'If I were her husband,' he considered, 'I could keep a tigh

Produced by Al Haines.

*JOHN HERRING*

_A WEST OF ENGLAND ROMANCE_

BY SABINE BARING-GOULD

AUTHOR OF 'MEHALAH'

IN THREE VOLUMES

VOL. II.

LONDON

SMITH, ELDER, & CO, 15 WATERLOO PLACE

1883

[All rights reserved]

*CONTENTS*

OF

THE SECOND VOLUME

CHAPTER

XXI. The Cub

XXII. Moonshine and Diamonds

XXIII. Paste

XXIV. The Oxenham Arms

XXV. A Levee

XXVI. The Shekel

XXVII. Cobbledick's Rheumatics

XXVIII. Caught in the Act

XXIX. A Race

XXX. Between Cup and Lip

XXXI. Joyce's Patient

XXXII. Destitute

XXXIII. Transformation

XXXIV. Herring's Stockings

XXXV. Beggary

XXXVI. Mirelle's Guests

XXXVII. A Second Summons

XXXVIII. A Virgin Martyr

XXXIX. Welltown

XL. Noel! Noel!

*JOHN HERRING.*

*CHAPTER XXI.*

*THE CUB.*

Mirelle was conscious of a change in Trecarrel towards her. She ceased

to engross his attentions, which were now directed towards Orange. She

could not recall anything she had said or done that would account for

this change. When the Captain was alone with her, he was full of

sympathy and tenderness as before, but this was only when they were

alone. Trecarrel argued with himself that it would be unfair and

ungentlemanly to throw her over abruptly. He would lower her into the

water little by little, but the souse must come eventually. Some of the

martyrs were let down inch by inch into boiling pitch, others were cast

in headlong, and the fate of the latter was the preferable, and the

judge who sentenced to it was the most humane. Mirelle suffered. For

the first time in her life her heart had been roused, and it threw out

its fibres towards Trecarrel for support. She was young, an exile,

among those who were no associates, and he was the only person to whom

she could disclose her thoughts and with whom she could converse as an

equal. He had met her with warmth and with assurances of sympathy. Of

late he had drawn back, and she had been left entirely to herself,

whilst his attention was engrossed by Orange Tramplara.

But Orange, with no small spice of vindictiveness in her nature, urged

the Captain to show civility to Mirelle. She knew the impression

Trecarrel had made on her cousin's heart, and, now that she was sure of

the Captain, she was ready to encourage him to play with and torture her

rival. Women are only cruel to their own sex, and towards them they are

remorseless.

'Do speak to Mirelle, she is so lonely. She does not get on with us.

She does not understand our ways, she is Frenchified,' said Orange, with

an amiable smile. The Captain thought this very kind of his betrothed,

and was not slow to avail himself of the permission. Nevertheless,

Mirelle perceived the insincerity of his profession. She was unaware of

the engagement. This had not been talked about, and was by her

unsuspected. Orange was well aware of the fascination exerted over

Trecarrel by Mirelle: she knew that her own position with him had been

threatened, almost lost. She was unable to forgive her cousin for her

unconscious rivalry. She did not attempt to forgive her. She sought the

surest means of punishing her. Mirelle was uneasy and unhappy. She

considered all that had passed between her and Trecarrel. He had not

professed more than fraternal affection, but his manner had implied more

than his words had expressed. She became silent and abstracted, not more

than usual towards the Trampleasures, for she had never spoken more than

was necessary to them, nor had opened to them in the least, but silent

before Trecarrel, and abstracted from her work at all times. The frank

confidence she had accorded him was withdrawn, their interchange of

ideas interrupted. She found herself now with no one to whom she could

unfold, and she suffered the more acutely for having allowed herself to

open at all. She began now to wish that John Herring were nearer, and

to suspect that she had not treated him with sufficient consideration.

Mirelle was not jealous of Orange: she was surprised that Captain

Trecarrel should find attractions in her. Mirelle had formed her own

conception of her cousin's character; she thought her to be generous,

warm, and impulsive; coarse in mind and feeling, but yet kindly. How

could a gentleman such as the Captain find charms in such a person?

Mirelle did not see the money, nor did she measure correctly the

character of Orange.

About this time young Sampson Tramplara began to annoy her with his

attentions, offered uncouthly. The youth was perfectly satisfied with

himself, he believed himself to be irresistible and his manner to be

accomplished. He was wont to chuck chambermaids under the chin, and to

lounge over the bar flirting with the 'young lady' at the tap, but was

unaccustomed to the society of ladies, and felt awkward in their

presence.

Mirelle at once allured and repelled him. He could not fail to admire

her beauty, but he was unable to attain ease of manner in her presence.

She seemed to surround herself with an atmosphere of frost that chilled

him when he ventured near. After a while, when the first unfamiliarity

had worn off, through meeting frequently at meals and in the evenings,

he attempted to force himself on her notice by bragging of his doings

with dogs and horses, addressing himself to his father and mother, but

keeping an eye on Mirelle and observing the effect produced on her mind

by his exploits.

After that he ventured to address her; to admire her embroidery, her

tinsel flowers, her cut-paper lace, and to pass coarse flatteries on

them and her; and when this only froze her into frostier stiffness, to

attempt to take her by storm, by rollicking fun and insolent

familiarities.

He was hurt by the way in which she ignored him. He never once caught

her eye when telling his best hunting exploits. His raciest jokes did

not provoke a smile on her lips. He could extract from her no words

save cold answers to pointed questions.

