 Chapter 43 of Ayala's Angel—this LibriVox recording is in the public domain—Ayala's Angel by Anthony Trollop, Chapter 43, once more. Probably, oh, not aware, sir, that I'm not at present the young lady's guardian. This was said at the office in Lombard Street by Sir Thomas, in answer to an offer made to him by Captain Batsby for Ayala's hand. Captain Batsby had made his way boldly into the great man's inner room, and had there declared his purpose in a short and business-like manner. He had an ample income of his own, he said, and was prepared to make a proper settlement on the young lady. If necessary he would take her without any fortune, but it would, of course, be for the lady's comfort and for his own if something in the way of money were forthcoming. So much, he added, having heard of this uncle's enormous wealth, and having also learned the fact that if Sir Thomas were not at this moment Ayala's guardian he had been not long ago. Sir Thomas listened to him with patience, and then replied to him as above. Just so, Sir Thomas, I did hear that, but I think that you were once, and you are still her uncle. Yes, I am her uncle. And when I was so ill-treated in Kingsbury Crescent I thought I would come to you. It would not be right that a gentleman making an honorable proposition, and very liberal, as you must acknowledge, should not be allowed to see the young lady. It was not as though I did not know her. I had been ten days in the same house with her. Don't you think Sir Thomas I ought to have been allowed to see her? I have nothing to do with her," said Sir Thomas, that is, in the way of authority. Nevertheless before Captain Batsby left him he became courteous to that gentleman, and though he could not offer any direct assurance he acknowledged that the application was reasonable. He was in truth becoming tired of Ayala, and would have been glad to find a husband whom she would accept so that she might be out of Tom's way. He had been quite willing that Tom should marry the girl if it were possible, but he began to be convinced that it was impossible. He had offered again to open his house to her with all its wealth, but she had refused to come into it. His wife had told him that if Ayala could be brought back in place of Lucy she would surely yield. But Ayala would not allow herself to be brought back, and there was Tom as bad as ever. If Ayala was once married then Tom could go upon his travels and come back no doubt a sane man. Sir Thomas thought it might be well to make inquiry about this Captain, and then see if a marriage might be arranged. Mrs. Dosset he told himself was a hard, stiff woman, and would never get the girl married unless she allowed such a suitor as this Captain Batsby to have access to the house. He did make inquiry, and before the week was over had determined that if Ayala would become Mrs. Batsby there might probably be an end to one of his troubles. As he went down to Merle Park he arranged his plan. He would in the first place tell Tom that Ayala had as many suitors as Penelope, and that one had come up now who would probably succeed. But when he reached home he found that his son was gone. Tom had taken a sudden freak and had run up to London. He seemed to quite have got a change, said Lady Tringle. I hope it was a change for the better as to that stupid girl. Lady Tringle could not say that there had been any change for the better, but she thought that there had been a change about the girl. Tom had, as she said, quite brisked up, had declared that he was not going to stand this thing any longer, had packed up three or four portmantos, and had had himself carried off to the nearest railway station in time for an afternoon train up to London. What's he going to do when he gets there? asked Sir Thomas. Lady Tringle had no idea what her son intended to do, but thought that something special was intended in regard to Ayala. He is an ass, said the father. You always say he's an ass, said the mother, complaining. No doubt I do. What else am I to call him? Then he went on and developed his scheme. Let Ayala be asked to Merle Park for a week, just for a week, and assured that during that time Tom would not be there, then let Captain Batsby also be invited. Upon this there followed an explanation as to Captain Batsby and his aspirations. Tom must be a relieved after some fashion, and Sir Thomas declared that no better fashion seemed to present itself. Lady Tringle received her orders with sundry murmurings, still grieving for her son's grief, but she assented, as she always did assent, to her husband's propositions. Now we will accompany Tom up to London. The patient reader will perhaps have understood the condition of his mind when in those days of his sharpest agony he had given himself up to faddle and champagne. By these means he had brought himself into trouble and disgrace, of which he was fully conscious. He had fallen into the hands of the police, and had been harassed during the whole period by headache and nausea. Then had come the absurdity of his challenge to Colonel Stubbs, the folly of which had been made plain to him by the very letter which his rival had written to him. There was good sense enough about the poor fellow to enable him to understand that the police-court and the prison, that faddle and the orgies at Polyvia's, that his challenge and the reply to it were alike dishonorable to him. Then had come a reaction, and he spent a miserable fortnight down at Merle Park doing nothing, resolving on nothing, merely moping about and pouring the oft-repeated tale of his woes into his mother's bosom. These days at Merle Park gave him back at any rate his health, and rescued him from the intense wretchedness of his condition on the day after the comparison of Polyvia's wines. In this improved state he told himself that it behooved him even yet to do something as a man, and he came suddenly to the bold resolution of having, as he called it to himself, another dash at Ayala. How the dash was to be made he had not determined when he left home, but to this he devoted the whole of the following Sunday. He had received a lacrimose letter from his friend Faddle at Aberdeen, in which the unfortunate youth had told him that he was destined to remain in that wretched northern city for the rest of his natural life. He had not as yet been to the mountaineers since his mishap with the police, and did not care to show himself there at present. He was therefore altogether alone, and walking all alone the entire round of the parks, he had last formed his resolution. On the following morning, when Mr. Dosset ended his room at Somerset House, a little after half-past ten o'clock, he found his nephew Tom there before him, and waiting for him. Mr. Dosset was somewhat astonished, for he too had heard of Tom's misfortunes. Some ill-natured chronicle of Tom's latter doings had spread itself among the tringle and Dosset sets, and Uncle Reginald was aware that his nephew had been forced to relinquish his stool in Lombard Street. The vices of the young are perhaps too often exaggerated, so that Mr. Dosset had heard of an amount of champagne consumed, and a number of policemen wounded, of which his nephew had not been altogether guilty. There was an idea at Kingsbrook Crescent that Tom had gone nearly mad, and was now kept under paternal care at Merle Park. And therefore he saw Tom blooming in health and brighter than usual in general appearance. He was no doubt rejoiced, but also surprised at the change. What, Tom, he said, I'm glad to see you looking so well. Are you up in London again?" I'm in town for a day or two, said Tom. And what can I do for you? Well, Uncle Reginald, you can do a great deal for me, if you will. Of course you've heard of all these rouses of mine. I have heard something. Everybody has heard, said Tom warnfully. I don't suppose anybody was ever knocked so much about as I've been for the last six months. I'm sorry for that, Tom. I'm sure you are, because you're always good-natured. Now, I wonder if you will do a great thing to oblige me. Let us hear what it is, said Uncle Reginald. I suppose you know that there is only one thing in the world that I want. Mr. Dosset thought that it would be discreet to make no reply to this, but turning his chair partly around, he'll prepare to listen very attentively to what his nephew might have to say to him. All this about the policeman and the rest of it has simply come from my being so unhappy about Ayala. It wouldn't be taken as a promise of your being a good husband, Tom, when you get into such a mess as that. That's because people don't understand, said Tom. It's because I'm so earnest about it and because I can't bear the disappointment. There isn't one at Travis and Treason who doesn't know that if I'd married Ayala I should have settled down as quiet a young man as there is in all London. You asked the Governor else himself. As long as I thought there was any hope I used to be there steady as a rock at half-past nine. Everybody knew it, so I should again if she'd only come around. You can't make a young lady come round, as you call it. Not make her, no. Of course you can't make her, girl. But persuading goes a long way. Why shouldn't she have me? As to all those rowls she ought to feel at any rate that they are her doing. And what she's done it stands to reason she could undo if she would. It only wants a word from her to put me all right with the Governor and to put me all right with Travis and Treason, too. Nobody can love her as I do. I do believe that nobody could love her better, said Mr. Dosset, who is beginning to be melted by his nephew's earnestness. Orten't that to go for something? And then she would have everything that she wishes. She might live any way she pleased so that I might go to the office every day. She would have her own carriage, you know. I don't think that would matter much with Ayala. It shows that I'm in a position to ask her, said Tom, if she could only bring herself not to hate me. There is a difference, Tom, between hating and not loving. If she would only begin to make a little way then I could hope again, Uncle Reginald, could you not tell her that at any rate I would be good to her? I think you would be good to her, he said. Indeed I would. There is nothing I would not do for her. Now will you let me see her just once again and have one other chance? This was the great thing which Tom desired from his uncle, and Mr. Dosset was so much softened by his nephew's earnestness that he did promise to do as much as this. To do as much as this, at least if it were in his power. Of course Ayala must be told, no good could be done by surprising her by a visit. But he would endeavour so to arrange it that if Tom were to come to him on the following afternoon they too should go to the Crescent together, and then Tom should remain and dine there, or go away before dinner as he might please after the interview. This was settled, and Tom left Somerset House rejoicing greatly at his success. It seemed to him that now at last a way was open to him. Michael Reginald, on his return home, took his niece aside and talked to her very gently and very kindly. Whether you like him or whether you do not, my dear, he is so true to you that you are bound to see him again when he asks it. At first she was very stark declaring that she would not see him, of what good could it be seeing that she would rather throw herself into the Thames than marry him. Had she not told him so over and over again as often as he had spoken to her, why would he not just leave her alone? But against all this her uncle pleaded gently but persistently. He had considered himself bound to promise so much on her behalf, and for his sake she must do as he asked. To this, of course, she yielded. And then he said many good things of poor Tom. His constancy was a great virtue. A man so thoroughly in love would no doubt make a good husband. And then there would be the ascent of all the family, and an end as far as Ayala was concerned, of all pecuniary trouble. In answer to this she only shook her head, promising that she would be ready to give Tom an audience when he should be brought to the crescent on the following day. Punctually at four Tom made his appearance at Somerset House, and started with his uncle as soon as the index books had been put in their places. Tom was very anxious to take his uncle home in a cab, but Mr. Dosset would not consent to lose his walk. Along the embankment they went, and a cross-charing cross, into St. James's Park, and then by Green Park, Hyde Park, and Kensington Gardens, all the way to Notting Hill. Mr. Dosset did not walk very fast, and Tom thought they would never reach Kingsbury Crescent. His uncle would fain have talked about the weather, of politics, or the hardships of the civil service generally. But Tom would not be diverted from his one subject. Would Ayala be gracious to him? Mr. Dosset had made up his mind to say nothing on the subject. Tom must plead his own cause. Uncle Reginald thought that he knew such pleading would be useless, but still would not say a word to daunt the lover. Neither could he say a word expressive of hope. As they were fully an hour and a half on their walk, this reticence was difficult. Immediately on his arrival Tom was taken up into the drawing-room. This was empty, for it had been arranged that Mrs. Dosset should be absent until the meeting was over. Now I'll look for this child, said Uncle Reginald, in his cheeryest voice, as he left Tom alone in the room. Tom, as he looked around at the chairs and tables, remembered that he had never received as much as a kind word or look in the room, and then great drops of