THE DÉNOÛEMENT.
But she need not have imagined that Hal took no notice of her mood, or
of her actions, for he watched both with the eyes of love sharpened
by jealousy to those of a lynx. As she wandered aimlessly round the
garden, or sat in a chair, with her listless hands lying folded in her
lap, her husband was wondering if it were possible she was thinking of
anyone but himself. When two people who really love each other lose for
a while their trick of mutual confidence, their manners must become
strained and uneasy. Both Paula and Hal were suffering deeply--he, who
had been ready to stake his life upon his wife’s immaculate fidelity,
from a terrible suspicion that, like many another man, he had been
deceived--and she, because the world seemed too hard and cruel to walk
through, and for the moment she was out of love with life, and dreaded
lest even what had appeared to her a solemn duty might prove the
destruction of her happiness. She did not know that Hal was watching
her, but _she_ watched _him_ at every furtive moment, fearing to read
some suspicion of her in his face, or to hear him demand an immediate
explanation of her visits to Haltham. The position she found herself
in, and the difficulties which loomed for her in the future, combined
with the certain knowledge that, sooner or later, an explanation must
ensue, made her restless, irritable, and unlike herself. The next
day was Sunday, a bright, clear morning, and Hal Rushton supposed
that, as usual, his wife would go to church. He was not a church-goer
himself--he disliked the formality and publicity of the whole
proceeding--but Paula had always attended the morning service, and
especially since she had become so intimate with Mary Measures. But on
this particular Sunday, though the church bells were ringing through
the village, she kept her seat before the fire, and made no attempt to
move.
‘Are you not going to church this morning?’ he inquired.
‘No, Hal; it is too cold. I prefer to stay at home.’
Her husband laughed, not altogether agreeably.
‘I’m afraid whoever saw you riding or driving about all the week would
stare at that excuse, Paula. The thermometer is three degrees higher
than it was yesterday.’
‘Is it? But I am not aware that I owe an excuse to anybody.’
‘Perhaps not; but if you condescend to give one, let it be the truth.’
‘You have grown very particular all of a sudden, Hal. I will say I am
lazy, then, if that will suit you better than the cold.’
‘Or that you have no inducement to leave the house to-day, eh, Paula?
Well, then, I’ll stay at home and keep you company.’
‘Yes, do, Hal,’ she answered, more briskly than he had anticipated,
‘and I will write some of your letters for you if you will let me.’
She held up her face to him for a kiss as she spoke, and he was just
about to give it her, when a sudden recollection seemed to strike him,
and he evaded the temptation and passed on. Her apparent pleasure at
his remaining at home had seemed so like sincerity until he remembered
that it was Sunday, a day on which he never allowed his horses nor
servants to be worked without an actual necessity, and that she had
no possible means of getting into Haltham without creating a public
scandal. The baby opportunely appeared at this juncture, however, to
prevent any attempt at explanation, and in romping with her the young
parents forgot for a while their mutual anxieties. But as soon as
little Edie was relegated to her nursery the same gloom settled down
upon them--wretched doubt on one side, and harrowing suspense upon the
other. As soon as their early dinner was concluded, Mary Measures
walked in, anxious to learn what had kept Paula from the morning
service.
‘I was so afraid you might be ill, dear,’ she exclaimed, as she
affectionately embraced her, ‘and so I persuaded Edward to let me come
over and spend the afternoon with you.’
‘How good of you, Mary, to give up the schools and afternoon service
for my sake,’ replied Paula.
‘Oh, my dear, don’t think me wicked, but if you were a clergyman’s wife
you would know what a relief it is to miss church sometimes. Of course
I am glad to be able to help my husband in his parish duties, but when
it comes to week after week, and year after year, it is apt to grow a
little _ennuyante_, and it is quite delightful to get a holiday. And I
have really earned it, for I had no sleep last night from toothache.
But here am I talking of myself, and not a word about you. What is the
matter, Paula? I have not seen you all the week. Are you not well?’
‘Oh, yes, I am all right,’ replied Paula, ‘only dull and tired.’
‘Dull? What have you been doing with yourself, then? Why didn’t you
come over to me? Mr Rushton frightened us out of our wits on Thursday
by declaring you were lost, but Green told our man you had only
attempted to take “Tubby” into Haltham. Why didn’t you call at the
vicarage for our “Tommy,” dear? The two harnessed together might have
stimulated each other’s energies. What time did you get home that
evening?’
‘Oh, not so very late,’ replied Paula confusedly; ‘but in a stupid
village like this one cannot be out an hour after one’s usual time
without creating a sensation. But come upstairs and take off your
things, Mary, and let us have a cosy afternoon together.’
‘So we will, dear; but I must be back in time for evening church or
Edward will be reading the Commination Service over me.’
The ladies left the room together, and went up to Paula’s chamber. As
Mrs Measures was engaged before the looking-glass, Louisa’s voice was
heard at the door, saying,--
‘Can I speak to you for a moment, ma’am?’
With an excuse to her friend, Paula went into the corridor to confront
the servant.
‘What is it, Louisa?’
‘If you please, ma’am,’ said the girl, in a mysterious whisper,
‘there’s a man below as brought this note from Haltham, and he says he
had strict orders to see it delivered in your own hands and no one’s
else’s.’
Paula’s cheeks grew pallid as she opened the envelope. It was from
Dr Brown, and the contents fulfilled her worst anticipations. Carl
Bjornsën was sinking rapidly, and begging to see her again. The little
doctor apologised for sending the news to her, but he was perplexed how
to act, and thought she had better know the truth. The man could not
live through the night. That was his opinion, and he left her to act as
she thought best in the matter. The corridor seemed to spin round with
her as she read the note. What was she to do? How _could_ she act? She
pressed her two hands against her temples to try and still the buzzing
in her ears.
‘Lor’, ma’am, how white you look,’ cried the girl, with whom her
mistress was a great favourite.
Paula placed her hand upon Louisa’s shoulder.
‘Yes, Louisa,’ she said gently, ‘I am not well; but don’t mention it
to--to--anybody.’
Then she pulled out her pocket-pencil, and writing the words ‘_I will
come_’ at the bottom of the note, she refolded it, and told her maid to
direct the man to carry it back to his employer just as it was.
‘Send him away as quickly as possible,’ she added faintly, ‘and don’t
let them talk about it downstairs. And, Louisa, be in my room in half
an hour. I have something particular to say to you. And--and--you will
be silent?’
‘I won’t say a word to no one, dear mistress,’ replied the girl firmly,
as she went on her errand.
Paula returned to the bedroom, and taking up a flask of
_eau-de-cologne_, threw it liberally over her face and head.
‘Paula, you are _not_ well,’ exclaimed the vicar’s wife; ‘you are as
white as a sheet.’
‘No, dear Mary, I am not well,’ she replied, ‘but please don’t mention
it before my husband. I ask it as a particular favour. You will oblige
me greatly by remembering it.’
‘Of course I won’t,’ said Mrs Measures; ‘but let us go back to the
fire. I’m afraid you have caught a chill.’
Hal was still lounging in the dining-room, but when he saw his wife
enter with Mary Measures he left them together and went out of the
house. Paula fidgeted about for some time, unable to think of any
excuse to leave her friend, when suddenly she said she had some
directions to give in the kitchen, and flew up to the bedroom instead,
where Louisa was patiently awaiting her.
‘Louisa, will you be my friend,’ she exclaimed, ‘and help me in a great
perplexity?’
‘Oh, mistress, you may depend on me. Didn’t I nurse you through all
your illness before Miss Edith came? And I know you have trouble,
ma’am. I can’t help seeing it.’
‘You can be a great help to me, Louisa, if you will, and I’m sure you
can trust me to ask you to do nothing wrong. There is a person in
Haltham who is very anxious to see me, and I must go over there. Help
me to do so. I see no possible way, and I feel nearly distracted.’
