 CHAPTER 60 Rachel Lake before the Accuser Twilight was darker in Redmond's Del than anywhere else. But dark as it was, there was still light enough to enable Rachel as she hurried across the little garden on her return from Brandon to see a long white face and some dim outline of the figure to which it belonged, looking out upon her from the window of her little drawing-room. But no, it could not be! Who was there to call it so odd an hour? She must have left something—a bag or a white basket upon the window-sash. She was almost startled, however, as she approached the porch to see it gnawed and a hand dimly waved in token of greeting. Far was in the kitchen. Could it be Stanley? But faint as the outline was, she saw, she fancied that it was a taller person than he. She felt a sort of alarm in which there was some little mixture of the superstitious, and she pushed open the door, not entering the room but staring in toward the window, where, against the dim external light, she clearly saw, without recognizing it, a tall figure greeting her with mop and mow. Who is that? cried Miss Lake a little sharply. It is I, Miss Lake, Mr. Josiah Larkin of the Lodge, said that gentleman, with what he meant to be an heir of dignified firmness, and looking very like a tall constable in possession. I have taken the liberty of presenting myself, although I fear, at a somewhat unseasonable hour, but in reference to a little business which unfortunately will not, I think, bear to be deferred. No bad news, Mr. Larkin, I hope. Nothing has happened. The wilders are all well, I hope. Quite well, so far as I am aware, answered the attorney, with a grim politeness, perfectly. Nothing has occurred, as yet at least, affecting the interests of that family. But something is, I will not say threatened, but I may say mooted, which, were any attempts seriously made to carry it into execution, would I regret to say, involve very serious consequences to a party whom for, I may say, many reasons I should regret being called upon to effect, unpleasantly. And pray, Mr. Larkin, can I be of any use? Every use, Miss Lake, and it is precisely for that reason that I have taken the liberty of waiting upon you, at what I am well aware, is a somewhat unusual hour. Perhaps, Mr. Larkin, you would be so good as to call in the morning, any hour you appoint will answer me, said the young lady, a little stiffly. She was still standing at the door, with her hand upon the brass handle. Pardon me, Miss Lake, the business to which I refer is really urgent. Very urgent, sir, if it cannot wait till tomorrow morning. Very true, quite true. Very urgent indeed, replied the attorney, calmly. I presume, Miss Lake, I may take a chair. Certainly, sir, if you insist on my listening to-night, which I should certainly decline if I had the power. Thank you, Miss Lake. And the attorney took a chair, crossing one leg over the other, and throwing his head back as he reclined in it, with his long arm over the back. The express image, as he fancied, of a polished gentleman conducting a diplomatic interview with a clever and high-bred lady. Then it is plain, sir, I must hear you to-night, said Miss Lake, haughtily. Not that exactly, Miss Lake, but only that I must speak to-night. In fact, I have no choice. The subject of our conference really is, as you will find, an urgent one, and to-morrow morning, which we should each equally prefer, would be possibly too late—too late, at least, to obviate a very painful situation. You will make it, I am sure, as short as you can, sir, said the young lady, in the same tone. Exactly my wish, Miss Lake, replied Mr. Josiah Larkin. Bring Candle's Marjory. And so the little drawing-room was illuminated, and the bald head of the tall attorney, and the gloss on his easy black frockcoat, and his gold watch-chain, and the long and large-gloved hand, depending near the carpet, with the glove of the other in it. And Mr. Josiah Larkin rose with a negligent and lordly case, and placed a chair for Miss Lake, so that the light might fall full upon her features, in accordance with his usual diplomatic arrangement, which he fancied complacently no one had ever detected. He himself, resuming his easy pose upon his chair, with his back, as much as was practicable, presented to the candles, and the long bony fingers of the arm which rested on the table, negligently shading his observing little eyes, and screening off the side light from his expressive features. These arrangements, however, were disconcerted by Miss Lake sitting down at the other side of the table, and quietly requesting Mr. Larkin to open his case. Why, really, it is hardly a five-minutes matter, Miss Lake. It refers to the vicar, the reverend William Wilder, and his respectable family, and a proposition which he, as my client, mentioned to me this evening. He stated that you had offered to advance a sum of six hundred pounds for the liquidation of his liabilities. It will perhaps conduce to clearness to dispose of this part of the matter first. May I therefore ask at this stage whether the reverend William Wilder rightly conceived you, when he so stated your meaning to me? Yes, certainly. I am most anxious to assist them with that little sum, which I have now an opportunity of procuring. Ah, exactly. Yes. Well, Miss Lake, that is, of course, very kind of you. Very kind indeed, and creditable to your feelings. But as Mr. William Wilder solicitor, and as I have already demonstrated to him, I must now inform you that the sum of six hundred pounds would be absolutely useless in his position. No party, Miss Lake, in his position ever quite apprehends, even if he could bring himself fully to state, the aggregate amount of his liabilities. I may state, however, to you, without betraying confidence, that ten times that sum would not avail to extricate him even temporarily from his difficulties. He sees the thing himself now, but drowning men will grasp, we know, at straws. However, he does see the futility of this. And thanking you most earnestly, he, through me, begs most gratefully to decline it. In fact, my dear Miss Lake, it is awful to contemplate. He has been in the hands of sharks. Harpies, my dear madam. But I'll beat about for the money, in the way of loan, if possible, and one way or another, I am resolved, if the things to be done, to get him straight. There was here a little pause at Mr. Larkin finding that Miss Lake had nothing to say, simply added, and so for these reasons, and with these views, my dear Miss Lake, we beg, most respectfully, and I will say gratefully, to decline the preferred advance, which I will say, at the same time, does honour to your feelings. I am sorry, said Miss Lake, you have had so much trouble in explaining so simple a matter. I will call early to-morrow and see Mr. Wilder. Pardon me, said the Attorney. I have to address myself next to the second portion of your offer, as stated to me by Mr. W. Wilder, that which contemplates a residence in his house, and in the respectable bosom, I may say, of that, in many respects, unblemished family. Miss Lake stared with a look of fierce inquiry at the Attorney. The fact is, Miss Lake, that that is an arrangement which, under existing circumstances, I could not think of devising. I think on reflection you will see that Mr. Wilder, the Reverend William Wilder and his lady, could not for one moment seriously entertain it, and that I, who am bound to do the best I can for them, could not dream of advising it. I fancy it is a matter of total indifference, sir, what you may and what you may not advise in a matter quite beyond your province. I don't in the least understand, or desire to understand you, and thinking your manner impertinent and offensive, I beg that you will now be so good as to leave my house. Miss Rachel was very angry, although nothing but her bright colour and the vexed flash of her eyes showed it. I were most unfortunate. Most unfortunate indeed, Miss Lake, if my manner could in the least justify the strong and undue language in which you have been pleased to characterise it. But I do not resent, it is not my way. Beareth all things, Miss Lake, beareth all things. I hope I try to practise the precept. But the fact of being misunderstood shall not deter me from the discharge of a simple duty. If it is part of your duty, sir, to make yourself intelligible, may I beg that you will do it without further delay. My principal object in calling here was to inform you, Miss Lake, that you must quite abandon the idea of residing in the vicar's house as you proposed, unless you wish me to state explicitly to him and to Mrs. Wilder the insurmountable objections which exist to any such arrangement. Such a task, Miss Lake, would be most painful to me. I hesitate to discuss the question even with you, and if you give me your word of honour that you quite abandon that idea, I shall on the instant take my leave, and certainly for the present trouble you no further upon a most painful subject. And now, sir, as I have no intention whatever of tolerating your incomprehensibly impertinent interference, and don't understand your meaning in the slightest degree, and do not intend to withdraw the offer I have made to good Mrs. Wilder, you will, I hope, perceive the uselessness of prolonging your visit, and be so good as to leave me in unmolested possession of my poor residence. If I wish to do you an injury, Miss Lake, I should take you at your word. I don't. I wish to spare you. Your countenance, Miss Lake, you must pardon my frankness. It is my way. Your countenance tells only too plainly that you now comprehend my illusion. There was a confidence and significance in the attorney's air and accent, and a peculiar look of latent ferocity in his evil countenance which gradually excited her fears and fascinated her gaze. Now, Miss Lake, we are sitting here in the presence of him who has the searcher of hearts, and before whom nothing is secret. Your eye is upon mine, and mine on yours, and I ask you, do you remember the night of the twenty-ninth of September last? That mean, pale, taunting face, the dreadful accents that vibrated within her. How could that ill-omend man have divined her connection with the incidents, the unknown incidents of that direful night? The lean figure in the black frockcoat and black silk waistcoat with that great gleaming watch-chain, the long, shabby, withered face and flushed bald forehead, and those paltry little eyes in their pink setting that nevertheless fascinated her like the gaze of a serpent. How had that horrible figure come there? Why was this meeting? Whence his knowledge, an evil spirit incarnate he seemed to her. She blanched before it. Every vestige of color fled from her features. She stared. She gaped at him with a strange look of imbecility, and the long face seemed to enjoy and protract its triumph. Without removing his gaze he was fumbling in his pocket for his note-book, which he displayed with a faint smile, grim and pallid. I see you do remember that night, as well you may, Miss Lake, he ejaculated, in formidable tones and with a shake of his bald head. Now, Miss Lake, you see this book. It contains, madam, the skeleton of a case, the bones and joints, of a case. I have it here, noted and prepared. There is not a fact in it without a note of the name and address of the witness who can prove it. The witness observed me. Then there was a pause of a few seconds, during which he still kept her under his steady gaze. On that night, Miss Lake, the twenty-ninth September, you drove in Mr. Mark Wilder's tax-cart to the Darlington station, where not with standing your veil and your caution, you were seen and recognized. The same occurred at Charteris. You accompanied Mr. Mark Wilder in his midnight flight to London, Miss Lake. Of your stay in London, I say nothing. It was protracted to the second October, when you arrived in the downtrain at Darlington at twelve o'clock at night, and took a cab to the White House, where you were met by a gentleman answering the description of your brother, Captain Lake. Now, Miss Lake, I have stated no particulars, but do you think that knowing all this, and knowing the fraud by which your absence was covered, and perfectly understanding, as every man conversant with this sinful world must do, the full significance of all this, I could dream of permitting you, Miss Lake, to become domesticated as an inmate in the family of a pure-minded, though simple and unfortunate, clergyman? It may become my duty, he resumed, to prosecute a searching inquiry, madam, into the circumstances of Mr. Mark Wilder's disappearance. If you have the slightest regard for your own honour, you will not precipitate that measure, Miss Lake, and so sure as you persist in your unwarrantable design of residing in that unsuspecting family, I will publish what I shall then feel called upon by my position to make known, for I will be no party to seeing an innocent family compromised by admitting an inmate of whose real character they have not the faintest suspicion, and I shall at once set in motion a public inquiry into the circumstances of Mr. Mark Wilder's disappearance. Looking straight in his face, with the same expression of helplessness, she uttered at last a horrible cry of anguish that almost thrilled that callous Christian. Oh! I think I'm going mad! And she continued staring at him all the time. Pray compose yourself, Miss Lake, there's no need to agitate yourself. Nothing of all this need occur if you do not force it upon me. Nothing. I beg you'll collect yourself. Shall I call for water, Miss Lake? The fact is, the attorney began to apprehend hysterics or something even worse, and was himself rather frightened. But Rachel was never long overwhelmed by any shock. Fear was not for her. Her brave spirit stood her instead, and nothing rallied her so surely as the sense that an attempt was being made to intimidate her. What have I heard? What have I endured? Listen to me, you cowardly libeler. It is true that I was at Darlington and at Charteris, on the night you name, also true that I went to London. Your hideous slander is garnished with two or three bits of truth, but only the more villainous for that. All you have dared to insinuate is utterly false, before him who judges all and knows all things utterly and damnably false. The attorney made a bow. It was his best. He did not imitate a gentleman happily, and was never so vulgar as when he was finest. One word of her wild protest he did not believe. His bow was of that grave but mocking sort which was meant to convey it. Perhaps if he had accepted what she said it might have led him to new and sounder conclusions. Here was light, but it glared and flashed in vain for him. Miss Lake was naturally perfectly frank. Pity it was she had ever had secret to keep. These frank people are a sore puzzle to gentlemen of lawyer Larkin's quaint and sagacious turn of mind. They can't believe that anybody ever speaks quite the truth. When they hear it they don't recognize it, and they wonder what the speaker is driving at. The best method of hiding your opinion or your motives from such men is to tell it to them. They are owls. Their vision is formed for darkness and light blinds them. Rachel Lake rang her bell sharply and old Tomar appeared. Show, Mr.