perspiration broke out all over his brow. All that he had to hope for in the world must depend upon the next five minutes—might depend, perhaps, on the very selection of the words which he might use. Then Ayala entered the room and stood before him. Ayala, he said, giving her his hand. Uncle Reg says that you would like to see me once again. Of course I want to see you once and twice and always. Ayala, if you could know it, if you could only know it! Then he clasped his two hands high upon his breast, not as though appealing to her heart, but striking his bosom in very agony. Ayala, I feel that if I do not have you as my own, I can only die for the want of you. Ayala, do you believe me? I suppose I believe you, but how can I help it? Try to help it. Try to try and help it. Say a word that you will perhaps help it by and by. Then there came a dark frown upon her brow, not indeed from anger, but from a feeling that so terrible a task should be thrown upon her. I know you think that I am common. I have never said a word, Tom, but that I could not love you. That I am true, true is the sun. Would I come again, after all, if it were not that I cannot help coming? You have heard that I have been misbehaving myself? I have not thought about that. It has been so, because I have been so wretched, Ayala. You have made me so unhappy. Ayala, you can make me the happiest man there is in London this day. I seem to want nothing else. As for drink, or clubs, or billiards, and all that, there nothing to me. Notice when I try to forget that you are so, so unkind to me. It is not unkind, not to do as you ask me. To do as I ask you, that would be kind. Oh, Ayala, cannot you be kind to me? She shook her head, still standing in the place which she had occupied from the beginning. May I come again? Will you give me three months, and then think of it? If you would only say that, I would go back to my work, and never leave it. But she still shook her head. Must I never hope? Not for that, Tom, how can I help it? Not help it? No, how can I help it? One does not fall in love by trying, nor by trying prevent it. By degrees you might love me a little." She had said all that she knew how to say, and again shook her head. It's that accursed colonel, he exclaimed, forgetting himself as he thought of his rival. He is not accursed, said Ayala angrily. Then you love him. No, but you should not ask. You have no right to ask. It's not proper. You're not engaged to him? No, I'm not engaged to him. I do not love him. As you will ask, I tell you, but you should not ask, and he is not accursed. He is better than you, though I do not love him. You should not have driven me to say this. I do not ask you questions. There is none that I would not answer. Stay, Ayala. For now she was going to leave the room. Stay yet a moment. Do you know that you are tearing my heart in pieces? Why is it that you should make me so wretched? Dear Ayala, dearest Ayala, stay yet a moment. Tom, there is nothing more that I can say. I'm very, very sorry if you are unhappy. I do think that you are good and true, and if you will shake hands with me, there is my hand. But I cannot say what you want me to say." Tom took her by the hand and tried to hold her, without however speaking to her again. But she slid away from him and left the room, not having for a moment sat down in his presence. When the door was closed he stood awhile looking around him trying to resolve what he might do or what he might say next. He was now at any rate in the house with her, and did not know whether such an opportunity is that might ever occur to him again. He felt that there were words within his bosom which if he could only bring them up to his mouth would melt the heart of a stone. There was his ineffable love, his whole happiness at stake, his purpose, his holy purpose to devote himself and all that he had to her well-being. Of all this he had a full conception within his own heart if only he could express it so that others should believe him. But of what use was it now? He had had this further liberty of speech accorded him, and in it he had done nothing, made no inch of progress. She had hardly spoken a dozen words to him, but of those she had spoken to remain clear upon his memory. He must never hope, she had said, and she had said also that this other man was better than he. But she said that he was dearer the word could hardly have been more bitter. All the old feeling came upon him of rage against his rival and of a desire that something desperate should be done by which he might wreak his vengeance. But there he was, standing alone in Mrs. Dosset's drawing-room, and it was necessary that he should carry himself off. As for dining in that house, sitting down to eat and drink in Ayala's presence after such a conversation as that which was passed, that he felt to be quite out of the question. He crammed his hat upon his head, left the room, and hurried down the stairs towards the door. In the passage he was met by his uncle coming out of the dining-room. Tom, he said, he'll stay and eat your dinner. No, indeed, said Tom angrily. You shouldn't let yourself be disturbed by little trifles such as these, said his uncle, trying to put a good face upon the matter. Trifles, said Tom Tringle, trifles, and he banged the door after him as he left the house. CHAPTER 44 It was now the beginning of February. As Tom and his uncle had walked from Somerset House the streets were dry and the weather fine, but as Mr. Dosset had remarked the wind was changing a little out of the east and threatened rain. When Tom left the house it was already falling. It was then past six and the night was very dark. He had walked there with a topcoat and umbrella, but he had forgotten both as he banged the door after him in his passion, and though he remembered them as he hurried down the steps he would not turn and knock at the door and ask for them. He was in that humour which converts outward bodily sufferings almost into a relief. When a man has been thoroughly ill-used in greater matters it is almost a consolation to him to feel that he has been turned out into the street to get wet through without his dinner. Even though he may have turned himself out. He walked on foot, and as he walked became damp and dirty till he was soon wet through. As soon as he reached Lancaster Gate he went into the park, and under the doubtful glimmer of the lamps trudged on through the mud and slush, not regarding his path, hardly thinking of the present moment in the full appreciation of his real misery. What should he do with himself? What else was there now left to him? He had tried everything and had failed. As he endeavoured to count himself up as it were and tell himself whether he were worthy of a happier fate than had been awarded to him he was very humble, humble though so indignant. He knew himself to be a poor creature in comparison with Jonathan Stubbs. Though he could not have been Stubbs had he given his heart for it, though it was absolutely beyond him to assume one of those tricks of bearing, one of those manly winning ways which in his eyes were so excellent in the other man. Until he saw them and acknowledged them and told himself that they would be all powerful with such a girl as Ayala. Though he trusted to his charms and his rings he knew that his charms and his rings were abominable as compared with that outside look and natural garniture which belonged to Stubbs as though of right as though it had been born with him. Not exactly in those words, but with a full inward sense of the words, he told himself that Colonel Stubbs was a gentleman whereas he acknowledged himself to be a cad. How could he have hoped that Ayala should accept such a one merely because he would have a good house of his own and a carriage? As he thought of all this he hardly knew which he hated most himself for Jonathan Stubbs. He went down to the family house in Queensgate which was closed and dark, having come there with no special purpose but having found himself there as though by accident in the neighbourhood. Then he knocked at the door which after a great undoing of chains was opened by an old woman who with her son had the custody of the house when the family were out of town. Sir Thomas in these days had rooms of his own in Lombard Street in which he loved to dwell and would dine at a city club never leaving the precincts of the city throughout the week. The old woman was an old servant and her son was a porter at the office. Mr. Tom, be that you, why here is wet as a mop? He was wet as any mop and much dirtier than a mop should be. There was no fire except in the kitchen and there he was taken. He asked for a great coat but there was no such thing in the house as the young man had not yet come home. Nor was there any food that could be offered him or anything to drink as the cellar was locked up and the old woman was on board wagers. But he sat crouching over the fire watching the steam as it came up from his damp boots and trousers. And ain't you had no dinner, Mr. Tom? said the old woman. Tom only shook his head. And ain't you going to have none? The poor wretch again shook his head. That's bad, Mr. Tom. Then she looked up into his face. There's something wrong, I know, Mr. Tom. I hear is that from Jem. Of course he hears what they do be saying in Lombard Street. What is it they say, Mrs. Tapp? Well, that you ain't there as you used to be. Things is awkward and, Sir Thomas, they say isn't best pleased. But of course it ain't no fair of mine, Mr. Tom. Do they know why? He asked. They do say at some point about a young lady. Yes, by heaven, said Tom, jumping up out of his chair. Oh, Mrs. Tapp, you can't tell the condition I'm in. A young lady indeed. Damn the fellow. Don't you know, Mr. Tom? Damn the fellow. But there's no good in my standing here cursing I'll go off again. You needn't say that I've been here, Mrs. Tapp. But you won't go out in the rain, Mr. Tom. Rain? What matters the rain? He started again disregarding all her prayers, and went off eastward on foot, disdaining the use of a cab, because he had settled in his mind on no place to which he would go. Yes, they knew all about it, down to the very porters at the office. Everyone had heard of his love for Ayala, and everyone had heard also that Ayala had scorned him. Not a man or woman connected by ever so slight a tie to the establishment was unaware that he had been sent away from his seat because of Ayala. All this might have been borne easily had there been any hope, but now he was forced to tell himself that there was none. He saw no end to his misery, no possibility of escape. Where was he to go in this moment of his misery for any shred of comfort? The solitude of his lodgings was dreadful to him, nor had he heart enough left to him to seek companionship at his club. At about ten o'clock he found himself, as it were by accident, close to Mr. Bolivia's establishment. He was thoroughly wet through, jaded, wretched, and in want of sustenance. He turned in and found the place deserted. The diners had gone away, and the hour had not come at which men in quest for later refreshment were wont to make their appearance. But there was still one or two gas-lights burning, and he threw himself wearily into a little box or partition nearest to the fire. Here, Sr. Bolivia himself came to him, asking in commiserating accents what had brought him thither in so wretched a plight. I've left my coat and umbrella behind, said Tom, trying to pluck up a little spirit, and my dinner, too. No dinner, Mr. Tringle, and you've wet through like that, or shall I get you, Mr. Tringle?" But Tom declared that he would have no dinner. He was off his appetite altogether, he said. He'd have a bottle of champagne and a deviled biscuit. Mr. Walker, who, as we are aware, put himself forward to the world generally as in your Bolivia, felt for the moment a throb of pity which overcame in his heart the innkeeper's natural desire to make the most he could of his customer. Bare to have a mutton chop and a little drop of brandy and water hotter. I end up to it, Bolivia, said the young man. I couldn't swallow it if I had it. Give us the bottle of champagne and the deviled biscuit. Then Mr. Walker, for Bolivia was in truth Walker, fetched the wine and ordered the biscuit, and poor Tom was again brought back to the miserable remedy to which he had before applied himself in his misfortune. There he remained for about an hour during a part of which he slept, but before he left the house he finished the wine. As he got up to take his departure Mr. Walker scanned his gate and bearing, having a friendly feeling for the young man and not wishing him to fall again into the hands of the police. But Tom walked forth apparently as sober as a judge, and as melancholy as a hangman. As far as Mr. Walker could see the liquor had made no impression on him. If I were you, Mr. Triangle, said the keeper of the eating-house, I'd go home at once because you are so mortal-wet. All right, said Tom, going out into the pouring rain. It was then something after eleven, and Tom, instead of taking the friendly advice which had been offered to him, walked as fast as he could round Lester Square, and as he walked the fumes of the wine mounted into his head. But he was not drunk, not as yet so drunk as to misbehave himself openly. He did not make his way round the Square without being addressed, but he simply shook off from him all those who spoke to him. His mind was still intent upon Ayala. But now he was revengeful rather than despondent. The liquor had filled him once again with the desire to do something. If he could destroy himself in the kernel by one and the same