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V 




600060276R 







ii 



A PEODIGY. 



BY THE AUTHOR 



"MODERN GERMAN MUSIC," '■ ROCCABELLA," &•:. &o 



IN THREE VOLUMES / ^s. 

VOL. III. A 






LONDON: 
CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 



[Thi Stflil iif Tnaiilatim iiruimd.^ 



jzs-o a. /s^. 



LOiTDOxr : 
rsurrsD bt c WHinNo, bx^xjyost housk, stbahd* 



CONTENTS OF VOL. IH. 



PAET THE PITTH. 

(continued.) 

THE RAPIDS. 
CHAPTER VI. PAGE 

A GHOSTLY CoxmSELLOE • . . 1 

CHAPTER VII. 
Soothing MEDICAL Tb£atment 12 

PAET THE SIXTH. 

THE MONTH OF JULY. 

CHAPTER I. 
In London 34 

CHAPTER II. 
The LowEB Pavement ...... 50 

CHAPTER III. 
Cousin Gatty's Tbeat 66 

CHAPTER IV. 
The Paodigy is subpbised 79 

CHAPTER V. 
The Pace at Caldebmebe 97 

CHAPTER VI. 
What Next ? 119 



IV CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER Vir. rxQjL 

Bkothzks 136 

CHAPTER Vin. 
The thibj) Thuejsdat . . . ' . , .155 

CHAPTER IX. 
The Glass op Fashiok 171 

CHAPTER X. 
Behind the Scenea ....... 181 

CHAPTER XI. 
Hakrington Villas , 192 

CHAPTER XII. 
The Man who had loved hjbr 206 

CHAPTER XIII. 
Day Dawn 223 

PART THE SEVENTH. 

ODDS AND ENDS. 

CHAPTER I. 

MiSTBESS WhITELAHB IN LONDON .... 234 

CHAPTER II. 

DiSAPFEABANCE ........ 244 

CHAPTER m. 

• • • 

The Evil Genius of the Stoky 254 

PAETTHE EIGHTH. 

One and the last Chafter 271 



[; 



A PRODIGY. 



PART THE FIFTH 

(cONTIimED.) 

THE RAPIDS. 



CHAPTER VI. 



A GHOSTLY COUNSELLOR. 

"Get up, Quillsey ! your chair is wanted !" 
cried the voluble Countess Baltakis in her 
shrillest tones of triumph — " Lady Calder- 
mere ! — ^Doctor Mondor wishes expressly to 
be presented to you. Every one has heard of 
his wonderful cures. I have had the Burling- 
ton watched night and day, that I might be 
the first to get hold of him — and here he is I 
But you must not keep him long. Every- 

VOL. m. B 



2 A PKODIGY. 

body is dying to be introduced to him; 
so, I assure you, you may take it as a real 
compliment to be first — ^though of course 
you were entitled to expect it. — Lady Load, 
you shall have him next,— not" (with an 
audible aside to a friend) "that he can 
make her look young again. — Doctor, I can 
and win only spare you to Lady Calder- 
mere for ten minutes" — and Madame Bal- 
takis flounced away somewhere else. 

" One must give way, of course !" said the 
discomfited Mr. QuiUsey, rising with a shrug 
and a sigh and a smile of secret intelligence 
— " for who does not wish to be presented 
to Lady Caldermere ? — But she is a good 
creature — ^the Countess Baltakis 1" — and so, 
unnoted, and unheard, the displaced deco- 
rator crept away to simmer his taste and 
tact into other ears. 

She sat in a dumb terror of expectation. 
— ^The person was now close upon her. 

" I wished particularly to be presented to 
you, my Lady," said the gentleman, sitting 
down, and speaking in French with a strong 



A GHOSTLY COUNSELLOR. 3 

foreign accent, " as my Lord, I have ascer- 
tained, is not in London." 

That head and that ear Lady Calder- 
mere thought had sat by her once before — 
at Baden-Baden. 

" I beg your pardon," said she, absently 
— ^forcing herself to look the stranger full 
in the face. . . . The^ deep scar on his fore- 
head, by distorting the eyebrows, had given 
to the upper part of the countenance a 
peculiarly unpleasant expression. Or was 
it the motion of his lips ? — She waited 
breathlessly to hear him speak again. 

" Ah !" said he, politely smiling, "I can see 
that I remind you^ too, of some one you have 
known. — I am used to the thing. It is per- 
petually happening to me — ^though it would 
be an odd chance if there were two such dis- 
figured faces as mine.— Bat with a man it 
does not matter, save as making an ugly 
puzzle. When I think of such a young, 
beautiful woman, as a patient of mine, the 
Princess ChenzikoflT, — with her face dis- 

b2 



4 A PRODIGY. 

torted by a scar across her cheek and lip — I 
can look in my glass, and say — ^ No matter I 
With or without my Cain's mark, no one 
would have fallen in love with me.' " 

It must be ! He was the Baden Spectre — 
there could be no doubt of that. — She said 
something — ^what, she could never tell — of 
having met the Princess Chenzikoff abroad. 

" 0, to be sure, at Baden-Baden ; — and we 
sat next to one another at table one day, I 
think. That must be . . . let me see . . . 
0, long before that madman forced his way 
in and tried to murder the poor Princess. — 
Did you know her well, my Lady ?" 

"No," replied the other, whose terrible 
constraint increased every moment. — " She 
was pointed out to me." 

" In the Conversations Haus ? Yes, every 
one was talking of her. Was she not 
lovely? — ^You would not know her were 
you now to see her again, without her veil. 
She will wear a veil for the rest of her life, 
she says. — And yet, no sooner was she out 



A GHOSTLY COUNSELLOR. 5 

of my hands, than one of her" old lovers, 
whom she had refused four times a year — 
came forward again — such is her fascina- 
tion. She is, I believe, by this time, the 
Countess Haugwitz." 

Lady Caldermere made the requisite 
murmur, which in good society passes 
for an answer. She had not heard two 
words out of ten. 

"A strange place, Baden-Baden, — ^is it 
not? — quite deserted by invalids now. — I 
was more sorry than surprised to learn that 
my present patient had derived no advantage 
from the waters, — ^but I hope, by meeting 
you here, that Lord Caldermere is at least 
no worse ; 'and that some of the sjnnptoms 
detailed in his last letter, have been at least 
alleviated ; though prescription from a dis- 
tance is to little purpose, I know. How is 
my Lord?" 

"I hardly know how to answer you," 
said Lady Caldermere, rallying her spirits 
in sheer desperation, and trying to shake oflF 



6 A PRODIGY. 

the dread she battled with as unreasonable. 
— " I was not aware, till this moment, that 
Lord Caldennere was in correspondence 
with . . . with any foreign physician." 

"No? — ^but you need not be surprised. 
Reserves with those who are habitually the 
most trusted, are frequently a sjnnptom of 
a case such as, I fancy, my Lord's may prove. 
— ^Then, I dare say, you had not heard that 
I was on my way to England, so soon as I 
could leave the Princess ChenzikoiF, — ^with 
the express purpose of putting my poor 
services at his entire disposal ? — ^I am afraid 
you must become used to my poor dis- 
figured face, even if it does happen un- 
pleasantly to remind you of some old friend. 
My Lord's cure must be a work of time. 
Have you any commands for Caldermere 
to honour me with ?" 

" Are you going down to Caldermere ?" 
was her question, in a trembling tone of 
surprise. 

" To-morrow 1 — ^I should have gone down 



A GHOSTLY COUNSELLOR. 7 

to-night, indeed; only Madame Baltakis 
told me in her note that I might possibly 
meet you here. What a wilderness of a 
place this London is I and how much — 
much changed since I was here last, twenty 
years ago. — ^Not this part of the town, 
though, so much as some others." 

It could not be I — ^No ! — ^The dreaded one 
had never been in England ! 

" But your heavy climate is not changed. 
I recollect that well. What a climate ! with 
this bitter east wind in June ! How you 
English ladies keep your beauty so long, we 
foreigners caa never understaad-I suppose 
it is because you are all so happy at home. 
— ^But here is Madame Baltakis!" and he 
shrugged his shoulders with an expression 
of dismclination, as he rose. — "Then you 
have no commands that I can have the 
honour of taking down to Caldermere? — 
If you stay some weeks in town, I hope 
you wiU find we have made progress." — 
And he joined the noisy lady of the house, 



8 A PKODIGY. 

leaving Lady Caldermere in a state of 
bewilderment which words cannot describe. 
Short as that dialogue had been, there was 
matter in it for a life's misery. She might 
have fancied that every word had been 
selected and spoken for some peculiar pur- 
pose — even had she not been made suspi* 
cious by that vague affright for which no 
valid reason could be given. A strange 
physician summoned without her knowledge 
to Caldermere ! — one, too, who knew some- 
thing of her history ! She must know his. 
Meanwhile, her perplexity was intolerable : 
worse, she felt, than the worst certainty could 
be. She would question Madame Baltakis : 
but no— there was no brmging herself to con- 
fess to that woman that she was ignorant of 
home affairs which concerned her so nearly. 
— She would write to Justin, and ask what 
he knew. She would go to Caldermere so 
soon as she could without exciting suspicion, 
and speak directly to my Lord's strange 
guest. "Hemmed in on every side !" mut- 



A GHOSTLY COUNSELLOR. 9 

tered she to herself. " Why did I make so 
terrible a marriage?" 

Something, possibly, however, might be 
found out there and then. She passed hastily 
through the rooms, which were now full ; but 
Doctor Mondor was nowhere to be found: 
instead of him, in the midst of the crowd, 
Countess Baltakis fanning herself, and talk- 
ing to a dozen people at once. 

" Colonel Vandaleur, will you see the 
Countess to her carriage ? Met him in Sicily 
— how interesting! — ^What a countenance 1 
Lady Load is sure he must have been bom 
with that scar. — ^No, Mr. Transom- — ^not the 
slightest idea of establishing himself here ! 
He prefers wandering about — and will only 
take up a case when he fancies it. — I am 
sure we are indebted, Lady Caldermere, to 
my Lord's illness, for treating us to a sight 
of so remarkable a person. . . . No, a 
Maltese,* Kitty, — ^not a German. — ^His mother 
was . . . They say it is some preparation of 
platina or petroleum, which works wonders. 



10 A PRODIGY. 

Of course you will think him a Quack, 
Sir Matthew, if he cures Lord Caldermere. 
He's a charming man. — Such a sweet face, 
and the scar gives his eyes so much expres- 
sion. Now, don't it, Piper ? — I appeal to you 
as an artist. I seem as if I had known it 
all my life — I am positive I have met with it 
somewhere. — Or perhaps it is mesmeristic. 
They say he puts people to sleep : in a' 
wonderful way — ^besides the petroleum.— K 
truly charming man, I call him. — Going, 
Lady Caldermere? — How I rejoice with 
you at being set at ease about Lord Calder- 
mere. —Baltakis adores him as a perfect 
wonder. — She's gone, Kitty, thank God ! — 
a spoiled apple-green colour: jealous, no 
doubt, poor thing, of this Doctor Mondor : 
for people do say (not Baltakis, he never 
utters) that Lord Caldermere beats her. 
— ^And what a joke it is, her son being 
our pianoforte player. — Yes, indeed it is 
so. Lady Load — and her natural son ! — 
She had one, that I know. — But we must 



^^^'nm^tm 



A GHOSTLY COUNSELLOR. 1 1 

keep this dear Mondor amongst us. Lady 
Lydia, we must find him an English 
wifel — ^The Sultan offered him six (that 
was your story, Mr. Percelby) for curing 
him. Tou get no such fees, Sir Matthew ; 
but then you kill people, you know — other- 
wise the dear Dorkings would have been 
with us to-night The Duchess will marry 
' again. Thank Heaven, Grisi is done, for I 
want my supper. See after yourselves, 
good people.— Come, my Lori" 



12 



CHAPTER VIL 

SOOTHING MEDICAL TREATMENT. 

Any loiterer at the gates of Caldermere 
on a glowing June evening some ten days 
later, who looked through betwixt the 
lodges — ^their windows glistening like dia- 
monds—their porches blazing with summer 
flowers, and sweet with roses — down the 
avenue flanked with velvet turf, and pillared 
with rare specimens of pine-trees, — any 
one, I say, who saw dashing into such a 
Paradise that irreproachable pony equipage, 
with its two toy-grooms behind it, might 
have excusably envied the perfectly-dressed 
lady of the domain leaning back on the 



, > 



SOOTfflNG MEDICAL TREATMENT. 13 

satin cushions, as one whose lot was cast in 
pleasant, places. — Many a criminal has 
entered his grim prison gates with a lighter 
heart than Lady Caldermere's. 

She was going home ; because she could 
bear London no longer — ^no longer endure 
to be distant from the spot— going home, 
unasked for, unbidden, hardly expected; 
having only announced herself a few hours 
before her arrival, lest her return should be 
prohibited : — agoing home, alone amongst ter- 
rors, which she had neither good conscience, 
courage, nor religion to face! — Instead of 
being cheered by the beautjr and shining 
freshness of everything round her, — so deli- 
cious to those who escape from our capital 
in early summer, the rich solitude of the park 
weighed on her spirits. Her notion of the 
country had always confined itself to pic-nics 
and archery meetings: to thirty guests at 
dinner every day — and lively morning 
groups flirting on the terrace. As the 
phaeton swept up, the only sign of life now 



14 A PRODIGY. 

to be seen was a white peacock, survejdng, 

from above, her arrival, as coolly as if he 

had been king of the domata. They had not 

had time to remember to set the fountains 

playing. 

She was received with due observance — 

but the stillness of the house appalled her. 
" Is my Lord in the library, Simmons?" 

"No, my Lady." 

" He is not worse ? — ^not in his own 
room ?" 

" No, my Lady ; my Lord is at Old Cal- 
dermere." 

" Let somebody go down there, then, and 
tell him I am come ; and ask him at what 
time he will dine." 

" My Lord has been at Old Caldermere 
since Thursday week, my Lady," said the 
groom of the chambers, little less amazed 
than herself — ^for he had never dreamed 
that his lady was not in her husband's con- 
fidence. 

"At Old Caldermere!" repeated she, 






SOOTHING MEDICAL TREATMENT. 15 

aghast with surprise. " Send the phaeton 
back, then, and say with my love that I am 
arrived : and serve dinner in half an hour. 
Left the great house, without a word to 
me I" — She rang the bell violently for her 
maid. " I had better dress — I will dress." 

She dressed for dinner — ^feeling every 
moment the constraint more and more 
terrible. — Still no one. — The phaeton came 
back without a message. — Dinner was 
served, before she would sit down by her- 
self. "When did Mr. Bower go back to 
Bower Mills ?" she asked, carelessly. 

"Mr. Bower is staying in Blackchester, 
my Lady." 

Another strange thing to ponder! — She 
went through her wretched dinner in silence; 
not aware what she ate and drank, or if 
anything : — ^but with just sufficient self-com- 
mand left to recollect that there were four 
pair of eyes to watch her. — ^After she had 
gone through the decent show of a great 
lady's repast, — " I will ring when I want 



16 A PRODIGY. 

coflPee, Simmons. — You need not bring 
lights." 

" My Lady, if you please — ^the grey draw- 
ing-room is ready. — We had no time . . ." 
The servant threw open the door of the 
smallest of the suite, and she was left to 
herself in the twilight of a long summer 
evening. 

For such a desolate coming home as this 
had SybU sacrificed her life's truth and af- 
fections I But remorse had less share in her 
frivolous distress than a feeling of ill usage, 
— and a childish, impotent fancy of some- 
thing still being possible to be done by way 
of counteracting her ill luck, as she repre- 
sented it to herself. — She schemed and 
schemed — it could be hardly called think- 
ing: but no remedy would suggest itself: 
until, in very weariness of such useless 
efforts, she fell into that confusion of mise- 
rable anxiety which, with the weak-minded, 
is not far from the first step towards loss of 
reason. 



SOOTHING MEDICAL TREATMENT. 1 7 

How long she had sat undisturbed she 
knew not. The objects in the room, now 
melting together in the soft shadows of a 
summer's night, seemed almost to swim and 
move round her. — She fancied she might 
awaken presently — ^and yet she was not 
asleep. She turned in her chair, as if by 
so doing she could break the spell of be- 
wilderment. — ^As she turned, a sudden light 
fell upon her — ^and behind the light she 
saw, pale, stem, reproachful, a face in the 
doorway. 

^'What? what?" she could hardly gasp 
out — ^putting her hands to her eyes. 

" Doctor Mondor, my Lady," said Sim- 
mons, ushering in the visitor, and placing 
candles on the table. 

The visitor sat down on a slight motion 
from the lady. He waited till she should 
speak : but she did not — perhaps could 
not. 

" I walked up from Old Caldermere," at 
last he began, "at my Lord's express desire, 

VOL. m. c 



18 A PEODIGY. 

in answer to your message, which rather 
startled him." 

" What ? that I came home when I knew 
him to be ill, — ^and had been without a 
letter for a fortnight — since, in fact, I met 
you in London." 

" Yes, my Lady. He is in that state (it 
will soon pass, I dare venture to assure 
you) in which the most perfect repose from 
aJl excitement is necessaiy. His mind haa 
been overstrained for some years pasl^and 
when that is the case, the strongest bodies 
will give way, sooner or later.'' 

He paused. The unhappy wife was silent. 
Doctor Mondor went on : 

" Some of the causes of his anxiety, I 
fear, are far from being at an end — ^but 
there is a momentary pause ; and during a 
pause, tone and energy may, pud will^ be in 
a great degree restored. At least I hoped 
so till Saturday evening. — I hoped that the 
perfect quiet of Old Caldermere, the retreat 
from bustle, and servants, and from people 



^r r ~ ^ 



SOOTHING MEDICAL TEEATMENT. 19 

coming and going in a great house Hke 
this, would enable me to give my peculiar 
mode of treatment a good chance. — ^What 
has occurred there to ruffle him I cannot 
tell you." 

" Did he see anything ?" she asked, hur- 
riedly. 

" See I — I do not quite understand you — 
but he would send into Blackchester, then 
and there, [^for Mr. Bower : — and he slept 
very ill, when their meeting was over.— His 
lawyers were with him on Monday. — ^He 
was calmer on Tuesday and yesterday: 
and, indeed, I hope, only requires cahn, 
and a few simple remedies, to be aU we 
could wish to see him. Meanwhile" (there 
was a slight change of tone here — ^tending 
towards the mood imperative — ^not lost on 
his listener), " he begs you not to think of 
coming down to Old Caldermere; to be 
under no anxiety on his account; and to 
amuse yourself." 

"Amuse myself 1" cried she, thrown off 

c2 



20 A PEODIGY. 

her guard by the quiet tone of authority. — 
"This is all very welL — Be under no 
anxiety, indeed I Do I stand for nothing and 
nobody in the midst of aU these changes 
and mysteries?— I, my Lord's wife, not to 
go near him, when he is ill, and to wait for 
orders from a stranger— from! . . . Doctor 
Mondor, who and what are you, to thrust 
yourself into the midst of a family in this 
way?" 

" You are hysterical, madam, and I shall 
have to prescribe for you. — ^Who am I ? — 
Lord Caldermere's physician, summoned 
from abroad — ^where I had the honour and 
advantage of knowing some of your late 
husband's family." 

She looked him full in the face, unable 
to command her increasing agitation. He 
returned her gaze, and a smile flitted over 
his lips and passed — as she faltered out, 
" My late husband's family ?" 

" It is so, madam. I have been mistaken 
for one of them more than once in my life. 



^^'^m-.'- .i^^^^ww 



^"^•^P!^*PC»P*?^P51P 



SOOTHING MEDICAL TREATMENT. 21 

owing to my having something of an Ein- 
stem face. Had the Baron many illegi- 
timate sons ? — ^because, who knows but that 
I may be something nearer than a double 
to a certain dead man you know of?" 

" Yes 1 he is dead ! I know he is dead !" 
burst from her, in spite of herself. — " Thank 
God I" 

" Amen ! my Lady, as you say so ! — ^Yes : 
I know enough, and more than enough, 
about Adalbert Einstem ; how he took to 
living by his wits: was disgraced in the 
army — was taken up by a great lady — be- 
came a gambler, and " 

" And how came you to know him?" 

