at the Doctor's residence the found him walking in the 
 garden, when George said, " Now go and consult him alone. I havo 
 left the whole matter entirely in his hands, and have therefore no de~ 
 sire to interfere with your conversation." 
 
 Freeman, who highly approved of this course, went at once into tho 
 garden, and after the customary greeting, said, "I understand, Dr. 
 Farquar, that Mr. Croly has deputed you to make arrangements for 
 his marriage with my poor girl? " 
 
 " He has," replied the Doctor : " he has done so certainly ; but I 
 fear that he has deputed to me a task which I shall find it impossible 
 to perform." 
 
 " How so ? " enquired Freeman. 
 
 "Why, your daughter declares that she'll not consent to the 
 marriage." 
 
 " Not consent, Dr. Farquar ! " cried Freeman, surprised. " Not 
 consent!" 
 No. 15. 
 
 
226 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " No. I saw her yesterday on the subject, and do not mention 
 this to him until I have seen her again she told me distinctly, and 
 repeated it with firmness, that she never would consent to marry him ! " 
 
 " You amaze me ! " cried Freeman. " Why, I thought that nothing 
 could have delighted her more,! " 
 
 " And so I thought, Freeman. But she is as much opposed to it 
 now as she was anxious for it before. It's a mystery to me. I cannot 
 understand it at all. You must see what you can do with her, 
 Freeman." 
 
 " Oh, I must talk to her seriously about this ! ' 
 
 "Do so : leave him here, and go at once. The folly of withholding 
 her consent, under the circumstances, certainly appears to me to be 
 monstrous. He has treated her harshly, no doubt ; but then that must 
 be forgiven. Go, Freeman : go and see what you can do with her. 
 I'll call after breakfast, on my way to the Hal], and by that time I 
 hope you will have obtained her consent." 
 
 " I hope so, too," returned Freeman, who immediately remounted 
 his horse, bade George good morning, and left him with the Doctor. 
 
 " Well," said he to himself on the road, " this certainly surpasses 
 all ! When she was anxious for him to marry her, lie wouldn't : now 
 he is anxious for her to marry him, she won't. Knowing that she is 
 ardently attached to him, this game of fast and loose will, I fear, if 
 pursued, destroy her peace of mind for ever. He has certainly 
 behaved very ill to her, he certainly has ! he has acted very much 
 unlike a man : there can be no doubt about that. But I must hear 
 what she says: I must hear what she says." 
 
 Having reached home he sent up for Jane, who was dressing; and 
 when she came down he said, " Jane, my dear, I have seen Mr. Croly 
 this morning, and have had some conversation with him about you." 
 
 " Well, father ? " said Jane calmly. 
 
 " Well, my dear, he appears to be sorry for all that has passed, and 
 is anxious to marry you privately and at once." 
 
 " I am aware of it, father : I am aware of his being anxious to marry 
 me now ; but now I cannot consent to marry him. I told Dr. Far- 
 quar yesterday, when he called with the view of obtaining my con- 
 sent, that my mind on that subject was firmly made up." 
 
 " I have just left the Doctor, who told me that you would not 
 consent." 
 
 " And what did you say ? " 
 
 "Well, my dear, I certainly expressed my amazement." 
 
 " Amazement, dear father ! Amazement ! Why, how could you 
 .be amazed? you who, when he sent his first brutal note, told me that 
 it was written either to drive me mad or to break my heart, he cared 
 not which. Besides, father, did you not congratulate me I use your 
 own words did you not congratulate me on having escaped the per- 
 petual tyranny of a villain ? " 
 
 " True, my dear, true : I certainly did." 
 
 '* How, then, my dear father, could you be amazed at my refusal to 
 subject myself to that perpetual tyranny ? " 
 
A KOMANCE OF HEAL LIFE. 227 
 
 " Well, I knew that you loved him : I also knew that when I said 
 he was a villain, you did not believe me. I looked at your position, 
 and then I looked at his, and as he appeared to be anxious to act like 
 a man of honour I forgave him, and nearly forgot what he had done. 
 If, however, you feel that you cannot be happy with him, adhere to 
 your resolution still ! " 
 
 " Bless you ! " cried Jane, as she kissed him with fervour. " I knew 
 that you would not urge me to sacrifice every hope of happiness ! I 
 knew that you would not! " 
 
 " No, my girl, I would not for the world ! I fancied that, notwith- 
 standing what has occurred, you believed you could live happily with 
 him." 
 
 " I feel perfectly certain now, dear father, that I should be wretched 
 in the extreme." 
 
 " Then remain as you are, my girl, by all means : by all means remain 
 as you are. In losing poor Sir John, you have lost one who would 
 have been a friend ; but, as it is, we must do the best we can. I sup- 
 pose that this man is his heir." 
 
 " Were he heir to all the wealth in the world, his wife if she knew 
 what I know would be wretched." 
 
 " Then say no more about it. You have made up your mind not to 
 have him, and therefore, as far as that is concerned, there's an end of 
 the matter. And now let's have breakfast. The Doctor will be here 
 presently to know your decision. He is an excellent man, and has 
 taken great interest in this affair : indeed, George told me this morn- 
 ing that he not only suggested the expediency of this marriage, but 
 actually undertook to arrange it all himself. We therefore ought to 
 feel obliged to Dr. Farquar, notwithstanding your decision is opposed 
 to his views. Here he is," added Freeman, as the Doctor's carriage 
 stopped at the gate. " Will you see him, my dear, or shall I? Per- 
 haps it would appear disrespectful if you were not to see him yourself-."' 
 " I can have no objection," said Jane, " to see him." 
 " Then do so," said Freeman, who opened the door for the Doctor, 
 and having politely ushered him into the room, left him with Jane. 
 
 " Well," said the Doctor on taking her hand, " I hope that you have 
 reflected on this matter since I left you yesterday?" 
 
 " I have sir," replied Jane ; " I have reflected, as you wished me 
 to reflect deeply ; but I have found it impossible to alter my 
 decision." 
 
 " You have ! " cried the Doctor. " Then let me tell you, Miss 
 Freeman," he added with a smile, "that you are a very, very unfor- 
 giving creature ! " 
 
 " You will consider me a stubborn girl, I fear," replied Jane; "but 
 on this point I must and will be firm ! I never will marry that man !" 
 " Well, but have you no ambition ? " 
 
 " I had. I once was ambitious of becoming his wife : it was my 
 only ambition. I loved him so devotedly that if an emperor had 
 offered me his hand, I should have rejected it, and taken his with feel- 
 ings of joy! But that is over. I have no such ambition nov,\" 
 
228 THE STEWARD : 
 
 " Why, there is affluence within your grasp ! " 
 
 "It may be so, and the bait is tempting; but within that bait there 
 is a hook ! Do happiness and affluence necessarily coexist ? " 
 
 ** Certainly not necessarily." 
 
 " Would you advise me to sacrifice the former to the latter? " 
 
 " No, I would not ! but I do not see that you would have to make 
 that sacrifice." , 
 
 " I should even have to sacrifice all liope of happiness ! I know 
 not indeed God only knows whether I shall ever be happy again ; 
 but as I can, I will escape at least the misery which would be the in- 
 evitable consequence of my becoming his wile !" 
 
 '* Well, my dear girl, I can say no more. My object in saying that 
 which I have said, has been solely to promote your interest." 
 
 * I believe it, Dr. Farquar : I do most sincerely believe it, and I 
 hope that you believe that I feel indeed grateful. It is painful to 
 oppose the views of so sincere, so firm a friend; but in this case I 
 must of necessity oppose them, knowing as I do know that misery 
 must spring from my acquiescence." 
 
 " Well," saiil the Doctor, " you may, of course, "be right ! I really 
 thought that such a marriage would be advantageous certainly I 
 thought so : but as your impression is otherwise, why, there the thing 
 must rest. I must now take my leave. I have to attend the inquest. 
 The coroner has appointed eleven o'clock, and I have another call or 
 two to make. Good morning." 
 
 No one likes to be opposed, or to have his views thwarted. No one 
 likes to fail in any enterprise. The failure creates a feeling of humilia- 
 tion, which is at all times painful. If a man undertakes to accomplish 
 a thing and can't, he is hurt: no matter how cunningly he may endea- 
 vour to conceal his real feelings, his failure proclaims his inability to 
 succeed, and he doesn't like it. Hence Dr. Farquar, having taken 
 leave of Jane, felt so annoyed at the failure of his mission, that, when 
 Freeman went out to see him into his carriage, he scarcely spoke a 
 word. 
 
 " I hope, my dear,*' said Freeman, when the carriage had left, 
 " that you did not offend Dr. Farquar?" 
 
 " Oh dear ine, no ! " replied Jane. " I assured him that I felt ex- 
 tremely grateful to him. Did he, then, appear to be displeased ? " 
 
 ** He certainly appeared to me to be so; he scarcely spoke a word." 
 
 " I am sorry for that very sorry, indeed ; still he ought not to feel 
 at all displeased with my decision. ' 
 
 " Certainly not ; your decision was right ! I now feel it to be so more 
 than ever ; for when he said in that note of his that you had led him 
 into sin, he proved himself at once to be a cowardly villain ! Never 
 mind ! We shall be able to manage yet. What do you cry for ? " he 
 added, as Jane burst into tears. " I'd rather see you with the spirit of 
 a virago, than see you weep for a man like that. Come, come, my 
 girl ! Come, dry your eyes. What's done can't be undone ! kiss 
 me ! There ! now let us have no more tears. You have preserved 
 those notes, have you not? " 
 
A BOMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 229 
 
 I have." 
 
 " Then whenever you feel but I hope you never will feel regret 
 for the loss of Mm, read them, and your love your latent love, for I 
 know that you love him still will at once give way to indignation. 
 Why, there he is ! " he added as George approached. *' You will not 
 be seen?" 
 
 " No," replied Jane, " I will not. Tell him distinctly that my mind 
 is made up, arid that therefore all further importunity will be useless." 
 
 She then retired, and almost immediately afterwards George was 
 shown into the room. 
 
 " Well, Freeman," said he, " have you spoken to Jane on the subject 
 I mentioned this morning ? " 
 
 "Yes," replied Freeman, " I have; and I find that she is firmly re- 
 solved on remaining as she is." 
 
 "You have surely sufficient influence over her to induce her to 
 forego that resolution ? " 
 
 *' I have, I believe, all the influence a father should have; but I 
 should never attempt to exercise that influence in the way you mean." 
 
 " Look at the great advantages she would enjoy ! " 
 
 " Were they ten times greater, she would not have you now: in 
 short, she has resolutely made up her mind never to censent to the 
 marriage you propose." 
 
 " Well, Freeman, well ! I am very sorry for it ! Perhaps time 
 will alter her views. If not if she continues to adhere to the resolu- 
 tion she has formed, she must be amply provided for." 
 
 "I shall, of course, expect some provision to be made." 
 
 " Freeman, it shall be done ! and all that I can do to promote your 
 interests I mill do ; for I feel myself bound to make all the reparation 
 in my power. I did hope that Jane, notwithstanding what has occurred, 
 would consent to become the mistress of the Hall : and I hope still 
 that reflection may induce her to change that which appears to be her 
 determination now ; but even if it should not, so pure is my affection 
 for her, and so firm is my friendship for you, that her happiness and 
 your advancement shall form my chief care. I suppose that I am to 
 understand by her absence that she refuses to see me '? Well, the in- 
 terview would, under the circumstances, have been painful. She is, 
 perhaps, right; but pray let me beg of you, Freeman, to do all you 
 can to induce her to consent to the marriage proposed. I will make 
 any settlement upon her she may suggest, and will treat her with all 
 possible tenderness. It may appear strange to you, Freeman, that I 
 should, so soon after my poor father's death, have evinced so much 
 anxiety on this subject; but be assured that my only object was to re- 
 lieve Jane from all apprehension, by proving to her at once that I was no 
 sooner free from the influence under which I have been of late acting, 
 than I was as I have again and again told her I should be prepared 
 to perform my solemn promise to her. Unhappily this proof of my 
 sincerity has been rejected; but I still cling to the hope that she will 
 make me happy yet by forgiving all that has passed, and consenting to 
 be mine. And now, my dear friend," he added, taking Freeman's hand, 
 
230 THE STEWARD : 
 
 " I must leave you. I leave you to plead my cause to her, and Heaven 
 grant that your fatherly influence may prevail ! " 
 
 "Well," said Freeman, when George had left, "he speaks fair 
 enough and so did the serpent that tempted Eve ! No : it won't 
 do I'll not have it ! There's something about him I don't at all 
 like something which fully convinces me that it is not for her sake 
 alone that he is so anxious for this marriage to take place. There is 
 something behind, which I can't yet make out ! There is something 
 but no matter what ! He has proved himself to be a heartless 
 villain ! and as I feel her decision to be just, I'll not attempt to per- 
 suade her to reverse it." 
 
 CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 THE MOUKNEES AT THE HALL. 
 
 JULIANA that morning received a letter from Charles, stating that, as 
 Dr. Farquar had kindly consented to superintend all the necessary ar- 
 rangements, he should leave immediately after the inquest had been 
 held, and privately post up to town. 
 
 She had, however, scarcely read this letter, when Lejeune sent one 
 of the servants with a message to the effect that he was anxious to see 
 her. She accordingly left the Widow, and went up at once, when 
 Lejeune, who had been cautiously told that Sir John had been " sud- 
 denly attacked," said, "My dear, you have, I understand, received a 
 letter this morning ? " 
 
 " Yes, papa," replied Juliana; " from Charles." 
 
 "Well, how is Sir John ? " 
 
 Juliana burst into tears, and said, " Pray, papa, excuse me. I will 
 send Mrs. Wardle up to answer that question." 
 
 Lejeune looked at her with an expression of alarm, and said, " Do, 
 my dear ; ask her to come to me immediately." 
 
 Juliana left the room ; and the Widow, having ascertained why he 
 wished to see her, made up her mind to impart to him at least the 
 fact of Sir John being dead. 
 
 " My dear madam," said he, as he rose, although weak, and placed 
 a chair near the table, at which he had been sitting, " I am anxious 
 most anxious to allude to a subject which I almost dread to name. 
 You understand me ! " he added, with an expression of intensity, '* I 
 perceive that you understand me Sir John is no more! is it not so?" 
 
 " It is," replied the Widow, as the tears continued to stream -from 
 her eyes " it is, alas ! It is." 
 
 Lejeune sank back in his chair, and wept. 
 
 " I expected," said he, after a pause, during which neither -he nor 
 the Widow could speak " I expected to hear of some calamity. 
 When did this occur?" 
 
A KOMANCE OF HEAL LIFE. 231 
 
 " I was afraid to tell you before," replied the Widow, " but Dr. 
 Farquar brought the dreadful intelligence of his death." 
 
 " I perceive," said Lejeune ; " I perceive. But how was he 
 attacked ? He always appeared to me to be full of health and spirits. 
 What was the nature of the attack? " 
 
 " No disease caused his death," returned the Widow. " He was 
 killed ! " 
 
 " Killed IDid he fall from his horse ? " 
 
 "No." 
 
 " How, then, was he killed ? " 
 
 The Widow scarcely knew how to reply, but she said at length 
 " Unhappily, he was shot ! Shot,' she added anxiously, " by or 
 who was unconscious of what he did by one, in fact, who was 
 insane." 
 
 "Good God!" cried Lejeune. "This is dreadful indeed! The 
 man, then, is known to be insane ? " 
 
 " He had just escaped from a lunatic asylum: he escaped with a 
 double-barrelled gun in his possession, and having killed Sir John, he 
 fired at George." 
 
 " And is he dead too ? " 
 
 " No ; he is wounded, but not, I believe, dangerously." 
 
 "I must," said Lejeune with strong emotion '* I must see my 
 friend once more ! I must take a last farewell of him, although he is 
 gone where I may follow soon ! He was a man ! he was a man in- 
 deed ! A purer heart than his never existed a more generous spirit 
 never breathed. I must go, and see the last of him on earth ! I must 
 go, let the consequence be what it may." 
 
 " Charles," said the Widow, as soon as she could speak " Charles 
 will be here in a very few hours. He has written to say that imme- 
 diately after the inquest has been held and eleven o'clock is the 
 time appointed he will come." 
 
 " I am glad of that. I'll return with him. You, too, I know, must 
 see him ! " 
 
 " I must," replied the Widow, whose grief was most intense. " I 
 must see him on earth once more, and then with calm resignation await 
 the summons to meet him in Heaven. He has been a dear, dear friend 
 to me /" 
 
 " My dear lady, I know it: I know it well. But we must bear the 
 loss with fortitude. The object of Charles in coming up, we can both 
 of course appreciate. He has the kind and generous heart of his 
 father, and is worthy of being universally beloved. Juliana, of course, 
 knows of this sad affair? " 
 
 "She does." 
 
 " Well, then, she must go with us ; and as Charles will doubtless 
 wish to return as soon as possible, you had better prepare to start to- 
 morrow." 
 
 The Widow, with the view of acting upon this suggestion, then 
 returned to Juliana. They had previously countermanded the order 
 for the wedding dresses, and had now to perform the mournful task of 
 
2 32 THE STEWARD : 
 
 preparing for the funeral a task which they commenced with heavy 
 hearts, and which occupied their thoughts until the arrival of Charles. 
 That Juliana was delighted to see him, may be conceived ; but the 
 meeting was indeed a tearful one. She flew to him as he entered, and 
 nestled on his bosom, and sobbed convulsively ; while he, as he pressed 
 her to his heart, was struggling in vain to subdue his emotion. 
 
 For some time neither of them spoke: indeed, before the Widow en- 
 tered the room not a word was uttered ; nor was much said even then 
 until Juliana left with the view of announcing the arrival of Charles to 
 Lejeune, when the Widow expressed some anxiety to hear about the 
 inquest. 
 
 " It was very soon over," said Charles. " The evidence was short, 
 but conclusive. Poor George who is in a dreadful state of dejection 
 proved, that on hearing the report of a gun, and seeing our dear 
 father fall, he gave the alarm on the instant: the men proved that they 
 saw Richard running from the spot, and that, on being pursued, he 
 turned and fired at George : and Dr. Briggs proved that Richard had 
 escaped from his asylum, and was at the time perfectly insane. The 
 verdict, therefore, was to the effect that poor father was killed by 
 Hichard Lejeune, who was at the time' of unsound mind." 
 " Did he attend ? " enquired the Widow. 
 
 " No," replied Charles with a heavy sigh. " The Doctor stated, 
 "that in consequence of the wine he had drunk at the Hall, and the ex- 
 citement induced by the pursuit, a violent fever had seized his brain, 
 and that he did not expect him to survive." 
 
 " Heaven have mercy upon us ! " cried the Widow. " What a shock 
 this will be to poor Mr. Lejeune ! " 
 
 " It will- be a shock indeed ! " returned Charles. " Is he yet aware 
 of any of the circumstances ? '' 
 
 " He knows of poor Sir John's death/' replied the Widow. " I told 
 "him of that this morning. I also told him how he had fallen, and 
 -that the person who fired was insane." 
 
 " Ah ! " said Charles, " I dread the effect of his being told who that 
 person is. Has he seen the papers this morning?" 
 
 " One of them, in which there was no account of the occurrence : 
 ' the other, which contained a full report, I kept back." 
 
 " You acted with your usual discretion. I know not how to break 
 it to him, and yet it is impossible for it to bo concealed." 
 
 " Perhaps it had better not be named to him' until we reach the 
 ' Hall. I know that his great object is to see poor Sir John once more 
 on earth ; and if this intelligence be communicated now, that object 
 may never be attained." 
 
 " You are right quite right. Then he thinks of returning with me ?" 
 " Yes; we have all been preparing to start to-morrow." 
 '* Very good. We'll start early; he can then have a few hours' 
 rest on the road." 
 
 Charles then went up to see Lejeune ; and when Juliana and the 
 Widow had joined them, he suggested in order that the name of 
 Hichard might not, through any inadvertence, transpire that the sub- 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIPE. 233 
 
 ject of Sir John's death should not be reverted to that night. This 
 was agreed to at once; but as they were unable to think of anything 
 else, the evening passed drearily indeed. 
 
 In the morning they left town early, and having reached the Crown, 
 at Chesterford, stopped a few hours, notwithstanding the air so in- 
 vigorated Lejeune that he did not i'eel in the slightest degree fatigued. 
 They then resumed their journey, and on their arrival at the Hall 
 they found George in an attitude of devotion. 
 
 As they entered the room, he rose from the chair before which he 
 had been kneeling, and received them with an expression of anguish 
 the most intense. 
 
 " It must be borne," said he in a tremulous voice, on taking the 
 Widow by the hand. " It must it must be borne ! " 
 
 The Widow, who was too much affected to reply, withdrew alone, 
 and on entering the room in which the body of Sir John was lying, 
 she passionately kissed him, and knelt by his side, and prayed with 
 holy fervour. 
 
 " My first object,*' said Lejeune, addressing George while the 
 Widow was thus devoutly engaged, " is to see the remains of my 
 friend. Will you take me to him ? " 
 
 "Had you not better defer it," said George, "until you are more 
 composed ? " 
 
 " I feel," replied Lejeune, " sufficiently composed now; therefore 
 do me the favour to take me to him." 
 
 " Charles/' said George, who no more dared to behold that sight 
 than he dared to go out after dark alone, " be kind enough to go up 
 with Mr. Lejeune. I feel quite unequal to the task." 
 
 Charles at once offered his arm to Lejeune. 
 
 " May I go with you, papa? '' said Juliana. 
 
 "If you wish, my child," replied Lejeune; "yes, come." 
 
 Juliana took his arm, and they left the room together. 
 
 " Coward ! " muttered George between his teeth, on being thus left 
 ajone. " I haven't the courage of a rat ! I thought myself above all 
 childish fears, but I find that the higher the intellect is, the stronger is 
 the hold which conscience has upon it. What harm can his corpse do 
 me? Can it look at me ? point at me? denounce me ? No! And 
 yet I fear to see it. Philosophy ! "What, in a case of this kind, is the 
 use of philosophy ? Philosophy cannot be brought to bear upon it ! 
 What philosophy can banish this fear? Time may wear it away, but 
 philosophy, when it has shadows to deal with, is powerless. I am 
 not a bulldog : I wish that I were." 
 
 Having viewed and wept over the body of Sir John, Juliana and the 
 Widow retired ; and as Lejeune, who displayed great firmness, ex- 
 pressed a wish to see the spot on which his dear friend fell, Charles 
 descended with him and led him into the glade. 
 
 "This is the spot," said Charles, as he approached it; " but where 
 the person who fired stood, we cannot ascertain." 
 
 " I should like to see that person," said Lejeune. " Is the asylum 
 from which he escaped near here ? " 
 
234 THE STEWARD : 
 
 44 Within two miles of this place," replied Charles. 
 " Oh ! within two miles. Is he there still ? " 
 
 " Yes ; he cannot be removed." 
 
 44 Will you drive me over in the morning? I feel most anxious to 
 see him. No ill feeling, I suppose, had ever existed between him and 
 Sir John ? " 
 
 " Not the slightest." 
 
 44 No ! Then -will you drive me over in the morning?" 
 
 Charles hesitated, and Lejeune, having on the instant perceived 
 his embarrassment, said, 4t Charles ! why it is not a great boon 
 I ask?" 
 
 44 Oh no! " replied Charles; " certainly not. We'll go over in the 
 morning together." 
 
 44 But," said Lejeune, eyeing him searchingly, " why did you hesi- 
 tate?" 
 
 44 Because," replied Charles promptly, " knowing ru>w weak you 
 have been, I did not think that the sight of a poor maniac would tend 
 at all to increase your strength." 
 
 44 Charles," said Lejeune, " having seen the remains of my dear 
 friend firmly, I think that I can with at least equal firmness see the 
 man who deprived him of life." 
 
 " Well," said Charles, " then we'll go over in the morning." 
 
 This appeared to satisfy Lejeune for a time, althdugh he felt more 
 than ever anxious to see the " person " by whom the fatal shot was 
 supposed to have been fired ; and as Charles found that he was 
 unusually firm, and as he moreover knew that all must of necessity be 
 explained, he resolved on preparing him at once for the announcement 
 that that " person " was his own brother. 
 
 He accordingly led Lejeune into the garden ; and after having made 
 a variety of observations having reference to flowers and other com- 
 paratively unimportant matters, he said cautiously, " I suppose you 
 have not heard from your brother Richard ? " 
 
 44 No, poor fellow, I have not," replied Lejeune. " I can't imagine 
 why he doesn't write to me. It was foolish of him to go away at all. 
 A man should meet difficulties, Charles ! he never ought to run away 
 from them. Still I think that he might have written to me! " 
 
 " Well," said Charles, " I suppose that he doesn't like to write. If 
 / had entered into a speculation of the kind, and had lost so much 
 money, I should have gone completely mad!" 
 
 44 He has too strong a mind, Charles too strong a mind to go mad ! " 
 
 "Have you not found that men of strong minds are sometimes, by 
 the very excess of grief, driven to madness ? " 
 
 " Yes, an excess of grief will upset the strongest minds. But 
 this loss would not induce him to give way to an excess of grief: it 
 would urge him to enter into other speculations with the view of re- 
 covering his position." 
 
 14 And yet," said Charles; " I think that if I had involved a brother, 
 as he has involved you, my grief would be so intense that I should be 
 unable to retain my senses." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE 235 
 
 " He is not the sort of man, Charles, depend upon it he is not the 
 sort of man. That he is sorry for this . failure far more on my 
 account than his own I feel convinced. But his object is to recover 
 himself; he'll not go mad." 
 
 Well, I heard that his losses had driven him to madness." 
 
 Who told you so ? " 
 
 I certainly heard it." 
 
 Well, but my dear Charles, by whom were you told ? " 
 
 ' By my father." 
 Your father ! Why, who on earth could have told him ? " 
 
 " He came down here immediately after the bubble had burst, and 
 announcing himself as the Emperor of China, requested to see his 
 illustrious relative of course meaning you." 
 
 " Well '? well? " said Lejeune with an expression of alarm. "And 
 what did Sir John do ? " 
 
 " Perceiving that he was insane, he took him at once to an asylum." 
 
 " An asylum ? And the ' person ' of whom you speak escaped 
 from an asylum. From the same asylum ? Speak, Charles, speak ! 
 Is he the person?" 
 
 Charles was silent. 
 
 " Good God ! " exclaimed Lejeune as he burst into tears. " It is 
 so it is so ! In mercy speak ! " 
 
 " It is ! " replied Charles, who supported him, and led him into one 
 of the arbours, and added, "Remember! he was unconscious of what 
 he did : he therefore cannot be held to be responsible for the act. I 
 feared to tell you before; but finding you comparatively firm, and 
 knowing that all must of necessity be explained, I embraced this 
 opportunity of naming it, and now I call upon you, as you value your 
 life and the happiness of your child, to be still firm, and meet this 
 great calamity like a man ! " 
 
 Lejeune buried his face in his hands, and wept bitterly. 
 
 " My dear friend," said Charles at length, "for your own sake, and 
 for the sake of Juliana, do not suffer yourself to be thus overwhelmed. 
 The blow is heavy, but as poor George said on our arrival, * it must be 
 borne ! ' Reflect upon this I beg of you to do so that if your brother 
 had been sane at the time, the calamity would have been infinitely 
 greater/' 
 
 " I am aware," said Lejeune, " that I ought to bear up against it 
 with all the fortitude at my command. The blow is, however, so 
 heavy, that I cannot at once shake off its effect. I will, however, en- 
 deavour to be firm, and I fervently hope that He will sustain me. I 
 was not prepared for this. My own brother to kill my dearest friend, 
 and that at such a time ! Great God ! thy ways are wonderful ! " 
 
 " I need not remind you," said Charles, "that your health nay, 
 your life, which is precious to us all depends upon the strength of 
 your mind: nor need I urge you to keep in remembrance that the fact 
 of your brother having been deprived of reason, releases him from all 
 responsibility. He is to be pitied not to be condemned. That should 
 of itself be a source of consolation." 
 
236 THE STEWARD: 
 
 Lejeune took his hand and pressed it warmly, and said, " Does 
 Juliana know of this ? " 
 
 " No," replied Charles. " I will embrace the first favourable oppor- 
 tunity which offers of breaking it to her, seeing that she must eventually 
 know all." 
 
 " You say that this asylum is not more than two miles from here ?" 
 
 "Not more than two," replied Charles. 
 
 "I must see him, Charles : I must, of course, see him ! Let us go 
 at once." 
 
 " Have you sufficient strength to see him? " 
 
 " I have I feel that I have." 
 
 One of the servants approached to announce that dinner was ready. 
 
 " Well," said Charles, " although I dread the effect of the sight upon 
 you; after dinner we'll go." 
 
 Lejeune took Charles's arm again, and returned with him to the 
 house, and when they had gone through the ceremony of dining, 
 Charles ordered the carriage. 
 
 " Are you going to leave us?" enquired the Widow. 
 
 "We shall not be long gone," replied Charles. "We are merely 
 going to call upon Dr. Briggs." 
 
 The Widow who understood in an instant that all had been ex- 
 plained to Lejeune, looked at him and wept ; and shortly afterwards 
 .she and Juliana withdrew. 
 
 " You have, of course," said George, " explained the lamentable fact 
 to Mr. Lejeune ?" 
 
 "I have," replied Charles: "and notwithstanding he feels it like a 
 man, you perceive that he hears it like a man." 
 
 " I thank God for it ! " exclaimed George. " I thank God for it ! " 
 
 " Will you go with us ?" enquired Charles. 
 
 <c Certainly," replied George, who felt of course anxious to know 
 what Richard Lejeune said on the subject. "Certainly; but before 
 we go, I must beg of Mr. Lejeune to have another glass or two 
 of wine." 
 
 "I am firm, my dear friend," returned Lejeune. "As you said 
 this morning, it must be borne, and I feel now quite prepared to bear 
 ii." 
 
 Accordingly, on the carriage being announced, they proceeded to 
 the house of. Dr. Briggs, where they found poor llichard lying on his 
 .back, with his legs secured, his hands in what is termed a " muff," 
 and a bladder full of ice upon his head, which had been shaved. 
 
 " Richard," said Lejeune, having approached him, "Richard ! Do 
 you not know me? your brother! " 
 
 " Ha, ha ! old friend !" cried Richard with energy. " What do the 
 -enemy think of it now ? They have made me a prisoner, you see ! 
 Ha, ha ! And they call me a murderer ! Ha, ha, ha ! Why all 
 warriors are murderers and all their living automata are murderers. 
 They enlist to murder ! they know they must murder, for if they do 
 not they are murdered themselves. Society is based upon murder ! 
 and when the blind man said that red was like a trumpet, he meant 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 237 
 
 that it was sanguinary, fierce, and blasting. Begin with the beginning : 
 it's all murder and humbug. Humbug ! Ha, ha, ha, ha ! What a 
 world this is for humbug. From the highest to the lowest, humbug is 
 the staple commodity in which men deal. Murder is the raw material 
 humbug weaves and smoothes it down, and gives it a gloss, and 
 there's the fabric. They form together a nation's strength. Mingle 
 them, mingle them, mingle them and what do they make? Why 
 glory ! Glorious humbug ! Glorious murder ! Mingle them, I say, 
 and they'll make a land the envy of surrounding nations, and the glory 
 of the world. Even our banners are consecrated yes, our banners 
 consecrated to the god of war by the ministers of the God of Peace ; 
 Why they who bless them know that it is impious they know it ! 
 But bless away bless away ! If you won't, others will, to live in 
 affluence and mock humility. I am a warrior hence the vulgar call 
 me murderer ! and that's the real name, although it does not sound 
 glorious. But are we not all murderers ? They who have-not the 
 courage to murder with their own hands, pay men expressly to murder 
 for them. Your cavalry and infantry, your sappers and miners, your 
 artillerymen and riflemen, compose the very basis of civilization, and 
 within the pale of civilization no really honest man is to be found. 
 Honesty ! Ha, ha ! It exists but in name. An honest man cannot 
 live upon earth he is too pure for earth ! If one were found, society 
 would war against him, crush or corrupt him crush or corrupt him ! 
 An honest man, in this world's view, is a man who is rich and escapes 
 the law. Let him have been the greatest villain that ever breathed, if 
 he die rich, we complacently write on his tablet 'An honest man is the 
 noblest work of God ! ' In the world's view, there are no honest men at 
 all poor ! there is no such thing as a poor honest man. There are 
 poor fools, plenty of them millions of poor fools who haven't the 
 sense to earn by roguery the reputation of being honest men. Are 
 you honest?" he continued, addressing George, who had listened to 
 his rhapsody with feelings of pleasure, "Are you honest, I ask you ? 
 Yes ! in the world's view, you are an honest man, and you call me a 
 murderer ! " 
 
 " Mo, no," said George; " what you did, you did unconsciously." 
 
 " I say you call me a murderer ! " 
 
 " My dear Richard," said Lejeune, with a view of soothing him. 
 
 " Why he is a murderer," resumed Richard fiercely. " Do you think 
 that I don't know a murderer when I see him ? He'd murder his own 
 father, that man would." 
 
 " Richard ! " cried Lejeune, as George trembled with violence. " Be 
 calm, my dear Richard ; be calm." 
 
 " I know it, and he knows it too ! " 
 
 " Let us retire," said Lejeune. " This is too painful, Charles : 
 let us retire." 
 
 " I think we had better," said Charles ; " our presence appears to 
 excite him." And while poor Richard was raving, they left the room. 
 
 "Heaven pifcj him!" exclaimed George tremulously. J'Poor 
 fellow poor fellow ! My heart bleeds for him." 
 
238 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " Lejeurie was silent and so was Charles. Neither of them attached 
 the slightest importance to Richard's denunciation of George: they 
 regarded it as the raving of a maniac merely ; and as Dr. Briggs wa's 
 absent, they left the house at once. 
 
 George, however, felt the sting poignantly. It reached his heart, 
 and there it continued to rankle. 
 
 " These gentlemen," said Juliana during their absence, " will, I 
 hope, soon return." 
 
 " They will not be gone long, dear," replied the Widow. " They 
 are merely gone to call upon Dr. Briggs." 
 
 " But I thought that Dr. Farquar was your family physician? " 
 " So he is, dear. Dr. Briggs has the asylum in which that poor 
 gentleman who fired at Sir John is confined." 
 
 " Indeed ! Have you ever seen that unhappy person ? " 
 " No," replied the Widow. " I never have." 
 " Then you don't know at all what sort of person he is ? " 
 "He has been described to me as a fine tall gentlemanly man, with 
 a commanding voice, and large grey whiskers." 
 
 " Dear me ! " said Juliana. " Why I should thus describe my dear 
 uncle Richard ! " 
 
 " He is, I understand, very much like him." 
 
 " How very strange ! Dear me ! if it had so happened that my uncle 
 had been deprived of reason, and had come down here and committed 
 this act, how very dreadful it would have been, would it not? " 
 
 " Well, my love, if even it had been so, no blame whatever could 
 attach to him ! " 
 
 "No, dear; no blame could attach to him, seeing that he would 
 have been unconscious of the act : still it would have been dreadful.'" 
 " Plow much more dreadful, my love, would it have been had he not 
 been deprived of reason when he committed the act?" 
 
 " That would have been shocking indeed !" said Juliana. " Nothing- 
 could have been more horrible than that." 
 
 "For my own part,'' said the Widow, cautiously, "although 
 insanity is, of course, a great affliction, if any relative of mine had 
 committed such an act, it would be a consolation to me to know that 
 he was insane." 
 
 "Doubtless," said Juliana, unsuspectingly; " so it would be to me. 
 Had my uncle, for instance, fired at poor Sir John, the knowledge of 
 his being insane would sustain me." 
 
 "Of course it would, dear," returned the Widow; "of course. 
 You would then know that he had been guilty of no crin:e, however 
 deeply you might lament the fact of his having been deprived of his 
 reason. But suppose, my love, that you were the niece of this gen- 
 tleman rilput'itso suppose 'that you were, how do you imagine 
 that you would feel ? " 
 
 " Oh, dear ! I don't know how I should feel in that case." 
 " But how do you think it would affect you, my love ? Such a 
 calamity is just as likely to occur to your uncle, as it is to occur to the 
 uncle of any other laclv. Suppose, then, thot such were the case ; 
 
A HOilAKCE OF REAL LIFE. 239 
 
 that your uncle I will say your uncle was the person who fired at 
 Sir John, you would feel, of course, distressed? " 
 
 " I should indeed ! " 
 
 " But do you not feel as much distressed now as you would then? " 
 
 "Well, perhaps not," replied Juliana. "The fact of ray uncle 
 being insane would of itself be distressing : the knowledge of his 
 having raised his hand against the life of our dearest friemd, would, of 
 course, increase that distress/' 
 
 " Would not the knowledge of the one fact rather tend to diminish 
 the grief induced by the other ? Had he, while in a state of con- 
 sciousness, raised his hand against the life of our dear friend, you 
 would have been comparatively inconsolable ; but as it is, you have at 
 least the consolation of knowing that, as it had pleased Heaven to de- 
 prive him of reason, he knew not what he did." 
 
 " The consolation of knowing that he knew not what he did ! Why 
 you do not really mean to say that he my uncle did it ? " 
 
 " As I said before, my love, if it were so, no blame could attach to 
 him, seeing that he could not be held to be responsible for his acts." 
 
 Juliana looked searchingly at her for a moment^ and then said, 
 " Tell me, dear pray, pray tell me ! Was this act committed by 
 him?" 
 
 ." The calamities with which Heaven may afflict us, my love, it is 
 our duty with all possible fortitude to bear." 
 
 " True, true," said Juliana tremulously. " But did he did he really 
 do this?" 
 
 " My love," replied the Widow, " if you will promise that you will 
 be calm and firm and I feel that you have sufficient strength of mind 
 to keep that promise I'll tell you all." 
 
 " I will be calm : I will be firm. I will I will indeed." 
 
 ".Well, then, my dear, it did please Heaven to deprive him of 
 reason. Do you not remember Charles suggesting to you the pro- 
 priety of not mentioning his name in the presence of your papa ? " 
 
 '* I do I remember it well. Did papa know of this? and was this 
 the cause of his illness ? " 
 
 " No, he knew nothing of this affliction then. Charles felt of course 
 anxious to conceal it from him naturally dreading the effect which 
 such a communication might have had upon him then. Well, my 
 love, having been bereft of reason, your uncle came down here. He 
 came one day when you and I were out for a drive ; and as poor Sir 
 John at once perceived that he was insane, he placed him under the 
 care of Dr. Briggs, with whom he remained until that unhappy day 
 when he escaped from the asylum with a gun, and fired, and poor dear 
 Sir John ceased to breathe. Remember," she added on perceiving that 
 Juliana felt faint "never cease to remember that your uncle had been 
 afflicted by the hand of Heaven, and that he was at the time uncon- 
 scious of what he did." 
 
 " I must remember that," returned Juliana faintly ; " but it is, 
 notwithstanding, very dreadful indeed ! " 
 
 " It would have been in any case dreadful, my dear; but how in- 
 
240 THE STEWARD I 
 
 finitely more dreadful would it have been had your poor uncle not 
 been unconscious at the time ! " 
 
 " He would not have done it then."' 
 
 " Certainly not! and that is a great consolation. Now, my dear,' r 
 she continued, with an expression of deep aitection, " I have ventured 
 to communicate this sad intelligence to you this evening, not only 
 because it could not have been much longer concealed from you, but 
 also because I felt convinced that you would bear it with Christian 
 fortitude." 
 
 " I will endeavour to do so,'' said Juliana with strong emotion. " I 
 will I will endeavour to do so." 
 
 " And let me beg of you," resumed the Widow, "not to name this 
 sad subject at present to your papa." 
 
 " Of course he knows of it ? " 
 
 " He does ; but as the knowledge has been imparted to him since 
 our arrival, and more especially as. he is now gone to see your pooc 
 uncle, any allusion to the subject by you would tend to add to his dis- 
 tress, which I know you would not do willingly." 
 
 " I would not indeed : no, I would not indeed ! I will act upon 
 your suggestion, and be silent." 
 
 The Widow again embraced her affectionately, and did all in her 
 power to console her ; and when Charles returned with George and 
 Lejeune, she communicated to him the fact of her having explained all, 
 and left her in his hands. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 
 THE FUNERAL. 
 
 THE day appointed for the funeral to take place at length arrived ; and 
 it may indeed be said to have arrived " at length," for the few pre- 
 ceding days were passed by the principal mourners in almost silent 
 sorrow. Charles and Juliana were the only two who could be said to 
 have associated, for George kept himself secluded, drinking and 
 smoking from morning till night; and while Lejeune scarcely stirred 
 from the apartments appropriated to him, the Widow passed by far the 
 greater part of her time by the side of the body of Sir John. 
 
 The day arrived, and early in the morning, hundreds of the poor 
 from the neighbouring parishes flocked into the park, with the view of 
 paying their last tribute of respect to him whose memory they revered, 
 and formed themselves into groups in which they freely descanted on 
 his virtues, and gave expression to their fears that their loss was irre- 
 parable indeed. There was no work done on the land that day ; it 
 was for miles round hallowed ! 
 
 Anon the farmers appeared near the Hall in deep mourning, and 
 then came the neighbouring gentry in their carriages ; and when the 
 hour for the departure of the procession had arrived, the children 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 241 
 
 belonging to the school which Sir John had founded, sang a hymn 
 with an effect which was perfectly electric ! The old men bared their 
 heads, and knelt, and prayed, and sobbed aloud, while the young stood 
 as if struck with paralysis ! No dry eye was there to be seen ! even 
 the men who officiated wept and the mournful procession left the 
 Hall amidst tears, and prayers, and lamentations. 
 
 On their arrival at the church almost every eye was fixed upon Le- 
 jeune, as the brother of the man by whose hand Sir John was supposed 
 by them all to have fallen. This look of curiosity, however, was 
 accompanied by an expression of deep sympathy, and our beautiful 
 burial service procedeed amid silence the most profound. 
 
 Sir John's vault was in the church, immediately opposite the pulpit, 
 and when the body had been lowered while the chief mourners stood 
 on the verge of the vault the minister proceeded to say, " I heard a 
 voice from Heaven," when on the instant Jane, who was in the gallery 
 with her father, uttered aloud scream, and fainted ; and George, whose 
 soul that scream had pierced, fell senseless to the ground. 
 
 For a few moments consternation was in the ascendant. Some of the 
 congregation had their eyes fixed upon Jane, who had fallen into her 
 fathers arms, while others intently regarded George, who had been 
 instantly raised, and sustained by Charles and Dr. Farquar. Both 
 Jane and George, however, were immediately removed, and the minis- 
 ter concluded the service. 
 
 This incident had a powerful effect upon all present. They, of 
 course, knew not what to ascribe it to, and therefore myriads of con- 
 jectures were hazarded. Some thought the voice really did proceed 
 from Heaven : others who heard the shriek proceed from Jane, knew 
 better ; and while both parties were earnestly engaged in promulgating 
 their views, George was restored to a state of consciousness, and 
 placed in the first coach with Charles, Dr. Farquar, and Lejeune, and 
 the mournful procession returned slowly to the Hall. 
 
 George, having alighted with every demonstration of intense sor- 
 row, proceeded immediately to his own room, and drank half-a-pint 
 of brandy. *' Fool ! fool ! " he cried fiercely between his'teeth ; " and 
 yet that scream pierced my heart ! The same shrill tone ! I remem- 
 bered it well! Was it involuntarily uttered, or not? Would that 
 that scream were her last ! for, while she lives, I can never feel 
 secure." 
 
 Having inspired sufficient artificial courage to meet the few friends 
 who remained at the Hall, he descended and joined them, and dined 1 
 with them, and drank an unusually large quantity of wine. 
 
 Among them was Mr. Cameron, Sir John's solicitor, who after din- 
 ner embraced an opportunity of requesting George and Charles to go- 
 into the library, as he had, he said, something to communicate of 
 which he thought they need no longer remain in ignorance. Both 
 George and Charles at once understood that this communication had 
 reference to Sir John's will. They therefore soon afterwards left the 
 room, and were followed by Mr. Cameron. 
 
 44 Gentlemen," said he, having entered the library, <{ that which I 
 No. 16. 
 
242 THE STEWARD: 
 
 have to communicate is the fact of Sir John having left the estate to 
 you, Mr. Charles." 
 
 "To me.'" exclaimed Charles with an expression of amazement, 
 while George struggled hard to conceal his rage. " You have made a 
 mistake in. the name, I presume : you mean my brother George." 
 
 "No, sir," replied Mr. Cameron calmly; " the estate has been left 
 to you." 
 
 " Well, but my brother ? " 
 
 " Mr. George had secured to him five hundred a year ; but one half 
 of that by a codicil which was signed by Sir John the very day on 
 which he fell has been left to a Miss Jane Freeman." 
 
 ''You amaze me!" cried Charles. "Can you account for this, 
 George? " : 
 
 " Yes, my dear Charles ! " said George, forcing a smile, although 
 his brow was studded with cold drops of sweat " Yes, / can account 
 for it. All this was done at my suggestion." 
 
 "Indeed!" 
 
 "In the morning, Charles, I'll explain it all. I need not enter into 
 any explanation now." 
 
 "And Mrs. Wardle?" suggested Charles. 
 
 " That lady," said Mr. Cameron, " will have during life five hundred 
 a year, which at her death will revert to the estate." 
 
 " But dear me! " cried Charles, addressing George, " I can't under- 
 stand this about you at all." 
 
 " Do not feel amazed, my dear Charles," returned George, as he 
 took his hand, and pressed it with great apparent warmth. " I'll ex- 
 plain all to you in the morning." 
 
 "I have with me," said Mr. Cameron, "an abstract of the will, 
 which perhaps you would like to see now ? " 
 
 "Not now," said George. "I quite understand it: you will per- 
 haps do us the favour to come over in the morning ?" 
 
 " I will, with pleasure. At what time ? It will be as well for Mr. 
 Lejeune and Dr. Farquar to be present, for they, with Mr. Charles, 
 have been appointed executors." 
 
 "In that case," said Charles, " we must consult the convenience of 
 Dr. Farquar." 
 
 " Of course," added George. " But come, let us return to our 
 friends." 
 
 Certainly George's cool statement that this will had been made at 
 his suggestion, inspired both Charles and Mr. Cameron with wonder. 
 They, however, said no more on the subject then. They returned to 
 their friends, and shortly afterwards George, with the view of giving 
 vent to his rage, retired. 
 
 " Norv," he muttered fiercely on reaching his room, *' I care no 
 more about having shot him than I should had he been a mere dog ! 
 The hypocrite ! the monstrous hypocrite ! to pretend to have so 
 much affection for me, and then to leave me thus ! Why, could he 
 live again, again would I murder him ! He has proved himself to 
 have been my greatest enemy. Away now with every feeling of re- 
 
A. ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 243 
 
 morse ! Perish conscience utterly, and laugli at imagination's shadows ! 
 Regard that act as one of retributive justice, for that it was so, is 
 manifest now. He couldn't leave the five hundred a year untouched ! 
 No ! he must rob me of a half even of that ! Why, what other feel- 
 ing than that of hatred can I have for the memory of such a man ? 
 What other feeling ought I to entertain ? Charles must be his heir ! 
 he must be master ! Stop! " he added between a whisper and a groan, 
 " I have cards to play which may yet win the game ! If I can but 
 work it and I think that I can the estate shall yet be mine. I must 
 see I must see : this requires much thought. For the present I 
 must appear not only to have known all, but to have suggested all ! 
 That's the first move on the board. I'll return to these friends 
 these worshippers of wealth and appear unconcerned. They'll not 
 court me much now ! but no matter. Henceforth I'll harbour no 
 feeling but that of revenge ! " 
 
 He then calmly returned to the dining-room, and soon perceived 
 that all there knew who was master. He, notwithstanding, performed 
 the part he had undertaken well, and sustained throughout his artfully 
 assumed expression of tranquillity. 
 
 Lejeune, whom the excitement of the day had fatigued, retired from 
 the table early, and having joined Juliana and the Widow, proceeded 
 to explain to them the nature of the will. 
 
 " In the first place," said he, addressing the Widow, " I have the 
 pleasure to inform you, my dear madam, that our deceased friend has 
 left you five hundred a year. This is no more than 1 anticipated ; but 
 that which I am now about to tell you, I can't pretend to understand 
 at all." 
 
 *' Dear me ! " said the Widow anxiously ; ki why, what is it : " 
 " It is that he has left Charles his heir instead of George." 
 " Indeed ! Why, what can be the meaning of that '? " 
 " I can't imagine," replied Lejeune. " I thought that perhaps you 
 would be able to explain the cause." 
 
 " I really have no conception of it," returned the Widow ; " I cannot 
 even conjecture ! " 
 
 " Has George been in the habit of offending his father ? " 
 " Not to my knowledge. They always appeared to be on affec- 
 tionate terms. Certainly George was rather irregular when at Cam- 
 bridge." 
 
 " This will was made since then. 
 
 " Then I cannot understand it ; for since that time he has been 
 steady in the extreme. His conduct has always appeared to me to be 
 perfectly irreproachable ; indeed, he has acquired the reputation of 
 being one of the most pious men in the county/' 
 
 " Well," said Lejeune, u I don't pretend to understand it." 
 " Charles was always the favourite son, was he not, dear r " enquired 
 Juliana, who naturally felt that it must have been so. 
 
 "Well I don't know," replied the Widow. "Poor Sir John 
 always appeared to be very fond of them both. But of course," she 
 added, addressing Lejeune, " of course he has left George something ? " 
 
244 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " Two hundred and fifty pounds a year," replied Lejeune. " He 
 has also left the same amount to a Miss Jane Freeman." 
 
 ki Miss Jane Freeman ! " echoed the "Widow, in a state of astonish- 
 ment the most intense ; " Miss Jane Freeman ! " 
 
 " Who is she, dear ? " artlessly enquired Juliana. 
 
 " The daughter of one of our farmers," replied the Widow. 
 " Jane Freeman ! " she added ; " Jane Freeman ! Two hundred and 
 fifty pounds a year, did you say ? " 
 
 ** Two hundred and fifty pounds a year." 
 
 ** Why you amaze me ! Jane Freeman ! Well, I don't know of 
 course I cannot pretend to know but are you sure, Mr. Lejeune 
 quite sure that that is the name r " 
 
 " Oh, I am perfectly certain of it." 
 
 " Well, I should have thought of a thousand things hefore I should 
 have thought of that ! " 
 
 Lejeune smiled. He saw at a glance what the Widow's conjectures 
 were, and he could have undeceived her, but the presence of Juliana 
 forbade all explanation. 
 
 " Is she pretty ? " enquired Juliana. 
 
 The Widow was indignant certainly ; but she managed to conceal 
 her indignation, and replied, " You have seen her, my love : you have 
 seen her at church." 
 
 "Where does she sit?" 
 
 " In the next pew to ours." 
 
 "What that singularly beautiful girl? Oh! she is a lovely crea- 
 ture indeed ! " 
 
 This was wormwood to the Widow. She knew that Jane was 
 beautiful ; but she had always thought that Sir John was immaculate. 
 Two hundred and fifty pounds a year ! She could have wept, but 
 would not. 
 
 " Did she visit you often ? " enquired Juliana, with the most pro- 
 voking simplicity. 
 
 " No, dear; no," replied the Widow somewhat sharply. "Most 
 certainly not: I never saw the girl here in my life." 
 
 " I thought that as Sir John had left her this annuity, she might 
 have been a favourite of yours." 
 
 " Not at all, my love. Oh dear me no not at all ! " 
 
 It was .perfectly clear to Lejeune that whatever she might have been 
 formerly, Jane was no special favourite of the Widow then. 
 
 " Of course, dear," pursued Juliana, " Sir John must have held her 
 in high esteem ! " 
 
 " Indeed, my love," replied the Widow, " I know nothing whatever 
 about it." 
 
 Whereupon Lejeune took the Widow's hand, and said, "We'll not 
 pursue .this subject. In the morning, my dear madam, all will be 
 explained." 
 
 But this caused the Widow to feel ten times worse. She felt con- 
 vinced then that Sir John had been enamoured of Jane, and had 
 therefore made this provision for her : and yet she had always 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 245 
 
 thought that he and Mr. Wardle were the purest men that ever 
 breathed. 
 
 She left the room and wept she could not help weeping although 
 she felt indignant with Jane. *' The sly thing ! " she exclaimed. 
 " Why I couldn't have believed it ! Two hundred and fifty pounds a 
 year ! Well ! I hope she'll be happy : I hope she will. No one 
 would ever have thought of this who had been in the habit of seeing 
 her at church. She always appeared to be so calm, so gentle, so pas- 
 sionless. WTio could have supposed it.? She is beautiful certainly 
 it cannot be denied that she is beautiful; but then I had always 
 imagined her to be pure. I'll see into this : I will see into it ! I'll 
 know why he left her this annuity ! Two hundred and fifty pounds a 
 year! Suppose that we* had been married! Why this would have 
 rendered me wretched for life. Two hundred and fifty pounds a year ! 
 Man ! Man ! you are an anomaly indeed !" 
 
 On hearing the gentlemen come up to the drawing-room, the Widow- 
 descended and ordered coffee, and endeavoured to be as agreeable as 
 possible ; but that which occupied her most profound thoughts was 
 the fact of two hundred and fifty pounds a year having been left to 
 Jane Freeman. 
 
 The guests, soon after they had had coffee, left, and George almost 
 immediately retired. 
 
