 CHAPTER 32 I really must and will remonstrate, my dear Winkworth, said child's master, entering the room where his old yellow-faced friend was sitting. How can you risk your health and your life by neglecting the express directions of a surgeon you have called in to attend you, I cannot conceive? As you wish to make people believe you are quite mad or meditating suicide. We are all mad, Charles, said Mr. Winkworth, every one after his own fashion, and every man judging his neighbour by his own madness, thinks him insane on account of the very actions which most show his sanity. You are by nature habit and education, utterly idle. Idleness is your madness, and you would not put yourself the least out of your way to perform the most important business in the world. Therefore it is you think me mad for neglecting advice in which I have no confidence, in order to transact business which I thought important. Business, business took me out, I tell you. Look there, and he pointed to a notion of old papers by which he was surrounded, and if I choose to kill myself, Charles, master, what is that to you? I am not your son, nor your ward, nor your wife, and no man, let me tell you, has a right to meddle with another man's actions unless he is affected by them. But I am affected by this, replied his young companion. You have promised to take a journey with me into the country, and if you lay yourself up on a sick bed, you will not only defraud me of your society, but you will prevent me from going too, for I must stop to nurse you. Pfft, pfft, cried the old man. I could nurse myself. I have nursed many other people too long before you were born, and I think I can do so still in my own case. But I tell you, I don't intend to be ill. And now, what are you going to do? For as soon as I get through these papers which will take me about half an hour more, I may want to talk to you. I shall wait here, then, replied Charles, for my uncle Scriven sent to say he would call about this time. I won't see him, exclaimed Mr. Winkworth, impetuously. Have him taken into another room. I won't see him, at all events, not yet. It would do me more harm than all the journeys in the world. Oh, oh, cried Charles, laughing. So then you have come to the conclusion that my opinion of my worthy uncle is not quite so wrong as you at first thought it. I never thought it wrong, said Mr. Winkworth, who was in one of his polemic humours. I had no business to think about it, because I had no data. And all I concluded was that it was either a great pity, a nephew should think so of his uncle, or a great pity that an uncle should give a nephew's reasonable cause so to think. Now I have data. And he laid his hand upon some of the papers before him. These documents belong to that poor thing we met upon the common, Miss Haley. How she has saved them, how she has preserved them. In all she has gone through, I don't know. But it now seems to me very clear why your uncle wants to keep her in a madhouse. Indeed, exclaimed Charles Marston, a frown coming upon his brow and a flush into his cheek. Pray let me hear my dear sir, for though I do not doubt that Mr. Scriven is a very honourable man, as the world goes, yet I know he always has his motives. Be good enough to tell me what they are in this instance. No, I won't, answered Mr. Winkworth abruptly, at least, not at present, Charlie. You shall hear more by and by, but before I speak upon any subject I like to know it thoroughly myself, and before I act in any matter I like to consider how I had best act. But where is Miss Haley? How did you find out? exclaimed Charles Marston. She's in a madhouse at Brook Green, replied Mr. Winkworth, and I found out by the boy Jim, who tracked her with the instinct of true affection. Now, that is all you need to know for the present. Charles thought for a moment, and then said in a mild turn, I wish, Winkworth, you would tell me more, for your words lead me to believe in some degree that the honour of one member of my family at least is somewhat affected by this business, yet I cannot insist, as I am debarred from acting as I should like to act in behalf of this poor thing. Why, debarred, said Mr. Winkworth. By my father's unfortunate situation, replied Charles, I look upon it as my duty, my dear sir, to make over the income of my poor mother's whole property, which my father assigned to me, to him for his life. I have thus nothing on earth to bestow upon poor Miss Haley, otherwise I had proposed, out of old affection for her and hers, to settle upon her what would make her independent. Mr. Winkworth got up and walked once or twice across the room. Then, turning sharply round, he said, You shall do it, my dear Charles. Do you know I intend to leave you all I possess? There, no words about it. I told Lady Anso a little while ago, and now tell me what your father allowed you, not a word about any other subject. Charles paused for a moment, as if overpowered by his emotions. But Mr. Winkworth waved his hand impatiently, and he replied, Nearly two thousand a year, my dear sir, the whole interest in fact of my mother's fortune. Then I will allow you the same, said Mr. Winkworth. I adopt you as a son. You won't be the worst for two fathers, especially when one is away, and I am a neighbour, as you know, who could eat gold if I liked, were it not that the food is indigestible. And to tell the truth, I've been so long accustomed to feed upon rice and to wear one coat the whole year, that I fear anything like dainty diet and rich apparel will be the death of me. Hark! There is somebody coming to the door, that's your uncle I warrant. Take him quickly through the room to that one beyond. Don't introduce him, and let me finish what I am about. The last words were spoken just as Mr. Scriven was entering the room, and as he was by no means death, he must have heard them. He gazed coldly upon Mr. Winkworth, however, as he advanced towards his nephew, but the old gentleman merely raised his head for an instant, made a slight bow, and resumed the reading of the papers before him, while Charles led his uncle into a small room beyond. As may be supposed from all that had lately passed between uncle and nephew, Charles did not feel very cordial towards Mr. Scriven. But that gentleman cared very little about it. He did not trouble himself about affections. They were not in his way of business. Well, Charles, he said, a lawyer has been to me to inquire into the particulars of the property settled upon you. I hope you are not going to borrow money. Not a penny, replied Charles Marston dryly. Then what is his lawyer's object? asked Mr. Scriven. Was he sent by you? If so, why? He was sent by me, replied Charles, and for this reason, my father, on my coming of age, having plenty of money himself, settled upon me the income of my mother's property, to which he was entitled during his life. Now he has not plenty of money, I am going to give him back what he gave to me. It must be done legally, and therefore I have employed a lawyer. You as a trustee have the papers, and he must see them. Very good, said Mr. Scriven, and pray, how do you intend to live yourself? By my wits, answered Charles, as many other people do I believe. Oh, plenty, plenty, said Mr. Scriven, pray, have you seen your friend, Colonel Middleton, lately? Yes, I walked with him for an hour this morning, answered Charles, his colour of good deal heightened, at the insinuation which lay couched in his uncle's abrupt question. Then he has not gone down to Fremley again to look for Miss Haley, said Mr. Scriven, with a meaning smile. Charles paused, a good deal struck. This was a new link in the chain of evidence proving that Henry Haley and Frank Middleton were one, but he feared the use his uncle might make of the fact, if he could once establish it, and replied, You still suspect him of being Henry Haley, I see, but I fancy you would have a great difficulty improving it. I have no interest in proving it, replied Mr. Scriven, in an indifferent tone. It would not benefit me. However, as you have now explained what the lawyer wants, he shall have copies of the deeds. Of course you have a right to do what you like with your own. But, if you will follow my advice, you will take care what you are about, for if your father's creditors get hold of the capital, it will benefit neither him nor you. I will take care, replied Charles, and merely saying goodbye, Mr. Scriven walked away, passing Mr. Winkworth without taking any notice. When Charles Marston rejoined his old friend in the other room, which he did not do till he had stood and pondered for several minutes, Mr. Winkworth looked up suddenly and addressed himself at once to the very point which had been the subject of his young companion's meditations. Can you tell me anything, Charles, he said, of a young man whom I find frequently mentioned in these papers, a nephew of Miss Haley's named Henry? I can tell you much, my dear sir, replied Charles, and, strange to say, I was thinking of him at that very moment, from some words that my uncle let fall. Henry Haley was the son of my uncle's partner and an old school fellow of mine. He was accused when he was little more than sixteen. I know all that, I know all that, said Mr. Winkworth hastily. It is all written down here, and I remember seeing something of the story in the newspapers. He fled to the continent from the pursuit of justice, but what became of him then? It was said he died, replied Charles Marston, and the officer who was sent in pursuit of him declared that he had seen his dead body at Ancona. My uncle, however, contends that he is still alive, and certainly the likeness between him and our friend Colonel Middleton is very extraordinary. Mr. Winkworth mused for a minute or two, turned over the papers before him, and examined some passages carefully. From what I know of Middleton, he said at length, your uncle's suspicions must be wrong. Henry Haley would have sought for an aunt who seems to have loved him so well. Middleton went down to Frimley a few nights ago, replied Charles. I had told my good aunt Fleetwood of our meeting with Miss Haley on the common, and I doubt not that she mentioned the fact in his presence. Mr. Winkworth mused again, but he was uncommonly taciturn upon the subject. I must speak to Middleton about all this, he said. There is some mystery here which should be solved. I wish Charles you would send your fellow to see if he can find Middleton and bring him hither. Charles immediately acceded, but the servant returned with an intimation that Colonel Middleton had gone to Hartfordshire. I left the message, however, sir, he said, and the waiter assured me it should be delivered as soon as the gentleman came back. Some hours passed in the usual occupations of the day. Mr. Winkworth sat and read, wrote and thought, while Charles Marston went in and out upon various matters of business, dined with his aunt Fleetwood and Maria, and returned somewhat late to the hotel. To his surprise Charles found Mr. Winkworth still up, and as he was going to commence a serious remonstrance the old gentleman lifted up his finger with a smile saying, Middleton has been here and the surgeon. So say not a word or I disinherit you, cut you off with a shilling. Listen therefore to my new resolution. Lady Anne Mellon sets out tomorrow morning. I know she does, replied Charles. Your aunt and cousin go at six on the following day, continued Mr. Winkworth, but they are young people, especially Lady Fleetwood. I never saw anyone so young in my life. You, I and Middleton are old and cannot bear travelling. Therefore we will all take our departure about five tomorrow evening. Not a word. If he's all settled, Middleton and I arranged it all, and the surgeon said it was a capital plan. For as I told him I must and would go, either that night or the following day, having made up my mind to be at Belford on Thursday next, he declared it would be better for me to travel slowly than quickly and to begin in the cool of evening. In short he perfectly approved, declared I was going on quite well and left me with an impression which I never entertained before, that he is an honest man and a clever doctor. Charles saw that it would be vain to oppose and contented himself with asking. But what did Middleton say of himself? Could you make anything of his history? My dear Charles, he is an enigma, replied Mr Winkwer, and as I am the least of an edifice of any man that ever lived, I very soon gave him up. One thing, however, is clear. He's a gentleman in every respect and a very distinguished one. He is, moreover, as rich as Croesus, a Jew, or a neighbour. I told him plainly the doubts or rather suspicions which have been entertained, and he merely laughed at them, seeming to be highly amused at your uncle's conduct at Lady Fleetwood's house, which by his account must have been exceedingly strange. Very strange indeed, and by no means agreeable, replied Charles. But did Middleton tell you nothing at all about himself? The old gentleman laughed. Oh yes, he said, he