" 0, my Lady, in our student-days we are 
not too select in our friends. The fellow 
was a wild fellow, no doubt — ^but he had 
gentleman's blood in his veins, on the 
father's side, at least, and was fairly good 
company, sometimes. This must be a 
painful subject to you, my Lady — and one 
need not be a physician to see how nervous 



22 A PEODIGY, 

you are. Allow me to take my leave, 
pray I" 

" Ring for some water, — I am faint," she 
gasped out, hoarsely. " Now then, go on, 
go on !" she cried, when she had drunk the 
water, and the door had closed on the ser- 
vant — "You know more about his death 
than any one else! — ^you were with him 
when he died. — ^Let me look at you close ! 
— ^Let me see what more imposture .... 
what is coming next ?" she went on, more 
and more wUdly. . 

. " Imposture, my Lady I — ^Look at me — ^if 
you dare! Do not we know he is dead — 
and do not you thank God for it ?" 

"Are you sure he is dead?" she cried 
(now beyond any self-command). "You 
know he is not ! — You are Adalbert !" And 
her hysterical scream rang through . the 
room — one which, but that the servants 
were quarrelling over their billiards, would 
have brought the household in a swarm 
around them. 



SOOTHING MEDICAL TREATMENT. 23 

"Well, madam, — I will not contradict 
you: any more than I objected to your 
^ Thank God ' just now. — ^As you say that he 
is not dead, it, shall be so. — Yes, I am Adal- 
bert, by courtesy Einstern! — ^You have found 
out what I may have meant to conceal — 
Sweet maternal instinct I Much may it ad- 
vantage you! — Woman!" — and the man 
laid aside his tone of diabolical irony, as he 
rose from his chair and stood over her — " it 
is you, not I, who have plucked off the mask : 
— ^you must abide the consequences !" — ^and 
he passed to the bell, and rang it sharply. 

" Some wine immediately !" was the order 
to the servant who appeared. " Lady Cal- 
dermere is faint. — Some champagne." 

Yes: as he said, she had plucked off the 
mask. 

" Your servant will wonder, I doubt not," 
said the fearful visitor, reseating himself 
when the door had closed, " at your agita- 
tion. But he knows that I have your hus- 
band's entire confidence. Take care what 



24 A PRODIGY. 

you are about. — I am master here; and 
will teU you what you shall do : and what 
you shall leave undone. — You have brought 
this on yourself — ^by coming down here and 
raving in this insane way." 

She began to sob, in a wild, helpless way, 
clasping the arms of the chair in which she 
sat, and moaning — "0 God I God ! is there 
no one who can come and help me ?" 

" No one. You must command yourself! 
You shall hear me out. — If you faint, I can 
revive you without calling on your servants. 
Here's the wine ! — ^And I don't wonder you 
would like to faint" (the man went on, when 
the servant had disappeared, in that low voice 
which was scarcely human), " when you see 
me rise from the dead in the midst of aU 
your security, and grandeur, and domestic 
happiness — ^and when you recollect the love 
which you showed me during my years of 
childhood ! — ^Why, do you think I have for- 
gotten it ? — ^There was not a day you did 
not try to set my father against me (your 



SOOTHING MEDICAL TREATMENT. 25 

first husband was your slave for a while). 
He would have been kind to me in his 
rough way — ^but you could not bear to see 
me at Einstern. The Baroness loathed the 
sight of her bastard ! — Coarse words, you 
will say, for a grand lady like Lady Calder- 
mere to hear ! — ^but you have brought them 
on yourself, I tell you !" 

" me ! me !" was all that the weak 
woman could reply ; — ^rocking her head be- 
tween her hands. 

"You were very near having this plea- 
sure when I had the honour of meeting my 
Lady at Baden-Baden, but matters were not 
then ripe. I have waited pretty long, 
though I — What, and you thought you 
could make an end of me, when you got 
my poor half idiot of a father to turn me 
out of doors, and to answer none of my 
letters ! — And you were pleased to learn that 
I was disgraced in the army, and was kept 
by a woman, and that I became a gambler. 
I am not the only son of yours who has gam- 



26 A PEODIGY. 

bled, recollect I — ^And I have killed a man 
in a duel, who challenged me, because I 
made his sister what you were before you 
became the Baroness Einstem. — It was high 
time I should leave Austria." 

He paused in the full disclosure of his 
triumph, and poured a goblet of champagne 
down his throat. ^ 

" The police were admiring me at a dis- 
tance, with the intention of making love to 
me more closely. — Bah! I knew two or 
three of their officers. — Do you suppose that 
police officers are as immaculate in Austria 
as they are in England ? — ^It was their inte- 
rest at once to screen me and to help me 
away. — I was to go out and bathe in the 
Danube, — ^with one or two people to see me 
go. I was to be drowned, and to be smug- 
gled across the frontier off into Wallachia, 
where one of my friends had connexions. 
The body, of course, was not to, be found. 
My Wallachian friend was conveniently 
killed in a brawl, only a few days later. — 



SOOTHING MEDICAL TEEATMENT. 27 

There was just time enough to get me across 
the frontier first, and no great difficulty in 
that. God helps those that help themselves — 
though I thought it was infernal luck at the 
time. — ^While I was in the water, pretending 
to bathe, cramp seized me, and I went down 
and struck my head violently against a stake 
to which boats are moored. Here's the 
staple mark" — and he touched his eyebrows. 
— " You see that the ugly cut has so spoiled 
my beauty, that even you did not know your 
son again ! — ^When they got me out, I was 
so smashed and swelled, that there was no 
chance of identifying me;— and so they 
found my clothes, and found my money, and 
spread the alarm. They would not have let 
me live — ^had it not been for the chance of 
making something out of the family later. — 
And so, it was proved by testimony, properly 
given out and registered, that Adalbert Ein- 
stem is dead. You, not I, have brought him 
to life, remember. — By luck, however, I sent 
out of Vienna a trifle or two before I left 



28 A PRODIGY. 

it : one, a letter from you to my father on 
my account, which I stole from his escritoire. 
The letter was written just before your 
second son was bom. — I can produce this." 
He drank deeply again. 

" I will not endure this ! I will not 
endure this !*' 

" Softly ! softly, or the servants will fancy 
you have taken leave of your wits.— What 
does it all amount to? — ^That you have 
plucked off my mask! — Keep the pretty 
truth to yourself, and don't abuse my ugly 
face, or you may find yourself in difficulties." 

" I will go to Lord Caldermere at once ! 
and if you dare to prevent me ..." 

"Far from it, you shall have my arm 
across the park, if you are up to the walk, 
— as you seem a little flighty to-night. — Go 
to Lord Caldermere, if you please — I do 
not prevent you. — ^Tell him who I am. — 
Well, I will deny it. Which of us two 
will he believe ? Your son, or your son's 
mother? — Go to him in defiance of his 



SOOTHING MEDICAL TREATMENT. 29 

positive commands !— commands given at 
my bidding ! Do your very worst ! Tell him 
all that I have told you, which is true — 
and he wiU believe all that I have told him, 
which is false — ^for I shall simply say that 
you have lost your senses ! — ^You were not 
unnoticed, woman! the night we met in 
London ! and, in real truth, I do think you 
are three parts mad ! — Sit down, and quietly 
give up every idea of resistance. — ^There is 
not a single word that you can speak to any 
living creature, which will not lead to your 
ruin ! — I have the game in my hands !" 
" God ! what is to become of me ?" 
" Settle it with your God I — settle it with 
your conscience ! — settle it with your mo- 
ther's love ! — I have not waited so many 
years for nothing. — I heard of your grand 
marriage, when I was living as tutor in the 
Wallachian family to which my friend had 
recoramended me. — I was sure we should 
come together again, some day : and mean- 
while, it was the best thing to lie quiet for 



30 A PRODIGY. 

a while. — I found there an old blockhead of 
a quack, an Armenian; and picked up a 
little medicine — quite enough to serve my 
turn in addition to a little talent or two. — 
I have never wanted a patient since. — But 
reaUy God has helped me, as I was saying. 
— ^For it was a chance — ^was it not ? — ^that in 
one of the families I entered, I had the 
pleasure of alighting on your darling — ^for 
whose angel sake I was to be kicked into the 
kennel, forsooth ! — ^I am proud to recollect 
the service which I rendered him in return ! 
— Perhaps you do not know it ! Perhaps you 
do not know that I stood betwixt him and a 
marriage with the young Russian Princess. 
— Perhaps you do not know that it was I 
who gave him that dear choice wife of his : a 
6aZZ^^girl who had been sold to half Munich 
— ^and who, to boot, has madness in her 
blood ! as I could mention to my Lord, if he 
did not avoid the subject ! — He has broken 
with your immaculate son Justin, as you axe 
aware, on account of your Prodigy ; — ^and 



« IVI 



SOOTHING MEDICAL TREATMENT. 31 

has forbidden him the house. — ^Will you send 
for Justin and tell him what I have told you ? 
— ^Do, and Lord C^Jdermere shall know in 
what state my Lady's brains are I — You 
would come down here, where no one 
wanted you ! You would run away from 
London to avoid being pointed out as the 
mother of a Prodigy, who has so gallantly 
distinguished himself I You would be pry- 
ing, and inquiring, and trying to patch up 
matters ! Take the consequences I You can 
do me no further mischief, poor woman !" 

He rose as he spoke, — ^put on his gloves 
quietly — quietly said "Good night!" — 
quietly rang the bell, — ^and spoke quietly to 
Simmons: " Tell my Lady's maid to watch 
her to-night, and to give her some gentle, 
quieting draught," said he, as he went out ; 
"she has not been quite weU." And, ten 
minutes later, he was singing and laughing 
his way home to Old Caldermere through 
the dewy park. 

How Lady Caldermere got to her own 



32 A PRODIGY. 

room she never knew — and never remem- 
bered, how she had flung herself into bed ; 
full of an opiate— not tlie first which she had 
taken — ^this time as recklessly administered 
as if she had been careless whether it 
quieted her for a while, or lulled her for 
ever. — ^Nor could she ever tell what hour of 
the dim night it was at which she found 
herself, still dressed, out of her room, in the 
open air — ^wandering distractedly about on 
the terrace. Beneath it, at one angle of the 
house, lay a canal, now like a sheet of 
black marble ; for neither moon nor stars 
were out. — The woman was wretched 
enough to look into this with a sort of 
greedy wistfulness. That which opiates 
could not do— the dark water might do 
for her! — But she was an arrant coward; 
and the longing which she dared not fulfil, 
added only another to her torments. She 
rushed back to the house — ^into her own 
room — and flung herself on the floor. 
When it was late in the day she awoke. 



SOOTHING MEDICAL TREATMENT. 33 

— ^undressed how she never knew, and in her 
bed, with her lips parched, and her throat 
on fire,— looking haggard, and grey, and as 
her maid whispered in the world below, a 
thousand years old. That functionary pre- 
sented her with a sealed note, — ^which re- 
called her to herself, in a second. " Doctor 
Mondor," said she, *' walked up with it this 
morning." 

On the outside was : " From Dr. Mondor, 
—a prescription;" within were these few 
words : " Repeat what I prescribed for you 
last night ;" (then followed a scrawl in me- 
dical Latin :) " My Lord is better this morn- 
ing — and you will be so too, if you keep 
quiet. I shall tell your servants again, that 
there is no need for them to be anxious : 
and that you only require complete repose. 
I shall come to you again, shortly." 



VOL. m. D 



PART THE SIXTH. 



THE MONTH OF JULY. 



CHAPTER I. 



IN LONDON. 



Only once before had Charles crossed the 
Channel to England : if, indeed, it had been 
he. — Little, at all events, was there now 
left of the boy in the velvet coat, who had 
flung peaches out of the window. — ^Though 
he had stiU some months of grace to grow 
in, ere he airived at years of discretion-he 
was a husband — about to become a father 
— a celebrity for whose possession the great 



IN LONDON. 35 

people of Europe were quarrelling. Yet 
though not much of young life remained 
for him to learn: — there niight still, he 
felt, be much that he could enjoy. 

The travelling wonderments of Gottlieb, 
to begin with, were enough to make any 
heart so kind as his happy. It was a bril- 
liant day as the two steamed up the Thames ; 
by which highway every foreigner ought 
to approach London j and the miles of 
masts — the stir of shipping in active mo- 
tion, a sight of wonder even to those most 
familiar with it — astounded the inland-bred 
German boy to a degree of rapture which it 
was precious to see. — ^Then the endless drive 
through the crowded streets of the City, and 
so up to the West-end, was more marvellous 
still. — ^Determined to keep his independence, 
80 far as was possible, — Charles had, by 
letter, declined the chambers bedecked by 
Mr. Quillsey for his special use in the house 
of Countess Baltakis — and established him- 
self in a hotel — ^greatly to the vexation of 

d2 



36 A PRODIGY. 

that lady, who had intended to establish a 
complete monopoly of his time. He must 
work, he said, in the mornings ; for, as we 
have seen, there were obligations to German 
publishers to be wiped off. — So the lavish 
and boastful leader of Fashion was com- 
pelled to confine herself to trumpeting his 
arrival and its object through the columns 
of courtly journals. In one point, he was 
spared annoyance by her exactions. " Not 
one note shall be heard," she would say, — 
"no. Lady Load, no, Kitty, — ^save on our 
own Thursdays : — not one single note. — ^It 
is of no use to ask for his address; no, 
Colonel Vandaleur, of no use. — yes, 
I dare say ! a very old acquaintance. I 
wonder how many very old acquaintances 
of his want to find Einstem out al- 
ready? He makes it a point of honour 
with us to keep quiet. — Baltakis wanted 
him to come here, for we have plenty of 
room for him, and that poor half-grown 
shrimp of a secretary of his: — ^but, as he 
said, there would be no security against in- 



IN LONDON. 37 

temiption. And if he practises at all (even 
/ have not heard him touch a piano), he 
does so with the doors locked." 

But the concealment of her discomfiture 
in not being able to take possession of the 
Lion, body and soul, though played off with 
unblushing ability, did not stand Madame 
Baltakis in stead. Charles had not been 
two days in England, when the hermetical 
seal of secresy (in which, it may be hinted, 
he had never connived) was broken : and 
his chamber at the Beaumont Hotel was 
charged betimes one morning by a step 
and a voice which made him turn — redden- 
ing like a girl, and his heart leaping with 
delight. He was hardly able to speak for 
emotion, as hq greeted his old Tubingen 
friend. — " Dear sir ! what a pleasure ! I 
did not even know you were in England !" 

" Gad, my boy! — and I did not know 
whether you would speak to me ; after your 
taking no notice of my letter! And to 
think of such a child as you being married," 
continued the Colonel, eyeing Charles with 



38 A PRODIGY. 

a complacency he made no attempt to dis- 
guise. Gad ! but I must say you are twice 
the man you were when I saw you last; 
and, as you are married, why, I suppose 
we must allow you to be married, and make 
the best of it." 

" Even so," said the Prodigy, with a 
touch of his old childish sauciness ; " and 
you must be godfather to my first child." 

" Whew !" and the Colonel pinched his 
under lip and looked archly considerate 
— " already ! — ^Well see ! — but, nonsense 
apart, as you wotdd marry her, I hope she 
makes you happy." 

Alas ! for the Pride that got the better 
of Truth ! — " Perfectly . happy," was the 
reply ; but Charles crimsoned deeply as he 
uttered the lie. 

"Good — good. — I can swear to her 
beauty, at least, (prad I my boy ! 'tis just 
as well she is not with you. The women 
here would tear her in pieces. — ^Well, for 
her it is a rescue, if ever there was such a 



IN LONDON. 39 

thing: and now that she has done with 
that crew of wretched people, it will be all 
right, I hope • . . , though . . . ." 

" Though you think I might have done 
better." 

" Why, with the ball at your foot as you 
have it I Gad, sir I a thousand pounds for 
one month! Who ever heard of such a 
thing ? — ^You'll make your fortune in five 
years." 

" Ah ! good friend 1" cried the other, 
buoyantly, " and so you give in at last, and 
so you, even you, admit that my art is worth 

something ! — ^I declare that I sJiQuJd hardly 

« 

have known you again — so fresh and so 
young do you look." And again he grasped 
the Colonel's hand. 

" If I do, it is not the fault of the tire- 
some life I have been leading. — I never 
heard of the Fountain of Youth being found 
in Lincoln's Inn." 

'' Where ?" 

" Gad, my boy! — 0, I forgot, you don't 



40 A PKODIGY. 

know London ! — among the lawyers : but 
they tell me they see their way straight 
before them, at last. — ^And this was what I 
wanted to talk to you about, as soon as you 
arrived: and so I made up to Countess 
Baltakis. — She's a vulgar creature, but shell 
ask anybody to her parties — and every- 
body wants to go there — aU manner of 
great ladies — the very proudest among 
them go there: some who know you, — 
and to whom you are related." 

His listener's cheeks became of the colour 
of fire ; and he breathed quickly. " Do not 
talk of .... do not speak of any person 
belonging to me ! — I am so delighted to 
see you again. It brings back the old 
Tubingen times again." 

" But, my boy," said the other, gravely, 
" we shall find it hard to avoid family afiairs 
— ^impossible, I may say. — I did not tell you 
why I left Tubingen in such a sudden hurry. 
Then the thing seemed to be such a mere 



IN LONDON. 41 

castle in the air: — ^but the lawyers who 
began the affair, Heaven knows why, wrote 
so pressingly, that though I have neither 
chick nor child to profit by me, I should 
have been culpable not to have looked into 
the matter." 

" I hope the result, whatever it be, is to 
your satisfaction??" 

"Gad, my boy! I believe so. It turns 
out that I am owner of a castle on earth, like 
a faery palace— one of the very finest estates 
in England, of which I ought to have been 
in possession many a year ago, but for a 
forged will. — ^The forgery of the will is all 
but clearly proved — quite so, I should say 
— ^for we are only waiting the arrival from 
America of the man who was sent out 
there to obtain a testimony, and whose 
witness is detained by a broken limb." 

" Indeed, with all my heart, I am re- 
joiced!" said Charles, with a half absent 
smile. " What a famous landlord you will 



»i 



42 A PKODIGT. 

make! Is there a houae on the estate? 
Shall I not build an orgaa in it?— and wiU 
you not make me your organist ?" 

" Ah ! there's your old boy's face again ! 
A house I — Gad, sir I a fisiery palace, I tell 
you.— But I am afraid I have something to 
teU you besides, that wiU give you pain, 
connected with it— great pam." 

" I can bear pain," was the proud answer 
— " I have borne some. — But how can any- 
thing connected with it give me pain ?" 

" Gad, my boy 1 it must come out within 
a few weeks at the latest ! — ^The name of 
the estate is ^ Caldennere !' " 

" What!" cried Charles, with a vivacity 
which brought two waiters of the Beaumont 
Hotel into the room. 

" Nothing is wanted. — Shut the door. — 
I knew I should shock you, my boy — and 
if once, I have had it twenty times in my 
mind, to write and prepare you for the news. 
But then I thought, ^ If it should blow over 



IN LONDON. 43 

—if it should oome to nothing— what is the 
use of making the poor lad uneasy ?' " 

" You laying a claim to Caldermere?" 

" Gad, sir ! I should think so : and a 
claim, I fancy, there will be no disproving. 
Even his lawyers own as much ; or would 
do, if he were not what he is — and that you 
know as well as I do — ^the most obstinate 
of men." 

" Then — ^my — then Lord Caldermere, you 
mean to tell me, is aware of the progress 
of the affair ?" 