 ** I shall sleep well to-night," he murmured bitterly " yes, I shall 
 sleep well to-night. If not, I shall have a contempt for myself. I'll 
 be tortured no more by these phantoms ! phantoms of him who has 
 injured me so deeply blasted my hopes and plunged me into the 
 abyss of degradation ! I'll be tortured no more by them ! if they 
 should come I'll spit at them, and thus show how utterly I contemn 
 them. But they'll come no more now : no ! they'll come no more. I 
 began to feel sorry for what I had done ; but now I glory in it ! and 
 would do it again and again ! He who robs a man of his birthright is a 
 wretch, and as a wretch I must henceforth reg : ard him/ His affection- 
 ate solicitude ! Yes, look at that ! No matter. The estate'shall yet 
 be mine ! By nature I'm entitled to it, and I will have it ! This 
 division of the five hundred a year, I suppose, was made to induce me 
 to marry that girl. Well, I'll marry her yes, if possible, I'll marry 
 her ! but if I do, she'll not have long to live ! I've set my soul upon 
 this estate, and I'll have it ! What right has he to it? what natural 
 right ? He is master of it now ; yes, 'he is the master ! Why, if I can- 
 not work it in any other way, I'll be his Steward ; yes, I'll be his 
 STEWARD, and work it then ! I must have it-, and will ! I'll not be 
 thus robbed without having my revenge. Did you see to-night hon- 
 the gold. worshipping wretches fawned upon the master of the Hall ? 
 Did you see how earnestly they endeavoured to propitiate him ? how 
 they smiled when he smiled how attentively they listened to every 
 word that he uttered, and bowed to every opinion he expressed': 
 What was I? An outcast! What was my opinion compared with 
 iiis ? Opinions weigh in proportion to the weight of the purse of those 
 who deliver them ! the wealthy have golden opinions indeed ! Here 
 
246 TILE bTEWAttI) : 
 
 am I. humiliated, degraded Two hundred and fifty pounds a year ! 
 Five pounds a week for the elder brother of a wealthy man ! And 
 this must be known to the world ! Can I avoid being despised ? Why, 
 I shall be marked as the pious fi ve-pounds-a-week man pointed at as 
 the ci-devant heir degraded to five pounds a week! All this will be 
 pleasant, of course, very pleasant ; but it must and shall be altered ! 
 By some means I'll have the estate ! nothing but that shall satisfy 
 me now." 
 
 Having, with an expression of intense ferocity, dwelt for some time 
 on the means to be employed, he went to bed, and for the first time 
 since Sir John fell slept soundly. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 THE WILL. 
 
 IN the morning, at the hour appointed by Dr. Farquar, Mr. Cameron 
 went to the Hall with the will, which, when all immediately concerned 
 had assembled in the library, he produced, and emphatically read. 
 
 George, during the time which this occupied, was apparently un- 
 moved, and when Mr. Cameron had concluded, said calmly, ** Yes, it is 
 precisely as I understood it would be." 
 
 " I wish that / had understood it," said Charles. " I should at 
 least have endeavoured to prevail upon him to make it a little more 
 equitable -if, in a case of this kind, I may use the expression I mean, 
 of course, a little more impartial ! " 
 
 " I'll explain all that, my dear Charles, by and by." 
 
 '* But really it will appear to be so invidious ! " 
 
 " It will not so appear to you when I have explained. I do not be- 
 lieve that our dear father loved me less than he loved you. You 
 perceive that there is not a single word in the will which can be 
 construed into anything indicative of partiality as far as regards affec- 
 tion. The only thing which can be held to be invidious is the fact of 
 his having left you the younger son the bulk of his estate ; but, as I 
 said before, when I have explained to you why I desired it to be so, it 
 will appear to be invidious no longer. With regard to the codicil, 
 which relates to Miss Freeman, Dr. Farquar knows all about that ; but 
 although it will give me pain to explain it to you, I will do so, and you 
 will find that that also was done at my suggestion." 
 
 " Well," said Charles, " then nothing more need at present be said 
 on the subject. I must, however, tell you, Master George, that you 
 appear to me to be a very singular fellow ! But never mind ! we 
 shall manage to make it right in some way." 
 
 " / am quite content," said George. 
 
 " But I am not" returned Charles. " However, we'll talk the matter 
 over by and by." 
 
 Having conversed for^ some time with tho Doctor and Lejeune. 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 247 
 
 Mr. Cameron left the Hall ; and shortly afterwards Charles drew George 
 into the garden with the view of having this apparent disinterestedness 
 explained. 
 
 4i Now, old fellow," said he, "how do you account for the fact of 
 my having been left in this position ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you," replied George, with an expression of solemnity. 
 " Our father was a just man, Charles he was indeed a just man ; and 
 did I not feel that it behoves me to vindicate his character, I should 
 not be so anxious to explain. He and I have had frequently long 
 conversations on this subject, and I assure you that it required all the 
 eloquence at my command to convince him that he ought to do that 
 which he has done. I impressed upon him the fact that my habits 
 were not expensive : I told him that you might marry, and that I never 
 should and I am sure that at that time I had no idea of entering into 
 the marriage state. I pointed out to him the apparent injustice of his 
 leaving to me, which he did in his former will, nearly the whole of his 
 estate, because I happened to be the elder son : I explained to him 
 earnestly again and again that you might want it, and that I never 
 should ; and at length I succeeded in prevailing upon him to make the 
 will which we heard read this morning. He did it reluctantly I 
 admit that it was done with great reluctance but as it was eventually 
 done, I was content." 
 
 " Well," said Charles, " this is a species of disinterestedness which 
 we very seldom hear of ! " 
 
 " I am aware of it, Charles ; but if I have any pride at all, it is that 
 of displaying my contempt for wealth, before which fools bow down 
 and worship." 
 
 " I know that your opinions on this subject are of the most ultra 
 character," said Charles. " I remember that when I told you that the 
 insanity of Richard Lejeune had been induced by heavy pecuniary 
 losses, you exclaimed ' Behold the power of Mammon! The lust of 
 wealth corrodes men's hearts : the loss of it drives them mad.' I cer- 
 tainly thought this strange at the time, but I had no conception that 
 your contempt for wealth was in reality so profound." 
 
 "Why what is the use of wealth to me ? My habits are simple, 
 my wants are but few. I am as it were alone in the world. Why 
 should I wish to be wealthy?" 
 
 " Why, were wealth regarded merely as the power of doing good, 
 old fellow, I should wish to possess it ! " 
 
 " I am aware of it, Charles 1 am quite aware of that ; and as T know 
 that you will do all the good you can, I am glad that that power is 
 now in your possession." 
 
 " Well," said Charles, ** I certainly never imagined that a man like 
 you would, in reality, be found upon earth ! I thought that this 
 romantic contempt for wealth existed in the imagination only ! but I 
 have lived to learn that philosophy is not yet extinct, and that the 
 greatest philosopher to be found in the world is my own peculiar 
 brother ! Now look here, old fellow. How are we to manage this ? 
 What do you think of doing ? " 
 
248 .THE STEWARD : 
 
 " I have not yet explained/ said George, " why that codicil relating 
 to Miss Freeman " 
 
 " I'll not hear a word on that subject," said Charles. "Farquar 
 told me all about it last night. You have offered to marry her, and 
 thus to make all the reparation in your power, and she refuses to con- 
 sent. Very well ! She is amply provided for, and of course there's 
 an end of the matter. All I want to know is, how you and I are to 
 manage/' 
 
 " How you and I are to manage? " echoed George. 
 
 " Yes ; do you think of remaining down here?" 
 
 " I do; and all that I wish for, Charles, is the privilege of being still 
 the Steward/' 
 
 " Well," said Charles, '* you puzzle me. I never was so much 
 puzzled in my life. Continue, then, to be the Steward, and I'll make 
 it up a thousand a year." 
 
 " I do not wish for that," said George, 
 
 " Nonsense, man ! Why, that is not one quarter of the produce of 
 the estate!" 
 
 "I am aware of it, Charles." 
 
 " Very well ! then be the Steward still ; and your income I care 
 not what you do with it give it all away to the poor if you like! 
 shall not be less than a thousand a year." 
 
 George took his hand and pressed it warmly, and wept ; when 
 Charles, unable to stand this, led him back to the library. 
 
 Dr. Farquar, while they were in the garden, took leave of Lejeune, 
 and proc_ Jed to Freeman's, with the view of communicating to Jane 
 the fact of Sir John having left her this annuity. He met Freeman 
 at the gale, and told him at once; and while they were conversing, 
 Jane, who was at the window, naturally imagined that the Doctor had 
 come again for the purpose of inducing her to consent to the marriage 
 proposed. She was, however, soon undeceived ; for the Doctor, having 
 entered the room in which she received him, pressed her hand, and 
 said, without the slightest preface, " I have the pleasure to inform you 
 that Sir John, in a codicil to his will of which I am one of the ex- 
 ecutors has left you two hundred and fifty pounds a year." 
 
 " Two hundred and fifty pounds a year ! " cried Jane with an expres- 
 sion of incredulity, mingled with amazement. " Two hundred and 
 fifty pounds a year ! " 
 
 "Yes," replied the Doctor; "precisely -the same annuity as that 
 which he has left to his son George." 
 
 . " Pardon me," said Jane, " but let me understand you. You say 
 that he has bequeathed to me two hundred and fifty pounds a year, 
 and then you say that it is precisely the same annuity as that which he 
 has left to his son George! What am I to understand by this? I 
 thought that George was the heir ! " 
 
 *' No," said the Doctor. " Charles is the man to whom the estate 
 has been left." 
 
 " Why, you amaze me ! " 
 
 " You cannot be more amazed than 'I was when J heard of it. Five 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 249 
 
 hundred a year only was bequeathed to George, and the day on which 
 Sir John fell on that very day the half of it was secured to you." 
 
 44 Do you mean the half of George? s five hundred a year ? " 
 
 " Yes ! He has the same income as you have no more." 
 
 ** Dear me ! " cried Jane ; " how very extraordinary ! " 
 
 " It is," replied the Doctor. " It certainly is ; but .as he suggested 
 that one half of his annuity should be secured to you, I hope to see 
 you reconciled yet." 
 
 "Did he suggest this? " enquired Jane earnestly. 
 
 " There can be no doubt about that," replied the Doctor. " He 
 knew what the will was before it was read. He knew all about it; 
 and this very codicil, which secures your annuity, was at his suggestion 
 signed but a very few hours before Sir John fell." 
 
 Jane felt bewildered ; and the Doctor, who saw that she was embar- 
 rassed, conceived that she would no longer withhold her consent. But 
 that which induced this embarrassment had no reference whatever to 
 her marriage with George. She was thinking of George's last conver- 
 sation with her father, and endeavouring to reconcile what he said then 
 with the assumed fact of his having known the contents of the will. 
 She, however, said nothing on that subject to the Doctor, who, after a 
 pause, resumed the conversation by delicately alluding to the etlect of 
 the scream which she involuntarily gave in the church. 
 
 " I am very, very sorry that it occurred," said Jane. " I am sorry 
 that the effect which the service had upon me .should have caused me 
 to render myself so conspicuous." 
 
 " We all felt, of course," returned the Doctor, " that you could not 
 avoid it. Still, it startled us all ; and as for poor George, he fell, and 
 was for some time insensible." 
 
 " So I understand," said Jane calmly. " He knew that the scream 
 proceeded from me. I am very sorry for it ; but, as you are aware, I 
 have been subject to these hysterical fits from infancy." 
 
 " I am of course, aware of that," returned the Doctor. " I mention 
 the incident merely because it is manifest that the influence you have 
 acquired over the feelings of George is powerful in the extreme. It 
 gives us pain to see tears in the eyes of those whom we love : their 
 violent expressions of agony shock us ; for love, as you know, i a 
 species of electricity which communicates from heart to heart." 
 
 Jane was silent at least, she violated silence only with a sigh. 
 
 " Now," resumed the Doctor, " as it appears to be abundantly clear 
 to me that whether you consent to marry him or not, he is determined 
 that you shall at least share his fortunes, I must say that I think it, 
 under the circumstances, lamentable that you cannot be reconciled to 
 him. He appears to have acted as far as the estate is concerned in 
 the most disinterested manner, urging Sir John to make Charles his 
 heir, requesting only five hundred a year for himself, and causing 
 even that to be divided with you. Now my mission is at an end, of 
 course ! I am not authorised by him to renew the subject ; but, as I 
 feel sure that he is still devoted to you,*I think that you would do well 
 o reverse your decision." 
 
 
2oO THK STEWARD : 
 
 " Dr. Farquar." said Jane, "I am aware well aware that kind- 
 ness alone prompts you to renew this subject. I know that you have 
 a kind feeling towards me, and that you urge me thus, solely because 
 you sympathise with me ; but, sir, the decision of which you speak 
 can never be reversed." 
 
 " I have done with it ! I have nothing more to say on the subject ! " 
 
 4; Believe me, notwithstanding," added Jane with deep earnestness, 
 *' that I feel grateful to you for the interest you have taken, and thank 
 you most sincerely." 
 
 The Doctor, who still held this decision to be marvellous, pressed 
 her hand, and took his leave ; when Freeman entered the room, and, 
 having kissed her, said, "Dr. Farquar has, of course, told you what 
 Sir John has done." 
 
 "' He has," replied Jane; " but he has also told me that it was done 
 at the suggestion of George." 
 
 " And do you believe it ? " 
 
 " No, father: no, I do not; nor do I believe that he induced Sir 
 John to leave the estate to Mr. Charles." 
 
 " And yet, my dear," said Freeman thoughtfully, " I agree with Dr. 
 Farquar that it looks something like it ! " 
 
 " Father," said Jane, " do you remember that when he was here 
 I mean the last time he spoke of making me the mistress of the 
 Hall?" 
 
 44 Yes, my dear, certainly ; I well remember that." 
 
 " Could he think, then, of making me the mistress of the Hall unless 
 he imagined that he should be the master of the Hall ? " 
 
 "No," replied Freeman thoughtfully " no: you are quite right."'J 
 
 " This, recollect, father, was since Sir John's death ! " 
 
 " Of course it was of course it was. But," he added, striking his 
 forehead sharply, " he's a puzzle to me altogether ! Now, my dear, let 
 us look at this calmly. He either did know that the estate had been left 
 to Charles, or did not. Very well. If he did not know that the estate 
 would be left to Charles, he clearly imagined that he should have it, 
 and that therefore he could make you the mistress of the Hall ; but if 
 he did know that Charles was to have it, he spoke about making you 
 the mistress of the Hall solely in order to deceive you, and wished for 
 this marriage to take place immediately, knowing that you would soon 
 be undeceived ! Now, my dear, I still think that he did know all 
 about it ! although I can't believe I must say I can't believe that 
 he urged Sir John to leave the estate to Gharles. That appears to me 
 to be entirely out of the question. He is an extraordinary fellow, 1 
 know; but an act of that kind would beat nature. With regard to 
 your annuity, I cion't know what to think. He might have caused that 
 to be done. And yet, what were Sir John's words to me when I told 
 him that, instead of referring the matter to Dr. Farquar, I would leave 
 it entirely to him, in the full conviction that he would, under the cir- 
 cumstances, do that which was just? 'Tuis confidence, Freeman," 
 said he, * shall have its effect. It is not misplaced, nor shall it be be- 
 trayed. I will do that which I conceive to be just, and may do more 
 
 
A HOXANCE OF REAL LIFE. 251 
 
 than strict justice demands.' Now, my dear, I don't know I won't 
 pretend to know the more I think of it, the more I feel puzzled. He 
 may have urged Sir John to do this, or he may not. He appears to 
 be playing the game of see-saw with me : sometimes he's up, and 
 sometimes he's down. I don't know what to make of him at all ! 
 But that's of no consequence. Whether he induced Sir John to do it 
 or not, the thing has been done, and there's an end of it so far, although 
 I must say that the amount is more much more than I could have 
 expected. Two hundred and fifty pounds a year, my girl is a highly 
 respectable income ! " 
 
 "Yes, dear father," said Jane with strong emotion, "it is a re- 
 spectable income when it has been in a respectable manner acquired; 
 but, father, it can give me no pleasure no comfort. I shall always 
 regard it I cannot but regard it as the wages of my wickedness." 
 
 "Nonsense!'" cried Freeman. "No, my girl wo ! no such 
 thing ! I'll not believe now that he induced Sir John to leave it ! 
 Certainly not ! Sir John, doubtless, said to him, * Now, look you 
 here ! you ought to marry this girl you certainly ought : but as I 
 find that you will not, she shall have a clear half of that which I hav 
 willed to you. That's the way to look at it, my dear ! What nonsense 
 to talk about the wages of wickedness! If I thought that, you 
 shouldn't have it at all ! Sir John, of course, felt that you were en- 
 titled to half, because and solely because you had been led to believe 
 that your fortunes, whatever they might be, would be shared, and there- 
 fore he left you the half. The wages of wickedness ! Let me hear 
 another word about that, and if I can clutch this codicil, I'll burn it ! " 
 
 " My dear father," said Jane, " do not be angry with me ! " 
 
 " Angry ! I'm not angry ! " cried Freeman in a rage. "You know 
 that I can't be angry with you ! but this ' wages of wickedness ? makes 
 my blood boil ! " 
 
 "Then I'll say no more about it," said Jane, "indeed I will not. 
 Come, dear father, come," she added as he paced the room in a state of 
 intense excitement, " come, come, be calm ! " 
 
 Freeman left the room at once and mounted his horse, and stuck his 
 spurs into the animal with vengeance. The horse evidently did not 
 understand this at all it was not the style of treatment to which he 
 had been accustomed ; he therefore snorted, reared, and plunged as if 
 he wished for an explanation ; but as the only explanation he got was 
 another dig, he wouldn't wait for any more of it ; but darting through 
 the gateway, he made up his mind to go anywhere. 
 
 A moment's reflection, however, was sufficient to induce Freeman 
 to pull him up, and when he had done so he patted him and returned 
 to the house, and kissed Jane affectionately, and said, " God bless 
 you ! " and having remounted, he and the horse went off on more 
 amicable terms. 
 
 Now as Lejeune had been deputed to communicate to the servants 
 the fact of Sir John having " thought of them " in his will, he, immedi- 
 ately after the Doctor had left the Hall, summoned them into his pre- 
 sence. 
 
252 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " I have," said he when all had assembled, " to inform you that Sir 
 John has bequeathed to each of you with the exception of Cornelius 
 Craske the sum of one hundred pounds." 
 
 "With the exception of Cornelius Craske ! Corney almost fainted, 
 while his fellow servants looked at him and wondered what on earth 
 he had been up to. 
 
 " Cornelius Craske," added Lejeune, " may remain ; I have some- 
 thing to say to him in private." 
 
 The servants looked at each other and looked again at Corney, and 
 absolutely pitied his case. As Lejeune, however, had intimated to 
 them that they might then retire, they proceeded to do so, delighted 
 of course with their legacies, but vexed that poor Corney had been 
 deemed the black sheep of the flock. 
 
 There was, however, one of them who lingered a little behind, and 
 that was Sarah, who with tears in her eyes said to Corney in a 
 whisper, " Never mind, Cornelius, don't fret about it now pray don't 
 take on : you shall have half mine." 
 
 Corney looked at her. Well ! he never felt so before ! but that's 
 of no consequence now. 
 
 " Cornelius," said Lejeune, when all the rest had retired, " I feel 
 a peculiar pleasure in stating that Sir John, whose death we all la- 
 ment, was very much attached to you indeed." 
 
 Corney wept. Pie didn't care about the money then. He wept ; 
 and wept with joy, when he heard that Sir John, for whom he would 
 have laid down his life, didn't die with any ill feeling towards him. 
 
 "It appears," resumed Lejeune, "that he had a great respect for 
 your father: it also appears that he sent you to school, and that you 
 have lived with him ever since. He has, therefore, instead of classing 
 you with the other servants, bequeathed to you, Cornelius, the sum of 
 five hundred pounds." 
 
 Five hundred pounds ! Corney couldn't speak. " Five hundred 
 pounds ! " thought he. " Why it's the Mint and the Bank of England 
 put together ! " 
 
 " And now, Cornelius," added Lejeune, " as you have been so faith- 
 ful a servant to my friend, I hope that you will apply to me should 
 you ever require assistance or advice." 
 
 " I return you many thanks, Sir," said Corney. " My heart is too 
 full to say more. I feel obliged to you indeed, Sir, I feel much 
 obliged." 
 
 lie then bowed and withdrew, and as Sarah, who had been waiting 
 for him, saw him in tears, she said, "Cornelius, indeed, indeed, I 
 meant what I said : I did as true as I 'm alive I did ! Now don't 
 take on so pray don't ! You 're a good soul, and shall have half of 
 mine." 
 
 "Sarah,"' said Corney, as he looked at her with the most intense 
 earnestness, " Sarah ! you're a good sort what I call a good sort ! 
 and I always thought so. But look here, I don't want it ! and 
 what's somewhere about five and twenty times better, I never shall'. 
 Sir John has left me five hundred pounds." 
 
A ROMANCE OF HEAL LIFE. 
 
 Sarah relinquished her hold of his hand, and looked at him with art 
 expression of awe. 
 
 " Five hundred pounds ! " she exclaimed. 
 
 " Yes !" replied Corney. "Yes, my girl I say my girl; but I'll 
 only just merely simply kiss you now ; another time we '11 talk matters 
 over." 
 
 And Corney did kiss her ! aye, he absolutely kissed her ! and she 
 really didn't feel in the slightest degree annoyed 
 
 Whether this can be deemed at all extraordinary or not, is a point 
 which for the present may with safety remain. It is of course an open 
 question, but certainly she didnt feel annoyed, nor was she ashamed 
 to go into the kitchen with him. 
 
 "Now, come here, old fellow: now just you come here," said 
 Peter Borley, as Corney entered with Sarah. " We've just a been a 
 taking your case into warm consideration. It's clear to us all that Sir 
 John didn't think of you. His memory altogether forgot to remember 
 to bear you in mind. Very well. Now as you've been what I call a 
 trump of a fellow servant, and as we all like you and don't see why 
 you should be forgot any more than any of us, I'll tell you what 
 we've been a doing. There's twenty on us twenty altogether and 
 we've made up our minds unanimous and universal to do what's 
 nothing but real correctly right, and the name of that is, that we'll 
 make it up to you. Now look here. You're a capital sort if you 
 wasn't we shouldn't care nothing about you; biityotidrrff, and as such 
 five pounds a-piece we consider won't hurt us. Now that'll cook the lot : 
 and so as you've been allus universally respected, and as it's as clear to 
 us all as the sun at twelve o'clock that Sir John bless his memory ! 
 forgot to think of you in his will, and as we all feel that we never shall 
 miss such a thing as a five pound note out of a hundred, we have come 
 to the just and universal conclusion to stand a five pound note a-piece, 
 which'll make up your share and five pound more, which five pound 
 more you can spend, if you like, in a jovial manner among us." 
 
 " Now look here," said Corney, who highly appreciated this. 
 " Now look here : my feelings have, within the last five minutes, been 
 universally harassed " 
 
 " Never mind ! " cried Peter Borley ; " this'll make it all right I 
 Don't you see how you're respected by the whole biling of us ? " 
 
 " I say," resumed Corney, "and I hope you'll hear me speak that 
 within the last five minutes my feelings have been universally harassed, 
 and if anything in this world could harass them more, it's the kind 
 and true-hearted and stunning good will of my respected 'fellow 
 servants, which has altogether expostriculated me. Why I feel like a 
 king ! like an out-and-out king ! for send I may live if I don't like 
 you all. And why '? why do I like you ? Why, because you like me 
 because I know that you like me, and this out-and-out offer proves 
 it." 
 
 " If we didn't," said Borley, " it's peculiar clear we shouldn't have 
 done what we have." 
 
 " That's it!" cried Corney "that's the very thing! Now just 
 
'2-54 THE STEWARD : 
 
 you look here. There's nothing gets over a man more than kindness. 
 Kindness blunts the stings of lite. It's nature, kindness is ! what / 
 call universal nature ! and if a man's ever so angry, or so hurt in his 
 private individual feelings, kindness soothes him quietly down to the 
 happy level of an innocent child. It's Mother Nature's milk, is 
 kindness ! It gets completely over a man, and makes him feel he's 
 flesh and blood, and not a mere machine. I can stand unkindness, 1 
 think, as well as a man here and there ; I can stand being looked black 
 at stand being robbed stand being sent through a window clean, 
 which you know, Borley, that you, know; but 1 can't stand kindness; 
 if I can, then send I may live to stand it! Now just look here: 
 you propose to be kind to me, and if I don't love you the whole lot 
 of you all I can say is, I ought. You propose to make up to me this 
 hundred pound, which you say you feel sure Sir John wholly forgot to 
 remember to leave me. Now this, you know, is what I call stunning 
 stunning / call it! and so it is : it's worth about five-and-twenty times 
 more than a hundred pound to my feelings, seeing that those feelings 
 are so expostriculatedly touched that 1 really hardly know what to 
 do with myself. But look here ! I don't want the money ! Now 
 mind ! I don't say this in any spirit of pride, or expostriculation, or 
 anything of that. I don't say it because I don't think it worth having, 
 or because I |have that which they call a contempt for it, or because 
 I won't have it because it's proposed to be given by you. Not a bit 
 of it ! I love you all for it, and allus shall ; but I don't want the 
 money ! " 
 
 " Have it, and say no more about it ! " cried Borley. " TVe shall 
 never miss it! '' 
 
 " Peter," resumed Corney, " you're a good friend to me. You are 
 all good friends, and I know it, and I now know how to respect you 
 all; but allow me to speak, and then you'll see that I really don't want 
 this hundred pound. Now look here: you know my old father? 
 Very well. He's a droll un, but a good un ; there ain't two opinions 
 about that. He's allus had the name of being a good un ; and he de- 
 serves it 1 He's got a heart, he has a universal heart ! But that's 
 neither here nor there, you'll say ; but what's both here and there is 
 the fact of Sir John having liked my old father. He respected him, as 
 Mr. Lejeune said just now he respected him highly. Very good. 
 Now you know that when I was a mite of a kid scarcely more than 
 sixpenn'orth o' ha'pence high, and my father didn't know where to go 
 for a pound as he had all his money locked up in his land, Sir John 
 took a sort of a fancy to me and sent me to school, and had me edu- 
 cated regular. Very well. When I'd been completed at school, I 
 came here which you know, and more especially my friend Peter 
 Borley I came here, and here I have been ever since." 
 
 " We know it we all know it," interrupted Peter Borley ; " we 
 know it's a had case ; we know that, and therefore you shall have 
 what we have subscribed." 
 
 " Well, you won't hear me out," continued^ Corney ; " but no 
 matter." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 255 
 
 " Yes, we will! yes, we will hear you out ! " cried Borley. " We 
 only think it hurts your feelings to say so much about it ! Say you'll 
 take it at once. It's freely offered, and ought to be as freely received." 
 
 "I'll tell you what I'll do with you," said Corney "I'll tell you 
 what I'll do with you. I'll take it, if you like, and I'll put five-and- 
 twenty pounds to it, and place it in the hands of Mr. Lejeune for the 
 purpose of erecting a monument to Sir John; and thus to show our 
 respect for him, and our gratitude to him. I'll do that, if you like." 
 
 " You put five and twenty pounds to it ! " cried Borley. 
 
 "Yes! and that with an enormous amount of pleasure. I'll not 
 have the money myself, I don't want it, and if you'll just listen to me, 
 I'll tell you why." 
 
 " Well, but this you know gets over me altogether! give away five 
 and twenty pound rather than have a hundred ! " 
 
 " Now look here," said Corney ; " now just you look here. I told 
 you that Sir John respected my father, and that when I was a boy he 
 took a fancy to me. Very well. Now in consequence of these two 
 things put together what with the respect he had for him, and what 
 with the fancy he had for me Sir John has left me five hundred 
 pounds ! " 
 
 "Five hundred ! Jive! five hundred pound ! " cried his friend, Peter 
 Borley, with an expression which denoted the existence of a feeling 
 of the mose intense amazement. " Five hundred pound ! " 
 
 "Five hundred pounds," replied Corney, with peculiar calmness; 
 " I say five hundred pounds. Now look here," he added, as he per- 
 ceived that almost all his friends received the announcement with strong 
 expressions of dissatisfaction. " Look here ! You mustn't be jealous 
 because you've only one while I've five hundred left me ! You must 
 look at the natural expostriculatedness of my peculiarity as far as 
 regards my father and myself. You must remember that he's the 
 oldest tenant on the estate, and that I am the oldest servant in the 
 house, although not the oldest man. Now just look at that 4 These 
 are two facts, you know, which can't be denied ; and if you reckon these 
 facts at two hundred and fifty pound a-piece, there you have at once 
 the five hundred pounds ! " 
 
 " Well, I know ! " returned Borley. " But five hundred pounds ! 
 why that's an enormity of money ! " 
 
 " It is : it is ! It is an enormity. It certainly is, as you say, an 
 enormity ! But I think that at least I have proved to you all, not only 
 that I don't want this hundred pounds from you, but also that, feeling 
 sincerely and universally proud of the good will displayed by you, who 
 shall always be regarded, in consequence, by me, with the most tender 
 feelings of stunning admiration, I feel the kindness you intended to- 
 wards me so deep that I can't expostriculate myself as I ought ; but 
 believe me, I have got an out-and-out recollection, and also a heart 
 which feels as it ought." 
 
 " Well," said Borley, " if you've been left this, why of course you 
 don't want our assistance." 
 
256 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " I don't," replied Corney; "but if you. should ever want mine, old 
 boy or any one of yon you shall have it. There's no mistake at 
 all about me, and I hope there never will be. Whether I'm here or 
 anywhere else, you'll allus know where to find me, and you'll allus 
 find me ready to do a good turn. And nolfe what do you say to this 
 monument ? You know it'll be such a mark of respect ! " 
 
 " Oh ! I'M ready to subscribe," returned Borley. " I'm quite ready 
 to subscribe; but what '11 be about the expense? " 
 
 " Weil, that I don't know. But I'll tell you what I'll do- I'll speak 
 to Mr. Lejeune about it; and as I've been lefc five times as much as 
 you, I'll stand five times as much towards it." 
 
 " Well," said Borley, " that's fair very fair. Then do you get a 
 notion of what it '11 cost, and I'll warrant the sum '11 be "made up 
 amongst us." 
 
 " Very good," returned Corney ; " then it shall be done. I'm going 
 to ask leave to go home for half an hour, and when I come back, I'll 
 expostriculate all. Sarah," he added, in a whisper, " I want to speak 
 to you." And Sarah followed him into the hall, and felt delighted 
 arid happy ; but her complexion, notwithstanding, was particularly 
 red. 
 
 "Sarah," said he when no one else was near; and as he said 
 " Sarah " he patted her cheeks, and actually kissed her again ! "will 
 you go along with me and see my old father ? " 
 
 '* Lor', Cornelius !" replied Sarah ; " what'll the world say ? " 
 
 " Let the world say what ic likes : what's the world got to do along 
 of us? We don't want to care much about the world now. Let it 
 say just what it thinks proper to say : what need we care about the 
 world? The world's nobody not a ha'p'orth of it! We're inde- 
 pendent of the world ! Will you go r " 
 
 " I'll go anywhere with you ! " replied Sarah. 
 
 " That's good ! Then we've got about half way already. I thought 
 I wasn't very far out ! I thought not ! and this makes me feel that 
 it's proved. Then rim away and put on your things. I'll go and ask 
 leave to go ; and we'll go, and let the world say what it likes ! " 
 
 Certainly Sarah didn't care much about what the world might say 
 then : she therefore did rnn away, and did put on her things, and 
 when Corney had obtained leave of absence, she took his arm with 
 feeling? of pride, and they left the Hall together. 
 
 " Sarah," said he when they had passed the plantation, " were you 
 ever in love? " 
 
 " In love ! " exclaimed Sarah. " Dear me, what a singular question! 
 In love?" she added, feeling, as she subsequently explained, "fit to 
 drop." " In love r Cornelius ? Well, as true as I'm alive I don't know, 
 and that's the fact ; but I think I don't know but I think that I 
 have been." 
 
 " What ! " cried Corney. " Why you don't mean that ? " 
 
 "I do," replied Sarah. " I do^mean to say that I think so, and 
 moreover than that, I mean to say that if I know what love is, I 
 
TO BE COMPLETED 
 
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 A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE, 
 
 BY HENEY COCKTON, 
 
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objects to COTTIER going to Foteigri Torts 
 
strusk vntH admitation 
 

A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE.. 257 
 
 so ! In fact, " she added archly, " I feel quite convinced that if I dont 
 love, there is no such thing as love at all." 
 
 " Oh, that alters the case ! " said Corney. " The thing's at an end I 
 It's of no use saying another word about it ! " 
 
 " Why, Cornelius ? why ? " enquired Sarah. 
 
 " Why, if you're in love already, that's enough. You can't love 
 two at a time, can you ? " 
 
 "No, Cornelius, certainly not! " 
 
 " So I should say. But who is this animal ? " 
 
 " Animal, Cornelius ! " 
 
 " Aye ; I mean the one you love." 
 
 " Dear rne, Cornelius, he's no animal ! " 
 
 " Well, then, he's a vegetable, perhaps. But do I know him ? " 
 
 " Well, you have known him from a child. You've known him 
 as long as you've known yourself." 
 
 " What ! do you mean Peter Borley ? " 
 
 " Peter Borley, Cornelius ! Dear me, you can't think that I could 
 ever love such a man as Peter Borley ? " 
 
 " Well, I don't know he's not half a bad sort." 
 
 " No, but look at his age ! " 
 
 "Well, that's stiffen, certainly. But if it's not him, who is it? 
 "What's he like ? You say that I know him. Tell me what sort of a 
 man he is, and then you know I may perhaps probably guess." 
 
 "Well," returned Sarah with glowing cheeks, which the necessity 
 for answering this question in some way had raised to a burning heat, 
 "in the first place, in my eye, he's very good looking: in the next 
 place he's wonderful clever: in the next after that he's got a good 
 heart ; and in the next he has allus been so kind to me that if I didn't 
 like him I should be ungrateful." 
 
 " That's quite right," said Corney. " I like you for that ; what- 
 ever you do, never be ungrateful. A man once behaved ungrateful 
 to me in London, and I shall never forget it, if I ever forgive him. I 
 treated him to all he liked to take, and paid freely for all he had; and 
 what did he do? Why he robbed me! he robbed me of my watch 
 and a capital silk handkerchief, and seven-arid-sixpence in silver, 
 besides a mob of coppers ! " 
 
 " I wish I'd been there ! " cried Sarah indignantly : " I only just 
 wish I'd been there : that's all ! " 
 
 " Now that's what I call ingratitude," continued Corney ; " there- 
 fore never be ungrateful. But who is this that's allus been so kind to 
 you? I never saw anything of the sort in any of 'em. I've known 
 'em to behave unkindly to you often, and to say things I didn't like to 
 hear, because I knew it wasn't right, and I've told 'em so. But 
 perhaps it isn't any one connected with the Hall." 
 
 "Yes, it is! oh, yes! " 
 
 "Then you puzzle me ; because I never did see any of 'em behave 
 
 what I call kindly to you, and I've allus seemed to like you all the 
 
 better because they didn't. But who is it? Come, now, let's know 
 
 who he is ? You don't mind telling me at least, you don't ought to 
 
 No. 17. 
 
258 THE STEWARD : 
 
 mind because you know, or at least you ought to know, that what- 
 ever you say to me goes no further." 
 
 "I do, Cornelius I do know it well." 
 
 " Well, then let's have his name : come, tell me at once." 
 
 " I dussent," said Sarah; " indeed indeed I dussent." 
 
 " You dussent ? Why why not ? " 
 
 " Because I dussent." 
 
 " Well, that's a good reason as far as it goes." 
 
 " I shouldn't mind," added Sarah timidly "I shouldn't mind much 
 telling anybody else; but I dussent tell you." 
 
 " Well, all I can say is it shouldn't go any further. I should like 
 to know which it is, I must say, because I never saw any particular 
 attention paid to you." 
 
 " And yet," returned Sarah with feelings of gratitude, " I have had 
 particular attention paid to me ! " 
 
 " Well, all I know is I never saw it. Is it one of the grooms?" 
 
 'No." 
 
 '" Is it one of the keepers ? " 
 
 ""No, ;> replied Sarah with a smile, "nor one of the keepers. But 
 why are you so anxious to know ?" 
 
 " Oh," said Corney, " I'm not particular anxious. You've only 
 raised my curiosity up, that's all." 
 
 " Will you tell me, Cornelius, why you mentioned the subject ? " 
 
 " Well, I mentioned it because I didn't think you were engaged." 
 
 " Nor am I, Cornelius not to say engaged. My affections are en- 
 gaged, it is true ; but that's not what I call an engagement." 
 
 " Well, it 'mounts pretty well to the same tiling : but whoever he is, 
 my girl, I hope that he'll make a good husband." 
 
 " I'm sure that he will ! oh, I'm quite sure of that that is to say, 
 if he ever should marry." 
 
 " What ! hasn't he made you an offer then '? " 
 
 11 No/' 
 
 "Well, but he knows that you are fond of him, of course ?" 
 
 ** Why," replied Sarah with a sigh, " it appears not." 
 
 "Is he fond si you?" enquired Corney. 
 
 " I have thought so," replied Sarah tremulously, " and I think so 
 still. He has frequently caused me to believe that he is." 
 
 " Then don't you think it strange he doesn't make you an 
 offer?" 
 
 " I now begin to think it rather strange," 
 
 " Why, of course! If I were fond of a girl and she was fond of 
 me and if she was fond of me I know shaM make me fond of her 
 I'd not go on dilly-dallying so : what's the good of it ? I'd say to her 
 regular, ' Now just you look here : wo are fond of each other. Very 
 well. Now it ain't perhaps convenient for us to marry just yet, but will 
 you consider yourself booked ?' That's what I should do: I should 
 come to the point at once." 
 
 " Then why don't you do so ? " said Sarah almost unconsciously, 
 and trembled for the consequence of what she had said. 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 
 
 " /"do so ! I was merely saying that if I liked a girl and she liked 
 me, I'd do it." 
 
 " And is it not so? " enquired Sarah earnestly. 
 
 " How can it be when all your affections are engaged? " 
 
 " Why what a bad opinion you must have of me, Cornelius ! " 
 
 " I ? a bad opinion of you ? " 
 
 "You must have ! " 
 
 " Not a bit of it ! " cried Corney. " No such thing. I allus thought 
 you an out-and-out sort ! " 
 
 " And yet you must suppose me to be a very wicked girl." 
 
 " There's a job ! Now only look at that ! I suppose you to be a 
 very wicked girl ? Why, what in the name of all that's afloat could 
 have knocked such a thing as that into your head ? " 
 
 "I'll tell you, Cornelius," replied Sarah timidly "I'll tell you. 
 When you asked me, Cornelius, if I was in love, I said that I thought 
 so I "thought so and that if I knew what love really was, I was 
 sure of it. I also said that the person I meant had allus been so kind 
 to me, that if I didn't like him I should be ungrateful." 
 
 " You did : yes, that's right : well, go on." 
 
 " Well, such being the case, don't you think me wicked for offering 
 you half Sir John had left me, when I thought that he had left 
 you nothing '? Don't you think me wicked for allowing you to kiss 
 me as you did when you left the room? and don't you think me 
 wicked for walking with you now, and talking as we have been talking 
 about love. If you think that I would do these things for any one 
 but him I mean, you must think me wicked indeed ! " 
 
 Corney stopped, and looked at her earnestly, and laughed, and threw 
 his arm round her neck passionately, and kissed her ; and then laughed 
 again, and patted her cheeks, and chucked her under the chin, and 
 absolutely took all sorts of liberties with her face, until it became as red 
 as fire, when he exclaimed, " There's a job ! Now look at that ! You 
 said he was clever wonderful clever ! Wonderful clever indeed 
 to be walking and talking here all this time without finding out who 
 you meant! I shall think myself clever after this very clever. But 
 send I may live!" he added passionately as he embraced her, and 
 kissed her again and again ; " I love you stunning ! I know you're 
 a good u n ! I allus thought so ; and whenever you've been sort o' 
 slighted I've allus stuck up for you, Sally, like a man ; for I allus felt 
 suffen inside me that told me I oughtn't to hear you run down. Now 
 look kere, we're booked : that's of course understood : we're booked 
 to travel together through life. And now give us a stunning kiss to 
 bind the bargain. Why," he continued with an expression of fervour 
 when they had embraced each other ardently, " I could eat you ! 
 only I want you to kiss me another time. Sha'n't we be happy '?" 
 
 " I hope so," replied Sarah, panting for breath ; for his kisses 
 although pleasing to her were really of so 'violent a character that 
 they caused her heart to beat at the rate of almndred and sixty. " I 
 hope so, Cornelius." 
 
 ' Safe, Sally ! safe, my girl ! There can't be anything like two 
 
260 THE STEWARD : 
 
 opinions about it. You'll make me a good wife I know you will ! 
 and I'll make you a good husband. What can we want more ? 
 We've got plenty of money loads of money. AVe can roll in it, and 
 will roll in it, if it's only for the sake of saying that we have done so. 
 Who's to, prevent us from being happy ? We will be happy ! eh ? 
 we will be happy ! Nobody's got anything to do with us now. We're 
 independent people regular independent ! We can either live right 
 up, or go into business : which we like." 
 
 "I think," observed Sarah," you know best but I think we'd 
 better go into some way of business." 
 
 " Oh, you're thinking about the children ! " 
 
 * 4 Cornelius, dear, I didn't say anything of that ! " 
 
 " No, I know ; but you meant it, and very proper too ! We shall 
 have, however, loads of time to think about these things, and heaps of 
 opportunities of talking them over. All we have to do at present is to 
 keep close. Never mind what the world thinks, or what it says. Inde- 
 pendent people don't care about the world. Don't let anybody know 
 what we know. Keep the thing a secret, and some fine morning we'll 
 go to church, like two of the nobility, and have a regular marriage in 
 high life stunning. I shall tell my father, and you can tell your 
 mother ; but besides them, at least for the present, let all flesh be kept 
 in the dark. And now look here," he added as they approached his 
 father's house, " we shall have to stop and take a bit of dinner, of 
 course ; and as I want, in a universal manner, to astonish the intellects 
 of my old dad, do you go and potter about with aunt Ann, and leave 
 me with him till dinner's ready : you understand? " 
 
 " I do, Cornelius yes, dear, I do," replied Sarah with a counte- 
 nance glowing with delight. " I feel so happy so very happy, dear;, 
 nothing can be like it." 
 
 '* Happy, my girl ! You're not half happy. You're nothing to 
 what you shall be ! This is nothing more than a smell of happiness ! "' 
 
 " It's very nice, dear! " 
 
 " I believe you, my beauty ! it just is nice ! But look here : I 
 like you to call me dear : it sort of 'chants my feelings ; but recollect, 
 if you come it in company, they'll smell a rat at once. When we're 
 together alone it's luscious it's one of the universal luxuries of life ; 
 but if you want it kept secret and if it be known, we shall only be 
 bothered drop dear in company ; cause if you don't you'll let the 
 cat out of the bag. Wait till we're married, my beautiful rogue for 
 you do look stunning beautiful now ; you allus was pretty particular 
 pretty but now you look prettier than ever to me. Wait till we're 
 married, I say, and then you'll see what we'll call each other, my 
 girl ! We shall have no fear then of coming it too strong : we can 
 then let loose dears, ducks, and darlings, like life; that'll be the time 
 to tell each other what's o'clock ! But here's father," he added as 
 Craske came from the stack-yard. " Just ask him how he is, and 
 then go in." 
 
 Sarah did so: she felt unusually pleased to see him, and- enquired 
 particularly after his health, and expressed her delight on being told 
 
A BOMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 261 
 
 that he was as well as could be expected ; but Craske looked at her 
 with an eye of suspicion : her anxiety inspired him with an idea ; 
 and when she had left to go into the house, he turned to Corney, and 
 leaning upon his stick, looked up at him searchingly, and said, " I 
 $ay, together are yow a courtin' o' that mprther ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Corney ; " I've been courting her for the last three 
 quarters of an hour." 
 
 " But I mean are yow right on a courtin 9 on her ? " 
 
 " Of course ! " 
 
 " But not serious ? " 
 
 *' Yes, and universal ; and what's more, we're going to be married." 
 
 ** There, bor, hold your rubbidge, do ! " 
 
 ' It's a fact ! " 
 
 " What, yow marry ! yow ? " 
 
 "Of course! Why shouldn't I as well as the nobbiest nobility hi 
 the land ? " 
 
 ' "Why shouldn't yow marry ! Go along wi* yar nonsense, bor 
 <3on't talk such muck. Yow marry ! " 
 
 "Why should I not?" 
 
 "Are yow in airnest?" 
 
 "lam," replied Corney. " The job's jobbed ! all's settled! Fve 
 booked her universal ! " 
 
 " Then yow've booked yarself, bor, to go into the workus with her." 
 
 "Not a bitofit !" 
 
 "What are yow to do? W 7 hat are yow fit for? What ha' yow 
 bin brought up to ? What do yow know ? Yow can wait at table, 
 and clane the plate, and ate and drink, and ride behind a carriage ; 
 but yow won't be no good in sarvice then : married men's no good in 
 sarvice; they won't ha' none o' yar 'cumbrances there: and then 
 what are yow to do ? It ain't in yow to work like a labourin' man ; 
 yow wouldn't be wuth yar salt on the land ! Yow might kape birds, 
 and yar wife might go stonin' and get about sixpence a day atwixt 
 yow ; but as for anything else yow could do, it's all a parcel o* 
 rubbidge ! " 
 
 " I might take a farm," said Corney; "mightn't I?" 
 
 " Yow take a farm ! There, don't run on such a pack o' muck, 
 pray dont." 
 
 " But why should I not take a farm? a farm of a hundred acres 
 or so ? " 
 
 " Are yow out o' var mind ? " cried Craske. 
 
 " Not a bit of it ! " 
 
 " Yow must be to run on so ! Come along in, bor, and have a 
 mug of ale : wives and farms, bor, ain't for such as yow." 
 
 " Well," said Corney, " I'll have a drop of ale, and then we can 
 talk the matter over again calm." 
 
 " Corney, bor, talk about anything sensible : don't talk to me about 
 morthers and farms." 
 
 *' Well," returned Corney, who enjoyed all this, " if even we don't 
 know much about farming, we can take a public-house, can't we ? " 
 
262 THE STEWARD : 
 
 " Yow're out o' yar senses I know yow are ! Yow must have a 
 strait jacket on to talk thusn ! " 
 
 Whereupon Corney laughed heartily, and followed him into the 
 house, and sat down with him, and had a mug of ale ; and when the 
 coast was clear again, the subject was resumed. 
 
 " That Sarah of mine," said he with a smile, " is a tidyish piece of 
 goods, ain't she ? " 
 
 " That Sarah of yowrn, indeed ! " returned Craske. " The morther 
 is tidy enow, and allus was ; but if yow was to marry her, nayther on 
 yow would be tidy long." 
 
 " But don't you think she'd look stunning now serving at the bar 
 o' a regular inn? " 
 
 " Now look you here. Do yow want to drive me out o' the house ? ' 
 cried Craske, who really began to feel angry. " Whenever yow come, 
 I'm allus glad to see yow, and allus shall, so long as yow talk a leetle 
 matters sensible ; but if yow're a goin' to run on such rubbidge as 
 that, I won't stop to hear it, nor any sich muck. Yow know I've got 
 no money to give yow to go into business, nor more ain't her mother 
 got none " 
 
 " No, but she has,"' said Corney. " She's got a hundred pounds ! 
 Sir John left her a hundred pounds, and left them all a hundred a- 
 piece but me ! " 
 
 "Left em all a hundred pound but yow!" cried Craske, with an 
 expression of mystery mingled with alarm ; "every one on 'em but yew?" 
 
 " He left every one of them a hundred pounds but me." 
 
 " I doubt, Corney, bor, yow've been up to suffen I doubt yow 
 have ! He's cotched yow at sufFen I'm sartin he has. 1 never did 
 like that listenin' consarn I never approved o' yowre key-hole work. 
 I allus said it 'ud come to no good. And here yow are. He's cotched 
 you at it, and punished yow thusn ! I'm sartin of it I know I'm 
 right ! I'll bet my life upon it ! " 
 
 " Yes, I know : you'll bet your life, or you'll bet a farden cake : its 
 allus a farden cake or your life: you never bet anything between. 
 You dussent bet me twenty pound of it ! " 
 
 " Twenty pound ! Where are yow to get twenty pound to pay, if 
 yow lose ? " 
 
 " Oh, I'd find the money ! " 
 
 " But where ? Yow wouldn't have the heart to borry it o' that poor 
 morther ? " 
 
 " I shouldn't want. I'm not without twenty pounds, nor twenty at 
 the end of that ! " 
 
 " Yow're not?" 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 " Why," said Craske, with a look of apprehension, "how come yow 
 by it? I hope," he added, " I hope ihat yow've allus been honest ! ;) 
 
 " I have," replied Corney. " Yes, yes, I allus have." 
 
 " I hope so," pursued the old man, with strong emotion. " Any- 
 thing but that, my boy anything but that. That blow would strike 
 me down into the grave ! " 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 263 
 
 " There, now, don't fret yourself about that," said Corney. " It's 
 nothing of the sort, and never was, and never will be ; but if you'll 
 just keep quiet for about half a second, I'll tell you all about it: I'll 
 tell you why Sir John made a difference between me and the others. 
 But first I'll tell you how I'm respected. Now look here. Mr. Le- 
 jeune, who is one of Sir John's executors, has us all up this morning, 
 and says, says he, 'I've the pleasure to inform you that Sir John has 
 left you all a hundred a-piece, with the exception of Cornelius Craske.' 
 Well, I looked at the rest, and the rest looked at me, and I dare say I 
 looked as if I didn't half like it no more I didn't ! " 
 
 "No, I should say not," said Craske. " I should say not." 
 
 " Well, ' Cornelius may remain,' says Mr. Lejeune. ' I've got 
 suffen to say to him in private;' when up comes Sarah to me and 
 whispers, ' Never mind, Cornelius, don't take on: you shall have half 
 of mine.' " 
 
 "She did?" cried Craske. 
 
 " She did. Well : down they go ; and while Mr. Lejeune was 
 telling me why Sir John had made a distinction between them and me, 
 what did they do but entered into a subscription of five pound a-piece 
 in order to make up that sum, which they all felt Sir John had 
 forgotten to leave me." 
 
 " Well, that was very handsome," said Craske ; " very handsome 
 indeed." 
 
 " It was very handsome. And when they told me of it, I was 
 almost fit to cry; but I wouldn't have the money, I told them I 
 wouldn't have it." 
 
 " Not have it ! Not have a hundred pound ! Why yow want a 
 strait jacket after all. Not have it ! Five pound out of a hundred 
 wouldn't ha' been much to them, but it would ha' been all to yow." 
 
 "Still I wouldn't have it ! and now I'll tell you why." 
 
 " Stop a bit ! let's go on regular. You say that they was a doin' o' 
 this while Mr. Lejeune was a tellin' o' yow why Sir John made a dif- 
 ference atwixt yow and them. Now then, let's have that fust. Now 
 what did he say ? that's the pint. Why was a difference made ? " 
 
 " Because Sir John respected both you and me, and respected us 
 more than the rest!" 
 
 "I can't have that," said Craske, "at all! He made a difference 
 because he respected us ! " 
 
 " Yes ! And what was the difference he made ? Why, instead of 
 leaving me one hundred pounds, he left me Jive! five hundred pounds I 
 Now then," he added, tapping his father on the shoulder, "Now 
 then ! what do you think of that ! " 
 
 " God's in Heaven ! " said Craske. " Is it true ? " 
 
 " True ! aye as true as that God's in Heaven ! " 
 
 " Soul and bones ! Five hundered pound ! Five huudered pound ! 
 Here fill that pipe," he added ; " I'm bewildered. Five hundered ! five ! " 
 
 " What do you think of a strait jacket now ! " cried Corney 
 triumphantly. " I can take an inn now or a hundred acre farm, instead 
 of keeping birds, can't I? " 
 
264 THE STEWARD ! 
 
 *' Stop, Corney, bor ; yow marn't be too fast. Five hnndered pound 
 is a great sum for yow, but vow can't do everything with five hundered 
 pound ! Five hundered pound is soon lost, Corney, bor ; but we'll talk 
 about this another time. Then Mr. Lejeune said that Sir John re- 
 spected me ? " 
 
 " Yes, he said he respected you highly." 
 
 " God bless him ! He was a good man. Corney, a good man, and 
 he's gone to Heaven." 
 
 "I r"pe so," said Corney, " I hope so. But don't let us dwell on 
 any sad subject now. "What do you think of my marriage with Sarah?" 
 
 " Corney, bor, do nothn' in haste. Wait and see how things turn 
 up, and then yow'll know how to act. The morther's a nice morther 
 sartney, but don't yow be in a hurry. I s'pose when she offered yow 
 half of hers she didn't know that yow'd had this money left yow? " 
 
 44 Not a bit of it ! She thought as they all thought, and as I thought 
 too, that Sir John had clean forgot me." 
 
 "And had yow been a courtn' on her then ?" 
 
 " No : until this blessed morning, I never said a syllable to her on 
 the subject." 
 
 " Well, it was very handsome of her: it sartney was very handsome 
 and very feelin', and I shall allus respect her for it ; but wait, Corney, 
 bor, and see how things go on. There's heaps o' time to marry." 
 
