"Good," cried Mr. Sheldon, in the cheery, pleasant tone of an

easy-going man of the world, who is not too worldly to perform a

generous action once in a way. "All I ask is frankness. You and

Charlotte have fallen in love with one another--why, I can't imagine,

except on the hypothesis that a decent-looking young woman and a

decent-looking young man can't meet half a dozen times without

beginning to think of Gretna-green, or St. George's, Hanover-square. Of

course a marriage with you, looked at from a common-sense point of

view, would be about the worst thing that could happen to my wife's

daughter. She's a very fine girl" (a man of the Sheldonian type would

call Aphrodité herself a fine girl), "and might marry some awfully rich

City swell with vineries and pineries and succession-houses at

Tulse-hill or Highgate, if I chose to put her in the way of that sort

of thing. But then, you see, the worst of it is, a man seldom comes to

vineries and pineries at Tulse-hill till he is on the shady side of

forty; and as I am not in favour of mercenary marriages, I don't care

to force any of my City connection upon poor Lotta. In the

neighbourhood of the Stock Exchange there is no sharper man of business

than your humble servant; but I don't care to bring business habits to

Bayswater. Long before Lotta left school, I had made up my mind never

to come between her and her own inclination in the matrimonial line;

therefore, if she truly and honestly loves you, and if you truly and

honestly love her, I am not the man to forbid the bans."

"My dear Mr. Sheldon, how shall I ever thank you for this!" cried

Valentine, surprised into a belief in the purity of the stockbroker's

intentions.

"Don't be in a hurry," replied that gentleman coolly; "you haven't

heard me out yet. Though I may consent to take the very opposite line

of conduct which I might be expected to take as a man of the world, I

am not going to allow you and Charlotte to make fools of yourselves.

There must be no love-in-a-cottage business, no marrying on nothing a

year, with the expectation that papa and mamma will make up the

difference between that and a comfortable income. In plain English, if

I consent to receive you as Charlotte's future husband, you and she

must consent to wait until you can, to my entire satisfaction, prove

yourself in a position to keep a wife." Valentine sighed doubtfully.

"I don't think either Miss Halliday or I are in an unreasonable hurry

to begin life together," he said thoughtfully; "but there must be some

fixed limit to our probation. I am afraid the waiting will be a very

long business, if I am to obtain a position that will satisfy you

before I ask my dear girl to share my fate."

"Are your prospects so very black?"

"No; to my mind they seem wonderfully bright. But the earnings of a

magazine-writer will scarcely come up to your idea of an independence.

Just now I am getting about ten pounds a month. With industry, I may

stretch that ten to twenty; and with luck I might make the twenty into

thirty--forty--fifty. A man has only to achieve something like a

reputation in order to make a handsome living by his pen."

"I am very glad to hear that," said Mr. Sheldon; "and when you can

fairly demonstrate to me that you are earning thirty pounds a month,

you shall have my consent to your marriage with Charlotte, and I will

do what I can to give you a fair start in life. I suppose you know that

she hasn't a sixpence in the world, that she can call her own?"

This was a trying question for Valentine Hawkehurst, and Mr. Sheldon

looked at him with a sharp scrutinising glance as he awaited a reply.

The young man flushed crimson, and grew pale again before he spoke.

"Yes," he said, "I have long been aware that Miss Halliday has no legal

claim on her father's fortune."

"There you have hit the mark," cried Mr. Sheldon. "She has no claim to

a sixpence in law; but to an honourable man that is not the question.

Poor Halliday's money amounted in all to something like eighteen

thousand pounds. That sum passed into my possession when I married my

poor friend's widow, who had too much respect for me to hamper my

position as a man of business by any legal restraints that would have

hindered my making the wisest use of her money. I have used that money,

and I need scarcely tell you that I have employed it with considerable

advantage to myself and Georgy. I therefore can afford to be generous,

and I mean to be so; but the manner in which I do things must be of my

own choosing. My own children are dead, and there is no one belonging

to me that stands in Miss Halliday's way. When I die she will inherit

a handsome fortune. And if she marries with my approval, I shall

present her with a very comfortable dowry. I think you will allow that

this is fair enough."

"Nothing could be fairer or more generous," replied Valentine with

enthusiasm.

Mr. Sheldon's agreeable candour had entirely subjugated him. Despite of

all that George had said to his brother's prejudice, he was ready to

believe implicitly in Philip's fair dealing.

"And in return for this I ask something on your part," said Mr.

Sheldon. "I want you to give me your promise that you will take no

serious step without my knowledge. You won't steal a march upon me. You

won't walk off with Charlotte some fine morning and marry her at a

registry-office, or anything of that kind, eh?"

"I will not," answered Valentine resolutely, with a very unpleasant

recollection of his dealings with George Sheldon.

"Give me your hand upon that," cried the stockbroker.

Upon this the two men shook hands, and Valentine's fingers were almost

crushed in the cold hard grip of Mr. Sheldon's muscular hand. And now

there came upon Valentine's ear the sound of one of Mendelssohn's

_Lieder ohne Worte_, tenderly played by the gentle hands he knew so

well. And the lover began to feel that he could no longer sit sipping

the stockbroker's port with a hypocritical pretence of appreciation,

and roasting himself before the blazing fire, the heat whereof was

multiplied to an insufferable degree by grate and fender of reflecting

steel.

Mr. Sheldon was not slow to perceive his guest's impatience, and having

made exactly the impression he wanted to make, was quite willing that

the interview should come to an end.

"You had better be off to the drawing-room," he said, good naturedly;

"I see you are in that stage of the fever in which masculine society is

only a bore. You can go and hear Charlotte play, while I read the

evening papers and write a few letters. You can let her know that you

and I understand each other. Of course we shall see you very often.

You'll eat your Christmas turkey with us, and so on; and I shall trust

to your honour for the safe keeping of that promise you made me just

now," said Mr. Sheldon.

"And I shall keep an uncommonly close watch upon you and the young

lady, my friend," added that gentleman, communing with his own thoughts

as he crossed the smart little hall, where two Birmingham iron knights

in chain armour bestrode their gallant chargers, on two small tables of

sham malachite.

Mr. Sheldon's library was not a very inspiring apartment. His ideas of

a _sanctum sanctorum_ did not soar above the commonplace. A decent

square room, furnished with plenty of pigeon-holes, a neat brass scale

for the weighing of letters, a copying-press, a waste-paper basket, a

stout brass-mounted office inkstand capable of holding a quart or so of

ink, and a Post-office Directory, were all he asked for his hours of

leisure and meditation. In a handsome glazed bookcase, opposite his

writing-table, appeared a richly-bound edition of the _Waverley_

_Novels_, Knight's _Shakespeare_, Hume and Smollett, Fielding,

Goldsmith, and Gibbon; but, except when Georgy dusted the sacred

volumes with her own fair hands, the glass doors of the bookcase were

never opened.

Mr. Sheldon turned on the gas, seated himself at his comfortable

writing-table, and took up his pen. A quire of office note-paper, with

his City address upon it, lay ready beneath his hand; but he did not

begin to write immediately. He sat for some time with his elbows on the

table, and his chin in his hands, meditating with dark fixed brows.

"Can I trust her?" he asked himself. "Is it safe to have her near

me--after--after what she said to me in Fitzgeorge-street? Yes, I think

I can trust her, up to a certain point; but beyond that I must be on my

guard. She might be more dangerous than a stranger. One thing is quite

clear--she must be provided for somehow or other. The question is,

whether she is to be provided for in this house or out of it; and

whether I can make her serve me as I want to be served?"

This was the gist of Mr. Sheldon's meditations; but they lasted for

some time. The question which he had to settle was an important one,

and he was too wise a man not to contemplate a subject from every

possible point of sight before arriving at his decision. He took a

letter-clip from one side of his table, and turned over several open

letters in search of some particular document.

He came at last to the letter he wanted. It was written on very common

note-paper, with brown-looking ink, and the penmanship was evidently

that of an uneducated person; but Mr. Sheldon studied its contents with

the air of a man who is dealing with no unimportant missive.

This was the letter which so deeply interested the stockbroker:--

"HONORED SIR--This coms hopping that You and Your Honored ladie are

well has it leevs me tho nott so strong has i coud wish wich his nott

too bee expect at my time off life my pore neffew was tooke with the

tyfus last tewsday weak was giv over on thirsday and we hav berried him

at kensil grean Honored Mr. Sheldon I hav now no home my pore neece

must go hout into survis. Luckly there har no Childring and the pore

gurl can gett hur living as housmade wich she were in survis hat hi

gate befor she marrid my pore Joseff Honored sir i ham trewly sorry too

trubbel you butt i think for hold times you will forgiv the libertey

off this letter i would nott hintrewd on you iff i had enny frend to

help me in my old aig,

"Your obeddient survent."

"17 Litle Tottles-yarde lambeft."

AN WOOLPER

"No friend to help her in her old age," muttered Mr. Sheldon; "that

means that she intends to throw herself upon me for the rest of her

life, and to put me to the expense of burying her when she is so

obliging as to die. Very pleasant, upon my word! A man has a servant in

the days of his poverty, pays her every fraction he owes her in the

shape of wages, and wishes her good speed when she goes to settle down

among her relations; and one fine morning, when he has got into a

decent position, she writes to inform him that her nephew is dead, and

that she expects him to provide for her forthwith. That is the gist of

Mrs. Woolper's letter; and if it were not for one or two

considerations, I should be very much inclined to take a business-like

view of the case, and refer the lady to her parish. What are poor-rates

intended for, I should like to know, if a man who pays

four-and-twopence in the pound is to be pestered in this sort of way?"

And then Mr. Sheldon, having given vent to his vexation by such

reflections as these, set himself to examine the matter in another

light.

"I must manage to keep sweet with Nancy Woolper somehow or other,

that's very clear; for a chattering old woman is about as dangerous an

enemy as a man can have. I might provide for her decently enough out of

doors for something like a pound a week; and that would be a cheap

enough way of paying off all old scores. But I'm not quite clear that

it would be a safe way. A life of idleness might develop Mrs. Woolper's

latent propensity for gossip--and gossip is what I want to avoid. No,

that plan won't do."

For some moments Mr. Sheldon meditated silently, with his brows fixed

even more sternly than before. Then he struck his hand suddenly on the

morocco-covered table, and uttered his thoughts aloud.

"I'll risk it," he said; "she shall come into the house and serve my

interests by keeping a sharp watch upon Charlotte Halliday. There shall

be no secret marriage between those two. No, my friend Valentine, you

may be a very clever fellow, but you are not quite clever enough to

steal a march upon me."

Having arrived at this conclusion, Mr. Sheldon wrote a few lines to

Nancy Woolper, telling her to call upon him at the Lawn.

CHAPTER V.

MR. SHELDON IS BENEVOLENT.

Nancy Woolper had lost little of her activity during the ten years that

had gone by since she received her wages from Mr. Sheldon, on his

breaking up his establishment in Fitzgeorge-street. Her master had

given her the opportunity of remaining in his service, had she so

pleased; but Mrs. Woolper was a person of independent, not to say

haughty, spirit, and she had preferred to join her small fortunes with

those of a nephew who was about to begin business as a chandler and

general dealer in a very small way, rather than to submit herself to

the sway of that lady whom she insisted on calling Miss Georgy.