— Mr. Show him to the door, said Miss Lake. The attorney rose, made another bow, and threw back his head and moved in a way that was oppressively gentlemanlike to the door, and speedily vanished at the little wicket, old Tomar holding her candle to lighten his path as she stood white and cadaverous in the porch. She's a little bit noisy tonight, thought the attorney, as he descended the road to Gillingdon, but she'll be precious sober by to-morrow morning, and I venture to say we shall hear nothing more of that scheme of hers. A reputable inmate truly, and a pleasant éclaircissement. This was one of his French words and pronounced by him with his usual accuracy, precisely as it is spelled. A pleasant éclaircissement, whenever that London excursion and its creditable circumstances come to light. CHAPTER 61 Dually next morning the rosy-fingered aurora drew the gold and crimson curtains of the east, and a splendid Apollo, stepping forth from his chamber, took the reins of his unrivaled team, and driving fore in hand through the sky like a great swell as he is, took small note of the staring hucksters and publicans by the roadside, and sublimely overlooked the foot-sore and ragged pedestrians that crawl below his level. It was, in fact, one of those brisk and bright mornings which proclaim a universal cheerfulness, and mock the miseries of those dismal wayfarers of life, to whom returning light is a renewal of sorrow, who, bowing toward the earth, resumed their despairing march, and limp and groan under heavy burdens, until darkness, welcome, comes again, and their eyelids drop, and they lie down with their loads on, looking up a silent supplication, and wishing that death would touch their eyelids in their sleep, and their journey end where they lie. CAPTAIN LAKE was in London this morning. We know he came about electioneering matters, but he had not yet seen Leveret. Perhaps on second thoughts he rightly judged that Leveret knew no more than he did of the matter. It depended on the issue of the great debate that was drawing nigh. The minister himself could not tell whether the dissolution was at hand, and could no more postpone it when the time came than he could adjourn in eclipse. Notwithstanding the late wist party of the previous night, the gallant captain made a very early toilet. With his little bag in his hand he went downstairs, thinking unpleasantly, I believe, and jumped into the handsome that awaited him at the door, telling the man to go to the station. They had hardly turned the corner, however, when he popped his head forward and changed the direction. He looked at his watch, he had quite time to make his visit, and save the downtrain after. He did not know the city well. Many men who lived two hundred miles away and made a flying visit only once in three years knew it a great deal better than the London bread rake who had lived in the West End all his days. Captain Lake looked peevish and dangerous as he always did when he was anxious. In fact, he did not know what the next ten minutes might bring him. He was thinking what had best be done in any and every contingency. Was he still abroad, or had he arrived? Was he in Shives Court, or Cursed Luck? Had he crossed him yesterday by the downtrain, and was he by this time closeted with Larkin in the lodge? Lake, so to speak, stood at his wicket, and that accomplished bowler, fortune, ball in hand at the other end. Will it be swift round hand, or a slow twister, or a shooter, or a lob? Eye and hand, foot and bat, he must stand tense yet flexible, lie then swift as lightning, ready for everything, cut, block, slip, or hit to leg. It was not altogether pleasant. The stakes were enormous and suspense by no means conducive to temper. Lake fancied that the man was driving wrong once or twice, and was on the point of cursing him to that effect, from the window. But at last, with an anxious throb at his heart, he recognized the dingy archway, and the cracked brown marble tablet over the keystone, and he recognized Shives Court. So forth jumped the captain, so far relieved, and glided into the dim quadrangle with its square of smoky sky overhead. And the prattle of children playing on the flags, and the scrape of a violin from a window were in his ears, but as it were unheard. He was looking up at a window, with a couple of sooty scarlet geraniums in it. This was the court where Dame Dutton dwelt. He glided up her narrow stair and let himself in by the latch, and with his cane made a smacking like a harlequin sword upon the old woman's deal-table, crying, Mrs. Dutton, Mrs. Dutton, is Mrs. Dutton at home? The old lady, who was a laundress, entered in a short blue cotton wrapper, wiping the suds from her shrunken but sinewy arms with her apron, and on seeing the captain, her countenance, which was threatening, became very reverential indeed. How do you do, Mrs. Dutton, quite well? Have you heard lately from Jim? No. You'll see him soon, however, and give him this note, do you see, and tell him I was here, askin' about you and him, and very well, and glad if I can serve him again. Don't forget that. Very glad. Where will you keep that note? Oh, your tea, caddy. Not a bad safe. And see, give him this. That's ten pounds. You won't forget. And you want a new gown, Mrs. Dutton. I'd choose it myself, only I'm such a bad judge. But you'll choose it for me, won't you? And let me see it on you when next I come. And with a courtesy and a great beaming smile on her hot face, she accepted the five-pound note, which she placed in her hand. In another moment the captain was gone. He had just time to swallow a cup of coffee at the Terminus Hotel, and was gliding away towards the distant walls of Brandon Hall. He had a coupé all to himself, but he did not care for the prospect. He saw lawyer Larkin, as it were, reflected in the plate-glass, with his hollow smile and hungry eyes before him, knowing more than he should do, paying him compliments and plotting his ruin. Everything would have been quite smooth only for that damned fellow. The devil fixed him precisely there for the express purpose of fleecing and watching, and threatening him. Perhaps worse. He hated that sly, double-dealing reptile of prey, the arachnid of social nature, the spiders with which also naturalists place the scorpions. I daresay Mr. Larkin would have had his little difficulty in referring the gallant captain to the same family. While Stanley Lake is thus scanning the shabby but dangerous image of the attorney in the magic mirror before him, that eminent limb of the law was not inactive in the quiet town of Gillingdon. Under ordinary circumstances his pride would have condemned the vicar to a direful term of suspense, and he certainly would not have knocked at the door of the pretty little gabled house at the Darlington end of the town for many days to come. The vicar would have had to seek out the attorney to lie and wait for and to woo him. But Josiah Larkin's pride, like all his other passions, except his weakness for the precious metals, was under proper regulation. Jim Dutton might arrive at any moment, and it would not do to risk his publishing the melancholy intelligence of Mark Wilder's death before the transfer of the vicar's reversion, and to prevent that risk the utmost promptitude was indispensable. At nine o'clock, therefore, he presented himself, attended by his legal henchmen, as before. Another man might not have come here, Mr. Wilder, until his presence had been specially invited. After the—the—when he came to define the offence it was not very easy to do so, inasmuch as it consisted in the vicar's having unconsciously very nearly escaped from his fangs. But let that pass. I have had, I grieve to say, by this morning's post, a most serious letter from London. The attorney shook his head while searching his pocket. I'll read just a passage or two, if you'll permit me. It comes from Burlington and Smith. I protest I have forgot it at home. However, I may mention that in consequence of the letter you authorized me to write, and guaranteed by your bond, on which they have entered judgment, they have gone to the entire expense of drawing the deeds and investigating title, and they say that the purchaser will positively be off, unless the articles are in their office by twelve o'clock to-morrow. And I grieve to say, they add, that in the event of the thing falling through, they will issue execution for the amount of their costs, which as I anticipated a good deal exceeds four hundred pounds. I have therefore, my dear Mr. Wilder, casting aside all unpleasant feeling, called to entreat you to end and determine any hesitation you may have felt, and to execute without one moment's delay the articles which are prepared, and which must be in the post-office within half an hour. Then Mr. Josiah Larkin entered pointedly and briefly into Miss Lake's offer, which he characterised as wholly-nugatory, illusory, and chimerical, told him he had spoken on the subject, yesterday evening, to the young lady, who now saw plainly that there really was nothing in it, and that she was not in a position to carry out that part of her proposition, which contemplated a residence in the vicar's family. This portion of his discourse he dismissed rather slightly and mysteriously, but he contrived to leave upon the vicar's mind a very painful and awful sort of uncertainty respecting the young lady of whom he spoke. Then he became eloquent on the madness of further indecision in a state of things so fearfully menacing, freely admitting that it would have been incomparably better for the vicar never to have moved in the matter than having put his hand to the plough to look back as he had been doing. If he declined his advice there was no more to be said but to bow his head to the storm, and that ponderous execution would descend in wreck and desolation. So the vicar very much flushed in panic and perplexity, and trusting wildly to his protesting lawyer's guidance, submitted. Bugs and the bilious youngster entered with the deed, and the articles were duly executed, and the vicar signed also a receipt for the fanciful part of the consideration, and upon it and the deed he endorsed a solemn promise in the terms I have mentioned before, that he would never take any step to question, set aside, or disturb the purchase, or any matter connected therewith. Then the attorney, now in his turn, flushed, and very much elated, congratulated the poor vicar on his emancipation from his difficulties, and now that it was all done and over, told him what he had never told him before, that considering the nature of the purchase he had got a splendid price for it. The good man had also his agreement from Lake to sell five oaks. The position of the good attorney, therefore, in a commercial point of view, was eminently healthy and convenient. For less than half the value of five oaks alone he was getting that estate, and a vastly greater one beside, to be succeeded to on Mark Wilder's death. No wonder, then, that the good attorney was more than usually bland and happy that day. He saw the pork butcher in his back parlor, and had a few words to say about the chapel trust, and his looks and talk were quite edifying. He met two little children in the street, and stopped and smiled as he stooped down to pat them on the heads, and asked them whose children they were, and gave one of them a hapony. And he sat afterwards for nearly ten minutes with lean old Mrs. Mullick in her little shop, where toffee, toys, and penny-books for young people were sold, together with baskets, tea-cups, straw mats, and other adult wear. And he was so friendly and talked so beautifully, and although, as he admitted in his lofty way, there might be differences in fortune and position, yet were we not all members of one body? And he talked upon this theme till the good lady, marveling how so great a man could be so humble, was called to the receipt of custom on the subject of paradise and lemon drops, and the heavenly-minded attorney, with a celestial condescension, recognized his two little acquaintances of the street, and actually adding another hapony to his