 CHAPTER 38 Nappy's Gray Horse During the letter of Tuesday our friends regained their good humour, and on the Wednesday morning they again started for the hunting-field. Mrs. Carbunkle, who probably felt that she had behaved ill about the groom, and in regard to Scotland, almost made an apology, and explained that a cold shower always did make her cross. My dear lady Eustis, I hope I wasn't very savage. My dear Mrs. Carbunkle, I hope I wasn't very stupid," said Lizzie with a smile. My dear lady Eustis, and my dear Mrs. Carbunkle, and my dear Miss Roanoke, I hope I wasn't very selfish," said Lord George. I thought you were, said Sir Griffin. Yes, Griff, and so are you, but I succeeded. I am almost glad that I wasn't of the party," said Mr. Emilius, with that musical foreign tone of his. Miss McNulty and I did not quarrel, did we? No indeed, said Miss McNulty, who had liked the society of Mr. Emilius. But on this morning there was an attraction for Lizzie, which the Mundy had wanted. She was to meet her cousin, Frank Greystock. The journey was long, and the horses had gone on overnight. They went by railway to Kilmarnock, and there a carriage from the inn had been ordered to meet them. Lizzie, as she heard the order given, wondered whether she would have to pay for that, or whether Lord George and Sir Griffin would take so much off her shoulders. Young women generally pay for nothing, and it was very hard that she, who was quite a young woman, should have to pay for all. But she smiled and accepted the proposition, oh yes, of course, a carriage at the station. It is so nice to have someone to think of things like Lord George. The carriage met them, and everything went prosperously. Almost the first person they saw was Frank Greystock, in a black coat, indeed, but were I riding a superb grey horse, and looking quite as though he knew what he was about. He was introduced to Mrs. Carmunkle, and Miss Ruehrnerke, and Sir Griffin. With Lord George he had some slight previous acquaintance. You've had no difficulty about a horse, said Lizzie. Not the slightest, but I was in an awful fright this morning. I rode to McFarlane from London, and absolutely hadn't a moment to go to his place yesterday or this morning. I was staying over at Glen Shields, and had not a moment to spare in catching the train. But I found a horse-box on, and a lad from McFarlane is just leaving as I came up. "'Didn't he send a boy down with a horse?' asked Lord George. "'I believe there is a boy, and the boy will be awfully bothered. I told him to book the horse for Kilmarnake.' "'They always do book for Kilmarnake for this meet,' said a gentleman, who had made acquaintance with some of Lizzie's party on the previous hunting-day. "'But Steuerton is ever so much nearer.' "'So somebody told me of the carriage,' continued Frank, and I contrived to get my box off at Steuerton. The guard was a common-sivill, and so was the porter. But I hadn't a moment to look for the boy.' "'I always make my fellow stick to his horses,' said Sir Griffin. "'But you see, Sir Griffin, I haven't got a fellow, and I've only hired a horse. But I shall hire a good many horses from Mr. McFarlane, and if he'll always put me up like this.' "'I'm so glad you're here,' said Lizzie. "'So am I. I hunt about twice in three years, and no man likes it so much. I've still got to find out whether the beast can jump.' "'Any mortal thing alive, sir,' said one of those horsey-looking men, who had to be found in all hunting-fields, who wear old brown britches, old black coats, old hunting-caps, who ride screws, and never get thrown out. "'You know him, do you?' said Frank. "'I know him. I didn't know as Mr. McFarlane owned him. No more he don't,' said the horsey man, turning aside to one of his friends. "'That's Nappy's horse from Jamaica Street.' "'Nah, not possible,' said the friend. "'You tell me I don't know me own horse next.' "'I don't believe you have your own one,' said the friend.' Nappy was in truth delighted to have her cousin beside her. He had at any rate forgiven what she had said to him at his last visit, or he would not have been there. And then, too, there was a feeling of reality in her connection with him, which was sadly wanting to her, unreal as she was herself, in her acquaintance with the other people around her. And on this occasion three or four people spoke or bowed to her, who had only stared at her before. And the huntsman took off his cap, and hoped that he would do something better for her than on the previous Monday. And the huntsman was very courteous also to Miss Roanoke, expressing the same hope, cap in hand, and smiling graciously. A huntsman at the beginning of any day, or at the end of a good day, is so different from a huntsman at the end of a bad day. A huntsman often had a very bad time out hunting, and it is sometimes of marvel that he does not take the advice which Job got from his wife. But now all things were smiling, and it was soon known that his lordship intended to draw Kregat and Gorse. Now in those parts there is no sureer find, and no better chance of a run, than Kregat and Gorse affords. There is one thing I want to ask, Mr. Greystock, said Lord George, in Lizzie's hearing. You shall ask, too, said Frank. Who is the coach lady used to today? You or I? Oh, do let me have somebody to coach me, said Lizzie. For devotion in coachmanship, said Frank, devotion, that is, to my cousin, I defy the world, in point of skill I yield to Lord George. My pretensions are precisely the same, said Lord George. I glow with devotion, my skill is nought. I like you best, Lord George, said Lizzie, laughing. That settles the question, said Lord George. All together, said Frank, taking off his hat. I mean as a coach, said Lizzie. I quite understand the extent of the preference, said Lord George. Lizzie was delighted, and thought the game was worth the candle. The noble master had told her that they were sure of a run from Kregat and she wasn't in the least tired, and they were not called upon to stand still in a big wood, and it didn't rain, and in every respect the day was very different from Monday. Monday on a bright-skinned, lively steed, with her cousin on one side, and Lord George to Bruce Carothers on the other, with all the hunting world of her own country, civil around her, and a fox just found in Kregat and Gorse, what could the heart of woman desire more? This was to live. There was, however, just enough of fear to make the blood run quickly to her heart. We'll be away at once now, said Lord George, with utmost earnestness. Follow me closer, but not too close. When the men see that I'm giving you a lead, they won't come between. If you hang back, I'll not go ahead. Just check your horse as he comes to his fences, and if you can, see me over before you go at them. Now then, down the hill, there's a gate at the corner and a bridge over the water. It couldn't be better. By George! There they are, all together. If they don't pull him down in the first two minutes, we shall have a run! Lizzie understood most of it. More at least than would nine out of ten young women who had never ridden the hunt before. She was to go wherever Lord George led her, and she was not to ride upon his heels. So much, at least, she understood, and so much she was resolved to do. That dread about her front teeth which her perplexed her on Monday was altogether gone now. She would ride as fast as Lucinda Roanoke. That was her prevailing idea. Lucinda, with Mrs. Carbancle's Sir Griffin and the Lady's Groom, was at the other side of the covet. Frank had been with his cousin and Lord George, but had crept down the hill while the hounds were in the gorse. A man who likes hunting but hunts only once a year is desirous of doing the best he can with his day. When the hounds came out and crossed the brook at the end of the gorse, perhaps he was a little too forward. But indeed the state of affairs did not need much time for waiting or for the etiquette of the hunting field. Along the opposite margin of the brook there ran a low pailing which made the water a rather nasty thing to face. A circuit of thirty or forty yards gave the easy riding of a little bridge, and to that all the crowd hurried. But one or two men with good eyes and hearts as good had seen the leading hounds across the brook turning up a hill away from the bridge and knew that two most necessary minutes might be lost in the crowd. Frank did as they did, having seen nothing of any hounds but with instinctive knowledge that they were men likely to be right in a hunting field. If that ain't Nappy's horse, I'll eat him," said one of the leading men to the other, as all the three were breasting the hill together. Frank only knew that he'd been carried over water and timber without a mistake, and felt a glow of gratitude towards Mr. McFarlane. Up the hill they went, and not waiting to inquire into the circumstances of a little gate, jumped a four-foot wall and were away. How the mischief did he get atop of Nappy's horse? said the horsey man to his friend. We're about right for it now," said the huntsman as he came up alongside of Frank. He crossed the bridge, but had been the first across it and knew now to get over the ground quickly. On they went, the horsey man leading on his thorough red screw, the huntsman's second, and Frank's third. The pace had already been too good for the other horsey man. When Lord George and Lizzie had mounted the hill, there was a rush of horses at the little gate. As they topped the hill, Lucindra and Mrs. Carbumple were jumping the wall. Lord George looked back and asked a question without a word. Lizzie answered it as mutely, jump it. She was already a little short of breath, but she was ready to jump anything that Lucindra and Oki had jumped. Over went Lord George, and she followed him almost without losing the stride of her horse. Surely in all the world there was nothing equal to this. There was a large grass field before them, and for a moment she came up alongside of Lord George. Just dead him before he leaps, said Lord George. She nodded her assent and smiled her gratitude. She had plenty of breath for riding, but none for speaking. They were now very near to Lucindra, and Sir Griffin, and Mrs. Carbumple. The pace is too good for Mrs. Carbumple's horse, said Lord George. Oh, if she could only pass them and get up to those men whom she saw before her. She knew that one of them was her cousin Frank. She had no wish to pass them, but she did wish that he should see her. In the next fence, Lord George spied a rail which she thought safer than a blind hedge, and he made for it. His horse took it well, and so did Lizzie's. But Lizzie jumped it a little too near him, as he had paused an instant to look at the ground. "'Indeed, I won't do it again,' she said, collecting all her breath for an apology. "'You're going amourably,' he said, and your horse is worth double the money!' She was so glad now that he had not spared for price in mounting her. Looking to the right, she could see that Mrs. Carbumple had only just floundered through the hedge. Lucinda was still ahead, but Sir Griffin was falling behind as they divided in duty between the niece and the aunt. Then they passed through a gate, and Lord George stayed his horse to hold it for her. She tried to thank him, but he stopped her. "'Don't mind talking, but come along and take it easy!' She smiled again, and he told himself that she was wondrous pretty. And then her pluck was so good, and then she had four thousand a year. "'Now, for the gap, don't be in a hurry. You first, and I'll follow you to keep off these two men. Keep to the left where the other horses have been.' On they went, and Lizzie was in heaven. She could not quite understand her feelings, because it had come to that with her that to save her life she could not have spoken a word. Yet she was not only happy, but comfortable. The leaping was delightful, and her horse galloped with her as though his pleasure was as great as her own. She thought that she was getting nearer to Lucinda. For her, in her heart, Lucinda was the quarry. If she could