 CHAPTER XIV. THE EARL'S ESTONISHMENT. The announcement of the marriage in the newspapers was the first intimation of it Lord Mount Seven received. He was little less thunderstruck than Miss Corny, and came steaming to England the same day, thereby missing his wife's letter which gave her version of the affair. He met Mr. Carlyle and Lady Isabel in London, where they were staying at one of the West End Hotels, only for a day or two, however, for they were going further. Isabel was alone when the Earl was announced. What is the meaning of this, Isabel? began he, without the circumlocution of greeting. You are married? Yes, she answered, with her pretty innocent blush, some time ago. And to Carlyle, the lawyer, how did it come about? Isabel began to think how it did come about sufficiently to give a clear answer. He asked me, she said, and I accepted him. He came to Castle Marling at Easter and asked me then. I was very much surprised. The Earl looked at her attentively. Why was I kept in ignorance of this, Isabel? I did not know you were kept in ignorance of it. Mr. Carlyle wrote to you, as did Lady Mount Severn. Lord Mount Severn was a man in the dark and looked like it. I suppose this comes, soliloquy's tea, aloud, of your father's having allowed the gentleman to dance daily attendance at East Lynn, and so you fell in love with him. Indeed, no! answered she in an amused tone. I never thought of such a thing as falling in love with Mr. Carlyle. Then you don't love him? abruptly asked the Earl. No! she whispered timidly. But I like him very much. Oh, very much! And he is so good to me. The Earl stroked his chin and mused. Isabel had destroyed the only reasonable conclusion he had been able to come to, as to the motives for the hasty marriage. If you do not love Mr. Carlyle, how comes it that you are so wise in the distinction between liking and love? It cannot be that you love anybody else. The question turned home and Isabel turned crimson. I shall love my husband in time, was all she answered, as she bent her head and played nervously with her watch chain. My poor child involuntarily exclaimed the Earl, but he was one who liked to fathom the depth of everything. Who has been staying at Castle Marling since I left? he asked sharply. Francis Levison came down. I alluded to gentlemen, young men. Only Francis Levison, she replied. Francis Levison, you have never been so foolish as to fall in love with him! The question was so pointed, so abrupt, and Isabel's self-consciousness moreover so great, that she betrayed lamentable confusion and the Earl had no further need to ask. Pity stole into his hard eyes as they fixed themselves on her downcast, glowing face. Isabel, he gravely began, Captain Levison is not a good man. If ever you are inclined to think him one, dispossess your mind of the idea and hold him at arm's distance, drop his acquaintance, encourage no intimacy with him. I have already dropped it, said Isabel, and I shall not take it up again, but Lady Mount Severn must think well of him, or she would not have him there. She thinks none too well of him, none can of Francis Levison, returned the Earl significantly. Before Isabel could reply, Mr. Carlisle entered. He held out his hand to the Earl. The Earl did not appear to see it. Isabel, said he, I am sorry to turn you out, but I suppose you have but this one sitting room. I wish to say a few words to Mr. Carlisle. She quitted then, and the Earl wheeled round and faced Mr. Carlisle, speaking in a stern, haughty tone. How came this marriage about, sir? Do you possess so little honour that, taking advantage of my absence, you must intrude yourself into my family and clandestinely espouse Lady Isabel Vane? Mr. Carlisle stood confounded and confused. He drew himself up to his full height, looking every wit as fearless and far more noble than the peer. My Lord, I do not understand you. Yet I speak plainly. What is it but a clandestine procedure to take advantage of a guardian's absence and beguile a young girl into a marriage beneath her? There has been nothing clandestine in my conduct toward Lady Isabel Vane. There shall be nothing but honour in my conduct toward Lady Isabel Carlisle. Your Lordship has been misinformed. I have not been informed at all, retorted the Earl. I was allowed to learn this from the public papers. I, the only relative of Lady Isabel. When I proposed for Lady Isabel but a month ago, sarcastically interrupted the Earl, but a month ago, calmly repeated Mr. Carlisle, my first action after Isabel accepted me was to write to you, but that I imagine you may not have received the letter, by stating you first heard of our marriage through the papers, I should say, the want of courtesy lay on your Lordship's side for having vowed to save me no reply to it. What were the contents of the letter? I stated what had occurred, mentioning what I was able to do in the way of settlements, and also that both Isabel and myself wished the ceremony to take place as soon as might be. And, pray, where did you address the letter? Lady Mount Severn could not give me the address. She said if I would entrust the letter to her, she would forward it with the rest she wrote, for she expected daily to hear from you. I did give her the letter, and I heard no more of the matter, except that her ladyship sent me a message when Isabel was writing to me that as you would return no reply, of course you approved. Is this the fact? cried the Earl. My Lord, coldly replied Mr. Carlisle, whatever may be my defects in your eyes, I am at least a man of truth. Until this moment, the suspicion that you were in ignorance of the contemplated marriage never occurred to me. So far, then, I beg your pardon, Mr. Carlisle, but how came the marriage about at all? How came it to be hurried over in this unseemly fashion? You made the offer at Easter, as Isabel tells me, and you married her three weeks after it. And I would have married her and brought her away with me the day I did make it, had it been practicable, returned Mr. Carlisle, I have acted throughout for her comfort and happiness. Oh, indeed! exclaimed the Earl, returning to his disagreeable tone. Perhaps you will put me in possession of the facts and of your motives. I warn you that the facts to you will not bear a pleasant sound, Lord Mount Severn. Allow me to be the judge of that, said the Earl. Business took me to Castle Marling on Good Friday. On the following day I called at your house, after your own and Isabel's invitation, it was natural I should, in fact it would have been a breach of good feeling not to do so. I found Isabel ill-treated and miserable, far from enjoying a happy home in your house. What, sir! interrupted the Earl, ill-treated and miserable! Ill-treated even to blows, my Lord! The Earl stood as one petrified, staring at Mr. Carlisle. I learnt it, I must premise, through the chattering revelations of your little son. Isabel, of course, would not have mentioned it to me, but when the child had spoken she did not deny it. In short she was too broken-hearted, too completely bowed in spirit to deny it. It aroused all my feelings of indignation. It excited in me an irresistible desire to emancipate her from this cruel life, and take her where she would find affection, and I hope happiness. There was only one way which I could do this, and I risked it. I asked her to become my wife and to return to her home at East Lynn. The Earl was slowly recovering from his petrification. Then am I to understand that when you called that day at my house you carried no intention with you of proposing to Isabel? Not any. It was an impromptu step, the circumstances under which I found her calling it forth. The Earl paced the room, perplexed still, and evidently disturbed. May I inquire if you love her? he abruptly said. Mr. Carlisle paused, ere he spoke, and a red flesh died his face. Those sort of feelings man rarely acknowledges to man, Lord Mount Severin, but I will answer you. I do love her passionately and sincerely. I learnt to love her at East Lynn, but I could have carried my love silently within me to the end of my life and never betrayed it, and probably should have done so but for the unexpected visit to Castle Marling. If the idea of making her my wife had never previously occurred to me as practicable, it was that I deemed her rank incompatible with my own. As it was, said the Earl. Country solicitors have married Piers' daughters before now, remarked Mr. Carlisle, I only add another to the list. Like you cannot keep her as a Piers' daughter, I presume? East Lynn will be her home. Our establishment will be small and quiet as compared with her father's. I explained to Isabel how quiet at the first, and she might have retracted had she wished. I explained also in full to Lady Mount Severin. East Lynn will descend to our eldest son, should we have children. My profession is most lucrative, my income good, where I to die tomorrow, Isabel would enjoy East Lynn and about three thousand pounds per annum. I gave these details in the letter, which appears to have miscarried. The Earl made no immediate reply. He was absorbed and thought. Your lordship perceives, I hope, that there has been nothing clandestine in my conduct to Lady Isabel. Lord Mount Severin held out his hand. I refused my hand when you came in, Mr. Carlisle, as you may have observed. Perhaps you will refuse yours now, though I should be proud to shake it. When I find myself in the wrong, I am not above acknowledging the fact, and I must state my opinion that you have behaved most kindly and honorably. Mr. Carlisle smiled and put his hand into the earls. The latter retained it while he spoke in a whisper. Of course, I cannot be ignorant that, in speaking of Isabel's ill treatment, you alluded to my wife. Has it transpired beyond yourselves? You may be sure that neither Isabel nor myself would mention it. We shall dismiss it from among our reminiscences. Let it be as though you had never heard it. It is past and done with. Isabel, said the Earl, as he was departing that evening, for he remained to spend the day with him. I came here this morning almost prepared to strike your husband, and I go away honoring him. Be a good and faithful wife to him, for he deserves it. Of course I shall, she answered in surprise. Lord Mount Severin steamed on to Castle Marling, and there he had a stormy interview with his wife. So stormy that the sounds penetrated to the ears of the domestics. He left again the same day in anger and proceeded to Mount Severin. He will have time to cool down before we meet in London, was the comment of my lady. End of Chapter 14 Chapter 15 of East Lynn. East Lynn by Mrs. Henry Wood Chapter 15 Coming Home Miss Carlyle, having resolved upon her course, quitted her own house and removed to East Lynn with Peter and her handmaidens. In spite of Mr. Dills' grieved remonstrances, she discharged the servants whom Mr. Carlyle had engaged, all save one man. On a Friday night, about a month after the wedding, Mr. Carlyle and his wife came home. They were expected, and Miss Carlyle went through the hall to receive them, and stood on the upper steps between the pillars of the portico. An elegant chariot with four post-horses was drawing up. Miss Carlyle compressed her lips as she scanned it. She was attired in a handsome dark silk dress and a new cap. Her anger had had time to cool down in the last month, and her strong common sense told her that the wiser plan would be to make the best of it. Mr. Carlyle came up the steps with Isabelle. You here, Cornelia, that was kind. How are you? Isabelle, this is my sister. Lady Isabelle put forth her hand, and Miss Carlyle condescended to touch the tips of her fingers. I hope you are well, ma'am, she jerked out. Mr. Carlyle left them together, and went back to search for some trifles which had been left in the carriage. Miss Carlyle led the way to a sitting-room where the supper-tree was laid. You would like to go upstairs and take your things off before supper, ma'am? She said in the same jerking tone to Lady Isabelle. Thank you. I will go to my rooms, but I do not require supper. We have dined. Then what would you like to take? asked Miss Cornie. Some tea, if you please. I am very thirsty. Tea! ejaculated Miss Cornie. So late is this? I don't know that they have boiling water. You'd never sleep a wink all night, ma'am, if you took tea at eleven o'clock. Oh, then, never mind, replied Lady Isabelle. It is of no consequence. Do not let me give trouble. Miss