They passed the shed, making a straight march, as swift as might be, for
the fallen man; but before they reached him they saw some one coming, a
black, increasing form in the snowy distance. Morin hesitated. If the
thief had arisen, strong and able-bodied, it was clear that they had
again been tricked for an evil purpose. Even Madge looked alarmed, and
they both raised a halloo in the _patois_ of the region. The answer that
came across the reach of the storm cheered them.
The new-comer, a messenger from the nearest village, became voluble as
soon as he was within speaking distance. He addressed Madge in broken
English, but so quickly and with so strong a French accent that
Courthope only gathered part of his errand. He had come, it seemed, from
the stepmother to tell something concerning a certain Xavier, who had
been sent to them the evening before. Before he had finished calling,
Madge and Morin had come to the place where the thief lay, and, looking
down upon him, Madge gave a little cry.
The new-comer came up. He looked as if he might be of the grade of a
notary's clerk or a country chemist. He did not seem surprised to see
who the man was. He began at once with great activity to chafe his hands
and face with handfuls of the snow. Madge and Morin were also active
with the restoratives. The thief was lifted and laid upon the toboggan.
They trod the snow all about to know that nothing remained, and found
only a corkless flask containing a few drops of rum. They were all so
busy that Courthope had little to do; he stood aside, wondering above
all at the way they rubbed the man with the snow, and at the
astonishment that Madge expressed. The stranger was very nimble and very
talkative; pouring out words now in French to Madge, he walked with her
in all haste to the shed from which the horse again whinnied. Morin,
awakening to a sense of urgency, started at a trot, dragging the
toboggan behind him; it sank heavily in snow so light. Courthope lent a
hand to the loop of rope by which it was drawn. He too essayed the trot
of the Canadian. He was growing proficient, and if he did not succeed in
keeping up the running pace, he managed to go more quickly than before.
They made fair progress. Looking back, Courthope saw Madge and the
stranger emerge upon the road with the little horse. He had not time to
look back often to see how they helped it to make its way. They were
still some distance behind when he and Morin reached the house.
The man called Xavier was carried into the kitchen amid wild
exclamations from the Morin women. As they all continued the work of
restoring him with a hearty goodwill and an experience of which
Courthope could not boast, he was glad to betake himself to his own
room, wondering whether he was now a thief or a gentleman in the eyes of
this small snow-bound world. There was, in any case, no one at leisure
to prohibit him from making free with his own possessions.
When he was dressed a certain shyness prohibited him from entering the
dining-room in which he heard Madge, Eliz, and the stranger talking
French together. He betook himself to the library, to the _Letters of
the Portuguese Nun_ and an easy-chair. They might oust him with
severity, but it was as well to enjoy a short interval of luxury. The
room was warmed with a stove; the book was in the old-fashioned type; an
almost sleepless night was behind him; soon he slept.
It was almost midday when he slept; the afternoon was advancing when he
awakened. Madam Morin was standing beside him arranging a tray of food
upon the table.
'Eh!' she said, and smiled upon him.
Then she pointed to the food, and demanded in pantomime if it suited
him. Courthope concluded that he had ceased to be in disgrace. He would
rather, much rather, have been summoned to a family meal, but that was
not his lot. He had taken many things philosophically in the course of
recent hours, and he took this also. What right had he to intrude
himself? He ate his meal alone. His roving glance soon brought him
pleasure, for he found that some one had tip-toed into the room while he
slept and laid the choicest volumes of romance near his chair.
The wind had dropped, the snow had ceased falling. Before Courthope had
finished his luncheon the young man who looked like a notary's clerk
came in, using his broken English. He remarked that the storm was over
and that they were now going to get out a double team to plough through
the road. He suggested that Courthope should help him to drive it, and
to transport the prisoner to the gaol in the village. One man must be
left to protect the young ladies and the house; one man must help him
with the team and its burden. The speaker shrugged his shoulders,
suggesting that it would be more suitable for Morin to remain, and said
that for his part he would be much obliged and honoured if Courthope
would accompany him. Here some plain and easy compliments were thrown in
about Courthope's strength and the generous activity he had displayed,
but not a word concerning his temporary disgrace; if this man knew of it
he did not regard it as of any importance.
