 Book II Chapter 3 of Armadale This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Armadale by Wilkie Collins Book II Chapter 3 The Claims of Society More than an hour after, Alan had set foot on his exploring expedition through his own grounds midwinter rolls and enjoyed in his turn a full view by daylight of the magnificence of the new house. Refreshed by his long night's rest, he descended the great stair as cheerfully as Alan himself. One after another, he too looked into the spacious rooms on the ground floor in breathless astonishment at the beauty and the luxury which surrounded him. The house where I lived in serviced when I was a boy was a fine one. He thought gaily, but it was nothing to this. I wonder if Alan is as surprised and delighted as I am. The beauty of the summer morning drew him out through the open hall door as it had drawn his friend out before him. He ran briskly down the steps, humming the burden of one of the old vagabond tunes which he had danced to long since in the old vagabond time. Even the memories of his wretched childhood took their color on that happy morning from the bright medium through which he looked back at them. If I was not out of practice he thought to himself as he leaned on the fence and looked over at the park I could try some of my old tumbling tricks on that delicious grass. He turned and noticed two of the servants talking together near the shrubbery and asked for the news of the master of the house. The men pointed with a smile in the direction of the gardens. Mr. Amidale had gone that way more than an hour since and had met as had been reported with Ms. Milroy in the grounds. Midwinter followed the path through the shrubbery but on reaching the flower garden stopped, considered a little and retraced his steps. If Alan has met with the young lady he said to himself Alan doesn't want me. He laughed as he drew that inevitable inference and turned considerably to explore the beauties of Thorpanbros on the other side of the house. Passing the angle of the front wall of the building he descended some steps, advanced along a paved walk, turned another angle and found himself in a strip of garden ground at the back of the house. Behind him was a row of small rooms situated on the level of the servants' offices. In front of him on the further side of the little garden rose a wall screened by a laurel hedge and having a door at one end of it leading past the stables to a gate that opened on the high road. Perceiving that he had only discovered thus far the shorter way to the house used by the servants and tradespeople Midwinter turned back again and looked in at the window of one of the rooms on the basement story as he passed it. Were those the servants' offices? No, the offices were apparently in some other part of the ground floor. The window he had looked in at was the window of a lumber room. The next two rooms in the row were both empty. The fourth window, when he approached it, presented a little variety. It served also as a door and it stood open to the garden at that moment. Attracted by the bookshelves which he noticed on one of the walls Midwinter stepped into the room. The book's fuel number did not detain him long. A glance at their backs was enough without taking them down. The waverly novels tales by Miss Edgeworth and by Miss Edgeworth's many followers the poems of Mrs. Hammons with a few odd volumes of the illustrated gift books of the period composed the bulk of the little library. Midwinter turned to leave the room. When an object on one side of the window which he had not previously noticed caught his attention and stopped him. It was a statuette standing on a bracket, a reduced copy of the famous Niope of the Florence Museum. He glanced from the statuette to the window with a sudden doubt which set his heart throbbing fast. It was a French window. He looked out with a suspicion which he had not felt yet. The view before him was the view of a lawn and garden. At that moment his mind struggled blindly to escape the conclusion which had seized it and struggled in vain. Here close round him and close before him. Here forcing him mercilessly back from the happy present to the horrible past was the room that Alan had seen in the second vision of the dream. He waited, thinking and looking round him while he thought. There was wonderfully little disturbance in his face and manner. He looked steadily from one to the other of the few objects in the room as if the discovery of it had saddened rather than surprised him. Martin of some foreign sort covered the floor. Two cane chairs and a plain table comprised the whole of the furniture. The walls were plainly papered and bare, broken to the eye in one place by a door leading into the interior of the house, in another by a small shelf in a third by the bookshelves which Midwinter had already noticed. He returned to the books and this time he took some of them down the shelves. The first that he opened contained lines in a woman's handwriting traced an ink that had faded with time. He read the inscription, Jane Armadale from her beloved father Thor Pam Brose, October 1828. In the second, third and fourth volumes that he opened the same inscription reappeared. His previous knowledge of dates and persons helped him draw the true influence from what he saw. The books must have belonged to Alan's mother and she must have inscribed them with her name in the interval of time between her return to Thor Pam Brose from Madera and the birth of her son. Midwinter passed on to a volume on another shelf, one of a series containing the writings of Mrs. Hammons. In this case, the blank leaf at the edge of the book was filled on both sides with a copy of verses. The writing being still in Mrs. Armadale's hand, the verses were headed farewell to Thor Pam Brose and were dated March 1829, two months only after Alan had been born. Entirely without merit in itself, the only interest of the little poem was in the domestic story that it told. The very room in which Midwinter then stood was described. With the view on the garden, the window made to open on it, the bookshelves, the niob and other more perishable ornaments which time had destroyed. Here, at variance with her brothers, shrinking from her friends, the widow of the murdered man had on her own acknowledgement secluded herself from other comfort than the love and forgiveness of her father until her child was born. The father's mercy and the father's recent death filled many verses, happily too vague in their commonplace expression of penitence and despair to give any hint of the marriage story and Madera to any reader who looked at them ignorant of the truth. A passing reference to the writer's estrangement from her surviving relatives and to her approaching departure from Thor Pam Brose followed. Last came the assertion of the mother's resolution to separate herself from all her old associations to leave behind her every possession even to the most trifling thing she had that could remind her of the miserable past and to date her new life in the future from the birthday of the child who had been spared to console her who was now the only earthly object that could still speak to her of love and hope. So the old story of passionate feeling that finds comfort in phrases rather than not find comfort at all was told once again. So the poem in the faded ink faded away to its end. Midwinter put the book back with a heavy sigh and opened no other volume on the shelves. Here in the country house are there on both the wreck. He said bitterly, the traces of my father's crime follow me, go where I may. He advanced toward the window, stopped and looked back into the lonely neglected little room. Is this chance he asked himself? The place where his mother suffered is the place he sees in the dream and the first morning in the new house is the morning that reveals it, not to him, but to me. Oh Alan, Alan, how will it end? The thought had barely passed through his mind before he heard Alan's voice from the paved walk at the site of the house calling to him by his name. He hastily stepped out into the garden. At the same moment, Alan came running round the corner full of vulnerable apologies for having forgotten in the society of his new neighbours what was due to the loss of hospitality and the claims of his friend. I really haven't missed you, said Midwinter. And I'm very, very glad to hear that the new neighbours have produced such a pleasant impression on you already. He tried as he spoke to lead the way back by the outside of the house. But Alan's flighty death shun had been caught