Carlyle whisked out of the room, upon what errand was best known to herself, and in the hall she and Marvel came to an encounter. No words passed, but each eyed the other grimly. Marvel was very stylish, with five flounces to her dress, a veil, and a parasol. Meanwhile, Lady Isabelle sat down and burst into bitter tears and sobs. A chill had come over her. It did not seem like coming to East Lynn. Mr. Carlyle entered and witnessed the grief. Isabelle, he uttered in amazement, as he hastened up to her, my darling, what ails you? I am tired, I think, she gently answered, and coming into the house again made me think of Papa. I should like to go to my room's archibald, but I don't know which they are. Neither did Mr. Carlyle know, but Miss Carlyle came whisking in again and said, The best rooms, those next the library, should she go up with my lady? Mr. Carlyle preferred to go himself, and he held out his arm to Isabelle. She drew her veil over her face as she passed Miss Carlyle. The branches were not lighted, and the room looked cold and comfortless. Things seemed all sixes and sevens in the house, remarked Mr. Carlyle. I fancy the servants must have misunderstood my letter and not have expected us until to-morrow night. On returning to the sitting room Mr. Carlyle inquired the cause of the servant's negligence. I sent them away because they were superfluous encumbrances, hastily replied Miss Carlyle. We have four in the house, and my lady has brought a fine maid, I see, making five. I have come up here to live. Mr. Carlyle felt checkmated. He had always bowed to the will of Miss Corny, but he had an idea that he and his wife should be better without her. And your house, he exclaimed? I have let it furnished. The people enter today, so you cannot turn me out of East Lynn onto the road, or to furnished lodgings, archibald. There'll be enough expense without our keeping on two houses, and most people in your place would jump at the prospect of my living here. Your wife will be mistress, I do not intend to take her honors from her, but I will save her a world of trouble and management, be as useful to her as a housekeeper. She'll be glad of that and experienced as she is. I daresay she never gave a domestic order in her life. This was a view of the case to Mr. Carlyle, so plausibly put, that he began to think it might be all for the best. He had great reverence for his sister's judgment. Course of habit is strong upon all of us. Still, he did not know. Did you buy that fine piano which has arrived? Angley asked Mr. Carlyle. It was my present to Isabel. Miss Corny groaned. What did it cost? Costs is of no importance. The old piano here was a bad one, and I bought a better. What did it cost? repeated Miss Carlyle. A hundred and twenty guineas he answered. Obedience to her will was yet powerful within him. Miss Corny threw up her hands and eyes. But at that moment Peter entered with some hot water which his master had wrung for. Mr. Carlyle rose and looked on the sideboard. Where's the wine, Peter? The servant put it out, poured and sherry. Mr. Carlyle drank a glass and then proceeded to mix some wine and water. Shall I mix some for you, Cornelia? he asked. I'll mix for myself if I want any. Who's that for? Isabel. He quitted the room carrying the wine and water and entered his wife's. She was sitting half buried it seemed in the arm-chair, her face muffled up. As she raised it he saw that it was flushed and agitated, that her eyes were bright and her frame was trembling. What is the matter? he hastily asked. I got nervous after Marvel went, she whispered, laying hold of him, as if for protection from terror. I came back to the chair and covered my head over, hoping someone would come up. I have been talking to Cornelia, but what made you nervous? Oh, I was very foolish. I kept thinking of frightful things. They would come into my mind. Do not blame me, Archibald. This is the room Papa died in. Blame you, my darling, he uttered with deep feeling. I thought of a dreadful story about the bats that the servants told. I dare say you never heard it, and I kept thinking, suppose they were at the window now, behind the blinds, and then I was afraid to look at the bed. I fancied I might see. You are laughing! Yes, he was smiling, for he knew that these moments of nervous fear are best met jestingly. He made her drink the wine and water, and then he showed her where the bell was, ringing it as he did so. Its position had been changed in some late alterations to the house. Your room shall be changed tomorrow, Isabelle. No, let us remain in these. I shall like to feel that Papa was once their occupant. I won't get nervous again. But even as she spoke, her actions belied her words. Mr. Carlisle had gone to the door and opened it, and she flew close up to him, cowering behind him. Shall you be gone very long, Archibald? she whispered. Not more than an hour, he answered. But he hastily put back one of his hands, and held her tightly in his protecting grasp. Marvel was coming along the corridor and answered to the ring. Have the goodness to let Miss Carlisle know that I am not coming down again to-night, he said. Yes, sir. Mr. Carlisle shut the door, and then looked at his wife and laughed. He is very kind to me, thought Isabelle. With the morning began the perplexities of Lady Isabelle Carlisle. But, first of all, just fancy the group at breakfast. Miss Carlisle, descending in the startling costume the reader has seen, took her seat at the breakfast table, and there sat bolt upright. Mr. Carlisle came down next, and then Lady Isabelle entered in an elegant half-morning dress with flowing black ribbons. Good morning, ma'am, I hope you slept well, was Miss Carlisle's salutation. Quite well, thank you, she answered as she took her seat opposite Miss Carlisle. Miss Carlisle pointed to the top of the table. That is your place, ma'am, but I will pour the coffee and save the trouble if you wish it. I should be glad if you would, answered Lady Isabelle. So Miss Carlisle proceeded to her duties very stern and grim. The meal was nearly over when Peter came in, and said the butcher had come up for orders. Miss Carlisle looked at Lady Isabelle, waiting, of course, for her to give them. Isabelle was silent with perplexity. She had never given such an order in her life. Totally ignorant was she of the requirements of a household, and did not know whether to suggest a few pounds of meat or whole cow. It was the presence of that grim Miss Corny which put her out. Alone with her husband she would have said, What odd I to order, Archibald, tell me. Peter waited. A. Something to roast and boil, if you please. Stammered Lady Isabelle. She spoke in a low tone. Embarrassment makes cowards of us, and Mr. Carlisle repeated it after her. He knew no more about housekeeping than she did. Something to roast and boil, tell the man, Peter. Up started Miss Corny. She could not stand that. Are you aware, Lady Isabelle, that an order such as that would only puzzle the butcher? Shall I give the necessary orders for today? The fishmonger will be here presently. Oh, I wish you would! cried the relieved Lady Isabelle. I have not been accustomed to it, but I must learn. I don't think I know anything about housekeeping. Miss Corny's answer was to stalk from the room. Isabelle rose from her chair, like a bird released from its cage, and stood by his side. Have you finished, Archibald? I think I have, dear. Oh, here's my coffee. There, I have finished now. Let us go around the grounds. He rose, laid his hands playfully on her slender waist, and looked at her. You may as well ask me to take a journey to the moon. It is past nine, and I have not been to the office for a month. The tears rose in her eyes. I wish you would be always with me. East Lynn will not be East Lynn without you. I will be with you as much as ever I can, my dearest, he whispered, come and walk with me through the park. She ran for her bonnet, gloves, and parasol. Mr. Carlyle waited for her in the hall, and they went out together. He thought it a good opportunity to speak about his sister. She wishes to remain with us, he said. I do not know what to decide. On the one hand I think she might save you the worry of household management. On the other I fancy we shall be happier by ourselves. Isabel's heart sank within her at the idea of that stern Miss Corny mounted over her as resident guard, but, refined and sensitive, almost painfully considerate of the feelings of others, she raised no word of objection. As you and Miss Carlyle please, she answered. Isabel, he said, I wish it to be as you please, I wish matters to be arranged as may best please you, and I will have them so arranged. My chief object in life now is your happiness. He spoke in all the sincerity of truth and Isabel knew it, and the thought came across her that with him by her side, her loving protector, Miss Carlyle could not mar her life's peace. Let her stay archibald, she will not incommod us. At any rate it can be tried for a month or two and we shall see how it works, he musingly observed. They reached the park gates. I wish I could go with you and be your clerk, she cried, unwilling to release his hand. I should not have all that long way to go back by myself. He laughed and shook his head, telling her that she wanted to bribe him into taking her back, but it could not be, and away he went after saying farewell. CHAPTER XVI ISABEL WONDERED BACK, AND THEN WONDERED THROUGH THE ROOMS. They looked lovely, not as they had seemed to look in her father's time. In her dressing-room knelt marvel, unpacking. She rose when Lady Isabelle entered. Can I speak to you a moment if you please, my lady? What is it? Then marvel poured forth her tail. That she feared so small an establishment would not suit her, and if my lady pleased she would like to leave at once, that day. Anticipating it she had not unpacked her things. There has been some mistake about the servant's marvel, but it will be remedied as soon as possible. And I told you before I married that Mr. Carlyle's engagement would be a limited one. My lady, perhaps, I could put up with that, but I never could stop in the house with—that female guy had been on the tip of marvel's tongue, but she remembered in time of whom she was speaking—with Miss Carlyle. I fear, my lady, we have both got tempers that would slash and might be flying at each other. I could not stop my lady for untold gold. And if you please to make me forfeit my running month's salary, why, I must do it. So when I have set your ladyship's things to rights, I hope you'll allow me to go. Lady Isabel would not condescend to ask her to remain, but she wondered how she would manage the inconvenience. She drew her desk toward her. What is the amount, do you? She inquired as she unlocked it. Up to the end of the quarter, my lady, cried marvel in a brisk tone. No, coldly answered Lady Isabel, up to to-day. I have not had time to reckon, my lady. Lady Isabel took a pencil and paper, made out the account, and laid it down in gold and silver on the table. It is more than you deserved, marvel, she remark, and more than you would get in most places. You ought to have given me proper notice. Marvel melted into tears, and began a string of excuses. She should never have wished to leave so kind a lady, but for attendant inconveniences, and she hoped my lady would not object to testify to her character. Lady Isabel quitted the room in the midst of it, and in the course of the day marvel took her departure, Joyce telling her that she ought to be ashamed of herself. I couldn't help myself, retorted marvel, and I am sorry to leave her, for she's a pleasant young lady to serve. While I know I'd have helped myself, was Joyce's remark, I would not go off in this unhandsome way from a good mistress. Perhaps you wouldn't, loftily returned marvel, but my inside feelings are delicate and can't bear to be trampled upon. The same house is not going to hold me and that tall female image, whose more fit to be carried about at a foreign carnival than some that they do carry. So marvel left. And when Lady Isabel went to her room to dress for dinner, Joyce entered it. I am not much accustomed to a lady's maid's duties, began she, but Miss Carlyle has sent me, my lady, to do what I can for you, if you will allow me. Isabel thought it was kind of Miss Carlyle. And if you please to trust me with the keys of your things, I will take charge of them for you, my lady, until you are suited with a maid, Joyce