‘But surely, ma’am, the master will let you have the carriage?’
‘No, no, Louisa; the master mustn’t know that I have gone. Don’t look
like that, girl. It is duty that takes me there, but a duty he does not
acknowledge.’
‘Can’t you pretend to be sick, ma’am?’
‘But Mr Rushton would enter my room.’
‘Not if I said you had one of those terrible attacks of neuralgia,
that make you almost blind. I’ll say you’ve taken one of your doses of
chloral, and then he won’t think of disturbing you.’
‘Oh, thanks, Louisa. That is a clever thought, and you must tell Mrs
Measures the same.’
She put on her hat and cloak as she spoke, and prepared to descend by
the back staircase.
‘Pull down the blinds of my room, Louisa, and lock the door, and keep
the key in your pocket, and let no one in till I return. Tell Mrs
Measures I have been taken suddenly ill, and have gone to bed. Make my
apologies to her--say anything you like.’
‘But, dear mistress, how are you going?’ cried Louisa. ‘You can’t walk
all that way, surely!’
‘I don’t know. I must try. Some vehicle may pass me on the way. Only do
as I tell you,’ and Paula flew down the staircase like a bird.
Louisa lowered the blinds and locked the door, and walked demurely down
to the dining-room, where Mrs Measures was poring over a magazine.
‘If you please, ma’am,’ she began, ‘my mistress sends her love to you,
and she’s very sorry, but she can’t come downstairs again just yet.
Her head’s so bad.’
‘Why, what’s the matter, Louisa?’ exclaimed Mary Measures, rising from
her seat. ‘Is Mrs Rushton ill? I will go to her at once.’
‘No, if you please, ma’am,’ said the maid, barring the way. ‘She
gave me strict orders she was not to be disturbed. She’s got one of
them terrible attacks in the head. It came on suddenly when she was
upstairs, and she nearly fainted. So I gave her one of her doses of
chloral, that Dr Addison ordered for her, and she’s gone to bed, and
mustn’t be spoken to till she rouses of herself.’
‘Oh, of course, if she has taken chloral,’ replied the vicar’s wife, as
she reseated herself; ‘but I wish she had sent for me first. However,
I’ll wait here for a little while and see if the attack goes off.’
She had sat there for the rest of the afternoon, however, feeling a
little vexed by Paula’s conduct, when Hal came in, and she repeated the
story of his wife’s illness to him.
There is nothing quickens a man’s intelligence like jealousy. Every
sense is on the alert then, and ready to add its quota to conviction.
As soon as he heard the word ‘chloral,’ Hal brought his clenched fist
down upon the table with an oath.
‘It’s a lie!’ he exclaimed fiercely; ‘a d--d lie, to cover some other
subterfuge. She can’t have taken chloral. There’s none in the house.’
‘Mr Rushton,’ gasped the vicar’s wife, offended and alarmed, ‘what can
you be thinking of to speak in such a way before me?’
‘Oh, forgive me, Mrs Measures. I don’t know what I am saying. I think I
must be going mad.’
‘But why should you doubt that poor Paula had taken chloral? You know
she often does so.’
‘Because it so happens, Mrs Measures, that the bottle is empty. I took
it from her wardrobe some days ago, to try its effects on a poor brute
that had to be operated on, and forgot to tell my wife that I had used
it. Who told you this untruth?’
‘It was Louisa, but she delivered it as a message from her mistress. I
fancy you will find you are mistaken, Mr Rushton.’
‘We will decide the matter,’ he replied, as he rung the bell. Louisa
answered it. ‘You told Mrs Measures that your mistress had taken
chloral and gone to sleep?’ he said.
‘Yes, sir,’ replied the girl firmly, though she was trembling like a
leaf, fearing he had met Paula on the road. ‘She has one of her bad
headaches, and she told me to let down the blinds, and she locked the
door and took a dose of chloral, and went to bed, and left strict
orders she wasn’t to be disturbed.’
‘Did you see her take the chloral?’
‘Yes sir.’
(How beautifully women can lie when they have a mind to it. In whatever
else they may fail, they are past-masters in the art of deception.)
‘And from what bottle did she take it?’
‘From her own bottle, sir, that she keeps in the wardrobe.’
‘You are deceiving us, Louisa. There is no bottle of chloral in the
wardrobe. I took it away days ago.’
The girl grew white.
‘The mistress told me--’ she faltered.
‘Where is your mistress? Tell me the truth.’
‘Up in her bedroom, sir.’
‘I’ll go and prove it for myself,’ said Hal, as he strode to the door.
‘But, sir--sir,’ cried Louisa pitifully, ‘she is asleep. You must not
wake her. You know what the doctor said.’
‘I shall not wake her. People under the influence of chloral sleep very
soundly. Give me the key of the room.’
‘It is locked inside, sir.’
‘Then I shall break it open,’ exclaimed Hal resolutely.
‘Oh, Mr Rushton,’ interposed Mrs Measures, ‘pray don’t do anything so
violent. Consider how alarmed poor Paula will be. Besides, why should
you doubt Louisa’s word?’
‘I have my reasons for doubting it, Mrs Measures, and I mean to be
satisfied. Louisa, when your mistress has taken chloral before, you
have always locked the door outside, and kept the key, so that we might
enter it if she slept too long. You have the key in your pocket now.
Hand it over to me.’
‘But, master,’ she commenced, whimpering.
‘Do as I tell you. Give me the key.’
She drew it slowly from her pocket, and he snatched it from her and
rushed upstairs, whilst Louisa began to sob, with her apron to her eyes.
‘Oh, Louisa, what is all this about?’ inquired Mrs Measures, in a tone
of mournful surprise.
‘It’s nothing wrong, ma’am. Mistress has gone for a walk, that’s all,
but she thought the master would make a fuss about it, and so--’
She was interrupted by Hal rushing down again, with his face aflame
with anger.
‘It is as I expected,’ he cried. ‘You and your mistress are in league
to deceive me. The room is empty--the bed untouched. Where has she
gone?’
‘I--don’t--know, sir,’ sobbed Louisa.
‘Another falsehood, I suppose,’ he shouted at her.
‘No, indeed, sir.’
‘Has anyone been here for your mistress to-day? I’ll discharge you if
you keep anything back from me.’
‘Only--a man--with--a note,’ replied the servant.
‘Where did he come from?’
‘Haltham, please, sir.’
‘And she went back with him?’
‘Oh, no, sir; not for an hour afterwards.’
‘Very good, that will do. You can go,’ he said shortly, and Louisa
scuttled back to the kitchen, with a heavy heart.
‘Mr Rushton,’ exclaimed Mrs Measures as soon as they were alone, ‘why
are you so angry with Paula? What does all this mean?’
‘_Mean!_’ he replied, in a broken voice, as he threw himself into a
chair, and hid his face in his hands, ‘it means that the woman I loved
and trusted in, as I trust in Heaven, has deceived me, Mrs Measures,
and that there is someone in Haltham at this present moment whom she
cares for more than she does for me.’
‘I don’t believe it,’ cried the vicar’s wife stoutly. ‘Someone has been
misleading you. I wouldn’t believe it from Paula’s own lips.’
‘Read that, then,’ he answered, pulling the anonymous letter from his
coat pocket, ‘and then tell me how I can help believing.’
She smoothed out the crumpled paper and read the written slander, word
for word, and then turned it over and read it a second time before she
said,--
‘And is it _possible_ that you can place the information of a vile
anonymous letter like this before all the affection which your wife
has lavished on you? Hal Rushton, I am ashamed of you! You should have
treated this communication with the contempt it deserves.’
‘And so I should, if her conduct had not tallied with its story. By
hook or by crook, she has managed to get into Haltham every day this
week, Mrs Measures, and I never should have found it out except by
accident.’
‘Well, and suppose she has. What of it?’
‘You see what the letter says. She goes to visit some man in
secret--some man to whom she gives money and presents. And all her
money is gone, too. What _am_ I to think?’