"It's so long since I've been used to a missus," she said, when

announcing her decision to Mr. Sheldon, "I doubt if I could do with

Miss Georgy's finnickin ways. I should feel tewed like, if she came

into the kitchen, worritin' and asking questions. I've been used to my

own ways, and I don't suppose I could do with hers."

So Nancy departed, to enter on a career of unpaid drudgery in the

household of her kinsman, and to lose the last shilling of her small

savings in the futile endeavour to sustain the fortunes of the general

dealer. His death, following very speedily upon his insolvency, left

the poor soul quite adrift; and in this extremity she had been fain to

make her appeal to Mr. Sheldon. His reply came in due course, but not

without upwards of a week's delay; during which time Nancy Woolper's

spirits sank very low, while a dreary vision of a living grave--called

a workhouse--loomed more and more darkly upon her poor old eyes. She

had well-nigh given up all hope of succour from her old master when the

letter came, and she was the more inclined to be grateful for very

small help after this interval of suspense. It was not without strong

emotion that Mrs. Woolper obeyed her old master's summons. She had

nursed the hard, cold man of the world whom she was going to see once

more, after ten years of severance; and though it was more difficult

for her to imagine that Philip Sheldon, the stockbroker, was the same

Philip she had carried in her stout arms, and hushed upon her breast

forty years ago, than it would have been to fancy the dead who had

lived in those days restored to life and walking by her side, still,

she could not forget that such things had been, and could not refrain

from looking at her master with more loving eyes because of that memory.

A strange dark cloud had arisen between her and her master's image

during the latter part of her service in Fitzgeorge-street; but, little

by little, the cloud had melted away, leaving the familiar image clear

and unshadowed as of old. She had suffered her mind to be filled by a

suspicion so monstrous, that for a time it held her as by some fatal

spell; but with reflection came the assurance that this thing could not

be. Day by day she saw the man whom she had suspected going about the

common business of life, coldly serene of aspect, untroubled of manner,

confronting fortune with his head erect, living quietly in the house

where he had been wont to live, haunted by no dismal shadows, subject

to no dark hours of remorse, no sudden access of despair, always

equable, business-like, and untroubled; and she told herself that such

a man could not be guilty of the unutterable horror she had imagined.

For a year things had gone on thus, and then came the marriage with

Mrs. Halliday. Mr. Sheldon went down to Barlingford for the performance

of that interesting ceremony; and Nancy Woolper bade farewell to the

house in Fitzgeorge-street, and handed the key to the agent, who was to

deliver it in due course to Mr. Sheldon's successor.

To-day, after a lapse of more than ten years, Mrs. Woolper sat in the

stockbroker's study, facing the scrutinising gaze of those bright black

eyes, which had been familiar to her of old, and which had lost none of

their cold glitter in the wear and tear of life.

"Then you think you can be of some use in the house, as a kind of

overlooker of the other servants, eh, Nancy--to prevent waste, and

gadding out of doors, and so on?" said Mr. Sheldon, interrogatively.

"Ay, sure, that I can, Mr. Philip," answered the old woman promptly;

"and if I don't save you more money than I cost you, the sooner you

turn me out o' doors the better. I know what London servants are, and I

know their ways; and if Miss Georgy doesn't take to the housekeeping, I

know as how things must be hugger-mugger-like below stairs, however

smart and tidy things may be above."

"Mrs. Sheldon knows about as much of housekeeping as a baby," replied

Philip, with supreme contempt. "She'll not interfere with you; and if

you serve me faithfully--"

"That I allers did, Mr. Philip."

"Yes, yes; I daresay you did. But I want faithful service in the future

as well as in the past. Of course you know that I have a stepdaughter?"

"Tom Halliday's little girl, as went to school at Scarborough."

"The same. But poor Tom's little girl is now a fine young woman, and a

source of considerable anxiety to me. I am bound to say she is an

excellent girl--amiable, obedient, and all that kind of thing; but she

is a girl, and I freely confess that I am not learned in the ways of

girls; and I'm very much inclined to be afraid of them."

"As how, sir?"

"Well, you see, Nancy, they come home from school with their silly

heads full of romantic stuff, fit for nothing but to read novels and

strum upon the piano; and before you know where you are, they fall over

head and ears in love with the first decent-looking young man who pays

them a compliment. At least, that's my experience."

"Meaning Miss Halliday, sir?" asked Nancy, simply. "Has she fallen in

love with some young chap?"

"She has, and with a young chap who is not yet in a position to support

a wife. Now, if this girl were my own child, I should decidedly set my

face against this marriage; but as she is only my stepdaughter, I wash

my hands of all responsibility in the matter. 'Marry the man you have

chosen, my dear,' say I; 'all I ask is, that you don't marry him until

he can give you a comfortable home.' 'Very well, papa,' says my young

lady in her most dutiful manner, and 'Very well, sir,' says my young

gentleman; and they both declare themselves agreeable to any amount of

delay, provided the marriage comes off some time between this and

doomsday."

"Well, sir?" asked Nancy, rather at a loss to understand why Philip

Sheldon, the closest and most reserved of men, should happen to be so

confidential to-day.

"Well, Nancy, what I want to prevent is any underhand work. I know what

very limited notions of honour young men are apt to entertain nowadays,

and how intensely foolish a boarding-school miss can be on occasion. I

don't want these young people to run off to Gretna-green some fine

morning, or to steal a march upon me by getting married on the sly at

some out-of-the-way church, after having invested their united fortunes

in the purchase of a special license. In plain words, I distrust Miss

Halliday's lover, and I distrust Miss Halliday's common sense; and I

want to have a sensible, sharp-eyed person in the house always on the

look-out for any kind of danger, and able to protect my stepdaughter's

interests as well as my own."

"But the young lady's mamma, sir--she would look after her daughter, I

suppose?"

"Her mamma is foolishly indulgent, and about as capable of taking care

of her daughter as of sitting in Parliament. You remember pretty Georgy

Cradock, and you must know what she was--and what she is. Mrs. Sheldon

is the same woman as Georgy Cradock--a little older, and a little more

plump and rosy; but just as pretty, and just as useless."

The interview was prolonged for some little time after this, and it

ended in a thorough understanding between Mr. Sheldon and his old

servant. Nancy Woolper was to re-enter that gentleman's service, and

over and above all ordinary duties, she was to undertake the duty of

keeping a close watch upon all the movements of Charlotte Halliday. In

plain words, she was to be a spy, a private detective, so far as this

young lady was concerned; but Mr. Sheldon was too wise to put his

requirements into plain words, knowing that even in the hour of her

extremity Nancy Woolper would have refused to fill such an office had

she clearly understood the measure of its infamy.

Upon the day that followed his interview with Mrs. Woolper, the

stockbroker came home from the City an hour or two earlier than his

custom, and startled Miss Halliday by appearing in the garden where she

was walking alone, looking her brightest and prettiest in her dark

winter hat and jacket, and pacing briskly to and fro among the bare

frost-bound patches of earth that had once been flower-beds.

"I wan't a few minutes' quiet talk with you, Lotta," said Mr. Sheldon.

"You'd better come into my study, where we're pretty sure not to be

interrupted."

The girl blushed crimson as she acceded to this request, being assured

that Mr. Sheldon was going to discuss her matrimonial engagement.

Valentine had told her of that very satisfactory interview in the

dining-room, and from that time she had been trying to find an

opportunity for the acknowledgment of her stepfather's generosity. As

yet the occasion had not arisen. She did not know how to frame her

thanksgiving, and she shrank shyly from telling Mr. Sheldon how

grateful she was to him for the liberality of mind which had

distinguished his conduct in this affair.

"I really ought to thank him," she said to herself more than once. "I

was quite prepared for his doing his uttermost to prevent my marriage

with Valentine; and instead of that, he volunteers his consent, and

even promises to give us a fortune. 'I am bound to thank him for such

generous kindness."

Perhaps there is no task more difficult than to offer grateful tribute

to a person whom one has been apt to think of with a feeling very near

akin to dislike. Ever since her mother's second marriage Charlotte had

striven against an instinctive distaste for Mr. Sheldon's society, and

an innate distrust of Mr. Sheldon's affectionate regard for herself;

but now that he had proved his sincerity in this most important crisis

of her life, she awoke all at once to the sense of the wrong she had

done.

"I am always reading the Sermon on the Mount, and yet in my thoughts

about Mr. Sheldon I have never been able to remember those words,

'Judge not, that ye be not judged.' His kindness touches me to the very

heart, and I feel it all the more keenly because of my injustice."

She followed her stepfather into the prim little study. There was no

fire, and the room was colder than a vault on this bleak December day.

Charlotte shivered, and drew her jacket more tightly across her chest

as she perched herself on one of Mr. Sheldon's shining red morocco

chairs. "The room strikes cold," she said; "very, very cold."

After this there was a brief pause, during which Mr. Sheldon took some

papers from the pocket of his overcoat, and arranged them on his desk

with an absent manner, as if he were rather deliberating upon what he

was going to say than thinking of what he was doing. While he loitered

thus Charlotte found courage to speak.

"I wish to thank you, Mr. Sheldon--papa," she said, pronouncing the

"papa" with some slight appearance of effort, in spite of her desire to

be grateful: "I--I have been wishing to thank you for the last day or

two; only it seems so difficult sometimes to express one's self about

these things."

"I do not deserve or wish for your thanks, my dear. I have only done my

duty."

"But, indeed, you do deserve my thanks, and you have them in all

sincerity, papa. You have been very, very good to me--about--about

Valentine. I thought you would be sure to oppose our marriage on the

ground of imprudence, you know, and----"

"I do oppose your marriage in the present on the ground of imprudence,

and I am only consentient to it in the future on the condition that Mr.

Hawkehurst shall have secured a comfortable income by his literary

labours. He seems to be clever, and he promises fairly----"

"O yes indeed, dear papa," cried the girl, pleased by this meed of

praise for her lover; "he is more than clever. I am sure you would say

so if you had time to read his article on Madame de Sévigné in the

_Cheapside_."

"I daresay it's very good, my dear; but I don't care for Madame de

Sévigné----"

"Or his sketch of Bossuet's career in the _Charing Cross_."

"My dear child, I do not even know who Bossuet was. All I require from

Mr. Hawkehurst is, that he shall earn a good income before he takes you

away from this house. You have been accustomed to a certain style of

living, and I cannot allow you to encounter a life of poverty."

"But, dear papa, I am not in the least afraid of poverty."

"I daresay not, my dear. You have never been poor," replied Mr.

Sheldon, coolly. "I don't suppose I am as much afraid of a rattlesnake

as the poor wretches who are accustomed to see one swinging by his tail

from the branch of a tree any day in the course of their travels. I

have only a vague idea that a cobra de capello is an unpleasant

customer; but depend upon it, those foreign fellows feel their blood

stagnate and turn to ice at sight of the cold slimy-looking monster.