resumed. I don't know anything about the keys, answered Isabel. I never keep them. Joyce did her best and Lady Isabel went down. It was nearly six o'clock, the dinner hour, and she strolled to the park gates, hoping to meet Miss Carlyle. Taking a few steps out, she looked down the road but could not see him coming, so she turned in again and sat down under a shady tree out of view of the road. It was remarkably warm weather for the closing days of May. Half an hour, and then Miss Carlyle came pelting up, past the gates, and turned on to the grass. There he saw his wife. She had fallen asleep, her head leaning against the trunk of a tree. Her bonnet and parasol laid her feet, her scarf had dropped, and she looked like a lovely child, her lips partly open, her cheeks flushed, and her beautiful hair falling around. It was an exquisite picture, and his heart beat quicker within him as he felt that it was all his own. A smile stole to his lips as he stood looking at her. She opened her eyes and for a minute could not remember where she was. Then she started up. Oh! Archibald! Have I been asleep? I, and might have been stolen and carried off. I could not afford that, Isabel. I don't know how it came about. I was listening for you. What have you been doing all day? he asked, as he drew her arm within his, and they walked on. Oh! I hardly know, she sighed, trying the new piano and looking at my watch, and wishing the time would go quicker that you might come home. The ponies and carriage have arrived, Archibald. I know they have, my dear. Have you been out of doors much? No, I waited for you. And then she told him about Marble. He felt vexed, saying she must replace her with all speed. Isabel said she knew of one, a young woman who had left Lady Mount Severn while she, Isabel, was at Castle Marling. Her health was delicate, and Lady Mount Severn's placed too hard for her. She might suit. Right to her, said Mr. Carlisle. The carriage came around, a beautiful little equipage, and Isabel was ready. As Mr. Carlisle drove slowly down the dusty road, they came upon Miss Corny, striding along in the sun with a great umbrella over her head. She would not turn to look at them. Once more, as in the year gone by, St. Jude's Church was in a flutter of expectation. It expected to see a whole paraphernalia of bridal finery, and again it was doomed to disappointment, for Isabel had not put off the mourning for her father. She was in black, a thin, gauze dress, and her white bonnet had small black flowers inside and out. For the first time in his life Mr. Carlisle took possession of the pew belonging to East Lynn, filling the place where the poor Earl used to sit. Not so, Miss Corny, she sat in her own. Barbara was there with the justice and Mrs. Hare. Her face wore a gray, dusky hue, of which she was only too conscious but could not subdue. Her covetous eyes would wander to that other face, with its singular loveliness and its sweetly earnest eyes, sheltered under the protection of him for whose sheltering protection she had so long yearned. Poor Barbara did not benefit much by the services that day. Afterward they went across the churchyard to the west corner where stood the tomb of Lord Mount Severn. Isabel looked at the inscription, her veil shading her face. Not here and now, my darling, he whispered pressing her arm to his side, for he felt her silent sobs. Strive for calmness. It seems but the other day he was at church with me, and now, here. Mr. Carlisle suddenly changed their places, so that they stood with their backs to the hedge, and to any staring stragglers who might be lingering on the road. There ought to be railings around the tomb, she presently said, after a successful battle with her emotion. I thought so, and I suggested it to Lord Mount Severn, but he appeared to think differently. I will have it done. I put you to great expense, she said, taking one thing with another. Mr. Carlisle glanced quickly at her, a dim fear penetrating his mind that his sister might have been talking in her hearing. An expense I would not be without for the whole world. You know it, Isabel. And I have nothing to repay you with, she sighed. He looked expressively amused, and gazing into her face, the expression of his eyes made her smile. Here is John with the carriage, she exclaimed. Let us go, Archibald. Standing outside the gates, talking to the rector's family, were several ladies, one of them Barbara Hare. She watched Mr. Carlisle place his wife in the carriage, she watched them drive away. Barbara's lips were white, as she bowed and returned to his greeting. The heat is so great, murmured Barbara, when those around her noticed her paleness. Ah! you ought to have gone in the fatan with Mr. and Mrs. Hare as they desired you. I wish to walk, returned the unhappy Barbara. What a pretty girl that is, uttered Liddy Isabel to her husband. What is her name? Barbara Hare. CHAPTER 17 Visit of the Hare Family The county carriages began to pour to East Lynn to pay the wedding visit, as it is called, to Mr. and Lady Isabel Carlisle. Of course, they displayed themselves in their most courtly state. Mr. Carlisle, always a popular man, had gained double his former importance by his marriage with the daughter of the late Earl of Mount Severn. Among the earliest visitors went Justice and Mrs. Hare with Barbara. Isabel was in her dressing-gown, attended by Joyce, whom she was just asking to take the place of her late maid, if Mrs. Carlisle would consent to the transfer. Joyce's face lighted up with pleasure the proposal. Oh, my lady, you are very kind. I should so like it. I would serve you faithfully to the best of my ability. Isabel laughed. But Mrs. Carlisle may not be inclined to transfer you. I think she would be, my lady. She said a day or two ago that I appeared to suit you, and you might have me all together if you wished, provided I could still make her gowns. I make them to please her, you see, my lady. Do you make her caps, also? demurely asked Lady Isabel. Joyce smiled. Yes, my lady, but I am allowed to make them only according to her own pattern. Joyce, if you become my maid, you must wear smarter caps yourself. I do not wish you to be fine like Marvel. Oh, my lady, I shall never be fine, shuddered Joyce, and Joyce believed she had caused a shudder at Finery. She was about to speak further when a knock came to the dressing room door. Joyce went to open it and saw one of the housemates, a girl who had recently been engaged, a native of West Lynn, Isabel heard the colloquy. Is my lady there? Yes. Some visitors. Pete ordered me to come and tell you. I say, Joyce, it's the heirs, and she's with them. I watched her get out to the carriage. Who? sharply returned Joyce. Why, Miss Barbara, only fancier come in to pay the wedding visit here. My lady, it better take care that she don't get a bowl of poison mixed for her. Master is now with Daryl's side of giving a shilling to see the interview between the three. Joyce sent the girl away, shut the door, and turned to her mistress, quite unconscious that the half-whispered conversation had been audible. Some visitors are in the drawing room, my lady. Susan says, Mr. Justice Hare and Mrs. Hare and Miss Barbara. Isabel descended, her mind full of the mysterious words spoken by Susan. The justice was in a new flaxen wig, obstinate-looking, and pompous. Mrs. Hare, pale, delicate, and ladylike, Barbara, beautiful. Such was the impression they made upon Isabel. They paid rather a long visit. Isabel quite falling in love with the gentleman suffering Mrs. Hare, and had risen to leave when Miss Carlisle entered. She wished them to remain longer, had something she said to show Barbara. The justice declined. He had a brother Justice coming to dine with him at five, and it was then half-past four. Barbara might stop if she liked. Barbara's face turned crimson, but nevertheless she accepted the invitation, immediately profited her by Miss Carlisle to remain at East Lynn for the rest of the day. Dinner-time approached, and Isabel went to dress for it. Joyce was waiting, and entered upon the subject of the service. My lady, I have spoken to Miss Carlisle, and she is willing that I should be transferred to you, but she says I ought to first to acquaint you with certain unpleasant fact in my history, and the same thought had occurred to me. Miss Carlisle is not over-pleasant in manner, my lady, but she is very upright and just. What facts? asked Lady Isabel, sitting down to have her hair brushed. My lady, I'll tell you as shortly as it can. My father was a clerk in Mr. Carlisle's office. Of course I mean the late Mr. Carlisle. My mother died when I was eight years old, and my father afterwards married again a sister of Mr. Cain's wife. Mr. Cain the music-master. Yes, my lady. She and Mrs. Cain were quite ladies, and had been governesses. People said she lowered herself greatly in marrying my father. However, they did marry, and at the end of the year my little sister, Afie, was born. We lived in a pretty cottage in the wood, and were happy. But in twelve months more my stepmother died, and an aunt of hers adopted Afie. I lived with my father, going to school, then to learn dressmaking, and finally going to work to ladies' houses. For many years Afie came home. Her aunt had died, and her income with her, but not the vanity and love of finery that Afie had acquired. She did nothing but dress herself and read novels. My father was angry. He said no good could come of it. She had several admirers. Mr. Richard Hare, Miss Barbara's own brother, continued Joyce, luring her voice, and she flirted with them all. My father used to go out to shoot on fine evenings after office, or to his duties as secretary to the library, and so Afie was generally all alone until I came home at nine o'clock and was free to flirt with her beau. Had she any issue favoured particularly, was it thought? asked Eddie Isabel. The chief one, my lady, was Richard Hare. She got acquainted with somebody else, a stranger, who used to ride over from a distance to see her, but I fancy there was nothing in it. Richard was the one, and it went on till, till, he killed her father. Who? uttered the startled Isabel. Richard Hare, my lady. Father had told Afie that Mr. Richard should not come there any longer, for one gentleman going secret after poor girls, it's well known they have not got marriage in their thoughts. Father would have interfered more than he did, but that he judged well if Mr. Richard did not think he was one to do Afie real harm, but he did not know how flighty she was. However, one day he heard people talk about it in West Lynn, coupling her name and Mr. Richard's offensively together, and at night he told Afie before me that it should not go on any longer, and she must not encourage him. My lady, the next night Richard Hare shot my father. How very dreadful! Whether it was done on purpose, or that they had a scuffle and the gun went off accidentally and killed my father, no one can tell. Afie said she had been in the woods at the back of the house, and when she came in Father laid dead and Mr. Loxley was standing over him. He said he had heard the shot, and come up just to see Richard fly from the house, his shoes covered with blood. He has never been heard off since, but there is a judgment of murder out against him, and the fear and shame is killing his mother by inches. And Afie? The worst is to come, my lady. Afie followed him directly after the inquest, and nothing has been known since of either of them. I was taken ill after all these shocks with nervous fever, and Ms. Carlisle took care of me, and I have remained with her ever since. This was what I had to tell you, my lady, before you decided to take me into service. It is not every lady who would like to engage one whose sister has turned out so badly. Lady Isabel did not see that it could make any difference, or that it ought to. She said so, and then leaned back in her chair and mused. What dress, my lady? Joyce. What was that I heard you and Susan gossiping over at the door? Lady Isabel suddenly asked. About Miss Hare giving me a bowl of poison, something in the dramatic line that would be. You should tell Susan not to make her whispers so loud. It was only a bit of nonsense, my lady. These ignorant servants will talk, and everyone at West Lynn knew Ms. Barbara was in love with Mr. Carlisle. But I don't fancy she would have been the one to make him happy with all her love. A heart flushed past over the brow of