"My child, I cannot tell you. Her name I will tell you, if you like,

when I have consulted my husband. But it will help you very little

towards finding her; for they change their names almost every time they

move. Even in London they forget that they are not heard every time they

sneeze. The furtive habits born of oppression cling about them still."

"And where did they live at the time you knew them?"

Wrung by suspense and anxiety, I had forgotten good manners. But Mrs.

Elton had good feeling which knows when to dispense with them.

Nevertheless I blushed with shame at my own effrontery.

"Not very far from here, in a part that is called 'Agar Town.' But they

have now left London, and England too, I believe. I must tell you no

more, because they had reasons for wishing to be unknown."

"Only tell me one thing. Were they cruel or violent people?"

"The very opposite. Most humane and warm-hearted They would injure no

one, and hated all kinds of cruelty. How pale you are, my child! You

must have a glass of wine. It is useless to say no."

As this clue, which seemed so promising, led to nothing at all, I may as

well wind it up at once, and not tangle my story with it. Mr. Elton

permitted his wife to tell me all she knew about the Polish exiles, for

they were gone to America, and nothing done here could harm them. But

at the same time he made me promise not to mention to the police, if my

case should ever come before them, the particulars which he gave me; and

I am sure he would not wish me to make free with the gentleman's name.

A gentleman he was, as both my kind friends assured me, and not likely

to conceal any atrocious secret, unless he had learned it in a way which

laid it upon his honour. Mr. Elton had never been intimate with him,

and knew not who his friends were, but Mrs. Elton had liked the lady who

was very kind and passionate. Also she was very apt to make mistakes in

English names, and to become confused at moments of excitement.

Therefore Mrs. Elton thought that she had confounded the Eltons' address

with that of some other person; for it seemed a most unlikely thing that

she should know the residents at two Nos. 19 Grove Street. However so

it proved--but of that in its place. It was now six months since they

had quitted London, perhaps on account of the climate, for the gentleman

had been ill some time, and quite confined to the house. It would be

altogether vain to think of tracing them in America. While living in

London they owned a most magnificent dog, a truly noble fellow but

afflicted with a tumour. This dog suddenly disappeared, and they would

not tell what had become of him, but the lady cried most violently one

day when he was spoken of. Directly after this they left the country,

with a very brief farewell.

All this I learned from Mr. and Mrs. Elton during my second visit, for

Mrs. Elton was too good a wife to dispense with her husband's judgment.

Also I saw their daughter, a pleasing delicate girl; they learned of

course some parts of my story, and were most kind and affectionate to

me; and I am proud to have preserved their friendship to the present

time. But as they take no prominent share in the drama of my life,

henceforth they will not be presented upon its stage.

As I returned up the Villa Road, thinking of all I had heard, and

feeling down at heart, something cold was gently placed in my ungloved

hand. Turning in surprise and fright I saw an enormous dog, wagging his

tail, and looking at me with magnificent brown eyes. Those great brown

eyes were begging clearly for the honour of my acquaintance, and that

huge muzzle was deposited as a gage of love. As I stooped to ascertain

his sentiments, he gravely raised one mighty paw and offered it to me

delicately, with a little sigh of self-approval. Upon my accepting it

frankly and begging to congratulate him upon his noble appearance and

evident moral excellence, he put out his tongue, a brilliant red one,

and gave me a serious kiss. Then he shrugged his shoulders and looked

with patient contempt at a nicely-dressed young lady, who was exerting

her lungs at a silver whistle some fifty yards down the road. "Go, good

dog," I said with a smile, "run, that's a good dog, your Mistress wants

you immediately." "Let her wait," he said with his eyes, "I am not in a

hurry this morning, and she doesn't know what to do with her time.

However, if you think it would be rude of me--" And with that he

resumed a long bone, laid aside while he chatted to me, tucked it

lengthwise in his mouth, like a tobacco-pipe, and after shaking hands

again, and saying "Now don't forget me," the great dog trotted away

sedately, flourishing his tail on high, like a plume of Pampas grass.

At the corner of the railings he overtook his young Mistress, whose

features I could not descry; though from her air and walk I knew that

she must be a pretty girl. A good-tempered one too she seemed to be,

for she only shook her little whip lightly at the dog, who made an

excursion across the road and sniffed at a heap of dust.

CHAPTER X.

Although Ann Maples was not so very talkative, it would be romantic to

suppose that Mrs. Shelfer had failed to learn my entire history, so far

at least as her cousin knew it.

Having now disposed of one Grove Street, I was about to try the same

rude tactics with another, viz. that in Hackney; when my landlady gave a

little nervous knock, and hurried into the room. "Oh, Miss Vaughan, is

it about them willains you are wandering about and taking on so, and

frightening all of us nearly to death?"

"Mrs. Shelfer, I shall feel obliged by your leaving me to manage my own

affairs."

"Bless you, Miss, so I will. I wouldn't have them on my mind for the

Bank of England, and Guildhall, paved with Lombard Street, and so I told

Charley last night. Right, my good friend, quite right, you may depend

upon it." Here she tapped her forehead, and looked mysterious.

"That being so, Mrs. Shelfer, I need say nothing more;" and with that I

was going away.

"No, no, to be sure not. Only listen to me, Miss, one minute; and I

knows more about willains, a deal more than you do of course, Miss.

Why, ever since that rogue who come to Miss Minto's with brandyballs and

rabbitskins on a stick."

"Once more, Mrs. Shelfer, I have no time to spare for gossip--"

"Gossip! No, no, Miss Vaughan; if you ever heard any one say Patty

Shelfer was a 'gossip,' I'll thank you for their name. Gossip! A mercy

on me with all I has to do, and the days drawing in so, and how they

does charge for the gas, and the directors holds a meeting first Tuesday

in every month, and fills up the pipes with spittle, that's the reason

it sputters so, Charley told me."

"Good bye, Mrs. Shelfer."

"No, no. One minute, Miss Vaughan; you are always in such a hurry.

What Charley and me was talking about last night was this. My Uncle

John, a very high class man, first-rate, first-rate, Miss Vaughan, has

been for ever so long in the detective police. There's nothing he don't

know of what goes on in London, from the rats as comes up the drain

pipes to the Queen getting up on her throne. A wonderful man he is. I

said t'other day--"

"Is he like you, Mrs. Shelfer?"

"Like me, my good friend! No, no. And I wouldn't be like him for

something. With all them state secrets upon him. Why he daren't sneeze

out of his hat. But if you'll only put off going again till to-morrow,

he'll be here this very night about the plate they stole in the Square.

And I'm sure you can't do better than hear what he thinks about you.

He'll be sure to know all that was done at the time. Bless you, he has

got to make all the returns; what that is, I don't know. It's a kind of

tobacco Charley says, that they smokes in the Queen's pipe. But I think

it's the convicts as returns from Botany Bay."

"Well, Mrs. Shelfer, I'll think of what you say, and I am much obliged

to you for the suggestion; but I can't bear the idea of coming before

the Police again, with a matter in which they failed so signally."

"But you know, my good friend, it need not be put on the books at all.

He'll tell us what he thinks of it, private like, and for the love of

the thing."

"If I see him at all, I must beg to see him alone."

"To be sure, my good friend. Quite right, Miss Vaughan, quite right.

I'm sure I would rather have the plumber's ladle put to my ear, than one

of them horrible secrets."

"Mrs. Shelfer, have I told you any? Now remember, if you ever again

allude to this subject before me, I leave your house that day. You

ought to know better, Mrs. Shelfer."

"You are quite right, Miss Vaughan; I ask your pardon, you are quite

right. The very words as Charley said to me the other night. 'You

ought to have knowed better, Patty, that you did.'"

Away she went, smoothing her apron, patting the fray of her hair--for

she never wore side-combs--and mumbling down the stairs. "Quite right,

my good friend, quite right, I ought to have knowed better, poor thing."

She brought up my dinner and tea, without a single word, but with many

sly glances at me from her quick grey eyes. Once or twice she was at

the point of speaking, and the dry smile she always spoke with fluttered

upon her face; but she closed her lips firmly and even bit them to keep

herself in. I could scarcely help laughing, for I liked the odd little

thing; but she was so free with her tongue, that the lesson was sadly

wanted.

Late in the evening, she came to say that Inspector Cutting was there,

and would come up if I wished it. Upon my request he came, and one look

was enough to show that his niece had not misdescribed him. An elderly

man, but active looking and wiry, with nothing remarkable in his

features, except the clear cast of his forehead and the firm set of his

mouth. But the quick intelligence that shot from his eyes made it seem

waste of time to finish telling him anything. For this reason, polite

though he was, it became unpleasant to talk to him. It was something

like shooting at divers--as my father used to describe it--for whom the

flash of the gun is enough.

Yet he never once stopped or hurried me, until my tale was done, and all

my thoughts laid bare. Then he asked to see all my relics and vestiges

of the deed; even my gordit did not escape him.

"L.D.O." he said shortly, "do you speak Italian?'

"I can read it, but not speak it."

"Is it commoner for Italian surnames to begin with an O, or with a C?"

"There are plenty beginning with both; but more I should think with a

C."

When all my particulars had been told, and all my evidence shown, I

asked with breathless interest--for my confidence in him grew fast--what

his opinion was.

"Allow me, young lady, to put a few questions to you, on matters you

have not mentioned. Forgive me, if they pain you. I believe you feel

that they will not be impertinent."