any pass Lucinda, that there were any hounds she had already had forgotten. She had only knew that two or three men were leading the way of whom her cousin Frank was one, that Lucinda Roanoke was following them closely, and that she was gaining upon Lucinda Roanoke. She knew she was gaining a little, because she could see now how well and squarely Lucinda sat upon her horse. Not for herself she feared that she was rolling, but she need not have feared. She was so small and lithe and light that her body adapted itself naturally to the pace of her horse. Lucinda was of a different build, and it behaved her to make for herself a perfect seat. We must have the wall, said Lord George, who was again at her side for a moment. She would have had a castle wall, moat included, turrets and all, if he would only have shown her the way. When the Huntsman and Frank had taken the wall, the horsey man's bit of blood, knowing his own powers to an inch, had declined, not roughly with a sudden stop on a jerk, but with a swerve to the left, which the horsey man at once understood. What the brute lacked in jumping, he could make up in pace, and the horsey man was along the wall, and over a broken bank at the head of it, with a loss of not more than a minute. Lucinda's horse, following the ill-example, balked the jump. He turned him round with a savage gleam in her eye, which Lizzie was just near enough to see, struck him rapidly over the shoulders with her whip, and the animal flew with her into the next field. "'Oh, if I could do it like that,' thought Lizzie, but in that very minute she was doing it not only as well, but better.' Not following Lord George, but closer to his side, the little animal changed his pace, trotted for a yard or two, hopped up as though the wall were nothing, knocked off a top stone with his hind feet, and dropped onto the ground so softly that Lizzie hardily believed that she had gone over the big obstruction that had cost Lucinda such an effort. Lucinda's horse came down on all four legs with a grunt and a groan, and she knew that she had bustled him. At that moment Lucinda was very full of wrath against the horsey man with the screw who had been in her way. He touched it, gasped Lizzie, thinking that her horse had disgraced himself. "'He's worth his weight in gold,' said Lord George. "'Come on, there's a brook with a ford, Morgan is in it.' Morgan was the huntsman. "'Don't let them get there before you.' "'Oh, no! She would let no one get before her. She did her very best, and just got her horse's nose on the broken track leading down to the brook before Lucinda. "'Pretty good, isn't it?' said Lucinda. Lizzie smiled sweetly. She could smile that she could not speak. "'Anyway, they do balk one and serve one's fences,' said Lucinda. The horsey man had all but regained his place and was immediately behind Lucinda within hearing as Lucinda knew. On the further side of the field, beyond the brook, there was a little spinny, and for half a minute the hyuns came to a check. "'Given time, sir, given time,' said Morgan to Frank, speaking in full good humour with no touch of Mundy's savagery. "'Why, dim-bolter, beaver's got it. Very good thing, my lady, isn't it? Now, castares, if you're going to hunt the fox, you better hunt him.' Castares was the horsey man, a one with whom Morgan very often quarreled. "'That dim my heart is,' and Morgan was across a broken wall in a moment after the leading hyuns. "'Are we to go on?' said Lizzie, who feared much that Lucinda would get ahead of her. There was a matter of three dozen horsemen up now, and as far as Lizzie saw the whole thing might have to be done again. In hunting, to have ridden is the pleasure, and not simply to have ridden well, but to have ridden better than others. "'I call it very awkward-grown,' said Mrs. Carbunkle, coming up, "'it can't be compared to the barren's country. "'Stone walls four feet and a half high and well-built are awkward,' said the noble master. But the hyuns were away again, and Lizzie had got across the gap before Lucinda, who indeed made way for her hostess with a haughty politeness which was not lost upon Lizzie. Lizzie could not stop to beg pardon, but she would remember to do it in her prettiest way on her journey home. They were now on a track of open country, and the pace was quicker even than before. The same three men were still leading, Morgan, Greystock, and Castares. Castares had slightly the best of it, and of course Morgan swore afterwards that he was among the hyuns the whole run. The scent was that good there was no putting off of them. No thanks to him, said Morgan. I ate to see him galloping, galloping, galloping, with no more eye to the hounds and a pig. Any idiot can gallop if he's got it under him." All which only signified that Jack Morgan didn't like to see any of his field before him. There was need, indeed, now for galloping, and it may be doubted whether Morgan himself was not doing his best. There were about five or six in the second flight, and among these Lord George and Lizzie were well placed. But Lucinda had pressed again ahead. Miss Roanoke, you'd better have a care or she'll blow her horse! Lord George said. Lizzie didn't mind what happened to Miss Roanoke's horse, said it could be made to go a little slower and fall behind. But Lucinda still pressed on, and her animal went with a longer stride than Lizzie's horse. They now crossed a road, descending a hill, and were again in a closer country. A few low hedges seemed as nothing to Lizzie. She could see her cousin gallop over them ahead of her, as though they were nothing, and her own horse, as he came to them, seemed to do exactly the same. On a sudden they found themselves abreast with the huntsman. There's a biggy sproot below there, my lord, said he. Lizzie was charmed to hear it. Here the two she jumped all the big things so easily that it was a pleasure to hear of them. How we'd manage it? asked Lord George. It is rideable, my lord, but there's a place about half a mile down. Let's see how they're head. Dread it, my lord, they've turned up, and we must have it or go back to the road. Morgan hurried on, showing that he meant to have it, as did also Lucinda. Shall we go to the road? said Lord George. No, no, said Lizzie. Lord George looked at her and at her horse, and then galloped after the huntsman and Lucinda. The horsey man with a well-bred screw was first over the brook, and the little animal could take almost any amount of water, and his rider knew the spot. He would do it like a bird, he had said to Graystock, and Graystock had followed him. Mr. McFarlane's hard horse did do it like a bird. I know him, sir, said Castares. Mr. Nappy gave two hundred and fifty pounds from him down in Northamptonshire last February, bought him of Mr. Percival. You know Mr. Percival, sir? Frank knew neither Mr. Percival nor Mr. Nappy, and at this moment cared nothing for either of them. To him at this moment Mr. McFarlane of Buchanan Street, Glasgow, was the best friend he ever had. Morgan, knowing well the horse he rode, dropped him into the brook, floundered, and half swam through the mud and water, and scrambled out safely on the other side. He wouldn't have jumped it with me if I had asked him ever so, he said afterwards. Lucinda rode at it straight as an arrow, but her brute came to a dead balk, and but that she sat well would have thrown her into the stream. Lord George let Lizzie take the leap before he took it, knowing that if there were misfortune he might so best render help. To Lizzie it seemed so the river were the blackest and the deepest and the broadest that ever ran. For a moment her heart quailed, but it was for a moment. She shut her eyes and gave the little horse's head. For a moment she thought that she was in the water. Her horse was almost upright on the bank, with his hind feet down among the broken ground, and she was clinging to his neck. But she was light, and the beast made good his footing, and then she knew that she had done it. In that moment of the scramble her heart had been so near her mouth that she was almost choked. When she looked round, Lord George was already by her side. You hardly gave him powder enough, he said, but still he did it beautifully. Good heavens! Miss Roanoke is in the river! Lizzie looked back, and there in truth was Lucinda, struggling with her horse in the water. They paused a moment, and then there were three or four men assisting her. Come on, said Lord George, there are plenty to take her out, and we couldn't get to her if we stayed. I ought to stop, said Lizzie. You couldn't get back if you gave your eyes for it, said Lord George. She's all right. So instigated Lizzie followed her leader up the hill, and in a minute was close upon Morgan's heels. The worst of doing a big thing out hunting is the fact that in nine cases out of ten they who don't do it are as well off as they who do. If there were any penalty for riding round, or any mark given to those who had ridden straight, so that justice might be in some sort done, it would perhaps be better. When you have nearly broken your neck to get to hounds, or made your horse exert himself beyond his proper power, and then find yourself within three minutes overtaking the hindermost ruck of horsemen in a road because of some iniquitous turn that the fox has taken, the feeling is not pleasant. And some man who has not ridden at all, who never did ride at all, will ask you where you have been, and his smile will give you the lie in your teeth if you make any attempt to explain the facts. Let it be sufficient for you at such a moment to feel that you are not ashamed of yourself. Self-respect will support a man even in such misery as this. The fox on this occasion, having crossed to the river, had not left its bank, but had turned from his course up the stream, so that the leading spirits who had followed the hounds over the water came upon a crowd of riders on the road in a space something short of a mile. Mrs. Carbuncle, among others, was there, and had heard of Lucinda's mishap. She said a word to Lord George in anger, and Lord George answered her, We were over the river before it happened, and if we had been given our eyes, we couldn't have got to her. Don't you make a fool of yourself? The last words were spoken in a whisper, but Lizzie's sharp ears caught them. I was obliged to do what I was told, said Lizzie apologetically. It'll be all right the old lady used his, so Griffin is with her. I am so glad you are going so well. They were off again now, and the stupid fox absolutely went back across the river. But whether on one side or the other, his struggle for life was now in vain. Two years of happy, free existence among the wilds of Kregatown have been allowed him. This previously he had been found, and the kindly storm or not less beneficent brightness of the sun had enabled him to baffle his pursuers. Now there have come one glorious day, and the common lot of mortals must be his. A little spurt there was, back towards his own home, just enough to give something of selectedness to the few who saw him fall, and then he fell. Among the few were Frank and Lord George and our Lizzie. Morgan was there, of course, and one of his whips. Aversha folk, perhaps five or six, and among them are friend Mr. Castares. They had run down close to the outbuildings of a farmyard, and they broke him up in the home paddock. What do you think of hunting, said Frank to his cousin? It's divine. My cousin went pretty well, I think, he said to Lord George. Like a celestial bird of paradise, no one ever went better, or I believe so well. You've been carried rather nice to yourself. Indeed I have, said Frank, patting his still palpitating horse, and he's not to say tired now. You've taken it pretty well out of him, sir, said Castares. There was a little bit of hill that told when we got over the brook, I knowed you'd find you'd jump a bit. I wonder where he's to be bought, asked Frank and his enthusiasm. I don't know the horse that isn't, said Mr. Castares, so long as you don't stand at the figure. They'd be collected on the farm road, and