Lady Isabel. A sensation very like jealousy flew to her heart. No woman likes to hear of another's being, or having been attached to her husband. A doubt always arises whether the feeling may not have been reciprocated. Lady Isabel descended. She wore a costly black lace dress, its low body and sleeves trimmed with as costly white and ornaments of jet. She looked inexpressibly beautiful, and Barbara turned from her with a feeling of sinking jealousy, from her beauty, from her attire, even from the fine soft handkerchief which displayed the badge of her rank, the coronet of an Earl's daughter. Barbara looked well too. She was in a light blue silk robe, and her pretty cheeks were damask with her mind's excitement. On her neck she wore the gold chain given her by Mr. Carlisle. Strange that she had not discarded that. They stood together at the window, looking at Mr. Carlisle as he came up the avenue. He saw them, and nodded. Lady Isabel watched the damask cheeks turn to crimson at the sight of him. How'd you do, Barbara? He cried as he shook hands. Come to pay us a visit at last. You have been rather tardy over it. And how are you, my darling? he whispered over his wife, but she missed his kiss of greeting. Well, would she have had him give it her in public? No, but she was in the mood to notice the omission. Dinner over, Miss Carlisle beguiled Barbara out of doors. Barbara would far rather have remained in his presence. Of course, they discussed Lady Isabel. How'd you like her? abruptly asked Barbara, alluding to Lady Isabel. Better than I thought I should, acknowledged Miss Carlisle. I had expected heirs and graces and pretense, and I must say she is free from them. She seems quite wrapped up in archibald and watches for his coming home like a cat watches for a mouse. She is dull without him. Barbara compelled her manner to indifference. I suppose it is natural. I suppose it is absurd, was the retort of Miss Carlisle. I give them little of my company, especially in an evening. They go strolling out together, or she sings to him, he hanging over her as if she were of gold. To judge by appearances she is more precious to him than any gold that was ever coined into money. I'll tell you what I saw last night. Archibald had what he is not often subject to a severe headache, and he went into the next room after dinner and lay on the sofa. She carried a cup of tea to him and never came back, leaving her own on the table till it was perfectly curled. I pushed open the door to tell her so. There was my lady's camber cankerchief, soaked in odour cologne, lying on his forehead, and there was my lady herself kneeling down and looking at him, here with his arm thrown around her there. Now I ask you, Barbara, whether there is any sense in fadding with a man like that? If ever he did have a headache before he was married, I used to mix him up a good dose of salt and centre and tell him to go to bed early and sleep the pain off. Barbara made no reply, but she turned her face from Miss Carlyle. On Barbara's return to the house, she found that Mr. Carlyle and Lady Isabel were in the joining room at the piano, and Barbara had an opportunity of hearing that sweet voice. She did, as Miss Carlyle confessed to have done, pushed open the door between the two rooms and looked in. It was the twilight hour, almost too dusk to see, but she could distinguish Isabel seated at the piano and Mr. Carlyle standing behind her. She was singing one of the ballads from the opera of the Bohemian girl, When the Other Lips. Why do you like that song so much archibald, she asked when she had finished it? I don't know. I never liked it so much until I heard it from you. I wonder if they have come in. Shall we go into the next room? Just this one first, this translation from the German, to a vein to tell the all I feel. There's real music in that song. Yes, there is. Do no archibald, your taste is just like Papaz. He liked all these quiet imaginative songs, and so do you. And so do I, she laughingly added, if I must speak the truth. She ceased and began the song, singing it exquisitely in a low, sweet, earnest tone, the chords of the accompaniment, as its conclusion dying off gradually into silence. There, archibald, I'm sure I have sung you ten songs at least, she said, leaning her head back against him and looking at him from her upturned face. You ought to pay me. He did pay her, holding the dear face to him and taking from it some impassioned kisses. Barbara turned to the window, a low moan of pain escaping her as she pressed her forehead on one of its pains and looked forth at the dusky night. Itabelle came in on her husband's arm. Why, you're alone, Miss Hare. I haven't really beg your pardon. I suppose you were with Miss Carlisle. Where is Cornelia, Barbara? I have just come in, was Barbara's reply. I dare say she is following me. So she was, for she entered a moment after, her voice raised in anger at the Gartner, who had disobeyed her orders and obeyed the wishes of Lady Isabel. The evening wore on to ten, and as the timepiece struck the hour Barbara rose from her chair in amazement. I did not think it was so late. Surely someone must have come for me. I will inquire, was Lady Isabel's answer, and Mr. Carlisle touched the bell. No one had come for Miss Hare. Then I fear I must trouble Peter, cried Barbara. The marm may be gone to rest tired, and Papa must have forgotten me. It would never do for me to get locked out, she gaily added. As you were one night before, said Mr. Carlisle significantly. He alluded to the night when Barbara was in the grove of trees with her unfortunate brother, and Mr. Hare was on the point unconsciously of locking her out. She had given Mr. Carlisle the history, but its recollection now called up a smart pain and a change passed over her face. Oh! Don't, Archibald! she uttered in the impulse of the moment. Don't recall it! Isabel wondered. Can Peter take me, continued Barbara? I had better take you, said Mr. Carlisle. It is late. Barbara's heart beat at the words beat as she put her things on, as she said good night to Lady Isabel and Miss Carlisle. It beat to throbbing as she went out with him and took his arm. All just as it used to be, only now that he was the husband of another. Only. It was a warm, lovely June night, not moonlight, but bright with its summer twilight. They went down the park into the road which they crossed, and soon came to a style. From that style there led a path through the fields which would pass the back of Justice Hare's. Barbara stopped at it. Would you choose the field way to night, Barbara? The grass will be damp, and this is the longest way. But we shall escape the dust of the road. Oh, very well, if you prefer it. It will not make three minutes different. He is very anxious to get home to her, mentally exclaimed Barbara. I shall fly out upon him presently all my heart will burst. Mr. Carlisle crossed the style, helped Barbara over, and then gave her his arm again. He had taken her parasol, as he had taken it the last night they had walked together. An elegant little parasol was of blue silk and white lace. And he did not switch the hedges with it. That night was present to Barbara now, with all its words and its delusive hopes. Terribly present to her was their bitter ending. There are women of warm, impulsive temperaments who can scarcely help in certain moments of highly wrought excitement, overstepping the bounds of nature and decorum, and giving the reins to temper, tongue, and imagination, making a scene in short. Barbara had been working herself into this state during the whole evening. The affection of Isabelle for her husband, her voice, his caress, seemed through the half-open doors had maddened her. She felt it impossible to restrain her excitement. Mr. Carlisle walked on, utterly unconscious that a storm was brewing. More than that, he was unconscious of having given course one and dashed into an indifferent commonplace topic in the most provoking manner. When does justice begin hay-making, Barbara? There was no reply. Barbara was swelling and panting and trying to keep her emotion down. Mr. Carlisle tried again. Barbara, I asked you which day your papa cut his hay. Still no reply. Barbara was literally incapable of making one. The steam of excitement was on nearly to its highest pitch. Her throat was working. The muscles of her mouth began to twitch in a convulsive sob, or what sounded like it broke from her. Mr. Carlisle turned his head hastily. Barbara? Are you ill? What is it? On it came passion, temper, wrongs, and nervousness, all boiling over together. She shrieked, she sobbed, she was in strong hysterics. Mr. Carlisle half carried, half dragged her to the second style and placed her against it, his arms supporting her, and an old cow and two calves, wondering what the disturbance could mean at that somber time of night, walked up and stared at them. Barbara struggled with her emotion, struggled manfully, and the sobs and shrieks subsided, not the excitement or the passion. She put away his arm and stood with her back to the style, leaning against it. Mr. Carlisle felt inclined to fly to the pond for water, but he had nothing but his hat to get it in. Are you better, Barbara? What can have caused it? What can have caused it? she burst forth, giving full swing to the reins and forgetting everything. You can ask me that! Mr. Carlisle was struck dumb, but by some inexplicable laws of sympathy, a dim and very unpleasant consciousness of the truth had begun to steal over him. I don't understand you, Barbara. If I have offended you in any way, I am truly sorry. Truly sorry, no doubt! was there a talk to the sobs and the shrieks alarmingly near. What do you care for me? If I go under the sod to-morrow, stamping it with her foot, you have your wife to care for! What am I? Hush! he interposed, glancing round, more mindful for her than she was for herself. Hush, yes! you would like me to hush. What is my misery to you? I would rather be in my grave, archable Carlisle, than endure the life I have led since you married her. My pain is greater than I will know how to bear. I cannot affect to misunderstand you, his head feeling more at a non-plus than he had felt for many a day, and heartily wishing the whole female creation save Isabel somewhere. But, my dear Barbara, I never gave you cause to think that I cared for you more than I did. Never gave me cause, she gasped, when you have been coming to our house constantly, almost like my shadow when you gave me this, dashing open her mantle and holding up the locket to his view, when you have been more intimate with me than a brother. Stay, Barbara, there it is, a brother. I have been nothing else. It never occurred to me to be anything else, he added in straightforward truth. I, a brother in nothing else. And her voice rose once more with her excitement. It seemed that she would not long control it. What cared you for my feelings? What wrecked you that you gained my love? Barbara, hush, he implored, do be calm and reasonable. If I ever gave you cause to think I regarded you with deeper feelings, I can only express to you my deep regret, my repentance, and assure you it was done unconsciously. She was growing calmer. The passion was fading, leaving her face still and white. She lifted it towards Mr Carlisle. You treated me ill in showing signs of love, if you felt it not. Why did you kiss me? I kissed you as I might kiss a sister, or perhaps as a pretty girl. Man likes to do so. The close terms on which our families have lived excused if it did not justify a degree of familiarity that might have been unseemly, and you need not tell me that, hotly interrupted Barbara. Had it been a stranger who had won my love and then thrown me from him, do you suppose I would have reproached him as I am now reproaching you? No. I would have died rather than that he should have suspected it. If she had not come between us, should you have loved me? Do not pursue this unthankful topic, he besought, almost wishing the staring cow would run away with her. I ask you, should you have loved me? persisted Barbara, passing her handkerchief over her ashy lips. I don't know. How can I know? Do I not say to you, Barbara, that I only thought of you as a friend, a sister? I cannot tell what might have been. I could better bear it but that it was known, she murmured. Almost Lynn had coupled us together in their prime gossip, and they have only pity to cast on me now. I would far rather you had killed