by the open window and the lonely little room. He stepped in immediately. Midwinter followed and watched him in breathless anxiety as he looked around. Not the slightest recollection of the dream troubled Alan's easy mind. Not the slightest reference to it fell from the silent lips of his friend. Exactly the sort of place I should have expected you to hit on, exclaimed Alan Galey, small and snug and unpretending. I know you must, Midwinter. You'll be slipping off here when the county families come visiting. And I rather think on those dreadful occasions you won't find me far behind you. What's the matter? You look ill and out of spirits. Hungry? Of course you are. Unpardonable of me to have kept you waiting. This door leads somewhere. I suppose let's try a shortcut into the house. Don't be afraid of my not keeping you company on breakfast. I didn't eat much at the cottage. I feasted my eyes on Miss Milroy, as the poet say. Oh the darling, the darling. She turns you topstitch over the moment you look at her. As for her father, wait till you see his wonderful clock. It is twice the size of the famous clock at Strasburg, and the most tremendous striker ever heard yet in the memory of man. Simple praises of his new friends in this strain at the top of his voice Alan hurried Midwinter along the stone passages of the basement floor, which led, as he had rightly guessed, to a staircase communicating with the hall. They passed the servants' offices on the way. At the sight of the cook and the roaring fire disclosed through the open kitchen door, Alan's mind went off at a tangent, and Alan's dignity scattered itself to the four winds of heaven as usual. Aha Mrs. Gripper, there you are with your pots and pans, and your burning fury furnace. One had need be chadrach or mashach, and the other fellow to stand over that. Breakfast as soon as ever you like. Eggs, sausages, bacon, kidneys, marmalade, watercresses, coffee and so forth. My friend and I belong to the select few whom it is a perfect privilege to cook for. Polipscheries, Mrs. Gripper. Polipscheries, both of us. You'll see, continued Alan, as they went on towards the stairs. I shall make that worthy creature young again. I'm better than a doctor for Mrs. Gripper. When she laughs, she shakes her fat sides, and when she shakes her fat sides, she exerts her muscular system. And when she exerts her muscular system, ha, here Susan again. Don't squeeze yourself flat against the banisters, my dear. If you don't mind hustling me on the stairs, I rather like hustling you. She looks like a full blown rose when she blushes. Doesn't she? Stop Susan, I've orders to give. Be very particular with Mr. Midwinter's room. Shake up his bed like mad, and dust his furniture till those nice round arms of yours ache again. Not since, my dear fellow. I'm not too familiar with them. I'm only keeping them up to their work. Now then, Richard, where do we breakfast? Oh, here. Between ourselves, Midwinter, these splendid rooms of mine are a size too large for me. I don't feel as if I should ever be on intimate terms with my own furniture. My views in life are of the snug and slovenly sought, a kitchen chair, you know, and a low ceiling. Man wants but little here below, and wants that little long. That's not exactly the right quotation, but it expresses my meaning, and will let alone correcting it till the next opportunity. I beg your pardon, Interposed Midwinter. Here is something waiting for you which you have not noticed yet. As he spoke, he pointed a little impatiently to a letter lying on the breakfast table. He could conceal the ominous discovery which he had made that morning from Alan's knowledge, but he could not conquer the latent distrust of circumstances which was now raised again in his superstitious nature. The instinctive suspicion of everything that happened, no matter how common or how trifling the event, on the first memorable day when the new life began in the new house. Alan ran his eye over the letter and tossed it across the table to his friend. I can't make head or tail of it, he said. Can you? Midwinter read the letter slowly, aloud. Sir, I trust you will pardon the liberty I take in sending these few lines to wait your arrival at Thor Pambrose. In the event of circumstances not disposing you to place your law business in the hands of Mr. Darge, he suddenly stopped at that point and considered a letter. Darge is our friend, the lawyer, said Alan, supposing Midwinter had forgotten the name. Don't you remember us pinning the half crown on the cabin table when I got the two offers for the cottage? Heads the major tails the lawyer? This is the lawyer. Without making any reply, Midwinter resumed reading the letter. In the event of circumstances not disposing you to place your law business in the hands of Mr. Darge, I beg to say that I shall be happy to take charge of your interests if you feel willing to honour me with your confidence. In closing a reference, should you desire it to my agents in London, and again apologising for this intrusion, I beg to remain, sir, respectfully yours, a pledge gift. Sin. Circumstances repeated Midwinter as he laid the letter down. What circumstance can possibly indispose you to give your law business to Mr. Darge? Nothing can indispose me, said Alan. Besides being the family lawyer here, Darge was the first to write me word at Paris of my coming in for my fortune, and if I have got any business to give, of course he ought to have it. Midwinter still looked distrustfully at the open letter on the table. I am sadly afraid, Alan, there is something wrong already, he said. This man would never have been chaired on the application he has made to you, unless he had some good reason for believing he would succeed. If you wish to put yourself right at starting, you will send to Mr. Darge this morning to tell him you are here, and you will take no notice for the present of Mr. Pedgegift's letter. Before more could be said on either side, the footman made his appearance with the breakfast tray. He was followed after an interval by the butler, a man of the sensually confidential kind, with a modulated voice, a courtly manner, and a bowler's nose. Anybody but Alan would have seen in his face that he had come into the room having a special communication to make to his master. Alan, who saw nothing under the surface and whose head was running on the lawyer's letter, stopped him bluntly with the point blank question. Who is Mr. Pedgegift? The butler's sources of local knowledge opened confidentially on the instant. Mr. Pedgegift was the second of the two lawyers in the town, not so long established, not so wealthy, not so universally looked up to as old Mr. Darge, not doing the business of the highest people in the county, and not mixing freely with the best society like old Mr. Darge, a very sufficient man in his way nevertheless, known as a perfectly competent and respectable practitioner all around the neighborhood. In short, professionally next best to Mr. Darge and personally superior to him if the expression may be permitted in this respect that Darge was a crusty one and Pedgegift wasn't. Having imparted this knowledge, the butler taking a wide advantage of his position glided without a moment's stoppage from Mr. Pedgegift's character to the business that had brought him into the breakfast room. The mid-summer audit was near at hand and the tenants were accustomed to have a week's notice of the rent-day dinner. With this necessity pressing and with no orders given as yet and no steward in office at Co-Pam rules, it appeared desirable that some confidential person should bring the matter forward. The butler was that confidential person and he now ventured accordingly to trouble his master on the subject. At this point, Allen opened his lips to interrupt and was himself interrupted before he could utter a word. Wait! interposed midwinter, seeing in Allen's face that he was in danger of being publicly announced in the capacity of the steward. Wait! he repeated eagerly, till I can speak to you first. The butler's courtly manner remained alike unruffled by midwinter's sudden interference and by his own dismissal from the scene. Nothing but the mounting colour in his bulbous nose betrayed the sense of injury that animated him as he withdrew. Mr. Amidale's chance of regaling his friend and himself that day with the best wine in the cellar trembled in a balance as the butler took his way back to the basement's story. This is beyond a joke, Allen, said midwinter when they were alone. Somebody must meet your tenants on the rent today who is really fit to