“You are a good sailor, I see, and don't fear sea-sickness,” said

Praoontal.

“Don't I? that's all you know of it; but I take everything they bring

me. There's a rasher on its way to me now, if I survive this.”

“I'm for a basin of cold water and coarse towels,” said the other,

rising.

“That's two points in your favor towards having English blood in you,”

said Cutbill, gravely, for already his qualms were returning; “when

a fellow tells you he cares for soap, he can't be out and out a

Frenchman.” This speech was delivered with great difficulty, and when it

was done he rolled over and covered himself up, over face and head, and

spoke no more.

CHAPTER LIV. THE LETTER BAG.

“What a mail-bag!” cried Nelly, as she threw several letters on the

breakfast-table; the same breakfast-table being laid under a spreading

vine, all draped and festooned with a gorgeous clematis.

“I declare,” said Augustus, “I'd rather look out yonder, over the blue

gulf of Cattaro, than see all the post could bring me.”

“This is for you,” said Nelly, handing a letter to L'Estrange.

He reddened as he took it; not that he knew either the writing or the

seal, but that terrible consciousness which besets the poor man in life

leads him always to regard the unknown as pregnant with misfortune: and

so he pocketed his letter, to read it when alone and unobserved.

“Here's Cutbill again. I don't think I care for more Cutbill,” said

Bramleigh; “and here's Sedley; Sedley will keep. This is from Marion.”

“Oh, let us hear Marion by all means,” said Nelly. “May I read

her, Gusty?” He nodded, and she broke the envelope. “Ten lines and a

postscript. She's positively expansive this time:--

“'Victoria, Naples. “'My dear Gusty,--Our discreet and delicate

stepmother has written to ask me to intercede with you to permit M.

Pracontal to pull down part of the house at Castello, to search for some

family papers. I have replied that her demand is both impracticable

and indecent. Be sure that you make a like answer if she addresses you

personally. We mean to leave this soon; but are not yet certain in what

direction. We have been shamefully treated, after having brought this

troublesome and difficult negotiation to a successful end. We shall

withdraw our proxy. “'Yours ever, in much affection, “'Marion Culduff.

“'P. S.--You have heard, I suppose, that Culduff has presented

L'Estrange to a living. It's not in a hunting county, so that he will

not be exposed to temptation; nor are there any idle young men, and

Julia may also enjoy security. Do you know where they are?'”

They laughed long and heartily over this postscript. Indeed, it amused

them to such a degree that they forgot all the preceding part of the

letter. As to the fact of the presentation, none believed it. Read by

the light of Cutbill's former letter, it was plain enough that it was

only one of those pious frauds which diplomacy deals in as largely as

Popery. Marion, they were sure, supposed she was recording a fact; but

her comments on the fact were what amused them most.

“I wonder am I a flirt?” said Julia, gravely.

“I wonder am I a vicar?” said George; and once more the laughter broke

out fresh and hearty.

“Let us have Cutbill now, Nelly. It will be in a different strain. He

's lengthy, too. He not only writes on four, but six sides of note paper

this time.”

“'Dear Bramleigh,--You will be astonished to hear that I travelled back

to England with Count Pracontal or Pracontal de Bramleigh, or whatever

his name be--a right good fellow, frank, straightforward, and, so far as

I see, honest. We hit it off wonderfully together, and became such

good friends that I took him down to my little crib at Bayswater,--an

attention, I suspect, not ill timed, as he does not seem flush of money.

He told me the whole story of his claim, and the way he came first to

know that he had a claim. It was all discovered by a book, a sort of

manuscript journal of his great grandfather's, every entry of which he,

Pracontal, believes to be true as the Bible. He does not remember ever

to have seen his father, though he may have done so before he was put to

the Naval School at Genoa. Of his mother, he knows nothing. From all I

have seen of him, I 'd say that you and he have only to meet to become

warm and attached friends; and it's a thousand pities you should leave

to law and lawyers what a little forbearance, and a little patience, and

a disposition to behave generously on each side might have settled at

once and forever.

“'In this journal that I mentioned there were two pages gummed together,

by accident or design, and on one of these was a sketch of a female

figure in a great wreath of flowers, standing on a sort of pedestal,

on which was written,--“Behind this stone I have deposited books or

documents.” I 'm not sure of the exact words, for they were in Italian,

and it was all I could do to master the meaning of the inscription. Now,

Pracontal was so convinced that these papers have some great bearing on

his claim, that he asked me to write to you to beg permission to make

a search for them under the painting at Castello, of which this

rough sketch is evidently a study. I own to you I feel little of that

confidence that he reposes in this matter. I do not believe in the

existence of the papers, nor see how, if there were any, that they

could be of consequence. But his mind was so full of it, and he was so

persistent in saying, “If I thought this old journal could mislead me,

I 'd cease to believe my right to be as good as I now regard it,” that

I thought I could not do better, in your interest, than to take him with

me to Sedley's, to see what that shrewd old fox would say to him.

P. agreed at once to go; and, what pleased me much, never thought of

communicating with his lawyer nor asking his advice on the step.

“'Though I took the precaution to call on Sedley, and tell him what sort

of man P. was, and how prudent it would be to hear him with a show

of frankness and cordiality, that hard old dog was as stern and as

unbending as if he was dealing with a housebreaker. He said he had no

instructions from you to make this concession; that, though he himself

attached not the slightest importance to any paper that might be found,

were he to be consulted, he would unquestionably refuse this permission;

that Mr. Bramleigh knew his rights too well to be disposed to encourage

persons in frivolous litigation; and that the coming trial would scatter

these absurd pretensions to the winds, and convince M. Pracontal and

his friends that it would be better to address himself seriously to the

business of life than pass his existence in prosecuting a hopeless and

impossible claim.

“'I was much provoked at the sort of lecturing tone the old man assumed,

and struck with astonishment at the good temper and good breeding

with which the other took it. Only once he showed a slight touch of

resentment, when he said, “Have a care, sir, that, while disparaging my

pretensions, you suffer nothing to escape you that shall reflect on the

honor of those who belong to me. I will overlook everything that relates

to _me_. I will pardon nothing that insults _their_ memory.” This

finished the interview, and we took our leave. “We have not gained much

by this step,” said Pracontal, laughing, as we left the house. “Will

you now consent to write to Mr. Bramleigh, for I don't believe he would

refuse my request?” I told him I would take a night to think over it,

and on the same evening came a telegram from Ireland to say that some

strange discoveries were just being made in the Lisconnor mine; that a

most valuable “lode” had been artificially closed up, and that a great

fraud had been practised to depreciate the value of the mine, and

throw it into the market as a damaged concern, while its real worth

was considerable. They desired me to go over at once and report, and

Pracontal, knowing that I should be only a few miles from Bishop's

Folly, to which he clings with an attachment almost incredible,

determined to accompany me.

“'I have no means of even guessing how long I may be detained in

Ireland--possibly some weeks; at all events let me have a line to say

you will give me this permission. I say, “give _me_” because I shall

strictly confine the investigation to the limits I myself think

requisite, and in reality use the search as one means of testing what

importance may attach to this journal, on which Pracontal relies so

implicitly; and in the event of the failure--that I foresee and would

risk a bet upon--I would employ the disappointment as a useful agent in

dissuading Pracontal from farther pursuit.

“'I strongly urge you, therefore, not to withhold this permission. It

seems rash to say that a man ought to furnish his antagonist with a

weapon to fight him; but you have always declared you want nothing but

an honest, fair contest, wherein the best man should win. You have also

said to me that you often doubted your own actual sincerity. You can

test it now, and by a touchstone that cannot deceive. If you say

to Pracontal, “There's the key, go in freely; there is nothing to

hide--nothing to fear,” you will do more to strengthen the ground

you stand on than by all the eloquence of your lawyer; and if I know

anything of this Frenchman, he is not the man to make an ill requital

to such a generous confidence. Whatever you decide on, reply at once.

I have no time for more, but will take my letter with me and add a line

when I reach Ireland.

“'Liscownor, Friday Night

“'They were quite right; there was a most audacious fraud concocted, and

a few days will enable me to expose it thoroughly. I 'm glad Lord

Culduff had nothing to say to it, but more for your sake than his. The

L'Estranges are safe; they'll have every shilling of their money, and

with a premium, too.'”

Nelly laid down the letter and looked over to where George and his

sister sat, still and motionless. It was a moment of deep feeling and

intense relief, but none could utter a word. At last Julia said,--

“What a deal of kindness there is in that man, and how hard we felt it

to believe it, just because he was vulgar. I declare I believe we must

be more vulgar still to attach so much to form and so little to fact.”

“There is but one line more,” said Nelly, turning over the page.

“'Pracontal has lost all his spirits. He has been over to see a

place belonging to a Mr. Longworth here, and has come back so sad and

depressed as though the visit had renewed some great sorrow. We have not

gone to Bishop's Folly yet, but mean to drive over there to-morrow. Once

more, write to me.

“'Yours ever,

“'T. Cutbill.'”

“I shall not give this permission,” said Bramleigh, thoughtfully.

“Sedley's opinion is decidedly adverse, and I shall abide by it.”

Now, though he said these words with an air of apparent determination,

he spoke in reality to provoke discussion and hear what others might

say. None, however, spoke, and he waited some minutes.

“I wish you would say if you agree with me,” cried he at last.

“I suspect very few would give the permission,” said Julia, “but that

you are one of that few I believe also.”

“Yes, Gusty,” said Nelly. “Refuse it, and what becomes of that fair

spirit in which you have so often said you desired to meet this issue?”

“What does George say?” asked Bramleigh. “Let's hear the Church.”

“Well,” said L'Estrange, in that hesitating, uncertain way he usually

spoke in, “if a man were to say to me, 'I think I gave you a sovereign

too much in change just now. Will you search your purse, and see if I'm

not right?' I suppose I'd do so.”

“And of course you mean that if the restitution rose to giving back some

thousands a year, it would be all the same?” said Julia.

“It would be harder to do, perhaps--of course; I mean--but I hope I

could do it.”

“And _I_,” said Bramleigh, in a tone that vibrated with feeling, “_I_

hoped a few days back that no test to my honesty or my sincerity would

have been too much for me--that all I asked or cared for was that the

truth should prevail--I find myself now prevaricating with myself,

hair-splitting, and asking have I a right to do this, that, or t'other?

I declare to heaven, when a man takes refuge in that self-put question,

'Have I the right to do something that inclination tells me not to do?'

he is nearer a contemptible action than he knows of. And is there not

one here will say that I ought, or ought not, to refuse this request?”

“I do not suppose such a request was ever made before,” said L'Estrange.

“There lies the real difficulty of deciding what one should do.”

“Here's a note from Mr. Sedley,” cried Nelly. “Is it not possible that

it may contain something that will guide us?”

“By all means read Sedley,” said Bramleigh. And she opened and read:--

“'Dear Sir,--

“'A Mr. Cutbill presented himself to me here last week, alleging he was

an old and intimate friend of yours, and showing unquestionable signs

of being well acquainted with your affairs. He was accompanied by M.

Pracontal, and came to request permission to make searches at Castello

for certain documents which he declared to be of great importance to the

establishment of his claim. I will not stop to say what I thought, or

indeed said, of such a proposal, exceeding in effrontery anything I had

ever listened to.

“'Of course I not only refused this permission, but declared I would

immediately write to you, imploring you, on no account or through any

persuasion, to yield to it.

“'They left me, and apparently so disconcerted and dissuaded by my

reception that I did not believe it necessary to address you on the

subject. To my amazement, however, I learn from Kelson this morning that

they actually did gain entrance to the house, and, by means which I have

not yet ascertained, prosecuted the search they desired, and actually

discovered the church registers of Portshandon, in one page of which

is the entry of the marriage of Montague Bramleigh and Enrichetta Lami,

with the name of the officiating clergyman and the attendant witnesses.