me, archibald. I can but express to you my deepest regret, he repeated. I can only hope that you will soon forget it all. Let the remembrance of this conversation pass away with tonight. Let us still be to each other as friends, as brother and sister. Believe me, he concluded in a deeper tone, the confession has not lessened you in my estimation. He made a movement as though he would get over the style but Barbara did not stir. The tears were silently coursing down her pallid face. At that moment there was an interruption. Is that you, Miss Barbara? Barbara stared as if she had been shot. On the other side of the style stood Wilson, their upper maid. How long might she have been there? She began to explain that Mr. Hair had sent Jasper out, and Mrs. Hair had thought it was better to wait longer for the man's return, so had dispatched her, Wilson, for Miss Barbara. Mr. Carlisle got over the style and handed over Miss Barbara. You need not come any further now, she said to him in a low tone. I should see you home, was his reply, and he held out his arm. Barbara took it. They walked in silence, arrived at the back gate of the grove which gave entrance to the kitchen garden. Wilson went forward. Mr. Carlisle took both Barbara's in his hands. Good night, Barbara. God bless you. She had had time for reflection, and the excitement gone. She saw her outbreak in all its shame and folly. Mr. Carlisle noticed how subdued and white she looked. I think I have been mad, she groaned. I must have been mad to say what I did. Forget that it was uttered. I told you I would. You will not betray me to your wife, she panted. Barbara, thank you. Good night. But he still retained her hands. In a short time, Barbara, I trust you will find one more worthy to receive your love than I have been. Never, she impulsively answered, I do not love and forget so lightly. In the years to come, in my old age, I shall still be nothing but Barbara-hair. Mr. Carlisle walked away in a fit of musing. The revelation had given him pain and possibly a little bit of flattery into the bargain, for he was fond of pretty Barbara. Fond in his way, not hers, not with the sort of fondness he felt for his wife. He asked his conscience whether his manner to hair in the past days had been a tinge warmer than we bestow upon a sister, and he decided that it might have been, but he most certainly never cast a suspicion to the mischief it was doing. I heartily hope she'll soon find somebody to her liking and forget me, was his concluding thought. As to living and dying, Barbara-hair, that's all moonshine and sentimental rubbish that girls like to— Archibald! He was passing the very last tree in the park nearest to his house, and the interruption came from a dark form standing under it. Is he tuned, my dearest? I came out to meet you. Have you not been very long? I think I have, he answered, as he drew his wife to his side and walked on with her. We met one of the servants at the second star, but I went on all the way. You have been intimate with the heirs? Quite so. Cornelia is related to them. Do you think Barbara pretty? Very. Then, intimate as you were, I wonder you never fell in love with her? Mr. Carlyle laughed, a very conscious laugh, considering the recent interview. Did you, Archibald? The words were spoken in a low turn almost as he fancied at a tone of emotion, and he looked at her in amazement. Did I wart, Isabel? You never loved Barbara here? Loved her? What is your head running on, Isabel? I never loved but one, and that one I made my own, my cherished wife. End of Chapter 17 Recording by John Fricker Chapter 18 of East Lynn This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by John Fricker East Lynn by Mrs. Henry Wood Chapter 18 Miss Carlyle, Isabel Unhappy Another year came in. Isabel would have been altogether happy but for Miss Carlyle, that lady still inflicted her presence upon East Lynn and made it to the bane of its household. She deferred outwardly to Lady Isabel as the mistress, but the real mistress was herself. Isabel was little more than an automaton. Her impulses were checked, her wishes frustrated, her actions tacitly condemned by the imperiously willed Miss Carlyle. Poor Isabel with her refined manners and her timid and sensitive temperament had no chance against the strong-minded woman, and she was in a state of galling subjection in her own house. Not a day passed but Miss Carlyle by dint of hints and innuendos contrived to impress upon Lady Isabel the unfortunate blow to his own interests that Mr. Carlyle's marriage had been, the ruinous expense she had entailed upon the family. It struck a complete chill to Isabel's heart, and she became painfully impressed with the incubus she must be to Miss Carlyle. So far as his pocket was concerned. Lord Mount Severn with his little son had paid them a short visit at Christmas, and Isabel had asked him, apparently, with unconcern, whether Mr. Carlyle had put himself very much out of the way to marry her. Whether it had entailed on him an expense, and a style of living he would not otherwise have deemed himself justified in affording. Lord Mount Severn's reply was an unfortunate one. His opinion was that it had, he said, and that Isabel ought to feel grateful to him for his generosity. She sighed as she listened, and from thence forth determined to put up with Miss Carlyle. More timid and sensitive by nature than many would believe or can imagine, reared in seclusion more simply and quietly than falls to the general lot of Piers' daughters, completely inexperienced. Isabel was unfit to battle with the worldly, totally unfit to battle with Miss Carlyle. The penniless state in which she was left at her father's death, the one of a home, save that accorded her at Castle Marling, even the hundred-pound note left in her hand by Mr. Carlyle, all that had imbued her with a deep consciousness of humiliation. And, far from rebelling at order, spicing the small establishment comparatively speaking provided for her by Mr. Carlyle, she felt thankful to him for it. But be told continuously that this was more than he could afford, that she was in fact a blight upon his prospects, was enough to turn her heart a bitterness. O, that she had had the courage to speak out openly to husband, that he might say by a single word of earnest love and assurance, have taken the weight from her heart and rejoiced it with the truth, that all these miserable complaints were but the phantoms of his narrow-minded sister. But Isabel never did. When Miss Corny lapsed into her grumbling mood, she would hear in silence, or generally bend her aching forehead in her hands, never retorting. Never before Mr. Carlyle was the lady's temper vented upon her. Plenty fell to his own share when he and his sister were alone, and he had become so accustomed to the sort of thing all his life, he had got used to it, like the eels due to skinning, that it went, as the saying runs, in at Wallier and out at the other, making no impression. He never dreamt that Isabel also received her portion. It was morning early in April. Joyce sat in its grey dawn, over a large fire in the dressing-room of Lady Isabel Carlyle. Her hands clasped to pain, and the tears coursing down her cheeks. Joyce was frightened. She had had some experience in illness, but illness of this nature she had never witnessed, and she was fervently hoping never to witness it again. In the adjoining room lay Lady Isabel, sick nearly unto death. The door from the corridor slowly opened, and Miss Carlyle slowly entered. She had probably never walked with so gentler step in all her life, and she had got a thick, wadded mantle over her head and ears. Down she sat in a chair quite meekly, and Joyce saw that her face looked as grey as the early dawn. Joyce, whispered she, is there any danger? Oh, Mum, I trust not, but it's hard to witness, and it must be awful to bear. It's our common curse, Joyce. You and I may congratulate ourselves that we had not chose to encounter it, Joyce. She added after a pause, I trust there's no danger. I should not like her to die. Miss Carlyle spoke in a low, dread tone. Was she fearing that if her poor young sister-in-law did die, a weight would rest on her own conscious for all that time, a heavy, ever-present weight whispering that she might have rendered her short year of marriage more happy had she chosen, and that she had not so chosen, but had deliberately steeled every crevice of her heart against her? Very probably. She looked anxious and apprehensive in the morning's twilight. If there's any danger, Joyce, why do you think this danger, Mum, interrupted Joyce? Are other people not as ill as this? It is to be hoped they are not, rejoined Miss Carlyle, and why has the express gone to Lindborough for Dr. Martin? Up-started Joyce all struck. An express for Dr. Martin. Oh, Mum! Who sent it? When did it go? All I know is that it's gone. Mr. Wainwright went to your master, and he came out of his room and sent John galloping to the telegraph office at West Lynn. Where could your ears have been, not to hear the horse tearing off? I heard it. I know that, and a nice fright had put me in. I went to Mr. Carlyle's room to ask what was me, and he said he did not know himself. Nothing he hoped, and then he shut his door again in my face, instead of stopping to speak to me as any other Christian would. Joyce did not answer. She was faint with apprehension, and there was a silence broken only by the sounds from the next room. Miss Carlyle rose, and a fanciful person might have thought she was shivering. I can't stand this, Joyce. I shall go. If they want coffee or anything of that, it can be sent here. Ask. I will presently, in a few minutes, answer Joyce with a real shiver. You are not going in, are you, Mum? She uttered in apprehension, as Miss Carlyle began to steal on tiptoe to the inner door, and Joyce had a lively consciousness that her sight would not be an agreeable one to Lady Isabel. They want the room free. They sent me out. Not I, answered Miss Corny, I could do no good, and those who cannot are better away. Just what Mr. Rainwright said when he dismissed me, Mehmed Joyce, and Miss Carlyle finally passed into the corridor and withdrew. Joyce sat on, it seemed to her, an interminable time. And then she heard the arrival of Dr. Martin, heard him go into the next room. By and by, Mr. Wainwright came out of it into the room where Joyce was sitting, her tongue clove to the roof of her mouth, and before she could bring out the ominous words, is there any danger? He had passed through it. Mr. Wainwright was on his way to the apartment where he expected to find Mr. Carlyle. The latter was pacing it. He heard so paced it all the night. His pale face flushed as the surgeon entered. Who have little mercy on my suspense, Wainwright? Dr. Martin has been here this twenty minutes. What does he say? Well, he cannot say any more than I did. The symptoms are critical. But he hopes she will do well. There is nothing for it but patience. Mr. Carlyle assumed his weary walk. I come now to suggest that you should send for Little. In these protracted caches the speech was interrupted by a cry from Mr. Carlyle, half horror, half despair, for the reverend Mr. Little was the incumbent of St. Jude's, and his apprehensions had flown. He hardly knew to what they had flown. Not for your wife, hastily rejoined the surgeon. What good should a clergyman do to her? I spoke of the score of the child. Should it not leave, it may be satisfactory to you and Lady Isabelle to know that it was baptized. I thank you. I thank you. Said Mr. Carlyle, grasping his hand in his inexpressible relief, little shall be sent for. Who jumped to the conclusion that your wife's soul was flitting? Please, God, she may yet live to bear your other children if this one does die. Please, God, with the inward aspiration of Mr. Carlyle. Carlyle added the surgeon in a musing sort of tone as he laid his hand on Mr. Carlyle's shoulder, which his own head scarcely reached. I am sometimes at deathbed where the clergyman is sent for in this desperate need to the fleeting spirit, and I am tempted to ask myself what good another man, priest though he be, can do at the twelfth hour where accounts have not been made up previously. It was hard upon midday. The Reverend Mr. Little, Mr. Carlyle, and Miss Carlyle were gathered in the dressing room round a table on which stood a rich china bowl containing water for the baptism. Joyce, her pale face working with