CHAPTER XVI.

A heart that has tasted life's bitter waters is able to administer

suitable solace to an afflicted soul; and hence it was that Grace

Lloyd approved herself such an angel of mercy to Mary Stauncy when

the news of the captain's execution reached the village. 'I'll step

in,' she said to herself, 'before Mary hears of it from rougher

tongues, and it may be that a little tender womanly comfort will

prove a balm to her wounded spirit.'

On entering the house, she found her seated in the captain's

arm-chair, with her children on 'crickets' beside her, reposing their

heads on her lap, and looking up occasionally for a smile, which

played mechanically for a moment around her lips, and then

disappeared before a settled sadness, which had already given a new

impression to her features. Cautiously and kindly did the good woman

reveal to her the melancholy fact that she was a widow, and

endeavoured to break the force of the shock by referring to her own

trying experiences when left with six little ones to struggle for

life. To her great surprise no very extraordinary emotion was

manifested. The heart of the bereaved one seemed stunned; and when

Grace bade her good-night, it was with the reflection, 'Would that

she had wept! the strands of that fine mind will begin to unravel,

unless she is wonderfully supported from above.'

And truly her vigorous nature, strengthened by a Divine hand, bore up

marvellously. It is true she became, as people were pleased to call

her, 'the melancholy widow,' so fixed and habitual was her dejection,

so silent and reserved her demeanour; but every one respected as well

as pitied her, and no one thought of treating her less considerately

because of the stigma of the captain's end. In all probability she

would have recovered something of her former cheerfulness in time, if

the clouds had not returned again after the rain, and the sorrows of

bereavement, like chasing billows, swept over her head once more.

Her children sickened and died. Scarce three months had elapsed from

the time of her great trouble, when the youngest fair one was taken

away, and ten days after her sister followed her.

The afflicted woman was stricken to the earth, and the trembling

balance which had given promise of adjustment was unable to right

itself. Her reason reeled, and from that time forth she was all

weakness or all wildness. At first, and for more than a

twelve-month, she seemed constantly elevated, courting conversation,

and carrying herself with an appearance of gaiety more pitiable than

her previous despondency. There appeared to be no intermission to

the pleasing fancies of her unsettled mind, and day after day was

passed amid the imaginary life pictures which her disordered brain

created. Every evening she arranged the tea-table, in expectation of

Stauncy's return, and would converse with him, just as though he were

present, until the church clock struck eleven, the hour at which he

left her for his last voyage; when, bidding him farewell, she would

retire to rest satisfied and happy.

In course of time, however, a change, a great change, took place.

The smile departed from her countenance, and she became irritable and

restless. Her conversation, instead of being marked by strange and

even amusing fancies, became sarcastic and bitter. She looked on all

around her as enemies, and treated them as such, scarcely tolerating

the presence even of her old and faithful friend Grace Lloyd. Though

comparatively young, she began to wear the appearance of an old

woman; and as she talked to herself when walking abroad, and had a

wild and threatening eye, the children shunned her as something to be

dreaded. In one sense the strength and acuteness of her mind

returned, but it was power displaced, and wielded by a nature that

had become completely inverted. So smart, so truthful and revealing,

so charged with knowingness and pungency, in many cases so personal

were her utterances, that, amongst a people superstitiously disposed,

she came at length to be regarded as a witch. They both courted and

feared her; and when ten long years had passed away from the time of

her husband's death, no one would have recognised in that sallow,

shrunken, scowling woman, who kept every one at bay, the blithe,

generous, high-minded wife of Captain Stauncy.

During the whole of those years Mr. Benjamin Phillipson most

faithfully kept his father's charge. A weekly sum was allowed to the

widow, sufficient to provide both necessaries and comforts; but

suddenly the supply ceased, without any explanation being given. It

was currently reported that, as the gentleman had married, the change

was effected by his wife, who, ignorant of the facts of the case,

considered that parish pay would be amply sufficient. Be that as it

may, the lonely and avoided widow was left destitute at a time she

especially needed assistance, and a change of residence was the first

thing rendered necessary. A small cottage at the top of the village

was taken for her by Grace Lloyd, who made herself responsible for

the rent, and managed, by appealing to a few well-disposed friends,

to add something to the workhouse allowance.

The wrong which had been done her was keenly felt by the forlorn

widow, and bitterly did she execrate the name of Phillipson.

Unfortunately everything went wrong with Mary in her new abode. She

disliked it thoroughly, and, having the strongest repugnance to

parish pay, would pass whole days without tasting food of any kind.

From no hands but those of her old friend would she receive anything;

and, what with insufficient support and the wearing influence of her

excited mind, her health began visibly to decline. Grace Lloyd

watched over her with a mother's tenderness, though often abused and

repulsed. Whilst others forsook her, declaring that she had an evil

eye, this constant friend stood by and shielded her, the memory of

the past being an ever-living presence in her affectionate heart.

One fine bright morning, in the month of June 1766, having treated

herself at breakfast to that Devonshire luxury, a potato cake, she

took part of it to Mary, whom she found rocking herself in a

high-backed chair, and looking unusually wild and haggard. 'I've

brought you something warm for breakfast, Mary,' she said in a

soothing voice, 'and I'll make you a cup of tea in a minute.'

'Keep your gifts for those who want them!' the widow replied hastily

and with an angry look. 'The hawk flutters over the sparrow, but the

eagle pounces on the hawk. If one world cannot bind a Phillipson,

another can. I shall have a breakfast fit for a queen directly.'

'I am glad to hear it, Mary,' said Grace, willing to humour her

fancy; 'but won't you take what your old friend has brought you

first?'

'No,' she answered snappishly. 'You think I'm raving; but I tell you

that old Phillipson came to me last night, and said, "Mary, you've

been a neglected woman, but you shall be provided for again before

the sun is high." I saw him with my own eyes. I heard him with my

own ears. As sure as the lamp of day is lighted again this morning,

so sure will his words come true.'

She had scarcely concluded these strange remarks when a tap was heard

at the door, and Mrs. Benjamin Phillipson entered, followed by a

footman carrying a large basket.

'Mary,' she said, 'I've brought you some nice nourishing things, and

Mr. Phillipson will renew his weekly payments as before. I'm sorry

you've not been comfortable lately, but we'll try to make you so.'

'False! false as ever!' replied the widow in a contemptuous tone;

'this is not your choice. You have come at a dead man's bidding,

haven't you? A pleasant dream you must have had, and a visitor that

won't be trifled with, or you wouldn't have been such an early bird.

And now let me tell you what I see. The snow is on the ground, and

Ben Phillipson is in his coffin. There is a midnight funeral. His

two hounds sit at the posts of the churchyard gate, as the bier is

borne slowly along, and whine for their master. A widow sits

husbandless, then childless, then-- Fine lady, depart the way you

came, to him who sent you, and say the ban of heaven forbids his

gifts.'

Remarkable as these coincidences must appear, they really occurred.

The writer attempts no explanation. Possibly it was the very night

when the old merchant, hiding in some foreign land, was summoned to

his account. Of such coincidences many examples are on record, not

in popular experience only, but in the books of medical science and

philosophical observation. Certain also it is, that the young

merchant endeavoured to ingratiate himself into Mary's good favour

from that day, and would have supplied her with money enough to

provide for every want, but she refused his assistance, and would

never tolerate his presence.

The summer passed away. The snows of winter began to fall; but,

bitterly cold and biting as the season was, a dense crowd assembled

in Northam Churchyard one frosty night, to witness a funeral

appointed for the hour of twelve. The moon shone faintly on the

nodding plumes which adorned the hearse, and aided with its sombre

light the solemnity of the scene, as the remains of Benjamin

Phillipson were borne to their last resting-place. His two hounds

sat at the gateway, and howled dismally as the sad procession walked

toward the church, and near at hand was a diminutive woman, wrapped

in a cloak, who laughed, and thanked them for their funeral ode. She

tarried until the coffin had been lowered into the family vault, and

then, talking wildly to herself, hasted to her home, and rocked

herself into a frenzy.

The day passed, and Mary's door remained unopened. The night

followed, but no light gleamed from her cottage window, and when

morning dawned again the signs of life were still wanting. The door

had been more than once tried by Grace Lloyd, but, becoming alarmed,

and having secured the assistance of a neighbour, an entrance was

effected through the window.

The high-backed rocking-chair was turned over, so that its top rested

against the hatch, and across it, with her head downwards, lay Mary

Stauncy, dead. How she came into that position there was no one to

tell. The common belief was--and it lingers as a superstition to

this day--that she had been roughly handled by the evil spirit with

whom she had communion, and that in the struggle she had fallen over

and perished. But wiser minds and tenderer hearts knew another

interpretation. In a fit of delirium she had torn her garments, and

paced the cottage floor a raving maniac. And as her hour came on,

and the death-throe troubled her, she had leant for support on that

rolling chair, overturning it as she fell. Thus died a woman whose

character would have shone brighter and brighter but for the

merchant's temptation and the captain's sin, and who perished

untimely, as the pitiable victim of AN UNHOLY AND FATAL VOW.

THE FORGED WILL.

CHAPTER I.

In the yard of a third-rate inn, in a large market town of one of the

Midland counties, stood a carrier's cart, ready to start for home.

In large letters on its side was painted 'John Sparks, Carrier to

Parker's Due and Stoney Gates.' Some of the passengers were seated;

others were busy arranging their goods ready for transit; some were

resting on their empty baskets, till the carrier appeared, talking

over the events of the market, and comparing prices. The landlord

was in and out perpetually, with a glass for one and a joke for

another, looking with anxious (and, of course, benevolent) solicitude

around, lest a customer should escape through want of care.

'Will John Sparks go to-night?' asked an old woman peevishly. Her

question was not addressed to any one in particular; but the ostler,

who was passing, answered, 'He's not in the best company for making

haste at this present,' and nodded to a group of men standing at the

entrance of the yard, to which group the busy landlord had made

frequent visits, never going empty-handed.

A general murmur arose as this speech circulated among the

passengers. 'Go and tell him to come, granny,' said one; 'he'll mind

you; if he stays drinking there, we shall be upset, depend upon it.'

'And what's the use of my telling him?' replied the old woman. 'It's

hard work I have to make him mind when he's sober; he'll only sauce

me now he's the worse for liquor.'

'You should get him to take the pledge,' said the ostler; 'carriers'

work is full of temptations, 'specially if a man's got a taste that

way.'

While Granny Sparks was considering how to get John away from his

companions, the thing was done by the arrival of a fish-basket,

followed by a smart-looking maid-servant.

'Oh, not gone! that's well. Where's Mr. Sparks? I was kept so long,

I was quite afraid of being too late. Put the fish in under that

seat. Things there? oh, they must come out then; the fish must go in

safe. Where's Mr. Sparks, I say? I should think the fish for the

Hall is to have the proper place.'

