 The Blighting of Sharkey by Arthur Conan Doyle. After two years of the Coromandel coast, his black bark of death, the happy delivery, was prowling off the Spanish main, while traitor and fisher flew for dear life at the menace of that patched, four-top sail, rising slowly over the violet rim of the tropical sea. As the birds cower when the shadow of the hawk falls a thwart the field, or as the jungle folk crouch and shiver when the coughing cry of the tiger is heard in the night time, so all the busy world of ships, from the whalers of Nantucket to the tobacco ships of Charleston, and from the Spanish-supplied ships of Cadiz to the sugar merchants of the main, there spread the rumor of the black curse of the ocean. Some hugged the shore, ready to make for the nearest port, while others struck far out beyond the known lines of commerce, but none were so stout-hearted that they did not breathe more freely when their passengers and cargos were safe under the guns of some mothering fort. Through all the islands there round tales of charred derelicts at sea, of sudden glares seen afar in the night-time, and of withered bodies stretched upon the sand of waterless Bahama-keys. All the old signs were there to show that Sharkey was at his bloody game once more. These fair waters and yellow-rimmed, palm-knotted islands are the traditional home of the sea-rover. First it was the gentleman adventurer, the man of family and honour, who fought as a patriot, though he was ready to take his payment in Spanish plunder. Then, within a century, his debonair figure had passed to make room for the buccaneers, robbers, pure and simple, yet with some organised code of their own, commanded by notable chieftains, and taking in hand great concerted enterprises. They, too, passed with their fleets and their sacking of cities, to make room for the worst of all, the lonely outcast pirate, the bloody Ishmael of the seas, had wore with a whole human race. This was the vile brood which the early eighteenth century had spawned forth, and of them all there was none who could compare in audacity, wickedness, and evil repute with the unutterable Sharkey. It was early in May, in the year 1720, that the happy delivery lay, with her four-yard aback, some five leagues west of the windward passage, waiting to see what rich, helpless craft the trade-wind might bring down to her. Three days she had lain there, a sinister black speck, in the centre of the great sapphire circle of the ocean. Far to the south-east, the low blue hills of Hispaniola showed up on the skyline. Hour by hour, as he waited without avail, Sharkey's savage temper had risen, for his arrogant spirit chafed against any contradiction, even from fate itself. To his quarter-master, Ned Galloway, he had said that night, with his odious, neighing laugh, that the crew of the next captured vessel showed answer to him for having kept him waiting so long. The cabin of the pirate bark was a good-sized room, hung with much tarnished finery, and presenting a strange medley of luxury and disorder. The paneling of carved and polished sandalwood was blotched with foul smudges, and chipped with bullet marks fired in some drunken revelry. Rich velvets and laces were heaped upon the brocaded satis, while metalwork and pictures of great price filled every niche and corner, for anything which caught the pirate's fancy and the sack of a hundred vessels was thrown haphazard into his chamber. A rich, soft carpet covered the floor, but it was modelled with wine stands and charred with burned tobacco. Above a great brass-hanging lamp threw a brilliant yellow light upon this singular apartment, and upon the two men, who sat in their shirt sleeves with the wine between them, and the cards in their hands, deep in a game of piquet. Both were smoking long pipes, and the thin blue reek filled the cabin, and floated through the skylight above them, which, half-opened, disclosed a slip of deep, violet sky, spangled with great silver stars. Ned Galloway, the quartermaster, was a huge New England waste-roll, the one wrought in branch upon a goodly Puritan family tree. His robust limbs and giant frame were the heritage of a long line of God-fearing ancestors, while his black, savage heart was all his own. Bearded to the temples, with fierce blue eyes, a tangled lion's mane of coarse dark hair, and huge gold rings in his ears, he was the idol of the women in every water-side hell, from the tortugas to maracaibo, on the mane. A red cap, a blue-silken shirt, brown velvet breeches, with gaudy knee-ribbons, and high sea-boots made up the costume of the rover Hercules. A very different figure was Captain John Sharkey. His thin, drawn, clean-shaven face was corpse-like in its pallor, and all the sons of the Indies could but turn it to a more deathly parchment tent. He was part-balled, with a few lank-locks of toe-like hair, and a steep, narrow forehead. His thin nose jutted sharply forth, and nearset on either side of it were those filmy, blue eyes, red-rimmed like those of a white bull terrier, from which strong men wenced away in fear and loathing. His bony hands, with long, thin fingers, which quivered ceaselessly, like the antenna of an insect, were towing constantly with the cards, and the heap of gold moydours which lay before him. His dress was of some somber drab material, but, indeed, the men who looked upon that fearsome face had little thought for the costume of its owner. The game was brought to a sudden interruption, for the cabin door was swung rudely open, and two rough fellows—Israel Martin, the boatsman, and Red Foley, the gunner—rushed into the cabin. In an instant Sharkey was on his feet, with a pistol in either hand, and murder in his eyes. Thank for your valence, he cried. I see well that if I do not shoot one of you from time to time you will forget the man I am. What mean you by entering my cabin, as though it were a whopping ale-house? Nay, Captain Sharkey, said Martin, with a sullen frown upon his brick-red face. It is even such talk as this which has set us by the ears we have had enough of it. And more than enough, said Red Foley, the gunner, there be no mates aboard a pirate-craft, and so the boatsman, the gunner, and the quarter-master are the officers. Did I gain say it? asked Sharkey with an oath. You have miscalled us and mishandled us before the men, and we scarce know at the moment why we should risk our lives in fighting for the cabin and against the foxel. Sharkey saw that something serious was in the wind. He laid down his pistols and leaned back in his chair with a flash of his yellow fangs. Nay, that is sad talk, said he. The two stout fellows, who have emptied many a bottle and cut many a throat with me, should now fall out over nothing. I know you to be roaring boys who would go with me against the devil himself if I bid you. Let the steward bring cups and drown all unkindness between us." It is no time for drinking, Captain Sharkey, said Martin. The men are holding counsel round the main mast and may be off at any minute. They mean mischief, Captain Sharkey, and we have come to warn you. Sharkey sprang for the brass-handled sword which hung from the wall. Sink them for a rascals! he cried. When I have gutted one or two of them they may hear reason. But the others barred his frantic way to the door. There are forty of them under the lead of Sweetlocks the Master, said Martin, and on the open deck they would surely cut you to pieces. Here within the cabin it may be that we can hold them off at the points of our pistols. He had hardly spoken when there came the tread of many heavy feet upon the deck. Then there was a pause with no sound but the gentle lipping of the water against the sides of the pirate vessel. Finally a crashing blow as from a pistol-butt fell upon the door, and an instant afterwards Sweetlocks himself, a tall, dark man with a deep red birthmark blazing upon his cheek, strode into the cabin. His swaggering air sank somewhat as he looked into those pale and filmy eyes. Captain Sharky said he, I come as a spokesman of the crew. So I have heard, Sweetlocks, said the captain, softly, I may live to rip you the length of your vest for this night's work. That is as it may be, Captain Sharky, the Master answered, but if you will look up you will see that I have those at my back who will not see me mishandled. Cursed if we do, growled a deep voice from above, and glancing upwards the officers in the cabin were aware of a line of fierce, bearded, sun-blackened faces looking down at them through the open skylight. Well, what would you have? asked Sharky, put it in words, man, and let us have an end of it. The men think, said Sweetlocks, that you are the devil himself, and that there will be no luck for them whilst they sail the sea in such company. Time was when we did our two or three craft a day, and every man had women and dollars to his liking. But now for a long week we have not raised a sail, and save for three beggarly sloops have taken never a vessel since we passed the Bahama Bank. Also they know that you killed Jack Bartholomew, the carpenter, by beating his head in with a bucket, so that each of us goes in fear of his life. Also the rum has given out, and we are hard put to it for liquor. Also you sit in your cabin whilst it is in the articles that you should drink and roar with the crew. For all these reasons it has been this day and general meeting decreed. Sharky had stealthily cocked a pistol under the table, so it may have been as well for the mutinous master that he never reached the end of his discourse, for even as he came to it there was a swift powder of feet upon the deck, and a ship-lad, wild with his tidings, rushed into the room. A craft, he yelled, a great craft, and close aboard us. In a flash the quarrel was forgotten, and the pirates were rushing to quarters. Sure enough, surging slowly down before the gentle trade-wind, a great full-rigged ship, with all sail set, was close beside them. It was clear that she had come from afar, and knew nothing of the ways of the Caribbean Sea, for she made no effort to avoid the low, dark craft which lay so close upon her bow, but blundered on as if her mere size would avail her. So daring was she, that for an instant the rovers, as they flew to loose the tackles of their guns, and hoisted their battle lanterns, believed that a man of war had caught them napping. But at the sight of her bulging portless sides and merchant-rig, a shout of exultation broke from amongst them, and in an instant they had swung round their four-yard, and darting alongside they had grappled with her, and flung a spray of shrieking, cursing ruffians upon her deck. Half a dozen seamen of the night watch were cut down where they stood. The mate was felled by Sharkey, and tossed overboard by Ned Galloway, and before the sleepers had time to set up in their berths, the vessel was in the hands of the pirates. The prize proved to be the full-rigged ship, Portobello. Captain Hardy, master, bound from London to Kingston, in Jamaica, with a cargo of cotton-goods and hoop-iron. Having secured their prisoners, all huddled together in a dazed, distracted group, the pirates spread over the vessel in search of plunder, handing all that was found to the giant quartermaster, who, in turn, passed it over the side of the happy delivery, and laid it under guard at the foot of her main mast. The cargo was useless, but there were a thousand gennies in the ship's strong-box, and there were some eight or ten passengers, three of them wealthy Jamaica merchants, all bringing home well-filled boxes from their London visit. When all the plunder was gathered, the passengers and crew were dragged to the waist, and under the cold smile of Sharkey, each, in turn, was thrown over the side, sweetlocks standing by the rail, and hamstringing them with his cutlass as they passed over, lest some strong swimmer should rise in judgment against them. A portly grey-haired woman, the wife of one of the planters, was among the captives, but she also was thrust, screaming, and clutching over the side. "'Mercy, ye hussy,' made Sharkey. "'You