 " Oh, I shouldn't think of doing it in any particular haste. I want 
 to have a little regular courting first. It's one of the luxuries of life, 
 I find universal and stunning ! " 
 
 "Ah, bor ! when I was young, courtn' was a different thing to what it 
 is now. The morthers were so modest that yow could hardly get one 
 on 'em to look at yer ; and as for laughin' and chattin' and jokin', sich 
 things was never thowt on. They was a'most afeard to open their 
 mouths. I've sot wi' yowre poor mother 1'or hours, and naythcr o' 
 both has said a word. I walked by her side for over two year afore 
 she'd take hold o' my arm ; as for sich a thing as a kiss, yow couldn't 
 get em to let yer do it ! and if by chance yow happened to steal one, 
 soul and bones, what a row there was ! not a row wi' the tongue, but a 
 sulky row they'd be for ever afore they'd make it up. A morther's 
 cheek at that time o' day was like the forbidden fruit we read on in 
 Scriptur'. Besides, courtn' then was a work o' time rangin'f'rom ten 
 to thirty year; but now its all done in the twinkin' of an eyo ! Yow 
 see the morther, yow make up yer mind, yow give her a kiss, and 
 there yow are! " 
 
 " And a stunning plan too ! " said Corney : " and very pleasant 
 into the bargain. What's the good of going on and on for years and 
 years ? If you like a girl, and make up your mind to have her, have 
 her at once, and have done with it ! " 
 
 " Corney, bor, mark my words : there's a many as has married so 
 as wishes they could ha' done with it ! Yow don't gi' yerselves no 
 time at all now to find out what the morthers is ! " 
 
 " But how could you find out what they was by going on and on 
 mumchancing for years? How could you tell what they was made of 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 265 
 
 if you couldn't get 'em to speak"? That style of thing wouldn't suit 
 me at all ! It's a universal murdering of time ! " 
 
 " Ah, bor ! yoiv may talk together, but there's nothin' like the good 
 old fashion ways arter all. We shall never see them times agin! " 
 
 " I don't suppose we ever shall. But look here : how about din- 
 ner ? What have you got? " 
 
 " What ! What, can yow stop and take a bit with us?" 
 
 " Of course!" 
 
 " Why didn't yow say so before ? Why didn't yow say so when 
 yow fust come in ? Ann ! " he added, shouting to his sister, who acted 
 as housekeeper "Ann ! " 
 
 " Well, brother, well," said aunt Ann, coming forward. 
 
 " Here's a job! here's Corney and Sarah come to have a bit o' din- 
 ner with us : can't you let 'em have suffen nice ? " 
 
 " Do yow leave that to me," replied aunt Ann. " I know all about 
 it : don't yow interfere ; I'll make 'em both as comfortable as I can. 
 All yow have to do is to put that nasty pipe down, and then we sha'n't 
 be quackled o' smoke while at dinner." 
 
 Very well ! The mandate had gone forth, and down went the pipe; 
 And presently Sarah, who made herself useful, came into the room, 
 and laid the cloth. 
 
 '* I like that," said Craske as she left the room to render aunt Ann 
 some farther assistance. That looks well. She'll do. Can she 
 charn ? " 
 
 " She isn't the dairy-maid," replied Corney. 
 
 " That don't matter. No wife can be a wife which don't know how 
 to charn. She must be larnt She must come here a little and get 
 yar aunt to larn her." 
 
 Aunt Ann now entered with a dish of eggs and bacon, and Sarah 
 reappeared with the vegetables; and when Craske had said grace, they 
 went to work, and manifested general joy. - 
 
 " Have you got a drop of brandy in the house ? " enquired Corney. 
 
 "No, bor," "replied Craske, " we haven't ; but I'll tell yow what 
 we've got: we've got some elder wine which some brandy was put 
 in it!"' 
 
 " That'll do stunning ! " cried Cornev. 
 
 " Are yow fond of elder wine, dear? " enquired aunt Ann. 
 
 ' Oh, it's delicious ! " replied Sarah. *' I love it ! " 
 
 " Won't it be rayther too heavy for yow, dear, with eggs and 
 bacon? " 
 
 " Oh, dear me ! no, not at all ! " 
 
 " Of course not!" said Corney. " Then do you get the wine, 
 aunt, and I'll get the saucepan and mull it like life, and be jolly. 
 Now, then," he added when the wine had been produced, "where 
 are your spices ? Oh, here you are ! cloves, mace, cinnamon, nut- 
 megs, and ginger. I'll show you how to mull wine. Now the sugar." 
 
 " Yow'll find it just inside the closet," said his aunt. 
 
 " Here you are : haven't you got any lump? " 
 
 " Dear me ! not a mite in the house." 
 
266 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " This'll do. All right ! Do you go on eating. Never mind me. 
 I'll soon show you how to mull wine universal ! " 
 
 44 If we'd only a know'd you'd been a comin', dear," said aunt Ann 
 to Sarah, " we'd ha' had suffen nice." 
 
 " Nothing can be nicer than this," returned Sarah. " I love eggs 
 and bacon; they're my delight." 
 
 " We'd ha' had a jint of some sort," said Craske, "if we'd know'd 
 it: " a shoulder o' mutton, or suffen o' that." 
 
 " Or a nice duck," added aunt Ann ; " or a nice pair o' chickens ; 
 or suffen. But I know yow'll excuse it I know yow will; we only 
 live in a humble way." 
 
 " Now don't say anything about it," said Sarah. " There's nothing 
 I like more than this. I enjoy it much, and enjoy it the more because 
 we never get it up at the Hall." 
 
 " Well, I hope yow do, dear." 
 
 " I do, indeed. See what a dinner I've eaten ! " 
 - }" But yow ain't done yet! " said Craske, who would have said the 
 same thing had she eaten three times as much. " Yow've taken 
 nothn' ! " 
 
 " I have done very well ; I have, indeed," replied Sarah. 
 
 " Nonsense ! Have another bit ! " 
 
 " Not any more, I thank you. I've made a very hearty dinner indeed." 
 
 " But yow must have a leetle bit more ! there now, on'y jist this," 
 said he, and forced upon her plate about as much as she had eaten. 
 
 " Now then," cried Corney, bringing forward the wine, " it strikes 
 me you'll find this rayther universal ! Now, my girl," he added, as he 
 passed a glass to Sarah, "soopitup, and tell us what you think of it." 
 
 " Oh ! " cried Sarah, having tasted it, " how nice dear me, how 
 nice, to be sure ! " 
 
 ' Rayther universal! " said Corney. "Eh ! isn't it? " 
 Oh, it's delicious ! I never ! dear me ! " 
 
 ' Soop it up soop it up, my dear ! " cried Craske. 
 Oh, it's so strong ! it's so wonderful strong! " 
 Nice and hot, ain't it ? " said Corney ; "well spiced '? " 
 
 " I can feel that little drop a running all over me. Do take half of 
 it with me," she added, offering her glass to aunt Ann. 
 
 " Not a bit of it ! " cried Corney. "Aunt's going to have a full glass 
 to herself. Now then, governor, come ! " 
 
 " No, bor. I never take nothin' but beer. But 'won't I have a 
 glass ! " he added on the instant. " Soul and bones ! give us hold, 
 Corney, bor. I'll drink it, if even it gets in my head. Here's God 
 bless us all !" he continued, and drank; but he had no sooner taken 
 the first gulp than he began to cough with violence, for Corney in his 
 eagerness to have it " nice and hot," had made somewhat too free with 
 the spices. 
 
 " What's the matter ? " said Corney. " Did it walk the wrong way ? " 
 
 " Corney, bor," replied Craske, as soon as he recovered the power 
 to speak, *' Corney, bor, yow've peppered it too much." 
 
 " Do you think so ? " 
 
A ROMANCE OF HEAL LIFE. 267 
 
 "I don't think nothin' at all about it: I know it. It a'most took 
 my breath away. I'm all of a muck o' sweat. Soul and bones ! how 
 hot it is ! my throat fears all on fire ! Good luck to yow, give us a 
 drop more beer. And when yow're married," he added, turning to 
 Sarah, " don't yow let him cook any more mulled wine." 
 
 " Married ! " cried aunt Ann. " Oh yow sly creatures ! Married, 
 and I to know nothin' about it ! " 
 
 "We didn't know nothin' about it ourselves," said Corney, " 'till 
 this blessed morning." 
 
 "And yow," said aunt Ann, addressing Sarah with a smile, "even 
 yow have been here wi' me over an hour and never dropped a syllable 
 oh yow sly thing ! " 
 
 " I should," returned Sarah, " I should have done so, but Cornelius 
 told me as we came here, that I was to tell my mother only." 
 
 "Well, now look you here, aunt," said Corney. " I didn't mean to 
 keep it from you, I knew I couldn't it' I'd wanted, but I didn't want : 
 I knew the governor would tell you, of course. But you know it now, 
 don't you ? Very well then, you know it a'most as soon as we knew 
 it ourselves." 
 
 " Well," said aunt Ann, " I hope yow'll be happy. I hope yow 
 will with all my heart." 
 
 " Safe ! " cried Corney, " safe to be happy." 
 
 " I hope so, Corney," returned aunt Ann. u But yow know nothin' 
 about it yet." 
 
 "Look here, Ann," said Craske;"yow must larn her to charn. 
 She must be larnt to charn." 
 
 " Bless you ! " cried Sarah, " I know how to churn." 
 
 "Yow do?" 
 
 " Oh yes ! " 
 
 " That'll do. Then yow'll answer the purpose. No wife's a wife 
 which don't know how to charn." 
 
 " But how about this wine ? " cried Corney. " Come, governor, try 
 it again." 
 
 " Not if I know it, Corney, bor, not if I know it." 
 
 44 Well, it is to my mind universal. What do you think of it, aunt?" 
 
 " Oh ! " said aunt Ann, " / can't drink it at all." 
 
 "Then I'll make some of moderate dimensions. You shall have 
 some each." 
 
 ** Then let's have it cold," said Craske, " as it is, cold. Yow're 
 cooking don't suit my inside at all." 
 
 " Have it as you like, but this suits me stunning. There you are, 
 governor. Now then, aunt, come ! " 
 
 "Well," said aunt Ann, as she took the glass, "may every blessing 
 attend yow both ! " 
 
 " Amen ! " cried Craske. " Amen ! " 
 
 " Now," said Corney, " this is what I call a frolic ! a regular uni- 
 versal frolic I and I wish I could stop ever so many hours with you ; 
 but I must be home, you know, to wait at table, and suffen like an 
 hour before." 
 
268 THE STEWARD : 
 
 " That's right, Corney, bor; that's right!" said Craske. "Don't 
 be over yowre time. Do what's right, and then yow'll allus be 
 respected." 
 
 44 I'm sure," said Sarah, " there's no one respected and no one de- 
 serves to be respected more than Cornelius is. We had proofs of 
 that this morning." 
 
 44 1 know it," said Craske ; " I know it, my dear. I'll tell yow all 
 about it, Ann, when they are rjone. It's a comfort to me : a great 
 comfort. God bless him, and God bless Sir John, and God bless us 
 all ! Amen ! " 
 
 44 Cornelius," said aunt Ann, with feelings of pride, " I never told 
 yow afore, but I'll tell yow now. Yow've been a good lad a very 
 good lad. Yow've kept yowre sittiwation, and been no trouble; and 
 now yow see how yow're respected. I know'd that yow would be long 
 ago ; I allus said so, and my words ha' come true ; and as sich, I've 
 left yow what little I have." 
 
 " You allus was a good un ! " cried Corney. 4 ' I allus thought so, 
 and now yow've proved it. Why, governor, all the luck's come at once! " 
 44 It allus does, bor," said Craske, 4 ' good or bad." 
 44 But Fin loaded with luck." 
 
 44 And yow'll allus be lucky," said his aunt, " if yow mind. Now," 
 she continued, with the most perfect calmness, " the trifle o' money I 
 have in the bank, I've preserved to pay the expenses of carrying me 
 decently to the grave, when it shall please God to call me. There'll be 
 suffen over to pay for the mournin', and sutfen over that, which'll be 
 yours. The three cottages o' mine will also be yowrs. They bring 
 me in about sixteen pound ten shillings a year ; for though I'm paid 
 eighteen pound, it costs me all thirty shillin's out on it for repairs and 
 whitewashing and one thing or 'nother. I've got all the bills, and thank 
 God they're all receipted; and yow'll see by them that it costs me all 
 that. I'll just go and get 'em and show yow." 
 
 44 We haven't time now, aunt," said Corney. " We'll have a 
 careful look at 'em some other day." 
 
 44 Well, as I was savin', eighteen pound which is, yow know, six 
 pound a-piece and don't think o' raisin' the rent, nor whatever yow 
 do don't distress the tenants. They're honest, though poor I've 
 -allus found 'em so: if they can't pay one time they will another, and 
 I'm sure they never wronged me of a farden in their lives." 
 
 4 ' Very good ! " cried Corney ; 4 ' but yow're talking now as if yow 
 were going to die off at once ! " 
 
 44 God knows ! All must go when they're called ; but I, in the 
 natur' o' things, must go soon. But there's one thins: I want now to 
 press upon yowre mind and, mark my words, yow'll find 'em come 
 true : Look through life not only at the money yow've got a comin' in, 
 but also at the money yow've got a goin' out ! Take perticular notice 
 o' that, and yow never can go far wrong. Allus live within yowre 
 comin's in allus ! Never go a penny beyond never ! but g e t into 
 the habit o' savin', bor, and it's wonderful how it'll grow upon yow 
 wonderful ! " 
 
A ROMANCE OF KEAL LIFE. 269 
 
 " I'll be as careful as a griffin ! " cried Corney. 
 
 " Nor don't lend yowre money : yow men are so over fond o 
 lendin'. When they arks yow, tell 'em to arks yowre wife ; and in 
 ninety-nine cases out o' a hundred, they won't trouble her at all 
 about it." 
 
 " I'll be careful," said Corney. " But come, time's up. Now, my 
 girl, put on your things ; there's a dear ! " 
 
 Sarah rose and left the room with aunt Ann ; and when they had done 
 so, Craske said, " Now look here, Corney, bor ; I should like yow to 
 stop longer, sartney ; but I shall at the same time be glad when yow're 
 gone. 1 want to think I want to sit quiet, an' smoke a pipe, an' 
 think; for this five hundred pound has stunned me wholly! It's 
 true he took a fancy to yow when yow was a mite : it's true he allus 
 told me he'd take care on yer ; but five hundred pound ! Soul and 
 bones ! whoever on airth could ha' thought o' that ! " 
 
 " I reckon his respect for you at halt of it," said Corney. 
 
 " That makes me feel so happy in my mind ! It's worth all the 
 money to me to know he did respect me ! God bless him for it ! He 
 was allus a good man : allus, Corney, allus ! Now do yow make haste 
 home, bor, when yow leave here. Give nobody no cause to complain 
 o' yer now. Yow've gone on very well up to thisn, and it would be a 
 pity to alter it now." 
 
 " I'll take care of that." 
 
 "Do, Corney, bor; an' let me see yow agin as soon as yow can 
 come; and then I shall ha' turned the matter over in my mind! 
 Good bye," he added as Sarah reappeared with aunt Ann. " God 
 bless yow ! God bless yow both ! But recollect, Corney, bor, let 
 there be nothin' wrong now ! " 
 
 " All right ! " said Corney, who, having taken an affectionate leave 
 of his aunt, left the house with Sarah fondly clinging to his arm. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 
 THE LAST OF POOR RICHAKD LEJETJNE. 
 
 THAT evening Dr. Briggs drove in haste to the Hall, and had an in- 
 terview with Charles for the purpose of communicating to him the fact 
 that poor Richard Lejeune had become so exhausted that it was per- 
 fectly impossible for him to survive. 
 
 " He cannot," said the Doctor earnestly "he cannot, I feel cer- 
 tain, live through the night; and therefore if Mr. Lejeune be anxious 
 to see him again alive, he must come with me at once, and even then 
 it may be too late." 
 
 " Is he calm?" enquiredJCharles. 
 
 " After a paroxysm he is for a time prostrate ; but those paroxysms 
 have become so frequent that it cannot be said that he is ever calm. 
 
270 THE STEWARD : 
 
 The very moment he has recovered sufficient strength to rave, he be- 
 gins, and continues until he exhausts himself again." 
 
 " Then I really think that Mr. Lejeune had better not see him ! 
 He would go, I know, in an instant; but I look at the effect which 
 such a sight might have upon him. They can have no communication 
 with each other; that, of course, is out of the question entirely: while 
 in his present precarious state of health, the shock might cost him 
 his life." 
 
 " That," said the Doctor, " is precisely my view of the case ; and 
 hence I was anxious to consult you in private. The scene would to 
 him, of course, be dreadful indeed ; it is sufficiently so to those who 
 are unconnected with him ; and as he can do no good, but may, as you 
 say, never recover from the shock, I agree with you that he had better 
 receive no further intelligence until all is over." 
 
 " / will accompany you," said Charles. " 7 should like to see 
 him once more. And perhaps it were as well that I should see the 
 last of him; for Lejeune, I know, will be more satisfied if I do ; and 
 I shall moreover be able to explain to him all that we may think it 
 necessary for him to know. George, too, would probably like to go. 
 I'll ask 'him. Does poor Richard," he enquired as he rang the bell, 
 "still entertain the idea of his being a warrior?" 
 
 "No," replied the Doctor, "it appears to have vanished. That 
 upon which he now chiefly harps is the fact of his having been called 
 a murderer." 
 
 " Doubtless some of our men," said Charles, " when he was secured, 
 applied that epithet to him. Cornelius," he added, as Corney 
 entered the room, " tell my brother that I wish to see him. Is he 
 with Mr. Lejeune still ?" 
 
 "Yes sir," replied Corney. 
 
 " Well ; you need not say that Dr. Briggs is here. Simply tell him 
 that / wish to see him." 
 
 Corney bowed and withdrew, and shortly afterwards George ap- 
 peared, pale and trembling ; for although he had merely been told 
 that Charles wished to seehim, he was on the instant filled with 
 apprehension." 
 
 '* George," said Charles as he entered the room, " Dr. Briggs has 
 just informed me that Richard Lejeune cannot live through the "night. 
 Now Lejeune must know nothing of this: were he to be told, he would 
 go at once, and the scene would to him, of course, be dreadful : but as 
 I feel sure that our presence during the last moments of his brother 
 would be a source of satisfaction to him, I propose that we accompany 
 Dr. Briggs.'' 
 
 "I do fjotfeel well, Charles," said George. " Indeed I do not feel well." 
 
 " I kno-.v, my boy, I know, I know; and I wish that you had more 
 nerve to bear up against these calamities; but you really must not 
 continue to be thus dejected. Your words of consolation to me are 
 quite lost upon yourself. We must feel it like men; but let us bear 
 it like men: you really must not LMVG way, George, to this excess 
 of grief." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 
 
 271 
 
 " I endeavour," said George, as tears sprang into his eyes" I en- 
 deavour to be firm, but I cannot" 
 
 " Come, come, this will never do. I'll let them know that we are 
 going somewhere, and then we'll accompany Dr. Briggs at once." 
 
 " I'd rather not go, Charles !" 
 
 " Oh, we had better go together ! " 
 
 " Has his reason been restored ? " 
 
 " No," replied Dr. Briggs, " nor will it ever be on earth." 
 
 " It is a shocking scene to witness." 
 
 " "It is," said Charles, "it is indeed: but for Lejeune's sake go 
 with us." 
 
 Well, George consented reluctantly; still he consented to go: 
 and when Charles had told Lejeune, Juliana, and the Widow, that they 
 were going a short distance and should return as soon as possible, 
 they entered the Doctor's carriage and started. 
 
 The distance was soon accomplished, and on their arrival they pro- 
 ceeded at once to the room in which Richard was lying apparently dead. 
 
 The man in attendance held up his hand to enjoin silence, a gesture 
 which at the same time intimated to them that he was still alive. 
 
 " You are but just in time," whispered the Doctor to Charles. 
 " He has just had a paroxysm which I think must be his last." 
 
 They stood for some time and gazed upon him, and expected 
 him every moment to expire : but presently his eyes, which had been 
 fixed and meaningless, lighted up with surpassing brilliancy into 
 an expression of rapture, and he cried with energy, " There I- 
 There ! There are the angels ! See ! If I were a murderer could I 
 meet their gaze ? No ! their looks would blast me ! Could I stand 
 thus before them if I were a murderer ? I am not a murderer ! they 
 know it, and they smile ! Hark ! Hark ! Listen to their voices ! 
 This is celestial music indeed ! How sweetly soft ! how heavenly ! 
 how full of deep and tranquil joy ! See ! they beckon me ! beckon 
 me into their pure presence ! Would they do this if I were a mur- 
 derer '? Dare I dare I go ? dare I! They beckon me still ! They 
 approach me ! surround me! Am I am I a murderer now ! See ! 
 A bright vista opens before me, and there sits the Great God Him- 
 self! What majesty! what glory! what awe-inspiring grandeur! 
 and yet how beneficent and tranquil are His looks ! Hark! "the Holy 
 Hosts hail me with rapture! Oh! this is bliss indeed! Father," he 
 added, in faint tones of deep solemnity, " prostrate before Thee, I 
 acknowledge my transgressions, but Thou knowest that I am not a 
 murderer." 
 
 These were the last words he uttered. For some moments his lips 
 continued to move as if in prayer, and then he ceased to breathe. 
 
 Charles was deeply affected, while George although he shed no 
 tear trembled from head to foot. He could not indeed sustain him- 
 self, so violent was the tremour induced by the awful exclamations of 
 poor Richard ; and when Charles and the Doctor had led him from 
 the room, he begged of them to give him some brandy. 
 
 This the Doctor procured immediately, and placed before him ; but 
 
272 THE STEWARD ! 
 
 he could neither pour it out, nor lift it to his mouth when the glass 
 had been tilled for him. The Doctor therefore held it to his lips 
 while he drank, and marvelled that the scene should have had so 
 peculiar an effect upon him. Had he wept, it would have been held 
 to be but natural ; but this violent tremour the Doctor couldn't 
 understand. 
 
 " The slightest thing now," said George, " affects my nerves; but 
 this was an awful scene indeed !" 
 
 ** Had I imagined," returned Charles, " that it would have had such 
 an effect as this upon you, I would not have urged you to witness it." 
 
 " This tremour, Charles, will pass off presently." 
 
 '* I hope so, my boy I hope so," said Charles, who had then 
 some conversation with the Doctor on the subject of the coroner's, 
 warrant; and when George felt sufficiently firm, he and Charles re- 
 turned, almost in silence, to the Hall. 
 
 On their arrival George retired immediately to his room, and was 
 seen that night no more; but Charles rejoined Lejeune, Juliana, and 
 the Widow, resolved, however, on saying nothing having reference to 
 the death of Richard until the morning, when Lejeune himself opened 
 the subject by observing that Dr. Briggs had not sent to let them know 
 how Richard was. 
 
 " The case, I fear, is hopeless/' said Charles cautiously. " Indeed 
 Dr. Briggs has frequently assured me that his recovery is, humanly 
 speaking, impossible ; that his reason can never, except by a miracle, 
 be restored." 
 
 " If it be so," returned Lejeune, " death were preferable to life. 
 I'd rather, Charles, hear of his death at once than know that he must 
 be thus perpetually tortured." 
 
 " I feel," rejoined Charles, " that if I were in your position, the 
 announcement of his death would, under the circumstances, be a 
 relief to me." 
 
 '* It would, Charles : it would, indeed! " 
 
 " I am glad," said Charles, " to hear you say so." 
 
 Lejeune looked at him earnestly, and then enquired why. 
 
 " Because," replied Charles, with an expression of solemnity, " he 
 is indeed no more ! " 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Lejeune with a convulsive start as he looked at 
 Charles intently. " Indeed ! " 
 
 " He died in my presence last night," continued Charles; "and 
 a sweet death it was ! He died, not only in peace and without a groan 
 or struggle, but with the perfect conviction that his spirit was in 
 Heaven." 
 
 Lejeune wept in silence, but after a pause said, " Had he his reason 
 restored for one moment ? " 
 
 " It appeared to me," replied Charles, " thathefow?; but his whole 
 soul was centred in the vision before him. He conceived that he was 
 then in the presence of the Most High, surrounded by angels, who 
 approached and embraced him : he conceived that he heard the holy 
 choir hail him with rapture ! and while he was, in imagination, 
 
'- A ROMANCE OP REAL LIFE. ,' 273 
 
 before the Throne of Grace, he breathed a short prayer, and ex- 
 pired." 
 
 " My dear Charles," said Lejeune very faintly, as the big tears 
 continued to roll, " I will, for a short time, retire." 
 
 Charles offered him his arm, which he took, and proceeded to his 
 chamber, where, when alone, he sank upon his knees, and prayed 
 fervently. 
 
 The sad intelligence had now to be communicated to Juliana, and 
 as Charles believed that the Widow would be able to manage it better 
 than he could himself, he proceeded to tell her all that he had ex- 
 plained to Lejeune, and to beg of her to break it to Juliana as cau- 
 tiously as possible. 
 
 " If you find," he added, " that she is not prepared to receive this 
 intelligence, it need not be communicated now. It may be deferred ; 
 there's no necessity for doing it hastily, although she must, of course, 
 shortly know all." 
 
 " I understand," returned the Widow " I quite understand you. 
 I will do it with the utmost care." 
 
 She then ordered her phaeton, and took Juliana for a drive ; and as 
 they passed the residence of Dr. Briggs she observed, " There is 
 some a one dead there, it appears : all the blinds are down: perhaps one 
 of the patients." 
 
 " That," said Juliana, "is Dr. Briggs's, is it not? " 
 
 " Yes, dear," replied the Widow. " That is his house. One of 
 the patients, doubtless, has been happily released, for death must be 
 regarded as a happy release by the friends of every insane person 
 whose case is hopeless." 
 
 u My poor uncle's case is not, I believe, considered hopeless." 
 
 " Oh, perfectly so ! " returned the Widow. " There is not the slight- 
 est chance of his recovery." 
 
 " Dear me ! I never before knew that." 
 
 " Dr. Briggs sees no prospect whatever of his reason being restored." 
 
 " Good gracious ! Why that is very dreadful ! " 
 
 " It is, my dear it is very dreadful ; and therefore I say that in all 
 such cases death ought to be considered a happy release." 
 
 " But I really had no idea of his case being so hopeless ! " 
 
 " It is so, I assure you, perfectly hopeless ; and if he were an uncle or 
 a brother of mine, I should regard his death as a merciful intervention 
 of Divine Providence. Conceive how horrible it must be for a person 
 to live in a place like that from month to month, and from year to 
 year, not only without a single ray of reason, but without the slightest 
 prospect of his reason ever being restored ! Why he is, in such a 
 case, already dead to the world. What is the world to him? He 
 sees nothing of it : he knows nothing of it. He is perfectly uncon- 
 scious of everything around him. His brain continues to whirl and 
 burn, and thus his life is worn away ! Wh} 1 -, surely, whenever it 
 pleases God to take the soul of such a person to Himself, and thus to 
 release it from a tenement so wretched, it ought to be held J>y the 
 survivors to be a blessing." 
 No. 18 
 
274 THE STEWARD I 
 
 " Certainly," said Juliana " certainly if I thought that he could 
 never recover if it were indeed a hopeless case if it were known 
 that he must linger through life in a state so frightful even to contem- 
 plate, I should- although it would be a shock to me I should, if 
 he were at once released from his affliction, hold it to be an act of 
 divine mercy." 
 
 " Of course, my dear, of course you would ! and as it has been 
 well ascertained that your poor uncle's reason can never on earth be 
 restored " 
 
 " Has this been ascertained absolutely ascertained ? '' 
 
 " It has, my dear, beyond all doubt ; and therefore the intelligence 
 of his death instead of shocking our feelings ought to be received 
 by us with thankfulness." 
 
 " But when was this known ? " enquired Juliana earnestly. 
 
 " It was proved, my dear, beyond all question, last night." 
 
 " And was he very ill I mean bodily ? " 
 
 " Oh, he has been very ill for some days ! " 
 
 " Dear me ! then perhaps it is he that is dead ! " 
 
 " It is not impossible, my dear : it is anything but impossible ! " 
 
 " Shall we turn, dear ? " said Juliana, anxiously, as the tears began 
 to glisten in-her eyes " shall we turn and enquire ? " 
 
 " As you please," replied the Widow, by whom these tears were 
 noticed ; " but we are now as near to the Hall as we are to Dr. Briggs's, 
 And as the Doctor would .of course send the intelligence up imme- 
 diately, I think that we had better at once drive home." 
 
 "Do so, dear do so : I really begin to think that poor uncle is no 
 more!" 
 
 " And if it be so," returned the Widow, " we ought to be grateful 
 indeed ! " 
 
 Perceiving Juliana's anxiety, the Widow now urged her ponies on, 
 and as they approached the Hall she exclaimed, " See, love, our 
 blinds are down too ! " 
 
 " Then it is so," returned Juliana. " It is so." 
 
 " Then, my dear, for this act of mercy we cannot be too thankful." 
 
 Juliana wept, and Charles, who had been anxiously watching their 
 approach, came out to receive them; and having assisted them to 
 alight, led them into the library. 
 
 " Our blinds are down," said the Widow, who was the first to 
 speak, " and as we passed the house of Dr. Briggs, we saw his blinds 
 down too." 
 
 " Is he," enquired Juliana earnestly " is my dear uncle 
 dead?" 
 
 " My love," replied Charles, " you will be consoled to hear that he 
 died in the full conviction that his spirit was in Heaven." 
 
 Juliana for whom the voice of Charles had a peculiar charm 
 clung to him, and looked at him intently through her tears. 
 
 " He died," pursued Charles, "last night. I was present at the 
 time." 
 
 "You were?" 
 
A EOMANCE OF KEAI. LIFE. 275 
 
 " Yes ; and a more enchanting vision than that which he beheld 
 just before he ceased to breathe, cannot possibly be imagined." 
 
 " He died last night in your presence ? " 
 
 " George and I left you for a time " 
 
 " I remember I see yes. And did he die happy ? " 
 
 " Happy ! He felt that he was in Heaven surrounded by the 
 angels caressed by them hailed with rapture ! Happy ! If the 
 conviction of having attained that bliss which is our highest aim be 
 happiness, then he died happy indeed ! "We'll not, however, dwell 
 upon this now," he added, perceiving that Juliana's tears were flowing 
 fast. " We have to be thankful that his soul has been released from 
 that dreadful calamity by which it was enthralled." 
 
 " Does papa know of this ? " enquired Juliana anxiously. 
 
 " He does," replied Charles; " and he is comforted by the convic- 
 tion of your uncle's case having been hopeless. Mrs. Wardle," he 
 added, with the view of turning Juliana's thoughts from the subject 
 which then engrossed them, " were you ever in Italy ? " 
 
 " Never," replied the "Widow; " but I have always understood it 
 to be a most delightful country." 
 
 "It is indeed a delightful country : and now I'll tell you what I 
 have been thinking of this morning. Gome, my love," he added, 
 taking Juliana's hand, and drawing her arm within his " come, come, 
 dry those eyes and listen. We have of late," he continued, " wit- 
 nessed nothing but scenes of sadness, and as a change will, I feel sure, 
 be highly beneficial to us all, I have been thinking that immediately 
 after your uncle's funeral we cannot do better than go to Italy for a 
 time, in order that the health of your papa, and our spirits, may be 
 recruited." 
 
 " Oh, I should dearly like to go," said the Widow, more with the 
 view of alleviating the sorrow of Juliana, than of impressing upon 
 Charles that she was delighted with the proposition. " And you, my 
 dear," she added, " I am sure would be charmed. It is such a lovely 
 country ! Besides, our residence there for a time would restore your 
 papa to health." 
 
 " If it could have that effect," said Juliana, "I should indeed be 
 happy to go." 
 
 " Oh, the beautiful climate would soon bring him round. And 
 then the lakes, and the Alps, and the Apennines, and Etna and 
 Vesuvius ! there are thousands of objects in that sweet country cal- 
 culated to charm all by whom it is visited." 
 
 " We shall take our hearts with us, of course," said Charles ; " but 
 the change will at least tend to raise our spirits. You may therefore 
 prepare as soon as you please. There are plenty of books here having 
 reference to Italy ; and while you are getting them together, I'll go and 
 name the subject to Mr. Lejeune." And having thus supplied Juliana 
 with something more to think of than her uncle's death, he left her 
 again in the Widow's hands. 
 
 Now while they were thus conversing, George was writing to 
 D' Almaine, who had become exceedingly pressing for the five hundred 
 
276 THE STEWARD: 
 
 pounds for which he held George's 1 U. He had not then heard of 
 Sir John's death. It had been fully reported in all the papers, it is 
 true ; but sporting men, in general, live in a world of their own, and 
 beyond that " world " know nothing. George, therefore, supplied 
 this information, and having stated that things were of course then in 
 an unsettled state, promised to send him the money as soon as possible. 
 This letter had scarcely been finished when George received a note 
 from Jane, which ran as follows : 
 
 " SIR, 
 
 " I am about to leave this part of the country for a time, 
 and as I wish to have one question answered before I leave, you may, 
 if you please, call upon me between the hours of two and four. 
 
 '* I am, sir, 
 
 "JANE FREEMAN." 
 
 " Does the person who brought this note wait for an answer? " he 
 enquired. 
 
 " He is not yet gone, sir," replied the servant; u but he doesn't 
 know whether it requires'an answer or not." 
 
 " Tell him to say that I'll attend to it." 
 
 The servant withdrew, and George endeavoured to conceive what 
 she meant. 
 
 " One question ! " said he. " What question is that ? What can 
 she want to know ? What can I tell her with reference to the deed 
 that she does not know already ? She may perhaps want to know if 
 I really meant to marry her, when I deputed Farquar to propose 
 marriage to her. If so, of course my answer is, Yes. I'll marry her 
 now, and thus deprive her at once of the power of giving evidence 
 against me. She says that she is about to leave for a time. Does she 
 want me to leave with her, and to marry her at a distance ? If so, I'll 
 do it I'll do any thing in order to secure her. She said that she 
 would never consent to this marriage. But she may have altered her 
 mind. I hope that she has : I hope so because I shall otherwise 
 never feel safe. I'll go to her. It is now half past one : I'll go at 
 once, and if I find that she has been tempted to reverse her decision, 
 I can defy her, and thus feel comparatively happy." 
 
 He rang the bell and ordered his horse, and when it was ready, he 
 mounted and slowly rode over to Freeman's. 
 
 Jane, who ielt sure that he would be there soon after two o'clock 
 was on the watch, and as he approached she felt tremulous and faint. 
 She nerved herself, however, to receive him with becoming spirit, and 
 as he entered the room in which she was standing, she regarded his 
 abject bearing with contempt. 
 
 " You wished to see me, Jane," said he, with an expression of 
 conscious guilt. " You wish to have a question answered. What is 
 that question?" 
 
 '* I have understood, Sir," replied Jane firmly, "that if any one 
 should know of a crime having been committed, and should fail to 
 denounce him who committed that crime,^he or she is held to be 
 
A ROMANCE OP SEAL LIFE. 277 
 
 criminal in the second degree, as an accessory after the fact. Now,** 
 she continued, as George trembled with apprehension, "the question 
 I wish to have answered is this: Are you sure quite sure that 
 you have nerve enough to conceal your horrible guilt effectually ? " 
 
 " Nerve enough?" said George, who began to fear that she had 
 made up her mind to denounce him " nerve enough? ", 
 
 " Aye, sir, nerve enough ! " replied Jane. 
 
 "Can you doubt it?" 
 
 " Yes ! I hear that when you were present last night at the death of 
 poor- Mr. Lejeune you trembled with so much violence that they were 
 compelled to support you." 
 
 " Why, who could have told you that ? " 
 
 " No matter. I heard of it, and you know it to be true. 
 
 " It is true ; I certainly was almost overpowered. But then what a 
 scene it was to witness ! " 
 
 " / am not astonished at your having been thus affected, although 
 they were, not knowing the real cause. Had the secret burst forth 
 had your conscience prompted you to proclaim your guilt there I 
 should not have been amazed ; but if these fits of remorse assail you 
 with so much violence as to deprive you of all command over your- 
 self, it is high time, sir, for me to act, not only with a view to my 
 own safety, but for the sake of my child ! " 
 
 " Jane ! " he exclaimed imploringly, as he sank on his knee before 
 her, " have mercy !" 
 
 " Rise, sir ! for while in that position you remind me of those im- 
 pious vows which you taught me to believe were registered in Heaven ! 
 I repeat that if these violent fits of remorse are to lead to a confession 
 of your guilt, it is time for me to act ! " 
 
 " But they never will ! It [is true last night I was nearly over- 
 powered ; but such a scene can never occur again ! But even then, 
 although I was for a moment physically powerless, I was throughout 
 morally firm. No ; whatever my feelings of remorse may be, they 
 will never lead to such a result. Nothing, Jane," he added in tones of 
 deep emotion "nothing but the conviction the full conviction that 
 I never shall succeed in prevailing upon you to consent to our mar- 
 riage, can drive me to such madness as that ! " 
 
 14 What ! are you not fully convinced of this yet ? " 
 
 " No, Jane, no ! I still have hope ! and to that hope I cling most 
 fondly. Be merciful, Jane ! drive me not to despair ! That I love 
 you still devotedly, you must you must believe. I never for a mo- 
 ment ceased to love you. Even in those notes those wretched 
 notes which I was, unhappily, induced to send you, I did not I could 
 not deny that I loved you ardently still. Drive me not, Jane, to the 
 madness of despair ! The result of that madness who can tell ? For 
 your own safety for the sake of our child, Jane let me implore you 
 to reverse your decision ! " 
 
 " Sir ! " said Jane, with all the sternness at her command, " my 
 safety shall be ensured by other means." 
 
 " But it cannot, believe me, be by other means ensured. If I 
 
278 
 
 THE STEWARD: 
 
 should be driven to despair, if reckless of life, because deprived of 
 all hope I, in a moment of frenzy, should cause our dreadful secret 
 to be revealed, you, Jane, would be involved with me, the thought of 
 which alone is torture." 
 
 " I regard that as a threat, sir, and treat it with contempt." 
 
 " Indeed, Jane, you wrong me. A threat ! no. " Your safety," 
 he added in tremulous accents " your safety is dear to me, Jane, 
 and my object is to show that our marriage would ensure it." 
 
 "And my object, sir," returned Jane, assuming an air of command, 
 " is to show that it can be by other means ensured, sir, and SHALL ! 
 You must leave England for ever ! " 
 
 " Leave England for ever! " echoed George, whom the announce- 
 ment struck at once with amazement and alarm. " Leave England for 
 ever ! Surely there can be no necessity for that ? " 
 
 " There is a necessity for it, sir ! My safety which is so very dear 
 to you demands it. It must be done, or all must be known. It is 
 now for you to decide, and that decision I must have within a week. 
 And now," she added on ringing the bell, " our conference is at an 
 end ! " 
 
 " But surely," said George, who felt perfectly bewildered " surely 
 you do not mean this ? " 
 
 " I do," replied Jane ; " and by this" day week I must have your 
 decision. Mary," she added, as the servant entered, " the door." 
 And having bowed slightly to George, she left the room. 
 
 " Leave England for ever ! " thought George, who stood as if 
 thunderstruck for a time. " Leave England for ever ! This must be 
 dwelt upon deeply ! " 
 
 The servant, who was still at the door, slightly coughed, and 
 George, whom this signal aroused, left the house. 
 
 " Now," said he, as he rode away thoughtfully, " how ana I to act? 
 She is afraid that I shall reveal the secret, and thus involve her ; and 
 in order to ensure her own safety, she has made this monstrous propo- 
 sition, and that in tones of almost absolute command. 'You must 
 leave England for ever ! ' I have imparted the spirit of a devil, I 
 find, to one who was as gentle as an angel, and I am now called upon 
 to subdue it. Leave England for ever ! She seems resolved to exer- 
 cise her power with vengeance. * It must be done, or all must be 
 known ! ' I have therefore to choose between hanging and transpor- 
 tation for life. The alternative is pleasant certainly ; but what's to be 
 done ? Am I to run the risk of being hanged by defying her power? 
 Need I defy her ppwer ? No: I feel that this may be otherwise 
 managed. At all events the idea of leaving England must not for one 
 moment be entertained. There would then be an end of everything. 
 All the plans which I have conceived for the recovery of the estate 
 which in my position as Steward I feel convinced I can accomplish 
 will be valueless. No ! [here I'll stand or fall ! I'll not leave 
 England ! nor will I openly defy her power. If I were to" do so, I 
 do not believe that she would denounce me ! she has said that she 
 could not denounce the father of her child. But even if she should, 
 
A ROMANCE OP REAL LIFE. 279 
 
 her evidence is unsupported, and may be ascribed, very naturally, to 
 hatred engendered by a deep sense of wrong. But then the accusa- 
 tion alone would destroy me it would at least destroy my dearest 
 hopes ; for if even I were not convicted, the efforts which I have re- 
 cently made to induce her to consent to our marriage would stamp her 
 tale with the semblance of truth. No : this must not be tried. I 
 refused to marry her, and hence her hatred : so far that would do. 
 But subsequently notwithstanding her situation she has refused to 
 marry me ! And why ? Why, the natural inference would be, because 
 she knew that I had done this deed. Inferences, of course, will not 
 do alone ; but they all tend to strengthen conviction. No, she must 
 not be defied. I must work the tigress in some other way, and if fair 
 means should fail, I'll compass her destruction. I'll not be thus per- 
 petually tortured with apprehension. While she lives, I can never be 
 safe. I feel sure [of it now ! quite sure there never was a woman 
 more desperately in earnest. She still carries pistols, I perceive : I 
 saw the shape of them to-day in her bosom, and doubtless she now 
 has them constantly with her. Well, madam ! well ! If I could but 
 get you to meet me, madam or if I could but catch you away from 
 the house I'd make one of them useful; for having despatched you, 
 I'd make you grasp your weapon, and the interesting nature of your 
 present situation would sufficiently account for the l suicide ! ' We 
 shall see. She has given me a week to decide. Well, much may be 
 done in a week. We shall see. Leave England ^forsooth ! Why if 
 even I were,' to leave England, I should still be in constant dread ; I 
 should never feel safe ! Let me go where I might, the law would 
 reach me, and she might at any time be prompted to denounce me ; 
 while the very fact of my leaving the country would be a collateral 
 proof of my guilt! No, Miss Freeman, I'll not leave England. I'll 
 marry you, my lady, if you please and a very happy time you si all 
 have of it too, until I see a chance of removing you for ever ; i- ut 
 your sentence of transportation for life will not be carried into effect. I 
 assure you. Who could have told her of my contemptible weakne ss 
 last night ? The Doctor ? No no, I should say not. Perhaps o ie 
 of the servants spoke of it ! Very likely. I was a fool a consui n- 
 mate fool ! It was that which alarmed her. No matter. This pio- 
 position must be met. It must be met with tact and energy. I'll not 
 live thus in continual dread ! By some means she must be removed ! " 
 
 Having reached home and given his horse to one of the grooms, he x 
 was about to enter the house, when Charles, who had been conversing 
 with the Widow, approached him, and said, " George, my dear be 
 I've been suggesting to Lejeune, Juliana, and Mrs. Wardle, that as a 
 change of scene would be highly beneficial to them all, it would be 
 advisable for them to leave England for a time ; and as they appeared 
 to be willing to act upon this suggestion, I have proposed that almost 
 immediately after the funeral of poor Eichard, we start for Italy. 
 Would you like to go ? " 
 
 " I have no desire to go," replied George " Besides, it will be ne- 
 cessary for me to be at home." 
 
280 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " Nay," said Charles; if you would like to accompany us, the im- 
 provements you contemplate can be for a time deferred." 
 
 "But I really have no desire to go." 
 
 " Very well. Then we must leave you here. We shall of course 
 frequently communicate with each other, and you will manage the 
 estate precisely as if it were your own." 
 
 " Be assured, my dear Charles, that I will do the best I can." 
 
 " Of that I am assured, George perfectly assured. As I said when 
 we entered into our arrangement, I leave it entirely in your hands, 
 and that with the most implicit confidence in your judgment. That 
 the estate is capable of great improvement, I have not the slightest 
 doubt : you have indeed convinced me of that ; and all I wish to im- 
 press upon you is, my anxiety to have nothing done prejudicial to the 
 interests of the old tenants." 
 
 " Their interests, as well as yours, shall be my care," returned 
 George. " All that I can do to promote them shall be done." 
 
 " Very good," said Charles, taking his arm and leading him into 
 the house. " That's all I wish to say on the subject." 
 
 This met the views of George precisely. The announcement of 
 Charles's intention to go abroad inspired him at once with new life. 
 He was delighted with the prospect of having the entire management 
 of the estate, without the slightest supervision or control, for it gave 
 him the power of at once commencing his plan of operations his 
 design being to effect the utter ruin of Charles, by gradually working 
 the estate into his own hands. 
 
 The accomplishment of this object he knew, of course, demanded no 
 ordinary amount of tact, judgment, and caution ; but he felt that he was 
 able to meet that demand, and resolved on devoting all his energies to 
 the task. 
 
 Jane alone stood in his path, and her removal appeared to him to 
 be essential to success. He felt perfectly sure then that she would 
 never consent to marry him ; and as she alone knew of his guilt, and 
 would of necessity keep him, while she lived, in a state of perpetual 
 apprehension, he resolutely made up his mind to destroy her. 
 
 To effect this which involved, of course, the murder of his own 
 child ! he went armed day after day, and concealed himself near the 
 house for hours panting for her to approach alone one of those walks 
 in which she formerly delighted to meet him. But those walks were 
 deserted by her then, independently of which conceiving that she 
 might be assailed she never went out unaccompanied by her father. 
 
 Thus he was foiled, and the week passed away ; and the next time 
 he saw her was at church, when the remains of poor Richard Lejeune 
 were consigned to a vault beside that of Sir John. 
 
A ROMANCE OF HEAL LIFE* 281 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 THE DEPARTURE FOR ITALY 
 
 THE day after Richard Lejeune's funeral, George received a note from 
 Jane, reminding him that the week had expired ; and when he had 
 decided upon the course which, under the circumstances, he thought 
 it would be wise to pursue, he rode over, and Jane received him as 
 firmly as before. 
 
 " I hope that you are well, Jane," said George as he entered. 
 
 " Do you not," returned Jane, "rather wish that I were dead ? " 
 
 " No, Jane," replied George in tremulous tones " no, believe me. 
 Although I am in your power, I feel that you cannot exercise ittyran- 
 nously, while your death, Jane, would blast my hopes indeed ! " 
 
 " The hopes to which I presume you allude, have been, I should 
 have thought, already blasted." 
 
 " No, Jane : if even you drive me into exile, I shall^hope still still 
 hope to be recalled." 
 
 Jane felt her firmness giving way ; but she nerved herself again, and 
 said, " Well, sir, have you decided ? " 
 
 " I have," replied George, with a well assumed expression of resig- 
 nation. "I have decided on submitting to your will. But when I 
 have explained to you the nature of my present position, you will per- 
 ceive that my departure must of necessity be deferred." 
 
 "Sir ! there must be no delay. I cannot feel for an hour safe. I 
 know your subtlety, and hence expected that something would be de- 
 vised with] the view of gaining time; but as I find that my position is 
 more dangerous than I imagined, there must be no delay." 
 
 " Jane," said George earnestly, " listen. My brother and Mr. Le- 
 jeune, accompanied by the ladies, are about to start for Italy : they 
 leave the Hall to-morrow; and I, being still the Steward, must remain 
 here to manage the estate at least, until they return." 
 
 " Oh ! then you suggested this visit to Italy, in order that you might 
 have some excuse for remaining?" 
 
 " No, Jane, no ! indeed I did not. It was, upon my honour, sug- 
 gested by Charles." 
 
 " Of course," said Jane, with a smile of contempt, u upon your 
 honour I am bound to believe you." 
 
 " Jane, Jane, you wring my heart. It was his suggestion, not 
 mine." 
 
 " And did he not wish you to accompany him ? " 
 
 " Well," replied George, who suspected that some one had informed 
 her of the fact, "he certainly did ask me if I should like to go." 
 
 " And thus proved that your presence here was not held by him to 
 be absolutely necessary ! " 
 
 " Say, rather, that his kindness prompted him to propose it." 
 
 " But there is no necessity no absolute necessity for you to 
 remain here even during his absence." 
 
282 THE STEWARD I 
 
 "The estate, Jane, has to be improved, and I must remain to 
 superintend those improvements." 
 
 ' Cannot some other person be appointed ? To me the case is des- 
 perate ! I know that in one of your phrenzies in one of your 
 paroxysms of remorse you will reveal that secret which will consign 
 you to the scaffold, and me to perpetual exile ! I am sure of it ! " 
 
 u No, Jane; no!" cried George with energy, "never will that 
 secret be by me revealed ! " 
 
 " Sir, I know too much of you to attach even the slightest import- 
 ance to what you say. I feel convinced that this will be the result, 
 and therefore require you to accompany your brother. I'll endure no 
 longer these tortures of apprehension. Your brother wishes you to 
 accompany him. Do so. Go, sir ; and never let me see your face 
 again ! " 
 
 " But I cannot go ! " 
 
 " You must! " 
 
 " I will not go till he returns." 
 
 " Then, sir, you know what follows." 
 
 " What ! will you denounce me ? " 
 
 " I will!" 
 
 " You dare not do it." 
 
 "Dare not!" 
 
 " No ! " 
 
 " You'll see. It is not my own safety alone that I regard ; but 
 rather than cause a father's heart to be broken, I'd denounce a hundred 
 men like you, and feel that I had done my duty." 
 
 " Jane," said George, in tones of intense earnestness, " there is a point 
 beyond which a man will not be driven there is a point at which he 
 will stop and turn and boldly b?*ave destruction ! To this point you 
 have driven. me, and hence I say that you dare not denounce me! 
 And why ? Not because you have not the power to destroy me, for 
 you, and you alone, possess that power ; not because you have not the 
 spirit to do it, for I find that you have the spirit of a tigress ; but 
 because you have not the heart to do it ! for I know that you have a 
 heart, Jane, although, unhappily, it beats not for me. You have not 
 the soul to do it ! nor have you so reckless a contempt for that agony 
 of which such an act would be the germ ! You denounce me. Well : 
 you save yourself I know not whether you could do so now but 
 let it be so you save yourself. But could you ever be happy again? 
 You denounce him who loves you ardently say you'll not believe it 
 say that you will not you denounce the father of your child! 
 While that child, Jane, in its purest innocence, is clinging to its 
 mother's breast, at once deriving and imparting delight, will it not 
 be a sweet reflection, Jane, that you, its mother, and you alone, con- 
 signed its father, who loved you fondly and would have cherished it, 
 to the bloody scaffold ! It grows, and you watch its growth with feeling? 
 of ecstacy. Perhaps it bears some resemblance to him perhaps, in 
 order to torture you the more, the resemblance is striking. Well ! 
 When you gaze upon it with feelings of pride, and smooth its hair, and 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 283 
 
 caress it with rapture, and listen with delight to its innocent prattle, 
 will not additional./^ spring from the remembrance that you, and you 
 alone, with cold-blooded heartlessness, delivered its father into the 
 hangman's hands ? The child grows up, and its father's fate can be 
 concealed no longer : it knows that you, without necessity, brought 
 me to an ignominious end ! If it be a boy, what will be his feelings ? 
 Will he love you for it ? Love you ! Why he will loathe you ! 
 And if it be a girl, what will be her prospects ? what her fate ? She 
 ascertains that her father was hanged, and that her mother was Jane, 
 Jane ! " he added, as she burst into tears " reflect upon the 
 tortures you would have to endure ! Denounce me, and prepare to feel 
 the torments of the damned ! If you care not for your own heart 
 being withered, have some sense of feeling for your offspring ! Will 
 you, can you, brave these terrors, for the purpose of being revenged 
 upon me ? If you do not love me if you never did love me pause 
 before you plunge into this abyss of horror. If you do it, you do it 
 recklessly gratuitously ! There is no necessity for it : your safety 
 does not demand it. All the misery you would thus engender may by 
 silence be averted ; and whether you marry me or not, Jane, to you 
 and yours I will ever be kind." 
 
 Jane, who wept bitterly, rose and left the room ; and shortly after- 
 wards the servant brought him the following note, which had been evi- 
 dently written with a trembling hand : 
 
 " Sm, 
 
 " Our interview is at an end. 
 
 "JANE FREEMAN." 
 
 Having read this note, George smiled triumphantly, and almost 
 immediately left the house. 
 
 " Now," said he, having passed the gate. " Now I feel that I am 
 secure ! The father of her child ! -I touched her there. This is 
 better than killing! I have no wish to destroy her all I want is to 
 be secure : I have enough blood on my conscience already. Con- 
 science ! Away with it ! Fool," he added thoughtfully, " to talk 
 thus fool ! Who can repudiate it ? Who can destroy it ? Who, iu 
 reality, can hold it in contempt ? It is the spirit of the devil working 
 within us, to give us a taste of his torments on earth. We 
 have no command over it there it is : a tyrant, whose power is abso- 
 lute, torturing us at will. Away with conscience ! Fool ! fool ! 
 More blood would increase those tortures, and hence it is well to avoid 
 it. I want only to be safe, and I feel that I am safe now. The child 
 is my security. But if it should die ? Perish the thought ! Again 
 you are a fool. The thought will live as long as the child. It were, 
 however, useless now to speculate on that. It may die ; and if it 
 should, why some other security must be thought of. Had she not 
 left the room, I think that I might have persuaded her to marry. She 
 loves me still, I perceive ! She may disguise, but she cannot destroy 
 that feeling ; and therefore, if even the child should die, I shall have 
 that to work upon still." 
 