Kelson forwards me a copy of this, while inviting me to inspect the

original. My first step, however, has been to take measures to proceed

against these persons for robbery; and I have sent over one of my clerks

to Ireland to obtain due information as to the events that occurred,

and to institute proceedings immediately. I do not believe that they

committed a burglary, but it was a felonious entry all the same.

“'The important fact, however, lies in this act of registration, which,

however fraudulently obtained, will be formidable evidence on a trial.

You are certainly not happy in your choice of friends, if this Mr.

Cutbill be one of them; but I hope no false sentiment will induce you

to step between this man and his just punishment. He has done you an

irreparable mischief, and by means the most shameful and inexcusable.

I call the mischief irreparable, since, looking to the line of argument

adopted by our leading counsel on the last trial, the case chiefly

turned on the discredit that attached to this act of marriage. I cannot

therefore exaggerate the mischief this discovery has brought us. You

must come over at once. The delay incurred by letter-writing, and the

impossibility of profiting by any new turn events may take, renders your

presence here essential, and without it I declare I cannot accept any

further responsibility in this case.

“'A very flippant note from Mr. Cutbill has just reached me. He narrates

the fact of the discovered books, and says, “It is not too late for B.

to make terms. Send for him at once, and say that Count P. has no

desire to push him to the wall.” It is very hard to stomach this man's

impertinence, but I hesitate now as to what course to take regarding

him. Let me hear by telegraph that you are coming over: for I repeat

that I will not engage myself to assume the full responsibility of the

case, or take any decisive step without your sanction.'

“What could Cutbill mean by such conduct?” cried Nelly. “Do you

understand it at all, Gusty?” Bramleigh merely shook his head in token

of negative.

“It all came of the man's meddlesome disposition,” said Julia.” The

mischievous people of the world are not the malevolent--_they_ only do

harm with an object: but the meddling creatures are at it day and night,

scattering seeds of trouble out of very idleness.”

“Ju 's right,” said George; but in such a tone of habitual approval

that set all the rest laughing.

“I need not discuss the question of permitting the search,” said

Bramleigh; “these gentlemen have saved me _that_. The only point now

open is, shall I go over to England or not?”

“Go by all means,” said Julia, eagerly. “Mr. Sedley's advice cannot be

gainsaid.”

“But it seems to me our case is lost,” said he, as his eyes turned to

Nelly, whose face expressed deep sorrow.

“I fear so,” said she, in a faint whisper.

“Then why ask me to leave this, and throw myself into a hopeless

contest? Why am I, to quit this spot, where I have found peace and

contentment, to encounter the struggle that, even with all my conviction

of failure, will still move me to hope and expectancy?”

“Just because a brave soldier fights even after defeat seems certain,”

said Julia. “More than one battle has been won from those who had

already despatched news of their victory.”

“You may laugh at me, if you like,” said L'Estrange, “but Julia is right

there.” And they did laugh, and the laughter was so far good that it

relieved the terrible tension of their nerves, and rallied them back to

ease and quietude.

“I see,” said Bramleigh, “that you all think I ought to go over to

England; and though none of you can know what it will cost me in

feeling, I will go.”

“There's a messenger from the Podestà of Cattaro waiting all this

time, Gusty, to know about this English sailor they have arrested. The

authorities desire to learn if you will take him off their hands.”

“George is my vice-consul. He shall deal with him,” said Bramleigh,

laughing, “for as the steamer touches at two o'clock, I shall be run

sharp to catch her. If any one will help me to pack, I 'll be more than

grateful.”

“We'll do it in a committee of the whole house,” said Julia, “for when a

man's trunk is once corded he never goes back of his journey.”

CHAPTER LV. THE PRISONER AT CATTARO

So much occupied and interested were the little household of the villa

in Bramleigh's departure--there were so many things to be done, so

many things to be remembered--that L'Estrange never once thought of the

messenger from the Podestà, who still waited patiently for his answer.

“I declare,” said Julia, “that poor man is still standing in the hall.

For pity's sake, George, give him some answer, and send him away.”

“But what is the answer to be, Ju? I have not the faintest notion of

how these cases are dealt with.”

“Let us look over what that great book of instructions says. I used

to read a little of it every day when we came first, and I worried Mr.

Bramleigh so completely with my superior knowledge that he carried it

off and hid it.”

“Oh, I remember now. He told me he had left it at the consulate, for

that you were positively driving him distracted with official details.”

“How ungrateful men are! They never know what good 'nagging' does them.

It is the stimulant that converts half the sluggish people in the world

into reasonably active individuals.”

“Perhaps we are occasionally over-stimulated,” said George, dryly.

“If so, it is by your own vanity. Men are spoiled by their fellow-men,

and not by women. There, now, you look very much puzzled at that

paradox--as you 'd like to call it--but go away and think over it, and

say this evening if I'm not right.”

“Very likely you are,” said he, in his indolent way; “but whether or

not, you always beat me in a discussion.”

“And this letter from the Podesta; who is to reply, or what is the

reply to be?”

“Well,” said he, after a pause, “I think of the two I 'd rather speak

bad Italian than write it. I 'll go down and see the Podestà.”

“There 's zeal and activity,” said Julia, laughing. “Never disparage

the system of nagging after that. Poor George,” said she as she looked

after him while he set out for Cattaro, “he 'd have a stouter heart to

ride a six-foot wall than for the interview that is now before him.”

“And yet,” said Nelly, “it was only a moment ago you were talking to

him about his vanity.”

“And I might as well have talked about his wealth. But you 'd spoil

him, Nelly, if I was n't here to prevent it. These indolent men get into

the way of believing that languor and laziness are good temper; and as

George is really a fine-hearted fellow, I 'm angry when he falls back

upon his lethargy for his character, instead of trusting, as he could

and as he ought, to his good qualities.”

Nelly blushed, but it was with pleasure. This praise of one she

liked--liked even better than she herself knew--was intense enjoyment to

her.

Let us now turn to L'Estrange, who strolled along towards Cattaro--now

stopping to gather the wild anemones which, in every splendid variety

of color, decked the sward--now loitering to gaze at the blue sea, which

lay still and motionless at his feet. There was that voluptuous sense of

languor in the silence--the loaded perfume of the air--the drowsy hum

of insect life--the faint plash with which the sea, unstirred by wind,

washed the shore--that harmonized to perfection with his own nature; and

could he but have had Nelly at his side to taste the happiness with

him, he would have deemed it exquisite, for, poor fellow, he was in

love after his fashion. It was not an ardent impulsive passion, but it

consumed him slowly and certainly, all the same. He knew well that

his present life of indolence and inactivity could not, ought not, to

continue--that without some prompt effort on his part, his means of

subsistence would be soon exhausted; but as the sleeper begs that he may

be left to slumber on, and catch up, if he may, the dream that has

just been broken, he seemed to entreat of fate a little longer of the

delicious trance in which he now was living. His failures in life had

deepened in him that sense of humility which in coarse natures turns

to misanthropy, but in men of finer mould makes them gentle, and

submissive, and impressionable. His own humble opinion of himself

deprived him of all hope of winning Nelly's affection, but he saw--or

he thought he saw--in her that love of simple pleasures and of a life

removed from all ambitions, that led him to believe she would not regard

his pretensions with disdain. And then he felt that, thrown together

into that closer intimacy their poverty had brought about, he had

maintained towards her a studious deference and respect which had

amounted almost to coldness, for he dreaded that she should think he

would have adventured, in their fallen fortunes, on what he would never

have dared in their high and palmy days.

“Well,” said he, aloud, as he looked at the small fragment of an almost

finished cigar, “I suppose it is nigh over now! I shall have to go and

seek my fortune in Queensland, or New Zealand, or some far-away country,

and all I shall carry with me will be the memory of this dream--for

it is a dream--of our life here. I wonder shall I ever, as I have seen

other men, throw myself into my work, and efface the thought of myself,

and of my own poor weak nature, in the higher interests that will press

on me for action.”

What should he do if men came to him for guidance, or counsel, or

consolation. Could he play the hypocrite, and pretend to give what he

had not got? or tell them to trust to what he bitterly knew was not

the sustaining principle of his own life? “This shall be so no longer,”

cried he; “if I cannot go heart and soul into my work, I 'll turn farmer

or fisherman. I 'll be what I can be without shame and self-reproach.

One week more of this happiness--one week--and I vow to tear myself from

it forever.”

As he thus muttered, he found himself in the narrow street that led into

the centre of the little town, which, blocked up by fruit-stalls

and fish-baskets, required all his address to navigate. The whole

population, too, were screaming out their wares in the shrill cries of

the South, and invitations to buy were blended with droll sarcasms on

rival productions and jeering comments on the neighbors. Though full

of deference for the unmistakable signs of gentleman in his appearance,

they did not the less direct their appeals to him as he passed, and the

flatteries on his handsome face and graceful figure mingled with the

praises of whatever they had to sell.

Half amused, but not a little flurried by all the noise and tumult

around him, L'Estrange made his way through the crowd till he reached

the dingy entrance which led to the still dingier stair of the Podestà's

residence.

L'Estrange had scarcely prepared the speech in which he should announce

himself as charged with consular functions, when he found himself in

presence of a very dirty little man, with spectacles and a skull-cap,

whose profuse civilities and ceremonious courtesies actually overwhelmed

him. He assured L'Estrange that there were no words in Italian--nor even

in German, for he spoke in both--which could express a fractional part

of the affliction he experienced in enforcing measures that savored of

severity on a subject of that great nation which had so long been the

faithful friend and ally of the imperial house. On this happy political

union it was clear he had prepared himself historically, for he gave

a rapid sketch of the first empire, and briefly threw off a spirited

description of the disastrous consequences of the connection with

France, and the passing estrangement from Great Britain. By this time,

what between the difficulties of a foreign tongue, and a period with

which the poor parson was not, historically, over conversant, he was

completely mystified and bewildered. At last the great functionary

condescended to become practical. He proceeded to narrate that

an English sailor, who had been landed at Ragusa by some Greek

coasting-vessel, had come over on foot to Cat-taro to find his consul as

a means of obtaining assistance to reach England. There were, however,

suspicious circumstances about the man that warranted the police in

arresting him and carrying him off to prison. First of all, he was

very poor, almost in rags, and emaciated to a degree little short of

starvation. These were signs that vouched little for a man's character;

indeed, the Podestà thought them damaging in the last degree; but there

were others still worse. There were marks on his wrists and ankles which

showed he had lately worn manacles and fetters--unmistakable marks:

marks which the practised eye of gendarmes had declared must have been

produced by the heavy chains worn by galley-slaves, so that the man was,

without doubt, an escaped convict, and might be, in consequence, a very

dangerous individual.

As the prisoner spoke neither Italian nor German, there was no means of

interrogating him. They had therefore limited themselves to taking

him into custody, and now held him at the disposal of the consular

authority, to deal with him as it might please.

“May I see him?” asked L'Estrange.

“By all means; he is here. We have had him brought from the prison

awaiting your Excellency's arrival. Perhaps you would like to have him

handcuffed before he is introduced. The brigadier recommends it.”

“No, no. If the poor creature be in the condition you tell me, he

cannot be dangerous.” And the stalwart curate threw a downward look at

his own brawny proportions with a satisfied smile that did not show much

fear.

The brigadier whispered something in the Podestà's ear in a low tone,

and the great man then said aloud--“He tells me that he could slip the

handcuffs on him now quite easily, for the prisoner is sound asleep, and

so overcome by fatigue that he hears nothing.”

“No, no,” reiterated L'Estrange. “Let us have no hand-cuffs; and with

your good permission, too, I would ask another favor: let the poor

fellow take his sleep out. It will be quite time enough for me to see

him when he awakes.”

The Podestà turned a look of mingled wonder and pity on the man who

could show such palpable weakness in official life; but he evidently

felt he could not risk his dignity by concurrence in such a line of

conduct.

“If your Excellency,” said he, “tells me it is in this wise prisoners

are treated in your country, I have no more to say.”

“Well, well; let him be brought up,” said L'Estrange, hastily, and more

than ever anxious to get free of this Austrian Dogberry.