bounty, escaped with a hasty farewell and a smile to the street, as eager to evade the thanks of the little people and the admiration of Mrs. Mullick. It is not to be supposed that having got one momentous matter well off his mind, the good attorney was to be long rid of anxieties. The human mind is fertile in that sort of growth, as well might the gentleman who shaves suppose as his fingers glide after the operation over the polished surface of his chin, factus ad ungwem, that he may fling his brush and strop into the fire, and bury his razor certain fathoms in the earth. No. One crop of cares will always succeed another, not very oppressive, nor in any wise grand, perhaps, worries simply no more. But needing a modicum of lather, the looking-glass, the strop, the diligent razor, delicate manipulation, and stealing a portion of our precious time every day we live, and this must go on so long as the state of man is imperfect, and plenty of possible evil in futurity. The attorney must run up to London for a day or two. What if that mysterious and almost illegible brute James Dutton should arrive while he was away? Very unpleasant, possibly, for the attorney intended to keep that gentleman very quiet. Sufficient time must be allowed to intervene, to disconnect the purchase of the vicar's remainder from the news of Mark Wilder's demise. A year and a half, maybe, or possibly a year might do, for if the good attorney was cautious he was also greedy, and would take possession as early as was safe. Therefore arrangements were carefully adjusted to detain that important person in the event of his arriving, and a note in the good attorney's hand inviting him to remain at the lodge till his return, and particularly requesting that he would kindly abstain from mentioning to any one during his absence any matter he might intend to communicate to him in his professional capacity or otherwise. This, of course, was a little critical, and made his to-morrow's journey to London a rather anxious prospect. In the meantime our friend Captain Lake arrived in a hired fly with his light baggage at the door of Stately Brandon. So soon as the dust and ashes of railway travel were removed the pale captain in changed attire, snowy cambrick, and with perfumed hair and handkerchief presented himself before Dorcas. Now, dorky darling, your poor soldier has come back, resolved to turn over a new leaf, and never more to reserve another semblance of a secret from you. Said he, so soon as his first greeting was over, I long to have a good talk with you, dorky, I have no one on earth to confide in but you. I think, he said, with a little sigh, I would never have been so reserved with you, darling, if I had had anything pleasant to confide. But all I have to say is trist and tiresome, only a story of difficulties and petty vexations. I want to talk to you, dorky, where shall it be? They were in the great drawing-room, where I had first seen Dorcas Brandon and Rachel Lake, on the evening on which my acquaintance with the princely hall was renewed, after an interval of so many years. This room, Stanley dear? Yes, this room will answer very well, he said, looking round. We can't be overheard, it is so large. Very well, darling, listen. CHAPTER 62 The captain explains why Mark Wilder absconded. How delicious these violets are, said Stanley, leaning for a moment over the fragrant purple dome that crowned a china stand on the marble table they were passing. You love flowers, dorky, every perfect woman is, I think, a sister of Flora's. You're looking pale! You have not been ill. No? I'm very glad you say so. Sit down for a moment and listen, darling, and first I'll tell you upon my honour what Rachel has been worrying me about. Dorcas sat beside him on the sofa, and he placed his slender arm affectionately round her waist. You must know, dorky, that before his sudden departure Mark Wilder promised to lend William his brother a sum sufficient to relieve him of all his pressing debts. Debt? I never knew before that he had any exclaimed, Dorcas. Poor William! I am so sorry. Well, he has, like other fellows, only he can't get away as easily, and he has been very much pressed since Mark went, for he has not yet lent him a guinea, and in fact Rachel says she thinks he is in danger of being regularly sold out. She does not say she knows it, but only that she suspects they are in a great fix about money. Well, you must know that I was the sole cause of Mark Wilder's leaving the country. You, Stanley? Yes, I, dorky. I believe I thought I was doing a duty, but really I was nearly mad with jealousy and simply doing my utmost to drive a rival from your presence, and yet without hope for myself, desperately in love. Dorcas looked down and smiled oddly. It was a sad and bitter smile, and seemed to ask, whither has that desperate love in so short a time flown? I know I was right. He was a stained man, and was liable at any moment to be branded. It was villainous in him to seek to marry you. I told him at last that unless he withdrew your friend should know all. I expected he would show fight, and that a meeting would follow, and I really did not much care whether I were killed or not. But he went, on the contrary, rather quietly, threatening to pay me off, however, though he did not say how. He is a cunning dog, and not very soft-hearted, and has no more conscience than that, and he touched his finger to the cold summit of a marble bust. He is palpably machinating something to my destruction, with an influential attorney on whom I keep a watch, and he has got some fellow named Dutton into conspiracy, and not knowing how they mean to act, and only knowing how utterly wicked, cunning, and bloody-minded he is, and that he hates me, as he probably never hated any one before. I must be prepared to meet him, and if possible, to blow up that satanic cabal, which without money I can't. It was partly a mystification about the election. Of course it will be expensive, but nothing like the other. Are you ill, Dorky? He might well ask where she appeared on the point of fainting. Dorkus had read and heard stories of men seemingly no worse than their neighbours, nay, highly esteemed, and praised, and liked, who yet were haunted by evil men, who encountered them in lonely places, or by night, and controlled them by the knowledge of some dreadful crime. With Stanley, her husband, whose character she had begun to discern, whose habitual mystery was somehow tinged in her mind with a shade of horror, one of this two-faced, diabolical order of heroes? Why should he dread this cabal, as he called it, even though directed by the malignant energy of the absent and shadowy Mark Wilder? What could all the world do to harm him in free England, if he were innocent, if he were what he seemed, no worse than his social peers? Why should it be necessary to buy off the conspirators whom a guiltless man would defy and punish? The doubt did not come in these defiant shapes, as a halo surrounds a saint, a shadow rose suddenly, and envelop pale, scented, smiling Stanley, with the yellow eyes. He stood in the centre of a dreadful medium, through which she saw him ambiguous and awful, and she sickened. Are you ill, dorky darling? said the apparition in accents of tenderness. Yes, you are ill! And he hastily threw open the window, close to which they were sitting, and she quickly revived in the cooling air. She saw his yellow eyes fixed upon her features, and his face wearing an odd expression. Was it interest, or tenderness, or only scrutiny? To her there seemed a light of insincerity and cruelty in its pallor. You are better, darling, thank heaven, you are better. Yes, yes, a great deal better, it is passing away. Her colour was returning, and with a shivering sigh she said, Oh Stanley, you must speak truth, I am your wife. Do they know anything very bad? Are you in their power? Why, my dearest, one on earth could put such a wild fancy in your head! said Lake, with a strange laugh, and as she fancied, growing still paler. Do you suppose I am a highwayman in disguise, or a murderer, like what's his name, Eugene Aram? I must have expressed myself very ill if I suggested anything so tragical. I protest before heaven in my darling, there is not one word or act of mine I need fear to submit to any court of justice, or of honour on earth. He took her hand, and kissed it affectionately, and still fondling it gently between his he resumed. I don't mean to say, of course, that I have always been better than other young fellows. I've been foolish and wild, and—and I've done wrong things occasionally, as all young men will. But for high crimes and misdemeanours, or for melodramatic situations, I never had the slightest taste. There's no man on earth who can tell anything of me, or put me under any sort of pressure, thank heaven. And simply because I have never, in the course of my life, done a single act unworthy of a gentleman, or in the most trifling way compromised myself. I swear at my darling upon my honour and soul, and I will swear it in any terms, that the most awful that can be prescribed, in order totally, and forever, to remove from your mind so amazing a fancy. And with a little laugh, and still holding her hand, he passed his arm round her waist, and kissed her affectionately. But you are perfectly right, Dorky, in supposing that I am under very considerable apprehension from their machinations. Though they cannot slur our fair name, it is quite possible they may very seriously affect our property. Mr. Larkin is in possession of all the family papers. I don't like it, but it is too late now. The estates have been back and forward so often between the brandons and Wilders. I always fancy there may be a screw loose, or a frangible link somewhere, and he's deeply interested for Mark Wilder. You are better, darling, I think you are better, he said, looking in her face after a little pause. Yes, dear Stanley, much better. But why should you suppose any plot against our title? Mark Wilder is in constant correspondence with that fellow Larkin. I wish we were quietly rid of him. He is such an unscrupulous dog. I assure you, I doubt very much if the Deets are safe in his possession. At all events, he ought to choose between us and Mark Wilder. It is monstrous his being solicitor for both. The Wilders and brandons have always been contesting the right to these estates, and the same thing may arise again any day. But tell me, Stanley, how do you want to apply money? What particular good can it do us in this unpleasant uncertainty? Well, dorky, believe me, I have a sure instinct in matters of this kind. Larkin is plotting treason against us. Wilder is inciting him, and will reap the benefit of it. Larkin hesitates to strike, but that won't last long. In the meantime, he has made a distinct offer to buy five oaks. His doing so places him in the same interest with us, and although he does not offer its full value, still I should sleep sounder if it were concluded. And the fact is, I don't think we are safe until that sale is concluded. Dorcas looked for a moment earnestly in his face, and then down in thought. Now, dorky, I have told you all. Who is to advise you if not your husband? Trust my sure conviction, and promise me, Dorcas, that you will not hesitate to join me in averting by a sacrifice we shall hardly feel, a really stupendous blow. He kissed her hand, and then her lips, and he said, You will, dorky, I know you will. Give me your promise. Stanley, tell me once more, are you really quite frank when you tell me that you apprehend no personal injury from these people, apart, I mean, from the possibility of Mr. Larkin's conspiring to impeach our rights in favour of Mr. Wilder? Personal injury? None in life, my darling. And there is really no secret, nothing. Tell your wife. Nothing you fear coming to light. I swear again, nothing. Won't you believe me, darling? Then if it be so Stanley, I think we should hesitate long before selling any part of the estate upon a mere conjecture of danger. You or I may overestimate that danger being so nearly affected by it. We must take advice, and first we must consult Chelford. Remember, Stanley, how long the estate has been preserved. Whatever may have been their crimes and follies, those who have gone before us never impaired the brandon estate, and without full consideration, without urgent cause, I, Stanley, will not begin. Why, it is only five oaks, and we shall have the money. You forget, said Stanley. Five oaks is an estate in itself, and the idea of dismembering the brandon inheritance seems to me like taking a plank from a ship. All will go down when that is done. But you can't dismember it. It is only a life estate. Well, perhaps so, but Chelford told me that one of the London people said he thought five oaks belonged to me absolutely. In that case the inheritance is dismembered already. I will have no share in selling the old estate or any part of it to strangers, Stanley, but in a case of necessity, and we must do nothing precipitately. And I must insist, Stanley, on consulting Chelford before taking any step. He will view the question more calmly than you or I can, and we owe him that respect, Stanley. He has been so very kind to us. Chelford is the very last man whom I would think of consulting, answered Stanley, with his malign and peevish look. And why, asked Dorcas? Because he is quite sure to advise against it, answered Stanley sharply. He is one of those quixotic fellows who get on very well in fair weather while living with the Duke or Duchess, but are sure to run you into mischief when they come to the ins and highways of common life. I know perfectly he would protest against a compromise, discharge