emotion, came into the room carrying what looked like a bundle of flannel. Little cared Mr. Carlyle for the bundle in comparison with his care for his wife. Joyce, he whispered, is it well still? I believe so, sir. The services commenced. The clergyman took the child. What name? He asked. Mr. Carlyle had never thought about the name, but he replied very promptly, William, for he knew it was name revered and loved by Lady Isabel. The minister dipped his fingers in the water. Joyce interrupted in much confusion looking at her master. It is a little girl, sir. I beg your pardon. I am sure I thought I had said so, but I am so flurry as I never was before. There was a pause. And then the minister spoke again. Name the child. Isabel Lucy said Mr. Carlyle, upon which a strange sort of resentful sniff was heard from Ms. Corny. She had probably thought to hear him mention her own, but he had named it after his wife and his mother. Mr. Carlyle was not allowed to see his wife until evening. His eyelashes glistened as he looked down at her. She detected his emotions and a faint smile parted her lips. I fear I bore it badly, archibald, but let us be thankful that it is over. How thankful one can know to save those who have gone through it. I think they can, he murmured. I never knew what thankfulness was until this day. That the baby is safe. That you are safe, my darling. Safe and spared to me, Isabel. He whispered, hiding his face upon hers. I never until this day knew what prayer was, the prayer of the heart in its sore need. Have you written to Lord Mount Seven? She asked after a while. This afternoon, he replied, Why did you give baby my name, Isabel? Do you think I could have given it a prettier one? I don't. Why do you not bring a chair and sit down by me? He smiled and shook his head. I wish I might, but they limited my stay with you to four minutes and when Wright has posted himself outside the door with his watch in his hand. Quite true. There stood the careful surgeon and the short interview was over almost as soon as it had begun. The baby lived, and appeared likely to live, and of course the next thing was to look out for a maid for it. Isabel did not get strong very quickly. Fever and weakness had a struggle with each other and with her. One day, when she was dressing and sitting in her easy chair, Miss Carlisle entered. Of all the servants in the neighbourhood, who should use the poses come up after the place of nurse? Indeed, I cannot guess. Why, Wilson, Mrs. Hare's maid, three years and five months she's been with them and now leaves in consequence of a fallout with Barbara. Will you see her? Is she likely to suit? Is she a good servant? She's not a bad servant, as servants go, responded Miss Carlisle. She's steady and respectable, but she has got a tongue as long as from here to Lindborough. That won't hurt the baby, said Lady Isabel. But if she has lived as a lady's maid, she probably does not understand the care of infants. Yes, she does. She was up a servant at Squire Pinners before going to Mrs. Hare's. Five years she lived there. I will see her, said Lady Isabel. Miss Carlisle left the room to send the servant in, but came back first alone. Mind, Lady Isabel, don't you engage her? If she is likely to suit you, let her come again for the answer, and meanwhile I will go down to Mrs. Hare's and learn the ins and outs of her leaving. It is all very plausible for her to put upon Barbara, but that is only one side of the question. Before engaging her it may be well to hear the other. Of course this was but right. Isabel acquiesced, and the servant was introduced. A tall, pleasant-looking woman with black eyes. Lady Isabel inquired why she was leaving Mrs. Hare's. My Lady, it is through Miss Barbara's temper. Latterly, over this year past, nothing has pleased her. She has grown nearly as imperious as the justice himself. I have threatened many times to leave, and last evening we came to another outbreak, and I left this morning. Left entirely. Yes, my Lady, Miss Barbara provoked me, so that I said last night I would leave as soon as breakfast was over, and I did so. I should be very glad to take your situation, my Lady, if you would please to try me. You have been the upper maid at Mrs. Hare's? Oh yes, my Lady. Then possibly this situation might not suit you so well as you imagine. Joyce is the upper servant here, and you would in a manner be under her. I have great confidence in Joyce, and in case of my illness or absence, Joyce would superintend the nursery. I should not mind that, was the applicant's answer. We all like Joyce, my Lady. A few more questions, and then the girl was told to come again in the evening for her answer. Miss Carlisle went to the grove for the ins and outs of the affair, where Mrs. Hare frankly stated that she had nothing to urge against Wilson, save her hasty manner of leaving, and believed the chief blame to be due to Barbara. Wilson, therefore, was engaged, and was to enter upon her new surface the following morning. In the afternoon succeeding to it, Isabel was lying on the sofa in her bedroom asleep, as was supposed. In point of fact, she was in that state, half asleep, half wakeful delirium, which those who suffer from weakness and fever know only too well. Suddenly she was aroused from it by hearing her own name mentioned in the adjoining room, where sat Joyce and Wilson, the latter holding the sleeping infant on her knee, the former sewing, the door between the rooms being a jar. How ill she does look, observed Wilson. Who? asked Joyce. Her ladyship. She looks just as if she'd never get over it. She is getting over it quickly now, returns Joyce. If you had seen her but a week ago, you would not say she was looking ill now, speaking in comparison. My goodness! Would not somebody's hopes be up again if anything should happen? Nonsense! crossly rejoined Joyce. You may cry out nonsense for ever, Joyce, but they would, went on Wilson, and she would snap him up to a dead certainty. She'd never let him escape her a second time. She is as much in love with him as she ever was. It was all talk and fancy, said Joyce. West Lynn must be busy. Mr. Carlisle never cared for her. There's more than you know. I have seen a little Joyce. I have seen him kiss her. A pack of rubbish, remarked Joyce. That tells nothing. I don't say it does. There's not a young man living, but what's fond of a sly kiss in the dark? If he can get it. He gave her that locket and chain she wears. Who wears, retorted Joyce, determined not graciously to countenance the subject. I don't want to hear anything about it. Who now? Why, Miss Barbara! She has hardly had it off her neck since. My belief is she wears it in her sleep. More simple than she, returned Joyce. The night before, he left West Lynn to marry Lady Isabel, and didn't the news come upon us like a thunderclap. Miss Barbara had been at Miss Carlisle's, and he brought her home. A lovely night it was, the moon rising and nearly as night as day. He somehow broke her parasol and coming home, and when they got to her gate, there was a love scene. Were you a third in it? Sarcastically demanded Joyce. Yes, without meaning to be. It was a regular love scene. I could hear enough for that, if ever anybody thought to be Miss Carlisle. Barbara did that night. Why, you great baby! You have just said it was the night before he went to get married. I don't care. She did. After he was gone, I saw her lift up her hands and her face in ecstasy, and say you would never know how much she loved him until she was his wife. Be very sure, Joyce, many a love passage is passed between them two, but I suppose when my lady was thrown in his way, he couldn't resist her rank and her beauty, and the old love was cast over. It is in the nature of man to be fickle, especially those that can boast if their own good looks like Miss Carlisle. Miss Carlisle's not fickle. I can tell you more yet. Two or three days after that, Miss Corny came up to her house with the news of his marriage. I was in Mistress's bedroom, and they were in the room underneath. The windows open, and I heard Miss Corny tell the tale, for I was leaving out. Up came Miss Barbara upon an excuse, and flew into her room, and I went into the corridor a few moments, and I heard a noise, it was a sort of wail or groan, and I opened the door softly, fearing she might be fainting. Joyce, if my heart never ached for anybody before, it ached then. She was lying upon the floor, her hands writhed together, and her poor face all white like one immortal agony. I'd have given a quarter's wages to be able to say a word of comfort to her, but I didn't dare interfere with such a sorrow as that. I came out again and shut the door without her seeing me. How thoroughly stupid she must have been, uttered Joyce, to go caring for one who did not care for her. I tell you, Joyce, you don't know that he did not care. You are as obstinate as the justice, and I wish to goodness you wouldn't interrupt me. They came up here to pay the wedding visit. Master Mistress and she came in state in the grand chariot with a coachman and jasper. If you have got any memory at all, you can't fail to recollect it. Miss Barbara remained behind at East Lynn to spend the rest of the day. I remember it. I was sent to fetch her home in the evening, just for being out. I came the field way for the dust by the road was enough to smother one, and by the last style but one, what do you think I came upon? Joyce lifted her eyes. A sneak, perhaps. I came upon Miss Barbara and Mr Carlisle. What had passed nobody knows but themselves. She was leaning back against the style crying, low, soft sobs breaking from her like one might expect to hear from a breaking heart. It seemed as if she had been reproaching him as if some explanation had passed, and I heard him say that from henceforth they could only be brother and sister. I spoke soon for fear they should see me, and Mr Carlisle got over the style. Miss Barbara said to him that he need not come any further, but he held out his arm and came with her to our back gate. I went on then to open the door, and I saw him with his head bent down to her, and her two hands held in his. We don't know how it is between them, I'll tell you. At any rate, she is a downright fool to suffer herself to love him still, uttered Joyce indignantly. So she is, but she does do it. She'll often steal out to the gate about the time she knows he'll be passing and watching by, not letting him see her. It is nothing but her unhappiness, her jealousy of Lady Isabel that makes her cross. I assure you, Joyce, in this past year she has so changed that she's not like the same person. If Mr Carlisle should ever get tired of my Lady and Willson, harshly interrupted Joyce, have the goodness to recollect yourself. What have I said not? Nothing but truth. Men are shamefully fickle, husbands worse than sweethearts, and I'm sure I'm not thinking of anything wrong. But to go back to the argument that we began with, I say that if anything happened to my Lady, Miss Barbara, as sure as fate, would step into her shoes, nothing is going to happen to her. Continue to Joyce with composure. I hope it is not. Now all ate her for the sake of this dear little innocent thing upon my lap, went on the undaunted Willson. She would not make a very kind stepmother, for it is certain that, where the first wife had been hated, her children won't be loved. She would turn Mr Carlisle against them. I tell you what it is, Willson, interrupted Joyce in a firm, unmistakable tone. If you think to pursue those sort of topics at East Lynn, I shall inform my Lady that you are unsuitable for the situation. I dare say. And you know that when I make up my mind to a thing, I do it, continued Joyce. Miss Carlisle may well say you have the longest tongue in West Lynn, but you might have the grace to know that this subject is one more unsuitable to it than another, whether you are eating Mr Hare's bread or whether you are eating Mr Carlisle's. Another word, Willson, it appears to me, that you have been carrying on a prying system in Mrs Hare's house. Do not attempt such a thing in this. You were always one of the straight laced sort, Joyce. Cryed Willson, laughing good, humbly. But now that I have my say out, I shall stop. On you need not fear. I shall be such a simpleton as to go prattling of this kind of thing to the servants. Now just fancy this conversation penetrating to Lady Isabel. She heard every word. It is all very well to oppose the argument