He was a matter-of-fact young man, not much interested in Courthope as a
stranger, immensely interested in the fact of the theft and all that
concerned it. At the slightest question he poured out excited
information. Xavier had been a servant in the house. Mrs. King, who was
religious and zealous, had found in him a convert. He had become a
Protestant to please her. (At this point the narrator shrugged his
shoulders again.) Then Xavier had asked higher wages; upon that there
was a quarrel, and he had left.
The speaker's scanty English was of the simplest. He said, 'Xavier is a
very bad man, much worse than our people usually are. This winter he
went to the city and got his wits sharpened, and when he came back he
made a scheme. He sent word to Mrs. King that his old father was dying
and would like to be converted too. Mrs. King travels at once with a
horse and the strongest servant-man. The old father takes a long time to
die, so Xavier comes here yesterday to say she will stay all night; but
when he did not come back, his wife she got frightened, and she told
that the old man was not going to die, that she was afraid there was a
scheme. Now we have Xavier very safe. He may get five years.'
Upon Courthope's inquiring after the health of the thief, he was told
that beyond being severely frost-bitten he was little the worse. He was
again drunk with the stimulants that the Morins had poured down his
throat. The visitor ended the interview by saying that if Courthope
would be good enough to drive the team through the drifts his own horse
and sleigh would be sent after him the next day. Courthope inquired what
was the wish of the young mistress of the house. The other replied that
mademoiselle approved of his plan. It was evident that poor Madge was no
longer the mistress; the clerk was an emissary of Mrs. King's, and as
such he had taken the control. Still, as he was an amiable and capable
person, Courthope fell in with his suggestion, inwardly vowing that soon
of some domain, if not of this one, Madge should again be queen.
Courthope received a message to the effect that the young ladies wished
to see him. There was something in the formal wording of this message,
coming after his solitary meal, which made him know that they were ill
at ease, that they had taken their mistake more deeply to heart than he
would have wished. He had no sooner entered the room where Madge stood
than he wished he were well out of it again, so far did his sympathy
with her discomfort transcend his own pleasure at being in her
presence.
Madge stood, as upon the first night, behind her sister's chair. Eliz
looked frightened and excited, yet as half enjoying the novel
excitement. Madge, pale-faced and distressed, showed only too plainly
that she had need of all the courage she possessed to lift her eyes to
his. Yet she was not going to shirk her duty; she was going to make her
apology, and the apology of the household, just as the judge, her
father, would have wished to have it made.
It was a little speech, conned beforehand, which she spoke--a quaint
mixture of her own girlish wording and the formal phrases which she felt
the occasion demanded. Courthope never knew precisely what she said. His
feelings were up and in tumult, like the winds on a gusty day, and he
was embarrassed for her embarrassment, while he smiled for the very joy
of it all.
Madge confessed with grief that Eliz had mistaken Xavier for Courthope.
She said the man from the village had shown them what folly it was to
suppose that the gentleman could be Xavier's accomplice. She begged that
same gentleman's pardon very humbly. At the end he heard some words
faltered: she wished it was in their power 'to make any amends.'
Almost before she ceased speaking he took up the word, and his own voice
sounded to him merry and bold in comparison with her soft distressful
speech; but he could not help that, he must speak with such powers as
nature gave him.
'There are two ways by which you can make amends, and first I would beg
that none of our friends who were here last night should be told of it.
I should not like to think that Emma and Elizabeth, and Evelina or
Marianna Alcoforado should ever hear that I was taken for a thief.'
'You are laughing at us,' said Eliz sharply. 'We know that you will go
away and make fun of us to all your friends.'
'If I do you will have one way of punishing me that would give me more
pain than I could well endure, you can shut me out next time I come to
ask for shelter.'
'Oh, but you can't come again,' said Eliz, with vibrating note of fierce
discontent; 'our stepmother will be here.'