Nothing more was said on either side while the brigadier went down

to bring up the prisoner. The half darkened room, the stillness, the

mournful ticking of a clock that made the silence more significant, all

impressed L'Estrange with a mingled feeling of weariness and depression;

and that strange melancholy that steals over men at times, when all the

events of human life seem sad-colored and dreary, now crept over him,

when the shuffling sounds of feet, and the clanging of a heavy sabre,

apprised him that the escort was approaching.

“We have no treaty with any of the Italian Governments,” said the

Podestà, “for extradition; and if the man be a galley-slave, as we

suspect, we throw all the responsibility of his case on you.” As he

spoke, the door opened, and a young man with a blue flannel shirt and

linen trousers entered, freeing himself from the hands of the gendarmes

with a loose shake, as though to say, “In presence of my countrymen in

authority, I owe no submission to these.” He leaned on the massive rail

that formed a sort of barrier in the room, and with one hand pushed back

the long hair that fell heavily over his face.

“What account do you give of yourself, my man?” said L'Estrange, in a

tone half-commanding, half-encouraging.

“I have come here to ask my consul to send me on to England, or to some

seaport where I may find a British vessel,” said the man, and his voice

was husky and weak, like that of one just out of illness.

“How did you come to these parts?” asked L'Estrange.

“I was picked up at sea by a Greek trabaccolo, and landed at Antivari;

the rest of the way I came on foot.”

“Were you cast away? or how came it that you were picked up?”

“I made my escape from the Bagni at Ischia. I had been a galley-slave

there.” The bold effrontery of the declaration was made still more

startling by a sort of low laugh which followed his words.

“You seem to think it a light matter to have been at the galleys, my

friend,” said L'Estrange, half reprovingly. “How did it happen that an

Englishman should be in such a discreditable position?”

“It's a long story--too long for a hungry man to tell,” said the

sailor; “perhaps too long for your own patience to listen to. At all

events, it has no bearing on my present condition.”

“I'm not so sure of that, my good fellow. Men are seldom sentenced to

the galleys for light offences; and I 'd like to know something of the

man I'm called on to befriend.”

“I make you the same answer I gave before--the story would take more

time than I have well strength for. Do you know,” said he, earnestly,

and in a voice of touching significance, “it is twenty-eight hours since

I have tasted food?”

L'Estrange leaned forward in his chair, like one expecting to hear more,

and eager to catch the words aright; and then rising, walked over to the

rail where the prisoner stood. “You have not told me your name,” said

he, in a voice of kindly meaning.

“I have been called Sam Rogers for some time back; and I mean to be Sam

Rogers a little longer.”

“But it is not your real name?” asked L'Estrange, eagerly.

The other made no reply for some seconds; and then, moving his hand

carelessly through his hair, said, in a half-reckless way, “I declare,

sir, I can't see what you have to do with my name, whether I be Sam

Rogers, or--or--anything else I choose to call myself. To you--I

believe, at least--to you I am simply a distressed British sailor.”

“And you are Jack Bramleigh?” said L'Estrange, in a low tone, scarcely

above a whisper, while he grasped the sailor's hands, and shook them

warmly.

“And who are you?” said Jack, in a voice shaken and faltering.

“Don't you know me, my poor dear fellow? Don't you remember George

L'Estrange?”

What between emotion and debility, this speech unmanned him so that he

staggered back a couple of paces, and sank down heavily, not fainting,

but too weak to stand, too much overcome to utter.

CHAPTER LVI. AT LADY AUGUSTA'S

“The Count Pracontal, my Lady,” said a very grave-looking groom of the

chambers, as Lady Augusta sat watching a small golden squirrel swinging

by his tail from the branch of a camellia tree.

“Say I am engaged, Hislop--particularly engaged. I do not receive--or,

wait; tell him I am much occupied, but if he is quite sure his visit

shall not exceed five minutes, he may come in.”

Count Pracontal seemed as though the permission had reached his

own ears, for he entered almost immediately, and, bowing deeply and

deferentially, appeared to wait leave to advance further into the room.

“Let me have my chocolate, Hislop;” and, as the man withdrew, she

pointed to a chair, and said, “There. When did you come back?”

Pracontal, however, had dropped on his knee before her, and pressed her

hand to his lips with a fervid devotion, saying, “How I have longed and

waited for this moment!”

“I shall ring the bell, sir, if you do not be seated immediately. I

asked when you returned?”

“An hour ago, my Lady--less than an hour ago. I did not dare to write;

and then I wished to be myself the bearer of my own good news.”

“What good news are these?”

“That I have, if not won my suit, secured the victory. The registries

have been discovered--found in the very spot indicated in the journal.

The entries are complete; and nothing is wanting to establish the

legality of the marriage. Oh, I entreat you, do not listen to me so

coldly! You know well for what reason I prize this success. You know

well what gives its brightest lustre in my eyes.”

“Pray be narrative now--the emotional can be kept for some other time.

Who says that this means success?”

“My lawyer, Mr. Kelson. He calls the suit won. He proves his belief, for

he has advanced me money to pay off my debt to Longworth, and to place

me in a position of ease and comfort.”

“And what is Kelson; is he one of the judges?”

“Of course not. He is one of the leading solicitors of London; a very

grave, thoughtful, cautious man. I have shown you many of his letters.

You must remember him.”

“No; I never remember people; that is, if they have not personally

interested me. I think you have grown thin. You look as if you had been

ill.”

“I have fretted a good deal,--worried myself; and my anxiety about you

has made me sleepless and feverish.”

“About _me!_ Why, I was never better in my life.”

“Your looks say as much; but I meant my anxiety to lay my tidings at

your feet, and with them myself and my whole future.”

“You may leave the chocolate there, Hislop,” as the man entered with the

tray; “unless Count Pracontal would like some.”

“Thanks, my Lady,” said he, bowing his refusal.

“You are wrong, then,” said she, as the servant withdrew. “Hislop makes

it with the slightest imaginable flavor of the cherry laurel; and it is

most soothing. Is n't he a love?”

“Hislop?”

“No, my darling squirrel yonder. The poor dear has been ill these two

days. He bit Sir Marcus Guff, and that horrid creature seems to have

disagreed with the darling, for he has pined ever since. Don't caress

him; he hates men, except Monsignore Alberti, whom, probably, he

mistakes for an old lady. And what becomes of all the Bramleighs--are

they left penniless?”

“By no means. I do not intend to press my claim farther than the right

to the estates. I am not going to proceed for--I forget the legal

word--the accumulated profits. Indeed, if Mr. Bramleigh be only animated

by the spirit I have heard attributed to him, there is no concession

that I am not disposed to make him.”

“What droll people Frenchmen are! They dash their morality, like their

cookery, with something discrepant. They fancy it means 'piquancy.'

What, in the name of all romance, have you to do with the Bramleighs?

Why all this magnanimity for people who certainly have been keeping you

out of what was your own, and treating your claim to it as a knavery?”

“You might please to remember that we are related.”

“Of course you are nothing of the kind. If _you_ be the true prince, the

others must be all illegitimate a couple of generations back. Perhaps

I am imbittered against them by that cruel fraud practised on myself.

I cannot bring myself to forgive it. Now, if you really were that fine

generous creature you want me to believe, it is of _me_, of me, Lady

Augusta Bramleigh, you would be thinking all this while: how to

secure _me_ that miserable pittance they called my settlement; how to

recompense _me_ for the fatal mistake I made in my marriage; how to

distinguish between the persons who fraudulently took possession of your

property, and the poor harmless victim of their false pretensions.”

“And is not this what I am here for? Is it not to lay my whole fortune

at your feet?”

“A very pretty phrase, that does n't mean anything like what it

pretends; a phrase borrowed from a vaudeville, and that ought to be

restored to where it came from.”

“Lord and Lady Culduff, my Lady, wish to pay their respects.”

“They are passing through,” said Lady Augusta, reading the words written

in pencil on the card presented by the servant. “Of course I must see

them. You need n't go away, Count; but I shall not present you. Yes,

Hislop, tell her Ladyship I am at home. I declare, you are always

compromising me. Sit over yonder, and read your newspaper, or play with

Felice.”

She had barely finished these instructions when the double door was

flung wide, and Marion swept proudly in. Her air and toilet were both

queenlike; and, indeed, her beauty was not less striking than either.

Lord Culduff followed, a soft pleasant smile on his face. It might do

service in many ways, for it was equally ready to mean sweetness or

sarcasm, as occasion called for.

When the ladies had kissed twice, and his Lordship had saluted Lady

Augusta with a profound respect, dashed with a sort of devotion,

Marion's eyes glanced at the stranger, who, though he arose, and only

reseated himself as they sat down, neither lifted his glance nor seemed

to notice them further.

“We are only going through; we start at two o'clock,” said she,

hurriedly.

“At one-forty, my Lady,” said Lord Culduff, with a faint smile, as

though shocked at being obliged to correct her.

“It was so kind of you to come,” said Lady Augusta; “and you only

arrived this morning?”

“We only arrived half an hour ago.”

“I must order you some lunch. I'm sure you can eat something.”

“My Lady is hungry; she said so as we came along,” said Lord Culduff.

“Allow me to ring for you. As for myself, I take Liebig's lozenges and a

spoonful of Curaçoa--nothing else--before dinner.”

“It's so pleasant to live with people who are 'dieted,'” said Marion,

with a sneering emphasis on the word.

“So I hear from Bramleigh,” interposed Lord Culduff, “that this man--I

forget his name--actually broke into the house at Casteilo, and carried

away a quantity of papers.”

“My Lord, as your Lordship is so palpably referring to me, and as I am

quite sure you are not aware of my identity, may I hasten to say I am

Count Pracontal de Bramleigh?”

“Oh, dear! have I forgotten to present you?” said Lady Augusta, with a

perfect simplicity of manner.

Marion acknowledged the introduction by the slightest imaginable bow,

and a look of cold defiance; while Lord Culduff smiled blandly, and

professed his regret if he had uttered a word that could occasion pain.

“Love and war are chartered libertines, and why not law?” said the

Viscount. “I take it that all stratagems are available; the great thing

is, they should be successful.”

“Count Pracontal declares that he can pledge himself to the result,”

said Lady Augusta. “The case, in fact, as he represents it, is as good

as determined.”

“Has a jury decided, then?” asked Culduff.

“No, my Lord; the trial comes on next term. I only repeat the assurance

given me by my lawyer; and so far confirmed by him that he has made me

large advances, which he well knows I could not repay if I should not

gain my cause.”

“These are usually cautious people,” said the Viscount, gravely.

“It strikes me,” said Marion, rising, “that this sort of desultory

conversation on a matter of such importance is, to say the least,

inconvenient. Even the presence of this gentleman is not sufficient to

make me forget that my family have always regarded his pretension as

something not very far from a fraud.”

“I regret infinitely, madam,” said Pracontal, bowing low, “that it is

not a man has uttered the words just spoken.”

“Lady Culduff's words, sir, are all mine,” said Lord Culduff.

“I thank your Lordship from my heart for the relief you have afforded

me.”

“There must be nothing of this kind,” said Lady Augusta, warmly. “If I

have been remiss in not making Count Pracontal known to you before, let

me repair my error by presenting him now as a gentleman who makes me the

offer of his hand.”

“I wish you good-morning,” said Marion. “No, thank you; no luncheon.

Your Ladyship has given me fully as much for digestion as I care for.

Good-bye.”

“If my congratulations could only shadow forth a vision of all the

happiness I wish your Ladyship,” began Lord Culduff.

“I think I know, my Lord, what you would say,” broke she in, laughingly.

“You would like to have uttered something very neat on well-assorted

unions. There could be no better authority on such a subject; but Count

Pracontal is toleration itself: he lets me tell my friends that I am

about to marry him for money, just as I married poor Colonel Bramleigh

for love.”