take the steward's place. With the best will in the world to learn, it is impossible for me to master the business at a week's notice. Don't. Pray don't let your anxiety for my welfare put you in a false position with other people. I should never forgive myself if I was the unlucky cause. Gently, gently, cried Allen, amazed at his friend's extraordinary earnestness. If I write to London by tonight's post for the man who came down here before, will that satisfy you? Midwinter shook his head. Our time is short, he said, and the man may not be at liberty. Why not try in the neighborhood first? You are going to write to Mr. George. Send it once and see if he can't help us between this and post time. Allen withdrew to a side table on which writing materials were placed. You shall breakfast in peace. You all forget, he replied, and addressed himself both with to Mr. George with his usual spartan brevity of epistolary expression. Yes, sir. Here I am, bag and baggage. Will you kindly oblige me by being my lawyer? I ask this because I want to consult you at once. Please look in in the course of the day and stop the dinner if you possibly can. You are truly Allen Armadale. Having read this composition aloud with unconcealed admiration of his own rapidity of literary execution, Allen addressed the letter to Mr. Dutch and rang the bell. Here Richard, take this at once and wait for an answer. And I say, if there is any news, string in the town, pick it up and bring it back with you. See how I manage my servants, continued Allen, joining his friend at the breakfast table. See how I adapt myself to my new duties. I haven't been down here one clear day yet and I'm taking an interest in the neighborhood already. Breakfast over, the two friends went out to idle away the morning under the shade of a tree in the park. Noon came and Richard never appeared. One o'clock struck and still there were no signs of an answer from Mr. Dutch. Midwinter's patience was not proof against the delay. He left Allen dosing on the grass and went to the house to make inquiries. The town was described as a little more than two miles distant. But the day of the week happened to be market day and Richard was being detained, no doubt, by some of the many acquaintances whom he would be sure to meet with on that occasion. Half an hour later, the truant messenger returned and was sent out to report himself to his master under the tree in the park. Any answer from Mr. Dutch? asked Midwinter, seeing that Allen was too lazy to put the question for himself. Mr. Dutch was engaged, sir. I was desired to say that he would send an answer. Any news in the town inquired Allen drowsily without troubling himself to open his eyes. No, sir, nothing in particular. Observing the man suspiciously, as he made that reply, Midwinter detected in his face that he was not speaking the truth. He was plainly embarrassed and plainly relieved when his master's silence allowed him to withdraw. After a little consideration, Midwinter followed and overtook the retreating servant on the drive before the house. Richard, he said quietly, if I was to guess that there is some news in the town and that you don't like telling it to your master, should I be guessing the truth? The man started and changed colour. I don't know how you have found it out, he said, but I can't deny you have guessed right. If you let me hear what the news is, I will take the responsibility on myself of telling Mr. Amadele. After some little hesitation and some distrustful consideration on his side of Midwinter's face, Richard at last prevailed on himself to repeat what he had heard that day in the town. The news of Allen's sudden appearance was that poor Pambrose had preceded the servant's arrival at his destination by some hours. Wherever he went, he found his master the subject of public discussion. The opinion of Allen's conduct among the leading townspeople, the resident-genery of the neighbourhood and the principal tenants on the estate was unanimously unfavourable. Only the day before, the committee for managing the public reception of the newsquare had sketched the progress of the procession, had settled the serious question of the triumphal arches and had appointed a competent person to solicit subscriptions for the flags, the flowers, the feasting, the fireworks and the band. In less than a week, more the money could have been collected and the rector would have written to Mr. Amadele to fix the day. And now, by Allen's own act, the public welcome waiting to honour him had been cast flat contemptuously in the public teeth. Everybody took for granted and what was unfortunately true that he had received private information of the contemplated proceedings. Everybody declared that he had purposely stolen into his own house like a thief in the night. So the phrase ran to escape accepting the offered civilities of his neighbours. In brief, the sensitive self-importance of the little town was wounded to the quick and of Allen's once-enliable position in the estimation of the neighbourhood, but not a wastage remained. For a moment, midwinter faced the messenger of evil tidings in silent distress. That moment passed, the sense of Allen's critical position roused him. Now the evil was known to seek the remedy. Has the little you have seen of your master, Richard, inclined you to like him? This time the man answered without hesitation. A pleasanter and kinder gentleman than Mr. Armadale, no one could wish to serve. If you think that because you're midwinter, you won't object to give me some information which will help your master to set himself right with his neighbours. Come into the house. He led the way into the library and after asking the necessary questions took down in writing a list of the names and addresses of the most influential persons living in the town and its neighbourhood. This done, he rang the bell for the head foot man, having previously sent Richard with a message to the stables directing an open carriage to be ready in an hour's time. When the late Mr. Blanchard went out to make calls in the neighbourhood, it was your place to go with him, was it not? He asked when the upper servant appeared. Very well, be ready in an hour's time, if you please, to go out with Mr. Armadale. Having given that order, he left the house again on his way back to Allen with the visiting list in his hand. He smiled a little sadly as he descended the steps. Who would have imagined, he thought, that my foot boy's experience of the ways of gentle force would be worth looking back at one day for Allen's sake. The object of the coppular odium lay innocently slumbering on the grass. With his garden hat over his nose, his waistcoat unbuttoned and his trousers wrinkled halfway up his outstretched legs. Midwinter roused him without hesitation and remorselessly repeated the servant's news. Allen accepted the disclosure thus forced on him without the slightest disturbance of temper. Oh, hang them, was all he said. Let's have another cigar. Midwinter took the cigar out of his hand and insisting on his treating the matter seriously told him in plain words that he must set himself right with his offended neighbours by calling on them personally to make his apologies. Allen sat up on the grass in astonishment. His eyes opened wide in incredulous dismay. Did Midwinter positively meditate forcing him into a chimney pot hat? A nicely brushed frock coat and a clean pair of gloves? Was it actually in contemplation to shut him up in a carriage with his foot man on the box and his cart case in his hand and send him round from house to house to tell a pack of fools that he begged their pardon for not letting them make a public show of him? If anything so outrageously absurd as this was really to be done, it could not be done that day at any rate. He had promised to go back to the charming mill Roy at the cottage and to take Midwinter with him. What earthly need had he of the good opinion of the resident gentry? The only friends he wanted were the friends he had got already. Let the whole neighbourhood turn its back on him if it liked, back or face. This choir of Thorpe Ambrose didn't care too straws about it. After allowing him to run on in this way until his whole stock of objections was exhausted, Midwinter wisely tried his personal influence next. He took Alan affectionately by the hand. I'm going to ask a great favour he said. If you won't call on these people for your own sake, will you call on them to please me? Alan delivered himself of a groan of despair, stared in mute surprise at the anxious face of his friend and good humoredly