 20. Captain Lake takes an evening stroll about Gillingdon. Again, I had serious thoughts of removing my person and effects to the Brandon arms. I could not quite believe I had seen a ghost, but neither was I quite satisfied that the thing was altogether a canny. The apparition, whatever it was, seemed to persecute me with a mysterious obstinacy. At all events, I was falling into a habit of seeing it, and I felt a natural desire to escape from the house, which was plagued with its presence. At the same time, I had an odd sort of reluctance to mention the subject to my entertainers. The thing itself was a ghostly slur upon the house, and to run away, I reproached my manhood, and besides, riding now at a distance. And in the spirit of history, I suspect the interest which beauty always excites had a great deal to do with my resolve to hold my ground. And I dare say, notwithstanding my other reasons, had the ladies at the hall been all either old or ugly, I would have to make a quick retreat to the village hotel. As it was, however, I was resolved to maintain my position. But that evening was straight with a tinge of horror. And I, more silent and straight than usual. The absence of an accustomed face, even though the owner would be nothing very remarkable, is always felt, and while there was mist, though, soothed to say, not very much regretted. For the first time, we were really a small party. Miss Lake was not there. The gallant captain, her brother, was also absent. The vicar and his good little wife were at Nottin that evening to hear a missionary recount his adventures and experiences in Japan, and none of the neighbors had been called in to fill the empty chairs. Dorcas Brandon did not contribute much to the talk, neither. In truth, Old Lady Chelford occasionally dozed and nodded sternly after tea, waking up and eyeing people grimly, as though inquiring whether anyone presumed to suspect her ladyship of having had a nap. Chelford, I recollect, took a book and read to us now and then a snatch of poetry. I forget what. My book, except when I was thinking of the tarn that old man ISO hated, was Miss Brandon's exquisite and mysterious face. That young lady was leaning back in her great oak chair, in which she looked like the heroine of some sad and gorgeous romance of the old civil wars of England, and directly begays of contemplative and haughty curiosity upon the old lady, who was unconscious of the daring profanation. All on a sudden, Dorcas Brandon said, and pray what do you think of marriage, Lady Chelford? What do I think of marriage, repeated the Dowager, throwing back her head and eyeing the beautiful heirs through her gold spectacles with a stony surprise, for she was not accustomed to be catechized by young people. Marriage? Why, to the divine institution, what can the child mean? Do you think, Lady Chelford, it may be safely contracted solely to join two estates? Pursuit the young lady. Do I think it may safely be contracted solely to join two estates, repeated the old lady, with a looking carriage that plainly showed how entirely she appreciated the amazing presumption of her enterocutrix? There was a little pause. Certainly, replied Lady Chelford. That is, of course, under proper conditions and with a due sense of its sacred character and obligations, the first of which is love, continued Miss Brandon, second honor, both involuntary in the third obedience, which springs from them. Old Lady Chelford coughed and then Rowling said, very good miss, and pray Lady Chelford, what do you think of Mr. Mark Wilder, pursued Miss Dorcas? I don't see, Miss Brandon, that my thoughts upon that subject can concern anyone but myself, retorted the old lady severely, and from an awful altitude, and I may say, concerning who I am in my years and the manner in which I am usually treated, I am a little surprised at the tone in which you are pleased to question me. These last terrible remarks totally failed to overall the serene temerity of the grave beauty. I assumed, Lady Chelford, as you had interested yourself in me so far as to originate the idea of my engagement to Mr. Wilder, that you had considered these to me very important questions a little, and could give me satisfactory answers upon points on which my mind has been employed for some days. And indeed, I think I have a right to ask that assistance of you. You seem to forget, young lady, that there are times and places for such discussions, and that, to Mr. Your Visitor, a glance at me, it can't be very interesting to listen to this kind of conversation, which is neither very entertaining nor very wise. I am answerable only for my part of it, and I think my questions very much to the purpose, said the young lady in her low, silvery tones. I don't question your good opinion, Miss Brandon, of your own discretion, but I can't see any profit in now discussing an engagement of more than two months standing, or a marriage which is fixed to take place only ten days hence, and I think, sir, glancing again at me, it must strike you a little oddly that I should be invited in your presence to discuss family matters with Miss Dorcas Brandon. Now, was it fair to call a peaceable inhabitant like me into the thick of a fray like this? I paused long enough to allow Miss Brandon to speak, but she did not choose to do so, thinking, I suppose it was my business. I believe I ought to have withdrawn a little, I said, very humbly. An old lady Chelford, at the word shod a gleam of contemptuous triumph at Miss Dorcas, but I would not acquiesce in the doubt of her's abusing my concession to the prejudice of that beautiful and daring young lady. I mean, Lady Chelford, in deference to you, who are not aware, as Miss Brandon is, that I am one of Mr. Wilder's oldest and most intimate friends, and that his request and with Lord Chelford's approval have been advised with in detail upon all the arrangements connected with the approaching marriage. I am not going at present to say any more upon these subjects, because Lady Chelford prefers deferring our conversation, said this very odd young lady. But there's nothing which either she or I may say, which I wish to conceal from any friend of Mr. Wilder's. The idea of Miss Brandon seriously thinking of withdrawing from her engagement with Mark Wilder, I confess never entered my mind. Lady Chelford perhaps knew more of the capricious and daring character of the ladies of the Brandon line than I, and may have discovered some signs of a coming storm in the oracular questions which had fallen so harmoniously from those beautiful lips. As for me, I was puzzled. The old viscountess was flushed. She did not usual and very angry. And I think uncomfortable, though she affected her usual supremacy. But the young lady showed no sign of excitement and lay back in her chair in her usual deep, cold calm. Lake's Lake smoking with Wilder must have disagreed with him very much indeed, for he seemed more out of sorts as night approached. He stole away from Mr. Larkin's trellis porch in the dusk. He marched into the town rather quickly like a man who has business on his hands. But he had none, for he walked by the Brandon arms and halted and stared at the post office. As if he fancied, he had something to say there. But no, there was no need to tap at the wooden window pane. Some idle boys were observing the dandy captain, and he turned down the short lane that opened on the common and sauntered upon the short grass. Two or three groups and an invalid visitor or two for Gillendon boasts a spa were lounging away the twilight half hours there. He seated himself on one of the rustic seats and his yellow eyes wandered restlessly and vaguely along the outline of the beautiful hills. Then for nearly 10 minutes he smoked an odd recreation for a man suffering from the cigars of last night. And after that, for nearly as long again, he seemed lost in deep thought, his eyes upon the misty grass before him and his small French boot beating time to the music of his thoughts. Several groups passed close by him in their pleasant circuit. Some wondered what might be the disease of that pale, peevish-looking gentleman who sat there so still, languid and dejected. Others set him down as a gentleman in difficulties of some sort, who was using Gillendon for a temporary refuge. Others again, suppose he might be that major chronic, who had lost 30,000 pounds on van der Dek in the other day. Others knew he was staying with Mr. Larkin and suppose he was trying to raise money at disadvantage and remarked that some of Mr. Larkin's clients looked always unhappy, so they had so godly an attorney to deal with. When Lake, with a little shudder for it, was growing chill, lifted up his yellow eyes suddenly and recollected where he was. The common had grown dark and was quite deserted. There were lights in the windows of the reading room and in the billard room beneath it and shadowy figures with cues in their hands gliding hither and thither across its uncurtained windows. With a shrug and a stealthy glance around him, Captain Lake started up. The instinct of the lonely and gloomy man unconsciously drew him towards the light and he approached. A bat, attracted thither like himself, was flitting and flickering this way and that across the casement. Captain Lake waiting with his hand on the door handle for the stroke heard the smack of the balls and the score called by the marker and entered the hot glaring room. Old Major Jackson with his glass in his eye was contending in his shirt sleeves, heroically with the Manchester Bagman who was palpably too much for him. The double chin and Florida proprietor of the Brandon Arms with a brandy and water familiarity offered Captain Lake two to one on the game and anything he liked which the captain declined and took his seat on the bench. He was not interested by the struggle of the Gallant Major who smiled like a prize fighter under his punishment. In fact, he could not have told the score at any point of the game and to judge by his face was translated from the glare of that arena into a dark and splenetic world of his own. When he wakened up in the buzz and clack of tongues that followed the close of the game, Captain Lake glared around for a moment like a man called up from sleep. The noise rattled and roared in his ears. The talk sounded madly and the phases of the people excited and menaced him undefinably and he felt as if he was on the point of starting to his feet and stamping and shouting. The fact is I suppose he was confoundly nervous, dispeptic, or whatever else it might be and the heat and glare were too much for him. So out he went into the chill fresh night air and round the corner into the quaint main street of Gillendon and walked down it in the dark nearly to the last house by the corner of the ribbon's Del Road and then back again and so on trying to tire himself I think and every time he walked down the street with his face toward London, his yellow eyes gleamed through the dark air on the fixed gaze of a man looking out for the appearance of a vehicle. It perhaps indicated an anxiety and a mental lookout in that direction for he really expected no such thing. Then he dropped into the brand in arms and had a glass of branding water and a newspaper in the coffee room and then he ordered a fly and drove it into lawyer Larkin's house the lodge it was called and entered Mr. Larkin's drawing room very cheerfully how quiet you are here so the captain I have been awfully dissipated since I saw you in an innocent way my dear Captain Lake you mean of course in an innocent way oh no billards I assure you do you play oh dear no not that I see any essential harm in the game as a game for those I mean who don't object to that sort of thing but for resident here putting aside other feelings a resident holding a position it would not do I assure you there are people there whom one could not associate with comfortably I don't care I hope how poor a man maybe but do let him be a gentleman I own to that prejudice a man my dear Captain Lake whose father before him has been a gentleman old Larkin while in the flesh was an organist and kept a small day school at Doodle's Stone and his grandfather he did not care to inquire after and who has had the education of one does not feel himself at home you know I'm sure you have felt the same sort of thing yourself oh of course and I had such a nice walk on the common first and then a turn I've been down before the bread and arms where at last I read a paper I could not resist a glass of brandy and water and growing lazy came home in a fly so I think I have had a very gay evening Larkin smelled benign and would have said something no doubt worth hearing but at that moment the door opened and his old cook and elderly parlor made no breath of scandal ever troubled the serene fair fame of his household and everyone allowed that in the prudential virtues at least he was nearly perfect and sledding