told me many things, but the most important he would not tell, and so the rest was of little use. Now, Charles, I shall go to bed, for you know it is quite needful for a feeble old man like me, with a bad habit of getting wounded in the shoulder, to take care of himself. Which, of course, you never do, replied his young companion, smiling. I shall not meet you at breakfast, however, sir, for I go early to Lady Anne's to see her off. Good, very good, said Mr Winkwer, and walked away into his bedroom, while Charles remained for a moment or two with that strong inclination to think, which often comes upon a man about midnight. He soon found, however, that thinking was a most fruitless occupation, and he, too, retired to rest. End of Chapter 32 Chapter 33 of the forgery by George Payne Wingsford James This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 33 It is a most unfortunate and ever-to-be-lamented thing that the fairies have quitted England. How it happened, I do not know, nor is a period of their departure exactly ascertained. But I cannot help thinking that it was about the time of the Great Rebellion, when the whole people of the country were so busy about other things, that they had hardly time to eat their breakfasts, and none to knock holes in the bottoms of their eggshells, so that the fairies had a fleet of little ships ready to prepare for them to cross the channel when they thought fit. Nor is it at all wonderful that they should choose that time for going, with the fairy of order at their head, for everyone knows that the good little people are strongly averse to anarchy and confusion, and a dissension of every kind, so that, when Oberon and Titania quarrel, I have it upon good authority the whole of the royal train, except Puck, who stands by and laughs, hide themselves away under hair-bells and Columbines, and only peep out with one eye to see when the storm has blown over. However, certainly it is that they are all gone, left our shores, I fear, forever. Nothing can be done by magic now. The milk remains unchurned, and no more is seen before the fire, stretched at his length, the lubbered fiend. All the business of the world goes on at a job-chot, and that-chot is very often a slow one. So Lady Anne Mellon found it at Milford, for the people were not at all accustomed to work fast or obey promptly, and they did not believe the stories told by the servant whom she had left behind, in regard to her impatience of disobedience and delay. Early in the morning a whole host of servants, headed by the butler and housekeeper, arrived at Milford Castle. But when Lady Anne Mellon herself appeared, with good Mrs. Brice, her former governess, she found everything in the most woeful state of confusion. There was no end of embarrassments. Almost all the servants were congregated in the great hall, waiting for her coming, and all were full of complaints of Mrs. Grimes and the steward. I never saw such neglect in my life, my lady, said the tall, stately housekeeper, dressed in a Quaker-coloured silk, shot with amethyst and green. This good woman, this Mrs. Grimes, tells me that she used almost all the coals in the house last night and this morning, and that there are heaven knows how many miles to send for more. There is not a bit of charcoal in the house, my lady, said the cook, advancing in his white nightcap and apron. And Mrs. Barker here says it is my fault for not bringing it in the foregone. Now I could not lumber the foregone all the way from London with charcoal. Where are the toilet covers for my lady's room, Mrs. Barker? said Lady Anne's, made, addressing the housekeeper in a loud tone aside. I declare, said one of the footmen in an audible tone, just behind the butler's back, I don't think that either oil or candles were remembered. Nor blacking, said another, nor soap, said a very broad housemaid. The meat is all fresh killed, grumbled the cook, and the poultry has been sent in with all the feathers on, added the kitchen maid, with a sort of hysterical scream at the thought of the eternity of plucking before her and the scullion. Lady Anne burst into a fit of laughter, which no sense of dignity could restrain. It was evident that there were no fairies there to favour her, though heaven knows if there had been one in the island he or she would have been there with counsel to support the gay-hearted, good-humoured lady of the castle. Seeing that her merriment was becoming infectious, Lady Anne made a great effort to suppress it, and was turning away towards the drawing-room, telling the housekeeper to follow her, when a girl ran in exclaiming, apparently in reference to something which had passed just before the lady's arrival, butter, they say there's not a pound of butter within twenty miles. It was too much for human endurance, and making the best of her way into the drawing-room. Lady Anne sat down and wiped the merry tears from her eyes, while the housekeeper stood before her, looking exceedingly rueful. Let me have my writing-desk, said the young lady at length. Now, Mrs. Barker, she said, have the goodness to let me know everything that is wanting in your department and the cooks. Oh, my lady, I can't manage the cook, exclaimed the housekeeper, in a tone of spiteful dignity. He has been raging like a wild beast all the morning. I'm sure I was very glad when your lady-ship came, for I thought he would have eaten some of us up. Cooked you, I suppose you mean, replied her lady. I will very soon manage him, if you cannot. Go and make me out a list, then, of what you want yourself, and remember that it be complete. Then the butler here. The butler, when he entered, received nearly the same orders, and then the cook, being introduced, made his complaint in formal terms in regard to the state of everything in the house. The very pots, pans, and kettles were not according to his mind. The meat was all new-killed. No fish had yet appeared. Butter was not to be had. Eggs were scanty, and the vegetables which the garden produced had been out of season, in London, for a full month. Lady Anne listened to him with the utmost patience, but when he had done, she said in a grave tone, Monsieur Hacker, I wonder to hear you speak in this way. I had always thought that a man of your great skill could, out of an ox's head or foot, produce at least three courses. It is in emergencies such as the presence that the genius of a great man appears. Go, sir, and out of such materials as you have, show me what your art can do. I shall dinotate, but in the meantime there will be servants going both to Belford and Woollah. You can make out a list of all that is absolutely necessary and send it to both places. Gradually we shall get what is required from London, but at present, remember, I expect to see a triumph of art. My lady, you shall not be disappointed, said the cook, laying his hand upon his heart. It is only that Mrs. Barker enrages me with her inepties. Very well, replied Lady Anne, see that she does not enrage you any more, lest your lady's service should suffer. The man retired, and with a gay glance to poor Mrs. Bryce, who had been confounded at the symptoms of rebellion she had witnessed, Lady Anne gave way to another burst of merriment, which she had repressed in the man's presence, in order to treat him with that dignified consideration, which is especially required by men cooks, the vanistable creatures upon earth, not even accepting dancing masters, romance writers and poets. Some degree of order in the proceedings of the household was soon re-established, the lists were made out, very formidable it must be confessed, in length and details, and a copy of each was sent off to Woollah and Belford. Some fine child were brought in, in the course of the morning, and also a salmon. It was found just possible, when people set about it willingly, to obtain butter and cold within a less distance than twenty miles, and although from time to time during the rest of the day a fresh want was discovered, and a little noise was made about it, like an occasional roar of thunder after a storm has passed by, or went on very tolerably considering, till at length about five o'clock, a cart was seen wending towards the house, the driver of which bore a note to Lady Anne. My dear child, it ran, I saw very clear yesterday that you know not Northumberland, that you forgot Milford has not been regularly inhabited for more than ten years, and that it is in somewhat of a remote district. I have, therefore, sent you over some of the produce of my farms to supply deficiencies for today, and to-morrow I shall come and dine with you and inquire what can be done to render you service, by your faithful servant and admirer, Charles Hargre. Columbus, when he first discovered the shores of a new continent, hardly felt as much satisfaction, as Monsieur Hacker did, when he saw the contents of that cart, the well-fed, well-fattened, well-kept mutton, the fine river and sea fish, the white poultry, the fat pigeons, the duckling, the guinea fowl, the eggs, the butter, the green goose, the fine vegetables, the hot-house fruit, everything was there that could be thought of, and he went from one article to another murmuring. And the heart of the cook rejoiced with a pure and high devotion for the honour of his art, and of his mistress, for he knew that on that day Lady Fleetwood and Maria Moncton were expected to dine at Milford, and for the latter lady he entertained that reverent affection, which all really chivalrous cooks feel towards beauty. His last and severest trial was to discover that nothing but brown bread was to be procured in the neighbourhood, for which there was no remedy, but nevertheless that was not his fault, and when, about half past seven o'clock, the rush of wheels was heard, and Maria's carriage drove up to the gates, he felt a proud satisfaction at the odours which were rising up around him, as an incense which had not risen from the altars of Milford for many a long year. The dinner was laid in the great dining hall, for Lady Anne had determined to make the first impression of her ancestral castle, as imposing as possible upon her young friend. The reader may ask, why, and may say, was it like her, so gay, so joyous, so thoughtless, so careless of show, ceremony, or parade? Nevertheless it was so. She had laid it all out, she had even condescended to a little trickery. Although, had that season of the year, there was light enough remaining in the sky at a quarter past eight, when they began their dinner, to proceed with the first course at least with no aid, but from the beams of heaven. Yet she had ordered two windows at the side to be shut up, leaving unclothes only the large orial window at the end, filled with deep coloured stained glass. Over the table, which looked almost like a speck in the centre of the great hall, hung an old-fashioned but richly ornamented silver chandelier with eight branches lighted, but yet the beams only illumined the table, and a sort of uncertain twilight pervaded the remote parts of the hall, except where a sideboard loaded with ancient plate appeared, lighted by several old candlesticks. Lady Anne had so contrived it that, in coming from the great drawing-room to the hall, the little party passed through several other rooms, but faintly lighted, and in so doing, Lady Anne managed that Maria should occupy the middle place between her and Lady Fleetwood. As they entered the hall, she looked up in her young friend's face while her eyes ran over the fine old chamber, which, with its lights in the centre, its mysterious gloom at the end, the richly covered table and sideboard, the number of servants in their handsome liveries, the large antique chandelier of silver and its silver chain, the tall stained glass orial at the end, and the evening light faintly streaming through, only just sufficiently to throw long lines of yellow, purple, blue, and even red upon the floor and ceiling, and those three graceful women entering arm in arm looked more like some painter's dream of the ancient time than anything that is seen in our own stiff and tinseled days. What a beautiful hall, exclaimed Lady Fleetwood, looking round. Isn't it cold? And at the same moment her foot passed from the rim of marble which ran round the whole chamber, and took the first step on the ocean of turkey carpage, with which seven tenths of the floor was covered. I think not, answered Lady Anne, at all events I shall try, dear Lady Fleetwood, to keep it warm and gay while I am here. Isn't it a fine hall, Maria? It is indeed, replied Maria. The span of the vault is so great it makes me feel as if I were in Westminster Hall. Oh, no, no, cried Lady Anne, not amongst lawyers in black gowns. But come, Maria, you take that end of the table and be mistress of the house. I will act master for the present, and Lady Fleetwood shall be our guest. Do you know, dear Lady? She continued, seating herself. I intend to be very gay while you are all here, and to have a grand ball and a number of dinner parties, and that we shall amuse ourselves