Larkin, fight him, and see us valiantly stripped of our property by some cursed law quibble, and think we ought to be much more comfortable so than in this house on the terms of a compromise with a traitor like Larkin. But I don't think so, nor any man of sense, nor any one but a hare-brained conceited knight-errant. I think Chelford one of the most sensible as well as honourable men I know, and I will take no step in selling a part of our estate to that odious Mr. Larkin without consulting him, and at least hearing what he thinks of it. Stanley's eyes were cast down, and he was nipping the struggling hairs of his light moustache between his lips, but he made no answer. Only suddenly he looked up and said quietly, Very well, good-bye for a little dorky, and he leaned over, and kissed her cheek, and then passed into the hall where he took his hat and cane. Larkin presented him with a note in a sealed envelope. As he took it from the salver he recognized Larkin's very clear and large hand. I suspect that grave Mr. Larkin had been making his observations and conjectures thereupon. The captain took it with a little nod and a peabish side-glance. It said, My dear Captain Brandon Lake, Imperative business calls me to London by the early train to-morrow. Will you therefore favour me, if convenient, by the bearer, with the small note of consent, which must accompany the articles agreeing to sell? I remain, etc., etc., etc. Larkin's groom was waiting for an answer. Tell him I shall probably see Mr. Larkin myself, said the captain snappishly, and so he walked down to pretty little Gillington. On the steps of the reading-room stood old Tom Ruddle, who acted as marker in the billiard-room, treasurer and bookkeeper beside, and swept out the premises every morning, and went to and fro at the proper hours between that literary and sporting institution and the post-office, and who, though seldom sober, was always well instructed in the news of the town. How do you do, old Ruddle, quite well? asked the captain with a smile. Who have you got in the rooms? Well, Josiah Larkin was not there. Indeed, he seldom showed in those premises, which he considered decidedly low, dropping in only now and then, like the great county gentleman, on sessions days, to glance at the papers and gossip on their own high affairs. But Ruddle had seen Mr. Josiah Larkin on the green, not five minutes since, and thither the gallant captain bent his steps. CHAPTER 63 The Ace of Hearts So you are going to London. Tomorrow is not it, said Captain Lake, when, on the green of Gillingdon, where visitors were promenading, and the militia-bands playing last to polkas, he met Mr. Josiah Larkin in lavender trousers and kid gloves, new hat, metropolitan black frock-coat, and shining French boots, the most elegant as well as the most Christian of provincial attorneys. Ah, yes, I think. Should my engagements permit of starting early to-morrow. The fact is, Captain Lake, our poor friend the vicar, you know, the Reverend William Wilder, has pressing occasion for some money, and I can't leave him absolutely in the hands of Burlington and Smith. No, of course, quite so, said Lake, with that sly smile which made every fellow on whom it lighted, somehow fancy that the captain had divined his secret. Very honest fellows, with good looking after, eh? The attorney laughed a little awkwardly with his pretty pink blush over his long face. Well, I'm far from saying that, but it is their business, you know, to take care of their client, and it would not do to give them the handling of mine. Can I do anything, Captain Lake, for you while in town? Nothing on earth, thank you very much. But I am thinking of doing something for you. You've interested yourself a great deal about Mark Wilder's movements. Not more than my duty clearly imposed. Yes, but notwithstanding, it will operate, I'm afraid, as you will presently see, rather to his prejudice. For to prevent your conjectural interference from doing him a more serious mischief, I will now, and here, if you please, divulge the true and only cause of his absconding. It is fair to mention, however, that you're knowing it will make you fully as odious to him as I am, and that, I assure you, is very odious indeed. There were four witnesses beside myself—Lieutenant Colonel German, Sir James Carter, Lord George Van Brug, and Ned Clinton. Witnesses! Captain Lake, do you allude to a legal matter? Richard Larkin, with his look of insinuating concern in inquiry? Quite the contrary, a very lawless matter, indeed. These four gentlemen beside myself were present at the occurrence. But perhaps you've heard of it, said the Captain, though that's not likely. Not that I recollect, Captain Lake, answered Josiah Larkin. Well, it is not a thing you'd forget easily, and indeed it was a very well-kept secret, as well as an ugly one, and Lake smiled in his sly, quizzical way. And where, Captain Lake, did it occur, may I inquire? said Larkin, with his charming insinuation. You may, and you shall hear, in fact, I'll tell you the whole thing. It was at Gray's Club in Paul Mall. The Wist Party were old German, Carter, Van Brug, and Wilder. Clinton and I were at Piquette, and were disturbed by a precious row the old boys kicked up. German and Carter were charging Mark Wilder in so many words with not playing fairly. There was an ace of hearts on the table played by him, and before three minutes they brought it home, and in fact it was quite clear that poor dear Mark had helped himself to it in quite an irregular way. Oh, dear Captain Lake! Oh, dear! How shocking! How inexpressibly shocking! Is not it, melancholy, said Larkin, in his finest and most pathetic horror? Yes, but don't cry till I've done, said Lake tranquilly. Mark tried to bully, but the cool old heads were too much for him, and he threw himself at last entirely on our mercy, and very abject he became, poor thing. How well the mountains look! I'm afraid we shall have rain to-morrow. Larkin uttered a short groan. So they sent him into the small card-room, next that we were playing in. I think we were about the last in the club. It was past three o'clock, and so the old boys deliberated on their sentence. To bring the matter before the committee were utter ruin to Mark, and they let him off on these conditions. He was to retire forthwith from the club. He was never to play any game of cards again. And lastly he was never more to address any one of the gentlemen who were present at his detection. Poor dear devil, how he did jump at the conditions, and provided they were each and all strictly observed, it was intimated that the occurrence should be kept secret. Well, you know, that was letting poor old Mark off in a coach, and I do assure you, though we had never liked one another, I really was very glad they did not move his expulsion, which would have involved his quitting the service, and I positively don't know how he could have lived if that had occurred. I do solemnly assure you, Captain Lake, what you have told me has beyond expression amazed, and I will say horrified me," said the attorney, with a slow and melancholy vehemence. Better men might have suspected something out. I do solemnly pledge my honour that nothing of the kind so much has crossed my mind. Not naturally suspicious, I believe, but all the more shocked, Captain Lake, on that account. He was poor, then, you see, and a few pounds were everything to him, and the temptation immense, but clumsy fellows ought not to try that sort of thing. There's the highway, Mark would have made a capital garter. The attorney groaned and turned up his eyes. The band was playing Popko's The Weasel, and all Jackson very well dressed and buckled up, with a splendid smile upon his waggish military countenance, cried as he passed, with a wave of his hand. How do, Lake? How do, Mr. Larkin? Beautiful day! I've no wish to injure Mark, but it is better that you should know it once, and go about poking everywhere for information. I do assure you, and having really no wish to hurt him, pursued the Captain, and also making it, as I do, a point that you shall repeat this conversation as little as possible, I don't choose to appear singular, as your soul informant, and I've given you here a line to Sir James Carter, he's member, you know, for Huddlesbury. I mention that Mark, having broken his promise, and played for heavy stakes, too, both on board his ship and at Plymouth and Naples, which I happen to know, and also by accosting me, whom as one of the gentlemen agreeing to impose these conditions he was never to address, I felt myself at liberty to mention it to you, holding the relation you do to me, as well as to him, in consequence of the desirableness of placing you in possession of the true cause of his absconding, which was simply my telling him that I would not permit him, slurred as he was, to marry a lady who was totally ignorant of his actual position, and in fact that unless he withdrew I must acquaint the young lady's guardian of the circumstances. It was quite enough probability in this story to warrant Josiah Larkin in turning up his eyes and groaning, but in the intervals his shrewd eyes searched the face of the Captain, not knowing whether to believe one syllable of what he related. I may as well mention here that the attorney did present the note to Sir J. Carter, with which Captain Lake had furnished him, indeed he never lost an opportunity of making the acquaintance of a person of rank, and that the worthy Baronette so appealed to, and being a blunt sort of fellow, and an old acquaintance of Stanley's, did, in a short and testy sort of way, corroborate Captain Lake's story, having previously conditioned that he was not to be referred to as the authority from whom Mr. Larkin had learned it. The attorney and Captain Brandon Lake were now walking side by side over the more sequestered part of the Green. And so, said the Captain, coming to his stand still, I'll bid you could buy a Larkin. What stay, I forgot to ask, do you make in town? Only a day or two. You'll not wait for the division on trawler's motion. Oh, dear no! I calculate I'll be here again, certainly in three days' time, and I suppose, Captain Lake, you received my note. You mean just now? Oh, yes! Of course it is all right, but one day is as good as another, and you have got my agreement signed. Pardon me, Captain Brandon Lake, the fact is one day, in this case, does not answer as well as another, for I must have drafts of the deeds prepared by my conveyancer in town. And the note is indispensable. Perhaps if there is any difficulty you will be so good as to say so, and I shall then be in a position to consider the case in its new aspect. What the devil difficulty can there be, sir? I can't see it any more than what hurry can possibly exist about it, said Lake, stung with a momentary fury. It seemed as though everyone was conspiring to perplex and torment him, and he, like the poor vicar, though for very different reasons, had grown intensely anxious to sell. He had grown to dread the attorney, since the arrival of Dutton's letter, he suspected that his journey to London had for its object a meeting with that person. He could not tell what might be going on in the dark, but the possibility of such a conjunction might well dismay him. On the other hand, the more Mr. Larkin relied upon the truth of Dutton's letter, the cooler he became respecting the purchase of five oaks. It was, of course, a very good thing, but not his first object. The vicar's reversion in that case was everything, and of it he was now sure. There is no difficulty about the note, sir. It contains but four lines, and I've given you the form. No difficulty can exist but in the one quarter, and the fact is, he added steadily, unless I have that note before I leave to-morrow morning, I'll assume that you wish to be off, Captain Lake, and I will adapt myself to circumstances. You may have it now, said the Captain, with a fierce carelessness. Damn! Nonsense! Who could have fancied any such stupid hurry? Send in the morning, and you shall have it. And the Captain rather savagely turned away, skirting the crowd who hovered about the band in his leisurely and now solitary ramble. The Captain was sullen that evening at home. He was very uncomfortable. His heart was failing him for the things that were coming to pass. One of his maniacal tempers which had often before thrown him, as it were, off the rails, was at the bottom of his immediate troubles. This proneness to sudden accesses of violence and fury was the compensation which abated the effect of his ordinary craft and self-command. He had done all he could to obviate the consequences of his folly in this case. He hoped the attorney might not succeed in discovering Jim Dutton's whereabouts. At all events he had been beforehand and taken measures to quiet that person's dangerous resentment. But it was momentous, in the critical state of things, to give this dangerous attorney a handsome share in his stake, to place him, as he had himself said, in the same boat, and enlist all his unscrupulous astuteness in maintaining his title. And if he went to London disappointed, and that things turned out unluckily about Dutton, it might be a very awful business indeed. Dinner had been a very dull tet-a-tet. Dorcas sat stately and sad, looking from the window toward the distant sunset horizon, piled in dusky gold and crimson clouds against the faded green sky, a glory that is always melancholy and dreamy. Stanley sipped his claret, his eyes upon the cloth. He raised them and looked out, too, and the ruddy light tinted his pale features. A gleam of good humour seemed to come with it, and he said, I was just thinking, dorky, that