the groom walked in with those sad faces which I suppose were first learned in the belief that they were acceptable to their master oh so Mr. Larkin low reverential tone and the smile vanished prayers well then if you permit me being a little tired I'll go to my bedroom with a graven and affectionate interest Mr. Larkin looked in his face inside a little and said might I perhaps venture to beg just this one night that chastened and intruding look it was hard to resist but somehow the whole thing seemed to like to say to allow me this ones to prescribe to give your poor soul this one chance and Lake answered him superciluously and irreverently no thank you no any prayers I require I can manage for myself thank you good night and he liked a bedroom candle and left the room what a beast that fellow is I don't know why the I stay in this house one reason was perhaps that it saved him nearly a day and he may have had some other little reasons just then family prayers indeed and such a pair of women witches by Joe in that drastically groomed and a hypocritical attorney and the vulgar brute will be as rich as crosses I dare say here's the low queen Stanley Lake in that gentleman's ordinary vein his momentary discuss had restored him for a few seconds to his normal self but certain anxieties of a rather ghastly kind and speculations as to what might be going on in London just then around him again like armed giants and another moment in the riches or hypocrisy of his host were no more to him than those of overreach or end of chapter 20 chapter 21 of Wilders Hand this is a LibriVox recording all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Wilders Hand by Jay Sheridan Le Fanu chapter 21 in which Captain Lake visits his sister's sick bed I suspect there are very few mere hypocrites on earth of course I do not reckon those who are under a compulsion to affect purity of manners and a holy integrity of heart and there are such but those who volunteer an extraordinary profession of holiness being all the wild conscious villains the fairies even while devouring widows houses believed honestly in their own supreme righteousness I'm afraid our friend Joss Larkin wore a mask I'm sure he often wore it when he was quite alone I don't know indeed that he ever took it off he was perhaps content to see it even when he looked in the glass and had not a very distinct idea what the underlying features might be it answers with the world it almost answers with himself pity it won't do everywhere when Moses went to speak with God says the Admiral Hall he pulled off his veil it was good reason he should present to God that face which he had made there had been more need of his veil to hide the glorious face of God from him than to hide his from God hypocrites are contrary to Moses he showed his worst to men his best to God they show their best to men their worst to God but God sees both their veil and their face and I know not whether he more hates their veil of dissimulation or their face of wickedness Captain Lake wanted rest sleep quiet thoughts at all events when he was alone he was at once in a state of fever and gloom and seemed always watching for something his strange eyes glanced now this way now that with the fierce restlessness now to the window not the door and you would have said he was listening intently to some indistinct and too distant conversation affecting him vitally there was such a look of fear and conjecture always in his face he bolted his door and unlocked his dressing case and from little silver box and that glittering repository he took one after the other two or three little wafers of a dark hue and placed him successfully on his tongue and suffered them to melt and so swallowed them they were not licorice I'm afraid Captain Lake dabbled a little in opium he was on a great adept yet at least like those gentlemen who can swallow 500 drops of laudanum at a sitting but he knew the virtues of the drug and cultivated its acquaintance and was often or under its influence and perhaps an immortal except himself suspected the greater part of mankind are upon the whole happier and more cheerful than they are always willing to allow nature subserves the majority she smiled very brightly next morning there was a twittering of small birds among the brown leaves and ivy and a thousand other pleasant sounds and sights stirring in the sharp sunny air the sort of inflexible merry making in nature seems marvellously selfish in the eyes of anxious captain lake fear hath torment and fear is the worst ingredient in mental pain this is the reason why suspense is so intolerable and the retrospect even of the worst less terrible Stanley Lake would have given more than he could well afford that it were that day week and he knows us off why did time limp so tediously away with him prolonging his anguish gratuitously he felt chugulantly it would have murdered that week if he could in the midst of its loitering sunshine in gady there was a strange pain in his heart and the pain of intense and fruitless calculation in his brain and has the mohometon praise towards mecca and the jew towards jerusalem so captain lake's morning horizons whatsoever they were were offered at the window of his bedroom toward london from once he looked for his salvation or might be the other thing with a dreadful yearning he hated the fresh glitter of that morning scene why should the world be cheerful it was a repast spread of which he could not partake in it spited him yes it was selfish and hating selfishness he would have struck the sun out of the sky that morning with his walking cane if he could and draped the world in black he saw from his window the good vicar walk smiling by a white choker in city black his little boy holding by his fingers and capering and wailing in front and smiling up his face they were very busy talking little fairy used to walk when parochial visits were not very distant with his wop see how that name came about no one remembered but the vicar answered to it more cheerily than to any other the little man was solitary and these rambles were a delight a beautiful smiling little fellow very exacting of attention troublesome perhaps he was so sociable and needed sympathy and companionship and repaid it with a boundless sensitive love the vicar told him the stories of david and goliath and joseph and his brethren and of the wondrous birth in bethlehem of judaea the star that led the wise men and the celestial song heard by the shepherds keeping their flocks by night in snatches of pilgrim's progress and sometimes when they made a feast and eat their penny worth of cherries sitting on the style he treated him i am afraid to the profane histories of jack the giant killer and the yellow dwarf the vicar had theories about imagination and fancied it with an important faculty and that the creator had not given children their unextinguishable love of stories to no purpose i don't envy the man who is superior to the society of children what can he gain from the children's talk is it witty or wise or learned be frank just not honestly a mere noise and interruption a musical cackling of geists and silvery brain of tiny asses well say i out of my large acquaintance there are not many men to whom i would go for wisdom learning is better found in books and as for wit is it always pleasant the most companionable men are not always the greatest intellects they laugh and though they don't converse they make a cheerful noise and show cheerful countenance there was not a great deal and will honeycomb for instance but our dear mr spectator tells us somewhere that he laughed easily which i think quite accounts for his acceptance with a club he was kindly and enjoying what is it that makes your dog so charming a companion in your walks simply that he thoroughly likes you and enjoys himself he appeals imperceptibly to your affections which cannot be stirred such as god's will ever so lightly without some little throwings of happiness and through the subtle absorbance of your sympathy he infuses into you something of his own hilarious and exulting spirit when stanley lake saw the vicar the lines of his pale face contracted strangely and his wild gaze followed him and i don't think he breathed once until the thin smiling man in black with the little gambling bright boy holding his hand had passed by he was thinking you may be sure of his brother mark when lake had ended his toilet and stared in the glass he still looked so staggered that on greeting mr larkin in the parlor he thought it necessary to mention that he had taken cold in that confounded billard room last night which spoiled asleep and made him awfully see that morning of course his house was properly afflicted and sympathetic by the by i had a letter this morning from that party our common friend mr w you know said larkin gracefully well what is he doing and when does he come back you mean wilder of course yes my good client mr mark wilder permit me to assist you to some honey you'll find it remarkably good i venture to say it comes from the gardens of queens oddly the late mark he you know prided himself on his honey and my friend thornberry cousin of sir Frederick lormiri i suppose you know him an east indian judge you know very kindly left it at dollington for me on his way to barrel of epsom's thank you delicious i'm sure it has been such good company may seem wilders note that is if there's no private business oh certainly and with wilders great red seal on the back of the envelope the letter ran thus dear larkin i write in haste to save post to say i shall be detained in town a few days longer than i thought don't wait for me about the parchment's i'm satisfied if anything crosses your mind a word with mr desi at the hall will clear all up have all ready to sign and see you when i come back certainly within week you're sincerely and wilder london it was evidently written in great haste with the broad nib pen he liked but notwithstanding to sort of swagger with which the writing marched across the page lake might have seen here in their little quaver indicative of something different from haste the vibrations of another sort of flurry certainly within a week he writes does he mean he'll be here in a week or only to have the papers ready in a week asked lake the question certainly does rise it struck me on the first bruisell answered the attorney his address is rather a wide one too london do you know this club captain lake the wanderers he has left the united service nothing for me by the way no letter no tom mew i hate them so the captain i wonder how my sister is this morning would you like a messenger i'll send down with pleasure to inquire thank you know i'll walk down his ear and lake yand at the window and then took his hat and stick and saunter towards gillingdon at the post office window he tapped with the silver tip of his cane and told miss driver with a sleepy smile i'm going down to redmond's farm and any letters for my sister miss lake i may as well take with me everybody's in business in the town of gillingdon by this time you captain lake in his belongings a most respectable party a high man and of course there was no difficulty there was only one letter the address was written miss lake redmond's farm your brandon park gillingdon in a stiff hand rather slant and backwards captain lake put it in his pale taut pocket looked in her face gently and smiled and think turned in his graceful way and in fact left an enduring impression upon that impressible nature turning up the dark road at remonstelle the gallant captain passed the old mill and all being quiet up and down the road he halted under the lordly shadow the clump of chestnuts and opened and read the letter he had just taken charge of it contained only these words Wednesday on Friday night next at half past 12 this he read twice or thrice pausing between wiles the envelope bore the London postmark then he took out a cigar case selecting a promising weed and wrapping the little conic note prettily round one of the scented matches lighted it in the note flamed pale in the daylight and dropped still blazing at the root of the old tree he stood by and sent up a little curl of blue smoke an incense to the demon of the wood and turned in a minute more into a black film overrun by a hundred creeping sparkles and having completed his mysterious incrimination he with his yellow eyes made a stolen glance around enlightened his cigar glided gracefully up the steep road under the psalm can be of old timber to the sound of a moaning stream below and the rustle of withered leaves about him towards Raymond's farm as he entered the flower garden the jaundice face of old tamar with its thousand small wrinkles and its ominous gleam of suspicion was looking out from the darken porch the white cap her chief and drapery curdeced to him as he drew near and the dismal face changed not well tamar how do you do how are all where