all the morning and sing and dance and flirt all the night, and have all the great people of the county who will come. Won't that be very delightful, Maria? Very splendid indeed, said Maria, with a smile. Like the splendour of a skyrocket when it bursts, said Lady Anne, quite gravely. But why did you call it splendid, Maria? Why did you not say pleasant, charming, delightful? Because I am sure I should like Milford quite as well, without any such gayities, replied Maria Moncton. You know I am not particularly fond of large parties, Anne, and although one must mingle with them, and some of them are pleasant enough, yet I hardly think they deserve the epithet of charming or delightful. Cidic, said Lady Anne mellent, and proceeded to eat her dinner, with a somewhat pouting air, as if she were hardly well pleased. She was soon as gay again, as ever, and when they returned to the drawing-room, she opened the window, and gazed out with Maria upon the starry night, which looked almost misty with its innumerable lights, and upon the widespread park with its undulating slopes and the tall dark masses of the trees, cutting black upon the luminous heaven. They had been silent for some time while Lady Fleetwood sat at the other end of the room, netting one of the innumerable curses which had afforded her a grand source of occupation through life. But suddenly Lady Anne's lips moved, and she said aloud, as her eyes remained fixed upon one spot of the sky, thronged with stars. Oh, you bright and glorious wonders of the night, and you voices as men dream in days of old, to tell the fate of those born under your influence, how gladly would I ask the destiny of those who here stand and gaze upon you. Say, Arcturus, would thou take me in thy car, and let me see the storms and tempests that wait my onward course, and that of the dear girl beside me, or thou, planet of love and hope, just climbing the hill of heaven, would thou tell me whether the seeds which have been sown in our hearts under thine influence will bud and blossom into the flowers we dream of? Shall we go hand in hand together, even unto the end, as hitherto we have lived in deep affection? Shall the ties which bind us in near a kindred unite our hearts still more closely, or shall the love that knows no sharer wean us of our youthful tenderness towards each other? I ask not to hear what will be the frowns or smiles of fortune, whether the dull earth's wealth will be augmented or diminished, whether we shall meet reverse, accident or care, eye or even poverty or early death. I only ask, shall we love and be loved, for surely that is to know enough of fate? And turning away towards Maria she leaned her brow upon her fair friend's shoulder. For a moment or two Maria was silent and then she said in a low tone, if the stars could have answered you, would you have asked the man? Yes, yes, eagerly replied Lady Anne, would not you, Maria? And I think so answered Maria, yet sometimes perhaps it would better not to know our fate. Oh no, no, exclaimed Lady Anne, doubt is always horrible. Yes, but there may be trust without knowledge, faith without comprehension replied her fair friend. I have both, although the future is very dark and impenetrable to me just now. Oh, it shall be bright, cried Lady Anne, mine shall be the voice of those brilliant stars which, rolling millions of miles above all earthly things, may well see stretched out beneath their eyes of living light, the past, the present and future of each existing thing. Oh yes, it shall be bright, Maria. For you the future hours are weaving a many blossomed wreath, first is the early bud of love, now full blossomed to a rose, and then the clustering lily of the veil, to speak domestic happiness and peace, the passionate violet hiding its intense blue eyes in the shade and spreading raptures perfume round, and the proud imperial lily, portrait of a high station and the world's esteem, the pansy too, imaging the sunshine of the breast and pure enduring faith, and the linked hyacinth with its many buds. All, all are there, sweet sister, for you and him you love, and the wandering seasons as they pass along shall not unfold a flower, or ripen a fruit that shall not fall into your hand. If your wishes can command fate, said Maria, it is the voice of hope and not of the stars you speak, dear Anne. Nay, nay, I am a prophetess just now, replied Lady Anne. Beware how you ducked, Cassandra, lest she predict woes as well as blessings. I see a little cloud coming, and the stars tell me it is very near. It sweeps over the face of the moon, but the moon scatters it, and the blue sky drinks it up. Dear me is the moon risen, exclaimed Lady Fleetwood from the other side of the room, and Lady Anne's fanciful visions were gone in a moment. Oh, dear, she said to Maria, with a low voice and a sigh, I forgot we were in this world, but always something brings us back to it. No, she is not risen yet, dear Lady Fleetwood. I thought you said you saw her, said Lady Fleetwood. I was only romancing, replied Lady Anne. This is an age when our young women dream dreams, but now I'll talk sober sense. You know, Lady Fleetwood, that I am going to have three gentlemen to stay with me tomorrow, and you must act quite the lady of the house, for decorum, say. Be a very discreet chaperone, and not take the slightest notice if I choose to flirt more desperately with Mr. Winkworth, or anyone else. I'll do the same, and not take any notice when you flirt with anyone, or Maria either. I'm sure, dear Lady Anne, Maria never flirts, said Lady Fleetwood, in the most matter-of-fact way in the world. Bless her heart, then she shall do it for once, just to keep me in countenance, exclaimed Lady Anne. But remember, you are to be chaperone, Lady Fleetwood, and to look as demure as possible. But where is Mrs. Bryce, said Lady Fleetwood? I haven't seen her since we came. Oh, dear me, I forgot Mrs. Bryce, said Lady Anne. Well, she will do quite as well for a chaperone, and so you shall have leave to flirt, too. But the truth is, she's so tired with her journey, and so frightened with the desolation we found raining in these halls, that she said she would not come down to-night, and dine in her own room. Tomorrow she will be as brisk as ever, I dare say, and that will just do, for I expect Mr. Hargrave, whom I am in love with, and intend to marry, to dine with us also. Mr. Hargrave, intend to marry, exclaimed Lady Fleetwood and Maria, both together. Certainly, said Lady Anne, he is the dearest, cleverest, most beautiful old man in the world, in a velvet coat, embroidered waistcoat, and black velvet britches, just like a fine piece of Dresden china, well preserved. He is moreover the soul of honour, and the spirit of good judgment. If I had the most difficult and delicate thing in the world to do, I would entrust it to Mr. Hargrave. I have seen him, said Lady Fleetwood, I remember him quite well in poor Sir John's lifetime. But Sir John did not like him. My dear father did, replied Lady Anne, and consulted him on all his affairs, so you see, I could not do better than marry him, for I am sure I want someone to manage me, don't I, dear lady? Maria smiled, but Lady Fleetwood expressed a general opinion that all young women ought to marry, especially if they had lost their parents, and after some more conversation of the same rambling kind, they separated and betook themselves to their beds. End of Chapter 33 Chapter 34 of the forgery by George Payne Rainsford James This lip of obstricording is in the public domain. Chapter 34 About a quarter an hour before the time appointed, Mr. Scriven entered the door of his sister's house in Blank Square. The door was opened by a maid-servant, for Lady Fleetwood always took her own man with her. One of Maria's had also gone with the carriage, and the rest were at Bolton Park. Mr. Scriven was genuinely as taciturn and dry towards servants as towards associates, but on this occasion, as he was going a little out of his usual track, he thought fit to say, I know your mistress is absent, but she desired me to speak with a man who is coming to see her this morning at twelve. Yes, sir, I know, replied the maid with a curtsy. Her ladyship told me before she went away. More fools she, thought Mr. Scriven, as the maid opened the door of the dining-room and showed him in. But he judged that a rejoinder was requisite, and therefore he said, When the man comes, you will be so good as not to say that your lady is out, but merely ask him to walk straight in here. Are the drawing-room window-shutters open? No, sir, we don't open them while my lady is out of town, said the maid, dropping another curtsy. But I'll go and do it directly. Do so, replied Mr. Scriven. Have you got the key of the library? No, sir, said the girl, looking towards a door which led into a small apartment behind the dining-room. Perhaps it's open, though my lady generally locks it when she goes away, and she went forward and tried the door, but it was locked. Go and open the shutters, said Mr. Scriven, and sitting down he looked attentively at his boot, which was exceedingly well polished. Just as twelve o'clock struck, it might be a minute or two before, two men entered the square and approached direct towards the house. They did not ring, however, for some minutes, but one of them looked up and passed it. Then they paused and seemed to consult for a minute or two. Gaze drowned the square, looked one way and then another, waited a minute, till two men who were carrying along a large looking-glass, like a dead man on a stretcher, had got to some distance, and then, turning back, they knocked and rang at the street door. In answer to their inquiry for Lady Fleetwood, the maid said, Praywalking, her ladyship expected you, I think. Yes, yes, replied the taller man, who looked upon this announcement of the lady's punctuality to her appointment, as a very favourable indication. Yes, yes, she expects us. And he strode into the hall, followed by Mr. Minji Bowes. The maid shut the door and then led the way to the dining-room. But much was the surprise and not a little the consternation of the two worthy personages, when, instead of a respectable old lady with a very delicate complexion, and a fine lace cap, they saw the tall, thin, gentlemanly person of Mr. Scriven, standing exactly before them and looking straight in their faces. They both paused for an instant, as if not well-knowing whether to turn tail and run away or not. But Mr. Scriven decided the matter by saying, Come in, gentlemen! Lady Fleetwood was obliged to go out of town, and she therefore begged me to confer with you upon the business, which one of you mentioned to her a day or two ago. I am a relation, as much interested in the matter as herself, and perhaps more. Pray be seated. The maid shut the door, and the two men sat down. Minji bowes on the very edge of his chair, his body inclined forward at an angle, a forty-five. His hands upon his knees, and his huge companion, Sam, casting himself at once into a seat, throwing his long arm over the back of his chair, and gazing upwards round the corners, as if he were a plasterer or an architect. Both kept silence. Well, gentlemen, said Mr. Scriven, who had also seated himself, will you be good enough to explain your business? Why, as to that, said Sam in his usual rude and abrupt manner, I thought you knew did well what my business is. Didn't you tell the old girl, Minji? Yes, I told her exactly what you said, replied Minji bowes. Well, didn't she tell you, asked Sam addressing Mr. Scriven? She gave some explanations, replied that, gentlemen, but you know ladies' heads are not very clear, and therefore I would rather hear the whole particulars from yourself. She said you had got a pocket-book which contained papers affecting the honour and perhaps the life of a gentleman who may probably be closely connected with my family. Ah, that's it, cried Sam, and I told him to tell her, that if she liked to come down handsome I'd say nothing about it, but if she didn't I'd go and blow the whole to Scriven and Company, those are the people whose names were forged. Indeed, said Mr. Scriven in his usual calm and deliberate tone, well the matter is worthy of some consideration. Devilish little time will I give for consideration, replied the brute, I'll have the money down this very day and a promise of it before I go, or else I'll be off to Scriven and Company at once. Well, well, answered Mr. Scriven, don't be impatient, I have no doubt we shall come to terms of some sort before we part. As a man of business, however, I must know what you can prove, and what you cannot, before I agree to anything. There you fool, whispered Minji Bows in a low tone, I told you what you would do when you threw the pocket-book into the fire. You're the fool, answered Sam fiercely, and it did fall too, and then turning to Mr. Scriven he added, what you say is all fair, two sides to every bargain, so I'll tell you what I can prove, and then you can let me prove it or not. I can prove that a man going about