284 THE STEWARD: 
 
 On his return to the Hall, he found Charles engaged in completing 
 the arrangements for his departure in the morning ; and when Charles 
 had made a few additional suggestions for he gave no instructions 
 whatever having reference to the estate, George enquired which of 
 the servants he intended to take with him. 
 
 "Dear me ! " replied Charles, " I never thought of thaf: Juliana, 
 of course, will take her own maid ; but let me see I should like to 
 take Cornelius."' 
 
 " Will he go ? " enquired George. 
 
 " I should say so ! " 
 
 " He's a man of property now ! " suggested George with a smile. 
 
 " Well, we'll ask him, at all events," said Charles ; who at once rang 
 the bell, which Corney, with his characteristic promptitude, answered. 
 
 " Cornelius," continued Charles, "you are of course aware that I 
 am going abroad for a time. Would you like to go with me ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir ! " replied Corney ; "yes, that I sliould ! " 
 
 " Very well. I forgot to name it to you before, but there is yet 
 plenty of time for you to make whatever little preparations you may 
 deem necessary. You can have the remainder of the day to yourself. 
 We start in the morning." 
 
 Corney bowed and withdrew, and went immediately to Sarah, and 
 made a sign for her to follow him, which she did with a smile; and 
 having led her into one of the drawing-rooms, he kissed her, and said 
 with a feeling of pride, " Sally, my love, what do you think ? I'm 
 going abroad I'm going to Italy I'm going with Mr. Charles ! He's 
 just asked me, and we start to-morrow." 
 
 Sarah turned as pale as death, and clung to his arm, and trembled. 
 
 " Why, what's the matter ? " he continued. " Don't you like me 
 to go ? " 
 
 " How far is this Italy from here ? " she enquired. 
 
 " Why, I don't know exactly how many miles, but it's something like 
 a variety of thousands. I shouldn't be able to find it myself, because 
 it's somewhere about the other end of the world. But the ship knows 
 the way : that'll take us right enough." 
 
 " What have you, then, to cross the sea ? " 
 
 " Cross the sea ? Yes. What of that ? Who's afraid ? " 
 
 " But you may be drownded, or a thousand things ! " 
 
 " Drownded ! Why should I be drownded any more than any other 
 man in life ? Other men cross the sea millions of 'em without 
 being drownded, and why shouldn't I ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear, but see what dreadful shipwrecks we read of which 
 couldn't occur upon land." 
 
 " Shipwrecks ! Look here : is it likely is it even half likely 
 that Mr. Charles, and Mr. Lejeune, and Miss Lejeune, and Mrs. 
 Wardle would go if they thought they were going to be ship- 
 wrecked?" 
 
 '* No, dear, not if they thought they'should ! But shipwrecks 
 come so unexpected! I'm sure it was only the other day, dear, I was 
 reading of a shipwreck in a book where the ship went down, and the 
 
[ A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 285 
 
 men in the boat cast lots to see which should be killed and eaten by 
 the others. Now you know that's very shocking, Cornelius ! " 
 
 "Don't trouble your sentiments at all about shipwrecks or anything 
 of that. We shall be all right, and when I come back I'll marry you, 
 Sally my love, stunning ! " 
 
 " But suppose you should never come back, Cornelius ? What 
 would become of me then ? " 
 
 " Don't trouble your head about any such rubbish. I tell you I'm 
 safe to come back. Can't you believe me ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear Cornelius, yes," replied Sarah, tremulously, as she 
 burst into tears. " I can believe, dear, any thing you say, when I 
 know that you know what you're saying is right. But you can't 
 know, dear, what may occur : you can't tell what may happen at sea. 
 The ship may go and split upon a rock, or it may be swallowed up in 
 an everlasting gulph, or it may even catch fire, Cornelius." 
 
 "Well, if it should, there'll be plenty of water to put it out we 
 shan't have to go far for that ! But don't think of any thing at all 
 of the sort. Think of the universal feelings I shall have for you 
 when I come back, Sally. That'll be the time ! Why I shall be fit 
 to eat you ! Absence makes them feelings more sharper. Look at a 
 man which hasn't had a dinner for a serious variety of days. Won't 
 he shake a rump steak by the collar when he gets it ! Why he'll take 
 and eat it with veracity ! And I shall be ready to take and eat you. 
 I'll tell you what's o'clock when I come back you shall know the 
 time to a minute ! Besides, these foreign parts opens a man's sensi- 
 bilities, stretches his sentiments, and walks into his mind ! It makes 
 him about five-and-twenty times a man, and fit to converse with the 
 nobbiest in nature ! He sees life a man which goes to foreign parts 
 does real and universal life ! and knows more when he comes back 
 than he'd learn here in two eternities. It's wonderful what a man 
 which travels picks up. You should only hear one of 'em talk, that's 
 all. There's no such a thing as a finish to it. He'll go on and on, as 
 if his tongue was immortal, and make your hair stand up on end." 
 
 "But you don't want to go to learn to talk, dear," said Sarah; 
 " you are able to talk very beautiful now ! " 
 
 " Can't come it anything like what they can, and so you'll say when 
 I return. I'll tell you all about the real Bengal tigers, and regular 
 rhinoceroses, and all that ; and expostriculate about the live natives 
 which are allowed to have as many naked wives as they like which 
 is different to what it is here in this country, where one's thought 
 enough ; and the sea, and the rocks, and the lakes, and the moun- 
 tains without any top to 'em at all, but going up into the other world, 
 and clean through it, and " 
 
 "Well, dear," said Sarah, breaking the chain of his eloquence, 
 "[but you can talk about all this now ; and as for the naked wives you 
 speak of, I'm sure it's a shame it's allowed. I wouldn't see such 
 undecent sights ; they're right on disgraceful to be beheld the bold 
 indelicate creatures ! I'm sure they're not fit for a Christian to see." 
 " Oh, U's thought nothing of there ! they all do it and save the 
 
286 THE STEWARD: 
 
 expense of clothes. If they didn't, how would a man support such a 
 mob of wives ? If they all dressed there as they dress out here, a 
 man would want a mint to pay for petticoats alone ! " 
 
 ." Then they oughtn't to have so many," returned Sarah, with a 
 feeling of virtuous indignation. " If they can't afibrd to keep 
 them decent, they oughtn't, in fact, to have any at all. I wonder 
 they're not ashamed of themselves ! For my part, I'd make them 
 lie a-bed all day : they never should go out so/' 
 
 ;< They don't care a mite about it: they're used to it." 
 
 " Then they ought to live by themselves. If I'd my will, I'd 
 shut up the country, and let no Christians in at all. It's right on 
 shocking to think of, and if I were you, Cornelius* I wouldn't go and 
 see such indelicate sights." 
 
 " Oh, I must go," said Corney. " I told Mr. Charles that I ? d go." 
 
 " 1 wish you wouldn't, Cornelius, dear." 
 
 " Don't you be a mite alarmed. You may take your oath I shan't 
 fall in love with any of that lot." 
 
 " No, dear, I'm not in the least afraid of that ; but I really wish 
 you wouldn't go, dear." 
 
 " Why, we can write to each other like life ! You'll see what 
 stunning letters I'll send you ! I'll tell you what's o'clock in them 
 letters ! I'll walk into your sensibilities. I'll show you how many 
 feelings make five, and how universal one heart can feel for an- 
 other. You'll see ! You'll have nothing to do while I am gone, but 
 to be on the look out for letters." 
 
 " But what do you want to go at all for, dear ? You don't want 
 to be any longer in service." 
 
 "No, Sally; no, my love: I know I'm independent, indepen- 
 dent of service, at least ; but I can't bear, you know, to be ungrate- 
 ful. Why didn't Mr. Charles ask James or William or John to go 
 with him? Why, because he wished me to go, and me alone. 
 Wouldn't it have been ungrateful, Sally, my love, if after all Sir 
 John has done for me, I'd refused ? Why, of course it would. He 
 wishes me to go, and as a universal matter of gratitude, I must." 
 
 Sarah wept, but said no more, when he kissed her and went to 
 look after his shirts, while she sought the widow; and having as- 
 certained that Juliana's maid, a pretty little delicate blonde, was 
 going with them, she obtained leave of absence for two or three 
 hours, and went to consult Corney's aunt. 
 
 Having arrived at Craske's house in a state of intense perspiration, 
 she was received with the utmost kindness by the good old lady, who 
 perceiving in an instant that something had happened, enquired most 
 anxiously, " what on airth " it was. 
 
 " He's going," replied Sarah, greatly excited "he's going to leave 
 us : he's going to go into foreign parts, where all the women run about 
 naked ! Would you believe it ? " 
 
 " Who, dear ? Who's a goin' ? who do yow mean r " 
 
 "Cornelius." 
 
 " He a goin' to foreignjparts ? " 
 
A ROMANCE OP EEAL LIFE. 287 
 
 " He's off to-morrow morning with Mr. Charles." 
 
 " To-morrow mornin' ? " 
 
 " Yes ! and he'll be drownded, I know he will ! "We never shall 
 see him again." 
 
 " A goin' to foreign parts," said aunt Ann, with a peculiar expression 
 of incredulity, " to-morrow mornin' ? What Corney ? " 
 
 4< Yes, as true as I'm alive." 
 
 "He shan't go to foreign parts! He shan't go and get drownded ! 
 There ain't no sort of necessity for it now ! " 
 
 "Don't let him go at all. Pray don't. Set your face against it. 
 You can persuade him. He'll be a comfort here ; but while he is 
 gone we shall be wretched. Pray don't pray don't let him go at all." 
 
 " He shan't go ! I'll see all round about that ! He ain't a goin' 
 to go and get drownded now ? What's the good of bringin' boys up to 
 be drownded? Here Bill!" she added, calling to one of the men, 
 " where's yer master ?" 
 
 ; ' Arter the pigs," replied Bill. 
 
 " Do yow go and tell him to come here at onest !" 
 
 " Very well, marm," said Bill, who moved towards the piggery, at 
 the rate of a quarter of a mile an hour, and very deliberately told his 
 master that he'd " got to go and cut in like life." 
 
 Craske, wondering what could have happened, and hoping that the 
 house was not in flames, left his pigs, and on entering the room in 
 which Sarah was sitting, aunt Ann said, " It marn't be ! I'll take care 
 it shan't ! What d'ye think ? Here's Corney a goin' to foreign parts ! 
 to a place they call Italy, right at the very other end of the world, 
 where the women go naked, and Bengal tigers run about just like rats." 
 
 " What d'ye say ? Corney's a goin' ? " said Craske. 
 
 " Yes, he thinks he's goin' in the morning, but he ain't." 
 
 *' Corney a goin' to foreign parts ! He marn't go to foreign parts." 
 
 " Don't I say so ? He shan't go ! I'll tie him by the leg first. 
 He'll p'raps get drownded, or a thousand things : what does he know 
 about the sea ? he can't swim. P'raps he'll get swallowed up whole 
 by the savages ; they're not at all nice. I say he shan't go : I'm 'tar- 
 mined he shan't ; and so that's all round about that." 
 
 " Do persuade him off it, there's a good soul," said Sarah. " I wouldn't 
 have him go for the world." 
 
 "Well, but look here," said Craske, who felt quite bewildered. "I 
 don't understand this at all. Yow say Corney's a goin' to foreign parts, 
 and he's going to start to-morrow mornin' ; but yow don't mean to 
 say which he's goin' to leave arout comin' to say good bye ? " 
 
 " But he shan't say good bye," said aunt Ann, " I'm 'tarmined." 
 
 "Well, but why does he go? Who's he goin' with? and what's 
 he goin' for ? Let's know suffen about it." 
 
 " Mr. Charles is going," said Sarah, " and Mr. Lejeune, and Miss 
 Lejeune, and Mrs. Wardle : they're all going together, and want Cor- 
 nelius to go with them." 
 
 " Oh that's it ! He's goin'^ with them ; that alters the case ! Let 
 him go by all means." 
 
288 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " What ! " cried annt Ann, " to be drownded ! " 
 
 " Oh ! he'll not be drownded." 
 
 " Brother, brother, how yow talk ! How can yow tell what may 
 happen ? How can any mortal upon airth tell that he won't come 
 back a dead corpse ? He shan't go, I tell yow he shan't go ; and if 
 I say he shan't go, he shan't. Bill ! " she added, calling to that 
 active individual, " mount one of the horses, and gallop to the Hall, 
 and tell Cornelius to come here at onest." 
 
 Bill certainly obeyed her as far as mounting one of the horses went, 
 but the horse he mounted had evidently not been taught to gallop in 
 his early days, and was rather too old >then to learn. Bill, however, 
 caused him to compromise the matter, for a ground-ash well applied, 
 convinced him that he had better trot ; which he did, and nearly jolted 
 the life out of Bill. 
 
 " Sartney," said Craske, when this courier had been despatched, 
 " one o' the others would do just as well. A travellin' sarvant is but a 
 travellin' sarvant, and nothin' else all the world over, and as Corney's 
 had this 'here sum o' money left him, he don't ought to go arout 
 making his will." 
 
 " That's what I look at," cried aunt Ann promptly. " He ain't like a 
 man which has nothin' to lose. If anythin' was to occur to him now 
 if he was to be drownded, or anythin' o' that, I should never forgive 
 myself never. But he shan't go. What does he want to go for ? 
 What does he know about these foreign parts ? and what does he want 
 to pick up foreign ways for ? How many miles does he say it is, dear? " 
 
 " He don't know exact," replied Sarah, " but he says he knows it's 
 a variety of thousands." 
 
 " Look at that ! How can we ever expect to see him again ? Look 
 at the shipwrecks we see in the papers." 
 
 " That's what I look at," said Sarah, "and that's what I told him, 
 and 'specially them where they eat each other up." 
 
 " Yow're quite right, my dear," said aunt Ann, "very right. See 
 what a horrible thing it would be, if he was to eat the lady's-maid, or 
 the lady's maid was to eat him. Yow say they're a goin' together. 
 Look at that ! Why it's right on shockin' to think about, and 'specially 
 when there's no call at all for him to go." 
 
 ** Sartney," said Craske ; " there's no call for him to go." 
 ^ " Then don't let him go," cried Sarah ; " pray don't. Persuade him 
 off it do, there's a good soul do ! See what a comfort he'd be to 
 us all!" 
 
 " Well, we shall see what he says when he comes. Sartney it ain't 
 like as though hejnust go, and suffen might happen ! " 
 
 " Of course," said aunt Ann, " and would no doubt, and then we 
 should never forgive ourselves. I thought I should hear o' suffen 
 awful, by my dream last night. I were sartin' of it, and here it is, and 
 yet some '11 say there ain't nothen in dreams. Do yow come up 
 stairs along o' me, my dear, and when he comes, we'll soon see how 
 it's to be." 
 
 Sarah accordingly went with her friend, who freely developed her 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 289 
 
 plan of attack, and having sufficiently dwelt upon shipwrecks in gene- 
 ral, and cannibalism in particular, they rejoined Craske, who was 
 smoking his pipe, just as Corney came into the yard. 
 
 *' Here he is ! " cried Sarah, who was on the look out. 
 
 " Now then," said Craske, " don't let's all speak together. Which 
 on us is^to speak fust? " 
 
 "Do yow," replied Aunt Ann ; " do yow. Do yow see what yow 
 can do with him fust, and then I can foller up arter." 
 
 44 What ! Sally, my love ! " cried Corney, as he entered : " you 
 here ! " 
 
 "Yes, Cornelius," replied Sarah, faintly; " I came to bring the 
 dreadful news." 
 
 " The dreadful news?" 
 
 " Come yow here, Corney, bor," said Craske ; " come here and sit 
 afore me. So," he continued, when Corney had obeyed, " yow're a 
 goin' to foreign parts, I hear/' 
 
 ' Yes," replied Corney, " we're off in the morning." 
 
 * An' was yow a goin' arout comin' so much as to say good bye ? " 
 
 " Why, I have come to say good bye to you, haven't I ? " 
 
 " Yes, when yow was sent for." 
 
 " Sent for ! nobody came for me." 
 
 " What, haven't yow seed our Bill ?" 
 
 " Not a bit of him ; unless that was him on an old carthorse, wliich 
 'he paid about the head and ears, I thought, pretty tidy " 
 
 44 But yow know Bill?" 
 
 " Yes ; but if that was him, he was a long way off me. I thought 
 it was somebody going for a doctor." 
 
 44 Well," said Craske, " that's nayther here nor there. Question is, 
 what do yow want, bor, to go to foreign parts for ? " 
 
 "That's what I want to know," exclaimed aunt Ann, who thought 
 this process of questioning slow. 44 What do yow want to go icr 
 when there's no call for it? yow above all other men upon airth ! 
 'Taint as if yow was obleedged to go ! 'Taint as if yow'd got no flesh 
 to care for yer ! 'Taint as if goin' to foreign parts was your bread ! 
 I say that yow've got no right to go. I say that yow do'n't ought to 
 think about goin'. What business have yow for to go to sea, and get 
 shipwrecked, and drownded, and cast away, and Heaven in his mercy 
 knows what ! I say it's a shame and a sin' to think about it. What do 
 yow know about the sea? What can yow know about it ? / was on it 
 onest, and that was at Yarmouth nigh six and fifty year ago, and I'm. 
 sure that it turned me so sick and so ill that die I thought I must. I 
 tell yow, yow're not at all fit to go. YowVe never bin brought up to it - 
 yow know nothin' about it, and don't want to know. What do yow 
 want to know for? What do yow want to run headlong into danger 
 for, as if yow was nobody wi' nothin' to lose ? What do yow want to 
 cross the sea for, which the waves rolls mountains high, foamin' like 
 soap-suds and washin' the clouds and then comin' down with a roar ! 
 Why ypw'd go into fits, I know yow would ! Yow'd never come home 
 here alive, and as sich yow needn't think about goin' at all '' 
 No, 19, 
 
290 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " Well but listen," said Corney. 
 
 " Don't tell me," continued his aunt, who had wound herself up 
 like the works of an alarum bell, and couldn't stop till the weight of 
 her eloquence had run down. '* I tell yow, yow don't ought to think 
 about goin' ; and, moreover than that, yow needn't think about goin', 
 for go yow shan't ! I'll lose my life first ! What on airth do yow want 
 to go for ? " 
 
 '* I'll tell you,'' said Corney. 
 
 " A pooty thing indeed ! " pursued his aunt, who had not done by 
 any means ; " a pooty thing indeed, here to go all this number o' 
 thousands o' miles, and for what ? " 
 
 " To see life." 
 
 " To see life ! Do yow mean the life that's in them impudent 
 hussies them bold and unnateral women yow talked about to Sarah 
 this mornin' ? Is that the sort o' life yow want to see? Why I'm 
 ashamed o' yow right on ashamed ! Sich sights ain't fit for Chris- 
 tians ! Keep yow at home, bor, and lead a stiddy life, and don't yow 
 run about arter such sights as them ! " 
 
 " Will you let me get a word or two in edgeways?" said Corney, 
 as his aunt stopped to wind herself up again. " Will you hear me 
 just speak ? because if you will I'll tell you all exactly what's 
 o'clock." 
 
 "That'll do," said Craske; "it's yowre turn now: go on." 
 
 " Well ! Mr. Charles rings for me, and says, ' Cornelius, you know 
 that I'm going abroad, will you go with me r ' What could I say r 
 Could I say, No, I won't? Would that have been gratitude after all 
 Sir John has done for me ? No ! Knowing that he wished me 
 to go, for if he hadn't he'd have asked one of the others. I 
 said, ' Yes; I'll go, sir,' and go I must; and as for savages and ship- 
 wrecks, and that sort of thing, I must stand my chance of course with 
 the rest." 
 
 " But what necessity is there,"' demanded aunt Ann, " for yowre 
 jttandin' any such chance? There's no call for it none not the 
 lessest in the world ! " 
 
 <; I must say," added Craske, " that if yow do go, yow don't ought 
 to go arout makin' yar will." 
 
 " Make my will ! " cried Corney ; " me make my will ? what, at 
 my time o' life ? Why if I was to make my will I should think I was 
 going to die right off." 
 
 " Yow may make yowre will if yow like," said aunt Ann, who now 
 assumed an air of authority. " But look yow here ! now on this I'm 
 'tarmined I don't wish to do it, not at all I shall be very sorry to 
 have to do it : it'll hurt my feelin's much to do it but just yow look 
 here make yowre will if yow like, but if yow go I'll alter mine ! and 
 now yow know my 'tarmination." 
 
 " But how can I get off it?" cried Corney. 
 
 " What ! " replied his aunt, u will yow make me believe that one o 
 the others won't do as well as yow ? " 
 
 " Why didn't Mr. Charles ask one of the others ? " 
 
A KQMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 1 
 
 " I don't care a mite about what yow say ; yow've no call to go, and 
 if yow do go my 'tarmination's fixed." 
 
 "Well, but I've packed all my things handkerchiefs, shirts and 
 stockings, and all ! " 
 
 ** Handkerehers, shirts, and stockings ! Who's to mend 'em ? 
 V/ho's to look arter yow while yow're gone ? " 
 
 " Why, the lady's maid ; she'll look after me! " 
 
 Sarah burst into tears. 
 
 " The lady's maid ! " cried his aunt, contemptuously ; " what, do 
 yow think ladies' maids mend men's stockings ? " 
 
 " Why shouldn't they ; where's the law on earth to prevent 'em ? 
 Sally, my girl come," he added, " don't take on so. It's nothin' ! I 
 shall soon come back again if I go." 
 
 " But don't go, Cornelius," said Sarah, " pray don't. For my sake 
 don't ; for the sake of your father, for the sake of your dear aunt 
 and all don't go. Consider what our feelings will be while you're 
 gone. We shall think that a thousand things have happened. It isn't, 
 you know, as your dear aunt says it isn't as if you were forced to go, 
 in order to keep your situation, because it^on't matter to you, Cor- 
 nelius, whether you keep it or not ; and I m sure if you look at the 
 risks you'll run, you'll see that it's never worth while to go at all. 
 Besides, you hear what your dear aunt says ; and I'm quite sure she'll 
 be just as good as her word " 
 
 "That I will," interposed aunt Ann, firmly. 
 
 " Look, then, Cornelius, at what you'll get by going, and then look 
 at what you will lose. Then again, dear, you don't want to see more 
 life you've seen enough of that already. You're not like an ignorant 
 man which wants his faculties polished up ! You know more much 
 more, Cornelius than many a man would pick up in fifty years ; and 
 as for your going to learn how to talk, why who can talk more beau- 
 tlful than you ? Why if you were to see the scenes you describe, you 
 couldn't describe them more nicely ! What, then, can you want to go 
 for r Don't go pray don't there's a love ! You know how dear 
 you are to us all ; and if anything was to happen to you, it would be 
 the death of us I know it would." 
 
 " Well ; but Sally, my love," said Corney, " how am I to get off of 
 it?" 
 
 " Easily, dear," replied Sarah. " All you have to do is to see Mr. 
 Charles, and tell him your friends are afraid of your going orwhat'll 
 be better, say right down at once that you're going to marry and take 
 a small farm, and would feel much obliged to him if he'd excuse you." 
 
 "That'll be the very thing," said aunt Ann "the very thing! 
 And he can't feel offended at that ! " 
 
 " Well," said Corney, " I don't like to do it, but if I must do it I 
 must; and if I do, the sooner I do it the better." 
 
 " Yes, dear," said Sarah, " it had better be done at once, and then, 
 you know, whoever goes will have time to prepare. Go now, dear, 
 and tell him, and then come back again." 
 
 '* Well, but I can't walk all that distance back'aras and for'ards." 
 
292 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " Will yow go and do it? " demanded aunt Ann. " 
 
 *' Well, I s'pose I must" replied Corney. " I don't like to go and 
 call off, but as you've all set your faces wholly against it, it's no use 
 for me to hold out." 
 
 '* Very well," said aunt Ann ; " I'll soon find yow a horse which'll 
 take yow there and back, bor, in no time. Dick ! " she cried, having- 
 opened the door " put the saddle on Smiler, and don't be long about 
 it. Ain't that air Bill back yet ? " 
 
 "No, marm," replied Dick. 
 
 " Why what an etarnal time he's bin. Now move as if yow meanf 
 to do't ! Whatever on airth has become o' that Bill ? " 
 
 " He's waiting, perhaps," suggested Corney. 
 
 " But what's the good of his waiting there ? We've got, I believe, 
 take one wi' the other the stupidest men upon nature's airth. But 
 that's not the pint : the pint is for yow to do this, bor, without giving 
 any offence. Yow can say, it' yow like, that it's all along o' ir.e : that 
 I once went to sea in a fishing-boat at Yarmouth nigh six-and-fifty 
 year ago, and felt as if I didrit care whether I lived or died ! Yow 
 can bring me in in any way, bor, yow like ; but I think that if yow say 
 what Sarah tells yow to say, that yow're about to get married, and to take 
 a small farm, it'll show him at onest that yow've no right to go, and 
 that if yow went with him, it 'ud be a loss o' time. There, now go," 
 she added, as the horse was brought out, " and if yow make haste 
 back, bor, I'll ha' suffen nice for yowre tea." 
 
 " Now, Corney, bor," said Craske, "yow marn't offend Mr. Charles : 
 be sure yow don't offend him : yow can do it very well arout that. 
 Mind, whatever yow do, don't offend him." 
 
 " I won't, if I can help it," said Corney sharply, and left them with 
 an air which convinced them all that he was not highly pleased with 
 their proceedings. 
 
 " Now," said he, as he rode along thoughtfully, " this is what I call 
 tyranny, this is ! real and universal tyranny ! But it's allus the case 
 with these old swells which has got any property to leave. If you 
 offend 'em, good bye ! it's all up ! away goes the property from you 
 like life ! You musn't do what you like yourself. You must do what 
 they like if not, it's a case. Now, you know, this is slavery in 
 every point of the compass, and yet what are you to do ? It's true- 
 I've got property o' my own, but put hers to it, and see how it'll be 
 swelled ! Them houses are worth three or four hundred pounds '. 
 Look at that ! look at it added to five ! Then, again, if I offend one 
 I may offend the other, and the governor's got two or three hundred,. 
 of course, although it's locked up in the farm. It ain't perhaps likely 
 he'd leave it away from me but, then, who knows ? Who can tell 
 what fancy he may take into his head ? Look at Sir John leaving the 
 estate clean away from George ! and although that's not to be won- 
 dered at by me, knowing what he is and what games he's been up to 
 for years how can I tell that he won't leave what he has away from 
 me? No, it won't do : I must keep in with them both, although I 
 must say I don't a mite like this business of calling off going." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 293 
 
 Having reached the Hall, and ascertained that Charles was in the 
 library, he went to him, and said somewhat tremulously, " Can I speak 
 to you, if you please, sir? " 
 
 " Certainly, Cornelius," replied Charles. " What is it ? " 
 
 " I hope, sir," said Corney, who could scarcely get his words out, 
 so highly important did he deem his communication " I hope, sir, 
 that what I am going to say won't be thought, sir, to be out of no dis- 
 respect, or any want, sir, of anything like gratitude ; but you know, 
 sir, what old people are, sir, and 'specially old women, which it's diffi- 
 cult, you know, sir, to do anything with, and which must have their 
 own way, you know, sir ; and as such I'm'Very sorry for it, and I hope 
 you won't think it any want of respect." 
 
 " Well, go on, Cornelius go on," said Charles, who felt that 
 -Corney had still the power within him to make himself a little more 
 intelligible. 
 
 " I hope, sir, you'll excuse me," pursued Corney, much embarrassed ; 
 " I should like it much, but she's afraid o' the sea." 
 
 " Who's afraid of the sea, Cornelius ? Whom are you talking 
 about ? " 
 
 ** My aunt, sir. She's getting very old, sir. I just went to bid her 
 good bye, and she wouldn't have me leave to go abroad for the 
 world." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Charles. " I see ! Your aunt does not approve of 
 your going abroad." 
 
 " She's afraid, sir." 
 
 * l Very good : then tell James I want him." 
 
 " I hope you don't think it any disrespect to you, sir." 
 
 -"Not at all, Cornelius : oh ! not at all." 
 
 "Besides, sir, I think of marrying, and taking a small farm." 
 
 " Well, Cornelius, well. I don't see that you can do better. Do 
 I know the person to whom you are about to be married ? " 
 
 " Sarah, sir our Sarah." 
 
 " Well ! She appears to be a very steady person." 
 
 " She is, sir," said Corney, " and a very good sort." 
 
 u No doubt of it, Cornelius : no doubt. And as regards a farm, if 
 you wish to continue in this part of the country, speak to my brother 
 about it : he'll find you some land : he thinks of breaking up some 
 portion of the park. Speak to him about it; and be assured of this, 
 that we shall at all times be glad to render you any assistance." 
 
 " I return you many thanks, sir," said Corney. " I should like to 
 go with you, sir, but I mustn't." 
 
 " Say no more about that, Cornelius. Send James here." 
 
 Corney respectfully bowed, and withdrew ; and when he had ascer- 
 tained that James really was going, his indignation at that which he 
 termed his aunt's " universal tyranny" increased. 
 
 ; ' But never mind," said he to himself, " I'll be even with her. I'll 
 put her in a stew of suspense for it now. I'll write her a note, which 
 no flesh shall understand, and which'll serve her out by keeping her 
 awake all night." 
 
294 THE STEWABD: 
 
 He then, inspiring the spirit of revenge, wrote a note, which ran 
 precisely as follows : 
 
 "dearauntiwritethesefewlmestoinformyouthatinobediencetoyourwis- 
 hesihavedeclinedtogoabroadandthatasjamesisgoingandwantstogethissh- 
 irtsandthingsreadyimustkeepathomeandwaitattableandthereforeicantsee 
 youagaintonightsonomoreatpresentfromyouraffectionatenephewcorneli- 
 uscraske." 
 
 " There," said he, having completed the note, " I think this'll be 
 about a clencher. She'll be all the blessed night running over the 
 links of this chain, and that'll be what's called retributive justice. 
 She'll think it some Hottentot language or other, and fancy, of course, 
 that I'm going to start, and all I've got to do to get out of it is to say 
 that I was in such a hurry I couldn't stop for stops." 
 
 He directed and sealed it, and took it with him into the stable-yard, 
 and found one of the boys, to whom he said, " Simon, if you take 
 this note to my aunt, I stand a shilling ; but if you come back without 
 an answer, mind, I stand nothing." 
 
 " / won't come back arout an answer," said the boy, who held a 
 shilling to be a little fortune; " I'll take care and recollect that." 
 
 " Very well," said Corney, " mind you do. Don't on any account 
 leave the place without one." 
 
 " All right," returned the boy, who put the note into his cap, and 
 immediately started across the park. 
 
 He was not long going, being anxious to see the colour of the shil- 
 ling ; and on his arrival at Craske's house, he sent the note in, as a 
 matter of course, and told the girl that he was to wait for an answer. 
 
 Well ! Aunt Ann opened the note, and ran her eyes along tlfe chain 
 of letters until her sight was lost among the links. She got her spec- 
 tacles. Well ! they magnified, certainly, but they only magnified the 
 confusion. 
 
 " What on airth is the matter o' my eyes?" she exclaimed. "I 
 must be a losin' my sight! I fear to run all the letters one into the 
 other ! Dear me, I hope my eyes ain't a goin' so fast ! Here, brother, 
 just read this note, will yow ? " 
 
 "Sartney, Ann," said Craske, putting on his spectacles. "It's from 
 Corney, I s'pose ? " 
 
 " Yes, it's from him ; but I fear so confused in my eyes, I can't 
 read it." 
 
 " Oh, we'll make it out, I dare say, Ann, atwixt us. Eh ? What ? " 
 he added fitfully, as he looked at the note with an expression of 
 curiosity the most intense ' ; What ? what's this ? Why it's the 
 language o' where he was goin' ? Derranti writhe se fewl ines toin 
 formyouth atino bediencetoy It's French or Greek, or suffeno' that; 
 and as he knows we're not high larnt, he didn't ought to have sent 
 it. Look here, my dear," he added, addressing Sarah, who of course 
 felt most anxious to know what Corney had written, "see if yow can 
 make anything out of it : I can't ! " 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 2-95 
 
 " It's "some foreign language," said Sarah, as she glanced at it. 
 " Perhaps it's Italian, where he was going." 
 
 " And where he is goin','' said aunt Ann ; " mark that \" 
 
 " I hope not," replied Sarah " dear me ! I hope not; but I'm sure 
 I'm not scholar enough to know what particular language it is." 
 
 " Who brought it ?" enquired Craske. 
 
 " One of the boys," replied aunt Ann. 
 
 " Have him in then. Let's see if he knows anything about it." 
 
 Aunt Ann called the lad in at once, when Craske said to him, 
 " Did yow bring this here note, bor ? " 
 
 " Yes," replied the boy. 
 
 "Who from?" 
 
 " From Cornelius, which told me to wait for an answer." 
 
 "We can't send an answer, bor: we can't brain it." 
 
 " Must have an answer, please," said the boy, who began to think his 
 shilling belonged to the Apocrypha. "Marn't leave arout. It's 
 petickler. He's off in the mornin' ; he's off to foreign parts." 
 
 " Did lie tell yow so ? " 
 
 " No, he didn't tell me, but coachman did ; and so, in course, I 
 know he's agoin'." 
 
 " There," said aunt Ann," there, just what I said ! Didn't I tell 
 yow how it 'ud be ? Well ! let him go let him go, and he shall 
 know it. He shall never have a shillin' o' mine while he lives." 
 
 " Do yow know Mr. Conks ? " enquired Craske, addressing the boy, 
 who stood in a state of lively apprehension that he never should be- 
 hold that particular shilling. 
 
 " Mr. Conks?" replied the boy ; " what Mr. Conks the schoolmaster ? 
 that Mr. Conks?" 
 
 "Yes," replied Craske, "just down here in the village." 
 
 " Oh yes ! " said the boy, " IJwent to school there, and so I've got 
 plenty of reason to know him." 
 
 " Very good," returned Craske; " then if yow'll just go there, and tell 
 him that I shall be very rnuch obleeged if he'll just step up here for 
 about half a minit, I'll gi yow a horn o' ale, because arout him we 
 can't send an answer back." 
 
 Well. The boy had no objection to a horn of ale. It would have 
 suited his palate then exactly : but he didn't care so much about the 
 horn of ale as he did for the shilling, the prospect of which had faded 
 considerably since his arrival ; and as it then appeared clear to him 
 that Mr. Conks was really the only man going by whom this shilling 
 could be secured to him, he started, and having found that gentleman, 
 begged of him, as earnestly as if it had been a matter of life or death, 
 to accompany him to the residence of Mr. Craske immediately, in 
 order, as he said, " to settle a question which none but the high larnt 
 could top." 
 
 Accordingly, Mr. Conks, who highly appreciated the homage paid 
 to his learning, accompanied the boy, in the full expectation of earning 
 at least a mug of ale, of which beverage of was remarkably fond. 
 
 " Muster Conks," said Craske, addressing that gentleman as he 
 
296 THE STEWARD: 
 
 entered, " we've got a note here writ in some foreign tongue that nay ther 
 of its can brain at all; and as we know that yow're wonderful high 
 larnt in languages, we've sent for yow to be kind enough to tarn it 
 into sense." 
 
 Mr. Conks who had acquired a reputation for learning by a 
 pompous delivery of high-sounding words which legitimately belonged 
 to no language at all received the note with feelings of apprehension, 
 being conscious that if it were written in anything but English, he 
 .should be able to make nothing whatever of it. 
 
 "Ah! " said he, as he knit his brows and glanced at the note hur- 
 riedly, resolved on pronouncing it to be one chaotic mass of unintel- 
 ligible nonsense; "Oh! Let me take a pinch of snuff." 
 
 He did so, and looked at the note again ; and having happily dis- 
 covered the meaning of it all, he slightly smiled, and then again 
 looked learned indeed. 
 
 " As Cornelius thinks of going to Italy, we think it's Italian, sir,"' 
 observed Sarah. 
 
 " Italian, my dear ! " said Mr. Conks pompously feeling that he 
 might then with perfect safety show off" that to a man of philoso- 
 phical sentiments makes no earthly odds. Whether it be Italian or 
 Turkish, or Greek or Chinese, or Constantinopolitarian, or any other 
 tongue that ever entered the mouth of humanity since the creation 
 -within the comprehensive scope of the terrestrialized globe, it don't 
 get over me." 
 
 " P'raps a mug of ale may assist you," said Craske. 
 
 " It may," replied Mr. Conks gravely " It may : but rest inextin- 
 guishably assured that I don't leave this without making it fairly and 
 concisely out, let it be whatever language it may." 
 
 "Oh, he's wonderful clever!" whispered aunt Ann to Sarah. 
 -" Nothen's too high larnt for him." 
 
 " Languages," pursued Mr. Conks, " are so dissimulaneous in their 
 peculiarly characteristic collateralization of tenses, that it requires the 
 study of the philosopher's stone to be able to understand them all. 
 Look at the Welsh language ! look at the Spanish ! look at the 
 Irish ! look at the Dutcli ! look at Babel, which we read of in 
 Genesis ! look at the condensed confusion of tongues there ! A mail 
 must think to get over them all. He must have a mental exumifi- 
 cation of the mind." 
 
 " It's wonderful how it's done at all," said aunt Ann; "it raily is 
 right on wonderful. I shouldn't be able to speak the words, let alone 
 understandin' 'em." 
 
 " No, I suppose;not: listen, for instance : what would you do with 
 this krackkrokivisky krakrivekikekrokra kikkikrukikkikrykag kra- 
 fcrekro?" 
 
 " Oh ! I couldn't bring my tongue to pronounce it at all." 
 
 "And yet you see it is to be done. You see it comes like nature 
 from me. But to business," added Mr. Conks, who looked at the 
 note very gravely again. " Exactly ! I see ! Very good indeed ! 
 Well ! you want this translated ? " 
 
A HOMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 297 
 
 " We only want to brain it," said Craske, " that's all ! we only 
 merely want to know what it's all about." 
 
 u Very good. Then you shall know what it's all about." 
 
 " Can you really do it, sir ? " enquired Sarah anxiously. 
 
 "Do it?" exclaimed Mr. Conks. "Why, what did I tell you 
 before ? Bring it me in an antediluvian language, or any other lan- 
 guage upon earth, and I'd do it. Now listen," he added ; " attend to 
 every word, and you shall have every word of it interpreted. Now 
 then, this is what he says : 'Dear Aunt I write these few lines to 
 inform you that, in obedience to your wishes, I have declined to go 
 abroad ; and that as James is going, and wants to get his shirts 
 and things ready, I must keep at home and wait at table, and therefore 
 I can't see you again to-night. So no more at present from your 
 affectionate nephew, Cornelius Craske.' There you have it, word for 
 word." 
 
 '* Oh ! thank you, sir thank you ! " said Sarah, delighted. 
 
 " Capital ! " cried Craske, with a feeling of admiration. " That's 
 capital well done, indeed ! I knowed yow was the man I knowed 
 yow was ! " 
 
 " Oh J to me," said Mr. Conks, " it comes as natural as life." 
 
 " Yow're sartin sure," observed aunt Ann, " that he says he's not 
 ,goin' abroad? " 
 
 " Quite. Here it is. He says that in obedience to your wishes, he 
 has declined, and that James whoever James may be is going 
 instead." 
 
 "Well, I feel very much obleeged to yow; but yow shall stop and 
 take a cup o' tea arter this that yow shall ! Here, bor," she added 
 addressing the lad, who was still in attendance of course, " here's 
 a penny, and tell Cornelius ' Very well.' " 
 
 " Is that all I'm to say, marm ? " enquired the boy, who really had 
 -a very strong suspicion that ' Very well ' would not by Corney be con- 
 sidered worth a shilling. " He said I warn't by no manner o' means 
 whatsumdever to come back arout an answer." 
 
 This nephew of yours is a rogue ! " said Mr. Conks. 
 
 '* What, Cornelius?" enquired Sarah indignantly. 
 
 " Yes ! And if you'll tell the boy to leave the room for a moment, 
 I'll prove it. Now look here," he continued, when the boy had 
 retired ; " he has written to you in this state of confusiation, con- 
 ceiving that you wouldn't understand it." 
 
 ' If so," said Craske, " he was just about right, 'cause we couldn't." 
 
 " Very good," pursued Mr. Conks, who knew, of course, that if he 
 did not explain it all, Corney would. " He wrote it with that idea, 
 and therefore I say that he's a young rogue. He knew, or at all 
 events he fancied, that it would appear to you all to be a species of 
 compound jumblification." 
 
 " And so it did," said Craske. " But however he become so high 
 larnt, I can't think ! Wherever he picked it all up, I can't brain! 
 Whoever on airth larnt him foreign languages, is a thing which is 
 wholly a mystery to me ! " 
 
298 THE STEWARD : 
 
 " I'll undertake to teach you this language in five minutes nay, in 
 a moment in the twinkling of an eye ! " 
 
 "Ah! I'm too old to larn languages; and if I wasn't, they'd be o' 
 no use to me." 
 
 " But I'll teach you all in an instant ! " 
 
 " Dear me ! " said Sarah, " how clever you must be ! I'd no notion 
 that languages could be taught thus quick. I should, however, 
 dearly like to know that language, especially as Cornelius knows it ; 
 and if you could teach me in so short a time, you don't know how 
 thankful I should feel." 
 
 " Oh ! I'll teach you all. This is not a foreign language although 
 if it was it wouldn't of course make the slightest difference to me. 
 But it isn't ; and therefore I'll teach you all at once. Dont you see," 
 he continued, as they looked at the note earnestly, while he with his 
 pencil divided the words, " Don't you see it's all English, with the 
 letters put together without either spacing or pointing ? Look here, 
 * Dear Aunt I write' and so on; don't you see? " 
 
 " Why, what etarnal fools we must be not to brain that afore ! " 
 cried aunt Ann. 
 
 " Soul and bones ! " exclaimed Craske, laughing heartily. " There's 
 a job ! there's a job ! Ha, ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 " Isn't he a young rogue now ? " cried Mr. Conks. " Isn't he a 
 young rogue waw? I'll tell you what I'd do with that young gentle- 
 man," he added, addressing aunt Ann more particularly: " I'd send a 
 written answer by the boy, and jumble all the letters together as he 
 has done, and thus at once prove to him that you understand it." 
 
 " I'll do it ! " returned Aunt Ann. "A brave thought ! " 
 
 "Yes; that'll be capital, won't it?" said Craske. "That will be 
 what I call capital." 
 
 " Now then," said aunt Ann, who got the pen and ink " now then, 
 dear, what shall us say ? Shall us say we're glad to hear which he 
 ain't opposed our wishes, and which, if he had, he wouldn't ha' bin 
 half so much thought on? " 
 
 "That'll do beautiful, indeed!" replied Sarah. "You can't say 
 anything better than that. But jumble all the letters together in con- 
 fusion; and in order to puzzle him the more, don't spell the words 
 right by any means/* 
 
 Aunt Ann laughed, and commenced her task ; and having finished 
 it, gave the note to the boy, who felt, under the circumstances, thank- 
 ful. 
 
 They then had tea : and such a tea ! Aunt Ann was so happy so 
 full of joy that she felt that she couldn't load the table too much. 
 She had toast and broiled ham, and a knuckle of pork, and cheese and 
 eggs and onions, and honey and sausage rolls, and potted hare and ale, 
 and black puddings and pickles ! Mr. Conks, having partaken of 
 nearly the whole of these luxuries, pronounced it in a fit of enthusiasm 
 to be a tea fit for the gods ! 
 
 He then had a social pipe with Craske ; and aunt Ann and Sarah, 
 having cleared away, rejoined them, when, as a natural matter of grati- 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 299 
 
 tilde, he proceeded to inspire them with a wonderfully high appreciation 
 of his learning; and as he was essentially a man of imagination, he let 
 it loose, and related a variety of his own personal adventures in 
 which he really never was and never could have been engaged ; and 
 thus at once amazed and amused them, until it was found to be high 
 time for Sarah to leave. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 D'ALMAINE AT THE HALL. 
 
 A PEW hours after the departure of Charles, with Lejeune, Juliana, and 
 the Widow, D'Almaine made his appearance at the Hall. Having re- 
 ceived the intelligence of Sir John's death from George to whom he 
 conceived the estate then belonged he had determined on this expe- 
 dition, not only in order to obtain cash for the I U, but with the 
 view of getting as m uch more as he could before George heard of the 
 public discovery of those villanies in which he had been so long 
 engaged. 
 
 His circumstances at that time, in consequence of this discovery, 
 were desperate. He had gained thousands- aye, tens pf thousands 
 by his nefarious transactions with the "Artful;" but as he had spent 
 the money as fast as he got it, he found himself without a five pound 
 note, and without a friend willing to lend him one. He was repu- 
 diated even by the " Artful" himself, in consequence of "his having 
 revealed the secret of their connection, being resolved, as he said, not 
 to suffer alone. 
 
 This expedition was therefore regarded by him as a dernier ressort, 
 and as on his arrival he was received by George with every possible 
 manifestation of pleasure, he felt that his star was again in the 
 ascendant, and congratulated himself on having made a happy hit. 
 
 "I flattered myself," said he, when George had greeted him most 
 cordially " I flattered myself that I should not be a very unwelcome 
 visitor, although I had before my eyes the necessity for making an 
 apology for running down without an invitation." 
 
 " Don't say a word about that," returned George. " I am happy to 
 see you, and I hope that during your stay you'll make yourself quite 
 at home/' 
 
 " I will, old fellow, because I know it will please you. But, I say, 
 what a stunning estate you have here ! " 
 
 " Well, it may be said to be a fine estate," said George. 
 
 " I'd no conception of it's being so extensive ! " 
 
 " The extent of it, old fellow, you'll know more about by and by. 
 But come with me and take possession of your rooms, and when we 
 have had lunch, we'll ride round it." 
 
 D'Almaine was accordingly installed in the apartments which had 
 been previously appropriated to Mr. Lejeune, and having contemplated 
 
300 THE STEWARD : 
 
 the indications of substantial wealth around him, he made up his mind 
 -at once to go to work in earnest. 
 
 k ' I must have some of this wealth," thought he. *' I feel that I 
 have a portion of it now within my grasp ; and if I can by any means 
 
 fet a purse again together, I'll hold it. I'll not be the wretched fool 
 have been. He's fond of play. Well : I can work him cautiously, 
 yet surely. He has this fine estate : he is surrounded by all the 
 luxuries of life, while I have the prospect of utter destitution before 
 me. It must be done, and I feel that it may be done with ease ; but 
 if it be done, it must be done quickly. If that infernal Ben, who is 
 watching all my movements, should discorer that I am down here, 
 he'll follow me and spoil all by claiming his share of the I U. I 
 was a fool for setting him against me. I was a fool for revealing that 
 secret. It did me no good, but much harm a fool! I must not, 
 however, dwell upon that which is passed : I must look to the future 
 alone ; and if I am not much mistaken, I shall be able to get enough 
 here to fall back upon for life. Let me have once more sufficient to 
 bring me in three or four pounds a week, and I'll stick to it, and live 
 upon it, and never touch a shilling of the principal. I have had three 
 fortunes and squandered them foolishly away ; but let me have one 
 more chance, and I'll secure it : nothing on earth shall induce me to 
 risk that." 
 
 Having had lunch, George took him into the stable-yard, and 
 ordered one of the grooms to bring out Grey Melton, the finest and 
 most valuable horse in the stud, standing within half- an- inch of seven- 
 teen hands high, thorough-bred, and possessing the most perfect sym- 
 anetry, and consequent activity, courage, and strength. 
 
 " That is your horse," said George, " during your stay; and this is 
 your groom," he added, turning to one of the men. "Sam, pay every 
 attention to Mr. D'Almaine. Put the saddle on." 
 
 Well! D'Almaine thought that this would do; and having 
 mounted, he rode with George round the estate, and of course ad- 
 mired all that he saw. 
 
 " I think," said he, as they rode along, " that I should like a quiet 
 country life now. Every thing in town so soon palls upon a man; 
 but here you feel invigorated, enlivened, and prepared to enjoy all the 
 luxuries of life with greater zest." 
 
 "Air and exercise," said George, "tend to invigorate, certainly ; 
 but a man of your stamp must have variety as well. It may be all 
 very pleasant to be here for a few days, but if you were to live in a 
 place like this year after year, you would almost fancy yourself buried 
 alive." 
 
 " I think not," rejoined D'Almaine ; " I think not. With an in- 
 come sufficient to enable me to live in, a state of independence, I 
 -should not care so much about magnificence. I feel that a tranquil 
 country life would be as pleasurable to me as that perpetual round of 
 excitement to which I have been so long inured." 
 
 "Never," said George; "never. Here you would be out of your 
 element. Nothing but excitement would suit you, I know." 
 
A KOMA^CE OF EEAL LIFE. 301 
 
 " I think that it would." 
 
 " Then why don't you try it ? You have the means of doing so at 
 your command. Four or five hundred a year in the country will go 
 as far as a thousand will in town. Settle yourself down in the coun- 
 try and try it. Make up your mind now to try it for a year. I'll bet 
 a hundred you'd be sick of it in less than a month." 
 
 " That'll do," thought D'Almaine, ; " still sporting, I find." 
 
 " What would you say," continued George, " to this ride every 
 morning to see the same hedges, and trees, and fields to watch the 
 growth of the barley, the wheat, and the oats, and then to return and 
 dine alone and shut yourself up for the night." 
 
 " Aye ! but I shouldn't think of doing it so. I'd either go out to 
 dine with some one, or some one should come and dine with me." 
 
 "Well; and if you did, what would the society of those whom we 
 in general meet with in the country be to you ? What can they talk 
 about ? what do they talk about ? Nothing but horses, and dogs, 
 and religion. You are fond of dogs, I know. But what can you do with 
 them. Keep them chained up. You dare not try them ! A man who 
 fights dogs in the country is considered a heathen. The only thing 
 of importance you can do in the dog line is to keep a pack of hounds,, 
 and that alone will cost you a thousand a-year." 
 
 " A thousand a-year ! " cried D'Almaine. 
 
 " Yes, at least. There is in this county a friend of mine who kept 
 a pack fifteen years, and they cost him on the average two thousand 
 a year." 
 
 "Well ; but didn't the persons who joined in the sport subscribe ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you. Having kept the hounds nearly twelve years at his 
 own expense, he intimated to those whom he met in the field, and 
 whom he treated with princely hospitality, that if they felt disposed to 
 subscribe they might do so, and place the amount of their subscription 
 to his account in one of the banks; and how much do you think they 
 subscribed ? Men living in affluence ! fifty of them who met the 
 hounds three times a-week throughout the season how much do you 
 think they subscribed ? " 
 
 " Fifty of them well, say ten pounds each. Perhaps five hundred 
 a-year! " 
 
 " Thirty five pounds, and no more ! Seven of them paid five 
 pounds each into the bank, and the rest notwithstanding they con- 
 tinued to hunt altogether forgot it. Why they are the meanest set 
 alive ! Provide them with sport, and they'll come to enjoy it, and eat 
 your dinners afterwards, and drink all the wine you like to give them, 
 aud call you a jolly good fellow ; but expect them to bear any portion 
 of the expense, and you become at once a miserable humbug ! That 
 would suit you, wouldn't it ?" 
 
 "Not exactly." 
 
 " No. I should say not ; and yet you must associate with them 
 if, indeed, you have any associates at all although you know that 
 their aim is to sponge upon you, and privately laugh at your 
 folly." 
 
302 THE STEWARD : . 
 
 " There is too much of that in every county, no doubt; still I think 
 that with a few congenial spirits, a country life must be delightful."' 
 
 " But where are you to get your congenial spirits r Where are you 
 to find them '? " 
 
 "There are two here, at all events!" said D'Almaine, slapping 
 George on the back heartily. "Three or four like you would be 
 quite enough for me." 
 
 George was highly pleased with this : it suited him exactly ; and 
 when they had been completely round the estate, they returned to the 
 Hall and dined. 
 
 " Croly," said D'Ahnaine immediately after dinner, " I pledge you 
 in a bumper. I congratulate you on having succeeded to so fine an 
 estate. May you live long, old fellow, to enjoy it! " 
 
 " The estate is not mine, D'Almaine," returned George. 
 
 " Notyours ? not yours ? To whom on earth, then, does it belong? " 
 
 " My brother Charles," replied George. " It was left to him." 
 
 "What!" cried D'Almaine, with an expression of amazement. 
 " Why he is the younger son, is he not ?" 
 
 * Yes ; but the estate has, notwithstanding, been left to him." 
 
 " Why you astonish me ! But come, come, old fellow : this won't 
 do, you know." 
 
 "Oh, it's fact ! I am but the Steward." 
 
 " Well, but jesting apart: come, you know I can't take this in. 
 A'.'C you not in reality the owner of this estate ?" 
 
 " Don't I tell you that it belongs to my brother? " 
 
 " You tell me so ; but I won't have it ! " 
 
 " It's the truth, D'Almaine, upon my honour." 
 
 " Upon your honour ! " 
 
 "Yes!" 
 
 "Well, but bow?" said D'Almaine, who looked perfectly bewildered 
 how? what's the meaning of it ? how can it be so ? " 
 
 " It's sufficient for me to know that it is so." 
 
 " Well ! as you say that it is so, upon your honour, I am of course 
 bound to believe you ; but the younger son, and all ! it appears so 
 strange ! " 
 
 " You must see a copy of the will, I find, in order to feel convinced. 
 Had it not been so, D'Almaine, I should have sent up the amount of 
 that I U at once." 
 
 " Well, it certainly would have been acceptable, for to tell you the 
 truth, I have lost so much of late that at present I have hardly a 
 feather to fly with." 
 