Poverty and I travelled the same road once, and I know what the

gentleman is. I don't want to meet him again." Mr. Sheldon lapsed into

silence after this. His last words had been spoken to himself rather

than to Charlotte, and the thoughts that accompanied them seemed far

from pleasant to him.

Charlotte sat opposite her stepfather, patiently awaiting his pleasure.

She looked at the gaudily-bound books behind the glass doors, and

wondered whether any one had ever opened any of the volumes.

"I should like to read dear Sir Walter's stories once more," she

thought; "there never, never was so sweet a romance as the 'Bride of

Lammermoor,' and I cannot imagine that one could ever grow weary of

reading it. But to ask Mr. Sheldon for the key of that bookcase would

be quite impossible. I think his books must be copies of special

editions, not meant to be read. I wonder whether they are real books,

or only upholsterer's dummies?"

And then her fancies went vagabondising off to that little archetype of

a cottage on the heights of Wimbledon-common, in which she and

Valentine were to live when they were married. She was always

furnishing and refurnishing this cottage, building it up and pulling it

down, as the caprice of the moment dictated. Now it had bow-windows and

white stuccoed walls--now it was Elizabethan--now the simplest,

quaintest, rose-embowered cottager's dwelling, with diamond-paned

casements, and deep thatch on the old gray roof. This afternoon she

amused herself by collecting a small library for Valentine, while

waiting Mr. Sheldon's next observation. He was to have all her

favourite books, of course; and they were to be bound in the prettiest,

most girlish bindings. She could see the dainty volumes, primly ranged

on the little carved oak bookcase, which Valentine was to "pick up" in

Wardour-street. She fancied herself walking down that mart of

bric-a-brac arm-in-arm with her lover, intent on "picking up." Ah, what

happiness! what dear delight in the thought! And O, of all the bright

dreams we dream, how few are realised upon this earth! Do they find

their fulfilment in heaven, those visions of perfect bliss?

Mr. Sheldon looked up from his desk at last. Miss Halliday remarked to

herself that his face was pale and haggard in the chill wintry

sunlight; but she knew how hard and self-denying a life he led in his

stern devotion to business, and she was in no manner surprised to see

him looking ill.

"I want to say a few words to you on a matter of business, Lotta," he

began, "and I must ask you to give me all your attention."

"I will do so with pleasure, papa, but I am awfully stupid about

business."

"I shall do my best to make matters simple. I suppose you know what

money your father left, including the sums his life had been insured

for?"

"Yes, I have heard mamma say it was eighteen thousand pounds. I do so

hate the idea of those insurances. It seems like the price of a man's

life, doesn't it? I daresay that is a very unbusiness-like way of

considering the question, but I cannot bear to think that we got money

by dear papa's death."

These remarks were too trivial for Mr. Sheldon's notice. He went on

with what he had to say in the cold hard voice that was familiar to his

clerks and to the buyers and sellers of shares and stock who had

dealings with him.

"Your father left eighteen thousand pounds; that amount was left to

your mother without reservation. When she married me, without any

settlement, that money became mine, in point of law--mine to squander

or make away with as I pleased. You know that I have made good use of

that money, and that your mother has had no reason to repent her

confidence in my honour and honesty. The time has now come in which

that honour will be put to a sharper test. You have no legal claim on

so much as a shilling of your father's fortune."

"I know that, Mr. Sheldon," cried Charlotte, eagerly, "and Valentine

knows also; and, believe me, I do not expect----"

"I have to settle matters with my own conscience as well as with your

expectations, my dear Lotta," Mr. Sheldon said, solemnly. "Your father

left you unprovided for; but as a man of honour I feel myself bound to

take care that you shall not suffer by his want of caution. I have

therefore prepared a deed of gift, by which I transfer to you five

thousand pounds, now invested in Unitas Bank shares."

"You are going to give me five thousand pounds!" cried Charlotte,

astounded.

"Without reservation."

"You mean to say that you will give me this fortune when I marry,

papa?" said Charlotte, interrogatively.

"I shall give it to you immediately," replied Mr. Sheldon. "I wish you

to be thoroughly independent of me and my pleasure. You will then

understand, that if I insist upon the prudence of delay, I do so in

your interest and not in my own. I wish you to feel that if I am a

hindrance to your immediate marriage, it is not because I wish to delay

the disbursement of your dowry."

"O, Mr. Sheldon, O, papa, you are more than generous--you are noble! It

is not that I care for the money. O, believe me, there is no one in the

world who could care less for that than I do. But your thoughtful

kindness, your generosity, touches me to the very heart. O, please let

me kiss you, just as if you were my own dear father come back to life

to protect and guide me. I have thought you cold and worldly. I have

done you so much wrong."

She ran to him, and wound her arms about his neck before he could put

her off, and lifted up her pretty rosy mouth to his dry hot lips. Her

heart was overflowing with generous emotion, her face beamed with a

happy smile. She was so pleased to find her mother's husband better

than she had thought him. But, to her supreme astonishment, he thrust

her from him roughly, almost violently, and looking up at his face she

saw it darkened by a blacker shadow than she had ever seen upon it

before. Anger, terror, pain, remorse, she knew not what, but an

expression so horrible that she shrunk from him with a sense of alarm,

and went back to her chair, bewildered and trembling.

"You frightened me, Mr. Sheldon," she said faintly.

"Not more than you frightened me," answered the stockbroker, walking to

the window and taking his stand there, with his face hidden from

Charlotte. "I did not know there was so much feeling in me. For God's

sake, let us have no sentiment!"

"Were you angry with me just now?" asked the girl, falteringly, utterly

at a loss to comprehend the change in her stepfather's manner.

"No, I was not angry. I am not accustomed to these strong emotions,"

replied Mr. Sheldon, huskily; "I cannot stand them. Pray let us avoid

all sentimental discussion. I am anxious to do my duty in a

straightforward, business-like way. I don't want gratitude--or fuss.

The five thousand pounds are yours, and I am pleased to find you

consider the amount sufficient. And now I have only one small favour to

ask of you in return."

"I should be very ungrateful if I refused to do anything you may ask,"

said Charlotte, who could not help feeling a little chilled and

disappointed by Mr. Sheldon's stony rejection of her gratitude.

"The matter is very simple. You are young, and have, in the usual

course of things, a long life before you. But--you know there is always

a 'but' in these cases--a railway accident--a little carelessness in

passing your drawing-room fire some evening when you are dressed in

flimsy gauze or muslin--a fever--a cold--any one of the many dangers

that lie in wait for all of us, and our best calculations are

falsified. If you were to marry and die childless, that money would go

to your husband, and neither your mother nor I would ever touch a

sixpence of it. Now as the money, practically, belongs to your mother,

I consider that this contingency should be provided against--in her

interests as well as in mine. In plain words, I want you to make a will

leaving that money to me."

"I am quite ready to do so," replied Charlotte.

"Very good, my dear. I felt assured that you would take a sensible view

of the matter. If you marry your dear Mr. Hawkehurst, have a family

by-and-by, we will throw the old will into the fire and make a new one;

but in the mean time it's just as well to be on the safe side. You

shall go into the City with me to-morrow morning, and shall execute the

will at my office. It will be the simplest document possible--as simple

as the will made by old Serjeant Crane, in which he disposed of half a

million of money in half a dozen lines--at the rate of five thousand

pounds per word. After we've settled that little matter, we can arrange

the transfer of the shares. The whole affair won't occupy an hour."

"I will do whatever you wish," said Charlotte, meekly. She was not at all

elated by the idea of coming suddenly into possession of five thousand

pounds; but she was very much impressed by the new view of Mr.

Sheldon's character afforded her by his conduct of to-day. And then her

thoughts, constant to one point as the needle to the pole, reverted to

her lover, and she began to think of the effect her fortune might have

upon his prospects. He might go to the bar, he might work and study in

pleasant Temple chambers, with wide area windows overlooking the river,

and read law-books in the evening at the Wimbledon cottage for a few

delightful years, at the end of which he would of course become Lord

Chancellor. That he should devote such intellect and consecrate such

genius as his to the service of his country's law-courts, and _not_

ultimately seat himself on the Woolsack, was a contingency not to be

imagined by Miss Halliday. Ah, what would not five thousand pounds buy

for him! The cottage expanded into a mansion, the little case of books

developed into a library second only to that of the Duc d'Aumale, a

noble steed waited at the glass door of the vestibule to convey Mr.

Hawkehurst to the Temple, before the minute-hand of Mr. Sheldon's stern

skeleton clock had passed from one figure to another: so great an adept

was this young lady in the art of castle-building.

"Am I to tell mamma about this conversation?" asked Charlotte,

presently.

"Well, no, I think not," replied Mr. Sheldon, thoughtfully. "These

family arrangements cannot be kept too quiet. Your mamma is a talking

person, you know, Charlotte; and as we don't want every one in this

part of Bayswater to know the precise amount of your fortune, we may as

well let matters rest as they are. Of course you would not wish Mr.

Hawkehurst to be enlightened?"

"Why not, papa?"

"For several reasons. First and foremost, it must be pleasant to you to

be sure that he is thoroughly disinterested. I have told him that you

will get something as a gift from me; but he may have implied that the

something would be little more than a couple of hundreds to furnish a

house. Secondly, it must be remembered, that he has been brought up in

a bad school, and the best way to make him self-reliant and industrious

is to let him think he has nothing but his own industry to depend upon.

I have set him a task. When he has accomplished that, he shall have you

and your five thousand pounds to boot. Till then I should strongly

advise you to keep this business a secret.

"Yes," answered Charlotte, meditatively; "I think you are right. It

would have been very nice to tell him of your kindness; but I want to

be quite sure that he loves me for myself alone--from first to

last--without one thought of money."

"That is wise," said Mr. Sheldon, decisively; and thus ended the

interview.

Charlotte accompanied her stepfather to the city early next morning,

and filled in the blanks in a lithographed form, prepared for the

convenience of such testators as, being about to dispose of their

property, do not care to employ the services of a legal adviser.

The will seemed to Charlotte the simplest possible affair. She

bequeathed all her property, real and personal, to Philip Sheldon,

without reserve. But as her entire fortune consisted of the five

thousand pounds just given her by that gentleman, and as her personal

property was comprised in a few pretty dresses and trinkets, and desks

and workboxes, she could not very well object to such an arrangement.

"Of course, mamma would have all my books and caskets, and boxes and

things," she said thoughtfully; "and I should like Diana Paget to have

some of my jewellery, please, Mr. Sheldon. Mamma has plenty, you know."

"There is no occasion to talk of that, Charlotte," replied the

stockbroker. "This will is only a matter of form."

Mr. Sheldon omitted to inform his stepdaughter that the instrument just

executed would, upon her wedding-day, become so much waste paper, an

omission that was not in harmony with the practical and careful habits

of that gentleman.

"Yes, I know that it is only a form," replied Charlotte; "but, after

making a will, one feels as if one was going to die. At least I do. It

seems a kind of preparation for death. I don't wonder people rather

dislike doing it.