here, calling himself Colonel Middleton, is the very same man who ten years ago went by the name of Henry Haley, and that he was then accused of committing a forgery upon Scriven and Company. Now I said the papers in the book would either hang or save him, for in it was dotted down his own account of the whole matter, showing that this Colonel Middleton is just the same man, and that if he had not run away as he did, he would have been tried for the forgery, and been hanged for it too, perhaps, had it not been for another paper that was in the book. Pray what was that? asked Mr. Scriven. Why a paper in a different hand? replied the man, written by the young man's father who calls himself Stephen Haley, I think, and says that he himself committed the forgery and got the young man to take the bill to the bankers to be changed, without his knowing that it was forged. It's a long story, but then he goes on to say that he persuaded the young man to run away and take the blame to save his father's life, and that he gives him that paper to show his innocence in case he's caught. Mr. Scriven mused for a moment or two with a frowning brow, for once in his life the first impression was a right one, and had he acted upon it he would have done justly and wisely. There was so much probability in the story that he felt a difficulty in disbelieving it, though he might wish to do so, and a repugnance to pursuing plans incompatible with that belief. But as he paused and thought selfishness mastered conscience, the wishes grew more strong and overpowered belief. That paper must be a fabrication, he said, aloud, and then, addressing the man more directly, he added, Have you got it? Let me see it. I will return it to you again upon my honor. Why, no, I haven't got it, replied Sam. I burned it. I threw it and the pocketbook, too, into the fire, because I thought the deed fellow they sent wanted to nab me. Then how do you dare to come here? asked Mr. Scriven, when you've nothing to show as proof of your story. Come, come, none of that, exclaimed the man, looking at him fiercely. I've got enough to show that this Henry Haley and Colonel Middleton are the same man. I didn't burn them in the pocketbook. I was resolved to keep some hold on him, so I took them out first, while Minji was gone into the shop for the man he sent. So, if without any more palaver, you don't strike a bargain and tell me what you or he will give, I shall be off to Scriven and company directly, and let them know all about it. He may then prove his innocence or let it alone, but you'll find that a devilish difficult matter now the other papers burned to a cinder in Minji's grate. Can you show me those papers you have got? said Mr. Scriven, in a much more placable tone. Here they are, replied the man, taking a little roll from his pocket, but unless I get a thousand pounds for them I won't show them to anyone till I show them to Scriven and company. Well then, show them to me, replied the gentleman, my name is Scriven and I am the person whose name was forged. The fellow gazed in his face with a look of horror and consternation, and demanded with a terrible implication. Then are you Scriven and company? I am the head of that house, replied Mr. Scriven, and the company has long ceased to exist. Well then, you have done me in a de-done-handsome manner, said the man, and I should like to twist your neck about for your pains. I have done no such thing, answered Mr. Scriven. I told you that I am Lady Fleetwood's relation, which is true, and that I am here to act for her, which is true also. Moreover, if you will listen to me for a moment, you will see that, although you will not get a thousand pounds from me upon any pretence whatever, you may make a reasonable profit by this business notwithstanding. First, understand that I do not care one pin whether this Henry Haley, Alias Middleton, be hanged or not, except merely for the sake of justice. He showed himself exceedingly ungrateful to me, and forged my name for a large sum. For that paper pretending to be his father's confession is all a fabrication, but I did not lose anything. It was the bankers who lost, and they offered a reward of two hundred pounds for his apprehension, which offer is still in force. I offered the same sum, perhaps it was foolish to do so, for in truth I had nothing to do with it. But still I will not go back from my word, and if you will follow out exactly what I tell you, I may add a hundred pounds more in order to open my niece's eyes, and save her from the snare that this man has laid for her. That will make five hundred pounds, which is all you will get. Will you do it or not? Won't you say, Minji, said the one's crown jewel, turning to the other? Here, Sam, let me talk with you a bit, said Minji Bowles, walking towards the door. The other followed him, and for nearly ten minutes they conferred together, very eagerly and in a low tone, while Mr. Scriven coolly took some tablets from his pockets, and amused himself with making notes and adding up sums. At length they returned again to the table, and Sam began to speak. But Mr. Scriven waved his hand for silence, and went on with his calculations, saying, Five and two are seven, and nine are sixteen, and six are twenty-two, and seven are twenty-nine, nine and carry two. Now, what is it? Why you see, sir, said Sam, in a very deferential tone, greatly impressed with the merchant's coolness. I'm afraid I can't. Why not? demanded Mr. Scriven, because, sir, I suppose you'd want me to give evidence, said Sam, and that might be rather ticklish for me. I don't want to put my own neck into a noose, nor to take a swim in a ship at the expense of government. Mr. Scriven thought for a moment or two. I understand you, he said at last. In fact, you knocked the young man down and took the pocket book, and other things from him. He mentioned the fact. Did he see you? No, that he didn't, replied Sam promptly. And he can't prove that I had any other things but the book. Then it seems to me the matter's very easy, said Mr. Scriven. Let us be frank with each other, my good friend. The case stands thus. You got the pocket book, and he can prove it, so you won't help yourself a bit by holding back that fact. For the officers are after you by this time depend upon it. Now, by coming forward and first proving a crime against him, you help yourself very much. But if he's convicted of felony first, he can't give evidence against you, and he would have to prove that he was robbed of the pocket book before he could punish you for taking it. The only thing to do is to get up a good story, as to how you came to have the book, said Minji Bowes. Can't you say you've found it upon the common that same night? I dare say you've put away all the other things by this time, said Mr. Scriven. There, safe enough, answered Sam. Well then, you're having nothing else but the pocket book, which would be valueless to any who did not examine the papers, will corroborate your story, observed Mr. Scriven. For people may naturally conclude that those who took the things threw away the pocket book on the common, when they found there was no money in it. Sam looked at Minji Bowes, and Minji nodded his head approvingly, saying, That'll do, I think, Sam. The only way of saving yourself and getting the money, said Mr. Scriven, is to go at the thing boldly. The very fact of your making the charge will be a presumption in your favour. People will say, of course, that you would not have ventured to do so if you had taken the thing unlawfully. And I will do what I can to help you. You may depend upon it. But remember, you must act according to my directions, and I will answer for it that no harm shall happen to you. And it, sir, said the man, once so often hears it said, No harm shall happen to you, and then a great deal does, that I am half afraid. What else have you to propose, asked Mr. Scriven, in his dry stone? If you reject good counsel, you must have some scheme or plan already formed. I know not what it is, but think it's somewhat more than dangerous, whatever it may be. For I can see no way of extricating yourself but that which has been named. Your bless you, sir. I've no scheme, sir, said the man, who, to say truth, was a good deal bewildered by the new point of view in which the question had been placed before him. What do you say, Minji? Minji bows, shook his head doubtfully, without venturing a reply, and Mr. Scriven seeing clearly that the unexpected discovery of his name, together with the disclosure of all their secrets, had, as it were, let the man no choice but to follow his plan or to fly, thought he might as well throw in the last inducement, as he would have done, in selling one or two thousand bales of goods, by giving a bale or two over and above the bargain. You will remember, sir, he said addressing Minji, that in advising your friend I myself have no choice in this matter, if he enables me to break off the match between this man and my niece by coming frankly forward, it will, of course, be a duty and a pleasure for me to help him to the utmost of my ability. But if, on the contrary, he holds back, I must take part with Colonel Middleton, and must do what I can to prove my niece's husband worthy of her affection. That's to say, you'd hang me if you could, replied Sam. Nondoubtedly answered Mr. Scriven in his usual dry manner. Well, that's hard, said the man, but you seem to have got me in a cleft stick, and so I suppose I must do what you please. That's right, replied Mr. Scriven. I tell you conscientiously and upon my honor, that I think it's the only way to save yourself, and then you get five hundred pounds into the barking, you know. I'll do it, or I'll behind, said the man, warming enthusiastically at the thought of the money. They can't forgive me what they call a life-interest in the colony, and I don't much care for that. Come, it's a barking. I'll help you to fix the young man so that the Beats can't have the least doubt in the world that he is the chap, and whenever he's fixed, I'm to have the five hundred. There's the offer of a reward by Mrs. Stolteforth and company, the bankers who cashed the bill, said Mr. Scriven, so you see it will be necessary to do what we propose as soon as possible. Now, let me see the papers, because there can be no use in concealing them. There they are, replied Sam. Look you here. He has been carefully enough, but it says in this one, which looks like a sort of day-book, that he determined at a certain time to go back to England under the assumed name of Colonel Middleton. Mr. Scriven looked over the papers carefully, and as great an expression of satisfaction appeared upon his countenance as as he ever suffered to take possession of his usually inanimate features. That's all right, he said, turning one down. Now, if there's nothing to upset the scheme, you all get your five hundred pounds to a certainty, and though that is not a thousand, it is better than nothing. The devil of a deal, said the man, delighted with the notion of the money, but you haven't looked at the one next to it. It's got something in it, too. That is something. But I think now, Minji, as this is settled, we have better pack up our tools and be off. No, no, stay, said the other. There are two or three things more to be settled. You must come to me at six o'clock this evening, when we can finally arrange all our plans. And, if you take my advice, you will not go to any coffee-shop, nor to any of your usual haunts, for to depend upon it, this Colonel Middleton, as he is called, has set many a trap for you. I don't think he dare, said the man, being quite sure I know such a deal about him. Oh, he'll try to have the first word, as well as you, replied Mr. Scriven, but we must prevent him. He's gone down to Northumberland for a day or two, perhaps to keep out of the way, rather than anything else. And the best plan for us to follow will be to go after him at once, pounce upon him in the country, give him in charge, and, if possible, get the country magistrates, who know nothing about him, to commit him. You come to me at six, as I have said, and in the meantime, I will go away to the police office, and get the notes of the former proceedings. Now, goodbye for the present, but do not think that you can bolt and leave me in the lurch, by going away out of town or out of England, for I shall have one or two sharp hands looking after you, and depend upon it wherever you went, they would find you out. Oh, I shan't bolt, replied Sam. You've got me under the pitchfork, and must do what you like. I'll be at your house by six, if you tell me where it is. Willingly, answered Mr. Scriven, writing the name of the street and the number of the house down in pencil. You'll find me there at six o'clock precisely, but remember, I'm very punctual, and I do not wait for anyone. I'll be there to the minute, answered the man, for I've nothing else to do, but I suppose I come upon honour, and that nobody will try to stop me from coming away again. Neither by any fault nor any indiscretion