now, as they were speaking, there was a commotion among the horses. A man, driving a little buggy, was forcing his way along the road, and there was a sound of voices, as though the man and the buggy were angry. And he was very angry. Frank, who was on foot by his horse's head, could see that the man was dressed for hunting with a bright red coat and a flat hat, and he was driving the pony with a hunting whip. The man was talking as he approached, but what he said did not much matter to Frank. It did not much matter to Frank, till his due friend Mr. Castares whispered a word in his ear. It's Nappy bygum. Then they're crept across Frank's mind, an idea that there might be trouble coming. There he is, said Nappy, bringing his pony to a dead stop with a chuck and jumping out of the buggy. I say you, sir, you stole my horse. Frank said not a word, but stood his ground with his hand on the nag's bridle. You stole my horse. You stole him off the rail, and you've been a radium all day. Yes, you have. Did ever anybody see the like of this? Why, the Pope these can't almost stand. I got him from Mr. McFarlane. McFarlane beblowed. You didn't do nothing of the kind. You stole him off the rail at Stuart, and yes, you did. And he booked to kill Maroc. Where's the police? Who's to stand the like of this? I say, my lord, just look at this. A crowd had now been formed around poor Frank, and the master had come up. Mr. Nappy was a Huddersfield man who had come to Glasgow in the course of the last winter, and whose popularity on the hunting field was not as yet quite so great as it perhaps might have been. There's been a mistake, I suppose, said the master. Bistake, my lord! Take a man's off off the rail at Stuart, and then book to kill Maroc and ride him to a standstill. It's no mistake at all. It's all snobbling. That's what it is. Is there any police here, sir? This he said, turning round to a farmer. The farmer didn't deign any reply. Perhaps you'll tell me your name, sir, if you've got a name. No gentleman ever took a gentleman's off the rail like that. Oh, Frank, do come away, said Lizzie. He was standing by. No, we should be all right in two minutes, said Frank. No, we shan't, said Mr. Nappy, not in two hours. I've asked what's your name? My name is Greystock. Greystockings, said Mr. Nappy, more angrier than ever. I don't believe he knows such a name. Where do you live? Then someone whispered a word to him. Member of Parliament? Is he? I don't care. A member of Parliament isn't to steal my horse off the rail, and him booked to kill Marek. Now, my Lord, what do you do if you were served like that? This was another appeal to the noble master. I should express a hope that my horse would carry the gentleman as he likes to be carried, said the master. Any heirs carried me remarkably well, said Frank, whereupon there was a loud laugh among the crowd. I wish he'd broke on the infernal neck of you, you scoundrel you. That's what I do, said Mr. Nappy. There was me, man, and me, horse, and myself all booked from Glasgow to Kilmarnock. And when I got there, what did the guard say to me? Why, just that a man in a black coat had taken my horse off at the Stewarton, and now I've been driving all over the country in that gig there for three hours. When Mr. Nappy had got so far as this in his explanation, he was almost in tears. I'll make him pay that I will. Take your hand off my horse's bridle, sir. Is there any gentleman here who would like to give 280 guineas for an horse, and then have him get rid to a standstill by a fellow like that down from London? If you're in Parliament, why don't you stick to Parliament? Don't suppose he's worth 50 pounds this moment. Frank had all the while been endeavoring to explain the accident, how he had ordered a horse from Mr. Farlin, and the rest of it, as the reader will understand, but quite in vain. Mr. Nappy and his Roth would not hear a word. But now that he spoke about money, Frank thought that he saw an opening. Mr. Nappy said, I'll buy the horse for the price that you gave him. I'll see you—I've screamed him out first, said Mr. Nappy. The horse had now been surrendered to Mr. Nappy, and Frank suggested that he might as well return to Kilmarnock and the gig, and pay for the hire of it. But Mr. Nappy would not allow him to set a foot upon the gig. It's my gig for the day, said he, and you don't touch it. You shall foot it all the way back to Kilmarnock, Mr. Greystockings. But Mr. Nappy, in making this threat, forgot that there was a gentleman there with second horses. Frank was soon mounted on one belonging to Lord George, and Lord George's servant at the corner of the farm-yard got it to the buggy, and was driven back to Kilmarnock by the man who had accompanied poor Mr. Nappy in their morning's hunt on wheels after the hounds. Upon my word, I was very sorry, said Frank, as he rode back with his friends to Kilmarnock, and when I first really understood what had happened, I would have done anything. But what could I say? It was impossible not to laugh. He was so unreasonable. I should have put my whip over his shoulder, said a stoked farmer, meaning to be civil to Frank Greystock. Not after using it so often over his horse, said Lord George. I never had to touch him once, said Frank. And are you to have it all for nothing? asked the thoughtful Lizzie. You'll send a bill in your find, said a bystander. There not he, said Lord George. His grievances worth more to him than his money. No bill did come to Frank, and he got his mind for nothing. When Mr. McFarlane was applied to, he declared that no letter ordering a horse had been delivered in his establishment. From that day to this, Mr. Nappy's grey horse has had a great character in Gershaw. But all the world there says that its owner never rides him, as Frank Greystock wrote him, that day. End of CHAPTER XXXVIII. Recording by Simon Evers. CHAPTER XXXIX. Recording by Simon Evers. The Ustis Darmons by Anthony Trollop. CHAPTER XXXIX. Sir Griffin takes an unfair advantage. We must return to the unfortunate Lucinda, whom we last saw struggling with her steed in the black waters of the brook which she attempted to jump. A couple of men were soon in after her, and she was rescued and brought back to the side from which she had taken off, without any great difficulty. She was neither hurt nor frightened, but she was wet through, and for a while she was very unhappy, because it was not found quite easy to extricate her horse. Within the ten minutes of her agony, while the poor brute was floundering in the mud, she had been quite disregardful of herself, and had almost seemed to think that Sir Griffin, who was with her, should go into the water after her steed. But there were already two men in the water, and three on the bank, and Sir Griffin thought the duty required him to stay by the young lady's side. I don't care a bit about myself, said Lucinda, but if anything can be done for poor warrior. Sir Griffin assured her that poor warrior was receiving the very best attention, and then he pressed upon her the dangerous condition in which she herself was standing, quite wet through, covered as to her feet and legs, with mud, growing colder and colder every minute. She touched her lips with the little brandy that somebody gave her, and then declared again that she cared for nothing but poor warrior. At last poor warrior was on his legs, with the water dripping from his black flanks, with his nose stained with mud, with one of his legs a little cut, and alas, with the saddle wet through. Nevertheless there was nothing to be done better than to ride into Kilmalak. The whole party must return to Kilmalak, and perhaps if they hurried she might be able to get her clothes dry before they would start by the train. Sir Griffin, of course, accompanied her, and they too rode into the town alone. Mrs. Carbunkle did hear of the accident soon after the occurrence, but had not seen her niece, nor when she heard of it could she have joined Lucinda. If anything would make a girl talk to a man, such a ducking as Lucinda had had would do so. Such sudden events, when they came in the shape of misfortune, or the reverse, generally have the effect of a bonishing shyness for the time. Let a girl be upset with you in a railway train, and she would talk like a Rosalind, though before the accident she was as mute as death. But with Lucinda Roanoke the accustomed to change did not seem to take place. When Sir Griffin had placed her on her saddle she would have trotted all the way into the Kilmalak without a word, if he would have allowed her. But he at least understood that such a joint misfortune should create confidence, for he too had lost the run, and he did not intend to lose his opportunity also. I am so glad that I was near you, he said. Thank you, yes, it would have been bad to be alone. I meant that I am doubted that it was I, said Sir Griffin. It's very hard even to get a moment to speak to you. They were now trotting along on the road, and there were still three miles before them. I don't know, said she, I am always with the other people. Just so. And then he paused. But I want to find you when you are not with the other people. Perhaps however you don't like me. As he paused for a reply she felt herself bound to say something. Oh, yes I do, she said, as well as anybody else. And is that all? I suppose so. After that he rode on for the best part of another mile before he spoke to her again. He made up his mind that he would do it. He hardly knew why it was that he wanted her. He had not determined that he was desirous of the charms or comfort of domestic life. He had not even thought where he would live were he married. He had not suggested to himself that Lucinda was a desirable companion, that her tamper would suit his, that her ways and his were sympathetic, or that she would be a good mother to the future Sir Griffin Truitt. He had seen that she was a very handsome girl, and therefore he had thought that he would like to possess her. Had she fallen like a ripe plum into his mouth, or shown herself ready, so to fall, he would probably have closed his lips and backed out of the affair. But the difficulty no doubt added something to the desire. I had hoped, he said, that after knowing each other so long there might have been more than that. She was again driven to speak because he paused. I don't know that that makes much difference. Miss Roanoke, you can't but understand what I mean. I'm sure I don't, said she, then I'll speak plainer. Not nice of Griffin because I'm so wet. You could listen to me, even if you wouldn't answer me. I'm sure that you know that I love you better than all the world. Would you be mine? Then he moved on a little forward so that he might look back into her face. Would you allow me to think of you as my future wife? Miss Roanoke was able to ride at a stone wall at a river, and to ride at either the second time when her horse balked the first. Her heart was big enough for that. But her heart was not big enough to enable her to give Sir Griffin an answer. Perhaps it was that in regard to the river and the stone wall she knew what she wanted. But that, as to Sir Griffin, she did not. I don't think this is a proper time to ask, she said. Why not? Because I am wet through and cold. It is taking an unfair advantage. I didn't mean to take an unfair advantage, said Sir Griffin, scouting. I thought we were alone. Oh, Sir Griffin, I am so tired. As they were now entering Kilmarnock it was quite clear he could press her no further. They clattered up, therefore, to the hotel, and he busied himself in getting a bedroom far lighted and in obtaining the services of the landlady. A cup of tea was ordered and toast, and in two minutes Lucinda Roanoke was relieved from the presence of the baronet. It's a kind of thing a fellow doesn't quite understand, said Sir Griffin to himself. Of course she means it, and why the devil can't she say so? He had no idea of giving up the chase, but he thought that perhaps he would take it out of her when she became Lady Tuet. They were an hour at the inn to perform Mrs. Carbuncle and