"It is only foolish people who dislike doing it," said Mr. Sheldon, who

was in his most practical mood to-day. "And now we will go and arrange

a more agreeable business--the transfer of the shares."

After this, there was a little commercial juggling, in the form of

signing and countersigning, which, was quite beyond Charlotte's

comprehension: which operation being completed, she was told that she

was owner of five thousand pounds in Unitas Bank shares, and that the

dividends accruing from time to time on those shares would be hers to

dispose of as she pleased.

"The income arising from your capital will be more than you can spend

so long as you remain under my roof," said Mr. Sheldon. "I should

therefore strongly recommend you to invest your dividends as they

arise, and thus increase your capital."

"You are so kind and thoughtful," murmured Charlotte; "I shall always

be pleased to take your advice." She was strongly impressed by the

kindness of the man her thoughts had wronged.

"How difficult it is to understand these reserved, matter-of-fact

people!" she said to herself. Because my stepfather does not talk

sentiment, I have fancied him hard and worldly; and yet he has proved

himself as capable of doing a noble action as if he were the most

poetical of mankind.

Mrs. Sheldon had been told that Charlotte was going into the City to

choose a new watch, wherewith to replace the ill-used little Geneva toy

that had been her delight as a schoolgirl; and as Charlotte brought

home a neat little English-made chronometer from a renowned emporium on

Ludgate-hill, the simple matron accepted this explanation in all good

faith.

"I'm sure, Lotta, you must confess your stepfather is kindness itself

in most matters," said Georgy, after an admiring examination of the new

watch. "When I think how kindly he has taken this business about Mr.

Hawkehurst, and how disinterested he has proved himself in his ideas

about your marriage, I really am inclined to think him the best of men."

Georgy said this with an air of triumph. She could not forget that

there were people in Barlingford who had said hard things about Philip

Sheldon, and had prophesied unutterable miseries for herself and her

daughter as the bitter consequence of the imprudence she had been

guilty of in her second marriage.

"He has indeed been very good, mamma," Charlotte replied gravely, "and,

believe me, I am truly grateful. He does not like fuss or sentiment;

but I hope he knows that I appreciate his kindness."

CHAPTER VI.

RIDING THE HIGH HORSE.

Never, in his brightest dreams, had Valentine Hawkehurst imagined the

stream of life so fair and sunny a river as it seemed to him now.

Fortune had treated him so scurvily for seven-and-twenty years of his

life, only to relent of a sudden and fling all her choicest gifts into

his lap.

"I must be the prince in the fairy tale who begins life as a revolting

animal of the rhinoceros family, and ends by marrying the prettiest

princess in Elfindom," he said to himself gaily, is he paced the broad

walks of Kensington-gardens, where the bare trees swung their big black

branches in the wintry blast, and the rooks cawed their loudest at

close of the brief day.

What, indeed, could this young adventurer demand from benignant Fortune

above and beyond the blessings she had given him?? The favoured suitor

of the fairest and brightest woman he had ever looked upon, received by

her kindred, admitted to her presence, and only bidden to serve a due

apprenticeship before he claimed her as his own for ever. What more

could he wish? what further boon could he implore from the Fates?

Yes, there was one thing more--one thing for which Mr. Hawkehurst

pined, while most thankful for his many blessings. He wanted a decent

excuse for separating himself most completely from Horatio Paget. He

wanted to shake himself free from all the associations of his previous

existence. He wanted to pass through the waters of Jordan, and to

emerge purified, regenerate, leaving his garments on the furthermost

side of the river; and, with all other things appertaining to the past,

he would fain have rid himself of Captain Paget.

"'Be sure your sin will find you out,'" mused the young man; "and

having found you, be sure that it will stick to you like a leech, if

your sin takes the shape of an unprincipled acquaintance, as it does in

my case. I may try my hardest to cut the past, but will Horatio Paget

let me alone in the future? I doubt it. The bent of that man's genius

shows itself in his faculty for living upon other people. He knows that

I am beginning to earn money regularly, and has begun to borrow of me

already. When I can earn more, he will want to borrow more; and

although it is very sweet to work for Charlotte Halliday, it would not

be by any means agreeable to slave for my friend Paget. Shall I offer

him a pound a week, and ask him to retire into the depths of Wales or

Cornwall, amend his ways, and live the life of a repentant hermit? I

think I could bring myself to sacrifice the weekly sovereign, if there

were any hope that Horatio Paget could cease to be--Horatio Paget, on

this side the grave. No, I have the misfortune to be intimately

acquainted with the gentleman. When he is in the swim, as he calls it,

and is earning money on his own account, he will give himself cosy

little dinners and four-and-sixpenny primrose gloves; and when he is

down on his luck, he will come whining to me."

This was by no means a pleasant idea to Mr. Hawkehurst. In the old days

he had been distinguished by all the Bohemian's recklessness, and even

more than the Bohemian's generosity in his dealings with friend or

companion. But now all was changed. He was no longer reckless. A

certain result was demanded from him as the price of Charlotte

Halliday's hand, and he set himself to accomplish his allotted task

with all due forethought and earnestness of purpose. He had need even

to exercise restraint over himself, lest, in his eagerness, he should

do too much, and so lay himself prostrate from the ill effects of

overwork; so anxious was he to push on upon the road whose goal was so

fair a temple, so light seemed that labour of love which was performed

for the sake of Charlotte.

He communed with himself very often on the subject of that troublesome

question about Captain Paget. How was he to sever his frail skiff from

that rakish privateer? What excuse could he find for renouncing his

share in the Omega-street lodgings, and setting up a new home elsewhere?

"Policy might prompt me to keep my worthy friend under my eye," he said

to himself, "in order that I may be sure there is no underhand work

going on between him and Philip Sheldon. But I can scarcely believe

that Philip Sheldon has any inkling about the Haygarthian fortune. If

he had, he would surely not receive me as Charlotte's suitor. What

possible motive could he have for doing so?"

This was a question which Mr. Hawkehurst had frequently put to himself;

for his confidence in Mr. Sheldon was not of that kind which asks no

questions. Even while most anxious to believe in that gentleman's

honesty of purpose, he was troubled by occasional twinges of unbelief.

During the period which had elapsed since his return from Yorkshire, he

had been able to discover nothing of any sinister import from the

proceedings of Captain Paget. That gentleman appeared to be still

engaged upon the promoting business, although by no means so profitably

as heretofore. He went into the City every day, and came home in the

evening toilworn and out of spirits. He talked freely of his

occupation--how he had done much or done nothing, during the day; and

Valentine was at a loss to perceive any further ground for the

suspicion that had arisen in his mind after the meeting at the Ullerton

station, and the shuffling of the sanctimonious Goodge with regard to

Mrs. Rebecca Haygarth's letters.

Mr. Hawkehurst therefore determined upon boldly cutting the knot that

tied him to the familiar companion of his wanderings.

"I am tired of watching and suspecting," he said to himself. "If my

dear love has a right to this fortune, it will surely come to her; or

if it should never come, we can live very happily without it. Indeed,

for my own part, I am inclined to believe that I should be prouder and

happier as the husband of a dowerless wife, than as prince-consort to

the heiress of the Haygarths. We have built up such a dear, cheery,

unpretentious home for ourselves in our talk of the future, that I

doubt if we should care to change it for the stateliest mansion in

Kensington Palace-gardens or Belgrave-square. My darling could not be

my housekeeper, and make lemon cheese-cakes in her own pretty little

kitchen, if we lived in Belgrave-square; and how could she stand at one

of those great Birmingham ironwork gates in the Palace-gardens to watch

me ride away to my work?"

To a man as deeply in love as Mr. Hawkehurst, the sordid dross which

other people prize so highly is apt to become daily more indifferent; a

kind of colour-blindness comes over the vision of the true lover, and

the glittering yellow ore seems only so much vulgar earth, too mean a

thing to be regarded by any but the mean of soul. Thus it was that Mr.

Hawkehurst relaxed his suspicion of Captain Paget, and neglected his

patron and ally of Gray's Inn, much to the annoyance of that gentleman,

who tormented the young man with little notes demanding interviews.

These interviews had of late been far from agreeable to either of the

allies. George Sheldon urged the necessity of an immediate marriage;

Valentine declined to act in an underhand manner, after the

stockbroker's unexpected generosity.

"Generosity!" echoed George Sheldon, when Valentine had given him this

point-blank refusal at the close of a stormy argument. "Generosity! My

brother Phil's generosity! Egad, that is about the best thing I've

heard for the last ten years. If I pleased, Mr. Valentine Hawkehurst, I

could tell you something about my brother which would enable you to

estimate his generosity at its true value. But I don't please; and if

you choose to run counter to me and my interests, you must pay the

price of your folly. You may think yourself uncommonly lucky if the

price isn't a stiff one."

"I am prepared to abide by my decision," answered Valentine. "Miss

Halliday without a shilling is so dear to me, that I don't care to

commit a dishonourable action in order to secure my share of the

fortune she may claim. I turned over a new leaf on the day when I first

knew myself possessed of her affection. I don't want to go back to the

old leaves."

George Sheldon gave himself an impatient shrug. "I have heard of a

great many fools," he said, "but I never heard of a fool who would play

fast-and-loose with a hundred thousand pounds, and until to-day I

couldn't have believed there was such an animal."

Mr. Hawkehurst did not deign to notice this remark.

"Do be reasonable, Sheldon," he said. "You ask me to do what my sense

of right will not permit me to do, and you ask me that which I fully

believe to be impossible. I cannot for a moment imagine that any

persuasion of mine would induce Charlotte to consent to a secret

marriage, after your brother's fair and liberal conduct."

"Of course not," cried George, with savage impatience; "that's my

brother Phil all over. He is so honourable, so plain and

straightforward in all his dealings, that he would get the best of

Lucifer himself in a bargain. I tell you, Hawkehurst, you don't know

how deep he is--as deep as the bottomless pit, by Jove! His very

generosity makes me all the more afraid of him. I don't understand his

game. If he consented to your marriage in order to get rid of

Charlotte, he would let you marry her off-hand; but instead of doing

that, he makes conditions which must delay your marriage for years.

There is the point that bothers me."

"You had better pursue your own course, without reference to me or my

marriage with Miss Halliday," said Valentine.

"That is exactly what I must do. I can't leave the Haygarth estate to

the mercy of Tom, Dick, and Harry, while you try to earn thirty pounds

a month by scribbling for the magazines. I must make my bargain with

Philip instead of with you, and I can tell you that you'll be the loser

by the transaction."

"I don't quite see that."

"Perhaps not. You see, you don't quite understand my brother Phil. If

this money gets into his hands, be sure some of it will stick to them."

"Why should the money get into his hand?"

"Because, so long as Charlotte Halliday is under his roof, she is, to a

certain extent, under his authority. And then, I tell you again, there

is no calculating the depth of that man. He has thrown dust in your

eyes already. He will make that poor girl believe him the most

disinterested of mankind."

"You can warn her."

"Yes; as I have warned you. To what purpose? You are inclined to

believe in Phil rather than to believe in me, and you will be so

inclined to the end of the chapter. You remember that man Palmer, at

Rugely, who used to go to church, and take the sacrament?"