“I am waiting for you, my Lord. We have already trespassed too far on

her Ladyship's time and occupations.” The sneering emphasis on the last

word was most distinct. Lord Culduff kissed Lady Augusta's hand with a

most devoted show of respect, and slowly retired.

As the door closed after them, Pracontal fell at her feet, and covered

her hand with kisses.

“There, there, Count, I have paid a high price for that piece of

impertinence I have just uttered; but when I said it, I thought it would

have given her an apoplexy.”

“But you are mine,--you are my own!”

“_Noud en parlerons_. The papers are full of breaches of promise;

and if you want me to keep mine, you 'll not make it odious to me by

tormenting me about it.”

“But, my Lady, I have a heart; a heart that would be broken by a

betrayal.”

“What a strange heart for a Frenchman! About as suitable to the

Boulevards Italiens as snow shoes to the tropics. Monsieur de

Pracontal,” said she, in a much graver tone, “please to bear in mind

that I am a very considerable item in such an arrangement as we spoke

of. The _whole_ question is not what would make _you_ happy.”

Pracontal bowed low in silence; his gesture seemed to accept her words

as a command to be obeyed, and he did not utter a syllable.

“Is n't she handsome?” cried she, at length. “I declare, Count, if one

of your countrywomen had a single one of the charms of that beautiful

face she 'd be turning half the heads in Europe; and Marion can do

nothing with them all, except drive other women wild with envy.”

CHAPTER LVII. AT THE INN AT CATTARO.

When L'Estrange had carried off Jack Bramleigh to the inn, and had seen

him engaged with an excellent breakfast, he despatched a messenger to

the villa to say that he was not to be expected home by dinner time,

but would be back to tea “with a friend,” for whom he begged Gusty

Bramleigh's room might be prepared.

I shall not delay to chronicle all the doubt, the discussion, and

the guessing that the note occasioned; the mere fact that George had

ventured to issue an order of this kind without first consulting

Julia investing the step with a degree of mysteriousness perfectly

inscrutable. I turn, however, to Cattaro, where L'Estrange and Jack sat

together, each so eager to hear the other's tidings as to be almost too

impatient to dwell upon himself.

To account for their presence in this remote spot, George, as briefly as

he could, sketched the course of events at Castello, not failing to lay

due stress on the noble and courageous spirit with which Augustus and

Nelly had met misfortune. “All is not lost yet,” said L'Estrange; “far

from it; but even if the worst should come, I do not know of two people

in the world who will show a stouter front to adversity.”

“And your sister, where is she?” said Jack, in a voice scarce above a

whisper.

“Here,--at the villa.”

“Not married?”

“No. I believe she has changed less than any of us. She is just what you

remember her.”

It was not often that L'Estrange attempted anything like adroitness in

expression; but he did so here, and saw, in the heightened color and

sparkling eye of the other, how thoroughly his speech had succeeded.

“I wonder will she know me!” said Jack, after a pause. “_You_ certainly

did not at first.”

“Nor, for that matter, did _you_ recognize _me_.”

“Ah, but I did, though,” said Jack, passing his hand over his brow; “but

I had gone through so much, and my head was so knocked about, I could

n't trust that my senses were not deceiving me, and I thought if I make

any egregious blunder now, these people will set me down for mad. That

was the state I was in the whole time you were questioning me. I promise

you it was no small suffering while it lasted.”

“My poor fellow, what trials you must have gone through to come to

this! Tell me by what mischance you were at Ischia.”

With all a sailor's frankness, and with a modesty in speaking of his own

achievements just as sailor-like, Jack told the story of the storm at

Naples.

“I had no thought of breaking the laws,” said he, bluntly. “I saw ships

foundering, and small craft turning keel uppermost on every side of me;

there was disaster and confusion everywhere. I had no time to inquire

about the morals of the men I saw clinging to hencoops, or holding on by

stretchers. I saved as many as I could, and sorry enough I was to have

seen many go down before I could get near them; and I was fairly beat

when it was all over, or, perhaps, they 'd not have captured me so

easily. At all events,” said he, after a minute's silence, “they might

have let me off with a lighter sentence, but my temper got the better of

me in court, and when they asked me if it was not true that I had made

greater efforts to save the galley-slaves than the soldiery, I told them

it might have been so, for the prisoners, chained and handcuffed, as

they were, went down like brave men, while the royal troops yelled and

screamed like a set of arrant cowards; and that whenever I pulled one

of the wretches out of the water I was half ashamed of my own humanity.

That speech settled me; at least, the lawyer said so, and declared he

was afraid to say a word more in defence of a man that insulted the

tribunal and the nation together.”

“And what was your sentence?”

“Death,--commuted to the galleys for life; worse than any death!

It's not the hardship or the labor, I mean. A sailor goes through more

downright hard work on a blowy night than these fellows do in a year.

It is the way a man brutalizes when vice and crime make up the whole

atmosphere of his life. The devil has a man's heart all his own,

whenever hope deserts it, and you want to do wickedness just because it

_is_ wickedness. For three weeks before I made my escape, it was all

I could do not to dash the turnkey's brains out when he made his night

round. I told my comrade--the man I was chained to--what I felt; and he

said, 'We all go through that at first; but when you 're some years here

you 'll not care for that or anything.' I believe it was the terror of

coming to that condition made me try to escape. I don't know that I ever

felt the same ecstasy of delight that I felt as I found myself swimming

in that fresh cold sea in the silence of a calm starry night. I 'm sure

it will be a memory that will last my lifetime. I thought of you all,--I

thought of long ago, of our happy evenings; and I pictured to my mind

the way we used to sit around the fire, and I wondered what had become

of my place. Was I ever remembered? Was I spoken of? Could it be that

at that very moment some one was asking, where was poor Jack? And how I

wished you might all know that my last thoughts were upon you; that it

was the dear old long ago was before me to the last. I was seventeen

hours in the water. When they picked me up I was senseless from a

sun-stroke; for the corks floated me long after I gave up swimming. I

was so ill when I landed that I went to hospital; but there was little

care given to the sick, and I left it when I was able to walk, and came

on here. Talk of luck; but I ask you was there ever such a piece of

fortune befell a man?”

L'Estrange could not speak as he gazed on the poor fellow, over whose

worn and wasted features joy had lighted up a look of delight that

imparted an almost angelic elevation to his face.

“But can I go back like this?” asked he, sorrowfully, as he looked down

at his ragged clothes and broken shoes.

“I have thought of all that There is nothing to be had here ready but

Montenegrin costume, so the landlord tells me, and you will have to

figure in something very picturesque.”

“Cannot I get a sailor's jacket and trousers?”

“Aye, of Dalmatian cut and color; but they 'll not become you as well as

that green velvet attila and the loose hose of the mountaineer. Try if

you can't take a sleep now; and when you awake you 'll find your new rig

in that room yonder, where there 's a bath ready for you. I 'll go

down the town, meanwhile, and do a few commissions, and we will set out

homewards when you 're rested.”

“I wish it was over,” said Jack, with a sigh.

“Wish what was over?”

“I mean I wish the shock was over,--the shock of seeing me such an

object as I am. Sickness changes a man quite enough, but there's worse

than that, George. I know what this rough life of mine must have made of

me. You won't say it, old fellow, but I see it in your sad face all

the same. I am--say it out, man--I am a most disreputable-looking

blackguard!”

“I declare, on my honor, that, except the ravages of illness, I see no

change in you, whatever.”

“Look here,” said Jack, as his voice trembled with a peculiar agitation,

“I 'll see Nelly first. A man's sister can never be ashamed of him,

come what will. If Nelly shows--and she 's not one to hide it--that--no

matter, I 'll not say more about it. I see you 're not pleased with me

laying stress on such a matter.”

“No, no, you wrong me, Jack; you wrong me altogether. My poor fellow, we

never were--we never had such good reason to be proud of you as now. You

are a hero, Jack. You've done what all Europe will ring with.”

“Don't talk balderdash; my head is weak enough already. If you 're not

ashamed of the tatterdemalion that comes back to you, it's more than I

deserve. There, now, go off, and do your business, and don't be long,

for I 'm growing very impatient to see them. Give me something to smoke

till you come back, and I 'll try and be calm and reasonable by that

time.”

If L'Estrange had really anything to do in the town he forgot all about

it, and trotted about from street to street, so full of Jack and his

adventures that he walked into apple-stalls and kicked over egg-baskets

amid the laughter and amusement of the people.

If he had told no more than the truth in saying that Jack was still like

what he had been, there were about him signs of suffering and hardship

that gave a most painful significance to his look; and more painful than

even these was the poor fellow's consciousness of his fallen condition.

The sudden pauses in speaking, the deep sigh that would escape him, the

almost bitter raillery he used when speaking of himself, all showed how

acutely he felt his altered state.

L'Estrange was in nowise prepared for the change half an hour had made

in Jack's humor. The handsome dress of Montenegro became him admirably,

and the sailor-like freedom of his movements went well with the easy

costume. “Isn't this a most appropriate transformation, George?” he

cried out “I came in here looking like a pickpocket, and I go out like a

stage bandit.”

“I declare, it becomes you wonderfully. I 'll wager the girls will not

let you wear any other dress.”

“Ay, but my toilet is not yet completed. See what a gorgeous scarf I

have got here--green and gold, and with a gold fringe that will reach to

my boots; and the landlord insists on lending me his own silver-mounted

sabre. I say, old fellow, have you courage to go through the town with

me?”

“You forget you are in the last fashion of the place; if they stare at

you now, it will be approvingly.”

“What's the distance? Are we to walk?”

“Walk or drive, as you like best. On foot we can do it in an hour.”

“On foot be it, then; for though I am very impatient to see them, I

have much to ask you about.”

As they issued from the inn, it was, as L'Estrange surmised, to meet

a most respectful reception from the townsfolk, who regarded Jack as a

mountaineer chief of rank and station. They uncovered and made way

for him as he passed; and from the women, especially, came words of

flattering admiration at his handsome looks and gallant bearing.

“Are they commenting on the ass in the lion's skin?” said Jack, in a sly

whisper. “Is that what they are muttering to each other?”

“Quite the reverse. It is all in extravagant praise of you. The police

are on the alert, too; they think there must be mischief brewing in the

mountains, that has brought a great chief down to Cattaro.”

Thus, chatting and laughing, they gained the outskirts of the town,

and soon found themselves on one of the rural paths which led up the

mountain.

“Don't think me very stupid, George, or very tiresome,” said Jack, “if

I ask you to go over again what you told me this morning. Such strange

things have befallen me of late that I can scarcely distinguish between

fact and fancy. Now, first of all, have we lost Castello--and who owns

it?”

“No. The question is yet to be decided; the trial will take place in

about two months.”

“And if we are beaten, does it mean that we are ruined? Does it sweep

away Marion and Nelly's fortunes, too?”

“I fear so. I know little accurately, but I believe the whole estate is

involved in the claim.”

“Gusty bears it well, you say?”

“Admirably. I never saw a man behave with such splendid courage.”

“I 'll not ask about Nelly, for I could swear for _her_ pluck. She was

always the best of us.”

If L'Estrange drank in this praise with ecstasy, he had to turn away his

head, lest the sudden flush that covered his face should be observed.

“I have no wish to hear the story of this claim now; you shall tell

it to me some other time. But just tell me, was it ever heard of in my

father's time?”

“I believe so. Your father knew of it, but did not deem it serious.”

“Marion, of course, despises it still; and what does Temple say?”

“One scarcely knows. I don't think they have had a letter from him since

they left Ireland.”

“See what a wise fellow I was!” cried he, laughing. “I sank so low in

life that any change _must_ be elevation. You are all great folks to

_me!_”

There was a long and painful pause after this--each deep in his own

thoughts. At last Jack asked suddenly, “How is Marion? Is she happy in

her marriage?”

“We hear next to nothing of her; the newspapers tell us of her being at

great houses and in fine company, but we know no more.”

“Of course she 's happy, then. When she was a child she would only play

with us if we made her a queen; and though we often tried to rebel--we

were great levellers in our way--she always kept us down, and whether we

liked it or not, we had to admit the sovereignty.”

