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LWDISFAEN CHASE. 
 
 ^ Nooel. 
 
 BY 
 
 T. ADOLPHUS TROLLOPE. 
 
 NEW YORK: 
 HARPER & BROT PIERS, PUBLISHERS, 
 
 FRANKLIN SQUARE. 
 1864. 
 
LINDISFABN CHASE 
 
 TROLLOPE. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 SILVEUTON AND ITS ENVIRONS. 
 
 X DOUKT much whether I could invent a 
 fiction that should be more interesting to my 
 readers than the authentic bit of family his- 
 tory 1 am about to offer them. The facts 
 happened, and the actors in them were, with 
 very little difference, such as they will be 
 represented in the following pages. But al- 
 though nearly half a century has passed since 
 the circumstances occurred, it has been ne- 
 cessary, in order to justify the publication of 
 them, to make such changes in names and 
 localities as should obviate the possibility of 
 causing annoyance or offence to individuals 
 still living. The episcopal city in, and in the 
 neigh1)orhood of, which the events really took 
 place, shall therefore be called Silverton ; 
 and it shall be placed in one of our south- 
 westermost counties, where no search among 
 the county families will, it may be safely as- 
 serted, enable any too curious reader to iden- 
 tify the real personages of the history. 
 
 The ancient and episcopal city of Silverton 
 is one of the most beautifully situated towns 
 in England. Seated in the midst of a wide 
 valley on the banks of a river, which about a 
 mile below the town becomes tidal, and three 
 miles further reaches the sea, its environs 
 comprise almost every variety of English 
 scenery. The flat bottom of the valley is oc- 
 cupied with water-meads, rendered passable 
 to those acquainted with the locality and im- 
 passable to strangers, by a labyrinthine system 
 of streams and paths diversified by an infinity 
 of sluices, miniature locks, and bridges re- 
 movable at pleasure after the fashion of draw- 
 bridges. The town itself, with the exception 
 of the physically and morally low parts of it 
 lying immediately in the vicinity of the bridge 
 over the river Sill, is built on a slight eleva- 
 tion sufficient to raise it above the damp level 
 of the water-meadows. The highest point of 
 this eminence was once entirely occupied by 
 the extensive buildings of Silverton Castle. 
 Now the picturesque ivy-grown keep only re- 
 mains ; and the rest of the space backed by 
 
 the high city wall, which on that side of tl;c 
 city hafs been preserved, forms the admirably 
 kept and much admired garden of Robert 
 Falconer, Esq., the senior partner of the firm 
 of Falconer and Fishbourne, the wealthy, 
 long established, and much respected bankers 
 of Silverton. 
 
 On ground immediately below the site of 
 the old castle, and sufficiently lower for the 
 two buildings to group most admirably to- 
 gether, stands the grand old Cathedral,, with 
 its two massive towers, one at either angle 
 of the west front, wliich looks toward the de- 
 clivity and the valley. The space between 
 the Cathedral and the site of the castle is oc- 
 cupied by that inmost sanctuary and pjrivi- 
 leged spot of a cathedral city, the Close. The 
 old city is not in any part of it a noisy one. 
 For though it was formerly the seat of a pros- 
 perous cloth trade and manufacture, com- 
 merce and industry have long since deserted 
 it, preferring, for their modern requirements, 
 coal measures to water-meadows. But a still 
 deeper quietude broods over the Close. The 
 beautifully kept gravel walk — it is more like 
 a garden walk than a road — which wanders 
 among exquisitely shaven lawns, from one 
 rose-covered porch to another of the irregu- 
 larly placed prebendal houses, is rarely cut 
 lip by wheels. The Deanery gardens, and 
 those of two or three other of the prebendal 
 residences run up to a remaining fragment of 
 the old city wall to the right hand of the cas- 
 tle-keep, as those of Mr. Falconer, the banker, 
 do on the left-hand side of the ancient tower, 
 supposing the person looking at them to stand 
 facing the west front of the Cathedral. 
 
 It is a pleasant spot to stand on, and a pleas- 
 ant view to face ; — it was so forty years ago, 
 and I suppose it still is so, despite the cut- 
 ting down of canonries, and other ravages 
 of the Ecclesiastical Commissioners. If one 
 stood not quite opposite the centre of the west 
 front of the church, but sufficiently to the left 
 of that point to catch a view of the southern 
 side of the long nave, and the southern tran- 
 sept with its round-headed Saxon windows 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 and arches, — for that part of the building be- 
 longed to an earlier period than the nave ; — 
 of tlie mouldering and ivy-grown, but still 
 sturdy-looking and lofty keep of the old castle 
 on tlie higher ground behind; — of the frag- 
 ments of city wall to the right and left, coy- 
 ered with the roses and other creeping plants 
 of the banker's garden on the one side, and of 
 those of the cathedral dignitaries on the other ; 
 — of the noble woods of Lindisfai-n Chase on the 
 gentle swell of the hill, which shut in the ho- 
 rizon in that direction at a distance of some 
 seven or eight miles from the city ; — and of 
 the sleepy, quiet Close in the immediate fore- 
 ground, with its low-roofed, but substantial, 
 roomy, and exceedingly comfortable gray stone 
 houses showing with so admirably pictui'esque 
 an effect on the brilliant green of the shaven 
 lawns, Avhich run close up to the walls of 
 them ; — if one stood, I say, so as to command 
 this prospect, one would be apt to linger 
 tJiere awhile. 
 
 Suppose the hour to be ten a.m. on a Sep- 
 tember morning. The last bell is ringing for 
 morning service. Dr. Lindisfarn, in surplice, 
 hood, and trencher-cap, is placidly sauntering 
 across the Close from his house, next to the 
 Deanery, with a step that seems regulated by 
 the chime of the bell, to take his place as canon 
 in residence at the morning service. Dr. 
 Theophilus Lindisfarn, Senior Canon, is, liter- 
 ally if not ecclesiastically speaking, always in 
 residence. For he loves Silver ton Close bet- 
 ter than any other spot of earth's surllice ; 
 and keeps a curate on his living of Chewton 
 in the Moor, some fifteen miles from the city. 
 Dr. Lindisfarn, stepping across to morning 
 service, pauses an instant, as he observes with 
 a slight frown an insolently tall dandelion 
 growing in the Close lawn ; and makes a mem . 
 in his mind to tell the gardener that the Chap- 
 ter cannot tolerate such slovenly gardening, j 
 A little troop of choristers in surplices and 
 untasselled trencher-caps, headed by old Peter 
 Glenny, the organist, are coming round the 
 northern corner of the west front from the 
 schoolroom. The Rev. Mr. Thorburn, the 
 Minor Canon, who has to chant the service, 
 is not yet in sight ; for lie was officiating as 
 president of a glee club till not the smallest 
 of the small hours last night, and being rather 
 late this morning is now coming up the hill { 
 from the lower part of the town, at a speed i 
 which will just suffice to bring him to his 
 place in the choir in time to dash off with I 
 
 j " Enter not into judgment with thy servant, 
 j Lord," at the exact instant that the bell 
 I sounds its last note, and Dr. Lindisfarn at the 
 : same moment raises his benignant face from 
 I the trencher-cap in which he has for a mo- 
 ment hidden it, on entering his stall, moving 
 as he did so with a sort of suant, mechanical, 
 yet not ungraceful action, which seemed to 
 i combine a bow to the assembled congregation 
 with a meditative prayer condensed into the 
 briefest possible time. The rooks are cawing 
 their morning service the while in the high 
 trees behind Mr. Falconer's house, a large 
 mansion more modern and less picturesque 
 than the canons' houses, a little behind and 
 to the left of the spot where I have supposed 
 the contemplator of this peaceful scene to take 
 his stand. The morning sun is gilding and 
 lighting up the distant Lindisfarn woods ; a 
 white mist is lying on the water-meads ; and 
 a gentle, drowsy hum ascending from the 
 lower districts of the city. The sights and 
 sounds that caress the eye and ear are all 
 suggestive of peacefulness and beauty ; and 
 are poetized by a flavor of association which 
 imparts an infinite charm to the scene. 
 
 And there were no heretic bishops or free- 
 thinking professors in those days throughout 
 all the land. There was no Broad Church ; 
 and "earnestness" had not been invented. 
 It was a mighty pleasant time ; at least, it 
 was so inside Cathedral Closes. Dissenters 
 were comparatively few anywhere, and espe- 
 cially in such places as Silverton. They were 
 understood to be low and noxious persons, 
 with greasy faces and lank hair who, in a 
 general way, preferred evil to good. It was 
 said that there were some few of these 
 Pariahs in the low part of the town ; and 
 even that they met for their unhallowed wor- 
 ship in some back lane, under the ministry 
 of a much persecuted and almost outlawed 
 shoemaker. But, of course, none of these 
 persons ever ventured to sully the purity of 
 the Close with their presence. The hercsiarch 
 cobbler felt himself to be guilty, and slunk 
 by like a whipped hound, if he met any one 
 of the cathedral dignitaries in the street. 
 Tlie latter, of course, ignored the existence of 
 any such obscure and hateful sectarians ; al- 
 though it was said that more than one denizen 
 of the Close had been known to listen, though 
 under protest, to a story that Peter Glenny 
 had of a scapegrace nephew of his having 
 once entered the conventicle in the lower 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE, 
 
 town, and having then found the impious j of the city, wliich, however charminn- they 
 wretches singing hymns to a hornpipe tunc ! '■ may be as residences to the dwellers in them, 
 were guilty of ] do not add to the beauty of the place. One 
 of these more especially has caused the de- 
 
 The base creatures, who 
 such enormities, were too few and too ob- 
 scure to cause any trouble or scandal in tlie 
 dignified church-loving Silvcrton society. If 
 a bishop did endow a favorite son or son-in- 
 law with an accumulation of somewhat in- 
 compatible preferments, if a reverend canon 
 did absent himself for a year or two together 
 from Silvcrton, or hold preferment with his 
 canonry not strictly tenable with it, leave 
 some of the little churches in the city un- 
 served some Sunday evening, because he was 
 engaged to a dinner-party in the country, or 
 indulge in a habit of playing whist deep into 
 Sunday morning ; or if a Minor Canon locrc 
 found hearing the chimes at midnight else- 
 where than in his study or his bed, or did 
 chance to get into trouble about sporting 
 without a license, or did stroll into his coun- 
 try church to take some odds or ends of sur- 
 plice duty in his shooting gaiters, while he left 
 his dog and gun in the vestry,— why, there 
 was no " chiel amang them " to take invidi- 
 ous note of these things, much less to dream 
 of printing them ! In short, the time of which 
 I have been speaking, and am about to speak, 
 was that good old time, which Jious autrcs 
 who are sur la rdour remember so well ; and 
 which was so pleasant that it is quite sad to 
 think that it should have been found out to be 
 80 naughty ! 
 
 It would seem nevertheless that there had 
 been still better times at a yet more remote 
 period. For there were, even forty years 
 ago, individuals in the Silvcrton woi'Id, who 
 looked with regret at the march of progress, 
 which had even then commenced. And old 
 Dennis Wyvill, the verger, who was upwards 
 of eighty years old, used to complain much 
 of a new-fangled order of the Chapter that 
 the litany eJiould be chanted, declaring that 
 in good Dane Burder's days morning service 
 was over, and all said, and the door locked 
 afore eleven o'clock. But thus it is ! " JEtas 
 'parentum,'''' says the poet in the same mind 
 with old Dennis Wyvill, the verger, " JEtas 
 •parentum pejor avis iulit nos ncquiores, max 
 daturos progenicm vitiosiorcm." 
 
 The progress of time has not quite spared 
 either the material beauty of Silvcrton or its 
 environs. One or two rows of " semi-de- 
 tached villa residences," have made their ap- 
 poarence in different parts of the outskirts 
 
 struction of a clump of elm-trees, which for- 
 merly stood near the spot where the frag- 
 ment of city wall that bounds Mr. Falconer's 
 garden— or, rather, that which was his at 
 the date of this history— comes to an end, 
 and which filled most charmingly to the eye 
 the break in the landscape between that ob- 
 ject and the grass-green water-meads bcloAv ; 
 and has thus done irreparable injury to dear 
 old Silvcrton. For the rest, the city and its 
 surrounding country are much as they used 
 to be. The woods of Lindisflirn Chase beyond 
 and, as one may say, behind the town, sup- 
 posing it to face toward the valley of the Sill, 
 are as rich in verdure and as beautiful as 
 ever. The less thickly, but still well-wooded 
 parklike scenery of Wanstrow Manor, the res- 
 idence, forty years ago, of the Dowager Lady 
 Farnleigh, is unchanged on the more gradu- 
 ally rising opposite bank of the river. The 
 quaintly picturesque view of the water-mead- 
 ows up the stream, closed at the turn of it 
 westward about two miles above Silvcrton • 
 bridge by the village and village church of 
 Weston Friary, is unaltered. In the opposite 
 direction below the bridge, the population 
 has somewhat increased ; and the houses, 
 most of them of a poor description, arc more 
 numerous than of yore. And the new cot- 
 tages, although somewhat more fitted for de- 
 cent human habitation than the old ones, are 
 less picturesque. Modern squalor and pov- 
 erty are especially unsightly. It is as if the 
 ill qualities of the old and the new had been 
 selected and combined to the exclusion of the 
 redeeming qualities of eithec 
 
 Further from the city the aspect of the 
 country is naturally still more unchanged. 
 The rich and brilliantly green meadows and 
 pasture lands in the lower grounds ; the 
 coppice-circled fields of tillage of the upland 
 farms, the red soil of which contrasts so beau- 
 tifully with the greenery of the woodlands ; 
 the gradually increasing wildness and un- 
 evenness of the country, as it recedes from 
 the valley of the Sill, and approaches the 
 higher ground of Lindisfarn Chase on the 
 Silvcrton side of the stream ; and the curi- 
 ously sudden and definitely marked line, 
 which separates the Wanstrow Manor farms 
 from the wide extent of moorland which 
 
b LINDISFARN 
 
 Btrctches away, many a mile to the north- 
 ■ward and along the coast, on the opposite or 
 left-hand side of the little river ; all this, of 
 course, is as it was 
 very beautiful. 
 
 CHASE. 
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 AT WESTON FRIARY. 
 
 There were two roads open to the choice 
 of any one wishing to go from Wanstrow 
 Manor to Lindisfarn Chase. The most direct 
 crossed the Sill by Silvcrton bridge and passed 
 through that city. The distance by this road 
 was little more than eight miles. But the 
 plcasanter way, either for riding or walking, 
 was to cross the river at Weston Friary, and 
 thus avoiding the city altogether, and reach- 
 ing the wilder and more open district of the 
 Chase, almost immediately after quitting the 
 valley at Weston, so as to make the greatest 
 part of the distance by the green lanes and 
 unenclosed commons which at that point oc- 
 cupied most of the space between the lowlands 
 of the valley and Lindisfarn woods. The dis- 
 tance by this route was a good ten miles, how- 
 ever. The highest part of the ground of the 
 Chase, which shut in the horizon to the west- 
 ward behind Silverton, has been mentioned as 
 being about seven or 'eight miles from the 
 city. But the fine old house, which took its 
 name from tlie Chase, was not so far. Nor 
 was it visible from the town. A little brawl- 
 ing stream called Lindisfarn Brook ran hiding 
 itself at the bottom of a narrow ravine be- 
 tween Silverton and the Lindisfarn woods, 
 and fell into the Sill a mile or two above 
 Weston Friary. This little valley and its 
 brook were about three miles from the city, 
 and four or five from the wood-covered sum- 
 mit above mentioned. The ground fell from 
 this latter in a gentle slope all the way down 
 to the brook, with the exception of the last 
 two or three hundred feet, the sudden and 
 almost precipitous dip of which gave the val- 
 ley the character of a ravine. The house was 
 situated about half-way down this gentle de- 
 clivity, — about two and a half miles from the 
 top, that is, — and as much from the brook, 
 which was crossed by a charming little ivy- 
 grown bridge high above the stream, carry- 
 ing the carriage road from Silverton to 
 Lindisfarn. The same little brook had to be 
 crossed by those who took the longer way 
 from Wansti-ow, and by those who came from 
 Weston Friary to tlie Chase ; and for foot- 
 
 passengers, there was a plank and rail across 
 the stream. Those travelling this route on 
 horseback, however, had to ford the Lindis- 
 farn Brook ; and in sloppy weather the banks 
 were apt to be very soft and rotten, insomuch 
 that many a pound of mud from the Lindis- 
 farn Brook ford had been brushed from be- 
 draggled riding-habits in the servants' halls 
 of the Chase and the IManor ; for the in- 
 tercourse between these two mansions was 
 very frequent, and the ride by Weston Friary, 
 as has been said, was, especially to practised 
 riders, the plcasanter. 
 
 Indeed, for those who like open country, and 
 have no objection to a little mud and a mod- 
 erate jump or two, there could not be a bettei 
 country for a ride than all this part of the 
 Lindisfarn Chase property. In the driest 
 weather the turf of the lanes and commons 
 was rarely too hard, but in wet weather it 
 was certainly somewhat too soft. This was 
 most the case on the Weston Friary side of 
 the Lindisfarn Brook. On the other side the 
 ground rose toward the Chase more rapidly, 
 and, as the higher land was reached, became 
 naturally drier. But though there was a 
 slight rise from the ford on the other side, 
 sufficient to cause the brook to seek its waj 
 into the river Sill a mile or two further up 
 the stream instead of falling into it at the 
 villoge of Weston, this elevation of the ground 
 between the valley of Lindisfarn Brook and 
 the water-mead around the village, was not 
 sufficient at that point to prevent all the in- 
 tervening land from being of a very wet and 
 soft description. If I have succeeded in 
 making the topography of the environs of 
 Silverton at all clear to the reader, it will be 
 understood that this same swell of the ground, 
 which between Weston and the ford over the 
 brook of Lindisfarn was a mere tongue of 
 marshy soil, rose gradually but rather rapidly 
 in the direction down the Sill, till it formed 
 the comparatively high ground, on which 
 Silverton was built, and from which the 
 Lindisfarn woods could be seen on the oppo- 
 site side of the valley of the brook, which had 
 there become a deep ravine, as has been de- 
 scribed. A good country road, coming from 
 the interior of the country along the valley 
 of the Sill, passed through the village of Wes- 
 ton Friary on its course to Silverton, finding 
 its way along the edge of the water-meadows, 
 and making in that direction also a singularly 
 pretty ride. This road, having crossed the 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 mouth of the brook by a bridge called Paul- 
 ton's Bridge, nearly two miles above Weston, 
 held its way along the tongue of low land 
 which has been described, keeping close to 
 the bank of the river. Just above Weston, 
 this space between the two streams was not 
 above half a mile in width, and it was all open 
 common, divided off from the road however 
 at that point, by a low, timber fence, con- 
 sisting of two rails only, which, traced at a 
 period when such land was of small value, 
 left a wide margin of turf along the road- 
 side. 
 
 About the same hour of that same beauti- 
 ful September morning, at which the reader 
 has had a glimpse of Dr. Lindisfarn on his 
 way to morning service at the cathedral, — a 
 little later perhaps ; but even if it had still 
 been Dane Burder's time, the service could 
 not be yet over, — an old laborer paused in his 
 loitering walk along the road toward Silver- 
 ton, to look at two ladies on horseback com- 
 ing at full gallop across the common, followed 
 at some little distance by a groom. 
 
 " Now for a jump ! " said the old man, as 
 he stood to look ; " there ben't another in all 
 the country has such a seat on a horse as my 
 lady have ! And !Miss Kate, she's just such 
 another ! ' ' 
 
 And as he spoke, the two ladies came 
 lightly over the low rail on to the turf by the 
 roadside, the younger of the two giving a 
 playful imitation of a view hallo, as she 
 cleared her fence, in a voice whose silver 
 notes were musical as the tones from a flute. 
 
 Lady Farnleigh of Wans trow Manor, gen- 
 tle reader, and Miss Kate Lindisfarn, daugh- 
 ter of Oliver Lindisfarn, Esq., of the Chase. 
 
 The fence was not much of a jump ; and 
 the whole appearance of the ladies betokened 
 that they were accustomed to much severer 
 feats of horsemanship than that. It was a 
 soft morning, and though the Lindisfarn 
 woods above were glistening in the sunshine, 
 and the old castle keep and the towers of 
 the cathedral at Silverton were clearly defined 
 in the bright air, the mist, as has been said, 
 was still lying in the valley, and glistening 
 drops of the moisture had gathered on the 
 brims and on the somewhat bedraggled feathers 
 of the ladies' low-crowned beaver hats, and on 
 the curls of hair, which hung in slightly di- 
 shevelled disarray around their necks. They 
 bore about them, too, still more decided 
 marks of hard riding. Their habits were 
 
 splashed with mud up to their shoulders, and 
 the lower parts of them were evidently the 
 worse for the passage of Lindisfarn Brook 
 ford. Their whole appearance was such, in 
 short, that had a malicious fairy dropped 
 them just as they were into the midst of the 
 ride in Hyde Park, they would have wished 
 the earth to open and swallow them up. Yet 
 many a fair frequenter of that matchless show 
 of horsewomen, would, more judiciously, have 
 given anything to look exactly, age for age, 
 like either lady. They were both beautiful 
 women, though the elder was the mother of 
 a peer, who had just taken his seat in the 
 House. In fact, the Dowager Lady Farnleigh 
 was only in her forty-fourth year. Her com- 
 panion was twenty-sis years younger. But 
 both were in face and figure eminently beau- 
 tiful, and did not look less so for the glow 
 which their exercise had called into their 
 cheeks, and the sparkle in their eyes from 
 the excitement of their gallop. Both sat their 
 horses to perfection, as the old man had said ; 
 and both were admirably well mounted, — 
 Lady Farnleigh on a magnificent bay, and 
 Kate on a somewhat smaller and slighter 
 black, — as indeed they needed to be for the 
 work they had been engaged in. Their horses 
 were splashed from fetlock to shoulder, and 
 from nose to crupper ; and the gallop up the 
 rise from the ford, and over the deep turf of 
 the soft common made their flanks heave as 
 their riders pulled up in the road ; and the 
 breath from their mobile nostrils was con- 
 densed into little clouds just a shade darker 
 than the white mist that lay on the water- 
 meads. But the eyes in their pretty thorough- 
 bred heads were as bright as those of their 
 mistresses ; and as they turned their heads 
 and erect ears up the road and down the road, 
 as if inquiring for further orders, they seemed 
 rather anxious to be off again than distressed 
 by what they had already done. 
 
 " Why, Kate ! " cried Lady Farnleigh, in 
 a clear, ringing, cheery voice, that would have 
 been good to any amount as a draft for sym- 
 pathy on any one within earshot, — " why, 
 Kate, as I am a sinner, if there is not Freddy 
 Falconer coming along the road on his cob, 
 looking for all the world, of course, as if he 
 had been just taken out of the bandbox in 
 which the London tailor had sent him down 
 for the enlightenment of us natives ! Shall 
 we run, Kate, like naughty girls as we are ? 
 — shall we show our Silverton arbiter clrr/antia- 
 
8 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 rum a clean pair of heels, or boldly stay and 
 abide the ordeal? " 
 
 " Oh, I vote for standing our ground," an- 
 swered Kate ; " I see no reason for running 
 away," she added, laughing, but with a some- 
 what heightened color in her cheek. 
 
 " To be sure ! AVhat is Freddy Falconer to 
 you, or you to Freddy Falconer? Them's 
 your sentiments, as old Gaffer^Miles saj's, eh, 
 Kate ? Who's afraid ? I am sure I am not ! " 
 replied Lady Farnleigh, looking half jestingly, 
 half observantly, into her goddaughter's face ; 
 — for she stood in that relationship to Miss 
 Lindisfarn. 
 
 Kate laughed, and shook her pretty head, 
 putting up a little slender hand in its neatly 
 fitting gauntlet, as she did so, to make a lit- 
 tle unavowed attempt at restoring her hair 
 to some small appearance of order. 
 
 In another minute the rider, whom Lady 
 Farnleigh had observed in the road, coming 
 up at a walk, reached the spot where the 
 ladies were. 
 
 He was a young man of some twenty-seven 
 years of age. It was impossible to deny — 
 even Lady Farnleigh could not have denied — 
 that Nature had done her part to qualify him 
 for becoming the arbiter elc(/antiarum she 
 had sneeringly called him. He waa indeed 
 remarkably handsome ; fair in complexion, 
 with perhaps a too delicate and unbronzed 
 pink cheek for a m&,n ; plenty of light-brown, 
 crisp, curling hair ; no mustache or beard, 
 and closely trimmed whiskers ('twas forty 
 years ago) ; large light-blue eyes, a well- 
 formed mouth, the lips of which, however, 
 were rather thin, and lacked a little of that 
 color in which his cheek was so rich ; and a 
 tall, well-proportioned figure ; — a strikingly 
 handsome man unquestionably. 
 
 Nor had Fortune been behindhand in con- 
 tributing her share to the perfect production 
 in question. For Mr. Frederick Falconer was 
 the only son and heir of the wealthy and 
 prosperous banker, the senior partner of the 
 old established and much respected firm of 
 Falconer and Fishbourne, of Silvcrton. And 
 as for Art, her contributions to the joint 
 product had been unstinted, and in her best 
 possible style. Every portion of the costume, 
 appointments, and equipments of Mr. Freder- 
 ick Falconer and his horse, from the top of the 
 well-brushed beaver to the tip of the well- 
 polished and faultless boot of the biped, and 
 from the artistically groomed tail to the shin- 
 
 ing curb-chain of the quadruped, were abso- 
 lutely perfect ; and fully justified the antici- 
 patory commendation that Lady Farnleigh 
 had bestowed upon them. And in addition 
 to all this, it may be said that Falconer was 
 an almost universal favorite in the Silvcrton 
 society — in the " very best" Silvcrton soci- 
 ety, of course. The young men did not ad- 
 mire him quite so much as the young ladies. 
 But this was natural enough. Both sexes, 
 however, of the old, professed an equally fa- 
 vorable opinion of him. He was held to be a 
 good son, as attentive to his father's business 
 as could well be expected under the circum- 
 stances, a well-conducted and steady young 
 man, and by pretty well all the Silvcrton ma- 
 tronocracy a decidedly desirable " parti.'" 
 
 (How naturally we Anglo-Saxon folks speak 
 French whenever we have anything to say of 
 which we are at all ashamed ; or any lie to 
 tell !) 
 
 " Good-morning, Lady Farnleigh! Good- 
 morning, Miss Lindisfarn ! " he said, saluting 
 the ladies with easy grace, as he came up to 
 them. " You are not only riding early this 
 morning, but you have been riding some time 
 earlier ; for I see you have crossed Lindisfarn 
 Brook!" 
 
 Both ladies gave a nod in return for his 
 salutation^ Lady Farnleigh not a distant or 
 supercilious, but rather a dry one (if a nod 
 can be said to be dry, as I think it may) , and 
 Kate a good-natured one, accompanied by a 
 good-humored smile. 
 
 "You have been riding early too, which 
 is paying this misty morning a much high- 
 er compliment! " returned Ladj' Farnleigh, 
 " for you are already returning to Silver- 
 ton." 
 
 "Yes. I have been to Churton Basset 
 already this morning. ]My father wanted a 
 letter taken to Quorn and Prideaux there be- 
 fore they opened for the day. Some business 
 of the bank." 
 
 " Well, our ride is not so near its end as 
 yours. We are going up to the Chase again, 
 as soon as I have visited an old friend of mine 
 in the village here. Will you ride over the 
 common with us? Come up to the Chase; 
 and Miss Imogene shall give you some lun- 
 cheon. And you may ride over with me 
 back again to Wanstrow in the afternoon, if 
 you like." 
 
 And Kate bowed her backing of the invi- 
 tation, with a smile that made Mr. Frederick 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 feel a strong inclination to accept it ; al- 
 though, in fact, Kate had intended only to 
 be courteous, and by no means wished to bo, 
 on this occasion, taken at her word, or rather 
 at her bow and smile ; for slic had not spo- 
 ken. 
 
 It was true that Fred had Messrs. Quorn and 
 Prideaux's answer to his father's letter in his 
 pocket ; but ho had no reason to think that 
 it mattered much whether it reached its des- 
 tination a few hours sooner or later. And in 
 truth it was the consideration of the nature 
 of the ride proposed to liim, rather than any 
 anxiety about the letter, that made him plead 
 the necessity of returning to Silverton as an 
 excuse for not accepting the proposal. 
 
 " Well, good-day, then. You are a pearl 
 of a messenger ! Give my compliments to 
 your father; and oh, Mr. Falconer! there is 
 a lot of mud in the road by the lock yonder ; 
 take care you do not splasla yourself. Good- 
 by!" 
 
 He understood the sneer well enough ; and 
 would have been riled at it, if Kate had not 
 administered an antidote to the acerbity of 
 her godmother's tongue, by giving him a part- 
 ing nod and a " Good-by, Mr. Falconer," in 
 which there was no acerbity at all. 
 
 Nevertheless, as the young man rode off 
 toward the city, and the ladies turned their 
 horses' heads to enter the village of Weston 
 Friary, Kate said, addressing her compan- 
 ion, — 
 
 " How could you think of inviting him 
 up to the Chase to-day? As if we had not 
 enough to think of, without having strangers 
 on our hands! " 
 
 " Don't be a goose, Kate ! " answered the 
 elder lady. " Do you think I imagined that 
 there was the slightest chance of Master 
 Freddy consenting to ride over Lindisfarn 
 Common with you and me? Catch him at 
 it ! But at what time do you think your 
 sister may arrive?" 
 
 "We have calculated that she may be at the 
 Chase by two. I wanted to meet her in Sil- 
 verton ; but papa thought it best that we 
 should all receive her together at home. We 
 must take care to be back at the Chase by 
 that time. I would not be out when she 
 comes for the world ! ' ' 
 
 " Oh, no fear! I've only to say half a 
 dozen words to old (iranny Wilkins, poor 
 thing, in Westori here, and then we'll go up 
 to the Chase best pace. We sha'n't be long, great blu<li 
 
 since we have not Master Freddy at our 
 heels." 
 
 " Why, what a spite you have, godmamma, 
 against poor Mr. Falconer ! What has he 
 done to offend you ? " 
 
 " Nothing in the world, my dear ! And I 
 have not the slightest idea of being offended 
 with him. It is true I don't like him quite 
 so much as all the Silverton young ladies 
 do." 
 
 " I don't think you like him at all ! Why 
 don't you?" asked Kate, with a blunt, 
 straightforward frankness that was peculiar 
 to her. 
 
 " Well, I don't like him at all, that's the 
 truth ! But you know the old rhyme, Kate, — 
 ' I do not like you. Dr. Fell,' etc., etc. Upon 
 second thoughts, however, I think I can tell 
 why I don't like Freddy Falconer. He is a 
 regular " — 
 
 " Oh, not a snob, as you said of that super- 
 fine Captain Marnisty, the other day. I don't 
 think Mr. Falconer is a snob ! " 
 
 " No, I was not going to say a snob. Why 
 should you fancy I was? " 
 
 " Only because, when you called Captain 
 Marnisty so, you said ' a regular snob,' just 
 in the same sort of way." 
 
 " Well, this time I am going to say a reg- 
 ular something else. No, it would not be 
 fair, or true, to say that Fred Falconer is a 
 snob. But I can put what he is into four 
 letters too!" 
 
 " Not a fool ! " expostulated Kate. 
 
 " No, that's not quite it either, though 
 I have known wiser men than Fred. Try 
 again ! " 
 
 " Dandy has five letters," said Kate, med- 
 itatively. 
 
 " Yes, and so has scamp ; and I do not mean 
 to call J\lr. Falconer that cither. No, if I 
 must tell you , it is p — i* — i — g. Freddy Fal- 
 coner is a regular prig ! And I am not fond 
 of prigs. But Heaven help us all ! there are 
 worse things than prigs in the world ; and 1 
 have nothing to say against the man. Only," 
 she added, after a pause, " to make a clean 
 breast of it, Kate, I have fancied lately that 
 I have seen symptoms of his Sultanship hav- 
 ing taken it into his head to throw the 
 handkerchief in the direction of Lindisfarn 
 Chase " — 
 
 " I am sure he never thought of such a 
 thinir ! " said Kate, with a little toss and a 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 10 
 
 ' ' So much the better ! In that case, Freddy 
 and I shall remain very good friends. lie may 
 make love to every other girl in the county for 
 aught I care ; but if he meddles with my 
 Kate, garc la rnarraine ! that's all ! Will you 
 come in with me to see old. Granny Wilkins, 
 dear, or sit on your horse till I have done? 
 I sha'n't be a minute." 
 
 " No, no ; let me come in vrith you. Gran- 
 ny Wilkins is an old acquaintance of mine." 
 So the groom helped both the ladies to dis- 
 mount at the door of the cottage ; and it was 
 evident from the unsurprised manner in which 
 the paralytic old inhabitant of it received her 
 visitors that they were neither of them stran- 
 gers to her. 
 
 The business with Dame Wilkins was soon 
 despatched, as Lady Farnleigh had said that it 
 would be. It consisted only of the adminis- 
 tration of one or two little articles of creature 
 comfort, a trifle of money, and a few of those 
 kind words, more valuable than any of these, 
 when spoken by the gentle and wealthy to the 
 poor and simple with that tact ai>d heartiness 
 which are botli naturally inspired by genuine 
 sympathy, but which are as naturally, and 
 with fatal result, wanting to those charitable 
 ministrations, performed as a matter of duty, 
 according to cut-and-dry rules, even though 
 those rules shall have been adjusted in accord- 
 ance with the most approved maxims of mod- 
 ern social science. 
 
 The fact is that there is just the difference 
 between the two things that there is between 
 the workmanship of some old cinque-cfinto ar- 
 tist, and the product of a Birmingham steam 
 factory. There is much in favor of the latter. 
 Millions of the required article are turned out 
 of hand instead of units. There is infinitely 
 less loss of material. The article produced is, 
 according to every mechanical test, even bet- 
 ter than the handiwork of the old artist. It 
 is more accurate, its rounds are absolutely 
 round, its angles true angles ; each individ- 
 ual article of the gross turned out per hour is 
 exactly the same as every other, and all are 
 adapted with scientific forethought to the ex- 
 act requirements they are intended to serve. 
 But the old handicraftsman impressed his in- 
 dividuality on the work of his hands, — put 
 his Avhole soul into it, as we say, more liter- 
 ally than we often think, as we use the phrase. 
 What is the diiference between this old six- 
 teenth century — anything, — inkstand, lady's 
 needlecase, or v/hat not, and the article im- 
 
 itated from it by our mechanical science ? I 
 am not' artist enough to say what the differ- 
 ence is ; but I see it and feel it readily enough ; 
 and so docs everybody else. And the mar- 
 ket value of the ancient artist's piece sha^l 
 be as a thousand to one to that of the mod- 
 ern imitation of it. And I know that this 
 subtle difference, and this superior value is 
 due to that presence of the workman's soul, 
 which the best possible steam-engine (having, 
 up to the date of the latest improvement, no 
 soul) cannot impart to its products. 
 
 The best possible mechanism, whether ap- 
 plied by dynamic science to the shaping and 
 chasing of metal, or by social science to the 
 cheering of poverty and the relief of suffering, 
 must not be expected to do the work of indi- 
 •vidually applied sympathy, heart and soul. 
 But modern civilization needs beautiful ink- 
 stands in millions ; and the masses of modern 
 population need ministrations only to be sup- 
 plied by organized social machinery. Very 
 true ! Only do not let us suppose that we 
 get the same thing, or a thing nearly as pre- 
 cious. Maybe we get the best we can. But 
 the human brain-directed hand must come in 
 contact with the material, to produce the 
 higher order of artistic beauty. And indi- 
 vidual human sympathy, unclogged by rules, 
 must bring one human heart into absolute 
 contact with another, before the best kind of 
 " relief" can be attained. 
 
 Dame Wilkins, however, was the fortunate 
 possessor of the real artistic article, in the 
 kind visits of Lady Farnleigh. But the few 
 kind words, which were treasured and re- 
 peated and prized, did not take long in say- 
 ing ; and the two ladies in a very few minutes 
 were mounting their horses again. Miss 
 Lindisfarn was already in the saddle ; and 
 Lady Farnleigh was about to mount, when 
 the groom said, in an under voice, " Please, 
 my lady, the tobacco !" 
 
 " To be sure ! What a brute I am to have 
 forgotten it! Give me the packet, Giles." 
 She took the little parcel Giles produced 
 from his pocket, and returning into the cot- 
 tage said, " Here, granny. If it had not 
 been for Giles, I should have forgotten the 
 best of my treat. Here's half a pound of 
 baccy to comfort you as the cold nights come 
 on." 
 
 " Oh, my lady ! That is the best ! You 
 knows how to comfort a poor old body as has 
 lost the use of her precious limljs. Thank 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 11 
 
 you, my lady, and God bless you ! " said the 
 old woman, as a gleam of pleasure came into 
 her watery old eyes at the thought of the 
 gratification contained in that small packet. 
 
 " I say, godniamma dear," said Kate, after 
 a pause, as they were riding at a sober pace 
 through the village, " do you think it is right 
 to give the poor people tobacco ? I have often 
 heard Uncle Theophilus say that the habit 
 of smoking is, nest to drinking, the worst 
 thing for tho laboring classes; that it pro- 
 motes bad company, encourages idleness, and 
 very often leads to drunkenness." 
 
 " Uncle Theophilus may go to Jericho ! I 
 am of another parish ; and don't like his doc- 
 trine ! Tell him from me, Kate, the next 
 time he preaches on that text, that the labor- 
 ing classes are of opinion that there is noth- 
 ing worse for their superiors than the habit of 
 drinking port wine ; that it makes the tem- 
 per crusty, promotes red noses, and very often 
 leads to the gout! " 
 
 " Ila, ha, ha, ha! " laughed Kate in sil- 
 very notes, that made the little village street 
 musical ; " depend upon it, I will give him 
 your message word for word." 
 
 And then after a short gallop over the com- 
 mon, they crossed the ford again, not without 
 carrying away with them some additional 
 specimen of the soil of its banks and bottom, 
 and thence made the best of their way, first 
 over the broken open ground which intervened 
 between the brook and the Lindisfarn woods, 
 and then through the leafy lanes which crossed 
 them, gradually reaching the higher ground, 
 till they came out on the carriage road from 
 Silver ton to the Chase, a little below the Lodge 
 gates. 
 
 Here Lady Famleigh turned her horse's 
 head to return to Wanstrow by the road 
 through Silverton, leaving Kate to ride up to 
 the house alone. 
 
 "Good-by, darling ! " she said ; " 1 wont 
 come in. I know how anxious you must all 
 be. But remember that I shall be anxious 
 also to hear all about the new sister, and ride 
 over the day after to-morrow at the furthest ; 
 there's a dear. Love to them all ! " 
 
 And Kate cantered up the avenue to join 
 the other members of the family, who were, 
 not without some little nervous expectation, 
 awaiting the arrival of a daughter of the 
 house, whom none of them had seen for the 
 last fifteen years. 
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 THE FAMILY IN THE CLOSE. 
 
 Lindisfarn house is a noble old mansion, 
 almost entirely of the Elizabethan period, 
 with stately, stifi", and trim gardens behind 
 it, embosomed in woods behind and around 
 them, with larger and more modern gardens 
 on one side of it, and a wide open gravel 
 drive, and a piece of tree-dotted parklike 
 pasture-land in front of the house ; beyond 
 which it looks down over the wooded slope de- 
 scending to the Lindisfarn Brook, and across 
 it to the cultivated side of the hill on the 
 other side of the top of which stands Silver- 
 ton. The city is not seen from the house. 
 But the old castle keep is just visible as an 
 object on the edge of the not distant horizon. 
 
 It is so charming an old house, so full of 
 character, so homogeneously expressive in all 
 its parts and all its surroundings, and every 
 detail of it and the scenery around it is so viv- 
 idly impressed on my remembrance, that it is 
 a great temptation to try my power of word- 
 painting by attempting a minute description 
 of the place. But conscious of having often 
 "skipped" similar descriptions written by 
 others, I do as I would be done by and refrain. 
 After all, the associations to be found in qieh 
 reader's memory and reminiscences have to be 
 called on to supplement the most successful 
 of such descriptions. How can I cause to 
 echo in the memory-chambers of another's 
 brain as they are echoing in mine the morn- 
 ing concert of the rooks in the humid autumn 
 morning air, or in the dreamy quietude of 
 the sunset hour, — the barking of the dogs, 
 and the cheery, ringing tones of old Oliver 
 Lindisfarn 's voice, which seemed never to eon- 
 descend to a lower note than that adapted to 
 a " Yoicks ! forward ! hark forward ! " and 
 which, as it used to echo through the great 
 hall, or make the windows of the wainscoted 
 parlors ring again, seemed to harmonize so 
 perfectly and pleasantly with the other sounds ! 
 Why, I swear that even the cry of the peacock 
 seems melodious as it comes wafted across 
 forty years of memory ! And as for Kate's 
 silver-toned laugh on the terrace in front 
 ■of the house, as she played with old Bayard, 
 the great rough mastiff, or enticed her bonny 
 black mare Birdie, to follow her up and down 
 for lumps of sugar purloined out of Miss Imo- 
 gene's breakfast basin ; ah me ! the old Lin- 
 disfarn rooks will never hear that again ! 
 
12 
 
 Nor shall T — that, or any other like it ! 
 And dear old Miss Immy, as she loved to be 
 called, with her little crisp white cap set on 
 the top of her light crisp silver-white curls, 
 three each side of her head, and her round, 
 withered, red-apple like cheeks and her bolt- 
 upriglit little figure, and her pit-a-pat high- 
 heeled shoes, and her stiff, rustling, lavender- 
 colored silk gown, which seerned to go across 
 the floor, when she moved, like some Dutch 
 toy moved by clockwork, and her basket of 
 keys, and her volume of Clarissa Harlowe. 
 Accidents many of these things may seem to 
 be ; but they were properties of dear old Miss 
 Immy. For they never changed, neither the 
 enow-white cap nor the lavender-colored 
 gown, nor the volume of Clarissa Harlowe. 
 She really did read it ! But she faithfully 
 began it again as soon as she had finished the 
 volume. For sixty years I believe Miss Immy 
 had never been seen without her little basket 
 of keys and her volume of Clarissa Harlowe. 
 I will not, I say, attempt to describe the 
 old place. But I must needs give some ac- 
 count of the inhabitants of it, as they were 
 at the period to which this history refers. 
 
 The Lindisfai-n property had belonged to 
 the Lindisfarns of Lindisfarn so long that 
 not only the memory of man but the memory of 
 county historians " ran not to the contrary," 
 as the legal phrase goes. The rental at the pe- 
 riod of our histoi-y was a well paid four thousand 
 a year, and the tenantry were as well-to-do 
 and respectable a body as any estate in the 
 county could boast. Oliver Lindisfarn, the 
 son and grandson of other Olivers, and the 
 lord of this eminently " desirable property," 
 was in his sixtieth year at the time here 
 spoken of. He had married early in life a 
 sister of his neighbor. Lord Farnlcigh ; — for 
 the old lord had lived at Wanstrow, which 
 was now the residence of the dowager, his 
 widow, the young lord having taken his 
 young wife to reside on a larger property 
 in a distant county. The present dowager. 
 Lady Farnlcigh, was therefore the sister-in- 
 law of the lady Mr. Lindisfarn had first mar- 
 ried ; but not of the mother of the two young 
 ladies, of whom one has already been pre- 
 sented to the reader. They were the offspring 
 of a second marriage. Lady Catherine Lin- 
 disfarn had died after a few years of marriage, 
 leaving her husband a childless widower. 
 He had remained such about eight years, and 
 had then at the age of forty-three married a 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 ]\Iiss Venafry, who after two years of mar- 
 riage left him a widower for the second time, 
 and the father of two little twin-born girls, 
 Catherine and Margaret. Catherine had 
 been the name of Mr. Lindisfarn's first wife, 
 and Margaret that of his second. 
 
 Of course the absence of a male heir was 
 a very heavy and hitter disappointment to 
 the twice-widowed father of two nnportioned 
 girls. Mr. Lindisfarn's daughters were en- 
 tirely so ; for on Lady Catherine's death her 
 fortune returned to her family ; and Miss 
 Venafry had been dowered by her beauty 
 alone. In another point of view, however, 
 the case of jMr. Lindisfarn was not so hard 
 as that of many another sonless holder of en- 
 tailed property. For the Lindisfarn estates 
 were entailed only on the male heir of Oliver, 
 and failing an heir of the elder brother, on 
 the male heir of his younger brother, the 
 Rev. Theophilus Lindisfarn. If there were 
 failure of a male heir there also, the daugh- 
 ters of Oliver would become co-heiresses. 
 But Dr. Theophilus Lindisfarn, Canon of 
 Silverton, his brother's junior by only one 
 year, had married Lady Sempronia Balstock, 
 much about the same time that his elder 
 brother had married Lady Catherine Farn- 
 lcigh ; and of thic pjarriage had been born a 
 son, Julian, who was about thirteen years 
 old at the time of the birth of Oliver Lin- 
 disfarn's daughters. They were born, there- 
 fore, to nothing save such provision as their 
 father might lay by for them out of his in- 
 come ; and Julian, when his uncle's second 
 wife died a year after giving birth to these 
 portionless girls, became the heir to the es- 
 tates, barring the unlikely chance of his un- 
 cle contracting a third marriage. 
 
 Long, however, before the dowerless little 
 twins were capable of caring for any provision 
 save that needed for the passing hour, their 
 prospects in life became somewhat brightened. 
 When the second Mrs. Lindisfarn died, a 
 sister of hers, a few years her senior, who 
 had been married for several years to a Baron 
 de Renneville, a Frenchman, and who had 
 been Margaret Lindisfarn's godmother, being 
 childless, proposed to adopt her goddaughter. 
 A pressing and most kind proposal to this ef- 
 fect, warmly backed by the baron himself, 
 held out to his child a prospect which the 
 widowed father did not feel justified in re- 
 fusing. The De Rennevilles were wealthy, 
 and of good standing in the best Parisian so- 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 cicty. Madame de Renneville had not aban- 
 doned her religion. She remained a Protes- 
 tant, and there was no objection, therefore 
 on that score. So the little Margaret, ahnost 
 before she was out of her nurse's arms, was 
 sent to Paris, to be brought up as the recog- 
 nized heir to the wealth of the prosperous 
 French financier. 
 
 The prize which Fortune had in her lottery 
 for the other twin sister, Catherine, was 
 less brilliant, but, nevertheless, was sufficient 
 to make a very important difference in her 
 position. Lady Farnleigh, the sister-in-law 
 of Mr. Lindisfarn's first wife, had become the 
 attached fi'iend of his second, and the god- 
 mother of little Catherine. And much about 
 the same time that jNIargaret was sent to 
 Paris, it was understood that a sum of six 
 thousand pounds was destined by Lady Farn- 
 leigh as a legacy to her otherwise wholly un- 
 provided-for goddaughter. 
 
 This was the position of the Lindisfarn 
 family at the period of Mrs. Lindisfarn's 
 death. But events had occurred between 
 that time and the date at which this histo- 
 ry opens which very materially altered the 
 whole state of the case. And in order to ex- 
 plain these, it is necessary to turn our attention 
 away for a few minutes from the family at 
 the Chase, and give it to that of Dr. Lindis- 
 farn, in the Close at Silverton. 
 
 The Chapter of Silverton, at the remote pe- 
 riod of which I write, was not noted for the 
 strictly clerical character of it*" members. 
 Public opinion did not demand much in this 
 respect in those days. The Plight Reverend 
 Father, who had presided for many years over 
 the diocese, was a well-born and courtly pre- 
 late far better known in certain distinguished 
 metropolitan circles than at Silverton. He 
 was known to hold very strong opinions on 
 the necessity of filling the ranks of the estab- 
 lished church with c/cntlemen. And though 
 I cannot assert that he required- candidates 
 for ordination to forward, together with 
 their other papers, an heraldic certificate of 
 the •' quartcrings " they were entitled to, 
 after the fashion of a noble German Chapter, 
 yet it was perfectly well understood that no 
 awkward highlow-shod son of the soil, how- 
 ever competent to "mouth out Homer's! for he was a man of real wit. (N.B. Thouo^h 
 Greek like thunder," would do well to ap- | a very clever fellow in his way, he was not 
 ply to the Bishop of Silverton fot ordination, capable of writing some of the best articles in 
 
 The Silverton canonries were very good ; the Edinhurgh Review.) But nothing in the 
 things; and good things of this sort were, it shape of a joke came amiss to him, be the 
 
 13 
 
 I may perhaps be thought, naturally reserved 
 for those whose worship was ratlier given to 
 the special patron of good things. Mammon, 
 than to any more avowed object of their ado- 
 ration. But nobody could say that the Sil- 
 verton canons were not gentlemen. Nor can 
 it be said that, with the exception of one, or 
 perhaps two, of the body, whose love for good 
 things went to tke extent of lioarding them 
 when they had got them, they were other- 
 wise than well liked by the Silvertonians of 
 all classes ; putting out of the question, as of 
 course they were out of the question, those 
 few pestilent fellows who sang hymns to horn- 
 pipe tunes down in the back slums. They 
 were gentlemen ; and the Silverton world said 
 that they spent their revenues as such, which 
 was what the Silverton world considered to 
 be the main point. Only the worst of it was 
 that Messrs. Falconer and Fishbourne might 
 have had reason to think that some among 
 them pushed this good quality to excess. 
 
 Dr. Lindisfarn, it is fair to state at once, 
 to prevent the reader of these improved davs 
 from conceiving an unfQunded j^i't'judice 
 against him, was perhaps the most clerical 
 of the body in question. Not that it is to be 
 understood by this that any High Church- 
 man or Low Churchman or Broad Churchman 
 of the present day would have deemed poor 
 Dr. Lindisfarn anything like up to the mark 
 of their different requirements and theories. 
 He would have been sorely perplexed to com- 
 prehend what anybody was driving at, who 
 should have talked to him of the duty of 
 " earnestness." He found the world a v€ry 
 fairly satisfactory world, as it was, and had 
 never conceived the remotest idea, good, easy 
 man, that he was in any wise called on fo do 
 anything toward leaving it at all better than 
 he found it. Nevertheless, he was fairly en- 
 titled to be considered as the most respectably 
 clerical of his Chapter, because his tastes and 
 pursuits were of a nature that was not in any 
 degree in overt disaccordance with the cleri- 
 cal character, even according to our modern 
 conception of it. Whereas the same could 
 hardly be said of the majority of his fellow- 
 canons. One was a very notorious joker of 
 jokes, — of very good jokes, too, occasionally, 
 
14 
 
 subject or tendency of it uluit it might. llo 
 preferred good society ; but the profanum 
 vulgus was not the portion of the vulgar, 
 which he most hated and kept at a distance. 
 Another was known to be an accomplished 
 musical critic, but was thought to prefer 
 Mozart and Cimarosa to Boyce and Purcell, 
 and to have a not uninfluential voice in the 
 counsels of the lessee of His JIajesty's Thea- 
 tre in the Haymarket. Another had been 
 seen on more than one occasion to wave above 
 his head a hat that looked very like a full- 
 blown shovel in the excitement of a hardly 
 contested race at Newmarket. A fourth was 
 universally allowed to be one of the best 
 whist-players in England, and was thought 
 to be in no danger of losing his skill for want 
 of practice, while a fifth was believed to be a 
 far deeper student of the mysteries of the 
 stock-eschange than of any other sort of 
 lore. 
 
 Dr. Theophilus Lindisfarn meddled with 
 none of these anti-clerical pursuits. His 
 heart, as well as his corporeal presence, was 
 in Silver ton Close, and Silver ton Cathedral 
 Church. But his love for the Church fixed 
 itself rather on the material structures which 
 are as the outward and visible signs of its in- 
 ward and spiritual existence, than on the ab- 
 stract ideas of a Church invisible. He was a 
 man of considerable learning and of yet 
 greater zeal for antiquarian and especially 
 ecclesiological pursuits. It is in the nature 
 and destiny of hobbies to be hard ridden. 
 This was Dr. Lindisfarn 's hobby ; and he did 
 ride it very hard. lie was far from a value- 
 less man, as a member of the Silverton Chap- 
 ter. The dean was not untinctured with 
 similar tastes ; and with his assistance and 
 support Dr. Lindisfarn had accomplished 
 much for the restoration and repair of Silver- 
 ton cathedral, at a time when such things 
 were less thought of than they are in these 
 days. lie had fought many a hard fight in 
 the Chapter with his brother dignitaries, 
 who foin would have expended no shilling 
 of the Church revenues for such a purpose ; 
 and not content with the niggard grants 
 which it had been possible to induce that 
 body to allocate for the purpose, had spent 
 much of his own money on his beloved 
 church. In fact, it was very well known, 
 that the whole of a considerable sum which 
 he had received from an unexpected leg- 
 acy by a relative of Lady Sempronia, had 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 gone towards the new panelled ceiling in 
 painted coETor-work of the transept of the ca- 
 thedral. And indeed it was whispered at 
 Silverton tea-taijies that old Mr. Falconer had 
 been heard to say, with a mysterious nod of 
 his head, that the legacy in question had by 
 no means covered all that tlie canon had made 
 himself liable for. 
 
 Mr. Falconer, no doubt, knew what he was 
 talking about, for, besides being Dr. Lindis- 
 farn's banker, he was a brother archgeolo- 
 gist. The votaries of that seducing pursuit 
 were far less numerous in those days than in 
 our own ; and the erudite canon of Silverton 
 was fortunate in finding a felloM- -laborer and 
 supporter where, it might have been sup- 
 posed, little likely to meet with it. — in the 
 leading banker of the little city. The dean was 
 the only member of the Chapter, besides Dr. 
 Lindisfarn, who cared for such pursuits. 
 But a few recruits were found among the 
 clergy and gentry of the country ; and the 
 banker and the canon together had succeeded 
 in getting up a little county archaeological 
 society and publishing club. 
 
 Dr. Lindisfarn's tastes and pursuits there- 
 fore may fairly be said to have been clerical, 
 or at least not anti-clerical, as well as gentle- 
 man-like. Nevertheless, the Lady Sempro- 
 nia, his wife, did not look on them with an 
 altogether favorable eye. And perhaps she 
 can hardly be blamed for her feeling on the 
 subject. The canon's hobby was a very ex- 
 pensive one. The cost of it, indeed, would 
 have done far more than amply maintain the 
 handsome pair of carriage-horses, which Lady 
 Sempronia hopelessly sighed for, and which 
 would have spared her the bitter mortification 
 of going to visit the county members' wives, 
 or Lady Farnleigh at Wanstrow, in a hybrid 
 sort of conveyance drawn by one stout clumsy 
 horse in the shafts, whereas Mrs. Dean drove 
 a handsome pair of grays. Many other of 
 the small troubles and mortifications, which 
 helped to make Lady Sempronia a querulous 
 and disappointed woman, were traceable, and 
 were very accui-ately as well as very frequently 
 traced by her, to the same source. Upon the 
 whole, therefore, it was hardly to be won- 
 dered at that the poor lady should abhor all 
 archajology in general, and the Silverton so- 
 ciety and printing club in particular ; and 
 that she should have regarded the discovery 
 of a whitewash-covered moulding, or half- 
 defaced inscription as a bitter misfortune, 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 boding evil to the comforts of lier licarth and 
 home. 
 
 Lady Sempronia's soul Tvas moreover daily 
 vexed by another peculiarity of her husband's 
 idiosyncrasy, which she put down — with 
 scarcely sufficient warrant, perhaps, from the 
 principles of psychological science — all to tlie 
 account of the detested archreology. Dr. 
 Lindisfarn was afflicted by habitual absence 
 of mind to a degree which occasionally ex- 
 posed him and those connected with him to 
 considerable inconvenience. Ilis wife held 
 that the evil was occasioned wholly by his 
 continual meditations on his favorite pursuit 
 when his wits should have been occupied 
 with other matters. But the evil had doubt- 
 less a deeper root. It is an infirmity gener- 
 ally regarded with a compassionate smile by 
 those who are witnesses of its manifestations. 
 But to a narrow little mind, soured and irri- 
 tated by other annoyances, and at best plac- 
 ing its highest conception of human perfec- 
 tion in the due and accurate performance of 
 the thousand little duties and proprieties of 
 every-day life in proper manner, place, and 
 time, the eccentricities of a thoroughly ab- 
 sent man were sources of anger and exacerba- 
 tion, that contributed far more to make the 
 life of the lady who felt them unhappy than 
 they did to affect in any way the placid object 
 of them. Upon one occasion, for instance, 
 her indignation knew no bounds, when, hav- 
 ing with some difficulty drive&-the canon from 
 his study up-stairs to dress for a dinner-party, 
 to which they were engaged, the doctor, on 
 finding himself in his bedroom, had forgotten 
 all about the business in hand, and had quietly 
 undressed himself and gone to bed, where he 
 was found fast asleep, shortly afterward, by 
 the servant sent to look after him. Of course 
 all Silverton soon knew the story, and the ill- 
 used lady poured her lamentations into the 
 cars of her special friends. But Lady Sem- 
 pronia was not popular at Silverton, even 
 among her special friends ; and it may be 
 feared that the Silverton public accorded her 
 on this, as well as on other occasions, less of 
 their sympathy than her sorrows deserved. 
 
 For in truth the poor lady had been sorely 
 tried, and her life embittered by far more se- 
 rious sorrow and severer trouble, — a sorrow 
 that had left its mark indelibly on her heart, 
 and which produced in her mind another 
 source of half-latent irritation against her 
 husband because he did not seem to be equally 
 
 15 
 
 aflectcd by it ; yet it was the greatest common 
 misfortune a man and wife can have to share, 
 — the loss of an only child. And Lady Scra- 
 pronia wronged her liusband in supposing that 
 he did not feel, or rather had not felt, the blow 
 acutely. But some natures are so constituted, 
 that sorrow sinks into them, as water into a 
 spongy cloth ; while from others it as natu- 
 rally runs off, as from a waterproof surface. 
 And it would be a mistake to pronounce on 
 this ground alone that either of these natures 
 is necessarily superior to the other. And 
 then again in this matter the doctor no doubt 
 owed much to his hobby. Serious hard work, 
 it has been said, is the most efficacious allevi- 
 ation for sorrow, and the next best probably 
 is hard riding on a favorite hobby. 
 
 But poor Lady Sempronia had no help in 
 bearing her grief from either one of these ; 
 and it was a very heavy burden to bear. 
 
 There were circumstances that made it a 
 very specially and exceptionally sore sorrow 
 to the bereaved parents ; and these circum- 
 stances must be as briefly as may be related. 
 
 The two brothers, Oliver and Theophilus 
 Lindisfarn, had married, as has been said, 
 nearly about the same time. Tlie marriage 
 of the elder brother remained childless. But 
 to the younger, a son, Julian, was born about 
 (I think, in) the year 1793. Of course the 
 childless wife of the squire was a little envi- 
 ous, and the happy wife of the Churchman a 
 little exultant, — pardonably in either case, 
 xis the years slipped away, the probability 
 that the little Julian would be the heir to 
 the Lindisfai-n property grew greater. When , 
 he being at the time about five years old, his 
 aunt, the squire's wife, died, his chance was 
 somewhat diminished, for there was the prob- 
 ability that his uncle would marry again. He 
 was about thirteen years old when that event 
 did happen. But when, some two years later, 
 his uncle's second wife died, leaving him, as 
 the reader knows, only two twin daughters, 
 the probability that Julian must be the heir 
 had become all but a certainty. 
 
 Under these circumstances, with a silly, 
 adoring, fine lady mother, and an indulgent, 
 placid, absent, archa3ological father, it is per- 
 haps not surprising that Julian, kept at home 
 in compliance with his mother's urgent de- 
 sire, to "read " with a tutor at Silverton, 
 went — as the common saying expressively 
 phrases it — to the bad. Of course that down 
 ward journey — " to the bad " — took some lit 
 
16 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 tie time in making. And Julian was just a thing as being too steady ; tliat young as 
 over twenty-one when he reached the had al- Freddy Falconer was, — three or four years 
 together. There were cavalry barracks at Julian's junior, — it was on the cards that 
 Silverton, and there was always a cavalry young Lindisfarn might get more harm from 
 regiment stationed there. The younger of \ young Falconer than the reverse. But of 
 the officers were naturally enough among the i course the prudent old gentlemen, whose ob- 
 most habitual associates of the young heir of I servation suggested to them such remarks, 
 Lindisfai'n. And though it may vei'y well I were too prudent to make them out loud, 
 be that no one of those young men went al- Certain it was, that young Lindisfarn did 
 together to the bad himself, yet there can be not imitate his steady friend's prudence in 
 little doubt that they helped to forward Ju- j the matter of his expenses. Julian, on the 
 lian on his road thither. ' contrary, always exceeded his more than lib- 
 
 His most intimate friend and associate, 
 however, at that time — when he was about 
 from twenty to one-and-twenty, that is to 
 say — was Frederick Falconer. x\nd all those 
 — his parents among the rest — who had seen 
 
 eral allowance, and was always importuning 
 his father for money. And the easy, absent 
 old canon, careless in money matters and 
 culpably extravagant on his own account, 
 did, Avithout much resistance, and without 
 
 with some alarm that Julian was becoming i any such inquiries as he ought in common 
 very "wild," considered that his intimacy prudence to have made, supply his son with 
 with so steady and well-conducted a young i sums, which at the end of the year very seri- 
 man as the banker's son was, at all events, a ously increased the balance against him in 
 good sign. The careful old banker, on the : Messrs. Falconer and Fishbourne's books. 
 
 other hand, was by no means equally well 
 pleased with the intimacy between the two 
 young men. It was difficult, however, to in- 
 terfere to put a stop to it, without taking 
 unpleasantly strong measures, which would 
 have caused much scandal and heartburning 
 and enmity in the small social circle of a 
 little country town. Old Mr. Falconer had, 
 moreover, much confidence in the steadiness 
 and good principles of his son. Some of the 
 young cavalry officers, whose society the two 
 Silverton youths frequented, were men of 
 large means ; and stories were rife in Silver- 
 ton of orgies and escapades which, in varied 
 ways, involved expenditure on no inconsid- 
 erable scale. There were excursions to dis- 
 tant race-courses ; and more uncertain and 
 cautiously whispei'cd rumors of nights spent 
 in rooms of the barracks, when suppers and 
 champagne, in whatever abundance, were the 
 least dangerous and objectionable portion of 
 the night's amusement. Frederick Falconer, 
 however, never exceeded his liberal, but not 
 uni-easonably large, allowance, and never ap- 
 peared in want of money ; and the old banker 
 considered that to be out of debt was to be 
 out of danger, and that a young man who 
 lived strictly within his means, and always 
 made his quarter's allowance supply his 
 quarterly expenditure, could not be going far 
 wrong. There were not wanting in Silverton, 
 however, one or two shrewd old fellows, who 
 observed to one another, that there Avas such 
 
 And then " my brother Noll " had to be ap- 
 plied to for assistance. And the jolly old 
 squire — after roaring his indignation in the 
 bank parlor, in tones which made every pane 
 in the windows vibrate, and caused Mr. Fish- 
 bourne to shake in unison with them in his 
 shoes, and Mr. Falconer to jump from his 
 chair with the momentary idea of clapping 
 his hand on Mr. Lindisfarn 's mouth, before 
 it had made known the business in hand to 
 half Silverton — lent the money out of funds 
 laid aside for the provision of his daughters, 
 and forgot the transaction before the end of 
 the week. 
 
 And then it was the same thing all over again , 
 or rather a similar thing on a much extended 
 scale. " Major rerum nascitur ordo,^' as is 
 ever the case in such careers as Julian Lin- 
 disfarn was running ; for the march to the 
 devil always has to be played with a rapidly 
 crescendo movement. 
 
 And then — and then, — to make a very 
 sad story as short a one as may be, — one 
 fine morning, in the year 1814, Julian Lindis- 
 farn was missing from his father's house, and 
 the bed in which he was supposed to have 
 slept was found not to have been occupied. 
 And it did come to the ears of some of those 
 prudent old observers of their neighbors' af- 
 fairs, of whom I spoke before, that Mr Thor- 
 burn, the Minor Canon, had told Peter Glenny, 
 the organist, that, returning home through 
 the Close late that night, he had seen young 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 17 
 
 Falconer in close conflxbulation with Julian of possibility that Julian's flight was acci- 
 in the shade of the wall of his father's house dentally well timed ; but it appeared hardly 
 just under the young man's bedroom window, credible that such was the case. 
 Mr. Frederick, however, was known by his It wasa black day in Silverton — that which 
 family to have gone to bed in his own room brought this sad catastrophe to liglit ; fur old 
 at a much earlier hour; and everybody in Dr. Lindisfarn, despite his faults and ccccn- 
 Siltferton ]^new that poor Ned Thorburn, tricities, was a popular man in Silverton, and 
 though ahvays perfectly good for a catch or a the old squire at the Chase was more than 
 glee till any hour you please in the morning, popular, — he was exceedingly beloved, not 
 was apt to be good for little else after twelve only in Silverton, but throughout the county, 
 o'clock at night ; and certainly not good as a The poor, sorely-stricken mother, too, thoui-h 
 witness to the identity of a person seen in Lady Sempronia was not much liked, could 
 dark sliadow by him, when coming home not but be deeply pitied on this sad occasion, 
 from a remarkably pleasant meeting of good It was indeed a iieavy blow on all on whom 
 fellows. And when the facts, which the next any part of the reflected disgrace fell. And 
 day brought to light, were known in Silver- the partner of the London house came down 
 ton,neitherThorburn,norGlenny, nor any of to Silverton ; and there were long, mysteri- 
 those few persons whose ears the report of ous sittings with lawyers in the Ijack iiarlor, 
 the Minor Canon's vision had reached, cared at Falconer and Fislibourne's ; and the down- 
 to recur to the circumstances. 1 stricken father, with bowed white head, had 
 The terrible facts were shortly these : — to be there ; and the hearty old squire, of 
 The London mail, which reached Silverton ! whom men remarked that he looked suddenly 
 on the very morning on which Julian disap- \ ten years older, had to be there. And it was 
 peared thence, brought letters to i\Iessrs. i said that the London firm behaved forbear- 
 Falconer and Fishbourne, which made it evi- 1 ingly and well ; and that the Silverton banker 
 dent that the signature of their firm had been , had behaved equally well ; and though no- 
 forged to drafts for very heavy amounts on \ body knew what arrangements had been c*me 
 their London correspondents. The execution j to respecting the loss of the money, it was 
 
 of the forgery was so admirable that it was j 
 no wonder that the fraud had been successful. 
 
 known that there would be no prosecution, 
 and that the lamentable facts would be hushed 
 
 It is not necessary to detail the circumstances I up, as far as possible 
 
 which, even if Julian's flight had not imme- 
 diately pointed him out as the criminal, abun- 
 dantly sufiiced to bring the guilt home to him. 
 It is suflicient to state that there was no 
 possibility of doubt upon the subject. But 
 it was at the time thought very extraordi- 
 nary, even supposing that Julian Lindisfarn 
 was gifted with that faculty of imitation, 
 which might have enabled him to counterfeit 
 eo successfully the signature of the Silverton 
 firm, that he should have possessed not only 
 such a general acquaintance with the nature 
 of banking business, as should have taught 
 him how to perpetrate the fraud he contem- 
 plated, but such a knowledge of the relations 
 between Messrs. Falconer and Fishbourne and 
 the London house as must have guided him 
 in his operations, and above all, the informa- 
 tion, which it seemed impossible to doubt 
 that he must have possessed, of the exact time 
 when the course of business communication 
 between the Silverton bankers and their Lon- 
 don correspondents must bring the fraud to 
 detection. It was certainly within the limits 
 
 Before long it became known, too, that the 
 miserable young man, who had caused all this 
 wide-spreading sorrow and suifering, had suc- 
 ceeded in making good his escape to the oppo- 
 site coast of France, in a fishing-vessel be- 
 longing to the small fishing-town at the mouth 
 of the estuary of the Sill, about five or six 
 miles from Silverton. Under the miserable 
 circumstances of the case, it was a relief to 
 his family to know that he was out of the 
 country. For those were days in which 
 death was the penalty of forgery, and it was 
 one of the crimes to which it was deemed ne- 
 cessary to show no mercy. 
 
 A little later, news reached Silverton, that 
 the lost one had left France for America : and ' 
 it was known that the heir to the respected 
 old name and fine estate of Lindisfarn was an 
 exiled wanderer, none knew where, in the 
 Xew World. For if Julian had never scru- 
 pled before his full to importune his father 
 for money, shame, ^or some other feeling, pre- 
 vented him from ever making any application 
 to him afterward. Ilad it been possible to 
 
18 
 
 obtain such information as might have made 
 it practicable to communicate with him, he 
 would not have been left without the means 
 of support. But from the day of his escape 
 no word came from him ; nor, beyond the fact 
 of his landing in America, could any trace 
 of him be discovered. 
 
 And so the little girl at Lindisfarn Chase, 
 Julian's Cousin Kate, then between eight a,nd 
 nine jears old, had to be taught that she 
 must forget all about Cousin Julian, and name 
 his name no more. To the child this was of 
 course not difficult. The Silverton public, 
 also, when they had had their talk ; when 
 some had declared that they never could 
 have believed such a thing possible, while 
 others less loudly but more pertinaciously as- 
 serted that they had all along foreseen that 
 Julian Lindisfarn's career must needs lead to 
 some such catastrophe ; and when Mr. Fred- 
 erick Falconer had expressed to a sufficient 
 number of persons the shock and astonish- 
 ment which this unhappy business had been 
 to him ; had admitted that he knew poor Ju- 
 lian to be more dissipated than he could have 
 wished, but had always deemed him the soul 
 of honor and integrity, and had sufficiently 
 often " prayed God that it might be a warn- 
 ing to him for life of the necessity of care in 
 the choice of associates," — then Julian Lin- 
 disfarn was forgotten in Silverton, and his 
 place knew him no more. 
 
 Of course, it was not so up at the Chase ; 
 and still less so in the now still and quiet old 
 house in the Close. But, save when the in- 
 corrigible canon would now and then throw 
 poor Lady Sempronia into a fit of hysterics, 
 which sent her to bed for eight-and-forty 
 hours, by speaking of his son in total obliv- 
 ion of all the misery which had fallen on 
 him, his name was never heard. 
 
 Thei'e was one other house, not in but near 
 Silverton, where the fugitive was not forgot- 
 ten, nor the sound of his name unheard. 
 There was another chapter in the little edi- 
 fying story of Julian Lindisfarn's Silverton 
 life, of which very little was known at that 
 time to his friends or to any one in Silverton ; 
 and which may here be touched on as lightly, 
 and got over as quickly, as possible ; though 
 subsequent events make it absolutely neces- 
 sary to the understanding of the sequel of 
 the history to give a eucciact statement of the 
 facts. 
 
 Stretching along the coast and far into the 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 interior of the country, there was a very ex- 
 tensive district of wild moorland, which ran 
 up to within about ten miles from Silverton. 
 Sill Moor, as this tract of land is called, 
 was — and is still in a smaller degree — a pe- 
 culiar district in many respects ; and the few 
 small villages, which are scattered at great 
 distances from each other over its wide sur- 
 face, are inhabited or were so forty years ago, 
 by a peculiar and singularly wild population. 
 In one of those moor villages, about fifteen 
 miles from Silverton, which it will be neces- 
 sary hereafter to speak of more at length, 
 there was a somewhat better house than most 
 of the others around it. In that house there 
 lived an old widowed man, whose name was 
 Jared Mallory, and who was, and for many 
 years had been, the clerk of the neighboring 
 ancient church, which was the parish church 
 of an immense district of moorland. The 
 village was called Chewton-in-the-Moor ; and 
 the living was held by Dr. Lindisfarn with 
 his Canonry. And in Jared ^lallory's lone 
 house lived with him Barbara Mallory, his 
 daughter. And there was no girl in Silver- 
 ton, or in all the country-side, so beautiful as 
 Barbara IMallory, the wild moor-flower. And 
 on that fatal morning of Julian's flight, he 
 did not make straight for the fishing village 
 on the coast at which he embarked, but went 
 round by Chewton-in-the-Moor. And there 
 in the gray moor mist, a little before the dawn, 
 under the shelter of one of the huge gray 
 boulder-stones that stud the moor, there was 
 one of those partings that leave a scar upon 
 the heart which no after-time can heal. And 
 beautiful Barbara I\Iallory, as she clung half 
 frantically with one arm to the man, whom 
 the fear at his heels was compelling to tear 
 himself away from her, pressed a child six 
 months old to her breast with the other. But 
 though she was a mother, the villagers still 
 called her Bab Mallory. And the desolation 
 in that lone moorland house was even worse 
 than the desolation in the childless house in 
 the Close. 
 
 No more was heard in Silverton of Julian 
 Lindisfarn for three years after the date of 
 his flight. Then came-a report of his death, 
 vague and unaccompanied by any particulars ; 
 but referring to persons and places, which en- 
 abled an agent sent out to America by his 
 family, to ascertain the following facts. Af- 
 ter having been about a twelvemonth in the 
 United States, he passed into Canada, and 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 19 
 
 there, it appeared, became associated with a 
 small band of independent adventurers, some 
 twenty in number, bound on a journey into 
 the fur regions of the far north-west. The 
 party made, it seemed, one tolerably fortunate 
 journey, and returned for a second venture i,n 
 the following year. But having been sur- 
 prised one night in their camp, on the fur- 
 ther side of the Rocky Mountains, by a small 
 band of marauding Indians, not much exceed- 
 ing their own in number, they had had to en- 
 gage in a desperate struggle in which several 
 of both parties were slain. Among these was 
 Julian Lindisfarn. Of course as large mate- 
 rial interests depended on the fact of his death, 
 it was desirable that the evidence of it should 
 be satisfactory. And that which the agent, 
 who had been sent to America for the pur- 
 pose, was enabled to obtain, was perfectly so. 
 He had spoken with, and brought back with 
 him the authenticated testimony of three sur- 
 
 vivors of the fray with the Indians, who had 
 seen him slain by them. 
 
 These facts became known to his family in 
 1817. The unfortunate young man must 
 have been about four-and-tvventy at the time 
 of his death. This was the event that so ma- 
 terially changed, as has been remarked, the 
 state of things at Lindisfarn Chase. Mr. Oli- 
 ver Lindisfarn's twin daughters became the 
 coheiresses of Lindisfarn. 
 
 It cannot be supposed that under the cir- 
 cumstances, Julian Lindisfarn's death should 
 have been felt to be otherwise than a fortunate 
 event by most of the members of his family. 
 The Silverton public naturally felt, and said, 
 that it was the best thing that could have 
 happened in every point of view. Some ad- 
 ditional tears wetted poor Lady Sempronia'a 
 pillow. But it was in the lone house in the 
 moor that Julian Lindisfarn's death caused 
 the sharpest pang. 
 
20 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 THE FAMILY AT THE CHASE. 
 
 In consequence of the circumstances of the 
 family history narrated in the preceding chap- 
 ter, jSIargaret Lindisfarn was about to return 
 to the home of her ancestors in the recognized 
 position of co-heiress to the family estates, — 
 a sufSciently brilliant destiny, considering 
 that the property Avas a good and well-paid 
 four thousand a year, unencumbered by mort- 
 gage, debt, or other claims of any sort. Had 
 those circumstances not occurred, — had Ju- 
 lian Lindisfarn been still living, — jMargaret's 
 position, instead of being a brighter one than 
 that of her sister, as it had appeared to be at 
 the time when she had been adopted by the 
 De Rennevilles, and Kate had only her god- 
 mother's sis thousand pounds to look to, 
 would have now been a far less splendid one. 
 For shortly l)efore the time at which she was 
 returning from Paris to Silverton, all the 
 magnificent De Rennevillc prospects had sud- 
 denly made themselves wings and flown away. 
 
 The large fortune of the Baron de Ilenne- 
 ville had been, like that of many another 
 Fi-enchman bearing a name indicative of for- 
 mer territorial greatness, entirely a financial 
 and not a territorial one. And that inca- 
 pacity for leaving well alone, which is gener- 
 ated by the habitual excitement of a life spent 
 in speculation, and which has wrecked so 
 many a colossal fabric of commercial great- 
 ness, was fatal to that of M. de Rcnneville. 
 A series of unfortunate operations on the 
 Paris Bourse had ended by leaving him an 
 utterly ruined man. And there was an end 
 of all expectations from Margaret's Parisian 
 relatives. 
 
 Of course the shock of this calamity was 
 very diiferently felt from what it would have 
 been, had it occurred during the lifetime of 
 Julian Lindisfarn. It was very materially 
 modified to the young lady herself, and doubt- 
 less also to the kind relatives who had stood 
 in the position of parents to her from her in- 
 fancy, by the knowledge that there was a very 
 substantial English inheritance to fall back 
 on, now that the more splendid but less se- 
 cure French visions had faded away. Never- 
 theless, the calamity had been felt very dis- 
 tinctly to be a calamity by Jlargaret. In the 
 first place, she was, of course, laudably grieved 
 to he obliged to part with those who had been 
 as parents to her. In the next place, she very 
 naturally looked forward with anything but 
 
 pleasure to a migration from Paris to Silver- 
 ton, and from the home of an adoptive father 
 and mother, whom she knew, to that of a real 
 father of whom she knew nothing. And in 
 the third place, she estimated with very prac- 
 tical accuracy the difference between an heir- 
 ess-ship to some six or seven thousand a year, 
 and an heiress-ship to two thousand only. 
 For someliow or other it happens, that this 
 is a point on which the most beautifully 
 candide French girls are generally found to 
 possess a singularly sound and business-like 
 knowledge. "We are all aware how cautiously 
 and scrupulously the French system of edu- 
 cating demoiselles comme ilfaut labors to fence 
 in the enow-like mental purity of its pupils 
 from all such contact or acquaintance with 
 the world as might involve the slightest risk 
 of producing a thought or a sentiment which 
 might by possibility lead to something calcu- 
 lated to blemish the perfection of that inge- 
 nuite, which is so eloquently expressed by 
 every well-schooled feature of these carefully 
 trained and jealously guarded maidens. Nev- 
 ertheless, a due appreciation of the intimate 
 connection between cash and social position 
 is not among the tabooed subjects of any 
 French female schoolroom, whether it be 
 under the paternal roof or that of some Sacre 
 Caeur, or other such first-rate conventual es- 
 tablishment. 
 
 For various reasons, therefore, it was a 
 black day for poor jNlargaret when she had 
 to leave her Parisian home for an exile an 
 fond du province, as she expressed it, in foggy 
 England. " At the bottom of the province," 
 Silverton certainly was, if the top of it is to 
 be supposed to be the part nearest London. 
 Cut the Silvertonians had no notion that the 
 "sun yoked his horses so fur from" their 
 western city as to justify the sort of idea 
 which Margaret had formed to herself of its 
 remoteness. And least of all had the warm 
 hearts who on that bright September after- 
 noon were expecting the arrival of the recov- 
 ered daughter of the house at Lindisfarn 
 Chase the remotest idea that the home to 
 which they were eager to welcome her was 
 other than on the whole about the happiest 
 and most highly favored spot of earth's sur- 
 face. 
 
 Kate was, as Lady Farnleigh had promised 
 her she should be, in very good time to join 
 the assembled members of the family before 
 the hour at which Margaret was expected. 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 Tlicy were all in the long low tlrawing-vooiu, 
 lined with white panelling somewhat yellow 
 with years, and gilt mouldings, the four win- 
 dows of which looked out on the terrace in 
 front of the house. It was very evident, at a 
 glance, that something out of the ordinary 
 routine of the family life was about to take 
 place. None of those there assembled would 
 have been in the room at that hour in the 
 ordinary course of things. And there was 
 an unmistakajile air of expectancy, and even 
 of a certain degree of nervousness, about them 
 all. Tlie old squire had caused an immense 
 fire to he made in the ample grate ; and was 
 very evidently suffering from the effects of it. 
 It was a beautifully warm afternoon ; but 
 the squire had an idea that his daughter was 
 coming from a southern clime where it was 
 always very hot, — and besides, the making 
 of a big fire seemed to his imagination to be 
 in some sort symbolical of welcome. He was 
 walking up and down the long room, looking 
 out of the windows, as he passed them, wip- 
 ing his massive broad forehead and florid face 
 with his silk handkerchief, and consulting his 
 watch every two minutes. He was dressed in 
 a blue coat with metal buttons, yellow ker- 
 seymere waistcoat, drab breeches, top-boots, 
 and a white neckcloth. His head was bald 
 in front, and the long locks of silver hair 
 hung over his coat-collar behind. It is worth 
 while to specify these particulars of his toi- 
 let, for he never appeared otherwise before 
 dinner. 
 
 " I am glad you are come, Kate ; I began 
 to think you would have been late ! And I 
 should not have been pleased at that. I sup- 
 pose her ladyship would not come in to- 
 Jay?" 
 
 " No. She thought she had better not to- 
 uay ; I took good care about the time. It's 
 iiot near two yet."' 
 
 " It wants thirteen minutes," said the 
 squire, again looking at his watch : " she can 
 hardly be here before two. Go and listen if 
 you can hear wheels, Mat ; you have an ear 
 like a hare. " 
 
 The "Mat" thus addressed was to every 
 other human being in Sillshire, from the Earl 
 of Silverton at Sillhead Park to the hostlers 
 at the Lindisfarn Arms, Mr. Mat. It would 
 have altogether discomposed him to address 
 him as Mr. Matthew Lindisfarn ; but he 
 would not have liked anybody save the 
 squire to call him plain "Mat." He was 
 
 21 
 
 ^Ir. Mat ; and only recognized himself under 
 that name and title. Mr. Mat was a second 
 cousin of the squire ; and had been received 
 into the house by the squire's father, when 
 he had been left an orphan at twelve years 
 old, wholly unprovided for. Since that time 
 he had lived, boy and man, at LindisRirn 
 Chase ; and was considered by himself and l)y 
 everybody else, as much and as inseparably 
 a part of the place as the old elms and the 
 rooks in them. He was about ten years the 
 squire's junior, that is to say he was about 
 fifty at the time of which I am speaking. 
 Mr. Mat, looked at from one point of view, 
 was a very good-for-nothing sort of fellow ; 
 but looked at from another, he was good for 
 a great many things, and by no means value- 
 less in his place in the world. He was es- 
 sentially good-for-nothing at the prime and 
 generally absolutely paramount business of 
 earning his own living. If kind fate had not 
 popped him into the special niche which 
 suited him so well, he must have starved or 
 lived in the poorhouse. He was perfectly 
 well fitted, as far as knowledge went, to be 
 a game-keeper, and a first-rate one. But he 
 never would have kept to his duties. The 
 very fact that they ivcre his duties, and the 
 means of earning his bread, would have made 
 them distasteful to him. Not that Mr. Mat 
 was a lazy, or in some sort even an idle, man. 
 He was capable of great exertion upon occa- 
 sions. But then the occasions must be ir- 
 regular ones. His good qualities again were 
 many . He was the best farrier and veterinary 
 surgeon in the country side though totallv 
 without any science on the subject. He had 
 a fine bass voice, a good ear, and sung a good 
 song, or took a part in a glee in a first-rate 
 style. He was a main support, accordingly, 
 of the Silverton Glee-club, of which the Rev. 
 Minor Canon Thorburn was president. But 
 unlike that reverend votary of Apollo, Mr. 
 Mat, though he liked his glass, was as sober 
 as a judge. Mr. Mat, though perfectly able 
 to speak quite correct and unprovincial Eng- 
 lish, when he saw fit to do so, was apt to af- 
 fect the Sillshire dialect, to a certain degree ; 
 and if there chanced to be any person present 
 whom Mr. !Mat suspected of finery or Lon- 
 don-bred airs, he was sure to infuse a double 
 dose of his beloved provincial Doric into his 
 speech. He had a special grudge against 
 any Sillshire man whom he suspected of being 
 ashamed of his own country dialect. And 
 
22 
 
 Freddy Falconer was the object of his strong 
 dislike mainly on this ground ; and the butt 
 of many a shaft from Mr. Mat purposely 
 aimed at this weakness. Often and often 
 when Mr. Fred was doing the superfine, es- 
 pecially before ladies or Londoners, jMr. Mat 
 would come across him with a " We Zillshire 
 volk, muster Vreddy ! " to that elegant young 
 gentleman's intense disgust. There was ac- 
 cordingly but little love lost between him 
 and Mr. Mat. And upon one occasion Freddy 
 had attempted to come over jMr. Mat by doing 
 the distant and dignified, and calling him 
 Mr. Matthew Lindisfarn ; but he brought 
 down upon himself such a roasting on every 
 occasion when he and Mr. Mat met for the 
 next month afterwards that he was fain not 
 to repeat the offence. Kate, who was a prime 
 flxvorite with Mr. Mat, and who could hardly 
 do wrong in his eyes, had once ventured to 
 remonstrate with him on these provincial 
 proclivities, upon which he had at once 
 avowed and justified his partiality. 
 
 "To think, "he said, " of a Lindisfarn lass" 
 — (he always spoke of the young ladies of the 
 family, whether of the present or of former 
 generations, as Lindisfarn lasses;) — "to 
 think of a Lindisfai-n lass having no ear vor 
 Zillshire ! Vor my part, I zem to taste all the 
 pleasant time I've known, Zillshire man and 
 boy for vivty years in the zound of it, and I 
 du love it. I zem it's so homely and friendly- 
 like. And, Miss Kate, yew du love it your- 
 self, yew don't talk like their vulgar London 
 minced-up gibberish." 
 
 Mr. Mat in appearance was a great con- 
 trast to the squire. He was a shorter and 
 smaller man, though by no means undersized. 
 The squire was six feet one, and broad in pro- 
 portion. Mr. Mat's head was as black as the 
 squire's was white, and whereas the latter 
 allowed his silver locks to fall almost on his 
 shoulders, I\Ir. Mat cropped his coal-black 
 hair so short that it stood up bristling like a 
 scrubbing-brush. lie had a specially bright 
 black eye under a large and bushy black eye- 
 brow ; a remarkably brilliant set of regular 
 teeth ; and would probably have been a de- 
 cidedly good-looking man, if he had not been 
 deeply marked with the small-pox. As it 
 was, it must be admitted that Mr. Mat was 
 far from good-looking. Yet there was a min- 
 gled shrewdness and kindly good-humor in 
 his face that made it decidedly an agreeable 
 one to those who knew him : and few ever 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 found Mr. Mat's ugliness repulsive after a 
 week's acquaintance. His dress, like that of 
 the squire, never varied. Before dinner he 
 always wore a green coat with metal buttons, 
 bearing on them a fox's head, or some such 
 adornment, a scarlet cloth waistcoat, a col- 
 ored neckerchief, drab breeches and long buff 
 leather gaiters. At dinner, Mr. Mat always 
 appeared in black coat and trousers, white 
 waistcoat and neck-cloth ; and, curiously 
 enough, — unless Fred Falcone? led him spe- 
 cially into temptation, — with perfectly cor- 
 rect and unprovincial English. 
 
 There was one other member of the family 
 party present, who, though the reader has 
 already heard of her, merits being presented 
 to him a little more formally. This was Miss 
 Imogene Lindisfarn. She was, to a yet greater 
 degree than Mr. Mat, an inseparable part and 
 parcel of the Lindisfarn establishment. She 
 was, at the time in question, in her seventy- 
 eighth year, and was the squire's aunt. As 
 long as he could recollect, — and much longer, 
 therefore, than anybody else about the place, 
 except old Brian Wyvill, the keeper, a brother 
 of the verger at the cathedral, could recollect 
 — Miss Imogene had kept the keys, made the 
 tea for breakfast, and superintended the fe- 
 male part of the establishment. She was 
 rather short, and still hale, active, and as 
 upright as a ramrod. She always wore a 
 rich lavender-colored silk dress, which as she 
 walked rustled an accompaniment to the pit- 
 a-pat of her high-heeled shoes. A spotless 
 white crape cap, and equally spotless cambric 
 handkerchief, pinned cornerwise over her 
 shoulders, completed her attire. A very slight 
 touch of palsy gave a little vibratory motion 
 to her head, which seemed, when she was 
 laying down the law, as on domestic matters 
 she was rather apt to do, to impart a sort of 
 defiant expression to her bearing. She never 
 appeared without a little basket full of keys 
 in her hand, and the perpetual never-changed 
 volume of Clarissa Harlow, already mentioned, 
 She was the only member of the fiimily who 
 addressed the squire as " Mr. Lindisfarn." 
 Mr. Mat always called him " squire ; " and 
 Kate, somewhat irreverently, but to her fa- 
 ther's great delight, was wont to call him 
 " Noll." As for Miss Imogene, she had 
 never been called anything but " IMiss Immy " 
 by any human being for the last sixty years. 
 
 ]Miss Immy had cake and wine, and a most 
 delicately cut plate of sandwiches, on a tray 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE 
 
 nci\r at hand, prepared ready to be adminis- 
 tered to the traveller on the instant of licr ar- 
 rival. She had also a reserve of tea and ex- 
 quisite Sillshire cream, in case that kind of 
 refreshment should be preferred ; and she had 
 thrice, in the last quarter of an hour, ascer- 
 tained b}^ personal inspection that the kettle 
 was boiling, ^liss Immy had meditated much | 
 on the question what kind of refection would | 
 probably be most in accordance with the j 
 habits of the Parisian-bred stranger ; and she ; 
 had brought all that she could remember 
 to have ever heard on the subject of French 
 modes of life to bear on the subject. But ' 
 soupc maigre and frogs were the only things 
 that had presented themselves to her mind as ' 
 adapted by any special propriety for the oc- 
 casion, and as both these were for different i 
 reasons out of her reach, she had been forced j 
 to fall back on English ideas. But she was j 
 not without uncomfortable misgivings that 
 very possibly the foreign-bred young lady 
 might have requirements of some wholly un- 
 expected and unimagined kind. 
 
 It was evident, indeed, that they were all 
 a little nervous in their different ways ; and 
 very naturally so. Mr. Mat was least troub- 
 led by any feeling of the kind ; being saved 
 from it by the entirety of his conviction that 
 no human being could do otherwise than bet- 
 ter their condition and increase their happi- 
 nes8» by coming from any other part of the 
 world to Sillshire. 
 
 At length , Mr. Mat cried, " Hark ! There 
 is the carriage ! Yes, there it is. They've 
 just passed the lodge." And a,ll of them 
 hurried out to the porch in the centre of the 
 terrace in front of the house, where they were 
 juined by three or four fine dogs, all proving 
 their participation in the excitement of the 
 moment by barking vociferously. Old Brian 
 Wyvill, the octogenarian keeper, came hob- 
 bling up after them. Mr. Banting, the old 
 butler, followed by a couple of rustics still 
 struggling with the scarcely completed oper- 
 ation of getting their arms into their old-fash- 
 ioned liveries, came running out at the door. 
 Coachman and groom had gone with the car- 
 riage to meet Miss Margaret at Silverton, and 
 were now coming up the drive from the lodge. 
 The female portion of the establishment had 
 assembled just inside the hall-door, grouping 
 themselves in attitudes which suggested a 
 strong contest in their minds between curios- 
 ity and fear, and readiness to take to flight 
 
 23 
 
 at the shortest notice, on tlie first appearance 
 of danger. 
 
 Crunch went the gravel ! Pit-a-pat went 
 most of the hearts there at a somewhat accel- 
 erated pace ! The dogs barked more furiously 
 than ever. The rooks began flying in circles 
 around their ancient city up in the elm-clump 
 on the left side of the house, and holding a 
 very tumultuous meeting to inquire into the 
 nature of the unusual circumstances taking 
 place beneath them. The squire hallooed to 
 the dogs to be quiet, in a great mellow, mu- 
 sical voice, producing a larger volume of sound 
 than all the rest of the noises put together. 
 The peacocks on the wall of the garden be- 
 hind the elm-clump, stimulated by emulation, 
 screamed their utmost. And in the midst of 
 all this uproar, Thomas Tibbs, the coachman, 
 pulled up his horses exactly at the door, with 
 a profound consciousness that Pans could do 
 no better in that department at all events. 
 
 chapter v. 
 Margaret's first day at home. 
 
 Ix the next instant, half a dozen eager hands 
 had pulled open the carriage-door ; and an 
 exceedingly elegant and admirably dressed fig- 
 ure sprang from it, and with one bound, as 
 it seemed, executed with such marvellous skill 
 that the process involved no awkward move- 
 ment, and no derangement of the elegant cos- 
 tume, threw itself on its knees at the feet of 
 the astonished squire. 
 
 "Monpere/" cried Miss Margaret, in an 
 accent so admirably fitted for the occasion 
 that it seemed to include an exhaustive expo- 
 sition of all the sentiments that a jeune per- 
 sonne hien elevee might, could, should, would, 
 and ought to feel on returning after long ab- 
 sence to the parental roof. 
 
 Her attitude was admirable. The heavy 
 folds of her rich silk dress fell down behind, 
 sloping out on the stone step as artistically as 
 if they had been arranged by skilful hands 
 after her position had been assumed. Her 
 clasped hands were raised toward the squire's 
 face with an expression that would have ar- 
 rested the fall of the axe in the hands of an 
 executioner. And her upturned head showed 
 to all present a very beautiful face, in which 
 the most striking feature, as it was then seen, 
 was a magnificent pair of large, dark, liquid 
 eyes. 
 
 " My dear child ! " cried the squire in a 
 stentorian voice, that made tlie fair girl at 
 
24 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 his feet start just a little — (but she recovered 
 herself instantly) — " My dear child ! Glad 
 to see thee ! Welcome to Lindisfarn. Wel- 
 come home, lass ! " he continued, evidently 
 desirous of getting her up, if possible, but 
 much puzzled about the proper Avay of han- 
 dling her, if indeed there were any proper 
 way. 
 
 "ilfow pere .' " reiterated his daughter, with 
 a yet more heart-rending filial intonation on 
 the word. 
 
 Old Brian Wyvill was affected by it (like 
 the audience recorded as having been melted 
 to tears by a great tragedian's pronunciation 
 of the word " Mesopotamia "), and drew the 
 back of his rough hand across his eyes. The 
 lady's-maid whispered to the housekeeper 
 that it was " beautiful ! " But Miss Immy, 
 greatly startled, trotted up to the still kneel- 
 ing young lady, with that peculiar little 
 short-stepping amble of hers, holding a bot- 
 tle of salts in her tremulous hand, which she 
 poked under Margaret's nose, saying, as she 
 did so, "Poor thing, the journey! It has 
 been too much for her ! " 
 
 INIargaret winked and caught her breath, 
 and the tears came into her fine eyes. Hu- 
 man nature could not have done less, with 
 Miss Immy's salts under her nose ; but she 
 did not belie her training, and showed herself 
 equal to the occasion. 
 
 '■-De (jrace, inadame!" she said, putting 
 aside ]\Iiss Immy's bottle with one exquisitely 
 gloved hand. " It is my father I see ! " she 
 added, with a very slight foreign accent. 
 
 " To be zure. Miss Margy ! " struck in Mr. 
 Mat. " To be zure it's your vather ! And 
 he wouldn' t hurt ye on ony account. Don't 
 you be afraid of the squire. He has no more 
 vice in him than a lamb ! " 
 
 "Don't be a fool, Mat! My girl afraid 
 of me ! " shouted the squire. 
 
 "My opinion is, the lass is frighted ! *' re- 
 turned Mr. Mat, in an undertone to the 
 squire, looking at Margaret shrewdly as he 
 spoke, with the sort of observant look with 
 which he would have examined a sick ani- 
 mal. "Mayhap," he continued in the same 
 aside tone, "it's the dogs. I'll take 'cm 
 off." 
 
 " I'm right glad to hear you speak Eng- 
 lish, and speak it very well too, my dear. I 
 was beginning to be afraid you could speak 
 nothing but French," said the squire. 
 
 " Oh, yes, sir," said his daughter. She 
 
 had now risen to her feet, rather disappointed 
 that her father had not raised her from the 
 ground, and pressed her to his bosom, as he 
 probably would have done if he had not been 
 too much afraid of injuring her toilet, — " Oh, 
 yes, sir, thanks to my kind instructors, I have 
 cultivated my native language." * 
 
 " That's a comfort," said the squire ; " for 
 1 am ashamed to say that I have cultivated 
 no other ! But Kate there, and Lady Farn- 
 leigh, will talk to you in French as long as 
 you like." 
 
 Upon this, Kate, who had hitherto hung 
 back, looking on the scene which has been 
 described with a sort of dismayed suri^rise, 
 that had the effect of making her feel all of 
 a sudden shy toward her sister, came for- 
 ward, and putting her ann round INIargaret's 
 waist, gave her a kiss, saying as she did so, 
 " Shall we go in, dear? You must be tired. 
 And Miss Immy will not be contented till 
 you have had something to eat and drink." 
 
 "AfascEwr.'" exclaimed the new-comer; 
 again compressing into that -word a whole 
 homily for the benefit of the bystanders on 
 all the beauty and sanctity of that sweet re- 
 lationship, and returning Kate's kiss first 
 on one cheek and then on the other. 
 
 And then they all went into the drawing- 
 room, the two sisters walking with their 
 arms round each other's waists. 
 
 They wei-e singularly alike, and yet sin- 
 gularly contrasted, those twin Lindisfarn 
 lasses, — to use Mr. Mat's mode of speech. 
 Kate was a little the taller of the two ; a 
 very little ; but till one saw the sisters side 
 by side, as they were then walking across the 
 hall to the drawing-room, the difference of 
 height in Kate's favor might have been sup- 
 posed to be greater than it really was. Both 
 had a magnificent abundance of that dark, 
 chestnut hair, the rich brown gloss of which 
 really does imitate the color of a ripe horse- 
 chestnut fresh from its husk. But Kate 
 wore hers in large heavy curls on either side 
 of her face and neck, while Margaret's was 
 arranged in exquisitely neat liands bound 
 closely round the small and classically shaped 
 head. Both had fine eyes ; but with respect 
 to that diiEeultly described feature, it was 
 much less easy to say in what the two sisters 
 differed, and in what they were alike, than 
 in the more simple matter of the hair. At 
 first sight one was inclined to say that the 
 eyes were totally different in the two. Then 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE 
 
 a closer examination convinced the observer 
 that in both girls they were large, well- 
 opened, and marked by that specially limpid 
 appeararice which suggests the same idea of 
 great depth which is given by an unruffled 
 and perfectly pellucid pool of still water. In 
 both girls tlioy were of that beautiful brown 
 color, which is so frequently found in con- 
 junction with the above-noted appearance. 
 And yet, notwithstanding all these points of 
 similarity, the eyes of the two sisters, — or 
 perhaps it would be ipore accurate to say the 
 expression of them, — were remarkably differ- 
 ent. Those who saw them both, when no 
 particular emotion was affecting the expres- 
 sion of their features, would have said that 
 ^Margaret's eyes were the more tender and 
 loving. But those who knew Kate well 
 would have said, " Wait till the eyes have 
 some special message of tenderness from the 
 heart, and ^/«n look at them." Kate's eyes 
 were the more mobile and changeful in ex- 
 pression ; Margaret's, the more languishing. 
 Tiicie was perhaps moi-e of intellect in the 
 furmcr, more of sentiment in the latter. In 
 complexion the difference was most complete 
 and decided. Kate's complexion was a brill- 
 iant one. Though the skin was as perfectly 
 transparent as the purest crystal, and even 
 the most transient emotion betrayed itself in 
 the heightened or diminished color of the 
 cheek, its own proper hue was of a somewhat 
 richer tint than that of the hedge-rose. The 
 whole of Margaret's face, on the contrary, 
 was perfectly pale. The skin was of that 
 beautiful satiny testui-e, and alabaster-like 
 purity of white, which is felt by many men 
 to bo more beautiful than any the most ex- 
 quisite coloring. Perhaps this absolute ab- 
 sence of color helped to impart to the eyes 
 of ^Margaret Lindisfarn that peculiar depth 
 and languishing appearance of tenderness 
 which so remarkably characterized them. 
 Both girls had specially beautiful and slen- 
 der iigures ; but that of Kate had more of 
 elasticity and vigor ; that of her sister more 
 of lithe yieldingness and flexibility. Both 
 had long, slender, gracefully-formed hands; 
 but those of Margaret were the whiter and 
 more satiny of the two. Both had in equal per- 
 fection the beauty of ankle, instep, and foot, 
 which insures a clean, race-horse like action 
 and graceful gait. Yet the carriage of the 
 two sisters was as remarkably different as i 
 anything about them. Kate's every step ex- 1 
 
 pressed decision, energy, vigor, elasticity, — 
 frankness, if one may predicate such a qual- 
 ity of a step. Margaret's gait, on the con- i 
 trary, seemed perfectly adapted to express I 
 timidity, languor, and graceful softness in its 
 every movement. On the whole, the differ- 
 ences between the two sisters would l)c what 
 would first strike a stranger on seeing them j 
 for the first time. The points of similarity ! 
 between them would be noted afterward, or 
 might never be discovered at all unless by the 
 intelligent eye of some particularly inter- 
 ested or habitually accurate observer. 
 
 And then the somewhat up-hill process of 
 making acquaintance with the stranger had 
 to be gone through. And Margaret did not 
 appear to be one of those who are gifted with 
 the special tact and facilities which make j 
 
 such processes rapid and easy. The cake and 
 wine were administered. Miss Immy standing 
 over the patient the while, with one hand on 
 her hip, filled to overflowing with the kind- i 
 
 liest thoughts and intentions, but having very I 
 
 much the air of a severe hospital nurse en- 
 forcing some very disagreeable discipline. 
 But Miss JMargaret nibbled a morsel of cake, 
 and having put into a tumbler of water just 
 enough wine to slightly color it, she sipped 
 a little of the uninviting mixture. 
 
 " Bless me, my dear ! " cried the old lady, 
 whose speech was, like that of most of her con- 
 temporaries in a similar rank of life at that 
 period, tinctured with a very unmistakable 
 flavor of provincialism, " Du let me pit a lit- 
 tle drop more wine into your glass ; zems to 
 me, it aint fit drink for cither man or beast 
 in that fashion." 
 
 '■'■ Mcrci, madamc! Thank you! I always 
 water my wine so much. I am used to it." 
 said Margaret. 
 
 " Well, if you are used to it, my dear ; but 
 to my mind it seems like spoiling teio good 
 things. Better drink clean water than wa- 
 ter bewitched that fashion ! The Lindisfarn 
 water is celebrated." 
 
 '• It is very good, thank you, madame." 
 
 " Are they well off for water in Paris? " 
 asked the squire, catching at the subject in 
 his difficulty of finding anything to say to his 
 new daughter. 
 
 "Oh, we had always exquisite water, sir ; " 
 replied Margaret with more of warmth in her 
 tone than she Iiad yet put into it. " Madame 
 de R-rwenneviPle " (this strange orthography 
 is intended, however inadequately, to repre- I 
 
26 
 
 sent the most perfectly csecuted Parisian 
 (jrasscyement) — "Madame de R-rwenneville 
 •was always very particular about the filtering 
 of the water." 
 
 " Filtering ! " cried Mr. Mat in a tone of 
 the profoundest contempt. " You can't make 
 bad water into good by filtering, filter as much 
 as you will. We'll do better than that for 
 you here, Miss Margy ! " 
 
 " I'm very particular about my filtering too, 
 my dear ; " said Mr. Lindisfarn ; "the Sill 
 shire gravel does it for me. There's my fil 
 tering machine up above the house there, all 
 covered over with forest trees for ornament 
 And the squire laughed at his conceit, a huge 
 but not unmusical laugh, which set every 
 panel in the wainscoting on the wall vibrat- 
 ing. 
 
 Margaret opened her fine eyes to their ut- 
 most extent, and gazed on her father with as- 
 tonishment, very near akin to dismay. 
 
 " We had very fine forest trees at Paris," 
 she said, after a little pause, " in the garden 
 of the Tuileries and the Champs Elysees." 
 
 " Ah ! I am longing for you to tell me all 
 about Paris," said Kate ; " I should so like 
 to see it. And all about aunt, and poor M. 
 do Renneville. It is very sad. We shall 
 never get to the end of all we have to say to 
 each other ! " 
 
 " Well ! I shall go and beat the turnips in 
 the copse-side twelve acres," said the squire, 
 rising. " Come along. Mat. Call the dogs. 
 Good-by till dinner-time, my dear ; Miss 
 Immy and Kate are longing to show you all 
 the old place. You Avill soon feel yourself at 
 home among us. But I dare say it will seem 
 dull at first after Paris." 
 
 And 60 saying, the squire and Mr. Mat left 
 the room. 
 
 " Now, Miss Immy," said Kate, " I shall 
 take possession of Margaret till dinner-time. 
 I'm sure you must have a thousand things 
 to do ; and I mean to have her all to myself." 
 
 " Good-by, dears ; I'm all behind-hand to- 
 day. Phoebe brought in the morning's eggs 
 hours ago ; and I have not had time to mark 
 'em yet. Kate will show you your room, 
 !Margy dear. I hope you will find all to your 
 liking. But it's to be thought that our Sill- 
 shire ways may be dificrent to your French 
 fashion ; but if there is anything we can get, 
 you've only to speak. I did go into Silverton 
 myself yesterday, to see if I could find any 
 French-fashioned things. But I could only 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 find a bit of Paris soap at Piper's, the perfum- 
 er's. I got that. You will find it in your 
 room, dear." 
 
 And so Miss Imjny bustled off on her avo- 
 cations, leaving the two sisters together. 
 
 " Don't let us stay here," said Kate ; 
 " come up-stairs and see your room and mine. 
 They are close together, with a door between 
 them. Is not that charning? That is the 
 door of the library," she continued, as they 
 crossed the hall ; " we must not go in now." 
 
 " Is it kept locked? " said Margaret. 
 
 "Good gracious, no! Locked! What 
 should it be locked for? " rejoined Kate with 
 much surprise. 
 
 " I thought it might be, as you said we 
 must not go in. Besides, if it is left open, Ave 
 might get at the books, you know ; all sorts 
 of books. Not that I should ever dream of 
 doing anything so wrong, of course." 
 
 " Get at the books ! Why, Margy dear, 
 what are books made for, but to be got at? 
 I get at them, I can tell you ! " 
 
 " Oh, Kate ! I have never been used to do 
 anything without the knowledge of my dear 
 aunt. What would papa think of you, if he 
 found you out? " 
 
 " Good heavens, IMargaret, what are you 
 dreaming of? " cried Kate, in extreme aston- 
 ishment , and coloring up at some of the unpleas- 
 ant ideas her sister had called up in her mind. 
 " Found me out ! found me out in using the 
 books in the library ! I don't understand you. 
 I used to be afraid sometimes, some ten years 
 ago, of being found out in not using them ! " 
 
 " But you said we must not go in," re- 
 joined Margaret. 
 
 " Because if we once went in, it would 
 take up all the time till dinner ; because I 
 want to take you up-stairs first. There are 
 so many things to show you. The library 
 must wait till to-morrow morning." 
 
 " We will ask papa, at dinner-time, if I 
 may go there." 
 
 " Ask papa! Why, Noll will think you 
 crazy." 
 
 " And pray who is Noll? " asked her sis- 
 ter. 
 
 " Noll ! why, papa" to be sure ! Don't you 
 know the name of your own father, Oliver 
 Lindisfarn, Esquire, of Lindisfarn Chase? 
 But that is too long for every-day use ; so I 
 call him Noll for short." 
 
 ' Oh, my sister ! Respect for our parents 
 I have always been taught to consider one of 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 27 
 
 for Paris, but wc arc in Sillfihirc here, and 
 have other ways. You'll soon get used to 
 us. See, (Icai-, this is your room ! " 
 
 It was a charming room, with one large 
 bow-window looking out on the trim and 
 covering between her sister and herself, and j pretty, thorigh rather old-fashioned, garden, 
 the long path which would have to be tray- on the cast side of the house, 
 cllcd over by one or other of them before "Oh, what an immense room!" cried 
 she and her sister could meet in that sisterly Margai'et. " This my chamber ! Why one 
 lion of mind and heart which she had been might give a ball in it. It must be very 
 
 our most sacred duties. What would papa 
 say, if he loiew that you Cidlcd him Noll? " 
 
 Kate stared at her sister in absolutely 
 speechless astoniishmcnt and dismay ; — dismay 
 at the wide gulf which she seemed to be dis- 
 
 looking forward to with such pleasurable an- 
 ticipation ; — and speechlessness from the dif- 
 ficulty she felt in choosing at which point, of 
 all those suggested by Margaret's last speech, 
 she should begin her explanations. 
 
 " •(/ r'^p^ were to hear me ! " she said at 
 length ; " why he never hears anything else. 
 It's as natural to him to hear me say Noll, 
 as to hear the rooks in the rookery say ' caw !' 
 I never do anything, — we none of us here 
 do anything, that the others don't know 
 of." (Here Margaret shot a glance half 
 shrewdly observant and half knowingly con- 
 fidential at her sister ; but withdrew her 
 eyes in the next instant.) "But perhaps 
 things may be different in France," contin- 
 ued Kate, endeavoring to make the unknown 
 quantity of this difference accountable for all 
 tliat she found peipicxing and strange to her 
 in the manifestations of her sister's modes of 
 thinking; "but you will soon get used to 
 our ways, dearest; and to begin with, you 
 must take to calling papa Noll at once. He 
 is such a dear, darling old Noll ! " 
 
 " I ! I could never, never dare to do such 
 a thing. Beside, do you know, Kate," con- 
 tinued Margaret, with no little solemnity in 
 her manner, " I think, indeed I am almost 
 sure, that Madame de R-rwenneville would 
 say that it was vul(/ar to do so." 
 
 " Oh ! then of course we must give it up," 
 said Kate. She could not resist at the mo- 
 ment the temptation of so far resenting the 
 impertinence involved in her sister's remark ; 
 but she repented of the implied sneer in the 
 next moment. But she need hardly have 
 taken herself to task, for Margaret replied 
 with all gravity, — 
 
 , " I think indeed that it would be better to 
 do so, my sister! " 
 
 " Nonsense ! you're joking, Margy dear. I 
 would not call darling old Noll by any other 
 
 cold. 
 
 " If you find it so, you shall have a fire; 
 but I hardly think you will, our Sillshire 
 climate is so mild, — much milder than Lon- 
 don. See, this is my room ; just such another 
 as yours, with the same look out on the gar- 
 den. I hardly ever have a fire. Used you 
 to have one in your bedroom in Paris? " 
 
 " No ; but tiien my chamber was a small 
 one, not a third the size of this ; and very 
 well closed, — very pretty, — a love of a little 
 chamber." 
 
 " I like a large room," said Kate, a little 
 disappointed at the small measure of appro- 
 bation the accommodation — which she had 
 flattered herself was perfect, and which was 
 in fact all that any lady could possibly de- 
 sire — elicited from her Parisian-bred sister. 
 
 " See, here are all my books, and my Avrit- 
 ing-table. I keep my drawing-tablj and all 
 my drawing things on this side becam-eof the 
 light ; and that leaves plenty of room for the 
 toilet-table in front here. I should never 
 have room for all these things in a small 
 room." 
 
 " It seems very nice, certainly. Are you 
 allowed to have a light at night ? " 
 
 "Why — how do you mean, dear? We 
 don't go to bed in the dark ! " 
 
 " But I mean, are you allowed to keep 
 your candle as long as you like? " 
 
 " Of course 1 keep it till I go to bed! 
 Don't you do so too? " 
 
 " But if you are as long as you like abou t go- 
 ing to bed, you may do anything you please^ — 
 read any books you like, after they arc all in 
 bed and asleep. But I suppose,'" added she 
 thoughtfully, " that the old woman down- 
 stairs sees how much candle you have burned." 
 
 " What strange notions you have, Marga- 
 ret," said Kate, almost sadly, as she began 
 to perceive that the distance that separated 
 
 name, and he would not have me call him • her from her sister was greater than she had 
 by any other name, for all the world. What at first seen it to be. " I om as long as ever 
 Madame de Renneville says may be very right 1 1 like about going to bed— which generally 
 
28 
 
 is as short as I can make it ; — and I do read 
 any books I like after they are all in bed and 
 asleep ; — or rather I wish I did, and should 
 do so, were it not that I am always a great 
 deal too sleepy myself. Are you good at 
 •keeping awake? I wish I was! And as to 
 the old woman down-stairs, as you call her, 
 that is Miss Immy ; and I don't think she 
 looks much after the candle-ends ; — tliough it 
 must be, by the way, about the only thing 
 that she don't look after, for she looks after 
 evei-ything. Dear Miss Immy ! I don't know 
 what Noll and I should do without Miss Immy. 
 And you must learn to love her as much as 
 we do." 
 
 " Who is she? Your gouvcrnante, I sup- 
 pose. What a queer name, Miss Immy ! " 
 
 " Miss Immy, Margy dear, is Miss Imogene 
 Lindisfarn, the sister of our grandfather, 
 Oliver Lindisfarn, and therefore our father's 
 aunt. She has lived at the Chase all her life, 
 and nothing would go on without her." 
 
 ' ' AV hat a strange old woman she seems ! 
 I don't think she likes me by the way she 
 spoke to me. And who is that extraordinary 
 looking man, who looked at me as if I had 
 been some strange thing out of the Jardin des 
 Plantes?^' 
 
 "The extraordinary looking man," said 
 Kate, laughing heartily, " is Matthew Lin- 
 disfarn, Esquire, commonly called Mr. Mat ; 
 a cousin of Noll's, also inseparable from and 
 very necessary to the Chase. We could not 
 get on without Mr. Mat. You will see him 
 looking rather less extraordinary at dinner 
 presently. And you will very soon get to 
 like him too, as well as Miss Immy." 
 
 " Is he a gentleman? " asked the stranger. 
 
 "Margaret!" cried Kate, and her eyes 
 flashed and her color mounted to her cheeks 
 as she spoke, " did I not tell you that his 
 name is Lindisfarn? Ask Lady Farnleigh, 
 or the dean, or old Brian Wyvill, or Dick 
 Cox, the ploughboy, whether he is a gentle- 
 man. But as I said before," she continued, 
 putting her arm round her sister's waist and 
 kissing her cheek, "you must get to know 
 us all and our ways, and then you will un- 
 derstand it all better, and come to be one of 
 us. Of course it must all be very different 
 from life at Paris, and all very strange to 
 you." 
 
 " Oh, so different ! " said Margaret. 
 
 " And then there will be so many other 
 people for you to know and to like ;— Uncle 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 Theophilus and Lady Sempronia ; — and first 
 and foremost my own dai-ling Lady Farnleigh. 
 And then I must introduce you to all our 
 beaux ! We have some very presentable ones, 
 I assure you. And we shall have such lots 
 to do. And now we must be thinking of 
 dressing for dinner. You have to unpack your 
 things." 
 
 " Are there people coming to dine here to- 
 day ? " asked Margaret. 
 
 " No, nobody. There will not be a soul 
 but ourselves," replied Kate. 
 
 " But must we dress then?" asked her 
 sister ; " why should we do so? " 
 
 "Oh, we always dress for dinner ; — that is, 
 put on an evening dress, you know. Noll 
 likes it. I think I had better ring for Sim- 
 mons. She is our maid between us two, you 
 know. If you don't like setting to work to 
 unpack, now, — and we should hardly have 
 time before dinner, — I can lend you any- 
 thing." 
 
 And so a partial unpacking was done ; and 
 amid perpetual running to and fro betAveen 
 the two bedrooms by the door of commu- 
 nication ; — repeated declarations that they 
 should not be dressed in time for dinner, and 
 warnings from Simmons to the same effect, 
 followed by fresh interruptions for admii-a- 
 tion, criticism, and comparison, the dressing 
 was at last done, and the two girls hurried 
 down the great staircase, just as the last bell 
 was ringing, leaving both their rooms strewed 
 with a chaos of feminine properties, which 
 Simmons declared it would be a week's work 
 to reduce to order. 
 
 Of course during the entirety of the couple 
 of hours thus del; :;htfully spent by the two 
 sisters, the tonguco of both of them were run- 
 ning a well-contested race ; but it is hardly 
 to be expected that a masculine pen should 
 undertake to report even any disjecta membra 
 of such a conversation. Simmons, however, 
 though her tongue was not altogether idle, 
 employed her eyes and ears the while with 
 more activity. And a brief statement of her 
 report, as made that evening to the assembled 
 areopagus in the servants' hall, may perhaps 
 afford the judicious reader as much insight 
 into the character of the newly arrived Miss 
 Lindisfarn as could be drawn from a more 
 detailed account of the enormous mass of 
 chatter that had passed between the two 
 girls. 
 
 !Miss Simmons then announced it as her 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE, 
 
 opinion tliat Miss ^largnrct Avas " a deep 
 one." " 'Twerc plain enough to see," she 
 added, " that her maxim was, ' AV^hat's yours 
 is mine; and what's mine's my own.' " 
 
 " Anyways she's a dewtifiil daater ! " said 
 old Brian AVyvill ; " I never zeed in all my 
 life — and that's not zaying a little — any- 
 thing so bewtiful as when she were a zuppli- 
 cating the squoire like on the stone steps. 
 'Tvvere as good as any play ; and I've zced a 
 many of 'em in my time." 
 
 " For my part," said rosy Betty house- 
 maid, " I don't like the color of her ! " 
 
 " I tell you all," rejoined Simmons, speak- 
 ing withtheauthority of a somewhat superior 
 position, " slie is no more tu be compared tu 
 our Miss Kate than Lindisfarn church is tu 
 the cathedral of Silverton." 
 
 " 'Twould be very um-easonable, and very 
 unfair on her to expect she should be," 
 said Mr. Banting ; " Miss Kate's Lindisfarn 
 bred!" 
 
 " Ay," said the cook, " and Lindisfarn fed ! 
 What can you expect from poor creatures 
 that live on bread-and-water supc, and vrogs, 
 with a bit of cabbage on Zundays ? " 
 
 The self-evident truth of this proposition 
 was recognized by a chorus of " Ay, in- 
 deed ! " 
 
 " She's a sweet pretty lass, anyway," said 
 Thomas Tibbs, ths coachman ; "'' and .she were 
 Lindisfarn born, if she weren't Lindisfarn 
 bred. And there's a deal in blood." 
 
 "Ay! there be," said Dick Wyvill, the 
 groom, a son of old Brian. " But pretty 
 much depends on the way they are broke." 
 
 Meanwhile the dinner in the parlor had 
 passed a little heavily. Notwithstanding the 
 near relationship of the new-comer, all the 
 party were conscious of a certain slight de- 
 gree of restraint. ^Miss Immy was nervously 
 afraid that her domestic arrangements might 
 fail in some way or other to satisfy the re- 
 quirements and tastes of her Parisian niece. 
 She had held a long consultation with the 
 cook respecting the production of some sam- 
 ple of presumed French cookery ; and no 
 pains had been spared in the preparation of 
 a squat-looking lump of imperfectly baked 
 dough, which appeared on the table under 
 the appellation of a vol-au-vcnt. And Miss 
 Lamy was rather disappointed, though at 
 the same time re-assured and comforted as to 
 the future, when Miss Margaret, utterly de- 
 clieing to try the vol-au-vcnt, made an excel- 
 
 29 
 
 lent dinner on a slice of roast-beef, only re- 
 questing her papa to cut it from the most 
 underdone part, and rather shocking all pres- 
 ent by observing that she " loved it bleed- 
 ing." 
 
 Hannah, the cook, gave the untouched vol- 
 au-vent entire to Dick, the ploughboy, and 
 drew the most favorable auguries as to Mar- 
 garet's rapid physical, moral, and intellectual 
 improvement, when she heard of the manner 
 in which that young lady had preferred to 
 dine. 
 
 Nevertheless, the dinner, as has been said, 
 passed rather heavily. The squire himself 
 was not without anxiety as to the possibility 
 of making his Parisian-bred daughter com- 
 fortable, happy, and contented with all at 
 Lindisfarn. And Mr. Mat was tormented by 
 suspicions that the new membet of the fam- 
 ily might turn out to be "fine," and that 
 Paris airs might be even worse than London 
 ones. And Margaret herself was laboring 
 under the influence of that undefinable sense 
 of uneasiness which the Italians well call 
 " subjection." She had that unpleasant feel- 
 ing toward Mr. Mat which arises from the 
 consciousness of having greatly erred in one's 
 estimate of the social position of anybody, 
 and perhaps, for aught one can tell, mani- 
 fested one's mistake. It would have given 
 me a very favorable opinion of the young 
 lady's gentle breeding, if she liad at once dis- 
 covered that Mr. Mat, as seen in his green 
 coat and buff gaiters, was to all intents and 
 purposes a gentleman. But it would be liard 
 to blame her too severely for having mistaken 
 him for a gamekeeper. As to her father, she 
 seemed to feel more strongly than ever the 
 utter impossibility of calling him " Noll." 
 It appeared to her that she had never seen so 
 striking an impersonation of aristocratic and 
 respect-compelling dignity ; and she was not 
 ftir wrong. 
 
 The evening, too, passed slowly ; and at a 
 very early hour it was voted ncm. con. that 
 the traveller must be tired, and must be 
 wanting to go to bed. But there was one 
 matter which had already given Margaret 
 much pain two or three times during this her 
 first afternoon in her father's house ; and 
 when, as they were all taking their candle- 
 sticks to go to bed, an opportunity occurred 
 of adverting to the subject, she was deter- 
 mined to attempt a remedy for the evil while 
 it might yet be not incurable. 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 30 
 
 " Good-night, Margy, my darling, and God 
 bless thee! " said her father, putting one 
 hand fondly on her head, and kissing her on 
 the forehead. 
 
 " Good-night, Miss Margy. If you over- 
 sleep yourself, I'll give you a rouse in the 
 morning with the dogs under your vpindow," 
 said Mr. ]Mat. 
 
 " Good-night, Margy dear. I trust your 
 bed and all will be as you like it, and that 
 you will sleep well," said Miss Immy. 
 
 And, " Come along, Margy dear ! We 
 sha'n't get to bed before we have had some 
 more talk, I'll be bound," said Kate. 
 
 The utterers of all these kindly " good- 
 nights " had little notion that they were in- 
 flicting so many stabs in the heart of the 
 object of them. But so it was ; and the re- 
 iterated blows were more than she eould 
 bear. Was her migration au fond du 'pro- 
 vince to involve a transformation of herself 
 into a dairymaid, that she should be called 
 "Margy"? It was too odious. It would 
 be "Meg" next! She could not bear it. 
 And then before strangers too : they would 
 no doubt do the same ! Before des jeunes 
 gens ! She should sink into the earth. So, 
 while the tears gathered in her fine eyes, — 
 " tears from the depth of some divine de- 
 spair," — she looked round on the blank faces 
 of the little circle gathered about her, and 
 clasping her hands in an attitude of unex- 
 ceptionable elegance, exclaimed in tones of 
 the most touching entreaty, — 
 
 " Oh ! call me Marrguerrwite ; not that 
 horrid name. My father ! my sister ! dear 
 friends! call me Marrguerrwite ! " she said, 
 uttering the word in a manner wholly unat- 
 tainable by insulaa- organs. 
 
 The little party looked at each other in 
 blank dismay, while the suppliant continued 
 to hold her hands clasped in a sort of circular 
 appeal. 
 
 " My love," said the squire, " you shall be 
 called any Avay you like best. Let it be !Mar- 
 garet ; but I'll be shot if I can say it as you 
 do, not if 'twas to save my life." 
 
 " To my thinking, ' Margy ' is quite a pretty 
 name," said Mr. Mat, more confirmed than 
 ever in his suspicions of latent " finery." 
 
 " But, sissy darling," said Kate, laughing 
 and putting her arm caressingly round her 
 sister's waist, " I am as bad as Noll. I could 
 not say the name as you say it, not if I were 
 to put a hot chestnut in my mouth every time ! 
 
 But I'll never say ' Margy ' again. Let me 
 say Margaret! " 
 
 " I think that people ought to be called as 
 they like best," said Miss loimy. " I've been 
 called Miss Immy nearly fourscore years ; 
 and I should not like to be called anything 
 else. So I shall always call her ' Margy 
 sweet,' since that is what she likes best ! " 
 
 And Miss Immy toddled off, holding her 
 flat candlestick at arm's length in front of 
 her, and shaking her head in a manner that 
 seemed to be intended to express the most ir- 
 revocable determination. 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 WALTER ELLINGnAM. 
 
 Lady Farnleigh had asked Kate, as the 
 reader may possibly remember, to be sure to 
 ride over to Wanstrow not later than the next 
 day but one alter the arrival of her sister. 
 But on the morrow of the evening spoken of 
 in the last chapter, Kate heard her godmoth- 
 er's cheery ringing voice in the hall, asking 
 for her befoi-e she had left her bedroom. 
 
 She was just about doing so, and hurrying 
 down-stairs to be in time to tell the servants 
 not to ring the I)reakfast-bell ; for her sister 
 was still sleeping and she would not have her 
 wakened, when she found Lady Farnleigh in 
 the hall in her riding-habit. 
 
 " What, Kate turned sluggard! you too? 
 We shall have the larks lying abed till the 
 sun has aired the world for them next. I 
 doubted whether 1 should be in time for break- 
 fast ; has the bell rung ? " 
 
 " No. And I want to prevent them from 
 ringing it this morning. Margaret is still 
 fast asleep, and I wont let her be waked. 
 She had a very fatiguing journey of it, you 
 know." 
 
 " But it's past nine o'clock, child. Our 
 new sister must have a finely cultivated tal- 
 ent for sleeping. You were not late, I sup- 
 pose? " 
 
 " To tell you the truth, we were rather 
 late, — that is, she and I were. Wc had so 
 much to talk of to each other, you know. 
 How good of you to ride over this morning, 
 you good fairy of a godmamma ! " 
 
 " And like the fairies I get the bloom of 
 the day for my pains. Such a ride ! It is 
 the loveliest morning." 
 
 " I must send to tell Noll and tlie others 
 that there is to be no bell this morning, or 
 else they'll be waiting for it. And then we'll 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 31 
 
 go to breakfast. You must be ready for 
 yours.'- 
 
 " Slia'n't be sorry to get it. I bad no 
 thought of riding over to-day, you know ; but 
 last night I made up my miud to do so, for a 
 whole eliapter of reasons." 
 
 " Of wiiich any one would have been suffi' 
 cient, I should hope." 
 
 " Nevertheless, you shall have them all. 
 In the first place, 1 could not restrain my im- 
 patient curiosity to see what our new sister is 
 like. In the next place, I thought that per- 
 haps she might ride over with you to-morrow. 
 And in that case, it would be more scion Ics 
 convinanccs — and wc must be upon our P's 
 and Q's with our visitor from Paris, you 
 know — that I should call first upon her. It 
 is not the usual hour for a morning call, it is 
 true ; but no doubt she will consider that the 
 mode du fays.'''' 
 
 " She will consider that you are the kindest 
 and best of fairy godmothers ! " 
 
 " But I am no godmother of hers, you 
 know, fairy or mortal. But you have not 
 heard all my reasons for coming yet ; I am 
 come to ask permission to introduce to you 
 an old and valued friend." 
 
 "You are joking! As if there was any 
 need of your asking permission to bring any- 
 body here! " 
 
 " Nevertheless, I choose upon this occasion 
 to ask permission; — your father's, at all 
 events, Miss Kate, even if I am to take yours 
 as a matter of course." 
 
 " As if Noll would not be just as much sur- 
 prised at your asking as I can be ! " 
 
 "Nevertheless, I say again, I choose in 
 this case to let you all know who and what 
 the person is that I propose to bring to you, 
 before I do so." 
 
 " Is he something so very terrible then? " 
 
 " I had not said that it was a ' he ' at all, 
 Miss Kate. However, you are right. It is 
 a ' he '. And as for the tcrribleness of him, 
 that you must judge for yourself. I have 
 told you that it is one in whom I am greatly 
 interested." 
 
 " x\nd surely that makes all other infor- 
 mation on the subject unnecessary." 
 
 "Thanks, Kate, for thinking so. But I 
 don't think so. Did you ever hear of Lord 
 EUingham?" 
 
 " I have seen the name in the debates in 
 the House of Lords ; but that is all." 
 
 " Lord Ellingham has been a widower many 
 
 years ; and it is a h)ng time since I have seen 
 him. But his wife was the dearest friend I 
 ever had — not dearer, perhaps, than your 
 mother, Kate ; but at all events an older 
 friend. She was the friend of my girlhood, 
 and I lost her bcfoi*e I came to live in this 
 part of the country. She left her husband 
 with four young sons. The gentleman I pur- 
 pose asking your father's permission to bring 
 here is the third of these. Lord Ellingham, 
 I should tell you, is very for from being a 
 wealthy man, — and his third son is a very 
 poor one, pretty nearly as dependent on his 
 own exertions for his daily bread as any one 
 of your father's laborers. You see, therefore, 
 that my friend, Walter Ellingham, is by no 
 means what match-making mammas call an 
 ' eligible ' young man. He has not been 
 found eligible for much either, poor fellow, 
 by his masters, my Lords of the Admiralty. 
 Ilis father is a leading member of the Oppo- 
 sition, — though of course that can have noth- 
 ing to do with it. The foct is, however, that, 
 at thirty years of age, Walter Ellingham — 
 ' honorable ' though he be— is but a lieuten- 
 ant in His Majesty's navy ; and thinks him- 
 self fortunate in having obtained the com- 
 mand of a revenue cutter, stationed on our 
 coast here. I found a letter when I got home 
 yesterday evening, telling me all about it. 
 He hopes to be able to come up to Wanstrow 
 the day after to-morrow ; and as I dare say 
 we shall frequently see him during the time 
 he is stationed here, I purpose bringing him 
 over to you. And that is the third reason 
 for my morning ride." 
 
 " But you haven't said a word, you myste- 
 rious foiry godmother, to explain why you 
 thought it necessary to ask a special per- 
 mission to make us this present. Of course 
 you will send him up to Lindisfarn in a 
 pumpkin drawn by eight white mice, with a 
 grasshopper for coachman. And I do hope 
 he'll have a very tall feather in his cap ! " 
 
 " Suffice it that in the plenitude of my 
 fairy wisdom I did choose to ask permission 
 before starting the pumpkin. As for the 
 feather in his cap, I have little doubt that 
 it will come in due time. It is some years 
 since I have seen Walter, but from my re- 
 membrance of him, I should be inclined to 
 prefer some other trade to that of a smuggler 
 on the Sillshire coast just at present. But 
 what about this breakfast, Kate? " 
 
 " I must go and lojak after Miss Immy. 
 
32 
 
 The event of yesterday has put us all out of 
 our usual clockwork order, I think. I dare 
 say Miss Immy is deep in speculation as to 
 the modes and times at which French people 
 get up and get their breakfasts.'" 
 
 " I shall go and speak to the squire by my- 
 self; I suppose I shall find him in the study?" 
 
 " Yes, do. And tell him he may come to 
 breakfast without waiting for the bell this 
 morning." 
 
 So Lady Farnleigh made her way to the 
 sanctum which country gentlemen will per- 
 sist in calling their " study," for the purpose 
 of having five minutes' conversation with the 
 squire, on the subject which was uppermost 
 in her mind, in a rather graver tone than 
 that which she had used in speaking to Kate ; 
 and the latter went to discover the cause of 
 such an unprecedented event as the non-ap- 
 pearance of Miss Immy in the breakfast-room 
 exactly as the clock over the stables struck 
 nine. 
 
 It was very nearly a quarter past that hour, 
 when the family party, Avith the exception of 
 the new-comer, met in the breakfast-room. 
 
 " Why, Miss Immy ! it's near quarter past 
 nine, as I am a living man! " cried the squire. 
 " We shall begin to think that you are get- 
 ting old, if you break rules in this wa}' ! " 
 
 " Not so old by a quarter of an hour as you 
 make me out, Mr. Lindisfarn ! " said Miss 
 Immy, rattling the teacups about. " The 
 clock is ever so much too fast." 
 
 " I dare say the sun got up a little before 
 his time vrhen he saw it was such a lovely 
 morning." 
 
 " You know I am always in the room by 
 nine o'clock, Mr. Lindisfarn," reiterated 
 Miss Immy, who would have gone to the 
 stake rather than admit that she was late. 
 
 " Always ! It shall be always nine o'clock 
 ■when you come into the breakfast-room ; as 
 it's always one o'clock in Pai-son !Mayford's 
 parish out on the moor when the parson is 
 hungry. The clerk sets the church clock 
 every day by his Reverence's appetite ; and 
 they say there's no parish in the moor keeps 
 Buch good time." 
 
 " I think I must get !Mr. Mayfoi-d to come 
 and stay with me while at Wanstrow," said 
 Lady Farnleigh, " for our AYanstrow clocks 
 are always at sixes and sevens." 
 
 " Ah ! but the Wanstrow air is not so keen 
 as it is on the moor. Parson's appetite would 
 be slower in getting its edge ; and your lady- 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 ship would be half an hour behind time at 
 least," said Mr. Mat. 
 
 " 1 should get you to calculate the differ- 
 ence, and work out the mean time accord- 
 ingly, Mr. Mat ; will you be my astrono- 
 mer? " 
 
 " You mean gastronomer, godmamma ! 
 That would be more what would be needed 
 for the business in hand," said Kate. 
 
 " I wonder when Margy will be down. No, 
 I mustn't say that," cried the squire, correct- 
 ing himself. " Poor lass, I wouldn't vex her 
 for the world." 
 
 " Vex her ! What should vex her? " in- 
 quired Lady Farnleigli. 
 
 " She don't like being called Margy," ex- 
 plained Kate; "we quite annoyed her, all 
 of us, by calling her Margy. She has been 
 used to be called Marguerite. And I am 
 afraid I hurt her last night by laughing at 
 her French pronunciation of it — which was 
 very silly of me. But we put it all right 
 afterward." 
 
 " And you were half the night in doing it, 
 I'll bet a wager," said the squire; ''and 
 that's why she can't get up this morning." 
 
 " Yes, we were rather late. Just think 
 how much we have to talk about !" said Kate. 
 
 " And no time except last night to do it 
 in," laughed the squire. 
 
 " And she must be tired after her journey, 
 poor lass," said Mr. Mat. 
 
 " I dare say she is stirring by this time," 
 said Kate ; " I will go and look for her." 
 
 " I am going into Silverton ; has anybody 
 any commands?" said Mr. Mat. 
 
 " Of course you will call in the Close, and 
 tell them she is come. Say that we shall come 
 in to-morrow," answered Kate. 
 
 " I'll take the dogs and go with you as far 
 as the brook," said the squire. 
 
 So the gentlemen took themselves off ; Miss 
 Immy toddled off to her usual domestic avo- 
 cations, and Lady Farnleigh was left alone in 
 the breakfast-room, while Kate ran up-stairs 
 to look for her sister. 
 
 In a very few minutes she returned, bring- 
 ing down Miss Margaret with her into the 
 breakfast-room, where she was presented in 
 due form to Lady Farnleigh. Margaret exe- 
 cuted a courtesy, with proper eyeiid manege 
 to match, to which Mr. Turveydrop, or any 
 other equally competent master of " deport- 
 ment," would have awarded a crown of lau- 
 rel on the snot. 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 "You Jiavc bad plenty of ■Rarm-licarted 
 welcoming to Lindisfarn ; but you must let 
 me say welcome to Sillshirc, ^lavgueritc ; for 
 ' we Zillisliire volk,' as Mr. Mat loves to say, 
 look upon Sillshire as a common possession, 
 of which wc arc all uncommonly proud." 
 
 " It is a nice country ; I am sure of it, 
 madamc, — my lady," said Margaret, correct- 
 ing herself and blushing painfully. 
 
 "Oh, you must not ' my lady ' me ; Kate 
 here, calls me all sorts of names, — very bad 
 ones, sometimes ! " said Lady Farnleigh, with 
 mock gravity. 
 
 Margaret threw her fine eyes, eloquent 
 with surprised and sorrowful reproachfulness, 
 on her sister. 
 
 " But then," continued Lady Farnleigh, as 
 she shot, on her side, a glance of shrewd ob- 
 servation on ^largaret, " Kate has a sad habit 
 of calliiig names." 
 
 " Madame de Renneville strictly forbade 
 me ever to do such a thing," rejoined Marga- 
 ret ; " she always said that there was noth- 
 ing more vulgar. ' ' 
 
 " "\Ye must send Kate to the school where 
 ' them as learns manners pays twopence ex- 
 tra,' — and pay the twopence for her," said 
 Lady Farnleigh, with a queer look at Kate, 
 while Margaret opened her magnificent large 
 eyes to their utmost extent, in utterly mysti- 
 fied astonishment. 
 
 " But however we call one another," con- 
 tinued Lady Farnleigh, changing her tone, 
 "we must learn, my dear Miss Lindisfarn, 
 to be very great friends ; for your poor dear 
 mother loved me, and I loved her very dearly. 
 Love between you and me is a matter of in- 
 heritance." 
 
 ' ' You are very good , madame. I never had 
 the happiness to know my sainted mother," 
 said Margaret, with a sigh, the profundity of 
 which was measured with the most skilful ac- 
 curacy to the exact requirement of the nicest 
 propriety on the occasion. 
 
 ' ' Here comes some hot cofiee for you , ^lar- 
 garet dear," said Kate. " We all take tea ; 
 but Miss Immy thought that you probably 
 took cofiee ; and here is some of our famous 
 Sillshire cream. Now what will you have to 
 eat ? A fresh egg, warranted under Jliss Ln- 
 my's own sign-manual to have been laid this 
 morning? See, there is the dear old soul's 
 mark ! If the egg were to be taken from the 
 nest to be put into the saucepan the next in- 
 stant, Miss Immy would insist on marking 
 
 3 
 
 33 
 
 it with the day of the month, before it was 
 boiled." 
 
 " Only a bit of bread, if you please," re- 
 plied the Parisian-bred girl. " And I should 
 like to have a little hot milk witL.my coffee, 
 if I might." 
 
 ' ' Instead of our Sillsh ire cream ? You shall 
 have what you like, darling ; but we must 
 keep it a clo§e secret. What will Sillshire 
 say?" 
 
 " I am afraid the cream is too rich. I al- 
 ways take cofiee and milk and a bit of bread ; 
 — nothing else." 
 
 " Ah ! Sillshire air will soon avenge your 
 neglect of our good things," said Lady Farn- 
 leigh. " Do you ride. Marguerite? " 
 
 " I have never been on a horse. Madame 
 de Benneville did not consider mounting on 
 horseback in all respects desirable." 
 
 Lady Farnleigh and Kate exchanged glances 
 involuntarily, and the former said, " I dare 
 say Madame de Renneville may have been 
 right, as regards Paris ; but you can under- 
 stand, my dear, that it is of course a very dif- 
 ferent thing here. Kate and I ride a great 
 deal ; and I hope you will ride with us. You 
 must learn at once. Mr. J\Iat will be an ex- 
 cellent riding-master for you." 
 
 " It would give me great pleasure to ride 
 with you. Lady Farnleigh," replied Marga- 
 ret, with just the slightest perceptible accent 
 on the " you ; " " but I am afraid I should 
 be very stupid at it." 
 
 " Oh, you would soon learn, with Mr. Mat 
 for your master," rejoined Kate. 
 
 " Kate was to have ridden over to see me 
 to-morrow," pursued Lady Farnleigh, " and 
 I hoped that you would have come with her ; 
 but now it seems you are to go into Silverton 
 to-morrow ; and the day after — has Kate told 
 you ? — I am going to bring an old friend of 
 mine to make acquaintance with you all 
 here." 
 
 " No, I have not told her yet," said Kate. 
 " An accession ta our rather limited assort- 
 ment of beaux, Margaret ! — Mr. — or Captain 
 should I say? " 
 
 " Captain, by courtesy," said Lady Farn- 
 leigh, " though that is not his real rank in 
 the navy. But he is called Captain — the 
 Ilonorable Captain Ellingham." 
 
 "The Honorable Captain Ellingham. Is 
 he the son of a lord, then? " asked jNIarga- 
 ret who seemed remarkably well versed in sucli 
 niceties of English social distinctions, for a 
 
34 LINDISFARN 
 
 young lady whose entire life bad been spent 
 m France. But it is to be presumed that 
 Madame de Renneville had given her person- 
 al care to that branch of her niece's educa- 
 tion. 
 
 " Yes, Walter Elliugham is the son of Lord 
 Ellingham ; but for all that he is a very poor 
 man, Margaret," replied Lady Farnleigh. 
 
 " Are lords ever poor? " asked Margaret, 
 with a surprised and somewhat disappointed 
 expression of face. 
 
 "Yes, my dear; a poor lord is unfortu- 
 nately a by no means unprecedented phenom- 
 enon," replied Lady Farnleigh. " And what 
 is stiil more lamentable, and still more to the 
 purpose, when a lord is poor, his third son is 
 apt to be still poorer." 
 
 "And the Honorable Captain Ellingham 
 is Lord Ellingham 's third son ? " asked Mar- 
 garet. 
 
 " Even so, " said Lady Farnleigh. 
 
 " Is the Mr. Falconer you were telling me 
 of last night, Kate, a poor man too ? " asked 
 Margaret, after a pause. 
 
 " I should think not," said Kate ; " I don't 
 know at all. I never remember to have heard 
 the subject alluded to. But he is old Mr. 
 Falconer's only child, and I should suppose 
 that he must be rich." 
 
 " Oh, yes ! there is no mistake about that 
 at all," said Lady Farnleigh ; " Mr. Falconer, 
 the banker, is well known to be a very ' warm ' 
 man, and if you are not English enough yet, 
 Margaret, my dear, to understand the mean- 
 ing of that phrase, you will at least have no 
 difficulty in comprehending what I mean when 
 I say that Mr. Freddy Falconer is an ex- 
 tremely desirable ^ parti. ^ You will find 
 that all the young ladies at Silverton, includ- 
 ing your sister," continued Lady Farnleigh, 
 with an archly malicious look at Kate, " con- 
 sider him such, and all the old ladies, too, 
 — except one." 
 
 ' ' You are always to pay implicit attention 
 to all Lady Farnleigh says, sister dear, when 
 she talks common sense," said Kate; " but 
 you are never to pay the slightest attention 
 to a word she utters when she has got her 
 nonsense-cap on. And if you are in any 
 doubt upon the subject, you have only to ask 
 me ; for I am her goddaughter, and know the 
 ways of her." 
 
 " That is calling me a fool, by implication ; 
 and you have been told, Kate, once this morn- 
 ing already, on the authority of Madame de 
 
 CHASE. 
 
 Renneville," said Lady Farnleigh grasseyant 
 in the most perfect Parisian style, " how vul- 
 gar it is to do so. But I am afraid you are 
 incorrigible. What can we do to improve 
 her manners, my dear? " 
 
 " I am sure I shall always be very happy," 
 began poor Margaret, dropping her eyelids, and 
 speaking with a sort of purring consciousness 
 of superiority. 
 
 But Kate, who, as she had very truly said, 
 knew the ways of her godmother, and per- 
 ceived with dismay that she was beginning 
 already to conceive a prejudice against Mar- 
 garet, hurried to rescue her from the damag- 
 ing and dangerous position which she saw 
 was being prepared for her. 
 
 " Now, you malicious fairy godmother, 
 don't be hypocritical. It was you who told 
 Margaret that I was in the habit of calling 
 you bad names. What could she think? 
 And her remark thereon was very natural. 
 Now I wont let you turn yourself all of a 
 sudden into the shape of a great white cat, 
 and hunt her, poor little mouse, all round 
 the room. I can see by the look of you that 
 that is what you're bent on." 
 
 " What would Madame de Renneville say to 
 that?" exclaimed Lady Farnleigh, turning 
 to Margaret with a look of appeal. 
 
 "Never mind Madame de Renneville" — 
 began Kate. 
 
 " Kate ! " cried Margaret, in atone deeply 
 laden with reproach, but skilfully modulated 
 so as to seem uttered more in sorrow than in 
 anger, and casting her eyes on her sister with 
 an appealing look of warning, reproof, and 
 tenderness combined. 
 
 And " Kate ! " re-echoed Lady Farnleigh, 
 in a similar tone, and with a similar look. 
 
 It became very evident to Kate's experi- 
 enced perception that her godmamma was 
 getting dangerous, and was bent on mischief. 
 But she was fully determined to prevent, or 
 at all events not to contribute to her sister's 
 becoming the victim of it. It was as much 
 as she could do to prevent herself from laugh- 
 ing at Lady Farnleigh's last bit of parody. 
 But biting her lips to preserve her gravity, 
 she continued, — 
 
 " What I wanted to say was, to ask on 
 what authority you include me among the 
 young ladies who are so enthusiastic on the 
 subject of Mr. Falconer's eligibility." 
 
 "Kate!" said her incorrigible ladyship 
 again, in the same accent and manner as be- 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 35 
 
 stables, and mount there; I want to show 
 Birdie to Margaret." 
 
 Birdie was a beautiful black mare, nearly 
 thorough -bred, which had been a present 
 from Lady Farnleigh to her goddaughter ; 
 and of all her treasures it was the one which 
 Kate valued the most, and was the most proud 
 of. A competent judge would have found a 
 long list of good points to admire in Birdie ; 
 but even the most unskilled eye could not fail 
 to be struck by the exceeding beauty of the 
 coat, glossier than satin ; by the fineness of 
 the skin, as evidenced by the great veins in 
 the neck showing through it ; by the dainty 
 elegance of the legs and pasterns ; and above 
 all, by the beauty of the small head, with its 
 eyes, as keen, Kate used to say, as a hawk's, 
 and as gentle as a dove's. 
 
 Margaret was accordingly much struck by 
 Birdie's beauty, as the groom walked her 
 about the stable-yard for the ladies to look 
 at. 
 
 " Oh, what a lovely creature! " she ex- 
 claimed ; " I do not wonder that you are 
 fond of riding on such a horse as that. But 
 it would be a very different thing to ride on any 
 one of these great clumsy-looking beasts. I 
 can never expect to have such a horse as that 
 to ride ! " lamented Margaret, as she very ac- 
 curately figured to herself the charming pic- 
 ture she would make, mounted in a becoming 
 amazon costume upon so showily beautiful a 
 steed. 
 
 " You shall ride Birdie, sister dear, and 
 welcome, as soon as you have made some lit- 
 tle progress under Mr. Mat's tuition ; but I 
 think you must begin with something a little 
 steadier ; for my darling Birdie, though she is 
 as gentle as a lamb, is apt to be a little lively, 
 the pretty creature." 
 
 " But I don't like the look of the something 
 steadier," pouted Margaret. 
 
 " Nevertheless, it is my advice, my dear," 
 said Lady Farnleigh, " that you do not at- 
 tempt to mount Birdie till jMr. Mat is ready 
 to give you a certificate of competency. Birdie 
 is not for every one's riding." 
 
 " But Kate can ride her," returned Marga- 
 ret, somewhat discontentedly. 
 
 "Ay! but Kate, let me tell you," said 
 
 Lady Farnleigh, " is about the best lady 
 
 leave you ; for of course you want to be alone | rider in the country. Good-by, girls. You 
 
 together. May I ask if Giles is there? " I must give me an early day at AYanstrow, my 
 
 " Yes. But come down with us to the i dear. When shall it be ? why not Wcdnee- 
 
 fore. But having been admonished by a look 
 ofentreaty from her goddaughter, administered 
 aside, which she perfectly well understood, 
 she said, — 
 
 " Why, do you not think bo? Does any- 
 body not think so ? Is he not very undenia- 
 bly an eligible ' parti ' ? Margaret very ju- 
 diciously asked, before making up her mind 
 on the subject, whether he, too, was as poor as 
 Walter Ellingham. But we, who are well 
 informed on that point can have no doubts on 
 the subject. Why, old Mr. Falconer must 
 be made of gold ; whereas my poor friend 
 Walter has but one bit of gold belonging to 
 him, to the best of my belief. There can be 
 no doubt, I think, which is the eligible and 
 which is the ineligible man. It is clear 
 enough ; is it not, Margaret? " 
 
 But Kate, who was very anxious that her 
 sister should not put her foot into the spring- 
 trap thus laid for her, but who nevertheless 
 feared, in a manner which she unquestionably 
 would not have feared a few hours ago, that 
 Margaret might, if left to herself, run a dan- 
 ger of doing so, once again hurried to the 
 rescue, by saying, — 
 
 " One bit of gold ! What can you mean, 
 you enigmatical fairy ? What is the one bit 
 of gold that Captain Ellingham possesses, 
 and how did he come by it ? " 
 
 " Really I do not know how he came by 
 it ; but I never knew him without it. He 
 always carries it inside his waistcoat." 
 
 " What, a gold watch? " asked Margaret, 
 innocently. 
 
 " To be sure, a gold watcb," replied Lady 
 Farnleigh ; " what in the world else of gold 
 could a man have thereabouts? How dull 
 you are, Kate, this morning !" 
 
 " I always am dull at riddles ; but we all 
 know that a man carries a heart inside his 
 waistcoat ; and I suppose that is the article 
 that your friend has of gold, as you say. I 
 see, at all events, that he is a favorite of yours, 
 godmamma." 
 
 "He is," said Lady Farnleigh, briefly; 
 " and you will all of you have an opportunity 
 of judging," she continued, " whether he de- 
 serves to be so ; for your father has very kindly 
 bidden me to bring him to dine here the day 
 after to-morrow. And now, girls, I shall ; 
 
36 
 
 day? I am to dine here on Friday, the day 
 after to-morrow. Will yoa say "Wednesday, 
 Kate? Make your father come, if you can. 
 If not, get Mr. Jlat to come over with you. 
 And come early." 
 
 " I do not think papa will come," said 
 Kate ; "but we shall be delighted. Sir. Mat 
 shall drive Margaret in the gig, and I will 
 ride." 
 
 " That's agreed then. Good-by." 
 
 " Now shall I show you the garden? " said 
 Kate, after the two girls had watched Lady 
 Farnleigh as she rode down toward the lodge 
 till she was out of sight. 
 
 " No, not now, I think. Let us go and 
 finish unpacking and putting away my things. 
 I have ever so many more things to show you. 
 And besides, I want you to tell me all about 
 this Mr. Falconer." 
 