"Yes; of course I remember that case. What of him?"

"Why, people believed in him, you know, and thought him a jolly good

fellow, up to the time when they discovered that he had poisoned a few

of his friends in a quiet gentlemanly way."

Mr. Hawkehurst smiled at the irrelevance of this remark. He could not

perceive the connection of ideas between Palmer the Rugely poisoner,

and Philip Sheldon the stockbroker.

"That was an extreme case," he said.

"Yes; of course that was an extreme case," answered George, carelessly.

"Only it goes far to prove that a man may be gifted with a remarkable

genius for throwing dust in the eyes of his fellow-creatures."

There was no further disputation between the lawyer and Valentine.

George Sheldon began to understand that a secret marriage was not to be

accomplished in the present position of affairs.

"I am half inclined to suspect that Phil knows something about that

money," he said presently, "and is playing some artful game of his own."

"In that case your better policy would be to take the initiative,"

answered Valentine.

"I have no other course."

"And will Charlotte know--will she know that I have been concerned in

this business?" asked Valentine, growing very pale all of sudden. He

was thinking how mean he must appear in Miss Halliday's eyes, if she

came to understand that he had known her to be John Haygarth's heiress

at the time he won from her the sweet confession of her love. "Will she

ever believe how pure and true my love has been, if she comes to know

this?" he asked himself despairingly, while George Sheldon deliberated

in silence for a few moments.

"She need know nothing until the business comes to a head," replied

George at last. "You see, there may be no resistance on the part of the

Crown lawyers; and, in that case, Miss Halliday will get her rights

after a moderate amount of delay. But if they choose to dispute her

claim, it will be quite another thing--Halliday _versus_ the Queen, and

so on--with no end of swell Q.C.'s against us. In the latter case

you'll have to put all your adventures at Ullerton and Huxter's Cross

into an affidavit, and Miss H. must know everything."

"Yes; and then she will think--ah, no; I do not believe she can

misunderstand me, come what may."

"All doubt and difficulty might be avoided if you would manage a

marriage on the quiet off-hand," said George.

"I tell you again that I cannot do that; and that, even if it

were possible, I would not attempt it."

"So be it. You elect to ride the high horse; take care that magnificent

animal doesn't give you an ugly tumble."

"I can take my chance."

"And I must take my chance against that brother of mine. The winning

cards are all in my own hand this time, and it will be uncommonly hard

if he gets the best of me."

On this the two gentlemen parted. Valentine went to look at a

bachelor's lodging in the neighbourhood of the Edgeware-road, which he

had seen advertised in that morning's Times; and George Sheldon started

for Bayswater, where he was always sure of a dinner and a liberal

allowance of good wine from the hospitality of his prosperous kinsman.

CHAPTER VII.

MR. SHELDON IS PRUDENT.

Valentine found the apartments near the Edgeware-road in every manner

eligible. The situation was midway between his reading-room in Great

Russell-street and the abode of his delight--a half-way house on the

road between business and pleasure. The terms were very moderate, the

rooms airy and pleasant; so he engaged them forthwith, his tenancy to

commence at the end of the following week; and having settled this

matter, he went back to Omega-street, bent on dissolving partnership

with the Captain in a civil but decided manner.

A surprise, and a very agreeable one, awaited him at Chelsea. He found

the sitting-room strewn with Captain Paget's personal property, and the

Captain on his knees before a portmanteau, packing.

"You're just in time to give me a hand, Val," he said in his most

agreeable manner. "I begin to find out my age when I put my poor old

bones into abnormal attitudes. I daresay packing a trunk or two will be

only child's-play to you."

"I'll pack half a dozen trunks if you like," replied Valentine. "But

what is the meaning of this sudden move? I did not know you were going

to leave town."

"Neither did I when you and I breakfasted together. I got an unexpected

offer of a very decent position abroad this morning; a kind of agency,

that will be much better than the hand-to-mouth business I've been

doing lately."

"What kind of agency, and where?"

"Well, so far as I can make out at present, it is something in the

steam navigation way. My head-quarters will be at Rouen."

"Rouen! Well, it's a pleasant lively old city enough, and as mediæval

as one of Sir Walter's novels, provided they haven't Haussmanised it

by this time. I am very glad to hear you have secured a comfortable berth."

"And I am not sorry to leave England, Yal," answered the Captain, in

rather a mournful tone.

"Why not?"

"Because I think it's time you and I parted company. Our association

begins to be rather disadvantageous to you, Val. We've had our ups and

downs together, and we've got on very pleasantly, take it for all in

all. But now that you're settling down as a literary man, engaged to

that young woman, hand-in-glove with Philip Sheldon, and so on, I think

it's time for me to take myself off. I'm not wanted; and sooner or

later I should begin to feel myself in the way."

The Captain grew quite pathetic as he said this; and little pangs of

remorse shot through Valentine's heart as he remembered how eager he

had been to rid himself of this Old Man of the Mountain. And here was

the poor old creature offering to take himself out of the way of his

own accord.

Influenced by this touch of remorse, Mr. Hawkehurst held out his hand,

and grasped that of his comrade and patron.

"I hope you may do well, in some--comfortable kind of business," he

said heartily. That adjective "comfortable" was a hasty substitute for

the adjective "honest," which had been almost on his lips as he uttered

his friendly wish. He was too well disposed to all the world not to

feel profound pity for this white-headed old man, who for so many years

had eaten the bread of rogues and scoundrels.

"Come," he cried cheerily, "I'll take all the packing off your hands,

Captain; and we'll eat our last dinner and drink our last bottle of

sparkling together at my expense, at any place you please to name."

"Say Blanchard's," replied Horatio Paget. "I like a corner-window,

looking out upon the glare and bustle of Regent-street. It reminds one

just a little of the Maison Dorée and the boulevard. We'll drink

Charlotte Halliday's health, Val, in bumpers. She's a charming young

person, and I only wish she were an heiress, for your sake."

The eyes of the two men met as the Captain said this; and there was a

twinkle in the cold gray orbs of that gentleman which had a very

unpleasant effect upon Valentine.

"What treachery is he engaged in now?" he asked himself. "I know that

look in my Horatio's eyes; and I know it always means mischief."

George Sheldon made his appearance at the Lawn five minutes after his

brother came home from the City. He entered the domestic circle in his

usual free-and-easy manner, knowing himself to be endured, rather than

liked, by the two ladies, and to be only tolerated as a necessary evil

by the master of the house.

"I've dropped in to eat a chop with you, Phil," he said, "in order to

get an hour's comfortable talk after dinner. There's no saying half a

dozen consecutive words to you in the City, where your clerks seem to

spend their lives in bouncing in upon you when you don't want them."

There was very little talk during dinner. Charlotte and her stepfather

were thoughtful. Diana was chiefly employed in listening to the _sotto

voce_ inanities of Mrs. Sheldon, for whom the girl showed herself

admirably patient. Her forbearance and gentleness towards Georgy

constituted a kind of penitential sacrifice, by which she hoped to

atone for the dark thoughts and bitter feelings that possessed her mind

during those miserable hours in which she was obliged to witness the

happiness of Charlotte and her lover.

George Sheldon devoted himself chiefly to his dinner and a certain dry

sherry, which he particularly affected. He was a man who would have

dined and enjoyed himself at the table of Judas Iscariot, knowing the

banquet to be provided out of the thirty pieces of silver.

"That's as good a pheasant as I ever ate, Phil," he said, after winding

up with the second leg of the bird in question. "No, Georgy; no

macaroni, thanks. I don't care about kickshaws after a good dinner. Has

Hawkehurst dined with you lately, by the way, Phil?"

Charlotte blushed red as the holly-berries that decorated the

chandelier. It was Christmas-eve, and her own fair hands had helped to

bedeck the rooms with festal garlands of evergreen and holly.

"He dines with us to-morrow," replied the stockbroker. "You'll come, I

suppose, as usual, George?"

"Well, I shall be very glad, if I'm not in the way."

Mrs. Sheldon murmured some conventional protestation of the unfailing

delight afforded to her by George's society.

"Of course we're always glad to see you," said Philip in his most

genial manner; "and now, if you've anything to say to me about

business, the sooner you begin the better.--You and the girls needn't

stay for dessert, Georgy. Almonds and raisins can't be much of a

novelty to you; and as none of you take any wine, there's not much to

stop for. George and I will come in to tea."

The ladies departed, by no means sorry to return to their Berlin-wool

and piano. Diana took up her work with that saintly patience with which

she performed all the duties of her position; and Charlotte seated

herself before the piano, and began to play little bits of waltzes, and

odds and ends of polkas, in a dreamy mood, and with a slurring over of

dominant bass notes, which would have been torture to a musician's ear.

She was wondering whether Valentine would call that evening,

Christmas-eve--a sort of occasion for congratulation of some kind from

her lover, she fancied. It was the first Christmas-eve on which she had

been "engaged." She looked back to the same period last year, and

remembered herself sitting in that very room strumming on that very

piano, and unconscious that there was such a creature as Valentine

Hawkehurst upon this earth. And, strange to say, even in that benighted

state, she had been tolerably happy.

"Now, George," said Mr. Sheldon, when the brothers had filled their

glasses and planted their chairs on the opposite sides of the

hearth-rug, "what's the nature of this business that you want to talk

about?"

"Well, it is a business of considerable importance, in which you are

only indirectly concerned. The actual principal in the affair is your

stepdaughter, Miss Halliday."

"Indeed!"

"Yes. You know how you have always ridiculed my fancy for hunting up

heirs-at-law and all that kind of thing, and you know how I have held

on, hoping against hope, starting on a new scent when the old scent

failed, and so on."

"And you have got a chance at last, eh?"

"I believe that I have, and a tolerably good one; and I think you will

own that it is rather extraordinary that my first lucky hit should

bring luck your way."

"That is to say, to my stepdaughter?" remarked Mr. Sheldon, without any

appearance of astonishment.

"Precisely," said George, somewhat disconcerted by his brother's

coolness. "I have lately discovered that Miss Halliday is entitled to a

certain sum of money, and I pledge myself to put her in possession of

that money--on one condition."

"And that is--"

"That she executes a deed promising to give me half of the amount she

may recover by my agency."

"Suppose she can recover it without your agency?"

"That I defy her to do. She does not even know that she has any claim

to the amount in question."

"Don't be too sure of that. Or even supposing she knows nothing, do you

think her friends are as ignorant as she is? Do you think me such a

very bad man of business as to remain all this time unaware of the fact

that my stepdaughter, Charlotte Halliday, is next of kin to the Rev.

John Haygarth, who died intestate, at Tilford Haven, in Kent, about a

year ago?"

This was a cannon-shot that almost knocked George Sheldon off his

chair; but after that first movement of surprise, he gave a sigh, or

almost a groan, expressive of resignation.

"Egad, Phil Sheldon," he said, "I ought not to be astonished at this.

Knowing you as well as I do, I must have been a confounded fool not to

expect some kind of underhand work from you."