It was soon made known to the speaker that Mr. Sparks was not far

off, and, almost as soon, he was seen hurrying from his companions,

with a somewhat blustering manner, which people are apt to put on

when they expect a deserved rebuke, and want to get out of it.

'We'd a' ought to a' been on the road this half-hour, John,' muttered

his granny.

'We're all right, Mr. Sparks,' cried those from inside. 'You may do

what you like with my basket,' said several, who would not attempt to

arrange themselves till the maid from the Hall had chosen her seat.

'I hope you will start at once,' said that damsel, who looked with

superiority on those around; 'the fish is for dinner, and we are

never later than eight.'

'Off at once, miss, when you're seated,' said John in as sober a tone

as he could assume, and looking a thundering look at his granny, who

imprudently kept up a low grumbling remonstrance on his behaviour.

The luggage was soon settled, in defiance of all opposition, so that

the fish had honourable stowage; and the Hall maiden, declaring, as

she stepped jauntily up, that she could not abide the van, but it was

a great convenience, took the seat at the front, and all was ready.

Sparks, a little steadied, was mounting, and the horse, which through

the whole hurried scene had stood motionless, his head hanging down,

as if dreaming of his own particular interests and affairs, awoke up

and prepared to step forward. But patience was to be tried that day.

In the entrance of the yard appeared a tall thin individual, dressed

in sober and somewhat shabby clothes. He had his arms full of

packages of all sorts and sizes, and an urchin followed, bearing a

large basket.

'Deary me!' said Sparks, dropping the reins; 'if there isn't Shady

Eggs. Well, to think of his being so late! Folks ought to be more

considerate.'

'How excessive troublesome!' said the Hall servant, who had herself

wasted so much time in the town that she had lost the early carrier,

and run the risk of being too late with the fish for the second.

Meantime, 'Shady Eggs' advanced. 'I rejoice, Mr. Sparks, that you

are yet here; be so good as to accommodate these articles. Young

man,' he continued, to the boy with the basket, 'you can return;

there is a small remuneration for your trouble.' The lad grinned,

pocketed the remuneration, and the basket, etc., were with some

difficulty placed in the van. Miss from the Hall kept up a continual

series of shruggings: her dress was invaded in some way by every

package that was put in, and there was as much vinegar in her

expression as beer in that of Sparks.

'If you'd a' knowed of coming, Mr. Eggs, it's a pity you wasn't more

for'ard,' she said tartly.

'It is a pity--I sit corrected,' he replied meekly, trying to put his

long legs into the least inconvenient place.

'Nobody never quarrels with Mr. Eggs,' said the carrier

good-humouredly. The maid looked scornful; but Shady acknowledged

the courtesy by a bland smile. They had cleared the town, and were

advancing at a reasonable pace up the road, pleasant hedges on either

side, and green fields around and before them, when again they were

brought to a halt. A traveller, who, sitting on a milestone, was

apparently awaiting their arrival, stood up as they advanced, and

cried out, 'Room?'

Sparks looked dubious; the maid said 'No;' but Shady Eggs, with a

complacent look, suggested that with management room might be found.

All the company, except the one objector, seemed willing to

accommodate; they took their packages on their knees, and sat closer.

'How excessive awk'ard!' said the angry servant; 'I really cannot

carry more than this; I must have room for this parcel on the seat.'

'Allow me to convey it for you, ma'am,' said the imperturbable Shady;

and, taking it from her as gently as if it had been a baby, he placed

it on his knees and encompassed it with his arms. It was indeed a

fragile thing--enveloped in paper, like a light-brown cloud, and

bearing a printed declaration that it came from Mrs. Davy's

fashionable millinery establishment.

'It's our cook's bonnet,' condescended the maid, not vouchsafing to

thank Shady any further. Shady looked affectionately at his delicate

burden, as if the whole van should perish before it should come to

grief, and the stranger was installed a passenger.

It was not very hard to read the characters of his fellow-passengers.

On faces worn by labour and bronzed by exposure might be chiefly read

family cares--questionings of mind, perchance, as to whether the

'second-handed shoes' would fit Tommy, or whether Eliza would like

her new place. Some were enjoying the opportunity of canvassing

village matters, and others slept through all the joggings of the

van. Such as they were, he scrutinized all, and then fixed his keen

grey eyes on Shady. An amused expression passed over his face as he

noticed the grave care he bestowed on his charge. Turning to the

driver, he began to question him as to the surrounding objects. Not

a building escaped; he would know everything, and John was as

communicative as any questioner could wish.

'That building in the distance, among trees,' said the stranger; 'it

looks well--what is it?'

'What! you?' said Sparks. 'Why, that's the _Jew_, sir; we shall pass

it--it's one of my places I stop at.'

'The Jew?' said the stranger.

'The Dew, sir,' interposed Shady, with a look of benevolent pity for

Sparks' ignorance,--'Parker's Dew, as it is commonly, but erroneously

called.' This was added with solemn importance.

'And what is the proper name?' asked the stranger.

Shady, with a conscious look round the van, that betrayed his

self-satisfaction, replied, rather pompously, 'Par grâce de Dieu,

sir, which, if, as I suppose, you are a French scholar' (another

glance at the passengers), 'you are aware means, "By the grace of

God."' The stranger nodded. 'Originally, sir,' continued Shady,

drawing up his back to its full length, 'it was given by the Norman

William to the founder of the family of De la Mark, in whose

possession it has ever since continued. There were strange ideas of

right in those days, as you, sir, if a student of history, must know,

and that which men got by the violence of the sword they considered

to be theirs by the grace of God. But whether the name was invented

by the Conqueror, or given to the place by Mark de la Mark, the first

lord of the manor, and founder of the distinguished line, I have not

been able to discover.'

'What! have you ever tried?' said the stranger, laughing. The laugh

was infectious; Sparks laughed, the Hall maid laughed, with something

like scorn, and all the van grinned, though those at the back had not

heard the conversation. Shady's equanimity was not broken; he

surveyed all with a surprised--perhaps a little injured--but

forgiving air, and was silent.

But the stranger had no wish to silence him. He plied him with

numerous questions as to the place, its owner, etc., to all of which

Shady replied with perfect good temper, but more reserve.

'You seem to know much about it; you live there, do you?'

'I have the honour to be a retainer of the family,' said Shady, with

much dignity.

'In what capacity?' said the stranger, looking at the milliner's

address on the package he carried. For the first time an answer was

difficult, for many were the posts combined in one that Shady

occupied.

'Librarian,' he would have said, or 'secretary,' for these he was;

but he feared the van,--for he was well known to be also serving-man

in chief, and figured at different times as tutor, valet,

butler,--and at length he replied with calmness, 'I execute any

commission I may be honoured with: I superintend the library, arrange

the steward's books, etc.; sometimes I have the honour of assisting

in the studies of my young lady.'

'And you does a bit of dressing for Sir Valary sometimes, doesn't

you, Shady?' asked Sparks, who thought he might get up a good laugh

at him with impunity, and so obtain the lead in the conversation,

which he was impatient at Shady's engrossing.

The colour rose to the pale face, and an emotion of pain and reproach

agitated it for a moment; but, soon recovering himself, he replied

gently, 'Yes, I am sometimes so far favoured by Sir Valary, I am

proud to say.'

'A sort of man of all work,' said the maid, with a sneer.

'Ah, I see,' cried the stranger at the same time; 'you are Sir

Valary's right hand--not many either willing or able to fill so

onerous a post. I congratulate you on being both.'

Gratitude danced in Shady's eyes; he said nothing, and the stranger

now turned to Sparks. He inquired if he could obtain a lodging at

Stoney Gates. Sparks told him it was only a village, with no house

fit for any but a poor man to live in except the Hall.

'A lodging fit for a poor man will suit me,' said the stranger, 'if I

can get it.'

'Well, sir,' said Sparks, 'then maybe granny might let you have the

parlour; it's got a very handsome chest o' drawers as makes into a

bed. Eh, granny?'

Mrs. Sparks demurred--she was afraid it wouldn't suit.

'Take me in to-night,' said the stranger; 'to-morrow I will tell you

about it.' And so it was agreed. After which the maid from the Hall

looked with ineffable contempt on him.

The branch road leading to Parker's Dew now came in sight, and Shady

prepared to alight. He placed the bonnet tenderly on his vacant

seat, and gathered his many goods from their various hiding-places.

'You can't carry them all,' said Sparks.

'I expected Robinson to be here,' replied the librarian.

'I'm here, please,' said a little lad, springing up from under the

hedge.

'That is well, Robinson,' said he, with dignity; and, having nearly

covered him with parcels, he took the basket, and, bowing courteously

to the stranger, with a somewhat patronizing nod to Sparks, he took

his way to 'the Jew.'

'Isn't he a speciment?' said Sparks to the stranger.

'A most benevolent spirit,' replied the stranger. And at the same

time Biddy Sparks, who now sat next her grandson, administered a

cautioning nudge.

'What are ye poking me for, granny?' he cried out. 'I suppose

there's no purtickler harm in that; he is a speciment, and I

maintains it.'

As if in defiance of her, he immediately began a long description of

Shady's life and occupations, to which the stranger listened with

interest.

'Is Sir Valary poor, then, that his man is so variously employed?' he

asked.

'There it is,' replied Sparks; 'there's a deal of talk about it; he

'adn't a' ought to be poor; but what becomes of his money there's

nobody knows. There's some as thinks--I tell 'ee what, granny, if

you goes on for to poke me at that rate, you may just drive the van

yourself. Why, how can I help folks talking? I'm sure I never said

no harm of Sir Val'ry. You know, sir,' turning to the stranger,

'when people has queer ways they're bound to be called over; and

there's a many as says'--

'John Sparks,' cried his grandmother, 'are you out of your senses to

go and talk of Sir Val'ry in this way, and him the squire's own

brother!' This was accompanied with a glance at the Hall maiden,

intended to strengthen the warning.

'I meant no offence to the squire,' grumbled he; 'he's a gentleman,

and no mistake; there's nobody about him but looks the better for it,

is there, miss?' The Hall servant did not deign to reply, except

with a faint smile. 'There's nobody at Brimble Hall as looks as if

they'd breakfasted on tin-tacks, is there, miss? I knows as the

squire has his vally, and his butler, and everything else in proper

style, hasn't he, miss? And he haven't got Steward Bloodworth to

rack the tenants, and pocket the rents neither,' said Sparks, who had

now in this back-handed way delivered himself of the substance of

what his granny had tried to make him keep in.

'Bloodworth!' said the stranger; 'what a very unpleasant name!'

'Him as 'as got it's a deal unpleasanter--I'm sure you'll hold wi'

that, granny. Why, we had as pretty a bit of land, belonging to the

Jew, as you'd wish to see, sir; and if that man didn't turn us out

without why or wherefore, just because'--

'Never mind that,' said Biddy; 'forget and forgive.'