are surely a good twenty years too old for that!' The captain of the Portobello, a hail blue-eyed greybeard, was last upon the deck. He stood, a thick-set resolute figure, in the glare of the lanterns, while Sharkey bowed and smirked before him. "'One skipper should show courtesy to another,' said he, "'and sink me if Captain Sharkey would be behind in good manners. I have held you to the last, as you see, where a brave man should be. So now, my bully, you have seen the end of them, and may step over with an easy mind.' "'So I shall, Captain Sharkey,' said the old seaman, "'for I have done my duty so far as my power lay. But before I go over, I would say a word in your ear.' "'If it be to soften me, you may save your breath. You have kept us waiting here for three days, and curse me if one of you shall live.' "'Nay, it is to tell you what you should know. You have not yet found what is the true treasure of the ship.' "'Not found it? Sink me, but I will slice your liver, Captain Hardy, if you do not make good your words. Where is this treasure you speak of? It is not a treasure of gold, but it is a fair maid, which may be no less welcome. Where is she then, and why is she not with the others?' "'I will tell you why she is not with the others. She is the only daughter of the Count and Countess Ramirez, who are amongst those whom you have murdered. Her name is Inés Ramirez, and she is of the best blood of Spain, her father being Governor of Chagar, to which he was now bound. It is chance that she was found to have formed an attachment, as maid's will, to one far beneath her rank aboard the ship, so her parents, being people of great power, whose word is not to be gained, constrained me to confine her close in a special cabin aft of my own. Here she was held straightly, all food being carried to her, and she allowed to see no one. This I tell you as a last gift, though why I should make it to you, I do not know, for indeed you are a most bloody rascal, and it comforts me in dying to think that you will surely be gallows-meat in this world and hell's-meat in the next.' At the words he ran to the rail and vaulted over into the darkness, praying as he sank into the depths of the sea that the betrayal of this maid might not be counted too heavily against his soul. The body of Captain Hardy had not yet settled upon the sand forty fathoms deep before the pirates had rushed along the cabin gangway. There, sure enough, at the further end was a barred door overlooked in their previous search. There was no key, but they beat it in with their gun-stocks, whilst shriek after shriek came from within. In the light of their outstretched lanterns they saw a young woman, in the very prime and fullness of her youth, crouching in a corner, her unkempt hair hanging to the ground, her dark eyes glaring with fear, her lovely form straining away in horror from this inrush of savage blood-stained men. Rough hands seized her. She was jerked to her feet and dragged with scream on scream to where John Sharkey awaited her. He held the light long and fondly to her face. Then, laughing loudly, he bent forward and left his red hand-print upon her cheek. "'Tis the rover's brand, lass, that he marks his use. Take her to the cabin and use her well. Now, hearties, get her under water and out to our luck once more.' Within an hour the good-ship Portobello had settled down to her doom till she lay beside her murdered passengers upon the Caribbean sand, while the pirate bark, her deck littered with plunder, was heading northward in search of another victim. There was a corouse that night in the cabin of the happy delivery, at which three men drank deep. They were the captain, the quartermaster, and Baldi Stable, the surgeon, a man who had held the first practice in Charleston until misusing a patient he fled from justice and took his skill over to the pirates. A bloated, fat man he was, with a creased neck and a great shining scalp, which gave him his name. Sharkey had put for the moment all thought of the mutiny out of his head, knowing that no animal is fierce when it is overfed, and that whilst the plunder of the great ship was new to them, he need fear no trouble from his crew. He gave himself up, therefore, to the wine and the riot, shouting and roaring with his boon companions. All three were flushed and mad, ripe for any devilment, when the thought of the woman crossed the pirate's evil mind. He yelled to the negro steward that he should bring her on the instant. Ines Ramirez had now realized at all the death of her father and mother and her own position in the hands of their murderers. Yet calmness had come with the knowledge, and there was no sign of terror in her proud dark face as she was led into the cabin, but rather a strange firm set of the mouth and an exultant gleam of the eyes, like one who sees great hopes in the future. She smiled at the pirate captain as he rose and seized her by the waist. For God this is the last of spirit! cried Sharkey, passing his arm round her. She was born to be a rover's bride. Come, my bird, and drink to our better friendship. Article 6 Hiccup, the doctor. All bonarobas in common. Aye, we will hold you to that, Captain Sharkey, said Galloway. It is so writ in article 6. I will cut the man into ounces who comes betwixt us, cried Sharkey, as he turned his fish-like eyes from one to the other. Nay, lass, the man is not born that will take you from John Sharkey. Sit here upon my knee, and place your arm round me so. Sink me, if she has not learned to love me at sight. Tell me, my pretty, why you are so mishandled and laid in the bill-bows aboard yonder craft. The woman shook her head and smiled. No English! No English! she list. She had drunk off the bumper of wine which Sharkey held to her, and her dark eyes gleamed more brightly than before. Sitting on Sharkey's knee, her arm encircled his neck, and her hand toyed with his hair, his ear, his cheek. Even the strange quarter-master and the hardened surgeon felt a horror as they watched her, but Sharkey laughed in his joy. Curse me, if she is not a lass of metal! He cried, as he pressed her to him, and kissed her unresisting lips. But a strange intent look of interest had come into the surgeon's eyes as he watched her, and his face set rigidly as if a fearsome thought had entered his mind. There stole a grey pallor over his bull-face, mottling all the red of the tropics and the flesh of the wine. Look at her hand, Captain Sharkey! he cried. For the Lord's sake, look at her hand! Sharkey stared down at the hand which had fondled him. It was of a strange dead power, with a yellow shiny web betwixt the fingers. All over it was a white fluffy dust, like the flower of a new baked loaf. It lay thick on Sharkey's neck and cheek. With a cry of disgust he flung the woman from his lap. But in an instant with a wild cat bound and a scream of triumphant malice she had sprung at the surgeon who vanished yelling under the table. One of her clawing hands grasped Galloway by the beard, but he tore himself away and snatching a pike, held her off from him as she gibbered and mewed with the blazing eyes of a maniac. The black steward had run in on the sudden turmoil, and among them they forced the mad creature back into a cabin and turned the key upon her. Then the three sank panting into their chairs, and looked with eyes of horror upon each other. The same word was in the mind of each, but Galloway was the first to speak it. "'A leper!' he cried. "'She has us all. Curse her!' "'Not me,' said the surgeon. She never laid her finger on me. "'For that matter!' cried Galloway. "'It was but my beard that she touched. I will have every hair of it off before morning.' "'Dots that we were!' the surgeon shouted, beating his head with his hand. "'Tainted or no, we shall never know a moment's peace till the year is up and the time of danger past. For, God, that merchant skipper has left his mark on us and pretty fools we were to think that such a maid would be quarantined for the cause he gave. It is easy to see now that her corruption broke forth in the journey, and that save throwing her over they had no choice but to board her up until they should come to some port with a laserette.' Sharky had sat leaning back in his chair with a ghastly face while he listened to the surgeon's words. He mopped himself with his red handkerchief and wiped away the fatal dust with which he was smeared. "'What of me?' he croaked. "'What say you, Baldi Stable? Is there a chance for me? Curse you for a villain. Speak out, or I will drub you within an inch of your life. And that inch also. Is there a chance for me, I say?' But the surgeon shook his head. "'Captain Sharky,' said he, "'it would be an ill deed to speak you false. The taint is on you. No man on whom the leper scales have rested is ever clean again.' Sharky's head fell forward on his chest, and he sat motionless, stricken by this great and sudden horror, looking with his mouldering eyes into his fearsome future. Softly the mate and the surgeon rose from their places, and, stealing out from the poisoned air of the cabin, came forth into the freshness of the early dawn, with a soft, scent-laden breeze in their faces, and the first red feathers of cloud catching the earliest gleam of the rising sun as it shot its golden rays over the palm-clad ridges of distant Hispaniola. That morning a second council of the rovers was held at the base of the main mast, and a deputation chosen to see the captain. They were approaching the after-cabins when Sharky came forth, the old devil in his eyes, and his bandolier with a pair of pistols over his shoulder. "'Sink you all for villains,' he cried. "'Would you dare to cross my house? Stand out, sweetlocks, and I will lay you open. Here, Galloway, Martin, Foley, stand by me, and lash the dogs to their kennel.' But his officers had deserted him, and there was none to come to his aid. There was a rush of the pirates. The film was shot through the body, but an instant afterwards Sharky had been seized, and it was triced to his own main mast. His filmy eyes looked round from face to face, and there was none who felt the happier for having met them. "'Captain Sharky,' said sweetlocks, you have mishandled many of us, and you have now pistalled John Masters, besides killing Bartholomew, the carpenter, by braining him with a bucket. All this might have been forgiving you, in that you have been our leader for years, and that we have signed articles to serve under you, while the voyage lasts. But now we have heard of this Bonaroba on board, and we know that you are poisoned to the marrow, and that while you rot there will be no safety for any of us, but that we shall all be turned into filth and corruption. Therefore, John Sharky, we rovers of the happy delivery in council-assembled, have decreed that while there be yet time, before the plague spreads, you shall be set adrift in a boat, to find such a fate as fortune may be pleased to send you. John Sharky said nothing, but slowly circling his head he cursed them all with his baleful gaze. The ship's dinghy had been lowered, and he, with his hands still tied, was dropped into it, on the bite of a rope. "'Cast her off,' cried Sweetlocks. "'Nay, hold hard a moment, Master Sweetlocks,' shouted one of the crew. "'What of the wench? Is she to bide aboard, and poison us all?' "'Send her off with her mate,' cried another, and the rovers roared in their approval. Driven forth at the end of pikes the girl was pushed towards the boat. With all the spirit of spain in her rotting body she flashed triumphant glances on her captors. "'Peros! Peros! Englesis! Lepro! Lepro!' she cried in exultation, as they thrust her over into the boat. "'Good luck, Captain. God speed you on your honeymoon,' cried a chorus of mocking voices, as the painter was unloosed, and the happy delivery, running full before the trade-wind, left the little boat, a stern, a tiny dot upon the vast expanse of the lonely sea, extract from the log of H.H.M. Fifty-gun ship, Hecate, in her cruise off the American main. January 26, 1721. This day the junk-having become unfit for food, and five of the crew down with scurvy, I ordered that we send two boats ashore of the northwestern point of Hispaniola to seek for fresh fruit, and perchance shoot some of the wild oxen with which the island abounds. Seven p.m. the boats have returned with good store of green stuff and two bullocks. Mr. Woodruff, the master, reports that near the landing-place at the edge of the forest was found the skeleton of a woman, clad in the European dress, of such short as to show that she may have been a person of quality. Her head had been crushed by a great stone which lay beside her. Hard by was a grass hut, and signs that a man had dwelt therean for some time, as was shown by charred wood, bones, and other traces. There is a rumour upon the coast that Sharkey, the bloody pirate, was marooned in these parts last year, but whether he has made his way into the interior, or whether he has been picked up by some craft, there is no means of knowing. If he be once again afloat, then I pray that God send him under our guns. End of The Blighting of Sharkey by Arthur Conan Doyle. The Blue and the Gray by Stephen Leacock. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. The Blue and the Gray, a pre-war war story. The title is selected for its originality. A set of 75 maps will be supplied to any reader free for 75 cents. This offer is only open till it is closed. CHAPTER I The scene was a striking one. It was night. Never had the Mississippi presented a more remarkable appearance. Broad bayous, swollen beyond our powers of description, swirled to and fro in the darkness, under trees garlanded with Spanish moss. All moss other than Spanish had been swept away by the angry flood of the river. Eggleston Lee Kerry Randolph, a young Virginian, captain of the Blankth Company of the Blankth Regiment of Blankth's Brigade, even this is more than we ought to say, and is hard to pronounce, attached to the army of the Tennessee, struggled in vain with the swollen waters, at times he sank, at other times he went up. In the intervals he wondered whether it would ever be possible for him to rejoin the particular platoon of the particular regiment to which he belonged, and of which his whereabouts, not having the volume of the army record at hand, he was in ignorance. In the intervals also he reflected on his past life to a sufficient extent to give the reader a more or less workable idea as to who and to what he was. His father, the old gray-haired Virginian aristocrat, he could see him still. Take this sword, Eggleston, he had said. Use it for the state, never for anything else. Don't cut string with it or open tin cans. Never sheath it until the soil of Virginia is free. Keep it bright, my boy. Oil it every now and then, and you'll find it an A-1 sword. Did Eggleston think, too, in his dire peril of another, younger than his father, and fairer? Necessarily he did. Go, Eggleston, she had exclaimed, as they said farewell under the portico of his father's house, where she was visiting. It is your duty. But mine lies elsewhere. I cannot forget that I am a northern girl. I must return at once to my people in Pennsylvania. Oh, Egg, when will this cruel war end? So had the lovers parted. Meanwhile, while Eggleston is going up and down for the third time, which is, of course, the last, suppose we leave him, and turn to consider the general position of the Confederacy. All right, suppose we do. Chapter 2 At this date the Confederate army of the Tennessee was extended in a line with its right resting on the Tennessee, and its left resting on the Mississippi. Its rear rested on the rugged stone hills of the Chickasaba Range, while its front rested on the marshes and bayous of the zoo. Having thus, as far as we understand the military matters, both its flanks covered and its rear protected, its position was one which we ourselves consider very comfortable. It was thus in an admirable situation for holding a review, or for discussing the Constitution of the United States in reference to the right of secession. The following generals rode up and down in front of the army, namely Mr. A. P. Hill, Mr. Longstreet, and Mr. Joseph Johnson. All these three celebrated men are thus presented to our readers at one and the same time, without extra charge. But who is this tall commanding figure who rides beside them, his head bent as if listening to what they are saying? He really isn't, while his eye alternately flashes with animation or softens to its natural melancholy. In fact we can only compare it to an electric light bulb with the power gone wrong. Who is it? It is Jefferson C. Davis, president, as our readers will be gratified to learn of the Confederate states. It being a fine day and altogether suitable for the purpose, General Longstreet reigned in his prancing black charger. During this distressed period, all the horses in both armies were charged. There was no other way to pay for them. And in a few terse words about three pages gave his views on the Constitution of the United States. Jefferson Davis, standing up in his stirrups, delivered a stirring harangue about six columns on the powers of the Supreme Court admirably calculated to rouse the soldiers to frenzy, after which General A.P. Hill offered a short address, soldier-like and to the point, on the fundamental principles of international law, which inflamed the army to the highest pitch. At this moment an officer approached the president, saluted, and stood rigidly at attention. Davis, with that nice punctilio which marked the Southern Army, returned the salute. Do you speak first, he said, or did I? Let me, said the officer. Your Excellency, he continued, a young Virginian officer has just been fished out of the Mississippi. Davis' eye flashed. Good, he said, look and see if there are any more. And then he added with a touch of melancholy. The South needs them, fish them all out. Bring this one here. Eggleston League Harry Randolph, still dripping from the waters of the Bayou, was led by the faithful Negroes who had rescued him before the generals. Davis, who kept every thread of the vast panorama of the war in his intricate brain, eyed him keenly and directed a few searching questions to him, such as, who are you? Where are you? What day of the week is it? How much is nine times twelve, and so forth? Satisfied with Eggleston's answers, Davis sat in thought a moment and then continued, I am anxious to send someone through the entire line of the Confederate armies in such a way that he will be present at all the great battles and end up at the Battle of Gettysburg. Can you do it? Randolph looked at his chief with a flush of pride. I can. Good, resumed Davis, to accomplish this task you must carry dispatches. What they will be about I have not yet decided. But it is customary in such cases to write them so that they are calculated, if lost, to endanger the entire Confederate cause. The main thing is, can you carry them? Sir, said Eggleston, raising his hand in a military salute, I am a Randolph. Davis, with soldierly dignity, removed his hat. I am proud to hear it, Captain Randolph, he said. And a carry, continued our hero. Davis, with a graciousness, all his own, took off his gloves. I trust you, Major Randolph, he said. And I am a Lee, added Eggleston quickly. Davis, with a courtly bow, unbuttoned his jacket. It is enough, he said, I trust you. You shall carry the dispatches. You are to carry them on your person, and as, of course, you understand, you are to keep on losing them. You are to drop them into rivers, hide them in old trees, bury them under moss, talk about them in your sleep. In fact, sir, said Davis, with a slight gesture of impatience, it was his one fault, you must act towards them as any bearer of Confederate dispatches is expected to act. The point is, can you do it, or can't you? Sir, said Randolph, saluting again with simple dignity. I come from Virginia. Pardon me, said the President, saluting with both hands. I had forgotten it. Chapter three. Randolph set out that night, mounted upon the fastest horse, in fact, the flitest that the Confederate army could supply. He was attended only by a dozen faithful Negroes, all devoted to his person. Riding over the Tennessee mountains, by paths known absolutely to no one, and never advertised, he crossed the Tumbigbee, the Tohuchi, and the Tallahassee, all frightfully swollen, and arrived at the headquarters of General Braxton Bragg. At this moment, Bragg was extended over some seven miles of bush and dense swamp. His front rested on the marshes of the Tohuchi River, while his rear was doubled sharply back, and rested on a dense growth of cactus plants. Our readers can thus form a fairly accurate idea of Bragg's position. Over against him, not more than 50 miles to the north, his indomitable opponent, Grant, lay in a frog swamp. The space between them was filled with Union and Confederate pickets, fraternizing, joking, roasting corn, and firing an occasional shot at one another. One glance at Randolph's dispatches was enough. Take them at once to General Hood, said Bragg. Where is he? asked Eggleston with military precision. Bragg waved his sword towards the east. It was characteristic of the man that even on active service he carried a short sword, while a pistol probably loaded, protruded from his belt. But such was Bragg. Anyway, he waved his sword. Over there, beyond the Tohuchikaba range, he said, Do you know it? No, said Randolph, but I can find it. Do, said Bragg, and added, one thing more. On your present mission, let nothing stop you. Go forward at all costs. If you come to a river, swim it. If you come to a tree, cut it down. If you strike a fence, climb over it, but don't stop. If you are killed, never mind. Do you understand? Almost, said Eggleston. Two days later, Eggleston reached the headquarters of General Hood and flung himself, rather than dismounted from his jaded horse. Take me to the general, he gasped. They pointed to the log cabin in which General Hood was quartered. Eggleston flung himself, rather than stepped through the door. Hood looked up from the table. Who was that flung himself in, he asked. Randolph reached out his hand. Dispatches, he gasped. Food, whiskey! Poor lad, said the general, you are exhausted. When did you last have food? Yesterday morning, gasped Eggleston. You're lucky, said Hood bitterly. And when did you last have a drink? Two weeks ago, answered Randolph. Great heaven, said Hood, starting up. Is it possible? Here, quick, drink it. He reached out a bottle of whiskey. Randolph drained it to the last drop. Now, general, he said, I am at your service. Meanwhile, Hood had cast his eye over the dispatches. Major Randolph, he said, you have seen General Bragg? I have. And Generals Johnson and Smith? Yes. You have been through Mississippi and Tennessee and seen all the battles there? I have, said Randolph. Then, said Hood, there is nothing left except to send you at once to the army in Virginia under General Lee. Remount your horse at once and ride to Gettysburg. Lose no time. Chapter 4. It was at Gettysburg in Pennsylvania that Randolph found General Lee. The famous field is too well known to need description. The armies of the North and the South lay in and around the peaceful village of Gettysburg. About it the yellow cornfields basked in the summer sun. The voices of the teachers and the laughter of merry children rose in the harvest fields. But already the shadow of war was falling over the landscape. As soon as the armies arrived, the shrooter of the farmers suspected that there would be trouble. General Lee was seated gravely on his horse, looking gravely over the ground before him. Major Randolph, said the Confederate chieftain gravely. You are just in time. We are about to go into action. I need your advice. Randolph bowed. Ask me anything you like, he said. Do you like the way I have the army placed? Asked Lee. Our hero directed a searching look over the field. Frankly, I don't, he said. What's the matter with it? questioned Lee eagerly. I felt there was something wrong with it myself. What is it? Your left, said Randolph, is too far