of mine, answered Mr. Scriven, but you must take care in the meantime for fear they should shut you up. If you and I can set off to Northumberland at once, while the iron is hot, you will be out of the way yourself, and we shall take this lad quite unprepared, and have him before a justice there he knows what he's doing. It must depend upon circumstances, however, I mean from what I see in the city. If all's right, and if I can go away, we will set out this very night or tomorrow morning. That's all right, sir, that's all right, said Sam. I'll be there to the minute, and now I suppose we have better go away, for I see you've got your hat in your hand, and I suppose your time short. Very considering all I have to do, replied Mr. Scriven, and as I know this matter is important, the sooner it is got through, the better. Certainly, sir, certainly, answered Sam. You shan't wait for me, so good morning to you. Mr. Scriven did not half-like to let him go, but there was no help for it. He had once thought of giving him in charge to a constable, but that, he saw, might spoil all his plans, and he abandoned the idea directly. There were no securities to be taken of such a man except his fears or his interests, and both of these, Mr. Scriven imagined, he had to a certain degree enlisted on his side. Nevertheless, when he saw him depart, he felt a good many unpleasant doubts as to whether he should ever see his face again, unless at the bar of some police court. End of Chapter 34 There was a morning of longings at Milford Castle, something somebody was evidently expected. He began at the breakfast table. Lady Anne was down first, but Maria had been up earliest, and when she at length entered the cheerful little room, she found her fair hostess gazing thoughtfully out of the window. A heavy dew had fallen during the night, and it was lying firmly and bright upon the lawns and slopes of the park, like the misty radiance with which fancy invests the unseen things of life. Was it at that duty silvering Lady Anne was gazing so intently, or at that deep shadowy wood, the tops of whose ancient trees were just seen above the rise, the road dipping down into them as if to take a bath in their cool verdure. It was the road towards Belford, and her eyes were anxiously turned in that direction, perhaps her thoughts also. Maria went up to her and kissed her, and then twining their arms together, they both stood at the window, and both thought for nearly five minutes without speaking a word. At length Lady Anne said, it will be a hot day, and then she laughed at herself for talking so wide of her thoughts, and gazing into Maria's lovely eyes with a faint smile, she added, Henry cannot be here till the day is at the hottest. Maria smiled in return, but it was a faint, fluttering smile in which fear and hope were blended, for she was very, very anxious about him she loved. His confident and hopeful manner had not communicated courage to her woman's heart, and many an uneasy and apprehensive hour she had passed when thinking of the difficulties of his situation. Oh, how we love that which excites our anxiety! How the chasing hopes and fearness, the cares, the watchfulness, bind the object of them to our heart! And all these, during the last few days of her short existence, had Maria felt intensely for Henry Haley. Whenever he was absent from her for any time, she was full of apprehension for him. She expected to hear that he had been arrested, that the struggle which she dreaded had commenced, that the game of life or death was staked, and though she might preserve the external appearance of calmness, yet was the poor girl sadly moved within. Maria would not reply to her friend's words, for she feared her own self-possession. But nevertheless she was apparently calmer during that morning than Lady Anne herself. Her manner was composed, she spoke, she answered quietly, and it was only by an anxious look or a slight start, when she thought she heard the sound of carriage wheels, that she betrayed how much she felt at heart. Lady Anne, on the contrary, though her usual April mood was still present, was assuredly more inclined to be on the showery side of the sweet month than on the sunshiny. Sometimes she would talk wildly and laugh gaily, but at others she would sink into profound fits of thought, gaze forth into the vape and tear, and answer questions quite astray. Even Lady Fleetwood seemed in a degree to feel the irritating effects of expectation. Once in the middle of breakfast, without a word having been uttered regarding travels or travellers, she suddenly lifted her head and said, I wonder at what hour they will arrive. And some time afterwards, when walking for a moment on the terrace with Maria, she observed in the same abrupt manner, they will have a fine day for their arrival at all events. As the day wore on, and the hour at which they might be expected passed, Maria grew more thoughtful, more anxious, more grave, and Lady Anne, after watching her friend's face for a moment, said, Come Maria, this will not do. Let us go and amuse ourselves in some way. We will walk down to the stewards, see the hens and chickens, talk about lambs, and be quite pastoral. Nay, we shall not be absent when they arrive, for I will set a boy upon the tower to watch the road, and whenever he sees a carriage coming, he shall run up my grandfather's old flag. The top of the tower can be seen from the stewards' house, they tell me, and as it is only half a mile, and the carriage can be seen two miles off, we shall be back in time. Maria made no objection. They went down to the stewards' house, and they did talk about chickens and lambs, and were quite pastoral. But time wore on, no flag was displayed, and they returned to the house somewhat sadly. They found Lady Fleetwood seated in the drawing working at the purse, her Penelope's web. But the old lady's face was very grave, too, and to tell the truth, her imagination had gone careering in the same direction as Maria's. When she looked up then, and saw all the anxiety that was written in her niece's fair face, the milk of humankind missing her bosom overflowed, and she must needs comfort her. My dear Maria, she said, do not make yourself so uneasy. I know what you are thinking about and what you fear, but there is really no cause for alarm. My brother's conduct towards Colonel Middleton was very strange that day at dinner, I suppose, because he thought we had shown a want of confidence in him. But I saw him just before we left town, and he was quite kind about the whole business, assuring me he would do the best he could for our friend, even if it should turn out that he is the person whom we all suspect he is. For I told him all I knew, and all I fancied. Good heavens! exclaimed Lady Anne. To him, to my uncle, demanded Maria, with a look of consternation, clasping her hands together. To him did you tell all, the very last man, to whom a word should have been spoken till all was settled. Well, my dear child, said Lady Feetwood, very much distressed. I did it, I am sure, with the best intentions. Oh, your best intentions! Your best intentions, my dear aunt! exclaimed Maria, judging her uncle's character better than her aunt, and seeing with anguish all the fatal consequences, which might ensue. But almost as she spoke, the roll of carriage-wheels was heard, and then some vehicle or vehicle stashed up to the doors. It could not be resisted under the circumstances in which they were. All proprieties and decorums were forgotten, and the three ladies, by one impulse, ran to the windows. There were two traveling carriages on the terrace, and the first person who sprang out was Henry Haley. Maria had resisted strongly. Expectation, anxiety, even the terror of her aunt's communication, had not drawn a tear from her. But when she saw him whom she loved and feared for, there before her, safe and well, the bright drops rose up in her eyes. Was it wonderful that she should feel so? Perhaps not, and yet the most wonderful things that I know of in the world are the emotions of the human heart, surpassingly mysterious. We are all habituated to them, we feel or we mark them in others every day, and our wonder ceases. But who can account for them? Whence do they arise? In what deep well of the soul have they their source? Take any emotion you will, and drive it home. You'll be puzzled to chase it to the end. We say it is natural for man to have a fondness for this, a repugnance to that, but in so saying we assume the whole groundwork, we assert, but do not explain. Why did Maria so feel for the man before her? Why had she feared for him, as she was incapable of fearing for herself? Why would she at that moment have willingly sacrificed her life for him? Why was the sense of rejoicing so overpowering, when the immediate anxiety for him was at an end? How had he contrived in so short a space to change the whole current of her feelings, to concentrate as it were every thought and affection which had previously ranged wide and far, diffused over all things that surrounded her, upon himself alone, to transmute his interests into her interest, and to bind their future fates together by a strong and indissoluble tie inseparable forever? So it was, however, and at that moment as Maria stood at the window and saw him spring from the carriage, she felt that it was so more than she had ever felt before. In a few moments the whole party were assembled in the drawing room, but these few moments have been enough to calm the minds of those who have been waiting, to that point, at least, where joy is unmingled with agitation. Lady Fleetwood was delighted to see everybody, but especially Colonel Middleton, to whom she was now profusing kindness and attention, in order to make up for the little faux pas which her moustache word showed her she had committed. She was the best-hearted, kindest woman in the world, that she did not see, or she would not see, that Colonel Middleton's whole thoughts were upon Maria, and that the first five minutes were, in some sort, Maria's due. Lady Fleetwood talked to him. She inquired after his journey, as if he had been a sick man or lame. She assured him more than once how glad she was to see him in Northumberland, as if she had utterly disbared of seeing him there at all, and she effectually contrived to prevent him for a full quarter of an hour after his arrival, from doing more than merely shaking hands with her he loved. Poor Maria bore it with the fortitude of her martyr, and even Lady Anne did not venture to interfere, lest by coming to her rescue she should only make matters worse. She was like the man who saw his companion carried away by a tiger, and did not dare to fire lest he should kill his friend instead of the brute. Mr. Winkworth still had his sleeve cut open and his arm in a sling, but he looked exceedingly brisk and gay, and with his mixture of odd eccentricity and old-fashioned courtesy, paid his compliments to Lady Anne, congratulated her upon having so fine a park, in which, to use his own expression, her deer, her horse, and her wits might range about at liberty. And then, turning to Mrs. Brice, who was by this time in the room, left his fair hostess to converse with Charles uninterrupted. At length, however, compassion moved in, and in order to draw the fire from Colonel Middleton, he advanced and began chatting to Lady Fleetwood in a gay and easy strain. I feel what it is to be old, my dear madam, he said. Here you have not spoken two words to me, while this gay young gentleman monopolizes you entirely. Now that is not right. I claim my share, and here I come to take possession of it. And he seated himself beside her on the sofa. Henry instantly turned to Maria, and how they managed it, I do not know, but in the space of less than a minute they were standing talking to each other at one of the windows. It was a difficult manoeuvre to effect, in the presence of such an active adversary as Lady Fleetwood, but it was accomplished, nevertheless, with such skill and precaution, that dear Lady Fleetwood did not remark what they were doing, nor make any attack upon either flank as they retreated. Had she seen them, there were a thousand chances to one that she would have done so. She would have asked Colonel Middleton some question, or called Maria, to talk with Mr. Winkworth. Or, worse than that, would have whispered to her niece to explain to her niece's lover, that what she had said to Mr. Scriven was said entirely with the best intentions. Five or six pleasant minutes did Henry and Maria pass in low, earnest conversation, but at length the latter said aloud, Oh yes, I dare say we can, we have only been a very little way. And then, turning towards the spot where Lady Anne stood, she said, Colonel Middleton is proposing a walk in the park, if you are not tired, Anne. Not at all, replied Lady Anne, let us all go and take a ramble. It is nearly as new to me as to any of you, for I have not been here before since I was three years old. And to say truth, I don't remember much about