blow, how fitting a punishment would that be for Ayala? But how was he to do it? He would throw himself down from the top of the Duke of York's column, but that would be nothing unless he could force the kernel to take the jump with him. He had called the man out, and he wouldn't come. Now with the alcohol in his brain, he again thought that the man was a coward for not coming. Had not such a meeting been from time immemorial, the resource of gentlemen injured as he now was injured? The kernel would not come when called. But could he not get at him so as to strike him? If he could do the man a real injury, he would not care what amount of punishment he might be called upon to bear. He hurried at last out of the Square into Coventry Street and down the hay market. His lodgings were in Duke Street turning out of Piccadilly, but he could not bring himself to go home to his bed. He was unutterably wretched, but yet he kept himself going with some idea of doing something or of fixing some purpose. He certainly was tipsy now, but not so drunk as to be unable to keep himself on his legs. He gloried in the wet, shouting inwardly to himself that he in his misery was superior to all accidents of the weather. Then he stood for a while, watching the people as they came out of the hay market theatre. He was at this time a sorry sight to be seen. His hat was jammed onto his head and had been almost smashed in the jamming. His coat reeking wet through was fastened by one button across his chest. His two hands were thrust into his pockets and the bottle of champagne was visible in his face. He was such a one to look at that no woman would have liked to touch nor any man to address. In the skies he stood there amidst the crowd, foremost among those who were watching the ladies as they got into their vehicles. And she might be as good as the best of them, and I might be here to hand her into her own carriage," said he to himself, if it were not for that intruder. At that moment the intruder was there before him, and on his arm was a lady whom he was taking across to a carriage, at the door of which a servant in livery was standing. They were followed closely by a pretty young girl who was picking her steps after them alone. These were Lady Aubrey and Nina, whom Colonel Stubbs had escorted to the play. "'You will be down by the twentieth,' said the elder lady. "'Punctual as the day comes,' said the Colonel. "'And mind you have Ayala with you,' said the younger. "'If Lady Aubrey can manage it with her aunt, of course I will wait upon her,' said the Colonel. Then the door of the carriage was shut and the Colonel was left to look for a cab. He had on an overcoat and an opera hat, but otherwise was dressed as for dinner. On one side a link-boy was offering him assistance, and on another a policeman tendering him some service. He was one of those who by their outward appearance always extort respect from those around them. As long as the ladies had been there, during the two minutes which had been occupied while they got into the carriage, Tom had been restrained by their presence. He had been restrained by their presence, even though he had heard Ayala's name, and had understood the commission given to the man whom he hated. Had Colonel Stubbs luckily followed the ladies into the carriage, Tom in his fury would have taken himself off to his bed. But now there was his enemy within a yard of him. Here was the opportunity, the lack of which seemed a few moments since, to be so grievous to him. He took two steps out from the row in which he stood, and struck his rival high on his breast with his fist. He had aimed at the Colonel's face, but in his eagerness had missed his mark. There, he said, there, you would not fight me, and now you've got it." Tom staggered and would have fallen but for the policeman. Tom, though no hero, was a strong young man, and had contrived to give his blow with all his force. The Colonel did not at first see from whom the outrage had come, but had once claimed the policeman's help. We've got him, sir. We've got him, said the policeman. You've got me, said Tom, but I've had my revenge. Then though two policemen and one waterman were now holding him, he stretched himself up to his full height and glared at his enemy in the face. It's that chap who gave that awful blow to Thompson in the bowels, said one of the policemen, who by this time had both Tom's arms locked behind his own. Then the Colonel knew who had struck him. I know him, said the Colonel to the policeman. It's a matter of no consequence. So do we, sir, ease Tom a stringle junior. He's a friend of mine, said the Colonel. You must let him come with me. A friend is he, said an amateur attendant. The policeman, who had remembered the cruel onslaught made on his comrade, looked very grave, and still held Tom tight by the arms. A very ugly sort of friend, said the amateur. Tom only stretched himself still higher, but remained speechless. Dringle, said the Colonel, this was very foolish, you know, a most absurd thing to do. Come with me, and we'll talk it all over. He must come along with us to the watch-hours just at present, said the policeman. And you, sir, if you can, had better please to come with us. It ain't far across Devine Street, but of course you can have a cab if you like it. This was ended by two policemen walking off with Tom between them, and by the Colonel following in a cab after having administered diverse shillings to the amateur attendants. Though the journey in the cab did not occupy above five minutes, it sufficed him to determine what step he should take when he found himself before the night-offices of the watch. When he found himself in the presence of the night-office, he had considerable difficulty in carrying out his purpose. The Tom should be locked up for the night and be brought before the police magistrate next morning to answer for the outrage he had committed seemed to the officers to be a matter of course. It was long before the Colonel could persuade the officer that this little matter between him and Mr. Dringle was a private affair, of which he at least wished to take no further notice. No doubt he said he had received a blow on his chest, but it had not hurt him in the least. "'The gentleman with all his might and means,' said the policeman. "'It is quite a private affair,' said the Colonel. "'My name is Colonel Stubbs. Here is my card. So something is a particular friend of mine.' He named a pundit of the peace very high in the estimation of all policemen. "'If you will let the gentleman come away with me, I will be responsible for him to-morrow, if it should be necessary to take any further step in the matter.' This he said very eagerly, and with all the authority which he knew how to use. Tom in the meantime stood perfectly motionless, with his arms folded to Kimbo on his breast, where through, muddy, still tipsy, a sight miserable to behold. The card and the Colonel's own name, and the name of the pundit of the peace together, had their effect, and after a while Tom was dismissed in the Colonel's care. The conclusion of the evening's affair was, for the moment, one which Tom found very hard to bear. It would have been better for him to have been dragged off to a cell, and there to have been left to his miserable solitude. But as he went down through the narrow ways leading from the police office out into the main street, he felt that he was altogether debarred from making any further attack upon his protector. He could not strike him again, as he might have done had he escaped from the police by his own resources. His own enemy had saved him from endurance, and he could not therefore turn again upon his enemy. "'In Heaven's name, my dear fellow,' said the Colonel, "'what good do you expect to get by that? You've hit me a blow when you knew that I was unprepared and therefore unarmed. Was that manly?' To this Tom made no reply. "'I suppose you've been drinking,' and stubs as he asked this question looked into his companion's face. "'I see that you've been drinking. What a fool you're making of yourself!' "'Is that girl,' said Tom. "'Does that seem to you to be right? Can you do yourself any good by that? Will she be more likely to listen to you when she hears that you have got drunk and have assaulted me in the street? Have I done you any harm?' "'She says that you're better than me,' replied Tom. "'If she does, is that my doing? Come, old fellow, try to be a man. Try to think of this thing rightly. If you can win the girl you love, win her. But if you cannot, do not be such an assess to suppose that she is to love no one because she will not love you. It is a thing which a man must bear if it comes in his way. As far as Miss Dormer is concerned, I'm in the same condition as you, but do you think that I should attack you in the street if she began to favor you to-morrow? I wish she would, and then I wouldn't care what you did. I should think you are happy, fellow, certainly, and for a time I might avoid you because your happiness would remind me of my own disappointment. But I should not come behind your back and strike you. Now tell me where you live, and I will see you home.' Then Tom told him where he lived, and in a few minutes the colonel had left him within his own hall-door. CHAPTER 45 There is something of the angel about him. The little accident which was recorded at the close of the last chapter occurred on a Tuesday night. On the following afternoon Tom Tringle, again very much out of spirits, returned to Merle Park. There was now nothing further for him to do in London. He had had his last chance with Ayala, and the last chance had certainly done him no good. Fortune, whether kindly or unkindly, had given him an opportunity of revenging himself upon the colonel. He had taken advantage of the opportunity, but did not find himself much relieved by what he had done. His rival's conduct had caused him to be thoroughly ashamed of himself. It had at any rate taken from him all further hope of revenge, so that now there was nothing for him but to take himself back to Merle Park. On the Wednesday he heard nothing further of the matter, but on the Thursday Sir Thomas came down from London, and showing to poor Tom a paragraph in one of the morning papers asked whether he knew anything of the circumstances to which reference was made. The paragraph was as follows. That very bellicose young city night, who at Christmas time got into trouble by thrashing a policeman within an inch of his life in the streets, and who was then incarcerated on account of his performance, again exhibited his prowess on Tuesday night by attacking Colonel Dash, an officer then whom none in the army is more popular, under the portico of the Haymarket Theatre. We abstained from mentioning the officer's name, which is however known to us. The city night again fell into the hands of the police and was taken to the watch-house. But Colonel Dash, who knew something of the family, accompanied him and begged his assailant off. The officer on duty was most unwilling to let the culprit go, but the Colonel used all his influence and was successful. This may all be very well between the generous Colonel and the valiant knight, but if the young man has any friends they had better look to him. A gentleman with such a desire for the glories of battle must be restrained if he cannot control his propensities when wondering about the streets of the metropolis. Yes, said Tom, who scorned to tell a lie in any matter concerning Ayala. It was me. I struck Colonel Stubbs, and he got me off at the police office. And you're proud of what you've done? No, sir. I'm not. I'm not proud of anything. Whatever I do or whatever I say seems to go against me. He didn't go against you, as you call it. I wish he had with all my heart. I didn't ask him to get me off. I struck him because I hated him, and whatever might have happened I would soon have borne it than be like this. You would soon have been locked up again in prison? I would sooner anything than be as I am. I tell you what it is, Tom, said the Father, if you remain here any longer with this bee in your bonnet you will be locked up in a lunatic asylum and I shall not be able to get you out again. You must go abroad. To this Tom made no immediate answer. All as was his position he still was unwilling to leave London while Ayala was living there. Were he to consent to go away for any length and period by doing so he would seem to abandon his own claim. Hope he knew there was none, but yet even yet he regarded himself as one of Ayala's suitors. Do you think it well, continued the Father, that you should remain in London while such paragraphs of these are being written about you? I'm not in London now, said Tom. No, you're not in London while you're at Merle Park, of course, and you will not go up to London without my leave. Do you understand that? Here, Tom, again, was silent. If you do, continued his Father, you shall not be received down here again nor at Queensgate, nor will the checks for your allowance be on it any longer at the bank. In fact, if you do not obey me I will throw you off altogether. This absurdity about your love has been carried on long enough. So it came to be understood in the family that Tom was to be kept in mild endurance at Merle Park till everything should have been arranged for his extended tour about the world. To this Tom himself gave no positive assent, but it was understood that when the time came he would yield to his Father's commands. It had thus come to pass that the affray at the door of the Haymarket became known to so much of the world at large as interested itself in the affairs either of Colonel Stubbs