" Perfectly, my boy — and holds out stu- 
pendously. You cannot imagine what the 
pride and indomitable wrong-headedness of 
that man have been. I suppose his im- 
paired health and strength may have some- 
thing to do with it. — His mind must be 
shaken. He was just and clear-sighted, 
they say, once ; but he is now perverse on 
some points, and to a degree scarcely ever 
equalled. — Gad, sir ! — ^it's all well enough 



44 A PRODIGY. 

to be resolute, whether it's you over your 
music and your matrimony (you dog 1)— or 
he over his manufactory. — But there's such 
a thing as being too resolute. — ^Why, in very 
defiance of all the London physicians, my 
Lord has imported some foreign quack or 
other to put him to rights, and is to pay 
the fellow a thousand pounds for the job. — 
He'll die, depend on it, rather than own he 
is not cured. — ^He give up I — Gad ! when I 
did enter into the matter, I thought it was 
only acting as one gentleman should act by 
another, to see that my Lord was apprised 
of every step as soon as it was taken. — ^Most 
perfectly well bred he has been, I must say ; 
but as to convincing him — ^not a dream of 
such a thing I — My Lord knows that such a 
document as this confession has been brought 
forward, that its signatures have been at- 
tested. I tell you, we have in hand the con- 
fession of a man, a blackguard, cast-off game- 
keeper, one Paddox, sent off to America 
years ago, with hush-money, who witnessed 



•t^p^'^»^"^"^"'^^*i^'^""-^»-'"^^^p^p»^p^^^p»^^ 



IN LONDON. 45 

the false will. — ^Trouble enough there has 
been in fishing him out, and making him 
speak. — ^Well, sir, my Lord knows all this ; 
and yet, only fancy! he declares he will 
maintain the title till the very last. — I 
had it put to him delicately, whether 
this was altogether just or gentlemanly ? — 
whether, sure as he must be, after the 
evidence submitted to him, of being beaten, 
it would redound to his credit when it be- 
came known that he had been informed of 
our proceedings step by step, with a view 
of saving his pride as much as possible ? — 
whether a law-contest, long or short, would 
not involve him in heavy expenses ? (and, by 
the way, they say he is not in the best pos- 
sible case for bearing them. — It is said that 
the concerns at Bower Mills have been any- 
thing but prosperous of late). Well, possibly 
to give a contradiction to any reports of the 
kind which may be flying about — no matter 
what for — ^go on he will : and is prepared 
to spend any amount of money before he 



46 A PRODIGY. 

gives in. Give in he must, though. — Has 
your mother, Lady Caldermere, no influence 
over him ?" 

" I do not know .... my position with 
her ... . with them, is what it was." 

" Gad, my boy I I think you should have 
made it up among you when you married. 
I saw her at yonder vulgar creature's not 
very long ago. And I thought she looked 
very melancholy and careworn. — ^You must 
not hold out, should she get into trouble." 

" What ? — ^and are you taking their part ? 
— 0, Colonel Vandaleur ! you do not know 
how much I loved her, before she bargained 
herself away. — ^You do not know how much 
her worldliness has cost me. But for it . . ." 
he stopped abruptly, for he had professed 
himself to be perfectly happy in his married 
life. " I hope I shall never see her again. 
Is she always at Madame Baltakis's ?" 

" No, my boy — nobody is there always, — 
no one would confess to going to that vulgar 
creature's always: and I think I saw her 



IN LONDON. 47 

name (the name catches me, and no wonder, 
all things considered) among the Fashion- 
able Departures this very morning. Charles, 
there is trouble hanging over Caldermere : 
and if it prove so, and if you show ven- 
geance — ^remember, I am an old man and 
tell you so, — ^you will never prosper. — ^I 
think you should write to your mother, 
and acquaint her with your being in 
England." 

" 0, I dare say she knows that already, 
from the Fashionable Arrivals, and has de- 
parted to get out oi my way. Write to her ! 
Never ! — ^WeU, you see, good friend, she may 
be glad — ^who knows, after all? — ^to have 
my talent to faU back on." — And feeling in 
all its intensity the desire of being alone, 
Charles turned towards the watch on the 
pianoforte with a compressed lip, which 
spoke of a fixed resolution as strong after 
its kind as Lord Caldermere*s. 

The elder man, whose heart yearned to- 
wards the boy, and who was softened, as all 



48 A PRODIGY. 

men of high nature are, by chances of pros- 
perity, understood the scarce voluntary ges- 
ture. — "Well," said he, rising, " I have told 
you; and we shall meet more easily, now 
that you know all. Come what will, we 
shall not quarrel. — God bless you." — And 
he was gone, after a silent pressure of the 
hand, ere the other's forced composure 
broke up. 

But Charles could not hide his disturb- 
ances from any one save Becker's sister : — 
and Gottlieb, when he came in, in place of 
being praised for the neatness of a score 
which he had already copied (even in deli- 
rious London I) from a stormy manuscript, 
blotted, and smeared, and cut through and 
through with trellises of black ink — ^gave 
back timidly. — His master rebuked him 
sharply for intruding when he was not 
wanted. 

" 0, master ! I did not mean to fret you I 
Is it your head aching again ?" 

" No, Gottlieb, no ! I did not mean to 



m LONDON. 49 

be rough : but you must leave me to myself. 
Go out, and get a walk. — Go — ^go — ^I cannot 
talk to you to-day. It seems," he cried, 
when the faithful retainer was shut out, 
" that I have come to England at a lucky 
time I" 



VOL. m. F. 



50 



CHAPTER 11. 

THE LOWER PAVE^IENT. 

One afternoon, — some days after the events 
which have been told, Susanna was struck 
by a slight change in the patient whom she 
watched so faithfully — by a little more light 
in her father's eyes, — a little more colour on 
his white cheek, — a little more alacrity of 
movement, — a little more clearness in his 
speech. — He called her to him with a gentle 
summons. " Child, I have a concern on my 
mind for thee." 

" Yes, dear father," was the answer of 






THE LOWER- PAVEMENT. 51 

one who knew what such an intimation was 
intended to convey. 

" It is borne on me," Joshua went on, in 
the same peaceful way, " that I am going to 
thy mother — ^at no very distant period. — 
Who then is to care for thee ?" 

" I hope it is no trouble to thee, father" 
(Susanna had returned to the old quaint 
speech of the sect, to soothe him, even as she 
had laid aside aU gay colours of dress). — " I 
am not afraid. I believe I shall be supported 
under whatever difficulty I may be called 
on to meet. — I have one or two real friends 
— ^the lady I travelled with for six years 
among the number. — I am sure that she 
wiU assist me and befriend me. — I wish to 
make thy mind easy, father, — but trust 
thou wilt be spared to me yet a while longer." 

" Thou art a good daughter, though thou 
hast overstepped Friends' principles. — Bless 
thee !" and, on this, the attenuated figure in 
the elbow-chair dropped again into a doze ; 
and Susanna drew down the blind. 

e2 



52 A PRODIGY. 

Then she sat down and thought, and 
questioned herself. Had it not been, in 
some degree, a pious fraud to allude to the 
protection and active assistance of Countess 
Westwood — ^with such a last letter from that 
lady as her pocket contained? — She must 
take it out and read it again. Hei^ nerves 
had been more than usually disturbed of late; 
her walks to and fro on the Lower Pave- 
ment were quicker and more restless than 
formerly. So that Mistress Galatea had ar- 
rived' at the pass of mutely holding up her 
teapot, in place of putting her head over her 
flower-box and asking Susanna to come in 
and taste her muffins. 

That evening she was nearer her first calm 
pace, — for she read and walked, walked and 
read, for the twentieth time, what follows. 

" ^ I have more reasons than one for being 
anxious about you," said the letter. "I 
have no fear of your patience and faith 
wearing out, however long be the attend- 



THE LOWER PAVEMENT. 53 

ance on your dear invalid which you may 
have to go through ; and were I remaining 
in England, . I should be with you from 
time to time, and near you, often. — But I 
am not remaining in England. Do you 
remember my old plan of travel, and the 
hankering I have always had for the grand 
scenery of the Himalaya Mountains? — 
Well, it is about to be indulged. — I have 
not been able to resist the temptation 
offered by two friends of mine — General 
and Lady Ann Roberton — ^^vho are going 
out. He is an enthusiastic naturalist : she is 
remarkable as an artist. Had you not left 
me, I dare say I should not have dared 
such an enterprise. You were in your duty, 
I know: but I am almost alone in the 
world: and feel as if I must see the 
East before I finally settle. I see you 
shake your head at the idea of my ever 
settling. 

" ' It will not be in London, thbugh, when- 
ever that dull time shall come to pass. — 



54 A PRODIGY. 

I hate the place; I hate the waste of 
life and energy there, more and more every 
year I grow older. — I hate the utterly false 
tawdry society that keeps people in such a 
fever : — where no one comes really to know 
any one, and where the richest have the best 
of it. — The house this year is the house of 
Countess Baltakis. I would not keep a 
maid who was so vulgar as that woman is. 
Yet the first people ask to go to her parties. 
— It is her husband, you know, who is giving 
your old playfellow, Einstem, that enormous 
sum to come over for four concerts. 

" ^ I was there the other night — and met 
his mother. Lady Caldermere — looking 
more like a ghastly painted effigy from a 
tombstone than a human being. I never 
saw greater misery stamped on any fece. 
And I met, too, a sort of old acquaintance 
of mine, who told me aU about your old 
playfellow's mad marriage at Munich : and 
more than ^e knew, then. — They had been 



THE LOWER PAVEMENT. 55 

thrown together somewhere in Germany, 
and we had almost a quarrel about Ein- 
stern ; for (I did not at first mean to tell 
you this) my friend, Colonel Vandaleiir, 
still believes in. him as much as you were 
disposed to do.— Charles married this girl 
out of some wild, romantic notion of friend- 
ship for her brother, a college mate. — ^Those 
about her did not bear the best of reputa- 
tions ; and there is madness in the family. 
I could be half sorry for him, if this be 

reaUy the truth : though it may be Heaven's 
provision that you were not drawn into 
the whirlpool into which you might have 

been plunged by your admiration of Genius, 
You might have died on the wreck : and 
you would have died slowly. — ^WeU : I should 
leave England with a lighter heart could 
I leave you in the hands of some honour- 
able, upright man. I shall write to you 
constantly, of course, and often before we 
start. Don't forget me; and don't forget 



56 A PR0DI6T. 

how I did my best to make head against 
the spirit of Romance in you. Ah 1 I hope 
you will not live to be such a useless, home- 
less, restless, waif and stray, as 

" ^ Your affectionate friend, 

" * Rosamond Westwood.' 

Kind, incoherent being I— prudent enough 
in counselling others, and herself a^ wild 
as the wind. She cannot understand . . ." 
and then Susanna stopped impatiently, and 
curbed herself. Had she not torn up by 
the roote that possessing fancy of her girl- 
hood? — Since her return to Blackchester, 
she had somehow inured herself to con- 
sider the whole subject as a matter of 
history. — She had renewed her acquaintance 

with Justin : and they had spoken together 
again and again of Charles,— of their hopes 

and fears on his behalf — about his chances 

of happiness in married life. In fact, they 

had talked of little else — ^for Justin showed 

« due reserve in alluding to any other 



THE LOWER PAVEMENT. 57 

family concerns. — Susanna had gathered 
much concerning the Prodigy during her 
travels in Germany, — but that was no 
reason why he should confide to her in 
return his anxieties about Caldermere and 
Bower Mills: or explain how painful his 
position had become both .with mother and 
father-in-law : — ^while as for any hopes and 
fears unconnected with them, his timidity, 
his sense of unworthiness, were so honest, 
that they had scarcely ventured to peep 
out, even to himself, however close under 
the surface they lay. 

She put up the letter hastily, on hearing 
a well-known step behind her on the pave- 
ment. 

" You are looking pale this evening. Miss 
Openshaw," said Justin, himself not looking 
very brave. " I hope your father is not 
worse? I saw him sitting in the window 
as usual." 

^^ It is difficult to tell," was her answer. 
" The change, if change there be since the 



58 A PRODIGY. 

immediate breaking down on his arrival, 
has been so very slight that I hardly know 

how he is. — ^I trust you bring better news 
from Caldermere." 

Justin looked very uneasy ; took off his 
hat, and wiped his forehead. Turning 
towards him in the bright sunshine, it 
occurred to Susanna that he might be a 
man of forty, so prematurely had youth 
faded from his face. As he turned, too, 
she saw that he was growing bald. 

" I believe," was his answer, " that Lord 
Caldermere thinks himself much better: 
and is perfectly satisfied with his foreign 
physician. But we are not to see him for 
a few days longer. You got . . ." with a 
slight hesitation . . • "the London papers 
I sent you." 

"Yes ; I see your brother has arrived." 

" But who else, do you imagine, is 
coming, if not come, to England, Miss Open- 
shaw ?" 

" Who ?" 



^^ / *- ■ ^'^i^'-— ^^P^^^^V«^i^««MBP9H^I«iH|9i7 



THE LOWER PAVEMENT. 5 9 

" That Doctor Orelixis who brought him 
up, and with whom, as you know, I have 
been in correi^ondence. He intends to make 
a tour of observation in the manufacturing 
districts, and having heard much of Bower 
Mills as a model establishment, desires^ to 
visit it, if I will give him facilities." 

" Ah I . . . Are you thinking of going 
up to town ?" 

"I cannot, unfortunately, — ^I cannot be 
spared — I must wait, at least, till Lord Cal- 
dermere be visible a^in; — and then this 
strange estrangement !^ — I do not know how 
Charles would meet me. Though I love him 
so much I ... and I" — (for now something 
rose which no reserve, no sense of unworthi- 
ness could longer keep down) — "I love so 
much those who love him ! Dear Miss Open- 
shaw — ^may I not say as much to you ? — I 
have no one else to speak to, — ^no one else to 
rely on I I am alone in tie wodd ; — ^I have 
never found' so kind a listener as you ! I have 
never seen any one so infinitely above me 



60 A FR0DI6T. 



— any one, in any respect, your equal. — 
We have this strong bond of interest in 
common. If, when you know me better, 
you find you can trust me,-and if there is 
the least chance of my being able to stand 
hy you, and to comfort you — ^may I not 
hope . . ." 

Susanna turned and looked at him full in 
the face, with a serene and kind smUe : but 
though he had Uttle experience of women, 
and none of love-making, that smile arrested 
the other words which might have been 
rising to his lips. He might, or he might 
not, have been hardening himself up to the 
tremendous effort of going further — ^since, 
in place of quitting the field discomfited — he 
made still a few paces at her side in total 
silence. How little could Mistress Whitelamb 
dream of what was passing within the minds 
of those two calm figures I — ^Yet both were 
so engrossed as not to be aware that they 
were not alone and unseen from the Lower 



THE LOWER PAVEMENT. 61 

Pavement — ^but that round the bend of the 
road which came up from Blackchester, a 
person was approaching rapidly. 

He was upon .them before they were 
aware of his presence — the changed visitor 
to The Hirsch — the wonderful artist for 
whom great ladies were fighting — the 
wild husband of the ballet-^l — looking 
years older, it seemed to Susanna, than 
when they had last met; — ^but handsomer 
than ever, and with a flush of affectionate 
excitement lighting up every feature, as he 
caught both her hands. 

"Susanna! Good, dear, kind Susanna I 
What luck to find you here on the old 
flags !" 

" 0, dear Charles, how glad am I to see 
youl" she cried, able to say little more. — 
" What a surprise I — I was just thinking of 
you and your brilliant success," she forced 
herself to add. "And here is . . ." 

" But I must look at y(?w," was his eager 



62 A PRODIGY. 

answer, as he eyed her with undisguised ad; 
miration. " Handsomer than ever I How ill 
I behaved to you that night at The Hirsch 1 
But you little know ! . . . And have you 
gone back to the Quakers, and to their little 
mouldy old meetiag-house, where I put the 
Geneva box under the bench ?" 

" No, no . . . but here is some one else 
you should speak to . . ." 

" Yes — and see — ^you must speak to me 1" 
cried poor Justin, rushing forward, and 
feeling as if his heart would burst. — " How 
have I offended you — ^that you wUl not 
own me ? that you never write to me ? — I 
cannot — and wiU not bear it 1 I have never 
loved any one so much as you in the world! 
I have never been so proud of anything iu ' 
the world as you I — ^I have taken your part 
when they have tried to speak ill of you I — 
Don't wrong me I don't disbelieve me, be- 
cause you are a genius, and I am but a 
poor business drudge. — ^Why should any- 



THE LOWER PAVEMENT. 63 

thing come between lis two? God bless 
you! Brother! Brother!" — and ere the 
Prodigy could resist, he was folded in the 
other's embrace. 

But there was no more thought in Charles 
of resisting. The love and the truth of that 
welcome spoke to the love and the truth of 
his noble nature. — ^It flashed upon him 
that he had cherished resentment and per- 
versity, as he felt that warm heart beating 
close to his — ^that he had turned away 
from fidelity and affection and service 
yearning for his acceptance. — He sobbed 
out, " 0, I have been wrong ! very Avrong ! 
Forgive me ! I will tell you some day !" — 
and then, with one of his impulsive changes 
of mood, he held from him the other, red 
and panting and overwhelmed with other 
emotions besides those of the Prodigy's 
return. — ^"How complete a man you have 
grown, Justin I" he exclaimed. 

"Yes, I have worked hard, and had 



64 A PKODIGT. 

much anxiety . . ." was the reply ;] " and I 
'em afraid more is to come. What a pity, 
dear Charles, she is not with you." 

" She ? — ^You mean my wife 1" — ^and then 
Charles went on, somewhat incoherently, 
to explain that he had taken advantage of a 
free afternoon and evening to run down 
and see dear old Gatty. " But I had not 
the least idea .... I thought you always 
lived at Bower Mills." 

" Ah ! — ^perhaps then, you would not have 
come, if you had known," was Justin's an- 
swer, not the most adroit in the world. — 
" No ; I have been principally at Black- 
chester of late. — Our ..." 

"Not to-night I not to-night! — Let me 
hear nothing I ... No family matters! — 
As I live there is Gatty's dear old cap behind 
the mignonette. — I ought to have written 
-—but I am always wrong I She will be so 
startled. Where is Susanna ? — ^You knock 
gently at the door, Justin." 

Susanna had vanished. 



THE LOWEE PAVEMENT. 65 

"And go in first," said the other, ra- 
pidly — with a touch of his old childish ^ 
excitement and love of surprise and mis- 
chief—and as much at ease with Justin as 
if there had not been years of misunder- 
standing. — " Go in, and say that you have 
a message from London — ^from me. — ^Yes, 
that wiU be the best way." 



VOL. m. 



66 



CHAPTER III. 
COUSIN gatty's tbeat. 

" 0; IT is you, Cousin Justin ? — I thought 
I saw you walking a while since with Miss 
Openshaw. — ^They say that her father is 
exceeding poorly — and could not eat half 
his jelly to-day ; and so has taken to preach- 
ing again. I am sorry for her, for she is a 
good girl. — ^Any news ?" 

" Why, yes, — I have news from London 
for you." 

" From London ! for me ? . . ." 

" A very particular message, Cousin 
Gatty. — ^Your favourite 1" 



COUSIN gattt's treat. 67 

/ 

" Bless the de^r fellow ! I have not had 
a moment's peace or quietness since I heard 
he was in the country. I dreamed of him 
ail last night. , . •" 

" Well, do you know; he says that as you 
wiU not go up to London to see him, — he 
must come down from' London to see you. — 
And do you know, I should not wonder if 
he were to come sooner than you can pos* 
sibly expect :— and do you know" (Charles' 
could be no longer kept back) — " here he is." 

The faithful creature did, what even she 
had not done on the day when Mr. Smalley" 
had released her from her heart's most cruel 
anxiety, by assuring her that he was not 
going to marry Miss Belinda Ogg. She fairly* 
fainted away. — ^The delight was too great 
for her. — ^But she came round with a sur- 
prising quickness: and I am sorry to say; 
the- first thing she did was to swear at the 
dear boy for taking her so by surprise : — 
and "not so much as a fresh tart in the 
house ! What a thing 1 — ^But it is my ownr 

f2 



68 A PRODIGY. 

shameful fault. God bless you !" she went 
on to say, " I felt this morning I ought to 
make a chicken-pie — ^but I am growing old 
and lazy, I really do suppose. — ^Dear — dear 
Charles! and how you are grown I — ^yes, 
and rather handsome, sir" — and she put 
her arms round his neck and gave him a 
hearty kiss: — drawing back with a little 
blush, and "What would Miss Ann Ogg 
say, if she had been by I — But to think of 
your really coming all this way to see 
me I" — ^And she got up, and, on her way to 
the door, executed such a little demure 
dance of ecstasy as a parrot may be seen 
to soliloquise when its mind is at peace. 
The next instant she was heard clamour- 
ing in her store-room, at the very top of 
her small treble voice, "No subterfuge 
can be admitted, Betty. I will know who 
broke the mortar I — and to-night, of all 
nights 1 What a thing 1" 

In an instant she wasvback again, glis- 
tening with delight, though she could find 



COUSIN gatty's treat. 69 

nothing newer to say to Charles than — 
"And have you really come all the way 
along the railroad from London to see me ?" 