Lady Eustace arrived, and during that hour Sir Griffin did not see Miss Roanoke. For this there was, of course, ample reason. Under the custody of the landlady Miss Roanoke was being made dry and clean, and was by no means in a good intention to receive a lover's vows. The baronet sent up half a dozen messages as he sauntered about the yard of the inn, but he got no message in return. Lucinda, as she sat drinking her tea and drying her clothes, did no doubt think about him. But he thought about him as little as she could. Of course he would come again, and she could make up her mind then. It was no doubt necessary that she should do something. Her fortune, such as it was, would soon be spent in the adventure of finding a husband. She also had her ideas about love, and had enough of sincerity about her to love a man thoroughly. And it had seemed to her that all the men who came near her were men with whom she could not fail to dislike. She was hurried here and hurried there, and knew nothing of real social intermisses. As she told her aunt in her wickedness, she would almost have preferred a shoemaker, if she could have become acquainted with a shoemaker in a manner that should be unforced and genuine. There was a savageness for the antipathy in her in the mode of life which her circumstances had produced for her. It was that very savageness which made her ride so hard, and which forbade her to smile and be pleasant to people whom she could not like. And yet she knew that something must be done. She could not afford to wait as other girls might do. Why not, Sir Griffin, as well as any other fool? It may be doubted whether she knew how obstinate, how hard, how cruel to a woman a fool can be. Her stockings had been washed and dried, and her boots and trousers were nearly dry, when Mrs. Carbunkle, followed by Lizzie, rushed into the room. �How my darling, how are you?� said the art, seizing her knees and her arms. �How many dirty now,� said Lucinda. �We've got off the biggest of them up, my lady,� said the landlady. �Oh, Miss Roanoke,� said Lizzie. �I hope you don't think I behave badly in going on. �Everybody always goes on, of course,� said Lucinda. �I did so pray, Lord George, to let me try and jump back to you. You were over, you know, before it happened, but he said it was quite impossible. We did wait until we saw you were out. It didn't signify at all, Lady Eustace. And I was so sorry when I went through the wall at the corner of the wood before you, but I was so excited I hardly knew what I was doing. Lucinda, who was quite used to these affairs and the hunting field, simply nodded her acceptance of this apology. But it was a glorious run, wasn't it? �Pretty well!� said Mrs. Carmunkle. �Oh, it was glorious! But then I got over the river, and oh, if you've been there afterwards! There was such an adventure between a man and a gig, and my cousin Frank!� Then they all went to the train, and were carried home to Portray. End of Chapter 39 Recording by Simon Evers. Chapter 40 of The Eustace Diamonds On their journey back to Portray the ladies were almost too tired for talking, and Sir Griffin was sulky. Sir Griffin had as yet heard nothing about Greystock's adventure, and did not care to be told. But when once they were at the castle, and had taken warm baths and glasses of sherry, and got themselves dressed and had come down to dinner, they were all very happy. To Lizzy it had certainly been the most triumphant day of her life. Her marriage with Sir Florian had been triumphant, but that was only a step to something good that was to come after. She then had, at her own disposal, her little wits and her prettiness, and a world before her in which, as it then seemed to her, there was a deal of pleasure if she could only reach it. Up to this period of her career she had hardly reached any pleasure, but this day had been very pleasant. Lord George de Bruce Carruthers had in truth been her corsair, and she had found the thing which she liked to do, and would soon know how to do. How glorious it was to jump over that black yawning stream, and then to see Lucinda fall into it! And she could remember every jump and her feeling of ecstasy as she landed on the right side, and she had by heart every kind word that Lord George had said to her, and she loved the sweet, pleasant corsair-like intimacy that had sprung up between them. She wondered whether Frank was at all jealous. It wouldn't be amiss that he should be a little jealous. And then somebody had brought home in his pocket the fox's brush, which the master of the hounds had told the huntsman to give her. It was all delightful, and so much more delightful because Mrs. Carbunkle had not gone quite so well as she liked to go, and because Lucinda had fallen into the water. They did not dine till past eight, and the ladies and gentlemen all left the room together. Coffee and liqueurs were to be brought into the drawing-room, and they were all to be intimate, comfortable, and at their ease, all except Sir Griffin Toot, who was still very sulky. Did he say anything? Mrs. Carbunkle had asked. Yes. Well? He proposed, but of course I could not answer him when I was wet through. There had been but a moment, and in that moment this was all that Lucinda would say. Now, I don't mean to stir again, said Lizzie, throwing herself into a corner of a sofa, till somebody carries me to bed. I never was so tired in all my life. She was tired, but there is a fatigue which is delightful, as long as all the surroundings are pleasant and comfortable. I didn't call it a very hard day, said Mrs. Carbunkle. You only killed one fox, said Mr. Emilius, pretending a delightfully clerical ignorance, and on Monday you killed four. Why should you be tired? I suppose it was nearly twenty miles, said Frank, who was also ignorant. About ten, perhaps, said Lord George. It was an hour and forty minutes, and there was a good bit of slow hunting, after we had come back over the river. I'm sure it was thirty, said Lizzie, forgetting her fatigue in her energy. Ten is always better than twenty, said Lord George, and five generally better than ten. It was just whatever is best, said Lizzie. I know Frank's friend, Mr. Nappy, said it was twenty. By the by, Frank, oughtn't we to have asked Mr. Nappy home to dinner? I thought so, said Frank, but I couldn't take the liberty myself. I really think poor Mr. Nappy was very badly used, said Mrs. Carbunkle. Of course he was. Said Lord George. No man ever worse since hunting was invented. He was entitled to a dozen dinners and no end of patronage. But you see, he took it out in calling your cousin, Mr. Gray Stockings. I felt that blow, said Frank. I shall always call you cousin Gray Stockings, said Lizzie. It was hard, continued Lord George. And I understood it all so well when he got into a mess in his wrath about booking the horse to kill Marnock. If the horse had been on the roadside, he or his men could have protected him. He is put under the protection of a whole railway company, and the company gives him up to the first fellow that comes and asks for him. It was cruel, said Frank. If it had happened to me, I should have been very angry, said Mrs. Carbunkle. But Frank wouldn't have had a horse at all, said Lizzie, unless he had taken Mr. Nappy's. Lord George continued his plea for Mr. Nappy. There's something in that, certainly, but still I agree with Mrs. Carbunkle. If it had happened to me, I should just have committed murder and suicide. I can't conceive anything so terrible. It's all very well for your noble master to talk of being civil, and hoping that the horse had carried him well and all that. There are circumstances in which a man can't be civil. And then everybody laughed at him. It's the way of the world. The lower you fall, the more you're kicked. What can I do for him? Asked Frank. Put him down at your club, and order thirty dozen of gray shirtings from Nappy and Co. without naming the price. He'd send you gray stockings instead, said Lizzie. But though Lizzie was in heaven, it behoved her to be careful. The corsair was a very fine specimen of the corsair breed, not the best corsair she had ever seen, and had been devoted to her for the day. But these corsairs are known to be dangerous, and it would not be wise that she should sacrifice any future prospect of importance on behalf of a feeling which, no doubt, was founded on poetry, but which might too probably have no possible beneficial result. As far as she knew, the corsair had not even an island of his own in the Aegean Sea, and, if he had, might not the island to probably have a Madora or two of its own. In a ride across the country the corsair was all that a corsair should be, but knowing, as she did, but very little of the corsair, she could not afford to throw over her cousin for his sake. As she was leaving the drawing-room, she managed to say one word to her cousin. "'You were not angry with me because I got Lord George to ride with me, instead of you?' "'Angry with you?' "'I knew I should only be a hindrance to you.' "'It was a matter of course. He knows all about it, and I know nothing. I am very glad that you liked it so much.' "'I did like it, and so did you. I was so glad you got that poor man's horse. You were not angry, then?' They had now passed across the hall, and were on the bottom stair—certainly not. And you are not angry for what happened before?' She did not look into his face, as she asked this question, but stood with her eyes fixed on the stair-carpet. "'Indeed, no. Good night, Frank. Good night, Lizzie.' Then she went, and he returned to a room below, which had been prepared, for purposes of tobacco and soda water and brandy. "'Why, Griff, you're rather out of sorts to-night,' said Lord George to his friend, before Frank had joined them. So would you be out of sorts if you'd lost your run, and had to pick a young woman out of the water. I don't like young women when they're damp and smell of mud.' "'You mean to marry her, I suppose.' "'How would you like me to ask you questions? Do you mean to marry the widow? And if you do, what'll Mrs. Carbunkle say? And if you don't, what do you mean to do, and all the rest of it?' "'As for marrying the widow, I should like to know the facts first. As to Mrs. C., she wouldn't object in the least. I generally have my horses so bitted that they can't very well object. And as to the other question, I mean to stay here for the next fortnight, and I advise you to make it square with Miss Roanoke. Here's my lady's cousin. For a man who doesn't ride often, he went very well to-day. I wonder if he'd take a twenty-pound note if I sent it to him,' said Frank, when they broke up for the night. I don't like the idea of riding such a fellow's horse for nothing. He'll bring an action against the railway, and then you can offer to pay if you like.' Mr. Nappy did bring an action against the railway, claiming exorbitant damages. But with what result we need not trouble ourselves to inquire. End of Chapter 40, Recording by Laura Koskinen. These Diamonds by Antony Trollope Chapter 41 Likewise the Bears in Couples Agree Frank Greystock stayed till the following Monday at Portray, but could not be induced to hunt on the Saturday, on which day the other sporting men and women went to the meet. He could not, he said, trust to that traitor McFarlane, and he feared that his friend Mr. Nappy would not give him another mount on the Grey Horse. Lizzie offered him one of her two darlings, an offer which he, of course, refused, and Lord George also proposed to put him up. But Frank averred that he had ridden his hunt for that season, and would not jeopardize the laurels he had gained. And moreover, said he, I should not dare to meet Mr. Nappy in the field. So he remained at the castle, and took a walk with Mr. Amelius. Mr. Amelius asked a good many questions about Portray, and exhibited the warmest sympathy with Lizzie's widowed condition. He called her a sweet, gay, unsophisticated, light-hearted young thing. She is very young, replied her cousin. Yes, he continued, in answer to further questions. Portray is certainly very