 " The all is soon told," said Kate ; " but 
 first you tell me what you think of my god- 
 mother ; is she not a darling? " 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 " I hardly know whether I like her or not," 
 said Margaret. " I feel somehow not safe 
 with her ; and I can't quite make her out. 
 One thing was quite clear, that she was not 
 well pleased with your calling her a fairy, and 
 making fun of her in that way. Tell me," 
 added she, musingly, after a pause, during 
 which Kate had been pondering whether it 
 would be better to attempt making her sister 
 understand Lady Farnleigh a little better at 
 once, or to leave it to time to do so, — " tell 
 me whether the six thousand pounds that you 
 are to have from her — that is a hundred and 
 fifty thousand francs, is it not ? — are settled 
 on you, or only given you by her will? " 
 
 " I declare I don't know," returned Kate, 
 surprised; "I had never thought about it. 
 No doubt papa knows all about it. Why do 
 you ask? " 
 
 " Oh ! only that the one is certain, and the 
 other uncertain ; that is all," answered Mar- 
 garet . 
 
LliXDISFARN CHAS] 
 
 CHAPTEK Vir. 
 JMY "things." 
 
 So the two girls — the Lindisfarn lasses, as 
 Mr. Mat called them, the Lindisfarn co-heir- 
 esses, as they have been called in a preceding 
 chapter — returned to the house. It may be 
 as well, however, to explain before going any 
 further that they were not very accurately so 
 called. They were in no legal sense co-heir- 
 esses to the Lindisfarn property ; for the en- 
 tail Vi'cnt no further than the male heir of 
 Oliver, and, failing such, the male heir of 
 his brother. Failing male heirs of both of 
 these, the property was at the disposal of the 
 squire. But nobody had any doubt that his 
 two daughters would inherit the property, 
 as was natural, in equal proportions. Nev- 
 ertheless, it was in the squire's power to mod- 
 ify the disposition of it in any manner he 
 might think fit. The two girls, on Marga- 
 ret's proposition, as has been said, returned 
 to their rooms to complete the delightful 
 work of unpacking the Parisian sister's ward- 
 robe, which the dinner hour had compelled 
 them to leave in the midst on the previous 
 evening. 
 
 A rapid progress was made in the unpack- 
 ing ; but the " putting away," did not pro- 
 ceed with equal celerity. There was all the 
 difference that there is between destroying a 
 theory or system, and reconstructing it. 
 Pulling down, alas! is always quicker and 
 easier work than building up. And in the 
 present instance the more laborious and less 
 amusing task was laft to Simmons. Of course 
 Margaret had the most to show ; and then 
 her " things " were Parisian "things." Toi- 
 lettes and demi-toilettes, toilettes de bal, and 
 toilettes du bois, toilettes de matin, and toilettes 
 de soir ! A brilliant dioramic exhibition, il- 
 lustrated, and varied by interspe«-sed disqui- 
 sitions and explanations of the glories and 
 pleasures of the French metropolis. 
 
 Kate's wardrobe contained but one costume 
 which was not outshone by anything in its 
 own department belonging to that of her sis- 
 ter, and which attracted Margaret's special 
 interest and admiration, — her riding-habit 
 and its appendages. Nothing would satisfy 
 her but that Kate should put herself in com- 
 plete riding-dress ; and when she had done 
 so, jMargaret insisted on trying on the habit 
 herself. And then it appeared, and was 
 specially noted and pointed out by the Paris- 
 ian-bred girl, that her waist was a trifle slen- 
 
 37 
 
 dcrer than tliat of her sister ; which produced 
 from Miss Simmons the observation that there 
 was not more difference than there should be 
 for Miss Kate's somewhat superior height; 
 and the judicially pronounced declaration, 
 that " It have been considered. Miss ^largaret, 
 that Miss Kate's figure, specially a horseback, 
 is the perfectcst tiling as ever was seen ! " 
 
 "Don't talk nonsense, Simmons!" said 
 Kate ; " but just take two or three pins, and 
 see if you can pin up the habit so as to make 
 it fit Margaret's waist. There ! " she con- 
 tinued, as the handy servant accomplished 
 the task, " did anybody ever see a nicer fig- 
 ure for the saddle? Now the hat, Margaret. 
 Just the least in the world on one side. 
 That's it. Oh, you must ride. You do not 
 know how the dress becomes you ! " 
 
 " Yes, I think I look well in it ! " said 
 Margaret, admiring herself in a Psyche glass, 
 as she spoke. " And it would be better, you 
 know, in a habit made for me." 
 
 " And look, Margaret ; I must teach you 
 how to hold up your habit when you walk In 
 it. Look here ! You should gather it in 
 your right hand thus, so as to let it fall in 
 a graceful fold ; do you understand? " 
 
 "Oh, yes; that is very easy," said Mar- 
 garet, watking across the room, and catching 
 the mode of doing so gracefully with admi- 
 rable tact and readiness. " If the riding were 
 only as easy as that ! But Lady Farnleigh 
 showed a leetle more of her boot in walking. 
 I think one might venture just to let the in- 
 step be seen," she continued, putting out, 
 as she spoke, from under the heavy folds of 
 the habit a lovely little slender foot in its ex- 
 quisite Parisian brodequin. 
 
 " Oh, you are beyond me, already, Mar- 
 garet ! " cried Kate, laughing; "I never 
 dreamed of considering the matter so artisti- 
 cally. But certainly, it would be a pity to 
 hide that foot of yours more than need be. 
 Only, darling, that charming little French 
 boot would hardly be the thing for our Sill- 
 shire riding, let alone walking." 
 
 " I can't bear a thick boot," said IMarga- 
 ret. " And, Kate, don'tyou think that without 
 being trop hasarde, one might put the hat 
 just a soupcon more on the left side, — so? 
 There, that is charming ! How well the 
 black hat goes with the mat white of my 
 complexion ! Does it not, now? " 
 
 And in truth, the figure at which both the 
 girls, with Simmons behind them, were gaz- 
 
38 LINDISFAR 
 
 iug in the large Psyche was as attractive a 
 one as could well be imagined. 
 
 Just as they were thus engaged, having 
 let the day run away tiU it was near dinner- 
 time, there came a tremendous thump at the 
 door, which made Margaret jjmp as if she 
 had been struck, while it produced from Kate, 
 to her sister's no little dismay, a laughing, 
 "Come in, Noll! Come in, and see what 
 we are about ! " 
 
 And in the next instant, the squire, who 
 had just returned from his shooting, was 
 standing in the midst of all the varied dis- 
 play of finery which occupied every chair and 
 other piece of furniture in the room. 
 
 " Why, girls, you are holding a regular 
 rag-fair ! What, Margy — ret ! is that you? 
 1 am glad to see that riding toggery makes 
 part of your wardrobe. That is better luck 
 than I looked for. And upon my word, you 
 look very well in it — very well ! " 
 
 "It is my riding-habit, Noll ; Margaret 
 ■was only trying it on. Does it not become 
 her? She must get one without loss of time." 
 
 " Unluckily, 1 have never learned to ride, 
 papa," said Margaret. 
 
 " Oh, we shall soon teach you here, my 
 love. We'll make a horsewoman of you, 
 never fear ! I came up to tell you what I 
 have been doing, girls. I asked Lady Farn- 
 leigh, you know, to bring her friend. Captain 
 EUingham, to dinner on Friday. Well, I 
 thought it would be neighborly to introduce 
 him to some of the people at the same time. 
 So 1 have asked the Falconers, father and son. 
 I fell in with the old gentleman down at the 
 Ivy Bridge, looking to see if he could find any 
 traces of the graves of some soldiers of the 
 garrison of Silverton Castle, that he says 
 were buried there at the time of the civil 
 wars. And I told Mat to ask my brother 
 and sister-in-law. She wont come, of course. 
 Mat is not returned yet ; but we shall know 
 at dinner whether the doctor can come. 
 And as I was coming home by Upper Weston 
 Coppice I met Mr. Merriton, the new man at 
 the Friary, and asked him and his sister." 
 
 " W hy, we shall have quite a large party 
 Noll," said Kate. "Miss Immy will say 
 that she has not notice enough to make due 
 pi'eparations." 
 
 " Stuti'and nonsense ! What preparations 
 are needed, beyond having plenty of dinner? 
 I thought it a good opportunity to bring the 
 people together and make acquaintance with 
 
 N CHASE. 
 
 these new folks. They are friends of the 
 Falconers ; and he seems a very gentleman- 
 like sort of fellow." 
 
 The new people thus spoken of were the 
 owners, having quite recently become such — 
 or rather, Mr. Merriton was the owner — of 
 the small but exceedingly pretty and service- 
 ible estate and mansion called the Friary, at 
 Weston Friary. Arthur Merriton and his 
 ster Emily had been the wards of the head 
 of the firm who were jMeesrs. Falconer and 
 Fishbourne's London correspondents ; and 
 were the children of an English merchant, 
 settled for many years in Sicily, by an Italian 
 wife. They had been left orphans at an early 
 age; and had been, together with the very 
 considerable fortraae left by their father, un- 
 der the care of the London banker since that 
 time. It was only a year since Mr. Merriton 
 had come of age. His sister was two years 
 older, and they had recently come to live at 
 the Friary, the purchase of which had been 
 arranged and concluded on Mr. Merri ton's 
 behalf, by Mr. Falconer of Silverton. 
 
 " How many does that make altogether?" 
 asked Kate, intent on getting the subject into 
 fit shape for presentation to the mind of Miss 
 Immy. 
 
 " I have not counted noses," answered her 
 father ; "but it can't be such a large party 
 after all." 
 
 " Let us see. We are five at home, two 
 gentlemen and three ladies ; and Uncle The- 
 ophilus will make us up half a dozen, three 
 and three. Lady Farnleigh and Captain El- 
 lingham will make eight ; and Mr. Merriton 
 and his sister ten ; and the gentlemen and 
 ladies are still equal. But then come the 
 two JMr. Falconers, and make us seven gen- 
 tlemen to five ladies." 
 
 " And that will do very well. We shall 
 be four old fellows to three youngsters : I 
 and my brother, and Mat and old Falconer ; 
 and young Falconer, Merriton, who seems 
 little more than a lad, and Captain EUing- 
 ham." 
 
 " Lady Farnleigh did not seem to speak 
 of him as nearly so young a man," replied 
 Kate; "he will be half-way between you 
 seniors and the young men. She spoke of 
 him more as a friend of her own standing." 
 
 "Well, her own standing is nothing so 
 very venerable. But she mentioned the age 
 of this Captain Ellingham. He is thirty ; 
 and Freddy Falconer is, I know, seven-and- 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 twenty, 
 cnce." 
 
 " No, 
 fercncc. 
 look on 
 
 So there is no such great differ- 
 
 fiaid Kate ; " that is very little dif- 
 Only one has always been used to 
 Freddy Falconer in the liglit of a 
 young man, and a captain in Ilia Majesty's 
 Navy seems such a grave and staid sort of 
 personage." 
 
 " Well, we shall see. But I protest against 
 tlie mere count of years being considered to 
 decide the question whether a man is old or 
 not ; for if that be the case, you will be mak- 
 ing me out to be old myself, next ! Well, I 
 suppose it is pretty nearly time to go and 
 dress for dinner." 
 
 Margaret, who had been apparently occu- 
 pied during all this conversation between her 
 father and Kate, with trying the effect of 
 divers positions and modes of standing, as she 
 continued to admire the becomingness of the 
 riding-habit in the Psyche, had, nevertheless, 
 lost no word of what had passed. And when 
 the squire left the room, she was engaged in 
 meditating how far the words her sister had 
 used in speaking of Mr. Frederick Falconer 
 might l)e considered as corroboratory of the 
 half-jesting accusation Lady Farnleigh had 
 breught against Kate, of being included in 
 the number of those who were inclined to 
 consider that young gentleman as a very de- 
 sirable " jDar^i." 
 
 "Here, then," she said, when her father 
 was gone, " is another accession to your col- 
 lection of Silverton beaux, according to what 
 papa says. Have you ever seen this Mr. 
 Merriton, Kate?" 
 
 " No, never ; neither him, nor his sister. 
 Cut I had heard of them before. I fancy 
 they are nice people. They are quite new- 
 comers to Sdlshire, and know nobody here 
 but the Falconers." 
 
 " Do they live in Silverton ? " asked Mar- 
 garet. 
 
 " No, they have bought an estate at Wes- 
 ton Friary, — such a charming village down 
 in the valley at the end of the water-meads, 
 not more than a couple of miles above the 
 town. One of our first excursions must be 
 to Weston." 
 
 " What, to call on these people? " 
 
 " No, 1 meant to see the village, it is such 
 a'pretty place. But now it will be neces- 
 sary, of course, to call on the new-comers ; 
 and we can do that too. The Friary is a 
 sweetly pretty house and grounds." | 
 
 39 
 
 " Is that the name of their place ? " 
 " Yes. I believe it was a monastery once 
 upon a time. If you want to win the heart 
 of Uncle Theophilus or of old Mr. Falconer, 
 on the spot, you have only to ask them tu 
 tell you all about it. Only they are quife 
 sure to tell you different stories ; and you 
 will mortally offend either of them if you 
 give credence to the story of the other." 
 
 "One must speak to them separately 
 then," said Margaret, apparently with all 
 seriousness. "But you said," she contin- 
 ued, " that it was an estate that Mr. Merri- 
 ton had bought ? " 
 
 " Yes, the estate is called the Friary Es- 
 tate from the name of the house. It is a 
 small estate ; but full of such pretty bits of 
 country. It is quite celebrated for its beauty 
 in the county." 
 
 " Then I suppose Mr. Merriton must be 
 rich ; or at least a man of independent proi> 
 erty?" 
 
 "I suppose so," answered Kate; "but I 
 have not heard any one say anything on the 
 subject." 
 
 And then Margaret divested herself of tlie 
 riding-habit, after a last long and wistful 
 look in the glass, and inwardly-registered 
 vow that she would allow no disagreeables to 
 interfere with her learning to ride as quickly 
 as possible, and the girls proceeded to dress 
 for dinner. And that ceremony passed some- 
 what more pleasantly than it had done yes- 
 terday. Margaret delighted Mr. Mat by ask- 
 ing him if he thought he could, and kindly 
 would, undertake the office of riding-master 
 on her behalf ; and much talk passed between 
 them on the subject. Then there was talk 
 about the dinner-party on the day after the 
 morrow. The doctor, Mr. Mat brought word, 
 would come. But Lady Serapronia excused 
 herself, as usual, on the plea of indifferent 
 health. And then the excursion into Silver- 
 ton for the morrow was talked about and 
 arranged. The squire, who rarely was seen 
 in Silverton High Street, except at times of 
 Quarter-Sessions, or other suchlike occa- 
 sions, excused himself: and Mr. Mat de- 
 clared, also, that if his services were not 
 wanted, he had much to do at home ; and 
 none of his hearers were so unkind as to ask 
 him what it was. Miss Immy, on the other 
 hand, declared that it was absolutely neces- 
 sary that she should go to Silverton, even if 
 she were to go alone, with a view to matters 
 
40 
 
 connected with the next day's dinner. It 
 would he absolutely necessary, she said, to 
 send a message down to Sillmouth, if they 
 wanted a decent bit of fish ; and even so the 
 people made a favor of it. For of late years 
 all the best fish was sent off to London, in a 
 way that used not to be the case when Miss 
 Immy was young, and which she seemed to 
 think involved much tyranny and overbear- 
 ing injustice on the part of the Londoners 
 against the ''■Zillshire folk." 
 
 " Come, Miss Immy," said the squire, 
 apologetically ; " the Londoners never refuse 
 to let me have the pick of their market for 
 my cellar." 
 
 "But fish is not wine; and wine is not 
 fish," said Miss Immy, distinguishing and 
 separately emphasizing the two propositions 
 by a distinct system, as it were, of little pal- 
 sied shakes of the head applied to each of 
 them. "And I should think, Mr. Lindis- 
 farn, that you were the only person who had 
 ever supposed them to be so," added the old 
 lady, with much triumph. 
 
 So it was arranged that the cari'iage 
 should be ordered, and that the two young 
 iadies should accompany Miss Immy, and 
 should be deposited at the doctor's house in 
 the Close, so that the new-comer might make 
 acquaintance with her relatives, and also 
 with Silverton, to any such extent as oppor- 
 tunity might be found for doing, while Miss 
 Immy was driving about the town intent on 
 her household cares. 
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 MARGARET'S DEBUT IN THE CLOSE. 
 
 Thomas Tibbs, the coachman at the Chase, 
 held as a fundamental axiom, that any man 
 as wanted to drive from the Chase to Silver- 
 ton turnpike in lees than an hour and twenty- 
 five minutes, had not no business to sit be- 
 hind a gentleman's horses. If called on to 
 pursue the subject, he was wont to do so 
 after the same fashion of dialectic that Miss 
 Immy had used with regard to the fish and 
 the wine. "A gen'elman's carriage," he 
 would justly observe, " is not Ilis Majesty's 
 Mail ; and His Majesty's Mail is not a gen'el- 
 man's carriage — leastways, not a gen'elman's 
 private carriage," he would add, to avoid the 
 possibility of leading to any unfavorable con- 
 clusion as to the gentility of the first gentle- 
 man in Europe. " Whereby it's not the 
 value of five minutes you has to look to, but 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 the condition of your cattle," said Thomas 
 Tibbs. The hill up from the Ivy Bridge over 
 the Lindisfarn Brook to the turnpike that 
 stood just where the city wall had once crossed 
 the present road, was a very steep pitch ; 
 and upon the whole, the hour and twenty- 
 five minutes claimed for the work by Thomas 
 Tibbs was not an unreasonable demand. His 
 further unalterable allowance of five minutes 
 from the turnpike to the door of Dr. Lindis- 
 farn 's house in the Close may seem to have 
 been more open to exception. But Thomas 
 Tibbs, who would have looked down with in- 
 tense contempt from the altitude of a supe- 
 rior civilization on the Celtic endeavor to 
 hide inefiicient poverty under false brag by 
 " keeping a trot for the avenue," maintained 
 that " any man who knew what horses was, 
 knew the vally of bringing 'em in cool ; " 
 and nothing could tempt him to exceed the 
 very gentlest amble between the Silverton 
 turnpike and the canon's door. 
 
 From which circumstance it follows that, 
 although the Lindisfarn ladies had bustled 
 over their breakfast in a manner that sug- 
 gested the idea of a departure for the Antip- 
 odes, and Miss Immy had descended to the 
 breakfast-room with her round brown beaver 
 hat and green veil on, and an immense para- 
 sol, and three or four packages in her hands, 
 and had entered the room giving a string of 
 directions to Benson, the housekeeper, as she 
 walked, — notwithstanding all these efibrts, 
 the cathedral service was over at Silverton, 
 and Dr. Lindisfarn had returned to his study 
 — it not being a Litany day — before the car- 
 riage from trre Chase reached the Close. 
 
 Miss Immy I'efused to alight at the ca- 
 non's door, alleging that the number of com- 
 missions she had to execute would leave her 
 not a minute to spare between that time and 
 three o'clock ; at which hour it was arranged 
 that they were to leave Silverton, in order to 
 be in time for the squire's dinner hour at the 
 Chase, — five o'clock extended by special grace 
 on occasion of family progresses to Silverton 
 to half-past five, in consequence of its being 
 every inch collar work, as Thomas Tibbs de- 
 clared, from the Ivy Bridge to the door of the 
 Chase. The hour which Tibbs claimed as 
 absolutely necessary for his horses to bait, 
 Miss Immy purposed spending, as was hes 
 usual practice on similar occasions, with Miss 
 Lasseron, the sister of a late canon of Sil- 
 verton. 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 41 
 
 It was perfectly true that Miss Laeseron 
 was the very old friend, and ahnost the con- 
 temporary, of ^liss Inimy ; — true also that 
 Miss Immy very much preferred the nice lit- 
 tle dish of minced veal and tall ale-glass full 
 of Miss Lasseron's home-brewed amber ale, 
 with which her friend never failed to regale 
 her when she needed a luncheon in Silverton, 
 to the bit of stale cake and glass of sherry 
 that the Lady Sempronia was wont to pro- 
 duce on similar occasions. Nevertheless, I 
 suspect that Miss Immy's avoidance of the 
 house in the Close, whenever she could de- 
 cently do so, was in great part due to the 
 small sympathy that existed between her and 
 the Lady Sempronia. The latter dared not 
 say in Sillshire that Miss Imogene Lindisfarn 
 was an uneducated and vulgar old woman. 
 But few who knew her could have had any 
 doubt that such was pretty accurately a cor- 
 rect statement of her real opinion. Miss Im- 
 ogene, on her side, certainly thought, and 
 did dare to say to anybody who cared to 
 know her mind on the sulyect, that Lady 
 Sempronia was a feckless and washed-out fine 
 lady, and very stingy to boot. And the Sil-. 
 verton and Sillshire world were much in- 
 clined to accept and endorse Miss Immy's 
 opinion. Yet, as regarded the latter part of 
 the accusation, it was hardly a fair one. The 
 Sillshire world did not know as well as the 
 Lady Sempronia that all her stinginess did 
 not avail to bring Canon Lindisfarn's account 
 with Messrs. Falconer and Fishbourne to a 
 satisfactory balance at the end of the year. 
 And those who had a general knowledge of 
 that fact did not call it to mind on occasions 
 when, in justice to the lady, they ought to 
 have dilne so. It certainly was not Lady 
 Sempronia's stinginess which induced her to 
 drive out, on the rare occasions on which she 
 went out at all, in a shabby old one-horse ve- 
 hicle, which really made a fly from the Lindis- 
 farn Arms look smart by comparison. And 
 when Miss Piper, the milliner, who had her 
 show-room over the shop of her brother, the 
 perfumer, in the High Street, told ill-natured 
 stories among her customers of the impossible 
 feats she was required by Lady Sempronia to 
 perform, in the way of producing accui'ate 
 imitations of the new French fashions from 
 materials that had already undergone more 
 than one metamorphosis, it can hardly be 
 doubted that the poor lady would have pre- 
 ferred ordering a new silk, had the choice of 
 
 doing so been open to her. It was all very 
 well, as Lady Sempronia had been heard to 
 say, for those to talk whose husl)and8 cared 
 for their families more than for stones and 
 old bones, and all sorts of rubbish ; and who 
 were content with reading what other people 
 had printed instead of printing their own ! 
 And no doubt there was an amount of truth 
 in these lamentations which ought to have 
 obtained for them a greater degree of sympa- 
 thy than was generally shown to Lady Sem- 
 pronia. But she was not a popular person 
 at Silverton. And all these things were 
 ' ' trials ' ' to her ladyship. Life indeed seemed 
 to shape itself to her feeling and mode of 
 thought as one great and perpetual " trial ; " 
 and upon the whole she seemed generally to 
 be getting the worst of it. 
 
 Kate and Margaret were shown into a long, 
 low drawing-room, looking from its tlu-ee 
 windows into the extremely pretty garden \ 
 
 behind the house. There was an old-fash- 
 ioned drab-colored Brussels carpet on the 
 floor, an old-fashioned drab-colored paper on 
 the walls, and old-fashioned drab moreen 
 curtains bound with black velvet hung on 
 each side of three windows. Nevertheless, 
 it was, in right of the outlook into the gar- 
 den and up the exquisitely-kept turf of the 
 steep bank that ran up to a considerable 
 height against the fragment of gray old city 
 wall, and was topped by a terrace- walk run- 
 ning under the rose-clothed southern face of 
 it, — in right, I say, of these advantages. 
 Lady Sempronia's drawing-room was a pretty 
 and pleasant room ; though Kate used to say 
 that it always used to make her feel afraid 
 of speaking above her breath, when she came 
 into it. The world, she said, seemed always 
 asleep there. 
 
 There was nobody in the room when the 
 two girls entered it, and the servant went to 
 call his mistress. 
 
 " Oh, que c'cst triste!''^ exclaimed Marga- 
 ret, as she looked around. " I should die if 
 I were made to inhabit such a room, Cest 
 (Tune tristesse ecrasante ! " 
 
 "And I am afraid poor Aunt Sempronia 
 does not live a very gay life in it. Yet I do 
 not dislike the room. Look at the garden ! 
 Can anything be conceived more peacefully 
 lovely ! " said Kate. 
 
 " C^est a mourir iVennui .' " said ^Margaret. 
 The two girls were standing looking out of 
 the window with their backs to the door, as I 
 
42 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 Margaret spoke, and had not heard the tainly," said !RIargaret, who, remembering 
 noiseless step of Lady Sempronia as she that her sister was present, though Lady 
 crossed the room toward them. It was evi- , Sempronia seemed to have forgotten it, coald 
 dent that she must have heard Margaret's ! not respond as completely to her aunt's invi- 
 criticism on her dwelling ; and the utterer tation to bemoan herself as she would have 
 
 of it felt no little embarrassment at the con- 
 sciousness that such must have been the case. 
 But, as it seemed, she could not have pre- 
 sented herself to her aunt in a manner more 
 congenial to that lady's feelings. 
 
 been happy to do under other circumstances. 
 "You will find, my dear, as life goes on, 
 that it is made up of a series of trials. Those 
 who expect to find it otherwise," continued 
 the melancholy lady, with a mild glance of 
 
 Margaret blushed deeply, as she performed reproach at Kate's face, which was most un- 
 to Lady Sempronia one of her usual elaborate | sympathetically beaming with health and 
 courtesies, while Kate spoke a few words \ brightness and happiness, — " those who ex- 
 
 of introduction. But her aunt, taking her 
 kindly by the hand, said, — 
 
 " Come and sit by me on this sofa, my love. 
 It is a pleasure to find at least one member of 
 the family, who can sympathize with some, 
 at all events, of the trials I am called on to 
 struggle against. It is as you say, Jlarga- 
 ret ; c'cst a mourir d'ennui ! But, unfortu- 
 nately, ennui kills slowly. It has done its 
 work on me in the course of years, my dear. 
 And yet Kate bids me be cheerful, — cheerful 
 in such an atmosphere as this ! ' ' 
 
 Lady Sempronia certainly did look like 
 one on whom ennui, or some such form of 
 mental atrophy, had, as she said, done its 
 work. Miss Immy called it looking ' ' washed 
 out ; " and perhaps that phrase may give as 
 good an idea of Lady Sempronia's appear- 
 ance as her own more refined one. Hers was 
 a tall and remarkably slender figure, with a 
 long face, the thinness of which was made 
 yet thinner in appearance by two long, cork- 
 screw curls of very dull, unshining-looking 
 light-brown liair hanging on either side of it. 
 She had a high-bridged Roman nose, and a 
 tall, narrow forehead, adorned by a " front," 
 which life-weariness had caused to be so un- 
 artistically put on, that it hardly made any 
 pretence of being other than it was. 
 
 " There can be no doubt that excess of 
 quietude is often very trying to the spirits," 
 replied Margaret, sympathizingly. 
 
 "Trying!" exclaimed Lady Sempronia; 
 " indeed, you may say so ! Few persons in 
 my station of life have had so many trials as 
 I have, my dear niece. But you, too, have 
 had your trials. It must have been a very 
 severe one to be called on to relinquish Paris 
 to come and live in this remote solitude, — a 
 very great trial. Do you feel the change 
 very painfully? " 
 
 "The change is a very great one, cer- 
 
 pect to find it otherwise are but laying up 
 for themselves a harvest of delusions and dis- 
 appointments. There is to me no more mel- 
 ancholy sight than that of inexperienced 
 youth, rushing forward, as it were, to meet 
 the inevitable trials that await it, in Utter 
 unconsciousness of its fate." 
 
 "Why, that is. just what the poet says, 
 aunt ! " cried Kate, with a smile entirely un- 
 dimmed by any terror at the tremendous pros- 
 pect before her. 
 
 " ' Alas ! unconscious of their doom 
 The little victims play. 
 No sense have they of ills to come ; 
 No care beyond to-day.' " 
 
 " I am glad to see that you are acquainted 
 with the lines, my dear. They are very, very 
 sad ones. You remember bow the poet goes 
 on: — 
 
 " ' Yet see, how all around them wait 
 The ministers of human fate, 
 And black Misfortune's baleful train ! ' 
 
 The following stanzas are very instructive. 
 And the whole poem — it is very short, too 
 short, indeed — would be exceedingly advan- 
 tageous reading for a young person, every 
 night before going to bed." 
 
 "The last lines," continued Kate, "are 
 particularly impressive. 
 
 " ' Since sorrow never comes too late. 
 And happiness too quickly flies, 
 . . . where ignorance is bliss, 
 'Tis folly to be wise ! ' " 
 
 "Words uttered in the bitter irony of a 
 broken heart," said Lady Sempronia, with a 
 profound sigh ; " and which it would be folly 
 indeed to take an serieux ! Tell me, my 
 dear," she added, turning to Margaret, " do 
 you not feel the change from the scenes in 
 which you passed your childhood, to the 
 comparative solitude of your present home, 
 very trying to your spirits ! '' 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 "I was certainly very happy in Paris ; and 
 Madame de Renneville and the baron were 
 very kind to me," said Margaret, while a 
 tear trembled in her fine eyes, gathered there 
 not by the words which had been spoken, nor 
 by any ideas called to her mind by them, so 
 much as liy the deep tragic tones and pro- 
 foundly dispirited manner of her aunt. It 
 was a tribute to Lady Sempronia's sorrows 
 and to her eloquence, to which that lady 
 was keenly sensible ; and she already began 
 to feel that her newly-discovered niece was 
 a highly cultivated and charming girl, on 
 whom she might count for sympathy with 
 her in her many sorrows. 
 
 Lady Sempronia was very fond of talking 
 of these : indeed, she rarely sjwke much on 
 any other subject. But it was remarkable 
 that she never spoke of the one great sorrow, 
 which really was such as to justify her in 
 considering her entire life to have been over- 
 shadowed by it. She never alluded to her 
 lost son. That grief was too real, too sacred 
 for idle talk. But of her poverty, her bodily 
 ailments, the misbehavior of the canon in 
 various ways, his absence of mind, his ex- 
 travagance, his antiquarian tastes, of the 
 troubles arising from the turpitude of all 
 sorts of servants, she would discourse at 
 any length. 
 
 " And now, my dear," she said, after some 
 further indulgence in her usual slipshod 
 talk on the miseries of the world in gen- 
 eral, and of her own lot in it in particular, 
 " now I suppose you are anxious to make 
 acquaintance with your uncle, the canon. 
 The meeting with a hitherto unknown rela- 
 tive may, in some exceptional cases, be the 
 finding of a congenial and sympathetic 
 heart. But it is far more likely to prove a 
 severe trial." Margaret could not help be- 
 ing struck, as her aunt spoke, with the just- 
 ness of her observation : but she was not 
 prepared for the candor of what was about 
 to follow. 
 
 " It would not be right," continued the 
 Lady Sempronia, " if I were to omit to warn 
 you that the meeting with your uncle is 
 likely to prove a severe trial." 
 
 "Dear aunt," expostulated Kate, "I am 
 sure Margaret will love Uncle Theophilus as 
 much as we all do, when she gets to know 
 him . ' ' 
 
 " My dear ! " said Lady Sempronia, turn- 
 ing on her with some Little sharpness, " it is 
 
 43 
 
 my practice always, both for myself and for 
 those who are dear to me, to prepare against 
 disappointments. It is long since I have 
 been disappointed in anything, and a certain 
 amount of peace of mind may be thus at- 
 tained. With regard to your uncle, my dear 
 Margaret, we who do know him, as your 
 sister says, are perfectly well aware of the 
 many great and good qualities which he pos- 
 sesses ; but it is nevertheless true, that your 
 first introduction to him may prove a trial. 
 Dr. Lindisfarn is a very learned man, — a man 
 of immense erudition ! Nevertheless, when 
 he comes in to dinner with his surplice on, 
 under the impression that he is entering the 
 choir for morning service, it is a trial ; I con- 
 fess that to me it is a trial. Your uncle has 
 acquired the high esteem of the whole coun- 
 ty, and has received the public thanks of the 
 Chapter for his contributions in time, in 
 knowledge, and in money, to the repair of 
 the ceiling of the cathedral transept. But 
 when I reflect that a small portion of the 
 money so spent would have supplied — among 
 many other matters — the new carpet, which 
 you see, my dear, is so sadly needed for the 
 drawing-room, it is, I do not deny it, a severe 
 trial. When I speak to the doctor upon any 
 subject of domestic interest, and he answers 
 me as if I were talking of things or people 
 of five hundred years or more ago, I do own 
 that it is a very painful trial. In short, my 
 dear, it were weak to conceal from you that 
 in all connected with Dr. Lindisfarn [a very 
 deep and prolonged sigh inserted here] there 
 are many and very grievous trials. And this 
 being the case, it was, I think, my duty to 
 warn you that you would find it to he the 
 case. The duty of doing so has been a trial 
 to me ; but I would not shrink from it." 
 
 " It has been very kind of you, aunt ; and 
 I assure you that I am not insensible to it," 
 murmured Margaret. 
 
 " I suppose Uncle Theophilus has his trials 
 too, for that matter," said Kate. 
 
 " I have no reason to think Dr. Lindisflirn 
 exempted from the common lot of human- 
 ity," returned Lady Sempronia, with a cer- 
 tain degree of acidity in her manner, yet in 
 a tone of extreme meekness, such as might 
 be supposed the result of long-suflering. 
 "Shall we go to the study?" she added : 
 " Dr. Lindisfarn does not like to be called 
 into the drawing-room." 
 
 So the three ladies proceeded together to 
 
44 
 
 the canon's study. To do this they were 
 obliged to return from the drawing-room into 
 the hall ; for, though the study adjoined the 
 latter, there was no door of communication 
 between them. It was a very long room, oc- 
 cupying the entire depth of the house, and 
 lighted by one large bow-window looking 
 into the garden, and by a small window at 
 the opposite end of it looking into the Close. 
 The door opening into the hall was on the 
 left hand of one looking toward the garden, 
 and was near the Close end of the room, so 
 that it was but a step from the hall-door to 
 that of the study. The fireplace was on the 
 opposite side of the room, not in the middle 
 of the wall, but much nearer the garden end ; 
 and a double bookshelf, or rather two book- 
 shelves back to back, stood out about two- 
 thirds of the space aci^oss the room, so as to 
 partially divide it into two rooms, of which 
 that toward the garden was nearly twice as 
 large as the other. Those dividing shelves 
 abutted against the wall opposite the door, 
 so that a person entering could see the entire 
 length of the room ; but one sitting near the 
 fire could not see the door, nor be seen from 
 it. The fireplace was merely an open hearth, 
 prepared for burning wood, and furnished 
 with a pair of antique-shaped andirons ; for 
 the canon chose to burn exclusively wood in 
 his study, despite the discontent and remon- 
 strances of Lady Sempronia, who declared 
 that the room could be well warmed with 
 coal at very much less cost than it was half 
 warmed with wood. The question of the 
 comparative expense had formed the subject 
 of many a long dispute between them, till 
 the doctor, who, in defence of his own posi- 
 tion, had drawn up an exceedingly learned 
 and exhaustive memoir on the progressive 
 difference between the cost of wood and coals 
 from the earliest use of the latter fuel, had 
 spoken on one occasion of the expediency of 
 giving his monograph to the public, as one 
 of the publications of the Sillshire Society. 
 From that time forth the Lady Sempronia, 
 who knew too well that the cost of printing 
 the monograph would more than supply the 
 study fire with wood to the end of the doc- 
 tor's days, had been silent on the subject. 
 
 The exceeding length of the room made the 
 lowness of the ceiling, which the study shared 
 with all the other rooms on the ground floor, 
 seem still lower ; and the quantity of hetero- 
 geneous articles with which the space was en- 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 cumbered increased the lumber-room like ap- 
 pearance which on first entering impi-essed 
 itself on a visitor's mind. 
 
 Immediately in front of the door, by the 
 side of the window looking into the Close, 
 there was a lay figure, on the shoulders of 
 which were the doctor's surplice, hood, and 
 scarf, and on its head his trencher cap. This 
 somewhat startling ecclesiastical presentation 
 was a device of the doctor's own invention, 
 the object of which was to prevent him, if 
 possible, from forgetting to take off" the above- 
 mentioned canonicals when he returned from 
 morning and evening service in the choir. 
 Again and again it had occurred to him to 
 proceed directly to whatever occupation in 
 his study was uppermost in his mind — and 
 had been so, it may be feared, during the 
 hour spent in the choir — without divesting 
 himself of any of these garments. And as 
 the occupations were often of a nature in- 
 volving contact with dusty tomes and dustier 
 relics of antiquity, — and, as even when this 
 was not the case, the doctor, finding the folds 
 of his surplice under his hand very convenient 
 for the purpose, was apt to wipe either his 
 pen or the dust with them, as the case might 
 require, — considerable inconvenience arose 
 from the neglect. At length it occurred to 
 him that if he had, standing immediately 
 before his eyes, as he ent(sed his room, such 
 a representative of himself, as it were, which 
 he would be always accustomed to see at all 
 other times of the day dressed in full canoni- 
 cals, and which, when thus presenting itself 
 to him naked, would seem to ask for its usual 
 clothing, he could not fail to be reminded of 
 what he had first +o do, before returning'to 
 his studies. And the scheme had answered 
 well, except as regarded the bands ; and that 
 small article of church costume mattered 
 less. The only evil arising from forgetful- 
 ness in this particular, was, that it some- 
 times happened that the doctor came to his 
 dinner-table with two or even three pairs of 
 bands around his neck, one falling over his 
 coat collar behind, another under one of his 
 ears, and a third in its proper position ; for 
 they would wriggle round his neck, and as 
 it never occurred to him to imagine that any 
 such phenomenon could have taken place, 
 when on going to church he found no bands 
 in front, he would put on a pair without any 
 inquiry respecting the disappearance of their 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 The doctor always wore gold spectacles ; float before the author 
 
 45 
 
 and as his habits made it absolutely necessary 
 for him to possess three or four pairs of these, 
 a similarly monstrous hyper-dcvelopment 
 would occur in respect to them, as in the 
 matter of the bands ; for, when one pair liad 
 by accident, or by the action of his hand 
 when raised to his brow in thought, been 
 pushed up out of their proper place on to his 
 forehead, he never thought of looking, or 
 rather feeling for them tliere, but forthwith 
 put on a second pair. Lady Sempronia de- 
 clared that she had seen her husband with 
 one pair on the top of his bald head, an- 
 other across his forehead, and a third in their 
 proper position, and protested that the mel- 
 ancholy and monstrous sight had been a par- 
 ticularly severe trial to her. 
 
 The study was, like that of other gentle- 
 men of similar tastes, crammed full of all 
 sorts of queer odds and ends, which were re- 
 garded with much aversion by the Lady Sem- 
 pronia. But there was one peculiar feature 
 in the contents of the room which stirred up 
 her bile, and grieved her heart to a much 
 greater degree. This was the long rows of 
 the paper-bound volumes of the different me- 
 moirs which her lord and master had con- 
 tributed to the Silverton Archaeological Club. 
 It must be admitted, unhappily, that the 
 rows were very long. By the help of the 
 cross-shelves, which have been mentioned as 
 standing out across the room, the study af- 
 forded accommodation for a very consider- 
 able number of books. But alas ! the inner 
 
 mind, to the un- 
 speakable horror of Lady Sempronia. It had 
 been tlie most expensive of all the doctor's 
 publications, for colored lithograph illustra- 
 tions had been found absolutely necessary. 
 And the first hint that the learned world 
 would probably expect a second edition of 
 that highly appreciated v/ork had been one 
 of Lady Sempronia's severest trials. The rest 
 of the hated volumes, of which in her unfore- 
 seeing ignorance she had watched the gradual 
 disappearance with satisfaction.-suddenly be- 
 came valuable in her eyes ; and she adopted 
 every means of preserving and husbandinni- 
 the precious remainder af them. She had 
 never before condescended to know even the 
 titles of any of the canon's publications. But 
 now, whenever there was any probability 
 that the doctor would oflcr any of his works 
 to a visitor. Lady Sempronia would interpose 
 with, " Not the Coifer-work Ceilings, Dr. 
 Lindisfarn. You have only one copy left ! " 
 And in fact but one copy remained on the* 
 study shelves ; for on the first appearance 
 of the danger, the lady had gradually carried 
 off to her secret bower two or three copies 
 at a time, all the remainder of the edition, 
 to be produced, if need were, one at a time, 
 and always under protest, so as to stave off 
 the evil day when the doctor should be able 
 to declare that the work was absolutely out 
 of print. ^ 
 
 The canon, though shorter and smaller 
 than his brother, had been a well-looking 
 man in his day. He had a high, delicately 
 side of these shelves, or that looking toward I formed nose, a particularly well-cut and 
 the garden window, was almost entirely oc- finely-shaped mouth, and a classical outline 
 cupied by those costly and learned publica- ' of features generally. Though very bald, 
 tions. It is true that the mass of them di- ] and limping a little in his gait, in consequence 
 minished gradually ; but the process was a ! of a fall from a ladder in the cathedral, when 
 very slow one. And the long rows of identi- j he had been engaged in directing and super- 
 cally similar volumes were a sore offence to : intending some restorations of his beloved 
 poor Lady Sempronia's eyes. The doctor did ; church, he was still a very distinguished-look- 
 his best to get rid of them ; for no visitor, ' ing man. lie always wore a large quantity 
 who could by any possibility be supposed to ' of snow-white but perfectly limp and un- 
 take any interest in such matters, left the ' starched muslin, wound round and round his 
 house without a presentation copy of one or throat, and a large pi'ominent shirt-frill pro- 
 more of them. But at length it came to pass 1 truding between the sides of his black waist- 
 that the satisfactory disappearance of the coat. A black body-coat, very wide in the 
 volumes led to an alarmingly unsatisfactory skirt, black breeches, black silk stockino-s, 
 result. The stock in hand of the canon's ^ somewhat negligently drawn over very hand- 
 " Memoir on Panelled Ceilings in Coffer-work : some legs, gold knee and shoe buckles, which 
 as Exemplified in Buildings of the Norman Lady Sempronia in vain strove to induce him 
 and Ante-Norman Period," began to run so to discard in favor of the more modern fashion 
 low, that visions of a second edition began to of shoe-ties, completed his costume. 
 
46 
 
 Margaret was a little^ startled on entering 
 the study to see a figure in full canonicals 
 and trencher cap motionless in front of her, 
 and gave a perceptible little jump. 
 
 " No, dear," said Kate," that is not Uncle 
 Theophilus. That is only Canon Lindisfarn. 
 May we come in, uncle?" she continued; 
 " T know you are in your old corner behind 
 the books there. Aunt and I have brought 
 Margaret to see you." 
 
 " Come in, Kate, come in ! " said a voice 
 from behind -the screen of books. " You are 
 always welcome, my dear. But who is Mar- 
 garet you speak of? " 
 
 " Why your niece, to be sure," cried Kate, 
 leading the way round the screen, while Lady 
 Sem'pronia whispered to Margaret, as they 
 followed, — 
 
 " I told you it would be a trial, my dear." 
 
 " Don't you remember that you have a 
 niece just returned from Paris?" continued 
 Kate. 
 
 " To be sure I do ! to be sure I do — now 
 you mention it. "Welcome to England, and 
 welcome to Silverton, and welcome to Silver- 
 ton Close, my dear ! What a happiness it 
 must be to you to find yourself at home once 
 again ! " 
 
 " It is a great pleasure, sir, to become per- 
 sonally acquainted with relatives, whom I 
 have already learnt to venerate," said Mar- 
 garet, s 
 
 "I can't think," said the canon, after 
 looking at Margaret in an Earnest and yet 
 wool-gathering sort of manner, — " I can't 
 think for the life of me, who it is she reminds 
 me of. There is some face in my memory 
 that hers seems to recall to me." 
 
 " They say we Lindisfiirns are all more or 
 less alike," interposed Kate, fearing whither 
 her uncle's remembrances might be leading 
 him; " and all the people up at the Chase 
 declare that Margaret and I are as much alike 
 as two peas." 
 
 " Then I am sure they do you great injus- 
 tice, sister," said Margaret, eagei-ly. " How 
 ean they compare your fresh-colored face to 
 my poor white cheeks ? I do not know how 
 I came by them. It is just as if they had 
 coquettishly fashioned themselves to please 
 the people they grew among. For the Pa- 
 risians admire white faces and not red ones. 
 But I am sure I envy Kate's roses." 
 
 " There are white roses and red roses," said 
 the canon, " and I'm sure I don't know that 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 anybody ever yet decided that one was more 
 beautiful than the other." 
 
 " Talking of roses, by the by," said Kate, 
 who did not like the turn the conversation 
 was taking, " what about the cuttings you 
 were to prepare for me, aunt? Suppose you 
 and I go and look after them in the garden, 
 and leave my uncle and Margaret to complete 
 their acquaintance." 
 
 Kate was desperately afraid that the canon's 
 half-recalled memories, which she had little 
 doubt had been roused by a likeness between 
 her sister and Julian, would stumble on, till 
 they blundered on something which might 
 throw Lady Sempronia into a fit of hysterics, 
 and send her to bed for a week ; and was 
 anxious, therefore, to get her out of the dan- 
 ger. And her aunt, who never felt particu- 
 larly comfortable or happy in the study, 
 yielded at once to Kate's lead, merely saying 
 to the doctor, as she left the room, — 
 
 " Not a copy of the Coffer-work Ceilings, 
 Dr. Lindisfarn; remember you have but one 
 copy left ! ' ' 
 
 " Lady Sen^pronia is reminding me," said 
 the canon, in reply to a look of inquiry from 
 JNIargaret, when they were left alone together, 
 " that I must not offer you a copy of one of 
 my little works, which has been so successful 
 with the public that it is nearly exhausted. 
 But the caution can hardly be needed ; for 
 it can scarcely be expected that a young lady 
 should interest herself in matters of antiqua- 
 rian research." 
 
 " Oh ! there you are wrong, uncle," cried 
 Margaret, who always was a far glibber talker 
 in a tete-a-tete, be it with whom it might, than 
 under any other circumstances. " And spe- 
 cially you do me wrong ; for I take particular 
 interest in all such matters. Taime la rococo 
 a la folic ! " she added, clasping her admira- 
 bly gloved hands together, bending her grace- 
 ful figure a little forward, and throwing an 
 expression of intense enthusiasm into her 
 beautiful eyes. 
 
 The doctor, though a competent reader of 
 French, was by no means a sufficiently in- 
 structed student of French things and phrases 
 to be aware of the amount of distance lying be- 
 tween a Parisian lady's love for " rococo,''^ 
 and a taste for antiquarian research. But he 
 knew very well, that he had never seen any- 
 thing more lovely tjjan his niece looked as she 
 made her profession of admiration for his fa- 
 vorite studies. 
 
LINDISFARN 
 
 "I really think," he said, in the zeal of 
 his delight at the prospect of such a disciple, 
 " that the last copy of my dissertation on 
 Coffer-work Ceilings could find no more wor- 
 thy destination than the shelf which holds 
 your own special books, my dear. Tiic book 
 is now a rare one ; and will, I doubt not, 
 be there in good company." 
 
 " Not for the world, uncle, not for the 
 world ! I shall come here and ask you some 
 day to lend me your own copy for a quiet 
 hour in the garden. But I would not for any 
 consideration carry off a copy which you will 
 surely need to give to some great man of 
 learning. Besides, what would Lady Sem- 
 pronia say? But there was a subject about 
 which 1 was very anxious to ask you ; for I 
 can get no information up at the Chase. Is 
 it not true that the mansion called the Friary 
 at Weston was once a monastery ? I should so 
 like to know all the history of it ! " 
 
 " And I should so like to tell you," cried 
 the canon, in the greatest glee. " You are 
 quite right, my dear girl. It is one of the 
 most interesting places in the county ! In- 
 deed, I have thought for some time past of 
 making it the subject of a monograph." 
 
 Margaret had not the remotest conception 
 of the meaning of a " monograph ; " nor was 
 she aware how safely she might have simply 
 avowed her unacquaintance with the word, 
 without pleading guilty to any very disgrace- 
 ful ignorance ; but she thought she might 
 say, — 
 
 "Oh, that would be delightful, uncle! 
 But what I should like best of all, if it were 
 possible, would be tovisit the spotwith you, — 
 you and I together, you know, so that you 
 might explain everything to one." 
 
 "And why not? Nothing more easy ! I 
 have not yet made acquaintance, by the by, 
 with the new owners of the place." 
 
 " Oh, that you will do to-morrow, uncle. 
 Mr. and Miss Merriton are to dine with us. 
 You will meet them, you know. And then I 
 .shall very soon afterward come to claim your 
 promise of a day at the Friary." 
 
 " And I shall be delighted to keep it. Per- 
 haps if I decide on writing on the subject, 
 you might assist me with your pencil. Do 
 you draw, my dear? " 
 
 " Yes, I have learned. I can draw a little. 
 I should be so glad to be permitted to be of 
 use. To study, and be directed by you, 
 uncle, would be so delightful." 
 
 CHASE. 47 
 
 And what could give me greater pleasure 
 than to direct your studies ? We will attack 
 the Friary together. It really ought to be 
 illustrated, the more so that I am not una- 
 ware that there are sciolists in this very city 
 of Silver ton, who hold some most absurd 
 notions respecting certain portions of the 
 ancient buildings. Yes, yes, my dear, with 
 my pen and your pencil, we will attack 
 the Friary together. To think of your hav- 
 ing already cast your eye on the most inter- 
 esting bit of antiquity in the county, you 
 puss ! " 
 
 And then Lady Sempronia and Kate came 
 and tapped at the window from the garden ; 
 and the former told Margaret to come and 
 have some luncheon in the parlor. And the 
 doctor dismissed his newly found niece with 
 the profound conviction that she was not only 
 the flower of the family, but tlie most charm- 
 ing, the most highly gifted, and by flir the 
 most intelligent girl it had ever been his lot to 
 meet with. 
 
 " Well, how did you and uncle get on to- 
 gether?" asked Kate. "Did you make 
 friends ! " 
 
 " I hope so," said Margaret ; " as far as a 
 learned man could with a very ignorant young 
 girl. He was very kind to me." 
 
 "Did he offer to give you any of his 
 books? " asked Lady Sempronia, well aware 
 of the channel by which the doctor's kindness 
 was wont to manifest itself. 
 
 " Yes, aunt. He was generous enough to 
 offer me the last copy of his memoir on Ceil- 
 ing-work Coffers. But of course, after what 
 you had said, I would not let him do any- 
 thing of the kind. What a pity it is that 
 such an excellent man as my dear uncle 
 should fail to recognize the good sense of ab- 
 staining from wasting his money on such 
 things ! " 
 
 And then the carriage came to the door 
 with Miss Immy, precisely at tliree o'clock ; 
 and that very punctual lady sent in a mes- 
 sage to Lady Sempronia, regretting that the 
 immense amount of business she had had to 
 transact in Silverton had made it impossible 
 for her to leave herself time enough to alight 
 — setting forth the absolute necessity of being 
 at the Chase and dressed for dinner in time, 
 not to keep the squire waiting beyond the 
 half-hour of grace allowed them, and begging 
 the young ladies to come out without delay. 
 
 So then there was a kissing bout, and Lady 
 
48 
 
 Sempronia turned to kiss Margaret a second 
 time, as she Avas leaving the room, while 
 Kate was already hurrying across the hall to 
 the carriage, and as she pressed her hand, 
 trusted that tliey should see much of each other. 
 " Perhaps the house in the Close, and such 
 little distractions as Silverton could offer, — 
 dull enough though they generally were, God 
 knew, — might sometimes be a change from 
 the profound seclusion arid monotony of the 
 
 And, "J.A, ma tante! Comme vous etes 
 bonne pour mot, vous I " 
 
 And so upon the whole (putting out of 
 the question, of course, the tender affection 
 of her father and sister), Margaret's debut 
 at the house in the Close had been a more 
 successful one than at the Chase, 
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 THE PARTY AT THE CHASE. 
 
 Miss Immy considered "a trial " to be a 
 matter inseparably connected with the As- 
 sizes, and in some less perfectly understood 
 manner dependent on Quarter Sessions. She 
 never used or understood the word in any 
 other sense (unless as meaning simply an at- 
 temjit); and in her own private opinion, un- 
 communicated to any human being, she at- 
 tributed Lady Sempronia's constant use of the 
 term to the shocking and fearful impression 
 which had been made upon her especially 
 weak mind (as Miss Immy considered it) by 
 the idea of the thing, at the terrible time 
 when it was a question whether her own eon 
 might not have to undergo the ordeal of it. 
 Miss Immy had no idea that she herself had 
 any trials, or she certainly might have con- 
 sidered it to be one, when, on the next morn- 
 ing, the morning of the party, it was made 
 evident at breakfast that the squire had en- 
 tirely forgotten all about it. 
 
 " Would you be so kind, Mr. Mat, as to 
 mention to Mr. Lindisfarn, once every half- 
 hour during the day, that he has to enter- 
 tain friends at dinner to-day, and that he will 
 get no dinner before six o'clock? " 
 
 " I'll try and remember it, iMiss Immy, this 
 time," said the squire, laughing ; " and if I 
 don't, it will be my punishment to expect my 
 dinner at five and have to wait an hour for 
 it, — a penalty that might suffice for a worse 
 crime! " 
 
 .And then the squire took his gun, and 
 calling to the dogs to join him, was seen no 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 more till he met his guests in the drawing- 
 room. 
 
 Miss Immy had very many things on her 
 mind, and was in a state of mucli bustle and 
 business-like energy all day. She was wont 
 very scornfully to repudiate the new-fangled 
 heresy, which teaches that the genteel mis- 
 tress of a family should disavow any labors 
 of the kind, and be supposed to delegate all 
 such cares to subordinate ministers — existing 
 in the Olympus of the drawing-room in a 
 very Epicurean and non-providential condi- 
 tion of godship. She had been irritated by 
 such affectations on the part of others — of 
 Lady Sempronia especially — into a habit of 
 making a special boast before her guests of 
 the part she had personally taken in caring 
 for their entertainment ; and it was observa- 
 ble that on such occasions, she always spoke 
 in her broadest Sillshire Doric. 
 
 Kate, on whom none of these cares fell, 
 had her day at her disposition, and to Mar- 
 garet's great surprise proposed to Mr. Mat a 
 ride to Sillmouth. There was a fresh breeze 
 blowing, and she should like, she said, a gal- 
 lop on the sands to see the big waves rolling 
 in. Mr. ]\Iat was always ready for a ride 
 with Kate ; so Birdie was saddled, and away 
 they went. 
 
 " Surely, it is a bad day to choose for such 
 a ride," said Margaret. 
 
 " Just the day made for it ! " cried Kate. 
 ' ' I know our Sillshire coast ; and I know 
 what a tide there will be tumbling in with 
 this wind." 
 
 " Yes, I dare say ; but you will comeback 
 with your face as red as beet-root, and people 
 coming here this evening ! Besides, I wanted 
 to consult you about a hundred things." 
 
 " Oh, my face must take its chance, as it 
 always does. And we can talk as much as 
 we like to-morrow. We shall have all the 
 morning before going over to Wanstrow." 
 
 ' ' To-morrow ! but I wanted to talk about 
 my dress for this evening," pouted Marga- 
 ret. 
 
 " Your dress ! but you have got such lota 
 of beautiful things. Any one will do." 
 
 " Any one ! That's very easily said. But 
 it depends on so many things." 
 
 It was very natural that Kate, who was 
 going to meet only old friends, with the ex- 
 ception of Captain EUingham and the Merri- 
 tons, and who was going to do nothing but 
 what she was perfectly well used to, should 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 49 
 
 feel more at her ease about the event of the 
 evening than Margaret, who was going to 
 make her first appearance at an English din- 
 ner-party among a roomful of strangers. But 
 the " so many tilings " that Margaret spoke 
 of included sundry considerations and spec- 
 ulations of a kind tliat had never entered the 
 English-bred girl's philosophy. 
 
 *^ But I sliall be home in plenty of time to 
 dress," she said in answer to her sister's last 
 remonstrance ; "and then we can settle what 
 dress you shall wear." 
 
 So Kate rode off; and Margaret was left to 
 meditate on her evening "trials" in soli- 
 tude, 1)roken only by the not altogether sym- 
 pathizing companionship of Simmons. 
 
 Had it entered into Kate's head to imagine 
 that the morning would appear tedious to 
 Margaret, she would not have left her. But 
 it was so much the habit of the family to go 
 each one his own way, and she was so used 
 to being left alone to her own morning occu- 
 pations herself, that it never occurred to her 
 that it was necessary to stay at home because 
 her sister did. 
 
 Nor did it seem that her coiinsel was really 
 needed in the matter of the dress ; or at all 
 events, was so urgently needed as to be waited 
 for ; for when she returned fromi her ride she 
 found the great question decided, and every 
 article of JMargaret's evening toilet carefully 
 laid out on her bed. 
 
 Kate did return from her seaside gallop 
 with her face not only red but rough ; for 
 lier ride had answered her expectations to the 
 utmost ; and not only the boisterous south- 
 west wind, but the salt spray also had lashed 
 her cheeks. And it needs a painful effort of 
 impartial truthfulness in a chronicler, who 
 owns a very strong special liking for Kate 
 Lindisfarn, to admit that this was not the 
 only respect in which the advantage was with 
 ^Margaret, when the two girls went down to 
 the drawing-room. ^largaret's dress was 
 the production of a Parisian artist, and fitted 
 her fine shape as smoothly and somewhat 
 more tightly than her skin. Kate's, alas ! 
 was but the clwf-d'' auvre of IMiss Piper, the 
 Silverton milliner. It was a pretty light-blue 
 silk dress, a shade or two lighter than the 
 wearer's eyes, which, whatever her complex- 
 ion may have been, were decidedly none 
 the worse for her ride. They danced and 
 laughed, and flashed with health and good 
 humor and high spirits. Blue was Kate's 
 
 favorite color, and it always became her well. 
 But Miss Piper's handiwork did not escape 
 Margaret's criticism in more respects than 
 one ; and it must be admitted that the young 
 lady was a very competent critic. 
 
 " What will become of me, if I am to wear 
 dresses made by the person who made that?" 
 cried she. " AVhy, it fits about as well as a 
 sack, Kate, here under the arms. It makes 
 your waist look thick, or rather gives you no 
 waist at all ! And you must admit that it is 
 cut odiously round the shoulders." 
 
 " Poor Miss Piper ! " said Kate, laughing. 
 "She thought that she surpassed herself 
 when she turned out this dress ; and I thought 
 it a very pretty one myself. But I can see 
 very well that it does not fit like yours. And 
 then, you know, I have not such a slender 
 waist as yours ; we proved that by the rid- 
 ing-habit. And as for the shoulders, I sup- 
 pose it is cut about as low as they are worn 
 hereabouts. We are provincial folks, you 
 know. But you may depend upon it, we are 
 not so ignorant, any of us, as not to see how 
 exquisitely dressed you are. I never saw 
 such a fit. And how it becomes you ! " 
 
 Margaret was in truth looking exceedingly 
 lovely. She had selected a black silk dress : 
 perhaps from having been led to think of the 
 ivory whiteness of her own skin in connec- 
 tion with her prognostications of the efiect 
 of the morning's ride on her sister's. At 
 all events, the choice was a judicious one. 
 Not only the complexion of the face, but the 
 perfect creamy whiteness of the magnificent 
 throat, and as much as could be seen of the 
 shoulders, was shown off to the utmost ad- 
 vantage by the dark folds of the material in 
 juxtaposition with it. As before, Kate wore 
 her beautiful hair in ringlets, while Marga- 
 ret's somewhat darker locks were, quite un- 
 usually for Sillshire, bound tightly around 
 her small classically shaped head, not only 
 displaying to advantage the beauty of it, but 
 adding in appearance to her height. Kate 
 was in fact the taller of the two girls. But 
 what with this difference of headdress, what 
 with her somewhat more slender figure, and 
 what with the additional advantage given to 
 this by the cut and admirable fitting of her 
 dress, anybody who had seen the two other- 
 wise than absolutely side by side, would have 
 said that Margaret had the advantage. Kate 
 wore white silk stockings and kid shoes; 
 Margaret, black silk — of that very fine and 
 
50 
 
 gauzy quality which allows a sufficiency of 
 the whiteness of the skin beneath to shine 
 thi-ough the thin covering to turn the black 
 almost to gray — and black satin shoes. And 
 here again, alas ! she had the advantage over 
 our Snishire Kate. And men will be so stu- 
 pid in these matters ! I would lay a wager 
 that either Captain EUingham, Fred Falconer, 
 or Mr. Mcrriton, the latter especially, — he 
 was the youngest, — would have said the next 
 morning that Margaret had the prettier foot ; 
 whereas all that could have been said in jus- 
 tice was that she had the prettier shoe. In 
 this matter Sillshire could not compete with 
 Paris. And it may be possible that the ac- 
 tive habits of Sillshire life had added some- 
 thing to the muscular development, and 
 therefore to the thickness of the country-bred 
 foot, which had done more walking, running, 
 jumping, riding, swimming in its life than 
 any score of Parisian young ladies' feet. At 
 all events, theesquisitely beautiful slenderness 
 of the by no means short but well-foi"med 
 foot and high, arched instep, which showed 
 itself beneath the folds of Margaret's black 
 dress, was shown to the greatest possible 
 advantage by the skill of the Parisian Mel- 
 notte of that day. 
 
 Upon the whole, the contrasted style of 
 their dresses added so much to the real dif- 
 ferences between the two girls, and the con- 
 trasted style of their manner added so much 
 more, that no stranger would have guessed 
 them to be sisters, much less twins. As to 
 this latter matter of beai-ing, gait, and all the 
 innumerable and indescribable little details! 
 which make up what is called manner, there 
 was more room for difference of opinion. 
 Every man admires a Parisian dress or shoe 
 more than a Sillshire one ; but some men — 
 and not Sillshire men only — may prefer the 
 Lindisfarn-bred to the Chassec-d' Aniin-hved 
 manner. Margaret herself, however, had no 
 doubt at all upon this department of the 
 question, any more than upon the other. 
 And her last final glance at the Psyche glass 
 in her chamber sent her down-stairs by Kate's 
 side in high good-humor. 
 
 AVhen they entered the drawing-room, they 
 found Miss Immy and j\Ir. Mat, with Lady 
 Farnleigh and Captain EUingham. Thesquir 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 foretaste of autumn. Lady Farnleigh and 
 Miss Tmmy were sitting near the fire, and 
 discussing a method, said to be infallible, for 
 keeping eggs fresh longer than any other way ; 
 and Miss Immy was declaring her conviction 
 that a fresh-laid egg was a fresh-laid, and a 
 stale egg a stale egg, despite all the clever- 
 ness and contrivances in the world. Mr. Mat 
 and Captain EUingham were talking in the 
 embrasure of a window near the door. When 
 the girls came in, however, and went to join 
 the ladies on the rug before the fire, the two 
 gentlemen came forward, and Captain EUing- 
 ham was presented by Lady Farnleigh to both 
 the young ladies. There was not the slight- 
 est difference in her manner in either case ; 
 but she introduced the stranger first to Kate. 
 And a slight shade passed over Margaret's 
 heart, not over her face, — pas si bete ! — as the 
 redection occurred to her that Kate had no 
 right to be treated as if she were the elder 
 sister. 
 
 Margaret saw enough of the captain with 
 half a glance, however, to make up her raiad 
 at once that as far as he was concerned, any 
 little matter of this kind was of small impor- 
 tance to her. Knowing how poor a man Cap- 
 tain EUingham was, it was quite a satisfac- 
 tion to her — almost, one might say, a relief — 
 to find that no amount of dangerous attractive- 
 ness had been thrown away upon him. And 
 yet all women, and even all young girls, 
 would not have been at all disposed to sub- 
 scribe to IMai'garet's opinion on this point. 
 Captain EUingham was one of those men who 
 seem to impersonate the beau-iJcal of their 
 calling. He looked exactly what he was, — 
 every inch a sailor. He was of middling 
 height, very broad in the shoulders, with not 
 an ounce of superfluous flesh on him. His 
 coal-black hair and whiskers, of which he 
 wore rather more than was at that time usual 
 among landsmen, were already beginning to 
 be slightly streaked with gray. His cheek 
 was dark by nature, and bronzed by exposure 
 to weather. The large, good-humored mouth , 
 showing every time he smiled a set of mag- 
 nificently regular teeth, was supported by a 
 massive square chin, the fleshlessness of 
 which, and of the jaw behind it, caused the 
 lower edge of the latter to show an angle as 
 had not yet come into the room. There was > clean and well-defined as the right angle of a 
 
 a fire in the grate ; for, though it had been 
 hitherto lovely September weather, the day 
 had been boisterous and windy, — the first 
 
 square piece of iron ; and it looked as hard 
 and firm as that. But the eyes were the 
 principal feature of his face. They were large 
 
brown eyes, ■vvhidi, when thcj looked any- 
 body in the face without any reason for spe- 
 cial expression, gave the impression that noth- 
 ing could ever make them wink. W hen they 
 were under the influence of any particular 
 attitude of mind, it was strange how varied, 
 and indeed how contradictory, the expression 
 of them could be. Men said — his own men, 
 the crow of his ship especially — that Captain 
 EUingham had the eye of a hawk. Others 
 said — not men so much — that Captain EUing- 
 ham had an eye like a stag. For the rest he 
 had that sort of quick, decided manner, and 
 that extra and superfluous amount of move- 
 ment in his bearing, gait, and action, which 
 is apt to charasterize temperaments of great 
 energy and nervous excitability. Upon the 
 whole, one might say that Captain EUing- 
 ham was not, perhaps, a man to fall over head 
 and ears in love with at first sight, but one 
 with whom it would be very specially difficult 
 to struggle out of love again, if once an ad- 
 venturous heart should have advanced far 
 enough to begin to feel the power of attrac- 
 tion. 
 
 Captain EUingham, on his side, was one of 
 those men particularly apt to fall in love, as 
 it is called, at first sight, but not irretrieva 
 bly so. There was too much depth of charac- 
 ter, too much caution, too much shrewd com- 
 mon sense, and too strong an admiration for, 
 and cleaving to, and need of, nobleness and 
 goodness for that. So that, in point of fact, 
 his tendency to love at first sight amounted 
 to little more than great susceptibility to 
 every form of female charm, joined to that 
 proneness to poetize each manifestation of it 
 into a conformity with his own ideal, which 
 generally characterizes such temperaments. 
 
 Lady Farnleigh's spirit, if any amount of 
 " medium " power could cause it to look over 
 the writer's shoulder as the words are formed 
 by his pen — (would that it could do so ! ah, 
 would that it could!)— Lady Farnleigh's 
 spirit, I say, would be very angry at the 
 breach of confidence. But the fact was that, 
 as they returned together in her ladyship's 
 carriage to Wanstrow that night, Captain 
 EUingham admitted that, of the two cliarm- 
 ing girls he had seen, he had been most struck 
 by that exquisitely lovely sylph in black ; — 
 certainly the most beautiful creature he had 
 ever seen ! Whereupon that somewhat free- 
 spoken lady had told him that he was a great 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 51 
 
 goose, and knew about as much of women as 
 she did of haulyards and marlingspikes 
 
 Very ^hort time, however, was allowed him 
 for any quiet comparison of the two Lindis- 
 farn lasses, before the rest of the guests began 
 to arrive. The first comers were old Mr. 
 Falconer and his son. The latter is already 
 in some degree known to the reader. The 
 first thing that struck one in the former, was 
 his adherence to the then all but obsolete fash- 
 ion of wearing a queue, or pigtail, and pow- 
 der. He was a tall, florid, well-preserved old 
 gentleman, somewhere between sixty and sev- 
 enty, who, having lived among the clergy of 
 a cathedral city all his life, had acquired nat- 
 urally in a great degree, and afi'ected in a still 
 greater, a clerical tone of manners and senti- 
 ments. Nothing pleased old Mr. Falconer 
 more than to be mistaken for a clergyman. 
 
 Mr. Freddy, whose drawing-room get-up was 
 in all respects on a par with that of his morn- 
 ing hours, and on a level with his reputation, 
 after he had greeted, with salutations accu- 
 rately and gracefully adapted to the special 
 fitness of each particular case, all his old ac- 
 quaintances, was of course presented first to 
 Margaret and afterward to Captain EUing- 
 ham ; — the first by Kate, with a very gra- 
 cious "My sister, Mr. Falconer. Your Pa- 
 risian reminiscences [jMr. Freddy had spent a 
 winter in Paris] will make you seem almost 
 more like an old acquaintance than any 
 other of her Sillshire friends." The other 
 introduction was performed less graciously 
 by Lady Farnleigh, as thus: "Mr. Falco- 
 ner, the Honorable Mr. EUingham, in com- 
 mand of His jNLajesty's Revenue Cutter, the 
 Petrel, on the Sillmouth station." 
 
 Lady Farnleigh always called Lieutenant 
 EUingham Captain, like all the rest of the 
 world. I do not know why she chose not to 
 do so on this occasion ; and I suppose that 
 Freddy Falconer could not have told why 
 either. But he observed it ; and hated Lady 
 Farnleigh for it more than he did before. It 
 was because he hated her, and not, to do him 
 justice, from any vulgar reverence for her 
 superior rank, that his bow to her had been 
 markedly lower than to any other person in 
 the room. 
 
 Next arrived Dr. Thcophilus Lindisfarn, 
 bringing with him, not indeed the precious 
 memoir on Coffer-work Ceilings, but another, 
 on " The Course and Traces of the Ancient 
 
52 
 
 City Walls of Silverton," as an offering to 
 Margaret, the ceremonious presentation of 
 which before the assembled company, and the 
 consequent pouncing on her by old Mr. Fal- 
 coner, not a little disgusted that sylphlike 
 creature, and wreaked on her some measure 
 of punishment for the false pretences which 
 had brought it upon her. She had reason to 
 suspect, too, that there was more of thesame 
 sort of annoyance in store for her ; for the 
 canon had entered the room bearing in his 
 hands a carefully packed and sealed brown- 
 paper parcel, looking very much like a brick 
 in size and shape, which he had carefully 
 deposited on a side-table, saying with sundry 
 winks and nods and mysterious smiles, that 
 there was something for their amusement in 
 the evening, which he believed some, at least, 
 of those present (with a very flatteringly 
 meaning look at Margaret) would appreciate. 
 
 Then came in the squire, with a rush and 
 a circular fire of apologies. 
 
 " A thousand pardons. Lady Farnleigh ! 
 You have tolerated my ways so long that I 
 hope you will bear Avith them a little longer, 
 and give up all hope of seeing them mended. 
 How do. Falconer? I am not absolutely un- 
 punctual though. It is not sis o'clock yet ! 
 Wants two minutes ! " 
 
 " And a half, Mr. Lindisfarn ! " said the old 
 banker, in a comforting, encouraging sort of 
 tone, as he consulted his chronometer. 
 
 "Thank you. Falconer. And a half! 
 Who calls that not being in time ? How do, 
 brother? How is Lady Sempronia? Not 
 equal to the trial of coming up to the Chase, 
 eh?" 
 
 And then the squire was introduced to 
 Captain EUingham— duly called so this time 
 — by Lady Farnleigh ; and welcomed him to 
 the Chase and to Sillshire with a charming 
 mixture of high-bred courtesy and friendly 
 cordiality. 
 
 "And now. Mat, ring the bell, and tell 
 them that they may let us have dinner, there's 
 a good fellow. You must be all half-starved." 
 
 " But we are not all here, Mr. Lindisfarn," 
 said Miss Immy. " We are expecting Mr. 
 Merriton and his sister from the Friary, Lady 
 Farnleigh. Mr. Lindisfarn asked them him- 
 self; and now he has forgotten all about 
 it! " 
 
 " Bless me, so I had ! Don't tell of me, 
 anybody ! Bufthey ought to have been here 
 %y this time. I hope they don't mean to 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 bring London ways into Sillshire, and under- 
 stand one to mean seven when one says sis." 
 
 " Our clocks are too fast, Mr. Lindisfarn. 
 I told you so the other day," pleaded Miss 
 Immy. 
 
 " Not if they make it now only two min- 
 utes past six," said Mr. Falconer, again con- 
 sulting his infallible watch. 
 
 " Not a bit of it," said the squire ; " and 
 perhaps the best way of showing them that 
 six means sis in Sillshire would be to go to 
 dinner." 
 
 But the squire was persuaded to allow a 
 little law on the score of the defaulters' be- 
 ing strangers, and this the first time of of- 
 fending. And happily a carriage was heard 
 crunching the gravel outside the drawing- 
 room windows before another ten minutes 
 had passed,— which, however long they may 
 have seemed to the seniors of the party, passed 
 quickly enough with some of the others. 
 
 And then Mr. Merriton and Miss ]\Ierriton 
 were announced. They were entire sti-angers 
 to everybody in the room except the Falcon- 
 ers, and except in so far as a casual meeting 
 had introduced Mr. Merriton to Mr. Lindis- 
 farn. And there was consequently a little 
 excitement of expectation among the party 
 assembled, to see what the new-comers into 
 the county were like. And in the nest in- 
 stant it was recognized by all present that 
 they were, at all events, remarkable-looking 
 people. 
 
 Arthur Merriton, though a smaller and 
 slighter man than either Captain EUingham 
 or Fred Falconer, would have been thought 
 by many a more remarkably handsome man 
 than either. He would probably have been 
 more generally thought eo in England than 
 among his mother's countrymen, where the 
 peculiar type of his beauty is much more 
 common. Fred Falconer's brown locks and 
 carnation-colored cheeks would have attract- 
 ed more admiring eyes among the beauties of 
 the Conca dJoro, and the carefully-blinded 
 windows of Palermo, than the raven 's-wing 
 curls, the brilliant dark eyes, and the thin, 
 transparent-looking sallow cheeks, and finely- 
 formed but yellow-white brow of the son of 
 a Sicilian mother. In person and figure he 
 was delicately and slenderly made, with small 
 and well-shaped hands and feet. His man- 
 ner was unexceptionably gentleman-like ; but 
 there was a nervousness about it that seemed 
 half excitability and half shyness, as he went 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 througli the ordeal of being presented to the 
 various individuals of his new neighborhood. 
 And tliis peculiarity of manner was yet 
 more marked in the case of his sister. She 
 was very small, moreover, and really fairy- 
 like in figure, which increased the cfTcct of 
 her shrinking timidity and nervousness of 
 manner. Her little figure, in its almost min- 
 iature proportions, was exquisitely perfect ; 
 but the foce had peculiarities which pre- 
 vented it from being beautiful. The large, 
 Hiir forehead, which seemed first to attract 
 anybody who saw Miss Merriton for the first 
 time, was too large, and too square, and too 
 prominent for the small face. The eyes had 
 also the rare defect of being too large. But 
 perhaps their size alone would not have 
 seemed a fault, if they bad not also been too 
 prominent, and what the French call a flcur 
 dc tele. The other features of the face were 
 good and delicate. Exceeding delicacy, in- 
 deed, was the prominent and paramount 
 characteristic of the entire face and figui-e. 
 
 53 
 
 The hair was most remarkably abundant? 
 and beautiful in quality, and as black as 
 night. The whole face, except the lips, was 
 entirely colorless. 
 
 The ladies and the young men had had 
 time to note all this ; and the old men had 
 had time to think to themselves, " What a 
 very strange-looking little body ! " when the 
 dinner-bell at length rang. 
 
 Mr. Liudisfarn gave his arm to Lady Farn- 
 leigh ; Mr. Falconer took Miss Immy ; Dr. 
 Theophilus seized on JMargaret, to her ex- 
 ceeding great disgust, making her feel as 
 though she should burst into tears amid the 
 sweet smiles with which she looked up into 
 his face, and pretended to coax him, as they 
 walked to the dining-room, to tell her what 
 was inside the brown-paper parcel ; Captain 
 Ellingham's character of stranger, as well as 
 his rank, secured him Kate's arm ; Freddy 
 Falconer had Miss Llerriton under his care ; 
 and so, with jNIr. Merriton and Mr. Mat 
 bringing up the rear, they went to dinner. 
 
54 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 AT DINNEE, AND AFTERWARD. 
 
 Tt was somewhat contrary to rule ; but the 
 head of the table at the Chase was always 
 occupied by Miss Immy. It was so for that 
 good old conservative reason, that it always 
 had been so from time immemorial. And 
 the arrangement was a good one, under the 
 circumstances, on one account, at all events, — 
 that it obviated any diflSculty as to the ques- 
 tion to which of the twin Lindisfarn lasses 
 should be assigned that post of honor. So 
 Miss Immy sat at the top of the table, with 
 the canon on her right and the old banker on 
 her left hand, exactly as she had done on 
 many a previous occasion. And next to Dr. 
 Lindisfarn, of course, sat IMargaret. On the 
 right hand of the squire was Lady Farnleigh, 
 and opposite to her Miss Merriton, with Fred 
 Falconer by her side. One place thei-efore 
 remained vacant between him and Margaret. 
 On the opposite side of the table, to the right 
 of the squire, that is to say, next to old Mr. 
 Falconer, sat Kate, v/ith Captain Ellinghara 
 on the other side of her. So that on this side 
 of the table, also, there remained one vacant 
 place between EUingham and Lady Farnleigh ; 
 and all the party were seated except the two 
 luckless unmated cavaliers, Merriton and Mr. 
 Mat. It was an anxious moment for Margaret, 
 while it remained in doubt which of the two 
 unseated ones would find his place on her side 
 and which of them on the other. . Had she 
 found herself between the doctor and Mr. 
 Mat, the swellkig indignation at her gentle 
 heart must have brimmed over at the eyes. 
 She had already suffered from fate almost as 
 much as she could bear ; and had endured it 
 with the smiles of the red Indian at the stake. 
 
 As it was she was rewarded for her heroism. 
 Of the two places that remained unfilled when 
 Merriton and Mr. Mat entei-ed the room to- 
 gether, closing the procession from the draw- 
 ing-room, Mr. Mat saw at a glance the ad- 
 vantages and disadvantages attached to each 
 of them, and like an old soldier lost no 
 time in seizing on that which pleased him best. 
 Mr. Merriton, even if he had had any pref- 
 ei-ences on the subject, was far too shy and 
 nervous to have acted with promptitude for 
 the gratification of them. Mr. Mat had the 
 choice, therefore, of a place between Lady 
 Farnleigh and Captain EUingham, or one be- 
 tween Margaret and Fred Falconer, and did 
 not hesitate an instant. Mr. Mat had sot no 
 
 further yet, as regarded Margaret, than the 
 unwilling admission to himself that she did 
 not zcm like a Lindisfarn lass, and the feel- 
 ing that he could not quite make her out. 
 But Mr. Freddy Falconer was his abomina- 
 tion. On the other hand, Lady Farnleigh 
 was a great favorite of his, and she always 
 made much of Mr. Mat ; while of Captain 
 EUingham he had liked well enough what 
 little he had seen of him during their short 
 conversation in the drawing-room before the 
 other guests had arrived. 
 
 So Mr. Mat slipped round the table to the 
 vacant place on the side opposite the door of 
 the room, befoi'e Mr. Merriton had time to 
 see where there was any place for him at all ; 
 and IMargaret was made happy by finding the 
 evidently "eligible" Mr. Merriton by her 
 side. 
 
 If only she could have changed places with 
 him ! She would then have been what the 
 moralist tells us nobody is, — ab omni -parte 
 beata, — with Merriton on one side and Freddy 
 Falconer on the other ! That was what she 
 would have liked, if she could have had it all 
 her own way. She would have preferred, too, 
 if she could not have both those good things, 
 to have had Fred Falconer by her side, rather 
 than Mr. Merriton. She had not, it is true, 
 any accurate data of the kind which alone 
 ought to determine the choice of a well- 
 brought-up and thoroughly prudent young 
 lady in a case of the kind. Fred Falconer 
 was the only son of a rich banker. Mr. Mer- 
 riton was the only son of a merchant who 
 must be presumed to have been rich also, and 
 had just bought an estate. It was impossible 
 to say. It was a case of doubt, in which it 
 was perfectly permissible to sufier one's self 
 to be influenced by mere personal inclination, 
 and Margaret felt fixr more inclined to like 
 Falconer. To her thinking he was out of all 
 comparison the handsomer man of the two ; 
 and then he had Vusage du monde, as she said 
 in discussing the matter afterward with her 
 sister. 
 
 Nevertheless, she was tolerably well con- 
 tented with the goods the gods had provided 
 her in young Merriton. Things had looked 
 much worse! What would it have been, if 
 she had been, as seemed at one moment so 
 likely, shut up between her uncle and Mr. 
 Mat? And then an impartial consideration 
 of the entire situation required that much 
 weight should be allowed to the position of 
 
LINDISFARN 
 
 tlic rival forces on the battle-field. ^\nd with 
 tiiis slic was tolerably contented. If she could 
 not have the incomparable Frederick, it was 
 far better that he ehould be given up to that 
 absurd and childish-looking Miss Merriton 
 than to Kate ; especially bearing in mind 
 those hints that had fallen from Lady Farn- 
 Icigh on the suljjcct ! She admitted to her- 
 self that she could not have managed Kate's 
 place lictter, if the arrangement had been left 
 entirely to her own discretion. She was sep- 
 arated hy the entire length and breadth of 
 the table from Fred Falconer, and was be- 
 tween his father, and that disagreeable-look- 
 ing Captain Ellingham, who was of no use, 
 but might possibly serve the purpose of mak- 
 ing Falconer jealous. Margaret was also well 
 pleased to be placed at a good distance from 
 Lady Farnleigh. 
 
 "You would not have had such a fish as 
 that, Mr. Lindisfarn, I can tell you," said 
 Miss Immy, as the canon began to cut up the 
 turbot, under the watchful eye of his brother 
 antiquary opposite, who jealously observed 
 the distribution of the dividend of fin, — " you 
 would not have had such a fish as that, Mr. 
 Lindisfarn, if I had not spoken to Cookson 
 myself about it ; it is no easy matter to get a 
 bit offish, nowadays, Lady Farnleigh. It all 
 goes to London." 
 
 " It would not be a bad plan for the Silver- 
 ton people to subscribe and rig out a fishing- 
 boat of their own," said Mr. Mat. 
 
 " The Londoners would out-bid you, sir. 
 Fish like everything else icill go to the best 
 market," said old Falconer. 
 
 " And if your fisherman were to catch not 
 on his own account but on yours, I am afraid 
 the Silverton subscription boat would liardly 
 get a fair share of the fish," said Captain El- 
 lingham. 
 
 " I am content to leave the matter in the 
 hands of Miss Immy and Cookson," said the 
 doctor ; " for I never ate a better fish in my 
 life." 
 
 " Lady Farnleigh tells me that you are a 
 great swimmer as well as an accomplished 
 rider, jSIiss Lindisfai-n," said Captain Elling- 
 ham to Kate. " Are you fond of the sea in 
 any other way, — boating or yachting? " 
 
 " I have had very little opportunity of try- 
 ing," answered Kate; — " never in anything 
 larger than one of the small Sillmouth pilot 
 boats ; but I liked that very much, —almost 
 as much as a gallop on land." 
 
 CHASE. 55 
 
 " I wonder whether I could induce you 
 and your sister to take a day's cruise in my 
 cutter. I am sure we could pei'siiade Lady 
 Farnleigh to do chapcrone.'" 
 
 " I should like it of all things," said Kate ; 
 " it would be a great treat." 
 
 " We will consult Lady Farnleigh then, 
 and ask your sister after dinner. The only 
 thing is to choose a good day. It would be 
 desperately dull work foryou to be becalmed." 
 
 " Such a day as to-day would be the thing ; 
 would it not? " said Kate. 
 
 " Well, you may have too much of a good 
 thing, you know. Tliere must have been a 
 good deal of sea off the coast to-day." 
 
 ' ' Indeed there was ! I can answer for that. 
 Or perhaps I should say that there seemed to 
 be to my ignorance." 
 
 " Were you down on the coast to-day?" 
 
 " Yes, I and Mr. Mat got a gallop on the 
 Sillmouth sands. I went because I was sure 
 there would be great -waves with this south- 
 west wind, and I am so fond of seeing them 
 tumble in on the shore." 
 
 " AVhat ! You knew it was a sou'west 
 wind then ? I thought landsmen never knew 
 what wind was blowing." 
 
 "But I am a landswoman, you know. 
 And I assure you, that we up at the Chase 
 here are apt to know more about the wind 
 than they do in Silverton." 
 
 " Yes, I suppose you must get the most of 
 it up in the woods above the house. What 
 magnificent old woods they are ! " 
 
 " You must tell Noll that. He is very fond 
 and a little proud of the Lindisfarn v/oods." 
 
 " And may I ask who Noll is? " 
 
 " Noll is the elderly gentleman at the bot- 
 tom of the table, whom all the rest of the 
 world beside me call Oliver Lindisfarn, Es- 
 quire. Papa, Captain Ellingham was struck 
 by the beauty of the Lindisfarn woods." 
 
 " You must see them by daylight, and ride 
 through them," said the squire. "There 
 are some very fine trees among them. But 
 you could see very little as you drove up to 
 the Chase this evening." 
 
 "I walked up the hill, and enjoye<.i the 
 twilight view most thoroughly. And then, 
 you know, we sailors have cats' eyes, and 
 can see in the dark." 
 
 If you care about that sort of thing," 
 said old Mr. Falconer, " you should not ride, 
 but walk, through the woods on Lindisfarn 
 i brow, as wc Silverton people cal Ithe crest of 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 56 
 
 the hill above the house yonder. There are 
 some of the finest sticks of timber in the 
 county there ; but the squire wont cut a tree 
 of them." 
 
 " No ; there is another old stick must be 
 felled first, before the axe goes among the 
 oaks on Lindisfarn brow," said the squire. 
 
 " But is it really true that cats can see in 
 the dark?" asked Miss Immy ; who had 
 been meditating on that assertion since Cap- 
 tain Ellingham had made it. 
 
 " It is generally said so ; but at all events 
 a sailor is obliged to do so, more or less," 
 said Captain Ellingham. 
 
 " I wish I could," returned Miss Immy, 
 meditatively ; " for I am always afraid of set 
 ting my cap on fire when I carry a lighted 
 candle in my hand." 
 
 " The boundary line of the Lindisfarn 
 Chase property ran very close behind the site 
 of the house, once ujwna time," said old Mr. 
 Falconer, " and all the woods on the hill were 
 part of the property belonging to the FriaryJ living within five miles of it 
 
 at Weston. But at the dissolution of thfe 
 monasteries, the Lindisfarn of that day ob- 
 tained a grant of all that portion of the land 
 which lies on this side of the Lindisfarn Brook. 
 It has often seemed odd to me, that, having 
 sufficient interest to obtain so large a slice of 
 the spoil, he did not find means to add the 
 whole of the Friary estates to Lindisfarn." 
 
 " I don't think the old boundary line ran 
 quite as you conceive it to have done, Falco- 
 ner," said the doctor. " There is no doubt 
 about the line as far as the corner of the Wes- 
 ton warren ; but supposing us to take our 
 stand at that point," etc., etc., etc. 
 
 And the two old gentlemen, who rarely met 
 without a battle royal on some point or other 
 of the manifold knotty questions with which 
 the " paths of hoar antiquity " are strewn 
 quite as thickly as they are with flowers, en- 
 tered forthwith into a hot dispute, carrying 
 on the fight across Miss Immy, who kept turn- 
 ing from one speaker to the other, with her 
 little palsied nodding of the head, as if she 
 took the most lively interest in the matter in 
 hand, and was very much convinced by the 
 arguments of each speaker in succession. 
 
 Margaret, meanwhile, between whom and 
 Mr. Merriton a very few absolutely matter- 
 of-course words only had passed, seized the 
 opportunity afforded by Mr. Falconer's ex- 
 pression of surprise that some ancestors of 
 hers had not found means to monopolize the 
 
 whole of the ancient Friary property, to Bay 
 to her neighbor, speaking in a very low 
 and gentle voice, which contrasted with the 
 rather loud tone in which all the rest of the 
 conversation had been carried on, — 
 
 " I am sure it is better for all parties that 
 my ancestors did not add the Friary to Lin- 
 disfarn. Do you not think so, Mr. Merri- 
 ton ? I am sure it is of more advantage to 
 the inhabitants of the Chase to have some 
 other neighbors besides the good people of 
 Silverton, than to have a few more acres." 
 
 " At all events," replied Mr. Merriton, 
 blushing painfully up to the roots of his 
 black hair as he spoke, " it would have been 
 in every point of view a misfortune fo/ me, 
 Miss Lindisfarn." 
 
 ' ' I have never been at the Friary yet ; but 
 I am told that it is the most beautiful thing 
 in the county ;" rejoined Margaret, in the 
 same low tone of voice. 
 ' " You have never been to the Friary ? And 
 
 " But I am a more recent inhabitant of 
 Sillshire than you are, Mr. Merriton. This 
 is only the fourth day from my arrival at 
 Lindisfarn." 
 
 "I thought you had lived here all your 
 life," said Mr. Merriton, simply. 
 
 "No, indeed!" replied the young lady, 
 with an intonation in which might have been 
 detected some manifestation of a conscious- 
 ness that her neighbor's supposition was not 
 a complimentary one ; " my whole life has 
 been passed in Paris ; and I assure you," she 
 added in a yet lower and more confidential 
 tone, " that I find myself quite as much in a 
 strange land here as you can do. Does not 
 Miss Merriton find all the things and all the 
 people here very" — she hesitated a little be- 
 fore adding — " very different from what she 
 has been used to? " 
 
 As Margaret had not the remotest idea 
 what manner of people, or things, or places 
 Miss Merriton had been used to, the remark 
 was rather hasarde, as IMargaret would have 
 said herself. And the consciousness that it 
 was so prompted her to add, " I suppose you 
 have lived in London ? " 
 
 " For rather more than a year past we 
 have done so ; and at different times in my 
 life I have been in town, and in other parts 
 of England before. But the greatest por- 
 tion of my life has been passed in a different 
 clime." 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 There was in the last words Mr. jNIerriton 
 had spoken, and in the manner which ac- 
 companied them, enough to have aObrded a 
 shrewder and more experienced observer than 
 ^Margaret a key to one phase at least of his 
 character ; but she was not equal to the per- 
 ception or to the application of it. And he 
 was probably a little disappointed when she 
 replied simply : — 
 
 " Have you, too, lived in Paris, then?" 
 
 " No, Miss Lindisfarn, not in Paris. My 
 home was under a more genial sky." 
 
 Margaret gave him a quick, sharp, side- 
 long glance out of the corner of her eye, and 
 from under the shelter of its long silken lash ; 
 but as this showed her nothing in Mr. Mer- 
 riton's remarkably handsome face but an ex- 
 pression which seemed to her one of intense 
 sadness, and as she did not see her way at 
 all clearly in the direction which their con- 
 versation was taking, she changed it by re- 
 ferring to the safer topic of the Friary. 
 
 " Is your new home as beautiful a place as 
 I have been told it is, Mr. Merriton ? I think 
 I should be more inclined to accept your 
 opinion on the subject than that of — people 
 who have known little else than Sillshire." 
 
 " Yes, it is very pretty ; a very pretty 
 house and grounds. But I hope, Miss Lin- 
 disfarn, that there is no need for you to take 
 anybody's opinion save your own, on the sub- 
 ject. I trust I may soon have the pleasure 
 of showing it to you." 
 
 " You are very good. I should so like it ! 
 Indeed, my uncle, Dr. Lindisfarn, had prom- 
 ised to ask your permission to take me there 
 with him. I believe," she added, turning 
 her head toward him, so as to look away 
 from her uncle on the other side of her, and 
 speaking in a very low voice, " that it is con- 
 sidered that the Friary is interesting in some 
 antiquarian point of view." 
 
 There was no fear that her uncle might 
 overhear any of her conversation with Mr. 
 Merriton ; for he was far too bc?ily and too 
 loudly engaged in his dispute with Mr. Fal- 
 coner carried on across the table. 
 
 " Yes," said Mr. Merriton ; "I dare say it 
 may be so ; for, as the place was once a mon- 
 astery, there must be a history attached to 
 it. Do you interest yourself in such pur- 
 suits. Miss Lindisfiirn? " 
 
 This was rather a difficult question for 
 Margaret to answer. There was in the mat- 
 ter itaelf somethino:, and in the tone of Mr. 
 
 57 
 
 Merriton's last speech more, to disincline her 
 to reply in the affirmative, and she was afraid 
 with her uncle so close to her to answer as 
 she would have done under other cii-cum- 
 stances. And then there was the prospect of 
 the part she would have to play when the 
 odious brown-paper parcel should be opened 
 after dinner in the drawing-room. So after 
 casting a rapid glance at her uncle, and hav- 
 ing thus ascertained that he was thoroughly 
 absorbed in his conversation about the an- 
 cient boundary line between the Lindisfarn 
 property and that of the old monks, she ven- 
 tured to say, — 
 
 '• Oh, I am a great deal too ignorant to un- 
 derstand anything, or, indeed " (almost in a 
 whisper) , " to care much about any such mat- 
 ters. But my uncle is very fond of them : and 
 I try to interest myself as much as possible in 
 them to please him, you understand. When 
 any one is kind to me, I am sure to take an 
 interest in what interests them. That is a 
 woman's nature, you know, Mr. Merriton." 
 " We must talk to your uncle after dinner, 
 and arrange for a visit to the Friary. It 
 ought to be very soon, before this beautiful 
 weather is over." 
 
 " And you must make me acquainted, too, 
 with your sister, Mr. ]Merriton, when we get 
 into the drawing-room. I am dying to make 
 friends with her. I am sure we shall suit 
 each other.". 
 
 Margaret was in truth anxious to have the 
 means of interrupting or impeding in some 
 way the apparently very promising flirtation 
 which had been progressing during dinner 
 between that young lady and Mr. Frederick 
 Falconer, and which had by no means es- 
 caped her observation. 
 
 " Yes, I hope you will like my sister," re- 
 plied Mr. Merriton ; " but you must have the 
 kindness and the patience to make yourself 
 acquainted with her first. Emily is very 
 timid, very shy, very retiring." 
 
 Margaret thought to herself that Mr. Fal- 
 coner had, without any very great amount 
 of perseverance, contrived to overcome those 
 barriers to acquaintanceship with Miss Mer- 
 riton ; but she only said, — 
 
 " Oh, I am sure we shall understand each 
 other." 
 
 Lady Farnleigh, the squire, and Mr. Mat 
 had been all this time discussing the alarm- 
 ing increase in the depredations of poachers, 
 since the conclusion of the war, and the ue- 
 
58 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 ccssity of taking some steps, which Lady terest to Kate Llndisfam ? The question is 
 Farnleigh was reluctant to adopt, for the one which cuts rudely into the very centre 
 protection of the game on the Wanstrow of the triply guarded citadel and my Ktery of 
 Manor Estate. . So that, what with the eager a young girl's heart. It is hardly a fair 
 antiquarian discussion at the head of the question. Vital importance ! No, certainly : 
 table, the solio voce conversations between it was not a matter of vital importance I 
 Margaret and Mr. Merriton, and between Well, but that is a mere quibble — a riding 
 Fred Falconer and Miss Merriton, and the off on the exact sense of a word. Was it a 
 tripartite poaching debate at the bottom of matter of such great interest to her to know 
 the board, there was every opportunity for what Mr. Falconer was saying to Miss I\Ier- 
 Kate and Captain Ellinghara to have enjoyed riton ? No ; she certainly did not at all wish 
 as undisturbed a tete-a-tete as any similarly to overhear any part of his conversation, 
 circumstanced individuals could have de- Was Kate in love with Fred Falconer? 
 sired. Yet it somehow or other came to There, that is plain ! 
 
 pass that they did not make the most — or ! No ! the rude question may be answered 
 even much — of it. After the talk between ■ as plainly. No ; she was not in love with 
 them about the proposed excursion in the cut- Fred Falconer. If he had proposed to Miss 
 ter, the conversation had languished. Cap- Merriton to-morrow, and married her next 
 tain Ellingham had eagerly asked whether day, Kate's next gallop on Birdie would not 
 Margaret liked the sea as well as her sister, ] have been perhaps a whit less joyous, or her 
 and expressed his hope, rather more ear- : rest at night a whit less unbroken. Still, 
 nestly than seemed necessary, that she ^ Kate could hardly, at the time in question, 
 should be of the proposed party ; and then : be said with truth to walk the world fancy- 
 little more than a few " mere words of i free. But that pretty and dainty word ex- 
 course" now and then had passed between presses fully and entirely the whole state of 
 them. Captain EUingham's attention, in . the case. Kate was not altogether fancy- 
 fact, was engrossed by the couple who sat ' free. And Lady Farnleigh's observations 
 opposite to him, Margaret and Mr. Merriton, and inuendoes upon the subject had not been 
 and by the apparently very confidential nat- | altogether groundless. Poor Kate ! Mr. 
 ure of the conversation that was going on | Frederick Falconer was about as worthy of 
 between them. He seemed unable to take i her as a black beetle might be supposed 
 his eyes off Margaret, and was, in fact, ac- worthy to mate with a " purple emperor " 
 quiring that certainty that she was the most butterfly. But he was very handsome, very 
 beautiful creature he had ever seen, which he ; gentlemanlike, very well thought of by 
 expressed afterward to Lady Farnleigh on everybody of their little world ; could make 
 their way home. himself very agreeable (when Lady Farnleigh 
 
 This might suffice to account for the fact i was not present ; when she was, some mys- 
 that the conversation between him and Kate j terious influence prevented him from doing 
 had languished during the dinner-time. But so), and Kate had never seen anything bet- 
 to tell the whole truth, Kate was on her side, ! ter. So there is the truth. If it be insisted 
 not to the same extent, nor so undisguisedly, ( on, that the very inmost cliamber of her gen- 
 but very similarly guilty. Whereas any- tie, pure little heart be made the object of a 
 body might have seen that Captain EUing- '" domiciliary " police visit, "documents" 
 ham was observing Margaret with undis- ! might be found there of a *' compromising " 
 guised admiration, aud uneasiness at the i character, so far as the fact goes that she did 
 closeness of her tete-a-ietc vv'ith the man by feel a sufficient interest in Fred Falconer to 
 
 her side, nobody save a very fine and in- 
 telligent observer could have noted the oc- 
 casional little lightning-quick and furtive 
 glances which Kate sent into the corner of 
 the table opposite to her, on an errand of 
 discovery respecting the nature of the inter- 
 course going on between Frederick Falconer 
 and Miss Merriton. 
 
 be disconcerted — no, that is too strong — dis- 
 pleased, — even that is too decided ; — to be 
 curious about — yes ; we will say to be curi- 
 ous about — that gentleman's very evident 
 and perfectly well characterized (as the nat- 
 uralists say) flirtation with ]\Iiss Merriton. 
 
 And then came the time, very soon after 
 the cloth was removed, and always precisely 
 
 Was that, then, a matter of such vital in- ' at the same number of minutes after it, when 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 J\Iiss Immy rose and led the ladies out of the 
 dining-room. And the dispute between the 
 doctor and the banker raged more furiously 
 than ever. And the squire and Mr. Mat set 
 themselves to investigate Mr. !Merri ton's ideas 
 on the subject of poaching and game-preserv- 
 ing. And Fred Falconer, taking his glass 
 in his hand, went round the table to Cap- 
 tain EUingham, and made himself very 
 pleasant in all the many ways in which an 
 old resident can do so to a new-comer into 
 any social circle. Captain EUingham went 
 into the drawing-room thinking that the 
 banker's son, though a little foppish, was a 
 very good and agreeable sort of fellow. And 
 Freddy — who on his side considered him- 
 self to have discovered that Captain EUing- 
 ham had fallen in love at first sight with ]Mar- 
 garet Lindisfarn — had just carelessly dropped 
 a word to the effect that he thought he rather 
 admired Miss Kate most, for his part, but 
 they were both truly charming girls, and 
 had received an invitation from Captain EUing- 
 ham to make one of the professed party for a 
 cruise in the cutter. 
 
 As soon as ever they got into the drawing- 
 room, Captain EUingham lost no time in pro- 
 posing his scheme to jNIargaret, who declared 
 at once that it would be delightful. But in- 
 stead of confiding her delight in the project 
 to him, as he would have liked, and making 
 the arrangement a little matter between them- 
 selves, she chose to accept it with such loud 
 and open-mouthed expressions of " ho w charm- 
 ing it would be," and such a proclamation 
 of the " delicious idea Captain EUingham 
 has," as made all the room parties to the 
 talk between them, and to EUingham's annoy- 
 ance rendered it impossible not to ask also 
 the Merritons. 
 
 And then all the young people got round 
 Lady Farnleigh, and without much difliculty 
 obtained her consent to act as lady patroness, 
 and chaperone general of the party. And then 
 the day was to be fixed ; and Lady Farnleigh 
 insisted on turning the scheme into a picnic- 
 party, and undertaking herself to arrange 
 with ^liss Immy all about their several con- 
 tributions of comestibles. 
 
 " I should not permit anybody but you in 
 ail the world, dear Lady Farnleigh, to treat 
 my ship in such fashion. But you are priv- 
 ileged ! " 
 
 " Of course ; that is why I choose to exer- 
 cise my privilege. Go and ask Kate there, and 
 
 59 
 
 she will tell you that my part here is to be 
 fairy godmother, and always to do as I please." 
 
 And EUingham did go and tell Kate what 
 Lady Farnleigh proposed, and Avhat she had 
 said. And that gave rise to a little conversa- 
 tion between them, from which it appeared 
 that they both of them cordially agreed in 
 one point at least, — a hearty and admiring 
 love for Kate's godmother. 
 
 Lady Farnleigh liaving sent off EUingham 
 on the above errand, stepped across the room 
 to the place where Miss Merriton was sitting, 
 and taking a scat by the side of her, pro- 
 ceeded to make acquaintance with, and take 
 the measure of, the new-comer into Sillshire. 
 
 ^Margaret was then left, to her intense sat- 
 isfaction, between Fred Falconer and Mr. 
 Merriton, and, showing her ability to deal 
 with all the requirements of that pleasurably 
 exciting but somewhat difficult position with 
 consummate tact and ability, was accordingly 
 enjoying herself to the utmost — when all was 
 spoilt by that abominable brick in the brown- 
 paper parcel ; for a brick it turned out to 
 be ! Margaret could have cried ; and the 
 two young men devoutly wished the learned 
 canon and his brick under the sod from which 
 he had poked it out. But they did not know 
 that Margaret had brought the brick down 
 on their heads by her own false pretences 
 and cajolery. 
 
 She had her punishment. On proceeding 
 with much ceremony to the opening of the par- 
 cel, which in fact contained a brick with cer- 
 tain mouldings around it, on which he founded 
 a learned and large superstructure of hypoth- 
 esis concerning the date of the old castle keep 
 at Silverton, the doctor, while saying that he 
 thought the very remarkable relic he had 
 there must be interesting to all the i^arty, 
 declared that to one of them at least he was 
 very sure it would be a treat. And then 
 Margaret had to endure a martyrdom of a 
 complicated description. She had in the first 
 place to fence so skilfully with her uncle as 
 to conceal, as far as possible, her absolute 
 and entire ignorance of even the sort of inter- 
 est which was understood to attach to such 
 relics. But this was the easiest part of her 
 task ; for the doctor loved better to talk than 
 to listen, and was quite ready to give his au- 
 dience unlimited credit for comprehension of 
 and interest in the subject. But she had to 
 endure also what she acutely felt to be the ridi- 
 cule, in the eyes of the jeunes gens (as she 
 
60 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 would have said) who were present, of the 
 role of blue stocking and /em»ie-sflran;!e which 
 was thus thrust upon her, — a role which was 
 superlatively repugnant to her, and unassorted 
 to everything that she would have wished to 
 appear in their eyes. 
 
 However, by dint of meaning and appeal- 
 ing looks distributed " aside " (if that phrase 
 may be used of looks as well as of words) with 
 consummate skill, and little purring, coaxing 
 speeches to her uncle, and a liberal use of a 
 whole arsenal of the prettiest and most inno- 
 cent-looking minauderies and little kittenish 
 ways imaginable, she came out of the ordeal 
 better than could have been expected , and if not 
 without suffering, yet with little or no dam- 
 age in the eyes of any one there. 
 
 And then came a simultaneous ordering of 
 carriages, and departure. 
 
 Dr. Theophilus Lindisfarn packed up his 
 brick while the ladies were cloaking them- 
 selves, and carried it off as his sole compan- 
 ion in the little one-horse shandridan that so 
 vexed the soul of Lady Sempronia. 
 
 Lady Farnleigh and Captain EUingham 
 got off next. The only part of the talk be- 
 tween them that interests us has been al- 
 ready given to the reader. Lady Farnleigh 
 was more provoked by her friend's preference 
 for Margaret over her own favorite than the 
 few words she had uttered indicated. 
 
 " To think," she said to herself in her 
 meditations on the subject, " that men, and 
 men of sense, too, should be fooled by their 
 eyes to such an extent ; and by the look, too, 
 not of a pretty girl, but of a pretty dress ! 
 For Kate's the finer girl, two to one ! It 
 was all that chit's Parisian get-up. Hang 
 her airs and graces ! She did look uncom- 
 monly well though, that is undeniable." 
 And then Lady Farnleigh, being thoroughly 
 minded not to be beaten in the game which 
 she clearly saw was about to begin, and which 
 she was bent on playing to her own liking, 
 fell into a meditation on the possibility of 
 obtaining for her favorite those advantages 
 which seemed to have done so much for IMar- 
 garet. But in those days of four-and-twenty 
 hours' journey by mail between London and 
 the provinces, it was not so easy a matter to 
 accomplish anything in this line as it might 
 have been in our day of universal facilities. 
 
 There was a similar discordance of opinion 
 between the two occupants of the Merriton 
 carriage, as it returned to the Friary. Miss 
 
 Merriton and her brother, indeed, both agreed 
 in praising the kindness and friendliness of 
 Lady Farnleigh ; but when the former was 
 enthusiastic about the charmingness and 
 such-a-dear-girl-ness of Margaret, who had 
 entirely captivated the timid little Emily, as 
 she had set herself to do, her brother would 
 only answer by praises of Kate. In this case 
 the captivating had been a more unconscious 
 and unintentional process on the part of the 
 captor. When Mr. Merriton had twice dur- 
 ing his conversation with Margaret at dinner 
 alluded to his home " in other climes," and 
 " more genial skies," and had taken nothing 
 by the effort (for such an advance toward in- 
 timate talk was an effort for him), save an 
 unsympathizing inquiry whether he had lived 
 in Paris, he, as he would himself have ex- 
 pressed it, " felt himself chilled." But when 
 he had afterward in the drawing-room, on 
 Kate's addressing to him some words about 
 the Friary, put out a similar feeler for sym- 
 pathy to her, it had been responded to by an 
 enthusiastic declaration on Kate's part that 
 she longed to see Italy ; that it was the dream 
 of her life to be able to do so some day, and 
 that she should tease Mr. Merriton to death 
 by asking him all sorts of questions on the 
 subject, and all sorts of assistance in her dif- 
 ficulties with her Italian studies. 
 
 And so Mr. Merriton was then and there 
 inextricably lassoed, and captured on the 
 spot. 
 
 In the comfortable, well-appointed carriage 
 which conveyed Mr. Falconer and his son to 
 their home in Silverton, a few words passed 
 before the senior composed himself to sleep, 
 which it may be as well for the purposes of 
 this history to record. 
 
 " I was not so hard at it with the doctor 
 — who upon some points is the wrongest- 
 headed man I ever knew — at my end of the 
 table as not to have observed that you were 
 making up to Miss Merrikon very assiduously 
 at the other," said the father. 
 
 " She seems a ladylike, agreeable girl 
 enough, though very shy," answered Mr. 
 Frederick. 
 
 " Yes, I dare say. But you will do well, 
 Fred, to remember that there is such a thing 
 as falling to the ground between two stools. 
 What do you supposeMiss Lindisfarn thought 
 of your very evident flirtation? " 
 
 " There are two Miss Lindisfarns now." 
 
 "Yes, more's the pity! If these French 
 
people — what's their name?- 
 
 .INDISFARN 
 
 had not gone 
 the wrong side of the post, it would have 
 been on the cards that the squire might have 
 been persuaded not to divide the property ; 
 seeing that Miss Margaret would have been 
 amply jirovided for. But now ! — it is a thou- 
 sand pities ! " 
 
 " Ay ! the Lindisfarn property as it stands 
 is a very pretty thing indeed— a prize for any 
 man." 
 
 "//rtZ/'of it is a prize for any man, you mean 
 — for any man who can win the hand of either 
 of the young ladies." 
 
 "I only meant that the property is one 
 which any man might he proud to be. at the 
 head of." 
 
 " And if any man were to marry one of the 
 heiresses, who had a command of ready cash 
 equal to the share coming to the other of 
 them, — who knows what arrangments might 
 be made to prevent the splitting or selling of 
 the estate? " observed the old banker. 
 
 "What is Miss Merriton's fortune?" 
 p.sked his son. 
 
 " Miss Merriton has twenty-five thousand 
 pounds in her own absolute disposition," 
 replied the senior, uttering the words slowly 
 and deliberately; "but what is that to the 
 half of the Liuuiofdiu property? " 
 
 " It is about one thousand a year instead 
 of about two thousand," said Mr. Frederick. 
 " Exactly so," said his father ; " to which 
 it may be added that Miss Kate Lindisfarn 
 hasher godmother's sis thousand pounds." 
 " Which would very likely be conditional 
 on the young lady marrying with her god- 
 mother's consent, seeing that it is not set- 
 tled money," returned the young man. 
 
 " Possibly, but I should say not likely," 
 replied his father. " Besides, Fred, I im- 
 agined that you had reason to think that you 
 did not stand badly with Miss Kate ; and 
 this newly arrived young lady" — 
 
 " Well, sir," returned his son, after a 
 pause, " to speak out frankly, and make no 
 secrets between us, this is the state of the 
 case. Kate is a charming girl. Nobody can 
 feel that more strongly than I do. And it 
 may be, as you say, that I may have reason to 
 flatter myself that I am not disagreeable to 
 her. But there is another lady in the case, 
 with whom I do not flatter myself that I 
 stand at all well. In a word, I am quite 
 sure that if Lady Farnleigh can keep me and 
 Kate asunder she will do so; and I fear 
 
 CHASE. 61 
 
 tliat she may have the power to do it. Kate is 
 very much under her influence. Now there 
 can be no doubt at all that Miss Margaret 
 Lindisfixrn is also an exceedingly charming 
 girl, — to my thinking even more fascinating 
 perhaps than her sister, — and you can easily 
 understand, sir, that under- these circum- 
 stances it may be well to have two strings to 
 one's bow." 
 
 " That's all very well," said the old gen- 
 tleman. "And now I will tell you with 
 equal frankness what seems to mc the state 
 of the case. In the first place, when I was a 
 young fellow, I do not think I should have 
 allowed very much weight to the prejudices 
 of a godmarama in such a matter. In the 
 next place, bear this in mind : that though 
 either of Mr. Lindisfarn's daughters may be 
 considered a desirable — a rery desirable match, 
 there are reasons for considering Miss Kate, 
 the more desirable of the two. Not to 
 of Lady Farnleigh 's six thousand pound 
 though that would be a very comfortable as- 
 sistance in any scheme for obtaining the en- 
 tire property, — I think that it would be far 
 more possible to persuade the old squire to 
 leave the acres and the old house to Kate, 
 with a due sum of money equivalent to Mar- 
 garet, than vice versa, and very naturally so. 
 And to speak with perfect frankness, my 
 dear boy, that is the stake to play for. It is 
 not merely the money, though a good match 
 is a good match ; and either of these young 
 ladies would be a very good match. But, 
 thank God, I shall leave you in a position 
 which makes a good match what you may 
 naturally look to. But to be Falconer of 
 Lindisfiirn Chase — that would be a thing 
 worth trying for ! such a position in the 
 county ! In fact, I don't mind owning that I 
 could quit the scene with perfect contentment, 
 if I could live to see you established in such 
 a position. Nor do I mind saying that — sup- 
 posing, as I have no doubt, that you and I 
 go on together as well as we always have 
 done — the ready cash, which would suffice to 
 buy one-half of the property, should not be 
 wanting, if you should ever be lucky enough 
 to need it. As for Miss Merriton, though all 
 very well in the way of a match, slie is not 
 to be mentioned in the same day with either 
 of the Lindisfarn girls, and no great catch 
 for you in any way. And now, my dear boy, 
 if you'll allow me, I'll go to sleep till we get 
 to Silver ton." 
 
62 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 And so Freddy meditated during the re- 
 mainder of the short journey on the words of 
 paternal wisdom which he had heard. 
 
 At the Ciiase, the squire and Miss Immy 
 went off to their respective chambers as soon 
 as ever the last of their guests was gone. 
 Mr. Mat walked out muttering something 
 about seeing all safe ; but if the whole truth 
 is absolutely to be told, he went and smoked 
 a pipe in the stable before going to bed. 
 
 The two girls went up to their adjoining 
 rooms, but could hardly I)e expected to go to bed 
 ti 11 they had , at least compendiously , compared 
 notes as to their impressions during the even- 
 ing. 
 
 Margaret made no allusion to her anti- 
 quarian trials, nor to the projected visit to the 
 Friary. The invitation of Captain Ellingham 
 was talked of,- and a more mature considera- 
 tion of it deferred till the morrow, on ac- 
 count of the lateness of the hour to which 
 the debate had already lasted. The most in- 
 teresting part of the conversation, however, of 
 course turned on the diflerent estimates formed 
 by the two girls of their new acquaintances. 
 But without reporting at length all the chat- 
 ter of agreement, disagreement, and compari- 
 son of notes, which went to the expression of 
 their opinions, the net result may be summed 
 up with tolerable accuracy thus : — 
 
 Margaret declared that JNIr Merriton was 
 an exceedingly agreeable man, evidently highly 
 instructed, very gentlemanlike, certainly very 
 handsome, and unquestionably the nicest of 
 the three young men of the party. Mr. Fred- 
 erick Falconer was very handsome and very 
 nice too. Captain Ellingham she could see 
 nothing to like in at all, except his invita- 
 tion to go on board his ship, which would be 
 charming, as the others were all invited. 
 
 Kate said, on the contrary, that she had 
 been much pleased with all she had seen of Cap- 
 tain Ellingham ; that, of course, as far as I 
 likin"- went, she could not be expected to like | 
 him 'so well as her old friend, Freddy Fal- | 
 coner ; and as for ]\Ir. ISIerriton, he had 
 seemed to her very good-natured, but more 
 like a schoolboy who was a rather girlish one 
 than like a man. 
 
 And 60 ended the dinner-party at the 
 Chase. 
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 MU. MERRITON TAYS SOME VISITS. 
 
 What with the talk about the proposed sail- 
 ing excursion under Captain EUingham's aus- 
 
 pices, and what with the calamity of the 
 iearned canon's brick, nothing had been set- 
 tled on the evening of the party at the Chase 
 about the visit of Margaret and her uncle to 
 the Friary. Margaret had been as careful to 
 make her communication to Mr. Merriton on 
 that subject private and confidential as she 
 had been, when spoken to by Captain Elling- 
 ham respecting the sailing project, to make 
 all present parties to the conversation. She 
 had also avoided saying one word about any 
 such idea to Kate. And her project was to 
 find the means of availing herself of Lady 
 
 tiempronia's invitation to the house in the 
 Close, and to go with her uncle thence to the 
 Friary, so as to have the visit, and the oppor- 
 tunity all to herself. 
 
 All her scheme was foiled, however, by 
 Mr. jMerriton, as is apt to be the case when 
 two parties to an arrangement do not desire 
 precisely the same results from it. j\lr. Mer- 
 riton liked the idea of bringing some of his 
 new neighbors together under his roof on the 
 occasion which had been thus prepared for 
 him. It saved him from the necessity of 
 taking the more decided and self-asserting 
 step of inviting them on no other plea than 
 the simple one of coming to pay him an oi*- 
 dinary visit. It made a reason for their be- 
 ing there ; and if the gathering were made 
 to grow out of what Margaret had said to 
 him at dinner, the great point would be 
 gained of throwing mainly on Dr. Lindisfarn 
 the onus and responsibility of finding amuse- 
 ment or employment for the people when they 
 were there. 
 
 Besides that, IMr. Merriton began to feel 
 very strongly that the only part of such a 
 plan which could i Jbrd any gratification to 
 himself, would be lost if Kate were not to be 
 of the party. 
 
 So on the following morning the new mas- 
 ter of the Friary ordered his phaeton — Mr. 
 iMerriton had passed too large a portion of 
 his life abroad to be much of an equestrian— 
 with the intention of driving, or being driven, 
 rather, over to Wanstrow. Lady Farnleigh 
 had very graciously and kindly made ac- 
 quaintance both with him and with his sis- 
 ter on the previous evening ; and it was ab- 
 solutely necessary to go and call on her. 
 
 The house and grounds of the Friary were 
 close to almost in the village of Weston, 
 which was surnamed from the ancient mo- 
 nastic establishment. And Weston was situ- 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 ntod, as has been eaid, in the valley ul" the 
 Sill, about two miles above Silvcrton Bridge, 
 at a bend in the river just about the spot 
 where the widening of the valley has given 
 rise to the creation of a system of water- 
 meads. These water-meadows fill the whole 
 bottom of the valley all the way from Wes- 
 ton to Silverton, lying on the right-hand side 
 of the river, as one pursued its course for the 
 two miles to Silverton, and the five more that 
 remained of it before it fell into the sea at 
 Sillmouth. The road ran along the left-hand 
 side of the valley, at a somewhat higher ele- 
 vation than that of the water-meads ; and the 
 river ran between the road and the meadows, 
 dammed up to a level a little above that of 
 the latter. The bend in the river at Weston 
 was to the right hand of one following the 
 stream of it ; turning the upper part of its 
 course, therefore, toward the Wanstrow and 
 away from the Lindisfarn side of tiie country. 
 And the village, with its pretty spired church, 
 stood on the left bank, on the outside of the 
 elbow of the bend of the river, and was vis- 
 ible from Silverton Bridge : whereas the an- 
 cient Friary itself, and accordingly Mr. Mer- 
 riton's house and grounds, were on the right 
 bank, enclosed within the elbow of the stream, 
 and were not visible from any part of the 
 city. 
 
 Indeed the house was not visible, or scarcely 
 at all visible, from the village on the oppo- 
 site side of the stream, it was so completely 
 embowered in trees ; and in one direction 
 partially hidden by a jutting limestone cliff. 
 
 63 
 
 The limestone cliff, which has been men- 
 tioned, and which just at that turning-point 
 of the stream has been denuded by the ac- 
 tion of the river, and ris^a 1 1 Mbout a hun- 
 dred and fifty feet in heiglu s there a feature 
 of very considerable beautyi n the landscape. 
 It is entirely and most richly covered with 
 ivy and creeping plants of many kinds, hang- 
 ing in groat festoons, and which, availing 
 themselves of every projection or inequality 
 in the fixce of the rock to mass themselves 
 around it, make it the savings-bank for a 
 gradually and slowly-increasing treasure of 
 gathered soil, and then root themselves afi'esh 
 for a new start in the hoard thus collected. 
 Close at the foot of the cliff runs the river, 
 which, as soon as ever it has got round it, 
 slackens its speed, widens its course, and 
 having jiassed its tussle with that hard lime- 
 stone opponent, goes more lazily, quietly, and 
 smilingly, to the peaceful work of irrigating 
 the water-meads. 
 
 There are no water-meads above the bend 
 in the river and the limestone cliff. The 
 character of the upper part of the valley is a 
 different one. And I have sometimes felfc in- 
 clined to regret that there is no view of the 
 two-mile vista of water-meadows, with Silver- 
 ton at the end of them, from the Friary. The 
 cliff, which shuts out this view, is in itself a 
 great beauty ; and one cannot have every- 
 thing. Above Weston the tillage comes down 
 nearer to the river, on the Lindisfarn side, 
 leaving only a narrow strip of meadow, which 
 is not Avater-mead, but pasture land. On the 
 
 which had been evidently, even to non-gco- j Wanstrow side, — the side on which the Fri- 
 
 logical eyes, the cause of the sudden change 
 of direction in the river's course at Weston. 
 On the Lindisfarn and Silverton side of the 
 river the color of the soil was red ; but on 
 the Wanstrow side the limestone, which 
 seemed to form the substructure, and to con- 
 stitute the prevailing ingredient in the sur- 
 
 ary is, — the same limestone formation, though 
 not rising to the same height, nor rising 
 with the same degree of precipitousness, as 
 it does to form the cliff, shuts in the valley 
 for a few miles, making the rise from it ex- 
 ceedingly steep. On this side the space of 
 pasture ground between the river and this 
 
 face soil of tlie district, gave that side of the | rapid rise is wider. This was the home farm 
 country a paler, grayer, less rich and less ' of the old monastery, and now forms the park 
 picturesque look than that for which the Lin- attached to the residence. The high bank, 
 disfarn side was so remarkable. The Wan- which has been described as shutting this 
 strow side was also much more sparsely ground in, and which is, in fact, the prolon- 
 wooded. gation of the limestone cliff that a little lower 
 
 But these remarks, which apply to all that : down turns the river, is entirely covered with 
 district on the left bank of the river as soon | thick wood ;— not with such magnificent forest 
 as ever the valley of the Sill is left and the j as clothes the top of Lindisfarn brow ; but 
 upper ground reached, are not applicable to with trees of very respectable bulk and 
 the valley itself, to Weston, or to the Friary growth, amply suflScient to shut in the Friary 
 grounds. ; park with a very beautiful boundary, and to 
 
64 
 
 exempt it entirely from that somewhat colder 
 and bleaker look which the country assumes 
 as soon as the valley has been left, and the 
 Wanstrow upper grounds approached. 
 
 Mr. Merriton's way from the Friary to 
 Wanstrow crossed the Sill twice at starting. 
 There is indeed a road which climbs the bank 
 that has just been described, piercing the 
 coppice which covers it. But it is a mere 
 cart-lane, and exceedingly steep. The cliff 
 which has been so often mentioned opposes 
 an insuperable barrier to all progress down 
 the valley on the Friary side of the stream ; 
 so'that it is necessary for any one who would 
 go otherwise than on two legs or on four from 
 the Friary to the upper country behind the 
 bank and the woods and the cliff which 
 hem it in, first to cross the Sill by a bridge 
 which is the private property of the owner 
 of the Friary, and then, after passing through 
 the village, to recross it by the bridge which 
 has been mentioned in a former chapter as 
 forming a part of the pleasanter though 
 longer of the two routes between Wanstrow 
 and Lindisfarn Chase. On the lower side of 
 the cliff, which shuts off the upper from the 
 lower valley of the Sill, — on the side of the 
 water-meads and off Silverton, that is to say, 
 — the land rises from the river to the Wan- 
 strow high grounds much moi-e gradually. 
 
 By this road, therefore, Mr. ]\Ierriton pro- 
 ceeded in his phaeton, lolling comfortably 
 back in one corner of the luxurious vehicle, 
 but occupied more with thinking about how 
 and what he should say to Lady Farnleigh, 
 than with enjoying the beauty of his drive. 
 
 This became less as he left the valley of 
 the Sill behind him, and climbed to the more 
 open downlike region of the limestone hills. 
 The Wanstrow farms were well cultivated, 
 and there was much to gladden the eye of an 
 agriculturist in the district through which 
 the road passed. But it not only looked but 
 felt bleaker as the upper ground was reached, 
 and Mr. Merriton with a shiver put on a 
 cloak which had been lying on the seat be- 
 side him. 
 
 It was almost all, more or less, collar work 
 from the bridge over the Sill, to the lodge 
 gates of Wanstrow Manor, a distance of about 
 five miles. The park in which the house 
 stands is of considerable extent, and not alto- 
 gether devoid of fine timber in widely scat- 
 tered groups. But it is very different from 
 the richly wooded country on the other side 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 of the valley around Lindisfarn. Immedi- 
 ately behind the house, which is situated on 
 the highest swell of the open, downlike hill, 
 there is rather more wood, serving to give it 
 a little of the shelter it so much needs, from 
 the north. But it is little more than a large 
 clump of elms. The house is a modern one, 
 of very considerable pretension, and con- 
 taining far more accommodation than its 
 present single inhabitant needed or could 
 occupy. But the only special beauty or 
 recommendation belonging to it is its south- 
 ward view of the coast and the sea. The 
 village and little port of Sillmouth are visi- 
 ble from it, as well as a considerable extent 
 of the coast-line on the further or Silverton 
 side of the estuary, comprising those sands 
 over which Kate had had her gallop on the 
 day of the dinner-party at the Chase. The 
 shore on the other or Wanstrow side cannot 
 be seen from the house, because, though in 
 fact nearer to it as the crow flies, it is hid- 
 den under the limestone cliffs which rise from 
 the shore to the eastward of Sillmouth. The 
 sea-view from the house beyond, and to the 
 westward of that little port, is a distant one ; 
 but not too much so for it to bo possible to 
 see the white line of the breakers as they 
 tumble in on the sands at low water, and on 
 a black, sea-weed-mottled line of low rocks 
 when the tide is at its highest. 
 
 Lady Farnleigh was mostly Kate's com- 
 panion in her rides on the Sillmouth sands ; 
 but she used to say, that on occasions when 
 she was not so, she could equally well see 
 all that her goddaughter was doing from her 
 drawing-room windows, by the aid of a good 
 telescope. 
 
 The sea is visible from the road through 
 Wanstrow Park for a mile or so before the 
 house is reached ; and Mr. Merriton, whose 
 Italian-grown nerves were very quickly made 
 sensible that it could be felt as soon as seen, 
 drew his cloak closer about him, as he con- 
 gratulated himself on the very remarkable 
 difference of climate between the snuggery 
 of the Friary and the magnificence of Wan- 
 strow Manor. 
 
 There was a garden on the west side of the 
 house which was in part sheltered by it, and 
 which partook of the protection afforded by 
 the high trees behind it. And Lady Farn- 
 leigh used to do her best to make it pretty 
 and fragrant ; but she declared that it was 
 a pursuit of horticulture under diliiculties 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 65 
 
 which "were almost too discouraging ; and | ent from that of your valley as the north -of 
 
 often, when comparing the gardens at the 
 Chase with her own infelicitous attempts, 
 would threaten to give up the struggle alto- 
 gether, and depend wholly for her flowers on 
 supplies from Lindisfarn. 
 
 She was in this garden, lamenting the mis- 
 chief that had been caused by the high wind 
 of the day before, and ti-ying to devise with 
 the gardener new means of shelter for some 
 of her more delicate favorites, when Mr. 
 Merriton arrived. lie was shown into the 
 drawing-room ; and the servant, finding that 
 her ladyship was not there, preceded him 
 througli the open window into the garden. 
 
 " How kind of you," she said, after they had 
 gi'eeted each other, " to come up out of your 
 happy valley to visit these inhospitable moun- 
 tains ! Look what the storm of yesterday 
 has done ; and at the Friary I dare say you 
 hardly felt it it all. Our friends at Lindis- 
 farn hear the wind up in the woods above 
 them just enough to make them rejoice in the 
 comfort of their sheltered position. You at 
 the Friary neither feel nor hear it. But here 
 we are in a different climate. Look at my 
 poor geraniums ! " 
 
 " Even to-day I felt the wind sharp enough 
 as 1 drove through the park. But at all 
 events, Lady Farnleigh, you have the com- 
 pensation of a magnificent view ! Really the 
 position of the house is a very fine one. The 
 park seems to extend nearly — or quite, does 
 it? — to the coast." 
 
 "Yes, I am monarch of all I survey up 
 here (except the sea by the by), and my 
 right there is none to dispute, except this 
 terrible southwest wind : and Captain El- 
 lingham says we are going to have more of 
 it." 
 
 " Raison de plus that you should kindly ac- 
 cede to a request I bring from my sister, that 
 you will join our friends at the Chase in pass- 
 ing a day at the Friary. My sister would 
 have accompanied me to wait on your lady- 
 ship ; but she is very delicate, unhappily, and 
 was really afraid of the drive this morning. 
 Perhaps you will kindly accord her an inva- 
 lid's privilege, and take the will for the 
 deed." 
 
 " By no means let Miss !Merriton come up 
 here as long as this wind is blowing. I shall 
 be delighted to see her as soon as I can say. 
 Come ! without the fear of exposing her to 
 the climate, which is, joking apart, as differ- 
 
 5 
 
 England is from the south. I shall have great 
 pleasure in coming down to the Friary, I am 
 sure." 
 
 " It seems that Dr. Lindisfarn had pur- 
 posed bringing Miss Margaret, who takes an 
 interest in such things, to the Friary to ex- 
 plain to her all about the old monastery, you 
 know, and the traces of the ancient building 
 which yet remain." 
 
 " Miss Margaret takes an interest in such 
 studies ; does she? " 
 
 " Yes," replied Mr. Merriton, quite inno- 
 cently ; " she was speaking to me about it 
 at dinner yesterday, and I intended asking 
 the doctor after dinner ; but then we were 
 all occupied with other things, and I had no 
 opportunity. And then Emily and I thought 
 it would be much pleasanter if we could in- 
 duce the others of the party to join in the 
 scheme, and share the benefit of the doctor's 
 explanations." 
 
 •' Delightful ! I shall like it above all 
 things. We will have a regular matinee 
 archeologique ! ' ' 
 
 " I hoped to have found Captain Ellingham 
 here, that I might have pei'suaded him to join 
 us." 
 
 " He is gone down to Sillmouth to look 
 after his ship. He will be here to dinner this 
 evening, and I shall have much pleasure in 
 conveying your invitation to him. But when 
 is it to be? " 
 
 " Well, any day that would be most con- 
 venient to all of us. Perhaps, as he is the 
 only one who is likely to have avocations that 
 might absolutely make any day impossible to 
 him, it would be as well to consult him first 
 on that head." 
 
 "You are very kind ; and I am sure he 
 will feel it so." 
 
 " Would you kindly undertake then to fix 
 a day with him ? It is a pity I did not find 
 him though ; for I meant to have returned 
 through Silverton, and fixed the day with the 
 rest of the party ; but I shall not know what 
 day to tell them." 
 
 " ril tell you, Mr. Merriton, what I can 
 do for you, which would facilitate matters. I 
 had intended to have asked all our little cir- 
 cle to spend a day with me up here. And I, 
 too, thought I had better make sure of Cap- 
 tain Ellingham for the same reason that you 
 have given. And we fixed this morning on 
 next Wednesday. Now I will give up Wed- 
 
66 
 
 nesday to you ; so you wili be sure of EUing- 
 ham for that day. And it will be better, too, 
 for all concerned to come to me when this ter- 
 rible wind shall have changed. If that will 
 suit you, you are welcome to Wednesday." 
 
 " How very kind of you ! Yes, that would 
 suit us perfectly. Will you then kindly 
 charge yourself with my message to Captain 
 Ellingham ? We hope to see him on Wed- 
 nesday, and would have fixed some other day, 
 if you had not kindly given me the means of 
 knowing that that day would suit him." 
 
 "With pleasure; and I am sure he will 
 have great pleasure in coming to you." 
 
 " We ought not to be later than one 
 o'clock. There are plenty of old holes and 
 corners to look into. There is a queer place 
 at the further end of the park by the river- 
 side, which they call the Sill-grotto, and 
 which they say was once a chapel. That 
 will have to be visited, I suppose ? " 
 
 " Of course it will. Dr. Lindisfarn will 
 not let you off a single bit of old wall, or a 
 single fragment of old tradition about the 
 place. No ; one o'clock will not be too early, 
 if the doctor is to be allowed a fair course 
 and no favor." 
 
 " Let it stand for one then. I am so much 
 obliged to you. Lady Farnleigh." 
 
 And then Mr. Merriton got into his car- 
 riage and drove to Silverton. His purpose 
 had been to call "first on the canon, as the 
 first idea of the party had in some sort origi- 
 nated with him. But it was the hour of the 
 afternoon cathedral service when he arrived 
 in the city, and the doctor was in church. 
 
 So he went first to the banker's house in 
 the immediate neighborhood of the Close ; 
 and there, banking hours being over, he found 
 the old gentleman in his learned-looking li- 
 brary, solacing himself after the labors of 
 the ledger with more liberal studies. 
 
 " Can't well be with you by one," said 
 Mr. Falconer, when he had heard his visitor's 
 errand. " Business first, you know, and 
 pleasure afterward. I can get away, per- 
 haps, in time to be with you by three. Fred 
 will not fail you at the earlier hour ; — not a 
 doubt of it, bearing in mind the attractions 
 you hold out to him ! He has ridden over to 
 Lindisfarn now. I will give him your invi- 
 tation, and think I may venture to say that 
 he will be only too happy to accept it." 
 
 " You are intimate with the family at the 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 Chase, I believe, Mr. Falconer? " asked Mr. 
 Merriton, thoughtfully. 
 
 " Oh, of course ! Naturally so. We have 
 been life-long neighbors, and that in a country 
 neighborhood makes a tie that it does not al- 
 ways in cities. Fred and Kate Lindisfarn 
 have grown up from childhood together. 
 And naturally enough they are very great 
 friends," said the old banker, looking up 
 into his guest's face with a knowing glance 
 and smile, which were intended to insinuate 
 what he did not venture to assert in words. 
 " That is all as might naturally be expected, 
 you know," he continued; "and 1 think I 
 may venture to promise you that when I tell 
 Fred who the members of your party are, he 
 will be punctual enough in Availing on you." 
 
 Mr. Merriton was much too young and too 
 guileless a man to be able to conceal from the 
 shrewd eye of the old banker the annoyance 
 that the impressions thus conveyed to him 
 inflicted on him. The old man saw the state 
 of the case perfectly well. "Oh! that's it : 
 is it? " he said to himself. " The more ne- 
 cessary to let him understand that Miss Kate 
 is not destined to be his. It will be as well to 
 give Fred a hint too." 
 
 " Well," said the young man somewhat 
 sadly, " I must go and do the rest of my er- 
 rand in Silverton. I have to ask Dr. Lin- 
 disfarn. And oh, by the by ! you can tell 
 me, Mr. Falconer ; ought I to ask Lady Sem- 
 pronia? Does she ever go out? " 
 
 " Ah — h ! You are going to ask the doc- 
 tor ; are you ? Yes, naturally — naturally ; 
 of course you would. You can't well do 
 otherwise." 
 
 " Oh, I had no thought of leaving him out ; 
 it was Lady Sempronia that I was in doubt 
 about. The whole ideaof the thing began with 
 the doctor, I may say. He is to give us an ex- 
 planation of all the history and antiquities 
 of the old place ! " 
 
 "Ah! I see. I see it all. Yes; he will 
 give you the history, never fear ; all after his 
 own fashion too ! " 
 
 " I thought you and Dr. Lindisfarn were 
 great friends? " said Mr. Merriton, innocently, 
 and much surprised at the spitefulness of the 
 old banker's manner. 
 
 " Friends ! Dr. Lindisfarn and I ! To be 
 sure we are, — very old friends. I have a very 
 great regard for Canon Lindisfarn ; he is a 
 most worthy man. But that does not blind 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 me to the monstrosity of the errors his wrong- 
 hcadedness and obstinacy often run him into 
 in matters of archaeological ecience. Now as 
 regards the history — the extremely interest- 
 ing history of your property of the Friary ! — 
 •it is sad, — really now quite sad, to think of 
 the number of blunders that he will circulate 
 through all the county by the means of your 
 party next Wednesday. For these things 
 spread, my dear sir ! They are repeated. 
 False notions are propagated. They run un- 
 der ground like couch-grass. They become 
 traditional. And he will have it all his own 
 way ! — I'll tell you what, my dear sir, I must 
 be there ! I must manage to be with you some- 
 how by one o'clock. I'll not be late, my dear 
 Mr. Merriton. You may count on me." 
 
 "So much the better. But about Lady 
 Sempronia?" said Mr. Merriton. 
 
 " Oh, ask her, by all means. She goes 
 out very little, and will probably not come ; 
 but you can ask her, you know. She is a 
 poor inoffensive, invalid woman, but I have 
 known her uncommonly shrewd sometimes 
 in seeing through some of her husband's falla- 
 cies, when more learned people have been 
 led astray by them. She is no fool, is Lady 
 Sempronia. Ask her by all means." 
 
 So ^Ir. Merriton stepped across to the can- 
 on's house, — the distance was too small to 
 make it worth while for him to get into his 
 carriage, — devoutly wishing that Mr. Fi-ed- 
 erick Falconer was resting after life's fitful 
 fever in any vault of the old church, beneath 
 the shadow of which he was walking, a son 
 choix, and cursing the provoking impossibility 
 of not asking him to join the party at the 
 Friary. 
 
 The canon had just returned from the after- 
 noon service, and had gone into the study. 
 Mr. Merriton was shown into that room, and 
 found the doctor engaged in transferring his 
 canonicals from his own shoulders to those of 
 his wooden representative. 
 
 " Ah, Mr. Merriton ! how are you? Come 
 in, come in ! This is a contrivance of mine 
 to prevent me from forgetting to take off my 
 surplice, which I otherwise was apt to do ! " 
 
 " Ah, having your head full of more im- 
 portant things, Dr. Lindisfarn ! Yes, I can 
 understand that. I came to speak to you 
 about the visit which Miss Margaret Lindis- 
 farn tells me you were good enough to pur- 
 pose making with her to my house." 
 
 " Aha ! the little puss is anxious for the 
 
 67 
 
 treat, is she? You would be surprised, Mr. 
 Merriton, at the interest — the intelligent 
 interest, I may say, though she is my own 
 niece — that that young girl takes in pursuits 
 and studies which some frivolous minds are 
 apt to consider dry. Yes, 1 had proposed 
 asking your permission to bring Miss Marga- 
 ret to the Friary, for the purpose of illustrat- 
 ing to her on the spot the very interesting 
 history of the house." 
 
 " And when she mentioned the project to 
 me, it struck me and my sister that it would 
 be a great pity not to give others of our 
 friends an opportunity of profiting by the oc- 
 casion ; and we have asked Lady Farnleigh 
 and the rest of the party at the Chase to 
 come to us next Wednesday. May we hope 
 to see you on that day, and will one o'clock 
 be too early ? ' ' 
 
 " No ; you are very good ; Wednesday will 
 suit me very well. There is the afternoon 
 service at the cathedral, to be sure ; but in 
 such a case — that can be managed. Do you 
 expect all the party at the Chase ? " 
 
 " I hope so. I have only secured Lady 
 Farnleigh, Captain EUingham, the Falconers, 
 and yourself. I will go up to them at the 
 Chase to-morrow." 
 
 " Falconer will not be able to come to you 
 at one o'clock, you know. He cannot get 
 away from business so early ; and perhaps, 
 between ourselves, that is just as well. The 
 best fellow in the world. Falconer ! A good, 
 friendly man. But he has a mania for med- 
 dling with matters that are quite ultra crepi- 
 dam. A most excellent man of business! 
 But optat ephippia bos pifjer ! you understand, 
 Mr. Merriton. And my friend Falconer does 
 not show himself to advantage in the ephip- 
 pia ! Ay, ay ! You may depend on it, I'll 
 be punctual at one. And — under all the 
 circumstances it would be very desirable that 
 we should all be punctual at that hour. 
 Don't you see, Mr, Merriton? " 
 
 Mr. Merriton thought that he did see, al- 
 though he had not the remotest idea what 
 place, or thing, or circumstance that ephippia 
 was, in which Mr. Falconer was said not to 
 shine. Was the ephippia perhaps another 
 name for the Friary ? He thought he saw, 
 too, that it was best to say nothing of Mr. 
 Falconer's determination to meet his enemy 
 on the ground at all costs. So he merely an- 
 swered, — 
 
 " I had hoped to have the honor of being 
 
68 
 
 presented to Lady Sempronia, and to have 
 persuaded her to join our party.' 
 
 " Her ladyship, I grieve to say, is very 
 much of an invalid. She v?ill be most happy, 
 however, to make acquaintance vs-ith you and 
 Miss Merriton. But I fear she would hardly 
 be able to see you now ; and I do not think 
 that there is much chance of her feeling well 
 Enough to join your party on Wednesday. I 
 will give her your kind message, however." 
 
 " And pray say that were it not that my 
 sister is also much of an invalid, she would 
 have returned Lady Sempronia's card in per- 
 son instead of deputing me to do so. She 
 hopes, however, to be able to come into Sil- 
 verton in the beginning of next week, and 
 will then wait on Lady Sempronia." 
 
 And then Mr. Merriton drove back by the 
 road along the edge of the water-meadows to 
 the Friary, disconsolately meditating on what 
 he had heard from Mr. Falconer respecting 
 his son's intimacy at the Chase. For Mer- 
 riton had brought away with him thence a 
 very severe wound ; and h(erit latiri letalis 
 arundo ! 
 
 "Well, Arthur," said Miss Merriton, as 
 he entered the drawing-room at the Friary 
 ready for dinner, " what have you done ? 
 Has anything gone amiss ? You seem out of 
 spirits." 
 
 " The people are all very civil. Lady 
 Farnleigh was especially so. To prevent any 
 pasticcio about fixing the day, she gave up, or 
 put off rather, a party at her own house for 
 next Wednesday, giving up that day to us. 
 So it is fixed for Wednesday, and to-morrow 
 I will go up to the Chase. All the rest have 
 accepted." 
 
 '* But what is it that has vexed you, Ar- 
 thur? for I can see that something has." 
 
 " No ; it's your fancy. All the people 
 seem inclined to be very kind. There's noth- 
 ing amiss that I know of." 
 
 "lam sure something has annoyed y^u, 
 Arthur," persisted his sister, looking him in 
 the face ; " tell me what it is ! " 
 
 " 1 do not know why I should look an- 
 noyed, I am sure. I might look surprised; 
 for I did hear something that surprised me 
 in Silverton." 
 
 " What about?" asked his sister. 
 
 " Oh, nothing that concerns us at all. It 
 seems that Falconer and Miss Kate Lindis- 
 fiirn are to make a match of it : that is alL ; 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 And I confess it does seem to me that he is 
 not half good enough for her. I think I 
 never saw a girl who made so strong an im- 
 pression on me." 
 
 If Merriton had not been so much en- 
 grossed by his own emotions as to be ren- 
 dered foj the time unobservant of those of 
 others, he might have been struck by the 
 fact that his communication produced a some- 
 what stronger effect upon his gentle sister 
 than appeared wholly attributable to her 
 sisterly interest in his feelings. A sudden 
 and deep flush passed over her delicate and 
 pale face, leaving it the next instant a shade 
 paler, perhaps, than it had been before. She 
 only said, however, after a lew moments' 
 pause, during which she succeeded in recov- 
 ering her composure, or at least the appear- 
 ance of it, — 
 
 " But how did you hear it, Arthur? Re- 
 member, a great deal of groundless nonsense 
 is apt to be talked on such matters ; and it is 
 very unlikely that anything should be really 
 known on the subject unless they are abso- 
 lutely engaged to each other ; I do not be- 
 lieve that is the case." 
 
 " Engaged ! No, I don't suppose they are 
 engaged, or the factwould be simply stated." 
 
 " What did you hear, then, and from 
 whom ? ' ' 
 
 " From old Falconer, when I invited him 
 and his son to come here on Wednesday." 
 
 " What did he say ! " 
 
 " Well, upon my word, I hardly know 
 what he said. But he gave me the impres- 
 sion that it was a sort of understood thing 
 that his son and INIiss Lindisfarn were to 
 make a match of it." 
 
 " Miss Kate Lindisfarn ? " 
 
 " Yes, Miss Kate Lindisfarn. Oh, he spoke 
 of Miss Kate clearly enough ? He talked — 
 that reminds me — of their having been near 
 neighbors all their lives, and of their having 
 been brought up together, and of their being 
 great friends. But somehow or other, he left 
 the impression yn my mind that he meant 
 more than all that. I did not notice," he 
 continuf'd after a pause, " anything between 
 them last night ; did you ? " 
 
 " No, I can't say that I saw anything of 
 the sort, " replied his sister. 
 
 " He sat next me at dinner," she contin- 
 ued, with a recurrence in a slighter degree of 
 the blush which the first mention of the sub- 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 ject had occasioned her ; " and after dinner 
 he seemed to me to be talking much more to 
 the other sister." 
 
 " But tliat might have been mere civility 
 to a stranger newly come among them. The 
 other sister, Miss Margaret, seemed to mc to 
 have very little in her." 
 
 " Oh, I thought her a very nice girl ! " 
 
 " She has lived, she told me, all her life 
 till now in Paris ; I never like French women. 
 They never have any sympathy with any- 
 thing, or person, or subject outside of the 
 barriers of Paris." 
 
 And then the brother and sister went into 
 the dining-room ; and the presence of the ser- 
 vants prevented any further conversation upon 
 the subject of the Lindisfarn lasses. 
 
 Frederick Falconer had in the mean time 
 ridden up to the Chase, as has been seen, 
 bent on acting upon the sage hints that had 
 been thrown out by his father over-night as 
 they were returning together from the din- 
 ner-party, with some little modification of 
 his own. He perfectly recognized the justice 
 of the old gentleman's reasons for thinking 
 Kate the more desirable match of the two. 
 But he could not bring himself to make quite 
 60 light, as his father was disposed to do, of 
 the opposition which he well knew awaited 
 him on the part of Lady Farnleigh. He had 
 far better means of knowing, as he said to 
 himself, how great her influence over her 
 goddaughter was. And besides, though he 
 was by no means deficient in a sufficiently 
 high appreciation of his own advantages, 
 and was not without a certain degree of hope 
 that Miss Lindisfarn was not altogether in- 
 disposed to like him, yet he was far from 
 having the same degree of confidence on the 
 subject that he had chosen to manifest in 
 speaking to his father. And then, again, he 
 really was powerfully attracted by Margaret's 
 beauty and manner, and had already begun 
 to draw comparisons between the two girls 
 entirely to the advantage of the new-comer. 
 He had spent the whole of the two hours he 
 had passed at his desk in the bank that morn- 
 ing, before he had stolen away from it to ride 
 up to the Chase, in reviewing the grounds of 
 such a comparison. Both girls were hand- 
 some, — there was no doubt about that. But 
 he thought that the more delicate and less 
 rustic beauty of the Parisian had more at- 
 tractions for him. Then there was no deny- 
 ing that she had more style, more grace, more 
 
 69 
 
 oile grand air, said Freddy to himself, calling 
 up his own French sa\iOiT and experiences. 
 He had a notion, too, t^at her ways of think- 
 ing and tastes were probably better adapted 
 to his own. There were things in Kate that 
 he did not altogether like ; that violent pas- 
 sion of hers for tearing over the country like 
 a female Nimrod, for instance — her way, 
 too, of blurting out whatever came into her 
 head, often with a certain look in her eye 
 as if she were laughing at one. He had 
 seen no symptom of anything like this in 
 Margaret. In fact, the meaning in her eyes, 
 as far as he had seen — and it must be admit- 
 ted, that she had the most exquisitely ex- 
 pressive eyes that were ever seen in a human 
 head ! — had been characterized by anything 
 but an expression of ridicule when they had 
 rested on him. 
 
 In short, though perfectly well aware that 
 it behoved him to win the heart and hand of 
 Kate, if he could, he had pretty well made 
 up his mind that it would be a far more agree- 
 able task to him to win those of Margaret. 
 But there was something in ]Mr. Frederick's 
 constitution and natural disposition which 
 disinclined him from paying much attention 
 to that part of his father's counsel which had 
 alluded to the danger of falling between two 
 stools. Two stools seemed to Mr. Freddy so 
 much better and safer than only one. Surely, 
 it was not prudent to put all one's eggs into 
 one basket ! Surely, two strings to one's 
 bow were admitted to be a good thing ! He 
 could not bring himself to back himself 
 frankly and heartily to win with the one 
 horse, to the entire giving up of all hopes of 
 the other. The unknown quantities that 
 entered into the problem to be solved were 
 so much larger than the known ones that 
 he felt it to be far the most prudent plan 
 to keep the matter open as long as might be, 
 make what progress he could, without com- 
 mitting himself irrevocably on either side, 
 and be guided by circumstances. 
 
 It would be far from wise, too, to disre- 
 gard such a pis-aller as Miss Merriton. Pis- 
 aller ! Twenty-five thousand pounds abso- 
 lutely her own, and her brother looking as if 
 a good sharp English spring might make an 
 end of him ? A very pretty pis-alter, indeed. 
 It was all very well for his father to talk in 
 that way, when he had set his heart on go- 
 ing in for the whole of the Lindisfarn prop- 
 erty. But there was many a slip between 
 
70 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 that cup and the lip. "Mies Merriton was a 
 very charming little girl. He had a strong 
 persuasion that he might have her for the 
 asking ; or at least that, after a due period of 
 service for such a pretty little Rachel, he 
 might make sure of her. And it would be 
 very unwise to throw such a chance to the 
 winds before he was sure of something better. 
 It was in this frame of mind that Mr. 
 Frederick locked up his desk, after sitting at 
 it for a couple of hours, and slipped out of 
 the bank to order his horse and ride up to 
 the Chase. Mr. Falconer senior was very in- 
 dulgent to his son and heir as to the amount 
 
 of attendance be exacted from him at 'the 
 bank, if only the hours spent away from it 
 were used advantageously in a social point of 
 view ; and he was especially well pleased at 
 all times, and more particularly after the 
 conversation of the night before, to know 
 that his son was up at Lindisfarn Chase. 
 
 So Mr. Frederick had arrived there, still 
 looking, as Lady Farnleigh had said, for all 
 the world as if he had just been taken out of 
 the bandbox, in which a London tailor had 
 sent him down for the enlightenment and in- 
 struction of Sillshire, just as the ladies were 
 about to sit down to luncheon. 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 chapter xii. 
 Fred's luncheon at the chase. 
 Mr. Frederick Falconer arrived at the 
 Chase just as the ladies were going to sit 
 down to luncheon. The ladies were Miss 
 Immy and the Lindisfarn lasses. And they 
 were about to partake of that meal specially 
 sacred to ladies and ladies' men alone. It 
 was a great opportunity for Freddy. Tliere 
 was neither Lady Farnleigh nor Mr. Mat. 
 In the presence of either of those persons, 
 Mr. Freddy was, as the old story records 
 Punch to have declared himself to have felt 
 when Mrs. Carter, who translated Epictetus, 
 was among his audience, — unable to" talk his 
 own talk." Freddy Falconer could not talk 
 his own talk when either Lady Farnleigh or 
 Mr. Mat was present. 
 