is that girl marjorie in the kitchen master stanley said she courtesy and again are you sure so captain lake peeping towards that apartment over the old woman's shoulder certainly sure master stanley well come upstairs to your mistresses rooms of lake mounting the stairs with his hat in his hand and on tiptoe like a man approaching a sick chamber there was something i think grim and spectral in this ceremonious ascend to the empty chamber children had once occupied that silent floor for there was a little ballastrauded gate across the top of the staircase i keep this close at old tamar and forbid her to cross it lest she should disturb the mistress heaven forgive me very good he whispered any peeped over the banister and then entered rachel's silent room darkened with closed shutters the white curtains and white coverlets so like the dark chamber of white death he had intended speaking to tamar there but changed his mind or rather could not make up his mind and he loitered silently and stood with the curtain in his gloved hand looking upon the whole coverlet as if rachel did there that will do he said awaking from his wandering thought we'll go down now tamar and in the same stealthy way walking lightly and slowly down the stairs they went and stately entered the kitchen how do you do marjorie you'll be glad to hear your mistresses better you must run down to the town though and buy some jelly and you are to bring her back change of this and he placed half a crown in her hand put on your bonnet and my old shawl child and take the basket and come back by the side door croaked old tamar so the girl dried her hands she was washing the tea cups and in twinkling was equipped and on her way to gillingdon end of chapter 21 chapter 22 of wilder's hand this is a library box recording all library box recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit library box dot org recording by ellen wong wilder's hand by jay sherdon lefinou chapter 22 in which captain lake meets a friend near the white house lake had no very high opinion of men or women gentle or simple she listens i dare say the little spy said he no master stanley she's a good little girl she quite believes her mistress is upstairs eh yes the lord forgive me i'm deceiving her he did not like the tone and look what you company this now my good old tamar you really can't be such an idiot as to fancy there can be any imaginable wrong in keeping that prying little slut in ignorance of that which in no wise concerns her this is a critical matter do you see and if it were known in this place that your young mistress had gone away as she has done though quite innocently upon my honor i think it would blast her you would not like for stupid crap shut to room poor radi i fancy i'm doing just what you both been me said the old woman you sit upstairs chiefly she nodded sadly and keep the hall door shut embolted again she nodded i'm going up to the hall and i'll tell them she's much better and that i've been in her room and that perhaps she may go up to see them in the morning old tamar shook her head and groaned how long is all this to go on for master stanley why did you tamar can't you listen he said clutching her wrist in his lavender kid grasp rather roughly how long a very short time i tell you she'll be home immediately i'll come tomorrow and tell you exactly maybe tomorrow evening will that do and should they call you must say the same and if miss dork is miss brandon you know should wish to go up to see her tell her she's asleep stop that hypocritical grimacing will you it is no part of your duty to tell the world what can't possibly concern them it may bring your young mistress to perdition that does not strike me as any part of your religion tamar groaned again and she said i opened my bible lord helped me three times today master stanley it could not go on it's no use i can't read it time enough i think you've read more than is good for you i think you are mad tamar but think what you may it must be done have not you read of straining at gnats and swollen camels use not i've heard to be always so scrupulous old tamar there was a vile sarcasm in his tone and look it is not for the child i nursed to say that said tamar there were scandalous stories of wicked old tyberius bankrupt dead and buried compromising the fame of tamar not always a spectacled and cadaverous student of holy writ these indeed were even in stanley's childhood old world hazy traditions of the servants hall but boys here often more than is good and more than gospel who live in such houses as old general lake the old millionaire widower kept i did not mean anything upon my honor tamar that could annoy you i only meant you use not to be a fool and pray don't begin now for i assure you rady and i would not ask it if it could be avoided you have miss rady's secret in your hands i don't think you'd like to injure her and you used to be trustworthy i don't think your bible teaches you anywhere to hurt your neighbor and to break faith don't speak of the bible now but you needn't fear me master stanley answered the old woman a little sternly i don't know why she's gone nor why it's a secret i don't and i'd rather not poor miss rady she never heard anything but what was good from old tamar whatever i might happen myself miserable sinners are we all and i'll do as you've been me and have done master stanley however it troubles my mind and now old tamar's words spoke that's all old tamar is a sensible creature as she always was i hope i did not vex you tamar it did not mean i assure you but we get rough ways in the army i'm afraid and you won't mind me you never did mind little stanney when he was naughty you know there was here a little subsidence in his speech he was thinking of giving her a crown but there were several reasons against it so that handsome coin remained in his purse and i forgot to tell you tamar i have a ring for you in town a little souvenir you'll think it pretty a gold ring with a stone in it it belonged to poor dear and jamaima you remember i left it behind so stupid so he shook hands with old tamar and patted her affectionately on the shoulder and he said keep the hall door bolted maybe any excuse you like only would not do for anyone to open it and run up to the room as they might so don't forget to secure the door when i go i think that is all tata dear tamar i'll see you in the morning as i walked down the mill road toward the town he met lord chelford on his way to make inquiry about rachel at remins farm and lake who as we know had just seen his sister gave him all particulars chelford like the lawyer had heard from mark wilder that morning a few lines postponing his return he merely mentioned it and made no comment but lake perceived that he was annoyed at his unexplained absence lake dined at brandon that evening and though looking ill was very good company and promised to bring an early report of rachel's convalescence in the morning i have little to record of next day except that larkin received another one letter wilder plainly wrote ingrid haste and merely said i shall have to wait a day or two longer than i yesterday thought to meet a fellow from whom i am to receive something of importance rather as i think to me get the deeds ready as i said in my last if i am not engillianed in by monday we must put off the wedding for a week later there is no help for it you need not talk of this i write to chelford to say the same this note was as unceremonious and still shorter or chelford would have written out ones to remonstrate with mark on the unseenliness of putting off his marriage so capriciously or at all events so mysteriously miss brandon not being considered nor her friends consulted but mark had a decided objection to many letters he had no fancy to be worried when he had made up his mind by pros and remonstrances and he shut out the whole tribe of letter writers by simply omitting to give them his address his cool impertinence and especially this cunning precaution incensed old lady chelford she would have liked to write him one of those terse courteous biting notes for which she was famous and her fingers morally tingled to box's ears but was to be done with mere london wilder was hidden from moral site like a heaven protected hero in the iliad and a cloud of invisibility girdled him like most rustic communities gillingdon and its neighborhood were early in bed few lights burned off after half past ten and the whole vicinity was deep in its lumbars before 12 o'clock at that dread hour captain lake about a mile on the dollington which was the old london road from gillingdon was pacing backward and forward under the towering files of beach that over our it at that point the white house public was a wide panel over its door presenting intense subdued by time a stage coach and four horses and made career lay a few hundred yards near to gillingdon not a soul was stirring not a sound but those sad and soothing of nature was to be heard stanley lake did not like waiting any more than did louis the 14th he was really a little tired of acting sentry and was very peevish by the time the ring of wheels and horse hoofs approaching from the london direction became audible even so he had a longer wait than he expected sounds are heard so far by night at last however it drew near nearer quite close in a sort of nondescript vehicle one horse loomed in the dark and he calls hello there i say a passenger for the white house at the same moment a window of the cab shall we call it was let down and a female voice rachel lakes called to the driver to stop lake addressed the driver you come from johnson's hotel don't you at dollington yes sir well i'll pay you half fair to bring me there all right sir but the os sir must have is fust feed him here then they are all asleep in the white house i'll be with you in five minutes and you shall have something for yourself when we get into dollington stanley opened the door she placed her hand on his and stepped to the ground it was very dark under those great trees he held her hand a little harder than was his wand all quite well ever since you are not very tired are you i'm afraid it will be necessary for you to walk to reman's farm dear radi but it's hardly a mile i think for you see the fellow must not know who you are and i must go back with him for i have not been very well indeed i've been i may say very ill and i told that fellow larkin who has his eyes about him and would wonder what kept me out so late and i would run down to some of the places near for a change and sleep at night there and that's the reason dear radi i can walk only a short way with you but you are not afraid to walk a part of the way home without me you are so sensible and you have been really so very kind i assure you i appreciate it radi i do indeed and i'm very grateful i am upon my word rachel answered with a heavy sigh end of chapter 22 recording by ellen wong chapter 23 of wilder's hand this is a libra vox recording all libra vox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit libra vox.org wilder's hand by jay sheridan lyff anu chapter 23 how rachel slept that night in redmond's farm allow me pray do and he took her little bag from her hand i hope you are not very tired darling you've been so very good and you're not afraid you know the place is so quiet of the little walk by yourself take my arm i'll go as far as i can but it is very late you know and you assure you are not afraid i ought to be afraid of nothing now stanley but i think i am afraid of everything merely a little nervous it's nothing i've been wretchedly since myself but i'm so glad you are home again you shall have no more trouble i assure you a non-creature suspects you have been from home old tamar has behaved admirably rachel sighed again and said yes poor tamar and now dear i'm afraid i must leave you i'm very sorry but you see how it is keep to the shady side close by the hedge where the trees stop but i'm certain you will meet no one tamar will tell you who has called hardly anyone i saw them myself every day at brandon and told them you are ill you've been very kind radi i assure you i'll never forget it you'll find tamar up and watching for you i arranged all that and i need not say you'll be very careful not to let that girl of yours hear anything you'll be very quiet she suspects nothing and i assure you so far as personal annoyance of any kind is concerned you may be perfectly at ease good night radi god bless you dear i wish very much i could see you all the way but there's a risk in it you know good night dear radi by the by here's your bag i'll take the rug it's too heavy for you and it may as well have it to dollington he kissed her cheek in his slight way and left her and was soon on his way to dollington where he slept that night rather more comfortably than he had done since rachel's departure rachel walked on swiftly very tired but not at all