'How can I forget it, when I pass the land every time I goes to the

Jew? and as to forgiving him, he haven't asked me. Why, sir,'

turning to the stranger, 'if it hadn't 'a been that the squire--long

life to him--took pity on us, and set me up in this van, and gave

granny the cottage and garden we live in, she must 'a gone to the

Union; we couldn't get a yard of land, and the stock went at ruin's

price; so we had only enough to pay up rent and our little debts.'

'Then this steward has full power over the estates? I mean Sir

Valary doesn't interfere?'

'You'll excuse me making so bold, sir,' said Biddy, 'but it ain't

becoming of John to make free with anything about Sir Valary. Poor

folks like us had best leave the quality alone; and in the van too,'

she once more whispered to Sparks. The carrier whistled, laid his

whip over his horse's back, and little more was said in the front of

the van till a pair of handsome bronzed gates opening on a broad

avenue appeared.

'Brimble Hall, sir,' said Sparks. 'Now, miss, will you please to

_un_light here, or go round?'

'Miss' would go round, for there was not even 'a Robinson' to help

her, and she preferred going in at the kitchen entrance to carrying

the fish.

Sparks now spent all his eloquence on the beauty of the Hall, and the

benevolence of Squire Brimble, who was, as he said, the very pattern

of a squire--such a landlord, such a master! there wasn't a man or

woman in the neighbourhood but would run at his call. The remaining

passengers, who chiefly lived at Stoney Gates and around, left the

van; and the stranger and miss, with Spark and his granny, were alone.

Sparks pointed out the stables with great pride to the stranger,

telling him the squire was the man for a horse. 'It's well worth

getting up early to see him start for the hunt. He's as good a sight

as sunrise,' was his concluding speech as he turned in the direction

of the back premises, and brought the van to the servants' door.

Here he was encountered by the cook.

'A pretty time of night, John Sparks!' she cried. 'Where's the fish?

I thought you'd broke down on the road.'

'Why ever didn't you come by the other van?' she cried to the maid,

who had now dismounted; 'I'm sure you hadn't so much to do but what

you might; and madam has been wondering at you ever so, for the young

ladies wanted their things; and I'm sure I don't know what the

squire'll say at waiting all this time for dinner.'

'It's a _rale_ love of a beauty,' said the maid, handing the bonnet

to the angry cook; 'I had to wait while they finished it.'

'Ah,' said she in a mollified tone, 'those shopkeepers are so

troublesome. I told Phipps to put it to madam that you were sure to

be kept for something;' and, calling the scullery maid to fetch the

fish, she carried off the bonnet that had wrought so happy a change

in her disposition.

No one noticed the stranger, who, however, quietly saw and heard

everything, and who only left the van to take possession of his

humble lodging at Biddy Sparks. A shabby portmanteau and a large

portfolio made up his luggage, and, having seen what appliances Biddy

could afford, he speedily dismissed her to procure any supper at

hand, and arranged them himself in somewhat military order, and,

throwing open the window, told her not to be alarmed if she heard him

early in the morning, for it was his custom to rise with the dawn.

CHAPTER II.

When the stranger was fairly settled down in the humble dwelling of

Mrs. Sparks, he seemed well pleased with his quarters.

'He've been brought up hard, granny,' said John; 'that's how he's so

contented.'

'I don't believe it, John; he's the rale gentleman, only he've got

the sense to come down to his means.'

At this juncture their lodger appeared, and cut short the conference.

He has been partially described. To finish the portrait, the reader

must add to his penetrating grey eyes a mouth indicating great

decision of character, a head finely formed, with hair changing to

grey. In the vigour of his expression, carriage, and manner, you

would read his age to be thirty; but the worn look of his cheek, his

furrowed brow, and his changing hair put many years on him: he might

be forty or forty-five. Leaning over the garden gate with a paper in

his hand, he nodded pleasantly to John, who was gardening, while his

grandmother kept watch lest he should slip from his work.

'This Parker's Due that you told me of,' he said, 'how shall I find

it by walking?'

John and his granny, having almost quarrelled about the nearest way,

gave him a direction at last, as plain as a Chinese puzzle.

'Bring me a jug of milk, Mrs. Sparks, and some of your good brown

bread; I see I have a long walk before me, and must be fortified.'

Wouldn't he have some bacon, or wait for her to make a pan pudding

with two or three eggs? No, he would not; he drank the milk, and

putting the bread in his knapsack, took his iron-ended staff, or

spud, and was opening the gate when two young ladies rode up, and,

dismounting, the younger, who was exceedingly handsome, threw the

bridle with an air of condescension into his hands. The elder, less

beautiful, but pleasant-looking, hesitated to follow her example, and

regarded him inquiringly.

Biddy Sparks came out, calling, 'John, John;' but John, reckoning on

her having a longer talk with her lodger, and being tired of digging,

had escaped to the Brimble Arms.

'Oh, ladies, I'm never so sorry--please, sir--I beg a hundred

pardons, miss--couldn't I hold the horses, sir?--where can John be

gone? You seen him here this minute, sir?'

Biddy knew well where he was gone, but did not hint at it, for fear

of injuring his character before the ladies. The stranger, meantime,

quietly tethered the horses securely to the strong fence, and,

raising his cap to the young ladies, said to Biddy, 'I will find your

grandson, and send him; they will stand quite safely,' looking at the

horses, and then turned towards the inn, where he expected to see him.

Miss Brimble watched him out of sight; but her sister Flora scarcely

allowed him to be beyond hearing before she asked who he was, adding,

'I thought it was one of the farm people.'

'He's my lodger, miss, and quite a gentleman, for all he's put up

here,' said Biddy. 'Please walk in, ladies. The chickens are all

alive, Miss Flora--I'm proud to say I haven't lost one; you'll please

to come and look at them; and belike Miss Brimble will look at the

beautiful pictures as Mr. Jobson have put up in the parlour.'

'Beautiful indeed!' said Miss Brimble, standing before a rough

water-colour drawing of an extensive country scene. 'Oh, Flora,

look! how exceedingly clever!' she exclaimed, and pointed out the

merits of distance, colour, etc. Flora had no doubt it was all true,

but did not examine it with much interest. While Miss Brimble stood

before it in silent admiration, she went with Biddy to visit her

chickens, plying her with innumerable questions about her lodger.

'Jobson--what a name! poor old man! I daresay he's some map-maker,

or surveyor, or that kind of thing. And so he plays the flute? Why,

how entertaining he must be! And you don't know where he came from,

nor where he is going, nor what he wants here, nor how long he is

going to stay? Well, if he had but a better name, he would be

delightfully mysterious; but Jobson--and Matthew Jobson, too--there's

no harmonizing that with mystery.'

Miss Brimble had well surveyed, not only the drawing described but

several others,--some unintelligible to a common eye, from their

roughness,--and seemed disinclined to leave them, when Flora returned

from her visit to her pet chickens. As they rode through the long

narrow lane that formed with its overhanging boughs an avenue almost

private to the Hall, Flora upbraided her sister with not having

visited her pets--' the sweetest little creatures in the world,' she

said.

'Who can this person be?' said Miss Brimble, musingly, and not

noticing her sister's reproaches.

'Oh, some poor old broken-down artist--or--or--but what does it

signify? I do believe, Charity, you are more interested in him than

in my little darlings.'

'I wish,' said Miss Brimble, 'I had asked more questions of Biddy

about him.'

'Don't be unhappy,' said Flora; 'I asked every conceivable question

while you were looking at those things on the wall. His name is

Matthew Jobson; he gets up at some unearthly hour--four or

five--after sleeping on a mat on the floor, miserable man, with his

window open; when the milk comes in, he drinks one long draught, and

eats brown bread, and that's his breakfast; then he shuts himself up

in the parlour, and makes those smudges and scratches--I should call

them--but of course you know best; then he starts off with

hard-boiled eggs and brown bread, and walks no one knows where, and

doesn't return till evening, and finishes the day with a solo on the

flute, and some more bread and milk. Well, stop--I haven't done; he

is undoubtedly very poor, but very honest, for he pays his reckoning

every evening, which makes Biddy afraid he won't stay very long. He

gives John the best advice--he knows everything, and has been

everywhere--there!'

'I wonder if he would give drawing-lessons,' said Charity.

'Not to me,' said Flora; 'not even to be able to do those wonderful

things that you admire so would I take lessons of such a

sharp-looking old man.'

'Old!' said Miss Brimble; 'he's not old; I was quite struck with his

appearance and manner; I believe he's a gentleman in reduced

circumstances.'

'Gentleman Jobson,' said Flora.

'As for that, I think Jobson quite as good a name as Brimble.'

'I admit it--how could it be worse? but please to remember we are not

_bona fide_ Brimbles, as papa says; woe worth the day that turned us

out of honourable "De la Marks" into people so ignoble!'

The ride ended, and the story of the stranger was soon told to the

family. Squire Brimble, who was the essence of indulgent fathers,

promised to see him, and ascertain if Charity's wish could be

accomplished.

Accordingly, the next morning he set off to Stoney Gates to fulfil

his promise. He found Mrs. Sparks at her wheel before the door, and

the stranger leaning against the large walnut tree, sketching her.

Mr. Brimble advanced with an air of easy kindness. 'Mr. Jobson, I

believe.' The stranger, with a half-suppressed smile, returned his

bow. 'My name is Brimble. I live at yon old red house. My

daughters were here yesterday, and had the pleasure of seeing a

drawing of yours which they admired exceedingly.' Again the stranger

bowed. 'May _I_ have the pleasure of seeing it?'

'By all means, if you will find it a pleasure;' and they entered the

house together. Mr. Brimble walked to the largest drawing. He had

no doubt Charity was right, and admired it in nearly the same terms

in which she had praised it to him; but he wondered whether Flora

might not be right--smudge and scratch.

'There's something very extraordinary in genius,' he said. 'It seems

to make people forget the ordinary things of life. You, for

instance, are so interested in your art, that I daresay you are

insensible to half that you are exposed to in this queer place.'

'Queer place!' said the stranger; 'I wish genius may never fare

worse. What can a man enjoy more than ease and sumptuous abundance?'

and he seated himself carelessly on his portmanteau, while he pushed

the only chair towards Mr. Brimble.

The squire answered with a chuckle. Biddy Sparks' lodger revelling

in ease and sumptuous abundance! The stranger smiled at his

merriment, and said, 'If you had passed through what some travellers

have,--I speak not of myself,--you would call this accommodation fit

for a prince.'

The tone and manner which accompanied these words convinced Mr.

Brimble that the person before him was no starved-out son of genius,

that fed ill from an empty pocket; and as the conversation continued

he became more and more impressed with the feeling that he was a

gentleman who wanted no help, and, moreover, a man of highly gifted

and cultivated mind. A thorough lover of ease in mind and body, Mr.