 But on the present occasion all evil influ- 
 ences were absent, and all good ones were in 
 the ascendant. There were Miss Immy in 
 high good-humor ; there was the minced veal 
 and mashed potatoes, beautiful golden-col- 
 ored butter and the home-made loaf, a cur- 
 rant tart, and a bowl of Sillshire cream : 
 There was the decanter of sherry for Miss Im- 
 my, the small jug of amber ale for Miss Kate, 
 the carafe of sparkling water for Miss Mar- 
 garet. The malignant fliiry godmother was 
 far away up in her wind-swept garden at 
 Wanstrow ; the squire was beating the tur- 
 nips in a distant field, and the odious Mr. Mat 
 was trudging by his side. Had ever a ladies' 
 man a fairer field ? Nor can it be by any 
 means said that he had no favor ! 
 
 Both the young ladies, as we already know, 
 were more or less favorably disposed toward 
 him, each after her own fashion. And Miss 
 Immy was one of those who are disposed to 
 allow their fullest weight to the claims of 
 old neighborhood and long acquaintanceship. 
 Freddy Falconer, too, had in her eyes the par- 
 amount advantage over either of the other 
 two young men who had been there the pre- 
 vious evening, of being thorough Sillshire. 
 Captain Ellingham and Mr. Merriton were 
 both strangers and new acquaintances, which 
 made a very notable difference to Miss Immy. 
 " And what do you think of our new im- 
 portations into Sillshire? " asked Kate, when 
 Fred had been cordially asked to take some 
 luncheon, and was comfortably established 
 by the side of one of the young ladies, and 
 opposite to the other. Kate was sitting op- 
 posite to Miss Immy, and Margaret on the 
 
 71 
 
 side of the table nearest the fire, between 
 them. Mr. Fred, therefore, took tlic goods 
 the gods provided him — i. e., minced veal, 
 potatoes and sherry, current tart and Sillshire 
 cream — in a position yet more shone on by 
 the rays of beauty than that of Philip's war- 
 like son at the royal feast for Persia won ! — 
 a position more brilliant, but more difficult 
 also than that of Alexander. 
 
 " What do you think of our new importa- 
 tions into Sillshire? " said Kate. 
 
 " The Merritons, or Captain Ellingham? 
 Which arc you alluding to ? " 
 
 " To both. But you knew the Merritons 
 before ; did you not? " 
 
 " Not I ! I never set eyes on either of 
 them till they came down here. They were 
 old friends, I fancy, of our business connec- 
 tions in London. I think my father had seen 
 Mr. Merriton in London." 
 
 " Quite a young man beseems," said Kate. 
 " Oh, yes ! A boy rather, one might say. 
 lie has just come of age. And upon my 
 word, he looks as if an English winter would 
 do for him. Poor fellow ! I should say he 
 would have done more wisely to settle in liis 
 mother's country, — in Italy, — where he has 
 spent most part of his life.'* 
 
 "Oh, in Italy?" said Margaret. "He 
 told me yesterday at dinner that he had lived 
 abroad ' most of his life.' " 
 
 " Yes, and when a man has done that, he 
 is rarely fit for English life in any way." 
 
 " Oh, don't say so, Mr. Falconer; or I 
 shall fancy that I am not fitted for English 
 life, or that you don't think me so," said 
 Margaret, with a look of the most tender ap- 
 pealing reproachfulness in her eyes, as pa- 
 thetically eloquent as if she had been expect- 
 ing her doom from the arbiter of her destiny. 
 " Nay ! it is quite a different thing in the 
 case of a lady," said Freddy, coloringa little. 
 " The foreign ways and manners, which are 
 apt to make a man perhaps not altogether — 
 what ladies like in this country — or gentle- 
 men, indeed, either, for that matter — only 
 serve to add new grace to one of the other 
 sex. Besides, there is a vast difference be- 
 tween Italy and Paris. There is, as all the 
 world knows, no charm equal to that of a 
 Parisian woman," said Mr. Freddy, with the 
 enthusiasm of intense conviction. 
 
 " Is there no chance, then, for poor home- 
 bred Zillshire volk?" asked Kate, with a 
 laugh in her voice, and roguish quizzing in 
 
72 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 her eyes, and just the least little bit of pique 
 in her heart. 
 
 " Now, Miss Kate, you know how far that 
 is from my feeling in the matter ! Surely, 
 you and 1 are much too old friends to misun- 
 derstand each other upon such a point." 
 
 The position was a difficult one. The worst 
 o£ it was, that there was no possibility of 
 making any by-play with the eyes ! What 
 the tongue says may almost always be modi- 
 fied sufficiently for all purposes, if one can but 
 find the means of supplying a running com- 
 mentary with the eyes, addressed to one spe- 
 cial reader. But Fred's situation, with one 
 lady opposite to hinj, and one at right angles 
 to him, shut him out from that resource ; — 
 unless, indeed, from such very limited use of 
 it as could be resorted to by seizing and mak- 
 ing the most of the opportunities afibrded 
 him by the momentary employment of one of 
 the two pairs of bright eyes, under the cross- 
 fire of which he was sitting, on a plate or a 
 drinking-glass. And even so there was very 
 little good to be done with Kate in this fash- 
 ion, unless it was in the way of laughing. 
 Kate would laugh with you or at you, with 
 her eyes, as much as you pleased ; would an- 
 swer a laugh in your eyes, and answer it 
 openly or aside, as the case needed. But she 
 did not seem to understand any tendei'er eye- 
 language. Or if she did, she would not talk 
 it with Freddy Falconer, old friends as they 
 were. 
 
 And that was the reason why, after that 
 luncheon-table campaign was over, Fred felt 
 that he had made more progress that day 
 with Miss Margaret than with Miss Kate. 
 
 As regarded Mr. Merriton, however, he 
 found the latter more inclined to agree 
 with him than the former. Notwithstanding 
 Kate's wish to be good-natured, and to make 
 herself and their new neighborhood generally 
 agreeable to the strangers, and the reality of 
 tli« interest she had expressed to Mr. Merri- 
 ton about Italy and Italian places and things, 
 he had seemed to her rather a feckless sort 
 of body — rather a poor creature. And Kate 
 was about the last girl in the world to like a 
 man who belonged in any degi-ee to the cate- 
 gory of " poor creatures," or to admit that 
 the absence of manliness and vigor could be 
 atoned for by elegance of manner and advan- 
 tages of person. She was not disposed to un- 
 dervalue his capacity for assisting her in her 
 study of Dante. But she would have been 
 
 more inclined to like him, if her attention 
 had been called to his capacity for riding 
 well up to hounds. Doubtless she would 
 have preferred a cavalier equally calculated 
 to shine in the field and in the study ; but if 
 one good quality out of the two could be had 
 only, I take it Kate would have decided for 
 the hounds, and Dante would have gone to 
 the wall. I do not say, 'be it observed, that 
 Kate Lindisfarn was a very charming girl 
 because of this ; I only say that she was a 
 very charming girl, and that such was the 
 case. 
 
 As for Margaret, she would have cared 
 nothing at all about the riding to hounds ; and 
 truth to say, very little indeed about the ca- 
 pacity for understanding Dante. And, as 
 we know, she was " a very charming girl," 
 too. But some of the value of that phrase 
 of course depends upon the object on whom 
 the charm operates, and by whom it is recog- 
 nized. Now there can be no doubt at all 
 that Margaret was a very particularly charm- 
 ing girl to Mr. Falconer, despite her disagree- 
 ing with him about Mr. Merriton. 
 
 " For my part," said she, shooting across 
 the table one of those glances with which 
 young ladies, who are properly up in all the 
 departments of eye language, know how to 
 render such a declaration rather agreeable 
 than otherwise to the receiver of it, — "for 
 my part, I think you are too hard upon poor 
 Mr. Merriton. It is unfair to expect that he 
 should possess all the advantages which can 
 only come from a wider and larger knowledge 
 of the world." 
 
 "Really, IMiss Margaret, I had no inten- 
 tion of being hard on him," said Falconer, 
 returning her look with interest, " and I shall 
 have less inclination than ever to be so, of 
 course ' ' (eye commentary here, intelligible to 
 the merest tyro in that language), " if you 
 take him under your protection." 
 
 " I did not mean to say a word," put in 
 Kate; "and really I don't think there is a 
 word to be said against his manner. It is 
 that of a very young man, that is all." 
 
 " That is it," said Margaret avec inteniion, 
 and looking as she spoke, not at her sister, 
 but at Falconer ; " I never can find such mere 
 boys very agreeable." 
 
 " I agree with Mr. Frederick," said Miss 
 Immy ; "my notion is, that if the poor- 
 wished lad had been born and bred in Zill- 
 shire, he would not have looked for all the 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 •world as tliough he had lived on sugar and 
 water and pweot biscuits all his life, like Miss 
 Lasseron's Italian greyhound ! " 
 
 " And wliat about the other new-comer 
 among us?" said Falconer, not addressing 
 hiuisolf to any one of the party more than to 
 another. " What of Captain Ellingham?" 
 " Now tliat is being harder than ever upon 
 poor Mr. Merriton, to bring tlie two men into 
 contrast in tliat way," cried Kate. 
 
 " Well, I confess I cannot agree with you 
 there, Kate,"' said her sister. " If there is 
 any hardness in the matter, I think it is all 
 the other way, for my part." 
 
 "Oh, Margaret, how can you think eo ! " 
 said Kate, with some emphasis. 
 
 " And I do not think Mr. Falconer had 
 any notion of making a comparison that would 
 be disadvantageous to Mr. Merriton, at all 
 events," added Margaret. 
 
 " Indeed I had not," replied Falconer. " I 
 found Captain Ellingham markedly civil ; and 
 I have not a word to say in his disparagement 
 in any way. I do not doubt that he is a most 
 able and meritorious officer, notwithstanding 
 the position he occupies in the service. Of 
 course, from merely passing an evening in a 
 drawing-room with two men, one can form 
 no opinion except as to their general exterior 
 agreeability ; and as far as that goes, 1 con- 
 fess that I think Merriton has all the advan- 
 tage." 
 
 " Why, what in the world did you see in 
 Captain Ellingham to make you take an aver- 
 sion to him? " asked Kate. 
 
 " I did not take an aversion to him the 
 least in the world, I assure you, my dear Miss 
 Lindisfarn ! On the contrary. But it seems 
 that I only shared the impression he made 
 upon your sister." 
 
 " I own that I did not see anything partic- 
 ularly attractive about him, notwithstanding 
 all that Lady Farnleigh said in his praise," 
 said ^largaret. 
 
 " Is he a great friend of Lady Farnleigh's, 
 then? " asked Falconer. 
 
 " Oh, yes, and according to her, he is a 
 chevalier sans peur et sans nproche, — a mirror 
 of all the virtues ! I dare say he may be ; 
 but "— 
 
 "Oh, Lady Farnleigh's approbation is quite 
 sufficient to secure to the fortunate possessor 
 of it that of your sister. Miss Margaret," said 
 Falconer, with some little appearance of pique 
 in his manner. " When you have been a 
 
 73 
 
 little longer an inmate of the Chase, you will 
 doubtless make that discovery for yourself." 
 
 " And if I pinned my faith upon anybody's 
 judgment in all the world, I am very sure 
 that I could not have a safer and better 
 guide," cried Kate with some vehemence; 
 " and I have no doubt Margaret will discover 
 that too, before she has been here long. Per- 
 haps I should be wiser," she added, with a 
 •momentary half-glance at Falconer, " if I 
 followed her guidance in all cases more im- 
 plicitly." 
 
 " I am sure no one could doubt the excel- 
 lence of Lady Farnleigh's judgment on any 
 subject," said Freddy, looking rather discom- 
 fited ; "but probably she was speaking of 
 Captain Ellingham as of an old friend and 
 contemporary of her own." 
 
 " Hardly that, I should think," said Kate. 
 "Why, how old a man should you take Cap- 
 tain Ellingham to be? " 
 
 " Well, he is one of those men who may 
 be almost any age ; but I should say he must 
 be on the wrong side of forty," said Falconer. 
 
 " Impossible ! " cried Kate. " I am no 
 judge of people's ages ; but to my notion 
 Captain Ellingham seems quite a young 
 man." 
 
 " A young man, Kate ! Why, he is quite 
 gray. I declare he looks every bit as old as 
 Mr. Mat!" 
 
 " He certainly is very gray, both on the 
 head and about the beard," said Freddy; 
 " but that is not the worst of it. There are 
 certain lines about the face " — 
 
 " I don't think a man's appearance is at all 
 injured by a few gray hairs among the black 
 ones ; and as for the lines, a face is far more 
 interesting to me, that looks as if the owner 
 had been doing something else all his life than 
 thinking of taking care of it! " cried Kate, 
 in her usual impetuous way, having been 
 provoked into saying more than she would 
 otherwise have done by the spitefulness of 
 Falconer's remarks, and by his attack on her 
 with reference to Lady Farnleigh. 
 
 " Oh ! if Kate prefers gray-beards, there 
 can be no more to be said on the subject, you 
 know, Mr. Falconer. Affaire cle f/oui ! We 
 have only to remember it and to respect it, 
 n^est-ce pas ! " said Margaret. 
 
 "But is there nothing worth talking of 
 except beards^ either gray, black, or brown? 
 What of the other new arrival ? What of 
 Miss Merriton ? On that subject I am sure 
 
74 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 Mr. Frederick ought to be able to enlighten 
 us ; for he was studying it all dinner-time." 
 " What else was there for me to do, un- 
 less it were to eat my dinner in silence?" 
 remonstrated Falconer. "My opinion was 
 not wanted in the discussion that was going 
 on about poachers, between your father and 
 Lady Farnleigh and Mr. Mat. I could not 
 venture to do Mr. M'erriton such wrong as to 
 prevent him from consecrating all his atten- 
 tion to Miss Margaret, as he seemed so par- 
 ticularly well inclined to do. What else 
 remained for me, except to do the civil, as 
 indeed I was in every way bound to do, to 
 Miss Merriton ? " 
 
 "Of course you eould do no otherwise," 
 said Margaret; "and now give us the re- 
 sult of your investigations." 
 
 "The result is very soon and very easily 
 stated," replied Freddy. " Miss Rlerriton 
 is a perfectly ladylike, well-educated, very 
 timid, very shy, and, 1 should say, very un- 
 interesting young lady. There is no fault to 
 be found with her ; but neither is there any- 
 thing except negative good to be said of her." 
 It seemed to be more easy for the little 
 party around the luncheon-table to come to 
 an agreement on this subject than it had 
 been on the, it must be supposed, more inter- 
 esting topic of the lords of the creation ; for 
 there was little dissent from the judgment 
 pronounced by JMr. Frederick on the quiet 
 and unobtrusive little creature whose chief 
 title to notice in the world — her twent3'-five 
 thousand pounds in her own absolute dispo- 
 sition — he had not deemed it necessary to 
 touch on in summing up her claims to con- 
 sideration. 
 
 And then the ladies rose to quit the table, 
 and Mr. Frederick took his leave, and rode 
 back slowly to Silverton, pondering many 
 things in his mind. His visit had very 
 manifestly done little towards forwarding 
 his views, as far as they coincided with those 
 of his father. He had accomplished as seri- 
 ous an amount of flirtation with Miss Mar- 
 garet as could have been expected from the 
 circumstances. But he had, if anything, lost 
 rather than gained ground with Miss Kate. 
 The progress in either case was, however, he 
 said to himself, p-obably infinitesimal. But 
 he thought that the advance he had made 
 toward attaining a necessary and accurate 
 view of his position, and of the state of the 
 game, was greater and more important. 
 
 " Lady Farnleigh means Kate for her pen- 
 niless protege. Captain Ellingham." That 
 was the first datum which he thought might 
 be, with tolerable certainty, deduced from 
 his observations. " She has already begun 
 to work towards that end, and has already 
 achieved a commencement of success. How 
 fierce the little lady was when I ventured to 
 sneer at her being led by the nose by lier god- 
 mother ! And I did not see the least sign 
 which could encourage me to think that I 
 can fight against that influence with success. 
 No ; to be honest with myself and keep clear 
 of delusions, no sign ; as long as I had the 
 field all to myself, it might have been differ- 
 ent — might have been. But now it would 
 be a race carrying very heavy weight. 
 
 " Then," continuing his meditations, " on 
 the other side, there are signs. I have done 
 more with Margaret in two days than I have 
 done with Kate in twice as many years, by 
 Jove ! The fact is, there is more sympathy 
 between us. Put all considerations of pru- 
 dence out of the question, I swear I would 
 not hesitate a minute. What a graceful, ele- 
 gant-mannered, intelligent, exquisitely pretty 
 little creature she is ! I am strongly inclined 
 to think, let the old gentleman say what he 
 will, that Margaret should be my game — out 
 and out, without any shilly-shally. 
 
 ' ' The one seems possible enough ; the other 
 looks to me very much like being impossible. 
 If that detestable old woman up at Wanstrow 
 means to make her marry Ellingham, — and I 
 have very little doubt upon that point, — she 
 will succeed in doing it. I don't think she 
 could turn Margaret round her finger in that 
 way. There is a difierent sort of character 
 there. 
 
 " And suppose I determine to play for Mar- 
 garet out and out, and throw over at once all 
 hope of the other : is the speculation so much 
 worse an one? That old Wanstrow woman's 
 six thousand pounds are not worth counting. 
 Pshaw ! But about the place. Every word 
 my father says about the importance of such 
 a prize is true. The old boy is right enough 
 there. But would it be so much more diffi- 
 cult to win Lindisfarn with Margaret than 
 with Kate? I doubt it. Specially if lam 
 to assume that Kate marries Ellingham. 
 How is he, a man without a penny in the 
 world, to find the means of paying half the 
 price of the Chase estates? A good fifty thou- 
 sand would be needful, if a penny. Would 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 it be likely that such a man should sec his 
 interest in causing the estates to be eold? 
 With delay, uncertainty, expense? Would 
 it not be very much more likely, supposing 
 that he were to marry one girl, and I the 
 other, that he would be exceedingly glad to 
 accept the old gentleman's cash to the amount 
 of half the value of the property? Is there 
 any ground for imagining that the squire 
 would make an objection to such an arrange- 
 ment, if desired by all the parties concerned? 
 I cannot see it. If he held I)y the old name 
 I should make no difficulty about accommo- 
 dating him. ' Falconer Lindisfarn, Esquire, 
 of Lindisfarn,' — that would do remarkably 
 well. Or ' Sir Falconer Lindisfarn ! ' better 
 still; and why not? Yes, I think, I thmh 
 that will be the game, the more prudent as 
 well as the pleasanter game to play. Hon- 
 estly, I do think so. But what about that 
 fellow Merriton? Kate would never marry 
 bim. Is there any danger of his cutting me 
 out with Margaret? She was more inclined 
 to like bim than that boisterous, violent, 
 upright and downright Kate ! But I have a 
 great notion that that was all a mon adrcssc ! 
 She has far more manner, far more knowledge 
 of the world than her sister in that respect. 
 And I fancy, too^ that she is one who would 
 have the sense to know oq which side her 
 bread is buttered. And I hardly think Mer- 
 riton would be in a position to make her 
 mistress of Lindisfarn. I don't know; I must 
 ask my father how that is ; but I think not. 
 Besides, I do flatter myself that I could cut 
 out that boy! " 
 
 So, by the time Freddy had reached his fa- 
 ther's door, he may be said to have pretty 
 well made up his mind to enter himself, as 
 he phrased it to his own mind, for the Mar- 
 garet sweepstakes in thorough earnest, make 
 a straightforward race of it, and run his 
 best. 
 
 Frederick Falconer was, it will have been 
 seen, a shrewd man, not under the empire 
 of self-delusion, and with a considerable gift 
 of seeing characters and things as they really 
 were. The net result of what had taken 
 place at the luncheon-table at the Chase as 
 regarded the others of the party who had 
 been sitting at it, was not very different from 
 what he had felt it to be- But he had not 
 only made progress with the one sister, but 
 had in a yet greater degree advanced his sup- 
 
 76 
 
 posed rival's cause with the other. Kate had 
 felt much more disposed to feel a liking for 
 Captain Ellingham after that luncheon than 
 she had previously. She had defended him ; 
 — a very strong tie of attachment for natures 
 like Kate's. She had tiiought that lie waS 
 being unfairly and ungenerously run down. 
 And — strongest contribution of all to the net 
 result — she had been made to feel as if he 
 were on the side of her godmother, and the 
 others on the contrary side. 
 
 On the following day, the Lindisfarn la- 
 dies had another guest at their luncheon-ta- 
 ble. Mr. Merriton drove up to the Chase, 
 as he had told Lady Farnleigh he would do, 
 to give his invitations to the Friary for the 
 following Wednesday. They were given and 
 accepted, as for as theyounger ladies were con- 
 cerned (for Miss Immy pleaded important 
 engagements at home ; and all the ladies de- 
 clared that they could not answer for the 
 squire, but thought they might for Mr. Mat), 
 rather to Margaret's disgust. She accused 
 Mr. Merriton in her heart of being very stu- 
 pid for not preferring to have her and her 
 uncle there alone, as she had projected and 
 prepai-ed for him. And, moreover, she did 
 not look forward with any pleasure to what 
 she feared would probably happen when the 
 whole party should be there togetlier. She did 
 not at all like being trotted out in the character 
 ofan archaeological blue-stocking. The double 
 necessity and incompatibility of hiding her 
 utter ignorance and indifference on the one 
 hand, and making them evident on the other, 
 was embarrassing and disagreeable. 
 
 Nevertheless, it was impossible to refuse ; 
 and the Lindisfarn lasses promised to be at 
 the Friary at one o'clock on the Wednes- 
 day, either under the escort of Mr. Mat, 
 or, if that should fail them, with Lady Farn- 
 leigh. 
 
 Margaret, being out of humor, had rather 
 ubbed Mr. Merriton. But he had pro- 
 posed to Kate to show her and explain to her 
 on Wednesday a volume of" Piranesi's Views 
 in Rome, ' ' And on her replying, in her good- 
 humored, lively way, that she should enjoy 
 nothing so much, and should greatly like to 
 see the Eternal City, he had gone away 
 more in love with her than ever, and dream- 
 ing of the delight of returning to Italy with 
 such a bride, and initiating her into all its 
 lories, beauties, and enjoyments. 
 
76 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 CHAPTER XIII, 
 THE P\RTY AT TUF FRIART. 
 
 Lady Sempronia, when at dinner the canon 
 had communicated to her Mr. Merriton's in- 
 vitation, rather to her husband's surprise, sig- 
 nified her intention of accepting it. 
 
 " I hardly hoped," he said, " and did not 
 give Mr. Merriton much hope, that you 
 veould be induced to go to the Friary ; but 
 you are quite right, my dear, to look upon 
 this occasion as a somewhat extraordinary 
 one. There is not a more interesting locality 
 in the country, and I flatter myself that 1 
 shall be able to make the day a profitable, 
 and indeed a memorable one for all present." 
 
 And during all the intervening days the 
 doctor was in a state of pleasurable excitement 
 and anticipation, and worked hard to have 
 every part of the subject in a complete state 
 of preparation. He would have given a good 
 deal to have secured the entire absence of 
 Mr. Falconer. But he reckoned, taking the 
 usual habits of that archaeological financier 
 as a base for his calculations, that he should 
 have a good two hours and a half before him, 
 ere the banker could ai-rive. 
 
 It was not without considerable disquietude 
 and surprise, therefore, that just as the mod- 
 est one-horse chaise which was conveying the 
 canon and Lady Sempronia to the Friary was 
 jogging along the main street of the little vil- 
 lage of Weston, while it yet wanted five min- 
 utes to one o'clock, the doctor saw the bank- 
 er's handsome carriage, with its smart pair 
 of ba.ys, dash past and turn at the end of the 
 village down the road to the private bridge 
 over the Sill, which leads to the Friary 
 house. 
 
 "Good heavens! there is Falconer!" 
 he exclaimed, turning pale. "But it is im- 
 possible ! It can't be ! It must be Frederick, 
 and the carriage is going back for his father. 
 Odd that the young man should not have 
 ridden over, too ; but I suppose as the car- 
 riage was ordered out, he thought it as well 
 to make one job of it." 
 
 " And if it were Mr. Falconer," said Lady 
 Sempronia, "what then? I cannot see. Dr. 
 Lindisfarn, that you can pretend to a mo- 
 nopoly of all the old stones in the county, 
 though no doubt you are the only individual 
 in it who would deprive your family of ne- 
 cessaries to spend your substance on such 
 things. Mr. Falconer can afford to play the 
 fool." 
 
 " That is fortunate, my dear," returned the 
 doctor ; "for it is what he assuredly very of- 
 ten docs." 
 
 And then, when the canon's carriage drove 
 up to the door of the Friary, at which Mr. 
 Merriton was standing to receive his guests, 
 the doctor, as he alighted, saw behind lum 
 the pig- tail and the florid, complacent face 
 and the well-grown, black-silk-encased legs, 
 of the Silverton banker. Giving a silent 
 shake of the hand to his host, for he could 
 not at the moment spare time or words for a 
 longer greeting, and leaving him to receive 
 and welcome Lady Sempronia as best he 
 could, he made one stride toward his enemy, 
 crying out, "Is it possible, Mr. Falconer? 
 You here at this time in the morning? In 
 truth this is a — a circumstance " — the word 
 pleasure stuck in the veracious doctor's 
 throat — "which I had not expected. I 
 hope that Mr. Merriton is aware that you 
 have broken in upon all your habitudes, — in- 
 novated on the practice of — how many lustres 
 shall I say ? — in order to wait on him ! " 
 
 "My friend Merriton is, I trust, aware, 
 doctor, that I would do more than that for 
 him, if need were," said the banker, with 
 a bow and a sly wink aside to the young 
 man. 
 
 " I am quite aware, my dear sir," said 
 Merriton, returning the banker's telegraph, 
 " how much Mr. Falconer is deranging his 
 usual habits in order to give us the pleasure 
 of his company. It is very kind of him " 
 
 " But business, Mr. Falconer ! What will 
 the bank do without you? " 
 
 " Oh, the bank can take care of itself, for 
 once and away, doctor. The fact is, if Mer- 
 riton will forgive me for confessing the entire 
 truth," continued the banker, eying his vic- 
 tim with a sweet and complacent smile, 
 " that, had our meeting here to-day been of 
 merely an ordinary festive character, I might 
 have contented myself with enjoying such 
 share of it as I could have come in for after 
 business hours. But when it became known 
 to me that the party were to have the treat 
 of inspecting the antiquities of the Friary 
 under your auspices, doctor, and the advan- 
 tage of your explanations of them, I could not 
 resist the temptation of being present. I 
 could not indeed ! " And then Mr. Falconer 
 took a long pinch of snufi with an air that 
 included in it the expression of a defiance to 
 mortal combat. And the mortified canon 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 knew ■what was before liim, and saw that the 
 treat to which he had been looking forward 
 •with 80 much pleasure had been snatched 
 from his grasp. 
 
 Not that he was afraid of his adversary, 
 or at all disinclined to a fair stand-up fight 
 with him for any number of hours by the 
 Friary clock. Tliat also was a pleasure in 
 its kind ; but it was of a difierent sort from 
 the more luxurious and seducing one which 
 he had promised himself, of having it all his 
 own way, and leading a troop of admiring 
 and unquefitioning women from one subject 
 of his learning and eloquence to another. 
 
 And then they passed on to the drawing- 
 room, where Mr. Frederick was found busily 
 engaged in prosecuting those investigations 
 into the social qualities of Miss Merriton, 
 ■which had hitherto only led him, as he had 
 assured the ladies at the Chase, to the con- 
 clutiion that she was a wholly uninteresting 
 little body. 
 
 And then came Lady Farnleigh and Cap- 
 tain EUingham and not very long after them 
 the Lindisfarn damsels wiih Mr. Mat. It 
 •was nearly half-past one before they arrived ; 
 and there was a chorus of outcry at their un- 
 punctuality. 
 
 " Not like you, Kate, to be the laggard ! 
 And it was to be one o'clock, military time. 
 We have already had the first of our course 
 of lectures," said Lady Farnleigh. 
 
 " Ah ! I was not on Birdie, you see, god- 
 mamma. When I am, I can answer for my 
 time. But we had to come all round by Sil- 
 verton ; and Thomas must be answerable for 
 the delay." 
 
 " Tiiomas is as regular as clockwork ; and 
 if you had started in time, you would have 
 been here in time," rejoined the doctor, not 
 in the best possible humor, though he had 
 no longer reason for being anxious to begin 
 the day's amusement punctually. 
 
 "Well, uncle, we will behave better another 
 time." 
 
 " No, no, put the saddle on the right horse," 
 said Mv. Mat ; " Thomas Tibbs is no way in 
 foult ; nor is Miss Kate. We had to •wait 
 half an hour for Miss Margaret." 
 
 " Why, I am sure we came down together ; 
 didn't we, Kate? " said Margaret, blushing 
 very red, and shooting at Mr. Mat out of 
 those fine black eyes of hers a look of which 
 it might have been said not only in the Yan- 
 
 77 
 
 kee tongue, but in good English, that it was 
 " a caution ! " 
 
 "Yes," said the abominable Mr. Mat, 
 ■quietly ; " you came down the stairs to- 
 gether, because Kate waited for you. But it 
 was you and not Kate, who tried on tliree 
 dresses before you could please yourself. 
 Ask Simmons else." 
 
 "There never was half an hour spent to 
 better purpose, if Simmons spoke the truth," 
 whispered Frederick, at Margaret's side. 
 '• What a lovely toilet i " 
 
 " Do you like it? Then I am sure I don't 
 mind how long I kept that old bear waiting," 
 returned Margaret, in the same tone; "not 
 that what he says ib true, though. But is 
 he not an insufferable old nuisance? " 
 
 " Our likings agree," said he ; " Mr. Mat 
 is a particular aversion of mine ; and he 
 knows it well enough. There is no love lost 
 between us. Strangely enough, your sister 
 is fond of him." 
 
 "Oh, Kate is so odd, — so odd in many 
 things. I am afraid she and I shall find 
 many points of difference between us." 
 
 " It will bo a great advantage to your sis- 
 ter — your return home. Miss Lindisfarn. 
 If she would endeavor to form her manner 
 from yours, it would be everything to her." 
 
 " Of course I have had great advantages, 
 which poor Kate has not shared. But I 
 flatter myself that the generality of the 
 good people here are not so capable as some 
 persons" (eye practice!) "of seeing the de- 
 ficiencies." 
 
 " Would you be better pleased for her 
 sake, that all the people here should be blind 
 to the differences between you, Mademoiselle 
 Marguerite?" 
 
 " i am afraid that would tax my charity 
 too severely," answered she, in a tone so 
 low that it was almost a whisper. Then 
 she added, in a rather, but very little, loud- 
 er voice, " You called me Marguerite ! You 
 are the only person here that does. I like 
 it so much better than that odious Margaret, 
 as they call it ! Do call me always Mar- 
 guerite." Whether this was to be taken 
 as a permission to call her by her Christian 
 name, or merely as a request to be addressed 
 in French instead of in English, she skilfully 
 left it to the gentleman himself to decide. 
 
 Then, it having been resolved by general 
 vote that one portion of the avowed business 
 
78 
 
 of the day should be done before going to 
 luncheon, and that it would be very pleasant 
 to break their archaeological investigations by 
 that agreeable diversion, the doctor arose, 
 and proceeded to unroll a large plan which 
 he had brought with him, while most of the 
 party crowded around him. 
 
 " Where is Margaret? " cried the doctor ; 
 " Margaret, my love ; here is your place, by 
 my side. You are to be my fellow-laborer, 
 you know, in illustrating the Friary as it 
 deserves." 
 
 Margaret groaned softly, and looked up 
 into Frederick Falconer's face with an ap- 
 pealing expression of intense annoyance in 
 her eyes, which made them look lovelier, he 
 thought, than he had ever seen them yet, as 
 she said, " I must go, I suppose ! It is very 
 provoking. Mind, I trust to you to save me 
 from this horrid bore, if any chance of ex- 
 tricating me should offer." 
 
 " Would that I could," whispered Fred. 
 
 And then the doctor, with his victim by 
 his side, unrolled his topographical plan, and 
 began : — 
 
 " The plan of the actually existing build- 
 ings, — ^just put your hand on the paper, my 
 dear, to hold it open, so that they may all 
 Bee it ; " — Margaret, admirably prompt to 
 extract from unfavorable circumstances all 
 the little good they might be capable of 
 yielding, laid a beautifully white and slender 
 hand, with long, slender fingers, flat on the 
 paper, taking off her glove for the purpose, 
 as if the service demanded of her could not 
 have been performed otherwise ; and the 
 doctor proceeded : — 
 
 " The plan of the modei'n part of the act- 
 ually existing buildings has been traced here 
 in black, while that of those portions of the 
 ancient monastery which have perished has, 
 as tar as it has been possible to discover the 
 position of them, been laid down in red lines. 
 The part of the plan colored green repre- 
 sents those portions of the actually existing 
 house which were part of the original build- 
 ing. It will be at once perceived, therefore, 
 that the entire wing, including the drawing- 
 room in which we are at this moment assem- 
 bled, is of modern construction, — compara- 
 tively modern that is to say, dating probably 
 from the early part of the seventeenth cen- 
 tury." 
 
 " I am sure you will forgive me, my good 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 doctor, for interrupting you," said Mr. Fal- 
 coner, " but it is impossible to hear that 
 statement laid down in so unqualified a man- 
 ner, without pointing out that there are 
 grave doubts" — 
 
 " Thank you. Falconer," cried the doctor, 
 turning on him with the aspect of a boar 
 brought to bay, " I am perfectly aware of 
 all that you would say. I said probably — 
 probably from the beginning of the seven- 
 teenth century. We shall go more accu- 
 rately into the examination of that question, 
 when we shall have brought our investiga- 
 tions down to that time. You will become 
 aware of the advantage of chronological 
 treatraeut in matters of this kind, when you 
 have applied your distinguished erudition to 
 more of them. Allow me to proceed." 
 
 Mr. Falconer was a man of bland manners, 
 and particularly prided himself on suavity 
 of demeanor a toute epreuve. But those of 
 the party who knew him well were made 
 aware by a little vibratory motion of his 
 pig-tail, that he was restraining himself from 
 giving way to his indignation with difficulty. 
 He succeeded, however, so far as to permit 
 no outward demonstration of the tempest 
 that was raging within him to appear, be- 
 yond a satirical smile, as, having first soothed 
 his nervous system with a pinch of snuff, he 
 said, — 
 
 "I bide my time then, doctor ! " 
 
 "I was about to point out to you," re- 
 sumed the doctor, " that only the kitchens, 
 the pantry, the small room adjoining the 
 kitchen on the south side, used, I believe, by 
 the late owners as the housekeeper's room, 
 and possibly still appropriated to the same 
 purpose" — The doctor paused, and di- 
 rected an inquiring glance at Miss Merriton, 
 thereby causing his hearers to do the same, 
 to the exceeding annoyance and discomfiture 
 of that little lady, who had been surrepti- 
 tiously engaged in the background in condol- 
 ing in whispered accents with Lady Sempro- 
 nia on some of that lady's trials. She felt 
 like a schoolboy, who has been suddenly 
 " set on " at the moment when, having been 
 absorbed in the pages of a novel dexterously 
 hidden beneath his Virgil, he has not the re- 
 motest idea of " the place." Lady Sem- 
 pronia would have prompted her, but was 
 no better informed of the matter in hand 
 than herself. 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 79 
 
 «' The room next the kitchen," Buid Lady gle's work. But Battledore, in his ' Pere- 
 Farnlcigh ; "is it still the housekeeper's : grinations and Pcrlustrations of tlie Valley of 
 room ? " the Sill ' — a somewhat rare work, which you 
 
 " Yes, tliat is the housekeeper's room. Is ; probably have never seen. Falconer, for a 
 she wanted?" asked poor Miss Merriton , sadly i small edition only was privately printed ; but 
 fluttered. I shall have much pleasure in showing you a 
 
 " Not yet. Not at present, thanks," re- 1 copy, — Battledore clearly shows that the build- 
 sumed the doctor. " The housekeeper's room i ing which had existed on those foundations 
 
 — 1 was saying that the kitchens, the pantry, 
 the housekeeper's room, and the northwest 
 and northeast walls of the present dining- 
 room, or part of them at least, are the only 
 portions of the present house which belong to 
 the ancient monastery." 
 
 But at that point of his discourse ;>CBnape£?e 
 claudo overtook the doctor. The bland but 
 inly raging old banker had bided iiis time, as 
 he said, and found it ! 
 
 "Excuse me, doctor," he cried, pushing for- 
 ward to the front of the little group to lay his 
 fingers on the plan ; " excuse me if I say that 
 I feel sure the time will come when your per- 
 severing studies will convince you of the 
 danger of laxity of statement in topograph- 
 ical details. The only parts of the present 
 house included in the old monastery ! What ! 
 Is there not the wash-house? One of the 
 best characterized remnants in the place ! " 
 
 " Now, uiy dear Falconer, I do hope that 
 you will permit me to proceed with my state- 
 ment of the facts. I am well aware, of course, 
 that the foundation of the wall of the present 
 wash-house '' — 
 
 " You know. Dr. Lindisfarn, how deep a 
 respect I entertain for the profundity of your 
 erudition and the accuracy of your research ; 
 but I must be permitted to say that any one 
 who fails to see at a glance the contempora- 
 necusness of the present Avails with the foun- 
 dation on which they stand, must be igno- 
 rant of tlie very A B C of archjDeology ! " 
 
 " I know no man for whoseopinion I should 
 have a greater deference on a matter of this 
 kind than yours, Mr. Falconer. But really 
 the grossness of the error into which you have 
 fallen upon the present occasion is a melan- 
 choly warning of the consequences of rash 
 and too hasty induction." 
 
 " Rasli induction, my dear doctor ! I find 
 in Priiigle's ' Survey of the Suppressed Re- 
 ligions Houses of the Hundreds of Perribash 
 and Warliugcombc,' a plan, which gives " — 
 
 " Indications of walls, of which the ancient 
 foundations still remain ! T dare say you do. 
 I flatter myself I am acquainted with Prin- 
 
 was in ruins in his time." 
 
 Margaret, who all this time had been duti- 
 fully holding open her uncle's plan with her 
 fair hand outspread upon it in the manner 
 which has been described, thinking when the 
 dispute between the rival antiquaries had 
 reached that point, either that her services 
 were for the moment- no longer needed, or 
 that a sufficient time had been allowed for all 
 present to admire the beauty of her hand, 
 withdrew it from the paper, which immedi- 
 ately rolled itself up against the fingers of the 
 dov-*or, who had been holding it on the other 
 side. Margaret, who was already gently 
 withdrawing herself from the prominent posi- 
 tion she had been made to occupy at her 
 uncle's side, feared that the coiling up of the 
 paper would draw his attention to her deser- 
 tion. But she need not have alarmed her- 
 self. He was far too intent on the battle 
 which had begun to rage to think about any 
 such small matters. Feeling t'le pian I'oll 
 itself up into a baton, he grasped it, as he 
 turned upon his adversary, who was unpro- 
 vided with any such weapon. 
 
 " Very cleverly done," wliispeved Freder- 
 ick in her ear, as drawing l)a(;k from the 
 place she had held, she found Iiernelf again 
 by his side. "And now, while my father is 
 telling him how Shuttlecock points out that 
 Battledore knew nothing at all aliout it, we 
 may escape." 
 
 " Have you any idea what it is all about? " 
 asked Margaret, confidentially. 
 
 " Not the least in the woi'ld ! Bat I hope 
 the fight will last all the remainder of the af- 
 ternoon. It wont hurt them ; and it will be 
 a great blessing to us. Don't you think we 
 might steal out upon the lawn through this 
 open window? There is a beautiful gnien- 
 house ; let me show it to you, while the war 
 is still raging over the foundation of the wash- 
 house." 
 
 " The phrase ' ruins,' my dear doctor,'^ 
 said the old banker, with a suiile of infinite 
 superiority, "is a very vague one. In this 
 case it was, in all probability, used by the 
 
80 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 •writer whom you cite, — and -who is perfectly profit by investigating, as best vre may by the 
 well known to me, though I have not much light of nature, that charming fragment 
 opinion of the reliability of his work, — to ex- of the old cloister that forms the northern 
 press the condition of the roof." Here the boundary of your lovely flower-garden." 
 old gentleman took a pinch of snuff, and | " That is the only bit of the antiquities of 
 looked round on the bystanders with an air , the Friary that I care about," said Mr. Mat ; 
 which seemed to call their attention to the i " and I do think that flower-garden is the 
 fact of his having utterly demolished his op- ■ prettiest spot in all Sillshire." 
 ponent. " But with regard to the walls," "Don't you think we may venture, Miss 
 he continued, " I think — I do think, that the ' Merriton, to conduct our own researches in 
 evidence of your own senses, my dear doctor, the flower-garden without inquiring what 
 would be suflBcient to convince you that they \ Pringle and Battledore have written upon 
 are of the same date as the foundations on \ the subject?" said Lady Farnleigh. 
 which they rest. If our kind host will per- " If Lady Sempronia feels equal to stroll- 
 mit us to institute an examination on the i ing so far," said Miss Merriton, turning to 
 
 spot" — 
 
 " Oh, by all means," said Mr. Merriton ; 
 " the entire house is at your disposition. 
 If you will step this way" — 
 
 And the combatants accordingly followed 
 him to the back part of the house, which 
 
 that plaintive lady, by whose side she was 
 sitting on a sofa, listening with admirable 
 patience and sympathy to the tale of her va- 
 rious trials. 
 
 " I am afraid," said Lady Sempronia, 
 whose mind was full of the impending dan- 
 
 stood very close to the cliff which has been ' ger that the doctor might be stimulated into 
 described, and occupied the site of the re- composing a monograph on the date of the 
 fectory and adjoining buildings — buttery, i Friary wash-house, " I am afraid that I must 
 hatches, and so forth — of the old monastery, j not venture out in the sun. It is very pow- 
 But it may be feared that when they reached erful at this hour. But pray do not let me 
 the battle-ground itself, a great portion of [detain you, Miss Merriton." 
 the interest of the fight was lost. Were "But perhaps Lady Farnleigh, who is 
 there ever knights who would not have taken j doubtless far more competent to act as guide 
 their lances from their rests, and ceased pok- i than I am, will excuse me. If she would 
 ing each other, if all the spectators had re- j kindly undertake the office of cicerone I should 
 
 tired from the lists? And unhappily not 
 single soul of those assembled in the draw- 
 ing-room at the Friary cared sufiiciently to 
 know when the wash-house was built to fol- 
 
 prefer remaining indoors myself," said Miss 
 Merriton. 
 
 " Oh ! I am thoroughly competent, I as- 
 sure you," rejoined Lady Farnleigh. " If I 
 low the combatants. There was still Mr. j have only your permission, I undertake to 
 Merriton for umpire, and the dispute had, do the honors of the gardens on ne peut 
 therefore, to be carried on ; but it is permis- mieux.''^ 
 
 Bible to suppose that if it had not been for So Lady Farnleigh, Kate, Mr, Mat and 
 his presence the fight would have languished. Captain Ellingham, walked out into the gar- 
 As it was, the remaining members of the ' den by the same window through which Mar- 
 party, who were left in the drawing-room, — \ garet and Frederick Falconer had passed. 
 Lady Farnleigh, Miss Merriton, Lady Sem- | The latter had, however, gone into the con- 
 pronia, Kate, Mr. jNIat and Captain EUing- | servatory, which occupied the space of some 
 ham, — were left to their own devices by the forty feet between the house and the frag- 
 
 — it is to be feared, not unwelcome — diver- 
 sion. 
 
 " We must not regret, Miss Merriton," 
 said Lady Farnleigh, "that the great ques- 
 
 ment of the ancient cloister to which Lady 
 Farnleigh had alluded. 
 
 The flower-garden in question was worth a 
 visit ; and none the less so that the place was 
 
 tion of the antiquity of your wash-house, I well known to all the pariie carree who now 
 which seems so doubtful, should be finally ' entered it, except Captain Ellingham. It is 
 set at rest, as it no doubt will now be ; al- , indeed as lovely a spot as the imagination 
 though we are deprived, in consequence of can well conceive. Completely shut in on 
 the difficulty, of the benefit of the doctor's , the Silverton side by the lofty jutting lime- 
 guidance. I propose that we put the time to [ stone cliff, close round the base of which the 
 
water ran in a deeper and swifter stream 
 than in any other part of its course, it was 
 enclosed on the side opposite to the front of 
 the house by the river, the opposite bank of 
 which was fringed with a luxuriant planta- 
 tion of rhododendrons all the way from the 
 private bridge leading to the village, to the 
 spot where it disappeared round the cliff. 
 Over the top of this jBourishing plantation 
 the spire of Weston church was visible and 
 behind it the higher and more distant parts 
 of tiie broken open ground, with its patches of 
 broom, which intervened between the valley 
 of the Sill and the woods belonging to the 
 Chase, and behind them again an horizon 
 formed by the lofty summit of Lindisfarn 
 brow. 
 
 On the opposite side to the river, the 
 flower-garden was shut in by the house, by 
 the conservatory, — one end of which abutted 
 on it, — and by the qld fragment of cloister, 
 consisting of three arches, and a small por- 
 tion of the back wall of the cloister, which 
 had, however, been restored and completed 
 by masonry of recent construction, and on 
 which the other end of the conservatory 
 rested. The three isolated arches of crumb- 
 ling gray stone, standing thus on the exqui- 
 sitely kept sward of the lawn, and serving as 
 a support for a variety of flowering creepei'S, 
 were the pride and beauty of the garden. 
 They stood at right angles, as will be under- 
 stood, if I have succeeded in rendering the 
 above account of the locality intelligible, to 
 that face of the cliff which shut in the gar- 
 den ; and which, itself richly clothed with a 
 wilder and more exuberant growth of coarser 
 creeping plants, was so beautiful an object 
 as to make it questionable whether man's 
 handiwork or nature's had contributed most 
 to the ornament of the little paradise encir- 
 cled by them both. The remaining side of 
 the enclosed space — that looking toward the 
 upper valley of the Sill and the pasture 
 ground on its banks, which was once the 
 home farm of the monastery, and now the 
 park attached to the modern residence — was 
 only partially shut in by plantations, of 
 horse-chestnut and birch chiefly, so as to 
 leave peeps of the distant view in this direc- 
 tion. 
 
 " I do think Mr. Mat is right," said Kate, 
 as they all four stood on the lawn in front of 
 the three old arches, which were probably in- 
 debted fur their preservation, so many years 
 
 G 
 
 NDISFARN CHASE 81 
 
 after the destruction of their fellows, to the 
 support and protection derived from the cliff 
 against which the last of them rested. " 1 
 do tliink this is the prettiest spot altogcthei 
 that I ever saw." 
 
 " It really is a most perfect thing in its 
 way," said Captain Ellingham, who, to tell 
 the truth, though nobody but Lady Farnloig! 
 had observed it, had been in not the best of 
 all possible humors since they had arrived at 
 the Friary ; for, instead of attending to the 
 doctor's exordium as he ought to have done, 
 he had been watching Margaret — that" most 
 beautiful creature he had ever seen in his 
 life " — and all her ways and works, and he 
 did not like wdiat he had seen. He was not 
 pleased with the incident arising from the 
 tardiness of their arrival. Not that he in 
 the least blamed Margaret for the delay of 
 the half-hour employed in the trying-on of 
 three dresses ; for he agreed with Falconer in 
 thinking, though he had not said it, that the 
 result produced was well worth the time em- 
 ployed to realize it. But he had not been 
 pleased with her allowing the blame to be cast 
 on her sister, and still less with a certain ex- 
 pression of face which he had noted when 
 Mr. Mat had so brutally betrayed her secret. 
 Then again, though he had much admired 
 the exquisite little hand, so skilfully laid out 
 (literally) for admiration on the doctor's to- 
 pographical plan, he had most ungratefully 
 felt annoyed at her for the manner of the ex- 
 hibition of it. And it cannot perhaps be said 
 that he was altogether unreasonable in with- 
 holding his entire approbation in either case. 
 But he was far more displeased at certain 
 other things that had fallen within the scope 
 of his observation, with which he really had 
 no right to find fault. He had noted all the 
 little by-play and whispering with Falconer, 
 and had judged it from a stand-point of moral 
 criticism which his judgment would hardly 
 have placed itself on, if he had been himself 
 the culprit in Falconer's place. He had 
 marked also her escape out of the window, 
 followed by him ; and it sufficed to bring his 
 indignation and his ill-humor to its climax. 
 And although tlic sins she had been guilty of 
 would only have confirmed him in the opin- 
 ion that she certainly was one of the sweetest 
 creatures on earth, if he instead of another 
 had been the accomplice of them, as it was, 
 he began to ask himself whether Lady Farn- 
 leigh had not been right, when she called 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 him a goose in the carriage as they were re- 
 turning from the Chase. 
 
 The honorable Captain Ellingham, though 
 doubtless, as Fred Falconer had said, a very 
 meritorious officer, was, it is very clear, a 
 quite exceptionably unreasonable man when 
 the question was one, not of haulyards and 
 marling-spikes, but of pretty girls. 
 
 CHAPTER XIV. 
 THE " NOSEY STONE." 
 
 Captain Ellingham's ill-temper was be- 
 ginning to give way before the influences of 
 the charming scene around him, and the 
 thoroughly good-tempered, joyous, and open- 
 hearted enjoyment of it by his companions ; 
 and he was gradually coming rouna more and 
 more to the opinion that Lady Farnleigh had 
 expressed as to the merits of the Lindisfarn 
 lasses, and as to his appreciation of them, 
 when a circumstance occurred, which, though 
 it suddenly changed the immediate current of 
 all his thoughts, yet eventually operated to 
 complete Captain Ellingham's conversion to 
 his old friend's opinion. 
 
 The face of Weston Rock, as the cliff 
 which has been so frequently mentioned was 
 called by the educated classes— though the 
 country-people generally nicknamed it the 
 " Nosey Stone," from the manner in which 
 it stood out from the hillside behind it— the 
 face of Weston Rock, which looks toward 
 Silverton, is, though very steep, not alto- 
 gether precipitous. The most prominent 
 part of it, — the ridge of the nose, as it were, 
 — which is washed at its base by the river, 
 is for more than half of the height from the 
 water a naked and absolutely precipitous 
 rock. The upper portion of this side of the 
 cliff above this naked wall of rock is very little 
 less steep ; but it is covered with a growth 
 of creeping plants, which do not, however, 
 sufficiently lessen its precipitous character to 
 render it possible for any human foot to traverse 
 it. On the other face of the cliff, that which 
 overhangs and forms the boundary of the Fri- 
 ary gardens, the lower portion of the height 
 is nearly as steep as that which overhangs 
 the river ; but it is not, like that, utterly de- 
 void of inequalities on the surface and ledges, 
 which in some degree break the face of it. 
 The upper portion on this side is not so en- 
 tirely precipitous ; it is covered not only with 
 a profusion of creeping plants, the long trail- 
 ing branches of which hang down over the 
 
 lower part, but over a considerable portion 
 of its surface with patches and tufts of mnk, 
 coarse grass and herbage. So that it is pos- 
 sible on that side to descend from the top by the 
 aid of the partial foothold , and the vigorous veg- 
 etation of the creepers. Nevertheless, consid- 
 ering that any one attempting such a feat 
 has some seventy or eighty feet of utterly 
 unclimbable precipice beneath him, the edge 
 of which he is approaching as he descends, 
 and bearing in mind that the crumbling of 
 a tuft of couch-grass, or the breaking of a 
 twig, may accelerate his approach to its edge 
 in such sort as to hurry him over it, the de- 
 scent of the Nosey Stone, even on this its 
 least terrible side, is an undertaking in which 
 one would not wish unnecessarily to engage. 
 
 The little party standing on the lawn in 
 front of the old cloister arches, and conse- 
 quently within a few feet of that face of the 
 cliff which has been last mentioned, were speak- 
 ing, as everybody always does speak in such 
 cases, of the exceeding knowingness exhib- 
 ited by the monks in the choice of their situa- 
 tions, — how sure they always were to select 
 the choice bits of all the country-side for their 
 homesteads, and how perfectly well they un- 
 derstood all the points that go toward mak- 
 ing any spot specially eligible for a habita- 
 tion, — when suddenly they were startled by a 
 rustle, a rush among the brushwood on the 
 face of the cliff above their heads, and in the 
 next moment the fall of a heavy substance 
 with a dead sounding thud on the turf of the 
 lawn at their feet. It was a young lamb ; 
 and it lay on its side, giving only one or two 
 convulsive movements with its hind legs — 
 for the fall had killed it. 
 
 " Poor little thing! " said Kate, running 
 forward, and stooping over it to see if it was 
 indeed dead ; " it must have strayed from the 
 mother in the field above. I think it is dead ; 
 look, Mr. Mat, see if the fall has quite killed 
 it." 
 
 " Killed it, sure enough," said Mr. Mat ; 
 " lambs don't fall as cats do ! " 
 
 " It is well for it, poor little beast, that it 
 is killed," said Captain Ellingham, " for of 
 course its bones must be broken." 
 
 Just then Margaret and Falconer emerged 
 from the conservatory, where they also had 
 heard and been startled by the noise of the 
 fall. They came forward toward the spot 
 where the others were gathered round the body 
 of the unlucky little animal, with an eagernesa 
 
of inq uiry as to what the matter was, and 
 what had happened, which had somewhat the 
 appearance of being in a certain measure 
 prompted by a feeling of the desirability of 
 diverting the attention of the party away 
 from their own simultaneous re-appearance, 
 after their period of retirement. 
 
 " Good gracious! " cried Margaret, when 
 the nature of the accident had been ex- 
 plained to her, " what a mercy it is the crea- 
 ture did not tumble on any of our heads! 
 It might have killed us on the spot ! " 
 
 But as Margaret uttered the words, mor- 
 alizing the event after her own fashion, Cap- 
 tain Ellinghaiu suddenly cried, " hush ! " 
 lifting his fingeras he spuke ; " Hush ! I 
 thought I heard a voice up there ! Yes ! 
 there it is again, — a sob, as of a child cry- 
 ing. Is there any possibility that a child 
 sliould be on the face of the cliff? " 
 
 '• Hardly,*' said Mr. Mat ; " more likely 
 the voice you heard was from the top. Very 
 likely some little shepherd or shepherdess, 
 who has discovered the misfortune that has 
 betided one of the flock." 
 
 " God grant the child, if it be one, may 
 not come too close to the edge of the cliff! " 
 said Lady farnleigh. "It is a dangerous 
 place. And it strikes me that, unless the 
 voice were quite at the very edge of the prec- 
 ipice, it could not be heard here." 
 
 " So I should say, too," replied EUingham. 
 " And yet I can hear it now, — evidently 
 the voice of a child crying. Hist ! Do you 
 not hear it? " 
 
 " There ! Oh, yes ! To be sure I do. It 
 is a child crying." 
 
 " Yes ! I can hear it, too, now, very plainly. 
 I think it must have come nearer," said Lady 
 Farnleigh. 
 
 " What can we do to find out where it is ?" 
 cried Kate, turning to Captain EUingham, 
 who was still bending his ear to catch the 
 sounds that were at one moment more, and 
 at another less, distinctly audible. 
 
 " Do the ladies and gentlemen of Sillshire 
 always go into committee instantly on the 
 spot every time a little (jamin cries, to inves- 
 tigate the cause of the phenomenon? " said 
 Margaret, tittering. 
 
 "Yes, they duP'' cried Mr. Mat, turning 
 on her fiercely, and speaking in his broadest 
 Doric; "yes, they du. Miss Margy, when 
 'tis at the voot of the Nosey stoan they hear 
 
 NDISFARN CHASE. 83 
 
 it ! Why, the poor child may be zcarching 
 for the lamb to the top of the cliff, and come 
 to vail over in the zame manner, he might ! " 
 
 " I believe," said Captain EUingham, who 
 had been attentively listening, " that the 
 voice must be on the face of the cliff; I do 
 not think we could hear it as we do, if it was 
 from anybody on the top. The sound would 
 be too much impeded by the intervening mass 
 of the hill, which prevents a. person on the 
 top from being visible." 
 
 And as he spoke. Captain EUingham drew 
 back from the face of the cliff toward the 
 bank of the river, in order to be able to scan 
 the whole surface of it with his eye. If the 
 cliff had been naked, it would have been of 
 course easy to do this in an instant ; but the 
 overgrowth of creepers, and brambles and 
 brushwood was in some parts quite abundant 
 enough to hide a child or even a man among 
 it. But after carefully and earnestly gazing 
 for a minute or two. Captain EUingham cried 
 out, — 
 
 " Yes ! yes ! I think I see him, or her, 
 whichever it is ! " 
 
 "Where, where?" cried Kate, running 
 out from under the cliff to the place where 
 EUingham was standing, still intently exam- 
 ining the face of the rock. 
 
 " There : a couple of fathom or so above 
 the line where the vegetation ends and the 
 naked rock begins. Do you see a large patch 
 of yellow flowers ? Lift your eyes in a per- 
 pendicular line from the spot where the con- 
 servatory joins the old arches of the cloister, 
 till you come to a noticeable clump of yellow 
 flowers " — 
 
 " Yes, oh, yes ! " cried Kate, doing as she 
 was bid ; " I have them ! " 
 
 " AVell, just above and a little to the right 
 of that clump of flowers, I saw the bushes 
 move, and I am almost sure that I caught a 
 glimpse of a dress ! " 
 
 " But, good Heaven! '' cried Kate, turn- 
 ing pale, " if there is a child, or even a man 
 there, how are they to get away? They • 
 must be in fearful danger ! " 
 
 "It is a child's voice — and I think a 
 girl's," said EUingham. 
 
 Good Heaven ! What is to be done?" 
 asked Lady Farnleigh, looking in a scared 
 manner from one to the other of the two gentle- 
 men ; — the two ; for, though there were three 
 present on the lawn since Falconer had come 
 
84 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 out of the conservatory with Margaret, her 
 eyes seemed to confine her appeal to Mr. Mat 
 and Captain EUingham. 
 
 " 'Tis a bad place to get tu," said Mr. 
 Mat. " She, ev it is a girl, might get tu the 
 top the zame way she got down ; though 
 perhaps she might vind it difficult to du so. 
 But the worst is, that mayhap she don't 
 know — pretty zure, indeed, she don't know — 
 that the naked rock is ten or a dozen veet 
 below her. And ev she goes on pushing and 
 moving among the bushes, she may vail any 
 minute. Ev she would remain quite still 
 till we could get to her with ladder and 
 tackle, we might take her off the cliff safe 
 enough." 
 
 " But how could she ever have got there, 
 Mr. Mat?" asked Kate, in much distress; 
 " do you think she fell over the edge of the 
 cliff?" 
 
 " No ! Depend upon it she clambered 
 down after the lamb that we saw vail. It 
 is not so very difficult to get down by help 
 of the bushes, and climb up again, ev you 
 know what you are about, and what sort of 
 place it is. I've been all over the vace of 
 the cliff after bird's-nests and blackberries, 
 wh<»n I was a boy, time and again. She is 
 uncommonly near the top of the naked rock 
 though ! And if she comes down a;ny lower, 
 God help her! " 
 
 " Shall I try to hail her? We could make 
 her hear well enough ; but it is a question 
 whether we may not frighten her." 
 
 " Had you not better send a servant to 
 the village, and tell the people to go and 
 look after the child? " said Margaret. 
 
 "Tell ye what," said Mr. Mat, "better 
 let me try to speak to her. She'll under- 
 stand our Zillshire speach better. I should 
 be less likely to frighten her than you. If 
 we can only make her keep herself quite 
 quiet till we can como tu her, it will be all 
 right enough." 
 
 "There! there! now I see her plain 
 enough," cried Captain EUingham; " it is 
 a little girl sure enough ! I see her red 
 dress." 
 
 " If she don't bide still, it is all up with 
 her ! She moved a couple of voot neai-er 
 the top of the bare rock then ! " 
 
 ' ' Good Heaven ! ' ' cried Lady Farnleigh ; 
 " call to her, Mr. Mat! call to her, at all 
 hazards ! tell her not to move hand or foot 
 
 for her life ! I see the poor little thing plain 
 enough ; Do you not see, Kate '' — 
 
 And she turned, as she spoke, to where 
 Kate had been standing on the lawn ; but 
 Kate was no longer there. They liad all 
 been looking up eagerly to the face of the 
 cliff, and neither EUingham nor Mr. Mat had 
 seen her go. 
 
 " Kate is gone into the house," said Mar- 
 garet ; " she ran off without saying a word. 
 No doubt she has gone to tell the servants." 
 
 Mr. Mat, putting his hands to his mouth 
 so as to make them serve, as far as might 
 be, the purpose of a speaking trumpet, hal- 
 looed to the child, whom they could all now 
 see perfectly well, to remain quite still ; to 
 take the best hold she could on the biggest 
 bushes near her, and hold on without at- 
 tempting to budge till help could reach 
 her. 
 
 But while he was calling to her — whether 
 or not it may have been that she was startled 
 by the voice from underneath her — she made 
 another movement, which brought her two 
 or three feet nearer to the limit of the 
 bushes, and to the commencement of the 
 bare rock — and certain destruction. 
 
 Lady Farnleigh covered her eyes with her 
 hand, and uttered a shuddering cry. 
 
 "By Heaven? she will be killed before 
 our eyes!" cried Mr. Mat. "You run. 
 Falconer ! run for your life to the top of the 
 cliff, by the path on the other side — you 
 know, the path from Weston water-meads 
 up to Shapton farm ; — and get down to the 
 child by the bushes. You'll be faster than 
 me ; and 111 be trying to get at her from 
 below. Run for dear life, lad ! " 
 
 But as ha spoke, and while Lady Farnleigh 
 was wringing her hands in distress, Miss 
 Margaret was so overcome by her feelings 
 that she suddenly threw herself backwards 
 into Frederick Falconer's arms, and went off 
 incontinently into violent hysterics. 
 
 "It is impossible that I can leave IMiss 
 Lindisfarn in this state," replied he, to Mr. 
 Mat's appeal ; " impossible, or I would go 
 at once." 
 
 " Oh ! don't leave me! for pity's sake don't 
 leave me ! " shrieked the young lady, open- 
 ing her fine eyes for a moment — just long 
 enough to shoot up into the face which was 
 hanging over her a glance which was not 
 altogether hysterical in its espression, — ac- 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 85 
 
 cording, at least, to the strictly incdicul view was, he started off to make his way to the 
 of such matters. place. 
 
 " Put the lass down with her back on the { " Take the gardener with you, Arthur, to 
 turf! " said Mr. Mat, — in extreme disgust; ^ show you the path up the cliff, and the spot 
 " put the lass down ! — what hurt can she at the top from which you must try the de- 
 take? — and see if you can help to save this scent," said little Miss Merriton, with quiet 
 poor child's life ! " 'presence of mind. "And make him run 
 
 " Oh ! don't leave me ! don't leave me ! " j his best. You can run well, Arthur." 
 sobbed Miss Margaret. And then, quietly stepping into the house, 
 
 "Not for all the world," replied Freddy, ' she called all the men-servants and maids, 
 in an intensely expressive whisper, with eye and set them to work to drag out feather-beds 
 expression to match. " It is impossible for and mattresses, and spread them at the foot 
 me to leave her," he said aloud, in answer to j of the cliff. 
 Mr. Mat ; " don't you see that it is? " " In case the poor little thing should fall, 
 
 Captain EUingham had in the mean time i it might be the means of saving her," she 
 contrived to clamber to the top of the half- I said to Lady Farnleigh. " I fear she would 
 
 ruinous arches, and was seeing whether it 
 was possible for active limbs and a sure eye 
 to scale the face of the cliff by that help. 
 
 " It is out of the question," cried Mr. Mat; 
 " I tell j-ou it is impossible ! Wait while 1 
 run into the house to see what ladders they 
 have." 
 
 " And ropes," returned Captain EUingham. 
 " Above all, a good coil of rope." 
 
 " Where's Kate? " cried Mr. Mat, as he 
 turned to run into the house. 
 
 " I did not see her leave the lawn ; I sup- 
 pose she went into the house," returned Lady 
 Farnleigh. " No doubt she went to get as- 
 sistance. Since that gentleman does not 
 choose to risk his precious limbs to save a 
 poor girl's life," continued she, looking with 
 a curling lip to the spot where Falconer was 
 hanging over the reclining form of Miss Mar- 
 garet, " you had better get some one of the 
 servants to hasten to the top of the cliff and 
 try to get down to her. EUingham will be 
 the man to climb it from below, if any hu- 
 man being can.*' 
 
 " Do you continue to encourage her to 
 hold on for life, but to make no attempt 
 to move. Lady Fai-nleigh ; I will run and 
 see what tackle can be got. You can make 
 her hear you." 
 
 And, so saying, he and Mr. Mat hurried 
 off together into the house. 
 
 In a very few minutes all the others of the 
 party had run out from the house and were 
 assembled on the lawn. As soon as ever Mr. 
 Merriton understood the nature of the case, 
 and the desirability that some one should, if 
 possible, get to the top of the cliff, and at- 
 tempt to descend thence to where the child 
 
 t fall suflttciently clear of the rocks to es- 
 cape fatal injury ; but it is a chance the more 
 in her favor." 
 
 While this wasbeingdone, Captain EUing- 
 ham and Mr. Mat were busily engaged in 
 splicing together two long ladders, which 
 had been brought out on to the lawn. 
 
 " Can you judge the height with your eye, 
 captain ? " said Mr. Mat ; " do you think we 
 have length of ladder enough?" 
 
 " It is very difficult to say. I don't know. 
 We must try it. If I can only get to the low- 
 est bushes, I'll answer for the rest." 
 
 " How can you possibly take the child off 
 the cliff, when it wiM be as much as ever you 
 can do to hold your own footing on it? " urged 
 Mr. Mat. 
 
 " Only let me get at her; and I'll answer 
 for the rest. I'll manage it, either upward 
 or back by the ladders. Now for it, let's try 
 the length ! " 
 
 They raised the two ladders, tied together, 
 with some difficulty, only to find that they 
 were some ten or twelve feet too short for the 
 purpose. The lowest of the bushes grew at 
 least that distance above the topmost rung of 
 the ladder ; and the child was now about 
 half as much, or perhaps rather more than 
 half as much, as high again above the com- 
 mencement of the growth of plants. 
 
 " I'll tell you what it is," said EUingham ; 
 " there is but one thing for it. We must 
 get the ladders up and stand them on the top 
 of the old cloister waU ! " 
 
 "I doubt it," said Mr. Mat; "I doubt 
 our raising the ladder there ; and if you do 
 succeed in getting it on end, it will be no 
 joke attempting to go up it." 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 " Not a bit of it, only let us get the lad- 
 ders up ! I'll go up them safe enough ! I'm 
 good at a balance," returned Ellingham. 
 
 " Well, we can but try," said Mr. Mat. So, 
 aided by the servants, the two gentlemen es- 
 sayed, and by dint of great exertion, suc- 
 ceeded in raising the ladders against the clkT 
 from the top of the crumbling old wall. Mr. 
 Mat placed himself on the arch at the foot of 
 the ladder, in order to hold and steady it to 
 the utmost of his power and strength. But 
 the task of ascending the two ladders, hasti- 
 ly lashed together, raised against an uneven 
 surface of bare rock, and standing on the top 
 of a rotten and crumbling old wall, was not 
 an agreeable one ; and all the other individ- 
 uals of the party assembled on the lawn 
 looked on with breathless anxiety while 
 Ellingham was about to attempt it. 
 
 All of them were there, with the exception 
 of Frederick Falconer and Miss Margaret. 
 For after Fred had declared, in reply to the 
 appeal made to him for assistance, that he 
 could not leave Margaret, and had pledged 
 himself to that young lady herself not to 
 "desert her," finding it unpleasant under 
 the circumstances to remain under the obser- 
 vation of the people congregated on the lawn, 
 specially of Lady Farnlcigh and Mr. Mat, he 
 had half carried half led the drooping and 
 still hysterical girl into the drawing-room, 
 and was there administering such bodily and 
 mental consolation and comfort as her case 
 required. 
 
 Ellingham was on the wall at the foot of 
 the ladder, adjusting a coil of rope around 
 his shoulders and neck in such a manner as 
 to interfere as little as possible with his free- 
 dom of action, and was on the point of start- 
 ing on his perilous enterprise, when the at- 
 tention of those on the lawn was drawn to a 
 movement among the bushes and brambles at 
 the top of the cliff, just above the spot where 
 the child was still clinging for dear life to 
 the shrubs and crumbling soil, only a few 
 feet above the commencement of the wholly 
 naked part of the cliff. In the next minute 
 it was evident to all of them that it was Kate 
 Lindisfarn, who was about to attempt descend- 
 ing the cliff to the child by the same path by 
 which the latter had reached her present po- 
 sition of danger ; who was attempting it 
 rather ; for, without any hesitation or pause, 
 she began descending among the bushes. 
 
 Yes, ic was Kate sure enough ! Her light- 
 
 blue silk dress was distinguishable enough 
 and was unmistakable. 
 
 "No, no! Back, go back!" screamed 
 Lady Farnleigh with the utmost power of 
 her voice, and striving to enforce her words 
 by waving signals with her hands. But Kate 
 paid no attention to the warning, if she heard 
 or observed it. 
 
 " O God ! she will be killed ! she will be 
 killed ! " screamed Lady Farnleigh , in an ag- 
 ony of distress. 
 
 "Let her try it, God bless her!" cried 
 Mr. Mat from the cloister wall, with much 
 emotion ; " Kate has a sure foot and a steady 
 eye. She is Sillshire, Kate is ! " 
 
 " "Wait till I can join you, Miss Lindisfarn ! 
 Wait a moment!" shouted Captain Elling- 
 ham, as loud as he could. " Tell her," he 
 added to those below, " for God's sake, to 
 wait a minute till I can get to her ! " and he 
 hastened up the ladder. 
 
 Kate, however, either did not hear or did 
 not pay any attention to any of the entreaties 
 or warnings or advice screamed out to her, 
 but continued her way down the cliff in a 
 dii-ect line to the spot where the little girl 
 was clinging. 
 
 It thus became a sort of race which would 
 reach the cWld first ; and as Ellingham at the 
 top of the ladder, and Kate descending the 
 cliff, neared one another, they came within 
 easy speaking distance of each other and of 
 the object of their exertions. 
 
 The last step from the ladder to the face of 
 the cliff was an exceedingly difficult one to 
 make — was indeed more of the nature of a 
 jump from the ladder into a bush, with the 
 necessity of instantly on reaching it taking 
 means with both hands and feet for retaining 
 a position on the face of the cliff. None but 
 a man of tried nerve, and sure of himself and 
 of the perfection of the service he might ex- 
 pect at need from all his limbs, would have 
 dreamed of attempting it. By none what- 
 soever could it be done without extreme dan- 
 ger. Kate had reached the spot where the 
 child was, and had already clutched her arm 
 with one hand while she held on to a bush 
 above her with the other, before Ellingham 
 had made this desperate jump ; and she called 
 to him not to attempt it. 
 
 " Don't risk it. Captain Ellingham, there 
 is no need ! I can get back with her to the 
 top very well. It is all easy, after this first 
 bit is passed. Go down the ladder, for Heav- 
 
LINDISIARN CHASE. 
 
 en's sake ! and send somebody round to meet 
 me at the top of the cliff." 
 
 " No, no ! I can jump it ! I can't let you 
 risk clambering to the top witiiout help. It 
 is one thing to make your own way, and quite 
 another to drag another person with you. 
 Here goes ! ' ' — 
 
 " Oh, don't do it ! " shrieked Kate, hiding 
 her eyes with her hand. But in the next 
 instant the spring had been made, and he was 
 standing clinging to the bushes in compara- 
 tive gafety by her side. A shout from those 
 on the lawn below, and a special hurrah from 
 Mr. Mat, showed the interest with which EI- 
 Iingham"s progress had been watched. His 
 success, moreover, besides securing his own 
 safety, was a tolerably sufiBcient guarantee 
 for that of Kate, and the child whose danger 
 had caused so much trouble and distress ; 
 for it was pretty clear that the taan who had 
 accomplished the feat of activity that they 
 had just witnessed, would not fail in the far 
 easier task of assisting his two charges to the 
 summit in safety. 
 
 And then, with very few words between 
 them, save such as were needed for directing 
 them to place a foot here, and grasp a twig 
 there, and one or two little attempts on 
 Kate's part at protesting against EUingham's 
 determination to place himself, as they strug- 
 gled upward, between them and the preci- 
 pice, so that he might have a chance of re- 
 pairing the mishap of a slip of the foot, or the 
 failure of a hand grasp, the three of them 
 reached the top in safety. 
 
 Then, indeed, there were words to be said. 
 There was the frightened child to be interro- 
 gated in the first place. It appeared that 
 the case was exactly as Mr. ]Mat had guessed 
 it. The pet Iamb had straggled over the 
 brow, gradually finding its way down the 
 steep among the herbage ; and the child had 
 wandered after it, almost equally unconscious 
 of the danger she was approaching, till the 
 increasing steepness of the slope, and the 
 crumbling of the soil under her feet, and the 
 impossibility of retracing her steps, revealed 
 it to her. 
 
 A few minutes after they had reached the 
 top, Mr. Merriton, breathless, and the gar- 
 dener came up. The former threw himself 
 down on the ground as soon as he saw them ; 
 it was very evident that he had done his ut- 
 most to reach the spot in time. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Lindisfarn ! What a relief it is 
 
 87 
 
 to see you in safety ! Captain Ellingham, I 
 congratulate you ; but I cannot help envying 
 you your good fortune ! " he panted out. 
 
 And then they returned at their leisure to 
 the Friary, taking the little girl with them 
 as their prize and proof of their prowess. 
 
 And Kate admitted, in going down the 
 steep path on the Silverton side of the cliff 
 to the water-meadows, that an arm would be 
 acceptable to her ; and the path was difficult 
 enough to make lier sensible that she had a 
 very firm one supporting her, as they returned 
 to the friends who were so anxiously await- 
 ing them. 
 
 It is not necessary to set forth in detail how, 
 during the rest of the afternoon, the adventure 
 of the Cliff pushed the projected antiquarian 
 investigations aside, somewhat to the disgust 
 of the two seniors of the party, — how Kate 
 and Captain Ellingham were (to speak in 
 Twelfth-night phraseology) king and queen 
 of the evening, — or how Margaret and Fred 
 Falconer discreetly kept themselves as much 
 as possible in the background, sufiBciently 
 consoled for that position by the fact of occu- 
 pying it together. 
 
 It will be enough to state that, though Mr. 
 Frederick was exceedingly well pleased to 
 have made such progi-ess, and so coupled 
 himself with the Lindisfarn co-heiress as to 
 make him feel tolerably sure in his enter- 
 prise, and though he was genuinely and hon- 
 estly much attracted by the beauty which, 
 during the little comedy of the afternoon, 
 Margaret had submitted to his attention un- 
 der a variety of interesting circumstances and 
 combinations, — nevertheless, he was very sen- 
 sible of the cost at which he had bought this 
 success as regarded the heiress ; and he was 
 not pleased with her for having been the 
 cause of his making but a sorry figure before 
 the rest of the assembled party. 
 
 Might not he also, just as easily as Merri- 
 ton, have run to the top of the clifi'and played 
 a creditable part, without troubling himself 
 with the danger of descending it? 
 
 As for Captain Ellingham, it may be said 
 that, before leaving the Friary, he had be- 
 come entirely convinced that he was, or 
 rather, had been, the goose which Lady Farn- 
 leigh had called him, and was very earnestly 
 purposed to be so no more. 
 
 Kate for her part was somewhat silent and 
 thoughtful as she returned in the carriage to 
 the Chase ; and part of hor thoughts were 
 that her godmamma had been well within 
 the mark when she had characterized the Sil- 
 verton arbiter clerjantiarurti in a word of four 
 letters. She began to fear indeed that it 
 would need six ; and one of them a double-u 
 to do it rightly. 
 
88 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 PART VI. — CHAPTER XV. 
 THE "carte DE TENDRE." 
 
 That gathering at the Friary for archaao- 
 logical purposes, which were so little served 
 by it, was a memorable one to several of the 
 persons who had been present at it. 
 
 It was very memorable to little Dinah 
 Wilkins, the child who had so nearly come 
 to grief on the Nosey Stone, and whose in- 
 discretion in straying thither had produced — 
 as indiscretions will — so much trouble, and 
 so many consequences, to people with whom 
 it would have seemed that she and her indis- 
 cretions could have had so little to do. She 
 turned out to be a granddaughter of old 
 Granny Wilkins, at Weston, Lady Farn- 
 leigh's old pensioner, very well known to 
 that lady and to Kate, and a still greater ob- 
 ject of interest therefore to the latter, as 
 soon as, in the progress of that heroic de- 
 scent of the face of the cliff, she had got 
 near enough to her to recognize her. It was 
 a memorable day to little Dinah Wilkins, 
 not only from the fright, the danger, the 
 minutes of mortal anguish — hours they had 
 seemed to her — during which she had been 
 expecting to slip from her precarious posi- 
 tion, and be dashed to instant death, every 
 moment ; not only from the incidents of that 
 wonderful rescue by the exertions of the 
 gentlefolks, the history of which, and the 
 interest attending it, made the cottage of 
 old Granny W^ilkins a centre of attraction to 
 half Weston for days afterward ; but mem- 
 orable also from the permanent influence the 
 circumstances exercised in shaping the future 
 course and destinies of the child's after-life, 
 in a manner which may, perhaps, be told in 
 a future chapter — or which possibly may not 
 find any place for telling in the course of this 
 narrative, seeing that, though they were cu- 
 riously mixed up with the subsequent history 
 of several of our dramatis fersonce, they are 
 not essentially necessary to the understanding 
 of the main thread of the narrative. 
 
 The archiBological meeting manque was 
 also a memorable day to Arthur Merriton. 
 The incidents of it acquired for him a place 
 in the Sillshire social world and in Sillshire 
 opinion, which the peculiarities of his char- 
 acter and position might otherwise perhaps 
 have been slow to win for him. Captain 
 J^Uingham perceived and said that he was" a 
 fellow of the right sort ! " Mr. Mat de- 
 clared that he had the true stuff and the 
 
 making of a Sillshire man in him. Lady 
 Farnleigh said it was a great mistake to sup- 
 pose that real manliness of character, and all 
 the best qualities generally included in the 
 term, were only to be found allied with one 
 class of idiosyncrasies and one set of habits 
 and pursuits, or were incompatible with ner- 
 vous shyness and dreaminess of manner and 
 mind. And she unreservedly admitted to 
 Kate that this second admirer of hers was 
 not a prig, nor anything describable by any 
 such obnoxious four letters. And the good 
 opinion of Lady Farnleigh and Mr. Mat, 
 operating both separately in different spheres, 
 and also with mutually corroborating force 
 in the same sphere, could go a long Avay 
 toward making a good position for a man in 
 Silverton and its neighborhood. But what 
 was the use of being recognized to be a fel- 
 low of the right sort, and to have the true 
 stuff in him, to a man who, for his own part, 
 recognized only this, — that he was desper- 
 ately in love, and that there was very little 
 or no hope for him. And that was the frame 
 of mind in which Arthur Merriton had 
 walked down from the top of the Weston 
 Cliff to his own beautiful house at the foot 
 of it^ with the gardener and little Dinah 
 Wilkins following behind him, and Kate 
 Lindisfarn and Captain Ellingham, arm in 
 arm, in front. 
 
 It was characteristic of the man, that he 
 perceived at once, or imagined that he per- 
 ceived, that his case was hopeless. jMany a 
 man would not have admitted for himself, or 
 judged for another that it was, or ought to 
 have been so. All that large and potent 
 class of considerations, which have so great 
 and often so paramount a share in managing 
 Hymen's affiiirs, and which make Dan Cupid 
 laugh at his business-like brother Godship 
 for always going about with a parchment 
 deed under his arm, and a pen stuck behind 
 his ear — all considerations of that sort were 
 entirely in ^lerriton's favor. Of course his 
 eyes were opened as to Falconer's business at 
 the Chase, and his chances of winning the 
 hand of Kate Lindisfarn. But this view of 
 misery had only dissolved itself to make way 
 for the appearance of a succeeding view, as 
 terrible, and more substantial. Ellingham 
 was evidently the rival he had to fear. Old 
 Mr. Falconer might talk and nod and smile 
 meaningly to the end of time if he pleased ; 
 but after that arrival at the top of the cliff 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 togetlicr, with Dinah Wilkins in their joint 
 charge, and that walking down into the val- 
 ley arm in arm, as they returned from their 
 joint exploit, Arthur Merriton judged it to 
 l)e a liopeless case. He knew that EUingham 
 was a very poor man ; that ^liss Lindisfarn 
 was an heiress of no small mark and posi- 
 tion ; that his own status in the matter of 
 fortune was such as in the opinion of a pru- 
 dent fatlier might justify him in pretending 
 to her hand. lie knew — I suppose— that lie 
 was a very good-looking fellow. !Many girls 
 — young ones chiefly of the sentimental sort, 
 who admire " sallow, sublime sort of Werth- 
 vr-f\iccd " men — would have considered him 
 •i much handsomer man tlian Captain EUing- 
 ham. He was well educated, cultivated, 
 gentlemanlike, and could read Dante with 
 Kate, which Captain EUingham could not 
 And Kate liked reading Dante, and that sort 
 of thing, too. But Merriton judged all this 
 to be of no avail ; and deemed his love hope- 
 less. " Faint heart never won fair lady ! " 
 says the proverb — half-true, keeping its prom- 
 ise to the ear and breaking it to the sense 
 like a Sibylline oracle, as is the wont of such 
 utterances of the wisdom of ages. I think 
 I have seen the faint heart win, when the 
 confident one was nowhere ! But it all de- 
 pends on what it is that is to be won. You 
 may catch gudgeons with bait that wont do 
 for trout. Fred Falconer in Merriton 's place 
 would not have deemed the matter hopeless, 
 nor have given up the game. But if EUing- 
 ham had been at the bottom of the sea — hav- 
 ing reached that destination, it is to be un- 
 derstood, before, not after, that memorable 
 archa3ol()gical party — I think the fliinter heart 
 would have had the better chance of win- 
 ning the fair lady. 
 
 Arthur Merriton, however, being Arthur 
 Merriton and not Frederick Falconer, did feel, 
 as he walked down behind Kate and EUing- 
 ham, that it was a hopeless case ; and, it 
 may be feared, did not feel in a particularly 
 affectionate frame of mind toward little Di- 
 nah Wilkins whom he had toiled so hard to 
 preserve. 
 
 To Captain EUingham the day was an es- 
 pecially memorable day. It is more than 
 forty years ago, and the gallant captain was 
 on the wrong side of thirty at the time ; but 
 he has not forgotten that day, not any small- 
 est detail of the incidents of it, yet ! To 
 him also it was a day of a great unsealing 
 
 89 
 
 of the eyes. If his destiny had been so ma- 
 lignant as to have accorded him at once his 
 heart's desire, and thrown the lovely Marga- 
 ret, the " most beautiful creature he had ever 
 seen in his life," into his arms as soon as his 
 eye had fallen in love with her ! If there 
 had been no fairy grtdmothcr to tell him that 
 he was a goose, and knew nothing a))out the 
 matter, and he had been allowed to follow 
 his own blind fancies — to think of the wreck ! 
 But what about tlie matter as it stood now? 
 As to the two girls^-" Lombard street to a 
 China orange!" as people used to say in 
 those days. There could be no doubt about 
 it, as he saw the matter now, that Kate was 
 not only, as Lady Farnleigh declared she was, 
 the finer girl of the two, by daylight, but the 
 noblest-hearted, the bravest — (it is a mistake, 
 voyez vuus, Mcsdamcs, to suppose that any 
 man, except one whose weakness inclines him 
 to mate with something weaker still, admires 
 a woman for being cowardly ; so you may as 
 well dispense with all those little tricks and 
 prettinesses, the scope of which is to make it 
 evident that your nerves are not equal to 
 meeting a mouse in single combat) — the tru- 
 est — he would have said the joUiest, but that 
 the vigor and aptitude of that expression as 
 applied to a young lady, had not been discov- 
 ered by that backward and slow generation — 
 the best, the dearest girl in all creation. 
 That was a fact never more to be disputed 
 or doubted, clear as the sun at noonday. 
 
 But what then ? How did that very evi- 
 dent fact — evident to others as well as to 
 him, unfortunately — interest him? Was it 
 to be supposed that the co-heiress to the Lin- 
 disfarn estates woul^l be permitted to marry 
 a man, who, despite the noble blood in his 
 veins, and the aristocratic prefix to his name, 
 was absolutely dependent for his bread on a 
 profession, which had hitherto afforded him 
 so little of that necessary article ? That an- 
 imal Falconer, who had been intimate with 
 them all his life, was, as far as fortune went, 
 in a position to calculate on the approba- 
 tion of the lady's family. There might be a 
 hope, perhaps indeed a lurking conviction, at 
 the bottom of his heart, that Kate was not 
 the girl to give her heart to such a man as 
 Mr. Frederick Falconer. But then there was 
 Merriton; a gentleman, a real good fellow, 
 a man of fortune, a much better looking fel- 
 low, as Captain EUingham reflected again 
 and again, than he was, far more calculated 
 
90 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 by his education and pursuits to adapt him- hopelessness. M'^as she so wholly fancy-free ? 
 self to one side of Kate's character and tastes ; The amount and extent of fancy captivity 
 and it was plain to see that he was desper- which could be predicated of her in the case 
 ately smitten with her. Captain EUingham of Fred Falconer has been explained, with, 
 went over all these considerations carefully it is hoped, sufficient care to avoid represent- 
 and dispassionately, as he thought, while he ing it to have been more than it really was. 
 sat the following nightf long after he ought But how about it now? That day of arch- 
 to have turned into his cot, by the light of a teological investigation, if it had eventually 
 smoky lamp, in the not very magnificent failed to finally settle the great question of 
 cabin of His IMajesty's revenue cutter, the the date of the Friary washhouse, had, nev- 
 Petrcl. And he, too, though few braver or ertheless, done much toward the investiga- 
 bolder men stepped a deck in the English tion of some other things. It had been a 
 navy, was faint-hearted in this matter of win- great day for the unsealing of blinded eyes, 
 ning an heiress. Several persons saw several things clearly 
 
 In fact, if an elderly gentleman qui mores which they had never seen before. And I 
 hominum muUorum vidit et urbes — which think we may say* that thenceforward Kate 
 means, " who has observed the loves and the was fancy-free as regarded Freddy Falconer, 
 love-making of many men and women " — l He had both done and left undone much which 
 might have the pleasant privilege of whisper- ' had contributed to this result. And Kate 
 ing a word of counsel in a transparent pink 1 was safely enough off with the old — no, I 
 little ear, he would say, "Give that faint- i must not say that. The cautious old proverb 
 heart-and-fair-lady proverb the lie ; and of does not hit tbe case. Besides, it would in- 
 two aspirants, incline rather, cateris paribus sinuate what I have no right to insinuate at 
 
 (which, being translated, means, supposing 
 both of them to possess a similar number 
 of thousands a year, and an equally heroic 
 outline of face), to give the preference to 
 the faint-hearted over the confident-hearted 
 swain." 
 
 Captain EUingham was, as has been said, 
 faint-hearted in this matter, and dared not 
 allow himself to believe that Kate Lindisfarn, 
 so beautiful, so much admired, so gay, so 
 light-hearted, so fancy-free, with every right 
 to look forward to a brilliant position in life, 
 could be brought to think for an instant of 
 him, a rough sailor, hardly a young man 
 in the eyes of a girl in her teens, with a 
 rough brown face, tanned and bronzed and 
 hardened by exposure to wind and weather ; 
 at odds with fortune, too, and not the better 
 fitted for shining in drawing-rooms, or win- 
 ning the ear of youth and beauty, by the dis- 
 cipline of his long tussle with that fickle jade. 
 Pooh, pooh ! what had he to do with falling 
 in love with heiresses in their teens ? That 
 was his proper place (namely, the sufficiently 
 dull and dreary-looking cabin of his cutter) , 
 and his profession the only mistress he should 
 think of wooing. 
 
 And Kate ? Was the day of the archaeo- 
 logical visit to the Friary a memorable one to 
 her also? Fancy-free, Captain EUingham 
 had called her, in his mental survey of all 
 the conditions of the case that made up his 
 
 this stage of Kate's history. 
 
 Still all this beating about the bush does 
 not answer the question whether Kate Lin- 
 disfarn was fancy-free from and after that 
 day at the Friary ? 
 
 Well ! It is so difficult to be categorical 
 in such matters. Merriton, who walked be- 
 hind her and EUingham, as they returned 
 from the top of the cliif, had a strong opinion 
 upon the subject. I am sure he would have 
 boxed his own ears rather than have suffi3red 
 them to catch a word of conversation that 
 was not intended for them. Yet he flid form 
 a very strong opinion. But then, on the 
 other hand, he was very far from being an 
 impartial observer. It is certain that Kate 
 was remarkably and, for her, singularly 
 silent and abstracted as they returned in the 
 carriage to the Chase ; for Mr. Mat told 
 Lady Farnleigh afterward that, finding that 
 Kate would not talk, and not feeling any in- 
 clination to talk with Margaret, witii whom 
 he had been not a little disgusted in the 
 course of the day, he had pretended to go to 
 sleep, but had remained quite awake to the 
 fact that hardly a word passed between the 
 sisters on their way home. 
 
 And then again, judging from the sequel, 
 if it did not date from that day, we know that 
 it was there soon after. 
 
 What was where? 
 
 Pshaw ! You know what I mean. There 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 is no doubt that she was fond of him during 
 that ensuing winter, I suppose. 
 
 Ah ! but in these heart histories chronol- 
 ogy is ever3-tliing. Let us be chronological, 
 ■whatever \vc are. Was Kate Lindisfarn 
 fancy-free when, having assisted Eliingiiain 
 in getting little Dinah Wilkins to the top of 
 the cliff, and being assisted by him in getting 
 herself up, and having exchanged congratula- 
 tions, etc., and panted in unison when the 
 top was reached, and having walked down by 
 the steep path arm in arm back again to the 
 Friary, and having, with all due mutual self- 
 denegations, and "No! it was you, who," 
 and '■ Don't you remember? " and so forth, 
 shared between them the applause and hero- 
 worship of the rest of the party during the 
 remainder of the evening, they separated 
 with not unmeaning touch of palm to palm 
 at parting — was Kate fancy-free then, I say? 
 That is the question. 
 
 Well, we know what girls are. It has 
 been said, "Tell me who your friends are, 
 and I will tell you what you are." And it 
 might with quite as much truth be said. Tell 
 me whom a girl falls in love with, and I will 
 tell you what she is ; or, vice versa, Tell me 
 what she is, and I will tell you with whom 
 she is likely to fall in love. A pleasing ex- 
 terior, a handsome face, and well-formed per- 
 son, are naturally, and in accordance with 
 superior arrangements, the wisdom of which 
 we cannot and may not question, potent con- 
 ciliators and attracters of woman's love. 
 But there is no more significant symptom of 
 the high level of moral character and nobility 
 of heart prevailing among Englishwomen 
 than the all but universality of the sentiment 
 which makes an absence of these advantages, 
 if compensated by a touch of heroism, more 
 acceptable to them than any perfection of 
 personal attraction in combination with a 
 manifest deficiency of all heroism. 
 
 The quick sudden heart-beat ; the violent 
 ebb of the blood, which left the cheek deadly 
 pale, to be succeeded in the next instant by 
 a rush of the rich color to face and brow and 
 neck ; the mixture of exulting pleasure with 
 the short, sharp agony of terror, which had 
 caused Kate to shade her eyes with her hand, 
 at the moment that Ellingham had made his 
 desperate leap from the ladder to the bush on 
 the cliff face beside her, — all this told of a 
 sympathy between their two natures deeper 
 and far more powerful than any such mere 
 
 91 
 
 liking and inclination as might have been 
 produced by the ball-room wooing of the most 
 faultless of Hyperions. And if exactitude of 
 chronology in the matter of the birth of 
 young love in this case be insisted on, my im- 
 pression is that the register may, with the 
 greatest chance of absolute accuracy, date 
 from the moment when Captain Ellingliam 
 alighted in the bushes from that perilous 
 jump. 
 
 Just as if any fellow would not jump into 
 any bush for such a prize ! 
 
 Yes, my ingenuous young British friends ! 
 There are plenty of you who would, and some 
 who get the cl^ince, and do such things. 
 And a discriminating and appreciating public 
 in crinoline and pork-pie hats does accord- 
 ingly adore those of you who do them, and 
 generously give credit for good intentions to 
 those of you who don't get the cliance of do- 
 ing them. But somehow or other that — one 
 would say upon the whole, perhaps, not 
 specially profound — pork-pie-hatted public 
 does, mark you, contrive most astonishingly 
 to nose the hollow pretences of those few 
 among you who, having the chance, would 
 do nothing of the kind. 
 
 And then the party at Wanstrow came off. 
 And Margaret had to be asked by the hostess 
 in a clear and ringing voice, before all the 
 assembled party, whether she had entirely re- 
 covered from her indisposition at the Friary. 
 And Freddy had to be complimented as audi- 
 bly upon the admirable skill and tact he 
 had shown in managing and tending symp- 
 toms, which the habits and ways of the Sil- 
 verton young ladies — doubtless by reason of 
 the fine Sillshire air and climate — had prob- 
 ably never given him any opportunity of 
 studying. 
 
 Lady Farnleigh took very good care upon 
 this occasion that Ellingham should have Kate 
 for his neighbor at dinner ; and his inquiries 
 about little Dinah Wilkins, and Kate's re- 
 plies and her report of all the gratitude and 
 the wonder and the blessings which she was 
 charged to convey to him from old Dame Wil- 
 kins, and from the child's mother, made them 
 feel like old friends, who had a variety of sub- 
 jects in common between them. And then the 
 sailing party had to be talked over. And 
 Captain Ellingham explained that it was not 
 so much the quantity as the quality of the 
 wind that might make the excursion disa- 
 greeable to ladies. And he inquired how far 
 
92 LINDISFARN CHASE 
 
 Kate -would choose to brave the chance of a I " That is a high compliment to a sailor, 
 ducking, as the cutter was apt, under certain Pray make that opinion known to my Lords 
 
 conditions, to be wet. 
 
 " As for being afraid of anything a capful 
 of wind is likely to bring you, that I know I 
 need not suspect you of, Miss Lindisfarn," 
 said he ; " but you may not like to get wet 
 through with salt water. And what about 
 the others? " 
 
 " Oh, Margaret will be ready whenever you 
 give the word. I don't think she would mind 
 a capful of wind, as you call it. Why do sail- 
 ors always talk of caps full of wind ? " 
 
 " I cannot tell what the origin of the term 
 may have been ; a corruption from some very 
 different word, perhajos. But it is curious 
 bow nearly definite a quantity it signifies in 
 nautical language." 
 
 "And what amount of trouble would a cap- 
 ful of wind give the Petrel? " asked Kate. 
 
 " Oh! no trouble at all, except to cause 
 the helmsman a little extra vigilance and ac- 
 tivity. The Petrel is a capital sea boat ; but 
 she is what we call lively, apt to jump about 
 a good deal, and wet her decks when there is 
 any sea; and that, you know, would not be 
 pleasant for ladies." 
 
 " But then it comes pretty nearly to wait- 
 ing for a calm ; and there would be no fun in 
 that. I should so much better like to make 
 acquaintance with your pet Petrel when she 
 is in one of her lively moods. What signi- 
 fies a little wetting ? One does not catch cold 
 with salt water, they say ; and we should 
 come home and get dry." 
 
 " But you forget. Miss Lindisfarn, that I 
 cannot answer for the movements of my Petrel 
 with the certainty you can count on Birdie. 
 We may go out with a wind and not be able to 
 return quite so soon as we expect. I strongly 
 recommend, especially if we are to take a 
 windy day, that everybody should take a 
 change of clothes with them." 
 
 ' ' Yes, that would be the plan ! And if we 
 got kept out all night, what capital fun it 
 would be ! Do, pray, Captain Ellingham, lot 
 us choose a day when there is a capful of 
 wind. I should so like to see the Petrel 
 lively." 
 
 " Well, if Lady Farnleigh will consent, I 
 have no objection. Only remember that wind 
 is one of those good things that you may have 
 too much of." 
 
 "Oh, what a very cautious and prudent 
 man vou are ! ' ' 
 
 of the Admiralty, 
 
 And Lady Farnleigh 's consent was ob- 
 tained for the selection of a day, when, if 
 possible, without having too much of a good 
 thing, the Petrel should be seen in one of her 
 livelier moods. And the proposed excur- 
 sion came off accordingly. And the Petrel 
 retained sufficient discretion amid her liveli- 
 ness to bring them all back to port before 
 nightfall, although rather in a bedraggled 
 condition, as Captain Ellingham had pre- 
 dicted. And Kate had rendered him more 
 desperately in hjve with her than ever by the 
 intoxication of high spirits with which she 
 had enjoyed her sail. She declared that it 
 was glorious, and she was almost inclined to 
 think even better than being on Birdie, when 
 she was at her liveliest. 
 
 And thus — sometimes in one way, and some- 
 times in another, sometimes at Lindisfarn. 
 sometimes at Wanstrow, sometimes at the 
 Friary, and once or twice in Silverton — all the 
 members of the little circle with whom the 
 reader has been made acquainted saw a good 
 deal of each other during the remainder of the 
 autumn months, and through the winter. 
 But as.the only net result of all this was to 
 render more definite, clear, and palpable to 
 themselves and to the friends around them 
 those relations of. the parties to each other 
 which wei'c foreshadowed by the previous in- 
 tercourse between them, and which the judi- 
 cious reader has akeady distinguished spin- 
 ning themselves out of the filaments of fate in 
 the chiaro-oscuro of the future, it will not be 
 necessary to follow with historical accuracy 
 all the pleasant processes of this destiny-spin- 
 ning. 
 
 It will be sufficient for our purpose to pre- 
 sent a brief and succinct, but accurate, report 
 of the state of the warp and woof which had 
 been produced, by the time when the birds 
 begin to sing, by all the sailing and riding 
 and walking and talking and dancing and 
 laughing and pleasant intercourse of all 
 kinds which go to the spinning of fate's fila- 
 ments in this department of human affairs. 
 
 Frederick Falconer, like a sensible and 
 businesslike man, who, when he has made a 
 resolution, acts up to it, had consistently car- 
 ried out the programme he had drawn up for 
 himself. Forsaking all others, he had steadily 
 set himself to the work of winning Margaret 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 93 
 
 Lindisfarn. And that work had to all ap- 
 pearance progressed satisfactorily, not only 
 to the principals themselves, but to the look- 
 ers-on at the game. We have obtained a 
 suflBcient peep into the sanctuary of Kate's 
 heart to assure us tliat her whilom admirer's 
 far more declared and evident homage to her 
 sister awakened no shadow of jealousy or pain 
 there. Lady J^arnleigh's declaration that 
 Freddy Falconer might make love to any girl 
 in the county, for aught she cared, provided 
 he did not do so to her goddaughter, seemed 
 to include her goddaughter's sister in its 
 license. The young gentleman stood well, as 
 has been said, in tlie Silverton public estima- 
 tion ; the old banker was well known to be a 
 very warm man ; and there appeared to be 
 no reasons of any sort why Miss Lindisfarn's 
 family should not consider that his only son 
 was a very proper match in all respects for 
 one of the co-heiresses. Mr. Frederick's own 
 sentiments on the matter we are already in 
 possession of. As to those of Margaret a 
 greater degree of reticence and more reserve 
 are proper in handling the delicate topic of a 
 young lady's feelings upon such a subject. 
 Nevertheless, perhaps the judicious reader 
 may have acquired a sufficient insight into Miss 
 Margaret's idiosyncrasy to enable him to es- 
 timate pretty accurately the state of her feel- 
 ings and the nature of her views. There can 
 be no harm in saying that she really did like 
 Frederick very much. She thought him very 
 agreeable and very handsome. But it will of 
 course be understood — at least by those who 
 are conversant with the system on which 
 Margaret had been educated, and with the re- 
 sults of it on the development of docile and 
 well-disposed pupils — that it would have ap- 
 peared to her the height of unworthiness, and 
 even of indelicacy, to permit such feelings 
 and considerations to stand in the way of her 
 transferring her affections to a worthier ob- 
 ject, — say a wealthy peer of the realm, or a 
 commoner with a hundred thousand a year, — 
 should such a one present himself before the 
 final adjudication of the prize. 
 
 As to Kate — what can be said ? The sub- 
 ject is a less pleasing one, both for the vera- 
 cious historian to set forth, and for the well- 
 regulated mind of the reader to contemplate. 
 A right-minded heroine, who has any claim to 
 the title, and behaves herself as such, never 
 allows herself, as we all know, to feel the 
 slightest pi-eference for any individual of the 
 
 other sex until she has received a declaration 
 of love and demand for her hand in due 
 form. Then and thereupon, she may, if she 
 think fit, forthwith feel and acknowledge the 
 tender passion in any degree of intensity. 
 The " popping of the question " is supposed 
 to act, in short, like the opening of an Arte- 
 sian well, through which, when it has once 
 reached the secret I'eservoir of the still waters, 
 hidden from every eye, deep, deep away below 
 the surface, they rush forth with impetuosity 
 and in the most copious abundance. Till 
 that last bit of the lover's work has been ac- 
 complished, no sign of the living water re- 
 wards his toil. This is the true and correct 
 theory of love, as practised and understood by 
 the most authorized hei'oines. 
 
 But poor Kate's education had not, unhap- 
 pily, been such as efficiently to prepare her 
 
 j for the vocation. She was impetuous, we 
 know. She was apt to permit the conscious- 
 ness of a pure and guileless heart to hurry 
 her into a practice of following its dictates, 
 without waiting to compare them, as she 
 
 i should have done, with the text of the laws 
 made and provided for the regulation of a 
 heroine's sentiments. 
 
 In short, — for the truth must come out, 
 sooner or later, — by the time the spring came, 
 Kate was thoroughly in love with Captain 
 Ellingham, though he had said no word of 
 love to her. Not but that she had kept her 
 own secret so well that he had no suspicion 
 of it ; whereas he had by no means been 
 equally successful in keeping his. Women are 
 more lynx-eyed in these matters than men. 
 Though she would not allow it even to her 
 own self in the secrecy of her maiden medita- 
 tions, at the bottom of her heart there was a 
 consciousness and a persevering little voice 
 that would not be silenced, which told her she 
 was loved. 
 
 And she was happy with a very perfect 
 happiness in the consciousness of it, although 
 he had spoken no word, and although she 
 was perfectly aware of the bearings of that 
 businesslike aspect of the matter, which to 
 him seemed a well-nigh insuperable barrier 
 between them. She knew perfectly well her 
 own position and the value of it. She knew 
 his position ; and felt upon the subject as a lov- 
 ing woman in such circumstances does feel. 
 Nor did she conceive that there was any great 
 difficulty to be overcome in the matter. She 
 had no doubt that it would all come ri^ht. 
 
LtNDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 Was there not the fairy godmother, who saw 
 it all, of course, though she said nothing, and 
 understood it all ? 
 
 And as for EUingham himself? His part 
 in this stage of the drama was a less happy 
 one. He had suffered himself to become irre- 
 mediably engrossed by a passion which he 
 greatly feared must be a hopeless one. And 
 the sort of manner and tone and conduct 
 which his fear caused him to impose on him- 
 self tLward Kate would have either puzzled, 
 or offended, or pained a girl more on the look- 
 out for flirtations, more on the qui vive to 
 watch for the manifestations of admiration 
 and the results of it, either for the encour- 
 agement or discouragement of them — more 
 self-conscious, in a word, than Kate was in 
 this matter. 
 
 And yet, notwithstanding Ellingham's fears 
 and discouragements, it was impossible for 
 him not to perceive a difference in Kate's man- 
 ner toward him and toward Arthur Merriton. 
 But with self-tormenting perverseness, he 
 told himself that this was only caused by poor 
 Merriton's assiduous and unconcealed admi- 
 ration. It was plain enough there was no 
 hope for him ; and that Kate found it neces- 
 sary to show him as much. Probably, if 
 Merriton were as cautious and self-restrained 
 in his manner toward her as he himself was, 
 her tone toward him would be as frankly 
 friendly as it was toward himself. 
 
 And thus is completed, I think, the carte 
 de tcndre as laid down from a survey of the 
 hearts of the principal members of our dra- 
 matis personcE in the early spring of the year 
 following Margaret Lindisfarn's return to her 
 paternal home. 
 
 CHAPTER XVI. 
 WINIFRED PENDLETON. 
 
 On one evening of the March of that spring. 
 Lady Farnleigh and Captain EUingham had 
 been dining, and were about to sleep, at the 
 Chase. Notwithstanding that matters be- 
 tween Kate and Walter EUingham must be 
 considered, as appears from the general sur- 
 vey and report made in the last chapter, to 
 have been in a less advanced and less satis- 
 factory position than those of Margaret and 
 Fred Falconer, nevertheless, it had come to 
 pass that EUingham was on terms of greater 
 intimacy with the other members of the fam- 
 ily at the Chase, and was a more frequent vis- 
 itor there, than Falconer. This had no doubt 
 
 in some degree arisen from the circumstances 
 which caused him often to be a sleeping as 
 well as dining visitor at the house. There 
 was no reason why Fred Falconer should sleep 
 at the Chase. There was his home in Sil- 
 verton between five and six miles off, his horse 
 ready for him, and a good road all the way. 
 And though it had been the habit, in old 
 times, — that is to say, in the times before Mar- 
 garet came home from Paris, — for him to be 
 a frequent guest at the Chase, it had never 
 been the practice for him to sleep there. 
 
 The case of EUingham was different. He 
 had no home save his ship, lying off in Sill- 
 mouth Roads. It was between eight and 
 nine miles to the landing-place in Sillmouth 
 harbor, and then there was a dark and most 
 likely very rough row off to his ship at the 
 end of that. Then, again, it had always been 
 the practice, during many years, for Lady 
 Farnleigh to sleep at the Chase after dining 
 there in winter. And such visits were 
 very apt to be prolonged to a second and a 
 third day or more. Lady Farnleigh was the 
 solitary inhabitant of the fine large house up 
 at Wanstrow, and it was very lonely and very 
 dreary and very storm-blown up there in win- 
 ter. It was much pleasanter to spend a long 
 winter's evening in the cheery pleasant draw- 
 ing-room at the Chase, amid the sociable fam- 
 ily circle there. And though occasionally 
 Kate went to stay for a few days with her god- 
 mother, and sometimes, but more rarely, the 
 whole family party at the Chase were induced 
 to pass an evening at Wanstrow, by far the 
 more common practice was for Lady Farn- 
 leigh to be staying in the house at Lindis- 
 farn. And as EUingham mostly came thither 
 with her, and from the very close intimacy 
 and friendship subsisting between them was 
 naturally considered as belonging in some 
 sort to her suite, it had followed that the 
 same invitations and arrangements which 
 made her so frequently an inmate of the 
 house, had extended themselves naturally to 
 him. 
 
 Then, again, he got on better with the other 
 members of the family. Fred Falconer could 
 hardly have been said to be much of a favor- 
 ite there, except in one gentle breast. He 
 was always a welcome guest, it is true. Of 
 course he was, because he always had been so, 
 from the time when he used to ride over on 
 his little pony, with a servant walking by 
 his side and holding the rein. His father 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 Mvas a much respected neighbor and old 
 friend. Nobody had anything to say against 
 Freddy himself. Of course he was a welcome 
 guest. !Miss Immy perfectly well remembered 
 the daj-s wlicn she used to give liim cake and 
 cowslip wine, and other suchlike dainties in 
 the housekeeper's room. And the squire had 
 been accustomed to " only Freddy Falconer," 
 for the last twenty years, and never felt that 
 his presence entailed the least necessity for 
 abstaining from his after-dinner nap. Nev- 
 ertheless, it has been seen that Mr. Mat and 
 he did not get on well together, and that 
 Lady Farnleigh had a sort of prejudice against 
 him. Curiously enough, too, another class, — 
 on whose idiosyncrasies and likes and dislikes 
 we are apt to speculate with much the same 
 sort of curiosity with which we regard the 
 ways and instincts of creatures of a diflPerent 
 species, so cut oiFfrom all community of sen- 
 timent, and all intelligible interchange of idea 
 and feeling are they, — the servants, did not 
 like Freddy Falconer. 
 
 All these different people liked Ellingham. 
 He and Mr. Mat had come to be hand and 
 glove. Miss Immy had begun to think him 
 real Sillshire. And thus it had come to pass 
 that he had become more domesticated in the 
 house, and more intimate with them all than 
 Falconer, although the acquaintanceship of 
 the latter had dated from so much earlier a 
 period. 
 
 The same concatenation of circumstances, 
 by the by, served in a great degree to account 
 for the imprudence with which he had gone 
 on during all the winter falling deeper and 
 deeper and more inextricably in love with 
 Kate. lie had not, like Falconer, and like 
 the young shopman who takes his sweetheart 
 out for a walk on Sunday, gone on a love-mak- 
 ing expedition with malice prepense, and 
 self-conscious determination. He had been 
 drifting into love, insensibly making lee-way, 
 all the winter. 
 
 It was ^March ; and both Ellingham and 
 Lady Farnleigh had been staying for the last 
 few days at the Chase. Falconer had dined 
 there on the day before, and on the morrow 
 Lady Farnleigh was to return to Wanstrow, 
 and Captain Ellingham txj his ship. 
 
 It was an exceedingly rough and boisterous 
 night ; and such weather was seasonable, for 
 it was about the time of the equinox. The 
 wind sighs a differently modulated song in 
 
 95 
 
 of the sweet murmuring of the fir-tree ; and 
 Alexander Smith tells how 
 
 •' Wind, the mighty harper, smote his thimder- 
 hai'p of pines." 
 
 But thei'c were no pines on Lindisfarn 
 brow, though there were a few beliind, and 
 on the left side of the house. The long 
 moaning, however, rising from time to time 
 into a fierce provoked roar, which contin- 
 ued to encircle the house like a live thin g 
 piteously seeking an' entrance, — this remon- 
 strating moaning and angry roaring came from 
 the oaks on Lindisfarn brow. The squire 
 would be sure to be out the very first thing 
 on the -morrow morning, and up among his 
 beloved woods on the brow to see what mis- 
 chief had been caused by the storm. He 
 would wince sometimes, as he sat in his 
 chair of an -ivening, when the winds were 
 keeping it up and making a night of it in the 
 Lindisfarn woods, from a fellow-feeling for 
 his trees, and sympathy with the torment 
 they were undergoing from the tempest. 
 
 It was a night of that kind ; and the squire 
 and Captain Ellingham and Mr. Mat were 
 sitting over their wine before a huge fire of 
 logs in the low-roofed, oak-panelled, old-fash- 
 ioned dining-room at the Chase, and the 
 squire was lamenting the mischief that was 
 being worked among his trees ; and the cap- 
 tain was hoping that old Joe Saltash, his 
 second in command on board the Petrel, had 
 made all snug and was all right in Sillmouth 
 harbor. The ladies had gone to the drawing- 
 room. Miss Immy, scorning to lie down on 
 the sofa, and sitting bolt upright on it, was 
 nevertheless fast asleep, with her volume of 
 " Clarissa Ilarlowe " by her side. Margaret 
 was reading at one side of the table, and 
 Lady Farnleigh and Kate were sitting on the 
 opposite side of the fireplace to Miss Immy, 
 and were talking together in low voices, 
 when the servant came into the room, and 
 said, — 
 
 " Please, Miss Kate, Mrs. Pendleton is 
 here ; and is very wishful to speak to you if 
 you would be so kind. She's in the house- 
 keeper's room." 
 
 " You don't mean to say, George, that 
 Mrs. Pendleton has come up to the Chase, 
 now, in this weather? " 
 
 " Yes, Miss ; she has just come in. She 
 says she was bio wed away almost ; but she 
 
 woods of different kinds. Theocritus talks aint none so wet. It's more wind than rain 
 
96 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 " Tell her I'll come to her directly, George. 
 I suppose there is a good fire in the house- 
 keeper's room? " 
 
 " Yes, miss." 
 
 " What can have brought her up to the 
 Chase at this hour, and on such a night as 
 this? " said Kate to Lady Farnleigh, as the 
 man left the room. 
 
 " Some trouble or other, I suppose. I am 
 not sure that I quite approve of your seeing 
 so much of Mrs. Pendleton, and making such 
 a pet of her as you do, Kate." 
 
 " Oh, I can't give up poor dear Winifred ! 
 It is out of the question," answered Kate. 
 
 " Well, no. I don't want you to give her 
 up ; you can hardly do that for auld lang syne 
 sake. But I don't half like that husband of 
 hers. Besides," added Lady Farnleigh, with 
 an arch look at Kate, and a laugh in her eye, 
 " however tolerant and willing to wink one 
 may have been when one had no concern with 
 the collection of His Majesty's customs, we 
 are enlisted on the other side now, Kate! " 
 
 Kate laughed and colored, as she replied, 
 " I don't know that I have changed sides 
 at all. At all events, I must go now and see 
 what Winifred wants." 
 
 Margaret had raised her eyes from her 
 book while the above conversation had been 
 passing, just sufficiently to have shown to any- 
 body who had been watching her, that she 
 had paid attention to it ; but she made no 
 remark on anything that had been said. 
 
 Winifred, it must be explained, had been 
 Kate's nurse for many years. She was the 
 daughter of an old forester in the squire's 
 employment, to whose care his dearly loved 
 woods were intrusted, who had passed a long 
 life in the service of the squire and his fa- 
 ther, and was a specially valued and favorite 
 servant. Winifred Parker, the Lindisfarn 
 forester's daughter, had been a very beauti- 
 ful girl, when at eighteen she was engaged 
 by the late Mrs. Lindisfarn as under nurse to 
 her twins. Very shortly after that, three 
 events happened. Mrs. Lindisfarn died, as 
 we know. One of the twins, Margaret, was 
 shortly afterward, as we also know, sent 
 away to Paris. And very speedily after that, 
 old John Parker, the forester, met with his 
 death from the fall of a tree, which he was 
 engaged in felling. He was not killed on 
 the spot, but had been removed to his cot- 
 tage, where the squire and Miss Immy and 
 Mr. Mat, greatly grieving, had all of them 
 
 jointly and singly promised the dying man 
 that his children (he was a widower, and 
 had, beside Winifred, another daughter and 
 a son) should be cared for, and not suffered to 
 come to want. None of the three who had 
 thus promised, were people at all likely to 
 forget a promise given under such circum- 
 stances, or satisfy themselves with any grudg- 
 ing or merely perfunctory performance of it. 
 The other children were well cared for, and 
 Winifred, who had already made herself a 
 favorite in the household, was retained, a 
 greater favorite than ever, as special attend- 
 ant on the little Kate. 
 
 In that position she had remained, endear- 
 ing herself to all the family, and especially 
 to her little charge, improving herself con- 
 siderably in many respects, and giving per- 
 fect satisfaction to everybody who knew her, 
 for between eleven and twelve years ; that is 
 to say, till she herself was thirty years old, 
 till Kate was twelve, and till a period about 
 six years previous to the date of the events 
 that have been narrated in these pages. 
 
 To the entire satisfaction of everybody who 
 knew'her, I have written ; and on the whole, 
 such may fairly be said to have been the case. 
 Yet during most of those years there had been 
 one subject on which Winifred and her kind 
 friends and protectors had diifercd Even in 
 this matter, however, she had been so rea- 
 sonable, so good, so docile, that the diifer- 
 ence, far from having caused any quarrel, 
 had turned itself rather into«. title the more 
 to their affection and interest in her. Wini- 
 fred had been a remarkably beautiful girl; 
 and it is hardly necessary to say that this one 
 subject of trouble arose from the source from 
 which most of the troubles that assail pretty 
 girls are apt to spring. 
 
 There was a certain Hiram Pendleton, re- 
 specting whom the pretty Winifred held the 
 conscientious and wholly invincible opinion 
 that he was in all respects the finest and no- 
 blest being that had ever stepped this sublu- 
 nary globe. The family at the Chase tliuught 
 that he was not so in all respects. Tluit he 
 was one of the finest in some, was very evi- 
 dent to all who looked at him. A handsomer 
 presentation of a young sailor — Pendleton 
 was a Sillmouth man, and that was his cofa- 
 dition of life — it would have been difficult to 
 conceive. Nor had the friends and protectors 
 of Winifred anything very strong to urge 
 against him in other respects. Still there 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 ■was enough, they thought, to cause and jus- 
 tify their unwillingness to give into his keep- 
 ing 60 great a prize and so precious a charge 
 as their pretty and much petted Winifred. 
 
 In the first place, Ilirara Pendleton had 
 eoraewliat sunk in tlie social scale. Wini- 
 fred was indignant that what was due to mis- 
 fortune should be made a matter of reproach 
 against her hero. To a certain degree, per- 
 haps, she was right. Perhaps not altogether 
 so. Hiram's father had been a boat-owner ; 
 but somehow or other the son had fallen from 
 that position, and had been constrained, or 
 had chosen (he and Winifred said the latter), 
 to make one or two voyages before the mast. 
 lie was, at all events, such an A. B. that he 
 could at any time command his pick of em- 
 ployment in such a capacity. But he was 
 said to be " wild ; " and I am afraid the 
 truth is that pretty girls — even those who are 
 as good as Winifred Parker was — are apt to 
 prefer wild men to tame ones ; just as I do 
 ducks, and for the same reason, — that there 
 is more flaTor about them. 
 
 And then again there were rumors as to 
 the not altogether avowable nature of the 
 voyages in which Pendleton had been en- 
 gaged. One thing, however, was certain ; 
 and it outweighed a whole legion of facts, 
 even if they had been authentically ascer- 
 tained ones, on the other side of the question, 
 in Winifred's opinion. And this undeniable 
 truth was that every time he had returned to 
 Sillmouth, he had again and again ui-ged his 
 suit with indefatigable perseverance and 
 constancy. Winifred was only two-and- 
 twenty when Hiram Pendleton first fell in 
 love with her ; and she was nearly thirty be- 
 fore she accepted him. And all that time 
 she had been in love with him ; and all that 
 time she had waited, and made him wait, 
 in obedience to the wishes and advice of her 
 friends at the Chase ; and all that time Pen- 
 dleton had been constant. 
 
 He did more to win his love besides show- 
 ing himself a pattern of constancy. He man- 
 ifested signs of becoming a steady and re- 
 formed character. He came home from his 
 last voyage with a good bit of money, and 
 announcing his intention to go no more a- 
 roaming, he invested his savings in the pur- 
 chase of a neat fishing smack and tackle, 
 and settled himself as a scot and lot paying 
 inhabitant of Sillmouth. 
 
 7 
 
 Could any Jacob serve more faithfully for 
 his Rachel ? 
 
 In fact, Winifred Parker's friends did not 
 feel themselves justified in any longer resist- 
 ing the match. If Hiram Pendleton's start 
 in life had been somewhat amiss, he had 
 amended it and reformed. If all the parts of 
 the career by which he had reached his 
 present position could not bear close scru- 
 tiny, that position was at all events now a 
 respectable and responsible one. And, as 
 Winifred Parker often said, and yet more 
 often thought to herself, such constancy as 
 Hiram had shown in his courtship of her 
 was rarely to be matched. So the marriage 
 took place at last, with the still somewhat 
 reluctantly given consent of the Lindisfarn 
 family, when Winifi-ed was at least old enough 
 to know her own mind ; for she was upon the 
 Tfcige of thirty. She had, however, lost none 
 of her remarkable beauty ; for it was real 
 Dcauty, and not mere prettiness ; no beaute 
 da diable, to disappear with the evanescent 
 bloom of girlhood, but the more durable 
 handsomeness arising from fine and regular 
 features, perfect health, and admirably well- 
 developed figure. Winifred Parker had been 
 one of those pretty girls, who, having in 
 them the promise of perfect womanhood, can 
 hardly be said to have reached their culmi- 
 nating point of loveliness till that has been 
 attained. 
 
 She was between five and sis and thirty, 
 and had become the mother of two fine boys 
 and a girl, at the time when she presented 
 herself on the stormy night in question at the 
 old house in which she had passed, so hap- 
 pily, the best years of her life. But it would 
 have been difficult to meet with a handsomer 
 woman of her sort than Winifred Pendleton 
 was and looked, after her walk up from 
 Silverton to the Chase that stormy night. 
 
 She was, as the servant had said, not very 
 wet ; for the storm was as yet more of wind 
 than of rain. But of the former there was 
 enough to increase very considerably the fa- 
 tigue of a stout walker, and to produce a 
 glow and redness of coloring in her cheeks, 
 which somewhat exaggerated the always 
 healthy and fresh-colored appearance of them. 
 Her bright black eye, beaming with shrewd- 
 ness, intelligence, and energy, was not so 
 large as beautiful eyes are often seen in indi- 
 viduals of the Celtic and Latin races, and 
 
98 
 
 not unfrequently in favorable specimens of 
 the high-bred classes of our own much-mixed 
 blood. The dark eyes of the large liquid 
 type, such eyes as Margaret Lindisfarn's, are 
 rarely seen among those classes of our popu- 
 lation which represent with least admixture 
 the Saxon element of our ancestry. 
 
 A great abundance of glossy, but not very 
 fine black hair, blown into considerable dis- 
 order by her walk through the storm, added 
 to her appearance that grace of picturesque- 
 ness, which belongs, by prescription, to gyp- 
 sies, and suchlike members of the anti-scot- 
 and-lot-paying classes, but which is hardly 
 compatible with the demureness of thorough 
 respectability. The large mouth was one of 
 great beauty and sweetness. Any child or 
 dog would have unhesitatingly accorded im- 
 plicit trust and affection to the owner of it. 
 The tall figure, with its well and fully-devel- 
 oped bust, round and lithe but not too 
 slender waist, and its general expression of 
 springy, elastic sti'cngth and agility, was the 
 very perfection of womanhood, — a sculptor's 
 model for an Eve. 
 
 But why did Lady Farnleigh suppose at 
 once that trouble of some sort was the cause 
 of Mrs. Pendleton's visit to the Chase ? And 
 why did she disapprove of Kate's closeness 
 of intimacy with so old, so meritorious, and 
 60 well-loved an humble friend of her family ? 
 And what was the meaning of her joking, 
 but not the less seriously meant, allusion to 
 the collection of His ]\Iajesty's revenue, and 
 to the share which Captain EUingham had 
 in the due accomplishment of that collec- 
 tion? 
 
 The truth was, in one word, that the Hon- 
 orable Captain EUingham, commanding His 
 Majesty's revenue cutter Petrel, and Hiram 
 Pendleton, were enlisted on opposite sides in 
 the great and permanent quarrel arising out 
 of that matter of collecting His Majesty's 
 revenue. Pendleton, the bold and able sea- 
 man, — not unacquainted, if all tales were 
 true, with lawbreaking in the course of his 
 professional career, the capitalist in posses- 
 sion of a fishing smack and nets, and a small 
 sum into the bargain, safely stowed away 
 (not in Messrs. Falconer and Fishbourne's 
 books) , had been led into embarking his cour- 
 age, his seamanship, and his capital in the 
 then promising and tempting profession of a 
 smuggler. And it is not to be understood 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 that the pretty Winifred either put her 
 apron to her eyes, or gave any other indica- 
 tion of considering herself an unfortunate 
 and miserable woman, or went with whining 
 who-would-have-thought-it complaints to her 
 friends at the Chase, or with a long face to 
 the parson, the magistrate, or any other au- 
 thority whatsoever, or went to the dogs. 
 Hiram Pendleton had been as constant a 
 husband as he had been a lover. He was as 
 much in love with his wife, and she with 
 him, after some six years of marriage, as 
 they had been for the sis years before it. 
 And under these circumstances, if Hiram had 
 thought fit to levy war against the sacred 
 person of Majesty itself, instead of only 
 against Majesty's revenue, Winifred would 
 have stuck to him and backed him. 
 
 Nor must it be supposed that, in those 
 days of oppressive and excessive custom du- 
 ties, the trade and position of the bold smug- 
 gler was regarded by any class of tlie public 
 quite in the same light as it is in our better- 
 instructed, more legality-loving, and more 
 politico-economical times. Although, of 
 course, persons in the position of Lady Farn- 
 leigh and Squire Lindisfarn could not but 
 disapprove of the smuggler's trade, shake 
 their heads at his doings, and seriously la- 
 ment that their former misgivings with re- 
 gard to Pendleton should have been thus jus- 
 tified, there was, 'even in their sphere, no 
 very strong repugnance to the man or his 
 illegal enterprises ; and Winifred's old friends, 
 when Mr. Mat would from time to time come 
 home from Silvei'ton or Sillmouth with some 
 story of a successfully run cargo, were apt, 
 though with due and proper protest and dis- 
 avowal, to feel more sympathy with the bold 
 and fortunate smuggler than with His Maj- 
 esty's defrauded revenue. 
 
 Kate had been always specially daring and 
 outspoken in her illegal sympathies, protest- 
 ing loudly that smuggling was as fair on one 
 side as the press-gang on the other ; that one 
 was no more wrong than the other ; that 
 those who pulled the longest faces were ready 
 enough to buy a French silk dress or keg of 
 French brandy ; and that, for her part, she 
 was not going to give up dear old AVinifred 
 for all the custom-house ofiicers in the king- 
 dom. And so a very considerable amount of 
 friendship and intercourse had been kept up 
 between Kate and her old nurse, notwith- 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 99 
 
 standing that the latter had become a daring 
 gmuggler's wife ; and though the young la- 
 d3^'s visits— generally accompanied by Mr. 
 Mat, whose sympathies and moralities upon 
 tlie subject were quite as faulty as Kate's — 
 though the visits, I say, to Mrs. Pendleton's 
 pretty and picturesque cottage under the rocks 
 at the far end of Sillmouth sands were gen- 
 erally made, and understood to be made, when 
 the master of it was away, it had nevertheless 
 occurred that a bow, returned by no un- 
 friendly nod on the part of the fair lady, had 
 more than once passed between her and the 
 owner of Decpcreek Cottage. 
 
 In a word, the family at the Chase, and 
 Kate more especially, had determined not 
 to give up their old and much-valued pro- 
 te(je, notwithstanding the regi-etable, but in 
 those times and those latitudes not unpar- 
 donable and not very severely reprobated, 
 courses into which her husband had fallen. 
 And an amount of toleration and even sym- 
 pathy for Mrs. Pendleton's family interests 
 and prosperities and adversities, had been felt 
 and even professed by Kate (who was apt to 
 profess all she felt on most subjects) , greater 
 than perhaps might have been the case if the 
 young lady had been better aware of all that 
 the life and pursuits of a smuggler involve 
 and may lead to ; and at the same time an 
 amount of Minking at illegalities, which they 
 were bound to discountenance, had been prac- 
 tised by the elder and more responsible mem- 
 bers of the family, which worshipful and law- 
 al)iding people in this improved age of the 
 world's history will perhaps consider as 
 scarcely justifiable or prudent. 
 
 And now came new circumstances, which 
 had a tendency to complicate these relation- 
 ships. It was quite clear that between Cap- 
 tain EUingham and Hiram Pendleton there 
 could be neither truce nor toleration. And, 
 as Lady Farnleigh said, "they" — that is, 
 she and her goddaughter, and the rest of the 
 family at the Chase — were now enlisted on 
 the other side. As her ladyship had also re- 
 marked, when first speaking to Kate of Wal- 
 ter EUingham, it was bad to be a smuggler 
 on the Sillshire coast, when the Petrel and 
 her commander were on duty on that station. 
 And it was likely to be difficult to cultivate 
 friendly relations with both parties. 
 
 And now what, under these circumstances, 
 could Mrs. Pendleton want this stormy night 
 up at the Chase"? 
 
 CHAPTER XVII. 
 A HARD, HARD TASK ! 
 
 Kate found Mrs. Pendleton waiting for her 
 in the housekeeper's room, a little snuggery 
 looking out on the back of the house, toward 
 the woods therefore, which came down to 
 within a short distance of the mansion on 
 that side, and toward the high forest-covered 
 ground of Lindisfarn brow. So that on this 
 side of the house the moaning and roaring of 
 the storm-wind was yet more loudly heard 
 than in the front. But though the casements 
 rattled and shook as if every now and then 
 they were assailed by a sudden push from the 
 outside, the little room was cheerful with a 
 bright fire ; and Mrs. Pendleton had been 
 already supplied with a steaming pot of tea, 
 and a plate of bread and butter. 
 
 " Why, Winifred? " cried Kate, bursting 
 into the room through the door, much as the 
 wind was striving to do at the opposite win- 
 dow ; " what in the world brings you up to 
 the Chase on such a night as this ? What a 
 walk you must have had ! " 
 
 " 'Tis a terrible night. Miss Kate, sur- 
 enough ; not for them as is safe and snug on 
 shore. I think nothing of the walk, though 
 the wind does blow off the brow up here 
 enough to take one off one's legs. But it 
 must be an awful night at sea ! " 
 
 " AVhere is Pendleton? " asked Kate. 
 
 " Over the other side, and safe in harbor 
 at this time, I hope. Miss Kate. But he'll 
 be coming across to-morrow night ; and they 
 wont ask no better than a spell of this same 
 weather; for the night's as dark as pitch, 
 and they are not afeard of wind, you know, 
 miss." 
 
 ' ' It would be on the quarter in coming 
 over, as the wind is now; would it not?" 
 asked the young lady. 
 
 " Yes, and that's one of the lugger's best 
 points. Only there is a little too much of it. 
 But if the wind lasts, or if there is any wind 
 at all that will any ways serve to make the 
 coast with, they will be coming over to-mor- 
 row night, sure enough." 
 
 " Don't you wish the job was done, and 
 the lugger lying asleep under the Benniton 
 Head rock, and Hiram safe and dry in the 
 cottage? " 
 
 " Where's the use of wishing, Miss Kate? 
 I might spend my life at it. When I was 
 first married to a sailor, — let alone one as the 
 wind isn't his worst trouble ! — Ithoug-htl'd 
 
100 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 never sleep through a dark night again, and 
 felt every puflPof wind as if the belaying pins 
 ■was fixed in roy heart. But one gets used to 
 it. But I do wish, Miss Kate,"' she added, 
 looking with earnest eyes into Miss Lindis- 
 farn's face, " that the job was over this time ! 
 T do wish it ! " 
 
 " Is it anything more than usual ? " asked 
 Kate, with a glance toward the door, and in a 
 lower tone than before. 
 
 " Well, Miss Kate, to come out w-ith it, at 
 once, — for I know we can trust you, and it's 
 over late now to begin having secrets between 
 you and me, — that is what brings me up to 
 Lindisfarn this night." 
 
 " What do you mean, Winifred ? Is there 
 any trouble? " asked Kate, iu a sympathizing 
 manner. 
 
 " I'll tell you what it is, Miss Kate," 
 said the smuggler's wife, who had thrown oif 
 her cloak, and rising to her feet as she spoke, 
 came one step nearer to the spot at which 
 Kate was standing at the opposite side of the 
 housekeeper's little tea-table, for she had not 
 taken a seat on coming into the room, — " I'll 
 tell you what it is. Miss Kate. If I do not 
 succeed in preventing it by my walk up here 
 to-night, there will be trouble, as sure as the 
 trees are troubling in the storm on Lindisfarn 
 brow this night? " 
 
 "What can you mean, Winifred? and 
 what can your walk up here to-night have to 
 do with it? " asked Kate, who was beginning 
 to feel a little alarm at the woman's manner. 
 " It's a big job that's to come off to-morrow 
 night. There's some strange hands in it. 
 The venture is as much as some on them is 
 worth in the world. And, Miss Kate," added 
 Winifred, speaking in a solemn manner, and 
 with special emphasis, while she looked with 
 a fixed and determined, but yet wistful, glance 
 into Kate's eyes, " they don't mean to be 
 beat." 
 
 "I don't understand you, Winifred," re- 
 turned Kate, while a feeling of vague alarm 
 rising gradually in her heart, and betraying 
 itself in her manner, showed that she did 
 partially understand the possible trouble to 
 which Mrs. Pendleton was alluding. 
 
 '• Miss Kate," said she, still looking down 
 from her somewhat superior height into 
 Kate's eyes with the same fixed and meaning 
 look, " the men mean to bring the lugger in, 
 and run the goods." 
 
 "In a dark night like this," said Kate, 
 
 " they will have a good chance of doing so, 
 as they have had many a time before." 
 
 "Ay, Miss Kate, please God they be not 
 meddled with, the lugger will come in with 
 the tide, while it is as dark as pitch, and all 
 well. But — it 'ill be bad meddling with 
 them." 
 
 "And who should meddle with them?" 
 said Kate, with a sudden feeling that Lady 
 Farnleigh's lightly uttered words might have 
 more meaning in them than she had thought 
 of attributing to them. 
 
 "The revenue officers, to be sure, miss, 
 and those as has the business to protect the 
 revenue," returned Mrs. Pendleton, shrewdly 
 observing Kate's face. 
 
 "Well, and if the Saucy Sfl//y "— that 
 was the name of Pendleton's lugger — " gets 
 scent of anything hailing from the custom- 
 house, she will show them a clean pair of 
 heels, as she has so often done before," said 
 Kate. 
 
 " Ah, but the Saucy Sally don't mean to 
 do nothing of the kind this time. 1 tell you. 
 Miss Kate, they mean to bring in their cargo 
 whether or no ! " 
 
 " How, whether or no ? If the revenue offi- 
 cers are on the look-out, they must stand off 
 and try another chance." 
 
 "But I tell you, Miss Kate, that is not 
 what they mean. They mean to come in. If 
 they can come in quiet, well. There'll be a 
 bit of bread for the wives and children, and 
 nobody the worse or the wiser. But if they 
 are meddled with, there'll be trouble. That's 
 where it is," said Mrs. Pendleton. 
 
 " Why, you don't mean to say, Winifred, 
 that they would dream of open resistance to 
 the king's ofBccrs ? They could nctt be so 
 mad ! " 
 
 " I don't know about mad. Miss Kate ; but 
 I zem I know which would be the maddest, 
 them as is wishful to earn a bit of bread for 
 their families, or them as poke their noses 
 where they've no need, to hinder them. But 
 you may rest sure, miss, if the Saucy Sally is 
 meddled with to-morrow night, there'll be 
 trouble." 
 
 " But you must persuade your husband 
 not to be so foolhardy, Mrs. Pendleton. I 
 can hardly believe he can think of it," said 
 Kate. 
 
 " Persuade him ! IIow am I to persuade 
 him, — even putting he was a man to mind a 
 woman's tattle in such matters, — and he over 
 
LINDISFARN CHASli. 
 
 in France? Besides, it docs not depend on 
 him altogether ; I said there were others in 
 it. And zeuis to me, Miss Kate, that you 
 know enough of Hiram to judge that if others 
 are for venturing a bold stroke, he is not tlic 
 man to preach to them to hold their hands ! " 
 
 " 1 should hope, AVinifred, that he 'was not 
 a man to join in any violence, which might 
 load to dreadful consequences," said Kate, 
 witli a painfully rising sense of the disagreea- 
 ble possibilities that were beginning to loom 
 a!)ovc the horizon of her imagination. 
 
 " Might lead ! " cried Winifred Pendleton, 
 with a look and an accent that were almost a 
 sneer. " You don't know what men are. Miss 
 Kate ; let alone men such as they are, who 
 have known what 'tis to have the law against 
 'cm and not for 'em. Law is a very good 
 thing, Miss Kate, for them as has got all they 
 can wish for in this world. But Pendleton is 
 not the man to stand by quiet, and see his 
 o\Yn seized beneath his nose, not if I know 
 anything of him. No more aint those that 
 are with him." 
 
 " But, my dear Winifred, what is your ob- 
 ject in telling me all this, except to frighten 
 me and make me unhappy ? It could not be 
 to tell me this that you have walked up from 
 Sillmouth such a night as this," said Kate, 
 becoming more and more uneasy, though she 
 hardly knew, with any degree of precision, 
 now what she heard could aifect her. 
 
 " I did walk up fi-om Sillmouth, a good 
 eight miles to-night just on purpose to tell 
 you this. Miss Kate," said Mrs. Pendleton, 
 with the deliberate kind of manner of a per- 
 son administering a dose and waiting to see 
 the effect of it. 
 
 " And what possible object could you have 
 in doing so? " asked Kate, looking at her in 
 great surprise. 
 
 " I thought. Miss Kate, that maybe our 
 hearts might pull the same way in this mat- 
 ter," replied Mrs. Pendleton, dropping the 
 lashes over the fine but perhaps somewhat 
 bold eyes with which she had been till now 
 observing her quondam mistress. 
 
 " Hearts pull the same way! Of course 
 they do ! You know how dearly I have at 
 heart all that interests you. But I don't un- 
 derstand you. You are not like yourself to- 
 night. Y'ou speak as if there were something 
 bcliind that you were afraid to tell me. Has 
 anything happened? " 
 
 "No, miss, no! nothing have happened. 
 
 101 
 
 But, my dear Miss Kate, don't you know 
 what is likely to ha'ppen when men come to 
 fighting ! If you don't know, can't you guess, 
 what a woman must feel when the flxther of 
 her children is at that pass, when if it does 
 come to a fight, it wont end without lives 
 lost?" 
 
 "But, gracious heavens! Winifred, why 
 will your husband be so rash — so mad ? If 
 you have no power to stop him, what is to be 
 done? and what on earth did you propose to 
 yourself in coming here ? If papa could help, 
 I am sure he Avould. If Hiram could be ar- 
 rested and kept safe till this mad scheme is 
 blown over — but you say he is over in 
 Prance ? ' ' 
 
 " Y^es, miss, Pendleton is over the other 
 side ; and I don't think that any good could be 
 done by arresting him, even if he was here ; 
 thank you kindly, all the same," said Win- 
 ifred, easting down her eyes with a mock- 
 demure look that had a strong flavor of irony 
 in it. " Hiram is a bird of that sort, you 
 see. Miss Kate," she added, "as it don't 
 come easy putting salt on their tails. No, 
 Miss Kate, if any good is to be done, it's you 
 that must do it. And it did come into my 
 head — or into my heart more like — that you 
 and I, miss, might have pulled together iu 
 this bad business." 
 
 " I help you? and pull together? What 
 can you mean, Winifred? You have got 
 something in your head. Why don't you 
 speak it out plain? You know you can trust 
 me." 
 
 " If I did not know that, I should not have 
 said what I have said," replied Mrs. Pendle- 
 ton, looking full into Kate's eyes with a 
 steady and searching gaze. " And I know 
 well enough that if you could do a good turn 
 to either me or mine, it isn't a little either of 
 trouble or cost that would stand in the way. 
 I know that. Miss Kate. Don't you think I 
 ever forget it, or ever shall. But it isn't 
 trouble or cost that will serve the turn to- 
 night." 
 
 She spoke these words simply and natu- 
 rally, and then hesitated, and once again 
 cast her eyes down to the floor. After a min- 
 ute she went on, without raising them, — 
 
 " It's not to be thought, Miss Kate, that 
 when men come to a desperate fight — and if 
 there is a fight it will be a desperate one — 
 the danger's all on one side." 
 
 She paused and looked up furtively into 
 
102 
 
 Kate's face, from under her eyelashes. But 
 she could detect neither intelligence of her 
 meaning, nor any other emotion beyond that 
 of the sympathizing distress with which Kate 
 had heard the whole of her story, in her fea- 
 tures, as she answered, — 
 
 " Of course that must be so. But the 
 king's officers are almost sure to be strong 
 enough to make the odds terribly in their 
 favor." 
 
 " Would it seem so terrible to you, Miss 
 Kate, that the odds should be on that side? " 
 asked her companion, with a repetition of the 
 same furtive examination of her face. 
 
 " I suppose it ought not to seem so," said 
 Kate, simply ; " I suppose one ought to wish 
 that the supporters of the law should be 
 stronger than the breakers of it. x\nd God 
 forbid that there should be blood shed on 
 cither side ! But you know, Winny, well 
 enough, that as long as it was merely a ques- 
 tion of playing hide-and-seek with the cus- 
 tom-house people, which side of the game I 
 wished well to." 
 
 " But if it's not a game of hide-and-seek, 
 but a very different sort of game," said the 
 woman, speaking with hurried vehemence, 
 but still without looking up ; " and if," she 
 went on, in a lower tone, " that other game 
 Las to be played out with His Majesty's rev- 
 enue cutter, the PetreV — 
 
 And again she stole a look at Kate's face, 
 and this time saw, by the bright red flush 
 that suffused the whole of it, that a portion, 
 at least, of the ideas that she wished to sug- 
 gest had found its way into Kate's mind. 
 
 " Ah, I had not thought of that ! In that 
 case," she added, while the blush, which a 
 different sentiment had called to her cheek in 
 the first instance, was detained there by a 
 feeling of displeasure with her companion of 
 which no shadow had till then crossed her 
 mind, — " in that case," she said, coldly, " I 
 should think far worse, than if I had not 
 known it, of the chances of the men rash 
 enough to attempt such a struggle." 
 
 This reply called up Winifred's eyes from 
 off the ground, and roused a new feeling of 
 a different kind in her heart ; and the rich 
 color came into her cheeks also, as she said, — 
 
 " You take it with a very high hand, miss ! 
 There are not many men, either in Ilis Maj- 
 esty's service or out of it, who would find it 
 a joking matter or child's play to fight out a 
 fair fight with Hiram Pendleton, let alone 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE 
 
 them as are with him ! I did not come here 
 to ask for mercy, but to prevent mischief on 
 
 one side as well as t'other. There's other 
 women besides wives, who might chance to 
 get broken hearts out of to-morrow night's 
 work — if such work is to be." 
 
 " I don't know what you mean, Mrs. Pen- 
 dleton ! " said Kate, scarlet, and now thor- 
 oughly angry ; " I don't know what it is that 
 you are daring to insinuate ! " 
 
 " Forgive me, my dear young mistress ! 
 My dearest Miss Kate, forgive me ! " cried 
 Winifred, catching Kate's hand, and looking 
 up with tears in her eyes ; " God knows, I 
 had no thought to offend you. I would rather 
 cut my tongue out. But why should it be 
 an offence to you, between you and me, your 
 own poor old Winny ? Wouldn't it be a good 
 thing to prevent this bloody work, if we 
 could? And believe me, believe me, my 
 dear young lady, it will be as bad for one 
 side as for t'other ! " 
 
 " But what right have you to speak as you 
 did, Winifred?" said Kate, relenting, though 
 still much annoyed and offended. "Of course 
 it would be good to prevent bloodshed, if 
 there were any way of doing it. But what 
 reason or what right have you to suppose 
 that I should be especially interested in the 
 matter, beyond what every person would nat- 
 urally be? And, above all, what possible 
 reason can you have to imagine that I should 
 have any means of influencing the matter one 
 way or the other? " 
 
 "I'm sure I don't know why you should 
 be so angry with me, miss, for saying to you 
 what all the folks are saying about to one 
 another. You can't think that it is any 
 secret in Silverton that Captain Ellingham 
 worships the ground you tread on. You can't 
 expect folk to shut their eyes; and I don't 
 8ee, for my part, why you should wish them 
 to!" 
 
 " The people talk nonsense, as they gener- 
 ally do ! But you ought to know better than 
 to repeat it to me, Winifred. Besides, you 
 spoke of— of my breaking my heart for Cap- 
 tain Ellingham — as if I were likely to break 
 my heart for any man ! " 
 
 " Well, I had no right to say that, miss, 
 and I humbly ask your pardon. Not but 
 'twould seem natural and right enough to 
 me for a girl, let her be the first lady in the 
 land, to care about such a one as Captain 
 Ellingham, and he mad for the love of her ! " 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 "But oven supposing that one must nat- 
 urally, as j-ou say, Winny, follow from the 
 other, what business has any one to impute 
 any such sentiments to Captain Ellingham ? " 
 asked Kate, who did not succeed in disguis- 
 ing from her old nurse and humble friend 
 that she did feel an interest in investigating 
 that part of the question. 
 
 " W hat business ? Well, I do believe that 
 gentlefolk think that poor folk haven't no 
 eyes ! servants specially ; and they made of 
 nothing else, as one may say ! Why, Miss 
 Kate, do you think that the sailors took no 
 note of their captain that time when the 
 whole lot of you went for a cruise aboard the 
 cutter? There was no lack of other ladies 
 aboard, and pretty ones too ; but there wasn't 
 a man or boy of the cutter's crew, from that 
 crossgraincd old Joe Saltash, the mate, down 
 to the cabin-boy, that could not see where 
 the captain took his sailing orders from, or 
 who was admiral on board. Bless you. Miss 
 Kate, sailors have eyes ! ay, and tongues too ! 
 How long do you suppose the Petrel might 
 be lying in Sillmouth harbor, before it was 
 all over Sillmouth that the revenue captain 
 worshipped Miss Kate Lindisfarn's shoe-tie? 
 Show his sense ! the Sillshire folk say. And 
 I suppose, Miss Kate — if I might venture to 
 say it, without your eating' me up alive for 
 it, — that you didn't look at him as if you 
 hated him! " 
 
 Kate was blushing brightly as jNIrs. Pen- 
 dleton spoke ; but she did not appear to be 
 angry this time. 
 
 " But even supposing," she said, " that 
 all this was true, instead of being the silliest 
 nonsense that ever was talked, what would 
 it avail toward preventing what you fear to- 
 morrow night, Mrs. Pendleton? " 
 
 " Don't call me Mrs. Pendleton, dear Miss 
 Kate, please don't, or I shall think you are 
 still angry with me. How avail ? Why, if 
 what I have said was true, it wouldn't be 
 pleasant hearing for you to be told the first 
 thing you open your eyes in the morning that 
 Captain Ellingham 's body had been found 
 washed ashore during the night, with a 
 couple of pistol bullets in it, and a gash over 
 the forehead ! " 
 
 " Good heavens, Winifred ! IIow can you 
 talk in such a way? " replied Kate ; and her 
 cheek grew pale as she spoke. "Of course, 
 it would be dreadful to hear it, whether all 
 that trash were true, or as false as it is." 
 
 103 
 
 " Well ! that's what you are like enough 
 to hear, Miss Kate, if nothing is done to pre- 
 vent it. And I don't suppose you'd think it 
 was made much better, if you was told that 
 Hiram Pendleton's corpse was lying stark 
 on the sands as well ! " 
 
 " But what can possibly be done to pre- 
 vent such horrors ! " cried Kate, wringing 
 her hands in distress. 
 
 " Why, where is the captain now, at this 
 present speaking? " said Mrs. Pendleton. 
 
 " Here at the Chase, in the house," an- 
 swered Kate. 
 
 " Ah, to be sure ! here at the Chase, a-tak- 
 ing his wine comfortably along with the 
 squire," continued Mrs. Pendleton. "And 
 if he was a-doing the same thing at the same 
 hour to-morrow night, the Saucy Sally would 
 have run her cargo before midnight, and 
 no harm done to nobody in all the blessed 
 world ! " 
 
 " But I know Captain Ellingham means to 
 be off to Sillmouth the first thing to-morrow 
 morning," returned Kate, shaking her head 
 sadly. 
 
 " And how much trouble, I wonder, would 
 it take them eyes of yours. Miss Kate, to 
 make him change his mind, and stay at Lin- 
 disfarn? " said Mrs. Pendleton, looking wist- 
 fully into the eyes she spoke of. 
 
 " Ah ! " cried Kate, blushing and drawing 
 a long breath, as if she suddenly pei'ceived for 
 the first time the whole of Mrs. Pendleton's 
 drift and object in coming up to the Chase. 
 "No, Mrs. Pendleton, that plan wont do! 
 Even if I were to make the attempt, as you 
 would have me, I could no more prevent 
 Captain Ellingham from doing his duty than 
 I could move SUverton Cathedral ! " 
 
 "All nonsense! I beg your pardon, Miss 
 Kate; but you know nothing about it. 
 Many's the better man than Captain Elling- 
 ham that has forgotten all about duty, as you 
 call it, on a less temptation ! And where's 
 the special duty of his going out one partic- 
 ular night? " 
 
 " I am afraid, " returned Kate, thought- 
 fully, " that he would not be here so quietly 
 to-night, and intending to go out, as I know 
 he does, to-morrow night if he had not some 
 information." 
 
 God help him, then, and my husband, 
 too! They wont both come ashore alive! 
 More likely neither of them ; and God help me 
 and my children ! Misa Kate, you could do 
 
104 LIND 
 
 this good job if you tried,'" added Winifred, 
 clasping her hands, and looking with wistful 
 earnestness into Kate's now painfully dis- 
 tressed face. She shook her head sorrow- 
 fully, but with a severe expression on her 
 features, as she said, — 
 
 " Nothing that I could do would produce 
 the result you wish, Mrs. Pendleton."' 
 
 "Result I wish! Why, great Heaven, 
 Miss Kate, 'tis the lives of both of them ! 
 Consider how you'll think upon my words, 
 when it is too late ! When the captain's 
 body is picked off the sand and carried feet 
 foremost, and the white face, with the drip- 
 ping black hair Hilling back from it, upward 
 to the sunlight ; and my man is laid in his 
 bloody coiBn, and I am a broken-down and 
 broken-hearted woman, without a bit of 
 bread to put into my children's mouths," 
 said Mrs. Pendleton , putting her handker- 
 chief to her eyes : " you'll say to yourself. 
 Miss Kate, I did all that good work, /sent 
 the captain to his fate, when I knew it was 
 waiting for him. /brought Hiram Pendle- 
 ton to his death ! 'Twas 1 that made Wini- 
 fred, old John Parker's daughter, a broken 
 widow, and her children orphans ! I did it 
 all, for I might have saved it all, and wouldn't ! 
 —Oh, Miss Kate, think, think of it ! What's 
 a bit of a girl's pride,or justatasteof a blush, 
 maybe, making you look more lovelier to him 
 than you ever looked before — what's this, 1 
 say, to men's lives ? Think of it, for Heaven's 
 love, my dear Miss Kate ! And don't you go 
 for to think that the king^s men are going to 
 have it all their own way. I tell you that 
 the chance is against them. Our fellows are 
 a sti-ong lot — some new hands, strangers, 
 among them — and they wont make child's 
 play of it. As sure as Captain EUingham 
 trios to stop the Saucy Sally to-morrow night, 
 he's a dead man ! " 
 
 Kate, whose distress had been rising to a 
 
 SFARN C7IASE. 
 
 pitch of agony while Mrs. Pendleton had been 
 speaking these words, remained silent for 
 a while at the conclusion of them, while her 
 working features showed bow gi-eat was the 
 effect of them upon her. 
 