gave thee. As Midwinter took his arm and led him back to the house, he looked round with rueful eyes at the cattle hard by, placidly whisking their tails in a pleasant shade. Don't mention it in the neighbourhood he said. I should like to change places with one of my own cows. Midwinter left him to dress, engaging to return when the carriage was at the door. Alan's toilet did not promise to be a speedy one. He began it by reading his own visiting cards and he advanced it a second stage by looking into his wardrobe and devoting the resident gentry to the infernal regions. Before he could discover any third means of delaying his own proceedings, the necessary pretext was unexpectedly supplied by Richard's appearance with a note in his hand. The messenger had just called with Mr. Darf's answer. Alan briskly shut up the wardrobe and gave his whole attention to the lawyer's letter. The lawyer's letter rewarded him by the following lines. Sir, I beg to acknowledge the receipt of your favour of today's date honouring me with two proposals, namely one inviting me to act as your legal advisor and one inviting me to pay your visit at your house. In reference to the first proposal, I beg permission to decline it with thanks. With regard to the second proposal, I have to inform you that circumstances have come to my knowledge relating to the letting of the cottage at Perp Ambrose, which render it impossible for me, injustice to myself to accept your invitation. I have ascertained, sir, that my offer reached you at the same time as Major Milroy's and that with both proposals does before you you give the preference to a total stranger who addressed you through a house agent over a man who had faithfully served your relatives for two generations and who had been the first person to inform you of the most important event in your life. After this specimen of your estimate of what is due to the claims of common courtesy and common justice, I cannot flatter myself that I possess any of the qualities which would affect me to take my place on the list of your friends. I remain, sir, your obedient servant, James Darch. Stop the messenger, cried Allen, leaping to his feet. His ruddy face aflame with indignation. Give me pen, ink and paper. By the Lord Harry, there are a nice set of people in these parts. The whole neighborhood is in a conspiracy to bulini. He snatched up the pen in a fine frenzy of epistolary inspiration. Sir, I despise you and your letter. At that point, the pen made a blot and the writer was seized with a momentary hesitation. Too strong, he thought. I'll give it to the liar in his own cool and cutting style. He began again on a clean sheet of paper. Sir, you remind me of an Irish bull. I mean that story in Joe Miller, where Pat remarked in the hearing of a wag hard by that the reciprocity was all on one side. Your reciprocity is all on one side. You take the privilege of refusing to be my lawyer. And then you complain of my taking the privilege of refusing to be your landlord. He paused fondly over those last words. Meet, he thought, argument and hard-hitting both in one. I wonder where my lack of writing comes from. He went on and finished the letter in two more sentences. As for your casting my invitation back in my teeth, I beg to inform you my teeth are none the worse for it. I'm equally glad to have nothing to say to you, either in the capacity of a friend or a tenant. Alan Armadale He nodded exultantly at his own composition as he addressed it and sent it down to the messenger. Darcy's hide must be a thick one, he said, if he doesn't feel that. The sound of the wheels outside suddenly recalled him to the business of the day. There was the carriage waiting to take him on his round of visits. And there was midwinter at his post, facing to and from the drive. Read that, cried Alan, throwing out the lawyer's letter. I have written him back a smasher. He dazzled away to the wardrobe to get his coat. There was a wonderful change in him. He felt little or no reluctance to pay the visits now. The pleasurable excitement of answering Mr. Darth had put him in a fine, aggressive frame of mind for asserting himself in the neighborhood. Whatever else they may say of me, they shouldn't say I was afraid to face them. He said red-heart with that idea, he seized his hat and gloves and, hurrying out of the room, met midwinter in a corridor with the lawyer's letter in his hand. Keep up your spirits, cried Alan, seeing the anxiety in his friend's face and misinterpreting the motive of it immediately. If Darth can't be countered on to send us a helping hand into the steward's office, that gift can. My dear Alan, I was not thinking of that. I was thinking of Mr. Darth's letter. I don't defend this so tempered man. But I'm afraid we must admit he has some cause for complaint. For you don't give him another chance of putting you in wrong. Where is your answer to this letter? Gone, replied Alan. I always strike while the iron's hot. A word and a blow. And the blow first, that's my way. Don't. There's a good fellow. Don't fidget about the steward's books on the rent day. Here. Here's a bunch of keys they gave me last night. One of them opens the room where the steward's books are. Go in and read them till I come back. I give you my sacred word of honor. I'll settle it all with Pedgegift before you see me again. One moment interposed Midwinter, stopping him resolutely on his way out to the carriage. I say nothing against Mr. Pedgegift's fitness to possess your confidence. For I know nothing to justify me in distrusting him. But he has not introduced himself to your notice in a very delicate way. And he has not acknowledged what is quite clear to my mind that he knew of Mr. Duchess' unfriendly feeling towards you when he wrote. Wait a little before you go to this stranger. Wait till we can talk it over together tonight. Wait, replied Alan. Haven't I told you that I always strike while the iron's hot? Trust my eye for character, old boy. I look Pedgegift through and through and act accordingly. Don't keep me any longer for heaven's sake. I'm in a fine humor for tackling the rest in January. And if I don't go at once, I'm afraid it may wear off. With that excellent reason for being in a hurry, Alan boisterously broke away. Before it was possible to stop him again, he had jumped into the carriage and had left the house. End of Book II, Chapter 3 Book II, Chapter 4 of Amadeya This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Amadeya by Wilkie Collins Book II, Chapter 4 The March of Events Midwinter's face darkened when the last trace of the carriage had disappeared from view. I have done my best, he said, as he turned back gloomily into the house. If Mr. Brock himself were here, Mr. Brock could do no more. He looked at the bunch of keys which Alan had thrust into his hand and a certain longing to put himself to the test over the Stewart's book's deposition of his sensitive, self-automating nature. Inquiring his way to the room in which the various moveables of the Stewart's office had been provisionally placed after the letting of the cottage, he sat down at the desk and tried how his own unaided capacity would guide him through the business records of the Thor Pambrose estate. The result exposed his own ignorance unanswerably before his own lies. The ledgers bewildered him, the leases, the plants and even the correspondence itself might have been written for all he could understand with them in an unknown tongue. His memory reverted bitterly as he left the room again to his two-year solitary self-instruction in the Shrewbury bookseller's shop. If I could only have worked at a business, he thought. If I could only have known that the company of poets and philosophers was company too high for a vagabond like me. He sat down alone in the great hall. The silence of it fell heavier and heavier on his sinking spirits. The beauty of it exasperated him like an insult from a bus-proud man. Curse the place, he said, snatching up his hat and stick. I like the bleakest hillside I ever slept on, better than I like this house. He impatiently descended the doorsteps and stopped on the drive, considering by which direction he should leave the park for the country beyond. If he followed the road taken by the carriage, he might risk unsettling Allen by accidentally meeting him in the town. If he went out by the back gate, he knew his own nature well enough to doubt his ability to pass the room of the dream without entering it again. But one another way remained, the way which he had taken and then abandoned again in the morning. There was no fear