 " Indeed ! " cried George, who began to inspire a feeling of contempt 
 for the man. 
 
 " I don't mind telling you," said D'Almaine, " because we know 
 each other so well ; but as true as I'm alive, I'm at present hard up, 
 and therefore, if you could manage that little matter for me, you'd set 
 me just now on my legs again." 
 
 "I can't do it yet," returned George. "You shall have it as soon 
 as possible, but I can't do it yet." 
 
A ROMANCE OF HEAL LIFE. 303 
 
 " Can you manage half of it ? " 
 
 " I cannot at present. I really have no money." 
 
 " Well, old fellow, but your credit is good ! " 
 
 " It may be : but I have not yet proved whether it is here or not. 
 It is, however, certain that I cannot by any means raise the amount at 
 present." 
 
 " I'll tell you what I'll do with you, old fellow," said D'Almaine, 
 who was anxious to get a portion of it, at least, before the discovery 
 of his villanies became known to George. " I'll meet you half way 
 I'll do that ! So useful would a little money be to me now, that if 
 you can raise two hundred and fifty, I'll give up your I U, and cry 
 quits ! That will be as much to me now as a thousand would be to 
 me at any other time ; and therefore, if you can manage it, do." 
 
 " Welf," said George, " I'll see what I can do to-morrow morning. 
 I shall be able to manage that, I've no doubt." 
 
 " There's a [good fellow. And. now let us drop these infernal 
 money matters : they always were, and always will be to me, disgust- 
 ing. But when you tell me that this splendid estate is in reality not 
 yours, you amaze me ! Still you have, of course, something? " 
 
 " A paltry two hundred and fifty a-year that's all." 
 
 " Two hundred and fifty a-year ! Why I thought that you told me 
 when you were in town that you knew the will secured the whole 
 estate to you, with the exception, indeed, of a few legacies ! " 
 
 " And so it did ! the only will of which / had any knowledge ! 
 but this was made subsequently." 
 
 "I see ! But how does he attempt to justify his conduct r " 
 
 " He doesn't attempt to justify it at all. But I'll show you a copy 
 of the will," he added, " and then you'll at once know all about it." 
 
 He left the room ; and during his absence, D'Almaine dwelt deeply 
 upon a scheme which he conceived might, under the circumstances, 
 be easily accomplished. 
 
 " Bnt," thought he, "I must secure this two hundred and fifty first, 
 and when I get it, that alone will give me courage to do more. And 
 what have I to fear from him knowing what I know ? Why I could 
 ruin his reputation for ever, and he knows it ! This money, however, 
 must first be secured." 
 
 " There," said George, on his return with a copy of Sir John's wilL 
 " look at that." 
 
 D'Almaine opened the document, and proceeded to read it care- 
 fully ; and when he came to the part which had reference to George, 
 he looked up and said, " Five hundred, old fellow I Jive hundred a 
 year, instead of two hundred and fifty ! " 
 
 " Go on," returned George. " You'll see all about it by and by. 
 Wait till you come to the codicil." 
 
 Well, D'Almaine continued to read ; and having ascertained exactly 
 how the case stood, he said, " Who is this lady, Croly ? this Mrs. 
 Wardle?" 
 
 " She was my late father's housekeeper. You saw her with him in 
 London." 
 
304 THE STEWAUD t 
 
 " Oh ! " said D'Almaine, thoughtfully. u " Ah ! She is a widow, I 
 think you told me? " 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Has she any private property ? anything besides this five hun- 
 dred a-year which I perceive Sir John has left her? " 
 
 " A trifle," replied George. " She has an interest in some property 
 near here, but the amount she derives from it, is, I believe, inconsider- 
 able." 
 
 "She's rather a slappish looking woman, *s she not ? " 
 
 " There's nothing about her particularly slap. She's a good-looking 
 woman enough, and has been, I have understood, considered a beauty." 
 
 " Ah, she appeared to me to be a decent sort of a creature. About 
 what age do you think she is ? " 
 
 " I should say about fifty/' 
 
 " She is living in this neighbourhood, I suppose ? " 
 
 " She left this morning with Charles." 
 
 " Is she then going to Italy with him? " 
 
 " Oh yes ! they are all going together." 
 
 " Croly," said D'Almaine earnestly, " you'll laugh at me, doubtless, 
 but I'll tell you a secret: I am resolved on getting married." 
 
 " Well," returned George with a smile, " Well, a man may do worse 
 than even that." 
 
 "The fact is, I am tired of this life of excitement, and have made 
 up my mind to settle down." 
 
 " And would you marry the widow ? " 
 
 "Why should 1 not?"' 
 
 " Why, look at her age compared with yours; -there's a difference 
 of twenty years, at least." 
 
 " I care nothing for that. What sort of disposition has she ? " 
 
 " Oh ! she is a most amiable person, and highly intelligent as well."' 
 
 " Then I'll tell you what I'll do ! I'll look after her. You'll hear 
 from them, in all probability, in a few days ; and if you'll let me know 
 where she is, I'll go over." 
 
 " You shall know where she is to be found," returned George, " but 
 as for your going on such an expedition, it will be, I know, of no use 
 whatever." 
 
 " Why not? '; said D'Almaine. 
 
 " Because she'll not have you." 
 
 " How is it possible for you to know that ? I'm not an egotist, nor 
 am I particularly vain, but I think that my appearance, to say the 
 least, will not inspire her with disgust." 
 
 " Were you the most attractive fellow in Europe, she wouldn't have 
 you." 
 
 "Whyftctf?" demanded D'Almaine, who felt piqued at this ap- 
 parent intimation that he really was not the most attractive fellow in 
 Europe. " Why not ? " 
 
 " Because she has made up her mind not to marry again." 
 
 " Oh ! / shall be able to get over that. I'll [soon make her alter 
 her mind on that subject." 
 
A ROMANCE OF HEAL LIFE. 305 
 
 " Never," said George. " Never." 
 " I have no fear of it : not the slightest." 
 " Nor need you have the slightest hope ! " 
 
 " Well ; but don't you really think that I should be able to work 
 it ? Suppose she were at Naples, or Venice, or Rome, and I were to 
 go over and get introduced, do you imagine that her scruples are so 
 deeply imbedded that I couldn't pull them up by the roots ? " 
 "I do. I not only imagine I know that you could not." 
 " But how is it possible for you to know ?"' 
 
 " I'll explain. When her husband who was our clergyman was 
 on his death-bed, she promised him that she would never marry again, 
 and she holds that promise to be sacred." 
 
 * ; Well, but don't you think that a little tact would induce her to 
 hold this promise in a less sacred light '? " 
 
 " A little tact ! No ! Not all the tact at your command could do 
 it." 
 
 '" But how do you know ? " 
 
 ' I'll convince you if I can," replied George, who left the room, 
 and having found the widow's letter containing her decision a copy 
 ot which appeared in our fifteenth chapter he placed it before D'Al- 
 maine, and said '* There, old fellow, look at that. Understand," h? 
 added, " that my father, to whom she was ardently attached, made her 
 an offer just before his death." 
 
 " Your father ! What, Sir John ? " 
 
 " Yes, and that is her answer." 
 
 D'Almaine read the letter and then shook his head. "You 'are 
 right," said he, " quite right. It's no go." 
 
 " You see she might have had a title as well as a fortune." 
 
 "/ see. It's all up. Oh, that's a perfect case ! But who is this 
 girl whose name is mentioned in the codicil ? this what's her name ? 
 Jane Freeman, who is she ? " 
 
 " She is the daughter of one of our tenants," replied George. 
 
 "A fanner?" 
 
 -Yes." 
 
 " Has he any tin ? " 
 
 " Oh he's a very substantial man. He forms about live hundred 
 acres of land, and has plenty of capital to work it.'' 
 
 k Ah. How many children has he ?" 
 
 " She's his only child." 
 
 " His only child ! Ah. I don't understand it myself, but how 
 much capital is necessary to work a farm of five hundred acres ? " 
 
 ' Well, to work it as he works it, and to keep the stock that he 
 keeps, you'd require let me see five eights are forty you'd require 
 at least four thousand pounds." 
 
 ** Four thousand pounds. Ah. You know her of course ? 
 
 4< I should think so." 
 
 *' Is she a tidy-looking girl? " 
 
 "The most beautiful girl in this county." 
 
 ki Oh, I see ! Then you'll secure her." 
 No. 20. 
 
306 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " I will if Tcan. The fact is I seduced her, and hence that infernal 
 codicil." 
 
 " Did you refuse to marry her then ? " 
 
 "I did ; conceiving that the estate would be mine. I tell you this 
 in confidence, of course." 
 
 " Of course ! I understand. But why don't you marry her now? '' 
 
 " "Well there is a little difficulty to be surmounted." 
 
 " Ah ! I don't of course desire to pry into any secrets. You say 
 that you seduced her. Is she enceinte ? " 
 
 "She is," replied George. 
 
 " Well, then, of course you'll marry her at once." 
 
 " I can say no more than that I will if I can." 
 
 " If you can, old fellow? Why she can't, under the circumstances, 
 refuse to have you ? " 
 
 " Perhaps she'll not," replied George. " We shall see. Pass the 
 wine." 
 
 D'Almaine, who imagined that this would be an excellent chance 
 for him, and who at the same time perceived that there was something 
 beneath the surface which rendered the union of George and Jane 
 doubtful, at once made up his mind to fall desperately in love with 
 her, and, if possible, to carry her off. 
 
 " Well," said he, having resolved on not saying another word on 
 this subject, " how do you spend your evenings ? Do you play at 
 all?" 
 
 " Whom have I to play with?" said George with a smile. "I as- 
 sociate with -no one here. I go into the town sometimes and have 
 a rubber ; but even there they are so spiritless, that I seldom do 
 even that. If you'd like to have a few throws, I've dice in the 
 house? " 
 
 " Well," replied D'Almaine, " we need not play high. We'll have 
 a few throws, if you like ! " 
 
 The dice were produced, and they played ; and as D'Almaine had 
 but two sovereigns to commence with, he proposed to begin low,- and 
 they threw for crowns ; but when he had succeeded in making the 
 game safe, the stakes were increased, they played for pounds, and 
 D f Almaine's^purse was filled again. 
 
 In the morning, George, mindful of his promise, and pleased with 
 the prospect of saving two hundred and fifty pounds by its perform- 
 ance, went to the bank, where an account had been opened in his 
 name by Charles ; and during his absence, D'Almaine, having decided 
 on the pursuit of a course which he imagined could hardly fail to be 
 successful, ordered his horse, ascertained in what direction Freeman 
 lived, and rode over with the view of introducing himself to him. 
 
 He passed the house, expecting to catch a glimpse of Jane ; but as 
 she was not to be seen, he rode on, and enquired of a boy whom he 
 met if he had seen Mr. Freeman about ; and on being informed that 
 Freeman was in an adjoining field, he entered that field and rode up 
 to him at once. 
 
 " Good morning," said he. 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 307 
 
 "Good morning, sir,'' said Freeman, who knew the horse but not 
 the m;in. 
 
 ' ; Mr. Freeman I believe I have the pleasure of addressing ? " 
 
 name, sir, is Freeman." 
 
 h Mr. Freeman ! I've often heard my late friend, Sir John, speak 
 A sad loss, Mr. Freeman, a very sad loss." 
 
 Jr. is a sad loss, sir, indeed." 
 
 " You don't remember me, I suppose, Mr. Freeman." 
 
 t( I can't say that I do." 
 
 " No, it's some time since I was here before. I'm staying'up at the 
 Hall. I ran down to see my friend Charles before he left, but I found 
 that ne had started several hours before my arrival." 
 
 ' Aye, he started yesterday morning." 
 
 " Yes, and I arrived a few hours after he left." 
 
 " That was unfortunate very." 
 
 'Yes: but these things can't be helped. Disappointments must 
 be borne." 
 
 ' That's true, sir : they must be. Do you intend to make a long 
 stay in this part of the country '? " 
 
 "No; I shall not stop long. George and I get on very well, but 
 Charles is my favourite." 
 
 k ' He's a gentleman, sir, is Mr. Charles. I believe him to be as 
 good a man as his father." 
 
 "There you have expressed my sentiments precisely. He is a 
 gentleman, every inch of him ; 1 nevdr knew him to be guilty of an 
 act of meanness or dishonour. He possesses a noble heart, and a 
 noble mind too ; ingenuous and generous, even to a fault. That Sir 
 John knew, Mr. Freeman. His ivMl, I think, sufficiently proves that/ 
 
 "You are right, sir, quite right," returned Freeman. "The will 
 certainly proves that he was 'the favourite son." 
 
 " We'll," said D'Alrnaine, who thought that he had done enough to 
 this subject for the present, " what sort of crops are we going to have 
 this year ? " 
 
 - Why, thank God, they look healthy at present: the wheats are 
 particularly strong." 
 
 ' You are famed for your stock, I understand." 
 Well, sir, I can shew you some bullocks which perhaps in this 
 county can't be matched." 
 
 ' I should really like to see them if, indeed, I'm not intruding too 
 much on your time." 
 
 tw Oh dear me, no, not at all ! I shall feel great pleasure in shewing 
 
 i to you." 
 
 " Very good. This will do," thought D'Almaine, who, as he rode 
 [y Freeman's side, succeeded in making himself particularly agree- 
 , and when he had highly admired everything he saw, Freeman 
 .eel him to take a glass of wine. 
 
 second invitation was needed. They dismounted at once and 
 : into the house, and Freeman, having rung the bell, desired the 
 ant to tell Jnne to send him the key of the sideboard. 
 
308 THE STEWARD : 
 
 Jane, who had been watching D'Almaine from her window and 
 wondering who he was instead of sending the key, was prompted by 
 a very natural feeling of curiosity to take it herself, which she did", 
 and the moment she entered the room D'Almaine appeared absolutely 
 struck with admiration. He gazed at her as if she had enchanted him ; 
 and although she retired immediately after she had given the key to 
 her father, the impression which she had apparently created percep- 
 tibly remained. 
 
 "Is that lovely girl your daughter, Mr. Freeman ?" he enquired 
 with an expression of the most intense earnestness. 
 
 " Yes, sir," replied Freeman, " that is my Jane." 
 
 ** I never before beheld such beauty ! And she is doubtless as 
 amiable as she is beautiful." 
 
 * k She's a good girl," said Freeman, " notwithstanding her mis- 
 fortune." 
 
 "Misfortune!" cried D'Almaine, with a look of amazement; "is 
 she unhappily married then to some worthless person ? " 
 
 * ; No, sir, no: she is not married. Now, sir," he added, having 
 passed the bottle, "do me the favour to try that." 
 
 D'Almaine, who perceived at a glance that the subject could not be 
 \vith safety pursued then, bowed, and filled his glass and drank, and' 
 praised the wine highly, and shortly afterwards rose, and taking Free- 
 man by the hand, expressed himself delighted with his courtesy, and 
 left him. 
 
 Having remounted, he gave the man who held his horse a crowiv 
 
 ich the poor fellow stared at and then stared at him, and said, 
 " Eeg pardon, sir: do yow know wot yow've guv me r " 
 
 " All right, my good fellow," replied D'Almaine, who, having caught 
 a glimpse of Jane at one of the windows, raised his hat gracefully 
 and started. 
 
 " Well," said he, having passed the gate, " this is an admirable 
 beginning ! I have certainly carried two points to perfection ! I have 
 made a highly favourable impression upon him, and induced her ta 
 believe that she has made a deep impression upon me. Now the next 
 move is an important one. I'll not write to her as I first intended ;. 
 no. I'll do the ingenuous : an appearance of candour always tells. 
 I'll speak to him that will be the dodge ! Let me make it all right 
 with him, and I shall then have the game in my own hands. If pos- 
 sible, this shall be done to-day. The thing must not be delayed. It 
 is perfectly clear to me that he has not a very exalted opinion of 
 George ; that's all in my favour. But I really see nothing which is 
 not favourable. The fact of her having been seduced tells for me, 
 and what do I care about her having been seduced ? There must be 
 something behind the scenes more than I know of, or he never would 
 have said, c I'll marry her if I can' It is hence clear that their mar- 
 riage does not depend upon him. It is certain that she has refused to 
 marry him, and that, viewed with reference to her present situation, 
 proves the existence on her part of some feeling of disgust. What 
 then have I to fear ? Why, nothing ! She'll marry me if only to bo- 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 309 
 
 revenged upon him ; and two hundred and fifty a-year, besides the 
 prospect I may almost say the certainty of having eventually four 
 or five thousand added, must not, under existing circumstances, be 
 despised. Secure her, and whom need you care for ? If it be possi- 
 ble I will secure her, and that it is possible I feel now convinced. In 
 the course of the day I'll see Freeman again and make it all right 
 with him." 
 
 On his return to the Hall he found George in the library, who said, 
 *' Well, Gusty, have you enjoyed your ride?" 
 
 "Very much indeed/' replied D'Almaine. 
 
 *' I have been to raise this money for you. I have had some diffi- 
 culty about it, but I've done it. Have you the I U with you?" 
 
 ' ; I have/' replied D'Almaine ; " but I hope that you have not hu- 
 miliated yourself on my account." 
 
 * Here's the money /'returned George, " and don't say another word 
 about humiliation. I promised that I'd get it for you if possible, and 
 I have got it." 
 
 D'Almaine gave up the I O U, and received two hundred and fifty 
 pounds. 
 
 " I have," said he, u a remittance to make ; perhaps you'll excuse 
 :ne for an hour or two." 
 
 " Certainly," replied George; "certainly. I hope, old follow, that 
 while you are here, you'll act precisely as if you were at home. We 
 shall dine together, of course ? " 
 
 " Oh, I shall be back in an hour or so. I am merely going into 
 the town." 
 
 ; Very good," replied George : and D'Almaine ordered his '.horse 
 again ; and having reached the town, opened an account at one of the 
 banks, conceiving that the appearance of it might be made useful : and 
 when he had obtained a book, he thoughtfully rode round to Free- 
 man's. 
 
 *' Is Mr. Freeman within? " he enquired on his arrival. 
 
 '* Yes, sir," replied the servant, "he is." 
 
 " Give him my card, and say that I am the gentleman who had the 
 j'loasure of seeing him this morning." 
 
 The servant delivered the card to Freeman, and D'Almaine was im- 
 mediately requested to walk in; and as he entered, Jane rose, and 
 having bowed to him, withdrew, when he took a chair and calmly said 
 to Freeman, " My dear sir, I have to make a thousand apologies for 
 ihis intrusion; but I feel that when I have explained to you the cause 
 of it, you will pardon me, and ascribe this visit to the purest and most 
 honourable motives. This morning you were kind enough to ask me 
 in to take a glass of wine with you; and I highly appreciated your 
 courtesy ; but having entered the house with you, I saw one whose 
 beauty inspired me with admiration whom with touching simplicity 
 you called a. good girl, and with whose misfortune I have been since 
 made acquainted. Mr. Freeman, I utterly abhor the heartles^ness by 
 which such proceedings are characterized. They cannot be sufficiently 
 reprehended ; and as this case in a peculiar manner touched my syra- 
 
310 THE STEWARD : 
 
 patbies, having a high admiration of her beauty, I have paid 
 visit, Mr. Freeman, with the view of requesting you to permit me to 
 solicit her hand. You will perceive that I v.-ish to do nothing clan- 
 destinely : I like on all occasions to be open and candid. I therefore 
 ask your permission before I attempt to make known my sentiments 
 to her. I require no money at all with her ! not a shilling ! The 
 hand and the heart of so beautiful, and, as I believe, so pure-minded a 
 beino;, are all that I require to render me happy." 
 
 " Well, Mr. D'Almaine," replied Freeman, who was neither dis- 
 pleased nor amazed to hear that Jane had inspired him with admiration, 
 " you have certainly pursued a very proper course by naming the sub- 
 ject to me first. I must say you have acted very much like a gentle- 
 man. I like candour: I like straightforward conduct, sir, as I like 
 my life; but I really can say nothing at all to this, until I have 
 consulted my daughter." 
 
 " Will you do me the favour to consult her on the subject? " 
 
 " I will. As a friend of poor Sir John and Mr. Charles, I can't of 
 course but respect you, and I must say that I like your straightforward 
 conduct much. I mill consult her on the subject ; and if I find her 
 disposed to accept your addresses, why then we shall know how to 
 act." 
 
 " My dear sir," said D'Almaine, " I hardly know how to thank you; 
 but I beg of you to be assured of this, that should I be fortunate 
 enough to gain her hand, all that a husband should be, I'll be to her/' 
 
 " I hope so, Mr. D'Almaine : I hope so. But how came you to 
 hear of her misfortune? " 
 
 "The villain himself told me of it ! I beg pardon," he added, '' I 
 ought not to have made use of that expression, but, between ours- 
 I have such a thorough contempt for heartlessness, that I cannot help 
 showing it sometimes. I wish to say nothing against him : if I were 
 to do so, it might appear that I wished to place his conduct in a still 
 more unfavourable light: but you doubtless perceived when I spoke 
 of the will, and before I had seen your beautiful daughter, that CL 
 was my friend, not George." 
 
 " Yes," replied Freeman ; " I perceived that, of course. Oh, : 
 he told you of it." 
 
 " He did, and I couldn't help feeling indignant." 
 
 "Did you tell him that you had seen my daughter?" 
 
 "No: I wished to have no farther conversation with him or; 
 subject." 
 
 " You are aware, I suppose that he would marry her now. 
 standing he abandoned her before Sir John's death." 
 
 " He marry her ! Ah, Mr. Freeman, I hope that her happiness 'will 
 not be sacrificed for ever.'' 
 
 "That is what she is afraid of, and hence she rejects him." 
 
 " I admire her spirit ! She is, moreover, wise ! What can 
 expect, after having been abandoned by him in whose honov.r 
 reposed the utmost confidence : " 
 
 " True, very true : her confidence in him was unbounded, and like 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 311 
 
 a bad man, he betrayed it. I could show you two notes, sir, from him, 
 which would amaze you." 
 
 "Addressed to her?" 
 
 " Yes : I have them now in my possession." 
 
 " Well : although I know him to be capable of almost anything, I 
 should, I must say, like to see them." 
 
 " Then you shall : but, of course, in strict confidence ! " 
 
 " Of course, my dear sir." 
 
 " Then I'll get them. Excuse me for a moment," he added, and 
 left the room, when D'Almaine seized a pen and wrote a cheque for 
 five pounds, which he intended to place in the hands of the servant, 
 but which he took care not to finish until Freeman returned. 
 
 " There, sir," said Freeman, as ^he placed the notes before him, 
 " look at those." 
 
 D'Almaine tore off the cheque and put it into his pocket, and then 
 proceeded to read the notes with a well assumed expression of indig- 
 nation. 
 
 " Is it possible ? " he exclaimed, having read the notes carefully. 
 " Good God ! why what a strain to write in ! " 
 
 "There, sir, what do you think of them ? " 
 
 " My dear sir, don't ask me what I think of them. I cannot trust 
 myself to designate them. I must think of them what every other 
 honourable man must think of them ; but ask me pray ask me no 
 more. Why he here attaches all the blame to her ! " 
 
 " That's what I look at more particularly ! " 
 
 " Oh, George, George ! I thought that you were bad enough, cer- 
 tainly ; but this surpasses all. And after this he would marry her ! 
 Why, if it were possible for her to consent to be thus deeply humili- 
 ated, neither you nor I, nor any other man, could have a very high 
 opinion of her intellect. Marry him after this ! The proposition is 
 monstrous ! No, Mr. Freeman, no idea of that kind can, on her part, 
 be entertained now, I should think ! " 
 
 " And yet, to be candid with you, it sometimes appears that she has 
 a latent affection for the man even now." 
 
 " No doubt of it. I cannot have the slightest doubt of that. It 
 is not to be imagined that she had no affection for him. But, sir, the 
 affectionate solicitude of another would very soon wean her from that. 
 I should have no fear whatever on the subject. She would contrast 
 kindness with absolute cruelty, and soon discover which had the 
 ascendancy in her heart. To suppose that she had no affection at all 
 for him, were to suppose that she is not in spirit so pure as I firmly 
 believe her to be, Mr. Freeman ; but that her affection for him would 
 soon become extinct, when she found that she had the pure devotion 
 of another, I feel so perfectly well assured that I should not entertain 
 the slightest fear of being able to gain her whole heart." 
 
 " Well, Mr. D'Almaine, I'll name the matter to her, and then I'll 
 let you know the result." 
 
 " Will you be kind enough to name the subject to her to-day ? '' 
 
 " I will!" 
 
312 THE STF.WATin: 
 
 " And allow me to call upon you again in the morning." 
 "* Certainly." 
 
 " My dear sir," said D'Ahnaine, rising and shaking Freeman warmly 
 hv the hand, '* I know not how to thank yon, and therefore you must 
 not expect me to make the attempt; but the time, I fervently hope, 
 Avill soon come, when I shall be able to prove to you how highly I 
 appreciate the goodness of your fine old English heart." 
 
 *' All I can say," returnr-d Freeman, " is this, that whatever may be 
 the result of my consultation with my daughter, I shall be at all times 
 happy to see you as a gentleman, and especially as a friend of Mr. 
 Charles." 
 
 D'Almaine again shook him heartily by the hand, and when his 
 horse had been ordered to the door, he privately gave the cheque to 
 Jane's maid, who let him out; and with many expressions of thanks 
 to Freeman, remounted, aid gracefully took his leave. 
 
 Freeman was highly pleased with him, and shortly afterwards sent 
 up for Jane, to whom the maid, with intense delight, had shown the 
 cheque for five pounds. 
 
 " My dear," said he, as Jane entered the room, " why, it appears 
 that you have become a very dangerous creature." 
 
 " Dangerous, dear father ? " 
 
 " Yes, it appears that no one can see you now, without falling des- 
 perately in love with you." 
 
 Jane moved her head and smiled, but it was a smile of sadness. 
 
 'That gentleman Mr. D'Alrnaine," he continued, " is so deeply 
 enamoured of you, that ho came for the purpose of requesting me to 
 allow him to solicit your hand." 
 
 " Indi-ad ! " said Jane. 
 
 " Yes. my dear, and a more gentleman!) man, I think I never in 
 my life met with." 
 
 "He appears to be a perfect gentleman, certainly. But what did 
 you say ? " 
 
 " I told him that I could say nothing to it, my dear, until I'd con- 
 sulted you ; and when he 1 ad urged me to do so, I consented, and he 
 is coming to-morrow morning to know the result." 
 
 " He might have known it at once, dear father," said Jane: " had 
 you named the subject to me before he left, one word would have 
 been sufficient. He is doubtless a perfect gentleman, and he may 
 have conceived an affection for me, but I would not on any account 
 deceive* him." 
 
 *' Deceive him, my dear ! You would not deceive him ! He knows 
 all about it ! " 
 
 " He does ! He knows of my unhappy fall and yet seeks my 
 .hand?" 
 
 ' Yes, he knows all about it." 
 
 ^ And would marry me fit once? '' 
 
 " No doubt of it, my girl." 
 
 " Then I hold him in contempt ! " 
 
 -But why, my dear? He loves you, and sympathises with 
 
A KOMA.'XCE OF REAL LIT I'.. 313 
 
 yon, and regards the course pursued by George with utter abhor- 
 rence. 
 
 * Father, I cannot but conceive such a proposal to be, under the 
 circumstances, indelicate in the extreme. Look at my position ! I 
 must shortly become a mother. He knows it, you say, and would, 
 notwithstanding this, marry me now marry me before the child is 
 Sorn ! Why, to me the idea is disgusting. No man possessing a 
 delicate mind no man of common decency would dream of making 
 sr.eh a proposal. But who informed him of this? " 
 
 *' George himself." 
 
 44 The wretch! Oh," she added, absolutely groaning with deep 
 omotion, " I could I could have my revenge ! But no no. Oh, 
 kv told him, did he ? " 
 
 11 He did, my dear, and Mr. D'Almaine has an utter contempt for 
 him in consequence." 
 
 " ; And well he may have ; but my dear father, this Mr. D'Almaine 
 is no gentleman, I feel assured." 
 
 " His manners are those of a gentleman, certainly." 
 
 " They may be ; but no gentleman would even make such a pro- 
 posal as this. You know George's character well almost as well as 
 I know it myself ; but how do we know that this person this Mr. 
 D'Almaine is not one of his creatures, employed to come here for 
 some purpose which may not be consistent with my safety." ^ 
 
 " If I thought that I'd kick him out of the house." 
 
 " It may not be so ; but how can we tell that it is not? " 
 
 *' But what has your safety to do with him now ? You will never 
 be a burden to him. This annuity must of course be regarded as 
 compensation for the injury you have sustained, and we can never 
 apply to him for more." 
 
 " I am aware of it, father : but who can tell what his design may 
 be ? I am to have a clear half of the income which he was to have 
 had : does that half revert to him in the event of my death: " 
 
 "I never thought of that; but I can ascertain, and will the [first 
 opportunity." 
 
 44 It may not be so ; it may revert to the estate : but how can we 
 tell that this D'Almaine has not been for some purpose set on by 
 him?" 
 
 " But he appears to have an utter abhorrence of his character." 
 
 *' He may appear to have, with the view of blinding us." 
 
 "It may be so : certainly it may be so, and yet I can hardly think 
 that it is. Besides, the fact of his having been struck with your appear- 
 ance does not seem to me to be extraordinary at all." 
 
 " Father, every woman likes to be admired : I know not whether it is 
 the case with every man, but certainly every woman who excites ad- 
 miration and knows it, derives from that knowledge a certain amount 
 of pleasure; but then to impart pleasure, admiration must be rea), 
 which I perceived his was not when I brought in the key. His ex- 
 pression of it was far too extravagant for reality. What is there in 
 my appearance so startling? Say that I am moderately good-looking 
 
314 THE STEWARD: 
 
 say that I am handsome, if you please but is there anything in my 
 countenance calculated to have so theatrical an effect upon a man as 
 my presence apparently had upon him ? No, father ! this is some 
 deeply laid scheme.'' 
 
 " Well, my dear, it certainly struck me at the time that his expres- 
 sion of admiration was rather theatrical ; but then we have heard of 
 men who have fallen in love at first sight, and who could not conceal 
 their emotions. It may, nevertheless, my dear, be as you imagine ; 
 but if he be not sincere I'm deceived. There is something so candid 
 and straightforward about him ; his manners are so gentlemanlike, 
 and his language so kind, that it is almost impossible to believe that 
 he has any other design than that of obtaining your hand. But it is, 
 my dear, of course for you to judge and decide. He requires no 
 money with you, he told me, not a shilling."' 
 
 " Oh," said Jane thoughtfully, " he spoke of money ? " 
 
 " Yes ; and that makes me think him sincere. He is not, of course, 
 aware that you have any, nor does he know that all I have will be 
 yours. He is on that subject perfectly disinterested." 
 
 " Doubtless," said Jane, with an ironical smile ; " but do you know 
 what he is ? Has he any profession ?" 
 
 " I don't know ; I think not : but of course in the event of your 
 becoming acquainted, I should make it my business to enquire into 
 his character and prospects.'" 
 
 " Father, I think that I see it now. George may have nothing to 
 do with it : I do not now think that he has. He spoke of money, but 
 did he not also speak of Sir John's will?" 
 
 " He merely said that Sir John's will sufficiently proved that Charles 
 was the favourite son." 
 
 "Exactly. He has seen that will; and has, doubtless, enquired 
 into your circumstances. He therefore affects to be perfectly disin- 
 terested, so far as pecuniary matters are concerned, and foolishly 
 squanders his money away with the view of inducing us to believe 
 that he is wealthy." 
 
 " But how do you know, my dear, that he foolishly squanders his 
 money away ? " 
 
 " This morning he gave the man five shillings for holding his horse. 
 "Well ; that you will say was very liberal sixpence or a shilling 
 would have been quite sufficient ; but when he left just now he gave 
 the girl a cheque for five pounds." 
 
 " Five pounds ! What; the girl!" 
 
 " She ran up in a state of rapture to show it to me. Of course 
 there never was such a generous gentleman ! Arid then, how exces- 
 sively rich he must be ! This was her idea on the subject, and his 
 aim was to make the same impression upon us." 
 
 "Jane, my dear," said Freeman thoughtfully, " you see through 
 things farther than I can. Five pounds to the girl! What for? 
 Had he been in the habit of dining here, and had given five pounds to 
 be divided among the servants at Christmas, or even at any other time, 
 I should have thought nothing of it; but the idea of giving five pounds 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 315 
 
 to a girl whom he never saw before, and who could have rendered him 
 no service whatever, is extravagant in the extreme. Now I think of 
 it, my dear, I saw him writing out a cheque." 
 
 " Which affords another proof that his design is to induce you to 
 believe that he is wealthy.*' 
 
 " You are right quite right. Why, my dear, you have become 
 quite a woman of the world ! " 
 
 " See what a tutor I have had, dear father. Misfortune and reflec- 
 tion have taught me to study motives. Even the motives of George 
 I can understand now. I study them daily pry into them, and see 
 as clearly through them as if they had been by himself explained. The 
 most corrupt motives I once thought pure :" but innocence is always 
 unsuspicious : suspicion is engendered only when confidence has been 
 betrayed." 
 
 " Well, my dear, we don't want to talk about that. The question 
 is, What 8 to be done in this case ? " 
 
 " I should like to know whether I am right in my conjecture ! I 
 certainly should like to bring it to the proof, and, if you have no-ob- 
 jection, I will do so. I'll have an interview with him in the morning.''" 
 
 4 If you have no idea of accepting his addresses, of what use will 
 it be for you to have an interview with him? " 
 
 " It can do no harm, and it may do good. If it be not amusing it 
 may be instructive." 
 
 " But that will be trifling with him, will it not ? " 
 
 Father, if his object be to trifle with me, does he not deserve, to 
 be trifled with ? There are men who take delight in sporting with our 
 ieelmgs, and I believe him to be one of them ; if he be although I 
 don't suppose that I shall sport much with his, it will be sport to 
 retaliate a little. But he may succeed in convincing me that his 
 motives are perfectly pure ; and if he should, I shall then, of course 
 with your assistance, know how to act." 
 
 " Certainly you would then be better able to judge/ ' 
 
 4 Well, then, if you have no objection, I'll have an interview with 
 him in the morning. 
 
 u Very good, my dear ; then let it be so : have an interview with 
 
 him, and judge for yourself. His motives certainly may be pure 
 
 islanding the doubt which you entertain now. He may prove 
 
 iimself to be a man of sterling integrity, although I must say*! don't 
 
 the idea of his having given that five pounds to the girl, with the 
 
 view of inducing us to believe that he is rich. And yet it mi^ht not 
 
 have been given with this view. His object might have been to induce 
 
 the girl to speak highly of him in your presence." 
 
 Jane smiled, and said, "Well! if that were his object he has cer- 
 tainly attained it: the girl is in raptures, and has spoken of him in 
 terms of the highest admiration ! W^e shall, however, know more 
 about it in the morning." 
 
 D'Almaine, who'returned to dine with George, was in hi<*h spinis 
 throughout the evening. He congratulated himself warmly on having 
 succeeded in gaining the confidence of Freeman, and felt* in conse 
 qnence, nerfectJv secure. 
 
3)6 THE STL'.VARD : 
 
 4i All," said he to himself, having retired lor the night ' All that 
 is necessary now, is to obtain a private interview with her. I'll soon 
 \vork the oracle : I'll not be long about that. She is but a simple 
 country girl, and tan therefore be easily managed. If I find her 
 romantic, I'll propose an elopement : it' I find that she is not, I'll get 
 a license at once, and secure her before any enquiries can be made. 
 There must be no delay. The thing must he done quickly, and my 
 apparent anxiety to save her from shame will seem to justify precipi- 
 tation. 
 
 Accordingly, immediately after breakfast in the morning, he ordered 
 his horse, and having excused himself to George who, since he had 
 discovered that D'Almaine was really poor, had evinced no particular 
 desire to be tied to him rode full of confidence over to Freeman's. 
 
 Freeman was at home expecting him, of course and Jane, who 
 had been watching for him, saw him approach; and when one of the 
 men had taken his horse with all the alacrity which the prospect of 
 gaining a crown can inspire, he shook hands with Freeman with sur- 
 passing cordiality, and in a spirit of enthusiasm entered the house. 
 
 il Well, Mr. Freeman," said he, delighted with his reception, "I 
 trust that you have some good news for me something of a pleasing 
 character to communicate. You have, I hope, consulted your beau- 
 tiful daughter? " 
 
 " I have," replied Freeman calmly yet courteously; "and the result 
 
 is, that she has consented to have an interview with you this morning.'' 
 
 *' A thousand thanks, my dear sir," cried D'Almaine, again seizing 
 
 him by the hand, and shaking it heartily. "I cannot feel sufficiently 
 
 grateful to you for this mark of friendship and confidence/' 
 
 ** If you'll do me the favour to walk into the other room with me," 
 *aid Freeman, -' Fil introduce you at once." 
 
 D'Almaine bowed, and followed him into the parlour, in which Jane 
 was sitting, with her mind intent, apparently, on her embroidery. She 
 .rose as they entered the room, of course, and Freeman said, " My 
 <3f"*r, I have the pleasure to introduce to you Mr. D'Almaine." 
 
 D Almaine's profound bow was acknowledged by Jane gracefully, 
 T A>hen Freeman, having placed a chair for him near the table, said to 
 him ; k - Excuse nie : I shall see you again presently,'' and immediately 
 left the room. 
 
 " Miss Freeman,"' said D'Almaine, cautiously, being anxious to 
 measure his distance, " I know not how to express my gratitude to 
 JG\I for this kind act of condescension; but believe me, I do feel 
 grateful to you for thus giving me an opportunity of expressing the 
 admiration with which your beauty has inspired me." 
 
 Jane bowed, and slightly smiled, and said, ** Sir, the knowledge of 
 having excited admiration is, I believe, pleasing to us all." 
 
 "True," returned D'Almaine, " true : but that which you excited 
 in my breast was as instantaneous as it is ardent: I seek not to flatter, 
 but I fancied, when I first saw you, that I had never beheld such 
 surpassing loveliness before. I was absolutely struck with admiration 
 1 might indeed say adoration; and having subsequently ascertained 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 3lT 
 
 how cruelly you had been treated by him in whom you placed implicit 
 confidence, 1 resolved on requesting your excellent lather to allow me 
 to solicit your hand." 
 
 " You are, sir, I believe, a friend of Mr. George Croly? " 
 
 " I am a friend of Mr. Charles, and I also enjoyed the friendship of 
 Sir John. George I repudiate: I wish to say nothing whatever 
 against him, but Charles is my friend." 
 
 k ' You are still, I believe, staying at the Hall?" 
 
 k 'Iam." 
 
 " Still staying with the man whom you repudiate? " 
 
 " Yes, to have the pleasure of being near you." 
 
 " Does Mr. George Croly know of your having sought this inter- 
 view ? " 
 
 " No, Miss Freeman. I have had no conversation with him on 
 the subject." 
 
 " Have you any profession, may I ask ? " 
 
 " None : I live entirely on my property." 
 
 " In what part of the country is your property situated." 
 
 k 'In Berkshire?" 
 
 " In what part of Berkshire? " 
 
 "Near Heading." 
 
 " You will excuse me for asking these questions, I hope?" 
 
 *' Oh ! they are questions which ought to be asked and answered 
 with perfect candour." 
 
 " What may that property yield ? " 
 
 " To me about a thousand a-year." 
 
 "Oh! that is an ample fortune. But Mr. D'Almaine, I hope that 
 you're aware of the fact of my being comparatively poor?" 
 
 "I know nothing of that, my dear Miss Freeman, nor do I wish to 
 know. Your hand and heart are all that I require to render me the 
 happiest man in the world." 
 
 " Well sir, as you appear to have been candid with me, I will be 
 equally candid with you. There is certainly nothing in your personal 
 appearance to which I can reasonably object, nor can I hope to marry 
 a man with more than a thousand a-year. Your mariners too, I must 
 confess, are elegant, while the course you have pursued in first speak- 
 ing to my father, proves to me that you are a man of the world. There 
 is, however, one point, Mr. D'Almaine, which must be settled before I 
 can feel myself justified in consenting to receive your addresses. I 
 have an annuity of two hundred and fifty pounds, of which you 
 may not have been aware. Sir John left me that annuity, and it is 
 that to which I am anxious now to draw your attention. My father, 
 who has been most affectionate to me, occupies a large farm, of which 
 you may have heard. I call it a large farm because it is a large farm 
 for him, he having nearly five hundred acres of land. Now, sir, I 
 speak to you as to a man of the world, and one who knows that there are 
 men who work their land chiefly with borrowed capital, the interest of 
 which nearly doubles the rent. I need not, I feel sure, dwell upon this, 
 because you perfectly understand it ; but as I am anxious to have this- 
 
318 THE STEWARD: 
 
 annuity secured to my dear father during his life, I wish to know 
 whether in the event of my consenting to receive your addresses, you 
 would feel disposed to give him a bond to this effect ? " 
 
 " My dear Miss Freeman," replied D'Almaine, whom the proposition 
 startled notwithstanding he managed to conceal his alarm, " I cannot 
 but admire your candour. Believe me, I appreciate highly the affec- 
 tionate solicitude which you have manifested for the welfare of your 
 excellent father, and I do feel disposed, and will of course consent, to 
 secure this annuity to him. As I said before, my object is not money. 
 With an income of a thousand a-year I think we can live in a style of 
 affluence. I'll say nothing about magnificence, because I do not be- 
 Ijieve that that will be essential to your happiness." 
 " It will not indeed," said Jane calmly. 
 
 " Well then your father shall have this annuity, and with it all the 
 assistance at our command ; and now let me beg of you, for 
 the sake of your own reputation, to consent to an early marriage." 
 
 " On tbat subject, Mr. D'Almaine, I of course can say nothing 
 until my father has this bond." 
 
 " My dear, he shall have the bond certainly: I'll send to London 
 for it to night, and in the interim I will, with your permission, procure 
 the license." 
 
 " The license ! The marriage license do you mean ? " 
 * Yes, my sweet girl. " 
 " Why so precipitate,Mr. D'Almaine ? " 
 
 " Need I, my adored one, need I urge the inexpediency of delay :" 
 "Then why cause delay by sending to London for the bond ?' 
 " My solicitor lives there," replied D'Almaine, who thought of 
 having it drawn by a certain Jew attorney, a friend of his, in a form 
 which would render it valueless. 
 
 " But is it absolutely necessary for it to be drawn by your solicitor, 
 Mr. D'Almaine ? " 
 
 " Perhaps not absolutely necessary, but as he has always transacted 
 my business for me, I submit that this had better be done by him." 
 
 " Well, it certainly matters not by whom it is drawn, if it be but 
 drawn properly. ? ' 
 " Not the slightest." 
 
 " I understood my father to say, that you enjoyed the friendship of 
 Sir John.'' 
 
 " I for several years had that happiness." 
 
 " Very good. Mr. Cameron, whose residence is scarcely three miles 
 from this house, was Sir John's solicitor ; he also acts for Mr. Charles : 
 and as you admit it to be of no consequence who draws the bond up, 
 you cannot of course, as a friend of the family, object to its being 
 drawn up by him." 
 
 "Why, my dear Miss Freeman, you of course understand that when 
 a man has confided in a solicitor for years, a feeling of delicacy renders 
 him unwilling to employ any other." 
 " Is that the only objection you have? " 
 " That is the only objection I can have." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 319 
 
 " Then that may be obviated easily. / can employ Mr. Cameron. 
 All that he will require of you, I apprehend, is your signature." 
 
 " My dear Miss Freeman, I have for years made it a rule to sign no 
 legal document which has not been drawn by my own solicitor." 
 
 " Very well. Then let it be drawn by him, and when it has been 
 examined by Mr. Cameron, and signed in his presence, I will give you 
 an answer." 
 
 "It shall be done: but, in the interim, permit me to prevail upon 
 you to consent to an early marriage." 
 
 " I cannot permit you to address me on the subject until this bond 
 has been signed : nor even then until I have well ascertained that you 
 are what you represent yourself to be. You will pardon me for speak- 
 ing so freely, but I must remind you, that you are to me a perfect 
 stranger, and that therefore it becomes me to act with caution." 
 
 " You are perfectly right. You ought to be, and shall be, on every 
 point satisfied." 
 
 "Very good," said Jane rising. "Having proceeded thus far, our 
 interview is at an end." 
 
 " You will permit me to have the pleasure of continuing to visit 
 you?" 
 
 " I cannot consent to see you again until that point at least has been 
 settled." 
 
 "You are somewhat too cruel," returned D'Almaine, as he made a 
 very sad attempt to smile. " But we shall know each other better 
 by and by. Will you allow me to have the honour of salutino- your 
 hand?." 
 
 Pardon me, Mr. D'Almaine ; we may know each other better by 
 and by. Good morning," she added, and, having rung the bell, 
 gracefully bowed him to the door. 
 
 Here he met Freeman, but their conference was short. " Your 
 beautiful daughter, Mr. Freeman," said he, ''has made a request, 
 which of course shall be complied with. I shall write to town to- 
 night, and when I receive the document, I shall have the pleasure 
 of seeing you again." 
 
 He then shook hands with Freeman, but there was a total absence 
 of that enthusiasm with which he shook hands with him on his arrival ; 
 nor was his liberality so conspicuously developed as it had been the 
 preceding day, for he mounted his horse and ' rode out of the yard 
 without touching his pocket at all. 
 
 " No go," said he to himself. " It's all up. Too wide awake : too 
 downy by half. She's a griffin : firm as a rock : see through a mile- 
 stone : artful rather: not to be done ! This is your simple country 
 girl, the girl whom you were going to carry off in no time. A likely 
 girl to be carried off, certainly ! No, it's of no use thinking anything 
 more about that lot. I made a mistake ; it's not to be done, and 
 there's an end of the matter." 
 
 On his return to the Hall, he had lunch with George, and soon 
 afterwards Corney entered the room, and announced the arrival of "a 
 gentleman in a gig," who was anxious to speak to George privately. 
 
320 THE STEWARD : 
 
 t; Who is he ? " enquired George. 
 
 " Don't know him, sir, at all," replied Corney ; u and } 7 et I think I've 
 seen him before, somewhere." 
 
 George left the room and the next moment stood in the august 
 prasence of the Artful. 
 
 "What Ben!" he exclaimed. "Why, what on earth brings you 
 here ? " 
 
 '* I've come to sarve you, sir, to put you on your guard, and I hope 
 3*011 won't think none the worse o' me for it." 
 
 "Think the worse of you for it? Nay, we ought to feel obliged 
 to those who serve us." 
 
 " That's true, sir, but oughts don't take place very often. But that's 
 neither here nor there. In' the first place, have you seen or heard of 
 that tremendious and conflabbergrastrated scoundrel, D'A.hnaine? ? 
 
 "D'Almaine! Why he's here." 
 
 4 ' Here ! What d'you mean here, in this house ? "^ 
 
 " Yes, he is now in the next room." 
 
 " Well, if I didn't think as much, as I was comin' along, may I be 
 bound to be kicked into mincemeat ! " 
 
 ' ; Why, what's the matter r " 
 
 c; What's the matter ! Stop a bit : you shall know what's the mat- 
 ter. But let's begin regular. Now then : didn't he, when you was in 
 town, get out of you an I U for five hundred ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " Well now, hold hard. Look here. Thinks I to myself, directly 
 I thought of it, he knows he's completely blown upon in London, he'll 
 go down to Mr. Croly before Mr. Croly knows anything on it, and 
 collar the cash for this I U. This no sooner strikes my thoughts, 
 than I makes up my mind to come down here, and so down I comes, 
 in order to tell you that if you. pay him a single penny you're a flat. r 
 
 ' Well, but why should I not pay him ? " 
 
 "Why should you not? 'cause he robbed you. He didn't win a 
 shilling of it fair. " When you played at loo, he palmed the cards ; and 
 threw against you, the dice were loaded." 
 
 " Oh ! " said George thoughtfully. " Oh ! He's been up^to those 
 tricks, has he ? " 
 
 " Up to 'em ! He's bin a livin' by 'em ! He's bin a Hvin' by 'era 
 for years ! He is the most tremendious thief alive ; and therefore 1 
 tell you, that if you pay a penny on account of that I U, you do- 
 serve to be robbed till you haven't a shirt," 
 
 " But he has had two hundred and fifty of it." 
 
 " He has ! Why, when did you pay him ? " 
 
 " Yesterday morning." 
 
 ** Has he got it about him ? " 
 
 "I expect so." 
 
 " Then have it out on him have it out on him by all manner <s>* 
 mortal means! There; if I didn't think that would b the go as 
 I came along, I will be bound to be blistered. I s'pose he was press- 
 ing rayther /" 
 
J3Too? of afPecltou 
 


 
 t , 
 
 
 
A BOMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 321 
 
 " He was. He offered to give up the I U if I paid him two 
 hundred and fifty at once." 
 
 "And have you got it? " 
 
 " 1 have." 
 
 " Then get back the money. Get it back whatever you do, get it 
 back." 
 
 " But ho warn I to do it?" 
 
 tv Make him return it. If he won't, sarch him and take it away." 
 
 " I question whether I should be justified in taking it away." 
 
 "Justified! Why, what in the world have you got to fear from 
 him ? He can't la'w you he durstn'i think about it ! Take my 
 advice, sir, and get the money back." 
 
 " Shall I do so, or shall I give him a sound thrashing r " 
 
 "Do both, but get the money back first." 
 
 14 Step this way, Ben. You don't mind meeting him ? " 
 
 " / mind meetin'.of him ! I take a pleasure in it. But look here. 
 He'll say I was in it; he'll say I assisted him in robbin' o' you. I 
 don't care about it because I know better, but he's safe to say it 
 now you mark my words." 
 
 " Follow me," said George, who returned to the next room; and 
 Ben did follow, but the moment D'Almaine caught a glimpse of him, 
 he turned pale and trembled with violence. 
 
 "I hope you're well, Mr. D'Almaine," said the Artful. "I hope 
 you enjoy yourself, Mr. D'Almaine. I haven't had the pleasure of 
 meeting you before now for some time, Mr. D'Almaine." 
 
 " I feel no pleasure," replied D'Almaine, **in meeting a man who 
 seeks to destroy my reputation." 
 
 " Your reputation ! Well, that's rich ! Why don't vou say at 
 once, and plain, ' I feel no pleasure in meetin' o' you ? ' I know you-* 
 don't like me, Mr. D'Almaine. You don't like to see me here, do 
 you? No; but I'll spoil you wherever you go ! " 
 
 "Now, Ben," said George, " what'll you have? Come we'll 
 speak of this presently what will you have ? " 
 
 " I'll take a glass of sherry, sir." 
 
 " Help yourself. D'Almaine," he added with an expression of se- 
 verity, " it has often struck me as being strange that whenever I have 
 played with you I have lost. This has been accounted for. You 
 have cheated me plundered me." 
 
 "No such thing, Croly," replied D'Almaine. 
 
 " Oh, ain't it no such thing ? " said the Artful. 
 
 ' No ! I never cheated him in my life." 
 
 " What ! Why, you vagabond, warn't it a regular plant ? " 
 
 " No ! I know your object well enough, it is to blast my charac- 
 ter." 
 
 ' It appears," said George, " to have been blasted already." 
 
 " If you think so," replied D'Almaine, ^ I'll leave the house in- 
 stantly. I'll not remain under the same roof with a man who even 
 suspects me of dishonour." 
 
 " Stay," said George, as D'Almaine rose ; " I can't spare you yet. 
 
322 THE STEWARD : 
 
 The money which I gave you yesterday morning, I insist upon having 
 returned."' 
 
 " What for? Why should I return it ? " 
 
 " Because I feel that you have robbed me absolutely robbed me 
 of more than double the amount." 
 
 " Indeed I have not, Croly. If I have, may " 
 
 " Take no oaths ; oaths will not convince me. Until I have proved 
 that you really are not the villain you have been represented to be, 
 I insist upon holding this money." 
 
 " Well ; I should have no objection, of course, to let it remain in 
 yourJpnds; but I really have not got it." 
 
 " Where is it ? What have you done with it ? " 
 
 " I sent it to London yesterday. I told you that I wanted to make 
 a remittance." 
 
 " Oh, you sent it to London, did you ? " said the Artful. " Who 
 did you send it to ? Any respectable friend of yours ? " 
 
 " That's not your business," replied D'Almame. 
 
 " But," said George, " it is mine. Whom did you send it to? " 
 
 " Oh, I sent it to a friend." 
 
 " For what purpose? " 
 
 "To liquidate a debt." 
 
 " Who is that friend r What is his name ? " 
 
 " Brown," replied D'Almaine, with hesitation. 
 
 4i I don't believe that you have sent it at all." 
 
 '" Then sarch him," said the Artful, " sarch him." There ain't 
 many mobs of Browns in London ! All you've got to do, is to sarch 
 him." 
 
 " Have you any objection to convince us that you have not got it 
 about you?" 
 
 " Not the slightest," replied D'Almaine, who at once proceeded to 
 empty his pockets. 
 
 " How much have you got in that purse ? " enquired the Artful. 
 "Oh, I suppose there's about twenty pounds." 
 
 " Well, that's some on it, at all events. He hadn't that when he 
 left London, I know, nor not above a quarter on it." 
 
 " He won some of me," said George, ' the night before last." 
 
 " Then collar what he won, it's all plunder." 
 
 '* Never mind about that little lot ; I want the other." 
 
 " There," said D'Almaine, " now I hope that you are convinced." 
 
 " Ain't he got a portmanter," enquired the Artful, " or anything 
 o' that, where his shirts and things is ? : ' 
 
 " I have a carpet bag," returned D'Almaine, who trembled now 
 with more violence than ever; ** but there's no money there, I assure you." 
 