He looked at Madge.
'I was going to say that the other way in which you could make amends
would be to give me leave to come back; and if _you_ give me leave I
will come, even if it be necessary, to that end, to get an introduction
from all the clergy in Great Britain, or from the Royal Family.'
A ray of hope shot into Madge's dark eyes, the first glimmer of a smile
began to show through her distress.
'It is an old adage that "where there is a will there is a way," and did
I not walk on your most impossible snow-shoes and bring back your
silver?'
Madge looked down, a pretty red began to mantle her pale face, and, as
if the angels who manage the winds and clouds did not wish that the
blush of so dear a maiden should betray too much, a ray of scarlet light
from the sinking sun just then came winging through the dispersing
storm-clouds and caused all the white snow-world to redden, and dyed the
frost-flowers on the window-pane, and, entering where the pane was bare,
lit all the room with soft vermilion light. So, in the wondrous blush of
the white world, the girl's cheeks glowed and yet did not confess too
much.
'You will allow me to send in your compliments and inquire after Mr.
Woodhouse as I pass?' This was Courthope's farewell to Eliz, and she
called joyfully in reply:--
'You need not send back his message, for we shall know that they are
"all very indifferent."'
Into the scarlet shining of the western sun, an omen of fair weather and
delight, Courthope set forth again from the square tin-roofed house,
'leaving,' as the saying is, 'his heart behind him.' The large
farm-horses, restive from long confinement and stimulated by the frost,
shook their bells with energy. The Morin women displayed such goodwill
and even tenderness in their attentions to the comfort of the second
prisoner, in whom they had found an old friend, that, tied in a blanket
and lying full length on the straw of a box-sleigh, he looked content
with himself and the world, albeit he had not as yet returned from the
happy roving-places of the drunken brain. The talkative clerk was glad
enough to give Courthope the reins of the masterful horses; he sat on
one edge of the blue-painted box and Courthope on the other; thus they
started, bravely plunging into the drifts between the poplars. The
drifts were all tinged with pink; the poplars, intercepting the red
light upon their slender upright boughs, cast, each of them, a clear
shadow that seemed to lie in endless length athwart the glowing sward.
Courthope looked back at the house which had been so dim and
phantom-like the night before; the red sun lit the icicles that hung
from eaves and lintels, tinged the drifts, glowed upon the windows as if
with light from within, and turned the steep tin roof into a gigantic
rose; but all his glance was centred upon his lady-love, who stood,
regardless of the cold, at the entrance of the drift-encircled porch and
watched them as long as the sunlight lay upon the land. Was she looking
at the plunging sleigh and at its driver, or at the chasms of light in
the rent cloud beyond? His heart told him, as he drove on into the very
midst of the sunset which had embraced the glistening land, that the
maid, although not regardless of the outer glory, only rejoiced in its
beauty because the vision of her heart was focused upon him. His heart,
in telling him this, taught him no pride, for had he not learned in the
same small space of time only to count himself rich in what she gave?
Slow was the progress of the great horses; they passed the grove of high
elms and birches that, dressed in the snowflakes that had lodged in
boughs and branches when the wind dropped, stood up clear against the
gulfs of blue that now opened above and beyond. Then the house was
hidden, and after that, by degrees, the light of the sunset passed away.
THE END.
Printed by R. & R. CLARK, LIMITED, Edinburgh
* * * * *
ADVERTISEMENTS
A MAN OF HONOUR.
H. C. IRWIN.
Crown 8vo, cloth, price 6s.
'We have read many and many a story of the Indian Mutiny, but Mr.