for you and me alone these great rooms are a little dreary. Suppose we have tea in the tapestry room. The Dutch room, Stanley, I think so. I should like it very well. So I am certain, would Rachel. I've written to her to come. I hope she will. I expect her at nine. The brome will be with her. She wrote such an odd note to-day addressed to you, but I opened it. Here it is. She did not watch his countenance, or look in his direction as he read it. She addressed herself, on the contrary, altogether to her lilapush and white lapdog, snow, and played with his silken ears and chatted with him as ladies will. A sealed envelope broken, that scoundrel larkham, knew perfectly it was meant for me. He was on the point of speaking his mind, which would hardly have been pleasant to hear, upon this piece of detective impertence of his wife's. He could have smashed all the glass upon the table, but he looked serene, and leaned back with the corner of Rachel's note between two fingers. It was a case in which he clearly saw he must command himself. CHAPTER 64 IN THE DUTCH ROOM His heart misgave him. He felt that a crisis was coming, and he read, I cannot tell you, my poor brother, how miserable I am. I have just learned that a very dangerous person has discovered more about that dreadful evening than we believed known to anybody in Gillingdon. I am subjected to the most agonizing suspicions and insults. Wood to heaven I were dead. But living I cannot endure my present state of mind longer. Tomorrow morning I will see Dorcas, poor Dorcas, and tell her all. I am weary of urging you, in vain, to do so. It would have been much better. But although after that interview I shall perhaps never see her more, I shall yet be happier, and I think relieved from suspense and the torments of mystery. So will she. At all events it is her right to know all, and she shall. Your outcast and miserable sister. When Stanley's lips his serene, unpleasant smile was gleaming as he closed the note carelessly. He intended to speak, but his voice caught. He cleared it and sipped a little clarit. For a clever girl she certainly does write the most wonderful rubbish, such an effusion, and she sends it tossing about from hand to hand among the servants. I have anticipated her, however, Dorci, and he took her hand and kissed it. She does not know I have told you all myself. Stanley went to the library, and Dorcas to the conservatory, neither very happy, each haunted by an evil augury and a sense of coming danger. The deepening shadow warned Dorcas that it was time to repair to the Dutch room, where she found lights and tea prepared. In a few minutes more, the library door opened, and Stanley Lake peeped in. Ready not come yet, said he, entering. We certainly are much pleasanter in this room, Dorci, more in proportion than we too should have been in the drawing-room. He seated himself beside her, drawing his chair very close to hers and taking her hand in his. He was more affectionate this evening than usual. What did it portend, she thought? She had already begun to acquiesce in Rachel's estimate of Stanley, and to fancy that whatever he did it was with an unacknowledged purpose. "'Does little Dorci love me?' said Lake, in a sweet undertone. There was reproach, but love, too, in the deep soft glance she threw upon him. You must promise me not to be frightened at what I am going to tell you,' said Lake. She heard him with sudden panic, and a sense of cold stall over her. He looked like a ghost, quite white, smiling. She knew something was coming, the secret she had invoked so long, and she was appalled. "'Don't be frightened, darling. It is necessary to tell you, but it is really not much when you hear me out. You'll say so when you have quite heard me. So you won't be frightened.' She was gazing straight into his wild yellow eyes, fascinated with the look of expecting terror. "'You are nervous, darling,' he continued, laying his hand on hers. Shall we put it off for a little? You are frightened.' "'Not much frightened, Stanley,' she whispered. "'Well, we had better wait. I see, Dorcas, you are frightened and nervous. Don't keep looking at me. Look at something else, can't you? You make yourself nervous that way. I promise upon my honour I'll not say a word about it till you bid me.' "'I know, Stanley. I know. Then why won't you look down, or look up, or look any way you please? Only don't stare at me so.' "'Yes.' "'Oh, yes.' And she shut her eyes. "'I'm sorry I began,' he said pettishly. "'You'll make a fuss. You've made yourself quite nervous, and I'll wait a little.' "'Oh, no, Stanley, now! For heaven's sake, now!' I was only a little startled. But I'm quite well again. Is it anything about marriage? Oh, Stanley and Mercy, tell me, was there any other engagement?' "'Nothing, darling. Nothing on earth of this sort.' And he spoke with an icy little laugh. Your poor soldier is altogether yours, Dorky, and he kissed her cheek.' "'Thank God for that,' said Dorcas, hardly above her breath. "'What I have to say is quite different, and really nothing that need effect you. But Rachel has made such a row about it. Fifty fellows, I know, are in much worse fixes, and though it is not of so much consequence. Still, I think I should not have told you, only without knowing it you were thwarting me, and helping to get me into a serious difficulty by your obstinacy, or what you will, about five oaks.' Somehow trifling as the matter was, Stanley seemed to grow more and more unwilling to disclose it, and rather shrink from it now. Now, Dorcas, mind, there must be no trifling. You must not treat me as Rachel has. If you can't keep a secret, for it is a secret, say so. Shall I tell you?' "'Yes, Stanley, yes. I am your wife.' "'Well, Dorcas, I told you something of it, but only a part, and some circumstances I did intentionally colour a little, but I could not help it, unless I had told everything, and no matter what you or Rachel may say, it was kinder to withhold it as long as I could.' He glanced at the door and spoke in a lower tone. And so, with his eyes lowered to the table at which he sat, glancing ever into non-sideways at the door, and tracing little figures with the tip of his finger upon the shining rosewood, he went on murmuring his strange and hateful story in the ear of his wife. It was not until he had spoken some three or four minutes that Dorcas suddenly uttered a wild scream and started to her feet. And Stanley also rose precipitately and caught her in his arms, for she was falling. As he supported her in her chair, the library door opened, and the sinister face of Uncle Lorne looked in and returned the captain's stare with one just as fixed and horrified. "'Hush!' whispered Uncle Lorne, and he limped softly into the room, and stopped about three yards away. She is not dead, but sleepeth. "'Hello, Larkham!' shouted Lake. I tell you she's dreaming the same dream that I dreamt in the middle of the night. "'Hello, Larkham!' Marks on leave to-night in uniform. His face is flattened against the window. This is his lady, you know. "'Hello! Damned you! Are you there?' shouted the captain, very angry. "'I saw Mark falling you like an ape on all fours. Such nice white teeth, grinning at your heels, but he can't bite yet. Ha-ha-ha! Poor Mark! "'Will you be so good, sir, as to touch the bell?' said Lake, changing his tone. He was afraid to remove his arm from Dorcas, and he was slashing water from a glass upon her face and forehead. "'No, no, no bell yet. Time enough. Ding-dong!' You say, dead and gone. Captain Lake cursed him and his absent keeper between his teeth. Still, in a rather flurried way, prosecuting his conjugal attentions. There was no bell for poor Mark, and he's always listening and stares so. A cat may look, you know. "'Can't you touch the bell, sir? What are you standing there for?' snarled Lake with a glare at the old man. He looked as if he could have murdered him. Standing between the living and the dead. "'Here, Reuben, here! Where the devil have you been? Take him away. He has terrified her. By—' He ought to be shot!' The keeper silently slid his arm into Uncle Laurence, and unresisting the old man talking to himself the while, drew him from the room. Larkham, about to announce Miss Lake, and closely followed by that young lady, passed the grim old phantom on the lobby. "'Be quick, you are wanted there!' said the attendant as he passed. Dorcas, pale as marble, sighing deeply again and again, her rich black hair drenched in water, which trickled over her cheeks like the tears and moisture of agony, was recovering. There was water spilt on the table, and the fragments of a broken glass upon the floor. The moment Rachel saw her, she divined what had happened, and gliding over, she placed her arm round her. "'You're better, darling. Open the window, Stanley. Send her maid.' "'I send her maid,' cried Captain Lake to Larkham. "'This is your damned work. A nice mess you have made of it among you.' "'Are you better, Dorcas?' said Rachel. "'Yes, much better. I'm glad, darling. I understand you now.' "'Ready kiss me.'" Next morning, before early family prayers, while Mr. Josiah Larkham was locking the dispatch box which was to accompany him to London, Mr. Larkham arrived at the lodge. He had a note for Mr. Larkham's hand which he must himself deliver, and so he was shown into that gentleman's official cabinet, and received with the usual lofty kindness. "'Well, Mr. Larkham, pray sit down, and can I do anything for you, Mr. Larkham?' said the good attorney, waving his long hand toward a vacant chair. "'A note, sir. Oh, yes, very well.' And the tall attorney rose, and facing the rural prospect at his window, with his back to Mr. Larkham, he read with a faint smile the few lines in a delicate hand, consenting to the sale of five oaks. He had to look for a time at the distant prospect, to allow his smile to subside, and to permit the conscious triumph which he knew beamed through his features, to discharge itself and evaporate in the light and air before turning to Mr. Larkham, which he did with an air of sudden recollection. "'Ah! All right. I was forgetting. I must give you a line.' So he did, and hid away the note in his dispatch-box, and said, "'The family all quite well, I hope, where at Larkham shook his head. My mistress,' he always called her so, and laked the captain. "'Has been taken on awful last night. Whatever come betwixt him. She was fainted outright in her chair in the Dutch room, and he said it was the old gentleman, old flannels we call him, for shortness. But Lord bless you, she was too used to him to be frightened, and that's only a make-belief. And Miss Dippel's are made. She says it's how she was worse upstairs, and she's made up again with Miss Lake, which she was very glad, no doubt, of the making-friends, I do suppose. But it's been a bad row, and I suspect almost he's used violence. Compulsion, I suppose. You mean constraint? Suggested Larkham, very curious. Well, that may be, sir, but I almost suspect she's been hurt it somehow. She's got them crying fits upstairs, you know, and the captain. He's awful bad tempered this morning, and he never looked near her once after his sister came. And he left them together talking and crying, and he locked himself into the library, like one has known he'd done something to be ashamed on, half the night. "'It's not happy, Larkham. I'm much afraid. It's not happy.' And the attorney rose, shaking his tall bald head, and his hands in his pockets, and looked down in meditation. In the Dutch room, after tea, I suppose," said the attorney, before tea, sir, just as Miss Lake arrived in the Bram. And so on, but there was no more to be learned, and Mr. Larkham returned and attended the captain very reverentially at his solitary breakfast. Mr. Josiah Larkham was away for London, and a very serene companion he was, if not very brilliant. Everything was going perfectly smoothly with him. A celestial gratitude glowed and expanded within his breast. His angling had been prosperous hitherto, but just now he had made a miraculous draft, and his nets and his heart were bursting. Delightful sentiment, the gratitude of a righteous man. A man who knows that his heart is not set upon the things of the world, who has, like King Solomon, made wisdom his first object, and who finds riches added there too. There was no shadow of self-reproach to slur the sunny landscape. He had made a splendid purchase from Captain Lekit was true. He drew his dispatch-box nearer to him affectionately, as he thought on the precious records it contained. But who in this wide-awake world was better able to take care of himself than the gallant captain? If it were not the best thing for the captain, surely it would not have been done. Whom have I defrauded? My hands are clean. He had made a still better purchase from the vicar, but what would have become of the vicar if he had not been raised up to purchase? And was it not speculative, and was it not possible, that he should lose all that money, and was it not, on the whole, the wisest thing that the vicar, his difficulties, could have been advised to do? So reasoned the good attorney, as with a languid smile and a sigh of content, his long hand laid across the cover of the dispatch-box by his side, he looked forth through the plate-glass window, upon the sunny fields and hedgerows that glided by him, and felt the blessed assurance, look whatsoever he doeth it shall prosper, mingling in the hum of surrounding nature. And as his eyes rested on the flying diorama of trees and farmsteads and standing crops, and he felt already the pride of a great landed proprietor, his long fingers fiddled pleasantly with the rough tooling of his Morocco