"Yes, dear old Gatty! and to sleep in 
the spare bed ; though it was too short for 
Miss Ann Ogg's legs, you said, when she 
wanted to come up here, and quarter her- 
self on you — ^for the air, and to drink asses' 
milk." 

" Bless the boy ! what a memory you 
have got still ! — 0, to be sure, and the bed is 
always aired ;" — and out she flew to apprise 
the maid of the guest, and was back again 
in the twinkling of an eye. — "Yes, how 
delightful!" — (proud at her cleverness in 
. not mentioning Caldermere) — "but where 
, else could you sleep ? — ^And we will have the 
carriage from The Blue Keys to-morrow, 
and take a nice little drive." 

"The next time. Cousin Gatty, the next 
time I come, the drive must be. I must be 
in London at twelve to-morrow, to play for 
the Queen." 



70 A PKODIGY. 

"For her gracious Majesty — ^to-morrow I 
— and will the Duchess be there ? — I have 
spoken to the Duchess. — But how will you 
have the time to get the dust out of your hair, 
after that terrible railroad ? It takes Mr. 
Ogg a week. — ^And what will Miss Ann say 
when they hear of Her Majesty ? — ^And how 
tired you must be I Well, tea will be ready 
directly ; though I cannot retrieve myself 
as I could wish. — And where are your 
things?" 

"The porter from The Blue Keys will 
bring them up : — I saw that old Meggley, 
but she did not know me^ — and I saw Miss 
Ann Ogg — ^prowling about ; as she always 
did when the omnibus came in,— and she 
did not know me either." 

"Owing to your mustachio, my dear, I 
don't doubt. — ^Poor Mr. Smalley used to say 
he did not understand fur on people?s upper 
lips. — ^I am glad you did not speak to her. 
As you express it, she always did prowl." 



COUSIN aATTl'S TREAT. 7 1 

" Gatty dear, and I have seen Susanna ! 
Is she living here now ?" 

".In the old house — ^nursing her father, 
vfbo has come .home, and is djdng, like the 
good, faithful girl she is^though not in 
the least of a genius." 

"Djo send and ask her in to te% — and I 
shall feel myself quite. at home." 

" Who could deny him anything ?" said 
Mistress Whitelamb to Justin, too happy to 
be . aware ; of the strange expression of his 
countenance. 

"Who indeed?" thought Justin, in no 
querulous spirit — ^though he was somewhat 
melancholy. — He had seen the bright, open 
expression of pleasure and * surprise on 
Susanna's face, as she greeted his brother. 
He remembered her steady look, as she 
had walked by his side in silence. Still, 
she had :nost , refused his suit definitively. 
Perhaps that face might smile on him one 
day. Perhaps his newly^found brother 



72 A PRODIGY. 

inight be induced to plead for him. Who 
could deny him anything ? 

A message came back from Susanna, to 
the effect that she was unwell ; and begged 
to be excused. 

" Nonsense ! unwell I — ^too unwell to come 
and meet me 1 — She looked capitally well 
just now. — She must come." — ^And Charles 
scribbled on a card — " Am I to think that 
you have not forgiven my rudeness that 
mad night at The Hirsch ? — ^Do come, dear, 
good Susanna. I want to talk to you so of 
old times — and I have to go away the first 
thing in the morning." — "There — Gatty 
dear, — ^the card wiU bring her." 

The card Aid. 

It had not been altogether on her own 
account that Susanna had done herself the 
violence of first refusing. — On receiving this 
second appeal she could not resist the op- 
portunity of meeting her old plajdFeUow — 
perhaps too readily persuading herself to 
forget (the best of women can be selfish and 



COUSIN gatty's treat. 73 

self-deluded) how pitiless her serene presence 
might be that evening to another of the 
party. — It might, rather (so she reasoned 
with herself), have its use ; — as preventing 
the two reunited relatives from touching, 
for a while at least, on delicate ground. 

In spite of all the pleasure, then, of that 
unforeseen meeting — ^in spite of the relief to 
both brothers at the removal of the barrier 
between them — the amount of constraint 
and disquietude which sat at the tea-table 
was greater than could easily be told. — Even 
Cousin Gatty — though dreaming little of the 
simken rocks among which she was sitting at 
her ease — ^had her own trouble, and let the 
same out. There might have been a scolloped 
Guinea chicken (" one of the plump Bower 
Mills Guinea chickens, — your thoughtful 
present, Cousin Justin"), had not the mortar 
been broken. — "Ah I well," said she, "we 
have all our trials — ^And then, I could not 

have had so much of your precious com- 

* 

pany : as it is, the bird will eat cold. — ^But 



74 A PRODIGY. 

come now, tell me about your wife, dear boy. 
I should so delight to see her. . . . She is 
a real beauty, we have heard. — Is she as 
tall as Susanna ?" 

" Not yet," was the Prodigy's somewhat un- 
easy answer. — " Let us hope she may grow. 
— They have told you, Gtitty dear,, have 
they not, why I was obliged to leave her at 
Dresden. — No ? — ^Then stoop your ear, and 
I will whisper it. — ^Don't be afraid ! I shall 
not tickle you with an ear of barley this 
time." 

"0 fie ! Charles I I must say fie 1 Don't 
aak me why I must say so, Susanna. — ^Well, 
to be sure ! how Time does go on ! — And 
have you been pkying on the organ at 
Fulda lately ?" 

No-he had given up organ-playing-^the 
noise and the exertion were too much for 
his strength. 

"It is a pity — ^because how proud it would 
have made Mr. Oggi — ^Dodd's man alwiiys 
asks after you, . and ta&es joff ihis hat when- 



COUSIN gatty's treat. 75 

ever he meets me. — And I have yoiir picture 
on a piece of music which I saw in their 
window. — Not that it is like what you are 
now — ^with your mustachio. — ^Why, I declare, 
here comes Mrs. Meggley's Toby (I cannot 
ever call her by her married name) with 
your bag ; — and here is Jacob, the Calder- 
mere groom, I declare, with his civil face — 
though what has brought him up here at 
this time of the evening I cannot divine." 

The groom brought a note for Mr. Einstem 
JBower — immediate. — Charles frowned at the 
sound of a name to which he was not ac- 
customed; — ^but his look of vexation, though 
more open, was not more intense than Jus- 
tin's, as he broke the seal, and read. ♦ 

"No bad news. Cousin Justin, I hope?" 
said Mistress Whitelamb, filling his cup. 

" Thank you, I must go," said the other, 
rising. — " I am ordered to Bower Mills to- 
night. — Some books I keep are wanted. — I 
shall have hardly time to catch the train." 

" I am glad," murmured Mistress White- 



76 A PRODIGY. 

lamb, resolved to make things pleasant, " to 
hear that my Lord is able to attend to 
business again/' 

"Let me look at that direction," cried 
Charles, eagerly — ^whom nothing escaped. — 

" Who wrote that note ? . . . How comes 

» 

that man's writing here ?" 

" Lord Caldermere makes Dr. Mondor, 
his physician, write for him . . ." said poor 
Justin, searching for his hat, confusedly. . . 
" It is too hatd, that now, of all evenings in 
the year, I am sent for, and in this way, too. 
Charles, be thankful that you are a free 
man." 

" Free !" cried the other, almost bitterly. 
— " But about that letter — I want to look at 
it. Doctor who, did you say ? — I must know 
about this ! — Cousin Gatty, excuse me. I 
wiU go down into Blackchester with Justin, 
and be back again directly, long before you 
have finished tea. Come along !" 

m 

" What a treat, my dear, to see those two 



^iP^^«W^^B"^<«i^"^^^^Pi 



COUSIN gatty's treat. 77 

youths together!" said the sweet-tempered 
old maid — "though as to their looking like 
brothers, I am as much like Miss Scatters ! 
— I should say he is more beautiful than 
ever — ^with those elegant, princely ways of 
his! And how old Mr. Justin appears 
beside him ; — ^no wonder, ordered about as 
he has been ; and now at the beck and call 
of an outlandish doctor 1" 

" Charles seems to know something about 
this physician," said Susanna. 

" Yes, dear, and he wiU tell us when he 
comes back, I do not doubt." 

It seemed long before Charles did come 
back — ^to all appearance as gamesome as 
ever. — ^He had learned to act. — But he was^ 
in reality, glad to be in the old parlour, 
and to remind Susanna of many a game of 
mischief into which he had tried to inveigle 
her. They taxed him with knowledge of 
Dr. Mondor ; — ^but his answer was, he knew 
nothing of any such man. — He had seen 



78 A PRODIGY. 

a handwriting like the direction — that 
was all. 

And it wds all he had learned from Justin. 
For the elder brother could throw no light 
on the matter: never having seen the 
strange physician : not having been at Cal- 
dermei^ since his arrival: and having only 
two or three times heard from him. 

" I wiU write to you," said Justin, rapidly, 
as he wrung his brother's hand at parting. — 
" We must not lose one another, any more. 
We may have need of each. other." 

It may have been that loving grasp which 
had lightened the Prodigy's step as he 
mounted the hill again, — and his heart, — as: 
he rattled away to dear old Gatty, just as he. 
did when he was living at The Blue Keys. 
— ^Bnt it may have also been, that he would 
not give her a moment's time to talk to 
him about Aunt Sarah Jane's daughter or 
the outlandish doctor. 



v-U^iVH^^^HPP^^^^Bi^H^^^ ■« I rm^'^^m 



79 



CHAPTER IV. 

THE PRODIGY IS SUBPBISBD. 

" No, indeed I theEoyal visit was nothing 
of a treat compared witH this," was Mistress 
WhitelamVs comment on her happy even-; 
ing, to Susanna next morning. " Only it 
was so short I Ixould have sat for a wed: 
to see you two talking in: the window; — 
such good company one for the other. Ah ! 
you see, Susanna, you have the better of 
me — ^for I am only a poor stay-at-home 
body- — and you have had such advantages 
and have been everywhere, and can use the 
languages 1— But to think of his coming 



80 A PRODIGY. 

down by that dangerous and dusty railway, 
merely to see me — and before he has been 
to see Her Majesty! Quite right, on the 
Queen's part, though. Aye, — ^and to think he 
will be in London at twelve o'clock — ^and I, 
who never was there ! I declare his smile, 
when he went off this morning, was treat 
enough to last one a week ; — ^the very picture 
of prosperity." 

Well was it for Cousin Gatty's kind heart 
that she could not see beyond that smile I 
nor dream of the current of perturbed 
doubt and emotion beneath all that excite- 
ment which Charles had kept up to the 
la^t moment.— The flood-gates had been 
opened, it is true, by his unexpected meet- 
ing with his brother. — ^The truth had rushed 
in, that, in his passionate way, he had been 
as inexorable as any one of those by whom 
he had conceived himself maltreated. But 
towards his mother there was no relenting 
thought. — He might have known how such 
selfish love as hers dies out and turns to 



THE PRODIGY IS SUBF££3£D. 81 

avoidance and aver8ion.-He turned away 
from the thought of her, even, — ^while the 
woods of Caldermere, the domam for which 
she had sold herself, were in sight, as he 
whirled along. But there was more to think 
about than his brother — more than the 
revival of young fresh feeling on meeting 
the old playfellow in the old place (the scene 
at Munich being passed over) — ^there was 
the restless trouble wakened by that letter of 
recal which he had seen in Justin's hand. — 
What could it mean, — ^this turning up of its 
writer, Zuccaglio, under an assumed naii\e ? 
He had cut short the babble of Countess Bal- 
taMs, about the wonderful Greek physician 
whom Baltakis had secured for Lord Calder- 
mere, by giving her to understand that any 
allusions to that household were intolerable 
to him. — ^Else he might have been treated to 
some distorted tale of the Princess Chenzi- 
k6ff's wound and its cure, which would 
have suggested the truth to him, and spared 
him surprise. As matters stood, all was dis- 

VOL. m. G 



82 A PBOmGY. 

agreeable uncertainty.^— That a feeling o£ 
antipathy to Zuccaglio had grown m him 
.ever since that mad night in Munich, waa be- 
yond doubt — ^but what wb» there to justify it, 
save his disappointment in the result of the 
randiom marriage into which he had been 
hurried?— It was a suUen, airless morning, 
lie tried to clear his brain; — ^he tried to 
sum up the causes he had of mistrust from 
the very first ; beginning with the morning 
after poor Becker's death, when there had 
been more of scrutiny than of sjonpathy in 
Zuccaglio's behaviour~-then the serpentine 
yet wary attention which the other had 
-always been ready to give, when the Pro- 
digy alluded to his own history — then the 
look of satisfaction and intelligence which 
had passed across the man's countenance, 
after that stormy scene at Baden-Baden — 
then the closeness, amounting to jealousy, 
with which every relation betwixt himself 
and his Russian patroness had been watched. 
" Why," ran through his mind, " but for 



THE PRODIGY IS SURPRISED. 83 

his piquing me, and putting me on my 
guard, I might have been married ahnost 
before I knew it, — and to her T — Then 
came back the odd agitation Zuccaglio had 
testified at the sight of Meshek — ^the part he 
had taken in contriving (yes, there was no 
doubt it had been contrived beforehand) the 
Prodigy's luckless marriage with Becker's 
sister. There was a sequence, if not a pur- 
pose, in all these things. — ^And now, that the 
man should be here, in England (if it was 
he), in the midst of that strange, artificial 
household of Caldermere, and, it would 
seem, master of it ! — ^what did it all portend ? 
No good ; that was certain. — " I must ask 
Madame Baltakis. — No, I will talk to 
Colonel Vandaleur about it — once I have 
got this morning over 1" 

Gottlieb was, as usual, waiting for his 
arrival at the hotel door, looking puzzled, 
if not anxious. 

"Why, you frightened fellow! always 
fancjring I shall be too late ! — ^You know I 

g2 



84 A PBODIGT. 

never am. — ^A good hour and a half^to rest 
and to dress, and to get my fingers in ordeix 
No news, I suppose ?" 

" Ah, Heaven I yes I honoured su*,*' re- 
plied the boy, in great trouble ; — ^ and they 
would come in and wait for you, and said 
you would never forgive me if I sent such 
old friends away." 

" Old friends I — Somebody has been im- 
posing on you. What old Mends have I 
in London, except Colonel Vandaleur ? It 
must be some of those pushing people who 
want an autograph! Gottlieb, you have 
done wrong ; — ^whoever they be, I must get 
rid of them, for I must be at the Palace 
by two." 

Gottlieb gave back distressed ; — and our 
hero mounted the stairs in what Mistress 
Whitelamb would have called " a temper." 
— ^Assuredly he was not prepared for the 
sight which greeted him in his own room. 

It was the sight of his old tutor. Doctor 
Orelius, and the wife of Doctor Orelius, ob- 



THE PRODIGY IS SURPRISED. 85 

viously prepared to endure London to the 
very dregs of its pleasures — and that red, 
prosperous, fervent German girl— who but 
the true-souled and forward Minna Twiese ? 
— Even in that first moment of confusion 
and astonishment, a ridiculous thought 
would make its way — a thought of what the 
rage of poor Marie would have been had she 
been his companion, and had found such 
visitors in his room ! 

It was not by a short and easy oration 
that Doctor Orelius explained, how, to cheer 
him up in his trials and losses, a few old 
firiends had subscribed to give him the treat 
of a holiday in England — ^how it had come 
upon him quite as a surprise — ^how, having 
many observations and investigations of 
not - to - be - sufficiently-calculated importance 
to make — ^with the intention of writing a 
book — ^he was girding up his loins to see all 
maimer of sights — ^having already improved 
the shining hours of that morning by 
analysing Bedlam — ^how, seeing that their 



&6 A PR0BI6I. 

valued neighbour and excellent townaman's 
daughter — the true-souled Miss Minna 
Twieaa-had set her heart on paying avhit 
to har aubstantial*and-altogetiier-hoinely- 
and^German-heartedUncle and AuntFleisch* 
raann at Ganrburywell — and haw, not hear- 
ing anything from the gradoua Madame 
Emstem^ ^ii^omaater Twiese had, with 
genial- liberality - and - entirely - meritorious 
prudence, requested Mrs*. Qi^lius to be his 
auhatitute in caring for the. greatly-desirous 
naaidea— the Burgomaster having a terror 
of all that appertained to the sea^—^ea-fish 
^sosf^ — and "-4c& f ' concluded the good 
Bfictor, ^it is truly a terrible suffering, and 
onejnot to be conquered by thamost philo*- 
aophicalLy- resigned sense of duty. — Mra 
QEdius^ wha ia ame still, is already saying 
that jfie does not believe she will e^er ha^se 
tiie: courage: to go home agwn :"— to which 
thatgaod and eoduringhouaaiiGa subscribed 
witkaamethxQg betwixt a groan aadagrunli 
^Ac&I yw:l it wast: truly homble^!* cat is 



THE PRODIGY IS SURPRISED. 87 

the buxom Minna, tired of being silent s6 
long: "and had it not been that I was 
coming to Cambnry well, and to see Londony 
and to hear you play, /would have turned 
back !-^But how delightful it is to be herei, 
and to meet ! — We must go about together. 
Where can we go to-mon'ow, Charles ? Mrs. 
Orelius and Aunt Fkischmann and you and 
I, while the Doctoi* gbe* to look at his 
prisons. — 0, I long to visit some of th^ 
beautiful shops f" 

Up to this time, out herb had not a 
moment's chance with those good-natured 
loquacious people: one of whom he was right 
glad to see again. — ^Yes, and to a certain de- 
^ee, he was glad to see that loud, hearty girl, 
whose face was beaming with enthusiastid 
readln^e^.— It was necessary,however,on the 
spot, to acquamt them with his perempt61*y 
engagement. "I am truly soi*ry," he sttid, 
" that I must gb otit ;" adding (pei»hap§ fiO« 
without some little self-ilnportiance), "since 
I am expected at the Palace almost immff-- 



88 A PRODIGY. 

diately, to play before the Queen. — ^I will find 
you to-morrow, and we will arrange some- 
thing. If you want to hear me play, you 
must come to one of the Countess Baltakis's 
Thursdays. I am not permitted to play a 
single note for any one else, save her Majesty. 
— ^To-morrow week — say — I will see that 

you have a proper invitation." 

"-4cA/ yesl they would not intrude on 

his valuable-and-Court-commanded time." 

And Doctor Orelius recollected that when he 

had been summoned to the presence of His 

Majesty of Saxony, it had cost good Mrs. 

Orelius one long hour and a half to shave 
him, and even then it was not accomplished 
in an unimpeachably satisfectory manner. 
" You have not to shave, Charles, I see, and 

so it is no matter that your gracious wife is 
not with you, as we have learned from Gott- 
lieb. — ^And he told us, also, that you were 
awaited at Court, — ^as I shall write to some 
of those at the University, whose not-suffi- 
ciently-to-be-reproved animosity is still ac- 



THE FBODIGT IS SUSPBISED. 89 

tive, — ^but I said, and so did Minna, that we 
must just have one look at you before we 
went to the Tunnel ; — and Mrs. Orelius was 
thankful to sit down.— ^cA / how far here it 
is from place to place ! Come, Lotte, I will 
carry the map. — Come, Minna. — ^To-morrow 
we shall come at eight." 

It was not very easy for this matutinal 
appointment to substitute something more 
consonant with the hours of London, — and 
to settle how and when Charles should find 
them in the City, so many times did the 
good man return to explain that he was not 
going to stay. The Prodigy waa left with 
but a spare measure of time to prepare him- 
self for his interview with Royalty. 

By the length of his visit, and a certain 
gratified look on his fatigued face when he 
came back, it might be divined that he had 
given and received satisfaction. He threw 
himself into a chair thoroughly fatigued; 
not, therefore, allowed to rest. — ^There was a 
note from Colonel Vandaleur. — " I will read 



90 A PRODIGY. 

tliis to-morrow ;'*— another from the Coim-f 
teds Baltakifl, bidding him to dine there that 
day-— and as the lady had taken umbrage at 
hia flight into the provinces, and, he felt, in 
her coarse way, virtually meant to be kind to 
him — ^her invitation must not be declined. 

" Nothing more, Gottlieb, I hope and 
trust?" 