nice. I don't know what the income is. Well, yes, I should think it is over a thousand. Eight? No, I never heard it said that it was as much as that. When Mr. Amelius put it down in his mind as five, he was not void of acuteness, as very little information had been given to him. There was a joke throughout the castle that Mr. Amelius had fallen in love with Miss McNulty. They had been a great deal together on those hunting days, and Miss McNulty was unusually enthusiastic in praise of his manner and conversation. To her, also, had been addressed questions as to Portray and its income, all of which she had answered to the best of her ability, not intending to betray any secret. Or she had no secret to betray, but giving ordinary information on that commonest of all subjects, our friend's incomes. Then there had risen a question whether there was a vacancy for such promotion to Miss McNulty. Mrs. Carbuncle had certainly heard that there was a Mrs. Amelius. Lucinda was sure that there was not, an assurance which might have been derived from a certain eagerness in the Reverend Gentleman's demeanour to herself on a former occasion. To Lizzie, who at present was very good-natured, the idea of Miss McNulty having a lover, whether he were a married man or not, was very delightful. I'm sure I don't know what you mean, said Miss McNulty. I don't suppose Mr. Amelius had any idea of the kind. On the hold, however, Miss McNulty liked it. On the Saturday nothing a special happened. Mr. Nappy was out on his grey horse, and condescended to a little conversation with Lord George. He wouldn't have minded, he said, if Mr. Greystock had come forward. But he did think Mr. Greystock hadn't come forward as he ought to have done. Lord George professed that he had observed the same thing. But then, as he whispered into Mr. Nappy's ear, Mr. Greystock was particularly known as a bashful man. He didn't ride my horse any way bashful, said Mr. Nappy, all of which was told at dinner in the evening, amidst a great deal of laughter. There had been nothing special in the way of sport, and Lizzie's enthusiasm for hunting, though still high, had gone down a few degrees below fever heat. Lord George had again coached her, but there had been no great need for coaching. No losing of her breath, no cutting down of Lucinda, no river, no big wall. Nothing, in short, very fast. There had been much in a big wood. But Lizzie, in giving an account of the day to her cousin, had acknowledged that she had not quite understood what they were doing at any time. It was a blowing of horns and a galloping up and down all the day, she said. And then Morgan got cross again and scolded all the people. But there was one nice peeling, and then he flew over it beautifully. Two men tumbled down, and one of them was a good deal hurt. He was very jolly, but not at all like Wednesday. Nor had it been like Wednesday to Lucinda Roanoke, who did not fall into the water, and who did accept Sir Griffin when he again proposed to her in Sarkie Wood. A great deal had been said to Lucinda on the Thursday and the Friday by Mrs. Carbunkle, which had not been taken at all in good part by Lucinda. On those days Lucinda kept as much as she could out of Sir Griffin's way, and almost snapped at the baronet when he spoke to her. Sir Griffin swore to himself that he wasn't going to be treated that way. He'd have her by George. There are men in whose love a good deal of hatred is mixed, who love as the huntsman loves the fox, towards the killing of which he intends to use all his energies and intellects. Mrs. Carbunkle, who did not quite understand the sort of persistency by which a Sir Griffin can be possessed, feared greatly that Lucinda was about to lose her prize, and spoke out accordingly. Will you then just have the kindness to tell me what it is you proposed to yourself? Asked Mrs. Carbunkle. I don't propose anything. And where will you go when your money's done? That's where I am going now, said Lucinda, by which it may be feared that she indicated a place to which she should not, on such an occasion, have made an illusion. You don't like anybody else? Suggested Mrs. Carbunkle. I don't like anybody or anything, said Lucinda. Yes, you do. You like horses to ride, and dresses to wear. No, I don't. I like hunting, because perhaps some day I may break my neck. It's no use you're looking like that, aren't you, Jane? I know what it all means. If I could break my neck, it would be the best thing for me. You'll break my heart, Lucinda. Mine's broken long ago. If you'll accept Sir Griffin and just get a home round yourself, you'll find that everything will be happy. It all comes from the dreadful uncertainty. Do you think I have suffered nothing? Carbunkle is always threatening that he'll go back to New York. And as for Lord George, he treats me that way. I'm sometimes afraid to show my face. Why should you care for Lord George? It's all very well to say, why should I care for him? I don't care for him. Only one doesn't want to quarrel with one's friends. Carbunkle says he owes him money. I don't believe it, said Lucinda. And he says Carbunkle owes him money. I do believe that, said Lucinda. In it all, I don't know which way to be turning. And now, when there's this great opening for you, you won't know your own mind. I know my mind well enough. I tell you, you'll never have such another chance. Good looks isn't everything. You've never a word to say to anybody. And when a man does come near you, you're as savage and cross as a bear. Go on, Aunt Jane. What with your hateings and dislikings, one was supposed you didn't think God Almighty made men at all. He made some of them very bad, said Lucinda, as for some others, they're only half made. What can Sir Griffin do, do you suppose? He's a gentleman. Then if I were a man, I should wish not to be a gentleman. That's all. I'd a deal sooner marry a man like that huntsman, who has something to do and knows how to do it. Again she said, don't worry any more, Aunt Jane. It doesn't do any good. It seems to me that to make myself Sir Griffin's wife would be impossible. But I'm sure your talking won't do it. Then how aren't left her? And having met Lord George at his bidding went and made civil speeches to Lizzie Eustace. That was on the Friday afternoon. On the Saturday afternoon Sir Griffin, biting his time, found himself, in a ride with Lucinda, sufficiently far from other horsemen for his purpose. He wasn't going to stout any more nonsense. He was entitled to an answer, and he knew that he was entitled by his rank and position to a favourable answer. Here was a girl who, as far as he knew, was without a shilling, of whose birth and parentage nobody knew anything, who had nothing but her beauty to recommend her. Nothing but that, and a certain capacity for carrying herself in the world as he thought ladies should carry themselves, and she was to give herself heirs with him, and expect him to propose to her half a dozen times. By George he had a very good mind to go away and let her find out her mistake, and he would have done so. Only that he was a man who always liked to have all that he wanted. It was intolerable to him that anybody should refuse him anything. Miss Roanoke, he said, and then he paused. Sir Griffin, said Lucinda, barring her head. Perhaps you will condescend to remember what I had the honour of saying to you as we rode into Kilmarnock last Wednesday. I had just been dragged out of a river, Sir Griffin, and I don't think any girl ought to be asked to remember what was said to her in that condition. If I say it again now, will you remember? I cannot promise, Sir Griffin. Will you give me an answer? That must depend. Come! I will have an answer. When a man tells a lady that he admires her and asks her to be his wife, he has a right to an answer. Don't you think that in such circumstances a man has a right to expect an answer? Lucinda hesitated for a moment, and he was beginning again to remonstrate impatiently when she altered her tone and replied him seriously. In such circumstances a gentleman has a right to expect an answer. Then give me one! I admire you above all the world, and I ask you to be my wife. I am quite in earnest. I know that you are in earnest, Sir Griffin. I would do neither you nor myself the wrong of supposing that it could be otherwise. Very well, then. Will you accept the offer that I make you? Then she paused. You have a right to an answer, of course. But it may be so difficult to give it. It seems to me that you have hardly realised how serious a question it is. Haven't I, though? By George it is serious. Will it not be better for you to think it over again? He now hesitated for a moment. Perhaps it might be better. Should she take him at his word there would be no going back from it. But Lord George knew that he had proposed before. Lord George had learned this from Mrs. Carbuncle, and had shown that he knew it. And then, too, he had made up his mind about it. He wanted her, and he meant to have her. It requires no more thinking with me, Lucinda. I am not a man who does things without thinking, and when I have thought I don't want to think again. There is my hand. Will you have it? I will, said Lucinda, putting her hand into his. He no sooner felt her assurance than his mind misgave him, that he had been precipitate, that he had been rash, and that she had taken advantage of him. After all, how many things are there in the world more precious than a handsome girl? And she had never told him that she loved him. I suppose you love me. He asked, Sh, here they all are. The hand was withdrawn, but not before both Mrs. Carbuncle and Lady Eustace had seen it. Mrs. Carbuncle, in her great anxiety, bided her time, keeping close to her niece. Perhaps she felt that if the two were engaged, it might be well to keep the lovers separated for a while, lest they should quarrel before the engagement should have been so confirmed by the authority of friends as to be beyond the power of easy annihilation. Linda rode quite demurely with the crowd. Sir Griffin remained near her, but without speaking. Lizzie whispered to Lord George that there had been a proposal. Mrs. Carbuncle sat in stately dignity on her horse, as though there were nothing which at that moment especially engaged her attention. An hour almost had passed before she was able to ask the important question. Well, what have you said to him? Oh, just what you would have me. You have accepted him? I suppose I was obliged. At any rate I did. You shall know one thing, aren't you, at any rate, and I hope it will make you comfortable. I hate a good many people, but of all the people in the world, I hate Sir Griffin Tewitt's the worst, nonsense, Lucinda. It shall be nonsense, if you please, but it's true. I shall have to lie to him. But there should be no lying to you. However much you may wish it, I hate him. This was very grim, but Mrs. Carbuncle quite understood that persons situated in great difficulty, things might be grim. A certain amount of grimness must be endured, as she knew, too, that Lucinda was not a girl to be driven without showing something of an intractable spirit in harness. Mrs. Carbuncle had undertaken the driving of Lucinda, and had been not altogether unsuccessful. The thing so necessary to be done was now affected. Hanise was engaged to a man with a title, to a man reported to have a fortune, to a man of family, and a man of the world. Now that the engagement was made, the girl could not go back from it, and it was for Mrs. Carbuncle to see that neither should Sir Griffin go back. Her first steps must be taken at once. The engagement should be known to all the party, and should be recognised by some words spoken between herself and the lover. The word between herself and the lover must be the first thing. She herself, personally, was not very fond of Sir Griffin. But on such an occasion as this, she could smile and endure the bear. Sir Griffin was a bear. But so also was Lucinda. The rabbits and hares all go in pairs, and likewise the bears in couples agree. Mrs. Carbuncle consoled herself with the song, and