I promised to answer without reserve.

"What was your mother's personal appearance?"

"Most winning and delicate."

"How old was she at the time of her marriage?"

"Twenty-one, I believe."

"How old was your father then?"

"Twenty-five."

"How many years were they married?"

"Sixteen, exactly."

"When did your guardian first leave England?"

"In the course of a year or two after the marriage."

"Had there been any misunderstanding between him and your father?"

"None, that I ever heard of."

"Did your father, at any time, travel on the continent?"

"Only in Switzerland, and part of Italy, during his wedding tour."

"Your guardian returned, I believe, at intervals to England?" I had

never told him this.

"Yes. At least I suppose so, or he would not have been in London."

"Did he visit then at Vaughan Park?"

"Not once within my memory."

"Thank you. I will ask no more. It is a strange story; but I have

known several much more strange. Of one thing be assured. I shall catch

the criminal. I need not tell you that I heard much of this case at the

time."

"Were you sent down to Gloucestershire?"

"No. If I had been--well, I will not say. But I was not then in my

present position. Had I been so, it would have become my special

department."

"Pray keep me no more in suspense. Tell me what you think."

"That I must not do, or you should know it at once, for my opinion is

formed. It would be a breach of duty for me to tell you now."

"Oh," I cried in my disappointment, "I wish I had never seen you."

"Young lady, you have done your duty in placing the matter before me,

and some day you will rejoice that you did so. One piece of advice I

will give you: change your name immediately, before even the tradesmen

about here know it."

"Change my name, Inspector Cutting! Do you think I am ashamed of my

name?"

"Certainly not. You have shown great intelligence when a mere child;

exert but a little now, and you will see the good sense, or rather the

necessity, of my recommendation. When you have gained your object, you

may resume your name with pride. You have given your information, Miss

Vaughan, as clearly as ever I knew a female give it."

If I detest anything, in the way of small things, it is to be called a

"female." So I said coldly; "Inspector Cutting, I thank you for the

compliment. It would be strange indeed if I could not tell with

precision, what I have thought of all my life."

"Excuse me, Miss, it would not be strange at all, in a female. And now

I will wish you 'good night.' You shall hear from me when needful.

Meanwhile, I will take charge of these articles."

He began, in the coolest manner, to pack up my sacred relics, dagger,

casts, and all.

"Indeed you won't," I cried, "you shall not have one of them. What are

you thinking of?"

He went on with his packing. I saw he was resolute; so was I. I sprang

to the door, locked it, and put the key in my pocket. He said nothing,

but smiled.

"Now," I exclaimed in triumph, "you cannot take those away, unless you

dare to outrage a young lady."

I was wholly mistaken. He passed by, without touching me, drew some

instrument from his waistcoat pocket, and the door stood open before

him. All my treasures were in his left hand. I flew at, and snatched

them, and then let go with a scream. A gush of blood poured from my

hand. He had taken the dagger folded in paper only, and I was cut to

the bone. I sank on a chair and fainted.

When I came to myself, Mrs. Shelfer was kneeling before me, with her

feet in a basin of water, while two other basins, and numberless towels,

were round. Mrs. Shelfer was rubbing my other hand, and crying and

talking desperately about her bad luck that day, and a man with eyes

crossed whom she had met in the morning. In the background stood Mr.

Shelfer himself, whom I had hitherto failed to see, though I believe he

had seen me often. He had a pipe in his mouth about a yard long, and

seemed wholly undisturbed. "All right, old 'ooman," he said

deliberately through his nose, as he saw that I perceived him, "she'll

do now, if you don't make too much rumpus." And with that he

disappeared, and I had time to pity myself. The hand the poor farmer

used so to admire, and which I was proud of no doubt, in my way, lay in

a dishcloth covered and oozing with blood. But my relics were on the

table, all safe. A quick step was heard on the stairs, and Inspector

Cutting came in, carrying a small phial.

"Out of the way, Patty," he cried, "you are doing more harm than good."

He took up a basin of cold water, and poured half the contents of the

little phial into it.

"Now hold her arm up, Patty, as high as you can. I never knew arnica

fail."

My hand was put into the water, and the bleeding was stanched in a

minute or two. However he kept it there for a quarter of an hour, till

it was quite benumbed.

"Now you may look at your hand, Miss Vaughan; it will not be disfigured

at all. There will be no inflammation. Patty, fetch me some cambric

and the best lard; put the young lady to bed at once, and prop her arm

up a little."

I looked at my hand, and found three parallel gashes across it, for

every edge of the weapon was keen. But only one wound was deep, viz.

that across the palm, which was very deep under the thumb. I have the

mark of it still. All the wounds were edged with a narrow yellow line.

"Inspector Cutting," I cried, "no power will move me from here, until

you promise not to steal my property. Stealing it is, and nothing else.

You have no warrant, and my information to you was wholly unofficial."

The last word seemed to move him. They all like big words, however

clear-headed they are.

"Miss Vaughan, under these special circumstances, I will promise what

you require; upon condition that you give me accurate drawings, for I

see that you can make them."

"Certainly, when my hand is well enough."

"Believe me, I am deeply concerned at what has occurred. But the fault

was all your own. How dare you obstruct the Police? But I wish some of

my fellows had only half your spirit. A little more experience, and

nothing will escape you. Come, Miss Vaughan, though you are a lady, or

rather because you are one, give me your left hand, in token that you

forgive me."

I did so with all my heart. I liked him much better since I had

defeated him; and I saw that it was well worth the pain, for he would do

his utmost to make amends. He wished me good night with a most

respectful bow. "I will come and inquire how you are to-morrow, Miss

Vaughan. Patty, quiet, and coolness, and change the lard frequently.

No doctor, if you please; and above all hold your queer little tongue."

"Never fear me, Uncle John; you are right, my good friend, it is a

little tongue, but no queerer than my neighbours."

Inspector Cutting would have formed a far lower opinion of my spirit, if

he had seen how I cried that night; not from the pain of the wounds, I

am sure, but to think of the fuss dear mother would have made about

them.

CHAPTER XI.

In spite of the arnica, my cuts were not healed for a month; not enough,

I mean, for me to handle a pencil. Mr. Cutting, when he came, according

to promise, told me something to quiet me, because I was so feverish.

Whether he believed it, or only acted medically, was more than I could

decide. The opinion he gave me, or the substance of it, was this.

That the deed was done, not for money, or worldly advantage in any way,

but for revenge. Here I thought of Mrs. Daldy. What wrong the revenge

was wreaked for, he could not even guess, or at any rate would not hint

to me.

That the straightest clue to the mystery was to be sought in Italy,

where my guardian's track should be followed carefully. The idea of

forcing, or worming, the truth from him was rejected at once through my

description of his character; although the Inspector quite agreed with

me, that, even if guiltless of the crime, Mr. Edgar Vaughan knew all

about it now.

That no importance should be attached to the anonymous letter from

London; in accordance with my promise to Mrs. Elton, I did not mention

the Polish lady's name; and Mr. Cutting did not press me to do so, for

he firmly believed from what I said that she had made a mistake in the

address she gave, and would not help us now, even if we could find her.

That nevertheless a strict watch should be kept in London, whither flock

nine-tenths of the foreigners who ever set foot in this country. London

moreover was likely, ere long, to draw nearly all the migratory

strangers to the business or pleasure of next year's "Great Exhibition,"

provided only that it should prove successful, as the Inspector thought

it would.

As for my enemy being attracted by works of industry, it seemed to me

quite against nature that a base assassin should care for art or

science, or any national progress. But the remembrance of several cases,

among the dark annals I used to delight in, soon proved to me my error;

while the long experience of a man, versed from his youth in criminal

ways, convicted me of presumption.

To put myself more on a level with fraud, and stealth, and mystery, I

did a thing for which I felt guilty to myself and my mother. I changed

my name. But, in spite of Inspector Cutting, I did not travel out of

the family. My father's second name was "Valentine," taken from his

mother. This name I assumed in a shorter form, becoming "Clara

Valence;" it saved change of initials and a world of trouble, and I felt

warmer in it, because it seemed to have been my father's. In the

neighbourhood I knew no one except Mrs. Elton, to whom (as I grew

intimate with her) I partly explained my reasons. As for Mrs. Shelfer,

she was delighted at the change. She said that her Uncle John had

christened me, that it sounded much prettier, and would always remind

her of Valentines. Nevertheless I longed for the day when I might call

myself "Clara Vaughan" once more.

By the time I was able to go about freely again and use my hand as of

old, it was the middle of November. The first use I made of my pencil

was to copy most carefully all that Inspector Cutting required. He

promised to keep these drawings, and indeed the whole matter, most

jealously to himself; by which term he meant, as I afterwards found,

Inspector Cutting and those to whom he was bound to report.

What I now wanted was money, to send an adroit inquirer throughout the

North of Italy, and other parts where my guardian's shifting abode had

been. I knew that he dwelt awhile at Pisa, Genoa, and Milan, also at an

obscure little village named "Calva," which I could not find in the

maps. All I had learned of his rovings was from the lessons my father

would give me sometimes, when he used to say, "Now, Tooty, put your

finger on Uncle Edgar." To every one, but myself, it seemed a strange

thing that after so many wanderings, Mr. Edgar Vaughan had brought no

valet, major domo, or courier, no dependant or retainer of any kind, and

not even a foreign friend to England, or at any rate to Vaughan Park.