 "You do not know, my poor Winifred," 
 she said at length, " you cannot guess, how 
 painful it will be to me, how much it costs 
 me to make the applica'tion you urge me to 
 do. But," she added, while something that 
 was almost a sob half choked her utterance, 
 " I will not, I dare not have it on my con- 
 science that I have refused, in order to spare 
 my own feelings, to make an attempt at avert- 
 ing these dreadful misfortunes. I will do as 
 you would have me, my poor W^inifred, 
 though it is a hard, hard task. I must leave 
 you now. Good-night. Rest yourself well 
 before you start on your return ; and if you 
 like, one of the men shall walk over with you 
 — or, better still, I am sure Mr. Mat would 
 let you have the gig." 
 
 " God bless and reward you for your good 
 deed, Miss Kate, and grant that you succeed! " 
 said Winifred, with the tears in her eyes, — 
 " and thank you kindly, miss ; but I do not 
 want any help to get home. There's not a foot 
 of the ground that I don't know, better than 
 e'er a man about the place : and I'm noways 
 afraid of the walk." 
 
 " Good-night, then. It shall be done be- 
 fore he goes to-morrow," said poor Kate, in 
 a tone which might have led a bystander to 
 imagine that the deed to be done was some- 
 thing of a very tragic nature indeed. 
 
 And then she had to return to the drawing- 
 room with as cheerful a face as she could 
 manage, fully purposed to do the spiriting 
 which she had undertaken, but intending to 
 set about it, as perhaps the reader need 
 hardly be told, in a somewhat different fash- 
 ion from that contemplated by her ci-dcvant 
 nurse. 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 chapter xviix. 
 Kate's attempt at bribery and corruption. 
 It was impossible for Kate to fsnd any op- 
 portunity of making the contemplated attack 
 on Captain Ellinj^ham tliat evening. When 
 she returned to the drawing-room, the gentle- 
 men had come in from the dining-room and 
 were listening to a song by Miss jMargarct. 
 It was the celebrated air from l^ubcrt le Via- 
 ble that she was singing ; and she sang it well 
 and very eflectively, but with that thin and 
 criarde voice, which French teaching and sen- 
 timent and practice seem always to produce 
 and with abundance — ill-natured or severe 
 critics of the English school might perhaps 
 have said, with too great abundance — of that 
 dramatic effect, of which the song is so espe- 
 cially susceptible. It was Margaret's favorite 
 song and her main cheval de bataillc, not only 
 because it suited her voice, but also, as she 
 would observe, wuth a very business-like ap- 
 preciation of the subject in all its parts and 
 bearings, because it suited her fa.ce and eyes. 
 When she gave the" Grace! grace, pour 
 moi, pour toi! " with all that eyes as well 
 voice could do to emphasize the poet's words 
 and give irresistible force to the prayer, Kate 
 could not help wishing that her sister had to 
 make that appeal for, ' ' grace pour moi, pour 
 toi," which it would be her task to make to- 
 morrow morning to the man who was then 
 listening to it. Captain EUingham did listen 
 to Margaret's song with pleasure and inter- 
 est ; keenly and critically, one would have 
 said, to look at him observing her the while, 
 with a curious and slightly smiling expres- 
 sion of countenance. He applauded her at 
 the conclusion of her song ; but he did not 
 approach the piano, nor make any offer to 
 turn over the leaves of her music-book. 
 Fred Falconer was not there to hang over 
 her chair, and turn the eye part of the stage 
 business into a duet with her. But Marga- 
 ret was too well-drilled and well-educated a 
 girl not to do her work conscientiously and 
 to the best of her power under all circum- 
 stances. The same spirit prompted her that 
 moved the old mediajval artists to carve and 
 finish cornice and moulding, even in parts 
 which from their position could never meet 
 the eye, as carefully as in those portions of 
 the work which were destined to universal | 
 admiration. 
 
 And then, after Kate's song, Mr. Mat sung i 
 his favorite "Cease, rude Boreas," which 
 
 105 
 
 was assuredly appropriate enough to the oc- 
 casion ; only Boreas did not cease by any 
 means, but quite the contrary. 
 
 And after that, Kate sung that pathetic 
 old Sillshire ditty of the sad mutiny time, — 
 " Parker was my lawful husband ! " — which, 
 as Mr. Mat said, had the property of always 
 compelling him to " make a fool of himself." 
 It was natural enough that the matter of 
 which Kate's mind and heart were full, 
 should have suggested to her memory that 
 eloquent though homely lament of a wife 
 sorrowing for a condemned and guilty hus- 
 band. And if Kate had been an even per- 
 missibly artful girl, instead of the utterly 
 unscheming and thoughtlessly open creature 
 she was, it might be supposed that she had 
 selected her song with a view to preparing 
 Captain Ellingham's heart for the assault to 
 be made upon it. If she had had any such 
 idea in her licad, she might have fancied that 
 her song had answered its end. For she sang 
 it with infinite pathos ; and the eyes of the 
 commander of the Petrel did not remain any 
 drier than Mr. Mat's. 
 
 And then came the time for the flat can- 
 dlesticks and the good-nights. It was quite 
 clear that nothing could be done in the mat- 
 ter that night. Kate had hardly supposed 
 that there was any possibility of getting an 
 opportunity before the morrow. Then she 
 knew it would be easy enough. Only the 
 deferring her hard, hard task till then in- 
 volved the suffering of a night of wakeful 
 anxiety and thought. 
 
 In the morning, it would be an easy mat- 
 ter to find an opportunity for a iete-a-iele 
 with Captain EUingham. He was to drive 
 over to Silverton in the gig, starting from the 
 Chase at eight in the morning, before the 
 family breakfast hour. The same thing had 
 occurred more than once before ; and EUing- 
 ham had declared that he did not want iM-eak- 
 fast, — always breakfasted later, — liked a drive 
 or a walk before breakfast, etc., etc. ' But it 
 was in too violent contradiction with the 
 habits and traditions of all Miss Immy's life 
 and experience for this to be permitted ; and 
 an early meal was on the table at half-past 
 seven for the departing guest. Upon one of 
 these occasions Kate had come down to make 
 Captain Ellingham's breakfast for him ; and 
 she felt that there would be nothing remark- 
 able in her doing so now. Nevertheless, she 
 seemed to herself a guilty thing, compassing 
 
106 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 Bomc forbidden'machinati'on as she ■went down mounted the difficulty of beginning, but still 
 to the breakfast-room ; and she felt quke very nervous. 
 
 sure that her face was betraying the agita- | "I feel sure that I shall think it right to 
 tion of her mind. do what you think it right to wish me to do, ' 
 
 Of course, the reader does not imagine, as Miss Lindisfarn," said he, still speaking se- 
 the pretty forestei^'s daughter imagined, that riously, and it seemed to her ear at the mo- 
 Kate had any intention of playing the Circe ment, she fancied, somewhat coldly. It was 
 to Captain Ellingham, and seeking to detain impossible that the overture could have been 
 him at Lindisfarn by the exercise of her fas- received more courteously. Still it seemed 
 cinations upon him. Her plan, poor child ! to her as if his grave seriousness opened lier 
 involved a much greater degree of naive ig- eyes yet more than they had been before to 
 norance of the world and of things. The first the gravity of the matter she had to commu- 
 echeme, as Winifred imagined it, would have nicate to him. 
 
 been sim^ily impossible of performance. Her " I hope so. For indeed, indeed, Captain 
 own was infinitely distasteful to her. j Ellingham, nothing would have induced me 
 
 Captain Ellingham observed at once, as to speak to you on such a matter except a 
 she entered the breakfast-room , that her look feeling that I should have been acting Wrongly 
 and bearing were not marked by her usual in not doing so." 
 bright animation and cheerfulness. j And as she spoke, poor Kate felt that her 
 
 " I am afraid, JNIiss Lindisfarn, you are not agitation was increasing, — that the tears were 
 quite well this morning. If that is so, I rising in her throat, and that she could with 
 should be so grieved to think that you had difliculty prevent them from brimming over 
 got up earlier than usual on my account," at her eyes, 
 said he. "What is the nature of the business?" 
 
 " I have had a restless night," said Kate, said he in a softer and kinder voice; for he 
 in her direct and simple way, driving straight- perceived her distress. 
 
 way at her object ; " but it would have made i " Is it not part of your duty here, Captain 
 the matter no better to have stayed in bed Ellingham, to prevent the smugglers from — 
 this morning ; for I have been kept awake by \ from doing their smuggling? " 
 thinking of something that I wanted to say { " That is not only a part, but I may say 
 to you before you went away to Silverton." pretty well the whole, of my duty on iheSill- 
 
 " I should think myself most unfortunate," shire coast. It is for that purpose that the 
 replied Ellingham in much surprise, " if any Petrel is here," replied he, smiling, and some- 
 fault of mine can have made it necessary to what relieved at this discovery of the nature 
 say what is disagreeable to you." ! of th«5 subject in hand, though still as much 
 
 " Oh, no, indeed. Captain Ellingham. And | surprised as ever, 
 yet it is very disagreeable to me to say what 1 " And the government tries, I know, al- 
 I must say. And nothing but a belief that ways to take away from them the things they 
 
 want to smuggle? " said Kate. 
 
 " Tries to ? I am afraid. Miss Lindisfarn, 
 you Zillshire volk, as Mr. Mat says, don't al- 
 
 it is my bounden duty not to shrink from do- 
 ing so would induce me to speak to you of 
 it." 
 
 " Be assured, Miss Lindisfarn," rejoined 
 he, speaking gravely, and in greater aston- 
 ishment than ever, " that anything you wish 
 to say to me will 
 loss how to proceed 
 
 ways wish us revenue officers all the success 
 we deserve, and are apt to laugh at us when 
 don't succeed. Yes, the government tries 
 He was rather at a to take away all smuggled goods, as you say ; 
 but after a moment's and tries its best, though it does not always 
 hesitation, continued,— " be listened to by succeed," said the commander of the Petrel, 
 me in whatever manner and frame of mind becoming still more at his ease respecting 
 you may wish me to hear it." j Kate's business. 
 
 " Thank you, Captain Ellingham. I was | "Yes, I know. They try to hide the 
 sure you would be kind about it, whether you things and you try to find them. If they 
 may think it right to— to act in one way or succeed, they sell them at a good profit ; and 
 another," said Kate, feeling some little com- if you succeed, they lose them, and I don't 
 fort from the consciousness that she had sur- suppose the king is much the richer." 
 
LINDISFAKN CHASE. 
 
 " Ah ! Miss Lindisfarn, I am afraid it's 
 too clear on which sidcj-our eyuipatbieeare J'' 
 cried Ellingliam, hiughing. 
 
 " But it cannot be the intention of the king 
 of the govennneut," continued Kate, with- 
 out manifesting the least inclination to share 
 her companion's cheerfulness ; " it cannot be 
 their wish, for the sake of a few yards of silk, 
 or a little tobacco, to take away or even to 
 risk human life." 
 
 " Ah, my dear Miss Lindisfarn," returned 
 he, reverting at once to all his previous seri- 
 ousness of manner, and beginning to have 
 6ome inkling of a suspicion of what sort the 
 business in hand might be, " I am afraid you 
 hardly sec the matter in its right light. The 
 government assuredly has no wish to take 
 away men's lives, as you say ; but law must 
 be enforced, and its supremacy vindicated at 
 all hazards and at all cost, — at all costs, you 
 understand me? " 
 
 " I understand, of course," said Kate, 
 whose misgivings as to the success of her en- 
 terprise were already beginning to be in- 
 creased by the tone and scope of Captain 
 EUingham's words, — " I understand that if 
 you catch the men in the act of smuggling, 
 you must prevent them ; you cannot let them 
 carry their pjlans into effect. That would be 
 too much to expect," — a smile passed over 
 the revenue officer's face, as she said these 
 words : — " but if it were known beforehand, 
 that a lamentable sacrifice of life would be 
 the certain result of interfering with the 
 smugglers in any particular case, sureiy, it 
 would be right — and humane — and best in 
 all ways to — to — to avoid such a misfor- 
 tune ! " and Kate, as she came near the end 
 of her little speech, had clasped her hands, 
 partly in sheer nervousness, and partly from 
 an unreasoned impulse of supplication, while 
 she gazed with wistful and now palpably tear- 
 ful eyes into his face. 
 
 Captain EUingham dropped his before her 
 gaze, and remained silent for some seconds. 
 Then looking up at her with a full and frank 
 glance, and speaking very kindly and gently, 
 but still gravely, though with a quiet smile, 
 he said, — 
 
 " I am very much afraid, my dear Miss 
 Kate," — it was the first time during the in- 
 terview that he had called her so, and Kate 
 felt grateful for the friendliness implied in 
 that manner of address, — "I am very much 
 afraid that you have engaged in an attempt 
 
 107 
 
 to induce an ofiBcer in His Majesty's service 
 to act in gross violation of his duty, — a iiigh 
 crime and misdemeanor, Miss Kate ! " he 
 added, while he allowed the kindly smile to 
 temper the severity of the words. " I am 
 quite sure," he continued, with more entire 
 seriousness, " that you would not, as you 
 said, have spoken to moon this matter if you 
 had not thought it right. I feel sure, too, 
 that I may safely adhere to what I said just 
 now, — that I shall think it right to do, what 
 you think it right to wish me to do, — after a 
 little reflection. Consider, Miss Lindisfarn, 
 what the result would be, if smugglers were 
 allowed to effect their purpose whenever they 
 chose to say that they would use violence in 
 carrying it out if necessary. Why, your 
 good sense will show you in an instant that 
 not a yard or a pound of goods that came into 
 the kingdom would pay duty. The custom- 
 house might shut up shop, and the govern- 
 ment might whistle for the revenue. I am 
 sure you must see this. If these men resort 
 to violence, and if life be lost in enforcing 
 the law, their blood will be on their oun 
 heads. Unless they use violence, no greater 
 misfortune can ensue than the capture cf 
 their goods, and themselves." 
 
 " But they will use violence, deadly vio- 
 lence ! They are desperate men !" cried Kate, 
 wringing her hands. " Can nothing be done 
 to prevent bloodshed? " 
 
 " My dear Miss Kate," said EUingham, 
 while the genial smile came back again to 
 his features, " I am very much afraid that 
 you know more about these desperate men 
 than you ought to know ! As for what can 
 be done to prevent boodshed, — it is very sim- 
 ple. The desperate men have nothing to do 
 but to take to an honest calling, or at all 
 events, to steer clear of the Petrel, — which I 
 tell you frankly I think they will find it diffi- 
 cult to do? " 
 
 "But I must not betray them," cried 
 Kate, while a new terror rushed into her 
 mind ; "at all events, it cannot be right for 
 me to betray them ! " 
 
 " Certainly not ; you have betrayed no- 
 body, and you shall betray nobody. To show 
 you how little there is you coM/<^betray, let me 
 ask you — without wishing for any answer 
 though — " whether your conversation with 
 me this morning is not the result of one you 
 had last night with a certain Mrs. Pendleton 
 in the housekeeper's room? Oh! I am no 
 
108 
 
 eavesdropper," he continued, as the blood 
 rushed into Kate's face ; " but Lady Farn- 
 leigh mentioned in the drawing-room the 
 purpose for which you had left the room. 
 She told me, too, all the good reason you 
 have for being warmly interested in, and at- 
 tached to. your old nurse. But it is Mrs. 
 Pendleton's misfortune to be the wife of per- 
 haps the most dangerous and determined 
 smuggler on all the coast. We have long 
 had our eyes upon his movements. Come ! 
 I don't mind playing with my cards on the 
 table ; and so far giving the fellow a chance 
 of avoiding bloodshed if he chooses to profit 
 by it. We have information that tlie Saucy 
 Sally is to run over from the other side to- 
 night ; we know all about it. And, as sure 
 as fate, if she attempts it, she will fall into our 
 hands ; and if the men are rash enough to 
 make a fight of it, they must take the conse- 
 quences." 
 
 "It is very, very dreadful," said Kate, 
 wringing her hands in great distress. " I 
 know they mean to fight desperately." 
 
 " And would Miss Lindisfarn, after telling 
 me that fact, propose to me to keep purposely 
 out of the way of this very desperate gentle- 
 man ? " said Captain Ellingham, looking with 
 a fixed and almost reproachful gaze into Kate's 
 eyes, while a slight flush came over his brown 
 cheek. 
 
 " I was told a great deal," said Kate, and 
 the sympathetic blood rushed, as she spoke, 
 all over her own face and forehead, " about 
 the danger that the king's oflicer might injn 
 as well as the smugglers. But of course I 
 knew that was a part of the subject on which 
 it was no use to speak to you, — however pain- 
 ful a consideration it may be to others," she 
 added, hurriedly and in a lower voice, drop- 
 ping her eyes as she did so. 
 
 " Thank you. Miss Lindisfarn ! " said El- 
 lingham shortly, giving her a little sharp nod 
 as he spoke. "But supposing I had kept 
 out of the way when a dangerous duty was 
 to be done ? ' ' 
 
 " Nobody in the world would have sup- 
 posed," replied Kate, speaking rapidly, with 
 a sort of angry defiance in her manner, and 
 looking up while the blush returned again to 
 her cheeks, "that Captain Ellingham was 
 moved by any consideration save that of spar- 
 ing others." 
 
 Ellingham bowed slightly ; and his own 
 color went and came in rapid alternation. 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 I could not count, I am afraid," he 
 
 " on all the world taking so favoi-able a view 
 of such conduct as you might be kind enough 
 to adopt. At all events," he continued, 
 speaking in a more simple and businesslike 
 tone, " putting all such personal considera- 
 tions out of the question, this is simply a 
 matter of duty, which must be done as such. 
 I am sure that you must now see, my dear 
 Miss Kate, that any alternative is wholly out 
 of the question. Perhaps," he added, again 
 changing his manner, " I need hardly say, 
 that if this were a matter in which any earthly 
 consideration could induce me to act differ- 
 ently from the course I proposed to follow, I 
 should deem it the greatest happiness to be 
 guided by your wishes. But duty must be 
 done. And I have, at all events, the consola- 
 tion of being sure that in doing mine, I shall 
 have Miss Lindisfarn "s well-considered appro- 
 bation." 
 
 " Alas ! yes ! I cannot say that it is not so. 
 And I fear I have only done mischief and not 
 good by my interference," said poor Kate, 
 with a dejected sigh . 
 
 "Nay, not so at all," replied Ellingham. 
 "All this fellow Pendleton's movements were 
 known to me, as I told you. We should 
 have been on the lookout for him to-night, at 
 all events. On the contrary, I have stretched 
 a point in favor of your proteges, Miss Lin- 
 disfarn ; " (the bright arch smile again 
 here ;) — "I give them the advantage of know- 
 ing that they are expected. You may com- 
 municate the intelligence to them, and let 
 them profit by it to keep out of my way, if 
 they like ; I assure you I am showing them a 
 favor rarely practised by an officer of the 
 revenue service ! " 
 
 " But the men are on the other side of the 
 water, in France ! " said Kate. 
 
 " I know that, of course. But these peo- 
 ple have always codes of signals, and means 
 of warning their friends. Without that, they 
 would never beat us, as they do sometimes. 
 Let your friend, Mrs. Pendleton, be told that 
 the Petrel is wide awake. She will know 
 very well how to make use of the informa- 
 tion. And now, my dear Miss Lindisfarn, it 
 is time for me to be off. A thousand thanks 
 for your kindness and hospitality ! I wish I 
 could have pleased you better in this affair. 
 Good-by." 
 
 " Good-by, Captain Ellingham ! I do know 
 that you arc doing right; — and that it was 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 very wrong and — very silly in — in anybody to 
 try to make you do otherwise, " stammered 
 Kate as she gave him her hand. 
 
 x\nd so the gig rattled off with Captain El- 
 lingham, who, somehow or other, was in par- 
 ticularly high spirits during his little jour- 
 ney to Sillmouth, and felt as if he would not 
 have the fact of his morning's tetc-h-tete break- 
 fast cancelled, or the remembrance of it oblit- 
 erated from his mind for all the Saucy Sallies 
 that ever skulked into a port. 
 
 And somehow or other, more strangely 
 still, Kate, though her enterprise had so sig- 
 nally failed, and though she was very pain- 
 fully apprehensive of what the coming night 
 miglit bring forth, caught herself, to her own 
 considerable surprise, looking back with a 
 feeling of pleasure on certain passages of that 
 abortive attempt at bribery and corruption, 
 to which she had looked forward with such 
 unfeigned terror. 
 
 chapter xix. 
 rate's eide to sillmouth. 
 
 TuE pleasure, vivid as it was, with which 
 Kate recalled certain words and tones and 
 looks of that break fiist-tal)le te.tc-a-te.lc con- 
 versation, had to be put away in a cupboard 
 of her mind uiaikcd •• Private! the public 
 ai-e not admitted here " — for future use. 
 The more pressing business of the moment 
 was to put to whatever use it might haply 
 serve the information winch Captain Elling- 
 ham had given her leave to convey to the 
 Bmugglers. It would have been necessary, 
 indeed, in any case, to give Winifred tidings 
 of the result of her conversation with the 
 commander of the Petrel. So as soon as the 
 family breakfast was over, Kate followed Mr. 
 Jilat out to the stable-yard, where his miscel- 
 laneous duties of the day generally began, and 
 asked him if he could manage to ride over to 
 Sillmouth with her. 
 
 " I must see Winny Pendleton this morn- 
 ing, Mr. Mat," said Kate. "I am afraid 
 there is likely to be bad work to-night be- 
 tween Pendleton's boat and the revenue 
 cutter." 
 
 " Was that what Winny was up here 
 about last night? " asked Mr. Mat. 
 
 " Just that, poor soul ! It seems that her 
 husband has got other men associated with 
 him worse than himself, and that they are de- 
 termined to fight with the revenue men, if 
 they are meddled with, ^yinny wanted me 
 
 109 
 
 to persuade Captain EUingham to keep out of 
 the way of the Saucy Sally. 'Of course, it was 
 impossible for him to think of doing any- 
 thing of the kind ; and I have sad misgivings 
 something bad will happen to-night." 
 
 " Is Pendleton going to run over to-night? " 
 asked Mr. Mat. 
 
 " Yes. That was what Winny told me. 
 And I know the Petrel will be on the lookout 
 for him. Oh, Mr. Mat, it's a bad business ! 
 I wish to Heaven, poor Winny had never 
 married that man ! " 
 
 " Ah ! It's too late wishing alwut that 
 now. She has made her bed, and must lie 
 on it. And there arc worse fellows of his sort 
 than Pendleton is," said Mr. Mat. 
 
 " Can you ride over with me this morn- 
 ing to Sillmouth, Mr. Mat? I must see her, 
 though I have nothing to tell her to comfort 
 her, poor soul! " 
 
 " Of course. Miss Kate, I'll go with you. 
 I'll have the mare and Birdie saddled di- 
 rectly." 
 
 So Kate and Mr. I\Iat made their way to 
 Sillmouth and then galloped over the two 
 miles of fine sands which lie between that 
 port and the ijocks, but rise from the water's 
 edge immediately beyond Deep Creek, from 
 the bank of which little gully a pretty zigzag 
 path leads to a sheltered nook of flat ground, 
 about half-way up the cliff, on which the 
 smuggler's cottage was built. It was niched 
 in so close to the face of rock rising above it, 
 and so far back, therefore, from the edge of 
 the precipice below it, that it was barely 
 visible from below ; and it would hardly have 
 entered into the imagination of a stranger to 
 the spot, when on the shore below, that there 
 was a human habitation half-way between 
 him and the top of the cliff above him, had 
 not the little zigzag path unobtrusively sug- 
 gested that it must lead to something. 
 
 The path was hardly practicable for horses ; 
 and though Kate had frequently protested 
 that she was sure Birdie would carry her up 
 safely, Mr. Mat had always utterly set his 
 face against any such attempt. The usual 
 practice, therefore, was — if neither of AV^inny 
 Pendleton's children could be seen, as was 
 often the case, playing on the sea-shore — for 
 Kate to hold Mr. Mat's horse while he went 
 up to the cottage and sent down one of the 
 boys to relieve her of it and of Birdie. 
 
 On the present occasion, this was not ne- 
 cessary ; for Winny had been anxiously on 
 
110 
 
 the lookout for a visit from the Chase ; and 
 on the first appearance of Kate and jMr. Mat 
 on the sands below had sent down one of her 
 sons to hold their horses for them. 
 
 They found her in a great state of anxiety 
 and agitation ; and, as we know, they had 
 no comfort to offer her. 
 
 " God help them. Miss Kate! " said the 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 God it will yet be, all is well, come up your- 
 self to the Chase. If anything," she added, 
 putting an emphasis on the any, " should 
 happen, don't fail to send up a messenger the 
 first thing. He shall be well paid for his 
 trouble." 
 
 So Kate and her companion mounted their 
 horses at the bottom of the path, and turned 
 poor wife, sitting down in the darkest corner 1 their heads homeward. That two-mile reach 
 of her little parlor, and putting up her apron of sands between Sillmouth and Deep Creek 
 
 to her eyes, — " God help them! and I say it 
 for one side as well as for the other. It will 
 be a bad and a black night for some of us." 
 " But why not take advantage, Winny, of 
 the information I am permitted to give 
 you?" urged Kate. "Captain EUingham waiting for whip or spur. But it is prob- 
 says that you have the means of letting the | able that if they had not done so, they would 
 
 such a well-established and sure bit of 
 galloping ground for the two riders, that 
 Birdie and Mr. Mat's mare laid their ears 
 back and started off as usual as soon as ever 
 their riders were on their backs, without 
 
 men know their danger by signals, or in 
 some way, and that you can warn them off 
 the coast. Why not do so? " 
 
 " It's not information I wanted from the 
 king's ofiicer, any more than he wanted it 
 
 with a sneer. " If he knows what we're 
 doing, we know what he's doing. The men 
 are quite aware that the cutter will be on the 
 watch for them. That's why ihey're deter- 
 mined to fight! " 
 
 " But if they could be warned, and not 
 attempt to get in to-night, they might find a 
 time when the cutter is off its guard," urged 
 Kate. 
 
 " 'Tisn't so easy to catch Captain EUing- 
 ham off his guard. That's why we are 
 driven to fight for it. Our men are peace- 
 able enough. They don't want to make any 
 mischief. If they can anyways get in to-night 
 •without striking a blow, they will. And 
 they'll have all the information of the cut- 
 ter's movements that can be given them. 
 But, oh, Miss Kate, he is a difiicult one to 
 deal with, and I'm sore, sore afraid that bad 
 will come of it ! " 
 
 "I did all I could for you, Winny," said 
 Kate, sadly. " I will still hope that in the 
 dark night they may slip in without being 
 seen . We must go now. Of course, I would 
 tell you the upshot of the promise I gave. 
 
 have been allowed to traverse the ground at 
 a listless walk ; for neither Kate nor Mr. 
 Mat were in a very blithe frame of mind. 
 Kate was miserable, probably for the first 
 time in her life ; and she was surprised to 
 find how completely her unhappiness seemed 
 to make even her limbs listless and unfit for 
 their usual work. For the first time in her 
 life, a gallop on the Sillmouth sands seemed 
 to have lost for her its invigorating tonic 
 and inspiriting efficacy. 
 
 They neither of them spoke as long as the 
 gallop lasted ; but when they drew up at the 
 entrance of the little fishing-town, through 
 which they had to ride before reaching the 
 road leading along the bank of the estuary 
 of the Sill to Silverton Bridge, Kate pointed 
 with her whip to a tall sail far out in the 
 offing, as she said, sadly, " There's the cut- 
 ter. Would she were back in harbor again ! 
 Is it not dreadful. ]Mr. Mat? Think of that 
 poor woman, with Lor children in the cottage 
 there, waiting for the chances of the night, 
 watching the movements of that ship, and 
 knowing that it is bent on the destruction of 
 her husband ; knowing that he is braving 
 mortal peril in the pursuit of a livelihood for 
 her and her children ! What is to become of 
 them if the chance goes against him? " 
 
 And the words as she uttered them sug- 
 gested to her mind the possible alternative ; 
 
 And, Winny," added Kate, as she turned to , and Winifred's words of the preceding even- 
 
 leave the cottage, — while the consciousness 
 that the words she was about to speak did 
 not tell the whole or even the main part of 
 the truth, caused her to blush all over her 
 face, — " of course, I shall be very anxious to 
 bear your news of the night. If, as please 
 
 ing recurred to her, — those words which had 
 made her so angry, — " There's others besides 
 wives may chance to get broken hearts from 
 to-morrow night's work! " She clearly ad- 
 mitted to herself that Winifred spoke the 
 truth ; — henceforward — since that converea- 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 tion of the morning, Kate said to herself; 
 but that was, it may be believed, an error ; 
 there could be, at all events, hovrever, no mis- 
 take and no self-deception any longer on that 
 point. Yes I that night's work might bring 
 a broken heart to another as well aa to Win- 
 ifred Pendleton. But Kate did not render 
 to her own mind a full and consistent account 
 of all the leelings that moved her to add, — as 
 she looked out wistfully to the sea where the 
 large white sails of the cutter were showing 
 themselves clearly marked against the heavy 
 dun clouds of the horizon, — 
 
 " I suppose that there is but little hope for 
 smugglers in a struggle with the king's offi- 
 cers, jNIr. Mat? The chances must be all 
 against them?" 
 
 " Why, yes ; 'tis to be thought they must 
 be; but there's this, you know: the king's 
 officers are noways desirous of taking life if 
 they can help it. They would rather bring 
 their men in prisoners, if they can anyway 
 manage it. But with the smugglers, mind 
 you, it is different. They are fighting with 
 desperation and hate and rage in their hearts. 
 There's no taking prisoners with them ; it's 
 down with you, or down with me. And 
 there's the thought, that if they are taken 
 prisoners 'twill go worse with them than if 
 they are killed in the fight and get all their 
 troubles over at once. All this, you see, Miss 
 Kate, makes a fight with the smugglers a 
 despei-ate and chancy piece of business." 
 
 Kate turned pale as she listened to this 
 exposition of a revenue officer's dangers, 
 which Mr. Mat would have spared her, if he 
 had had any notion that his words were falling 
 on her heart with the numbing effect of ice- 
 drops. Observing, however, as they stopped 
 to pay the turnpike, which is just outside 
 Sillmouth on the Silverton road, how pale 
 she was, Mr. Mat endeavored to draw some 
 encouragement from the signs of the weather. 
 
 " It is as likely as not," said he, " that 
 there may be no mischief after all ! It'll be 
 just such another night as last night, — as 
 dark as pitch. The wind is getting up al- 
 ready, and look at that bank of black clouds 
 out seaward. A dark night and a capful of 
 wind, those are the smugglers' friends ! And 
 I should not be surprised if the Saucy Sally 
 were to slip in, and get her cargo well up the 
 country before they can catch her." 
 
 "God grant it ! " cried Kate, fervently; 
 and a more piously earnest prayer for the 
 
 111 
 
 success of a lawless enterprise against all law 
 and order was never breathed. 
 
 " At what time do you think we might get 
 news of the upshot, whatever it may be, up 
 at the Chase, Mr. Mat?" asked Kate after 
 they had ridden awhile in silence. 
 
 " As soon as ever there is any of us stir- 
 ring, if Winifi-ed sends off a messenger at 
 once. There is a little bit of a late moon ; 
 and it will all be over, one way or the other, 
 befoi-e that rises. I should think Winny 
 might send off somebody byfour o'clock, and 
 then we should get the news up to Lindisfarn 
 by seven. They'll be up and stirring in the 
 cottage yonder all night, never fear ! " 
 
 " You will be on the lookout, Mr. Mat, I 
 dare say," said Kate again, after another 
 long spell of silence between the riders ; "for 
 you are as fond of poor AVinifred as any of us. 
 Would you come and tell me in my room, 
 as soon as you have heard anything. You 
 will find me up and dressed." 
 
 " Sure I will, Kate ! surelwill! And I'll 
 be on the lookout, never fear! " replied Mr. 
 Mat, who, if he had been a less thoroughly 
 simple and unsuspicious creature, might have 
 been led by the somewhat overdone hypoc- 
 risy with which Kate affected to limit her 
 anxiety to the fate of Winny Pendleton, and 
 by her desire to receive the tidings in the 
 privacy of her own room, to the spot in Kate's 
 heart where her secret was hidden away from 
 all eyes. It is just so that a silly bird, which 
 has made its nest in the grass, indicates the 
 whereabouts of it to her enemies, by her anx- 
 ious flutterings to and fro about the spot. 
 
 The remainder of the ride up to the Chase 
 was passed in silence. And tlien Kate spent 
 the rest of the hours before dinner-time ia 
 strolling out alone to the top of Lindisfarn 
 brow. She was too restless to be able to re- 
 main quietly at home ; she wanted to be 
 alone, and she turned her steps through the 
 fine old woods to the crest of the hill, that she 
 might the better scan the signs of the tveather. 
 
 In that department the promise of the com- 
 ing night was all that she could wish. The 
 breeze was rapidly rising ; and though Kate 
 was not enough of a sailor to know whether 
 the wind which was careering so wildly over 
 Lindisfarn brow, and making the old woods 
 groan and sough and sway to and fro, like 
 a mourner in the excess of his grief, was a 
 good wind for the run from the opposite coast 
 to that of Sillshire, she was quite sure that 
 
112 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 there would be enough of it out at sea ; and 
 she gathered some comfort from the reflection 
 that if the wind did not serve to blow the 
 Saucy Sally at the top of her speed into 
 safety, it might be sufliciently strong in the 
 opposite direction to prevent her from run- 
 ning into danger. And the night promised 
 to be not only wild, but "dirty," as sail- 
 ors graphically call it, and as dark as the 
 most desperate doers of deeds that shun the 
 light could desire. Great massive banks of 
 heavy clouds wete heaving themselves up 
 with sullen majesty from the seaward hori- 
 zon, rearing themselves into the semblance of 
 great black cliffs and rocks, varying the out- 
 line of their fantastic forms continually as the 
 storm-wind drove them, but steadily coming 
 onwards and upwards toward the zenith. 
 Once or twice, as Kate looked out from the 
 vantage ground of a rocky ridge, which 
 topped Lindisfarn brow, and raised its naked 
 and lichen-grown head among the surround- 
 ing woods, the sky to seaward and the cloud- 
 banks were lit up momentarily by sharp 
 flashes of forked lightning, — not the play- 
 ful, hovering, dallying, illuminating summer 
 lightning of southern climates, with its man- 
 ifold tints of every hue, from that of red-hot 
 iron to violet, but sharply drawn, vicious 
 looking dartings of fire, dividing the black 
 clouds like the lines of cleavage in a crystal. 
 And before she had returned to the house, 
 the big raindrops had begun to patter like 
 the dropping shots of distant musketry among 
 the leaves far overhead. 
 
 It was as Mr. Mat had said, just such an- 
 other night as the last had been ; only that 
 the equinoctial storm seemed to have gath- 
 ered additional strength and fury from its lull 
 during the daylight hours. And Kate, as 
 she lay awake during the interminable seem- 
 ing hours of that long night, listening to the 
 noises of the tempest, devoutly hoped, that 
 the war which those who were occupying their 
 business in the great waters must needs wage 
 with the elements, would avail to prevent a 
 more disastrous and dangerous warfare be- 
 tween man and man. 
 
 Toward morning, the wind fell, and a pale, 
 watery-looking beam from the feeble crescent 
 of a waning moon came timidly and sadly 
 wandering over earth and sea, as a meek and 
 sorrowing wife may creep forth at daybreak 
 to look on the home-wreck that has been 
 caused by the orgy of the preceding night. 
 
 But Kate said to herself, that the night's 
 work, whatever might have been its result, 
 was done by that time ! As she thought 
 what that might be, which that sad, color- 
 less moonbeam had to look down on at that 
 hour, a cold chill seemed to dart through her 
 heart. Sleep had not come near her while 
 the stosm had lasted ; but now while she was 
 counting the weary hours that must elapse 
 before she could receive the tidings that the 
 morning would bring her, she fell asleep. 
 
 CHAPTER XX. 
 DEEP CREEK COTTAGE. 
 
 When Kate opened her eyes on the follow- 
 ing morning, a ray of bright sunshine was 
 finding its way into her room between the 
 imperfectly closed shutters; and it was a 
 minute or two before her waking senses 
 could establish the connection between the 
 dreary sounds and thoughts which had oc- 
 cupied her last conscious moments and the 
 cheerful brightness tJiat wooed her waking, 
 yhe was soon recalled, however, to all the 
 cares and troubles from which she had es- 
 caped for a few hours ; for Simmons was 
 standing by her bedside with a folded note 
 in her hand. 
 
 "What time is it, Simmons? — late surely?" 
 she asked, hurriedly, as she remembei-ed thej^ 
 anxieties of the hour. 
 
 "No, miss: not late! but please, miss, 
 Mr. Mat told me to wake you if you was not 
 awake yet, and to give you this note, miss, 
 as a boy from Sillmouth has brought up this 
 morning." 
 
 "Just open the shutters, Simmons," said 
 Kate, striving to speak in her ordinary man- 
 ner, while a cold spasm clutched her heart. 
 "Give me the- note, and then run down, 
 there's a good girl, and tell Mr. Mat that I 
 am going to get up directly," she added, 
 anxious to obtain a moment's unobserved 
 privacy for reading the dreaded tidings. 
 
 The note, written by Winifred, who, 
 among other accomplishments acquired dur- 
 ing her residence at the Chase, possessed that 
 of very tolerable penmanship, ran as fol- 
 lows ! — 
 
 ",My Dearest Young Lady, — Thanks be to 
 God, things is not so bad as they med have 
 been, though there's trouble enuff and like 
 enuff to be more of it in store. The revnew 
 cutter chased the Saucy Sally, but it blowed 
 great guns all night, and Iliram says there aint 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 no rcvDCW craft on the water as can overhaul the 
 Saucy Sal/y'meuch whether as last night. The 
 cutter is hack in harhor again this morning, I 
 hear, and jolienough tiiej had to get l)er there. 
 T-he Sauiy Sal/i/ come into the creek like a bird , 
 and though I says it as maybe.shouldn't, there 
 isn't many sailors afloat or ashore neither as 
 would have brought her in the way Hiram 
 did. But there's neither fair play nor honor 
 among them custom-house folk. When the 
 cutter saw how the game was, and found out 
 that it wasn't none so easy to put salt on the 
 tail of the Saucy Sal/y, they burnt blew lights 
 and fired signal guns to the coast-guard lub- 
 bers on shore, and jest as the men was a-get- 
 ting out the cargo comfortable and up the 
 cliils, down comes a party of the king's men, 
 and tliere was a fight— more's the pity ! It 
 wasn't our men's fault. And the coast-guard- 
 ers was beat off, and the cargo safe up the 
 country. But too of the men was carried 
 off, badly hurt. And too was hurt on our 
 side simily. Hiram was one, as he is sure 
 to take the biggest share, when there's blows 
 a-going. But his hart aint nothing to sig- 
 nify much, God be praised ! And then comes 
 the worst at the last, as it generally do 
 The other man hurt was a stranger as took 
 on with Pendleton in France. Him and Pen- 
 dleton was both brought into the cottage ; 
 and the frenchman I am sadly afeared, has 
 got his death. And to make it worse he 
 can't speak a word of English, and what in 
 the world am I to do ? My dearest Miss Kate, 
 if you would, you and Mr. Mat, have the 
 great kindness and charity to ride over and 
 look in. Somebody ought to speak to this 
 poor frenchman, and he a-dying, as I am 
 Borely afeared. The men are all away with 
 the things up the country, and the place is 
 as quiet as if there was not such a thing as a 
 pound of contraband baccy in all creation. 
 l?endleton is not here, no one but this poor 
 frenchman. For Hiram and the rest of the 
 men must take to the moor for a spell. 
 And so, my dear young lady if you would 
 look in, you would do a Christian charity to 
 this poor frenchman, a-dying without opening 
 his mouth to a human sole, and a loving 
 kindness to your faithful and dewtiful old 
 servant to command, 
 
 " Winifred Pendleton. 
 " P. S. Pray du ! there is a dear, good 
 young lady, my dear Miss Kate. With 
 speed." 
 
 Kate read this letter with feelings of the 
 most heartfelt relief. And when she reached 
 the conclusion of Winifred's story, she may 
 be held excusable if the ill-news contained in 
 it was not sufficient to throw any very extin- 
 guishing wet-blanket upon the great glad- 
 
 113 
 
 nees which the former part of the letter had 
 caused her. She was very sorry for the un- 
 fortunate Frenchman ; but if he would needs 
 thrust himself where he had so little business 
 to be, what could he expect ? and it was, at 
 all events, a comfort that if the protection of 
 the king's revenue required him to be killed, 
 the captain and crew of the Petrel had had 
 nothing to do with the killing of him. 
 
 Kate was, however, in a mood to do any- 
 thing in her power for any human beinc, 
 especially for her old favorite Winny ; — 
 which amounts, indeed, to little more than 
 saying that she was herself again. She de- 
 termined, if she could induce Mr. Mar to con- 
 sent, of which she had never very much doubt, 
 let the matter in hand be what it might, to 
 ride over again the same ground she had trav- 
 ersed the day before, immediately after break- 
 fast ; and she pleased herself with thinkin*' 
 what a different ride it would be from that 
 of yesterday. 
 
 She showed Winifred's note to Mr. Mac, 
 who had already learned from the bearer of 
 it the general upshot of the night's work, — 
 that the Saucy Sally had landed her cargo ; 
 that the smugglers had escaped from the pur- 
 suit of the cutter, but had been attacked by 
 a party of coast-guardmen on land ; that 
 two of the latter and two of the former party 
 had been hurt ; that one of these was Hiram 
 Pendleton, but that his wound was of no 
 great consequence, and that he had been able 
 to escape to the moor with the rest of the 
 men implicated in the affair. Mr. Mat had 
 heard nothing of the other wounded man ; 
 and when he learned the nature of the case 
 from Kate, he expressed his thankfulness for 
 the providential dispensation whicli had or- 
 dained that the principal sufferer should be a 
 Frenchman, but at the same time assented to 
 Kate's proposition that it would be but an 
 act of common charity to see what could be 
 done for the wounded man, though decidedly 
 resenting and repudiating Kate's mention of 
 him as a '■'■fellow-creature.^^ 
 
 So Birdie and Mr. Mat's mare were sad- 
 dled after breakfast, and again found them- 
 selves, after a quicker and a brisker ride than 
 that of yesterday, at the foot of the little zig- 
 zag path which led to the smuggler's cot- 
 tage. 
 
 There was no need for Mr. Mat to go up 
 first; for both Winifred's boys had been on 
 the lookout for their arrival, as Mrs. Pendle- 
 
114 
 
 ton had had very little doubt that her letter 
 would avail to bring Kate thither very shortly. 
 The j;ood dame herself vras waiting for them 
 at the top of the path, and poured forth her 
 thanks for their prompt acquiescence in her 
 prayer. 
 
 "No, he is alive," said she, in reply to 
 Kate's first hurried question, — " he is alive ; 
 but I am afeared he wont last long ; he is 
 a deal weaker than he was when he was 
 brought in. And doctor says he can't live. 
 I am so thankful you have come, Miss Kate ! " 
 
 " Could not the doctor speak to him in his 
 own lingo? " asked Mr. Mat. 
 
 " What, old Bagstock, the doctor to Sill- 
 mouth ? Not he ! not a word, no more than 
 I can. But I'll tell'ee. Miss Kate, I've a no- 
 tion the man understands what is said in 
 English, though he wont let on to talk it." 
 
 " Ah ! like enough, like enough! They 
 are a queer set," said Mr. Mat. 
 
 " Would you please to come in and sec 
 him, miss? "asked Winifred; for the pre- 
 ceding conversation had taken place in the 
 little bit of flower-planted space at the top 
 of the zigzag path, between the edge of the 
 cliff and the cottage. 
 
 " Yes ; I will go in with you," said Kate ; 
 "but I was thinking, Winny, that anyway 
 the poor man ought to have some better ad- 
 vice than old Jlr. Bagstock. I would not 
 trust a sick dog in his hands." 
 
 " It needs a deal of skill to cure a sick 
 dog," said Mr. Mat, " because they can't 
 speak to you, to tell you what is the matter 
 with them. And a Frenchman is all the 
 same for the same reason. Go in to him, 
 Kate ; you can speak to bim. For my part, 
 I'll stay here ; I should be no use." 
 
 And so saying, Mr. Mat sat himself down 
 J5 a sort of summer-house in Mrs. Pendle- 
 ton's garden, constructed of half an old boat, 
 set on end on its sawed-off part, and richly 
 overgrown with honeysuckle, — a fragrant 
 Beat, commanding a lookout over coast and 
 sea that many a garden-seat in lordly demesnes , 
 might envy, — and having comfortably estab- 
 lished himself there, drew from his pocket a 
 supply of tobacco and the small instrument 
 needed for the enjoyment thereof— (for Mr 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 and proceeded to spend a half-hour, if need 
 were, which he was sure not to find a long 
 one. 
 
 Kate went with Mrs. Pendleton into the 
 cottage. 
 
 It consisted of two rooms down-stairs, and 
 two rooms up-stairs, together with some con- 
 veniences for back-kitchen, etc., in the form 
 of a " Ican-to," built at the rear between 
 the cliff and the front rooms. Of the two 
 rooms down-stairs, one was floored with flag- 
 stones, and served as the living room of the 
 family. The other was boarded and sanded, 
 had a colored print of Nelson over the man- 
 tlepiece ; two bottles with colored sands ar- 
 ranged in layers within them, and two dried 
 star-fish on it ; a green baize-covered round 
 table and two Windsor chairs in the centre 
 of the room ; a brilliantly painted japanned 
 tea-tray leaning against the wall behind a 
 large Bible — both articles alike deemed too 
 good and splendid ever to be used — on a 
 side table. This i-oom was always kept 
 locked, and sei-ved for nothing at all, save 
 keeping up in the minds of the members of the 
 family a consciousness of social dignity, and 
 assuring their social status iimong their neigh- 
 bors by the possession of a parlor. The pro- 
 fession of the head of the family, it must be 
 remembered, made some such sacrifice to 
 public opinion more necessary than it might 
 have been in another case ; for though, as 
 has- -been said, the trade of a bold smuggler 
 was looked on with much indulgence in those 
 days and in those parts of the country, still 
 such an amount of prejudice against the re- 
 spectability of a career of lawbreaking existed 
 as would place a smuggler with a parlor only 
 on the same level of respectability as a law- 
 abiding mechanic without that aristocratic 
 appendage. 
 
 It would be an error, therefore, to say that 
 the sanded parlor of the smuggler's cottage 
 served no purpose, even if those august occa- 
 sions were forgotten, when Mr. Pendleton, 
 in great state, smoked a long pipe and drank 
 brandy and water in company with some not 
 too narrow-minded dealer in any of the arti- 
 cles respecting wliich Mr. Pendleton and the 
 custom-house authorities wei-e at variance. 
 
 Mat was like " poor Edwin," of whom Dr. \ That bold smuggler and very specially ablc- 
 
 Beattie sings in his famous poem of " The bodied seaman was always on these occasions 
 
 Minstrel," that he was i dressed in a full suit of black cloth, and got 
 
 ^^ ' , \ up generallv in imitation of a Dissentincr 
 
 " No vulgar boy ; 1 ■ • ^ it .i ^\ ■ l j .l 
 
 Dainties he heeded not, nor gaud, nor toy, | minister. He assumed this costume and the 
 
 Save one short pipe ! "") title of Mister together, and never at such 
 
LINDISFARN 
 
 times BUioked anything sliortcr than a fuU- 
 leng-tiied luilf-yarci of cluv, with a red stain 
 at the end of it, wiiich lie iiated. And alto* 
 gethcr he was very unhappy during these 
 periods of relaxation and enjoyment ; but 
 indulged in them occasionally because he 
 deemed it right to do so. 
 
 The two upper rooms were the sleeping- 
 chambers of the family ; and when the 
 wounded stranger had been thrown upon her 
 hospitality, it would have been easy for Mrs. 
 Pendleton to have arranged a bed in the 
 sanded parlor, and so avoid the necessity of 
 turning any of her family out of their sleep- 
 ing-quarters. But that would have involved 
 sacrilege in the desecration of the parlor to 
 ordinary and secular uses, and was not to be 
 thought of. 
 
 So Mrs. Pendleton had turned her boys 
 out of their room, and had put the stranger 
 in their place. It was a room that many an 
 inhal)itant of princely palaces in the streets 
 of cities might envy ! Not very large and 
 not very lofty ; but with such a window ! — a 
 good-sized casement window looking out on 
 the little plot of garden ground, and beyond 
 it over such an expanse of varied coast, and 
 almost equally varied, and, what is more, 
 changefully varied, sea and sky, as few win- 
 dows could match. And every sweet, invig- 
 orating, health-laden breeze from the ocean 
 came fresh from its dalliance with the wave- 
 tops into that chamber ; and though the 
 storm-winds also iiowled around it, and pas- 
 sionately shook it, and beat against it, the in- 
 mates of it were well used to the roughly mu- 
 sical lullaby, and slept none the less soundly 
 for it. 
 
 But the storm of the two preceding nights 
 had entirely expended itself. The ocean, like 
 an angry child, had forgotten all its so recent 
 fury, as quickly as it had yielded to it, and 
 was shining in the mid-day sunshine. And 
 a soft wind from the south was blowing gently 
 into the open window immediately opposite 
 to the sick man's bed. The casement was 
 low ; and the old-fastiioned bed was high ; 
 so that the occupant of it, propped up by pil- 
 lows which rested against the white-washed 
 w^all behind the bed, could see, not indeed 
 the garden-plot immediately beneath the win- 
 dow, or indeed any part of the coast-view 
 stretching away on either side of it, but the 
 distant sea, with its skinnuering paths of 
 ligiit and s'.iade, and tlie white sails of the 
 
 CHASE. 115 
 
 ships and fishing-smacks as they turned up 
 their canvas to the sunbeams, like sea-birds 
 turning in their flight, or, in obedience to an 
 "over" of the helm, dwindled to a barely 
 visible speck on the horizon. 
 
 The stranger, who had fought among the 
 foremost and fiercest in the fray with the 
 coast-guard men, had received two bad hurts: 
 one on the temple and side of the head, and 
 one in the chest. His head was bound up, 
 not very neatly or skilfully it would have 
 seemed to scientific surgical eyes, with a su- 
 perabundance of linen cloths, which still 
 showed in parts of them the stains of the 
 blood which had soaked them through when 
 they were first used to stanch it. The other 
 wound had been doubtless treated in a simi- 
 lar manner ; but it was covered by the bed- 
 clothes, and therefore contributed no part to 
 the ghastly appearance of the patient, as he 
 lay gazing wistfully over the expanse of the 
 waters which had borne him to this sad end- 
 ing of his career. 
 
 For he had no doubt that he was dying ; 
 and old Bagstock's shrugging declaration , that 
 he did not see that there was anything to be 
 done for him, did but needlessly confirm his 
 own conviction. 
 
 Old jMr. Bagstock was a " general practi- 
 tioner " of the sort that general practitioners 
 mostly were in remote districts and among 
 poor populations forty years ago. Old Bag- 
 stock was not the only general pjractitioner at 
 Sillmouth. The other was young Rawlings ; 
 and there was all the difference between them, 
 to the advantage of the latter, that the two 
 epithets denoted, — a difference which, at 
 just about that period in the history of medi- 
 cal science and practice, was far from a small 
 one. But old Bagstock almost exclusively 
 commanded the confidence and the adherence 
 of the maritime population of Sillmouth. 
 Sailors are especially tenacious of old ways 
 and habits. Old Bagstock had brought the 
 greater number of the Sillmouth sailors, fish- 
 ermen, and smugglers into the world; and 
 they seemed to feel that that fact gave him a 
 vested right to a monopoly in seeing them 
 out of it. A number of things old Bagstock 
 had done, and a number of people he had 
 known before that Rawlings had been ever 
 heard of, were eonstnitly cited as incontro- 
 vertible arguments to the disfavor of the lat- 
 ter. And sailors have a very strong convic- 
 tion that people die " when their time is 
 
116 
 
 come," and are much more inclined to at- 
 tribute to that fact the death of any patient 
 whatever, than to any lack of skill in the 
 doctor. 
 
 As for old Bagstock himself, he held a not 
 •widely different theory, especially as to the 
 roughs of the not very select circle of his 
 practice. He considered that if a smuggler 
 got a mortal wound, it was useless to try to 
 cure him of it ; and if he got a wound wliich 
 was not mortal, he was so hard and hardy 
 and tought hat he was sure to recover from 
 it. And it is probable that his practice was 
 more accurately squared to the logical con- 
 sequences of this theory, in cases where there 
 was small prospect of much or any remunera- 
 tion for his care, and most of all in that of a 
 stranger and a Frenchman, of whom no one 
 knew anything, and for whose doctor's bills 
 it was not likely that anybody he could get 
 at would choose to be responsible. 
 
 So, when the wounded man had told Pen- 
 dleton, before he had started for the moor, 
 that it was all over with him, and Pendle- 
 ton, whose traffic on the other side of the wa- 
 ter had enabled him to comprehend a few 
 words of French, had told the same to his 
 wife, who repeated the same thing to the doc- 
 tor, old Bagstock had perfectly acquiesced in 
 the opinion ; and having somewhat perfunc- 
 torily stanched the flow of blood, and bound 
 up the wounds, had taken himself off to some 
 more medically or pecuniarily promising case. 
 And it having been settled thus nem. con. 
 that the wounded man was to die, Mrs. Pen- 
 dleton, in her husband's absence, and her anx- 
 ieties about the consequences and responsi- 
 bilities that might fall upon her, as a result 
 of the death taking place in her house, was 
 exceedingly comforted and tranquillized by 
 the appearance of her kind friends from the 
 Chase. 
 
 CHAPTER XXI. 
 A GOOD SAMARITAN. 
 
 Kate knew perfectly well, when she started 
 from the Chase on her present errand of 
 kindness towards her old favorite, and of 
 Christian charity toward the wounded stran- 
 ger, that the business was not a pleasant one. 
 And it was not without considerable shrink- 
 ing and nervousness that she followed Mrs. 
 Pendleton up the steep and narrow staircase 
 of the cottage, and entered the chamber in 
 which the sick anan had been laid. But she 
 
 NDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 had not been prepared for the shock which 
 the sight of the patient occasioned her. 
 The spectacle was one entirely new to her ; 
 and the first impression that it produced on 
 her mind was that too surely the man was 
 dying. 
 
 The blood-dabbled cloth around his brows, 
 the long locks of coal-black hair escaping 
 from under it, on the side of the head which 
 was not wounded, and the black unshaven 
 beard, added by the force of contrast to the 
 ghastly paleness of his face. He had large 
 dark eyes, which must have been handsome, 
 when seen under normal circumstances, but 
 which now, sunken and haggard as they 
 were, and with a wild and anxious-looking 
 gleam, the result of fever, in them, only 
 served to add to the weird and fearful appear- 
 ance of his face. 
 
 " Tell Mr. Mat," said Kate, turning back 
 with a little shudder to Mrs. Pendleton, as 
 she was following the young lady into the 
 room, "not to leave the garden ; he may be 
 needed." 
 
 She would have been puzzled to account 
 rationally for the impulse which induced her 
 to say this. It was, in fact, merely the in- 
 stinctive connection between a feeling of 
 alarm, and the desire not to be alone in the 
 presence of that which causes it. Mrs. Pen- 
 dleton looked round in her turn, to one of her 
 boys, who, childlike, had crept, with feelings 
 of awe, up the staircase after them, and 
 said, — 
 
 " Go down, Jem, into the garden, and tell 
 Mr. Mat that Miss Lindisfarn begs he will 
 keep within call, in case she might want 
 him." 
 
 The wounded man turned his head quickly 
 toward the door, at which the two women 
 were standing, as the above words were ut- 
 tered, and gazed earnestly at them for a few 
 moments, and then, with the restless action 
 peculiar to pain and fever, turned his face 
 toward the wall on the farther side of the bed. 
 
 "You are badly wounded, I fear," said 
 Kate, in French, and in a trembling voice, 
 as she stepped up to the bedside. 
 
 '* Yes, to death !" answered the sufferer in 
 the same language, casting his eyes up at 
 her face for a moment, and then uneasily re- 
 suming his former position. He had only 
 uttered three words ; but the intonation of 
 them seemed to Kate's ear to carry with it 
 strong evidence that the stranger belong-ed 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 to a more cultivated social grade than that 
 to which the Sillmoutii einugjzilcrs iiPually 
 belonged. It might be, however, K;ite 
 thought, that they managed matters con- 
 nected with the education of smugglers bet- 
 ter in France. 
 
 " I came to see what could be done to cure 
 you, or, at least, to comfort you," she said, 
 in a voice indicating even more misgiving 
 than before ; for the stern shortness of the 
 man's manner was discouraging. 
 
 "Nothing can be done for the first, and 
 little enough for the last," he said, turning 
 restlessly and impatiently on the bed. 
 
 " Did the doctor say when he would come 
 back?" asked Kate, turning towards Mrs. 
 Pendleton, who was standing at the bed-foot. 
 "No, Miss Kate, he didn't. I zem he 
 thought there was no use in coming back 
 again," returned Winifred, shaking her head 
 sadly. 
 
 " But it is impossible," returned Kate, 
 "to leave a man to die in this manner. 
 What are we to do? I declare, that old Mr. 
 Bagstock has no more humanity than a 
 brute, to leave a poor man in this state." 
 
 " Well, miss, for the matter of that. Dr. 
 Bagstock knows if a man must die, he must ! 
 And what's the good of running up expenses 
 and wasting time for nothing? Dr. Bag- 
 stock have a deal to do, arid heaps o' people 
 to see tu. And poor folk cant have doctors 
 a-fiddling about 'em, just to amuse their 
 friends, the way rich folks du. If Bagstock 
 could ha' saved his life, he'd ha' done it." 
 
 " You were not able to speak to the doc- 
 tor?" said Kate interrogatively, turning to 
 the patient, and speaking, as before, in 
 French . 
 
 " What was the need of speaking?" re- 
 turned the suiferer, testily. " I want no doc- 
 tor to tell me that I am dying. I feel the 
 life ebbing out of me." 
 
 " You must have lost much blood ! " said 
 Kate, to whose mind the stranger's phrase 
 had suggested the idea. 
 
 For all reply, he faintly raised one hand, 
 which was lying outside the bedclothes, on 
 the coverlet, to his head, and let it drop 
 again heavily by his side. 
 
 " But the wounds have been effectually 
 stanched, I suppose?" returned Kate, who 
 was striving to apply her very slender stock 
 of surgical ideas to the question, whether to ask about a priest. I suppose he is a Cath- 
 
 117 
 
 indeed it was necessary to alxindon all hope 
 of saving life. 
 
 " I wish you would send the woman to get 
 me a glass of fresh water. That in the bot- 
 tle here is hot," said the patient. 
 
 " lie wants to drink, Winny ; and he says 
 tliis water is hot. It is the fever, you know. 
 Go, there is a good soul, and bring him some 
 fresh from the spring." 
 
 Mrs. Pendleton took the bottle in her hand, 
 and left the room, without speaking. As 
 soon as her step had been heard descending 
 the stair, which passed immediately on the 
 other side of the wall at the bed-head, the 
 stranger turned his face to the side of the 
 bed at which Kate was standing, and looking 
 up wistfully at her, with the gleam of fever 
 in his restless eyes, said in English, — 
 
 " I wish I could speak with you privately. 
 Find some means of sending that woman out 
 of the room." 
 
 "You can speak English, then?" said 
 Kate, much surprised. 
 
 " I can ; but have no wish to do so before 
 these people. You spoke of comfort ! You 
 may give some to a dying man, if you will 
 do as I have asked you. You can do so in no 
 other way." 
 
 "Certainly, I will do as you desire," re- 
 plied Kate, not without a little trepidation 
 and beating of the heart ; " but," she added, 
 as the idea suddenly flashed across her mind, 
 " I have a friend here with me — a relative; 
 he is a gentleman whom you could trust im- 
 plicitly—with anything," she added, hesitat- 
 ing a little, " that ought to be told to an 
 hsflorable gentleman, — and who has more 
 experience, and would be of more use than 
 I could be " — 
 
 " No," said the dying man, decisively ; 
 " if you will do the charity I have asked, it 
 must be done as I have asked it, and no oth- 
 erwise." 
 
 Mrs. Pendleton's step, returning with the 
 water, was heard on the stair as he finished 
 speaking; and Kate, turning with a light 
 step to the door, met her on the landing- 
 place just outside of it ; and taking the wa- 
 ter-bottle from her hands, whispered to her, 
 " Go down-stairs, Winny,- and leave me 
 with him for a little while. He says he wants 
 to speak to me alone. I suppose he has 
 something on his mind. Perhaps he wants 
 
118 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 olic. But, WinHy, whatever you do, don't 
 leave the house ; bo that, if I call, you may 
 hear me and come directly. Mind, novr ! " 
 
 Mrs. Pendleton gave her a reassuring look 
 and nod ; and Kate, with a feeling of no lit- 
 tle nervousness, returned to the stranger's 
 bedside. 
 
 " Is the door shut? " asked the stranger. 
 
 *' Yes, the door is shut ; and Mrs. Pendle- 
 ton has gone down-stairs. You cannot be 
 overheard," said Kate. 
 
 " You have ah-eady perceived," said the 
 man, after a pause of some little duration, 
 while he had apparently been hesitating how 
 to enter on what he wished to say, — " you 
 have no doubt already understood that I am 
 not what my comrades of last night supposed 
 me to be, and that I have reasons for wishing 
 them not to be better informed ? " 
 
 " Of course, I suppose so, from your lead- 
 ing them to imagine that you cannot speak 
 English," replied Kate. ' 
 
 " I joined a smuggling venture from the 
 opposite coast as a means, the only one open 
 to me, of coming here unknown to those who 
 might recognize me, — for I have been known 
 in the country formerly, — and of securing an 
 unquestioned return by the same means to- 
 gether with — a person whom I wished to 
 take back with me. All has been frustrated 
 by last night's unlucky work." 
 
 He paused, exhausted apparently by the 
 few words he had spoken, or, perhaps men- 
 tally occupied in arranging what he had to 
 say, so as best to place the matter before his 
 hearer, and then proceeded with considerable 
 hesitation, — 
 
 " The woman here called you Miss Lindis- 
 farn?" 
 
 " That is my name, — Kate Lindisfarn," 
 replied she. 
 
 " And she sent a child to give a message 
 from you to Mr. Mat in the garden? " 
 
 " She did so! " 
 
 " That, then, must be Mr. Matthew Lindis- 
 farn, of the Chase. And you have come all 
 the way from Lindisfarn Chase, eight or nine 
 miles from this place, to see me. I know the 
 country, you see, and something of the peo- 
 ple." 
 
 " Certainly, you must be a Sillshire man. 
 But in that case have you no friends here, 
 who, even if you wished to avoid them before, 
 ought to be made acquainted with your pres- 
 ent condition? " 
 
 " I have relatives here,- -who would by no 
 means thank ms for making myself known to 
 them, or to anybody else. Nevertheless, it is 
 needful that they should be hereafter made 
 aware that T was living this day, and that as 
 soon as I am dead they should know that 1 
 am alive no longer. You will see, therefore. 
 Miss Lindisfarn, that my object is to tell you 
 who I am, and to obtain your promise to keep 
 the information secret until I have breathed 
 my last. Will you promise me to do so ? " 
 
 " I will keep your secret," said Kate, " if 
 it is not wrong to do so, and if it is not evi- 
 dently my duty to disclose it." 
 
 " You will be well aware, when you have 
 heard it, that the keeping of it is essential to 
 the welfare of all parties concerned, and that 
 the disclosing of it could only serve to cause 
 misery and distress." 
 
 " In that case," returned Kate, " you may 
 certainly depend upon my not disclosing it.'' 
 
 The stranger paused again for some min- 
 utes, and turned away his face toward the 
 wall on the opposite side of the bed to that 
 on which Kate was standing. Then turning 
 his face and wistful, feverish eyes again tow- 
 ard her, by rolling his head on the pillow, he 
 said, — 
 
 " You have an uncle, Miss Lindisfarn, Dr. 
 Theophilus Lindisfarn, living in the Close, at 
 Silverton? " 
 
 Kate, wondering greatly, made no reply, 
 till he added, " That is so, is it not?" 
 
 " Yes," she then said ; " Dr. Lindisfarn 
 in the Close is my uncle." 
 
 " And Lady Sempronia, his wife, lives 
 there also? " 
 
 " Of course she lives there also," said Kate, 
 in growing astonishment. 
 
 "I did not know whether she was yet liv- 
 ing," said the stranger ; and then from want 
 of strength or some other reason, he paused 
 again. After a while, he continued, — 
 
 " Has Dr. Lindisfarn, in the Close, at Sil- 
 verton, any children? " 
 
 " He has none now. He had a son once, 
 who died, many years ago." 
 
 " Can you tell me when and where he 
 died?" asked the stranger, looking up at 
 her. 
 
 " I do not know exactly when ; it was sev- 
 eral years ago ; and I believe that he died in 
 iVmerica." 
 
 " Do you know at all the manner of hia 
 death?" 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 "Yes; he was killed liy the Pvcd Indians, 
 in a hunting cxcurssion." 
 
 " Do you know how that information 
 reached his family? " 
 
 " Not exactly. I know only that pains 
 were taken, and people were sent to America 
 to find out the facts, and that it was consid- 
 ered certain that he had died as I have said." 
 
 " Nevertheless, he did not die in that man- 
 ner," said the stranger, with a heavy sigh. 
 
 The truth then flashed upon Kate, that the 
 man who was speaking to her from his dying 
 bed, was indeed that lost cousin, whose ex- 
 istence, whose death, and whose history and 
 memory liad always been to her imagination 
 shrouded in a veil of mystery. She knew 
 only that such an one had lived, had died, 
 and for some vaguely understood reason was 
 never mentioned by any one of the family ; 
 though it is possible that, if her mind had 
 been set to work upon the subject, Kate's 
 slender knowledge of the line of descent and 
 of real property might have sufiiced to make 
 her aware that the existence of her cousin 
 would affect her own position as one of the 
 heiresses of the lands of Lindisfarn ; still, 
 never having been taught to look at the fact 
 of his disappearance in its connection with 
 that subject, and not having any precise 
 knowledge of the real state of the case, the 
 sudden conviction that her cousin was living, 
 and was there before her, did not present it- 
 self to her mind as bearing in any way upon 
 that matter. There was no mixture, there- 
 fore, of any baser alloy in the feeling with 
 which she replied to his last words, " Can it 
 be possible that you are be, — Julian, my lost 
 cousin? " 
 
 " It is possible ! it is so ! " he replied, 
 without manifesting the least share in the 
 effusion of feeling with which Kate had 
 spoken. " The information brought from 
 America was incorrect. I was nearly but 
 not quite killed by the Indians. They strike 
 less heavily than the king's custom-house 
 oflBcers. Worse luck ! I survived that time ; 
 and I am, still living for a little while, Julian 
 Lindisfarn." 
 
 " But, gracious heavens! you must have 
 some better assistance — I must send" — cried 
 Kate, turning hastily toward the door. 
 
 " Stay ! " said the dying man ; " no better 
 assistance could be of any service to me ; and 
 remember your promise ! " 
 
 " I will keep it faithfully. Be assured of 
 
 119 
 
 that. There is one person indeed to whom I 
 should wish to tell the secret, — my sister, 
 and " — 
 
 " Ah ! your sister Margaret? She is no 
 longer then in France?" 
 
 " No ; she is living now at the Chase ; and 
 I should like to tell her, — I have no secrets 
 from her, — I should not like to keep this from 
 her ; — and of course the secret would be as 
 safe with her as with me." 
 
 " Well, do as you will. But remember 
 that you will produce nothing but distress if 
 my being alive here becomes known to the 
 rest of the family." 
 
 Kate would, as may be supposed, have 
 bargained for including her godmother in 
 her confidence ; but to licr great regret Lady 
 Farnleigh was no longer in Sillshire. On 
 the morrow of that stormy March evening, 
 which she was spending at the Chase, she 
 had started for her son's residence in a dis- 
 tant county, in order to be present at the 
 christening of his first child. Possibly, if 
 Lady Farnleigh had been within reach, Kate 
 might not have insisted on telling the secret 
 to Margaret ; but, as it was, she felt that 
 she must have some sharer in it, and that it 
 would be very painful to her to keep it from 
 her sister. 
 
 " I will be careful," she said, in reply to 
 her cousin's last words ; "but I must send 
 at once for better medical help." 
 
 And so saying, Kate hurried down tc Mr. 
 Mat, who was placidly smoking his pipe in 
 the old boat turned into a summer-house, and 
 begged him to ride as fast as he could to Sil- 
 verton, and bring back with him if possible 
 Dr. Blakistry. 
 
 Now Dr. Blakistry was a very well-known 
 name in that day. He was one of the first 
 surgeons in England ; but his delicate health 
 had two or three years previously compelled 
 him, to the great regret of a large circle of 
 London friends and patients, to settle himself 
 in the west of England. 
 
 " You know, I suppose," said Julian Lin- 
 disflirn, when Kate, babying despatched Mr. 
 ]Mat on his errand, hurried back to the pa- 
 tient's bedside, " why I went away from Sil- 
 verton ? " 
 
 " No ; I have never heard any of those cir- 
 cumstances spoken of. I know only that for 
 some reason no mention was ever made in the 
 family, of the son of Dr. Lindisfarn, who 
 was supposed to have died in America," said 
 Kate, sadly. 
 
120 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 The wounded man, still moving his head 
 with fevered restlessness on the pillow, turned 
 his eyes away from her, and remained silent 
 for a while. Then again looking up at her, 
 he said, — 
 
 " I know right well that this doctor you 
 have sent for can only say the same as the 
 other said. I feel that I am dying! There- 
 fore, it will all soon come to the same thing. 
 But since you know nothing about me, or my 
 story, cousin, all I need say is, that if you 
 were to save my life by bringing this other 
 doctor to mc, every one that bears the name 
 of Lindisfarn would consider that you had 
 done the worst day's work you ever did in 
 your life, and had caused a misfortune to the 
 family that you could never remedy ! " 
 
 " But — surely — it all seems so shocking 
 and BO incredible !" said Kate, whose head 
 was whirling with the strangeness of the 
 revelation that had been made to her. 
 
 " Do not alarm yourself! " said Julian, in 
 a tone that seemed, weak as it was, to have 
 more of irony than of sympathy, or any other 
 feeling in it ; " it will all be well very short- 
 ly. Only remember that you will not only 
 break your pi-omise to me, but bring all kinds 
 of trouble and distress and heartbreak upon 
 all connected with us, — with you and with 
 me, if you reveal to any human being the 
 fact of my being alive and here." 
 
 " 1 have promised," said Kate ; " but it is 
 clear that the first and most pressing need is 
 to procure you better medical help than you 
 have yet had ! Who can say what the result 
 may be ? " 
 
 " You can understand, of course, cousin," 
 resumed Julian, looking up at her, " that if 
 I had lived, as, four-and-twenty hours ago, 1 
 had as good a chance of doing as another, — 
 it would have been right that you and all 
 the family should know that I was living. 
 It was my intention to have found the means 
 of making the fact known to them all. But 
 now it becomes necessary to let it be known 
 that my death will not make that change to 
 you which you might naturally expect it to 
 do." 
 
 He ceased speaking, and again remained 
 silent for some minutes ; while Kate, alto- 
 gether mystified by what he had been saying, 
 was doubting whether he were not becoming 
 light-headed, and thinking whether she were 
 not perhaps doing m'isehief by allowing him 
 to go on talking. Presently he continued, — 
 " I have been thinking that it is not ne- 
 cessary for me now to tell you circumstances, 
 which — have nothing pleasant about them in 
 the telling ; but if you would kindly take a 
 small sealed packet from the breast-pocket 
 of that jacket there, which they took off me 
 this morning, and keep it safely till I am 
 dead, and then give it to my father, Dr. Lin- 
 
 disfarn, all that is needful would then be 
 known and done. And you might do as you 
 please about letting them all know that you 
 were aware that the wounded smuggler who 
 was dying at Sillmouth was Julian Lindis- 
 farn. Will you do this for me, cousin ? All 
 I ask is that you tell no human being that I 
 am lying here, till all is over ; and that you 
 will give that packet then, and not till then, 
 to Dr. Lindisftirn." 
 
 " But if, as I still trust in God, you should 
 not die, cousin? " 
 
 " AVell, everything is possible ! In that 
 case, then, you will be almost equally soon 
 free from your promise ; for if I should not 
 die, I shall very soon be away from this. I 
 should in that very improbable case reclaim 
 my packet ; and you would be at liberty to 
 do just as you thought fit about telling or 
 not telling anything of our strange meeting 
 here." 
 
 ' Kate took the packet as her cousin desired, 
 and again assuring him that she would 
 faithfully keep the promises she had given 
 him, told him that she would then leave him, 
 as It was not good that he should talk any 
 more. 
 . " Who is this doctor you have sent for, 
 cousin?" he asked, as she was leaving the 
 room . 
 
 I "A Dr. Blakistry, — a very famous sur- 
 geon, who came to settle at Silverton two or 
 three years ago." 
 
 I " Good ; there is no chance then of his 
 recognizing me, — though as Mrs. Pendleton 
 I failed to do so, it is little likely that anybody 
 would. Can he speak French?" 
 
 "I should think so. In all probability, 
 more or less ; — enough to communicate with 
 you. Good-by, cousin. God bless and 
 preserve you ! I cannot remain here till 
 after the doctor has seen you. But I shall 
 take care to have his report sent to me ; and 
 I shall be sure to come and see you to-mor- 
 ^row." 
 
 "I expect no to-morrow ; but I think all 
 has been said that needs to be said, Good- 
 ! by, cousin ! " 
 
 1 And so saying, he turned his face to the 
 wall. 
 
 Kate had not long to wait, after leaving 
 the sick-chamber, before Mr. Mat returned 
 from his two-mile ride to Silverton, saying 
 ; that Dr. Blakistry would not fail to be there 
 within an hour or an hour and a half at the 
 outside. 
 
 I So Kate and Mr. Mat rode back to the 
 j Chase ; the former much oppressed by the 
 I novel and unpleasant feeling of having a se- 
 cret to keep, and Mr. Mat attributing Kate's 
 silence and absence of good spirits to the 
 painful nature of the Good Samaritan's duty 
 on which she had been engaged. 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXII. 
 MAIDEN MEDITATIONS NOT FANCY-FREE. 
 
 Tnolirst thing Kate did on reaciiing licr own 
 room, when Bhe returned from her expedi- 
 tion to Sillmouth, was to place the packet, 
 which had been intrusted to her, in her desk, 
 which slio always kept locked. Tiic envelope 
 was not very much larger, though somewhat 
 tiiicker and more bulkj', than an ordinary 
 letter. The next thing was to draw the bolt 
 of her own door, and sit down to meditate on 
 the strange adventure of the morning, and 
 on the facts which it had brought to her 
 knowledge. 
 
 S!ic had truly said that she was ignorant 
 of the circumstances which bad led to her 
 cousin's quitting Silverton. But she had a 
 vague knowledge that they were of a calami- 
 tous and disgraceful kind. And the shocking 
 things that he had said respecting the feel- 
 ings with which tidings of his return would 
 be received by his family seemed to confirm 
 but too clearly the worst surmises she could 
 form on the subject. 
 
 Then came the sudden thought, was it pos- 
 sible that the stranger was not in reality her 
 Cousin Julian after all, — that the latter had 
 really died, as had seemed so certain, in Amer- 
 ica, and that the man she had spoken with 
 had, for some motive of fraud, wished to per- 
 sonate him ? 
 
 But a few moments' reflection led her to 
 reject any such hypothesis. The manner and 
 mode of speech, which proved that he cer- 
 tainly did not belong to the class of life in 
 which she had found him ; the correct knowl- 
 edge he had possessed of persons and things 
 connected with the family, and his evident 
 fear of being recognized as the man he pro- 
 fessed to be, all contributed to confirm Kate 
 in the conviction that it was assuredly her 
 Cousin Julian with whom she had spoken. 
 The letter, too, with which he had intrusted 
 her, would doubtless contain evidence of his 
 identity. 
 
 But while the considerations which led her 
 to this conclusion were passing through her 
 mind, the thought of the motives that might 
 induce any one to attempt such an imperson- 
 ation was also naturally presented to her ; 
 and this led her all of a sudden, as she sat 
 meditating somewhat desultorily on all the 
 strange facts and occurrences of the morning, 
 to the recognition of the bearing that Julian's 
 life must have upon the position in the world 
 
 121 
 
 of herself and her sister. It was curious that 
 this had not struck her while she had stood 
 by the bedside of her cousin It was not 
 that his death would put matters back again 
 in statu quo ; for she had refused to admit to 
 herself that his death was certain. But not 
 even when the wounded man liud spoken 
 words calculated to place the matter before 
 her mind, had she sufficiently put away from 
 its front place in her thoughts the immediate 
 misery of the sufferer before her, for her to be 
 able to seize that aspect of the circumstances. 
 
 Now the trutll flashed upon her, as a pre- 
 cipice suddenly reveals itself to a man wan- 
 dering about among thick brushwood on its 
 summit. It seems wonderful that his eye 
 should not have caught sight of it before. 
 All of a sudden, one step among the bushes 
 brings him face to face with it. 
 
 Suddenly, as she sat thinking over all tliat 
 had happened that morning, the truth flashed 
 upon her that she was no longer heiress to 
 any portion of her father's estates ! It was 
 a tremendous shock. Kate Lindisfarn was 
 as far as possible from being a worldly- 
 minded or mammon-worshipping girl. She 
 had indeed had so little experience in her 
 life of the difference between poverty and 
 wealth, that it was hardly a matter of merit 
 in her to be free from an overweening regard 
 for the latter. Nevertheless, the fact that 
 suddenly reared itself up naked and clearly 
 defined in the path of her mind was a terrible 
 one, and gave her a violent shock. 
 
 Then in the next instant rushed into her 
 mind also a whole troop of thoughts, which 
 changed the sudden pallor caused in her 
 cheeks by the first dismay to a hot, painful 
 flush. 
 
 EUingham ! — It would have been a vain 
 hypocrisy for Kate to pretend to her own 
 heart to doubt that Captain EUingham loved 
 her. He had never told her so. Quite true ! 
 And till he should do so, it was for her to 
 seem unconscious of the fact. But it was 
 useless to play this proper little comedy be- 
 fore her own heart. She knew that EUing- 
 ham loved her. And some girls, perhaps, 
 would have rejoiced that now " the dross 
 that made a barrier between them was re- 
 moved," etc., etc., etc. But Kate was not 
 sufiiciently romantic to view the matter in 
 that light. She had not the slightest sus- 
 picion that Captain EUingham had loved her, 
 and would in due course of time ask her to 
 
122 
 
 be his wife, for the sake of her fortune. But 
 she was perfe'itly well aware that he was a 
 very poor cnan, in a position in which poverty 
 is especially undesirable ; she understood per- 
 fectly well that it might be right and prudent 
 for him to marry under favorable circum- 
 stances as regarded fortune, when it might 
 be impossible, or at least highly imprudent, 
 to do so otherwise. Above all, she felt that 
 in any case, whatever her sentiments and 
 opinions might be on such a point, if she were 
 called on to consider it, it was not for her to 
 reflect on it under the present circumstances. 
 It was for the consideration of another person ; 
 and what mainly imported to Kate was that 
 it should bo placed before him for considera- 
 tion. It was dreadful to her to think that 
 as matters stood at the present moment she 
 should appear to him in a position and under 
 circumstances that were not her own. She 
 was winning his heart — she knew, at the bot- 
 tom of her own, that she had already won it 
 — under false colors and false pretences. She 
 felt as if she were an impostor ; and the 
 thought, as it passed through her mind, made 
 her cheek tingle. It was shocking to her 
 to think that she had during all this time 
 been appearing to the world as the heiress to 
 a handsome fortune, whereas she was in fact 
 nothing of the kind. And it was far more 
 terrible to think that she must continue to 
 do so knowingly until she should be liberated 
 from her promise, and set free to tell the 
 truth by her cousin's departure from Sillshire 
 — or by — It was revolting to her to contem- 
 plate release from her position in that other 
 direction. Release from the odious necessity 
 of secrecy would be afforded by her cousin's 
 death. But as regarded her own position 
 and expectations, — what was that which Ju- 
 lian had said about his death causing no 
 difference to her and which now recurred 
 to her mind in a different train of ideas from 
 any with which she had connected it when 
 she had first heard it ? What was the mean- 
 ing of those words ? But this was not what 
 was pressing on her for immediate consider- 
 ation. Her mind revolted from contemplat- 
 ing Julian's death as certain, and from cal- 
 culating on the consequences that might i-esult 
 from it. She was very far from imagining 
 or attempting to persuade herself, that a fall 
 from the position of one of the Lindisfarn 
 heiresses to that of an almost undowered girl 
 was a trifling matter, or other than a very 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 serious misfortune and calamity. But it was 
 most true that as she sat in the chair before 
 her little drawing-table, absorbed in these 
 meditations, the idea of continuing to repre- 
 
 sent herself, or suffering herself to be repre- 
 j sented, to her lover as what she was not — for 
 j she did not attempt to disguise from herself 
 that she knew him to be such — was infinitely 
 more terrible. This was the matter that 
 j pressed for instant solution. What was she 
 to do? What line of conduct to pursue? 
 Oh that she had not bound herself to secrecy ! 
 And yet the truth of Julian's declaration 
 that trouble and distress would be caused to 
 everybody whose well-being she was bound 
 most to care for, by a discovery of his pres- 
 ence, was evident. What was she to do? Oh 
 that Lady Farnleigh had not been so unfor- 
 tunately called away ! Had she been in 
 Sillshire, Kate would doubtless have stipu- 
 lated that she should have been made a sharer 
 in the secret. She might have been safely 
 trusted. She would have known how to re- 
 lease her goddaughter from her false position 
 as regarded the only person whose continuance 
 in error respecting her real prospects for a 
 day or two more or less much signified to her. 
 Then her mind reverted to the conversation 
 at the breakfast-table on the yesterday morn- 
 ing, and passed in review all those passages 
 of it which have been described as having 
 been put by in the hiding-places of her mem- 
 ory for future use ; — but not for use under 
 such circumstances as the present ! — and the 
 tears gathered slowly in her eyes as she 
 thought of the pleasure they had given her, 
 — of the upright, loyal heart of that brave 
 man, who, as Kate's own heart with in- 
 stinctive sympathy told her, could not have 
 "loved her so much, loved he not honor 
 more," — of the hard, dangerous, and thank- 
 less nature of that " duty " to which he was 
 so loyally true, and of the fond, sweet thought 
 that she, even she, was to be the reward which 
 fate had in store for him, and the means of 
 placing him above the necessity of so ungrate- 
 ful a task ! 
 
 The hot tears rose and gathered and 
 brimmed over on the peachlike cheek, the 
 rounded swell of which no sorrow had ever 
 yet mined. The sensation of them on her 
 face recalled her mind from its truant wan- 
 dering to the needs of the present. She 
 dashed away the tears with an angry action 
 of her hand. 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE, 
 
 123 
 
 " What a fool T am,*' she said aloud, " to 
 let myself tliiuk of things that might have 
 been, when there is so much need of thinking 
 of tilings as they are ! " 
 
 Something must absolutely be done ! — 
 something; — but what? It was absolute 
 torture to her to think of herself as receiving 
 the homage and the wooing — there was no 
 use or honec-ty in mincing the plirase ; it 7vas 
 wooing that Captain Ellingham had been of- 
 fering to her ; and she dared not deny to her 
 own heart that she knew it was so — of Cap- 
 tain Ellingham, when he was led to suppose 
 that she was an heiress of large fortune, and 
 she was in possession of the truth that noth- 
 ing of the sort was the case. It was torture 
 — intolerable torture to her. But what could 
 she do ? 
 
 Could she write to Lady Farnleigh? — not 
 to betray her cousin's secret in defiance of 
 her solemn promise ; that was impossible, — 
 but some sort of letter, couched in mysteri- 
 ous terms, which should induce her to inti- 
 mate to Captain Ellingham that he had bet- 
 ter not think of proposing to her (Kate) ; for 
 that she was not what she seemed to be ! 
 And she really took pen in hand to essay the 
 composition of such a letter ; and after two 
 or three trials, gave up the attempt in despair. 
 How was it possible for her to request that 
 Captain Ellingham should be warned that he 
 had better not offer to her, before he had ever 
 uttered a word of the kind ? How was she 
 to inform her godmother of the fact that she 
 was not her father's heir in any manner that 
 should appear sane, and should not at once 
 bring upon her such an inquiry and exami- 
 nation as would make the keeping of her se- 
 cret impossible? 
 
 Had her godmother been there present, it 
 might have been possible — it seemed to Kate 
 — so to speak to her as to obtain her assist- 
 ance, without divulging the secret she was 
 bound to keep. But it was impossible to do 
 this by letter. 
 
 And then she had — and had had ever since 
 the tete-a-tete of the breakfast-table — a lurk- 
 ing consciousness that this offer from Captain 
 Ellingham, which she would now give worlds 
 to stave off, was not very far away. It was 
 a lurking, vague, unavowed consciousness, 
 which would never have shaped itself into 
 
 thrown fiir and wide over the landscape by 
 the lambent summer lightning, liad it not 
 been condensed into fear by the new circum- 
 stances of her life. But now, should the of- 
 fer come, — it was agony to think of it ! — wliat 
 should she do ? W hat she must do was clear, 
 so far. She must refuse — but without as- 
 signing any reason — any motive! It was 
 very cruel — very dreadful — and after all that 
 had come and gone ! And thereupon a crowd 
 of little minute consciousnesses came flocking 
 into her mind, — memories oflooks and glances, 
 emphasized words charged with an amount 
 of meaning accurately gauged and weighed 
 by the self-registering and miraculously del- 
 icate erosometer of a young girPs fresh heart, 
 pressings of the hand so slight and shy that 
 they did their work rather by electric than 
 by dynamic force, yet did it surely, and left 
 marks on the memory never more to be can- 
 celled, — all these stored treasures, each la- 
 belled with its date as accurately as Misa 
 Immy marked her eggs, came thronging into 
 her mind from their separate memory cells. 
 They had so often been summoned forth in 
 Kate's hours of reverie an«l self-communion, 
 that it was natural for them to come as usual 
 now. But now they were not wanted. They 
 might go back — poor faded treasures! — to 
 their hiding-places ; treasures ever, and not 
 to be destroyed, save with consciousness it- 
 self; but no more, never more to be reviewed 
 on memory's gay and gala days, — relics only, 
 sacred though sad, to be brought forth in 
 seasons of the heart's fast-days and humilia- 
 tions. 
 
 And again, as she forcibly thrust back these 
 remembrances into the deepest recesses of her 
 mind, the tears overflowed upon her cheeks ; 
 and a^-ain she angrily shook them from her, 
 and accused them of interfering with the ac- 
 tive measures it behooved her to take. Yet, 
 what active measures? Again, what — what 
 was she to do? 
 
 And Margaret too ? Yes ! How was that 
 to be done ? There was ^largaret to be talked 
 to. How glad Kate was that she had stipu- 
 lated that her sister should be told ; she had 
 done so at the moment merely from the feel- 
 in"- that she liked to have no secrets from her 
 sister, and from the desire to have some one to 
 help her in sustaining the weight of it. The 
 
 definite form before her mind, but would only | necessity that Margaret also should be made 
 have flung a ruse-colored light of unquestioned I aware of what her true position was, with a 
 happiness over her life, like the golden glory I view to properly regulating her conduct 
 
124 
 
 towivrd others had not tlien occurred to her. 
 Bat now it was but too clear to her, when 
 she turned her mind to that part of the sea 
 of perplexities which surrounded her, that 
 Margaret was in the same difiBculty with re- 
 gard to Falconer that she was in regard to 
 Ellingham. Kate had seen, with no reason 
 or inclination to regret or object to it, that 
 Falconer had been very evidently paying as- 
 siduous court to her sister, and that Marga- 
 ret had been very abundantly willing to ac- 
 cept as much of his homage as he chose to 
 bring to her shrine. Kate could not doubt 
 that Frederick Falconer purposed making 
 Margaret his wife. In his case, it is true, 
 there could not be the same difficulty in mar- 
 rying an undowered wife as in the case of 
 Ellingham. Frederick Falconer would be 
 abundantly rich enough to marry a girl with- 
 out a fortune, if he chose to do so. But, 
 somehow or other, though she had never put 
 into tangible form any ideas in her mind 
 upon the subject, she felt as if she had had a 
 revelation on the point, that Freddy Falconer 
 would not so choose. She felt far more cer- 
 tain of it in his case than she did in that 
 other, which she would not permit herself to 
 scrutinize more narrowly. And she did not 
 feel any necessity for laying heavy blame on 
 Frederick on that account. Doubtless his 
 father would wish him to increase his wealth 
 by marriage. But the conviction that it 
 would not suit Mr. Frederick Falconer to 
 marry a girl without a penny, that he would 
 never have sought her sister's love, had he 
 supposed her to have been such, and that he 
 would consider himself to have been cruelly 
 deluded, — or at all events, a most unfortunate 
 victim of error, — if he were to propose to her 
 under such circumstances, — all these consid- 
 erations made her feel very acutely the abso- 
 lute necessity of in some way preventing him 
 as well as Ellingham from proceeding in the 
 path in which both of them were so evidently 
 advancing under erroneous impressions. 
 
 Frederick had been up at the Chase that 
 day, as Kate knew. She and Mr. Mat had 
 met him riding down the hill near the ivy 
 bridge over the Lindisfarn Brook, as they 
 were returning from Sillmouth. God grant 
 that notiiing decisive had passed between 
 him and Margai-et that day ! Kate thought 
 that nothing could have happened, or Margaret 
 would doubtless have rushed into her room in- 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 stantly on her return to tell her of it. But 
 then Kate had only known her sister for a 
 few months. And it may be that her security 
 based on this presumption was not founded 
 on a rock. 
 
 Kate looked at her watch, and saw that 
 her sad and painful musings had lasted more 
 than two hours. It was time to dress for 
 dinner ; and IMargaret would doubtless be 
 coming up-stairs in a minute, if she were not 
 already in her room. But there was no time 
 now for the conversation that must take place 
 between them, and which would necessa- 
 rily be a lengthy one. It was best to defer 
 it till they should again be alone together 
 before going to bed. It was painful to Kate 
 to have to sit with her sister through the 
 evening with the consciousness of the blow it 
 would be her duty to inflict on Margaret, all 
 unconscious the while of the evil coming 
 upon her. She had a sort of unreasoned and 
 unavowed, but none the less irresistible, con- 
 viction , moreover, that the news of the change 
 in her position would be a more dreadful and 
 stunning blow to Margaret than it had beejn 
 to herself; and the necessity of inflicting t>is 
 blow was not the least part of the more in- 
 stant and immediate cares and sorrows that 
 were pi'essing upon her. 
 
 She set about the work of dressing with 
 that languid distaste for the exertion which 
 petty cares of the kind are apt to produce in 
 those who are suffering from the pressure of 
 serious troubles. Margaret came into her 
 room before she was quite ready to go down, 
 charmingly dressed as usual, — for she had be- 
 come quite reconciled to the pleasing toil of 
 making habitually an evening toilet, — and evi- 
 dently in high spirits. Kate was sure that 
 her interview with Fred Falconer had been a 
 pleasant one, at all events ; for when by 
 chance there were any thorns among Marga- 
 ret's roses, however few or small they might 
 be, she was apt to give unmistakable evidence 
 of having suffered from them for some time 
 after wai'd. 
 
 " What ! not ready, Kate? And you are 
 always lecturing me for being behindhand ! 
 Why, it is two hours or more since you eame 
 home. What have you been about ? And 
 you seem to be all in the dumps too." 
 
 " My morning's work at Sillmouth Avas not 
 a pleasant one, you know," said Kate, blush- 
 ing with a sensation quite new to her, as the 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 125 
 
 coneciousnces of playing the hypocrite with 
 her sister, though only for a few hours, 
 passed over her mind. 
 
 " And I am sure I don't see why you 
 should meddle with such disagreeable people. 
 I own, for my part, I do not think it a proper 
 sort of thing at all. And it only shows what 
 poor dear Madame de Renneville always used 
 to say, — that one never can step, were it only 
 a hair's breadth, out of one's own proper 
 sphere, without being punished for the indis- 
 cretion in some way or other." 
 
 " But perhaps it is not always quite easy 
 to know what is one's proper sphere, and 
 what are the limits of it," said Kate, with a 
 sigh, as she once again put a wet towel to 
 her eyes, before going down-stairs. " Come, 
 dear, I am ready now," she added. " Let 
 us go down. I must tell you all about my 
 morning's adventure before we go to bed to- 
 night." 
 
 And then, for the first time in her life, 
 Kate had to pass the evening in the family 
 circle with the heavy sense of a secret to be 
 kept from all those dear and familiar friends, 
 who had no secrets from her, with whose 
 hearts she had ever had all in common. And 
 the weight was very grievous to her. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIII. 
 SILISHIRE versus PARIS. 
 
 At last the long evening wore itself to its 
 close ; and the two Lindisfarn lasses went up 
 to their adjoining rooms together. 
 
 "Now, then, Margaret," said Kate, as 
 they reached the top of the stairs together ; 
 "I must tell you all about my ride to Sill- 
 mouth this morning ; I should have told you 
 before, dear sissy, if there had been any op- 
 portunity." 
 
 " AVhy ! is there anything to tell that sig- 
 nifies '? " returned Margaret, opening her 
 great handsome eyes in astonishment. 
 
 " Yes, there is a good deal to tell," said 
 Kate, with a sigh; "come into my room 
 with me, darling, or let me come into yours ; \ 
 for we must have a long talk together." I 
 
 " Not very long, I hope, for I am very ! 
 sleepy," said Margaret, yawning; "but' 
 how strange you look, Kate! What is it? 
 Is anything the matter"? " 
 
 " You need not come up till we ring, Sim- 
 mons," said Kate, as Margaret followed her 
 into her room. 
 
 " You can go into my room, Simmons, and 
 
 } put my things into my drawers the while ; 
 I for they are all over the room. I could not 
 I find the dress I wanted for dinner." 
 I Simmons went as directed to repair the 
 disorder in her wardrobe made by Miss Mar- 
 : garet, who was, as that experienced lady's- 
 maid declared, a regular untidy one; and 
 Kate, before sitting down in the same chair 
 in front of her little drawing-table, which 
 she had sat in during her two hours of med- 
 itation before dinner, shut the door of com- 
 j munication between the two rooms ; while 
 Margaret, much wondering what was com- 
 1 ing, and fearing a preachment on sundry 
 ! small matters of which she was conscious, 
 [ and which she surmised might not be alto- 
 ! gether to her sister's liking, installed herself 
 in the large chair that stood before Kate's 
 toilet-table. 
 
 " Miss Immy has been telling tales, I sup- 
 pose ! " thought she to herself. " Yv ho 
 could have guessed that the old thing was 
 spying all the time that she seemed fast 
 asleep? " 
 
 " You know that Winny begged me to go 
 over to her at Sillmouth to see a poor man 
 who had been wounded in a fray with the 
 coast-guard men, and who was lying in dan- 
 ger of death in her cottage? " began Kate. 
 
 " Yes, I know. And I must say that in 
 your place, Kate, I should not have dreamed 
 of doing anything of the sorti," said Marga- 
 ret, thinking it wise, in case Kate meditated 
 a preachment, to be beforehand in occupying 
 the attacking ground. 
 
 "I think, dearest, that you would have 
 done so in my place. You cannot feel, you 
 know, towards Winny Pendleton as I do ; 
 and therefore you cannot tell how strongly I 
 felt called upon to do as she wished. I as- 
 sure you, it was a very unpleasant task; 
 though I little thought, when I started on the 
 errand, what a surprise was awaiting me ! " 
 " What was it? " asked Margaret, while 
 her now thoroughly awakened curiosity ex- 
 pressed itself in her widely opened eyes. 
 
 " Do you ever remember to have heard, 
 Margaret, that our uncle. Dr. Lindisfarn, 
 once had a son? " asked Kate. 
 
 " No, never. I thought he never had had 
 any children," replied Margaret, with in- 
 creasing astonishment. 
 
 " You might very well never have heard 
 of it ; but our uncle had a son, called Julian. 
 I can remember seeing him when a little girl. 
 
X2Q 
 
 He was then a grown-up young man. All 
 of a sudden he left Silverton, and we saw no 
 moi'e of him. He got into ti-ouble of some 
 sort. 1 believe he did something wrong. I 
 do not know what the story was : but I know 
 there was great grief and sorrow about it. I 
 believe it half broke poor Aunt Sempronia's 
 heart But there was a great mystery on 
 the subject ; and after he went away, nobody 
 ever spoke of him ; and it was as if he were 
 dead. After a time, there came news that he 
 was dead, really. He was killed, it was said, 
 by the Red Indians in America. People de- 
 clared that they saw him killed, and from 
 that time, till now, I have never heard his 
 name mentioned. But, Margaret, darling," 
 continued Kate, taking her sister's hand in 
 hers, and looking earnestly into her face, 
 "the wounded man, whom I was called to 
 see at Sillmouth this morning, was our Cousin 
 Julian !•" 
 
 "You don't say so!" said Margaret; 
 " how very odd ! " 
 
 " It was a strange chance, indeed ! — the 
 stranger that it was a chance," replied Kate ; 
 " for nobody knew, and nobody knows now 
 who he is; and he had nothing to do with 
 sending for me. But he happened to hear 
 Winny call me by my name, and then he dis- 
 covered himself to me." 
 
 " And it was all untrue, then, about his 
 being killed in America? " said Margaret. 
 
 " It was a mistake. He was nearly killed, 
 but not quite; and he recovered. He did 
 not tell me the particulars of the story." 
 
 " And now he is come back to his father ! 
 But how did he chance to be wounded with 
 the smugglers?" asked Margaret, whose 
 curiosity, excited by the strangeness of the 
 story, did not seem to be mixed with any 
 other emotion. 
 
 "He had joined the smugglers in their 
 venture as a means of coming over here from 
 France secretly ; but he was not coming to 
 his father ; he does not wish anybody to 
 know that he is here ; and from the manner 
 in which he spoke, I fear that much trouble 
 and distress would come of its being discov- 
 ered that he is in the neighborhood." 
 
 " Why did he tell you who he was, 
 then ?" asked Margaret. 
 
 " Partly, as it seemed to me, as far as I 
 could understand him, because, though he 
 was very anxious that it should not be knoAvn 
 that he was in Sillshire. as long as he lived, 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 he wished that it should be known who ho 
 was after his death ; and partly, because he 
 felt how needful it is that we should be made 
 aware that he was not killed by the Indians, 
 as was supposed. I made a condition with 
 him, that I should tell you ; but I promised, 
 faithfully to tell nobody else, and promised 
 for you, that you would keep the secret 
 also." 
 
 " Why is it so needful for us to know that 
 he was not killed ? If he does not mean to 
 eouie back to his father, why could he want 
 any of us to know tliat he is alive ? I do 
 not see any good in our knowing it," said 
 Margaret, raising her eyebrows with a little 
 shrug. 
 
 Kate's heart failed her as she answered, 
 
 " Don't you see, dear Margaret, the differ- 
 ence it makes to you and me? Don't you 
 perceive that if our Cousin Julian is alive, 
 neither you nor I are heirs to our father's 
 property? " 
 
 Margaret's habitual paleness became livid- 
 ness as she said, "-Nonsense, Kate ! It can't 
 be true ! Do you believe that people's for- 
 tunes can go backwards and forwards in that 
 way? If that were the case, how could any 
 man know what a girl's fortune was? Be- 
 sides, the properfy belongs to our father. 
 Do you suppose that anything can touch our 
 dot?'' 
 
 "Dearest Margaret, I fear it is but too 
 clear that if uncle has a son, the daughters 
 of my father do not inherit the property. 
 The lands of Lindisf\xrn go to the male heirs 
 of my grandfather." 
 
 " And what, then, do we inherit ? What 
 18 ouv dot to come from?" asked Margaret, 
 while a dreadful spasm was clutching her 
 heart with an icy grip. 
 
 "Alas! sister dear, if there is a male 
 heir to the property, we have no inheritance. 
 There is no source from which any dower for 
 us, as it is called in English, can come." 
 
 " It is too horrible to be true," said Mar- 
 garet, looking and feeling aB if she must fall 
 from her chair. " I cannot believe it. It is 
 too wicked ! ' ' 
 
 " But, dearest Margaret, ivho is wicked? 
 Nobody has done anything they ought not to 
 have done. According to the law, Uncle 
 Theophilus having a son comes to the same 
 thing as if papa had a son. That is all. 
 Everybody knows that if we had a brother, 
 we should not be heiresses to the estate." 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 127 
 
 " It is hon-iI)ly wicked ! " said Margaret, 
 as the tears gathered in her eyes ; " the law 
 is abominably wicked, — the law of this vile, 
 barbarous country ! " 
 
 " Oh, Margaret, Margaret ! don't say such 
 shocking words ! Think that k is England, 
 Sillsliire, our own native land ! " remon- 
 strated Kate, who was almost as much scan- 
 dalized as if her sister had spoken of their 
 own father in similar terms. 
 
 " I hate England ! It is a vile, horrid coun- 
 try to make such wicked laws ; I don't be- 
 lieve it can be true! " said Margaret, now 
 fairly sobbing, and with the inconsistency of 
 passion. 
 
 " It is very dreadful to me to hear you 
 speak so, Margaret ! But I don't wonder at 
 your feeling it hard. It eshard ; very hard, 
 because of the disappointment and the false 
 expectation. But that is not the fault of the 
 law, nor of England." 
 
 "It is the fault of this bad and wicked 
 man, who was obliged to go away, and who 
 pretended he was dead, and now comes back 
 to rob us of our father's property." 
 
 " It is not his fault that we are not heir- 
 esses ; nor is it his fault, though it arises out 
 of his fault, that we have been led into er- 
 ror," said clear-headed, direct-minded Kate. 
 " Poor Julian did not, as you say, Marga- 
 ret, pretend to be dead. If fault there were 
 in the matter, it was in those who believed 
 his death on insufficient grounds." 
 
 " You have no feeling, Kate, — no feeling 
 at all,*' sobbed Margaret, " to talk in such 
 a way ! I say it is wicked, horribly wicked 
 that poor girls should be robbed of their own 
 father's fortune in such a way ! And I say 
 it is a vile, hateful country, where such 
 things can be done. And I love France a 
 thousand times better, and always did, and 
 always sliall, — a thousand, tJKjusand times ! 
 a thousand, thousand times, I do ! I hate 
 England, and all the people in it!" cried 
 Margaret, in the impotence of her rage. She 
 was suffering pain ; and the first impulse of 
 some natures, when they suffer, is to inflict, 
 if it be within their power, pain on others, 
 Margaret did feel just then that she hated 
 England ; but the passionate assertion of it 
 was prompted by the bad instinct that would 
 fain avenge on Kate the pain she was suffer- 
 ing. 
 
 " Dear sister," said Kate, taking her 
 Land, and looking into her face witli the ten- 
 
 derest sympatliy, '^ I do feel for you ! It is 
 very, very hard to bear ! You will not speak 
 as you do now, when you have time for re- 
 flection." 
 
 " Yes, I shall ! I shall always speak so ! 
 It is right to speak so ! It is wicked. And 
 I hate everything that is wicked ! And so 
 would you, too, if you were good yourself. 
 Didn't I tell you that no good could come of 
 your going to see smugglers and vulgar peo- 
 ple? And now see what has come of it ! " 
 said ]\Iargaret, in a bitterly reproaclil'ul tone. 
 
 " Nay, sister dear ! what has come of my 
 visit to Sillmouth is not that we are no longer 
 heiresses of the Lindisfarn property, but only 
 that we know the fact that such is the case. 
 And that is evidently an advantage, — and 
 perhaps a very great blessing ! Don't you 
 see, Margaret, that it is so?" continued 
 Kate, after a pause, looking earnestly into 
 her sister's face. 
 
 "A blessing to know this horrible misfor- 
 tune? Are you mad, Kate, or are you only 
 mocking me? " said Margaret, casting a pas- 
 sionately reproachful glance at her sister 
 from amid iier tears. 
 
 " Notmad, dear Margaret. Butjust think 
 a little what the consequences of not know- 
 ing our position with regard to our expecta- 
 tions of fortune might be ! It is bad enough, 
 — very, very grievous and distressing, that 
 others should not be equally well aware of it. 
 And I trust that erelong there may be no ne- 
 cessity for further concealment on the subject. 
 But it miglit be very much worse, if we were 
 ourselves ignorant of the fact. Don't you 
 see this? "' 
 
 "I don't know what you mean! I only 
 know that I have been robbed and wronged and 
 shamefully, most shamefully treated ! Poor 
 Madame do Pvenueville ! IIow little did she 
 think what fate she was sending me to in 
 England ! " 
 
 It was difficult for Kate, amid her own 
 distress, and in her anxiety, to lead her sister 
 to contemplate the subject of their disinherit- 
 ance with reference to the circumstances that 
 had pushed themselves into the foregi'ound in 
 her own mind, — it was difficult for her to 
 listen with equanimity to speculations as to 
 what Madame de Renneville might have 
 thought about the matter. She strove, how- 
 ever, to do so ; having, at all costs, to bring 
 Margaret to the consideration of the matter 
 from that point of view whicli appeared to 
 
128 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 her the most urgently to require immediate 
 attention. She felt considerable difficulty in 
 doing this. A tingling blush on her cheek 
 had been simultaneous with th e first birth in 
 her own pure, loyal, and uncompromisingly 
 honest mind, of the thought that it behooved 
 her to guard a man, who had never spoken 
 to her of love, from the danger of doing so 
 under a false impression of her position. 
 Maidenly feeling had produced the blush, and 
 had caused the pain which had accompanied it. 
 But it had not blinded her to the straight- 
 forward, honest duty of preventing a step 
 which in her heart she knew to be imminent, 
 and which she knew was about to be taken 
 by one under a delusion. She had suffered no 
 sentimental mock-modesty to stand in the 
 way of her being honest and true for her- 
 self ; and now she had to be equally frank in 
 the case of her sister. But she did not the 
 less feel the difficulty. And Margaret's ap- 
 parent obtuseness to any idea of the sort 
 made this difficulty greater to her. It seemed 
 as if she must have been over-bold to be struck 
 at once by the possibility of a danger, which 
 did not apparently suggest itself to the more 
 delicately unconscious mind of her sister. 
 Yet it was certain to her that Margaret had 
 fully as much reason to apprehend such a 
 misfortune as she had. She was perfectly 
 well aware that it was quite as likely that 
 Margaret might any day receive an offer 
 from Falconer as she herself from Ellingham. 
 Could it be that Margaret was wholly un- 
 conscious of this? Was it necessary for her 
 to open her sister's eyes to the fact as well 
 as suggest to her that the fact constituted, 
 under the circumstances, a danger, which it 
 was her duty to guard against? 
 
 " But the worst of the matter, sissy dear," 
 she began, again taking the hand which 
 Margaret in her petulant outburst of temper 
 had snatched from her, — " the worst of the 
 matter, by far, is that this unfortunate change 
 in our positions may — you know, darling — 
 may have an influence on others as well as 
 ourselves." 
 
 Margaret turned her eyes sharply on her 
 sister's face with a look of shrewd and keen 
 observation for an instant before she replied. 
 
 " You mean that girls without a dot have 
 no chance of marrying creditably ! Of course 
 I know that ! There was no need of casting 
 that in my teeth. I know what you are 
 thinking of, Kate. You have Lady Farn- 
 
 leigh's six thousand pounds to fall back on. 
 It is at least something. I have nothing ! 
 There is no need to remind me of it." 
 
 " Oh, Margaret, Margaret ! " cried Kate, 
 inexpressibly shocked, and in the voice of 
 one who is assailed by a sudden spasm of 
 bodily pain, and the silently rising tears filled 
 her eyes as she looked into her sister's face 
 with a piteous expression of remonstrance 
 against the cruelty of this speech. 
 
 " Well, you know, that must make a 
 great difference. It would be affectation to 
 pretend to forget it," rejoined ^largaret, 
 feeling some little compunction for the bru- 
 tality of the words which had given Kate 
 such a shai-p pang. " But, at all events," 
 she continued, " we have the advantage of a 
 good appearance for the present. The main 
 point is when girls have no fortune, to keep 
 the fact from being generally known, as far 
 as possible. And in this respect, at least, 
 our position is a favorable one. For it does 
 not seem to enter into the plans of this horri- 
 ble cousin to make his existence known for 
 the present, at any rate. So that we shall 
 at all events have a respite, and — who 
 knows ' ' — 
 
 Kate gazed at her sister as she thus spoke, 
 and after she had finished, with absolutely 
 speechless astonishment, which sank grad- 
 ually to a persuasion that there was some mis- 
 understanding between them somehow. 
 
 "Don't you understand me? "said Mar- 
 garet, with petulant impatience, in answer 
 to her sister's look. 
 
 " 1 think, Margaret, we don't understand 
 each other," replied Kate, whose brain felt 
 confused by a whole host of conflicting 
 thoughts and feelings. " I cannot suppose 
 that you could wish that any man should " — 
 here the tingling blush came again into Kate's 
 cheek — "should ask you to be his wife," 
 Kate' went on more boldly, her steel-true hon- 
 esty of purpose coming to her aid, " under 
 the impression that your position as regards 
 fortune and expectations was different fi-om 
 what it really is. You would wish, undoubt- 
 edly, to prevent such an error by every pos- 
 sible means in your power. You would wish 
 to save him ^-om the unfair and very embar- 
 rassing necessity of declaring himself unable 
 to carry out an intention formed under dif- 
 ferent circumstances, and yet more to save 
 yourself from the possibility of the horrible 
 suspicion that you sought to incite a pro- 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 posal by letting it be supposed that you had 
 advantages to offer which you knew that you 
 had not. Think of the horror of such a po- 
 sition, Margaret ! " said Kate, as the burning 
 blood flushed afresh all over her neck and 
 face and forehead. 
 
 " Indeed, Kate," returned her sister, " I 
 think we do misunderstand each other. We 
 took at all these questions from such different 
 points of view. I confess that to my mind 
 and with the principles in which I have beeu 
 brought up, there is a degree of indelicacy 
 in a girl thus setting herself to weigh and 
 estimate the motives that may lead a gentle- 
 man to pay his addresses to her. You know 
 my sister, that the Englisli are considered to 
 be a nation of shopkeepers, and to look at 
 everything with a trading eye. And in what 
 you say I see the truth of the reproach. In 
 France a demoiselle bien elevee never meddles 
 with any of these considerations. All such 
 matters are arranged by her parents ; and it 
 is surely more proper and more delicate to 
 leave it to them. And I must own that the 
 insular shopkeeping spirit, which shows it- 
 self in calculations beforehand as to how 
 much of the love of a fiitur may have been 
 excited by your fortune, and how much by 
 your own beaux yeux, is to my feeling revolt- 
 ing." 
 
 "I don't think, Margaret," said Kate, 
 after a minute's thoughtful pause, and feel- 
 ing a little puzzled and much pained, " that 
 I quite follow your ideas. For my own part, 
 I don't so much care whether the spirit in 
 which we have to act in this matter is a shop- 
 keeping spirit or not, so that it be a straight- 
 forward, honest one. I had much rather — 
 God knows how much rather ! — avoid, as far 
 as one can, speculating on the supposed in- 
 tentions of tliis or that man in a question of 
 this sort, and very much more abstain from 
 taking any active step inconsequence of such 
 suppositions. The course which a girl should 
 pursue in these matters seems to me a simple 
 one enough. I think she should take care to 
 appear to everybody to be what she really is 
 in all respects, and, until her love is sought 
 for, take no other care. And generally, as 
 regards the external matters of fortune, this 
 is the simplest and easiest tJiing in the world. 
 But we are placed in an exceptional and very 
 painful position. If we were at liberty to 
 disclose Julian's secret openly, our course 
 would be at least easy and clear. If we had 
 
 9 
 
 129 
 
 neither of us" — here the rich blush re- 
 turned — " any reason to imagine that — that 
 our position as regards f(jrtune was of any 
 interest to anybody in particular, we might 
 be content to allow the error of everybody with 
 respect to us to continue for the short time 
 that Julian's safety — for I suppose his safety 
 is in question — will require the secret to be 
 kept. But if that is not the case, Margaret," 
 Kate continued, looking fixedly and with ear- 
 nest seriousness into her sister's face ; " if we 
 either or both of us have in our inmost hearts 
 reason to suppose that there is any one to 
 whom the question of our heiress-ship to 
 these estates may be a matter of great im- 
 portance, you will surely agree with me 
 that, whether it be dictated by a shopkeep- 
 ing spirit or not, what we ought to have 
 most earnestly at heart should be to find 
 som« means of preventing that somebody 
 from saying or doing anything which — they 
 might, perhaps, not do, if they were aware 
 of the truth." 
 
 " I, for my part, even if I could agree to 
 all you have been saying," replied Margaret, 
 " have not the remotest idea, thank Heaven, 
 that I am a subject of interest to any man 
 who would be mercenary enough to be influ- 
 enced in his feelings by the amount of fortune 
 I may possess." 
 
 " I hope so, with all my heart, dearest; 
 but you see at once, that if that is the case, 
 the knowledge of your want of fortune, 
 when it shall become known, will make no 
 difference ; and you will be spared the horror 
 of having received and accepted such a pro- 
 posal when made under an impression which 
 you knew to be delusive." 
 
 " But if the fact of this odious man's ex- 
 istence must not be revealed ? " urged Mar- 
 garet. 
 
 " That makes the difficulty and the cruel 
 embarrassment ! " returned Kate ; " the only 
 thing I can think of, is to try to act in such 
 a manner that nothing may be said — to give 
 no opportunity — to discourage anything that 
 might lead to — to anything of the sort," said 
 the poor girl, twisting her hands together in 
 the extremity of her distress and embarrass- 
 ment. " One thing is quite clear," she con- 
 tinued, after a pause, and speaking more en- 
 ergetically : " that if unfortunately any pro- 
 posal were made to either of us before we are 
 at liberty to reveal the truth, it must be met 
 by a rejection." 
 
130 
 
 LINDISFARN 
 
 ' asked ^larga 
 
 CHASE. 
 
 " On what ground, pray 
 ret, shortly. 
 
 " Ah ! that makes the misery of it ! We 
 can assign no ground. It is horrible in any 
 case not to be able to tell the truth ; and 
 worst of all in such a case as that. It would 
 be absolutely necessary to refuse, and abso- 
 lutely impossible to give the real reason for 
 refusing. And this is what makes it so very, 
 very much to be prayed for that no such 
 question may be raised before we are at lib- 
 erty to tell the truth to all the world. One 
 thing only is quite beyond doubt ; namely, 
 that a rejection could be the only answer. 
 Think what it would be to accept such a pro- 
 posal, made in the persuasion that it was 
 offered to the heiress of Lindisfarn, and ac- 
 cepted by you with the knowledge that you 
 were no such thing ! I think it would kill 
 me on the spot !" 
 
 "You have very high-flown sentimental 
 notions, Kate. Do you mean to tell me now, 
 in earnest, that if Captain Ellingham were 
 to offer to you to-morrow morning, you 
 should refuse him? " 
 
 " Most unquestionably I should," said 
 Kate, while a cold thrill shot through her 
 heart at the thought of it. 
 
 "And without telling him any reason, or 
 at least without telling him your real reason 
 for doing so ? " pursued Margaret. 
 
 "I should. How could I do otherwise? 
 I should at least know that the time would 
 come, when he would know the real reason 
 — no, I don't mean that ; — perhaps he would 
 not ever know that ! But at least I should 
 have saved him from forming an engagement 
 under a mistaken notion, and I should have 
 saved myself from the intolerable suspicion 
 that it was possible that I wished him to 
 do so. Of course, Margaret, you would be 
 obliged to do the same ? " 
 
 " I can't say what I should do ! I can't 
 calculate and arrange beforehand, as coldly 
 as you do, Kate, what I should say on such 
 an occasion. The most delicate and proper 
 course, I believe, would be to refer to papa 
 for an answer. " 
 
 " But not when you know that there are 
 material circumstances of which papa is ig- 
 norant," urged Kate. 
 
 "Really, Kate, I don't know what I should 
 do ! But I own I do not see the necessity of 
 debating what course I ought to pursue if an 
 
 offer should be made to me, which never has 
 been made, and which it is not likely ever 
 will be made ! " 
 
 " Oh, Margaret!" 
 
 " Besides, what is the use of all this, if, as 
 you say, this Julian is dying? If he dies, 
 all this trouble and misfortune has passed 
 over. " 
 
 " But, in the first place, Margaret, I don't 
 like to build hopes upon my poor cousin's 
 death ; in the second place, even if he were 
 to die, the mischief that I dread either for 
 you or for myself may arise first ; and in 
 the third place, although he said he was dy- 
 ing, — and when I first saw him I thought that 
 certainly he must be, he looked so ghastly, — 
 still before I came away, I began to have 
 hopes that he might recover. He had seen 
 nobody but old Bagstock — he is an old doc- 
 tor at Sillmouth, who is good for nothing ; — 
 but I sent Dr. Blakistry to him, who is a 
 first-rate surgeon, and I do not think it at 
 all unlikely that his life may be saved." 
 
 " It would be much better for everybody 
 if he were to die !" said Margaret. 
 
 "Oh, Margaret, you must not talk so! 
 It seems like murder to wish that another 
 person may die ! Besides, I am not sure, — 
 I don't understand the matter — but he said 
 something about his death not making any 
 difference to us. Perhaps he may have sold 
 or in some way made away with his right to 
 the property." 
 
 "Good heavens, Kate! Could he do 
 that?" 
 
 " I don't know ; I am very ignorant of all 
 such matters ; certainly he did say that his 
 death would make no difference ; and I un- 
 derstood him to allude to the inheritance of 
 the estates." 
 
 " It is very, very dreadful, and I de- 
 clare ' ' — 
 
 ' ' What were you going to say ? ' ' asked 
 Kate ; for Margaret broke off her sentence in 
 the middle. 
 
 " Never mind ! I don't know what I was 
 going to say. It's time to go to bed ; and I 
 want to think over the shocking news you 
 have given me." 
 
 And Margaret, as she spoke, got up from 
 her chair, and taking up her candlestick 
 from Kate's toilet-table, turned to go to her 
 own room. 
 
 "When do you think you are likely to hear 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 the result of the visit of this doctor you 
 have sent to our cousin? " she asked, as she 
 was leaving the room. 
 
 " I hoped I might have heard to-night. 
 To-morrow morning no doubt I shall get a 
 message," replied Kate. 
 
 "Of course you will tell me directly." 
 
 "Of course. But oh, Margaret dear, do 
 not let your heart wish for tlie death of this 
 unfortunate man !" 
 
 " It seems to me that we are the unfortu- 
 nates, rather ! Good-night. We shall prob- 
 ably know something in the morning." 
 
 " fiood-night, dear ! And oh, Margaret, 
 do think over the absolute necessity of avoid- 
 ing any proposal, while all remains in doubt 
 and we are bound to secrecy, and of refusing 
 it, if unfortunately it should come !" 
 
 "Yes! I will think of it. Good-night!" 
 
 And so the sisters parted for the night ; 
 and no doubt Margaret did meditate long and 
 deeply, while probably some not unpardona- 
 ble tears wetted her pillow, on the important 
 tidings that had been communicated to her. 
 But it may be surmised that her night 
 thoughts did not tend exactly in the direc- 
 tion Kate would have wished. Indeed, cer- 
 tain glimpses into the interior of Margaret's 
 heart and mind, which had been afforded to 
 Kate by some passages of the above conver- 
 sation, had been the second painful shock her 
 mind had undergone that day. She felt that 
 there were many points, and indeed whole 
 ranges of subjects, on which there was nei- 
 llier sympathy nor possibility of agreement 
 oetween them. But she was still unaware 
 of tlie wide divergence of feeling and opinion, 
 .tnd of the amount of difference in the course 
 of action which this might lead to, in the im- 
 portant circumstances now before them. 
 
 CHAPTER XXIV. 
 THE LINDI3FARN STONE. 
 
 As Kate was going across the hall into the 
 bruaiifast-room, with more of heavy care on 
 hei brow and trouble in her heart than she 
 haa ever known a short day or two ago, 
 tlie following note from Sillmouth, which 
 had been brought up by a messenger early 
 that morning, was put into her hand. 
 
 It Wfc8 from Dr. Blakistry, and ran thus : 
 
 "My dkar Miss Lindisfarn, — 
 
 " Mrs. Pendleton — your old nurse, as she 
 tells me, and a very decent sort of woman. 
 
 131 
 
 though a smuggler's wife — has requested that 
 before leaving her house 1 would write to 
 you my report of the patient I iiave just 
 been visiting. I am happy to tell you — 
 though I trust, my dear young lady (and 
 you will forgive an old man for saying so 
 much) I trust and suppose, that you have 
 no interest in him beyond that of simple 
 humanity — that he is likely to do well, and 
 recover. He fancied that he was dying, — 
 the result of great loss of blood and conse- 
 quent weakness and depression, and of the 
 shock to the nervous system. AYith due 
 care, and a common amount of prudence, 
 he will, I doubt not, be back again in La 
 belle France in a month's time, and will, I 
 Iiope, stay there ; for thougli 1 saw enough 
 to make it evident to me, that he does not 
 belong to the same class of life as the men 
 with whom he has been associating, I did 
 not see anything to lead me to think the 
 gentleman an acquisition to Sillshire. 
 " Believe me, my dear Miss Lindisfarn, 
 " Very faithfully yours, 
 
 " Ja:jes Blakistry." 
 Kate hurried up-stairs again to show the 
 note to Margaret, who had not yet left her 
 room. 
 
 " So that chance is gone !" said Margaret, 
 in much depression of spirits, and looking as 
 if she had passed a sleepless night. 
 
 "Oh, Margaret, we ought to be thankful 
 tliat the temptation to wish for this poor 
 cousin's death has been removed from us." 
 " You see what the doctor says. He does 
 not seem to have been prepossessed in his 
 favor, by any means." 
 
 " But, Margaret, another part of the note 
 is most important to us. Do you observe Dr. 
 Blakistry says that he may get well enough 
 to return to France in a month ? It will be 
 a whole month, therefore, before we are at 
 liberty to tell the fact which will make our 
 own position known to everybody. This is 
 very, very hard. It is dreadful ! " 
 
 " Yes ! it will be a month," said Margaret, 
 with a thoughtful rather than with a dis- 
 tressed expression of face ; " before we are 
 at liberty to make it known that we are por- 
 tionless ! A month is a long time." 
 
 " Dreadful ! It makes me almost desperate 
 to think of it! How will it be possible to 
 avoid " — 
 
 "To avoid what?" said Margaret, pet- 
 tishly. 
 
 " What I was talking to you of last night, 
 you know, dear! " said Kate; while a mis- 
 giving as to her sister's feelings and ideas 
 
132 
 
 upon the subject, almost as painful to her as 
 any of the many painful phases of the situa- 
 tion, came across her mind. 
 
 " Do you know, Katey dear," returned 
 Margaret, "it seems to me that we must 
 each of us manage our matters in the miser- 
 'ably unfortunate circumstances which have 
 fallen upon us, according to her own light ; 
 on one thing you may rely, — and it seems to 
 me that it is all you ought to ask of me, — 
 I will faithfully keep my promise to you. 
 You may be sure that the secret is safe with 
 me. I shall not mention the fact of our 
 Cousin Julian's existence to a single soul till 
 you tell me I am free to do so ! " 
 
 " Of course I know that you will keep 
 your promise. But, Margaret dear, that is 
 not the point I am anxious about. You 
 know that is not it ! " 
 
 " Well, as to the rest, I must say it seems 
 to me that the best plan would be for us not 
 to interfere with each other. The two cases, 
 you must remember, are widely different. 
 Captain EUingham — I presume it is for him 
 that you are so desperately alarmed — is a 
 poor man. Lady Farnleigh, you know, very 
 properly told us so when she first brought 
 him here. Whether she would not have done 
 better and acted a more friendly part under 
 the circumstances to have abstained from 
 bringing him here at all, is another matter. 
 I, at all events, have no reason to complain 
 of her imprudence in doing so ! But Mr. 
 Falconer — for I wont pretend not to under- 
 stand that you are thinking of him, in your 
 sermons to me — Mr. Falconer is not a poor 
 man, — very far from it ! And that makes 
 such a difference as to change entirely all the 
 considerations that ought to govern one's 
 conduct in the matter." 
 
 " But oh, Margaret, you would not have 
 him propose to you, thinking you an heiress, 
 to find out his mistake afterward? It would 
 be impossible for you to accept him under 
 such circumstances. It would be dishonor- 
 ing to you, and to all of us ! " 
 
 " You go upon the supposition, Kate, that 
 Mr. Falconer is as mercenary as " — 
 
 Kate gave a start that was almost a bound ; 
 and there was a something in the glance of 
 her eye that Margaret had never seen there 
 before, and that probably had never been 
 there before, — a something that warned her 
 to stop short in what she was saying ; and 
 to continue, — 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 — " That is I don't mean to express any 
 opinion of anybody else ; I only mean that 
 you argue — you must admit you do — upon 
 the supposition that Falconer is actuated by 
 mercenary motives in his attentions to me. 
 Now I don't think that is fair, or charitable, 
 or delicate. I entirely refuse to believe any- 
 thing of the kind. It would have been im- 
 possible for me to have listened to him for an 
 instant otherwise ; for my own heart revolts 
 so instinctively from any mixing of worldly 
 considerations with matters that should be 
 regulated by the purest impulses of the af- 
 fections only, the whole of my nature rebels 
 so strongly against the shopkeeping spirit in 
 which, as I have always heard, such things 
 are regarded in England, that I cannot sub- 
 mit to be guided by any maxims drawn from 
 such notions." 
 
 "That seems all very right," said Kate, 
 sadly, and somewhat mystified by the grand- 
 iloquent sentimentalities of Margaret's ora- 
 tion, delivered with a tone and manner which 
 would have compelled Madame de Renneville 
 to have clasped her instantly to her bosom, 
 if she could have heard it; "but yet," she 
 added, timidly, — 
 
 " There is the bell ! " interrupted Marga- 
 ret, glad to avoid what she knew Kate was 
 going to say, just as well, or perhaps more 
 clearly than Kate knew it herself; "we 
 must make haste down, or we shall be late, 
 and papa will be angry." 
 
 " Yes, we must go ! " said Kate, ruefully ; 
 " and mind, dear, we must keep the best 
 countenance we can. It is very difficult to 
 have trouble at heart, and not show it in 
 one's face ! " 
 
 " I dare say it is at first, to those who have 
 not had the advantage of the best education," 
 said Margaret, " but Madame de Rrwenne- 
 ville always insisted on the necessity of being 
 able to do so, to ajcwie pcrsonne bicn elcvec."" 
 
 Kate did noi say " Hang Madame de Ren- 
 neville," or any feminine equivalent for that 
 masculine mode of relieving the feelings, 
 and I do not know that I have any stronger 
 evidence of the angelic sweetness of her dis- 
 position to lay before the reader. 
 
 So the two girls went down to breakfast : 
 and Kate had to stand a fire of questions from 
 her father about the wounded stranger ; and 
 declarations that he should be obliged at last 
 to forbid her visiting Deep Creek Cottage ; 
 for that that fellow Pendleton would end Ity 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 making the county too hot to liold him ; and 
 that if he did it would be a good riddance for 
 Winifred ; that things were coming to a pass 
 whicli would make it absolutely necessary for 
 the gentlemen of the county to set their faces 
 more decidedly against smuggling, etc., etc., 
 most of which the jolly old gentleman had 
 said from time to time for the last twenty 
 years, and notwithstanding which, his fine 
 old florid, benevolence-beaming face, with its 
 adornment of silver locks, remained set much 
 as it ever had been and was likely to continue 
 set, as long as he was lord of Lindisfarn. ] 
 
 "Any commands, ladies? " said Mr. Mat, 
 as they were leaving the breakfast-table. 
 " What is it to be this morning, jMiss Kate, 
 a gallop over the common to Weston ? I 
 think you seem to want one ; you look as if 
 this Sillmouth business had fretted you." 
 
 " No, thank you, Mr. Mat. Birdie has 
 done her twenty miles yesterday and the day 
 before. I think I shall have one of my ram- j 
 bles in the woods this morning." ] 
 
 " And I was going to try if I could coax 
 Mr. Mat to drive me over to Silver ton. I 
 promised Aunt Sempronia that I would pay 
 her a visit." ; 
 
 " Of course I'm ready. Miss Mai-garet," 
 said Mr. Mat, with not the best grace in the 
 world ; " but if another day would do as 
 Avell, there is a matter I wanted to see to at ! 
 Farmer Nixon's at Four-tree Hollow " — | 
 
 " Come now, Mr. Mat," returned Marga- ' 
 ret, utterly thi'owing away upon the savage 
 a glance which she deemed, and which ought 
 to have been, irresistible, " you forgot all 
 about Fai-mer Nixon and Four-tree Hollow, 
 when it was a question of riding with Kate." 
 
 " iVh, but Miss Kate, you see," returned 
 Mr. Mat, pausing when he had got thus far, \ 
 and scratching his black scrubbing-brush of ; 
 a head with the end of one fore-finger, while 
 he looked at IMargaret with a naivete utterly 
 unconscious of any offence in what he was 
 saying, pointing at the same time with his 
 thumb toward the door by which Kate had , 
 left the room, — "Miss Kate, you see — is Miss 
 Kate ; and there is not another such between 
 this and London ! " ! 
 
 Never had Madame de Renneville's golden 
 rule respecting the advantages of the VoUo 
 sciolto, pensteri stretti, to a jeune personne 
 bkn elevee been more necessary to her pupil 
 than while she replied, with a smile of un- 
 diminished sweetness, — I 
 
 133 
 
 " Oh ! I know I must not pretend to rival 
 Kate in your affections, Mr. Mat " — 
 
 " Nay, Miss Margaret," replied the un- 
 tamable savage, shaking his head, " there's 
 not the lass, nor the lad either, above ground 
 who can do that ; for I do love her better 
 than all the world ! But if you have prom- 
 ised her ladyship in the Close " — 
 
 " Yes, indeed, Mr. Mat; I know my aunt 
 is expecting me," replied Margaret, who 
 during the past winffcr had followed up the 
 good impression she had made in the Close 
 at her first visit, and had made many visits 
 to Silverton in consequence. Indeed, she had 
 in that manner found the means of doing a 
 considerable portion of the flirtation with 
 Fred Falconer, which had been requisite for 
 the advancing of matters between them to 
 the point at which we found them, when 
 making the survey for our carte de tendre in 
 the present spring. It was true, therefore, 
 in a certain sense, for Margaret to say that 
 her aunt was expecting her, inasmuch as 
 she certainly expected to see her in the Close 
 again erelong. But it was not true that 
 any special arrangement had been made for 
 Margaret to come to Silverton on that day. 
 
 " Well, then," said Mr. Mat, in reply to 
 Margaret's declaration to that effect, " of 
 course I'll drive you over. I suppose I had 
 better order the gig round at once? " 
 
 " I heard you asking Mr. Mat to drive you 
 over to Silverton," said Kate, who was put- 
 ting on her walking things when Margaret 
 came up-stairs to prepare for her visit to Sil- 
 verton ; "I should hardly have wished, I 
 think, in your place, to go there to-day, if 
 I could have avoided it. Of coui'se you will 
 take care to say no word that might lead to 
 the discovery of our secret. It will be best 
 to say nothing about the smuggling, or the 
 wounded man, or the fight, or anything about 
 it. Neither my uncle nor AUfnt Sempronia 
 will in all probability have heard a word of 
 it." 
 
 " I will take care," said Margaret. 
 
 "And Margaret, dearest," added Kate, 
 looking earnestly and beseechingly at her 
 sister ; " of course it will be wise under the 
 circumstances to avoid any chance of seeing 
 Fred Falconer ! ' ' 
 
 " I never seek to see him," replied Marga- 
 ret, with a toss of her head ; " how can you 
 suppose that I should do such a thing? " 
 
 " I don't suppose you do, sissy dear ; but 
 
134 LIND] 
 
 I think that, as things arc, it would be pru- 
 dent to seek, all you possibly can, not to see 
 Lim. Think how you would be distressed 
 if — if he were to say anything, you know ! " 
 
 " I know what I am about, Kate! " said 
 the jeune pcrsonne Men clevee, who did such 
 credit to her Parisian training. 
 
 Pretty much depends, as Dick Wyvill, the 
 groom, had justly remarked, on " the manner 
 in which they are broke." 
 
 So Kate went out for her solitary ramble 
 among the woods above the house, and Mar- 
 garet got into the gig with Mr. Mat for her 
 drive to Silverton. The former directed her 
 steps in the same direction as she had done 
 on the afternoon previous to the great storm, 
 during which the Saucy Sally had escaped 
 from the Petrel. Now, as then, she gradu- 
 ally climbed the hill by the zigzagging wood 
 paths, till she reached the naked rock jutting 
 out from the soil composed of slaty debris 
 and vegetable mould, the remains of many a 
 generation of oaks, that formed the topmost 
 height of Lindisfarn brow. Upon the former 
 occasion she had gone thither with the inten- 
 tional purpose of looking out at the signs of 
 the weather. Now it was an in-look into 
 her own heart that mainly interested her, 
 and for the sake of which she had come out 
 for a solitary ramble in the woods ; and she 
 wandered up to the summit of the brow, 
 careless of the direction she was taking. 
 
 The huge limestone mass, which formed 
 the Lindisfarn Stone, as it was called par 
 excellence, rose out of the earth by a gradual 
 and moss-grown slope on the side looking 
 away from Lindisfarn house, from the gently- 
 swelling wooded hill that sloped down to Lin- 
 disfarn Brook, from Silverton, and from the 
 coast. The other side, which looked toward 
 all these places, formed, on the contrary, a 
 precipitous little cliff in miniature, some fif- 
 teen or twenty feet in height. And the 
 ground in front of it fell away at its foot in 
 a steep declivity for a further height of 
 another twenty feet or so, at the bottom of 
 which grew the nearest trees. So that a 
 person on the top of the Lindisfarn Stone 
 was on a vantage ground which enabled him 
 to look over the thick forest, and to command 
 a charming view of all the falling ground, 
 and of the opposite side of the Lindisfarn 
 Brook valley up to the old tower of Silverton 
 castle, which could just be seen over 
 crest of the opposite hill. 
 
 SFARN CHASE. 
 
 Kate climbed to the top of the stone, as she 
 had done on many a former occasion, but 
 never with so heavy and care-laden a heart 
 before ; and sat herself down near the edge 
 of it, facing the precipitous side and the well- 
 known view over the woods and fields, which 
 were to be hers no more. 
 
 The lord of Lindisfarn was monarch of 
 nearly all that he surveyed from the top of the 
 Lindisfarn Stone : and the spot was one emi- 
 nently calculated to suggest ideas connected 
 with territorial proprietorship. But Kate 
 had come thither with no leaning toward any 
 such thoughts in her head. Her heart was 
 full of troubles, which, though taking their 
 rise from the same source, pressed upon her 
 immediately under a different aspect. 
 
 Oh that she could hide herself, bury her- 
 self, lock herself up for the nest month to 
 come ! There, on the solitary Lindisfarn 
 Stone, she was safe for the passing hour. 
 Would that it were possible to remain there ; 
 where at least for the nonce she was secure 
 from the dreaded danger of that pursuit 
 which had so often been — and she bluslied as 
 the confession passed through her mind — a 
 source of happiness to her ! 
 
 She had been sitting thus for some time, 
 letting the minutes heap themselves up into 
 hours, while she mused at one moment on a 
 whole brainful of minute little projects for 
 avoiding all chances of any such interview 
 with Captain EUingham as might give him 
 an opportunity for saying the words she now 
 so dreaded to hear ; and then again on the 
 manner in which it would behoove her to com- 
 port herself, and on the words she would have 
 to say, if that terrible misfortune, despite all 
 her eflbrts to avoid it, should befall her. She 
 tried to figure forth to herself the scene as it 
 would take place, to imagine the words which 
 he miglit be supposed to say, and those in 
 which slie would be compelled by cruel fate 
 — ah, how cruel! — to answer him. And as 
 she placed it all on the stage of her imagina- 
 tion, she rehearsed accurately enough at least 
 one portion of the role, as she would in all 
 probability play it ; — for she wept bitterly. 
 
 Presently she was startled by the sound of 
 voices among the trees beneath her, just 
 within the edge of the forest, where it en- 
 circled the clear space occupied by the Lin- 
 disfarn Stone ; and listening with head ei'ect 
 and bated breath, like a hare startled on her 
 form, was able in the next minute to distin- 
 
 the 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 fi^ufsh those of Captain Ellingliam and old 
 Brian Wyvill, the pensioned ex-gamckcepcr. 
 " There be the Lindisfarn Stoan, zur ! " she 
 heard the latter say; "that be the highest 
 ground in all the Lindisfarn land ; and vrom 
 the tcp o' that stoan you may zee a'most all 
 the estate. 'Tis a bewtiful zcat to zct on ; 
 and Miss Kate comes cp here time and again. 
 I zenis wc shall \iud her here now." 
 
 And the next minute the speaker, emerg- 
 ing with his companion from the edge of the 
 wood, espied her on the top of the rock 
 above tliera. 
 
 " There she be, zurc enough, capten ! 
 Please, Miss Kate, capten kem up to the 
 Chase a-wanting vor tu speak tu ee, and as 
 yew W08 not tu house, I tould un, I thot a 
 cou'd vind ee ; zo we kem up the vorest te- 
 gether." 
 
 " It's a true, full, and particular account. 
 Miss Lindisfarn. I did come up to the Chase 
 on purpose to speak to you, and was very un- 
 willing to return and leave my errand unsaid, 
 and so ventured by the help of old Brian to 
 start on an exploring cruise in search of you. 
 May I scale your fortress? " 
 
 " If you can fmd the way to do so," re- 
 plied Kate, striving to speak in her usual 
 light-hearted tone, and hoping that he might 
 lose some little time in finding the side by 
 which the stone is accessible, and so give her 
 a few moments to collect herself and dry her 
 eyes. She strove hard to speak gayly, but 
 there was a tremor in her voice ; for her heart 
 was beating as though it would force its way 
 out from her bosom. For a moment she clung 
 to an absurd hope that old Brian Wyvill 
 would remain, and make any ie^e-tt-^e/e conver- 
 sation impossible ; but in the next, she heard 
 him tell Captain EUingham that he " med walk 
 eptu the tep of the stoan on t'other zideev it," 
 and saw him turn to go down the hill. 
 
 EUingham little thought, when he talked 
 playfully of scaling her fortress, how nearly 
 the words represented the true state of the 
 case, and how much she would have given to 
 have made it absolutely inaccessible to him. 
 
 She had little doubt that the misfortune 
 she had much dreaded had fallen upon her 
 already. If she had not been in such a nerv- 
 ous agony of fear, lest EUingham should pro- 
 pose to her under the present circumstances, 
 she probably would not have felt so certain 
 that it was coming. As it was, she had lit- 
 tle doubt of it ; and the fear of the bitter. 
 
 135 
 
 bitter draught that was nearly at her lips 
 was so great as to suggest a mad and mo- 
 mentary thought of the possibility of escape 
 from it by throwing herself off the rock from 
 the front of it before her lover could reach 
 the top of it from behind. 
 
 Her lover ! Yes. Kate did not pretend to 
 herself to have any duubt about it. There 
 stands the account of her conversation with 
 EUingham on the occasion of her attempt at 
 bribery and corruption, fairly reported in a 
 previous chapter. One does not find any- 
 thing like love-making in it ! Lydia Lan- 
 guish could not scent the faintest odor of 
 '' la hcUe passion'''' in any part of the conver- 
 sation. The combined ingenuity of Dodson 
 and Fogg could not have extracted from it 
 the faintest indication of a compromising in- 
 tention. Yet it was after that conversation 
 that EUingham had felt as if he were walk- 
 ing on air, and had gone off in the gig tri- 
 umphant and rejoicing. It was when she 
 went up to her room to prepare for her ride 
 to Sillmouth, to carry the tidings of his utter 
 refusal to comply with her wishes, that Kate 
 had first felt the delicious certainty that he 
 was hers, and hers only, forever. 
 
 Strange ! How poor imperfectly-articu- 
 late, half-dumb lovers do get to understand 
 each other in some way, certainly deserves 
 an enlightened naturalist's attention. The 
 ants, too, how curious is the way in which 
 they evidently communicate intelligence, of- 
 ten of a complicated character, to one an- 
 other, apparently also in their case by the 
 appropinquation of noses ! I suppose, how- 
 ever, that the ants have expressive eyes 
 Otherwise I have no conception how they 
 manage their confabulations. 
 
 Putting out of the question, however, the 
 whole of that intensely interesting suliject 
 on which poor Kate so dreaded to hear El- 
 lingham enter, there were topics enough on 
 which it was very natural he might wish to 
 speak to her. They had not met since that 
 memorable conversation at the early break- 
 fast-table. It was very intelligible that they 
 should both wish to talk over the result of 
 the events to which they were then looking 
 forward. Nevertheless, Kate felt sure that 
 Ellingham's present errand was not merely 
 to talk of smugglers and smuggler hunting. 
 She knew — why or how slie knew she could 
 not tell — but she had not the slightest doubt 
 that the misfortune, to the possibility of 
 
136 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE 
 
 ■which she had been looking forward as the 
 most terrible that could happen to her, had 
 in reality fallen upon her. Nor did she 
 doubt or waver for an instant in her deci- 
 sion as to the only answer that it was pos- 
 sible for her to make to the communication 
 that awaited her. If only she could have 
 told him the truth ! — not all the truth, — 
 not the too undeniable truth that she loved 
 him with a passion that paled all else in 
 life, even as a sunbeam pales the dull glow 
 of fire among the ashes on a hearth half 
 burned out, — not this, but simply the truth 
 respecting the vanishing of her worldly 
 wealth ! Far, far better, infinitely better 
 would it have been if that truth could have 
 been made known to him before he had set 
 forth on the errand that had now brought 
 him to the Lindisfarn Stone ! Failing this, 
 it would have been an infinite relief to her 
 to have been able to tell the truth now, and 
 to attribute her rejection to its true motives. 
 But to be obliged to answer him by an un- 
 motived rejection, — she, in her character of a 
 wealthy heiress, to refuse her hand to the 
 brave man, rich in honor, loyal truth, noble 
 thoughts, and all the treasures of a loving, 
 honest, manly heart — to be compelled the 
 while to hide with jealous care every word, 
 
 every action, every glance, that might be- 
 tray the secret of that yearning love, which 
 seemed to be intensified by the pity she felt 
 for the pang she was about to inflict ; to 
 crush deep down into the recesses of the 
 beating little heart, that was bounding in its 
 prison-house with longing to pour itself and 
 all its thoughts and sorrows and troubles 
 into his arms, every indication that she was 
 not in truth the cold mammon-worshipping 
 worldling that she must necessarily appear 
 to him, — this was indeed a cruel, cruel 
 fate! 
 
 In a minute or two more she heard Cap- 
 tain Ellingham coming up the sloping side 
 of the rock behind her. She was seated, as 
 has been said, on the verge of the other side, 
 looking towards Silverton, with her back 
 turned to the side from which he was ap- 
 proaching. Every foot-fall, as he stepped 
 hurriedly across the nearly flat top of the 
 huge stone, seemed to strike a blow on her 
 heart. She would have risen to meet him ; 
 but it was utterly impossible for her to do 
 so. She sat gazing over the prospect of 
 woods and distant fields as if she were fasci- 
 nated and rooted to the spot, till she heard 
 his voice by her side. 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 CUAPTER XXV. 
 "tears from the DEPTn OF SOME DIVINE DE- 
 SPAIR ! " 
 
 " Have you been able to forgive me yet, 
 Miss Lindisfaru," said the voice close behind 
 and above her in very gentle accents, "for 
 the brutality with which I refused all your 
 requests at the breakfast-table the other 
 morning? " 
 
 " Pray don't suppose, Captain EUingham, 
 that I am not fully aware that it is I who 
 need forgiveness for having ventured to make 
 a suggestion to you which involved a breach 
 of duty. If I had not been worked up to a 
 state of desperation by the terrors of my old 
 nurse, I should not have been guilty of the 
 indiscretion," said Kate. 
 
 The I'eply was a natural one enough, and 
 altogether a sensible and proper one. Yet 
 there was an undefinable something in the 
 tone or manner of it, which rang unpleasantly 
 on EUingham 's ear. It seemed to imply re- 
 gret that the incident should ha\e occurred 
 at all ; whereas he looked back to it with 
 delight, and treasured up every word, and 
 dwelt on every accent with ecstasy. There 
 was a cold, dry, formal tone, too, in the ac- 
 cent with which she spoke, that smote his 
 ear, and distressed him. It was the result 
 of the arduous struggle, that was going on 
 within her, poor girl ! to save herself from 
 bursting into tears, and to find strength and 
 sense to answer him calmly and coherently. 
 
 " But you see how needless Mrs. Pendle- 
 ton's terrors were ! If it were not that I am 
 perfectly well convinced that Miss Lindis- 
 farn's approbation would be accorded to per- 
 formance and not to breach of duty, I might 
 be tempted to take credit for having let the 
 smuggler slip through my fingers intentionally 
 in obedience to your wishes. The honest 
 truth is that I tried all I could to catch 
 him, and he out-manoeuvred me ! " 
 
 " I suppose it does not involve a very seri- 
 ous breach of the revenue laws to be glad that 
 the matter ended as it did," said Kate, feel- 
 ing a little more tranquil, as a faint hope 
 came to her that perhaps, after all, EUing- 
 ham's present purpose was only to speak of 
 the afiair with the Saucy Sally. 
 
 " For you, at all events, Miss Lindisfarn, 
 it is, I conceive perfectly lawful to rejoice in 
 the discomfiture of the Petrel; but in my case 
 it is not only the revenue laws, but a sailor's 
 professional pride, that stands in the way of 
 
 137 
 
 my being heartily glad of the Saucy Sally's 
 escape. It was a superb feat of seamanship 
 that that fellow Pendleton performed that 
 night; and an admirable boat tlie Saucy 
 Sally must be." 
 
 " I have heard she is a very first-rate 
 sailer," replied Kate. 
 
 " First-rate indeed ! But what a pity it 
 is that sucli a seaman as that man must be, 
 should be on tiie wrong side, and break the 
 law, instead of serving his country. There's 
 one thing, at all events, may be said for high 
 custom duties, and the smuggling that arises 
 from them, — no honest trade ever did or 
 ever will breed such seamen as smuggling 
 does. I wish your protege, Miss Lindislarn, 
 could be persuaded to give it up. I shall 
 surely catch him one of these days, or nights 
 rather ; — or if not I, some other fellow on 
 our side." 
 
 "Yes; I wish he would give it up, for 
 poor Winifred's sake," said Kate. 
 
 All this time EUingham had been standing 
 by her, as she sat in the position she had first 
 taken on the rock. He was by her side, but 
 somewhat behind her ; and she, though she 
 had turned her head a little toward him in 
 speaking, had hardly raised her eyes to his 
 face. He had begun the conversation in the 
 most natural manner, by speaking on the 
 subject which was, of course, one of interest 
 to both of them ; but he was now at a loss 
 how to get from it to the real object of his 
 visit. But he had come up to Lindisfarn 
 that day, and had pursued the chase up to 
 Lindisfarn brow, quite determined to do the 
 deed he had, not without very considerable 
 difficulty, made up his mind to do before he 
 returned. Captain EUingham was not the 
 sort of a man to leave undone that which he 
 had determined to do. He had made up his 
 mind to do it, I say, not without some diffi- 
 culty, and after a good deal of consideration 
 and hesitation. Perhaps he would not have 
 done so at all without the aid, comfort, and 
 counsel of Lady Farnleigh. There is no 
 means of knowing exactly what may have 
 passed between them on the subject ; but 
 in all probability Lady Farnleigh, from the 
 first, intended that her two favorites should 
 make a match of it ; and there can be little 
 doubt that it was due to her representations 
 and advice that the poor revenue ofiicer event- 
 ually determined to venture on offering to 
 an heiress of two thousand a year. Having 
 
138 
 
 made up his mind to do so, and having fixed 
 on tlie present day and hour for accomplish- 
 ing the purpose, difficult or not difficult, he 
 meant now to do it. 
 
 " Yes ; I wish, he would give it up for 
 poor Winifred's sake," Kate had said in re- 
 ply to his last remark, uttering the words 
 in a more simple and natural tone than she 
 had used before. 
 
 " Mrs. Pendleton was a great favorite with 
 you all at the Chase, I believe," said Elling- 
 ham, advancing a step as he spoke and sit- 
 ing down on the rock by her side. 
 
 The movement revived all Kate's worst 
 suspicions and terrors. She would have 
 risen from her seat, and at once commenced 
 her walk back to the house, so as to have 
 limited the time at his disposition to a few 
 minutes only ; but she felt her limbs trem- 
 bling so, that she did not dare to make the 
 attempt, and remained as if chained to the 
 rock, with her eyes fixed unconsciously and 
 unmeaningly on the little black square on 
 the horizon representing the ruined keep of 
 Silverton Castle. 
 
 " A favorite with you all, was she not? " 
 repeated EUingham. 
 
 " Yes, we had all a great regard for her," 
 said Kate, still apparently absorljed in the 
 contemplation of the distant view of Silver- 
 ton Castle keep. 
 
 " And it was for her sake, doubtless, that 
 you were led to feel an interest in the fate of 
 that bold smuggler and very excellent sea- 
 man, her husband." 
 