advanced. It sticks out. By heaven, said Lee, turning to General Longstreet, the boy is right. Is there anything else? Yes, said Randolph, your right is crooked. It is all sideways. It is, it is, said Lee, striking his forehead. I never noticed it. I'll have it straightened at once. Major Randolph, if the Confederate cause is saved, you and you alone have saved it. One thing more, said Randolph, is your artillery loaded? Major Randolph, said Lee, speaking very gravely, you have saved us again. I never thought of it. At this moment, a bullet sang past Egleston's ear. He smiled. The battle has begun, he murmured. Another bullet buzzed past his other ear. He laughed softly to himself. A shell burst close to his feet. He broke into uncontrollable laughter. This kind of thing always amused him. Then, turning grave in a moment, put General Lee under cover, he said to those about him, spread something over him. In a few moments, the battle was raging in all directions. The Confederate army was nominally controlled by General Lee, but in reality by our hero. Egleston was everywhere. Horses were shot under him. Mules were shot around him and behind him. Shells exploded all over him, but with undaunted courage, he continued to wave his sword in all directions, riding wherever the fight was hottest. The battle raged for three days. On the third day of the conflict, Randolph, his coat shot to rags, his hat pierced, his trousers practically useless, still stood at Lee's side, urging and encouraging him. Mounted on his charger, he flew to and fro in all parts of the field, moving the artillery, leading the cavalry, animating and directing the infantry. In fact, he was the whole battle. But his efforts were in vain. He turned sadly to General Lee. It is bootless, he said. What is, asked Lee. The army, said Randolph, we must withdraw it. Major Randolph, said the Confederate Chief, I yield to your superior knowledge. We must retreat. A few hours later, the Confederate forces, checked, but not beaten, were retiring southward towards Virginia. Eggleston, his head sunk in thought, rode in the rear. As he thus slowly neared a farmhouse, a woman, a girl, flew from it towards him with outstretched arms. Eggleston, she cried. Randolph flung himself from his horse. Leonora, he gasped. You here in all this danger? How comes it? What brings you here? We live here, she said. This is Paws house. This is our farm. Gettysburg is our home. Oh, egg, it has been dreadful, the noise of the battle. We couldn't sleep for it. Paws all upset about it. But come in, do come in. Dinner's nearly ready. Eggleston gazed a moment at the retreating army. Duty and affection struggled in his heart. I will, he said. Chapter five, conclusion. The strife is done. The conflict has ceased. The wounds are healed. North and south are won. East and west are even less. The civil war is over. Lee is dead. Grant is buried in New York. The Union Pacific runs from Omaha to San Francisco. There is total prohibition in the United States. The output of dressed beef last year broke all records. And Eggleston Lee Kerry Randolph survives. Hail and hearty, bright and cheery, free and easy, and so forth. There is gray hair upon his temples, some not much. And his step has lost something of its elasticity. Not a great deal. And his form is somewhat bowed, though not really crooked. But he still lives there in the farmstead at Gettysburg. And Leonora, now like himself an old woman, is still at his side. You may see him any day. In fact, he is the old man who shows you over the battlefield for 50 cents and explains how he himself fought and won the great battle. End of THE BLUE AND THE GRAY Read by Sean Michael Hogan, St. John's, Newfoundland, Canada DAISY By W. SUMMERSET MOM This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Bologna Times DAISY By W. SUMMERSET MOM It was Sunday morning, a damp, warm November morning, with the sky overhead gray and low. Ms. Read stopped a little to take breath before climbing the hill, at the top of which, in the middle of the churchyard, was Blackstable Church. Ms. Read panted, and the sultriness made her loosen her jacket. She stood at the junction of the two roads, which led to the church, one from the harbour end of the town and the other from the station. Behind her lay the houses of Blackstable, the wind-beaten houses with slit roofs of the old fishing village, and the red brick villas of the seaside resort, which Blackstable was fast becoming. In the harbour were the mass of the ships, colliers that brought coal from the north, and beyond the grey sea, very motionless, mingling in the distance with the sky. The peel of the church bell ceased, and was replaced by a single bell, ringing a little hurriedly, quarrellessly, which denoted that there were only ten minutes before the beginning of the service. Ms. Read walked on. She looked curiously at the people who passed her, wondering. "'Good morning, Mr. Golding,' she said to a fisherman who pounded by her, ungainly in his Sunday clothes. "'Good morning, Ms. Read,' he replied, warm this morning. She wondered whether he knew anything of the subject that made her heart beat with excitement whenever she thought of it, and for thinking of it she hadn't slept a wink all night. "'Have you seen Mr. Griffith this morning?' she asked, watching his face. "'No, I saw Mrs. Griffith and George as I was walking up.' "'Oh, they are coming to church, then,' Ms. Read cried, with the utmost surprise. Mr. Golding looked at her stupidly, not understanding her agitation. But they had reached the church. Ms. Read stopped in the porch to wipe her boots and pass an arranging hand over her hair. Then, gathering herself together, she walked down the aisle to her pew. She arranged the hasock and knelt down, clasping her hands and closing her eyes. She said, the Lord's Prayer, and, being a religious woman, she did not immediately rise, but remained a certain time in the same position of worship to cultivate a proper frame of mind. Her long, shallow face upraised, her mouth firmly closed, and her eyelids quivering a little from the devotional force with which she kept her eyes shut. Her thin bust, very erect, was encased in a black jacket as in a coat of steel. But when Ms. Read considered that a dupe period had elapsed, she opened her eyes, and, as she rose from her knees, bent over to a lady sitting just in front of her. "'Have you heard about the Griffiths, Mrs. Howlett?' "'No. What is it?' answered Mrs. Howlett, half turning round, intensely curious. Ms. Read waited a moment to heighten the effect of her statement. Daisy Griffith has eloped with an officer from the depot at Turkenberry. Mrs. Howlett gave a little gasp. "'You don't say so!' "'It's all they could expect,' whispered Ms. Read. They ought to have known something was the matter when she went to Turkenberry three or four times a week. Black Stable is six miles from Turkenberry, which is a cathedral city, and has a cavalry depot. "'I've seen her hanging about the barracks with my own eyes,' said Mrs. Howlett, "'but I never suspected anything.' "'Shocking, isn't it?' said Ms. Read, with suppressed delight. "'But how did you find out?' asked Mrs. Howlett. "'Shh!' whispered Ms. Read. The widow, in her excitement, had raised her voice a little, and Ms. Read could never suffer the least irreverence in church. She never came back last night, and George Browning saw them get into the London train at Turkenberry. "'Well, I never,' exclaimed Mrs. Howlett. "'Do you think that Griffiths will have the face to come to church?' "'I shouldn't if I was them,' said Ms. Read. But at that moment the vestry door was opened and the organ began to play the hymn. "'I'll see you afterwards,' Ms. Read whispered hurriedly, and rising from their seats, both ladies began to sing. "'Oh, Jezu, thou art standing outside the fast-closed door, "'in lowly patients waiting to pass the threshold door. "'We bear the name of Christians.'" Ms. Read held the book rather close to her face, being short-sighted, but without even lifting her eyes she had become aware of the entrance of Mrs. Griffith and George. She glanced significantly at Mrs. Howlett. Mr. Griffith hadn't come, although he was churchwarden, and Mrs. Howlett gave an answering look, which meant that it was then evidently quite true. But they both gathered themselves together for the last verse, taking breath. "'Oh, Jesus, thou art pleading in accents meek and low. "'Amen!' The congregation fell to its knees and the curate, rolling his eyes to see who was in church, began gaveling the morning prayers. "'Dearly beloved brethren!' Part 2 At the Sunday dinner the vacant place of Daisy Griffith stared at them. Her father sat at the head of the table, looking down at his plate, in silence. Every now and then, without raising his head, he glanced up at the empty space, filled with a madness of grief. He had gone into Turkenbury in the morning, inquiring at the houses of all Daisy's friends, imagining that she had spent the night with one of them. He could not believe that George Browning's story was true. He could so easily have been mistaken in the semi-darkness of the station, and even he had gone to the barracks. His cheeks still burned with the humiliation, asking if they knew a Daisy Griffith. He pushed his plate away with a groan. He wished passionately that it were Monday so that he could work, and the post would surely bring a letter, explaining. "'The vicar asked where you were,' said Mrs. Griffith. Robert, the father, looked at her with his pained eyes, but her eyes were hard and shining. Her lips almost disappeared in the tight closing of the mouth. She was willing to believe the worst. He looked at his son. He was frowning. He looked as coldly angry as the mother. He, too, was willing to believe everything, and they neither seemed very sorry. Perhaps they were even glad. I was the only one who loved her,' he muttered to himself, and pushing back his chair, he got up and left the room. He almost tottered. He had aged twenty years in the night. "'Aren't you going to have any pudding?' asked his wife. He made no answer. He walked out into the courtyard quite aimlessly, but the force of habit took him to the workshop, where every Sunday afternoon he was used to going after dinner to see that everything was in order, and today also he opened the window, put away a tool which the men had left about, examined the Saturday's work. Mrs. Griffith and George, stiff and ill at ease, in his clumsy Sunday clothes, went on with their dinner. "'Do you think the vicar knew?' he asked, as soon as the father had closed the door. "'I don't think he'd have asked if he had. Mrs. Gray might, but he's too simple. Unless she put him up to it.' "'I thought I should never get round with the plate,' said George. Mr. Griffith, being a carpenter, which is respectable and well to do, which is honourable, had been made churchwarden, and part of his duty was to take round the offertory plate. This duty George performed in his father's occasional absences, as when a coffin was very urgently required. "'I wasn't going to let them get anything out of me,' said Mrs. Griffith, defiantly. All through the service a number of eyes had been fixed on them, eager to catch some sign of emotion, full of horrible curiosity to know what the Griffiths felt and thought, but Mrs. Griffith had been inscrutable. Part III Next day the Griffiths lay and wait for the postman, George set by the parlor window, peeping through the muslin curtains. "'Fanning's just coming up the street,' he said at last, until the post had come, old Griffith could not work, and the courtyard at the back was heard the sound of hammering. There was a wrapped hat at the door, the sound of a letter falling on the mat, and fanning the postman passed on. George leaned back quickly so that he might not see him. Mr. Griffith fetched the letter, opened it with trembling hands. He gave a little gasp of relief. "'She's got a situation in London.' "'Is that all she says?' asked Mrs. Griffith. "'Give me the letter,' and she almost tore it from her husband's hand. She read