But now for the needful resources--the only chance of procuring them lay

in my young and partly self-tutored art. I braced myself with the

remembrance, that while none of my family ever laid claim to genius, the

limner's faculty had never been wanting among them. Inferior gifts are

often as heirlooms in the blood, though high original power follows no

vein except its own. The latter none of us ever possessed; but taste

and the knack of adaptation had seldom been alienated. Observation too,

in a small way, and the love of nature seemed inborn in us all. My

father's drawings were perfect, but for the one thing wanted; and in

sketches from outdoor nature that want was less perceived. My

grandfather had been known among the few amateurs of the day as a

skilful colourist. As to habits of observation, a little tale handed

down in our family will show that they had existed in one of its members

seven generations ago.

In the autumn of 1651, when King Charles was stealing along from Colonel

Wyndham's house to the coast of Hampshire and Sussex, the little band

was overtaken by nightfall, somewhere near the New Forest. It was

shortly after the narrow escape of the King from that observant

blacksmith, who saw that his horse was shod with North-country iron.

Though he was taking it easily, his three trusty friends knew well that

a Roundhead Squadron was near, and that his last chance depended on

speed and night travel. What could they do now in the tempestuous

darkness? They were in a tract thinly inhabited, half woodland, half

heather, and the road was hopelessly lost. No rain fell as yet it was

true, and the wind was waiting for rain, but the lightning came fitfully

from the horizon all round. The King alone was on horseback, his three

companions afoot. They stood still in doubt and terror, for they could

not tell north from south. Suddenly Major Cecil Vaughan espied a faint

gleam familiar to him of old in the waste land round Vaughan Park. To

an accurate eye there could be little doubt as to the source of the

lambent light--flame it could not be called. It played in a pale yet

constant stream on a certain kind of moss, known to botanists, not to

me, for the waste lands have been reclaimed. This light is to be seen

at no time, except when the air is surcharged with electricity.

"Follow me all; I know the way!" cried Major Vaughan, right cheerily.

"And if you do, man," said the King, "your eyes are made of dashers."

[What this meant, I used as a child to wonder; but now I know.]

For six dark miles the Major led them without default, until they came

to a lonely heathman's house, where they slept in safety. He never told

them how he did it; being apt, I suppose, as men of the second order

are, to hug superior knowledge. But it was a most simple thing. That

strangely sensitive moss follows the course of the sun, and therefore

the lambent light can only be seen from the west. So all the time he

could see it--the others never saw it at all--he knew that they were

wending from west to east, which was their proper course.

To return to myself. I put the finishing touch to a view of rock and

woodland scenery, north-west of Tossil's Barton, and set off to try my

fortune with it. Some young ladies, born to my position, would have

thought this errand one of much degradation, but it did not appear so to

me. So I walked briskly--for I hate an omnibus, and could ill afford a

cab--to the shop of a well-known dealer in pictures, not far from the

Haymarket. It was my first venture into the heart of London, but I

found the way very easily, having jotted it down from a map. The day

was dark and drizzly; the pavement grimy and slimy, and hillocked with

mud at the joints of the flags. It was like walking on a peeled

kneading-trough with dollops of paste left in it. Along the far reach of

the streets, and the gardens in the squares, wisps of fog were crawling,

and almost every one was coughing.

The dealer received me politely. Too politely in fact: for it seemed to

savour of kindness, which I did not want from him. What I wanted was

business, and nothing else. He took my poor drawing, done only in

water-colours, and set it up in a square place made perhaps for the

purpose, where the brown flaw fell upon it from a skylight formed like a

Devonshire chimney. Then he drew back and clasped his hands, then

shaded his eyes with them, as if the light were too strong, whereas the

whole place was like a well turned upside down. He seemed uneasy

because I did not care to follow him throughout all this little

performance.

"And now," I said, for my foolish pride was up, and I spoke as I would

have done to the porter at our lodge, not with the least contempt--I was

never so low as that--but with a long perspective, "Now, Mr. Oxgall, it

will soon be dark. What will you give me for it?"

"Allow me, Miss; allow me one moment. The light is a leetle too strong.

Ah, the mark of the brush comes out. Strong touch, but indiscreet. A

year of study required. Shade too broad and massive. A want of tone in

the background. Great feeling of nature, but inexperienced rendering.

More mellowness desiderated. Full however of promise. All the faults

on the right side. Most energetic handling; no weak stippling here.

But water-colours are down just now; a deal depends on the weather and

time of year."

"How so, Mr. Oxgall?"

"Hot sun, and off they go. Fog and murk and frost, and the cry is all

for oil. Excuse me, Miss--a thousand pardons, your name escaped me, you

did not pronounce it strongly."

"Miss Valence!" I said, with an emphasis that startled him out of his

mincing.

"Miss Valence, you think me very long. All young ladies do. But my

object is to do them justice, and if they show any power, to encourage

them."

"Thank you, I want no encouragement. I know I can draw a little; and

there it is. The fog is thickening. I have far to go. Your price, if

you please?"

I went up many steps in his opinion, by reason of my curtness and

independence.

"Miss Valence, I will give you three guineas, although no doubt I shall

be a loser."

"Then don't give it," said I in pure simplicity.

I went up several steps more. How utterly men of the world are puzzled

by plain truth!

"Miss Valence, if you will forgive the observation, I would beg to

remark that your conversation as well as your painting is crisp. I will

take this little piece at all hazards, because it is full of character.

Will you forgive me for one word of advice?"

"There is nothing to forgive. I shall thank you heartily for it."

"It is simply this:--The worst part of your work is the perspective.

And figure-drawing will be of service to you. Study at a school of

design, if you have one near you; and be not above drawing stiff and

unsightly objects. Houses are the true guides to perspective. I cannot

paint or even draw; but I am so much with great artists, that I know

well how to advise."

"Thank you. Can you kindly suggest anything more?"

"Yes. Your touch is here and there too harsh. Keep your hand light

though bold, and your brush just a leetle wetter. But you have the

grand things quite unattainable, when not in the grain. I mean, of

course, freedom of handling and an artist's eye."

"Do you think I could do any good in oils?"

"I have no doubt you could, but not for a long time. If fame is your

object, take to oils. If speedy returns, stick to water-colours. Leave

me your address, if you have no objection; and bring me your next work.

If I do well with this, I will try to give you more."

He took from a desk three new sovereigns and three new shillings,

wrapped them neatly in silver paper, and handed them to me. I never

imagined I could be so proud of money.

Light of heart I left the shop, not that I had made my fortune yet, but

what was greater happiness, I thought myself likely to make it.

Soon I perceived, with some alarm, how thick and murky the air had

grown. The fog was stooping heavily down, and was now become like a

wash of gamboge and lamp-black. All the street-lamps were lit, though

they could not see one another, and every shop-keeper had his little

jet. The pavement was no longer slippery, but sticky and dry; and a

cold, that pierced to the bones, was stealing along. Already it had

begun to freeze; and I, so familiar both with white and black frost,

observed with no small interest the grey or fog-frost, which was new to

me. How different from the pure whiteness when the stars are sparkling,

and the earth is gleaming, and the spirit of man so buoyant! This grey

fog-frost is rather depressing to most natures, and a chilly damp creeps

to the core of all things. Thick encrusting rime comes with it, and

sometimes a freezing rain.

Before I reached the New Road, the fog had grown so dense and dark, that

I was much inclined to take a cab, for fear of losing my way. But I

could not see one, and finding myself at last in a main thoroughfare

called the Hampstead Road, I walked on briskly and bravely till I

reached Camden Town, when I knew what course to pursue.

Slowly wending up College Street, for I was getting tired and the fog

thicker than ever, indeed every step seemed a thrust into an ochred

wall, I heard a plaintive, and rather musical, voice chanting, much as

follows:--

"Christian friends, and sisters in the Lord, all who own a heart that

feels for undeserved distress, aid, I implore you, a bereaved wife and

mother, who has this very moment seven small lovely children, starving

in a garret, three of them upon a bed of sickness, and the inhuman

landlord, for the sake of a few shillings about to turn them this bitter

night into the flinty streets. Christian friends, may you never know

what it is to be famished as I and my seven darlings are this very

night, in the midst of plenty. From Plymouth in Devonshire, I walked

two hundred and fifty miles afoot all the way to join my beloved husband

in London. When I came to this Christian city--Georgiana, pick up that

halfpenny--he had been ordered off in the transport ship Hippopotamus,

to shed his blood for his Queen and country; and I who have known the

smiles of plenty in my happy rustic home, I am compelled for the sake of

my children to the degradation of publicly soliciting alms. The

smallest trifle, even an old pair of shoes or a left off garment will be

received with the heartfelt gratitude of the widow and orphan. My

eldest child, ma'am, the oldest of seven, bad in the whooping cough.

Georgiana, curtsey to the pretty lady, and show her your broken

chilblains."

"No thank you," I said: I could just see her through the fog. She

looked like one who had seen better days, and the thought of my own

vicissitudes opened my heart towards her. How could I show my gratitude

better for the money I had just earned, than by bestowing a share in

charity upon worthy objects? So I took out my purse, an elegant little

French one given me by dear mother, and placed my three new shillings in

the poor creature's hand, as she stood in the gutter. She was

overpowered with gratitude, and could not speak for a moment. Then she

came nearer, to bless me.