Brimble enjoyed nothing more than amusement without the cost of

exertion; he was quite elated at the idea of having found a pleasant

companion in so near a neighbour, whose company could be enjoyed

without the bondage of ceremony. On the other hand, the stranger,

keen in the perception of character, had at a glance read that of his

visitor; kindness and candour were its leading features: the effect

was mutual satisfaction.

At last, being satisfied that the stranger was travelling merely from

amusement, and lived as he did from preference, the squire said, with

a frank smile, as he proffered his snuff-box, 'Well, now for the

truth. I came here fancying that you were a poor genius, at your

wits' end for money, and I intended asking you to give lessons to my

daughter; but, as I happen to be wrong in everything but the genius,

instead of that come and dine with us to-day. We shall be alone, I

believe; but even then we may hope to be as entertaining as Sparks

and his granny.'

The stranger smiled, but shook his head. He glanced at his dress.

'I have no means of making a toilet here,' he said, 'and couldn't

appear thus before ladies.'

'Nonsense!' said Mr. Brimble; 'you are fit for court. Mrs. Brimble

and my children are quite indifferent to such matters; you are an

idle man, and you've no excuse. Walk down with me now, and make a

long day of it.' The stranger, still declaring that he could not

then accept his hospitality, added that he would gladly walk with

him, and they left the house together.

'This avenue, you see,' said the squire, 'amounts to a private road.

None but our own people intrude on it; so that my daughters can ride

or walk to their favourite haunts in the village and around it,

without any fear of molestation, without the tediousness of an

attendant. We are all for liberty; it is as much our delight as if

we had been born birds of the air. Anything like etiquette--when it

is constraint--is our torment. Now you see that little pathway that

opens into a very pretty little wood, where there are all sorts of

rustic gimcracks put together to please the ladies, who by the way

seldom go there,--dove-house, hermitages, labyrinths, and so on.

Over yonder hill lies the Dew, a fine old place going to ruin; the

estate at one point joins mine, or would, but for a trout stream.

Are you an angler? Capital! then we shall have some sport together.

I preserve, or pretend to do, but I'm poached on most unmercifully,

and can't help myself. There's the house--"Hall," we call it--a good

place enough. But before we go in, I must take you round my stables;

I have just bought a hunter, high price--you shall judge him,' etc.

Thus Mr. Brimble talked; while the stranger, when his turn came,

amused and interested the squire with his anecdotes of persons,

places, and things. 'Why, you've been everywhere,' he cried, 'and

know all the world! Here's my purchase,' as they entered the stable;

and he was soon listening with the deepest admiration to his

companion's strictures on the hunter, and the peculiarities of the

Arab and other horses; but when a suggestion was made as to an

improvement in ventilating the stables, the squire was rather

nettled. He was sure nothing could be better than his own plan; he'd

no doubt Mr. Jobson might be right as to stables of other climates;

but, etc. And in much vehemence did he continue the argument, till

he found himself walking under the windows of the room in which the

ladies were accustomed to sit during the morning.

Suddenly stopping, and forgetting stables and all connected with

them, he pointed to Charity, who was sitting at one of them, and

said, 'There's your pupil that was to have been. Let us go in. Mr.

Jobson--Mrs. Brimble and my daughters. Ah, Miss Cruden! I didn't

see your carriage. How's the doctor? My dear, Mr. Jobson is a

friend of our old friend General Topham.'

'Scarcely a friend,' said the stranger, returning the salutation of

the ladies with grave but frank courtesy.

'Well, well, you served with him somewhere, didn't you? or saw him,

or something; I don't remember exactly what it was. We've been over

so much ground that I've forgotten half the things you told me.'

The stranger gave a brief but interesting account of his last

interview with the general, whom he incidentally described so

graphically as to leave no doubt of his acquaintance with him. When

this had come to an end, the squire seemed rather nervous lest the

conversation should flag, and trotted out his new friend with the

most scientific jockeyism, plying him with questions as to the

Levant, America, and every place on which they had touched during

their morning conversation.

The stranger seemed to suffer this tax upon his conversational powers

rather than to enjoy it; he saw Mr. Brimble's motive, which was to

gain for him the favour of his family, and, appreciating his

kindness, fell in with his wish. Charity and Flora exchanged

glances; the former looked triumphant--she had been right in her

conjecture. Flora listened to him for a little time, but very soon

joined her mother and Miss Cruden in the discussion of some new

crochet patterns, giving only an occasional exclamation when any

circumstance of particular interest was narrated. Mr. Jobson seemed

equally ignorant of the indifference of the trio, and of the deep

interest with which Charity listened to him. The squire was the

centre of his notice, and he was evidently pleased with the

gratification he was affording him. Dame Sparks' criticism, that he

knew everything, seemed nearer the truth than such criticisms

generally are.

At the luncheon, of which he could not with courtesy refuse to

partake, he delighted the squire by giving him the history of almost

every known wine, and charmed the ladies, one and all, with

descriptions of foreign fruits and flowers. Every object suggested

some fresh ground on which to display his boundless information, and

the ease with which the remarks passed from topic to topic, and the

perfect simplicity of his manner, so free from conceit, gave a

tenfold charm to all. When he had left,--for he declined positively

to remain the day, sorely to Mr. Brimble's disappointment,--a

discussion concerning him naturally arose among the ladies, while the

squire accompanied him, as he said, off the grounds.

'Oh, mamma, what a man!' said Flora; 'isn't he worse than a

dictionary? I should get a brain fever if I heard him talk every

day.'

'Where does he come from?' asked Miss Cruden--a rather elderly lady,

with grey hair and gold spectacles and thin, sharp features.

'That remains to be proved,' said Mrs. Brimble.

'Come from!' cried Flora; 'why, he's like the man in the fairy tale,

that came in at a hundred doors at once.'

'Mr. Brimble,' said his wife impressively, and turning with a

confidential air to Miss Cruden, 'is so exceedingly imprudent, so

easily deceived, that any one might take him in--any one that can

talk.'

'There's no question about this person being able to talk,' said Miss

Cruden; 'but why do you suppose he has been taken in now?'

'Tell me what a gentleman fit to be introduced here, and a friend of

General Topham's, should do at Biddy Sparks'.'

'Biddy Sparks'!' said Miss Cruden, raising her eyebrows under her

spectacles; 'that is indeed a singular lodging for a gentleman.'

'Oh, but he's a genius, mamma,' said Flora, 'and lives on bread and

milk, and never goes to bed. I only hope, if papa brings him here

again, he'll make him bring his flute; I should think we had come to

an end of his geography.'

'I hope,' said Mrs. Brimble, 'if your papa does bring him here again,

it will be with a letter of introduction, without which no one ought

to be received here.'

'But, mamma, the man has had an introduction without a letter,' said

Flora; 'and if it pleases papa, what does it signify? He won't run

away with any of us--certainly not with me. I don't know about

Charity,' she said, suddenly turning round and looking at her sister,

who had not yet spoken. 'She was rather moonstruck about him this

morning; but whether he's a gentleman or not, Char, I'm positive he's

old, and he's got the most frizzly little whiskers I ever saw; in

fact, to me he is very much like his pictures.'

'And to me too,' said Charity.

'His pictures!' said Miss Cruden; 'pray, what are they like?'

'Oh, stop, Char!' said Flora; 'do let me tell first. You know, Miss

Cruden, there's a long blue uneven smudge--that's a "distance;" then

there are'--

'Flora,' cried her sister, 'how can you be so foolish? Miss Cruden

is fond of drawing; the best way would be to ask for her to see them,

and judge for herself; they are full of spirit and feeling.'

'What is his name?' said Miss Cruden; 'I did not hear.'

'Ah! that's the melancholy part of it,' said Flora. 'Char can't make

that better--Jobson, undeniable Jobson. Here's papa; now, mamma,

find out about the letter of introduction. I should rather enjoy his

turning out an impostor, because Char looks so triumphant.'

Mr. Brimble had indeed appeared, but he remained in a hesitating

manner on the walk, as if undecided about rejoining the ladies. The

truth was that, upon reflection, he felt he had committed what his

wife would call a most imprudent action. He hardly shaped her

censure into a definite form; but any form would be unpleasant

enough. He knew her first question would be, 'credentials,' and none

had he to give; in fact, he had nothing but the stranger's word as a

guarantee for his respectability. Poor Mr. Brimble! he abhorred a

lecture; yet he was always carelessly exposing himself to one. With

the consoling remembrance that Miss Cruden's presence would break the

force of the attack, he ventured on the enemy.

'Couldn't prevail on him to turn back,' he said (looking anywhere but

at Mrs. Brimble). 'A positive fellow when he's once made up his

mind, I can see; but he has promised to come when he returns from a

few days' ramble; and, in the meantime, you, Char, are welcome to any

of his sketches that you think worth copying; he has a large

portfolio, which you may ransack at pleasure during his absence.'

'Did he bring letters of introduction?' asked Mrs. Brimble, with

significant dryness.

'I didn't require any,' said her husband carelessly, less uneasy at

the conflict now he was fairly in for it.

'Your imprudence, Mr. Brimble, does surprise me, though it ought not

to do so, considering my long experience of it.'

'Imprudence, imprudence! what imprudence?' inquired the squire

quickly; 'am I to welcome no one to my house who does not bring a

certificate? Isn't it my habit to call on all new-comers?'

'Very few _gentlemen_ would expect to be called on in this person's

circumstances; and I must say'--

'Now, there's your mistake, Mary. You think you must say; but you

_mustn't_ say; for once, my imprudence will come to no harm, at any

rate. He's a gentleman,--a most agreeable, clever fellow, and a

great acquisition to us in our dull quarters.'

'Don't you remember that account in the paper,' said Mrs. Brimble,

turning to Miss Cruden, 'of a very clever man, who introduced himself

under false pretences into a family, and an extensive robbery was the

consequence?'

'No, she does not; though she is trying to get up a reminiscence to

accommodate you, I can see. But if she does, it proves nothing;

there's no analogy. To begin, this man didn't introduce himself; I

sought him, and, to cut it short, Mary, I have indubitable proof that

he is a gentleman.'

Mrs. Brimble looked up for the proof that thus cut her short; but the

squire, feeling he had the advantage in asserting which he would have

lost in proving,--for his conviction lay only in his innate

perception of gentle birth and high breeding,--kept on high ground,

and, declaring it was not endurable that they should waste the day in

the house during such glorious weather, invited them to follow him to

the shrubberies to look at his improvements there.

Miss Cruden immediately proceeded to fold into its proper creases a

large square of cambric she was hemming for the doctor; Mrs. Brimble

looked offended, and disinclined to accede to the proposal. Flora

threw down her work, wondering she could have stayed in so long; and

Charity, as she followed her, questioned why the stranger should have

remembered her and her love for art. Her sister, as if answering her

thoughts, said carelessly, while adjusting her hat, 'How kind it was

of papa to ask that you might see those things! for of course he

asked, though he is willing that the credit should lie with "the

admirable Jobson." It's just like him, dear kind heart!' and she

hastened after him into the shrubbery.