leather box, and thinking of the signed articles within, it seemed as though an angelic hand had placed them there while he slept, so wondrous was it all. And he fancied, under the red tape, a label traced in the neatest scrivenry, with a pen of light, containing such gratifying testimonials to his desserts, as well done good and faithful servant, the saints shall inherit the earth, and so following. And he sighed again in the delicious luxury of having secured both heaven and mammon. And in this happy state, and volunteering all manner of courtesies, opening and shutting windows, lending his railway-guide and his newspapers whenever he had an opportunity, he at length reached the great London terminus, and was rattling over the metropolitan pavement with his hand on his dispatch-box to his cheap hotel near the Strand. CHAPTER 65 I REVISIT BRENDAN HALL Rachel Lake was courageous and energetic, and when once she had taken a clear view of her duty wonderfully persistent and impracticable. Her dreadful interview with Josiah Larkin was always in her mind. The bleached face, so meek, so cruel of that shabby specter in the small low parlor of Redmond's Farm, was always before her. There he had spoken the sentences which made the earth tremble and showed her distinctly the cracking line beneath her feet, which would gape at his word into the fathomless chasm that was to swallow her. But come what might she would not abandon the vicar and his little boy and good Dolly to the arts of that abominable magician. The more she thought, the clearer her conviction. She had no one to consult with. She knew the risk of exasperating that tall man of God who lived at the lodge. But determined to brave all, she went down to see Dolly and the vicar at home. Poor Dolly was tired. She had been sitting up all night with sick little fairy. He was better to-day, but last night he had frightened them so, poor little man. He began to rave about eleven o'clock, and more or less his little mind continued wandering until near six, when he fell into a sound sleep and seemed better for it. And it was such a blessing there certainly was neither Scarletina nor Smallpox, both which enemies had appeared on the northern frontier of Gillingdon and were picking down their two or three cases each in that quarter. So Rachel first made her visit to little man, sitting up in his bed, very pale and thin, and looking at her, not with his pretty smile, but a languid earnest wonder, and not speaking, how quickly and strikingly sickness tells upon children. Little man's frugal store of toys, chiefly the gifts of pleasant Rachel, wild beasts, Noah and his sons, and part of a regiment of foot soldiers, with the usual return of broken legs and missing arms, stood peacefully mingled upon the board across his bed which served as a platform. But little man was leaning back. His fingers, once so busy, lay motionless on the coverlet, and his tired eyes, rusted on the toys, with a joyless earnest apathy. "'Didn't play with them a minute,' said the maid. "'I'll bring him a new box. I'm going into the town. Won't that be pretty?' said Rachel, parting his golden locks over the young forehead and kissing him. And she took his little hand in hers. It was hot and dry. He looks better, a little better, don't you think, just a little better?' whispered his mama, looking as all the rest were on that one sad little face. But he really looked worse. "'Well, he can't look better, you know, dear, till there's a decided change. What does Dr. Buttle say?' He saw him yesterday morning. He thinks it's all from his stomach, and he's feverish. No meat. Indeed, he won't eat anything, and you see the light hurts his eyes. There was only a chink of the shutter open. But it is always so when he has ever so little ill, my precious little man, and I know if he thought at anything the least serious Dr. Buttle would have looked in before now, he's so very kind. I wish my darling could get a little sleep. He's very tired, nurse,' said Rachel. "'Yes, I'm very tired of him. Would you like his precious head lower a bit? No? Very well, darling. We'll leave it so. Dolly, darling, you and nurse must be so tired sitting up. I have a little wine at Redmond's Farm. I got it, you remember, more than a year ago, when Stanley said he was coming to pay me a visit. I never take any, and a little would be so good for you, and poor nurse, I'll send some to you.' So coming downstairs, Rachel said, is the vicar at home? Yes, he was in the study, and there they found him brushing his seedy hat and making ready for his country calls in the neighborhood of the town. The hour was dull without little fairy, but he would soon be up and out again, and he would steal up now and see him. He could not go out without his little farewell at the bedside, and he would bring him in some pretty flowers. "'You've seen little fairy,' asked the good vicar, with a very anxious smile. "'And you think him better, dear Miss Lake, don't you? Why, I can't say that, because you know, so soon as he's better, he'll be quite well. They make their recoveries all in a moment. But he does not look worse,' said the vicar, lifting his eyes eagerly from his boot, which he was buttoning on the chair. "'Well, he does look more tired. But that must be till his recovery begins, which will be, please, heaven immediately. Oh, yes, my little man has had two or three attacks much more serious than this, and always shook them off so easily. I was reminding Dolly always, and good Dr. Butler surez us it is none of those horrid complaints. And so they talked over the case of the little man, who, with Noah and his sons, and the battered soldiers and animals before him, was fighting, though they only dimly knew it, silently in his little bed the great battle of life or death. Mr. Larkin came to me the evening before last,' said Rachel, and told me that the little sum I mentioned, now don't say a word till you heard me, was not sufficient. So I want to tell you what I have quite resolved on. I have been long intending, some time or other, to change my place of residence. Perhaps I shall go to Switzerland, and I have made up my mind to sell my rent charge on the Daltchester estate. It will produce, Mr. Young says, a very large sum, and I wish to lend it to you. Either all, or as much as will make you quite comfortable. You must not refuse. I had intended leaving it to my dear little man upstairs, and you must promise me solemnly that you will not listen to the advice of that bad cruel man, Mr. Larkin. My dear Miss Lake, you misunderstood him. But what can I say? How can I thank you? said the vicar, clasping her hand. A wicked and merciless man, I say, repeated Miss Lake. From my observation of him I am certain of two things. I am sure that he has some reason for thinking that your brother, Mark Wilder, is dead, and secondly that he is himself deeply interested in the purchase of your reversion. I feel a little ill, Dolly. Open the window. There was a silence for a little while, and Rachel resumed. Now, William Wilder, I am convinced that you and your wife—and she kissed Dolly—and your dear little boy are marked out for plunder, the objects of a conspiracy, and I'll lose my life, but I'll prevent it. Now, maybe, Willie, upon my word perhaps she's quite right. For you know, if poor Mark is dead, then would not he have the estate now? Is not that it, Miss Lake? And you know that would be dreadful to sell it all for next to nothing. Is not that what you mean, Miss Lake? Rachel, dear Emmy? Yes, Dolly, stripping yourselves of a splendid inheritance and robbing your poor little boy. I protest in the name of heaven against it. And you have no excuse now, William, with my offer before you. And Dolly, it will be inexcusable wickedness in you if you allow it. Now, Willie, do you hear that? Do you hear what she says? But Dolly, darling, dear Miss Lake, there is no reason whatever to suppose that poor Mark is dead, said the vicar, very pale. I tell you again, I am convinced the attorney believes it. He did not say so indeed, but cunning as he is, I think I have quite seen through his plot. And even in what he said to me there was something that half betrayed him every moment. And Dolly, if you allow this sale, you deserve the ruin you are inviting and the remorse that will follow you to your grave. Do you hear that, Willie? Said Dolly, with her hand on his arm. But, dear, it is too late. I have signed this instrument. And it is too late. I hope, God help me, I have not done wrong. Indeed, whatever happens, dear Miss Lake, may heaven forever bless you. But respecting good, Mr. Larkin, you are indeed in error. I am sure you have quite misunderstood him. You don't know how kind, how disinterestedly good he has been. And now, my dear Miss Lake, it is too late. Quite too late. No, it is not too late. Such wickedness as that cannot be lawful. I won't believe the law allows it, cried Rachel Lake. It is all a fraud. Even if you have signed all a fraud, you must perk your able advice at once. Your enemy is that dreadful Mr. Larkin. Right to some good attorney in London. I'll pay everything. Dear Miss Lake, I can't, said the vicar dejectedly. I am bound in honor and conscience not to disturb it. I have written to Messrs. Burlington and Smith to that effect. I assure you, dear Miss Lake, we have not acted inconsiderately. Nothing has been done without careful and deep consideration. You must employ an able attorney immediately. You have been duped. Your little boy must not be ruined. But, but I do assure you I have so pledged myself by the letter I have mentioned that I could not. No, it is quite impossible, he added, as he recollected the strong and pointed terms in which he had pledged his honor and conscience to the London Firm to guarantee them against any such disturbance as Miss Lake was urging him to attempt. I am going into the town, Dolly, and so are you, said Rachel, after a little pause. Let us go together. Into this Dolly readily assented, and the vicar evidently much troubled in mind, having run up to the nursery to see his little man, the two ladies set out together. Rachel saw that she had made an impression upon Dolly and was resolved to carry her point. So in earnest terms, again she conjured her, at least, to lay the whole matter before some friend on whom she could rely. And Dolly alarmed and eager, quite agreed with Rachel, that the sale must be stopped and she would do whatever, dear Rachel, bid her. But do you think Mr. Larkin really supposes that poor Mark is dead? I do, dear, I suspect he knows it. And what makes you think that, Rachel, darling? I can't define. I've no proofs to give you. One knows things sometimes. I perceived it, and I think I can't be mistaken. And now I've said all, and pray, ask me no more upon that point. Rachel spoke with a hurried and fierce impatience that rather startled her companion. It is wonderful that she showed her state of mind so little. There was indeed something feverish, and at times even fierce in her looks and words. But few would have guessed her agony as she pleaded with the vicar and his wife. Or the awful sense of impending consequences that closed over her like the shadow of night the moment the excitement of her pleading was over. Rachel, are you mad? Fly, fly, fly! Was always sounding in her ears. The little street of Gillingdon, through which they were passing, looked strange and dreamlike. And as she listened to Mrs. Crinkle's babble over the counter and chose his toys for poor little fairy, she felt like one trifling on the way to execution. But her warnings and entreaties, I have said, were not quite thrown away. For although the vicar was inflexible, she had prevailed with his wife, who at parting again promised Rachel that if she could do it the sale should be stopped. When I returned to Brandon a few mornings later, Captain Lake received me joyfully at his solitary breakfast. He was in an intense electioneering excitement. The evening papers for the day before lay on the breakfast table. A move of some sort suspected the opposition Prince All, hinting at tricks and ambuscades. They were whipping their men up awfully. Old Waddle, not half recovered, went by the early train yesterday, wheeled, and tells me, it will probably kill him. Stour went up the day before. Lee says he saw him at Charteris. He never speaks, only a vote, and a fellow that never appears till the minute. Birtle, the member for Stony Muckford, was in the next carriage to me yesterday. And he's a slow coach too, I threw in. It does look as if the division was nearer than they pretend. Just so. I heard from Guibes last evening. What a hand that fellow writes, only a dozen words. Look out for squalls, and keep your men in hand. I've sent for Wheeldon. I wish the morning papers were come. I'm a quarter past eleven. What are you? The post's in at Dowlington. Fifty minutes before we get our letters here. Damned nonsense. It's all that heavy bus of drivers. I'll change that. They leave London at five and get to Dowlington at half past ten, and driver never has them in sooner than twenty minutes past eleven. Damned humbug. I'd undertake to take a dog cart over the ground in twenty minutes. Is Larkin here, I asked? Oh no, run up to town. I'm so glad he's away, the clumsiest dog in England. Nothing clever, no invention. Only a bully. The people hate him. Wheeldon's my man. I wish he'd give up that town clerkship. It can't be worth much, and it's in his way. I'd make it up to him somehow. Will you just look at that? It's the globe. Only six lines. And tell me what you make of it. It does look like it, certainly. Wheeldon and I have jotted down a few names here, said Lake, sliding a list of names