assured herself that it would all come right. No doubt the she-bears were not as civil to the he-bears, as the turtle doves are to each other. It was perhaps her misfortune that her niece was not a turtle dove. But such as she was, the best had been done for her. Dear Sir Griffin, she said on the first available opportunity, not caring much for the crowd, had almost desirous that her very words should be overheard. My darling girl has made me so happy by what she has told me. She hasn't lost any time, said Sir Griffin. Of course she would lose no time. She is the same to me as a daughter. I have no child of my own, and she is everything to me. May I tell you that you are the luckiest man in Europe? It isn't every girl that would suit me, Mrs. Carbuncle. I am sure of that. I have noticed how particular you are. I won't say a word of Lucinda's beauty. Men are better judges of that than women. But for high chivalrous spirit, for true principle and nobility, and what I call downright worth, I don't think you will easily find her superior. And she is as true as still. And about as hard I was beginning to think. A girl like that, Sir Griffin, does not give herself away easily. You are not like her the less for that now that you are the possessor. She is very young, and has known my wish that she should not engage herself to anyone quite yet. But, as it is, I cannot regret anything. I dare say not, said Sir Griffin. That the man was a bear. Was a matter of course. And bears probably do not themselves know how bearish they are. Sir Griffin, no doubt, was unaware of the extent of his own rudeness. And his rudeness mattered but little to Mrs. Carbuncle, so long as he acknowledged the engagement. She had not expected a lover's raptures from the one more than from the other. And was there not enough in the engagement to satisfy her? She allowed, therefore, no cloud to cross her brow, as she rode up alongside of Lord George. Sir Griffin has proposed, and she has accepted him, she said in a whisper. She was not now desirous that anyone should hear her, but he to whom she spoke. Of course she has, said Lord George. I don't know about that, George. Sometimes I thought she would, and sometimes that she wouldn't. You have never understood, Lucinda. I hope Griff will understand her, and that's all. And now that the thing is settled, you'll not trouble me about it any more. There woes beyond their own head. If they come to blows, Lucinda will thrash him, I don't doubt. But while it's simply a matter of temperant words, she won't find Teward so easy going as he looks. I believe they'll do very well together. Bumps they will. There's no saying who may do well together. You aren't Carbuncle, get on her, Merville. When is it to be? Of course nothing is settled yet. Don't be too hard about settlements, or maybe he'll find a way of rigging out. When a girl without a shilling asks very much, the world supports a man for breaking his engagement. Let her pretend to be indifferent about it. That will be the way to keep him firm. What is his income, George? I haven't an idea. There never was a closer man about money. I believe he must have the bulk of the Teward property some day. He can't spend above a couple of thousand now. He's not in debt, is he? He owes me a little money, twelve hundred or so, and I mean to have it. I suppose he is in debt, but not much, I think. He makes stupid bets, and the devil won't break him of it. Lucinda has two or three thousand pounds, you know. That's a flea-bite. Let her keep it. You're in for it now, and you better say nothing about money. He has a decent solicitor, and let him arrange about the settlements. Look here, Jane, get it done as soon as you can. You'll help me? If you don't bother me, I will. On their way home, Mrs. Carbunkle was able to tell Lady Eustace. You know what has occurred. Oh, dear, yes," said Lizzie, laughing. Has Lucinda told you? Do you think I've got no eyes? Of course it was going to be. I knew that from the very moment so griffin' reached Portray. I'm so glad that Portray has been useful. Oh, so useful, dear Lady Eustace! Not but what it must have come off anywhere. For there never was a man so much in love as Sir Griffin. The difficulty has been with Lucinda. She likes him, I suppose. Oh, yes, of course," said Mrs. Carbunkle with energy. Not that girls ever really care about men now. They've got to be married, and they make the best of it. She's very handsome, and I suppose he's pretty well off. He will be very rich indeed, and they say he's such an excellent young man when you know him. I dare say most young men are excellent, when you come to know them. What does Lord George say? He's in raptures. He's very much attached to Lucinda, you know. And so that affair was managed. They hadn't been home a quarter of an hour before Frank Restock was told. He asked Mrs. Carbunkle about the sport, and then she whispered to him, an engagement has been made. So, Griffin, suggested Frank, Mrs. Carbunkle smiled, and nodded her head. It was well that everybody should know it. End of Chapter 41 Chapter 42 of The Eustis Diamonds This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information, or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Leanne Howlett. The Eustis Diamonds by Antony Trollop. Chapter 42 Sunday Morning So, Miss, you've took him, said the joint Abigail of the Carbunkle establishment that evening to the younger of her two mistresses. Mrs. Carbunkle had resolved that the thing should be quite public. Just remember this, replied Lucinda. I don't want to have a word said to me on the subject. Only just to wish you joy, Miss. Lucinda turned round with a flash of anger at the girl. I don't want your wishing. That'll do. I can manage by myself. I won't have you come near me if you can't hold your tongue when you're told. I can hold my tongue as well as anybody, said the Abigail with the toss of her head. This happened after the party had separated for the evening. At dinner, Sir Griffin had, of course, given Lucinda his arm, but so he had always done since they had been at Portray. Lucinda hardly opened her mouth at table, and had retreated to bed with a headache when the men, who on that day lingered a few minutes after the ladies, went into the drawing-room. This Sir Griffin felt to be almost in a front, as there was a certain process of farewell for the night which he had anticipated. If she was going to treat him like that, he would cut up rough and she should know it. Well, Griff, so it's all settled, said Lord George in the smoking-room. Frank Graystock was there, and Sir Griffin did not like it. What do you mean by settled? I don't know that anything is settled. I thought it was, weren't you told so? And Lord George turned to Graystock. I thought I heard a hint, said Frank. I'm—if I ever knew such people in my life, said Sir Griffin, they don't seem to have an idea that a man's own affairs may be private. Such an affair as that never is private, said Lord George. The women take care of that. You don't suppose they're going to run down their game and let nobody know it? If they take me for game—of course your game, every man's game—only some men are such a bad game that they ain't worth following. Take it easy, Griff. You're caught. No, I ain't. And enjoy the satisfaction of knowing that she's about the handsomest girl out. As for me, I'd sooner have the widow. I beg your pardon, Mr. Graystock. Frank merely bowed. Simply, I mean, because she rides about two stone lighter, it'll cost you something to mount Lady to it. I don't mean that she shall hunt, said Sir Griffin. It will be seen therefore that the baronet made no real attempt to deny his engagement. On the following day, which was a Sunday, Sir Griffin, having ascertained that Miss Roanoke did not intend to go to church, stayed at home also. Mr. Amelius had been engaged to preach at the nearest Episcopal place of worship, and the remainder of the party all went to hear him. As he was very particular about her Bible and prayer-book, and Miss McNulty were a brighter ribbon on her bonnet than she had ever been known to carry before, Lucinda, when she had heard of the arrangement, had protested to her aunt that she would not go downstairs so they had all returned. But Mrs. Carbunkle, fearing the anger of Sir Griffin, doubting whether in his anger he might not escape them altogether, said a word or two which even Lucinda found to be rational. As you have accepted him you shouldn't avoid him, my dear, that is only making things worse for the future. And then it's cowardly, is it not? No word that could have been spoken was more likely to be efficacious. At any rate, she would not be cowardly. As soon then as the wheels of the carriage were no longer heard grating upon the road, Lucinda, who had been very careful in her dress, so careful as to avoid all appearance of care, with slow majestic step descended to a drawing-room which they were accustomed to use on mornings. It was probable that Sir Griffin was smoking somewhere about the grounds, but it could not be her duty to go after him out of doors. She would remain there, and if he chose he might come to her. There could be no ground of complaint on his side if she allowed herself to be found in one of the ordinary sitting-rooms of the house. In about half an hour he sauntered upon the terrace and flattened his nose against the window. She bowed and smiled to him, hating herself for smiling. It was perhaps the first time that she had endeavored to put on a pleasant face wherewithal to greet him. He said nothing then, but passed round the house, threw away the end of his cigar, and entered the room. Whatever happened she would not be a coward. The thing had to be done. Everything that she had accepted him on the previous day had not run away in the night or taken poison, and had come down to undergo the interview she would undergo it at least with courage. What did it matter, even though he should embrace her? It was her lot to undergo misery, and as she had not chosen to take poison the misery must be endured. She rose as he entered and gave him her hand. She had thought what she would do, and was collected and dignified. He had not, and was very awkward. So you haven't gone to church, Sir Griffin, as you ought, she said with another smile. Come, I've gone as much as you. But I had a headache. You stayed away to smoke cigars. I stayed to see you, my girl. A lover may call his lady love his girl and do so very prettily. He may so use the word that she will like it and be grateful in her heart for the sweetness of the sound. But Sir Griffin did not do it nicely. I've got ever so much to say to you. I won't flatter you by saying that I stayed to hear it. But you did, didn't you now? She shook her head, but there was something almost of playfulness in her manner of doing it. Ah, but I know you did. And why shouldn't you speak out now that we are to be man and wife? I like a girl to speak out. I suppose if I want to be with you, you want as much to be with me, eh? I don't see that that follows. By if it doesn't, I'll be off. You must please yourself about that, Sir Griffin. Come, do you love me? You have never said you loved me. Only perhaps for her he thought that the best assurance of love was a kiss. She did not revolt or attempt to struggle with him, but the hot blood flew over her entire face and her lips were very cold to his, and she almost trembled in his grasp. Sir Griffin was not a man who could ever have been the adored of many women, but the instincts of his kind were strong enough within him to make him feel that she did not return his embrace with passion. He had found her to be very beautiful. But it seemed to him that she had never been so little beautiful as when thus pressed close to his bosom. Come, he said, still holding her. You'll give me a kiss. I did do it, she said. No, nothing like it. Oh, if you won't, you know. On a sudden she made up her mind, and absolutely did kiss him. She would sooner have leaped at the blackest, darkest, dirtiest river in the county. There, she said, that will do, gently extricating