“Your younger sister”--he did not call her Nelly--“was not of this

mould?”

“Not a bit of it; she was the peacemaker, always on the side of

the weak; and though she was a delicate child, she 'd fight against

oppression with the passion of a tigress. Wasn't it strange?” said he,

after a pause. “There we were, five of us, treated and reared exactly

alike; in early life, certainly, there were no distinctions made, nor

any favoritism practised. We were of the same race and blood, and yet no

two of us were alike. Temple had, perhaps, some sort of resemblance

to Marion, but he had not her bold, daring spirit. Where _she_ was

courageous, _he 'd_ have been crafty. Whatever good there was amongst

us, Nelly had it.”

Another and longer pause now succeeded. “I say, George,” cried Jack, at

last, “how do you mean to break it to the girls that I 'm here? I take

it, poor Nelly's nerves must have suffered sorely of late. Is she likely

to stand a shock without injury?”

“It is exactly what I 'm trying to resolve this moment. Flushed with the

walk, and cheered by the fresh air, you don't look sickly now.”

“Ah, my dear fellow, that's not the worst of it. It is the sight of me

as recalling my fallen fortune--that's what I fear for her; her last

good-bye to me was blended with joy at my promotion--I was going to take

up my command! She has never seen me since my disgrace.”

“Don't call it that, Jack; we all know there is no other blame attaches

to you than rashness.”

“When rashness can make a man forget his condition, it's bad enough; but

I 'll not go back to these things. Tell me how I am to meet her.”

“Perhaps it would be best I should first see Julia, and tell her you

are here. I always like to ask her advice.”

“I know that of old,” said Jack, with a faint smile.

“I 'll leave you in the summer-house at the end of the garden, there,

till I speak with Julia.”

“Not very long, I hope.”

“Not an instant; she never requires a minute to decide on what to do.

Follow me, now, along this path, and I 'll place you in your ambush. You

'll not leave it till I come.”

“What a lovely spot this seems; it beats Castello hollow!”

“So we say every day. We all declare we 'd like to pass our lives here.”

“Let me be one of the party, and I 'll say nothing against the

project,” said Jack, as he brushed through a hedge of sweet-brier, and

descended a little slope, at the foot of which a shady summer-house

stood guardian over a well. “Remember, now,” cried he, “not to tax my

patience too far. I 'll give you ten minutes, but I won't wait twenty.”

L'Estrange lost no time in hastening back to the house. Julia, he heard,

was giving orders about the room for the stranger, and he found her

actively engaged in the preparation. “For whom am I taking all this

trouble, George?” said she, as he entered.

“Guess, Julia, guess! Whom would you say was best worth it?”

“Not Mr. Cutbill--whom Nelly fixed on--not Sir Marcus Cluff, whose name

occurred to myself, nor even the Pretender, Count Pracontal; and now I

believe I have exhausted the category of possible guests.”

“Not any of these,” said he, drawing her to his side. “Where is Nelly?”

“She went down to gather some roses.”

“Not in the lower garden, I hope,” cried he, eagerly.

“Wherever she could find the best--but why not there? and what do you

mean by all this mystery?”

“Go and fetch her here at once,” cried he. “If she should see him

suddenly, the shock might do her great harm.”

“See whom? see whom?” exclaimed she, wildly. “Don't torture me this

way!”

“Jack, her brother,--Jack Bramleigh,” and he proceeded to tell how he had

found him, and in what condition; but she heard nothing of it all, for

she had sunk down on a seat, and sat sobbing, with her hands over her

face; then, suddenly wiping the tears away, she rose up, and, while her

voice trembled with each word, she said, “Is he changed, George? is he

greatly changed?”

“Changed! yes, for he has been ill, and gone through all manner of

hardships, and now he is dressed like a Montenegro chief, for we could

get no other clothes, so that you'll scarcely know him.”

“Let us find Nelly at once,” said she, moving towards the door. “Come,

George,--come,” and she was down the stairs, and across the hall, and

out at the door, before he could follow her. In her agitated manner, and

rapid expression, it was evident she was endeavoring to subdue the deep

emotion of her heart, and, by seeming to be occupied, to suppress the

signs of that blended joy and sorrow which rack the nature more fatally

than downright misery.

“See, George, look there!” cried she, wildly, as she pointed down a

straight alley, at the top of which they were standing. “There they are.

Nelly has her arm round him. They have met, and it is all over;” and so

saying, she hid her face on her brother's shoulder, and sobbed heavily.

Meanwhile, the two came slowly forward, too much engaged with each other

to notice those in front of them.

CHAPTER LVIII. THE VILLA LIFE.

It is not at this the eleventh hour of my story, I can stop to dwell on

the life of the villa at Cattaro, though I am free to own it was about

the sunniest bit of landscape our long journey has offered us.

Seated, or lying on the grass, under the shade of a broad-leaved

fig-tree, they listened to Jack's adventures, told with a quaint humor,

of which they, who knew him well, could appreciate every shade and

tint In his days of prosperous fortune it was rare to hear him speak of

himself. The routine life he led seemed to develop little or nothing of

his real nature; but now, dependent as he was altogether on intrinsic

qualities, for whatever estimation he might obtain, owing nothing to

station, it was remarkable how his character had widened and expanded,

how his sympathies with his fellow-men had increased. Though nothing

could be farther from his nature than any mawkish sentimentality, there

was that show of trustfulness, that degree of hopeful belief in the

world at large, which occasionally led Julia to banter him on his

optimism; and this, be it said passingly, was the only show of freedom

between them,--their manner to each other from the moment they met being

marked by a studied reserve on each side.

“And surely, Prince,” said she, calling him by the title which in honor

of his dress they had given him, “surely you must have met some charming

creatures at the galleys. All the good qualities of human nature were

not reserved for the cockpit or the steerage, or whatever it is.”

“Aye, even at the galleys they were n't all bad, though it's not

exactly the sort of place men grow better in. I had a capital old fellow

as comrade, and, I take shame to say, I ought to have thought of him

before this. I say, George, have you any friends of influence at Naples?

I wish I could get my old companion his liberty.”

“George has gone in to write to Augustus,” said Nelly; “but if Lord

Culduff could answer your purpose, I 'd ask Marion to interest him in

the matter.”

“There's a dear good girl, do write a line to Marion; tell her it's the

greatest favor she could bestow on me. The poor fellow is a political

criminal; he only shot at the king, I believe; and where they do that

every week or so, it's hard to make it a capital offence. I 'll give you

his name and his number when I go into the house.”

“The post leaves early,” said she, rising. “I must do this at once.”

“Wait till I have finished this corner of my netting, and I'll go with

you,” said Julia.

“I say No to that,” cried Jack. “I 'm not going to be left alone here.

If that's the way you treat a distinguished guest, the sooner he takes

his leave the better. Stay where you are, Miss Julia.”

“But I shall have no work, Master Jack. My net will be finished in a few

minutes.”

“Make cigarettes for me, then. There 's the bag,” said he, lazily.

“I declare, our Bohemianism progresses famously,” said she, half tartly.

“What do you think of this proposal, Nelly?” The question came late,

however; for Nelly was already on her way to the house.

“Don't go, that's a good girl. Don't leave me here to my own

thoughts,--they 're not over jolly, I promise you, when I'm all alone.”

“Why, it's your good spirits that amaze me,” replied she. “I don't

remember seeing you so cheerful or so merry long ago, as you are now.”

“You mean that I wasn't so happy when I had more reason to be so? But

what if I were to tell you out of what a sad heart this joy comes; how

every day I say to myself, 'This is to be the last of it!' Not,” said

he, in a bolder voice, “that I want to think about myself; this terrible

disaster that has befallen my family is infinitely worse than anything

that can attach to _me_. Even yet I cannot bring myself to believe this

great smash.” She made no answer, and he went on: “I can't make out if

Nelly herself believes it. You all wear such cheerful faces, it 's not

easy to understand in what spirit you take this reverse.”

“I think that your return has recompensed Nelly for everything.”

“She was always the best of us; it's no great praise, that same; but

I mean--but it's no matter what I mean, for you are laughing at me,

already.”

“No, indeed, I was not. If I smiled, it was in thinking how little all

your casualties have changed you.”

“For that matter, I suspect we may compliment or condemn each other,

whichever it be, on equal terms.”

“So at last I have got you to say a civil thing to me. You tell me I am

the same delightful, fascinating creature you knew me long ago.”

“I said nothing about fascination,” said he, sternly.

“Not directly, of course. Your tact and delicacy were proof against such

indiscretion; but you know you meant it.”

“I 'll tell you what I know: I know that I never saw a girl, except

yourself, who liked to pain--aye, to torture--those who cared for her;

who would infinitely rather indulge her mood of mockery than--than--”

“Pray, finish. It's not every day I have the fortune to hear such

candor. Tell me what it is that I postpone to my love of sarcasm?”

“I 've done. I 've been very rude to you, and I ask your pardon. I was

not very polished in my best of days, and I take it my late schooling

has not done much to improve me. When I was coming here I swore an oath

to myself that, no matter what you 'd say to me, I 'd not lose temper,

nor make a resentful answer to anything; and now I see I 've forgotten

all my good intentions, and the best thing I can do is to ask you to

forgive me, and go my ways.”

“I 'm not offended,” said she, calmly, without raising her eyes. “I

suppose if the balance were struck between us, I did more to provoke

_you_ than you did to wound _me_.”

“What is this I hear about being provoked and wounded?” cried Nelly,

coming up to where they sat.

“Your brother and I have been quarrelling, that's all. We thought it

the pleasantest way to pass the time till you came back; and we have

succeeded to perfection.”

“I declare, Julia, this is too bad,” cried Nelly.

“But why 'Julia'? Why am I singled out as the culprit? Is he so above

reproach that he could not be in the wrong?”

“I know I was in the wrong, and I 've said so; but now let Nelly be

judge between us. Here is the way it began--”

“The way what began, pray?” asked Julia.

“There, now, that's the way she pushes me to lose my temper; and when

she sees I 'm angry she grows all the calmer.”

“She's downright disagreeable,” said Julia; “and I don't know why a

frank, outspoken sailor condescends to speak to her.”

“Well, he 's pretty sure to get the worst of it,” muttered he.

“Poor Jack,” said Nelly, caressingly. “And for all that he likes the

ill-treatment better than all the flatteries he meets elsewhere.”

“That shrug of the shoulders does not say so,” said Julia, laughing.

“Come,” cried she, with a merry voice, “let us do something more worthy

of this delicious morning. Let us have a walk up the mountain; we can

have shade all the way.”

“What's that little dome,--there, above the trees?” asked Jack.

“That's the campanile of our little chapel. I 'll fetch the key, and we

'll go and visit it. We 've not been to see it yet.”

“But George would like to come with us;” and so saying, Julia hastened

away to find him.

“Oh, Nelly, I love her better than ever, and she scorns me even more,”

said he, as he hid his head on his sister's shoulder.

“My poor dear Jack; how little you know her! You never sorrowed over

your last parting as she did. We have had all of us great reverses.

They, as well as ourselves; and that spirit of Julia's--there is another

name for it than mockery--has carried her through her troubles better

than a more pretentious philosophy.”

“But she is not even friendly with me, Nelly. None of you make me feel

what I have sunk to as she does.”

“There, again, you are unjust--”

“Right or wrong, I'll bear it no longer. I only wait now till Gusty

comes back. I want to shake his hand once more, and then, girl, you have

seen the last of me.”

Before Nelly could reply, Julia and her brother had joined them.

“Here 's news,” said George, showing a letter,--“Augustus will be

with us to-morrow; he only writes a few lines to say,--'I have nothing

particularly cheering to report, and it will all bear keeping. I mean

to be at home on Wednesday next. I am all impatience to see Jack; the

thought of meeting him more than repays me my reverses here. Give him my

love.--A. Bramleigh.'”

“We shall have plenty to do to prepare for his arrival,” said Julia.