‘That Paula is your true wife, and incapable of deceit.’
‘What! after the specimen of her integrity you have just received?’
‘It has surprised me, certainly,’ replied Mary Measures, ‘but, as a
friend even, I would never doubt her until I had proved her untrue.’
‘You are more trusting than I am,’ said Hal Rushton, ‘or you have less
at stake. You would not speak so calmly if we were discussing the
conduct of your husband instead of that of my wife.’
‘I think I should--indeed I am _sure_ I should. I love my husband
dearly, and there can be no love without trust and confidence.’
‘As much confidence as Paula has placed in me,’ said Hal bitterly.
‘You have yet to learn why she has felt compelled to withhold it for a
little while. I feel sure it will be _only_ for a while, and that with
the explanation of the mystery all your doubts will melt away into thin
air. Paula really interested in any man but yourself! Rubbish! I would
as soon believe I was in love with Mr Gribble.’
‘You are a staunch friend, and an able advocate, Mrs Measures,’ said
Hal gloomily, ‘but I cannot follow you.’
‘Let me be _your_ friend also, then. What is it that you suspect?’
‘Everything. My wife visits a man of whom she tells me nothing. Isn’t
that sufficient?’
‘This gentleman who lives at number fifteen Barefoot Lane,’ replied
Mary Measures, referring to the letter. ‘It doesn’t sound like an
aristocratic abode to me. Do you think she has gone there now?’
‘I feel _sure_ of it. Where else should she be gone? And why should she
have stooped to this deception?’
‘Why not clear up your doubts, then?’
‘How can I do it?’
‘By following your wife to this address, and judging, if she is there,
and _why_ she is there, with your own eyes.’
Hal sprung to his feet at the suggestion.
‘I will, I will. But if,’ he added, covering his face with his hands,
‘if--God help me!--I should find it to be true.’
‘It is _not_ true,’ cried Mary Measures indignantly. ‘I would stake my
soul upon her purity. And in proof of it, take me with you. Take me to
Barefoot Lane, that I may convince you that my dear friend is above all
suspicion.’
‘Will you really come with me?’
‘Have I not said it? Men may suspect the creature whom they think they
love, but a woman’s friendship is too pure to harbour an unworthy
doubt. If Paula has deceived you, it has been for the sake of others,
and not for herself. Be a man, Hal Rushton. Follow her, and take her
in your arms, and tell her never to insult your love again by being
afraid to tell you everything. And I will go with you.’
‘What about Mr Measures?’
‘Let one of your servants take over a note to tell him I am detained
here, and shall not be home for a few hours. My husband trusts me, and
will not suspect that I am making love to some other man,’ she said
rather sarcastically.
‘Ah, but you have never deceived him,’ replied Hal, but his face was
far brighter than it had been, even as he said the words; and whilst
Mrs Measures wrote the note of explanation for her husband, he went
with alacrity to order the horses to be put into the carriage.
* * * * *
Meanwhile Paula, having walked as fast as she could lay her feet to
the ground, until free from the scrutiny of her neighbours, felt that
her strength was failing, and that she would not be able to go on foot
much further. She was deliberating in her mind as to which of the
farmhouses which lay between Deepdale and Haltham she could apply for
assistance, with the prospect of the least scandal, when she saw a
tax-cart, being driven at a furious rate, coming along the road towards
her. The driver was a young carter, and he would never have noticed her
uplifted hand or call to him to stop if she had not stood in the middle
of the road and made him (almost) drive over her. Then he pulled up
short as he remarked,--
‘Hullo, missus, that was a near shave. If I had gone over yer, it
wouldn’t ’ave been _my_ fault.’
‘Where are you going?’ she demanded breathlessly.
The carter scratched his head with the butt end of his whip.
‘Well, I scarcely knows. The missus is ill in bed, and the master won’t
leave ’er, so he sez to me, he sez, “George,” he sez, “tak’ the ould
mare and gie ’er a good bucketing alang the road.” So I was thinking
I’d take ’er through Deepdale, up to Parton Bridge, and round by
Seaford.’
‘It does not signify where you drive, then,’ said Paula quickly, ‘so
will you take me to Haltham? I am in a hurry, and I cannot walk. I will
pay you for it well,’ she said, taking ten shillings from her purse.
‘Will you gie me ten shillings for the ride?’ said the carter, eyeing
the money greedily. ‘Then I’m your man, missus. Joomp up, and I’ll have
you in Haltham in no time, for the ould mare’s got the jumps to-day.’
The lad, who (luckily for Paula) lived some distance the other side
of Haltham, and had never seen nor heard of Mrs Rushton of Highbridge
Hall, was as good as his word, and in less than an hour she found
herself set down by Saint Mark’s Church, at the top of Barefoot Lane.
She rapped at the door of number fifteen with a fast-beating heart. She
feared so much she might be too late. The idea that Carl Bjornsën and
she should part for all time on this side Eternity, without one word of
mutual forgiveness, was a terrible one to her. A little boy opened the
door, and the first sight that met Paula’s eyes was that of Mrs Sims
sniffling and whining in a corner of the kitchen, with her apron over
her head. This woman, who could be hard and indifferent to the sick,
was ready (like all her class) to sob and moan over the dead whom she
had never succoured nor cared for in life.
‘Is he gone?’ cried Paula, observing her studied emotion.
‘Oh, dear, poor gentleman, I hope not,’ groaned Mrs Sims, ‘for it’s
a horful thing to ’ave a death in the ’ouse. But the doctor he’s up
there, and has been for the last hour, and Mrs Wilfred’s with ’im,
and the poor dear’s as bad as ’e can be. But I do ’ope as they’ll do
something to bring ’im round so he can be moved. For to ’ave a death in
the ’ouse--’
But Paula passed by her and heard no further. Her lamentations
affected her no more than the “keening” of the mourners at an Irish
funeral. All her anxiety now was to reach the upper chamber before
it was too late. What might happen when she got there she did not
even stay to contemplate. Poor Carl, the merry, sunny-haired Carl she
had once loved, was dying, and wanted to see her, and she would have
gone to him if the whole of Deepdale had been assembled in his room.
As she silently entered the door, her eye fell upon Paulie, seated
in a corner, and gazing wonderingly at the different colours on an
indiarubber ball which he held in his hand. He looked very different
from what he had done when he passed into Mrs Wilfred’s charge. His
pale golden locks had been washed and dressed till they lay like rings
of floss silk upon his forehead, and his grey eyes had a look of
content in them as he examined his ball and the embroidery on his white
pinafore, and the new socks and boots that adorned his little feet.
Paula’s heart went out to her child, and she could not help kissing him
as she passed. The action attracted the attention of the watchers by
the dying bed, and Mrs Wilfred exclaimed,--
‘Lor’, ma’am, you’ve only just come in time. The poor soul’s been
a-asking for you ever since the turn for death took place.’
‘He has but a few minutes more to live now, Mrs Rushton,’ added the
doctor, ‘and I sent for Nurse Wilfred in case you were unable to come.
I thought, too, he might ask for his little boy.’
‘I have made an effort--’ began Paula, in a trembling voice.
‘A most charitable effort, my dear lady,’ returned Dr Brown. ‘I really
hardly expected you. And on a Sunday, too. But I thought, as you seemed
interested in the case, I had better let you know.’
‘I am much obliged to you,’ said Paula, as she went up to the bedside.
Carl was lying propped up with pillows, to ease his labouring breath,
with eyes wide open, and hands and forehead clammy and cold.
‘You are very ill, Carl,’ she whispered in his ear. He bowed his head
as he fixed his eyes upon her. ‘Is there anything you wish to say to me
before you go?’
‘Yes. Send--them--away,’ he said, with an effort.
‘He wishes to speak to me alone. You won’t mind, will you?’ she said,
with sweet, appealing eyes, to Dr Brown.