"What do you mean by underhand work?" exclaimed Mr. Sheldon. "The same

newspapers that were open to you were open to me, and I had better

opportunities for tracking my stepdaughter's direct descent from John

Haygarth's father."

"How did you discover Miss Halliday's descent from Matthew Haygarth?"

asked George, very meekly. He was quite crestfallen. He began to feel

that his brother would have the upper hand of him in this business as

in all other business of this world.

"That is my secret," replied Mr. Sheldon, with agreeable tranquillity

of manner. "You have kept your secrets, and I shall keep mine. Your

policy has been the policy of distrust. Mine shall be the same. When

you were starting this affair, I offered to go into it with you--to

advance whatever money you needed, in a friendly manner. You declined

my offer, and chose to go in for the business on your own hook. You

have made a very good thing for yourself, no doubt; but you are not

quite clever enough to keep me altogether in the dark in a matter which

concerns a member of my own family."

"Yes," said George, with a sigh, "that's where you hold the winning

cards. Miss Halliday is your ace of trumps."

"Depend upon it, I shall know how to hold my strength in reserve, and

when to play my leading trump."

"And how to collar my king," muttered George between his set teeth.

"Come," exclaimed Philip presently, "we may as well discuss this matter

in a friendly spirit. What do you mean to propose?"

"I have only one proposition to make," answered the lawyer, with

decision. "I hold every link of the chain of evidence, without which

Miss Halliday might as well be a native of the Fiji islands for any

claim she can assert to John Haygarth's estate. I am prepared to carry

this matter through; but I will only do it on the condition that I

receive half the fortune recovered from the Crown by Miss Halliday."

"A very moderate demand, upon my word!"

"I daresay I shall be able to make my bargain with Miss Halliday."

"Very likely," replied Mr. Sheldon; "and I shall be able to get that

bargain set aside as illegal."

"I doubt that. I have a deed of agreement drawn up here which would

hold water in any court of equity."

And hereupon Mr. Sheldon the younger produced and read aloud one of

those dry as dust documents by which the legal business of life is

carried on. It was a deed to be executed by Charlotte Halliday,

spinster, of Bayswater, on the one part, and George Sheldon, solicitor,

of Gray's Inn, on the other part; and it gave to the said George

Sheldon, as securely as any deed can give anything, one half of any

property, not now in her possession or control, which the said

Charlotte Halliday might obtain by the agency of the above-mentioned

George Sheldon.

"And pray, who is to find the costs for this business?" asked the

stockbroker. "I don't feel by any means disposed to stake my money on

such a hazardous game. Who knows what other descendants of Matthew

Haygarth may be playing at hide-and-seek in the remotest corners of the

earth, ready to spring out upon us when we've wasted a small fortune

upon law-proceedings."

"I shan't ask you to risk your money," replied George, with sullen

dignity. "I have friends who will back me when they see that agreement

executed."

"Very well, then, all you have to do is to alter your half share to

one-fifth, and I will undertake that Miss Halliday shall sign the

agreement before the week is out."

"One-fifth?"

"Yes, my dear George. Twenty thousand pounds will pay you very

handsomely for your trouble. I cannot consent to Miss Halliday ceding

more than a fifth."

"A fig for your consent! The girl is of age, and can act upon her own

hook. I shall go to Miss Halliday herself," exclaimed the indignant

lawyer.

"O no, you won't. You must know the danger of running counter to me in

this business. That agreement is all very well; but there is no kind of

document more easy to upset if one only goes about it in the right way.

Play your own game, and I will upset that agreement, as surely as I

turn this wine-glass bowl downwards."

Mr. Sheldon's action and Mr. Sheldon's look expressed a determination

which George knew how to estimate by the light of past experience.

"It is a hard thing to find you against me, after the manner in which I

have toiled and slaved for your stepdaughter's interests."

"I am bound to hold my stepdaughter's interests paramount over every

consideration."

"Yes, paramount over brotherly feeling and all that sort of thing.

I say that it is more than hard that you should be against me,

considering the special circumstances and the manner in which

I have kept my own counsel----"

"You will take a fifth share, or nothing, George," said Mr. Sheldon,

with a threatening contraction of his black brows. "If I have any

difficulty in arranging matters with you, I will go into

this affair myself, and carry it through without your help."

"That I defy you to do."

"You had better not defy me."

"Pray how much do you expect to get out of Miss Halliday's fortune?"

demanded the aggravated George.

"That is my business," answered Philip. "And now we had better go into

the drawing-room for our tea. O, by the bye, George," he added,

carelessly, "as Miss Halliday is quite a child in all business matters,

she had better be treated like a child. I shall tell her that she has a

claim to a certain sum of money; but I shall not tell her what sum. Her

disappointment will be less in the event of a failure, if her

expectations are not large."

"You are always so considerate, my dear Phil," said George, with a

malignant grin. "May I ask how it is you have taken it into your head

to play the benevolent father in the matter of Valentine Hawkehurst and

Miss Halliday?"

"What can it signify to me whom my stepdaughter marries?" asked Philip,

coolly. "Of course I wish her well; but I will not have the

responsibility of controlling her choice. If this young man suits her,

let her marry him."

"Especially when he happens to suit _you_ so remarkably well. I think I

can understand your tactics, Phil."

"You must understand or misunderstand me, just as you please. And now

come to tea."

CHAPTER VIII.

CHRISTMAS PEACE.

Valentine Hawkehurst did not make his appearance at the Lawn on

Christmas-eve. He devoted that evening to the service of his old ally.

He performed all friendly offices for the departing Captain, dined with

him very pleasantly in Regent-street, and accompanied him to the

London-bridge terminus, where he beheld the voyager comfortably seated

in a second-class carriage of the night-train for Newhaven.

Mr. Hawkehurst had seen the Captain take a through ticket for Rouen,

and he saw the train leave the terminus. This he held to be ocular

demonstration of the fact that Captain Paget was really going to the

Gallic Manchester.

"That sort of customer is so uncommonly slippery," the young man said

to himself as he left the station; "nothing but the evidence of my own

eyes would have convinced me of my friend's departure. How pure and

fresh the London atmosphere seems now that the perfume of Horatio Paget

is out of it! I wonder what he is going to do at Rouen? Very little

good, I daresay. But why should I wonder about him, or trouble myself

about him? He is gone, and I have set myself free from the trammels of

the past."

* * * * *

The next day was Christmas-day. Mr. Hawkehurst recited scraps of

Milton's glorious hymn as he made his morning toilet. He was very

happy. It was the first Christmas morning on which he had ever awakened

with this sense of supreme happiness, or with the consciousness that

the day was brighter, or grander, or more holy than other days. It

seemed to him to-day, more than ever, that he was indeed a regenerate

creature, purified by the influence of a good woman's love.

He looked back at his past existence, and the vision of many

Christmas-days arose before him: a Christmas in Paris, amidst

unutterable rain and mud; a Christmas-night spent in roaming the

Boulevards, and in the consumption of cognac and tobacco at a

third-rate café; a Christmas in Germany; more than one Christmas in the

Queen's Bench; one especially dreary Christmas in a long bare ward at

Whitecross-street,--how many varied scenes and changing faces arose

before his mental vision associated with that festive time! And yet

among them all there was not one on which there shone the faintest

glimmer of that holy light which makes the common holiday a sacred

season.

It was a pleasant thing to breakfast without the society of the

brilliant Horatio, whose brilliancy was apt to appear somewhat ghastly

at that early period of the morning. It was pleasant to loiter over the

meal, now meditating on the happy future, now dipping into a tattered

copy of Southey's "Doctor;" with the consciousness that the winds and

waves had by this time wafted Captain Paget to a foreign land.

Valentine was to spend the whole of Christmas-day with Charlotte and

her kindred. He was to accompany them to a fashionable church in the

morning, to walk with them after church, to dine and tell ghost-stories

in the evening. It was to be his first day as a recognised member of

that pleasant family at Bayswater; and in the fulness of his heart he

felt affectionately disposed to all his adopted relations; even to Mr.

Sheldon, whose very noble conduct had impressed him strongly, in spite

of the bitter sneers and covert slanders of George. Charlotte had told

her lover that her stepfather was a very generous and disinterested

person, and that there was a secret which she would have been glad to

tell him, had she not been pledged to hold it inviolate, that would

have gone far to place Mr. Sheldon in a very exalted light before the

eyes of his future son-in-law.

And then Miss Halliday had nodded and smiled, and had informed her

lover, with a joyous little laugh, that he should have a horse to ride,

and an edition of Grote's "Greece" bound in dark-brown calf with

bevelled edges, when they were married; this work being one which the

young author had of late languished to possess.

"Dear foolish Lotta, I fear there will be a new history of Greece,

based on new theories, before that time comes," said the lover.

"O no, indeed; that time will come very soon. See how industriously you

work, and how well you succeed. The magazine people will soon give you

thirty pounds a month. Or who knows that you may not write some book

that will make you suddenly famous, like Byron, or the good-natured fat

little printer who wrote those long, long, long novels that no one

reads nowadays?"

Influenced by Charlotte's hints about her stepfather, Mr. Hawkehurst's

friendly feeling for that gentleman grew stronger, and the sneers and

innuendoes of the lawyer ceased to have the smallest power over him.

"The man is such a thorough-going schemer himself, that he cannot bring

himself to believe in another man's honesty," thought Mr. Hawkehurst,

while meditating upon his experience of the two brothers. "So far as I

have had any dealings with Philip Sheldon, I have found him

straightforward enough. I can imagine no hidden motive for his conduct

in relation to Charlotte. The test of his honesty will be the manner in

which he is acted upon by Charlotte's position as claimant of a great

fortune. Will he throw me overboard, I wonder? or will my dear one

believe me an adventurer and fortune-hunter? Ah, no, no, no; I do not

think in all the complications of life there could come about a state

of events which would cause my Charlotte to doubt me. There is no

clairvoyance so unerring as true love."

Mr. Hawkehurst had need of such philosophy as this to sustain him in

the present crisis of his life. He was blest with a pure delight which

excelled his wildest dreams of happiness; but he was not blest with any

sense of security as to the endurance of that exalted state of bliss.

Mr. Sheldon would learn Charlotte's position, would doubtless extort

from his brother the history of those researches in which Valentine had

been engaged; and then, what then? Alas! hereupon arose incalculable

dangers and perplexities.

Might not the stockbroker, as a man of the world, take a sordid view of

the whole transaction, and consider Valentine in the light of a

shameless adventurer, who had traded on his secret knowledge in the

hope of securing a rich wife? Might he not reveal all to Charlotte, and

attempt to place her lover before her in this most odious aspect? She

would not believe him base; her faith would be unshaken, her love

unchanged; but it was odious, it was horrible, to think that her ears

should be sullied, her tender heart fluttered, by the mere suggestion

of such baseness.

It was during the Christmas-morning sermon that Mr. Hawkehurst

permitted his mind to be disturbed by these reflections. He was sitting

next his betrothed, and had the pleasure of contemplating her fair

girlish face, with the rosy lips half parted in reverent attention as

she looked upward to her pastor. After church there was the walk home

to the Lawn: and during this rapturous promenade Valentine put away

from him all shadow of doubt and fear, in order to bask in the full

sunshine of his Charlotte's presence. Her pretty gloved hand rested

confidingly on his arm, and the supreme privilege of carrying a dainty

blue-silk umbrella and an ivory-bound church-service was awarded him.