CHAPTER III.

It is time to introduce the reader to Parker's Dew and its inmates.

We cannot do this better than by following Shady Higgs and his

companion on their way from the van.

'Anything occurred in my absence?' asked the librarian in a tone of

condescension.

'No,' said Robinson, rather sullenly; 'only the pigs has got into the

garden and turned up the flowers.'

'Untoward creatures! Have they made much havoc?'

'They's made a plenty of mess; they's been a-devouring of the

cabbages, and Mrs. Gillies were in a fine way because you never

looked after them afore you went.'

Now Robinson was not often guilty of such direct violations of duty

towards dignity; but his patience had been tried by long waiting

under the hedge, and Mrs. Gillies had unjustly punished him for the

offence of the marauding pigs. He was, moreover, so laden with

parcels that he was obliged to walk with a precision ill according

with his taste or age, lest some of them should be dislodged

altogether; therefore in respect of temper he was in a poor way.

[Illustration: SHADY EGGS HAS A PRINCIPLE TO MAINTAIN.]

Shady, whose weak point was sensitiveness in this particular, was

divided in his mind between vexation at the misbehaviour of the pigs

and discomfort at the republican tone of the lad whom he had long

been trying to improve into a character worthy of the honour of

serving in the family of De la Mark. He determined to pass by the

pigs, and, turning to his companion, said, 'How often, child, am I to

exhort you to remember the respect due to your superiors, whether in

age, station, or any good conditions?' Perhaps Robinson was not

decided as to the required number of times; at any rate, he did not

answer, nor was his expression promising. 'Listen,' said the

librarian, 'while I repeat a form of words which would have been a

becoming answer to my question; and in the first place you should

have begun with "No, sir," or "No, Mr. Higgs;" say that, and remember

it is for your own good that I enforce this principle on you.'

Robinson may not have believed in the philanthropy of his preceptor,

or he was heroically indifferent to his own interests; he walked on

in dogged silence. '"No, sir," or "No, Mr. Higgs,"' said the

librarian, standing still, and looking firmly at the young

incorrigible; for, gentle as a lamb at all other times, when Shady

had, as he considered, a principle to maintain, or a duty to perform,

he was a very lion. Robinson saw that he must give in, and muttered

in a low tone, 'No, Mr. Higgs.' 'It is well,' said the librarian;

and, considering the better part of valour to be discretion, he

conceded the rest of the speech, content with the conquest gained,

adding in a more gentle tone, 'I hope in time to cure you of the

slaughter of the aspirate, so offensive to a cultivated ear and so

general in this place. It is indeed wonderful how letters are

subverted and substituted for one another by the careless and

ignorant. Take Higgs, for instance: what name more simple? yet do

they indiscriminately render it, "Eggs and Iggs, Heggs and Higgs."'

Robinson interrupted this meditation by letting fall one of his

parcels. 'I fear,' said the librarian, picking it up and laying it

carefully in its place, 'the corners of a book which I have purchased

for you may have been injured, Robinson.' Robinson looked as if he

could bear the calamity. 'There's a knife in that parcel also,'

continued Shady, 'with many blades, which I intended for you when

your improvement deserved it.'

'Thank'ee, Mr. Higgs, sir,' said Robinson, the knife going straight

to his heart; and, as his hands were not at liberty to touch his cap

or pull his hair, he made the most deferential nod his circumstances

would permit.

'As to the book,' resumed Shady, 'it is not of a character to please

you as yet; I had a prospective view in purchasing it, when your

mind-- But I see you wish to speak.'

'I was just a-going to ask, Mr. Higgs, sir, how many blades there was

in the knife?'

Rather disconcerted that the knife should engross the whole of his

mind, he gave him first a little lecture on the superior value of

that which he seemed to disregard, adding at the end, 'There are four

blades, a buttonhook, and a corkscrew.' Oh, how light from that

moment was Robinson's load! not that he had the least use for a

buttonhook or a corkscrew; but to be the owner of a knife of such

multifarious powers was to him a new idea of happiness. In the

fulness of his gratitude he volunteered much fresh information,

carefully putting 'Mr. Higgs, sir,' whenever an opportunity occurred.

Mr. Bloodworth had been at the Dew, and had high words with Miss De

la Mark, and Sir Valary had been very ill, and Mrs. Gillies had

wished Mr. Higgs back again twenty times. Altogether it had been a

day of commotion at the Dew, from Sir Valary down to his pigs.

'Sacrilegious man!' said Shady, turning whiter with indignation, as

the lad repeated some expressions dropped by Bloodworth in the

courtyard. 'Had you spoken of this sooner,' he continued, 'we might

have hastened.'

'You see, Mr. Higgs, sir, it's impossible to do unpossibilities, and

I can't hasten with all these things,' said the lad, whose head came

out of his parcels like that of a tortoise from its shell; ''sides,

he's gone now, and Sir Valary's better, and miss was in the garden

quite comfortable when I came away.'

Shady nevertheless pressed on, in agitated expectation, until they

reached the place. It was a large, dark, irregular pile, on a

thickly-wooded eminence--a landmark conspicuous for many miles round.

All that remained of the original castle was one tower, which was

called Sir Mark's Tower, in honour of the founder of the family; the

remainder had been raised by several of his descendants, to repair

the decay of accident and time; and each seemed to have built

according to his own age, without reference to what had been before

him. Sir Mark's Tower, with a part of one side of the quadrangle,

formed the dwelling of the present possessor; part of the remainder

was an ivy-covered ruin; while a long and dreary-looking portion,

containing the state rooms, portrait gallery, armoury, and library,

was given up to darkness and silence, being carefully boarded,

barred, and bolted. The great entrance had not been approached for

many years; the stately avenue of limes had interwoven their branches

and formed an extended archway. To Sir Valary and his daughter was

reserved a private doorway in the tower, while the retainers (as

Shady was pleased to style himself, Mrs. Gillies, the steward, and

Robinson), together with all comers, had ingress and egress by the

outer courtyards and kitchen entrance. It was not, however, to the

kitchen of former days that Shady now hastened; a small servitors'

hall attached to it better answered the purposes of their economy.

Mrs. Gillies scarcely waited for his entrance to pour out a medley of

abuse and lamentation concerning her master, her young lady, and the

steward, finishing up with an angry avowal that Shady was never in

the way when he was wanted. Shady, exhausted with his day of fasting

and fatigue, pained by the occurrences in his absence, and somewhat

discomfited by the undeserved castigation he was receiving, seated

himself in the corner to wait until the high wind should have passed.

Nothing tires a passionate temper like letting it have its way; Shady

had often tried the force of non-resistance, and depended on it now,

for staying the torrent before Robinson's appearance. As at other

times, he was right. Mrs. Gillies, subsiding, passed from a scolding

to a declarative tone, and from that to one of ordinary talk, which

finally warmed into kindness, as she saw the inoffensive librarian

sit silently fanning himself, with an air of patient dejection.

'Why, you look as if Bloodworth had blew at you, and had the best of

it too,' she said.

'I have not broken fast since I left, and am weary and hungry,'

replied Shady.

'Then it is high time to eat,' said the housekeeper; and, quickly

unloading Robinson, who had just appeared, and despatching him with

his evening meal to the ancient kitchen, she hastened to spread the

table, recounting in cooler temper the events of the day.

There was nothing new in substance, for Robinson had told as much;

but of course each fact was given with particularity.

'It's a strange thing to me, Shady,' she said, 'that Sir Valary, so

high as he is, can bear with Bloodworth. It's easy to say he's used

to him; but if he forgives the things that man said to-day there's

more than use that he depends on. He was daring to-day beyond what I

ever saw him; if Sir Valary had not fainted when he did, I believe he

would not have left; but he saw staying was of no use, and he was

afraid, too, of Miss Marjory. She said but a word or two, but he

couldn't stand her looks.'

'Sacrilegious man!' cried Shady, shuddering more than once. His

anxiety was appeased by learning that Sir Valary had not awoke since

he took the sleeping-draught. Miss De la Mark had been sitting at

his door for the last hour, watching.

'I haven't been able to get her to eat nor drink; she's as pale as a

ghost, and trembles like a leaf; but I don't think it's fear she

shakes with.'

Poor Shady! it was too much for him. Bloodworth was the only human

being he regarded with dislike; notwithstanding his arrogant

assumption, he was well known to be a man of low origin, who owed all

his fortune to the family he served. If his insolence had been

confined to those of his own rank, it would have been worthy only of

contempt; but the indignation of the librarian knew no bounds when

the dignity of De la Mark was tarnished by his insolent bearing and

free speech; it was one of the very few subjects that deprived him of

his habitual serenity.

Whatever were his own views as to the secret of Bloodworth's

impunity, he listened without replying to many of Mrs. Gillies'

half-hinted suspicions. 'Time will reveal all things,' he said.

'And now I must enter in my books the moneys expended. I must see,

too, that those rebellious animals are properly secured; and if I can

in a measure repair the damage they have done'--

'Mr. Higgs, sir,' said Robinson, appearing at the door with his empty

cup and platter, 'please, sir, don't you want me to go and help to

look arter them pigs?'

'Ah!' said Shady, smiling benignantly on him; 'I must leave your

lesson to-night, Robinson.'

'It don't signify,' said Robinson cheerfully.

'No?' said Shady.

'Not for once, you know, Mr. Higgs, sir,' said the lad, who felt he

had been too accommodating. Suddenly recollecting, the librarian

guessed his drift, and, placing the knife in his hands, told him that

nothing but learning was really worth desiring.

CHAPTER IV.

A few words are needful concerning Sir Valary and his daughter. Sir

Valary, known to be as proud as any who had ever borne his name,

lived a life of extraordinary seclusion and self-denial. For many

years he had banished from his home every sound of mirth, every

vestige of social comfort. His servants, who had, at the death of

Lady De la Mark, been greatly reduced in number, had gradually become

fewer, until every female office was represented by Mrs. Gillies, a

old and greatly-attached domestic, while Shadrach Higgs, with his boy

Robinson, whom he had pressed into the service, held the same

comprehensive post in the other sex.

What had caused so great a change--for at one time Parker's Dew, or

Castle De la Mark, as it was called, was noted for its courtly

splendour and unbounded hospitality--no one knew. Some attributed it

to the early death of Lady De la Mark; others to the influence of

Bloodworth. Squire Brimble, who seldom allowed himself to speak of

his brother, when he did give an opinion said, 'It's the love of

money--that's enough to account for anything.'