it. Come, bonnets and shawls, and let us go. Gentlemen, the battle will show you the apartments prepared for you, which I trust will be found tolerably comfortable, although when I arrived here myself, I felt almost in despair lest that epithet should ever be applicable to the house again. Of one thing, however, I can assure you, namely, there are no rats, for they were starved out two years ago and emigrated to some other country. Thus saying, she tripped away. Maria followed. Lady Fleetwood, too, declaring that a walk would be very delightful, went to get ready. Do you come, Mr. Winkworth? asked Colonel Middleton in a somewhat anxious tone. Mr. Winkworth looked at him ruefully. I had not meditated such a feat, he said, but I am of a self-sacrifice in this position and the most gallant man in nature, as you all know. Therefore, as our excellent friend Lady Fleetwood is going, and as without me there would be but two gentlemen to three ladies, I must ensure that one is not without an attendant. Pray, Charles, can you tell me whether Fox, who wrote the martyrology, was not a Northumberland man? I think at all events I should be added to his book as a sort of supplementary martyr. But here is the butler to show us our rooms, and I will hasten to get ready. The chamber to which Colonel Middleton was shown was a large old-fashioned room, hung with tapestry, through which protruded several gilt iron brackets, supporting old family pictures. Some were very good, and some, in an inferior style of art, though probably the best which could be found at the period when each picture was painted. There were two Van Dykes, and the rest were by Nella, Lily, and their disciples, and they all had an interest for Colonel Middleton, who went round from one to the other, stopping a moment or two before each, and gazing on the mute and motionless countenances. To me, and I believe to many other men, there is a strange fascination about old family portraits. I could gaze upon the efforties of the dead for many an hour, striving to read in the lines and features the life, the fate, the character of the being there represented. Such seemed to be the feelings of the young officer as he walked round. He commented, however, in his thoughts upon the countenances before him. They have been a handsome race, he said to himself, with a strong family likeness in all the men, all more or less like Lady Anne, too, here in one feature, there in another, and then again in the expression. This one in the formal dress of the last century is perhaps less like than it any, and yet he must have been nearer in relation than the rest. He looked stern and harsh, a man of a strong will, and fiery temper. As he thus thought, his eyes rested upon a little guilt scroll at the bottom of the frame, and he there saw written, William Earl of Milford, born 1754, died 18 blank. It was the year during which he himself had come down to Norfolk Castle in search of the son of that very man. The inscription awakened another train of thought, and seating himself in a chair, he leaned his head upon his hand and gave way to meditation. He was roused the moment after by some of Lady Anne's servants bringing up his luggage, and raising his head he asked, Pray, has my servant arrived? He was to come down by the mail. No, sir, replied the man. He has not come yet. Shall I put these in the dressing room? If you please, said Colonel Middleton. Where is the dressing room? It is here, sir, said the servant, turning up a corner of the tapestry and opening a small door which displayed a little room into which the sun was streaming warm and bright. It is strange what trains of thought very insignificant circumstances will produce. The sight of that small but cheerful chamber compared with the large and gloomy one in which he stood struck the young officer much, and he said to himself, Thus it is often with human fate the narrow and confined sphere of humble life is often gay and happy, while the wider and loftier one of wealth and station is cold, gloomy and cheerless. The next moment he heard the voice of Charles Marston calling him, and going downstairs they set out upon their walk. Mr. Winkworth managed admirably, one would almost have supposed him a daughter-marrying dowager, so admirably did he keep Lady Fleetwood in play, while the younger party roamed on before. He walked slowly, too, which is a great faculty in such circumstances, and as Lady Fleetwood herself was not generally disposed to walk fast, it suited her very well. Colonel Middleton is an old friend of yours. I find Mr. Winkworth, said Lady Fleetwood as they went on. Have you known him many years? Not many, according to the almanac, my dear madam, replied the old gentleman, but a great many according to the computation of the mind. I look upon it, my dear Lady Fleetwood, he continued in a moralising tone, that thoughts, words and actions are the real measures of time, and that the sun's rising or setting, the mere whirling round of the great pegtop, on which we creep about, has nothing in the world to do with it. According therefore to my way of computing, I have known Colonel Middleton a great many years, and ten times as long as I have known some men, with whom I was hand in glove before he was born. You understand me?" She did not, in the least, but she replied, Oh yes, you mean that you have known him many years, but that you have lost sight of him? Not so, replied Mr. Winkworth. It is not many months since I first made his acquaintance, but I have seen a good deal of him in that time, have heard much of him from friends of longer standing, and a more honourable, high-spirited, gentlemanly man does not exist. Oh dear, I am glad to hear you say so. Why so, demanded Mr. Winkworth, did you doubt it? Oh no, not in the least, replied Lady Fleetwood. I never did, I can assure you, not even when. For once in her life Lady Fleetwood checked herself in full career. She was on the highway to tell Mr. Winkworth everything she knew of Henry Haley's history, and all the present, as well as all the past, was about to be detailed for the benefit of his companion, when she recollected herself and held her tongue, though the bridal was hardly strong enough to keep in that very hard-mouthed horse. Mr. Winkworth did not seem to have much curiosity, but he instantly changed the subject, saying, not a beautiful part this is, one does not expect to find such a spot in so remote a part of the country. Lady Anne's fortune must be very large. Oh dear, yes, replied Lady Fleetwood, her mother had nearly eight thousand a year of her own, and Lord Milford had a very large property. His father was a strange, recluse sort of man, spent very little himself, and allowed his son a small income for a young nobleman. Until he married a rich banker's daughter, I believe he had not more than fifteen or sixteen hundred a year allowed him, and he was rather extravagant, too, in his habits, so that he was a good deal in debt. At one time people thought the old Earl would have left everything he could away from him, for he was a sad tyrant and quarrelled with his son very often. But then the young Lord pleased him by his marriage, and everything went well after that. They say the old man saved at least three-quarters of his income every year, living down here amongst these hills the whole year long, like an old rook in the top of an elm tree. He died of some disease of the heart, it is said. I should think so, replied Mr. Winkworth dryly, but it does not seem to have been hereditary, or at all events it became extinct in that branch. The excellent Lady Wood, in all probability, have contrived to be puzzled with this reply, had not a little manoeuvre of the advance guard attracted her attention and interested her feelings. Hitherto Maria and Lady Anne had been walking on arm in arm, with Colonel Middleton by the side of the former and Charles Marston on the side of the latter, when suddenly, to Lady Fleetwood's infinite surprise, Lady Anne disengaged herself from her fair friend, went round, and took Colonel Middleton's arm, then pointing with her parasol to the right, she walked away with him, leaving Charles Marston sauntering on by Maria's side. Dear me, said Lady Fleetwood, Lady Anne is really very strange. Let us go on and overtake them. I am afraid Maria will feel hurt. Hurt? Why? asked Mr. Winkworth quietly, and Lady Fleetwood, feeling the difficulty of explanation, did, as all weak and many cunning people do, insinuated what she did not choose to say, by replying with a meaning look. Oh, there may be reasons, Mr. Winkworth. At the same time she walked on at a pace which was very quick for her, but which failed to overtake Charles and Maria, who, talking together earnestly and apparently very confidentially, took their way in a direction quite opposite to that which had been followed by their fair hostess and Colonel Middleton. Upon observing these indications Lady Fleetwood paused and hesitated, a new solution of many difficulties presented itself to hope and imagination. What if Charles and Maria were to marry after all, she thought? It might not be quite fair, indeed, to Colonel Middleton, but still, here he had voluntarily gone away with another lady, almost as if to avoid Maria and her cousin. And the worthy aunt gradually slackened her pace, saying, well, it does not matter. Oh, Lady Fleetwood, Lady Fleetwood, had you been but contented in everything to take all matters as easily as you did in this instance, how much better it would have been for you and all your friends and relations. Soon after the excellent lady and her companion reached the top of a small hill, perhaps a barrow, from the summit of which a great part of the park was visible. And there she saw Lady Anne and Colonel Middleton walking slowly along towards the deep pines through which the private road to Milford Castle, from Belford, passed in its way up to the house. Suddenly, just emerging from the trees upon the road, appeared two men, who, as soon as they perceived Lady Anne and her companion, quitted the road as if to meet the two others. And if such was their intention, they succeeded. For the Lady of Milford and her guests went straight forward towards them, and one of the strangers advanced, pulling off his hat with a low bow. A moment or two after the young lady left her companion with the two men, and walked leisurely away towards the house. Maggie Fleetwood was puzzled. She could not make out what it all meant, and she expressed her surprise to Mr. Winkworth, saying, I wonder what's the matter? Had we not better go and see? I think not, my dear lady, replied Mr. Winkworth. There can be nothing of any importance, the matter, or Lady Anne would not leave the party so quietly. Besides, if I am not very much mistaken, one of those men is Colonel Middleton's valet. The figure is just of his height and appearance. As the next best step Lady Fleetwood judged it would be better to return to the house immediately, thinking that there at least she could get information. But she was disappointed, for though she sought Lady Anne as soon as she reached Milford Castle, the young lady had betaken herself to her own room, and the elder did not venture to intrude upon her privacy. End of Chapter 35 The dressing-bell rang in Milford Castle, but before its eye and tongue had told the guests to make ready for the great business-meal of the day, all of them had sought their chambers, and Lady Anne Mellon was nearly dressed. Five minutes after she sent her maid to knock at Colonel Middleton's door and tell him that she was going down, and would be glad to speak with him in the drawing-room as soon as he was ready. The maid thought it rather strange, although she was well accustomed to her mistress's various oddities, for though she knew Lady Anne to be very eccentric, yet she had never before suspected her of cooketting with anyone. With Abigail Penetration she had discovered, by some means or another, that Charles Marston was a favoured suitor, and now to be sent to tell a young, handsome, distinguished-looking man to make haste in dressing, for the purpose of having a tetatet with her mistress before anyone else was down, shocked her ideas of propriety very much. Pounds per annum and perquisites, however, are better than all the proprieties in the world, and accordingly she did as she was bid, but few minutes elapsed before Colonel Middleton was in the drawing-room. The maid's ear was certainly too near the key-hole within five minutes after, but she could hear nothing, except the distinct buzz of a low-batica conversation. She then tried what one sense could do to make up for the defect of another, and applied her eye to the aperture which had refused intelligence to her ear. She had the whole farther end of the room before her, but, to her surprise, there she saw Colonel Middleton standing with his back against one of the window-frames, and Lady Anne near him, leaning upon a large, carved and gilt chair, while Good Mrs. Bryce sat writing a note at a table much more in advance. A moment after