‘Of course not. We will wait on the landing outside,’ he replied, as he
drew Mrs Wilfred away with him.
‘Are they gone?’ inquired Carl Bjornsën.
‘Yes; we are quite alone. You can say what you like.’
‘Paula, Paula,’ he gasped, pulling her feebly towards him. ‘Forgive,
forgive.’
‘I do forgive you, Carl. I _have_ forgiven. And when we meet again, it
will be all forgotten.’
‘I was a brute,’ he murmured, ‘a brute.’
‘Don’t think of it any more. It is all over now. Think only where you
are going--and the mercy of the God who will understand your weakness,
and cleanse you from your sin.’
‘Will He forgive?’
‘I am sure of it. Ask him, Carl, even with your last breath.’
‘You--ask Him--for me.’
She knelt down by the bedside, and with the dying man’s hand in hers,
she addressed a few simple words to their mutual Father, that asked Him
to forgive them both for all their shortcomings, and to permit them to
meet again when this life was over. But as she rose from her knees she
saw an awful change had come over the dying man’s face.
‘Nurse--doctor!’ she cried in alarm.
Mrs Wilfred was the first to re-enter the room.
‘Oh, hold ’im up, ma’am. Hold ’im up,’ she exclaimed, ‘for ’e’s agoing.’
Paula passed her arm immediately under the patient’s figure, so as
to raise his head upon her breast, and there, after a few gasping
sobs, Carl Bjornsën, who had insulted and ill-used her, and struck
and injured her beyond all telling, breathed out the remnant of his
worthless life.
‘He’s gone,’ said the doctor, as Paula let the heavy head fall back
from her arm upon the bed again. ‘Well, the poor fellow has had a more
peaceful ending than I anticipated. And now, Mrs Rushton, that your
charitable offices are no more required by him, you will let me take
you away.’
‘Not yet,’ she replied, in a quiet voice, ‘not yet. Give me a moment to
think what should be done.’
‘I have a patient waiting me,’ he commenced.
‘Go, go!’ she cried. ‘_You_ are no longer needed here, and the kindness
you have shown to this poor creature shall not be forgotten, I assure
you. Mrs Wilfred will do all that is necessary at present, and for the
rest--I will write you to-morrow.’
She sat down in a chair by the bedside, and buried her face in her
hands. She did not weep. She wished she could have done so--she was
only thinking--thinking.
‘Get her away as soon as you can,’ whispered the little doctor to the
nurse; ‘she is overwrought. She had much better go home. The scene has
been too much for her.’
‘All right, sir. I understand,’ replied Mrs Wilfred, as the doctor
bustled away, and then she talked to the child for a few minutes, until
the lady should be more composed. Finding she did not speak or move,
however, she ventured after a time to go up to her and suggest that the
last offices for the dead should be performed at once, and that it was
desirable she should go downstairs.
‘Very well, I will go home,’ said Paula wearily, as she rose to her
feet and kissed the child.
One look only she cast back upon the dead face of Carl Bjornsën, and
then, with a heavy sigh, she descended to the lower room, and having
told Mrs Sims what had occurred, passed out into the open air.
Just as she had closed the door, however, Hal Rushton’s phaeton came
thundering round the corner of the street, and drew up close beside
her. She raised her eyes, and saw to her astonishment her husband and
Mary Measures alight upon the pavement. Hal threw the reins to his
groom.
‘Drive round to the “Black Horse,”’ he said, ‘and wait there till I
come to you.’ Then, as the carriage disappeared, he turned to his wife
and asked her, in a voice of subdued anger: ‘Why are you here, and
where have you been?’
His tone roused Paula’s pride. It was so condemnatory. Mary’s arm was
already thrust through hers, as she whispered,--
‘Don’t be frightened, darling. Tell him everything. I know there is
nothing wrong--’
‘I am not frightened, Mary,’ replied Paula quietly, as she withdrew
herself from her friend’s protecting clasp, ‘but I am waiting to hear
of what my husband suspects me.’
‘You have come here in secret,’ said Hal, ‘and used a subterfuge in
order to do so. I have been told there is someone at number fifteen
whom you visit. Is it true?’
‘It is true,’ she answered.
‘A man?’
‘A man.’
‘Of your own station in life?’
‘Of my own station in life.’
‘Good God! and you can have the audacity--the shamelessness--to stand
there and confess it to my very face. Perhaps you will tell me he is
your lover--’
‘He _was_ my lover--once,’ she said.
‘Oh, Paula, don’t say that,’ cried Mary, in a voice of distress.
‘I cannot say otherwise, Mary.’
‘Very good, madam,’ exclaimed Hal wrathfully, ‘then go back to your
lover, for you don’t return to Highbridge Hall with me.’
‘I _am_ going back, but _you_ will come with me.’
‘I shall do no such thing, unless you wish to see murder committed.’
‘You will use no violence when you see him, I guarantee that.’
‘I refuse to go.’
‘Well, then, Hal, I say you _shall_ go. You have insulted me by your
suspicions. You owe me the opportunity of refuting them. Mary, you
love me too well to suspect me of wrong. _You_ will come with me, and
see the man of whose existence I have been afraid as yet to tell my
husband.’
‘Yes, Paula, you are right. We owe it to you to accept any explanation
you may choose to offer us, and we will come. Mr Rushton, I speak for
you as well as myself. You have been guided by me hitherto in this
matter, do as I ask you now.’
‘Very well,’ he said, in a low voice, ‘but remember I will not answer
for my actions.’
‘_I_ answer for them,’ replied Paula calmly, as she walked back to
number fifteen and demanded admittance.
‘Mrs Sims,’ she said with much dignity as she entered, ‘call Mrs
Wilfred downstairs. This lady and gentleman wish to visit the attic
with me alone.’
‘Very good, ma’am,’ replied the woman, as she rose and did as she was
desired.
In another minute Mrs Wilfred passed them on the stairs, carrying
little Paulie, whom Hal, in his excitement and curiosity, never even
observed. When they reached the top landing, Paula paused, and looking
at them with her mournful eyes, said,--
‘Silence, Hal, and uncover your head. In another moment you will stand
in a grander presence than that of the poor creature you have stooped
to be jealous of.’
She flung open the door, and they saw, stretched upon the coarse
bed, the dead form of Carl Bjornsën. At the sight all Hal’s angry
suspicions sunk to rest. He could not believe his wife had been holding
assignations with the man who had once inhabited this wasted and
neglected body.
‘Oh, Paula, this is some work of charity,’ cried Mary Measures. ‘But
why have you kept it secret?’
‘Yes, _that_ is the question to be answered now,’ said Hal. ‘If this
was merely a work of charity, why has it been necessary to deceive your
husband in order to carry it through?’
‘Because, Hal, this dead body is that of a person whom you made me
solemnly promise never to mention to you again--whom you believed, and
I believed, to be beyond the reach of troubling us any more. It is that
of my first husband, Carl Bjornsën.’
‘_Your first husband_, Paula!’ exclaimed the vicar’s wife in amazement.
‘Ah, dear Mary, you will have a sad story to listen to now; but I am
determined to conceal the truth no longer. It is sufficient for you to
know at present that I was a wife and a mother before I met Hal, but
I had divorced my husband. I believed I was a widow--so did my dear
mother, but we were misinformed. To my horror, I met Captain Bjornsën
in a dying condition in Haltham last Wednesday. I dared not tell Hal
for fear he should forbid my succouring him, and I dared not turn my
back upon his abject misery, lest God should desert me also in my dying
hour. Oh, Hal, if I have been wrong, forgive me. I have longed so much
to tell you all the truth, and I meant to do so some day, when it was
all past and over. I thought it better to act on my own impulse than
to run the risk of flying in the face of your authority. But I have
blundered somehow, and made you suspicious and angry with me. I am
very, very sorry. I can say no more.’
‘It was not your going into Haltham. It was a beastly anonymous letter
I received about it,’ grumbled Hal.