 " Of course, naturally. Poor woman ! she 
 was in a state of great anxiety and distress." 
 
 " Of course. Her whole life must be one 
 of anxiety." 
 
 " It was a source of much trouble and re- 
 gret to us when she married, though her 
 husband was not a smuggler then." 
 
 " Did you object then, as her friends and 
 protectors, to her marrying a sailor? " 
 
 " Oh, no ! But there were then reasons 
 for thinking that he was not a very steady 
 man. I was too young at the time to under- 
 stand much about it ; but I know that my 
 father and jNIr. ]Mat were not altogether sat- 
 isfied with Pendleton's previous history." 
 
 "You would not have objected, then, to 
 the marriage merely on the ground of the 
 man's being a sailor?" 
 
 " Oh, dear, no !" said Kate, quite unsus- 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 piciously ; if we could only have felt well 
 assured that he would have continued stead- 
 ily to follow his business as a boat-owner and 
 fisherman, as he was when poor Winny mar- 
 ried him, we should have been perfectly well 
 contented." 
 
 " Did it ever occur to you, Miss Lindis- 
 farn, when thinking of the lot of your favor- 
 ite nurse, to judge of her chances of happi- 
 ness by putting the case to yourself? Did 
 you ever ask yourself whether you could have 
 been content to take for your partner in life 
 one whose vocation called him to pass much 
 of his life on the ocean ? " 
 
 " Is it likely," replied Kate, whose heart 
 began here again to beat with painful vio- 
 lence and rapidity, — " is it likely, do you 
 think, that any such idea would present it- 
 self to a little girl of twelve years old ? " 
 
 And no sooner were the words out of her 
 mouth than she could have bitten off her 
 tongue for speaking them ; for it flashed into 
 her mind, that they might seem to imply 
 that at her pr£sent more matur* period of 
 life, such a consideration might have occurred 
 to her. It was, however, impossible to recall 
 them ; and Captain EUingham proceeded hur- 
 riedly. 
 
 " But since that time the sight of poor 
 Mrs. Pendleton's troubles may have sug- 
 gested such a thought to you." 
 
 "Her troubles have arisen," returned Kate, 
 fencing, and, as she used the simple truth for 
 the purpose, fencing very unskilfully, "not 
 from being the wife of a sailor, but from be- 
 ing the wife of a smuggler." 
 
 And again, as soon as the words were 
 past recall, she was horrified by the sudden 
 thought, that they might seem to encourage 
 the idea which she was anxious to discour- 
 age by every possible means. 
 
 " The thought was never suggested to you, 
 then, Miss Lindisfarn, whether or no you 
 could yourself be ever induced to accept the 
 love of a sailor?" said EUingham, with a 
 momentary glance into her eyes that would 
 have said all he had to say to the most ob- 
 tuse of Eve's daughters, even if she had been 
 previously wholly unsuspicious of liis intent, 
 and not without a little tremor in his voice. 
 
 Here it was then ! The dreaded moment 
 was come ! What — what was she to reply ? 
 Stave off the evil yet a moment longer byre- 
 fusing to understand liira ? She hated her- 
 
LINDISFARN 
 
 self for the cowardly evasion, but adopted it 
 in the extremity of her distress and embar- 
 rassment, 
 
 " Girls, I fancy, rarely trouble their heads 
 with speculations having reference to such 
 matters, and on cases that do not seem to 
 have any probability to commend them to 
 their notice," she said, turning her face 
 more away from him as she spoke, in a man- 
 ner tliat unmistakably indicated the annoy- 
 ance she was sulTcring. 
 
 " Oh, Miss Lindisfarn, has no probability 
 of such a question being asked of you ever 
 commended itself to your notice ? Have you 
 not seen — but it is contemptible of me to 
 embarrass you thus by cowardly shrinking 
 from the subject on which I came here pur- 
 posely to speak. Miss Lindisfarn," he went 
 on with a sort of hurried desperation, " 1 
 came to the Chase this day, and I took the 
 liberty of following you hither, for the pur- 
 pose of asking j'ou to be my wife. I say 
 nothing about the entirety of my happiness 
 being dependent on your reply ; it is of 
 course that it should be so. A man must be 
 a wretch indeed, that could address you, as 
 I am daring to do, were it otherwise. I 
 think you must know that I love you well. 
 Not that any such, knowledge can give me 
 the slightest right to presuppose your an- 
 swer. But it makes it needless for me to 
 try to tell you how much, how entirely, you 
 have become all in all to me. I am not a young 
 man. Most men have loved more than once 
 before they have reached my years ; but it 
 is the first-fruit of my heart that I am offer- 
 ing you. My life has not been a prosperous 
 or a very happy one. My path through the 
 world has always been on the shady side of 
 the wall ! And the fact that it has been so 
 makes my presumption in asking for the sun- 
 shine of your love seem the greater to me. 
 I ask you to smile on a man who has had 
 few smiles from any one. I ask you to take 
 a pale and colorless life, with nothing in it 
 save the one stern presence of Duty, with 
 nothing of present brightness and little of 
 future hope, and transfigure it with the sun- 
 shine and warmth and glory of your love ! 
 That is all I ask ; and I proffer nothing in 
 return save — nothing at all ; I have nothing 
 to proffer. What is my love to one who has 
 love and admiration from everybody, — every- 
 body from her cradle upward ! " 
 
 All this had been poured out with pas- 
 
 CHASE. 
 
 139 
 
 sionate rapidity and vehemonce, while Kate 
 kept her face steadily turned away from him 
 toward the distant horizon. lie might Iiave 
 supposed that no word of all he had said had 
 reached her ear, so motionless and utterly 
 voiceless she remained ! But though slie had 
 commanded herself sufficiently to allow no 
 sound to escape her lips, her power of self- 
 control had been limited to the effort needed 
 for that. The silent tears were streaming 
 from her eyes ; and she feared even to raise 
 her hand to her face to dry them, lest the 
 motion should betray her agitation. 
 
 He had paused a moment or two ; but no 
 sound of answer came. 
 
 " Is there no hope for me ? " ho asked, in 
 a tremulous voice ; " must the future be a 
 yet more cheerless and hopeless blank to me 
 than the past? Miss Lindisfarn, is there no 
 hope for me? " 
 
 Still there came no word, and her face was 
 turned away so that he could not see it. 
 But she shook her head with a slow, sad mo- 
 tion, which very plainly expressed a reply in 
 the negative to the question that had been 
 asked her. 
 
 " Gracious Heaven ! Is that my answer? 
 Do I understand you aright ? Miss Lindis- 
 farn ! " he continued, in a voice tremulous 
 with the agony of his mind, the tones of 
 which were well calculated to make their 
 way to a tougher heart than that of her on 
 whose ear they fell, "Miss Lindisfiirn ! is 
 that your sole answer ? Have you no word 
 for me ? " 
 
 But still no other answer came than a 
 repetition of the same slow and sad shaking 
 of the head. 
 
 " Then God help me ! My life is done ! " 
 he exclaimed, in a tone of utter despair ; " I 
 ought not to have set my all on so desperate 
 a cast ! Miss Lindisfarn, I ought, perhaps, 
 to say that I have not been unaware of the 
 very wide distance placed between us in re- 
 spect to the goods of fortune. But I have 
 not cared to touch on that head, because I 
 am quite sure that your decision on my fate, 
 be it what it might, would not turn on that 
 consideration " — 
 
 Here Kate's agitation beciime such that 
 her shoulders, which were turned toward 
 him, and her whole person, were visibly 
 shaken by it ; and with a great gasping sob 
 there burst from her, as if it had forced it- 
 self from licr heart against her will, the ex- 
 
140 
 
 clamatloD, " God bless you. Captain Elling- 
 ham, for that word ! " and then the pent-up 
 agony could be held in no longer, and she 
 burst into a storm of sobs and tears, so vio- 
 lent as to be wholly beyond her power to 
 control it. 
 
 Ellingham was so utterly unprepared for 
 any such manifestation of feeling, so com- 
 pletely amazed and thunderstruck, that he 
 did not at the moment accurately apply her 
 words to the phrase of his that called them 
 forth. 
 
 " Gracious Heaven ! Miss Lindisfarn, 'what 
 have I done ? What have I said ? Why are 
 you so distressed ? It is for me to bear, as 
 God shall give me strength, the blow that 
 has fallen on me. I have no right, and, 
 Heaven knows, no wish, to distress you 
 thus." 
 
 Still the convulsive sobbing continued de- 
 spite her utmost efforts to recover control 
 over herself. Ellingham was utterly at a 
 loss what interpretation to put upon her ex- 
 treme agitation. After another short pause, 
 he said again, — 
 
 " At all even-ts, there must be no misun- 
 derstanding between us. The matter at stake 
 is to me too tremendously vital. Is it your 
 deliberate purpose. Miss Lindisfarn, to com- 
 municate to me in answer to my question, 
 that there is no hope for me ? " 
 
 She shook her head amid continued weep- 
 ing, and sobbed out the words, " No hope ! 
 No hope ! " 
 
 " No hope, either now or in the future? 
 If there is any, oh. Miss Lindisfarn, give me 
 the benefit of it, in pity ! " 
 
 And again the only reply was the same sad 
 shaking of the head, and the words, " None, 
 none ! " 
 
 "And it is your own decision that you 
 give me, not that of any other person?" 
 urged Ellingham, still at a loss to conceive 
 any explanation of her extraordinaiy emo- 
 tion. 
 
 She bowed her head once, looking up at 
 him with streaming eyes ; for he had risen 
 from his seat on the rock, and was now 
 standing in front of her. 
 
 " Your own unbiassed decision?" he re- 
 iterated. 
 
 "It is my own decision. Nobody has 
 prompted it. Nobody knows anything about 
 it." 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 " And is there no hope for me that time 
 may produce any change in my favor, — no 
 hope that I may be able to win your affection 
 in return for — not a lightly felt, or lightly 
 given love, Miss Lindisfarn ? " 
 
 "Oh, pray leave me, Captain Ellingham ! 
 I cannot say anything other than I have 
 said. I cannot ! Please leave me ! " 
 
 "But how can I leave you here in the 
 state of agitation in which you appear to be, 
 Miss Lindisfarn ? " 
 
 ' ' Never mind ! It is very foolish of me. 
 But please leave me to myself. I shall re- 
 cover my — myself in a few minutes ! It was 
 the surprise — and — my great sorrow at be- 
 ing obliged to pain you. Captain Ellingham. 
 But— but— I cannot do otherwise ; you will, 
 perhaps — no ! I was only going to say that 
 — that — it must be as I have said ! " 
 " And I must leave you thus? " 
 " Yes, please. Captain Ellingham ! I shall 
 be better presently, and will then walk down 
 to the house by myself." 
 
 " Good-by then. Miss Lindisfarn. I have 
 been the victim of a <j;reat mistake, of a mon- 
 strous and blind self-deluaion ! Forgive me 
 for the annoyance I have caused you, and for, 
 the besotted presumption which led me to do 
 it ! Farewell, Miss Lindisfirn, and may God 
 bless you, now and forever ! " 
 
 " Farewell, Captain Ellingham ! God bless 
 you too! I pray it very earnestly. And 
 think as little hardly of me as you can. 
 Farewell ! " 
 
 " Think hardly, Miss Lindisfarn ! I can 
 put no interpretation on the manner in which 
 you have received and rejected my suit. 
 That some reason influences you, which you 
 do not judge well to assign to me is, I think, 
 evident. But be assured, — be very well as- 
 sured that I do not imagine, and never shall 
 or can imagine, that that reason, be it what it 
 may, is of a kind to shake the opinion, that 
 you are — all that ray great love has believed 
 you to be." 
 
 And with those words he turned and left 
 the top of the rock by the same way by 
 which he had climbed it. 
 
 Kate's tears gushed out afresh as he left 
 her, sitting in the place from which she had 
 not moved during the whole of the above 
 conversation ; and she looked out eagerly 
 through them to catch sight of him, as he 
 1 came round the base of the rock, on his way 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 141 
 
 down tlic hill to^vard the house, and toward | acquaintance with it. The garden had as 
 Silverton. 
 
 But she was disappointed ; for he did not 
 come round the rock, nor descend by that 
 Bide of the hill ; and Kate, therefore, saw 
 him no more. 
 
 CHAPTER xxri. 
 
 "ANOTHER VERY GOOD WAT." — MRS. GLASSE, 
 passim. 
 
 It was not strictly true, as has been said, 
 that Lady Sempronia expected a visit from 
 her niece Margaret on that particular morn- 
 ing on which she induced the somewhat re- 
 luctant Mr. Mat to drive her over to Silver- 
 ton. Yet it was quite true that the visit was 
 expected, though not by Lady Sempronia. 
 The gentle Margaret, however, had found 
 the means during the past winter of making 
 lierseM" so acceptable to her aunt, that she 
 was always glad to see her. And when upon 
 this occasion she arrived from Lindisfarn, as 
 was usually the case, before the canon had 
 returned from the morning service at the 
 cathedral, — for Mr. Mat in the gig was not 
 so long getting over the eight miles as Thomas 
 Tibbs with the family carriage behind him, — 
 she found as cordial a welcome from her drab- 
 colored aunt, sittlr.g abac iu her drab-col- 
 ored drawing-room, as was compatible with 
 the nature of the person and the locality. 
 
 Mr. Mat, it is to be understood, did not come 
 in ; but dropping Miss Margaret at her uncle's 
 door, went away to his own affairs ; for Mr. 
 jSIat entered Lady Sempronia's doors and her 
 ]iresence, to tell the truth, as rarely as bien- 
 seance would permit. Probably, after put- 
 ting up the gig at the Lindisfarn Arms, he 
 strolled to the cathedral and lounged in the 
 nave till the Rev. Mr. Thorburn, the minor 
 canon, came out from service, and then ad- 
 journed with that musical dignitary to the 
 house of little Peter Glenny, the organist. 
 
 Margaret found her aunt a shade or two 
 worse in spirits than usual. In truth, exist- 
 ence and the world in general had but a fla- 
 vorless, drab-colored, washed-out sort of ap- 
 pearance, as seen from the Lady Sempronia 's 
 point of view, it must be admitted. The low- 
 ceilinged, drab-colored drawing-room, with its 
 worn-out carpet and pale-brown curtains 
 and faded furniture, had not on that March 
 morning the cheerfulness due to the sunshine, 
 and the beauty of the garden outside its win- 
 dows, that it had when the reader first made 
 
 yet but little beauty ; the morning was raw 
 and chilly, and it is impossible to conceive 
 anything more suggestive of ascetic uncom- 
 fortablcness than the miserable little bit ot 
 half-extinguished fire, which, contained in 
 some wretched contrivance for rendering the 
 proper proportions of the grate abortive, oc- 
 cupied the middle of Lady Sempronia's fire- 
 place. She was sitting, when Margaret en- 
 tei-ed, in the centre of a large, deep, old-fash- 
 ioned sofa, — one of that kind which show no 
 portion of uncovered wood in any part of 
 them ; and was engaged in manufacturing 
 out of balls of white bobbin a small square of 
 network, destined to be pinned against the 
 back of one of the drab-colored arm-chairs, 
 rather for the concealment of its dilapida- 
 tions than the protection of its magnificence. 
 
 A litter of books upon the table, even if 
 the inmate does not read them, suggests the 
 possibility of doing so, and the idea of the 
 companionship of other minds. A clock 
 ticking audibly on the mantelpiece is not an 
 incitement to uproarious gayety, but it at 
 least conveys an impression of homeliness and 
 lifci, A eat on the hearthstone, again, is far 
 bettts: than the clock, and contributes much 
 toward mitigating the horrors of such a po- 
 sition as that of Lady Sempronia. But she 
 had none of these alleviations, and as she 
 sat there upright in the middle of the great 
 sofa, placed at right angles to the almost 
 empty grate, and opposite to the window 
 looking into the sunless and flowerless gar- 
 den, in the midst of the tomblike stillness of 
 the colorless drawing-room, it is hardly sur- 
 prising if the world in general presented it- 
 self to her view as a vale of tears, and on the 
 whole as a melancholy mistake and failure. 
 It is intelligible that under such circumstances 
 the arrival of Miss Margaret should have been 
 felt by her aunt to be a not unwelcome re- 
 lief. 
 
 Lady Sempronia had, moreover, a special 
 trial to lament over on the morning in ques- 
 tion. This, indeed, was generally the case ; 
 but on the present occasion it was a matter 
 that had particularly tried her temper. 
 
 " My position, you see, my dear," she re- 
 marked to her sympathizing niece, after the 
 usual condolences which constituted the Lady 
 Sempronia's mode of greeting and welcoming, 
 " is one of peculiar hardship and difiiculty. 
 Your uncle, without being (juiie far enough 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 142 
 
 p;one to be put under restraint, is neverthe- 
 less fully as incapable of managing his own 
 affairs, or of conducting himself with ordi- 
 nary propriety as most of those who are so." 
 
 " It is a very vexatious position, dear 
 aunt ! " 
 
 " Ah, my dear ! If you only knew half of 
 what I have to go through ! There was yes- 
 terday evening ! I do assure you it was one 
 of the most painful trials that could be in- 
 flicted upon a right-minded person! " 
 
 " What was it, aunt? " 
 
 " Oh, my dear ! Such a scene! so pain- 
 ful ! We had a few friends to dine with us ; 
 the doctor's doing, as usual. I know too 
 well that our means do not justify us in en- 
 tering into such expenses. We might do so, 
 of course, with perfect comfort and propriety 
 even, if the money were not all flung away 
 on the most futile absurdities. But, as I say 
 to Dr. Lindisfarn, you cannot burn the can- 
 dle at two ends at once. You cannot give 
 dinners and print monographs, both." 
 
 " That is very true, dear aunt I " said Mar- 
 garet, shaking her head sympathetically. 
 
 "But the doctor thinks differently," pur- 
 sued the faded lady, with a deep sigh ; " and 
 he would have me invite people to dine here 
 yesterday ; the dean and Mrs. Barton, Dr. 
 Blakistry, the Polstons from Sillmouth, and 
 one or two others ; quite enough to carry the 
 story of what they saw all over the country." 
 
 "What was it?" asked Margaret, with 
 an awakening of real curiosity. 
 
 "Oh, my dear! We had all gone in 
 to the dining-room; the dean took me, of 
 course, and the rest came in as they chose ; 
 for the doctor was not there. He never will 
 do anything like other people ! and gener- 
 ally when there are any people here he joins 
 us in the dining-room. AVell, my dear, dear 
 Margaret ! We were all in our places round 
 the table. Sanders said the doctor was com- 
 ing, and was holding the door open for him. 
 We all paused a minute, still standing to 
 wait for him, when — oh, my dear child ! I 
 shall ncvev, never forget that moment ! In 
 walked your uncle. 1 could see by the look 
 of his eye in a minute that he had no more 
 idea of where he was, or what he Avas doing 
 than a stark staring Bedlamite — up he walked 
 to his place at the bottom of the table with 
 the same sort of step he has, you know, when 
 he is walking up the nave with his surplice 
 on, and — and — down he went on his knees, 
 
 and put his face into his soup-plate, as if it 
 were his trencher-cap ! Oh, Margaret ! I 
 thought I should have dropped where I stood ! 
 The dean behaved very well ; but I saw Mrs. 
 Barton give him a look across the table. 
 Then we all sat down ; and I was in hopes 
 that that would have recalled him to himself, 
 and to some decent sense of the proprieties of 
 the time and place. But not a bit of it ! 
 Presently he stood up, and looked round the 
 table in a calm and dignified sort of w^ay, as 
 much as to ask why the service didn't begin. 
 And that vulgar, coarse wretch, Minor Canon 
 Thorburn, who was sitting near the bottom 
 of the table, called out in his great chanting 
 voice, ' Not a bit of it, doctor ! I have chanted 
 the service twice this day, and I'm not going 
 to begin it again ! ' and that brought him 
 to : ' Ah ! bless my soul ! ' said he, ' dinner- 
 time ! so it is ! Thorburn and I make it 
 straight between us. He thinks he is else- 
 where, sometimes, when he is in church ; I 
 think I am in church when I ought to be 
 eating my dinner ! ' And then there was a 
 tittering all round. But what provokes me 
 past bearing is that your uncle takes all such 
 things as coolly and calmly as if he were do- 
 ing everything he ought to do ! He was not 
 embarrassed, not he ! He has no sense of 
 shame ! " 
 
 " It is very sad," sighed Margaret ; " and, 
 aunt dear, talking of that, I think I had bet- 
 ter go into the study, before uncle comes 
 home from the cathedral, to put away a few 
 of the remaining copies of the ' Memoir on the 
 'City Walls.' He has given awayseveral cop- 
 ies lately, and there are only a few left ; and 
 if they run out alto'^ether, he will be sure to 
 reprint it. You kn.jW he never objects to my 
 being among his books ; and I meant to hide 
 a few copies of the " Town Walls " behind 
 ' Grose's Antiquities.' All the space behind 
 ' Slawkingham's History of Sillshire ' is filled 
 with are serve store of the ' Monograph on the 
 Horseshoe Arches at Parbury-in-the-Moor,' 
 which is particularly bad for him to give 
 away because of the colored plate at the be- 
 ginning !" 
 
 It will be perceived, that Margaret had 
 not only acquired a perfect understanding of 
 the home politics of Lady Sempronia's house- 
 hold, but had made herself very intelligently ■ 
 useful in forwarding that much-tried lady's 
 views. When alone with her uncle, she had 
 no scruple in pouring oil on the fire of hia 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 antiquarian zeal to the utmost extent tliat 
 liov ignorance of everytliing connected with 
 the Bubject would allow. And when ahc 
 found herself in the somewhat more difficult 
 circumstance of being present at any difl'cr- 
 encc of opinion between her uncle and aunt, 
 she was wont to extricate herself from tlic 
 difficulty by a masterly silence, dropping her 
 silken lashes over her downcast eyes, with an 
 expression that deplored the existence of a 
 diflerence, and permitted either party to feel 
 how deeply she lamented the perversity and 
 obstinacy of the other. 
 
 " Do, my dear ! Go into the study. You 
 have not above a quarter of an hour before 
 the service will be over. I am sure it is a 
 comfort to have any one in the house who so 
 thoroughly understands all the trials I have 
 to go through." 
 
 So ^largaret left her aunt to her knitting, 
 or knotting, or netting, or whatever the 
 proper term is to describe the fabrication of 
 the reticulated fabric on which she was en- 
 gaged, and betook herself to her uncle's 
 study. But having entered that sanctum and 
 carefully closed the door, and having taken 
 at random some half-dozen volumes from the 
 shelves and placed them on the floor, she ap- 
 peared to be suddenly called away from her 
 librarian-like avocation to other cares. First 
 of all she tripped with a step that would 
 hardly have bent the grass-blades beneath it, 
 had her tripping been in a meadow, to the 
 window, — not that looking into the garden, 
 but the opposite one at the otiier end of the room 
 looking into the Close, — and carefully drawing 
 aside as much of the muslin curtain which 
 hung before it as would enable her to peep 
 out from the side of it, in a direction which 
 commanded the road leading towards the 
 door of the cathedral, she gazed for half a 
 minute, and, apparently satisfied, dropped 
 the curtain. Then holding back the folds of 
 her pretty lilac silk dress with both exqui- 
 sitely gloved hands, she put out first one and 
 then the other slender foot, cased in bronze 
 colored morocco bottincs, the admirable fitting 
 of which showed off the arching of the in- 
 step to the greatest advantage. Both were 
 subjected to a close scrutiny, and neither was 
 found to be quite free from dust, while on 
 the heel of one appeared a slight splash. So 
 the pretty examiner darted across the room 
 to a drawer under the slielves in one corner 
 of the library, and sharply pulling it open, 
 
 143 
 
 took from it a duster, which the doctor kept 
 there for the behoof of his books, and has- 
 tily set to work to repair the miscliief her 
 scrutiny had discovered. This liappily ac- 
 complished, she again returned to the win- 
 dow, and again satisfied herself that there 
 was nobody yet coming across from the ca- 
 tliedral. Just opposite to the door, and be- 
 hind the lay figure, which has been mentioned 
 in a former chapter as a device of Dr. Lin- 
 disfarn's for reminding him to take off his 
 surplice on returning from the choir, there 
 was a small square toilet glass hung against 
 the panelled wall, intended for the doctor's 
 service iq robing, though ministering but 
 little to the correctness of his appearance by 
 its hints. It was now, however, consulted 
 by a more docile pupil. Having put all into 
 perfect order at one extremity of her person, 
 Margaret now gave her attention to the 
 other. The edges of the dark bands of glossy 
 hair on her brow had to be just a little re- 
 touched ; the ribbons of the pretty bonnet to 
 be readjusted beneath the chin ; and the set 
 of that chef-cVceuvre itself somewhat modi- 
 fied. All this was done with a rapid and 
 sure hand ; the result was approved by one 
 intent and searching but all too transient 
 glance ; — a second was devoted to an equally 
 rapid dress-rehearsal of a small but exceed- 
 ingly effective pantomime representation by 
 the eycb themselves ; and then the charming 
 performer flitted back to her post of observa- 
 tion at the corner of the window looking on 
 the Close. 
 
 Was ever such preparation made before 
 by a dutiful niece for receiving an elderly 
 uncle, and that uncle a canon returning from 
 morning service at his cathedral ! 
 
 In a very few minutes she dropped the 
 muslin curtain from her fingers, as if it had 
 suddenly burned her ; a bright look of satis- 
 faction came over her face, tlic blood mounted 
 to her fair cheeks just sufficiently to tinge 
 the cream-colored satin of them with the 
 delicate hue of a pale hedge-rose, and her 
 eyes were lighted up with the brilliancy of 
 animation, as she tripped back to the place 
 in the bookshelves from which she had re- 
 moved the volumes to the floor, and took one 
 of the books in her hand. In the next min- 
 ute the doctor, having let himself in with his 
 latchkey, opened the door of the study, and 
 was heard saying, — 
 
 "Come in, come in, Mr. Falconer! I 
 
144 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 shall have much pleasure in showing you the 
 volume. What, Margaret, you here? De- 
 lighted to see you, my dear ! " 
 
 " I was at my old work among your books, 
 you see, uncle ; but 1 did not intend to get 
 caught playing the librarian by any one but 
 you. Mr. Mat was coming in this morning, 
 so I begged a place in the gig." 
 
 " And I little thought of the pleasure that 
 was in store for me, when I walked with you 
 across the Close, doctor ! " said Falconer. 
 
 His eyes and Margaret's had already met 
 and exchanged intelligent greeting and con- 
 gratulations on the success of the lie that 
 each was telling. 
 
 The unsuspicious canon proceeded mean- 
 while to disrobe himself and robe his lay 
 i-epresentative, or as the Rev. Minor Canon 
 Thorburn (more generally called, out of 
 church. Jack Thorburn) used to say with 
 ever new felicitousness on every occasion, 
 turn him from a lay into a clerical figure ; 
 while the two young people shook hands, 
 with laughing, conscious eyes. 
 
 " How good this is of you ! You certainly 
 are the best as well as the loveliest girl that 
 ever breathed ! Had you any difBculty about 
 the gig?" whispered Falconer. 
 
 " Yes, indeed I had ! That old brute, Mr. 
 Mat, after oifering to ride with Kate, pre- 
 tended to have business to do, when I asked 
 him to drive me in ; and then told me in so 
 many words, that I was mere dirt compared 
 to her — the atrocious old savage ! I wouldn't 
 have stooped to ask him, or be driven by him, 
 if it had not been for " — and her magnificent 
 eyes said the rest far more eloquently than 
 the most silver tongue could have done. 
 
 " The old savage ! And to think of your 
 having exposed yourself to such annoyan- 
 ces" — and Mr. Freddy also concluded his 
 phrase by the same medium of communi- 
 cation, — creditably, yet not in the same style 
 that Margaret did it. She certainly had the 
 finest and most expressive eyes that ever were 
 seen in a human head. They were so beauti- 
 ful, so tender, so eloquent ! They could look 
 anytliing — save honest. 
 
 " And now, sir, that the object has been 
 served, I do not mean to play librarian any 
 longer. So you may put these horrid old 
 books back in their places. I am afraid I 
 have soiled my gloves with them as it is ! " 
 said IMargaret, holding out the tips of her 
 taper fingers for his inspection in a provoca- 
 
 tive manner that made it absolutely necessary 
 for Freddy to assist in the process by subject- 
 ing each separate digit to manipulation and 
 minute investigation. 
 
 " What exquisite gloves ! Paris of course. 
 Well, I do think there is nothing more beauti- 
 ful in nature than a beautiful hand — when 
 one sees it to perfection," added Fred, as, 
 after satisfying himself that the books had 
 done little or no mischief, he contemplated 
 Margaret's hand, while the extreme tips of 
 its fingers were supported by the extreme tips 
 of his. 
 
 " Come, attend to your work ! Put the 
 books back again into their places," said 
 Margaret. 
 
 "Can't we get away into the garden?" 
 whispered Falconer, as he did so. 
 
 " He will drive us away in a minute," 
 returned Margaret, in the same voice ; " you'll 
 see ! " 
 
 " I think I have finished my task for to- 
 day, uncle," she continued, as the doctor, 
 having got rid of his canonicals, came up the 
 room from the further end near the door to 
 his accustomed corner by the fire, and behind 
 the screen of books, that has been described 
 as nearly dividing the room into two; "I 
 thought I should just have time before you 
 came back from church to finish putting the 
 'Bampton Lectures,' on this shelf in the proper 
 order according to their dates." 
 
 "Thank you, my dear! And now you 
 must run away to your aunt ; for I am going 
 to be very busy. Mr. Falconer, Lady Sem- 
 pronia will be delighted to see you in the 
 drawing-room. See, here is the volume we 
 were speaking of. You can send it back to 
 me when you have done with it. 
 
 So the doctor was left in possession of his 
 study. 
 
 " Can't we get away into the garden?" 
 said Falconer again, as they crossed the hall 
 together toward the drawing-room. 
 
 " We must speak to my aunt first,-" re- 
 turned Margaret, opening the drawing-room 
 door as she spoke. 
 
 " Uncle has been insisting," said she, as 
 soon as Fred had saluted Lady Sempronia, 
 " on my showing Mr. Falconer that point in 
 the corner of your garden from which the 
 old keep tower is visible. I don't suppose 
 he cares much to see it ; but que voulcz vous ? 
 I must do as I am bid ! " And the wonder- 
 ful eyes in two consecutive seconds claimed 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 auiniration and gratitude from Falconer for 
 the ready lie, and exchanged condolences 
 with her aunt on the boredom of her uncle's 
 antiquarianisui. 
 
 " Come, Mr. Falconer," she continued, 
 " come and see the tower as it appears from 
 the Close gardens." 
 
 So they escaped into the garden, and were 
 soon arm in arm, in a sheltered walk under 
 the old city wall, which there formed also 
 the boundary of the canon's garden, and 
 which was very near the spot from which in 
 fact the keep-tower was visible. 
 
 One would have said that ^largaret had 
 schemed with right good-will to secure this 
 telc-a-lele with Falconer ; and yet, now the 
 object was attained, all the abundant cheer- 
 fulness and good-humor which had been so 
 apparent but a minute ago, seemed at once 
 to have deserted her, and a pensive melan- 
 cholj- had suddenly supervened in their place ; 
 even as the face of the landscape is changed 
 when the sun is hidden behind a cloud. 
 The fine eyes were fixed upon the ground, 
 or raised only from time to time to glance 
 for a moment with an expression of gentle 
 sadness on his face. She answered him in 
 monosyllables, and his most insinuating com- 
 pliments were onl}' answered with a sigh. 
 
 In short, it became absolutely necessary for 
 him to inquire very tendei'ly what it was 
 that had damped her spirits ; had he had the 
 inexpressible misfortune of offending her? 
 
 In all probability Islv. Fred Falconer un- 
 derstood perfectly well what the matter was ; 
 and interpreted the signs hung out to him 
 with an accuracy and readiness which made 
 all further conversation on the subject super- 
 fluous ; for kindred spirits understand one 
 another rapidly in these cases. Neverthe- 
 less, it was necessary that the little comedy, 
 in which these two talented performers were 
 engaged, should be duly performed. 
 
 "No," returned Margaret, looking stead- 
 ily at the gravel walk, and picking leaf from 
 leaf a rose, which she had gathered from the 
 creeping plant that almost covered the old 
 gray wall, while she let the pink petals fall 
 one after another, according to the usual 
 stage directions provided for auch circum- 
 stances — " No ; you have neither done nor 
 said anything to offend me" (just the 
 sliglitest emphasis upon the two verbs); 
 " I should be very ungrateful for much kind- 
 
 10 
 
 145 
 
 ness, if 1 were to say or think so, Mr. Fal- 
 coner ; but" — (eyes, which had been raised 
 for a second with one expressive glance at 
 the words much kindness, here glued to the 
 gravel more determinedly than ever) . 
 
 " But what, my dear Miss Lindisfarn ? 
 What was to have followed that little hesi- 
 tating but, so all important to me ? " 
 
 "Is it so important to you?" (Half a 
 glance from corner of eye in state of lique- 
 faction ; extreme tenderness and the purest 
 candid naivete in equal proportions thrown 
 into the voice.) " Can I flatter myself that 
 it is so ? " 
 
 " Surely, my dear Miss Lindisfarn, surely 
 you must know, that all that coneerns your 
 happiness is so to me ! " (Intense pathos. 
 Pause on the gravel walk. Gentleman moves 
 slightly in front of lady, and very timidly 
 lays fingers of right hand on back of glove 
 engaged in picking the rose to pieces. Ap- 
 pealing glance, only to be attempted in case 
 of handsome eyes.) 
 
 " Is what to you? I do not quite under- 
 stand you." said Margaret, taking prompt 
 advantage of her companion's imperfect 
 grammatical consti'uction, and at the same 
 time very slightly, and as if unconsciously, 
 withdrawing her hand. 
 
 "Nay, you know what I would say! 
 There is something which weighs on your 
 spirits ! You may hide it from others, — but 
 do you think. Miss Lindisfarn, that it can be 
 concealed from me? Whatever your trouble 
 may be, can you not confide it to me? Mar — 
 Oh, forgive me, Miss Lindisfarn ! I — I — 
 I forgot myself! That sweet, dear name! 
 ]Marguerite ! [Mai/ I dare — may I call you 
 Marguerite?" 
 
 (This is an important point in the play ; 
 and according to the rules of this Royal 
 Game of Goose, you stop three turns for the 
 eyes to exchange a glance, to which Bur- 
 leigh's nod was as a sixpenny pamphlet to 
 a Blue Book of the biggest dimensions. If 
 the lady player be sure of herself, and knows 
 what she is about, she may make the look 
 steady and fixed for five seconds, and make it 
 up of fluttered tenderness three parts, gently 
 reproachful pathos two parts, and ingenuous 
 surprise — be careful about the quality of this 
 last article — one part, dissolved in two drops 
 0^ lachryma fura. N. B. A larger quantity 
 of the liquid vehicle would injure the opera- 
 
146 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 tion. A gentle heaving of the bosom may 
 be judiciously thrown in. Exhibited in this 
 form, the effect is wonderful.) 
 
 Margaret made up the dose with admira- 
 ble and unerring skill, and administered it 
 ■with prompt decision. 
 
 " Yes ! I think it is a pretty name," she 
 said, dropping her eyes as soon as they hud 
 performed the operation, " and it is sweet to 
 hear it from the lips of those who — But I 
 don't know if I dare tell you. I don't know 
 if I am doing right. I cannot tell how you 
 may judge me " (emphasis delicate, and not 
 too strong on the pronoun), " if I venture to 
 make the confidence you ask." 
 
 " Can you doubt that — Marguerite ? " said 
 Falconer with an ardent glance, and uttering 
 the name as if he had received a sharp blow 
 on the second button of his waistcoat, at the 
 moment it issued from his lips. He was do- 
 *iug his best ; but the fact is, that he was a 
 very inferior performer to the lady. 
 
 " I do think I may trust you to put a kind 
 construction on my venturing to toll you," 
 said she, with a little gush, most delicately 
 ^nd artistically hit off. In fact, the two or 
 three last plunges, which the fine fish on her 
 hook had been making, showed her that the 
 moment had come for winding up line rap- 
 idly ; " I do think I may venture. You are 
 so good, so kind, so indulgent I The fact is — 
 I have been blamed — cruelly blamed and mis- 
 judged — oh ! how can I tell it you ? — Those 
 I live among are not all as kind to me as you 
 are, Mr. Falconer ! Cruel, wicked things 
 have been said about me in connection with 
 you ! I am accused of — of — oh ! how can I 
 say it? — of allowing you to occupy too much 
 of my attention ! — of giving occasion to the 
 coupling our names together by the world. 
 And I am told that I must be more cir — cir 
 — circum — spect ! Oh, it is very hard ! — 
 very cruel ! " 
 
 And here the lovely creature's cup of sor- 
 row was too full ! It brimmed over ! She 
 was sobbing — not aloud, for it was possible 
 that her uncle's study window might be 
 open ; possible also that the gardener might 
 be within earshot ; but still very unmistak- 
 ably sobbing. 
 
 Falconer had not been paying all the atten- 
 tion to the touchingly-broken utterances of 
 this address which the admirable method of 
 its delivery deserved. The only excuse for 
 him was that he perfectly well knew what 
 
 she was going to say before she began ; and 
 that the moments occupied by the speaking 
 of it were exceedingly necessary to him for 
 the taking of such a rapid and masterly sur- 
 vey of the general situation as should enable 
 him to decide promptly yet prudently on his 
 immediate course of action. 
 
 The fact was that he had not intended to 
 make a direct and formal offer of his hand 
 to Miss Lindisfarn on that day. It was not 
 that he at all wavered in his determination 
 of doing so, or had any thought of swerving 
 from the line of conduct he had on mature 
 deliberation traced out for himself in the 
 preceding autumn, and had been conscien- 
 tiously laboring to carry out all the winter. 
 Far from it ! But he was both by nature and 
 by training a cautious man. It was a golden 
 rule of life with him " Not to put his arm 
 out farther than he could draw it back 
 again." And might he not be about to do 
 so? "Never set your name to a contract, 
 Fred, a minute before it is necessary to do 
 so," his father had often said to him. And 
 now the still voice of paternal wisdom whiis- 
 pered in his heart. Yet, on the other hand, 
 " Strike while the iron is hot," was a good 
 maxim too. And it did seem to his best 
 judgment, that the iron was quite hot now. 
 It was good thrift, surely, to make hay while 
 the sun shone ! And when could it shine 
 more brightly than at the present moment ? 
 And might it not be possible to combine the 
 advantages of both the opposing systems? 
 Might not this feat of ability be attainable 
 by a judicious and bold dexterity? Fred 
 thought that it might. And all these 
 thoughts had passed in his master mind, 
 and his decision had been taken by the time 
 Margaret had got to the end of her delicately 
 confidential communication. He had decided 
 on stretching out his arm ; but not so that, 
 if some possible, though highly improbable, 
 contingency should make it desirable, he 
 should be unable to draw it back. Was he 
 after all irrevocal)ly putting his name to a 
 contract, by words uttered only to one pair 
 of ears ? So he said, " Base and unmanly ! " 
 grinding the words between his clinched 
 teeth ; " it is the penalty which hearts that 
 can feel pay to the jealousy of the colder 
 natures which cannot sympathize with 
 them I " (Freddy was fond of that sentence, 
 and set it down in fair round-hand text in 
 his private journal— it ia to be hoped not for 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 future use.) " You must know, dear— dear- 
 est Marpjuerite," — here he took her hand, 
 which she did not this time witlidraw, — she 
 knew that slie was en regie., and that the 
 game was now in her own hands — '• that 
 your happiness and peace of mind are dearer 
 to me than my own ! If you do not know 
 it, will you helicve it? Will you suffer me 
 to persuade you that it is so, — will you give 
 me this little hand, and with it the right to 
 defend you against all, or any, who may dare 
 to breathe a word against you ? Marguerite, 
 best, loveliest, — may I say dearest. Margue- 
 rite ? may I say my Mai-guerite V " (voice sud- 
 denly dropped to exquisitely tender whisper. ) 
 Dead silence ; a little vibrating tremor 
 commencing in the charmingly gloved hand 
 he now held in both of his, gradually com- 
 municated itself to her whole person. Then 
 two little sobs, barely moi-e than sighs ; and 
 all executed witli faultless perfection. (N. B. 
 — Tliis passage had better not be attempted 
 by beginners. If not handled with consum- 
 mate tact, it would be a failure. It is true 
 that Margaret was making her debut. But 
 inborn genius sets aside all rules !) 
 
 "Oh, rapture! Am I then, indeed, the 
 happiest man who breathes this day ? " 
 
 This appeal produced a quivering but very 
 decided pressure of the little lilac-gloved 
 hand. 
 
 (This may be very safely executed by any 
 one ; and those who feel that they ought not 
 to venture on the more difficult business de^ 
 scribed in the former paragraph had better 
 proceed at once to this part of the exercise.) 
 " Look up, my sweet one! Give me one 
 look of those divine eyes ! Speak to me, my 
 Marguerite ! " 
 
 She did give him a look. And upon my 
 word, it almost threw his double-entry heart ofiF 
 its balance, and tumbled him into earnestness. 
 Juliet and Ophelia blended in one, were in 
 the look of those large, soft eyes ! She knew 
 in her heart at the moment that that look 
 was unnecessary ; that she had won her game 
 without it. But she was carried away by 
 the spirit of her part. It was the love of the 
 consummate artist for her art — the irresisti- 
 ble impulse of true genius to revel in the per- 
 fection of its own ideal ! 
 
 The "look," which Frederick had asked 
 for, had been accorded him in such measure 
 that he did not think it necessary to press his I 
 
 147 
 
 further ; but would have been contented to 
 assume that his proposal was accepted, and 
 to carry on the remainder of the interview in 
 the tone suggested to his imagination by the 
 eloquence of Margaret's look. But this did 
 not suit the lady's views. The business part 
 of the meeting was not completed yet iu her 
 estimation ; and till it should be so, she was, 
 in accordance with the good old saw, in no 
 wise minded to come to the play. So drop- 
 ping once more the victorious eyes beneath 
 their heavy lids and long lashes, she whis- 
 pei-ed , — 
 
 "You bid me speak to you, Frederick! 
 What can I say, save that I am your own, — 
 yours only, yours ever, through good and 
 
 And as she spoke, she let her hand rest in 
 his, looking into his face with an expression 
 of expectation and waiting for something, 
 that imperatively demanded of him a simi- 
 larly categorical and solemn declaration. 
 
 "My own sweet Marguerite! How can 
 I find words to say how entirely, how devot- 
 edly, I am yours? " 
 
 " Mine, Frederick, forever, come weal come 
 woe ! " she said, clasping her hands together, 
 and looking up into his face with an intensity 
 of tenderness and solemnity combined, that 
 made Freddy feel as if every possibility of re- 
 treat was being cut off behind him ; — pre- 
 cisely, in short, as she intended that he should 
 feel. 
 
 Nevertheless, though the man could not 
 but be affected by the tender earnestness of 
 the lovely creature by his side, the spirit of 
 the man of business so far rallied as to whis- 
 per to him that, after all, these fine words 
 were words only, unheard, unwitnessed ! It 
 was all right, no doubt. But ?/any hitch — 
 why — 
 
 It was singular, however, and surely an 
 evidence of their fitness for each other, that 
 similar thoughts were at that very instant 
 passing through his Marguerite's mind. 
 
 Nevertheless, having with a firm hand and 
 steady attention to the main object in view 
 brouglit the affair to the above favorable 
 point, she felt that the recognized rules of the 
 game did not justify her in refusing to her 
 adorer an admixture of that post scria ludum, 
 which happily tempers the business in which 
 they had been engaged as well as most other 
 sublunary matters. She permitted him to 
 
 demand for a categorical verbal answer any I encircle her slender and clastic waist with 
 
148 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 one arm, while fondling with his other hand burning blushes, to confess to you at the be- 
 the dainty little palm passed across from the ginning of our conversation. I should be 
 opposite side, only thinking with a pretty compelled to fly your society — to keep you at 
 little start that she heard the gardener , when a distance ! x\nd how could I submit ? How 
 she had reason to fear that he might be rump- could I live through such a time of trial? 
 ling the beautifully arranged folds of her No ! I fully agree with you as to the out- 
 silk skirt. She allowed him to " seal the side world ; but it is absolutely essential 
 contract on her divine lips," all according to that our two fathers should know the truth." 
 the well-known rules, merely holding up her ; " I am not sure," said Frederick, hesitat- 
 hands the while in such a manner as to pro- ingly. 
 
 tect as far as might be from injury the artis- " Look here, Frederick. I will tell you 
 tic arrangement of her hair, and the perfect how it shall be. The morning is the best 
 set of her bonnet and its ribbons, and recov- time to be sure of papa. I will tell him 
 cring and repairing herself after the opera- to-night after dinner. I can make an op- 
 tion with a manner and action very similar portunity of speaking to him alone before 
 to that of a duck after withdrawing its pretty going to bed. You ride up early to-morrow 
 head from beneath the surface of the water, morning to breakfast, and see my father in 
 
 Having accorded these favors, howevor, his study before he comes out. He is always 
 while meditating on the next step which it up some time before the breakfast-bell rings, 
 was expedient to take under the circumstan- You shall find the way well prepared for you. 
 ccs, she shook off the sweet forgetfulness and And now we must go in. Indeed, we have 
 once more returned to business, thus : — been an unconscionable time in looking at 
 
 " I have said that I am yours, Frederick, the keep of the castle! Why do they call 
 because you bade me say so, and because it the keep, I wonder? Because it keeps 
 Heaven knows how entirely it is the truth; people so long examining it? " laughed Mar- 
 but we must not forget that I am promising garet, once again in high spirits and good- 
 more than it is in my own power to perform, humor. And before emerging from behind 
 My heart is your jMarguerite's own to give, the mass of trees that had all this time been 
 and she has given it freely, wholly, irrev- hiding them from the windows of the house, 
 ocably ! It is your own, now and forever ! she permitted Frederick one repetition of the 
 But my hand, alas ! is not so entirely at my " sealing " process ; but positively only one! 
 own disposition. My father ! You must ask It was too dangerous to the ribbons to be 
 me of him, my Frederick ! I have no reason risked needlessly often. 
 
 to think that he will refuse you ; how should | " I think," said Margaret, as they entered 
 I have any? But it is absolutely necessary the house, " that I had better tell AuntSem- 
 to make your demand of him in due form, pronia. She is so good to me ; and we can 
 Trust to me to have prepared him to receive perfectly trust her, dear creature ! " 
 it." I Freddy Falconer was not, upon the whole, 
 
 " I had been thinking, my own Marguerite, discontented with his morning's work; though 
 that it would be well to avoid as long as might he had done what he had not come out that 
 be the envious gossip and tittle-tattle of a morning with the intention of doing. But 
 little country town, by keeping our engage- Margaret was such a darling! He was, as 
 ment our own sweet secret for a while." he declared to himself, not without some lit- 
 
 " Oh, you are so right, so right ! It will tie surprise, and at the same time a sort of 
 be the greatest relief. It will need but a self-congratulation, really and truly over 
 word to papa, a hint, that it is as well to let head and cars in love. And then it could 
 the matter remain between our two families ; not be otherwise than all right. There were 
 for the present. He will meet your father, | the Lindisfarn lands. They were not like 
 you know ; and that is all that is necessary. M. de Renneville's coupons and actions. 
 I think you so right." ; They would not be found to have all van- 
 
 " You do not think that it would be bet- , ished some fine morning. No, no ! It must 
 ter to defer the application to your father for , be all right, 
 a time?" ! Nevertheless, Mr. Frederick felt that he 
 
 "Ah no! My Frederick, I dare not! Aar/ put out his arm so far that it would be 
 Besides, remember what I was forced, amid difficult to draw it back again ; and had 
 
learned that those who made a jioiiit uf regu- 
 lating their conduct by that prudent saw 
 had better not I'ence with such as are their 
 masters at the play. 
 
 CHAPTER xxvii. 
 
 " UOW SHALL I TELL HER ? " 
 
 Frederick passed through the house from 
 the garden without thinking it necessary to 
 be present at the communication about to be 
 made to Lady Sempronia. Margaret told 
 her aunt wliat had occurred in a few simple 
 words, which marked that gifted young lady's 
 capacity for rightly estimating the characters 
 of those with whom she was brought into 
 contact. Lady Sempronia expressed her con- 
 gratulations, — of course in the form of condo- 
 lences, — and signified her entire approbation 
 of the alliance, under the veil of a resigned 
 thankfulness that matters were not worse 
 than they were. Mr. Frederick Falconer 
 was rather a model young man in her eyes, 
 as indeed he was in those of most of the 
 mammas and daughters of Silverton. He al- 
 ways did the proper thing at the proper time 
 and j'l'i'^e. He would never, it might be 
 safely predicted, waste his own or his wife's 
 substance in printing monographs upon any 
 subject whatever. He would not go to bed 
 when he ought to dress for dinner. He 
 would not fancy himself in church, or even 
 in his bank, when he was entertaining friends 
 at the bottom of his own table. Her niece's 
 lot in life would be a happier one than her 
 own had been. 
 
 There was no difficulty in making Lady 
 Sempronia understand that it would be desir- 
 able not to made the news public just at pres- 
 ent. She detested theSilvertonian small-talk, 
 in which she had bo much larger a passive 
 than an active share ; too much herself not to 
 approve cordially of that measui-e. And still 
 less was there any disagreement respecting 
 the necessity of not admitting dear Uncle 
 Theophilus to the secret. Of course that 
 would be equivalent to announcing the fact 
 to all Silverton. Mai-garet told her aunt 
 that it had been arranged between them that 
 Frederick should ride up to the Chase the 
 next morning to ask her father's consent in 
 due form, and mentioned her purpose of tell- 
 ing her father all that had occurred that same 
 night. 
 
 So then the two ladies nibbled a morsel of 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 149 
 
 stale cake, and drank a glass apiece of vapid 
 sherry in company ; Lady Sempronia invoked 
 a blessing on her niece in tones that would 
 have suited a last parting in Newgate pre- 
 paratory to an execution of" one of the par- 
 ties in front of it ; Mr. Mat came to the door 
 in the gig, and excused himself from entering 
 on the plea that his horse would not stand 
 (though, to tell the truth, the ostler from 
 the Lindisfarn Arms had found no difficulty 
 in smoking a quiet and meditative pipe while 
 he and the horse had waited at Peter Glenny's 
 door sufficiently long for Mr. Mat, Minor 
 Canon Thorburn, and Miss Glenny, the or- 
 ganist's sister, just to try over again the 
 "Chough and Crow ; " but the horses from the 
 Chase, all of them except Birdie, had a par- 
 ticular dislike to " standing " at the senior 
 canon's door in the Close); and Margaret 
 was driven off homeward. 
 
 " Afraid I'm a few minutes late, Miss 
 Margaret ! But we sha'n't be long in getting 
 over the eight miles. You shall have a good 
 half-hour to dress for dinner," said Mr. Mat, 
 touching the horse on the flank as he spoke. 
 
 " Oh, please, Mr. Mat, don't drive fast! 
 I'm always so frightened in a gig. Indeed, I 
 don't want half an hour to dress." 
 
 " All right ! " said Mr. Mat, who, with a 
 view to future contingencies, was not bent on 
 making his coachmanship too agreeable to 
 his passenger ; " I never was spilt but three 
 times in my life ; and all three times it waa 
 going down from Silverton turnpike to the 
 Ivy Bridge, when I was going home late for 
 dinner. It's an ugly pitch that ! " 
 
 " Oh, please, Mr. Mat ! For goodness' sake 
 be careful ! I am sure we can spare a few 
 minutes ! " cried Margaret, gi-asping the rail 
 by her side, and with difficulty refraining 
 from screaming. 
 
 "Not half a minute to spare, if you have 
 got to try on three dresses before you come 
 to the right one to-day, Miss Margaret!" 
 retorted the horrid brute, speaking in his 
 broadest Zillshire. 
 
 Margaret gave Azm, too, a look, — her second 
 chef-d' (zuvre in that line to-day ; and no- 
 body who had seen the two could have denied 
 that her own powers in that department 
 were versatile. But Mr. Mat loas taking 
 care of his driving ; and was none the worse 
 for the fulmination, as he did not see it. 
 I Nothing more was said till they had passed 
 
150 
 
 LTNDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 the Ivy Bridge in safety, and begun on the ' practice. She well knew how high Kate 
 other side of it the long ascent, mostly stood in her father's affection and esteem, 
 through the woods, to the Chase. There never had been anything in his manner 
 
 " Lady Sempronia in good spirits? " said to herself, which was always indulges*, and 
 Mr. ]Mat then. loving, to cause her the slightest uneasiness 
 
 " Her ladyship is, I believe, as well as , on the subject ; but it did strike her that it 
 
 usual," replied Margaret, sulkily. 
 
 "Poor soul! that's a bad account," said 
 Mr. Mat. 
 
 Margaret vouchsafed no reply to this ; and 
 they proceeded up the long hill in silence, 
 and at such a more sober pace as left her 
 mind at leisure to meditate on one momen- 
 tous question, which had already presented 
 itself to her before she left Silverton. 
 
 Was she to tell Kate? and if so, how was 
 she to tell her what had taken place ? That 
 was the question. 
 
 It did not take her long to decide the first 
 part of the doubt. If she did not tell Kate, 
 her father unquestionably would. It might 
 be very easy to lead him to agree in keeping 
 the matter a secret for a time from the public 
 of Silverton. It might be possible to per- 
 suade him that the discretion of Mr. Mat 
 and Miss Immy was not to be implicitly 
 trusted. But Margaret knew well that it 
 would seem to him monstrous and out of the 
 question to keep her secret from the knowl- 
 edge of Kate. It might be dangerous even 
 to propose such a thing. Margaret had taken 
 good care to inform herself of a fact, of which 
 the reader is already aware, which was also 
 perfectly well known to the Falconers, father 
 and son, and which had been the cause of 
 that little prudential hesitation, which had 
 prompted Falconer in his somewhat unsuc- 
 cessful attempts to avoid committing him- 
 self. Kate and Margaret were twin sisters, 
 and all the Silverton world considered them 
 to be co-heiresses of the Lindisfarn estates. 
 It was natural that they should be so ; and 
 the squire himself in all probability regarded 
 them as such. But they were not so in the 
 eye of the law. They were not so indefeasi- 
 bly. Failing a male heir, Mr. Lindisfarn's 
 property was at his own disposition. And 
 it was in his power (and therefore it was an 
 event on the cards) to leave the whole or any 
 proportion of the estate to either one of his 
 daughters, if h? should see fit to do so. This 
 circumstance was never very far distant from 
 Margaret's well-regulated mind, and added 
 very remarkably to the binding force of the 
 Fifth Commandment in her estimation and 
 
 might be unwise, as well as certainly futile, 
 to make any attempt at keeping such a piece 
 of family news as that which she was now 
 carrying home, a secret from Kate while 
 telling it to her father. 
 
 As to the latter step, it was of course ne- 
 cessary for very obvious reasons. She had 
 understood all that had been passing in her 
 beloved Frederick's mind, just as perfectly 
 as if he had worn glass in front of his breast. 
 His part naturally — and very properly — was 
 to play fast and loose in case of possible acci- 
 dents. Hers, more especially with the terrible 
 bit of information in the background which 
 she had, and which he had not, wasof course 
 to make him fast as words and vows could 
 make him. 
 
 It was absolutely necessary, then, to tell 
 Kate the fact of her engagement. And then 
 came the consideration how that was to be 
 done. After all that had taken place be- 
 tween the two sisters, she felt that the task 
 was a diflScult one. It was true that she had 
 by no means given her sister to understand 
 that she had any intention of ruling her own 
 conduct in conformity with her scruples. 
 On the contrary, she had very explicitly re- 
 served to herself entire freedom of action. 
 She was quite aware, however, how very 
 strongly Kate would be grieved, and indeed 
 outraged, by her acceptance of Frederick's 
 offer under the circumstances of the case. 
 Her indignation she might brave. But 
 would Kate do anything ? Would slie take 
 any steps? 
 
 Would it perhaps be possible to make 
 Kate believe that she had told Frederick all 
 the truth, and that he had persisted in his 
 offer undismayed by the intelligence ? Yes ! 
 Kate was fool enough to believe anything. 
 But then there would be the breach of her 
 solemn promise not to mention the secret of 
 Julian's existence, and far worse, the cer- 
 tainty that Kate would then speak openly to 
 Falconer on the subject. No ; that plan was 
 out of the question. 
 
 What could Kate do to frustrate her 
 schemes, if she were anxious, as there was 
 every reason to suppose she would be, to do 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 161 
 
 BO ? She could not tell the real focte of the to do that the last thing at night, when the 
 case to anybody, probably for the next month domestic party in the drawing-room were 
 to come. Could she allow Falconer to be- separating. She had promised that Falconer 
 come aware of the horrible truth, that she should find the ground prepared for him 
 and her sister were two portionless girls, in when he came the first thing in the morning, 
 any way without telling him the facts? It She rather wished, now, that she had not 
 might perhaps be possible for her to say, or been in such a hurry, and had fixed a later 
 cause to be said, to him or to his father, day, or at least a later hour, for her lover's 
 enough to alarm him and awaken his dis- interview with her father. Could she man- 
 trust and caution. Would Kate take that age to see the latter in his study as soon as 
 step, considering the position it would put ever he was up, before Fred's arrival? If 
 her, Margaret, in? • so, there would be all the night for her talk 
 
 Margaret thought on mature considcra- with her sister. If not, there would be no 
 
 tion that she would not. opportunity for speaking with Kate save the 
 
 To secure this result, however, she must hurried half-hour of dressing for dinner, on 
 
 tell her story to Kate pathetically, not defi- the instant of her arrival at the Chase. That 
 
 antly. It must be an appeal ad misericor- would never do. There was not time. Be- 
 
 Jiain. (I am giving Margaret's thoughts, sides, it was so immediate. She felt that she 
 
 not her words.) She must represent her- needed a little time to make up her mind to 
 
 self, as far as possible, to have been the vie- the task, and to arrange her story. There 
 
 tim of unlucky chance in the matter of her was nothing for it save the other plan. And 
 
 encounter with Falconer. Then difficulty, if Freddy arrived in the morning before she 
 
 embarrassment, fear of having her sacred had finished her interview with her father, 
 
 secret wormed out of her, tender passion, why, she must trust to Kate, who would then 
 
 etc., must bear the blame, if any still re- be in her confidence, to receive him, and 
 
 mained to be borne. Kate was very soft — make him understand that she was even then 
 
 believed anything she was told — was very performing her promise to him, and that the 
 
 pitiful, and easily moved to compassion ! coast would be clear for his attack on the 
 
 And then again, she could hardly in any squire in a minute or two. The time left 
 
 conceivable way make any such communica- for him to do his work in before the ringing 
 
 tion to the Falconers, however enigmatical, of the breakfast-bell, which was like the 
 
 as should rouse their doubts on the vital sub- trump of fate to the squire, would be short ; 
 
 ject of the heiress-ship, without exposing to but perhaps that was all for the best. 
 
 them, either at once or subsequently, the So Margaret, much pondering, had finally 
 
 fact that she, Kate, and therefore in all hu- arranged her programme in that manner, by 
 
 man probability, she, Margaret, also, had the time she and Mr. Mat arrived at the 
 
 been cognizant of the horrible truth at the Lodge. 
 
 time when she had accepted, and, as she " Done the eight miles and a bit in an 
 
 knew right well at the bottom of her heart, hour and ten minutes ! That's not so bad, 
 
 invited, his ofier. And would Kate contrib- Miss Margaret, considering the ground, and 
 
 ute to place her sister in such a position as that I had your precious safety to think of," 
 
 that? said Mr. ]\Iat ; " and it wants five-and-thirty 
 
 Margaret, again considering this matter minutes to the dinner-bell ! " 
 
 dispassionately and carefully, came to the "Thank you, Mr. Mat. I shall have 
 
 conclusion tbat Kate would not do this. plenty of time," said Margaret, with a 
 
 The history of the morning, therefore, ac- somewhat unwonted degree of cordiality, 
 
 cording to such carefully arranged version born of the sense of difficulty and danger 
 
 of it as she thought she could manage to which was pressing on her, and seemed to 
 
 concoct, was to be told to Kate ; and she counsel the wisdom of standing as well with 
 
 must throw herself on her mercy. 
 
 And then came the question, — when was 
 this rather formidable and important con- 
 
 all around her as might be. 
 
 So she hurried up to her room ; and to 
 Kate's somewhat languid questions as to her 
 
 versation to take place? It was evidently day at Silvcrton, replied only that she had a 
 necessary that it should be done before she great many things to tell her, — far more 
 spoke to her father. And slie had purposed than there was then time for ; and that they 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 152 
 
 must have a good chat when they came up 
 to bed at night. I 
 
 Each sister perceived at once that there 
 was something unusual in the manner of the 
 other. And each conceived at once a shrewd 
 suspicion of what she had to hear from the 
 other. Kate's manner was languid, de- 
 pressed, and that of one exhausted by suf- 
 fering ; — jNIargarct's, febrile, nervous, and 
 constrained. Both looked forward with no 
 little apprehension and misgiving to the con- 
 versation appointed for that night. Marga- 
 ret had little doubt that Kate had received 
 the oifer from Captain Ellingham which she 
 had so much dreaded, and had refused it. 
 And though totally incapable of compre- 
 hending many of the feelings which had ^ 
 contributed to make Kate's task a terribly 
 painful one, she understood that it must 
 have been very vexatious. She speculated 
 much on the question what influence Kate's 
 own trouble was likely to have on the mode 
 in which she would receive her confidence ; 
 and was inclined to consider that the result 
 would be unfavorable. Surely, the high price 
 which she had paid for the gratification of 
 her own scruples would disincline her to in- 
 dulgence for another's masterly disregard for 
 them. 
 
 Kate surmised and greatly dreaded, yet 
 struggled against believing the extent of the 
 misfortune she had to learn from Margaret's 
 confession. She knew that her sister at least 
 risked seeing Falconer by going to Silverton ; 
 she had felt that she would have cut her 
 hand ofiF rather than have run that risk un- 
 necessarily under the present circumstances, 
 and she greatly feared, both from what she 
 had already learned to know of Margaret's 
 character, and from her obstinacy in going to 
 Silverton that morr^ng, that if by ill-hap 
 Falconer had made her an ofler, Margaret 
 had not had firmness and high principle 
 enough to refuse it. 
 
 Both girls would have given much to have 
 avoided going through the ceremony of the 
 dinner-table, and the subsequent evening in 
 the drawing-room ; both equally longed for 
 and dreaded the hour that was to come 
 afterwards. And they walked down to the 
 drawing-room side by side, each with her 
 brain and heart teeming with thoughts and 
 fear and doubts, all relating to the same set 
 of circumstances, and yet all as wholly diifer- 
 ent the one from the other as if they had 
 been conceived by creatures of two different 
 species. 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 THE TETE-A-TETE. 
 
 At last the long evening wore itself to an 
 end ; and the two sisters went up-stairs 
 together, and turned into Kate's room, for 
 the conversation which both of them almosc 
 equally drtaded, though with feelings and 
 from motives as contrasted as it was well 
 possible for them to be. 
 
 " You need not wait, Simmons," said 
 Kate, as they entered the room ; " Miss 
 Margaret and I want to have a good long 
 talk before we go to bed ; and we wont keep 
 you up. We will help each other to un- 
 dret^s.'' 
 
 And then, as soon as the servant had 
 closed the door behind her, the two girls sat 
 down, — Margaret in a large easy-chair, that 
 stood at the foot of the bed, and Kate close 
 by iier side, but at right angles to the front 
 of the large chair, on a small one, which she 
 drew from the side of her drawing-table. 
 
 Kate, who had generally plenty of color 
 in her cheeks, was paler than usual ; for she 
 had been and was still suffering much ; and 
 was moreover struggling against a sickening 
 dread of what was coming. Margaret, who 
 was usually as white as a lily, had a bright 
 spot of delicate color in the middle of her 
 creamy cheeks, the evidence of a febrile state 
 of nervous agitation. Perhaps both girls 
 were improved in beauty by the deviation 
 from their ordinary appearance. 
 
 Kate was the first to speak. 
 
 " I know already, JMargaret," she said, 
 " that what I dreaded from your going to 
 Silvcrton this morning has in fact hap- 
 pened."' 
 
 " Why? What do you know?" replied 
 her sister, quickly and almost fiercely. 
 
 "I know that you saw Mr. Falconer." 
 
 Kate would have said "Fred Falconer" 
 on any other occasion ; as, in speaking to 
 her godmother or fo any of her own family, 
 she was ordinarily in the habit of doing. 
 The feeling which made her now speak dif- 
 ferently is very readily understood. But 
 Margaret marked and resented the little 
 change. 
 
 " IIow do you know that? " rejoined she, 
 with flashing eyes. 
 
 " Because Mr. Mat told mc that he saw 
 him cross the Close with my uncle, and go 
 into the house with him, when he returned 
 from the service in the cathedral." 
 
 153 
 
 " Tliat odious animal again I " tbcught 
 Margaret, jotting down the new offence in 
 the long bill against Mr. Mat posted in her 
 memory, and meeting it all the same with 
 prompt payment in ready hatred. But all 
 she said was, — 
 
 " IIow docs that show that I saw him, 
 pray? When I am at the close, I stay in 
 the drawing-room with my aunt. And Mr. 
 Falconer of course went with Uncle Theophi- 
 lus into the study." 
 
 "Did you not see him, then?" asked 
 Kate, simply and directly. 
 
 " That is another matter," replied Marga- 
 i-et, who of course had no intention of de- 
 nying what she had come there specially to 
 confess ; and who had only fenced with 
 Kate's opening in the manner she had done 
 from an instinctive desire to put off" for an 
 instant or two more the disagreeable moment 
 which was coming. 
 
 "You did see him, then? Of course you 
 did. Oh, Margaret! I wish you had not 
 gone to Silverton this morning. It was very 
 imprudent under the circumstances. I do 
 wish you had not gone," repeated Kate, 
 with so deep a sigh that it was almost a 
 groan . 
 
 " Well ! I did expect a rather more sis- 
 terly reception for what I had to tell you, 
 I do confess, Kate. I come to open my 
 heart to you, and make no secrets between 
 us, and — and tell you everything, and you 
 meet me with reproaches and groans ! " 
 
 "I meant no reproach, dear; but for 
 Heaven's sake tell me at once what hap- 
 pened!" replied Kate, now thoroughly alarm- 
 ed by her sister's words and manner. 
 
 " Well ! What I have to tell is of a kind 
 usually received with a very different sort 
 of welcome, Kate, from that which you 
 seem inclined to accord to my tidings." 
 
 " You don't mean that " — said Kate, look- 
 ing with large and affrighted eyes on the 
 deepening color in her sister's face, and hesi- 
 tating to shape her dread into words. 
 
 " I mean, Kate, that I was quite right in 
 my estimation of the character of Mr. Fal- 
 coner, as you have suddenly taken to call 
 him. You remember our last conversation 
 here? You remember what I then said of 
 Fred's disinterestedness, and superiority to 
 all mercenary considerations? Well, I was 
 right, Kate, in my judgment of him. That 
 is all." 
 
154 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 " Do you mean that you told him of our 
 loss of fortune — or rathei" of our never hav- 
 ing had any fortune at all? " exclaimed Kate, 
 whose fears began to point to a catastrophe 
 in a new direction. 
 
 "Kate! " exclaimed her sister, in a tone 
 of strong i-emonstrance and virtuous indig- 
 nation ; " is it possible that you can suspect 
 me of such baseness? Do you really think 
 that I could have under any circumstances 
 betraved the secret you confided to me in so 
 solemn a manner? No, my sister, you do 
 not know me ! " 
 
 "I don't suspect you, Margaret; but I 
 can't understand you ! What has passed 
 between you and Falconer ? And what proof 
 can you have had of his disinterestedness? " 
 Thus pressed, Margaret paused a moment 
 before making the decisive plunge, intently 
 occupied with the thought how she could 
 accomplish it most efiectively and gracefully. 
 Then, rising from her chair, and iiinging 
 herself on her sister's shoulder, so as to hide 
 her face among the abundant curls that hung 
 around Kate's neck, she whispered in her 
 ear, — 
 
 "It is all settled between us. We are 
 pledged to each other solemnly and irrevoca- 
 bly ! And he is the most generous and most 
 disinterested of men ; — and he is coming up 
 to the Chase to speak to papa before break- 
 fast to-morrow morning !" 
 
 " Oh, Margaret, Margaret ! What does it 
 all mean ? Are you sure that— What did 
 you tell him ? Without betraying Julian's 
 secret, I don't understand — " 
 
 " Why, won't you kiss me and congratulate 
 me, Kate?" said her sister, still hanging 
 round her neck. 
 
 " You know, Margaret, that your happi- 
 ness is as dear to me as my own," replied 
 Kate, kissing her on the forehead in obedi- 
 ence to this appeal ; " but I don't understand 
 how Falconer has proved his disinterested- 
 ness, or what opportunity there was for 
 anything of the sort, since you did not say a 
 word to him about the change in our pros- 
 pects." 
 
 "Ah, Kate ! you will persist in suspecting 
 and misjudging him ! " said Margaret, in a 
 tone of deeply sorrowing reproach. " Are 
 you sure, my sister," she continued, drawing 
 back her head, and looking steadily into the 
 innocent, pellucid depths of Kate's honest 
 , eyes, as if it were necessary to look very far 
 
 down, in order to read the truth at the bot- 
 tom of their wells, — are you sure that there 
 is no feeling at the bottom of your heart, 
 which interferes with your congratulating 
 me on my happiness as frankly and heartily 
 as I had hoped? " 
 
 "Oh, Margaret ! what are you dreaming 
 of? Only let us see clearly that there has 
 been no mistake, no misunderstanding ; — 
 that Falconer knows, that in proposing to 
 you, he is proposing to a girl without a 
 penny of fortune, and I will congratulate 
 you, and rejoice in your happiness, my dear, 
 dear sister, believe me, as I would in my 
 own. But I don't understand it! Tell me, 
 darlino;, how it came about, and all that 
 
 "Oh, how can I tell you all that he said ! 
 I suppose that such matters pass generally 
 very much in the same way. But I can very 
 accurately tell you what he did not say. He 
 did not make any single allusion, much 
 less any inquiry as to fortune or money mat- 
 ters from beginning to end. I assure you he 
 was thinking of quite other things." 
 
 Kate's face fell ; and a cold spasm clutched 
 her heart as her sister spoke. She had be- 
 gun to hope from what Margaret had been 
 saying that, somehow or other, though she 
 could not quite comprehend how, it had come 
 to pass that Falconer had become aware of 
 the real state of the case, and had really 
 taken the step Margaret announced him to 
 have taken, with duly opened eyes. But 
 her sister's words cruelly destroyed any such 
 illusion. 
 
 " Is that all? Margaret dear, that is not 
 enough. You are deluding yourself. Con- 
 sider for a moment ! Of course Mr. Falconer 
 spoke to you under the full impression that 
 you were the heiress to half papa's property. 
 If nothing were ever told him to the contrary, 
 of course he thought so. He was justified in 
 thinking so. Does not every other human 
 being in Sillsh ire suppose so? We only — 
 you and I only in all the world know that 
 we have no claim to any such position." 
 
 " But why will you persist in attributing 
 your own mercenary feeliugs to other peo- 
 ple? " said Margaret, who found it impossible 
 to keep her temper as much under control as 
 she had purposed doing. " I tell you that 
 Falconer had no such ideas in his mind. 
 You must'excuse me if I persist in believing, 
 extraordinary as it may seem to you, that I 
 
L I N D I S F A R N 
 
 was tho 
 
 CHASE. 
 
 155' 
 
 myself, and not tlic Lindiyfarn acr 
 object of liiH pursuit." 
 
 " You know, Margaret, that I have no 
 wish to say or think otherwise," replied 
 Kate ; " but surely you would wish that any 
 one so addressing you should not do so in 
 ignorance of the truth on such a sul)ject. 
 Think whether you would like the telling liim 
 afterwards ln'W the matter really stands. 
 Think liow intolerable it would be, and then 
 judge of the necessity for preventing it !" 
 
 *' But how could I help it? You are so 
 unreasonable, Kate, — so unfair ! You tell 
 me facts with the positive injunction to keep 
 them secret, and tlien make it a matter of 
 bkunc to me that I do not blab them on the 
 first opportunity. VYould you have had me 
 repeat to Falconer all that I had solemnly 
 pi-omised you to keep secret? " 
 
 "Of course you could not betray poor 
 Julian's secret." 
 
 " Then I should like to know what you 
 would have had me do ? " 
 
 " You know, Margaret dear, that I foresaw 
 the danger and the difficulty. That was my 
 
 ourselves. And it was very evident tliat the 
 possession of it might place us in very pain- 
 ful circumstances. Tliat is why I wished 
 you, as far as possible, to avoid tiie danger 
 you have fallen into. You would go to Sil- 
 verton ; and it has happened as I feared it 
 might. And now the question is. What do 
 you mean to do? " 
 
 "What is the good of talking in that way, 
 Kate? of course it is out of the question to 
 betray Julian's secret. What do I mean to 
 do ? I liave done all that I mean to do. He 
 told me he loved me, and asked me if I 
 could love him. My answer was a frank and 
 honest one. What could I do more? " 
 
 "But surely you must feel, Margaret, 
 that it is impossible for you to let him enter 
 into an engagement to you, supposing you to 
 be heiress to half the Lindisfarn property, 
 and you knowing all the time how sadly dif- 
 ferent your position is." 
 
 " I told you my feelings and principles on 
 such subjects, Kate, when we spoke on this 
 point before. I have been brought up to 
 think that girls have no business to meddle 
 
 reason for telling you the facts that had come with such matters. It appears to one who 
 
 to my knowledge. I saw that anj offer of 
 marriage to either of us, before we should be at 
 liberty to let the truth be publicly known, 
 would impose on us the necessity of refusing 
 it, without being able to explain the circum- 
 stances under which we did so. It was very 
 possible that such a difficulty might have 
 fallen upon you, even if you had done all 
 
 has had the advantage of such an education 
 exceedingly indelicate for them to do so. I 
 shrink instinctively from all contact with 
 considerations and business of the kind. I 
 cannot enter into such things." 
 
 " It may be," said Kate, with a sort of 
 dreamy musing, "that you are right. But 
 then what was so disagreeable for you to sav 
 
 your power to prevent it. But I would have I must be said for you by some one else. Papa 
 
 had you endeavor in every way to avoid it 
 I would have had you abstain from going to 
 LSilverton, as you know, this morning." 
 " Nothing is easier than preaching, Kate ! 
 
 must tell Mr. Falconer that " — 
 
 " You don't mean to betray poor Julian's 
 secret ? Think of the consequences ! " cried 
 Margaret, quickly, and with an alarmed 
 I should like to know what you would have ' glance at her sister's face ; " surely that is 
 done, if the case had been your own? I impossible ! " 
 
 Besides, was it just, or fair, or to be tol- ! " Yes, that is impossible. That is what 
 erated, that I should shut myself up, and not makes the difficulty. But something must 
 dare to show my nose out of the lodge gates, I be done. Something must be said to Fal- 
 
 because a cousin whom I have never seen 
 has put himself into such a position that his 
 existence cannot be avowed ? Not I inde&d ! 
 I hate all such underhand doings and dis- 
 creditable secrets. It is a sort of thing that 
 I have never been used to." 
 
 " I have no liking for secrets oi any sort, 
 Margaret ; and God knows that I long for 
 
 coner before it is too late.' 
 
 "What is it possible to say?" rejoined 
 IMargaret, in much alarm. Then, after a 
 pause, during which her whole power of 
 thinking was brought to bear intently on the 
 subject, she added, "If he were the sordid 
 wretch you persist in imagining him to be, 
 it would be quite enough to explain all these 
 
 the time when this one may be freely dis- i matters to him at any time before the mar- 
 closed. But this secret is not of my seeking ' riage took place. But if, as I know right 
 or making, nor of yours. We could not help ' well, no such considerations would have 
 
LTNDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 t would be as needless as, could I do? You admit that I could not 
 
 156 
 
 weight with hiu; 
 
 useless to enter into the subject now." 
 
 " But, dealest Margaret, you do not seem 
 to see the matter in its true light. Of course 
 it would be out of the question to make a 
 marriage with one who supposed you to be a 
 large heiress, while you were aware that 
 you were notiiing of the kind. And of 
 course the marriage might be broken off 
 when that fact could be openly told. But 
 would not such a breaking off be very painful 
 to us all? Would it not be wrong to place 
 any man knowingly in such a position as 
 should compel him to make such a breaking 
 off? But even that is not the worst. I am 
 not so much thinking of protecting Mr. Fal- 
 coner from the danger of making a bad 
 match. What I am anxious about is that 
 you should not accept an offer, knowing well 
 that it was made in ignorance of circum- 
 stances of which you were well aware." 
 
 " But I am not supposed to know any- 
 thing of the kind ! " burst in Margaret, sur- 
 prised into a naively sincere avowal of her 
 insincerity ; " I should have known nothing 
 of the kind if it had not been for your offi- 
 cious eagerness to tell me bad news. I should 
 have known nothing of the kind ; and there 
 would have been no difficulty in the mat- 
 ter," urged Margaret, forgetting honestly, 
 in her indignation, that, had she not re- 
 ceived the fatal information from Kate, she 
 would assuredly have been in no such hurry 
 to receive the offer, which she had that day 
 extracted from Fred in so masterly a man- 
 ner, in the canon's garden. 
 
 " Oh, Margaret ! " said Kate, sorrowfully; 
 " I told you what I knew, only that you 
 might avoid the embarrassment which you 
 have fallen into." 
 
 " I see no embarrassment at all," rejoined 
 Margaret, — "unless, indeed, you should 
 think it right to complete the work you did 
 when you told me this improbable story — 
 which I do not half believe — by publish- 
 ing abroad that you told it to me." 
 
 "Margaret!" almost shrieked Kate, as 
 if she had received a sudden stab; "how 
 can you speak such words? And, oh, Mar- 
 garet, how can you persuade yourself to en- 
 ter on such a path of duplicity ? You will 
 know that you knew it if nobody else were 
 ever to know it." 
 
 " It is all very fine preaching, Kate, espe- 
 cially in a case that is not one's own. What 
 
 tell him the secret. What was I to do? 
 What answer was 1 to make to him ? " 
 
 " 1 should have declined his offer, Marga- 
 ret," said her sister, quietly. 
 
 " But it was not my wish to decline his 
 offer! And on what grounds too? Was 
 I to tell him I hated him ? That wuuld 
 have been a lie. Spuken to as he spoke to 
 me, I could but confess the truth, — that I 
 was not indifferent to him. What would you 
 have had me say? " 
 
 " I know that it was difficult," said Kate, 
 speaking still more quickly, and with her 
 eyes cast down to the ground. 
 
 " Surely, then, I took the only path that 
 was open to me ; all taken by surprise, too, 
 as I was," pleaded Margaret. " I hardly 
 knew what I was saying. I only knew that 
 it was impossible to me to hide the truth 
 from him. Could you expect me to be 
 thinking of fortunes and marriage settle- 
 ments at such a moment? Don't be too hard 
 upon me, Kate !" 
 
 " Heaven knows, Margaret, that I have no 
 wish to be hard on you ; but every wish to 
 help you in any possible way. But remem- 
 ber, that it must needs be known that I, at 
 least, was aware of Julian's existence at the 
 time when Mr. Falconer made his offer to 
 you." 
 
 " Why should it be known that the man 
 who was wounded by the revenue officers, 
 and whom you visited in his illness at Mr. 
 Pendleton's cottage, was our cousin, Julian 
 Lindisfarn ? If he recovers, as there seems 
 to be little reason to doubt that he will, and 
 goes away back again to Finance, as soon as 
 he is able to move, why should we say any- 
 thing about the matter at all ? Why cause 
 so much unnecessary pain and sorrow to all 
 our relatives? Of course he will come for- 
 ward in due time to claim his inheritance. 
 There is no chance of his failing to do that. 
 Why need we move in the matter till then ? 
 And why need it ever be known to anybody 
 that you were aware of his existence before 
 the time when it may become known to all 
 the family !" 
 
 "It is bad enough to have to keep the se- 
 cret till he goes away," said Kate, with a 
 sigh that was almost a groan ; " but, Mar- 
 garet," she added quickly, and looking 
 keenly into her face, — for the progress of the 
 conversation was rapidly generating very 
 
painful misgivings in Kate's mind, — " you 
 cannot dvcam of absolutely marrying any 
 man. who is under the delusion that you are 
 an heiress !" 
 
 "Oh, of eourse not that!" said Marga- 
 ret, while a hot flush suffused her fiicc. 
 " When it comes to the business part of the 
 matter, and the laAvyers, and all that, of 
 course all such tilings will be properly ex- 
 plained and put right. But since we cannot 
 tell the real truth at once, and that by no 
 fault of oars, I cannot see that we are bound 
 to make difficulties for ourselves and sorrow 
 and trouble for others by interfering in the 
 matter. Surely, under the circumstances of 
 the case, it would be more sisterly, Kate, to 
 abstain from betraying the fact that I knew 
 of the matter when Frederick proposed to 
 me this morning. I could not tell him, you 
 know. And yet he might think that I ought 
 to have done so. It is very, very hard ! I 
 do think, Kate, that you might spare me 
 this." 
 
 And as she spoke, she threw those eloquent 
 eyes of hers, with a wistful and almost tear- 
 ful glance of entreaty in them, on her sister's 
 face, in a manner that Kate's heart could 
 not resist. Kate had but little notion of the 
 falsehood practised by tongues. But that 
 human eyes also should tell lies, was an idea 
 that had never been dreamed of in her phi- 
 losophy . 
 
 She did feel it " very hard," as Margaret 
 had said, that the fatality of circumstances 
 should make it impossible for her to pursue 
 her usual straightforward path of frank and 
 thoroughly open truthfulness. And it did 
 occur to her mind, for a passing moment, 
 that it was " very, very hard " that EUing- 
 ham should never come to know that she had 
 made the discovery of her own want of for- 
 tune all but immediately before her refusal 
 of his suit. lie would come to know it, of 
 course. But what would she not have given 
 for the assurance that he should be made 
 aware that she was in possession of the fatal 
 secret at the time of her rejection of him ! 
 And it was very bitter to her to think that 
 this fact might never be known to him. 
 Nevertheless, if consideration for her sister 
 were to prevail so far as to induce her to 
 consent to a suppression of the facts known 
 to her for a longer time than her promise to 
 her cousin rendered necessary, assuredly the 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 157 
 
 to EUingham should not induce her to expose 
 her sister's want of openness. And in all 
 probability the sense of self-sacrifice operated 
 in some degree to reconcile her conscience to 
 the connivance with the suppression of the 
 truth, which was asked of her. Had her 
 own interests pointed in the same direction 
 with Margaret's in the matter, it may be 
 safely assumed that she would not have 
 yielded to the hitter's pleading. 
 
 As it was, she began to feel, as Margaret 
 looked up in her face, that she should not 
 have the courage to condemn her to the ex- 
 posure that would be involved in the making 
 known her acquaintance with the fact of Ju- 
 lian's existence. The idea of the agony 
 which she would herself have felt if she had 
 accepted an offer of marriage under such cir- 
 cumstances, and had afterwards been dis- 
 covered to have known all the time that she 
 was a penniless bride, Avas too vividly pres- 
 ent to her mind for it to be possible for her 
 to sentence her sister to it. 
 
 " Would to God," she said, looking piti- 
 fully at her sister, " that this had not hap- 
 pened ! Would to God, that it could have 
 been avoided ! " 
 
 " But now that it has happened so, you 
 will not denounce me, Kate?" said Marga- 
 ret, perceiving that her sister's tenderness 
 for her was getting the upper hand in her 
 mind. 
 
 " Denounce you, Margaret ! " 
 
 " You will not declare that I knew this 
 hateful secret, which I had no desire to know, 
 and which I was bound by my promise to 
 you not to disclose? " 
 
 "No, I will not, Margaret. I will say 
 nothing on the subject. God forgive me, if 
 it is wrong ! I do not see clearly what is 
 right in the matter. I will not say any 
 words that shall bring disgrace or blame upon 
 you." 
 
 " And you will not, immediately after 
 Julian's departure, take any steps to noise 
 abroad the fact of his being still alive ? You 
 would only be blamed for having concealed it 
 while he was here." 
 
 " But, ^largaret, that must, at all events, 
 be told. You cannot let things go on, you 
 know, till " — 
 
 " Of course, of course, Kate ; I know that. 
 But leave the things alone. Let the facts 
 disclose themselves at the proper time. Why 
 
 gratification of her own feelings with regard I should we meddle in the matter ? 
 
158 
 
 " Only, if things were to come to a crisis 
 between you and Falconer, you know, Mar- 
 garet, before the circumstance of Julian's 
 life had become known, it would, in that 
 case, be absolutely necessary for us to dis- 
 close the truth." 
 
 " Oh, yes! Of course, of course! But 
 things will not come to a crisis, as you call 
 it, so soon as all that. I am in no great 
 hurry. Depend upon it that Falconer will 
 and shall know the whole state of the case 
 before anything is definitely settled. But 
 promise me that you will not denoiince me 
 as having known the truth all the time ! " 
 
 " But you seemed just now, Margaret, to 
 think that it did not matter whether you 
 knew it or not ; and that, in any case, it was 
 no business of yours to pay any attention to 
 it, or to speak to Mr. Falconer on any such 
 subject." 
 
 " And so I do think," returned Margaret, 
 sharply i '-those are the ideas and feelings 
 in which I have been brought up. But if 1 
 have been led astray by the difference of 
 ways and manners in this part of the world, 
 I can't help it ! I am quite convinced in my 
 own mind, that the knowledge of Julian's 
 existence and the effect it may have on my 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 will not take upon myself to interfere with 
 your conduct in the matter by any acts or 
 words of mine " — 
 
 " That is all I ask of you, Kate. That is 
 my own dear sister! " exclaimed Margaret, 
 with much effusion of manner. 
 
 — " Unless, indeed," continued Kate, speak- 
 ing with evident reluctance, "any acts or 
 words of mine should be necessary to prevent 
 a marriage being absolutely made, without 
 the real state of the case being known." 
 
 At the beginning of the conversation be- 
 tween the two girls, Kate would never have 
 thought of making any such proviso as the 
 above. And she would hardly now have ad- 
 mitted to herself that there was any necessity 
 for it. But, despite herself, an unreasoned 
 and unavowed consciousness had come into 
 her mind since the discussion began, that in- 
 stinctively prompted her to utter it. 
 
 A dark shade passed over Margaret's face, 
 like a cloud before the moon, save that it 
 passed more rapidly than any storm-cloud. 
 It was gone in scarcely more than a second, 
 and the lightning flash from the eyes, that 
 had accompanied it, passed from them as 
 rapidly. But there was a dangerous and 
 scathing look about it, during the moment it 
 fortune will not make any difference in Fred's j lasted, that would Iiave seemed to any more 
 
 feelings toward me. To my ideas, it seems 
 absurd to suppose that it could do so. If I 
 am anxious not to be known to have been 
 aware of certain circumstances this morning, 
 it is in deference to your ideas, Kate, rather 
 than to my own." 
 
 Kate had nothing ready to reply to this. 
 There was a slippery agility about her sis- 
 ter's fence, that was altogether too much for 
 the steady, straightforward, perfectly open 
 march of ideas that was habitual to her own 
 mind. 
 
 " I wish I had not told you anything 
 about it, Margaret! " she said, after mus- 
 ing a little while, and sighing deeply as she 
 spoke. " It did not seem to me at the time 
 at all sisterly not to tell you. But now I 
 think that it would have been for the best to 
 keep it from you. Perhaps I was wrong ! " 
 
 " I confess I think you were, Kate. I am 
 quite sure that I should have much preferred 
 knowing nothing about it. I hate all busi- 
 ness matters." 
 
 observant and skilled interpreter than Kate, 
 eloquent of anything save sisterly love. 
 
 But the cloud flitted past, and the flash 
 died out as suddenly as it had shot forth — 
 and ^Margaret only said, with a sort of impa- 
 tient manner — , 
 
 " Of course, of course ! Cela va sans mot 
 dire! So now, dear Kate, we understand 
 each other. I am so glad ! And now will 
 you not congratulate me on my happiness? 
 for indeed I am very happy." 
 
 What could Kate say? She had the most 
 perfect conviction that no marriage would 
 take place between Frederick Falconer and 
 any undowered lady, be she who she might. 
 It was difficult to furnish the congratulations 
 required of her on such a prospect. She 
 could only say that she did most sincerely 
 rejoice in anything which was for her sister's 
 happiness. And that safe generalization 
 passed muster very satisfactorily. Margaret 
 had been victorious in the great battle she 
 had come into that room that night to fight ; 
 
 " I did as I would have wished you to do , and she was content. 
 by me in such a case, Margaret. Neverthe- 1 " And now, Katie dear, it is high time for 
 lees, I Bay, perhaps I was wrong. And I j us to go to bed. Good gracious ! it is near 
 
LINDISFARN CHASl 
 
 159 
 
 one o'clock! And wo must both bo up in , difficulties and troubles opened itself mistily 
 good time bcCorc breakfast to-nionow morn- ' and indistinctly bclbro her. IIow slie should 
 ing. lie is to bo hero to speak to papa in I fight througii them she did not know, nor 
 his study before the bell rings. And I have : could she now pause to consider. Uut this 
 promised tliat he shall find the way prepared first step to-morrow morning she felt that she 
 for liim ; so that I must see papa first ; and could not take. And it was absolutely ne- 
 
 cessary to refuse it on the instant. 
 
 I hitd intended to have done so over night. 
 But I would not speak till I had consulted 
 yoli, dearest, of course. And I could not 
 
 Stop, Margaret ! " she cried, in her des- 
 peration ; " stop a moment ; that will never 
 
 get an opportunity of doing that till now ; do. I would rather not see Mr. Falconer to- 
 80 tliat we shall be pressed for time in the ; morrow morning. I cannot do it ; indeed I 
 morning:. And what 1 want is, that if 1 am cannot! " 
 
 with papa when he comes, you should re 
 ceive him, and " — 
 
 " You do not want 
 him " — 
 
 Again the thunder-cloud passed over the 
 fair face, and the evil-looking lightning 
 flashed from the superb eyes. But it was 
 only for a fragment of a moment. 
 
 " Pooh ! make yourself easy, Kate ! I only 
 want you to compromise yourself so far as 
 to bid him good-morning, and tell him that 
 I am speaking with papa, and that the coast 
 will be clear ibr him in a minute." 
 
 But the statement of the duty thus as- 
 signed to her did not by any means tend to 
 make Kate " easy," as Margaret had so flip- 
 pantly said. It led her, on the contrary, to 
 the CDnsidcration that even thus, at the very 
 outset, she would be taking an active part in 
 promoting an engagement between her sister 
 and Falconer, she being in possession of in- 
 formation which she was very sure would 
 have prevented him from contemplating any- 
 thing of the kind, if he had shared it. Some- 
 thing must, of course, be said on the subject 
 between her and Falconer. And what could 
 ehe say ? lIow could she so guide herself as 
 not to be guilty, in her sister's behalf, of that 
 which, on her own behalf, she had kept her- 
 self clear from at the cost of so much agony 
 and self-denial "? How was this to be done? 
 And as these thoughts rushed through her 
 brain, her heart sank within her. 
 
 But Margaret had meanwhile risen from 
 her seat, and was leaving the room with a 
 nodded " Good-night," as considering that 
 her last words had quite sufficiently settled 
 the programme for the following morning, 
 arKi that there was nothing more to be said 
 on tlie subject. Kate felt that it was impos- 
 
 The words seem plain enough. But words 
 are but symbols, plain only to those agreed 
 to say anything to | upon the ideas they are used to symbolize. 
 One man says, I told such and such things 
 to another ; and he takes it for granted 
 that he put into the mind of that other the 
 thoughts that were in his own. But the eye 
 can see only that which it is given to it to 
 see ; and the mind can conceive only the ideas 
 which it is capable of conceiving. And Mar- 
 garet accordingly interpreted Kate's words 
 according to the key supplied by her own 
 head and heart. 
 
 " Why, Kate ! I had no idea of this," she 
 said, turning round at the door of the room ; 
 " upon my word I had not ; " and as she 
 spoke, there was a strange contradiction be- 
 tween the expression of her eyes and that of 
 her mouth. The former spoke with their 
 usual eloquence of grave and regretful sym- 
 pathy, while an irrepressible smile of grati- 
 fied triumph and conscious superiority man- 
 tled about the latter. And it was a curious 
 fact that the former feature told the lie that 
 was needed, in their owner's opinion, for the 
 occasion, while it was left to the latter to tell 
 the unsuppressible truth. In the case of 
 most performers the reverse would in all 
 probability have been the case. It was not 
 so with Margaret. Most of the lies she told 
 were told by her eyes, — those beautiful large 
 eyes, — tender, confiding, beseeching, fierce, 
 vindictive, languishing by turns. They and 
 the expression of them, were more under the 
 perfect and habitual control of the mistress, 
 who made such frequent and such efi'ective 
 use of them than even the muscles of that 
 habitual telltale of the affections, the mouth, 
 which in that lovely young face could speak 
 lies, but had not yet acquired the habit of 
 
 Bible for her to accept the part assigned to I looking them. 
 
 her. A whole vista of similar and still worse I But Kate was too much engrossed bv her 
 
160 
 
 own painful thoughts, and too little in the 
 habit of meeting with or suspecting falsehood 
 anywhere, to note that her meaning had been 
 misapprehended. And when Margaret, in ac- 
 cents of ill-concealed triumph and gratifica- 
 tion, went on to say that if that were indeed 
 the state of the case, she would not for the 
 world expose Kate to the pain of such an in- 
 terview ; and that, after all, it would be quite 
 sufficient if Banting were to tell Falconer, on 
 his arrival, that Miss Margaret was with her 
 papa, and that the squire would be happy 
 to see him if he would wait a few minutes ; 
 Kate was delighted to catch at such a means 
 of escape, and assented thankfully to the ar- 
 rangement. 
 
 So the sisters parted for the night, Kate 
 determining that she would not appear in the 
 morning till after breakfast, when Falconer 
 should have left the house ; and Margaret 
 victorious, and congratulating herself on the 
 masterly manner in which she had brought 
 to a successful termination an interview to 
 which she had looked forward with so much 
 apprehension. 
 
 But it was long before either of the sisters 
 fell asleep. Kate's mind was busy with pain- 
 ful previsions of the embarrassments and dif- 
 ficulties which seemed to unfold themselves 
 before her in more and more threatening 
 numbers and proportions, the more she medi- 
 tated on the subject. And Margaret set to 
 work to review her position and Kate's con- 
 duct as regarded by the aid of the new light, 
 which, she fancied, had been thrown upon 
 the subject by Kate's last words. 
 
 ''So, so, so, so!" thought she, "that's 
 the explanation, then, of all the difficulties 
 and scruples and pack of nonsense ; is it ? 
 "Well ! It is quite as well to know it. But 
 I think I can distance Miss Kate at one game 
 as easily as I have done at another. Yes ! I 
 am glad I know how the land lies I " 
 
 CHAPTER XXIX. 
 SPEAKING TO PAPA. 
 
 Margaret was a frequent offender against 
 that primal law of the Lindisfarn social code, 
 which commanded that all those who lived 
 under it should appear in the breakfast-room, 
 what time the uncorruptibly punctual Mr. 
 Banting, wlio never delegated that important 
 function to any inferior hand, rang the morn- 
 ing bell. Margaret was a frequent and almost 
 
 NDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 privileged offender ; for how could the great 
 cardinal virtue of coming down to breakfast 
 punctually in time be expected from one who 
 was not only not " Sillshire," but not even 
 English-bred ? 
 
 But on the morning after the conversation 
 recorded in the last chapter. Miss JMargaret 
 was up betimes. The squire was understood 
 to be generally in his " study " half an hour 
 or so before breakfast : and it wanted nearly 
 as much as that to the morning bell-ringing, 
 when Margaret, not altogether without a 
 little quickening of the heart-pulse, but still 
 with an exceedingly creditable degree of self- 
 possession, tripped to the door of the study, 
 and after the pause before it of some half a 
 minute, gave a little tap against the panel 
 with the knuckles of her slender little pink 
 band. 
 
 It was very evident that Margaret's early 
 appearance from her chamber had not been 
 obtained at the cost of any abbreviation of 
 the cares of the toilet. To do her justice, it 
 must be admitted that Margaret had retained 
 enough of English nature and Englitih in- 
 stinct, amid the influences of her Parisian 
 education, to preserve her from the abomi- 
 nable continental sin of compensating finery 
 for show hours by slovenliness in hours of 
 privacy. She was always Hree a quatre ep- 
 inc/lcs ; — always dressed with perfect fresh- 
 ness and taste. But on the present occasion, 
 an educated eye would at once have ob- 
 served that the exquisitely pretty toilette de 
 matin in which she appeared at the squire's 
 study door was the result of more than 
 usual care and consideration. There was a 
 candor, gentleness, — nay, even a sort of fore- 
 shadowing of young matronhood, in the pale, 
 glossy folds of the pearl-gray silk dress, 
 lighted up, as by a flash of passionate girli 
 hood, by the rich, deep rose-colored necktie, 
 and tiny wrist-knots, which set oflf so admi- 
 rably the fair wearer's marble white throat 
 and hands. Then there was a modish little 
 scrap of a rich black silk apron whose girdle 
 helped to call the eye to the outline of the 
 slenderest of Avaists, while it gave just the 
 slightest flavor of housewifery to the entire 
 composition. The dark satiny hair was 
 dressed as charmingly as usual ; but there was 
 a little tribute to sentiment in one smoothly 
 rolled ringlet, rather too regular in outline 
 to be quite innocent of the irons, which 
 strayed from under the mass of plaits and 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 161 
 
 rested on the pearl-gray bodice. In truth, 
 Margaret's costuiue on the morning in ques- 
 tion was a grand success, in which every 
 slight artistic touch had its importance, from 
 the piquant rosette on her slipper to the de- 
 mure little black velvet jcannctic, with tiny 
 gold cross and heart, then a recent importa- 
 tion from France, which encircled her alabas- 
 ter throat. 
 
 The squire's hearty, jovial voice from 
 within, in a tone like that of a somewhat 
 modified view-holloa, bade her " Come in, 
 whoever you are," in answer to her modest 
 tap ; and on opening the door, she found the 
 old gentleman standing with his legs wide 
 asunder on the rug, with his back to the 
 " study " fire, busy in putting a new lash to 
 a dog-whip, holding the while the end of the 
 bit of whipcord between his teeth. 
 
 The squire, with his tall and well-grown 
 person, his clear, healthy, rosy complexion, 
 and his handsome features, with the kindly 
 beam from his honest, laughing blue eye, 
 his pleasant smile, and his reverend silver 
 locks, was as attractive a presentment of age, 
 as was Margaret of youth. But somehow or 
 other, they did not give an impression of be- 
 ing well-assorted. Very great, mysteriously 
 great, is the power of that education which 
 is imparted to human beings by all the 
 united influences of everything that sur- 
 rounds them during the process of develop- 
 ment from childhood to man and womanhood. 
 It is so great as to throw doubt on all our 
 speculations respecting the possible identity 
 or divergence of races. Here were two twin 
 children ; Sillshirc had made one of them 
 into our darling peerless Kate, and Paris had 
 made the other into our incomparable Mar- 
 guerite ! African and Caucasian ! Ham and 
 Japhet ! Why, had not the skin of the 
 Paris girl already become of a different color 
 and texture from that of the Sillshire lass ? 
 Psychological differences ! I should think 
 there were psychological differences, — capa- 
 ble of being tolerably satisfactorily described 
 by a shorter word ! Physiological characteris- 
 tics ! I only know that Kate used always to 
 seem to carry about with her an atmosphere 
 redolent of hedge-roses and the morning dew 
 on the swectbrier,while Margaret scented the 
 fanning breeze with bouquet dc milleflcurs. I 
 believe that if her blood had been analyzed, 
 a residuum of the oxyde or chloride of bou- 
 
 11 
 
 quct dc millojluers, or some such thing, windd 
 have been found in it. 
 
 Kate Lindisfarn by tlic side of her fatlier 
 always seemed the due and thoroughly satis- 
 factory completion of an admirably com- 
 posed picture. The group was thoroughly 
 harmonious. There was no such harmony, 
 no such artistic keeping in the group formed 
 by Margaret and the squire. 
 
 None the less kindly, on that account, 
 however, was the squire's greeting as Mar 
 garet entered his study on the occasion in 
 question. 
 
 "What, Margaret!" he cried, in the 
 mellow but somewhat stentorian tones, to 
 which his Parisian daughter confessed she 
 had not yet been able to accustom or recon- 
 cile herself; but he had never once, since that 
 evening of Marguerite's first arrival, relapsed 
 into the sin of calling her '• Margy," — 
 " what, Margaret ! you afoot so early this 
 morning? What's in the wind now ? And 
 upon my word, what a picture of a dress! 
 I make you my compliments on the success 
 of your toilet, my dear ! Come and let me 
 have a closer look at you ! " 
 
 And as he spoke, the squire, holding the 
 handle of his dog-whip in one hand, and the 
 end of the lash in the other, playfully threw 
 it over her head, so as to encircle her waist, 
 and draw her thus imprisoned towards him. 
 Margaret gave a little uneasy wriggle, very 
 plainly expressive of her not altogether un- 
 pardonable fear that the usage she was being 
 subjected to might inflict damage on some 
 portion of the work of art on which so 
 much pains had been bestowed. The squire 
 pjerceived it, and after impressing one kiss on 
 her forehead, very much with the air and ac- 
 tion of a man walking on eggs, released her. 
 
 " I wanted to speak to you, papa, if I 
 may ; and I thought that this would be the 
 most convenient time for catching you." 
 
 " Any time, any time, my dear ! But 
 what is it, my dear child ? " said the squire, 
 somewhat nervously ; for he could not im- 
 agine what could be coming, and had a kind 
 of presentiment that something at or about 
 the Chase was going to be complained of. 
 
 " I will only trouble you a very few min- 
 utes, papa" — 
 
 " As many as ever you like, my darling I 
 We have five-and-twenty before Banting rings 
 the breakfast-bell!" said the squire, look- 
 
162 
 
 ing at his great silver hunting- watch, and 
 seeming to consider that length of time as an 
 infinity beyond which no imaginable confer- 
 ence could prolong itself. 
 
 Margaret did not exhibit any degree of 
 unusual emotion or embarrassment. She did 
 not bite her thumbs, or more elegantly hide 
 her face on her father's shoulder. She cast 
 down her eyes, however, beneath their long 
 and silky lashes, with a very pretty little 
 bending of her arched neck, and twining the 
 tasselled cord of her apron round her two 
 forefingers as she thus stood by her father's 
 side, she said, in a very demure, but yet in a 
 sufficiently businesslike, manner, — 
 
 " Yesterday, papa, I received a proposal 
 which, of course, it is my first duty to com- 
 municate to you immediately." 
 
 " A proposal, my child ! What, you don't 
 mean a proposal of marriage? " 
 
 " Yes, papa ; it was a proposal of mar- 
 riage. Although, according to the ideas of 
 those among whom 1 was educated, it is 
 proper that such a proposal should be made 
 in the first case to the parents of the young 
 person , I believe that it is in this country 
 considered permissible to address such a 
 comm-unication to herself." 
 
 " Yes," said the squire, scratching his 
 head, and looking at his exquisitely elegant 
 daughter with a mixture of admiration and 
 curiosity, " in this country we generally 
 make love to the girls themselves, rather 
 than to their fathers and mothers. But who 
 is it, my pretty one, who has asked for the 
 present of that pretty little hand ? Who is 
 the bold man ? And what answer did he 
 get from ' the young person ' herself? " 
 
 " It is Mr. Frederick falconer, papa ; of 
 course my answer necessarily was that he 
 must apply to you." 
 
 " Apply to me ? Well ! Yes — that is all 
 right and proper, very proper ! But I sup- 
 pose the young gentleman wanted some an- 
 swer from you first." 
 
 " But of course, you know, papa, I could 
 give him none — except altogether condition- 
 ally on your approval and pleasure." 
 
 " And was he contented with that ? " said 
 the squire, with a twinkle in his clear blue 
 eye, and a look which was meant to be the 
 quintessence of archness. 
 
 Margaret, however, did not give the slight- 
 est countenance to any unbecoming levity, by 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 responding in any way to these demonstra- 
 tions. 
 
 " From all that I have seen of Mr. Falcon- 
 er, papa, and still more from what I have 
 heard of him, especially from my aunt. Lady 
 Sempronia, since I have been in this coun- 
 try, I should be led to suppose that he would 
 not expect any other reply from me," re- 
 turned Margaret, with a grave propriety of 
 accent and bearing that the old squire felt 
 to be a slap in the face for his improper lev- 
 
 " But if I am to give him his answer, my 
 dear child," he said, more gravely, " I at 
 least must first learn from you what sort of 
 answer you would wish it to be." 
 
 " In that, my dear father, I should wish 
 to be entirely guided by your superior knowl- 
 edge and by your advice." 
 
 The squire scratched his head, and stared 
 at her with the blank, puzzled look of a man 
 suddenly called upon to act in the midst of a 
 whole world of circumstances entirely new 
 to him. 
 
 " Well ! That is all very right and prop- 
 er," he said at last; " and I am sure, my 
 dear, I shall be most happy — that is, as far 
 as my power goes, — but, you see, the first 
 question is, it seems to me — But what does 
 Kate think about it ? " he added, briskly, as 
 the bright idea struck him that her media- 
 tion between himself and the embarrassingly 
 superfine propriety of his Parisian daughter 
 might powerfully tend to facilitate matters. 
 
 " I believe my sister has a very good opin- 
 ion of Mr. Falconer," replied Margaret; 
 and a slight passing fliush, that passed across 
 her face as she said the words, was the first 
 sign of emotion of any sort which she had 
 betrayed since entering her father's room. 
 
 " Yes ; I have a very good opinion of Mr. 
 Falconer too," replied the squire. " I have 
 known him from a boy. I never knew any 
 ill of him. And I have heard much good. 
 I believe he has always been a very good son. 
 I don't know that he is exactly the man I 
 should fall in love with, if I were a young 
 lady. But then," continued the squire, 
 quite gravely, — for he had no inclination to 
 incur a second reprimand for levity, and was 
 in truth applying himself to the task imposed 
 upon him to the best of his ability, — " but 
 then God only knows what 1 should do or 
 should feel, if I were a young lady. I sup- 
 
LINDISFARiN CHASE. 
 
 pose most things would seem very different 
 to me then, you know. I can't say I like 
 Fred's seat in the saddle. And Mr. I\Iat says 
 he is Jemmy Jessamy. But then perhaps 
 you don't care about his riding ; and you are 
 not bound to follow Mr. Mat's opinion. If 
 it were Kate now, the way he sits his horse 
 might count for something." 
 
 " I do not think my sister would consider 
 Mr. Falconer's mode of riding any objection 
 to him in the point of view which is now 
 under consideration, papa," replied Mar- 
 garet ; and while she was speaking, the 
 slight flush again passed over her face, 
 accompanied this time by an almost imper- 
 ceptible toss of the head. 
 
 It occurred to the squire's recollection at 
 that moment, that he had heard his old friend 
 Lady Farnleigh call Freddy Falconer a prig : 
 and the thought did flash across his mind for 
 an instant, accompanied rather than followed 
 by a self-accusing feeling of penitence for 
 having conceived it, that perhaps he and his 
 foreign-bred daughter were all the better 
 adapted to each other on that account. 
 
 But he only said in answer to jNIargaret's 
 last words, "I dare say not, my dear, — I 
 dare eay not. x\nd, really, my dear child, 
 I do not know that I can say anything 
 more or better to you on the subject than 
 that, if he has contrived to win that quiet, 
 undemonstrative little heart of yours, I 
 do not know of any objection to him. 
 I do conscientiously believe him to be a very 
 good young man. And that, I take it, is 
 about all that I ought to look to in the mat- 
 ter. The rest is your own affair ; and can 
 only be decided by yourself. In this country, 
 my dear, we think that love should precede 
 marriage as well as follow it ; and I own that 
 I should be very sorry to see you marry any 
 man to whom you were not sincerely at- 
 tached. But if Fred Falconer has really 
 been able to make himself agreeable to you, 
 as I said before, I do not know any just cause 
 or impediment why you two should not 
 be joined together in holy matrimony ;" thus 
 bringing to a conclusion — neatly and forcibly, 
 as he flattered himself — the longest oration, 
 in all probability, which he ever had uttered ; 
 though his sense of rhetorical propriety 
 would have been more completely satisfied, 
 if the circumstances of the occasion would 
 have allowed him to add the words, "he is 
 now to declare it." Still, the squire was 
 
 163 
 
 contented with his effort ; and having clearly 
 expressed his views on the subject, and at the 
 same time done, as it seemed to his mind, due 
 homage to the seriousness of the occasion by 
 winding up his period and the subject with 
 the time-honored and quasi semi-sacred for- 
 mula he had hit on, he appeared to consider 
 that he had said and done all that was or 
 could be then and there expected of him ia 
 the premises. 
 
 But it was now Margaret's turn to look 
 into her father's face with blank and puzzled 
 surprise. To her comprehension of the mat- 
 ter, he had been babbling upon a variety of 
 trifling and at all events secondary matters, 
 to the total forgetfulness of the one thing 
 needful. Not a word or an allusion to 
 the point which ought to form the main 
 and special object of the solicitude of any 
 right-principled father or guardian! Or 
 was it that the squire, being as a prudent 
 father should be, perfectly well-informed ad 
 to the fortunes, prospects, and expectations 
 of every young man in the neighborhood, and 
 having the knowledge that things were satis- 
 factory in this respect in the case of Fred 
 Falconer, thought that she, Margaret, was 
 too young and too silly to be spoken with on 
 such a subject? If, indeed, her father were 
 unprincipled enough to neglect his duty to 
 his child, and leave her unprotected in this 
 respect, it was the more necessary that she 
 should take care of herself. If, on the other 
 hand, the second hypothesis were the true 
 one, and the fact were that her father deemed 
 her still too much of a child to speak to on 
 matters of serious business, she was not at all 
 sorry to have an opportunity of showing him 
 that such was by no means the case. 
 
 So she said, first raising her eyes for one 
 quick, observant glance into his face, and then 
 dropping theta on the floor, as she stood in 
 front of him, " I suppose, papa, that you 
 would disapprove of any marriage that was 
 not a suitable one in point of fortune and 
 position. I have always been educated to 
 believe that no happiness can be expected 
 from any such union, and that nothing ia 
 more unpardonable, in a well-brought-up 
 young person, than the slightest thought 
 even of forming such a mesalliance. But of 
 course I know nothing about such matters. 
 It is my duty to leave all such entirely in 
 your hands." 
 
 The old squire felt as if there would bo 
 
164 
 
 nothing left for him but to listen meekly and 
 strive to profit by it, if the astonishingly" well- 
 brought-up young person," standing then on 
 the rug before him, had seen fit to favor him 
 with an exposition of the whole duty of 
 man. 
 
 So he replied, with no little feeling of awe 
 for that exquisitely dressed incarnation of 
 perfect propriety, "Of course, my dear 
 Margaret, of course ! It is a very necessary 
 consideration. Happily, I believe that in the 
 present case there is no cause for any hesita- 
 tion on that score. No doubt Master Freddy 
 will be very comfortably well off." 
 
 "I suppose, papa, you will think it right 
 to be very explicit in speaking on this topic 
 with ^Ir. Frederick Falconer? " and the man- 
 ner in which the name was pronounced suc- 
 ceeded in administering a fitting reproof to 
 the old gentleman for the irreverence he had 
 permitted himself in speaking of his august 
 daughter's intended as Master Freddy." 
 
 " Well, my dear ; I have always under 
 stood, and indeed I may say I know that 
 old Falconer is more than well off, — that he 
 is a wealthy man ; and Frederick is his only 
 son. But of course the lawyers must have a 
 finger in the pie, before it comes out of the 
 oven, and it will be for them to look into the 
 matter properly." 
 
 "Yes, papa. And is it not the mode in 
 England for the lawyers to write down all 
 about it, before the marriage is arranged? " 
 inquired his daughter, with charming girlish 
 naweU. 
 
 " Quite so, my dear. Settlements, we call 
 them. The settlements must be made prop- 
 erly, of course." 
 
 " And all that I have, or ever shall have, 
 must be written down in them, too, must it 
 not, papa?" 
 
 " Yes, my dear, I suppose so. I am not 
 much of a lawyer ; but I suppose that is the 
 proper way." 
 
 " And you call it by such a funny name ! 
 Tying up ! I have heard dear Madame de 
 Renneville talk of tying up. I remember it 
 because it is such a queer expression. I sup- 
 pose the lawyers must tie me up, papa? " 
 she said, raising her eyes as she spoke, and 
 shooting point-blank into the squire's face a 
 sunny beam of girlish mirth. And again, 
 the same strange phenomenon occurred, which 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 mouth did not join in the smile of her eyes, 
 but remained quite gravely busied about the 
 serious business in hand. It needed, how- 
 ever, a far more observant and skilled physi- 
 ognomist than the squire to take note of this. 
 He was divided between pleased admiration; 
 of the exceeding prettiness of the face and 
 figure before him, and marvelling admiration 
 of the range of knowledge a '■'■ jeune personne 
 Men elevee" might be expected to possess. 
 
 " Yes, my dear ! You must be tied up, I 
 suppose, as you say ; or at least your fortune 
 must. And, by the by, that brings me to a 
 point which I can hardly say, I think, that 
 I ever considered at all, so much has it al- 
 ways been in my mind as a matter of course. 
 I have but you and Kate, my child, you know, 
 and there is neither oldest nor youngest be- 
 tween ye. Of course, all I have will be yours 
 between you. And the matter never has 
 come into my mind in any other light. But 
 what you say about settlements puts it into 
 my head that the sharing of the property 
 between you is not a matter of course, but 
 depends on my will." 
 
 Margaret's eyes were by this time quite 
 concealed beneath their long, drooping lashes ; 
 but her mouth was more seriously occupied 
 with the business in hand than ever. For an 
 instant, Margaret feared that she had, per- 
 haps, been injudicious in leading her father, 
 as she had purposely and with admirable 
 skill done, to speak on the subject of his in- 
 tentions respecting his property. 
 
 " Of course," the squire went on to say, 
 " I never had any thought upon the matter 
 but that you would share and share alike. 
 But for that to be so, I must make it so ! 
 And if settlements are to be made I must 
 make it so then. Afterward I should have 
 no power to alter the arrangement," added 
 the squire, speaking somewhat gravely. 
 
 " It would never have entered into my 
 head, of course, papa, to think of, much less 
 to inquire into, your intentions on the sub- 
 ject. Only it seemed possible that Mr. Fal- 
 coner, or his father for him, might think it 
 right to know my position in this respect." 
 
 ' ' Has anything been said to you on the 
 subject?" inquired the squire. He would 
 never have dreamed of making such an in- 
 quiry of his Sillshire Kate. But he was be- 
 ginning to feel as if he should not be a bit 
 
 had been observable in this remarkable I surprised if it should turn out to be the cor- 
 " young person " on a former occasion. Her rect thing for a '■'■ jcune personne bien clevee,'" 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 upon an occasion such as the present, to pull 
 out of a dainty little apron-pocket a rough 
 draft of a settlement ready prepared by her 
 own fair fingers. 
 
 "Oh, 110, papa ! not a syllabic ! I am sure 
 Mr. Falconer would not have been guilty of 
 such an indelicacy for the whole world ! In- 
 deed, I think that in all probability he has 
 not given a thought to the subject. But his 
 father, you know, papa, will probably wish 
 to knoAv." 
 
 "Of course, my dear! And it is quite 
 right and necessary that he should know ; 
 and quite proper that Mast — that Mr. Fred- 
 crick should wish to know too. I only said 
 that tlie matter presented itself to my mind 
 for the first time. Well, I think I may say 
 that I shall be ready to tell Mr. Falconer that 
 I am prepared to settle on you, upon your 
 marriage with his son, one-half of this prop- 
 erty. As for what I may be able to do for 
 you during my lifetime, it would require a 
 more leisurely consideration, you know " — 
 
 " Oh, of course, papa, of course ! I am 
 sure that nothing can be farther from Fred- 
 erick's intention than to dream of speaking 
 to you upon any such subject when he comes 
 to speak to you this morning." 
 
 " This morning ! Bless my soul ! Is he 
 coming this morning?" cried the squire, 
 rather startled. 
 
 " Yes ! I have very little doubt that he is 
 at the Chase already, papa ! He was so im- 
 patient ! I could hardly prevent him from 
 coming up here last night. But I thought 
 that it would be more agreeable to you to see 
 him in the morning. May I tell him that he 
 may come in to speak with you, dear papa? " 
 said she, casting a pleading look on the 
 squire as she spoke. 
 
 " Of course, my dear, of course I will see 
 him. But stay one moment, Margaret. 
 When did all this happen, eh ? " 
 
 "A//, papa!" she answered, with the 
 prettiest little half-shy, half-laughing glance 
 into his face that it is possible to conceive, 
 followed by the demurest dropping of the 
 conscious eyes to the ground ; " I can hardly 
 tell you when it all happened ! But it was 
 yesterday at my uncle's in Silverton, that — 
 that — I told him he might speak to you. 
 May 1 tell him to come in, papa? I am 
 sure he is waiting most anxiously to see 
 you." 
 
 " Pray tell him I shall be most happy to 
 
 165 
 
 see him," said the squire, adding, as he 
 once again looked at his watch ; " and, dear 
 me ! the sooner the better. We have only 
 five minutes left before the bell rings ! " 
 
 " Oh, that will be quite enough, papa, to 
 give your consent in ! " said the jeune pcr- 
 sonnc with a bright smile, tripping to the 
 door as she spoke. 
 
 She found that Frederick had been true to 
 his word, — of which she had not felt abso- 
 lutely certain, — and had already arrived at 
 the Chase. All had passed exactly as had 
 been settled between the sisters over night. 
 Kate had not made her appearance. She had 
 told Simmons to make her excuses to Miss 
 Immy, and tell her, what was perfectly true, 
 that she hardly slept all night, and she was 
 now endeavoring to get a little sleep. And 
 Mr. Banting had, as instructed, told Mr. 
 Frederick, on his arrival, that Miss Margaret 
 was in her papa's study, but that, if he would 
 walk into the breakfiist-room for a few min- 
 utes, the squire would then be happy to see 
 him. 
 
 I suspect from a certain look which, 
 though veiled beneath the exterior semblance 
 of perfectly respectful deference, might have 
 been detected hanging about the muscles of 
 Mr. Banting's face, as he communicated this 
 intelligence to Mr. Frederick, that that well- 
 trained domestic knew the nature of the 
 business which had brought the young gen- 
 tleman to the Chase at so early an hour as 
 well as any of the parties more immediately 
 interested in it. He performed his part, 
 however, with the most undeniable propri- 
 ety ; and Mr. Frederick, looking as little 
 conscious as he could, awaited his summons 
 in the breakfast-room, devoutly hoping that 
 neither Miss Immy, nor Kate, and still less 
 Mr. Mat, might come in and find him there 
 before he should be called to the squire's 
 study. 
 
 Margaret, however, flitted into the room 
 while he was still alone there ; and Freder- 
 ick, with a glance that sufficed to prove to 
 her that the care she had bestowed upon 
 her charming toilet had by no means been 
 thrown away upon him, was about to avail 
 himself of some of the little privileges which 
 are usually understood to belong to the pre- 
 rogative of an accepted lover. But Marga- 
 ret, with one of those little evolutions which 
 somteimes seem to be as natural and as easy 
 to girls as wriggling is to eels, and sometimes 
 
166 
 
 as utterly impossible to them as movement is 
 to the bird fixed by the fascination of the eye 
 of a serpent, escaped him, saying at the same 
 time in great haste, — 
 
 "It is all right, my own ! I have seen 
 papa ! He is expecting you in the study. 
 But he says he has only five minutes to spare 
 before the breakfast-bell rings. And no 
 earthly consideration would induce him to 
 abstain from coming out into the breakfast- 
 room directly it does ring. So make haste. 
 Run along ; you know the way. I will wait 
 for you out on the terrace." 
 
 So Frederick did as he was bid ; and found 
 the five minutes quite enough for the trans- 
 action of his business with the blunt and 
 simple-hearted old squire. 
 
 " How do, Fred, my boy? " said the old 
 man, extending his hand to him in cordial 
 and kindly greeting ; " glad to see you — al- 
 ways ; and not sorry to see you on the busi- 
 ness which brings you here this morning." 
 
 " My dear Mr. Lindisfarn ! If I have 
 dared ' ' — 
 
 " Ay ! Margaret has told me all about it ! 
 Well, I see no objection. I have known 
 you, Fred, man and boy, since you wore long 
 clothes ; and I do believe that I may as safely 
 trust my girl's happiness to you as to any 
 man. You have been abroad ; and some- 
 times I have thought that you brought home 
 with you some foreign ways and tastes. If 
 it is so, perhaps you and Margaret may be 
 all the better suited to each other. You 
 know pretty well what to look to with her. 
 I have no thought, and never had, of mak- 
 ing any difference between my two girls. As 
 to what you can say, on your side, and as to 
 what your father and I can do for the young 
 household before the old birds hop the twig, 
 of course he and I must talk it over togeth- 
 er. But as far as I can see, I know of no 
 objection ; and I wish you joy with all my 
 heart. So now come to breakfast ; for Bant- 
 ing will ring in one half-minute." 
 
 Frederick, however, escaped as they were 
 crossing the hall, and ran out to join Mar- 
 garet on the terrace. 
 
 " Nothing can be kinder than your father, 
 my own darling ! " he said. '' He spoke in 
 the frankest and kindest manner of his in- 
 tentions towards you in regard to property, 
 and such matters. But of course I cared 
 little to listen to all that, having other things 
 in my head, and was heartily glad when he 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 said that all those subjects must be talked 
 over between him and my father." 
 
 " Will you not come in to breakfast, dear- 
 est? Kate will not be down. You must 
 submit to be congratulated by them all some- 
 time or other, you know." 
 
 " But not this morning, my own darling. 
 I cannot stand Mr. Mat this morning. It is 
 dreadful to have to tear myself away from 
 you. But there would be no pleasure in 
 sitting by you under the eyes of all the par- 
 ty at breakfast ; and I am sure you had 
 rather be spared it." 
 
 " Well, perhaps you are right ! Au re- 
 voir then ! " 
 
 And as they had by that time reached the 
 corner of the terrace, where there was a spot 
 not commanded by the breakfast-room win- 
 dows, or any others likely at that hour to be 
 occupied, she permitted him to encircle her 
 waist with his arm for an instant long enough 
 (a larigucur) for the taking of one kiss, se- 
 lected out of the whole scale of kisses (which 
 is a long one) , with a view to its exact fitness 
 to the proprieties of the occasion, and then 
 dismissed him. 
 
 Margaret then returned to undergo the 
 ordeal of the breakfast-room with a calmness 
 inspired by a sense of having been and shown 
 herself perfect mistress of the situation, and 
 having, at least thus far, managed her some- 
 what difficult afiPairs with the hand of a mas- 
 ter. 
 
 Frederick returned to Silver ton, not dis- 
 contented, yet not so thoroughly well pleased 
 with his morning's work as his lady-love. 
 He had a certain sense of having been out- 
 generalled, which was not agreeable to him 
 rather from the hurt it inflicted on his amour 
 propre than from any real reason he had to 
 be dissatisfied with things as they were. He 
 had meant to win Margaret ; and he had won 
 her! But had he not unnecessarily " put 
 out his arm further than he could draw it 
 back again ' ' ? 
 
 It was not till he reached the Ivy Bridge 
 at the bottom of the ascent to Silverton that 
 it occurred to him that what JNIargaret had 
 said about receiving the congratulations of 
 the party assembled in the breakfast-room 
 implied the abandonment of that plan of 
 keeping their engagement secret which had 
 been agreed on between them. 
 
 And Frederick bit his lips as the thought 
 flashed into his mind. 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXX. 
 TUE LINDISFARN JAWBONE. 
 
 Kate Lindisfarn was an especial uivo"ite 
 with Dr. Blakistry. Tliere was nothing odd 
 in that ; lor she was an especial favorite with 
 all the country-side in general, and with a 
 singularly large number of individuals of all 
 classes in particular. But the doctor, having 
 neither chick nor child, as the phrase goes, 
 and being therefore driven to look abroad for 
 somewhat to care for, to love, and to pet, 
 had enlisted himself in a special manner, 
 and assumed a foremost place in the motley 
 corps of Kate's devoted slaves and adherents. 
 
 Not that the strength of this allegiance 
 had been needed to induce Dr, Blakistry to 
 ride out to Dcepcreek Cottage and give the 
 desperately wounded man lying dying there, 
 as was thought, the benefit of his skill and 
 care ; for the doctor was a humane man, 
 and indeed somewhat of a medical Quixote, 
 holding and acting on the theory that the 
 diploma which marked him as a student of 
 the laws of nature, and dubbed him as learned 
 in them, constituted, as it were, his letters 
 of ordination as a high-priest in her service, 
 and invested him with the mission, the privi- 
 lege, and the duty of combating with human 
 (physical) error and suffering wherever it 
 could be met with. He would gladly, there- 
 fore, have turned even farther aside out of 
 his way, than it had been necessary to do, to 
 visit the wounded smuggler, in whatever 
 way the knowledge of his case had reached 
 him ; but Kate's summons had the effect of 
 making the case and the patient additionally 
 interesting to him. 
 
 And there was yet another cause which, 
 after his Grst visit to Decpcreek Cottage, had 
 operated to arouse Blakistry's curiosity and 
 give him yet another source of interest in 
 the case. The excellent M. D. was an en- 
 thusiastic theorist, as M. D.'s mostly will be, 
 who aspire to be anything more than mere 
 rule of thumb practitioners, and as M. D.'s 
 should be, so long as they can love their the- 
 ories only second best after, and not better 
 than, truth. Dr. Blakistry was an enthusi- 
 astic theorist. And some of his theories were 
 wise ; and some were partially so ; and some 
 were but fancy-bred crotchets ; for he was 
 but a mortal M. D, after all. 
 
 Well, one of Blakistry's theories was, that 
 certain features of the human face are more 
 liable than otliers to be chancied and modi- 
 
 167 
 
 tied in the transmission from one generation 
 to another, by all the accidents of education 
 and mode of life ; and that others are much 
 less liable to alteration from such circum- 
 stances ; that they are more persistent, 
 therefore, in races of mankind and in fam- 
 ilies, and more trustworthy as guides to 
 probability in questions of filiations and the 
 like. The jawbone, and especially the lower 
 jawbone was, according to Dr. Blakistry, the 
 most reliable feature in the face for such 
 purposes, being the least liable to alteration 
 by circumstances befalling the individual 
 subsequently to his birth. Now it so hap- 
 pened that the Lindisfarn family afforded 
 the doctor a case strikingly corroborative of 
 his theory. All the Lindisfarns, however 
 unlike they may have been in other respects, 
 had their lower jawbones of the same shape. 
 The peculiarity was sufficiently marked to 
 have become long since notorious in the 
 country ; and of course, to the eye of a scien- 
 tific observer (and one whose pet theory it 
 especially served to confirm), it was yet more 
 noticeable. 
 
 It was not without a start of surprise, 
 therefore, that Dr. Blakistry had, in the first 
 instant of his looking at his patient in Deep- 
 creek Cottage, recognized in his pale and 
 bandaged face the true Lindisfarn jaw. 
 
 Dr. Blakistry was displeased. Of course 
 he was ! What business had this smuggler 
 from the coast of France Avith the Lindisfarn 
 jaw ? Was he to come there with his jaw to 
 spoil, or at least injure, one of the finest illus- 
 tratory cases of his favorite theory '? And 
 then, as the doctor's active mind went to 
 work upon the subject, he began to think 
 whether it might be possible that the phe- 
 nomenon under his observation should prove 
 a case in favor of, rather than one militating 
 against, the Blakistry jawbonian theory. 
 
 It was a strange coincidence, to begin 
 with, tiiat he should be called by no other 
 than Kate Lindisfarn to visit that jawbone, 
 so unmistakable to him, though others might 
 easily fail to observe it in a face changed by 
 suffering, disfigured by wounds, and par- 
 tially concealed by bandages. Mrs. Pendle- 
 ton was Kate's old nurse. True ! But was 
 that fact to be accepted as sufficiently ex- 
 plaining so curious a combination of circum- 
 stances ? And then, as the doctor mused on 
 these facts, it occurred to him that he had 
 heard from somebody or other, since he had 
 
168 LINDISFARN 
 
 settled in Silverton, some story about there 
 having once been a male heir to the Lindis- 
 farn property, — a son of the canon's, who 
 had gone wrong, and had died in America, — 
 all long before he, Blakistry, had come into 
 that part of the country. 
 
 " Died in America. Humph ! Anyway, 
 that fellow lying there with the broken head 
 has the Lindisfarn jaw, if ever a man had ! 
 Well, Nature knows nothing about the 
 legitimacy or illegitimacy of marriages and 
 births. Who can tell? Our friend at the 
 Chase there, old Oliver, was young once, and 
 did not marry early, as I have heard. Any- 
 way — Mrs. Pendleton ! " 
 
 The last words, uttered aloud, were the 
 result of the doctor's soliloquy, or rather of 
 his musings, as represented by the above 
 phrases ; and they were uttered as he was on 
 the point of beginning to descend the steep, 
 zigzag path, which led from the smuggler's 
 abode to the bottom of the cliff, where he 
 had left his horse in charge of one of the 
 Pendleton children. lie turned back toward 
 the house as he spoke, and Mrs. Pendleton 
 came out and across the little garden to meet 
 him. 
 
 " I have no doubt of that young fellow's 
 recovery if due care is taken, as I have told 
 you. The patient's constitution seems to be 
 singularly old for his apparent years ; never- 
 
 CHASE. 
 
 And here the doctor, glancing up at the 
 little bedroom window, which was open, at 
 no great distance from the spot where they 
 were sj»eaking, drew Mrs. Pendleton a few 
 steps down the zigzag path, so as to be safely 
 out of the sick man's hearing. 
 
 — "Nevertheless," he resumed, "I have 
 little fear but that we shall bring him round. 
 Still as it will in all probability be some time 
 before he is able to be moved, and as it may 
 be that those who love him are in pain and 
 anxiety about him, and as your husband him- 
 self will doubtless be anxious to hear how he 
 is going on, it seems very desirable that he 
 should be communicated with on the sub- 
 ject." 
 
 " It may be very desirable, sir ; so is a 
 many other things in this world ; but they 
 can't be had for all that," said Mrs. Pendle- 
 ton, with rather a hostile and defiant air. 
 " When Pendleton's away," she added, " I 
 never know where to find him ; over in 
 France, as likely as not ! " 
 
 "Look here, Mrs. Pendleton! " said the 
 doctor, gazing steadily, but with a pleasant 
 smile, into her face, and gradually closing 
 one eye till that feature executed a wink that 
 ahorsedealer might have been proud of, — 
 " look here ! I am not a lawyer, nor a revenue 
 ofiicer, nor a magistrate, nor a constable ! I 
 am a doctor. My business all the world over 
 is to cure trouble, not to make it in any way 
 or kind. Doctors are always trusted. You 
 may trust me ! " 
 
 " And suppose some of them as their busi- 
 ness is to hunt an honest man down for striv- 
 ing to earn a bit of bread for his wife and 
 children by honest labor should ask you, in 
 the name of the law, where Hiram Pendleton 
 was a-hiding ; what should you say ? " 
 
 " What should you say, !Mrs. Pendleton, if 
 they were to ask you ? " 
 
 "I should tell them they was come to 
 the wrong shop for information ; and if 
 they wanted him, they had better look for 
 him.' 
 
 " Well, that is just about what /should 
 say. But they wont come to me ; never fear ! 
 We doctors are always hearing all sorts of 
 secrets from everybody ; but nobody ever ex- 
 pects us to tell them. The world would 
 come to a pretty pass, if the doctors were to 
 tell all they know. No ! You may tell me 
 where Mr. Pendleton is, safe enough. If he 
 never gets into trouble till he gets into it 
 through me, he'll do well ! " 
 
 Thus exhorted, Mrs. Pendleton yielded. 
 Indeed, the view of the medical profession 
 presented to her by no means involved the 
 reception of any new ideas into her mind. 
 Men whose lives are exposed to the risks and 
 chances which attend such a career as that 
 of Hiram Pendleton are in the habit of con- 
 sidering the doctor as a confidant and friend. 
 Old Bagstock would have been trusted by 
 Mrs. Pendleton, and frequently was trusted 
 by the anti-legal world of Sillmouth with a 
 variety of secrets, which His Majesty's rev- 
 enue officers would have been very glad to 
 get hold of. And Dr. Blakistry had that 
 additional claim to confidence, one which 
 never fails to exert a singularly powerful in- 
 fluence over persons in Mrs. Pendleton's 
 sphere of life, — arising from being a gentle- 
 man, — a circumstance of difference between 
 him and Dr. Bagstock, which was not at all 
 the less clearly and palpably recognizable by 
 Mre. Pendleton because she would have been 
 
LINDISFARN 
 
 t 
 
 utterly unable to explain wherein 
 eisted. 
 
 So she said, in reply to the doctor's per- 
 suasive words and looks, — 
 
 " Well then, the truth is, doctor, that 
 Pendleton is not twenty mile away from here 
 at this moment. He is in hiding out on the 
 moor. I don't justly know where he is at 
 the present speaking ; for he is obligated 
 often to change his quarters. But if any 
 one was at Chewton, — that's fifteen miles 
 out on the moor, or thereaway, — they would 
 not be far off from him. And old Jared 
 Mallury, him as is parish clerk at Chewton, 
 is sure to know exactly where he is." 
 
 " The parish clerk ! " 
 
 " Ay, the parish clerk ! seems queer, don't 
 it, going to the parish clerk to inquire for a 
 — such a one as Hiram Pendleton ? Next a 
 kin like to going to the parson for him ! But 
 Jared ^lallory is like what you was a-say- 
 ing, sir, of the doctors. There is no telling 
 the secrets and strange things as old Jared 
 Mallory have a-knowed in his time, of all 
 sorts and kinds, and of a many sorts of per- 
 sons. And there is no fear of his splitting. 
 But if you whisper in his ear," — and Mrs. 
 Pendleton whispered the words into that of 
 the doctor-:—" ' Fair trade and free, says 
 Saucy Sally,' he will bring you to speech 
 with Pendleton." 
 
 ''Very good! 1 wont forget. Thank you, 
 Mrs. Pendleton. You shall never have any 
 cause to regret having trusted me." 
 
 So the doctor rode back to Silverton in 
 meditative mood, convincing himself more 
 and more irresistibly with every furlong he 
 rode, that either that jawbone he had been 
 looking at was the jawbone of a genuine 
 Lindisfarn, or that there was an end of all 
 scientiflc certainty in this world. 
 
 The next day Dr. Blakistry mounted his 
 horse immediately after breakfast, and turned 
 his head in the direction of the moor. He 
 had first to ride down Silverton High Street, 
 which makes a steep descent just before 
 reaching the bridge over the Sill, and the ad- 
 jacent low parts of the city, and then to 
 cross the river. On the other side of the 
 Sill the road immediately begins to ascend 
 the high ground towards Wanstrow Manor. 
 But shortly branching off at the lodge-gates, 
 and leaving the park to the right hand, to 
 take a direction nearer the coast, it gradually 
 leaves tlie cultivated lands behind it, passes | produced itself by favor of the same protec- 
 
 CHASE. 169 
 
 through a border district, in which little low 
 dykes have replaced hedgerows, and feeble 
 attempts at cultivation struggle at disadvan- 
 tage with the thankless nature of the peaty 
 soil, and then enters on the bleak solitude of 
 the trackless moor, — trackless as far as eye 
 can reach, save for the one good road which 
 crosses the whole extent of it. At long and 
 distant intervals, however, an almost impas- 
 sable track is met with, leading off from the 
 high-road to some of the few villages buried 
 in the depths of the wilderness. IIow these 
 lost settlements kept up any communication 
 at all with the rest of the world before the 
 high road, itself a creation of quite modern 
 times, existed, it is hard to say. To the 
 present day the moorlanders arc a wild and 
 peculiar people. At the date of the events 
 narrated in this history, they must have been 
 yet more so ; and before the construction of 
 the road that now cuts the moor in half, 
 they must have been isolated and wild in- 
 deed. 
 
 Dr. Blakistry had ridden fast— for there 
 was a cold, raw mist lying on the moor — 
 about eight miles along this modern high- 
 road, before he came to the opening of a very 
 unpromising-looking track turning off from 
 it to the left, — in the direction of the sea- 
 coast, that is to say, — at the corner of which 
 was a wan and gibbet-like finger-post, on 
 which the words " Chewton 7 miles " were 
 still with some difficulty decipherable. 
 
 The doctor turned accordingly. But the 
 same rapid rate of pi-ogress which he had 
 hitherto made was thenceforward impractica- 
 ble. The track began by making a very 
 steep dip into a boggy hollow, then climbed 
 out of it by a still steeper stair of crags. 
 Here and there, for a short distance, it was 
 possible to trot over a bit of springy, turf- 
 covered peat ; but for the most part the 
 track alternated between bog and craggy 
 rocks. For miles there was not a living 
 creature to be seen, nor a sound, save now 
 and then the ripple of a tiny stream, to be 
 heard. Then, on rounding one of the huge 
 boulder-stones, which here and there form 
 landmarks on the surface of the mOor, a 
 scanty flock of small sheep, the greater num- 
 ber of them black, were found availing them- 
 selves of the shelter from the wind-driven 
 mist afforded by the huge stone, and profiting 
 by the patch of greener herbage which had 
 
170 
 
 tion. And soon after that a church-bell -was 
 heard ; and then, among a few trees, a belfry 
 became visible, and the doctor knew that he 
 had at length reached Chewton. 
 
 They always rang the church-bell at Chew- 
 ton at mid-day ; assigning, as the all-sufficient 
 reason for doing so, that such had always 
 been the practice. It cost some trouble to 
 do it, of course. And nobody in the place 
 had the remotest idea of any good being done 
 by it to anybody. But it was not usually 
 done in other parishes ; and it always had 
 been done at Chewton. And Chewton felt a 
 pride and a gratification in these circum- 
 stances. In all probability, the isolation of 
 the place had helped to preserve the old 
 ringing of the Angelus in Catholic days, 
 athwart all chances and changes, to the pres- 
 ent time. 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 At the entrance of the village, which 
 seemed to be more of a place than Sr. Blak- 
 istry had expected, he got off and led his 
 horse. The way led toward the main street 
 of the village, round the low wall of the 
 churchyard. The bell continued to ring as 
 he skirted it ; and a little child sitting on 
 the old-fashioned stone stile over the church- 
 yard wall, and belonging, in all probability, 
 to the ringer at his work within the church, 
 was the first living being the doctor saw in 
 Chewton. It was a magnificent little fellow 
 about ten years old ; and the doctor stopped 
 to learn from him if he could tell the way to 
 Jared Mallory's house. But the words died 
 on his lips, when the child, looking up into 
 his face, upon being spoken to, exhibited to 
 his gaze a perfectly well-defined specimen of 
 the Lindisfarn jawbone ! 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 TOE JAWDONE TELLS TALES. 
 
 " Why, good heavens ! " ejaculated Dr. 
 Blakistry to himself, as he stood with his 
 liorse's bridle over his arm, looking down 
 into tlic wondering, upturned fiicc of the 
 handsome child, as it sat motionless on the 
 stone slab of the churchyard stile, — " why, 
 good heavens, there it is again !" 
 
 It meant the Lindisfarn jawbone ; for in 
 truth that special form of feature was very 
 markedly traceable, by a practised physiogno- 
 mist, in the child's face. And a disagree- 
 able thought shot across the doctor's mind 
 like a cold ice-wind, that it might be possible 
 that the formation in question was merely 
 one feature of a pi'ovincial type, and not the 
 special inheritance of a particular family. 
 This, however, was a point to be cleared up, 
 if possible, at once. So the doctor made a 
 dash at the heart of the matter by asking,— 
 
 " Can you tell me where your father is 
 my little fellow? " 
 
 " GraTZf/father is in the church a-ringing 
 the mid-day bell! " replied the child, looking 
 up into the doctor's face with a fearless but 
 much-wondering gaze, and speaking in the 
 broadest and purest Silishire Doric; "I'm 
 a waiting for him." 
 
 "And what is your name, my boy?" 
 returned Dr. Blakistry, smiling kindly. 
 
 " My name's July Mallory, and my grand- 
 father is parish clerk of Chewton," said the 
 child, with an assumption of much dignity 
 in making the latter announcement. 
 
 "Ay, indeed! And is your father at 
 home, July? " said the doctor. 
 
 " Mother is at home," replied the boy ; 
 jerking his beautiful gold-ringleted head 
 towards the church-door as he added, 
 " Grandfather is coming home to dinner as 
 soon as he has rung the mid-day bell." 
 
 " And where does your mother live, my 
 fine little fellow ! I want to see her," said the 
 doctor, stooping to pat the abundant golden 
 tresses that clustered around July Mallory's 
 cheeks and neck, and to get a nearer and 
 more searching look at the shape of the 
 lower part of the child's face as he did so. 
 
 Yes ; there was no mistake about it ! if 
 there were any truth in the doctor's pet 
 theory, — if he were to be delivered from the 
 horrible necessity of violently pulling out one 
 favorite opinion from the fagot of opinions 
 which most men bind up for themselves by 
 
 171 
 
 the time they have lived half a century in 
 the world, — of violently pulling out this big 
 stick of the fagot, and thus loosening, who 
 could say how irremediably, the whole bun- 
 dle, — if this evil were to be avoided, it must 
 be shown that little July Mallory was a 
 Lindisfarn. 
 
 The reader, if he have not forgotten those 
 particulars of Julian Lindisfarn's early life 
 which were briefly related in the opening 
 pages of this history, will of course have at 
 once pei-ceived that the doctor's theory was 
 in no danger, and that little July Mallory 
 had every right to the feature in question. 
 And there was patent to Dr. Blakistry a 
 concatenation of circumstances, which in- 
 distinctly and uncertainly was leading him 
 towards a shrewd guess at the truth. There 
 was that stranger, with the broken head, 
 representing himself as a French smuggler, 
 but marked by the Lindisfarn jaw in the 
 most unmistakable manner. His favorite 
 Kate herself, who was every inch a Lindis- 
 farn, had it not more decidedly. Then he 
 was summoned by Kate to visit this stranger, 
 and implored by her to send up special news 
 of the result of his visit to the Chase. Then 
 this mysterious stranger was found at Sill- 
 mouth in close connection and association 
 with tRe Pendletons, and Hiram Pendleton, 
 the smuggler, was evidently in close connection 
 with these Mallorys. Then again the little 
 July Mallory had said nothing about his 
 father ; had plainly ignored any such rela- 
 tionship, when Blakistry had asked him 
 about his father. That name " July" too. 
 It was a Julian Lindisfarn, as Blakistry 
 distinctly remembered to have heard, who 
 had " gone to the bad," and vanished, 
 having died, as it was said, in America. 
 And now this July, short for Julian, Mal- 
 lory ! Yes ; there certainly was a plank of 
 safety for the theory, shadowed out by these 
 circumstances ! 
 
 "Mother lives in that house there, where 
 the smoke is coming out of the chiml^ley. 
 That's the rashers as mother is a-frying for ' 
 dinner. When the smoke comes out of the 
 chimbley like that, when grandfather is a- 
 ringing the mid-day bell in the church, 
 there's always rashere for dinner," replied 
 the young inductive philosopher. 
 
 " What, in that large house there, my 
 young Baconian ? " said the doctor, smiling 
 to himself, as a man may be permitted to 
 
172 
 
 smile who perpetrates so wretched a pun for 
 his own private use alone (for private and 
 unsocial vices cannot be visited by social 
 laws as those are and ought to be which 
 affect society), — " in that house there, with 
 the stone roof?" he said, pointing to one 
 very near at hand, at the bottom of the 
 village street, somewhat larger and more 
 solidly bnilt than the cottages on either side 
 of it, and distinguished from them by being 
 roofed with the gray, rugged flagstones of the 
 moor instead of with thatch. 
 
 " Yes," said the child ; " that's where 
 grandfather and mother and I lives ; and I 
 know there's going to be rashers for dinner 
 to-day," he added, gazing earnestly at the 
 smoke, and reverting unceremoniously, after 
 the fashion of children, to the point of view 
 which interested him in the matter. 
 
 " Grandfather, mother, and I," repeated 
 the doctor to himself. " Not a word about 
 father ? And I know,'''' he soliloquized, after 
 a moment's musing, " that you are a Lindis- 
 farn, by the same rule that teaches you that 
 there will be rashers for dinner, my little 
 man!" 
 
 " Well, I shall go and see your mother, 
 July," added he, aloud ; " and I dare say I 
 shall see you and your grandfether when you 
 come home to dinner." 
 
 And so saying, the doctor giving a pull 
 with his arm to the bridle, which was hang- 
 ing over it, as an intimation to his horse that 
 it was time to cease tasting the heathery 
 gamy-flavored moorland herbage at the foot 
 of the churchyard wall, on which he had 
 been engaged while his master was holding 
 the above conversation, proceeded to walk in 
 the direction of the house which had been 
 pointed out to him. 
 
 Two stone steps, with an iron rail on each 
 side of them, led to the low-browed door in 
 the middle of the front of the house ; and a 
 little wooden paling, very much out of repair, 
 though evidently some two hundred years or 
 80 younger than the iron rail and the rest of 
 the house, fenced in from the street a space 
 about two feet wide in front of the dwelling 
 on either side of the entrance. The door 
 stood open ; and the doctor, hitching the 
 bridle of his horse over one of the rails, 
 entered without ceremony. The front-door 
 gave immediate admission to the main living 
 apartment of the house, the " houseplace," 
 as it is emphatically called in the northern 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 counties. This was the dining-hall and also 
 the kitchen of the inhabitants ; and there, 
 within the shelter of the huge, old-fashioned 
 fireplace, was a woman still young, at least 
 for those who will admit a life of some eight- 
 and-twenty years to be so designated, and, 
 still, far more incontestably, very handsome, 
 engaged, as the youthful inductionist had 
 predicted, in frying rashers of bacon. 
 
 " This is the house of Mr. Jared Mallory ; 
 is it not, madam?" asked the doctor, as 
 courteously saluting the occupant of the 
 chamber, as if she had been reclining on a 
 sofa, and making eyelet-holes in muslin. 
 There was in the remarkable beauty of the 
 woman, and also, as the doctor fancied, in an 
 undefinable something about her manner and 
 bearing, a certain amount of additional evi- 
 dence in favor of the chance that the Lindis- 
 farn jawbone would be found to be in its 
 right place, and the pet theory be saved after 
 all! 
 
 ♦' Yes, sir, this is Jared Mallory's house. 
 Have you business with him, sir ? " replied 
 the woman, making a courtesy in return for 
 the doctor's salutation, civilly, but, withal, in 
 a grave and distant, if not with a repelling 
 manner. 
 
 "Yes; I have ridden over to Chewton 
 from Sillmouth on purpose to speak with 
 him. I am a physician, and a friend of Mrs. 
 Pendleton's, who lives at Deepcreek Cottage. 
 My name is Dr. Blakistry." 
 
 Bab Mallory, " the moorland wild-flower," 
 — for, as the reader is well aware, it was to 
 her and to no other that the doctor was 
 speaking, — had not thought it necessary to 
 lay aside the occupation in which she had 
 been engaged when her visitor entered. She 
 remained under the deep shadow of the great 
 projecting fireplace, but with the red light of 
 the fire, at which she was cooking, on her 
 face and figure. She retained in her hand the 
 long handle of the frying-pan, constructed of 
 a length which would admit of its being used 
 at a fire made on a hearth raised only a few 
 inches from the floor, without compelling the 
 person using it to stoop inconveniently, but 
 turned herself partially so as to look to- 
 wards the stranger. The hand unoccupied 
 by the frying-pan was on her hip ; and the .. 
 quick movement by which this unemployed 
 left hand started to a position a few inches 
 higher up on the side, and was pressed con- 
 vulsively against it, was, therefore, not ne- 
 
ceesarily a very noticeable one. And the 
 euddeu deadly pallor which, at the same mo- 
 ment overspread the beautiful, but almost 
 olive-colored face, seen as it was in the ar- 
 tificial lurid light of the fire, might easily 
 have escaped the observation of a less keen 
 and practised observer than Dr. Blakistry. 
 Neither of these indications escaped him, 
 however ; and connecting them by a rapid 
 and habitual process of inductive reasoning 
 with tlie words of his which had evidently 
 produced them, the doctor thought he saw in 
 them another gleam of light on the mystery 
 he had ridden across the moor to elucidate, 
 and another probability of salvation for his 
 theory of the hereditary nature of the shape 
 of the jawbone. 
 
 Tiic daughter of Jared Mallory, who knew 
 all about the affairs of the Sauci/ Salhj and 
 her owners, and wlio was the mother of that 
 beautiful child yonder with the unmistaka- 
 ble Lindisfarn jaw, was violently agitated 
 at hearing that a physician had come out 
 from Deepcreek Cottage to see her father. 
 Humph ! 
 
 He paused for some word of reply, which 
 might serve to throw further light on the 
 subject of his speculations, and confirm the 
 suspicions which were uuw verging towards 
 conviction. 
 
 But Bab Mallory had not had the weight 
 of an ever-present secret on her heart for ten 
 long years for nothing ; and was not so 
 easily to be thrown off her guard. 
 