it through and uttered a little ejaculation of contempt, almost of triumph. "'You don't mean to say, you believe that?' she cried. "'Let's look, mother,' said George. He read the letter, and he too gave a snort of contempt. "'She says she's got a situation,' repeated Mrs. Griffith, with a sneer at her husband, and were not to be angry or anxious, and she's quite happy, and we can write to chairing cross-post office. "'I know what sort of situation she's got.'" Mr. Griffith looked from his wife to his son. "'Don't you think it's true?' he asked helplessly. At the first moment he had put the fullest faith in Daisy's letter. He had been so anxious to believe it, but the scorn of the others. "'There's Miss Reid coming down the street,' said George. "'She's looking this way, and she's crossing over. I believe she's coming in.' "'What does she want?' asked Mrs. Griffith angrily. There was another knock at the door, and through the curtains they saw Miss Reid's eyes looking towards them, trying to pierce the muslin. Mrs. Griffith motioned the two men out of the room and hurriedly put anti-McCassers on the chairs. The knock was repeated, and Mrs. Griffith, catching hold of a duster, went to the door. "'Oh, Miss Reid, who'd have thought of seeing you?' she cried with surprise. "'I hope I'm not disturbing,' answered Miss Reid, with an acid smile. "'Oh, dear, no,' said Mrs. Griffith. I was just doing the dusting in the parlor. Come in, won't you? The place is all upside down. But you won't mind that, will you?' Miss Reid sat on the edge of a chair. "'I thought I'd just pop in to ask about dear Daisy. I met Fanning as I was coming along, and he told me you'd had a letter.' "'Oh, Daisy?' Mrs. Griffith had understood at once why Miss Reid came, but she was rather at a loss for an answer. "'Yes, we have had a letter from her. She's up in London.' "'Yes, I knew that,' said Miss Reid. George Browning saw them get into the London train, you know.' Mrs. Griffith saw it was no good fencing, but an idea occurred to her. "'Yes, of course her father and I are very distressed about her eloping like that.' "'I can quite understand that,' said Miss Reid. But it was on account of his family. He didn't want anyone to know about it till he was married.' "'Oh,' said Miss Reid, raising her eyebrows very high. "'Yes,' said Mrs. Griffith. That's what she said in her letter. They were married on Saturday at a registry office.' "'But, Mrs. Griffith, I'm afraid she's been deceiving you. It's Captain Hogan, and he's a married man.' She could have laughed outright at the look of dismay on Mrs. Griffith's face. The blow was sudden, and notwithstanding all her power of self-control, Mrs. Griffith could not help herself. But at once she recovered, and angry flush appeared on her cheekbones. "'You don't mean it,' she cried. "'I'm afraid it's quite true,' said Miss Reid humbly. In fact, I know it is.' Then she's a lying deceitful hussy, and she's made a fool of all of us. I give him my word of honour that she told us she was married. I'll fetch you the letter.' Mrs. Griffith rose from her chair, but Miss Reid put out a hand to stop her. "'Oh, don't trouble, Mrs. Griffith. Of course I believe you,' she said, and Mrs. Griffith immediately sat down again. But she burst into a storm of abuse, of daisy, for her deceitfulness and wickedness. She vowed she would never forgive her. She assured Miss Reid again and again that she had known nothing about it. Finally she burst into a perfect torrent of tears. Miss Reid was mildly sympathetic, but now she was anxious to get away to impart her news to the rest of Blackstable. Mrs. Griffith sobbed her visitor out of the front door, but when she had closed it dried her tears. She went into the parlor and flung open the door that led to the back room. Griffith was sitting with his face hidden in his hands, and every now and then a sob shook his great frame. George was very pale, biting his nails. "'You heard what she said,' cried Mrs. Griffith. "'He's married.' She looked at her husband contemptuously. "'It's all very well for you to carry on like that now. It was you who did it. It was all your fault. If she had been brought up as I wanted her to be, this wouldn't ever have happened.' Again there was a knock, and George, going out, ushered in Mrs. Gray, the vicar's wife. She rushed in when she heard the sound of voices. "'Oh, Mrs. Griffith, it's dreadful, simply dreadful. Mrs. Reid has just told me all about it. What is to be done? And what will the dissenters make of it? Oh, dear, it's simply dreadful.' "'You've just come in time, Mrs. Gray,' said Mrs. Griffith angrily. "'It's not my fault. I can tell you that. It's her father who brought it about. He would have her go into Turkenbury to be educated, and he would have to take singing lessons and dancing lessons. The church school was good enough for George. It's been daisy this and daisy that all through. Me and George have always put by for daisy.' "'I didn't want her brought up above her station. I can assure you. It's him who would have her brought up as a lady. And see what's come of it. And he let her spend any money she liked on her dress. It wasn't me that let her go into Turkenbury every day of the week if she wanted to. I knew she was up to no good. There you see what you've brought to her. It's you who's disgraced us all.' She hissed out the words with intense malignity, nearly screaming in the bitterness she felt towards the beautiful daughter of better education than herself, almost of different station. It was all but a triumph for her that this had happened. It brought her daughter down. She turned the tables, and now, from the superiority of her virtue, she looked down upon her with utter contempt. P. 4 On the following Sunday the people of Blackstable enjoyed an emotion, as Miss Reed said. It was worth going to church this morning, even for a dissenter. The vequer was preaching, and the congregation paid a very languid attention, but suddenly a curious little sound went through the church. One of those scarcely perceptible noises, which no comparison can explain, it was a quick attraction of all eyes, an arousing of somnolent intelligences, a slight quick drawing in of the breath. The listeners had heated very indifferently Mr. Gray's admonitions to brotherly love and charity as matters which did not concern them other than abstractedly, but quite suddenly they had realized that he was bringing his discourse round to the subject of Daisy Griffith, and they pricked up both ears. They saw it coming directly along the highways of vanity and luxuriousness, and everyone became intensely wide awake. And we have in all our minds, he said at last, the terrible fall which has almost broken the hearts of sorrowing parents, and brought bitter grief, bitter grief and shame to all of us. He went on hinting at the scandal in the manner of the personal columns in newspapers, and drawing a number of obvious morals. The Griffith family were sitting in their pew well in view of the congregation, and losing even the shadow of decency, the people turned round and stared at them, gull-like. Robert Griffith sat in the corner with his head bent down, huddled up, his rough face speaking in all its lines the terrible humiliation. His hair was all disheveled. He was not more than fifty, and he looked an old man. But Mrs. Griffith sat next to him, very erect, not leaning against the back, with her head well up, her mouth firmly closed, and she looked straight in front of her, her little eyes sparkling, as if she had not an idea that a hundred people were staring at her. In the other corner was George, very white, looking up at the roof in simulation of indifference. Suddenly a sob came from the Griffith's pew, and people saw that the father had broken down. He seemed to forget where he was. And he cried as if indeed his heart were broken. The great tears ran down his cheeks in the sight of all, the painful tears of men. He had not even the courage to hide his face in his hands. Still Mrs. Griffith made no motion. She never gave a sign that she heard her husband's agony, but two little red spots appeared angrily on her cheekbones, and perhaps she compressed her lips a little more tightly. Six months passed. One evening, when Mr. Griffith was standing at the door after work, smoking his pipe, the postman handed him a letter. He changed color, and his hand shook when he recognized the handwriting. He turned quickly into the house. A letter from Daisy, he said. They had not replied to her first letter, and since then had heard nothing. Give it to me, said his wife. He drew it quickly towards him with an instinctive gesture of retention. It's addressed to me. Well then, you'd better open it. He looked up at his wife. He wanted to take the letter away and read it alone, but her eyes were upon him, compelling him there and then to open it. She wants to come back, he said, in a broken voice. Mrs. Griffith snatched the letter from him. That means he's left her, she said. The letter was all incoherent, nearly incomprehensible, covered with blots, every other word scratched out. One could see that the girl was quite distraught, and Mrs. Griffith's keen eyes saw the trace of tears on the paper. It was a long, bitter cry of repentance. She begged them to take her back, repeating again and again the cry of penitence, piteously beseeching them to forgive her. I'll go and write to her, said Mr. Griffith. Write what? Why, that is all right, and she isn't to worry, and we want her back, and that I'll go up and fetch her. Mrs. Griffith placed herself between him and the door. What do you mean? she cried. She's not coming back into my house. Mr. Griffith started back. You don't want to leave her where she is. She says she'll kill herself. Yes, I believe that, she replied scornfully, and then, gathering up her anger. Do you mean to say you expect me to have her in the house, after what she's done? I tell you, I won't. She's never coming in this house again, as long as I live. I'm an honest woman, and she isn't. She's a—Mrs. Griffith called her daughter the foulest name that can be applied to her sex. Mr. Griffith stood indecisively before his wife. But think what a state she's in, mother. She was crying when she wrote the letter. Let her cry. She'll have to cry a lot more before she's done, and it serves her right. She'll have to go through a good deal more than that, just before God forgives her. I can tell you. Perhaps she's starving. Let her starve, for all I care. She's dead to us. I've told everyone in Blackstible that I haven't got a daughter now, and if she came on her bended knees before me, I'd spit on her. George had come in and listened to the conversation. Think what people would say, Father, he said now. As it is, it's jolly awkward. I can tell you, no one would speak to us if she was back again. It's not as if people didn't know. Everyone in Blackstible knows what she's been up to. And what about George, put in Mrs. Griffith? Do you think the Pollots would stand it? George was engaged to Edith Pollot. She'd be quite capable of breaking it if Daisy came back, said George. She said as much. Quite right, too, cried his mother. And I'm not going to be like Mrs. J. with Lottie. Everyone knows about Lottie's goings on, and you can see how people treat them, her and her mother. When Mrs. Gray passes them in the street, she always goes on the other side. You know I've always held my head high, and I'm always going to. I've never done anything to be ashamed of, as far as I know, and I'm not going to begin now. Everyone knows it was no fault of mine what Daisy did, and all through I've behaved so that no one should think the worst of me. Mr. Griffith sank helplessly into a chair. The old habit of submission asserted itself, and his weakness gave way, as usual, before his wife's strong will. He had not the courage to oppose her. What shall I answer, then? he asked. Answer? Nothing. I must write something. She'll be waiting for the letter, and waiting, and waiting. Letter, wait. Pt. 6 A few days later another letter came from Daisy, asking pitifully why