sleepy on the contrary excited and nervous and rather relieved notwithstanding that stanley had left her to walk home alone it seemed to her that more than a month had passed since she saw the mill road last how much had happened how awful was the change familiar objects glided past her the same if the fashion of the countenance was altered they was something estranged and threatening the pretty parsonage was now close by in the do's of night the spirit of peace and slumbers smiled over it but the sight of its deep roof and only chimney stacks smote with a shock at her brain and heart a troubled moan escaped her she looked up with the instinct of prayer and clasped her hands on the handle of that little bag which had made the mysterious journey with her a load which no man could lift lay upon her heart then she commenced her dark walk up the mill road her hand still clasped her lips moving and broken appeals to heaven she looked neither to the right nor to the left but passed on with inflexible gaze and hasty steps like one who crosses a plank over some awful chasm in such darkness redmond's dell was a solemn not to say an awful spot and at any time i think rachel in a like solitude and darkness would have been glad to see the red glimmer of old tamar's candle proclaiming under the branches the neighborhood of human life and sympathy the old woman with her shawl over her head sat listening for her young mistresses approach on the little side bench in the trellist porch and tottered hastily forth to meet her at the garden wicked whispering full on welcomes and thanksgivings which rachel answered only with a kiss safe safe at home thank heaven at least for that secluded once more hidden in redmond's dell but never again to be the same the careless mind no more the summer sunshine through the trees the leafy songs of birds obscured in the smoke and drowned in the discord of an untold and everlasting trouble the hall door was now shut and bolted wise old tamar had turned the key upon the sleeping girl there was nothing to be feared from prying eyes and listening ears you were cold miss radion tired for a thing i lit a bit of fire in your room miss would you like me to go upstairs with you miss come and so upstairs they went and the young lady looked around with strange anxiety like a person seeking for something and forgetting what and sitting down she leaned her head on her hand with a moan the living picture of despair you've a headache miss radion said the old woman standing by her with that painful inquiry which sat naturally on her face a heartache tomorrow let me help you off with these things miss radie dear the young lady did not seem to hear but she allowed tomorrow to remove her cloak and hat and handkerchief the old servant had placed the tea things on the table and what remained of that wine of which danley had partaken on the night from which the eclipse of rachel's life dated so without troubling her with questions she made tea and then some niggas with careful and trembling hands no said rachel a little pettishly and put it aside see now miss radie dear you look awful sick and tired you are tired to death and pale and sorry my dear child and to please old tomorrow you'll just drink this thank you tomorrow i believe you were right the truth was she needed it and in the same dejected way she sipped it slowly and then there was a long silence the silence of a fatigue like that of fever near which sleep refuses to come but she sat in that waking lethargy in which are sluggish dreams of horror and neither eyes nor ears for that which is before us when at last with another great sigh she lifted her head her eyes rested on old tomorrow's face at the other side of the fireplace with a dark dull surprise and puzzle for a moment as if she could not tell why she was there or where the place was and then rising up with piteous look in her old nurse's face she said oh tomorrow tomorrow it is a dreadful world so it is miss radie answered the old woman her glittering eyes returning her sad gaze woefully I so it is sure and such it wasn't will be for so the scripture says cursed is the ground for thy sake hard to the body avail of tears dark to the spirit but it is the hand of God that is upon you and like me you will say at last it is good for me that I have been in trouble lie down dear miss radie and I'll read to you the blessed words of comfort that have been sealed for me ever since I saw you last they have but that's over and she turned up her pallet puckered face and with a trembling and knotted pair of hands uplifted she muttered an awful thanksgiving Rachel said nothing but her eyes rested on the floor and with the quiet obedience of her early childhood she did as tomorrow said and the old woman assisted her to undress and so she lay down with a sigh in her bed and tomorrow her rounds spectacles by this time on her nose sitting at the little table by her pillow read in a solemn and somewhat quavering voice such comfortable passages as came first to memory Rachel cried quietly as she listened and at last worn out by many feverish nights and the fatigues of her journey she fell into a disturbed slumber with many startings and sudden wakings with cries and strange excitement. Ultima would not leave her but kept her seat in the high-backed armchair throughout the night like a nurse as indeed she was in a sick chamber and so that weary night limped tediously away and morning dawned and tips the discolored foliage of the Glen with its glow awaking the songs of all the birds and dispersing the white mists of darkness and Rachel with a start awoke and sat up with a wild look and a cry. What is it? Nothing dear Miss Rady, only poor old Tamar. And a new day had begun. LIBERVOX.ORG Recording by Rachel Lapetus. Wilder's Hand by J. Sheridan Lafannou Chapter 24 Dorcas Brandon pays Rachel a visit. It was not very much past eleven that morning when the pony carriage from Brandon drew up before the little garden wicket of Redamonds Farm. The servant held the pony's heads and Miss Dorcas passed through the little garden and met old Tamar in the porch. Better today Tamar, inquired this grand and beautiful young lady. The sun glimmered through the boughs behind her. Her face was in shade and its delicate chiseling was brought out in soft reflected lights. And old Tamar looked on her in a sort of wonder. Her beauty seemed so celestial and splendid. While she was better, though she had had a bad night, she was up and dressed and this moment coming down and would be very happy to see Miss Brandon if she would step into the drawing room. Miss Brandon took old Tamar's hand gently and pressed it. I suppose she was glad and took this way of showing it. And tall, beautiful, graceful, in rustling silks, she glided into the tiny drawing room silently and sat down softly by the window, looking out upon the flowers and the fallen leaves modelled in light and shadow. We have been accustomed to see another girl, bright and fair-haired Rachel Lake in the small rooms of Redmond's Farm. But Dorcas only in rich and stately Brandon Hall, the beautiful genius loci under lofty ceilings curiously molded in the first James' style, amid carved oak and rich draperies, tall china vases, paintings and cold white statues. And somehow in this low-roofed room, so small and homely, she looks like a displaced divinity, an exile under Juno's jealousy from the cloudy splendours of Olympus, dazzlingly melancholy, and umano mahor among the meannesses and trumperies of earth. So there came a step and a little rustling of feminine draperies. The small door opened and Rachel entered with her hand extended and a pale smile of welcome. Women can hide their pain better than we men, and bear it better too, except when shame drops fire into the dreadful chalice. But poor Rachel Lake had more than that stoical hypocrisy which enables the tortured spirits of her sex to lift a pale face through the flames and smile. She was sanguine, she was genial and companiable, and her spirits rose at the sight of a friendly face. This transient spring and lighting up are beautiful, a glamour beguiling our senses. It awakens up the frozen spirit of enjoyment and leaves the sad faculties forth on a wild, forgetful frolic. Rachel, dear, I'm so glad to see you, said Dorcas, placing her arms gently about her neck and kissing her twice or thrice. There was something of sweetness and fondness in her tones and manner, which was new to Rachel and comforting, and she returned the greeting as kindly and felt more like her former self. You have been more ill than I thought, darling, and you are still far from quite recovered. Rachel's pale and sharpened features and dilated eye struck her with a painful surprise. I shall soon be as well as I am ever likely to be, that is quite well, answered Rachel. You have been very kind. I've heard of your coming here and sending so often. They sat down side by side and Dorcas held her hand. Maybe, Rachel, dear, you would like to drive a little? No, darling, not yet. It is very good of you. You have been so ill, my poor Rachel. Ill and troubled, dear, troubled in mind and miserably nervous. Poor Rachel, her nature recoiled from deceit and she told at all events as much of the truth as she dared. Dorcas's large eyes rested upon her with a grave inquiry, and then Miss Brandon looked down in silence for a while on the carpet and was thinking a little sternly, maybe, and with a look of pain, still holding Rachel's hand, she said, with a sad sort of reproach in her tone. Rachel, dear, you have not told my secret? No indeed, Dorcas. Never, and never will, and I think, though I have learned to fear death, I would rather die than let Stanley even suspect it. She spoke with a sudden energy which partook of fear and passion, and flushed her thin cheek and made her languid eyes flash. Thank you, Rachel, my cousin, Rachel, my only friend, I ought not to have doubted you, and she kissed her again. Chelford had a note for Mr. Wilder this morning, another note, his coming delayed, and something of his having to see some person who was abroad continued Dorcas after a little pause. You have heard, of course, of Mr. Wilder's absence? Yes, something everything, said Rachel, hurriedly looking frowningly at a flower which she was twirling in her fingers. He chose an unlucky moment for his departure. I meant to speak to him and end all between us, and I would now write, but there is no address to his letters. I think Lady Chelford and her son begin to think there is more in this oddly timed journey of Mr. Wilder than first appeared. When I came into the parlor this morning I knew they were speaking of it. If he does not return in a day or two, Chelford, I am sure will speak to me, and then I shall tell him my resolution. Yes, said Rachel. I don't understand his absence. I think they are puzzled too. Can you conjecture why he is gone? Rachel made no answer, but rose with a dreamy look as of gazing at some distant objects among the dark masses of forest trees, and stood before the window, so looking across the tiny garden. I don't think, Rachel, dear. You heard me, said Dorcas. Can I conjecture why he is gone? murmured Rachel, still gazing with a wild kind of apathy into distance. Can I? What can it now be to you or me? Why? Yes, we sometimes conjecture right and sometimes wrong. There are many things best not conjectured about at all. Some interesting, some abominable, some that pass all comprehension. I never mean to conjecture, if I can help it again. And the wan oracle having spoken, she sat down in the same sort of abstraction again beside Dorcas, and she looked full in her cousin's eyes. I made you a voluntary promise, Dorcas, and now you will make me one. Of Mark Wilder, I say this. His name has been for years hateful to me, and recently it has become frightful, and you will promise me simply this, that you will never ask me to speak again about him. Be he near or be he far, I regard his very name with horror. Dorcas returned her gaze with one of haughty amazement, and Rachel said, Well, Dorcas, you promise? You speak truly, Rachel. You have a right to my promise. I give it. Dorcas, you are changed. Have I lost your love for asking so poor a kindness? I'm only disappointed, Rachel. I thought you would have trusted me as I did you. It is an antipathy, an antipathy I cannot get over, dear Dorcas. You may think it a madness, but don't blame me. Remember, I am neither well nor happy, and forgive what you cannot liken me. I have very few to love me now, and I thought you might love me, as I have begun to love you. Oh, Dorcas, darling, don't forsake me. I am very lonely here, and my spirits are gone, and I never needed kindness so much before. And she threw her arms round her cousin's neck, and brave Rachel at last burst into tears. Dorcas, in her strange way, was moved. I like you still, Rachel. I'm sure I'll always like you. You resemble me, Rachel. You are