‘Written, I daresay, by my friend Mrs Rushton. I have seen Ted Snaley
lurking about here on two occasions,’ replied Paula.
‘Mr Rushton,’ whispered Mary, nudging his elbow, ‘what did I tell you
you were to do when you saw dear Paula again?’
‘You need not tell me twice, Mrs Measures. Paula, my darling, won’t you
come to me?’ he said, as he held out his arms and she flew into them.
‘My own wife! trust me more fully for the future. I am not such a brute
as you seem to think. Had I known of this business, I would have helped
you through it all.’
‘Oh, Hal, dearest, you are so good. And I am very foolish, but I
feared that it would pain you, and revive the old sore. But it is over
now, beyond recall. Poor Carl will never trouble us again. But there is
little Paulie, Hal--’
‘_Paulie!_ and alive? Where did you find him?’
‘In this garret, and almost on the brink of starvation. The woman
who passed us on the stairs held him in her arms. My heart has been
bleeding for my poor child all the week. This man stole him from
Grassdene, and the loss caused my poor mother’s death. Can’t you see it
all, Hal? He kidnapped Paulie, intending to black-mail mother and me
for his restoration. But God struck him down with sickness, and he was
unable to carry out his plan. When I met him again, he told me he had
begged his way up to Haltham to place the boy in my care. It may not
have been true. God knows. But he has gone to be judged for his actions
in this life, and we are not the ones to decide what his punishment
shall be.’
‘I acknowledge it, Paula. And now, my darling wife, I want you to take
your little boy and go straight home with Mrs Measures. James can drive
you, and I will follow in due course of time.’
‘_Take Paulie!_’ she cried, brightening up. ‘_May_ I take him? But oh,
Hal, if it should cause any unpleasantness for you.’
‘My dear girl, we will have no more deception of any kind. Deepdale may
think what it likes, but it shall know the truth. And I daresay, if you
ask her, your kind friend here will take all the task off your hands of
making it known.’
‘Of course I will,’ said Mrs Measures, ‘and it will only be a three
days’ wonder. Besides, you would never be happy without your boy,
Paula.’
‘Oh, no,’ she replied, her soft eyes beaming with maternal love. ‘I
have been so sad without him, you can’t think. And now I shall be able
to bring him up amongst the birds and the flowers he loves so well, and
with my darling little Edie. How happy he will be! How happy I am! Hal,
dear husband, how happy you have made me. But why won’t you come home
with us?’
‘Because, dearest, I don’t want you to visit this sad room again. Let
me settle everything with Dr Brown. It shall be in accordance with the
position this poor fellow once held, believe me. And I will invent some
excuse for having it so. I will say he was a poor relation, who had
brought himself down in the world. The little doctor will understand.’
‘I leave it all to you,’ she replied. ‘I leave myself, and all I am,
and have, in your hands from this day henceforward, Hal. Heaven has
been too good to me in giving me back my little Paulie. I want nothing
more now to complete my earthly happiness.’ She went up to the bed
once more, and gazed on the marble countenance. ‘God give you rest
and forgiveness, Carl Bjornsën,’ she said solemnly, and then, with a
passionate embrace to her husband, she clasped her friend’s hand and
accompanied her downstairs.
* * * * *
The story of her former marriage proved (as Mrs Measures had foretold)
a three days’ wonder in Deepdale, and then it was forgotten, and the
villagers grew as accustomed to see little Paul wandering over the
grounds of Highbridge Hall as to see his little sister trotting by
his side and talking to him in her baby fashion. And after a while,
when other little ones joined the family group, and became his daily
companions and his teachers, Paulie’s dormant intellect was drawn out
by love, until his mother was as proud and fond of her pensive boy as
if he had been a genius.
So happiness reigned at Highbridge Hall, but something better reigned
there too--a mutual confidence between husband and wife, which was
never again disturbed.
THE END.
D.: G. C. & CO.: 9.91.
COLSTON AND COMPANY, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH.
A SELECT LIST OF BOOKS
IN
GENERAL LITERATURE
AND FICTION
PUBLISHED BY
GRIFFITH FARRAN & CO.,
NEWBERY HOUSE, 39, CHARING CROSS ROAD, LONDON.
The Standard Library of Fiction.
_Crown 8vo._ _Cloth extra, with Frontispiece._ _Price 3s. 6d._
AN EVIL REPUTATION. By Dora Russell.
THE DUCHESS. By Mrs. Hungerford.
A FATAL SILENCE. By Florence Marryat.
BROUGHT TOGETHER. Tales by “Rita.”
HARVEST OF WEEDS. By Clare Lemore.
THE SMUGGLER’S SECRET. By Frank Barrett.
TUMBLEDOWN FARM. By Alan Muir.
THE BAFFLED CONSPIRATORS. By W. E. Norris.
THE PENNYCOMEQUICKS. By S. Baring-Gould.
THE PHILOSOPHER IN SLIPPERS: Zigzag Views of Life and
Society. By the Author of “Three-Cornered Essays.”
MISADVENTURE. By W. E. Norris.
LAZARUS IN LONDON. By F. W. Robinson.
LITTLE KATE KIRBY. By F. W. Robinson.
THE COURTING OF MARY SMITH. By. F. W. Robinson.
HARRY JOSCELYN. By Mrs. Oliphant.
A BORN COQUETTE. By Mrs. Hungerford.
NABOTH’S VINEYARD. By E. Œ. Somerville and Martin
Ross.
New Two and Three Volume Novels.
_Three Volumes._ =31s. 6d.=
HOW LIKE A WOMAN. By Florence Marryat.
ASENATH OF THE FORD. By “Rita.”
WHITHER? By M. E. Francis.
NO COMPROMISE. By Helen F. Hetherington and Rev. H. Darwin Burton,
Authors of “Paul Nugent.”
THE ISLAND OF FANTASY. By Fergus Hume, Author of “Monsieur Judas,”
etc.
A COVENANT WITH THE DEAD. By Clara Lemore, Author of “A Harvest of
Weeds.”
HIS SISTER’S HAND. By C. J. Wills, Author of “Was he Justified,” etc.
GUY MERVYN. By Brandon Roy.
_Two Volumes._ =21s.=
A DAUGHTER OF MYSTERY. By Jessie Krikorian.
BRIARS. By A. M. Munro, Author of “Crane Court.”
LOVE’S LOYALTY. By Cecil Clarke, Author of “Elsie Gray.”
RISEN DEAD. By Florence Marryat.
6s. Fiction.
MR. MEESON’S WILL. By H. Rider Haggard.
THE WESTLAKES. By Thomas Cobb, Author of “On Trust.”
CRANE COURT. By A. M. Munro.
ICELAND FISHERMAN (_The Pêcheur d’Islande_). By Pierre Loti. Sole
and Authorized Copyright Translation by Miss Cadiot. With original
Portrait and Autograph.
PRINCE OF COMO, A. By E. M. Davy.
RHÈA: a Suggestion. By Pascal Germaine.
SECRET OF THE SANDS. By H. Collingwood.
SLAVE OF HIS WILL, THE. By Lady Fairlie Cuninghame.
STAR OF GEZER. By Sybil.
WRONG ON BOTH SIDES. By Vin Vincent.
BELLERUE. By W. M. L. Jay.
5s. Fiction.
CLEMENT BARNOLD’S INVENTION. By Lionel Hawke.
ELSIE GREY. By Cecil Clarke.
H. Rider Haggard’s 3s. 6d. Novels.
_Cloth. Fully Illustrated._
Allan’s Wife.
Dawn.
Witch’s Head.
Richard Pryce’s Novels.
_Uniform Edition. Crown 8vo, cloth, trimmed edges. Price 3s. 6d._
An Evil Spirit.
Just Impediment.
3s. 6d. Fiction.
THE CURSE OF CARNE’S HOLD. By G. A. Henty.
GLENATHOLE. By Cyril Grey.