they didn't write, begging them again to forgive her and take her back. The letter was addressed to Mr. Griffith. The girl knew that it was only from him she might expect mercy, but he was out when it arrived. Mrs. Griffith opened it and passed it on to her son. They looked at one another guiltily. The same thought had occurred to both, and each knew it was in the other's mind. I don't think we'd better let fathers see it, Mrs. Griffith said a little and certainly. It'll do no good, and it'll only distress him. And it's no good making a fuss, because we can't have her back. She'll never enter this door as long as I'm in the world. I think I'll lock it up. I'd burn it, if I was your mother. It's safer. Then, every day, Mrs. Griffith made a point of going to the door herself for the letters. Two more came from Daisy. I know it's not you, it's mother, and George. They've always hated me. Oh, don't be so cruel, Father. I don't know what I've gone through. I've cried and cried till I thought I should die. For God's sake, write to me. They might let you write just once. I'm alone all day, day after day, and I think I shall go mad. You might take me back. I'm sure I've suffered enough. And you wouldn't know me now. I'm so changed. Tell mother that if she'll only forgive me, I'll be quite different. I'll do the housework and anything she tells me. I'll be a servant to you, and send the girl away. If you know how I repent, do forgive me and have me back. Oh, I know that no one would speak to me, but I don't care about that. If only I can be with you. She doesn't think about us, said George. What we should do if she were back. No one would speak to us, either. But the next letter said that she couldn't bear the terrible silence. If her father didn't write her, she'd come down to Blackstable. Mrs. Griffith was furious. I'd shut the door in her face. I wonder how she can dare to come. It's jolly awkward, said George, supposing father found out we'd kept back the letters. It was for his own good, said Mrs. Griffith angrily. I'm not ashamed of what I've done, and I'll tell him so to his face if he says anything to me. Well, it is awkward. You know what father is. If he saw her. Mrs. Griffith paused a moment. You must go up and see her, George. Me! he cried in astonishment. A little in terror. You must go as if you came from your father to say we won't have anything more to do with her, and she's not to write. Part 7 Next day George Griffith, on getting out of the station at Victoria, jumped on a fulham bus, taking his seat with the self-assertiveness of the countrymen, who intends to show the Londoners that he's as good as they are. He was in some trepidation and his best clothes. He didn't know what to say to Daisy, and his hands sweated uncomfortably. When he knocked at the door, he wished she might be out, but that would be only postponing the ordeal. Does Mrs. Hogan live here? Yes. Who shall I say? Say a gentleman wants to see her. He followed quickly on the landlady's heels and passed through the door the woman opened while she was giving the message. Daisy sprang to her feet with a cry. George! She was very pale. Her blue eyes dim and lifeless, with the lids heavy and red. She was in a dressing gown, her beautiful hair disheveled, wound loosely into a knot at the back of her head. She had not half the beauty of her old self. George, to affirm the superiority of virtue over vice, kept his hat on. She looked at him with frightened eyes, then her lips quivered, and turning away her head, she fell on a chair and burst into tears. George looked at her sternly. His indignation was greater than ever, now that he saw her. His old jealousy made him exult at the change in her. She's got nothing much to boast about now, he said to himself, noting how ill she looked. Oh, George! She began sobbing, but he interrupted her. I've come from father, he said, and we don't want to have anything more to do with you, and you're not to write. Oh! She looked at him now, with her eyes suddenly quite dry. They seemed to burn her in their sockets. Did he send you here to tell me that? Yes, and you're not to come down. She put her hand to her forehead, looking vacantly before her. But what am I to do? I haven't gotten any money. I've ponded everything. George looked at her silently, but he was horribly curious. Why did he leave you? he said. She made no answer. She looked before her, as if she were going out of her mind. Has he left you any money? He asked George. Then she started up, her cheeks flaming red. I wouldn't touch a half penny of his. I'd rather starve. She screamed. George shrugged his shoulders. Well, you understand, he said. Oh, how can you? It's all you and mother. You've always hated me. But I'll pay you out. By God, I'll pay you out. Look here, Daisy. I'm not going to stand here and hear you talk like that of me and mother. He replied with dignity. And as for the black, stable people, you're not fit to associate with them. And I can see where you learn to your language. Daisy burst in hysterical laughter. George became more angry, virtuously indignant. Oh, you can laugh as much as you like. I know you're repentant. There's a lot of, you know, I know you're repentant. There's a lot of damned humbug. You've always been a conceited little beast. And you've been stuck up in cocky because you thought yourself nice-looking and because you were educated in Turkinberry. And no one was good enough for you in black stable. And I'm jolly glad that all this has happened to you. It serves you jolly well right. And if you dare to show yourself at black stable, we'll send for the police. Daisy stepped up to him. I'm a damned bad lot, she said, but I swear I'm not half as bad as you are. You know what you're driving me to. You don't think I care what you do, he answered, as he flung himself out the door. He slammed it behind him, and he also slammed the front door to show that he was a man of high principles. And even George Washington, when he said, I cannot tell a lie, I did it with my little hatchet, did not feel so righteous at that moment. Daisy went to the window to see him go. And then, throwing up her arms, she fell on her knees, weeping, weeping, and she cried, my God, have pity on me. Port Ait. I wouldn't go through it again for a hundred pounds, said George, when he recounted his experience to his mother. And she wasn't a bit humble, as you'd expect. Oh, that's Daisy all over. Whatever happens to her, she'll be as bold as brass. And she didn't choose her language, he said, with mangled grief and horror. They heard nothing more of Daisy for over a year, when George went up to London for the choir treat. He did not come back till three o'clock in the morning. But he went at once to his mother's room. He woke her very carefully, so as not to disturb his father. She started up, about to speak, but he prevented her with his hand. Come outside, I've got something to tell you. Mrs. Griffith was about to tell him, rather crossly, to wait till tomorrow, but he interrupted her. I've seen Daisy. She quickly got out of bed, and they went together into the parlor. I couldn't keep it till the morning, he said. What do you think she's doing now? Well, after we came out of the empire, I went down Piccadilly and, well, I saw Daisy standing there. It did give me a turn, I can tell you. I thought some of the chaps would see her. I simply went cold all over, but they were on ahead and hadn't noticed her. Thank God for that, said Mrs. Griffith piously. Well, what do you think I did? I went straight up to her and looked her full in the face. But do you think she moved a muscle? She looked at me as if she'd never set eyes on me before. Well, I was taken aback, I can tell you. I thought she'd faint, not a bit of it. No, I know Daisy, said Mrs. Griffith. You think she's this and that, because she looks at you with those blue eyes of hers, as if she couldn't say boo to a ghost. But she's got the very devil inside her. Well, I shall tell her father that, just so as to let him see what his come to. The existence of the Griffith household went on calmly. Husband and wife and son led their life in the dull little fishing town. The seasons passed insensibly into one another. One year slid gradually into the next, and the five years that went by seemed like one long, long day. Mrs. Griffith did not alter an atom. She performed her housework, went to church regularly, like a Christian woman, in that state of life in which a merciful providence had been pleased to put her. George got married, and on Sunday afternoons could be seen wailing an infant in a perambulator along the street. He was a good husband and an excellent father. He never drank too much. He worked well, he was careful of his earnings, and he also went to church regularly. His ambition was to become Church Warden after his father. And even in Mr. Griffith there was not so very much change. He was more bowed, his hair and beard were greyer. His face was set in an expression of passive misery, and he was extremely silent. But as Mrs. Griffith said, Of course he's getting old. One can't expect to remain young forever. She was a woman who frequently said profound things. And I've known all along he wasn't the sort of man to make old bones. He's never had the go in him that I have. Why, I'd make two of him. The Griffiths were not so well to do as before. As Black Stable became a more important health resort, a regular undertaker opened a shop there, and his window with two little model coffins and an arrangement of Black Prince of Wales feathers surrounded by a white wreath and a fancy of the natives. So that Mr. Griffith almost completely lost the most remunerative part of his business. Other carpenters sprang into existence and took away much of the trade. I've no patience with him, said Mrs. Griffith of her husband. He lets these newcomers come along and just take the bread out of his hands. Oh, if I was a man I'd make things different. I can tell you at last one day George came to his mother in a state of tremendous excitement. I say, mother, you know the pantomime they've got at Turkinbury this week? Yes. Well, the principal boys, Daisy, Mrs. Griffith sank into a chair, gasping. Harry fiends Ben and he recognized her at once. It's all over the town. Mrs. Griffith, for the first time in her life, was completely at a loss for words. Tomorrow's the last night, editor-son, after a little while and all the black-stable people are going. To think that this should happen to me, said Mrs. Griffith distractedly, what have I done to deserve it? Why couldn't it happen to Mrs. Garmin or Mrs. Jay if the Lord had seen fit to bring it upon them? Well, I shouldn't have wondered. He wants us to go, said George. Edith was his wife. You don't mean to say you're going with all the black-stable people there? Well, Edith says we ought to go, just to show them we don't care. Well, I shall come too, cried Mrs. Griffith. Part 9 Next evening, half black-stable took the special train to Turkinbury which had been put on for the pantomime and there was such a crowd at the doors that the impresario half-thought of extending his stay. The Reverend Charles Gray and Mrs. Gray were there, also James, their nephew. Mr. Gray had some scruples about going to a theatre, but his wife said a pantomime was quite different. Besides, curiosity may gently enter even a clerical bosom. Mrs. Reed was there in black satin with her friend Mrs. Howlett. Mrs. Griffith sat in the middle flanked by her beautiful son and her daughter-in-law and George searched for a female beauty with his opera-glass which is quite the proper thing to do on such occasions. The curtain went up and the villagers of Dick Whittington's native place sang a chorus. Now she's coming, whispered George. All those black-stable hearts stood still and Daisy, as Dick Whittington bounded on the stage with her flesh-colored tights with particularly scanty trunks and her bodice rather low. The vicar's nephew snigger and Mrs. Gray gave him a reproachful glance. All the other black-stable people looked pained. Mrs. Reed blushed, but as Daisy waved