herself from his arms. Some girls are different, I know, but you must take me as I am, Sir Griffin, that is, if you do take me. Why can't you drop the sir? Oh, yes, I can do that. And you do love me. There was a pause while she tried to swallow the lie. Come, I'm not going to marry any girl who was ashamed to say that she loves me, I like a little flesh and blood. You do love me. Yes, she said. The lie was told, and for the moment he had to be satisfied. But in his heart he didn't believe her. It was all very well for her to say that she wasn't like other girls. Why shouldn't she be like other girls? It might no doubt suit her to be made lady to it. But he wouldn't make her lady to it if she gave herself heirs with him. She should lie on his breast and swear that she loved him beyond all the world, or else she should never be lady to it. Different from other girls, indeed. She should know that he was different from other men. Then he asked her to come and take a walk about the grounds. To that she made no objection. She would get her hat and be with him in a minute. But she was absent more than ten minutes. When she was alone she stood before her glass looking at herself, and then she burst into tears. Never before had she been thus polluted. The embrace had disgusted her. It made her odious to herself. And if this, the beginning of it, were so bad, how was she to drink the cup to the bitter dregs? Other girls she knew were fond of their lovers. Some so fond of them that all moments of absence were moments, if not of pain, at any rate of regret. To her as she stood there ready to tear herself because of the vileness of her own condition, it now seemed as though no such love as that were possible to her. For the sake of this man who was to be her husband she hated all men. Was not everything around her base and mean and sorted. She had understood thoroughly the quick divulgings of Mrs. Carbunkle's tidings, the working of her ant's anxious mind. The man, now that he had been caught, was not to be allowed to escape. But how great would be the boon if he would escape. How should she escape? And yet she knew that she meant to go on and bear it all. Perhaps by study and due practice she might become, as were some others, a beast of prey and nothing more. The feeling that had made these few minutes so inexpressibly loathsome to her might perhaps be driven from her heart. She washed the tears from her eyes with savage energy and descended to her lover with a veil fastened closely under her hat. I hope I haven't kept you waiting, she said. Women always do, he replied, laughing. It gives them importance. It is not so with me I can assure you. I will tell you the truth. I was agitated and I cried. Oh, I, I dare say. You rather liked the idea of having reduced the haughty Lucinda to tears. But you'd needn't have been ashamed of my seeing it, as it is I can see nothing. You must take that off presently. Not now, Griffin. Oh, what a name it was. It seemed to blister her tongue as she used it without the usual prefix. I never saw you tied up in that way before. You don't do it out hunting. I've seen you when the snow has been driving in your face and you didn't mind it, not so much as I did. You can't be surprised that I should be agitated now. But you're happy, ain't you? Yes, she said. The lie once told must of course be continued. Upon my word I don't quite understand you, said Sir Griffin. Look here, Lucinda, if you want to back out of it you can, you know. If you ask me again, I will. This was said with the old savage voice and it at once reduced Sir Griffin to thrall them. To be rejected now would be the death of him, and should there come a quarrel he was sure that it would seem to be that he had been rejected. I suppose it's all right, he said, only when a man is only thinking how he can make you happy he doesn't like to find nothing but crying. After this there was but little more said between them before they returned to the castle. End of Chapter 42, Recording by Leanne Howlett. Chapter 43 of the Eustis Diamonds. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Leanne Howlett. The Eustis Diamonds by Antony Trollope. Chapter 43. Life at Portray. On the Monday Frank took his departure. Everybody at the castle had liked him except Sir Griffin, who, when he had gone, remarked to Lucinda that he was an insufferable legal prig, and one of those chaps who think themselves somebody because they are in Parliament. Lucinda had liked Frank and said so very boldly. I see what it is, replied Sir Griffin. You always like the people I don't. When he was going Lizzie left her hand in his for a moment and gave one look up into his eyes. When is Lucy to be made blessed? she asked. I don't know that Lucy will ever be made blessed, he replied, but I am sure I hope she will. Not a word more was said and he returned to London. After that Mrs. Carbunkle and Lucinda remained at Portray Castle till after Christmas, greatly overstaying the original time fixed for their visit. Lord George and Sir Griffin went and returned, and went again and returned again. There was much hunting and a great many love passages, which need not be recorded here. More than once during these six or seven weeks there arose a quarrel, bitter, loud and pronounced, between Sir Griffin and Lucinda. But Lord George and Mrs. Carbunkle, between them, managed to throw oil upon the waters, and when Christmas came the engagement was still an engagement. The absolute suggestion that it should be broken and abandoned and thrown to the winds always came from Lucinda, and Sir Griffin, when he found that Lucinda was an earnest, would again be moved by his old desires and would determine that he would have the thing he wanted. Once he behaved with such coarse brutality that nothing but an abject apology would serve the turn, he made the abject apology and after that became conscious that his wings were clipped, and that he must do as he was bitten. Lord George took him away and brought him back again and blew him up, and at last, under pressure from Mrs. Carbunkle, made him consent to the fixing of a day. The marriage was to take place during the first week in April, when the party moved from Portray he was to go up to London and see his lawyer. Settlements were to be arranged, and something was to be fixed as to future residents. In the midst of all this, Lucinda was passive as regarded the making of the arrangements, but very troublesome to those around her as to her immediate mode of life. Even to Lady Eustis she was curt and uncivil. To her aunt she was at times ferocious. She told Lord George more than once to his face that he was hurrying her to perdition. What the D is it you want, Lord George said to her. Not to be married to this man. But you have accepted him. I didn't ask you to take him. You don't want to go into a work-house, I suppose. Then she rode so hard that all the Archer lairs were startled out of their propriety, and there was a general fear that she would meet some terrible accident. And Lizzie, instigated by jealousy, learned to ride as hard, and as they rode against each other every day there was a turmoil in the hunt. Morgan, scratching his head, declared that he had known drunken rampaging men, but had never seen ladies so wicked. Lizzie did come down rather badly at one wall, and Lucinda got herself jammed against a gate-post. But when Christmas was come and gone, and Portray Castle had been left empty, no very bad accident had occurred. A great friendship had sprung up between Mrs. Carbunkle and Lizzie, so that both had become very communicative. Whether both or either had been candid may perhaps be doubted. Mrs. Carbunkle had been quite confidential in discussing with her friend the dangerous varieties of Lucinda's humours, and the dreadful aversion which she still seemed to entertain for Sorgryphon. But then these humours and this aversion were so visible that they could not well be concealed, and what can be the use of confidential communications if things are kept back which the confidant would see even if they were not told. She would be just like that whoever the man was, said Mrs. Carbunkle. I suppose so, said Lizzie, wondering at such a phenomenon in female nature. But with this fact understood between them to be a fact, namely that Lucinda would be sure to hate any man whom she might accept, they both agreed that the marriage had better go on. She must take a husband some day, you know, said Mrs. Carbunkle. Of course, said Lizzie. With her good looks it would be out of the question that she shouldn't be married. Quite out of the question, repeated Lizzie. And I really don't see how she's to do better. It's her nature, you know. I have had enough of it, I can tell you. And at the pension near Paris they couldn't break her in at all. Nobody ever could break her in. You see it in the way she rides. I suppose Sorgryphon must do it, said Lizzie, laughing. Well, that or the other thing, you know. But there was no doubt about this. Whoever might break or be broken, the marriage must go on. If you don't persevere with one like her, Lady Eustace, nothing can be done. Lizzie quite concurred. What did it matter to her who should break or who be broken, if she could only sail her own little bark without dashing in on the rocks? Rocks there were. She didn't quite know what to make of Lord George, who certainly was a Corsair, who had said some very pretty things to her, quite a la Corsair. But in the meantime, from certain rumors that she heard, she believed that Frank had given up, or at least was intending to give up, the little chit who was living with Lady Linlithgau. There had been something of a quarrel, so at least she had heard through Miss McNulty, with whom Lady Linlithgau still occasionally corresponded in spite of their former breaches. From Frank Lizzie heard repeatedly. But Frank in his letters never mentioned the name of Lucy Morris. Now if there should be a division between Frank and Lucy, then she thought Frank would return to her. And if so, for a permanent holding rock of protection in the world, her cousin Frank would be at any rate safer than the Corsair. Lizzie and Mrs. Carbunkle had quite come to understand each other comfortably about money. It suited Mrs. Carbunkle very well to remain at Portray. It was no longer necessary that she should carry Lucinda about in search of game to be run down. The one head of game needed had been run down, such as it was. Not indeed a very noble stag, but the stag had been accepted, and a home for herself and her niece, which should have about it a sufficient air of fashion to satisfy public opinion, out of London, better still in Scotland, belonging to a person with a title, enjoying the appurtenances of wealth and one to which Lord George and Sir Griffin could have access, was very desirable. But it was out of the question that Lady Eustace should bear all the expense. Mrs. Carbunkle undertook to find the stables, and did pay for that rick of hay and for the cartload of forage which had made Lizzie's heart quake as she saw it dragged up the hill towards her own granaries. It is very comfortable when all these things are clearly understood. Early in January they were all to go back to London. Then for a while, up to the period of Lucinda's marriage, Lizzie was to be Mrs. Carbunkle's guest at the small house in Mayfair. But Lizzie was to keep the carriage. There came at last to be some little attempt, perhaps, at a hard bargain at the hand of each lady, in which Mrs. Carbunkle, as the elder, probably got the advantage. There was a question about the liveries in London. The footmen there must appertain to Mrs. Carbunkle, whereas the coachman would as necessarily be one of Lizzie's retainers. Mrs. Carbunkle ascended at last to finding a double livery, but like a prude woman arranged to get her quid pro quo. You can add something you know to the present. You'll have to give Lucinda. Lucinda shall choose something up to forty pounds. We'll say thirty, said Lizzie, who was beginning to know the value of money. Split the difference, said Mrs. Carbunkle, with