“We must postpone our visit to the chapel. Would this illustrious prince

condescend to help us to move tables and chests of drawers?”

Jack threw a very significant glance towards Nelly, as though to say,

“She is at the old game.”

“Well, sir? I wait your answer,” said Julia.

“For twenty-four hours I am at your orders,” said Jack.

“And then under what commander do you serve?”

“Captain Fortune, I suspect,” said he, gravely. “A gentleman, or lady,

perhaps, that has shown me no especial fondness up to this.”

“Jack says he is going to leave us,” said Nelly, as her eyes filled up.

“But why?” cried George.

“But why?” echoed Julia.

“Haven't I given proof enough,” said Jack, with a faint laugh, “that I'm

not what Miss Julia there calls a very logical animal; that when I get

a wayward fancy in my head I follow it faithfully as if it was a

strong conviction. Well, now, one of these moments has come to me; and

thinking, besides, that this pleasant sort of life here is not exactly

the best preparation for a rougher kind of existence, I have made up my

mind to slip my cable after I 've seen Gusty.”

“Well, then, let us profit by the short time left us,” said Julia,

quietly. “Come and help me in the house. I shall want you, too, George.”

“You must do without me, Julia. I have only just discovered a letter

in my pocket, with the seal unbroken, that I ought to have answered

at least a fortnight ago. It is from Sir Marcus Cluff,” said he, in a

whisper, “making me an offer of the vicarage at Hoxton.”

“What a kind fellow!”

“Who's a kind fellow?” asked Jack.

“A certain gentleman, who made me the flattering proposal to become his

wife and nurse, and who now offers to make George his chaplain.”

“It rains good luck here,” said Jack, with a half bitter smile. “Why

won't it drift a little in _my_ direction? By the way, Nelly, what about

the letter I asked you to write to Marion?”

“It is written. I only want to fill in the name of the person. You told

me to keep a blank for it.”

“I 'll go and fetch my pocket-book,” said he, and broke away at once,

and hastened towards the house.

“I'm delighted at your good news, Julia,” said Nelly; “though it almost

breaks my heart to think how desolate we shall soon be here.”

“Never anticipate evil fortune. We are still together; and let us not

mar the present by glancing at a possible future.”

“And poor Jack,” began Nelly; but unable to finish, she turned away her

head to hide the emotion she felt.

“He shall--he must stay,” cried Julia.

“You know the price, dearest,” said Nelly, throwing herself into her

arms.

“Well, who says I am not ready to pay it? There, that 's enough of

folly. Let us now think of something useful.”

CHAPTER LIX. A VERY BRIEF DREAM.

Julia was seldom happier than when engaged in preparing for a coming

guest. There was a blended romance and fuss about it all that she liked.

She liked to employ her fancy in devising innumerable little details,

she liked the active occupation itself, and she liked best of all that

storied web of thought in which she connected the expected one with all

that was to greet him. How he would be pleased with this; what he would

think of that? Would he leave that chair or that table where she had

placed it? Would he like that seat in the window, and the view down the

glen, as she hoped he might? Would the new-comer, in fact, fall into

the same train of thought and mind as she had who herself planned and

executed all around him?

Thus thinking was it that, with the aid of a stout Dalmatian

peasant-girl, she busied herself with preparations for Augustus

Bramleigh's arrival. She knew all his caprices about the room he liked

to occupy. How he hated much furniture, and loved space and freedom; how

he liked a soft and tempered light, and that the view from his window

should range over some quiet, secluded bit of landscape, rather than

take in what recalled life and movement and the haunts of men.

She was almost proud of the way she saw into people's natures by the

small dropping preferences they evinced for this or that, and had an

intense pleasure in meeting the coming fancy. At the present moment,

too, she was glad to busy herself in any mode rather than dwell on the

thoughts that the first interval of rest would be sure to bring before

her. She saw that Jack Bramleigh was displeased with her, and, though

not without some misgivings, she was vexed that he alone of all should

resent the capricious moods of a temper resolutely determined to take

the sunniest path in existence, and make the smaller worries of life but

matter for banter.

“He mistakes me altogether,” said she, aloud, but speaking to herself,

“if he imagines that I 'm in love with poverty and all its straits; but

I 'm not going to cry over them for all that. They may change me in many

ways. I can't help that. Want is an ugly old hag, and one cannot sit

opposite her without catching a look of her features; but she 'll not

subdue my courage, nor make me afraid to meet her eye. Here, Gretchen,

help me with this great chest of drawers. We must get rid of it out of

this, wherever it goes.” It was a long and weary task, and tried

their strength to the last limit; and Julia threw herself into a

deep-cushioned chair when it was over, and sighed heavily. “Have you

a sweetheart, Gretchen?” she asked, just to lead the girl to talk, and

relieve the oppression that she felt would steal over her. Yes, Gretchen

had a sweetheart, and he was a fisherman, and he had a fourth share in a

“bragotza;” and when he had saved enough to buy out two of his comrades

he was to marry her; and Gretchen was very fond, and very hopeful, and

very proud of her lover, and altogether took a very pleasant view of

life, though it was all of it in expectancy. Then Gretchen asked if the

signorina had not a sweetheart, and Julia, after a pause,--and it was a

pause in which her color came and went,--said, “No!” And Gretchen drew

nigh, and stared at her with her great hazel eyes, and read in her now

pale face that the “No” she had uttered had its own deep meaning; for

Gretchen, though a mere peasant, humble and illiterate, was a woman, and

had a woman's sensibility under all that outward ruggedness.

“Why do you look at me so, Gretchen?” asked Julia.

“Ah, signorina,” sighed she, “I am sorry--I am very sorry! It is a sad

thing not to be loved.”

“So it is, Gretty; but every day is not as nice and balmy and fresh

as this, and yet we live on, and, taking one with the other, find

life pretty enjoyable, after all!” The casuistry of her speech made no

convert. How could it?--it had not any weight with herself.

The girl shook her head mournfully, and gazed at her with sad eyes, but

not speaking a word. “I thought, signorina,” said she, at last, “that

the handsome prince--”

“Go to your dinner, Gretchen. You are late already,” said Julia,

sharply; and the girl withdrew, abashed and downcast. When thus alone,

Julia sat still, wearied by her late exertions. She leaned her head on

the arm of the chair, and fell fast asleep. The soft summer wind that

came tempered through the window-blinds played with her hair and fanned

her to heavy slumber--at first, dreamless slumber, the price of actual

fatigue.

Jack Bramleigh, who had been wandering about alone, doing his best

to think over himself and his future, but not making any remarkable

progress in the act, had at length turned into the house, strolling from

room to room, half unconsciously, half struck by the vastness and extent

of the building. Chance at last led him along the corridor which ended

in this chamber, and he entered, gazing carelessly around him, till

suddenly he thought he heard the deep-drawn breathing of one in heavy

sleep. He drew nigh, and saw it was Julia. The arm on which her head

lay hung listlessly down, and her hand was half hid in the masses of

her luxuriant hair. Noiselessly, stealthily, Jack crept to her feet, and

crouched down upon the floor, seeming to drink in her long breathings

with an ecstasy of delight. Oh, what a moment was that! Through how many

years of life was it to pass, the one bright thread of gold in the dark

tissue of existence. As such he knew it; so he felt it; and to this end

he treasured up every trait and every feature of the scene. “It is all

that I shall soon have to look back upon,” thought he; and yet to be

thus near her seemed a bliss of perfect ecstasy.

[Illustration: 532]

More than an hour passed over, and he was still there, not daring to

move lest he should awake her. At last he thought her lips seemed to

murmur something. He bent down, close--so close that he felt her breath

on his face. Yes, she was dreaming--dreaming, too, of long ago; for

he heard her mutter the names of places near where they had lived

in Ireland. It was of some party of pleasure she was dreaming,--her

dropping words indicated so much; and at last she said, “No, no; not

Lisconnor. Jack does n't like Lisconnor.” Oh, how he blessed her for the

words; and bending over, he touched the heavy curl of her hair with his

lips. Some passing shock startled her, and she awoke with a start and

a faint cry. “Where am I?” she cried; “what is this?” and she stared at

him with her wide, full glance, while her features expressed terror and

bewilderment.

“Don't be frightened, dearest. You are safe, and at home with those who

love you.”

“And how are you here? how came you here?” asked she, still terrified.

“I was strolling listlessly about, and chance led me here. I saw

you asleep in that chair, and I lay down at your feet till you should

awake.”

“I know nothing of it at all,” muttered she. “I suppose I was dreaming.

I fancied I was in Ireland, and we were about to go on some excursion,

and I thought Marion was not pleased with me;--how stupid it is to try

and disentangle a dream. You should n't have been here, Master Jack.

Except in fairy tales, young princes never take such liberties as this,

and even then the princesses are under enchantment.”

“It is _I_ that am under the spell, not _you_, Julia,” said he, fondly.

“Then you are come to ask pardon for all your crossness, your savagery

of this morning?”

“Yes, if you desire it.”

“No, sir; I desire nothing of the kind; it must be spontaneous humility.

You must feel you have behaved very ill, and be very, very sorry for

it.”

“I have behaved very ill, and am very, very sorry for it,” repeated he,

softly, after her.

“And this is said seriously?”

“Seriously.”

“And on honor?”

“On honor!”

“And why is it said--is it because I have asked you to say it?”

“Partly; that is, you have in asking given me courage to say it.”

“Courage to ask pardon! what do you mean by that?”

“No; but courage to make me hope you care to hear it. Oh, Julia, for

once listen to me seriously, and let me tell you how I love you; how I

have always loved you; how you are to me all that is worth living for.”

“It would be very nice to be told such pretty things, all the more

being bound to believe them.”

“And do you doubt?”

“I 'll tell you what there is not, nor can be any doubt about, Jack;

that we are both very poor, and though I, woman-like, may feel it a very

comforting and sustaining thought, through my poverty, that one honest

heart beats affectionately for me, yet I 'm far from sure that it would

be the same good influence over _your_ life; in fact, our bargain would

be unequal, and I should have all the best of it.”

“Oh, Julia, could you love me--”

“I think I 've done things fully as hard,” said she, with affected

thoughtfulness.

“Do you think me, then, so hopeless of advancement in life that I shall

live and die the humble creature you now see me?”

“No, I don't think that. I think if fate is not very dead against you,

you are likely, whatever you turn to, or wherever you go, to make your

way; but to do this you must be heart-whole. The selfishness that men

call ambition cannot afford to be weighted with thought of another and

another's welfare. Have a little patience with me--hear me out, for I

am saying what I have thought over many and many an hour--what I have

already told Nelly. There's an old Persian fable that says, the people

who love on through life are like two lovers who walk on opposite banks

of a river, and never meet till the river mingles with the ocean, which

is eternity, and then they are parted no more. Are you satisfied with

this? I thought not. Well, what are your plans for the future?”

“I have scores of them. If I would take service with any of those South

American republics, there is not one would not give me rank and station

to-morrow. Brazil would take me. If I offered myself to the Sultan's

Government, where I am known, I could have a command at once.”

“I don't know that I like Turkish ideas on the married state,” said she,

gravely.

“Julia, Julia! do not torture me,” cried he, anxiously. “It is my very

life is at stake--be serious for once;” he took her hand tenderly as

he spoke, and was bending down to kiss it, when a heavy foot was heard

approaching, and suddenly L'Estrange burst into the room, with an open

newspaper in his hand.

“I have got something here will surprise you, Jack,” he cried. “You

will be astonished to learn that you owe your escape from Ischia to

no intrepidity of your own; that you had neither act nor part in the

matter, but that it was all due to the consummate skill of a great

diplomatist, who represented England at Naples. Listen to this--it is

'our own special correspondent' who writes:--'I have naturally been

curious to ascertain the exact history of Rogers' escape, the journals

of this country having invested that event with most melodramatic, I

might go further, and say incredible, details. My own knowledge of the

precautions adopted against evasion, and the jealous care bestowed by

the Neapolitan Government towards political prisoners, rendered me slow

to believe that an unaided convict would have the slightest chance of

effecting his liberation; and, as far as I can learn, late events have

not diminished, in any degree, my faith in this opinion.