HARD HELD. A Sporting Novel. Being a Sequel to “Curb and Snaffle.” By
Sir Randal H. Roberts, Bart.
J. S.; or, Trivialities. By. E. O. Pleydell Bouverie.
NEWTON DOGVANE: A Story of English Country Life. By Francis Francis.
With Illustrations on Steel by John Leech.
PLUCKY ONE. By Mrs. George E. Spencer, Author of “Salt Lake Fruit.”
RUHAINAH: An Afghan Romance. By Evan Stanton.
DEAD SOULS: A Russian Tale. By Nicholas Gogol. 2 vols.
ST. JOHN’S EVE: A Russian Novel. By Nicholas Gogol.
TARAS BULBA: A Russian Love Story. By Nicholas Gogol.
WHO IS GUILTY? By Dr. Woolf.
2s. 6d. Fiction.
CLEOPATRA. By Henri Greville.
MISS LAVINIA’S TRUST. By Vin Vincent.
MYSTERY OF MRS. BLENCARROW. By Mrs. Oliphant.
THE SYREN. By Cecil Medlicott.
ROMANCE OF A MUMMY. By Theophile Gautier.
DUKE’S WINTON. By J. R. Henslowe.
IN A BLACK MANTLE. By Sybil Maxwell.
The Prison Series. 2s. 6d.
_Crown 8vo. In a characteristic cloth cover. Price 2s. 6d._
THE MEMOIRS OF JANE CAMERON, FEMALE CONVICT. By F. W. Robinson.
PRISON CHARACTERS. By F. W. Robinson.
FEMALE LIFE IN PRISON. By F. W. Robinson.
L. B. Walford’s Novels.
_2s. 6d. Cloth (with Etched Frontispiece), and 2s. Paper Boards._
1. Mr. Smith.
2. The Baby’s Grandmother.
3. Cousins.
4. Troublesome Daughters.
5. Pauline.
6. Dick Netherby.
7. The History of a Week.
8. A Stiff-necked Generation.
9. Nan.
10. Two Stories (“A Mere Child,” and “The Havoc of a Smile”).
Dora Russell’s Novels.
_2s. 6d. Cloth and 2s. Paper Boards._
1. Footprints in the Snow.
2. The Vicar’s Governess.
3. Beneath the Wave.
4. Annabel’s Rival.
5. Lady Sefton’s Pride.
6. Quite True.
7. The Broken Seal.
8. Crœsus’s Widow.
9. Hidden in my Heart.
10. Jezebel’s Friends.
James Daunton’s Fate, 1_s._ and 1_s._ 6_d._
Rita’s Novels.
_2s. 6d. Cloth and 2s. Paper Boards._
1. Dame Durden.
2. My Lady Coquette.
3. Vivienne.
4. Like Dian’s Kiss.
5. Countess Daphne.
6. Fragoletta.
7. A Sinless Secret.
8. Faustine.
9. After Long Grief and Pain.
10. Two Bad Blue Eyes.
11. Darby and Joan.
12. My Lord Conceit.
13. Corinna.
Edelweiss, 1_s._ and 1_s._ 6_d._
W. Stephen Hayward’s Novels.
_2s. 6d. Cloth and 2s. Paper Boards._
1. Love against the World.
2. Hunted to Death.
3. Perils of a Pretty Girl.
4. Ethel Grey.
5. Caroline.
6. Maude Luton.
7. The Three Red Men.
8. John Hazel’s Vengeance.
9. Barbara Home.
10. The Secret Seven.
11. The Woman in Red.
12. The Stolen Will.
13. The Black Flag.
14. Diana’s Defender.
15. Colonel’s Daughter.
16. Left to the World.
Mary Cecil Hay’s Novels.
_2s. 6d. Cloth and 2s. Paper Boards._
1. Old Myddelton’s Money.
2. Hidden Perils.
3. Victor and Vanquished.
4. The Arundel Motto.
5. The Squire’s Legacy.
6. Nora’s Love Test.
7. For Her Dear Sake.
8. Brenda Yorke.
9. Dorothy’s Venture.
10. Missing.
11. Under the Will.
12. Bid Me Discourse.
13. Lester’s Secret.
14. Among the Ruins.
A Wicked Girl, 1_s._
Mrs. G. Linnæus Bank’s Novels.
_2s. 6d. Cloth._
1. A Manchester Man.
2. Stung to the Quick.
3. Caleb Booth’s Clerk.
4. Wooers and Winners.
5. More than Coronets.
6. Through the Night.
7. Watchmaker’s Daughter.
8. Forbidden to Wed.
9. Sybillia.
10. In His Own Hand.
11. Glory.
F. E. M. Notley’s Novels.
_2s. 6d. Cloth and 2s. Paper Boards._
1. Red Riding Hood.
2. Beneath the Wheels.
3. Love’s Crosses.
Mrs. John Kent Spender’s Novels.
_2s. 6d. Cloth and 2s. Paper Boards._
1. Mr. Nobody.
2. Parted Lives.
3. Both in the Wrong.
4. Recollections of a Country Doctor.
E. Spender’s Novels.
_2s. 6d. Cloth and 2s. Paper Boards._
1. Restored.
2. A True Marriage.
3. Son and Heir.
4. Kingsford.
5. Until the Day Breaks.
Mrs. H. Lovett Cameron’s Novels.
_2s. 6d. Cloth and 2s. Paper Boards._
1. Vera Nevill.
2. Pure Gold.
3. Worth Winning.
Mrs. Power O’Donoghue’s Novels.
_2s. 6d. Cloth and 2s. Paper Boards._
1. Unfairly Won.
2. A Beggar on Horseback.
E. S. Drewry’s Novels.
_2s. 6d. Cloth and 2s. Paper Boards._
1. Only an Actress.
2. On Dangerous Ground.
3. Baptised with a Curse.
4. A Death-Ring.
Percy B. St. John’s Novels.
_2s. Paper Boards._
1. Sailor Crusoe.
2. Snow Ship.
3. Young Buccaneer.
4. My Beautiful Daughter.
5. The Daughter of the Sea.
Popular 2s. Novels.
_Also in Cloth 2s. 6d._
EAGLE JOE. By Henry Herman. (_Cloth 3s. 6d._)
MISOGYNY AND THE MAIDEN. By Paul Cushing.
WHO IS THE HEIR? By Mortimer Collins.
GUY DARRELL’S WIVES. By F. Iles.
PAUL NUGENT. By H. F. Hetherington and Rev. H. D. Burton.
CONFESSIONS OF A MEDIUM.
ADA TRISCOTT. By Capt. A. Haggard.
WAS HE JUSTIFIED? By C. J. Wills.
A SCARLET SIN. By Florence Marryat.
JAMES VRAILE. By J. Jeffery.
DENISE. By A. Dumas.
EXPIATION. By E. P. Oppenheim.
THE NICK OF TIME. By W. T. Hickman.
A HOUSE PARTY. By Ouida.
DOCTOR JACOB. By M. Betham-Edwards.
HARD HELD. By Sir R. H. Roberts, Bart. (_Cloth 3s. 6d._)
A WILY WIDOW. By Henry Creswell.
A MODERN DELILAH. By Vere Clavering.
A FAIR CRUSADER. By William Westall.
THE HAUNTED CHURCH. By James Murphy.
THE GAY WORLD. By Joseph Hatton.
DRIVEN BEFORE THE STORM. By Gertrude Forde.
A LOMBARD STREET MYSTERY. By Muirhead Robertson.
SCULLYDOM. By P. A. Egan. (_Cloth, 3s. 6d._)
ANDRÉ CORNELIS. By Paul Bourget.
ALL OR NOTHING. By Mrs. Cashel Hoey.
GEHENNA. By Hon. Lewis Wingfield.
THE BLUE RIBBON. By the Author of “St. Olave’s.”
LITTLE MISS PRIMROSE. By the Author of “St. Olave’s.”