fearless, and inflexible, and generous. That spirit belongs to the blood of our strange race. All our women were so. Yes, Rachel, I do love you. I was wounded to find you had thoughts you would not trust to me. But I have made the promise, and I'll keep it, and I love you all the same. Thank you, Dorcas, dear. I like to call you cousin. Kindred is so pleasant. Thank you for my heart, for your love. You will never know, perhaps, how much it is to me. The young queen looked on her kindly. But sadly, through her large, strange eyes, clouded with a presage of futurity, and she kissed her again and said, Rachel, dear, I have a plan for you and me. We shall be old maids, you and I, and live together like the ladies of Lengalen. Careless and happy recluses. I'll let Brandon and abdicate. We will make a little tour together when all this shall have blown over in a few weeks, and choose our retreat. And with the winter snow, we'll vanish from Brandon, and appear with the early flowers at our cottage among the beautiful woods and hills of Wales. Will you come, Rachel? At sight of this castle or cottage in the air, Rachel lighted up. The little whim had something tranquilizing and balmy. It was escape. Flight from Gillingdon, flight from Brandon, flight from Redmond's Farm, they and all their hated associations would be far behind, and that awful page in her story, not torn out, indeed, but gummed down as it were, and no longer glaring and glowering in her eyes every moment of her waking life. So she smiled upon the picture painted on the clouds. It was the first thing that had interested her for days. It was a hope. She seized it. She clung to it. She knew, perhaps, it was the merus chimera. But it rested and consoled her imagination, and opened in the blackness of her sky one small vista, through whose silvery edge the blue and stars of heaven were visible. In the queer little drawing-room of Redmond's Farm it was twilight, so dense were the shadows from the great old chestnuts that surrounded it, before the sun was well beneath the horizon, and you could from its darkened window see its red beams still tinting the high grounds of Willarston, visible through the stems of the old trees that were massed in the near foreground. A figure which had lost its energy, a face stamped with the lines and pallor of a dejection almost guilty, with something of the fallen grace and beauty of poor Margaret as we see her with her forehead leaning on her slender hand by the sterless spinning wheel, the image of a strange and ineffacable sorrow sat Rachel Lake. Tomorrow might glide in and out. Her mistress did not speak. The shadows deepened round her, but she did not look up, nor call in the old cheerful accents for lights. No more roulades and ringing chords from the piano. No more clear-spirited tones of the lady's voice sounded through the low ceilings of Redmond's Farm, and thrilled with a haunting melody the deserted glen wherein the birds had ended their whisper songs and gone to rest. A step was heard at the threshold. It entered the hall. The door of the little chamber opened, and Stanley Lake entered, saying in a doubtful, almost timid way, It is I, Raddy, come to thank you, and just to ask you how you do, and to say I'll never forget your kindness. Upon my honour I never can. Rachel shuttered as the door opened, and there was a ghastly sort of expectation in her look. Imperfectly as it was seen, he could understand it. She did not bid him welcome or even speak. There was a silence. Now you're not angry with me, Raddy, dear. I venture to say I suffer more than you. And how could I have anticipated the strange turn things have taken? You know how it all came about, and you must see I'm not really to blame, at least in intention, for all this miserable trouble. And even if I were, where's the good and angry feeling or reproaches now? Don't you see, when I can't mend it? Come, Raddy, let bygones be bygones. There's a good girl, won't you? I, bygones are bygones. The past is indeed immutable, and the future is equally fixed, and more dreadful. Come, Raddy, a clever girl like you can make your own future. And what do you want of me now? she asked with a fierce cold stare. But I did not say I wanted anything. Of course you do, or I should not have seen you. Mark me, though. I'll go no further in the long root of wickedness you seem to have marked out for me. I'm sacrificed, it is true, but I won't renew my hourly horrors and live under the rule of your diabolical selfishness. Say what you will, but keep your temper, will you? he answered more like his angry self. But he checked the rising devil within him and changed his tone. He did not want a quarrel, quite the reverse. I don't know, really, Raddy, why you should talk as you do. I don't want you to do anything. Upon my honour I don't, only just to exercise your common sense, and you have lots of sense, Raddy. Don't you think people have eyes to see and ears and tugs in this part of the world? Don't you know very well in a small place like this they are all alive with curiosity? And if you choose to make such a tragedy figure and keep moping and crying and all that sort of thing and look so finessed and miserable, you'll be sure to fix attention and set the whole damned place speculating and gossiping? And really, Raddy, you're making mountains of molehills. It is because you live so solitary here, and it is such a gloomy out-of-the-way spot, so awfully dark and damp. Nobody could be well here, and you really must change. It is the very temple of blue devoury, and I assure you if I lived as you do I'd cut my throat before a month. You mustn't! An old tamar, you know, such a figure, the very priestess of despair. She gives me the horrors I assure you whenever I look at her. You must not keep her. She's of no earthly use, poor old thing. And you know, Raddy, we're not rich enough, you and I, to support other people. You must really place yourself more cheerfully, and I'll speak to Chilford about tamar. There's a very nice place—an asylum or something—for old women—near." Dollington he was going to say, but the associations were not pleasant. Near some of those little towns close to this, and he's a visitor, or governor, or whatever they call it. It is really not fair to expect you or me to keep people like that. She has not cost you much, hitherto, Stanley, and she will give you very little trouble hereafter. I won't part with tamar. She has not cost me much, said Lake, whose temper was not of a kind to pass by anything. No, of course she has not. I cannot afford a guinea. You're poor enough. But in proportion to my expenses, a woman, of course, can live on less than half what a man can. I'm a great deal poorer than you, and I never said I gave her sixpence, did I? I have not got it to give, and I don't think she's full enough to expect it. And to say the truth, I don't care. I only advise you. There are some cheerful little cottages near the Green, in Gillington, and I venture to think this is one of the very gloomiest and most uncomfortable places you could have selected to live in. Rachel looked drearily toward the window inside. It was almost a groan. It was cheerful always till this frightful week changed everything. Oh, why, why, why did you ever come? She threw back her pale face, biting her lip, and even in that deepening gloom her small pearly teeth glimmered white, and then she burst into sobs in an agony of tears. Captain Lake knew something of feminine paroxysms. Rachel was not given to hysterics. He knew this burst of anguish was unaffected. He was rather glad of it. When it was over, he expected clearer weather and calm. So he waited, saying now and then a soothing word or two. There, there, there, ready, there's a good girl. Never mind. There, there. And between wiles his mind, which in truth had a good deal upon it, would wander and pursue its dismal and perplexed explorations to the unheard accompaniment of her sobs. He went to the door, but it was not to call for water or for old Tamar. On the contrary, it was to observe whether she or the girl was listening. But the house, though small, was built with thick partition walls, and sounds were well enclosed in the rooms to which they belonged. With Rachel this weakness did not last long. It was aghast, violent, soon over, and the ore-charged heart and brain were relieved. And she pushed open the window and stood for a moment in the chill air and sighed, and whispered a word or two over the closing flowers of her little garden toward the darkening glen, and with another great sigh closed the window and returned. Can I do anything, Raddy? You're better now. I knew you would be. Shall I get some water from your room? No, Stanley. No, thank you. I'm very well now, she said, gently. Yes, I think so. I knew you'd be better. And he patted her shoulder with his soft hand, and then followed a short silence. I wish you were more pleasantly lodged, Raddy, but we can speak of that another time. Yes, you're right. This place is dreadful, and its darkness dreadful, but light is still more dreadful now, and I think I'll change. But as you say, there is time enough to think of all that. Quite so, time enough. By the by, Raddy, you mentioned our old servant whom my father thought so highly of, Jim Dutton, the other evening. I've been thinking of him, do you know, and I should like to find him out. He was a very honest fellow, and attached, and a clever fellow, too, my father thought, and he was a good judge. Hadn't you a letter from his mother lately? You told me so, I think. And if it is not too much trouble, dear Raddy, would you allow me to see it? Rachel opened her desk, and silently selected one of those clumsy and original misses directed in a staggering round hand, on paper oddly shaped and thick, such as mixes not naturally with the aristocratic fabric on which crests and ciphers are impressed, and placed it in her brother's hand. But you can't read it without light, said Rachel. No, but there's no hurry. Does she say where she is staying, or her son? Both, I think, answered Rachel languidly. But he'll never make a servant for you. He's a rough creature, she says, and was a groom. You can't remember him, nor I either. Perhaps, very likely, and he put the letter in his pocket. I was thinking, Rachel, you could advise me if you would. You were so clever, you know. Hadvise, said Rachel softly, but with a wild and bitter rage ringing under it. I did advise when it was yet time to profit by advice. I bound you even by a promise to take it. But you know how it ended. You don't want my advice. But really, I do, Raddy. I quite allow I was wrong. Worse than wrong. But where is the use of attacking me now when I'm in this dreadful fix? I took a wrong step. And what I now have to do is to guard myself, if possible, from what I'm threatened with. She fancied she saw his pale face grow more bloodless, even in the shadow where he sat. I know you too well, Stanley. You want no advice. You never took advice. You never will. Your desperate and ingrained perversity has ruined us both. I wish you'd let me know my own mind. I say I do, and he uttered an unpleasant exclamation. Do you think I'll leave matters to take their course and sit down here to be destroyed? I'm no such idiot. I tell you, I'll leave no stone unturned to save myself, and in some measure you too, Raddy. You don't seem to comprehend the tremendous misfortune that menaces me. Us! You and me! And he cursed Mark Wilder with a gasp of hatred not easily expressed. She winced at the name and brushed her hand to her ear. Don't, don't, don't! she said vehemently. Well, what the devil do you mean by refusing to help me, even with a hint? I say, I know all the odds are against us. It is sometimes a long game, but unless I'm sharp I can't escape what's coming. I can't. You can't, sooner or later. It is in motion already. Damn him. It's coming, and you expect me to do everything alone. I repeat it, Stanley, said Rachel, with a fierce cynicism in her low tones. You don't want advice. You have formed your plan, whatever it is, and that plan you will follow, and no other, though men and angels were united to dissuade you. There was a pause here, and a silence for a good many seconds. Well, perhaps I have formed an outline of a plan, and it strikes me as very well I have, for I don't think you are likely to take that trouble. I only want to explain it and get your advice in any little assistance you can give me, and surely that is not unreasonable. I have learned one secret, and am exposed to one danger. I have taken, to save you, it may be only a respite. One step, the remembrance of which is insupportable. But I was passive. I am fallen from light into darkness. There ends my share in your confidence and your fortunes. I will know no more secrets, no more disgrace. Do what you will, you shall never use me again. Suppose these heroics of yours, Miss Raddy, should contribute to