a pleasant little burst of laughter, and the difference was split. That the very neat and even dandified appearance of the groom who wrote out hunting with them should be provided at the expense of Mrs. Carbunkle was quite understood. But it was equally well understood that Lizzie was to provide the horse on which he rode on every third day. It adds greatly to the comfort of friends living together when these things were accurately settled. Mr. Emilius remained longer than had been anticipated and did not go till Lord George and Sir Griffin took their departure. It was observed that he never spoke of his wife, and yet Mrs. Carbunkle was almost sure that she had heard of such a lady. He had made himself very agreeable, and was, either by art or nature, a courteous man, one who paid compliments to ladies. It was true, however, that he sometimes startled his hearers by things which might have been considered to border on coarseness if they had not been said by a clergyman. Lizzie had an idea that he intended to marry Miss McNulty, and Miss McNulty certainly received his attentions with pleasure. In these circumstances his prolonged stay at the castle was not questioned. But when, towards the end of November, Lord George and Sir Griffin took their departure, he was obliged to return to his flock. On the great subject of the diamonds Lizzie had spoken her mind freely to Mrs. Carbunkle early in the days of their friendship. Immediately that is after the bargaining had been completed. Ten thousand pounds, ejaculated Mrs. Carbunkle, opening wide her eyes. Lizzie nodded her head thrice in token of reiterated assurance. Do you mean that you really know their value? The ladies at this time were closeted together and were discussing many things in the closest confidence. They were valued for me by jewelers. Ten thousand pounds, and Sir Florian gave them to you. Put them round my neck and told me they were to be mine, always. Generous man. Ah, if you had but known him, said Lizzie, just touching her eye with her handkerchief. I dare say, and now the people claim them, I'm not a bit surprised at that, my dear. I should have thought a man couldn't give away so much as that, not just as one mix of present that cost forty or fifty pounds. Mrs. Carbunkle could not resist the opportunity of showing that she did not think so very much of that coming thirty-five pound gift for which the bargain had been made. That's what they say, and they say ever so many other things besides. They mean to prove that it's an heirloom. Perhaps it is. But it isn't. My cousin Frank, who knows more about law than any other man in London, says that they can't make a necklace an heirloom. If it was a brooch or a ring, it would be different. I don't quite understand it, but it is so. It's a pity Sir Florian didn't say something about it in his will, suggested Mrs. Carbunkle. But he did. At least not just about the necklace. Then Lady Eustis explained the nature of her late husband's will, as far as it regarded chattels to be found in the castle of Portray at the time of his death, and added the fiction, that it had now become common to her as to the necklace having been given to her in Scotland. I shouldn't let them have it, said Mrs. Carbunkle. I don't mean, said Lizzie. I should sell them, said Mrs. Carbunkle. But why? Because there are so many accidents. A woman should be very rich indeed before she allows herself to walk about with ten thousand pounds upon her shoulders. Suppose somebody broke into the house and stole them. And if they were sold, my dear, so that some got to Paris and others to St. Petersburg and others to New York, they'd have to give it up then. Before the discussion was over, Lizzie tripped upstairs and brought the necklace down and put it on Mrs. Carbunkle's neck. I shouldn't like to have such property in my house, my dear, continued Mrs. Carbunkle. Of course diamonds are very nice, nothing is so nice. And if a person had a proper place to keep them, and all that. I have a very strong iron case, said Lizzie. But they should be at the bank, or the jewelers, or somewhere quite, quite safe. People might steal the case and all. If I were you, I should sell them. It was explained to Mrs. Carbunkle on that occasion that Lizzie had brought them down with her in the train from London, and that she intended to take them back in the same way. There's nothing the thieves would find easier than to steal them on the way, said Mrs. Carbunkle. It was some days after this that there came down to her by post some terribly frightful documents, which were the first results as far as she was concerned of the filing of a bill in Chansary, which hostile proceeding was, in truth, affected by the unaided energy of Mr. Camperdown, although Mr. Camperdown put himself forward simply as an instrument used by the trustees of the Eustace property. Within eight days she was to enter an appearance, or grow through some preliminary ceremony, toward showing why she should not surrender her diamonds to the Lord Chancellor, or to one of those satreps of his, the Vice-Chancellors, or to some other terrible murmur done. Mr. Camperdown, in his letter, explained that the service of this document upon her in Scotland would amount to nothing. Even were he to send it down by a messenger. But that no doubt she would send it to her attorney, who would see the expedience of avoiding exposure by accepting the service. Of all which explanation Lizzie did not understand one word. Mrs. Camperdown's letter and the document which it contained did frighten her considerably, although the matter had been discussed so often that she had accustomed herself to declare that no such bugbears as that should have any influence on her. She had asked Frank whether, in the event of such missiles reaching her, she might send them to him. He had told her that they should be at once placed in the hands of her attorney, and consequently she now sent them to Mature's Malbrae and Mopus, with a very short note from herself. Lady Eustis presents her compliments to Mature's Mobrae and Mopus, and encloses some papers she has received about her diamonds. They are her own diamonds given to her by her late husband. Please do what is proper, but Mr. Camperdown ought to be made to pay all the expenses. She had no doubt allowed herself to hope that no further steps would be taken in the matter, and the very name of the vice chancellor did for a few hours chill the blood at her heart. In those few hours she almost longed to throw the necklace into the sea, feeling sure that if the diamonds were absolutely lost there must be altogether an end of the matter. But by degrees her courage returned to her, as she remembered that her cousin had told her that as far as he could see the necklace was legally her own. Her cousin had, of course, been deceived by the lies which she had repeated to him, but lies which had been efficacious with him might be efficacious with others. Who could prove that Sir Florian had not taken the diamonds to Scotland and given them to her there in that very house which was now her own? She told Mrs. Carbuckle of the missiles which had been hurled at her from the London Courts of Law, and Mrs. Carbuckle evidently thought that the diamonds were as good as gone. Then I suppose you can't sell them, said she. Yes, I could. I could sell them to-morrow. What is to hinder me? Suppose I took them to jewelers in Paris. The jewelers would think you had stolen them. I didn't steal them, said Lizzie. They're my very own. Frank says that nobody can take them away from me. I shouldn't a man give his wife a diamond necklace as well as a diamond ring. That's what I can't understand. What may he give her so that men shan't come and worry her life out of her in this way? As for an heirloom, anybody who knows anything knows that it can't be an heirloom. A pot or a pan may be an heirloom, but a diamond necklace cannot be an heirloom. Everybody knows that, that knows anything. I dare say it will all come right, said Mrs. Carbuckle, who did not in the least believe Lizzie's law about the pot and pan. In the first week in January, Lord George and Sir Griffin returned to the castle with the view of traveling up to London with the three ladies. This arrangement was partly thrown over by circumstances, as Sir Griffin was pleased to leave Portray two days before the others and to travel by himself. There was a bitter quarrel between Lucinda and her lover, and it was understood afterwards by Lady Eustace that Sir Griffin had had a few words with Lord George, but what those few words were she never quite knew. There was no open rupture between the two gentlemen, but Sir Griffin showed his displeasure to the ladies, who were more likely to bear patiently his ill humor in the present circumstances than was Lord George. When a man has shown himself to be so far amenable to feminine authority as to have put himself in the way of matrimony, ladies will bear a great deal from him. There was nothing which Mrs. Carbunkle would not endure from Sir Griffin, just at present. And on behalf of Mrs. Carbunkle, even Lizzie was long suffering. It cannot, however, be said that this Petrucchio had as yet tamed his own peculiar shrew. Lucinda was as savage as ever and would snap and snarl and almost bite. Sir Griffin would snarl, too, and say very bearish things, but when it came to the point of actual quarreling he would become sullen, and in his sullenness would yield. I don't see why Caruthers should have it all his own way, he said, one hunting morning to Lucinda. I don't care two pints who have their way, said Lucinda. I mean to have mine, that's all. I'm not speaking about you. I call it downright interference on his part, and I do think you give way to him. You never do anything that I suggest. You never suggest anything that I like to do, said Lucinda. That's a pity, said Sir Griffin, considering that I shall have to suggest so many things that you will have to do. I don't know that at all, said Lucinda. Mrs. Carbunkle came up during the quarrel, meaning to throw oil upon the waters. What children you are, she said, laughing, as if each of you won't have to do what the other suggests. Mrs. Carbunkle began, Sir Griffin. If you will have the great kindness not to endeavor to teach me what my conduct should be now or at any future time, I shall take it as a kindness. Sir Griffin, pray don't quarrel with Mrs. Carbunkle, said Lizzie. Lady Eustace, if Mrs. Carbunkle interferes with me, I shall quarrel with her. I have borne a great deal more of this kind of thing than I like. I'm not going to be told this and told that, because Mrs. Carbunkle happens to be the aunt of the future lady to it, if it should come to that. I'm not going to marry a whole family, and the less I have of this kind of thing the more likely it is that I shall come up to scratch when the time is up. Then Lucinda rose and spoke. Sir Griffin, to it, she said, there is not the slightest necessity that you should come up to scratch. I wonder that I have not as yet been able to make you understand that if it will suit your convenience to break off our match it will not in the least interfere with mine. And let me tell you this, Sir Griffin, that any repetition of your unkindness to my aunt will make me utterly refuse to see you again. Of course you like her better than you do me. A great deal better, said Lucinda. If I stand that I'll be, said Sir Griffin, leaving the room, and he left the castle, sleeping that night at the inn at Kilmarnock. The day, however, was past and hunting, and though he said nothing to either of the three ladies, it was understood by them, as they returned to portray, that there was to be no quarrel. Lord George and Sir Griffin had discussed the matter, and Lord George took upon himself to say that there was no quarrel. On the morning but one following there came a note from Sir Griffin to Lucinda, just as they were leaving home for their journey up to London, in which Sir Griffin expressed his regret if he had said anything displeasing to Mrs. Carbunkle. End of Chapter 43, Recording by Leigh Ann Howlett