before me. You know some of them, I think. Rather a strong committee, don't you think so? Those fellows with the Red Cross before have promised. Yes, it's very strong. Capital, I said, crunching my toast. Is it thought the Ritz will follow the dissolution unusually quickly? They must, unless they want a very late session. But it is quite possible the government may win. A week ago they reckoned upon eleven. And as we were talking, the post arrived. Here they are, cried Lake. And grasping the first morning paper he could seize on, he tore it open with a greater display of energy than I had seen that language in a gentleman exhibit on any former occasion. How on earth could they have miscalculated so? Swivel, I see, voted in the majority. That's very odd. And, by Jove, they're surplus too. And he's good for seven votes. Why, his own paper was backing the ministers. What a fellow that is. That accounts for it all. A difference of fourteen votes. And thus we went on, discussing this unexpected turn of luck, and reading to one another snatches of the leading articles in different interests upon the subject. Then Lake, recollecting his letters, opened a large sealed envelope with SCG in the corner. This is from Gibbs, let us say. Oh, before the division. It looks a little fishy, he says. Well, so it does. We may take the division tonight. Should it prove it worse, you are to expect an immediate dissolution. This on the best authority. I write to mention this, as I may be too much harried tomorrow. We were discussing this note when Wielden arrived. Well, Captain, great news, sir. The best thing I take it could have happened ministers. A rotten house. Down with it. Blow it up. Three votes only. But as good as three hundred for the purpose. Of the three hundred, grand but three, you know. Of course, they don't think of resigning. Oh, dear, no. An immediate dissolution. Read that, said Lake, tossing Gibbs' note to him. Oh, then we'll have the writs down hot and heavy. We must be sharp. The sheriffs are right. That's a point. You must not lose an hour in getting your committee together and printing your address. Who's on the other side? You'll have Jennings, of course, but they are talking of four different men already to take Sir Harry Twizden's place. He'll resign. That's past a doubt now. He has his retiring address written. Lord Edward Morden read it. And he told Fitz Stephen on Sunday, after church, that he'd never said again. Here by Jove is a letter from Marbury, said Lake, opening it. All about his brother George. Here's a map for the country. Lord George ready to join and go halves. What shall I say? Could not have a better man. Tell him you desire no better, and will bring it at once before your committee, and let him know the moment they meet, and tell him I say he knows Wilden pretty well. He may look on it as settled. That will be a spoken Sir Harry's wheel. Sir Harry who? said Lake. Brackton, I think it's only to spoil your game, you see, answered Wilden. Abundance of Mellis, but I don't think he's countenanced. He'll try to get the start of you. And if he does, one or other must go to the wall. For Lord George is too strong to be shook out. Do you get forward at once? That's your plan, Captain. Then the Captain recurred to his letters, which were a larger pack than usual this morning, chatting all the time with Wilden and me on the tremendous topic, and tossing aside every letter that did not bear on the coming struggle. Who can this be? said Lake, looking at the address of one of these. Very like my hand, and he examined the seal, it was only a large weaver's stamp, so he broke it open, and drew out a shabby, very ill-written scroll. He turned suddenly away, talking the while, but with his eyes upon the note, and then he folded, or rather crumpled it up, and stuffed it into his pocket, and continued his talk, but it was now plain to me there was something more in his mind, and he was thinking of the shabby letter he had just received. But no matter, the election was depressing topic, and Lake was soon engaged in it again. There was now a grand coup under discussion, the forestalling of all the horses and vehicles along the line of railway, and in all the principal posting establishments throughout the country. They'll want to keep it open for a bit from the other side. It is a heavy item anyway, and if you want to engage them now, you'll have to give double what they got last time. But Lake was not to be daunted. He wanted the seat, and would stick at nothing to secure it, and so Wilden got instructions, in his own phrase, to go the whole animal. As I could be of no possible use in local details, I left the council of war sitting, intending a stroll in the grounds. In the hall I met the mistress of the house, looking very handsome, but with a certain witch-like beauty, very pale, something a little haggard in her great dark eyes, and a strange listening look. Was it watchfulness? Was it suspicion? She was dressed gravely but richly, and received me kindly, and, strange to say, with a smile that, yet, was not joyful. I hope she is happy. Lake is such a beast. I hope he does not bully her. In truth there were in her exquisite features the traces of that mysterious misery and fear which seemed to fall wherever Stanley Lake's ill omened confidences were given. I walked down one of the long alleys, with tall, close hedges of beach, as impenetrable as cloister walls to sight, and watched the tench, basking, and flickering in the clear pond, and the dazzling swans sailing majestically along. What a strange passion is ambition, I thought. Is it really the passion of great minds, or of little? Here is Lake, with a noble old place, inexhaustible in variety, with a beautiful, and I was by this time satisfied, a very singular and interesting woman for his wife, who must have married him for love, pure and simple, a handsome fortune, the power to bring his friends, those whom he liked, or who amused him about him, and to indulge luxuriously every reasonable fancy, willing to forsake all, and follow the back of that phantom, had he knowledge, public talents, training, nothing of the sort, had he patriotism, any one noble motive of fine instinct to prompt him to public life? The mere suggestion was a sneer. It seemed to me, simply, that Stanley Lake was a lively, amusing, and even intelligent man, without any internal resource, vacant, peevish, with an unmeaning passion for corruption and intrigue, and the sort of egotism which craves distinction, so I supposed. Yet, with all its weakness, there was a dangerous force in the character which, on the whole, inspired an odd mixture of fear and contempt. I was bitten, however, already, by the interest of the coming contest. It is very hard to escape that subtle and intoxicating poison. I wondered what figure Stanley would make as a hosting's orator, and what impression in his canvas. The letter I was pretty confident about. Altogether, curiosity, if no deeper sentiment, was highly peaked, and I was glad I happened to drop in at the moment of action and wish to see the play out. At the door for Boudoir, Rachel Lake met Dorcas. I am so glad, Reddy, dear, you are come. You must take off your things and stay. You must not leave me tonight. We'll send home for whatever you want, and you won't leave me, Reddy. I'm certain. I'll stay, dear, as you wish it, said Rachel, kissing her. Did you see Stanley? I have not seen him today, said Dorcas. No, dear, I peeped into the library, but he was not there, and there are two men writing in the Dutch room very busily. It must be about the election. What election, dear? asked Rachel. There is going to be an election for the county, and, only think, he intends coming forward. I sometimes think he's mad, Reddy. I could not have supposed such a thing. If I were he, I think I should fly to the antipodes. I should change my name, see in my features with vitriol, and learn another language. I should obliterate my past self altogether. But men are so different, so audacious, some men at least, and Stanley, ever since his ill-olment arrival at Redmond's farm last autumn, has amazed and terrified me. I think, Reddy, we have both courage. You have certainly. You have shown it, darling, and you must cease to blame yourself. I think you're heroin, Reddy, but you know I see with the wild eyes of the brandons. I am grateful, Dorcas, that you don't hate me. Most women I am sure would abhor me. Yes, Dorcas, abhor me. You and I against the world, Reddy, said Dorcas, with a wild smile and a dark admiration in her look, and kissing Rachel again. I used to think myself brave. It belongs to women of our blood, but this is no common strain upon courage, Reddy. I have grown to fear Stanley somehow, like a ghost. I feared it is even worse than he says, and she looked with a horrible inquiry into Rachel's eyes. So do I, Dorcas, said Rachel, in a firm low whisper, returning her look as darkly. What's done cannot be undone, said Rachel, sadly, after a little pause, unconsciously quoting from a terrible soliloquy of Shakespeare. I know what you mean, Reddy, and you warned me with a strange second sight before the evil was known to either of us. It was an irrevocable step, and I took it, not seeing all that has happened. It is true, but forewarned. And this I will say, Reddy, if I had known the worst, I think even that would not have deterred me. It was madness. It is madness, for I love him still. Rachel, though I know him and his wickedness, and him filled with horror, I love him desperately. I am very glad, said Rachel, that you do know everything. It is so great a relief to have companionship. I often thought I must go mad in my solitude. Poor Rachel. I think you wonderful. I think you a heroine. I do, Reddy. You and I are made for one another, the same blood, something of the same wild nature. I can admire you, and understand you, and will always love you. I have been with William Wilder and Dolly, that wicked attorney Mr. Larkin has resolved on robbing them. I wish they had anyone able to advise them. Stanley, I am sure, could save them, but he does not choose to do it. He was always so angry when I urged him to help them, that I knew it would be useless asking him. I don't think he knows what Mr. Larkin has been doing, but Docus, I am afraid the very same thought has been in his mind. I hope not, Reddy. And Docus, I deeply. Everything is so wonderful and awful in the light that has come. That morning, poor William Wilder had received a letter from Joe Larkin, Esquire, mentioning that he had found Mr. Burlington and Smith anything but satisfied with him, the vicar. What exactly he had done to disablige them he could not bring to mind. But Joe Larkin told him that he had done all in his power to satisfy them of the bona fide character of his reverent clients, Yulings, from the first. But they still expressed themselves dissatisfied upon the point and appear to suspect a disposition to Shelly Shelley. I have said all I could to disabuse them of the unpleasant prejudice, but I think I should hardly be doing my duty if I were not to warn you that you will do wisely to exhibit no hesitation in the arrangements by which your agreement is to be carried out, and that in the event of your showing the slightest disposition to qualify the spirit of your strong note to them, or in any wise disappointing their client, you must be prepared from what I know of the firm for very sharp practice indeed. What could they do to him? Or why should they hurt him? Or what had he done to excite either the suspicion or the temper of the firm? They expected their client, the purchaser, in a day or two. He was already grumbling at the price, and certainly would stand no trifling. Neither would Messieurs Burlington and Smith, who, he must admit, had gone to very great expense in investigating title, preparing deeds, etc., and who were noted as a very expensive house. He was aware that they were in a position to issue an execution on the guarantee for the entire amount of their costs. But he thought so extreme a measure would hardly be contemplated, not withstanding their threats, unless the purchaser were to withdraw or the vendor to exhibit symptoms of, he would not repeat their phrase, a resolution in his dealing. He had, however, placed the vicar's letter in their hands, and had accompanied it with his own testimony to the honour and character of the Reverend William Wilder, which he was happy to say seemed to have considerable weight with Messieurs Burlington and Smith. There was also this passage, feeling acutely the anxiety into which the withdrawal of the purchaser must throw you, though I trust nothing of that sort may occur. I told them that rather than have you thrown upon your beam ends by such an occurrence, I would myself step in and purchase on the terms agreed on. This will, I trust, quiet them on the subject of their costs, and also prevent any low dodging on the part of the purchaser. This letter would almost seem to have been written with a supernatural knowledge of what was passing in Gillingdon, and was certainly well contrived to prevent the vicar from wavering. But all this time the ladies are conversing in Dorcas's boudoir. This election frightens me, Reddy. Everything frightens me now. But this is so audacious. If there be powers either in heaven or hell, it seems like it defines an invocation. I am glad you are here, Reddy. I have grown so nervous, so superstitious, I believe, watching always for signs and almonds. Oh, darling, the world's ghastly for me now. I wish, Dorcas, we were away, as you used to say, in some wild and solitary retreat, living together, two recluses. But all that is visionary, quite