a carriage drove up and the maid ran away, just catching sight of the velvet coat of Mr. Hargrave, as he entered the door. With stately step the old gentleman followed the servant, who admitted him to the drawing-room, and was met joyously by Lady Anne, who said, "'I'm glad you have come, and have come soon.' "'Did you suppose I would break my written word, fair Shatelaine?' asked the old gentleman, in a somewhat reproachful tone. "'Have I been true to a velvet coat and a cue for so many years to have my faith doubted nowadays?' "'No, no,' said Lady Anne, "'but I wish particularly to introduce you to this gentleman, Colonel Middleton, who, though magnanimously prepared to fight his own battles against a very formidable enemy, has listened to my persuasions, and is going to take you into his counsels, and solicit your advice and assistance. There go with him, Henry, into the library. Tell him the whole story, and the intelligence you have received today, of the imaginations against you.' While she was speaking, Mr Hargrove, from time to time, looked with a somewhat inquiring glance from her face to that of Henry Haley, and then a faint smile came upon his fine, though faded, features. "'No, no,' cried Lady Anne, laughing as she remarked it, "'you are quite mistaken. He is not the man, and a great deal handsomer, but you will hear all about it in a minute. For the whole must come out now, and you will know the why and the wherefore. "'Come with us,' said Henry, addressing her, "'we shall need you in our counsel, indeed.' "'Well, then, dear Mrs Bryce,' said the beautiful girl, "'if Lady Fleetwood and the rest come down, say that I will be back in a few minutes.' Lady Fleetwood did come down, and then the other members of the party, one after another, and to each Mrs Bryce delivered Lady Anne's message. "'I wonder where Colonel Middleton is,' said Lady Fleetwood at length, after Mr Winkworth, who was the last, had been down five minutes. "'He is with Lady Anne in the library,' said Mrs Bryce, simply, and Lady Fleetwood's fair and delicate complexion showed a blush as deep as if she had been a young girl, just caught in attempting to elope.' Rory remarked her aunt's colour, and she coloured a little too, from sympathy more than anything else, for she felt certain that all her young friends' thoughts and feelings were high and pure and noble, but yet she did not wish that Lady Anne would make other people think she was coquettie with Colonel Middleton. Charles Master walked towards the window, and tumbled over a footstool, and even Mr Winkworth seemed a little discomposed. A few minutes after the battler threw open the doors, and without looking round, pronounced in pompous tones, "'Dinner is on the table, my lady!' But the next moment he perceived that Lady Anne was not in the room, and stood confounded. "'You had better knock at the library door, and tell Lady Anne,' said Mrs Bryce, in her usual quiet tones. "'Knock at the door?' thought Lady Fleetwood. "'Well, this is very strange.' Still they were kept waiting for some minutes, and then, to the infinite relief of some of the party, it must be confessed. The doors on the other side were thrown open, and Lady Anne appeared, leaning on Mr Hargrave's arm, and followed by Colonel Middleton. "'I am afraid you have thought me lost,' she said, but I and my two councillors here have been considering weighty matters for the good of the nation. Mr Hargrave allow me to present you to Lady Fleetwood, who says she had the pleasure of knowing you in years long past. Not a word to her till you are in the dining-room, for the dinner is getting cold. This is my dear friend, Miss Moncton, of whom we were talking two nights ago. Mr Winkworth, Mr Hargrave. Charles Marston let me introduce you to Mr Hargrave, my future husband. "'A promise before witnesses,' said Mr Hargrave with a smile. But now, my dear lady, let me lead you to the dining-room, for I do not intend to give you up to anyone.' The procession was soon formed, and the party sat down to dinner. Lady Anne was peculiarly gay and lively, but every now and then a shade of grave thought came upon her for an instant, which she cast off again as soon, her high spirit seeming to bound up more likely than ever from the momentary depression. She had contrived to place Colonel Middleton next to Maria, and, if the extraordinary truth must be told, to get Charles Marston next to herself. Once or twice, too, when the conversation at the table was general, and Mr Hargrave was engaged with someone else, she exchanged a few words with Charles Marston in a low tone. Thus, shortly after the fish and soup had been removed, she said, "'What made you look so gloomy when I came in before dinner? Traitor and rebel, your faith has been wavering.' "'Because you are a little tyrant,' replied Charles in the same tone, for his heart now beat freely again, "'and you sport with the pain of your subjects.' "'They inflict the pain upon themselves,' said Lady Anne, and the next moment there being an interval of silence, she turned to speak with Mr Hargrave. Some time afterwards she took another opportunity to say, "'I think, Charles, you will stand by a friend in time of need.' "'What do you mean?' he asked, for she spoke very gravely. "'I cannot explain,' she said, but you may be tried within four and twenty hours.' "'Oh, I understand,' replied Charles, and his eye glanced towards Colonel Middleton, "'do not fear, I will stand by him to the last if I can give any assistance.' They were again interrupted, and the dinner passed over without anything worth chronically, till the ladies rose to retire from table. Lady Anne paused for a moment before going out, saying to Mr Hargrave, "'Do not forget the two notes, my dear friend.' "'They are gone already,' answered Mr Hargrave, as I came out I gave them to your butler, bidding him send them by one of my pristilians.' When the ladies were gone, Mr Hargrave naturally resumed the seat which he had occupied at the end of Lady Anne's table, and Mr Winkworth drew his chair near him. "'Charles Hargrave,' he said, laying his hand upon that of the old gentleman, "'you have forgotten me.' Mr Hargrave turned and looked at him steadfastly. "'I have indeed,' he said, "'though I thought I forgot nothing, and have sometimes lamented, my dear sir, that my memory was too tenacious, especially of affections.' "'Yet we were once very intimate,' said Mr Winkworth, "'though you are well nigh twenty years, my senior, older in years, I mean, no perhaps younger in body. But it is not wonderful, for I have withered away during nearly thirty years in India, so that, when I take up a little miniature portrait that was painted about the time I knew you, and then look in the glass, I do not know which it would be better to do, to laugh or to cry.' "'It is very strange,' said Mr Hargrave, "'will you not recall the circumstances to my mind by some fat? Your voice, I will own, sounds familiar to my ears, but it is it no consequence just now,' replied Mr Winkworth, "'by and by, when we can have a little chat alone together, I will bring it all up before you in a minute, like the landscape on the rising of the sun. Suffice it for the present that you are sitting beside an old friend.' Still Mr Hargrave seemed puzzled and returned to the subject more than once, but the other only laughed, and in a few minutes they rose to join the ladies. Then, while Colonel Middleton and Childs Marston walked away to the drawing-room, Mr Hargrave took the other gentleman by the arm, saying, "'Now you must give me satisfaction. You have attacked the honour of my memory, and I must have an explanation, lest I should think my faculties are failing.' "'Well, let us sit down then,' said Mr Winkworth, and seating themselves at the table they remained there for a full hour. When they rejoined the party in the drawing-room, the two old men seemed as gay as any of them, and with music and a game of chess between Mr Winkworth and Lady Fleetwood, the evening passed lightly to its close. Half past eleven o'clock came, without Mr Hargrave's carriage being announced, but three notes were brought to him by the battler who informed him at the same time that his servant had returned from debtion-grieve. Mr Hargrave only said, "'Very well.' But Lady Fleetwood thought fit to tease herself about the old gentleman's going home so late. In truth she looked upon the remote part of the country in which she was, as little better than a barbarous land, and the journey back to debtion-grieve, in as formidable a light as a retreat through a pass in presence of an enemy. Nor could she help expressing her sense of Mr Hargrave's courage in undertaking such a perilous enterprise. But the old gentleman replied, "'I must decline the glory, my dear lady. I am going to sleep here tonight, and perhaps we spend tomorrow here likewise.' "'This is the first time,' dear Lady Anne,' he continued, turning to his fair hostess, that I have slept out of my own house for five and twenty years. "'But what would I not do?' he continued, gallantly kissing her hand, for an improving look from those bright eyes. "'When we are married, you know, you shall always stay at home,' said Lady Anne, and now I have taken care that everything should be made as comfortable for you as possible. I wish I could have got a drawing of your room at debtion. Then you should have found all things precisely in the same state.' When Cicero wrote his essay upon the consolations of old age, said Mr Hargrave, smiling, he did not, so far as I remember, include that of being made loved to by all the beautiful girls in the neighbourhood. But I am afraid he thought that there might be some portion of bitter under the sweet, and that they only ventured to do so from a knowledge that we are very harmless animals, and may be petted without peril. But now, sweet lady, I will seek my room, for though I flatter myself, I am very hail and healthy under seventy winters. Yet I must not forget the good old Maxim, that early to bed and early to rise is the way to obtain many desirable things. This was the signal for the general dispersion of the party, but Henry Haley contrived to obtain an opportunity of saying in a whisper to Maria, Come down early to-morrow, dimmeria, I must speak with you for a few moments as soon as possible. Events are thickening around us, and you may be frightened at some things that are likely to happen, unless I have an opportunity of preparing you for them. The colour mounted a little into Maria's cheek, but she answered frankly, I will come, where shall I find you? In the library replied her lover, and they parted for the night, but Maria certainly did not take the best means to ensure early rising, for she lay awake for more than an hour in anxious and painful thought. Chapter 37 of The Forgery by George Paine Rinsford James This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Chapter 37 The clock had not struck eight when Maria entered the library at Milford. The servants had just quitted the room, and through the open windows there came the perfumed breath of summer, bearing from wild banks, no one knew where, the odours of the honeysuckle, Annie Eglinton. The soft early beams of unconfirmed days stole in, and streaked the floor with long rays of light, and a merry bird was singing without, in harmony with the fragrance and the sunshine. Joyful to the light heart, soothing to the memories of sorrow, the sweet, calm things of nature are painful to anxiety and dread. They raise not, they speak not of hope. The song of the bird, the odour of the flower, the gleam of the sunshine, are then like the farewell, the parting kiss, the last long look. Maria felt sadly depressed as she entered the room. At first she did not see her lover, for he was standing in one of the deep windows, but the opening door and her light-step instantly called him forth to meet her. Thanks, dear one, and kind one, he said, drawing her towards him and kissing her. You are earlier than I expected, my Maria, but not earlier than I hoped. You are pale, my love. Have you rested well? Maria shook her head with a sigh. How could I rest well with such apprehensions, Henry? she asked. I watched with thought till nearly two, and thought again awoke me. But tell me now, Henry, what danger menaces, your words last night alarmed me sadly. No danger, I trust, dear Maria, he answered, and I did not mean to express any apprehension or to excite any in you, but I thought it best to let you know that the hour of struggle is approaching, in order that you might be prepared for it. Indeed, dearest Maria, it is for your agitation that I fear and feel, more than for any peril to myself, of which I believe there is little or none, but I cannot help being grieved that your love for me should bring even one cloud over the sunshine of a life that I would feign, render, or write. I saw how you were agitated when I arrived yesterday, I saw that you had been anxious and apprehensive regarding me, and I asked myself what right I had to make you, whose fate has been shaped