her hand and gave a kick, the audience broke out into prolonged applause. Turkinberry people have no moral sense, although Turkinberry has no moral sense. Daisy began to sing. I'm a jolly sort of boy, lolly lolly, and I don't care a damn who knows it as I'm fond of every joy, oi oi, as you might very well suppose it, tolly olly olly-ot. Then the audience, the audience of a cathedral city, as Mr. Gray said, took up the refrain. Tolly olly olly-ot, and Dick Whittington appeared in many different costumes and sang many songs, and kicked many kicks till he was finally made Lord Mayor in tights. Ah, it was an evening of bitter humiliation for black-stable people. Some of them, as Mrs. Reed said, behaved scandalously. They really appeared to enjoy it. And even George laughed at some of the jokes the cat made, though his wife and his mother proved him. I'm ashamed of you, George, laughing at such a time, they said. Afterward, the Grays and Mrs. Reed got into the same railway carriage with the Griffiths. Well, Mrs. Griffith said to Victor's wife, what do you think of your daughter now? Mrs. Gray said Mrs. Griffith solemnly, I haven't got a daughter. That's a very proper spirit in which to look at it, answered the lady. She was simply covered with diamonds. They must be worth a fortune, said Mrs. Reed. Oh, I daresay they're not real, said Mrs. Gray. At that distance, and with a limelight, you know, it's very difficult to tell. I'm sorry to say, said Mrs. Griffith, with some asperity, feeling the doubt almost an affront to her. I'm sorry to say that I know they're real. The ladies coughed discreetly, sending a little scandalous mystery, which they must get out of Mrs. Griffith at another opportunity. My nephew James says she earns at least 30 or 40 pounds a week. Mrs. Reed sided the thought of such depravity. It's very sad, she remarked, to think of such things happening to a fellow creature. But what I can't understand, said Mrs. Gray, next morning at the breakfast table, is how she got into such a position. We all know that at one time she was to be seen in, well, in a very questionable place, at an hour which left no doubt about her means of livelihood. I must say, I thought she was quite lost. Oh, well, I can tell you that easily enough, replied her nephew. She's being kept by Sir Somebody Something, and he's running the show for her. James, I wish you would be more careful about your language. It's not necessary to call a spade a spade, and you can surely find a less objectionable expression to explain the relationship between the persons. Don't you remember his name? No, I heard it, but I've really forgotten. I see in this week's Turkenberry Times that there's a Sir Herbert Ausli Faroham staying at the George, just now. That's it, Sir Herbert Ausli Faroham. How sad! I'll look him out in Burke. She took down the reference book, which was kept beside the clergy list. Dear me, he's only 29, and he's got a house in Cavendish Square, and a house in the country. He must be very well to do, and he belongs to the junior Carlton and two other clubs, and he's got a sister who's married to Lord Edward Lake. Mrs. Gray closed the book like a Bible. It's very sad to think of the dissipation of so many members of the aristocracy. It sets such a bad example to the lower classes. Part 10 This showed Old Griffith a portrait of Daisy in her theatrical costume. Has she come to that? He said. He looked at it at a moment, then savagely tore it in pieces and flung it in the fire. But he groaned. He could not get out of his head the picture, the shamelessness of the costume, the smile, the evident prosperity and content. He felt now that he had lost his daughter, indeed. All these years he had kept his heart open to her, and his heart had bled when he thought of her starving, ragged, perhaps dead. He had thought of her begging, her bread, and working her beautiful hands to the bone in some factory. He had always hoped that some day he would come to him purified by the fire of suffering. But she was prosperous and happy and rich. She was applauded, worshipped. The papers were full of her praise. Old Griffith was filled with the feeling of horror, of immense repulsion. She was flourishing in her sin and he loathed her. He had been so ready to forgive her when he thought of her despairing and unhappy. Three months later Mrs. Griffith came to her husband, trembling with excitement and handing him a cutting from a paper. We hear that Miss Daisy Griffith, who earned golden opinions in the provinces last winter with her Dick Whittington, is about to be married to Sir Herbert Ausli Faroham. Her friends, and their name is Legion, will join us in the heartiest congratulations. He returned the paper without answering. Well asked his wife. It is nothing to me. I don't know either of the parties mentioned. At that moment there was a knock at the door and Mrs. Gray and Miss Reid entered, having met on the doorstep. Mrs. Griffith at once regained her self-possession. Have you heard the news, Mrs. Griffith? said Miss Reid. Do you mean about the marriage of Sir Herbert Ausli Faroham? She smiled the long name. Yes, replied the two ladies together. It is nothing to me. I have no daughter, Mrs. Gray. I'm sorry to hear you say that, Mrs. Griffith, said Mrs. Gray very stiffly. I think you show a most unforgiving spirit. Yes, said Miss Reid. I can't help thinking that if you treated poor Daisy in a, well, in a more Christian way, you might have saved her from a great deal. Yes, added Mrs. Gray. I must say that all through I don't think you've shown a nice spirit at all. I remember poor dear Daisy quite well and she had a very sweet character. And I'm sure that if she'd been treated a little more gently, nothing of all this would have happened. Mrs. Gray and Miss Reid looked at Mrs. Griffith sternly and reproachfully. They felt themselves like God Almighty judging a miserable sinner. Mrs. Griffith was extremely angry. She felt that she was being blamed most unjustly, and moreover she was not used to being blamed. I'm sure you're very kind, Mrs. Gray and Miss Reid, but I must take the liberty of saying that I know best what my daughter was. Mrs. Griffith, all I say is this. You are not a good mother. Excuse me, madam, said Mrs. Griffith, having grown red with anger, but Mrs. Gray interrupted. I am truly sorry to have to say it to one of my parishioners, but you are not a good Christian, and we all know that your husband's business isn't going at all well, and I think it's a judgment of providence. Very well, ma'am, said Mrs. Griffith, getting up. You're at liberty to think what you please, but I shall not come to church again. Mr. Friend, the Baptist minister, has asked me to go to his chapel, and I'm sure he won't treat me like that. I'm sure we don't want you to come to church in that spirit, Mrs. Griffith. That's not the spirit with which you can please God, Mrs. Griffith. I can quite imagine now why dear Daisy ran away. You're no Christian. I'm sure I don't care what you think, Mrs. Gray, but I'm as good as you are. Will you open the door for me, Mrs. Griffith, said Mrs. Gray, with outrage dignity? Oh, you can open it yourself, Mrs. Gray, replied Mrs. Griffith. Part 11 Mrs. Griffith went to see her daughter-in-law. I've never been spoken to in that way before, she said, fancy me not being a Christian. I'm a better Christian than Mrs. Gray any day. I like Mrs. Gray with the heirs that she gives herself, as if she'd got anything to boast about. No, Edith, I've said it, and I'm not the woman to go back and not go to church again. From this day I go to chapel. But George came in to see his mother a few days later. Look here, mother. Edith says, you better forgive Daisy now. George, cried his mother. I've only done my duty all through, and if you think it's my duty to forgive my daughter, now she's going to enter the bonds of holy matrimony, I will do so. No one can say that I'm not a Christian, and I haven't said the Lord's prayer ever since I remember for nothing. Mrs. Griffith sat down to write, looking up to her son for inspiration. Dearest Daisy, he said. No, George, she replied. I'm not going to cringe to my daughter, although she is going to be a lady. I shall simply say, Daisy. The letter was very dignified, gently reproachful, for Daisy had undoubtedly committed certain pecadillos, although she was going to be a baronet's wife. But still it was completely forgiving, and Mrs. Griffith signed herself, your loving and forgiving mother, whose heart you nearly broke. But the letter was not answered, and a couple of weeks later, the same Sunday paper contained an announcement of the date of the marriage and the name of the church. Mrs. Griffith wrote a second time. My darling daughter, I am much surprised at receiving no answer to my long letter. All is forgiven. I should so much like to see you again before I die, and to have you married from your father's house. All is forgiven, your loving mother, Mary Ann Griffith. This time the letter was returned unopened. George, cried Mrs. Griffith, she's got her back up. And the wedding is tomorrow, he replied. It's most awkward, George. I've told all the Black Stable people that I've forgiven her, and that Sir Herbert has written to say he wants to make my acquaintance. And I've got a new dress on purpose to go to the wedding. Oh, she's a cruel and exasperating thing, George. I never liked her. You were always my favorite. Well, I do think she's not acting as she should, replied George. And I'm sure I don't know what's to be done. But Mrs. Griffith was a woman who made up her mind quickly. I shall go up to town myself, George, and you must come too. I'd come up with you, or other, but you'd better go to her alone, because I expect she's not forgotten the last time I saw her. They caught a train immediately, and having arrived at Daisy's house, Mrs. Griffith went up the steps while George waited in a neighboring public house. The door was opened by a smart maid, much smarter than the vicarage maid at Black Stable, as Mrs. Griffith remarked with satisfaction. Seeing that Daisy was at home, she sent up a message to ask if a lady could see her. The maid returned. Would you give your name, madam? Mrs. Griffith cannot see you without. Mrs. Griffith had foreseen the eventuality, and, unwilling to give her card, had written another little letter using Edith as Amanoensis, so that Daisy should at least open it. She sent it up. In a few minutes the maid came down again. There was no answer, and she opened the door for Mrs. Griffith to go out. That lady turned very red. Her first impulse was to make a scene, and called the housemaid to witness how Daisy treated her own mother. But immediately she thought how undignified she would appear in the maid's eyes. So she went out like a lamb. She told George all about it as they sat in the private bar of the public house, drinking all I can say, she remarked, is that I hope she'll never live to repent it. Fancy treating her own mother like that, but I shall go to the wedding. I don't care. I will see my own daughter married. That had been her great ambition, and she would have crawled before Daisy to be asked to the ceremony. But George dissuaded her from going uninvited. There were sure to be one or two black-stable people present, and they would see that she was there the humiliation would be too great. I think she's an ungrateful girl, said Mrs. Griffith, as she gave way and allowed George to take her back to black-stable. Part 12 But the prestige of the Griffiths diminished. Everyone in black-stable came to the conclusion that the new Lady Auslie Ferrelhelm had been very badly treated by her relatives, and many young ladies said they would have done just the same in her place. Also Mrs. Gray induced her husband to ask Griffith to resign his churchwardenship. You know Mr. Griffith, said the vicar, deprecatingly. Now that your wife goes to chapel, I don't think we can have you as churchwarden any longer. And besides, I don't think you've behaved to your daughter in a Christian way. It was in the carpenter's shop. The business had dwindled till