Irwin's tale has novelty all its own.'--_Glasgow Herald._
'Much good and careful work marks "A Man of Honour." H. C. Irwin is a
writer of thought and culture, who uses his experience of foreign travel
to admirable purpose in an interesting book.'--_Black and White._
'All the characters are clearly presented, and you have no difficulty in
knowing whether you like them or not; and that is a commendation in
itself.'--_National Observer._
'The novel is well written, vigorous, and interesting, and will well
repay reading, especially to those who like breezy, outdoor, active
existence.'--_Scotsman._
'The interest is well sustained throughout, and once fairly embarked on
the story, it requires no slight moral effort to lay down the book
before finishing it.'--_Literary World._
'The description of Indian politics and events during the Mutiny years
is well done, and the account of the battle of Chillianwallah and the
time immediately preceding it is excellent'--_Standard._
'The literary qualities of the book are high, and the story itself has
great merit and power, and can be heartily recommended as a book very
well worth reading.'--_Aberdeen Free Press._
'Essentially interesting and well written.'--_British Review._
'A cleaner book, and one more free, in spite of its _motif_, from the
trail of the sex-serpent, we scarcely remember to have read.... We need
more such idealists ... to show us some of the good that is left in the
world.'--_Blackwood's Magazine._
'The picture furnished of India, of its people and their ways, and of
the terrible experiences of the Mutiny period, is an admirable bit of
strong literary work.'--_Belfast News Letter._
'It is a platitude that, to be worth reading, a Mutiny story must be
unquestionably good. The standard is high, but Mr. Irwin's book comes up
to it, and fully satisfies the most exacting test'--_The Pioneer,
Allahabad._
A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.
* * * * *
THE LIFEGUARDSMAN.
ADAPTED FROM SCHIMMEL'S 'DE KAPTEIN VAN DE LIJFGARDE.'
Crown 8vo, cloth, price 6s.
'It is a work of remarkable power and sustained interest. Right to the
end the interest is maintained, and it is not over-estimating the work
to say that few historical novels published within recent years are
superior to this adaptation of the Dutchman's story.'--_Scotsman._
'It is primarily a romance, a story of thrilling adventure, and moves
forward with dramatic spirit from point to point.'--_Illustrated London
News._
'We have no other novel giving so intimate an account of how things fell
out, and what obscure events and persons helped and hindered the
overthrow of James II. But the chief interest of the book turns round
the private person, the Lifeguardsman, not all a hero, mistaken, erring,
unfortunate, yet a brave man, and of the kind that stirs our sympathies
more than do immaculate heroes.'--_Bookman._
'The work is characterised by great dash and vigour, and the principal
characters in the story are strongly drawn, while the incidents are
woven so skilfully together that the reader is carried with absorbing
interest to the close.'--_Western Times._
'English readers are under a considerable debt of gratitude to the
anonymous translator who has given them a version in the vernacular of
Schimmel's "De Kaptein van de Lijfgarde." "The Lifeguardsman" is a
historical novel of very unusual power and fidelity. In detail and habit
the scenes and people of that troublous period are "reconstituted" here
with remarkable skill.'--_Belfast Northern Whig._
'We do not often get the pleasure of handling such a lively and
thrilling story, and can feel a due measure of gratitude for the
anonymous "mere adapter" to whose discernment and enterprise we are
indebted for having brought it to our notice.'--_Literary World._
A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.
* * * * *
A JAPANESE MARRIAGE
BY DOUGLAS SLADEN.
FIFTH THOUSAND.
Crown 8vo, boards, price 2s.; or in cloth, price 2s. 6d.
I. ZANGWILL, _Pall Mall Magazine_, says: 'Bryn, the
heroine, is a charming creature, and some of the scenes with her
half-crazed dying sister reveal strong imaginative power.'
MRS LYNN LINTON, in the _Queen_, says: 'Another Little Dear
has for her main quality unselfishness, penetrated through and through
by love. Such a character is Mary Avon in Douglas Sladen's striking
novel, "A Japanese Marriage."'
SILAS K. HOCKING, in the _Family Circle_: 'The stupidity, not
to say immorality, of the English law, which prevents marriage with the
deceased wife's sister, has rarely been more strikingly illustrated than
in Mr. Douglas Sladen's clever novel, "A Japanese Marriage." I could
wish the whole bench of bishops would read, mark, learn, and inwardly
digest this sparkling and entertaining story.'