^^Yes, honoured sirj" and the boy handed 
him the cards of two publishers, who had 
had words on 1^ stdircase, he said, as to 
which should have the preference in the 
purchase of his^^ compositions.. 

" Let Ihem fi^hit it out their own w^, 
Grotdiek See for smne cofiE^ for me I My 
head is splitting..^ 

*^ But, honoured sir," said the boy, coming 
back from the bell), ^^ there is^ still something 
elae^ I hope you will not be angry with me 
e^gsixi: but I do not knoW' what to do^, asd 
nm. afmid of not doing right, if I do m>t tell 
yoJitatcmce: and I am afraid yoi^wUl be 
wry imich surprised.'' 



THE PRODIGY la SIOIPBISED. 91 

" What is the matter? Nothings mya- 
terioua, I hope 2 Come,, what ia it ? Speak 
out! or Tshallbe angry." 

" Honoured sb, — Madame Enistem is in 
London V* 

" My God 1 — Gottliehy you must bedroam- 
ing. — Are you drunk? — ^What doyou mean? 
My wife in London!" 

" Honoured sir, I have seen her !'* 

" Seen her? — ^Nonsense I Don't let me 
think you are losing your wits ! Seen her, 
where? When?" And he grasped Gott- 
lieb's anff impatiently. " Seen her! — ^Be 
^uiick !" 

^ Li the Park just now, at two o'clock— 
in an open cairriage. — She did not see me : 
they were driving so quick!" 

" They • . • . You are dreaming, I tdl 
-ySL — My wife in an open carriage in the 
Park? — ^It isu impossible. — ^My Crod I What 
db you mean? Whom^ was it you saw=^ 
what did you see,, really?" 

^ Madame^, and anothi^ lady whom I db 



92 A PRODIGY. 

not know, honoured sir, in an open carriage. 
She had her veil half down — ^but I should 
know her face anywhere. And she had the 
little dog with her. But what makes me 
quite sure is this . . . because of the gentle- 
maa riding beside the carriage." 

" Gentleman ! what gentleman ?" shouted 
Charies, now in a passion of agitation. 

" The gentleman, sir, whom you sent for 
me, that first night at Kaisersbad ! Count 
Foltz." 

He was seized with a deadly faintness, and 
fell back in his chair ! . . . " Gottlieb," at 
length he said, in a broken voice — "you 
would not jest with me, I know ; you love 
me too much. — ^Tell it me over again. I 
am so worn out, I cannot have heard you 
right." 

" 0, sir, it is as you say ! As if I could 
jest with you at any time I — I swear to you 
that I did see Madame, as I told you, this 
morning, — at two o'clock, in an open car- 
riage, with another lady whom I never saw 



THE PBODIGT IS SUBPBISED. 93 

before : and Count Foltz was riding beside 
the carriage." 

" You believe it, at all events !" was the 
desperate answer. " Get me a carriage at 
once ; I will go to the Embassy !" 

" But, dear sir, tired as you are • . . ." 

"As if I could rest for a second after 
what you have told me. — ^Marie in London, 
and with Count Foltz ! and I not to know I 
It is not possible !" 

And he recollected her last look — ^her last 
kiss — ^her last jealously-passionate embrace. 
— ^Ah ! how much warmer than his own 1 — 
andhe kept repeating to himself as he drove 
through the streets, again and again and 
again : " It is not possible ! No ; it cannot 
be possible I" Then he recollected the repu- 
tation of Count Foltz. 

No ; and it was clearly proved not to be 
possible — because at the Austrian Embassy 
not a word was to be heard of that young 
officer. — His name was well known there, 
but no such person had passed through their 



94 A FBQDIGT. 

hands, direcdy or indirectly. -Charles was 
promised instant tidings if any mformation 
should turn up. — At the Saxon Embassy, 
the same inquiries, with the same results ; 
and so, again, at the Bavarian Embassy. — 
The boy must have been under some mon- 
strous dfilujrion. 

Charles came back, looking twenty years 
older than he had done an hour before — 
but calm. " Gottlieb, my dear fellow," said 
he, " you have frightened me for nothing.— 
However, I did write to Dresden at the 
Embassy — and my letter will go by to- 
night's mail." — (In those days, the tele- 
graph was not) — " I cannot conceive what 
can have led you to dream such a dream. — 
Only, be careful, I beg of you, another 
time; and take more accurate notice. — I 
am not angry, because I am sure you mean 
what you say; but such things are no 
trifles, — ^And now, I must dress for this 
horrible dinner." 

It was declared by every one who met 



I ■ I » i^^^^^^ip^ip^i^^r^i^ii^^^-^^^^^*-^^ 



THE PRODIGY I^ SURPRISED. 95 

jChsrles that day, that he had never been in 
attch :Mgh spirit^never so briUiant. And 
that day, again, was revived the old sdlly 
charge against him of his using rouge — so 
daz^Jing was the fire on his cheeks. All this 
was turned to account, in her own way, by 
the Countess Baltakis. — " You know, it was 
tautamount to a breach of his agreement 
with Baltakis.— And, at first, I said ' No,' 
positively M^'o,'— Queen or no Queen— no- 
thing of the kind was to be thought of. — 
We would not, even, let him play at Cal- 
dermere — in his own mother's house." 

" I presume," said Major Kentucky 
Browne, "that Queen Victoria does not 
habituate to receive declensions of that 
kind, in the case of pianoforte players." 

" Certainly not : and so when the dear 
Marquis (he's one of my pets) came here, 
before I was up, though it is not his month 
of waiting, to intercede — Baltakis and I 
agreed to waive the point for once — and 
Court air agrees with Einstem, you see. 



96 APBODIGT. 

Does not lie look divine ? And you shall 
hear him, — ^if you will hold your tongue 
Mrs. Calder, on Thursday evening." 

Before Einstem left the house he had 
satisfied himself that the strange physician, 
imported to cure Lord Caldermere, was a 
marked man; with a deep scar across his 
face, amounting to a deformity. — ^He slept 
none the better for this among the other 
revelations of that crowded day. 



97 



CHAPTER V. 

THE FACE AT CALDERMBRB. 

What the great lady of Caldermere, whose 
former favourite had been so near her, with- 
out caring to announce his presence, had 
suffered since the evening of her arrival at 
home — ^language has insufficient power to 
express. — It is less hard to conceive the 
agonies of strength, — ^the bitterness of spirit 
from which truth and intelligence cannot 
escape, — ^than the inconsistent and unreason- 
ing fears and distresses of weakness. 

A woman of stronger character than Lady 
Caldermere would have braved the worst — 
and defied the foul fiend, no matter how 
great the risk. But she well knew that she 

VOL. m. H 



.1 



98 A PRODIGY. 

had entirely ceased to possess her husband's 
confidence — ^long before the last fatal fort- 
night had thrown him under the diabolical 
control of a vagabond impostor who had her 
secret in keeping. — If she were to call Jus- 
tin to her aid . . . but Justin's favour with 
Lord Caldermere had also passed, and was 
gone — and she could not answer for the ex- 
tremities into which so dull a fellow might 
be driven by so strange a revelation, — ^sup- 
posing he believed it. — The last words of the 
miscreant haunted her. He would deny 
everything and fall back on the story which 
she had arrested him in telling. He might 
carry out his further threat with regard 
to herself. — It was obvious that his power 
over his patient was such as he had de- 
scribed it. 

There was another alternative: flight; 
but whither was she to fly ? — She was with- 
out a relative in the world, her sons excepted, 
whom she could name ; save Mistress White- 
lamb. She had not made a single friend 



THE FACE AT CALDERMERE. 99 

during her career as a great lady, — She was 
entirely devoid of means, save such as de- 
pended on Lord Caldermere's pleasure ; and 
who could tell how her credit might stand 
with him now? — ^No, there she must remain 
— ^tied hand and foot — ^to see the dismal 
play played out to the end. In one thing 
alone was there a gleam of comfort — ^the 
chance of her husband's recovery and dis- 
missal of his pb/sician. If the man could 
gorge himself with money — ^he might pos- 
sibly retire, at least for a while, so as to 
give her some breathing time— some chance 
of righting herself. To this cobweb-thread 
she must cling. 

Therefore, day by day, she waited with a 
terrible avidity for the bulletin from Old 
Caldermere. It was always favourable. 
"Dr. Mondor's compliments, and can re- 
port progress." " A good night." "My Lord 
better, and able to transact business with his 
lawyers to-day-" ^ ' No further inquiries can 
be requisite." — ^All this sounded excellently j 

h2 



100 A PRODIGY. 

but how was she to divine what was really 
passing on the other side of the barriers ? 
The physician favoured her with no more 
of his prescriptions ; never paid his second 
menaced visit. She began to doubt whether 
it was more intolerable to see him or not to 
see him. — During that weary period, the 
last lingering relics of good looks which 
she had retained, faded out for ever. She 
issued from the crisis an old woman :— and 
was thenceforward to be painted, and her 
wrinkles to be stopped up, and her hair to 
be dyed. 

It was in the afternoon of the day when 
Charles left Blackchester — at the very time 
when he was mid-way in that flattering 
interview with Royalty (afterwards to be de- 
scribed by the Countess Baltakis as fluently 
as if she had heard every word and every 
note of it) — ^that a visitor did arrive from 
Old Caldermere : not him whom she 
dreaded, yet still had so horrible a longing 
to see — ^but one who had never been wel- 



THE FACE AT CALDERMERE. 101 

come to her. Justin looked that day 
heavier and more dispirited, and more care- 
laden even, than he had done when she had 
been so feather-brained and light-hearted, 
and when he had drudged in charge of her 
trunks on the top of the Blackchester om- 
nibus. 

" What does this mean ?" was her sharp 
greeting. — " I ordered Simmons to let no- 
body in I — Did he not tell you I had one 
of my wretched bilious headaches, and 
could see nobody, Justin ?" 

^^No, mother, none of the servants were 
in the way, and I let myself in." 

"None in the way! This comes of 
spoiling them as I have done ! — I might be 
robbed and murdered, and not one of those 
six men do me the favour of ever coming 
near me ! — I cannot ask you to stay, Justin 
— I am not equal to the sound of any one's 
voice to-day. Don't you see," she cried, 
almost hysterically, "how wretchedly ill I 
look?" 



102 A PRODIGY. 

" I am sorry, mother," was Justin's sad 
answer, " if you are in pain — and all the 
more sorry, because there is something 
which you ought to know : — I saw Charles 
last evening." 

" Now, grant me patience, Justin 1 Do 
you wish to drive me mad ? Saw him — 
not in this neighbourhood, I hope ?" 

"He came down to Blackchester last 
night, and took a bed at Miss Whitelamb's." 

" What brings him here, and at this time, 
of all times? — ^What new wild scheme is 
he about? Has he not done us mischief 
enough? — ^He has, God knows! — I can't, 
and I won't see him. If he were to come 
out here, I would not answer for the con- 
sequences I" 

" 0, mother I I thought you loved him 
so; and would be glad to hear how he 
looked I — He will not come here. — He could 
not stay. — He wants nothing from any of 
us. He is commanded to the Palace to-day. 
The Queen has a great desire to hear him." 



V^i^B^PVi^ 



THE FACE AT CALDERMERE. 103 

"There! 0, no doubt, after that pleasant 
scene here. — ^The story was sure to get 
about ; and you took care his name should 
not be forgotten! — ^Lord Caldermere will 
never forgive it; though, as usual, he has 
never said a word to me on the subject. 
But he thinks I encourage him in all his 
mad freaks: as if I was not the person, 
on earth, who was the most distressed and 
disappointed by them! and well I may — 
being, as I am, the greatest sufferer !" 

Justin was aghast. Of such an entire 
revolution in the nature of one who had 
apparently doted on her idol — ^he had 
never dreamed. That which had been love 
seemed now not far from hatred. 

" You see," continued the woman, pouring 
out her words passionately, " he has been the 
same from first to last! After my giving 
up everything for him ! — ^why did I marry 
again except for his sake ? — to brave 
decency as ' ne has done ! to insult Lord 
Caldermere as he has done ! Where's his 



104 A PRODIGY. 

wife ? — How do we know that lie is married 
at all ? He may be no more married than 
I was, when . . ." And she stopped herself 
as if stung by some deadly spasm. Another 
syllable, and she might have let loose all 
that had been writhing in her brain, like a 
nest of serpents, for days past. 

"You are ill, mother," said her unloved 
son, bending over her, seriously alarmed by 
a passion he could so little comprehend. 
" Let me call your maid." 

" Not for the world !— Ill I I told you I 
was ill ; and you startle one with the very 
news of all others .... For God's sake, 
don't breathe a syllable of the matter at 
Old Caldermere I Don't go there I — Don't 
let them know you have been to me! — 
Don't give them anjrthing to suspect . . . ." 

" I shall not call at Old Caldermere again 
to-day : I have just been there . . . ." 

" Been there I . . . Whom did you see ?" 

" Only the foreign physician, Dr. Mon- 
dor, mother . . . ." 



■MBPIV 



THE FACE AT CALDERMERE. 105 

" You saw him ? What did he say ?" 
"A very good account. Lord Calder- 
mere, he said, was able to attend to business 
to-day. — ^But I knew^that already; — for I 
had to go last night to Bower Mills for 
books and papers." Justin did not venture, 
in her present mood, to remind his mother 
what one of those books contained. — He 
might, though, have done so, without irrita- 
ting her fears. They were too busily pre- 
occupied with something else. 

" Did he send any message ? Did you 
tell him you were coming on to me ?" 

" No, mother. — You have seen Dr. 
Mondor, of course ; what do you make of 
him? — I never saw him till to-day. Do 
you know anything about him? — Charles 
fancied that he has borne some other name, 
and said he would inquire into the matter 
when he got to town." 

" Charles again ! 0, for God's sake, Jus- 
tin, if you can, do keep that boy quiet! 
He has caused wreck and ruin enough ! — I 



106 A PRODIGY. 

hav# no influence over him, of course. But, 
as you are his champion, in Heaven's name 
prevent him from inquiring or doing any- 
thing. Tell him I will not have it ! How 
should I or he know anjrthing of Dr. Mon- 
dor ? If the man can cure my Lord, what 
matter is it who he is ? And, as you see, 
he is curing my Lord. But you are killing 
me," she went on rapidly, though with a 
trifle more of composure, " by making me 
talk. Do leave me to myself! They might 
fancy we were plotting something, if they 
knew you were here. — And I cannot bear 
up any longer. — Simmons will get you a 
glass of wine. — I must go and lie down." 

" Do not let me be the unwelcome visitor 
who drives you away," said Justin, with a 
* coldness not clear of a touch of severity. 
" I thought I was bringing you comfort. — I 
will do you no harm, mother, be assured. 
Good-bye f— ^I shall walk into Blackchester." 

He was gone, before she knew it. Her 
first thought was to call him back, to cross- 



THE FACE AT CALDERMERE. 107 

question him. Had she betrayed herself? 
Had the object of her terror given him ever 
so slight a hint of the cause of her agony ? 
No ; Justin had better go. She had sense 
enough not to be sure of her own compo- 
sure, if he had come back. — She must con- 
sider by herself — so soon as she could col- 
lect herself, what lie it were best to frame, 
if not in self-defence, in mitigation of 
the disclosure, if the truth were to be 
known .... 

Yes ! — she was not far from hating her 
youngest son. It was by him that her life 
had been made so wretched. It was for him 
that she had neglected her other children. 
It was for him that she had married without 
insisting on due conditions. It was for him 
that she had lied when making that marriage. 
It was for him that she had urged her hus- 
band injudidously. It was for him that she 
had concealed the truth again and again.- — In 
the violence of her irrational passion,, which 
staggered about, as it were, in quest of some 



108 A PBODIGY. 

object to wreak itself upon, — it was to him 
that she ascribed the appearance of that 
formidable spectre in the midst of the family, 
and his possession of its strongholds.— And 
what had she got in return ? How had the 
Prodigy repaid her ? He had deserted her, 
— outraged her husband — set the two 
apart. The intensity of her selfishness, ma- 
tured by years, and the necessities of a pre- 
carious position, — denied an outlet in what 
she had represented to herself as love, now 
turned her feelings as regarded her favourite, 
into a dark, dark channel. — She could have 
cursed the hour when he was bom. 

How the miserable day wore over — how 
long she had sat after dinner— she could not 
reckon. A tap at the door startled her to 
be aware that twilight had come down. — 
She screamed — it was .... A coarse voice, 
however, reassured her — and, to her sur- 
prise, there stalked into the grey drawing- 
room one who had never, till that evening, 
presented herself at Caldermere without a 



THE FACE AT CALDERMERE. 109 

formal invitation — Miss Scatters;' with a 
small lantern in her hand. — ^The feeble light 
it threw made her appear more tall, more 
gawky, more witch-like than usual. — She 
would never have penetrated so far un- 
molested or unannounced, had not the 
household, fully aware that my Lady was 
" at a discount," chosen to make away with 
the melancholy fact, by solacing themselves 
with billiards and tobacco in a distant wing 
of the mansion. 

" Good Heaven ! Miss Scatters, and so 
late ! How you terrified me !" 

" It's naw choosing of mine," said the vi- 
sitor, in her broad Border dialect, " but there 
was nawbody to send oot. It's high time 
you were down yon, at Old Caldermere. I 
hev sat quiet long enough, but I won't sit 
longer when sec things are gawing on. 
Ye'd better come with me at once, and slip 
away withoot the servant-folk knawing." 

" What is going on ? Is Caldermere 
worse ?" 



110 A PRODIGY- 

" Much worse. — Set yon foreign doctor 
up. He's a bad man. — ^Noo, daunt lose 
time. — Get your bonnet, and let's be off. — 
If ye wish to speak with John Bower in 
life, come away." 

There was no jest here, at all events. — 
Lady Caldermere struck a light, made her 
way unnoticed to her own room (for her maid 
waa one of the billiard party), and arranged 
herself to accompany her grim summoner — 
in feeling more dead than alive. 

Miss Scatters did not spare her — she 
never ceased talking. — " You knaw, my 
Lady, I was never a favourer of John 
Bower's marriage — I never ped cwort to 
you : — ^but you are his wife, after all, and 
hev no business to be locked oot when he's 

lying on his last bed, as if ye were a 
stranger. — ^And, poor man ! he's past rea- 
soning with hoo ! — But Mr. Justin's there. 
I sent into Blackchester for him, at five 
o'clock. He was idling at yon Gatty's, I 
knew it. And I waited till he cum, — saw 



mmmmmmmmrmmKm 



THE FACE AT CALDERMERE. Ill 

there's safe to be naw fresh mischief while 
I'm oot. Losh me ! if John Bower aunly 
knew — ^he's so set against that Justin — ^but 
smce he signed his AviU, he has been in a 
trance like : and the last thing yon lawyer 
man, that Torris, said to me, gawing away 
— ^was, ' Lady Caldermere should be here,' 
and so, I cum up to fetch you, — I would not 
send. — ^There's been enough and to spare of 
talk among the servant fawk." 

And while the vigorous woman went 
trampling on, through short cuts among the 
fern, at a rate which took away such breath 
as Lady Caldermere had left, she told how, up 
to that very day at noon. Lord Caldermere 
had insisted that he was recovering. '' Aw, 
daunt I knaw John Bower ? If he was in 
a battle and bauth legs were off, he'd never 
give in !" His lawyers from London had 
been with him that afternoon, and it ap- 
peared, that while they were with him, he 
had suddenly been aware of a great change. 
" Doctor was not there, ye see, to keep him 



112 A PBODIGT. 

up, by sousing him with champagne wine ; 
for he had doctor baulted oot. Pity he had 
not done saw at first! — ^And there he was 
with yon Toms man and his two clerks : and 
they said he had but just strength to sign 
his will: and them witness it. — Doctor and 
me was called in to be present. — ^And then he 
fell back on the sofa dead like. He's in bed 
noo, — ^but he knaws nawbody. — ^Mr. Brudge 
from Blackchester should be there, by this 
time. — I sent for him, too — and Doctor 
laughed, and said it was naw matter noo I 
and could do naw harm." 

They were near the Old House by this 
time ; — almost on the very spot in the park, 
where, years ago, its master, then hale and 
assured, and with the world at his feet, had 
come upon the party, with the children 
playing on the grass. — ^Frivolous as she was, 
and now shaking with an uncontrollable 
terror, which increased at every step. Lady 
Caldermere still recollected the place and 
the scene. — Could it be that so strong a man 
could be stricken down ? Could it be that 



THE FACE AT CALDEBMERE. 113 

his life was really in danger ? How, how, 
was she to meet him ? 