 " Sweet are the uses of adversity," we 
 are told on high authority, not altogether 
 unbacked by some gleanings from still older 
 wisdom. Yet, upon the whole, it may be 
 doubted, perhaps, whether that opinion be 
 not one of those formed by the world in its 
 younger day, which the advantage of its 
 longer experience and riper wisdom may 
 lead it to modify. Surely, the uses of pros- 
 perity are quite as frequently sweet with 
 fruit of the highest and most durable savor. 
 Surely, the " uses " of adversity are quite as 
 frequently, nay more frequently, bitter and 
 evil than sweet. I am inclined to think the 
 greater number of those human plants, which 
 do not thrive to any good purpose in the soil 
 of prosperity and happiness, would grow yet 
 more stunted and deformed in the unkindly 
 soil of adversity and unhappiness. It is old- 
 fashioned physiology, which supposes that 
 cold bleak mountain-tops are the positions 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 178 
 
 most favorable to human health. And I am 
 disposed to think that the psychological doc- 
 trines analogous to it are not entitled to 
 much greater weight. 
 
 Though Bab Mallory's life up to her eigh- 
 teenth year had been — not altogether an un- 
 cultivated one ; for that strange old Jared 
 Mallory, her father, amid his varied avowed 
 and unavowed occupations was not altogetlicr 
 an uncultured man, yet — a suSiciently wild 
 and rough one, she had never known any- 
 thing faii-ly to be called adversity till then. 
 Up to that time she had been the wild-flower 
 of the moorland, as healthy morally as well 
 as physically, as lovely, as sweet with as 
 wholesome fragrance as the heather around 
 her. Then adversity had come, and its uses 
 had not been sweet to her. The open, fear- 
 less eye of innocence had been changed into 
 the hard, bold eye of defiant resistance. 
 Easy-hearted trustfulness had become ever- 
 present mistrust. The high-spirited self-reli- 
 ance, which is the substratum of so many a 
 gi-eat quality and virtue, had been corrupted 
 into the cankered pride, which seeks refuge 
 from wounds, and at the same time finds an 
 unwholesome nourishment, in isolation. 
 
 No ; poor Bab Mallory had not been made 
 better by adversity. 
 
 Open-heartedness had, of course, gone, to- 
 gether with so much else; and when, after 
 the lapse of a moment, she had recovered 
 from the heart-spasm which Dr. Blakistry 'a 
 words had caused her, she only replied to 
 them, by saying quietly, as she turned a 
 little more towards the fire and the occupa- 
 tion which made an evident excuse for her 
 doing so, — 
 
 " My father will be home very shortly, sir. 
 Will you please to take a seat ? Have you 
 been acquainted with Mrs. Pendleton for 
 long, sir? " she added, after a short pause, 
 as the doctor complied with her invitation. 
 
 "No, not very long. I had no acquaint- 
 ance with her, indeed, till I was called to her 
 cottage to visit a wounded man lying ill 
 there, by a young lady who is a friend of 
 mine. But we soon made friends, Mrs. Pen- 
 dleton and I. It is a doctor's business, you 
 know, to make friends, and be a friend, 
 wherever he goes." 
 
 Dr. Blakistry had watched the patient on 
 whom he was operating narrowlj^, as he 
 spoke ; and he had not failed to mark the 
 little involuntary start, though it was a very 
 
174 
 
 sli^^ht one, which had been elicited from poor 
 Bab by his purposely inti-oduced mention of 
 the " young lady " who had summoned him 
 to the wounded smuggler's bedside. 
 
 " Yes, a young lady it was, and a very 
 charming young lady, too, I can assure you, 
 who called me to visit a patient at Decpcreek 
 Cottage ! " added the doctor, answering that 
 little start, and choosing to let her know that 
 he had observed it. 
 
 " It was very kind of a young lady, and a 
 little out of place, too, was it not, sir, for 
 a young lady to be interesting herself about 
 a poor wounded smuggler?" said Bab, at- 
 tempting to turn the tables, and do a little bit 
 of pumping in her turn. 
 
 " You know, then, that the sick man is a 
 wounded smuggler?" returned the doctor, 
 showing poor Bab at once how little she had 
 taken by her motion. 
 
 " It is little likely that he should be any- 
 thing else ! " returned Bab, darting an angry 
 flash of her dark eyes at the doctor as she 
 spoke. But the flash was only momentary, and 
 quickly died out into the quiet, observant 
 look of habitual caution. * 
 
 The rashers were cooked by this time, and 
 the amount of attention needed for transfer- 
 ring them from the frying-pan to a dish, and 
 placing the latter, carefully covered, by the 
 side of the braise on the ample hearth, sup- 
 plied an excuse for abstaining from any fur- 
 ther reply for a few moments. When the 
 operation was completed she resumed the con- 
 versation, having quite got the better of her 
 sudden gust of anger, and again essaying to 
 turn the pumping process on her visitor. 
 
 " One need not be very 'cute," she said, 
 " to guess that a man lying wounded in Deep- 
 creek Cottage must be a smuggler ; — at least 
 for those who know anything of Hiram 
 Pendleton. But here comes father, sir. I 
 am sorry you should have had to wait so long ; 
 but now you can despatch your business at 
 once." 
 
 Jared Mallory, who entered with his grand- 
 sou as she spoke, was a tall and upright old 
 man, considerably older, apparently, than 
 Bab Mallory 's father need have been. He 
 looked nearly if not quite seventy. But, 
 though his figure seemed to have shrunk from 
 that of a man muscular and broad in propor- 
 tion to his more than ordinary height to a sin- 
 gular degree of gaunt attenuation, he bore 
 about him no other obvious mark of decrepi- 
 
 LINDISIAKN CHASE. 
 
 tudeof age. Ilis attitude was upright, even 
 stiiBy so. His head was abundantly covered 
 with long iron-gray locks, which were only just 
 beginning to turn more decidedly to silver. 
 His features were good , — must have been hand- 
 some, — and there was an air of superiority to 
 the social position he occupied, and even of 
 dignity, about him, which, though remarka- 
 ble, did not seem to challenge so much no- 
 tice, or to be so much out of place, as it 
 might have done thirty years previously. It 
 was in due keeping with one's conception of 
 the village patriarch, if not with that of the 
 parish clerk, or still less with that of the con- 
 fidant and accomplice of smugglers. 
 
 After the first little start of surprise, Mr. 
 Mallory bowed courteously to the stranger in 
 his house, at the same time, however, turn- 
 ing on his daughter a look of very unmistak- 
 able inquiry. 
 
 " This is Dr. Blakistry from Sillmouth, 
 father, who has ridden over the moor to speak 
 with you about a wounded man, whom he 
 has been attending in Hiram Pendleton's cot- 
 tage at Decpcreek," said Bab, in reply to the 
 look ; and ]3r. Blakistry could observe the 
 same sudden manifestation of interest in the 
 old man's face which the same announce- 
 ment had called forth in the no less carefully 
 guarded features of hi.; daughter. 
 
 " Nay, Mr. Mallory," replied Blakistry, 
 " your daughter's interest in my patient at 
 Decpcreek has led her to jump to a conclu- 
 sion which nothing I have said has war- 
 ranted." 
 
 Bab tossed her head at this, with an air of 
 much annoyance and impatience. 
 
 " I said," resuL:jd the doctor, " that I had 
 been attending a wounded man — your daugh- 
 ter here tells me that he is a smuggler ; I 
 dare say that may be so — at Decpcreek Cot- 
 tage, that I was a friend of Mrs. Pendleton's, 
 and that I had ridden over to speak with 
 you." 
 
 " I am acquainted with Mrs. Pendleton, 
 sir, and shall be happy to attend to you. 
 Bab, perhaps you had better go into the par- 
 lor for a few minutes, and take the child with 
 you.,' 
 
 " Oh, no ! pray do not do that. You are 
 just going to dinner : I will not detain you 
 more than a minute or two ; and I have no 
 further secret than just this, which, as I was 
 told to whisper it, I whisper accordingly.'" 
 
 And the doctor, advancing a couple of 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 1T5 
 
 strides to the old man's side, whispered in his 
 ear the passwords, " Fair trade and free, says 
 Saucy Sallij ! ' ' 
 
 Bab, who had seemed much more inclined 
 to be guided by the visitor's hint that she 
 might stay than by her father's intimation 
 that she had better go, turned towards the 
 hearth, and stooped to occupy herself with 
 her cookery, but, as the doctor did not fail 
 to perceive, remained eagerly attentive to 
 what was passing. 
 
 " All right, sir,'' said the old man ; " and 
 now, since you did not come here to speak of 
 the wounded man at Pendleton's, what is 
 there I can do for you or for Mrs. Pendle- 
 ton ? ■ ' 
 
 " Why, Mr. Mallory,' ' said the provoking 
 doctor, " you are as much in a hurry with 
 your conclusions as your daughter ! I never 
 said that I had not come here to speak of my 
 patient at Deepcreek Cottage ! I only ob- 
 served that I never told your daughter that 
 such was the case." 
 
 "Very true, sir! But we uneducated 
 folks are not apt to speak with such attention 
 to accuracy!" said Mr. Jared Mallory, 
 speaking with some impatience, and almost 
 with a sneer, but with the manner and 
 accent of the educated classes to which he 
 was asserting that he did not belong. " May 
 I ask you, then, to state what is the purpose 
 of your visit to Chewton ? " 
 
 " Well, my principal object in coming 
 here, and that for which Mrs. Pendleton sent 
 me here, was to see and speak with her hus- 
 band." 
 
 " Well, sir ! " returned the old clerk ; 
 " since Mrs. Pendleton, who I suppose knows 
 what she is about, has sent you here for the 
 purpose, I think I can put you in the way 
 of meeting with Hiram Pendleton ; but your 
 ride at the moor is not yet quite at an end, 
 if you wish to see him. He is not at Chew- 
 ton, nor within six miles of it." 
 
 " And I confess to have ridden quite far 
 enough already, considering that I have to 
 ride all the way back again," said Dr. 
 Blakistry. 
 
 " I am afraid that you are not likely to 
 see the man you want, without adding an- 
 other dozen miles or more to your ride, sir," 
 said the old man, with a somewhat malicious 
 appearance of satisfaction. 
 
 '' And I am thinking," said the doctor, 
 " that perhaps I may be able to do my 
 
 errand without seeing Mr. Pendleton. But 
 if I am, as I fear, keeping you from your 
 dinner, Mr. Mallory, I will go and have a 
 look at the village, and return when you 
 have done." 
 
 " Not at all, sir ! By no means ! If you 
 will only say at once — or if," he continued, 
 partly in compliance with a look from his 
 daughter, and partly struck by a sense of the 
 discourtesy of his previous proceeding, — " if 
 the moor air has given you an appetite that 
 can content itself with moorland fare, — a bit 
 of bacon and a cut from the loaf, — perhaps 
 you will honor us by sitting ck)wn with us, 
 and we can talk of the matter you have in 
 hand, whatever it is, over our dinner." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Mallory ! I confess, 
 that I do feel very particularly well inclined 
 to eat a bit of bacon and a cut from the 
 loaf ; and not a very small cut either ! I shall ■ 
 be thankful for your hospitality, and we can 
 talk the while, as you say." 
 
 An Englishman cannot be surly to a man 
 sitting down at his table to share his meal 
 with him. It is no more possible to him 
 than it is to an Arab to slay the traveller 
 who has sought hospitality in his tent. And 
 the party of four, consisting of old Mallory, 
 his daughter, his grandson, and his visitor, 
 had hardly broken bread around the same 
 table, before the tone of the conversation 
 between them had become less stiff and 
 somewhat more friendly. 
 
 "You said rightly enough, Mr. Mallory, 
 that the moor air, and a ride through it, are 
 capital specifics for creating an appetite. 
 And that line little fellow opposite seems to 
 find the first quite enough for the purpose 
 without adding the second. He was my first 
 acquaintance in Chewton. I found him sitting 
 at the churchyard gate speculating on the 
 fried rashers which he concluded were being 
 prepared for him, from the smoke he saw 
 curling up from your chimney. What a 
 fine little fellow he is ! " 
 
 " Ay, the child thrives ! " replied the old 
 grandfather, somewhat dryly, and with none 
 of the satisfaction in his voice which the 
 remark would seem calculated to call for ; 
 while the mother of the boy thus praised 
 fixed her eyes on the plate before her, and 
 remained silent. 
 
 No one of these little indications was lost 
 upon the doctor, who saw in them still fur- 
 ther confirmation of the truth of his con- 
 
176 
 
 jectures, and of the consequent salvation of 
 his favorite theory. 
 
 " It is strange," he continued, " that the 
 little fellow should hring us back again to 
 the individual we have already so often 
 spoken of, my patient at Deepcreek Cottage. 
 But I can't help being struck by a singular 
 resemblance of feature between the two. I 
 observed it the moment I saw the child. 
 We physicians, you know, are apt to take 
 notice of such things, habituated, as we are, 
 to scrutinize faces and the expression of them 
 closely." 
 
 A quick and significant glance passed 
 between old Jared Mallory and his daughter, 
 as Blakistry spoke thus ; but it did not pass 
 so quickly as to prevent him from catching it 
 on its passage. 
 
 " Other people, I suppose, think less of 
 isuch chance matters," replied the old man. 
 " You were going to mention the object of 
 your visit to Chewton. If I seem in a hurry 
 to hear it, it is because I shall be obliged to 
 go out again as soon as I have eaten my 
 dinner." 
 
 " My business was to find Pendleton, 
 having been directed here by his wife for 
 that purpose. But the truth is that my 
 object in seeing Pendleton was no other than 
 to speak to him about this same patient of 
 mine, the man lying ill at his cottage. And 
 when I said that I began to think that I 
 might obtain the information I wished with- 
 out seeing him, it was because I fancied that 
 I might learn here all I needed, — perhaps 
 more satisfactorily than from him." 
 
 The same quick, sharp glance, this time 
 with a yet more marked expression of agita- 
 tion in it, at least on the part of the 
 daughter, passed between her and her father 
 
 " If you mean merely because of the 
 chance likeness you fancied you saw be- 
 tween " — 
 
 "I have finished my dinner," interrupted 
 Bab, rising from her chair, as she spoke ; 
 " and as what you have to say to my father 
 cannot be any business of mine, sir, I will 
 leave you to finish it with him, if you will 
 kindly excuse me. Come, July, I am sure 
 you have eaten enough to last you till supper- 
 time," she added, affecting to look towards 
 the doctor with a smile, which he had no 
 difficulty in seeing was not the genuine 
 expression of the feeling that was in her 
 mind. " 1 suppose, father," she added, as 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 she turned towards the door of an inner 
 room, " that if Dr. Blakistry brings news 
 that anything has happened or is likely to 
 happen to the wounded man, it will be best 
 to let Pendleton know of it at once." 
 
 The doctor perceived at once the anxiety 
 that betrayed itself while striving to conceal 
 itself under the appearance of indifference 
 in these words ; and while noting the symp- 
 tom, and adding it to his stock, hastened to 
 relieve it. 
 
 " Oh, no, nothing of the sort. He will 
 do very well, with a little time and good 
 nursing. It was an ugly cut enough though. 
 And if there had been another half-pound 
 of weight on the cutlass that gave it, why, 
 the result might have been different. As it 
 is, I assure you, you have no cause for anx- 
 iety," and the doctor looked keenly, but at 
 the same time kindly, at her as he uttered 
 the words. 
 
 " Anxiety ! " said Bab, with widely- 
 opened eyes, and a toss of her handsome 
 head ; yet still, as it were, in despite of her- 
 self, lingering to hear what should come 
 next. 
 
 " Yes, anxiety. It is very natural. And 
 pray do not think me impertinent, my dear 
 madam, if I beg that you will remain and 
 hear what I have to say. I think it may be 
 interesting to you. And may I hope that 
 you will consider me in the light of a friend 
 in listening to me ? I come here only as 
 such, as I went to see the sufferer at Deep- 
 creek Cottage only as such. Doctors neces- 
 sarily become often acquainted with the se- 
 crets of their patients. It is their duty, 
 and, I think I may say, their invariable 
 practice, to respect them. May I then speak 
 to you as a friend ? " 
 
 The appeal was evidently made to both 
 the father and daughter. They looked at 
 each other with glances of uneasiness, and 
 mutual inquiry ; but for a minute or so 
 neither spoke. 
 
 " If we are somewhat slow, sir, to reply 
 cordially to such an appeal," said the old 
 man at length, " it is because it is a new and 
 strange one to us. We have not been much 
 accustomed to friends or friendship. We 
 have met with but little of it from those we 
 might perhaps have expected it from. That 
 must be our excuse if we are somewhat slow 
 to expect it from one who is a stranger, and 
 on whom we certainly have no sort of claim." 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 " One does not always find friendly feeling 
 most in this world, Mr. Mallory, as I should 
 think j-our experience must have taught you, 
 from those from whom it might most natu- 
 rally be expected. As for myself, it is little 
 indeed I have to offer, or rather notliing. 
 Circumstances — mainly the one of my having 
 been called to visit the wounded man at 
 Deepcreek Cottage — have brought certain 
 things to my knowledge ; and all I wish you 
 to understand is, that my object is to use that 
 knowledge in no wise to the annoyance or 
 harm of you or yours, but, if the possibility 
 should offer, to your advantage. And now 
 I will be perfectly frank with you. I am 
 well convinced that the wounded man whom 
 I have attended is no other than that Julian 
 Lindisfarn, the long-lost son of Dr. Theoph- 
 ilus Lindisfarn of the Close at Silverton. 
 This was my conviction when I set out to 
 come here, to speak to Mr. Pendleton about 
 him" — 
 
 " Pendleton knows nothing about him, — 
 that is as to who he is !" — interrupted Bab, 
 hastily. 
 
 " In ascertaining that fact, I should not 
 have communicated the information to him," 
 said the doctor. " I have communicated my 
 conviction to you, because I am entirely per- 
 suaded that you are also aware of the 
 fact." 
 
 " What can the man have said to lead you 
 to imagine such a thing?" said Bab, still 
 keeping up her fence, though evidently feel- 
 ing herself not far off from the point at 
 which she would be obliged to abandon it. 
 
 " Nothing ; I told you I would be quite 
 frank with you. My patient has said noth- 
 ing. But what are the circumstances? I 
 am called to this wounded smuggler by a 
 young lady, — rather a remarkable fact, as 
 you yourself observed. Now that young 
 lady was Miss Kate Lindisfarn." 
 
 " And did she tell you that the man she 
 asked you to visit was her cousin?" again 
 interrupted Bab, with a quickness and ear- 
 nestness that once again betrayed to her 
 shrewd companion her own knowledge of all 
 the circumstances. 
 
 " By no means ! 1 am quite certain, and 
 you may be quite certain, that Miss Lindis- 
 farn would not betray any confidence that 
 was placed in her." 
 
 " Then what can have led you to" — 
 
 " The same process which has convinced 
 12 
 
 177 
 
 me — Perhaps it would be as well to send my 
 little friend there out to his seat on the 
 churchyard stile again," said the doctor, in- 
 terrupting himself. 
 
 Poor Bab turned pale, and her breath 
 came short ; and old Jared looked suspi- 
 ciously and defiantly at his guest. But he 
 said to his grandson, sternly, — 
 
 "Run along out, child! Go and play! 
 You are not wanted here ! Now, sir ! You 
 were about to say" — he added, as he stepped 
 across the wide stone floor of the kitchen, 
 and closed the door of the house behind the 
 child. 
 
 " I was about to say," resumed the doc- 
 tor, quietly, " that the same process of rea- 
 soning which had convinced me that my pa- 
 tient was, in fact, Julian Lindisfarn — or 
 mainly the same — had convinced me that the 
 boy who has just left the room is his son." 
 
 " I do not understand very well, sir, what 
 you mean by what you call a process of rea- 
 soning, but " — 
 
 " He is the son of Julian Lindisfarn," in- 
 terrupted Bab, drawing herself up to her full 
 height, and looking proudly and defiantly at 
 the doctor ; " and I am his mother." 
 
 " I was sure of it from his jawbone ! " 
 said Blakistry, triumphantly ; " that is, sure 
 of the paternity. The other circumstances 
 were deducible from circumstantial evidence. " 
 
 " His jawbone ! " exclaimed old Jared, 
 frowning heavily. 
 
 '• The most unchangeable feature in all the 
 face, my dear sir ! There are scientific rea- 
 sons, which — in one word, the wounded man 
 is, to any eye capable of tracing a family 
 likeness, evidently a Lindisfarn. And the 
 very handsome child who was here just now 
 is equally so ! These things cannot be hid- 
 den from the eye of science ! " 
 
 " But it may be questionable, sir, how far 
 the tongue of science is justified in " — 
 
 "Nay, father! If Dr. Blakistry means 
 kindly, — and I am sure he does, — and if he 
 has saved Julian's life " — 
 
 " I do not say that I saved his life ! May- 
 be that I did ; for the cut was an ugly one, 
 and there was much fever ; and I cannot say, 
 — quite between ourselves, you know — quite 
 in confidence, Mr. Mallory, — I cannot say 
 that I have much confidence in the clinical 
 practice of Dr. Bagstock. Still, I do not say 
 that I saved his life." 
 
 " At all events, he is saved ; and you have 
 
LINDISFARN 
 
 It is the truth 
 
 178 
 
 done your best toward it. 
 that "— 
 
 "Bab!" interrupted her father, very 
 Bharrply. " Stop a minute ! I want to speak 
 to you ! " 
 
 So saying, he drew her aside to a far corner 
 of the large room ; and the father and dau 
 ter spoke a few sentences together in earnest 
 whispers. Then turning again to Dr. Blak- 
 istry, she continued, — 
 
 " It is the truth, as I was saying, that he 
 now lying at Deepcreek Cottage is Julis 
 Lindisfarn, and that the child is his sun. 
 But he is, for reasons which I need not 
 trouble you with, sir, extremely anxious that 
 the fact of his being there should be known 
 to no one, save to his two cousins, the young 
 ladies at the Chase. His secret became 
 known to Miss Kate while she was at his 
 bedside, having been brought there, not by 
 any knowledge or suspicion of the fact, but 
 only by her kindness for Mrs. Pendleton. 
 And Miss Kate bai-gained for his permission 
 to tell it to her sister. If those young ladies 
 have kept their solemn promise, it is known 
 to no one else. And all that I would ask of 
 your kindness, sir, is to reveal the truth 
 which you have discovered to no one. !Much 
 trouble and sorrow would be caused by doing 
 so, and no good to any one." 
 
 "You have been aware, then, of all his 
 doings? " remarked the doctor. 
 
 " Oh, yes ! When Pendleton or any one of 
 them are out here in the moor, there is no 
 want of news. I knew all about it except 
 the name of the kind doctor who had come 
 at Miss Kate's invitation to visit him." 
 
 " Well, you may depend on my faithful 
 keeping of the secret which the laws of 
 science have betrayed to me. Shall I men- 
 tion to my patient that I have seen you 
 here? " 
 
 " Perhaps best not! " said Bab, with a 
 half-smothered sigh. 
 
 " Certainly not," added the old man, far 
 more decidedly. "We beg of you to say no 
 word upon the subject of him or of us, to any 
 one, neither to himself, nor to the young la- 
 dies at the Chase, — who, of course, know 
 nothing of the facta which have been spoken 
 of here, except that of their cousin's exist- 
 ence, — nor to Mrs. Pendleton, nor to any 
 other person whatever. It is the only kind- 
 ness you can do us, — the only kindness, at 
 least," he added, in a more kindly tone and 
 
 CHASE. 
 
 manner, " besides that you have already 
 done in caring for the safety of the father of 
 my daughter's child." 
 
 " Be assured, my dear sir, that I will not 
 fail to obey you," said the doctor, pressing 
 the old man's hand, and then taking that 
 which Bab Mallory frankly extended to him. 
 
 So the doctor rode back to Silverton in a 
 happier frame of mind than that in which 
 he had journeyed forth. Science had vindi- 
 cated herself ; and the great theory was jus- 
 tified and confirmed in tlie most notable man- 
 ner. 
 
 And then the doctor's mind was at leisure 
 to revert to the less exalted and merely so- 
 cial considerations involved in the circum- 
 stances of which he had become the depos- 
 tary. He thought he i-emembered to have 
 heard that the Lindisfarn property had been 
 entailed on the male heir, who was supposed 
 to have died in America. What a change 
 would be made in a great many things by 
 his reappearance ! And the two persons 
 most concerned knew the facts ! And no- 
 body else knew them, except the queer, iso- 
 lated people he had just left. A strange 
 position of circumstances enough ! And 
 would the two girls keep the secret? Of 
 his pet, Kate, he had no doubt. Of Miss Mar- 
 garet he did not feel so sure. Well, we shall 
 see ! At all events, there was, thank Heaven, 
 nothing for him to do, save simply to do 
 nothing but look on. 
 
 So the doctor got home to his quiet, com- 
 fortable little bachelor's dinner, in his quiet, 
 comfortable little bachelor's house in Silver- 
 ton, well contented with his day's work : 
 some of the circumstances connected with 
 which were subjected to his speculations un- 
 der a new light, and from a fresh point of 
 view, when his housekeeper told him, as she 
 waited on him at dinner, the news of the day 
 in Silverton, — that ^Ir. Frederick Falconer 
 was engaged to be married to Miss Margaret 
 Lindisfarn. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXII. 
 SETTLEMENTS. 
 
 Dr. Blakistrt religiously kept the prom- 
 ise he had given, despite the very strong 
 temptation to break it, to which he was ex- 
 posed by his longing desire to publish to the 
 world the remarkable confirmation afibrded 
 to his theory by the circumstances of the 
 story which he had become acquainted with. 
 
LINDISFARN 
 
 lie flattered liiraself at the time, when the 
 gratification arising from the discovery was 
 fri'tih in his mind, that the consciousness of 
 this triumpli of [scientific truth nnder his 
 auspices would ahundantly suffice him. But 
 the longing sliortly came upon him to enjoy 
 his triumph in the eyes of others. He re- 
 sisted gallantly, however ; and the possession 
 of Julian's secret continued to be confined to 
 Kate and her sister, the doctor, who was ut- 
 terly unsuspected of sharing it by the two 
 girls, and the little family out on the moor. 
 
 lie was not, however, forbidden to think 
 on the sti'ange circumstances of the case ; 
 and considering them in connection with the 
 tidings, now the property of all Silverton, of 
 the engagement between the rich banker's 
 son and Miss Margaret Lindisfarn, his mind 
 dwelt frequently on the great prudence and 
 wisdom his friend and favorite Kate had 
 shown in stipulating with her cousin that 
 she should be allowed to communicate the 
 secret at least to her sister. Had she not 
 done so, — had Miss Margaret been left under 
 t'lie false impression, shared by all the rest of 
 the Silverton world, that she and her sister 
 were co-heiresses of the Lindisfarn property, 
 — she might have been led into forming an 
 engagement, all the parties to which would 
 have been under impressions most painfully 
 different from the reality. As it was, con- 
 cluded the doctor, it was evident that Falconer 
 had been made to understand in some way 
 that, for some reason or other, his intended 
 bride had no such expectations. And he 
 freely gave that cynosure of Silvertonian eyes 
 credit for a greater degree of unworldliness 
 and disinterestedness than he had ever before 
 been inclined to attribute to him, and felt 
 that he liked him better than he used to 
 do. 
 
 The necessary meeting between the squire 
 and old Jlr. Falconer had passed off well and 
 easily. The old banker had driven up to the 
 Chase, and been closeted with the squire in 
 his study for a short half-hour ; and the two 
 gentlemen had then come forth into the par- 
 lor, where lunch was on the table, with faces 
 which very plainly declared that no difficul- 
 ties had arisen between them. 
 
 " People think," the hearty old squire had 
 said to the cautious man of business who was 
 eagerly marking every word that fell from 
 him, — " people think that my girls are co- 
 heiresses of this property. But as far as I 
 
 CHASE. 179 
 
 the lawyers' lingo, that is 
 
 can understand 
 not the case." 
 
 " I have always been perfectly well aware 
 of that, Mr. Lindisfarn. People talk care- 
 lessly, without, perhaps, knowing tlic exact 
 meaning of the terms they use," said the 
 banker. 
 
 " The state of the case, as I understand it, 
 is this," continued the squire; " my hands 
 are not tied in any way. It lies with me to 
 bequeath the property as I ma}' think fit." 
 
 " Xay, not quite so, Mr. Lindisfarn, if 
 you will pardon me for correcting you on 
 such a point," said the banker, making his 
 pig-tail vibrate with the intensity of his self- 
 complacent, courtly courtesy, as it used to do 
 when he was engaged in the discussion of 
 some point of antiquarian lore with Dr. 
 Theophilus Lindisfarn ; and with a kind of 
 catlike purr in his voice which, somehow or 
 other, seemed to be used as a sort of wad- 
 ding between his words to prevent them from 
 coming into hard contact with each other, — 
 " not exactly that, Mr. Lindisfarn. Your 
 hands are not tied as regards the division of 
 the property between your children. But I 
 apprehend that you have not the power of 
 willing any portion of it away from them." 
 
 " Pshaw ! who the devil ever apprehended 
 anything else ? The property belongs to the 
 girls ; of course it does ; and of course it 
 would, whether I had the power to leave it 
 to the lord mayor or not. But it is in my 
 power to divide it between them as I may 
 think proper. Now, you see, Mr. Falconer, 
 if I settle one-half of the property on ]Mar- 
 garet, I put this power out of my hands." 
 
 " Undoubtedly, Mr. Lindisfarn, — unques- 
 tionably you do. But, if you will forgive 
 me for making the suggestion, one does not 
 quite see how the young ladies can be well 
 and — and — desirably, I will say, settled in 
 the world, without such a sacrifice of power 
 on your part." 
 
 " Why, a good settlement on cither of the 
 girls, or on both of them, might be made, 
 you know, Mr. Falconer, so as still to leave 
 a considerable portion of the property — say 
 a third of it — unsettled, and still in my own 
 power, as far as bequeathing it to either 
 child goes," said Mr. Lindisfarn, speaking 
 as if he were putting the idea before his own 
 mind for consideration rather than offering 
 it as a suggestion to his companion, 
 
 " Such a course might certainly be adopted, 
 
180 
 
 Mr. Lindisfarn ; and it is not for me to make 
 any remarks upon the wisdom or expediency 
 of it," said the old banker, with a certain 
 dry stififness in his manner, which had not 
 before been apparent in it ; and the purr, in 
 which his words were packed, seemed to have 
 more of the harsh quality of. sawdust, and 
 less of the softness of wadding in it ; for this 
 suggestion on the squire's part was exactly 
 what the banker had feared, and had consid- 
 ered as likely to operate to the advantage of 
 Kate, and the disadvantage of ^largaret. 
 " Such a course," he continued, " would have 
 the effect of retaining a power of disposition 
 in your own hands. But you must forgive 
 me, my dear sir, if I intimate that an inten- 
 tion on your part to approach the subject from 
 such a point of view, would very essentially 
 modify — necessarily so, as you will of course 
 at once perceive — the views and intentions 
 which I may be disposed to submit to you on 
 my side." 
 
 And the old gentleman threw himself back 
 in his chair, and began nursing the black-silk 
 clothed calf of his right leg, looking keenly 
 into the squire's broad and open face, to see 
 the result of his shot. 
 
 " And what do I want with any such 
 power, after all?" continued the squire, 
 musingly, and replying very evidently more 
 to the train of thought that had been going 
 on in his own mind than to the banker's words. 
 " Perhaps it is best toput itout of my hands. 
 They are good girls and good daughters, 
 both of them. I can't say, when I look into 
 my own heart. Falconer," continued the old 
 man, stretching his arm across the corner 
 of the table at which they were sitting, 
 and laying his broad hand on the superfine 
 blaek cloth coat-sleeve of his companion, — " I 
 can't say honestly that they are both quite 
 the same to me there. It would not be natu- 
 ral or possible that it should be so. Kate — 
 but there, we all know what Kate is. But 
 if my poor Margaret has been turned from 
 an English girl into a French one, it was by 
 no fault of her own. And if it is impossible 
 for me to feel that she is as near to my heart 
 as her sister, it would be unpardonable to 
 make that a cause of still further disadvan- 
 tage to her. And maybe it is all for the best 
 to put the matter out of my own hands. No 
 man can tell how great a fool he may grow 
 as he gets older, eh. Falconer ? Yes, the most 
 ri^ht and rishteous course will be to settle 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 the property fairly between them. Yes, let 
 it be settled on 'em both at once, one-half 
 share for each." 
 
 Mr. Falconer executed a long series of lit- 
 tle bows, as the squire thus delivered him- 
 self, which imparted to his pig-tail and his 
 chin an alternating up-and-down, see-saw 
 movement, expressive of the most decided ap- 
 probation. 
 
 " I felt quite sure, my dear Mr. Lindisfarn, 
 that your heart and head would both coincide 
 in leading you to that determination, as soon 
 as the matter was placed fairly before you. 
 I have no such reflections to make. I have 
 but one child. All that I have will be his ; 
 nay, is his in point of fact. No father ever had 
 a better son . He has never given me an hour's 
 anxiety since he was old enough to know right 
 from wrong ! I have no long-descended acres 
 to give him, Mr. Lindisfarn ; you know that. 
 You know who we are and what we are. 
 Traders, Mr. Lindisfarn, mere traders — some- 
 what warm ! I can leave my eon a good 
 name, Mr. Lindisfarn, — and something else 
 besides; " and the banker performed a very 
 elaborate and significant wink as he spoke 
 the last words, — "something else besides. 
 As regards settlements, you must of course 
 be aware, my dear sir, that it is not quite so 
 simple a matter for a man in business to tie 
 up capital as it is for a land-owner to tie up 
 his acres. It will, of course, be proper that 
 the young lady's fortune should be strictly 
 settled on herself; and, therefore, there will 
 be the less difiBculty in meeting the necessary 
 requirements on our side. But all this will be 
 matter for consideration and arrangement 
 with your solicitors. All I wish is to act as 
 liberally by my boy as it is possible for me 
 to do ; and my full purpose and intention is 
 that he shall possess every farthing I have in 
 the world. Can a father say more, Mr. Lin- 
 disfarn ? Can a father, who is a banker, speak 
 fairer than that?" 
 
 The squire, thus appealed to, professed his 
 inability to conceive any fairer speaking in a 
 father and a banker ; and then the two old 
 gentlemen had come out from their conference 
 in the study, into the room where the ladies 
 were at luncheon with Mr. Frederick. The 
 ladies, that is to say Miss Immy and Miss 
 Margaret ; for Kate, who had taken of late 
 to pass much of her time up-stairs, had again 
 to-day excused herself from coming down to 
 luncheon. 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 «' What! Kate not here?" cried tlic squire, 
 as he entered ; and a passing cloud traversed 
 his face. But his genial, kindly good-humor 
 shone out again in the next instant as, going 
 to the back of Margaret's chair, he pinched 
 her cheek — much to the young lady's annoy- 
 ance, as he would have had no diiEculty in 
 perceiving, had he been in front of her instead 
 of beiiind her — and said, — 
 
 " We have been sitting in council upon 
 your case, little lady ; and, as far as I can 
 see, we shall manage to find the means of pay- 
 ing the butcher's and baker's bills for the 
 new nest, as far as breakfasts and dinners are 
 concerned ; I don't know about luncheons ; 
 they are abominable things. Don't you think 
 60, Falconer? I don't think we will allow 
 the young people any luncheon, eh? You 
 don't do anything in this way, I'll be 
 bound ! " 
 
 " Well, sometimes just one glass of sherry, 
 especially when the Lindisfarn sherry falls 
 in my way, and more especially still when I 
 have the opportunity of drinking a glass with 
 Miss Immy," said the banker, filling a glass, 
 and drawing a chair to the corner of the table 
 by the side of Miss Immy. 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Falconer," said that 
 lady. " Your very good health ! And I 
 drink," she continued, raising her glass high 
 in the air with a steady hand, though the 
 brown top-knot of ribbons on her cap shook 
 with the little palsied movement of her head 
 which seemed to impart an expression of in- 
 vincible determination to the sentiment she 
 uttered, " I drink particularly to the health 
 and prosperity of Mr. Frederick Falconer and 
 his bride." 
 
 And the old lady swallowed her glass of 
 sherry with an air of sacramental solemnitv. 
 
 A glance of mutual intelligence passed 
 between the two objects of her good wishes, 
 which, while contributing to indicate their 
 fitness for each other, did much to manifest 
 their unfitness for communing with the genial, 
 honest hearts around them. 
 
 " Hang the old fool ! " said the features 
 of the gentleman, as plain as features could 
 speak ; while the lady's delicately flushed 
 checks and more eloquent eyes managed to 
 express the more complicated sentiment of 
 her shame at being related to such Old-World 
 Vandals, and her conviction that she and her 
 Frederick belonged to a far other and far 
 superior •' monde,^^ 
 
 181 
 
 It was necessary to say something, how- 
 ever, and the admirable Frederick managed 
 to utter, " Much obliged. Miss Immy — really, 
 — fully sensible — haw ! " And then lie felt 
 that he had sacrificed himself to the extent 
 required by the occasion. 
 
 " Put out my arm further than I can draw 
 it back again," thought the young man to 
 himself; "I should think so indeed ! Bat 
 there ! — I can see by the governor's face that 
 it is all right." 
 
 So the banker and his son drove home to 
 Silverton together ; and their conversation 
 by the way was of a far more sensible nature 
 than that which had passed between the 
 squire and his daughter. 
 
 "So that is settled, so far!" said the 
 senior. " You remember what I told you, 
 Fred, once befare, when we were driving 
 over this same road together, that I thought 
 Kate the better spec. Well, I can tell 
 you that the old squire was monstrously 
 inclined to fight shy of settling half the 
 property on Margaret. If I had not been 
 very firm with him " — 
 
 " But it is all right as it is, I suppose ! " 
 interrupted his son. "Half the estates to 
 be settled on Margaret on the day of her 
 marriage ! That's the ticket I go for ! As 
 for Kate, I took the horse I was most safe to 
 win with, as I told you, sir, before. And 
 besides" — 
 
 " Well, it is all very well as it is, — very 
 well ; I only hope that I may find old Slow- 
 come as easy to deal with as the squire about 
 settlements," added the banker, with an al- 
 most imperceptible sigh. 
 
 The old established Sillshire firm of Slow- 
 come and Sligo were Mr. Lindisfarn 's solici- 
 tors. 
 
 " Why," said Frederick, answering rather 
 to the slight sigh, which had not escaped 
 him, than to his father's words, "is there 
 any hitch? " 
 
 "No! Hitch! I hope not ! I am glad, 
 very glad, on the whole, that you have 
 brought the matter to bear without letting 
 the grass grow under your feet. But — in 
 short, I need not tell you that in our busi- 
 ness, what a man can do one day he may 
 be unable to do in another. Circumstances 
 change. Business is very uncertain ; — and 
 in ours we are dependent on so many besides 
 ourselves. A man may bo struck down at 
 any moment by no fault or imprudence of his 
 
182 
 
 own. I have had causes for much serious 
 anxiety of late. Why should I trouble you 
 with them ? I trust, I doubt not, all will 
 go well. And I should have said no word 
 of this kind to you to-day, had it been that 
 it is as well to tell you that I shall be very 
 glad to see you safely married to Miss ]\Iar- 
 gai-et Lindisfarn, with half the Lindisfarn 
 acres duly settled on her, even if they are 
 tied up as tight as old Slowcome can tie 
 them." 
 
 There was much food for meditation for 
 our friend Fred in this speech. He did not 
 like it. He knew his father ; and the more 
 he pondered over that knowledge in con- 
 nection with the words the old banker had 
 been speaking, the more he did not like it. 
 Nevertheless, he thought it best not to push 
 his father for any further explanation of his 
 words; but he inwardly resolved to make 
 that use of the hints thrown out to him 
 which it was evidently intended he should 
 make, — that is, to press his aflairs with the 
 to as rapid a conclusion as might be 
 
 A cloud had passed over the jolly squire's 
 genial face, it has been said, when on coming 
 out from his study with the old banker, he 
 found that his darling Kate was not in the 
 parlor with the rest of the family party. On 
 several occasions recently, little matters of 
 the same sort had been unpleasant to the 
 squire. He was not one of those men who 
 are quick to observe the actions of those 
 around them, and to speculate on, and draw 
 conclusions from them. But for some days 
 past it had been gradually forcing itself upon 
 his notice that, somehow or other, Kate was 
 not like her usual self. Instead of being 
 constantly seen about the house, and still 
 more frequently heard, she was rarely seen, 
 and hardly ever heard at all. The huge old 
 staircase never echoed now to the carolling 
 of her clear, cheery voice, as she tripped up 
 it to her room, or came dancing down as of 
 old. She frequently made the excuse of 
 headache for remaining in her own room, 
 always (only none but her sister had yet 
 noticed the coincidence) when Falconer was 
 there. Kate with a headache ! And yet her 
 looks gave abundant testimony to the genu- 
 ineness of her excuses. 
 
 At last it had entered into the head of the 
 squire that Kate's evident low spirits and un- 
 happiness must be connected with the fact 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 of her sister's engagement. And the sus- 
 picion that she herself was not indifferent to 
 Falconer, came upon him with a bitter pang. 
 Could it be that her young heart had been 
 won by a man, who, to her father's thinking, 
 was so every way not good enough for her^ 
 He did not say to himself that, though not fit 
 to tie Kate's shoestring, he was good enough 
 for Margaret's husband. But unconsciously 
 this was his feeling on the subject. There 
 seemed to be a fitness for each other between 
 him and Margaret, which the squire eould 
 feel, though he could not reason on the sub- 
 ject, sufficiently even to formulate the per- 
 suasion into words said only to himself. 
 And he had been content therefore to accept 
 the Falconer overtures. But what misery 
 was in store for them all, if it were really 
 true that Kate were pining for her sister's 
 lover. 
 
 Mr. Mat to whom alone the squire had 
 dropped a word upon the subject, utterly 
 and most vigorously scouted the possibility 
 of such an idea. JMore likely Kate was vexed 
 at seeing her sister throwing herself away on 
 such a fellow. Maybe she was down in the 
 mouth, and off her food a bit by reason of 
 Lady Farnleigh's prolonged absence. Kate 
 had been used to be so constantly with her 
 ladyship all her life ; it was well-nigh miss- 
 ing her mother like ! Or might be, said Mr. 
 Mat, it was nothing at all but just a little 
 trifle wrong in health, as young girls would 
 be, which would all come right again. But 
 let it be what it might, it was not pining af- 
 ter Fred Falconer! AVhat Kate! he, he! 
 Mr. Mat knew better than that. 
 
 Meanwhile it was most true that Kate was 
 very miserable. Upon that part of the varied 
 causes for unhappiness that had fallen upon 
 her which more immediately concerned her- 
 self, she strove to let her thoughts dwell as 
 little and as rarely as possible. But we all 
 know, alas ! how vain such strivings are. 
 And in Kate's case, condemned, as she was, 
 to a degree of solitude to which she was 
 quite unaccustomed, by the other untoward 
 circumstances of her present position, it was 
 less possible than it might otherwise have 
 been to warn the thoughts from off the pro- 
 hibited ground. The progress of her sister's 
 affairs was a constant subject of uneasiness 
 and alarm to her. And the doubts and dif- 
 ficulties she felt as to her own conduct, and 
 the consciousness that, while action of any 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 183 
 
 kind was impossible to her, even the inac- 
 tion to -which she condemned herself was 
 likely to give rise to ideas and interpreta- 
 tions which it was agony to her to think of, 
 made those weeks a time of great and severe 
 trial to her. 
 
 Meanwhile, Dr. Blakistry was assiduously 
 doing his host for the recovery of his patient 
 at Deepcreck Cottage ; and his eflPorts were 
 well seconded by the youth and constitution 
 of the wounded man. He was, in fact, pro- 
 gressing rapidly towards recovery. Dr. 
 Blakistry kept Kate well informed as to the 
 progress of the patient "in whom,'" as the 
 doctor said, " she had taken so kind an in- 
 terest." But of course no word was said be- 
 tween them as to the secret which both of 
 them knew, and which one of the two knew 
 to be shared by the other. Nor did Kate 
 see her cousin a second time. No good 
 could have been done by any such visit, and 
 assuredly nothing 
 hoped for from it. 
 
 About three weeks after the date of Mrs. 
 Pendleton's memorable visit to Kate on the 
 night of the great storm, — the night before 
 the affair with the Saucy Sally and the coast- 
 guardmen, — Mrs. Pendleton again walked 
 up to the Chase. She brought Kate news of 
 the very satisfactory improvement in the con- 
 dition of her wounded guest. Dr. Blakistry 
 declared that in a few days he would be able 
 to leave his room. Mrs. Pendleton also 
 handed to Kate a sealed note — of thanks for 
 the kind and charitable attention she had 
 shown to an unfortunate stranger, the good 
 women said, — which her guest had requested 
 her to put into Miss Kate's own hands. 
 
 "It is something more important than 
 that," said Kate, when she had read the 
 short note, and tossed it into the fire of the 
 housekeeper's room, in which, as on that 
 other occasion, she received her old nurse's 
 visit. "It is to request me to send back by 
 you a small packet, which he begged me to 
 keep for him when he was persuaded that 
 he was going to die. I will go and get it." 
 
 So she went up-stairs to her room, took 
 the little packet from her desk, and putting 
 it into a sealed but unaddressed envelope, 
 delivered it to Mrs. Pendleton. 
 
 And within a week from that time, — about 
 a month, that is, after he was wounded, — a 
 second visit from Mrs. Pendleton brought 
 Kate the information that the stranger had 
 
 at last been pronounced by Dr. Blakistry able 
 to travel, and that he had sailed for the oppo- 
 site coast in the Saucy Sally the night be- 
 fore. 
 
 Mr. Pendleton was a very good husband, 
 as has been said, smuggler though he was; 
 and had no secrets from his wife which it 
 would have much imported to that excellent 
 
 I woman to hear. But he did not think it 
 
 ; necessary to overtask female discretion, and 
 torment female curiosity, by troubling her 
 
 I with matters which in no wise concerned her. 
 
 I Thus there had been no reason at all that he 
 should tell her the altogether uninteresting 
 fact that the Saucy Sally conveyed on that 
 same night another, nay, two other, passen- 
 gers, to the coast of France. When she 
 slipped away from Sillmouth in the first dark 
 hours of a moonless night, she had none on 
 board save the same crew with which she 
 had made her last dangerous voyage. But 
 she did not stand out at once across the chan- 
 
 ; nel, as would have been her natural course. 
 On the contrary, Hiram, who stood at the 
 wheel himself, and seemed as able to feel or 
 smell his way in the dark, as he could have 
 seen it, if it had been broad daylight, kept 
 her close in along the coast to the westward, 
 
 . till he was just off a little bit of a creek 
 formed by a small stream which came down 
 from the neighboring moor. Having reached 
 that point, he showed a green light for an 
 instant. It was absolutely a merely momen- 
 tary flash. But it sufficed for its purpose ; 
 for in a very few minutes, the anxious crew 
 of the Saucy Sally could hear the low sound 
 of muffled oars, and in the next, a small boat 
 pulled along-side of them, as they lay to, in 
 which there were four persons ; a woman, a 
 child, a tall old man, and a man who had the 
 appearance of a common sailor. 
 
 The French stranger, who had just recov- 
 ered from his hurts, stood by the bulwark of 
 the Saucy Sally, and tenderly assisted and 
 received the woman as she clambered from 
 the boat up the lugger's side. Then he took 
 the boy from the hands of the tall old man 
 in the boat, and holding the child in his 
 arms, darted down with him into the not 
 very brilliantly lighted little cabin of the 
 smuggler. 
 
 The lugger shook out its sails ; and the 
 tall old man in the boat, having regained the 
 lonely beach of that little-frequented moor- 
 land shore, 
 
184 
 
 " Walked grieving by the margin of the much- 
 voiced sea ' ' 
 
 as long as he could descry the outline of the 
 receding vessel in the darkness ; and then 
 returned to a not less lonely home at Chew- 
 ton, a few miles inland. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXin. 
 PATERNAL ADVICE. 
 
 Wden the news of her cousin's final re- 
 covery from his wounds and departure for 
 France reached Kate, her sister was not with 
 her at the Chase. She had been much at 
 her uncle's house in the Close lately,— an ar- 
 rangement which had been highly agreeable 
 to all the parties chiefly concerned. It had 
 been a great relief to Kate under the circum- 
 stances that the scene of the love-making be- 
 tween her sister and Falconer should be 
 transferred from her own home to the house 
 in the Close in Silverton. Margaret was al- 
 ways better pleased to be in Silverton than 
 at home, where, little as there was to amuse 
 her at her uncle's, the surroundings were 
 still less congenial to her. And now, of 
 course, more than ever, it was agreeable to 
 her to be in the near neighborhood of her 
 beloved Frederick. 
 
 To that prcux chevalier himself it was far 
 more convenient to have his work close at 
 hand. He found it easier to do it, too, amid 
 the gentle dulness of the good canon's house, 
 and under the protecting wing of the feebly 
 sympathetic though profoundly dispirited 
 Lady Sempronia, than amid the rougher, 
 more observant, and less congenial inmates 
 of the Chase. Frederick engaged in making 
 love within possible ear-shot or eye-shot of 
 Mr. Mat, always felt as if he were there 
 with a view to stealing the silver spoons. 
 Kate's palpable avoidance was an annoyance 
 to him. ]\Iiss Immy's old-fashioned compli- 
 ments and courtesies and very effete little 
 waggeries bored and irritated him. And 
 even the jolly old squire's loud and hearty 
 words of greeting or of jest were very dis- 
 tasteful to him. In every respect it was far 
 better that his charmer should be in Silver- 
 ton. It gave him so many more and easier 
 opportunities of acting in obedience to his 
 father's hint to the effect that he would do 
 well not to let the grass grow under his feet. 
 
 The old banker had repeated similar words 
 of advice on one or two occasions, coupling 
 them with hints of a kind which made Fred 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 very seriously uneasy. He could not avoid 
 seeing, too, that his father himself, though 
 striving hard to keep his usual countenance 
 and manner, was harassed by some cause of 
 anxiety and trouble. 
 
 We know how excellent a son Frederick 
 had always shown himself! And in the 
 present circumstances, as always, he did his 
 utmost to comply with his father's wishes. 
 Again and agaiu as they walked together in 
 the friendly shade of the trees under the old 
 city wall in the canon's garden, — the scene 
 of Frederick's offer and of hiB Marguerite's 
 acceptance of his love, — he implored her to 
 fix the day, and to use her influence to ab- 
 breviate the cruelly long delays and procras- 
 tination of jNIessrs. Slowcome and Sligo. 
 And Margaret, if it had been in any wise 
 proper, permissible, or possible, would have 
 replied that he could not be in a greater 
 hurry than she was. In fact, the words of 
 Dr. Blakistry's opinion that her cousin Would 
 be well in a month, were always sounding 
 like a warning knell in her ears. As soon as 
 her cousin should have recovered, he would 
 go away ; the time for which Kate was bound 
 by her promise of secrecy would have ex- 
 pired, and then — 
 
 But Margaret, of course, was far too well 
 bred, and knew her business far too thor- 
 oughly to allow herself to be hurried by this 
 urgent motive into any unbecomingly easy 
 accordance of her lover's prayer. Neverthe- 
 less, she allowed an admissible amount of 
 sympathy and pity for his impatience to ap- 
 pear. It was with the prettiest play of coy- 
 ness, and amid blushes and drooping of the 
 eyelashes that she admitted the detestability 
 of Messrs. glowcome, pereetjils, and of Mr. 
 Sligo, and the intolerableness of their delays. 
 
 At length, one day, — it was towai'ds the 
 close of business hours in the Silverton Bank, 
 — Mr. Falconer sent to ask his son to step 
 into his private sanctum. Frederick met Mr. 
 Fishbourne, looking, he observed, very grave, 
 passing out from conference with his chief, 
 as he went in. 
 
 " Well, Fred," said his father, as he en- 
 tered, evidently striving to brighten up a 
 little, and to speak as cheerfully as he could, 
 ' ' 1 sent for you to ask how affairs are get- 
 ting on between you and Margaret. You 
 have had her all to yourself for some days 
 past, down in the Close here." 
 
 " And I flatter myself I have not neglected 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 185 
 
 my opportunities, sir," replied Frederick, 
 epeaking in the same tone. "In fact," he 
 added, a little more seriously, " I have noth- 
 ing to complain of, and in truth I believe I 
 might have it pretty well all my own way, 
 were it not for that horridly slow coach, old 
 Slowoome. It is to Slowcome and Sligo, sir, 
 that you should address yourself rather than 
 to me, with a view to doing anything tow- 
 ard hastening the match." 
 
 "Hasten old Slowcome! Humph! If 
 the end of the world were fixed for twelve 
 o'clock this day week punctually, do you 
 think Slowcome would move one jot the 
 faster, or omit a single repetition of ' execu- 
 tors," and ' administrators ' from his ' draft 
 for counsel ' ? Not he. Now look here, my 
 dear boy. I am sure you have the good sense 
 to make the best use of any hint I may be 
 able to give you for your guidance, without 
 seeking to ask questions concerning matters 
 which it is better not to trouble you with " — 
 
 " Good heavens, father ! " — 
 
 " Gently, my dear boy, gently ! do not 
 agitat* yourself. I trust there is no occa- 
 sion for you to feel any agitation. I hope — 
 I have every hope that all will go well. But 
 there are circumstances that make me think 
 it my duty to tell you that if your marriage 
 with Miss Lindisfarn could be hastened, it 
 would be — ahem — prudent to do it ! " 
 
 " I've told you, sir, that we are only wait- 
 ing for these troublesome settlements. Once 
 for all, I believe, that as soon as the papers 
 are signed, I may name the day as soon as I 
 like." 
 
 " But as far as I see, it may be a month or 
 more before that will be done! " said the 
 old man, fidgeting uneasily in his chair. 
 
 " I have no doubt it wiU ! " returned his 
 son ; ' ' but what in the world can I do to 
 hurry the old fellow ? " 
 
 " Nothing ; nothing would hurry him ! 
 But sometimes," and the old man looked 
 furtively up into his son's face as the latter 
 stood lounging with his arms crossed on the 
 high back of the writing-table at which his 
 father was sitting, " in the days when I was 
 young, an impatient and ardent lover was not 
 always content to wait for the tedious for- 
 malities of the lawyers." 
 
 " What ! marry without any settlements at 
 all ! " exclaimed the " ardent lover," staring 
 at his fiither in open-eyed astonishment, as if 
 he suspected that he was losing his senses. 
 
 ■ Pooh, pooh, without settlements at all ! 
 Who spoke of marrying without settlements ?j 
 In such a case as yours it would of course be 
 all the same thing if the deeds were signed 
 before or after ! The substance of them has 
 been all agreed to." 
 
 " But would the old people at the Chase 
 consent?" said Frederick, doubtfully. 
 
 "Pshaw! consent! Why, Fred, one would 
 think you had tlie blood of seventy-seven in 
 your veins instead of tliat belonging to twen- 
 ty-seven ! Of course the old folks would not 
 consent. Of course I should not consent ! 
 Ha, ha, ha ! We did' not always ask the 
 consent of papa and mamma in my day." 
 
 Fi-ederick, looking down on his father from 
 the other side of the high-backed writing- 
 table, keenly and observantly, as he spoke 
 the above words, did not seem to be at all 
 stirred up by them to any of that hot-headed 
 ardor which the old gentleman appeared to 
 think would become his years. He grew, on 
 the contrary, graver in manner, and felt very 
 uneasy. 
 
 " But, suppose, sir," he answered, watch- 
 ing his father narrowly as he spoke, — " sup- 
 pose my natural impatience prompted me to 
 take such a step as you hint at, is it likely 
 that Margaret would consent to it? " 
 
 " Nay, that is your affair, — altogether 
 your affair, my dear boy. I suppose no girl 
 ever consented to such a step unless she were 
 pretty vigorously pressed to do so ; but very 
 many have consented." 
 
 " Margaret has an uncommonly shrewd 
 head of her own ; she has al)undance of 
 sound common sense ! " said Fred, musingly, 
 and speaking more to himself than to his 
 father. 
 
 " I am sure she has ! Without it, she 
 would not have been the girl for you, Fred. 
 But what would you have? Girls are ro- 
 mantic — a thing represented to them in a 
 poetical point of view, you know " — 
 
 " But again, father, supposing that I 
 could induce Margaret to consent to such a 
 step, would it be, looking at it from our point 
 of view, a safe one ? " 
 
 " I do not think there would be much dan- 
 ger," replied his father, speaking in a de- 
 cided and business-like tone, very diirerent 
 from that in which he had been hitherto 
 talking. "I am very much convinced," he 
 continued, " that there would be no danger 
 at all. The old squire, even if he has ever 
 
186 
 
 had a thought of anything else than divid- 
 ing the property equally between the two 
 girls, would never budge from his word given 
 to me. Trust me, the old squire's word is 
 as good as any settlement old Slowcome can 
 make, any day. Certainly, I do not mean 
 to say," continued the old banker, " that 
 the step in question would be one which I 
 should counsel under ordinary circumstances. 
 There would be, no doubt, a certain possi- 
 bility of risk ; and it is always unwise to 
 run any risk, if it can be avoided. But I 
 have already told you, my dear Fred, that 
 there are reasons, — there are reasons. Very 
 possibly, in all probability, there may be 
 nothing in them ; but — if you can steal a 
 march on old Slowcome, and do the job, at 
 once, why, I should advise you to do it. We 
 old birds should be very angry, of course," 
 added the old gentleman, with an attempt at 
 a smile, which the evident anxiety in his 
 face rendered a sorry failure ; " but we should 
 be very forgiving." 
 
 " Well, sir, as you tell me I had better 
 not, I will not attempt to question you ; 
 and I will think very seriously of all you 
 have said, and be guided by it, as far as is 
 practicable." 
 
 " And look here, Fred," said his father, 
 opening the drawer of his writing-table, and 
 taking from it an unsealed envelope, " I have 
 not calculated at all accurately the cost of 
 posting from here to Gretna. It is a long 
 journey ; but I thiuk that there is enough 
 there to do it, if you should happen to need 
 such a thing. Four horses make the guineas 
 as well as the milestones fly. But there 
 would not be much chance of your being 
 pursued. There would only be a bit of a 
 lecture and a blessing, and a laugh against 
 Slowcome, when you came back all tied as 
 fast as Vulcan could tic you." 
 
 " Thank you, sir," said Fred, pocketing 
 the bank-notes. " Depend upon it, I will put 
 your advice to the best profit I can." 
 
 So the younger man went out, very far 
 from easy in his mind, leaving the senior 
 ■with his hands deeply plunged in his pock- 
 ets, and his head fallen forward on his breast, 
 in deep and anxious thought. 
 
 In truth, he had but too much reason for 
 anxiety. A most unlucky combination of 
 unfortunate circumstances falling together 
 had, in fact, placed the bank in very critical 
 circumstances. And it was quite a touch- 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 and-go matter with the old established firm 
 to get on from day to day without a catas- 
 trophe. Mr. Fishbourne said (to his partner 
 only) that it was quite providential that 
 they had succeeded in weathering the storm 
 as long as they had. But he did not appear 
 to have any comfortable reliance on the sta- 
 bility of the intention of Providence with re- 
 gard to the old Silverton Bank. 
 
 Frederick's favorite time for paying his 
 visits to the house in the Close was the hour 
 of the afternoon service in the cathedral. 
 The spring had not yet ripened into summer ; 
 but the season was sufficiently advanced to 
 render the sheltered walk in the canon's gar- 
 den at that quiet hour extremely pleasant. 
 The doctor was sure to be absent at the 
 cathedral. Lady Sempronia, if she went out 
 at all, did so at that time. If, as was more 
 frequently the case, she did not go out, she 
 was reposing on the sofa in the cheerless 
 drawing-room after the wearing fatigue of 
 doing nothing all day, and recruiting her 
 strength for that great hour of trial and 
 effort, — the dinner-hour. 
 
 Frederick was at that time safe, therefore, 
 to find his Margaret at liberty to give her- 
 self up entirely to him; and the gathering 
 gloom of evening only served to make the 
 shaded terrace-walk under the old wall all 
 the more delightful. 
 
 It was just about the usual hour of his 
 visit, when he parted from his father in the 
 bank parlor ; and he walked straight across 
 the Close to the senior canon's house, bent 
 on at once feeling his way towai-d the execu- 
 tion of the project his father had shadowed 
 forth to him. It was not that he went to 
 the work with a very light heart, or a very 
 good will. But he was profoundly impressed 
 with the conviction that his father would not 
 have spoken in the manner he had, if there 
 had not been very grave reasons for doing 
 so. And with regard to the prudence of the 
 step, as far as concerned Miss Margaret's for- 
 tune, he quite agreed with his father in 
 feeling that the old squire's word upon the 
 subject was as safe as any bond. 
 
 So he knocked at the door, and asked the 
 servant, who had long since come to under- 
 stand that the gentleman had the right to 
 make such an inquiry, if Miss Margaret was 
 in the garden. 
 
 " Yes, sir ; you will find her on the terrace, 
 I have no doubt," said the old man, whose 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 187 
 
 Of course Margaret had been for some days 
 past prepared for this event, and aware that 
 it would not be deferred much longer. Nev- 
 ertheless, it gave her a shock to learn that 
 the dreaded moment had absolutely arrived. 
 Would Kate reveal the facts immediately, 
 was the question ! Kate urgently desired 
 now that she was free to do so. That her 
 sister, in the note, to return at once to the 
 Chase, that they might talk the matter 
 over together. And Margaret considered 
 that this was a favorable sign. If Kate in- 
 tended to tell at all hazards, she would rather 
 have done so, thought Margaret, making the 
 error that all such INIargarets make in specu- 
 lating on the conduct of such Kates, with- 
 out saying anything about it to her. 
 
 At all events, Margaret determined to obey 
 her sister's summons and go up to the Chase 
 the next morning. She had sent back an 
 answer by young Dick Wyvill, who had 
 brought in Kate's note on the pony of all 
 that every smallest movement or indication work, to the effect that she would be ready 
 which escaped either of them should be, with immediately after breakfast, if Kate could 
 the unfoiling quickness of instinct, seized on, ' prevail on Mr. Mat to come in for her in the 
 examined, noted, and interpreted by the ' gig. If not, the carriage must be sent, 
 other ! She had sent this reply, and was conning 
 
 The simple fact as to the paper which over again Kate's note, to see if she could 
 Margaret, wnth such conscious but unneces- i extract from it any evidence of the writer's 
 sary haste, concealed at the approach of her mood of mind respecting the all-important 
 lover, is that it was a note from Kate, which i question, when she saw her lover emerging 
 had been given to her about a quarter of an } from the thick clump of Portugal laurels 
 hour previously, communicating to her the ' which filled the corner of the garden at the 
 tidings the former had received from Mrs. end of the terrace nearest to the house, and 
 Pendleton, of the convalescence and recovery hastened forward to meet him. 
 of her inmate. 
 
 time for translation to a vergership had al- 
 most come, smiling knowingly at the visitor. 
 
 " Then, if you will let me out, Parsons, 
 I will go into thc_ garden through the study, 
 so as not to disturb Lady Sempronia, if she 
 is at home." 
 
 So Falconer passed into the quiet garden, 
 and found ]Margaret on the terrace-walk as 
 usual. She was at the farther end of it 
 when he came within sight of her, and was 
 reading a note, or paper of some sort, which 
 she thrust away immediately on catching 
 sight of him. 
 
 It was natural enough that she should put 
 away anything that she was reading when 
 she came forward to meet him. Neverthe- 
 less, there was a something about the man- 
 ner of the action that caused her fond Fred 
 to take observant note of it. Perhaps it 
 was in the nature of the intercourse between 
 these two young hearts, so specially fitted 
 for each other, as the old squire had observed, 
 
188 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIV. 
 DIAMOND CUT DIAMOND, 
 
 Frederick advanced along the terrace un- 
 der the city wall, to meet his lady-love, with 
 the slow step and downcast mien of a man 
 thoroughly despondent and broken. Mar- 
 garet, her hands extended a little in front of 
 her, as in eager welcome, and her face bent 
 forward, came toward him with a quick step, 
 which broke into a little run as she neared 
 him, very prettily eloquent of her impatience 
 to meet him. 
 
 The lady was the first to speak. 
 
 " Frederick, dear ! you seem as if you 
 were not glad to see me! And I, — how 
 I have counted the hours till that came 
 which I might hope would bring you to me ! 
 What is it? Is anything the matter? " 
 
 " Anything the matter ! " re-echoed Fred, 
 in a tone of profound discouragement, taking 
 her two hands in his, and holding her by 
 them at arm's length from him, while he 
 looked into her face with an expression of 
 the intensest pathos and misery, — *' any- 
 thing the matter ! Ah, Margaret ! But I sup- 
 pose girls do not feel as men do in these cases, 
 and that it is therefore impossible for you to 
 sympathize with my horrible torture." 
 
 "Gracious Heaven, Frederick! Horrible 
 torture ! What is it? For God's sake, have 
 no secrets from me ! Tell me what is the 
 matter ! " 
 
 The words and the form of speech, and the 
 manner of speaking them, as far as the by 
 no means inconsiderable talents of the speak- 
 er could accomplish it, expressed extreme 
 anxiety and agitation. But I do not think 
 that tlae lovely white bosom, from which they 
 came, caused the Honiton lace which veiled 
 it to flutter one jot quicker a motion than 
 it had done before. 
 
 " The matter, Margaret ! " returned Fred, 
 in a tone of worn-out, listless despondency ; 
 "the matter is no more than you know — 
 the old story — more delays! no prospect 
 of the end of them that I can see ! Oh, 
 Margaret, my heart wearies so for the hour 
 when I can call you mine ! I am sick, — sick 
 with the hcartsickness that comes of hope 
 long deferred. But you — weeks or months 
 are all the same to you. You can wait 
 patiently ; you have no sympathy with my 
 horrible impatience. Ah, Margaret, you 
 do not love me as I love you. It would be 
 impossible for you, if you did, to endure 
 
 these never-ending, still-beginning delays so 
 tranquilly." 
 
 " My Frederick, you are unjust to me ! Do 
 you not know that your wishes are my 
 wishes? Do you not know that I would 
 fain do your pleasure in all things? Do not 
 suppose that all this delay is otherwise than 
 odious to me also, — odious to me because I 
 know that it vexes you, my own love ! " and 
 the beautiful, dangerous creature looked into 
 his eyes, as she spoke, with a brimming ful- 
 ness of sympathy and fondnes sthat might 
 have melted a heart of adamant. 
 
 " Dearest ! " said he, passing from the po- 
 sition in which he had hitherto stood at arm's 
 length in front of her, to her side, while he 
 twined her arm under his, and took the hand 
 belonging to it between both of his hands ; 
 " my own Marguerite! forgive me, if all I 
 suffer makes me peevish and unjust. But it 
 is too bad. There is no end to it. That old 
 beast, Slowcome has no more feeling than his 
 own great ruler, which I should like to break 
 over his stupid old bald pate ! " 
 
 " Is there anything new, — any new cause 
 of delay, I mean?" — asked Margaret, with 
 really unaffected interest. For time was 
 most important to her too. Heaven only' 
 could know how important it might be ! 
 Here was Julian safe away out of England. 
 Kate free to tell the horrid, horrid truth 
 that would ruin everything and drive her 
 Frederick from her side, as if she had the 
 pestilence, at any moment. Who could tell 
 when the thunderbolt might fall, or how 
 much time was yet left her to shelter herself 
 in the haven of matrimony, before the flood 
 should come and devour her, and suck her, 
 with its hideous under-draft, away from that 
 safe harbor forever? Yes, time was fully as 
 important to Margaret as it was to her fond 
 Frederick. If he could have known the sin- 
 cerity of alarm with which she asked if there 
 were any new cause of delay, he would not 
 have accused her, assuredly, of lack of sym- 
 pathy with him. 
 
 "I do not know. How should I know? 
 I do not understand their abominable non- 
 sense ; it seems to me that that brute Slow- 
 come takes a pleasure in making it as long- 
 some as possible. I see no prospect of any 
 end." 
 
 " But is there any new cause of delay, 
 Frederick,— anything that they did not know 
 before ? " asked Margaret, with real interest. 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 189 
 
 "No, nothing new, that I am aware of. 
 How should there be? It is all perfectly 
 clear and thorouglily known to all parties 
 concerned. Your father gives you half the 
 Lindiefarn property. My father gives me all 
 he has in the world. The matter is clear 
 enough, I think. As if that could not be 
 written down and signed and sworn to, if 
 they think it necessary, in half an hour, with- 
 out writing Heaven only knows how many 
 skins of parchment about it ! And all to 
 prevent you or mc from cheating each other, 
 my Marguerite. Is it not absurd ? Is it not 
 too bad that we should have to weary and 
 pine our hearts out for such impossible 
 trash? It is monstrous, — positively mon- 
 strous ! " 
 
 " It is indeed, dearest. But, surely, a 
 great deal might be written in a whole day, 
 even of those horrid parchments, if they 
 would only be industrious about it. When 
 does Mr. Slowcome think it will be done?" 
 asked Margaret, with the prettiest childlike 
 innocence. 
 
 "I am sure I don't know! There is no 
 getting anything out of him — the old wretch ! 
 He rubs his hands together, and twists his 
 watch-chain, and seems as pleased as possi- 
 ble when he tcllo inj wioli a grin that, ' Every 
 expedition will be used, Mr. Frederick, that 
 is consistent with the care and scrupulous 
 attention which it is my duty to pay to the 
 interests of my clients, ]\Ir. Frederick. Draft 
 settlement for counsel has been proposed — 
 counsel must have time ' — Ugh ! I could 
 strangle the brute as he stands before me. 
 Nothing on earth can make him even speak 
 an^ quicker than his usual little self-satisfied 
 quaver, with a ha-ha-hum between every two 
 words! " 
 
 "It is very vexatious," murmured Mar- 
 garet, with gentle sympathy. 
 
 " Oh, vexatious ! It is hopeless ! I see no 
 end to it. I declare I believe in my heart 
 that old Slowcome knows that it will be 
 another month before the deeds are ready. 
 And aU for such nonsense too ! If it were 
 really necessary — really something conducive 
 to the happiness or welfare of my darling, I 
 would wait, — I would be patient. But that 
 one's days, which might be days of unspeak- 
 able happiness, should be turned into days 
 of weary, wearing suffering, and all for noth- 
 ing — it is too bad! " 
 
 ' ' I suppose that others have had to suffer 
 
 from the same annoyances. I suppose that 
 these vexations are unavoidable," said Mar- 
 garet, in a voice that seemed meant to coun- 
 sel resignation. 
 
 " I dare say that there may be other Slow- 
 comes in the world ; and I suppose that in 
 some cases it may be necessary to wait for the 
 completion of their work. But the heart- 
 break of the thing is that, in our case, it is 
 all M?mecessary, that we are condemned to 
 this horrible delay for the sake of mere com- 
 pliance with a matter of routine — and that, 
 too, to please a stupid old lawyer, who, of 
 course, sees his interest in considering and 
 representing such ceremonies as absolutely 
 indispensable, — all to satisfy Messrs. Slow- 
 come and Sligo." 
 
 "It is very hard," murmured Margaret, 
 administering at the same time a little pres- 
 sure of her fair fingers against the palm that 
 held them. 
 
 " When we know, too, that it is only for 
 the lawyers ; that neither your father nor 
 mine would either of them dream of distrust- 
 ing the other, or fancying it necessary to 
 wait for the signature of papers ! " 
 
 " Are these bothersome papers always 
 signed before the marriage? " said Margaret, 
 in a very low voice, scarcely above her breath, 
 while she again very slightly pressed his 
 hand with hers. 
 
 "I don't know; I should think not! 
 Why, it is just like the huckster, who will 
 not let his goods go out of his hand till the 
 money has been paid over the counter, — it is 
 disgusting ! " 
 
 " I am sure that there can be no shadow 
 of such feeling either in your fother or 
 in mine ! " said Margaret. 
 
 " Of course not ! That is what I say. It 
 is so very hard, so intolerable to be sacri- 
 ficed to the absurdities and mere blind rou- 
 tine of such an animal as old Slowcome ! If 
 I thought for an instant that it was a matter 
 which your dear good father would care 
 about, I should be for submitting with the 
 best grace we could." 
 
 "Should be for submitting, Frederick — 
 why, what else can we do, alas? What pos- 
 sible alternative is open to us, save submit- 
 ting with, as you say, the best grace we 
 may? " 
 
 " There is an alternative, Margaret ! " 
 
 " What do you mean, Frederick? " 
 
 " An alternative, which many a loving 
 
190 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 couple, who yet have loved lees truly, less called on to assist in all the marriages that 
 
 madly than I love you, have had recourse to." are made? Do you suppose that Dick 
 
 "For Heaven's sake explain yourself!" plough-boy and Jenny dairy-maid trouble the 
 
 and do not, ah, do not speak of your lovcj lawyers to draw their settlements before they 
 
 for me as if it were greater than mine for 
 you. It is not so, Frederick." 
 
 " The explanation is a very simple one, 
 Margaret ! It is simply to laugh at the 
 lawyers ; and leave them to finish their slow 
 work at their own slow pace, and at their 
 leisure." 
 
 " How do you mean, dearest? " said Mar- 
 garet, with a perfection of ingemiite, which 
 completely imposed upon her adorer. For 
 now that she was quite sure that Fred was 
 on the road that suited her own views, it 
 was not only needless to lend him any further 
 helping or guiding hand, but was in every 
 way best that she should make a little diffi- 
 culty in yielding to the proposal which, to 
 her great delight and no small surprise, she 
 saw plainly enough was coming. 
 
 " I mean, dearest and best," said Freder- 
 ick, passing his arm round her waist and 
 drawing her gently to his side, a movement 
 which, under the circumstances of the case, 
 Bhe did not think it necessary to resist en- 
 tirely, contenting herself with drawing back 
 a little from him, and gazing wistfully and 
 with eai*nest inquiring eyes into his face the 
 while, as if wholly engrossed by her interest 
 in the reply he was about to make to her,— 
 "1 mean, dearest, that after all, it is noth- 
 ing but our own will that makes us wait the 
 convenience of Slowcome, Sligo, and Co. ; 
 that if we two will it so, there is nothing on 
 earth that can prevent our becoming man 
 and wife without asking their permission, 
 and leaving them, as I said, to finish their 
 papers and their signing and sealing at their 
 leisure." 
 
 "Oh, Frederick ! " cried Margaret, look- 
 ing at him with admirably counterfeited dis- 
 may ; "how can that be?" Are not the 
 papers, which those vexatious lawyers arc 
 so long about, necessary to the performance 
 of a marriage? Can a marriage be made 
 without them?" 
 
 " Why, jyou dear, innocent little simple- 
 ton," said Frederick, with that manifesta- 
 tion of superiority which even if manifested 
 in a more accurate knowledge of the amount 
 of population at Pekin, is so delightful to 
 some men ; do you suppose that Slowcome 
 und Sligo, or any of their compeers, are 
 
 are made man and wife? And yet, Marga- 
 ret," continued her mentor, assuming a 
 graver tone of pious-sounding unction, " they 
 are married in the sight of God, and of his 
 church, and of the law of the land, as holily 
 and as irrevocably as any lord or lady in it." 
 
 "And is that really so?" returned his 
 pretty pupil, looking up at him with a beau- 
 tiful commingling of interest and admiration. 
 The Archbishop of Canterbury was not more 
 completely aware of the self-evident nature 
 of the truths her lover was laying down 
 thus authoritatively, than was Miss Marga- 
 ret Lindisfarn. But the air of nascent con- 
 viction was perfect with which she added, 
 " And yet it must be so ; of course it must. 
 All the poor people cannot have lawyers 
 bothering for months about them." 
 
 " Of course not. I have told you already, 
 these accursed settlements are precautions to 
 prevent me and my father from cheating you 
 and your father, and to prevent you and 
 your father from cheating me and mine ! 
 It is humiliating to think of it. That is the 
 meaning of them. It is very proper, you 
 will understand, my love, that these settle-*' 
 ments should be made, because men and 
 women are mortal ; our parents must die ; 
 we shall ourselves die ; things must be 
 recorded ; and the interesta of those that 
 come after us (lady's eves cast down to the 
 ground here, with an inimitable movement 
 of the head, that was in itself a perfect 
 study) must be ai-rrnged, cared for, and pro 
 tected. It is perltjtly right and necessary 
 that these settlements should be made ; but 
 there can be no necessity of waiting for 
 them, unless either of us distrusts the other. 
 Can you trust me, my Margaret? " 
 
 "Frederick, can you ask such a ques- 
 tion?" said, or . almost sobbed, Margaret, 
 with a gush of emotion that would al- 
 most have carried away old Slowcome him- 
 self in its impetuous rush of candor. " Trust 
 you, great heaven ! Have I not trusted you ? 
 Have I not trusted you with more and bet- 
 ter, I would fain hope, than money or acres? 
 I have trusted my heart to your keeping t 
 Frederick, I think I may trust the rest. 
 Trust you! Ah, Frederick, can there Y-h 
 love, where there is not perfect trust?" 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 And she clasped her two exquisitely 
 gloved little hands together as she spoke, 
 and raised them and her large, dark, liquid 
 eyes towards the sky, while the admirably 
 fitting silk, tight drawn over the well-devel- 
 oped bosom, and the delicate lace that filled 
 the middle space between the two sides of 
 her dress, rose and fell with the panting 
 violence of her emotion. The figure, the 
 expression, the action was perfect, and very 
 beautiful. The play was almost too good 
 for the occasion ; it was almost too good for 
 the inferior player who had to play up to 
 her. It was impossible for him not to be 
 moved by the physical beauty of the face 
 and figure before him. But the perfect 
 vraisrmbfance and strength of the moral emo- 
 tion rather startled and frightened him. 
 He felt somewhat as a mere park rider, who 
 expects his horse to go through the expected 
 manege of curvetting and dancing might feel 
 if the graceful creature were all of a sudden 
 to take to rearing in violent and veritable 
 earnest. He began to doubt whether there 
 might not possibly be some difficulty in 
 keeping his seat under all circumstances and 
 contingencies. He pulled himself, however, 
 as well as he could, up to the moral eleva- 
 tion demanded by the nature of the occasion, 
 and replied, — 
 
 " Thanks, Margaret, thanks, my own 
 love. It is no more than I expected of you ; 
 but your perfect confidence is very touching 
 to me. I shall never forget it. Heaven 
 bless you for it ! — What I was about to say 
 to you was, that if, indeed, you place such 
 entire confidence in me, there is, in reality, 
 no reason why we should wear our hearts 
 out by waiting for these dull dogs of law- 
 yers." 
 
 '• I am quite ready to do anything that 
 you may think best and wisest, my dear 
 Frederick. As I have told you, your wishes 
 are mine. What would you propose to 
 do?" 
 
 " Simply to marry, — to be made man and 
 wife, and let the papers be signed afterward 
 when they are ready." 
 
 " I suppose our parents would make no 
 objection?" said Margaret. 
 
 " In their hearts they would not, we may 
 be very sure. But probably they would be 
 much embarrassed by our making the propo- 
 sition. In young people, — in those who are 
 in our position, Margaret, — the world easily 
 
 191 
 
 forgives such departure from the established 
 routine. In our parents the case might not 
 be the same. They might be blamed. No ; 
 the way to act — the way in which these 
 things are always done — is to ask no permis- 
 sion at all ; to do it — and then come back to 
 be forgiven ! " 
 
 "Oh, Frederick! Do you think we 
 could venture on such a course as that? It 
 frightens me to think of such a thing ! " 
 
 "Dearest! There would be nothing to 
 alarm you. It would all be very easy, very 
 simple. You eay that you have confidence 
 in me ; do you think that I would lead you 
 into trouble or sorrow? " 
 
 " Oh, no ; oh, no! I have perfect confi- 
 dence in you, Frederick, — in your afiection, 
 your sense, your courage. With you I am 
 sure that I should fear nothing." 
 
 " If so, my own, we may snap our fingers 
 at Slowcome and Sligo, and name the auspi- 
 cious day for ourselves." 
 
 " Are you really serious, Frederick ? But 
 I do not comprehend what it is you would 
 propose to do. Tell me what steps you 
 would think it advisable to take." 
 
 " Simply the same steps, Margaret, that 
 are usually taken by so many others iu our 
 position ; except, indeed, that very many 
 have to contend with the difliculty of the 
 opposition of their families to the match at 
 all ; whereas we shall have no diflSculties of 
 the sort, or, indeed, of any sort. Sec now, 
 my love! If, in truth, you have confidence 
 enough in me to be guided entirely by me in 
 this matter, this is what I should propose. 
 We will have no getting out of window, and 
 rope-ladders, and all that sort of thing. 
 All such grands moyens arc for those who 
 have to fight against the opposition of par- 
 ents and guardians. We have no need of 
 any such. This shall be our simple, com- 
 mon-sense programme. Some evening — say 
 to-morrow evening — what do we gain by 
 delay? — I will have a post-chaise and the 
 best pair of horses in Silverton at the little 
 door in the garden wall that opens on the 
 lane, near the Castle Head turnpike. Then, 
 after dinner, while the doctor is still in the 
 dining-room or in his study, and Lady Sem- 
 pronia is taking her after-dinner nap on the 
 sofa, you shall just quietly walk out into the 
 garden, come to the little door in the wall, 
 which I will take care to have open, — I 
 know where the gardener keeps the key, — 
 
192 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 and there on the other side you find me wait- 
 ing for you. You step into the carriage, I 
 jump in after you ; and before anybody has 
 observed your absence, we are ten miles or so 
 on our way to Scotland. That is what / 
 would do, Margaret; and what we will do, 
 if you have that confidence in me you spoke 
 of!" 
 
 " I have, I have, Frederick ; doubt it not. 
 I have all confidence ! But — Scotland ! 
 That is a long way off! Why should we go 
 to Scotland?" 
 
 " Because, my darling, that is the place 
 where it is easiest for us to be married with- 
 out any delay. The law is different in Scot- 
 land. People can be married there at once 
 It is not, indeed, absolutely necessary in our 
 case ; for we might be married by special 
 license. But there would be more or less of 
 delay. Whereas, in Scotland, we can be 
 made indissolubly man and -wife as soon as 
 ever our feet touch Scottish soil." 
 
 " Is it possible ! Oh, Frederick, how ex- 
 traoi'dinary ! If anybody but you told me 
 80, I should think they were telling fibs." 
 
 (The pretty creature knew all about a 
 Gretna Green marriage as well as any post- 
 boy on the last stage over the border.) 
 
 " It is not only possible, it is certain ; and 
 what is more, very frequently done. Should 
 you be afraid to make such a little trip with 
 me?" 
 
 " With you, Frederick, I should be afraid 
 of nothing. I would fly with you to the end 
 of the world, — if I had only had my things 
 ready ! How am I to manage about my 
 things? " 
 
 " What things, dearest, should you re- 
 quire?" 
 
 " Oh, my trunks, — and who is to pack 
 them? — and my toilet things, you know, — 
 and — and— Simmons, — you know?" 
 
 " Simmons ! what, the maid at the Chase? 
 Arc you mad, Margaret? No, that would 
 never do ! There can be no maid. We must 
 be all in all to ourselves and to each other. 
 Can you not trust me, my own Margaret? " 
 
 Frederick here got possession of her hand 
 again, and pressed it against his heart, look- 
 ing wistfully into her face, as he spoke, with 
 the most intense expression of supplication 
 he could muster ; for he felt that this was 
 the difficult point. 
 
 " Go without a maid, Frederick ! Oh, im- 
 possible ! How am I to dress myself? How 
 
 am I ever to put on my orange-blossoms and 
 my wedding veil?" she said, disengaging 
 her hand, and clasping it with its fellow, as 
 she held them out toward him in passionate 
 appeal. 
 
 " My dearest girl, you do not understand 
 the matter rightly. There will be no dress- 
 ing for our wedding. You will be married 
 directly you step out of the post-chaise, in 
 the same clothes in which you stepped into 
 it, at the garden-door here. Instead of 
 orange-blossoms and bridal veils you will 
 have panting post-horses, and a village black- 
 smith for a clergyman. You will have a 
 pretty toilette de voyage. Why not the dress 
 you have on ? I never saw you look more 
 absolutely perfection ! " 
 
 ' ' It seems all so strange ; and to go away 
 with you, alone, to such a distance ! " 
 
 "Yes, my Margaret! It needs perfect 
 trust in me. Can you not have that trust ? " 
 
 " I can, I will, Frederick ! I put myself 
 and my destiny wholly, unhesitatingly, into 
 your hands. Am I not your own ? I will 
 do all that you would wish me to do." 
 
 " Dearest, dearest Margaret ! Then listen 
 to me. What time do you come out from 
 dinner! " 
 
 " Oh, always before six! When we are 
 alone. Aunt Sempronia always goes into 
 the drawing-room almost the minute the 
 cloth is taken away. Uncle, after a little 
 while, goes into his study, where, to the best 
 of my belief, he falls fast asleep." 
 
 " And when you get into the drawing- 
 room?" asked Frederick. 
 
 " Oh, aunt fidgets about a little, and 
 scolds if the servants have made too big a 
 fire ; and then settles herself on the sofa, and 
 tells me to wake her when the doctor comes 
 in." 
 
 " And how long is it generally before he 
 does come in? " asked Frederick. 
 
 "Oh, about an hour, — sometimes moi'e; 
 never, I think, less than that." 
 
 "Excellent — nothing could be better! 
 Then, when the old gentleman does come in 
 to his tea, and no Margaret is there, it will 
 be some time before they guess that you have 
 left the house ; and when at last they come 
 to the conclusion that you are not to be 
 found in it, it will be a long while before 
 they make a guess at the truth." 
 
 " Or I could leave a little note on the 
 drawing-room table to say that I had a bad 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 headache, and had gone to bed, but would 
 not disturb her ladyship's nap. Then noth- 
 ing would be known of my departure till ten 
 o'clock the next morning." 
 . " Admirable ! perfect ! AYhy, you little 
 darling, you were born for a conspirator. 
 Nothing could be better imagined ! But we 
 must be sure that there is nobody coming to 
 dinner. Is there anybody coming to-mor- 
 row ? ' ' 
 
 " But to-morrow will not do, Frederick ! " 
 said Margaret, in a different tone from that 
 in which she had been speaking hitherto, a 
 simple, business-like tone, which at once con- 
 vinced him that for some reason the morrow 
 would not do. 
 
 " Wliy, what is it, dear?" he asked, also 
 speaking in a changed key. 
 
 " Because I am to go up to the Chase to- 
 morrow morning." 
 
 " Oh, Margaret, that is very unfortu- 
 nate ! " said Frederick, in a genuine tone of 
 vexation and disappointment. 
 
 " But it cannot be helped, Frederick. It 
 is all arranged. But I can return here on 
 the following morning." 
 
 '" And will you do so, my own love ? May 
 I depend on your doing so ? " 
 
 " Frederick ! " she said, in a tone of fond 
 reproach . 
 
 " And be on your guard, dearest ! Take 
 care that Kate does not worm your secret out 
 of you, or make a shrewd guess at it." 
 
 " Kate make a shrewd guess, — or worm a 
 secret out of mc! " said Margaret, in a tone 
 of profound disdain, which had more of genu- 
 ine feeling in it than any words she had 
 uttered during the whole of the previous con- 
 versation with her lover. " Why, Fred, what 
 do you take me for? Am I quite a simple- 
 ton? " she added, with a toss of her head 
 that showed she really was indignant at the 
 imputation. 
 
 " Anything but that, Margaret, Heaven 
 knows ! But it is necessary to be careful," 
 returned he, penitently. 
 
 " Never fear ; Kate will learn no 'secret of 
 mine ! " 
 
 " And you will be here on the following 
 morning, without fail? " 
 
 "I have promised you, Frederick; and 
 you may be sure that I will not fail you," 
 said she, giving him her hand, as pledging 
 her foith. 
 
 ' ' !My own darling ! my dearest wife ! How 
 13 
 
 193 
 
 can I sufTicicntly thank you for the sweet 
 trust and confidence you are placing in mc ? 
 — only by deserving it. Ajid I will deserve 
 it. See now ! On the evening of the day 
 after to-morrow, I will be in the lane on the 
 other side of the garden-door, with a carriage 
 and everythuig in readiness, at six o'clock, 
 and will wait, with what patience I can, till 
 you come. See, the key of the door is always 
 to be found just here," said Frederick, show- 
 ing her a little cavity in the old wall near 
 the ground ; " the old fellow always puts it 
 there, never dreaming that anybody who 
 wanted it, might easily find it there. Now 
 just let us see whether the lock goes easily 
 enough for that little hand to open it — gen- 
 tly — quietly ! " said he, as he put the key 
 into her hand ; the well-oiled lock was 
 turned with perfect ease. "Capital! that 
 will do. You will remember where to find 
 the key. Perhaps it would be better that I 
 should not attempt to see you on your return 
 from the Chase." 
 
 " Perhaps not." 
 
 " When do you intend to be back? " 
 
 "Oh, to dinner to-morrow! I shall not 
 stay there. I shall say that uncle made me 
 promise to return to dinner without fail. It 
 is only that Kate wants to have a talk about 
 something or other. She is such a bother ! 
 Kate is exactly cut out for an old maid, and 
 I believe she will live and die one." 
 
 "You don't think there will be anybody 
 to dine here the day after to-morrow? " 
 
 "Oh! It is very unlikely. We always 
 discuss such things here ever so long in ad- 
 vance. Oh, no; I think we may be sure that 
 we shall be all alone." 
 
 " Then I think that we may consider all as 
 settled ? The day after to-morrow, at six in 
 the evening." 
 
 "It is very sudden! Y''ou will be very 
 good to me, dearest, very indulgent, and very 
 true ; jCest-ce pas, mon Men airne^ " 
 
 " I will, I will, my beloved Margaret, now 
 and ever. How can I ever thank you enough 
 for all your love and trust? Dearest, be very 
 sure that you shall not repent of them." 
 
 " I do not think I shall, Frederick. So 
 now, if all is definitively settled, I think we 
 had better go in. It must be nearly time for 
 the dressing-bell to ring." 
 
 "Adieu, sweetest ! To think that the next 
 time we meet, it will be to part no more till 
 I can call you really, wliolly mine ! " 
 
194 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 " Au revoir ! Apres danain a six'heurcs ! " 
 whispered Margaret, as he squeezed her hand 
 in parting at the door of the drawing-room , 
 from which he escaped just as Lady Sempro- 
 nia was rousing herself and thinking tliat it 
 was time to dress for dinner. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXV. 
 ONLT TILL TO-MORROW NIGHT ! 
 
 The next morning, at a rather earlier hour 
 than usual, — it was just as the canon was 
 leaving his house, to step across the Close to 
 morning service at the cathedral, — the gig 
 from Lindisfarn came to the door for Miss 
 Margaret. But there was no Mr. Mat in it. 
 The old groom who had driven in, brought a 
 note from Kate, to say that she had not been 
 able to persuade Mr. Mat to come ; but that 
 she had thought it better to send the gig, as 
 Thomas Tibbs, with the carriage, would have 
 been so much slower about it. 
 
 Margaret was quite as well pleased to per- 
 form the short journey with the groom as 
 with Mr. Slat. Indeed, it was felt by her 
 as an escape, that she was not condemned to 
 the latter penance. Nevertheless, she took 
 it as an affront, and resented the slight ac- 
 cordingly. 
 
 She did not take anything with her; for 
 she fully purposed being back again to din- 
 ner, as she told Lady Semprouia when she 
 mentioned to her Kate's summons. 
 
 Her original plan had been to stay at the 
 Chase for the night, and return to the Close 
 the following morning, as she had said to 
 Frederick. But a little consideration had 
 led her to change it. In the first place, she 
 felt on reflection that it would be very de- 
 sirable to shorten as much as possible the 
 talk which must pass between her and Kate. 
 There could be nothing agreeable in it ; and 
 she had no desire to sustain the part, which 
 she would be obliged to play before her sis- 
 ter, for a greater number of hours than was 
 absolutely inevitable. It would be a great 
 thing to escape the long evening hours, and 
 the tete-a-tete, which it would be impossible 
 to avoid, in Kate's room after they had re- 
 tired for the night. 
 
 In the second place, she preferred having 
 a little longer time between her return to the 
 Close and the execution of her momentous 
 project. Fred had told her that "no things " 
 would be needed. But she could not abso- 
 lutely subscribe to tliat view of tlie matter. 
 
 There was at least, her toilette de voyage to 
 be decided on, — a matter not to be put off 
 to the last minute. As a mere matter of 
 fatigue, too, it would be better to start on 
 her long journey after a day of perfect rest. 
 
 Then, again, she was inclined to think, on 
 consideration, that, despite the possible diffi- 
 culty about stable arrangements, she might 
 find it easier to get back the same day than 
 on the next. There would be the excuse of 
 not having even what was necessary for the 
 night ; there would be the keeping her un- 
 cle's dinner waiting. She would then prob- 
 ably avoid seeing her father, who would 
 most likely be out, all the time she was at 
 Lindisfarn, and would thus get rid of the 
 danger of objection on his part. 
 
 So, taking all these things into considera- 
 tion, she had determined on curtailing her 
 visit to Lindisfarn to the few hours that she 
 could spend there between the breakfast and 
 the dinner hour at the Close. 
 
 " Oh, yes, dear ! Be sure yoij come 
 back ! " Lady Semprouia had said. " It 
 would be cruel to leave me all alone, and 
 my poor nerves in the state they are ! And 
 your poor uncle is madder than ever about 
 this new whim of his monogram, or what- 
 ever it is, he calls it, upon the churchat 
 Chewton ; such a place, my dear ! if you 
 could only see it ! and I am frightened to 
 death lest he should insist upon printing it. 
 Oh, you must not leave me ! " 
 
 " I only hope, dear aunt, that there will 
 be no difficulty about sending me back either 
 in the carriage or with the gig." 
 
 " Oh, my dear Margaret, you must come 
 back ! Stay, perhaps I had better write a 
 line to dear Kate ; or would it be best to 
 Miss Immy — only you know " — 
 
 "Oh, no! best to Kate, dear aunt; if 
 you would write a line to Kate, it might, 
 perhaps, make matters easier." 
 
 So the tearful lady sat down at. her little 
 desk, and fishing for a clean scrap of paper, 
 among a tumbled mass of bills of all sorts 
 and sizes, she wrote in the eminently lady- 
 like hand of the last century, in which the 
 body of the letters was scarcely greater in 
 altitude than the thickness of a line, while 
 the tops and tails were of immoderate length, 
 and the lines very far apart, the following 
 note : — 
 
 " ]My dear Kate, — Margaret tells me that 
 it is imperatively necessary that she should go 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 up to the Chase to-day. It is a sad trial to 
 me to part with her. But, alas, what is life, 
 mine especially, hut trials ! I trust, however, 
 that you will send her hack to mc this evening. 
 Would that 1 could send for her ! I will not 
 now go into the sad detail of the reasons which 
 make this iui possible to me. They are, alas ! 
 too well known to you, my dear niece, and 
 to the world in general, the more's the pity. 
 I must trust to your kindness, therefore, and 
 to that of JMr. Mat, — for I know that he is the 
 Master of the Horse at Lindisfarn, — not to 
 disappoint me in this. Dear Margaret will 
 explain to you how totally unfit I am to be 
 left alone with your dear uncle, especially at 
 the present moment. Indeed, I do not know 
 what might be the consequences to me ! I 
 am grieved to hear that the recent rains are 
 likely to cause very wide-spread distress, and 
 perhaps ruin, among the agricultural inter- 
 ests. But God's will be done ! Tell your 
 dear fiither so from me, with my kind love. 
 I look to ^largarefs return by five o'clock ; 
 for you know what your poor dear uncle's 
 temper is if the dinner is kept waiting. 
 " Your affectionate aunt, 
 
 . " S. LiNDISFAUX." 
 
 " I don't think Kate will be so cruel as 
 not to send you back to me," sighed Lady 
 Sempronia, as she handed this note to Mar- 
 garet. 
 
 " Oh, no, dear aunt! depend upon it, I 
 shall be back by five o'clock." 
 
 So Margaret got into the gig, and was 
 driven in a litte less than an hour up to the 
 Chase. 
 
 She was in high spirits ; or at least in a 
 state of excitement which produced a similar 
 appearance ; and had some difficulty in meet- 
 ing her sister with the depression of manner 
 befitting the part she had to play. 
 
 "Oh, ^Margaret dear ! I am so glad to 
 have you at home again. I have so much to 
 talk to you of," said Kate, as she met her at 
 the door. 
 
 " xVnd we have not very much time to say 
 it in, Kate ; for I must be back again in the 
 Close by five o'clock." 
 
 " Back again to-night? " 
 
 " Yes. It is impossible to avoid it. Sec, 
 hei'c is a note for you from my aunt. Poor 
 soul, she is in a very low way ! I cannot 
 leave her. You will sec what she says. Be- 
 sides, I have brought home none of my 
 things." 
 
 " But, my dear Margaret, how arc you to 
 get back again to Silverton this evening? 
 
 195 
 
 You know what a bother there always in 
 with Tibbs." 
 
 " That is why I spoke about it the first 
 thing, Kate. It must be managed somehow. 
 I suppose I am not in Mr. Mat's good books, 
 by his not condescending to come for me this 
 morning. But you can make him do any- 
 thing you like." 
 
 " I suppose it is impossible to disappoint 
 my aunt," said Kate, with a sigh, as she fin- 
 ished reading her aunt's letter. " But what 
 is it she alludes to as her particular sorrow 
 at this time more than usual? " 
 
 " Oh, you know my aunt ! She is in a 
 great trouble, just at present, for fear my 
 uncle should take it into his head to print a 
 new paper he has been writing all about an 
 old church at his living in a place they call 
 Chewton, — a most horrid, desolate place, aunt 
 says, out in the moor. The paper is to bo 
 read at the meeting of the eccle — eceloy — 
 whatever it is they call themselves, next 
 month ; and as uncle is very particularly 
 proud of it, she is in great fear of the prob- 
 able consequences. And indeed, I may per- 
 haps be of some use ; for I have some little 
 influence over Uncle Theophilus." 
 
 "Well, I suppose you must go," sighed 
 Kate ; " and I will see what can be done 
 about sending you. Perhaps the old pony 
 could be put in the gig, just to take you to 
 Silverton. Come ! let us go up to my room. 
 Noll is out with the dogs." 
 
 " But had we not better settle first about 
 the gig?" urged Margaret, who was by no 
 means willing to allow any amount of doubt 
 to rest upon the execution of her pro- 
 gramme. 
 
 " Very well ! If you will go up-stairs, and 
 take your hat off, I will go and see about it, 
 and come to you in my room." 
 
 Margaret ran quickly up the stairs, and 
 into her sister's room. There her first care 
 was not to take off her hat, but to cast a 
 sharp, searching glance at Kate's table, to see 
 if any note or letter had been left there, ac- 
 cording to Kate's careless habits in such mat- 
 ters, which might, even by the outside of it, 
 perhaps, give her some hint of the position of 
 matters with her sister. But there was noth- 
 ing on the table, — not even the usual litter 
 of Kate's manifold ordinary occupations. 
 The little desk, instead of standing open, waa 
 shut up ; and there was not so much as a 
 hook to be seen lying about. All the draw- 
 
196 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 ing things at the other small table were piled Kate often sighed as she remembered the 
 into a little heap in the middle of it, and happy, careless days, when she had so nick- 
 had evidently not been touched for days. named her best and dearest friend, and 
 If any more intelligently sympathizing eye thought how infinitely greater was her need 
 than her sister's had looked in Kate's face, of such a protectress than she had ever 
 the looker would not have failed to be struck dreamed it could be. 
 
 by evidence of the cessation of all the ordi- She joined Margaret in a few minutes in 
 nary sources of interest and occupation, as her room, going up the stairs much more 
 legible there as in the condition of her room, slowly than she had done. 
 
 And there were not wanting such sympa- , "I have arranged for you to have the gig 
 thizing eyes at Lindisfarn. It was plain for your return," she said, sitting down 
 enough to more than one loving observer that wearily beside her sister. " Mr. Mat made 
 Kate had been stricken somehow or other, no diflBculty. The gig will be at the door at 
 whether in heart or merely in body, and mat- half-past three." 
 
 ters were out of joint at the Chase in conse- j " Mr. Mat makes less difficulty about send- 
 quence. Mr. Mat was miserable, and cross ing me away from Lindisfarn than about 
 to every one but the object of his trouble, bringing me back to it. Cela s^entend! I 
 He would neglect his dinner, and sit looking dare say there is no love lost between us." 
 wistfully at Kate, as she wearily went through "Oh, Margaret! I am sure that Mr. 
 the daily ceremony, and when she and Miss Mat does not feel otherwise than kindly tow- 
 Immy had left the room, would say to the ard you." 
 
 squire, — i "It matters very little to me how he feels, 
 
 " The lass is not right, squire ! She is not that is one good thing! But now, Kate, 
 like herself, no more than I am like the what was your object in making me come up 
 Bishop of Silverton ! But as for telling me here? " 
 
 that she is thinking anything about that fel- : " Surely, you must know, Margaret. Ju- 
 low Falconer — they may tell that to the ma- ; lian has recovered ; he has left England, 
 rines ! I've known the lass from her cradle We are no longer bound by any promise of 
 up. It's as damned a pack of nonsense, ' secrecy ; and it is above all things necessary 
 squire " — i that the error as to his supposed death should 
 
 And Mr. Mat's black eye grew moist under ; be corrected with as little delay as possible. 
 
 But I was unwilling to take any step in the 
 matter without first speaking with you." 
 
 " I suppose it will be necessary that the 
 fact should be known," replied Margaret; 
 " but do not you think that it would be more 
 proper to leave it to him to make the an- 
 nouncement himself? You remember that 
 he told you he purposed doing so." 
 
 " Yes ; but what I cannot bear is that we 
 
 say 
 
 its shaggy black brow as he spoke. 
 
 " God grant it may be as you 
 Bighed the squire ; " anything better than 
 that." 
 
 ISIiss Immy, for her part, threatened Kate 
 with Dr. Blakistry. As yet Kate had, not 
 without difficulty, fought off this strong meas- 
 ure. But Miss Immy was getting really un- 
 easy about her ; and it was clear that, unless 
 she could manage to "look like herself i should know it and keep the knowledge to 
 
 again," she would have to submit to a pro- 
 fessional visit from the doctor before long. 
 
 And the alternative was quite out of Kate's 
 power. She could not look like herself 
 again ; for she felt very unlike that former 
 self. 
 
 And, worst of all, Lady Earnleigh was 
 
 ourselves. I cannot bear the burden of the 
 secret any longer, Margaret." 
 
 " I do not see that the burden has been a 
 very heavy one to you, Kate. To me it has 
 been difi'erent. In the circumstances in 
 which I have been placed, it has been very 
 painful to me to be obliged to keep such a i 
 
 still absent. Most unfortunately she had i cret to myself. Happily, I know well that 
 been detained, much beyond the time she the knowledge of it would have occasioned 
 
 had at first intended, by the serious illness 
 of her daughter-in-law. That lady was now, 
 however, much better ; and there was a pros- 
 pect of the " fairy godmother's" return be- 
 fore long. 
 
 no difference in the conduct of my future hus- 
 band. Nevertheless, you can understand, I 
 suppose, that it would be unpleasant to mo 
 to have to confess that I knew the real state 
 of thp case, so early as for my misfortune I 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE 
 
 197 
 
 did, in consequence of your imprudent visit 
 to that smuggler man's cottage." 
 
 " I will not say anything about that, Mar- 
 garet. I thought it was riglit under the 
 circumstances to go there, and I went. Now 
 it would'bc infinitely more agreeable to me — 
 it would be a greater consolation and comfort 
 to me than you can imagine — if I could not 
 only let the fact of Julian's existence be 
 known at once, but also let it be understood 
 that I knew it at the time I did know it. 
 You cannot guess how much I would give 
 to do this. Nevertheless I have made up 
 my mind to abstain from doing it, for your 
 sake ; for I can fully feel how dreadful, how 
 intolerable, it would be to 3'ou, that it should 
 be known that you had accepted an offer of 
 marriage without saying a word about it, or 
 in any way intimating that your position 
 was a vei'y different one firom what it was 
 supposed to be." 
 
 " I could not help myself, as I have told 
 you before," said Margaret, sullenly. 
 
 " It was very unfortunate," sighed Kate ; 
 " but I have told you that I have made up 
 my mind not to say anything about the date 
 at which this important secret reached our 
 knowledge. You must feel, however, dear 
 Margaret, that the time has come when it is 
 absolutely necessary to break off this engage- 
 ment, and" — 
 
 " Break off! — will nothing make you be- 
 lieve, Kate, that all people are not so sordid 
 in their views as you imagine them?" in- 
 terrupted Margaret, while her cheek flushed 
 up, and her eyes flashed fire. " It is very 
 singular, sister, how particularly anxious you 
 are that the engagement between me and 
 Fred should be broken off; but you may 
 as well give it up as a bad job. Make 
 your mind up to it, once for all, that it 
 wont and can't be broken off." 
 
 Kate looked into her sister's gleaming, an- 
 gry eyes, with a quiet glance of mute ap- 
 peal, and of sorrow rather than reproach, 
 as she said, — 
 
 " Can you not believe, Margaret, that your 
 happiness and welfare are all I wish for or 
 care about in this matter ? " 
 
 " It don't seem like it " — 
 
 " And that when I speak of breaking off the 
 engagement you have made, I mean merely 
 breaking that which was entered into in ig- 
 norance of the truth, to be replaced, if the 
 parties to it wish to do so, by a fresh en- 
 
 gagement made with full knowledge of the 
 truth? You can't doubt that it is abso-- 
 lutely necessary that no time should be lost 
 in telling Mr. Falconer the truth ; and it 
 was about this that I wanted to speak to you 
 to-day.'' 
 
 " I am sure I don't sec why you should 
 take so much trouble to meddle with my af- 
 fairs ! I suppose I am the proper person to 
 tell Mr. Falconer, as you call him ; and I 
 presume I may be left to do so in my own 
 way, and at my own time." 
 
 "But that is just the point, Mai'garct. 
 Certainly you are the person who ought to 
 tell him. He ought most unquestionably 
 to hear it from no one but yourself. But 
 the time — that is the question. At your 
 own time, you say. When is that time, 
 Margaret? That is what. I want to settle 
 with you." 
 
 " Now I am not going to be dictated to, 
 as if I were a school-girl and you my mis- 
 tress, Kate. Remember that you are not 
 even my elder sister, though you seem 
 strangely inclined to take the tone of one. 
 I have just as good a right to preach to you 
 as vou to me, remember ! I told you from 
 the beginning fairly and honestly, that my 
 views and ideas differed from yours in this 
 matter, and that I intended to be guided in 
 it by my own, and not by yours. That is 
 still my intention, I beg you to understand. 
 I shall choose my time for telling my future 
 husband the whole of this strange improba- 
 ble story, according to my own judgment 
 and convenience. I presume you will not 
 think fit to take it upon yourself to meddle 
 between us." 
 
 " Most certainly, Margaret, I shall not 
 take it upon myself to say anything upon 
 the subject to Mr. Falconer, if you mean that. 
 But I must speak to those who ought neces- 
 sarily to bo made acquainted with the truth 
 in the first instance. I must tell my father 
 and my Uncle Theophilus. And it is this 
 that I was unwilling to do, without having 
 first spoken to you, on purpose that you 
 might have the opportunity of yourself speak- 
 ing to Mr. Falconer before the facts reach 
 him from any one else. You know my fa- 
 ther. Do you think that he would suffer 
 any uncertainty to remain on the subject in 
 the mind of anybody for an hour after he had 
 heard the truth? You know my uncle. Do 
 you think he is likely to keep it secret? 
 
198 
 
 You know what Silverton is. Do you think 
 anybody in all the place is likely to remain 
 in ignorance of the focts four-and-twenty 
 hours after I have told them to papa ? And 
 do you see now that I had reason enough 
 to make a point of your coming up here to- 
 day." 
 
 Margaret bit her lips till they were white, 
 and remained silent for a minute or two. 
 
 " And when do you mean to make tliis 
 communication to papa?" she then asked, 
 keeping her eyes fixed, as she spoke, on the 
 floor. 
 
 " I should have done it long ago if it had 
 not been for this unhappy entanglement of 
 yours." 
 
 Margaret raised her eyes to her sister's 
 face for an instant, and the forked lightning 
 shot forth dangerously. 
 
 " It was only to give you time," contin- 
 ued Kate, with increased and almost tearful 
 earnestness, " that I have abstained thus 
 long. I can abstain no longer ! The weight 
 of this secret seems as if it were crushing my 
 heart. I must tell it. But I would fain 
 that you told Mr, Falconer first, — or at least 
 as soon." 
 
 " You are very peremptory, Kate ! You 
 have got the whip hand of me, and you are 
 determined to use it cruelly, — cruelly ! " 
 
 " Oh, Margaret, Margaret ! " sobbed Kate. 
 
 "Yes, cruelly!" continued her sister, 
 speaking with extreme bitterness. "It is 
 your turn now ! And I am in your power — 
 to a certain degree — to a certain degree. 
 Well ! what time do you condescend to 
 assign to me in your mercy ? " 
 
 " You are going back to Silverton this 
 evening; it is so far convenient. I thought 
 that it would have been necessary to send 
 for him here. As it is, it will be easier. 
 You will, in all probability, see him this 
 evening." 
 
 " You find it very easy to settle it all your 
 •way. In all probability I shall do nothing 
 of the kind. I have no reason to think that 
 he will come to my uncle's this evening." 
 
 " It would be very easy to send a word 
 across the Close, requesting him to do so." 
 
 "Kate! what do you take me for? If 
 you have been brought up to do that sort of 
 thing, I, for my part, have not, and flatter 
 myself that I know what convcnance requires 
 rather better than to take such a step." 
 
 " I can see no objection to it under the 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 circumstances, and for the purpose we ara 
 talking about, I confess, Margaret," replied 
 Kate, with a deep sigh. " What would you 
 propose doing yourself? " 
 
 " If you will promise me not to say any 
 word till to-morrow evening," replied Mar- 
 garet, after a few moments of deep consider- 
 ation, " I will promise you to tell Frederick 
 the first time I do see him. I think it very 
 likely that I may see him in the course of 
 to-morrow, — almost certain. I will be con- 
 tent if you will give me only till to-morrow 
 evening. You may tell papa, and all Silver- 
 ton, too, if you like, after dinner to-morrow. 
 Will that do?" said Margaret, inwardly 
 congratulating herself on the admirable good 
 fortune which had prompted Frederick to 
 propose the scheme he had, and to fix the 
 execution of it for such an early day. 
 What on earth would have become of her, 
 but for this happy piece of good fortune ! 
 As it was, the fatal facts would not be 
 known till they were safe oS" on their way 
 to Scotland ; and when they came back mar- 
 ried, Frederick would learn it as a bit of 
 news that had reached Silverton in the in- 
 terval of their absence. 
 
 " Very well," said Kate, slowly and re- 
 luctantly ; "let it be so, since you are un- 
 willing to release me sooner. Let it remain 
 settled that 1 tell papa the whole of the 
 facts to-morrow evening after dinner ; — papa 
 and Mr. Mat, mind, Margaret! — there must 
 be no more secrets ! — and Mr. Mat is likely 
 enough, mind, to have out the gig and drive 
 ofl" to Silverton that same evening, to tell 
 Uncle Theophilus that his son is still liv- 
 ing." 
 
 "No! you must give me the whole even- 
 ing," exclaimed Margaret, remembering that 
 Mr. Mat's untimely arrival in the Close 
 might be the means of prematurely discover- 
 ing her absence from her uncle's house ; — 
 " I bargain for the whole evening. Who 
 knows at what time I may see Frederick? 
 He often comes in late. If you wish to be 
 of any service to me, Kate, you must give 
 me the whole evening. You can tell papa 
 the first thing the next morning. That can 
 make no difierence, you know, Kate. Let it 
 be the first thing in the morning, the day 
 after to-morrow. And then let Mr. Mat 
 have the satisfaction of telling the world of 
 our ruin as soon as he likes. I will find the 
 means of doing my part before that time. 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 You pledge yourself, then, Kate, to say 
 nothing till the morning of the day after to- 
 morrow? " 
 
 " So he it, then, Margaret. I promise 
 you that 1 will keep the secret till that time. 
 Then I shall, without fail, tell papa ; and I 
 think it more likely than not, tliat IMr. Mat 
 will tell my uncle within an hour after- 
 ward.*' 
 
 " Let him do his worst! " said Margaret, 
 bitterly, but yet triumphantly. 
 
 "Oh, Margaret, I wish you could think 
 that we all have but one heart and one intei-- 
 est in this sad matter. You may trust me I 
 know what I am talking about, when I tell 
 you that not a soul in this house or in Sil- 
 verton will feel our misfortune more acutely 
 than poor Mr. Mat." 
 
 *' Well ! it don't much matter. There is 
 small consolation in his caring about it, 
 whether he does or not; and now, I sup- 
 pose, our business is settled." 
 
 "Yes," said Kate, sadly; "will you 
 come and see Miss Immy ? " 
 
 " I suppose I must before I go back ; it is 
 a great bore. But I want to go into my 
 own room first," answered Margaret, whose 
 mind was busy with the consideration 
 whether there might oM be certain small 
 articles at the ChaiJC. which it might be 
 desirable for her to take with her in her 
 flight to Scotland. 
 
 Kate accompanied her sister into the ad- 
 joining room, and Margaret had some diffi- 
 culty in making her comprehend that she 
 wished to be there alone. She succeeded at 
 last, and Kate left her, thinking that she 
 wished to commune with herself on the ter- 
 ribly painful task which lay before her. 
 
 Margaret hastily bolted the door behind 
 her, and did not come out of her room till 
 it wanted only a quarter of an hour to the 
 time the gig was ordered for her return to 
 Silver ton. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 THE TWO SIDES OP THE WALL. 
 
 Margaret returned to her dinner at her 
 uncle's, in the Close, in good time. She 
 was still in high spirits, or, at least, in that 
 state of nervous excitement, which, in some 
 persons, so closely resembles them. She 
 was, at all events, well contented with the 
 result of her visit to the Chase ; and the 
 
 199 
 
 so desperately playing, seemed definitively to 
 be at last in her own hands. 
 
 When slie had supposed herself, as all the 
 rest of the Sillshire world supposed lier, 
 to be an heiress to landed property to the 
 amount of two thousand a year, she had not 
 been very particularly anxious or eager about 
 Frederick Falconer's proposal. The match 
 seemed a very fair one in a prudential point 
 of view, and the gentleman was by no means 
 disagreeable to her. " She had never seen 
 anybody she liked better," as the classical 
 phrase runs upon such occasions ; but Mar- 
 garet had been far too well brought up, and 
 had much too strong a feeling of what she 
 owed to herself and to the proprieties of 
 maidenly delicacy, to be in any danger of 
 breaking her pure and gentle heart for any 
 son of Adam. She was quite contented to 
 do her little bit of flirting, and trot out her 
 pretty little airs and graces, and show off 
 her certainly not little attractions, all with- 
 in the most rigorous bounds of the strictest 
 reading of the code of the convenances, and 
 leave the result to work itself out as Prov- 
 idence and the gentleman might decree. But 
 all this was suddenly and tremendously 
 changed by that terrible communication from 
 her sister. Then it became absolutely ne- 
 cessary that this chance should be seized on, 
 and that promptly. It was most desperately 
 a case of now or never with her. Any sin 
 against those convenances, which assiduous 
 drilling and the social atmosphere in which 
 she had lived had made a second nature to 
 lier, was extremely repugnant to all Mar- 
 garet's feelings. If the lex non scripia pre- 
 scribed that at any given juncture of her girl- 
 hood life, it vras permissible for her to allow 
 a creature of the other sex to squeeze her lit- 
 tle finger, " all the best and most beautiful 
 feelings of her nature " would have been out- 
 raged, if any man should have dared to make 
 the penultimate digit participate in the pres- 
 sure. 
 
 Still, all the little outlook into the world 
 around her, which it had been possible for 
 her to obtain, convinced her that the sacred 
 code of Ics convenances was made and provid- 
 ed for the guidance of Ics jcuncs personnes 
 of a certain standing in the social world, — a 
 position from which she was — alas, and alas ! 
 — suddenly and most cruelly hurled. Quite 
 other maxims and rules were needed for the 
 
 game she had been, for the last month past, I being which she had become, — an adventur- 
 
200 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 ess. Yes, not being a young person with ex- 
 pectations, she was an adventuress. It was 
 useless, and mere folly, to blink the fact, or 
 mince the phrase. She was an adventuress ; 
 and however painful it might be to one not 
 " to the manner born," it behooved her to act 
 as such. She had accepted the position then 
 en maitresse fcmme, and vigorously set about 
 
 that that would have been a vain hope. 
 What a blessing was the foolish impatience, 
 which would not let that fond fellow Fred- 
 erick wait for his happiness any longer ! 
 
 These were the meditations which occupied 
 Margaret's mind during several of the hours 
 of that last night in her uncle's house. The 
 next morning, at bi-cakfast, a new source of 
 
 acting as the exigencies of the part demand- | anxiety arose. As the doctor and his wife 
 ed of her. and niece wei-e sitting at their morning meal, 
 
 It had not been a pleasant thing to live i the doctor announced his intention of pay- 
 through the past month, with the horrible { ing a visit, that day, to his living of Chewton 
 
 sword of ignominious failure suspended over 
 her head by a thread all the time. Very 
 much otherwise. But now her boldness and 
 her ability seemed about to be rewarded. At 
 last she was in sight of port, and to all appear- 
 ance safe. And she did feel that she deserved 
 some applause for the manner in which she 
 had steered her bark, in a sea of no ordinary 
 danger and difficulty. 
 
 Not that the future was all smooth water. 
 Far from it. Margaret indulged herself in 
 no such weak illusion. Her Frederick would 
 be grievously disappointed, doubtless, when 
 the first news that met him, on bringing his 
 wife back to his native town, would be that 
 he had married a beggar. She had a very 
 strong conviction that her Frederick was 
 about the last man in the world, to commit 
 such a folly and indiscretion. And Margaret 
 was by no means inclined to think the less 
 well of him on that account. No doubt he 
 would be greatly disappointed, — thunder- 
 struck ! No doubt there would be unpleas- 
 antness. What else could be looked for? 
 Was not all this miserable business calculat- 
 ed to produce unpleasantness of all kinds? 
 Still, she would be a wife ; and she flattered 
 herself that she should know how to use 
 that vantage-ground in such a manner as to 
 make the position not too intolerable a one 
 foi- her. 
 
 in the moor. 
 
 "It is absolutely necessary, my dear, 
 though in truth it is a very great trouble. 
 But in the interests of science, you know, I 
 never spare myself." 
 
 " Nor others. Dr. Lindisfarn ! " said Lady 
 Sempronia. 
 
 " My dear, I am sorry to inconvenience 
 you in any way, though I do not see how it 
 should inconvenience you. It is indis]>ensa- 
 bly necessary that I should verify the accuracy 
 of certain statements and descriptions. I am 
 come to a point at which I cannot get on 
 without another personal inspection of the 
 buildings and localities. Heaven knows I 
 have no liking for the job personally. But 
 when the accuracy and completeness of the 
 work, on which so much depends, are con- 
 cerned, I cannot hesitate. I was going to 
 mention that I shall not be able to get home 
 to dinner. If I could have gone early this 
 morning, I might have done so. But I 
 wished to be in my place at the morning ser- 
 vice. I shall start directly afterward." 
 
 "You know best. Dr. Lindisfarn! " said 
 his long-suffering wife, with a resigned 
 sigh. 
 
 " We will not have the bore of a regular 
 dinner to-day, my dear," said she to Mar- 
 garet, as soon as the doctor had left the break- 
 fast-room ; " we will have a cutlet or some- 
 It was no use thinking of that, however, thing at luncheon, and then we shall enjoy 
 now ! Sufficient for the day was the evil our toast and tea." 
 
 and the work thereof. What she had now It was Lady Sempronia 'e thrifty habit to 
 to do was to step boldly forwai-d on the path ! make the absence of her lord and master at 
 toward her object. Fate itself seemed help- i least so far an advantage as to save a dinner 
 ing her. What, what should she have done, by it. 
 
 had not the delays of the lawyers thus hap | But then it occurred to Margaret that if 
 pily tii'ed out Frederick's patience ! She had ! the ordinary routine of the day were thus 
 been living in the hope of inducing Kate to j altered, her aunt's after-dinner nap would 
 keep the fatal secret a little longer ! It \ probably share the fate of the dinner, or at 
 seemed, however, to judge by her sister's I least be pushed out of its usual place in the 
 words and manner, in this last interview, day's programme. And if so, it might very 
 
well happen that it would be impossible for 
 her to escape from Lady Sempronia at the 
 right moment. Usually on such occasions 
 as the present, the tea, thus promoted to the 
 position of a meal, was served at seven 
 o'clock. And it seemed likely that at six, 
 the fateful hour fixed for Margaret's escape, 
 her gently fretful ladyship would be awake 
 and in the drawing-room waiting for the 
 repast which such ladies love, and expecting 
 her niece to keep her company. 
 
 During the whole foi-enoon Margaret was 
 in a state of great anxiety, and was eagerly 
 debating within herself the expediency of 
 despatching Parsons with a note to Frederick 
 informing him of the state of the case, and 
 of the probable necessity of modifying their 
 plans to meet the new circumstances. 
 
 It was past twelve o'clock, and she had 
 just made up her mind that she would do 
 this immediately after luncheon, when once 
 again fortune stood her friend, and made any 
 such step unnecessary. She was in her own 
 room nervously looking over for the twentieth 
 time every article of the costume she intended 
 to travel in, when she was startled by a little 
 tap at her door. Hurriedly shutting the 
 drawers in which she had laid out most of 
 these in readiness, she told the applicant to 
 come in. It was Lady Sempronia's maid, 
 with, — 
 
 " Please, Miss Margaret, my lady bade me 
 say that she is took so bad with her nerves 
 that she will not be able to come down to 
 luncheon. She hopes you will excuse her, 
 and she would be glad to speak to you." 
 
 Margaret found her aunt in bed. The 
 prominence with which the dangers to be 
 feared from the growing importance of the 
 doctor's monograph on Chewton Church had 
 been brought before her prescient mind had, 
 as usual, proved too great a trial for her 
 enfeebled nervous system. She had, she de- 
 clared, a racking headache, — feared she should 
 become hysterical, — felt that her only chance 
 was to keep herself absolutely quiet, — and 
 should not leave her bed any more that day, 
 even if she were able to do so on the mor- 
 row. 
 
 It was difficult for Margaret to keep the 
 decently sorrowful face of sympathy which 
 this communication required, so great a relief 
 was it to her. Was it possible for anything 
 to be better ? Fortune herself seemed to 
 have undertaken the task of taking; all diffi- 
 
 NDISFARN CHASE. 201 
 
 culties out of the way, and leaving the coast 
 clear for her ! 
 
 The remainder of the day passed very 
 slowly with Margaret, but not altogether 
 unhappily. She was nervous and excited, 
 but full of liope and confidence. Twice she 
 walked round t!ie garden, and glanced sharply 
 at the cavity in the wall near the little door 
 into the lane, to satisfy herself that the key 
 was there. Slie longed to take it up, and 
 try it in the lock, but refrained. It was im- 
 prudent ; and Margaret was a very prudent 
 girl ! 
 
 At last the feared yet wished-for hour 
 came. At last it wanted only a quarter to 
 six. The note to be given to Lady Sempro- 
 nia when her ladyship's cup of tea was car- 
 ried up to her, was all ready. 
 
 " Dear Aunt," it said, 
 
 " The shock which has sent you to bed, 
 has reacted— less forcibly, no doubt, than an 
 your delicately sensitive nervous system — on 
 me too. I have a violent headache, and am 
 now going to bed. I have told Elizabeth to 
 give you this when she takes you your tea, 
 and not befoi-e, lest you might be getting a 
 little sleep. I hope, dear aunt, that we may 
 both be better to-morrow. 
 
 " Your loving niece, 
 
 " Margaret." 
 
 This was given to Lady Sempronia's maid 
 with injunctions not to disturb her mistress 
 till tea-time, then to carry her a cup of tea, 
 and give her the note at the same time. 
 
 " I have a dreadful headache myself, Eliza- 
 beth," added the young lady; " I shall nit 
 stay up for tea, but go to my room at once. 
 If I want you to undress me, I will ring, but 
 do not disturb me unless I do ; for if I can 
 keep myself quiet and get to sleep, I would 
 not be waked for the world. If it is late 
 when I wake, I will manage to undress by 
 myself." 
 
 Then while the servant was going through 
 the hall towards the kitchen, Margaret 
 heavily and wearily dragged hei'self up half 
 a dozen stairs toward her room. But as soon 
 as ever the swing door which shut off the 
 servants' part of the house had slammed to 
 behind Elizabeth, she turned, and darting 
 light of foot as an antelope, and swift as 
 thought into the drawing-room, passed gently 
 through the window, carefully shutting it 
 after her, into the garden. Then tripping, 
 with short-drawn breath and beating heart, 
 
202 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 along the dark garden-walk to the little door selves till once again there came the harsh 
 in the wall leading to the lane, she paused, rattle in the quarter bell's throat, prepara- 
 pressing her hand to her bosom, and intently tory to its clearly chimed ding-dong, — the 
 listening. But no sound broke the silence first quarter after six. 
 save the audible beating of her own heart. I Margaret began to feel both physically 
 
 She had not waited thus more than a few and morally very cold. A sickening sensa- 
 minutes, however, before the quarter bell in tion of fear crept over her. Yet there was 
 the neighboring cathedral tower, after a no other possible course to follow but still to 
 strange sort of grating, jarring prelude, as wait. And Margaret still waited, with a 
 if clearing its voice before speaking, sung rapidly gathering agony in her heart, a few 
 out its clear ding-dong ! — ding-dong ! — ding- hours of which might be deemed a fair ex- 
 dong ! — ding-dong ! — Four quarters. It was piation for many an ill-spent day. 
 the full time then. Margaret had not been ! The more Margaret reflected, the more in- 
 sure whether it might not yet want a quarter explicable it seemed to her. And if she 
 to the hour fixed. No ! and in the next ', could have perceived what was taking place 
 instant the deeper bass of the hour bell ' on the other side of the wall, at the moment 
 tolled, one — two — three — four — five — six ! she was leaving the house to come out into 
 Of course, she knew very well that the bell ; the garden, she would still have been as 
 was going to strike six. Yet it seemed to ' much at a loss to understand the meaning 
 her fancy as if that sixth stroke had a fate- ' of what she would have seen, 
 ful clinching power in it, which cast the die : The phenomena which presented them- 
 of her fate, and made it impossible for her ' selves on that side of the brick and mortar 
 to draw back. screen fell out in this wise. 
 
 She listened still more intently than be- j At a little more than half-past five o'clock, 
 fore, but heard nothing. Perhaps the car- ' Frederick, true to his engagements, was giv- 
 riage had already taken up its position on : ing the last instructions to a well- fed post- 
 the other side of the wall ; and perhaps Fred- | boy in the yard of the Lindisfarn Arms 
 eriek was within a few inches of her on the , hostel and posting-house. These instruc- 
 other side of the door, afraid to give any ; tions were that he should remain in readi- 
 audible sign of his presence, for fear that it ness himself, his chaise, and his pair of 
 might reach other ears beside hers. i horses (for Frederick considered that four 
 
 After a few more minutes of intent listen- , horses would only serve to attract attention 
 ing, which seemed to be at least four times in a manner that was not desirable ; and 
 as many as they were, she decided that this that the notion that four horses can draw a 
 must be the case, and she determined to open light chaise over a short stage more quickly 
 the door. There could be very little risk in than two is a mere popular delusion, unless, 
 doing so ; for the lane was a lonely one, but indeed, the stage should be a specially hilly 
 little frequented by day, and still more cer- one) , within the safe seclusion of the inn- 
 tain to be undisturbed by night. She turned yard till six o'clock, — that he should then 
 the kly in the lock with the greatest precau- quietly come out, and proceeding by a cer- 
 tion, starting at the little click it made just tain back way, such as most Old-World 
 at the end of the operation, and cautiously English cities are provided with, towards 
 opening the door a little, peered out into the the turnpike at the Castle Head, as it was 
 darkness of the lane. She could see noth- called, wkich was very near the embouchure 
 ing ! And yet she was sure she had counted : of the lane behind the doctor's garden into 
 the striking of the clock aright. [ the road, should so come on towards the 
 
 And then a sudden hot flush came over little door from which Margaret was to 
 her ; and she began to think of the retribu- emerge, telling anybody who might ques- 
 tive storm of indignation and reproach with tion him — if the questioner were one to 
 which she would visit the delinquent for his whom it was necessary to reply at all — that 
 unpunctuality as soon as he should arrive. i he, the postboy, was going to carry Dr. 
 
 She all but closed the door, leaving barely Lindisfarn up to the Chase to dinner — a 
 a sufficient aperture for her to keep her anx- perfectly reasonable and satisfactory reply, 
 ious watch of the lane. And the intolerably inasmuch as the doctor when going to the 
 tedious minutes slowly accumulated them- Chase usually did get into his chaise at the 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 203 
 
 little garden-door, which, opening so near to 
 the Castle Head turnpike, saved him a con- 
 siderable detour through the town. 
 
 Nothing could have been better arranged. 
 Jonas Wyvill, the postboy, — he was a cousin, 
 I fancy, of those Wyvills one of whom was 
 a verger in the cathedral, and another a su- 
 perannuated gamekeeper up at the Chase, 
 and "boy-' as he was perennially in pro- 
 fessional posting parlance, had long since 
 reached a very discreet age, — Jonas Wyvill 
 had pocketed his retaining fee, perfectly 
 comprehended his instructions, got into the 
 saddle at six punctually, precisely as the 
 cathedral clock — that same bell to which 
 Margaret had listened so nervously — struck 
 the quarters, and quietly proceeded towards 
 the place of rendezvous. 
 
 Frederick, fond and faithful, was standing 
 on the other side of the little door at the 
 moment that his beloved was tripping across 
 the garden towards it. In another minute 
 they would have been in each other's arms, 
 and in the next dashing along the road on 
 their way to Scotland. 
 
 What could have interrupted so suddenly 
 the course of true love which had run smoothly 
 so very nearly to the point of pouring itself 
 into the ocean of connubial felicity? 
 
 Frederick was on the outside of the garden- 
 door, with his ear close to the panel of it. 
 It wanted just one minute to six ; when, in- 
 stead of the light step which he was straining 
 his ear to catch the sound of on the other side 
 of the wall, and which in another minute he 
 would have heard, he became aware of a foot- 
 fall of a very different character close to him 
 in the lane. And the next instant he dis- 
 tinguished in the rapidly increasing darkness 
 old Gregory Greatorex, his father's long- 
 tried, trusty, and confidential clerk. 
 
 Old Greg Greatorex was one of those men 
 who look like over-grown and ill-grown boys 
 all the days of their lives. Old Greg was 
 nearly sixty years old, and as gray as a 
 badger. But still his gaunt, shambling figure 
 had the peculiar eflfect above mentioned. 
 Perhaps it was mainly occasioned by the fact 
 that his body was very short in proportion to 
 his long, flute likelegs. They seemed — those 
 straggling, ill-shapen, knock-kneed, long 
 legs — to be attached to his body rather after 
 the fashion in which those of Punch's dramatis 
 persona are arranged than according to the 
 more usual method of nature's handiwork. 
 
 Then he had no beard, or any other visible or 
 traceable hair on his broad white face. Old 
 Greg had lived, man and boy, with Mr. Fal 
 coner as long and rather longer than he 
 could remember anything. And it would 
 have been difficult to imagine any command 
 of the banker which Gregory would not have 
 faithfully excuted, not exactly from affection 
 for his master, — Greg Greatorex was not of a 
 remarkably affectionate nature, — but simply 
 because it seemed to his intelligence, part of 
 the natural, necessary, and inevitable nature 
 of things that it should be so. 
 
 " Come, come away, sir, quick ! this in- 
 stant ! Thfink the Lord, I'm in time!" 
 panted the old man into Frederick's ear. 
 
 " Good God ! Gregory, what do you mean? 
 What are you come here for? Why, man, 
 the governor's up to it," he whispered into 
 the old clerk's ear. 
 
 " I know ! J know, sir. The governor 
 has sent me here now. It is a good job I am 
 in time. The old gentleman would have run 
 here himself, only he knew I could come fast- 
 est. I never saw him in such a way." 
 
 " What's up now, then? What is it, in 
 Heaven's name, Gregory? " 
 
 "You must ask your father that, sir. 
 There was no time to tell anything ;— it was 
 just touch and go ! But all the fat is in the 
 fire some way or another ; and if this run- 
 away job had a' come off, you would have 
 been a ruined man, Mr. Frederick. I heard 
 your father say so much." 
 
 " Good heavens ! What am I to do ? " 
 whispered Frederick. 
 
 " Come away, sir, from here. Come to 
 your father and hear all about it. Anyway, 
 you may be quite sure there is to be no elope- 
 ment to-night." 
 
 "And Margaret ?— the lady, Gregory? 
 What in the world am I to do about the 
 lady ? She will be here in a minute, if she 
 is not at this moment waiting on the other 
 side of this door." 
 
 " Leave her to wait, sir ; she will soon 
 find out that something has put the job off." 
 
 " She will never forgive me," sighed Fred- 
 erick. 
 
 "It don't much signify whether she does 
 or not, so far as I can understand," chuckled 
 the old clerk. " But you can come and hear 
 what your father has to tell you about it, 
 and thank your stars that this business was 
 put a stop to in time." 
 
204 
 
 " But the chaise will be here in a minute, 
 Gregorj'. There ! it is striking six now ! 
 The chaise was to come out from the Lindis- 
 farn Arms as it struck six." 
 
 " I'll go and meet it, sir, and turn it back., 
 while you go to your father. It would come 
 up the back lane to the Castle Head, I sup- 
 pose?" 
 
 " Yes, you will meet it in the lane. It is 
 old Jonas Wyvill ; you must tell him that it 
 is put off for to-night." 
 
 " Or rather that it ia not ' off ' ; " said 
 Greatorex, who had recovered breath enough 
 for superfluous words by this time, and for a 
 chuckle at his own wit. 
 
 They had withdrawn from the immediate 
 vicinity of the door in the wall as the clock 
 struck, but still spoke in whispers. Had 
 Margaret opened the door a moment sooner 
 than she did, she would have seen the two 
 men, within a few paces of her. But they 
 separated at the mouth of the Httle lane 
 some fifty yards from the doctor's garden- 
 door, as the last words were spoken, — the 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 old clerk to meet and turn back Jonas Wyvill 
 and the chaise ; Frederick to hasten to his 
 father's house in the Close, to learn the ex- 
 planation of this most unexpected and 
 unpleasant termination of the enterprise 
 which had seemed on the eve of successful 
 execution. 
 
 He did for one instant think of seeing his 
 Margaret, and telling her, aa best he might, 
 that some contretemps had frustrated their 
 plan for to-night, instead of thus brutally 
 leaving her to the agonies of suspense, and 
 slowly-growing conviction that it was a hope- 
 less disappointment. But Frederick was not 
 a very brave man, and he stood in no little 
 fear of his gentle Marguerite. It would not, 
 it may be admitted, have been a pleasant in- 
 terview ; and perhaps braver men than Fred- 
 erick Falconer might have hesitated about 
 facing the lady in the moment of her legiti 
 mate wrath. But it certainly was a cur's 
 trick to sneak off and leave her as he did. 
 But que voukz-vous7 Figs loont grow on 
 thistles. 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 I High Street was eligible. 
 
 205 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVII. ( iligli Street was eligible. Of course the 
 
 OF sLOwco.M£ AND sLiQO, BUT MOBE ESPECIALLY master's SOD was duly sent up to Oxford to 
 OF sLOwooME. be endowed with this not severely contested 
 
 The business premises of Messieurs Slow- fellowship, and, unless when the time came 
 come and Sligo occupied the ground-floor of ' for appointing a new master to Silvcrton 
 one of the best houses in the best part of the school he was already better provided for, the 
 High Street of Silverton. It was, and was fellow so elected was usually sent back a"-ain 
 
 well known by everybody who knew anythinj 
 in Silvcrton to be, one of the best, most roomy, 
 and most substantial houses in the old city ; 
 
 to his native city in the character of master 
 of the school. 
 
 There was also a "High Bursar " of the 
 
 but it by no means asserted itself as such by its college. I do not suppose that many persons 
 onward appearance. There was a Grammar ' in Silverton, with the exception of the local 
 
 School of very ancient foundation at Silver- 
 ton — so ancient that it looked down on all 
 the crowd of Edward the Fourth and Eliza- 
 
 antiquaries and historians, ever heard of this 
 dignitary. What or whether any functions 
 were discharged by the High Bursar, or 
 
 bcth's foundations as mere mushroom growths, ', whether any profit or other advantage accrued 
 
 -and the venerable and picturesque, but very 
 ingy and somewhat dilapidated-looking, col- 
 
 to that ofScer or to the " Grammar School 
 and Chantry of St. Walportde Weston prope 
 
 legiate buildings, stood in the High Street, Silverton," — as, despite all changes of man- 
 withdrawing themselves with shy pride, as ners and creeds, the old foundation still de- 
 
 such old buildings often will, from the front- 
 age line of the rest of the street, and shrink- 
 ing backwards from the modern light, and 
 the noise, and the traffic, some fifteen or 
 eighteen feet to the rear, so as to leave a va- 
 cant space of that extent between the footpath 
 
 lighted to style itself, whenever its feeble se- 
 nile voice could find force to make itself 
 heard at all, — I am not aware. Nor do I at 
 all know how, why, or by what authority, the 
 High Bursar became such. But I do know 
 what few Silvertonians, I take it, did, — that 
 
 of the modern street and the dark old Gothic Silas Slowcome, Esq., was the High Bursar ; 
 frontage, the work of one of those centuries, ; and I have been told that the memory of man 
 
 which, inarticulate as they were in compari- 
 son to our own many-voiced times, yet con- 
 
 in Silverton ran not to the contrary of the fact 
 of a Slowcome occupying the same position. 
 
 trived, somehow or other, to make the ser- Nor do I know whether it was by virtue of 
 mons that their stones preached very unmis- ! the office so held that the reigning Slowcome 
 
 takable and eloquent 
 
 always dwelt in the substantial but dim-look- 
 
 The old Grammar School had reason to be ' ing old house I have been speaking of above, 
 shy and retiring ; for the fact was it had which was next to the school, standino- back 
 
 seen much better days. It had been richly 
 endowed and wealthy in its time, with advow- 
 sons, and rent charges, and great tithes, and 
 small tithes, and bits of fat land here and 
 there all over the country. But things had 
 gone very hard with the old college at the 
 time of the Reformation, 
 wholly and solely a school 
 a choral establishment had been comprised 
 the intentions of the founder, — palpably su 
 
 from the street like it, and which, as the lo- 
 cal guide-books tell you, formerly constituted 
 a part of the old foundation. I fancy, that 
 it was, and is, the property of the school still, 
 and probably about the only property remain- 
 ing to it ; and that the rent — not an exces- 
 It had not been sive one probably — paid by the Messrs. Slow- 
 A chantry with come, with some addition, perhaps, from 
 Silvcrton College, forms the main portion of 
 the master's money endowment. The whole 
 
 perstitious uses, and flagrant in proportion to practice and theory of this High Bursarship 
 the amount of the wealth devoted to them, — is, however, an obscure subject. I know that 
 and the old college had been very mercilessly , old Slowcome always went accompanied by s 
 pruned by those to whom all such things clerk carrying an ancient-looking box, let- 
 were an abomination. There was still one tered " Grammar School and Chantry of St. 
 endowed mastership, a piece of preferment in I Walport de Weston prope Silverton," into 
 the gift of the Principal and Fellows of Sil- ' the old schoolroom on the morning of St. 
 verton College, Oxford ; and there was one Walport's day, that he remained there with 
 fellowship in the same college, to which no I the master for perhaps three minutes ; and 
 one save a scholar of the old school in the ' that the master always dined with the High 
 
206 
 
 Bursar on the evening of that day. I know, 
 too, that old Slowcome, who had a son a gen- 
 tleman commoner, at Silverton College, used 
 to go up to Oxford now and then, and always 
 dined at the high table in Hall when he did 
 so. But this, beyond the fact of his inhabit- 
 ing the old house by the side of the school 
 buildings, is absolutely all I could ever learn 
 about the connection between the High Bur- 
 sar and the Walport's. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that the house as 
 it at present exists is, though evideiltly older 
 than its neighbors, by any means of the same 
 date as the picturesque Gothic building by its 
 side. No doubt it was entirely changed and 
 modernized, when it was diverted from its 
 original uses to that of a family dwelling- 
 house. And the building as it now is dates 
 probably from the beginning of the eighteenth 
 or the close of the seventeenth century. It 
 is very dingy-looking, especially on the 
 ground-floor ; on the upper floors, Mrs. Sligo, 
 who, much to her discontent, is compelled to 
 live there, takes care that all that paint and 
 washing can do to brighten it up shall not be 
 neglected. The windows and door-posts, 
 however, of the ground-floor in the front of 
 the house are yellow with the effect of time. 
 The great black hall-door in the centre, be- 
 tween its heavy stone columns, stands open — 
 like gate of black Dis — at least during busi- 
 ness hours, and admits all who choose to en- 
 ter into a large hall, closed on the opposite 
 side by a modern glazed door, on which is a 
 brass plate, bearing the names of Slowcome 
 and Sligo. One large room to the right of 
 this entrance is, or at least forty years ago 
 was, occupied entirely by a vast quantity of 
 boxes, some of wood and some of metal, with 
 the names of most of the Sillshire aristocracy 
 painted on them. There were heavy bars be- 
 fore the windows of this prison-like room, 
 and otlier internal precautions both against 
 fire and thieves. Another equally large room 
 on the other side of the entrance was fitted 
 up as a clerk's office, and was tenanted by 
 the younger members of the legal family. 
 The principals of the firm, and the managing 
 clerk, Mr. Benjamin Wyvill, — (it is curious 
 how, in small old-fashioned country towns, 
 not much exposed to changes by emigration 
 or immigration, the same names occur again 
 and again in various strata of the body social) 
 — the principals and Mr. Wyvill, I say, had 
 their rooms at the much pleasanter and 
 brighter-looking back of the house. 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 The upper part of the building was inhab- 
 ited, as has been mentioned, by the Sligos ; 
 and was in truth a very much better resi- 
 dence than ]Mrs. Sligo could have hoped to 
 enjoy elsewhere. Nevertheless, that lady, 
 who was not of Sillshire birth, but who held 
 rather a remarkable position in the Silverton 
 world, and who was indeed herself a remark- 
 able woman, — though I fear I may hardly 
 have an opportunity of making the reader 
 acquainted with her in the course of this 
 history. — Mrs. Sligo, I say, was much discon- 
 tented with the arrangement. The senior 
 partner resided with his wife and family in 
 an extremely pretty little villa residence just 
 outside the town on the top of the high 
 ground behind the cathedral, looking toward 
 the Lindisfarn woods. The firm had been 
 Slowcome and Sligo for more than two gen- 
 erations, the senior partner always main- 
 taining his position in it. The present Mr. 
 Slowcome was an old man, and the present 
 Mr. Sligo a young one, who had inherited 
 his late father's share of the business. 
 
 On that same day on which Frederick and 
 Margaret were to have emancipated them- 
 selves, in the manner that has been described, 
 from bondage to Mr. Slowcome's parchments 
 and papers, that gentleman was sitting as 
 usual at his work in his warm and comforta- 
 ble room at the back of the old house in the 
 High Street. There be sat at his library 
 table, thickly strewn with papers, very leis- 
 urely writing a letter. Whatever old Slow- 
 come did, he did it leisurely. Whenever 
 any old acquaintance came into his room, 
 he would speak of the tremendous press of 
 business, which made it impossible ever to 
 get away from the office. And, in truth, he 
 never did get away from the office, save on 
 Sundays. There was no vacation-time for 
 him. He lived always in his office from ten 
 o'clock in the morning till five in the even- 
 ing, and often till a much later hour. For 
 if anything chanced to detain him, his prin- 
 ciples as to the duty of punctuality at his 
 own dinner-table proved to be of the loosest 
 description, as Mrs. Slowcome was wont 
 bitterly to complain. x\nd yet when thus 
 enlarging to any chance comer upon the 
 grievous burden of his work, and the in- 
 sufficiency of the hours of the day for the 
 doing of it, he would spend half an hour 
 in chatting over the subject. He never 
 seemed to be in a hurry, and though al- 
 ways behindhand, always kept plodding on 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 207 
 
 with a Blow, steady sort of tortoise-like per- 
 tinacity, Avhicli, it must be supposed, did 
 contrive to transact the business to be done 
 somehow or other. For Slowcome and Sligo 
 had the business of almost all the gentry of 
 Sillfiliire in their hands, and the business did 
 not come to grief, and none of their custom- 
 ers ever dreamed of leaving the old firm. 
 
 On the contrary, old Slowcome was one of 
 the most highly respected men in Sillshire. 
 
 Nor was it at all true that Slowcome was 
 a beast, as Fre'derick had protested to Mar- 
 garet, in his indignation, — not at all. Old 
 Slowcome was nearly seventy years old, and 
 he was and had been all his life an attornej'- 
 at-law. It is true that he had a bald round 
 head, with a pigtail, rather aggressive in its 
 expression, sticking horizontally out behind 
 it, and a comfortable little round protuber- 
 ance in front of him, from the apex of which 
 dangled a somewhat exuberant gold watch- 
 chain with three or four extra sized seals ap- 
 pended to it, which swayed and swagged in 
 a manner that perhaps rather too ostenta' 
 tiously spoke of their owner being able to 
 pay his way, and being beholden to no 
 man ; true also that the extraordinarily am- 
 ple frills of his shirt-fronts, always exqui- 
 sitely plaited, perked themselves up rather 
 aggravatingly ; that his white waistcoat, 
 black coat, ditto shorts, with their gold 
 buckles at the knees, black silk stockings, 
 irreproachably drawn over somewhat thick 
 and short legs, and admirably blacked square- 
 toed shoes, all carried with them a certain 
 air of self-assertion ; true, moreover, that 
 nobody ever suspected any past or present 
 member of the firm of Slowcome and Sligo 
 of wearing their hearts upon their sleeves ; 
 and undeniably true that if you asked Mr. 
 Slowcome any question the answer to which 
 you were waiting for with breathless sus- 
 pense, he would always take a huge pinch 
 of snuff, in the most leisurely manner, be- 
 fore answering you. Still, all these things 
 do not make a man utterly a beast. 
 
 It may be admitted, perhaps, that old Slow- 
 come, as observed in his little round, low- 
 backed Windsor chair, in his office, was not 
 apt to strike a student of mankind, visiting 
 him tliere, as a genial, lovely, or large-heart- 
 ed specimen of the genus homo ; that the spe- 
 cific differentiation was more obtrusively prom- 
 inent than the generic characteristics, and 
 the man was, in some desree, merged in the 
 
 attorney. Yet in that pretty little suburban 
 villa, up near the Castle Head, where the 
 whole place, from the overarched entrance 
 gateway, all round the shrubberies, enclos- 
 ing the exquisitely shaven lawn, to the porch 
 of the elegant little dwelling, seemed to be 
 one bower of roses, wherein a Mother Slow- 
 come and three blossoming daughters wore 
 nested ; there it may be that old Slowcome 
 was recognized as human, and that the man 
 reasserted, for a few all too fleeting hours, 
 his ascendency over the attorney. It is pos- 
 sible to imagine, even, that the time may 
 have been when he himself was impatient for 
 the approaching day of his union with her 
 who has been the presiding genius of Arcady 
 Lodge for now more than forty years, — pos- 
 sible that he, also, may in his green and in- 
 experienced youth, have cursed the law's de- 
 lay, and the tardiness of the drawers of draft 
 settlements. There must have been mem- 
 ories. Daughters must exercise a humaniz- 
 ing influence even on an attorney-at-law ! 
 He can talk to his sons of capiases, and such- 
 like ; but he must come out from among these 
 to hold converse with his daughters. Even 
 if rating them for permitting a garrison cap- 
 tain to dangle after them in their progress 
 up the High Street, from the circulating li- 
 brary and fine art emporium of Mr. Glossable 
 to the workshop of little Miss Piper over the 
 perfumer's, he does not, I suppose, ask them 
 quo warranto they so offended. No! there 
 must have been humanizing influences at Ar- 
 cady Lodge. The mischief was that old 
 Slowcome was there for so small a portion of 
 his existence. And ]Mrs. Slowcome com- 
 plained that he got worse and worse, in the 
 matter of coming home too late for dinner. 
 He seemed, literally, to have lost all per- 
 ception of the lapse of time, and would go on 
 prosing and boring, as if the minutes were 
 not growing into hours the while. 
 
 The dinner-hour at Arcady Lodge was half- 
 past five; and Mr. Slowcome ought to have 
 left his office at four. The great outer door 
 was shut at that time ; and the junior clerk 
 was punctual enough in performing that duty. 
 But that did not get old Slow, as the young 
 men in the office called him, out of his room. 
 And people knew very well that he was, in 
 all probability, to be found there long after 
 office-hours ; and would come and knock at 
 the .door, to the infinite disgust of the smart 
 young gent who had to open it, and who, af- 
 
208 
 
 ter having once replied, "After oiEce hours," 
 as shortly and sharply as the appearance of 
 the applicant made it safe for him to do, 
 dared not answer in the nej^ative to the reit- 
 erated demand, " Is Mr. Slowcome now in 
 the house?" 
 
 It was just about the hour for shutting, 
 on the day on which Frederick, as the read- 
 er knows, did not run off with ^Margaret 
 Lindisfarn, that a person called at the office 
 of Messrs. Slowcome and Sligo in the High 
 Street. 
 
 " Mr. Sligo is in his room," said the clerk, 
 knowing very well that no visitor, be his er- 
 rand what it might, would keep that gentle- 
 man at the office beyond the proper hour for 
 shutting it, whereas he might likely enough 
 detain old Slow, and consequently himself, 
 the young gent in question, — which was of 
 much greater consequence, — for the next three 
 hours. Either of the elder clerks of Messrs. 
 Slowcome and Sligo would probably have 
 known the stranger by sight ; but the young 
 gent, who had only recently been promoted 
 to his stool, had never seen him before, and 
 could not make him out at all. 
 