 " Well," said the Artful, " if that's the case, you won't mind let- 
 tin' us just have a peep." 
 
 "Why should I be thus humiliated ? Croly, I appeal to you as a 
 gentleman whether this is any thing like proper treatment.'' 
 
 "Have you any objection," enquired George calmly, "to open this 
 carpet bag before us ? " 
 
A ROMANCE OF E.EAL LIFE. 323 
 
 *' I object only to that which I cannot but conceive to be a degra- 
 dation.'' 
 
 "Oli," said the Artful, "if that's all, we don't want to come no 
 degradation. "We don't want to mess your things about, but we must 
 have a leetie peep !" 
 
 George rang the bell, and directed Corney to bring down D'Al- 
 maine's carpet bag, and when it had been brought into the room he 
 said calmly, ** \Vill you do me the favour to open this r " 
 
 44 I'll not," replied D'Almaine, " submit to be thus degraded. I 
 pro:est*against it, Croly, as being monstrous ! " 
 
 * 4 It matters but little to me now, D'Almaine, what you feeldtsposed 
 to submit to. Bluster is of no use here. The bag must 'be* opened. 
 Will you give me the key ? " 
 
 '* Don't trouble the gentleman so much," observed the Artful. 
 *" Such a thing as a tiny knife or a leetie pair of scissors will open it 
 as quick as the key." 
 
 " As for you," said D'Almaine, " I hold you in contempt. If Croly 
 will thus degrade me, he must." 
 
 44 That bag must be opened," said George sternly. 
 4i Well, then, I'll bring you the key ; it's in one of my other pockets : 
 but I certainly must say, Croly, that I never expected to be so insulted 
 by you." 
 
 * 4 That's where the money is, I'll bet fifty to one," said the Artful 
 when D'Almaine had quitted the room; 44 and if you don't collar the 
 Jot, you're not what / take you to be." 
 
 ' 4 ril have it," said George, "I'll certainly have it if it be there." 
 " It's safe to be there. It ain't likely he's sent it to London : it ain't 
 half likely. There it is, and I'm just as pleased I came down in time 
 <is if the dearest friend I have had died and left me a couple o' thou- 
 sand ! 1 rayther like the look o' the bag. It's a spicy leetie bit o' 
 machinery, and takes my fancy much because there's that individual 
 two hundred and fifty in it." 
 
 c: Vv ell," said George, " we shall see. Come, help yourself." ^ 
 The Artful had another glass of wine, and then began to manifest 
 impatence. 
 
 4k My anxiety," said he, " is begetting rayther anxious to have 
 a leetie peep at this individual lot. He's no time gone, certney ! He 
 ilon't sweat about it. I did not expect he'd be in much of a hurry, 
 because he don't like to do it at all; but I think he might have got 
 back a leetie afore this. I want to congratulate him on his return." 
 
 44 lie is certainly taking his time," said George. " Perhaps he is 
 studying how to get out of it." 
 
 "Let him study all he knows. If you let him get out of it by any 
 mortal means, all the flats in Europe ain't dead. Well," he added as 
 he paced the room impatiently, 4t I hope the gent 'ill excuse my feel- 
 ings ; but I must say, I do feel he's gone a tidy time. Won't you 
 send an invitation to him? Let him know that you don't wish to 
 Imrry him by no means, only you'll be happy to have the honour of 
 ai-fsn' him agin, at his Quickest convenience." 
 
 o 
 
 qi 
 
324 THE STEWARD: 
 
 George rang the bell and directed Corney to tell D'Almaine that 
 they were waiting for him. But Corney couldn't find D'Almaine, 
 nor could he find that gentleman's hat; he therefore returned with the 
 startling intelligence that Mr. D'Almaine was not then in the house. 
 
 " Not in the house ! " cried George, " not in the house ! Run to 
 the stables and see if he's there. Quick ! " 
 
 " Why," said the Artful, as Corney darted from the room, " he surely 
 ain't cut it for the simple sake of savin' himself the disagreeable pain 
 o' being forced to have the bag opened afore him ! " 
 
 " If the money be there," said George, '* I shall care but little about 
 his having started." 
 
 " Shall I rip the bag open?" 
 
 " Not yet. Wait till we know whether he has left or not. Well/ r 
 he added, when Corney returned, "have you found him? " 
 
 " He's been gone about ten minutes, sir," replied Corney. " He had 
 the grey saddled, sir, all-in a hurry, and galloped across the park a fast 
 as ever the horse could lay legs to the ground." 
 
 " Tell them to saddle the chesnut mare, and bring her to the door 
 immediately. Cut the bag open, Ben. I'll be after him if the money 
 should not be there." 
 
 The Artful, who had his knife ready, plunged it into the bag on the 
 instant, and the first thing discovered was the cheque-book, which 
 George at once opened and found just inside a receipt for the money 
 paid in. 
 
 " This will do ! " he cried, " I'll be after him. I, at all events, know 
 where the money is now." 
 
 " Then, in the name of all that's infernal, fly like lightning and stop 
 it ! Can he draw it without the book ? " 
 
 " Yes, he can get a cheque there; but although he has ten minutes* 
 start I can get there, I think, in time to spoil him." 
 
 " Do by all manner o' mortal means. Go like shot out of a cannon. 
 Here you are here's the horse ; now then dart off like an arrow." 
 
 George rushed from the house, and having mounted his mare dashed 
 across the park in pursuit. 
 
 D'Almaine was, however, too quick for him. He had drawn the 
 money out, and was on his way to Cambridge before George arrived at 
 the bank. 
 
 CHAPTER XXV. 
 CORNEY'S WEDDING. 
 
 THERE is, perhaps, no change more sudden or more striking than that 
 \vhich is wrought in our feelings and our tastes by the unexpected pos- 
 session of wealth. It upsets our views, it unsettles our minds, and 
 constitutes the germ of a thousand ideas which had no existence before. 
 It achieves a complete moral ^metamorphosis. We do not think like 
 
A KOMANCE OF SEAL LIFE 325 
 
 the same persons ; we do not feel like the same persons. The caste to 
 which we appear to belong is superior ; we feel like a different order 
 of beings, and are too prone to look contemptuously upon the order 
 from which we thus sprang. 
 
 It may at first sight appear marvellous that the mere fact of coming 
 unexpectedly into the possession of a little wealth should effect so great 
 a change, but in the great majority of cases it is so, and so it was with 
 Corney. 
 
 He used to take delight in waiting at table; he used to pride himself 
 upon the lustre of his plate; he used to have a refined taste for polish- 
 ing mahogany ; he used to derive pleasure from the sparkling brilliancy 
 of his chandeliers ; he used to seek fame for his style of cleaning cop- 
 per coal-scuttles, and had frequently offered to back himself to brush 
 a decanter up with any man in Europe ! But he no sooner found him- 
 self to be a man of property than all these accomplishments became 
 distasteful to him ; he took no delight in them at all ; and feeling, as he 
 then felt, above his place he very soon became unfit to fill it. 
 
 Under these not at all extraordinary circumstances, he made up his 
 mind to tender his resignation, and embraced an opportunity of speaking 
 to George on the subject of taking a farm. 
 
 " I don't know, sir," said he, " whether Mr. Charles ' mentioned any 
 thing to you before he left, sir ? " 
 
 "About what, Cornelius ? " enquired George. 
 
 " About a small farm, sir." 
 
 " Pie told me that you were anxious to have some land ; but what 
 do you know about farming ? " 
 
 " I don't know no great deal about it, it's true, sir ; but my father 
 knows, sir, and he could tell me." 
 
 " Have you consulted your father on the subject ? " 
 
 " Not regular consulted him, sir, but I've often told him I should 
 like to have a farm." 
 
 "Well, then, enter into the matter with him seriously, and let me 
 know the result. My impression is, that you had better join him. 
 There's a strip of the park very near his occupation which I mean to 
 have broken up : there maybe fifty or sixty acres of it, and if that were 
 added to his forty you might work it together. Mention this to him, 
 and let me know what he thinks of it." 
 
 " I will, sir, and return you many thanks." 
 
 " You also think of marrying, I hear." 
 
 " Yes, sir, as soon as ever something's settled." 
 
 '* And where do you think ofliving? " 
 
 "Don't know, sir." 
 
 " Well, if we should come to an arrangement about this land, I'll 
 either enlarge your father's house or build you a new one. Speak to 
 lira first; there shall be no difficulty at all about a house." 
 
 " Will you give me leave to speak to him to day, sir? " 
 
 '* Oh yes, certainly. Go when you please." 
 
 Corney thanked him and withdrew, and went immediately to Sarah, 
 -and said with an expression ofecstacy, " Sally, my love ! nothing but 
 
326 THE STEWARD: 
 
 luck: nothing but bright immortal luck! and as luck and love '11 be.it 
 a town, our fortune's now made regular." 
 
 "Any thing fresh, Cornelius ?" enquired Sarah. 
 
 "Fresh ! 1 believe you ! fresh as a daisy : I wouldn't give twopence 
 for any thing stale. But what do you think? I've been a-conversing 
 with Mr. George, calm a holding a sort of a consultation with him in 
 a regular parliamentary style, and what do you think he's a-going to do ? 
 Why, he's going to make a farm for us ! he's going to let us have a 
 part of the park, and he's going to build a new house for us to live in ! 3> 
 
 " Oh dear ! that will be delightful ! " 
 
 " Delightful ! Did you ever know any thing like it in life." 
 
 "But is this all settled, Cornelius ? " 
 
 " Settled ! I'll soon settle it. It's all settled so far as this, that 
 I'm now going to speak to the governor about it, and if he says he 
 thinks it '11 do, it'll be done."' 
 
 'Oh ! I am so overjoyed to hear it! I do so long, dear, for some- 
 thing to be settled. Didn't you say you were going home now ? " 
 
 " Yes, I'm off at top." 
 
 " I should dearly like to go with you." 
 
 " Then let them know you're going, and put on your things." 
 
 "There's a dear ! " exclaimed Sarah, as she took his hand, and 
 looked at him'-affectionately. " I feel that I love you every day more 
 and more. You are such a good kind soul. God bless you ! " 
 
 Corney kissed her, and she kissed Corney, and then ran away with 
 her heart full of joy, and when she had put on her bonnet and shawl 
 she accompanied him to his father's. 
 
 "Well, governor," said he, as he entered the house, and found 
 Craske smoking his pipe in the chimney-corner, " how are you ?" 
 
 " Well, I don' know, Corney, bor," replied Craske; " I feel amongst 
 the middlins, thank God ! How are yow ? " 
 
 " Hearty ! and what makes me heartier is, I've got some regular 
 out and out rattling good news for you." 
 
 " Yow have ! Come along here, bor : come and sit down: I allus 
 like to hear good news. But I thowt I sow Sarah come acrost the 
 yard wi' yow." 
 
 " Yes, she's gone into the dairy to aunt." 
 
 " All right: well, come along: now then, what is it? " 
 
 "I'll tell you. I says to Mr. George just before I came out, says I, 
 * I don't know, sir, whether Mr. Charles said any thing to you about me 
 before he left.' ' Well,' says he, ' he said you wanted to turn fanner, but 
 what do you know about farming?' ' Well, certainly,' says I, ' I don't 
 know a deal about it, but my father does, and he can put me in the 
 way of it' ' Very good/ says he ; * then talk to him serious, and if he 
 thinks it'll do, I'm going to have a slice of the park broke up about 
 fifty or sixty acres of it you can have that. But,' says he, * I'd advise 
 you to join your father.' " 
 
 " What ! to make it a sort of a Co. consarn ? " 
 
 " Yes, to add that land to yours, and make one farm of it, and work 
 it together, stunning." 
 
A ROMANCE OF HEAL LIFE. 327 
 
 " What part o' the park is he goin' to break up ? " 
 
 " This part of course, because he said it would be handy, being very 
 near your occupation." 
 
 " Oh," said Craske thoughtfully, " Ah. Just fill ray pipe for me, 
 Corney, bor, will yow ? " Atween fifty and sixty acres," he continued. 
 " Ah. At how much an acre ? " 
 
 " He didn't say : but the rent won't hurt us, seeing that it's Mr. 
 Charles's wish,'as he told me, to render us every assistance. All that 
 Mr. George said about it was this : ' Go and talk to your father, and 
 hear what he says, and if he thinks well of it let me know.' " 
 
 "Very good. That's all very proper, and just as it should be. There 
 can't be no doubt about that." 
 
 " Well, what do you think of it ? " 
 
 " Ah, bor, it wants a deal o' thought to know what to think at all." 
 
 " Well, but there you are ! there's the land ! " 
 
 " Yes, bor, I know there's the land ; but land's o' Iktle use arout 
 plenty o' money to work it." 
 
 " Well, haven't I got heaps ? " 
 
 " Five hundred pound, Corney, ain't no great sight to work a farm 
 with." 
 
 " But that and what you've got put together would Triake quite 
 enough, I suppose." 
 
 " It might, bor : with great care it might. But let's think o' this Co. 
 consarn fust. I wouldn't go in Co. with any flesh but my own flesh.. 
 Them which goes in Co. must both pull one way, 'cause if they don't 
 the Co. '11 pull 'em both to pieces. I went in Co. wi' your poor mo- 
 ther : for though it may seem odd that a man should go in Co. wi' his 
 own wife, I went in Co. wi' her when we took this farm, because she 
 had as much money as I had ; but, although I tried to pull wi' her I'd 
 allus the worst of it at Michaelmas. She allus had to drow more 
 money than I had, and when she died she had a little heap, while 
 I could hardly scrape enow up to pay the men ! Sartney, I don't 
 mind goin' in Co. wi' yow, because, like her, yow're my own flesh an' 
 blood ; but, if we should go in Co. I say, if we should we must . 
 both on us pull one way." 
 
 " Of course ! " cried Corney ; " of course we must, and then we 
 should both make money like life ! " 
 
 "Money ain't to be made as it used to be made : we can't get rich 
 as we used to could: farmin' don't go so well as it did. These, bor, 
 ain't good times for farmin'." 
 
 " Did you ever know good times for farming when farmers had to 
 tell the tale ? " 
 
 " They used to complain arout reason, sartney; but now they've got 
 the reason, bor, they were then arout! Still, there's a livin' to be picked 
 up now ; but yow marn't spend a shillin', bor, more than yow're forced. 
 IMen, which when they went to market, used to put up at the first-rate 
 inns, and pay half-a-crown for their dinner, and have a 'bottle o' wine 
 a-piece arter it, and p'raps brandy and water arter that, now slip into a 
 little cook's shop and call for three or four pen'north o' meat, an.d a 
 
3*28 THE -STEWARD : 
 
 pen'north o' bread and a pint o' beer, and they're right on obligated to 
 do it." 
 
 "Not they, governor ! It's nothing but what I call miserly mean- 
 ness. They don't want to do it. They ain't forced by the nature of 
 their circumstancials. It ain't necessary for ihem which has pro- 
 perty like me." 
 
 " Oh, ain't it? How d'yow think / live when I go to market, and 
 I've got pooty well as much property as yow? " 
 
 " Why, you go to a tidy inn, of course, and have your dinner regu- 
 lar like a farmer! What's the good of being a farmer if you don't 
 live like a farmer? You don't go into these beastly cooks' shops ! " 
 
 " No, I don't : yow're right, bor, there ; but I'll tell yow what I do do. 
 I puts up at a mite of a public-house just afore yow get into the town, 
 where I leaves my horse, and walks to market and does my business, 
 and then walks back and has a penny loaf and a pen'north o' cheese 
 and a pint o' l|er and a squib; and when I've smoked my pipe and 
 thought, I orders my horse, gives the man a few ha'pence, and then 
 drives back to tea." 
 
 " Well, but don't you give your horse nothing then ? " 
 
 " In course I do ! But I takes my own corn and I sees him eat it ! 
 Can't trust nobody now-a-days wi' nothinV 
 
 "And that's what you call going to market, is it ! Why it ain't re- 
 spectable ! not commonly respectable ! I should never think a mite 
 about going to market so." 
 
 " No, bor, yow're right. I know yow wouldn't. Yow'd like to 
 drive a slappin' horse and dash into the town like a dargyman ! " 
 
 "No; I shouldn't care about doing it quite so slap, but I should 
 like to put up at a decent inn and dine with the rest of the farmers." 
 
 " Yes, and take yow're wine arter dinner." 
 
 "If they did." 
 
 "In course. But let me tell yow, Corney bor, yow couldn't go the 
 pace wi' them which dines thusn. One thing brings on another, and 
 expenses falls heavy on a little 'un which the big 'lins hardly feel." 
 
 " What! do.you call a man a little 'un with five hundred pound ? " 
 
 "As Idsaid afore, bor, five hundred pound ain't a sight to take a farm 
 with. It out warrant yow in livin' as they live payin' two shillins or 
 so fof'a dinner, and then five shillins for a bottle o' wine, and smokin* 
 out three or four threepenny cigars, when a pen'north o' bacca 'ud go 
 just as far; an' then havin' yowr brandy an' water arter that, an' then 
 two or three more cigars to smoke borne, and be called a ' good sort ' 
 t>y the waiters an' the ostlers which they'll allus do if yow pay 'em 
 well for it, and allus won't if yow don't : it won't do ! No, bor, if we 
 goes in Co. yow marii't swallow- a sheep every time yow go to market; 
 yow must live a little matters like as I live." 
 
 " But, I don't call that living at all! It's only just keeping the soul 
 and bones together! I shouldn't dream of living as you live ! 
 
 " Then yow shouldn't dream of taking a farm." 
 I should be better off in service ! " 
 
 "I don' know yo\v wouldn't. Yow get well fed and clothed, and 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 3*29 
 
 no cost an' no care, and get well paid for bein' arout any anxiety. The 
 seasons has nothin' to do along o' yo\v. The rent-day has nothin' o 
 do along o' yow. Yow've no rates to pay, no taxes, no tithes ! Yow've 
 no crops to be blighted, no cattle to loose, no horses to spile, nor 
 nothin' o' that. Yow've no muck to buy, no wages to pay, no house to 
 keep, and no waggons to break : there yow are, livin' like a gen'lman 
 on nothin' and havin' wages to make it less than nothin', insteads of 
 havin' to meet these here demands, which makes yow have nothin' to 
 do but to keep continually puttin' your hand in yowre pocket." 
 
 " / shouldn't care about all these demands if I knew they were 
 paid out of the proh'ts.on the land. What does it matter what a man 
 has to pay if he's not overcharged, and has plenty to pay it with '? If 
 the land didn't keep on paying, you couldn't keep on paying, could 
 you?" 
 
 " 1 don't mean to say that the land won't pay : I never said nothin' 
 o' that : but I know, bor, and so I don't want to be told, that if yow 
 make ends meet now, yow must be very wonderfully careful. And 
 that brings me to the pint about whether yow'd be better off in sarvice, 
 or whether yow'd be better oft' in a farm. Yow can make ends meet 
 in sarvice arout any trouble or care, while with all yowr trouble and 
 care yow can on'y just make ends meet in a farm. So yow see it's the 
 same in the long run, on y yow have all the trouble and care, bor, 
 for nothin'." 
 
 " I don't mind about the trouble and care." 
 " No, because yow know nothin' about it." 
 
 " Well, but dash all round about trouble and care, the bottom of it 
 is as this, you know, and that's all about it: I must have a farm, and 
 if you won't go in Co. with me, I'll have this land separate, for Mr. 
 George told me this very morning, that he'd either enlarge your house 
 or build up a new one for me to live in." 
 
 " Corney, bor, yow're a lunatic as far as land's consarned a man 
 which knows nothin' right well. Let me tell yow, bor and I tell yow 
 for yowr good that if yow don't go in Co. along o' me, yow marn't 
 think about farm in' at all not that I want yow to do it for my sake, 
 but because I know yow'll kick yowr money down. A new house 
 wi' fifty or sixty acres o' land ! How far would yowr five hundred 
 pound go, I'll ax yow ? Yow say it's all to be broken up. Very 
 well ! If it's all to be convarted into arable, yow must have some pas- 
 ture somewheres else, 'cause yow can't do nothin' arout grass. But 
 let's pass over that. Yow've got this sixty acres. Sartne^ bein' as it's 
 maiden land, yow won't want much muck to begin with ; if yow did, 
 ight or ten load an acre at five shillins a load with the wear and tear 
 of horses and carts would come to a pile o' money alone ! But yow 
 won't want muck : the land's made ready, and there's yowr fine house 
 to go into. A fine house, yow know, wants fine furniture, bor ! " 
 k * I shouldn't want it very fine ! I'd have everything respectable ! " 
 " And new?" 
 
 4t New, of course, every stick." 
 " Well, that 'ud swaller a few five-pound notes. But there yow 
 
330 THE STEWARD: 
 
 are, and yowr house is furnished. Don't vow want nothin' else? 
 Mind, yow know, Corney, bor, yow'd ha' to buy everything yow 
 wanted. And what would yow want? Why, besides a thousand Jittle 
 individdival things, such as spades, and forks, and shovels, and sacks, 
 and skips, and barrows, and cloths, and sieves, and God in his mercy 
 knows what ; yow'd want bullocks, and sheep, and horses, and carts, 
 and harrows, and rollers, and waggons, and harness, and seed, and 
 ploughs, and cows, and sows ; and then yow'd have to keep 'em, and 
 keep yowr house, and pay men's wages for eight or nine months 
 afore yow could see a single penny on it back ; and if it should be an 
 unlucky year, it 'ud break yow all to smash to begin with. I don't 
 say nothin' about the rent, nor the rates, nor the taxes, nor nothin' o' 
 that ; but if yow want to swaller up yowr five hunderd at once, bor, 
 that's the way to do it.'' 
 
 " I don't want to swallow it up at all/' said Corney, thoughtfully ; 
 " still I see there's suffen in what you say/' 
 
 "Suffen, bor! Yow'd find it suifen ontil yow had nothin'. No, 
 bor, that wouldn't do at the cheapestest price as is. Mark my words* 
 if yow go to farmin' at all yow must come and live wi' me. There's 
 plenty o' room here oceans o' room and we don't want two sets of 
 expenses. I think if that land was added to mine it would do ! I 
 do think it would do and I think that we might with care make mo- 
 ney. But it ain't what's made, it's what's saved that mounts up ; 
 that's the grand secret arter all ! If yow come and be wi' me, and 
 live as I live, and look out as I do, and pull the same way, bor, we 
 shall do well we don't want to do better than we shall do then." 
 
 " Then I will do so ; I'm blessed if I don't ! I'll come and live 
 here. U^e don't want no enlargement. Perhaps he'd clap on an addi- 
 tional rent." 
 
 " Sartney ! and that's the way to look at it." 
 
 " Oh, I see it now ! I'll come and live as you live, and go to mar- 
 ket with you, and have a crust of bread and cheese regular" 
 
 "And yow'd enjoy it, Corney, bor, all the more because it costs 
 next to nothin'. What do we want to throw money away for ? And 
 ain't it throwin' money away when we pay for fine dinners which don't 
 do no good ? What do it matter to a man what he eats, when he's got 
 a good appetite ? Nothin'. What do it matter to a man what he eats 
 if he's got no appetite ? Nothin'. If yow lose yowr appetite yow 
 can't enjoy nothin' : if yow keep it there's nothin' yow can't enjoy. 
 To a man which is hungry a crust o' dry bread 's as sweet as a 
 chicken 's to him which ain't. If yow pamper yowr appetite, what 
 do yow do ? Why yow spile it, and what's the good o' that ? It not 
 on'y does no good, but it does yow in two ways a deal o' harm. It 
 injures yowr pocket and injures yowr health, and it ain't wise 
 to injure yarself both ways when there's no mortal call for it at all ! " 
 
 " You're right," said Corney, u you're quite right there. I see 
 it ; I see distinct wh?t you mean, although I never looked at it in 
 that light before." 
 
 " I don't mean to say that yow ought to be mean, and eat and drink 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 381 
 
 nothin' but what's right on necessary to keep life in yovv. No ! Live 
 well, but arout extravagance. If a friend drops in, bring out yowr 
 best, and sit down and enjoy it with him ; but if yow allus bring out 
 yowr best for yowrself, the best yow have will become no matters. 
 Besides, there's another thing, bor, to be thought on. Yow see the 
 poor under yowr very nose, and yow can't shet yowr eyes to their 
 cases. Yow can't say yow don' know NA'hether they railly want or not, 
 'cause yow do : yow know how they're off jest as well as they can tell 
 yow ; and when anything happens, sich as accidents, or illness, or 
 anything o' that, it does them and yow more good to assist 'em than 
 it does to swaller bottles o' wine. I've known the price of a single 
 bottle to set a poor man on his legs again, and many a time the price 
 o' two has saved a whole family from the workhouse. Yow drink wine 
 jest for the sake o' bein' thowt respectable; but which is the most 
 respectable swallerin' wine or assistin' the poor r Ask yowr heart, 
 bor, ask yowr heart ; that'll tell yow. Ask yowr heart : yovv don't 
 want to go a mite further than that. Talk o' wine being a luxury ! 
 I make count to say the greatest luxury I know is the feelin' which 
 God rewards yow with when yow do good to one of his creaturs." 
 
 '* Very good ; " said Corney, " capital good. I allus knew what 
 your feelings was on that point, and now I fall in with 'em wholly. 
 I'll be guided by you. I'll not think about wine or fine dinners, or 
 any mortal thing of the sort. I'll go in Co. with you, and come and 
 live here." 
 
 " No havin' fine parties ! no follerin' the hounds ! no stifFcates 
 for game, nor nothin' o' that ! " 
 
 " I'll live as you live. I'll be governed by you, and do nothing but 
 what you tell me." 
 
 " Then give us yowr hand, Corney, bor, and it's a bargain ! We'll 
 have this land and we'll work together, and we shall, with the blessing 
 of God, do well. There couldn't be a better chance ; yow couldn't 
 have a finer start, and so Mr. George thowt, I've no doubt, when he 
 told yow to talk to me. I know what the land is, and, what's more 
 than all, it'll cost next to nothin' to begin with. Another bed and 
 bedstead and two horses more will be pretty well all we shall want to 
 buy at present ; while if yow worked it yowrself and had to buy every 
 mortal thing yow wanted to work it, the start alone 'ud swaller a pile 
 o'money, as I've shown." 
 
 " I sec I see. Your implements will do to prepare the land, and 
 we shan't want nothing until we get a crop. Very good. Then that's 
 settled. We go in Co. and we shan't want no lawyers to bind us." 
 
 " No, Corney, bor, that expense may be saved. What's mine will 
 be yowrs, go when I may, and I hope it'll please God to spare me at 
 least till I find yow can manage the farm yowrself." 
 
 " I hope so too, and many years^ after that. I should like to manage 
 it all myself and see you look on and smoke your pipe and be happy. 
 And now who's to speak to Mr. Gecrge ? I think you'd better do it, 
 because you know more about it than I do. Go and see him in the 
 morning and talk the matter over." 
 
332 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " Well, I've no objection at all ; p'raps it's better I should go, and 
 then we can come to an arrangement at once." 
 
 ','Then when I get back I'll tell him that I've named the thing to 
 you, and as you're very much pleased with his proposal and think it 
 a very good chance " 
 
 " No, bor, that'll never do : yow marn't tell him nothin' o' the sort. 
 It ain't business. If we appear too hot about it he may clap that hot- 
 ness on to the rent and make it too hot for us to hold it. Business is 
 business, bor, all the world over. If a marchant was to come to me 
 and say, * I want yowr wheat very much, Master Craske ; it's the 
 best I can find in the county,' I should ask him perhaps two shilling 
 a coomb more for it than I should think of askin' in the market. On 
 the tother hand, if I was to go to him and say, 1 1 want money very 
 bad, sir, and money I must have ; will yow please to buy my wheat? ' 
 he'd otter me two or three shillins a coomb less than he'd think about 
 offerin' in the market, don't yow see ! So yow're obleedged to never 
 seem to want money; if even yow haven't a pound in the house. I 
 know last year I wanted some money in order to make up my rent, 
 which, thank God, I never yet was behind with, and I took a sample 
 o' barlev to market and very fine barley it was and I tried to sell 
 it, and I couldn't sell it, not at a fair market price : they seemed to 
 know I wanted money, and that's a fact, for the more I tried to sell 
 the more they wouldn't buy : so when market was over I took it to 
 a maltster which I'd had many dealins with afore and allus found 
 him straightforward and right and I told him exact how I was sitti- 
 vated, in confidence, and what did he do? he wanted the barley I 
 saw in a moment he wanted the barley but, as I'd let the cat out o' 
 the bag, what did he do? Why, he offered me jest three shillins a 
 coomb less than I'd been offered afore and that was all two shillins 
 less than the price ! and I was then obligated to take it. Look at 
 that ! No, bor, as far as consarns business yow marn't seem to want 
 what yow want ; if yow do yow'il ha' to pay through the nose for it. 
 Yow can tell Mr. George that yow've named it to me, and that if I can 
 see my way clear, I've no objection to jine yow; and then yow can 
 tell him that I'll turn 'the thing over in my mind and come and see 
 him about it in the mornin'." 
 
 " That'll do. I understand what you mean precise. But as 
 true as I'm alive, I didn't think you was half so wide awake as 
 you are/' 
 
 " Times, Corney, bor, makes men wide awake. Times opens their 
 eyes, and keeps 'em open, and makes 'em see things clear. Men can 
 no more do now what they used to could wi' safety than they can fly ! 
 Yow're obligated to keep yowr eyes open. In these times them 
 which is asleep are swallered by them which is wide awake not that 
 I want to swaller nobody God forbid ! on'y yow must be wide awake 
 in yowre own defence, to pervent others swallerin' o' yow." 
 
 " That's it," said Oorney; " I see ! I see ! The very first copy I 
 writ at school was, c Experience teaches wisdom ; ' and although I 
 couldn't brain it then, I now know all round about it. Well, Sally, 
 
,A EOMANCE OF HEAL LIFE. 233 
 
 my love," he added, as Sarah entered the room, " how do you get 
 on ? What have you done with aunt ? " 
 
 " She's only just gone up to put on her cap," replied Sarah ; " she'll 
 very soon be down." 
 
 '* Well, my dear," said Craske, "how are yow ? " 
 
 "Oh, very well indeed," replied Sarah; "I never felt so well as I 
 do now, I think ! I hope you're well ? " 
 
 " Well, thank God, 1 can't complain. I find I'm not quite so 
 young as I was. Didn't yow say it was near my fields?" he added, 
 turning to Corney. 
 
 " Yes," replied Corney, "arid I think it's staked out." 
 
 " Well then, while yow're gettin' tea ready together, I'll go and have 
 a look at it. Yow'll stop an' have a cup o' tea, in course '* " 
 
 " Oh yes ! we're in no hurry at all." 
 
 " Very well, then by the time tea's ready I'll be back." 
 
 <4 Sally, my love," said Corney, when Craske had left the house, 
 " come and give me a kiss, a regular right on good un : let me have 
 an out and out stunner this time, because I've got suffen to say to 
 you excessive." 
 
 Sarah rose and kissed him, and put his hair in order, and said thai 
 she felt very happy and hoped that his father had consented to go in 
 Co. with him. 
 
 " He has," replied Corney, " he has consented ; but before I go in 
 Co. with him, I've made up my mind to go in Co. with some one else, 
 and that'll be a regular Co., that will." 
 
 " Dear me, Cornelius, I hope not," said Sarah. " It's all very well to 
 go in Co. with a father, but with any one else I've heard it's dangerous." 
 
 " / see no danger not a mite. I'll go in Co. with some one else., 
 and then I'll go in Co. with him." 
 
 " Well, dear, but who are you going in Co. with? " 
 ^ " Give me another kiss a rattler and I'll tell you. That's the 
 sort," he added as she kissed him again. " That's capital nice : I do 
 love kissing, it's one of the universal luxuries of life. Now drau 
 your chair close, and I'll tell you ail about it. In the first place, the 
 governor, as I told you before, has consented to go in Co. with me. 
 Very good. He thinks it's a capital chance. He says so. He also 
 thinks that we shall make money fast : I know he thinks so, although 
 he don't say it; and I think so too." 
 
 " And so do I, dear; but if you are going in Co. with him, what 
 necessity is there for going in Co, with anybody else ? " 
 
 " There may be no necessity no what you may call absolute ne 
 cessity, only I mean to do it." 
 
 "Pray don't, Cornelius dear, pray don't." 
 
 " I will." 
 
 " But who with, dear ? Who do you mean to go in Co. with ? " 
 
 " I'll tell you : I mean to go in Co. along o' you. Won't tlicit be a 
 Co. ? " he added, as Sarah blushed, and smiled, and hung down hei 
 head, and looked through her lashes in a state of embarrassment th: 
 most intense. '* Won't that be a regular stunning Co. ? That's the- 
 
334 THE STEWARD : 
 
 Co. I mean to have before I go in Co. with the governor. Do you 
 think there's any danger in it? Will you say * Pray don't, Cornelius,* 
 now ? What do 'you think of it? Eh, Sally, my love ? What do you 
 say to it?" 
 
 " I don't know, Cornelius, what to say." 
 
 " Well, but when shall it be? Only give the day a name." 
 
 " I must leave it entirely to you, dear." 
 
 " Well, but that I believe ain't quite the correct thing. That's your 
 job, that is, I've allus understood. The man ain't got nothing to do 
 with that at all. Now what do you say ? Shall I put up the banns 
 for next Sunday ?" 
 
 " Really, Cornelius," returned Sarah tremulously, " my heart's in 
 such a flutter I don't know what to say ; but I must indeed leave it to 
 you. I am in your hands, dear : I'm wholly yours, and therefore in 
 your hands I'll wholly remain." 
 
 " Then I'll put up the banns for next Sunday. We shall then have 
 three weeks more courting, which I love ! it's the nicest and most 
 universal thing going. But don't you flatter yourself, Sally, my love, 
 that I'm going to give it up when we're married! Not a bit of it! 
 We can court as well then as we can now, and won't we?" 
 
 " I believe, dear, that we shall be very, very happv." 
 
 "Happy ! What's to make us any thing but? We will be happy: 
 we won't let any thing make us unhappy ! " 
 
 "If it please God to prosper us, and keep us in health, I feel sure 
 that we shall be happy, although we must expect to have some little 
 troubles, dear ! " 
 
 " We won't expect any thing at all of the sort ! we'll go on expect, 
 ing nothing but happiness ! and if we live a life of courting, what but 
 happiness can we expect ? I'm not one of them which thinks court- 
 ing s all over directly you come out of church! If marriage puts an 
 end to courting, I wouldn't marry for fifty years, and then I should 
 have that spell of pleasure without being married at all. But why 
 should it ? Why shouldn't we court just as stunning after marriage as 
 before ? We take delight, Sally, "my love, in pleasing each other now, 
 and why shouldn't we then? What wouldn't I do for you that's pro- 
 per, and what wouldn't you do for me that's proper: Don't it give 
 me pleasure to see you pleased, and don't it give you pleasure to see 
 me pleased." 
 
 " It does indeed, dear Cornelius." 
 
 " Very well then. Is marriage to put a stop to all this ? Am I going 
 to say directly the ring's on the finger, i There, it's all over now : I've 
 got her, and there's an end of it. There's no call for any more court- 
 ing: I needn't pay her any more attentions: she's mine ? * Or, are 
 you going to say ' I've got him now, and now I've no call to trouble 
 myself about him : I needn't endeavour to please him now ;' I needn't 
 try now to look smiling and pretty except when I go out, or when 
 any one calls : he's mine, and he can't get rid o' me ? ' ' 
 
 " Cornelius, dear," said Sarah earnestly, " I feel that you don't for 
 a moment believe 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 333 
 
 " Why, of course not, Sally, my love ! Believe it ! Not a bit of it ! 
 You're a different sort altogether. I was only saying we're not going 
 to do the thing in this style, and think because we're married there's 
 to be no more courting. We'll go on courting like life till death. 
 That's the way, Sally, my love ! That's the way to do it ! There are 
 some men who don't care a bit about their wives, and there are 
 women w4io don't care a bit about their husbands ; but ain't they a 
 parcel of universal fools? He who neglects his wife, neglects his own 
 comfort; and she who neglects her husband, don't ruin his happi- 
 ness more than she does her own." 
 
 " Very true, Cornelius : very true indeed. Oh ! how I love to hear 
 you talk: you make me cry," she added with emotion, " but it is with 
 delight at being loved by such a man ! " 
 
 " Come, come, this won't do, you know ! I can't stand it ! I'm the 
 biggest fool in life to see a tear in a woman's eye, and especially in 
 eyes like yours ! There, give us a kiss a good 'un ! that's a beauty.'' 
 
 " Very pooty, Miss Sarah !" said aunt Ann playfully, having entered 
 the room at this moment unheard. " Very pooty, indeed ! Don't 
 yow think I owt t > blush for yow'? " 
 
 ..." If you do," said Corney, " she shall blush for you : I'll put you 
 both on level ground." And he kissed her in an instant. " Now "' 
 he added, " you can both blush away." 
 
 " Do yow know I've got on my best cap ? " she cried. 
 
 " I don't care for that : I ain't rumpled it much. But I say," he 
 added, as he noticed the cap, '\spirits afloat, though! you are coming 
 out! Why, it's a rattler! Look here, Sally, my love ! only just 
 look at this universal cap ! " 
 
 Sarah, who had been drying her eyes privately, turned and said, 
 " Dear me, how very rich the lace is ! " 
 
 "This lace, dear," said aunt Ann, "has been made all forty year. 
 I made it myself on my own pillow." 
 
 "What! did you lie in bed, _then, all day to do it?" enquired 
 Corney. 
 
 "Bless yowr innocence ! I don't mean a pillow yow lay upon in 
 bed, I mean a pillow yow make lace upon, yow goose ! " 
 
 " Well, it's a universal rattling cap, and there's no mistake about 
 it !" 
 
 Nor was there. The front was embellished with four rows of lace, 
 while the crown was so constructed as to stick up a foot. 
 
 "As true as I'm alive," continued Corney, "you seem to be getting 
 young again. I never saw you look more spicy in my life." 
 
 " Hold yowr rubbidge, bor, do," said aunt Ann with a smile, for 
 she secretly felt that she looked rather brilliant; "don't run on so, 
 pray." 
 
 " Oh, but it's a fact ! You'll get married again, I shouldn't wonder."' 
 
 " Do yow want me to box yowr ears ? " 
 
 " But why shouldn't you? I'jl tell you what I'll do. I'll bet you 
 a new silk gown to a hat, that you'll goto church oflfce within a month 
 either as as bridesmaid or a a bride." 
 
33G THE STEWARD : 
 
 lt Why what on airth's come to yow? are yow crazy : " 
 
 44 Not a bit of it ! Will you bet ? " 
 
 4 * AVill vow hold yowr rubbidge?" 
 
 "Well, but I'll prove to you .at once that you'll go. Sally and I 
 are going to be married once within a month, and I know you'll be 
 one of her bridesmaids, won't you?" 
 
 " I hope so," said Sarah, "I hope you will." 
 
 " I'm too old, my dear," returned aunt Ann. 
 
 44 Not at all ! " cried Corney. '* You look as young now as you did 
 twenty years ago ! Til make you a present of a new silk gown/' 
 
 " / don't want no new silk gowns. I've got one I haven't wore for 
 five and thirty year, and I know yow can't buy me a better than that." 
 
 " Then I'll'make you a present of suffen else. Will you go ? " 
 
 " That's nothin' at all to do along o' yow. It ain't yowr place to 
 choose bridesmaids. Sarah and me can manage it, I des say, arout 
 yowr interferiu' wi' what don't consarn yow. Where's yowr father ? " 
 
 44 He's gone to have a look at my land, and we've got to get tea 
 ready against he comes back." 
 
 " We've got to get tea ready ! Yow'll do a rare sight towards it, des 
 say ! " 
 
 " Have you got such a thing as a ham in cut? " 
 
 -Yes." 
 
 4 ' Then I'll broil a few slices of it, that'll be stiffen ! " 
 
 "Yes, and make all the hearth 'in a mess. I won't ha' no brilin'. 
 Use the Dutch oven, and don't spill the grease." 
 
 Corney accordingly got the ham down, and cut a few slices and 
 placed them very carefully in the oven before the fire ; and while aunt 
 Ann and Sarah were in the back kitchen, Craske returned from the 
 park. 
 
 " Well, Corney, bor," said he, " I found it." 
 
 " And what do you think of it ? " 
 
 "Think of it! There ain't better sile in the county! Yow can't 
 ha' better: yow don't want better. There ain't another piece o" the 
 park like it. Soul and bones ! if we sow it all o' wheat, what a crop 
 we shall have the first year ! Bui: don't say a .word to no riesh about 
 that until we ha' got the rent fixed." 
 
 4t All right," said Corney ; "/ see : I see : I understand what you 
 mean." 
 
 4 'It's so handy too! " continued Craske. "Jest put on yowr hat 
 and come wi' me, and I'll show yow. Yow can see all over it from 
 the top o' the next bank." 
 
 " Come along," said Corney, seizing his hat, " let's go and have a 
 universal look at it." 
 
 "Yow see, bor," said Craske, as they left the. house, *' being as it's 
 maiden sik and sile of a capital sort it '11 produce more arout any 
 muck at all than land that's been used '11 produce wi' ten load o' muck 
 an acre. Look at that ! " 
 
 " Stop a bit !^ said Corney. " I must learn by degrees, you know, 
 a little at a time. Have you got such a thing in life as t pencil ? " 
 
A liOMAXCE OF REAL LljfE. 337 
 
 " Here yow are, bor ; here's one, and the back of a letter." 
 
 *' Now then : ten load an acre. How much a load ? " * 
 
 " I reckon, if yow had to buy it all, it 'ud cost yow by that* time 
 yow got it on the land all six shillins." 
 
 " Six shillings. Well, that's three pound an acre. Three pound.. 
 Why that, for sixty acres, would cost a hundred and eighty pound." 
 
 " That's right. Now all that'll be saved ! don't yow see ? " 
 
 " Yes : well now then : how much do you reckon it '11 grow '? " 
 
 " Well, last season was a good un, sartney, and I grew twelve 
 coomb an acre; but we marn't expect that alms." 
 
 '* Twelve coomb an acre : and this land you say '11 grow more ! " 
 
 " If, by the blessing of God, next season be as favourable as the last.,, 
 I shouldn't be at all surprised if this land perduces fourteen." 
 
 "Fourteen. Very good. At how much a coomb ?" r**"!*!^ 
 
 " Well, I doubt, Corney, bor, it '11 be lower. 1 got thirty shillins 
 for mine ; but it'll be lower, I doubt." 
 
 ** Well, say it comes down to a pound! Fourteen sixties. Four 
 noughts nought, for six: twenty-four : once nought's nought, once six is 
 six. Nought, four, eight. Why that's eight hundred and forty pound ! 
 Here, take your pencil, and don't say another word about it." 
 
 " Ah, but Corney, bor, there's a heap o' deductions. ' 
 
 " Never mind about the deductions now; we'll reckon them up ano- 
 ther time. Eight hundred and forty pound! Come along, and Jet's 
 have a look at the land." 
 
 " Well, he-re yow are ! If yow'll jist help me up o' this bank, I'll 
 show yow." 
 
 Corney who was then in a state of enthusiasm, took hold of him 
 and tried to lift him up. 
 
 " What on airth are yow arter ? " cried Craske. " Is tliat the way 
 to help a man up of a bank, to go behind him, and push him like piscn 
 behind ? Get up yowrself fust, and then give us yowr hand. There," 
 he added, when Corney had pulled him up, ' that's the way to do 
 business ! Now then, yow see these here stakes here, don't yow V " 
 
 Yes." 
 
 " Well, that's the bounds o' this side. Yow see yon fence there 
 ever so far away ? " 
 
 " Yes, I see." 
 
 "That's the bounds o' the tother; and if yow take from here to 'yon 
 plantation, there yow are! yow have it all afore yow.'' 
 
 "That'll do," said Corney, " stunning ! I like the look of it uni- 
 versal : but more universal than all is the thought of what it'll yield : 
 eh governor ? Come along but stop : I know you must have thingp 
 regular : am I to stand here and let you down, or am I to get down 
 first and help you ? " 
 
 " Go along wi* yowr rubbidge. I don't want yowr help. It's on'y 
 thegittin' up as strains my lines." 
 
 '* Here, get on my back, and I'll run down with you." 
 
 *' I'll lay this stick acrost yowr back, yow young dog, if yow don't 
 get out o' the way \vi' yow." 
 No. 22. 
 
338 THE STEWARD : 
 
 Corney laughed and jumped off the bank, and when Craske had 
 slipped down gradually, he^ took Corney's arm and returned to the 
 house. 
 
 As they entered, aunt Ann and Sarah looked at each other, and 
 seemed highly pleased about something. Corney saw their glances 
 and half- concealed smiles, and he watched them narrowly; but the 
 cause of their merriment was to him unknown. 
 
 " Governor," said he, at length, " there's a mystery here : there's 
 some universal species of freemasonry going on between these here 
 two people." 
 
 " Hold yowr nonsense, do," said aunt Ann, " and come and sit 
 down, and have a comfortable tea." 
 
 " I know there's suffen," continued Corney, " I know there's suft'en 
 up." 
 
 " Never yow mind about that, bor," said Craske. " Women's full 
 o' secrets, all on 'em : if they wasn't, they wouldn't be women. Come 
 along, bor, never mind them." 
 
 They sat down, and Corney had a plate placed before him with a 
 round cover over it, which he removed, and exclaimed, ** Why what's 
 this ? A lot o' cinders ? " 
 
 " They're yowr slices o' ham," said his aunt. "Yow can't complain 
 o' yowr own cookery, can yow ? They look nice an' relishin', don't 
 they ? " 
 
 " Spirits afloat! why they're done to a coal." 
 
 " Well, yow undertook the job. I hope they're done to yowr 
 likin' ? " 
 
 " Yow're rayther onfortnate in yowr cookery," said Craske . "Yow 
 cooked the elder wine, didn't yow ? " 
 
 " As true as I'm alive, when you came in, I wholly forgot all about 
 em." 
 
 " And when we came in," said aunt Ann, " they was blazin'." 
 
 "Never mind, Cornelius," interposed Sarah, "I've got a nice one 
 for you here." 
 
 " There's a love. Aye ! this is suffen like. Then that's what you 
 were laughing at, was it?" 
 
 " It was," replied his aunt, " because I'd jist been a tellin' on yow 
 =not to interfere wi' things which dont at all consarn yow." 
 
 " Well," said Corney, " one thing's clear ; although I clean forgot 
 the ham, I was after suffen of more universal importance." 
 
 " Yow're right ! " cried Craske, as he slapped him on the shoulder. 
 "A plate o' ham's nothin' to that, bor, eh? But now, look here," he 
 added seriously; "whatever we say about this consarn, we say amongst 
 ourselves, and it marn't go no furder. There ain't no call for it, and 
 so it marn't be. We're now what I call one family, and I hope we 
 shall allus be happy and united, and allus pull together one way. 
 What's for the good o' one on iis, is in course for the good of all on 
 us; and I mak* count to say I see my way clear to say that if we 
 be steady and careful, and industrious, we shall, wi' the blessin' o' 
 God, prosper." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 339 
 
 "111 work like a horse," cried Corney. 
 
 "And so will I," added Sarah. 
 
 " I allus did work," said aunt Ann, " and so in course it won't be 
 nothin' new to me." 
 
 " There '11 be no call at all," returned Craske, " for any on yow 
 to work much not what I call work. Yow women people can attend 
 to yowrown consarns, and we can attend to ourn." 
 
 " That's about the size of it ! " cried Corney ; " for my part, I'll go 
 in like hunting." 
 
 " There's no call to go in like huntin.' The steadier and the quieter 
 the better. I shan't want yow, bor, to plough, or to mow, or to reap, 
 or to throsh, or to do any thing o' that ! All I shall want yow to do, 
 bor, will be to larn things, to look wi' me arter the men, and do the 
 figurin', and I know yow're a good figurer : 1 see that jest now, and prac- 
 tice '11 make yow do it capital : and now I think on't, we must have some 
 more figurin' afore yow go, 'cause if we don't yow'll run away wi' the 
 notion that we're goin' to make a independent fortune all at once I 
 which we can't do no how; there's a heap of expenses." 
 
 " I'll go into it," said Corney, " I'll tarn the heap over. I'll look 
 o' both sides o' the hedge and see what's o'clock ! " 
 
 Tea was quickly despatched, and when Craske had filled his pipe, 
 they went into the whole matter calmly, and although Corney certainly 
 felt surprised at the number of expenses which he had to put down, 
 the result was highly satisfactory even to him, and when he and Sarah 
 left for the night, their bright prospects filled them with rapture. 
 
 In the morning, Craske called upon George, and when they had 
 had some preliminary conversation, they went to look at the land 
 together. 
 
 '' Now, Craske," said George, having pointed out the boundaries, " I 
 intended to work all the land I broke up myself, on my brother's 
 account of course; but I offer this to you because I know that you and 
 Cornelius were respected by my father, whose death we cannot suffi- 
 ciently deplore." 
 
 "We can't indeed, sir," said Craske; "he was a good man, sir, he was." 
 
 " He was a good man, Craske; he was a good man." 
 
 " And if he which killed him, sir, hadn't been mad, he owt to 've 
 had his heart torn out of his body ! " 
 
 "Well," said George, who involuntarily started, "we'll not pursue 
 this sad subject. We cannot but feel the ioss like Christians, but we 
 must bear it like Christians." 
 
 " Very true, sir. It must ha' been a heavy blow to .you." 
 
 " It was. But now, let us turn our thoughts to something else. 
 What do you think of this land ? Don't you think that it will break 
 up exceedingly well?" 
 
 ' Very fair, sir, no doubt. " 
 
 " Then what do you say to it r " 
 
 "Well, sir, if the rent's right, I should like to undertake it. You 
 know, sir, iarniin' don't go so well as it did ! Whereabouts '11 be 
 the rent, sir? " 
 
340 THE STEWARD: 
 
 " Well, Craske, I have no wish to make a market of you. Let it be 
 added to that uhich you now hold at the same rent, and on the same 
 conditions." j 
 
 *' Then, sir, there shan't be two words to the bargain. On them 
 terms, sir, we'll have it." 
 
 " Very well. It will do you good, Craske : I know that it will, and 
 you know it quite as well as I can tell you. I can only say that no 
 other man should have it." 
 
 ' I'm much obleedged to yow, sir, for the preference, and return yo-w 
 many thanks. When shall we have possession, sir?" 
 
 " As soon as you please. Meet me at Mr. Cameron's to-morrow at 
 twelve, and as it is but an addition to your present occupation it can 
 be easily, I apprehend, added to your covenant." 
 " My son, I suppose, sir, had better be there too '? " 
 " Yes, we shall want his signature : and whatever money he [may 
 require to begin with, Mr. Cameron will let him have at once." 
 
 Craske bowed and felt that this was very kind indeed, and when 
 George, who was himself a good farmer, had explained what in his 
 judgment ought to be done, they returned to the Hall and had lunch 
 together, and then drank a bottle of wine. 
 
 "Now," said George, when Craske, whom the wine had confused, 
 was about to leave with many expressions of thankfulness, " I am 
 going to discharge Cornelius at once." 
 
 " 1 hope, sir," said Craske with a look of apprehension, " he ain't 
 been doin o' nothin' wrong? " 
 
 " Not at all!" replied George. "But you want him at home, and 
 he ought to be at home: he is losing time here." 
 
 " But I wouldn't have him leave, sir, onhandsome for the world ! " 
 " I know it," said George, who at once rang the bell. lt I know it,, 
 and therefore I'll discharge him." 
 
 *' But if he can be, sir, of any mortal sarvice to yow if he puts yow 
 to the leasest nonplush by leavin' pray don't let him leave." 
 
 " Don't distress yourself at all about that. He is an excellent ser- 
 vant, and I should, under any other circumstances, be sorry to part 
 with him; but as it is, he ought not to remain here. Cornelius," he 
 sdded, as Corney entered the room, " I've no desire to get rid of you 
 very far from it; but under existing circumstances, I think that you 
 bad better leave at once." 
 
 " As you please, sir," Veturned Corney. 
 
 " You have much to learn, Cornelius, and the sooner you begin to- 
 learn the better. I have to meet you at Mr. Cameron's in the morning., 
 and instead of meeting you in the character of a servant, I should 
 like to meet you as one of our tenants. Y 7 ou can therefore leave 
 immediately." 
 
 ** And Sarah, sir: will you be kind enough to allow her to leave 
 too?" 
 
 44 Yes, Cornelius, she can also leave." 
 
 " Onderstand, Corney, bor," interposed Craske, whose face was as red. 
 as fire, and into whose head Corney at a glance perceived that the 
 
A KOMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 341 
 
 fumes of the wine had mounted, " yow ain't discharged cause yow've 
 done nothin' wrong, yow know, or nothin' o' that " 
 
 " No, no," said George, who saw how the case stood. " Cornelius 
 understands me. At twelve to-morrow," he added, as he rose to leave 
 the room, " we meet at Mr. Cameron's. Good morning." 
 
 " I say, governor," said Corney, when George had retired, " you've 
 been drinking too much !" 
 
 " "Well, Corney, bor," replied Craske, with a sleepy expression, " I 
 think I don' know but I think, bor, I have." 
 
 " But how came you to do so ?" 
 
 " He made me, and what was I to do ? He's a good fellow he is : 
 I know he is ! I don't care what yow say, Mr. George '$ a good 
 fellow." 
 