The Old House bore that indescribable air 
which belongs to the presence of the mys- 
terious Angel— when the very furniture has 
a look different from its wont : — when 
no one is in his usual place : when sense of 
Time goes for nothing. — It was evident that 
the imperious and resolved man, who had 
ruled every one so long, was laid low : and 
that there was no one to take command in 
his stead.— Doors were bemg opened and 
shut. Scared servants were whispering on 
the stairs. Lights were glancing to and 
fro. — "Where," said the wretched woman, 
"am I to go?" 

Miss Scatters grasped her by the arm: 
and got her up-stairs into a chamber strange 
to her: lighted as sick-rooms are lighted 
— with a pungent aromatic atmosphere. 
Three people were in the chamber, besides 
the patient. — Dr. Mondor, — the Escula- 
pius of Blackchester — and Justin. 

VOL. nr. I 



114 A PRODIGY. 

It was enough to give one glance at the 
bed. There lay Lord Caldermere, stricken 
down for ever : — ^with that awful change on 
his face which there is no mistaking. He 
would never domineer more. — " My Lady," 
said the Blackchester doctor, '^I cannot 
answer for what has been given before I was 
called in — ^but there is nothing more to be 
done now. — The pulse is almost gone. — It 
is a question of time." 

^^ What do you say ?" said Justin, aloud, 
to the foreign physician. "He does not 
hear us»" 

" Will he recover ?" cried Lady Calder- 

mere« 

" He was recovering well, — ^till to-day," — 
said the unblushing miscreant. — " He would 

have recovered, if he had been amenable. 

I told him that he let in his lawyers at the 

risk of his life — ^Miss Scatters heard me. — 

You see the consequences. — I cannot answer 

for a patient's disobedience : — ^but I think he 

will not die for some hours." 



THE FACE AT CALDERMERE. 115 

" I knaw somebody who will have some- 
thing to say to you, if John Bower does 
die," said the stalwart Cumberland woman, 
clenching her fist. 

" I shall be charmed to hear it, madam," 
— and Dr. Mondor Sat himself down at 
the bed's head with the most perfect com- 
posure ; giving just one glance — only one — 
at Lady Caldermere. 

She was almost too helpless in this new 
despair of hers to heed him : but crouched 
close to the side of Justin, holding both his 
hands fast. — ^He explained to her, that this 
was not so much a sudden stroke or seizure, 
so much as a crisis, which had been long 
coming on — ^though combated with by the 
indomitable will of the dying man — at last 

« 

hastened by events and ... He looked 
with meaning towards the miscreant. 

" 0, don't speak to him ! don't provoke 
him I don't aggravate him I" she kept mur- 
muring, not daring to cast a glance across 
the bed, — and holding Justin's hands tight. 

i2 



116 A PRODIGY. 

— '' What will Caldermere say if he should 
wake ?" 

"This is not sleep, mother! — You need 
not be afraid of any one.— I am with you." 

" 0, but if he should be really going to 
die! I cannot bear it! — and it is all his 
doing !" 

" Saw say I, my Lady !" was the com- 
ment of Miss Scatters, with another furious 

glance across the bed. — " Here's the ice. Dr. 
Brudge." 

But the object of her fury did not heed 

or quail. Dr. Mondor sat still — as quiet as 

revenge and absolute triumph can afford to 

be — watching the death-bed. Miss Scatters 

declared, the next day, that he took a cigar 

from his pocket — ^moistened it — and then a 

flint and steel and tinder. It might have 

been that sight which made Justin start to 

his feet, — ^but Justin recollected nothing of 

the matter afterwards. — To tend his poor 

terrified mother, and to wait, gave enough 

occupation to his every faculty. 



^w^^^^mF'^^^^Ssmmm^^^^^^^^^^^^tm^mi^f^^m^^^mmm^r^fimt^^mF^m 



THE FACE AT CALDEBMERE. 117 

And SO the night, with this unnatural 
vigil, wore on. — It needs not to say, that 
remedy after remedy, applicable in such 
cases, was tried — all in vain. — ^The foreign 
physician offered no comments— no pro- 
tests : — ^but looked on with a civil coolness, 
after having once said — " It is of no use — 
nothing can be of use now. He would 
have it so. — I am not responsible for any- 
thing you try." 

And there unconscious did that strong 
man lie, drawing his breath with heavy la- 
bour, and that contraction of the brow which 
tells that the spirit is not passing without a 
struggle ! — ^his large, vigorous hand quiver- 
ing on the quilt — his eyes closed. 

" Lady Caldermere had better go to bed," 
said the foreign physician — " / wiU tell her 
when there is any change." 

She turned her eyes on him, without an 
answer : — and so they sat on till the short 
summer night was over — and the grey 
dawn began to appear. — It was not full 



118 A PRODIGY. 

daylight when there was a sUght motion 
in the bed: and a voice spoke fipom it 
which no one recognised— The dying eyes 
opened. 

"My wife ought to be here. — ^Where is 
she?" 

" Here — here, Caldermere," said the 
wretched weeping woman, supported be- 
twixt Miss Scatters and Justin, and bending 
over him. 

" I have been wrong — ^very wrong — and 
I was wrong about your Charles — ^but it is 
too late now ! Forgive me !" — And the first 
and last Lord Caldermere gave a deep sigh, 
and expired peacefully. 

Leaving Miss Scatters for an instant in 
charge of his mother, Justin passed to the 
other side of the bed — and laid his hand 
on Dr. Mondor's wrist. " There must be an 
examination of the body," said he, in a low 
voice. 



■■< ■" i ■ ■'■ ^-v^iP^^r^^vB^^i^w^p^qs^ipvivipivmmpwHP 



119 



CHAPTER VI. 

WHAT NEXT ? 

The stature of liie man who died, as has 
been told, might be measured by the shock 
which the news of his death spread through- 
out the kingdom. It seems taken for 
granted that men of his might are ex- 
empted from the common lot — Those, the 
best versed in affairs, who had been aware 
for some time that matters w^^ in a most 
precarious state at Bower MiUs^ had been 
used to say — *' Well, Caldermere will have 
no trouble in making a second fortune, — 
with ten years of work in him." For once 



120 A PBODIGY. 

those great organs of public opinion who are 
believed to keep tombstones cut in readiness 
for the graves of all persons of note or figure, 
were found unprovided. The surprise that 
a man of such iron will and sagacity could 
die, was as great as if his death had not 
been hastened by the failure of his sagacity 
beneath his iron will. — It could not be really 
true that Lord Caldermere was gone ! 

Most incredulous of all was the Prodigy 
in regard to his father-in-law's decease. — 
The antagonism betwixt them (as he felt it) 
had grown into the very core of his heart. 
— Justin had communicated the news to 
him in merely a few hasty words, under- 
taking to send a longer letter by the next 
post. Their mother, he said, had been in 
something like a state of delirium ever 
since the event took place: — and was not 
to be left for a moment. — ^There was to be 
a post mortem examination : — ^Lord Calder- 
mere's death having been rapid and mys- 
terious. 



WHAT NEXT? 121 

" Lord 1" said the Countess Baltakis, " Dr. 
Mondor has got his thousand pounds easily ! 
Not a month yet, Kitty ! I Wonder whether 
that woman has eveiything left her. — But 
it won't interfere with my Thursdays. The 
two were not on terms — and Dr. Mondor 
shall tell us all about it when he comes up : 
for there's nothing to keep him longer at 
Caldermere, I fancy." 

* Great awe was cast on the Lower Pave- 
ment by the news brought fresh from 
Blackchester by Mr. Ogg. Dr. Brudge had 
been unable to leave the widow, who, it 
would seem, had no remarkable confidence 
in expensive foreign physicians. — Mr. Justin 
and the French doctor had had words: — 
and it was said that the latter might be put 
on trial for his life. — " So you see, Susanna, 
it is not all gold that glitters. — One thou- 
sand pounds thrown away (not that one 
thousand pounds was a matter of the 
slightest object to Lord Caldermere). — And 
then, to think of giving him zinc instead of 



122 A PRODIGY. 

the right medicine. Mr. Ogg declares that 
they gave him zinc." 

" We are in a dreadful state here," wrote 
Justin in his second letter to Charles. " Our 
poor mother seems unable to compose her- 
self. Her anguish is tei^ibleto witness-and 
takes strange forms. — It was proper that 
there should be an examination of the re- 
mains, specially after the secresy observed 
by Dr. Mondor in his treatment of the case, 
and Lord Caldermere's fatal acquiescence. — 
Then old Miss Scatters was not to be pacified 
without its taking place. — But, it appears 
that his life could not have been prolonged 
much longer. — Internal disease had made 
great progress: and though the mad and 
strange remedies — ^principally stimulants — 
used, may have accelerated the catastrophe, 
there is nothing to be charged against the 
fellow, so far as he is concerned, save ineffi- 
ciency of medical treatment — ^mistake, in 
short. — He went away, though he had been 



mmm^a^m^^m^m 



TVHATNEXT? 123 

paid the thousand pounds demanded, most 
reluctantly. I believe I should have disputed 
the claim- — and so it is as well that I had 
not the option ; since it was of first conse- 
quence to our mother that he should be got 
away from Caldermere : a delusion having 
possessed itself of her mind, of which it is 
my pamful duty to apprise you. 

" She persists that this man is a son of 
our father's — ^the illegitimate son of whom 
we have heard so much too much — ^whose 
death by drowning in the Danube happened 
while we were on our way to England, and 
was officially proved in the Vienna Chan- 
cellery. The man owns to having been in 
the same regiment, and intimate with that 
imlucky being — and to having been mis- 
taken for him, owing to a strange likeness 
— and I cannot doubt has come hither to 
make capital out of the circumstance ; and 
to intimidate our mother. This is bad 
enough; but she goes the length of accu- 
sing him of having administered poison — 



124 A PRODIGY. 

and declares with a pertinacity which is 
hardly sanity, that Dr. Mondor is the person 
I allude to. — He is an artful, dark fellow, 
as it is ; and I wish it may not prove that 
he has abused Lord Caldermere's credulity. 
— In his room, after he went, I found the 
cover of a dirty old letter, directed to Signor 
Zuccaglio. — He left us very unwillingly — 
having, apparently, determined to be present 
at the funeral. — I believe he is in London — 
so, if he should make his way to you, be 
on your guard. 

" The funeral will be on Wednesday ; it 
will spare you a trying scene not to be 
present — and your coming would be a mere 
empty form. The good man who is gone 
(and he was a good man, though I stood up 
against him for your sake, as now, I may 
have to stand up against you for his) would 
have desired nothing less, could he have fore- 
seen that you were so near him, on one of the 
last evenings of his life. — ^What is to come 



WBLVTNEXT? 125 

disquiets me.— Lord Caldermere signed a 
new will on the day before his death. I had 
unfortunately been the cause of his deep 
displeasure against our unhappy mother. 
You remember the money I wrote to you 
about — a sum which, she told me at the 
time, you handed her at Baden-Baden, and 
which stood in her name, though it has 
always been considered as yours, and yours 
only. It has grown into a little fortune. I 
. could not deny the existence of such money, 
when taxed with it by Lord Caldermere, 
who found traces of it in the books. He 
had been previously displeased by a totally 
insignificant ofifence in my behaviour, on 
your account — and displayed violent pas- 
sion. — But he was already very ill and 
under the influence of stimulants. I cannot 
suppose that such an occurrence will have 
made him act revengefully by our mother ; 
but I shall be more at ease on her account 
when we know the contents of the will. 



126 A PRODIGY. 

which is in the hands of Mr. Torris. — I may 
be in town on Thursday, to acquaint my- 
self with its contents. 

" I write to you with a full heart. — ^These 
are among the dark times in which brothers 
should stand by one another. — ^Yours, 

" Justin." 

There was enough, it will be owned, in 
the foregoing letter, to make its reader 
think — ^but not to think as its writer thought. 
— ^He had older knowledge to go on : — and 
that instinct which drives quick-spirited 
people at once to conclusions such as no after 
reasoning can shake. — Mondor and Zuc- 
caglio were one : — ^no doubt of that, — and 
his mother's frantic possession : — ^that might 
not be so frantic I He recalled every circum- 
stance of those months when he had been 
fellow-inmate of the Russian house with 
that man, — the strangely-mixed fascination 
and repulsion which had always hung about 
him — ^his consistent and progressive insight 



ip^PW^LJ^IJ^ J W I' ^ * ^ I ■ • 11 



WHAT NEXT? 127 

into the Prodigy's private home-griefs — ^his 
helpfulness (0 Heaven! what helpfulness 
had it not proved !) in the discovery of 
Becker's sister, and in their wild instant mar- 
riage. — It was clear as day: though only 
the main facts were before him. — That man 
was his natural brother; and had come 
back from the grave to work his vengeance 
on his mother and her children ! — ^Verily, 
he had succeeded in the case of her more 
gifted one. 

He could see nobody — ^he would face no 
one. He scrawled a word to Colonel Van- 
daleur to this effect : — another to Countess 
Baltakis, — a third to Doctor Orelius, with 
an enclosure ; and tossed with storm as he 
was, could not help smiling while he sealed 
it) as he said to himself, " Dear good man ! 
what I send him will make up for my non- 
attendance. — ^Gottlieb, are you sure that 
this is the only letter to-day ? — ^that no one 
has been here from the Embassies ?" 

" Honoured sir, certain. I have not 



128 A PRODIGY. 

quitted the house since you came back : 
and the great score is finished — ^but," timidly, 
" are you well, sir ?" 

" No, good boy ! I am dying for air. This 
London is so like a furnace ?" And he took 
his hat and hurried out — ^The boy listened 
sadly to his departing steps — ^himself look- 
ing pale and oppressed, as he said : " Ah ! 
how I wish we were out of this England I" 
And buttoning his coat over the letter, as 
tight as if it had been a mid-winter day, he 
prepared to trudge forth to deliver the 
Prodigy's welcome to England to Doctor 
Orelius — and with it a card for the next 
Thursday's music at the Countess Baltakis's ! 

At that hour of the morning, betwixt ten 
and eleven, the Park was, in those days, de- 
serted, save by a modest Amazon or two, 
riding for riding's sake, followed by her 
sulky groom — and by nursery-maids soli- 
citous about their charges, — seeing that the 
Guardsmen are then mostly busy in their 
barracks— and by invalid ladies, driving in 



WHAT NEXT? 129 

a fond superstition that fresh air is to be 
found by the Serpentine.— An empty place 
of popular resort does not invite meditation 
or inspire tranquillity. — ^The haggard and 
deserted air it wears, is apt to communicate 
itself to the imagination of the solitary 
lounger. — ^The child drawn in that little 
chair by the toiling dog, watched anxiously 
by the veiled woman who walked on slowly 
at its side, must be a languid cripple. — ^The 
shabby man who crossed the road at a 
quicker pace, obviously bore some unplea* 
sant news. — The two females who stepped 
into a carriage, waiting at a little distance, 
had been disappointed of meeting some one 
— or their impatient motion might imply a 
fear of being chased, not common to those so 
vehement in their choice of colours as they, 
and whose equipage, even Charles could 
remark, had so equivocal a look. — ^All was 
vanity and vexation of spirit that mioming : 
and he sat himself down on the bench they 
had left as wearily as if every hope of his life 

VOL. m. K 



130 A PKODIGY. 

had been drained out of him, — instead of 

the best days of young manhood being yet 

to come ! 

That dejected inertness was not to last 

long. But for it, he must have been in the 

first instant aware, that the last occupants 

of that bench had left on it a book. — His 

eye was caught by the Grerman binding.— 

The volume had a home look, — ^aye, and in 

something besides its dingy cover. — He had 

seen that book before. It was an old volume 

of a German translation of Plutarch ! — 

And the carriage of those to whom it had 

belonged was akeady out of sight— It was 

of no avail to spring up as though shot, 

with a violent exclamation, — ^to examine the 

volume again and again, for name, word, or 

mark, which might decide its ownership. — 

Gottlieb, it was true, might be able to assist 

in the verification: but the boy was not 
with him : and he must wait on the chance 

of the carriage retuming-the carriage in 



■l."^ll • ■■ ^ ^ '_! 



WHAT NEXT? 131 



which the owner of that book might be — 
and that owner, his wife. 

It was but a chance.— Failing it, what was 
there to be done ? He must wait, at all events. 
What could bring her to England in hiding ? 
— Gottlieb had spoken of another whom he 
had seen. — ^The sweat burst to the brow of 
Charles, as the idea of Count Foltz forced 
itself forward. He had already learned, 
though so young, the easy Vienna creed 
concerning woman's virtue and man's 
freedom. — Foltz was very handsome ; why 
should he be more scrupulous than ninety- 
nine hundredths of his order? — Charles 
was old enough, too, to know what manner 
of morals was attributed to the artist class 
by the world. Colonel Vandaleur had 
made no secret of it, as one of his many 
causes of contempt for musical life. — ^Why 
should Aunt Claussen's niece, though she 
was Becker's sister, be more temptation- 
proof than other girls as vain of their 

k2 



132 A PRODIGT. 

beauty, and as exposed in position as she ? 
Why should not all her endearments, all that 
openly professed jealousy of hers, have been 
a blind to throw him off his guard ? — ^Who 
could be assured that she had not discovered 
the dreary secret of his life, that he could 
XOT LOVE HER, — that she had not determined 
to act on such knowledge, and to make her- 
self amends ? — Then there was her love of 
luxury for its own sake, — quickened by 
that womanly insolence which delights in 
mortifying women. 

An open carriage was rapidly approach- 
ing from the right direction. — In it were 
two ladies. — He thought for a moment it 
might be . . . No, it was not his wife. 

And to this shame he had linked himself! 
— and for this, had he flung away chances. 
— He did not only glance back to the 
Princess Chenzikoff, — not only to the bright 
eyes which had spoken as plainly as eyes 
could speak, — at Kaisersbad, at Dresden, at 
Prague, — wherever he had presented him- 



WHAT NEXT? 133 

self— but to that evening at The Hirsch, — to 
the welcome which had surprised him on 
the Lower Pavement ; from that beautiful 
girl, — ^so serene, so accomplished, and yet 
not cold. — Now^ he would admit, by way 
of fierce self-torment, what that affectionate 
greeting of hers, — what that colour in her 
cheek, when she had seen him approaching, 
had hinted ! — He was vain, recollect j he had 
been encouraged to be vain from his cradle. 
The assurance he felt that Susanna would not 
have been hard to win, deepened the sense 
of his past impetuous folly, the bitter anger 
he felt towards one who might be dragging 
him into the mire by her own disgrace — ^the 
terrible self-pity — the feeling of vengeance 
against the false friend whose artful counsels 
had goaded him into that sudden flight — 
that mad marriage. — " No, I will wait no 
longer !" he exclaimed, rising* hastily. — 
" Let Marie come back, — ^let her not come 
back — ^what is it to me ?" 

He was hailed, as he rose, by a cheery 



134 A PRODIGY. 

speaker on horseback — " Charles, my boy 
— I want to speak to you. I must have a 
talk with you about something of conse- 
quence. — ^This is not the place. What time 
will you be at home? — I must go out of 
town to-morrow." 

"Not to-day! I am not fit to speak to 
any one to-day, — I am very unwell. — Any 
time after you come back! — Good mom- 
ing! 

" Gad, sir !" ruminated Colonel Vandaleur, 
looking after him, — a shade passing over 
his face the while — "that poor boy might 
have met the Wild Huntsman, — I never saw 
a face so white and so wild! — ^WeU, it is 
hard for his mother to lose her husband 
and the great property at the same moment. 
— But I did not think he would have cared 
so much about the matter, — ^wrapped up as 
he is in his pianoforte, and that wife he 
makes such a fool of. — Poor boy !" and the 
Colonel rode on thoughtfully. 