visionary, now. Dorcas sighed. You know, Rachel, the world must not see this. We will carry our heads high. Wicked men, and brave and suffering women, that is the history of our family. And men and women always quite unlike the rest of the world, unlike the human race, and somehow they interest me unspeakably. I wish I knew more about those proud, forlorn beauties whose portraits are fading on the walls. Their spirit, I am sure, is in us, Rachel, and their pictures and traditions have always supported me. When I was a little thing, I used to look at them with a feeling of melancholy and mystery. They were, in my eyes, reserved prophetesses, who could speak, if they would, of my own future. A poor support, Dorcas, a broken reed. I wish we could find another, the true one, in the present and in the coming time. Dorcas smiled faintly, and I think there was a little gleam of a ghastly satir in it. I am afraid that part of her education, which deals with futurity, had been neglected. I am more likely to turn into a Lady Macbeth than a devotee, said she, coldly, with the same painful smile. I found myself last night, sitting up in my bed, talking but with the dark about it. There was a silence for time, and Rachel said, It is growing late, Dorcas. But you must not go, Rachel. You must stay and keep me company. You must indeed, Rady, said Dorcas. So I will, she answered. But I must send a line to Ultamar, and I promise Dolly to go down to her tonight. If that darling little boy should be worse, I am very unhappy about him. And a scene danger, the handsome little fellow, said Dorcas. Very great danger, I fear, said Rachel. Dr. Bottle has been very kind. But he is, I am afraid, more desponding than poor William or Dolly imagines. Heaven help them. But children recover wonderfully. What is his ailment? Gastric fever, the doctor says. I had a foreboding of evil in the moment I saw him, before the poor little man was put to his bed. Dorcas rang the bell. No, Rady, if you wish to write, sit down here, or if you prefer a message, Thomas can take one very accurately, and he shall call at the vickers, and see Dolly, and bring us word how the dear little boy is. And don't fancy, darling, I have forgotten what you said to me about duty. Though I would call it differently, only I feel so wild I can think of nothing clearly yet. But I am making up my mind to a great and bold step. And when I am better able, I will talk it over with you, my only friend, Rachel. And she kissed her. CHAPTER 67 Mr. Larkin is vis-à-vis with a concealed companion. The time had now arrived when our friend Jos Larkin was to refresh the village of Gillingdon with his presence. He had pushed matters forward with a wonderful dispatch. The deeds, with their blue and silver stamps, were handsomely engrossed, having been approved and draft by Crumpton S. Coose, the eminent Queen's Council, on a case furnished by Jos Larkin, Esquire, the Lodge, Brandon Maynor, Gillingdon, on behalf of his client, the Reverend William Wilder, and in like manner on behalf of Stanley Williams' Brandon Lake, of Brandon Hall, in the county of Blank, Esquire. In neither draft did Jos Larkin figure, as the purchaser, by name, he did not care for advice on any difficulty depending on his special relations to the vendors in both these cases. He wished, as was his custom, everything above board, and such an opinion as might be published by either client in the times next day if he pleased it. Besides these matters of Wilder and of Lake, he had also a clause to insert in a private act on behalf of the trustees of the Baptist Chapel at Mountain Friars, a short deed to be consulted upon on behalf of his client, Pudder Swinfin, Esquire, of Swinfin Grange, in the same county, and a deed to be executed at Shillingsworth, which he would take en route for Gillingdon, stopping there for that night, and going on by next morning's train. Those little trips to town paid very fairly. In this particular case, his entire expenses reached exactly five pounds, three shillings, and what do you suppose was a good man's profit upon that small item, precisely sixty-two pounds, seven shillings. The process is simple. Jos Larkin made his own handsome estimate of his expenses, and the value of his time to and from London, and then he charged this in its entirety, shall we say integrity, to each client separately. In this little excursion he was concerned for no less than five. His expenses, I say, reached exactly five pounds, three shillings, but he had a right to go to Dorndale's if he pleased, instead of that cheap hostelry near Covent Garden. He had a right to a handsome lunch and a handsome dinner, instead of that economical fusion of both meals into one, at a cheap eating-house in and out of the way quarter. He had a right to his pint of high-priced wine, and to accomplish his wanderings in a cab instead of, as the Italians say, partly on foot and partly walking. Therefore, and on this principle, Mr. Jos Larkin had no difficulty in acting. His savings, if the good man chose to practice self-denial, were his own, and it was a sort of problem while he stayed and interested him curiously, keeping down his bill in matters which he would not have dreamt of denying himself at home. The only client among his wealthy supporters, who ever went in a grudging spirit into one of these little bills of Jos Larkin's, was also Melgriff Bracton, the defunct parent of the Sir Harry, with whom we are acquainted. Don't you think, Mr. Larkin, you could perhaps reduce this just a little? Ah, the expenses! Well, yes. Mr. Jos Larkin smiled. The smile said plainly, What would he have me live upon, and where? We do meet persons of this sort, who would feign fill our bellies with the husks that swine digest. What of that? We must remember who we are, gentlemen, and answer this sort of shabbiness and every other indurable annoyance, as Lord Chesterfield did, with a bow and a smile. I think so, said the baronet, in a bluff, firm way. Well, the fact is, when I represent a client, Sir Melgriff Bracton, of a certain rank and position, I make it a principle, and as a man of business I find it tells, to present myself in a style that is suitably handsome. Oh, an expensive house! Where was this, now? Oh, Sir Melgriff, pray don't think of it. I'm only too happy. Pray draw your pen across the entire thing. I think so, said the baronet unexpectedly. Don't you think if we set a pound a day, and your travelling expenses? Certainly. Anything, whatever you please, sir. And the attorney waved his long hand a little, and smiled almost compassionately, and the little alteration was made, and henceforward he spoke of Sir Melgriff as not quite a pleasant man to deal with in money matters. And his confidential friends knew that, in a transaction in which he had paid money out of his own pocket for Sir Melgriff, he had never got back more than seven and six pence in the pound. And, what made it worse, it was a matter connected with the death of poor Lady Bracton, and he never lost an opportunity of conveying his opinion of Sir Melgriff, sometimes in distinct and confidential sentences, and sometimes only by a sad shake of his head, or by awfully declining to speak upon the subject. In the present instance, Jules Larkin was returning in a heavenly frame of mind to the lodge, Brandon Maynor, Gillingdon. Whenever he was away, he interpolated Brandon Maynor, and stuck it on his valise and head case, and liked to call aloud to the porters tumbling among the luggage, Jules Larkin, Esquire, Brandon Maynor, if you please, and to see the people read the inscription in the hall of his dingy hostelry, will, might the good man glow with the happy consciousness of a blessing, in small things, as in great, he was prosperous. This little excursion to London would cost him, as I said, exactly five pounds, three shillings. It might have cost him thirteen pounds, ten shillings, and at that sum his expenses figured in his ledger. And as he had five clients on this occasion, the total reached sixty-seven pounds, ten shillings, leaving a clear profit, as I have mentioned, of sixty-two pounds, seven shillings on this item. But what was this little tip from Fortune compared with his splendid pieces of scrivenry in his dispatch box? The white parchment, the blue and silver stamps in the corner, the German text and flourishes at the top, and those broad, horizontal lines of recital, habendum, and so forth, marshaled like an army in procession behind his march of triumph into five oaks, to take the place of its deposed prince. From the captain's deed to the vickers, his mind glanced fondly. He would yet stand the highest man in his county. He had found time for a visit to the King at Arms at the Herod's office. He would have his pictures and his pedigree. His grandmother had been a Howard. Her branch, indeed, was a little under a cloud, keeping a small provision-shop in the town of Driddleston. But this circumstance need not be in prominence. She was a Howard. That was the fact he relied on. No mortel could gain say it, and he would be, first, J. Howard Larkin, then Howard Larkin, simply, then Howard Larkin Howard, and the five oaks Howard would come to be very great people, indeed. And the brandons had intermarried with other Howards, and five oaks would naturally, therefore, go to Howards. And so he and his, with clever management, would be anything but Novi Omenes in the county. He shall be like a tree planted by the waterside, that will bring forth his fruit in due season. His leaf also shall not wither, so thought this good man complacently. He liked these fine consolations of the Jewish dispensation, actual milk and honey, and a land of promise on which he could set his foot. J. Larkin, as choir, was as punctual as the clock at the terminus. He did not come a minute too soon or too late, but precisely at the moment which enabled him, without fuss, and without a tiresome wait, to proceed to the details of ticket, luggage, selection of place, and ultimate ascension thereto. So now, having taken all measures, gliding among the portmanals, hand-bearers, and portas, and the clangorous bell-ringing, he mounted life and length into his place. There was a pleasant evening light still, and the glass lamps made a purplish glow against it. The little bottle-cooler of a glass lamp glimpsed from the roof. Mr. Larkin established himself and adjusted his rug and mufflers about him, for, notwithstanding the season, there had been some cold rainy weather, and the evening was sharp, and he set his two newspapers, his shilling-book, and other triumphs of cheap literature in sundry shapes in the vacant seat at his left hand, and made everything handsome about him. He glanced to the other end of the carriage, where set his solitary fellow-passenger. This gentleman was simply a mass of cloaks and capes, culminating in a queer-battered felt-hat. His shoulders were nestled into the corner, and his face buried among his loose mufflers. They sat at Cornus diagonally opposed, and were, therefore, as far apart as was practicable, an arrangement not sociable, to be sure, but on the whole very comfortable, and which neither seemed disposed to disturb. Mr. Larkin had a word to say to the porter from the window, and bought one more newspaper, and then looked out on the lamp-lit platform, and saw the officials loitering off to the clang of the carriage doors, then came the whistle, and then the clank and jerk of the start, and so the brick walls and lamps began to glide backward, and the train was off. J. Larkin tried his newspaper, and read for ten minutes or so pretty diligently, and then looked for a while from the window, upon receding hedge-grows and farmsteads, and the level and spacious landscape, and then he leaned back luxuriously, his newspaper listlessly on his knees, and began to read, instead, at his ease, the shapeless, wrapped-up figure diagonally opposite. The quietude of the gentleman in the far corner was quite singular. He produced neither tract, nor newspaper, nor volume, not even a pocket-book or a letter. He brought forth no cigar-case, with the stereotype, have you any objection to my smoking a cigar. He did not even change his attitude ever so little. A burly roll of cloaks, rocks, capes, and loose wrappers, placed in the corner, and Tanquam calaver, passive and motionless. I have sometimes in my travels lighted on a strangely shaped mountain, whose huge curves and somber colouring have interested me indefinably. In the rude mass at the far angle, Mr. J. Larkin, I fancy, found some such subject of contemplation, and the more he looked, the more he felt disposed to look. As they got on there was more night fog, and the little lamp at top shone through a halo. The fellow passenger at the opposite angle lay back, all cloaks and mufflers, with nothing distinct emerging but the felt hat at top, and the tip, it was only the tip now, of the shining shoe on the floor. The gentleman was absolutely motionless and silent, and Mr. Larkin, though his mind was pretty universally, of the inquisitive order, began in this particular case to feel a special curiosity. It was partly the monotony, and they are occupying the carriage all to themselves, as the two uncommunicative seamen did the addisthen light house, but there was, beside, an indistinct feeling, that in spite of all these wrappers and swathings he knew the outlines of that figure, and yet the likeness must have been of the rudest possible sword. He could not say that he recognized anything distinctly, only he fancied that someone he knew was sitting there, unrevealed, inside that mass of clothing, and he felt, moreover, as if he ought to be able to guess who he was. End of chapter sixty-seven