The growing infirmities of Sir Valary had kept him long a prisoner in

his chamber, at the door of which now, as described by Mrs. Gillies,

sat his daughter Marjory. There was nothing heroine-like in her

appearance. Low in stature and plain in feature, she owed all her

attraction to the force of her character and the peculiarity of her

early training. Indomitable courage shone in her dark eyes, and

patience, the result of a deeply-exercised spirit, gave a sweet calm

to her face. Her dress was, from necessity, somewhat singular. For

a long period she had been limited to her mother's wardrobe, and,

careless of the fashion in which the garments were made, she wore

them without change, as her mother had left them.

'He sleeps so long!' said Marjory, her pale face resting against the

chamber door.

'I've known him sleep longer, miss,' said Mrs. Gillies, peering up

the spiral staircase. 'If you'd just please to taste these fresh

cakes that Shady has brought in, and the chocolate, that's drying up

from standing these hours, I should be thankful;' and she displayed

the cakes, the choice of which had exercised greatly Shady's

discriminating powers. Marjory, prevailed on, left her to watch.

'You know, miss,' said the faithful creature, 'if you take ill, we

have no power to keep off that man when he comes; and one way we're

all alike, for the highest can't do without eating and drinking, no

more than the lowest.' Marjory did not at all, at that moment, feel

exalted above the conditions of humanity. Bloodworth's behaviour had

convinced her that he possessed some secret militating against her

father's honour, and that this was the source of the power he

exercised over him.

The loneliness in which she had been reared had made her very

self-reliant. She had borne much personal inconvenience in silence;

and if it had been only for herself that she had now to suffer or to

do, she would not have been slow in her plan of acting; but it seemed

necessary that some one, more equal than she was to cope with the

steward, should step in between him and her father, for whose very

life she trembled, if such excitement as he had that day suffered

should be renewed. Yet, if her suspicions were correct, how could

she, without treading on dangerous ground, take any one into her

counsels? and, indeed, who was there to whom she could refer? To her

uncle, her natural protector after her father, she had been a

stranger for many years; and she had grown from childhood to

womanhood with no other companion than her father. One there was,

indeed, and to him she inclined to open her heart, and that one was

Dr. Cruden, the high-minded and skilful physician, who was the sole

visitor of gentle blood at Parker's Dew.

Filled with painful conflict, she resumed her seat at the

chamber-door. A slight noise was gratefully heard by her, and,

entering, she found the long sleep had produced its usual effect of

refreshing calm. Sir Valary smiled gently on her, and, as if

forgetful of the distressing occurrences of the morning, received

with pleased readiness all her tender endeavours to restore and amuse

him; and thus passed the evening peacefully away.

Several days followed in the same calm. Sir Valary and his daughter

seemed with equal care to avoid the name of Bloodworth, and both were

secretly thankful when the evening closed, without his presence

having embittered the day.

One morning, Marjory, receiving Shady's promise not to go beyond

earshot of her father, prepared for one of those long rambles in the

surrounding woods which never failed to procure for her rest and

relaxation of mind. Her book-learning was small. In the great book

of nature, that lay before her, she was an ardent student. Shady,

who fondly considered himself, in some sort, her preceptor, had

endeavoured to inspire her with a love of heraldry, and was never

tired of expatiating on the endless genealogies connected with the

tree of De la Mark. But though she loved to wander among the

portraits of her ancient house, dimly lighted up by the few sunbeams

that could struggle through a loosened shutter here and there, her

thoughts were wholly given to those people of the past that looked

grimly from the wall, while he was trying to explore and expound

their heraldic bearings. She knew most of the faces by heart; but

her head was little encumbered with the technicalities of which he

was so proud. Shady had plodded through the elements of botany, that

he might usher her also into it. She soon learned with avidity all

he could teach her, and, unaided by other help than her own affection

for the pursuit, became well accomplished in it. But we must follow

her in her walk.

Her mind had been too much exercised of late to allow her to give

thought to anything but one reigning subject. Her case for wild

flowers remained unused, as she passed musingly through the tangled

wood. When at a little distance from the house, she was arrested

once or twice by sounds of rustling amongst the branches. The once

carefully-arranged paths were now so ill kept that they were in some

parts difficult to penetrate. No stranger ever intruded there. She

supposed it to be some woodman gathering brushwood, and passed

carelessly on; but, coming suddenly on a cleared space, from which,

through an opening in the trees, appeared a fine and extensive view

of the country around, she saw whence the sounds had proceeded.

The reader does not need a second description--it was the strange

lodger from Stoney Gates. He was apparently surveying the scene with

artistic purpose, his implements lying on the turf, and he was

arranging a piece of broken timber to form a seat of convenient

height and situation.

The meeting was one of mutual and equal surprise. Each surveyed the

other steadily, and in silence; but the stranger, soon recovering

himself, lifted his cap with courtly propriety, for he needed nothing

to tell him he was in company with gentle blood. Marjory returned

the salutation, and was passing onward; but a sense of inhospitality

detained her; she lingered, and said hesitatingly, 'You are a

draughtsman?' He bowed. 'You are going to put down some of our

scenery?' Again he assented. 'Would you not like to have the Castle

De la Mark in your foreground, with this fine country behind?'

'I have been trying to get that,' he replied; 'but the house is so

surrounded I can find no favourable standing-ground.'

'I will lead you to one,' she said; and, making her way with easy

rapidity through the thicket, she emerged on a spot favourable in

every way to the accomplishment of the design. The graceful

dexterity with which she overcame all the obstacles of the labyrinth

struck him with admiration. 'She is worthy of an American forest,'

he thought.

When they stood face to face upon the spot sought for, a slight

exclamation of surprise burst from the stranger, which was answered

with a smile of satisfaction from Marjory. There was pride in her

heart and triumph in her eye, as she turned exultingly to the scene

before them, upon which they both gazed silently. Suddenly she

asked, 'Who could put this down?' and looked at him for an answer;

but his eyes were fixed, not on the landscape--they were busily and

intently studying her face. He withdrew them in some little

confusion, and the blood of De la Mark crimsoning her cheek warned

him that to win patronage he must woo it discreetly. He thanked her,

in most deferential terms, for having given him the opportunity of

trying, but agreed that the subject was one to mock art. His voice

and bearing were so remote from intrusion or unbecoming forwardness,

that Marjory was willing to believe the look that had offended her

was one of natural and excusable curiosity. She allowed him,

therefore, to make one or two remarks on various points around before

she left him.

As she was turning away, the stranger, still uncovered, said, 'I have

had the honour of speaking to Miss De la Mark?' She looked assent,

and they parted, he to pursue his task, and she to wonder who, among

the few persons whose faces were familiar to her, continually floated

in her memory while she was in company with the stranger.

In this short interview, in which so little had been said, a great

advance had been made by each in the favour of the other. The fire

of her eye and the freedom of her step, her genuine dignity and

self-respect, untinged by affectation, all betokened a character

which had great charms for the stranger, while his sympathy with her,

so evident in those slight indications of look and bearing which are

to be felt but not described, had won upon her strangely; so that in

truth they were both far more intimate from this few minutes in the

wilderness than months of drawing-room proprieties would ever have

made them. What a sudden check he had given to the current of her

thoughts! All that had so deeply interested her fell aside, and, by

some inexplicable attraction, he took its place.

Again the crashing of the distant boughs as she wandered homeward

struck her ear, and it was with somewhat of disappointment that,

after a minute or two of watching and waiting, she saw the faithful

Shady struggling through the thicket to reach her.

If his young lady would only condescend to walk in the paths where

the trees did not meet right over, trusting she would pardon him for

saying so, it would be far less perilous for limbs and their

coverings to pursue her. Indeed he made a rueful figure; for

although he had guarded his dress, by turning it up or turning it

down, as circumstances recommended the precaution, he had met with

sundry tears and scratches, as though he had been at war with all the

under-wood he had encountered. Marjory smiled at his expostulations

and his appearance, but, suddenly remembering his promise, inquired

why he had left her father.

Shady assured her that Dr. Cruden was with Sir Valary, and would

remain till his return, for he wished to see Miss De la Mark, and had

sent him in pursuit of her.

'Then,' said Marjory, 'Mr. Higgs, there is a stranger in the wood; he

is drawing on my favourite seat--drawing the place, you see; and I

wish--I should like you--to--just to say--if he would wish to draw

any of the interior you can lead him through it.'

Shady stared. 'I invite a stranger to the Dew, madam!' he said

slowly.

'No, no,' said Marjory emphatically; 'of course ha will not be

intruded on my father nor on me; he greatly admires the place, and it

seems unkind not to allow him to enjoy the pleasure fully. It is

little we do in hospitality, Mr. Higgs; we may at least show this

poor favour to strangers; and this is no ordinary person, but a man

of birth and high taste, as you will see, I am sure.' An appeal on

the score of hospitality could not be made to a more ready ear than

that of Shadrach Higgs. How had he mourned in time past over the

silent halls and untrodden doorways of Parker's Dew, when his large

heart would have welcomed the whole world! But time and use had

reconciled him to all; and now to introduce a visitor seemed as

strange a work to him as it had once been to exclude one.

While he was gathering up his thoughts to make a suitable, respectful

protest against the imprudence of doing what, if Sir Valary heard of

it, might give him umbrage, Marjory had vanished. Shady looked after

her disconsolately. Not having been able to resign his commission,

he felt it imperative on him to fulfil it, and with troublous

cogitations on the matter, and earnest hopes that the stranger would

not fall in with the invitation, he scrambled on towards the place.

While he was engaged in his contest with the bushes, he thought only

of how best to escape them; but when he stood in the presence of the

stranger, whom he immediately recognised, a feeling of vexation that

he should appear in a style so inconsistent with the dignity of De la

Mark mingled with it.

On seeing him, the stranger, who seemed to have been of Marjory's

mind, and had thrown aside his sketch as unsuccessful, accosted him

as an old friend. 'What! the librarian! I am fortunate indeed! Are

you seeking your lady? She was here, but left a little ago.'

Shady, in as collected and proper a form as he could get up for the

occasion, told him that he had met his young lady, and delivered her

invitation.

The stranger started up at once. 'We will lose no time, Mr. Higgs;

nothing would give me greater delight;' and immediately he began, in

a manner which Shady well remembered, a series of questions as to

every part of the dwelling, the order in which it was kept, and so

on. While he endeavoured to answer these becomingly, an

under-current of thought occupied Shady. Various schemes he devised

and rejected for keeping the stranger out of sight and hearing of any

of the household, without allowing him to discover that he was there

by stealth. Under other circumstances he could have discoursed with

delight on the wonders and glories of Parker's Dew--to him an

untiring subject. Then again, the incongruities of ancient grandeur

and present meanness forced themselves upon him, and an uneasy

consciousness arose, of the effect they would have in diminishing the

stranger's reverence for the noble house in whose honour his heart

was bound up.

'Why, it is in ruins!' exclaimed the stranger, coming abruptly on one

side of the quadrangle.