or of the Tringles. Other paragraphs were written in which the two heroes of the evening were designated as Colonel J. S. and as T. T. Jr. of the firm of T. and T. in the city. All who pleased could read these initials, and thus the world was aware that our Colonel had received a blow, and had resented the affront only by rescuing his assailant from the hands of the police. A word was said at first which seemed to imply that the Colonel had not exhibited all the spirit which might have been expected from him. Having been struck, should he not have thrashed the man who struck him, or at any rate have left the Ruffian in the hands of the policeman for proper punishment. But many days had not passed over before the Colonel's conduct had been viewed in a different light, and men and women were declaring that he had done a manly and a gallant thing. The affair had in this way become sufficiently well known to justify the illusion made to it in the following letter from Lady Aubrey to Ayala. Stullum, Tuesday the 11th of February, 1870 something. My dear Ayala, it is quite indispensable for the happiness of everybody, particularly that of myself and Sahari, that you should come down here on the twentieth. Nina will be here on her farewell visit before her return to her mother. Of course you have heard that it is all arranged between her and Lord George Bitterford, and this will be the last opportunity which any of us will have of seeing her once again before her martyrdom. The world is to be told that he is to follow her to Rome where they are to be married, no doubt by the Pope himself under the dome of St. Peter's, but my belief is that Lord George is going to travel with her all the way. If he is the man I take him to be, he will do so, but of course it would be very improper. You, however, must of course come and say pretty things to your friend, and as you cannot go to Rome to see her married, you must throw your old shoe after her when she takes her departure from Stullum. I have written a line to your aunt to press my request for this visit. This, she will no doubt show to you, and you, if you please, can show her mine in return. And now, my dear, I must explain to you one or two other arrangements. A certain gentleman will certainly not be here. It was not my fault that a certain gentleman went to Kingsbury Crescent. The certain gentleman is, as you are aware, a great friend of ours, and was entitled to explain himself if it so seemed good to him. But the certain gentleman was not favoured in that enterprise by the Stullum interest. At any rate, the certain gentleman will not be at Stullum on this occasion, so much for the certain gentleman. Colonel Stubbs will be here, and as he will be coming down on the twentieth would be glad to travel by the same train so that he may look after your ticket and your luggage, and be your slave for the occasion. He will leave the Paddington station by the four p.m. train if that will suit you. We all think that he behaved beautifully in that little affair at the Haymarket Theatre. I should not mention it only that everybody has heard of it. Almost any other man would have struck the poor fellow again, but he is one of the very few who always know what to do at the moment without taking time to think of it. Mind you come like a good girl, your affectionate friend Rosalyn Albury. It was in this way that Ayala heard what had taken place between her cousin Tom and Colonel Stubbs. Some hint of a fracas between the two men had reached her ears, but now she asked various questions of her aunt and had last elicited the truth. Tom had attacked her other lover in the street, had attacked Colonel Stubbs because of his injured love, and had grossly misbehaved himself. As a consequence he would have been locked up by the police had not the Colonel himself interfered on his behalf. This to Ayala seemed to be conduct worthy almost of an angel of light. Then the question of the proposed visit was discussed first with her aunt, and then with herself. Mrs. Dosset was quite willing that her niece should go to Stullum. To Mrs. Dosset's thinking a further journey to Stullum would mean an engagement with Colonel Stubbs. When she had read Lady Albury's letter she was quite sure that that had been Lady Albury's meaning. Captain Batsby was not to receive the Stullum interest, but that interest was to be used on the part of Colonel Stubbs. She had not the slightest objection. It was clear to her that Ayala would have to be married before long. It was out of the question that one man after another should fall in love with her violently and that nothing should come of it. Mrs. Dosset had become quite despondent about Tom. There was an amount of dislike which it would be impossible to overcome. And as for Captain Batsby there could be no chance for a man whom the young lady could not be induced even to see. But the other lover whom the lady would not admit that she loved, as to whom she had declared that she could never love him, was held in very high favour. I do think it was so noble not to hit Tom again, she had said. Therefore, as Colonel Stubbs had a sufficient income, there could be no reason why Ayala should not go again to Stullum. So it was that Mrs. Dosset argued with herself, and such was the judgment which she expressed to Ayala. But there were difficulties. Ayala's little stock of cash was all gone. She could not go to Stullum without money, and that money must come out of her Uncle Reginald's pocket. She could not go to Stullum without some expenditure which, as she well knew, it would be hard for him to bear. And then there was that terrible question of her clothes. When that suggestion had been made of a further transfer of the nieces, a cheque had come from Sir Thomas. If Ayala comes to us she will want a few things, Sir Thomas had said in a note to Mrs. Dosset. But Mr. Dosset had chosen that the cheque should be sent back when it was decided that the further transfer should not take place. The cheque had been sent back, and there had been an end of it. There must be a morning dress, and there must be another hat, and there must be boots. So much Mrs. Dosset acknowledged. Let them do what they might with the old things Mrs. Dosset acknowledged that so much as that would at least be necessary. We will both go to work, Mrs. Dosset said, and we will ask your uncle what he can do for us. I think she felt that she had received some recompense when Ayala kissed her. It was after this that Ayala discussed the matter with herself. She had longed to go once again to Stalem, dear Stalem, as she called it to herself. And as she thought of the place she told herself that she loved it because Lady Aubrey had been so kind to her, and because of Nina, and because of the hunting, and because of the general pleasantness and luxury of the big comfortable house. And yes, there was something to be said too of the pleasantness of Colonel Stubbs. Till he had made love to her he had been, perhaps, of all these fine new friends the pleasantest. How joyous his voice had sounded to her! How fraught with gratification to her had been his bright, ugly face! How well he had known how to talk to her and to make her talk so that everything had been easy with her! How thoroughly she remembered all his strollery on that first night at the party in London, and all his keen sayings at the theatre, and the way he had insisted that she should hunt. She thought of little confidence as she had had with him, almost as though he had been her brother. And then he had destroyed it all by becoming her lover. Was he to be her lover still, and if so would it be right that she should go again to Stalem knowing that she would meet him there? Would it be right that she should consent to travel with him under his special escort? Were she to do so would she not be forced to do more, if he should again ask her? It was so probable that he would not ask her again. It was so strange that such a one should have asked her. But if he did ask her? Certainly he was not like that angel of light to whom she had never seen, but of whom the picture in her imagination was as clearly drawn as though she was in his presence daily. No, there was a wave of hair and a shape of brow, and a peculiarity of the eye, with a nose and mouth cut as sharp as chisel could cut them out of marble, all of which graced the angel, but none of which belonged to the colonel. Nor were these the chief of the graces which made the angel so glorious to her. There was a depth of poetry about him deep and clear, pollucid as a lake among grassy banks, which made all things of the world mean when compared to it. The angel of light lived on the essence of all that was beautiful altogether unalloyed by the grossness of the earth. That such a one should come in her way. Oh, no, she did not look for it, but having formed such an image of an angel for herself, would it be possible that she should have anything less divine, less beautiful, less angelic? Yes, there was something of the angel about him, even about him, Colonel Jonathan Stubbs. But he was so clearly an angel of the earth, whereas the other one, though living upon the earth, would be of the air and of the sky, of the clouds and of the heaven, celestial. Such a one she knew she had never seen. She partly dreamed that she was dreaming. But if so, had not her dream spoiled her for all else? Oh, yes, indeed, he was good, this red-haired, ugly Stubbs. How well he had behaved to Tom, how kind he had been to herself, how thoughtful of her he was. If it were not a question of downright love, of giving herself up to him body and soul as it were, how pleasant would it be to dwell with him? For herself she would confess that she loved earthly things, such as jumping over the brook with Larry Twenty-men before her to show her the way. But for her love it was necessary that there should be an angel of light. Had she not read that angels had come from heaven and taken in marriage the daughters of men? But was it right that she should go to Stullum seeing that there were two such strong reasons against it? She could not go without costing her uncle money, which he could ill afford, and if she did go would she not confess that she had abandoned her objection to the Colonel's suit? She too understood something of that which had made itself so plain to her aunt. Your uncle thinks it is right that you should go, her aunt said to her in the drawing-room that evening, and we will set to work to-morrow and do the best that we can to make you smart. Her uncle was sitting in the room at the time, and Iala felt herself compelled to go to him and kiss him and thank him for all his kindness. I'm so sorry to cost you so much money, Uncle Reginald, she said. It will not be very much, my dear, he answered. It is hard that young people should not have some amusement. I only hope they will make you happy at Stullum. They always make people happy at Stullum, said Iala energetically. And now Iala, said her aunt, you can write your letter to Lady Aubrey before we go out to-morrow, give her my compliments, and tell her that as you are writing I need not trouble her. Iala, when she was alone in her bedroom, felt almost horrified as she reflected that in this manner the question had been settled for her. It had been impossible for her to reject her uncle's liberal offer when it had been made. She could not find the courage at that moment to say that she thought better of it all and would decline the visit. Before she was well aware of what she was doing, she had assented, and had thus, as it were, thrown over all the creations of her dream. And yet till she declared herself not even Lady Aubrey could make her marry this man, merely because she was at her house. She thought that if she could only avoid that first journey with Colonel Stubbs in the railway, still she might hold her own. But were she to travel with him of her own accord, would it not be felt that she would be willfully throwing herself in his way? Then she made a little plan for herself, which she attempted to carry out when writing her letter to Lady Aubrey, and the following morning. What was the nature of her plan and how she affected it will be seen in the letter which she wrote. Kingsbury Crescent Thursday Dear Lady Aubrey It is so very good of you to ask me again, and I should be so happy to visit Stullum once more. I should have been very sorry not to see dear Nina before her return to Italy. I have written to congratulate her, of course, and have told her what a happy girl I think she is. Though I have not seen Lord George, I take all that from her description. As she is going to be his wife immediately, I don't at all see why he should not go back with her to Rome. As for being married by the Pope, I don't think he ever does anything so useful as that. I believe he sits all day and has his toe kissed. That's what they told me at Rome. I'm very glad of what you tell me about the certain gentleman, because I don't think I could have been happy at Stullum if he had been there. It surprised me so much that I could not think he meant it in earnest. We never hardly spoke to each other when we were in the house together. Perhaps, if you don't mind, and I shan't be in the way—here she began to display the little plan which she had made for her own protection—I will come down by an earlier train than you mention. There is one at two-fifteen, and then I need not be in the dark all the way. You need not say anything about this to Colonel Stubbs, because I do not at all mind travelling by myself. Yours affectionately, I ala. This was her little plan, but she was very innocent when she thought that Lady Aubrey would be blind