of disturbing Allen and the major's daughter now. Without further hesitation, mid-winter set forth through the gardens to explore the open country on that side of the estate. Thrown off its balance, by the events of the day, his mind was full of that solely savage resistance to the inevitable self-assertion of wealth so amnibally deplored by the prosperous and the rich, so bitterly familiar to the unfortunate and the poor. The heather wealth costs nothing, he thought, looking contemptuously at the masses of rare and beautiful flowers that surrounded him and the buttercups and dizzies are as bright as the best of you. He followed the artfully contrived or wealth's unsquares of the Italian garden with a vagabond indifference to the symmetry of their construction and the ingenuity of their design. How many pounds a foot did you cost? He said, looking back with scornful eyes at the last path as he left it, wind away over high and low like the sheep-walk on the mountainside if you can. He entered the shrubbery which Allen had entered before him, crossed the paddock and the rustic bridge beyond and reached the major's cottage. His ready mind seized the right conclusion at the first sight of it and he stopped before the garden gate to look at the trim little residence which would never have been empty and would never have been let but for Allen's ill-advised resolution to force the steward's situation on his friend. The summer afternoon was warm, the summer air was faint and still. On the upper and the lower floor of the cottage the windows were all open. From one of them on the upper story the sound of voices was startlingly audible in the quiet of the park as mid-winter paused on the outer side of the garden enclosure. The voice of a woman, harsh, high and angrily complaining. A voice with all the freshness and the melody gone and with nothing but the hard power of it left was discordantly predominant sound. With it from moment to moment there mingled the deeper and quieter tones soothing and compassionate of the voice of a man. Though the distance was too great to allow mid-winter to distinguish the words that were spoken he felt the impropriety of remaining within hearing of the voices and at once stepped forward to continue his walk. At the same moment the face of a young girl, still recognizable as the face of Miss Milroy from Alan's description of her appeared at the open window of the room. In spite of himself mid-winter paused to look at her. The expression of the bright young face which had smiled so prettily at Alan was weary and disheartened. After looking out absently over the park she suddenly turned her head back into the room. Her attention, having been apparently struck by something that had just been said in it. Oh mama! mama! she exclaimed indignantly. How can you say such things? The words were spoken close to the window. They reached mid-winter's ears and hurried him away before he heard more. But the self-disclosure of Major Milroy's domestic position had not reached its end yet. As mid-winter turned the corner of the garden fence a tradesman's boy was handing a parcel in at the wicket gate to the woman servant. Well said the boy with the irrepressible impudence of his glance. How is the missus? The woman lifted her hand to box his ears. How is the missus? She repeated with an angry toss of her head as the boy ran off. If it would only please God to take the missus it would be a blessing to everybody in the house. No such ill-element shadow as this had passed over the bright domestic picture of the inhabitants of the cottage which Alan's enthusiasm had painted for the contemplation of his friend. It was plain that the secret of the tenants had been kept from the landlord so far. Five minutes more of walking brought mid-winter to the park gates. Am I fated to see nothing and hear nothing today which can give me heart and hope for the future? He thought as he angrily swung back the large gate. Even the people Alan has led the cottage to are people whose lives are embittered by a household misery which it is my misfortune to have found out. He took the first road that lay before him and walked on noticing little immersed in his own thoughts. More than an hour passed before the necessity of turning back entered his mind. As soon as the idea occurred to him he consulted his watch and determined to retrace his steps so as to be at the house in good time to meet Alan on his return. Ten minutes of walking brought him back to a point at which three roads met and one moment's observation of the place satisfied him that he had entirely failed to notice at the time by which of the three roads he had advanced. No signpost was to be seen. The country on either side was lonely and flat intersected by broad drains and ditches. Cattle were grazing here and there and a windmill rose in the distance above the polar guillots that fringed the low horizon. But not a house was to be seen and not a human creature appeared on the visible perspective of any one of the three roads. Midwinter glanced back in the only direction left to look at the direction of the road along which he had just been walking. There to his relief was the figure of a man rapidly advancing toward him of whom he could ask his way. The figure came on glad from head to foot in reary black a moving blot on the brilliant white surface of the sun-brightened road. He was a lean, elderly, miserably respectable man. He wore a poor old black dress coat and a cheap brown wig which made no pretence of being his own natural hair. Short black trousers clung like attached old servants round his viscent legs and rusty black gaiters hit all the cut of his knob ungainly feet. Black rape added its might to the decayed and dingy wretchedness of his old beaver hat. Black mohair in the obsolete form of a stock drearyly encircled his neck and rose as high as his haggard jaws. The one morsel of color he carried about him was a lawyer's bag of blue surge as lean and limp as himself. The one attractive feature in his clean shaven, weary old face was a neat set of teeth teeth as honest as his wig which said plainly to all inquiring eyes. We pass our nights on his looking glass and our days in his mouth. All the little blood in the man's body faintly reddened his fleshless cheeks as midwinter advanced to meet him. And asked the way to Thorpan Rose. His weak watery eyes looked hither and thither in a bewilderment rainfall to see if he had met with a lion instead of a man and if the few words addressed to him had been words expressing a threat instead of a question he could hardly have looked more confused and alarmed than he looked now. For the first time in his life midwinter saw his own shy amaziness in the presence of strangers reflected with tenfold intensity of nervous suffering in the face of another man and that man old enough to be his father. Which do you please to mean, sir, the town or the house? I beg your pardon for asking, but they both go by the same name in these parts. He spoke with a timid gentleness of tone, an ingratiory smile and an anxious courtesy of manner all distressingly suggestive of his being accustomed to receive rough answers in exchange for his own politeness from the persons whom he habitually addressed. I was not aware that both the house and the town went by the same name, said midwinter. I meant the house. He instinctively conquered his own shyness as he answered in those words speaking with a cordiality of manner which was very rare with him in his intercourse with strangers. The man of miserable respectability seemed to feel the warm return of his own politeness gratefully. He brightened and took a little courage, his lean forefinger pointed eagerly to the right road. That way, sir, he said, and when you come to two roads next, please take the left one of the two. I'm sorry, I have business the other way, I mean in the town. I should have been happy to go with you and show you. Find somewhere, sir, walking. You can't miss your way if you keep to the left. Oh, don't mention it. I'm afraid I have detained you, sir. I wish you a pleasant walk back, and good morning. By the time he had made an end of speaking, under an impression apparently that the more he talked, the more polite he would be. He had lost his courage again. He darted away down his own road as if midwinter's attempt to thank him involved a series of trials too terrible to confront. In two minutes more, his black retreating figure had lessened in the distance till it looked again what it had once looked already, a moving blood on the brilliant white surface of the sun-brightened