in the fairest mould of fortune, take part in the darker lot of one who has been too often the sport of adversity. Every right, every right, Henry, she answered warmly, or at least the best right, the right of affection, but let me share all your thoughts. Do you know, in spite of all you have said, I am half jealous of Anne Mellon, not that I dream you love her, for I have trust and confidence enough to know that you would never tell me you love me were such the case, and indeed what motive could you have, nor is it that I fancy she loves you, for I have known her from infancy, and never saw the least cloud dim her pure, high heart. But Henry, it seems as if you have more confidence in her than in me. He had listened with a smile till she uttered the last words, but then he eagerly replied, no, oh no, dear Maria, do not fancy that for one moment, but perhaps I have been wrong, I should have told you before that she knows more than you do, from other sources, her father was intimate with one now no more, of whom I will utter no reproachful word, although to save Anne screen him, the bright early part of my youth has been sacrificed by me. In a word, Maria, she possesses a power over my fate, which no other human being has, and frankly and generously she is disposed to use it for my best happiness, making no condition, but only asking as a favour that I will let her unravel the web in her own way. Can I, could I refuse her, dear Maria? But yet it is needful that we should often consult together, for though she suggests most of the steps to be taken, and has bound me by promise, to be silent to everyone as to the motives on which she adds, it is very necessary that I should point out to her from time to time, consequences which in her wild and fanciful moods she does not see. Well, replied Maria with a faint smile, I suppose an explanation must come soon, and I do believe she loves me as a sister. She does indeed, replied Henry, and this very day all will be explained, I doubt not. But now, dear girl, let me tell you that which is likely immediately to occur. By some means your uncle, Mr. Scriven, has become fully convinced of my identity, with the poor lad whom he pursued so eagerly ten years ago. I know not well how he was first put upon the trap, but I imagine by some improvements. Oh, my Aunt Fleetwood, my Aunt Fleetwood, said Maria with a sigh, she, I know, told him, with the best intentions, all that she suspects herself. But still she has nothing but suspicion, nor can he have more. Yes indeed, replied Henry, he has conviction and proof whether legal or not I do not know, but at all events such is the case, and of course my conduct must soon be determined. Indeed, Mr. Scriven himself is resolved to bring matters to an issue, and from the information I received yesterday in the park he will probably be here this very day to point me out as Henry Haley and charge me openly with a felony. And what do you intend to do? demanded Maria, with an expression full of terror. Oh, Henry, would it not be better to go away? No, dear girl, no, he answered, that cannot be. I will never fly again. Indeed, I have now no object. I will meet him face to face, hear all he has to say, let him make his charge, and cast it back upon his own head. Maria gazed at him in some surprise, for he spoke very sternly, and she asked in a low and anxious tone, but how will you meet the charge, Henry? Will you defy him to prove your identity, or will you acknowledge your own name, and disprove the charge of forgery by the papers of which you told me? Alas, dear Maria, those papers are destroyed, said Henry, and in a few words he told her the fate that had befallen his pocketbook. Most unfortunately, he added, I took it with me that very night I was attacked. It was the first time I had carried it for some years, but I was anxious to trace out my mother's family, and in that pocketbook I had put down all the information I had ever gleaned upon the subject. But this is ruin, Henry, oh, this is ruin! exclaimed Maria in an agony of alarm. Indeed, indeed, it will be better to fly. Oh, do Henry, do! I will go with you, if you wish. He will never surely persecute his niece's husband. As bitterly as a stranger answered her lover gravely, but no, Maria, dear generous girl, no, I will not take advantage even of that kind noble offer, nor do I think. But how can you prove your innocence without those papers, she asked, interrupting him, especially that declaration of your father, I think I can, he answered. Nay, I am sure I can, thanks to dear Lady Anne. How I shall act must be regulated by circumstances. We have determined to let him evolve his own plans step by step. Excellent Mr Hargrave, it's fully in our confidence, and by his advice I will in some degree be guided. What I wished to say now, however, more particularly, is this, dearest girl, I think it would be better for you, not to be present at the scene which must ensue upon your uncle's arrival. No Henry, no, she said, do not ask that of me. I have promised to be yours, I am yours, and in real or woe I will stand by your side. But it is not alone on account of anything that may happen to me, that I make the request, answered Henry. But because, dearest girl, there may be words spoken regarding your uncle's conduct towards me, and mine, which it may be painful for you to hear. He forces me to meet him as an enemy, if he shows forbearance, so will I, but if he does not, if his hatred and his vindictiveness push him to the last extreme, the accumulated wrong of many years will find a voice, and a more powerful one, perhaps, than he imagines. Stay, let me think a moment, she replied, and then added, after a very short pause, No, Henry, I thank you very much, but I will adhere to my first purpose. I will be present at the whole. It may be painful, nay, it must be so in every way. But still, I say, I will stand by your side in all, and will not be scared away by any fears of pain to myself. May you have your reward, dear noble girl, replied Henry, and if a life devoted to you can prove my gratitude, that evidence shall not be wanting. My only anxiety is to spare you paying, my Maria, for I tell you, for myself I have no fears. I am sure, I am confident, that my character and my conduct will come out of the trial pure and unstained, and were it not for the agitation that must befall you in such a scene, I should wish you to hear every word that may be spoken both against me and for me. But I will not try to shake your purpose. It is noble and high and like yourself, and I am sure that a compensation will follow for the painful emotions you must undergo, by joyful and well-satisfied feelings hereafter. And now, dear Maria, come out for a while to walk on this sunshiney terrace. We need now have no concealment from anyone, for the time is very near when all must be explained. Your words comfort me, Henry, replied Maria, and yet I cannot help feeling alarm. But I will try not to think of what is coming, and enjoy our short hour of happiness without the alloy of painful anticipations. For twenty minutes they walked backwards and forwards upon the terrace in the bright sunshine. The morning was cool, for the sun had not yet heated the sky. The air was fresh and clear, for the ground was high. The clouds, as they floated along, mingling with the sunshine, produced gleams of purple and gold upon the slopes of the park and the brown mountaintops rising beyond. And Maria, now less anxious, felt that there is a voice speaking of hopes and consolations within the blessed and beautiful bosom of nature, such as no mortal tongue can afford. Their conversation, too, was very sweet, for both strove to banish, even from memory, that there were dangers in the future, and to fill the present with happy dreams. While still through all came the mellowing shade of past emotions, gently and lightly touching the heart, and making the thrillers strong affection or the more exquisite. At the end of that time Lady Anne joined them, without body to ashore, as gay as ever, as bright as joyous. It's not this delightful Maria, she said, as she felt the morning air fanning her cheek. Who would lag in cities with their dull clouds and close atmosphere, when there are such scenes and such air as this, when I have lived in London for a fortnight I wonder at myself. I feel as if I were a stuffed chameleon in a glass case, and have a great inclination to tell my maid to take me out and dust me. While she was thus speaking, she turned her eyes once to Henry's countenance, and then, added abruptly, You've been telling her, I see it in both your faces. Whenever Maria's eyebrow goes up in that well, I am sure there is something very busy in her mind. You have been telling her. Not more than you permitted, replied Henry. I have only been preparing her for what must come. Foolish man, cried Lady Anne, do you not know that you should never prepare a woman's mind for anything? Pain and fear are not like butter or gold, that you can spread out to an infinite thinness. You only augment them by stretching them out through time, without diminishing their weight one grain. Let everything take a woman by surprise, then she will bear up much better under it, for it is once for all. But often, replied Henry, the surprise greatly increases the pain, and I did think that it was absolutely necessary, not only to tell her what was coming, but to assure her that whatever appearance things might put on, there was little real danger. If you were driving a pair of fresh young horses in a curicle, would you say to her, the brutes have run away, but do not fear, I will get you safely round that corner, which looks as if it would dash our brains out. But never mind, I tell you, dear Maria, that there is not the least danger. Such was Lady Anne's reply. And now, she added, let us go and take a walk farther in the park. Will you not put something on? asked Maria. You'll catch cold. Not I, answered Lady Anne. I am so full of warmth, high spirits, that nothing cold can get in. I feel like a general who is sure of winning, just preparing for a battle. So, let us go. They walked for nearly an hour, and as they were returning, they saw a gentleman's carriage standing before the door of the house. That's either Sir Harry Henderson or Colonel Mandrake, said Lady Anne. I hope Mr Hargrave is down, for I never saw them or heard of them before, yet I have invited them both to breakfast. But still, we must get home and be civil. I did not know it was near nine o'clock. The carriage moved round towards the stables, and as they entered the door of the house, Lady Anne asked a servant who was standing there, if Mr Gunnell had arrived. Yes, my lady, replied the man. He is waiting in the housekeeper's room. You go and talk to him, Henry, said Lady Anne. Maria, come with me, and help me to entertain these county magistrates. Lady Anne, however, did not find the persons she expected in the drawing-room. Lady Fleetwood was there, and Mr Winkworth, but neither Mr Hargrave nor the two gentlemen just arrived. It was seem as if Lady Fleetwood had a sort of presentiment of a coming bustle, for all her good intentions and her little anxieties were in a flutter. She declared that she had been very anxious about Maria, when she heard she had gone out so early, and begged her to recollect that Northumberland was very different from the neighbourhood of London. And that colds were easily caught, but not easily caught rid of, adding a number of sage observations of the same kind, much to the amusement of Lady Anne. Then, turning upon her fair hostess, she informed her that one of the servants had been seeking her, as two gentlemen had just arrived to breakfast, adding that they seemed friends of Mr Hargrave's, who had gone away with them to the library. Well, answered Lady Anne, I dare say he'll soon bring them out again, and so I shall wait here till he does. Nor was she disappointed in her expectation, for in about five minutes Mr Hargrave returned, with one tour and one short elderly gentleman, who were introduced to Lady Anne in turn, and then to her various guests. Colonel Middleton entered as the ceremony was going on, and to him especially Mr Hargrave presented the two magistrates, whose demeanour somewhat surprised Maria, for while tall Colonel Mandrake addressed her lover with a sort of dignified deference, fact little Sir Harry Henderson was all boughs and scrapes. Henry received them frankly, but calmly, and a moment or two after Lady Anne led the way to the breakfast-room. There the meal passed pleasantly enough, no one seeming anxious but Maria, no one showing her self-figurity but Lady Fleetwood. That dear lady indeed did her best to create several little disorders, but even with the best intentions she was unsuccessful. A treat, however, was in store for her, for breakfast was just over, and the party had hardly sauntered into the drawing-room, when a post-Chase and four rushed up to the doors, and in a minute after the butler appeared, announcing Mr Scriven, End of Chapter 37