Griffith only kept one man and a boy. He put aside the saw he was using. What I've done to my daughter I'm willing to take the responsibility for. I ask no one's advice and I want no one's opinion. And if you think I'm not fit to be churchwarden you can find someone else better. Why don't you make it up with your daughter, Griffith? Mind your own business. The carpenter had brooded and brooded over his sorrow till now his daughter's name roused him to fury. He asserted a little authority over his wife, and she dared not mention her daughter before him. Daisy's marriage had seemed like the consummation of her shame. It was vice-riding tramphant and a golden chariot. But the name of Lady Ostley Farrell Ham was hardly ever out of her mother's lips, and she spent a good deal more money in her dress to keep up her dignity. Why, that's another new dress you've got on, said a neighbor. Yes, said Mrs. Griffith complacently. You see, we're in quite a different position now. I have to think of my daughter. Lady Ostley Farrell Ham, I don't want her to be ashamed of her mother. I had such a nice long letter from her the other day. She's so happy with Sir Herbert, and Sir Herbert's so good to her. Oh, I didn't know you were— Oh yes, of course she was a little—well, a little wild when she was a girl, but I've forgiven that. It's her father who won't forgive her. He always was a hard man, and he never loved her as I did. She wants to come and stay with me, but he won't let her. Isn't it cruel of him? I should so like to have Lady Ostley Farrell Ham down here. Part 13 But at last the crash came. To pay for the new things which Mrs. Griffith felt needful to preserve her dignity, she had drawn on her husband's savings in the bank, and he had been drawing on them himself for the last four years without his wife's knowledge. For, as his business declined, he had been afraid to give her less money than usual, and every week had made up the sum by taking something out of the bank. George only earned a pound a week. He had been made clerked to a coal merchant by his mother while in carpeting, and after his marriage he had constantly borrowed from his parents. At last Mrs. Griffith learned to her dismay that their savings had come to an end completely. She had a talk with her husband and found out that he was earning almost nothing. He talked of sending his only remaining workmen away and moving into a smaller place. If he kept his one or two old customers they might just manage to make both ends agreed. Mrs. Griffith was burning with anger. She looked at her husband, sitting in front of her with his helpless look. You fool! she said. She thought of herself coming down in the world, living in a pokey little house away from the high street, unable to buy new dresses, unnoticed by the chief people of Blackstable. She, who had always held up her head with the best of them. George and Edith came in, and she told them herling contemptuous sarcasm at her husband. He sat looking at them with his pained, unhappy eyes, while they stared back at him, as if he were some despicable, noxious beast. But why didn't you say how things were going before? Father, George asked him. He shrugged his shoulders. I didn't like to, he said hoarsely. Those cold, angry eyes crushed him. He felt the stupid, useless fool. He saw they thought him. I don't know what's to be done, said George. His wife looked at Old Griffith with her hard, grey eyes, the sharpness of her features, the firm, clear complexion, with all softness blown out of it by the east winds, expressed the coldest resolution. Father must get Daisy to help. She's got lots of money. She may do it for him. Old Griffith broke suddenly out of his apathy. I'd sooner go to her work-house. I'll never touch a penny of hers." Now then, Father, said Mrs. Griffith, quickly understanding. You drop that. You'll have to. George at the same time got pen and paper and put them before the old man. They stood round him angrily. He stared at the paper. A look of horror came over his face. Go on. Don't be a fool, said his wife. She dipped the pen in the ink and handed it to him. Edith's steel-grey eyes were fixed on him, coldly compelling. Dear Daisy, she began. Father always used to call her Daisy, darling, said George. He'd better put that so as to bring back old times. They talked of him strangely, as if he were absent or had not ears to hear. Very well, replied Edith, and she began again. The old man wrote bewilderingly, as if he were asleep. Daisy, darling, forgive me. I have been hard and cruel towards you. On my knees I beg your forgiveness. The business has gone wrong, and I am ruined. If you don't help me, we shall have the brokers in and have to go to the work-house. For God's sake, have mercy on me. You can't let me starve. I know I have sinned towards you. You're brokenhearted. Father." She read through the letter. I think that'll do. Now the envelope. And she dictated the address. When it was finished, Griffith looked at them with loathing. Absolute loathing. But they paid no more attention to him. They arranged to send a telegram first, in case she should not open the letter. Letter coming. For God's sake, open. In great distress, father. George went out immediately to send the wire and post the letter. Part 14 The letter was sent on a Tuesday. And on Thursday morning a telegram came from Daisy to say she was coming down. Mrs. Griffith was highly agitated. I'll go on—I'll go and put on my silk dress, she said. No, mother, that is a silly thing. Be as shabby as you can. How'll Father be? asked George. You'd better speak to him, Edith. He was called, the stranger, in his own house. Look here, Father. Daisy's coming this morning. Now you'll be civil, won't you? I'm afraid he'll go and spoil everything, said Mrs. Griffith anxiously. At that moment there was a knock at the door. It's her! Griffith was pushed into the back room. Mrs. Griffith hurriedly put on a ragged apron and went to the door. Daisy! she cried, opening her arms. She embraced her daughter and pressed her to her voluminous bosom. Oh, Daisy! Daisy accepted passively the tokens of affection with a sad little smile. She tried not to be unsympathetic. Mrs. Griffith led her daughter into the sitting-room where George and Edith were sitting. George was very white. You don't mean to say you have walked here, said Mrs. Griffith, as she shut the front door. Fancy that when you could have all the carriages in black stable to drive you about. Welcome to your home again, said George, with somewhat the air of a dissenting minister. Oh, George, she said, with the same sad, half-ironical smile, allowing herself to be kissed. Don't you remember me? said Edith, coming forward. I'm George's wife. I used to be Edith Paulett. Oh, yes! Daisy put out her hand. They all three looked at her, and the women noticed the elegance of her simple dress. She was no longer the merry girl they had known, but a tall, dignified woman, and her great blue eyes were very grave. They were rather afraid of her, but Mrs. Griffith made an effort to be cordial and, at the same time, familiar. Fancy you being a real lady, she said. Daisy smiled again. Where's Father? she asked. In the next room. They moved towards the door and entered. Old Griffith rose as he saw his daughter, but he did not come towards her. She looked at him a moment, then turned to the others. Please, leave me alone with Father for a few minutes. They did not want to, knowing that their presence would restrain him, but Daisy looked at them so firmly that they were obliged to obey. She closed the door behind them. Father, she said, turning towards him. They made me write the letter, he said hoarsely. I thought so, she said. Won't you kiss me? He stepped back as if in repulsion. She looked at him with her beautiful eyes, full of tears. I'm so sorry I've made you unhappy, but I've been unhappy too. Oh, you don't know what I've gone through. Won't you forgive me? I didn't write the letter. He repeated hoarsely. They stood over me and made me. Her lips trembled, but with an effort she commanded herself. They looked at one another steadily. It seemed for a very long time. In his eyes was the look of a hunted beast. At last she turned away without saying anything more and left him. In the next room the three were anxiously waiting. She contemplated them a moment and then, sitting down, asked about the affairs. They explained how things were. I talked to my husband about it, she said. He's proposed to make you an allowance so that you can retire from business. Oh, that's Sir Herbert all over, said Mrs. Griffith greasily. She knew nothing about him but his name. How much do you think you could live on? asked Daisy. Mrs. Griffith looked at George and then at Edith. What should they ask? Edith and George exchanged a glance. Agony's lesson, Mrs. Griffith, should demand too little. Well, said that lady, at last, with a little cough of uncertainty, in our best years we used to make four pounds a week out of the business. Didn't we, George? Quite that, answered he and his wife in a breath. Then shall I tell my husband that if he allows you five pounds a week you will be able to live comfortably? Oh, that's very handsome, said Mrs. Griffith. Very well, said Daisy, getting up. You're not going, cried her mother. Yes. Well, that is hard, after not seeing you all these years, but you know best, of course. There's no train up to London for two hours yet, said George. No, I want to take a walk through Blackstable. Oh, you better drive in your position. I prefer to walk. Shall George come with you? I prefer to walk alone. Then Mrs. Griffith again enveloped her daughter in her arms and told her she had always loved her and that she was her only daughter, after which Daisy allowed herself to be embraced by her brother and his wife. Finally they shut the door on her after from the window walked slowly down the high street. If you'd asked it, I believe she'd have gone up to six quid a week, said George. Pt. 15 Daisy walked down the high street slowly, looking at the houses she remembered and her lips quivered a little. At every step smells blew across to her full of memories, the smell of a tannery, the blood smell of a butcher's shop, the sea odor from a shop of fisherman's clothes. At last she came on to the beach and in the darkening November day she looked at the booths she knew so well, the boats drawn up for the winter, whose name she knew, whose owners she had known from her childhood. She noticed the new villas built in her absence and she looked at the grey sea. A sob burst from her, but she was very strong and at once she recovered herself. She turned back and slowly walked up the high street again to the station. The lamps were lighted now and the street looked as it had looked in her memory through the years. Between the green dragon and the Duke of Kent were the same groups of men, farmers, townsfolk, fishermen. Talking in the glare of the rival ends and they stared at her curiously as she passed, a tall figure closely veiled. She looked at the well-remembered shops, the stationery shop with its old fashioned fly-blown knick-knacks, the milleners with cheap gaudy hats, the little tailors with his antiquated fashion plates. At last she came to the station and sat in the waiting room, her heart full of infinite sadness, the terrible sadness of the past. And she could not shake it off in the train. She could only just keep back the tears. At Victoria she took a cab and finally reached home. The servants said her husband was in his study. "'Aloha!' he said. "'I didn't expect you to-night.' "'I couldn't stay. It was awful.' Then she went up to him and looked into his eyes. "'You do love me, Herbert, don't you?' she said, her voice suddenly breaking. "'I want your love so badly.' "'I love you with all my heart,' he said, putting his arms around her. But she could restrain herself no longer. The strong arms seemed to take away the rest of her strength, and she burst into tears. "'I will try and be a good wife to you, Herbert,' she said, as he kissed them away. End of DAYSY by W. Somerset, Mom.