to such a scheme as that. She got three words from Lady Aubrey saying that the two-fifteen train would do very well and that the carriage would be at the station to meet her. Lady Aubrey did not also say in her note that she had communicated with Colonel Stubbs on the subject and informed him that he must come up from Aldershot earlier than he intended in order that he might adapt himself to I ala's whims. Foolish little child said Lady Aubrey to herself, as if that would make any difference. It was clear to Lady Aubrey that I ala must surrender now that she was coming to Stullum a second time, knowing that the Colonel would be there. CHAPTER 46 I ALA GOES AGAIN TO STULLUM The correspondence between Lady Aubrey and Colonel Stubbs was close and frequent, the friendship between them being very close. I ala had sometimes asked herself why Lady Aubrey should have been so kind and affectionate to her, and had failed to find any sufficient answer. She had been asked to Stullum at first, so far as she knew, because she had been intimate at Rome with the Marquesa Baldoni. Hence had apparently risen Lady Aubrey's great friendship, which had seemed even to herself to be strange. But in truth the Marquesa had very little to do with it, nor had Lady Aubrey become attached to I ala for I ala's own sake. To Lady Aubrey Colonel Stubbs was, as she declared to herself very often, her own real brother. She had married a man very rich, well known in the world whom she loved very well, and she was not a woman who in such a position would allow herself to love another man. That there might certainly be no danger of this kind, she was continually impressing on her friend the expediency of marriage, if only he could find someone good enough to marry. Then the Colonel had found I ala. Lady Aubrey at the beginning of all this was not inclined to think that I ala was good enough. Judging at first from what she heard, and then from what she saw, she had not been very favourable to I ala. But when her friend had insisted, had declared that his happiness depended on it, had shown by various signs that he certainly would carry out his intentions if not at Stullum than elsewhere, Lady Aubrey had yielded herself to him, and had become I ala's great friend. If it was written in the book that I ala was to become Mrs. Stubbs, then it would certainly be necessary that she and I ala should be friends. And she herself had such confidence in Jonathan Stubbs as a man of power that she did not doubt of his success in any matter to which he might choose to devote himself. The wonder had been that I ala should have rejected the chance when it had come in her way. The girl had been foolish, allowing herself to be influenced by the man's red hair and ill sounding name, not knowing a real pearl when she saw it. So Lady Aubrey had thought, having only been partially right in so thinking, not having gone to the depth of I ala's power of dreaming. She was very confident, however, that the girl, when once again at Stullum, would yield herself easily, and therefore she went to work, doing all that she could to smooth and love's road for her friend Jonathan. Her woman's mind had seen all those difficulties about clothes, and would have sent what was needful herself had she not feared to offend both the Dossots and I ala. Therefore she prepared a present which she could give to the girl at Stullum without offence. If it was to be the girl's high fate to become Mrs. Jonathan Stubbs, it would be proper that she should be adorned and decked and made beautiful among others of her class, as would become the wife of such a hero. Of all that passed between her and I ala, word was sent down to Aldershot. That stupid little wretch will throw you out, I know, Road Lady Aubrey, by making you start two hours before you have done your work, but you must let your work do itself for this occasion. There is nothing like a little journey together to make people understand each other. The Colonel was clearly determined to have the little journey together. Whatever might be the present military duties at Aldershot, the duties of love were for the nonce in the Colonel's mind more imperative. Though his Royal Highness had been coming that afternoon to inspect all the troops, still he would have resolved so to have arranged matters as to travel down with I ala to Stullum. But not only was he determined to do this, but he found it necessary also to arrange a previous meeting with Lady Aubrey before that important twentieth of the month. This he did by making his friend believe that her presence in London for a few hours would be necessary for various reasons. She came up as he desired, and there he met her at her hotel in German Street. On his arrival here he felt that he was almost making a fool of himself by the extent of his anxiety. In his nervousness about this little girl he was almost as insane as poor Tom Tringle, who, when she despised his love, was altogether unable to control himself. If I cannot persuade her at last I shall be knocking somebody over the head as he did. It was thus he was talking to himself as he got out of the cab at the door of the hotel. And now, Jonathan, said Lady Aubrey, what can there possibly be to justify you in giving me all this trouble? You know you had to come up about that cook's character. I know that I have given that as a reason to Sahari, but I also know that I should have gone without a cook for a twelve month had you not summoned me. The truth is I could not get down to Stullum and back without losing an additional day which I cannot possibly spare. With you it does not very much matter how many days you spare. Nor how much money I spend, nor how much labour I take, so that I obey all the commands of Colonel Jonathan Stubbs. What on earth is there that I can say or do few more? There are one or two things, said he, that I want you to understand. In the first place I'm quite in earnest about this. Don't I know that you're in earnest? But perhaps you do not understand the full extent of my earnestness. If you were to refuse me, ultimately, I should go away. Go away? Go where? Oh, that I have not at all thought of, probably to India, as I might manage to get a regiment there, but in truth it would matter very little. You're talking like a goose. That's very likely, because in this matter I think and feel like a goose. It is not a great thing in a man to be turned out of his course by an undefined feeling which he has as to a young woman. But the thing has occurred before now and will occur again in my case, if I'm thrown over. What on earth is there about the girl, asked Lady Aubrey? There is that precious brother-in-law of ours going to hang himself incontinently, because you will not look at him, and that unfortunate friend of yours, Tom Dringle, is if possible worse than Ben Batsby or yourself. If two other gentlemen are in the same condition, it only makes it the less singular that I should be the third, at any rate I am the third. You do not mean to liken yourself to them? Indeed I do. As to our connection with Miss Dorma I can see no difference. We are all in love with her, and she has refused us all. It matters little whether a man's ugliness, or his rings, or his natural stupidity may have brought about this result. You're very modest, Jonathan. I always was, only you never could see it. I am modest in this matter, but not for that reason the less persistent in doing the best I can for myself. My object now in seeing you is to let you understand that it is, well, not life and death, because she will not suffice either to kill me or to keep me alive. But one of those matters which, in a man's career, are almost as important to him as life and death. She was very decided in her refusal. So is every girl when a first offer is made to her. How is any girl so to arrange her thoughts at a moment's notice as to accept a man offhand? Girls do do so. Very rarely, I think, and when they do they're hardly worth having, said Lady Orbury, laying down the law on the matter with great precision. If a girl accepts a man all at once when she has had, as it were, no preparation for such a proposal, she must always surely be in a state of great readiness for matrimonial projects. When there has been a prolonged period of spooning, then, of course, it's quite a different thing. The whole thing has, in fact, been arranged before the important word has been spoken. What a professor in the art you are, said he. The odd thing is that such a one as you should be so ignorant. Can't you understand that you would not come to Stalem if her mind were made up against you? I said nothing of you as a lover, but I took care to let her know that you were coming. You are very ready to put yourself in the same boat with poor Ben Batsby or that other unfortunate wretch. Would she, do you think, have consented to come had she known that Ben would have been there, or your friend Tom Tringle? There was much more of it, but the upshot was, as the Colonel had intended that it should be, that Lady Orbury was made to understand that Ayala's good will was essential to his happiness. Of course I will do my best, she said, as he parted from her. Though I am not quite as much in love with her myself as you are, yet I will do my best. Then when she was left alone and was prosecuting her inquiries about the new cook and travelling back in the afternoon to Stalem, she again considered how wonderful a thing it was that such a girl as Ayala, so small, apparently so unimportant, so childish in her manner with so little to save her herself, should become a person of such terrible importance. The twentieth came, and at ten minutes before two, Ayala was at the Paddington Railway Station, the train which was to start at two-fifteen had been chosen by herself so that she might avoid the Colonel, and there she was with her aunt waiting for it. Mrs. Dossett had thought it to be her duty to see her off, and had come with her in the cab. There were the two boxes laden with her wardrobes, such as it was. Both she and her aunt had worked hard, for though as she had declared to herself there was no special reason for it, still she had wished to look her best. As she saw the boxes put into the van, and had told herself how much shabbier they were than the boxes of other young ladies who went visiting to such houses as Stullum, she rejoiced that Colonel Stubbs was not there to see them, and she considered whether it was possible that Colonel Stubbs should recognize a dress which she had worn at Stullum before, which was now to appear in a quite altered shape. She wondered also whether it would be possible that Colonel Stubbs should know how poor she was. As she was thinking of all this, there was no external Stubbs on the platform. She had never doubted but that her little plan would be efficacious, nor had her aunt doubted who had seen through the plan, though not a word had been spoken between them on the subject. Mrs. Dosset had considered it to be impossible that a Colonel engaged on duties of importance at Aldershot should run away from them to wait upon a child like Ayala, even though he had professed himself to be in love with the child. She had never seen the Colonel, and on this occasion did not expect to see him. But there he was all suddenly shaking hands with Ayala. My aunt, Mrs. Dosset, whispered Ayala. Then the Colonel began to talk to the elder lady as though the younger lady were a person of very much less importance. Yes, he had run up from Aldershot a little earlier than he had intended. There had been nothing particular to keep him down at Aldershot. It had always been his intention to go to Stullum on this day, and he was glad of the accident which was bringing Miss Dorma there just at the same time. He spent a good deal of his time at Stullum because Sahari and he, who were in truth cousins, were as intimate as brothers. He always lived at Stullum when he could get away from duty and was not in London. Stullum was a very nice place, certainly one of the most comfortable houses he knew in England. So he went on until he almost made Mrs. Dosset believe and did make Ayala believe that his visit to Stullum had nothing to do with herself. And yet Mrs. Dosset knew that the offer had been made. Ayala but thought herself that she did not care so much for the re-manufactured frock after all, nor yet for the shabby appearance of the boxes. The real angel of light would not care for her frock nor for her boxes and certainly would not be indifferent after the fashion of dash of dash. Then she began to reflect that she was making a fool of herself. She was put into the carriage, Mr. Dosset, having luckily decided against the use of the second class. Going to such a house as Stullum, Ayala ought, said Mr. Dosset, to go as any other lady would. Had it been himself or his wife, it would have been very different, but for Ayala on such an occasion as this he would be extravagant. Ayala was therefore put into her seat while the Colonel stood at the door outside still talking to Mrs. Dosset. I don't think she would be let to come away at the end of a week, said the Colonel, so Harry doesn't like people to come away very soon. Ayala heard this and thought that she remembered that Sir Harry himself was very indifferent as to the coming and going of the visitors. They go up to London about the end of March, said the Colonel, and if Miss Dorma were to return about a week before it would do very well. Oh, no, said Ayala, putting her head out of the window. I couldn't think of staying so long as that. Then the last final bustle was made by the guard. The Colonel got in, the door was shut, and Mrs. Dosset standing on the platform