bring about— To bring about the worst, said Stanley with a sneer, through which his voice trembled. Let it come. My resolution is taken. Stanley walked to the window, and in his easy way, as he would across a drawing-room to stand by a piano, and he looked out upon the trees, whose top stood motionless against the darkened sky, like masses of ruins. Then he came back as gently as he had gone, and stood beside his sister. She could not see his yellow eyes now, as he stood with his back to the window. Well, Raddy dear, you have put your hand to the plow, and you shan't turn back now. What? No, you shan't turn back now. You seem, sir, to fancy that I have no right to choose for myself, said Miss Rachel spiritedly. Now, Raddy, you must be reasonable. Who have I to advise with? Not me, Stanley. Keep your plots and your secrets to yourself. In the guilty path you have opened for me one step more I will never tread. Excuse me, Raddy, but you're talking like a fool. I am not sorry you think so. You can't understand modus higher than your own. You'll see that you must, though. You'll see it in a little while. Self-preservation, dear Raddy, is the first law of nature. For yourself, Stanley, and for me self-sacrifice, she retorted bitterly. Well, Raddy, I may as well tell you one thing that I'm resolved to carry out, said Lake, with a dreamy serenity, looking on the dark carpet. I'll hear no secret, Stanley. It can't be long a secret, at least from you. You can't help knowing it, he drawled gently. Do you recollect, Raddy, what I said that morning when I first called here and saw you? Perhaps I do, but I don't know what you mean, answered she. I said, Mark Wilde, don't name him, she said, rising and approaching him swiftly. I said he should go abroad, and so he shall, said Lake in a very low tone, with a grim oath. Why do you talk that way? You terrify me, said Rachel, with one hand raised toward his face, with a gesture of horror and entreaty, and the other closed upon his wrist. I say he shall, Raddy. As he lost his wits, I can't comprehend you. You frighten me, Stanley. You're talking wildly on purpose, I believe, to terrify me. You know the state I'm in. Sleepless, half-wild, all alone here. You're talking like a maniac. It's cruel. It's cowardly. I mean to do it. You'll see. Suddenly she hurried by him, and in a moment was in the little kitchen, with its fire and candle burning cheerly. Stanley Lake was at her shoulder as she entered, and both were white with agitation. Old Tamar rose up affrighted, her stiff arms raised, and uttered a blessing. She did not know what to make of it. Rachel sat down upon one of the kitchen chairs, scarce knowing what she did, and Stanley Lake halted near the threshold, gazing for a moment as wildly as she, with the ghost of his sly smile, on his smooth cadaverous face. What ails her? Is she ill, Master Stanley, asked the old woman, returning with her white eyes the young man's strange yellow glare? I don't know. Maybe— Give her some water, said Lake. Glass of water. Quick child! cried Old Tamar to Marjory. Put it on the table, said Rachel, collected now, but pale and somewhat stern. And now, Stanley dear, said she, for just then she was past caring for the presence of the servants. I hope we understand one another, at least that you do me. If not, it is not for one to distinctness on my part, and I think you had better leave me for the present, for to say truth I do not feel very well. Good night, Raddy. Good night, Old Tamar. I hope, Raddy, you'll be better. Every way, when next I see you. Good night. He spoke in his usual clear low tones, and his queer ambiguous smile was there still, and hat in hand, with his cane in his fingers, he made another glance and a nod over his shoulder at the threshold, and then glided forth into the little garden, and so to the mill-road, down which, at a swift pace, he walked towards the village. End of Chapter 25 Chapter 26 of Wilder's Hand This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Kathy Barrett Wilder's Hand by Jay Sheridan Lafanyou Chapter 26 Captain Lake Follows to London Wilder's Levanting in this way was singularly disconcerting. The time was growing short. He wrote with a stupid good humour, and an insolent brevity which took no account of Miss Brandon's position, or that, though secondary in awkwardness, of her noble relatives. Lord Chelford plainly thought more than he cared to say, and his mother, who never minced matters, said perhaps more than she quite thought. Chelford was to give the beautiful eras away, but the receiver of this rich and peerless gift, like some mysterious knight who, having carried all before him in the tourney, vanishes no one knows with her when the prize is about to be bestowed, and whom the summons of the Herald and the call of the trumpet follow in vain, had escaped them. Lake has gone up to town this morning, some business with his banker about his commission, and he says he will make Wilder out on his arrival and right to me, said Lord Chelford. Old Lady Chelford glanced across her shoulder at Dorcas, who leaned back in a great chair by the window, listlessly turning over a book. She's a strange girl. She does not seem to feel her situation—a most painful and critical one. That low, coarse creature must be looked up somehow. Lake knows where he is likely to be found, and we'll see him, I daresay, this evening, perhaps in time to write by tonight's post. So in a quiet key, Miss Dorcas being at a distance, though in the same room, the Dowager and her son discussed this unpleasant and very nervous topic. That evening, Captain Lake was in London, comfortably courted in a private hotel in one of the streets off Piccadilly. He went to his club, and dined better than he had done for many days. He really enjoyed his three little courses, his pint of claret, his cup of café noir, and his chasse. The great Babylon was his Jerusalem, and his spirit found rest there. He was renovated and refreshed. His soul was strengthened, and his countenance waxed cheerful, and he began to feel like himself again under the brown canopy of metropolitan smoke and among the cabs and gas lights. After dinner he got into a cab and drove to Mark Wilder's club. Was he there? No. Had he been there to-day? No. Or within the last week? No, not for two months. He had left his address and was in the country. The address to which his letters were forwarded was the brand in arms Gillingdon. So Captain Lake informed that functionary that his friend had come up to town and asked him again whether he was quite certain that he had not called there or sent for his letters. No, nothing of the sort. Then Captain Lake asked to see the billiard marker who was likely to know something about him, but he knew nothing. He certainly had not been at the Lark's Nest, which was kept by the marker's venerable parent, and was a favourite haunt of the gay lieutenant. Then our friend Stanley, having ruminated for a minute, penciled a little note to Mark, telling him that he was staying at Mudridge's Hotel, Seven Hanover Street, Piccadilly, and wished most particularly to see him for a few minutes, and this he left with the hall porter to give him should he call. Then Lake got into his cab again, having learned that he had lodgings in St. James Street when he did not stay at the club, and to these he drove. There he saw Mrs. McIntyre, a Caledonian lady, at this hour somewhat mellow and talkative, but she could say nothing to the purpose, either. Mr. Wilder had not been there for nine weeks and three days, and would owe her, on Saturday next, twenty-five guineas. So here, too, he left a little note to the same purpose, and re-entering his cab, he drove a long way and passed St. Paul's and came at last to a court, outside which he had to dismount from his vehicle, entering the grimy quadrangle through a narrow passage. He had been there that evening before—shortly after his arrival with Old Mother Dutton, as he called her, about her son Jim. Jim was in London looking for a situation, all which pleased Captain Lake, and he desired that she should send him to his hotel to see him in the morning. But, being in some matters of a nervous and impatient temperament, he had come again, as we see, hoping to find Jim there and to anticipate his interview of the morning. The windows, however, were dark, and a little research satisfied Captain Lake that the colony was in bed. In fact, it was by this time, half past eleven o'clock, and working people don't usually sit up to that hour. But our friend Stanley Lake was one of those persons who think that the course of the World's Affair should bend a good deal to their personal convenience, and he was not pleased with these unreasonable working people who had gone to their beds, and brought him to this remote and grimy amphitheater of black windows for nothing. So wishing them the good night they merited, he re-entered his cab and drove rapidly back again towards the West End. This time, he went to a somewhat mysterious and barricaded place, where in a blaze of light, in various rooms, gentlemen in hats, and some in great coats, were playing roulette or hazard. And I am sorry to say that our friend Captain Lake played first at one, and then at the other, with what success exactly I don't know. But I don't think it was very far from four o'clock in the morning when he let himself into his family hotel with that latch-key, the cox-tail of Mycelus, with which good-natured old Mrs. Madridge obliged the good-looking Captain. Captain Lake, having given orders the evening before that any one who might call in the morning and ask to see him, should be shown up to his bedroom sans cérémonie, was roused from deep slumber at a quarter-past ten by a knock at his door and a waiter's voice. Oh! who's that? Drawed Captain Lake, rising pale and half awake on his elbow, and not very clear where he was. The man, sir, as you left a note for yesterday, which he desires to see you? Tell him to step in. So out went the waiter in pumps, and the sound of thick shoes was audible on the lobby, and a sturdier knock sounded on the door. Come in, said the Captain, and Jim Dutton entered the room, and closing the door made at the side of the bed his reverence, consisting of a nod and a faint pluck at the lock of hair over his forehead. Now Stanley Lake had perhaps expected to see someone else, for though this was a very respectable-looking fellow for his walk in life, the gay young officer stared full at him, with a frightened and rather dreadful countenance, and actually sprung from his bed at the other side with an ejaculation at once tragic and blasphemous. The man plainly had not expected to produce any such result, and looked very queer. Perhaps he thought something had occurred to affect his personal appearance, perhaps some doubt about the Captain's state of health, and misgiving as to delirium tremens may have flickered over his brain. They were staring at one another across the bed, the Captain, in his shirt. At last the gallant officer seemed to discover things as they were, for he said, Jim Dutton by jove! The oath was not so innocent, but it was delivered quietly, and then the Captain drew a long breath, and then still staring at him. He laughed, a ghastly little laugh, also quietly. So it is you, Jim, said the Captain, and how do you do? Quite well, Jim, and out of place. You've been hurt in the foot, eh? So your old Mrs. Dutton tells me. But that won't signify. I was dreaming when you came in, not quite awake yet, hardly. Just wait a bit till I get my slippers on, and this. So into his red slippers he slid, and got his great shawl dressing-gown, such as fine gentleman then more, about his slender person, and knotted the silk and cords with depending tassels, and greeted Jim Dutton again in very friendly fashion, inquiring very particularly how he had been ever since, and what his mother was doing, and I'm afraid not listening to Jim's answers as attentively as one might have expected. Whatever may have been his intrinsic worth, Jim was not polished, and spoke moreover an uncouth dialect which broke out now and then. But he was in a sort of way attached to the Lake family, the son of an oreditary tenant on that estate, which had made itself wings, and flown away like the island of Laputa. It could not be said to be love. It was a sort of traditionary loyalty, a sentiment, however, not altogether unserviceable. When they had talked together for a while, the captain said, The fact is, it is not quite on me you would have to attend. The situation, perhaps, is better. You have no objection to travel. You have been abroad, you know. And, of course, wages and all that will be in proportion. Well, Jim had not any objection to speak of. What's wanted is a trustworthy man, perfectly steady, you see, and a fellow who knows how to hold his tongue. The last condition, perhaps, struck the man as a little odd. He looked a little confusedly, and