"Sweet lady, in the name of seven famishing innocents, whom you have

saved from death this night, may He who guards the fatherless and the

widow from His mercy-seat above, may He shower his richest blessings--"

Snap--she had got my purse and was out of sight in the fog. Georgiana's

red heels were the last thing I saw. For an instant I could not believe

it; but thought that the fog had affected my sight. Then I darted

across the road, almost under the feet of a horse, and down a place

called "Pratt Street." It was hopeless, utterly hopeless; and not only

my three pounds were gone, but half besides of all I had in the world.

I had taken that money with me, because I meant, if fortunate with my

landscape, to buy a large box of colours in Rathbone-place; but the fog

had deterred me. She had snatched my purse while I tried to clasp it,

for my glove had first got in the way. All was gone, dear mother's

gift, my first earnings, and all. More than all I felt sore at heart

from the baseness of the robbery. Nothing is so bitterly grievous to

youth as a blow to faith in one's species.

I am not ashamed to confess that feeling all alone in the fog, I leaned

against some iron railings and cried away like a child. Child I was

still at heart, despite all my trials and spirit; and more so perhaps

than girls who have played out their childhood. In the full flow of my

passion, for I was actually sobbing aloud, ashamed of myself all the

while, I felt an arm steal round my waist, and starting in fear of

another thief, confronted the loveliest face that human eyes ever looked

on. With soft caresses, and sweetest smiles, it drew close to my own

stormy and bitter countenance.

"Are you better now, dear? Oh don't cry so. You'll break your poor

little heart. Do tell me what it is, that's a dear. I'll do anything

to help you."

"You can't help me:" I exclaimed through my sobs: "Nobody can help me!

I was born to ill luck, and shall have nothing else till I die."

"Don't say so dear. You mustn't think of it. My father, who never is

wrong, says there's no such thing as luck."

"I know that well enough. People always say that who have it on their

side."

"Ah, I never thought of that. But I hope you are wrong. But tell me,

dear, what is the matter with you. I'm sure you have done no harm, and

dear papa says no one can be unhappy who has not injured any one."

"Can't they though? Your papa is a moralist. Now I'll just tell you

facts." And to prove my point, I told her of this new trouble, hinted

at previous ones and my many great losses, of which money was the least.

Even without the controversial spirit, I must have told her all. There

was no denying anything to such a winning loving face.

"Dear me!" she cried very thoughtfully, with her mites of hands out of

her muff--she had the prettiest set of fur I ever beheld, and how it

became her!--"Dear me! she couldn't have meant it, I feel quite sure she

couldn't. You'll come to my opinion when you have time to consider,

dear"--this was said so sagely that I could have kissed her all over

like a duck of a baby. "To steal from you who had just given her more

than you could afford! Now come with me, dear, you shall have all the

money I have got; though I don't think it's anything like the nine

pounds you have lost, and I'm sure it is not new money. Only I haven't

got it with me. I never carry money. Do you know why, dear?"

"No. How should I?"

"Well, I don't mind telling you. Because then I can't spend it, or give

it away. I don't care a bit about money. What good is it to me? Why,

I can never keep it, somehow or other. But papa says if I can show five

pounds on Christmas-day, he will put five more on the top of it, and

then do you know what I'll do? I'll give away five, and spend the rest

for Pappy and Conrad." And the lively little thing clapped her hands at

the prospect, quite forgetting that she had just offered me all her

store. Presently this occurred to her.

"No. Now I come to think of it, I won't have the five pounds on

Christmas-day. As the girls at the College say, I'll just sell the old

Pappy. That will be better fun still. He will find a good reason for

it. He always does for everything. You shall have every bit of it.

Come home with me now, that's a dear. You are better now, you know.

Come, that's a love. I am sure I shall love you with all my heart, and

you are so terribly unlucky."

I yielded at once. She was so loving and natural, I could not resist

her. She broke upon me like soft sunshine through the fog, laughing,

smiling, dancing, her face all light and warmth, yet not a shallow

light, but one that played up from the fount of tears. Her deep rich

violet eyes seldom used their dark lashes, except when she was asleep.

She was life itself, quick, playful, loving life, feeling for and with

all life around; pitying, trusting, admiring all things; yet true as the

hearth to household ties. I never found another such nature: it was the

perfection of maiden womanhood, even in its unreason. And therefore

nobody could resist her. With me, of ten times her strength of will,

and power of mind--small though it be--she could do in a moment exactly

as she liked; I mean of course in trivial matters. It was impossible to

be offended with her.

When she had led me a few steps towards her home--for I went with her

(not, of course, to take her money, but to see her safe), she turned

round suddenly:--

"Oh I forgot, dear; I must not take you to our house. We have had new

orders. But where do you live? I will bring you my little bag

to-morrow. They won't let me out again to-night. Now I know you will

oblige me. I am so sorry that I mustn't see you safe home, dear." This

she said with the finest air of protection imaginable.

I gave her my name and address, and asked for hers.

"My name is Isola Ross, I am seventeen and a half, and my papa is

Professor at the College. I ran away from old Cora. It seemed such fun

to be all alone in the fog. What trouble I shall get into! But they

can't be angry with me long. Kiss me, darling. Mind, to-morrow!"

Off she danced through the fog; and I went sadly home, yet thinking more

of her, than of my serious and vexatious loss.

CHAPTER XII.

Inspector Cutting, upon the first tidings of the robbery, came at once,

and assured me that he knew the "party" well, and wanted her for several

other plants, and crafty as she was ("leary" was the elegant word he

used) he was sure to be down upon her in the course of a very short

time.

Isola Ross, to my great surprise, did not come the next day, nor even

the day after; so I set out to look for her, at the same time wondering

at myself for doing so. Knowing that College Street must take its name

from some academic building in or near it, I concluded of course that

there I should find Professor Ross and my lovely new friend. So without

consulting Mrs. Shelfer, who would have chattered for an hour, away I

went one tine frosty morning to ask about the College.

I found that a low unsightly building, which I had often passed, near

the bottom of the street, was the only College there; so I entered a

small quadrangle, to make further inquiries.

The first person I saw was a young man dressed like one of my father's

grooms, and cracking a long whip and whistling. He had a brilliant

scarlet neckcloth, green sporting coat, and black boots up to his knees.

I studied him for a moment because it struck me that he would look well

in a foreground, when toned down a little, as water colours would render

him. He appreciated my attention, and seemed proud of it.

"Now, Polly, what can I do for you, dear?"

He must have been three parts drunk, or he would never have dared to

address me so. Of course I made no answer, but walked on. He cracked

his whip like a pistol, to startle me.

"Splendid filly," I heard him mutter, "but cussed high action." What he

meant I do not know or care.

The next I met was a fussy little man, dressed all in brown, who smelt

of musty hay.

"Will you kindly tell me," I asked, "where to find Professor Ross?'

"Ross, Ross! Don't know the name. No Ross about here. What's he

Professor of?"

"That I was not told. But it is something the young ladies study."

"No young ladies about here. But I see you have brought your dear

mamma's lapdog. Take it out of the bag. Let me look at it."

"Is not this the College?"

"Yes to be sure. The best College in London. Quick, let me see the

dog."

"I have no dog, sir. I have made some mistake."

"Then you have got a pony. Pet over-fed. Shetland breed."

"No indeed. Nothing except myself; and I am looking for Miss Ross."

"Young lady, you have made a very great mistake. You have kept me five

minutes from a lecture on the navicular disease. And my practice is

controverted by an upstart youth from the country. I am in search of

authorities." And off he darted, I suppose to the library.

It was clear that I had made some mistake, so I found my way back to the

street, and asked in the nearest shop what building it was that I had

just left.

"Oh, them's the weterans," said the woman, "and a precious set they be!"

"Why, they did not look like soldiers."

"No, no, Miss. Weterans, where they takes in all the sick horses and

dogs. And very clever they are, I have heard say."

"And where is the College where the young ladies are?"

"I don't know of no other College nearer than High Street, where the

boys wear flat caps. But there's a girls' school down the road."

"I don't want a school. I want a College where young ladies go."

"Then I cant help you, Miss." And back I went to consult Mrs. Shelfer.

"Bless my soul, Miss Valence," cried the little woman, out of breath

with amazement, "have you been among them niggers? It's a mercy they

didn't skin and stuff you. What do you think now they did to my old

Tom?"

"How can I guess, Mrs. Shelfer?"

"No, no, to be sure not. I forgot, my good friend. Why, they knowed him

well it seems, because he had been there in dear Miss Minto's time, for

a salmon bone that had got crossways in his oesop, so they said at

least, but they are the biggest liars--so only a year ago come next

Boxing-day, here comes to the door half a dozen of them, bus-cad and

coachman all in one, all looking as grave as judges. When I went to the

door they all pulled their hats off, as if I had been the Queen at the

very least. 'What can I do for you, my good friends?' says I; for

Shelfer was out of the way, and catch me letting them in for all their

politeness. No, no, thank you. 'Mrs. Shelfer,' says the biggest of

them, a lantern-jawed young fellow with covers over his pockets, 'Mrs.

Shelfer, you are possessed of a most remarkable cat. An animal, ma'am,

of unparalleled cemetery and organic dewelopment. Our Professor, ma'am,

is delivering a course of lectures on the Canonical Heapatightness of

the Hirumbillycuss."

"Well done, Mrs. Shelfer! What a memory you must have!"

"Pretty well, Miss, pretty well. Particular for long words, when I

likes the sound of them. 'Well sir,' I says, feeling rather taken

aback, 'thank God I haven't got it.' 'No, ma'am,' says he, 'your

blooming countenance entirely negatives any such dyingnoses. But the

Professor, in passing the other morning, observed some symptoms of it in

your magnificent cat, for whom he entertains the most sincere

attachment, and whom he will cure for our advancement and edification

upon the lecture table. And now, ma'am, Professor Sallenders desires

his most respectful compliments, and will you allow us to take that dear

good cat to be cured. The Professor was instrumental once in preserving

his honoured existence, therefore he feels assured that you will not now

refuse him.' Well you see, Miss, I didn't half like to let him go, but

I was afraid to offend the Professor, because of all my animals, for I

knew that he could put a blight upon them, birds and all, if he chose.

Old Tom was lying roasting his back again the fender, the same as you

see him now, poor soul; so I catched him up and put him in a double

covered basket, with a bit of flannel over him, because the weather was

cold; and he was so clever, would you believe it, he put up his old paws

to fight me, he knew he was going to mischief, and that turned me

rather. 'Now will you promise to bring him back safe?' I says.

'Ma'am,' says the lantern-jawed young man, bowing over his heart, and as

serious as a pulpit, 'Ma'am, in less than an hour. Rely upon the honour

of Weteran Arian Gent."

"Well, Mrs. Shelfer, I am astonished. Even I should never have been so

silly. Poor old Tom among the Philistines!"

"Well, Miss, I began to feel very uneasy directly they was gone. I

thought they looked back so queerly, and old Tom was mewing so dreadful

in the basket. Presently I began to hear a mewing out of the cupboard,

and a mewing out of the clock, and even out of the dripping-pan. So I

put on my bonnet as quick as I could, and ran right away to the College,

and somehow or other by the time I got there, I was in a fright all

over. As good luck would have it, the man was at the gate; a nice

respectable married man, and a friend of Charley's. 'Curbs,' I says,

'where is Professor Sallenders?' 'Down in the country,' says he, 'since

last Friday. He never stops here at Christmas, Mrs. Shelfer, he's a

deal too knowing for that.' My heart went pop, Miss, like an oyster

shell in the fire. I held on by the door, and I thought it was all up

with me. 'Don't take on so, Missus,' says Curbs, 'if any of your museum

is ill, there's half a dozen clever young coves in the operating room

over there, only they're busy just now, cutting up a big black cat. My

eyes, how he did squeal!' I screamed out and ran--Curbs thought I was

mad, and he was not far out--bang went the door before me, and there on

the table, with the lantern-jawed young man flourishing a big knife over

him, there lay my precious old Tom strapped down on his back, with his

mouth tied up in white tape, and leather gloves over his feet, and

sticks trussed across him the same as a roasting rabbit, and a streak of

white all along his blessed stomach--you know, Miss, he hadn't got one

white hair by rights--where the niggers had shaved and floured him, to

see what they were about. He turned up his dear old eyes when he saw

me; it would have made you cry, and he tried to speak. Oh you precious

old soul, didn't I scatter them right and left? I scratched that

lantern-jawed hypocrite's face till I gave him the hirumbillycuss and

hirumtommycuss too, I expect. I called a policeman in, and there wasn't

one of them finished his Christmas in London. But the poor old soul has

never been the same cat since. The anxiety he was in, turned his hair

white on both sides of his heart and all round the backs of his ears.

He wouldn't come to the door, he shook so, at the call of the cat's-meat

man for better than a month, and he won't look at it now, while there's

a skewer in it."

The poor little woman was crying with pity and rage. Old Tom looked up

all the time as if he knew all she said, and then jumped on her lap, and

showed his paws, and purred.

Meanwhile, a change had come over my intentions. Perhaps all the

rudeness I had met with that day had called my pride into arms. At any

rate, much as I liked pretty Isola, and much as I longed for her fresh

warm kindness, I now resolved to wait until she should choose to seek

me. So I did not even ask Mrs. Shelfer whether she knew the College

where the Professor lectured. What were love and warm young hearts to

me? I deserved such a rebuff for swerving so from my duty. Now I would

give all my thoughts to the art, whence only could spring any hope of

attaining my end, and the very next day I would follow the

picture-dealer's advice.

CHAPTER XIII.

There was a school of design not very far from my lodgings, and thither

I went the next morning. My landlady offered to come with me and see me

safe in the room; and of course her Charley, who seemed to know

everybody, knew some one even there, to whom she kindly promised to

recommend me. So I gladly accepted her offer.

In some respects, Mr. Shelfer was more remarkable than even his wife.

He was so shy, that on the rare occasions when we met, I never could get

him to look at me, except once when he was drunk; yet by some mysterious

process he seemed to know everything about me--the colour of my eyes,

the arrangement of my hair, the dresses I put on, the spirits I was

in--a great deal more, in fact, than I ever cared to know. So that

sometimes my self-knowledge was largely increased, through his

observations repeated by his wife. But I was not allowed to flatter

myself that this resulted from any especial interest; for he seemed to

possess an equal acquaintance with the affairs of all his neighbours.

Mention any one anywhere around, and he, without seeming to mean it,

would describe him or her unmistakably in half a dozen words. He never

praised or blamed, he simply identified. He must have seen more with a

blink of his eye, than most people see in five minutes of gazing. He

seldom brought any one home with him, though he often promised to do so;

he never seemed to indulge in gossip, at any rate not with his wife.

"Cut it short, old 'ooman," was all the encouragement he ever gave her

in that way. When he was at home--a thing of rare occurrence--he sat

with his head down and a long pipe in his mouth; he walked in the street

with his head down, and never accosted any one. Where did he get all

his knowledge? I doubt if there were a public-house in London, but what

Shelfer knew at the furthest a cousin of the landlord, and a brother of

one of the potboys. "Charley Shelfer" everybody called him, and

everybody spoke of him, not with distinguished respect, but with a

kindly feeling. His luck was proverbial; he had a room full of things

which he had won at raffles, and he was in constant requisition to throw

for less fortunate people. As for his occupation--he called himself a

nurseryman, but he had no nursery that I could discover. He received a

pound a week for looking after the garden in the great square; but when

any one came for him, he was never to be found there. I think he spent

most of his time in jobbing about, and "swopping" (as Mrs. Shelfer

called it) among his brother gardeners. Sometimes, he brought home

beautiful plants, perfectly lovely flowers, unknown to me even by name,

and many of these he presented to me by Mrs. Shelfer's hands. Every

Sunday morning he was up before the daylight, and away for an excursion,

or rather an incursion, through the Hampstead, Highgate, and Holloway

district. From these raids he used to return as I came home from the

morning service. By the way, if I had wanted to puzzle him and find a

blank in his universal acquaintance, the best chance would have been to

ask him about the clergyman. He never gave the pew-openers any trouble,

neither indeed did Mrs. Shelfer, who called herself a Catholic; but the

lively little woman's chiefest terror was death, and a parson to her was

always an undertaker. If Mr. Shelfer had not spent the Sunday morning

quite so well as I had, at any rate he had not wasted his time. I think

he must have robbed hen-roosts and allotment grounds; and yet he was too

respectable for that. But whence and how could he ever have come by the

gipsey collection he always produced from his hat, from his countless

pockets, from his red cotton handkerchief, every Sunday at 1 P.M.?

Eggs, chickens, mushrooms, sticks of horseradish and celery,

misletoe-thrushes, cucumbers, cabbages red and white, rabbits,

watercress, Aylesbury ducks--I cannot remember one quarter of his

manifold forage. All I can say is, that if these things are to be found

by the side of the road near London, Middlesex is a far better field for

the student of natural history than Gloucestershire, or even beloved

Devon. Mrs. Shelfer said it was all his luck; but I hardly think it

could have rained Aylesbury ducks, even for Mr. Shelfer.

All the time he was extracting from his recesses this multifarious

store, he never once smiled, or showed any symptoms of triumph, but

gravely went through the whole, as if a simple duty.

How was it such a man had not made his fortune? Because he had an

incurable habit of "backing bills" for any one who asked him; and hence

he was always in trouble.

Mrs. Shelfer and I were admitted readily into the school of design. It

was a long low room, very badly lighted, and fitted up for the time

until a better could be provided. It looked very cold and comfortless;

forms instead of chairs, and desks like a parish school. The whitewashed

walls were hung with diagrams, sections, tracings, reductions, most of

them stiff and ugly, but no doubt instructive. At one end was a raised

platform, reserved for lecturers and the higher powers. Shelves round

the wall were filled with casts and models, and books of instruction

were to be had out of cupboards. Of course we were expected to bring

our own materials, and a code of rules was exhibited. The more advanced

students were permitted to tender any work of their own which might be

of service to the neophytes. From no one there did I ever receive any

insolence. At first, the young artists used to look at me rather hard,

but my reserved and distant air was quite enough to discourage them.

After the introduction, which Mrs. Shelfer accomplished in very great

style, I dismissed her, and set to in earnest to pore once more over the

rudiments of perspective. One simple truth as to the vanishing point

struck me at once. I was amazed that I had never perceived it before.

It was not set forth in the book I was studying; but it was the sole key

to all my errors of distance. At once I closed the book; upon that one

subject I wanted no more instruction, I had caught the focus of truth.

Books, like bad glass, would only refract my perception. All I wanted

now was practice and adaptation of the eye.

Strange as it seemed to me then, I could draw no more that day. I was

so overcome at first sight by the simple beauty of truth, mathematical

yet poetical truth, that error and obscurity (for there is a balance in

all things) had their revenge for a while on my brain. But the truth,

once seen, could never be lost again. Thenceforth there were few higher

penances for me, in a small way, than to look at one of my early

drawings.

When my brain was clear, I returned to do a real day's work. For the

cups, and vases, and plates, and things of "aesthetic art" (as they

chose to call it), I did not care at all; but the copies and models and

figures were most useful to me. Unless I am much mistaken, I made more

advance in a fortnight there, than I had in any year of my life before.

With my usual perseverance--if I have no other virtue, I have that--I

worked away to correct my many shortcomings; not even indulging (much as

I wanted the money) in any attempts at a finished drawing, until I felt

sure that all my foundations were thoroughly laid and set. "And now," I

cried towards Christmas, "now for Mr. Oxgall; if I don't astonish him

this time, my name is not Clara Vaughan!" It did me good when I was

alone, to call myself by my own name, and my right to be my father's

daughter.

CHAPTER XIV.

Meanwhile old Christmas was come, and all I was worth in the world was

change for half a sovereign. True, my lodgings were paid for, a

fortnight in advance, because good Mrs. Shelfer wanted to treat all her

pets to a Christmas dinner; but as for my own Christmas dinner--though I

can't say I cared much for it--if I got one at all, it must be upon

credit, since my drawing would not be finished for another week.

Credit, of course, I would not think of. Any day in the week or year, I

would rather starve than owe money. However, I was not going to cry

about plum-pudding, though once or twice it made me hungry to think of

the dinner in the great hall at Vaughan Park on the Christmas eve; a

much more elaborate matter in the old time, than the meal served in the

dining-room next day.

Now I sat in my little room this dreary Christmas eve; and do what I

would, I could not help thinking a little. It was a gusty evening, cold

and damp, with scuds of sleet and snow, as yet it had not made up its

mind whether to freeze or thaw. Nevertheless, the streets were full of

merry laughing parties, proud of their bargains for the Christmas cheer;

and as they went by, the misletoe and the holly glistened in the

flickering gaslight.

For old recollection's sake, I had made believe to dress my little room

with some few sprigs of laurel and unberried holly; the sceptre branch,

all cobbed with coral beads, was too expensive for me. Misletoe I

wanted not. Who was there now to kiss me?

From the sheer craving of human nature for a word of kindness, I had

called, that afternoon, upon Mrs. Elton. But good as she was and sweet

to me, she had near relatives coming; and I saw or fancied, that I

should be in the way. Yet I thought that her mother heart yearned

toward me as she said "Good bye," and showed me out by the Christmas

tree, all trembling to be lighted.

Now I sat alone and lonely by the flickering of three pennyworth of wood

which I had bought recklessly for the sake of the big ash-tree that used

to glow with the lichen peeling round it on the old Christmas hearth,

where I was believed the heiress. The little spark and sputter of my

sallow billet (chopped by the poor old people at St. Pancras workhouse)

led me back through eight sad years to the last merry time when my

father was keeping his latest Christmas, and I his pride and hope was

prouder than all, at being just ten years old.

How he carved and ladled the gravy; how he flourished his knife and fork

with a joke all hot for every one; how he smiled when the thrice-helped

farmers sent for another slice, and laughed when the crow-boy was nearly

choked with plum-pudding; how he patted me on the head and caught me for

a kiss, when I, dressed up as head-waitress, with my long hair all tied

back, pulled his right arm and pointed to widow Hiatt's plate--the

speech he made after dinner, when I was amazed at his eloquence and

clapped my little hands, and the way he made me stand up on a chair and

drink the Queen's health first--then the hurrahs of the tenants and

servants, and how they kissed me outside--all this goes through my

memory as the smoke of the billet goes up the chimney, and the tears

steal under my eyelids.

Then I see the long hall afterwards, with the tables cleared away and

the lights hung round the tapestry, and the yule log roaring afresh; my

father (a type of the true English gentleman, not of the past but the

present century), holding the hand of his wife (a lady of no

condescending airs, but true womanly warmth and love)--both dressed for

the tenants' ball as if for the lord-lieutenant's; both eager to lead

off the country dance, and beating their feet to the music. Next them,

a laughing child in a little white frock and pink slip (scarce to be

known for myself), hand-in-hand with my brave chevalier, Master Roderick

Blount, accounted by Cooky and both lady's-maids, and most of all by

himself, my duly affianced lord.

Then the housekeeper, starched beyond measure, yet not too stiff to

smile, and open for the nonce even to jokes about courtship, yielding

her gracious hand for the dance to the senior tenant, a man with great

calves, red face, and snow-white hair. After them come--

Hark! a loud knock and a ring. It is just in time before I begin the

palinode. Who can want me to-night? I want no one but those I cannot

have, whom the fire has now restored me, though the earth has hidden

them.

Mrs. Shelfer is hard at work in the kitchen, preparing a wonderful

supper for Charley, who has promised to come home. She has canvassed

the chance of his keeping this promise fifty times in the day. Hope

cries "yes;" experience whispers "no." At any rate the knock is not

his, for he always carries a latch-key.

She calls up the stairs "Miss Valence!" before she goes to the door, for

who knows but she might be murdered in the midst of her Christmas

pudding? I come out to prove my existence and stand in the dark on the

landing. She draws back the bolt; I hear a gruff voice as if it came

through a hat.

"Young 'ooman by the name of Clara Waun live here?"

"Yes to be sure; Miss Valence you mean, my good friend."

"The name on this here ticket ain't Walence, but Waun."

"All right, my good friend. All right. It's just the same."

"Hor, I don't know that though. Jim, the name of the party here ain't

Waun after all. It be Walence. And three blessed days us has been all

over London!"

Jim, from the top of the van, suggests that, after all, Walence and Waun

be much of a muchness. For his part, he'll be blessed if he'll go any

further with it. Let him and Ben look at the young lady, and see if she

be like the card. Meanwhile, of course, I come forward and claim the

parcel, whatever it is. Mrs. Shelfer redoubles her assurances, and

calls the man a great oaf, which has more effect than anything.

"Why, Jim, this must be Charley's missus; Charley Shelfer's missus! Him

as beat you so at skittles last week, you know."

"Ah, he did so. And I'd like to back him again you, Ben, for a quart

all round."

This fact is decisive. Who can doubt any more? But for all that, the

book must be signed in the name of "Waun," with which of course I

comply. When the two strong men have, with much difficulty (of which

they made much more), lowered the enormous package from the van, Ben

stands wiping his forehead. "Lor, how hot it be to-night to be sure!

And the job us has had with this big lump sure*ly*! Both the handles

come off long ago. I wish my missus had got a featherbed half the

weight of that. Five-and-twenty year I've been along of this company,

man and boy, but I never see such a direction as that there in all my

born days. Did ever you, Jim?"

"Well," replies Jim, "I've seed a many queer ones, but none as could

come up to that. And who'd a thought after all their trouble--for I'm

blessed if they wrote that there under a week--who'd a' thought they'd a

put 'Waun' on it when they meant 'Walence.' But the young lady is

awaiting for us to drink her health, Ben, and a merry Christmas to her."

"How much is the carriage?" I ask, trembling for my change of the

half-sovereign.

"Nothing, miss. Only eightpence for delivery. It be paid to

Paddington, and if ever our Company airned eightpence, I'm blessed if

they haven't airned it now. Thank you, Miss, and werry handsome on you,

and us hopes the contents will prove to your liking, Miss, and make you

a merry Christmas."

Away they go with the smoking horses, after carrying into the little

kitchen the mighty maun, which Mrs. Shelfer, with my assistance, could

not stir.

"Bless me, Miss Valence, what a direction!" cries Mrs. Shelfer, when the

full light falls upon it.

The direction was written in round hand upon a strip of parchment, about

four inches wide and at least eight feet in length. It came from the

bottom all up over the cover and down upon the other side, so that no

one could open the basket without breaking it asunder. It was as

follows:--

"Miss Clara Vaughan lodges at number seven in Prince Albert Street in

London town near Windsor Castle in Gloucestershire the daughter of Mr.

Henry Valentine Vaughan Esquire a nice tall young lady her always wears

black things and walks very peart pale with a little red on her cheeks

when they lets her alone can't be no mistake without it be done a

purpose If so be this here little maun hain't brought to her safe and

sweet and wholesome will be prosecuted with the _utmost rigour of the

law_ signed John Huxtable his mark x witness Timothy Badcock his'n X."

I wondered much whether Mr. Beany Dawe had been called in to achieve

this masterpiece of manuscript, which was all in large round hand, but

without any stops. It seemed beyond poor Sally's art, yet were some

loops and downstrokes that must be dear little Sally's. I took it off

with much trouble--the parchment was joined in four places--and I have

it now.

Meanwhile Mrs. Shelfer was dancing around it, neglecting her supper in

the wonder of this gigantic hamper. "Let me get a chopper, Miss, you'll

never get it open. Why it's sewed as tight as an oyster."

However, I did get it open at last, and never shall I forget the

contents. There was a month's food for a family of twelve. First came

hay, such as I never smelt out of Devonshire; then eighteen rolls of

butter, each with a snowy cloth around it; the butter so golden even at

that time of year, that Mrs. Shelfer compared it to the yolk of an egg

looking out of the white. Then a storey of clotted cream and beautiful

lard and laver, which they knew I loved. Then a floor of hay. Below it

a pair of guinea fowls, two large turkeys, and most carefully wrapped

from the rest a fine hare filled with dried sweet herbs. Below these a

flitch of bacon, two wood-smoked hams, a pair of tongues, a leg of

Exmoor mutton, and three bottles of best elder wine. Then a brown paper

parcel containing Sally's last copy-book (I had set her copies for half

a year to come) and a long letter, the first I had ever received from

Tossil's Barton.

When all was out at last, after the greatest delight and laughter as

each thing appeared, I fell back in utter dismay at the spectacle before

me. Mrs. Shelfer sat on the floor unable to find her way out, she was

so flounced and tippeted with good things. When I came to her relief,

she did nothing but go round and round what was left of the little room,

humming a Catholic hymn, and pressing both hands to her side.

But something must be done at once. Waste is wickedness; how could we

stave it off? Everything would depend upon the weather. At present all

was beautifully fresh, thanks to the skilful packing and the frost,

albeit the mighty package had made the round of all the Albert Streets

in London. Mrs. Shelfer would have looked at it for a month, and at

intervals exclaimed, "Bless me, my good friend, that beats Charley's

pockets. How they must eat in Devonshire!"

"Come, Mrs. Shelfer, what good are you at housekeeping? You don't help

me at all. Let us put most of it out of doors at once. You have no

cellar, and I suppose they have none in London. At least we can give it

the chance of the open air, and it is not snowing now."

"Oh, but the cats, Miss!"

"Well, I must find some plan for them before we go to bed. Now come and

help, that's a good little creature, and I'll give you some elder wine

when we have done."

So we got all that was taintable into the little yard, while Tom, who

never stole, except when quite sure of impunity, looked on very sagely.

There we fixed it all up to the wall secure, except from cats, of whom a

roving band serenaded me every night. I presented Mrs. Shelfer at once

with a turkey--a specimen of natural history not found by the roadside,

even on Mr. Shelfer's Sabbath journey--also a ham, and three rolls of

butter. As to the rest, I would think what to do with it afterwards.

Mrs. Shelfer kept off the cats until midnight, after which I held them

at bay by the following means. With one of my mineral paints mingled

with some phosphorus, I drew upon a black board a ferocious terrier, the

size of life, with fangs unsheathed, bristles erect, and eyes starting

out of his head. We tried the effect in the dark on poor Tom, who

arched his back, and sputtered with the strongest execration, then

turned and fled ignobly, amid roars of laughter from Mr. Shelfer, who by

this time was come home. This one-headed Cerberus being hung so as to

oscillate in the wind, right across the cat-leap, I felt quite safe, so

long as my chemical mixture should continue luminous.

CHAPTER XV.

Dear little Sally's letter gave me the greatest delight. It was all in

round hand, and had taken at least a week to write, and she must have

washed her hands almost every time. There were no stops in it, but I

have put some. The spelling was wonderfully good for her, but here and

there I have shaped it to the present fashion.

"Please Miss Clara dear, father and mother and I begs their most

respectable duty and love and they hopes no offence and will you be so

kind as to have this here little hamper and wishes it was ten times as

much but hopes you will excuse it and please to eat it all yourself

Miss. All the pegmate be our own doctrine, and very wholesome, and we

have took all the hair off, please Miss, because you said one time you

didn't like it. Likely you'll remember, Miss, the young black sow as

twisted her tail to the left, her as Tim was ringing the day as I wrote

first copy, and the other chillers ran out, well most of it be she,

Miss. Father say as he don't think they ever see butter in London town,

but Beany Dawe says yes for they makes a plenty out of red herrings and

train oil.

Please Miss, Tabby Badcock would go on the ice in the old saw-pit last

Sunday, by the upper linhay when I told her it would not bear, and so

her fell through and would have been drownded at last, only our little

Jack crawled over the postesses and give her his heel to hold on by, and

please Miss it would have done your heart good, mother says, to see how

Tim Badcock dressed her when he come home from church for getting her

best frock all of a muck.

Please Miss, Beany Dawe come when you was gone, and made a poem about

you, and father like it so much he give him free of the cider and as he

was going home he fell into a bit of a ditch down Breakneck hill, and

when he come to himself the road had taken to run the wrong way Beany

don't know how for the life of him, so he come back here 'nolus wolus'

he saith and that be the way to spell it and no mistake, and here he

have been ever since a-making of poems and sawing up hellums out of the

lower cleeve, and he sleepth in the onion loft and Suke can't have no

rest of nights for the noise he makes making verses. Mother tell Suke

to pote him down stairs and too good for him, but father say no, he be a

fine chap for sure and airneth his meat and drink, let alone all the

poetry.

Please Miss he wanted to larn me to write, but father say no I had got

better learning than hisn, and I say he may learn Tabby Badcock if he

will, but he shan't learn me. No tino."

How she tossed her pretty curls when she wrote this I'll be bound. I

wished that I could see her.

"Please Miss I be forced to write this when he be away, or he'd a made

it all in poetry; and Tim Badcock tell me to be sure to tell you as how

at the wrastling to Barnstaple fair, week after you was gone, father was

so crule unkid that in playing off the ties he heaved a Cornisher up

through the chandelier, and a come down with a candle stuck so fast down

his throat doctor was forced to set it a-fire and blow with a pair of

bellises afore he could put him to rights. Cornisher be all right again

now, Tim saith, but he have a made up his mind not to wrastle no more in

Devonshire.

Please Miss, father saith before this here goes he'll shoot the old hare

as sits in the top of the cleeve if Queen Victoria transports him for it

with hard labour. Tim have made four pops at her, but he say the powder

were crooked.

Please Miss Clara, all the eggs as my little black hen have laid, since

the last of the barley was housed, is to be sewed up inside the Turkey

with the black comb; he be strutting about in the court and looking at

me now as peart as a gladdy; but her have not laid more than a dozen to

now, though I have been up and whistled to her in the tall at every

morning and evening same as we used to do when you was in good spirits.

But the other hens has not laid none at all.

Please Miss, father say as how he have sold such a many beasties, he be

afeared to keep all the money in the house, and he have told mother to

sew up the rent for next Ladyday in the turkey with the white comb when

he be killed and he humbly hope no offence.

Please Miss Clara, us has had three letters from you, and I reads them

all to father and mother every Sunday evening, and Joe the Queen's boy

don't know but what he lost another one in leathering the jackass across

the brook after the rain. Joe tells as he can't say for certain,

because why he baint no scholar the same as us be, and Joe only knows

the letters by the pins they sticks in his sleeve afore he leaves

Martinhoe. Whoever 'twas for he thinks there was crockery in it by

reason it sunk so quick. Anyhow mother give him a little tap with a mop

on the side of his head, to make him mind the Queen's business, and

didn't he holler a bit, and he flung down the parson's letters all in

the muck, but us washed them in a bucket and let parson have them on

Sunday. Joe Queen's boy haven't been nigh us since, and they did say to

Martinhoe us shouldn't have no more letters, but father say if he don't

he will show the man there what a forehip mean pretty smart.

Please Miss Clara, us would have written afore, but mother say no, not

till I finish twelve copybooks one every week, that the folks to London

town might see the way as they ought to write and spell. Father say

London be in Gloucestershire, but I am most sure it baint, and Beany

Dawe shake his head and won't tell, and mother believe he don't know.

Please Miss, there be a new babby come a month agone and better, and

mother find out as how it be a girl, and please if you have no objection

Miss, and if you don't think as it would be a liberty, us has all made

up our minds upon having it christened Clara, and please to say Miss if

it be too high, or any way unfitty. Father be 'most afeared that it

sound too grand for the like of us, but mother says as the Huxtables was

thought brave things on, to Coom and Parracombe a hundred years agone.

Please Miss, father heard to Coom market last week, as there's going to

be a French invasion, and they be sure to go to London first, and he beg

you to let him know as soon as ever there be one, and he come up at once

with the big ash-stick and the ivy on it as growed in Challacombe wood,

and see as they doesn't hurt you, Miss.

Please Miss, the young chap as saved you from the great goyal come here

to ask for you, day after you was gone, and mother believes he baint

after no good, by token he would not come in nor drink a drop of cider.

Please Miss, father say it make his heart ache every night, to think of

you all to yourself in the wicked London town, and he go down the lane

to the white gate every evening in the hope to see you acoming, and

mother say if you be a selling red and blue picturs her hope you will

send for they as father gave the hog's puddens for, and us wont miss

them at all.

And Miss Clara dear, I expect you'll be mazed to see how I writes and

spells, father say it must be in the family, and I won't write no more

till I have finished another dozen of copy books; and oh dear how I do

wish that you were come back again, but father say to me to say no more

about it for fear to make you cry, Miss. All the little childers except

the new babby who have not seen you yet, sends their hearts' loves and

duty and a hundred kisses, and father and mother the same, and Timothy

Badcock, and Tabby, and Suke, and Beany Dawe, now he knows it.

I remain, Miss Clara dear, your thankful and loving scholar to command,

SARAH HUXTABLE.

Signed all this here papper scrawl in the settle by the fire.

JOHN HUXTABLE his mark X

HONOR HUXTABLE hern X."

CHAPTER XVI.

I was much grieved at the loss of my last letter to Tossil's Barton,

because it contained my little Christmas presents for all the family.

It was registered for security, but I suppose they "took no count" of

that where the delivery of letters depended so much upon luck. Of their

Christmas present to me I resolved to give the surplus to those who

would be the better for it, and not (according to the usual law of such

things) to those who did not want it, and would make return with

interest. So on the Christmas morning Mrs. Shelfer and myself, each

carrying a large basket, went to the mews round the corner, and

distributed among the poor lodgers there, more Christmas dinners than

had ever entered those doors before; and how grateful the poor things

were, only they all wanted the best.

Now the school of design was closed for a while, and I worked hard for

several days at the landscape for Mr. Oxgall, though the store of

provisions sent me and the rent enclosed in the turkey had saved me from

present necessity.

On the day of all days in the year the saddest and darkest to me, I

could not keep to my task, but went for a change of thoughts to the

school, now open again.

It was the 30th of December, 1850, and, though I crouch not to the

mumming of prigs scolloped out at the throat, who block out with a

patchwork screen the simple hearth of religion, and kneel at an ashbin

to warm themselves; though I don't care a herring for small

anniversaries dotted all over the calendar, and made by some Murphy of

old; yet I reverence deeply the true feasts of Church and Chapel, the

refreshings of faith and charity, whereupon we forgive and are sorry for

those who work hard to mar them. Neither does it seem to me--so far as

my timid and wavering judgment extends--to be superstition or vanity, if

we dare to set mark by those dates in our own little span which God has

scarred on our memory.

In the long dark room so bare and comfortless, and, to-day, so lonely

and cold, I got my usual books and studies, and tried, all in vain, to

fix my attention on them. Finding the effort so fruitless, I packed up

my things in the little black bag and rose to depart. Turning round, I

saw on the table, where students' works were exhibited, a small object

newly placed there. It was a statuette in white marble of a magnificent

red deer, such as I had seen once or twice in the north of Devon. The

listening attitude, the turn of the neck, the light poise of the massive

head, even the mild, yet spirited eye, and the quivering sensitive lip,

I could answer for them all, they were done to the very life. Truth,

power, and elegance triumphed in every vein of it. For a minute I stood

overcome with wonder. If this were the work of a youthful sculptor,

England might hope at last for something beyond the grotesque.

Before me rose at once all the woodland scenery, the hill-side garbed

with every shade of green, the brambled quarry standing forth, the

trees, the winding vales embosoming the light, the haze that hovers

above the watersmeet, bold crests of amaranth heath behind, and far away

the russet wold of Exmoor. The stag in the foreground of my landscape,

I feel so grateful to him for this expanse of vision that I stoop down

and kiss him, while no one can see me. As I bend, the gordit drops from

its warm home in my breast. By some impulse undefined I lift the ribbon

from my neck, and hang the little fairy's heart on the antlers of the

Devonshire deer. Out springs from behind a chest full of casts and

models--what model can compare with her?--the loveliest of all lovely

beings, my little Isola Ross.

I hide the tears in my eyes, and try to look cold and reserved. What

use is it? One smile of hers would have disarmed Belial.

"It isn't my fault, dear. It isn't indeed. Oh, please give me that

cordetto. No don't. That is why I loved you so at first sight. And

here is all my money dear. I have carried it about ever since, though I

sewed up the purse not to spend it, and only once cut it open. They

made me promise, and I would not eat for three days, and I tried to be

sulky with Pappy because he did not care; they made me promise with all

my honour not to go and see you, and Cora came about with me so that I

had no chance of breaking it. And I would not tell them where you

lived, dear; but I led old Cora a dance through your street on the side

you live, till she began to suspect. But I could never see you, though I

looked in at all the windows till I was quite ashamed, and the people

kissed their hands to me."

Poor little dear! I lived upstairs, and could not have seen her without

standing out on the balcony, which was about the size of a chess-board.

If she had not been so simple as to walk on my side of the street, she

must have seen me ere long, for I sat all day near the window to draw,

when I was not away at my school.

I forgave her most graciously for having done me no wrong, and kissed

her with all my heart. Her breath was as sweet as violets in Spring

clover, and her lips warm and soft as a wren's nest. On receiving my

forgiveness, away she went dancing down the long room, with her cloak

thrown off, and her hair tossing all out of braid, and her exquisite

buoyant figure floating as if on a cloud. Of course there was no one

there, or even impulsive Isola would hardly have taken her frolic; and

yet I am not sure. She never thought harm of any one, and never

imagined that any one could think harm of her.

After a dozen flits of some rapid elegant dance quite unknown to me (who

have never had much of dancing), but which I supposed to be Scotch, back

she came out of breath, and kissed me ever so many times, and kissed my

gordit too, and told me never to part with it. One thing she was sure

of, that her Papa could not resist me now, and when he was told of it I

should come to their house the next day. And she knew I was dreadfully

proud, but would I, for her sake, forgive her Pappy? Of course, he knew

nothing about me, and she had never told him my name, though she could

not help telling my story, at least all she knew of it; but he was so

dreadfully jealous of her, he did not want any one to have a touch of

her glove but himself.

Looking at her pure sweet face, I could well believe it; but how could

he bear to see that dear little thing go three days without food? Most

likely she had exaggerated. Although she was truthful as light,

sometimes her quick fancy and warmth, like the sunshine itself, would

bring out some points too strongly. However, I was prepared, without

that, to dislike the Professor, for, as a general rule, I don't like men

who moralise; at least if their philosophy is frigid. Nevertheless, I

promised very readily to forgive her Papa, for I did so love that Isola.

Her nature was so different to mine, so light and airy, elastic and

soft; in short (if I must forsake my language), the complement of my

own. We chatted, or rather she did, for at least half an hour; and then

she told me old Cora was coming to fetch her at three o'clock. Once

more I rose to depart, for I feared she might get into trouble, if the

old nurse should find her so intimate with a stranger.

But Isola told me that she did not care for her a bit, and she had quite

set her heart on my meeting her brother Conrad, the sculptor of that

magnificent stag. Perhaps he would come with Cora, but he was so

altered now, she could never tell what he would do. Since the time she

first saw me, Conrad had come of age, and she could not guess what it

was all about, but there had been a dreadful disturbance between him and

his father, and he had actually gone to live away from the family. She

thought it must be about money, or some such nasty thing; but even Cora

did not know, or if she did, the old thing would not tell. It had made

poor Isola cry till her eyes were sore, but now she supposed she must

make up her mind to it all. But she would tell the truth, she did hate

being treated like a baby when she was a full-grown woman; how much

taller did they expect her to be? And what was much worse, she did want

so to comfort them both, and how could she do it without knowing what

was the matter? It was too bad, and she wished she was a boy, with all

her heart she did.

She went on talking like this till her gentle breast fluttered, and her

coral lips quivered, and the tears stole down her long lashes, and she

crept to me closer for comfort.

I was clasping her round little waist, and kissing the bright drops

away, when in burst a dark, scraggy woman, who must, of course, be old

Cora. She tore the poor child from my arms, and scowled at me fiercely

enough to frighten a girl unacquainted with real terrors.

I met her dark gaze with a calm contempt, beneath which it quailed and

fell. She mumbled some words in a language or patois, which I supposed

to be Gaelic, and led off her charge towards the door.

She had mistaken her adversary. Was I to be pushed aside, like a

gingerbread woman tempting a weak-stomached child? I passed them; then

turned and confronted the hag.

"Have the goodness, old woman, to walk behind this young lady and me.

When we want your society, we will ask for it. Isola Ross, come with

me, unless you prefer a rude menial's tyranny to a lady's affection."

Isola was too frightened to speak. I know not what would have been the

result, if the old hag, who was glaring about, rather taken aback, but

still clutching that delicate arm, had not suddenly spied my fairy's

heart, as yet unrestored to its sanctuary.

She stared, for a moment, in wide amazement; then her whole demeanour

was altered. She cringed, and fawned, and curtseyed, as if I had worn a

tiara. She dropped my dear Isola's arm, and fell behind like a negress.

My poor little pet was trembling and cold with fright, for (as she told

me afterwards) she had never seen old Cora in such a passion before, and

the superstitious darling dreaded the evil eye.

As we went towards Isola's home, I could not help thinking how fine the

interview would be between Mrs. Shelfer and Cora, if I only chose to

carry that vanquished beldame thither; but sage discretion (was I not

now eighteen?), and the thought of that solemn day prevented me. So I

took them straight home, leading Isola while she guided me, and turning

sometimes, with complacency, to encourage old Cora behind us.

The house they lived in was a high but narrow one, dull-looking and

dark, with area rails in front. Some little maiden came to the door,

and I took my leave on the steps. Dear Isola, now in high spirits

again, kissed me, like a peach quite warm in the sun, and promised to

come the next day, about which there could now be no difficulty.

Old Cora bent low as she wished me good evening and begged leave to kiss

my cordetto. This I granted, but took good care not to let it pass out

of my hands; she admired it so much, especially when allowed to examine

it, and there was such a greedy light in her eyes, that I was quite sure

she would steal it upon the first chance; and therefore I went

straightway and bought a guard of thick silk cord, as a substitute for

the black riband, which was getting worn.

And so I came home before dark, full of wonder, but feeling rather

triumphant, and greatly delighted at having recovered dear Isola.

END OF VOL. I.

LONDON:

R. CLAY, SON, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS,

BREAD STREET HILL.