nodded her head for the last time. There were only four persons in the carriage. In the opposite corner there were two old persons, probably a husband and wife, who had been very careful as to a foot-warming apparatus and were muffled up very closely in woollen and furs. If you don't mind shutting the door, Sir, said the old gentleman, rather testily, because my wife has a pain in her face. The door absolutely was shut when the words were spoken, but the Colonel made some sign of closing all the apertures. But there was a ventilator above which the old lady spied. If you don't mind shutting that hole up there, Sir, because my husband is very bad with neuralgia. The Colonel at once got up and found that the ventilator was fast-closed, so as not to admit a breath of air. There are droughts come in everywhere, said the old gentleman. The company ought to be prosecuted. I believe the more people they kill, the better they like it, said the old lady. Then the Colonel looked at Ayala with a very grave face, with no hint at a smile, with a face which must have gratified even the old lady and gentleman. But Ayala understood the face and could not refrain from a little laugh. She laughed only with her eyes, but the Colonel saw it. The weather has been very severe all day, said the Colonel, in a severe voice. Ayala protested that she had not found it cold at all. Then, Miss, I think you must be made of granite, said the old lady. I hope you remember that other people are not so fortunate. Ayala again smiled, and the Colonel made another effort as though to prevent any possible breath of air from making its way into the interior of the vehicle. There was silence among them for some minutes, and then Ayala was quite surprised by the tone in which her friend addressed her. What an ill-natured girl you must be, said he, to have put me in such a terrible amount of trouble all on purpose. I didn't, said Ayala. Yes, you did. Why wouldn't you come down by the four o'clock train, as I told you? Now, I've left everything undone, and I shouldn't wonder if I get into such a row at the horse-guards that I shall never hear the end of it. And now you're not a bit grateful. Yes, I am grateful, but I didn't want you to come at all, she said. Of course I should come. I didn't think you were so perverse. I'm not perverse, Colonel Stubbs. When young persons are perverse, it is my opinion they oughtn't to be encouraged, said the old lady from her corner. My dear, you know nothing about it, said the old gentleman. Yes, I do, said the old lady. I know all about it. Whatever she does a young lady ought not to be perverse. I do hate perversity. I am sure that hole up there must be open so for the wind does come in so powerful. Colonel Stubbs again jumped up and poked at the ventilator. In the meantime Iola was laughing so violently that she could with difficulty prevent herself from making a noise which she feared would bring down increased wrath upon her from the old lady. That feigned scolding from the colonel had once brought back upon her the feeling of sudden and pleasant intimacy which she had felt when he had first come and ordered her to dance with him at the ball in London. It was once again with her as though she knew this man almost more intimately and certainly more pleasantly than any of her other acquaintances. Whatever he said she could answer him now and pretend to scold him and have her joke with him as though no offer had ever been made. She could have told him now all the story of that turned dress if that subject had come naturally to her or to have laughed with him at her own old boxes and confided to him any other of the troubles of her poverty as if they were jokes I do abominate a perverse young woman, he said. Upon this Ayala could no longer constrain herself but burst into loud laughter. After a while the two old people became quite familiar and there arose a contest in which the lady took part with the colonel and the old man protected Ayala. The colonel spoke as though he were quite in earnest and went on to declare that the young ladies of the present time were allowed to ever have their own bread to earn, he said, and they ought to make themselves agreeable to other people who have more to do. I quite agree with you, sir, said the old lady. They should run about and be handy. I like to see a girl that can jump about the house and make herself useful. Young ladies ought to be young ladies, said the old man, putting his mouth for a moment up out of his comforter. And can't a young lady be useful It's her special province to be ornamental, said the old gentleman. I like to see young ladies ornamental. I don't think young ladies ought to be scolded even if there are a little fractures. I quite agree with you, sir, said Ayala. And so the fight went on with sundry breaks and changes in the matter under discussion until the station for Stullum had been reached. The old gentleman indeed seemed to lose his voice before the journey was half over, so that she and the Colonel became such fast friends that she insisted on shaking hands with him when he left the carriage. How could you be so wicked as to go on hoaxing her like that, said Ayala, as soon as they were on the platform? There was no hoax at all. I was quite in earnest. Was not every word true that I said? Now come and get into the carriage quickly, or you will be as bad as the old gentleman himself. Ayala did get into the carriage sooner. The two girls were full of conversationists they went to Stullum, but through it all Ayala could not refrain from thinking how the Jonathan Stubbs of today had been exactly like the Jonathan Stubbs she had first known and how very unlike a lover. End of Chapter 46 Chapter 47 of Ayala's Angel This Librivox recording is in Batsby at Mole Park. When Ayala went to Stullum Captain Batsby went to Mole Park. They had both been invited by Lady Tringle and when the letter was written to Ayala she was assured that Tom would not be there. At that time Tom's last encounter with the police had not as yet become known to the Tringles and the necessity of keeping Tom at the house in the country was not manifest. The idea had been to Ayala. The Captain came, but as to Ayala Mrs. Dosset sent word to say that she had been invited to stay some days just at that time with her friend Lady Albury at Stullum. What to do with Captain Batsby had been felt to be a difficulty by Lady Albury. It was his habit to come to Stullum some time in March and there finish the hunting season. It might be hoped that Ayala's little affair might it would be the same to Ayala, but the Captain himself would be grievously irate when he should hear the trick which would have been played upon him. Lady Albury had already desired him not to come until after the first week in March having fabricated an excuse. She had been bound to keep the coast clear both for Ayala's sake and the Colonel's, but she knew that when her trick should be discovered there may win, said Sahari, who did not doubt but that in such a case the Colonel would prove to be the best man. Here too was another difficulty. When Lady Albury attempted to explain that Ayala would not come unless she were told that she would not meet the Captain, Sahari declared that there should be no such favour. Who that juices this little girl, he asked, that everybody should be knocked about in this fear that any pacifying of the Captain would be impossible. There would be a family quarrel, but even that must be endured for the Colonel's sake. In the meantime the Captain was kept in absolute ignorance of Ayala's movements and went down to Merle Park hoping to meet her there. He must have been very much in love for Merle Park was by no means a spot well adapted for hunting. Hums there were in the neighbourhood, but he turned up his nose at the hunter. Captain Batsby, when he went on hunting expeditions, never stirred without five horses and always confined his operations to six or seven favoured counties. But Ayala, just at present, was more to him than hunting, and therefore, though it was now the end of February, he went to Merle Park. It was also Thomas's doing. It was thus that Lady Tringle endeavoured to console herself when discussing the matter with her daughters. Captain Mustrafic had now gone up to London and was inhabiting a single room in the neighbourhood of the house. Augusta was still at Merle Park much to the disgust of her father. He did not like to tell her to be gone and would indeed have been glad enough of her presence had it not been embittered by the feeling that he was being done. But there she remained, and in discussing the affairs of the Captain with her mother and Gertrude was altogether averse to the suggested marriage to her thinking Ayala was not entitled to her husband at all. Augusta had never given way in the affair of Tom, had declared her conviction that Stubbs had never been in earnest, and was of the opinion that Captain Batsby would be much better off at Merle Park without Ayala than he would have been in that young lady's presence. When he arrived nothing was said to him at once about Ayala. Gertrude, who recovered from the great sickness occasioned by Mr. Houston's misconduct, though was intended only to be temporary, made herself as pleasant as possible. Captain Batsby was made welcome and remained three days before he sought an opportunity of asking a question about Ayala. During this time he found Gertrude to be a very agreeable companion, but he made Mrs. Traffic his first confident. Will you know, Captain Batsby, to tell you the truth we are not very fond of our cousin? Sir Thomas told me she was to be here. So we know, my father is perhaps a little mistaken about Ayala. Was she not asked, demanded Captain Batsby, beginning to think that he had been betrayed? Oh yes, she was asked. She has been asked very often because she's Mama's niece and did live with us once for a short time, but she did not come. In fact, she won't go anywhere unless—unless what? You know Colonel Stubbs? And Jonathan Stubbs? Oh dear, yes, very intimately. He's a sort of connection of mine. He's my half-brother's second cousin by the father's side. Oh indeed, does that make him very near? Not at all. I don't like him, if you mean that. He always takes everything upon himself down at Stalem. What we hear is that Ayala is always running off to him. Ayala running after Jonathan. Haven't you heard of that? asked Mrs. Traffic. Why, she's at Stalem with the albries this moment, and I do not doubt there also. She would not have gone had you not been sure of meeting him. This disturbed the captain so violently that for two or three hours he kept himself apart, not knowing what to do with himself or where to but take himself. Could this be true about Jonathan Stubbs? There had been moments of deep jealousy down at Stalem, but then he had recovered from that, having assured himself that he was wrong. It had been Larry Twenty-men and not Jonathan Stubbs who had led the Stalem into which Stubbs had simply fallen making himself an object of pity. But now again the captain believed it all. It was on this account then that his half-sister-in-law, Rosaline, had desired him to stay away from Stalem for the present. He knew well how high in favour with Lady Aubrey was that traitor Stubbs, how it was by her favour that Stubbs, who was no more than a second cousin, was allowed to do just what he pleased in the stables, while Sir Harry himself, the master of the hounds, confined himself to the kennel. He was determined at first to leave Merle Park and start instantly for Stalem, and had sent for his servant to begin the packing of his things. But as he thought of it more maturely he considered that his arrival at Stalem would be very painful to himself as well as to others. For the others he did not much care, but he saw clearly that the pain to himself would be very disagreeable. No one at Stalem, Sir Harry would be disturbed and the other three persons with whom he was concerned, Lady Aubrey, Stubbs and Ayala, would be banded together in hostility against him. What chance would he have under such circumstances? Therefore he determined that he would stay at Merle Park yet a little longer. And after all, was Ayala worth the trouble which he had proposed to take for her? How much had he offered her, how scornfully had his offer been received, and to give him in return? And now he had been told that she was always running after Jonathan Stubbs. Could it be worth his while to run after a girl who was always running after Jonathan Stubbs? Was he not much higher in the world than Jonathan Stubbs, seeing that he had at any rate double Stubbs' income? Stubbs was a red-haired, ugly, impudent fellow who made his way wherever he went simply by cheek. Upon reflection he found that it would be quite beneath him after any girl who could so demean herself as to run after Jonathan Stubbs. Therefore he came down to dinner on that evening with all his smiles and said not a word about Ayala to Sir Thomas, who had just returned from London. Is he very much provoked? Sir Thomas asked his wife that evening. Provoked about what? He was expressly told that he would meet Ayala here. He seems to be making himself very comfortable and hasn't said a word about him. I am sick of Ayala. Poor Tom is going to be really ill. Then Sir Thomas frowned and said nothing more on that occasion. Tom was certainly in an uncomfortable position and never left his bed until afternoon. Then he would mope about the place, moping even worse than he did before and would spend the evening all alone in the housekeeper's room with a pipe in his mouth which he seemed hardly able to take the trouble to keep