“'If the stories which circulate in diplomatic circles are to be

credited, it was H. B. M's special envoy at this Court who planned

the whole achievement. He, seeing the fatal obduracy of the King's

Ministers, and the utter impracticability of all proceedings to instil

into them notions of right or honor, determined, while prosecuting the

cause with unusual ardor, to remove the basis of the litigation. By what

bribery he effected his object, or of whom, I do not profess to know,

though very high names are mentioned with unsparing freedom here; but

the fact remains, that when the last despatch of the Foreign Secretary

was on its way to our envoy, Rogers was careering over the glad waters

in one of H. M.'s steam-launches--thus relieving the controversy of a

very material and interesting item in the negotiation. Of course this

has no other foundation than mere rumor; but it is a rumor that no one

assumes to discredit, nor, indeed, any to deny, except the very discreet

officials of our mission here, who naturally protest that it is a

fabrication of the French press. The envoy is still here, and

actively proceeding against the Government for an indemnity for unjust

imprisonment.' And now, Jack, here is the best of all. Listen to this:

'So sensible are our ministers at home of the great service rendered by

this adroit measure, the relief experienced by the removal of what at

any moment might have become the very gravest of all questions,--that of

peace or war,--that no reward is deemed too high for its distinguished

author, and his Excellency Lord Viscount Culduff'--Culduff--”

“Lord Culduff!” cried Jack and Julia, in amazement.

“'Viscount Culduff has been offered the post of ambassador at

Constantinople!'”

Jack snatched the paper from his hands, and stared in mute amazement at

the lines.

“And is this the way fortunes are made in the world?” cried he, at last.

“Only in the great walks of life, Jack,” said Julia. “Small people talk

and labor, take service in Argentine republics, or fight for Mussulmen;

distinguished people fire but one shot, but it always explodes in the

enemy's magazine.”

“I wonder what he would have thought if he had known for whom he

was negotiating,” said Jack, dryly. “I half suspect my distinguished

brother-in-law would have left me in chains far rather than drive down

the Corso with me.”

“I declare--no, I won't say the spiteful thing that crossed my mind--but

I _will_ say, I 'd like to have seen a meeting between you and your

brother Temple.”

“You think he'd have been so ashamed of me,” said Jack, with a laugh.

“Not a bit of it. _You_ might possibly have been ashamed of the

situation--shocked with being such an unworthy member of a great

house--but _he_, Temple, would have accepted you like a fever or an

ague,--a great calamity sent from above,--but he would not have felt

shame, any more than if you had been the scarlatina. Look at poor

George,” cried she, with a merry laugh. “He thinks I 've said something

very wicked, and he feels he ought to deplore it and possibly rebuke

me.”

Jack could not help laughing at the rueful expression of L'Estrange's

face, and his emotion was catching; for the others joined in the laugh,

and in this merry mood returned to the garden.

CHAPTER LX. A RETURN HOME

The morning that followed this scene broke very happily on the villa;

for Augustus was to arrive by the afternoon packet, and all were eager

to meet him. His telegram said, “Cutbill is with me; but I do not know

if he will stop.” And this announcement, indeed, more than tempered the

pleasure they felt at the thought of meeting Augustus.

Jack, whose sailor's eye had detected a thin streak of smoke in the sky

long ere the others had seen it, and knew by what time the steamer

might arrive, hastened down to the shore to meet his brother alone, not

wishing that the first meeting should be observed by others. And he

was so far right. Men as they were,--tried and hardened by the world's

conflict,--they could not speak as they clasped each other in their

arms; and when they separated to gaze at each other's faces, their eyes

swam in heavy tears. “My poor fellow!” was all that Augustus could

say for several minutes, till, struck by the manly vigor and dignified

bearing of the other, he cried out, “What a great powerful fellow you

have grown, Jack! You are twice as strong as you used to be.”

“Strong enough, Gusty; but I suppose I shall need it all. But how comes

it that you have gray hair here?”

“You find me terribly changed, Jack! I have aged greatly since we met.”

“You are tired, now, old fellow. A little rest, and the pleasant care of

the villa will soon set you up again.”

“Perhaps so. At all events, I have strength enough for what I am called

on to bear. How are they all?”

“Well and hearty. I 'd say jollier than I ever saw them before.”

“What a noble girl is Nelly!”

“Ay, and her companion, too. I tell you, Gusty, there's the same comrade

spirit amongst girls that there is in a ship's company; and where good

ones come together they make each other better. But tell me now of

yourself. What's your news?”

“Not good; far from it. I believe, indeed, our cause is 'up.'

He--Pracontal, I mean--intends to behave handsomely by us. There will

be no severity used. Indeed, he means to go further; but I 'll have time

enough for all this later on. I 'm so glad to see you again, my poor

dear fellow, that I have no mind to think of anything else.”

“How did you get rid of Cutbill?”

“I have n't got rid of him; he is on board there. I don't think he means

to land. I suspect he 'll go on with the steamer to-night; and he is so

ashamed to show, that he is snug in his berth all this time.”

“But what does he mean by that?”

“He 's in a scrape, Jack, and had to get away from England to save

himself from a jail; but I 'll tell you the story this evening,--or,

better still, I 'll make him tell you, if you can manage to persuade him

to come on shore.”

“That he shall do,” said Jack. “He behaved like a trump to me once when

I was in trouble; and I don't forget it.” And so saying, he hastened

on board the packet, and hurried below, to re-appear in a few minutes,

holding Cutbill by the collar, as though he were his prisoner.

“Here's the culprit,” cried Jack; “and if he won't land his luggage, he

must take to a Montenegro rig like mine; and he 'll become it well.”

“There, don't collar me that fashion. See how the fellows are all

staring at us. Have you no decency?”

“Will you come quietly, then?”

“Yes; let them hand up my two trunks and my violin case. What a droll

place this is.”

“There 's many a worse, I can tell you, than our villa yonder. If it

were my own, I 'd never ask to leave it.”

“Nor need you, Jack,” whispered Augustus. “I've brought back money to

buy it; and I hope it will be our home this many a day.”

“What's this scrape of yours, Cutty?” said Jack, as they made their way

homewards. “Whom have you been robbing this time, or was it forgery?”

“Let him tell you,” said Cutbill, doggedly, as he motioned with his

hand towards Gusty.

“It's a mixed case of robbery with housebreaking,” said Augustus.

“Pracontal had taken it into his head that certain papers of great value

to himself were concealed in some secret press in our house at Castello;

and Cutbill was just as convinced that there were no papers and no

press, and that the whole was a dream or a delusion. They argued the

case so often that they got to quarrel about it.”

“No, we did n't quarrel,” broke in Cutbill, sulkily; “we betted.”

“Yes, that is more correct Pracontal was so firmly persuaded that the

papers existed that he offered three to one on it, and Cutbill, who

likes a good thing, took it in hundreds.”

“No. I wish I had. It was in fifties.”

“As they had no permission to make the search, which required to break

down the wall, and damage a valuable fresco--”

“No. It was under the fresco, in a pedestal. I 'd engage to make it good

for thirty shillings,” broke in Cutbill.

“Well, we 'll not dispute that The essential point is that Pracontal's

scruples would not permit him to proceed to an act of depredation, but

that Cutbill had more resolution. He wanted to determine the fact.”

“Say that he wanted to win his money, and you 'll be nearer the mark,”

interposed Cutbill.

“Whichever way we take it, it amounts to this: Pracontal would not be a

housebreaker, and Cutbill had no objection to become one. I cannot give

you the details of the infraction--perhaps _he_ will.”

Cutbill only grunted, and the other went on--“However he obtained

entrance, he made his way to the place indicated, smashed the wall, and

dragged forth a box with four or five thick volumes, which turned out to

be the parish registries of Portshandon for a very eventful period,

at least a very critical one for us; for, if the discovery loses Mr.

Cutbill his fifty pounds, it places the whole estate in jeopardy.”

“That's the worst of it,” cried Cutbill. “My confounded meddling has

done it all.”

“When my lawyer came to hear what had occurred, and how, he lost no time

in taking measures to proceed against Cutbill for a felony; but Master

C. had got away, and was already hiding in Germany, and our meeting on

the steamboat here was a mere hazard. He was bound for--where was it,

Cutbill?”

“Albania. I want to see the salt mines. There 's something to be done

there now that the Turks are not sure they 'll own the country this time

twelvemonth.”

“At all events, it 's better air than Newgate,” said Jack.

“As you politely observe, sir, it's better air than Newgate. By the way,

you've been doing a little stroke of work as a jailbird, latterly; is it

jolly?”

“No; it ain't exactly jolly; it's too monotonous for that. And then the

diet.”

“Ah, there's the rub! It's the skilly, it's the four-ounce system, I 'm

afraid of. Make it a good daily regimen, and I 'll not quarrel with

the mere confinement, nor ask for any extension of the time allotted to

exercise.”

“I must say,” said Jack, “that, for a very acute and ingenious

gentleman, this same piece of burglary was about one of the stupidest

performances I ever heard of.”

“Not so fast, admiral, not so fast. I stood on a double event. I had

lent Pracontal a few hundreds, to be repaid by as many thousands if he

established his claim. I began to repent of my investment, and my bet

was a hedge. Do you see, old fellow, if there were no books, I pocketed

a hundred and fifty. If the books turned up, I stood to win on the

trial. You may perceive that Tom Cutbill sleeps like a weazel, and has

always one eye open.”

“Was it a very friendly part, then, to lend a man money to prosecute a

claim against your own friend?” asked Jack.

“Lord love ye, I'd do that against my brother. The man of business

and the desk is one thing, the man of human feelings and affections is

another. If a man follows any pursuit worth the name of a pursuit, the

ardor to succeed in it will soon swamp his scruples; aye, and not

leave him one jot the worse for it. Listen to me a minute. Did you ever

practise fly-fishing? Well, can you deny it is in principle as ignoble

a thing as ever was called sport? It begins in a fraud, and it finishes

with a cruelty; and will you tell me that your moral nature, or any

grand thing that you fancy dignifies you, was impaired or stained when

you landed that eight-pound trout on the grass?”

“You forget that men are not trout, Master Cutbill.”

“There are a good number of them gudgeons, I am happy to say,” cried

he. “Give me a light for my cigar, for I am sick of discussion. Strange

old tumble-down place this--might all be got for a song, I 'd swear.

What a grand speck it would be to start a company to make a watering

place of it: 'The Baths of Cattaro, celebrated in the time of

Diocletian'--eh? Jack, does n't your mouth water at the thought of

'preliminary expenses'?”

“I can't say it does. I've been living among robbers lately, and I found

them very dull company.”

“The sailor is rude; his manners smack of the cockpit,” said Cutbill,

nudging Augustus in the side. “Oh, dear, how I 'd like a commission to

knock this old town into a bathing machine.”

“You'll have ample time to mature your project up at the villa. There,

you see it yonder.”

“And is that the British flag I see waving there? Wait a moment till I

master my emotion, and subdue the swelling feelings of my breast.”

“I 'll tell you what, Master Cutbill,” said Jack, sternly, “if you utter

any stupid rubbish against the Union Jack, I'll be shot if I don't

drop you over the sea-wall for a ducking; and, what's more, I 'll not

apologize to you when you come out.”

“Outrage the second. The naval service is not what I remember it.”

“Here come the girls,” said Augustus. “I hear Julia's merry laugh in

the wood.”

“The L'Estrange girl, isn't it?” asked Cutbill; and though Jack started

and turned almost as if to seize him, he never noticed the movement.

“Miss L'Estrange,” said Augustus Bramleigh.

“Why didn't you say she was here, and I'd not have made any 'bones'

about stopping? I don't know I was ever as spooney as I was about that

girl up at Albano. And did n't I work like a negro to get back her two

thousand pounds out of that precious coal mine? Aye, and succeeded too.