" I cannot tell him to-day I I cannot 



WHAT NEXT? 135 

own it, for him to triumph over me, and to 
remind me how he warned me at Tubingen ! 
And this may not be her Plutarch ! or she 
may have given it to some one ! — She can- 
not be in London I I shall have a letter from 
Dresden to-morrow." — And then Charles 
thought of calling Doctor Orelius into coun- 
cil ; but what could he do, — a stranger in the 
place? — "And besides," he repeated, grind- 
ing the pebbles under the heel of his boot, 
"it i§ merely some likeness — some coinci- 
dence. — It SHALL not be true." He could 
not have put the devouring anxiety aside, 
even with that arrogant self-deceit which 
belongs to genius, — save for one sad reason. 
He coxjld not love her I 



136 



CHAPTER VII. 



BBOTHERS. 



Putting the anguish aside, however, by 
no means implied, on the part of Charles, a 
culpable or cjmical indifference to warnings 
which boded so ill. He flew eagerly on 
Gottlieb with the book. — " Whose book is 
this ? — Is it not the Plutarch I asked you 
about, as we were coming back from 
Prague ?" 

Poor Gottlieb saw that his master was ter- 
ribly shaken — perhaps the sight confused 
him — perhaps it occurred to the timid and 
affectionate nature of one ill educated, that a 



BROTHERS. 137 

subterfuge might allay this agitation— but he 
answered, "No, honoured sir, — ^this cannot 
be that Plutarch. It was bound in green." 
— His lie, — ^if it was a lie, — ^was repaid by a 
sigh of relief ; and the unconscious exclama- 
tion, " I have enough to bear without this ;" 
and for a while, in very exhaustion, Charles 
allowed himself to be convinced. 

But he did not tell even Gottlieb that 
that very evening he made again the round 
of the Embassies, to inquire for tidings — 
not of his wife (he could not bring himself 
to name her) — ^but of Count Foltz. 

It was, as before, all in vain. No such 
nobleman had turned up. There seemed 
nothing to be done, when the disheartening 
fact was mastered that London has no police- 
books registering all who enter its precincts 
— ^but to wait for the morrow. 

The morrow had duties and diversions of 
it^ own. 

It was the morning of Countess Baltakis's 
third Thursday, and Justin came up to 



138 A PRODIGY. 

town ; his mother having givai an inarticu- 
late consent to his acquainting himself with 
the provisions of her deceased hushand's 
will. The funeral, according to directions 
forwarded by Lord Caldennere's solicitors, 
who were also his executors, had been per- 
formed in the simplest manner,— to the 
great disgust of Blackchester ; which had 
looked forward to a black show and holiday 
on the occasion. " Plainer everything could 
not have been," said Mistress Whitelamb, 
" had it been only poor me, who was to be 
laid with dear Mr. Smalley — and not great 
Lord Caldermere. But they do say that 
the poor are to get something." 

Justin had to tell how Lady Caldermere 
continued in the same state of abject pros- 
tration and distress.. It was necessary to 
watch her night and day — a terror haunted 
her ; the dread of Dr. Mondor prescribing 
for her. — It was of no use to assure her that 
he had left the place. — "But I tell you," 
she screamed, "you are in league against 



BBOTBERS. 139 

me I He is in the house 1 I feel he is ! — 
He is not dead ! and he will poison me, as 
he poisoned Caldermere !" 

Charles had to impart some of the rea- 
sons which disposed him to believe that his 
mother's terror was not in aU pomts vision- 
ary. — If their natural brother, whatever he 
called himself, was in London, however, he 
had forborne from claiming his old compa- 
nion — ^neither had he been to the Countess 
Baltakis's. It was to be hoped, therefore, 
that he had left the country with his ill- 
gotten money. — ^He could do them no more 
harm, now. 

Some expression of the kind passed in the 
office of Mr. Torris, where the reading of 
Lord Caldermere's wiU was to take place. 

"Dr. Mondor, you mean," the man of 
law said, dryly. — " Yes, he has done harm 
enough, — ^yet, perhaps, not to the extent he 
intended. But he is not out of the country ; 
— ^nor will he go till the contents of Lord 
Caldermere's will are known. He presumes 



140 A PRODIGY. 

on the ascendancy which he exercised over 
his patient till almost the very last, — almost 
. . ." and the solicitor, as he repeated the 
words, looked at the brothers with a shrewd 
eye and a tightly-compressed lip, which 
they felt shut up a secret. — " And he has 
absolutely had the assurance to announce 
his intention of being present. It was best 
not to refuse him.— That is his knock, I have 
no doubt. — I thought so. — Bid the person 
come in" (in answer to a card presented). — 
" Come in, sir. Neither Baron Einstem 
nor his brother can have the slightest ob- 
jection to your presence." 

Dr. Mondor, sumptuous in deep mourning, 
bowed silently to the young men, and sat 
down. His lip, too, shut up a secret — and 
there was something like a covert smile on 
it. Neither brother returned his recognition. 
— ^The gorge of the younger man rose as he 
recollected how they two had last parted, on 
that mad night in Munich, and when he saw. 



^i^^^i"^»^^*«"T^^i^^^^"^^fTP-^p''^' • • ■^■— ^«^ mm^m 



BROTHERS. 141 

by a sinister glance thrown towards him, that 
Zuccaglio recollected it too. 

" I have some observations to make, gen- 
tlemen," said Mr. Torris, before unfolding 
the momentous document. " I beg to say, 
that I drew this will — ^to replace a former 
one destroyed by my client some three weeks 
ago, with the provisions of which Baron 
Einstern" (bowing slightly to Justin) "was 
acquainted — under the strongest protest : — 
and I assert this, in case any one shall see fit 
to dispute it, as a will having been made 
under influence, and when the maker was 
not in possession of his right senses." 

" I will swear," cried the quack, rising 
from his chair, "in any court of justice, 
English or foreign, and I can bring evidence 
to any amqunt to prove, that Lord Calder- 
mere was in his right senses at the moment 
when he made — at the moment when he 
signed the will. — Your clerks will prove it." 

" Precisely, Dr. Mondor. Your testimony 



142 A PRODIGY. 

may have its value : — and Mr. Toms fixed 
the charlatan with a gaze not easy to read : 
then continued : 

" I repeat it, gentlemen, I drew this will, 
under the strongest protest. I had known 
Lord Caldermere for many years, intimately 
and confidentially. — ^I knew him to be a man 
of no common justice and probity : and I re- 
presented to him, though it was in no respect 
my business so to do, — that the provisions 
of this document were those of exaggerated 
resentment, based on misrepresentation. I 
regret that I was unable, in a main point, to 
shake his purpose. — I am prepared further 
to state my strong impression, and I suspect 
his private papers wiU prove it, that during 
some years past a person or persons had 
been practising upon him, with communi- 
cations detrimental to my Lady — which had 
led him narrowly to observe her, under the 
impression that she had concealed matters of 
importance fi:om him. He thought, too, that 
she had a hoard of private savings. How far 



BBOTHERS. 143 

he was right, how far wrong, is of no conse- 
quence. The effect, I am sony to state, was 
produced and acted on. It is probable that 
the prepare of m»>y anxieUe, from different 
quarters had its share in rendering him more 
averse to reason than usual. — So thoroughly 
was 1 aware of this, that I could not satisfy 
my conscience without seeking an interview 
with him, and urging certain considerations 
on him, very strongly, before the document 
was irrevocably signed. It appears that on 
the day preceding Lord Caldermere's death, 
he had, at last, become unable to deny, that, 
in place of recovery, he was becoming worse 
— ^rapidly worse, hour by hour — ^that the 
stimulants administered to him had ceased 
to be of benefit : in brief, that the treatment 
to which he had surrendered himself in an 
hour of infatuation, was reckless and igno- 
rantly, — ^if not purposely, mistaken, to say 
the least of it." 

A smile flitted across- the vagabond's Ups, 
jiist for a moment. 



144 A PRODIGY. 

" My earnest efforts," continued Mr. 
Torris, " to induce Lord Caldermere to 
make a more righteous will, failed. In only 
one point, of comparatively minor im- 
portance, I succeeded. — It was proper, gen- 
tlemen, that you should be prepared for the 
shock which every man who loves Lord 
Caldermere's memory must feel, on hearing 
that Lady Caldermere's name is not in the 
document. — ^I will read it" 

A deep, long breath was drawn from the 
other side of the table. 

The brothers looked one at the other in 
speechless amazement. Such an exercise of 
a vindictive spirit had not been dreamed of 
as possible by either. — " This is dreadful," 
whispered Justin, with a groan. " How she 
will feel it when she recovers 1" 

The will was very brief: an uncondi- 
tional bequest of all that Lord Caldermere 
had to bequeath, in estates, securities, 
funded property, to Miss Scatters (inclu- 
ding a recommendation that Justin should 



BROTHERS. 145 

remain as manager at Bower Mills), fol- 
lowed by a codicil, indicating small legacies 
to servants, — some money to certain chari- 
ties ; one thousand pounds to Mistress Ga- 
latea Whitelamb : — and (here Mr. Torris 
read very slowly, and directed himself ex- 
pressly to the person lounging in insolent 
satisfaction at the other side of the table) 
" ' In consideration of the medical and other 
confidential services rendered to me by Dr. 
Mondor — which I hereby duly acknowledge 
— I bequeath to him the sum of fifty thou- 
sand pounds ' " 

The brothers started up — Justin, I am 
afraid, with an oath. 

"Stop, gentlemen: — *in case he com- 
pletes my cure and restores me, by God's 
blessing, to health.' This was the clause, 
gentlemen," concluded the lawyer, severely, 
" which, happily, I prevailed on my client 
to introduce on our last meeting. — My 
clerks, as Dr. Mondor has considerately as- 
sured us, are as perfectly aware as he is, 

VOL. ni. L 



146 A FB0DI6Y. 

that Lord Caldermere ^vas in full posseaaion 
of his senses when the will was signed." 

It might have almost recompensed any 
one who had suffered from that audacious 
schemer, now to see his face, in which con- 
centrated fiiry spoke, and scheming hate 
baffled. — " Gentlemen," went on Mr. Torris, 
"this person can give you no disturbance, 
whether the will be quashed (fai which case 
Lady Caldermere inherits) or be supported. 
— So, sir, as you perceive that you have no 
further interest in this will, I suppose you 
will forbear from any farther attempts at 
molestiQg any one concerned in it. For 
your own sake, let there be no more scandal. 
Go . . . Piatt, show this person out !" 

The miscreant's face would have served 
as a study for any painter of diabolical pas- 
sions ; but his hands — ^the limber hands of a 
gambler — ^were even more emphatic, as they 
quivered and clutched at some invisible prey. 
His voice, however, was as steady as usual, 
even then, when he was writhing iu his own 



MOTHERS. 147 

infamous toils. " Well^ gentlemen," said he, 
" I wish Lady Caldermere joy of her legacy." 
And he went out, first striking a light for 
his cigar on the heel of his boot. 

Mr. Torris drew a deep breath when he 
was gone, and threw open the windows. 
^^ The abominable scoundrel !" was his ex- 
clamation, " and to think that he should 
have got that thousand pounds ! — I wiE see 
that he is out of the premises." 

"'What do you now take him to be, 
Charles ?" said Justin, in the moment while 
the two were alone. 

" More than ever what I have said. He 
is what my mother told you — a very devil 
incarnate, who has nourished a fixed idea of 
vengeance against her. — If he be what she 
fancies, who can wonder?" 

" 0, hush ! recollect how she loved you ! 
You would not speak so, could you see how 
wretched she is." 

" O, could you only know how wretched / 
am! and owing to her : owing entirely to that 

l2 



148 A PRODIGY. 

selfish marriage of hers — ^and her husband's 
abominable tyranny 1 — You must come 
home with me, Justin; you must come 
home with me! and I must tell you all 
that drove me into my rash wretched mar- 
riage ; and about my wife." 

" I have heard something of the story 
from Mr. OreKus," Justin was beginning— 
when Mr. Torris returned. 

"This is a monstrous will, gentlemen," 
he said, gravely, "a truly monstrous will. 
We have no doubt, my partner and I, that 
Lord Caldermere forwarded us the in- 
structions to prepare it under the influence 
of that quack. — We know that he was kept 
in a state of false excitement, by being 
drenched with champagne, — but in no 
respect so as to impair his reason — still less 
his self-will. To the last, he would not 
confess that he had been in the wrong. 
When I urged on him the clause which has 
disappointed yonder villain of his prey, he 
felt he was going, and yet he could hardly 



lui !■ I ■■ w II I V «i .«■ i^jmjmm. m^^^i^mifBBmwie^mmfS^^^&msm^'^l^mmmmgmmammm^mt^gtt 



BROTHERS. 149 

prevail on himself to say, * Well, to humour 
you, insert it.' — ^That very day, when I had 
informed him of the arrival from America 
of the witness — one Paddox — ^whose evi- 
dence settles the case of the Caldermere 
purchase on a false title, past reasonable 
doubt, as it was my duty explicitly and 
strongly to point out to him, — ^what did he 
answer ? * Give in ? No, Torris, I'll fight 
it to the very last.' — He was very near the 
last then ! So proud a man I have never 
seen, and that business of the estate waiS 
more than his pride could bear, in the 
weakened state of his body. It kiUed him — 
although, I suppose" (and here Mr. Torris 
looked keenly at Justin), "he could well 
afford even such an enormous loss." 

The person mutely appealed to made no 
reply : simply requesting that Lady Calder- 
mere might be formally apprised of the 
provisions of the will. Then the brothers 
took leave of the solicitor, and walked 
towards the West End. 



150 A FSODIGT. 

It was more natural than considerate in 
the Prodigy to turn away £rom the great 
surprise which had so shocked Justin, and 
to burden that excellent creature (but who 
hsd ever cored how much Justin was 
burdened ?) with the detail of the terrible 
and iQtimate trouble of his own married 
life. — ^Then, for the first time, did the elder 
brother learn that Charles had made no 
love-marriage — ^that he had found out how 
fatal was the diflference which separated him, 
at heart, from his beautiful wife. — Then 
did Justin receive with terror the suspicion 
that Marie (about to become a mother) might 
be already playing the man false who had 
so chivalrously sacrificed brilliant prospects 
for her sake — ^who had denied her nothing, 
— And who could tell, where, and when, and 
how the mine would be sprung, and the 
horrible disgrace burst out to open day ? 

" I would stay with you, Charles, till at 
least yqu have some certainty," said poor 



BROTHERS. 151 

Justin, " were it not for our mother. But 
I must be with her." 

" yes ! go to her !" cried the Prodigy, 
not without a touch of irrational bitterness. 
" She wants you more than 1 1 — ^My mar- 
riage, though, is akeady a wretched one.- 
She had her years of grandeur and happiness! 
I have my years of misery to come ! And 
they would never, never have been, but for 
her ! . . . 0, Justin !" (and here he broke 
into another change of mood), " I have seen 
the world ! Take warning by us. Never 
marry in haste ! But you will not — ^you will 
choose wisely. — ^Ah! when I was down in 
Blackcliester the other night, *do you think 
I did not see ? . . . She is better, a thou^ 
sand times better, than all the other women 
in the world put together. You may be a 
happy fellow !" 

Poor Justin ! A happy fellow ! — knowing, 
as he did, how utterly mistimed was this 
last congratulation; and who woidd have 



152 A PBODIGY. 

had heaviness at heart enough, on account of 
his ovm disappointment, had there been time 
for him to spare from the troubles of others. 
Yet a bystander might have thought him — 
if not happy — at ease — to judge from the 
substantial justice which he did to dinner 
provided by the Beaumont Hotel cook : — 
whereas, to the poor fevered Genius, the 
sight and scent of food were little short of 
abominable. — Charles hovered up and down 
the room, restless in his wretchedness, to the 
great disturbance of the waiters (used as 
they were to the strange manners of Gauls, 
Americans, Medes, and Persians), and was 
only restrained by the presence of Gottlieb, 
who watched him with a mournful solici- 
tude, from pouring out over again all that 
sad story of a wrecked life, which it had 
been such a relief to entrust to his newly- 
found confidant. — ^Well might a bystander 
have credited him with that torture of 
eager despair which can have but one dark 
end. 



BROTHERS. 153 

"I wish I could leave you in a better 
state," said Justin, affectionately. "No* 
eating anything, as you do, no wonder you 
look so miserable. — ^And you might not 
have slept for a week. — Do, my dear fellow, 
go to bed, and try to get a good night's 
rest — and make Gottlieb, there, take you 
some of that excellent soup, and you will 
get up a new man to-morrow." 

"Yes, I must lie down," said the other, 
" or I shall not be able to play to-night." 

" To play— Charles ?" 

" 0, you fancy every one as free as your- 
self! Yes, I must pay my quarter of a 
pound of flesh ! You forget that I am a 
slave to the public ! I wrote to the Countess 
Baltakis, and begged her to put it off. She 
said, and reasonably enough, that no one 
coujd suppose I cared for Lord Caldermere's 
death. The Duchess, who had begged to be 
invited to hear me, could tell me how little 
he had cared for me — and she could not be 
put off. This is her last evening in London. 



154 A PBODicr. 

Of course they have not an idea — ^nobody 
ihas, except yourself, of what I have told 
you about my wife. — ^I could not bear to 
give that as an excuse ! — ^It would be over 
the town in an hour; the women would 
like nothing better ! — ^And the Baltakis did 
not remind me (though she might have 
done) that they have paid me abeady. — ^It 
is hateful ; but, in honour I cannot fail her j 
I cannot fail myself! — Yes, play I must! 
And who knows? It may take me out of 
myself for a while !" And his face lighted 
up, with a rapid change which must have 
bewildered a bystander, because his farewell 
words were, "Thank God, you are not an 
artist !" 

" Yes," said he, when Justin was at last 
gone — " I feel as if I could sleep now — ^I 
must sleep. — Gottlieb, come and wake me 
at nine : unless some news should come I 
Or whatever news comes do not wake me 
till nine." 



155 



CHAPTER VIII. 

THE THIED THURSDAY. 

Such sleep as that of Charles, helped by 
an opiate, of which Gottlieb was not in the 
secret, stupifies rather than refreshes the 
sleeper. He woke, heavy, feverish, degraded, 
without a particle of spirit at his call. — 
"Had she been wise," he said to himself, 
as lie hurried on his clothes rather than 
dressed — " the Countess Baltakis would not 
have daimed her quarter of a pound of 
flesh this evening, but would have given 
me a week's grace." 

That lady, so far from being wise, was in 
one of her bravest and most flourishing 



156 A PRODIGT. 

humours, — to be heard in every comer, or 
from every comer, of her four drawing- 
rooms.-^" No, dear! nothing more than 
usual — except just the red cloth laid down 
in the hall I — Why should I make any dif- 
ference for Royalty ?—rWho did you ask 
about ? 0, that is Professor Orelius, from 
what's its name university in Germany — 
the Professor of Dariology there — yes, of 
Dariology !— And fancy that daughter of his 
coming in a shrimp -coloured gauze, on 
this roasting July night I — ^Latel why, of 
course they will be late — not get here till 
after the opera — so Einstem will not play 
his Dew fantasia yet. — Here they come! 
Kitty, do stand out of the way." 

Countess Baltakis little knew what a 
narrow escape had been vouchsafed her, 
from an outfit of bright blue beads and 
bows, with which the fair Minna had enter- 
tained serious intentions of harmonising her 
shrimp-coloured robe. As matters stood, the 
true-souled German maiden was conspicuous 



THE THIRD THURSDAY. 157 

enough. — Spleen itself must have sjnnpa- 
thised with the rapturous enjoyment, burst- 
ing from every pore, which her face dis- 
played. She could not even pretend to 
care that dear Mrs. Orelius was providen- 
tially detained at home by a swelled face 
— (caught, ^'Ach I Heaven !" had the injured 
woman protested, " in one of those barbarous 
English draughts from their terrible open 
windows") — ^so manifold were the sources of 
the maiden's rapture, and so completely did 
she feel herself in her own element. 

Of course the Prodigy was not to be 
spared. — ^The Royal ladies had not forgotten 
the table-talk at Caldermere of which he had 
been the subject. A new zest was given to 
his past adventures and his present attrac- 
tions, by the late decease of the owner of that 
palace, and by the rumour which had got 
about — ^largely through the instrumentality 
of Mr. Quillsey — that grave doubts existed 
whether Caldermere was Lord Caldermere's 
iproperty to leave to his wife, or not — and by 



158 A PRODIGY. 

its being declared that the mother and her 
son, the pianist (an illegitimate son, as many 
still persisted), were not on speaking terms. 
— But, so far as was possible, Charles extri- 
cated himself from the centre of attrac- 
tion, and found relief and shelter by his old 
master. 