between two honourable mistraffics and a couple of young men out of the city whom Lady Tringle hoped might act as antidotes to Houston and Hamill. But with none of them would Tom associate. With Captain Batsby he did form some little intimacy driven to it no doubt by a community of interest. I believe you were acquainted with my cousin Miss Dorma at Stullum, asked Tom. At that moment the two were sitting over the fire in the housekeeper's room and Captain Batsby was smoking cigar while Tom was sucking an empty pipe. Oh yes, said Captain Batsby, picking up his ears. I saw a good deal of her. A wonderful creature, ejaculated Tom. Yes, indeed. For a real romantic style of beauty I don't suppose the world ever saw her like before, did you? Are you one among your cousin's admirers? demanded the Captain. Am I, asked Tom, surprised that there should be anybody at his tragic story? Am I one of her admirers? Why, rather? Haven't you heard about me in stubs? No, indeed. I thought that everybody had heard that. I challenged him, you know. To fight a duel. Yes, to fight a duel. I sent my friend Faddle down with a letter to Stullum, but it was of no use. Why should a man fight a duel when he's got such a girl as Ayala to love him? That is quite true, then. I fear so, I fear so. Oh, yes, it is too true. Then, you know, and as he came to this portion of his story, he jumped up from his chair and frowned fiercely. Then, you know, I met him under the portico of the hay market and struck him. Oh, was that you? Indeed it was. And did he not do anything to you? He behaved like a hero, said Tom. I do think that he behaved like a hero, though, of course, I hate him. The bitterness of expression was here very great. He wouldn't let them lock me up, though as the matter of that I would have been best pleased if they could have locked me up forever and kept me from the sight of the world. Admire that girl, Captain Batsby, I don't think that I ever heard of a man who loved a girl as I love her. I do not hesitate to say that I continue to walk the world in the way of not committing suicide, I mean, simply because there is still a possibility, while she is not as yet stood at the altar with another man, I would have shot stubs willingly, though I knew I was to be tried for it at the old Bailey and Hung, I would have done it willingly, willingly, or any other man. After that, Captain Batsby thought it might be prudent not to say anything as special as to his own love. And how foolish would it be for a man like himself, with a good fortune of his own, to marry any girl who had not a sixpence. The captain was led into this vein of great civility displayed to him by the ladies of the house. With Lucy, whom he knew to be Ayala's sister, he had not prospered very well. It came to his ears that she was out of favour with her aunt, and he therefore meddled with her but little. The Tringle ladies, however, were very kind to him. So kind he was tempted to think less than ever of one who had been so little courteous to him as Ayala. Mrs. Traffic was, of course, a married woman, and it amounted but guttured. All the world knew that Septimus Traffic, without a shilling of his own, had become the happy possessor of a very large sum of money. He, Batsby, had more to recommend him than traffic. Why should not he also become a happy possessor? He went away for a week's hunting into Northamptonshire, and then at Lady Tringle's request came back to Merle Park. At this time Miss Tringle had quite recovered her health. She had dropped Mr. Houston. Had she not been provoked she would have allowed all that to drop into oblivion. But a married sister may take liberties. You're well rid of him, I think, said Augusta. Guttured heaved a deep sigh. She did not wish to acknowledge herself to be rid of him until another string were well fitted to her bow. After all, a man with nothing to do in the world, with no profession or occupation, with no money. Mr. Traffic had not got very much money of his own. He has a seat in Parliament, which is very much more than fortune, and will undoubtedly be in power when his party comes in, and here's a man of birth, but Frank Houston had nothing to recommend him. Birth, said Guttured, turning up her nose. The Queen, who is the Fountain of Honor, made his father a nobleman, and that constitutes birth. This, the married sister said, would stern severity of manner and perfect reliance on the constitutional privileges of her sovereign. I don't know that we need talk about it, said Guttured. Not at all. Mr. Houston has behaved very badly, and I suppose there is an end to him as far as this house is concerned. Captain Batsby seems to me to be a very nice young man, and I suppose he's got money. A man should certainly have got money or an occupation. He's got both, said Guttured, which, however, was not true as Captain Batsby had left the service. My cousin so soon, Guttured asked one day, as she was walking with the happy captain in the park. The captain, no doubt, had been saying soft things to her. Do you throw that in my teeth as an offence? Inconstancy in men is generally considered as an offence, said Guttured. What it might be in women she did not just then declare. After all, I have heard of your cousin since I have been here. I should hardly have thought that it would be reckoned so in this case. I am against her from me. I am told that she has treated your brother very badly. Poor Tom! And that she is flirting with a man I particularly dislike. I suppose she does make herself rather peculiar with that Colonel Stubbs. And, after all, only think how little I saw of her. She is pretty. So some people think I never saw it myself, said Guttured. We always thought her a massive affectation. We had to turn her house once, you know. She was living here, and then it was that her sister had to come in her place. It is not their fault that they have nothing, poor girls. Emma Mars nieces, and so Papa always has one of them. After that, forgiveness was accorded to the captain on account of his fickle conduct, and Guttured consented to accept of his services in the guise of a lover. That this was so Mrs. Traffic was well aware, nor was Frank Houston was to be considered as good as gone, and if so it would be well that her daughter should have another string. She was tired of the troubles of the girls around her, and thought that as Captain Batsby was supposed to have an income he would do as a son-in-law. But she had not hitherto been consulted by the young people who felt among themselves that there still might be a difficulty. The difficulty lay with Sir Thomas. Sir Thomas had brought Captain Batsby all as lover, and as he had been very little at home was unaware of the changes which had taken place. And then Guttured was still supposed to be engaged to Mr. Houston, though this lover had been so violently rejected by himself. The ladies felt that as he was made of sterner stuff than they, so would it be more difficult to reconcile him to the alterations which were now proposed in the family arrangements. Who was to bell the cat? Let him go to Papa in the usual and ask his leave," said Mrs. Traffic. I did suggest that, said Guttured, but he seems not to like to do it quite yet. Is he such a coward as that? I do not know that he's more a coward than anybody else. I remember when Septimus was quite afraid to go near Papa, but then Benjamin has got money of his own which does make a difference. It's quite untrue saying that Septimus was ever afraid of Papa. Of course he knows his position of Parliament too well for that. I suppose the truth is it's about Ayala. It is a little odd about Ayala, said Guttured, resuming her confidential tone. It's so hard to make Papa understand about these kind of things. I declare I believe he thinks that I ought never to speak to another man because of that scoundrel Frank Houston. All this was in truth so strange to Sir Thomas that he could not understand any of the existing perplexities. Why did Captain Batsby remain as a guest at Merle Park? He had no special dislike to the man, and when Lady Tringle had told him that she had asked the captain to prolong his visit, he had made no objection. But why should the man remain there, knowing as he did now that there was no chance of Ayala coming to Merle Park? At last, on a certain Saturday evening he did make inquiry on the subject. What on earth is that man staying here for, he said to his wife? I think he likes the place. Perhaps he likes the place as well as septimus traffic, and means to live here always. Such illusions as these were constant with Sir Thomas, and were always received by Lady Tringle with dismay and grief. When does he mean to go away? asked Sir Thomas gruffly. Lady Tringle had felt that the time had come in which some word would be said as to the captain's intentions, but she feared to say it. She dreaded to make the clear to her husband. Perhaps, said she, he is becoming fond of some of the young ladies. Young ladies, what young ladies? Do you mean Lucy? Oh, dear no, said Lady Tringle. Then what the deuce do you mean? He came here after Ayala because I wanted to have all that nonsense settled about Tom. Ayala is not here nor likely to be here, and I don't know why he should stay here for landering away his time. I hate men in a house who are thorough idlers. You had better take an opportunity of letting him know that he has been here long enough. All this was repeated by Lady Tringle to Mrs. Traffic, and by Mrs. Traffic to Gertrude. Then they felt that this was no time for Captain Batsby to produce himself to Sir Thomas as a suitor for his youngest daughter. CHAPTER 48 No doubt it will be very hard to make Papa understand. This was said by Gertrude to her new lover a few days after that order had been given that the lover should be sent away from Merle Park. The purport of the order in all its severity had not been conveyed to Captain Batsby. The servants had felt—Gertrude had felt very strongly—that were he informed that the master of the house demanded his absence, he would take himself off at once. But still something had to be said and something done. Captain Batsby was just at present in a matrimonial frame of mind. He had come to Merle Park to look for a wife, and as he had missed one was in his present mood inclined to take another. But there was no knowing how long this might last. Augusta had hinted something must be done, either with Papa's consent or without it. Then there had come the conversation in which Gertrude acknowledged the existing difficulty. Papa too probably would not consent quite at once. He must think it very odd that I'm staying here, said the Captain. Of course it is odd, if you could go to him and tell him everything. But the Captain, looking at the matter all round, thought that he could not go to Sir Thomas and tell him anything. Then she began to introduce the respectable clergyman at Ostend. It was not necessary that she should refer at length to the circumstances under which she had studied the subject, but she gave Captain Batsby to understand that it was one as to which she had picked up a good deal of information. But the money! If Sir Thomas were made really angry, the consequences would be disastrous, said the Captain. But Gertrude was of a different way of thinking. Her father was no doubt a man who could be very honest and would insist upon having his own way as long as his own way was profitable to him. But he was a man who always forgave. If you mean about the money, said Gertrude, I'm quite sure that it would all come right. He did mean about the money and was evidently uneasy in his mind when the suggested step was made manifest to him. Gertrude was astonished to see how long and melancholy his face could become. Papa was never unkind about money in his life, said Gertrude. He could not endure to have any of us poor. On the next Saturday Sir Thomas again came down and still found his guest at Merle Park. We are now a little in advance of our special story, which is or ought to be devoted to Ayala. But with the affairs of so many lovers and their loves it is almost impossible to make the chronicle run at equal periods throughout. It was now more than three weeks since Ayala went to Stullum, and Lady Albury had the captain confessing something of her sin and begging to be forgiven. This she had done in her anxiety to keep the captain away. He had not answered his sister-in-law's letter, but in his present frame of mind was not at all anxious to finish up the hunting season at Stullum. Sir Thomas on his arrival was very full of Thomas' projected tour. He had arranged everything, except in regard to Thomas' own ascent. He had written to New York, and had received back reply from his correspondent, assuring him that Tom should be made most heartily welcome. It might be that Tom's fighting propensities had not been made known to the people of New York. Sir Thomas had taken a berth on board one of the Cunard boats, and had even gone so far as to ask the captain to come down for a day or two to Mull Park. He was so much employed with Tom that he could hardly afford time and consideration to Captain Batsby in his affairs. Nevertheless he did ask a question and received an answer with which he seemed to be satisfied. What on earth is that man staying here for? he said to his wife. He is going on Friday, replied Lady Tringle doubtingly, almost as though she thought that she would be subjected to further anger because of this delay. But Sir Thomas dropped the subject and passed on to some matter affecting Tom's outfit. Lady Tringle was very glad to change the subject and promised that everything should be ready for you. I don't think