road. The man ran strangely in midwinter's thoughts while he took his way back to the house. He was at a loss to account for it. It never occurred to him that he might have been insensibly reminded of himself when he saw the plain traces of past misfortune and present nervous suffering in the poor wretched ways. He blindly resented his own perverse interest in this chance for passenger on the high road, as he had resented all else that had happened to him since the beginning of the day. Have I made another unlucky discovery? He asked himself impatiently. Shall I see this man again, I wonder? Who can he be? Time was to answer both those questions before many days more had passed over the inquirer's head. Allen had not returned when midwinter reached the house. Nothing had happened but the arrival of a message of apology from the cottage. Major Millroy's compliments and he was sorry that Mrs. Millroy's illness would prevent his receiving Mr. Armadale that day. It was plain that Mrs. Millroy's occasional fits of suffering or of ill temper created no more transitory disturbance of the tranquility of the household. Drawing this natural inference after what he had himself heard at the cottage nearly three hours since midwinter withdrew into the library to wait patiently among the books until his friend came back. It was past six o'clock when the well-known hearty voice was heard again in the hall. Allen burst into the library in the state of irrepressible excitement and pushed midwinter back unceremoniously into the chair from which he was just rising before he could utter a word. Here's a riddle for you old boy, cried Allen. Why am I like the resident manager of the audience table before her queues was called in to sweep the litter out? Because I have had my place to keep up and I have gone and made an infernal mess of it. Why don't you laugh? Why, George, she doesn't see the point. Let's try again. Why am I like the resident manager? For God's sake, Allen, be serious for a moment, interposed midwinter. You don't know how anxious I am to hear if you have recovered the good opinion of your neighbors. That's just what the riddle was intended to tell you, rejoined Allen. But if you will have it in so many words, my own impression is that you would have done better not to disturb me under that tree in the park. I have been calculating it to a nicety and I bet to inform you that I have sunk exactly three degrees lower in the estimation of the resident gentry since I had the pleasure of seeing you last. You will have your joke out, said midwinter bitterly. Well, if I can't laugh, I can wait. My dear fellow, I'm not joking. I really mean what I say. You shall hear what happened. You shall have a report in full of my first visit. It will do. I can promise you as a sample for all the rest. Mind this, in the first place, I have gone wrong with the best possible intentions. When I started for these visits, I was angry with that old brute of a lawyer and I certainly had a notion of carrying things with a high hand. But it wore off somehow on the road, and the first family I called on, I went in, as I tell you, with the best possible intentions. Oh dear, dear, there was the same speak-and-span reception room for me to wait in, with the neat conservatory beyond, which I saw again and again and again at every other house I went to afterward. There was the same choice selection of books for me to look at, a religious book, a book about the Duke of Wellington, a book about sporting, and a book about nothing in particular, beautifully illustrated with pictures. Down came papa with his nice white hair and mama with her nice lace cap. Down came young mister with the pink face and straw-colored whiskers and young miss with the plump cheeks and the large petticoats. Don't suppose there was the least unfriendliness on my side. I always began with them in the same way. I insisted on shaking hands all round. That staggered them to begin with. When I came to the source subject next, the subject of the public reception, I gave you my word of honour, or I took the greatest possible pains with my apologies. It hadn't the slightest effect. They let my apologies in at one ear and out at the other, and then waited to hear more. Some men would have been disheartened. I tried another way with them. I addressed myself to the master of the house and put it pleasantly next. The fact is, I said, I wanted to escape the speechifying my getting up, you know, and telling you to your face, you're the best of men, and I beg to propose your health, and you're getting up and telling me to my face I am the best of men, and you beg to thank me and so on, man after man, prising each other and pestering each other all round the table. That's how I put it in an easy, light-handed, convincing sort of way. Do you think any of them took it in the same friendly spirit? Not one. It is my belief they had got their speeches ready for the reception with the flags and the flowers, and that they are secretly angry with me for stopping their open mouths just as they were ready to begin. Anyway, whenever we came to the matter of the speechifying, whether they touched it first or I, down I fell in their estimation, the first of those three steps I told you of just now. Don't suppose I made no efforts to get up again. I made desperate efforts. I found they were all anxious to know what sort of life I had led before I came in for the Thorpe Ambrose property, and I did my best to satisfy them. And what came of it, do you think? Hand me if I didn't disappoint them for the second time. When they found out that I had actually never been to Ayrton or Harrow or Oxford or Cambridge, they were quite down with astonishment. I fancy they thought me a sort of outlaw. At any rate, they all froze up again, and down I fell the second step in their estimation. Never mind, I wasn't to be beaten. I had promised you to do my best, and I did it. I tried cheerful small talk about the neighborhood next. The women said nothing in particular. The men to my unutterable astonishment all began to control with me. I shouldn't be able to find a pack of hounds, they said, within twenty miles of my house, and they thought it only right to prepare me for the disgracefully careless manner in which the Thorpe Ambrose covers had been preserved. I let them go on controlling with me, and then what do you think I did? I put my foot in it again. Oh, don't take that to heart, I said. I don't care too straws about hunting or shooting either. When I meet with a bird in my walk, I can't for the life of me feel eager to kill it. I rather like to see the bird flying about and enjoying itself. You should have seen their faces. They had taught me a sort of outlaw before. Now evidently taught me mad. Dead silence fell upon them all, and down I tumbled the third step in general estimation. It was the same at the next house, and the next, and the next. The devil possessed us all, I think. It would come out, now in one way and now in another, that I couldn't make species, that I had been brought up without a university education, and that I could enjoy a ride on horseback without galloping after a wretched stinking fox or a poor distracted little hare. These three unlucky defects of mine are not excused, it seems, in a country gentleman, especially when he has dodged a public reception to begin with. I think I got on best upon the whole with the wives and daughters. The women and I always fell sooner or later on the subject of Mrs. Blanchard and her niece. We invariably agreed that they had done wisely in going to Florence, and the only reason we had to give for our opinion was that we thought their minds would be benefited after the sad bereavement by the contemplation of the masterpieces of Italian art. Every one of the ladies, as solemnly declared, at every house I went to came sooner or later to Mrs. and Mrs. Blanchard's bereavement and the masterpieces of Italian art. What we should have done without that bright idea to help us, I really don't know. The one pleasant thing at any of the visits was when we all shook our heads together and declared that the masterpieces would console them. As for the rest of it, there's only one thing more to be said. What I might be in other places I don't know. I'm the wrong man in the wrong place here. Let me muddle on for the future in my own way with my own few friends and ask me anything else in the world as long as you don't ask me to make any more calls on my neighbors. With that characteristic request, Alan's report of his exploring expedition among the resident gentry came to