ANNETTE. By the Author of “St. Olave’s.”
RECORDS OF A STORMY LIFE. By Mrs. Houstoun.
STORMY WATERS. By Robert Buchanan.
JACOBI’S WIFE. By Adeline Sergeant.
THE SON OF HIS FATHER. By Mrs. Oliphant.
MIGNON. By Mrs. Forrester.
A PRINCESS OF JUTEDOM. By Charles Gibbon.
CRADLED IN A STORM. By T. A. Tharp.
JACK URQUHART’S DAUGHTER. By Miss M. Young.
THRO’ LOVE AND WAR. By Violet Fane.
TWO LILIES. By Julia Kavanagh.
QUEEN MAB. By Julia Kavanagh.
FORESTALLED. By M. Betham-Edwards.
Popular 1s. Novels.
MONSIEUR JUDAS. By Fergus Hume.
ONLY A SHADOW. By D. Christie Murray and Henry Herman.
PRESUMPTION OF LAW. By a Lawyer and a Lady.
JACK AND THREE JILLS. By F. C. Phillips, Author of “As in a Looking
Glass,” &c.
JALEBERD’S BUMPS. By James Greenwood, “The Amateur Casual.”
A ROMANCE OF THE WIRE. By M. Betham-Edwards.
THE HAVOC OF A SMILE. By L. B. Walford.
EDELWEISS; a Romance. By “Rita.”
NURSE REVEL’S MISTAKE. By Florence Warden.
THE PRETTY SISTER OF JOSÉ. By Mrs. Hodgson Burnett.
ROLAND OLIVER. By Justin McCarthy, M.P.
MATED FROM THE MORGUE. By John A. O’Shea.
FORGING THE FETTERS. By Mrs. Alexander.
THE QUEEN’S SCARF. By D. Christie Murray.
THE HAUNTED FOUNTAIN. By Catherine Macquoid.
FAVOUR AND FORTUNE. By the Author of “Jack Urquhart’s Daughter.”
99, DARK STREET. By F. W. Robinson.
A WICKED GIRL. By Mary Cecil Hay.
GABRIEL ALLEN, M.P. By G. A. Henty.
THE ARGONAUTS OF NORTH LIBERTY. By Bret Harte.
THE ABBEY MURDER. By Joseph Hatton.
A MERE CHILD. By L. B. Walford.
LOVE UNTIL DEATH. By R. Whelan Boyle.
THE QUEEN’S TOKEN. By Mrs. Cashel Hoey.
A RAINY JUNE. By Ouida.
DON GESUALDO. By Ouida.
JOHN NEEDHAM’S DOUBLE. By Joseph Hatton.
JAMES DAUNTON’S FATE. By Dora Russell.
BETTY’S VISIONS. By Rhoda Broughton.
TOPSIDE AND TURVEY. By Percy Fitzgerald.
BEFOREHAND. By L. T. Meade.
LAYING DOWN THE CARDS. By the Hon. Mrs. Featherstonhaugh.
A FATAL AFFINITY. By Stuart Cumberland.
DOUBT. By James S. Little.
THE CRIME OF THE GOLDEN GULLY. By Gilbert Rock.
AGAINST THE GRAIN. By C. T. C. James.
IN THE SHADOW OF DEATH. By Sir Gilbert Campbell, Bart.
MAD LOVE; or, An Artist’s Dream. Translated from the Russian of
Vsevolod Garshin.
GALLOPING DAYS AT THE DEANERY. By Charles James.
AT WHAT COST. By Hugh Conway, Author of “Called Back,” &c.
THE WIFE’S SACRIFICE (Martyre!). By Adolphe D’Ennery. Translated by
H. Sutherland Edwards.
BAFFLED. By Shirley B. Jevons.
SLOWBOROUGH; or, Rural Felicity. By Frank E. Emson, Author of “Our
Town.”
INNOCENT OR GUILTY? By Marion Greenhill.
THE SILENT SHORE. By John Bloundelle-Burton.
THREE LUCKY SHOTS. By Oscar Park.
THE CABMAN’S DAUGHTER.
SEIZED BY A SHADOW. By Rose Mullion.
IMPRISONED IN THE HOUSE OF DETENTION FOR LIBEL. By John Dawson.
CAUGHT IN THE TROPICS. By a Lady Astronomer.
* * * * *
STORIES FROM “NEWBERY HOUSE.” 1st Series. By Vin Vincent, Rev. Canon
Benham, Rev. George Huntingdon, Rev. J. Hudson, Helen Milman, Miss
N. J. Blatchford, Marian Benham, H. G. Farrant, and Miss Amy Wilson.
Crown 8vo, paper cover, 1_s._; cloth, 1_s._ 6_d._
STORIES FROM “NEWBERY HOUSE.” 2nd Series. By J. Theobald Butler,
Maggie Symington, Marian Benham, Austin Clare, S. H. Mitchell, and
David Ker. Crown 8vo, paper cover, 1_s._; cloth, 1_s._ 6_d._
Books for the Library.
£5 5s. Net.
MEMOIRS OF PRINCE DE TALLEYRAND. Edited, with a Preface and Notes,
by the Duc de Broglie of the French Academy, with an Introduction by
the Hon. Whitelaw Reid. 5 Volumes, large 8vo, with Portrait and full
Index. Price £1 1_s._ each, net.
£3 3s. Net.
A DESCRIPTIVE CATALOGUE OF THE COLLECTION OF PICTURES BELONGING TO
THE EARL OF NORTHBROOK. Illustrated. On hand-made paper. Large 4to,
parchment. Price £3 3_s._ net.
£2 2s.
THE DIARIES OF SIR MOSES AND LADY MONTEFIORE, Comprising their Life
and Work, as recorded therein, from 1812-1883. Edited by the late Dr.
Loewe. Large 8vo, 2 Vols., Illustrated. Price £2 2_s._
THE LETTERS OF S. G. O. A Series of Letters on Public Affairs,
Written by the Rev. Lord Sidney Godolphin Osborne, and published in
_The Times_. Edited by Arnold White. 1844-1888. Large 8vo, 2 Vols.,
£2 2_s._
£1 1s.
LIFE OF BENJAMIN FRANKLIN, THE. Written by Himself. Now first Edited
from original MSS., and from his printed Correspondence and other
Writings, by John Bigelow. 3 Vols. Crown 8vo. Price £1 1_s._
POLITICAL AND SOCIAL LETTERS OF A LADY OF THE EIGHTEENTH CENTURY.
Being the Correspondence of the Hon. Mrs. Osborn, during the years
1721-1771. Edited by Emily F. D. Osborn. Demy 8vo, with four
Photogravures, boards, uncut edges. £1 1_s._
16s.
GENERAL CRAUFURD AND HIS LIGHT BRIGADE. By the Rev. Alexander H.
Craufurd, M.A. Crown 8vo, cloth. Price 16_s._
10s. 6d.
QUEEN’S BIRTHDAY BOOK, THE. With 13 Cabinet Portraits and Autographs
of Royal Family. Edited by Mary F. P. Dunbar. 4to, cloth. Price
10_s._ 6_d._
YOUNG PEOPLE AND OLD PICTURES. By Theodore Child. With numerous
Engravings in the best style from Pictures by the Old Masters dealing
with child life. Crown 4to, cloth. Price 10_s._ 6_d._
HUNGARY AND ITS PEOPLE. By Louis Felbermann. Large Crown 8vo, cloth,
fully Illustrated. Price 10_s._ 6_d._
7s. 6d.