 He was a remarkably handsome, and yet 
 not a prepossessing, man, even to the not as 
 yet perfectly developed and cultivated cesthe- 
 tic sentiments of young Bob Scott, the clerk 
 in question. He was unusually tall, and 
 slenderly made. But there was a something 
 sinister in the expression of the handsome 
 features, and repulsive in the swagger of self- 
 assertion, which had been generated by an 
 habitual feeling of the need of it, and which 
 produced its effect on Bob Scott, though he 
 could not have explained as much in words. 
 Then, the style of the stranger's dress was 
 objectionable to men and gods. A somewhat 
 loudly smart style of toilet would not have 
 offended the taste of the youthful Bob Scott. 
 A grave propriety would have commanded 
 his respect. Even consistent shabbiness, 
 though it might have added some sharpness 
 to the tone of Bob's reply, would have failed 
 to arouse the sentiment of suspicion and dis- 
 like with wliich he viewed tlie applicant for 
 an interview with the head of the firm. A 
 very threadbare pair of Oxford-mixture trou- 
 Bers, ending in still more dilapidated boots, 
 clothed the lower part of his person, and 
 might with propriety enough, have formed 
 the costume of some member of Bob Scott's 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 own profession, at odds with fortune. But 
 a green cut-away coat, much weather-stained, 
 and a bright blue, exuberant, and very smart 
 neck-handkerchief, seemed quite out of char- 
 acter with any such theory ; and a shallow- 
 crowned, broad-brimmed hat, put on very 
 much over one knowing-looking eye, seemed 
 neither to belong to any of the walks of life 
 to which the trousers and boots might be 
 supposed to belong, nor to the " horsy " sport- 
 ing style of the man's upper habiliments. 
 In short, Bob Scott could make nothing out 
 of him except that he was a very queer cus- 
 tomer. 
 
 " Mr. Sligo is in his room ! " said Bob. 
 
 "I said nothing about Mr. Sligo," re- 
 turned the stranger ; "I asked if Mr. Slow- 
 come was here. If not, I must go up to him 
 at the Castle Head, that's all." 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Slowcome is in. I'll ask him 
 if he chooses to see you," said Bob, sulkily, 
 taking the stranger's measure with a stare 
 that travelled all over him leisurely, without 
 the least attempt to disguise itself. 
 
 " What are you going to ask him ? " said 
 the stranger. 
 
 " Why, if he'll see you, if that's what you 
 want," said Bob. 
 
 " See who, you blockhead ? " 
 
 " Come, I say ! I'll trouble you to speak 
 civilly, whoever you are ! " remonstrated 
 Bob, in very considerable indignation. 
 
 " You don't half know your business, 
 young man. Go and tell old Slow that Mr. 
 Jared Mallory, of Sillmouth, wants to speak 
 to him on business of importance." 
 
 " Mr. Jared Mallory, of Sillmouth ! " re- 
 peated Bob ; " oh, how was 1 to know? " 
 
 So he left Mr. Mallory at the door, and in 
 a minute came back to say that Mr. Slow- 
 come would see him. 
 
 The reader has already made the acquaint- 
 ance of one Mr. Jared Mallory ; but it will be 
 seen at once that the man standing atthe 
 door of Messrs. Slowcome and Sligo's office is 
 not the same individual. It was his son ; 
 Mr. Jared Mallory, junior, attorney-at-law, 
 of Sillmouth, was the son of old J^rcd Mal- 
 lory, the parish clerk at Chewton, and the 
 brother of Bab Mallory, " the moorland wild- 
 flower," whom we last saw clambering up 
 the side of the Saucy Sally, to be received on 
 that vessel's deck by Julian Lindisfarn, on 
 his way back to France. 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 A PAIR OF ATTOKNEYS. 
 
 Mr. Jaked ]\Iallory of Sillmoutli, attor- 
 ncy-at-law, had a practice there of a rather 
 peculiar eort. not quite bo profitable as it 
 ought to have been in proportion to its ex- 
 tent, and in consideration of the not always 
 agreeable nature of the business involved in 
 it. Still it was a kind of business that suited 
 the man. lie was an attorney and so was 
 Slowcomc. But the lives and occupations 
 of no two men could be more different ; and 
 no amount of reward, in cash, Arcady Villas, 
 and respectability, could have induced Jarcd 
 Mallory to sit seven or eight hours in a snug, 
 warm office every day of his life. The nature 
 of the population of Sillmouth, and the cir- 
 cumstance of the elder Mallory's connection 
 with one class of its inhabitants, will suffice 
 to explain as far as needs be the general 
 nature of tha branch of business to which 
 Mr. Mallory, junior, devoted himself. It 
 was not a class of business wTiich was in the 
 ordinary nature of things calculated to make 
 a man nice or scrupulous ; nor was it at all 
 of a nature likely to bring Mr. Mallory into 
 contact with the members of that sleek, pros- 
 perous, and eminently respectable firm, the 
 Messieurs Slowcome and Sligo, of Silverton ; 
 60 that the Sillmouth attorney was very near- 
 ly, though not absolutely a stranger to his 
 compeer of Silverton. 
 
 " Mr. Mallory, of Sillmouth, I believe," 
 said old Slowcome, half rising from his chair 
 for an instant as his visitor entered, and then 
 very deliberately putting his double gold 
 eyeglass on his nose, and as leisui-ely looking 
 him over from head to foot. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Slowcome. We have met be- 
 fore — But you gentlemen in our old-fash- 
 ioned little Sillshire metropolis here hold 
 your Jieads so mighty high — that " — 
 
 " Nevertheless, Mr. Mallory," replied Mr. 
 Slowcome, very deliberately, and almost, we 
 might say, sleepily, and provokingly accept- 
 ing and avowing, as a fact which admitted 
 of no dispute, the Sillmouth attorney's state- 
 ment of the wide social space which separated 
 them from each other, — "ne — ver — the — less. 
 Mis — ter Mai — lo — ry, I shall be very happy 
 to give you my best at — ten — ti— on." 
 
 " Not a doubt about that, Mr. Slowcome ! " 
 returned Mallory, nettled, and eying the re- 
 sp(!ctable man with a glance of malicious tri- 
 umph, — " not a shadow of a doubt or mis- 
 
 14 
 
 209 
 
 take about that, as soon as you shall have 
 heard the nature of my business." 
 
 " And pray what may the nature of that 
 business be — a — Mis — ter Mallory?" said 
 old Slow, with the most imperturbable and 
 aggravating composure, speaking the words 
 with a staccato sort of movement, as if some 
 self-adjusting utterance measurer were tick- 
 ing them off and making them up into six- 
 and-eightpenny worths. " You must excuse 
 me if press of business compels me to observe 
 that my time is very precious," he continued, 
 still speaking in the most leisurely manner, 
 and throwing himself back in his chair, as he 
 crossed one fat, silk-covered calf over its 
 brother's knee, and pushed up his gold eye- 
 glasses on his foi'ehead, as if to peer out 
 under them at his visitor. 
 
 " Oh, yes. Of course, of course. I'm in 
 a deuce of a hurry myself, — always am ; but 
 duty to a client, you know, Mr. Slowcome, 
 and — very important case — delicate matter ; 
 you understand." 
 
 "Ay — ay — ay! Mister Mallory, I dare 
 say you have many cases of a — hum — de — 
 li — cate description ;" and old Slow nodded 
 his chin and his gold eyeglasses and his 
 bald round head up and down with the slow, 
 regular motion of the piston-rod of a steam- 
 engine. 
 
 " Not such as brings me here to-day 
 though. Mis— ter Slow— come," said Mal- 
 lory, winking at that outraged old gentleman. 
 " I do not wish to be abrupt, nor to dis- 
 tress you more than is inevitable, — in — evi- 
 table, I am sorry to say ; but I may mention 
 at once that my business is of a nature calcu- 
 lated to be disagreeable to you." 
 
 " Ay, — ay, — ay," said old Slow, with- 
 out a shadow of variation in his tone or man- 
 ner. " And what may the disagreeable 
 business be, Mr. Mallory ? " he added, nurs- 
 ing his leg with infinite complacency ? 
 
 " I believe your firm are solicitors to the 
 Lindisfi\rns, Mr. Siowcome? " 
 
 " Any business matters touching ^Ir. Lin- 
 disfixrn, of Lindisfarn Chase, may with pro- 
 priety be communicated to me, I\Ir. Mallory, 
 and shall receive my best attention." 
 
 " If I am not misinformed, I may con- 
 sider you as the legal friend of Dr. Lindisfarn, 
 of the Close, also? " 
 
 " You may consider me as perfectly ready 
 to hear anything which it may be useful foi 
 my good friend, Dr. Lindisfarn, that I should 
 
210 
 
 hear," said the old man, with an appearance 
 of perfect nonchalance, though in fact he was 
 observing his visitor's face all the time with 
 the keenest scrutiny. 
 
 " The Lindisfarn estates — magnificent 
 property it is, Mr. Slowcome — were en- 
 tailed, I believe, by the late Oliver Lindis- 
 farn, Esq., the father of the present pos 
 sessor, on the issue male of his eldest son 
 Oliver, and failing such issue, on the issue 
 male of his younger son, Theophilus ; failing 
 such issue also, the daughters of the elder 
 son become seised in tail. I believe I a; 
 correct in stating such to have been the di 
 position? " said Mr. Mallory, pausing for a 
 reply. 
 
 " Very possibly it may have been. I can- 
 not pretend to carry all the dispositions rul- 
 ing the descent of half the estates in Sill- 
 shire in my head, Mr. Mallory. It would 
 be too much to expect, you know, — really 
 altogether too much. And it would be very 
 easy to look into the matter, — if anybody 
 authorized or justified in making the inquiry 
 were to ask for information." 
 
 " Quite so, Mr. Slowcome, quite so. I ad- 
 mire caution myself, Mr. Slowcome. There 
 is nothing like it ! " 
 
 "Well, sir?" 
 
 " Well, sir, Mr. Oliver Lindisfarn has 
 no sons, lie has two daughters. Dr. The- 
 ophilus Lindisfarn had a son, Julian, who, 
 under his grandfather's will, be came heir in 
 tail to the estates. I believe that even you, 
 Mr. Slowcome, will have no difficulty in ad- 
 mitting the facts so far? " 
 
 "Well, sir?" 
 
 " Julian Lindisfarn, the son of Dr. Lindis- 
 farn, of the Close, some ten years or so ago, 
 left Silverton, under circumstances which it 
 is not now necessary to speak of more par- 
 ticularly, and was understood to have after- 
 ward died in America." 
 
 "Well, sir?" 
 
 " The facts as I have stated them are of 
 public notoriety. The heir in tail died ; the 
 daughters of the elder brother became heir- 
 esses to the estates. Nothing clearer or 
 more simple ! But what should you say, 
 Mr. Slowcome, if I were to tell you that Ju- 
 lian Lindisfarn did not die In America? " 
 
 " I am surprised, Mr. Mallory, that a gen- 
 tleman of your experience should put such a 
 question to me ! " said old Slow, leaning his 
 bead on one side, and smiling pleasantly and 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 tranquilly at his visitor, " Surely, it must 
 occur to you," he continued, speaking very 
 leisurely, " that I should say nothing at all, 
 not being called upon to do so, — not being 
 called on, you see, JMr. Mallory." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Slowcome, sa?/ nothing at all. 
 I don't want you to say anything. I give you 
 the information, free, gratis, for nothing. I 
 tell you that Julian Lindisfarn did not die 
 in America. He was supposed to have been 
 killed by the Indians. He was nearly killed, 
 — but not quite." 
 
 Mr. Slowcome bowed in return for this 
 free, gratis communication, but said noth- 
 ing. 
 
 " Do you feel called upon, Mr. Slowcome, 
 may I ask, to pay any attention to the state- 
 ment I have made ? " 
 
 " Well, really, Mr. Mallory, I cannot say 
 that I do ; to speak quite frankly, I do not 
 see that I am called on to pay any attention 
 to it." 
 
 It was by th*s time much too late for Mr. 
 Slowcome, by any possibility, to reach Ar- 
 cady Lodge, where Mrs. and the three Misses 
 Slowcome were discontentedly coming to the 
 conclusion that they must sit down to table 
 without papa again, in time for his dinner. 
 But he did not on that account show the 
 slightest symptomiof impatience, or even ac- 
 celerate his own part'Of the interview, either 
 in matter or manner, one jot. 
 
 " And yet," pursued Mallory, " the fact 
 would be a somewhat important one to your 
 clients at the Chase, and not less so to those 
 in the Close." 
 
 " That is perfectly true, Mr. Mallory ; 
 the facts you speak of would undoubtedly 
 have important consequences, if authenticated 
 — if authenticated, you know, Mr. Mallory." 
 
 " Oh, there will be no difficulty about 
 that ! — authentication enough, and to spare. 
 Julian Lindisfarn was alive at Sillmouth, a 
 few days ago. ' ' 
 
 " If Julian Lindisfarn be really, as you 
 state, alive, in spite of the very great im- 
 probability that he should have, dui-ing all 
 this time, allowed his family to suppose him 
 dead, and if he can prove his identity to the 
 satisfaction of a jury, the young ladies at 
 the Chase would consequently not be the 
 heirs to the property." 
 
 " And what if I were further to tell you, 
 Mr. Slowcome, that although Julian Lindis- 
 farn was alive, and at Sillmouth, — and I am in 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 a position to prove these facts beyond the 
 possibility of doubt or cavil, — what, I say 
 if I were further to tell you, that he is now 
 dead?" 
 
 " The latter statement would, I should 
 imagine, so far diminish the importance of 
 the former as to make it hardly worth while 
 inquii'ing whether it could be authenticated 
 or not. The young ladies at Lindisfarn 
 would be heiresses to the property, as they 
 have always been supposed to be ; and it 
 would apparently matter very little, at what 
 precise date they became such," said Slow- 
 come, a little thrown off his guard by the 
 prospect, unexpectedly thus hung out to him 
 for a moment, that, after all, there was no 
 coming trouble to be feared. 
 
 " Now you must forgive me, Slowcome, if 
 I say that I am astonished that you, of all 
 men in the world, should jump at a conclu- 
 sion in that way ! If it had been the young 
 gent who opened the door of your office to 
 me just now — but, really, for' a gentleman 
 of your experience " — 
 
 " ]\Iay I ask what is the conclusion I have 
 jumped at, Mister Mallory? " said old Slow, 
 as pla'cidly as ever, but with a very marked 
 emphasis on the " Mister," intended to re- 
 buke the Sillmouth attorney for venturing to 
 address him as " Slowcome." 
 
 Mr. !Mallory perceived and perfectly well 
 understood the hint. " Very good," thought 
 he to himself; " it is all very well Mr. Slow- 
 come ; but we'll come a little nearer to a 
 level, perhaps, before I have done." 
 
 " Why, you have jumped at this conclu- 
 Bion, Mr. Slowcome," said he, in reply to the 
 old gentleman's last words, — " that if Julian 
 Lindisfarn died a short time since, it puts 
 matters into the same position as if he had 
 died years ago. Suppose he has left heirs ? 
 How about that, Mr. Slowcome? " 
 
 " It is true that for the moment I had lost 
 eight of that contingency. But really, Mr. 
 Mallory, this mere gossip, though exceed- 
 ingly agreeable, I am sure, as gossip, is so 
 unimportant in any more serious point of 
 view that one may well be excused for not 
 bringing one's legal wits to bear upon it. 
 No doubt, again, if Julian Lindisfarn has 
 left an heir male, legitimate and capable of 
 being undisputably authenticated as such, 
 that heir would inherit the Lindisfarn prop- 
 erty." 
 
 " The fact is, Mr. Slowcome, though I 
 
 211 
 
 could not refrain from being down upon 
 you for making such an oversight, it would 
 have come to the same thing whether Julian 
 Lindisfarn had died in America years a^-o, or 
 when he did. lie has left a son born before 
 he left this country for America." 
 
 " A son born in wedlock, Mr. Mallory? " 
 
 " Of course. I should not be here to p;"ve 
 you and myself trouble by talking of an ille- 
 gitimate child." 
 
 " Am I to understand, then, that you 
 come to me, Mr. Mallory, as the legal rep- 
 resentative of the child in question, and 
 that you are prepared to put forward a 
 claim to the Lindisfarn property on his be- 
 half? " 
 
 " You could not have stated the case more 
 accurately, Mr. Slowcome, if you had tried 
 for an hour ! That is exactly it. I come to 
 make, and in due course to establish, the 
 claim of Julian Lindisfarn, an infant, son 
 of Julian Lindisfarn, formerly of the Close 
 in Silverton, and of Barbara Mallory, his 
 lawful wife, to be declared heir-at-law to the 
 lands and hereditaments of Lindisfarn." 
 
 " Son of Julian Lindisfarn and of Bar- 
 bara Mallory, you say, Mr. Mallory. Any 
 relative, may I ask? " said Slowcome, in the 
 most indifferent manner in the world, but 
 shooting a sharp glance at the provincial 
 lawyer from under his eyebrows as he spoke. 
 
 " Yes ; Barbara Lindisfarn, formerly Bar- 
 bara Mallory, the widow of the late, and 
 mother of the present, heir to the property, 
 is my sister. But as that fact is wholly un- 
 essential to the matter in hand I did not 
 think it necessary to trouble you with it." 
 
 " Nay, it is one of the many facts that 
 may perhaps— ma?/, you know— be felt to 
 have a bearing in the case, when it goes 
 before a jury. Miss Mallory, your sister, 
 was a native of Chewton in the Moor, if I 
 mistake not? " 
 
 " Yes, she was, though I do not see what 
 that has to do with the matter in hand any 
 more than her being my sister has." 
 
 " Not at all, not at all ! Only it seems to 
 me as if I could remember having heard 
 something years ago about that unfortunate 
 young man in connection with Chewton in 
 the Moor. Yes, surely, surely, it was at 
 Chewton in the Moor ! " 
 
 " It was at Chewton in the Moor that 
 Julian Lindisfarn met with Barbara Mal- 
 lory, if you mean that,— at Cliewton in the 
 
212 
 
 Moor that he was married to her, and at 
 Chewton in the Moor that his son was 
 born." 
 
 " Ay, ay, ay, ay ! Born subsequently to 
 the marriage, of course?" said old Slow, 
 with a very shrewd look out of the corner 
 of his eye at the other. 
 
 " Subsequently to the marriage ! Of 
 course. Why, what the devil do you 
 mean to insinuate, Mr. Slowcome? " 
 
 " I insinuate ! Oh, dear, me, I never in- 
 sinuated anything in my life ! When I 
 don't make a statement, I ask a question. 
 I only mean to ask a question for informa- 
 tion's sake, you know." 
 
 " All right, Mr. Slowcome ; and I am 
 happy to be able to give you the informa- 
 tion you wish. Yes, the child, Julian Lin- 
 disfarn, was born in due time and season, so 
 as to entitle him as fully to the name as he is 
 entitled to the estates of Lindisfarn." 
 
 " And now Julian Lindisfarn, the father, 
 is truly and certainly dead, at last, you say, 
 Mr. Mallory." 
 
 " Yes ; he died on the night of the twen- 
 tieth of this month, at sea ; and his death 
 can be proved by several eye-witnesses of 
 it." 
 
 " Have you any objection to say under 
 what circumstances it took place? " 
 
 " None in the world, my dear sir, not the 
 least in the world, if the press of business, 
 and the value of your precious time, which 
 you were speaking of just now, will allow 
 you leisure to listen to such matters." 
 
 " Well, I can mostly find time for doing 
 what has to be done, Mr. Mallory. I am 
 naturally interested, you know, in the fate 
 of that poor young man, whom I can remem- 
 ber as handsome a lad as I ever saw. His 
 father is an old and valued friend of mine. 
 And then, you know we are not engaged in 
 business, — mere gossip, — mere idle chat, you 
 know. Of course, when we come to talk of 
 these things in earnest, we must look into 
 documents,— do — cu — ments, ]Mr. INIallory , — 
 which alone are of any avail in such matters. 
 x\nd how did the poor young man come to 
 his death? On the twentieth — dear me! 
 Only the other day." 
 
 " Only the other day, Mr. Slowcome. Ay ! 
 we are here to-day, and gone to-morrow, as 
 the saying is. And that was specially his 
 case, poor fellow, as one may say, for he 
 was, as I told you, at Sillmouth, and, it seems. 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 had been ill, or wounded in some fray, or 
 something of the kind, and so had been pre- 
 vented from returning to France, whence, as 
 I am given to understand, he had come. I 
 have not troubled myself to obtain any accu- 
 rate information upon all these points, see- 
 ing that they do not in any way bear on the 
 important facts of the matter. What is cer- 
 tain is that the unfortunate young man en- 
 gaged a passage for himself, his wife, and 
 child, by a vessel called the Saucy Sally, of 
 which one Hiram Pendleton was master and 
 owner ; that he sailed in her on the evening 
 of the twentieth, in company with Mrs. Lin- 
 disfarn and their child ; and that when off 
 the coast of France on that night, — or rather 
 on the following morning — it being very dark 
 and foggy at the time, the Saucy Sally was 
 run down by a larger vessel, the Deux Maries 
 of Dunkirk, in which accident the passenger 
 Julian Lindisfarn, as well as two others of 
 the crew, perished. The body of one of the 
 two sailors and that of Mr. Lindisfarn were 
 recovered, and identified ; of which due cer- 
 tificates and vouchers can be furnished by 
 the French authorities ; so that there is no 
 doubt of his being dead this time, beyond the 
 possibility of a mistake." 
 
 " And the lady who was with him, and 
 the child? " asked Mr. Slowcome, who had 
 listened to the above statement with more 
 evident attention and interest than he had 
 previously condescended to bestow upon Mr. 
 Mallory 's communications. 
 
 "The mother and the child were both 
 saved by the exertions of Hiram Pendleton, 
 the owner and skipper of the unlucky craft. 
 He succeeded in placing both of them on the 
 deck of the French vessel, and subsequently 
 in saving himself in the same manner ; though 
 it seems by all accounts to have been touch 
 and go with him." 
 
 " Hiram Pendleton ; ay, ay, ay, ay ! So 
 it was Hiram Pendleton who saved the moth 
 er and child? " said old Slow musingly. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ; and at great risk of his 
 own life too, so it would seem." 
 
 " And lost his vessel ; dear, dear, dear ! " 
 rejoined Slowcome, still musing. 
 
 " Yes, saved his passengers, and lost his 
 ship. I suppose the loss will make Hiram 
 Pendleton something like a ruined man." 
 
 "I have heard, I think, that he and the 
 king's revenue officers were sometimes apt to 
 differ in their views of things in general." 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 " Maybe so, Mr. Slowcome. I don't, know 
 much of him, and nothing of his aflairs." 
 
 " No, no, of course not. It is not likely 
 you should. IIow should you, Mr. Mallory? 
 But now, as to this extraordinary and really 
 very interesting story, which you have been 
 telling me, perhaps it would suit you to men- 
 tion when the do — cu — ments will be forth- 
 coming. Of course without seeing the do — 
 cu — ments I should not be justified in giving 
 the matter any serious attention at all." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Slowcome, as far as satisfying 
 you that you would not be justified in omit- 
 ting to give the matter your most serious and 
 immediate attention, and to lay the circum- 
 stances at once before your clients, — as far as 
 that goes, I think I may be able to do that 
 before we bring this sitting to a conclusion. 
 Allow me to call your attention, sir, to these 
 two documents, copies, you will observe ; I 
 do not carry the originals about in my poc- 
 ket, as you will easily understand ; but they 
 can and will be produced in due time and 
 place ; " and the Sillmouth attorney drew 
 from the breast-pocket of his very unpro- 
 fessional-looking cut-away green coat, a 
 pocket-book, from which he selected from 
 among several other papers, two small strips. 
 "The first," continued be, with glib satis- 
 faction, " is, you will observe, a copy of the 
 marriage certificate of Barbara Mallory with 
 Julian Lindisfarn, Esquire, duly extracted 
 from the register of Chewton Church, by the 
 Rev. Charles Mellish, who performed the 
 ceremony, and attested under his hand." 
 
 " Ay, ay, ay, ay ! I see, yes. The paper 
 seams to be what you state ; and the oth- 
 er?" 
 
 " The other is a copy of certain affidavits 
 duly made and attested, sworn by the med- 
 ical man and nurse, who attended Mrs. Lin- 
 disfarn in her confinement, serving to remove 
 any doubt which might ai'ise respecting the 
 date of the child's birth." 
 
 " Would it not be simpler and more sat- 
 isfactory to produce the baptismal register ? ' ' 
 said Mr. Slowcome, while closely examining 
 the papers submitted to him. 
 
 " Simpler, certainly, it would be," return- 
 ed Mr. Mallory ; " but I do not see that it 
 would be at all more satisfactory. But, the 
 fact is, we have been driven to this mode of 
 proof by the impossibility of finding any reg- 
 ister at Chewton." 
 
 213 
 
 '< Ay, indeed ! impossibility of finding any 
 register at Chewton?" rejoined old Slow, 
 with the same appearance of almost carelee.-! 
 indifi'erence which he had hitherto maintain- 
 ed ; but with the shrewd gleam of awakened 
 interest in his eye, which did not escape the 
 practised observation of his sharp companion. 
 " May I ask if the other document has been 
 confronted with the original record in the 
 register? " 
 
 " No such register can be found at Chew- 
 ton, Mr. Slowcome," returned Mallory. "No 
 doubt the loss of the baptismal register, and 
 that of the marriage register, is the loss of 
 one and the same volume. When old Mel- 
 lish, the late curate, died, about eight years 
 ago, no register could be found. I don't 
 know whether you are at all aware, Mr. Slow- 
 come, what sort of a person Mr. Mellish was 
 — the strangest creature ! — about as much 
 like one of your respectable city clergy here 
 as a tame pigeon in one of your town dove- 
 cots is like a woodpigeon. He had lived all 
 alone there out in the Moor, without wife or 
 child, all his life, till he was as wild as the 
 wildest of the Moorfolk. Things went on in 
 a queer way in his parish. If the Saturday 
 night's carouse went too far into the small 
 hours of the Sunday morning, the inhabitants 
 were not so unreasonable as to expect any 
 morning service, and waited very patiently 
 till the Sunday afternoon ; and then my fa- 
 ther — my father was and still is clerk of 
 Chewton, Mr. Slowcome — my father used to 
 go and see what condition the parson was in, 
 before he rang the bell. Oh, it was a queer 
 place, was Chewton in the Moor, in old Mel- 
 lish's time ! It was thought that he had 
 probably kept the registers at his own resi- 
 dence, and every search was made, but all to 
 no purpose. Births and marriages don't take 
 place in that small population — only a few 
 hundreds, Mr. Slowcome ! — so often as to 
 cause the register to be very constantly need- 
 ed, you know." 
 
 "Ay, ay, ay ! a very remarkable state of 
 things. And your good father was parish 
 clerk during the curacy of this exemplary 
 gentleman, Mr. Mallory? " 
 
 " He was, Jlr. Slowcome ; and has been 
 so, and is so still, under his successor, a very 
 diflferent sort of a man. If matters did not 
 go on worse than they did in old Mellish'a 
 days, it was mainly due to my father, who 
 
214 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 was far more fitted to be the parson, in every 
 respect, than the drunken old curate, though 
 I say it who should not, Mr. Slowcome." 
 
 " Nay, nay ! I do not see any reason why 
 you should not say so, since such was the 
 case. But I suppose that even at Chewton 
 it was the custom for a marriage to be sol- 
 emnized before witnesses, Mr. Mallory ? " 
 
 " Well, I should not wonder if that wao 
 very much as it happened. With a parson 
 who saw double, one witness would easily do 
 for two, you know ; he, he, he ! — but, how- 
 ever, there were two witnesses to my sister's 
 marriage, as you will see by reference to the 
 copy before you. My father took care that 
 it was all right in her case, you may swear." 
 
 " Ay, ay, ay, ay! I see, I see — ' James 
 MartinscombCjOf the Back Lane, Sillmouth,' 
 and ' Benjamin Brandreth, of Chew Haven.' 
 These witnesses, I suppose, will be forthcom- 
 ing at need, Mr. Mallory? " 
 
 " Martinscombe will not, certainly, poor 
 fellow. He was a friend of mine, Mr. Slow- 
 come, and is since dead. Of Brandreth we 
 have not been able to hear anything. He 
 •was a shipowner and master, of Chew Haven ; 
 and, I believe, a friend of my father's. He 
 sailed, it seems, from Chew Haven, some five 
 or six years ago, and has not been heard of 
 since." 
 
 " Dear me ! What, neither he, nor his 
 ship, nor any of his crew ? Are the ship- 
 owners of Chew Haven (I don't know what 
 sort of a place it is) apt to disappear in that 
 way ? " 
 
 •' Chew Haven is a poor little place enough, 
 — just a little bit of a fishing village, at the 
 *nouth of the creek that runs down ofi" the 
 Moor past Chewton. And, I take it, the fact 
 was, that Brandreth was in reduced circum- 
 stances. I don't know that he was on a ves- 
 sel of his own when he left Chew Haven and 
 came back no more. No. It would have been 
 satisfactory to find the witnesses, no doubt. 
 But witnesses wont live forever, no more 
 than other men. And failing the living men, 
 I need not tell you, Mr. Slowcome, that their 
 signature to the register is as good evidence 
 as if they were to rise from the grave to speak 
 it." 
 
 " No doubt, no doubt, Mr. Mallory. But 
 we have not got their signature to the reg- 
 ister, — only the parson's copy of it — and I 
 have seen only the copy of that, you know." 
 
 " The curate's extract from the register, 
 
 duly made, signed, and certified in proper 
 form, will be forthcoming in due time, Mr. 
 Slowcome, and that is undeniable evidence, 
 as you are well aware. Old Mellish's hand- 
 writing was a very peculiar one ; and abun- 
 dant evidence may be got as to that point." 
 
 "Well, Mr. Mallory," said Slowcome, 
 suddenly, after a short pause, during which 
 he had all the appearance of being on the 
 point of dropping off to sleep, but was, in 
 fact, deeply meditating the points of thestate- 
 ment that had been made to him, — "well, 
 Mr. Mallory, of course, I can say nothing to 
 all this. You allege a marriage between the 
 late Julian Lindisfarn, recently deceased, un- 
 der such painful circumstances, and your sis- 
 ter, Miss Barbara Mallory. Of course, every 
 part of the evidence of such a statement must 
 be expected to be subjected to the severest 
 possible scrutiny ; of course, you are as much 
 aware of that as I can be. Of course, we 
 say nothing. You will take such steps as 
 seem good to you ; and, in the mean time, I 
 am much obliged to you for favoring me 
 with this visit. Good-morning, Mr. Mallory." 
 
 " Good-morning, Mr. Slowcome. Of 
 course it would be most agreeable and best 
 for all the parties concerned, if such a fam- 
 ily afiair could be settled quietly and amica- 
 bly, — of course it would. But we are ready 
 for war or peace, whichever your clients may 
 decide." 
 
 " Thank you, Mr. Mallory ; of course, in 
 reply to any such observation, I can say noth- 
 ing,— absolutely nothing, upon the present 
 occasion. Your statement shall receive all 
 consideration, and the family wUl decide on 
 the course to be pursued. Good-morning, 
 Mr. Mallory." 
 
 And so the Sillmouth attorney bowed him- 
 self out, to the infinite relief of !Mr. Bob 
 Scott, who had begun to think that, if 
 Slowcome and Sligo intended to keep their 
 office open day and night, he had better look 
 out for another service. 
 
 CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 MR. FALCONER IS ALARSIED. 
 
 When his visitor was gone, Mr. Slowcome 
 sat still in his Windsor chair, apparently in 
 deep meditation, so long, that the hardly 
 used Bob Scott really began to give it up as a 
 bad job, for that night at least. At last, 
 however, he heard the old gentleman get up 
 from his chair, and proceed to put on his 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 great-coat. So he came out of the dingy, 
 prison-like oifice. in which he was condemn- 
 ed to pass his days, and which he had 
 already made utterly dark, by putting up 
 the shutters, so that he might lose no time 
 in being olT home when at last old Slow 
 should think fit to bring his day's work 
 to an end, and stood by the side of the hall- 
 door, ready to let his master out, and to fol- 
 low him as soon as he had gone half a dozen 
 steps from the door. 
 
 But, just as Mr. Slowcome at last appear- 
 ed at the door of his room, leisurely buttoning 
 up his great-coat, as he came out into the 
 hall, Mr. Bob Scott was startled by another 
 sharp rap at the door close to him. Spring- 
 ing to open it, with the hope of getting rid 
 of the applicant before old Slow could catch 
 sight of liim, he found himself in the wor- 
 shipful presence of Mr. Falconer, the banker. 
 
 Bob Scotfs face fell, and the sharp, angry 
 " After office-hours ! " to be accompanied by 
 a slamming- to of the door in the new-comer's 
 face, died away upon his lips. 
 
 "Is Mr. Slowcome within?" said the 
 banker. 
 
 "Yes, sii', ^e's within," said Bob, with a 
 deep sigh ; " but I think, sir, he has put his 
 great-coat on to go. It's long past office- 
 hours, you know, sir. But we don't count 
 hours here, oh, dear, no, nothing of the 
 kind!" 
 
 " Well, ask Mr. Slowcome if he will allow 
 me to speak to him, for just one minute ; I 
 wont keep him a minute." 
 
 " Just one minute," Bob muttered to him- 
 self, as he turned away to execute the 
 banker's behest, — " just one minute ! As if 
 old Slow could say, ' How do you do?' under 
 five minutes. It takes him that to open his 
 blessed old easy-going mouth." 
 
 " Walk in, please, sir. Mr. Slowcome has 
 got his gTcat-coat on, sir ; but he'll be happy 
 to see you," added the despondent youth, re- 
 turning into the hall. 
 
 " Only one Avord, my dear Slowcome, one 
 word ! Xo, I wont sit down, thank you ; I 
 only just looked in to ask you how we were 
 getting on ? The young folks are growing 
 desperately impatient." 
 
 "Ay, ay, ay! I suppose so, I suppose 
 60. Well, we were all young once. But, 
 Mr. Falconer," and old Slow deliberately 
 
 215 
 
 stepped across the room and closed the door, 
 which the ))ankcr, meaning only to say one 
 hurried word, had not shut behind him, " I 
 am very glad you happened to look in ; for I 
 have just this instant had a very strange visit, 
 which may very possibly — possibly, I say — 
 cause some little delay in bringing this mat- 
 ter to a satisfactory conclusion." 
 
 "Delay!" replied the banker, evidently 
 ill at ease ; " why, there is nothing wrong, I 
 hope, — nothing " — 
 
 " Well ! that we shall see ; I hope not, I 
 sincerely hope not ; but " — 
 
 " For Heaven's sake, my dear sir, what is 
 it ? Pray speak out . " 
 
 " Well, yes, to you. Falconer ; but it is a 
 delicate matter. However, in your position 
 — Lindisfarn settles, you know, half the 
 property on Miss Margaret." 
 
 " Yes, a very proper settlement, surely? " 
 
 "Oh, very, very, — if — he have the power 
 to make it ! " said the old lawyer, dropping 
 his words out, one after the other, like the 
 ominous drop, drop of heavy blood-drops on 
 a pavement. 
 
 "Power to make it — Lindisfarn? And 
 you have just had a strange visit ? What is 
 it ? What difficulty or doubt can there be? " 
 
 " I suppose you know the history of the 
 entail of the property? Male heir of Oliver, 
 eldest son ; — failure of male issue there, male 
 heir of Theophilus, younger son ; failing 
 male issue there, return to female children of 
 eldest brother." 
 
 " Yes, yes, of course ! I know all that ; 
 all the country knows it." 
 
 " Just so, just so. You no doubt know also 
 the circumstances under which Dr. Theophi- 
 lus Lindisfarn, having had a son, became 
 childless ; in consequence of which event, the 
 estates reverted to the daughters of the elder 
 brother?" 
 
 "To be sure I do ; nobody better. I re- 
 member all the circumstances as well as if 
 they had happened yesterday. I have reason 
 to, by George ! Bat the poor fellow died ; and 
 there is an end of that — killed in America by 
 the savages. A great mercy, too, for all 
 parties concerned, between you and me, Mr. 
 Slowcome. Quite a providential arrange- 
 ment ! " 
 
 " Oh ! quite so — if it had been carried out. 
 But what if Providence neglected that means 
 
216 
 
 of making all snug and comfortable. Sup- 
 pose the story of the murder by the Indians 
 was all false ? ' ' 
 
 " What! you don't mean to say" — stam- 
 mered the banker, turning pale. 
 
 " Yes, I do; just so, just that," said old 
 Slow, making a balancing piston-rod of his 
 chin and pigtail ; "at least," he added, 
 " that is what I have been told by a man 
 who left this office not two minutes before 
 you entered it." 
 
 " Good Heavens ! That man alive still I 
 And the result, therefore, is, that the Misses 
 Lindisfarn have no longer any claim to be 
 their father's heirs ? " 
 
 " Precisely so, Mr. Falconer. That is the 
 very lamentable and unfortunate state of the 
 case." 
 
 " But if Julian Lindisfarn were a convicted 
 felon, Mr. Slowcome? " 
 
 " But he was not a convicted felon, Mr. 
 Falconer ; no proceedings were ever taken 
 against him." 
 
 " But it is not too late to do so ! " cried the 
 old banker, eagerly, with an excited gleam in 
 his eye. 
 
 Old Slow shook his head gently, and a 
 quiet smile came over his face, as he an- 
 swered,' — 
 
 " Wont do, Mr. Falconer. There's no 
 hope of disposing of the difficulty in that 
 way." 
 
 "Why? If he comes forward to make 
 any claim" — said the other, eagerly. 
 
 " You might put salt on his tail ; but he 
 has beat us, jNIr. Falconer. He is dead now ; 
 though he did not die in America." 
 
 " But then — if I understand the matter at 
 all, Slowcome, the girls become the heiresses 
 after all." 
 
 " You are in such a hurry. Falconer. One 
 is sure to run one's head into some mistake, 
 when one suffers one's self to be hurried. That 
 is why I never do. If Julian Lindisfarn had 
 died without legitimate issue, it would have 
 been as you state ; but that, as I am told, is 
 not the case. The object of the man who 
 was here just now was to set up a claim on 
 behalf of a son of Julian Lindisfarn." 
 
 "And such a son would inherit to the 
 ousting of Mr. Lindisfarn's daughters? " 
 
 " Unquestionably he would ; there can be 
 no doubt about that at all," said Slowcome, 
 raising his head and looking point-blank into 
 bis companion's face. 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 " And this statement — or rather all these 
 statements, Mr. Slowcome — did they come to 
 you, may I ask, from a trustworthy source, — 
 from such a source as would lead you to put 
 faith in them? " 
 
 " Ah ! there we come to the marrow of 
 the question. The gentleman who was kind 
 enough to communicate these facta to mc is 
 — not a — person — on whose unsupported 
 statement I should be disposed to place im- 
 plicit reliance. But neither is he one who 
 would for a moment sisppose that his state- 
 ment could be of any avail. No, he has got 
 his proofs, — his documents." 
 
 " You think, then" — said Falconer, cursing 
 in his heart old Slow's dilatory and tantaliz- 
 ing mode of dribbling out the contents of his 
 mind. 
 
 " I think, Mr. Falconer, — for to you I have 
 no objection whatsoever to give, not my 
 opinion, mind ; for I cannot be expected to 
 have had either the time or the means to 
 form an opinion upon the case as yet ; but 
 my impressions, my merely ■prima facie im- 
 pressions, — though you will of course under- 
 stand that I said no word to my informant 
 which could lead him to infer that I either 
 believed or disbelieved any portion of his 
 statement, — my impression is that it is true 
 that Julian Lindisfarn did not die years ago 
 in America, but that he did die, as stated, 
 the other day at sea off the neighboring coast 
 of France. I am further disposed to believe 
 that he really did leave a son behind him, 
 who is now to be put forward as the heir-at- 
 law to the property." 
 
 " It is all up, then!" cried the banker, 
 throwing up his hands as he spoke. 
 
 "You are in such a hurry. Falconer! 
 You are making a most prodigious jump to a 
 conclusion, and a wholly unwarrantable one. 
 I believe, as I say, that Julian Lindisfarn left 
 a son. Did he leave a legitimate son? " said 
 the lawyer, dropping the words like minute 
 guns, and aiming a poke with his forefinger 
 at the third button of the banker's waistcoat, 
 as he finished them ; " that is the question. 
 That is the only direction, to speak the plain 
 fiict frankly, as between you and me, in 
 which I see any loophole — any hope." 
 
 " But the child is stated to be legitimate." 
 
 " Stated! of course he is stated to be legiti- 
 mate. What is the use of s^a^cmew^s. Tliey 
 have more than that. The copy of a docu- 
 ment professing to be an extract from the 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 217 
 
 marriage register, duly made and signed by i nouncciucnt in the utter desperation of his 
 the clergyman , and attesting the marriage of heart. 
 
 Julian Liudisfarn and Barbara JNIallory, was 
 shown to me." 
 
 " Barbara Mallory! " 
 " And I have no doubt but that the origi- 
 nal of that document will be forthcoming. 
 Also I have seen the copies of affidavits 
 proving the birth of the child at a due and 
 proper period after the marriage. And I 
 have little doubt but that the date of the 
 child'tf birth can be substantiated." 
 
 " Well, then, where on earth do you see 
 any loophole of hope, I should like to 
 know ? ' ' 
 
 " Well, Mr. Falconer, it must have oc- 
 curred to your experience to discover that 
 every document is not always exactly what 
 it professes to be in every respect. I do not 
 kcow. I cannot say anything. But there 
 are certain circumstances that I think I 
 may call— ahem ! — suspicious, in the state- 
 ment which was made to me. The register, 
 from which the extract certifying the mar- 
 riage professes to have been taken, is stated 
 to be lost. It may be so ; many registers 
 have been lost before now. Of course we 
 shall leave no stone unturned to see whether 
 any hole can be picked in the case put fo?- 
 ward. Strict search must be made for this 
 missing register. The father of the woman 
 said to have been married to young Liudis- 
 farn is, and has for many years been, parish 
 clerk of the village where the marriage was 
 celebrated, — a rather ugly and suggestive 
 fact." 
 
 " ]Mallory, Mallory — why, that is the 
 name of the old clerk at Chewton in the 
 Moor, Dr. Lindisfarn's parish ! " 
 
 " Just so ; and the person who was with 
 me just now, and who is getting up this 
 case, is a son of the old man, and brother 
 of the so-called Mrs. Lindisfarn, an attor- 
 
 " Good Heavens! so late?" exclaimed 
 Falconer, turning as white as a sheet. 
 
 " Oh, it is no matter," said old Slow, 
 as placidly as possible ; " there is no Imrry ; 
 there is time enough for all things ! " 
 
 " I beg pardon, my dear sir. Not another 
 second for the world, — a thousand pardons !" 
 And to old Slow's no little surprise and 
 perplexity, but to Bob Scott's infinite de- 
 light, the banker brushed off in the great- 
 est possible hurry, and almost ran up that 
 short portion of the High Street which 
 intervened between the office of Slowcome 
 and Sligo, and the lane which led from it 
 into that part of the Close in which his 
 own residence was situated. 
 
 Only a few minutes to six ; Good Heavens ! 
 and in another ten minutes his son would be 
 speeding, as fast as post-horses could carry 
 him, toward Gretna, to join himself indisso- 
 lubly to a girl not worth a penny. Heavens 
 and earth, what a merciful escape! If in- 
 deed there be yet time to stop him. 
 
 " Gregory, Gregory ! " cried Mr. Falconer, 
 bursting into the private parlor at the bank, 
 where he knew that the old clerk was fortu- 
 nately still engaged with his books, and 
 throwing himself panting on a chair, as he 
 spoke, — " Gregory ! Mr. Frederick is going 
 to run off with JMiss Lindisfarn from the 
 door in the wall of her uncle's garden in 
 Castle Head Lane, at six this evening. It 
 only wants a few minutes. Kun for your 
 life, and stop him ; at all hazards, mind you ! 
 Cling to him if necessary. Tell him j'isu 
 come from me ; and bring him here to me. 
 Mind now, everything depends on yonr being 
 there in time and preventing his (itarting. 
 Off with you ! " 
 
 And that is why and how the elopement 
 did not take place, and Margaret was be- 
 trayed in the shameful manner that has been 
 
 ney — of no very good repute, between our- 
 selves— at Sillmouth. He tells me a great { related 
 deal — most of which I knew very well be- 
 fore he was born — of the careless and un- chapter xl. 
 clerical habits of old Mellish, the late curate the tidings reach the chase. 
 at Chewton, which is put forward to account " Merciful Heaven ! " thought the pant- 
 for tlie loss of the register. If that register i ing banker to himself, as he sat, exhausted 
 could only be found " — | with the unwonted exertion he had made, in 
 " Please, sir, it only wants a quarter to j the chair into which he had thrown himself 
 six ! " said Bob Scott, opening the door of i while speaking to Greatorex, " what an es- 
 his master's room, and making this an- [ cape ! what a marvellously providential es- 
 
218 
 
 cape ! If only Gregory Greatorex is 
 time ! But yes, yes, there is time, there 
 is time. To think that if that young ecamp 
 of a clerk had not got tired of waiting, and 
 put his head into the room to say that it was 
 near six o'clock, I should have let the pre- 
 cious moments slip to a certainty. They 
 would have been off, and Fred would have 
 married a beggar. 'Twae a mere chance, 
 too, my looking in at Slowcome's, as I went 
 down the High Street, a mere chance. How 
 thankful we ought to be to a mercifully over- 
 ruling Providence ! A beggar, — yes, those 
 poor Lindisfiirn girls are no better, — evi- 
 dently no better. It is all very well for 
 Sloweome to make the best of it, and talk 
 about a loophole and a hope. Of course, 
 it is his business and his duty to do so. Of 
 course a fight on the subject will suit his 
 book ; but it is as plain as a pikestaff that 
 they have not a chance, and that is Slow- 
 come's opinion too. A most wonderful dis- 
 pensation, truly. There goes six o'clock ! " 
 cried Mr. Falconer, jumping from his chair, 
 and going nervously to the window of the 
 room. " Heaven grant that Gregory may 
 have been in time, and that Fred has lis- 
 tened to reason. Ob, yes, he never would ! 
 — but I should be very thankful to have him 
 safe here." 
 
 And the old gentleman, with his hands 
 plunged into the pockets of his superfine 
 black shorts, kept nervously moving from 
 the window to the fireplace, and from the 
 fireplace to the window, looking at his watch 
 every minute. 
 
 «"Thank goodness, you are here, my dear 
 boy ! " he exclained, as Frederick entered 
 the room at last, seizing him by the hand, 
 and shaking it again and again, — " thank 
 God, you are here ! Greatorex has done it 
 like a faithful servant ! I will not forget 
 him. My boy, what an escape we have 
 had!" 
 
 " But will you have the kindness to ex- 
 plain the meaning of all this, sir ? You first 
 tell me " — 
 
 "Yes, yes, I know, I know. But, my 
 dear boy, such an extraordinary circum- 
 stance. You shall hear. There was only 
 just time, barely time to stop you. A min- 
 ute or two more, and you would have been 
 off, and " — the banker finished his phrase in 
 dumb show, by throwing up his eyes, hands. 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 chin, and nether-lip, to heaven, — or at least, 
 toward the ceiling of the bank parlor. 
 
 " But I'll be shot if I can make out head 
 or tail in the matter ! " cried his son. 
 
 " Have a moment's patience till I can tell 
 you," remonstrated the senior. 
 
 " You yourself put me up to going off 
 with the girl, and then at the last moment — 
 Do you consider, sir, that you have made me 
 behave very ill to Miss Lindisfaru ?" 
 
 " My dear Fred, let her alone, let her 
 alone. Thank Heaven, you have no need to 
 trouble yourself any further about her ! " 
 
 "To think of her, poor little darling, 
 waiting and waiting there, at that garden- 
 door." 
 
 " My dear boy, she has not a penny." 
 
 " Getting into a scrape with her aunt, 
 most likely " — 
 
 " I tell you, Fred, she is a beggar ! " 
 
 " Catching her death of cold in that damp 
 garden " — 
 
 " Don't I tell you she has not a sixpence 
 in the world ? Do you hear ? Do you 
 understand what I say? Not a sixpence! 
 And I have been mercifully permitted to be- 
 come cognizant of the truth in the most ex- 
 traordinary manner, just in time, — barely in 
 time to save you from marrying yourself to 
 a beggar. Ten minutes more, and you would 
 have been off; and nothing could have saved 
 you." 
 
 " But what on earth is the meaning of 
 all this ? Will you have the kindness to ex- 
 plain to me what has happened, or what 
 you have heard ? ' ' 
 
 " Sit down then, Frederick, — sit do\vn 
 quietly, and you shall hear all. I am so 
 shaken with the surprise, and my anxiety 
 about you, and the run I had, that I am all 
 of a tremor. But once again, thank God, all 
 is safe ! Think of my stepping by chance — 
 quite by chance — into Sloweome and Sligo's, 
 as I was walking down the street, — thinking 
 of the job you were after, you dog !— ^just to 
 ask whether they were getting on with the 
 settlements. I do not know what prompted 
 me to go in. But it is a wonderful instance 
 how a merciful Providence overrules our ac- 
 tions. I think it must have been a feeling 
 that it would be just as well for me to show 
 in that way that I knew nothing about the 
 elopement, you know. So I just stepped in ; 
 and Sloweome told me the ncM's." 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 "What news, in Heaven's name ? " 
 "Do be patient a moment, Frederick? 
 Am I not telling you ? ' Settlements ! ' said 
 Slowcorae ; ' it will be well if Lindisfarn is 
 ever able to make any settlement at all on his 
 girls,' or something to that cfieet. And 
 then he told me that he had just had a man 
 with him, who had made a formal claim on 
 the inheritance on behalf of a son of Julian 
 Lindisfarn, who, the man said, had not died 
 in America long ago, as supposed, but quite 
 recently in this immediate neighborhood." 
 " A son of Julian Lindisfarn ! " 
 " Yes ; a eon by a certain Miss Mallory 
 out at Chewton in the Moor, his father's liv- 
 ing, you know." 
 
 " What, a legitimate son? " asked Fred- 
 erick, eagerly. 
 
 " Yes ; it would seem so ; a eon born in 
 wedlock, of Julian Lindisfarn and his wife, 
 Barbara Mallory ! " 
 
 " His wife? I do remember, sir, that at 
 the time of his unhappy detection and escape, 
 there was something about some girl out on 
 the Moor. Of course, you know, sir, I was 
 not in his confidence, and knew little or 
 nothing about the matter ; but I know that 
 he had some tie of the sort out there. But 
 his wife, — isiL pji^lblc? Well, he was just 
 the sort of man, soft enough and reckless 
 enough to be led into anything of the kind. 
 And to think that his son should now turn 
 up to cut the Misses Lindisfarn out of their 
 inheritance ! " 
 
 "Ay, indeed ! Slowcome talked about 
 some possibility that the child might turn 
 out to be illegitimate after all. But he ad- 
 mitted that the man had shown him copies 
 of documents, — extracts fi'om the register 
 and that sort of thing ; and he evidently had 
 little or no hope of being able to resist the 
 claim himself. Yes, the property will to go the 
 child of that scamp, Julian, and Miss Marga- 
 ret and Miss Kate will be nowhere ! Don't 
 you feel, Fred, that you have had a most 
 narrow, a most providential escape? " 
 
 " An escape, indeed ! " cried Frederick. 
 " It makes my head go round to think of it. 
 But it is very painful, too, to think of that 
 poor girl ; she will be furious, — absolutely 
 furious ; and will feel that I have used her 
 very ill." 
 
 " Pshaw, let her think what she pleases ! 
 What signifies it what she thinks? Slie has 
 not a sixpence in the world, I tell you. She 
 
 219 
 
 will have enough to think about as soon ae 
 this terrible news i-eachcs her. Of course it 
 will be Slowcome's duty to communicate it 
 to the Lindisfarns immediately. It will be 
 all over the town to-morrow . Good Heavens ! 
 I should never have forgiven myself, Fred, if 
 this elopement business had taken place. 
 You will be pleased to hear, too, that there 
 is much less need for any hasty step of the 
 sort. The news from Lombard Street to-day 
 has been very, good. I am in considerable 
 hopes that we shall get over the danger with 
 no more damage than a mere scratch. A 
 merciful escape there, too. But it would 
 have made it doubly unfortunate if you had 
 gone and irretrievably linked your fortunes 
 to those of a beggar. As it is, your pros- 
 pects are as bright as ever. And a vrovd in 
 your ear, my boy ! Blakistry told me he did 
 not like the sound of Merriton's cough at all ; 
 and look at his narrow chest. In that case, 
 you know, little Emily Merriton would be 
 a prize in the lottery worth catching, eh ? " 
 In fact, the last posts from London had 
 brought the Silverton banker tidings from 
 his correspondents in Lombard Street, which 
 gave him great hope that the serious danger 
 which had threatened him would pass over 
 with very little damage ; and for the last day 
 or two his heart had been very much more at 
 ease. 
 
 The result of this had been that the old 
 gentleman's mind had returned, with ita 
 usual zest, to those learned recreations which 
 were his delight ; and he had been able once 
 more to take tha* interest in the proceedings 
 of the Silverton archaeologists, which, during 
 the period of sharp anxiety about the fortunes 
 of the bank, graver cares had put to flight. 
 It was time, too, that he should do so. The 
 great annual meeting of the Sillshire Anti- 
 quarian Society was to take place next month, 
 Several important papers from various leading 
 members were to be read, and one especially 
 by Dr. Lindisfarn on the " History and Anti- 
 quities of the Church of Chewton in the 
 Moor." 
 
 Chewton Church was one of the specimens 
 of ecclesiastical architecture of which Sill- 
 shire was most proud. Next to Silverton 
 Cathedral, it was, probably, the finest church 
 in the county. Its remote position had 
 hitherto prevented it from receiving all the 
 attention which it merited. But there were 
 several points of especial architectural and 
 
220 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 ccclesiological interest attaching to it, and soi-disant Mrs. Lindisfarn, and the child, 
 much was expected from Dr. Lindisfarn's who had become all at once of so much inipor- 
 promised paper. It was, in a special degree, tance. The news of the loss of Iliram Pen- 
 his own ground, as he was the rector of the dleton's vessel, and of the stranger, who had 
 parish. He was understood to have bestowed taken passage in her back to France, and of 
 long and careful study on the subject, and a the gallant rescue of a woman and child by 
 great treat was expected by his learned the bold smuggler himself, had become par- 
 brethren, and a considerable triumph by tially known in Silverton ; and it had reached 
 himself. the banker's ears that the rescued mother and 
 
 Mr. Falconer did not at all relish the child had gone back to the house of the 
 prospect which was so pleasant to his old woman's father at Chewton. 
 rival and (archaeological) enemy. It was Before the Sunday came, however, which 
 gall and wormwood to him to think that the the banker had fixed for his excursion, others 
 canon should have it all to himself, and be of those more nearly interested in the extra- 
 permitted to walk over the course, as it were, ordinary tale which had been told to Mr. 
 He was sure that Lindisfarn would be guilty Slowcome were beforehand with him in a visit 
 of some grievous error, some absurdity or to the little moorland village, 
 other, which it would be a delicious treat to Of course, Mr. Slowcome lost no time in 
 him to expose at the general meeting of the communicating his tidings to the persons 
 society, — a very learned man, the doctor ; no most nearly concerned in them. He had 
 doubt a very learned man ; but so inaccurate, himself, the very next thing the morning af- 
 so careless, so hasty in jumping to a conclu- ter his interview with Mallory, driven up to 
 sion ! the Chase, and been closeted with the squire 
 
 The doctor's memoir had, it was well in his study. Thus Kate was forestalled in 
 
 known to his brother archseologists, been the disclosure she was, in accordance with 
 
 some months in preparation ; and the banker the agreement come to with her sister, to 
 
 had already more than once been out to 
 Chewton quietly by himself to ascertain as far ' 
 
 have made to her father that Game morning. 
 
 And it became unnecessary for her to say 
 as possible the probable scope and line of the anything on the subject. The news the 
 doctor's inquiries and researches, and to find, lawyer bi'ought was necessarily a tremen- 
 if possible, the means of tripping him up. dously heavy blow to the stout and hearty 
 It was thus that he had become acquainted old man. Would to God, he said, that the 
 with the fact that old Jared ^lallory was truth could have been known some years 
 the clerk of Chewton ; and had indeed made earlier ! He might then have been enabled 
 some little acquaintance with that worthy to make some provision fur his poor dear un- 
 himsclf; inasmuch as the banker's inqui- dowered girls. It was now, alas ! almost too 
 ries and examinations had necessarily been late. He could not expect to hold the prop- 
 mainly conducted through him. Now, hav- erty many more v'-ars. Still, he might yet 
 ing his mind more at ease respecting his do something. Anyway, God's will be done ; 
 business anxieties, and returning therefore to and God forbid that he should wish or make 
 his pet object of spoiling, if possible, his rival's any attempt to set aside the just right of his 
 
 expected triumph, he determined to pay 
 another visit to the locality on the following 
 Sunday. That day was the best for the 
 purpose for two reasons ; first, because the 
 banker could then absent himself from 
 Silverton for the entire day, without inter- 
 
 brother's grandson. 
 
 " Those are the sentiments, Mr. Lindis- 
 farn, which, if I may take the liberty of say- 
 ing so, I felt sure that I should find in you. 
 At the same time," said Mr. Slowcome, 
 " you will permit me to observe that it is our 
 fering with business ; and, secondly, because bounden duty to ascertain beyond all doubt, 
 on that day he could be sure that Dr. Lin- that the child in question is in truth the 
 disfai-n would be safe in Silverton, and that legal heir to the estates." 
 there would be no danger of meeting him on ' " Is there any doubt upon that point, Slow- 
 the battle-field. The strange cii'cumstances come?" ' 
 
 which lie had heard from Slowcome made " I cannot tell you, I am sorry to say, Mr. 
 him curious, moreover, to see that old man Lindisfarn, that I have any very strong 
 again, and possibly also his daughter, the doubts upon the subject, — or rather, perhaps, 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 221 
 
 I should say that T have not any very strong Mr. Mat was absolutely furious, — utterly 
 hope of being able to prove that any such refused to believe in the legitimacy of Julian's 
 doubt in my own mind is justified by the son, — swore it was all a vile plot; he knew 
 facts of the case. But I have some doubt ; I those Mallorys, and knew they wore up to 
 certainly have, some doubt, — not that the anything. He had known poor old Mellish 
 child now brouglit forward is the son of your well. He did not believe but that the regis- 
 ter could be found. It must and should be 
 found somehow ! In short, Mr. ]\Iat was 
 utterly rebellious against fate and facts. 
 
 Margaret of course was still at her uncle's 
 house ; and the task of breaking the news to 
 
 nephew Julian Lindisfarn, but doubt whether 
 or no he were really born in wedlock." 
 
 " "Well, Slowcome ; you know how incom- 
 petent I am even to form an opinion upon the 
 subject. Let right be done. That is all I 
 say. And I know I may leave the matter ' her would therefore fall on others, 
 wholly in your hands, with no other expres- 
 sion of my wishes on the subject save that." 
 
 " Certainly, certainly, Mr. Lindisfarn. 
 
 Mr. Slowcome's duty in the Close was of a 
 
 I less disagreeable nature than it had been up 
 
 "lis tidings were 
 
 at the Chase. Nevertheless, 
 
 Quite so. Of course I have not had time as not received there with any kind of satis- 
 
 yet to make any, even the most preliminary, 
 inquiry in the matter, — hardly even to think 
 of the subject with any due degree of consid- 
 eration. But you may depend on all being 
 done that ought to be done." 
 
 " Thank you, Slowcome. And now comes 
 the cruellest part of the business : I must 
 break the news to my poor girls ! I know 
 my Kate will bear it bravely. And my poor, 
 poor ^largaret — hers is a hard case ! But, 
 any way, it is a mercy that this was dis- , 
 covered before she made a marriage under < 
 false pretences, as it were. Falconer is now 
 at liberty to do as he likes about it. You 
 will let Mr. Falconer understand that I con- 
 eider him perfectly released from every 
 shadow of a promise or intention made under 
 other circumstances." i 
 
 faction or exultation. It was some littla 
 time before Dr. Lindisfarn could be brought 
 to remember all the old circumstances, and 
 piece them together with those new ones 
 which had come to light sufficiently to under- 
 stand the present position of the matter- 
 When he did so, his distress for his brother 
 and his nieces was evidently stronger in his 
 mind than any gratification at the prospect 
 opened before his own grandchild. The 
 thought that his poor lost son — lost so long, 
 and, truth to tell, so nearly forgotten — 
 had been all those years alive (and under 
 what circumstances) and had died so misera- 
 bly but the other day, and almost within 
 sight of his paternal home ! All this was a 
 stirring up of harrowing memories and pain- 
 ful thouo-hts that brought with them nothing 
 
 " And now, Mr. Lindisfarn, I must lose of compensation in the changed destinies of 
 no time in waiting on your brother. My the family acres. 
 
 first duty was, of course, to you." 
 
 As for Lady Sempronia, she went into 
 
 So tlie lawyer bowed himself out ; and the | violent hysterics, and shut herself up in her 
 poor old squire went bravely to work at the own room, of course. It was a gratification 
 
 cruelly painful task before him. 
 
 Kate said all she could to comfort him. 
 To her the most painful part of the conversa- 
 tion with her father was the necessity of con- 
 cealing from him the fact that she already 
 knew all he had to tell her. She doubted 
 long as to her true duty in the matter, and 
 was more than once almost inclined to yield 
 to the temptation of telling him all. But l 
 the recollection of her promise to i\Iargaret, — [ 
 though accordincr to the letter of it, she was 1 
 
 to her that this tremendous trial should 
 added to her store of such things, much of 
 the same sort as that experienced by a col- 
 lector who adds some specially fine specimen 
 of anything hideous to his museum. 
 
 Dr. Lindisfarn requested Mr. Slowcome to 
 undertake the duty of breaking the news to 
 Margaret ; and the delicate task was accom- 
 plished by that worthy gentleman, with all 
 the lengthy periphrasis and courtly pompos- 
 ty which he deemed fitting to the occasion. 
 
 now at liberty to speak, and if the facts had It is needless to say that Margaret played her 
 
 not become otherwise known, she would have . part to perfection. Of course she knew per- 
 
 of the position she fectlv well from 1 
 
 spoken, — and the thought of the positi 
 would have been placed in by the avowal, 
 kept her silent. 
 
 fectly well from the moment of his solemn 
 entry into Lady Sempronia's drab drawing- 
 room, and still more solemn introduction of 
 
222 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 himself, every word that he was going to say. 
 But he left her with the conviction that it 
 was impossible for any young lady in her un- 
 fortunate position to show a greater or more 
 touching degree of natural sensibility, tem- 
 pered by beautiful resignation and admirable 
 good sense, than she had done. She had lis- 
 tened with marked attention to the possi- 
 bilities he had hinted at of error or fraud in 
 the statements made, and had cordially ad- 
 hered to his declarations of the propriety of 
 taking every possible step with a view to dis- 
 covering the real truth. 
 
 " Ah ! " said old Slow to himself, as he 
 left the drawing-room, " such a girl as that, 
 with one half of the Lindisfarn property, 
 would have been a pretty catch for my young 
 friend Fred. It is a sad business, — a vei'y 
 sad business." 
 
 But before leaving the doctor's house, Mr. 
 Slowcome caused himself to be again shown 
 into the study ; and set before the doctor his 
 
 himself accompany one of the firm on a visit 
 to Chewton, with a view to seeing on the 
 spot what could be done with a hope of dis- 
 covering the missing register. 
 
 " I would go myself, Dr. Lindisfarn," he 
 said, " if my presence were not imperatively 
 required in Silverton, or if Mr. Sligo were 
 not in every respect as competent as myself 
 to do all that can be done. But it would be 
 a great assistance to us, if you would consent 
 to accompany him, both on account of your 
 knowledge of the people and the localities, 
 and more especially because your authority, 
 as rector of the parish, would be exceedingly 
 useful to us." 
 
 To this proposal the doctor, who was by 
 no means loath to pay yet another visit to the 
 scene and subject of his ecclesiological la- 
 bors, and who began *to speculate on the pos- 
 sibility of finding or creating a disciple in 
 Mr. Sligo, made no difficulty. And it was 
 decided that the visit should be made, as un- 
 
 very strong desire that Dr. Lindisfarn should expectedly as Dossible, on the morrow. 
 
LINDISPARN CHASE. 
 
 CHAPTER XLI. 
 IN MR. SLIGO'S GIG. 
 
 The church at Chewton in the Moor was, 
 as has been said, a rcmarliable and beauti- 
 ful building, the lofty nave and side-aisles of 
 which were admirable specimens of the severe 
 and yet graceful style, which ecclesiologists 
 of a later generation than Dr. Lindisfarn 
 have taught us to call " Early English," 
 while tlie transepts, tower, and chancel evi- 
 dently belonged to a still earlier period. Had 
 it not been that certain untoward circum- 
 stances prevented the publication of Dr. Lin- 
 disfarn's elaborate and profound Monograph 
 on the subject, I might have been able to 
 gratify the reader with a more detailed 
 and circumstantial description of this in- 
 teresting structure than I can now pretend 
 to lay before him. As it is, I must con- 
 tent myself Fith mentioning one specially 
 curious feature, to the elucidation of which 
 the learned canon had particularly applied 
 himself, and which formed the subject of one 
 chapter of the Memoir, headed, " On the re- 
 mains of the ancient panelling in the pas- 
 sage loading to the sacristy of Chewton 
 Church, and on certain fragments of inscrip- 
 tions still legible thereon." 
 
 There was in fiict at Chewton a singular 
 little building almost detached from the 
 church, at the end of the south transept of 
 which it stood, and which had evidently in 
 old times formed the sacristy, and was now 
 known by the more Protestant sounding ti- 
 tle of the vestry, — a thoroughly good Prot- 
 estant word, though its first cousin " vest- 
 ment " has a suspiciously Eomish twang in 
 the sound of it ! Well, this whilom sa- 
 cristy was reached from the church by a 
 sort of corridor, which opened out of the east- 
 ern wall of the transept, and which seemed 
 to be an unnecessarily costly means of com- 
 munication, inasmuch as a door at the ex- 
 treme corner of the transept would have 
 equally effected the purpose. But those 
 "noble boys at play," our ancestors, did 
 not always, as we all know, practise an en- 
 lightened economy in their playing. The 
 appearance of the detached building and of 
 the corridor was extremely picturesque both 
 on the inside and the outside ; and was uni- 
 versally felt to be so by all visitors. And 
 it does seem just possible that the aforesaid 
 noble old boys spent their money and toil 
 
 223 
 
 with the express intention of producing that 
 result. 
 
 Anyway, there was the passage, with its 
 remains of cut-stone mouldings and various 
 ornamentation grievously obliterated and de- 
 stroyed by the layers of Protestant wliite- 
 wash, which the zeal of many generations of 
 un-£esthetic church-wardens had laid stratum 
 over stratum upon them. And then, near 
 the sacristy door in the riglit-hand wall of 
 the passage, going toward that apartment, 
 there were still visible through these coat- 
 ings of a purer faith the ornamented cornices 
 and mouldings of a small but very beautiful 
 arch, which seemed too low to have ever been 
 intended for a doorway. And beneath this 
 arch, there were certain remains of panelling, 
 partially, and indeed almost entirely white- 
 washed over, on which the greedily prying 
 eyes of the learned canon had detected, in 
 certain spots, where the whitewash had been 
 rubbed off, those fragments of ancient in- 
 scriptions, alluded to in the heading to that 
 chapter of the Monograph which has been 
 quoted. The rubbing off of the whitewash 
 had been very partial and irregular but enough 
 of the ancient woodwork beneath it had 
 been uncovered to permit certain remains 
 mains of painting to be seen, and especially 
 the letters Tanti .... ri .... • tanti 
 • • • . Ai .... TAN .... in an ex- 
 tremely rude and archaic character ! 
 
 It was known among the Sillshire archa3- 
 ologists, that Dr. Lindisfarn had expended 
 an immense amount of erudition in the elu- 
 cidation of these mysterious syllables, and 
 had constructed on the somewhat slender 
 scaffolding poles thus furnished him a vast 
 fabric of theory and conjecture, embracing 
 various curious points in the social and ec- 
 clesiastical history and manners of the Eng- 
 lish clergy during the reigns immediately 
 following the Norman invasion ; and a very 
 great treat was expected to result from his la- 
 bors. It was evident that something was lost 
 between the adjective " tanti " and the sub- 
 stantive "vi"! They could not be joined 
 in lawful syntax together ! And what could 
 the missing word or words have been ? The 
 learned Sillshire world was on the tiptoe of 
 expectation. 
 
 More than once already had the doctor 
 strained his eyes to descry if possible the 
 very faintest outline or Dmallest portion of a 
 
224 
 
 letter in the space, which separated those 
 given above ; but all in vain ! And now he 
 proposed profiting by the trip proposed to 
 him by Mr. Slowcome, to take the opportu- 
 nity of bringing the younger eyes of the gen- 
 tleman who was to be his companion to bear 
 upon the subject. 
 
 For Mr. Sligo was, it must be understood, 
 quite a young man, and was supposed, in- 
 deed, by most of those who knew him, to be 
 able to see as far into a millstone as most 
 men. He was in all respects a very different 
 man from his senior partner, Mr. Slowcome. 
 In contradiction to what had been the prac- 
 tice of the firm for several generations, young 
 Sligo had been educated for his profession, 
 not in the paternal oiScc in Silverton, but in 
 London ; and indeed, had only come down to 
 the western metropolis when the sudden 
 death of his father, old Sligo, had opened to 
 him the inheritance of a share in the old-es- 
 tablished firm. 
 
 Mr. Slowcome did not altogether like 
 young Mr. Sligo. One understands that 
 such should be the case. I believe that old 
 Slow had more real knowledge of law in his 
 pigtail than Sligo had in his whole body. 
 Nevertheless, the younger man came down 
 from London with airs and pretensions of 
 new-fangled enlightenment, and was full of 
 modern instances, and an offensive " nous- 
 avons-change-tout-cela ' ' sort of assumption 
 of superiority, which the greater part — in- 
 cluding all the younger portion — of the pro- 
 vincial world were disposed to accept as 
 good currency. Then young Sligo was very 
 rapid ; and old Slowcome was very slow ; 
 and there were other points of contrast, too 
 marked to escape either the Silvertonians or 
 the partners themselves. Young Mr. Sligo, 
 however, proved himself an efiicient and use- 
 ful member of the firm, keen, active, and in- 
 telligent. He was, moreover, " Young Sligo" 
 the son of " Old Sligo ; " and that was all in 
 all to jNIr. Slowcome. So, though the two 
 men were as different in all respects as any 
 two men could be, they got on pretty well 
 together. 
 
 Old Slowcome was admitted to the society 
 of the clergy in the Close, and of the squire- 
 archy in the neighborhood on tolerably 
 equal terms ; but this standing had hardly 
 yet been accorded to ]Mr. Sligo. So that he 
 was all but a stranger to Dr. Lindisfarn 
 when he waited upon the canon immediately 
 
 NDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 after breakfast on the morning subsequent 
 to the conversation between that gentleman 
 and Mr. Slowcome, according to the arrange- 
 ment which had been made between them. 
 
 Mr. Sligo had a very neat gig and a spank- 
 ing, fast-trotting mare ; and his offer of driv- 
 ing Dr. Lindisfarn over to Chewton had been 
 'willingly accepted by the doctor. The road 
 by which Chewton could be reached in this 
 manner was, for the latter half of it, a dif- 
 ferent and a somewhat longer one than that 
 by which Dr. Blakistry had ridden across 
 the moor, the track which he had followed 
 being altogether impossible for wheels. 
 
 " I confess. Dr. Lindisfarn," said Sligo to 
 his companion, after they had quitted Silver- 
 ton, and had exchanged a few remarks on the 
 beauty of the morning, the qualities of ]Mr. 
 Sligo's fast-trotting mare, etc., — " I confess 
 that I have hopes of the result of our inves- 
 tigations to-day." 
 
 " I am truly delighted to hear you say so ! " 
 replied Dr. Lindisfarn. 
 
 " I have, indeed ; and it is very gratify- 
 ing to feel that all the parties are of one 
 mind in the matter." 
 
 "Oh ! there is no doubt of that. All the 
 county are anxious about it." 
 
 " No doubt, — no doubt. Our investigation 
 will be a delicate one," added Mr. Sligo, af- 
 ter a short pause. 
 
 "Oh, excessively so ; you can have no idea 
 to what a degree that is the case ! " cried 
 the doctor, with great animation ; " the traces 
 are so slight " — 
 
 "They are so, that must be admitted; 
 they are very slight certainly. Nevertheless, 
 to a sharp and practised eye. Dr. Lindisfarn, 
 if you will not think it presumptuous of me 
 to pay so, there are certain appearances 
 which " — 
 
 "Indeed! you don't say so?" exclaimed 
 Dr. Lindisfarn, hardly moi'e delighted than 
 surprised ; " I was not aware, Mr. Sligo, 
 that you had ever turned your attention to 
 investigations of this character." 
 
 "Turned my attention? "Why, if you will 
 excuse my saying so, Dr. Lindisfarn, I flatter 
 myself that matters of this sort are my spe- 
 iality." 
 
 " You don't say so ! I am truly delighted 
 to hear it. We shall be rejoiced to Avelcome 
 you among us as a fellow-laborer, Mr. 
 Sligo." 
 
 " Any assistance I may be able to give, in 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 any stage of the business, I shall be proud 
 and happy to afford. I am sure, Dr. Lindis- 
 farn," replied the lawyer, rather surjirised 
 at the warmth of his companion's expressions 
 of gratitude. 
 
 " You are very kind, I am sure, Mr. 
 Sligo," returned the doctor, drawing up a 
 little ; for the young lawyer's proposal of med- 
 dling with any other stage of the case had 
 instantly alarmed his antiquarian jealousy, 
 and he beg an to suspect a plot for robbing 
 him of a portion of the credit of his discov- 
 ery, — " you are very kind, but I think I shall 
 not need to trespass on your kindness in re- 
 spect to any part of the matter, with the ex- 
 ception of the researches to be made to-day.'' 
 
 "Oh, indeed, Dr. Lindisfarn ! You are 
 the best judge. I may say, however, that 
 when I was with Draper and Duster, all the 
 work of this kind there was to be done 
 passed through my hands. But you know 
 best, sir." 
 
 "Draper and Duster, — I do not remember 
 either of the names. Are they members of 
 the Society?" asked Dr. Lindisfarn, much 
 puzzled. 
 
 " Yes, sir, they are. Gray's Inn. One 
 of the first houses in London." 
 
 " I don't think I quite follow you, Mr. 
 Sligo. 1 have heard of Gray's Inn, as a 
 place of abode for gentlemen of your profes. 
 sion. But though I believe I know most of 
 the distinguished men who cultivate our de- 
 lightful science, I do not think that I ever 
 heard of the antiquaries you mention." 
 
 " Well, sir, — they do cultivate the delight- 
 ful science, as you are complimentary enough 
 to call it, — not a little. But I never said 
 that they were antiquaries ; and I don't much 
 see what that has to do with the matter." 
 
 " Then I am afraid, Mr. Sligo, that we 
 shall differ toto coelo on the most fundamental 
 notions of the spirit in which the pursuit 
 should be taken up and conducted," said the 
 doctor, very sententiously, " unless the light 
 of profound erudition and scholarship be 
 brought to bear upon these investigations, 
 they sink to the rank of mere twaddling and 
 trifling." 
 
 Mr. Sligo faced round in the gig at this, 
 and looked at the senior canon with a sharp 
 and shrewd eye, as in doubt whetlier the 
 oddncss he had heard of in Dr. Lindisfarn, 
 did not extend to the length of what he 
 called, in common people, not canons of ca- 
 
 15 
 
 225 
 
 thedral churches, stark, staring lunacy. He 
 saw the old gentleman's florid and clean- 
 shaven face was a little flushed, — for the doc- 
 tor had been speaking with the energy of 
 profound conviction on a point that touched 
 him nearly, — and he therefore answered in a 
 very mild voice. 
 
 " It would not become me to differ with 
 you on the subject, Dr. Lindisfarn ; far from 
 it. No doubt you are right. I dare say what 
 we have got to do to-day 7naT/ seem twaddling 
 and trifling to a gentleman like you ; but I 
 can assure you that it is only by such twad- 
 dling and trifling that we have any chance of 
 saving the Lindisfarn property from going to 
 an illegitimate brat." 
 
 "Saving the Lindisfarn property! Bless 
 my heart, Mr. Sligo, I was not thinking any- 
 thing about the Lindisfarn property." 
 
 " Then what, in the name of Heaven — I 
 beg your pardon, Dr. Lindisfarn — but what, 
 if you please, have we been talking about all 
 this time? " 
 
 " Talking about, Mr. Sligo? Why, about 
 the partially defaced inscription in the sac- 
 risty, to be sure. What else should we have 
 been talking about?" 
 
 "j,Oh, dear, dear me. There is a case of 
 mistaken identity now. Why, if you will 
 believe me. Dr. Lindisfarn, I was speaking, 
 and thought you were speaking, all the time 
 about the search for the missing register that 
 we are going to make at Chewton." 
 
 " I was mistaken then in supposing that 
 you are interested in antiquarian investiga- 
 tions, Mr. Sligo?" said the old man. much 
 disappointed. 
 " I am afraid so, sir," said Sligo. 
 " And you never have paid any attention 
 to the deciphering of ancient inscriptions? " 
 " Not that I am aware of, sir." 
 Dr. Lindisfarn heaved a deep sigh, but 
 was nevertheless somewhat comforted by the 
 reflection that he was in no danger of being 
 robbed by a rival, if he had no chance of as- 
 sistance from a brother. 
 
 " Nevertheless," he said, " it may be that 
 you might be able to descry with your young 
 eyes what my old ones, though aided by, 
 perhaps I may be allowed to say, no incom- 
 petent amount of study, have failed to make 
 out. I will show you the spot, and perhaps 
 you will try if you can discover any further 
 emains of letters." 
 " With all the pleasure in life, Dr. Lin- 
 
226 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 disfarii ; and you shall assist me with your 
 authority as rector, and your acquaintance 
 with the late curate's character and ways. 
 I am told he was a very queer one." 
 
 " The fact is, I am ashamed to say, Mr. 
 Sligo, that I knew very little about him ; 
 less, perhaps, than I ought to have done. I 
 found him there when I succeeded to the liv- 
 ing, which had previously been held by old 
 Dean Burder. He was quite one of the old 
 school, I take it." 
 
 "Ah! not very regular in his ways, nor 
 quite up to the mark, I suppose. I believe 
 Mr. Matthew Lindisfarn knew him well? " 
 
 "Yes. I fancy Mr. Mat and poor Mel- 
 lish used to be rather cronies in those old 
 times. Mellish was very musical, and that 
 was enough for Mr. Mat." 
 
 " Oh, musical, was he? But he was a 
 little too fond of this sort of thing, was he 
 not? " said Mr. Sligo, raising his elbow in a 
 significant manner. 
 
 " Ah, too fond of his glass of wine, you 
 mean, Mr. Sligo? Well, it was said so. I 
 am afraid to a certain degree it was so. We 
 all have our failings, Mr. Sligo." 
 
 " Too true, Dr. Lindisfarn. I am not the 
 man to forget it. I only ask these things 
 because they may have a bearing on our pres- 
 ent business. Under the circumstances, I 
 suppose that some degree, perhaps a consid- 
 erable amount, of irregularity in church mat- 
 ters may have prevailed in his parish? " 
 
 " It may have been so. There were never 
 any complaints, however. He certainly was 
 very popular in the parish. The people were 
 very much attached to him." 
 
 " Did he inhabit the parsonage-house at 
 Chewton ? " asked the lawyer. 
 
 " There is no parsonage-house, unfortu- 
 nately, nor has there been one for several 
 generations. When the old house fell down 
 in one of the great storms that often sweep 
 this moorland district, it was never rebuilt." 
 
 " Are you aware where the late curate did 
 live then, sir? " asked Mr. Sligo. 
 
 " For many years, for all the latter part of 
 his life, — indeed, during all the time that he 
 held the curacy under me, — he lodged at the 
 house of the parish clerk, a man of the name 
 of Mallory, a very decent sort of a person, I 
 fancy." 
 
 " — h ! the late curate lived in the house 
 of Mr. Jared Mallory, did he?" rejoined 
 Mr. Sligo, with a special expression of voice 
 
 and feature, that was quite lost on Dr. Lin- 
 disfarn. 
 
 "Yes, it was convenient in many ways. 
 Mallory lived in a good house of his own, 
 larger than he heeded ; and it was near the 
 church." 
 
 " And perhaps all the farther from — you 
 know the saying, Dr. Lindisfarn, and will 
 excuse me for being reminded of it on this 
 occasion," said the lawyer. 
 
 "No. I am not aware of any such popu- 
 lar'f.saw or saying ! " replied Dr. Lindisfarn. 
 " But thie fact was that it was convenient for 
 him. also to be in the same house with the 
 parish clerk, you understand." 
 
 "I see, sir, — I see ! many years under this 
 Mallory 's roof; a man of that sort necessa- 
 rily falls under the influence of those about 
 him, — parish clerk especially ; I see, — I see! 
 I suppose this is Chewton, down in the hol- 
 low here in front of us, sir ? " 
 
 " Yes, here we are ; this is Chewton, but 
 you don't get so good a first view of the 
 church coming this way, as by the other road 
 over the moor." 
 
 " I suppose our plan will be to drive direct 
 to the clerk's house, sir? Do you know 
 which it is? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; follow down the main street of 
 the village straight on ; the church is a little 
 to the left at the further end ; and Mallory 's 
 is near the bottom of the street on the left- 
 hand side." 
 
 So Mr. Sligo drew his fast-trotting -^gare 
 and smart gig sharply up to the door of the 
 stone house with the iron rail in front of it ; 
 and rather unceremoniously throwing the 
 reins to Dr. Lindisfarn, and saying shortly, 
 " I will announce you, sir," sprung from the 
 gig, almost before it had stopped, and dashed 
 precipitately into the house, without any cer- 
 emony of knocking or asking leave, what- 
 ever. 
 
 CHAPTER XLir. 
 LADY FARNLEIGH RETURNS TO SILtSHIRE. 
 
 Margaret waited at the little door lead- 
 ing from the canon's garden into the Castle 
 Head Lane till the cathedral clock chimed the 
 half-hour past six. 
 
 It was a raw night, and her bodily condi- 
 tion at the end of that half-hour was not a 
 pleasant one. But her suiferings from that 
 cause were as nothing— absolutely nothing — 
 to the mental torture she endured during at 
 least the latter half of those never by her to 
 
be forgotten thirty minutes. Notliing but 
 licr own very strong reason for ■wishing that 
 tlie proposed elopement should be carried in- 
 to effect could have induced her to swallow 
 her bitter burning indignation so long, and 
 force herself to take yet a little more patience. 
 We know how important it was to all her 
 hopes that the thing should come off; and 
 very, very cruel was the gradual growth dur- 
 ing tliose minutes of misgiving into despair- 
 ing conviction that it was not to be. For the 
 first ten minutes, she was very angry with 
 her lover for his ungallant want of punctual- 
 ity. And as she stood with her ear on the 
 stretch, she kept rehearsing to herself the 
 clocjuent upbraiding with which she prom- 
 ised herself to punish his misdemeanor. Dur- 
 ing the second ten minutes, anxiety was grad- 
 ually growing into dread ; and during the 
 last ten, she was suffering from the sickening, 
 despairing certainty that all was lost. 
 
 Still, the true cause of the miscarriage of 
 her hopes and plans never occurred to her. 
 There was no possibility apparent to her by 
 which the fatal news could have yet reached 
 her lover's ear ; that fatal news which she 
 had all that month past concealed in her 
 heart with a fortitude analogous to that of 
 the Spartan boy, who held the fox beneath 
 his cloak, while he gnawed his vitals. Among 
 all the conjecturings which chased each other 
 tumultuously through her mind during the 
 whole of that night, therefore, the real nature 
 of her misfortune never unveiled itself to her 
 in its full extent. 
 
 She stole back to the house as the half- 
 hour struck, shivering without and burning 
 with shame and indignation within ; and 
 succeeded in slinking up to her room without 
 having been seen. It did not very much 
 signify to her ; for if she had chanced to 
 meet Elizabeth on the stairs, she would 
 merely have said that, finding her head very 
 bad, she had gone down to see whether the 
 cool, fresh air of the garden would do it any 
 good. 
 
 The next morning, her looks, when she 
 descended to her uncle's breakfast-room, 
 vouched abundantly for the truth of her 
 statement respecting her headache. 
 
 Then in the course of the morning came 
 Jlr. Slowcome on his return from the Chase, 
 with the great news ; to the communication 
 of which she listened, as has been said, with 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 227 
 
 all propriety. Then the causes of the dis- 
 
 appointment of the previous evening became 
 intelligible to her. She had at least very 
 little doubt upon the subject. The truth 
 was known to ]\Ir. Slowcome yesterday. 
 There was very little room to doubt that 
 Falconer had heard it from him, and had 
 thereupon abandoned the projected elopement 
 and the marriage together. 
 
 That Falconer should, on learning the real 
 state of the case, give up all idea of the mar- 
 riage, seemed to her so much a matter of 
 course, and was so wholly conformable to the 
 line of conduct which she would have pur- 
 sued herself in similar circumstances, that 
 she could not, in her heart, blame him for it. 
 Nor did she pretend to herself that she did 
 so. But it was the manner of the thing. 
 To leave her there, exposed to all the incon- 
 veniences, the risks, the mortifications, the 
 uncertainty. It was brutal, it was cowardly, 
 it was ungentlemanlike, it was unmanly. 
 And Falconer's conduct assuredly was all 
 this. And if the gentle and lovely Margaret 
 had had power to give effect to the prompt- 
 ings of her heart, it would have been well 
 that day for Frederick Falconer, if he could 
 have changed lots with the most miserable 
 wretch that crawled the earth. 
 
 The nest day, — that on which Mr. Sligo 
 drove Dr. Lindisfarn over to Chewton, as has 
 been narrated, — IMargaret returned to the 
 Chase. She would have given much to have 
 escaped from the necessity of doing so and of 
 meeting Kate under the circumstances ; but 
 there was no possibility of avoiding it. It 
 was too obviously natural that her flither 
 should wish to speak with her ; and in fact 
 the intimation that she had better return 
 home came to l^er from him. Mr. Mat came 
 for her in the gig, soon after the doctor and 
 Mr. Sligo had started on their excursion. 
 
 " 'Tis a bad business, — a cruel bad busi- 
 ness," said Mr. Mat, feeling deep sympathy 
 with Margaret on this occasion, though there 
 was generally so little of liking between 
 them, but though very sincerely feeling it, 
 finding himself much at a loss to express it. 
 Mr. Mat could not be considered an eloquent 
 man, certainly, yet he had found no difficulty 
 in speaking out what was in his heart to Kate 
 on this occasion. It was different with Mar- 
 garet : " A bad business ; and I don't know 
 what I wouldn't ha' done sooner than it should 
 
228 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 Lave happened, Miss Margaret. Still, when 
 all is said and done, money is not everything 
 in this world, Miss Margaret, and " — 
 
 " I am aware, Mr. Mat," replied the 
 young lady, with tragic resignation, " that 
 virtue alone is of real value, or can confer 
 real happiness in this world." 
 
 Mr. Mat gave her a queer, furtive look out 
 of the tail of his shrewd black eye ; but he 
 only said, " Ay, to be sure, and with such 
 looks as yours, too " — 
 
 " Beauty is but a fleeting flower," said 
 Margaret, in very bad humor, but still minded 
 as usual to play her part correctly, and say 
 the proper things to be said. 
 
 " But 'tis the sweetest flower that blows 
 while itdoeslast," said the gallant Mr. Mat. 
 
 " I have ever been taught to set but small 
 store by it," sighed Margaret ; and then there 
 was a long pause in their conversation, which 
 lasted till Mr. ]\Iat began to walk his horse 
 up the steepest part of the hill, going up 
 from the Ivy Bridge to the Lindisfarn lodge- 
 gates. 
 
 "-I don't believe it ; I wont and can't be- 
 lieve it," he then said, as the result of his 
 meditations. 
 
 "Believe what, Mr. Mat?" asked Mar- 
 garet. 
 
 " Believe that the child they want to set 
 up as the heir is your Cousin Julian's lawful 
 son. Miss Margaret." 
 
 "You don't say so, Mr. Mat?" cried 
 Margaret, in a very dififerent tone of voice 
 from that in which she had before spoken. 
 
 "1 rfw," said Mr. Mat, very decisively; 
 " but not believing is one thing, mind you, 
 and finding out is another." 
 
 " What do you think is the truth, then, 
 Mr. Mat? " said Margaret, in a more kindly 
 tone than she had ever before used to her 
 companion. 
 
 " I don't know ; but I zem there's a screw 
 loose somewhere ; I don't believe 'tis all 
 right." 
 
 "Oh, Mr. Mat ! do you think it would be 
 possible to find it out? " 
 
 "Ah, that's the thing; they are 'cute 
 chaps ; and that fellow Jared INIallory, the 
 attoi-ncy, is a regular bad 'un. But maybe 
 the play is not all played out yet. Here 
 we arc. Miss Margaret ; and welcome home 
 to the old place ! " 
 
 Kate was on the steps waiting to meet her 
 
 sister, and seized her in her arms as she got 
 down from the gig. 
 
 " Come up-stairs, dear. Papa is out about 
 the place somewhere. He will see you before 
 dinner." 
 
 Margaret kissed her sister somewhat stiffly 
 and ungraciously, and proceeded to follow 
 her up the stairs in silence. When they 
 were together in Kate's room, the latter 
 said, — 
 
 "You know, I suppose, Margaret, how 
 the news came out. You are aware that it 
 was communicated to Mr. Slowcome, and he 
 came up here to tell us yesterday ? " 
 
 "Oh, yes, I know it all ! " said Marga- 
 ret. 
 
 ' ' And — and — yourself^your own affairs ?' ' 
 hesitated Kate, whose great anxiety on her 
 sister's behalf would not let her be silent, 
 though she felt a difficulty in asking for ex- 
 planations which, according to her own feel- 
 ings, should have come so spontaneously from 
 sister to sister. 
 
 " Everything is broken off between me 
 and Mr. Falconer, Kate, if that is what you 
 are alluding to, — broken off now and for- 
 ever, whatever may be the result of the 
 doubts that have arisen." 
 
 " Doubts that have arisen, dear Margaret? 
 I fear the nature of the case has not been 
 fully explained to you. Alas ! there are no 
 doubts about the matter.'' 
 
 " I have spoken with the lawyer myself, 
 Kate, and prefer to trust to ray own impres- 
 sions," said Margaret, whose sole idea that 
 there might be any doubt about the matter 
 arose from the words which had dropped 
 from !Mr. ^lat in the gig. 
 
 " I fear that you are deluding yourself 
 with a baseless hope, Margaret," said Kate, 
 shaking her head sadly. " But I know that 
 the change in our position has not been the 
 worst unhappiness you have had to struggle 
 with, dearest Margaret; and my heart has 
 been very heavy for you ; for I feared, — I 
 feared, Margaret, as I told you, that he was 
 not worthy of the great faith and trust you 
 placed in him." 
 
 " Mr. Falconer has behaved very badly. 
 It would be agreeable to me never, if that 
 were possible, to hear his name again. I 
 hope, at all events, not to have to hear it 
 from you , Kate ! " And it was clear that 
 Margaret intended that the whole topic of 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 her engagement should be closed and walled 
 up between her and Kate. 
 
 " It was a very great shock to poor papa 
 at first," said Kate ; " and it was very pain- 
 ful to me, as you may suppose, to be obliged 
 to conceal from him that I had known it all 
 along ; but there was no help for it. But 
 the worst is not over, ^largaret ; Lady Farn 
 leigh is coming home in a day or two ; and 
 I do dread the having a concealment be- 
 tween her and me. It is a great, great com- 
 fort that she is coming home, — a comfort that 
 I have been longing for these many weeks. 
 And now the happiness of seeing her is al- 
 most all spoilt by the necessity of keeping 
 this miserable secret from her knowledge. 
 And it is not so easy a matter, let me tell 
 you, ^largaret, to keep a secret from god- 
 mamma as it is from dear old Noll." 
 
 '•• You don't mean to say, Kate, that you 
 are going to break your promise, and betray 
 me ! You are not going to put it into the 
 power of that woman to ruin me ! " 
 
 " ^Margaret, JMargaret — that woman! and 
 ruin you ! For Heaven's sake, do not speak 
 in such a way ; and worse still, have such 
 thoughts in your heart." 
 
 " That's all nonsense, Kate ; Lady Farn- 
 leigh is not my godmother. It is plain 
 enough to see that she detests me, I saw 
 that clearly the first day I came here ; I saw 
 her jealousy for her favorite — as if it were 
 my fault that — I tell you she hates me ; and 
 it would be delightful to her to have it in her 
 power to twit and expose me, and — I had 
 rather die than that Lady Farnleigh, of all 
 the people in the world, should know — all 
 about it ! I had rather die ! " repeated Mar- 
 garet, with a flash of her eyes that perfectly 
 startled her sister. 
 
 On the next day but one to that on which 
 this conversation passed between the two sis- 
 ters, Lady Farnleigh returned to Wanstrow, 
 and showed her impatience to see her darling 
 Kate under the unhappy circumstances that 
 had fallen upon her by driving over to Lin- 
 disfarn that same evening. She arrived at 
 the Chase in time for dinner, but during that 
 meal, of course, nothing was said of the sub- 
 ject that was uppermost in all their hearts. 
 
 After dinner, as the ladies were crossing 
 the hall to the drawing-room, Lady Farn- 
 leigh made a sign to Kate to let Miss Immy 
 and Margaret go on to the drawing-room, 
 and to escape up-stairs with her to her room. 
 
 229 
 
 It was not an unprecedented escapade of her 
 ladyship's. 
 
 " And now tell me all about it, my dear, 
 dear girl — my poor dear Kate ! Has it hit 
 your father very hard ? " 
 
 " It was a hard blow at first, — very hard. 
 But you know my dear father, — dear old 
 Noll ! Y'ou know his cheery, hearty nature. 
 Sorrow cannot stick to him ; it runs ofl' like 
 water oflT a duck's back ; his genial strong 
 nature turns it. Nevertheless, I am sure he 
 has felt it deeply ; if he could only have 
 known the truth earlier in life, he says. 
 Poor dear, dear Noll ! And I cannot say all 
 that I would to comfort him, you see, be- 
 cause the misfortune hits poor Margaret 
 more severely than it does me. Thanks to 
 a certain good fairy that stood by at my 
 christening, you know, I am sufl&ciently well 
 provided for," said Kate, creeping close up 
 to her godmother's side. 
 
 "Sufficiently provided for! You know 
 very little, my poor child, of what pounds, 
 shillings, and pence can do, and what they 
 can't. If you mean that you need never 
 come 'upon the parish, as far as that goes 
 you may probably be easy. You want but 
 little here below, and all the rest of it, I 
 dare say. But Birdie wants her oats, and 
 plenty of them, and a good groom to wait on 
 her. It is all very fine talking, Kate, and 
 the headings to the copybooks may say what 
 they please ; but poverty is a bitter thing to 
 those who have to make acquaintance with it 
 for the first time in the midst of a life of 
 ease and abundance." 
 
 "Well, you are a Job's comforter, you 
 bad fairy, I must say," cried Kate, laughing. 
 
 " I don't like it, Kate, and I can't pretend 
 to say that I do. It is a great misfortune, 
 and there is no wisdom in pretending to our- 
 selves that it is not so." 
 
 " I have still so much to be thankful for, — 
 60 much that ought to make happiness," said 
 Kate, with rather suspicious emphasis on the 
 word " ought." 
 
 " Yes, that is all very pretty spoken, and 
 proper — and it's true, indeed — which is more 
 than could be said for all pretty and proper 
 speeches. But now, goddaughter, we have 
 pt to discuss another chapter. Yes, you 
 know what is coming. Miss Kate ; I see your 
 guilt in your face. How dare you take ad- 
 vantage of ray back being turned to break my 
 dear friend's heart'? " 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 230 
 
 Kate looked up into Lady Farnleigh's face 
 with an expression tiiat caused her at once to 
 change her tone. 
 
 " If I try to laugh, ray own darling, it 
 is to save crying," she said, putting her 
 arm around Kate's neck, and pressing the 
 gracious drooping head against her bosom ; 
 for they had been standing side by side in 
 front of the low fire in Kate's room. What 
 is it, my Kate ? Tell me all that there is in 
 this dear, good, honest heart, which I feel 
 beating, beating, as if it would burst. Tell 
 me all about it, my own child." 
 
 It was true enough, as Lady Farnleigh 
 said, that Kate's agitation was becoming 
 more and more painful, as her friend spoke. 
 Her bosom rose and fell with long-drawn sighs, 
 that, despite her utmost efforts to suppress 
 them, gradually became sobs. Slowly the 
 great clear tear-drops which had been gath- 
 ering in her eyes beneath the downcast lids 
 brimmed over, and rolled down her pale 
 cheeks, till suddenly flinging herself into a 
 chair by her side, she fell into such a storm 
 of hysterical weeping that Lady Farnleigh 
 became at once convinced, not without as- 
 tonishment, that there was something more 
 than the patent circumstances of the case 
 could account for, to occasion so violent and 
 so painful an emotion. For violence of emo- 
 tion, hysterics, and the like, and even tears, 
 were quite out of Kate's usual way. It was 
 very evident to Lady Farnleigh, as she looked 
 on the convulsed face and bosom of her 
 dearly loved godchild, with sympathizing 
 sorrow and almost with alarm expressed in 
 her own face, that there was some serious 
 cause for grief here, beyond those of which 
 she was cognizant. 
 
 She had heard in a few short lines from 
 Captain Ellingham of his rejection, and of 
 the change of station which he had under 
 happier circumstances looked forward to as 
 such a misfortune, but which he was now 
 disposed to consider as a most lucky escape 
 from scenes and associations which had be- 
 come intolerable to him. She had heard this, 
 and had heard it with some surprise and a 
 little vexation, but had flattered herself that 
 some of the many misunderstandings, or shy- 
 nesses, or cross-purposes, which are so apt to 
 interfere with the precise intercommunica- 
 tion of people's sentiments and purposes in 
 such matters, would be found to have caused 
 
 all the mischief, and a little judicious inter- 
 mediation would put it all right. But now 
 the fearful state of agitation into which Kate 
 had been thrown by the mere mention of the 
 subject, showed her that it was no mere aifiiir 
 of girlish coyness, or even of the rejection of 
 a suitor whom she could not love. There 
 was something else, — something more than 
 all this ; and influenced by the purest and 
 truest desire to find the means of comfort for 
 so great a sorrow, she determined to get to 
 the bottom of the matter in some way. 
 
 But it was evident that the heart wound 
 was not at that moment in a state to endure 
 the probe, even in the tenderest hands. So 
 she applied herself to soothing the weeping 
 girl as well as she could, without any at- 
 tempt to continue the subject. 
 
 "You have been too much shaken, my 
 poor Kate, by all these things ; we wiH not 
 speak now on painful subjects. Hereafter, 
 when you are calmer, and your spirits have 
 recovered their usual tone, — hereafter you 
 shall tell me all you can feel a comfort in 
 telling." 
 
 " Indeed, indeed, godmamma, I have no 
 wish to have secrets from you ! I — I " — and 
 hiding her face on Lady Farnleigh's shoulder, 
 she burst anew into a passion of tears. 
 
 " There, there, my darling, we will speak 
 no more of it now ; another time, another 
 time. There, my Kate, your tears will 
 have done you good , there, you will be 
 calmer now, my child!" and Lady Farn- 
 leigh soothed her on her bosom as she spoke, 
 as a nurse soothes a sufiering infant. 
 
 After a little while, Kate became calmer ; 
 and, having dried her tears, but with a still 
 quivering lip, said to her friend, — 
 
 " But you know, dearest godmamma, that 
 it was all for the best ; what should we have 
 done, think, if Captain Ellingham had been 
 accepted by me, when he supposed that 1 
 possessed fortune enough for all our require- 
 ments, and then " — 
 
 " Do you imagine, Kate, that Ellingham 
 proposed to you because you were an heir- 
 ess ? ' ' 
 
 "No, no, that I am sure, quite sure, he 
 did not," replied Kate, with an energy which 
 Lady Farnleigh marked, and made a note of 
 in her mind. 
 
 "Well, then? "said she. 
 
 " But that is a very different thing from 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 231 
 
 proposing to a girl supposed to be a largo 
 heiress, and then finding that she has notli- 
 
 " Yes, it is different. It would be fair in 
 such a case to give back to a man his entire 
 liberty, — fair too to hold him blameless if he 
 availed himself of it to retire from a position 
 he never intended to occupy." 
 
 " But it would be very unfair, "exclaimed 
 Kate, '•■ to expose a man to such a painful 
 ordeal." 
 
 "Very unfair; but you are talking non- 
 sense, Kate, dear. Such unfairness as you 
 speak of would imply that the lady was 
 aware of the mistake respecting her fortune. 
 Of course, no good girl would be guilty of 
 such conduct as that. But what has that to 
 do with the present case? " 
 
 " I only said, dear godmamma, that it was 
 all for the best as it turned out, since Cap- 
 tain EUingham had no intention of proposing 
 to a girl who had nothing to help toward the 
 expenses of a home." 
 
 " That, my dear Kate, is a matter for Cap- 
 tain EUingham's consideration ; and what 
 his sentiments upon that point are, you have 
 no means of knowing." 
 
 " I do know, at all events, that he does 
 not imagine that I refused him because I had, 
 or was supposed to have, much more money 
 than he had. I do know that, for he told 
 me so in the most noble and generous man- 
 ner ; and it is a great, great comfort," said 
 Kate, and the now silent tears began to drop 
 anew. 
 
 Lady Farnleigh observed the emotion which 
 the mention of this circumstance caused 
 Kate, and added a mem. of it to the note she 
 had already taken. 
 
 "If, indeed, you had known of the strange 
 circumstances which have come to light and 
 have so materially altered your prospects, 
 at the time you rejected EUingham's offer, 
 it would all have been intelligible enough ; 
 and it would have been for him to renew his 
 suit under the changed circumstances of the 
 case, or not, as he might think fit ; but that 
 was not the case. If he were now to do so, 
 it would be insulting to suppose that you 
 might accept a man in your poverty whom 
 you had rejected in your wealth." 
 
 "Oh, Lady Farnleigh, the bare thought 
 is hideous," cried Kate, seeming to shrink 
 bodily, as from a stab, while she spoke, — 
 " hideous ; and Captain Ellingham is inca- 
 
 pable of conceiving such an idea. He will 
 never repeat his offer. As you say, it would 
 be offensive to me to do so, — in a manner in 
 which it is impossible that be should offend." 
 
 Again Lady Farnleigh silently added an- 
 other note to her mental tablets. 
 
 " And what is all this about your sister 
 Margaret?" continued she, willing to lead 
 Kate's mind away, for the nonce, from the 
 subject of her own affairs. " I hear that she 
 was engaged to jNIr. Falconer ; and what is 
 to become of that engagement now? " i 
 
 " It is all true, godmamma, too true. She 
 ivas engaged to ^Ir. Falconer. Papa had 
 given his consent, and the settlements were 
 being made out. But it is all broken off 
 now." 
 
 "Oh, it's all off now. And how long had 
 
 it been on. 
 
 pray 
 
 " It is a little more than a month since 
 she accepted him, I think," replied Kate, 
 remembering vividly enough that miserable 
 and memorable day so soon after that inter- 
 view with her cousin in the cottage at Deep 
 Creek. 
 
 " A month ago, was it? " said Lady Farn- 
 leigh, musing. 
 
 " Yes, about a month ago. But we have 
 seen very little of it all up here at the Chase. 
 Margaret has been almost constantly down 
 in Silverton with Lady Sempronia and my 
 uncle." 
 
 " And when did the break-offtake place ? " 
 
 " Oh, just the other day." 
 
 " On the news of this unlucky discovery 
 about the property, of course ? " 
 
 " I presume so, of course. But Margaret 
 is not communicative about it. She does not 
 like speaking on the subject, naturally 
 enough." 
 
 " And what did the gentleman say for 
 himself? How well I judged that man, 
 Kate ! " 
 
 " I have no idea how it was brought about, 
 or what passed. I know that Margaret con- 
 siders herself to have been very ill-treated. 
 She said briefly that all was off between 
 them, and that she wished she could never 
 hear his name again." 
 
 "So, so, so, so. Well, my dear, I dare 
 say she has been ill-treated. My notion is, 
 that Master Fred is a man to behave ill in 
 such circumstances. There are more wayf 
 than one of doing a thing. But still it it 
 right to bear in mind what we were saying 
 
232 
 
 just now, you know, of the unfairness of 
 holding a man to an engagement made un- 
 der very diffei'ent circumstances." 
 
 "Of course, godmamma. I don't know 
 at all how matters passed between Margaret 
 and Mr. Falconer. The making of the en- 
 gagement and the breaking of it were both 
 done down in the Close." 
 
 — "Unreasonable to expect that a man 
 should consider himself bound by such an 
 engagement under such circmstances," con- 
 tinued Lady Farnleigh, more as if she were 
 talking to herself than to her companion, 
 " and yet a man must be a great cur ; I dare 
 say Mr. Frederick Falconer did it very bru- 
 tally. At all events, he lost no time about 
 it. What day was it that the facts about 
 this new claim were known ? " 
 
 " Mr. Slowcomc came up here to papa, on 
 the Thursday morning. It must have been 
 known to everybody in the course of that 
 day. Mr. Falconer may have heard of it 
 even on the previous evening." 
 
 " And ivhcn did you say the break-off be- 
 tween them took place ? " 
 
 " I only know that when Margaret came 
 home on the Saturday, she told me that it 
 was all off." 
 
 " From the Thursday morning to the Fri- 
 day night ; that was the time he had to do 
 it in. Upon my word, Master Freddy must 
 have shown himself worthy of the occasion ! 
 Why, he must have jammed his helm hard 
 up, and laid his vessel on her beam ends at 
 the very first sight of the breakers ahead." 
 
 " He certainly could not have lost much 
 time in making up his mind about it," Kate 
 admitted. 
 
 " And what had I better say to her on the 
 subject? " said Lady Farnleigh, after a short 
 pause, during which she had been thinking 
 over the circumstances of this broken match, 
 as far as they were patent to her, with a re- 
 sulting estimate of the actors in the little 
 drama not very favorable to either of them. 
 
 " Well, I am sure Margaret would be best 
 pleased by your saying nothing at all." 
 
 " Then nothing at all will I say ; I am 
 sure there is nothing agreeable or useful to 
 be said ; and 1 have no wish to pain or annoy 
 her. And now I suppose, my pet, that we 
 must go down into the drawing-room. Your 
 father and Mr. I\Iat will have come in from 
 their wine by this time ; and 1 want to have 
 a little chat with ]Mr. Mat. I suppose Mar- 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 garet wont think me a brute for saying no 
 word of condolence to her, respecting the 
 mangled condition of her heart." 
 
 " Now, godmamma, I must not let you be 
 savage and spiteful about poor Margaret," 
 said Kate, with a faint attempt at a smile. 
 " I am sure she must have suffered." 
 
 " Well ! I wont be savage and spiteful ; 
 au contraire, you unreasonable Kate, was I not 
 debating with myself whether or no it would 
 be more civil to attempt any binding up of 
 her wounds by my condolences ? But I sup- 
 pose not ; I do not think it is a case for my 
 surgery; lam sure I wish to be civil, not 
 spiteful. But — there ! I don't want to med- 
 dle with it. But if you were to hang and 
 quarter me, my dear, I cannot be sympathetic 
 and tearful over the loves of Miss Margaret 
 and Mr. Frederick, whether the course of 
 them runs smooth or crosswise." 
 
 So Kate and her fairy godmother went 
 down into the drawing-room ; where they 
 found the squire fast asleep in his favorite 
 corner of the fireplace ; Miss Immy sitting 
 bolt upright in a small chair at the table, 
 tranquilly reading her " Clarissa llarlowe," 
 with a pair of candles immediately in front 
 of her ; Mr. Mat busily engaged in weaving 
 the meshes of a landing-net, at a table by 
 himself in the further part of the room, si- 
 lently whistling a tune over his work, — if 
 the phrase is a permissible one for the de- 
 scription of a performance which consisted, as 
 far as outward manifestations went, only of 
 the movement of the lips and eyebrows — 
 and Miss Margaret half reclining elegantly 
 on a sofa, unoccupied save in chewing the 
 cud of sweet and bitter fancy. Her attitude 
 was unexceptionable, and her occupation very 
 pardonable. Nevertheless, some hidden con- 
 sciousness or other made her spring up and 
 reseat herself in a primmer fashion, as the 
 door opened and Lady Farnleigh and her sis- 
 ter came in. 
 
 "I was afraid Mr. Banting would have 
 brought the tea in. Miss Immy, and that you 
 would have waited for us," said Lady Farn- 
 leigh. 
 
 " Oh, dear, no ! " said Miss Immy, as if 
 her guest had suggested the most absurd im- 
 possibility ; " it wants five minutes to teatime 
 yet." 
 
 " Indeed ! Well, 1 shall spend these five 
 minutes in a teie-a-lete with Mr. Mat, over 
 there at his separate establishment, and try 
 
LINDISFA 
 
 whether I can't make him miss a mesh at 
 least once in every minute." 
 
 " Not you, Latly Farnleigli," said Mr. 
 Mat. But, nevertheless, it might have been 
 observed that Mr. Mat's netting made but 
 very little progress from that time till tlie 
 tea was brought. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIir. 
 LADY FAKNLKIGII CATCHES AN IDEA. 
 
 Ladv Farx LEIGH slept at the Chase that 
 night, as she usually did on the occasion of 
 her visits. She had, also, as her wont was, 
 ridden over from Wanstrow, sending what 
 she needed for her stay at the Chase through 
 Silver ton, and retaining her own horse at 
 Lindisfarn, but sending back to Wanstrow 
 the groom who had ridden behind her. At 
 breakfast the next moi'ning she said, — 
 
 "I hope you have not forgotten your 
 promise, Mr. Mat. Mr. Mat and I are go- 
 ing to ride into Silverton this morning. It 
 is not very civil, is it, Kate, to run off and 
 leave you in such a fashion the first morning? 
 But I can't help it. I have all sorts of things 
 to do, and people to see, so that there would 
 be no pleasant ride to be got. "Wc will have 
 a good gallop together to-morrow, Katie dear. 
 But to-day I invite only Mr. Mat to ride with 
 me, because there will be nothing but what 
 is disagreeable to be done." 
 
 " Always ready for the worst that can 
 happen in your ladyship's company," said 
 Mr. Mat. 
 
 Margaret glanced up at Lady Farnleigh's 
 face with a sharp, uneasy look, as the latter 
 had spoken of the various things she had to 
 do and people to see in Silverton ; but she 
 quickly dropped her eyes again on her break- 
 fast plate, and did not say anything. As soon, 
 however, as Lady Farnleigh and Mr. Mat had, 
 almost immediately after breakfast, mounted 
 their liorses and ridden away towards the 
 lodge on the road to Silverton, and the squire 
 had somewhat listlessly sauntered back into 
 his study, and ^Miss Immy had bustled off to 
 her domestic cares, Margaret said to her sis- 
 ter,— 
 
 " I wonder, Kate, that your favorite god- 
 mamma did not invite you to ride witli her ; 
 it is so long since you have had a ride to- 
 gether." 
 
 " Yes, and I should have liked a good gal- 
 I021 over the common towards Weston well 
 enough," said Kate; "but you heard her 
 
 RN CHASE. 233 
 
 say that she had several people to sec in Sil- 
 verton." 
 
 " I wonder who it is she has gone to see ? " 
 rejoined ^largaret, after a pause. 
 
 "» How should I know ? She has a great 
 many friends in Silverton, and business peo- 
 ple to see besides, very likely." 
 
 " But all her friends are acquaintances of 
 yours. Why should she not have taken you 
 with her? " persisted Margaret. 
 
 " She would easily guess that I am not 
 much in a humor for visiting," returned 
 Kate, " as in good truth I am not." 
 
 " I wonder why she took Mr. Mat with 
 her? " still continued Margaret, ponder- 
 ing, and evidently not at all satisfied with 
 Kate's answers. " Will she call in the Close, 
 do you suppose, Kate ? " 
 
 " Very likely. She did not say anything 
 to me about it," answered Kate, carelessly. 
 
 " Did you observe how closely she and 
 Mr. Mat were talking together last night 
 in the drawing-room ? " said Margaret, still, 
 as it seemed, uneasy about the visit to Sil- 
 verton. 
 
 " Not particularly. But it is very likely. 
 They are very old friends and allies, my god- 
 mamma and Mr. Mat." 
 
 " Yes ; but I am sure they were planning 
 something about what they are gone to Sil- 
 verton for this morning ! " said JNIargaret. 
 
 " Nothing more likely. But what in the 
 world have you got into your head, INIarga- 
 ret, about Lady Farnleigh's ride to Silver- 
 ton?" 
 
 "Oh, I know what I know, and I think 
 what I think. I've a notion that she is gone 
 to plot and plan, or meddle, or make in some 
 way about our affairs. And however much 
 you may like that, Kate, I don't like it. I 
 don't like her, as you well know ; and I don't 
 at all want her to interfere with any affairs 
 of mine." 
 
 " Why, how should she interfere, Marga- 
 ret? I can't guess what you are thinking 
 of," said Kate, much surprised ; " and I am 
 so sorry, more sorry than you can think," 
 she added, " that you have taken such an un- 
 reasonable dislike to my dear, dear godmoth- 
 er. You may depend on it, Margaret, that 
 we have not a better friend in the world than 
 Lady Farnleigh." 
 
 " That is to say, she is your friend," re- 
 turned Margaret, with a strong emphasis on 
 the possessive pronoun. 
 
234 
 
 UNDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 " My friend, and your friend, and Noll's 
 friend , and the dearest friend our mother had 
 in the world, Margaret ! " 
 
 " That's all very well, Kate, for you. But 
 I like choosing my friends for myself," said 
 Margaret. 
 
 Meanwhile Lady Farnleigh and Mr. Mat 
 were walking their horses leisurely down the 
 road that led toward the Ivy Bridge. 
 
 " This is a very sad affair, Mr. Mat. Do 
 you think the squire feels it very deeply ? " 
 said her ladyship. 
 
 " It is the worst piece of business that 
 ever happened at Lindisfarn, Lady Farnleigh. 
 The squire — God bless him ! — is one of those 
 who think that care killed a cat ; and he will 
 none on't. But he feels it, — he feels it for 
 all that, you may depend on it." 
 
 " And my darling Kate ! she is not like 
 herself, — neither mind nor body. Do you 
 think, Mr. Mat, that she is fretting about 
 it ? I should not have thought that it would 
 have affected her so deeply." 
 
 " Not a bit of it, Lady Farnleigh. Kate's 
 not a-fretting after the acres. That's another 
 bad matter, — another and not the same." 
 
 " How another — what other?" said Lady 
 Farnleigh, who, having been obliged to quit 
 the subject of Ellingham's offer to Kate, in 
 the manner that has been seen, had failed 
 to learn whether the fact had become known 
 to any of the members of the family, and 
 was anxious to ascertain this point. 
 
 " Ah ! that's the question," said Mr. Mat, 
 with a deep sigh, — " that's just what I should 
 thank anybody to tell me. I don't suppose 
 there's been a day for the last fortnight that 
 the squire and I have not talked it over after 
 dinner. Squire's a deal more down in the 
 mouth about Kate than he is about the 
 property. As you say, Lady Farnleigh, she 
 is noways like the same girl she used to be. 
 Body or mind, be it which it may, or both, 
 she is amiss, and far amiss somehow." 
 
 " It is some time, then, that she has been 
 in the state she is ? " asked Lady Farnleigh . 
 
 " Yes, a spell now, — ever since that silly 
 business of a match between jMiss Margaret 
 and Freddy Falconer, ugh! " grunted Mr. 
 Mat, with an expression of infinite disgust. 
 
 " Ever since the announcement of her sis- 
 ter's engagement," said Lady Farnleigh, 
 musingly. " It has clearly nothing to do, 
 then, with the discovery of her cousin's mar- 
 
 riage, and of the existence of a male heir to 
 the property? " 
 
 " Oh, nothing, — nothing at all. That is 
 what I say ; it came befoi'e all that." 
 
 " And there has been nothing to which you 
 can attribute it, — nothing has happened, — 
 nothing of any sort? " 
 
 ' ' Nothing that I can think of, and I am 
 sure I never thought so much about anything 
 before, in my life, as I have thought about 
 that. There was that affair at Sillmouth, — at 
 Pendleton's cottage ; but there was nothing 
 in that, so far as I can see, to make her out 
 of sorts." 
 
 "Oh, by the by ! tell me all about that 
 story ; it all happened, you know, after I 
 went away." 
 
 " Well, there was nothing, as it turned 
 out, to make Kate vex herself. It seems that 
 Pendleton's boat, the Saucy Sally he called 
 her, you know, poor fellow! — she was a 
 beautiful boat as ever swam, and she's gone 
 the way of all Sallys, however saucy they 
 be, now, — well, the Saucy Sally was going 
 to make a run from t'other side one night, 
 with a big cargo ; and the men were de- 
 termined to make a fight of it, if they 
 were meddled with, the stupid blockheads ! 
 And poor Winny Pendleton got wind some- 
 how, that the cutter — Ellingham's vessel, the 
 Petrel, you know — would be on the look-out 
 for them. So poor Winny was frightened 
 out of her wits, — natural enough ! — and 
 off she starts one terrible blustering night to 
 walk up to the Chase, all a-purpose to beg 
 Kate to try and persuade Ellingham — he was 
 up at the Chase that night , as it chanced — to 
 stay quiet where he was next day, and so let 
 the lugger slip in quietly, and no bones 
 broken ; a likely story ! and Winny must 
 have been a bigger fool than I took her for, 
 to think of such a thing. However, she did 
 frighten Kate, with her rawhead-and-bloody- 
 bones stories of what would be sure to hap- 
 pen if it came to a fight between the cutter 
 and the smugglers, to such a degree that Kate 
 went to Ellingham and told him all about it, 
 one way or another ; I don't know what she 
 said to him. Of course he told her that he 
 must do his duty, come what might. And 
 we, Kate and I, had to ride over to Sillmouth, 
 to tell Winny Pendleton that it was no go ; 
 and that if the men would fight, their blood 
 must be on their own heads. And certainly, 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 235 
 
 Kate was in a desperate taking about it 
 that night. She took it into her head that 
 either rcndlcton or EUingham, or maybe 
 both of them, would certainly be killed. 
 But as good luck would have it, it was a ter- 
 ribly dirty night. The Saiccy Sa//y managed 
 to give the cutter a wide berth ; aud there 
 was no fight at all, except with some of the 
 coastguardmcn on shore, in which Pendleton 
 got hurt, and a French chap who was with 
 him got a broken head, which nearly sent 
 him into the next world. Well, the wound- 
 ed man was carried to the cottage at Deep 
 Creek; and up comes, or sends, Winny 
 again, to say that the stranger is dying, — old 
 Bagstock had given Iiim over, and he could 
 not speak a word of English, and Pendleton 
 was away to the moor, and what on earth 
 was she to do, and all the rest of it, — and 
 would ]\Iiss Kate have the charity to come 
 down to the cottage, aud speak to the man 
 who was dying without being able to speak 
 a word to a Christian soul? There was no 
 saying no to that. So we had to mount our 
 nags and ride over again. And we found the 
 man bad enough, to all appearance. But 
 Kate, like a sensible girl and a good Chris- 
 tian, as she is, sent me off for Blakistry to 
 mend old Bagstock's tinkering. And Blakis- 
 try managed to set the chap on his legs 
 again; and he was on his way back to 
 France, as I hear, in the Saucy Sally, when 
 she was lost. That is the whole of the story. 
 And though Kate certainly was very much 
 put about — more than you would have 
 thought — when she feared there was going to 
 be bloodshed, and likely enough lives lost, 
 still, as the matter turned out, there was 
 nothing to vex her at the time even, let alone 
 making her miserable from that time tc this. 
 No, no ; that has nothing to do with it." 
 
 " And you can think of nothing else of 
 any sort? " asked Lady Farnleigh, after she 
 had pondered in silence for a few minutes, 
 over all the details of Mr. IMat's history. 
 
 "Nothing at all, Lady Farnleigh. Some- 
 body or something did put it into the 
 squire's head, at one time, that she had cast 
 a sheep's eye on that Jemmy Jessamy of 
 a fellow, Fred Falconer, and was breaking 
 her heart over her sister's engagement to 
 him. But, Lord ! it was no good to tell 
 that to me ! OurgKate pining after JMaster 
 Freddy Falconer ! No, that wont do ! " 
 
 "No, I don't think that is at all likely. 
 I flatter myself we know Kate, both you and 
 I, Mr. Mat, a little too well to give any heed 
 to that story." 
 
 "/should think so, and I was quite sure 
 you would agree with me, Lady Farnleigh." 
 
 ' ' But we are no nearer to guessing what is 
 the matter ; and something serious there is," 
 said Lady Farnleigh, with grave earnestness. 
 
 " Ay, there is, aud no mistake about it ; 
 sometimes I think 'tis all from being out of 
 health." 
 
 " Well, I'll tell you what I will do for one 
 thing, — and the first thing. We will ride 
 first to Dr. Blakistry 's, and I will have a talk 
 with him. You shall leave me there for a 
 little time, Mr. Mat." 
 
 " Very good, that will suit me very well ; 
 for I want to see Glenny about some new 
 glees that our club has been getting down 
 from London." 
 
 So that matter being satisfactorily ar- 
 ranged, they rode directly, on reaching Sil- 
 verton, to Dr. Blakistry 's door, and were 
 fortunate enough to catch him before he 
 had started on his round of professional 
 visits. So ]\Ir. Mat went off to his musical 
 friend, and Lady Farnleigh was admitted to 
 a tete-d-tele with the doctor. 
 
 " Doctor," said she, going directly to her 
 object, after a few complimentary words had 
 been said with reference to her return to Sill- 
 shire, — "doctor, lam unhappy and uneasy 
 about my goddaughter and pet, Kate Lindis- 
 farn. She is far from well. Whether the 
 main seat of the malady is in the body or the 
 mind, I do not know ; but whichever it may 
 be I equally come to you for help. Is it long 
 since you have seen her ? ' ' 
 
 " Why, as it so happens, Lady Farnleigh, 
 it is rather longer than usual since I have 
 seen Miss Lindisfarn. It is — let me see — 
 just about a month, or a little more, since 
 I saw her, soon after paying a visit near 
 Sillmouth to a patient to whose bedside she 
 summoned me." 
 
 " Yes, I have heard the story of the 
 wounded Frenchman at Pendleton's cottage. 
 Mr. Mat told me all about it as we were riding 
 in from the Chase this morning." 
 
 " Of course your ladyship has heard also 
 of the very singular circumstances which 
 have come to light, with the effect of chang- 
 ing in so important a degree the worldly 
 
LINDISFARN 
 
 asked 
 
 236 
 
 prospects of the Misses Lindisfarn ? 
 the doctor. 
 
 " Of course. Yes, I have heard the strange 
 story, as everybody in Sillshire has heard it 
 by this time. It is a very sti'ange story." 
 
 " Has it occurred to your ladyship to con- 
 sider how far it may be possible that the de- 
 pressed state of Miss Kate Lindisfarn 's spirits 
 may be attributable to this sad change in her 
 social position? " 
 
 " The idea has occurred to me, doctor, but 
 only to be scouted the next instant. No, 
 that is not it. We must seek again. In the 
 first place, all my knowledge of Kate's charac- 
 ter — and ib is a lifelong knowledge, remem- 
 ber, doctor — would lead me to say that such 
 a misfortune would not affect her in such a 
 manner. It is a misfortune, — a great misfor- 
 tune. Of course Kate would feel it as such. 
 But she would not pine or fret over it. It is 
 not in her nature, I feel perfectly sure of it. 
 But, in the second place, it cannot be that 
 your conjecture is the true one, for another 
 and a perfectly decisive reason. The effect 
 was in action before the existence of the 
 cause to which your suggestion would assign 
 it. Kate's sad loss of spirits and of healthy 
 tone was remarked on at the Chase a month 
 ago or moi'e ; and this sudden change of for- 
 tune has been discovered only within the last 
 few days." 
 
 Dr. Blakistry remained silent for a minute 
 or two before he replied. 
 
 " I should be quite disposed to agree with 
 you. Lady Farnleigh," he then said, " that 
 such a cause as we arc speaking of would not 
 appear to me to furnish a probable explana- 
 tion of the phenomena in question. But I 
 think it right — under the circumstances of 
 the case, I think it right — to let you know 
 tliat you arc in error respecting the time at 
 which the knowledge of this sad misfortune 
 may have begun to exercise its influence upon 
 our young friend. The putting you right in 
 this matter involves the disclosing of a secret 
 which was confided to me, and which no con- 
 sideration would have induced me to betray, 
 were it not that death has made the further 
 keeping of it altogether unnecessary. I do 
 not know exactly by what means the facts 
 which involve the change in the destination 
 of the Lindisfarn property have been made 
 generally known ; but — Miss Kate Lindis- 
 farn did not first become acquainted with 
 these facts in the same manner or at the same 
 
 CHASE. 
 
 time. They were known to her and to her 
 sister from the time of that visit of mine to 
 the wounded stranger in Deep Creek Cot- 
 tage." 
 
 "Dr. Blakistry!" exclaimed Lady Farn- 
 leigh, in the greatest astonishment. 
 
 "It is even so. Miss Lindisfarn is not 
 aware that I am cognizant of the fact that 
 such is the case ; but it so happens that I 
 know it to be so. The wounded man to 
 whose bedside I was called was none other 
 than Julian Lindisfai-n, the same who is said 
 to have recently perished at sea on his return 
 to France ; and Miss Kate was informed by 
 him of the fact, and was made fully aware of 
 the bearing that fact had upon her pros- 
 pects." 
 
 " And Margaret?" 
 
 " Was equally made aware of the same 
 facts. She was informed of them at the 
 same time, by her sister, who bargained 
 with her dying cousin, as he then fancied 
 himself, for permission to share the secret 
 with her." 
 
 Lady Farnleigh bent her head, and placed 
 her hand before her eyes, as if in deep and 
 painful thought, for some minutes. 
 
 "What can have been Kate's motive?" 
 she said at last, raising her head and looking 
 up into the doctor's face, but still seeming to 
 speak more to herself than to him, — " what 
 can have been Kate's motive for keeping this 
 secret from her family and from me? " 
 
 " The motive of her secrecy up to the time 
 of her cousin's departure from England is 
 obvious enough. Doubtless she had given the 
 same promise of secrecy to her cousin that 
 was exacted from me. It seems to have been 
 his earnest wish that it should not be known 
 to his family that he was alive and in the 
 immediate neighborhood. But what her 
 motive has been in still keeping silence as to 
 the fact since his departure, and yet more 
 since his death has become known, I cannot 
 imagine." 
 
 Again Lady Farnleigh remained plunged 
 in deep thought, resting her head upon her 
 hand for a long time. 
 
 At last, suddenly raising her head and 
 speaking with rapid earnestness, as if a sud- 
 den thought had flashed across her mind, she 
 said, — 
 
 " Can you recollect the exact date of your 
 visit to the cottage at Deep Creek, doctor ? " 
 
 " Undoubtedly. I can give it you with 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 the greatest certainty. It was — yes, here it 
 is,"' said the doctor, referring to a note-book 
 as he spoke, " tlic date of my first visit to Deep 
 Creek Cottage was the 20th of March last." 
 
 '■ The 20th of Marcli last ! " exclaimed 
 Lady Farnleigh, hurriedly searching among 
 a variety of papers she drew from the reticule 
 which ladies were wont to carry in those 
 days, — " the 20th of March ! " she repeated, 
 looking eagerly at the date of a letter she 
 had selected from among the other papers. 
 "Doctor, I think I hare discovered the mot 
 d'enigme. I think I see it. I think I un- 
 derstand it all. You must excuse me if I 
 make tlie bad return for your information of 
 keeping my own surmises on the subject to 
 myself. 1 must do so at least till they are 
 something more than surmises. I think I 
 see it all. My dear, dear, darling, high- 
 minded, noble-hearted Kate! And then Miss 
 Margaret ! Heavens and earth ! You have 
 no idea, doctor, how many things this little 
 secret of yours explains, or how much it is 
 worth. Have a little patience, and you 
 shall know all about it in good time." 
 
 " I will bide my time, Lady Farnleigh, 
 Avith such patience as I may. I only hope 
 that the solution of the mystery is of a na- 
 ture to bring back the roses to Miss Lindis- 
 farn's cheeks. Sillshire cannot afford to let 
 them wither away." 
 
 " That we shall sec ; I can't promise, — we 
 shall see. But I am not without my hopes. 
 And now, doctor, while I am waiting for Mr. 
 Mat, who is to come here for me, — and I 
 must trespass on your hospitality till he does 
 come ; for he is my only squire, — I will ask 
 you to have the kindness to give me the 
 means of writing a letter. I want to post it 
 before I leave Silverton." 
 
 And sitting down at the doctor's writing- 
 table. Lady Farnleigh, scribbling as fast as 
 ever she could drive the pen over the paper, 
 wrote the following letter : — 
 
 "Dear Walter, — If it is possible, come 
 here without loss of time, on receiving this. 
 And if it is not possible, make it so ; I want 
 you. Basta! come direct to Wanstrow, 
 without going to Silverton at all. I got 
 back here only yesterday. I know you wont 
 fail me ; and therefoi'e say no more. 
 " Y'ours always and affectionately, 
 
 " Katherine Farxleigu." 
 
 She sealed it in such haste and flurry that 
 she burnt her finsers in doins it : addressed 
 
 237 
 
 it to "The lion. Walter Ellingham, Moulsea 
 Haven, North Sillshire," and then jumping 
 up from the table, said, " Where can Mr. 
 Mat be ? He told me he was going to Glen- 
 ny's, the organist's. I suppose they are deep 
 in quavers and semiquavers. And I want to 
 be on my way back to Lindisfarn. If my 
 horse were here, I would ride off by myself." 
 
 " Here is ]\Ir. Mat ; I am sure he has not 
 suffered himself to be detained from his alle- 
 giance long, Lady Farnleigh." 
 
 "No, indeed! and I am very rude ; but 
 the fact is. Dr. Blakistry, that since I flatter 
 myself that I have discovered what I was in 
 search of when I came here, I am in a very 
 great hurry to go and test my nostrum. 
 Can't you sympathize with that impatience?" 
 
 " I can, indeed, and admit it to be a most 
 legitimate one. Mr. Mat," continued the 
 doctor, addressing that gentleman as he en- 
 tered the room, " her ladyship's service re- 
 quires that you should sound to boot and 
 saddle forthwith ; sorry that it accords so ill 
 with the duties of hospitality to tell you so, 
 but"— 
 
 " We must be off, Mr. Mat; I want to 
 get back to Lindisfarn." 
 
 " I thought your ladyship had ever so 
 many things to do in Silverton ! ' ' said ]Mr. 
 Mat, staring. 
 
 " All that remains to be done now, how- 
 ever, is to put this letter in the post; we will 
 ride by the post-office, and if you are for a 
 good gallop up from the Ivy Bridge to the 
 lodge-gate, I am quite disposed for it." 
 
 " With all my heart. Lady Farnleigh. 
 Any pace you like, once we arc down the 
 steep Castle Head to the bridge." 
 
 " I have heard a queerish thing since I 
 came into the town, Lady Farnleigh. It 
 reached my cars by an odd chance, and I 
 hardly know what to make of it," said Mr. 
 Mat, as they were walking their horses down 
 the steep pitch of hill above mentioned. 
 
 "Anything with reference to these sad af- 
 fairs at Lindisfarn ? " said Lady Farnleigh,to 
 whom any other Silverton gossip was just 
 then altogether uninteresting. 
 
 " Why, I hardly know ; I can't help fan- 
 cying that it has reference to some of us up 
 at the Chase, Lady Farnleigh," replied Mr. 
 Mat, with a shrewd glance at his companion's 
 face. ' ' But you shall judge for yourself. 
 When I went into Glenny's, the organist's, 
 just now, I found old Wyvil, the verger, in 
 
238 
 
 his room. ' Here's the raan that can tell us,' 
 cried Glenny, meaning me. I saw with half 
 an eye that old Wyvil was vexed, and that 
 Glenny was letting some cat or other out of 
 the hag ; but it was too late then to put her 
 in again. ' Tell you what ? ' said I. ' Why, 
 this,' said Glenny: 'was Dr. Lindisfarn ex- 
 pected to dinner up at the Chase last Fri- 
 day ? ' ' Not that I know of,' said I ; ' and 
 I certainly should have known if he had 
 been.' ' Thei'e now ! I thought as much ! ' 
 said Glenny. ' Why, what about it ? ' said 
 I. ' Well it is this,' said Glenny, without 
 paying any heed to old Gaffer Wyvil 's signs 
 and winks : ' Jonas, at the Lindisfarn Arms,' 
 — that is the postboy, Lady Farnleigh, who 
 is cousin, or nephew, one or the other, to the 
 old verger, — ' Jonas,' says he, ' has been 
 telling my old friend here that he was or- 
 dered by Mr. Frederick Falconer to take a 
 chaise and pair that evening round to the 
 door in the doctor's garden-wall, that opens 
 into the Castle Head Lane ; and if he met 
 anybody who asked questions, he was to say, 
 that he was going to take the doctor up to 
 the Chase to dinner. Well, he was doing as 
 he was ordered, — was coming along the Castle 
 Head Lane just at six o'clock, which was the 
 time he was told to be there, — when he met 
 old Gregory Greatorex, Falconer's confiden- 
 tial clerk, who sent him back all of a hurry, 
 telling him that the chaise was not wanted 
 for that night. Looks queer ; don't it ? ' 
 said Glenny. ' Very queer ! ' said I. As if 
 all Sillshire did not know that the squire 
 dines at half-past five too ! ' I hope you 
 gentlemen wont go for to get a poor boy into 
 a scrape,' said old Wyvil ; ' he did not mean 
 any harm by telling me, as we was having a 
 bit of gossip over a mug of beer.' "Never 
 fear,' said I ; ' the boy, as you call him,' — 
 he's sixty if he is a day, — ' shall come to no 
 harm.' Now what does your ladyship think 
 of that?" concluded Mr, Mat, looking up 
 with another of his shrewd, twinkling glan- 
 ces. 
 
 " Upon my word, Mr. Mat, I hardly know. 
 Was Margaret at her uncle's on that day ? " 
 
 " Yes, she was, and has been there a deal 
 more than at home lately." 
 
 "Was she to sleep there that night?" 
 pursued Lady Farnleigh. 
 
 " Yes, and did sleep there ! " said Mr. 
 Mat. 
 
 " It is very odd ! " said Lady Farnleigh. 
 
 "I see that your ladyship has taken the 
 same notion into your head that came into 
 mine," said Mr. Mat. 
 
 " What was that, then ? " said Lady Farn- 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 leigh, smiling, and looking archly at Mr. Mat 
 in her turn. 
 
 " Why, what does a postchaise, at a back- 
 door in a by-lane on a dark night, where a 
 young lady is living, mostly mean?" said 
 Mr. Mat. 
 
 " It must be owned that it looks very like 
 an elopement, dans les ref/les.'^^ said the 
 lady ; " but I confess that that is an indis- 
 cretion which I should not have suspected 
 either the gentleman or the lady of, in this 
 case." 
 
 " It seems one or both of them thought 
 better of it, anyway ! " returned Mr. Mat. 
 
 " When was the claim put forward on 
 behalf of Julian Lindisfarn's child first 
 heard of in Silverton ? ' ' 
 
 " Old Slowcome heard of it from Jared 
 Mallory, the attorney at Sillmouth, that 
 same afternoon," replied Mr. Mat. 
 
 " Humph," said Lady Farnleigh, mus- 
 ingly, as she coupled this fact with the in- 
 formation she had just been put in possession 
 of, respecting the date of Margaret's knowl- 
 edge of the true state of the case concern- 
 ing her cousin. 
 
 "What does your ladyship make out of 
 it?" 
 
 " Well, I don't know ; we shall see. But 
 I am almost inclined to think, Mr. Mat, that 
 I can make out of it that it was a great pity 
 Mr. Gregory Greatorex did not abstain from 
 meddling with Jonns AYyvil, the postboy," 
 said her ladyship, with a queer look at Mr. 
 Mat. 
 
 Mr. Mat's bright black eyes twinkled like 
 two bits of live fire, and a rather grim smile 
 mantled gradually over the hard features of 
 his seamed face, as he answered, — 
 
 "What, let 'em do it? 'twould have 
 served Jemmy Jessamy right, if that was 
 what he was up to." 
 
 " I am never for separating two young and 
 ardent hearts, if it can anyway be avoided. 
 Don't you agree with me, especially in cases 
 where one may say with the poet, ' Sure 
 such a pair were never seen, so justly formed 
 to meet by nature,' eh, Mr. Mat? " 
 
 "Young and ardent hearts be — stuck on 
 the same skewer, the way they do in the val- 
 entines !" cried Mr. Mat, with an expression 
 of intense disgust. " I can't say that I can 
 make it out, Lady Farnleigh ; they are not 
 the sort, not if I know anything about 
 them," added he. 
 
 " Well, perhaps we shall understand it 
 better by and by, Mr. Mat," returned Lady 
 Farnleigh . 
 
 And as they reached the Ivy Bridge and 
 the bottom of the hill, while she was speak- 
 ing, with the long ascent toward Lindisfarn 
 before them, they put their horses into a gal- 
 lop, and did not draw rein till they were at 
 the lodge-gates. 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 239 
 
 CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 MR. SLOWCOME G0K3 TO SILLMOUTII, AND TAKES 
 
 NOTIIINQ BY III3 MOTION. 
 
 Dr. Lindisfarx and Mr. Sligo gained 
 nothing by their excursion to Chewton. 
 Their researches ^Yerc equally fruitless on 
 the special objects of both gentlemen. The evi- 
 dent priority which the doctor gave to his arch- 
 ocological investigations vras a matter of the 
 most intense astonishment, and almost, one 
 may say, of scandal, to Mr. Sligo. That an 
 elderly gentleman in the possession of his 
 senses, so nearly interested as Dr. Lindis- 
 farn was in the result of the examinations 
 which he (Mr. Sligo) was there for the pur- 
 pose of making, should utterly fail to take 
 any rational interest in the matter, manifest- 
 ly in consequence of his being wholly ab- 
 sorbed by his anxiety to discover the mean- 
 ing of certain syllables which in all proba- 
 bility had no meaning at all, and at all 
 events, none that could be supposed to affect 
 the title of any human being to any amount of 
 property real or personal, was a phenomenon 
 60 new, so wholly unaccountable to Mr. Sligo, 
 and so distasteful to him, that it made him 
 cross with the doctor. He began to think 
 that the admission that the old canon was in 
 the perfect possession of his senses was an 
 assumption not warranted by the facts in 
 evidence. The doctor, on his part, was revolt- 
 ed by his companion's evident want of inter- 
 est in the whole question of the mysterious 
 inscription, and the cursory and impatient 
 attention which was all that he could induce 
 him to accord to it. He looked at the wood- 
 en panel in question, tapped it with his 
 knuckles, stared, at the doctor's request, at 
 the inscribed letters, and declared that, as 
 faf as he could see, there never had been any 
 otliers ; at all events, his eyes could see no 
 traces of any such. 
 
 "And now, Mr. Mallory," he said to the 
 old clerk, who, having accompanied the two 
 gentlemen to the church, had been standing 
 by, impassible and grave as a judge, while 
 this examination was in progress, — " and 
 now, Mr. Mallory, if Dr. Lindisfarn is satis- 
 fied that there is nothing more to be discov- 
 ered here, we will, with your leave, return to 
 your house, and resume the subject on which 
 we were speaking." 
 
 " As Dr. Lindisfarn pleases," said the old 
 clerk, gravely ; " but he, as it is reasonable 
 to suppose, knew the late Mr. Mellish as 
 
 well as I did, and in any case I have nothing 
 more to toll about him." 
 
 " You admit that the church registers 
 were at one period kept at your house? " 
 
 " I have told you that such was the case, 
 since you expresned curiosity upon the sub- 
 ject. There was no question of admitting 
 one way or the other in the matter, Mr, 
 Sligo. I have nothing to admit or deny on 
 the subject. The books were at one time 
 kept at my house, — not because it was my 
 house, but because it was the clergyman's 
 lodging. I had nothing to do with the bring- 
 ing of them there, or with the taking of 
 them back again to the church. The respon- 
 sibility for the custody of them lay with the 
 parson, and not with the clerk, as you no 
 doubt are well aware, Mr. Sligo." 
 
 "Well, well, never mind whether it is admit- 
 ting or stating ; you say that the registers were 
 subsequently taken back to the church ? ' ' 
 
 " You speak of registers, sir ; but I have 
 no recollection of having seen more than one 
 book, and that not a very big one. During 
 the latter years of Mr. Mellish's life, that 
 book used to be kept in the vestry." 
 
 " And was always at hand there, I sup- 
 pose, when needed? " 
 
 "I suppose so, sir; but it was often for 
 months at a time together that it was never 
 needed. "VVe don't bury, marry, or christen 
 every day out on the moor here, as you peo- 
 ple do in the towns ! ' ' 
 
 "When was the last time that you have any 
 recollection of having yourself seen the book, 
 Mr. Mallory?" asked Sligo. "How long 
 before the death of Mr. Mellish, now, had 
 you a death, or a burial, — or a christening ? " 
 
 " I could not at all undertake to say when 
 1 saw the book last. Old Farmer Bouitby, of 
 the Black Tor Farm, out towards the coast, 
 was, I think, the last parishioner buried by 
 Mr. Mellish, a month or so maybe before 
 his own death. Whether his burial was reg- 
 istered or not, I can't say ; nor whether it 
 was done at the time of the ceremony or not. 
 Very often the curate would put the entries 
 into the register afterward . ' ' Further cross- 
 questioning of the old man only obtained from 
 him that he " could not say how long after- 
 wards — at any convenient time — he did not 
 mean by that to say when the curate was 
 sober, though it might be that sometimes he 
 was not altogether so at the time of the per- 
 formance of the function." 
 
240 LINDISFARN 
 
 In short, all that Mr. Mallorj comW recol- 
 lect were circumstances tending to show that 
 the whole ecclesiastical administration of the 
 parish was in the greatest possible disorder 
 in every respect in the old times when Mr. 
 Mcllish was curate, near ten years ago ; and 
 he could not recollect any single fact which 
 could help to fix the existence of the missing 
 register at any ascertained date or place. 
 He could remember, however, perfectly well 
 that when Mr. Partloe, who succeeded Mr. 
 Mellish in the curacy, came, there was no 
 book to be found, and Mr. Partloe had pro- 
 cui-ed a new one. Mr. Partloe was a very dif- 
 ferent sort of gentleman from Mr. Mcllish, — 
 very particular, and very regular. The new 
 book was always kept in the vestry, was 
 there now. They were still without any 
 proper chest at Chewton ; but the new reg- 
 ister was, from the time of Mr. Partloe's 
 coming, always kept in a little cupboard in 
 the vestry, which he had caused to be put up 
 at his own expense. Mr. Partloe had been 
 curate only four years. The register-book 
 had been kept with the most perfect regular- 
 ity all that time ; as it had indeed by the pres- 
 ent curate, Mr. Bellings, who had succeeded 
 Mr. Partloe. Mr. Bellings was not at home, 
 having ridden over that morning to Silvcrton. 
 Dr. Lindisfai-n and Mr. Sligo must have met 
 him, had bhey not come by the other road, 
 which alone was passable for wheels. But 
 it would be easy to obtain an opportunity of 
 examining the new register, which had been 
 kept from the time of the death .of Mr. Mel- 
 lish. Very easy, no doubt; and altogether 
 useless as regarded the business in hand. 
 
 What search had been made for the missing 
 register by Mr. Partloe when he came there 
 after Mellish's death, Mr. Mallory could not 
 say, but felt certain that Mr. Partloe must 
 have exhausted every means for finding it, as 
 he was such a very particular gentleman. 
 
 Had the old book never been needed in all 
 these ten years ? Mr. Sligo asked ; had nobody 
 in all that time required to refer to it for the 
 establishment of any of the facts of which it 
 constituted the sole legal record? No, no- 
 body. When folk were dead out in the 
 moor there, nobody wanted to ask any more 
 about them. When folk were married, they 
 got their marriage lines, and that was all 
 that was needed. 
 
 " And your daughter's marriage lines, Mr. 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 16 
 
 CHASE. 
 
 Mallory, — of course she had them? " asked 
 Sligo, suddenly. 
 
 " No doubt she had them, Mr. Sligo. Of 
 my own personal knowledge I can affirm 
 nothing about it. The whole subject of the 
 marriage was a very painful one to me. I 
 would have prevented it if I could have done 
 so, without the risk of greater evil to my un- 
 fortunate child." 
 
 "Unfortunate, Mr. Mallory ?" cried Sli- 
 go. " Well, I don't know what you may call 
 fortunate, but " — 
 
 " My daughter was induced to make a 
 marriage, Mr. Sligo, to which her position 
 in life did not entitle her ; which she was 
 compelled to keep secret for many long and 
 painful years, while calumny and scandal 
 were at work with her name ; which took 
 her husband from her within a few months 
 of their union ; which has ended in leaving 
 her a widow, — a widow widowed in such a 
 fearful manner, and compelled by duty to her 
 child to assert its rights with hostility against 
 a family for whom I have the greatest respect, 
 and with a result that is lamented by and is 
 unwelcome to the whole country-side. You 
 must excuse me, Mr. Sligo," said the old 
 man, who had been speaking under the influ- 
 ence of his feelings in a somewhat higher 
 strain than that of his usual talk, — " you 
 must excuse me if I cannot consider the mar- 
 riage a fortunate one in any respect ; and I 
 feel confident that Dr. Lindisfarn will enter 
 into my sentiments on the subject." 
 
 " I am sure, Mallory, your feelings are all 
 that they ought to be on the subject. It is 
 an unhappy business. If my poor boy were 
 living, it might have been diflTcrent. As it is 
 — you see — ha — hum — I wonder, INIallory, 
 whether poor Mellish could have thrown any 
 light on that singular inscription in the ves- 
 try corridor ? ' ' 
 
 " Not he, sir. It is little he thought of 
 such matters," said the old man, glancing at 
 Mr. Sligo as he spoke. 
 
 " When was the last whitewashing done, 
 Mallory?" asked the doctor, meditatively. 
 
 " When Mr. Partloe first came here, sir. 
 He was a great man for whitewash, Mr. 
 Partloe was, sir, a tidy sort of a gentleman, 
 who liked to have things clean and neat. Ho 
 had all the passage leading to the vestry and 
 the vestry itself new whitewashed." 
 
 " It is very unfortunate," sighed the doctor. 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 " Very," re-echoed Mr. Sligo, who had 
 boon mentally reviewing the total failure of 
 his attempts to learn anything of the history 
 of the missing register. 
 
 " Tery unfortunate, gentlemen ! " coin- 
 cided old Jared Mallory, with a placid draw- 
 ing down of the corners of his mouth, and 
 softly rubbing his palms and fingers together 
 with the action of a man washing his hands 
 with very smooth and easily lathering soap. 
 
 And so it came to pass that the senior 
 canon and the junior partner in the legal firm 
 drove back again to Silverton, having accom- 
 plished nothing of any sort by their jour- 
 ney. 
 
 " I am afraid the document will have to be 
 admitted as good evidence, as it stands," said 
 Sligo, alluding to the extract from the reg- 
 ister in the hands of the Sillmouth attor- 
 ney. 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! but as evidence of what ? " 
 returned the doctor. "Any interpretation 
 that can be put upon it must be entirely con- 
 jectural. And I confess I am at loss too ffer 
 even a conjecture." 
 
 " It is legal evidence of the marriage, that 
 is all," said Sligo, shrugging his shoulders. 
 
 " Oh, ah, yes — I see ! " said the doctor. 
 
 " No go ! " said Sligo, as he entered Mr, 
 Slowcome's room at the office, on his return 
 to Silverton ; " nothing to be done. That 
 old man, the clerk, mute as a stockfish and 
 ely as a fox. Nothing to be made of him. 
 But I observed one thing, sir." 
 
 " What was that, Mr. Sligo ? Come, take 
 a chair and let us go into the matter com- 
 fortably." 
 
 " No, thank you," said Sligo, who had 
 acquired a horror of getting himself seated at 
 the writing-table in his partner's room, and 
 considered the proposal that he should sit 
 down there much as a sparrow might have 
 regarded an invitation to hold out his tail for 
 salt to be put upon it, — "no, I wont sit 
 down, thank j-ou. I must be off. But I am 
 going to mention that 1 noticed that there 
 was nothing to be seen at Chewton of the old 
 man's daughter, or the child. So I just said, 
 ' Is your daughter with you, Mr. Mallory? 
 I should be happy to have an opportunity to 
 pay my respects to Mrs. Lindisfarn ; ' Mrs. 
 Lindisfarn, I said, you know, just so. ' Mrs. 
 Lindisfarn is not at Chewton,' said he, as 
 stiff and grim as an old woman in a witness- 
 box, when she don't mean to tell you any- 
 
 241 
 
 thing ; ' she is at Sillmouth with herbrotlier.' 
 Well now, that set me thinking, Mr. Slow- 
 come." 
 
 "Indeed; and what did you think, Mr. 
 Sligo?" replied the senior partner, with 
 mucii interest. 
 