he conveyed that he would not like to be in anything that was not quite straight. Quite straight, sir! repeated Stanley Lake, looking round on him sternly. Neither should I, I fancy. You are to suppose the case of a gentleman who is nursing his estate—you know what that means—and wants to travel and keep quite quiet, and who requires a steady, trustworthy man to look after him, in such a way as I shall direct, with very little trouble and capital pay. I have a regard for you, Dutton, and seeing so good a situation was to be had, and thinking you, the fittest man I know, I wish to serve you and my friend at the same time. Dutton became grateful and docile upon this. There are reasons—quite honourable, I need not tell you, which make it necessary, James Dutton, that the whole of this affair should be kept perfectly to ourselves. You are not to repeat one syllable, I say to you, to your mother, do you mind, or to any other person living? The gentleman is liberal, and if you can just hold your tongue, you will have little trouble in satisfying him upon all other points. But if you can't be quite silent, you had better, I frankly, tell you, decline the situation—excellent in all respects as it is. I am a man, sir, as can be close enough. So much the better. You don't drink? Dutton colored a little, and coughed, and said— Ahem, no, sir. You have your papers. Yes, sir. We must be satisfied, as to your sobriety, Dutton. Come back at half-past eleven, and I'll see you, and bring your papers. And do you see you are not to talk, you understand? Only you may say, if any one presses, that I am thinking of hiring you to attend on a gentleman whose name you don't yet know, who's going to travel. That's all. So Jim Dutton made his bow, and departed. And Captain Lake continued to watch the door for some seconds after his departure, as if he could see his retreating figure through it, and said he, with an oath and his hand to his forehead over his eyebrow, it is the most unaccountable thing in nature. Then after a reverie of some seconds, the young gentleman applied himself energetically to his toilet, and coming down to his sitting-room, he looked into his morning paper, and then into the street, and told the servant as he sat down to breakfast that he expected a gentleman named Wilder to call that morning, and to be sure to show him up directly. Captain Lake's few hours' sleep, contrary to popular ideas about Gamester's slumbers, had been the soundest and the most natural which he had enjoyed for a good many nights. He was refreshed. At Gillingdon and Brandon he had been simulating Captain Stanley Lake, being in truth something quite different, with a vigilant, histrionic effort which was awfully exhausting, and sometimes nearly intolerable. Here the Captain was perceptibly stealing into his old ways and feelings. His spirit revived, and something like confidence in the future, and a possibility even of enjoying the present was struggling visibly through the cold fog that environed him. Reason has, after all, so little to do with our moods. The weather, the scene, the stomach, how pleasantly they deal with facts, how they supersede philosophy, and even arithmetic, and teach us how much of life is intoxication and illusion. Still there was the sort of Damocles over his pineal gland. Damn that sheer cold blade! Damn him that forged it! Still there was a great deal of holding in a horse-hair, had not salmon of I know not how many pounds weight, been played and brought to land by that slender toe-edge. There is the sword, a burnished piece of cutlery, weighing just so many pounds, and the horse-hair has sufficed for an hour, and why not for another, and soon—hang moping in nonsense— waiter, another pint of chien, and let the fun go forward. So the literal waiter knocked at the door. A person wanted to see Captain Lake. No, it was not Mr. Wilder. It was the man who had been here in the morning. Dutton is his name. And so is it really half-past eleven, said Lake, in a sleepy surprise? Let him come in. And so in comes Jim Dutton again, to hear particulars, and have, as he hopes, his engagement ratified. End of Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Of Wilder's Hand This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Kathy Barrett. Chapter 27 Lawyer Larkin's Mind Begins to Work That morning Lake's first report upon his inquisition into the whereabouts of Mark Wilder, altogether disappointing and barren, reached Lord Chelford in a short letter, and a similar one, only shorter, found Lawyer Larkin in his pleasant breakfast parlor. Now this proceeding of Mr. Wilder's at this particular time, struck the righteous attorney, and reasonably, as a very serious and unjustifiable step. There was in fact no way of accounting for it, that was altogether complimentary to his respected and nutritious client. Yes, there was something every way very serious in the affair. It actually threatened the engagement which was so near its accomplishment. Some most powerful and mysterious cause must undoubtedly be an operation to induce so sharp a party, so keen after this world's wealth, to risk so huge a prize. Whatever eminent qualities Mark Wilder might be deficient in, the attorney very well knew that cunning was not among the number. It is nothing of the nature of debt, plenty of money. It is nothing that money can buy off easily either, though he does not like parting with it. Ten. Twenty to one, it is the old story—some unfortunate female connection, some ambiguous relation involving a doubtful marriage. And Josiah Larkin turned up his small pink eyes, and shook his tall bald head gently and murmured, as he nodded it. The sins of his youth find him out. The sins of his youth. And he sighed, and his long palms were raised and waved, or rather paddled slowly to the rhythm of the sentiment. If the butcher's boy, then passing, saw that gaunt and good attorney standing thus in his bow-window, I am sure he thought he was at his devotions, and debated his whistling as he went by. After this Mr. Larkin's ruminations darkened, and grew perhaps less distinct. He had no particular objection to a mystery, in fact he rather liked it, provided he was admitted to confidence. A mystery implied a difficulty of a delicate and formidable sort, and such difficulties were not disadvantageous to a clever and firm person, who might render himself very necessary to an embarrassed principle with plenty of money. Mr. Larkin had a way of gently compressing his underlip between his finger and thumb, a mild pinch, a reflect of caress, when contemplations of this nature occupied his brain. The silver light of heaven faded from his long face, a deep shadow of earth came thereon, and his small dove-like eyes grew intense, hungry, and rat-like. Oh! lawyer Larkin, your eyes, though very small, are very sharp. They can read through the outer skin of ordinary men, as through a parchment against the light, the inner writing, and spell out its meanings. How is it that they fail to see quite through one Josiah Larkin, a lawyer of Gillington? The layover of Gillington is somehow too opaque for them, I almost think. Is he really too deep for you? Or is it that you don't care to search him too narrowly, or have not time? Or as men in money-perplexities love not the scrutiny of their accounts or papers, you don't care to tire your eyes over the documents in that neatly Japaned box, the respectable lawyer's conscience. If you have puzzled yourself, you have also puzzled me. I don't quite know what to make of you. I sometimes thought you were simply an imposter, and sometimes simply the dupe of your own sorceries. The heart of man is deceitful above all things, and desperately wicked. Some men, with a piercing insight into the evil of man's nature, have a blurred vision for their own moralities. For them it is not easy to see where wisdom ends and guile begins. What wiles are justified to honour, and what partake of the genius of the robber, and where lie the delicate boundaries between legitimate diplomacy and damnable lying. I am not sure that lawyer Larkin did not often think himself very nearly what he wished the world to think him—an eminent Christian. What an awful abyss is self-delusion. Lawyer Larkin was on the whole, I daresay, tolerably well pleased with the position, as he would have said, of his spiritual interest, and belonged to that complacent congregation who said, I am rich and have need of nothing, and who no doubt opened their eyes wide enough and misdoubted the astounding report of their ears when the judge thundered, Thou art wretched and miserable, and poor and blind and naked. When Josiah Larkin's had speculated thus and built rich but somber castles in the air for some time longer, he said quietly to himself. Yes. And then he ordered his dog-cart, and drove off to Darlington, and put up at Johnson's Hotel, where Stanley Lake had slept on the night of his sister's return from London. The people there knew the lawyer very well. Of course they quite understood his position. Mr. Johnson, the proprietor, you may be sure, does not confound him with the great squires, the baronettes, and feudal names of the county. But though he was by comparison easy in his company, with even a dash of familiarity, he still respected Mr. Larkin as a man with money, and a sort of influence, and in whose way, at election and other times, it might lie to do his house a good or an ill turn. Mr. Larkin got into a little brown room, looking into the inn-garden, and called for some luncheon, and pen and ink, and had out a sheaf of law papers he had brought with him tied up in professional red tape, and asked the waiter with a grand smile and recognition how he did, and asked him next for his good friend, Mr. Johnson, and trusted that business was improving, and would be very happy to see him for two or three minutes if he could spare time. So in due time in came the corpulent proprietor, and lawyer Larkin shook hands with him and begged him to sit down, like a man who confers a distinction, and assured him that Lord Edward Buxley, whom he had recommended to stay at the house for the shooting, had been very well pleased with the accommodation, very highly so indeed, and his lordship had so expressed himself when they had last met at Sir Hugh Hucksterly's of Hatch Court. The good lawyer liked illuminating his little narratives, compliments, and reminiscences, with plenty of armorial bearings and heraldic figures, and played out his court cards in easy and somewhat overpowering profusion. Then he inquired after the two heifers that Mr. Johnson was so good as to feed for him on his little farm, and then he mentioned that his friend Captain Lake, who was staying with him at his house in Gillingdon, was also very well satisfied with his accommodation when he, too, at Lawyer Larkin's recommendation, had put up for a night at Johnson's Hotel, and it was not every house which could satisfy London's wells of Captain Lake's fashion and habits he could tell him. Then followed some conversation which I daresay interested the lawyer more than he quite showed in Mr. Johnson's company. For when that pleased and communicative host had withdrawn, Josiah Larkin made half a dozen little entries in his pocketbook, with statement of Mr. William Johnson, and the date of their conversation at the head of the memorandum. So the lawyer, having to run on as far as charterous by the goods-train, upon business walked down to the station, where, having half an hour to wait, he fell into talk with the stationmaster whom he also knew, and afterwards with Tom Christmas the porter, and in the waiting-room he made some equally business-like memoranda, being certain chips and splinters struck off the clumsy talk of these officials, and laid up in the lawyer's little private museum, for future illustration and analysis. By the time his little book was again in the bottom of his pocket, the train had arrived, and doors swung open and clapped, and people got in and out to the porter's accompaniment of Dollington, Dollington, Dollington, and lawyer Larkin took his place, and glided away to charterous, where he had a wait of two hours for the return-train, and a good deal of barren talk with persons at the station rewarded by one or two sentences worth noting, and accordingly Dooley entered in the same little pocket-book. Thus was the good man's day consumed, and when he mounted his dog-cart at Dollington, wrapped his rug about his legs, whip and reins in hand, and the oscler buckled the apron across, the sun was setting redly behind the hills, and the air was frosty and the night dark, as he drew up before his own doorsteps near Dollington. A dozen lines of one of these pages would suffice to contain the fruits of his day's work, and yet the lawyer was satisfied and even pleased with it, and ate his late dinner very happily, and though dignified, of course, was more than usually mild and gracious with