'That portion is,' said Shady; 'the exact reason I cannot tell, but

there is a tradition'--

'It has been in decay for many years,' said the stranger, not waiting

for the tradition; 'this, I presume, is the chapel?'

'It is;' and now did Shady, with all the formality of a grave court

official, introduce him respectively to the armoury, the picture

gallery, and the library; that is to say, he pointed to their

positions.

The stranger surveyed all with the deepest interest. 'Did I

understand,' said he, 'that I was to be allowed to see the interior

of these places?'

'The library,' said Shady, 'being my particular department, I carry

the key of the side entrance; the other keys are in Sir Valary's

room, but I can readily obtain them. There is no worthier part of

the building, in my humble estimation, than this,' he said, placing

the small key in the lock of a low door, to enter which they were

obliged to stoop.

'Where are we?--in a tomb?' said the stranger.

'No,' said Shady, 'though indeed we are among the dead; wait, if you

please, till I kindle the lantern.'

CHAPTER V.

Familiar as he was with every crevice of his dearly-loved resort,

having closed the door on the inside, Shady without difficulty

lowered a large lantern, that hung from the centre of the roof, and

lit two of the candles ranged within it. By degrees the stranger's

eyes, at first dazzled by daylight, were able to discern something of

what was around. The walls, the roof, and the floor, were all of

dark polished oak--the roof richly carved; books and vellum rolls in

antique cases, all of the same dark wood, left little of the walls

uncovered. Amid objects so sombre, the feeble rays of the lantern,

which Shady had now drawn up, were of little use.

'I never saw a better effect of darkness,' said the stranger; 'but is

there no possibility of letting daylight in here? I would rather

read some of these books by the sun than by yonder lantern.'

Shady pointed out to him that the windows, high and small, were

boarded up.

'This,' said his companion, pointing to a library ladder, 'this would

reach one; if I loosened a board I could easily replace it; may I do

so?'

Shady demurred. It would take time; he had already been too long

from his duties--Sir Valary might require him; not adding his

conviction, that Mrs. Gillies would rate him soundly for not being in

time to carry in the dinner--a service he always performed.

'Leave me,' said the stranger; 'trust me with this key, or lock me

in; there is much here that I should like to examine; come to me when

you will, when you can; an hour, or hours hence, will do for me.'

Again there was a conflict in Shady's mind; the inhospitality of

locking him up among paper and vellum, at a time when his own

appetite was reminding him that nature required support of another

kind, was repugnant to his feelings; yet, to have him so secured was

a convenience of which he saw the value. After a short pause, he

said he would return as quickly as he could, and, locking the door on

the outside, went somewhat nervously to present himself to the

housekeeper. Happily for him, the lengthened stay of Dr. Cruden had

saved him from wrath on account of his protracted absence.

'I am glad you are come,' said Mrs. Gillies; 'it is a long talk the

doctor is having to-day, and there's Robinson been all the time

holding his horse, and nobody to clean a knife, for the little there

is to cut.'

Shady quietly began gathering up the knives, intending to release

Robinson from his post, when Dr. Cruden and Miss de la Mark, in deep

conversation, crossed the courtyard and met him at its entrance. In

a moment of weakness he slipped the knives into his pocket, as he

could, and with a low bow stood deferentially until they had passed.

They had scarcely done so when the doctor turned suddenly round,

saying, 'Why, here is Higgs; you could not have a better person than

Higgs.'

'How could I forget him?' said Marjory.

[Illustration: 'HIGGS, I WANT SOME PRIVATE TALK WITH YOU,' SAID THE

DOCTOR.]

'Higgs,' said the doctor, 'I want some private talk with you; we can

neither be overlooked nor overheard here,' he continued, looking

round.

'Entirely secluded, sir, from all observation,' said Higgs, with

another low bow.

'Here, then,' said the doctor, pointing to an ancient cross,

surmounting some broad stone steps, 'let us sit here;' and placing

Miss De la Mark on the higher step, and seating himself by her side,

he pointed to the lower one, telling Shady to sit down. Shady

preferred standing, for two reasons; one was, that it seemed little

less than treason in him to sit in such a presence; the other, he had

apprehensions as to the kind of cushion his pocket would afford, with

its present contents.

'You must come close,' said the doctor; 'we don't want what we say to

be caught by the birds of the air.'

'The library, Dr. Cruden,' said Marjory; 'shall we go to the library?'

How unfortunate! During the many years that Shady Higgs had been

librarian, he had never received an order connected with his post

that he did not hail with delight. Now he fell back, and looked

almost reproachfully at Marjory, she having been the means of

bringing them into the dilemma in which he now stood. But the doctor

did not observe his looks. 'By all means, the library,' he said; 'we

are sure to be safe there;' and assisting Marjory down, he led her

with a quick step towards it, Shady following irresolutely. Opening

the door, he expected to hear the stranger's voice immediately, in

salutation; but all was silent, and the glimmer of the lantern

nowhere revealed a human form. No boards appeared to have been

removed; and as Shady nervously cast his eyes into the remoter parts,

where the shadows were the thickest, he was equally perplexed and

relieved to find nothing but vacancy. 'He must be in the room,' he

thought, 'but where?'

'Now, Higgs,' said the doctor, 'you keep your favourite haunt

lighted: I wish I could hope it was dusted; we are at any rate safe

now. I want you to answer me some questions. You have a

grandmother?'

'Softly,' said Shady, looking round.

'Well, I'm not going to say any harm of her,' said the doctor; 'so

you need not be afraid of her coming. Where is she?'

Shady looked with an expression of innocent surprise. 'My

grandmother Elizabeth?' he asked.

'Yes; commonly called Bet Eggs,' said the doctor.

'Is she not dead?' his large eyes dilating with a questioning look,

which Dr. Cruden could not quite understand.

'Ay; is she, or is she not? that is the point.'

'I have been given to believe she died,' said Shady, quite forgetting

the stranger, in the interest this question had excited in him.

'_Do_ you believe it?' asked the doctor.

'Why should I not?'

'No evasions,' said the doctor, rather sharply; 'answer me plainly.

Is she living?'

'Sir,' said Shady, glancing at Marjory, 'at another time I might

speak of this--'

'_This_ time--_now_,' said the doctor; 'the truth is, Higgs, she is

not dead, and you know it, and you know why her existence is

concealed, and you know--'

'Sir,' said Shady drawing himself to his full height, 'pardon me if I

am wanting in duty, that I contradict you. I know nothing of what

you have said.'

'Has Bloodworth never spoken to you concerning her?'

'It is seldom we converse, and never with my will, excepting on the

household business.'

'How many years is it since you saw her?'

'Twenty--when she crossed the sea, to wait on some noble lady

following her husband.'

'How long since you received the report of her death?'

'I think it may be about a twelvemonth.'

'Well, you have at least reason to doubt the truth of that report?'

He was silent.

'Higgs,' said the doctor, 'you have now an opportunity of proving the

truth of your fidelity and affection to Sir Valary. It is of the

utmost importance to ascertain, whether your grandmother is alive or

dead. What light can you throw upon the matter?'

'Well, if I offend my young lady's ears in what I say, the blame be

far from me,' he answered, with a sigh. 'When my grandmother

Elizabeth had finished the work of nursing my young lady, an ill

feeling was raised against her by some means in the breast of my

gracious lady, her honourable mother. I well remember, though I was

then but a youth, her tears and complaints--yes, and bitter vows of

vengeance too, against the one that had done her this wrong. I

grieved for her, for, though she was harsh and choleric in temper,

she had well supplied the place of parents to me, and I was grateful.

A place was provided for her, and the disgrace in which she left was

unknown to any, save the few concerned in it. I well remember her

words the last time I saw her.'

'What were they?' said the doctor quickly.

'She told me (my young lady will pardon me), she had more power to

injure than her enemies had power to injure her; and nothing but her

love for my young lady would have kept her quiet. "If they desert

you," she said, "I will come back before they expect, and do right to

the wronged."'

'Anything else?'

'Much of the same sort.'

'And how did you get the account of her death?'

'It was reported in the neighbourhood, some time before a letter came

from Dusseldorf, written by the person in whose house she died, and

containing certificates of her death from the doctor and a Lutheran

minister.'

'Did you credit these reports?'

'I did.'

'But have you had anything since to shake your confidence in them?'

'Last summer,' said Shady, 'my young lady will remember the visit of

a German pedlar?'

Marjory assented. 'Looking among his wares for a suitable offering

for my young lady for the next New Year's Day, I found a small purse

of beads, bearing on one side the initials E. H., and on the other

side the crest of De la Mark; the snap and the trimmings were new;

but by the beadwork I recognised it was no other than a purse given

in days of favour by my Lady De la Mark to my grandmother. I

questioned the pedlar as to how he became possessed of it. He told

me he had bought it, with some other trifles, of an aged woman who

was in difficulty and wanted to raise money. I then asked him to

describe the person, and how long it was since he had seen her. His

description differed from what she was at our parting--'bent and

feeble' for strong and upright, 'snow-white hair' for raven black;

but years and sorrow may have done this. He had seen her some ten

months back. Since then, I confess a vague suspicion has crossed my

mind as to the truth of her death.'

'And how was it you did not name this?'

'It never arose to more than suspicion; her things, no doubt, passed

into other hands after her death, if she died. I love quietness, and

would not make marvels.'

'Do you think Bloodworth had any hand in the offence taken by Lady De

la Mark?'

'Bloodworth is a sacrilegious man,' said Shady; 'his evil deeds known

are enough. I would not lay suspicions at his door.'

'Well, Higgs, I tell you it is of the greatest consequence that your

grandmother, if living, should be produced; and I believe you are the

most likely person to find her. Will you go over to the place where

she is said to have died, and ascertain for us the facts, finding

out, if possible, the persons who signed the certificate, and,

indeed, all facts necessary for substantiating either her death or

her life? and in the meantime keep your mission a perfect secret from

every one. I will prepare everything. You will be sent with a

message to me when I am ready for you, and the cause of your

detention must be known to no one.'

Shady was aghast, and far too much surprised to answer.

'This is settled, then. So far, so good,' said the doctor, rising.

'Now, Mr. Shady, let us out of this black hole.'

Marjory looked doubtingly, as Shady stooped down to unfasten the

door; she felt that Dr. Cruden was mistaken, and that many things

conspired to make him unfit for the important mission imposed on him.

A book falling at her feet startled her into a slight cry.

'What! are your books alive, Higgs?' said the doctor, picking it up,

'flying about the place like bats.'

Shady instantly recollected the stranger. While he was debating as

to the course he should pursue, a voice from the top of the room,

which Marjory recognised, said, 'Pardon the intrusion of a friend;'

and the stranger descended the ladder. A more curious group can

hardly be imagined than that on which the light of the lantern now

fell; the slight, small form of Marjory, her face pale with fatigue,

anxiety, and now with something like terror; the parchment-like

visage of Dr. Cruden, his periwig and hat both rather displaced by

stooping for the book; Shady, the very picture of astonishment and

mortification; and the stranger, the only one of the whole who

appeared noways discomfited by his presence among them.