HELEN MATHERS, in the _Literary World_, writes: 'Philip and
Bryn--these two are so interesting and so true to life, the Japanese
background against which they move in such noble but intensely human
fashion is so exquisite, that the dullest of us must feel keen pleasure
when we mingle intimately with the little people who have quite recently
asserted their right to be reckoned with the greatest upon earth.'
G. A., in the _Westminster Gazette_, says: 'Mr. Douglas Sladen's first
novel is a distinct success. To begin with, he has managed to capture a
real live heroine, as charming and convincing a pretty girl as we have
met with for years. Her flesh-and-blood reality is quite undeniable. She
imposes herself upon one from the very first; she is winning and
genuine, and as fresh as a daisy.'
GILBERT BURGESS, in the _Illustrated London News_: 'This time
it is the woes of the deceased wife's sister which are brought before us
in a narrative that is invariably picturesque, and, especially as to the
latter half of the volume, is of considerable humour and pathos.'
NORMAN GALE, in the _Literary World_: 'Bryn, a girl beautiful
exceedingly, only a little past twenty years of age--"sweet and twenty"
indeed!--loving Philip purely, and purely loved by him in return, living
alone with a young widower. The moment when Bryn proves her love is a
most exciting one, and shows that Mr. Sladen is a master of vivid
recital.'
JAS. STANLEY LITTLE, in the _Academy_: 'He writes with
knowledge and freshness of a country and a people as full of interest as
Japan and the Japanese.'
MARION HEPWORTH DIXON, in the _Englishwoman_: 'A story
strikingly told and animated with the doings of English residents in
Japan.'
RICHARD LE GALLIENNE, in the _Star_: 'An exceedingly sprightly
and readable novel.'
A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.
* * * * *
MERE STORIES.
BY MRS. W. K. CLIFFORD.
Crown 8vo, paper covers, in the style of a French novel, price 2s.
'Mrs. W. K. Clifford's "Mere Stories" is not only notable for the
excellence and uniform interest of the stories it contains, but also for
the novelty of its shape--that of the yellow French novel pure and
simple. The innovation deserves encouragement. You do not want, at this
time of day, an introduction to Mrs. Clifford's many good qualities. She
has become one of those few writers of English fiction no one of whose
books one can afford to leave unread.'--_Review of Reviews._
'They are neatly and incisively written, with an unfailing strain of
humour running through them. Altogether, this is a volume to read, and
we like its get-up--in paper covers on the French model, only neater and
more substantial.'--_Daily Mail._
'In type, make-up, and size, it is exactly the volume to buy at the
book-stall and slip into such convenient receptacle as you may chance to
carry with you in the railway carriage. It costs you no more than a few
illustrated papers, and is more handy to bestow when you have read it.
As for the contents, they are eight slight stories, in Mrs. Clifford's
best manner. Yet, simple and unpretending as they are, they contain the
real novelist's touch. There is nature, drama, character, in these short
histories, and, above all, that command of simple pathos which Mrs.
Clifford has more than most writers. We do not know many living writers
who could have done either so well.'--_St. James's Gazette._
* * * * *
UNIFORM WITH 'MERE STORIES,'
THE LAST TOUCHES.
BY MRS. W. K. CLIFFORD.
'Much skill is devoted to the narration of all these
stories.'--_Saturday Review._
'Many of them surpass even "Aunt Anne" and "Mrs. Keith's Crime" in
terseness and brilliant originality.'--_Morning Post._
'One reads them from beginning to end enchanted.'--_National Review._
'There is some very pretty and delicate work in them, which the literary
world would be the poorer for losing.'--_Daily Telegraph._
'Indeed, in every story there are touches of wonderful cleverness, signs
of clear insight, of fresh and just observation.'--_Speaker._
'Two or three of the stories reach an uncommon level of thought and
expression.'--_Standard._
'But they are all good, all original, all distinctive, and we advise
readers to take care not to miss them.'--_Guardian._
A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.
* * * * *
THE DREAM-CHARLOTTE.
BY M. BETHAM-EDWARDS.