With what pride he accepted the duty of convoying his promised wife

over the muddy crossings! Those brief journeys seemed to him in a

manner typical of their future lives. She was to travel dry-shod over

the miry ways of this world, supported by his strong arm. How fondly he

surveyed her toilet! and what a sudden interest he felt in the

fashions, that had until lately seemed so vulgar and frivolous!

"I will never denounce the absurdity of those little bonnets again,

Lotta," he cried; "that conglomeration of black velvet and

maiden's-hair fern is divine. Do you know that in some places they call

that fern Maria's hair, and hold it sacred to the mother of Him who was

born to-day? so you see there is an artistic fitness in your

head-dress. Yes, your bonnet is delicious, darling; and though the

diminutive size of that velvet jacket would lead me to suppose you had

borrowed it from some juvenile sister, it seems the very garment of all

garments best calculated to render you just one hair's-breadth nearer

perfection than you were made by Nature."

"Valentine, don't be ridiculous!" giggled the young lady.

"How can I help being ridiculous? Your presence acts upon my nerves

like laughing-gas. Ah, you do not know what cares and perplexities I

have to make me serious. Charlotte," exclaimed the young man, with

sudden energy, "do you think you could ever come to distrust me?"

"Valentine! Do I think I shall ever be Queen of England? One thing is

quite as likely as the other."

"My dear angel, if you will only believe in me always, there is no

power upon earth that can make us unhappy. Suppose you found yourself

suddenly possessed of a great fortune, Charlotte; what would you do

with it?"

"I would buy you a library as good as that in the British Museum; and

then you would not want to spend the whole of your existence in Great

Russell-street."

"But if you had a great fortune, Lotta, don't you think you would be

very much disposed to leave me to plod on at my desk in Great

Russell-street? Possessed of wealth, you would begin to languish for

position; and you would allow Mr. Sheldon to bring you some suitor who

could give you a name and a rank in society worthy of an angelic

creature with a hundred thousand pounds or so."

"I should do nothing of the kind. I do not care for money. Indeed, I

should be almost sorry to be very rich."

"Why, dearest?"

"Because, if I were very rich, we could not live in the cottage at

Wimbledon, and I could not make lemon cheese-cakes for your dinner."

"My own true-hearted darling!" cried Valentine; "the taint of

worldliness can never touch your pure spirit."

They were at the gates of Mr. Sheldon's domain by this time. Diana and

Georgy had walked behind the lovers, and had talked a little about the

sermon, and a good deal about the bonnets; poor Diana doing her very

uttermost to feign an interest in the finery that had attracted Mrs.

Sheldon's wandering gaze.

"Well, I should have thought you couldn't fail to see it," said the

elder lady, as they approached the gate; "a leghorn, very small, with

holly-berries and black ribbon--quite French, you know, and _so_

stylish. I was thinking, if I had my Tuscan cleaned and altered, it

might----" And here the conversation became general, as the family

party entered the drawing-room, where Mr. Sheldon was reading his paper

by a roaring fire.

"Talking about the bonnets, as per usual," said the stockbroker. "What

an enormous amount of spiritual benefit you women must derive from

church-going!--Consols have fallen another eighth since Tuesday

afternoon, George," added Mr. Sheldon, addressing himself to his

brother, who was standing on the hearth-rug, with his elbow on the

chimney-piece.

"Consols are your 'bonnets,' papa," cried Charlotte, gaily; "I don't

think there is a day upon which you do not talk about their having gone

up, or gone down, or gone somewhere."

After luncheon the lovers went for a walk in Kensington-gardens, with

Diana Paget to play propriety. "You will come with us, won't you, dear

Di?" pleaded Charlotte. "You have been looking pale and ill lately, and

I am sure a walk will do you good."

Valentine seconded his liege lady's request; and the three spent a

couple of hours pacing briskly to and fro in the lonelier parts of the

gardens, leaving the broad walks for the cockneys, who mustered strong

upon this seasonable Christmas afternoon.

For two out of those three that wintry walk was rapture only too

fleeting. For the third it was passive endurance. The agonies that had

but lately rent Diana's breast when she had seen those two together no

longer tortured her. The scorpion sting was beginning to lose its

venomous power. She suffered still, but her suffering was softened by

resignation. There is a limit to the capacity for pain in every mind.

Diana had borne her share of grief; she had, in Homeric phrase,

satiated herself with anguish and tears; and to those sharp throes and

bitter torments there had succeeded a passive sense of sorrow that was

almost peace.

"I have lost him," she said to herself. "Life can never bring me much

joy; but I should be worse than weak if I spent my existence in the

indulgence of my sorrow. I should be one of the vilest wretches upon

this earth if I could not teach myself to witness the happiness of my

friend without repining."

Miss Paget had not arrived at this frame of mind without severe

struggles. Many times, in the long wakeful nights, in the slow, joyless

days, she had said to herself, "Peace, peace, when there was no peace."

But at last the real peace, the true balm of Gilead, was given in

answer to her prayers, and the weary soul tasted the sweetness of

repose. She had wrestled with, and had vanquished, the demon.

To-day, as she walked beside the lovers, and listened to their happy

frivolous talk, she felt like a mother who had seen the man she loved

won from her by her own daughter, and who had resigned herself to the

ruin of all her hopes for love of her child.

There was more genial laughter and pleasant converse at Mr. Sheldon's

dinner-table that evening than was usual at that hospitable board; but

the stockbroker himself contributed little to the merriment of the

party. He was quiet, and even thoughtful, and let the talk and laughter

go by him without any attempt to take part in it. After dinner he went

to his own room; while Valentine and the ladies sat round the fire in

the orthodox Christmas manner, and after a good deal of discursive

conversation, subsided into the telling of ghost-stories.

George Sheldon sat apart from the circle, turning over the books upon

the table, or peering into a stereoscope with an evident sense of

weariness. This kind of domestic evening was a manner of life which Mr.

Sheldon of Gray's Inn denounced as "slow;" and he submitted himself to

the endurance of it this evening only because he did not know where

else to bestow his presence.

"I don't think papa cares much about ghost-stories, does he, uncle

George?" Charlotte asked, by way of saying something to the gentleman,

who seemed so very dreary as he sat yawning over the books and

stereoscopes.

"I don't suppose he does, my dear."

"And do you think he believes in ghosts?" the young lady demanded,

laughingly.

"No, I am sure he doesn't," replied George, very seriously.

"Why, how seriously you say that!" cried Charlotte, a little startled

by George Sheldon's manner, in which there had been an earnestness not

quite warranted by the occasion.

"I was thinking of your father--not my brother Phil. He died in

Philip's house, you know; and if Phil believed in ghosts, he would

scarcely have liked living in that house afterwards, you see, and so

on. But he went on living there for a twelvemonth longer. It seemed

just as good as any other house to him, I suppose."

Hereupon Georgy dissolved into tears, and told the company how she had

fled, heartbroken, from the house in which her first husband had died,

immediately after the funeral.

"And I'm sure the gentlemanly manner in which your step-papa behaved

during all that dreadful time, Charlotte, is beyond all praise,"

continued the lady, turning to her daughter; "so thoughtful, so kind,

so patient. What I should have done if poor Tom's illness had happened

in a strange house, I don't know. And I have no doubt that the new

doctor, Mr. Burkham, did his duty, though his manner was not as decided

as I should have wished."

"Mr. Burkham!" cried Valentine. "What Burkham is that? We've a member

of the Ragamuffins called Burkham, a surgeon, who does a little in the

literary line."

"The Mr. Burkham who attended my poor dear husband was a very young

man," answered Georgy; "a fair man, with a fresh colour and a

hesitating manner. I should have been so much better satisfied if he

had been older."

"That is the man," said Valentine. "The Burkham I know is

fresh-coloured and fair, and cannot be much over thirty."

"Are you and he particularly intimate?" asked George Sheldon,

carelessly.

"O dear no, not at all. We speak to each other when we happen to

meet--that's all. He seems a nice fellow enough; and he evidently

hasn't much practice, or he couldn't afford to be a Ragamuffin, and to

write farces. He looks to me exactly the kind of modest deserving man

who ought to succeed, and who so seldom does."

This was all that was said about Mr. Burkham; but there was no more

talk of ghost-stories, and a temporary depression fell upon the little

assembly. The memory of her father had always a saddening influence on

Charlotte; and it needed many tender _sotto-voce_ speeches from

Valentine to bring back the smiles to her fair young face.

The big electro-plated tea-tray and massive silver teapot made their

appearance presently, and immediately after came Mr. Sheldon.

"I want to have a little talk with you after tea, Hawkehurst," he said,

as he took his own cup from Georgy's hand, and proceeded to imbibe the

beverage standing. "If you will come out into the garden and have a

cigar, I can say all I have to say in a very few minutes; and then we

can come in here for a rubber. Georgy is a very decent player; and my

brother George plays as good a hand at whist as any man at the

Conservative or the Reform."

Valentine's heart sank within him. What could Mr. Sheldon want with a

few minutes' talk, if not to revoke his gracious permission of some

days before--the permission that had been accorded in ignorance of

Charlotte's pecuniary advantages? The young man looked very pale as he

went to smoke his cigar in Mr. Sheldon's garden. Charlotte followed him

with anxious eyes, and wondered at the sudden gravity of his manner.

George Sheldon also was puzzled by his brother's desire for a

tête-à-tête.

"What new move is Phil going to make?" he asked himself. The two men

lit their cigars, and got them well under weigh before Mr. Sheldon

began to talk.

"When I gave my consent to receive you as Miss Halliday's suitor, my

dear Hawkehurst," he said, at last, "I told you that I was acting as

very few men of the world would act, and I only told you the truth.

Since giving you that consent I have made a very startling discovery,

and one that places me in quite a new position in regard to this

matter."

"Indeed!"

"Yes, Mr. Hawkehurst, I have become aware of the fact that Miss

Halliday, the girl whom I thought entirely dependent upon my

generosity, is heir-at-law to a large fortune. You will, of course,

perceive how entirely this alters the position of affairs."

"I do perceive," Valentine answered earnestly; "but I trust you will

believe that I had not the faintest idea of Miss Halliday's position

when I asked her to be my wife. As to my love for her, I can scarcely

tell you when that began; but I think it must have dated from the first

hour in which I saw her, for I can remember no period at which I did

_not_ love her."

"If I did not believe you superior to any mercenary motives, you would

not have been under my roof to-day, Mr. Hawkehurst," said the

stockbroker, with extreme gravity. "The discovery of my stepdaughter's

position gives me no pleasure. Her claim to this wealth only increases

my responsibility with regard to her, and responsibility is what I

would willingly avoid. After all due deliberation, therefore, I have

decided that this discovery need make no alteration in your position as

Charlotte's future husband. If you were worthy of her when she was

without a fortune, you are not less worthy now."