'Mr. Higgs, don't distress yourself; you have done good service to

the house of De la Mark this day, though inadvertently,' said the

stranger. 'I don't fear receiving a full pardon from you, madam, and

from you, sir,' bowing to them respectively, 'when I have disclosed a

few facts. Shall we return to the council table?'

The doctor, putting one hand through the breast of his waistcoat, and

the other under his coat tails, his favourite attitude in delivering

a lecture, surveyed him from head to foot. Regardless of the

scrutiny, he placed himself at the table, and began thus; 'Elizabeth

Higgs is dead--I saw her burial.'

They looked incredulous, but none spoke.

'I was in Dusseldorf at the time, and knew the Lutheran minister who

attended her. She died in peace with all men, and fervently desiring

a blessing on the infant she had left,' bowing to Marjory, 'and

praying heartily for her grandson. I happened to be confined to the

house from an accident at the time, and saw much of her, for we

lodged under the same roof. A little kind sympathy with her

sufferings from a fellow countryman opened her heart, and she

unburdened it to me of every secret that had distressed her--a

revelation I have never confided to human ear, and will not, until it

shall be for the benefit of those whom it concerns. But rest

satisfied; she is dead, and your mission useless.'

The doctor's surprise at all that he had just heard had prevented him

from interrupting the stranger with any questions; but now that he

saw he had told all that he meant to tell, he said, 'You will excuse

me, sir; it is possible that all you have advanced may be perfectly

correct; and I am far from wishing to offend you or any gentleman in

so near a point as doubting veracity; but you will please to remember

that the subject having been so amply discussed in your hearing, and

you being a perfect stranger to us, it is natural that we should look

for something--some confirming evidence--before trusting implicitly

to you; and also, it would be pleasant to know who our informant is,

and, I may add, how he came to drop upon us so opportunely.'

The stranger, looking calmly and steadily at him, replied, 'For my

presence here, I refer you to Miss De la Mark. I am a world-wide

wanderer, without a settled home as yet. I can give you no proof

that I have advanced the truth now. I do not blame you for being

sceptical; but, according to human maxims, you may believe me, since

I have no interest in deceiving you.'

If he would only trust the doctor with some of Bet Eggs' revelations.

The stranger shook his head. 'In due time, when I am wanted, you may

depend upon me: it is not whim, but necessity, that keeps me silent.'

'Answer me one thing,' said the doctor. 'Did the widow Higgs confine

herself to her own history, or--or--'

'Come, Mr. Higgs,' said the stranger, 'advance--I shall beg for a

night's lodging in yonder gallery.'

'He is impenetrable,' thought the doctor.

'I think the portrait of the nurse is hanging there, isn't it,

carrying an infant?'

His three hearers exchanged glances quickly.

He smiled. 'There,' he said, 'is evidence for you.'

'Strange,' said Dr. Cruden; and Shady advanced to the door. All

attempts on the part of the doctor to induce the stranger to return

to his house and become his guest were unavailing.

'No,' he replied; 'I will be Sir Valary's guest, though he shall not

know it. My plaid is an excellent soldier's bed, and I shall sleep

soundly among the shadows of the house of De la Mark.'

'I really believe he is a true man,' said the doctor to Marjory, as

they walked towards the tower, Shady following to obtain the keys.

'There is a frankness in his manner,' replied Marjory, 'that quite

fascinated me when I first met him.'

CHAPTER VI.

Shady's perplexities were great. How to account to Mrs. Gillies for

his long absence, without raising her woman's curiosity, he knew not;

and the knives! he thought, 'Yes, I have the knives,' putting his

hand to his pocket. While the domestic difficulties were being

overcome, we will follow the stranger. He had told Shady not to

hurry himself with the key, for the fresh air, and a stroll among the

ruins, would better accord with his taste than to be again

immediately immured in dust and semi-darkness. While examining a

curious archway, he heard horse hoofs, and looking down saw a man

dismount, fasten his horse to a tree, and climb the bank through a

place where the wall was very low, and would permit scaling easily.

He soon cleared the wall, and stood upon the loose stones within the

quadrangle.

The stranger had time to observe him, being hidden in the shadow of

the archway; there was nothing remarkable in his appearance; his

dress was plain, his age a little more or less than sixty. The

stranger, quitting the archway, advanced to meet him, looking fixedly

upon his face while he spoke.

'Mr. Anthony Bloodworth, I think?' The horseman started, but replied

in the affirmative.

'I am glad,' said the stranger. 'I have long had this to deliver,

and am glad to be rid of it;' and he placed in his hands a small

paper parcel; 'but,' he said, before he relinquished his hold of it,

'there is some receipt or acknowledgment that I must have.'

'What is it? what is it?' asked Bloodworth; 'I must see it before I

can give a receipt.'

'The receipt is written out for you--you have but to sign it.'

Bloodworth opened the packet, which contained two papers, with a

letter.

He glanced continually from the paper to the stranger, and at last,

in a husky voice, asked him how long it had been in his possession.

'I see,' he continued; 'you were acquainted with my correspondent.'

'Yes,' said the stranger, carelessly, 'I knew him well.'

'Have you been long about here?' asked Bloodworth, who was beginning

to put the papers into his pocket.

The stranger produced a small ink-horn, saying, 'The receipt, if you

please.'

'I don't know,' said Bloodworth; 'I would rather convey an important

document in another way. Why, if charged with this for me, did you

wait to meet me here, instead of seeking me at my own dwelling?'

The stranger held the ink-horn. 'Sign the receipt, man,' he said,

not deigning to answer the question.

With much reluctance he drew out the papers, and doing as the

stranger bade him, delivered the document into his hands.

'What brings you here?' he said, looking nervously at him.

'What brings you here?' said the stranger.

'My business,' answered Bloodworth doggedly.

'And I was brought here by your business and my pleasure.'

'Had you any message?' asked the steward, cowed by the stranger's

manner.

'No other than I have delivered; but tell me how long do you mean to

pursue this work? Take my advice; repent, and make a clean breast of

it, or you will be caught in your own toils.'

'Then he has betrayed me,' said Bloodworth, 'and you know all.'

'I know enough to advise you this.'

At this moment Shady approached with the key; he made a sort of

gesture to the steward, as destitute of respect or cordiality as it

could well be, and, turning to the stranger, proffered the key and

his guidance.

'This gentleman,' said the steward, in a lamb-like tone, which Shady

was greatly surprised to hear, 'is a friend of mine, Mr. Higgs, and

as soon as I have waited on Sir Valary I shall be glad to show him

the few curiosities we have.' He was continuing his civil address,

when the stranger, laying his hand on Shady's shoulder, pointed to

the gallery, and left him without reply.

Whatever the papers were that Bloodworth had received, it was evident

they had greatly altered the state of feeling in which he had crossed

the wall. His leaden eyes were then as quiet as stagnant water--now

his whole visage was agitated; he passed his hand nervously over his

face, went towards the tower, and returned, as if in uncertainty. He

had ridden round in order to avoid Dr. Cruden, whom he had been told

in the village was at the Dew, little expecting what he had met with.

Guilt makes a coward; he feared every one he met. Robinson, who was

sitting on the stone steps of the [** Transcriber's note: missing

line of text?] cross carving devices on a stick with his new knife,

looked with amazement at him, as he saluted him with kindness, and

told him gently where to find his horse.

Entering the kitchen, he spoke in the same tone to Mrs. Gillies,

inquiring with respect and concern after Sir Valary and his daughter.

Mrs. Gillies, to whom the sight of him was wormwood, could not help

being struck with his altered tone, and put it down to repentance for

his late misbehaviour. He asked for water, complained of weariness,

and altogether stirred up something less akin to hatred than she was

accustomed to feel for him. 'You have had company to-day, Mrs.

Gillies?' Supposing he meant Dr. Cruden, Mrs. Gillies nodded.

'I'm afraid you were not prepared for him.'

'As for that,' she said quickly, 'we are not allowed enough to keep

the house going at any time; however, he is a plain man, and never

eats nor drinks.'

'Dr. Cruden, you mean?'

'Who else comes here?' said the housekeeper.

By various indirect questions, he ascertained that, so far as Mrs.

Gillies knew, the only person of the household to whom the stranger

had introduced himself was Shady Higgs.

'The house ill kept!' said Bloodworth, after a pause. 'Mrs. Gillies,

I fear that my good intentions towards Sir Valary and the well-being

of his estate have gotten me a poor name, that I ill deserve.'

'Well, I hope you don't deserve all that is said of you,' she

answered blandly; 'there's many as say the money that ought to go for

the proper keeping of the house, as Sir Valary's house ought to be

kept, is worse than sunk in the sea. I know for my part, I'd rather

be the poorest on earth than rich with such gains; and if it was not

for the love to Sir Valary and my young lady, I'd sooner be in a

close cottage, with bread enough and no care, and nothing expected

from me, than be in a corner of a great place like this, with such

stint allowance. Why, you may believe me, if I wasn't to contrive

and to contrive, and keep us three down here at a very near rate, I

could never make what I have enough to serve Sir Valary and my young

lady, even as well as I do serve them. The world is changed a good

deal, for the housekeeper of Parker's Dew to be put to the shifts I

am; and since you give me the liberty to speak, Mr. Bloodworth,' she

continued, growing eloquent on the strength of the steward's silence,

'I may tell you, that if things go on much longer, there is them that

will look into it, and know the reason why; and I've heard as much as

that, and a little more too.'

[Illustration: 'IF THINGS GO ON MUCH LONGER, THERE IS THEM THAT WILL

LOOK INTO IT.']

Bloodworth sat perfectly silent; he may have heard all the

housekeeper's oration, or he may not; probably the latter, for he

looked abstracted, and, taking his hat, said, 'I have a little work

outside--some one to speak to--you need not let Sir Valary know that

I am here, until my return; and for the matter of stint, Mrs.

Gillies, you will be pleased to remember that I am but a servant like

yourself; I have not the ordering of Sir Valary's mind about his

money.'

'What has come to the man?' said the housekeeper, as she watched him

through the heavy stone window: 'I never thought to hear him own

himself a servant; something has taken him down since he was last

here.'

With his head bent down, and his hands folded behind his back, he

walked slowly towards the spot where he had left Shady and the

stranger. He met the former advancing towards the tower.

'What have you done with Mr. Vandercroft?' he said, looking sharply

up.

'Mr. ----?' Shady asked, not catching the name.

'My friend, whom I left with you; I wish to see him.'

'The gentleman is in the portrait gallery,' said Shadrach, 'and has

no desire for company.'

'Not for yours, perhaps.'

'You are correct, Mr. Bloodworth, for he requested me to go; but I

did not take it to be personal, as he desired to be locked in, that

none might intrude.'