NEWTON DOGVANE: A Story of English Country Life. By Francis Francis,
Author of “Sporting Sketches with Pen and Pencil,” &c. With
Illustrations on Steel by John Leech, coloured by hand. Imp. 8vo,
cloth. Price 7_s._ 6_d._
HIGH-FLYER HALL: A Sporting Story. By Sir Randal H. Roberts, Bart.,
Author of “Hard Held,” etc., etc. Illustrated by G. Bowers. Imp 8vo,
cloth. Price 7_s._ 6_d._
A COMPLETE GUIDE TO THE GAME OF CHESS. By H. L. F. Meyer. Pott 8vo,
cloth. Price 7_s._ 6_d._
THE LOOKING GLASS FOR THE MIND. A reprint of the Edition of 1792;
with the original Illustrations by Bewick, and an Introduction by
Charles Welsh. Crown 8vo. 7_s._ 6_d._
6s.
LETTERS FROM DOROTHY OSBORNE TO SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE, 1652-54. Edited
by E. A. Parry. With Portrait, &c. Crown 8vo, cloth. Price 6_s._
TALES AND LEGENDS FROM THE LAND OF THE TZAR. Translated by Edith M.
S. Hodgetts. Crown 8vo, cloth. Price 6_s._
5s.
SOME NOTABLE GENERALS. Biographies compiled by Colonel J.
Percy Groves, R.G.A. (late 27th Inniskillings). Illustrated by
Lieut.-Colonel Marshman. Large 4to, cloth. Price 5_s._
FORTUNES MADE IN BUSINESS. A Series of Original Sketches,
Biographical and Anecdotic, from the Recent History of Industry and
Commerce, by various Writers. Edited by James Hogg. First Series,
with Six Portraits. Crown 8vo. Price 5_s._
3s. 6d.
READY REFERENCE: The Universal Cyclopædia, containing everything that
everybody wants to know. By W. R. Balch. 800 pages, crown 8vo.
THERE IS NO DEATH. By Florence Marryat. Crown 8vo, cloth. Price 3_s._
6_d._
ROYAL WINCHESTER: Wanderings in and about the Ancient Capital of
England. By Rev. A. G. L’Estrange, M.A. With numerous Illustrations
by C. G. Harper. Crown 8vo, cloth. Price 3_s._ 6_d._
MUSIC AND THE PIANO. By Madame Louis-Viard, of the Guildhall School
of Music. Crown 8vo, cloth. Price 3_s._ 6_d._
AUSTRALIAN POETS, 1788-1888. Edited by Douglas Sladen. 662 pages.
Crown 8vo, cloth. Price 3_s._ 6_d._
YOUNGER AMERICAN POETS. Edited by Douglas Sladen. 686 pages. Crown
8vo. Price 3_s._ 6_d._
2s.
EVERYDAY DICTIONARY OF THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE; containing 35,000 words.
Edited by W. Balch. Crown 8vo.
MUSIC IN SONG. From Chaucer to Tennyson. By L. M. Carmela Kœlle. 32mo.
1s. USEFUL BOOKS.
AMBULANCE LECTURES; or, What to Do in Cases of Accident or Sudden
Illness. By Lionel Weatherly. Illustrated. Fcap. 8vo.
DICTIONARY OF ABBREVIATIONS. Containing nearly 2500 Contractions,
Signs, &c. Sq. 32mo.
HIGH SCHOOL NEEDLEWORK AND CUTTING-OUT MANUAL. By Harriet Baker.
Fcap. 8vo.
ECONOMICAL COOK, THE. A Book of Recipes for every Season of the Year.
By P. O. P. Fcap. 8vo.
HOW TO BE MARRIED: In all Ways and Everywhere throughout the British
Empire and in Foreign States; with Appendix of all Legal Forms
relating to Marriage, and a Summary of Marriage Statistics. By the
Rev. Thomas Moore. Crown 8vo.
YOUNG WIFE’S OWN BOOK. By Lionel A. Weatherly. Fcap. 8vo.
CHILDREN: Their Home Training. How to Nurse them in Sickness and keep
them in Health. By I. L. Richmond, with a Preface by Sarah Tytler.
Fcap. 8vo.
The Newbery Classics.
A NEW EDITION OF THE POETS. Crown 8vo. Attractive cloth gilt cover.
About 600 pages in each volume, price 2_s._
Longfellow.
Scott.
Browning (Mrs. E. B.)
Hood.
Moore.
Wordsworth.
Shakespeare.
Campbell.
Byron.
TALES FROM THE DRAMATISTS. By Chas. Morris. With an Introduction by
Henry Irving, D.C.L. 4 vols. Fcap. 8vo. Cloth gilt, in box. Price,
10_s._ 6_d._ net.
THE BIJOU BYRON. A New Edition, in 12 volumes, of the Complete Works
of Lord Byron. Small oblong shape, convenient for the pocket, printed
in good clear type, and issued in the following styles:--
The 12 volumes complete in box, bound in boards with parchment
backs, 18_s._ 6_d._ net.
Also in an elegant cloth gilt box, bound in paper sides, cloth
backs, all full gilt, 31_s._ 6_d._ net.
The volumes are also supplied separately:--Paper limp, 1_s._ net.;
paper boards, parchment backs, 1_s._ 6_d._ net.; cloth, richly
gilt, and gilt edges, 2_s._ 6_d._ net.
LIST OF VOLUMES.
1. Memoir. Hours of Idleness. English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.
2. Childe Harold.
3. Hints from Horace. The Curse of Minerva. The Waltz. Ode to
Napoleon Buonaparte. Hebrew Melodies. Domestic Pieces. Monody on the
Death of Sheridan. The Dream. The Lament of Tasso. Ode on Venice. The
Morgante Maggiore. The Prophecy of Dante.
4. The Vision of Judgment. Occasional Pieces.
5. The Giaour. The Bride of Abydos. The Corsair. Lara.
6. The Siege of Corinth. Parisina. The Prisoner of Chillon. Mazeppa.
The Island. Francesca da Rimini. The Age of Bronze. The Blues. Beppo:
a Venetian Story.
7. Manfred. Heaven and Earth. Werner.
8. Marino Faliero. Sardanapalus.
9. The Two Foscari. Cain. The Deformed Transformed.
10. Don Juan.--_Cantos I.-III._
11. Don Juan.--_Cantos IV.-IX._
12. Don Juan.--_Cantos X.-XVI._
The Entertainment Series.
_Fcap. 8vo, Cloth, price 1s. each._
SHORT COMEDIES FOR AMATEUR PLAYERS. By Mrs. Burton Harrison.
DUOLOGUES. By Ina Leon Cassillis.
EVENINGS OUT; or, the Amateur Entertainer. By Constance Milman,
Author of “The Doll Dramas.” Fcap. 8vo, cloth limp, price 1_s._
“TWENTY MINUTES.”--Drawing-Room Duologues, &c. By Harriet L. Childe
Pemberton, Author of “Geese,” “Prince,” &c. Fcap. 8vo, cloth limp.
POSSIBLE PLAYS FOR PRIVATE PLAYERS. By Constance O’Brien. Fcap. 8vo,
cloth.
POKER: How to Play it. A Sketch of the Great American Game, with its
Laws and Rules. By one of its Victims. Fcap. 8vo.
EUCHRE, AND HOW TO PLAY IT. By Author of “Poker.” Fcap. 8vo.
* * * * *
NORA, or the Doll’s House. By H. Ibsen.
GHOSTS. By H. Ibsen.
Crown 8vo, cloth, 1_s._ each.
Birthday Books.
A Dainty Series. Well printed, and artistically bound in cloth. Price
1_s._ each.
Shakespeare.
Mrs. Browning.
Moore.
Scott.
Shelley.
Proverbial.
The “Queen’s,” the “Favourite,” and the “Anniversary.”
GRIFFITH FARRAN & CO., LTD.
NEWBERY HOUSE, 39, CHARING CROSS ROAD, LONDON.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES
Apparent typographical errors in spelling and punctuation have
been silently corrected.
Spellings representing dialect have been retained.
The word "that" has been added to the sentence that reads, "... Mrs
Rushton has such a peculiar way of talking of her [that] frightens me."
Italics have been represented by _underlines_. Bold text has been
represented by =equal signs=.