who would end the gossip of servants. Let me tell you, it depends upon what the subject matter may be, whether the gossip is attended to or not. It might not and indeed would not have made so great an impression upon her had she been in strong health, but she was weak, feverish, and a state of partial delirium, and she hastily took up the idea that Archibald Carlisle had never loved her, that he had admired her and made her his wife in his ambition, but that his heart had been given to Barbara Hare. A pretty state of excitement she worked herself into as she lay there, jealousy and fever, eye and love too, playing pranks with her brain. It was near the dinner hour when Mr. Carlisle entered. He was startled to see her, her palate cheeks were burning with a red, hectic glow, and her eyes glistened with fever. Isabel, you are worse, he uttered as he approached her with a quick step. She partially rose from the sofa and clasped hold of him in her emotion. Oh, Archibald, Archibald, she uttered, Don't marry her, I could not rest in my grave. Mr. Carlisle, in his puzzled astonishment, believed her to be laboring under some temporary hallucination the result of weakness. He set himself to soothe her, but it seemed that she could not be soothed. She burst into a storm of tears and began again wild words. She would ill treat my child, she would draw your love from it and from my memory. Archibald, you must not marry her. You must be speaking from the influence of dream, Isabel, you soothingly said. You have been asleep and are not yet awake. Be still and recollection will return to you. There, love, rest upon me. To think of her as your wife brings pain enough to kill me, she continued to reiterate. Promise me that you will not marry her. Archibald, promise it. I will promise you anything in reason, he replied bewildered with her words, but I do not know what you mean. There is no possibility of me marrying anyone, Isabel. You are my wife. But if I die, I may, you know, I may, and many think I shall, do not let her usurp my place. Indeed, she shall not, whoever you may be talking of. What have you been dreaming? Who is it that has been troubling your mind? Archibald, do you need to ask? Did you love no one before you married me? Perhaps you have loved her since. Perhaps you love her still? Mr. Carlisle began to discern method in her madness. He changed his cheering tone to one of great earnestness. Of whom do you speak, Isabel? Of Barbara Hare, he knitted his braille. He was both annoyed and vexed. Whatever had put this bygone nonsense into his wife's head, he quitted the sofa where he had been supporting her, and stood upright before her, calm, dignified, almost solemn in his seriousness. Isabel, what notion can you possibly have picked up about myself and Barbara Hare? I never entertained the faintest shadow of love for her, either before my marriage or since. You must tell me what has given rise to this idea in your mind. She loved you. A moment's hesitation. For, of course, Mr. Carlisle was conscious that she had, but taking all the circumstances into consideration more especially how he had learnt the fact, he could not in honour acknowledge it to his wife. If it was so, Isabel, she was more reprensibly foolish than I should have given Barbara's good sense could be, for a woman may almost as well lose herself as to suffer herself to love unsought. If she did give her love to me, I can only say I was entirely unconscious of it. Believe me, you have as much cause to be jealous of Cornelia as you have of Barbara Hare. An impulse rose within her that she would tell him all the few words dropped by Susan and Joyce twelve months before the conversation she had just overheard, but in that moment of renewed confidence it did appear to her that she must have been very foolish to attach importance to it, that a sort of humiliation in listening to the converse of servants was reflected on her, and she remained silent. There never was a passion in this world, there never will be one so fantastic, so delusive, so powerful as jealousy. Mr. Carlisle dismissed the episode from his thoughts. He believed his wife's emotion to have been simply from a feverish dream and never supposed but that would the dream its recollection would pass away from her. Not so. Implicitly relying upon her husband's words at the moment, feeling quite ashamed at her own suspicion, Lady Isbell afterward suffered the unhappy fear to regain its influence. The ill-starred revelations of Wilson reasserted their power, overmastering the denial of Mr. Carlisle. Shakespeare calls jealousy yellow and green. I think it may be called black and white, for it most assuredly views white as black and black as white. The most fanciful surmises were the aspect of truth. The great improbabilities appear as consistent realities. Not another word said Isabel to her husband, and the feeling, you will understand this if you have ever been foolish enough to sun yourself in its delights, only caused her to grow more attached to him, to be more eager for his love. But certain it is that Barbara Hare dwelt on her heart like an incubus. Chapter 19 Captain Thorn at West Lynn Barbara, how fine the day seems. It is a beautiful day, Mama. I do think I should be all the better for going out. I am sure you would, Mama. Was Barbara's answer? If you went out more, you would find the benefit. Every fine day you ought to do so. I will go and ask Papa if he could spare Benjamin and the carriage. She waltzed gaily out of the room, but returned in a moment. Mama, it is all right. Benjamin is gone to get the carriage ready. You would like a bit of luncheon before you go. I will order the tray. Anything you please, dear, said the sweet tempered gentlewoman. I don't know why, but I feel glad to go out today, perhaps because it is lovely. Benjamin made ready his carriage and himself, and drove out of the yard at the back, and brought the carriage round to the front gate. The carriage, or faten, as it was often called, was a somewhat old-fashioned concern, as many country things are up to be. A small box in front for the driver, and a wide seat with a head behind, accommodating Barbara well between them when Mr. and Mrs. Hare both sat in. Benjamin drew the rug carefully over his mistress's knees. The servants did not like Mr. Hare, but would have laid down their lives for her, ascended to his box, and drove them to their destination. The linen drapers, it was an excellent shop, situated a little beyond the office of Mr. Carlyle and Mrs. Hare, and Barbara were soon engaged in that occupation said to possess for a woman in a fascination. They had been in about an hour when Mrs. Hare discovered that her bag was missing. I must have left it in the carriage, Barbara. Go and bring it. Will you, my dear? The pattern of that silk is in it. Barbara went out, the carriage and Benjamin, and the sleek old horse were all waiting dousily together. Barbara could not see the bag, and she appealed to the servant. Find Mama's bag, Benjamin. It must be somewhere in the carriage. Benjamin got off his box and began to search. Barbara waited, gazing listlessly down the street. The sun was shining brilliantly, and its rays fell upon the large cable chain of a gentleman who was sauntering idly up the pavement, making its gold links and a strooping seal and key glitter. As they crossed his waistcoat, it shone also upon the enameled gold studs of his shirt front, making them glitter. And as he suddenly raced his ungloved hand to stroke his mustache, by which action you know a vain man, a diamond ring he wore gleamed with a light that was positively dazzling. Involuntarily, Barbara thought of the description her brother Richard had given of certain dazzling jewels worn by another. She watched him advance. He was a handsome man of perhaps seven or eight and twenty tall slender and well-made, his eyes and hair black. A very pleasant expression sat upon his consonants. And on the left, hand he wore a light buff kid glove, and was swinging its fellow by the fingers. But for the light cast at that moment by the sun, Barbara might not have noticed the jewelry or connected it in her mind with the other jewelry in that unhappy secret. Hello, Thorne, is that you? Just step over here. The speaker was Otway Bethel, who was on the opposite side of the street, the spoken to, the gentleman with the jewelry, but the latter was in a brown study and did not hear. Bethel called out again louder. Captain Thorne, that was heard. Captain Thorne nodded and turned short off across the street. Barbara stood like one in a dream, her brain, her mind, her fancy all, and a confused mass together. Here's the bag, Miss Barbara. It had got among the folds of the rug. Benjamin held it out to her, but she took no notice. She was unconscious of all external things, save one. That she beheld the real murderer of Halogen. She entertained no matter of doubt. In every particular, he tallied with the description given by Richard, tall, dark, vain, handsome, delicate hands, jewelry, and Captain Thorne, Barbara's cheeks grew white and her heart turned sick. The bag, Miss Barbara, away tore Barbara, leaving Benjamin and the bag in wonder. She had caught sight of Mr. Wainwright, the surgeon, at a little distance, and sped toward him. Mr. Wainwright began, she, forgetting ceremony in her agitation. You see that gentleman talking to Otway Bethel? Who is he? Mr. Wainwright had to put his glasses across the bridge of his nose before he could answer, for he was short-sighted. That, oh, it is a Captain Thorne. He is visiting the Herbert's, I believe. Where does he come from? Where does he live? Rhetorated Barbara in her eagerness. I don't know anything about him. I saw him this morning with young Smith, and he told me he was a friend of the Herbert's. You are not looking well, Miss Barbara. She made no answer. Captain Thorne and Mr. Bethel came walking down the street, and the latter saluted her. But she was too much confused to respond to it. Mr. Wainwright then wished her good day, and Barbara walked slowly back. Mrs. Hare was appearing at the shop door. My dear, how long you are. Cannot the bag be found? I went to speak to Mr. Wainwright, answered Barbara, mechanically, taking the bag from Benjamin, and giving it to her mother. Her whole heart and eyes still absorbed with that one object moving away in the distance. You look pale, child. Are you well? Oh yes, quite. Let us get our shopping over, mama. She moved on to their places at the counter as she spoke, eager to get it over, and be at home. That she might have time for thought, Mrs. Hare, wondered what had come to her. The pleased interest displayed in their purchases previously was now gone, and she sat inattentive and absorbed. Now, my dear, it is only waiting for you to choose. Which of the two silks will you have? Either any. Take what you like, mama. Barbara, what has come to you? I believe I am tired, said Barbara, with a force laugh. As she compelled herself to pay some sort of attention, I don't like the green. I will take the other. They arrived at home. Barbara got just five minutes alone in her chamber before the dinner was on the table. All the conclusion she could come to was she could do nothing to save tell the facts to Archibald Carlisle. How could she contrive to see him? The business might admit of no delay. She supposed she might go to Eastland that evening, but where would be her excuse for it at home, puzzling over it? She went down to dinner. During the meal, Mrs. Hare began talking of some silk she had purchased for a mantle. She should have made it like Mrs. Carlisle's new one, when Mrs. Carlisle was at the grove. The other day, about Wilson's character, she offered her the pattern and she, Mrs. Hare, who would send one of the servants up for it after dinner. Oh, mama, let me go, burst forth Barbara, and so vehemently spoke she that the justice paused in carving and demanded what ailed her Barbara made some timid excuse. Her eagerness is natural, Richard, smiled Mrs. Hare. Barbara thinks she shall get a peep at the baby, I expect. All young folks are fond of babies. Barbara's face flushed crimson, but she did not contradict the opinion. She could not eat her dinner, she was too full of poor Richard. She played with it, and then sent away her plate nearly untouched. That's through the finery she's been buying, pronounced Justin Hare, her head is stuffed up with it. No opposition was offered to Barbara's, going to East Lynn. She