I hope she knows it was Tom Cutbill saved the ship. Maybe she 'll think

I 've come to claim salvage.”

“She has heard of all your good-nature, and is very grateful to you,”

said Gusty.

“That's right; that's as it ought to be. Doing good by stealth always

strikes me as savoring of a secret society. It's Thuggee, or Fenian, or

any other dark association you like.”

“I'll go forward and meet them, if you'll permit me,” said Augustus,

and, not waiting a reply, hurried on towards the wood.

“Look here, Master Jack,” said Cutbill, stopping short and facing

round in front of him. “If you mean as a practice to sit upon me, every

occasion that arises, just please to say so.”

“Nothing of the kind, man; if I did, I promise you once would be quite

enough.”

“Oh, that's it, is it?”

“Yes, that's it.”

“Shake hands, then, and let us have no more squabbling. If you ever

find me getting into shoal-water, and likely to touch a sandbank, just

call out 'Stop her!' and you 'll see how I 'll reverse my engine at

once. It's not in my line, the locomotives, but I _could_ drive if I

was put to it, and I know well every good lesson a man acquires from the

practice.”

“What do you think of this cause of ours, Cutty; how does it look to

your eyes?”

“Just as dark as thunder! Why you go to trial at all next term I can't

make out. Pracontal's case is clear as noonday. There's the proof of the

marriage,--as legal a marriage as if an archbishop celebrated it,--and

there 's the registry of birth, and there is, to confirm all, old

Bramleigh's letters. If you push on after such a show of danger signals

as these, it is because you must like a smash.”

“You'd strike, then, without firing a shot?”

“To be sure I would, if it was only to save the expense of the powder;

besides, Pracontal has already declared, that if met by an amicable

spirit on your brother's part, there are no terms he would not accede

to, to secure recognition by your family, and acceptance as one of you.”

“I 'm sure I don't see why he should care for it.”

“Nor I, for the matter of that. If there's a lot in life I 'd call

enviable, it would be to be born in a foundling hospital, and inherit

ten thousand a year. A landed estate, and no relations, comes nearer to

my ideas of Paradise than anything in Milton's poems.”

“Here they come,” cried Jack, as a merry group issued from the road,

and came joyously forward to meet them.

“Here's this good fellow Tom Cutbill come to spend some days with us,”

said Jack, as the girls advanced to greet him.

“Is n't it kind of him?” said Cutbill; “is n't it like that

disinterested good-nature that always marks him? Of course I'm heartily

welcome! how could it be otherwise? Miss Bramleigh, you do me proud.

Miss Julia, your slave. Ah, your reverence! let's have a shake of your

devout paw. Now I call this as pleasant a place for a man to go through

his sentence of transportation as need be. Do the ladies know what I'm

charged with?”

“They know nothing, they desire to know nothing,” said Augustus. “When

we have dined and had our coffee, you shall make your own confession;

and that only if you like it, and wish to disburden your conscience.”

“My conscience is pretty much like my balance at my banker's--it's a

mighty small matter, but somehow it never troubles me; and you 'll see

by-and-by that it does n't interfere with my appetite.”

“You saw my sister at Naples, Mr. Cutbill,” said Nelly; “how was she

looking?”

“Decidedly handsome; and as haughty as handsome; as an Irish friend who

was walking with me one day her carriage passed, observed, 'A bow from

her was the next thing to a black-eye.'”

“Marion's pride always became her,” said Nelly, coldly.

“It must be a comfort to her to feel she has a great stock of what

suits her constitution.”

“And the noble Viscount,” asked Jack, “how was he looking?”

“As fresh as paint. The waxworks in the museum seemed faded and worn

after him. He was in an acute attack of youth, the day I dined with him

last, and I hope his system has not suffered for it.”

“Stop her,” muttered Jack, with a sly look at Cutbill; and to the

surprise of the others, that astute individual rejoined, “Stop her, it

is.”

“We dine at four, I think?” said Bramleigh, “and there 's just time to

dress. Jack, take charge of Cutbill, and show him where he is to lodge.”

“And is it white choker and a fiddle coat? Do you tell me you dress for

dinner?” asked Cutbill.

“Mr. Cutbill shall do exactly as he pleases,” said Julia; “we only claim

a like privilege for ourselves.”

“You've got it now, Tom Cutbill,” said he, sorrowfully, “and I hope you

like it.”

And with this they went their several ways; Jack alone lingering in the

garden in the hope to have one word with Julia, but she did not return,

and his “watch on deck,” as he called it, was not relieved.

CHAPTER LXI. LADY CULDUFF'S LETTER

A long letter, a letter of several pages, from Marion, reached the

villa; and though it is not my intention to ask the reader to listen to

it textually or throughout, I crave permission to give certain parts of

its contents.

As Lady Culduff prospered in the world, she became what she thought

“devout,” and perpetually reminded all around her that she was well

aware she was living in a very sinful world, and keeping daily company

with transgressors; and she actually brought herself to believe that by

a repeated reference to the wickedness of this life, she was entering a

formal protest against sin, and qualifying herself, at this very cheap

price, for something much better hereafter.

She was--and it was a pet phrase with her--“resigned” to everything:

resigned to Lord Culduff's being made a grand cross and an ambassador,

with the reasonable prospect of an earldom; resigned to her own great

part--and was it not a great part?--in this advancement; resigned to be

an ambassadress! That she was resigned to the ruin and downfall of her

family, especially if they should have the delicacy and good taste to

hide themselves somewhere, and not obtrude that ruin and downfall on the

world, was plainly manifest; and when she averred that, come what might,

we ought to be ever assured that all things were for the best, she meant

in reality to say, it was a wise dispensation that sent herself to live

in a palace at Pera, and left her brothers and sisters to shiver out

existence in barbarism.

There was not a shadow of hypocrisy in all this. She believed every word

she said upon it. She accepted the downfall of her family as her share

of those ills which are the common lot of humanity; and she was very

proud of the fortitude that sustained her under this heavy trial, and of

that resignation that enabled her not to grieve over these things in an

unseemly fashion, or in any way that might tell on her complexion.

“After that splendid success of Culduff's at Naples,” wrote she, “of

which the newspapers are full, I need not remind you that we ought to

have had Paris, and, indeed, must have had it, but the Ministry made

it a direct and personal favor of Culduff that he would go and set that

troublesome Eastern question to rights. As you know nothing of politics,

dear Nelly, and, indeed, are far happier in that ignorance, I shall not

enter upon what, even with the fullest explanation, would only bewilder

you. Enough if you know that we have to out-manouvre the Russians,

baffle the French, and bully the Greeks; and that there is not for the

task Culduff's equal in England. I think I see your astonishment that I

should talk of such themes: they were not certainly the sort of subjects

which once occupied our thoughts: but, my dear Nelly, in linking your

fate to that of a man of high ambition, you accept the companionship of

his intellect, instead of a share in his heart. And, as you well know

I always repudiated the curate and cottage theory, I accept the

alternative without repining. Can I teach you any of this philosophy,

Nelly, and will it lighten the load of your own sorrows to learn how

I have come to bear mine? It is in the worldliness of people generally

lies their chief unhappiness. They will not, as Culduff says, 'accept

the situation.' Now we have accepted it, we submit to it, and, in

consequence, suffer fewer heart-burnings and repinings than our

neighbors. Dear Augustus never had any costly tastes; and as for

yourself, simplicity was your badge in everything. Temple is indeed

to be pitied, for Temple, with money to back him, might have made a

respectable figure in the world and married well; but Temple, a poor

man, must fall down to a second-class legation, and look over the

Minister's larder. Culduff tried, but failed to make something of him.

As C. told him one day, you have only to see Charles Mathews act, to be

convinced that to be a coxcomb a man must be consummately clever; and

yet it is exactly the 'rôle' every empty fellow fancies would suit him.

T. resented this, well meant as it was, and resigned his secretaryship.

He has gone over to England, but I do not imagine with much prospect of

re-employment.

“Do not think, my dear Nelly, of quitting your present refuge. You are

safe now, and in harbor, and be slow to adventure on that wide ocean

of life where shipwrecks are occurring on every hand. So long as one is

obscure, poverty has no terrors. As Culduff says, you may always wear

a ragged coat in the dark. It is we, who unfortunately must walk in

the noonday, cannot be seen unless in fine raiment. Do not mistake me,

however. I say this without complaint; I repine at nothing.

“I had written so much of my letter, dear Nelly, intending to finish it

at Rome; but Culduff is obliged to hurry on to Ischl, where some great

diplomatic gathering is now assembled, and I must omit a number of

things I desire to say to you.

“Culduff thinks we must call on Lady Augusta as we go through. I own I

have done my best to avoid this, and if I must go, it will not be in the

best of tempers. The oddest thing of all is, C. dislikes her fully as

much as I do; but there is some wonderful freemasonry among these people

that obliges them, like the members of a secret society, to certain

_égards_ towards each other; and I am satisfied he would rather do a

positive wrong to some one in middle-class life than be wanting in some

punctilio or attention to a person of her condition. I have often been

much provoked by displays of this sentiment, needlessly paraded to

offend my own sense of propriety. I shall add a line after my visit.

“Rome.

“I have news for you. M. Pracontal--if this be his name--not only takes

your estates, but your stepmother. The odious woman had the effrontery

to tell us so to our faces. How I bore it, what I said, or felt, or

suffered, I know not. Some sort of fit, I believe, seized me, for

Culduff sent for a physician when I got back to the hotel, and our

departure was deferred.

“The outrage of this conduct has so shaken my nerves that I can scarcely

write, nor is my sense of indignation lessened by the levity with which

it pleases Culduff to treat the whole matter. 'It is a bold _coup_--a

less courageous woman would have recoiled from it--she is very daring.'

This is what he says of her. She has the courage that says to, the

world, 'I am ready to meet all your censures and your reproaches;' but

I never heard this called heroism before. Must I own to you, Nelly, that

what overwhelms me most in this disgraceful event is the confidence it

evinces in this man's cause. 'You may swear,' said Culduff, 'that she is

backing the winner. Women are timid gamblers, and never risk their money

without almost every chance in their favor.' I know that my Lord plumes

himself on knowing a great deal about us, prompting him at times to

utter much that is less than complimentary; but I give you this opinion

of his here for what it is worth, frankly owning that my dislike to the

woman is such I can be no fair judge of any case into which she enters.

“Pracontal--I only saw him for an instant--struck me as a third-class

Frenchman, something between a _sous-officier_ of cavalry and a

_commis-voyageur_; not ill-looking, and set up with that air of the

soldier that in France does duty for dignity. He had a few hasty words

with Culduff, but did not persist nor show any desire to make a row

in presence of ladies. So far, his instincts as a corporal guided him

safely. Had he been led by the _commis-voyageur_ side of his character,

we should have had a most disgraceful scene, ending by a hostile meeting

between a British peer and a bagman.

“My nerves have been so shaken by this incident, and my recollection is

still so charged with this odious woman's look, voice, and manner, that

I cannot trust myself to say more. Be assured, dear Nelly, that in all

the miserable details of this great calamity to our family, no one event

has occurred equal in poignant suffering to the insult I have thus been

subjected to.

“Culduff will not agree to it, but I declare to you she was positively

vulgar in the smirking complacence in which she presented the man as her

future husband. She was already _passée_ when she married my father, and

the exuberant joy at this proposal revealed the old maid's nature. C.

of course, calls her charming, a woman of very attractive qualities and

such like; but men of a certain age have ideas of their own on these

subjects, and, like their notions on cookery, make no converts among

people under forty. I believe I told him so, and, in consequence, the

whole theme has been strictly avoided by each of us ever since.”

The remainder of the letter was devoted to details as to her future life

at Constantinople, and the onerous duties that would devolve on her as

ambassadress. She hinted also to a time when she would ask dear Nelly to

come and visit her; but, of course, until matters were fully settled and

concluded, she could not expect her to leave dear Gusty.