Her position in the house became daily less endurable, and she could see

no means of escape from it. She had appealed to her guardian to allow

her to return to the convent of the Sacred Heart, but had met with a

peremptory refusal. A fluttering hope had sprung up that Trecarrel

might be her saviour, a hope scarce formulated, indistinctly existing,

but now that had died away.

Once she appealed to Mr. Trampleasure against his son. She begged that

he would insist on young Sampson refraining from causing her annoyance

by his impertinence. But she obtained no redress. 'My dear missie! the

boy is a good boy, full of spirit. He comes of the right stuff--true

Trampleasure, girl! We don't set up to Carrara marble here. You must

treat him in the right way. Flip him over the nose with your knitting

pins, or run your needle into his thumb, and he will keep his distance.

You can be sharp enough when you like, and say words that cut like

razors. Try some of your smartness on Sampy, and he will sneak away

with his ears down. I know the boy; he is not smart at repartee. You

should have heard how Polly Skittles set him down t'other day.'

'Pray, who is Polly Skittles?'

'The barmaid at the Pig-and-Whistle.'

'I decline absolutely to take lessons from a Pig-and-Whistle barmaid how

to deal with a booby.'

'Missie!' exclaimed the old man, flaming red. 'You forget--he is my

son.'

'No one could possibly doubt it,' said Mirelle, and walked away.

After that, so far from old Tramplara making his son desist from

annoying Mirelle, he egged him on to it. The old man's pride was hurt

at the scorn with which the girl treated both him and his son--a scorn

she took no pains to conceal.

'Look you here, Sampy,' said Tramplara, 'if the girl is to be had, you

had better say Snap. There is her six thousand pounds, which must be

kept in the family. True by you, it is now sunk in Ophir; but I expect

some day to bring it out of Ophir turned into twelve thousand. If she

marries, her husband will be demanding the money, and that might lead to

unpleasantness. As Scripture says, "Live peaceably with all men," and I

say the same, when money is involved. I will tell you something more.

I do not believe, I cannot believe, that six thousand pounds represent

the total of old Strange's estate. There must be more money

somewhere--perhaps in a Brazilian bank; and all that is wanted is for

one of us to go over and find out. You won't convince me that a diamond

merchant doing a roaring trade for a quarter of a century made no more

than six thousand pounds. I have always heard that the diamond trade is

a very beautiful and delicate business, giving rich returns. With

caution you manage to get as many diamonds out of the niggers as from

their masters, and you pay five shillings to the former where fifty

pounds won't satisfy the latter. I leave you to guess what profits are

made. If we had not our hands full of Ophir, I would go myself to

Brazil, or send you, to see about James Strange's leavings. Six

thousand pounds! Why, that is what he sent over to meet present

contingencies. He intended drawing the rest when settled. Mark this,

Sampy. Should a breath of cold air come down off the moors on Ophir, and

somewhat chill that warm concern, so as to make it advisable for either

or both of us to take a turn out of England--Brazil is the word.'

'Have you written to Brazil?'

'Of course I have. To the English Consul at Bahia, and have offered to

tip him handsomely if he sends me word that old Strange left money

there. But I have had no answer as yet.'

As the attentions of young Tramplara became more offensive and more

difficult to avoid, Mirelle appealed in despair to Captain Trecarrel.

'My dear Mirelle, what can I do? He is the son of the house, and I

visit there. If I were to quarrel with him, I should be forbidden the

house, and then,' with a tender look out of the Trecarrel blue eyes, 'I

should see no more of you.'

'I thought gentlemen could always take action in such matters. Voyez!

In France I step up to a gentleman, and say, That person yonder has

looked at me insultingly. Then the gentleman who is a perfect stranger

goes across the street and knocks down the insolent one.'

'That would involve an action for assault, and the estate would not bear

it,' said Trecarrel, sadly. 'If it were worth a couple of hundred more,

I might do it. I know an excellent fellow who knocked a young farmer

head over heels in the graveyard on leaving church, because he had

looked from his pew admiringly at the young lady this gentleman was

about to marry. He compromised the matter by getting a commission for

the young farmer, but it cost him a lot of money. These are not the

days, my dear Mirelle, when any man may be heroic; heroism is only

compatible with a balance at the bank. I'll tell you, however, what I

can do, and that I will do, as it falls within my means to do it. I

will invite young Sampson to a supper at the King's Arms, and I will

then talk the thing over reasonably with him. Put your mind at ease. I

have great influence with the cub, who looks up to me as a sort of

model, and I do not doubt that I shall induce him to desist from his

attentions.'

But Captain Trecarrel had overrated his influence. The cub continued

his offensive conduct.

One day when he had intruded on her in the summer-house, where she was

writing at her desk--her father's desk--she suddenly recalled Herring's

interference at West Wyke.

'What---writing a love-letter,' asked young Sampson, lounging on the

table opposite her, and trying to look into her eyes. 'Oh dear, how I

wish it was to me!'

Mirelle lifted the flap of the writing-case, and took out the small

square ruler, and with her finger pushed it across the table in the

direction of Mr. Sampson, without raising her eyes from the writing.

Young Tramplara looked at the ruler, then at Mirelle. She took no more

notice of him, except that she wrote on a piece of folded paper the name

and address of John Herring, and when Sampson attempted again to speak

she tossed the paper before him and pointed to the ruler.