reached it just as their dinner was over. It was for Mrs. Carlisle, she asked. Mrs. Carlisle's not at home, Miss. She is spending the day out, and my lady does not receive visitors yet. It was a sort of checkmate. Barbara was compelled to say she would see Mr. Carlisle. Peter ushered her into the drawing room, and Mr. Carlisle came to her. I am so very sorry to disturb you to have asked for you, began Barbara with a burning face, for somehow a certain evening interview of hers with him, 12 months before, was disagreeably present to her. Never since that evening of agitation had Barbara suffered herself to betray emotion to Mr. Carlisle. Her manner to him had been calm, courteous, and indifferent, and she now more frequently called him Mr. Carlisle than Archibald. Take a seat, take a seat Barbara. I asked for Miss Carlisle, she continued, for Mama, is in want of a pattern that she promised to lend her. You remember the Lieutenant Thorn, whom Richard spoke of as being the real criminal? Yes, I think he is at West Lynn. Mr. Carlisle was aroused the eager interest. He, the same Thorn? It can be no other, Mama. And I were shopping today, and I went out for her bag, which she left in the carriage, while Benjamin was getting it. I saw a stranger coming up the street, a tall, good-looking, dark-haired man with a conspicuous skull chain and studs. The sun was full upon him, causing the ornaments to shine, especially a diamond ring, which he wore. For he had one hand raised it to his face. The thought flashed over me, that is just like the description Richard gave of the man Thorn. Why the idea should have occurred to me in that strange manner, I do not know. But it most assertly did occur, though I did not really suppose him to be the same. Just then I heard him, spoken to by someone on the other side of the street, it was Otway Bethel, and he called him Captain Thorn. This is curious indeed, Barbara. I did not know any stranger was at West Lynn. I saw Mr. Wainwright, and asked him who it was. He said to Captain Thorn, a friend of the Herberts, a Lieutenant Thorn, four or five years ago would probably be Captain Thorn now. Mr. Carlyle nodded, and there was a pause. What can be done, asked Barbara. Mr. Carlyle was passing one hand over his brow. It was a habit of his, one in deep thought. It is hard to say what is to be done, Barbara. The description you gave of this man certainly tallies with that given by Richard. Did he look like a gentleman? Very much so. A remarkably aristocratic looking man, as it struck me. Mr. Carlyle again nodded assentingly. He remembered Richard's words when describing the other, an out and out aristocrat. Of course, Barbara the first thing must be to try and ascertain whether it is the same, he observed. If we find it is, then we must deliberate upon future measures. I will see what I can pick up and let you know. Barbara Rose, Mr. Carlyle, escorted her across the hall, and then strolled down the park by her side, deep in the subject and quite unconscious. That lady Isabel's jealous eyes were watching them from her dressing room window. You say he seemed intimate with Ottway Bethel? As to being intimate, I cannot say, Ottway Bethel spoke as though he knew him. This must have caused excitement to Mrs. Hare. You forgot, Archibald, that Mama was not told anything about Thorn, was the answer of Barbara, the uncertainty would have worried her to death. All Richard said to her was that he was innocent, that it was a stranger who did the deed, and she asked for no particulars she had implicit faith in Richard's truth. True, I did forget, replied Mr. Carlyle. I wish we could find out someone who knew the other Thorn, to ascertain that they were the same would be a great point gained. He went as far as the park gates with Barbara, shook hands, and wished her good evening. Scarcely had she departed when Mr. Carlyle saw two gentlemen advancing from the opposite direction, in one of whom he recognized Tom Herbert, and the other instinct told him was Captain Thorn. He waited till they came up. If this isn't lucky seeing you, cried Mr. Tom Herbert, who was a free and easy sort of a gentleman, the second son of a brother justice of Mr. Hare. I wish to goodness you'd give us a draw of your cider, Carlyle. We went up to view camps for a stroll, but found them all out, and I'm awful thirsty, Captain Thorn Carlyle. Mr. Carlyle invited him to his house and ordered in refreshments. Young Herbert coolly threw himself into an armchair and lit a cigar. Come Thorn, cried he, here's a weed for you. Captain Thorn glanced toward Mr. Carlyle. He appeared of a far more gentlemanly nature than Tom Herbert. You'll have one too, Carlyle said Herbert, holding out his cigar case. Oh, I forgot, you are a muff. Don't smoke one twice a year. I say, how's Lady Isabel? Very ill still. By Jove. Is she, though? Tell her I am sorry to hear it. Will you, Carlyle? But I say, will she smell the smoke? Asked he, with the mixture of alarm and concern in his face. Mr. Carlyle reassured him upon the point and turned to Captain Thorn. Are you acquainted with his neighborhood? Captain Thorn smiled. I only reached Westland yesterday. You were never here before then, continued Mr. Carlyle, setting down the last as a probably evasive answer. No. He and my brother Jack, you know, are in the same regiment. Put in Tom with scanty ceremony, Jack had invited him down for some fishing and that. And Thorn arrives, but he never sent word he was coming. You see, Jack had given him up and is off to some Irish expedition. The deuce knows where, precious unlucky, that it should have happened so. Thorn says he shall cut short his stay and go again. The conversation turned upon fishing, and in the heat of the argument, the stranger mentioned a certain pond, and its famous eels, the low pond. Mr. Carlyle looked at him, speaking, however, in a careless manner. Which do you mean? We have two ponds, not far apart, each called the low pond. I mean the one on the estate, about three miles form here. Squire Thorpe's, unless I am mistaken. Mr. Carlyle smiled, I think you must have been in the neighborhood before Captain Thorn. Squire Thorpe is dead, and the property has passed to his daughter's husband, and that low pond was filled up three years ago. I have heard a friend mention it, was Captain Thorn's reply, spoken in a different tone, though he evidently wished not to pursue the subject. Mr. Carlyle, by easy degrees, turned the conversation upon Swainson, the place where Richard Hare's Captain Thorn was suspected to have come. The present Captain Thorn said he knew it a little. He had had once been staying there a short time. Mr. Carlyle became nearly convinced that Barbara's suspicions were correct. The description certainly agreed. So far as he could judge, in the most minute particulars, the man before him wore two rings, a diamond, and a very beautiful diamond, too, on the one hand a seal ring on the other. His hands were delicate, to a degree, and his handkerchief, a cambrick one of unusually fine texture, was not entirely quitless of scent. Mr. Carlyle quitted the room for a moment, and summoned Joyce to him. My lady has been asking for you, said Joyce. Tell her I will be up at the moment. These gentlemen leave, Joyce. He added, find an excuse to come into the room presently. You can bring something or other in. I want you to look at this stranger, who is with young Mr. Herbert. Notice him well. I fancy you may have seen him before. Mr. Carlyle returned to the room, leaving Joyce surprised. However, she presently followed, taking in some water, and lingered a few minutes, apparently placing the things on the table in better order. When the two departed, Mr. Carlyle called Joyce, before proceeding to his wife's room. Well, he questioned, did you recognize him? Not at all, sir. He seemed quite strange to me. Cast your thoughts back, Joyce. Did you ever see him, in days gone by? Joyce looked puzzled, and she replied in the negative. Is he the man, think you, who used to ride from Swainson to Seafy? Joyce's face flushed crimson. Oh, sir, was all she uttered. The name is the same, Thorn. I thought it possible the man might be. Observe, Mr. Carlyle. Sir, I cannot say. I never saw that Captain Thorn but once. And I don't know. I don't know. Joyce spoke slowly, and with consideration, that I should at all know him again. I did not think of him when I looked at this gentleman. But at any rate, no appearance in this one struck upon my memory as being familiar. So from Joyce, Mr. Carlyle obtained no clue. One way or the other. The following day he sought out Ottway Bethel. Are you intimate with that Captain Thorn who is staying with the Herberts, asked he? Yes, answered Bethel decisively. If passing a couple of hours in his company can constitute intimacy. That's all I have seen of Thorn. Are you sure? Pursued Mr. Carlyle. Sure, returned Bethel. Why, what are you driving at now? I called in at Herberts the night before last, and Tom asked me to stay the evening. Thorn had just come, a jolly boat we had. Cigars in cold punch. Bethel said Mr. Carlyle dashing to the point. It is Thorn who used to go after Afi Hallijon. Come, you could tell if you like. Bethel remained dumb for a moment. Apparently, with amazement. What a confounded lie, uttered he at length. Why, it's no more of that then. What, Thorn? He broke off eruptly. You are equivocating, Bethel. The Thorn who is mixed up, or said to be, in the Hallijon Affair. Is this the same man? You are a fool, Carlyle, which is what I never took you to be at, was Mr. Bethel's rejoinder, spoken in a savage tone. I have told you that I never know there was any Thorn mixed up with Afi, and I should like to know why my word is not to be believed. I never saw Thorn in my life till I saw him the other night at the Herbert's, and that I would take my oath too, if put to it. Bethel quitted Mr. Carlyle with the last word, and the latter gazed after him, revolving points in his brain. The mention of Thorn's name, and one spoken of by Richard Hare, appeared to excite some feeling in Bethel's mind, arousing it to irritation. Mr. Carlyle remembered that it had done so previously, and now it had done so again, and yet Bethel was an easy-natured man in general, far better tempered than principled, that there was something hidden, some mystery connected with the affair. Mr. Carlyle felt sure, but he could not attempt so much as a guest at what it might be, and this interview with Bethel brought him so near the point he wished to find out. Whether this Thorn was the same man in walking back to his office, he met Mr. Tom Herbert. Does Captain Thorn propose making a long stay with you? He stopped him to inquire. He's gone. I have just seen him off by the train. Was the reply of Tom Herbert? It seemed rather slow with him without Jack. So he docked his visit, and says he'll pay us one when Jack's to the— As Mr. Carlyle went home to dinner that evening, he entered the grove, ostensibly to make a short call on Mrs. Hare. Barbara, on the tenterhooks of impatience, accompanied him outside when he departed and walked down the path. What have you learned? She eagerly asked. Nothing satisfactory was the reply of Mr. Carlyle, and the man has left again. Left, uttered Barbara, Mr. Carlyle explained. He told her how they had come to his house the previous evening after Barbara's departure, and his encounter with Tom Herbert that day. He mentioned, also, his interview with Bethel. Can he have gone on purpose feeling consequences, wondered Barbara, scarcely, or why should he have come? You did not suffer any word to escape you last night, causing him to suspect, for a moment, that he was hounded? Not any. You would make a bad lawyer, Barbara. Who or what is he? An officer in Her Majesty's service, in John Herbert's regiment. I ascertained no more. Tom said he was of good family, but I cannot help suspecting it is the same man. Can nothing more be done? Nothing in the present stage of the affair, continued Mr. Carlyle, as he passed through the gate to continue his way. We can only wait on again with what patience we may, hoping that time will bring about its own illusidication. Barbara pressed her forehead down on the cold iron of the gate, as his footsteps died away. I, to wait on, she murmured, to wait on in dreary pain, to wait on, perhaps for years, perhaps forever, and poor Richard wearing out his days in poverty and exile. End of chapter 19, recording by Chris Caron, Ham Lake, Minnesota.