our close. For a moment, midwinter remained silent. He had allowed Alan to run on from first to last without uttering a word on his side. The disastrous result of the visits, coming after what had happened earlier in the day and threatening Alan as it did with exclusion from all local sympathies at the very outset of his local career, had broken down midwinter's power of resisting the stealthily depressing influence of his own superstition. It was with an effort that he now looked up at Alan. It was with an effort that he roused himself to answer. It shall be as you wish, he said quietly. I'm sorry for what has happened, but I'm not the less obliged to you, Alan, for having done what I asked you. His head sank on his breast, and the fatalist resignation, which had once already quieted him on board the wreck, now quieted him again. What must be, will be, he thought once more. What have I to do with the future, and what has he? Cheer up, said Alan. Your affairs are in a thriving condition at any rate. I paid one pleasant visit in the town, which I haven't told you of yet. I have seen Petgift, and Petgift's son, who helps him in the office. They are the two jolliest lawyers I ever met with in my life, and what's more, they can produce the very man you want to teach you the Stilwood's business. Midwinter looked up quickly. Distrust of Alan's discovery was plainly written in his face already, but he said nothing. I thought of you, Alan, proceeded. As soon as the two Petgifts and I had had a glass of wine all round to drink to our friendly connection. The finest sherry I ever tasted in my life. I've ordered some of the same, but that's not the question just now. In two words I told these worthy fellows your difficulty, and in two seconds old Petgift understood all about it. I've caught the man in my office, he said, and before the audit day comes, I'll place him with the greatest pleasure at your friend's disposal. At this last announcement Midwinter's distrust found its expression in words. He questioned Alan unsparingly. The man's name it appeared was Bashwood. He had been some time, how long Alan could not remember, in Mr. Petgift's service. He had been previously steward to a Norfolk gentleman named Forgotten in the westward district of the county. He had lost the steward's place through some domestic trouble in connection with his son. The precise nature of which Alan was not able to specify. Petgift vouched for him, and Petgift would send him to Thor Pabros two or three days before the rent day dinner. He could not be spared for office reasons before that time. There was no need to fidget about it. Petgift laughed at the idea of there being any difficulty with the tenants. Two or three days' work over the steward's books with a man to help Midwinter, who practically understood that sort of thing, would put him all right for the audit, and the other business would keep till afterward. Have you seen this Mr. Bashwood yourself, Alan? asked Midwinter, still obstinately on his guard. No, replied Alan. He was out, out with the bag, as young Petgift called it. They tell me he is a decent elderly man, a little broken by his troubles, and a little apt to be nervous and confused in his manners with strangers. But thoroughly competent, and thoroughly to be dependent on, those are Petgift's own words. Midwinter passed and considered a little, with a new interest in the subject. The strange man whom he had just heard described, and the strange man of whom he had asked his way, where the three roads met, were remarkably like each other. Was there another link in the fast-lengthening chain of events? Midwinter grew doubly determined to be careful, as the bear doubted that it might be so passed through his mind. When Mr. Bashwood comes, he said, will you let me see him and speak to him before anything definite is done? Of course I will, rejoined Alan. He stopped and looked at his watch, and I'll tell you what I'll do for you, all boy in the meantime, he added. I'll introduce you to the prettiest girl in Norflock. There's just time to run over to the cottage before dinner. Come along and be introduced to Miss Milroy. You can't introduce me to Miss Milroy today, replied Midwinter, and he repeated the message of apology which had been brought from the major that afternoon. Alan was surprised and disappointed, but he was not to be foiled in his resolution to advance himself in the good graces of the inhabitants of the cottage. After a little consideration, he hit on the means of turning the present adverse circumstances to good account. I'll show a proper anxiety for Mrs. Milroy's recovery, he said gravely. I'll send her a basket of strawberries with my best respects tomorrow morning. Nothing more happened to mark the end of that first day in the new house. The one noticeable event of the next day was another disclosure of Mrs. Milroy's infirmity of temper. Half an hour after Alan's basket of strawberries had been delivered at the cottage, it was returned to him intact by the hands of the invalid lady's nurse with a sharp and sharp message, shortly and sharply delivered. Mrs. Milroy's compliments and thanks, strawberries invariably disagreed with her. If this curiously petulant acknowledgement of an act of politeness was intended to irritate Alan, it failed entirely in accomplishing its object. Instead of being offended with the mother, he sympathized with the daughter. One little thing was all he said. She must have a hard life of it with such a mother as that. He called in the cottage himself later in the day, but Mrs. Milroy was not to be seen. She was engaged upstairs. The major received his visitor in his working apron. Far more deeply immersed in his wonderful clock and far less readily accessible to outer influences than Alan had seen him at the first interview. His manner was as kind as before, but not a word more could be extracted from him on the subject of his wife than that Mrs. Milroy had not improved since yesterday. The two next days passed quietly and uneventfully. Alan persisted in making his inquiries at the cottage, but all he saw of the major's daughter was a glimpse of her on one occasion at a window on the bedroom floor. Nothing more was heard from Mr. Bedgift and Mr. Bashwood's appearance was still delayed. Midwinter declined to move in the matter until time enough had passed to allow of his first hearing from Mr. Brook in answer to the letter which he had addressed to the rector on the night of his arrival at Port Pambro's. He was unusually silent and quiet and passed most of his hours in the library among the books. The time wore on verily. The resident gentry acknowledged Alan's visit by formally leading their carts. Nobody came near the house afterward. The weather was monotonously fine. Alan grew a little restless and dissatisfied. He began to resent Mrs. Milroy's illness. He began to think regretfully of his deserted yacht. The next day the 20th brought some news with it from the outer world. A message was delivered from Mr. Bedgift announcing that his club, Mr. Bashwood, would personally present himself at Port Pambro's on the following day and a letter in answer to Midwinter was received from Mr. Brock. The letter was dated the 18th and the news which it contained raised not Alan's spirits only but Midwinter's as well. On the day on which he wrote, Mr. Brock announced that he was about to journey to London, having been summoned thither on business connected with the interests of a sick relative to whom he stood in the position of trustee. The business completed. He had good hope of finding one or other of his clerical friends in the metropolis who would be able and willing to do duty for him at the rectory. And in that case, he trusted to travel on from London to Thor Pambro's in a week's time or less. Under these circumstances he would leave the majority of the subjects on which Midwinter had written to him to be discussed when they met. But as time might be of importance in relation to the stewardship of the Thor Pambro's estate, he would say at once that he saw no reason why Midwinter should not apply his mind to learning the steward's duties and should not succeed in rendering himself invariably serviceable in that way to the interests of his friend. Leaving Midwinter reading and rereading the rector's cheering letter as if he was bent on getting every sentence in it by heart, Alan went out rather earlier than usual to make his daily inquiry in the cottage or in plainer words to make a fourth attempt at improving his acquaintance with Miss Milroy. The day had begun encouragingly and encouragingly