 " Well, but what have you been drinking? " 
 
 " Why, let me see, bor. "We had two bottles o' what he called 
 stout : but that was no matters I didn't like that it's made, I 'spect, 
 o' treacle and coffee. Well then, we had some nice stuff what he 
 called curious O, or stiffen o' that like ile that was nice that was 
 capital good and then we had a bottle o 'sherry wine atwixt us." 
 
 " But how came you to drink so much when you know that you 
 can stand so little?" 
 
 " He said it wouldn't hurt me ! No more it won't. I feel, Corney, 
 bor I feel capital. Ain't yow got another glass ? jist one more 
 glass another glass 'ud be jist the thing." 
 
 " You've drank it all ! the decanter's empty." 
 
 " Then they've guv short measure. I don't care what yow say, 
 Corney, bor ! they've guv jist one glass short." 
 
 " I'll give you a glass of suffen else," said Corney, who at this 
 moment saw George mount his horse. " But don't stir ! Keep where 
 you are don't attempt to move till I come back." 
 
 " I won't, bor, I won't. Whatever makes me feel so sleepy I can't 
 brain ! " 
 
 Corney left him and soon returned with a bottle of soda-wat-jr. 
 which he proceeded to open, and said, " Now look here ! you n 
 drink it right off." 
 
 " Is it tipsy stuff?" enquired Craske, " 'cause if it is, I won't havo 
 it. Now, is it tipsy stuff? " 
 
 " No, it isn't ! It'll do you good, if you'll only drink it off! " 
 
 " Well, bor, well, if yow say it's good, I'll drink it, if even it get > 
 in my head." 
 
 Corney untwisted the wire and cut the string, when the cork ! 
 out with a bang ! 
 
 " Soul and bones ! " cried Craske, " why, what's that? " 
 
 " Only the strength of it ! Now, then, up with it! drink it rL-Iit 
 off at a draught ! " 
 
 Craske couldn't do this. The effervescence puzzled him ; he d; 
 about half of it, and then stopped for breath, and having called ic 
 particularly nasty, he, with great resolution, rejected the rest. 
 
 " D'yovv want to pison ma ia iny old days ! '" he cried. " Why, o: 
 
342 THE STEWARD : 
 
 all the rubbidge as ever was swallered, this is the nastiest rubbidge 
 of all!" 
 
 * Never mind," said Corney, " so long as it does you good. Now 
 look here, governor; you come and sit here, and don't attempt to 
 move a peg till I come back again. I shan't be long,'' he added, 
 as he placed him on the sola. " I'll be back in no time. Now lie 
 still." 
 
 He then ran into the stable-yard and said to one of the grooms, 
 *' Harry, Mr. George has been making my old governor tipsy. I want 
 to get him home. Can't you manage it any how r " 
 
 " Of course," replied Harry. 
 
 " 1 don't want the rest to know it." 
 
 " Of course not. We'll do it all right. We'll get him in the fly ; 
 he'll be snug enough there." 
 
 " Come the back way then, and help me to get him in at once. You 
 can put the horse to, you know, afterwards." 
 
 " All right," said Harry, and followed him in, when they led Craske 
 quietly out of the house and lifted him into the fly. 
 
 While the groom was putting the horse to, Corney ran back and 
 told Sarah what had passed between him and George. 
 
 "We are free now," he added, "to go when we like; he don't 
 want no warning at all, and so if you'll get your things a little mat- 
 ters together, well go home and be independent." 
 
 "Oh dear, how delightful ! I'm so overjoyed! it'll be such a 
 beautiful change ! " cried Sarah. " But let me see your good father, 
 dear, before he leaves." 
 
 " He's now off at top," said Corney, " in the fly." 
 
 " Why, I thought he came on horseback ? " 
 
 "So he did, but I'm. going to take him home in the fty, stunning. 
 He shall be a gen'lman for once." 
 
 " Well, I must go and ask him how he is." 
 
 " Better not, Sally, my love : it'll only delay the time. I shall be 
 back pretty well in the twinkling of an eye." And having kissed her, 
 he ran back and entered the fly in which Craske was asleep, and they 
 started. 
 
 They were not long going the distance was not great; and when 
 they stopped before the house, aunt Ann was in a flutter : she ima- 
 gined that some religious lady had called, and was therefore about to 
 put on another cap ; but when she saw Craske lifted out of the flv 
 for Corney got behind him and guided his body, while the groom 
 very dexterously handled his legs she rushed out of the house in a 
 state of alarm, exclaiming, "Oh my poor brother! Oh God! what 
 has happened ! Corney ! for heaven's sake, tell me at once ! Has 
 he fell off his horse? has he killed himself V has he broken his 
 legs : " 
 
 * No ! no I " cried Corney. " He's all right." 
 
 " But is he hurt?" 
 
 " No ! Not a bit of it. He's only a little tipsy, that's all ! " 
 
 " Tipsy ! " exclaimed aunt Ann, whose indignation on the instant 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 343 
 
 supplanted her alarm. " Tipsy ! Oh the beast ! What ha" yow bin 
 a-makin' on him tipsy *? " 
 
 " No/' replied Corney. " I'll tell you all about it by and by : just 
 let's get him in. Now, then, I say you know, governor," he added, 
 44 you can make a better walk of it than this ! Come ! " 
 
 " All hie ! right, Corney, bor,"' said Craske, whom the shaking he 
 had received had awakened. " All right ! " 
 
 " It is right, yow tocksticated beast : right, indeed ! I should be 
 wholly ashamed o' myself I should ! '' 
 
 "Don't say anything to him now,'' said Corney. "It wasn't his 
 fault." 
 
 " Not his fault ! What, not to go guzzlin' and swillin like this ! 
 I've no patience with him ! don't tell me ! ' 
 
 By dint of great exertion, Corney and his friend succeeded in 
 getting Craske into the house, while aunt Ann's glib and indignant 
 tongue rattled away with surpassing velocity. Had he been killed, 
 or had he broken his ribs or his legs, he would have been everything 
 that was good ; but as he was only tipsy, he was everything that was 
 bad; so great is the difference in the feelings created by our misfor- 
 tunes and our follies in the minds of those who love us ! 
 
 " I think," said Corney, " we'd better get him up to bed at 
 once ? " 
 
 "Do what yow like," replied aunt Ann. "It makes no odds to 
 me : I'll ha' nothin' to do with him! I'll have no truck with a tock- 
 sticated man. Where's he bin ? who's bin with him 1 what's he 
 bin drinkin '? where did he get it ? " 
 
 " At the Hall," replied Corney. " Mr. George made him tipsy." 
 
 " Then Mr. George owt to be ashamed of himself, and I shouldn't 
 mind saying so, flat to his face ! Then, I 'spose he's tipsy too ? " 
 
 " Not he," replied Corney. " That's how the governor was 
 taken in ! But give us a lift, Harry : let's get him to bed. I can 
 carry him up if you'll help me to get him on my back and push 
 behind." 
 
 On Corney's back Craske was accordingly placed, and when they 
 had got him up stairs they laid him on the bed, took his handkerchief 
 and boots off, covered him up, and then returned to aunt Ann, who 
 had burst into tears. 
 
 ' Well, it's never worth crying about," said Corney. " His intel- 
 lects-have got it certainly universal, but he'll soon get over that." 
 
 " I look at the disgrace of the thing," said his Aunt. " He ain't 
 bin so afore for over forty year ! " 
 
 *' Well, if a man gets tipsy only once in forty years, I don't think 
 we need say a great deal about it." 
 
 ". But what'll the world say ?" 
 
 " Certainly, it's very important what the world says on the subject, 
 but that particular individual part of the world which knows anything 
 about it ain't a sight, for there ain't a soul in Europe and I don't 
 suppose there's one in any other part o' the globe which has the 
 slightest notion of it, with the exception of Harry, you, and myself, 
 
544 THE STEWARD: 
 
 so that we three form all the world we've got to fear, and all the 
 world that can say a word about it." 
 
 "Don't Sarah and the rest then know of it!" 
 
 ** No ! We let him out quiet, and clapped him into the fly without 
 being seen by any flesh alive,." 
 
 " Where, then, was Mr. George ? " 
 
 " Oh ! he had mounted his horse, and was off before the governor 
 turned up so tipsy." 
 
 " Well, I'm very glad nobody knows it but us: it would be sich a 
 thing to be talked about. How did yow leave him ? " 
 
 " Fast asleep." 
 
 "Did yow undo his neckcloth? " 
 
 "Yes, he's all right." 
 
 " Don't say nothin' about it, Mr. Henry, pray don't." 
 
 "Not a word, " replied Harry. "I know myself better." 
 
 " Well, yow'll have suffen to take afore yow go ? " 
 
 " Yes," said Corney, "he'll have a glass of your stunning and uni- 
 versal elder wine, and I'll have a glass with him, and you'll have one 
 too." 
 
 "No, bor, I dussent ; it'll get in my head. Yow'll find it just in- 
 side the closet, she added, and then went to see how her brother was 
 lying ; and when she had carefully re-adjusted his pillow, she returned 
 and pressed Harry to have a second glass. 
 
 " Well," said Corney, " would you like Sarah to come to-day and 
 have a cup of tea with you ? " 
 
 "I should all that, bor. I love that girl : she's such a nice, steady 
 quiet thing : and so kind, and so affectionate ! I love her as much as 
 if she was my own." 
 
 "Then I'll bring her. We've both left service now." 
 
 " Left service ? what a'ready ? "' 
 
 " Yes : it's all settled about the farm, and Mr. George said he 
 should like to meet me in future, not as one of the servants, but as 
 one of the tenants ; so that we're quite free now, both of us, and as such 
 I'll bring her to have a cup o" tea with you." 
 
 " Do, Corney, do, bor; and don't yow be late; yowr father'll want 
 a cup directly he wakes up. Mr. Henry, come, have another glass 
 afore yow go." 
 
 "It's capital wine, I must say,"' ^turned Harry. " But suppose 
 you was to make me tipsy, whose fault would it be?" 
 
 " That won't make yow tipsy, bor ! that won't hurt yow ! Come 
 along, and have another glass. 
 
 Well : Harry had another glass, and so had Corney, and when they 
 had taken leave of aunt Ann, they mounted the box, and returned to 
 the Hall. 
 
 Sarah, being anxious to accompany Corney, had got her things to- 
 gether before he returned ; and when she saw him and Harry come 
 jack with the lly, she went into the yard to meet him. 
 "Well, Sally, my love," said he, "how do you get on? "* 
 
 *' I'm quite ready, dear," replied Sarah. 
 
A ROMANCE OF HEA.L LIFE. 345 
 
 " Well, Aunt fully expects you. She seemed quite delighted when 
 I told her you were coming. You've become quite a favourite ! You 
 Ut me out altogether! She loves yon, she says, as much as if you 
 v. ere her own ! not that I wonder at that a sight, but it's clear that 
 you've won her heart wholly ! " 
 
 "She's a dear, good, kind, motherly soul," said Sarah, " and I'm 
 sure we shall live very happily together." 
 
 " No doubt of it, my girl ! Well, shall we go now ? '' 
 
 "Oh, I'm ready, dear; but you'll put on your private suit of clothes, 
 will you not? " 
 
 " Why of course ! I forgot all round about that ! Of course, I'll 
 put 'em on ! It would have been a go if I'd left in livery. Are your 
 boxes corded ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear : I got James to cord them up for me." 
 
 " Very good : then we can send one of our men for 'em. And 
 now, my girl, while you are saying good bye, and putting on your bon- 
 net and shawl, I'll go and change my clothes. I shan't belong about 
 it and then we'll leave stunning, universal, and independent! " 
 
 Sarah smiled, and he kissed her, and ran to his room and proceeded 
 to put on his private clothes, which having originally belonged to 
 George imparted something distingue to the characteristic respecta- 
 bility of his appearance; and when he had satisfactorily completed his 
 toilet, he and Sarah left the Hall, and proceeded as he observed 
 fc; like a perfect pair of independent people to their future preternatural 
 and universal home," where aunt Ann received them with feelings of 
 pride. 
 
 Poor Craske was still asleep. During the absence of Corney, aunt 
 Ann had been up to look at him at least twenty times, and she went 
 up twenty times more before he awoke ; and when at length he with 
 difficulty opened his eyes, he looked and felt perfectly bewildered. 
 
 'Why, Ann," said he, in fitful and confused accents, as he saw his 
 really anxious sister standing by his side. " Why what why 
 where " 
 
 "Don't talk to me!" exclaimed aunt Ann, in assumed tones of 
 anger. "I can't trust myself to talk to a man which gets tipsy. To come 
 home in sich a state o' beastly toxtication ! I'll send Corney up 10 
 talk to yow ! " 
 
 Craske rubbed his eyes as his sister left the room, and tried hard to 
 collect his scattered senses ; but before he was able to bring his mind 
 to bear upon any distinct point, Corney appeared with a cup of strong 
 tea. 
 
 " Well," said Corney, " how do you feel now? " 
 
 " Corney, bor, I don't feel no matters. But tell me : what's the 
 meanin' o' this? I can't remember nothen' ! " 
 
 " You recollect going over the land with Mr. George ?" 
 
 " \ r es, and then we had stiffen to eat together, but I can't recollect 
 nothen' else." 
 
 "Then I'll tell you without going far'round about it. He r i: ade ycu 
 tipsy, and I brought you home." 
 
346 THE STEWARD : 
 
 ** I hope I didn't do nothen' wrong?" 
 "Not a bit of it." 
 "I didn't offend him, I hope?" 
 
 " Not at all ! When he'd done the trick, he left you and me to- 
 gether, and when I found that you'd caught it so universal, I got you 
 very privately out of the house, and brought you home in the fly 
 like a gentleman." 
 
 " But didn't they see me there ?" 
 
 " Not a soul, with the exception of Harry, and Harry's as close as 
 an oyster." 
 
 " Well, T hope I didn't do nothen' wrong?" 
 
 " Now, don't fret your intellects at all about that. All's as right 
 as possible. Do you drink this tea, and go to sleep again. Does your 
 head ache ? " 
 
 4 ' It's very sadly, Corney, bor : but it ain't a natteral ache, it's a 
 onnatteral suffen as shoots from one temple to the tother like a knittin r 
 needle dartin' backwards an' forrards throw the brain." 
 
 "Well, drink this up and go to sleep again. You'll feel better in 
 the morning." 
 
 Certainly Craske hoped that he should feel better : he felt that 
 there was plenty of room for improvement; and he seemed to derive 
 consolation from the thought, that if he didn't feel better, he couldn't 
 feel worse. 
 
 Corney having accomplished the object of his mission, returned to 
 Sarah and his aunt, with whom he spent a very happy and a very merry 
 evening; and when aunt Ann had taken up a basin of nicely made gruel 
 to Craske, and had communicated to him the intelligence that in her 
 gentle judgment it was more than he deserved, she kissed him and re- 
 tired with Sarah for the night, leaving Corney who told them that 
 he wanted to think alone. 
 
 And Corney did think : he thought that, being to all intents and pur- 
 poses then a farmer, he ought to smoke like a farmer ; and he filled 
 one of his father's pipes, and took his father's seat, and began to- 
 smoke bravely; but as this pleasing accomplishment was altogether 
 new to him, he was soon overpowered, and when aunt Ann came down 
 in the morning, she found him fast asleep in the chimney-corner. 
 
 " Why, what on airth's come to the men !" she exclaimed with an 
 expression of the most intense astonishment. " Corney ! Why Cor- 
 ney ! " she added, shaking him with violence. 
 
 " Hollo !" said Corney, on opening his eyes. 
 
 ; ' What ain't yow bin in bed ? " 
 
 " I suppose not," said Corney, who saw that it was light. " I sup- 
 pose I dropped off to sleep here. I suppose the pipe sent me to 
 sleep." 
 
 u What, ha' yow bin a smoking? " 
 
 "I had a try at it last night." 
 
 " There bor, there, don't yow git into that fashion. You'll never be 
 good for nothin' if yow do. Look at yowr father. Take warning by 
 him. He's never happy at home arout a pipe in his mouth. There 
 
A ROMANCE OF HEAL LIFE. 347 
 
 he is smoke, smoke, smoke smoke, smoke, smoke, continivilly come 
 in when he may. I'm sure it's enough to quackle a nation. I wish 
 the nasty 'bacco was a guinea an ounce, that I do ! See what it costs 
 him, and what good is it '? Suppose he'd put by all the money he's 
 spent in 'bacco since his young time ! I'll warrant it costs him all two 
 pence a-day, and he's bin' smokin' nigh sixty year. I was reckonin* 
 on it up the other night jist for a fancy, and what do yow think it 
 comes to? Why, pooty well two hundred pound! look at that! 
 Don't yow get into no sich habit ; if yow do, mark my words, bor, 
 you'll never leave it off." 
 
 " I shouldn't want to leave it off if I could manage it : it is such a 
 social luxury ; but if it's allus going to serve me as it did last night, it 
 won't cost me much for tobacco. But," he added with a yawn, " I 
 feel rather chilly. I'll have a regular rattling good wash, and then I'll 
 go up and see how the governor is." 
 
 He washed himself accordingly, and felt refreshed, and immediately 
 afterwards Craske came down, looking very queer, and feeling very 
 nervous. 
 
 " Well," said Corney, " how are you now?" 
 
 " Nothen' to brag on, bor," replied Craske, as he shook his head 
 mournfully, " nothen' to brag on." 
 
 " I wonder yow don't feel ten times worse," observed aunt Ann, 
 with some asperity. " I wonder yow haven't a head-ache fit to craze a 
 town. If people will get tipsy, they must in course expect to suffer 
 for it." 
 
 Craske, who had no inclination then to enter into anything of a 
 controversial character, put on his hat ; and, having beckoned to 
 Corney, left the house, and Corney followed, and they went together 
 to look at the pigs, and then walked about the farm until breakfast 
 time, and on his return Craske felt a little better. 
 
 " This ain't a good example to set yow, Corney, bor," said he while 
 they were at breakfast ; " but this is the on'y mornin' for the last forty 
 year that I haven't been able to eat." 
 
 " No," said aunt Ann, who. felt herself bound to be severe in order 
 to be coaxed a little, " because this, for the last forty year, is the on'y 
 time yow've bin and got tipsy. Them which drinks much can't 
 expect to eat much. If yow) get tipsy the over night, yow marn't 
 think o' eating a good breakfast in the mornin'. I'm sure, for my 
 part " 
 
 " Now Ann," said Craske, imploringly, " I don' know how it was, 
 but so it was : all I know is, I've suffered enough for it. Now give 
 me a kiss Ann, and say no more about it." 
 
 " That's the way to settle it universal," cried Corney. " There," 
 he added as his aunt kissed her brother, " there's an end of it now : 
 it's all over and done with." 
 
 Aunt Ann said no more on the subject. She had accomplished the 
 only object she had in view : she had proved her influence, and was 
 happy. 
 
 " Well, now then, governor," said Corney after breakfast, " what's 
 
348 THE 6TEYVAKD ! 
 
 to be done ? Come, I want to go to work. There's plenty of time 
 betwixt this and twelve." 
 
 " Yow're not fit to work, Corney, bor," replied Craske. " Yow're 
 not- dressed for workin'. Yow marn't wear them clothes every day. 
 Yow must have a stout velveteen jacket and a strong pair of corduroy 
 breeches and leggins, and a pair o' boots to lace up and keep out the 
 wet : them shoes o' yowrn ain't fit to walk across the land in." 
 
 "They are rather thin," said Corney, "certainly they are; but they 
 were only made to run about the house in. I must have a pair of the 
 right sort made." 
 
 " There's a man down yonder as lives next to Conks's, which '11 
 make yow a pair worth the money. He calls 'em invisible boots, which 
 the tongues is sown under the uppers and keeps out all manner o' 
 slush." 
 
 " Invisible boots ! what, can't you see 'em when they're on ? " 
 " See 'em ! What's the good of havin' a pair o' boots yow can't 
 see ? Yow may as well have none at all." 
 " Well, but if they're invisible how can you see 'em ? " 
 " I don't care : that's what he calls 'em, and capital strong boots 
 they are." 
 
 " Then I'll send for him to measure me at once. What's his name ? " 
 " Jonathan Crow. Send Bill : there he is." 
 
 Bill was accordingly despatched for Mr. Crow, who, being a very 
 active person, with very little flesh on his bones, soon appeared. 
 
 " Jonathan," said Craske, "I want yow to make my son here a 
 pair o' boots yowr invisible boots, don't yow call 'em r " 
 
 * The invincibles, sir," replied Mr. Crow. " I call 'em by that name, 
 sir, 'cause the water can't conker 'em." 
 
 *< Well, I knowed yow called 'em suffen. Yow'd better take his 
 measure." 
 
 '.' Much obleedged to you," said Crow, who, having placed a chair 
 for Corney, dropped at once upon his knee. " You don't want 'em 
 very heavy, sir, I 'spose? " 
 
 44 Make him a good strong sarviceable pair," said Craske, as if 
 Corney had no voice at all in the matter, ** fit to stand slush and 
 muck arout his getting wet-footed." 
 
 The measure was taken, and when Mr. Crow, having called Craske 
 aside, had drawn five shillings of him to purchase the leather, he 
 very respectfully took his leave. 
 
 " Well," said Corney, " now the boots have been ordered, I'd better 
 get measured for the clothes ! What do you say : will you make 
 yourself tidy, and start at once ? " 
 
 '* There's plenty o' time, bor, atwixt this and twelve." 
 "There won't be much to spare. It'll take you some time to 
 polish up : it '11 take us some time to get there ; it '11 take me some time 
 to get measured, and then it '11 be about time to go and meet Mr. 
 George." 
 
 " Well, it '11 be ten afore we can start," returned Craske, " so I'll 
 e'en go and put on my things. I must get shaved there, for I sartney 
 can't shave mvself this mcrnm'." 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 340 
 
 " Well then, go up at once ; and' then, you know, we shan't want to 
 hurry ourselves." 
 
 Craske went up at once, and proceeded to dress, while Corney or- 
 dered the horse and gig, and had a little ** universal courting", with 
 Sarah ; and when Craske was ready, they had a mug of ale and started, 
 and at twelve precisely met George. 
 
 As they entered Mr. Cameron's office, George smiled, and held out 
 his hand to Craske, who took it and shook his head significantly ; and 
 when Mr. Cameron had read over the document which required their 
 signatures, they signed it, and shortly afterwards left George there. 
 
 " Well," said Corney, as they quitted the house, " that job's jobbed, 
 and we haven't been long about it. It's wonderful what a deal can be 
 done by only just writing your name." 
 
 " Ah, Corney, bor, yow're right about that, but we marnt be too fond 
 o' doin' on it." 
 
 "Well, now governor, what say you what shall we do? We '11 
 have either a lunch or a dinner, which you like. I vote for a dinner, 
 and if I'm in the majority, we'll dine like a pair of magnificats. It's 
 all settled now universal, and we mustn't let this day pass without seal- 
 ing it with suffen : what say you ? " 
 
 '* Corney, bor, we don't want to go to no extravagance, but this is 
 yowr day, therefore do what yovv like; on'y let me do what /like, bor, 
 for the time to come." 
 
 " Agreed ! " cried Corney, "and here's my hand upon it. In future 
 I'll allus be. guided by you, but to-day, you know, is a day of days, 
 and we must have a glass of wine upon it. Come along." 
 
 Having reached the inn at which they put up, Corney ordered a 
 very nice delicate dinner, and then took a stroll with his father round 
 the town, and met George, who insisted upon their having a glass of 
 sherry with him ; and they had a glass of sherry, and sat and chatted 
 with him freely, but respectfully, until the time they had named for 
 dinner had arrived, when they left him and returned to their inn. 
 
 As nothing substantial had passed his lips that morning, Craske 
 by this time felt that he could eat a good dinner, and he ate a good 
 dinner a very good dinner, to which the wine for they had a pint 
 of sherry between them imparted an additional zest, and when they 
 had finished, Corney ordered a bottle of port. 
 
 " A pint, bor, a pint '11 be oceans !" said Craske. 
 
 " Now look here ! " returned Corney. " You know the agreement ! 
 Don't interfere with things which to day don't concern you. We'll 
 have a bottle, and that shall be our stint. W^e won't have any more I 
 we'll make up our minds to that before we begin, and then we shan't 
 knock over the traces." 
 
 The bottle of port was accordingly brought in, with gome pipes and 
 tobacco for Craske ; and they sat, arid sipped, and chatted gaily, and 
 felt their hearts warm and joyous, and dwelt upon their prospects 
 with a species of enthusiasm ! And while Corney was driving him 
 home to tea, Craske declared that he never felt better in his life. 
 
 The next morning instructions were given for the banns to be pub- 
 
3-50 THE STEWARD : 
 
 lished, and from that time till the day which had been named for the 
 wedding, the preparations which were on a scale commensurate with 
 the exalted views of the parties concerned created an extraordinary 
 sensation. 
 
 Aunt Ann and Sarah were inseparable, and as the former was de- 
 lighted with the prospect of having the latter to live with constantly, 
 she insisted upon paying a clear half of the expenses of the proposed 
 entertainment out of her own private purse, and resolved, in conjunc- 
 tion with Craske, on having the event celebrated sumptuously. 
 
 Corney was allowed to have no voice in the matter. Mr. Conks was 
 appointed master of the ceremonies, with a seat in the privy council, 
 and night and day did that gentleman work to bring the thing off with 
 eclat. All the neighbours were invited to dinner : all the servants at 
 the Hall were invited: all the men employed on the farm were invited. 
 The church clerk was invited, with all the children in the school 
 which Sir John had founded ; and while the gentlemen connected 
 with the church orchestra had offered their services, the clergyman 
 had signified his intention of being present in order to bless their re- 
 past.; 
 
 Well ! the auspicious morning dawned, and as early as four o'clock 
 Sarah assisted by aunt Ann commenced dressing. She had every- 
 thing new from head to foot neat yet elegant ; and being a hand- 
 some girl, and possessing a good figure, when she came down at 
 seven o'clock and Corney saw her, he declared it to be his opinion 
 that she was an angel indeed ! 
 
 Sarah's mother full of hope, joy, and pride had been there two 
 hours, and had got tea ready, which, however, was not to be considered 
 the breakfast; and shortly afterwards Mr. Conks arrived, and then 
 came the two bridesmaids from the Hall, and Corney made the ladies 
 have a cup of tea each with " a little universal brandy in it; " and, 
 at twenty minutes to eight precisely, the two flys, which Mr. Conks 
 had engaged, dashed gallantly up to the gate. 
 
 Eight o'clock was the time appointed for them to be at the church. 
 They therefore prepared to start immediately. The bride, with 
 aunt Ann and one of the bridesmaids, entered the first fly, and 
 Corney and his father, with the other bridesmaid and the master of the 
 ceremonies, followed in the second. 
 
 On the road Corney made s^eral efforts to be gay, but he didn't 
 to any very great extent succeed : nor was Mr. Conks particularly 
 facetious the great responsibility of the office he had undertaken 
 pressed so heavily upon his mind. The bridesmaid, however, was 
 exceedingly merry, and chatted and laughed incessantly, until they 
 arrived at the churchyard-gate, where they alighted, and Craske led 
 the way up the path with the bride, followed by Corney and the 
 bridesmaids, and aunt Ann leaning on the arm of Mr. Conks. 
 
 At the porch they were welcomed by the clerk with great respect, 
 and in the vestry they were received by the minister with marked 
 civility ; and, when the necessary preliminaries had been gone 
 through, then they slowly proceeded to the altar. 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 351 
 
 During the ceremony, Sarah was calm and firm, but Corney felt 
 somewhat embarrassed. Aunt Ann wept, and so did her brother : 
 vivid recollections of the past pressed upon them, and they thought 
 of those whom they had lost, and with whom they had gone through 
 the same sweet ceremony and before the same altar. 
 
 The tones of the minister were solemn and fervent, and his delivery 
 had a most touching effect ; and when, at the conclusion, he raised 
 his eyes and saw how deeply Craske and his sister were affected, he, 
 knowing the cause, took them kindly by the hand, and bade them to 
 cherish the blessed hope of being reunited in heaven. 
 
 They then returned to the vestry and signed the register, and Mr. 
 Conks who, in addition to his other appointments, had been made 
 the First Lord of the Treasury did all that was necessary to be done, 
 and that, too, in a liberal spirit ; and when the minister had shaken 
 hands with the bride and bridegroom, and had ascertained that they 
 expected him to honour them with his presence at dinner, the party 
 left the church and returned to their happy home. 
 
 Meanwhile Sarah's mother, with several assistants, had set out the 
 breakfast and such a breakfast! There was enough for fifty people, 
 and more than enough ; but that was of very little consequence then : 
 the party sat down and enjoyed it highly, and the bridesmaids, deter- 
 mined on having some fun, undertook to fall desperately in love with 
 Mr. Conks. 
 
 It had been some time previously proposed in the privy council 
 of which Mr. Conks was the president and carried unanimously, that 
 on this auspicious day, between breakfast and dinner, the bride, the 
 bridegroom, and the bridesmaids should go for a ride ; and as one of 
 the flys had been detained in consequence, the fact was now publicly 
 proclaimed. Sarah, however, although delighted with that as she 
 had been with every other proposition that had been made, wished 
 to have a private interview with Corney first, and having found an 
 -opportunity of calling him aside, th e y went together into the garden. 
 
 " Cornelius, dear," said Sarah, as she hung on his arm and looked 
 at him with an expression of the most intense affection, " I now am 
 jours wholly yours and all that I have is yours ; and I shall pray 
 continually to the Great Author of our being that we may be for ever 
 happy. My person is yours ; my heart is yours ; that which I have 
 in the bank is yours; and this is yours," she added, as she drew a 
 small packet from her bosom, " and I wish that it were twenty times 
 .the amount." 
 
 " Why, what's this?" enquired Corney, as she placed the packet 
 in his hand. 
 
 " You will find there, dear, the hundred pounds Sir John left me, 
 -and a cheque for thirty pounds, which I managed to save." 
 
 Corney looked at her and felt that tears were springing into his 
 eyes : he therefore walked on a little, and when he felt that he was 
 able to keep them back, he said, " Sally, my sweet one, you're a dear 
 good girl. The thirty pounds must still be yours. You'll be able, 
 I've no doubt, to turn it to account. But with regard to the hundred, 
 
3-52 THE STEWARD: 
 
 I'll take that, and now I'll tell you why. I've thought a "good deal 
 about this hundred pounds : 1 thought of it all last night, for to tell 
 von the truth I couldn't sleep last night at all." 
 "Nor could I, dear! " 
 
 "Well. Now listen. Your mother, my love, is very poor. We 
 need not, between ourselves, mince the matter now : she is very, very 
 poor. She has a little shop, but it isn't half filled : there isn't half 
 things enough in it: and as I'm quite sure that she could do more 
 good if she had a better stock, which she can't get just now, I've 
 made up my mind to take the hundred of you and to give it to her to 
 make the best she can of it." 
 
 '* My dear love," said Sarah, with strong emotion, "your goodness 
 overpowers rne." 
 
 44 There now, my love, come ; we'll riot have a tear about it. It's 
 nothing but what's in nature right, and I'll allus do what's right if I 
 know it." 
 
 44 1 know you will, dear; I'm sure that you will; but this is too 
 kind." 
 
 44 Sally, ray love ! it's impossible for a man to be too kind if he 
 doesn't injure himself and family by his kindness. We don't want 
 this money ; she does ; and she's your mother, and she shall have it ! 
 Take this cheque for the thirty pounds ; the hundred I'll keep until I 
 have an opportunity of putting it into her hands. I suppose that you 
 got it from Mr. Cameron ? " 
 
 " Yes, dear ; I went to him yesterday, and he was kind enough to 
 let me have it. But do keep the cheque, dear : I really have no use 
 at all for the money." 
 
 ' 4 I'll have nothing whatever to do with it! We shall have a very 
 desperate quarrel I see about this cheque if you don't take it back." 
 
 44 What! quarrelling already ! " cried Craske, who at this moment 
 entered the garden. 4 ' Soul and bones, yow marn't quarrel yet ! Yow 
 haven't been married a couple o' hours!" 
 
 44 We're not quarrelling," said Sarah, running up to him affection- 
 ately, 4t only he's too kind much too kind." 
 
 " Let me hear yow say the same thing seven years hence, and I'll 
 make yow a present of a good fat hog. But what ha' yow been cry-in' 
 about ! Can't yow get on arout cryin' '? What ha' yow got to cry for ? 
 FJesh alive! a weddin' day's not a day for cryin' ! 
 " I can't help it," said Sarah, " I'm so happy ! " 
 "Do yow come along o' me : yow marn't be alone together. We're 
 not goin' to have the business o' the day interrupted by tears ! When 
 are yow goin' to take the ladies out for a ride, sir ? " 
 
 '* I'm quite ready," replied Corney, who had been gazing at Sarah 
 with feelings of admiration. 
 
 " Then tell 'em to get the horse in," said Craske, 4 ' while I send 
 these womin people up to put their things on. We ain't a goin' to 
 have any cryin' sich a day as this, it ain't quite so likely. Come along,, 
 my dear, let's go into the house." And drawing Sarah's arm within 
 his, he led her in. 
 
A KOJIAXCE OF REAL LIFE. 353 
 
 Sarah then retired with the bridesmaids to her chamber, and pre- 
 pared to accompany Corney in the fly; and when they were ready, 
 Corney handed them in, and they started with the strictest possible 
 injunctions to be home by a quarter before two. 
 
 All hands now went to work to prepare dinner, and Mr. Conks, who 
 had been promoted to another office namely, that of head cook 
 borrowed one of aunt Ann's white aprons, and having taken off his. 
 coat, basted the beef, and kept all the pots boiling, and with corres- 
 ponding diligence attended to the large plum puddings in the cop- 
 pers. What they couldn't cook at home, they had entrusted to the 
 baker, whose small oven was filled with ducks, chickens, joints, pies, 
 and tarts ; and while Craske was superintending the completion of an 
 awning which had been roughly, yet safely, established in the paddock 
 with larch-poles, stack-cloths, sacks, and tarpaulins, aunt Ann and 
 her assistants were up to their necks in custards, jellies, syllabubs, and 
 sauces. 
 
 At one o'clock precisely, Mr. Conks proceeded to bring in the 
 tressels and planks, which, with admirable forethought, he had bor- 
 rowed, knowing well that there were not sufficient tables for the pur- 
 pose in the house. These he adjusted actively, yet calmly, into the 
 similitude of a long dining-table. and. laid the cloth, and as he couldn't 
 find chairs enough, he sent for tie highest forms in his school-room. 
 But even then, he found the accommodation would not be sufficient. 
 He expected forty people to dinner, and his plank table could not by 
 any means accommodate more than six and twenty. He therefore 
 established small tables in the corners of the room, and as he couldn't 
 find table-cloths enough, he got a lot of clean towels and made them 
 answer the purpose well. 
 
 Having completed these arrangements, he saw his way clearly as 
 far as the real dinner-party was concerned, it having been decided,, 
 that the children should dine under the awning in the paddock ; and 
 proceeded to arrange the knives and forks which as they belonged to- 
 all ages he couldn't by any means match. He, however, found a suffi- 
 cient number, and that was the grand point; and when he had 
 placed on the table all the mugs and glasses he could find, he congra- 
 tulated himself on his success. 
 
 About half-past one, the guests began to arrive, dressed in their 
 best, and displaying white favours; and when the bride and bride- 
 groom returned, they were hailed with delight by all present, who 
 strewed the path which led from the gate to the house with flower?, 
 and exclaimed intones of fervour, "God bless you!" "Heaven 
 prosper you ! " " May the bright angels guard you ! " " May every 
 happiness be yours ! " 
 
 Aunt Ann now began to get fidgety. The clock was on the point 
 of striking two, and the clergyman hadn't arrived ! The baker had 
 sent every thing home, and Mr. Conks with great presence of mind 
 was basting the beef in order to keep it from burning. Scarcely, how- 
 ever, had the clock begun to strike, when the reverend gentleman rode 
 up to the gate. This was a very great relief to aunt Ann, who as. 
 No. 23. 
 
354 THE STEWARD: 
 
 Corney went to receive him and to conduct him at once into the best 
 room ordered the beef to be taken up instantly, and by virtue of a 
 minute division of labour every one present being anxious to assist, 
 the table was crowded in less than ten minutes, and dinner was for- 
 mally announced. 
 
 The reverend gentleman came forth with the bride : and Corney 
 followed with the bridesmaids ; and when they had reached the seats 
 which had been assigned to them, grace was most impressively said, 
 and they went to work with every demonstration of delight. 
 
 There were no attendants on that occasion no confusion, no run- 
 ning about. Every body was every body's servant, and all were 
 anxious to assist each other; everything required was on the table, 
 and therefore all they had to do was to pass their plates for what they 
 wanted. 
 
 This they did frequently for there was not a soul there without an 
 appetite ; they all ate heartily and enjoyed themselves highly : and 
 when Mr. Conks, who had accepted the office of head butler, saw 
 that they had ceased to eat, he selected three females to assist him r 
 and replaced the remains of the meat, chickens, ducks, and vegetables, 
 with the plum puddings, pies, custards, syllabubs, and tarts, in admi- 
 rable order, and with infinite dexterity and presence of mind. 
 
 Except, indeed, at the very head of the table, clean plates were not 
 required ; they therefore, without further ceremony, again went to 
 work ; and, knowing that plum pudding was to follow, each of them 
 had left a little room for a slice, and when they had eaten literally all 
 they could eat, Mr. Conks and his assistants, in the same perfect 
 order and with the same dexterity which marked the remove, cleared 
 the cloth. 
 
 The whole party then rose with the reverend gentleman, who offered 
 up thanks to the Giver of all things, and immediately afterwards Mr. 
 Conks and his assistants went to superintend the feast of the hungry 
 -children in the paddock. 
 
 Wine was then placed at the top of the table, and at the bottom 
 Btood a barrel of sound old beer ; and when the reverend gentleman 
 had conversed for some time with those around him, he rose to pro- 
 pose the health of the bride and bridegroom. 
 
 " My friends," said he, " it gives me pleasure to rise for the purpose 
 of proposing the health of the two persons who have this day entered 
 into the Holy State of Matrimony, and whose union we have met here 
 to celebrate. They are known to you all : most of you have known 
 them from their infancy, and I have known them for some years as 
 the trustworthy servants of him whose sudden death we all deplore. 
 I mention this, not with the view of casting even a momentary cloud 
 over the innocent festivities of the day, but in order to shew that they 
 who do their duty in that state of life to which it has pleased God to 
 call them are certain in some way to have their reward. They were 
 faithful servants, and their master rewarded them, and if we be faithful 
 servants of the Most High our Heavenly Master will reward us, both 
 here and hereafter. It' we serve Him diligently He will guide us 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 355 
 
 aright, and protect us, and bring us to His everlasting kingdom. My 
 friends, I'll detain you no longer. You all join me, I know, in wish- 
 ing health and happiness to the bride and bridegroom. [[Cries of, 
 "We do! We do! God bless them!"] May they live long in 
 purity and holiness. May sweet Religion be their guiding-star, and 
 when it shall please God to separate them on earth, may they part in 
 the blessed conviction that they shall be reunited in heaven, where 
 all He loves shall live again." 
 
 The whole party then rose and drank " Health and happiness to the 
 bride and bridegroom." They knew not whether, after the speech, 
 and in the presence of the reverend gentleman, they ought to applaud; 
 but as they saw that the church clerk was prepared to act as fugleman, 
 they gave three hearty cheers, and what was at that period of the 
 world's history termed " a little un in." 
 
 When the rattling on Mr. Conks's borrowed planks, which succeeded 
 these cheers, had subsided, Corney rose and looked pale as marble, 
 and trembled like the leaf of the aspen, and said, " Ladies and gentle- 
 men, I ain't like a parliament man, nor I ain't like the reverend gentle- 
 man which has done me the honour to propose my good health, and 
 likewise that of my dear little wife; I ain't therefore got the gift, you 
 know, to say what I mean ; but I mean what I feel, and if you knew 
 my feelings and I think you can pretty well guess what they are 
 you wouldn't want me to express 'em. [Cheer s.~\ I'm married, and 
 I'm come to live amongst you, and I mean to do nothing but what's 
 right \jbravcT]. And if every body here means as right as I mean, 
 this '11 be one of the happiest parishes in Europe. [Loud dieeri\. As 
 for my little wife, she says she ain't much of a hand at a speech, and 
 that I'm to thank you for her, and I do thank you for her : we both of 
 us thank you for your universal wishes, and God bless you all ! ; ' 
 
 Tremendous cheers followed the conclusion of this speech, during 
 which Corney resumed his seat ; but he shortly afterwards rose again 
 to propose the health of the reverend gentleman, who returned thanks 
 briefly, and proposed the health of Craske. 
 
 This was the signal for unbounded applause, for Craske had been a 
 good neighbour as well as a good master, and was highly respected 
 by them all; and when he rose, his neighbours rose and gave him three 
 cheers more, and it was not until the church clerk had sternly enjoined 
 silence, that he was allowed to return thanks. 
 
 " Friends and nabburs," said he, when ordei* had been restored, ".it 
 makes my heart glad to see yow all here enjoyin' yowrselves, and bein' 
 comfortable and happy. I can't expect, in the natur' o' things, to be 
 \vi' yow many years longer, but whenever it may please God to call 
 me, I shall leave one behind me which has a good heart, and which r ll 
 do what's right and jest to all. [Cheers.^ This is his weddin' day, and 
 os quick does life pass, that it don't seem to me a very long time since 
 it was my weddin' day. And thus we go over this Hill of Life: we 
 begin at the bottom, climb up to the top, and then we go down o' the 
 other side. We're born : we go to school : we're married : we have 
 children; and then we make the best of orr way into the grave ; ;u;J 
 
356 THE STEWARD ! 
 
 our children follow us, and their children follow them ; and thus we 
 go on, and on, and on. As regards yowr i'eelins towards me, Fin 
 proud of 'em: I'm proud o' yowr respect, and allus shall be, and as 
 such, I drink all yowr very good healths." 
 
 AY hen the loud applause which followed this speech had sub- 
 sided, the reverend gentleman left his seat; and having exhorted; 
 them all to be " merry and wise," withdrew from the festive board^ 
 They all rose as he retired, and bowed with great respect, but not a 
 soul there regretted his departure. He was not a proud man, nor was he 
 austere: they believed him, moreover, to be a good man; but as they 
 felt in his presence under a certain restraint, they were all very glad 
 when he left. 
 
 " I say, governor," said Corney, " we shall have you putting up for 
 a member of Parliament, if you go on making speeches like that ! " 
 
 "Hold yowr rubbidge, bor, do," returned Craske. " I felt three 
 parts choked. I could hardly speak at all." 
 
 " Oh, but you came out universal ! We're born and we're married,, 
 and then have children, and then make the best of our way to the 
 grave, and our children follow us, and their children follow them,, 
 and thus they go on running after one another, and almost treading 
 upon one another's heels ! I suppose that's what you call the Human 
 Race!" 
 
 "It's a fact, bor: we do we sartney do: only I couldn't speak it 
 right afore him." 
 
 " Well, now he's gone, what shall we be up to ? Shall we have a 
 dance a universal dance ? What do you say ? " 
 
 " Oh, I should like it dearly ! " cried one of the bridesmaids, who 
 had scarcely said a word before the reverend gentleman, but who now 
 began to chat again gaily. " I love a dance! " 
 
 44 Then," said Corpey, "we'll have one. But stop," he added, 
 rising. " I've a universal duty to perform : I've to give you the 
 health of my good old aunt, with three times three, and a little un in. 
 She's a good sort a capital out-and-out sort, and the best of it is,, 
 we all know it. There ain't a better hearted soul in this or any other 
 county, and as such, we'll drink her good health with all ther 
 honours." 
 
 As the company rose, aunt Ann shed tears, and when they had given 
 her "all the honours," she said in a tremulous voice, "God bless you ! " 
 
 The bride then took the bridegroom's arm, and they led the way 
 into the paddock, where they found nearly the whole of the children 
 lying on the grass, and many of them fast asleep ; for as Mr. Conks, 
 in his capacity as superintendent of the Victualling Department, had 
 allowed them all to eat as much beef and plum pudding as they pleased,, 
 they had eaten to absolute repletion. 
 
 The music, however, soon aroused them, and when partners had 
 been engaged and brought to their places, the bride and bridegroom, 
 led off the dance. 
 
 Corney was not a very elegant dancer, but he was then far too happy 
 to care about style : Sarah could dance very gracefully indeed, and 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 357 
 
 as she went down the middle and came up again, the guests exclaimed 
 to each other, " She's really very pretty ! " 4 * How nicely she dances ! " 
 " Quite the lady ! " " Dear me, what beautiful hair she has ! " " What 
 a nice set of teeth!" '* What a sweet pretty foot!" " How happy 
 she looks ! " And she did look happy, and really felt happy very 
 happy she could have wept, she was so happy ! 
 
 Having seen every thing properly deposited, and made up the fire 
 and put the kettles on, Mr. Conks in the plenitude of pure official 
 pride joined Craske, who was smoking^ his pipe in the shade and en- 
 joying the gay scene before him. 
 
 Mr. Conks was not, however, allowed to remain long there. He 
 was no sooner seen beneath the awning, than one of the merry brides- 
 maids ran up to him gaily, and insisted upon his taking her down the 
 next dance. In vain he declared that he couldn't dance she'd teach 
 him. In vain he entreated her to excuse him she wouldn't ! She 
 'had made up her mind to have him for a partner, and have him she 
 would ! Did he wan't to break her heart? 
 
 Certainly Mr. Conks was a widower. Had the late Mrs. Conks 
 been alive, she would not have approved of it in all probability ; but 
 she was not ; he felt at the time that she was not, and hence suffered 
 himself to be led to the dance. 
 
 Aunt Ann was next importuned. Corney would dance with aunt 
 .Ann. Her repeated declaration that she should " on'y strain her lines," 
 had no weight whatever with him. She should dance ! and did ; and 
 then Sarah attacked Craske, and by virtue of a little affectionate 
 wheedling, carried him off! He, however, didn't last long; he ma- 
 naged to get to the bottom, and then retired from the contest, declaring; 
 that he wasn't long-winded enough. Sarah retired with him and re- 
 filled his pipe, and shortly afterwards Corney rejoined them and had 
 all the boys marshalled before him, and told all who considered them- 
 selves fast runners to approach; whereupon they all approached, thev 
 -all considered themselves fast runners, although they felt that they 
 had eaten too much pudding to run fast then. 
 
 ** Well," said Corney, " as you all come forward, you shall all 
 start together. Go up to the palings, and the three that get in first, 
 shall run for a shilling." 
 
 Mr. Conks was appointed starter, and the three first did run for a 
 shilling; and then the three last ran, and then others were chosen, and 
 when the races were over, dancing recommenced. 
 
 The hours flew! Why' it was seven o'clock before aunt Ann thought 
 of consulting Mr. Conks about the tea. 
 
 " Dear me !" she exclaimed; *' why I'd no airthly notion of its being 
 so late ! I must go in, and get the tea ready at once !" 
 
 44 Bless your soul," replied Mr. Conks, ' that was ready two hours 
 ago I The table's laid out, the bread and butter's cut, the water's 
 toiling, and every thing's prepared ; but I didn't like to mention a word 
 about the time, because I saw you were all so happy." 
 
 44 Mr. Conks," said aunt Ann, ** I don' know how to thank yow 
 for yo\vr kindness to-day." 
 
*' Now, don't say a word about it not a word ! " 
 
 " Aye ! don't tell me ! I ought to say a word, and a good many v.ords 
 too about it! Yowr attentions to-day have been so kind, I shall never 
 forget 'em I never shall." 
 
 '* You don't know what pleasure I feel in paying those attentions ! 
 Why, I'm as happy as any man here not excepting the bridegroom 
 himself because you have consulted me in all things, and placed un- 
 limited confidence in my judgment." 
 
 " And so I'd a right to do," said aunt Ann. '* Who else could ha' 
 done Avhat yow ha' done, and made every thing pass off so pleasant '? 
 I'd aright to place confidence in yowr judgment, and I say again, I 
 shan't forget it." 
 
 "Well, if you don't want to make me uncomfortable, don't say a 
 syllable more about the matter. Would you take tea now ? " 
 
 " Yes, I think I'd better go in and make it at once." 
 
 " Don't you trouble yourself about any thing of the sort. Do you 
 go back: I'll make the tea, and then come and publicly proclaim 
 that it's ready. Only just let me have my way to-day, and you'll see 
 how pleasantly things Avill pass off. " 
 
 He then leit her, and having made the tea, returned to the paddock 
 with feelings of pride, and got his friend, the trumpeter, to sound 
 not an alarm but what he termed the preliminary blasts of a procla- 
 mation, when the fact of the tea being ready was proclaimed, and 
 aunt Ann taking her brother's arm, at once led the way into the 
 house. 
 
 Mr. Conks remained behind. He had the children to attend to : 
 the Avhole of whom assembled at his call and took their seats, when he 
 produced a plum cake of no ordinary dimensions, and with a carving 
 knife cut it into slices. Every child had a slice and a large slice 
 too, and then each had a glass of mild beer ; and when he felt that he 
 had done full justice to them all, he went into the house to have tea. 
 
 Aunt Ann, who knew what had detained him, passed a chicken to 
 him immediately and part of a tongue, both of which he attacked and 
 enjoyed, but nothing stronger than tea would he drink. 
 
 ** When the business of the day has been done," said he to Craske, 
 Avho kept continually pressing him to have a drop o' suffen', " I'll 
 take a glass with you, and take a pipe with you with all the pleasure 
 in life; but until I've carried out my scheme, I'll neither drink 
 nor smoke." 
 
 Into every last cup with the exception of that of Mr. Conks 
 aunt Ann put a quantity of rum, and the consequence was, that in a 
 short time everybody was chatting to everybody, and nobody knew 
 how to ijtalk fast enough. Mr. Conks perceived this, and having 
 given an understood signal to the gentlemen connected with the ec- 
 clesiastical orchestra, he left the room, and they followed with their 
 instruments ; and \vhen the children whom they had trained had as- 
 sembled near the window, they sang the following hymn, composed 
 for the occasion by one who had yet to announce himself as the 
 author : 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 359 
 
 Angels of Light ! Angels of Light ! 
 
 Angels 'ever pure aud fair: 
 Angels of Light ! Angels of Light ! 
 
 Hover o'er this 1 happy pair. 
 Before the Holy Altar they 
 
 Sweet Faith and Hope caressing 
 Invoked with fervent zeal to-day, 
 
 Their Heavenly Father's blessing. 
 
 Long may they live ! Long may they live 
 
 In purity and peace and love! 
 Long may they live ! Long may they live ! 
 
 Deriving comfort from above. 
 May honour guide him through a life 
 
 Of tranquil hope and sweet reflection : 
 May she who is his happy wife, 
 
 Be cherished with sublime affection ! 
 
 Blest may they be ! Blest may they be ! 
 
 Rich in Faith and generous joy, 
 Blest may they be ! Blest may they be ! 
 
 Bliss be theirs without alloy ! 
 The choicest gifts bright Heaven bestows, 
 
 Descend on them; and when they sever, 
 May they meet again with those 
 
 Who dwell in peace and love for ever ! 
 
 Angels of Light ! Angels of Light ! 
 
 Angels ever pure and fair : 
 Angels of Light ! Angels of Light ! 
 
 Hover o'er this happy pair ! 
 
 The effect of this coming so unexpectedly, and being set to a bold 
 and rather startling tune was electric ! Craske shed tears copiously, 
 ;aid so did aunt Ann, while the thrilling sensations experienced by 
 the rest were manifested strongly. 
 
 " Dear me, how beautiful ! " exclaimed aunt Ann. " But I don't 
 recollect seem' that in our hymn-book." 
 
 "No," said Mr. Conks, \vho had re-entered the room in order to 
 witness the effect produced. " It is neither in that nor in any other 
 hymn-book. I composed it myself for this happy occasion." 
 
 " Yow did ! " cried aunt Ann, as she and the whole party gazed with 
 an expression of wonder. 
 
 " I did, and Mr. Trillon, the trumpeter, set it to music." 
 
 " Dear me, though, how wonderful clever ! and how kind ! I 
 should dearly like to hear it sung again ! Wouldn't yow, brother? " 
 
 " I could sit and hear it sung all night," replied Craske. 
 
 " Then it shall be sung again," said Mr. Conks, who immediately 
 went to the door and gave the necessary instructions. 
 
 And it xvas sung again, not only with much feeling, but with spirit 
 and precision, and the effect produced was even more powerful than 
 before. 
 
 " Mr. Conks," said Corney, " I thank you for this kind mark of 
 
360 THE STEWARD: 
 
 friendship and good feeling. It's universal ! and depend upon it I 
 shan't forget it." 
 
 "Don't name it," said Mr. Conks modestly, "don't name it. I 
 never take a job in hand unless I know I can do it ; but if I do take it 
 in hand, it shall be done near the mark. This was part of my scheme 
 of the day's entertainment; and as nothing now remains, as far as I am 
 concerned, but to call upon my friends, the musicians, to sing us a few 
 merry songs, I'll set down and smoke a pipe and have a glass with you, 
 hoping that the proceedings of the day have given general satis- 
 faction." 
 
 The conclusion of this brief speech was hailed with loud cheers, 
 during which Mr. Conks took his seat near aunt Ann, and no prince 
 on earth ever yet felt more proud. 
 
 ' Mr. Conks," said Corney, " I ought not to trouble you, I know; 
 but will you be kind enough to do me one more favour ? " 
 
 " I'll do anything in life," replied Mr. Conks promptly. 
 
 "Then have the goodness to give the children sixpence a-piece, 
 and send them all home with the exception of those which have 
 friends here." 
 