Crown 8vo, cloth, price 6s.
'Miss Betham-Edwards is on her own special ground in her new novel,
which she calls "The Dream-Charlotte." Provincial France of the
Revolution time she knows with a detailed knowledge few other English
writers, if any, possess. It is a first-rate novel for youth, because of
its irresistible, contagious youthfulness; and its wholesome
enthusiasms.'--_The Sketch._
'An historical novel of a thoroughly legitimate kind, for the picture
and the character are brought before us with sufficient vividness, yet
mainly through the words and thoughts of the fictitious heroine, and
through her close sympathy with her friend.'--_Athenæum._
'A tale of rare imaginative beauty. Needless to say, the literary charm
of the book is great, and the atmosphere of the story true to its
historical setting.'--_Dundee Advertiser._
'No living writer is so thoroughly at home in describing French life as
Miss Edwards is, or better able to give a life-like picture of the
social condition of France at the period of Charlotte Corday's daring
deed.'--_Hastings Observer._
* * * * *
THE CURB OF HONOUR.
BY M. BETHAM-EDWARDS.
Crown 8vo, cloth, price 3s. 6d.
'The descriptions of scenery in the Pyrenees are very attractive, and
the author has been most skilful in her delineations of the characters
of the leading actors.'--_Literary World._
'The concluding chapter is a piece of masterly tragi-comedy. When I say
that this scene is suggestive of Balzac, I mean a high
compliment.'--_Academy._
'Miss Betham-Edwards is a popular favourite of longstanding. She loves
to take her readers into some quiet corner of France, and her gift of
picturesque description is such that her tales seldom fail to yield
interest and recreation.'--_Times._
A. & C. BLACK, SOHO SQUARE, LONDON.
* * * * *
AN ISLE IN THE WATER.
BY KATHARINE TYNAN (MRS. HINKSON).
AUTHOR OF 'OH, WHAT A PLAGUE IS LOVE!'
Crown 8vo, cloth, price 3s. 6d.
'Here, among the hosts of ladies who write with care and inelegance,
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well-conceived and excellently-finished Irish stories, for which it
would be hard to find anything to say but praise. They are all extremely
short for the force of their effect, and every touch tells; they are
gracefully phrased without an appearance of artifice, subtly expressed
without a suspicion of affectation.'--_Saturday Review._
'I venture to assert that in any one of its fifteen tales there is a
finer rendering of the very essence of Irish life and character than in
any half-dozen of the books which are responsible for the conception of
the conventional Pat or Biddy which has had such a long and prosperous
vogue on this side of the Channel. The book owes its momentum to its
fascinating and powerful rendering of the pathos and the tragedy of the
simple lives with which the writer deals. But this fascination and power
are far too obvious to stand in need of celebration.'--_New Age._
'Any faults the book may have are redeemed by a page torn from the
authoress's own heart. "Changing the Nurseries" is a chapter no woman,
mother, or maid could read without a lump in her throat. The strong
maternal element, which is the chief virtue of the Irish, is rife in it,
and the thousand and one little trivialities that our life is made up of
are admirably commented upon.'--_St. James's Budget._
* * * * *
OH, WHAT A PLAGUE IS LOVE!
BY KATHARINE TYNAN (MRS. HINKSON).
Crown 8vo, cloth, price 3s. 6d.
'This sparkling story has such freshness as suggests a draught new-drawn
from Paphian wells. It is, in fact, a vivacious little comedy, agreeably
diversified with threatenings of tragedy, and radiant with humour from
first to last.'--_Daily Chronicle._
'Mrs. Hinkson is lively and pleasant in her domestic story--purely
English this time--which relates the misgivings and manoeuvrings of a
family of young grown-up people who are ever on the watch for the
amorous proclivities of a light-hearted father.'--_National Observer._
'Leigh Hunt would have delighted in Mrs. Hinkson. He knew how to value
high spirit in a writer, and the gaiety of this cheerful story would
have charmed him immensely.'--_Saturday Review._
A. & C. Black, Soho Square, London.