it seemed destined to go on. When Alan turned the corner of the second shrubbery and entered the little pile of where he and the major's daughter had first met, there was Miss Milroy herself, loitering to and fro on the grass to all appearance on the watch for somebody. She gave a little start when Alan appeared and came forward without hesitation to meet him. She was not in her best looks. Her rosy complexion had suffered under confinement to the house and a marked expression of embarrassment clouded her pretty face. I hardly know how to confess it, Miss Tammadale. She said, speaking eagerly, before Alan could utter a word. But I certainly ventured here this morning in the hope of meeting with you. I have been very much distressed. I have only just heard by accident of the manner in which mama received the present of fruit Yisokaily sent to her. Will you try to excuse her? She has been miserably ill for years and she is not always quite herself. After your being so very, very kind to me and to papa, I really could not help stealing out here in the hope of seeing you and telling you how sorry I was. Pray forgive and forget, Miss Tammadale. Pray do. Her voice faltered over the last words and in her eagerness to make her mother's peace with him, she laid her hand on his arm. Alan was himself a little confused. Her earnestness took him by surprise and her evident conviction that he had been offended honestly distressed him. Not knowing what else to do, he followed his instincts and possessed himself of her hand to begin with. My dear Miss Milrai, if you say a word more, you will distress me next. He rejoined, unconsciously pressing her hand closer and closer, in the embarrassment of the moment. I never was in the least offended. I made allowances upon my honour I did for poor Mrs. Milrai's illness. Offended cried Alan, reverting energetically to the old complimentary strain. I should like to have my basket of roots sent back every day if I could only be sure of its bringing you out into the paddock the first thing in the morning. Some of Miss Milrai's missing colour began to appear again in her cheeks. Oh, Miss Tammadale, there is really no end to your kindness, she said. You don't know how you relieve me. She paused. Her spirits rallied with as happy a readiness of recovery as if they had been the spirits of a child, and her native brightness of temper sparkled again in her eyes as she looked up, shyly smiling in Alan's face. Don't you think, she asked Demuli, that it is almost time now to let go of my hand? Their eyes met. Alan followed his instincts for the second time. Instead of releasing her hand, he lifted it to his lips and kissed it. All the missing tints of the rose he had sought returned to Miss Milrai's complexion on the instant. She snatched away her hand as if Alan had burned it. I'm sure that's wrong, Miss Tammadale, she said, and turned her head aside quickly for she was smiling in spite of herself. I meant it as an apology for holding your hand too long, Stammered Alan. An apology can be wrong, can it? There are occasions, though not many, when the female mind accurately appreciates and appeals to the force of pure reason. This was one of the occasions. An abstract proposition had been presented to Miss Milrai, and Miss Milrai was convinced. If it was meant as an apology, that she admitted made all the difference. I only hope, said the little goat, looking at him shyly, you're not misleading me. Not that it matters much now, she added, with a serious shake of her head. If we have committed any improprietism, Miss Tammadale, you are not likely to have the opportunity of committing many more. You're not going away, exclaimed Alan, in great alarm. Worse than that, Miss Tammadale, my new governance is coming. Coming, repeated Alan. Coming already? As good as coming, I ought to have said. Only I didn't know you wished me to be so very particular. They got the answers to the advertisements this morning. Papa and I opened them and read them together half an hour ago, and we both picked out the same letter from all the rest. I picked it out because it was so prettily expressed, and Papa picked it out because the terms were so reasonable. He is going to send the letter up to Grandma in London by today's post, and if she finds everything satisfactory an inquiry, the governance is to be engaged. You don't know how dreadfully nervous I'm getting about it already. A strange governance is such an awful prospect, but it is not quite so bad as going to school. And I have great hopes in this new lady because she writes such a nice letter. As I said to Papa, it almost reconciles me to her horrid and romantic name. What's her name, asked Alan. Brown? Grub? Scracks? Anything of that sort? Hush! Hush! Nothing quite so horrible as that. Her name is Guilt. Dreadfully unpractical, isn't it? Her reference must be a respectable person, though, for she lives in the same part of London as Grandmama. Stop, Mr. Amidale. We are going the wrong way. No, I can't wait to look at those lovely flowers of yours this morning. And many thanks. I can't accept your arm. I have stayed here too long already. Papa is waiting for his breakfast, and I must run back every step of the way. Thank you for making those kind allowances for Mama. Thank you again, and again, and goodbye. Won't you shake hands? asked Alan. She gave him her hand. No more apologies if you please, Mr. Amidale, she said, saucily. Once more their eyes met, and once more the plump dimpled little hand found its way to Alan's lips. It isn't an apology this time, cried Alan, precipitately defending himself. It's a mark of respect. She started back a few steps and burst out laughing. You won't find me in her grounds again, Mr. Amidale, she said merrily. Till I have got Miss Wilt to take care of me. With that farewell, she gathered up her skirts and ran back across the paddock at the top of her speed. Alan stood watching her in specialist admiration till she was out of sight. His second interview with Miss Mulroy had produced an extraordinary effect on him. For the first time since he had become the master of Thorpan Brose, he was absorbed in serious consideration of what he owed to his new position in life. The question is, wondered Alan, whether I hadn't better set myself right with my neighbors by becoming a married man? I shall take the day to consider, and if I keep in the same mind about it, I'll consult Midwinter tomorrow morning. When the morning came and when Alan descended to the breakfast room, resumeute to consult his friend on the obligations that he owed to his neighbors in general and to Miss Mulroy in particular, no Midwinter was to be seen. A making inquiry appeared that he had been observed in the hall, that he had taken from the table a letter which the morning's post had brought to him and that he had gone back immediately to his own room. Alan at once ascended the stairs again and knocked at his friend's door. May I come in? he asked. Not just now, was the answer. You have got a letter, haven't you? Persistent Alan. Any bad news? Anything wrong? Nothing. I'm not very well this morning. Don't wait breakfast for me. I'll come down as soon as I can. No more was said on either side. Alan returned to the breakfast room. I little disappointed. He had set his hat on rushing headlong into his consultation with Midwinter and here was the consultation indefinitely delayed. What an odd fellow he is, caught Alan. What on earth can he be doing? Locked him there by himself. He was doing nothing. He was sitting by the window with the letter which had reached him that morning opened in his hand. The handwriting was Mr. Brock's and the words written were these. My dear Midwinter, I have literally only two minutes before post time to tell you that I have just met in Kensington Gardens with the women whom we both only know thus far as the women with the red basely shawl. I have traced her and her companion, a respectable looking elderly lady to their residence after having distinctly heard Alan's name mentioned between them. Depend on my not losing sight of the women until I'm satisfied that she means no mischief at Thor Pambro's and expect to hear from me again as soon as I know how this strange discovery is to end. Very truly yours, Desimus Brock. After reading the letter for the second time, Midwinter folded it up thoughtfully and placed it in his pocketbook side by side with the manuscript narrative of Alan's dream. Your discovery will not end with you, Mr. Brock. He said, do what you will with the women. When the time comes, the women will be here. End of Chapter 4