 '* I'll attend to it certainly," returned Mr. Conks. " But sixpence 
 a-piece! There are nearly fifty of them!" 
 
 "This '11 cover it," said Corney, giving him a sovereign and 
 a half. That '11 do for the lot." 
 
 " Yes," returned Mr. Conks thoughtfully : " here's capital enough : 
 it's the simple distribution of that capital I look at ! Where am 1 to 
 find fifty sixpences in this peculiar corner of the kingdom?" 
 
 " True, I never thought of that ; but you can tell 'em they are 
 to have sixpence a-picce, and may have it by calling upon you to- 
 morrow. That '11 answer their purpose, I dare say, as well. I don't 
 suppose they want to make any investments to-night." 
 
 Mr. Conks immediately left the room again, and having accom- 
 plished the object of his mission, returned and filled his pipe and 
 called for a song, which was sung, and which was followed by a variety 
 of others until the clock struck eleven, when he proposed once more 
 the health of the bride and bridegroom, which was the understood 
 signal for the party to break up. 
 
 With many heartfelt expressions of thankfulness, the whole of the 
 guests departed with the exception of the merry bridesmaids, who 
 were to sleep there that night, and who very shortly afterwards stole 
 avvay the bride; and at twelve o'clock precisely, Corney being then 
 alone, they returned ; but not with the bride ! no : they returned with 
 a candlestick and lighted candle in it, and smiled very archly, which 
 was very remarkable : they didn't say why they smiled archly; nor 
 did Corney ask them; he gave each of them a kiss, which really ap- 
 peared to be nothing more than they had expected ! and when they 
 had glanced at him again in a very peculiar manner they bade him 
 good night, and retired. 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 36' L 
 
 CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 GEORGE'S SECURITY. 
 
 ABOUT three weeks after the interesting event recorded in the preceding 
 chapter, Dr. Farquar called upon George with the view of communi- 
 -catiog that \vhichheconceived would of course be considered pleasing 
 iateJligence. 
 
 44 1 have news for you," said he with a smile, " good news. Poor 
 Jane has heen confined : she was confined yesterday, and happily the 
 jchild was still-born ! " 
 
 " Still-born ! " echoed George, with an expression of alarm. " Still- 
 -bo-rn? " 
 
 " Yes," replied the Doctor." Are you not glad to hear it ? " 
 
 " Well, " returned George, who endeavoured to conceal his embar- 
 rassment, " perhaps it is but natural for a father to wish his child 
 to live." 
 
 " But under the circumstances, its death is surely not to be la- 
 mented ?" 
 
 "" Well, perhaps it ought not to be. Is she doing well ? " 
 
 *' Yes: I understand she is getting on bravely." 
 
 "Thank God for that!" exclaimed the hypocrite, who in his heart 
 of hearts wished that she had died with child. " thank God for that ! 
 She was not confined at home ? " 
 
 " No, at Yarmouth." 
 
 "" At Yarmouth." 
 
 " Yes, her father had taken private lodgings for her there." 
 
 *' And who has she to attend to her? " 
 
 <4 Freeman's sister-in-law." 
 
 '* Well : I am happy to hear that she is out of danger. In what 
 part of Yarmouth are her lodgings? " 
 
 " On the Terrace, I believe, near the Jetty." 
 
 " You don't know the number, I suppose?" 
 
 " No, I don't ; but you could very soon ascertain that of her father. 
 Freeman would tell you at once. You'll write to congratulate her, 
 will you not?" 
 
 " I think I shall." 
 
 " Of course : for, notwithstanding what has occurred, she is an 
 amiable girl, and I still hope to see you united." 
 
 " It will not be my fault if we are not united. I'm sure I did all 
 that a man could do before this occurred to induce her to consent." 
 
 " I know that you did: but there is some mystery connected with 
 Tier refusal which I can't at all fathom. You love each other I know, 
 at least, that she still loves you, and as far as pecuniary matters are 
 concerned, you may be said to be on an equality ; why then, should 
 .she have withheld her consent? The fact of her having refused you, 
 Croly, under the then existing circumstances puzzled me com- 
 ip'ietely, and puzzles me still." 
 
;j(J2 THE STEWARD : 
 
 " You must, I apprehend, ascribe it to wounded vanity," said 
 George. "I repudiated her before my poor father's death, and now 
 she, in consequence, repudiates me. It is a species of retaliation 
 which may be called her revenge." 
 
 " Well," returned the Doctor, " you have both acted very unwisely ; 
 but if it be still your wish to marry her, you cannot do better than 
 write to her now. A woman is never so susceptible of affection she 
 is never so grateful as she is under these circumstances. Even the 
 slightest attention inspires her with gratitude. Should the child be 
 alive, she is eager to clasp it ; but the very next object she pants to 
 caress, is its father : should it be dead, the father is all in all." 
 
 "Then I'll get her address from Freeman, and write to her to- 
 day." 
 
 Having conversed on a variety of other subjects, the Doctor left 
 the Hall, when George knit his brows fiercely, and stood for a time 
 motionless. 
 
 *' Still-born," he at length muttered. "The chief security I had 
 still-born. Had it lived, her lips would have been effectually sealed ; 
 but as it is, the only security I have is her love, which may at any time 
 turn to hate. Had death struck her as well as the child, it would 
 have been fortunate indeed ! I'll get her address, and go down to 
 Yarmouth : I shall then know how the land lies, and if a chance 
 should present itself, I'll take advantage of it. I shall else be kept in 
 a state of perpetual suspense. I will, if it be possible, free myself from 
 this accursed thrall ! " 
 
 Reordered his horse and went to call upon Freeman, whom he met 
 near the house, and whose hand he shook warmly. 
 
 *' Freeman," said he, " it has given me great pleasure to hear that 
 which I have heard : Farquar has just informed me that Jane is 
 doing well, and that the child was still-born." 
 
 " Thank God, she's doing finely ! " returned Freeman; " and as for 
 the child, it is perhaps better as it is." 
 
 " Infinitely better ! and you acted very wisely in taking her to 
 Yarmouth, for now the affair will be known only to those who are 
 anxious to conceal it. Now," he added, assuming an expression of 
 earnestness, " it has been suggested by Dr. Farquar, that if I were to 
 write to her just at this time, congratulating her on having escaped 
 all danger, it might be the means of obtaining her forgiveness, for 
 which I am still, and ever shall be, most anxious. What do you 
 think?" 
 
 "It might have that effect," replied Freeman, cautiously. " Cer- 
 tainly it might have that effect ! " 
 
 " I most sincerely hope that it will. Let me have her address, and 
 I'll write to her to-day." 
 
 " I'll undertake to forward any note you may wish to send." 
 
 *' It had better, I think, be sent from me direct?" 
 
 " Oh, that can make no sort of difference. I shall send to-night to 
 let her know that I shall be with her to-morrow, and I can either en- 
 close your note, or take it down with me." 
 
A EG MANGE OF REAL LIFE. -"'Oo 
 
 " You have no objection, I hope, to give me her address?" 
 
 "Well," replied Freeman, feeling somewhat embarrassed, "I should 
 have had no objection myself, had she not begged of me earnestly not to 
 let you have it. I don't know why I don't pretend to know why 
 but she certainly was most anxious to make me promise to conceal 
 her address from you." 
 
 " Why, that's very extraordinary ! " 
 
 " I thought so too ; because, of course, you wouldn't dream of an- 
 noying her ! " 
 
 "Dream of annoying her ! The thought is monstrous ! If I could 
 in any way comfort her, I should indeed be happy. But she surely 
 could not have imagined for a moment that I could have the heart to 
 annoy her!'' 
 
 "As I said before, I don't know why she was so anxious for me to 
 make this promise: I only know that she was most anxious about it, 
 and that the promise was made. But as far as your note is concerned, 
 this of course can make no difference whatever. I'll either enclose 
 it in mine to-night, or take it down with me in the morning." 
 
 " Very good," returned George. " Then I'll send it to you, and I 
 do still hope that my entreaties and your good offices will bring about 
 a reconciliation. You'll not make a very long stay, I suppose? " 
 
 " Oh no : I shall be back in a few days." 
 
 " Well, Freeman, when you return, I shall have a variety of sugges- 
 tions to make having reference to your accommodation. You want a 
 new barn : you also want a better place for your stock ; but we'll go 
 through the whole matter when you come back, and anything that I 
 can do to afford you increased convenience shall be done." 
 
 '* I'm obliged to you," said Freeman. "The alterations I require 
 are not very extensive. By the bye, sir," he added, " you know, I be- 
 lieve, a gentleman named D'Almaine ? " 
 
 44 D'Almaine !" cried George, with a look of amazement. " I know 
 a vagabond of that name ! But do you know anything of him?" 
 
 " When he was down here, he came and introduced himself to me, 
 and pretended to fall desperately in love with my daughter." 
 
 " He did ! Why the impudent scoundrel ! She would not, of course, 
 listen to him ? " 
 
 ** Oh yes, she did ! In a mere sportive spirit she consented to have 
 an interview with him, and when she questioned him on the subject 
 of his means, he told her that he had an estate worth a thousand a- 
 year !" 
 
 " The vagabond hasn't an estate worth a shilling ! He gets his liv- 
 ing entirely by swindling ! He didn't want Jane : he wanted her 
 annuity ! " 
 
 " I think so too, and I'll tell you why. When Jane, in order to try 
 him, alluded to this annuity, and told him that she wished it to be 
 secured to me, she perceived a sudden change in his tone and manner, 
 although he still declared that money was not his object. 
 
 " And that of course settled his love? " 
 
 " Well, it certainly may be said to have been a settlement of the 
 
364 THE STEWARD : 
 
 matter. He offered to get a bond drawn up, securing the annuitv to 
 me, and strongly urged the expediency of an immediate marriage." 
 
 44 Aye, before the bond had been signed." 
 
 " Before the bond had been signed : and as she would not consent 
 to this, we have heard no more of him." 
 
 " Of course not ! that settled all. Why he's one of the most ac- 
 complished thieves in London ! a notorious blackleg ! a scoundrel 
 of the uost consummate caste !" 
 
 44 "Well, but isn't it extraordinary that Mr. Charles should associate 
 with such a man ? He said that he was a friend of Mr. Charles, and 
 Lad enjoyed the friendship of Sir John for years." 
 
 " Of course he said so. And doubtless added that he was a friend 
 of mine ? " 
 
 "No, he spoke in disparagement of you. Mr. Charles was his 
 friend : he cared nothing about you. He came down expressly in, 
 order to see Mr. Charles before he started for Italy, and appeared to 
 regret that he had not arrived in time. 
 
 " The blackguard ! I treated him civilly when he came, and allowed 
 him to have the use of one of our horses, in consequence of his having 
 told me the same tale ; but directly I had discovered what he really 
 was, I made the house too hot to hold him. He was very glad to get 
 away any how. So great, indeed, was his haste to go, that he had the 
 horse saddled, and gallopped off, leaving behind him his carpet-bag, 
 which he dare not even send for." 
 
 " But the horse has been returned, I hope? " 
 
 " Yes: he wouldn't run the risk of stealing that. That was sent 
 "back from Cambridge." 
 
 44 Have you had the curiosity to examine the carpet-bag?" 
 
 " Yes ; conceiving that there might be something in it which didn't 
 belong to him, I had it ripped open, but I found nothing in it but 
 some linen and a cheque-book." 
 
 " Did you notice that a cheque had been drawn for five pounds ? " 
 
 44 Yes, the only one that had been drawn." 
 
 "He gave that cheque to one of the maids." 
 
 44 And did she get it cashed ? " 
 
 44 No, I took it for her when I went to market, but the answer at 
 the bank was, * No effects.' " 
 
 44 The vagabond ! The paltry scamp ! His object, of course, was to 
 induce you to believe that he was a wealthy man." 
 
 "Doubtless: but my Jane saw through it all more clearly than I 
 could. She saw at once the object proposed by this extraordinary dis- 
 play of liberality. When he gave one of the men a crown for holding 
 his horse, she had her suspicions; but when the girl showed her the 
 .cheque for five pounds she felt convinced." 
 
 44 Well, if she really entertained any idea of having him, she has 
 -had a very fortunate escape ; but do you think that if he had been all 
 he represented himself to be, she would have married him?" 
 
 " No, I do not think that she would. Shu declared tome before 
 she had this interview with him, that, in her view, the idea of his 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 365 
 
 proposing to her under the circumstances, was disgusting. Sport, as- 
 she confessed, was the only object she had in view : she wished to- 
 prove whether her conjectures were or were not correct." 
 
 " Well, she certainly went the right way to work to prove it. But 
 don't you think, Freeman, I speak to you as a friend, notwithstanding 
 what has occurred don't you think that a reconciliation between 
 Jane and me may be eventually effected '? " 
 
 " It may be," replied Freeman, "certainly it may be." 
 " I am sure that we should live very happily together, and as far 
 as pecuniary matters are concerned, Charles, in consequence of my 
 having undertaken to manage the estate, has insisted on making my 
 income a thousand a year. Don't you think yourself that we had 
 better be united ? " 
 
 "Well, Mr. Croly," replied Freeman, " I have, of course, no abso- 
 lute voice in the matter. Her resolution certainly appears at present 
 to be firm ; but time may do much : it may effect a change." 
 
 " I don't think that you are opposed to the match. From all that 
 you have said to me on the subject, I infer that you had rather see us 
 united than not. I may be wrong in drawing this inference, but I 
 hope that I am right." 
 
 "Mr. Croly," said Freeman, "her happiness is the principal object 
 I have in view, and all I can say on the subject is, that if she were 
 to change her present determination believing that you could live- 
 happily together I should not offer the slightest opposition." 
 
 " Freeman, I am happy to find that I was right, and I feel myself 
 justified in cherishing the hope that a reconciliation may yet be 
 effected. I'll now go and write a note to her, and if you'll do me the 
 favour to enclose it to night, [she'll have time to reflect upon its con- 
 tents before you see her to-morrow." 
 
 " I'll enclose it certainly," said Freeman: " and should I find any 
 change in her feelings on the subject, I '11 send you word by the next 
 post" 
 
 George thanked him and shook him very warmly by the hand, 
 and having again expressed a hope that Jane's consent to their union 
 might still be obtained, he left him, and rode towards the park. 
 
 " She suspects my real object," thought he. " Her address was to 
 be studiously concealed from me : and why ? Because she imagined 
 that I should write to her? No: but because she feared that 
 through some agency I might seal her lips for ever. This feeling 
 of dread must be conquered ; else, now that her child is gone, she will 
 feel no longer justified in living in a state of perpetual apprehension. 
 Either she or her fears must be removed, or I am lost. As Farquar 
 suggested, she may, in her present position, be softened. I'll try it 
 and await the result. I'll send her a note, which, if her heart be not 
 completely seared, shall reach it, and at all events keep her love alive. 
 Freeman is not opposed to our marriage ; that's one point in my 
 favour : nay, it is manifest that he is anxious for a reconciliation. This 
 note will, however, decide it. Should she hold off now, it will then be 
 quite clear that she'll hold cff for ever. The idea of that fellow D'Al- 
 
366 THE STEWARD : 
 
 maine going there and pretending to fall desperately in love with her ! 
 The vagabond ! But even this tells in my favour indeed, I shall 
 write under a combination of circumstances favourable to my views ; 
 and hence, if my note should fail to make an impression upon her, I 
 shall relinquish all hope of getting her into my power by prevailing 
 upon her to become my wife." 
 
 On his return to the Hall, he proceeded to the library and wrote a 
 note to her in the most touching strains of entreaty and endearment, 
 and having sealed it, sent it immediately to Freeman. 
 
 The note was sent enclosed by that night's post, and in the morn, 
 ing Freeman went to see Jane, whom he found calm and firm, and in- 
 finitely stronger than he had expected. 
 
 " My father," said Jane, as he sat by her side, having gazed upon 
 and kissed her again and again with the most profound affection, " in 
 your letter this morning, I found a note enclosed." 
 
 " Yes, my dear," returned Freeman. " I promised to enclose it, 
 because he appeared to be ardently anxious to offer you his warm con- 
 gratulations." 
 
 ** You did not, I hope, father, send to him ? " 
 
 " No, my dear, no : he came to me having heard all from Dr. 
 Farquar and really appeared to be delighted to hear that you were 
 going on well. If that man, my dear, doesn't love you fondly, I am 
 mistaken indeed! " 
 
 Jane slightly smiled ; but in an instant an expression of severity 
 clouded her pale features: she soon, however, became calm again, 
 and met her father's gaze with a look of sweet affection. 
 
 " I heard of your other lover yesterday,'' resumed Freeman, with a 
 smile. 
 
 "Indeed ! " said Jane archly. " I thought that I had lost him for 
 ever ! " 
 
 "So you have, my dear, fortunately/' 
 
 " Fortunately ! Am I then to infer that I was right in my con- 
 jecture ? " 
 
 " Kight, my dear ! You were right as far as your conjecture went, 
 but you didn't conjecture half enough ! Why, he is, I understand, one 
 of the most accomplished swindlers in London ! a fellow who gets 
 his living by swindling ! in short, a notorious vagabond." 
 
 " Well," said Jane, u a character of this description is not very 
 flattering ; but from whom did you obtain it? " 
 
 " I had it from George. D'Almaine's name was mentioned in the 
 course of conversation, and then I ascertained all about him." 
 
 " But, if he knew the real character of this amiable person, how 
 came he to associate with him '? how came he to entertain him at the 
 Hall?" 
 
 " He treated him civilly, because he was told precisely the same 
 tale as we were; but as soon as he discovered what the fellow really 
 was, he to use. his own expression made the house too hot to hold 
 him." 
 
 " I wonder," said Jane, " if that is true! " 
 
A ROMANCE OF REA.L LIFE. 367 
 
 " I've no doubt of it, my dear, not the slightest. I'll tell you why. 
 When the fellow found that all had been discovered, he was in such 
 desperate haste to leave the Hall, that he started off at once and left 
 his carpet-bag behind him, which George, conceiving that it might 
 contain something which didn't legally belong to the gentleman, 
 ripped open, and found a cheque-book, with one cheque only torn out, 
 winch, according to the margin, had been drawn for five pounds. 
 
 " Then that was the cheque he gave the girl !" said Jane. " Poor 
 Charlotte ! She was sadly cut up about that ! " 
 
 "So you see," resumed Freeman, '* there can be no doubt about 
 the truth of George's statement." 
 
 " Did you tell him that this person pretended to be enamoured of 
 me ? " 
 
 " I did, and he was very indignant, and declared that alKhe was 
 enamoured of was your annuity, and was anxious to know whether I 
 thought that if this fellow had really been what he represented himself 
 to be, you would hrwe married him." 
 
 " And what did you say?" 
 
 " I told him I didn't think that you would, which appeared to 
 afford him peculiar satisfaction, for he smiled and expressed a hope 
 that a reconciliation might yet be effected. His income, I find, is a 
 thousand a-year : Mr. Charles having insisted upon raising it to that 
 amount, in consequence of George having undertaken the entire 
 management of the estate. I suppose that he has written very affec- 
 tionately, has he not ? " 
 
 " Most likely : I didn't read the note. I saw that it came from him, 
 and therefore had it placed in an envelope and sent back unopened." 
 
 " Sent back unopened, my dear ! " cried Freeman. " Why that was 
 a very harsh proceeding, was it not ? " 
 
 " Why should I have opened it, dear father ? '' said Jane. " You 
 know my determination well, and so does he ! Why, then, by opening 
 his notes should I induce him to believe that that determination can 
 ever be changed? " 
 
 " Well, my dear, well ! you know best. I have no desire either to 
 impugn your judgment, or to influence your feelings. Your happi- 
 ness, my dear, as I told him, is the only object I have in view, and 
 therefore the subject had better be dropped entirely, if you think tha> 
 you could never live happily with him. 
 
 " I am sure that I never could ! " replied Jane, "quite sure of it ! 
 It has, in fact, been rendered impossible, Father," she added earnestly, 
 yet cautiously, "you do not know all : if you did, you would applaud 
 my resolution instead of doubting its wisdom or its prudence. You 
 may, and doubtless do, think my conduct extraordinary: you may 
 think my proceedings harsh and contemptuous : you may deem me 
 unforgiving and unjust : but there is a secret, dear father, which must 
 never be revealed except, indeed, in the event of his death, and then 
 only to you a secret which, were it made known to you, would cause 
 you to curse me absolutely to curse me if I ever consented to 
 marry that man 1" 
 
368 THE STEWARD : 
 
 4< Jane, my dear," said Freeman, apprehensive that the energy she 
 displayed might, under the circumstances, have a most injurious effect! 
 upon her, " we'll not pursue this subject. I am perfectly satisfied, my 
 dear, with your decision, and therefore we'll say no more about it." 
 
 Jane pressed his hand and became calm again, and shortly after- 
 wards Freeman left the room. 
 
 ' In the morning when George received his note back unopened, hi& 
 indignation knew no bounds. 
 
 " This," he exclaimed, "this only was required to prove that she 
 is an untameable devil ! I'll try no more ! I'll brave her scorn ! All 
 hope of propitiating her now is gone, and as I cannot draw her into> 
 my power thus, I must have recourse to other means of sealing her 
 lips for ever! Not that I dread conviction now ! I fear that far less; 
 than I fear the accusation which alone, without reference to proof, 
 would blast the prospect I have in view. It is the accusation which 
 must, if possible, be avoided, and it shall be avoided if it be but de- 
 layed a little longer. I shall catch her ! she shall not long escape ! But 
 come what may, I'll not go on cringing to her and fawning upon 
 her, and being her most abject slave, when my only reward is her 
 contumely : I'll not continue to sow servility and reap nothing but 
 contempt. I'll not do it ! I must, however, still act with caution. I 
 must seem to have a desire to propitiate her still. May the hour she 
 saw me in the glade stand accursed ! Would that I had known she 
 was there : she should not have lived to torture me with these- 
 apprehensions !" 
 
 For three days he drank hard, and dwelt upon the means by which 
 he conceived that her destruction might with safety be accomplished; 
 and when he heard that Freeman had returned to his farm, he as- 
 suming an expression of deep sorrow, went to see him. 
 
 "Well, Freeman/' said he in melancholy tones, "how did you leave 
 poor Jane ?" 
 
 " Thank God," replied Freeman, " quite finely : she can't be going 
 on better." 
 
 " I am happy to hear it most happy to hear it." 
 
 " I am sorry/' said Freeman, " that the note I enclosed was returned 
 to you unopened." 
 
 rt." My feelings were deeply wounded, Freeman, but it must be 
 borne." 
 
 " I scarcely need assure you that this was not done at my sugges- 
 tion : the note had been posted before I arrived." 
 
 " I am satisfied on that point perfectly satisfied. I believe that if 
 you had arrived in time, you would at least have induced her to open/ 
 and read it." 
 
 11 1 should have endeavoured to do so certainly, although I don'fc 
 think that I should have succeeded. When I suggested that this was* 
 a somewhat harsh proceeding, her reply was, ' You know my determi- 
 nation, and so does he ! why then, by opening his notes, should I 
 induce him to believe that that determination can ever be changed : r 
 The fact is, Mr. Croly, she has resolutely made up her mind, and as I 
 
A ROMANCE OF EEAL LIFE. 369 
 
 don't believe that anything on earth can turn her, I would suggest to 
 >'ou the propriety of relinquishing all hope of prevailing upon her to 
 become your wife. It appears that there is some secret between you 
 a secret which she says must never be revealed except indeed in 
 the event of your death, and then only to me. I don't know what it is; 
 nor do I wish to know : but as I feel perfectly sure that any attempt 
 to induce her to marry you must fail, I would earnestly advise you to 
 abandon the thought." 
 
 " Freeman," gaid George, who felt inspired with new life, although 
 he still wore an expression of sadness, " I'll consent to be guided by 
 you. If you think that the attainment of my object is hopeless, I'll 
 consent to abandon the pursuit." 
 
 "Do so," said Freeman, " let me beg of you to do so: never allude 
 to the subject again." 
 
 " I have certainly done all that I could do, with the view of pre- 
 vailing upon her to consent to our marriage ; but as I have so signally 
 failed, and as you assure me that I never can succeed, I'll act upon 
 your advice. It will give me pain to do so, but that must be endured. 
 My importunities may to her be a source of annoyance, and I cherish 
 so strong an affection for her, that I wouldn't annoy her for the 
 world." 
 
 " Then you'll cease to write to her." 
 " I will." 
 
 "And never again seek an interview with her, unless indeed her 
 feelings should so far change as to render the interview mutually 
 agreeable."' 
 
 *' I promise you that I never will." 
 
 " Mr. Croly, you have relieved me: you have relieved me from the 
 pain of seeing one so dear to me act contemptuously in order to avoid 
 importunities. I feel greatly relieved : I take your word ; and now let 
 us say no more about the matter."' 
 
 The subject was dropped : and when they had conversed for some 
 time about the various alterations suggested, George took his leave in 
 high spirits, albeit apparently very much depressed. 
 
 "Good!"' he exclaimed, as he rode away. "Excellent! The 
 secret must never be revealed, except in the event of my death, and 
 then only to him. Very good ! that "il do ! That's ail I require .' 
 That's all I can wish for*! And mark! this was not said to lull my 
 suspicions, to put me oil my guard, or to inspire me with feelings or* 
 security. No ! it was said to him, and solely as an excuse for her 
 contemptuous treatment of me. It was never intended to reach iuy 
 ears ! She felt that her conduct must appear to him to he har*h and 
 utterly unjustifiable, and hence she declared that there was something 
 behind a secret which must never be revealed except in the event 
 of my death, and then only to him. Why need I then torture my- 
 self with apprehensions? What more can I hope for? I don't want 
 her, nor do I want to run the risk of taking her life. I want only 
 to be safe, and that I'm safe now I feel abundantly convinced."' 
 
 Certainly Jane's declaration to her father ^as all that was required 
 No. 24. 
 
370 THE STE \VARD: 
 
 to create in the mind of George a full conviction of his security. He 
 did feel secure perfectly secure ; and from that day devoted all 
 his energies to the completion and carrying into effect that scheme by 
 which he proposed to accomplish his grand object, namely, that of 
 working the estate into his own hands. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 JULIANA AND CHARLES ARE UNITED. 
 
 So well did the cunningly devised scheme of George work, and so 
 ample were the opportunities he had of plundering his brother, who 
 had reposed the utmost confidence in him, that in less than twelve 
 months from the time he commenced, he saw clearly that in the course 
 of a few years he should be able to involve the estate, which was the 
 first highly important step he had in contemplation. 
 
 He had broken up a very large portion of the park, and that, with 
 the two adjoining farms, which he had teased and .bribed the tenants 
 to relinquish, he worked himself, nominally for the advantage of 
 Charles, but in reality with the view of robbing him continually. 
 
 The improvements, however, enabled him to "make the most 
 money " during the first nine months ; for having built in all directions 
 and sold a large quantity of timber, his " pickings" from these sources, 
 added to his charges for labour never performed, amounted to a very 
 considerable sum. Still there were the improvements to show ; and 
 with these improvements Charles, on his return from Venice with 
 Lejeune, Juliana, and the Widow, was delighted. 
 
 " Well," said he, as he rode round with George the morning after 
 his arrival, " you told me that you intended to make a variety of im- 
 provements, but I had no idea that in so short a _time an estate could 
 be so much improved as this has been." 
 
 '* I hope that I have not gone too far," observed George. 
 
 " Not at all," replied Charles, " not at all. I'm much pleased with 
 the judgment you have displayed." 
 
 "There is one thing," said George, " I am afraid of: I am afraid 
 that you will consider this to have been an expensive year." 
 
 " Never mind that. The value of the estate has been in consequence 
 enhanced. It must necessarily have been an expensive year ; but we 
 shall get over that." 
 
 44 The land which we have broken up will soon pay for all : that 
 and the two adjoining farms will, in a year or two, increase your income 
 considerably." 
 
 " No doubt of it; but why did those persons leave their farms? " 
 
 " In the first place I don't believe they had sufficient capital to work 
 them, and as they never worked them well, I eventually consented to 
 take them off their hands." 
 
A ROMANCE OF HEAL LIFE. 371 
 
 4i Very good. Then, of course, in order to work them properly, 
 you'll require more money than you have now at your disposal." 
 
 " Yes, they cannot be carried on profitably without." 
 
 " Well ; have what you want. We can easily raise it : have all 
 you require. By the way, how is Cornelius getting on?" 
 
 " Remarkably well. He had an excellent start, and both he and 
 his father are saving money. 
 
 " I am very glad to hear it. Will he ever make much of a farmer?'' 
 
 " He'll do in a few years. He is very attentive and anxious to 
 learn, and his father is equally anxious to teach him." 
 
 " That's right. Well, George, with all that you have done I am 
 very highly pleased, and I have far more confidence in your judgment 
 than ever." 
 
 This suited George exactly. The confidence of Charles, coupled 
 with his willingness to " raise" whatever money might be required, 
 extended that immediate field for plunder from which it was intended 
 his ruin should spring. He knew nothing of rural matters, and was 
 therefore most anxious to be guided by George, of whose integrity he 
 had never entertained the slightest doubt. 
 
 Having surveyed nearly the whole of the estate, they returned to 
 the Hall, and were joined by Lejeune, whose health had been much im- 
 proved, and whose pecuniary circumstances were comparatively good, 
 m consequence of a large number of shares which had been pur- 
 chased for him by Richard, and which had been considered perfectly 
 valueless, having been sold during his absence by his agent at a pre- 
 mium. 
 
 Juliana who looked more beautiful than ever was out at the time 
 with the Widow, whose naturally happy countenance had assumed an 
 almost settled expression of sadness. 
 
 "You do not appear to be in spirits, dear, this morning," said 
 Juliana as they drove through their favourite avenue. 
 
 " I do not feel in very good spirits, my love," replied the Widow, 
 who at once made an effort to smile. 
 
 " There ! I love to see you happy ! " exclaimed Juliana. " How 
 cheerful we all were at Venice! " 
 
 " All around us there was gay, and every scene was new. The Pre- 
 sent obtained the ascendancy there ; but here, every object teems 
 with recollections of the Past. I speak now with reference to myself. 
 A thousand remembrances crowd upon me, and when they are of 
 those whom we have loved and lost, they command the absence of 
 gaiety." 
 
 " True, dear," replied Juliana, " very true ; but how often have you 
 explained to me when in sadness I have thought of those whom / 
 have loved and lost that such thoughts ought not in sadness to be 
 cherished '? Recollect," she added cheerfully, " I am your pupil ; and 
 in order to show how attentive I have been, I'll repeat all the lessons 
 you have taught me on this subject, unless you immediately smile and 
 look happy." 
 
 Certainly the Widow did immediately smile, but she could not be 
 
372 THE STEWABD : 
 
 said to look happy. Juliana, with affectionate solicitude, endeavoured 
 to divert her thoughts, and to some extent succeeded, but throughout 
 the day her sadness was perceptible to all. 
 
 This, however, was not allowed to be in the ascendant long, for her 
 presence at the Hall no sooner became known to those whom her 
 refined conversation and elegant manners had so frequently charmed, 
 than they flocked to congratulate her on her return, and formed parties 
 to meet her, and made her feel how delighted they were to have her 
 amongst them again. She had then a new field for the display of her 
 brilliant conversational powers, and so vivid and seductive were her 
 descriptions of the varied scenes she had witnessed, that she fired 
 them with anxiety to visit " dear Italy," the mistress once, but still 
 the Garden, of the world, in which 
 
 " Whatever fruits in different climes are found, 
 That proudly rise or humbly court the ground ; 
 Whatever blooms in torrid tracts appear, 
 Whose bright succession decks the varied year ; 
 Whatever sweets salute the northern sky, 
 With vernal lives that blossom but to die ; 
 These here disporting own the kindred soil, 
 Nor ask luxuriance from the planter's toil ; 
 While sea-born gales their gelid wings expand, 
 To winnow fragrance round the smiling land." 
 
 At these parties Juliana was invariably present, and the Widow V 
 appeals and references to her inspired her wuh so much confidence^ 
 that she soon began to display her natural eloquence without einbar-- 
 rassment or restraint. 
 
 Twelve months had elapsed since the death of Sir John; and Charles, 
 who felt naturally anxious to be united to her whom he tenderly loved, 
 and by whom he knew well that he was regarded with feelings amount- 
 Ing to those of adoration resolved on suggesting the " inexpediency " 
 of their regarding each other any longer as brother and sister merely. 
 
 Accordingly, embracing a very early opportunity, he quietly drew 
 Juliana's arm in his, and led her across the lawn into an avenue which 
 had been formed within the shrubbery, at the top of which Sir John, 
 had erected an exceedingly picturesque little grotto. 
 
 *' Julie,'" said he, having led her to one of the rustic chairs in this, 
 beautiful retreat, "did you notice Miss Leland last evening V ; ' 
 
 "Not particularly, dear," replied Juliana. ** I conversed with her 
 for some considerable time, but I noticed nothing extraordinary ! " 
 
 " Indeed ! " said Charles, assuming an expression of amazement.. 
 *' Did you not notice that she looked very beautiful ? " 
 
 " Miss Leland is a beautiful girl, and therefore the fact of her look-- 
 ing beautiful last evening cannot be deemed at all extraordinary ! " 
 
 " Julie, I have fallen in love with Miss Leland." 
 
 "Desperately?" enquired Juliana with a smile. 
 
 "Desperately. I'm beginning to get very desperate now." 
 
 ""Well !" said Juliana, " proceed, dear ! proceed ! I know 
 you are going to say something very serious ! " 
 
A ROMANCE OF HEAL LIFE. 373 
 
 "How is it possible for you to know that ? " 
 
 <4 Oh ! I feel convinced of it ! " 
 
 *' What has convinced you ? " 
 
 " The fact of your having commenced with a jest." 
 
 41 Do you call it a jest to fall desperately in love with so beautifu 
 a girl as Miss Leland V " 
 
 "I know you, Charles, dear, well enough to know that you hav 
 something to say which has not the slightest reference to Mis 
 Leland." 
 
 " Well ! all I have to say is this; that unless you secure me, and 
 that at once, I shall in all probability do something desperate 
 But stop ! I have to ask one highly important question. Do you 
 love me as well as you did twelve months ago ? " 
 
 Juliana smiled and blushed, and playfully patted his cheek. 
 
 " Because," continued Charles, "if you really do not, I hud better 
 at once speak to Miss Leland ! " 
 
 " What have you to say ? " enquired Juliana archly. " I do not be- 
 lieve that you have said a single word yet of that which you reaJly 
 intended to say. What is it ? " 
 
 "Julie," said Charles, as he took her hand, " your name is Le- 
 jeune Miss Lejeune. Mr. Lejeune is all very well, but I don't like 
 the sound of Miss Lejeune ! Mrs. Charles Croly would sound much 
 better, and therefore I wish you to change it at once." 
 
 ** I thought that the beauty of Miss Leland would lead to some- 
 thing !" 
 
 " There is the church," continued Charles. " It is certainly a small 
 church, but quite large enough, my love, for us to be married in; and 
 therefore the only question is, when shall we be married at that 
 church? " 
 
 "Well," replied Juliana, who felt somewhat tremulous even then I 
 41 Perhaps Mrs. Wardlo had better be consulted." 
 
 " Well, my love. Then consult Mrs. Wardlo, but don't think of 
 naming any distant day ! 1 shall require but a very short notice, 
 therefore don't be at all apprehensive of taking me by storm. There 
 is, however, one thing more that I wish to name. Mrs. Wardle 
 whose amiable character we cannot too highly appreciate, and whom 
 I love somewhat more than I love Miss Leland, because I know that 
 she dearly loves you has a son, as you are aware, in the Church. I 
 iiave not had the pleasure of- seeing him for years ; but I should like, 
 in order to show how highly we esteem Mrs. Wardle, to have our 
 marriage ceremony performed by her son." 
 
 "Dear Charles," said Juliana, with a look of intense affection, "you 
 are ever considerate ever most kind. The proposition delights me 
 because I know that it will not fail to delight her. The clergyman 
 connected with the church, dear, will not, I hope, consider himself 
 slighted in consequence?" 
 
 " Oh dear me, no, not at all ! If even he were a perfect stranger 
 to the family, there would be no difficulty at all about the matter; but 
 this gentleman is a friend of Mrs. Wardle : he succeeded her husband 
 
374 Tin: STE\VAUD: 
 
 and knows her son well. There she is;" he added, pointing through 
 the shrubbery. " Shall I go and bring her in ? " 
 
 " Yes, do, dear," replied Juliana, " and then we can speak to her on 
 the subject at once." 
 
 Charles accordingly rose, and left the avenue, and soon re-appeared 
 with the Widow on his arm. 
 
 " Upon my word ! " exclaimed the "Widow playfully, as she ap- 
 proached. " This, then, is your favourite hiding-place ! Certainly I 
 might have guessed that you were here ; but I have been endeavour- 
 ing to find you in the garden ! 
 
 "The garden," said Charles, as he led her to a seat," is not suffi- 
 ciently retired for one who is so anxious to change her name as this 
 little creature is." 
 
 "Charles, dear !" exclaimed Juliana. 
 
 " I'll tell you all about it," continued Charles playfully. " She is 
 tired of being called Miss Lejeune. It has therefore been decided 
 that her name shall be changed, and that almost immediately, pro- 
 vided you consent to send for one particular clergyman." 
 
 "It was his own suggestion," interposed Juliana," although I am 
 quite delighted with it." 
 
 " The fact is," resumed Charles, " she has really become so fasti- 
 dious, that it isn't every clergyman connected with the Church of 
 England that will suit her ! She must have a particular clergynam to 
 perform the marriage ceremony, and the one selected is your son." 
 
 Tears sprang into the "Widow's eyes as she said, " I understand 
 and appreciate your motive." 
 
 " Well," said Charles gaily, with the view of subduing her emotion, 
 " how is he situated ? Can he conveniently come soon ? I hope that 
 he can, because of course little Julie's in haste." 
 
 ;< My dearest love ! " cried Juliana. 
 
 " Don't be alarmed, my dear," said the Widow. " I perfectly well 
 understand him." 
 
 " Well," resumed Charles, addressing the Widow, " will you, or 
 shall I, write to beg of him to come down immediately." 
 
 " Not immediately, dear ! " said Juliana. 
 
 " Oh yes, immediately ! If even our marriage be delayed for a week, 
 we shall all be most happy to entertain him ; and I dont believe that 
 he would hesitate to do us this favour." 
 
 " Hesitate ! " exclaimed the Widow. " It would be a source of joy to 
 him ! Gratitude alone " 
 
 " Pardon me," said Charles, interrupting her promptly, ( we dont 
 want to hear a single word about gratitude. Will you, or shall I, write 
 to him to-day ? Perhaps you had better write." 
 
 " I will do so with pleasure." 
 
 " Very well : then that's settled; but as there is something else to 
 be settled between you and Julie, I'll leave you for a time. I'll go and 
 name the subject to Mr. Lejeune, and return in what shall I say ? 
 ten minutes." 
 
 "Ten minutes ! " exclaimed Juliana. 
 
A ROMANCE OF HEAL LIFE. 3/.J 
 
 41 Yes," returned Charles ; " I'll even be so liberal as to give you icn 
 minutes to decide." 
 
 The Widow smiled as he left them, and Juliana blushed ; but they 
 very soon settled the matter between them, and Charles on his return 
 was informed by the Widow that they should be happy to accompany 
 him to church that day week. 
 
 This met the views of Charles precisely, and while the Widow was 
 writing to her son, and Juliana was conversing with her father on the 
 subject, he communicated the fact to George, who, being anxious to 
 plunder him in every possible way, proposed a fete on the occasion, 
 and offered to undertake the entire management of it. The fete, how- 
 ever, which George contemplated, and out of which he calculated on 
 "picking" at least two hundred pounds, was, after a consultation with 
 the Widow and Lejeune, set aside. The neighbouring gentry were to 
 be invited to breakfast : the farmers and their friends were to be in- 
 vited to dinner, and the poor were to be regaled in the avenue described 
 with roast-beef, plum-pudding, and ale. 
 
 " Well," thought George, when this decision had been announced, " I 
 shall be able to pick something even out of this ! I shall be able to 
 manage at least a hundred, and every hundred tells. A hundred ! 
 Stop ! I can make up the two. He doesn't know what wine we have 
 in the cellar. I'll order a lot: I can have it sold again, and the date of 
 the bill will show when it was purchased. I'll not let a single chance 
 escape me. Hundreds soon amount to thousands and thousands will 
 soon swallow up the estate. The accumulationjof money is my object, 
 and money I'll accumulate by all possible means. Anything ranging 
 from five to five hundred, I'll secure. He knows no more what he's 
 worth than a child : nor shall he ever know until he's worth nothing. 
 And is not a man who has been robbed as'I have been, justified in 
 getting his property back if possible ? I am by nature entitled to the 
 estate, and, although I have been robbed of it, yet will I |have it, 
 and the end will, under the circumstances, justify the means c 
 
 On the following evening, the Widow's son arrived, and a grace- 
 ful, quiet, gentlemanly fellow he was. He looked, indeed, as if he 
 had diligently " worked," but his originally fine constitution was un- 
 impaired, while his brilliant and expressive eye indicated clearly the 
 existence of a combination of intelligence and health. 
 
 That the Widow was proud of him, is a fact which need not be 
 recorded nor need it be stated that he was proud of her ; but they 
 were all pleased with him with the exception of George, who, being 
 himself a hypocrite, imagined that hypocrisy formed the chief cha- 
 racteristic of all who appeared to have a deep veneration for religion. 
 
 Charles fancied that George and Wardle would suit each other 
 admirably having a high opinion of George's piety, and believing his 
 i'aith to be pure ; but in this he was mistaken, for while Wardle clearly 
 perceived that there was something beneath the surface of George's 
 -' piety," George had a contempt a secret contempt for what he 
 termed when alone " those superstitious views which prompt men to 
 allow faith to supplant reason." 
 
376 THE STEWARD: 
 
 This absence of congeniality between the sentiments of WarJle and 
 George did not, however, interfere at all with the pleasures of the week 
 which preceded the marriage. That week was spent gaily, and when 
 the day arrived, the whole party appeared to be in a stale of perfect 
 rapture. 
 
 They went to church at the time appointed, and the ceremony was 
 performed in a most impressive manner, and so delighted was Lejenne 
 with young Wardle, and so highly did he appreciate his amiable 
 mother's worth, that, on their return to the Hall, he placed in his hand 
 a cheque for a thousand pounds, and begged of him to say nothing 
 about it. , 
 
 A thousand pounds to a man like Wardle he being at the time but 
 a very poor curate was a fortune ! He hardly knew how to receive 
 it nay, he knew not whether he ought to receive it or not; but he 
 did receive it, and his heart was so full, that when Lejeune forced it 
 upon him he had not the power to thank him. 
 
 After breakfast, which had been prepared in a style of surpassing 
 magnificence, Sir Frederick Locke, the high sheriff of the county, 
 proposed the health of the bride and bridegroom, which was drank 
 with great enthusiasm, and acknowledged in a graceful manner by 
 Charles, whose easy eloquence and manly bearing inspired them all with 
 admiration. 
 
 A more practised speaker and a far more eloquent man then rose 
 with his heart full of joy and pride, to propose the health of the 
 Widow Wardle. There was nothing in his appearance as he presented 
 himself to indicate the possession of the highest and most brilliant 
 order of intellect. He was a prematurely old man a man upon whose 
 once handsome features aflliction had deeply marked its progress, and 
 the guests would have thought, as he rose, but little of him had he not 
 teen the father of the bride. But when, after a tranquil exordium 
 he began to pour his eloquence into their hearts, ihe eloquence 
 of nature, of love, truth, benevolence, and gratitude to Him 
 who had spared one dear daughter out of four, to love, to bless, 
 and to comfort him, they were electrified! There was not a 
 dry eye to be seen. They all wept, some of them convulsively ; 
 but as he proceeded to describe the admirable characteristics of 
 the bridegroom, and to touch upon the unassuming virtues of the 
 bride, they applauded him with rapture ; and when he had portr ayed 
 the bright prospect of happiness which opened before them, the guests 
 Tosee?i masse, and while the gentlemen cheered, the ladies waved their 
 handkerchiefs gallantly, and smiled notwithstanding their tears. 
 
 " But," he added calmly, " I have been to a very serious extent 
 digressing. I rose for the purpose of proposing to you the health of 
 our dear and intelligent friend, Mrs. Wardle, whom we all very highly 
 esteem whose talents are brilliant and refined whose heart 1 be- 
 lieve to be as pure as that of an infant, and who is in the most sublime 
 sense of the term a woman ! And now," he continued, assuming an 
 expression of gaiety, "I'll tell you a little anecdote. Twelve months 
 ngo our friend Charles and Juliana were to have been married. I'll 
 not dwell upon any tiling calculated to cast eyen a temporary cloud over 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 3/7 
 
 the brightness of this day ; but twelve months ago, they were to have 
 been married. Well ! I then commissioned Charles to order a ser- 
 vice oi' plate to be presented on the occasion to her who had re- 
 garded my child with the most affectionate solicitude. That service 
 of plate is on the sideboard now, and not with a view to the gratifi- 
 cation of any feeling of vanity, for the days of vanity with me are 
 past but in order to show how much I admire the soundness of her 
 pure woman's heart I call upon my daughter to present her with 
 that which, however, inconsiderable its intrinsic value may be, will 
 mark my sense of her virtues. God bless her ! '' 
 
 Juliana, who turned pale as death on being' placed in this novel 
 position, looked at the Widow, who was in tears, and then looked 
 at Charles, who said privately, " Be calm, Julie ! calm ! " and having- 
 selected a magnificent candelabra, he placed it before her, and added, 
 ** All that you have to do, is to present her with this as a part of the 
 service in the name of your papa." 
 
 Juliana rose and kissed the Widow passionately, and said : " Papa 
 presents you, dear, with this service of plate as a mark of his esteem/' 
 
 Wardle, whose feelings completely overwhelmed him, rose with 
 the view of returning thanks for the Widow in an elegant speech ; but 
 he could make nothing of it : his heart was too full : all present per- 
 ceived his embarrassment, and looked at what he really meant, more 
 than at what he really said. 
 
 The health of Lejeune, having been proposed by the High Sheriff, 
 and responded to briefly, the ladies withdrew, and soon afterward* 
 Charles and his beautiful bride with the Widow and one of the brides- 
 maids, departed with the view of passing the honeymoon at Chadacre 
 Hall the seat of a very old friend of Sir John, leaving the rest to the 
 management of that wretch George. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE CONCLUSION. 
 
 OF life, and life's vicissitudes, D'Almaine, during the year that had 
 elapsed since his sudden departure from the Hall, had experienced, 
 more than accorded with his strictly private notions of felicity. Hav-' 
 ing lost his two hundred and fifty pounds in one night, through the 
 imperfect working of a scheme designed to swindle those whom he 
 played with, he was reduced to a state of destitution, and through 
 his efforts to recover himself, was sentenced to six months' imprison- 
 ment and hard labour, for obtaining goods under iraudulen pre- 
 tences. 
 
 This imprisonment did not improve his morals. During its term, he 
 became acquainted with villains of every caste villains who boasted 
 of their villany, and who, in order to gain the applause of the " \vorld ;? 
 in which they lived, endeavoured to outvie each other; but those with 
 
378 THE STEWARD : 
 
 whom he was on the most friendly terms were two burglars, who had 
 been convicted of a petty offence at the same sessions, and sentenced 
 to undergo the same term of imprisonment which they cared for no 
 more than a gentleman cares about retiring for six months to his 
 country seat, seeing that while there they perfected their schemes with 
 clear heads, which could scarcely be hoped for in the midst of their 
 ordinary scenes of dissipation. 
 
 These interesting individuals one of whom rejoiced in the sobri- 
 quet of the " Lily," on account of his extremely dark complexion; 
 while the other had been "gifted" with the name of the " Tulip," 
 as a compliment to his varied excellences took a fancy to D'Al- 
 maine, conceiving that his appearance and talent might be turned to 
 a profitable account. 
 
 Accordingly, on being let loose from that which is still very facetious- 
 ly termed, " The House of Correction," they repaired to a public-house 
 at the corner of Liquorpond-street, with D'Almaine, nominally in order 
 to regale themselves, bnt in reality, with the view of inducing him to 
 join them. 
 
 "Well," said the Lily, "now we're out what are we to be up to? 
 We must do something ! I should like to know of a tidyish crib that 
 we could crack, and be respectable." 
 
 ** That cracking business is rather dangerous work," said D'Al- 
 maine, " is it not ? " 
 
 " Dangerous ! Not a bit of it, unless you like to make it so. It's the 
 best game played. You enter ; you get a decent haul. You sell it, 
 pocket the money, and live like a gentleman." 
 
 '* But the risk is very great?" 
 
 " There's a risk in all things. Nothing can be done without risk. 
 Life's made up of a parcel of risks which musn't be taken at all into 
 account. You never had a go-in, I suppose r " 
 
 " Never in that way." 
 
 "Then you should try. Only try it once, and you'd never think of 
 sticking to any thing else. You don't happen to know of an out- 
 and-out place where we could find such a thing as a lot of plate, do 
 you ? " 
 
 " Well, I certainly know of one," replied D'Almaine, " but that's 
 between sixty and seventy miles off." 
 
 " Never mind the distance. The further oft' the better. Do you 
 know the go of the premises? " 
 
 " Well : I lived in the house < a few days about twelve months 
 ago." 
 
 " That '11 do ! There's plenty there ?" 
 
 44 There is." 
 
 "Then will you go? You'll never regret it the longest day you 
 live." 
 
 "Well," replied D'Almaine thoughtfully, " I must do something: 
 I'll think of it : I'll turn the matter over in my mind." 
 
 *' It's no use thinking about it," cried the Lily, "nor no use turn- 
 n^it over in your mind. A thing that's done at once is done well. 
 
A ROMANCE OF REAL LIFE. 379 
 
 Dilly-dallying makes a man a coward. If you say you'll go, I'll get 
 the money to start with, and send the Tulip at once for the tools. 
 
 Well," replied D'Almaine, " let us have something to eat and I'll 
 consider." 
 
 Chops were ordered, and he did consider, and after a display of per- 
 suasive eloquence on the part of the Lily, he consented to join them. 
 
 It was then proposed that no time should be lost ; that they should 
 go by the first coach to Newmarket, and that the work should be done 
 that night ; and when the money and the implements had been pro- 
 cured they started, and reached Newmarket in the early part of the 
 evening. 
 
 Here they hired a horse and gig nominally to go to Bury Saint 
 Edmunds; but they went on the high road only as far as the Cock at 
 Kentfbrd, where they remained until eleven o'clock at night, and then 
 started for the Hall. 
 
 The place was of course well known to D'Almaine : no time was 
 therefore lost in reconnoitering ; and when the horse had been secured 
 to the park palings, they went to the back of the house, and easily ef- 
 fected an entrance. 
 
 D'Almaine knew that the plate-chest used to be kept in George's 
 room, and conceiving that it was kept there then, he led them towards 
 it ; and as he warned them that George was a powerful fellow, and would 
 annihilate them all if they gave him the slightest chance, they de- 
 cided on bursting into his room conceiving of course that he was in 
 bed and securing him at once. 
 
 They therefore put on their masks and proceeded to his room, and 
 having forced the door, they were amazed on discovering him smok- 
 ing a cigar in his easy chair, with a glass of brandy and water before 
 him, 
 
 As they entered, he started with a look of defiance. They, however, 
 rushed upon him on the instant, and having forced him to the ground, 
 demanded the key of the plate-chest. In that chest, George had nearly 
 ten thousand pounds. He was therefore unwilling to give up the key, 
 but said that he would do so, if they would allow him to rise. They con- 
 sented, and in an instant, he turned and knocked down both the Lily 
 and the Tulip. 
 
 " Leg him, Dal, leg him ! " cried the Lily, " and hold him down ! " 
 
 " D'Almaine ! " exclaimed George, who although the mask had 
 fallen off didn't recognize his friend, so cleverly had he been crop- 
 ped and shaved, " D'Almaine ! '' 
 
 " Aye," replied D'Almaine, " and now that you know me, it will 
 not be safe to allow you to live." 
 
 " Gusty !" cried George, "don't kill me: take what there is, but I'm 
 not fit to die/' 
 
 " Let the gentleman say his prayers," said the Lily. " By all manner 
 of means, let the gentleman say his prayers !" 
 
 George instinctively knelt, but perceiving a chance, he rose, and 
 knocked down D'Almaine, and seizing his companions by the throat, 
 would have strangled them, had not D'Almaine drawn a pistol from 
 
380 THE STEWARD : 
 
 his breast and shot him as he imagined through the heart, just as the 
 servants, whom the noise had alarmed, entered the room. 
 
 George fell, and James knowing that a carbine was loaded in the 
 room, got it down in an instant, and shot D'Almaine dead, when 
 George rose again aud rushed upon the burglars, who inflicted upon 
 him several frightful wounds, but he struggled with them still, and 
 having wrested their knives from them, he stabbed them both to the 
 heart, and fell over them senseless. 
 
 Dr. Farquar was immediately sent for, and found George in a state 
 of utense agony. , He endeavoured of course to alleviate his sufferings,, 
 but found it impossible to do so. George was dreadfully wounded : 
 he was tortured to madness, and raved with maniacal vehemence, and 
 continued to rave throughout the night, and during the whole of the 
 following day; and Charles, who had been sent for, returned just ift 
 time to witness the dying agonies of the STEWARD. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 London : P. P. Thorns, Printer, 12, Warwick Square.. 
 
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YC 1 02872 
 
 M102050 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY