CHAPTER I.

E-text prepared by Tapio Riikonen

and revised by Joseph E. Loewenstein, M.D.

THE AMERICAN SENATOR

by

Anthony Trollope

First published in serial form in _Temple Bar Magazine_ May, 1876,

through July, 1877, and in book form in 1877 by Chapman and Hall.

CONTENTS

VOLUME I.

I. DILLSBOROUGH.

II. THE MORTON FAMILY.

III. THE MASTERS FAMILY.

IV. THE DILLSBOROUGH CLUB.

V. REGINALD MORTON.

VI. NOT IN LOVE.

VII. THE WALK HOME.

VIII. THE PARAGON'S PARTY AT BRAGTON.

IX. THE OLD KENNELS.

X. GOARLY'S REVENGE.

XI. FROM IMPINGTON GORSE.

XII. ARABELLA TREFOIL.

XIII. AT BRAGTON.

XIV. THE DILLSBOROUGH FEUD.

XV. A FIT COMPANION,--FOR ME AND MY SISTERS.

XVI. MR. GOTOBED'S PHILANTHROPY.

XVII. LORD RUFFORD'S INVITATION.

XVIII. THE ATTORNEY'S FAMILY IS DISTURBED.

XIX. "WHO VALUED THE GEESE?"

XX. THERE ARE CONVENANCES.

XXI. THE FIRST EVENING AT RUFFORD HALL.

XXII. JEMIMA.

XXIII. POOR CANEBACK.

XXIV. THE BALL.

XXV. THE LAST MORNING AT RUFFORD HALL.

XXVI. GIVE ME SIX MONTHS.

XXVII. "WONDERFUL BIRD!"

VOLUME II.

I. MOUNSER GREEN.

II. THE SENATOR'S LETTER.

III. AT CHELTENHAM.

IV. THE RUFFORD CORRESPONDENCE.

V. "IT IS A LONG WAY."

VI. THE BEGINNING OF PERSECUTION.

VII. MARY'S LETTER.

VIII. CHOWTON FARM FOR SALE.

IX. MISTLETOE.

X. HOW THINGS WERE ARRANGED.

XI. "YOU ARE SO SEVERE."

XII. THE DAY AT PELTRY.

XIII. LORD RUFFORD WANTS TO SEE A HORSE.

XIV. THE SENATOR IS BADLY TREATED.

XV. MR. MAINWARING'S LITTLE DINNER.

XVI. PERSECUTION.

XVII. "PARTICULARLY PROUD OF YOU."

XVIII. LORD RUFFORD MAKES UP HIS MIND.

XIX. IT CANNOT BE ARRANGED.

XX. "BUT THERE IS SOME ONE."

XXI. THE DINNER AT THE BUSH.

XXII. MISS TREFOIL'S DECISION.

XXIII. "IN THESE DAYS ONE CAN'T MAKE A MAN MARRY."

XXIV. THE SENATOR'S SECOND LETTER.

XXV. PROVIDENCE INTERFERES.

XXVI. LADY USHANT AT BRAGTON.

XXVII. ARABELLA AGAIN AT BRAGTON.

VOLUME III.

I. "I HAVE TOLD HIM EVERYTHING."

II. "NOW WHAT HAVE YOU GOT TO SAY?"

III. MRS. MORTON RETURNS.

IV. THE TWO OLD LADIES.

V. THE LAST EFFORT.

VI. AGAIN AT MISTLETOE.

VII. THE SUCCESS OF LADY AUGUSTUS.

VIII. "WE SHALL KILL EACH OTHER."

IX. CHANGES AT BRAGTON.

X. THE WILL.

XI. THE NEW MINISTER.

XII. "I MUST GO."

XIII. IN THE PARK.

XIV. LORD RUFFORD'S MODEL FARM.

XV. SCROBBY'S TRIAL.

XVI. AT LAST.

XVII. "MY OWN, OWN HUSBAND."

XVIII. "BID HIM BE A MAN."

XIX. "IS IT TANTI?"

XX. BENEDICT.

XXI. ARABELLA'S SUCCESS.

XXII. THE WEDDING.

XXIII. THE SENATOR'S LECTURE.--NO. I.

XXIV. THE SENATOR'S LECTURE.--NO. II.

XXV. THE LAST DAYS OF MARY MASTERS.

XXVI. CONCLUSION.

VOLUME I.

CHAPTER I.

DILLSBOROUGH.

I never could understand why anybody should ever have begun to live

at Dillsborough, or why the population there should have been at any

time recruited by new comers. That a man with a family should cling

to a house in which he has once established himself is intelligible.

The butcher who supplied Dillsborough, or the baker, or the

ironmonger, though he might not drive what is called a roaring trade,

nevertheless found himself probably able to live, and might well

hesitate before he would encounter the dangers of a more energetic

locality. But how it came to pass that he first got himself to

Dillsborough, or his father, or his grandfather before him, has

always been a mystery to me. The town has no attractions, and never

had any. It does not stand on a bed of coal and has no connection

with iron. It has no water peculiarly adapted for beer, or for

dyeing, or for the cure of maladies. It is not surrounded by beauty

of scenery strong enough to bring tourists and holiday travellers.

There is no cathedral there to form, with its bishops, prebendaries,

and minor canons, the nucleus of a clerical circle. It manufactures

nothing specially. It has no great horse fair, or cattle fair, or

even pig market of special notoriety. Every Saturday farmers and

graziers and buyers of corn and sheep do congregate in a sleepy

fashion about the streets, but Dillsborough has no character of its

own, even as a market town. Its chief glory is its parish church,

which is ancient and inconvenient, having not as yet received any of

those modern improvements which have of late become common throughout

England; but its parish church, though remarkable, is hardly

celebrated. The town consists chiefly of one street which is over a

mile long, with a square or market-place in the middle, round which

a few lanes with queer old names are congregated, and a second small

open space among these lanes, in which the church stands. As you

pass along the street north-west, away from the railway station and

from London, there is a steep hill, beginning to rise just beyond

the market-place. Up to that point it is the High Street, thence

it is called Bullock's Hill. Beyond that you come to Norrington

Road,--Norrington being the next town, distant from Dillsborough

about twelve miles. Dillsborough, however, stands in the county of

Rufford, whereas at the top of Bullock's Hill you enter the county

of Ufford, of which Norrington is the assize town. The Dillsborough

people are therefore divided, some two thousand five hundred of

them belonging to Rufford, and the remaining five hundred to the

neighbouring county. This accident has given rise to not a few

feuds, Ufford being a large county, with pottery, and ribbons,

and watches going on in the farther confines; whereas Rufford is

small and thoroughly agricultural. The men at the top of Bullock's

Hill are therefore disposed to think themselves better than their

fellow-townsfolks, though they are small in number and not specially

thriving in their circumstances.

At every interval of ten years, when the census is taken, the

population of Dillsborough is always found to have fallen off in some

slight degree. For a few months after the publication of the figures

a slight tinge of melancholy comes upon the town. The landlord of the

Bush Inn, who is really an enterprising man in his way and who has

looked about in every direction for new sources of business, becomes

taciturn for a while and forgets to smile upon comers; Mr. Ribbs,

the butcher, tells his wife that it is out of the question that she

and the children should take that long-talked-of journey to the

sea-coast; and Mr. Gregory Masters, the well-known old-established

attorney of Dillsborough, whispers to some confidential friend that

he might as well take down his plate and shut up his house. But in a

month or two all that is forgotten, and new hopes spring up even in

Dillsborough; Mr. Runciman at the Bush is putting up new stables for

hunting-horses, that being the special trade for which he now finds

that there is an opening; Mrs. Ribbs is again allowed to suggest

Mare-Slocumb; and Mr. Masters goes on as he has done for the last

forty years, making the best he can of a decreasing business.

Dillsborough is built chiefly of brick, and is, in its own way,

solid enough. The Bush, which in the time of the present landlord's

father was one of the best posting inns on the road, is not only

substantial, but almost handsome. A broad coach way, cut through the

middle of the house, leads into a spacious, well-kept, clean yard,

and on each side of the coach way there are bay windows looking into

the street,--the one belonging to the commercial parlour, and the

other to the so-called coffee-room. But the coffee-room has in truth

fallen away from its former purposes, and is now used for a farmer's

ordinary on market days, and other similar purposes. Travellers who

require the use of a public sitting-room must all congregate in the

commercial parlour at the Bush. So far the interior of the house has

fallen from its past greatness. But the exterior is maintained with

much care. The brickwork up to the eaves is well pointed, fresh, and

comfortable to look at. In front of the carriage-way swings on two

massive supports the old sign of the Bush, as to which it may be

doubted whether even Mr. Runciman himself knows that it has swung

there, or been displayed in some fashion, since it was the custom for

the landlord to beat up wine to freshen it before it was given to the

customers to drink. The church, too, is of brick--though the tower

and chancel are of stone. The attorney's house is of brick, which

shall not be more particularly described now as many of the scenes

which these pages will have to describe were acted there; and almost

the entire High Street in the centre of the town was brick also.

But the most remarkable house in Dillsborough was one standing in a

short thoroughfare called Hobbs Gate, leading down by the side of the

Bush Inn from the market-place to Church Square, as it is called. As

you pass down towards the church this house is on the right hand, and

it occupies with its garden the whole space between the market-place

and Church Square. But though the house enjoys the privilege of a

large garden,--so large that the land being in the middle of a town

would be of great value were it not that Dillsborough is in its

decadence,--still it stands flush up to the street upon which the

front door opens. It has an imposing flight of stone steps guarded

by iron rails leading up to it, and on each side of the door there

is a row of three windows, and on the two upper stories rows of

seven windows. Over the door there is a covering, on which there are

grotesquely-formed, carved wooden faces; and over the centre of each

window, let into the brickwork, is a carved stone. There are also

numerous underground windows, sunk below the earth and protected

by iron railings. Altogether the house is one which cannot fail to

attract attention; and in the brickwork is clearly marked the date,

1701,--not the very best period for English architecture as regards

beauty, but one in which walls and roofs, ceilings and buttresses,

were built more substantially than they are to-day. This was the only

house in Dillsborough which had a name of its own, and it was called

Hoppet Hall, the Dillsborough chronicles telling that it had been

originally built for and inhabited by the Hoppet family. The only

Hoppet now left in Dillsborough is old Joe Hoppet, the ostler at the

Bush; and the house, as was well known, had belonged to some member

of the Morton family for the last hundred years at least. The garden

and ground it stands upon comprise three acres, all of which are

surrounded by a high brick wall, which is supposed to be coeval

with the house. The best Ribston pippins,--some people say the only

real Ribston pippins,--in all Rufford are to be found here, and its

Burgundy pears and walnuts are almost equally celebrated. There are

rumours also that its roses beat everything in the way of roses for

ten miles round. But in these days very few strangers are admitted

to see the Hoppet Hall roses. The pears and apples do make their way

out, and are distributed either by Mrs. Masters, the attorney's wife,

or Mr. Runciman, the innkeeper. The present occupier of the house

is a certain Mr. Reginald Morton, with whom we shall also be much

concerned in these pages, but whose introduction to the reader shall

be postponed for awhile.

The land around Dillsborough is chiefly owned by two landlords, of

whom the greatest and richest is Lord Rufford. He, however, does not

live near the town, but away at the other side of the county, and is

not much seen in these parts unless when the hounds bring him here,

or when, with two or three friends, he will sometimes stay for a few

days at the Bush Inn for the sake of shooting the coverts. He is much

liked by all sporting men, but is not otherwise very popular with

the people round Dillsborough. A landlord if he wishes to be popular

should be seen frequently. If he lives among his farmers they will

swear by him, even though he raises his rental every ten or twelve

years and never puts a new roof to a barn for them. Lord Rufford is

a rich man who thinks of nothing but sport in all its various shapes,

from pigeon-shooting at Hurlingham to the slaughter of elephants in

Africa; and though he is lenient in all his dealings, is not much

thought of in the Dillsborough side of the county, except by those

who go out with the hounds. At Rufford, where he generally has a full

house for three months in the year and spends a vast amount of money,

he is more highly considered.

The other extensive landlord is Mr. John Morton, a young man, who, in

spite of his position as squire of Bragton, owner of Bragton Park,

and landlord of the entire parishes of Bragton and Mallingham,--the

latter of which comes close up to the confines of Dillsborough,--was

at the time at which our story begins, Secretary of Legation at

Washington. As he had been an absentee since he came of age,--soon

after which time he inherited the property,--he had been almost

less liked in the neighbourhood than the lord. Indeed, no one in

Dillsborough knew much about him, although Bragton Hall was but four

miles from the town, and the Mortons had possessed the property

and lived on it for the last three centuries. But there had been

extravagance, as will hereafter have to be told, and there had been

no continuous residence at Bragton since the death of old Reginald

Morton, who had been the best known and the best loved of all the

squires in Rufford, and had for many years been master of the

Rufford hounds. He had lived to a very great age, and, though the

great-grandfather of the present man, had not been dead above twenty

years. He was the man of whom the older inhabitants of Dillsborough

and the neighbourhood still thought and still spoke when they gave

vent to their feelings in favour of gentlemen. And yet the old

squire in his latter days had been able to do little or nothing

for them,--being sometimes backward as to the payment of money he

owed among them. But he had lived all his days at Bragton Park,

and his figure had been familiar to all eyes in the High Street of

Dillsborough and at the front entrance of the Bush. People still

spoke of old Mr. Reginald Morton as though his death had been a sore

loss to the neighbourhood.

And there were in the country round sundry yeomen, as they ought

to be called,--gentlemen-farmers as they now like to style

themselves,--men who owned some acres of land, and farmed these acres

themselves. Of these we may specially mention Mr. Lawrence Twentyman,

who was quite the gentleman-farmer. He possessed over three hundred

acres of land, on which his father had built an excellent house. The

present Mr. Twentyman,--Lawrence Twentyman, Esquire, as he was called

by everybody,--was by no means unpopular in the neighbourhood. He not

only rode well to hounds but paid twenty-five pounds annually to the

hunt, which entitled him to feel quite at home in his red coat. He

generally owned a racing colt or two, and attended meetings; but was

supposed to know what he was about, and to have kept safely the five

or six thousand pounds which his father had left him. And his farming

was well done; for though he was, out-and-out, a gentleman-farmer,

he knew how to get the full worth in work done for the fourteen

shillings a week which he paid to his labourers,--a deficiency in

which knowledge is the cause why gentlemen in general find farming so

expensive an amusement. He was a handsome, good-looking man of about

thirty, and would have been a happy man had he not been too ambitious

in his aspirations after gentry. He had been at school for three

years at Cheltenham College, which, together with his money and

appearance and undoubted freehold property, should, he thought, have

made his position quite secure to him; but, though he sometimes

called young Hampton of Hampton Wick "Hampton," and the son of the

rector of Dillsborough "Mainwaring," and always called the rich young

brewers from Norrington "Botsey,"--partners in the well-known firm of

Billbrook & Botsey; and though they in return called him "Larry" and

admitted the intimacy, still he did not get into their houses. And

Lord Rufford, when he came into the neighbourhood, never asked him to

dine at the Bush. And--worst of all,--some of the sporting men and

others in the neighbourhood, who decidedly were not gentlemen, also

called him "Larry." Mr. Runciman always did so. Twenty or twenty-five

years ago Runciman had been his father's special friend,--before

the house had been built and before the days at Cheltenham College.

Remembering this Lawrence was too good a fellow to rebuke Runciman;

but to younger men of that class he would sometimes make himself

objectionable. There was another keeper of hunting stables, a younger

man, named Stubbings, living at Stanton Corner, a great hunting

rendezvous about four miles from Dillsborough; and not long since

Twentyman had threatened to lay his whip across Stubbings' shoulders

if Stubbings ever called him "Larry" again. Stubbings, who was a

little man and rode races, only laughed at Mr. Twentyman who was six

feet high, and told the story round to all the hunt. Mr. Twentyman

was more laughed at than perhaps he deserved. A man should not have

his Christian name used by every Tom and Dick without his sanction.

But the difficulty is one to which men in the position of Mr.

Lawrence Twentyman are often subject.

Those whom I have named, together with Mr. Mainwaring the rector,

and Mr. Surtees his curate, made up the very sparse aristocracy of

Dillsborough. The Hamptons of Hampton Wick were Ufford men, and

belonged rather to Norrington than Dillsborough. The Botseys, also

from Norrington, were members of the U. R. U., or Ufford and Rufford

United Hunt Club; but they did not much affect Dillsborough as a

town. Mr. Mainwaring, who has been mentioned, lived in another brick

house behind the church,--the old parsonage of St. John's. There

was also a Mrs. Mainwaring, but she was an invalid. Their family

consisted of one son, who was at Brasenose at this time. He always

had a horse during the Christmas vacation, and if rumour did not

belie him, kept two or three up at Oxford. Mr. Surtees, the curate,

lived in lodgings in the town. He was a painstaking, eager, clever

young man, with aspirations in church matters, which were always

being checked by his rector. Quieta non movere was the motto by which

the rector governed his life, and he certainly was not at all the man

to allow his curate to drive him into activity.

Such, at the time of our story, was the little town of Dillsborough.

CHAPTER II.

THE MORTON FAMILY.

I can hardly describe accurately the exact position of the Masters

family without first telling all that I know about the Morton family;

and it is absolutely essential that the reader should know all the

Masters family intimately. Mr. Masters, as I have said in the last

chapter, was the attorney in Dillsborough, and the Mortons had been

for centuries past the squires of Bragton.

I need not take the reader back farther than old Reginald Morton.

He had come to the throne of his family as a young man, and had sat

upon it for more than half a century. He had been a squire of the old

times, having no inclination for London seasons, never wishing to

keep up a second house, quite content with his position as squire of

Bragton, but with considerable pride about him as to that position.

He had always liked to have his house full, and had hated petty

oeconomies. He had for many years hunted the county at his own

expense,--the amusement at first not having been so expensive as it

afterwards became. When he began the work, it had been considered

sufficient to hunt twice a week. Now the Rufford and Ufford

hounds have four days, and sometimes a bye. It went much against

Mr. Reginald Morton's pride when he was first driven to take a

subscription.

But the temporary distress into which the family fell was caused not

so much by his own extravagance as by that of two sons, and by his

indulgence in regard to them. He had three children, none of whom

were very fortunate in life. The eldest, John, married the daughter

of a peer, stood for Parliament, had one son, and died before he was

forty, owing something over £20,000. The estate was then worth £7,000

a year. Certain lands not lying either in Bragton or Mallingham were

sold, and that difficulty was surmounted, not without a considerable

diminution of income. In process of time the grandson, who was a

second John Morton, grew up and married, and became the father of a

third John Morton, the young man who afterwards became owner of the

property and Secretary of Legation at Washington. But the old squire

outlived his son and his grandson, and when he died had three or

four great-grandchildren playing about the lawns of Bragton Park.

The peer's daughter had lived, and had for many years drawn a dower

from the Bragton property, and had been altogether a very heavy

incumbrance.

But the great trial of the old man's life, as also the great romance,

had arisen from the career of his second son, Reginald. Of all his

children, Reginald had been the dearest to him. He went to Oxford,

and had there spent much money; not as young men now spend money,

but still to an extent that had been grievous to the old squire. But

everything was always paid for Reginald. It was necessary, of course,

that he should have a profession, and he took a commission in the

army. As a young man he went to Canada. This was in 1829, when all

the world was at peace, and his only achievement in Canada was to

marry a young woman who is reported to have been pretty and good, but

who had no advantages either of fortune or birth. She was, indeed,

the daughter of a bankrupt innkeeper in Montreal. Soon after this

he sold out and brought his wife home to Bragton. It was at this

period of the squire's life that the romance spoken of occurred. John

Morton, the brother with the aristocratic wife, was ten or twelve

years older than Reginald, and at this time lived chiefly at Bragton

when he was not in town. He was, perhaps, justified in regarding

Bragton as almost belonging to him, knowing as he did that it must

belong to him after his father's lifetime, and to his son after him.

His anger against his brother was hot, and that of his wife still

hotter. He himself had squandered thousands, but then he was the

heir. Reginald, who was only a younger brother, had sold his

commission. And then he had done so much more than this! He had

married a woman who was not a lady! John was clearly of opinion

that at any rate the wife should not be admitted into Bragton House.

The old squire in those days was not a happy man; he had never been

very strong-minded, but now he was strong enough to declare that

his house-door should not be shut against a son of his,--or a son's

wife, as long as she was honest. Hereupon the Honourable Mrs. Morton

took her departure, and was never seen at Bragton again in the old

squire's time. Reginald Morton came to the house, and soon afterwards

another little Reginald was born at Bragton Park. This happened as

long ago as 1835, twenty years before the death of the old squire.

But there had been another child, a daughter, who had come between

the two sons, still living in these days, who will become known to

any reader who will have patience to follow these pages to the end.

She married, not very early in life, a certain Sir William Ushant,

who was employed by his country in India and elsewhere, but who

found, soon after his marriage, that the service of his country

required that he should generally leave his wife at Bragton. As her

father had been for many years a widower, Lady Ushant became the

mistress of the house.

But death was very busy with the Mortons. Almost every one died,

except the squire himself and his daughter, and that honourable

dowager, with her income and her pride who could certainly very well

have been spared. When at last, in 1855, the old squire went, full of

years, full of respect, but laden also with debts and money troubles,

not only had his son John, and his grandson John, gone before him,

but Reginald and his wife were both lying in Bragton Churchyard.

The elder branch of the family, John the great-grandson, and

his little sisters, were at once taken away from Bragton by the

honourable grandmother. John, who was then about seven years old,

was of course the young squire, and was the owner of the property.

The dowager, therefore, did not undertake an altogether unprofitable

burden. Lady Ushant was left at the house, and with Lady Ushant, or

rather immediately subject to her care, young Reginald Morton, who

was then nineteen years of age, and who was about to go to Oxford.

But there immediately sprang up family lawsuits, instigated by the

honourable lady on behalf of her grandchildren, of which Reginald

Morton was the object. The old man had left certain outlying

properties to his grandson Reginald, of which Hoppet Hall was a part.

For eight or ten years the lawsuit was continued, and much money was

expended. Reginald was at last successful, and became the undoubted

owner of Hoppet Hall; but in the meantime he went to Germany for his

education, instead of to Oxford, and remained abroad even after the

matter was decided,--living, no one but Lady Ushant knew where, or

after what fashion.

When the old squire died the children were taken away, and Bragton

was nearly deserted. The young heir was brought up with every

caution, and, under the auspices of his grandmother and her family,

behaved himself very unlike the old Mortons. He was educated at

Eton, after leaving which he was at once examined for Foreign Office

employment, and commenced his career with great éclat. He had been

made to understand clearly that it would be better that he should not

enter in upon his squirearchy early in life. The estate when he came

of age had already had some years to recover itself, and as he went

from capital to capital, he was quite content to draw from it an

income which enabled him to shine with peculiar brilliance among his

brethren. He had visited Bragton once since the old squire's death,

and had found the place very dull and uninviting. He had no ambition

whatever to be master of the U. R. U.; but did look forward to a time

when he might be Minister Plenipotentiary at some foreign court.

For many years after the old man's death, Lady Ushant, who was then a

widow, was allowed to live at Bragton. She was herself childless, and

being now robbed of her great-nephews and nieces, took a little girl

to live with her, named Mary Masters. It was a very desolate house

in those days, but the old lady was careful as to the education of

the child, and did her best to make the home happy for her. Some two

or three years before the commencement of this story there arose a

difference between the manager of the property and Lady Ushant, and

she was made to understand, after some half-courteous manner, that

Bragton house and park would do better without her. There would

be no longer any cows kept, and painters must come into the house,

and there were difficulties about fuel. She was not turned out

exactly; but she went and established herself in lonely lodgings at

Cheltenham. Then Mary Masters, who had lived for more than a dozen

years at Bragton, went back to her father's house in Dillsborough.

Any reader with an aptitude for family pedigrees will now understand

that Reginald, Master of Hoppet Hall, was first cousin to the father

of the Foreign Office paragon, and that he is therefore the paragon's

first cousin once removed. The relationship is not very distant, but

the two men, one of whom was a dozen years older than the other, had

not seen each other for more than twenty years,--at a time when one

of them was a big boy, and the other a very little one; and during

the greater part of that time a lawsuit had been carried on between

them in a very rigorous manner. It had done much to injure both, and

had created such a feeling of hostility that no intercourse of any

kind now existed between them.

It does not much concern us to know how far back should be dated the

beginning of the connection between the Morton family and that of

Mr. Masters, the attorney; but it is certain that the first attorney

of that name in Dillsborough became learned in the law through the

patronage of some former Morton. The father of the present Gregory

Masters, and the grandfather, had been thoroughly trusted and

employed by old Reginald Morton, and the former of the two had made

his will. Very much of the stewardship and management of the property

had been in their hands, and they had thriven as honest men, but

as men with a tolerably sharp eye to their own interests. The late

Mr. Masters had died a few years before the squire, and the present

attorney had seemed to succeed to these family blessings. But the

whole order of things became changed. Within a few weeks of the

squire's death Mr. Masters found that he was to be entrusted no

further with the affairs of the property, but that, in lieu of such

care, was thrown upon him the task of defending the will which he

had made against the owner of the estate. His father and grandfather

had contrived between them to establish a fairly good business,

independently of Bragton, which business, of course, was now his. As

far as reading went, and knowledge, he was probably a better lawyer

than either of them; but he lacked their enterprise and special

genius, and the thing had dwindled with him. It seemed to him,

perhaps not unnaturally, that he had been robbed of an inheritance.

He had no title deeds, as had the owners of the property; but his

ancestors before him, from generation to generation, had lived by

managing the Bragton property. They had drawn the leases, and made

the wills, and collected the rents, and had taught themselves to

believe that a Morton could not live on his land without a Masters.

Now there was a Morton who did not live on his land, but spent his

rents elsewhere without the aid of any Masters, and it seemed to the

old lawyer that all the good things of the world had passed away. He

had married twice, his first wife having, before her marriage, been

well known at Bragton Park. When she had died, and Mr. Masters had

brought a second wife home, Lady Ushant took the only child of the

mother, whom she had known as a girl, into her own keeping, till

she also had been compelled to leave Bragton. Then Mary Masters had

returned to her father and stepmother.

The Bragton Park residence is a large, old-fashioned, comfortable

house, but by no means a magnificent mansion. The greater part of it

was built one hundred and fifty years ago, and the rooms are small

and low. In the palmy days of his reign, which is now more than half

a century since, the old squire made alterations, and built new

stables and kennels, and put up a conservatory; but what he did then

has already become almost old-fashioned now. What he added he added

in stone, but the old house was brick. He was much abused at the time

for his want of taste, and heard a good deal about putting new cloth

as patches on old rents; but, as the shrubs and ivy have grown up, a

certain picturesqueness has come upon the place, which is greatly due

to the difference of material. The place is somewhat sombre, as there

is no garden close to the house. There is a lawn, at the back, with

gravel walks round it; but it is only a small lawn; and then divided

from the lawn by a ha-ha fence, is the park. The place, too, has that

sad look which always comes to a house from the want of a tenant.

Poor Lady Ushant, when she was there, could do little or nothing.

A gardener was kept, but there should have been three or four

gardeners. The man grew cabbages and onions, which he sold, but cared

nothing for the walks or borders. Whatever it may have been in the

old time, Bragton Park was certainly not a cheerful place when Lady

Ushant lived there. In the squire's time the park itself had always

been occupied by deer. Even when distress came he would not allow the

deer to be sold. But after his death they went very soon, and from

that day to the time of which I am writing, the park has been leased

to some butchers or graziers from Dillsborough.

The ground hereabouts is nearly level, but it falls away a little

and becomes broken and pretty where the river Dill runs through

the park, about half a mile from the house. There is a walk called

the Pleasance, passing down through shrubs to the river, and then

crossing the stream by a foot-bridge, and leading across the fields

towards Dillsborough. This bridge is, perhaps, the prettiest spot in

Bragton, or, for that matter, anywhere in the county round; but even

here there is not much of beauty to be praised. It is here, on the

side of the river away from the house, that the home meet of the

hounds used to be held; and still the meet at Bragton Bridge is

popular in the county.

CHAPTER III.

THE MASTERS FAMILY.

At six o'clock one November evening, Mr. Masters, the attorney, was

sitting at home with his family in the large parlour of his house,

his office being on the other side of the passage which cut the house

in two and was formally called the hall. Upstairs, over the parlour,

was a drawing-room; but this chamber, which was supposed to be

elegantly furnished, was very rarely used. Mr. and Mrs. Masters

did not see much company, and for family purposes the elegance of

the drawing-room made it unfit. It added, however, not a little to

the glory of Mrs. Masters' life. The house itself was a low brick

building in the High Street, at the corner where the High Street runs

into the market-place, and therefore, nearly opposite to the Bush.

It had none of the elaborate grandeur of the inn nor of the simple

stateliness of Hoppet Hall, but, nevertheless, it maintained the

character of the town and was old, substantial, respectable, and

dark.

"I think it a very spirited thing of him to do, then," said Mrs.

Masters.

"I don't know, my dear. Perhaps it is only revenge."

"What have you to do with that? What can it matter to a lawyer

whether it's revenge or anything else? He's got the means, I

suppose?"

"I don't know, my dear."

"What does Nickem say?"

"I suppose he has the means," said Mr. Masters, who was aware that if

he told his wife a fib on the matter, she would learn the truth from

his senior clerk, Mr. Samuel Nickem. Among the professional gifts

which Mr. Masters possessed, had not been that great gift of being

able to keep his office and his family distinct from each other.

His wife always knew what was going on, and was very free with her

advice; generally tendering it on that side on which money was to be

made, and doing so with much feminine darkness as to right or wrong.

His clerk, Nickem, who was afflicted with no such darkness, but who

ridiculed the idea of scruple in an attorney, often took part against

him. It was the wish of his heart to get rid of Nickem; but Nickem

would have carried business with him and gone over to some enemy,

or, perhaps have set up in some irregular manner on his own bottom;

and his wife would have given him no peace had he done so, for she

regarded Nickem as the mainstay of the house.

"What is Lord Rufford to you?" asked Mrs. Masters.

"He has always been very friendly."

"I don't see it at all. You have never had any of his money. I don't

know that you are a pound richer by him."

"I have always gone with the gentry of the county."

"Fiddlesticks! Gentry! Gentry are very well as long as you can make a

living out of them. You could afford to stick up for gentry till you

lost the Bragton property." This was a subject that was always sore

between Mr. Masters and his wife. The former Mrs. Masters had been a

lady--the daughter of a neighbouring clergyman; and had been much

considered by the family at Bragton. The present Mrs. Masters was the

daughter of an ironmonger at Norrington, who had brought a thousand

pounds with her, which had been very useful. No doubt Mr. Masters'

practice had been considerably affected by the lowliness of his

second marriage. People who used to know the first Mrs. Masters, such

as Mrs. Mainwaring, and the doctor's wife, and old Mrs. Cooper, the

wife of the vicar of Mallingham, would not call on the second Mrs.

Masters. As Mrs. Masters was too high-spirited to run after people

who did not want her, she took to hating gentry instead.

"We have always been on the other side," said the old attorney,--"I

and my father and grandfather before me."

"They lived on it and you can't. If you are going to say that you

won't have any client that isn't a gentleman, you might as well put

up your shutters at once."

"I haven't said so. Isn't Runciman my client?"

"He always goes with the gentry. He a'most thinks he's one of them

himself."

"And old Nobbs, the greengrocer. But it's all nonsense. Any man is my

client, or any woman, who can come and pay me for business that is

fit for me to do."

"Why isn't this fit to be done? If the man's been damaged, why

shouldn't he be paid?"

"He's had money offered him."

"If he thinks it ain't enough, who's to say that it is,--unless a

jury?" said Mrs. Masters, becoming quite eloquent. "And how's a

poor man to get a jury to say that, unless he comes to a lawyer? Of

course, if you won't have it, he'll go to Bearside. Bearside won't

turn him away." Bearside was another attorney, an interloper of about

ten years' standing, whose name was odious to Mr. Masters.

"You don't know anything about it, my dear," said he, aroused at last

to anger.

"I know you're letting anybody who likes take the bread out of the

children's mouths." The children, so called, were sitting round the

table and could not but take an interest in the matter. The eldest

was that Mary Masters, the daughter of the former wife, whom Lady

Ushant had befriended, a tall girl, with dark brown hair, so dark as

almost to be black, and large, soft, thoughtful grey eyes. We shall

have much to say of Mary Masters, and can hardly stop to give an

adequate description of her here. The others were Dolly and Kate,

two girls aged sixteen and fifteen. The two younger "children" were

eating bread and butter and jam in a very healthy manner, but still

had their ears wide open to the conversation that was being held. The

two younger girls sympathised strongly with their mother. Mary, who

had known much about the Mortons, and was old enough to understand

the position which her grandfather had held in reference to the

family, of course leaned in her heart to her father's side. But

she was wiser than her father, and knew that in such discussions

her mother often showed a worldly wisdom which, in their present

circumstances, they could hardly afford to disregard, unpalatable

though it might be.

Mr. Masters disliked these discussions altogether, but he disliked

them most of all in presence of his children. He looked round upon

them in a deprecatory manner, making a slight motion with his hand

and bringing his head down on one side, and then he gave a long sigh.

If it was his intention to convey some subtle warning to his wife,

some caution that she alone should understand, he was deceived. The

"children" all knew what he meant quite as well as did their mother.

"Shall we go out, mamma?" asked Dolly.

"Finish your teas, my dears," said Mr. Masters, who wished to stop

the discussion rather than to carry it on before a more select

audience.

"You've got to make up your mind to-night," said Mrs. Masters, "and

you'll be going over to the Bush at eight."

"No, I needn't. He is to come on Monday. I told Nickem I wouldn't see

him to-night; nor, of course, to-morrow."

"Then he'll go to Bearside."

"He may go to Bearside and be ----! Oh, Lord! I do wish you'd let me

drop the business for a few minutes when I am in here. You don't know

anything about it. How should you?"

"I know that if I didn't speak you'd let everything slip through your

fingers. There's Mr. Twentyman. Kate, open the door."

Kate, who was fond of Mr. Twentyman, rushed up and opened the front

door at once. In saying so much of Kate, I do not mean it to be

understood that any precocious ideas of love were troubling that

young lady's bosom. Kate Masters was a jolly bouncing schoolgirl of

fifteen, who was not too proud to eat toffy, and thought herself

still a child. But she was very fond of Lawrence Twentyman, who

had a pony that she could ride, and who was always good-natured to

her. All the family liked Mr. Twentyman,--unless it might be Mary,

who was the one that he specially liked himself. And Mary was not

altogether averse to him, knowing him to be good-natured, manly,

and straightforward. But Mr. Twentyman had proposed to her, and she

had--certainly not accepted him. This, however, had broken none of

the family friendship. Every one in the house, unless it might be

Mary herself, hoped that Mr. Twentyman might prevail at last. The

man was worth six or seven hundred a year, and had a good house, and

owed no one a shilling. He was handsome, and about the best-tempered

fellow known. Of course they all desired that he should prevail with

Mary. "I wish that I were old enough, Larry, that's all!" Kate had

said to him once, laughing. "I wouldn't have you, if you were ever

so old," Larry had replied; "you'd want to be out hunting every day."

That will show the sort of terms that Larry was on with his friend

Kate. He called at the house every Saturday with the declared object

of going over to the club that was held that evening in the parlour

at the Bush, whither Mr. Masters also always went. It was understood

at home that Mr. Masters should attend this club every Saturday from

eight till eleven, but that he was not at any other time to give way

to the fascinations of the Bush. On this occasion, and we may say on

almost every Saturday night, Mr. Twentyman arrived a full hour before

the appointed time. The reason of his doing so was of course well

understood, and was quite approved by Mrs. Masters. She was not, at

any rate as yet, a cruel stepmother; but still, if the girl could be

transferred to so eligible a home as that which Mr. Twentyman could

give her, it would be well for all parties.

When he took his seat he did not address himself specially to the

lady of his love. I don't know how a gentleman is to do so in the

presence of her father, and mother, and sisters. Saturday after

Saturday he probably thought that some occasion would arise; but, if

his words could have been counted, it would have been found that he

addressed fewer to her than to any one in the room.

"Larry," said his special friend Kate, "am I to have the pony at the

Bridge meet?"

"How very free you are, Miss!" said her mother.

"I don't know about that," said Larry. "When is there to be a meet at

the Bridge? I haven't heard."

"But I have. Tony Tuppett told me that they would be there this day

fortnight." Tony Tuppett was the huntsman of the U. R. U.

"That's more than Tony can know. He may have guessed it."

"Shall I have the pony if he has guessed right?"

Then the pony was promised; and Kate, trusting in Tony Tuppett's

sagacity, was happy.

"Have you heard of all this about Dillsborough Wood?" asked Mrs.

Masters. The attorney shrank at the question, and shook himself

uneasily in his chair.

"Yes; I've heard about it," said Larry.

"And what do you think about it? I don't see why Lord Rufford is to

ride over everybody because he's a lord." Mr. Twentyman scratched

his head. Though a keen sportsman himself, he did not specially like

Lord Rufford,--a fact which had been very well known to Mrs. Masters.

But, nevertheless, this threatened action against the nobleman was

distasteful to him. It was not a hunting affair, or Mr. Twentyman

could not have doubted for a moment. It was a shooting difficulty,

and as Mr. Twentyman had never been asked to fire a gun on the

Rufford preserves, it was no great sorrow to him that there should be

such a difficulty. But the thing threatened was an attack upon the

country gentry and their amusements, and Mr. Twentyman was a country

gentleman who followed sport. Upon the whole his sympathies were with

Lord Rufford.

"The man is an utter blackguard, you know," said Larry. "Last year he

threatened to shoot the foxes in Dillsborough Wood."

"No!" said Kate, quite horrified.

"I'm afraid he's a bad sort of fellow all round," said the attorney.

"I don't see why he shouldn't claim what he thinks due to him," said

Mrs. Masters.

"I'm told that his lordship offered him seven-and-six an acre for the

whole of the two fields," said the gentleman-farmer.

"Goarly declares," said Mrs. Masters, "that the pheasants didn't

leave him four bushels of wheat to the acre."

Goarly was the man who had proposed himself as a client to Mr.

Masters, and who was desirous of claiming damages to the amount of

forty shillings an acre for injury done to the crops on two fields

belonging to himself which lay adjacent to Dillsborough Wood, a

covert belonging to Lord Rufford, about four miles from the town, in

which both pheasants and foxes were preserved with great care.

"Has Goarly been to you?" asked Twentyman.

Mr. Masters nodded his head. "That's just it," said Mrs. Masters. "I

don't see why a man isn't to go to law if he pleases--that is, if he

can afford to pay for it. I have nothing to say against gentlemen's

sport; but I do say that they should run the same chance as others.

And I say it's a shame if they're to band themselves together and

make the county too hot to hold any one as doesn't like to have his

things ridden over, and his crops devoured, and his fences knocked to

Jericho. I think there's a deal of selfishness in sport and a deal of

tyranny."

"Oh, Mrs. Masters!" exclaimed Larry.

"Well, I do. And if a poor man,--or a man whether he's poor or no,"

added Mrs. Masters, correcting herself, as she thought of the money

which this man ought to have in order that he might pay for his

lawsuit,--"thinks hisself injured, it's nonsense to tell me that

nobody should take up his case. It's just as though the butcher

wouldn't sell a man a leg of mutton because Lord Rufford had a spite

against him. Who's Lord Rufford?"

"Everybody knows that I care very little for his lordship," said Mr.

Twentyman.

"Nor I; and I don't see why Gregory should. If Goarly isn't entitled

to what he wants he won't get it; that's all. But let it be tried

fairly."

Hereupon Mr. Masters took up his hat and left the room, and Mr.

Twentyman followed him, not having yet expressed any positive opinion

on the delicate matter submitted to his judgment. Of course, Goarly

was a brute. Had he not threatened to shoot foxes? But, then, an

attorney must live by lawsuits, and it seemed to Mr. Twentyman that

an attorney should not stop to inquire whether a new client is a

brute or not.

CHAPTER IV.

THE DILLSBOROUGH CLUB.

The club, so called at Dillsborough, was held every Saturday evening

in a back parlour at the Bush, and was attended generally by seven

or eight members. It was a very easy club. There was no balloting,

and no other expense attending it other than that of paying for the

liquor which each man chose to drink. Sometimes, about ten o'clock,

there was a little supper, the cost of which was defrayed by

subscription among those who partook of it. It was one rule of the

club, or a habit, rather, which had grown to be a rule, that Mr.

Runciman might introduce into it any one he pleased. I do not know

that a similar privilege was denied to any one else; but as Mr.

Runciman had a direct pecuniary advantage in promoting the club, the

new-comers were generally ushered in by him. When the attorney and

Twentyman entered the room Mr. Runciman was seated as usual in an

arm-chair at the corner of the fire nearest to the door, with the

bell at his right hand. He was a hale, good-looking man about fifty,

with black hair, now turning grey at the edges, and a clean-shorn

chin. He had a pronounced strong face of his own, one capable of

evincing anger and determination when necessary, but equally apt for

smiles or, on occasion, for genuine laughter. He was a masterful but

a pleasant man, very civil to customers and to his friends generally

while they took him the right way; but one who could be a Tartar if

he were offended, holding an opinion that his position as landlord

of an inn was one requiring masterdom. And his wife was like him in

everything,--except in this, that she always submitted to him. He was

a temperate man in the main; but on Saturday nights he would become

jovial, and sometimes a little quarrelsome. When this occurred

the club would generally break itself up and go home to bed, not

in the least offended. Indeed Mr. Runciman was the tyrant of the

club, though it was held at his house expressly with the view of

putting money into his pocket. Opposite to his seat was another

arm-chair,--not so big as Mr. Runciman's, but still a soft and easy

chair,--which was always left for the attorney. For Mr. Masters was

a man much respected through all Dillsborough, partly on his own

account, but more perhaps for the sake of his father and grandfather.

He was a round-faced, clean-shorn man, with straggling grey hair, who

always wore black clothes and a white cravat. There was something in

his appearance which recommended him among his neighbours, who were

disposed to say he "looked the gentleman;" but a stranger might have

thought his cheeks to be flabby and his mouth to be weak.

Making a circle, or the beginning of a circle, round the fire, were

Nupper, the doctor,--a sporting old bachelor doctor who had the

reputation of riding after the hounds in order that he might be

ready for broken bones and minor accidents; next to him, in another

arm-chair, facing the fire, was Ned Botsey, the younger of the two

brewers from Norrington, who was in the habit during the hunting

season of stopping from Saturday to Monday at the Bush, partly

because the Rufford hounds hunted on Saturday and Monday and on

those days seldom met in the Norrington direction, and partly because

he liked the sporting conversation of the Dillsborough Club. He

was a little man, very neat in his attire, who liked to be above

his company, and fancied that he was so in Mr. Runciman's parlour.

Between him and the attorney's chair was Harry Stubbings, from

Stanton Corner, the man who let out hunters, and whom Twentyman had

threatened to thrash. His introduction to the club had taken place

lately, not without some opposition; but Runciman had set his foot

upon that, saying that it was "all d---- nonsense." He had prevailed,

and Twentyman had consented to meet the man; but there was no great

friendship between them. Seated back on the sofa was Mr. Ribbs, the

butcher, who was allowed into the society as being a specially modest

man. His modesty, perhaps, did not hinder him in an affair of sheep

or bullocks, nor yet in the collection of his debts; but at the club

he understood his position, and rarely opened his mouth to speak.

When Twentyman followed the attorney into the room there was a vacant

chair between Mr. Botsey and Harry Stubbings; but he would not get

into it, preferring to seat himself on the table at Botsey's right

hand.

"So Goarly was with you, Mr. Masters," Mr. Runciman began as soon as

the attorney was seated. It was clear that they had all been talking

about Goarly and his law-suit, and that Goarly and the law-suit would

be talked about very generally in Dillsborough.

"He was over at my place this evening," said the attorney.

"You are not going to take his case up for him, Mr. Masters?" said

young Botsey. "We expect something better from you than that."

Now Ned Botsey was rather an impudent young man, and Mr. Masters,

though he was mild enough at home, did not like impudence from the

world at large. "I suppose, Mr. Botsey," said he, "that if Goarly

were to go to you for a barrel of beer you'd sell it to him?"

"I don't know whether I should or not. I dare say my people would.

But that's a different thing."

"I don't see any difference at all. You're not very particular as

to your customers, and I don't ask you any questions about them.

Ring the bell, Runciman, please." The bell was rung, and the two

new-comers ordered their liquor.

It was quite right that Ned Botsey should be put down. Every one in

the room felt that. But there was something in the attorney's tone

which made the assembled company feel that he had undertaken Goarly's

case; whereas, in the opinion of the company, Goarly was a scoundrel

with whom Mr. Masters should have had nothing to do. The attorney

had never been a sporting man himself, but he had always been, as it

were, on that side.

"Goarly is a great fool for his pains," said the doctor. "He has had

a very fair offer made him, and, first or last, it'll cost him forty

pounds."

"He has got it into his head," said the landlord, "that he can sue

Lord Rufford for his fences. Lord Rufford is not answerable for his

fences."

"It's the loss of crop he's going for," said Twentyman.

"How can there be pheasants to that amount in Dillsborough Wood,"

continued the landlord, "when everybody knows that foxes breed there

every year? There isn't a surer find for a fox in the whole county.

Everybody knows that Lord Rufford never lets his game stand in the

way of foxes."

Lord Rufford was Mr. Runciman's great friend and patron and best

customer, and not a word against Lord Rufford was allowed in that

room, though elsewhere in Dillsborough ill-natured things were

sometimes said of his lordship. Then there came on that well-worn

dispute among sportsmen, whether foxes and pheasants are or are not

pleasant companions to each other. Every one was agreed that, if not,

then the pheasants should suffer, and that any country gentleman who

allowed his gamekeeper to entrench on the privileges of foxes in

order that pheasants might be more abundant, was a "brute" and a

"beast," and altogether unworthy to live in England. Larry Twentyman

and Ned Botsey expressed an opinion that pheasants were predominant

in Dillsborough Wood, while Mr. Runciman, the doctor, and Harry

Stubbings declared loudly that everything that foxes could desire was

done for them in that Elysium of sport.

"We drew the wood blank last time we were there," said Larry. "Don't

you remember, Mr. Runciman, about the end of last March?"

"Of course I remember," said the landlord. "Just the end of the

season, when two vixens had litters in the wood! You don't suppose

Bean was going to let that old butcher, Tony, find a fox in

Dillsborough at that time." Bean was his lordship's head gamekeeper

in that part of the country. "How many foxes had we found there

during the season?"

"Two or three," suggested Botsey.

"Seven!" said the energetic landlord; "seven, including

cub-hunting,--and killed four! If you kill four foxes out of an

eighty-acre wood, and have two litters at the end of the season, I

don't think you have much to complain of."

"If they all did as well as Lord Rufford, you'd have more foxes than

you'd know what to do with," said the doctor.

Then this branch of the conversation was ended by a bet of a new

hat between Botsey and the landlord as to the finding of a fox in

Dillsborough Wood when it should next be drawn; as to which, when the

speculation was completed, Harry Stubbings offered Mr. Runciman ten

shillings down for his side of the bargain.

But all this did not divert the general attention from the important

matter of Goarly's attack. "Let it be how it will," said Mr.

Runciman, "a fellow like that should be put down." He did not address

himself specially to Mr. Masters, but that gentleman felt that he was

being talked at.

"Certainly he ought," said Dr. Nupper. "If he didn't feel satisfied

with what his lordship offered him, why couldn't he ask his lordship

to refer the matter to a couple of farmers who understood it?"

"It's the spirit of the thing," said Mr. Ribbs, from his place on the

sofa. "It's a hodious spirit."

"That's just it, Mr. Ribbs," said Harry Stubbings. "It's all meant

for opposition. Whether it's shooting or whether it's hunting, it's

all one. Such a chap oughtn't to be allowed to have land. I'd take it

away from him by Act of Parliament. It's such as him as is destroying

the country."

"There ain't many of them hereabouts, thank God!" said the landlord.

"Now, Mr. Twentyman," said Stubbings, who was anxious to make friends

with the gentleman-farmer, "you know what land can do, and what land

has done, as well as any man. What would you say was the real damage

done to them two wheat-fields by his lordship's game last autumn? You

saw the crops as they were growing, and you know what came off the

land."

"I wouldn't like to say."

"But if you were on your oath, Mr. Twentyman? Was there more than

seven-and-sixpence an acre lost?"

"No, nor five shillings," said Runciman.

"I think Goarly ought to take his lordship's offer--if you mean

that," said Twentyman.

Then there was a pause, during which more drink was brought in, and

pipes were re-lighted. Everybody wished that Mr. Masters might be

got to say that he would not take the case, but there was a delicacy

about asking him. "If I remember right he was in Rufford Gaol once,"

said Runciman.

"He was let out on bail and then the matter was hushed up somehow,"

said the attorney.

"It was something about a woman," continued Runciman. "I know that on

that occasion he came out an awful scoundrel."

"Don't you remember," asked Botsey, "how he used to walk up and down

the covert-side with a gun, two years ago, swearing he would shoot

the fox if he broke over his land?"

"I heard him say it, Botsey," said Twentyman.

"It wouldn't have been the first fox he's murdered," said the doctor.

"Not by many," said the landlord.

"You remember that old woman near my place?" said Stubbings. "It was

he that put her up to tell all them lies about her turkeys. I ran it

home to him! A blackguard like that! Nobody ought to take him up."

"I hope you won't, Mr. Masters," said the doctor. The doctor was as

old as the attorney, and had known him for many years. No one else

could dare to ask the question.

"I don't suppose I shall, Nupper," said the attorney from his chair.

It was the first word he had spoken since he had put down young

Botsey. "It wouldn't just suit me; but a man has to judge of those

things for himself."

Then there was a general rejoicing, and Mr. Runciman stood broiled

bones, and ham and eggs, and bottled stout for the entire club;

one unfortunate effect of which unwonted conviviality was that Mr.

Masters did not get home till near twelve o'clock. That was sure to

cause discomfort; and then he had pledged himself to decline Goarly's

business.

CHAPTER V.

REGINALD MORTON.

We will now go back to Hoppet Hall and its inhabitants. When the old

squire died he left by his will Hoppet Hall and certain other houses

in Dillsborough, which was all that he could leave, to his grandson

Reginald Morton. Then there arose a question whether this property

also was not entailed. The former Mr. Masters, and our friend of the

present day, had been quite certain of the squire's power to do what

he liked with it; but others had been equally certain on the other

side, and there had been a lawsuit. During that time Reginald Morton

had been forced to live on a very small allowance. His aunt, Lady

Ushant, had done what little she could for him, but it had been felt

to be impossible that he should remain at Bragton, which was the

property of the cousin who was at law with him. From the moment

of his birth the Honourable Mrs. Morton, who was also his aunt by

marriage, had been his bitter enemy. He was the son of an innkeeper's

daughter, and according to her theory of life, should never even have

been noticed by the real Mortons. And this honourable old lady was

almost equally adverse to Lady Ushant, whose husband had simply been

a knight, and who had left nothing behind him. Thus Reginald Morton

had been friendless since his grandfather died, and had lived in

Germany, nobody quite knew how. During the entire period of this

law-suit Hoppet Hall had remained untenanted.

When the property was finally declared to belong to Reginald Morton,

the Hall, before it could be used, required considerable repair. But

there was other property. The Bush Inn belonged to Reginald Morton,

as did the house in which Mr. Masters lived, and sundry other smaller

tenements in the vicinity. There was an income from these of about

five hundred pounds a year. Reginald, who was then nearly thirty

years of age, came over to England, and stayed for a month or two at

Bragton with his aunt, to the infinite chagrin of the old dowager.

The management of the town property was entrusted to Mr. Masters, and

Hoppet Hall was repaired. At this period Mr. Mainwaring had just come

to Dillsborough, and having a wife with some money and perhaps quite

as much pretension, had found the rectory too small, and had taken

the Hall on a lease for seven years. When this was arranged Reginald

Morton again went to Germany, and did not return till the lease had

run out. By that time Mr. Mainwaring, having spent a little money,

found that the rectory would be large enough for his small family.

Then the Hall was again untenanted for awhile, till, quite suddenly,

Reginald Morton returned to Dillsborough, and took up his permanent

residence in his own house.

It soon became known that the new-comer would not add much to the

gaiety of the place. The only people whom he knew in Dillsborough

were his own tenants, Mr. Runciman and Mr. Masters, and the

attorney's eldest daughter. During those months which he had spent

with Lady Ushant at Bragton, Mary had been living there, then a child

of twelve years old; and, as a child, had become his fast friend.

With his aunt he had continually corresponded, and partly at her

instigation, and partly from feelings of his own, he had at once

gone to the attorney's house. This was now two years since, and

he had found in his old playmate a beautiful young woman, in his

opinion very unlike the people with whom she lived. For the first

twelvemonths he saw her occasionally,--though not indeed very often.

Once or twice he had drunk tea at the attorney's house, on which

occasions the drawing-room upstairs had been almost as grand as it

was uncomfortable. Then the attentions of Larry Twentyman began to

make themselves visible, infinitely to Reginald Morton's disgust. Up

to that time he had no idea of falling in love with the girl himself.

Since he had begun to think on such subjects at all he had made up

his mind that he would not marry. He was almost the more proud of his

birth by his father's side, because he had been made to hear so much

of his mother's low position. He had told himself a hundred times

that under no circumstances could he marry any other than a lady of

good birth. But his own fortune was small, and he knew himself well

enough to be sure that he would not marry for money. He was now

nearly forty years of age and had never yet been thrown into the

society of any one that had attracted him. He was sure that he would

not marry. And yet when he saw that Mr. Twentyman was made much of

and flattered by the whole Masters family, apparently because he was

regarded as an eligible husband for Mary, Reginald Morton was not

only disgusted, but personally offended. Being a most unreasonable

man he conceived a bitter dislike to poor Larry, who, at any rate,

was truly in love, and was not looking too high in desiring to marry

the portionless daughter of the attorney. But Morton thought that the

man ought to be kicked and horsewhipped, or, at any rate, banished

into some speechless exile for his presumption.

With Mr. Runciman he had dealings, and in some sort friendship. There

were two meadows attached to Hoppet Hall,--fields lying close to

the town, which were very suitable for the landlord's purposes. Mr.

Mainwaring had held them in his own hands, taking them up from Mr.

Runciman, who had occupied them while the house was untenanted, in a

manner which induced Mr. Runciman to feel that it was useless to go

to church to hear such sermons as those preached by the rector. But

Morton had restored the fields, giving them rent free, on condition

that he should be supplied with milk and butter. Mr. Runciman, no

doubt, had the best of the bargain, as he generally had in all

bargains; but he was a man who liked to be generous when generously

treated. Consequently he almost overdid his neighbour with butter and

cream, and occasionally sent in quarters of lamb and sweetbreads to

make up the weight. I don't know that the offerings were particularly

valued; but friendship was engendered. Runciman, too, had his grounds

for quarrelling with those who had taken up the management of the

Bragton property after the squire's death, and had his own antipathy

to the Honourable Mrs. Morton and her grandson, the Secretary of

Legation. When the law-suit was going on he had been altogether on

Reginald Morton's side. It was an affair of sides, and quite natural

that Runciman and the attorney should be friendly with the new-comer

at Hoppet Hall, though there were very few points of personal

sympathy between them.

Reginald Morton was no sportsman, nor was he at all likely to become

a member of the Dillsborough Club. It was currently reported of him

in the town that he had never sat on a horse or fired off a gun. As

he had been brought up as a boy by the old squire this was probably

an exaggeration, but it is certain that at this period of his life

he had given up any aptitudes in that direction for which his early

training might have suited him. He had brought back with him to

Hoppet Hall many cases of books which the ignorance of Dillsborough

had magnified into an enormous library, and he was certainly a

sedentary, reading man. There was already a report in the town that

he was engaged in some stupendous literary work, and the men and

women generally looked upon him as a disagreeable marvel of learning.

Dillsborough of itself was not bookish, and would have regarded

any one known to have written an article in a magazine almost as a

phenomenon.

He seldom went to church, much to the sorrow of Mr. Surtees, who

ventured to call at the house and remonstrate with him. He never

called again. And though it was the habit of Mr. Surtees' life to

speak as little ill as possible of any one, he was not able to say

any good of Mr. Morton. Mr. Mainwaring, who would never have troubled

himself though his parishioner had not entered a place of worship

once in a twelvemonth, did say many severe things against his former

landlord. He hated people who were unsocial and averse to dining out,

and who departed from the ways of living common among English country

gentlemen. Mr. Mainwaring was, upon the whole, prepared to take the

other side.

Reginald Morton, though he was now nearly forty, was a young-looking,

handsome man, with fair hair, cut short, and a light beard, which was

always clipped. Though his mother had been an innkeeper's daughter in

Montreal he had the Morton blue eyes and the handsome well-cut Morton

nose. He was nearly six feet high, and strongly made, and was known

to be a much finer man than the Secretary of Legation, who was rather

small, and supposed to be not very robust.

Our lonely man was a great walker, and had investigated every lane

and pathway, and almost every hedge within ten miles of Dillsborough

before he had resided there two years; but his favourite rambles

were all in the neighbourhood of Bragton. As there was no one living

in the house,--no one but the old housekeeper who had lived there

always,--he was able to wander about the place as he pleased. On the

Tuesday afternoon, after the meeting of the Dillsborough Club which

has been recorded, he was seated, about three o'clock, on the rail of

the foot-bridge over the Dill, with a long German pipe hanging from

his mouth. He was noted throughout the whole country for this pipe,

or for others like it, such a one usually being in his mouth as he

wandered about. The amount of tobacco which he had smoked since his

return to these parts, exactly in that spot, was considerable, for

there he might have been found at some period of the afternoon at

least three times a week. He would sit on this rail for half an hour

looking down at the sluggish waters of the little river, rolling the

smoke out of his mouth at long intervals, and thinking perhaps of

the great book which he was supposed to be writing. As he sat there

now, he suddenly heard voices and laughter, and presently three girls

came round the corner of the hedge, which, at this spot, hid the

Dillsborough path,--and he saw the attorney's three daughters.

"It's Mr. Morton," said Dolly in a whisper.

"He's always walking about Bragton," said Kate in another whisper.

"Tony Tuppett says that he's the Bragton ghost."

"Kate," said Mary, also in a low voice, "you shouldn't talk so much

about what you hear from Tony Tuppett."

"Bosh!" said Kate, who knew that she could not be scolded in the

presence of Mr. Morton.

He came forward and shook hands with them all, and took off his hat

to Mary. "You've walked a long way, Miss Masters," he said.

"We don't think it far. I like sometimes to come and look at the old

place."

"And so do I. I wonder whether you remember how often I've sat you on

this rail and threatened to throw you into the river?"

"I remember very well that you did threaten me once, and that I

almost believed that you would throw me in."

"What had she done that was naughty, Mr. Morton?" asked Kate.

"I don't think she ever did anything naughty in those days. I don't

know whether she has changed for the worse since."

"Mary is never naughty now," said Dolly. "Kate and I are naughty, and

it's very much better fun than being good."

"The world has found out that long ago, Miss Dolly; only the world is

not quite so candid in owning it as you are. Will you come and walk

round the house, Miss Masters? I never go in, but I have no scruples

about the paths and park."

At the end of the bridge leading into the shrubbery there was a

stile, high indeed, but made commodiously with steps, almost like a

double staircase, so that ladies could pass it without trouble. Mary

had given her assent to the proposed walk, and was in the act of

putting out her hand to be helped over the stile, when Mr. Twentyman

appeared at the other side of it.

"If here isn't Larry!" said Kate.

Morton's face turned as black as thunder, but he immediately went

back across the bridge, leading Mary with him. The other girls, who

had followed him on to the bridge, had of course to go back also.

Mary was made very unhappy by the meeting. Mr. Morton would of course

think that it had been planned, whereas by Mary herself it had been

altogether unexpected. Kate, when the bridge was free, rushed over it

and whispered something to Larry. The meeting had indeed been planned

between her and Dolly and the lover, and this special walk had been

taken at the request of the two younger girls.

Morton stood stock still, as though he expected that Twentyman would

pass by. Larry hurried over the bridge, feeling sure that the meeting

with Morton had been accidental and thinking that he would pass on

towards the house.

Larry was not at all ashamed of his purpose, nor was he inclined

to give way and pass on. He came up boldly to his love, and shook

hands with her with a pleasant smile. "If you are walking back to

Dillsborough," he said, "maybe you'll let me go a little way with

you?"

"I was going round the house with Mr. Morton," she said timidly.

"Perhaps I can join you?" said he, bobbing his head at the other man.

"If you intended to walk back with Mr. Twentyman--," began Morton.

"But I didn't," said the poor girl, who in truth understood more of

it all than did either of the two men. "I didn't expect him, and I

didn't expect you. It's a pity I can't go both ways, isn't it?" she

added, attempting to appear cheerful.

"Come back, Mary," said Kate; "we've had walking enough, and shall be

awfully tired before we get home."

Mary had thought that she would like extremely to go round the house

with her old friend and have a hundred incidents of her early life

called to her memory. The meeting with Reginald Morton had been

altogether pleasant to her. She had often felt how much she would

have liked it had the chance of her life enabled her to see more

frequently one whom as a child she had so intimately known. But at

the moment she lacked the courage to walk boldly across the bridge,

and thus to rid herself of Lawrence Twentyman. She had already

perceived that Morton's manner had rendered it impossible that her

lover should follow them. "I am afraid I must go home," she said.

It was the very thing she did not want to do,--this going home

with Lawrence Twentyman; and yet she herself said that she must do

it,--driven to say so by a nervous dread of showing herself to be

fond of the other man's company.

"Good afternoon to you," said Morton very gloomily, waving his hat

and stalking across the bridge.

CHAPTER VI.

NOT IN LOVE.

Reginald Morton, as he walked across the bridge towards the house,

was thoroughly disgusted with all the world. He was very angry with

himself, feeling that he had altogether made a fool of himself by

his manner. He had shown himself to be offended, not only by Mr.

Twentyman, but by Miss Masters also, and he was well aware, as he

thought of it all, that neither of them had given him any cause of

offence. If she chose to make an appointment for a walk with Mr.

Lawrence Twentyman and to keep it, what was that to him? His anger

was altogether irrational, and he knew that it was so. What right had

he to have an opinion about it if Mary Masters should choose to like

the society of Mr. Twentyman? It was an affair between her and her

father and mother in which he could have no interest; and yet he had

not only taken offence, but was well aware that he had shown his

feeling.

Nevertheless, as to the girl herself, he could not argue himself out

of his anger. It was grievous to him that he should have gone out of

his way to ask her to walk with him just at the moment when she was

expecting this vulgar lover,--for that she had expected him he felt

no doubt. Yet he had heard her disclaim any intention of walking

with the man! But girls are sly, especially when their lovers are

concerned. It made him sore at heart to feel that this girl should be

sly, and doubly sore to think that she should have been able to love

such a one as Lawrence Twentyman.

As he roamed about among the grounds this idea troubled him much. He

assured himself that he was not in love with her himself, and that he

had no idea of falling in love with her; but it sickened him to think

that a girl who had been brought up by his aunt, who had been loved

at Bragton, whom he had liked, who looked so like a lady, should put

herself on a par with such a wretch as that. In all this he was most

unjust to both of them. He was specially unjust to poor Larry, who

was by no means a wretch. His costume was not that to which Morton

had been accustomed in Germany, nor would it have passed without

notice in Bond Street. But it was rational and clean. When he came

to the bridge to meet his sweetheart he had on a dark-green shooting

coat, a billicock hat, brown breeches, and gaiters nearly up to his

knees. I don't know that a young man in the country could wear more

suitable attire. And he was a well-made man,--just such a one as,

in this dress, would take the eye of a country girl. There was a

little bit of dash about him,--just a touch of swagger,--which better

breeding might have prevented. But it was not enough to make him

odious to an unprejudiced observer. I could fancy that an old lady

from London, with an eye in her head for manly symmetry, would have

liked to look at Larry, and would have thought that a girl in Mary's

position would be happy in having such a lover, providing that his

character was good and his means adequate. But Reginald Morton was

not an old woman, and to his eyes the smart young farmer with his

billicock hat, not quite straight on his head, was an odious thing

to behold. He exaggerated the swagger, and took no notice whatever

of the well-made limbs. And then this man had proposed to accompany

him, had wanted to join his party, had thought it possible that a

flirtation might be carried on in his presence! He sincerely hated

the man. But what was he to think of such a girl as Mary Masters when

she could bring herself to like the attentions of such a lover?

He was very cross with himself because he knew how unreasonable

was his anger. Of one thing only could he assure himself,--that he

would never again willingly put himself in Mary's company. What was

Dillsborough and the ways of its inhabitants to him? Why should he

so far leave the old fashions of his life as to fret himself about

an attorney's daughter in a little English town? And yet he did fret

himself, walking rapidly, and smoking his pipe a great deal quicker

than was his custom.

When he was about to return home he passed the front of the house,

and there, standing at the open door, he saw Mrs. Hopkins, the

housekeeper, who had in truth been waiting for him. He said a

good-natured word to her, intending to make his way on without

stopping, but she called him back. "Have you heard the news, Mr.

Reginald?" she said.

"I haven't heard any news this twelvemonth," he replied.

"Laws, that is so like you, Mr. Reginald. The young squire is to be

here next week."

"Who is the young squire? I didn't know there was any squire now."

"Mr. Reginald!"

"A squire as I take it, Mrs. Hopkins, is a country gentleman who

lives on his own property. Since my grandfather's time no such

gentleman has lived at Bragton."

"That's true, too, Mr. Reginald. Any way Mr. Morton is coming down

next week."

"I thought he was in America."

"He has come home, for a turn like,--and is staying up in town with

the old lady." The old lady always meant the Honourable Mrs. Morton.

"And is the old lady coming down with him?"

"I fancy she is, Mr. Reginald. He didn't say as much, but only

that there would be three or four,--a couple of ladies he said,

and perhaps more. So I am getting the east bedroom, with the

dressing-room, and the blue room for her ladyship." People about

Bragton had been accustomed to call Mrs. Morton her ladyship.

"That's where she always used to be. Would you come in and see, Mr.

Reginald?"

"Certainly not, Mrs. Hopkins. If you were asking me into a house of

your own, I would go in and see all the rooms and chat with you for

an hour; but I don't suppose I shall ever go into this house again

unless things change very much indeed."

"Then I'm sure I hope they will change, Mr. Reginald." Mrs. Hopkins

had known Reginald Morton as a boy growing up into manhood,--had

almost been present at his birth, and had renewed her friendship

while he was staying with Lady Ushant; but of the present squire, as

she called him, she had seen almost nothing, and what she had once

remembered of him had now been obliterated by an absence of twenty

years. Of course she was on Reginald's side in the family quarrel,

although she was the paid servant of the Foreign Office paragon.

"And they are to be here next week. What day next week, Mrs.

Hopkins?" Mrs. Hopkins didn't know on what day she was to expect

the visitors, nor how long they intended to stay. Mr. John Morton

had said in his letter that he would send his own man down two days

before his arrival, and that was nearly all that he had said.

Then Morton started on his return walk to Dillsborough, again taking

the path across the bridge. "Ah!" he said to himself with a shudder

as he crossed the stile, thinking of his own softened feelings as he

had held out his hand to help Mary Masters, and then of his revulsion

of feeling when she declared her purpose of walking home with Mr.

Twentyman. And he struck the rail of the bridge with his stick as

though he were angry with the place altogether. And he thought to

himself that he would never come there any more, that he hated the

place, and that he would never cross that bridge again.

Then his mind reverted to the tidings he had heard from Mrs. Hopkins.

What ought he to do when his cousin arrived? Though there had been a

long lawsuit, there had been no actual declared quarrel between him

and the heir. He had, indeed, never seen the heir for the last twenty

years, nor had they ever interchanged letters. There had been no

communication whatever between them, and therefore there could hardly

be a quarrel. He disliked his cousin; nay, almost hated him; he

was quite aware of that. And he was sure also that he hated that

Honourable old woman worse than any one else in the world, and that

he always would do so. He knew that the Honourable old woman had

attempted to drive his own mother from Bragton, and of course he

hated her. But that was no reason why he should not call on his

cousin. He was anxious to do what was right. He was specially anxious

that blame should not be attributed to him. What he would like best

would be that he might call, might find nobody at home,--and that

then John Morton should not return the courtesy. He did not want to

go to Bragton as a guest; he did not wish to be in the wrong himself;

but he was by no means equally anxious that his cousin should keep

himself free from reproach.

The bridge path came out on the Dillsborough road just two miles from

the town, and Morton, as he got over the last stile, saw Lawrence

Twentyman coming towards him on the road. The man, no doubt, had gone

all the way into Dillsborough with the girls, and was now returning

home. The parish of Bragton lies to the left of the high road as you

go into the town from Rufford and the direction of London, whereas

Chowton Farm, the property of Mr. Twentyman, is on the right of

the road, but in the large parish of St. John's, Dillsborough.

Dillsborough Wood lies at the back of Larry Twentyman's land, and

joining on to Larry's land and also to the wood is the patch of

ground owned by "that scoundrel Goarly." Chowton Farm gate opens on

to the high road, so that Larry was now on his direct way home. As

soon as he saw Morton he made up his mind to speak to him. He was

quite sure from what had passed between him and the girls, on the

road home, that he had done something wrong. He was convinced that he

had interfered in some ill-bred way, though he did not at all know

how. Of Reginald Morton he was not in the least jealous. He, too, was

of a jealous temperament, but it had never occurred to him to join

Reginald Morton and Mary Masters together. He was very much in love

with Mary, but had no idea that she was in any way above the position

which she might naturally hold as daughter of the Dillsborough

attorney. But of Reginald Morton's attributes and scholarship and

general standing he had a mystified appreciation which saved him

from the pain of thinking that such a man could be in love with his

sweetheart. As he certainly did not wish to quarrel with Morton,

having always taken Reginald's side in the family disputes, he

thought that he would say a civil word in passing, and, if possible,

apologise. When Morton came up he raised his hand to his head and did

open his mouth, though not pronouncing any word very clearly. Morton

looked at him as grim as death, just raised his hand, and then passed

on with a quick step. Larry was displeased; but the other was so

thoroughly a gentleman,--one of the Mortons, and a man of property in

the county,--that he didn't even yet wish to quarrel with him. "What

the deuce have I done?" said he to himself as he walked on--"I didn't

tell her not to go up to the house. If I offered to walk with her

what was that to him?" It must be remembered that Lawrence Twentyman

was twelve years younger than Reginald Morton, and that a man of

twenty-eight is apt to regard a man of forty as very much too old for

falling in love. It is a mistake which it will take him fully ten

years to rectify, and then he will make a similar mistake as to men

of fifty. With his awe for Morton's combined learning and age, it

never occurred to him to be jealous.

Morton passed on rapidly, almost feeling that he had been a brute.

But what business had the objectionable man to address him? He tried

to excuse himself, but yet he felt that he had been a brute,--and had

so demeaned himself in reference to the daughter of the Dillsborough

attorney! He would teach himself to do all he could to promote the

marriage. He would give sage advice to Mary Masters as to the wisdom

of establishing herself,--having not an hour since made up his mind

that he would never see her again! He would congratulate the attorney

and Mrs. Masters. He would conquer the absurd feeling which at

present was making him wretched. He would cultivate some sort of

acquaintance with the man, and make the happy pair a wedding present.

But, yet, what "a beast" the man was, with that billicock hat on one

side of his head, and those tight leather gaiters!

As he passed through the town towards his own house, he saw Mr.

Runciman standing in front of the hotel. His road took him up Hobbs

gate, by the corner of the Bush; but Runciman came a little out of

the way to meet him. "You have heard the news?" said the innkeeper.

"I have heard one piece of news."

"What's that, sir?"

"Come,--you tell me yours first."

"The young squire is coming down to Bragton next week."

"That's my news too. It is not likely that there should be two

matters of interest in Dillsborough on the same day."

"I don't know why Dillsborough should be worse off than any other

place, Mr. Morton; but at any rate the squire's coming."

"So Mrs. Hopkins told me. Has he written to you?"

"His coachman or his groom has; or perhaps he keeps what they call an

ekkery. He's much too big a swell to write to the likes of me. Lord

bless me,--when I think of it, I wonder how many dozen of orders I've

had from Lord Rufford under his own hand. 'Dear Runciman, dinner at

eight; ten of us; won't wait a moment. Yours R.' I suppose Mr. Morton

would think that his lordship had let himself down by anything of

that sort?"

"What does my cousin want?"

"Two pair of horses,--for a week certain, and perhaps longer, and

two carriages. How am I to let anyone have two pair of horses for a

week certain,--and perhaps longer? What are other customers to do? I

can supply a gentleman by the month and buy horses to suit; or I can

supply him by the job. But I guess Mr. Morton don't well know how

things are managed in this country. He'll have to learn."

"What day does he come?"

"They haven't told me that yet, Mr. Morton."

CHAPTER VII.

THE WALK HOME.

Mary Masters, when Reginald Morton had turned his back upon her

at the bridge, was angry with herself and with him, which was

reasonable; and very angry also with Larry Twentyman, which was

unreasonable. As she had at once acceded to Morton's proposal that

they should walk round the house together, surely he should not have

deserted her so soon. It had not been her fault that the other man

had come up. She had not wanted him. But she was aware that when the

option had in some sort been left to herself, she had elected to walk

back with Larry. She knew her own motives and her own feelings, but

neither of the men would understand them. Because she preferred the

company of Mr. Morton, and had at the moment feared that her sisters

would have deserted her had she followed him, therefore she had

declared her purpose of going back to Dillsborough, in doing which

she knew that Larry and the girls would accompany her. But of course

Mr. Morton would think that she had preferred the company of her

recognised admirer. It was pretty well known in Dillsborough that

Larry was her lover. Her stepmother had spoken of it very freely; and

Larry himself was a man who did not keep his lights hidden under a

bushel. "I hope I've not been in the way, Mary," said Mr. Twentyman,

as soon as Morton was out of hearing.

"In the way of what?"

"I didn't think there was any harm in offering to go up to the house

with you if you were going."

"Who has said there was any harm?" The path was only broad enough for

one and she was walking first. Larry was following her and the girls

were behind him.

"I think that Mr. Morton is a very stuck-up fellow," said Kate, who

was the last.

"Hold your tongue, Kate," said Mary. "You don't know what you are

talking about."

"I know as well as any one when a person is good-natured. What made

him go off in that hoity-toity fashion? Nobody had said anything to

him."

"He always looks as though he were going to eat somebody," said

Dolly.

"He shan't eat me," said Kate.

Then there was a pause, during which they all went along quickly,

Mary leading the way. Larry felt that he was wasting his opportunity;

and yet hardly knew how to use it, feeling that the girl was angry

with him.

"I wish you'd say, Mary, whether you think that I did anything

wrong?"

"Nothing wrong to me, Mr. Twentyman."

"Did I do anything wrong to him?"

"I don't know how far you may be acquainted with him. He was

proposing to go somewhere, and you offered to go with him."

"I offered to go with you," said Larry sturdily. "I suppose I'm

sufficiently acquainted with you."

"Quite so," said Mary.

"Why should he be so proud? I never said an uncivil word to him.

He's nothing to me. If he can do without me, I'm sure that I can do

without him."

"Very well indeed, I should think."

"The truth is, Mary--"

"There has been quite enough said about it, Mr. Twentyman."

"The truth is, Mary, I came on purpose to have a word with you."

Hearing this, Kate rushed on and pulled Larry by the tail of his

coat.

"How did you know I was to be there?" demanded Mary sharply.

"I didn't know. I had reason to think you perhaps might be there. The

girls I knew had been asking you to come as far as the bridge. At any

rate I took my chance. I'd seen him some time before, and then I saw

you."

"If I'm to be watched about in that way," said Mary angrily, "I won't

go out at all."

"Of course I want to see you. Why shouldn't I? I'm all fair and above

board;--ain't I? Your father and mother know all about it. It isn't

as though I were doing anything clandestine." He paused for a reply,

but Mary walked on in silence. She knew quite well that he was

warranted in seeking her, and that nothing but a very positive

decision on her part could put an end to his courtship. At the

present moment she was inclined to be very positive, but he had

hardly as yet given her an opportunity of speaking out. "I think you

know, Mary, what it is that I want." They were now at a rough stile

which enabled him to come close up to her and help her. She tripped

over the stile with a light step and again walked on rapidly. The

field they were in enabled him to get up to her side, and now if ever

was his opportunity. It was a long straggling meadow which he knew

well, with the Dill running by it all the way,--or rather two meadows

with an open space where there had once been a gate. He had ridden

through the gap a score of times, and knew that at the further side

of the second meadow they would come upon the high road. The fields

were certainly much better for his purpose than the road. "Don't you

think, Mary, you could say a kind word to me?"

"I never said anything unkind."

"You can't think ill of me for loving you better than all the world."

"I don't think ill of you at all. I think very well of you."

"That's kind."

"So I do. How can I help thinking well of you, when I've never heard

anything but good of you?"

"Then why shouldn't you say at once that you'll have me, and make me

the happiest man in all the county?"

"Because--"

"Well!"

"I told you before, Mr. Twentyman, and that ought to have been

enough. A young woman doesn't fall in love with every man that she

thinks well of. I should like you as well as all the rest of the

family if you would only marry some other girl."

"I shall never do that."

"Yes you will;--some day."

"Never. I've set my heart upon it, and I mean to stick to it. I'm not

the fellow to turn about from one girl to another. What I want is the

girl I love. I've money enough and all that kind of thing of my own."

"I'm sure you're disinterested, Mr. Twentyman."

"Yes, I am. Ever since you've been home from Bragton it has been the

same thing, and when I felt that it was so, I spoke up to your father

honestly. I haven't been beating about the bush, and I haven't done

anything that wasn't honourable." They were very near the last stile

now. "Come, Mary, if you won't make me a promise, say that you'll

think of it."

"I have thought of it, Mr. Twentyman, and I can't make you any other

answer. I dare say I'm very foolish."

"I wish you were more foolish. Perhaps then you wouldn't be so hard

to please."

"Whether I'm wise or foolish, indeed, indeed, it's no good your going

on. Now we're on the road. Pray go back home, Mr. Twentyman."

"It'll be getting dark in a little time."

"Not before we're in Dillsborough. If it were ever so dark we could

find our way home by ourselves. Come along, Dolly."

Over the last stile he had stayed a moment to help the younger girl,

and as he did so Kate whispered a word in his ear. "She's angry

because she couldn't go up to the house with that stuck-up fellow."

It was a foolish word; but then Kate Masters had not had much

experience in the world.

Whether overcome by Mary's resolute mode of speaking, or aware that

the high road would not suit his purpose, he did turn back as soon

as he had seen them a little way on their return towards the town.

He had not gone half a mile before he met Morton, and had been

half-minded to make some apology to him. But Morton had denied him

the opportunity, and he had walked on to his own house,--low in

spirits indeed, but still with none of that sorest of agony which

comes to a lover from the feeling that his love loves some one else.

Mary had been very decided with him,--more so he feared than before;

but still he saw no reason why he should not succeed at last. Mrs.

Masters had told him that Mary would certainly give a little trouble

in winning, but would be the more worth the winner's trouble when

won. And she had certainly shown no preference for any other young

man about the town. There had been a moment when he had much dreaded

Mr. Surtees. Young clergymen are apt to be formidable rivals, and

Mr. Surtees had certainly made some overtures of friendship to Mary

Masters. But Larry had thought that he had seen that these overtures

had not led to much, and then that fear had gone from him. He did

believe that Mary was now angry because she had not been allowed

to walk about Bragton with her old friend Mr. Morton. It had been

natural that she should like to do so. It was the pride of Mary's

life that she had been befriended by the Mortons and Lady Ushant.

But it did not occur to him that he ought to be jealous of Mr.

Morton,--though it had occurred to Kate Masters.

There was very little said between the sisters on their way back to

the town. Mary was pretty sure now that the two girls had made the

appointment with Larry, but she was unwilling to question them on the

subject. Immediately on their arrival at home they heard the great

news. John Morton was coming to Bragton with a party of ladies and

gentlemen. Mrs. Hopkins had spoken of four persons. Mrs. Masters told

Mary that there were to be a dozen at least, and that four or five

pairs of horses and half a dozen carriages had been ordered from Mr.

Runciman. "He means to cut a dash when he does begin," said Mrs.

Masters.

"Is he going to stay, mother?"

"He wouldn't come down in that way if it was only for a few days I

suppose. But what they will do for furniture I don't know."

"There's plenty of furniture, mother."

"A thousand years old. Or for wine, or fruit, or plate."

"The old plate was there when Lady Ushant left."

"People do things now in a very different way from what they used. A

couple of dozen silver forks made quite a show on the old squire's

table. Now they change the things so often that ten dozen is nothing.

I don't suppose there's a bottle of wine in the cellar."

"They can get wine from Cobbold, mother."

"Cobbold's wine won't go down with them I fancy. I wonder what

servants they're bringing."

When Mr. Masters came in from his office the news was corroborated.

Mr. John Morton was certainly coming to Bragton. The attorney had

still a small unsettled and disputed claim against the owner of the

property, and he had now received by the day mail an answer to a

letter which he had written to Mr. Morton, saying that that gentleman

would see him in the course of the next fortnight.

CHAPTER VIII.

THE PARAGON'S PARTY AT BRAGTON.

There was certainly a great deal of fuss made about John Morton's

return to the home of his ancestors,--made altogether by himself and

those about him, and not by those who were to receive him. On the

Thursday in the week following that of which we have been speaking,

two carriages from the Bush met the party at the Railway Station and

took them to Bragton. Mr. Runciman, after due consideration, put up

with the inconsiderate nature of the order given, and supplied the

coaches and horses as required,--consoling himself no doubt with

the reflection that he could charge for the unreasonableness of the

demand in the bill. The coachman and butler had come down two days

before their master, so that things might be in order. Mrs. Hopkins

learned from the butler that though the party would at first consist

only of three, two other very august persons were to follow on the

Saturday,--no less than Lady Augustus Trefoil and her daughter

Arabella. And Mrs. Hopkins was soon led to imagine, though no

positive information was given to her on the subject, that Miss

Trefoil was engaged to be married to their master. "Will he live here

altogether, Mr. Tankard?" Mrs. Hopkins asked. To this question Mr.

Tankard was able to give a very definite answer. He was quite sure

that Mr. Morton would not live anywhere altogether. According to Mr.

Tankard's ideas, the whole foreign policy of England depended on Mr.

John Morton's presence in some capital, either in Europe, Asia, or

America,--upon Mr. Morton's presence, and of course upon his own

also. Mr. Tankard thought it not improbable that they might soon be

wanted at Hong Kong, or some very distant place,--but in the meantime

they were bound to be back at Washington very shortly. Tankard

had himself been at Washington, and also before that at Lisbon,

and could tell Mrs. Hopkins how utterly unimportant had been the

actual ministers at those places, and how the welfare of England had

depended altogether on the discretion and general omniscience of his

young master,--and of himself. He, Tankard, had been the only person

in Washington who had really known in what order Americans should go

out to dinner one after another. Mr. Elias Gotobed, who was coming,

was perhaps the most distinguished American of the day, and was

Senator for Mickewa.

"Mickey war!" said poor Mrs. Hopkins,--"that's been one of them

terrible American wars we used to hear of." Then Tankard explained to

her that Mickewa was one of the Western States and Mr. Elias Gotobed

was a great Republican, who had very advanced opinions of his own

respecting government, liberty, and public institutions in general.

With Mr. Morton and the Senator was coming the Honourable Mrs.

Morton. The lady had her lady's maid,--and Mr. Morton had his own

man; so that there would be a great influx of persons.

Of course there was very much perturbation of spirit. Mrs. Hopkins,

after that first letter, the contents of which she had communicated

to Reginald Morton, had received various despatches and been asked

various questions. Could she find a cook? Could she find two

housemaids? And all these were only wanted for a time. In her

distress she went to Mrs. Runciman, and did get assistance. "I

suppose he thinks he's to have the cook out of my kitchen?" Runciman

had said. Somebody, however, was found who said she could cook, and

two girls who professed that they knew how to make beds. And in this

way an establishment was ready before the arrival of the Secretary

of Legation and the great American Senator. Those other questions of

wine and plate and vegetables had, no doubt, settled themselves after

some fashion.

John Morton had come over to England on leave of absence for four

months, and had brought with him the Senator from Mickewa. The

Senator had never been in England before and was especially anxious

to study the British Constitution and to see the ways of Britons with

his own eyes. He had only been a fortnight in London before this

journey down to the county had been planned. Mr. Gotobed wished

to see English country life and thought that he could not on his

first arrival have a better opportunity. It must be explained also

that there was another motive for this English rural sojourn. Lady

Augustus Trefoil, who was an adventurous lady, had been travelling in

the United States with her daughter, and had there fallen in with Mr.

John Morton. Arabella Trefoil was a beauty, and a woman of fashion,

and had captivated the Paragon. An engagement had been made, subject

to various stipulations; the consent of Lord Augustus in the first

place,--as to which John Morton who only understood foreign affairs

was not aware, as he would have been had he lived in England, that

Lord Augustus was nobody. Lady Augustus had spoken freely as to

settlements, value of property, life insurance and such matters; and

had spoken firmly, as well as freely, expressing doubt as to the

expediency of such an engagement;--all of which had surprised Mr.

Morton considerably, for the young lady had at first been left in

his hands with almost American freedom. And now Lady Augustus and

her daughter were coming down on a visit of inspection. They had

been told, as had the Senator, that things would be in the rough.

The house had not been properly inhabited for nearly a quarter of

a century. The Senator had expressed himself quite contented. Lady

Augustus had only hoped that everything would be made as comfortable

as possible for her daughter. I don't know what more could have

been done at so short a notice than to order two carriages, two

housemaids, and a cook.

A word or two must also be said of the old lady who made one of the

party. The Honourable Mrs. Morton was now seventy, but no old lady

ever showed less signs of advanced age. It is not to be understood

from this that she was beautiful;--but that she was very strong.

What might be the colour of her hair, or whether she had any, no man

had known for many years. But she wore so perfect a front that some

people were absolutely deluded. She was very much wrinkled;--but as

there are wrinkles which seem to come from the decay of those muscles

which should uphold the skin, so are there others which seem to

denote that the owner has simply got rid of the watery weaknesses

of juvenility. Mrs. Morton's wrinkles were strong wrinkles. She was

thin, but always carried herself bolt upright, and would never even

lean back in her chair. She had a great idea of her duty, and hated

everybody who differed from her with her whole heart. She was the

daughter of a Viscount, a fact which she never forgot for a single

moment, and which she thought gave her positive superiority to all

women who were not the daughters of Dukes or Marquises, or of Earls.

Therefore, as she did not live much in the fashionable world, she

rarely met any one above herself. Her own fortune on her marriage had

been small, but now she was a rich woman. Her husband had been dead

nearly half a century and during the whole of that time she had been

saving money. To two charities she gave annually £5 per annum each.

Duty demanded it, and the money was given. Beyond that she had never

been known to spend a penny in charity. Duty, she had said more than

once, required of her that she do something to repair the ravages

made on the Morton property by the preposterous extravagance of the

old squire in regard to the younger son, and that son's--child. In

her anger she had not hesitated on different occasions to call the

present Reginald a bastard, though the expression was a wicked

calumny for which there was no excuse. Without any aid of hers the

Morton property had repaired itself. There had been a minority of

thirteen or fourteen years, and since that time the present owner

had not spent his income. But John Morton was not himself averse to

money, and had always been careful to maintain good relations with

his grandmother. She had now been asked down to Bragton in order that

she might approve, if possible, of the proposed wife. It was not

likely that she should approve absolutely of anything; but to have

married without an appeal to her would have been to have sent the

money flying into the hands of some of her poor paternal cousins.

Arabella Trefoil was the granddaughter of a duke, and a step had so

far been made in the right direction. But Mrs. Morton knew that Lord

Augustus was nobody, that there would be no money, and that Lady

Augustus had been the daughter of a banker, and that her fortune had

been nearly squandered.

The Paragon was not in the least afraid of his American visitor,

nor, as far as the comforts of his house were concerned, of his

grandmother. Of the beauty and her mother he did stand in awe;--but

he had two days in which to look to things before they would come.

The train reached the Dillsborough Station at half-past three, and

the two carriages were there to meet them. "You will understand, Mr.

Gotobed," said the old lady, "that my grandson has nothing of his own

established here as yet." This little excuse was produced by certain

patches and tears in the cushions and linings of the carriages.

Mr. Gotobed smiled and bowed and declared that everything was

"fixed convenient." Then the Senator followed the old lady into one

carriage; Mr. Morton followed alone into the other; and they were

driven away to Bragton.

When Mrs. Hopkins had taken the old lady up to her room Mr. Morton

asked the Senator to walk round the grounds. Mr. Gotobed, lighting

an enormous cigar of which he put half down his throat for more

commodious and quick consumption, walked on to the middle of the

drive, and turning back looked up at the house, "Quite a pile," he

said, observing that the offices and outhouses extended a long way to

the left till they almost joined other buildings in which were the

stables and coach-house.

"It's a good-sized house,"--said the owner;--"nothing very

particular, as houses are built now-a-days."

"Damp; I should say?"

"I think not. I have never lived here much myself; but I have not

heard that it is considered so."

"I guess it's damp. Very lonely;--isn't it?"

"We like to have our society inside, among ourselves, in the

country."

"Keep a sort of hotel--like?" suggested Mr. Gotobed. "Well, I don't

dislike hotel life, especially when there are no charges. How many

servants do you want to keep up such a house as that?"

Mr. Morton explained that at present he knew very little about it

himself, then led him away by the path over the bridge, and turning

to the left showed him the building which had once been the kennels

of the Rufford hounds. "All that for dogs!" exclaimed Mr. Gotobed.

"All for dogs," said Morton. "Hounds, we generally call them."

"Hounds are they? Well;--I'll remember; though 'dogs' seems to me

more civil. How many used there to be?"

"About fifty couple, I think."

"A hundred dogs! No wonder your country gentlemen burst up so often.

Wouldn't half-a-dozen do as well,--except for the show of the thing?"

"Half-a-dozen hounds couldn't hunt a fox, Mr. Gotobed."

"I guess half-a-dozen would do just as well, only for the show. What

strikes me, Mr. Morton, on visiting this old country is that so much

is done for show."

"What do you say to New York, Mr. Gotobed?"

"There certainly are a couple of hundred fools in New York, who,

having more money than brains, amuse themselves by imitating European

follies. But you won't find that through the country, Mr. Morton. You

won't find a hundred dogs at an American planter's house when ten or

twelve would do as well."

"Hunting is not one of your amusements."

"Yes it is. I've been a hunter myself. I've had nothing to eat but

what I killed for a month together. That's more than any of your

hunters can say. A hundred dogs to kill one fox!"

"Not all at the same time, Mr. Gotobed."

"And you have got none now?"

"I don't hunt myself."

"And does nobody hunt the foxes about here at present?" Then Morton

explained that on the Saturday following the U. R. U. hounds, under

the mastership of that celebrated sportsman Captain Glomax, would

meet at eleven o'clock exactly at the spot on which they were then

standing, and that if Mr. Gotobed would walk out after breakfast he

should see the whole paraphernalia, including about half a hundred

"dogs," and perhaps a couple of hundred men on horseback. "I shall

be delighted to see any institution of this great country," said Mr.

Gotobed, "however much opposed it may be to my opinion either of

utility or rational recreation." Then, having nearly eaten up one

cigar, he lit another preparatory to eating it, and sauntered back to

the house.

Before dinner that evening there were a few words between the Paragon

and his grandmother. "I'm afraid you won't like my American friend,"

he said.

"He is all very well, John. Of course an American member of Congress

can't be an English gentleman. You, in your position, have to be

civil to such people. I dare say I shall get on very well with Mr.

Gotobed."

"I must get somebody to meet him."

"Lady Augustus and her daughter are coming."

"They knew each other in Washington. And there will be so many

ladies."

"You could ask the Coopers from Mallingham," suggested the lady.

"I don't think they would dine out. He's getting very old."

"And I'm told the Mainwarings at Dillsborough are very nice people,"

said Mrs. Morton, who knew that Mr. Mainwaring at any rate came from

a good family.

"I suppose they ought to call first. I never saw them in my life.

Reginald Morton, you know, is living at Hoppet Hall in Dillsborough."

"You don't mean to say you wish to ask him to this house?"

"I think I ought. Why should I take upon myself to quarrel with a man

I have not seen since I was a child, and who certainly is my cousin?"

"I do not know that he is your cousin;--nor do you."

John Morton passed by the calumny which he had heard before, and

which he knew that it was no good for him to attempt to subvert. "He

was received here as one of the family, ma'am."

"I know he was;--and with what result?"

"I don't think that I ought to turn my back upon him because my

great-grandfather left property away from me to him. It would give me

a bad name in the county. It would be against me when I settle down

to live here. I think quarrelling is the most foolish thing a man can

do,--especially with his own relations."

"I can only say this, John;--let me know if he is coming, so that

I may not be called upon to meet him. I will not eat at table with

Reginald Morton." So saying the old lady, in a stately fashion,

stalked out of the room.

CHAPTER IX.

THE OLD KENNELS.

On the next morning Mrs. Morton asked her grandson what he meant to

do with reference to his suggested invitation to Reginald. "As you

will not meet him of course I have given up the idea," he said.

The "of course" had been far from true. He had debated the matter

very much with himself. He was an obstinate man, with something of

independence in his spirit. He liked money, but he liked having his

own way too. The old lady looked as though she might live to be a

hundred,--and though she might last only for ten years longer, was it

worth his while to be a slave for that time? And he was by no means

sure of her money, though he should be a slave. He almost made up his

mind that he would ask Reginald Morton. But then the old lady would

be in her tantrums, and there would be the disagreeable necessity

of making an explanation to that inquisitive gentleman Mr. Elias

Gotobed.

"I couldn't have met him, John; I couldn't indeed. I remember so well

all that occurred when your poor infatuated old great-grandfather

would have that woman into the house! I was forced to have my meals

in my bedroom, and to get myself taken away as soon as I could get a

carriage and horses. After all that I ought not to be asked to meet

the child."

"I was thinking of asking old Mr. Cooper on Monday. I know she

doesn't go out. And perhaps Mr. Mainwaring wouldn't take it amiss.

Mr. Puttock, I know, isn't at home; but if he were, he couldn't

come." Mr. Puttock was the rector of Bragton, a very rich living, but

was unfortunately afflicted with asthma.

"Poor man. I heard of that; and he's only been here about six years.

I don't see why Mr. Mainwaring should take it amiss at all. You can

explain that you are only here a few days. I like to meet clergymen.

I think that it is the duty of a country gentleman to ask them to his

house. It shows a proper regard for religion. By-the-bye, John, I

hope that you'll see that they have a fire in the church on Sunday."

The Honourable Mrs. Morton always went to church, and had no doubt of

her own sincerity when she reiterated her prayer that as she forgave

others their trespasses, so might she be forgiven hers. As Reginald

Morton had certainly never trespassed against her perhaps there was

no reason why her thoughts should be carried to the necessity of

forgiving him.

The Paragon wrote two very diplomatic notes, explaining his temporary

residence and expressing his great desire to become acquainted with

his neighbours. Neither of the two clergymen were offended, and both

of them promised to eat his dinner on Monday. Mr. Mainwaring was very

fond of dining out, and would have gone almost to any gentleman's

house. Mr. Cooper had been enough in the neighbourhood to have

known the old squire, and wrote an affectionate note expressing his

gratification at the prospect of renewing his acquaintance with the

little boy whom he remembered. So the party was made up for Monday.

John Morton was very nervous on the matter, fearing that Lady

Augustus would think the land to be barren.

The Friday passed by without much difficulty. The Senator was driven

about, and everything was inquired into. One or two farm-houses were

visited, and the farmers' wives were much disturbed by the questions

asked them. "I don't think they'd get a living in the States," was

the Senator's remark after leaving one of the homesteads in which

neither the farmer nor his wife had shown much power of conversation.

"Then they're right to stay where they are," replied Mr. Morton, who

in spite of his diplomacy could not save himself from being nettled.

"They seem to get a very good living here, and they pay their rent

punctually."

On the Saturday morning the hounds met at the "Old Kennels," as the

meet was always called, and here was an excellent opportunity of

showing to Mr. Gotobed one of the great institutions of the country.

It was close to the house and therefore could be reached without any

trouble, and as it was held on Morton's own ground, he could do more

towards making his visitor understand the thing than might have been

possible elsewhere. When the hounds moved the carriage would be ready

to take them about the roads, and show them as much as could be seen

on wheels.

Punctually at eleven John Morton and his American guest were on the

bridge, and Tony Tuppett was already occupying his wonted place,

seated on a strong grey mare that had done a great deal of work, but

would live,--as Tony used to say,--to do a great deal more. Round him

the hounds were clustered,--twenty-three couple in all,--some seated

on their haunches, some standing obediently still, while a few moved

about restlessly, subject to the voices and on one or two occasions

to a gentle administration of thong from the attendant whips. Four or

five horsemen were clustering round, most of them farmers, and were

talking to Tony. Our friend Mr. Twentyman was the only man in a red

coat who had yet arrived, and with him, on her brown pony, was Kate

Masters, who was listening with all her ears to every word that Tony

said.

"That, I guess, is the Captain you spoke of," said the Senator

pointing to Tony Tuppett.

"Oh no;--that's the huntsman. Those three men in caps are the

servants who do the work."

"The dogs can't be brought out without servants to mind them! They're

what you call gamekeepers." Morton was explaining that the men were

not gamekeepers when Captain Glomax himself arrived, driving a

tandem. There was no road up to the spot, but on hunt mornings,--or

at any rate when the meet was at the old kennels,--the park-gates

were open so that vehicles could come up on the green sward.

"That's Captain Glomax, I suppose," said Morton. "I don't know him,

but from the way he's talking to the huntsman you may be sure of it."

"He is the great man, is he? All these dogs belong to him?"

"Either to him or the hunt."

"And he pays for those servants?"

"Certainly."

"He is a very rich man, I suppose." Then Mr. Morton endeavoured to

explain the position of Captain Glomax. He was not rich. He was no

one in particular--except that he was Captain Glomax; and his one

attribute was a knowledge of hunting. He didn't keep the "dogs" out

of his own pocket. He received £2,000 a year from the gentlemen of

the county, and he himself only paid anything which the hounds and

horses might cost over that. "He's a sort of upper servant then?"

asked the Senator.

"Not at all. He's the greatest man in the county on hunting days."

"Does he live out of it?"

"I should think not."

"It's a deal of trouble, isn't it?"

"Full work for an active man's time, I should say." A great many more

questions were asked and answered, at the end of which the Senator

declared that he did not quite understand it, but that as far as he

saw he did not think very much of Captain Glomax.

"If he could make a living out of it I should respect him," said the

Senator;--"though it's like knife-grinding or handling arsenic,--an

unwholesome sort of profession."

"I think they look very nice," said Morton, as one or two

well-turned-out young men rode up to the place.

"They seem to me to have thought more about their breeches than

anything else," said the Senator. "But if they're going to hunt why

don't they hunt? Have they got a fox with them?" Then there was a

further explanation.

At this moment there was a murmur as of a great coming arrival, and

then an open carriage with four post-horses was brought at a quick

trot into the open space. There were four men dressed for hunting

inside, and two others on the box. They were all smoking, and all

talking. It was easy to see that they did not consider themselves the

least among those who were gathered together on this occasion. The

carriage was immediately surrounded by grooms and horses, and the

ceremony of disencumbering themselves of great coats and aprons, of

putting on spurs and fastening hat-strings was commenced. Then there

were whispered communications from the grooms, and long faces under

some of the hats. This horse hadn't been fit since last Monday's run,

and that man's hack wasn't as it should be. A muttered curse might

have been heard from one gentleman as he was told, on jumping from

the box, that Harry Stubbings hadn't sent him any second horse to

ride. "I didn't hear nothing about it till yesterday, Captain," said

Harry Stubbings, "and every foot I had fit to come out was bespoke."

The groom, however, who heard this was quite aware that Mr. Stubbings

did not wish to give unlimited credit to the Captain, and he knew

also that the second horse was to have carried his master the whole

day, as the animal which was brought to the meet had been ridden

hard on the previous Wednesday. At all this the Senator looked with

curious eyes, thinking that he had never in his life seen brought

together a set of more useless human beings.

"That is Lord Rufford," said Morton, pointing to a stout,

ruddy-faced, handsome man of about thirty, who was the owner of the

carriage.

"Oh, a lord. Do the lords hunt generally?"

"That's as they like it."

"Senators with us wouldn't have time for that," said the Senator.

"But you are paid to do your work."

"Everybody from whom work is expected should be paid. Then the work

will be done, or those who pay will know the reason why."

"I must speak to Lord Rufford," said Morton. "If you'll come with me,

I'll introduce you." The Senator followed willingly enough and the

introduction was made while his lordship was still standing by his

horse. The two men had known each other in London, and it was natural

that Morton, as owner of the ground, should come out and speak to the

only man who knew him. It soon was spread about that the gentleman

talking to Lord Rufford was John Morton, and many who lived in the

county came up to shake hands with him. To some of these the Senator

was introduced and the conversation for a few minutes seemed to

interrupt the business on hand. "I am sorry you should be on foot,

Mr. Gotobed," said the lord.

"And I am sorry that I cannot mount him," said Mr. Morton.

"We can soon get over that difficulty if he will allow me to offer

him a horse."

The Senator looked as though he would almost like it, but he didn't

quite like it. "Perhaps your horse might kick me off, my lord."

"I can't answer for that; but he isn't given to kicking, and there he

is, if you'll get on him." But the Senator felt that the exhibition

would suit neither his age nor position, and refused.

"We'd better be moving," said Captain Glomax. "I suppose, Lord

Rufford, we might as well trot over to Dillsborough Wood at once. I

saw Bean as I came along and he seemed to wish we should draw the

wood first." Then there was a little whispering between his lordship

and the Master and Tony Tuppett. His lordship thought that as Mr.

Morton was there the hounds might as well be run through the Bragton

spinnies. Tony made a wry face and shook his head. He knew that

though the Old Kennels might be a very good place for meeting there

was no chance of finding a fox at Bragton. And Captain Glomax, who,

being an itinerary master, had no respect whatever for a country

gentleman who didn't preserve, also made a long face and also shook

his head. But Lord Rufford, who knew the wisdom of reconciling a

newcomer in the county to foxhunting, prevailed and the hounds and

men were taken round a part of Bragton Park.

"What 'd t' old squire 've said if he'd 've known there hadn't been

a fox at Bragton for more nor ten year?" This remark was made by

Tuppett to Mr. Runciman who was riding by him. Mr. Runciman replied

that there was a great difference in people. "You may say that, Mr.

Runciman. It's all changes. His lordship's father couldn't bear the

sight of a hound nor a horse and saddle. Well;--I suppose I needn't

gammon any furder. We'll just trot across to the wood at once."

"They haven't begun yet as far as I can see," said Mr. Gotobed

standing up in the carriage.

"They haven't found as yet," replied Morton.

"They must go on till they find a fox? They never bring him with

them?" Then there was an explanation as to bagged foxes, Morton not

being very conversant with the subject he had to explain. "And if

they shouldn't find one all day?"

"Then it'll be a blank."

"And these hundred gentlemen will go home quite satisfied with

themselves?"

"No;--they'll go home quite dissatisfied."

"And have paid their money and given their time for nothing? Do you

know it doesn't seem to me the most heart-stirring thing in the

world. Don't they ride faster than that?" At this moment Tony with

the hounds at his heels was trotting across the park at a huntsman's

usual pace from covert to covert. The Senator was certainly

ungracious. Nothing that he saw produced from him a single word

expressive of satisfaction.

Less than a mile brought them to the gate and road leading up to

Chowton Farm. They passed close by Larry Twentyman's door, and not

a few, though it was not yet more than half-past eleven, stopped

to have a glass of Larry's beer. When the hounds were in the

neighbourhood Larry's beer was always ready. But Tony and his

attendants trotted by with eyes averted, as though no thought of beer

was in their minds. Nothing had been done, and a huntsman is not

entitled to beer till he has found a fox. Captain Glomax followed

with Lord Rufford and a host of others. There was plenty of way here

for carriages, and half a dozen vehicles passed through Larry's

farmyard. Immediately behind the house was a meadow, and at the

bottom of the meadow a stubble field, next to which was the ditch

and bank which formed the bounds of Dillsborough Wood. Just at this

side of the gate leading into the stubble-field there was already a

concourse of people when Tony arrived near it with the hounds, and

immediately there was a holloaing and loud screeching of directions,

which was soon understood to mean that the hounds were at once to be

taken away! The Captain rode on rapidly, and then sharply gave his

orders. Tony was to take the hounds back to Mr. Twentyman's farmyard

as fast as he could, and shut them up in a barn. The whips were put

into violent commotion. Tony was eagerly at work. Not a hound was

to be allowed near the gate. And then, as the crowd of horsemen and

carriages came on, the word "poison" was passed among them from mouth

to mouth!

"What does all this mean?" said the Senator.

"I don't at all know. I'm afraid there's something wrong," replied

Morton.

"I heard that man say 'poison.' They have taken the dogs back again."

Then the Senator and Morton got out of the carriage and made their

way into the crowd. The riders who had grooms on second horses were

soon on foot, and a circle was made, inside which there was some

object of intense interest. In the meantime the hounds had been

secured in one of Mr. Twentyman's barns.

What was that object of interest shall be told in the next chapter.

CHAPTER X.

GOARLY'S REVENGE.

The Senator and Morton followed close on the steps of Lord Rufford

and Captain Glomax and were thus able to make their way into the

centre of the crowd. There, on a clean sward of grass, laid out as

carefully as though he were a royal child prepared for burial, was--a

dead fox. "It's pi'son, my lord; it's pi'son to a moral," said Bean,

who as keeper of the wood was bound to vindicate himself, and his

master, and the wood. "Feel of him, how stiff he is." A good many did

feel, but Lord Rufford stood still and looked at the poor victim in

silence. "It's easy knowing how he come by it," said Bean.

The men around gazed into each other's faces with a sad tragic air,

as though the occasion were one which at the first blush was too

melancholy for many words. There was whispering here and there

and one young farmer's son gave a deep sigh, like a steam-engine

beginning to work, and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

"There ain't nothin' too bad,--nothin'," said another,--leaving his

audience to imagine whether he were alluding to the wretchedness

of the world in general or to the punishment which was due to the

perpetrator of this nefarious act. The dreadful word "vulpecide" was

heard from various lips with an oath or two before it. "It makes me

sick of my own land, to think it should be done so near," said Larry

Twentyman, who had just come up. Mr. Runciman declared that they must

set their wits to work not only to find the criminal but to prove the

crime against him, and offered to subscribe a couple of sovereigns on

the spot to a common fund to be raised for the purpose. "I don't know

what is to be done with a country like this," said Captain Glomax,

who, as an itinerant, was not averse to cast a slur upon the land of

his present sojourn.

"I don't remember anything like it on my property before," said the

lord, standing up for his own estate and the county at large.

"Nor in the hunt," said young Hampton. "Of course such a thing may

happen anywhere. They had foxes poisoned in the Pytchley last year."

"It shows a d---- bad feeling somewhere," said the Master.

"We know very well where the feeling is," said Bean who had by this

time taken up the fox, determined not to allow it to pass into any

hands less careful than his own.

"It's that scoundrel, Goarly," said one of the Botseys. Then there

was an indignant murmur heard, first of all from two or three and

then running among the whole crowd. Everybody knew as well as though

he had seen it that Goarly had baited meat with strychnine and put

it down in the wood. "Might have pi'soned half the pack!" said Tony

Tuppett, who had come up on foot from the barn where the hounds were

still imprisoned, and had caught hold in an affectionate manner of

a fore pad of the fox which Bean had clutched by the two hind legs.

Poor Tony Tuppett almost shed tears as he looked at the dead animal,

and thought what might have been the fate of the pack. "It's him,

my lord," he said, "as we run through Littleton gorse Monday after

Christmas last, and up to Impington Park where he got away from us

in a hollow tree. He's four year old," added Tony, looking at the

animal's mouth, "and there warn't a finer dog fox in the county."

"Do they know all the foxes?" asked the Senator. In answer to this,

Morton only shook his head, not feeling quite sure himself how far a

huntsman's acquaintance in that line might go, and being also too

much impressed by the occasion for speculative conversation.

"It's that scoundrel Goarly" had been repeated again and again; and

then on a sudden Goarly himself was seen standing on the further

hedge of Larry's field with a gun in his hand. He was not at this

time above two hundred yards from them, and was declared by one of

the young farmers to be grinning with delight. The next field was

Goarly's, but the hedge and ditch belonged to Twentyman. Larry rushed

forward as though determined to thrash the man, and two or three

followed him. But Lord Rufford galloped on and stopped them. "Don't

get into a row with a fellow like that," he said to Twentyman.

"He's on my land, my lord," said Larry impatiently.

"I'm on my own now, and let me see who'll dare to touch me," said

Goarly jumping down.

"You've put poison down in that wood," said Larry.

"No I didn't;--but I knows who did. It ain't I as am afeard for

my young turkeys." Now it was well known that old Mrs. Twentyman,

Larry's mother, was fond of young turkeys, and that her poultry-yard

had suffered. Larry, in his determination to be a gentleman, had

always laughed at his mother's losses. But now to be accused in this

way was terrible to his feelings! He made a rush as though to jump

over the hedge, but Lord Rufford again intercepted him. "I didn't

think, Mr. Twentyman, that you'd care for what such a fellow as that

might say." By this time Lord Rufford was off his horse, and had

taken hold of Larry.

"I'll tell you all what it is," screamed Goarly, standing just at the

edge of his own field,--"if a hound comes out of the wood on to my

land, I'll shoot him. I don't know nothing about p'isoning, though I

dare say Mr. Twentyman does. But if a hound comes on my land, I'll

shoot him,--open, before you all." There was, however, no danger of

such a threat being executed on this day, as of course no hound would

be allowed to go into Dillsborough Wood.

Twentyman was reluctantly brought back into the meadow where the

horses were standing, and then a consultation was held as to what

they should do next. There were some who thought that the hounds

should be taken home for the day. It was as though some special

friend of the U. R. U. had died that morning, and that the spirits of

the sportsmen were too dejected for their sport. Others, with prudent

foresight, suggested that the hounds might run back from some distant

covert to Dillsborough, and that there should be no hunting till the

wood had been thoroughly searched. But the strangers, especially

those who had hired horses, would not hear of this; and after

considerable delay it was arranged that the hounds should be trotted

off as quickly as possible to Impington Gorse, which was on the other

side of Impington Park, and fully five miles distant. And so they

started, leaving the dead fox in the hands of Bean the gamekeeper.

"Is this the sort of thing that occurs every day?" asked the Senator

as he got back into the carriage.

"I should fancy not," answered Morton. "Somebody has poisoned a fox,

and I don't think that that is very often done about here."

"Why did he poison him?"

"To save his fowls I suppose."

"Why shouldn't he poison him if the fox takes his fowls? Fowls are

better than foxes."

"Not in this country," said Morton.

"Then I'm very glad I don't live here," said Mr. Gotobed. "These

friends of yours are dressed very nicely and look very well,--but

a fox is a nasty animal. It was that man standing up on the

bank;--wasn't it?" continued the Senator, who was determined to

understand it all to the very bottom, in reference to certain

lectures which he intended to give on his return to the States,--and

perhaps also in the old country before he left it.

"They suspect him."

"That man with the gun! One man against two hundred! Now I respect

that man;--I do with all my heart."

"You'd better not say so here, Mr. Gotobed."

"I know how full of prejudice you all air',--but I do respect him. If

I comprehend the matter rightly, he was on his own land when we saw

him."

"Yes;--that was his own field."

"And they meant to ride across it whether he liked it or no?"

"Everybody rides across everybody's land out hunting."

"Would they ride across your park, Mr. Morton, if you didn't let

them?"

"Certainly they would,--and break down all my gates if I had them

locked, and pull down my park palings to let the hounds through."

"And you could get no compensation?"

"Practically I could get none. And certainly I should not try. The

greatest enemy to hunting in the whole county would not be foolish

enough to make the attempt."

"Why so?"

"He would get no satisfaction, and everybody would hate him."

"Then I respect that man the more. What is that man's name?" Morton

hadn't heard the name, or had forgotten it. "I shall find that man

out, and have some conversation with him, Mr. Morton. I respect that

man, Mr. Morton. He's one against two hundred, and he insists upon

his rights. Those men standing round and wiping their eyes, and

stifled with grief because a fox had been poisoned, as though some

great patriot had died among them in the service of his country,

formed one of the most remarkable phenomena, sir, that ever I beheld

in any country. When I get among my own people in Mickewa and tell

them that,--they won't believe me, sir."

In the meantime the cavalcade was hurrying away to Impington Gorse,

and John Morton, feeling that he had not had an opportunity as yet of

showing his American friend the best side of hunting, went with them.

The five miles were five long miles, and as the pace was not above

seven miles an hour, nearly an hour was occupied. There was therefore

plenty of opportunity for the Senator to inquire whether the

gentlemen around him were as yet enjoying their sport. There was an

air of triumph about him as to the misfortunes of the day, joined to

a battery of continued raillery, which made it almost impossible for

Morton to keep his temper. He asked whether it was not at any rate

better than trotting a pair of horses backwards and forwards over the

same mile of road for half the day, as is the custom in the States.

But the Senator, though he did not quite approve of trotting matches,

argued that there was infinitely more of skill and ingenuity in

the American pastime. "Everybody is so gloomy," said the Senator,

lighting his third cigar. "I've been watching that young man in pink

boots for the last half hour, and he hasn't spoken a word to any

one."

"Perhaps he's a stranger," said Morton.

"And that's the way you treat him!"

It was past two when the hounds were put into the gorse, and

certainly no one was in a very good humour. A trot of five miles is

disagreeable, and two o'clock in November is late for finding a first

fox; and then poisoning is a vice that may grow into a habit! There

was a general feeling that Goarly ought to be extinguished, but

an idea that it might be difficult to extinguish him. The whips,

nevertheless, cantered on to the corner of the covert, and Tony put

in his hounds with a cheery voice. The Senator remarked that the

gorse was a very little place,--for as they were on the side of an

opposite hill they could see it all. Lord Rufford, who was standing

by the carriage, explained to him that it was a favourite resort of

foxes, and difficult to draw as being very close. "Perhaps they've

poisoned him too," said the Senator. It was evident from his voice

that had such been the case, he would not have been among the

mourners. "The blackguards are not yet thick enough in our country

for that," said Lord Rufford, meaning to be sarcastic.

Then a whimper was heard from a hound,--at first very low, and then

growing into a fuller sound. "There he is," said young Hampton. "For

heaven's sake get those fellows away from that side, Glomax." This

was uttered with so much vehemence that the Senator looked up in

surprise. Then the Captain galloped round the side of the covert,

and, making use of some strong language, stopped the ardour of

certain gentlemen who were in a hurry to get away on what they

considered good terms. Lord Rufford, Hampton, Larry Twentyman and

others sat stock-still on their horses, watching the gorse. Ned

Botsey urged himself a little forward down the hill, and was creeping

on when Captain Glomax asked him whether he would be so ---- ----

obliging kind as to remain where he was for half a minute. Ned took

the observations in good part and stopped his horse. "Does he do all

that cursing and swearing for the £2,000?" asked the Senator.

The fox traversed the gorse back from side to side and from corner to

corner again and again. There were two sides certainly at which he

might break, but though he came out more than once he could not be

got to go away.

"They'll kill him now before he breaks," said the elder Botsey.

"Brute!" exclaimed his brother.

"They're hot on him now," said Hampton. At this time the whole side

of the hill was ringing with the music of the hounds.

"He was out then, but Dick turned him," said Larry. Dick was one of

the whips.

"Will you be so kind, Mr. Morton," asked the Senator, "as to tell me

whether they're hunting yet? They've been at it for three hours and a

half, and I should like to know when they begin to amuse themselves."

Just as he had spoken there came from Dick a cry that he was away.

Tony, who had been down at the side of the gorse, at once jumped into

it, knowing the passage through. Lord Rufford, who for the last five

or six minutes had sat perfectly still on his horse, started down the

hill as though he had been thrown from a catapult. There was a little

hand-gate through which it was expedient to pass, and in a minute

a score of men were jostling for the way, among whom were the two

Botseys, our friend Runciman, and Larry Twentyman, with Kate Masters

on the pony close behind him. Young Hampton jumped a very nasty fence

by the side of the wicket, and Lord Rufford followed him. A score of

elderly men, with some young men among them too, turned back into a

lane behind them, having watched long enough to see that they were to

take the lane to the left, and not the lane to the right. After all

there was time enough, for when the men had got through the hand-gate

the hounds were hardly free of the covert, and Tony, riding up the

side of the hill opposite, was still blowing his horn. But they were

off at last, and the bulk of the field got away on good terms with

the hounds. "Now they are hunting," said Mr. Morton to the Senator.

"They all seemed to be very angry with each other at that narrow

gate."

"They were in a hurry, I suppose."

"Two of them jumped over the hedge. Why didn't they all jump? How

long will it be now before they catch him?"

"Very probably they may not catch him at all."

"Not catch him after all that! Then the man was certainly right to

poison that other fox in the wood. How long will they go on?"

"Half an hour perhaps."

"And you call that hunting! Is it worth the while of all those men to

expend all that energy for such a result? Upon the whole, Mr. Morton,

I should say that it is one of the most incomprehensible things that

I have ever seen in the course of a rather long and varied life.

Shooting I can understand, for you have your birds. Fishing I can

understand, as you have your fish. Here you get a fox to begin with,

and are all broken-hearted. Then you come across another, after

riding about all day, and the chances are you can't catch him!"

"I suppose," said Mr. Morton angrily, "the habits of one country

are incomprehensible to the people of another. When I see Americans

loafing about in the bar-room of an hotel, I am lost in amazement."

"There is not a man you see who couldn't give a reason for his being

there. He has an object in view,--though perhaps it may be no better

than to rob his neighbour. But here there seems to be no possible

motive."

CHAPTER XI.

FROM IMPINGTON GORSE.

The fox ran straight from the covert through his well-known haunts

to Impington Park, and as the hounds were astray there for two or

three minutes there was a general idea that he too had got up into a

tree,--which would have amused the Senator very much had the Senator

been there. But neither had the country nor the pace been adapted to

wheels, and the Senator and the Paragon were now returning along the

road towards Bragton. The fox had tried his old earths at Impington

High wood, and had then skulked back along the outside of the covert.

Had not one of the whips seen him he would have been troubled no

further on that day,--a fact, which if it could have been explained

to the Senator in all its bearings, would greatly have added to his

delight. But Dick viewed him; and with many holloas and much blowing

of horns, and prayers from Captain Glomax that gentlemen would only

be so good as to hold their tongues, and a full-tongued volley of

abuse from half the field against an unfortunate gentleman who rode

after the escaping fox before a hound was out of the covert, they

settled again to their business. It was pretty to see the quiet ease

and apparent nonchalance and almost affected absence of bustle of

those who knew their work,--among whom were especially to be named

young Hampton, and the elder Botsey, and Lord Rufford, and, above

all, a dark-visaged, long-whiskered, sombre, military man who had

been in the carriage with Lord Rufford, and who had hardly spoken

a word to any one the whole day. This was the celebrated Major

Caneback, known to all the world as one of the dullest men and best

riders across country that England had ever produced. But he was not

so dull but that he knew how to make use of his accomplishment, so

as always to be able to get a mount on a friend's horses. If a man

wanted to make a horse, or to try a horse, or to sell a horse, or to

buy a horse, he delighted to put Major Caneback up. The Major was

sympathetic and made his friend's horses, and tried them, and sold

them. Then he would take his two bottles of wine,--of course from

his friend's cellar,--and when asked about the day's sport would be

oracular in two words, "Rather slow," "Quick spurt," "Goodish thing,"

"Regularly mulled," and such like. Nevertheless it was a great thing

to have Major Caneback with you. To the list of those who rode well

and quietly must in justice be added our friend Larry Twentyman, who

was in truth a good horseman. And he had three things to do which it

was difficult enough to combine. He had a young horse which he would

have liked to sell; he had to coach Kate Masters on his pony;--and he

desired to ride like Major Caneback.

From Impington Park they went in a straight line to Littleton Gorse

skirting certain small woods which the fox disdained to enter. Here

the pace was very good, and the country was all grass. It was the

very cream of the U. R. U.; and could the Senator have read the

feelings of the dozen leading men in the run, he would have owned

that they were for the time satisfied with their amusement. Could he

have read Kate Masters' feelings he would have had to own that she

was in an earthly Paradise. When the pony paused at the big brook,

brought his four legs steadily down on the brink as though he were

going to bathe, then with a bend of his back leaped to the other

side, dropping his hind legs in and instantly recovering them, and

when she saw that Larry had waited just a moment for her, watching to

see what might be her fate, she was in heaven. "Wasn't it a big one,

Larry?" she asked in her triumph. "He did go in behind!" "Those cats

of things always do it somehow," Larry replied darting forward again

and keeping the Major well in his eye. The brook had stopped one or

two, and tidings came up that Ned Botsey had broken his horse's back.

The knowledge of the brook had sent some round by the road,--steady

riding men such as Mr. Runciman and Doctor Nupper. Captain Glomax had

got into it and came up afterwards wet through, with temper by no

means improved. But the glory of the day had been the way in which

Lord Rufford's young bay mare, who had never seen a brook before,

had flown over it with the Major on her back, taking it, as Larry

afterwards described, "just in her stride, without condescending to

look at it. I was just behind the Major, and saw her do it." Larry

understood that a man should never talk of his own place in a run,

but he didn't quite understand that neither should he talk of having

been close to another man who was supposed to have had the best

of it. Lord Rufford, who didn't talk much of these things, quite

understood that he had received full value for his billet and mount

in the improved character of his mare.

Then there was a little difficulty at the boundary fence of Impington

Hall Farm. The Major who didn't know the ground, tried it at an

impracticable place, and brought his mare down. But she fell at the

right side, and he was quick enough in getting away from her, not to

fall under her in the ditch. Tony Tuppet, who knew every foot of that

double ditch and bank, and every foot in the hedge above, kept well

to the left and crept through a spot where one ditch ran into the

other, intersecting of the fence. Tony, like a knowing huntsman as

he was, rode always for the finish and not for immediate glory. Both

Lord Rufford and Hampton, who in spite of their affected nonchalance

were in truth rather riding against one another, took it all in

a fly, choosing a lighter spot than that which the Major had

encountered. Larry had longed to follow them, or rather to take it

alongside of them, but was mindful at last of Kate and hurried down

the ditch to the spot which Tony had chosen and which was now crowded

by horsemen. "He would have done it as well as the best of them,"

said Kate, panting for breath.

"We're all right," said Larry. "Follow me. Don't let them hustle you

out. Now, Mat, can't you make way for a lady half a minute?" Mat

growled, quite understanding the use which was being made of Kate

Masters; but he did give way and was rewarded with a gracious smile.

"You are going uncommon well, Miss Kate," said Mat, "and I won't stop

you." "I am so much obliged to you, Mr. Ruggles," said Kate, not

scrupling for a moment to take the advantage offered her. The fox had

turned a little to the left, which was in Larry's favour, and the

Major was now close to him, covered on one side with mud, but still

looking as though the mud were all right. There are some men who can

crush their hats, have their boots and breeches full of water, and be

covered with dirt from their faces downwards, and yet look as though

nothing were amiss, while, with others, the marks of a fall are

always provocative either of pity or ridicule. "I hope you're not

hurt, Major Caneback," said Larry, glad of the occasion to speak

to so distinguished an individual. The Major grunted as he rode on,

finding no necessity here even for his customary two words. Little

accidents, such as that, were the price he paid for his day's

entertainment.

As they got within view of Littleton Gorse Hampton, Lord Rufford, and

Tony had the best of it, though two or three farmers were very close

to them. At this moment Tony's mind was much disturbed, and he looked

round more than once for Captain Glomax. Captain Glomax had got into

the brook, and had then ridden down to the high road which ran here

near to them and which, as he knew, ran within one field of the

gorse. He had lost his place and had got a ducking and was a little

out of humour with things in general. It had not been his purpose to

go to Impington on this day, and he was still, in his mind, saying

evil things of the U. R. U. respecting that poisoned fox. Perhaps

he was thinking, as itinerant masters often must think, that it was

very hard to have to bear so many unpleasant things for a poor £2,000

a year, and meditating, as he had done for the last two seasons, a

threat that unless the money were increased, he wouldn't hunt the

country more than three times a week. As Tony got near to the gorse

and also near to the road he managed with infinite skill to get the

hounds off the scent, and to make a fictitious cast to the left as

though he thought the fox had traversed that way. Tony knew well

enough that the fox was at that moment in Littleton Gorse;--but he

knew also that the gorse was only six acres, that such a fox as he

had before him wouldn't stay there two minutes after the first hound

was in it, and that Dillsborough Wood,--which to his imagination was

full of poison,--would then be only a mile and a half before him.

Tony, whose fault was a tendency to mystery,--as is the fault of most

huntsmen,--having accomplished his object in stopping the hounds,

pretended to cast about with great diligence. He crossed the road and

was down one side of a field and along another, looking anxiously

for the Captain. "The fox has gone on to the gorse," said the elder

Botsey; "what a stupid old pig he is;"--meaning that Tony Tuppett was

the pig.

"He was seen going on," said Larry, who had come across a man mending

a drain.

"It would be his run of course," said Hampton, who was generally

up to Tony's wiles, but who was now as much in the dark as others.

Then four or five rode up to the huntsman and told him that the fox

had been seen heading for the gorse. Tony said not a word but bit

his lips and scratched his head and bethought himself what fools

men might be even though they did ride well to hounds. One word of

explanation would have settled it all, but he would not speak that

word till he whispered it to Captain Glomax.

In the meantime there was a crowd in the road waiting to see the

result of Tony's manoeuvres. And then, as is usual on such occasions,

a little mild repartee went about,--what the sportsmen themselves

would have called "chaff." Ned Botsey came up, not having broken

his horse's back as had been rumoured, but having had to drag the

brute out of the brook with the help of two countrymen, and the

Major was asked about his fall till he was forced to open his mouth.

"Double ditch;--mare fell;--matter of course." And then he got

himself out of the crowd, disgusted with the littleness of mankind.

Lord Rufford had been riding a very big chestnut horse, and had

watched the anxious struggles of Kate Masters to hold her place.

Kate, though fifteen, and quite up to that age in intelligence and

impudence, was small and looked almost a child. "That's a nice pony

of yours, my dear," said the Lord. Kate, who didn't quite like being

called "my dear," but who knew that a lord has privileges, said that

it was a very good pony. "Suppose we change," said his lordship.

"Could you ride my horse?" "He's very big," said Kate. "You'd look

like a tom-tit on a haystack," said his lordship. "And if you got on

my pony, you'd look like a haystack on a tom-tit," said Kate. Then it

was felt that Kate Masters had had the best of that little encounter.

"Yes;--I got one there," said Lord Rufford, while his friends were

laughing at him.

At length Captain Glomax was seen in the road and Tony was with him

at once, whispering in his ear that the hounds if allowed to go

on would certainly run into Dillsborough Wood. "D---- the hounds,"

muttered the Captain; but he knew too well what he was about to

face--so terrible a danger. "They're going home," he said as soon as

he had joined Lord Rufford and the crowd.

"Going home!" exclaimed a pink-coated young rider of a hired horse

which had been going well with him; and as he said so he looked at

his watch.

"Unless you particularly wish me to take the hounds to some covert

twenty miles off," answered the sarcastic Master.

"The fox certainly went on to Littleton," said the elder Botsey.

"My dear fellow," said the Captain, "I can tell you where the fox

went quite as well as you can tell me. Do allow a man to know what

he's about some times."

"It isn't generally the custom here to take the hounds off a running

fox," continued Botsey, who subscribed £50, and did not like being

snubbed.

"And it isn't generally the custom to have fox-coverts poisoned,"

said the Captain, assuming to himself the credit due to Tony's

sagacity. "If you wish to be Master of these hounds I haven't the

slightest objection, but while I'm responsible you must allow me

to do my work according to my own judgment." Then the thing was

understood and Captain Glomax was allowed to carry off the hounds

and his ill-humour without another word.

But just at that moment, while the hounds and the master, and Lord

Rufford and his friends, were turning back in their own direction,

John Morton came up with his carriage and the Senator. "Is it all

over?" asked the Senator.

"All over for to-day," said Lord Rufford.

"Did you catch the animal?"

"No, Mr. Gotobed; we couldn't catch him. To tell the truth we didn't

try; but we had a nice little skurry for four or five miles."

"Some of you look very wet." Captain Glomax and Ned Botsey were

standing near the carriage; but the Captain as soon as he heard this,

broke into a trot and followed the hounds.

"Some of us are very wet," said Ned. "That's part of the fun."

"Oh;--that's part of the fun. You found one fox dead and you didn't

kill another because you didn't try. Well; Mr. Morton, I don't think

I shall take to fox hunting even though they should introduce it in

Mickewa. What's become of the rest of the men?"

"Most of them are in the brook," said Ned Botsey as he rode on

towards Dillsborough.

Mr. Runciman was also there and trotted on homewards with Botsey,

Larry, and Kate Masters. "I think I've won my bet," said the

hotel-keeper.

"I don't see that at all. We didn't find in Dillsborough Wood."

"I say we did find in Dillsborough Wood. We found a fox though

unfortunately the poor brute was dead."

"The bet's off I should say. What do you say, Larry?"

Then Runciman argued his case at great length and with much ability.

It had been intended that the bet should be governed by the fact

whether Dillsborough Wood did or did not contain a fox on that

morning. He himself had backed the wood, and Botsey had been strong

in his opinion against the wood. Which of them had been practically

right? Had not the presence of the poisoned fox shown that he was

right? "I think you ought to pay," said Larry.

"All right," said Botsey riding on, and telling himself that that was

what came from making a bet with a man who was not a gentleman.

"He's as unhappy about that hat," said Runciman, "as though beer had

gone down a penny a gallon."

CHAPTER XII.

ARABELLA TREFOIL.

On the Sunday the party from Bragton went to the parish church,--and

found it very cold. The duty was done by a young curate who lived in

Dillsborough, there being no house in Bragton for him. The rector

himself had not been in the church for the last six months, being

an invalid. At present he and his wife were away in London, but the

vicarage was kept up for his use. The service was certainly not

alluring. It was a very wet morning and the curate had ridden over

from Dillsborough on a little pony which the rector kept for him in

addition to the £100 per annum paid for his services. That he should

have got over his service quickly was not a matter of surprise,--nor

was it wonderful that there should have been no soul-stirring matter

in his discourse as he had two sermons to preach every week and to

perform single-handed all the other clerical duties of a parish lying

four miles distant from his lodgings. Perhaps had he expected the

presence of so distinguished a critic as the Senator from Mickewa

he might have done better. As it was, being nearly wet through and

muddy up to his knees, he did not do the work very well. When Morton

and his friends left the church and got into the carriage for their

half-mile drive home across the park, Mrs. Morton was the first to

speak. "John," she said, "that church is enough to give any woman her

death. I won't go there any more."

"They don't understand warming a church in the country," said John

apologetically.

"Is it not a little too large for the congregation?" asked the

Senator.

The church was large and straggling and ill arranged, and on this

particular Sunday had been almost empty. There was in it an harmonium

which Mrs. Puttock played when she was at home, but in her absence

the attempt made by a few rustics to sing the hymns had not been

a musical success. The whole affair had been very sad, and so the

Paragon had felt it who knew,--and was remembering through the whole

service,--how these things are done in transatlantic cities.

"The weather kept the people away I suppose," said Morton.

"Does that gentleman generally draw large congregations?" asked the

persistent Senator.

"We don't go in for drawing congregations here." Under the

cross-examination of his guest the Secretary of Legation almost lost

his diplomatic good temper. "We have a church in every parish for

those who choose to attend it."

"And very few do choose," said the Senator. "I can't say that they're

wrong." There seemed at the moment to be no necessity to carry the

disagreeable conversation any further as they had now reached the

house. Mrs. Morton immediately went up-stairs, and the two gentlemen

took themselves to the fire in the so-called library, which room was

being used as more commodious than the big drawing-room. Mr. Gotobed

placed himself on the rug with his back to the fire and immediately

reverted to the Church. "That gentleman is paid by tithes I suppose."

"He's not the rector. He's a curate."

"Ah;--just so. He looked like a curate. Doesn't the rector do

anything?" Then Morton, who was by this time heartily sick of

explaining, explained the unfortunate state of Mr. Puttock's health,

and the conversation was carried on till gradually the Senator

learned that Mr. Puttock received £800 a year and a house for doing

nothing, and that he paid his deputy £100 a year with the use of a

pony. "And how long will that be allowed to go on, Mr. Morton?" asked

the Senator.

To all these inquiries Morton found himself compelled not only

to answer, but to answer the truth. Any prevarication or attempt

at mystification fell to the ground at once under the Senator's

tremendous powers of inquiry. It had been going on for four years,

and would probably go on now till Mr. Puttock died. "A man of his age

with the asthma may live for twenty years," said the Senator who had

already learned that Mr. Puttock was only fifty. Then he ascertained

that Mr. Puttock had not been presented to, or selected for the

living on account of any peculiar fitness;--but that he had been

a fellow of Rufford at Oxford till he was forty-five, when he had

thought it well to marry and take a living. "But he must have been

asthmatic then?" said the Senator.

"He may have had all the ailments endured by the human race for

anything I know," said the unhappy host.

"And for anything the bishop cared as far as I can see," said the

Senator. "Well now, I guess, that couldn't occur in our country. A

minister may turn out badly with us as well as with you. But we don't

appoint a man without inquiry as to his fitness,--and if a man can't

do his duty he has to give way to some one who can. If the sick

gentleman took the small portion of the stipend and the working man

the larger, would not better justice be done, and the people better

served?"

"Mr. Puttock has a freehold in the parish."

"A freehold possession of men's souls! The fact is, Mr. Morton, that

the spirit of conservatism in this country is so strong that you

cannot bear to part with a shred of the barbarism of the middle ages.

And when a rag is sent to the winds you shriek with agony at the

disruption, and think that the wound will be mortal." As Mr. Gotobed

said this he extended his right hand and laid his left on his breast

as though he were addressing the Senate from his own chair. Morton,

who had offered to entertain the gentleman for ten days, sincerely

wished that he were doing so.

On the Monday afternoon the Trefoils arrived. Mr. Morton, with his

grandmother and both the carriages, went down to receive them,--with

a cart also for the luggage, which was fortunate, as Arabella

Trefoil's big box was very big indeed, and Lady Augustus, though

she was economical in most things, had brought a comfortable amount

of clothes. Each of them had her own lady's maid, so that the two

carriages were necessary. How it was that these ladies lived so

luxuriously was a mystery to their friends, as for some time past

they had enjoyed no particular income of their own. Lord Augustus had

spent everything that came to his hand, and the family owned no house

at all. Nevertheless Arabella Trefoil was to be seen at all parties

magnificently dressed, and never stirred anywhere without her own

maid. It would have been as grievous to her to be called on to live

without food as to go without this necessary appendage. She was a

big, fair girl whose copious hair was managed after such a fashion

that no one could guess what was her own and what was purchased. She

certainly had fine eyes, though I could never imagine how any one

could look at them and think it possible that she should be in love.

They were very large, beautifully blue, but never bright; and the

eyebrows over them were perfect. Her cheeks were somewhat too long

and the distance from her well-formed nose to her upper lip too

great. Her mouth was small and her teeth excellent. But the charm of

which men spoke the most was the brilliance of her complexion. If, as

the ladies said, it was all paint, she, or her maid, must have been

a great artist. It never betrayed itself to be paint. But the beauty

on which she prided herself was the grace of her motion. Though she

was tall and big she never allowed an awkward movement to escape from

her. She certainly did it very well. No young woman could walk across

an archery ground with a finer step, or manage a train with more

perfect ease, or sit upon her horse with a more complete look of

being at home there. No doubt she was slow, but though slow she never

seemed to drag. Now she was, after a certain fashion, engaged to

marry John Morton and perhaps she was one of the most unhappy young

persons in England.

She had long known that it was her duty to marry, and especially her

duty to marry well. Between her and her mother there had been no

reticence on this subject. With worldly people in general, though the

worldliness is manifest enough and is taught by plain lessons from

parents to their children, yet there is generally some thin veil even

among themselves, some transparent tissue of lies, which, though

they never quite hope to deceive each other, does produce among them

something of the comfort of deceit. But between Lady Augustus and

her daughter there had for many years been nothing of the kind. The

daughter herself had been too honest for it. "As for caring about

him, mamma," she had once said, speaking of a suitor, "of course I

don't. He is nasty, and odious in every way. But I have got to do the

best I can, and what is the use of talking about such trash as that?"

Then there had been no more trash between them.

It was not John Morton whom Arabella Trefoil had called nasty and

odious. She had had many lovers, and had been engaged to not a few,

and perhaps she liked John Morton as well as any of them,--except

one. He was quiet, and looked like a gentleman, and was reputed for

no vices. Nor did she quarrel with her fate in that he himself was

not addicted to any pleasures. She herself did not care much for

pleasure. But she did care to be a great lady,--one who would be

allowed to swim out of rooms before others, one who could snub

others, one who could show real diamonds when others wore paste, one

who might be sure to be asked everywhere even by the people who hated

her. She rather liked being hated by women and did not want any man

to be in love with her,--except as far as might be sufficient for the

purpose of marriage. The real diamonds and the high rank would not be

hers with John Morton. She would have to be content with such rank

as is accorded to Ministers at the Courts at which they are employed.

The fall would be great from what she had once expected,--and

therefore she was miserable. There had been a young man, of immense

wealth, of great rank, whom at one time she really had fancied that

she had loved;--but just as she was landing her prey, the prey had

been rescued from her by powerful friends, and she had been all but

broken-hearted. Mr. Morton's fortune was in her eyes small, and

she was beginning to learn that he knew how to take care of his

own money. Already there had been difficulties as to settlements,

difficulties as to pin-money, difficulties as to residence, Lady

Augustus having been very urgent. John Morton, who had really been

captivated by the beauty of Arabella, was quite in earnest; but there

were subjects on which he would not give way. He was anxious to put

his best leg foremost so that the beauty might be satisfied and might

become his own, but there was a limit beyond which he would not go.

Lady Augustus had more than once said to her daughter that it would

not do;--and then there would be all the weary work to do again!

Nobody seeing the meeting on the platform would have imagined that

Mr. Morton and Miss Trefoil were lovers,--and as for Lady Augustus it

would have been thought that she was in some special degree offended

with the gentleman who had come to meet her. She just gave him the

tip of her fingers and then turned away to her maid and called for

the porters and made herself particular and disagreeable. Arabella

vouchsafed a cold smile, but then her smiles were always cold. After

that she stood still and shivered. "Are you cold?" asked Morton. She

shook her head and shivered again. "Perhaps you are tired?" Then she

nodded her head. When her maid came to her in some trouble about the

luggage, she begged that she might not be "bothered;" saying that

no doubt her mother knew all about it. "Can I do anything?" asked

Morton. "Nothing at all I should think," said Miss Trefoil. In the

meantime old Mrs. Morton was standing by as black as thunder--for the

Trefoil ladies had hardly noticed her.

The luggage turned up all right at last,--as luggage always does,

and was stowed away in the cart. Then came the carriage arrangement.

Morton had intended that the two elder ladies should go together with

one of the maids, and that he should put his love into the other,

which having a seat behind, could accommodate the second girl without

disturbing them in the carriage. But Lady Augustus had made some

exception to this and had begged that her daughter might be seated

with herself. It was a point which Morton could not contest out there

among the porters and drivers, so that at last he and his grandmother

had the phaeton together with the two maids in the rumble. "I never

saw such manners in all my life," said the Honourable Mrs. Morton,

almost bursting with passion.

"They are cold and tired, ma'am."

"No lady should be too cold or too tired to conduct herself with

propriety. No real lady is ever so."

"The place is strange to them, you know."

"I hope with all my heart that it may never be otherwise than strange

to them."

When they arrived at the house the strangers were carried into the

library and tea was of course brought to them. The American Senator

was there, but the greetings were very cold. Mrs. Morton took her

place and offered her hospitality in the most frigid manner. There

had not been the smallest spark of love's flame shown as yet, nor did

the girl as she sat sipping her tea seem to think that any such spark

was wanted. Morton did get a seat beside her and managed to take away

her muff and one of her shawls, but she gave them to him almost as

she might have done to a servant. She smiled indeed,--but she smiled

as some women smile at everybody who has any intercourse with them.

"I think perhaps Mrs. Morton will let us go up-stairs," said Lady

Augustus. Mrs. Morton immediately rang the bell and prepared to

precede the ladies to their chambers. Let them be as insolent as

they would she would do what she conceived to be her duty. Then Lady

Augustus stalked out of the room and her daughter swum after her.

"They don't seem to be quite the same as they were in Washington,"

said the Senator.

John Morton got up and left the room without making any reply. He was

thoroughly unhappy. What was he to do for a week with such a houseful

of people? And then, what was he to do for all his life if the

presiding spirit of the house was to be such a one as this? She was

very beautiful,--certainly. So he told himself; and yet as he walked

round the park he almost repented of what he had done. But after

twenty minutes' fast walking he was able to convince himself that all

the fault on this occasion lay with the mother. Lady Augustus had

been fatigued with her journey and had therefore made everybody near

her miserable.

CHAPTER XIII.

AT BRAGTON.

When the ladies went up-stairs the afternoon was not half over and

they did not dine till past seven. As Morton returned to the house in

the dusk he thought that perhaps Arabella might make some attempt to

throw herself in his way. She had often done so when they were not

engaged, and surely she might do so now. There was nothing to prevent

her coming down to the library when she had got rid of her travelling

clothes, and in this hope he looked into the room. As soon as the

door was open the Senator, who was preparing his lecture in his mind,

at once asked whether no one in England had an apparatus for warming

rooms such as was to be found in every well-built house in the

States. The Paragon hardly vouchsafed him a word of reply, but

escaped up-stairs, trusting that he might meet Miss Trefoil on the

way. He was a bold man and even ventured to knock at her door;--but

there was no reply, and, fearing the Senator, he had to betake

himself to his own privacy. Miss Trefoil had migrated to her mother's

room, and there, over the fire, was holding a little domestic

conversation. "I never saw such a barrack in my life," said Lady

Augustus.

"Of course, mamma, we knew that we should find the house such as it

was left a hundred years ago. He told us that himself."

"He should have put something in it to make it at any rate decent

before we came in."

"What's the use if he's to live always at foreign courts?"

"He intends to come home sometimes, I suppose, and, if he didn't, you

would." Lady Augustus was not going to let her daughter marry a man

who could not give her a home for at any rate a part of the year. "Of

course he must furnish the place and have an immense deal done before

he can marry. I think it is a piece of impudence to bring one to such

a place as this."

"That's nonsense, mamma, because he told us all about it."

"The more I see of it all, Arabella, the more sure I am that it won't

do."

"It must do, mamma."

"Twelve hundred a year is all that he offers, and his lawyer says

that he will make no stipulation whatever as to an allowance."

"Really, mamma, you might leave that to me."

"I like to have everything fixed, my dear,--and certain."

"Nothing really ever is certain. While there is anything to get you

may be sure that I shall have my share. As far as money goes I'm not

a bit afraid of having the worst of it,--only there will be so very

little between us."

"That's just it."

"There's no doubt about the property, mamma."

"A nasty beggarly place!"

"And from what everybody says he's sure to be a minister or

ambassador or something of that sort."

"I've no doubt he will. And where'll he have to go to? To Brazil, or

the West Indies, or some British Colony," said her ladyship showing

her ignorance of the Foreign Office service. "That might be very

well. You could stay at home. Only where would you live? He wouldn't

keep a house in town for you. Is this the sort of place you'd like?"

"I don't think it makes any difference where one is," said Arabella

disgusted.

"But I do,--a very great difference. It seems to me that he's

altogether under the control of that hideous old termagant. Arabella,

I think you'd better make up your mind that it won't do."

"It must do," said Arabella.

"You're very fond of him it seems."

"Mamma, how you do delight to torture me;--as if my life weren't bad

enough without your making it worse."

"I tell you, my dear, what I'm bound to tell you--as your mother. I

have my duty to do whether it's painful or not."

"That's nonsense, mamma. You know it is. That might have been all

very well ten years ago."

"You were almost in your cradle, my dear."

"Psha! cradle! I'll tell you what it is, mamma. I've been at it till

I'm nearly broken down. I must settle somewhere;--or else die;--or

else run away. I can't stand this any longer and I won't. Talk of

work,--men's work! What man ever has to work as I do?" I wonder which

was the hardest part of that work, the hairdressing and painting

and companionship of the lady's maid or the continual smiling upon

unmarried men to whom she had nothing to say and for whom she did not

in the least care! "I can't do it any more, and I won't. As for Mr.

Morton, I don't care that for him. You know I don't. I never cared

much for anybody, and shall never again care at all."

"You'll find that will come all right after you are married."

"Like you and papa, I suppose."

"My dear, I had no mother to take care of me, or I shouldn't have

married your father."

"I wish you hadn't, because then I shouldn't be going to marry Mr.

Morton. But, as I have got so far, for heaven's sake let it go on.

If you break with him I'll tell him everything and throw myself into

his hands." Lady Augustus sighed deeply. "I will, mamma. It was you

spotted this man, and when you said that you thought it would do, I

gave way. He was the last man in the world I should have thought of

myself."

"We had heard so much about Bragton!"

"And Bragton is here. The estate is not out of elbows."

"My dear, my opinion is that we've made a mistake. He's not the sort

of man I took him to be. He's as hard as a file."

"Leave that to me, mamma."

"You are determined then?"

"I think I am. At any rate let me look about me. Don't give him an

opportunity of breaking off till I have made up my mind. I can always

break off if I like it. No one in London has heard of the engagement

yet. Just leave me alone for this week to see what I think about it."

Then Lady Augustus threw herself back in her chair and went to sleep,

or pretended to do so.

A little after half-past seven she and her daughter, dressed for

dinner, went down to the library together. The other guests were

assembled there, and Mrs. Morton was already plainly expressing her

anger at the tardiness of her son's guests. The Senator had got hold

of Mr. Mainwaring and was asking pressing questions as to church

patronage,--a subject not very agreeable to the rector of St. John's,

as his living had been bought for him with his wife's money during

the incumbency of an old gentleman of seventy-eight. Mr. Cooper,

who was himself nearly that age and who was vicar of Mallingham, a

parish which ran into Dillsborough and comprehended a part of its

population, was listening to these queries with awe,--and perhaps

with some little gratification, as he had been presented to his

living by the bishop after a curacy of many years. "This kind of

things, I believe, can be bought and sold in the market," said the

Senator, speaking every word with absolute distinctness. But as he

paused for an answer the two ladies came in and the conversation was

changed. Both the clergymen were introduced to Lady Augustus and her

daughter, and Mr. Mainwaring at once took refuge under the shadow of

the ladies' title.

Arabella did not sit down, so that Morton had an opportunity of

standing near to his love. "I suppose you are very tired," he said.

"Not in the least." She smiled her sweetest as she answered him,--but

yet it was not very sweet. "Of course we were tired and cross when we

got out of the train. People always are; aren't they?"

"Perhaps ladies are."

"We were. But all that about the carriages, Mr. Morton, wasn't my

doing. Mamma had been talking to me so much that I didn't know

whether I was on my head or my heels. It was very good of you to come

and meet us, and I ought to have been more gracious." In this way she

made her peace, and as she was quite in earnest,--doing a portion of

the hard work of her life,--she continued to smile as sweetly as she

could. Perhaps he liked it;--but any man endowed with that power of

appreciation which we call sympathy, would have felt it to be as cold

as though it had come from a figure on a glass window.

The dinner was announced. Mr. Morton was honoured with the hand of

Lady Augustus. The Senator handed the old lady into the dining-room

and Mr. Mainwaring the younger lady,--so that Arabella was sitting

next to her lover. It had all been planned by Morton and acceded to

by his grandmother. Mr. Gotobed throughout the dinner had the best of

the conversation, though Lady Augustus had power enough to snub him

on more than one occasion. "Suppose we were to allow at once," she

said, "that everything is better in the United States than anywhere

else, shouldn't we get along easier?"

"I don't know that getting along easy is what we have particularly

got in view," said Mr. Gotobed, who was certainly in quest of

information.

"But it is what I have in view, Mr. Gotobed;--so if you please we'll

take the pre-eminence of your country for granted." Then she turned

to Mr. Mainwaring on the other side. Upon this the Senator addressed

himself for a while to the table at large and had soon forgotten

altogether the expression of the lady's wishes.

"I believe you have a good many churches about here," said Lady

Augustus trying to make conversation to her neighbour.

"One in every parish, I fancy," said Mr. Mainwaring, who preferred

all subjects to clerical subjects. "I suppose London is quite empty

now."

"We came direct from the Duke's," said Lady Augustus,--"and did not

even sleep in town;--but it is empty." The Duke was the brother of

Lord Augustus, and a compromise had been made with Lady Augustus,

by which she and her daughter should be allowed a fortnight every

year at the Duke's place in the country, and a certain amount of

entertainment in town.

"I remember the Duke at Christchurch," said the parson. "He and I

were of the same par. He was Lord Mistletoe then. Dear me, that was

a long time ago. I wonder whether he remembers being upset out of a

trap with me one day after dinner. I suppose we had dined in earnest.

He has gone his way, and I have gone mine, and I've never seen him

since. Pray remember me to him." Lady Augustus said she would,

and did entertain some little increased respect for the clergyman

who could boast that he had been tipsy in company with her worthy

brother-in-law.

Poor Mr. Cooper did not get on very well with Mrs. Morton. All his

remembrances of the old squire were eulogistic and affectionate.

Hers were just the reverse. He had a good word to say for Reginald

Morton,--to which she would not even listen. She was willing enough

to ask questions about the Mallingham tenants;--but Mr. Cooper would

revert back to the old days, and so conversation was at an end.

Morton tried to make himself agreeable to his left-hand

neighbour,--trying also very hard to make himself believe that he was

happy in his immediate position. How often in the various amusements

of the world is one tempted to pause a moment and ask oneself whether

one really likes it! He was conscious that he was working hard,

struggling to be happy, painfully anxious to be sure that he

was enjoying the luxury of being in love. But he was not at all

contented. There she was, and very beautiful she looked; and he

thought that he could be proud of her if she sat at the end of his

table;--and he knew that she was engaged to be his wife. But he

doubted whether she was in love with him; and he almost doubted

sometimes whether he was very much in love with her. He asked her in

so many words what he should do to amuse her. Would she like to ride

with him, as if so he would endeavour to get saddle-horses. Would

she like to go out hunting? Would she be taken round to see the

neighbouring towns, Rufford and Norrington? "Lord Rufford lives

somewhere near Rufford?" she asked. Yes;--he lived at Rufford Hall,

three or four miles from the town. Did Lord Rufford hunt? Morton

believed that he was greatly given to hunting. Then he asked Arabella

whether she knew the young lord. She had just met him, she said, and

had only asked the question because of the name. "He is one of my

neighbours down here," said Morton;--"but being always away of course

I see nothing of him." After that Arabella consented to be taken

out on horseback to see a meet of the hounds although she could not

hunt. "We must see what we can do about horses," he said. She however

professed her readiness to go in the carriage if a saddle-horse could

not be found.

The dinner party I fear was very dull. Mr. Mainwaring perhaps liked

it because he was fond of dining anywhere away from home. Mr. Cooper

was glad once more to see his late old friend's old dining-room. Mr.

Gotobed perhaps obtained some information. But otherwise the affair

was dull. "Are we to have a week of this?" said Lady Augustus when

she found herself up-stairs.

"You must, mamma, if we are to stay till we go to the Gores. Lord

Rufford is here in the neighbourhood."

"But they don't know each other."

"Yes they do;--slightly. I am to go to the meet some day and he'll be

there."

"It might be dangerous."

"Nonsense, mamma! And after all you've been saying about dropping Mr.

Morton!"

"But there is nothing so bad as a useless flirtation."

"Do I ever flirt? Oh, mamma, that after so many years you shouldn't

know me! Did you ever see me yet making myself happy in any way? What

nonsense you talk!" Then without waiting for, or making, any apology,

she walked off to her own room.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE DILLSBOROUGH FEUD.

"It's that nasty, beastly, drunken club," said Mrs. Masters to her

unfortunate husband on the Wednesday morning. It may perhaps be

remembered that the poisoned fox was found on the Saturday, and it

may be imagined that Mr. Goarly had risen in importance since that

day. On the Saturday Bean with a couple of men employed by Lord

Rufford, had searched the wood, and found four or five red herrings

poisoned with strychnine. There had been no doubt about the magnitude

of the offence. On the Monday a detective policeman, dressed of

course in rustic disguise but not the less known to every one in the

place, was wandering about between Dillsborough and Dillsborough Wood

and making futile inquiries as to the purchase of strychnine,--and

also as to the purchase of red herrings. But every one knew, and such

leading people as Runciman and Dr. Nupper were not slow to declare,

that Dillsborough was the only place in England in which one might be

sure that those articles had not been purchased. And on the Tuesday

it began to be understood that Goarly had applied to Bearside, the

other attorney, in reference to his claim against Lord Rufford's

pheasants. He had contemptuously refused the 7_s._ 6_d._ an acre

offered him, and put his demand at 40_s._ As to the poisoned fox and

the herrings and the strychnine Goarly declared that he didn't care

if there were twenty detectives in the place. He stated it to be his

opinion that Larry Twentyman had put down the poison. It was all very

well, Goarly said, for Larry to be fond of gentlemen and to ride to

hounds, and make pretences;--but Larry liked his turkeys as well

as anybody else, and Larry had put down the poison. In this matter

Goarly overreached himself. No one in Dillsborough could be brought

to believe that. Even Harry Stubbings was ready to swear that

he should suspect himself as soon. But nothing was clearer than

this,--that Goarly was going to make a stand against the hunt and

especially against Lord Rufford. He had gone to Bearside and Bearside

had taken up the matter in a serious way. Then it became known very

quickly that Bearside had already received money, and it was surmised

that Goarly had some one at his back. Lord Rufford had lately ejected

from a house of his on the other side of the county a discontented

litigious retired grocer from Rufford, who had made some money

and had set himself up in a pretty little residence with a few

acres of land. The man had made himself objectionable and had been

dispossessed. The man's name was Scrobby; and hence had come these

sorrows. This was the story that had already made itself known in

Dillsborough on the Tuesday evening. But up to that time not a tittle

of evidence had come to light as to the purchase of the red herrings

or the strychnine. All that was known was the fact that had not Tony

Tuppett stopped the hounds before they reached the wood, there must

have been a terrible mortality. "It's that nasty, beastly, drunken

club," said Mrs. Masters to her husband. Of course it was at this

time known to the lady that her husband had thrown away Goarly's

business and that it had been transferred to Bearside. It was also

surmised by her, as it was by the town in general, that Goarly's

business would come to considerable dimensions;--just the sort of

case as would have been sure to bring popularity if carried through,

as Nickem, the senior clerk, would have carried it. And as soon as

Scrobby's name was heard by Mrs. Masters, there was no end to the

money in the lady's imagination to which this very case might not

have amounted.

"The club had nothing to do with it, my dear."

"What time did you come home on Saturday night;--or Sunday morning

I mean? Do you mean to tell me you didn't settle it there?"

"There was no nastiness, and no beastliness, and no drunkenness about

it. I told you before I went that I wouldn't take it."

"No;--you didn't. How on earth are you to go on if you chuck the

children's bread out of their mouths in that way?"

"You won't believe me. Do you ask Twentyman what sort of a man Goarly

is." The attorney knew that Larry was in great favour with his wife

as being the favoured suitor for Mary's hand, and had thought that

this argument would be very strong.

"I don't want Mr. Twentyman to teach me what is proper for my

family,--nor yet to teach you your business. Mr. Twentyman has his

own way of living. He brought home Kate the other day with hardly a

rag of her sister's habit left. She don't go out hunting any more."

"Very well, my dear."

"Indeed for the matter of that I don't see how any of them are to do

anything. What'll Lord Rufford do for you?"

"I don't want Lord Rufford to do anything for me." The attorney was

beginning to have his spirit stirred within him.

"You don't want anybody to do anything, and yet you will do nothing

yourself,--just because a set of drinking fellows in a tap-room,

which you call a club--"

"It isn't a tap-room."

"It's worse, because nobody can see what you're doing. I know how it

was. You hadn't the pluck to hold to your own when Runciman told you

not." There was a spice of truth in this which made it all the more

bitter. "Runciman knows on which side his bread is buttered. He can

make his money out of these swearing-tearing fellows. He can send in

his bills, and get them paid too. And it's all very well for Larry

Twentyman to be hobbing and nobbing with the likes of them Botseys.

But for a father of a family like you to be put off his business by

what Mr. Runciman says is a shame."

"I shall manage my business as I think fit," said the attorney.

"And when we're all in the poor-house what'll you do then?" said

Mrs. Masters,--with her handkerchief out at the spur of the moment.

Whenever she roused her husband to a state of bellicose ire by her

taunts she could always reduce him again by her tears. Being well

aware of this he would bear the taunts as long as he could, knowing

that the tears would be still worse. He was so soft-hearted that when

she affected to be miserable, he could not maintain the sternness

of his demeanour and leave her in her misery. "When everything has

gone away from us, what are we to do? My little bit of money has

disappeared ever so long." Then she sat herself down in her chair and

had a great cry. It was useless for him to remind her that hitherto

she had never wanted anything for herself or her children. She was

resolved that everything was going to the dogs because Goarly's case

had been refused. "And what will all those sporting men do for you?"

she repeated. "I hate the very name of a gentleman;--so I do. I wish

Goarly had killed all the foxes in the county. Nasty vermin! What

good are the likes of them?"

Nickem, the senior clerk, was at first made almost as unhappy as Mrs.

Masters by the weak decision to which his employer had come, and had

in the first flush of his anger resolved to leave the office. He

was sure that the case was one which would just have suited him. He

would have got up the evidence as to the fertility of the land, the

enormous promise of crop, and the ultimate absolute barrenness, to a

marvel. He would have proved clouds of pheasants. And then Goarly's

humble position, futile industry, and general poverty might have been

contrasted beautifully with Lord Rufford's wealth, idleness, and

devotion to sport. Anything above the 7_s._ 6_d._ an acre obtained

against the lord would have been a triumph, and he thought that if

the thing had been well managed, they might probably have got 15_s._

And then, in such a case, Lord Rufford could hardly have taxed the

costs. It was really suicide for an attorney to throw away business

so excellent as this. And now it had gone to Bearside whom Nickem

remembered as a junior to himself when they were both young

hobbledehoys at Norrington,--a dirty, blear-eyed, pimply-faced

boy who was suspected of purloining halfpence out of coat-pockets.

The thing was very trying to Nat Nickem. But suddenly, before that

Wednesday was over, another idea had occurred to him, and he was

almost content. He knew Goarly, and he had heard of Scrobby and

Scrobby's history in regard to the tenement at Rufford. As he could

not get Goarly's case why should he not make something of the case

against Goarly? That detective was merely eking out his time and

having an idle week among the public-houses. If he could set himself

up as an amateur detective he thought that he might perhaps get to

the bottom of it all. It is not a bad thing to be concerned on the

same side with a lord when the lord is in earnest. Lord Rufford was

very angry about the poison in the covert and would probably be ready

to pay very handsomely for having the criminal found and punished.

The criminal of course was Goarly. Nickem did not doubt that for a

moment, and would not have doubted it whichever side he might have

taken. Nickem did not suppose that any one for a moment really

doubted Goarly's guilt. But to his eyes such certainty amounted to

nothing, if evidence of the crime were not forthcoming. He probably

felt within his own bosom that the last judgment of all would depend

in some way on terrestrial evidence, and was quite sure that it was

by such that a man's conscience should be affected. If Goarly had so

done the deed as to be beyond the possibility of detection, Nickem

could not have brought himself to regard Goarly as a sinner. As it

was he had considerable respect for Goarly;--but might it not be

possible to drop down upon Scrobby? Bearside with his case against

the lord would be nowhere, if Goarly could be got to own that he had

been suborned by Scrobby to put down the poison. Or, if in default

of this, any close communication could be proved between Goarly and

Scrobby,--Scrobby's injury and spirit of revenge being patent,--then

too Bearside would not have much of a case. A jury would look at that

question of damages with a very different eye if Scrobby's spirit of

revenge could be proved at the trial, and also the poisoning, and

also machinations between Scrobby and Goarly.

Nickem was a little red-haired man about forty, who wrote a good

flourishing hand, could endure an immense amount of work, and drink a

large amount of alcohol without being drunk. His nose and face were

all over blotches, and he looked to be dissipated and disreputable.

But, as he often boasted, no one could say that "black was the white

of his eye;"--by which he meant to insinuate that he had not been

detected in anything dishonest and that he was never too tipsy to do

his work. He was a married man and did not keep his wife and children

in absolute comfort; but they lived, and Mr. Nickem in some fashion

paid his way.

There was another clerk in the office, a very much younger man, named

Sundown, and Nickem could not make his proposition to Mr. Masters

till Sundown had left the office. Nickem himself had only matured

his plans at dinner time and was obliged to be reticent, till at six

o'clock Sundown took himself off. Mr. Masters was, at the moment,

locking his own desk, when Nickem winked at him to stay. Mr. Masters

did stay, and Sundown did at last leave the office.

"You couldn't let me leave home for three days?" said Nickem. "There

ain't much a doing."

"What do you want it for?"

"That Goarly is a great blackguard, Mr. Masters."

"Very likely. Do you know anything about him?"

Nickem scratched his head and rubbed his chin. "I think I could

manage to know something."

"In what way?"

"I don't think I'm quite prepared to say, sir. I shouldn't use your

name of course. But they're down upon Lord Rufford, and if you could

lend me a trifle of 30_s._, sir, I think I could get to the bottom of

it. His lordship would be awful obliged to any one who could hit it

off."

Mr. Masters did give his clerk leave for three days, and did advance

him the required money. And when he suggested in a whisper that

perhaps the circumstance need not be mentioned to Mrs. Masters,

Nickem winked again and put his fore-finger to the side of his big

carbuncled nose.

That evening Larry Twentyman came in, but was not received with any

great favour by Mrs. Masters. There was growing up at this moment in

Dillsborough the bitterness of real warfare between the friends and

enemies of sport in general, and Mrs. Masters was ranking herself

thereby among the enemies. Larry was of course one of the friends.

But unhappily there was a slight difference of sentiment even in

Larry's own house, and on this very morning old Mrs. Twentyman had

expressed to Mrs. Masters a feeling of wrong which had gradually

risen from the annual demolition of her pet broods of turkeys. She

declared that for the last three years every turkey poult had gone,

and that at last she was beginning to feel it. "It's over a hundred

of 'em they've had, and it is wearing," said the old woman. Larry had

twenty times begged her to give up the rearing turkeys, but her heart

had been too high for that. "I don't know why Lord Rufford's foxes

are to be thought of always, and nobody is to think about your poor

mother's poultry," said Mrs. Masters, lugging the subject in neck and

heels.

"Has she been talking to you, Mrs. Masters, about her turkeys?"

"Your mother may speak to me I suppose if she likes it, without

offence to Lord Rufford."

"Lord Rufford has got nothing to do with it."

"The wood belongs to him," said Mrs. Masters.

"Foxes are much better than turkeys anyway," said Kate Masters.

"If you don't hold your tongue, miss, you'll be sent to bed. The wood

belongs to his lordship, and the foxes are a nuisance."

"He keeps the foxes for the county, and where would the county be

without them?" began Larry. "What is it brings money into such a

place as this?"

"To Runciman's stables and Harry Stubbings and the like of them. What

money does it bring in to steady honest people?"

"Look at all the grooms," said Larry.

"The impudentest set of young vipers about the place," said the lady.

"Look at Grice's business." Grice was the saddler.

"Grice indeed! What's Grice?"

"And the price of horses?"

"Yes;--making everything dear that ought to be cheap. I don't see

and I never shall see and I never will see any good in extravagant

idleness. As for Kate she shall never go out hunting again. She has

torn Mary's habit to pieces. And shooting is worse. Why is a man to

have a flock of voracious cormorants come down upon his corn fields?

I'm all in favour of Goarly, and so I tell you, Mr. Twentyman." After

this poor Larry went away, finding that he had no opportunity for

saying a word to Mary Masters.

CHAPTER XV.

A FIT COMPANION,--FOR ME AND MY SISTERS.

On that same Wednesday Reginald Morton had called at the attorney's

house, had asked for Miss Masters, and had found her alone. Mrs.

Masters at the time had been out, picking up intelligence about the

great case, and the two younger girls had been at school. Reginald,

as he walked home from Bragton all alone on that occasion when Larry

had returned with Mary, was quite sure that he would never willingly

go into Mary's presence again. Why should he disturb his mind about

such a girl,--one who could rush into the arms of such a man as Larry

Twentyman? Or, indeed, why disturb his mind about any girl? That

was not the manner of life which he planned for himself. After that

he shut himself up for a few days and was not much seen by any of

the Dillsborough folk. But on this Wednesday he received a letter,

and,--as he told himself, merely in consequence of that letter,--he

called at the attorney's house and asked for Miss Masters.

He was shown up into the beautiful drawing-room, and in a few minutes

Mary came to him. "I have brought you a letter from my aunt," he

said.

"From Lady Ushant? I am so glad."

"She was writing to me and she put this under cover. I know what it

contains. She wants you to go to her at Cheltenham for a month."

"Oh, Mr. Morton!"

"Would you like to go?"

"How should I not like to go? Lady Ushant is my dearest, dearest

friend. It is so very good of her to think of me."

"She talks of the first week in December and wants you to be there

for Christmas."

"I don't at all know that I can go, Mr. Morton."

"Why not go?"

"I'm afraid mamma will not spare me." There were many reasons. She

could hardly go on such a visit without some renewal of her scanty

wardrobe, which perhaps the family funds would not permit. And, as

she knew very well, Mrs. Masters was not at all favourable to Lady

Ushant. If the old lady had altogether kept Mary it might have been

very well; but she had not done so and Mrs. Masters had more than

once said that that kind of thing must be all over;--meaning that

Mary was to drop her intimacy with high-born people that were of no

real use. And then there was Mr. Twentyman and his suit. Mary had for

some time felt that her step-mother intended her to understand that

her only escape from home would be by becoming Mrs. Twentyman. "I

don't think it will be possible, Mr. Morton."

"My aunt will be very sorry."

"Oh,--how sorry shall I be! It is like having another little bit of

heaven before me."

Then he said what he certainly should not have said. "I thought, Miss

Masters, that your heaven was all here."

"What do you mean by that, Mr. Morton?" she asked blushing up to her

hair. Of course she knew what he meant, and of course she was angry

with him. Ever since that walk her mind had been troubled by ideas as

to what he would think about her, and now he was telling her what he

thought.

"I fancied that you were happy here without going to see an old woman

who after all has not much amusement to offer to you."

"I don't want any amusement."

"At any rate you will answer Lady Ushant?"

"Of course I shall answer her."

"Perhaps you can let me know. She wishes me to take you to

Cheltenham. I shall go for a couple of days, but I shall not stay

longer. If you are going perhaps you would allow me to travel with

you."

"Of course it would be very kind; but I don't suppose that I shall

go. I am sure Lady Ushant won't believe that I am kept away from her

by any pleasure of my own here. I can explain it all to her and she

will understand me." She hardly meant to reproach him. She did not

mean to assume an intimacy sufficient for reproach. But he felt that

she had reproached him. "I love Lady Ushant so dearly that I would go

anywhere to see her if I could."

"Then I think it could be managed. Your father--"

"Papa does not attend much to us girls. It is mamma that manages all

that. At any rate, I will write to Lady Ushant, and will ask papa to

let you know."

Then it seemed as though there were nothing else for him but to

go;--and yet he wanted to say some other word. If he had been cruel

in throwing Mr. Twentyman in her teeth, surely he ought to apologize.

"I did not mean to say anything to offend you."

"You have not offended me at all, Mr. Morton."

"If I did think that,--that--"

"It does not signify in the least. I only want Lady Ushant to

understand that if I could possibly go to her I would rather do that

than anything else in the world. Because Lady Ushant is kind to me I

needn't expect other people to be so." Reginald Morton was of course

the "other people."

Then he paused a moment. "I did so long," he said, "to walk round the

old place with you the other day before these people came there, and

I was so disappointed when you would not come with me."

"I was coming."

"But you went back with--that other man."

"Of course I did when you showed so plainly that you didn't want

him to join you. What was I to do? I couldn't send him away. Mr.

Twentyman is a very intimate friend of ours, and very kind to Dolly

and Kate."

"I wished so much to talk to you about the old days."

"And I wish to go to your aunt, Mr. Morton; but we can't all of us

have what we wish. Of course I saw that you were very angry, but I

couldn't help that. Perhaps it was wrong in Mr. Twentyman to offer to

walk with you."

"I didn't say so at all."

"You looked it at any rate, Mr. Morton. And as Mr. Twentyman is a

friend of ours--"

"You were angry with me."

"I don't say that. But as you were too grand for our friend of course

you were too grand for us."

"That is a very unkind way of putting it. I don't think I am grand.

A man may wish to have a little conversation with a very old friend

without being interrupted, and yet not be grand. I dare say Mr.

Twentyman is just as good as I am."

"You don't think that, Mr. Morton."

"I believe him to be a great deal better, for he earns his bread,

and takes care of his mother, and as far as I know does his duty

thoroughly."

"I know the difference, Mr. Morton, and of course I know how you feel

it. I don't suppose that Mr. Twentyman is a fit companion for any of

the Mortons, but for all that he may be a fit companion for me,--and

my sisters." Surely she must have said this with the express object

of declaring to him that in spite of the advantages of her education

she chose to put herself in the ranks of the Twentymans, Runcimans

and such like. He had come there ardently wishing that she might

be allowed to go to his aunt, and resolved that he would take her

himself if it were possible. But now he almost thought that she had

better not go. If she had made her election, she must be allowed to

abide by it. If she meant to marry Mr. Twentyman what good could

she get by associating with his aunt or with him? And had she not

as good as told him that she meant to marry Mr. Twentyman? She had

at any rate very plainly declared that she regarded Mr. Twentyman

as her equal in rank. Then he took his leave without any further

explanation. Even if she did go to Cheltenham he would not take her.

After that he walked straight out to Bragton. He was of course

altogether unconscious what grand things his cousin John had intended

to do by him, had not the Honourable old lady interfered; but he had

made up his mind that duty required him to call at the house. So he

walked by the path across the bridge and when he came out on the

gravel road near the front door he found a gentleman smoking a cigar

and looking around him. It was Mr. Gotobed who had just returned

from a visit which he had made, the circumstances of which must be

narrated in the next chapter. The Senator lifted his hat and remarked

that it was a very fine afternoon. Reginald lifted his hat and

assented. "Mr. Morton, sir, I think is out with the ladies, taking a

drive."

"I will leave a card then."

"The old lady is at home, sir, if you wish to see her," continued the

Senator following Reginald up to the door.

"Oh, Mr. Reginald, is that you?" said old Mrs. Hopkins taking the

card. "They are all out,--except herself." As he certainly did not

wish to see "herself," he greeted the old woman and left his card.

"You live in these parts, sir?" asked the Senator.

"In the town yonder."

"Because Mr. Morton's housekeeper seems to know you."

"She knows me very well as I was brought up in this house. Good

morning to you."

"Good afternoon to you, sir. Perhaps you can tell me who lives in

that country residence,--what you call a farm-house,--on the other

side of the road." Reginald said that he presumed the gentleman was

alluding to Mr. Twentyman's house.

"Ah, yes,--I dare say. That was the name I heard up there. You are

not Mr. Twentyman, sir?"

"My name is Morton."

"Morton, is it;--perhaps my friend's;--ah--ah,--yes." He didn't like

to say uncle because Reginald didn't look old enough, and he knew he

ought not to say brother, because the elder brother in England would

certainly have had the property.

"I am Mr. John Morton's cousin."

"Oh;--Mr. Morton's cousin. I asked whether you were the owner of that

farm-house because I intruded just now by passing through the yards,

and I would have apologized. Good afternoon to you, sir." Then

Reginald having thus done his duty returned home.

Mary Masters when she was alone was again very angry with herself.

She knew thoroughly how perverse she had been when she declared

that Larry Twentyman was a fit companion for herself, and that she

had said it on purpose to punish the man who was talking to her.

Not a day passed, or hardly an hour of a day, in which she did not

tell herself that the education she had received and the early

associations of her life had made her unfit for the marriage which

her friends were urging upon her. It was the one great sorrow of her

life. She even repented of the good things of her early days because

they had given her a distaste for what might have otherwise been

happiness and good fortune. There had been moments in which she

had told herself that she ought to marry Larry Twentyman and adapt

herself to the surroundings of her life. Since she had seen Reginald

Morton frequently, she had been less prone to tell herself so than

before;--and yet to this very man she had declared her fitness for

Larry's companionship!

CHAPTER XVI.

MR. GOTOBED'S PHILANTHROPY.

Mr. Gotobed, when the persecutions of Goarly were described to him at

the scene of the dead fox, had expressed considerable admiration for

the man's character as portrayed by what he then heard. The man,--a

poor man too and despised in the land,--was standing up for his

rights, all alone, against the aristocracy and plutocracy of the

county. He had killed the demon whom the aristocracy and plutocracy

worshipped, and had appeared there in arms ready to defend his

own territory,--one against so many, and so poor a man against

men so rich! The Senator had at once said that he would call upon

Mr. Goarly, and the Senator was a man who always carried out his

purposes. Afterwards, from John Morton, and from others who knew the

country better than Morton, he learned further particulars. On the

Monday and Tuesday he fathomed,--or nearly fathomed,--that matter of

the 7_s._ 6_d._ an acre. He learned at any rate that the owner of the

wood admitted a damage done by him to the corn and had then, himself,

assessed the damage without consultation with the injured party; and

he was informed also that Goarly was going to law with the lord for

a fuller compensation. He liked Goarly for killing the fox, and he

liked him more for going to law with Lord Rufford.

He declared openly at Bragton his sympathy with the man and his

intention of expressing it. Morton was annoyed and endeavoured to

persuade him to leave the man alone; but in vain. No doubt had he

expressed himself decisively and told his friend that he should be

annoyed by a guest from his house taking part in such a matter, the

Senator would have abstained and would merely have made one more note

as to English peculiarities and English ideas of justice; but Morton

could not bring himself to do this. "The feeling of the country will

be altogether against you," he had said, hoping to deter the Senator.

The Senator had replied that though the feeling of that little bit of

the country might be against him he did not believe that such would

be the case with the feeling of England generally. The ladies had all

become a little afraid of Mr. Gotobed and hardly dared to express an

opinion. Lady Augustus did say that she supposed that Goarly was a

low vulgar fellow, which of course strengthened the Senator in his

purpose.

The Senator on Wednesday would not wait for lunch but started a

little before one with a crust of bread in his pocket to find his

way to Goarly's house. There was no difficulty in this as he could

see the wood as soon as he had got upon the high road. He found

Twentyman's gate and followed directly the route which the hunting

party had taken, till he came to the spot on which the crowd had

been assembled. Close to this there was a hand-gate leading into

Dillsborough wood, and standing in the gateway was a man. The Senator

thought that this might not improbably be Goarly himself, and asked

the question, "Might your name be Mr. Goarly, sir?"

"Me Goarly!" said the man in infinite disgust. "I ain't nothing of

the kind,--and you knows it."

That the man should have been annoyed at being taken for

Goarly,--that man being Bean the gamekeeper who would willingly have

hung Goarly if he could, and would have thought it quite proper that

a law should be now passed for hanging him at once,--was natural

enough. But why he should have told the Senator that the Senator knew

he was not Goarly it might be difficult to explain. He probably at

once regarded the Senator as an enemy, as a man on the other side,

and therefore as a cunning knave who would be sure to come creeping

about on false pretences. Bean, who had already heard of Bearside and

had heard of Scrobby in connection with this matter, looked at the

Senator very hard. He knew Bearside. The man certainly was not the

attorney, and from what he had heard of Scrobby he didn't think he

was Scrobby. The man was not like what in his imagination Scrobby

would be. He did not know what to make of Mr. Gotobed,--who was a

person of an imposing appearance, tall and thin, with a long nose

and look of great acuteness, dressed in black from head to foot, but

yet not looking quite like an English gentleman. He was a man to

whom Bean in an ordinary way would have been civil,--civil in a cold

guarded way; but how was he to be civil to anybody who addressed him

as Goarly?

"I did not know it," said the Senator. "As Goarly lives near here I

thought you might be Goarly. When I saw Goarly he had a gun, and you

have a gun. Can you tell me where Goarly lives?"

"Tother side of the wood," said Bean pointing back with his thumb.

"He never had a gun like this in his hand in all his born days."

"I dare say not, my friend. I can go through the wood I guess;" for

Bean had pointed exactly over the gateway.

"I guess you can't then," said Bean. The man who, like other

gamekeepers, lived much in the company of gentlemen, was ordinarily

a civil courteous fellow, who knew how to smile and make things

pleasant. But at this moment he was very much put out. His covert had

been found full of red herrings and strychnine, and his fox had been

poisoned. He had lost his guinea on the day of the hunt,--the guinea

which would have been his perquisite had they found a live fox in his

wood. And all this was being done by such a fellow as Goarly! And now

this abandoned wretch was bringing an action against his Lordship and

was leagued with such men as Scrobby and Bearside! It was a dreadful

state of things! How was it likely that he should give a passage

through the wood to anybody coming after Goarly? "You're on Mr.

Twentyman's land now, as I dare say you know."

"I don't know anything about it."

"Well;--that wood is Lord Rufford's wood."

"I did know as much as that, certainly."

"And you can't go into it."

"How shall I find Mr. Goarly's house?"

"If you'll get over that there ditch you'll be on Mister Goarly's

land and that's all about it." Bean as he said this put a strongly

ironical emphasis on the term of respect and then turned back into

the wood.

The Senator made his way down the fence to the bank on which Goarly

had stood with his gun, then over into Goarly's field, and so round

the back of the wood till he saw a small red brick house standing

perhaps four hundred yards from the covert, just on the elbow of a

lane. It was a miserable-looking place with a pigsty and a dung-heap

and a small horse-pond or duck-puddle all close around it. The stack

of chimneys seemed to threaten to fall, and as he approached from

behind he could see that the two windows opening that way were

stuffed with rags. There was a little cabbage garden which now seemed

to be all stalks, and a single goose waddling about the duck-puddle.

The Senator went to the door, and having knocked, was investigated by

a woman from behind it. Yes, this was Goarly's house. What did the

gentleman want? Goarly was at work in the field. Then she came out,

the Senator having signified his friendly intentions, and summoned

Goarly to the spot.

"I hope I see you well, sir," said the Senator putting out his hand

as Goarly came up dragging a dung-fork behind him.

Goarly rubbed his hand on his breeches before he gave it to be shaken

and declared himself to be "pretty tidy, considering."

"I was present the other day, Mr. Goarly, when that dead fox was

exposed to view."

"Was you, sir?"

"I was given to understand that you had destroyed the brute."

"Don't you believe a word on it then," said the woman interposing.

"He didn't do nothing of the kind. Who ever seed him a' buying of red

herrings and p'ison?"

"Hold your jaw," said Goarly,--familiarly. "Let 'em prove it. I don't

know who you are, sir; but let 'em prove it."

"My name, Mr. Goarly, is Elias Gotobed. I am an American citizen, and

Senator for the State of Mickewa." Mr. and Mrs. Goarly shook their

heads at every separate item of information tendered to them. "I am

on a visit to this country and am at present staying at the house of

my friend, Mr. John Morton."

"He's the gentl'man from Bragton, Dan."

"Hold your jaw, can't you?" said the husband. Then he touched his hat

to the Senator intending to signify that the Senator might, if he

pleased, continue his narrative.

"If you did kill that fox, Mr. Goarly, I think you were quite right

to kill him." Then Goarly winked at him. "I cannot imagine that even

the laws of England could justify a man in perpetuating a breed of

wild animals that are destructive to his neighbours' property."

"I could shoot 'un; not a doubt about that, Mister. I could shoot

'un;--and I wull."

"Have a care, Dan," whispered Mrs. Goarly.

"Hold your jaw,--will ye? I could shoot 'un, Mister. I don't rightly

know about p'ison."

"That fox we saw was poisoned I suppose," said the Senator,

carelessly.

"Have a care, Dan;--have a care!" whispered the wife.

"Allow me to assure both of you," said the Senator, "that you need

fear nothing from me. I have come quite as a friend."

"Thank 'ee, sir," said Goarly again touching his hat.

"It seems to me," said the Senator, "that in this matter a great many

men are leagued together against you."

"You may say that, sir. I didn't just catch your name, sir."

"My name is Gotobed;--Gotobed; Elias Gotobed, Senator from the State

of Mickewa to the United States Congress." Mrs. Goarly who understood

nothing of all these titles, and who had all along doubted, dropped a

suspicious curtsey. Goarly, who understood a little now, took his hat

altogether off. He was very much puzzled but inclined to think that

if he managed matters rightly, profit might be got out of this very

strange meeting. "In my country, Mr. Goarly, all men are free and

equal."

"That's a fine thing, sir."

"It is a fine thing, my friend, if properly understood and properly

used. Coming from such a country I was shocked to see so many rich

men banded together against one who I suppose is not rich."

"Very far from it," said the woman.

"It's my own land, you know," said Goarly who was proud of his

position as a landowner. "No one can't touch me on it, as long as the

rates is paid. I'm as good a man here,"--and he stamped his foot on

the ground,--"as his Lordship is in that there wood."

This was the first word spoken by the Goarlys that had pleased the

Senator, and this set him off again. "Just so;--and I admire a man

that will stand up for his own rights. I am told that you have found

his Lordship's pheasants destructive to your corn."

"Didn't leave him hardly a grain last August," said Mrs. Goarly.

"Will you hold your jaw, woman, or will you not?" said the man,

turning round fiercely at her. "I'm going to have the law of his

Lordship, sir. What's seven and six an acre? There's that quantity

of pheasants in that wood as'd eat up any mortal thing as ever was

growed. Seven and six!"

"Didn't you propose arbitration?"

"I never didn't propose nothin'. I've axed two pound, and my lawyer

says as how I'll get it. What I sold come off that other bit of

ground down there. Wonderful crop! And this 'd've been the same. His

Lordship ain't nothin' to me, Mr. Gotobed."

"You don't approve of hunting, Mr. Goarly?"

"Oh, I approves if they'd pay a poor man for what harm they does

him. Look at that there goose." Mr. Gotobed did look at the goose.

"There's nine and twenty they've tuk from me, and only left un

that." Now Mrs. Goarly's goose was well known in those parts. It was

declared that she was more than a match for any fox in the county,

but that Mrs. Goarly for the last two years had never owned any goose

but this one.

"The foxes have eaten them all?" asked the Senator.

"Every mortal one."

"And the gentlemen of the hunt have paid you nothing."

"I had four half-crowns once," said the woman.

"If you don't send the heads you don't get it," said the man, "and

then they'll keep you waiting months and months, just for their

pleasures. Who's a going to put up with that? I ain't."

"And now you're going to law?"

"I am,--like a man. His Lordship ain't nothin' to me. I ain't afeard

of his Lordship."

"Will it cost you much?"

"That's just what it will do, sir," said the woman.

"Didn't I tell you, hold your jaw?"

"The gentl'man was going to offer to help us a little, Dan."

"I was going to say that I am interested in the case, and that you

have all my good wishes. I do not like to offer pecuniary help."

"You're very good, sir; very good. This bit of land is mine; not a

doubt of it;--but we're poor, sir."

"Indeed we is," said the woman. "What with taxes and rates, and them

foxes as won't let me rear a head of poultry and them brutes of birds

as eats up the corn, I often tells him he'd better sell the bit o'

land and just set up for a public."

"It belonged to my feyther and grandfeyther," said Goarly.

Then the Senator's heart was softened again and he explained at great

length that he would watch the case and if he saw his way clearly,

befriend it with substantial aid. He asked about the attorney and

took down Bearside's address. After that he shook hands with both of

them, and then made his way back to Bragton through Mr. Twentyman's

farm.

Mr. and Mrs. Goarly were left in a state of great perturbation of

mind. They could not in the least make out among themselves who the

gentleman was, or whether he had come for good or evil. That he

called himself Gotobed Goarly did remember, and also that he had said

that he was an American. All that which had referred to senatorial

honours and the State of Mickewa had been lost upon Goarly. The

question of course arose whether he was not a spy sent out by Lord

Rufford's man of business, and Mrs. Goarly was clearly of opinion

that such had been the nature of his employment. Had he really been a

friend, she suggested, he would have left a sovereign behind him. "He

didn't get no information from me," said Goarly.

"Only about Mr. Bearside."

"What's the odds of that? They all knows that. Bearside! Why should

I be ashamed of Bearside? I'll do a deal better with Bearside than

I would with that old woman, Masters."

"But he took it down in writing, Dan."

"What the d----'s the odds in that?"

"I don't like it when they puts it down in writing."

"Hold your jaw," said Goarly as he slowly shouldered the dung-fork to

take it back to his work. But as they again discussed the matter that

night the opinion gained ground upon them that the Senator had been

an emissary from the enemy.

CHAPTER XVII.

LORD RUFFORD'S INVITATION.

On that same Wednesday afternoon when Morton returned with the ladies

in the carriage he found that a mounted servant had arrived from

Rufford Hall with a letter and had been instructed to wait for an

answer. The man was now refreshing himself in the servants' hall.

Morton, when he had read the letter, found that it required some

consideration before he could answer it. It was to the following

purport. Lord Rufford had a party of ladies and gentlemen at Rufford

Hall, as his sister, Lady Penwether, was staying with him. Would Mr.

Morton and his guests come over to Rufford Hall on Monday and stay

till Wednesday? On Tuesday there was to be a dance for the people of

the neighbourhood. Then he specified, as the guests invited, Lady

Augustus and her daughter and Mr. Gotobed,--omitting the honourable

Mrs. Morton of whose sojourn in the county he might have been

ignorant. His Lordship went on to say that he trusted the abruptness

of the invitation might be excused on account of the nearness of

their neighbourhood and the old friendship which had existed between

their families. He had had, he said, the pleasure of being acquainted

with Lady Augustus and her daughter in London and would be proud to

see Mr. Gotobed at his house during his sojourn in the county. Then

he added in a postscript that the hounds met at Rufford Hall on

Tuesday and that he had a horse that carried a lady well if Miss

Trefoil would like to ride him. He could also put up a horse for Mr.

Morton.

This was all very civil, but there was something in it that was

almost too civil. There came upon Morton a suspicion, which he did

not even define to himself, that the invitation was due to Arabella's

charms. There were many reasons why he did not wish to accept it.

His grandmother was left out and he feared that she would be angry.

He did not feel inclined to take the American Senator to the lord's

house, knowing as he did that the American Senator was interfering in

a ridiculous manner on behalf of Goarly. And he did not particularly

wish to be present at Rufford Hall with the Trefoil ladies. Hitherto

he had received very little satisfaction from their visit to

Bragton,--so little that he had been more than once on the verge

of asking Arabella whether she wished to be relieved from her

engagement. She had never quite given him the opportunity. She

had always been gracious to him in a cold, disagreeable, glassy

manner,--in a manner that irked his spirit but still did not justify

him in expressing anger. Lady Augustus was almost uncivil to him, and

from time to time said little things which were hard to bear; but

he was not going to marry Lady Augustus, and could revenge himself

against her by resolving in his own breast that he would have as

little as possible to do with her after his marriage. That was the

condition of his mind towards them, and in that condition he did not

want to take them to Lord Rufford's house. Their visit to him would

be over on Monday, and it would he thought be better for him that

they should then go on their way to the Gores as they had proposed.

But he did not like to answer the letter by a refusal without saying

a word to his guests on the subject. He would not object to ignore

the Senator, but he was afraid that if nothing were to be said to

Arabella she would hear of it hereafter and would complain of such

treatment. He therefore directed that the man might be kept waiting

while he consulted the lady of his choice. It was with difficulty

that he found himself alone with her,--and then only by sending

her maid in quest of her. He did get her at last into his own

sitting-room and then, having placed her in a chair near the fire,

gave her Lord Rufford's letter to read. "What can it be," said she

looking up into his face with her great inexpressive eyes, "that has

required all this solemnity?" She still looked up at him and did not

even open the letter.

"I did not like to answer that without showing it to you. I don't

suppose you would care to go."

"Go where?"

"It is from Lord Rufford,--for Monday."

"From Lord Rufford!"

"It would break up all your plans and your mother's, and would

probably be a great bore."

Then she did read the letter, very carefully and very slowly,

weighing every word of it as she read it. Did it mean more than it

said? But though she read it slowly and carefully and was long before

she made him any answer, she had very quickly resolved that the

invitation should be accepted. It would suit her very well to know

Lady Penwether. It might possibly suit her still better to become

intimate with Lord Rufford. She was delighted at the idea of riding

Lord Rufford's horse. As her eyes dwelt on the paper she, too, began

to think that the invitation had been chiefly given on her account.

At any rate she would go. She had understood perfectly well from the

first tone of her lover's voice that he did not wish to subject her

to the allurements of Rufford Hall. She was clever enough, and could

read it all. But she did not mean to throw away a chance for the sake

of pleasing him. She must not at once displease him by declaring her

purpose strongly, and therefore, as she slowly continued her reading,

she resolved that she would throw the burden upon her mother. "Had I

not better show this to mamma?" she said.

"You can if you please. You are going to the Gores on Monday."

"We could not go earlier; but we might put it off for a couple of

days if we pleased. Would it bore you?"

"I don't mind about myself. I'm not a very great man for dances."

"You'd sooner write a report,--wouldn't you,--about the products of

the country?"

"A great deal sooner," said the Paragon.

"But you see we haven't all of us got products to write about. I

don't care very much about it myself;--but if you don't mind I'll ask

mamma." Of course he was obliged to consent, and merely informed her

as she went off with the letter that a servant was waiting for an

answer.

"To go to Lord Rufford's!" said Lady Augustus.

"From Monday till Wednesday, mamma. Of course we must go."

"I promised poor Mrs. Gore."

"Nonsense, mamma! The Gores can do very well without us. That was

only to be a week and we can still stay out our time. Of course this

has only been sent because we are here."

"I should say so. I don't suppose Lord Rufford would care to know Mr.

Morton. Lady Penwether goes everywhere; doesn't she?"

"Everywhere. It would suit me to a 't' to get on to Lady Penwether's

books. But, mamma, of course it's not that. If Lord Rufford should

say a word it is so much easier to manage down in the country than up

in London. He has £40,000 a year, if he has a penny."

"How many girls have tried the same thing with him! But I don't mind.

I've always said that John Morton and Bragton would not do."

"No, mamma; you haven't. You were the first to say they would do."

"I only said that if there were nothing else--"

"Oh, mamma, how can you say such things! Nothing else,--as if he were

the last man! You said distinctly that Bragton was £7,000 a year, and

that it would do very well. You may change your mind if you like; but

it's no good trying to back out of your own doings."

"Then I have changed my mind."

"Yes,--without thinking what I have to go through. I'm not going

to throw myself at Lord Rufford's head so as to lose my chance

here;--but we'll go and see how the land lies. Of course you'll go,

mamma."

"If you think it is for your advantage, my dear."

"My advantage! It's part of the work to be done and we may as well do

it. At any rate I'll tell him to accept. We shall have this odious

American with us, but that can't be helped."

"And the old woman?"

"Lord Rufford doesn't say anything about her. I don't suppose he's

such a muff but what he can leave his grandmother behind for a couple

of days." Then she went back to Morton and told him that her mother

was particularly anxious to make the acquaintance of Lady Penwether

and that she had decided upon going to Rufford Hall. "It will be a

very nice opportunity," said she, "for you to become acquainted with

Lord Rufford."

Then he was almost angry. "I can make plenty of such opportunities

for myself, when I want them," he said. "Of course if you and Lady

Augustus like it, we will go. But let it stand on its right bottom."

"It may stand on any bottom you please."

"Do you mean to ride the man's horse?"

"Certainly I do. I never refuse a good offer. Why shouldn't I ride

the man's horse? Did you never hear before of a young lady borrowing

a gentleman's horse?"

"No lady belonging to me will ever do so,--unless the gentleman be a

very close friend indeed."

"The lady in this case does not belong to you, Mr. Morton, and

therefore, if you have no other objection, she will ride Lord

Rufford's horse. Perhaps you will not think it too much trouble to

signify the lady's acceptance of the mount in your letter." Then she

swam out of the room knowing that she left him in anger. After that

he had to find Mr. Gotobed. The going was now decided on as far as he

was concerned, and it would make very little difference whether the

American went or not,--except that his letter would have been easier

to him in accepting the invitation for three persons than for four.

But the Senator was of course willing. It was the Senator's object to

see England, and Lord Rufford's house would be an additional bit of

England. The Senator would be delighted to have an opportunity of

saying what he thought about Goarly at Lord Rufford's table. After

that, before this weary letter could be written, he was compelled to

see his grandmother and explain to her that she had been omitted.

"Of course, ma'am, they did not know that you were at Bragton, as you

were not in the carriage at the 'meet.'"

"That's nonsense, John. Did Lord Rufford suppose that you were

entertaining ladies here without some one to be mistress of the

house? Of course he knew that I was here. I shouldn't have gone;--you

may be sure of that. I'm not in the habit of going to the houses of

people I don't know. Indeed I think it's an impertinence in them

to ask in that way. I'm surprised that you would go on such an

invitation."

"The Trefoils knew them."

"If Lady Penwether knew them why could not Lady Penwether ask

them independently of us? I don't believe they ever spoke to Lady

Penwether in their lives. Lord Rufford and Miss Trefoil may very

likely be London acquaintances. He may admire her and therefore

choose to have her at his ball. I know nothing about that. As far as

I am concerned he's quite welcome to keep her."

All this was not very pleasant to John Morton. He knew already that

his grandmother and Lady Augustus hated each other, and said spiteful

things not only behind each other's backs, but openly to each other's

faces. But now he had been told by the girl who was engaged to be his

wife that she did not belong to him; and by his grandmother,--who

stood to him in the place of his mother,--that she wished that this

girl belonged to some one else! He was not quite sure that he did

not wish it himself. But, even were it to be so, and should there be

reason for him to be gratified at the escape, still he did not relish

the idea of taking the girl himself to the other man's house. He

wrote the letter, however, and dispatched it. But even the writing

of it was difficult and disagreeable. When various details of

hospitality have been offered by a comparative stranger a man hardly

likes to accept them all. But in this case he had to do it. He would

be delighted, he said, to stay at Rufford Hall from the Monday

to the Wednesday;--Lady Augustus and Miss Trefoil would also be

delighted;--and so also would Mr. Gotobed be delighted. And Miss

Trefoil would be further delighted to accept Lord Rufford's offer of

a horse for the Tuesday. As for himself, if he rode at all, a horse

would come for him to the meet. Then he wrote another note to Mr.

Harry Stubbings, bespeaking a mount for the occasion.

On that evening the party at Bragton was not a very pleasant one. "No

doubt you are intimate with Lady Penwether, Lady Augustus," said Mrs.

Morton. Now Lady Penwether was a very fashionable woman whom to know

was considered an honour.

"What makes you ask, ma'am?" said Lady Augustus.

"Only as you were taking your daughter to her brother's house, and as

he is a bachelor."

"My dear Mrs. Morton, really you may leave me to take care of myself

and of my daughter too. You have lived so much out of the world for

the last thirty years that it is quite amusing."

"There are some persons' worlds that it is a great deal better for a

lady to be out of," said Mrs. Morton. Then Lady Augustus put up her

hands, and turned round, and affected to laugh, of all which things

Mr. Gotobed, who was studying English society, made notes in his own

mind.

"What sort of position does that man Goarly occupy here?" the Senator

asked immediately after dinner.

"No position at all," said Morton.

"Every man created holds some position as I take it. The land is his

own."

"He has I believe about fifty acres."

"And yet he seems to be in the lowest depth of poverty and

ignorance."

"Of course he mismanages his property and probably drinks."

"I dare say, Mr. Morton. He is proud of his rights, and talked of his

father and his grandfather, and yet I doubt whether you would find a

man so squalid and so ignorant in all the States. I suppose he is

injured by having a lord so near him."

"Quite the contrary if he would be amenable."

"You mean if he would be a creature of the lord's. And why was that

other man so uncivil to me;--the man who was the lord's gamekeeper?"

"Because you went there as a friend of Goarly."

"And that's his idea of English fair play?" asked the Senator with a

jeer.

"The truth is, Mr. Gotobed," said Morton endeavouring to explain it

all, "you see a part only and not the whole. That man Goarly is a

rascal."

"So everybody says."

"And why can't you believe everybody?"

"So everybody says on the lord's side. But before I'm done I'll find

out what people say on the other side. I can see that he is ignorant

and squalid; but that very probably is the lord's fault. It may be

that he is a rascal and that the lord is to blame for that too. But

if the lord's pheasants have eaten up Goarly's corn, the lord ought

to pay for the corn whether Goarly be a rascal or not." Then John

Morton made up his mind that he would never ask another American

Senator to his house.

CHAPTER XVIII.

THE ATTORNEY'S FAMILY IS DISTURBED.

On that Wednesday evening Mary Masters said nothing to any of her

family as to the invitation from Lady Ushant. She very much wished

to accept it. Latterly, for the last month or two, her distaste to

the kind of life for which her stepmother was preparing her, had

increased upon her greatly. There had been days in which she had

doubted whether it might not be expedient that she should accept Mr.

Twentyman's offer. She believed no ill of him. She thought him to be

a fine manly young fellow with a good heart and high principles. She

never asked herself whether he were or were not a gentleman. She had

never even inquired of herself whether she herself were or were not

especially a lady. But with all her efforts to like the man,--because

she thought that by doing so she would relieve and please her

father,--yet he was distasteful to her; and now, since that walk

home with him from Bragton Bridge, he was more distasteful than ever.

She did not tell herself that a short visit, say for a month, to

Cheltenham, would prevent his further attentions, but she felt that

there would be a temporary escape. I do not think that she dwelt much

on the suggestion that Reginald Morton should be her companion on the

journey,--but the idea of such companionship, even for a short time,

was pleasant to her. If he did this surely then he would forgive her

for having left him at the bridge. She had much to think of before

she could resolve how she should tell her tidings. Should she show

the letter first to her stepmother or to her father? In the ordinary

course of things in that house the former course would be expected.

It was Mrs. Masters who managed everything affecting the family.

It was she who gave permission or denied permission for every

indulgence. She was generally fair to the three girls, taking special

pride to herself for doing her duty by her stepdaughter;--but on this

very account she was the more likely to be angry if Mary passed her

by on such an occasion as this and went to her father. But should her

stepmother have once refused her permission, then the matter would

have been decided against her. It would be quite useless to appeal

from her stepmother to her father;--nor would such an appeal come

within the scope of her own principles. The Mortons, and especially

Lady Ushant, had been her father's friends in old days and she

thought that perhaps she might prevail in this case if she could

speak to her father first. She knew well what would be the great, or

rather the real objection. Her mother would not wish that she should

be removed so long from Larry Twentyman. There might be difficulties

about her clothes, but her father, she knew would be kind to her.

At last she made up her mind that she would ask her father. He was

always at his office-desk for half an hour in the morning, before

the clerks had come, and on the following day, a minute or two after

he had taken his seat, she knocked at the door. He was busy reading

a letter from Lord Rufford's man of business, asking him certain

questions about Goarly and almost employing him to get up the case

on Lord Rufford's behalf. There was a certain triumph to him in

this. It was not by his means that tidings had reached Lord Rufford

of his refusal to undertake Goarly's case. But Runciman, who was

often allowed by his lordship to say a few words to him in the

hunting-field, had mentioned the circumstance. "A man like Mr.

Masters is better without such a blackguard as that," the Lord had

said. Then Runciman had replied, "No doubt, my Lord; no doubt. But

Dillsborough is a poor place, and business is business, my Lord."

Then Lord Rufford had remembered it, and the letter which the

attorney was somewhat triumphantly reading had been the consequence.

"Is that you, Mary? What can I do for you, my love?"

"Papa, I want you to read this." Then Mr. Masters read the letter.

"I should so like to go."

"Should you, my dear?"

"Oh yes! Lady Ushant has been so kind to me,--all my life! And I do

so love her!"

"What does mamma say?"

"I haven't asked mamma."

"Is there any reason why you shouldn't go?"

Of that one reason,--as to Larry Twentyman,--of course she would

say nothing. She must leave him to discuss that with her mother.

"I should want some clothes, papa; a dress, and some boots, and a

new hat, and there would be money for the journey and a few other

things." The attorney winced, but at the same time remembered that

something was due to his eldest child in the way of garments and

relaxation. "I never like to be an expense, papa."

"You are very good about that, my dear. I don't see why you shouldn't

go. It's very kind of Lady Ushant. I'll talk to mamma." Then Mary

went away to get the breakfast, fearing that before long there would

be black looks in the house.

Mr. Masters at once went up to his wife,--having given himself a

minute or two to calculate that he would let Mary have twenty pounds

for the occasion,--and made his proposition. "I never heard of such

nonsense in my life," said Mrs. Masters.

"Nonsense,--my dear! Why should it be nonsense?"

"Cocking her up with Lady Ushant! What good will Lady Ushant do her?

She's not going to live with ladies of quality all her life."

"Why shouldn't she live with ladies?"

"You know what I mean, Gregory. The Mortons have dropped you, for any

use they were to you, long ago, and you may as well make up your mind

to drop them. You'll go on hankering after gentlefolks till you've

about ruined yourself."

When he remembered that he had that very morning received a

commission from Lord Rufford he thought that this was a little too

bad. But he was not now in a humour to make known to her this piece

of good news. "I like to feel that she has got friends," he said,

going back to Mary's proposed visit.

"Of course she has got friends, if she'll only take up with them as

she ought to do. Why does she go on shilly-shallying with that young

man, instead of closing upon it at once? If she did that she wouldn't

want such friends as Lady Ushant. Why did the girl come to you with

all this instead of asking me?"

"There would be a little money wanted."

"Money! Yes, I dare say. It's very easy to want money but very hard

to get it. If you send clients away out of the office with a flea in

their ear I don't see how she's to have all manner of luxuries. She

ought to have come to me."

"I don't see that at all, my dear."

"If I'm to look after her she shall be said by me;--that's all. I've

done for her just as I have for my own and I'm not going to have

her turn up her nose at me directly she wants anything for herself.

I know what's fit for Mary, and it ain't fit that she should go

trapesing away to Cheltenham, doing nothing in that old woman's

parlour, and losing her chances for life. Who is to suppose that

Larry Twentyman will go on dangling after her in this way, month

after month? The young man wants a wife, and of course he'll get

one."

"You can't make her marry the man if she don't like him."

"Like him! She ought to be made to like him. A young man well off as

he is, and she without a shilling! All that comes from Ushanting." It

never occurred to Mrs. Masters that perhaps the very qualities that

had made poor Larry so vehemently in love with Mary had come from her

intercourse with Lady Ushant. "If I'm to have my way she won't go a

yard on the way to Cheltenham."

"I've told her she may go," said Mr. Masters, whose mind was

wandering back to old days,--to his first wife, and to the time when

he used to be an occasional guest in the big parlour at Bragton. He

was always ready to acknowledge to himself that his present wife

was a good and helpful companion to him and a careful mother to his

children; but there were moments in which he would remember with soft

regret a different phase of his life. Just at present he was somewhat

angry, and resolving in his own mind that in this case he would have

his own way.

"Then I shall tell her she mayn't," said Mrs. Masters, with a look of

dogged determination.

"I hope you will do nothing of the kind, my dear. I've told her that

she shall have a few pounds to get what she wants, and I won't have

her disappointed." After that Mrs. Masters bounced out of the room,

and made herself very disagreeable indeed over the tea-things.

The whole household was much disturbed that day. Mrs. Masters said

nothing to Mary about Lady Ushant all the morning, but said a great

deal about other things. Poor Mary was asked whether she was not

ashamed to treat a young man as she was treating Mr. Twentyman. Then

again it was demanded of her whether she thought it right that all

the house should be knocked about for her. At dinner Mrs. Masters

would hardly speak to her husband but addressed herself exclusively

to Dolly and Kate. Mr. Masters was not a man who could, usually,

stand this kind of thing very long and was accustomed to give up in

despair and then take himself off to the solace of his office-chair.

But on the present occasion he went through his meal like a Spartan,

and retired from the room without a sign of surrender. In the

afternoon about five o'clock Mary watched her opportunity and found

him again alone. It was incumbent on her to reply to Lady Ushant.

Would it not be better that she should write and say how sorry she

was that she could not come? "But I want you to go," said he.

"Oh, papa;--I cannot bear to cause trouble."

"No, my dear; no; and I'm sure I don't like trouble myself. But in

this case I think you ought to go. What day has she named?" Then Mary

declared that she could not possibly go so soon as Lady Ushant had

suggested, but that she could be ready by the 18th of December. "Then

write and tell her so, my dear, and I will let your mother know that

it is fixed." But Mary still hesitated, desiring to know whether she

had not better speak to her mother first. "I think you had better

write your letter first,"--and then he absolutely made her write it

in the office and give it to him to be posted. After that he promised

to communicate to Reginald Morton what had been done.

The household was very much disturbed the whole of that evening. Poor

Mary never remembered such a state of things, and when there had been

any difference of opinion, she had hitherto never been the cause of

it. Now it was all owing to her! And things were said so terrible

that she hardly knew how to bear them. Her father had promised her

the twenty pounds, and it was insinuated that all the comforts of

the family must be stopped because of this lavish extravagance. Her

father sat still and bore it, almost without a word. Both Dolly

and Kate were silent and wretched. Mrs. Masters every now and then

gurgled in her throat, and three or four times wiped her eyes. "I'm

better out of the way altogether," she said at last, jumping up

and walking towards the door as though she were going to leave the

room,--and the house, for ever.

"Mamma," said Mary, rising from her seat, "I won't go. I'll write and

tell Lady Ushant that I can't do it."

"You're not to mind me," said Mrs. Masters. "You're to do what your

papa tells you. Everything that I've been striving at is to be thrown

away. I'm to be nobody, and it's quite right that your papa should

tell you so."

"Dear mamma, don't talk like that," said Mary, clinging hold of her

stepmother.

"Your papa sits there and won't say a word," said Mrs. Masters,

stamping her foot.

"What's the good of speaking when you go on like that before the

children?" said Mr. Masters, getting up from his chair. "I say that

it's a proper thing that the girl should go to see the old friend who

brought her up and has been always kind to her,--and she shall go."

Mrs. Masters seated herself on the nearest chair and leaning her

head against the wall, began to go into hysterics. "Your letter has

already gone, Mary; and I desire you will write no other without

letting me know." Then he left the room and the house,--and

absolutely went over to the Bush. This latter proceeding was,

however, hardly more than a bravado; for he merely took the

opportunity of asking Mrs. Runciman a question at the bar, and then

walked back to his own house, and shut himself up in the office.

On the next morning he called on Reginald Morton and told him that

his daughter had accepted Lady Ushant's invitation, but could not

go till the 18th. "I shall be proud to take charge of her," said

Reginald. "And as for the change in the day it will suit me all the

better." So that was settled.

On the next day, Friday, Mrs. Masters did not come down to breakfast,

but was waited upon upstairs by her own daughters. This with her was

a most unusual circumstance. The two maids were of opinion that such

a thing had never occurred before, and that therefore Masters must

have been out half the night at the public-house although they had

not known it. To Mary she would hardly speak a word. She appeared

at dinner and called her husband Mr. Masters when she helped him to

stew. All the afternoon she averred that her head was splitting, but

managed to say many very bitter things about gentlemen in general,

and expressed a vehement hope that that poor man Goarly would get at

least a hundred pounds. It must be owned, however, that at this time

she had heard nothing of Lord Rufford's commission to her husband.

In the evening Larry came in and was at once told the terrible news.

"Larry," said Kate, "Mary is going away for a month."

"Where are you going, Mary?" asked the lover eagerly.

"To Lady Ushant's, Mr. Twentyman."

"For a month!"

"She has asked me for a month," said Mary.

"It's a regular fool's errand," said Mrs. Masters. "It's not done

with my consent, Mr. Twentyman. I don't think she ought to stir from

home till things are more settled."

"They can be settled this moment as far as I am concerned," said

Larry standing up.

"There now," said Mrs. Masters. At this time Mr. Masters was not in

the room. "If you can make it straight with Mr. Twentyman I won't say

a word against your going away for a month."

"Mamma, you shouldn't!" exclaimed Mary.

"I hate such nonsense. Mr. Twentyman is behaving honest and genteel.

What more would you have? Give him an answer like a sensible girl."

"I have given him an answer and I cannot say anything more," said

Mary as she left the room.

CHAPTER XIX.

"WHO VALUED THE GEESE?"

Before the time had come for the visit to Rufford Hall Mr. Gotobed

had called upon Bearside the attorney and had learned as much as

Mr. Bearside chose to tell him of the facts of the case. This took

place on the Saturday morning and the interview was on the whole

satisfactory to the Senator. But then having a theory of his own

in his head, and being fond of ventilating his own theories, he

explained thoroughly to the man the story which he wished to hear

before the man was called upon to tell his story. Mr. Bearside of

course told it accordingly. Goarly was a very poor man, and very

ignorant; was perhaps not altogether so good a member of society as

he might have been; but no doubt he had a strong case against the

lord. The lord, so said Mr. Bearside, had fallen into a way of paying

a certain recompense in certain cases for crops damaged by game;--and

having in this way laid down a rule for himself did not choose to

have that rule disturbed. "Just feudalism!" said the indignant

Senator. "No better, nor yet no worse than that, sir," said the

attorney who did not in the least know what feudalism was. "The

strong hand backed by the strong rank and the strong purse determined

to have its own way!" continued the Senator. "A most determined man

is his lordship," said the attorney. Then the Senator expressed his

hope that Mr. Bearside would be able to see the poor man through it,

and Mr. Bearside explained to the Senator that the poor man was a

very poor man indeed, who had been so unfortunate with his land that

he was hardly able to provide bread for himself and his children. He

went so far as to insinuate that he was taking up this matter himself

solely on the score of charity, adding that as he could not of course

afford to be money out of pocket for expenses of witnesses, &c.,

he did not quite see how he was to proceed. Then the Senator made

certain promises. He was, he said, going back to London in the course

of next week, but he did not mind making himself responsible to the

extent of fifty dollars if the thing were carried on, bonâ fide, to

a conclusion. Mr. Bearside declared that it would of course be bonâ

fide, and asked the Senator for his address. Would Mr. Gotobed object

to putting his name to a little docket certifying to the amount

promised? Mr. Gotobed gave an address, but thought that in such a

matter as that his word might be trusted. If it were not trusted then

the offer might fall to the ground. Mr. Bearside was profuse in his

apologies and declared that the gentleman's word was as good as his

bond.

Mr. Gotobed made no secret of his doings. Perhaps he had a feeling

that he could not justify himself in so strange a proceeding without

absolute candour. He saw Mr. Mainwaring in the street as he left

Bearside's office and told him all about it. "I just want, sir, to

see what'll come of it."

"You'll lose your fifty dollars, Mr. Gotobed, and only cause a little

vexation to a high-spirited young nobleman."

"Very likely, sir. But neither the loss of my dollars, nor Lord

Rufford's slight vexation will in the least disturb my rest. I'm

not a rich man, sir, but I should like to watch the way in which

such a question will be tried and brought to a conclusion in this

aristocratic country. I don't quite know what your laws may be, Mr.

Mainwaring."

"Just the same as your own, Mr. Gotobed, I take it."

"We have no game laws, sir. As I was saying I don't understand your

laws, but justice is the same everywhere. If this great lord's game

has eaten up the poor man's wheat the great lord ought to pay for

it."

"The owners of game pay for the damage they do three times over,"

said the parson, who was very strongly on that side of the question.

"Do you think that such men as Goarly would be better off if the

gentry were never to come into the country at all?"

"Perhaps, Mr. Mainwaring, I may think that there would be no Goarlys

if there were no Ruffords. That, however, is a great question which

cannot be argued on this case. All we can hope here is that one poor

man may have an act of justice done him though in seeking for it he

has to struggle against so wealthy a magnate as Lord Rufford."

"What I hope is that he may be found out," replied Mr. Mainwaring

with equal enthusiasm, "and then he will be in Rufford gaol before

long. That's the justice I look for. Who do you think put down the

poison in Dillsborough wood?"

"How was it that the poor woman lost all her geese?" asked the

Senator.

"She was paid for a great many more than she lost, Mr. Gotobed."

"That doesn't touch upon the injustice of the proceeding. Who

assessed the loss, sir? Who valued the geese? Am I to keep a pet

tiger in my garden, and give you a couple of dollars when he destroys

your pet dog, and think myself justified because dogs as a rule are

not worth more than two dollars each? She has a right to her own

geese on her own ground."

"And Lord Rufford, sir, as I take it," said Runciman, who had been

allowed to come up and hear the end of the conversation, "has a right

to his own foxes in his own coverts."

"Yes,--if he could keep them there, my friend. But as it is the

nature of foxes to wander away and to be thieves, he has no such

right."

"Of course, sir, begging your pardon," said Runciman, "I was speaking

of England." Runciman had heard of the Senator Gotobed, as indeed had

all Dillsborough by this time.

"And I am speaking of justice all the world over," said the Senator

slapping his hand upon his thigh. "But I only want to see. It may be

that England is a country in which a poor man should not attempt to

hold a few acres of land."

On that night the Dillsborough club met as usual and, as a matter

of course, Goarly and the American Senator were the subjects

chiefly discussed. Everybody in the room knew,--or thought that he

knew,--that Goarly was a cheating fraudulent knave, and that Lord

Rufford was, at any rate, in this case acting properly. They all

understood the old goose, and were aware, nearly to a bushel, of the

amount of wheat which the man had sold off those two fields. Runciman

knew that the interest on the mortgage had been paid, and could only

have been paid out of the produce; and Larry Twentyman knew that if

Goarly took his 7_s._ 6_d._ an acre he would be better off than if

the wood had not been there. But yet among them all they didn't quite

see how they were to confute the Senator's logic. They could not

answer it satisfactorily, even among themselves; but they felt that

if Goarly could be detected in some offence, that would confute

the Senator. Among themselves it was sufficient to repeat the

well-known fact that Goarly was a rascal; but with reference to this

aggravating, interfering, and most obnoxious American it would be

necessary to prove it.

"His Lordship has put it into Masters's hands, I'm told," said the

doctor. At this time neither the attorney nor Larry Twentyman was in

the room.

"He couldn't have done better," said Runciman, speaking from behind a

long clay pipe.

"All the same he was nibbling at Goarly," said Ned Botsey.

"I don't know that he was nibbling at Goarly at all, Mr. Botsey,"

said the landlord. "Goarly came to him, and Goarly was refused. What

more would you have?"

"It's all one to me," said Botsey; "only I do think that in a

sporting county like this the place ought to be made too hot to hold

a blackguard like that. If he comes out at me with his gun I'll ride

over him. And I wouldn't mind riding over that American too."

"That's just what would suit Goarly's book," said the doctor.

"Exactly what Goarly would like," said Harry Stubbings.

Then Mr. Masters and Larry entered the room. On that evening two

things had occurred to the attorney. Nickem had returned, and had

asked for and received an additional week's leave of absence. He

had declined to explain accurately what he was doing but gave the

attorney to understand that he thought that he was on the way to

the bottom of the whole thing. Then, after Nickem had left him, Mr.

Masters had a letter of instructions from Lord Rufford's steward.

When he received it, and found that his paid services had been

absolutely employed on behalf of his Lordship, he almost regretted

the encouragement he had given to Nickem. In the first place he might

want Nickem. And then he felt that in his present position he ought

not to be a party to anything underhand. But Nickem was gone, and he

was obliged to console himself by thinking that Nickem was at any

rate employing his intellect on the right side. When he left his

house with Larry Twentyman he had told his wife nothing about Lord

Rufford. Up to this time he and his wife had not as yet reconciled

their difference, and poor Mary was still living in misery. Larry,

though he had called for the attorney, had not sat down in the

parlour, and had barely spoken to Mary. "For gracious sake, Mr.

Twentyman, don't let him stay in that place there half the night,"

said Mrs. Masters. "It ain't fit for a father of a family."

"Father never does stay half the night," said Kate, who took more

liberties in that house than any one else.

"Hold your tongue, miss. I don't know whether it wouldn't be better

for you, Mr. Twentyman, if you were not there so often yourself."

Poor Larry felt this to be hard. He was not even engaged as yet, and

as far as he could see was not on the way to be engaged. In such

condition surely his possible mother-in-law could have no right to

interfere with him. He condescended to make no reply, but crossed the

passage and carried the attorney off with him.

"You've heard what that American gentleman has been about, Mr.

Masters?" asked the landlord.

"I'm told he's been with Bearside."

"And has offered to pay his bill for him if he'll carry on the

business for Goarly. Whoever heard the like of that?"

"What sort of a man is he?" asked the doctor.

"A great man in his own country everybody says," answered Runciman.

"I wish he'd stayed there. He comes over here and thinks he

understands everything just as though he had lived here all his life.

Did you say gin cold, Larry;--and rum for you, Mr. Masters?" Then the

landlord gave the orders to the girl who had answered the bell.

"But they say he's actually going to Lord Rufford's," said young

Botsey who would have given one of his fingers to be asked to the

lord's house.

"They are all going from Bragton," said Runciman.

"The young squire is going to ride one of my horses," said Harry

Stubbings.

"That'll be an easy three pounds in your pockets, Harry," said the

doctor. In answer to which Harry remarked that he took all that as it

came, the heavies and lights together, and that there was not much

change to be got out of three sovereigns when some gentlemen had had

a horse out for the day,--particularly when a gentleman didn't pay

perhaps for twelve months.

"The whole party is going," continued the landlord. "How he is to

have the cheek to go into his Lordship's house after what he is doing

is more than I can understand."

"What business is it of his?" said Larry angrily. "That's what I want

to know. What'd he think if we went and interfered over there? I

shouldn't be surprised if he got a little rough usage before he's out

of the county. I'm told he came across Bean when he was ferretting

about the other day, and that Bean gave him quite as good as he

brought."

"I say he's a spy," said Ribbs the butcher from his seat on the sofa.

"I hates a spy."

Soon after that Mr. Masters left the room and Larry Twentyman

followed him. There was something almost ridiculous in the way

the young man would follow the attorney about on these Saturday

evenings,--as though he could make love to the girl by talking to the

father. But on this occasion he had something special to say. "So

Mary's going to Cheltenham, Mr. Masters."

"Yes, she is. You don't see any objection to that, I hope."

"Not in the least, Mr. Masters. I wish she might go anywhere to enjoy

herself. And from all I've heard Lady Ushant is a very good sort of

lady."

"A very good sort of lady. She won't do Mary any harm, Twentyman."

"I don't suppose she will. But there's one thing I should like to

know. Why shouldn't she tell me before she goes that she'll have me?"

"I wish she would with all my heart."

"And Mrs. Masters is all on my side."

"Quite so."

"And the girls have always been my friends."

"I think we are all your friends, Twentyman. I'm sure Mary is. But

that isn't marrying;--is it?"

"If you would speak to her, Mr. Masters."

"What would you have me say? I couldn't bid my girl to have one man

or another. I could only tell her what I think, and that she knows

already."

"If you were to say that you wished it! She thinks so much about

you."

"I couldn't tell her that I wished it in a manner that would drive

her into it. Of course it would be a very good match. But I have only

to think of her happiness and I must leave her to judge what will

make her happy."

"I should like to have it fixed some way before she starts," said

Larry in an altered tone.

"Of course you are your own master, Twentyman. And you have behaved

very well."

"This is a kind of thing that a man can't stand," said the young

farmer sulkily. "Good night, Mr. Masters." Then he walked off home

to Chowton Farm meditating on his own condition and trying to make

up his mind to leave the scornful girl and become a free man. But

he couldn't do it. He couldn't even quite make up his mind that he

would try to do it. There was a bitterness within as he thought

of permanent fixed failure which he could not digest. There was a

craving in his heart which he did not himself quite understand, but

which made him think that the world would be unfit to be lived in if

he were to be altogether separated from Mary Masters. He couldn't

separate himself from her. It was all very well thinking of it,

talking of it, threatening it; but in truth he couldn't do it. There

might of course be an emergency in which he must do it. She might

declare that she loved some one else and she might marry that other

person. In that event he saw no other alternative but,--as he

expressed it to himself,--"to run a mucker." Whether the "mucker"

should be run against Mary, or against the fortunate lover, or

against himself, he did not at present resolve.

But he did resolve as he reached his own hall-door that he would make

one more passionate appeal to Mary herself before she started for

Cheltenham, and that he would not make it out on a public path, or in

the Masters' family parlour before all the Masters' family;--but that

he would have her secluded, by herself, so that he might speak out

all that was in him, to the best of his ability.

CHAPTER XX.

THERE ARE CONVENANCES.

Before the Monday came the party to Rufford Hall had become quite a

settled thing and had been very much discussed. On the Saturday the

Senator had been driven to the meet, a distance of about ten miles,

on purpose that he might see Lord Rufford and explain his views about

Goarly. Lord Rufford had bowed and stared, and laughed, and had then

told the Senator that he thought he would "find himself in the wrong

box." "That's quite possible, my Lord. I guess, it won't be the first

time I've been in the wrong box, my Lord. Sometimes I do get right.

But I thought I would not enter your lordship's house as a guest

without telling you what I was doing." Then Lord Rufford assured him

that this little affair about Goarly would make no difference in that

respect. Mr. Gotobed again scrutinised the hounds and Tony Tuppett,

laughed in his sleeve because a fox wasn't found in the first quarter

of an hour, and after that was driven back to Bragton.

The Sunday was a day of preparation for the Trefoils. Of course they

didn't go to church. Arabella indeed was never up in time for church

and Lady Augustus only went when her going would be duly registered

among fashionable people. Mr. Gotobed laughed when he was invited

and asked whether anybody was ever known to go to church two Sundays

running at Bragton. "People have been known to refuse with less

acrimony," said Morton. "I always speak my mind, sir," replied the

Senator. Poor John Morton, therefore, went to his parish church

alone.

There were many things to be considered by the Trefoils. There was

the question of dress. If any good was to be done by Arabella at

Rufford it must be done with great despatch. There would be the

dinner on Monday, the hunting on Tuesday, the ball, and then the

interesting moment of departure. No girl could make better use of

her time; but then, think of her difficulties! All that she did

would have to be done under the very eyes of the man to whom she

was engaged, and to whom she wished to remain engaged,--unless, as

she said to herself, she could "pull off the other event." A great

deal must depend on appearance. As she and her mother were out on a

lengthened cruise among long-suffering acquaintances, going to the De

Brownes after the Gores, and the Smijthes after the De Brownes, with

as many holes to run to afterwards as a four-year-old fox,--though

with the same probability of finding them stopped,--of course she had

her wardrobe with her. To see her night after night one would think

that it was supplied with all that wealth would give. But there were

deficiencies and there were make-shifts, very well known to herself

and well understood by her maid. She could generally supply herself

with gloves by bets, as to which she had never any scruple in taking

either what she did win or did not, and in dunning any who might

chance to be defaulters. On occasions too, when not afraid of

the bystanders, she would venture on a hat, and though there was

difficulty as to the payment, not being able to give her number as

she did with gloves, so that the tradesmen could send the article,

still she would manage to get the hat,--and the trimmings. It was

said of her that she once offered to lay an Ulster to a sealskin

jacket, but that the young man had coolly said that a sealskin jacket

was beyond a joke and had asked her whether she was ready to "put

down" her Ulster. These were little difficulties from which she

usually knew how to extricate herself without embarrassment; but she

had not expected to have to marshal her forces against such an enemy

as Lord Rufford, or to sit down for the besieging of such a city this

campaign. There were little things which required to be done, and the

lady's-maid certainly had not time to go to church on Sunday.

But there were other things which troubled her even more than her

clothes. She did not much like Bragton, and at Bragton, in his own

house, she did not very much like her proposed husband. At Washington

he had been somebody. She had met him everywhere then, and had heard

him much talked about. At Washington he had been a popular man and

had had the reputation of being a rich man also;--but here, at home,

in the country he seemed to her to fall off in importance, and he

certainly had not made himself pleasant. Whether any man could be

pleasant to her in the retirement of a country house,--any man whom

she would have no interest in running down,--she did not ask herself.

An engagement to her must under any circumstances be a humdrum

thing,--to be brightened only by wealth. But here she saw no signs

of wealth. Nevertheless she was not prepared to shove away the

plank from below her feet, till she was sure that she had a more

substantial board on which to step. Her mother, who perhaps did not

see in the character of Morton all the charms which she would wish to

find in a son-in-law, was anxious to shake off the Bragton alliance;

but Arabella, as she said so often both to herself and to her mother,

was sick of the dust of the battle and conscious of fading strength.

She would make this one more attempt, but must make it with great

care. When last in town this young lord had whispered a word or two

to her, which then had set her hoping for a couple of days; and now,

when chance had brought her into his neighbourhood, he had gone out

of his way,--very much out of his way,--to renew his acquaintance

with her. She would be mad not to give herself the chance;--but yet

she could not afford to let the plank go from under her feet.

But the part she had to play was one which even she felt to be almost

beyond her powers. She could perceive that Morton was beginning to

be jealous,--and that his jealousy was not of that nature which

strengthens a tie but which is apt to break it altogether. His

jealousy, if fairly aroused, would not be appeased by a final return

to himself. She had already given him occasion to declare himself

off, and if thoroughly angered he would no doubt use it. Day by day,

and almost hour by hour, he was becoming more sombre and hard, and

she was well aware that there was reason for it. It did not suit her

to walk about alone with him through the shrubberies. It did not suit

her to be seen with his arm round her waist. Of course the people

of Bragton would talk of the engagement, but she would prefer that

they should talk of it with doubt. Even her own maid had declared to

Mrs. Hopkins that she did not know whether there was or was not an

engagement,--her own maid being at the time almost in her confidence.

Very few of the comforts of a lover had been vouchsafed to John

Morton during this sojourn at Bragton and very little had been done

in accordance with his wishes. Even this visit to Rufford, as she

well knew, was being made in opposition to him. She hoped that her

lover would not attempt to ride to hounds on the Tuesday, so that

she might be near the lord unseen by him,--and that he would leave

Rufford on the Wednesday before herself and her mother. At the ball

of course she could dance with Lord Rufford, and could keep her eye

on her lover at the same time.

She hardly saw Morton on the Sunday afternoon, and she was again

closeted on the Monday till lunch. They were to start at four and

there would not be much more than time after lunch for her to put on

her travelling gear. Then, as they all felt, there was a difficulty

about the carriages. Who was to go with whom? Arabella, after lunch,

took the bull by the horns. "I suppose," she said as Morton followed

her out into the hall, "mamma and I had better go in the phaeton."

"I was thinking that Lady Augustus might consent to travel with Mr.

Gotobed and that you and I might have the phaeton."

"Of course it would be very pleasant," she answered smiling.

"Then why not let it be so?"

"There are convenances."

"How would it be if you and I were going without anybody else? Do you

mean to say that in that case we might not sit in the same carriage?"

"I mean to say that in that case I should not go at all. It isn't

done in England. You have been in the States so long that you forget

all our old-fashioned ways."

"I do think that is nonsense." She only smiled and shook her head.

"Then the Senator shall go in the phaeton, and I will go with you and

your mother."

"Yes,--and quarrel with mamma all the time as you always do. Let me

have it my own way this time."

"Upon my word I believe you are ashamed of me," he said leaning back

upon the hall table. He had shut the dining-room door and she was

standing close to him.

"What nonsense!"

"You have only got to say so, Arabella, and let there be an end of it

all."

"If you wish it, Mr. Morton."

"You know I don't wish it. You know I am ready to marry you

to-morrow."

"You have made ever so many difficulties as far as I can understand."

"You have unreasonable people acting for you, Arabella, and of course

I don't mean to give way to them."

"Pray don't talk to me about money. I know nothing about it and have

taken no part in the matter. I suppose there must be settlements?"

"Of course there must."

"And I can only do what other people tell me. You at any rate have

something to do with it all, and I have absolutely nothing."

"That is no reason you shouldn't go in the same carriage with me to

Rufford."

"Are you coming back to that,--just like a big child? Do let us

consider that as settled. I'm sure you'll let mamma and me have the

use of the phaeton." Of course the little contest was ended in the

manner proposed by Arabella.

"I do think," said Arabella, when she and her mother were seated in

the carriage, "that we have treated him very badly."

"Quite as well as he deserves! What a house to bring us to;--and what

people! Did you ever come across such an old woman before! And she

has him completely under her thumb. Are you prepared to live with

that harridan?"

"You may let me alone, mamma, for all that. She won't be in my way

after I'm married, I can tell you."

"You'll have something to do then."

"I ain't a bit afraid of her."

"And to ask us to meet such people as this American!"

"He's going back to Washington and it suited him to have him. I don't

quarrel with him for that. I wish I were married to him and back in

the States."

"You do?"

"I do."

"You have given it all up about Lord Rufford then?"

"No;--that's just where it is. I haven't given it up, and I still see

trouble upon trouble before me. But I know how it will be. He doesn't

mean anything. He's only amusing himself."

"If he'd once say the word he couldn't get back again. The Duke would

interfere then."

"What would he care for the Duke? The Duke is no more than anybody

else nowadays. I shall just fall to the ground between two stools.

I know it as well as if it were done already. And then I shall have

to begin again! If it comes to that I shall do something terrible.

I know I shall." Then they turned in at Lord Rufford's gates; and as

they were driven up beneath the oaks, through the gloom, both mother

and daughter thought how charming it would be to be the mistress of

such a park.

CHAPTER XXI.

THE FIRST EVENING AT RUFFORD HALL.

The phaeton arrived the first, the driver having been especially

told by Arabella that he need not delay on the road for the other

carriage. She had calculated that she might make her entrance with

better effect alone with her mother than in company with Morton and

the Senator. It would have been worth the while of any one who had

witnessed her troubles on that morning to watch the bland serenity

and happy ease with which she entered the room. Her mother was fond

of a prominent place but was quite contented on this occasion to

play a second fiddle for her daughter. She had seen at a glance that

Rufford Hall was a delightful house. Oh,--if it might become the

home of her child and her grandchildren,--and possibly a retreat

for herself! Arabella was certainly very handsome at this moment.

Never did she look better than when got up with care for travelling,

especially as seen by an evening light. Her slow motions were adapted

to heavy wraps, and however she might procure her large sealskin

jacket she graced it well when she had it. Lord Rufford came to the

door to meet them and immediately introduced them to his sister.

There were six or seven people in the room, mostly ladies, and tea

was offered to the new-comers. Lady Penwether was largely made,

like her brother; but was a languidly lovely woman, not altogether

unlike Arabella herself in her figure and movements, but with a more

expressive face, with less colour, and much more positive assurance

of high breeding. Lady Penwether was said to be haughty, but it was

admitted by all people that when Lady Penwether had said a thing

or had done a thing, it might be taken for granted that the way in

which she had done or said that thing was the right way. The only

other gentleman there was Major Caneback, who had just come in from

hunting with some distant pack and who had been brought into the room

by Lord Rufford that he might give some account of the doings of

the day. According to Caneback, they had been talking in the Brake

country about nothing but Goarly and the enormities which had been

perpetrated in the U. R. U. "By-the-bye, Miss Trefoil," said Lord

Rufford, "what have you done with your Senator?"

"He's on the road, Lord Rufford, examining English institutions as he

comes along. He'll be here by midnight."

"Imagine the man coming to me and telling me that he was a friend of

Goarly's. I rather liked him for it. There was a thorough pluck about

it. They say he's going to find all the money."

"I thought Mr. Scrobby was to do that?" said Lady Penwether.

"Mr. Scrobby will not have the slightest objection to have that part

of the work done for him. If all we hear is true Miss Trefoil's

Senator may have to defend both Scrobby and Goarly."

"My Senator as you call him will be quite up to the occasion."

"You knew him in America, Miss Trefoil?" asked Lady Penwether.

"Oh yes. We used to meet him and Mrs. Gotobed everywhere. But we

didn't exactly bring him over with us;--though our party down to

Bragton was made up in Washington," she added, feeling that she might

in this way account in some degree for her own presence in John

Morton's house. "It was mamma and Mr. Morton arranged it all."

"Oh my dear it was you and the Senator," said Lady Augustus, ready

for the occasion.

"Miss Trefoil," said the lord, "let us have it all out at once. Are

you taking Goarly's part?"

"Taking Goarly's part!" ejaculated the Major.

Arabella affected to give a little start, as though frightened by

the Major's enthusiasm. "For heaven's sake let us know our foes,"

continued Lord Rufford. "You see the effect such an announcement had

upon Major Caneback. Have you made an appointment before dawn with

Mr. Scrobby under the elms? Now I look at you I believe in my heart

you're a Goarlyite,--only without the Senator's courage to tell me

the truth beforehand."

"I really am very much obliged to Goarly," said Arabella, "because it

is so nice to have something to talk about."

"That's just what I think, Miss Trefoil," declared a young lady, Miss

Penge, who was a friend of Lady Penwether. "The gentlemen have so

much to say about hunting which nobody can understand! But now this

delightful man has scattered poison all over the country there is

something that comes home to our understanding. I declare myself

a Goarlyite at once, Lord Rufford, and shall put myself under the

Senator's leading directly he comes."

During all this time not a word had been said of John Morton, the

master of Bragton, the man to whose party these new-comers belonged.

Lady Augustus and Arabella clearly understood that John Morton was

only a peg on which the invitation to them had been hung. The feeling

that it was so grew upon them with every word that was spoken,--and

also the conviction that he must be treated like a peg at Rufford.

The sight of the hangings of the room, so different to the

old-fashioned dingy curtains at Bragton, the brilliancy of the

mirrors, all the decorations of the place, the very blaze from the

big grate, forced upon the girl's feelings a conviction that this was

her proper sphere. Here she was, being made much of as a new-comer,

and here if possible she must remain. Everything smiled on her with

gilded dimples, and these were the smiles she valued. As the softness

of the cushions sank into her heart, and mellow nothingnesses from

well-trained voices greeted her ears, and the air of wealth and

idleness floated about her cheeks, her imagination rose within her

and assured her that she could secure something better than Bragton.

The cautions with which she had armed herself faded away. This,--this

was the kind of thing for which she had been striving. As a girl of

spirit was it not worth her while to make another effort even though

there might be danger? Aut Cæsar aut nihil. She knew nothing about

Cæsar; but before the tardy wheels which brought the Senator and Mr.

Morton had stopped at the door she had declared to herself that she

would be Lady Rufford. The fresh party was of course brought into the

drawing-room and tea was offered; but Arabella hardly spoke to them,

and Lady Augustus did not speak to them at all, and they were shown

up to their bedrooms with very little preliminary conversation.

It was very hard to put Mr. Gotobed down; or it might be more

correctly said,--as there was no effort to put him down,--that it

was not often that he failed in coming to the surface. He took Lady

Penwether out to dinner and was soon explaining to her that this

little experiment of his in regard to Goarly was being tried simply

with the view of examining the institutions of the country. "We don't

mind it from you," said Lady Penwether, "because you are in a certain

degree a foreigner." The Senator declared himself flattered by being

regarded as a foreigner only "in a certain degree." "You see you

speak our language, Mr. Gotobed, and we can't help thinking you are

half-English."

"We are two-thirds English, my lady," said Mr. Gotobed; "but then we

think the other third is an improvement."

"Very likely."

"We have nothing so nice as this;" as he spoke he waved his right

hand to the different corners of the room. "Such a dinner-table as

I am sitting down to now couldn't be fixed in all the United States

though a man might spend three times as many dollars on it as his

lordship does."

"That is very often done, I should think."

"But then as we have nothing so well done as a house like this, so

also have we nothing so ill done as the houses of your poor people."

"Wages are higher with you, Mr. Gotobed."

"And public spirit, and the philanthropy of the age, and the

enlightenment of the people, and the institutions of the country all

round. They are all higher."

"Canvas-back ducks," said the Major, who was sitting two or three off

on the other side.

"Yes, sir, we have canvas-back ducks."

"Make up for a great many faults," said the Major.

"Of course, sir, when a man's stomach rises above his intelligence

he'll have to argue accordingly," said the Senator.

"Caneback, what are you going to ride to-morrow?" asked the lord who

saw the necessity of changing the conversation, as far at least as

the Major was concerned.

"Jemima;--mare of Purefoy's; have my neck broken, they tell me."

"It's not improbable," said Sir John Purefoy who was sitting at Lady

Penwether's left hand. "Nobody ever could ride her yet."

"I was thinking of asking you to let Miss Trefoil try her," said Lord

Rufford. Arabella was sitting between Sir John Purefoy and the Major.

"Miss Trefoil is quite welcome," said Sir John. "It isn't a bad idea.

Perhaps she may carry a lady, because she has never been tried. I

know that she objects strongly to carry a man."

"My dear," said Lady Augustus, "you shan't do anything of the kind."

And Lady Augustus pretended to be frightened.

"Mamma, you don't suppose Lord Rufford wants to kill me at once."

"You shall either ride her, Miss Trefoil, or my little horse Jack.

But I warn you beforehand that as Jack is the easiest ridden horse in

the country, and can scramble over anything, and never came down in

his life, you won't get any honour and glory; but on Jemima you might

make a character that would stick to you till your dying day."

"But if I ride Jemima that dying day might be to-morrow. I think I'll

take Jack, Lord Rufford, and let Major Caneback have the honour. Is

Jack fast?" In this way the anger arising between the Senator and the

Major was assuaged. The Senator still held his own, and, before the

question was settled between Jack and Jemima, had told the company

that no Englishman knew how to ride, and that the only seat fit for a

man on horseback was that suited for the pacing horses of California

and Mexico. Then he assured Sir John Purefoy that eighty miles a

day was no great journey for a pacing horse, with a man of fourteen

stone and a saddle and accoutrements weighing four more. The Major's

countenance, when the Senator declared that no Englishman could ride,

was a sight worth seeing.

That evening, even in the drawing-room, the conversation was chiefly

about horses and hunting, and those terrible enemies Goarly and

Scrobby. Lady Penwether and Miss Penge who didn't hunt were distantly

civil to Lady Augustus of whom of course a woman so much in the world

as Lady Penwether knew something. Lady Penwether had shrugged her

shoulders when consulted as to these special guests and had expressed

a hope that Rufford "wasn't going to make a goose of himself." But

she was fond of her brother and as both Lady Purefoy and Miss Penge

were special friends of hers, and as she had also been allowed to

invite a couple of Godolphin's girls to whom she wished to be civil,

she did as she was asked. The girl, she said to Miss Penge that

evening, was handsome, but penniless and a flirt. The mother she

declared to be a regular old soldier. As to Lady Augustus she was

right; but she had perhaps failed to read Arabella's character

correctly. Arabella Trefoil was certainly not a flirt. In all the

horsey conversation Arabella joined, and her low, clear, slow voice

could be heard now and then as though she were really animated

with the subject. At Bragton she had never once spoken as though

any matter had interested her. During this time Morton fell into

conversation first with Lady Purefoy and then with the two Miss

Godolphins, and afterwards for a few minutes with Lady Penwether

who knew that he was a county gentleman and a respectable member of

the diplomatic profession. But during the whole evening his ear was

intent on the notes of Arabella's voice; and also, during the whole

evening, her eye was watching him. She would not lose her chance with

Lord Rufford for want of any effort on her own part. If aught were

required from her in her present task that might be offensive to Mr.

Morton,--anything that was peremptorily demanded for the effort,--she

would not scruple to offend the man. But if it might be done without

offence, so much the better. Once he came across the room and said a

word to her as she was talking to Lord Rufford and the Purefoys. "You

are really in earnest about riding to-morrow."

"Oh dear, yes. Why shouldn't I be in earnest?"

"You are coming out yourself I hope," said the Lord.

"I have no horses here of my own, but I have told that man Stubbings

to send me something, and as I haven't been at Bragton for the last

seven years I have nothing proper to wear. I shan't be called a

Goarlyite I hope if I appear in trowsers."

"Not unless you have a basket of red herrings on your arm," said Lord

Rufford. Then Morton retired back to the Miss Godolphins finding that

he had nothing more to say to Arabella.

He was very angry,--though he hardly knew why or with whom. A girl

when she is engaged is not supposed to talk to no one but her

recognised lover in a mixed party of ladies and gentlemen, and she

is especially absolved from such a duty when they chance to meet in

the house of a comparative stranger. In such a house and among such

people it was natural that the talk should be about hunting, and as

the girl had accepted the loan of a horse it was natural that she

should join in such conversation. She had never sat for a moment

apart with Lord Rufford. It was impossible to say that she had

flirted with the man,--and yet Morton felt that he was neglected,

and felt also that he was only there because this pleasure-seeking

young Lord had liked to have in his house the handsome girl whom he,

Morton, intended to marry. He felt thoroughly ashamed of being there

as it were in the train of Miss Trefoil. He was almost disposed to

get up and declare that the girl was engaged to marry him. He thought

that he could put an end to the engagement without breaking his

heart;--but if the engagement was an engagement he could not submit

to treatment such as this, either from her or from others. He

would see her for the last time in the country at the ball on the

following evening,--as of course he would not be near her during the

hunting,--and then he would make her understand that she must be

altogether his or altogether cease to be his. And so resolving he

went to bed, refusing to join the gentlemen in the smoking-room.

"Oh, mamma," Arabella said to her mother that evening, "I do so wish

I could break my arm to-morrow."

"Break your arm, my dear!"

"Or my leg would be better. I wish I could have the courage to chuck

myself off going over some gate. If I could be laid up here now with

a broken limb I really think I could do it."

CHAPTER XXII.

JEMIMA.

As the meet on the next morning was in the park the party at Rufford

Hall was able to enjoy the luxury of an easy morning together with

the pleasures of the field. There was no getting up at eight o'clock,

no hurry and scurry to do twenty miles and yet be in time, no

necessity for the tardy dressers to swallow their breakfasts while

their more energetic companions were raving at them for compromising

the chances of the day by their delay. There was a public breakfast

down-stairs, at which all the hunting farmers of the country were to

be seen, and some who only pretended to be hunting farmers on such

occasions. But up-stairs there was a private breakfast for the ladies

and such of the gentlemen as preferred tea to champagne and cherry

brandy. Lord Rufford was in and out of both rooms, making himself

generally agreeable. In the public room there was a great deal

said about Goarly, to all of which the Senator listened with eager

ears,--for the Senator preferred the public breakfast as offering

another institution to his notice. "He'll swing on a gallows afore

he's dead," said one energetic farmer who was sitting next to Mr.

Gotobed,--a fat man with a round head, and a bullock's neck, dressed

in a black coat with breeches and top-boots. John Runce was not a

riding man. He was too heavy and short-winded;--too fond of his beer

and port wine; but he was a hunting man all over, one who always had

a fox in the springs at the bottom of his big meadows, one to whom it

was the very breath of his nostrils to shake hands with the hunting

gentry and to be known as a staunch friend to the U. R. U. A man did

not live in the county more respected than John Runce, or who was

better able to pay his way. To his thinking an animal more injurious

than Goarly to the best interests of civilisation could not have been

produced by all the evil influences of the world combined. "Do you

really think," said the Senator calmly, "that a man should be hanged

for killing a fox?" John Runce, who was not very ready, turned round

and stared at him. "I haven't heard of any other harm that he has

done, and perhaps he had some provocation for that." Words were

wanting to Mr. Runce, but not indignation. He collected together his

plate and knife and fork and his two glasses and his lump of bread,

and, looking the Senator full in the face, slowly pushed back his

chair and, carrying his provisions with him, toddled off to the other

end of the room. When he reached a spot where place was made for him

he had hardly breath left to speak. "Well," he said, "I never--!" He

sat a minute in silence shaking his head, and continued to shake his

head and look round upon his neighbours as he devoured his food.

Up-stairs there was a very cosy party who came in by degrees. Lady

Penwether was there soon after ten with Miss Penge and some of the

gentlemen, including Morton, who was the only man seen in that room

in black. Young Hampton, who was intimate in the house, made his

way up there and Sir John Purefoy joined the party. Sir John was a

hunting man who lived in the county and was an old friend of the

family. Lady Purefoy hunted also, and came in later. Arabella was the

last,--not from laziness, but aware that in this way the effect might

be the best. Lord Rufford was in the room when she entered it and

of course she addressed herself to him. "Which is it to be, Lord

Rufford, Jack or Jemima?"

"Which ever you like."

"I am quite indifferent. If you'll put me on the mare I'll ride

her,--or try."

"Indeed you won't," said Lady Augustus.

"Mamma knows nothing about it, Lord Rufford. I believe I could do

just as well as Major Caneback."

"She never had a lady on her in her life," said Sir John.

"Then it's time for her to begin. But at any rate I must have some

breakfast first." Then Lord Rufford brought her a cup of tea and Sir

John gave her a cutlet, and she felt herself to be happy. She was

quite content with her hat, and though her habit was not exactly a

hunting habit, it fitted her well. Morton had never before seen her

in a riding dress and acknowledged that it became her. He struggled

to think of something special to say to her, but there was nothing.

He was not at home on such an occasion. His long trowsers weighed him

down, and his ordinary morning coat cowed him. He knew in his heart

that she thought nothing of him as he was now. But she said a word to

him,--with that usual smile of hers. "Of course, Mr. Morton, you are

coming with us."

"A little way perhaps."

"You'll find that any horse from Stubbings can go," said Lord

Rufford. "I wish I could say as much of all mine."

"Jack can go, I hope, Lord Rufford." Lord Rufford nodded his head.

"And I shall expect you to give me a lead." To this he assented,

though it was perhaps more than he had intended. But on such an

occasion it is almost impossible to refuse such a request.

At half-past eleven they were all out in the park, and Tony was elate

as a prince having been regaled with a tumbler of champagne. But the

great interest of the immediate moment were the frantic efforts made

by Jemima to get rid of her rider. Once or twice Sir John asked the

Major to give it up, but the Major swore that the mare was a good

mare and only wanted riding. She kicked and squealed and backed and

went round the park with him at a full gallop. In the park there was

a rail with a ha-ha ditch, and the Major rode her at it in a gallop.

She went through the timber, fell in the ditch, and then was brought

up again without giving the man a fall. He at once put her back

at the same fence, and she took it, almost in her stride, without

touching it. "Have her like a spaniel before the day's over," said

the Major, who thoroughly enjoyed these little encounters.

Among the laurels at the bottom of the park a fox was found, and then

there was a great deal of riding about the grounds. All this was

much enjoyed by the ladies who were on foot,--and by the Senator who

wandered about the place alone. A gentleman's park is not always

the happiest place for finding a fox. The animal has usually many

resources there and does not like to leave it. And when he does go

away it is not always easy to get after him. But ladies in a carriage

or on foot on such occasions have their turn of the sport. On this

occasion it was nearly one before the fox allowed himself to be

killed, and then he had hardly been outside the park palings. There

was a good deal of sherry drank before the party got away and hunting

men such as Major Caneback began to think that the day was to be

thrown away. As they started off for Shugborough Springs, the little

covert on John Runce's farm which was about four miles from Rufford

Hall, Sir John asked the Major to get on another animal. "You've had

trouble enough with her for one day, and given her enough to do." But

the Major was not of that way of thinking. "Let her have the day's

work," said the Major. "Do her good. Remember what she's learned."

And so they trotted off to Shugborough.

While they were riding about the park Morton had kept near to Miss

Trefoil. Lord Rufford, being on his own place and among his own

coverts, had had cares on his hand and been unable to devote himself

to the young lady. She had never for a moment looked up at her lover,

or tried to escape from him. She had answered all his questions,

saying, however, very little, and had bided her time. The more

gracious she was to Morton now the less ground would he have for

complaining of her when she should leave him by-and-by. As they were

trotting along the road Lord Rufford came up and apologized. "I'm

afraid I've been very inattentive, Miss Trefoil; but I dare say

you've been in better hands."

"There hasn't been much to do,--has there?"

"Very little. I suppose a man isn't responsible for having foxes that

won't break. Did you see the Senator? He seemed to think it was all

right. Did you hear of John Runce?" Then he told the story of John

Runce, which had been told to him.

"What a fine old fellow! I should forgive him his rent."

"He is much better able to pay me double. Your Senator, Mr. Morton,

is a very peculiar man."

"He is peculiar," said Morton, "and I am sorry to say can make

himself very disagreeable."

"We might as well trot on as Shugborough is a small place, and a fox

always goes away from it at once. John Runce knows how to train them

better than I do." Then they made their way on through the straggling

horses, and John Morton, not wishing to seem to be afraid of his

rival, remained alone. "I wish Caneback had left that mare behind,"

said the lord as they went. "It isn't the country for her, and she is

going very nastily with him. Are you fond of hunting, Miss Trefoil?"

"Very fond of it," said Arabella who had been out two or three times

in her life.

"I like a girl to ride to hounds," said his lordship. "I don't think

she ever looks so well." Then Arabella determined that come what

might she would ride to hounds.

At Shugborough Springs a fox was found before half the field was up,

and he broke almost as soon as he was found. "Follow me through the

handgates," said the lord, "and from the third field out it's fair

riding. Let him have his head, and remember he hangs a moment as he

comes to his fence. You won't be left behind unless there's something

out of the way to stop us." Arabella's heart was in her mouth, but

she was quite resolved. Where he went she would follow. As for being

left behind she would not care the least for that if he were left

behind with her. They got well away, having to pause a moment while

the hounds came up to Tony's horn out of the wood. Then there was

plain sailing and there were very few before them. "He's one of the

old sort, my lord," said Tony as he pressed on, speaking of the fox.

"Not too near me, and you'll go like a bird," said his lordship.

"He's a nice little horse, isn't he? When I'm going to be married,

he'll be the first present I shall make her."

"He'd tempt almost any girl," said Arabella.

It was wonderful how well she went, knowing so little about it as she

did. The horse was one easily ridden, and on plain ground she knew

what she was about in a saddle. At any rate she did not disgrace

herself and when they had already run some three or four miles Lord

Rufford had nearly the best of it and she had kept with him. "You

don't know where you are I suppose," he said when they came to a

check.

"And I don't in the least care, if they'd only go on," said she

eagerly.

"We're back at Rufford Park. We've left the road nearly a mile to our

left, but there we are. Those trees are the park."

"But must we stop there?"

"That's as the fox may choose to behave. We shan't stop unless he

does." Then young Hampton came up, declaring that there was the very

mischief going on between Major Caneback and Jemima. According to

Hampton's account, the Major had been down three or four times, but

was determined to break either the mare's neck or her spirit. He had

been considerably hurt, so Hampton said, in one shoulder, but had

insisted on riding on. "That's the worst of him," said Lord Rufford.

"He never knows when to give up."

Then the hounds were again on the scent and were running very fast

towards the park. "That's a nasty ditch before us," said the Lord.

"Come down a little to the left. The hounds are heading that way, and

there's a gate." Young Hampton in the meantime was going straight for

the fence.

"I'm not afraid," said Arabella.

"Very well. Give him his head and he'll do it."

Just at that moment there was a noise behind them and the Major on

Jemima rushed up. She was covered with foam and he with dirt, and

her sides were sliced with the spur. His hat was crushed, and he

was riding almost altogether with his right hand. He came close to

Arabella and she could see the rage in his face as the animal rushed

on with her head almost between her knees. "He'll have another fall

there," said Lord Rufford.

Hampton who had passed them was the first over the fence, and the

other three all took it abreast. The Major was to the right, the lord

to the left and the girl between them. The mare's head was perhaps

the first. She rushed at the fence, made no leap at all, and of

course went headlong into the ditch. The Major still stuck to her

though two or three voices implored him to get off. He afterwards

declared that he had not strength to lift himself out of the saddle.

The mare lay for a moment;--then blundered out, rolled over him,

jumped on to her feet, and lunging out kicked her rider on the

head as he was rising. Then she went away and afterwards jumped the

palings into Rufford Park. That evening she was shot.

The man when kicked had fallen back close under the feet of Miss

Trefoil's horse. She screamed and half-fainting, fell also;--but fell

without hurting herself. Lord Rufford of course stopped, as did also

Mr. Hampton and one of the whips,--with several others in the course

of a minute or two. The Major was senseless,--but they who understood

what they were looking at were afraid that the case was very bad. He

was picked up and put on a door and within half an hour was on his

bed in Rufford Hall. But he did not speak for some hours and before

six o'clock that evening the doctor from Rufford had declared that he

had mounted his last horse and ridden his last hunt!

"Oh Lord Rufford," said Arabella, "I shall never recover that. I

heard the horse's feet against his head." Lord Rufford shuddered and

put his hand round her waist to support her. At that time they were

standing on the ground. "Don't mind me if you can do any good to

him." But there was nothing that Lord Rufford could do as four men

were carrying the Major on a shutter. So he and Arabella returned

together, and when she got off her horse she was only able to throw

herself into his arms.

CHAPTER XXIII.

POOR CANEBACK.

A closer intimacy will occasionally be created by some accident, some

fortuitous circumstance, than weeks of ordinary intercourse will

produce. Walk down Bond Street in a hailstorm of peculiar severity

and you may make a friend of the first person you meet, whereas you

would be held to have committed an affront were you to speak to

the same person in the same place on a fine day. You shall travel

smoothly to York with a lady and she will look as though she would

call the guard at once were you so much as to suggest that it were

a fine day; but if you are lucky enough to break a wheel before you

get to Darlington, she will have told you all her history and shared

your sherry by the time you have reached that town. Arabella was

very much shocked by the dreadful accident she had seen. Her nerves

had suffered, though it may be doubted whether her heart had been

affected much. But she was quite conscious when she reached her room

that the poor Major's misfortune, happening as it had done just

beneath her horse's feet, had been a godsend to her. For a moment the

young lord's arm had been round her waist and her head had been upon

his shoulder. And again when she had slipped from her saddle she had

felt his embrace. His fervour to her had been simply the uncontrolled

expression of his feeling at the moment,--as one man squeezes another

tightly by the hand in any crisis of sudden impulse. She knew

this;--but she knew also that he would probably revert to the

intimacy which the sudden emotion had created. The mutual galvanic

shock might be continued at the next meeting,--and so on. They had

seen the tragedy together and it would not fail to be a bond of

union. As she told the tragedy to her mother, she delicately laid

aside her hat and whip and riding dress, and then asked whether it

was not possible that they might prolong their stay at Rufford. "But

the Gores, my dear! I put them off, you know, for two days only."

Then Arabella declared that she did not care a straw for the Gores.

In such a matter as this what would it signify though they should

quarrel with a whole generation of Gores? For some time she thought

that she would not come down again that afternoon or even that

evening. It might well be that the sight of the accident should have

made her too ill to appear. She felt conscious that in that moment

and in the subsequent half hour she had carried herself well, and

that there would be an interest about her were she to own herself

compelled to keep her room. Were she now to take to her bed they

could not turn her out on the following day. But at last her mother's

counsel put an end to that plan. Time was too precious. "I think you

might lose more than you'd gain," said her mother.

Both Lord Rufford and his sister were very much disturbed as to what

they should do on the occasion. At half-past six Lord Rufford was

told that the Major had recovered his senses, but that the case was

almost hopeless. Of course he saw his guest. "I'm all right," said

the Major. The Lord sat there by the bedside, holding the man's hand

for a few moments, and then got up to leave him. "No nonsense about

putting off," said the Major in a faint voice; "beastly bosh all

that!"

But what was to be done? The dozen people who were in the house must

of course sit down to dinner. And then all the neighbourhood for

miles round were coming to a ball. It would be impossible to send

messages to everybody. And there was the feeling too that the man was

as yet only ill, and that his recovery was possible. A ball, with a

dead man in one of the bedrooms, would be dreadful. With a dying man

it was bad enough;--but then a dying man is always also a living man!

Lord Rufford had already telegraphed for a first-class surgeon from

London, it having been whispered to him that perhaps Old Nokes from

Rufford might be mistaken. The surgeon could not be there till four

o'clock in the morning by which time care would have been taken to

remove the signs of the ball; but if there was reason to send for a

London surgeon, then also was there reason for hope;--and if there

were ground for hope, then the desirability of putting off the ball

was very much reduced. "He's at the furthest end of the corridor,"

the Lord said to his sister, "and won't hear a sound of the music."

Though the man were to die why shouldn't the people dance? Had the

Major been dying three or four miles off, at the hotel at Rufford,

there would only have been a few sad looks, a few shakings of the

head, and the people would have danced without any flaw in their

gaiety. Had it been known at Rufford Hall that he was lying at that

moment in his mortal agony at Aberdeen, an exclamation or two,--"Poor

Caneback!"--"poor Major!"--would have been the extent of the wailing,

and not the pressure of a lover's hand would have been lightened, or

the note of a fiddle delayed. And nobody in that house really cared

much for Caneback. He was not a man worthy of much care. He was

possessed of infinite pluck, and now that he was dying could bear it

well. But he had loved no one particularly, had been dear to no one

in these latter days of his life, had been of very little use in

the world, and had done very little more for society than any other

horse-trainer! But nevertheless it is a bore when a gentleman dies in

your house,--and a worse bore if he dies from an accident than from

an illness for which his own body may be supposed to be responsible.

Though the gout should fly to a man's stomach in your best bedroom,

the idea never strikes you that your burgundy has done it! But here

the mare had done the mischief.

Poor Caneback;--and poor Lord Rufford! The Major was quite certain

that it was all over with himself. He had broken so many of his bones

and had his head so often cracked that he understood his own anatomy

pretty well. There he lay quiet and composed, sipping small modicums

of brandy and water, and taking his outlook into such transtygian

world as he had fashioned for himself in his dull imagination. If he

had misgivings he showed them to no bystander. If he thought then

that he might have done better with his energies than devote them to

dangerous horses, he never said so. His voice was weak, but it never

quailed; and the only regret he expressed was that he had not changed

the bit in Jemima's mouth. Lord Rufford's position was made worse by

an expression from Sir John Purefoy that the party ought to be put

off. Sir John was in a measure responsible for what his mare had

done, and was in a wretched state. "If it could possibly affect the

poor fellow I would do it," said Lord Rufford; "but it would create

very great inconvenience and disappointment. I have to think of other

people." "Then I shall send my wife home," said Sir John. And Lady

Purefoy was sent home. Sir John himself of course could not leave the

house while the man was alive. Before they all sat down to dinner the

Major was declared to be a little stronger. That settled the question

and the ball was not put off.

The ladies came down to dinner in a melancholy guise. They were not

fully dressed for the evening and were of course inclined to be

silent and sad. Before Lord Rufford came in Arabella managed to get

herself on to the sofa next to Lady Penwether, and then to undergo

some little hysterical manifestation, "Oh Lady Penwether; if you had

seen it;--and heard it!"

"I am very glad that I was spared anything so horrible."

"And the man's face as he passed me going to the leap! It will haunt

me to my dying day!" Then she shivered, and gurgled in her throat,

and turning suddenly round, hid her face on the elbow of the couch.

"I've been afraid all the afternoon that she would be ill," whispered

Lady Augustus to Miss Penge. "She is so susceptible!"

When Lord Rufford came into the room Arabella at once got up and

accosted him with a whisper. Either he took her or she took him

into a distant part of the room where they conversed apart for five

minutes. And he, as he told her how things were going and what was

being done, bent over her and whispered also. "What good would it

do, you know?" she said with affected intimacy as he spoke of his

difficulty about the ball. "One would do anything if one could be

of service,--but that would do nothing." She felt completely that

her presence at the accident had given her a right to have peculiar

conversations and to be consulted about everything. Of course she was

very sorry for Major Caneback. But as it had been ordained that Major

Caneback was to have his head split in two by a kick from a horse,

and that Lord Rufford was to be there to see it, how great had been

the blessing which had brought her to the spot at the same time!

Everybody there saw the intimacy and most of them understood the way

in which it was being used. "That girl is very clever, Rufford," his

sister whispered to him before dinner. "She is very much excited

rather than clever just at present," he answered;--upon which Lady

Penwether shook her head. Miss Penge whispered to Miss Godolphin

that Miss Trefoil was making the most of it; and Mr. Morton, who had

come into the room while the conversation apart was going on, had

certainly been of the same opinion.

She had seated herself in an arm-chair away from the others after

that conversation was over, and as she sat there Morton came up to

her. He had been so little intimate with the members of the party

assembled and had found himself so much alone, that he had only

lately heard the story about Major Caneback, and had now only

heard it imperfectly. But he did see that an absolute intimacy had

been effected where two days before there had only been a slight

acquaintance; and he believed that this sudden rush had been in some

way due to the accident of which he had been told. "You know what has

happened?" he said.

"Oh, Mr. Morton; do not talk to me about it!"

"Were you not speaking of it to Lord Rufford?"

"Of course I was. We were together."

"Did you see it?" Then she shuddered, put her handkerchief up to her

eyes, and turned her face away. "And yet the ball is to go on?" he

asked.

"Pray, pray, do not dwell on it,--unless you wish to force me back to

my room. When I left it I felt that I was attempting to do too much."

This might have been all very well had she not been so manifestly

able to talk to Lord Rufford on the same subject. If there is any

young man to whom a girl should be able to speak when she is in a

state of violent emotion, it is the young man to whom she is engaged.

So at least thought Mr. John Morton.

Then dinner was announced, and the dinner certainly was sombre

enough. A dinner before a ball in the country never is very much

of a dinner. The ladies know that there is work before them, and

keep themselves for the greater occasion. Lady Purefoy had gone,

and Lady Penwether was not very happy in the prospects for the

evening. Neither Miss Penge nor either of the two Miss Godolphins

had entertained personal hopes in regard to Lord Rufford, but

nevertheless they took badly the great favour shown to Arabella.

Lady Augustus did not get on particularly well with any of the

other ladies,--and there seemed during the dinner to be an air of

unhappiness over them all. They retired as soon as it was possible,

and then Arabella at once went up to her bedroom.

"Mr. Nokes says he is a little stronger, my Lord," said the butler

coming into the room. Mr. Nokes had gone home and had returned again.

"He might pull through yet," said Mr. Hampton. Lord Rufford shook his

head. Then Mr. Gotobed told a wonderful story of an American who had

had his brains knocked almost out of his head and had sat in Congress

afterwards. "He was the finest horseman I ever saw on a horse," said

Hampton.

"A little too much temper," said Captain Battersby, who was a very

old friend of the Major.

"I'd give a good deal that that mare had never been brought to my

stables," said Lord Rufford. "Purefoy will never get over it, and

I shan't forget it in a hurry." Sir John at this time was up-stairs

with the sufferer. Even while drinking their wine they could not

keep themselves from the subject, and were convivial in a cadaverous

fashion.

CHAPTER XXIV.

THE BALL.

The people came of course, but not in such numbers as had been

expected. Many of those in Rufford had heard of the accident, and

having been made acquainted with Nokes's report, stayed away.

Everybody was told that supper would be on the table at twelve, and

that it was generally understood that the house was to be cleared

by two. Nokes seemed to think that the sufferer would live at least

till the morrow, and it was ascertained to a certainty that the music

could not affect him. It was agreed among the party in the house that

the ladies staying there should stand up for the first dance or two,

as otherwise the strangers would be discouraged and the whole thing

would be a failure. This request was made by Lady Penwether because

Miss Penge had said that she thought it impossible for her to dance.

Poor Miss Penge, who was generally regarded as a brilliant young

woman, had been a good deal eclipsed by Arabella and had seen the

necessity of striking out some line for herself. Then Arabella had

whispered a few words to Lord Rufford, and the lord had whispered

a few words to his sister, and Lady Penwether had explained what

was to be done to the ladies around. Lady Augustus nodded her head

and said that it was all right. The other ladies of course agreed,

and partners were selected within the house party. Lord Rufford

stood up with Arabella and John Morton with Lady Penwether. Mr.

Gotobed selected Miss Penge, and Hampton and Battersby the two

Miss Godolphins. They all took their places with a lugubrious but

business-like air, as aware that they were sacrificing themselves

in the performance of a sad duty. But Morton was not allowed to

dance in the same quadrille with the lady of his affections. Lady

Penwether explained to him that she and her brother had better divide

themselves,--for the good of the company generally,--and therefore he

and Arabella were also divided.

A rumour had reached Lady Penwether of the truth in regard to their

guests from Bragton. Mr. Gotobed had whispered to her that he had

understood that they certainly were engaged; and, even before that,

the names of the two lovers had been wafted to her ears from the

other side of the Atlantic. Both John Morton and Lady Augustus were

"somebodies," and Lady Penwether generally knew what there was to

be known of anybody who was anybody. But it was quite clear to

her,--more so even than to poor John Morton,--that the lady was

conducting herself now as though she were fettered by no bonds, and

it seemed to Lady Penwether also that the lady was very anxious to

contract other bonds. She knew her brother well. He was always in

love with somebody; but as he had hitherto failed of success where

marriage was desirable, so had he avoided disaster when it was not.

He was one of those men who are generally supposed to be averse to

matrimony. Lady Penwether and some other relatives were anxious that

he should take a wife;--but his sister was by no means anxious that

he should take such a one as Arabella Trefoil. Therefore she thought

that she might judiciously ask Mr. Morton a few questions. "I believe

you knew the Trefoils in Washington?" she said. Morton acknowledged

that he had seen much of them there. "She is very handsome,

certainly."

"I think so."

"And rides well I suppose."

"I don't know. I never heard much of her riding."

"Has she been staying long at Bragton?"

"Just a week."

"Do you know Lord Augustus?" Morton said that he did not know Lord

Augustus and then answered sundry other questions of the same nature

in the same uncommunicative way. Though he had once or twice almost

fancied that he would like to proclaim aloud that the girl was

engaged to him, yet he did not like to have the fact pumped out of

him. And if she were such a girl as she now appeared to be, might

it not be better for him to let her go? Surely her conduct here at

Rufford Hall was opportunity enough. No doubt she was handsome. No

doubt he loved her,--after his fashion of loving. But to lose her

now would not break his heart, whereas to lose her after he was

married to her, would, he knew well, bring him to the very ground.

He would ask her a question or two this very night, and then come to

some resolution. With such thoughts as these crossing his mind he

certainly was not going to proclaim his engagement to Lady Penwether.

But Lady Penwether was a determined woman. Her smile, when she

condescended to smile, was very sweet,--lighting up her whole face

and flattering for the moment the person on whom it shone. It was as

though a rose in emitting its perfume could confine itself to the

nostrils of its one favoured friend. And now she smiled on Morton

as she asked another question. "I did hear," she said, "from one of

your Foreign Office young men that you and Miss Trefoil were very

intimate."

"Who was that, Lady Penwether?"

"Of course I shall mention no name. You might call out the poor lad

and shoot him, or, worse still, have him put down to the bottom of

his class. But I did hear it. And then, when I find her staying with

her mother at your house, of course I believe it to be true."

"Now she is staying at your brother's house,--which is much the same

thing."

"But I am here."

"And my grandmother is at Bragton."

"That puts me in mind, Mr. Morton. I am so sorry that we did not know

it, so that we might have asked her."

"She never goes out anywhere, Lady Penwether."

"And there is nothing then in the report that I heard?"

Morton paused a moment before he answered, and during that moment

collected his diplomatic resources. He was not a weak man, who could

be made to tell anything by the wiles of a pretty woman. "I think,"

he said, "that when people have anything of that kind which they wish

to be known, they declare it."

"I beg your pardon. I did not mean to unravel a secret."

"There are secrets, Lady Penwether, which people do like to unravel,

but which the owners of them sometimes won't abandon." Then there was

nothing more said on the subject. Lady Penwether did not smile again,

and left him to go about the room on her business as hostess, as soon

as the dance was over. But she was sure that they were engaged.

In the meantime, the conversation between Lord Rufford and Arabella

was very different in its tone, though on the same subject. He was

certainly very much struck with her, not probably ever waiting to

declare to himself that she was the most beautiful woman he had ever

seen in his life, but still feeling towards her an attraction which

for the time was strong. A very clever girl would frighten him; a

very horsey girl would disgust him; a very quiet girl would bore him;

or a very noisy girl annoy him. With a shy girl he could never be

at his ease, not enjoying the labour of overcoming such a barrier;

and yet he liked to be able to feel that any female intimacy which

he admitted was due to his own choice and not to that of the young

woman. Arabella Trefoil was not very clever, but she had given

all her mind to this peculiar phase of life, and, to use a common

phrase, knew what she was about. She was quite alive to the fact that

different men require different manners in a young woman; and as she

had adapted herself to Mr. Morton at Washington, so could she at

Rufford adapt herself to Lord Rufford. At the present moment the lord

was in love with her as much as he was wont to be in love. "Doesn't

it seem an immense time since we came here yesterday?" she said to

him. "There has been so much done."

"There has been a great misfortune."

"I suppose that is it. Only for that how very very pleasant it would

have been!"

"Yes, indeed. It was a nice run, and that little horse carried you

charmingly. I wish I could see you ride him again." She shook her

head as she looked up into his face. "Why do you shake your head?"

"Because I am afraid there is no possible chance of such happiness.

We are going to such a dull house to-morrow! And then to so many dull

houses afterwards."

"I don't know why you shouldn't come back and have another day or

two;--when all this sadness has gone by."

"Don't talk about it, Lord Rufford."

"Why not?"

"I never like to talk about any pleasure because it always vanishes

as soon as it has come;--and when it has been real pleasure it never

comes back again. I don't think I ever enjoyed anything so much as

our ride this morning,--till that tragedy came."

"Poor Caneback!"

"I suppose there is no hope?" He shook his head. "And we must go on

to those Gores to-morrow without knowing anything about it. I wonder

whether you could send me a line."

"Of course I can, and I will." Then he asked her a question looking

into her face. "You are not going back to Bragton?"

"Oh dear, no."

"Was Bragton dull?"

"Awfully dull;--frightfully dull."

"You know what they say?"

"What who say, Lord Rufford? People say anything,--the more

ill-natured the better they like it, I think."

"Have you not heard what they say about you and Mr. Morton?"

"Just because mamma made a promise when in Washington to go to

Bragton with that Mr. Gotobed. Don't you find they marry you to

everybody?"

"They have married me to a good many people. Perhaps they'll marry me

to you to-morrow. That would not be so bad."

"Oh, Lord Rufford! Nobody has ever condemned you to anything so

terrible as that."

"There was no truth in it then, Miss Trefoil?"

"None at all, Lord Rufford. Only I don't know why you should ask me."

"Well; I don't know. A man likes sometimes to be sure how the land

lies. Mr. Morton looks so cross that I thought that perhaps the very

fact of my dancing with you might be an offence."

"Is he cross?"

"You know him better than I do. Perhaps it's his nature. Now I must

do one other dance with a native and then my work will be over."

"That isn't very civil, Lord Rufford."

"If you do not know what I meant, you're not the girl I take you to

be." Then as she walked with him back out of the ball-room into the

drawing-room she assured him that she did know what he meant, and

that therefore she was the girl he took her to be.

She had determined that she would not dance again and had resolved to

herd with the other ladies of the house,--waiting for any opportunity

that chance might give her for having a last word with Lord Rufford

before they parted for the night,--when Morton came up to her and

demanded rather than asked that she would stand up with him for a

quadrille. "We settled it all among ourselves, you know," she said.

"We were to dance only once, just to set the people off." He still

persisted, but she still refused, alleging that she was bound by the

general compact; and though he was very urgent she would not yield.

"I wonder how you can ask me," she said. "You don't suppose that

after what has occurred I can have any pleasure in dancing." Upon

this he asked her to take a turn with him through the rooms, and to

that she found herself compelled to assent. Then he spoke out to her.

"Arabella," he said, "I am not quite content with what has been going

on since we came to this house."

"I am sorry for that."

"Nor, indeed, have I been made very happy by all that has occurred

since your mother and you did me the honour of coming to Bragton."

"I must acknowledge you haven't seemed to be very happy, Mr. Morton."

"I don't want to distress you;--and as far as possible I wish to

avoid distressing myself. If it is your wish that our engagement

should be over, I will endeavour to bear it. If it is to be

continued,--I expect that your manner to me should be altered."

"What am I to say?"

"Say what you feel."

"I feel that I can't alter my manner, as you call it."

"You do wish the engagement to be over then?"

"I did not say so. The truth is, Mr. Morton, that there is some

trouble about the lawyers."

"Why do you always call me Mr. Morton?"

"Because I am aware how probable it is that all this may come to

nothing. I can't walk out of the house and marry you as the cookmaid

does the gardener. I've got to wait till I'm told that everything is

settled; and at present I'm told that things are not settled because

you won't agree."

"I'll leave it to anybody to say whether I've been unreasonable."

"I won't go into that. I haven't meddled with it, and I don't know

anything about it. But until it is all settled as a matter of course

there must be some little distance between us. It's the commonest

thing in the world, I should say."

"What is to be the end of it?"

"I do not know. If you think yourself injured you can back out of it

at once. I've nothing more to say about it."

"And you think I can like the way you're going on here?"

"If you're jealous, Mr. Morton, there's an end of it. I tell you

fairly once for all, that as long as I'm a single woman I will

regulate my conduct as I please. You can do the same, and I shall not

say a word to you." Then she withdrew her arm from him, and, leaving

him, walked across the room and joined her mother. He went off at

once to his own room resolving that he would write to her from

Bragton. He had made his propositions in regard to money which he was

quite aware were as liberal as was fit. If she would now fix a day

for their marriage, he would be a happy man. If she would not bring

herself to do this, then he would have no alternative but to regard

their engagement as at an end.

At two o'clock the guests were nearly all gone. The Major was alive,

and likely to live at least for some hours, and the Rufford people

generally were glad that they had not put off the ball. Some of them

who were staying in the house had already gone to bed, and Lady

Penwether, with Miss Penge at her side, was making her last adieux

in the drawing-room. The ball-room was reached from the drawing-room,

with a vestibule between them, and opening from this was a small

chamber, prettily furnished but seldom used, which had no peculiar

purpose of its own, but in which during the present evening many

sweet words had probably been spoken. Now, at this last moment, Lord

Rufford and Arabella Trefoil were there alone together. She had just

got up from a sofa, and he had taken her hand in his. She did not

attempt to withdraw it, but stood looking down upon the ground. Then

he passed his arm round her waist and lifting her face to his held

her in a close embrace from which she made no effort to free herself.

As soon as she was released she hastened to the door which was

all but closed, and as she opened it and passed through to the

drawing-room said some ordinary word to him quite aloud in her

ordinary voice. If his action had disturbed her she knew very well

how to recover her equanimity.

CHAPTER XXV.

THE LAST MORNING AT RUFFORD HALL.

"Well, my love?" said Lady Augustus, as soon as her daughter had

joined her in her bedroom. On such occasions there was always a

quarter of an hour before going to bed in which the mother and

daughter discussed their affairs, while the two lady's maids were

discussing their affairs in the other room. The two maids probably

did not often quarrel, but the mother and daughter usually did.

"I wish that stupid man hadn't got himself hurt."

"Of course, my dear; we all wish that. But I really don't see that it

has stood much in your way."

"Yes it has. After all there is nothing like dancing, and we

shouldn't all have been sent to bed at two o'clock."

"Then it has come to nothing?"

"I didn't say that at all, mamma. I think I have done uncommonly

well. Indeed I know I have. But then if everything had not been

upset, I might have done so much better."

"What have you done?" asked Lady Augustus, timidly. She knew

perfectly well that her daughter would tell her nothing, and yet she

always asked these questions and was always angry when no information

was given to her. Any young woman would have found it very hard to

give the information needed. "When we were alone he sat for five

minutes with his arm round my waist, and then he kissed me. He didn't

say much, but then I knew perfectly well that he would be on his

guard not to commit himself by words. But I've got him to promise

that he'll write to me, and of course I'll answer in such a way that

he must write again. I know he'll want to see me, and I think I can

go very near doing it. But he's an old stager and knows what he's

about: and of course there'll be ever so many people to tell him I'm

not the sort of girl he ought to marry. He'll hear about Colonel de

B----, and Sir C. D----, and Lord E. F----, and there are ever so

many chances against me. But I've made up my mind to try it. It's

taking the long odds. I can hardly expect to win, but if I do pull

it off I'm made for ever!" A daughter can hardly say all that to her

mother. Even Arabella Trefoil could not say it to her mother,--or, at

any rate, she would not. "What a question that is to ask, mamma?" she

did say tossing her head.

"Well, my dear, unless you tell me something how can I help you?"

"I don't know that I want you to help me,--at any rate not in that

way."

"In what way?"

"Oh, mamma, you are so odd."

"Has he said anything?"

"Yes, he has. He said he liked dry champagne and that he never ate

supper."

"If you won't tell me how things are going you may fight your own

battles by yourself."

"That's just what I must do. Nobody else can fight my battles for

me."

"What are you going to do about Mr. Morton?"

"Nothing."

"I saw him talking to you and looking as black as thunder."

"He always looks as black as thunder."

"Is that to be all off? I insist upon having an answer to that

question."

"I believe you fancy, mamma, that a lot of men can be played like a

parcel of chessmen, and that as soon as a knight is knocked on the

head you can take him up and put him into the box and have done with

him."

"You haven't done with Mr. Morton then?"

"Poor Mr. Morton! I do feel he is badly used because he is so honest.

I sometimes wish that I could afford to be honest too and to tell

somebody the downright truth. I should like to tell him the truth

and I almost think I will. 'My dear fellow, I did for a time think I

couldn't do better, and I'm not at all sure now that I can. But then

you are so very dull, and I'm not certain that I should care to be

Queen of the English society at the Court of the Emperor of Morocco!

But if you'll wait for another six months, I shall be able to tell

you.' That's what I should have to say to him."

"Who is talking nonsense now, Arabella?"

"I am not. But I shan't say it. And now, mamma, I'll tell you what we

must do."

"You must tell me why also."

"I can do nothing of the kind. He knows the Duke." The Duke with the

Trefoils always meant the Duke of Mayfair who was Arabella's ducal

uncle.

"Intimately?"

"Well enough to go there. There is to be a great shooting at

Mistletoe,"--Mistletoe was the duke's place,--"in January. I got that

from him, and he can go if he likes. He won't go as it is: but if I

tell him I'm to be there, I think he will."

"What did you tell him?"

"Well;--I told him a tarradiddle of course. I made him understand

that I could be there if I pleased, and he thinks that I mean to be

there if he goes."

"But I'm sure the Duchess won't have me again."

"She might let me come."

"And what am I to do?"

"You could go to Brighton with Miss De Groat;--or what does it matter

for a fortnight? You'll get the advantage when it's done. It's as

well to have the truth out at once, mamma,--I cannot carry on if I'm

always to be stuck close to your apron-strings. There are so many

people won't have you."

"Arabella, I do think you are the most ungrateful, hard-hearted

creature that ever lived."

"Very well; I don't know what I have to be grateful about, and I need

to be hard-hearted. Of course I am hard-hearted. The thing will be to

get papa to see his brother."

"Your papa!"

"Yes;--that's what I mean to try. The Duke, of course, would like me

to marry Lord Rufford. Do you think that if I were at home here it

wouldn't make Mistletoe a very different sort of place for you? The

Duke does like papa in a sort of way, and he's civil enough to me

when I'm there. He never did like you."

"Everybody is so fond of you! It was what you did when young

Stranorlar was there which made the Duchess almost turn us out of the

house."

"What's the good of your saying that, mamma? If you go on like that

I'll separate myself from you and throw myself on papa."

"Your father wouldn't lift his little finger for you."

"I'll try at any rate. Will you consent to my going there without you

if I can manage it?"

"What did Lord Rufford say?" Arabella here made a grimace. "You

can tell me something. What are the lawyers to say to Mr. Morton's

people?"

"Whatever they like."

"If they come to arrangements do you mean to marry him?"

"Not for the next two months certainly. I shan't see him again now

heaven knows when. He'll write no doubt,--one of his awfully sensible

letters, and I shall take my time about answering him. I can stretch

it out for two months. If I'm to do any good with this man it will be

all arranged before that time. If the Duke could really be made to

believe that Lord Rufford was in earnest I'm sure he'd have me there.

As to her, she always does what he tells her."

"He is going to write to you?"

"I told you that before, mamma. What is the good of asking a lot of

questions? You know now what my plan is, and if you won't help me

I must carry it out alone. And, remember, I don't want to start

to-morrow till after Morton and that American have gone." Then

without a kiss or wishing her mother good night she went off to her

own room.

The next morning at about nine Arabella heard from her maid that the

Major was still alive but senseless. The London surgeon had been

there and had declared it to be possible that the patient should

live,--but barely possible. At ten they were all at breakfast, and

the carriage from Bragton was already at the door to take back Mr.

Morton and his American friend. Lady Augustus had been clever enough

to arrange that she should have the phaeton to take her to the

Rufford Station a little later on in the day, and had already hinted

to one of the servants that perhaps a cart might be sent with the

luggage. The cart was forthcoming. Lady Augustus was very clever

in arranging her locomotion and seldom paid for much more than her

railway tickets.

"I had meant to say a few words to you, my lord, about that

man Goarly," said the Senator, standing before the fire in the

breakfast-room, "but this sad catastrophe has stopped me."

"There isn't much to say about him, Mr. Gotobed."

"Perhaps not; only I would not wish you to think that I would oppose

you without some cause. If the man is in the wrong according to law

let him be proved to be so. The cost to you will be nothing. To him

it might be of considerable importance."

"Just so. Won't you sit down and have some breakfast? If Goarly ever

makes himself nuisance enough it may be worth my while to buy him out

at three times the value of his land. But he'll have to be a very

great nuisance before I shall do that. Dillsborough wood is not the

only fox covert in the county." After that there was no more said

about it; but neither did Lord Rufford understand the Senator nor

did the Senator understand Lord Rufford. John Runce had a clearer

conviction on his mind than either of them. Goarly ought to be

hanged, and no American should, under any circumstances be allowed to

put his foot upon British soil. That was Runce's idea of the matter.

The parting between Morton and the Trefoils was very chill and

uncomfortable. "Good-bye, Mr. Morton;--we had such a pleasant time at

Bragton!" said Lady Augustus. "I shall write to you this afternoon,"

he whispered to Arabella as he took her hand. She smiled and murmured

a word of adieu, but made him no reply. Then they were gone, and as

he got into the carriage he told himself that in all probability he

would never see her again. It might be that he would curtail his

leave of absence and get back to Washington as quickly as possible.

The Trefoils did not start for an hour after this, during which

Arabella could hardly find an opportunity for a word in private. She

could not quite appeal to him to walk with her in the grounds, or

even to take a turn with her round the empty ball-room She came down

dressed for walking, thinking that so she might have the best chance

of getting him for a quarter of an hour to herself, but he was either

too wary or else the habits of his life prevented it. And in what she

had to do it was so easy to go beyond the proper line! She would wish

him to understand that she would like to be alone with him after what

had passed between them on the previous evening,--but she must be

careful not to let him imagine that she was too anxious. And then

whatever she did she had to do with so many eyes upon her! And when

she went, as she would do now in so short a time, so many hostile

tongues would attack her! He had everything to protect him;--and she

had nothing, absolutely nothing, to help her! It was thus that she

looked at it; and yet she had courage for the battle. Almost at the

last moment she did get a word with him in the hall. "How is he?"

"Oh, better, decidedly."

"I am so glad. If I could only think that he could live! Well, my

Lord, we have to say good-bye."

"I suppose so."

"You'll write me a line,--about him."

"Certainly."

"I shall be so glad to have a line from Rufford. Maddox Hall, you

know; Stafford."

"I will remember."

"And dear old Jack. Tell me when you write what Jack has been doing."

Then she put out her hand and he held it. "I wonder whether you will

ever remember--" But she did not quite know what to bid him remember,

and therefore turned away her face and wiped away a tear, and then

smiled as she turned her back on him. The carriage was at the door,

and the ladies flocked into the hall, and then not another word could

be said.

"That's what I call a really nice country house," said Lady Augustus

as she was driven away. Arabella sat back in the phaeton lost in

thought and said nothing. "Everything so well done, and yet none of

all that fuss that there is at Mistletoe." She paused but still her

daughter did not speak. "If I were beginning the world again I would

not wish for a better establishment than that. Why can't you answer

me a word when I speak to you?"

"Of course it's all very nice. What's the good of going on in that

way? What a shame it is that a man like that should have so much and

that a girl like me should have nothing at all. I know twice as much

as he does, and am twice as clever, and yet I've got to treat him

as though he were a god. He's all very well, but what would anybody

think of him if he were a younger brother with £300 a year." This was

a kind of philosophy which Lady Augustus hated. She threw herself

back therefore in the phaeton and pretended to go to sleep.

The wheels were not out of sight of the house before the attack on

the Trefoils began. "I had heard of Lady Augustus before," said

Lady Penwether, "but I didn't think that any woman could be so

disagreeable."

"So vulgar," said Miss Penge.

"Wasn't she the daughter of an ironmonger?" asked the elder Miss

Godolphin.

"The girl of course is handsome," said Lady Penwether.

"But so self-sufficient," said Miss Godolphin.

"And almost as vulgar as her mother," said Miss Penge.

"She may be clever," said Lady Penwether, "but I do not think I

should ever like her."

"She is one of those girls whom only gentlemen like," said Miss

Penge.

"And whom they don't like very long," said Lady Penwether.

"How well I understand all this," said Lord Rufford turning to

the younger Miss Godolphin. "It is all said for my benefit, and

considered to be necessary because I danced with the young lady last

night."

"I hope you are not attributing such a motive to me," said Miss

Penge.

"Or to me," said Miss Godolphin.

"I look on both of you and Eleanor as all one on the present

occasion. I am considered to be falling over a precipice, and she has

got hold of my coat tails. Of course you wouldn't be Christians if

you didn't both of you seize a foot."

"Looking at it in that light I certainly wish to be understood as

holding on very fast," said Miss Penge.

CHAPTER XXVI.

GIVE ME SIX MONTHS.

There was a great deal of trouble and some very genuine sorrow

in the attorney's house at Dillsborough during the first week in

December. Mr. Masters had declared to his wife that Mary should go

to Cheltenham and a letter was written to Lady Ushant accepting the

invitation. The £20 too was forthcoming and the dress and the boots

and the hat were bought. But while this was going on Mrs. Masters

took care that there should be no comfort whatever around them and

made every meal a separate curse to the unfortunate lawyer. She told

him ten times a day that she had been a mother to his daughter, but

declared that such a position was no longer possible to her as the

girl had been taken altogether out of her hands. To Mary she hardly

spoke at all and made her thoroughly wish that Lady Ushant's kindness

had been declined. "Mamma," she said one day, "I had rather write now

and tell her that I cannot come."

"After all the money has been wasted!"

"I have only got things that I must have had very soon."

"If you have got anything to say you had better talk to your father.

I know nothing about it."

"You break my heart when you say that, mamma."

"You think nothing about breaking mine;--or that young man's

who is behaving so well to you. What makes me mad is to see you

shilly-shallying with him."

"Mamma, I haven't shilly-shallied."

"That's what I call it. Why can't you speak him fair and tell him

you'll have him and settle yourself down properly? You've got some

idea into your silly head that what you call a gentleman will come

after you."

"Mamma, that isn't fair."

"Very well, miss. As your father takes your part of course you can

say what you please to me. I say it is so." Mary knew very well what

her mother meant and was safe at least from any allusion to Reginald

Morton. There was an idea prevalent in the house, and not without

some cause, that Mr. Surtees the curate had looked with an eye of

favour on Mary Masters. Mr. Surtees was certainly a gentleman, but

his income was strictly limited to the sum of £120 per annum which

he received from Mr. Mainwaring. Now Mrs. Masters disliked clergymen,

disliked gentlemen, and especially disliked poverty; and therefore

was not disposed to look upon Mr. Surtees as an eligible suitor for

her stepdaughter. But as the curate's courtship had hitherto been

of the coldest kind and as it had received no encouragement from

the young lady, Mary was certainly justified in declaring that

the allusion was not fair. "What I want to know is this;--are you

prepared to marry Lawrence Twentyman?" To this question, as Mary

could not give a favourable answer, she thought it best to make none

at all. "There is a man as has got a house fit for any woman, and

means to keep it; who can give a young woman everything that she

ought to want;--and a handsome fellow too, with some life in him; one

who really dotes on you,--as men don't often do on young women now as

far as I can see. I wonder what it is you would have?"

"I want nothing, mamma."

"Yes you do. You have been reading books of poetry till you don't

know what it is you do want. You've got your head full of claptraps

and tantrums till you haven't a grain of sense belonging to you. I

hate such ways. It's a spurning of the gifts of Providence not to

have such a man as Lawrence Twentyman when he comes in your way. Who

are you, I wonder, that you shouldn't be contented with such as him?

He'll go and take some one else and then you'll be fit to break your

heart, fretting after him, and I shan't pity you a bit. It'll serve

you right and you'll die an old maid, and what there will be for you

to live upon God in heaven only knows. You're breaking your father's

heart, as it is." Then she sat down in a rocking-chair and throwing

her apron over her eyes gave herself up to a deluge of hysterical

tears.

This was very hard upon Mary for though she did not believe all the

horrible things which her stepmother said to her she did believe

some of them. She was not afraid of the fate of an old maid which

was threatened, but she did think that her marriage with this man

would be for the benefit of the family and a great relief to her

father. And she knew too that he was respectable, and believed him

to be thoroughly earnest in his love. For such love as that it is

impossible that a girl should not be grateful. There was nothing to

allure him, nothing to tempt him to such a marriage, but a simple

appreciation of her personal merits. And in life he was at any rate

her equal. She had told Reginald Morton that Larry Twentyman was a

fit companion for her and for her sisters, and she owned as much to

herself every day. When she acknowledged all this she was tempted to

ask herself whether she ought not to accept the man,--if not for her

own sake at least for that of the family.

That same evening her father called her into the office after the

clerks were gone and spoke to her thus. "Your mamma is very unhappy,

my dear," he said.

"I'm afraid I have made everybody unhappy by wanting to go to

Cheltenham."

"It is not only that. That is reasonable enough and you ought to go.

Mamma would say nothing more about that,--if you would make up your

mind to one thing."

"What thing, papa?" Of course she knew very well what the thing was.

"It is time for you to think of settling in life, Mary. I never would

put it into a girl's head that she ought to worry herself about

getting a husband unless the opportunity seemed to come in her way.

Young women should be quiet and wait till they're sought after. But

here is a young man seeking you whom we all like and approve. A good

house is a very good thing when it's fairly come by."

"Yes, papa."

"And so is a full house. A girl shouldn't run after money, but plenty

is a great comfort in this world when it can be had without blushing

for."

"Yes, papa."

"And so is an honest man's love. I don't like to see any girl

wearying after some fellow to be always fal-lalling with her. A good

girl will be able to be happy and contented without that. But a lone

life is a poor life, and a good husband is about the best blessing

that a young woman can have." To this proposition Mary perhaps agreed

in her own mind but she gave no spoken assent. "Now this young man

that is wanting to marry you has got all these things, and as far as

I can judge with my experience in the world, is as likely to make a

good husband as any one I know." He paused for an answer but Mary

could only lean close upon his arm and be silent. "Have you anything

to say about it, my dear? You see it has been going on now a long

time, and of course he'll look to have it decided." But still she

could say nothing. "Well, now;--he has been with me to-day."

"Mr. Twentyman?"

"Yes,--Mr. Twentyman. He knows you're going to Cheltenham and of

course he has nothing to say against that. No young man such as he

would be sorry that his sweetheart should be entertained by such a

lady as Lady Ushant. But he says that he wants to have an answer

before you go."

"I did answer him, papa."

"Yes,--you refused him. But he hopes that perhaps you may think

better of it. He has been with me and I have told him that if he will

come to-morrow you will see him. He is to be here after dinner and

you had better just take him up-stairs and hear what he has to say.

If you can make up your mind to like him you will please all your

family. But if you can't,--I won't quarrel with you, my dear."

"Oh papa, you are always so good."

"Of course I am anxious that you should have a home of your own;--but

let it be how it may I will not quarrel with my child."

All that evening, and almost all the night, and again on the

following morning Mary turned it over in her mind. She was quite sure

that she was not in love with Larry Twentyman; but she was by no

means sure that it might not be her duty to accept him without being

in love with him. Of course he must know the whole truth; but she

could tell him the truth and then leave it for him to decide. What

right had she to stand in the way of her friends, or to be a burden

to them when such a mode of life was offered to her? She had nothing

of her own, and regarded herself as being a dead weight on the

family. And she was conscious in a certain degree of isolation in the

household,--as being her father's only child by the first marriage.

She would hardly know how to look her father in the face and tell him

that she had again refused the man. But yet there was something awful

to her in the idea of giving herself to a man without loving him,--in

becoming a man's wife when she would fain remain away from him! Would

it be possible that she should live with him while her feelings were

of such a nature? And then she blushed as she lay in the dark, with

her cheek on her pillow, when she found herself forced to inquire

within her own heart whether she did not love some one else. She

would not own it, and yet she blushed, and yet she thought of it. If

there might be such a man it was not the young clergyman to whom her

mother had alluded.

Through all that morning she was very quiet, very pale, and in

truth very unhappy. Her father said no further word to her, and her

stepmother had been implored to be equally reticent. "I shan't speak

another word," said Mrs. Masters; "her fortune is in her own hands

and if she don't choose to take it I've done with her. One man may

lead a horse to water but a hundred can't make him drink. It's just

the same with an obstinate pig-headed young woman."

At three o'clock Mr. Twentyman came and was at once desired to go up

to Mary who was waiting for him in the drawing-room. Mrs. Masters

smiled and was gracious as she spoke to him, having for the moment

wreathed herself in good humour so that he might go to his wooing in

better spirit. He had learned his lesson by heart as nearly as he was

able and began to recite it as soon as he had closed the door. "So

you're going to Cheltenham on Thursday?" he said.

"Yes, Mr. Twentyman."

"I hope you'll enjoy your visit there. I remember Lady Ushant myself

very well. I don't suppose she will remember me, but you can give her

my compliments."

"I certainly will do that."

"And now, Mary, what have you got to say to me?" He looked for a

moment as though he expected she would say what she had to say at

once,--without further question from him; but he knew that it could

not be so and he had prepared his lesson further than that. "I think

you must believe that I really do love you with all my heart."

"I know that you are very good to me, Mr. Twentyman."

"I don't say anything about being good; but I'm true:--that I am. I'd

take you for my wife to-morrow if you hadn't a friend in the world,

just for downright love. I've got you so in my heart, Mary, that I

couldn't get rid of you if I tried ever so. You must know that it's

true."

"I do know that it's true."

"Well! Don't you think that a fellow like that deserves something

from a girl?"

"Indeed I do."

"Well!"

"He deserves a great deal too much for any girl to deceive him. You

wouldn't like a young woman to marry you without loving you. I think

you deserve a great deal too well of me for that."

He paused a moment before he replied. "I don't know about that," he

said at last. "I believe I should be glad to take you just anyhow.

I don't think you can hate me."

"Certainly not. I like you as well, Mr. Twentyman, as one friend can

like another,--without loving."

"I'll be content with that, Mary, and chance it for the rest. I'll be

that kind to you that I'll make you love me before twelve months are

over. You come and try. You shall be mistress of everything. Mother

isn't one that will want to be in the way."

"It isn't that, Larry," she said.

She hadn't called him Larry for a long time and the sound of his

own name from her lips gave him infinite hope. "Come and try. Say

you'll try. If ever a man did his best to please a woman I'll do it

to please you." Then he attempted to take her in his arms but she

glided away from him round the table. "I won't ask you not to go to

Cheltenham, or anything of that. You shall have your own time. By

George you shall have everything your own way." Still she did not

answer him but stood looking down upon the table. "Come;--say a word

to a fellow."

Then at last she spoke--"Give me--six months to think of it."

"Six months! If you'd say six weeks."

"It is such a serious thing to do."

"It is serious, of course. I'm serious, I know. I shouldn't hunt

above half as often as I do now; and as for the club,--I don't

suppose I should go near the place once a month. Say six weeks, and

then, if you'll let me have one kiss, I'll not trouble you till

you're back from Cheltenham."

Mary at once perceived that he had taken her doubt almost as a

complete surrender, and had again to become obdurate. At last she

promised to give him a final answer in two months, but declared as

she said so that she was afraid she could not bring herself to do

as he desired. She declined altogether to comply with that other

request which he made, and then left him in the room declaring that

at present she could say nothing further. As she did so she felt sure

that she would not be able to accept him in two months' time whatever

she might bring herself to do when the vast abyss of six months

should have passed by.

Larry made his way down into the parlour with hopes considerably

raised. There he found Mrs. Masters and when he told her what

had passed she assured him that the thing was as good as settled.

Everybody knew, she said, that when a girl doubted she meant to

yield. And what were two months? The time would have nearly gone by

the end of her visit to Cheltenham. It was now early in December, and

they might be married and settled at home before the end of April.

Mrs. Masters, to give him courage, took out a bottle of currant wine

and drank his health, and told him that in three months' time she

would give him a kiss and call him her son. And she believed what she

said. This, she thought, was merely Mary's way of letting herself

down without a sudden fall.

Then the attorney came in and also congratulated him. When the

attorney was told that Mary had taken two months for her decision he

also felt that the matter was almost as good as settled. This at any

rate was clear to him,--that the existing misery of his household

would for the present cease, and that Mary would be allowed to go

upon her visit without further opposition. He at present did not

think it wise to say another word to Mary about the young man;--nor

would Mrs. Masters condescend to do so. Mary would of course now

accept her lover like any other girl, and had been such a fool,--so

thought Mrs. Masters,--that she had thoroughly deserved to lose him.

CHAPTER XXVII.

"WONDERFUL BIRD!"

There were but two days between the scenes described in the last

chapter and the day fixed for Mary's departure, and during these

two days Larry Twentyman's name was not mentioned in the house. Mrs.

Masters did not make herself quite pleasant to her stepdaughter,

having still some grudge against her as to the £20. Nor, though she

had submitted to the visit to Cheltenham, did she approve of it. It

wasn't the way, she said, to make such a girl as Mary like her life

at Chowton Farm, going and sitting and doing nothing in old Lady

Ushant's drawing-room. It was cocking her up with gimcrack notions

about ladies till she'd be ashamed to look at her own hands after

she had done a day's work with them. There was no doubt some truth

in this. The woman understood the world and was able to measure

Larry Twentyman and Lady Ushant and the rest of them. Books and

pretty needlework and easy conversation would consume the time at

Cheltenham, whereas at Chowton Farm there would be a dairy and a

poultry yard,--under difficulties on account of the foxes,--with a

prospect of baby linen and children's shoes and stockings. It was

all that question of gentlemen and ladies, and of non-gentlemen and

non-ladies! They ought, Mrs. Masters thought, to be kept distinct.

She had never, she said, wanted to put her finger into a pie that

didn't belong to her. She had never tried to be a grand lady. But

Mary was perilously near the brink on either side, and as it was to

be her lucky fate at last to sit down to a plentiful but work-a-day

life at Chowton Farm she ought to have been kept away from the

maundering idleness of Lady Ushant's lodgings at Cheltenham. But Mary

heard nothing of this during these two days, Mrs. Masters bestowing

the load of her wisdom upon her unfortunate husband.

Reginald Morton had been twice over at Mrs. Masters' house with

reference to the proposed journey. Mrs. Masters was hardly civil

to him, as he was supposed to be among the enemies;--but she had

no suspicion that he himself was the enemy of enemies. Had she

entertained such an idea she might have reconciled herself to it, as

the man was able to support a wife, and by such a marriage she would

have been at once relieved from all further charge. In her own mind

she would have felt very strongly that Mary had chosen the wrong

man, and thrown herself into the inferior mode of life. But her

own difficulties in the matter would have been solved. There was,

however, no dream of such a kind entertained by any of the family.

Reginald Morton was hardly regarded as a young man, and was supposed

to be gloomy, misanthropic, and bookish. Mrs. Masters was not at all

averse to the companionship for the journey, and Mr. Masters was

really grateful to one of the old family for being kind to his girl.

Nor must it be supposed that Mary herself had any expectations or

even any hopes. With juvenile aptness to make much of the little

things which had interested her, and prone to think more than was

reasonable of any intercourse with a man who seemed to her to be

so superior to others as Reginald Morton, she was anxious for an

opportunity to set herself right with him about that scene at the

bridge. She still thought that he was offended and that she had given

him cause for offence. He had condescended to make her a request

to which she had acceded,--and she had then not done as she had

promised. She thought she was sure that this was all she had to say

to him, and yet she was aware that she was unnaturally excited at

the idea of spending three or four hours alone with him. The fly

which was to take him to the railway station called for Mary at the

attorney's door at ten o'clock, and the attorney handed her in. "It

is very good of you indeed, Mr. Morton, to take so much trouble with

my girl," said the attorney, really feeling what he said. "It is very

good of you to trust her to me," said Reginald, also sincerely. Mary

was still to him the girl who had been brought up by his aunt at

Bragton, and not the fit companion for Larry Twentyman.

Reginald Morton had certainly not made up his mind to ask Mary

Masters to be his wife. Thinking of Mary Masters very often as he

had done during the last two months, he was quite sure that he did

not mean to marry at all. He did acknowledge to himself that were he

to allow himself to fall in love with any one it would be with Mary

Masters,--but for not doing so there were many reasons. He had lived

so long alone that a married life would not suit him; as a married

man he would be a poor man; he himself was averse to company, whereas

most women prefer society. And then, as to this special girl, had he

not reason for supposing that she preferred another man to him, and a

man of such a class that the very preference showed her to be unfit

to mate with him? He also cozened himself with an idea that it was

well that he should have the opportunity which the journey would give

him of apologising for his previous rudeness to her.

In the carriage they had the compartment to themselves with the

exception of an old lady at the further end who had a parrot in a

cage for which she had taken a first-class ticket. "I can't offer

you this seat," said the old lady, "because it has been booked and

paid for for my bird." As neither of the new passengers had shown

the slightest wish for the seat the communication was perhaps

unnecessary. Neither of the two had any idea of separating from the

other for the sake of the old lady's company.

They had before them a journey of thirty miles on one railway, then

a stop of half an hour at the Hinxton Junction; and then another

journey of about equal length. In the first hour very little was said

that might not have been said in the presence of Lady Ushant,--or

even of Mrs. Masters. There might be a question whether, upon the

whole, the parrot had not the best of the conversation, as the

bird, which the old lady declared to be the wonder of his species,

repeated the last word of nearly every sentence spoken either by our

friends or by the old lady herself. "Don't you think you'd be less

liable to cold with that window closed?" the old lady said to Mary.

"Cosed,--cosed,--cosed," said the bird, and Morton was of course

constrained to shut the window. "He is a wonderful bird," said the

old lady. "Wonderful bird;--wonderful bird;--wonderful bird," said

the parrot, who was quite at home with this expression. "We shall be

able to get some lunch at Hinxton," said Reginald. "Inxton," screamed

the bird--"Caw,--caw--caw." "He's worth a deal of money," said the

old lady. "Deal o' money, Deal o' money," repeated the bird as he

scrambled round the wire cage with a tremendous noise, to the great

triumph of the old lady.

No doubt the close attention which the bird paid to everything that

passed, and the presence of the old lady as well, did for a time

interfere with their conversation. But, after awhile, the old lady

was asleep, and the bird, having once or twice attempted to imitate

the somnolent sounds which his mistress was making, seemed also to go

to sleep himself. Then Reginald, beginning with Lady Ushant and the

old Morton family generally, gradually got the conversation round to

Bragton and the little bridge. He had been very stern when he had

left her there, and he knew also that at that subsequent interview,

when he had brought Lady Ushant's note to her at her father's house,

he had not been cordially kind to her. Now they were thrown together

for an hour or so in the closest companionship, and he wished to make

her comfortable and happy. "I suppose you remember Bragton?" he said.

"Every path and almost every tree about the place."

"So do I. I called there the other day. Family quarrels are so silly,

you know."

"Did you see Mr. Morton?"

"No;--and he hasn't returned my visit yet. I don't know whether he

will,--and I don't much mind whether he does or not. That old woman

is there, and she is very bitter against me. I don't care about the

people, but I am sorry that I cannot see the place."

"I ought to have walked with you that day," she said in a very low

tone. The parrot opened his eyes and looked at them as though he were

striving to catch his cue.

"Of course you ought." But as he said this he smiled and there was no

offence in his voice. "I dare say you didn't guess how much I thought

of it. And then I was a bear to you. I always am a bear when I am not

pleased."

"Peas, peas, peas," said the parrot.

"I shall be a bear to that brute of a bird before long."

"What a very queer bird he is."

"He is a public nuisance,--and so is the old lady who brought him

here." This was said quite in a whisper. "It is very odd, Miss

Masters, but you are literally the only person in all Dillsborough in

regard to whom I have any genuine feeling of old friendship."

"You must remember a great many."

"But I did not know any well enough. I was too young to have seen

much of your father. But when I came back at that time you and I were

always together."

"Gedder, gedder, gedder," said the parrot.

"If that bird goes on like that I'll speak to the guard," said Mr.

Morton with affected anger.

"Polly mustn't talk," said the old lady waking up.

"Tok, tok, tok, tok," screamed the parrot. Then the old lady threw a

shawl over him and again went to sleep.

"If I behaved badly I beg your pardon," said Mary.

"That's just what I wanted to say to you, Miss Masters,--only a man

never can do those things as well as a lady. I did behave badly, and

I do beg your pardon. Of course I ought to have asked Mr. Twentyman

to come with us. I know that he is a very good fellow."

"Indeed he is," said Mary Masters, with all the emphasis in her

power. "Deedy is, deedy is, deedy is, deedy is," repeated the parrot

in a very angry voice about a dozen times under his shawl, and while

the old lady was remonstrating with her too talkative companion their

tickets were taken and they ran into the Hinxton Station. "If the old

lady is going on to Cheltenham we'll travel third class before we'll

sit in the same carriage again with that bird," said Morton laughing

as he took Mary into the refreshment-room. But the old lady did not

get into the same compartment as they started, and the last that was

heard of the parrot at Hinxton was a quarrel between him and the

guard as to certain railway privileges.

When they had got back into the railway carriage Morton was very

anxious to ask whether she was in truth engaged to marry the young

man as to whose good fellowship she and the parrot had spoken up so

emphatically, but he hardly knew how to put the question. And were

she to declare that she was engaged to him, what should he say then?

Would he not be bound to congratulate her? And yet it would be

impossible that any word of such congratulation should pass his lips.

"You will stay a month at Cheltenham?" he said.

"Your aunt was kind enough to ask me for so long."

"I shall go back on Saturday. If I were to stay longer I should feel

myself to be in her way. And I have come to live a sort of hermit's

life. I hardly know how to sit down and eat my dinner in company, and

have no idea of seeing a human being before two o'clock."

"What do you do with yourself?"

"I rush in and out of the garden and spend my time between my books

and my flowers and my tobacco pipes."

"Do you mean to live always like that?" she asked,--in perfect

innocency.

"I think so. Sometimes I doubt whether it's wise."

"I don't think it wise at all," said Mary.

"Why not?"

"People should live together, I think."

"You mean that I ought to have a wife?"

"No;--I didn't mean that. Of course that must be just as you might

come to like any one well enough. But a person need not shut himself

up and be a hermit because he is not married. Lord Rufford is not

married and he goes everywhere."

"He has money and property and is a man of pleasure."

"And your cousin, Mr. John Morton."

"He is essentially a man of business, which I never could have been.

And they say he is going to be married to that Miss Trefoil who has

been staying there. Unfortunately I have never had anything that I

need do in all my life, and therefore I have shut myself up as you

call it. I wonder what your life will be." Mary blushed and said

nothing. "If there were anything to tell I wish I knew it."

"There is nothing to tell."

"Nothing?"

She thought a moment before she answered him and then she said,

"Nothing. What should I have to tell?" she added trying to laugh.

He remained for a few minutes silent, and then put his head out

towards her as he spoke. "I was afraid that you might have to tell

that you were engaged to marry Mr. Twentyman."

"I am not."

"Oh!--I am so glad to hear it."

"I don't know why you should be glad. If I had said I was, it would

have been very uncivil if you hadn't declared yourself glad to hear

that."

"Then I must have been uncivil for I couldn't have done it. Knowing

how my aunt loves you, knowing what she thinks of you and what she

would think of such a match, remembering myself what I do of you, I

could not have congratulated you on your engagement to a man whom I

think so much inferior to yourself in every respect. Now you know it

all,--why I was angry at the bridge, why I was hardly civil to you

at your father's house; and, to tell the truth, why I have been so

anxious to be alone with you for half an hour. If you think it an

offence that I should take so much interest in you, I will beg your

pardon for that also."

"Oh, no!"

"I have never spoken to my aunt about it, but I do not think that she

would have been contented to hear that you were to become the wife of

Mr. Twentyman."

What answer she was to make to this or whether she was to make any

she had not decided when they were interrupted by the reappearance

of the old lady and the bird. She was declaring to the guard at the

window, that as she had paid for a first-class seat for her parrot

she would get into any carriage she liked in which there were two

empty seats. Her bird had been ill-treated by some scurrilous

ill-conditioned travellers and she had therefore returned to the

comparative kindness of her former companions. "They threatened to

put him out of the window, sir," said the old woman to Morton as she

was forcing her way in.

"Windersir, windersir," said the parrot.

"I hope he'll behave himself here, ma'am," said Morton.

"Heremam, heremam, heremam," said the parrot.

"Now go to bed like a good bird," said the old lady putting her shawl

over the cage,--whereupon the parrot made a more diabolical noise

than ever under the curtain.

Mary felt that there was no more to be said about Mr. Twentyman and

her hopes and prospects, and for the moment she was glad to be left

in peace. The old lady and the parrot continued their conversation

till they had all arrived in Cheltenham;--and Mary as she sat alone

thinking of it afterwards might perhaps feel a soft regret that

Reginald Morton had been interrupted by the talkative animal.

* * * * * *

VOLUME II.

CHAPTER I.

MOUNSER GREEN.

"So Peter Boyd is to go to Washington in the Paragon's place, and

Jack Slade goes to Vienna, and young Palliser is to get Slade's

berth at Lisbon." This information was given by a handsome man,

known as Mounser Green, about six feet high, wearing a velvet

shooting coat,--more properly called an office coat from its present

uses,--who had just entered a spacious well-carpeted comfortable

room in which three other gentlemen were sitting at their different

tables. This was one of the rooms in the Foreign Office and looked

out into St. James's Park. Mounser Green was a distinguished clerk

in that department,--and distinguished also in various ways, being

one of the fashionable men about town, a great adept at private

theatricals, remarkable as a billiard player at his club, and a

contributor to various magazines. At this moment he had a cigar in

his mouth, and when he entered the room he stood with his back to

the fire ready for conversation and looking very unlike a clerk who

intended to do any work. But there was a general idea that Mounser

Green was invaluable to the Foreign Office. He could speak and write

two or three foreign languages; he could do a spurt of work,--ten

hours at a sitting when required; he was ready to go through fire

and water for his chief; and was a gentleman all round. Though still

nominally a young man,--being perhaps thirty-five years of age--he

had entered the service before competitive examination had assumed

its present shape and had therefore the gifts which were required for

his special position. Some critics on the Civil Service were no doubt

apt to find fault with Mounser Green. When called upon at his office

he was never seen to be doing anything, and he always had a cigar in

his mouth. These gentlemen found out too that he never entered his

office till half-past twelve, perhaps not having also learned that he

was generally there till nearly seven. No doubt during the time that

he remained there he read a great many newspapers, and wrote a great

many private notes,--on official paper! But there may be a question

whether even these employments did not help to make Mounser Green the

valuable man he was.

"What a lounge for Jack Slade," said young Hoffmann.

"I'll tell you who it won't be a lounge for, Green," said Archibald

Currie, the clerk who held the second authority among them. "What

will Bell Trefoil think of going to Patagonia?"

"That's all off," said Mounser Green.

"I don't think so," said Charley Glossop, one of the numerous younger

sons of Lord Glossop. "She was staying only the other day down at

the Paragon's place in Rufford, and they went together to my cousin

Rufford's house. His sister,--that's Lady Penwether, told me they

were certainly engaged then."

"That was before the Paragon had been named for Patagonia. To tell

you a little bit of my own private mind,--which isn't scandal," said

Mounser Green, "because it is only given as opinion,--I think it just

possible that the Paragon has taken this very uncomfortable mission

because it offered him some chance of escape."

"Then he has more sense about him than I gave him credit for," said

Archibald Currie.

"Why should a man like Morton go to Patagonia?" continued Green. "He

has an independent fortune and doesn't want the money. He'd have been

sure to have something comfortable in Europe very soon if he had

waited, and was much better off as second at a place like Washington.

I was quite surprised when he took it."

"Patagonia isn't bad at all," said Currie.

"That depends on whether a man has got money of his own. When I heard

about the Paragon and Bell Trefoil at Washington, I knew there had

been a mistake made. He didn't know what he was doing. I'm a poor

man, but I wouldn't take her with £5,000 a year, settled on myself."

Poor Mounser Green!

"I think she's the handsomest girl in London," said Hoffmann, who was

a young man of German parentage and perhaps of German taste.

"That may be," continued Green;--"but, heaven and earth! what a

life she would lead a man like the Paragon! He's found it out, and

therefore thought it well to go to South America. She has declined

already, I'm told; but he means to stick to the mission." During all

this time Mounser Green was smoking his cigar with his back to the

fire, and the other clerks looked as though they had nothing to do

but talk about the private affairs of ministers abroad and their

friends. Of course it will be understood that since we last saw John

Morton the position of Minister Plenipotentiary at Patagonia had been

offered to him and that he had accepted the place in spite of Bragton

and of Arabella Trefoil.

At that moment a card was handed to Mounser Green by a messenger who

was desired to show the gentleman up. "It's the Paragon himself,"

said Green.

"We'll make him tell us whether he's going out single or double,"

said Archibald Currie.

"After what the Rufford people said to me I'm sure he's going to

marry her," said young Glossop. No doubt Lady Penwether had been

anxious to make it understood by every one connected with the family

that if any gossip should be heard about Rufford and Arabella Trefoil

there was nothing in it.

Then the Paragon was shown into the room and Mounser Green and

the young men were delighted to see him. Colonial governors at

their seats of government, and Ministers Plenipotentiary in their

ambassadorial residences are very great persons indeed; and when

met in society at home, with the stars and ribbons which are common

among them now, they are less indeed, but still something. But at

the colonial and foreign offices in London, among the assistant

secretaries and clerks, they are hardly more than common men. All the

gingerbread is gone there. His Excellency is no more than Jones, and

the Representative or Alter Ego of Royalty mildly asks little favours

of the junior clerks.

"Lord Drummond only wants to know what you wish and it shall be

done," said Mounser Green. Lord Drummond was the Minister for Foreign

Affairs of the day. "I hope I need hardly say that we were delighted

that you accepted the offer."

"One doesn't like to refuse a step upward," said Morton; "otherwise

Patagonia isn't exactly the place one would like."

"Very good climate," said Currie. "Ladies I have known who have gone

there have enjoyed it very much."

"A little rough I suppose?"

"They didn't seem to say so. Young Bartletot took his wife out

there,--just married. He liked it. There wasn't much society, but

they didn't care about that just at first."

"Ah;--I'm a single man," said Morton laughing. He was too good a

diplomate to be pumped in that simple way by such a one as Archibald

Currie.

"You'll like to see Lord Drummond. He is here and will be glad to

shake hands with you. Come into my room." Then Mounser Green led the

way into a small inner sanctum in which it may be presumed that he

really did his work. It was here at any rate that he wrote the notes

on official note paper.

"They haven't settled as yet how they're to be off it," said Currie

in a whisper, as soon as the two men were gone, "but I'll bet a

five-pound note that Bell Trefoil doesn't go out to Patagonia as his

wife."

"We know the Senator here well enough." This was said in the inner

room by Mounser Green to Morton, who had breakfasted with the Senator

that morning and had made an appointment to meet him at the Foreign

Office. The Senator wanted to secure a seat for himself at the

opening of Parliament which was appointed to take place in the course

of the next month, and being a member of the Committee on Foreign

Affairs in the American Senate of course thought himself entitled to

have things done for him by the Foreign Office clerks. "Oh yes, I'll

see him. Lord Drummond will get him a seat as a matter of course. How

is he getting on with your neighbour at Dillsborough?"

"So you've heard of that."

"Heard of it! who hasn't heard of it?"--At this moment the messenger

came in again and the Senator was announced. "Lord Drummond will

manage about the seats in the House of Lords, Mr. Gotobed. Of course

he'll see you if you wish it; but I'll take a note of it."

"If you'll do that, Mr. Green, I shall be fixed up straight. And I'd

a great deal sooner see you than his lordship."

"That's very flattering, Mr. Gotobed, but I'm sure I don't know why."

"Because Lord Drummond always seems to me to have more on hand than

he knows how to get through, and you never seem to have anything to

do."

"That's not quite so flattering,--and would be killing, only that I

feel that your opinion is founded on error. Mens conscia recti, Mr.

Gotobed."

"Exactly. I understand English pretty well;--better, as far as I can

see than some of those I meet around me here; but I don't go beyond

that, Mr. Green."

"I merely meant to observe, Mr. Gotobed, that as, within my own

breast, I am conscious of my zeal and diligence in Her Majesty's

service your shafts of satire pass me by without hurting me. Shall I

offer you a cigar? A candle burned at both ends is soon consumed." It

was quite clear that as quickly as the Senator got through one end of

his cigar by the usual process of burning, so quickly did he eat the

other end. But he took that which Mounser Green offered him without

any displeasure at the allusion. "I'm sorry to say that I haven't a

spittoon," said Mounser Green, "but the whole fire-place is at your

service." The Senator could hardly have heard this, as it made no

difference in his practice.

Morton at this moment was sent for by the Secretary of State, and the

Senator expressed his intention of waiting for him in Mr. Green's

room. "How does the great Goarly case get on, Mr. Gotobed?" asked the

clerk.

"Well! I don't know that it's getting on very much."

"You are not growing tired of it, Senator?"

"Not by any means. But it's getting itself complicated, Mr. Green. I

mean to see the end of it, and if I'm beat,--why I can take a beating

as well as another man."

"You begin to think you will be beat?"

"I didn't say so, Mr. Green. It is very hard to understand all the

ins and outs of a case like that in a foreign country."

"Then I shouldn't try it, Senator."

"There I differ. It is my object to learn all I can."

"At any rate I shouldn't pay for the lesson as you are like to do.

What'll the bill be? Four hundred dollars?"

"Never mind, Mr. Green. If you'll take the opinion of a good deal

older man than yourself and one who has perhaps worked harder, you'll

understand that there's no knowledge got so thoroughly as that for

which a man pays." Soon after this Morton came out from the great

man's room and went away in company with the Senator.