He rose scowling. He perfectly understood what she meant: another

impertinence, and she would write to John Herring to break that ruler

across his skull. Her coolness, her utter contempt for him, the galling

of his pride, filled him with rage; but he was a coward, and so he rose

from his seat, thrust his hands into his pockets, and sauntered out of

the summer-house whistling 'The girl I left behind me.'

*CHAPTER XXII.*

*MOONSHINE AND DIAMONDS.*

Mirelle and Orange were dressing for the ball in the same room; that is,

Orange had come into the room of Mirelle for her to do her hair.

Mirelle was perfect in this art; her delicate fingers turned the curls

in the most graceful and becoming arrangement. This was an art above

the sweep of the powers of the maid-of-all-work. Orange, in return,

offered to do Mirelle's hair.

'But Mirelle, my dear Mirelle! You look like a ghost, all in white.

Not a particle of colour! It does not suit you; you are so pale. Good

heavens! let me look at your hands.' Orange took the long narrow

fingers in hers, and held the delicate hand before the candle. It was

transparent, and thus only did it show a rosy red.

'Unless I had seen it, I would not have believed that there was blood in

you,' said Orange; and then she glanced at herself proudly in the cheval

glass. 'Do look at me, Mirelle. I am glowing with life. See my lips,

my cheeks--how warm they are! My eyes flicker, whereas you are as

though spun out of moonshine. There is not the faintest rose in your

cheek, and your lips alone show the least tinge of life. Your eyes have

no sparkle in them; they are dark pools in which nothing lives. I wish

you would stand between me and the lamp; I believe I should see the

light through you. Whoever saw flesh like yours? It is not flesh, it

is wax. You must paint. You are unendurable like this--like a corpse of

a bride risen from her coffin come to haunt the living.'

'I shall put on my diamonds,' said Mirelle.

'What diamonds?'

'My mother's.'

'I did not know you had them.'

'Yes, I kept them with my own things, in my own box. When my mother

died they were committed to me.'

'You cannot wear diamonds; a girl in England does not put on jewelry.'

'I am going to wear them.'

Then Mirelle opened a little case, and drew from it a coronet and a

necklace of diamonds.

'Fasten the crown about my head,' she said; 'I can put the necklace on

myself.'

Orange stepped back in astonishment. She had never seen anything so

beautiful.

'Why, Mirelle, they must be very valuable. How they twinkle, how they

will sparkle downstairs among the many lights.' Then with a touch of

malice, 'What will Captain Trecarrel think? Now you look like a queen

of the fairies. He will fairly lose his heart to you to-night.'

She saw a spot of colour come into each cheek. It angered her, and she

went on with bitterness in her soul, 'You know that you belong to his

class; and he will think so as well to-night. I suppose he and you will

despise us humble folk who have to do with trade and business, and you

will have eyes only for each other. What a couple you will make, side

by side, he with his aristocratic air, and you bejewelled like a

princess!'

She looked at herself in the glass and then at Mirelle, and was

reassured. No comparison could be drawn between them. She, Orange, was

splendid. She wore pink with carnation ribands, and a red rose in her

hair, another in her bosom. Her dark and abundant hair and her large

dark eyes looked well, set in red. The colour in her cheeks was

heightened. Her bosom heaved, she had a fine bust and throat, and her

features were handsome. There was life, love, heat in her. Who could

care for a snowdrift--nay, for a frozen fog, though it sparkled?

'Come down, Mirelle: it is time. I have already heard one carriage

drive up. How we shall get every one who is invited into this house I

do not know.'

'I will go down presently. You go on without me. I am not wanted as

yet.'

Mirelle did not descend for half an hour.

When she entered the room where the guests were assembled, it was full.

She did not look round her except for a seat, and when she had

discovered one she walked to it. She knew nothing of the persons there:

they were excellent on their appropriate shelf, but their shelf was not

her shelf.

Trecarrel and Herring were both present, and saw her. They had been

watching for her to come in. Her appearance surprised them. In the

well-lighted room, in her white muslin, with white satin bows, and with

her head and delicate throat glittering with diamonds, she seemed a

spirit; a spectral White Lady. Her face was as colourless as her dress,

save for the fine blue veins that marked her temples. She seemed too

fragile, too ethereal to belong to the earth. Her beauty was of an

order rare in England, unknown in the West.

Captain Trecarrel started forward. 'Countess Mirelle,' said he, 'you

are unprovided with a flower. Am I too impertinent if I offer you one?

I thought you might possibly be without, and I have brought you a spray

of white heath. Will you accept it?'

She raised her eyes, smiled somewhat sadly at him, and took the sprig

with a slight bow. Then she put it to her bosom. As she was doing so,

her eye encountered that of Herring, who stood by. She recalled his

offer of white heath made on the day of her father's funeral.

'It brings good luck,' said Trecarrel. The same words that Herring had

employed. Mirelle's hand trembled, and she looked timidly, flutteringly,

at Herring.

'Ah!' said he, 'all the bells have fallen off.'

Then she said, in a half-pleading tone, 'Mr. Herring, I was once very

rude and very wrong when I refused the same from you. Now I am rightly

punished.'

She removed the sprig. 'You see, Captain,' she said, as she handed it

back to Trecarrel, 'the heath has rained off all its white bells. I am

not destined to receive good luck from either you or Mr. Herring. I

thank you for the kind attention. I cannot wear the heath now.'

'Are you engaged for the first dance?' asked Herring.

Mirelle looked at Trecarrel, who turned his head away. He must, of

course, open the ball with Orange. After a pause, in a tone tinged with

disappointment, she said she was not engaged, and Herring secured her.

The appearance of Mirelle in the ball-room caused general surprise. It

was an apparition rather than an appearance. The prevailing opinion

admitted her beauty, but decided that it was of too refined and pure a

type to be pleasing; it was a type suitable for a statue but not for a

partner. Men love after their kind; blood calls for blood, not for ice.

The ladies discussed her diamonds, and concluded unanimously that they

were paste. No one allows to another what he does not possess himself.

'You know, my dear, she comes from Paris, and in Paris they make 'em of

paste for tenpence to look as natural as real stones worth a thousand

pounds.'

'But her father was a diamond merchant.'

'True by you, but these stones were her mother's I make no doubt, and

that mother was a gambling old Spanish Countess, who would sell her soul

for money. I've heard Mr. Trampleasure say as much.'

'She don't look as if she had any constitution to speak of,' observed

one old lady.

'That transparent skin,' answered another, 'always means that the heart

is bad. I ought to know, for my uncle was a chemist. The highest

person in the land--and when I say it, I mean the highest--came into my

uncle's place one morning and asked for a seidlitz-powder, and he took

it on the premises, and he told my uncle that he never took a better

seidlitz in his life.'

'She is proud as Lucifer,' said one. 'Look! she's gone and refused Mr.

Sampson Tramplara. That is too bad, and she owes her meat and bread,

and the roof that covers her, to the charity of his father.'

'He is getting angry,' said the lady whose uncle was in the chemical

line. 'Sampson is not one who can bear to be treated impolitely.'

'She will dance with no one but that strange gentleman whom they call

Herring, and Captain Trecarrel. Stuck up because of her rank, I

suppose.'

'Ah! as if her rank was anything. The highest in the land spoke quite

affable to my uncle, and said his seidlitz was the best seidlitz he had

ever drunk.'

'Do you call Mr. Sampson handsome?'

'Handsome! I should rather say so; and better than that, he will be

rich.'

'Better than all, he will be good,' said a serious lady, Mrs. Flamank,

impressively.

'The highest in the land put down twopence for his seidlitz like any

other man. But that seidlitz cost my uncle five-and-twenty pounds, for

he paid that sum for a Royal arms, lion and unicorn and little dog all

complete, to put up over his shop door; and an inscription, "Chemist (by

appointment) to His Royal Highness." But I never heard that it brought

him more custom. Still, there was the honour, and if that were a

satisfaction to him, I don't blame him.'

'What do you think of Orange Tramplara hooking the Captain?'

'The hooking was quite as much on his side as on hers. He is poor as a

rat, and she wants position, so the transaction is one of simple sale

and barter.'

'The highest in the land,' began again the lady whose uncle had been a

chemist; but at these words the ladies broke up their party round her,

and escaped to other parts of the room.

Sampson Trampleasure would not take his refusal. He stood by the side

of Mirelle, his cheek flushed, and his eye twinkling with anger.

'I don't see why you should dance with some gentlemen and refuse

others,' he said sulkily.

'I have refused no gentleman,' answered Mirelle, looking across the

room.

He was too stupid to understand the rebuff. He persisted in worrying

her. 'Well,' he said, 'if you won't stand up with me, you must let me

take you to supper.'

She was silent a moment, raised her eyes timidly and entreatingly to

John Herring, and said, 'I am already engaged.' Herring coloured with

pleasure and stepped forward to her assistance.

'You must not tease the Countess,' he said. 'She confesses that she is

not strong and able to dance often. She has fixed on the number of

dances she will engage in, and more fortunate applicants have

forestalled you, and put their names on her card. You have only

yourself to blame that you did not press your claim in proper time.'

'I say,' observed Sampson, with an ugly smile on his lips, 'Mirelle,

don't you go dancing too often with Trecarrel. Orange won't like it.

When a girl is about to be married to a man, she don't like to have

another girl coquetting with her deary.'

'Mr. Sampson Trampleasure,' said Herring, stepping forward, 'this is

your father's house, and I----' but Mirelle's hand grasped his arm, and

arrested what he was about to say. He looked round. At the same moment

a pair of waltzers caught Sampson, and with the shock he was driven into

the midst of the whirling circle, when he was struck by another couple,

and sent flying at a tangent to the door.

Herring looked at Mirelle. She was trembling slightly, and her face

was, if possible, whiter than before. Dark shadows formed under her

eyes, making them look unusually large and bright.

She did not speak, but continued grasping Herring's arm, unconscious

what she was doing; he could feel by the spasmodic contraction of her

fingers that she was more agitated than she allowed to appear. He stood

patiently at her side, seeing that she was distressed, and supposing

that the insolence of young Tramplara was the occasion of her distress.

Presently she recovered herself enough to speak. She put her

handkerchief to her brow, and then, with feminine address, gave her

emotion an excuse that would disguise its real cause.

'He offends me,' she said; 'I am unaccustomed to this sort of treatment.

Some persons when they go among wolves learn to howl. With me it will

be a matter of years before I can school myself to endure their bark. I

have lived hitherto in a walled garden among lilies and violets and

faint sweet roses, and suddenly I am transplanted into a field of

cabbages, where some of the plants are mere stumps, and all harbour

slugs.' She paused again. Just then Trecarrel came up. She let go her

grasp of Herring's arm. She had forgotten that she was still holding

it. Trecarrel came smiling his sunniest, with his blue eyes full of

languor. As he approached she shrank back, and then drew herself up.

'I think, Mirelle,' said he, 'you are engaged to me for the next

quadrille.' He was looking at her diamonds and appraising them; and he

wondered whether, after all, he had not made a mistake in taking Orange

instead of Mirelle.

'If I were her husband,' he considered, 'I could keep a tight hand on

Tramplara, so that he could not very well make away with the six

thousand pounds. I wish I had known of these diamonds a few weeks ago.'

Mirelle looked at him steadily. She had by this time completely

recovered her composure. 'Am I to congratulate you, Captain Trecarrel?'

'What on?' he asked.

'I have just learned your engagement to Orange.'

'That is an old story,' he said, getting red; 'I thought you were

admitted into the plot six months ago.'

'I did not know it till this minute.'

'There is the music striking up. Will you take my arm?'

'I must decline. I shall not dance this quadrille. See, Orange is

without a partner.'

She rose, and to avoid saying more walked into the hall, and thence,

through the front door, upon the terrace. The moon was shining, and the

air without was cool. In the ball-room the atmosphere had become

oppressive.

'Would you kindly open the window?' asked Orange, turning to Herring,

and casting him a smile. She was standing up for the quadrille with her

Captain. The young man at once went to the window and threw it open.

The night was still without. A few curd-like clouds hung in the sky;

the leaves of the trees, wet with dew, were glistening in the moonlight

like silver. Far away in the extensive landscape a few stars twinkled

out of dark wooded background, the lights from distant villages.

There was a vacant settee in the window, and Herring sat on it, leaning

on his arm, and looking out.

Poor Mirelle! What could be done for her? Her position was

intolerable. The only escape that he could devise was for her to return

to West Wyke. But was it likely that Mr. Trampleasure would consent to

this? And in the next place, would Cicely Battishill care to receive

her?

'Mr. Herring,' said Orange, 'a gentleman is needed to make up a set.

May I introduce you to Miss Bowdler?'

Of course he must dance, and dance with the fascinating Bowdler--a thin

young lady, with harshly red hair, red eyelashes, a freckled skin, and

eyes that had been boiled in soda. Miss Bowdler was the daughter of a

banker, an heiress, and Trecarrel had thought of her, but could not make

up his mind to the colourless eyes and red lashes.

Herring danced badly. His thoughts were not in the figures, nor with

his partner. He mistook the figures. He spoke of the weather, and had

nothing else to say. Miss Bowdler considered him a stupid young man,

and that this quadrille was the very dullest in which she had danced.

When it was over, he returned to the window, and as there was an end of

the settee unoccupied, and the rest of it was occupied by the chemist's

niece and a raw acquaintance to whom she was telling the story of the

highest in the land--'And when I say the highest, I mean the

highest,'--and his seidlitz, Herring was able to take his place at the

window without being obliged to speak to anyone. He looked again into

the moonlight, and towards the dark woods of Werrington, still revolving

in his mind the question, What was to become ef Mirelle? He saw that

she would take the matter into her own hands and insist on being allowed

to go elsewhere. She could not remain in a house where the son was

allowed to treat her with insolence. She would like to return to

France, to her dear convent of the Sacre Coeur. The thought was

dreadful to Herring, for it implied that he should never see her again.

He fancied, whilst thus musing, that he heard voices on the terrace, and

next that he caught Sampson Tramplara's tones. He did not give much

attention to the sounds, till he heard distinctly the bell-like voice of

Mirelle, 'Let go this instant, sir!'

He sprang to his feet and was outside the window in a moment. He had

been sitting looking in the opposite direction from that in which he

heard the voices; now he turned in the direction of the garden house.

At the door of this summer-house he saw young Tramplara, and the white

form of Mirelle. The moon was on her, and her head sparkled with the

diamonds of her coronet, but there was no corresponding sparkle about

her neck.

Herring flew to the spot, and saw that young Sampson had snatched the

necklet from her throat. The diamond chain hung twinkling from his

hand.

'Restore that instantly,' said Herring, catching the young man's hand at

the wrist. 'You scoundrel, what are you about?'

'Keep off, will you!' said the cub. 'I should like to know your right

to interfere between me and my cousin, Mirie Strange. I only want to

test the stones of her chain. The chaps in the dancing-room say they be

paste and a cussed sham. I reckon their mothers have put them up to it.

I've got a bet on with young Croker, and I want to try if they'll

scratch glass, that is all. So now will you remove your hand and take

yourself off?'

Herring doubled up Tramplara's hand, and wrenched the necklace from it.

'Take your chain, Countess. And now for you, you ill-conditioned cur, I

warn you. Touch her again, and I will fling you over the wall. Offer

her another insult, and you shall suffer for it. If I spare you this

time it is because this is your father's house, and I have been his

guest. But I will not eat at his table again, that I may reserve my

liberty of action, and have my hands free to chastise you should you

again in any way offend the Countess Mirelle Garcia.' He turned to

Mirelle. 'I once before offered you what help and protection it was

possible to me to render, and now I renew the offer.'

'Oh, Mr. Herring,' said she, 'before, I refused your offer very

ungraciously. I said then that I was able to help myself. I did not

then know the rude elements with which I should have to contend, and I

was unaware of my own weakness. Now, with my better knowledge, I accept

your offer.'

'Thank you,' he replied: 'you make me this night a very proud man.'

'Mr. Herring,' she pursued, 'I will give you at once the only token I

have that I rely upon you. This person who snatched the jewels from my

neck, if capable of such an act as that, is capable of another.' Her

voice came quick, her bosom heaved, the angry blood was hammering at her

temples. 'I do not believe that these diamonds are secure in this

house. If he could wrench them from my throat, he would take them from

my trunk. Voyez! je vous donne toutes les preuves possibles que j'ai de

la confiance en vous.' She disengaged the tiara from her hair.

'There, there!' she said hastily, 'take both the crown and the necklace.

I intrust them to you to keep for me. I know that I can rely upon you;

I do not know in whom else I can place trust. All are false except you:

you are true.'

'Countess! I cannot do this.'

'Why not? Do you shrink already from exercising the trust you offered?'

'Not so, but----'

'But I entreat you,' she interrupted with a trembling voice. 'Ces

diamants-ci appartenaient a ma mere--a ma chere, chere mere; c'est pour

ca qu'ils ont tant de valeur pour moi.' She forced a smile and made a

slight curtsey, and turned to go.

Young Sampson Tramplara was standing near, scowling. Mirelle's eyes

rested on him.

'Mr. Herring,' she said, 'should I need your help at any time, may I

write?'

'Certainly, and I place myself entirely at your service.'

Young Tramplara burst into a rude laugh.

'The guardianship of the orphan was committed to Tramplara, then it

passed to Tramplara and Herring, and now, finally, it is vested in

Herring alone.'

To what extent the guardianship of that frail white girl had passed to

Herring, to what an extent also he had become trustee for her fortune,

neither she nor Sampson Tramplara guessed. He had uttered his sneer,

but the words were full of truth.

Then there floated faintly on the air, whether coming from the house or

from without could not be told--mingling with the dance music, yet

distinct from it--the vibrations of metallic tongues in a musical

instrument like an AEolian harp, and the tune seemed to be that of the

old English madrigal--

Since first I saw your face, I resolv'd

To honour and renown you!

If now I be disdain'd, I wish

My heart had never known you.

*CHAPTER XXIII.*

*PASTE.*

Mirelle was subjected to no annoyance after the ball, for both old

Tramplara and his son were at Ophir nearly the whole of their time. They

returned occasionally to Launceston, but never together. One was always

left in charge of the mine, and this was usually young Sampson. When he

did come home, he kept out of the way of Mirelle, and old Sampson was

too much engrossed in his gold mine to think of her.

She lived in the house, but hardly belonged to it. Her life was apart

from all its interests, pursuits, and pleasures. She spoke little and

showed herself seldom. Orange was full of her approaching marriage, and

could give attention only to her dresses. Her friend and confidante,

Miss Bowdler, was constantly there, discussing the bridal garments and

the costume of the bridesmaids. In her own little pasty mind Miss

Bowdler harboured much rancour and verjuice. She was envious of

Orange's happiness; she had herself aspired to Trecarrel, and she felt

no tender delight in the better success of Orange. But she disguised her

spite for the sake of Sampson, whom she hoped to catch, now that

Trecarrel had escaped her net. Orange knew perfectly the state of the

Bowdlerian mind, but that mattered little to her. Women naturally hate

each other, and are accustomed to live in an atmosphere of simulated

affection. She wished greatly to secure the Bowdler for Sampson, so as

to bring money into the family.

Mrs. Trampleasure was a harmless old woman, who sniffed about the house,

being troubled with a perpetual cold in the head and a perpetual

forgetfulness of the handkerchief in her pocket. Mrs. Trampleasure had

got very few topics of conversation, for her limits of interest were

few--little local tittle-tattle, and the delinquencies of Bella, the

maid-of-all-work.

The horrible evening concerts were discontinued, and Mirelle ventured to

sit at the piano and play for her own delectation, knowing that Orange

was too wrapped up in her new gown, and Mrs. Trampleasure too absorbed

in counting the stitches of her knitting, to give her a thought.

Whenever the Captain appeared, Mirelle retired either to her room or to

the summer-house. Whether in one or the other, she sat at the window,

looking out but seeing nothing, her chin in her hand, steeped in

thought.

Any one who had watched Mirelle from her arrival in England would have

noticed a change in her face. It was more transparent and thinner than

before. But this was not that which constituted the principal change.

The face had gained in expression. At first it was impassive; now it

was stamped with the seal of passive suffering, a seal that can never be

disguised or effaced. According to Catholic theology certain sacraments

confer character, and these cannot be iterated. But the sacrament of

suffering confers character likewise, and it can be repeated again and

again, and ever deepens the character impressed. This stamp gave to

Mirelle's face a sweetness and pathos it had not hitherto possessed.

Before this time a cold and haughty soul had looked out of her eyes, now

warmth had come to that frozen soul, and it was flowing with tears. She

was still proud, but she was no longer self-reliant. Hitherto she had

repelled sympathy because she had felt no need for it, now her spirit

had become timorous, and though it still resented intrusion it pleaded

for pity.

As she sat, evening after evening in the window, doing nothing, seeing

nothing, her thoughts turned with painful iteration to all that had

passed between herself and Captain Trecarrel since they had first met.

For a few days after the ball she was resentful. She considered that he

had treated her badly; he had attempted, and attempted successfully, to

win her heart, and he had gained his end without making a return of his

own. He had been cruel to her.

After a while, however, she saw the whole course of affairs in a

different light. It struck her that in all probability he had been

engaged to Orange--tacitly, may be, and not formally--for a very long

while. Something that Orange had said led her to suppose this, and she

remembered that the Captain had admitted as much in his answer at the

ball when she congratulated him on his engagement. 'That is an old

story,' he had said; 'I thought you had been admitted to the plot six

months ago.' If he really had been engaged to Orange ever since she had

known him, his conduct was explicable in a manner that cleared him of

blame. He had looked on Mirelle as one about to become a cousin by

marriage. Mirelle was much with Orange, and therefore it was his duty to

be kind to her, and to act and speak to her as to a relation of her who

was about to become his wife. Perhaps Orange had considered how

unpleasant it would be for Mirelle to remain in Dolbeare after she had

gone, and had proposed to the Captain that she should accompany them to

Trecarrel. If that were so, and it was very probable, the Captain's

solicitude to be on a friendly footing was explained, so was also the

interest he took in her money affairs.

'If I had only known!' sighed Mirelle. 'If I had only guessed that they

were engaged, I would never have been led to think of him in any other

light than as a sort of brother or dear friend and adviser. Why did

Orange not tell me?' But when she felt disposed to reproach Orange, she

was conscious that she was unjust. She and Orange had not been more

than superficially friendly. She had kept Miss Trampleasure at a

distance, and had declined to open her heart to her. What right then

had she to expect the confidence of Orange? Both the Captain and his

betrothed no doubt supposed from the first that Mirelle was aware of the

engagement, or at least suspected it; and he was friendly because he

knew that his friendliness was incapable of misconstruction. The colour

tinged Mirelle's brow and cheeks, and the tears of humiliation filled

her eyes.

She endeavoured to undo the past by forcing herself to think of Captain

Trecarrel as the betrothed of Orange, but it is not easy to tear a new

passion out of the heart that is young and has never loved before. The

heart of Mirelle was not shallow, and feelings once received struck deep

root.

It was a comfort to her that Orange was too much occupied in her own

concerns to notice that she was unhappy; it was at least a satisfaction

to be able to bleed without vulgar eyes marking the blood, and rude

fingers probing the wound.

At first, when she thought that Captain Trecarrel had trifled with her

affections, she had felt some bitterness spring up in her soul towards

him, but when she had changed her view of the situation, and his conduct

was explicable without treachery, the idol that had tottered stood again

upright, and, alas! remained an idol.

In reviewing the events of the ball, she saw now that she had acted very

unwisely. She had offered an unpardonable insult to the family with

which she was staying, and which was, in its clumsy way, kind to her.

Young Sampson had found his way to the dining-room before supper, and

had helped himself to the wine. She had seen him in the empty room

engaged on the various decanters; she had seen him, for the room was on

the ground-floor, with large French windows opening on to the terrace.

After he had tried the wines, Sampson had come out to Mirelle, and,

attracted by the sparkle of the diamonds, had demanded whether they were

paste or real stones. She had refused to answer him, and he had put out

his hand to take the chain, saying that he would soon ascertain by

trying them on a window-pane. She was not justified in thinking that he

intended to keep them. She was not justified in supposing that they

would not be safe from his cupidity in her trunk. When she had said as

much in her anger and excitement, she had offered him, and through him

the whole family, a gross and unwarranted insult; and this insult she

had accentuated in the most offensive manner by giving the jewels to a

stranger to keep for her.

Mirelle put her hands over her face. She was ashamed of what she had

done. She had acted unworthily of herself. If Sampson had insulted her

with brutality, she had dealt him in return a mortal blow. Her only

consolation was, that neither Orange nor Mrs. Trampleasure knew of the

incident, and she hoped that Sampson, for his own sake, would not tell

his father.

She made what amends she was able, but it cost her proud spirit a

struggle before she could bring herself to it. One Sunday that young

Sampson was at home, when he was alone in the office, she went into the

room and stood by the table at which he was writing. He looked up, but

had not the grace to rise when he saw who stood before him. Her eyes

seemed preternaturally large, and her lips trembled; she had her

delicate fingers folded on her bosom.

'Mr. Sampson,' she said, in a voice that shook in spite of her effort to

be firm, 'I apologise to you for what I said. You had offended me, but

the punishment exceeded your deserts.'

'What did you say? And when?'

'I am speaking of the evening of the ball. You acted rudely in wrenching

off my necklace, and I spoke hastily respecting your conduct. The

language I used on that occasion was injudicious and wrong.'

He looked at her puzzled. Then, with an ugly smirk, he said, 'So, as

you have failed to catch the Captain, you want to be sweets with me!'

Is it ever worth while stooping to conciliate the base? The ignoble

mind is unable to read the promptings of the generous spirit. Mirelle

was learning a lesson, as John Herring was learning his, both in the

same school--the school of life, and the lessons each learned were

contrary to those they had been taught in childhood. They were finding

out that those lessons were impracticable, at least in the modern world.

Mirelle recognised that she had made a mistake. The noble mind must

fold its robes about it, and not soil them by contact with the unworthy.

She withdrew with her cheek tingling as though it had been smitten.

Young Tramplara began to fawn on Miss Bowdler, and she to flirt with

him, in the presence of Mirelle. This was meant on his part as a token

to Mirelle that he was acceptable to other ladies, and that they had

charms for him. The uncouthness of young Sampson, the squirms and

languishings of the red-eyelashed heiress, his heavy jokes and her vapid

repartees, were grotesque, and would have provoked laughter, had not

Mirelle been too refined to find amusement in what is vulgar.

Mr. Sampson returned to the 'diggings,' and his absence brought relief

to Mirelle.

Captain Trecarrel had been away for some days, staying in Exeter. On

his way thither he visited Ophir, and got some of the gold-grains from

the working. Ophir puzzled him; Ophir hung on his heart. It oppressed

his mind; it was a constant source of uneasiness to him. He resolved on

his return from Exeter to revisit it. But if he had his doubts, others

had not; that was clear from the current of visitors setting that way,

and the influx of applications for shares. Shares went up. Money came

in, not in dribblets but in streams; it had not to be squeezed out, it

exuded spontaneously.

In Exeter Captain Trecarrel had the gold tested. It was gold, not

mundic; not absolutely pure gold, there was copper with it, but still it

was gold. Trecarrel got rid of the gold-grains to the jeweller in part

payment for a ring to be presented to Miss Orange. He also purchased a

handsome China mantelshelf ornament as a present for Mrs. Trampleasure.

He got it cheap because the handle was broken off. He ordered it to be

packed and sent to Launceston to the old lady. Then, when the box was

opened, the handle would be found broken off, and the blame would be

laid on the carrier. Unfortunately, however, the tradesman wrapped the

handle as well as the ornamental jar in silver paper--each in a separate

piece.

When the box arrived and was opened, a laugh was raised over the handle.

Then it struck Mirelle that she ought to make a present to Orange on her

marriage. But what could she give her? She had no money. Then she

thought of her diamonds, and resolved to ask Mr. Herring to detach the

pendant from her necklet and send it her. This she would give to Orange.

She took out her desk and wrote the letter. It was a formal letter, but

the ice was broken, she had begun to write to him, and cold though the

communication was, the receipt of the letter filled Herring with

delight. He at once complied with her request.

Orange was profuse in her thanks. She kissed Mirelle, and admired the

brooch. Miss Bowdler was at Dolbeare at the time, and both looked at it

in the window, with many whispers and much raising of eyebrows.

That same afternoon Mirelle was with Orange and the Bowdlers. 'Thank

you so very much,' said Orange. 'I shall value the pendant quite as

much as though the stones were real diamonds.'

'They are real,' said Mirelle.

'The French make these things so wonderfully like nature, that only

experts can tell the difference,' said Miss Bowdler.

'I suppose these were some of your mother's stones,' said Orange.

'They were,' answered Mirelle.

'How generous, how kind of you to give them to me,' said Orange, without

a trace of sarcasm in her voice--(English can make paste imitations as

well as the French)--'And though these are only paste, still, I dare say

no one will know the difference.'

'They are real stones,' said Mirelle, haughtily.

'My dear,' answered Orange, 'do you know what a Cornish compliment is?

"Take this, it is of no more use to me." If these had been genuine

diamonds you would have kept them for yourself; they would have been far

too valuable to be parted with lightly. No one gives away anything but

what is worthless. Look at Trecarrel's china jar. He got it cheap

because it was faulty. He gave it to mother because he was bound to

make her a present; if she had been worth money, he would not have sent

her a worthless gift, but because she has nothing he sends her a

nothing. That is the way of the world.'

'The stones form part of a set my father sent from Brazil to my mother

in Paris.'

'Nevertheless they are imitations,' said Orange. 'I took them to the

jeweller here, because, you see, my dear, if they had been diamonds, I

could not have accepted such a costly present from you, but he

unhesitatingly pronounced them to be paste. That, however, does not

matter to me; it justifies my accepting and keeping the charming

present, which will always be valued by me, not for the intrinsic worth,

but as a memorial of your love.'

'Give me the pendant instantly,' said Mirelle, full of pride and anger.

'It is impossible that my father, a diamond merchant, could have offered

my dear suffering mother such an insult as to send her a set of sham

diamonds.'

She took the ornament, and went at once to the jeweller. She came away

resentful and humbled. 'That Mr. Strange should have dared!'

Not for a moment did it occur to her that perhaps her mother had sold

the stones, and replaced them with paste.

*CHAPTER XXIV.*

*THE OXENHAM ARMS.*

As the time for his marriage approached, Captain Trecarrel's uneasiness

increased. On his way back to Launceston from Exeter he got off the

coach at Whiddon Down, determined to have another look at Ophir. He had

heard a good deal about Ophir in Exeter, and not much in its favour.

His lawyer whom he had consulted had a rich fund of reminiscences

concerning Tramplara. Lawyers as a rule are not squeamish, but there was

something about old Tramplara which was not to the taste of the

solicitor Trecarrel employed. He had been engaged in a Cornish mining

action in which his client had prosecuted Tramplara; a good deal had

transpired on this occasion not encouraging to those about to transact

business with Mr. Tramplara. Much had come out, but more had not come

out, but was perfectly well known to those engaged in the case.

'My advice to you is, give a wide berth to the man.'

'I am going to marry his daughter,' answered Trecarrel, ruefully.

'Oh!'--a pause ensued. 'How about settlements?'

'I am all right there,' said the Captain; 'till five thousand pounds is

paid down, I do not put my neck into the noose. They may bring me to

the altar, but I will fold my arms and sit down on the steps. They

cannot legally marry a man against his will.'

'How about the family----' began the lawyer.