all his servants that evening, and expounded at family prayers in a sense that was liberal and comforting, and went to bed after a calm and pleased review of his memoranda, and slept the sleep of the righteous. CHAPTER XXVIII. Mark Wilder's submission. Every day the position grew more critical and embarrassing. The day appointed for the nuptials was now very near, and the bridegroom not only out of sight, but wholly untraceable. What was to be done? A long letter from Stanley Lake told Lord Shelford in detail all the measures adopted by that energetic young gentleman for the discovery of the truant night. I have been at his club repeatedly, as also at his lodgings, still his, though he has not appeared there since his arrival in town. The billiard marker at his club knows his haunts, and I have taken the liberty to employ through him several persons who are acquainted with his appearance, and at my desire frequent those places with a view to discovering him and bringing about an interview with me. He was seen, I have reason to believe, a day or two before my arrival here, at a low place called the Miller's Hall, in the city, where members of the Fancy Resort, at one of their orgies, but not since. I have left notes for him wherever he is likely to call, in treating an interview. On my arrival I was sanguine about finding him, but I regret to say my hopes have very much declined, and I begin to think he must have changed his quarters. If you have heard from him within the last few days, perhaps you will be so kind as to send me the envelope of his letter, which by its postmark may possibly throw some light, or hint some theory as to his possible movements. He is very clever, and having taken this plan of concealing his residence will conduct it skillfully. If the case were mine, I should be much tempted to speak with the detective authorities, and try whether they might not give their assistance, of course, without ecla. But this is, I am aware, open to objection, and in fact would not be justifiable except under the very peculiar urgency of the case. Will you be so good as to say what you think upon this point? Also, to instruct me, what you authorize me to say, should I be fortunate enough to meet him? At present I am hardly in a position to say more than an acquaintance, never I fear very cordial on his part, would allow, which of course could hardly exceed a simple mention of your anxiety to be placed in communication with him. If I might venture to suggest, I really think a peremptory alternative should be presented to him. Writing, however, in ignorance of what may since have passed at Brandon, I may be assuming a state of things which possibly no longer exists. Pray understand that in any way you please to employ me, I am entirely at your command. It is also possible, though I hardly hope it, that I may be able to communicate something definite by this evening's post. I do not offer any conjectures as to the cause of this very embarrassing procedure on his part, and indeed I find a great difficulty in rendering myself useful, with any likelihood of really succeeding, without at the same time exposing myself to an imputation of impertinence. You will easily see how difficult is my position. Whatever may be the cause of Mark Wilde's present line of conduct, it appears to me that if he really did attend that meeting at the Miller's Hall, there cannot be anything very serious weighing upon his spirits. My business will detain me here, I rather think, three days longer. By return of post, Lord Chelford wrote to Stanley Lake, I am so very much obliged to you for all the trouble you have taken. The measures which you have adopted are, I think, most judicious, and I should not wish, on consideration, to speak to any official person. I think it better to trust entirely to the means you have already employed. Like you, I do not desire to speculate as to the causes of Wilde's extraordinary conduct. But all the circumstances considered, I cannot avoid concluding, as you do, that there must be some very serious reason for it. I enclose a note, which perhaps you will be so good as to give him, should you meet before you leave town. The note to Mark Wilde was in these terms, Dear Wilde, I had hoped to see you before now at Brandon. Your unexplained absence longer continued, you must see, will impose on me the necessity of offering an explanation to Miss Brandon's friends, of the relations under these strange circumstances in which you and she are to be assumed to stand. You have accounted in no way for your absence. You have not even suggested a postponement of the day fixed for the completion of your engagement to that young lady. And as her guardian, I cannot avoid telling her, should I fail to hear explicitly from you, within three days from this date, that she is at liberty to hold herself acquitted of her engagement to you. I do not represent to you how much reason everyone interested by relationship in that young lady has to feel offended at the disrespect with which you have treated her. Still hoping, however, that all may yet be explained, I remain, my dear Wilde, yours very truly, Chelford. Lord Chelford had not opened the subject to Dorcas. Neither had Old Lady Chelford. Although she haranged her son upon it as volubly and fiercely as if he had been Mark Wilder in person whenever he and she were a tete-a-tete. She was extremely provoked, too, at Dorcas's evident repose under this astounding treatment, and was enigmatically sarcastic upon her when they sat together in the drawing-room. She and her son were, it seemed, not only to think and act, but to feel, also, for this utterly immovable young lady. The brandons in her young days were not wanting in spirit. No, they had many faults, but they were not sticks or stones. They were not to be taken up and laid down like wax dolls. They could act and speak. It would not have been safe to trample upon them, and they were not less beautiful for being something more than pictures and statues. This evening in the drawing-room, there were two very pretty or mullu caskets upon the little marble table. A new present from Mark Wilder thought Lady Chelford as these objects met her keen glance. The unceremonious bride-groom has, I suppose, found his way back with a peace-offering in his hand. And she actually peered through her spectacles into the now darkened corners of the chamber, half expecting to discover the truant Wilder awaiting there the lecture she was well prepared to give him, that the square form and black whiskers of the prodigal son were not discernible there. So! So something new and very elegant and pretty, said the old lady aloud, holding her head high and looking as if she were disposed to be propitiated. I think I can risk a conjecture. Mr. Wilder is about to reappear, and has dispatched these heralds of his approach, no doubt suitably freighted, to plead for his re-acceptance into favour. You have heard, then, from Mr. Wilder, my dear Dorcas? No, Lady Chelford, said the young lady with a grave serenity, turning her head leisurely towards her. No? Oh! Then where is my son? He perhaps can explain, and pray, my dear, what are these? These caskets contain the jewels which Mr. Wilder gave me about six weeks since. I had intended restoring them to him, but as his return is delayed I mean to place them in Chelford's hands, because I have made up my mind a week ago to put an end to this odious engagement. It is all over. Lady Chelford stared at the audacious young lady with a look of incensed amazement for some seconds, unable to speak. Upon my word, young lady, vastly fine and independent, you shall say Mr. Wilder without one moment's notice, and without daining to consult me or any other person capable of advising you. You are about to commit as gross and indelicate a breach of faith as I recollect anywhere to have heard of. What will be thought? What will the world say? What will your friends say? Will you be good enough to explain yourself? I'll not undertake your excuses, I promise you. Excuses? I don't think of excuses, Lady Chelford. No person living has a right to demand one. Very tragic young lady, and quite charming, sneered the dowager angrily. Neither one nor the other I venture to think, but quite true, Lady Chelford, answered Miss Brandon haughtily. I don't believe you are serious, Dorcas, said Lady Chelford more anxiously, and also more gently. I can't suppose it. I'm an old woman, my dear, and I shat trouble you very long. I can have no object in misleading you, and you have never experienced for me anything but kindness and affection. I think you might trust me a little, Dorcas, but that, of course, is for you. You are your own mistress now. But at least you may reconsider the question you propose deciding in so extraordinary a way. I allow you might do much better than Mark Wilder, but also worse. He is not a title, and his estate is not enough to carry the point, a force d'argent, I grant all that. But together the estates are more than most titled men possess, and the real point is the fatal slip in your poor uncle's will, which makes it so highly important that you and Mark should be united. Bear that in mind, dear Dorcas. I look for his return every day, every hour, indeed, and no doubt his absence will turn out to have been unavoidable. You must not act precipitately, and under the influence of mere peak. His absence, I will lay my life, will be satisfactorily accounted for. He has set his heart upon this marriage, and I really think you will almost drive him mad if you act as you threaten. You have indeed, dear Lady Chelford, been always very kind to me, and I do trust you, replied this beautiful heiress, turning her large shadowy eyes upon the dowager, and speaking in slow and silvery accents, somehow very melancholy. I dare say it is very imprudent, and I don't deny that Mr. Wilder may have reason to complain of me, and the world will not spare me either. But I have quite made up my mind, and nothing can ever change me. All is over between me and Mr. Wilder. Quite over. Forever. Upon my life, young lady, this is being very sharp indeed. Mr. Wilder's business detains him a day or two longer than he expected, and he is punished by a final dismissal. The old lady's thin cheeks were flushed, and her eyes shot a reddish light, and altogether she made an angry sight. It was hardly reasonable. She had been invading against Miss Brandon's apathy under Wilder's disrespect, and now that the young lady spoke and acted too, she was incensed. She had railed upon Wilder in no measured terms herself, and even threatened as the proper measure that very step which Dorcas had announced, and now she became all at once the apologist of this insolent truant, and was ready to denounce her unreasonable irritation. So far, dear Lady Chilford, from provoking me to this decision, his absence is, I assure you, the sole reason of my having delayed to inform him of it. And I assure you, Miss Brandon, I shan't undertake to deliver your monstrous message. You will probably be here to-morrow. You have prepared an agreeable surprise for him. You shall have the pleasure of administering it yourself, Miss Brandon. For my part I have done my duty, and here and now renounce all responsibility in the future management of your affairs. Saying which, she rose, in a stately and incensed way, and looking with flashing eyes over Dorcas's head, to a far corner of the apartment, without another word, she wrestled slowly and majestically from the drawing-room. She was a good deal shocked, and her feelings quite changed, however, when next morning the post brought a letter to Chilford from Mark Wilder, bearing the bullion postmark. It said, Dear Chilford, Don't get riled, but the fact is, I don't see my way out of my present business. This last word was substituted for another, crossed out, which looked like scrape. For a couple of months, maybe. Therefore you see, my liberty and wishes being at present interfered with, it would be very hard lines if poor Dorcas should be held to her bargain. Therefore, I will say this, she is quite free, for me. Only, of course, I don't decline to fulfill my part whenever at liberty. In the meantime I return the miniature with her hair in it, which I constantly wore about me since I got it. But I have no right to it any longer till I know her decision. Don't be too hard on me, Dear Chilford. It is a very old lark has got me into this present vexation. In the meantime I wish to make it quite clear what I mean, not being able by any endeavour, hear a nautical phrase scratched out, an endeavour substituted, of mine to be up to time, and as these are PP affairs, I must only forfeit. I mean I am at the lady's disposal, either to fulfill my engagement the earliest day I can, or to be turned adrift. That is all I can say. In more trouble than you suppose, I remain, Dear Chilford, yours, whatever you may think, faithfully. Mark Wilder.