 "Well, nothing for certain, — only a guess ; 
 maybe nothing in it. ' What have this 
 woman and her child been sent to Sillmouth 
 for ? ' said I to myself. Jared ]Mallory is a 
 bachelor, and a loose one, and a poor one. 
 The woman's home is and has been in her fa- 
 ther's house — a very good house it is — at 
 Chewton. What is the nature and character 
 of women, especially of that sort of women 
 that get led away by such chaps as this 
 Julian Lindisfarn seems to have been ? And 
 this led me to guess — a mere random guess, 
 you see, Mr. Slowcome — that it is not un- 
 likely, if there has been any got-up fraud in 
 this matter, that the^ may think it best to 
 keep the woman out of the way, under the 
 care of that precious scamp Mr. Jared, junior. 
 Twig, eh, sir? " 
 
 Mr. Slowcome took an enormous pinch of 
 snuff very slowly and deliberately; and hav- 
 ing thus stimulated his brain, and care- 
 fully brushed away every scattering atom of 
 the dust from his shii't-fria and waistcoat 
 with dainty care, answered Mr. Sligo's rapid 
 and elliptical exposition of his ideas. 
 
 "I think I gather your meaning, Sligo ; 
 you consider it probable, — or at least possi- 
 ble, for -I am quite aware that you put for- 
 ward this theory as mere possibility, — you 
 think it possible that the young woman may 
 have been removed and placed in her broth- 
 er's charge, from fear that she might be dis- 
 inclined, or only partially inclined, or weakly 
 inclined, to engage in the fraud, and might 
 perhaps, if judiciously handled, be induced 
 to make a clean breast of it, and tell the 
 truth." 
 
 " Pre-cisely so, sir. That is what came 
 into my head. Think there is anything in 
 it, sir, eh? " 
 
 " I am not at all prepared to say there may 
 not be. It is a very shrewd idea, Mr. Sligo, 
 and well worth acting on. It would be very 
 desirable that you should endeavor to see 
 this young woman." 
 
 " Job for the head of the firm, sir," said 
 Mr. Sligo, shaking his head. " You must 
 see her yourself, sir." 
 
 ' Why should I do it better than you, 
 
242 
 
 Slif^o? I am sure you have always shown 
 yourself" — 
 
 " Very good of you to say so, Mr. Slow- 
 come ; but in this case — beautiful woman — 
 don't you see? Two sorts of 'em ! If she is 
 of the sort to prefer doing business in such a 
 case with the junior partner, you understand, 
 Mr. Slowcome, why then she is not of the 
 sort that we shall get the truth of this busi- 
 ness from. If there is to be any hope of that, 
 she must be of the sort that would prefer to 
 speak with you on the matter. Twig, sir, 
 eh ? Fatherly dodge — daughters of your own. 
 Your entire turn-out, sir, worth anything for 
 such a business! See it in that light, sir? 
 You'll excuse me I " and Mr. Sligo winked a 
 running commentary as he delivered himself 
 of these suggestions, which greatly added to 
 their suasive force. 
 
 " I think I catch your idea, Mr. Sligo," 
 said Mr. Slowcome, in a dignified manner ; 
 " and upon the whole I am disposed to think 
 that you may be right. I dare say you are 
 right. I will try to see the young woman 
 myself. I do not, I confess, much like the 
 idea of being seen knocking at the door of 
 Mr. Jared Mallory, junior. Nevertheless, in 
 our good client's interest, I will undertake 
 the job." 
 
 Mr. Slowcome did undertake the job the 
 next day, driving, or rather being driven, 
 over to Sillmouth in his well-known carriage, 
 with the large, sleek, well-conditioned power 
 ful roadster, driven by the Arcady Lodge 
 hobbledehoy in livery, for the purpose. Of 
 course, every man, woman, and child in Sill- 
 mouth — or at least all those who were in or 
 looking out into the street, which comprised 
 the major part of the population — became 
 aware of the advent of the great Silverton 
 lawyer ; and when the handsome carriage 
 and the big horse and the hobbledehoy in 
 livery drew up at Mr. Jared Mallory's door, 
 tliat gentleman was standing at it to receive 
 them. 
 
 " Mr. Slowcome, upon my word ! quite an 
 unexpected honor, I am sure. Will you walk 
 in, sir? " 
 
 So the head of the respectable Silverton 
 firm had to walk into the disreputable look- 
 ing little den, which his professional brother 
 of Sillmouth dignified by the name of his 
 office. 
 
 " Touching the business of the Lindisfarn 
 succession?" said Mr. Mallory, when they 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 were seated in the dirty little 'bare room, with 
 the air of a man who had affairs of various 
 kinds pending, to which the visit of the Silver- 
 ton man of business might perchance have had 
 reference. 
 
 " Yes, Mr. Mallory, touching the business 
 of the Lindisfarn succession," said Slowcome, 
 and there stopped short, like a man in the 
 habit of feeling his way Avith those he spoke 
 to as cautiously as a skilful pugilist makes 
 his play before his adversary. But he was 
 not likely to get anything by any such tactics 
 from the man against whom he was now 
 pitted. 
 
 " I shall be most happy, Mr. Slowcome, to 
 give my best attention to any overture you 
 may be desirous of making," said Mallory, 
 sitting on the corner of the plain deal table in 
 his office, and swinging one long leg to and 
 fro in a devil-may-care sort of manner, which 
 especially scandalized the sense of propriety 
 and irritated the nervous system of old Slow, 
 who was seated in the one arm-chair the 
 mean little place contained. 
 
 " Overture, Mr. Mallory ?" said he, thus 
 driven ; " I have no overture to make. It is 
 not a case for anything of the sort. In a 
 matter of this kind, Mr. Mallory, where it 
 will become necessary for an excellent and 
 highly respected family to — to — to open its 
 arms, as I may say, to a new member, to one 
 whom none of them have ever before seen, of 
 whom they have known nothing, you must 
 feel that it is very natural that interviews 
 should be desired. My present mission here 
 is, therefore, to see Mrs. Lindisfarn, and " — 
 "Oh, I see! respectable family opens its 
 arms by power of attorney. Family solici- 
 tor — Mr. Jared JMallory — honor to inform 
 Messrs. Slowcome and Sligo that that cock 
 positively declines to fight ! " 
 
 " What do you mean, Mr. Mallory ? " said 
 Mr. Slowcome, staring at him in unfeigned 
 amazement. 
 
 "It is no go, Slowcome! " returned the 
 other, closing his left eye, as he nodded at 
 his visitor knowingly; "not a chance of 
 the shadow of the tithe of a go. Why what 
 do you take me for, Mv. Slowcome, to imag- 
 ine that I should allow you to tamper, sir, 
 with my witnesses in that manner? " 
 
 "Tamper, Mr. Mallory? Take care, sir, 
 tamper ! " 
 
 " I will take care, Mr. Slowcome, devilish 
 good care. As for the expression — withdraw 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 it with all my heart, if it riles you — parlia- 
 mentai'y sense — But Mrs. Lindigfarn is 
 not visible this morning, Mr. Slowcome. 
 No, not so much as the tip of her nose ! " 
 
 So Mr. Slowcome's (\itherly bearing, his un- 
 blemished character and white waistcoat to 
 match, his shirt and gold buckles, and his 
 pigtail were all unavailing, and he had to pack 
 all these properties into the carriage with the 
 stout cob and the hobbledehoy for driver, to 
 be driven back again toSilverton, having tak- 
 en absolutely nothing by his expedition. 
 
 CnAPTER XLV. 
 THE FAIRY GODMOTnER AT HER SPELLS. 
 
 As Lady Farnleigh and Mr. Mat were rid- 
 ing up fi-om the lodge gates, they met Mr. 
 Merriton riding down the hill from the house. 
 
 " How do, Merriton ; sorry to have been 
 out when you called. Found the ladies, I 
 suppose, more to the purpose, eh?" said 
 Mr. Mat. 
 
 " Thank you. Lady Farnleigh, happy to 
 see your ladyship back in Sillshire again — 
 good-morning," said Mr. Merriton, rather 
 shortly, and rode on. 
 
 " Better fellow that than I thought him 
 when he first came here ! " said Mr. Mat. 
 
 " Oh, I rather like Mr. Merriton. I quite 
 think that he and that quaint little sister of 
 his have been acquisitions to us," said Lady 
 Farnleigh. 
 
 " Do you remember that day at the Friary, 
 when little Dinah Wilkins all but fell over 
 the face of the Nosey Stone ? " 
 
 " To be sure I do ! I shall not forget it in 
 a hurry." 
 
 " Well, Merriton behaved well that day — 
 very differently from some others that were 
 there. Yes, I like Merriton. Seemed to be 
 out of sorts just now, I thought." 
 
 " In a hurry to get home, perhaps." 
 
 Lady Farnleigh and her squire had ridden 
 from Silvcrton up to the Chase in less than 
 an hour, and they found Miss Imray and Miss 
 Margaret still sitting in the dining-room at 
 the luncheon-table. Kate, as had been so 
 often lattei-ly the case, was not there. 
 
 Lady Farnlcigli declared that her ride had 
 made her hungry ; and Mr. Mat so far dero- 
 gated from his ordinary habits as to sit down 
 at the table, and draw a plate toward him in 
 rather an apologetical sort of manner. 
 
 "So you have had Mr. Merriton here? 
 
 243 
 
 Did you give him some luncheon. Miss Im- 
 my? " said Lady Farnleigh. 
 
 " He did not come into the dining-room. 
 Lady Farnleigh. I asked him; but he re- 
 fused," said Mi?s Immy, feeling that she had 
 been rather injured by the rejection of that 
 middle-of-thc-day hospitality, which she re- 
 garded as more especially and exclusively her 
 own afllxir. 
 
 " T don't know what you have been doing 
 or saying to him," said Mr. Mat; "but 
 as we met him going down to the lodge, he 
 seemed quite out of sorts. Have you been 
 unkind to him, Miss Margaret? " 
 
 "Really I know nothing about it, Mr. 
 Mat," said Margaret, tossing her head. 
 " Mr. Merriton's visit was not to me, nor 
 to Miss Immy, indeed, as f;xr as that goes. 
 His business here, whatever it may have been, 
 seemed to be of a very exclusive nature. And 
 if you want to know anything about it, you 
 had better ask Kate. I have no doubt she 
 will tell you, and explain why Mr. Merriton 
 was out of sorts — if he were so." 
 
 All this was spoken with a peculiar sort of 
 sourness, and with sundry tosses of the head, 
 the observation of which caused Lady Farn- 
 leigh to bring her luncheon to a rather abrupt 
 conclusion, and leave the room, saying, 
 " Where is Kate? In her own room, I sup- 
 pose, according to her new bad habit. I shall 
 go and look for her. I want to speak to 
 her." 
 
 Lady Farnleigh did find Kate in her own 
 room ; but, contrary to her usual habit, she 
 was locked in. The door resisted Lady Farn- 
 leigh's quick, impatient, push preceded by no 
 knock. 
 
 " It is I, Kate. Open the door, darling, I 
 want to tell you all about my expedition to 
 Silver ton." 
 
 Kate came to the door at once, and Lady 
 Farnleigli saw at a glance, when she opened 
 it, that her pet and favorite had been crying. 
 
 " What is it, my darling? " she said, com- 
 ing in, and at the same time rebolting the 
 door behind her, — "what is it, my Kate? 
 All alone ! and tears, tears, tears, — you who 
 used to be all smiles and laughter from one 
 week's end to another. My child, this will 
 not do. Has anything vexed you this morn- 
 ing, dear? What is this about Mr. Merri- 
 ton? We met him, Mr. Mat and I, as we 
 came up the drive from the lodge ; and he 
 
244 LIND] 
 
 seemed to be very unwilling to give us a 
 word more than a passing greeting. And 
 when Mr. Mat remarked down-stairs that he 
 seemed to have been all out of sorts, Margaret 
 tossed her head, and said, in her sharp, disa- 
 greeable way, that Mr. Merriton's visit had 
 not been to her, and that you could doubtless 
 explain all about his being out of humor." 
 
 " It is true, godmamma ! He came here to 
 me," said Kate, hanging her head in a very 
 penitential sort of attitude. " He would not 
 be shown into the drawing-room, but asked 
 to see me ; waited in the hall till I came down, 
 — for I was up here at the time, — and then 
 asked if he might go with me into the li- 
 brary." 
 
 " So, so, that speaks plainly enough for 
 itself, my dear," said Lady Farnleigh, draw- 
 ing a chair close to Kate's, and making the 
 latter sit down by her, and taking her hand 
 between both her own caressingly ; " I quite 
 understand all about Mr. Merriton's visit 
 to the Chase now, my dear ; so I will not 
 ask what it was he said to you in the li- 
 brary ; but what was it you said to him?" 
 
 " Indeed, godmamma," said Kate, looking 
 up sadly enough into Lady Farnleigh 's face, 
 but striving to force a feeble smile athwart 
 the remnant of her tears, " it would not be 
 at all fair to Mr. INIerriton to tell the story 
 60 shortly. He spoke to me in the kindest 
 and most delicate manner. You know how 
 shy he is ! lie seemed hardly able to speak 
 at all at first ; and I was quite unable to give 
 him the least bit of help. But when he had 
 once begun, he got on better, and I assure 
 you I was quite touched by his kindness." 
 
 " Well, dear ! And I suppose his kind- 
 ness consisted in throwing himself and his 
 hand and his heart and everything else that 
 is his at your feet," said Lady Farnleigh, 
 willing to get a smile of the old arch and gay 
 sort from Kate by any means ; but the strings 
 of the finely-tempered instrument were un- 
 strung, and could not give back to the touch 
 their old music. 
 
 " That was the upshot of it, I believe, 
 godmamma. But he did it with such good 
 feeling and delicacy. He spoke of the change 
 that had occurred to us, — my sister and me, 
 — apologized for venturing to do so on the 
 score of its inevitably becoming the gossip of 
 the place, and confessed that that circum- 
 stance had given him courage to do so at 
 once, what ho had hitherto not dared to do. 
 
 SFARN CHASE. 
 
 But he said it so well, far better than I can 
 repeat it. He never supposed for an instant 
 he said, that such considerations could make 
 any difference in my decision on such a point ; 
 but my family might consider that under the 
 present circumstances he was not making a 
 proposal which could be blamed on the same 
 grounds, at least, as it might have been had 
 he made it previously." 
 
 " All spoken very much like a gentleman, 
 as Mr. Merriton unquestionably is. And 
 what did my little goddaughter say in re- 
 turn for so many pretty speeches?" said 
 Lady Farnleigh. 
 
 " Oh ! I told him, godmamma, you know, 
 that it was out of the question. I spoke as 
 civilly — indeed, a's kindly as I could." 
 
 " You say ' you know, godmamma ! ' just 
 as if I knew all the secrets of that little hide- 
 and-seek heart of yours, my Katie. I thought 
 I did once. But there is something thei'e now 
 that godmamma, fairy she be, knows nothing 
 about. How should I know that it was out of 
 the question ? Mr. Merriton is a gentleman, 
 and I believe a very worthy man, and cer- 
 tainly he is wliat is called a very good match, 
 especially so under our present circumstances. 
 And I suppose, too, that he wanted to have 
 it explained to him a little, why it was per- 
 fectly out of the question? Did you say 
 nothing on that head? '' 
 
 »' What could I say, godmamma, but that, 
 though I esteemed him much, I did not feel 
 toward him as I must feel toward the person 
 I could accept as a husband? That was in 
 truth all there was to be said about it. Was 
 it not, godmamma ? " 
 
 " I suppose so, Katie dear. And you prob- 
 ably had the less difiiculty in saying it tliat 
 you had already been called upon to say tiie 
 same thing once before to another aspirant?" 
 
 " Godmamma! " cried Kate, with a great 
 gasp, while the tell-tale blood rushed with tu- 
 multuous force over her neck and shouldcis 
 and forehead and cheeks, to leave them in the 
 next moment ghastly white, and she began to 
 shake all over like an aspen-leaf. 
 
 Lady Farnleigh almost repented of the suc- 
 cess of her stratagem, when she saw the ex- 
 cess and genuineness of the distress she had 
 caused her favorite. Nevertheless, having 
 gone so far, she would not abstain froiu 
 pushing her test-operation to its extent. 
 
 "Forgive mc, darling !" she continued; 
 " I would not pain you needlessly for the 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 245 
 
 world, Kate ; you know I would not. But 
 it did not seem to distress you to speak of 
 this other rejection. What difference could 
 there have been in the two cases? — unless, 
 indeed, tliat Mcrriton could not have imag- 
 ined that he was rejected on prudential con- 
 siderations." 
 
 "But he did not think that !" sobbed 
 Kate, with diCBculty forcing out the words 
 between the hard and quick-drawn breath- 
 ings that were alternately extending and con- 
 tracting their coral-pink delicately-cut nos- 
 trils. 
 
 " That is what I say, my dear," returned 
 Lady Farnleigh, wilfully mistaking her mean- 
 ing, with cruel kindness, " I say he could 
 not have imagined that." 
 
 " I mean," cried Kate, almost driven to 
 bay by the extremity of her distress, " I mean 
 that he did not imagine that — the other.'''' 
 
 " Oh, Ellingham ! Xo, it is not in him to 
 harbor such a thought of a girl he loved. 
 But it was not so self-evident as in the latter 
 case. I suppose the answer you gave, dear, 
 was much about the same in either in- 
 stance? " 
 
 " Godmamma!" exclaimed the poor girl, 
 in the tone of a prisoner crying for mercy 
 from under the cords of the rack. " You 
 said," she added, after a short pause, " that 
 that subject should not be spoken of between 
 us again." 
 
 " At all events, Kate, you must admit that 
 it is impossible for me to avoid seeing that 
 there is a remarkable divergence in your mode 
 of feeling and speaking of the two events. 
 The account you give me of them is much 
 about the same of one as of the other in all 
 material points. But yet they appear to af- 
 fect you very differently. As to Ellingham, 
 I should not have mentioned the matter 
 again, were it not that I had to tell you that 
 I must return to Wanstrow to-morrow morn- 
 ing the first thing after breakfast, because I 
 am expecting him there. He is going to pay 
 me a visit." 
 
 Kate kept her face resolutely bent down- 
 wards, so that it was impossible for Lady 
 Farnleigh to see the expression of it ; but she 
 could see that her announcement was mak- 
 ing her goddaughter tremble in every limb. 
 " I thought it best to mention it to you, 
 darling, that you might not be exposed to 
 meet him unexpectedly. You must prepare 
 
 yourself to do so ; for of course it can hardly 
 be but that he will come over to the Chase." 
 
 " I do not think that he will come here, 
 godmamma," said Kate, in a voice scarcely- 
 above a whisper. 
 
 " It may be so, my Katie. Nevertheless, 
 my own impression is that he will come here, 
 — it is my very strong impression that he 
 will come. It is best, therefore, that you 
 should be prepared to meet him, little one," 
 said Lady Farnleigh. 
 
 " I should be glad to be spared doing so 
 just yet, if it were possible," she said, hus- 
 kily, for the words seemed to stick in her 
 parched throat ; " could I not remain up in 
 my own room here, godmamma? " 
 
 " My child, you cannot live shut up in 
 this room. You must learn to meet him. 
 And besides — what would you do, Kate, if 
 he were specially to ask to see you ? ' ' 
 
 " Oh, godmamma \ It is quite out of the 
 question that he should do that, — quite ! " 
 said Kate, in somewhat stronger tones. 
 
 " I do not think so, my dear. On the con- 
 trary, I think it extremely probable that he 
 will want to speak to you ! " 
 
 "I cannot fancy that he would do such 
 a thing, godmamma. You do not know — 
 What makes you think that he is likely to 
 do so? " 
 
 " Simply my knowledge of his character, 
 my dear. I have known Walter Ellingham 
 all his life. I love him nearly if not quite 
 as well as I do you, my pet ; and if I am not 
 mistaken in him, he will come here, and will 
 want to speak to you ; so you had better, as 
 far as may be, make up your mind as to what 
 you will say to him in return." 
 
 " But what can he want to say to me, god- 
 mamma? " said Kate, while her cheecks tin- 
 gled, and she drooped her face yet more 
 upon her bosom ; for the slightest shadow 
 of a shade of disingenuousness was new and 
 painful to her, and the truth was, that Kate 
 knew very well what it was that her god- 
 mother supposed Walter Ellingham might 
 have to say to her. 
 
 " My notion is, my dear, that he will want 
 to ask you yet once again, before giving up 
 all hope, whether you will be his wife. My 
 notion is, that he is coming to me at Wan- 
 strow for that express purpose and no other ! 
 Therefore, I say again, my Katie, that it 
 would be well that you should be in some 
 
246 
 
 degree prepared as to the answer 
 give him." 
 
 " How would it be possible for me to give 
 bim any other answer than I gave him before? 
 How would it be possible, godmamma?" 
 
 " My dear, how can I answer such a ques- 
 tion, when I do not know what the answer 
 was, nor what your motive for giving it to 
 him was ? It very often is possible for a young 
 lady to change her mind, and give an answer 
 to such a question different from her first 
 one." 
 
 " But even if it were possible that I should 
 change my mind, — even if it were possible 
 that I should wish to give a different answer, 
 how could I do so ? Could 1 accept an offer as 
 a comparatively unportioned girl which I re- 
 fused as a rich heiress? Would it not be to give 
 everybody the right to think that the change 
 in my conduct was produced by the change 
 in my fortunes? Oh! dear, dear godmam- 
 ma!" cried Kate, hiding her face on Lady 
 Farnleigh's shoulder, " I do think that I 
 would rather be burned alive at the stake, 
 than that he should think that! " 
 
 " Ah ! rather than that he should think 
 it ! It would not so much matter about the 
 rest of the world. Well, it may be that he 
 may have something to say to you on that 
 head. So I wont press you now to decide 
 what answer you should give him, before you 
 have heard what he may say to you," said 
 Lady Farnleigh, quite sure now, if even she 
 had had any doubt before, that Kate's rejec- 
 tion of EUingham had been caused solely by 
 her knowledge of the fact of her cousin 's being 
 alive, and of the consequences of that fact as 
 regarded her future fortunes, and by her cer- 
 tainty that EUingham was addressing her in 
 ignorance of those circumstances. " And 
 now, my dear, to change the subject," con- 
 tinued Lady Farnleigh, " what do you think 
 that I heard, or rather that Mr. Mat heard, 
 in Silverton to-day. It concerns — or at least 
 I am entirely persuaded that it concerns — 
 your sister Margaret ; and yet I would give 
 you a hundred guesses to guess it in ! " 
 
 " What was it, godmamma — what did you 
 and Mr. Mat hear? " said Kate, looking up 
 with genuine alarm in her face. 
 
 "Why simply this : that a few nights ago, 
 — the very night, it would seem, before Mr. 
 Slowcome came up here to tell your father 
 about your unfortunate cousin's having left | 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 you will an heir, — Mr. Frederick Falconer ordered a 
 chaise and pair from the Lindisfarn Arms to 
 take up its station at nightfall at the back 
 door of your uncle's garden, which opens 
 into the Castle Head Lane. That is all, 
 — no, by the by, not quite all,— and that 
 the post-boy had orders to say, if anybody 
 asked him any questions, that he was going 
 to take Dr. Lindisfarn up to the Chase to 
 dinner, where, Mr. Mat says, he was in nowise 
 expected that evening. "What do you think 
 of that, Kate? " 
 
 ' ' Why, it looks — I am utterly amazed ! 
 But, godmamma, Margaret and Fredei'ick 
 Falconer had papa's consent, — and — every- 
 thing ; I cannot understand it. But was it 
 — do you think ? And why, if so, did noth- 
 ing come of it ? And Margaret — oh, it can- 
 not be what we had in our heads, godmamma. 
 It is impossible. There is some mistake. 
 It is impossible!" reiterated Kate, as she 
 remembered what had passed between ]Mar- 
 garet and herself the day before that fixed 
 for the suspected elopement. " And yet 
 again," she said, as it occurred to her that 
 it was possible that Margaret might have told 
 Frederick the secret according to her com- 
 pact, that Frederick might have felt therefore 
 that his father would never consent, to his 
 marriage with a portionless girl, and that he 
 might have planned an elopement to avoid 
 his father's opposition. And it suddenly 
 darted into her mind, that if such indeed 
 had been the facts, Frederick Falconer must 
 be a far more disinterested and nobler fellow 
 than she had ever given him credit for being ; 
 and yet, almost at the same instant, there 
 shone clear across her mind the conviction 
 that it could not be ; that Freddy Falconer 
 was in reality Freddy Falconer, and not 
 another ; and the whole story seemed utterly 
 unintelligible to her. " But at all events, 
 nothing came of it," continued she, looking 
 into Lady Farnleigh 's face ; " how is that to 
 be accounted for? " 
 
 "I confess that it is all very unaccountable !" 
 returned Lady Farnleigh ; " but as for the 
 coming to nothing of the scheme, whatever 
 itmay have been, the same gentleman calmed 
 the storm who had raised it, — that is to say, 
 dismissed the post-chaise. Or at least it was 
 dismissed by the confidential clerk of the 
 bank, Mr. Mat says." 
 
 " But that mijrht have been old Mr. Fal- 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 247 
 
 Conor's doinsi;, you know, godmamma ; old Would not tliia elopement, if olopcmcnt there 
 Mr. Falconer may have found it out, and put really were in question, have been the only 
 a stop to it." ! means of attaining the object which a girl 
 
 "Humph!" said Lady Farnleigh. " What ' accepting an offer under such circumstances 
 may have been the gentleman's motive," j must have had in view? " 
 she added, after a pause, " either in planning i " But," pleaded Kate, turning very pale, 
 such an escapade or in abandoning it, I can- : and feeling deadly sick at heart, " may we 
 not presume to guess. But what about i not suppose — is it not possible, that is — that 
 Margaret? She of course, knew nothing, ! she might have been led into the weakness of 
 so soon as that, of the change of fortune that ' accepting an offer made to her — that is, sup- 
 was hanging over her ?" added her ladyship, I posing always that Margai-et could have 
 looking shrewdly into Kate's face as she j known of the secret of Julian's being alive 
 spoke. " What should we have to think of so far back as when the offer was made " — 
 her, if it were possible to suppose that she ' and Kate's conscience smote her as she spoke 
 had obtained knowledge of the facts? Of the words, — smote her on both sides from two 
 course, you had heard no word that could different directions ; both for her want of 
 lead you to imagine that such a plan was in candor towards Lady Farnleigh, and for 
 contemplation !" said Lady Farnleigh, look- abandoning Margaret so far as even to admit 
 ing into Kate's face, which was burning with ' theabovecase hypothetically ; " isitnot possi- 
 the painful bliisiies that her companion's ; ble," she continued, avoiding her godmother's 
 words respecting the possibility of Margaret's searching eyes in a manner she had never, 
 knowledge of the secret had called into it. never done before, " that Margaret might 
 It was a comfort to her to be able to say have been led into accepting his offer by the 
 frankly, in I'cply to the last question of her difficulty of knowing what answer to make to 
 godmother, that no syllable of the kind had . him ; it would be very difficult you know, 
 reached her ears ; and that the whole thing godmamma!" and Kate remembered, as she 
 seemed to her so improbable and incompre- j spoke, how difficult, how cruelly difficult, it 
 hensible that she still thought there must be i was. " She might have been, as it were, sur- 
 some mistake about it. i prised into accepting, from not being able to 
 
 " Suppose," said Lady Farnleigh slowly, assign the real cause for her refusal; and 
 and looking at Kate as she was speaking, — | without any intention of suffering the mat- 
 " suppose that Margaret had in some way j ter to go on, you know, godmamma. Might 
 obtained a knowledge of the fatal secret, and j it not have been so ? " 
 
 was therefore willing to consent to an elope- I Lady Farnleigh noted in her mind Kate's 
 ment, in order that the marriage might be j hypothetical admission, and her assumption 
 made irrevocably, before that knowledge that Margaret could not have told the simple 
 reached other people. And suppose that i t ' truth to her lover, forgetting that Lady Farn- 
 did reach the gentleman just as he was on j leigh could not have comprehended any such 
 
 the point of starting ? ' 
 
 motive for silence, if she had not been in- 
 
 " Good heavens. Lady Farnleigli, but that formed of all the cii'cumstances of the case, 
 would be to suppose Margaret guilty of con- j Lady Farnleigh, I say, noted all this and 
 duct too dreadful to be possible ! — and it ; smiled inwardly at Kate's clumsy attempt 
 would make out Frederick Falconer to be a , and manifest incapacity for dissimulation, 
 great deal worse than I have ever thought or i Lady Farnleigh felt that it might have been 
 think him." I easy, by availing herself of these inconsisten- 
 
 " Well, my dear, I hope you may be right ; cies, to force Kate to a confession of the 
 we shall see. But as regards Mai-garet, Kate, j whole truth ; but it did not suit her present 
 which is what most interests us ; does it not purpose to do so. She was contented with 
 appear to you that the conduct which you j obtaining light enough to enable her to per- 
 stigmatize* as too atrocious to be possible , ceive with very tolerable accuracy and cer- 
 ■would be but the natural sequel to the ac- tainty the whole of the story. It was pretty 
 cepting of an offer at all under such circum- I clear to her that Kate's knowledge of the 
 stances as those in which Margaret was ' facts learned in the cottage at Deepcreek had 
 placed, if indeed she had a previous knowl- I constrained her to refuse an offer which she 
 edge of the important facts in question ? j would otherwise, to the best of Lady Farn- 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 248 
 
 Irish's. juda;nient, have accepted; and that 
 Margaret's kuowlcdge of the same facts had 
 led her to act in a precisely contradictory 
 manner ; and further that Kate was prevent- 
 ed from now avowing that her knowledge of 
 her cousin's being alive dated from the time 
 it did by her anxiety to defend and spare her 
 sister. 
 
 And to tell the truth in all its ugly naked- 
 ness, Lady Farnleigh was by no means dis- 
 tressed, as she undoubtedly ought to have 
 been, at the discovery of much that was 
 base and bad in Margaret. Besides the six 
 thousand pounds which she had long ago set- 
 tl(;d on Kate, Lady Farnleigh had a few other 
 thousands over which she had cntii-e control, 
 and of which her own eon had no need. 
 Now what Lady Farnleigh wished to do, what 
 it would have been a pleasure for her to do, 
 in the unhappy mischance which had fallen 
 upon her friends, would have been to add 
 these thousands to the little provision she 
 had already made for her darling goddaugh- 
 ter. But she had conscientiously felt that 
 this would not have been doing the best she 
 could for the children of her dearly loved 
 friend, the late Mrs. Lindisfarn. iShe felt 
 that it would have been under the circum- 
 stances to treat Margaret hardly. And she 
 had determined that she would virtuously ab- 
 stain from doing her own pleasure in this mat- 
 ter, and would do strictly that which she be- 
 lieved to be right. Butnow, if indeed Margaret 
 had been guilty of such conduct as that which 
 seemed to be proved against her, that would 
 surely be a most righteous judgment which 
 should assign to her favorite the means which 
 would facilitate the union she (Lady Farn- 
 leigh) had set her heart on, and should declare 
 one so unworthy to have forfeited all claim on 
 her. And people like their own way so 
 much, and Lady Farnleigh was so strongly 
 addicted to following hers, that — to tell the 
 honest truth, as I said before— it was by no 
 means disagreeable to the self-willed lady to 
 find that she might be justified in following 
 her devices in this matter. 
 
 So, having from her conversation with 
 Kate, — a conversation which she would fain 
 have spared her goddaughter, if she could 
 have done so, but which it was absolutely 
 necessary for her to have, before she could 
 judiciously say what she proposed saying 
 to Ellingham— acquired the information, or 
 rather the confirmation of her suspicions. 
 
 which she needed, she only replied to those 
 last words of Kate's very lame and inefiec- 
 tual pleading for her sister, by saying, — 
 
 " Well, my dear, it may have been as you 
 say. It is possible, as far as we know at 
 present. But we shall see. "We shall know 
 all about it before long." 
 
 " x\nd you must think as leniently as you 
 can, dear godmamma, of Margaret, even if it 
 should turn out that she has acted foolishly 
 in this matter. The circumstances in them- 
 selves, you see, are very difficult ; and then 
 you know" — and there Kate paused awhile, 
 as not knowing very well how to put into 
 words the ideas which were in her mind, or 
 perhaps not having conceived them clearly, 
 — " poor Margaret is so different, — has been 
 brought up with such different ways of 
 thinking, and we can hardly tell how far 
 many matters would present themselves to 
 her under a different aspect from what they 
 would to our minds. I do think that great 
 allowances ought to be made; don't you, 
 godmamma? " 
 
 "Very true, my dear; Margaret, as you 
 say, is very different," replied Lady Farn- 
 leigh, looking fondly at Kate, and speaking 
 in a half-absent sort of manner, which showed 
 that more was passing in her mind than was 
 set forth in her words. " And, by the by, 
 whei-e is she, I wonder?" she continued, 
 rousing herself from her musing ; " I must 
 speak to her about all this " — 
 
 " What, now, godmamma?" interrupted 
 Kate, in a voice of considerable alarm. 
 
 "Don't alarm yourself, my dear, I only 
 want to say a few words to her about the 
 match she was about to make, and the break- 
 ing off of it. It would be unnatural forme 
 to leave the house without doing so. Where 
 do you think she is now ? " 
 
 " Down in the drawing-room with Miss 
 Immy, in all probability." 
 
 "I would go down to her," said Lady 
 Farnleigh ; " but I don't want to speak to 
 her before poor dear Miss Immy, who would 
 not hear half what was said, but would think 
 it necessary to take part in the conversation. 
 Could not you go down, Kate, and ask her 
 to come up here, just for a chat, you know ? " 
 
 Kate looked rather doubtful as to the task 
 assigned to her, but went down-stairs to per- 
 form it without making any further observa- 
 tion. And in a few minutes she returned 
 with her sister. 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 249 
 
 cn.vrTER XLvr. 
 
 THE FAIUY IN HER WICKED MOOD. 
 
 Margaret, as it may be supposed, had not 
 been passing happy hours since her return 
 homo on the morning after the abortive 
 scheme of elopement. She was in truth very 
 exceedingly miserable. Blank despair as to 
 the future ; ever-present fear of the exposure 
 each passing hour might bring with it ; a 
 feeling of hostility against and separation 
 from those around her, who should have been 
 near and dear to her ; a consciousness that 
 she stood alone in the midst of that family 
 who seemed all to feel together, to act to- 
 gether, and to understand each other so per- 
 fectly ; and lastly, a burning and consuming 
 rage and intensity of hatred against the false 
 traitor, who had foiled her schemes, dashed 
 down her hopes, and brutally and knowingly 
 exposed her to the suflering, the mortifica- 
 tion, the affront, the ridicule of such a catas- 
 trophe as she had undergone ; — all these un- 
 ruly sentiments and passions were making 
 Margaret supremely miserable, during those 
 days of hopelessness, and yet, in some sort, 
 of suspense. 
 
 Lady Farnleigh's presence at the Chase 
 had added a new source of annoyance and 
 disquietude to all 'those which were torment- 
 ing her. She had an instinctive dread and 
 dislike of Lady Farnleigh, and it seemed to 
 her as if it were fated that the dreadful ex- 
 posure which was hanging over her should 
 be made to fall upon her by no other hand. 
 
 It may readily be imagined, therefore, that 
 when Kate came into the drawing-room, 
 where Miss Immy was sitting bolt upright at 
 the table in the middle of the room, tran- 
 quilly perusing the pages of "Clarissa Har- 
 lowe," and Margaret was sitting on a sofa by 
 the side of the fireplace with a book hanging 
 listlessly from her hand, while her restless 
 thoughts were occupied on a very different 
 subject, and walking up close to the latter, 
 said in a low and rather hesitating voice, — 
 
 " Margaret, dear, Lady Farnleigh is going 
 to leave us early to-morrow morning, and 
 she wants before going to have a chat with ' 
 you; — so much has happened, you know,! 
 since she left Sillshire, — and she thought ] 
 that you would like better to come up to my 
 room, where we can be snug by ourselves, [ 
 you know — will you come? " i 
 
 Margaret's first impulse was to refuse the i 
 invitation. She looked up sulkily and de- 1 
 
 fiantly iuto Kate's face, as the latter stood 
 over her, anxious and ill at ease. 
 
 " Do come, there's a dear ! she is so kind," 
 said Kate, still speaking very low, while Miss 
 Immy remained profoundly absorbed in her 
 well-known romance. 
 
 " Oh, very kind, — so kind, — especially to 
 me ! " sneered Margai-et. And as she spoke, I 
 
 the spirit of defiance rose in her, and a feel- | 
 
 ing that what she dreaded must needs come, ' 
 
 and that less of torture and suffering would 
 arise from meeting her enemy and doing bat- 
 tle on the spot than from suspense and fear 
 and the consciousness of appearing to be 
 afraid, — a feeling very Similar to that of an 
 animal hunted till it turns at bay, — took pos- 
 session of her, and she added, " Yes, I will 
 come ! It will be the sooner over." 
 
 And getting up from the sofa as she spoke, | 
 
 and flinging the volume in her hand on the I 
 
 place from which she had risen, she drew J 
 
 herself up slowly, and as if lazily, to her \ 
 
 full height, and stalked haughtily and sul- 
 lenly to the door. 
 
 Kate followed, not a little dismayed at 
 these indications of her sister's state of mind, 
 and looking forward with anything but pleas- 
 ure to her share in the coming interview. It 
 was no small relief to her, therefore, when, 
 as she was following her sister up the stairs, 
 the latter suddenly turned, and with lower- 
 ing brow, said,— 
 
 " Lady Farnleigh is in your room, you 
 said, I think?" ' ! 
 
 " Yes, in my rooom, Margaret. She is 
 waiting for us there." 
 
 " But if I am to be lectured, I prefer that 
 it should not be done before lookers-on. You i 
 
 saw her by yourself, and have made good I 
 
 your own story. I will see her alone, too, if 
 I am to see her at all. I will go into my 
 room, and she may come to me there, or, if 
 you like to be shut out of your room for a 
 few minutes, I will go to her there." 
 
 "To be sure, Margaret, if you wish it ! || 
 
 You can go into my room. I will not come ; | 
 
 I will go down-stairs to Miss Immy," said 
 Kate, absolutely cowed and frightened by ' 
 
 Margaret's tone, and the haughty, lowering 
 scowl that sat upon her brow. 
 
 It was impossible that the grace and beauty 
 of movement assured by jNIargarefs perfect 
 figure and bearing should ever be alDsent 
 from her. And as she entered Kate's room, 
 with bold defiance in her large, dark. '»peo 
 
250 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 eyes and in the carriage of her head and neck, 
 with sullen but haughty displeasure on her 
 beautiful brow, there was something grandly 
 tragic in her whole appearance, worthy of 
 the study of a Siddons. Lady Farnleigh 
 could not help looking at her with a glance 
 in which a certain measure of admiration 
 mingled with her disapproval and dislike. 
 And jNIargaret, as she entered, eyed her ene- 
 my — as she was determined to, and was per- 
 haps partly justified in, considering her — 
 with the look with which a toreador may be 
 supposed to regard his adversary in the ring. 
 
 " Thank you for coming up to me, Marga- 
 ret," said Lady Farnleigh ; " I thought that 
 we could have a little talk about all this un- 
 toward business more comfortably up here 
 than in the drawing-room. Is not Kate com- 
 ing?" she added, as Margaret closed the 
 door behind her. 
 
 "No, Lady Farnleigh, she is not! I told 
 her that if you had anything to say to me 
 about — matters that concern me only, I chose, 
 if I heard it at all, to hear it alone." 
 
 And the tall, slender figure, in its black 
 silk dress, remained standing — in an attitude 
 that might have become Juno in her wrath, 
 — in front of Lady Farnleigh. 
 
 The latter raised her eyes to the pale, 
 handsome, lowering face, with an expression 
 of surprise in them, and gazed at her fixedly 
 for a moment or two, before saying, — 
 
 " Well, perhaps you were right. — perhaps 
 it will be better so. You spoke as if you 
 had doubted, Margaret, whether you would 
 consent to talk with me at all upon the events 
 that have been happening here. It would 
 be very reasonable that you should have such 
 a feeling as regards any stranger — any one 
 out of your own family — except myself. Per- 
 haps I ought to recall to you the facts that 
 give me a right to consider myself entitled to 
 such exception." 
 
 " Yes, Lady Farnleigh ; I should like to 
 hear that! " replied Margaret, drily, and all 
 but insolently. 
 
 " "When your dear and admirable mother 
 died, Margaret," returned Lady Farnleigh, 
 after holding her hand before her eyes for a 
 moment of thoughtfulness, " leaving you and 
 Kate motherless infants, I promised her to 
 act a mother's part toward you as far as 
 should be possible. I have done so as re- 
 gards your sister to the utmost of my power, 
 with your good father's sanction and approv- 
 
 al, ever since. I have, as you well know, 
 had no opportunity of keeping my promise 
 to your mother as regards yourself, hitherto. 
 But now that circumstances have brought 
 you back among us, and more especially now 
 that a second series of unforeseen and unfor- 
 tunate occurrences have unhappily changed 
 the brilliant prospects that -were before yon, 
 it would be a great grief to me if anything — 
 either in your conduct, or your will — should 
 prevent me from being to you what I trust I 
 have always been to Kate." 
 
 For an instant the latter words suggested 
 to Margaret's mind the possibility that Lady 
 Farnleigh meant to tell her that if she was a 
 good girl, there should be six thousand 
 pounds for her, also, as well as for Kate. 
 But a moment's consideration convinced her 
 that if Lady Farnleigh had more money to 
 leave, it would be all for Kate ; and even if 
 she had been inclined to suppose that the 
 chance of such a piece of good fortune was 
 before her, her imperious temper, and the 
 spirit of defiant rebellion which seemed to 
 her to be her only refuge in the storms that 
 were about to break over her, were at that 
 moment too strongly in the ascendant, and 
 too entirely had possession of her soul, for it 
 to have 'been possible for her to suppress 
 them, even for the sake of securing it. The 
 utmost she could bring herself to do, was to 
 say, with sullen majesty, and without taking 
 a seat,— 
 
 " What was it you wished to say to me. 
 Lady Farnleigh? " 
 
 Kate's fairy godmother, though one of the 
 kindest and lovingest natures in existence, 
 was not endowed with a very meek or long- 
 enduring temper ; and Margaret's sullen and 
 evidently hostile manner and words were rap- 
 idly using up the small stock of it remaining 
 on hand. So Lady Farnleigh replied, with 
 more acerbity in her tone than would have 
 been the case if that of Margaret had been 
 less provocative, — 
 
 " I fear, Margaret, you have been acting 
 far from — judiciously, let us say, in the mat- 
 ter of this match with Mr. Falconer, which 
 is now, I am told, broken off." 
 
 " I must take leave, Lady Farnleigh, to 
 think that I have been sufficiently well in- 
 structed in all that propriety requires of a 
 young lady on such occasions, to make it un- 
 necessary for me to consult the opinion of — 
 persona whose authority I certainly should 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE, 
 
 251 
 
 never think of preferring to that of the dear 
 friends who superintended my education." 
 
 " And you think those friends would have 
 approved y»ur recent conduct? " 
 
 " I do not see what there has been to 
 blame in it. When addressed, in a manner 
 which tlic ways of this country render per- 
 missible, by a gentleman whom I was justi- 
 fied in considering a good and eligible parii, 
 I gave him only a conditional assent, leav- 
 ing him to seek his definite answer from 
 papa." 
 
 " Quite en regie, Miss Margaret ! But do 
 you think that you were justified, under the 
 
 only the weakness of one moment. In the 
 next she attempted to hurl back the accusa- 
 tion which she could not parry. 
 
 " Honor and honesty ! " she said, with a 
 cold, withering sneer upon her brow and lips. 
 " With what sort of honor and honesty have 
 I been treated? With what sort of honor 
 and honesty has your favorite Kate and have 
 you yourself, Lady Farnleigh, treated me? 
 My sister runs to you with tales which, as 
 far as there is any truth in them, she was 
 bound in the most sacred manner and by the 
 most solemn engagements to keep secret ; 
 and you avail yourself of your position and 
 peculiar circumstances of the case, in giving i superior experience to worm out from her 
 that conditional assent and sending the anx- 1 the means of injuring a friendless girl, whom 
 ious gentleman to ' ask papa ' in the man- | you cannot forgive for having what your pro- 
 ner you speak of,— justified, not by the con- [ tegee never had nor never will have. Honor 
 ventiunalities of this or of that country, but ' and honesty, indeed ! " 
 
 by the laws of simple honesty and honor? " " If you had a tenth part of your sister's 
 
 " Simple honesty and honor. Lady Farn- honor and honesty in your heart, Margaret, 
 leigh ! " cried ]\Iargaret, while the blood be- j it would not occur to you to suppose that she 
 gan to mount rapidly in her beautiful pale \ had betrayed your secret to me. She is not 
 checks, and to tingle there very unpleasantly. I even aware that I know it. But it so hap- 
 " Yes, JIargaret, honor and honesty. Was pens that I do know that you were made ac- 
 it honorable or honest to accept such a pro- quainted with the error as to your Cousin 
 posal, knowing that the maker of it was un- ! Julian's death, and were perfectly aware of 
 
 der grievously erroneous impressions as to 
 the circumstances wtiich made you an ' eligi- 
 ble parti,' as you phrase it, in his eyes? " 
 
 " You allude — rather unfeelingly, I must 
 say. Lady Farnleigh — to tlie great misfortune 
 which has fallen upon my sister and me. 
 But you perhaps are not aware, having been 
 absent from Sillshire at the time, the propo- 
 sal in question was made, and the reply to it, 
 which you are pleased to criticise, given, be- 
 fore the facts you refer to were known," 
 
 the result which that must exercise on your 
 own position, about a month before your ac- 
 ceptance of Mr. Falconer's ofier." 
 
 " 1 knew only what Kate knew also, — 
 knew nothing, indeed, but what she told 
 me." 
 
 " Quite true, Margaret. Kate had the 
 same unfortunate knowledge that you had, 
 — and you both of you used it in your own 
 fashion." 
 
 Used it ! Why, what could I have done, 
 
 said Margaret, still doubting whether Lady I should like to know? I don't know whether 
 
 Farnleigh were indeed in possession of the 
 real facts of the case, — not seeing, indeed, 
 any possibility by which they could have 
 reached her, — and determined to fight her 
 battle with a bold front to the last. 
 
 " Margaret ! " said Lady Farnleigh, in re- 
 ply, looking her steadily in the eyes as she 
 
 the spy and informer from whom you have 
 obtained your information. Lady Farnleigh, 
 told you also that I was bound not to divulge 
 the fact of my cousin's being alive, — that it 
 was impossible for me to do so. What could 
 I do then? I waited — how impatiently none 
 will ever know — for the moment when it 
 
 spoke, " the facts I refer to were not known would be permitted me to tell Mr. Falconer 
 to Mr. Falconer, or to any one else in Silver- I the truth, and was compelled to content my- 
 ton, at the time when he made his proposal self in the mean time with the conviction, 
 
 to you ; but they were kxowx to you ! " 
 
 Margaret almost reeled under the force of 
 this direct and terrible blow. Her first im- 
 pulse was to hide her burning face with her 
 hands and rush out of the room ; but it was 
 
 that his motive in addressing me was not 
 money, and that the discovery that I had it 
 not would not change his sentiments toward 
 me." 
 
 " And are you still supported by that con- 
 
252 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 viction, moy I ask?" said Lady Farnleigii, 
 unable tu prevent a certain amount of sneer 
 from betraying itself in her tone. 
 
 " Of course I cannot suppose, Lady Farn- 
 leigb, that Mr. Falconer can be so base as 
 to dream of retreating from his engagement 
 because it turns out that I may be less 
 richly dowered than he had imagined. It is 
 hardly likely that, if I could have conceived 
 him to be capable of such conduct, I could 
 for an instant have listened to his address- 
 es." 
 
 There was an audacity of falsehood in this 
 speech which provoked Lady Farnleigh into 
 pushing Margaret more hardly than it had 
 been her intention to do when she began the 
 conversation. She could not refrain from 
 saying, — 
 
 "But surely, your conviction must have 
 been somewhat shaken upon the subject, 
 when the gentleman failed to keep his ap- 
 pointment at six o'clock, at your uncle's gar- 
 den-gate ; particularly when you remem- 
 bered that that sudden change in his plans, 
 which left you so cruelly in the lurch, took 
 place just about the time when the news of 
 your not being the heiress to your father's 
 acres became known in Silverton." 
 
 " It is infamous! It is shameful ! " 
 screamed Margaret, throwing herself sud- 
 denly on the little sofa by the side of Kate's 
 fireplace, and bursting into a flood of tears — 
 very characteristically feeling the exposure 
 of her having been duped and ill-treated far 
 more keenly than the detection of her own 
 sharp practice toward another. " You wick- 
 ed, wicked woman ! " she cried, " spying 
 and setting traps for people, and then tri- 
 umphing in their ill-fortune. It is too bad, — 
 too bad. I shall die, — I shall die ! I wish I 
 may ! Oh, why was I ever sent to this horrid 
 country and this cruel house ! " 
 
 And then her passionate sobbing became 
 inarticulate, and she seemed in danger of 
 falling into a fit of hysterics. 
 
 " I don't think you will die, Margaret," 
 said Lady Farnleigh, it must be admitted 
 somewhat cruelly ; " but perhaps it might 
 be better if you had your stay-lace cut. I 
 will go and send Simmons to you." 
 
 And so the executioner of this retribution 
 left the victim writhing, and convulsively 
 sobbing in the extremity of her mortification, 
 and the agony of her crushing defeat. 
 
 en AFTER XLII. 
 AT THE LINDISFARN STONE ONCE MOKE. 
 
 NoTWiTUSTANDiNG the Very decided convic- 
 tion that Margaret's conduct richly d(.>served 
 far more severe and more serious punish- 
 ment than the mauvais quart (Vheure which 
 Lady Farnleigh had inflicted upon her, the 
 fairy godmother, on rejoining Kate, felt 
 rather repentant and annoyed that hers sliould 
 have been the hand, or rather the tongue, to 
 inflict even that modicum of retribution. 
 She was evidently " out of sorts," when she 
 went down-stairs and found Kate in the 
 drawing-room . 
 
 " Margaret has been behaving excessively 
 ill, my dear," she said, in answer to Kate's 
 questioning look, — "most ungraciously and 
 ill-temperedly to me ; but that is nothing ; she 
 has been behaving most unpardonably to Mr. 
 Falconer, — behaving in a manner amply justi- 
 fying any abruptness of breaking offon his part, 
 and you may depend upon it that he will not 
 be remiss in availing himself of the justifica- 
 tion. To think of her accepting the man, 
 when she knew all about the change in her 
 position, and knew that he did not know 
 it! " 
 
 " Godmamma ! " said Kate, aghast. 
 " Yes, Miss Kate. Do you think I am a 
 fairy godmamma for nothing?" 
 
 " I cannot smile about it, godmamma," 
 said Kate, sadly. 
 
 " In truth, my dear, it is no smiling mat- 
 ter. I am deeply grieved ; and I am sure 
 that your father will feel it sorely." 
 
 " But, godmamma," said Kate, timidly 
 and hesitatingly, after a pause ; " didMargaret 
 tell you she was avare of Julian's secret at 
 the time of the oflc. :' " 
 
 " No, Kate, she did not," replied Lady 
 Farnleigh, looking into Kate's face with a 
 shrewd glance, half aggressive and half arch, 
 " she did not tell me; but I knew all about it, 
 for all that." 
 
 " You did not tell me that, godmamma," 
 returned Kate, a little reproachfully ; but 
 feeling at the same time, despite her vexation 
 at Margaret's detection, an irrepressible sen- 
 sation of relief at the reflection that Lady 
 Farnleigh, though she had not chosen to say 
 so, must be cognizant of the fact that she, also, 
 was in possession of the same information at 
 the time when she had refused EUingham. 
 " You know then also, I suppose," con- 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 tinned Kate, after a pause of some seconds, 
 " that Margaret was not at liberty to tell Mr. 
 Falconer the real state of the case when he 
 proposed to her ? ' ' 
 
 " Yes, Kate, I know that too," answered 
 Lady Farnleigh, witii the same look, half 
 affectionate and half quizzing, which her Aicc 
 had worn before ; " and I admit that the situ- 
 ation was a cruelly painful and very difficult 
 one ; — or at least that it would have been so 
 to Botiie people." 
 
 " Margaret did not know what to do, you 
 see, godmamma. What could she have 
 done ? ' ' 
 
 " Refuse hira, my dear ! " said Lady Farn- 
 leigh, shortly. 
 
 And then there was silence between them 
 for a long while. 
 
 Lady Farnleigh started, as she said she 
 wduld, immediately after breakfast the next 
 morning on her return to Wanstrow Manor. 
 And at an early hour on the following — the 
 Monday — morning Captain EUingham arrived 
 there, as she had expected. The station to 
 which he had been moved from Sillmouth 
 was on the northern coast of Sillshire, whereas 
 the latter little port is situated on the south- 
 ern side of that large county. The distance, 
 therefore, which he had had to travel in obedi- 
 ence to Lady Farnleigh "s behest was not a very 
 long one. It had so happened that the exi- 
 gencies of the service had permitted him to 
 start for Wanstrow almost immediately on 
 the receipt of her letter ; and he had not lost 
 many hours in doing so. 
 
 I hardly think that there is any necessity 
 for relating the conversation which passed 
 between hira and Lady Farnleigh on his 
 arrival. For the gist of it may be inferred 
 from what subsequently happened. And it 
 was, at all events, a short one ; for it was 
 barely twelve" o'clock when he reached Lin- 
 disfarn. 
 
 ^largaret had declared herself ill, as ill at 
 ease enough she doubtless was, ever since her 
 stormy conversation with Lady Farnleigh, 
 and had secluded herself in her own room. 
 The squire was busy in his study, as he had 
 been for many more hours in tlie day than 
 he was in the habit of spending within doors, 
 ever since that ill-boding visit from Mr. Slow- 
 come. Mr. Mat was absent for the day. He 
 bad taken a horse early in the morning, be- 
 fore Kate was down, and had told the serv- 
 ants that ho should not come home till the 
 
 253 
 
 evening, and possibly not till the morrow. 
 Miss Immy alone pursued the even tenor of 
 her way, uninfluenced, though assuredly not 
 unmindful of the misfortune that had fallen 
 on the family. But that even tenor of her 
 daily occupation prevented her from being 
 ever seen in the urawing-room till after lun- 
 cheon. And Kate therefore, since Lady Farn- 
 leigh 's departure, had felt unusually lonely 
 and depressed in spirits. 
 
 After having, as soon as breakfast was over 
 on that Monday morning, vainly attempted 
 to compel her mind to fix itself on her usual 
 employments in her room, she gave up the 
 fruitless struggle, and yielding to the rest- 
 lessness which was upon her, strolled down 
 into the stable to try if she could get rid of 
 half an hour in the society of Birdie. 
 
 The stables at Lindisfarn were not placed 
 at the back of the house, so as to be out of 
 sight of the approaches tf) it, partly, proba- 
 bly, because there was no space there, unless 
 it were made by the sacrifice of some of tlie 
 noble old trees of the Lindisfarn woods, 
 which just behind the house came down al- 
 most close upon it and upon the gardens ; 
 and partly, perhaps, because the Lindisfarn 
 who had raised the handsome block of liuild- 
 ings which contained them was disposed to 
 consider that department of his mansion quite 
 as much entitled to a prominent position as 
 any other. So it was, however, whatever the 
 cause, that at Lindisfarn the stables stood at 
 right angles to the front of the house, the 
 front stable-yard (for there was a back stable- 
 yard behind, which served for the more un- 
 sightly portions of a stable-yard's functions), 
 — the front stable-yard was divided from the 
 drive by which the entrance to the mansion 
 was reached, only by a low parapet wall. 
 There was a broad stone coping on the top of 
 it, which made a very convenient seat for 
 Bayard, the old hound, who was wont to lie 
 there on sunny days, with his great black 
 muzzle between his huge paws, meditatively, 
 by the hour together. 
 
 It was one of the first genial mornings of 
 spring in that southwestern country ; the old 
 hound, whose muzzle in truth was beginning 
 to have more gray than black in it, had 
 taken his favorite seat on the low wall in the 
 sunshine ; and Kate, leaving the etable-door 
 open, had come out to bestow on her other 
 playfellow a share of her attention. 
 
 She was sitting on the wall in fi'ont of the 
 
254 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 fine old dog, and was, in fact, giving him such mounting, " I was anxiously debating with 
 portion of her attention as she could com- myself, as I rode up the hill, whether I could 
 mand. It was but a small share, and evi- hope that, when a message was brought you 
 dently much less than old Bayard was dis- , that I was here and begging to see you, you 
 posed to content himself with ; for he had i would grant me an interview or not. Now my 
 stretched out one magnificent fore-arm and good fortune has secured for me the chance of 
 paw till it rested on Kate's lap, and he was at least preferring my petition in person. May 
 shoving his cold nose into her hand as it rest- , I hope that, when I have found somebody in 
 ed on the edge of the coping stone, evidently the stables to take my horse, you will allow 
 bent on recalling to himself his mistress's i me to speak with you for a few minutes? 
 wandering thoughts. But they were roving For that is the sole object of my coming hith- 
 far away, and would not come back for all ] er ; and I know it will be a potent backing 
 old Bayard's wistful caresses, favorite as he ', of my request, when I assure you that I am 
 was. 1 here in accordance with the counsel and 
 
 She was sitting thus when the sound of a wishes of Lady Farnleigh." 
 horse's feet, coming in a sharp canter round j " It is a potent backing, Captain Elling- 
 a curve in the road from the lodge-gate, fell ham," said Kate, who had had time to re- 
 on her ear and on old Bayard's at the same cover herself in some degree while Ellingham 
 moment. The ground fell away very steeply was speaking ; " but there is no need of any 
 from the terrace in front of the house to the such to make me say that you are welcome 
 lodge; and that part of the bending road at Lindisfarn." 
 
 which the rider was passing was hidden from i A groom came out from the stables, and 
 the spot where Kate and Bayard were, by a took Captain EUingham's horse from him, as 
 large mass of very luxuriant laurustinus and Kate spoke ; and she was leading the way 
 Portugal laurel. Kate's first notion was that towards the front-door of the house, when 
 Mr. Mat was unexpectedly returning, and he said, — 
 
 very hurriedly ; for it was not like him to' " Miss Lindisfarn, I shall be delighted to 
 gallop his horse up to the door, and leave , see all my kind friends here, after I have had 
 him steaming hot. But Bayard knew better. ; a little conversation with you alone. It is 
 The hoof-falls that disturbed his reverie ; for that purpose that I have come here, with 
 were, he was quite sure, the produce of no the approval of our dear and excellent friend, 
 hoofs that lived in his stables ; so he roused Lady Farnleigh." 
 
 himself, jumped down from the wall, and ut- I " If she wishes — that is, if you think; 
 tered a short, interrogative bark. In the next Captain Ellingham — that Lady Farnleigh 
 instant, a horse at full gallop swept round the would think — I am sure — if there is any- 
 large mass of evei'gi'eens ; and in the next thing" — stammered Kate, making, for such 
 after, the seaman's horsemanship of Captain ' an usually straightforward speaker, a very 
 Ellingham, aided by the effect of the stable- ' lame attempt at any intelligible utterance, 
 scent on his steed's organs, brought him to a i " When the sentence that has been pro- 
 stand sharply at the spot where Kate and her j nounced on a criminal, Miss Lindisfarn, is by 
 companion were. any good hap to be reversed," said Ellingham, 
 
 The latter alone seemed to be at all inclined ; coming to her assistance by taking upon him- 
 to practise the hospitable duties proper to self the active share of the conversation, 
 the occasion. After a very short and per- which he seemed somehow to be much more 
 functory examination of the strange horse, : capable of doing satisfactorily than he had 
 Bayard at once showed his recollection of { been on the last occasion of a tete-d-tete be- 
 Captain Ellingham, and welcomed him to j tween him andKate, — " when sentence upon 
 Lindisfarn. But if Kate did not turn and la criminal is to be reversed, it is usual and 
 run, it was only because her feet seemed ! right that the revised decision should be 
 rooted to the spot on which she was stand- ; pronounced, as far as may be, before the 
 
 audience which was present at the first. 
 Would you object to walk with me ? " he con- 
 tinued, meaningly, after a considerable pause, 
 " through the woods up to Lindisfarn brow ? " 
 Kate shot one short, sharp, inquiring glance 
 
 " Captain Ellingham ! " she said, and 
 could proceed to no further greeting ; for her 
 tongue clove to the roof of her mouth. 
 " Miss Lindisfarn," said Ellingham, dis- 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 at him from under her downcast eyelashes, 
 as she said, " If you like, I will walk with 
 you up to the brow. Captain Ellingham ; 
 but I am afraid there can be no reversal of 
 anything tliat ever passed there." 
 
 " I cannot submit to have my appeal dis- 
 missed without, at least, a hearing of the 
 grounds on which it is urged." 
 
 And then they walked on a little way 
 side by side in silence, till Kate, feeling that 
 the silence was acquiring a force with a geo- 
 metrical rate of progression, as it continued, 
 in that mysterious way that such silences do 
 increase the intensity of their significance by 
 duration, and determined therefore to break 
 it at all hazards, said, — 
 
 " IIow different these woods are looking 
 from what they were when we were last up 
 here together ! Do you remember all the 
 traces of the recent storm ? " 
 
 " Yes, indeed ! and iiow the poor old wood 
 had been mauled and torn. I hated these 
 fine old woods then ; but I have no spite 
 against them now." 
 
 "Hated Lindisfarn woods? And I do so 
 love them ! Why did you hate our old 
 woods? And what has brought you into a 
 better frame of mind ? " said Kate, more 
 quietly than she had spoken before. 
 
 " I felt spiteful against these hills and 
 woods, and against all the beautiful country 
 tliey look down on, because all these fine 
 Lindisfarn acres were so many ramparts and 
 bulwarks and fortifications, all increasing 
 the impossibility of scaling the fortress, 
 ■which all my hope of happiness depended 
 on my conquering — on which my hope still 
 depends ! But I do not hate the Lindisfarn 
 acres any longer ; for they no longer stand 
 between me and my goal." 
 
 " Oh, Captain Ellingham ! " said Kate, 
 almost too much agitated to sheak, yet dash- 
 ing out in desperation to defend the Lindis- 
 farn acres from any such maleficent influence ; 
 " You told me, you know" — 
 
 " Yes, Miss Lindisfarn, 1 told you that I 
 was well persuaded that your rejection of my 
 suit, though it was altogether unassigned to 
 any motive, did not rest on any cause of the 
 kind I have been alluding to. I was and am 
 thoroughly convinced of that fact. And for 
 tliat reason. Miss Lindisfarn, I should not 
 now venture to renew my suit, if the only 
 difference in our position toward each other 
 were that produced by your having then been 
 
 255 
 
 supposed lo be one of the heiresses to all 
 this wealth, and your now not being imag- 
 ined to be such any longer. Your rejection 
 of my suit was not caused by the wide differ- 
 ence in our fortunes, as they were supposed 
 to stand then ; therefore I should not be jus- 
 tified in renewing it mei-ely because that 
 wide difference has disappeared." 
 
 " I am glad to know that! " said Kate, 
 very tremblingly. 
 
 " Yes, I know that," said Ellingham, lay- 
 ing considerable emphasis on the verb. "And 
 therefore I must find another excuse for dar- 
 ing to ask you to reconsider the decision you 
 then gave me. Miss Lindisfarn, this is 
 the excuse : you did not refuse me here last 
 spring because you deemed yourself to be 
 richly endowed, but in part, at least, because 
 you were aware that you were not so. May 
 I not hope that that was the real deciding 
 reason? Is that so?" he added, after a 
 considerable pause, during which Kate could 
 not find courage and calmness enough to ven- 
 ture on a reply, although the thoughts and 
 feelings which were making her heart beat 
 were assuredly not of a painful nature. 
 
 " Is not that true, Kate? " he said, again, 
 whispering the last word so low that it was 
 barely audible. 
 
 " It is true," she whispered, tremulously, 
 in a scarcely louder tone; " but where is 
 the change? I was then, and am stiW, un- 
 possessed of wealth." 
 
 " Where is the change ! why, in this ; that 
 you knew that I then supposed I was asking 
 a great heiress to be my wife ; you could not 
 explain to me that fact, — I know why now. 
 JSoio we both know all about this terrible 
 secret. Noiv that at least need be no barrier 
 between us. Noiv there is no mistake. 
 Noiul am asking Kate Lindisfarn, no heiress 
 at all, if she will bestow, — not all these beau- 
 tiful woods and fields, which weighed so heav- 
 ily on my heart that I hardly dared ask at 
 all before, — but her hand, rich only with a 
 priceless heart in it, upon a rough sailor, 
 who has little to offer in return save as true 
 and strong a love as ever man bore to wo- 
 man . ' ' 
 
 He had got bold of her hand while speak- 
 ing the last words ; and she did not draw it 
 away from his, but turned her face away 
 from him. And he made no attempt to draw 
 the trembling little hand he held nearer to 
 him, but let his own follow it to where it 
 
256 
 
 hung beneath her averted and drooping face. 
 And in that position he felt a wet tear fall on 
 the hand which held hers. 
 
 " Have you no answer for me, Kate? " he 
 ■whispered again. 
 
 " I wish I could have answered before I 
 knew anything about the change in the des- 
 tination of these woods," murmured Kate, 
 very plaintively. 
 
 " You wish that ! " he cried ; " then this lit- 
 tle hand is my own." Arid he snatched it to 
 his lips and covered it with kisses, as he 
 Bpokc. " Dear, dearest, generous girl ! But 
 do not be selfish in your generosity, my Kate. 
 Remember how much sweeter it must be to me 
 to ask you for your love, when there can be no 
 thought, — not in your noble heart, my Kate 
 but in the suspicions of the outside world — 
 that I am asking for aught else." 
 
 They had by this time reached the Lindis- 
 farn stone, and were sitting side by side just 
 where Kate had sat on the day she had refused 
 him. 
 
 " This used to be a very favorite seat of 
 mine ; but I have never been here since," 
 said Kate, without any previous word having 
 been said in allusion to any former occasion 
 of being there. But there was no need of 
 any such explanation of her meaning ; and 
 the mysterious magnetism which so fre- 
 quently and so strangely makes coincidence in 
 the unspoken thoughts of two minds was on 
 this occasion less inexplicable than it often is. 
 
 " But now will you henceforth take it into 
 favor again, Kate? " 
 
 " I wish it was going to remain ow'S,^' said 
 Kate, leaving Ellingham at liberty to under- 
 stand the communistic possessive pronoun as 
 referring to Kate and the members of her 
 family, or as alluding to a closer bi-partiie 
 partnership, according to his pleasure. 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 " We will make the gray old stone ours," 
 said Ellingham, accepting the latter inter- 
 pretation, " after the fashion of poets in old 
 times, and jolly tars in these days." And he 
 took a pocket-knife from his pocket as he 
 spoke. " Now then I will carve ' Kate ' on 
 the stone, and you shall cut ' Walter,' and 
 we will put a pierced heart above them, all 
 in due style." 
 
 " But 1 can't carve, especially on this hard 
 rock," said Kate, smiling. 
 
 " Oh, I will show you how. See there 
 is my ' Kate ' in orthography very unworthy 
 of the dear, dear word. Now you must 
 put ' Walter ' underneath it. I will help 
 you." 
 
 And he put the knife into her hand, and 
 proceeded without the least hurry about bring- 
 ing the operation to a conclusion, to guide 
 the taper little fingers to scratch the required 
 letters on the stone. 
 
 " There," he said, when the word was 
 completed ; " now read it, ' Kate and Wal- 
 ter.' Come, sweetest, you must, read it. It 
 is a part of the ceremony." 
 
 So Kato, tremulously whispering, read "Kate 
 and Walter," thus pronouncing for that sweet, 
 formidable, never-to-be-forgotten first time 
 the name which was thenceforward forever 
 to be the dearest sound for her that human 
 lips could form. 
 
 K. T. A. — Kappa, tau, lambda! three Greek 
 letters, my dear young lady readers, the full 
 and complete significance of which , as used 
 to convey a compendious account of the re- 
 mainder of the above-described scene, may be 
 with perfect safety left to the explanation of 
 your unaided intelligences, when it has been 
 briefly mentioned that they stand for the 
 words " and all the rest of it." 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 MR. MAT COMMITS SACRILEGE AND FELONY. 
 
 Mr. Faixoxer, senior, did not go to Chew- 
 ton on the Sunday, as he had purposed. He 
 Tvas prevented from doing so, and went on 
 the next day, — that same Monday on which 
 Mr. Mat was absent all day from the Chase, 
 and on which " Kate and Walter " held their 
 second session on the Lindisfarn Stone. 
 
 !Mr. Mat had said nothing to anybody re- 
 Bpeeting his errand ; but the fact was, that 
 he also had determined on going over him- 
 self to Chewton ; not with much hope of be- 
 ing able to effect any good, where wiser heads 
 had failed, but still anxious, as he said, to 
 see, if he could, what those ^lallorys were 
 up to. 
 
 Mr. Mat had known Charles Mellish, the 
 late curate, well, in days gone by ; and to 
 tell the truth, they had, more often than was 
 quite desirable, — at all events, for the rever- 
 end gentleman, — heard the chimes at mid- 
 night together, both in Silverton and out at 
 the curate's residence at Chewton. Music 
 was the chief tie between them. Poor Char- 
 ley Mellish, — for he had been one of those 
 men to whom that epithet is always applied, 
 and who are always called by the familiar 
 form of their Christian names, — poor Charley 
 Mellish had possessed a grand baritone voice, 
 which made very pleasant music when joined 
 with Mr. flat's tenor. 
 
 Mr. Mat had often stayed for two or three 
 days together out at Chewton, in those pleas- 
 ant but naughty old bygone times, and knew 
 all Mellish's ways and habits, his carelessness 
 and his irregularity, but knew, also, as Mr. 
 !Mat was thoroughly persuaded, and loudly 
 declared, that poor Charley was utterly inca- 
 pable of permitting or conniving at any fraud, 
 either in the matter of the registers intrust- 
 ed to his keeping, or in any other. Mr. 
 Mat had a very strong idea that the reg- 
 ister, which would prove whether the pro- 
 pounded extract from it were truly and hon- 
 estly made or not, must still be in existence, 
 and might be found, if looked for with suffi- 
 cient patience and perseverance. 
 
 It thus cj^me to pass that Mr. Falconer, 
 senior, and Mr. Matthew Lindisfarn were 
 journeying toward the remote little moor- 
 land village on the same day. But they 
 were not travelling by the same road, nor 
 exactly at the same hour. 
 
 Mr. Mat's way lay, indeed, through Sil- 
 17 
 
 257 
 
 verton, and coincided with that of tlie ban- 
 ker till after he had crossed the Sill by the 
 bridge at the town-foot, and traversed most 
 of the enclosed country intervening between 
 the river and the borders of the moor. After 
 that, Mr. Mat, being on horseback, pursued 
 the same route whicli Dr. Blakistry hud tak- 
 en on a former occasion ; whereas the ban- 
 ker in his carriage followed the lower road, 
 by which Dr. Lindisfarn and Mr. Sligo had 
 travelled. 
 
 Mr. Mat and the banker might therefore 
 have fallen in with one another, had it not been 
 that the former started on his journey at the 
 earlier hour, and had already passed tlirough 
 Silverton when the banker was still finishing 
 his breakfast. 
 
 Mr. Mat took his ride leisurely, being 
 much longer about it than Dr. Blakistry had 
 been, — not because he was the inferior horse- 
 man of the two — quite the contrary ; Mr. 
 !Mat was in those days one of the best riders 
 in Sillshire, and could have, without diffi- 
 culty, found his way across and over obsta- 
 cles that would have puzzled tho M. D. But 
 he rode leisurely over the moor because he 
 so much enjoyed his ride. It so happened, 
 that he had never been at Chewton since his 
 old crony Charles Mellish's death. And 
 every mile of the way waked up whole hosts 
 of long sleeping memories in Mr. Mat's rec- 
 ollection. 
 
 The ten years that run from forty-five to 
 fifty-five in a man's life are a terrible decade, 
 leaving cruelly deep marks in their passage, 
 often accomplishing the whole job of turning 
 a young man into an old one. And these 
 were about the years that had passed over 
 Mr. Mat's head since he had last ridden 
 that well-known road from Silverton to Chew- 
 ton. 
 
 Not that these years could be said to have 
 turned Mr. Mat into an old man, either. He 
 was of the sort who make a good and suc- 
 cessful fight against the old tyrant with the 
 scythe and hour-glass. His coal-black, spi- 
 key, scrubbing-brush of a head of hair, was 
 as thickly set and as black as ever. His per- 
 fect set of regular white teeth were as complete 
 and as brilliant in their whiteness as ever. His 
 shrewd and twinkling deep-set black eye was 
 as full of fire and as bright as it had been 
 when last he rode that way. And his cop- 
 per-colored, deeply-seamed, and pock-marked 
 face was not more unsightly than it had ever 
 
258 
 
 been. And Mr. Mat always carried a light 
 heart beneath his waistcoat, which is as good 
 a preservative against age as camphor is 
 against moth, as all the world knows 
 
 So he rode through the keen morning air 
 of the moor, reviewing his stock of recollec- 
 tions athwart the mellow sunshine-tinted 
 Claude glass which memory presents to eu- 
 peptic easy-going philosophers of this sort, 
 carolling out ever and anon some fragment 
 of a ditty, with all the power of his rich and 
 BODOrous tenor. 
 
 " There's many a lad I knew is dead. 
 
 And many a lass groiivn old ! 
 
 And as the lesson strikes my head, 
 
 My weary heart grows cold ; ' ' 
 
 he sung, as he turned his horse's head out of 
 the main road across the moor into that 
 breakneck track, by which we have seen Dr. 
 Blakistry pick his way. But the stave was 
 carolled forth in a manner that did not seem 
 to indicate a very weary or cold heart in the 
 singer's bosom ; and ^Ir. Mat, as he sat on 
 his well-appointed steed, with his white hat 
 just a little cocked on one side, his whip un- 
 der his arm, and his hand stuck into the 
 pocket of his red waistcoat, certainly did 
 not present to the imagination the picture of 
 a sorrow-stricken individual. 
 
 A couple of rabbits ran across the path, 
 startled from their dewy morning nibble by 
 his horse's tread ; and Mr. ^Mat broke off his 
 song to honor them with a view-halloo that 
 made the sides of a neighboring huge rock — 
 a " tor," in the moorland language — re-echo 
 again. 
 
 " And when cold in my coflan," he shouted 
 again, — " when cold in my coffin — Ha ! 
 Miss Lucy ! mind what you are about, lass ! 
 turf slippery; is it ? — When cold in my coffin, 
 I'll leave tliem to say, he's gone ! what a 
 hearty good fellow ! " 
 
 " El — low ! " said the echo off the gray 
 tor side. 
 
 " What a hearty good fellow ! " repeated 
 Mr. Mat, in a stentorian voice, stimulated 
 by the echo's second. 
 
 The good resolution thus enunciated seemed , 
 however, to have been uttered by Mr. Mat, 
 rather in the character of the late curate 
 than in his own proper person ; for he con- 
 tinued soliloquizing a train of reflections, 
 which that view of the sentiment he had 
 been chanting inspired him with. 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 " Yes, he was a hearty good fellow, — poor 
 Charley ! as good as ever another in Sill- 
 shire, — not a morsel of vice in him — not a 
 bit ! They got hold of the wrong bit of 
 stuff, maybe, to make a parson out of. Poor 
 old Charley ! He's gone, — what a hearty 
 good fellow ! How often have I heard him 
 sing that. Well ! well ! Now he is gone. 
 And we are all a-going ! 
 
 ' And so 'twill be, when I am gone 
 Those evening bells will still ring on ! 
 Some other bard will walk these dells ' — 
 
 ^liss Lucy ! what are you about, 
 
 Hup 
 lass? 
 
 ' And sing your praise,'sweet evening Mis.' 
 And I wonder whether another as big a rogue 
 as that old Mallory will pull your ropes, 
 sweet evening bells ? There's some devilry 
 of some sort at the bottom of this business. 
 I am sure of it, — sure and certain ; but it's 
 deeper, I am afraid, than anything I can get 
 to the bottom of." 
 
 And with these thoughts in his head, Jlr. 
 Mat came in sight of the tower of Chewton 
 Church, and in a few minutes afterwards, 
 pulled up at the house of Mr. Mallory, the 
 clerk, — pulled up there more because it had 
 always been his habit to do so in old times, 
 when Charley Jlellish lived in that house, 
 than for any other reason ; though, in fact, 
 anything that Mr. Mat was come there to do 
 could only be done by addressing himself to 
 the old clerk. But the fact was, that Mr. 
 Mat did not very well know what he had 
 come there to do. He had yielded, when he 
 made up his mind to ride over, to a sort of 
 vague and restless desire to do something, a 
 conviction that all was not right, and a sort 
 of feeling that it might be possible to find 
 out something if one were on the spot. 
 
 It was about eleven o'clock in the forenoon 
 when Mr. Mat reached Chewton, and hung 
 Miss Lucy's rein on the rail in front of Mr. 
 Mallory's door. He knocked at the door 
 with the handle of his whip ; and it was in- 
 stantly opened to him by the old man him- 
 self. 
 
 ' Mr. Matthew Lindisfarn ! why " — 
 ' What has brought me here ? you were 
 going to say, Mr. Mallory ; after staying 
 away ten years or more ! Well ! a little of 
 remembrance of the old times, and a little 
 of interest about these new times. That's 
 about it, eh ? " 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 " The old times and the new times are 
 pretty much alike, as far as I can see, Mr. 
 Mat. A little more rheumatism, a little more 
 weariness when one goes to bed, and a little 
 more stiffness when one gets up in the morn 
 ing ; that's the most of the difference that I 
 can see." 
 
 " Well ! there is no jolly, good-humored 
 smiling fiice looking out of that window over 
 the door up there, where poor old Charley's 
 face used to be, when I rode over, three or 
 four hours earlier than 'tis now, mayhap, 
 and he would welcome me with, ' Chanticleer 
 proclaims the morn ! ' Does that make no 
 difference between the old times and the 
 new ? ' ' 
 
 " You don't seem much changed, Mr. Mat, 
 anyway," returned the old man, looking 
 at his visitor with a queer sort of interest 
 and curiosity ; " you are pretty much as you 
 were, I think, coat and waistcoat and all ! " 
 
 " Pretty much ; and I don't see that ten 
 years have made any great improvement in 
 you, Mr. Mallory. I don't see a mite of 
 difference, to tell the truth." 
 
 " I don't know that there is much, Mr. 
 Mat, barring what I told you just now," 
 said the old man. 
 
 " And I don't suppose," said Mr. Mat, 
 shutting one bright black eye, and putting his 
 bead on one side with an air of curious specu- 
 lation, as he eyed the tall, grave old man with 
 the other, — " 1 don't suppose, Mr. Mallory, 
 that these ten years have made either of us 
 a bit the better or the wiser. I can't say 
 that I am aware of their having had any such 
 effect on me, for my part." 
 
 " Well, Mr. Matthew, I should be sorry 
 to think that, for my part. But then I'm 
 nearer the great account, you know," said 
 the clerk, with a touch of official sanctimo- 
 niousness. 
 
 " So that it is about time to think of mak- 
 ing up the books, eh, Mr. Mallory? Well, 
 that's true. But, bless your heart, there's 
 no counting in that way. Think of that poor 
 young fellow lost at sea the other day, — my 
 cousin — a far-away cousin, but still my cou- 
 sin, Mr. Mallory — and your son-in-law, as I 
 understand, Mr. Mallory. Think of him ! " 
 said Mr. Mat, thus suddenly bringing round 
 the conversation to the topic which was up- 
 permost in his mind, by a bold stroke of rhet- 
 oric, which he flattered himself would not 
 have disgraced the leader of tlie western cir- 
 
 259 
 
 cuit," there was a sudden calling to account, 
 Mr. Mallory." 
 
 " Ay, indeed, Mr. Matthew," said the old 
 clerk, leisurely, folding his hands in front of 
 his waistcoat, and twirling his thumbs plac- 
 idly as he stood in front of his visitor, in 
 the middle of the flagged floor of his large 
 kitchen and entrance hall ; for the two had by 
 this time entered the house ; but tlie old man 
 had not invited his self-bidden guest to be 
 seated, — " ay, indeed, Mr. Matthew, and 
 it's what they are specially liable to, ' who 
 go down to the sea in ships, and occupy their 
 business in the great waters.' " 
 
 " Such queer business, too, by all ac- 
 counts," said Mr. Mat. 
 
 " Indeed, I am not much in the way of 
 hearing reports here," rejoined Mr. Mallory, 
 indifferently. 
 
 " Very true, Mr. Mallory ; out in the moor 
 here, you know. But be all that how it 
 may, it is necessary now to see that the rights 
 of the child — your grandson, Mr. Mallory, 
 and my far-away cousin — are properly settled. 
 That is the feeling of all the family ; and 
 perhaps it is all for the best that there should 
 be a male heir for the old place and the old 
 name," said Mr. Mat, whom nobody, and 
 least of all himself, would ever have supposed 
 to have so much Jesuitry in him. 
 
 " Of course Mr. Oliver Lindisfarn, and the 
 doctor, my honored master, can only wish 
 that right should be done. Queer enough 
 that the child should have the rector and the 
 clerk of Chewton for his two grandfathers, 
 is it not, Mr. Matthew"? I suppose the set- 
 tlement of the question don't make much 
 more difference to either of them than it 
 does to the other ! I have had all the sorrow 
 of the business ; and I sha'n't have any of 
 the advantage — No, not all the sorrow, 
 either ; for Dr. Lindisfarn had his share too, 
 no doubt ; and he will get as little good from 
 it as I shall." 
 
 " Of coui'se, of course, Mr. Mallory; and 
 all you can wish is what all the parties con- 
 cerned wish in the matter, — that the right 
 thing should be done." 
 
 " I can safely say, Mr. Matthew, that that 
 is my feeling. But to tell you the truth, I 
 feared, from what I have heard my son say, — 
 the lawyer at Sillmouth, Mr. Matthew, — that 
 the family would make some attempt to dis- 
 pute the boy's title, " said the old man, look- 
 ing keenly at Mr. Mat. 
 
260 
 
 " 1 am sure the squire at the Chase has 
 no wish to dispute anything that is not fairly 
 disputable," rejoined Mr. Mat ; " but as far 
 as I can understand, there arises some doubt 
 and diCBculty about a missing register. If 
 that could be found, I fancy it would make 
 the thing all clear and plain." 
 
 " No doubt, Mr. Matthew, no doubt. But 
 how to find it? that is the question. You 
 knew poor Mr. Mellish, nobody better ; and 
 you knew his ways. Like enough to have 
 made the old register into gun wadding, for 
 want of better," said the clerk. 
 
 "No!" said Mr. Mat, shaking his head 
 very decisively, — " no, Charley would never 
 have done that. He would never have done 
 anything that could bring no end of wrong 
 and trouble to others." 
 
 " But you know, Mr. Matthew, that half 
 his time he did not know what he was do- 
 ing," said the clerk, with a sad and re- 
 proachful shake of the head. 
 
 " No, not so bad as that! Come, come, 
 Mr. Mallory, don't stick it on to him worse 
 than it was, poor fellow. I have seen him 
 with a drop or two too much now and again 
 towards the small hours. But not in the 
 morning ; not when there could ever have 
 been any question about gun-wadding. No, 
 no ! Charley never made away with the 
 book in any fashion, I'll lay my life! It 
 must have been in existence somewhere or 
 other when he died ; and if it could be found, 
 it would make this child's rights aa clear as 
 day, and spare all further trouble about it." 
 
 It was now old Mallory "s turn to scrutinize 
 his companion, which he did to much better 
 purpose than simple Mr. ^lat had done, ob- 
 serving his features furtively and keenly out 
 of the corner of his eye, with a shrewdness 
 calculated to detect an arriere pensec in a 
 deeper dissembler than Mr. Mat. 
 
 " At all events," he said, " it is exceed- 
 ingly vexatious that the register cannot be 
 found. I have done my utmost long ago, as 
 well as recently, to find it. And I shall be 
 very much surprised if anybody else ever 
 finds it now." 
 
 " Have you any objection to let me go up- 
 stairs into the rooms he used to inhabit ? I 
 should like to see the old place again for ' auld 
 lang sync ' sake. You know, Mallory, how 
 many a jolly night I have passed in those 
 rooms in old times." 
 
 "Ay, Mr. Matthew! it were better if I 
 
 LINDISFARN. CHASE. 
 
 had not any such to remember. They were 
 sad doings ; no credit to the house, nor to the 
 parish, for that matter! " said the old clerk, 
 casting up his eyes in pious reprobation. 
 
 " I am sure the next parish was never any 
 the wiser for that matter. It must have 
 been a roystering rouse with a vengeance, 
 that the silence of Sillmoor could not swallow 
 up and tell no tales of ! And as for the peo- 
 ple here, you know whether they loved poor 
 Charley, or were likely to think much ill of 
 him, poor fellow, with all his faults. May 
 I go up and have a look at the old rooms? " 
 
 "Yes, Mr. Matthew, I have no objection 
 whatever. You can go up-stairs if you wish 
 it. I will wait on you. But the room has 
 been used since Mr. Mellish lived in it." 
 
 " Both the rooms he occupied ? " asked Mr. 
 Mat. 
 
 "No, not both of them. The sitting-room 
 has been occupied since by my daughter when 
 she was here. But the room beyond, the 
 bedroom, where he died, has never been used 
 since. We have more space in the house 
 than we need." 
 
 So they both went up-stairs ; and Mr. Mat, 
 under cover of indulging in the reminitcences 
 of his dead-and-gone jollifications, cast his 
 eyes sharply about him to see if he could get 
 any hint of a hiding-place or repository in 
 which it might be possible to suppose that the 
 missing register might have been hidden and 
 lost. In the room which had been the cu- 
 rate's sitting-room, no trace of his occupa- 
 tion remained. It had very evidently long 
 since passed under feminine dominion, and 
 had been, it may be hoped, purified, during the 
 reign of the moorland wild-flower, from all 
 odor of the naughty doings witnessed in that 
 former phase of its existence. It was not so, 
 however, in the inner room, in which the poor 
 curate had slept, and had died. There every- 
 thing had remained to all appearance exactly 
 as he had left it. On a nail in the white- 
 washed wall by the side of the old bed- 
 stead, just in the place where Roman Cath- 
 olic devotion is wont to suspend a little vase 
 of holy water, still hung the Protestant cu- 
 rate's dog-whip. On the wall oppoeite to 
 the bed, and at right angles to tlie window, 
 was scrawled in charcoal on the white sur- 
 face a colossal music score, with a number 
 of notes rudely but very clearly, legibly, and 
 correctly placed on the lines of it. The main 
 direction in which noor Mellish's efforts at 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 261 
 
 diecharginp; li is duty in the matter of instruct- I have one more look at the famous inscrip- 
 
 ing his parishioners had developed themselves, 
 
 •was in attempting to get up a choir, and to 
 
 teach a class of the boys to sing. And this 
 
 bedroom had been the poor fellovr's school- 
 
 rojm, and the huge score and notes on the 
 
 wall his lecture-board. 
 
 Poor melodious Charley ! He was willing 
 to teach what he best knew ; and whether 
 Sternhold and Hopkins supplied all the exem- 
 plars commended to the voices of the ingenu- 
 ous moorland youth, it were invidious too 
 closely to inquire. 
 
 On another side of the room was a large 
 worm-eaten chest, on which Mr. Mat's eye 
 fell immediately. He lifted the creaking lid 
 eagerly ; but there was nothing but dust and 
 one old rusty spur in a corner inside. And a 
 smile passed over the face of Mr. Mallory as 
 he let the lid and the corners of his own 
 mouth fall at the same time. 
 
 There was no other shade of a possibility 
 that the missing volume might be found in 
 the curate's bed-chamber : and Mr. ]Mat 
 
 tion, sir ; is that it? " 
 
 " That is what I wish, Mr. Mallory ; if 
 you will be so obliging as to afford me the 
 opportunity of doing so." 
 
 " Good-morning, Mr. Falconer. I know 
 nothing about the inscription, and I am not 
 turned any ologist of any sort, that I know 
 of. But you might guess what brings me 
 here. I wanted to have a look with my own 
 eyes after this plaguey register. You know 
 all about it, no doubt. All Sillshire knows 
 it by this time." 
 
 " Ay, ay, I understand; a bad business, 
 Mr. Mat, a bad business ! Truly grievous ! 
 But my little matter is a question of some 
 interest between Dr. Lindisfarn and myself 
 and some others, walkers in the paths of hoar 
 antiquity, Mr. Mat." 
 
 " What, all across the moor here away? " 
 said Mr. Mat, with a puzzled air. 
 
 " Yes, indeed. These pleasant paths have 
 led us on this occasion all across the moor out 
 to Chewton. And now if you like to step 
 turned with a sigh — quite as much given to | across to the church, and if Mr. Mallory will 
 
 the memory of his old friend as to the failure 
 of his present hopes — to follow Mr. Mallory 
 down the stairs, when, just as they reached 
 the stairfoot, the unusual sound of carriage- 
 wheels was beard outside Mr. Mallory's 
 door. 
 
 " I suppose it must be that lawyer come 
 back again," said the old clerk. " He was 
 here the other day, wanting to find this same 
 «nlucky register, and he seemed for all the 
 world to fancy that I could tell him where it 
 is. As if I would not find it if I could ! I 
 know as well as he does — better for that 
 matter — that it would set all right. 1 am 
 glad that you should happen to be here, Mr. 
 Matthew, when he pays us his visit ; be may 
 look where he likes, for me." 
 
 So saying the old man went to the door, 
 and there found, instead of the lawyer he 
 expected, Mr. Falconer, senior, all smiles 
 and bland courtesy. 
 
 " Mr. Mallory, your servant. I dare say 
 you can guess my eri-and ; and — But whom 
 have we here? Mr. Mat, I declare! Dear 
 me ! "Why, Mr. Mat, are you going to enter 
 the lists with us ? Have you turned ecclesi- 
 ologist ? Have you visited the church, eh ? " 
 
 " No, sir, no ! we have not been near the 
 church. Mr. ^Matthew Lindisfarn was here 
 upon another matter. What, you want to 
 
 be so obliging as to accompany us with the 
 keys, I shall have pleasure in showing you 
 the famous inscription, which is puzzling us 
 all ; and who knows but you may hit upon 
 some suggestion that may help us? " added 
 the old gentleman, patronizingly. 
 
 " With all my heart, Mr. Falconer. I 
 used to know the church well enough at one 
 time, years ago. Will you open it for us, 
 Mr. Mallory?" said Mr. Mat. 
 
 " I must be going to the church myself in 
 a minute or two, gentlemen," said the clerk; 
 " for it is time to ring the noontide bell. 
 The sexton is a laboring man away at his 
 work; so 1 always ring the bell at midday." 
 
 "Ah, yes! I remember it," said Mr. 
 Mat ; " there always used to be noontide bell 
 at Chewton. So you keep up that old fash- 
 ion still, eh, Mr. Mallory ? " 
 
 " Dr. Lindisfarn would not have it dropped 
 on any account, sir ; and indeed you might 
 say the same almost of a many of the older 
 parishioners. They hold to the noontide bell 
 very much about here. There always has 
 been a noontide bell at Chewton-in-the-Moor, 
 time out of mind." 
 
 Thus talking the clerk and bis two visitors 
 strolled leisurely across the village street, and 
 along the churchyard wall to the old-fash- 
 ioned stile over it, formed of huge slabs of 
 
262 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 stone from the moor, — that stile on which Dr. 
 Blakistry had found little July Lindisfarn — 
 or July Mallory, as the case might be — sit- 
 ting and speculating on rashers in the coming 
 time. July was there no longer, having been 
 removed, with his mother, to Mr. Jared ^lal- 
 lory's house at Sillmouth. 
 
 The clerk opened the church, and admit- 
 ting the two gentlemen into the body of the 
 building, betook himself to the belfry, to 
 perform his daily duty. 
 
 "This is indeed a fortunate chance, my 
 dear sir," whispered Falconer to Mr. Mat, 
 as soon ae they were left alone, " an oppor- 
 tunity I have never enjoyed before. At my 
 former visits hei'e I have never been able to 
 examine the curious relic of which I spoke 
 to you except under the eyes of the man who 
 has just left us — a creature of the doctor's, 
 of course — worthy, excellent, good man. Dr. 
 Lindisfarn, I am sure. I have the utmost 
 regard for him. But crotchety, my dear Mr. 
 Mat, — I do not mind saying it to you, — de- 
 cidedly crotchety upon some points ; erudite, 
 but de-ci-ded-ly crotchety. Now in the mat- 
 ter of this inscription our dear doctor has 
 formed a certairi theory, — it is not for me to 
 say whether tenable or not, at least, not here 
 nor now," said the banker, with a meaning 
 look at his companion, which, however, was 
 meaningless for Mr. Mat, — "a certain the 
 ory," continued the banker, "which might 
 most judiciously be tested by the removal of a 
 small portion of the coating of plaster which 
 covers the ancient woodwork. But this I 
 have never been able to attempt, as you will 
 understand, in that man Mallory's presence. 
 Even if he had allowed me to do so, which I 
 do not think, any discovery which I could 
 make would have been immediately com- 
 municated to the doctor, you see ; and in 
 these matters one wishes, you know — natu- 
 rally — you understand ' ' — 
 
 Mr. Mat understood nothing at all. But 
 he very docilely followed the lead of the old 
 banker, who, as he spoke the last words, had 
 brought him into the corridor leading to the 
 vestry, and stopped short in front of the 
 partially discovered panel which appeared 
 to be let into the wall under the low orna- 
 mented arch, in the manner which has been 
 previously described. There, unquestionably 
 enough, were to be seen the mysterious sylla- 
 bles, on which all the senior canon's super- 
 etructure of learned dissertation and con- 
 
 jecture was founded: "'jtaxti . . . vi . . . 
 TANTi . . . VI . . . TANTi " And both 
 above and below them were the half-oblit- 
 erated remains of figures or painted symbols 
 of some sort, which really looked more like 
 hieroglyphics than anything else. 
 
 " There, sir, is the celebrated Chewton in- 
 scription," said Mr. Falconer, "and I am 
 bound to admit that I do not think there can 
 be any doubt or discrepance of opinion on the 
 reading of the letters. They read most un- 
 deniably ' TANTI VI TANTI VI TANTI ; ' but the 
 
 doctor has never adverted to the probability 
 that the letters '??.?,' thus singularly re- 
 peated, and especially found thus in con- 
 junction with the adjective ' tanti,'' which 
 signifies, my dear Mr. Mat, ' so many,' — 
 ' so many,' " repeated the banker, holding up 
 his fore-finger in a manner intended to de- 
 mand imperatively a strong effort of ^Ir. Mat's 
 mind for the due comprehension of that im- 
 portant point, — " the very great probability, 
 I say, that these letters ' t?, T may be sim- 
 ply Roman numerals." 
 
 All the while the learned banker was set- 
 ting forth his opposition theory in this man- 
 ner, ]\Ir. ]Mat was observing the panel in 
 question more narrowly and with a greater 
 appearance of interest than could have been 
 reasonably expected from a man of his tastes 
 and habits. Stooping down with his hands 
 resting upon his knees, so as to bring his face 
 nearly to a level with the letters, he stared 
 at them, while a close observer might have 
 marked a gradually intensified gleam of in-» 
 tcUigence first glimmer in his e3'es, then 
 mantle on his humorous puckered lips, and 
 lastly illumine in its completion his entire 
 visage. 
 
 " Now what I wish," continued Mr. Fal- 
 coner, " and what I propose doing, with 
 your kind aid, Mr. Mat, now that the clerk's 
 absence has given us the opportunity, is just 
 to rub, or scrape off a little — just a Icctle — 
 of the whitewash here, to see if we can dis- 
 cover any further traces. Don't you think 
 we might manage it, Mr. Mat? " said Mr. 
 Falconer, coaxingly. 
 
 " All the world says you are a very learned 
 man, Mr. Falconer, and the doctor another ; 
 and learning is a very fine thing. But what 
 would you and the doctor and all the rest of 
 the big-wigs say, if 1 was to tell you, with- 
 out any rubbing off of whitewash at all, what 
 comes next after the words you see there? " 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 263 
 
 said Mr. Mat, putting both his hands in his 
 waistcoat-pockets, balancing himself on the 
 heels of his boots, and looking at the banker 
 with merry-twinkling, half-closed eyes, and 
 his head thrown back. 
 
 "Say Mr. Mat?" replied Falconer, ap- 
 parently ((iiite taken aback with astonish- 
 ment, — "say? — why, sir, I should say that 
 any such statement was worth just nothing 
 at all without verification. For my own part, 
 I frankly admit that I do not pei-ceive, nor 
 indeed can imagine, the possibility of a con- 
 jecture " — 
 
 " Well, look ye here, Mr. Falconer, my 
 conjecture is this : I am of opinion that the 
 next letters after those where the whitewash 
 has been rubbed off will be found to be v, i, 
 over agnin, and then t, h, i, s; now if that 
 turns out to be right when we rub off the 
 whitewash, I think you ought to make me 
 president of the antiquarian society, or the 
 devil is in it." 
 
 " My dear sir," said Falconer, becoming 
 very red in the face, and more distant in his 
 manner, from annoyance and astonishment, 
 and finding himself, as it were, shoved aside 
 from his place of learned superiority, — " my 
 dear sir, I must confess I do not understand 
 you ; I know not what notion you have taken 
 into your head ; I must protest " — 
 
 " Well, Mr. Falconer, I have told you what 
 the nest letters will be found to be. Now 
 we'll proceed to verify, as you say." 
 
 And Mr. INIat as he spoke, drew out from 
 his pocket one of those huge pluralist pocket- 
 knives, — a whole tool-bos of instruments in 
 itself, — which such men as Mr. Mat love to 
 carry about with them ; and having pulled out 
 from some corner of its all-accommodating 
 handle a large wide-bladed hack-knife, pro- 
 ceeded with no light or delicate hand to 
 scrape away a further portion of the coating 
 of whitewash which covered the board. 
 
 Falconer looked on, aghast with dismay 
 and horror. 
 
 " ^Mr. Mat, Mr. Mat ! Good Heavens ! 
 what are you about? What will the doctor 
 say ? Gently, gently, at all events ; or you 
 will destroy whatever remains of antiquity 
 time may have spared." 
 
 " Not a bit of it, sir," said Mr. Mat, scrap- 
 ing away vigorously ; " there ! now, sir, look 
 and see if I was a true prophet. There they 
 are! There are the letters I told you we 
 
 should find, — ' v,i; t, h,i,s;^ — plain enough ; 
 aint they? " 
 
 Mr. Falconer put on his gold eyeglasses, 
 and peered closely at the place where Mr. 
 Mat had laid the wood bare. lie read the 
 letters, as deciphered by Mr. Mat, without 
 any difficulty. 
 
 " My dear sir," he said, tremulously, while 
 his hands before and his pigtail behind be- 
 gan to shake in unison with the excess of 
 his perplesity and astonishment, " I confess 
 I do not understand it, — I am at a loss, — I 
 wash my hands of the matter. You must 
 account for what you have done to the doc- 
 tor ; I fear he will be greatly displeased, I — 
 I — retire baffled ! — I can offer no conjecture — 
 ahem ! ' ' 
 
 " Oh, I'll be accountable to the doctor! 
 Why, I thought that he was worriting his 
 life out to find out what this writing meant. 
 I thought that was what you all of you want- 
 ed?" cried Mr. Mat. " But Fll tell you 
 what it is, Mr. Falconer," he continued, se- 
 lecting, as he spoke, another instrument from 
 his pocket arsenal, " I mean to verify this 
 a little more. I am going to have that board 
 out, inscription and all. Why, it's an old 
 acquaintance of mine, Mr. Falconer, the old 
 board, and the inscription, as you call it, 
 and the whole concern. Bless your heart, I 
 know all about it ! What do you say to 
 this now, byway of a learned csplanation ? " 
 And with a very reprehensible forgetfulness 
 of the sacred character of the building in 
 which they were standing, and throwing 
 himself into an attitude meant to be in 
 accordance with his words, Mr. Mat made 
 the groined roof of the fine old church ring 
 again with the well-known old burthen, 
 " Tantivy, tantivy, tantivy ! This day a 
 stag must die ! " 
 
 "Ha, ha, ha, ha! " he laughed uproar- 
 iously ; " to think of poor Charley's music- 
 score coming to make such a piece of work ; 
 ha, ha, ha, ha ! " 
 
 " That is all very well, Mr. Mat," said Fal- 
 coner, seizing, with a transient gleam of 
 hope, on a point which seemed to afford the 
 means of hitching a difficulty on to Mr. Mat's 
 explanatipn of the celebrated Chewton in- 
 scriptiori ; " but you will do me the favor to 
 observe that the cabalistic word taken from 
 the art of venerie which you have cited, 
 ' tantivy,' must be held to be written as pro- 
 
264 
 
 nounecd , with a y at tlie end ; whereas the let- 
 ters painted on tliat panel are z', j." 
 
 " Tell ye, Mr. Falconer, I saw him paint it 
 — helped him to. do it. Fact was, the parish 
 boys used to puzzle themselves with the y at 
 the end ; so he wrote it i, comes to the same 
 thing, you know. Poor Charley was always 
 wanting to teach a lot of the parish boys to 
 sing, — all he did teach 'em, or could teach 
 'em, I suppose, for the matter of that. Eut 
 singing he did understand, pcbody better. 
 Poor fellow ! many's the glee he and I have 
 made two at. Well, his plan was to paint a 
 few bars of some easy song or other, with the 
 words, — there, you can see the notes plain 
 enough ! — and paint it all so big that the 
 whole of his class could read it at once. 
 That was what this board was for. If you 
 will go up into the room in old Mallory's 
 house, where poor Charley used to live, you 
 may see just such another bit of music done 
 on the wall with charcoal. I was up there 
 just now, before you arrived, and there is the 
 poor fellow's handiwork on the wall pretty 
 nearly as fresh as ever. Yes, there it is, mu- 
 sic and all, plain enough," continued Mr. 
 Mat, who had, all the time he was talking, 
 been vigorously working away at the board, 
 and had at last succeeded in wrenching it 
 away from the wall, — " there is poor Charley's 
 class-board, ' Tantivy, tantivy, tantivy, this 
 day a stag must die ! ' Now, Mr. Falconer, 
 don't I deserve to be made perpetual presi- 
 dent of the learned Society of Antiquaries of 
 Silver ton, eh ? What do you say to the ver- 
 ification now, Mr. Falconer? " 
 
 " It is truly a very extraordinary explana- 
 tion of the mystery, — very unexpected and 
 extraordinary indeed. Nevertheless, Mr. 
 Mat, I am sure that you will forgive me, if 
 I declare myself to be speaking strictly un- 
 der reserve, and refrain from pronouncing at 
 present any definitive opinion. I fear, as 1 be- 
 fore observed, that the doctor, who is rector 
 of this church, you must remember, Mr. Mat, 
 will be very seriously displeased at the — the 
 somewhat precipitous and violent steps which 
 have been taken for " — 
 
 " For the discovery of his favorite mare's 
 nest, eh? Well, I must take the blame of 
 that. But now, Mr. Falconer," continued 
 Mr. Mat, changing his manner entirely, and 
 speaking very seriously, " I'll tell you what 
 it is ! I've got a marc's nest here as well as 
 the doctor. I did not wrench that board 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 out of its place only to show you what it 
 was. I knew the old board that ray own 
 hands had helped to paint well enough, di- 
 rectly I saw it. But something else came 
 into my head at the same time. You have 
 heard all about the missing register, and how 
 much may depend on the finding of it ! Well, 
 now I remember how this place in the wall 
 used to be before ]Mcllish had the board put 
 up there. There was a space under this 
 stone arch here, as you may see now, and at 
 the bottom of it a stone trough like a small 
 conduit. Well, when Charley had done with 
 the old board, and the boys had got pretty 
 perfect in ' This day a stag must die,' he 
 scrawled that other lesson on the wall, as I 
 was telling you just now, and I never knew 
 nor cared what had become of the board ; 
 for though I was often over here in those 
 days, my visits were not for the purpose of 
 going to church, more shame for me. But I 
 recollect as well as if it was yesterday, hear- 
 ing Mellish complain, time and again, that 
 there was no proper place in the vestry for the 
 keeping of the register book. And when I saw 
 the board put up here so as to shut in a snug 
 pilacc under the old arch, and yet so as to 
 leave an opening a-top, — for, as you may see, 
 this board did not close up the arch ; that must 
 have been done afterward, and I dare say our 
 old friend who has just done ringing the 
 bell could tell us the when, and maybe the 
 wherefore, — when I observed all this, you see, 
 having the matter of the register more in my 
 mind than the inscription, it came across me 
 like a flash of lightning that it was very like- 
 ly Charley had put the board up here to make 
 a place, and a very snug, safe place, too, for 
 keeping the register in. It was just like him, 
 always full of contraptions, and a deal clev- 
 erer with his hands than he was with hia 
 head, poor fellow." 
 
 Just as Mr. Mat had completed his expla- 
 nation, the two violators of the fabric of the 
 church were rejoined by the old clerk. And 
 a wrathful man was he, when his first glance 
 showed him what had been done. Perhaps 
 there was something more, besides anger, in 
 the pallor that came over his rigid old face, 
 and the dilation of his still fiery, deep-set eyes. 
 
 " What is this, gentlemen? " he said, in 
 a voice tremulous with passion. " Sacrilege ! 
 You have committed sacrilege, gentlemen, 
 and abused the trust I placed in you, in al- 
 lowing you to remain in the church." 
 
LINDISFARN 
 
 the 
 
 «' Mr. Mallory, I protest " — began 
 banker, witii formal pomposity. 
 
 " Gentlemen," interrupted the gaunt old 
 man, still sliaking with rage, " you must an- 
 swer fur tliis outrage as best you may. You 
 must bo accountable to the rector of the par- 
 ish — and to the law. I must insist upon 
 your leaving the church instantly — instant- 
 ly ! " he reitei'ated, coming forward a step 
 as he spoke, so as to advance towards placing 
 himself between Mr. Mat and the partially 
 disclosed aperture which the removal of the 
 board had occasioned. 
 
 " Certainly, Mr. Mallory, certainly," said 
 Mr.- Mat, taking a rapid stride forward as he 
 spoke, so as to be beforehand with the old 
 man, and to place himself close to the spot 
 from which the Iward had been taken ; " I 
 did this job. Mr. Falconer had no hand in 
 it at all. I will be answerable for it. But 
 before I go I must just see what lies buried 
 among the rubbish there behind the board- 
 ing, only for the sake of antiquarianism, you 
 know." 
 
 And while the words were yet on his lips 
 he plunged his hand into the trough of the 
 monk's old conduit, still hidden behind a 
 second board, which had been placed below 
 the old music-score, and in the next minute 
 drew it forth with a small vellum-bound vol- 
 ume in it. 
 
 Holding his prize aloft with one hand, Mr. 
 Mat put the thumb of the other to hia ear, 
 and uttered a view-halloa which might have 
 waked the ancient monks from their tercen- 
 tenary slumber. 
 
 Mr. Falconer, not a little scandalized, but 
 quite awake to the possible importance of 
 the discovery, held up his hands, partly in 
 dismay and partly in interest. 
 
 Mallory became perfectly livid, and trem- 
 bled visibly in every limb. He strove with 
 might and main, however, to speak with 
 stern calmness, as he said, — 
 
 " Mr. Matthew Lindisfarn, I require you 
 to give up that volume instantly to me. If 
 indeed it be a register, I, in the absence of 
 the rector and the curate, am the legal and 
 proper guardian of it. Mr. Falconer, I ap- 
 peal to you ! " 
 
 " I wash my hands — indeed, I have once 
 already stated to Mr. Matthew that I wash 
 my hands." 
 
 " And I will wash mine when I get back 
 
 CHASE. 265 
 
 to the Chase ! " cried Mr. Mat, still holding 
 high in the air the dusty and cobweb-man- 
 tled volume, and making for tlie door of the 
 churcli. 
 
 Mallory rushed forward to intercept him, 
 with an agility that could not have been ex- 
 pected from his years, crying out, — 
 
 " Mv. Lindisfarn, I warn you ! This is 
 sacrilege and felony ; felony, Mr. Lindisfarn ! 
 Take care what you are about. Mr. Falco- 
 ner, you are a magistrate, I call upon you." 
 
 " Good-by, Mr. Falconer ; I'm off; no time 
 to lose — see you in Silverton. Beg pardon, 
 Mr. Mallory, but this book must go to Sil- 
 verton, felony or no felony." 
 
 And so saying, he darted out of the church- 
 door, and across the street to the rail where 
 he had left Miss Lucy, and was in the sad- 
 dle in the twinkling of an eye. 
 
 " Now, Miss Lucy, old girl, put the best 
 foot foremost ; " and turning in his saddle 
 as he started at a gallop, he saw his two re- 
 cent companions standing at the church-door, 
 staring after him open-mouthed. 
 
 " Yoicks ! Yoicks ! hark forward !" he 
 cried, once more flourishing his prize in the 
 air before their eyes, and then carefully se- 
 curing it within his coat, gave all his atten- 
 tion to guiding Miss Lucy across the moor, 
 at what would assuredly have been a break- 
 neck pace to most riders. 
 
 CHAPTER XLIX. 
 MR. SLOWCOME COMES OUT RATHER STRONG. 
 
 The flanks of INIiss Lucy were streaming 
 as she stood at the door of jNIessrs. Slowcome 
 and Sligo's ofiBces in the High Street, about 
 half-past one o'clock on that ]\Ionday morn- 
 ing. Mr. Mat had ridden the fifteen miles 
 from Chewton in one hour and a quarter ; 
 but had nevertheless found time to reflect, as 
 he rode, that after ail he did not know what 
 the register might prove, or whether it might 
 be found to prove anything in the matter of 
 the succession of the Lindisfarn property. 
 He remembered with some misgiving that in 
 truth he did not know with any certainty 
 whether the dusty volume he had drawn from 
 its hiding-place was any parish register at all 
 or no ; and justly considering that it would 
 be very desirable to ascertain what might be 
 the real facts in these respects before carry- 
 ing his prize to the Chase, where probably 
 nobody would be able to understand anything 
 
266 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 of the matter, he determined very judiciously 
 to submit the volume in the first place to the 
 learned scrutiny of old Slow. 
 
 Hurriedly throwing Miss Lucy's rein to a 
 boy in the street, who, like every other boy 
 in the streets of Silver ton, knew both Mr. 
 Mat and Miss Lucy perfectly well, he rushed 
 into the open door, and made straight for 
 that inner one of glass, which gave immedi- 
 ate admittance to the sacred presence of the 
 heads of the firm, quite regardless of the re- 
 monstrances of the outraged Bob Scott, who 
 in vain tried to stop him. 
 
 "Sir, sir, Mr. Mat!" cried Bob, in his 
 capacity of Cuberns, " they are engaged. 
 Mr. Slowcorae has people with him on busi- 
 ness, and Mr. Sligo is with him too ; you 
 must wait, if you please," said the junior 
 clerk, rushing out from his den on the left- 
 hand side of the entrance. 
 
 " Can't wait ; who's with him?" said Mr. 
 Mat. 
 
 "Why, Mr. Jared Mallory, of Sillmouth !" 
 whispered Bob, with an air of much mys- 
 tery. 
 
 "All right!" cried Mr. Mat, with his 
 hand on the lock of the glazed door ; and in 
 the nest instant he was in the innermost 
 shrine of Themis. 
 
 Mr. Slowcome was sitting in his accus- 
 tomed chair, wheeled round a little from the 
 writing-table, so as to face the Sillmouth at- 
 torney, who was seated opposite to him, 
 while Mr. Sligo was standing dangling one 
 leg over the back of a chair, on the rug be- 
 fore the fireplace. 
 
 One would have said to look at the three 
 that both Mr. Slowcome and Mr. Mallory 
 were exceedingly enjoying themselves, and 
 that Mr. Sligo was much amused by watch- 
 ing them. And in this case Mr. Slowcome 
 and not Mr. Mallory was the hypocrite. 
 That latter gentleman was very thoroughly 
 enjoying himself, and seemed entirely to have 
 got over that appearance of being ill at ease, 
 which a consciousness of his unprofessional 
 and out-at-elbow-like shabbiness inspired him 
 with on his first visit to the offices of the 
 prosperous Silver ton firm. He sat thrown 
 back in an easy attitude in his chair, with 
 one knee crossed over the other, with one 
 hand in his trousers, while the other was 
 caressing his chin ; and he was eying old 
 Slow with the look of a man who has forced 
 
 his antagonist into a corner, and triumph- 
 antly watches his struggles to escape from 
 that position. But old Slow afforded him 
 as little as possible of this triumph. He, too, 
 seemed perfectly at his ease, and at all events, 
 was not hurried into speaking or moving one 
 jot beyond his normal speed. Mr. Sligo was 
 biting his nails, and looked like a terrier 
 watching for the moment when a baited 
 badger might give him an opportunity for 
 dashing in upon him. 
 
 "How do, Slowcome?" cried Mr. Mat, 
 nodding to Mr. Sligo. " Who is this gentle- 
 man?" he continued, staring at the visitor 
 to the firm : " Mr. Jared Mallory, I should 
 say by the look of him." 
 
 "You are right, Mr. Matthew Lindisfarn, 
 though I can't say I should have known you 
 by the look of you, if I had not known you 
 before ! " 
 
 " We were engaged, Mr. Matthew, in dis- 
 cussing, quite in a friendly way, and without 
 prejudice to any ulterior proceedings which 
 it may be necessary to take in the matter — 
 without prejudice, Mr. Mallory" — 
 
 "Oh, quite so," snapped Mr. Mallory, 
 with the rapidity of a monkey seizing a nut. 
 
 " We were engaged in discussing this mat- 
 ter of the disputed succession — not but what 
 I am premature in calling it so," pursued 
 Mr. Slowcome, as if he were speaking against 
 time, and would beat it out of the field, 
 " but this question, which may become such — 
 may unfor-tu-nate-ly become such — respect- 
 ing the Lindisfarn property." 
 
 " Quite so," put in Mr. Sligo, like a pistol- 
 shot. 
 
 " And I am come to help you," said Mr. 
 Mat, briskly, drawing a chair between Mr. 
 Slowcome and Mallory. 
 
 "Ay, ay, ay, ay," said Mr. Slowcome; 
 " Sligo, Mr. Matthew has come to help us." 
 
 " More the merrier," said Mr. Mallory. 
 
 " Perhaps better see member of firm con- 
 fidentially. My room at your service, Mr. 
 Matthew," suggested Mr. Sligo. 
 
 " Look at that, Mv. Slowcome," said Mr. 
 Mat, producing his book, and utterly disre- 
 garding the caution of Mr. Sligo. 
 
 "A remarkably dirty volume," said old 
 Slow, taking it between his finger and thumb, 
 and laying it gingerly on the desk before him. 
 " Have you a duster there, Mr. Sligo? Be 
 so good as to ring the bell." 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 " Let me look at it, ^Ir. Slowcome ; I am 
 not so dainty," said Mallory, stretching out 
 his hand towards the volume. 
 
 "Nay, Mr. Mal-lo-ry," returned Slow- 
 come, waving him off with an interposing 
 hand ; "let us keep our hands clean if we 
 can, — clean if we can, you know, Mis-ter 
 Mal-lo-ry. What does the volume purport 
 to be, Mr. Matthew?" 
 
 *' It has not purported anything yet. That 
 is what I brought it here for, that you might 
 see. But if 1 am not mistaken, Slowcome, 
 that is the missing register of Chewton 
 church." 
 
 A sudden change, transitory as a flash of 
 liglitning, passed over Mr. Mallory's face, 
 and he again stretched out his hand toward 
 the little volume, which had by this time 
 been duly divested of its dust and cobwebs, 
 saying, as he did so, — 
 
 "Indeed, Mr. Matthew; that would be 
 most satisilictory to us all." 
 
 Mr. Sligo sprung forward to interpose, and 
 snatch the volume himself. But old Slow 
 was beforehand with them both, quietly let- 
 ting his fat white hand fall upon the volume 
 as the words passed Mr. IMat's lips. 
 
 " Dear me, dear me," he said, without the 
 change of a demi-semi-tone in his voice, " and 
 where did you obtain the volume, Mr. Mat- 
 thew Lindisiarn ? That is if you have no 
 objection to answer the question, you know." 
 
 " Oh, no objection in life," said Mr. Mat, 
 readily ; " I committed felony to get it. At 
 least, so that gentleman's worthy father told 
 me." 
 
 " Ay, ay, ay, ay. Dear me, dear me ; you 
 removed the volume from the parish church 
 of Chewton, and Mr. Mallory, senior, who is, 
 I understand, the clerk of that parish, express- 
 ed an opinion — a prima facie opinion of course 
 — that the removal of it amounted within 
 the meaning of the statute to felony. Ay, 
 ay, ay, ay ! Your good father amuses his 
 leisure hours with the pleasing study of the 
 criminal law, Mr. Mallory? " said Slowcome, 
 bowing to the Sillmouth attorney with a per- 
 fection of bland courtesy. 
 
 " Little study needed to tell that stealing a 
 parish-register is felony, I should think," 
 snarled Mallory. 
 
 " Very true, ^Mis-ter !Mal-lo-ry, very true 
 indeed. We will, however, examine the vol- 
 ume, at all events. "\Vc can hardly make fel- 
 ony of that, Mr. Mallory ; can we? " 
 
 267 
 
 And thus saying, old Slow carefully and 
 leisurely adjusted his gold eyeglasses, and 
 proceeded to look at the book, from which 
 he had" not once removed hia hand, during 
 the above conversation. 
 
 " Most assuredly tiiis is the register of 
 births, deaths, and marriages of the parish 
 of Chewton, ranging over all the time with 
 which our present business can be concerned, 
 Mr. M^itthew," said he, after a leisurely in- 
 spection. 
 
 Mr. Mat's eyes twinkled, as he said, — 
 
 " I knew poor Charley Mellish could never 
 have done anything wrong about it in any 
 way "— 
 
 " No suggestion of the kind, ^Ir. Mat. 
 Register lost, all about it, no case," inter- 
 rupted Mr. Sligo precipitately, and thereby 
 averting a storm of virtuous indignation, that 
 was on the point of bursting from IMr. Mal- 
 ory. 
 
 " And where was the mislaid volume found, 
 Mr. Matthew? — always supposing that you 
 have no objection to reply to the question," 
 said Slowcome. 
 
 ]Mr. INIat related the scene in Chewton 
 church as compendiously as he could, not 
 omitting the old clerk's violent opposition to 
 his taking away the book, and concluded by 
 asking the legal oracle what he thought about 
 it. 
 
 Mr. Slowcome had, while Mr. Mat was tell- 
 ing his story, handed the important book to 
 Mr. Sligo, with a look, and the one word " Sli- 
 go," as he put it into his hands. And Mr. Sligo 
 had in about a minute afterwards, while Mr. 
 ]\Iat was still speaking, returned the volume 
 open to Mr. Slowcome, with his forefinger 
 pointing carelessly to one of the late entries on 
 the page. Old Slow glanced at the passage 
 pointed out to him, while he said, in answer 
 to Mr. Mat's final question, — 
 
 "Well, Mr. Mat, I am bound in justice 
 to your friend Mr. Mallory, senior, of Chew- 
 ton, to say that I am of opinion that the ab- 
 straction of the register does bear a prima fa- 
 cie similarity to a case of felony." 
 
 " Prima facie and lasta facie, too, I should 
 say ! "cried Mr. IMallory; " now look'ee here, 
 Mr. Slowcome," he continued, " this may 
 come to be an ugly business, you see. Of 
 course we cannot put up with such a docu- 
 ment as that being left in the power and at 
 the discretion of our opponents. Out of the 
 question, no saying what may have been done 
 
268 
 
 already, no oBence." (Luckily for Mr. Ja- 
 rad's bones, Mr. Mat had no conception of his 
 meaning.) " But look'ee here, Mr. Slow- 
 conie, matters may be arranged ; no wish to 
 press hardly on a gentleman much respected 
 in the county. Let the register be immedi- 
 ately sealed and returned to the clerk of 
 ChewtoHj and we consent there shall be no 
 further notice taken." 
 
 " That is a very handsome offer, very hand- 
 some and friendly, Mr. Mallory, indeed ; but 
 would it not," and here Mr. Slowcome paus- 
 ed to savor a huge pinch of snuff, and care- 
 fully iillipped away a grain or two from his 
 immaculate shirt-frill before proceeding, — 
 " would it not, I was about to observe, have 
 an awkward appearance of compounding a 
 felony, Mr. ^Mallory, since we are driven to 
 use such hard words? " 
 
 "I'll tell you what it is, gentlemen, all 
 three of you," cried Mr. Mat, striking his 
 hand on Mr. Slowcome's table as he spoke, 
 " if I have committed a felony, I'll be shot if 
 it shall be for nothing ! And that register 
 shall be examined before either it or I leave 
 this office ! " 
 
 " We don't sTioot felons in this country, 
 Mr. Mat," said old Slow, while an earth- 
 quaky sort ofmovement, originating in the in- 
 side of him caused his pondei-ous watch-chain 
 and seals to oscillate, and indicated that old 
 Slow conceived himself to have perpetrated a 
 joke. 
 
 " And very few documents of any descrip- 
 tion that ever find their way into this office, 
 go out again unexamined ! " said the. younger 
 partner, with a hard look at Mr. IMallory. 
 
 "Very right, Sligo ! very judiciously ob- 
 served indeed ! Capital business maxim that, 
 Mr. Mallory ! And as for our friend Mr. 
 Mat being either shot, or t'other thing, you 
 know, I think I could suggest another line 
 of defence ; I think I could, with all deference 
 to an authority doubtless more conversant 
 with that department of business than our 
 house can pretend to be," said Mr. Slowcome, 
 with a most courteous bow to IMr. Malloi-y. 
 
 " Indeed, Mr. Slowcome ! And what may 
 that be? 1 should be curious to hear it, 1 
 confess ! ' ' 
 
 " "Well ! it is true I am but an ignoramus 
 .as to the practice of the criminal side of the 
 court, Mr. Mallory ; but my humble notion 
 is, that if I were in Mr. Mat's place, and 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 either you or your respected father were to 
 say anything to me of so unpleasant a nature 
 as felony, Mr. Mallory, I, — speaking in the 
 character of our excellent friend Mr. Mat, 
 you understand, — I should reply to either 
 you or your respected father. Forgery ! Mr. 
 Mal-lo-ry, Forgery ! For-ge-ry ! ! " cried Mr. 
 Slowcome, speaking with his accustomed 
 slowness, but with an energy that caused his 
 chin and his pigtail and his watch-chain all 
 to oscillate in unison. 
 
 " I do not know what you mean, Mr. 
 Slowcome ! " cried Mallory, turning very 
 pale ; " but I would advise you to be very 
 carefulof actionable words, Mr. Slowcome, — 
 spoken before witnesses, Mr. Slowcome ! '' 
 
 " Dear me ! dear me! dear me ! To think 
 of its being actionable to talk of forgery in 
 the most abstract, and I may say hypotheti- 
 cal, sort of way ! See now ! I told you that 
 I knew nothing about these matters ! But 
 it's as well to be hung for a sheep as a lamb, 
 now isn't it, Mr. Mallory? So we will come 
 to the concrete. I say the document you 
 submitted to me, purporting to be an extract 
 from this register, has been fraudulently al- 
 tered, Mr. Mallory ! The date has been 
 tampered with, Mr. Mallory! The mar- 
 riage between the late Julian Lindisfarn 
 and your good sister, ]Mr. IMallory, was cele- 
 brated, as duly shown by this register, not 
 before, but after the birth of the child now 
 wrongfully called Julian Lindisfarn ; and 
 that child is nullius filius, which means, 
 strange as it may seem, Mr. Mat, the sou of 
 nobody at all, and therefore a fortiori, as 1 
 may perhaps be allowed to say, nobody's 
 grandson, and in no wise heir to an acre of 
 the Lindisfarn estates ! Nullius filius, Mr. 
 INIallory ; and the rights of the Misses Kath- 
 arine and Margaret Lindisfarn are in-dis-pu- 
 ta-ble, ]\Ir. Mallory. That is all ! And a 
 very good day's work you have done this 
 morning, Mr. Mat ! I congratulate you with 
 all my heart ; and between ourselves I don't 
 think that Mr. Mallory will, under the cir- 
 cumstances, be hard upon us about the felony 
 — under the circumstances, eh, Mr. Mal- 
 lory?" 
 
 " Can't say indeed, Mr. Slowcome ! We 
 shall see, we shall see, sir ! " said Mr. Mal- 
 lory, sticking his hat on over his ear, and 
 taking a stride toward the door ; " you shall 
 hear from me shortly, sir ! " 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE, 
 
 "I think not! I think not! " said Mr. 
 Slowcome, shaking his head, as JIi-. Sligo 
 closed the door behind the discomfited foe. 
 
 " \\"c sliall here no more of them, sir ! " he 
 continued, turning to Mr. Mat ; " Ha, ha, 
 ha ! Tantivy, tantivy ! very remarkable 
 chance. Tantivy, tantivy!" repeated the 
 old gentleman, slowly as he rubbed his hands 
 over each other softly, — "tantivy, tantivy! 
 very good, very good indeed ! " 
 
 ^Ir. Mat hardly ■waited to hear the end of 
 old Slow's felicitations, before, rushing out of 
 the office as precipitately as he had entered 
 it, he sprung into the saddle, and astonished 
 Miss Lucy by the unwonted style in which 
 she was required to get over the ground be- 
 tween Silvcrton and the Chase. 
 
 " Forgery ! Forgery ! Forgery ! " he shout- 
 ed in view-holloa tones as he rushed into the 
 drawing-room, where the ladies of the fam- 
 ily, including Lady Farnleigh, were sitting. 
 
 Of course the news of the finding of the 
 register, and of old Slow's decision respect- 
 ing the facts resulting from its contents were 
 soon made known to every member of the 
 family, and were welcomed by them with 
 rejoicing, slightly diversified in the manifes- 
 tation of it in accordance with the char- 
 acteristics of the various individuals. The 
 only one of the party whose peace of mind 
 was in any degi-ee permanently injured by 
 the events which had taken place, and the 
 erroneous impressions arising from them, 
 was Miss Immy ; for the upsetting of the 
 foundations of her mind by the statement, 
 which had with difficulty been made cred- 
 ible to her, that the Lindisfarn girls were 
 not the heiresses to the Lindisfarn property, 
 was so complete and irremediable that it 
 was found impracticable to convince her 
 that the decision now once again arrived at 
 that they were heii'csses, was not liable to be 
 again reversed to-morrow. It is a danger- 
 ous thing to disturb the ideas of those who 
 have never accustomed their minds to the 
 possibility that their certainties may turn 
 out to be not certain. 
 
 Kate nestled up to her godmother's side, 
 and whispered, "I do so hope that nobody 
 will have told him of it, before he comes 
 here." 
 
 " 'Oh ! you would like to have the telling 
 of your ' him ' — as if there were but one of 
 the sex in the world — yourself; would you ? " 
 said Lady Farnleigh, in the same whispered 
 
 2G9 
 
 tones. " Well, as he is at this moment prob- 
 ably in the Petrel off the coast of JMoulsca 
 Haven, and as the instant he can getaway 
 he will come here as fast as a horse's legs 
 can carry him, I think you have a fair chance 
 of being the first teller of your good news." 
 
 " If I can only make him understand liow 
 wholly my great joy at this change is for his 
 sake," said Kate, drooping her face over her 
 godmother's shoulder, and. putting her lips 
 very close to her ear. 
 
 " I am inclined to think, my dear, that 
 you will not find him obtuse on that subject," 
 replied Lady Farnleigh. 
 
 Miss Margaret, after having partaken with 
 the rest of the family of the getieral burst 
 of mutual congratulations with which Mr. 
 Mat's news had been received, quietly stole 
 away to her own room and locked herself in. 
 There throwing herself into a large chair, 
 she remained for many minutes plunged in 
 reflections which, it would have been very 
 evident to any eye that could have watched 
 her, were not of an altogether pleasurable 
 kind. There were certain expressions flitting 
 changefully across those lovely features, like 
 thunder-clouds across a summer sky, and cer- 
 tain clinchings from time to time of the slender, 
 rosy-tipped fingers of those long, beautifully- 
 formed hands which denoted that other feel- 
 ings than those of unmixed satisfaction and 
 rejoicing were present and busy within that 
 snowy bosom. We know that jMIss ^larga- 
 rct had been shamefully and cruelly treated. 
 She certainly had cause to feel anger and 
 bitter resentment against a certain person, — 
 and jNIiss Margaret was apt to feel resent- 
 ment keenly. How fiir it would be justifia- 
 ble to conclude that Madame de Renneville's 
 lovely pupil was engaged, during those long 
 minutes of self-absorbed reflection, in debat- 
 ing within herself what course would secure 
 the best and sweetest vengeance and the se- 
 verest retribution on the individual who had 
 incurred her displeasure, must be left to the 
 consideration of the candid reader. Suppos- 
 ing it should seem probable that such was in 
 fi\ct the case, we can only discover the deci- 
 sion on this point arrived at in her secret 
 meditations, by observing and carefully piec- 
 ing together her actions immediately reverie 
 gave place to action, and those particulars 
 of her subsequent conduct which yet remain 
 to be recorded in these pages. 
 
 Now what Miss Margaret did immediately 
 
270 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 on rouging herself from her meditations and 
 her easy-chair, was to change the somewhat 
 neglected attire which she had adopted, dur- 
 ing the sackcloth and ashes days of disap- 
 pointment and misery through which she had 
 just been passing, for a very carefully ar- 
 ranged and tasteful toilette de matin. Miss 
 Margaret's practice in the matter was quite 
 oriental and biblical, it may be observed. 
 The fact is, that sorrow manifests its evil in- 
 fluence very differently in different natures. 
 In Miss Margaret it produced a singular ten- 
 dency to slovenliness. She was like the cats 
 when they are ill, and when under a cloud 
 took, as the phraseology of the servants' 
 hall has it, "no pride in herself." 
 
 She was curiously prompt in tnaking this 
 change, certainly. Nevertheless, perhaps 
 this promptitude may be seen to have been 
 inspired by that judicious and keen apprecia- 
 tion of men and things by which Margaret 
 Lindisfarn was so remarkably distinguished. 
 
 CHAPTER L. 
 ASCADE9 AMBO!— CONCLUSION. 
 
 JrsT as Mr. Mat was hurriedly mounting 
 Miss Lucy at Messrs. Slowcome and Sligo's 
 door, the carriage of Mr. Falconer drove up 
 the High Street of Silverton, on its return 
 from Chewton. As soon as possible after 
 that triumphant flight of Mr. Mat with his 
 prize in his hand from the village in the moor, 
 the worthy banker had taken his leave of 
 Mr. Mallory, and had entered his comforta- 
 ble carriage, charging his coachman, as he 
 did so, to make all possible speed in return- 
 ing to Silverton. But not only were the 
 banker's handsome pair of carriage horses 
 no match for Miss Lucy, but the road they 
 had to traverse was some two miles longer. 
 And it resulted thence that Mr. Falconer ar- 
 rived in the High Street, as has been said, 
 only just as Mr. !Mat, after his important 
 interview with the lawyers, was leaving it. 
 The banker caught sight of Mr. Mat, as he 
 rode away from the lawyer's door, and put- 
 ting his head out of the carriage window, 
 called to the coachman to stop at Messrs. 
 Slowcome and Sligo's office. 
 
 " I saw Mr. Matthew Lindisfarn leave 
 your door a minute ago, Slowcome," said he, 
 making his way into the lawyer's presence 
 in a much more hurried manner than com- 
 ported with Mr. Bob Scott's ideas of the dig- 
 nity of his principal. " Of course you have 
 
 heard all about the strange adventure at 
 Chewton. You have seen the book, I sup- 
 pose, that he carried off in such a — I must 
 say — in a somewhat unjustifiable manner. 
 Is it a register ? Is it the register ? Docs it 
 prove anything ? ' ' 
 
 " I never am able to hear more than one 
 question at a time, Mr. Falconer," said Slow- 
 come, looking up very deliberately from a 
 letter he was writing, " even when I am not 
 interrupted in another occupation. Yes ! I 
 have seen the book Mr. Mat brought from 
 Chewton. What came next ? " 
 
 " Why, was it the register ? Do tell me all 
 about it, Slowcome, come, as an old friend; 
 interested, too, you know, in the matter." 
 
 " Ay, ay, indeed. Still interested in the 
 matter ? Dear me ! But to tell you all 
 about it would really occupy a larger amount 
 of time than I am able, with due regard to 
 other pressing avocations, to devote to that 
 purpose at present, — just at present, you see, 
 Mr. Falconer." 
 
 " Only just one word, Slowcome," said the 
 banker, absolutely writhing with impatience, 
 under the severe discipline with which old 
 Slow was wont to chastise that failing : 
 " Did the book Mr. Mat found prove any- 
 thing?" 
 
 " Oh, dear me, yes! It proves all the 
 marriages and deaths in Chewton parish for 
 a very considerable number of years, ]Mr. 
 Falconer." 
 
 " It was the register, then? Come, Slow- 
 come, do ' let the cat out of the bag ' with 
 one word. Come, there is a good fellow. 
 You know that I have good reasons for wish- 
 ing to know the truth. What docs the reg- 
 ister prove in the matter of the Lindisfarn 
 succession? " 
 
 " Well, I have no objection to state it as 
 my opinion — with all due reservations, you 
 will understand, Mr. Falconer — with all due 
 re — scr — va — ti — ons, of course — that the reg- 
 ister now fortunately discovered and brought 
 forward in evidence, does very satisfactorily 
 and indisputably," and old Slow, who had 
 risen from his chair, and was standing with 
 his back to his ofiice fire, with his hands un- 
 der the tails of his coat, made at each dis- 
 jointedly uttered syllable of those polysylla- 
 bic adverbs a sort of little bow, which caused 
 his coat-tails and his watch-chain and his 
 pigtail to move in unison, like the different 
 partsof some well-regulated machine, — " very 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 sa-tis-fac-to-ri-ly and iu-dis-pu-ta-bly, ]Mr. 
 Falconer, establish the clear, and, consider- 
 ing the a2;e of the other parties named in the 
 entail and other circumstances, I think I am 
 justified in eaying, in-de-fea-si-l)le right of 
 the young ladies at the Chase to their father's 
 estates." 
 
 " You don't say so ! By George, Slow- 
 come, could you not have said so in half a 
 ■word?" cried tlie banker, as he hurried to 
 the door of the room. 
 
 " No, I think not, Mr. Falconer. I never 
 make use of half-words considering entire 
 ones to be more sa-tis-fac-to-ry." 
 
 But Mr. Falconer was half-way to the hall- 
 door by the time old Slow had got through 
 this last adverb, and was hurrying home up 
 the High Street, before the earthquake that 
 began to heave Mr. Slowcome's white waist- 
 coat, giving evidence of the existence of hid- 
 den laughter far down below the surface of 
 the man, had subsided. 
 
 " Fred, come here," said Mr. Falconer, as 
 he passed hurriedly through the outer office ! man who had the use of only one arm, and 
 
 271 
 
 " Dictated by me, of course," rejoined his 
 father, " you make it right with the girl, and 
 I will undertake the squire." 
 
 " I am almost afraid it wont do," replied 
 hie eon; "it is worth trying though, any- 
 way. I'll try it." 
 
 " Not an hour to lose, my boy ; and, Fred," 
 he added, as his son was leaving the room, 
 already meditating his high emprise, " lay 
 the blame on me, as thick as you like, you 
 know. That will be your plan." 
 
 Fred nodded, and hastened to his own room 
 to prepare for marching on this forlorn hope, 
 having asked one of the juniors in tlie bank, 
 as he passed, to have the kindness to order 
 his horse to be saddled for him without de- 
 lay. 
 
 In a few minutes he came down dressed 
 altogether in black, with his face looking a 
 good deal paler than it had been half an hour 
 before, and with his left arm in a sling. 
 
 Thus got up for the occasion, he mounted 
 his horse as gracefully as could be done by a 
 
 of the bank into his private room behind it ; 
 " I want to speak to you." 
 
 Mr. Frederick, who had of late been far 
 more regular in his attendance at the bank 
 than had been the case for some time past, 
 rose somewhat listlessly from his seat, and 
 followed his father into his sanctum. 
 
 " Shut the door, Fi-ed," cried the senior, 
 hastily ; " here's all the fat in the fire again, 
 and we shall burn our fingers at last, if we 
 
 made the best of his way to the Chase, ar- 
 riving there about an hour and a half after 
 Mr. Mat, and as near as might be about the 
 time when Margaret had shown her admira- 
 ble tact and knowledge of mankind by mak- 
 ing the improvement which has been men- 
 tioned in her toilet. She was, in fact, in the 
 act of descending the staircase which opened 
 on the front hall at the Chase when our 
 friend Fred entered the house. No more in- 
 
 don't mind what we are about. They have , evitable meeting could have been arranged 
 found a parish-register which proves that [ for them. The groom, who had taken Frcd- 
 the girls up at the Chase are the rightful | crick's horse from him, had opened the door 
 heirs after all. No mistake. Old Slowcome : for him, and had then gone away to the sta- 
 has just told me; took me half an hour to Ues, leaving him, as a well-known and famil- 
 
 get it out of him." 
 
 " By Jove ! If you had not sent that old 
 fool Gregory to spoil all, I should have been 
 all right by this time," said the unreasonable 
 young gentleman. 
 
 " Yes, and if it had turned up t'other way ? 
 A pretty job. But it's not too late. If you 
 
 lar guest, to find his own way into the draw- 
 ing-i-oom, after the unceremonious fashion of 
 the house. And thus it happened that there 
 was no servant present to mar the privacy of 
 their interview. 
 
 Fred did it very well, certainly. Hurried- 
 ly advancing two or three rapid strides tow- 
 
 are half a fellow, you will be able to put it : ard the foot of the stair, where Margaret 
 right again. But sharp's the word. No i stood, magnificent in the accusing majesty of 
 time to be lost." her haughty attitude, he stopped suddenly ; 
 
 Freddy shook his ambrosial curls with a , and made a partially abortive effort to clasp 
 very decided expression of doubt. " I am his hands before him, which, painfully im- 
 afraid it wont do," said he, " I am afraid peded, as it evidently was, by the maimed 
 that game is up. Nothing, you know, cir, I condition of the arm supported by its black 
 has passed since my letter to the squire with- silk sling, was — or at all events ought to 
 drawing from the engagement." I have been — exceedingly touching. 
 
272 
 
 " Margaret," he said, in tones rendered 
 low and liusky (so much bo indeed as to be 
 inaudible in the neighboring drawing-room) 
 by his evident emotion, — "my own, my 
 adored Margaret, oh, tell me that I have still 
 the right to call you so ! Oh, Margaret, if 
 you could only know what I have suffered 
 during these dreadful, dreadful days ! Again 
 and again I have thought that my reason 
 must have sunk under the horrible mental 
 torment I have suffered. It would, 1 feel 
 sure, have done so, had I not at length 
 forced my way to you despite the oi'ders and 
 efforts of nurses and all of them. Thank 
 God, I can at least see and speak to you 
 once again ! " 
 
 " I see that you have hurt your arm, sir," 
 said Margaret, coldly and haughtily; "did 
 it ever occur to you that there might be 
 worse torture than that of an injured limb ? 
 You tell me of your sufferings. Did you 
 ever give a thought to mine? " 
 
 "Oh, Margaret, is it necessary to tell 
 you, does not your own heart tell you, that 
 what has been driving me mad has been the 
 thought that you were suffering " — 
 
 " Oh, indeed, Mr. Falconer? Your trou- 
 ble on that score might have long since 
 ceased ; you made me pass a very, very mis- 
 erable hour ; but the agony was soon over ; 
 you do not suppose that I could feel aught 
 but contempt for a. man who could treat a 
 girl as you treated me, or consider it any- 
 thing but a matter for self-gratulation that I 
 had escaped all ties with one who could be 
 capable of such conduct? " 
 
 " You are unjust to me, Margaret. Your 
 displeasure is natural ; but it renders you un- 
 just to me. Can you suppose that anything 
 save physical impossibility," — and here he 
 glanced piteously at hismaimedarm, — "could 
 have prevented me from keeping the appoint- 
 ment it had been such rapture to me to 
 make?" 
 
 " The post-chaise, then, was not, as I had 
 heard, countermanded by your father's 
 clerk? " sneered Margaret. 
 
 " Assuredly it was," replied he, " in con- 
 sequence of the unfortunate accident which 
 happened to me as I was on the point of 
 hastening to the rendezvous. It was neces- 
 sary to provide against your being compro- 
 mised by leaving the chaise standing all night 
 at the garden-door. That was the only idea 
 that remained firm in my mind when the 
 
 NDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 agony of the dislocation took from me all 
 power of thinking. Can you harbor resent- 
 ment, Margaret, against the victim of so 
 cruel a misfortune? " 
 
 Cruel as the misfortune was, it must be 
 
 itted that it was opportune, Mr. Falconer, 
 
 — almost as strikingly so as the first moment 
 
 at which you are able to get out to bring me 
 
 the assurance of your unbroken affection." 
 
 " Opportune, Miss Lindisfarn? What do 
 you mean?" said Frederick, with a well- 
 feigned air of utter perplexity. 
 
 " Simply this, Mr. Falconer," replied Mar- 
 garet, with an expression of withcringscorn, — 
 " simply this : that the abandonment of your 
 proposed elopement coincided with very cu- 
 rious accuracy with the moment when the 
 information in all probability reached you 
 that I was not entitled to any portion of my 
 father's estates ; and that your reappearance 
 here follows instantly upon the discovery 
 that that information was quite erroneous. 
 That is all." 
 
 " Now, Margaret! " said Freddy Falconer, 
 in a tone of friendly remonstrance, and not ap- 
 pearing at all overwhelmed by the accusa- 
 tions of his beloved, — " now, Margaret," he 
 said, stretching out both hands towardijier, 
 the injured one, too, curiously enough, " is it 
 not unworthy of both of us to suppose that 
 either you or I could be influenced in our 
 conduct by such considerations? Blakistry, 
 I hear, declares that he has the certainty 
 that both you and your sister were aware of 
 the facts that were supposed to oust you from 
 the inheritance of the Lindisflxrn property 
 at the time when you first made me happy 
 by accepting the offer of my hand." And 
 Frederick looked at his beloved with a very 
 peculiar expression as he spoke these words. 
 " Now the low-minded Sillshire gossips might 
 make a very disagreeable story out of that. 
 But we know each other better. We know 
 that you in first accepting my offer and then 
 in consenting to an elopement before the se- 
 cret of your Cousin Julian's being alive had 
 become known, as well as I in apparently 
 suspending my hope of calling you mine for 
 a short interval, — ivc know, I say, that nei- 
 ther one nor the other of us was influenced for 
 a moment by any unworthy considerations? 
 We know, each that the other is incapable 
 of any such baseness. The world, my Mar- 
 garet, the vulgar outside world, may talk of 
 these tilings ; but we know each other, i 
 
LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 might have told you that I have induced my 
 father to give Slowcome directions to make 
 very exceptionally liberal arrangements in 
 respect to pin-money. But it never occurred 
 to me to mention it, knowing how little space 
 any such matters would occupy in your 
 thouglits." 
 
 " Little, indeed, Frederick," said Marga- 
 ret, whose dark liquid eyes had begun, dur- 
 ing the course of her Frederick's last speech, 
 to turn on a service of glances of a very dif- 
 ferent quality from those with which she was 
 regarding him at the commencement, — " lit- 
 tle, indeed, would any such matters occupy 
 my mind, except as affording a proof of your 
 thoughtful love. Ah, Frederick, you know 
 not, may you never know, what I have had 
 to suiFer since I doubted it ! " 
 
 " But you doubt it no more, my Marga- 
 ret? " he cried, advancing one stride toward 
 hei. 
 
 " To think of your having been so watch- 
 ful over my future comfort, as to have per- 
 suaded your father to have the papers made 
 differently. I must make that odious old 
 Slowcome explain it all to me, that I may be 
 able to say in days to come, Fcederick, ' This 
 T owe to the loving thought that remained 
 true to me during the dark days.' May I 
 ask old Slowcome to explain it to me ? " 
 
 " He shall, my own Margaret. May I not 
 once more call you so? It shall be explained 
 to you, my Margaret," answered Frederick, 
 who perceived that he was pardoned and re- 
 stored to his former position, but that the 
 little peace-offering he had mentioned must 
 be really and absolutely paid, and not used 
 only as dust to be thrown in the magnificeM 
 eyes of his Margaret. 
 
 " Ah, Frederick," she rejoined, allowing 
 him to take her hand between both his, 
 which he did with no impediment, appar- 
 ently, from the maimed condition of one of 
 his arms, — " ah, Frederick, these have been 
 very painful days, a dark and miserable time ! 
 And we may be very sure that unkind and 
 envious eyes have been watching us, and will 
 not be slow to draw their own malicious 
 conclusions, and make their own odious in- 
 sinuations." 
 
 " But what need we care, dearest, for all 
 the malicious tongues in the world, when we 
 are mutually conscious of each other's truth 
 and affection ? Are we not all the world to 
 each other, Margaret? " 
 
 18 
 
 273 
 
 " And that must be our strong and suffi- 
 cient defence against all calumny ; for you 
 may depend on it we shall have to endure it. 
 People are so envious, dear," she said, look- 
 ing up at his handsome face and figure with 
 all the pride of proprietorship. 
 
 " And well may all Sillshire be envious of 
 me, my Margaret," murmured the gentleman, 
 duly following lead. 
 
 So Margaret and Frederick understood one 
 another very satisfactorily and completely, 
 and, bold in their mutual support, advanced 
 toward the drawing-room door. 
 
 "Take that handkerchief off your arm, 
 Frederick ; I am sure you can do without it," 
 whispered Margaret, as they were on the 
 point of entering; and Frederick did as he 
 was bid. 
 
 I do not know that there is much more to 
 be added to this chronicle of Lindisfarn. 
 The most remarkable fact to be told in addi- 
 tion to what ha& been written, is that all four 
 of the principal actors on the scene are yet 
 alive, though it is forty years — ay, more than 
 forty-one years by the time the lines will 
 meet the reader 's eye — since what has been 
 related took place. 
 
 Admiral EUingham, K. C. B., full admiral 
 of the red, is a year or two on the wrong side 
 of seventy ; but he can still walk up through 
 his own woods to the Lindisfarn Stone ; and 
 is altogether a younger man than Frederick' 
 Falconer, Esq., who, though a year or two 
 on the right side of seventy, begins to find 
 his daily drive from Belgravia into the city 
 rather too much for him, though made in the 
 most luxurious of broughams. Ilis regular- 
 ity in making this journey is not attributable, 
 however, at all events, to any unsatisfactory 
 state of things at home, due to the presence 
 or conduct in his home of Mrs. Frederick 
 Falconer ; for she is not resident there. One 
 child, a daughter, was born to them after a 
 year of marriage. She is still single and is 
 the natural heir to the great wealth of her 
 father. Kate is the happy mother of a much 
 larger family, and when all of them, with 
 their respective wives and husbands and chil- 
 dren, are collected at Lindisfarn, as is some- 
 times the case at Christmas, it would be 
 difficult to find in all merry England, a finer, 
 happier, merrier, or handsomer family party. 
 
 The loss of the Saucij Salhj was eventually 
 the making of Iliram Pendleton, and conse- 
 quently of his brave and faithful wife, in- 
 
274 
 
 stead of being their ruin. A good deal of 
 admiration had been excited in the neighbor- 
 hood by the gallant manner in ■which he had 
 rescued his two passengers, Barbara Mallory 
 and her child, from a watery grave, at the 
 imminent risk of his own life ; and partly 
 by the assistance of others, but mainly by 
 the exertions and influence of Captain EUing- 
 ham, he was put into possession of the neat- 
 est fishing-smack on all the Sillshire coast, 
 on the condition — most loyally observed — 
 that she was to be used for fishing in the 
 most literal sense of the term. 
 
 Julian Mallory was also indebted to Cap- 
 tain Ellingham for his first start and subse- 
 quent protection in a career which has given 
 him his epaulets in the coast-guard service, 
 and enabled him to offer a home to his mother 
 during her declining years ; old Mallory died 
 very shortly after the events above related ; 
 and Barbara lived for some years, the first of 
 them with her boy, and the latter of them 
 all alone, in the large stone house at Chew- 
 ton, which her father left to her, to the ex- 
 clusion of her brother Jared, and to the 
 breach of all communication between the 
 brother and sister. 
 
 I do not know whether it may occur to any 
 readers of the above iHstory that any case 
 has been made out for an exemplary distri- 
 bution of poetical justice. If so, I am afraid 
 'that I shall not be able to satisfy them within 
 the limits of the few words which I have yet 
 space to write. 
 
 Poetical justice often requires at least a 
 volume or two for the due setting forth of it. 
 
 LINDISFARN CHASE. 
 
 And perhaps if I had an opportunity of re- 
 lating even compendiously some of the life 
 experiences of the four principal personages 
 of our story, it would be found that all the 
 antecedents which have been either related 
 or indicated in the foregoing pages bore fruit 
 very accurately after their own, and not after 
 any other, kind. Stones thrown into the air 
 always fall down again according to the laws 
 of gravity, and not sometimes only. 
 
 As for any more immediate and dramatic 
 action of Nemesis, I am afraid there is little 
 to be said. Each lady of our principal dra- 
 matis personce married thq man whom she 
 wished to marry, and each gentleman had 
 the lady of his choice. Assuredly no one of 
 the four would have changed lots with the 
 other. It is true the squire marked his sense 
 of the difference of the way in which his two 
 daughters had conducted themselves in the 
 very peculiar and difficult circumstances in 
 which they had been placed, by so arranging 
 matters that the old house and the old acres 
 fell wholly and absolutely to the share of 
 Kate, a charge on them, equal to half their 
 money value, being secured to Margaret. 
 But although the old banker had originally 
 dreamed other dreams, it was not long be- 
 fore Frederick and his wife had both learned 
 to think that the arrangement made was 
 such as they would have chosen. So there 
 was no Nemesis in that. 
 
 But then does she not — that sly and subtle 
 Nemesis — habitually find the tools for her 
 work rather in our choices gratified than in 
 our choices frustrated? 
 
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