"Mr. Sheldon," cried Valentine, with considerable emotion, "I did not

expect so much generosity at your hands!"

"No," replied the stockbroker, "the popular idea of a business man is

not particularly agreeable. I do not, however, pretend to anything like

generosity; I wish to take a common-sense view of the affair, but not

an illiberal one."

"You have shown so much generosity of feeling, that I can no longer

sail under false colours," said Valentine, after a brief pause. "Until

a day or two ago I was bound to secrecy by a promise made to your

brother. But his communication of Miss Halliday's rights to you sets me

at liberty, and I must tell you that which may possibly cause you to

withdraw your confidence."

Hereupon Mr. Hawkehurst revealed his share in the researches that had

resulted in the discovery of Miss Halliday's claim to a large fortune.

He entered into no details. He told Mr. Sheldon only that he had been

the chief instrument in the bringing about of this important discovery.

"I can only repeat what I said just now," he added, in conclusion. "I

have loved Charlotte Halliday from the beginning of our acquaintance,

and I declared myself some days before I discovered her position. I

trust this confession will in nowise alter your estimate of me."

"It would be a poor return for your candour if I were to doubt your

voluntary statement, Hawkehurst," answered the stockbroker. "No; I

shall not withdraw my confidence. And if your researches should

ultimately lead to the advancement of my stepdaughter, there will be

only poetical justice in your profiting more or less by that

advancement. In the mean time we cannot take matters too quietly. I am

not a sanguine person, and I know how many hearts have been broken by

the High Court of Chancery. This grand discovery of yours may result in

nothing but disappointment and waste of money, or it may end as

pleasantly as my brother and you seem to expect. All I ask is, that

poor Charlotte's innocent heart may not be tortured by a small lifetime

of suspense. Let her be told nothing that can create hope in the

present or disappointment in the future. She appears to be perfectly

happy in her present position, and it would be worse than folly to

disturb her by vague expectations that may never be realised. She will

have to make affidavits, and so on, by-and-by, I daresay; and when that

time comes she must be told there is some kind of suit pending in which

she is concerned. But she need not be told how nearly that suit

concerns her, or the extent of her alleged claim. You see, my dear sir,

I have seen so much of this sort of thing, and the misery involved in

it, that I may be forgiven if I am cautious."

This was putting the whole affair in a new light. Until this moment

Valentine had fancied that, the chain of evidence once established,

Charlotte's claim had only to be asserted in order to place her in

immediate possession of the Haygarth estate. But Mr. Sheldon's cool and

matter-of-fact discussion of the subject implied all manner of doubt

and difficulty, and the Haygarthian thousands seemed carried away to

the most remote and shadowy regions of Chanceryland, as by the waves of

some legal ocean.

"And you really think it would be better not to tell Charlotte?"

"I am sure of it. If you wish to preserve her from all manner of worry

and annoyance, you will take care to keep her in the dark until the

affair is settled--supposing it ever should be settled. I have known

such an affair to outlast the person interested."

"You take a very despondent view of the matter."

"I take a practical view of it. My brother George is a monomaniac on

the next-of-kin subject."

"I cannot quite reconcile myself to the idea of concealing the truth

from Charlotte."

"That is because you do not know the world as well as I do," answered

Mr. Sheldon, coolly.

"I cannot imagine that the idea of this claim would have any disturbing

influence upon her," Valentine argued, thoughtfully. "She is the last

person in the world to care about money."

"Perhaps so. But there is a kind of intoxication in the idea of a large

fortune--an intoxication that no woman of Charlotte's age could stand

against. Tell her that she has a claim to considerable wealth, and from

that moment she will count upon the possession of that wealth, and

shape all her plans for the future upon that basis. 'When I get my

fortune, I will do this, that, and the other.' _That_ is what she will

be continually saying to herself; and by-and-by, when the affair

results in failure, as it very likely will, there will remain a sense

of disappointment which will last for a lifetime, and go far to

embitter all the ordinary pleasures of her existence."

"I am inclined to think you are right," said Valentine, after some

little deliberation. "My darling girl is perfectly happy as it is. It

may be wisest to tell her nothing."

"I am quite sure of that," replied Mr. Sheldon. "Of course her being

enlightened or not can be in no way material to me. It is a subject

upon which I can afford to be entirely disinterested."

"I will take your advice, Mr. Sheldon."

"So be it. In that case matters will remain _in statu quo_. You will be

received in this house as my stepdaughter's future husband, and it is

an understood thing that your marriage is not to take place without due

consultation with me. I am to have a voice in the business."

"Most decidedly. It is only right that you should be deferred to."

This brought the interview to a close very pleasantly. The gentlemen

went back to the house, and Valentine found himself presently seated at

a whist-table with the brothers Sheldon, and Georgy, who played very

well, in a feeble kind of way, holding religiously by all the precepts

of Hoyle, and in evident fear of her husband and brother-in-law.

Charlotte and Diana played duets while the whist progressed, with

orthodox silence and solemnity on the part of the four players.

Valentine's eyes wandered very often to the piano, and he was in nowise

sorry when the termination of a conquering rubber set him at liberty.

He contrived to secure a brief _tête-à-tête_ with Charlotte while he

helped her in the arrangement of the books on the music-stand, and then

the shrill chime of the clock on the mantelpiece, and an audible yawn

from Philip Sheldon, told him that he must go.

"Providence has been very good to us," he said, in an undertone, as he

bade Miss Halliday good night. "Your stepfather's conduct is all that

is kind and thoughtful, and there is not a cloud upon our future. Good

night, and God bless you, my dearest! I think I shall always consider

this my first Christmas-day. I never knew till to-day how sweet and

holy this anniversary can be."

He walked to Cumberland-gate in company with George Sheldon, who

preserved a sulky gravity, which was by no means agreeable.

"You have chosen your own course," he said at parting, "and I only hope

the result may prove your wisdom. But, as I think I may have remarked

before, you don't know my brother Phil as well as I do."

"Your brother has behaved with such extreme candour and good feeling

towards me, that I would really rather not hear any of your unpleasant

innuendoes against him. I hate that 'I could an if I would' style of

talk, and while I occupy my present position in your brother's house

I cannot consent to hear anything to his discredit."

"That's a very tall animal you've taken to riding lately, my friend

Hawkehurst," said George, "and when a man rides the high horse with me

I always let him have the benefit of his _monture_. You have served

yourself without consideration for me, and I shall not trouble myself

in the future with any regard for you or your interests. But if harm

ever comes to you or yours, through my brother Philip, remember that I

warned you. Good night."

* * * * *

In Charlotte's room the cheery little fire burned late upon that frosty

night, while the girl sat in her dressing-gown dreamily brushing her

soft brown hair, and meditating upon the superhuman merits and graces

in her lover.

It was more than an hour after the family had retired, when there came

a cautious tapping at Charlotte's door. "It is only I, dear," said a

low voice; and before Charlotte could answer, the door was opened, and

Diana came in, and went straight to the hearth, by which her friend was

sitting.

"I am so wakeful to-night, Lotta," she said; "and the light under your

door tempted me to come in for a few minutes' chat."

"My dearest Di, you know how glad I always am to see you."

"Yes, dear, I know that you are only too good to me--and I have been so

wayward, so ungracious. O, Charlotte, I know my coldness has wounded

you during the last few months."

"I have been just a little hurt now and then, dear, when you have

seemed not to care for me, or to sympathise with me in all my joys and

sorrows; but then it has been selfish of me to expect so much sympathy,

and I know that, if your manner is cold, your heart is noble."

"No, Lotta, it is not noble. It is a wicked heart."

"Diana!"

"Yes," said Miss Paget, kneeling by her friend's chair, and speaking

with suppressed energy; "it has been a wicked heart--wicked because

your happiness has been torture to it."

"Diana!"

"O, my dearest one, do not look at me with those innocent, wondering

eyes. You will hate me, perhaps, when you know all. O, no, no, no, you

will not hate--you will pity and forgive me. I loved him, dear; he was

my companion, my only friend; and there was a time--long ago--before he

had ever seen your face, when I fancied that he cared for me, and would

get to love me--as I loved him--unasked, uncared for. O, Charlotte, you

can never know what I have suffered. It is not in your nature to

comprehend what such a woman as I can suffer. I loved him so dearly, I

clung so wickedly, so madly to my old hopes, my old dreams, long after

they had become the falsest hopes, the wildest dreams that ever had

power over a distracted mind. But, my darling, it is past, and I come

to you on this Christmas night to tell you that I have conquered my

stubborn heart, and that from this time forward there shall be no cloud

between you and me."

"Diana, my dear friend, my poor girl!" cried Charlotte, quite overcome,

"you loved him, you--as well as I--and I have robbed you of his heart!"

"No, Charlotte, it was never mine."

"You loved him--all the time you spoke so harshly of him!"

"When I seemed most harsh, I loved him most. But do not look at me with

such distress in your sweet face, my dear. I tell you that the worst

pain is past and gone. The rest is very easy to bear, and to outlive.

These things do not last for ever, Charlotte, whatever the poets and

novelists may tell us. If I had not lived through the worst, I should

not be here to-night, with your arm round my neck and his name upon my

lips. I have never wished you joy until to-night, Charlotte, and now

for the first time I can wish you all good things, in honesty and

truth. I have conquered myself. I do not say that to me Valentine

Hawkehurst can ever be quite what other men are. I think that to the

end of my life there will be a look in his face, a tone of his voice,

that will touch me more deeply than any other look or tone upon earth;

but my love for you has overcome my love for him, and there is no

hidden thought in my mind to-night, as I sit here at your feet, and

pray for God's blessing on your choice."

"My darling Diana, I know not how to thank you, how to express my faith

and my love."

"I doubt if I am worthy of your love, dear; but, with God's help, I

will be worthy of your trust; and if ever there should come a day in

which my love can succour or my devotion serve you, there shall be no

lack of either. Listen, dear; there are the waits playing the sweet

Christmas hymn. Do you remember what Shakespeare says about the 'bird

of dawning' singing all night long, and how no evil spirit roams abroad

at this dear season,--

'So hallowed and so gracious is the time?'

"I have conquered my evil spirit, Lotta, and there shall be peace and

true love between us for evermore, shall there not, dearest friend?"

And thus ends the story of Diana Paget's girlish love--the love that

had grown up in secret, to be put away from her heart in silence, and

buried with the dead dreams and fancies that had fostered it. For her

to-night the romance of life closed for ever. For Charlotte the sweet

story was newly begun, and the opening chapters were very pleasant--the

mystic volume seemed all delight. Blessed with her lover's devotion,

her mother's approval, and even Mr. Sheldon's benign approbation, what

more could she ask from Providence--what lurking dangers could she

fear--what storm-cloud could she perceive upon the sunlit heavens?

There was a cloud, no bigger than a man's hand, but the harbinger of

tempest and terror. It yet remains to be shown what form that cloud

assumed, and from what quarter the tempest came. The history of

Charlotte Halliday has grown upon the writer; and the completion of

that history, with the fate of John Haygarth's fortune, will be found

under the title of, CHARLOTTE'S INHERITANCE.

THE END.