I could go as soon as that, sir," replied Tom, whining. Why not? There are more than three weeks yet, and your mother will have everything ready for you. What on earth is there to hinder you? I don't think I could go, not on the nineteenth of April. Well, then you must. I've taken your place and folk can expect you at New York. They'll do everything for you, sir. I don't think I could go, New York. They'll do everything for you there, and you'll find quite a new life. I should have thought you'd have been delighted to get away from your wretched condition here." It is wretched," said Tom, but I'd rather not go quite so soon. Why not? Well, then—what is it, Tom? It makes me unhappy when I see you such a fool. I am a fool. I know I'm a fool. Then make a new start of it. Cut and run and begin the world to forget all this. So I would only— only what? I suppose she is engaged to that man's stubs. If I knew for certain then I would go. If I went before I should only come back as soon as I got to New York. If they were once married and it were all done with, I think I could make a new start. In answer to this his father told him that he must go on the nineteenth of April, whether Iala were engaged or disengaged, married or unmarried, that his outfit would be bought, his cabin would be ready, circular notes for his use would be prepared, and everything would be arranged to make his prolonged tour as comfortable as possible, but that if he did not start on that day all the tringle houses would be closed against him, and he would be turned penniless out into the world. You'll have to learn that I'm in earnest, said Sir Thomas, as he turned his back and walked away. Tom took himself off to reflect whether grand thing to be turned penniless out into the world and all for love. By the early train on Monday Sir Thomas returned to London having taken little or no heed of Captain Batsby during his late visit to the country. Even at Merle Park Captain Batsby's present was less important than it would otherwise have been to Lady Tringle and Mrs. Traffic because of the serious nature of Sir Thomas's decision as to his son. Lady Tringle perhaps suspected something, Mrs. Traffic no doubt had her own ideas as to her sister's position, but nothing was said and nothing was done. Both on the Wednesday and on the Thursday Lady Tringle went up to town to give the required orders on Tom's behalf. On the Thursday her elder daughter accompanied her and returned with her in the evening. On their arrival they learnt that neither Captain Batsby nor Miss Gertrude had been seen since ten o'clock, that almost immediately after Lady Tringle's departure in the morning Captain Batsby had caused all his luggage to be sent into Hastings and that it had since appeared that a considerable number of Miss Gertrude's things were missing. There could be no doubt that she had caused them to be packed up with the Captain's luggage. They have gone to astend, Mama, said Augusta. I was sure of it because I've heard Gertrude say that people can always get themselves married at astend. There's a clergyman there on purpose to do it. Tom was in such a condition that she hardly dared to trust him, but it was settled at last that she should telegraph at once to Sir Thomas in Lombard Street, and that Tom should travel up to London by the night train. On the following morning Lady Tringle received a letter from Gertrude saying that she had been travelling to London by the night train. On the following morning Lady Tringle received a letter from Gertrude posted by that young lady at Dover as she passed through on her road to astend. It was as follows. Dear Mama, you will be surprised on your return from London to find that we have gone. After much thinking about it we determined it would be best because we had quite made up our mind not to be kept separated. Ben was so eager about it that I was obliged to yield. We were afraid that if we asked Papa at once he would not have given his consent. Pray give him my most dutiful love and tell him that I am sure he will never have occasion to be ashamed of his son-in-law. I don't suppose he knows, but it is the fact that Captain Batsby has about three thousand a year of his own. It is very different from having nothing like that rich Frank Houston or for that matter Mr. Traffic. Ben was quite in a position to ask Papa, but things had happened which made us both feel that Papa would not like it just at present. We mean to be married at our stand and then we'll come back as soon as you and Papa say that you will receive us. In the meantime I wish you would send some of my clothes after me. Of course I had to come away with very little luggage because I was obliged to have my things mixed up with Ben's. I did not dare to have my boxes brought down by the servants. Could you send me the green silk in which I went to church the last two Sundays and my pink gauze and the grey poplin? Please send two or three flannel petticoats as I could not put them among his things and as many cuffs and collars as you can cram in. I suppose I can get boots at our stand but I should like to have the hat with the little brown feather. There is my silk jacket with the fur trimming I should like to have that. I suppose I shall have to be married without any regular dress but I'm sure Papa will make up my trousseau to me afterwards. I lent a little lace fish you to Augusta tell her I shall so like to have it. Give Papa my best love and Augusta and poor Tom and accept the same from your affectionate daughter Gertrude. I suppose I must not add the other name yet. Sir Thomas did not receive the telegram until eleven o'clock when he returned from dinner and could do nothing that night. On the next morning he was disturbed soon after five o'clock by Tom who had come on the same errand. Idiots exclaimed Sir Thomas what on earth can they have gone to Ostend for and what can you do by coming up? My mother thought that I might follow them to Ostend. They wouldn't care for you no one will care for you until you've got rid of all this folly. I must go. Idiots, who's to marry them at Ostend? If they're fools enough to want to be married why shouldn't they get married in England? I suppose they thought you wouldn't consent. Of course I shan't consent but why should I consent a bit more because they've gone to Ostend? I don't suppose anybody ever had such a set of fools about him as I have. This would have been hard upon Tom had it not been that he had got beyond the feeling of any hardness from contempt or contumely as he once said of himself all sense of other injury had been washed out of him by Ayala's unkindness. On that very day Sir Thomas started for Ostend and reached the place about two o'clock. Captain Batsby and Gertrude had arrived only during the previous night and Gertrude, as she had been very sick was still in bed. Captain Batsby was not in bed. Captain Batsby had been engaged since an early hour in the morning looking for that respectable clergyman of the Church of England of whose immediate services he stood in need. By the time that Sir Thomas had reached Ostend he had found that no such clergyman was known in the place. There was a regular English clergyman who would be very happy to marry him and to accept the usual fees after the due performance of certain preliminaries as ordained by law and as usual in Ostend. The lady no doubt could be married at Ostend after such preliminaries as she might have been married also in England. All this was communicated by the captain to Gertrude who was still very unwell at her bedroom door. Her conduct during this trying time was quite beyond reproach and also his, as Captain Batsby afterwards took an opportunity of assuring her father. What on earth, sir, is the meaning of all this? said Sir Thomas, encountering the man who was not his son-in-law in the sitting-room of the hotel. I have just run away with your daughter, Sir Thomas, that is the simple truth. And I have got the trouble of taking her back again. I have behaved like a gentleman through it all, Sir Thomas, said the captain, thus defending his own character and the ladies. You have behaved like a fool. What on earth am I to think of it, sir? You were asked down to my house because you gave me to understand that you proposed to ask my niece, Miss Dorma, to be your wife. And now you have run away with my daughter. Is that behaviour like a gentleman? I must explain myself. Well, sir. Captain Batsby found the explanation very difficult and hummed and horred a great deal. Do you mean to say that it was a lie from beginning to end about Miss Dorma? Great liberties of speech are allowed to gentlemen whose daughters have been run away with and whose hospitality has been outraged. Oh, dear, no, what I said then was quite true, it was my intention, but—but— the perspiration broke out upon the unhappy man's brow as the great immediate trouble of his situation became clear to him. There was no lie, no lie at all. I beg to assure you, Sir Thomas, that I'm not a man to tell a lie. How has it all been, then? When I found out how very superior a person your daughter was it isn't a month since she was engaged to somebody else at the angry father, forgetting all propriety in his indignation. Gertrude demanded, Captain Batsby, you are two fools, so you gave up my niece. Oh, dear, yes, altogether, she didn't come to Merle Park, you know. How was I to say anything to her when you didn't have her there? Why didn't you go away, then, instead of remaining under a false pretense? Or why, at any rate, didn't you tell me the truth? And what would you have me do now? asked Captain Batsby. Go to the devil, said Sir Thomas, as he left the room and went to his daughter's chamber. Gertrude had heard that her father was in the house and endeavored to hurry herself into her clothes going on between him and her father. But she was not yet perfectly arrayed when her father burst into her room. Oh, papa! she said, going down on her knees, you do mean to forgive us? I mean to do nothing of the kind. I mean to carry you home and have you locked up. But we may be married. Not with my leave. Why didn't you come and ask if you wanted to get yourselves married? Why didn't you tell me? We were ashamed. The Houston whom you love so dearly. Oh, papa! And the Captain was so much attached to Ayala. Oh, papa! Get up, you stupid girl! Why is it that my children are so much more foolish than other peoples? I don't suppose you care for the man in the least. I do. I do. I love him with all my heart. And as for him, how can he care for you when it's but the other day he was in love with your cousin? What he wants is my money, of course. He's got plenty of money, papa. I can understand him fool as he is. There is something for him to get. He won't get it, but he might think it possible. As for you, I cannot understand you at all. What do you expect? It can't be for love of a hatchet-faced fellow like that whom you'd never seen a fortnight ago. It's more than a month ago, papa. Frank Houston was at any rate a manly-looking fellow. He was a scoundrel, said Gertrude, now standing up for the first time. A good-looking fellow was Frank Houston, that at least may be said for him, continued the father, determined to exasperate his daughter to the utmost. I had half a mind to give way about him because he was a manly, outspoken fellow, though he was such an idle dog. If you'd gone off with him I could have understood it, and perhaps forgiven it, he added. The fellow screamed Gertrude, remembering her ineffectual attempts to make her former lover perform this same journey. But this fellow I cannot bring myself to believe that you really care for him. He has a good income of his own while Houston was little better than a beggar. I'm glad of that, said Sir Thomas, because there will be something for you to live upon. I can assure you that Captain Batsby will never get a shilling of my money. Now, you had better finish dressing yourself come down and eat your dinner with me if you've got any appetite. You'll have to go back to Dover by the boat tonight. May Ben dine with us, asked Gertrude timidly. Ben may go to the devil. At any rate, he'd better not show himself to me again, said Sir Thomas. The lovers, however, did get an opportunity of exchanging a few words during which it was settled between them that as the young lady must undoubtedly obey her father's behests and return to Dover that night Captain Batsby to remain behind at Ostend. Indeed, he spoke of making a little tour as far as Brussels in order that he might throw off the melancholy feeling which had been engendered. You will come to me again, Ben, she said. Upon this he looked very grave. You do not mean to say that after this you will desert me? He has insulted me so horribly. What does that signify? Of course he's angry. If you could only hear how he's insulted me. He says that you were in love with somebody else, not a month since. So were you, Ben, for the matter of that. He did, however, before they parted make her a solemn promise that their engagements should remain in established fact in spite both of father and mother. Gertrude, who had now recovered the effects of her seasickness which, however, she would have to encounter again so very quickly contrived to eat a hearty dinner with her father. There, however, rose a little trouble how could she contrive to pack up the clothes which she had brought with her and which had until lately been mixed with the captain's garments? She did, however, at last succeed in persuading the chambermaid to furnish her with a carpet-bag with which in her custody she arrived safely on the following day at Merle Park. End of CHAPTER 48