At first, Doctor Orelius was disposed to 
more than usual endlessness. He had been 
with difficulty prevented from publicly em- 
bracing his pupil, and recounting to an 
audience the benefaction — " such a providen- 
tially unheard - of- and - undeniably - princely 
piece of munificence." The surprise of the 
gift, even more than tHe awfully -and - 
strangely-rakish habits of London, had been 
too much for his homely wife : — and Minna, 
as her tearful eyes, and her obvious willing- 
ness also to embrace Charles, testified, had 
had her share in the splendid news. 

But these ebullitions were cut short, to be 
continued more substantially some future 
day — ^by our Prodigy dexterously engaging 



m mm I — rr- 



THE THIBJ) THURSDAY. 159 

his old preceptor in disquisitions on the 
follies, vanities, and luxuries round them, 
prolix and edifying, such as would have done 
no shame to an EncyclopaBdia. — For him- 
self Charles was sick at heart. That morn- 
ing's explosion had shaken him dreadfully. 
He trembled lest the next arrival might be 
that of the evil, fearful man, who had so 
cruelly injured him : and whose vengeance, 
he felt a dismal presentiment, might not yet 
have spent itself — ^Betwixt exhibition and 
exhibition he crept back to the same corner, 
soundly rated by the Countesa Baltakis for 
not pla3dng his best. — " Kyou don't do your- 
self justice in the Dew fantasia^ I shaE be 
downright in a rage with you. — ^No, you silly 
fellow, don't flush up so ! I don't care a pin 
whether you play better or worse because 
Royalty is here I They have heard of your 
airs and graces abroad already, so it's quite 
an understood thing. — ^Take an extra glass 
of champagne, if you are out of sorts. — ^Lady 
Load, see that he makes a good supper. — • 



160 A PRODIGY. 

You're looking at my rubies, Miss Orelius I 
I am sick of them already : — ^they are poor, 
cheap things. Marquis, push through. I 
follow you, somehow." 

" Ach I Heaven 1 what spirit and fluency !" 
was the exclamation of the fair Minna, who 
conceived her hostess to be the mirror of 
fashion, and the type of English aristocracy, 
and promised herself to remember and apply 
certain of her ways, for the benefit of play- 
mates at home. " Is she always so lively ?" 
" I have never seen her otherwise," said 
Charles, with a sigh. — " Three pieces more I 
— ^Well, the weariest night comes to an end. — 
I have a terrible headache, Minna — Doctor, 
will you let me sit down in silence for ten 
minutes : — and then I will try to point out 
some of the people you were asking for." 

The particular lateness of that party, 

commented on by Doctor Orelius, who took 

out his watch and his note-book, with a smile 

of wonder at every new arrival. — " Eleven 

, o'clock and a half — ^three-quarters — ^twelve 



THE THIRD THURSDAY. 161 

o'clock — astonishing!" — aggravated Charles 
to torture. 

After midnight a fresh horde of guests 
streamed in from the Opera. — So sharpened 
were the Prodigy's senses to feverish pain 
and excitement, that though all were talking 
at once — ^he was able to hear every voice 
separately ; and to hear that they were all 
performing variations on one and the same 
theme, — some occurrence which apparently^ 
had just given every one no common enter- 
tainment. 

" He richly deserves it ! High time that 
some one should put a stop to his tricks 
and impositions ! Our public is far too 
good natured — ^but there are things which 
will not go down in any theatre." 

"Come, be quiet ! be quiet! good folks ! 
If you want to talk about your opera riots^ 
go down into the supper-room. I can't 
have them acted over here ! I have been 
shouting myself hoarse to get silence for the 
last five minutes — and silence I must have ; 

VOL. m. M 



162 A PBODIGY. 

Come, Einstem, begin at once, — ^ The Dew 
fantasia V The Duchess is only waiting to 
hear it." 

But even the noise made by Countess 
Baltakis, in support of her own candidate, 
failed, in part, to produce the lull re- 
quested. — The new comers were in that 
state of high spirits which it is impossible to 
control. — ^They wanted to talk, and not to 
hear pianoforte playing at almost one o'clock 
in the morning : — and in spite of the ">SA/" — 
">SA/"— " I say 1" of the hostess— Major Ken- 
tucky Browne's pervading twang was heard 
going on. " High time English managers 
should be brought to their senses. — It was a 
sight I would not have missed for a r olio I All 
those Italians screaming and making a noise 
like so many niggers at a frolic I — ^And the 
few who took the girl's part, because she was 
so pretty, kept it up so stimulantly that I 
expected knives would be out every minute. 
— ^As it was, the curtain was only dropped 



THE THIRD THURSDAY. 163 

in the very nick of time. — ^The girl cannot 
dance, though, any more than my rifle." 

" Shr—cvieA the Baltakis— " Major Ken- 
tucky Browne, you have looked your last 
at my drawing-rooms, I can promise you ! 
Einstern, I really must beg you to begin 
again. — ^Madam, this is his Dew/antoia." 

The piece of display was exhibited and 
received with rapture enough to satisfy the 

« 

most rapacious of appetites. — Barriering out 
the talkers, a crowd closed round the piano- 
forte to enjoy and to flatter. The tide of 
ecstasy was at its height, the chorus of 
matrons and maids at its loudest: — and 
high, throughout, towered the triumphing 
enthusiasm of the true-souled Minna. — 
^^Ach! Heaven! that is divine ! — Just once 
again ! one piece more ! — Make him impro- 
vise, Countess Baltakis! They were wild 
about his improvising at Kaisersbad I" 

There was no possibility of escape. The 
great ladies would not rise ; anxious, like 

m2 



164 A PRODIGY. 

all the rest, to witness one of those dis- 
plays, which, by its apparent mystery and 
difficulty, captivates many beyond its real 
value. — ^The Prodigy vainly tried to excuse 
himself. He could make nothing worth 
listening to that night — one must be in the 
humour for such things. He had not a 
single idea. 

" 0, that shall be no difficulty," cried the 
Countess Baltakis, producing her jewelled 
pencil-case. 

" Some one find paper for everybody. 
You shall have themes enough and to spare 
in a second. Did you ever see any one 
so inspired," she added, in her piercing 
whisper, " as the dear fellow looks at this 
moment?" 

The dear fellow did not hear her. His 
hands were running fitfully over the keys, 
to prevent his being obliged to reply 
to compliments and questions — ^but his 
thoughts were far away — ^busy among the 
days of his youth — ^busy with that night, 



THE THIRD THURSDAY. 165 

when, flushed with expectation, and the 
pleasure of doing a kindness to a cherished 
friend — ^he had made that magnificent out- 
break in the music-school. — What was left 
of the boy, then so full of hope and excite- 
ment — ^with the world at his feet? What 
was left for him — ^now already so old? — 
Incense that fatigued more than it intoxi- 
cated him : — treasure hardly worth picking 
up ; — ^for whom was there that he cared to 
waste it on ? And he saw that passionless, 
heavy face, in that dim, hungry chamber,- — 
and he lived over again that helpless, rebel- 
lious distress which had stricken him down, 
by the death-bed of that friend in whom he 
had invested so extravagant an amount of 
love. It may be that objects and emotions 
so utterly discordant with the present time 
and place were conjured up by the quiet, 
fixed face of his old tutor — ^fuU in view. — He 
was giving himself up to the tide of recollec- 
tions which surged in, uncalled for and 
irresistible. He was going to play these 



166 A PRODIGY. 

things, when he was recalled to the scene 
and the moment: — by his hostess, who 
arrested his hand. The watchful Minna 
always declares that she saw the Countess 
Baltakis give it a little squeeze, as she 
cried, " Here, Einstem — ^here are plenty of 
themes to choose amongst :" — thrusting on 
him as she spoke a heap of twisted and 
folded papers. 

He forced himself back to those lighted 
and scented rooms, and those artificial ex- 
cited faces — ^back to those ridiculous re- 
quests and suggestions — ^back to the foUy 
of the hourl Absurd enough were most 
of the requisitions traced on the papers. — 
One contained a few semibreves, with a 
figured bass — enough to make the hair of a 
Sanhedrim of pedants stand on end. — 
Another bespoke " A Prayer for the Dead " 
— another offered two bars of the last galoppe 
— a third proposed "Napoleon when me- 
ditating abdication at Fontainebleau " — a 
fourth, " The History of Music "—a fifth, 



THE THIRD THURSDAY. 167 

" Give us your opinion of the comparative 
advantages of married and single life." 

"Major Kentucky Browne, that propo- 
sition must be yours," broke in the Countess 
Baltakis, with hot displeasure : — " but when 
did an American ever know anything of 
art? Come, Einstern, choose — ^and never 
mind reading out the titles. Try that 
sealed note, — there ought to be something 
in that: — ^though who can have got at 
sealing-wax in this room is a mystery 
to me." 

Charles broke the seal and read. — ^A change 
passed over his face, the like of which had 
been seen by only one of that circle — ^Doctor 
Orelius — on that evening in the music- 
school — as he started from his seat, crush- 
ing the paper in his fingers : — and, careless 
of Royalty, careless of Fashion, careless of 
all the loquacious inquiries which burst 
forth around him, broke through the circle 
with the fury of a wild animal, stung past 
all check and control. 



168 A PRODIGY. 

The note had contained merely a few 
words, written in a disguised hand, in 
French, and not signed : 

"Your wife is at No. 3, Harrington 
Villas, Brompton, — ^with Count Foltz. — If 
you wish to see her alive, you had better 
lose no time." 

" Who brought a note for me ?" he cried. 
—"Is any one waiting?" 

It had been just handed to the groom of 
the chambers by one of their people, who 
had received it from a common messenger. 
— ^The man had left it without a word. 

"What is the matter, Einstem?" cried 
the Countess Baltakis. — " Good gracious ! 
don't he look as if he was going to murder 
some one, Kitty? — ^Are you ill? — are you 
going to have a fit? If you crowd about 
him so, good people, he'll faint ! — I said he 
looked like death when he came 1 What a 
million of pities Dr. Mondor is not here !" 

" Nothing ! nothing is the matter I — It is 
only a passing attack ; I must get home as 



THE THIRD THURSDAY. 169 

fast as possible. — I must have a carriage. — 
Old friend," to Doctor Orelius, who was at 
his side, " you will come with me, will you 
not ?" and he added, in a rapid whisper — 
" It is too terrible r ^ 

" Surely, surely, honoured madam, I will 
not lose sight of him till I see him in safety 
— and Miss Twiese will go home by her- 
self" 

" Ach ! yes ! Ach I Heaven ! Certainly ! I 
shall give no trouble!" cried the genialMinna, 
enthusiastically ready for any heroic part : 
but her asseverations, that all she required 
was any one with a lantern who would show 
her the way, were lost in matters of more 
immediate moment. Twenty carriages were 
at once placed at the Prodigy's service, — 
for the urgency of his trouble spoke for itself 
— and he had made many friends, — and in a 
couple of minutes more, the two were beyond 
reach of the noise and confusion, — driving 
rapidly through the hot summer night — and 
Charles, in a few incoherent words, was ex- 



170 A PRODIGY. 

It 

plaining to his companion aU that he knew, 
all that was to be dreaded. — It was excellent 
to see how, at such a moment of suspense 
and emergency, Doctor Orelius, as though 
he had been closing a dull book, could lay 
by his exhausting and involved tediousness 
of circumlocution — how, by a few feeling 
and simple words, the teacher, who had 
supported his pupil under the shock of poor 
Becker's sudden death, in some measure 
resumed his former ascendancy, and tran- 
quillised the storm-tossed creature, during 
the few minutes which elapsed ere he could 
come face to face with Becker's sister. — 
" Remember, Charies, you are no child 
now," said he, affectionately — "remember 
that you have an old friend beside you, 
who loves you dearly and gratefully — and 
remember that God is above us all !" 



171 



CHAPTER IX. 

THE GLASS OF FASHION. 

Without " The Glass of Fashion" duly 
laid on the breakfast-table, it is believed 
that the Quillsey household could not have 
got on through a day of the London season. 
— One might as well be living in the bush, as 
not participate in all that the great ones of 
the West End of the Earth had been doing 
the night before, by studjdng, with fervent 
industry, the combinations reflected in " The 
Glass," which Luxury, Aristocracy, Official 
importance. Magnificence, Music, Terpsi- 



172 A PRODIGY. 

chore, and Gunter at his best, had provided 
for rational enjoyment. 

Nevertheless, the reflections in "The 
Glass" were not always satisfactory, for more 
reasons than one. — A solid melancholy pos- 
sessed itself of Mr. Quillsey, as on the Friday 
morning he read aloud to the partner of his 
cares the list of the guests who had been 
gathered at the third Thursday reunion of 
the Countess Baltakis. " Poor woman !" said 
he, with a shrug of superiority, — "people 
don't get into society that way! — It's no 
distinction to go there! — A perfect Vaux- 
hall, my dear, where every one can get in ! 
But I have not heard of the manager of 
Vauxhall being, in turn, invited to any 
Royal parties."^And with this solacing and 
conclusive sarcasm, Mr. Quillsey laid " The 
Glass" down— a little raised in his spirits. 

" Nor is the Opera what it was," resumed 
the bland censor of morals, " since those 
invasions of railway people, — coming up, 
and going down the next morning, as if 



THE GLASS OF FASHION. 173 

that was the way to enjoy music ! And so 
— of course — anjrthing and everything passes 
off at the Opera. Cleaned gloves in the 
stalls ! We shall see cotton gloves there 
before all is over, Mrs. Quillsey !" 

At this the lady moaned ; and it was a 
moment or two ere she took heart to ask — 
" How the new ballet had gone off?" 

"Well, of course, — everything goes off 
well on a Thursday night. — ^Those railway 
people don't know the difference, — ^if only 
they pay enough for their boxes ! One of 
them absolutely asked poor Pickersgill (it's 
the Marchioness's story) what became of 
Cleopatra after the burning of Troy." 

"What didV was the comment of weak 
Mrs. Quillsey — ^but her lord was majestically 
adjusting his eye-glass, and composing him- 
self for the Opera column — so her pertinent 
query passed unheard. — "What does the 
paper say of La Mazarine ?" was more to 
the purpose. 

"She did not dance, dear— did not ap- 



174 A PRODIGY. 

pear I I was sure that my friend the Prince 
would not permit her to dance much longer. 
Bless me ! there seems to have been quite a 
scene ! — ^They would not have the new wo- 
man — and no wonder ; who had ever heard 
the name before ? — ^Where can he have 
fished her up? — A perfect beauty, 0, we 
aU know what that means — and of a noble 
Dalmatian family! — Her first appearance 
on the stage, too I — and in a new ballet — 
and in such a part as Cleopatra ! — Read for 
yourself when I am gone, dear ; it's quite a 
long story, and so interesting. I am late as 
it is, for Sir Philip, — ^and he is as trouble- 
some as the Baltakis woman, — about that 
stupid orangery of his* !" 

The story was long and interesting, for 
" The Glass of Fashion" was written by a 
hand which was great at fiction — and as 
irreverent persons ventured to assert, not 
seldom in the cabinet of inscrutable secresy, 
where the Grand Lama of musical drama 
veiled his wisdom from the vulgar gaze. 



THE GLASS OF FASHION. 175 

The romance told how, into a noble Dal- 
matian family of vast wfealth and ancient 
ancestry, had been born, eighteen years ago, 
a Houri, more beautiful than the most beau- 
teous of the long line of Houris who had made 
the race renowned since " burning Sappho 
loved and sung in those Isles of Greece," — 
how the child had been renowned for grace, 
genius, and accomplishment, from the mo- 
ment when she could speak, and had com- 
posed and acted plays in three languages 
before she was as many years old — Thalia 
and Melpomene having presided over her 
cradle, — ^how her haughty parents had been 
heart-broken at the development of tenden- 
cies and propensities so utterly at variance 
with every dream and purpose of inexorable 
ancestral pride. In vain. The indepen- 
dent young beauty preferred the free exer- 
cise of the gifts of Heaven with which she 
had been so mysteriously and munificently 
endowed (for the purpose of making her a 
benefactress and teacher) — ^to the galling 



176 A PRODIGY. 

enthralments of Barbarian rank and splen- 
dour. — ^A marriage contract had been con- 
cluded for her, with another more noble 
Dalmatian, of more vast wealth and more 
ancient ancestry — hy parental tyranny. — 
But she had openly, at peril of incarceration, 
defied the insolent yoke, glittering though it 
was with diamonds — and had bestowed her 
affections on a youth of the people, — ^whose 
burning sense of his country's wrongs had 
enrolled him in the list of those whose 
object was Liberty or Death. — ^To share his 
weal and woe had been the settled purpose 
of the beauteous and enthusiastic Morgiana's 
soul. — By perseverance in intricate strata- 
gems, and a series of most romantic adven- 
tures (particulars of which would shortly 
be laid before the public), she had, with 
unheard-of courage, succeeded in emanci- 
pating herself from the state imprisonment 
to which she had been subjected in her 
parents' Dalmatian palace ; — ^and was on 
her way to join the Jianci of her soul, when 



THE GLASS OF FASHION. 177 

she was met and stricken to earth with 
fearful tidings. The manly, the brave 
Spiridion was no more. A foeman's bullet 
had precipitated him from the outpost of 
danger which he had occupied on a beetling 
rock. — "Those whom the Gods love die 
young." — The condition of Morgiana — 
young, beautiful, unprotected — was despe- 
rate indeed. — Disowned by her inexorable 
parents, — ^scorned by the cold-blooded mon- 
ster to whom they would have sold her — 
without means or subsistence, save such as 
were derived from a jewel or two, the 
stolen partners of her flight, — ^what was to 
become of her? — ^An inspiration from her 
good angel came to her rescue. — She be- 
thought herself of a preceptor of happier 
days, who had trained her fairy feet to thread 
the maaes of the Bomaika in the splendid 
paternal halls, while applauding relatives had 
looked on in ecstasy. — She would show the 
world " how divine a thing a dancer might 
be made," — and alone, and unaided, she, who 

VOL. IIL N 



178 A PRODIGY. 

had been nurtured in luxury's lap, made her 
way to Belgrade, — ^where her old master 
was iiving in retirement; and for a year 
(during which time the rumours of her 
death were spread abroad) assiduously sub- 
jected herself to his counsels, preparatory to 
her appealing to the ordeal of public appro- 
bation. — By chance (a providential chance, 
it must be said, by all who followed the 
fortunes of a splendid Temple of Art), the 
romantic story reached the ears of that en- 
terprising and far-sighted caterer whom no 
generous Briton could name without a suf- 
fusion of grateful pride. — ^Measures to secure 
such a treasure had been instantly taken. — 
The most profound secresy on the subject 
wa? to be observed by all partes, — and how 
well the vow was kept all London knew, 
who till this morning was unaware of the 
existence of such an enchantress. '' There 
can be no doubt," concluded the paragraph, 
"that a being like hersdf, — ^thus mysteri- 
ously directed to the hospitable shores of 



THE GLASS OF FASHION. 179 

Albion, — where all the men are brave and 
all the women chaste, — ^must be reserved 
for the brilliant destiny of one of those 
bright particular stars, whose progress 
through its orbit of supernal triumph the 
lower world hails with plaudits of aflfection 
unalloyed and unassailed by envy !" 

Thus far the symphony flowed sweetly ; 
— ^but the preamble bore no adequate propor- 
tion to the song which came after ; and which 
was this— "That last night's performance of 
the new divertissement — ' Cleopatra on the 
Cyclades' — cannot justly be called an ade- 
quate revelation of the new danseuse, in all 
the fulness of her beauty and force of her 
genius, must be conceded. — ^The most gifted 
are, by the mysterious provisions of Nature, 
the most impressionable. Overcome by 
feelings not to be wondered at, the mo- 
mentous nature of the ordeal taken into 
consideration — ^the wings of the Sylph were 
clogged, — the sensibility of the high-bom 
maiden asserted its rights, and the fascinat- 

n2 



180 A PRODIGY. 

ing debutante was conducted from the stage, 
in the midst of the regrets and plaudits of 
a sympathetic public. That she will assert 
her claims at no distant occasion, must be 
the unanimous wish of every witness, whose 
heart vibrates to the endearments of Beauty, 
and the magic associations of romance." 

Thus was the history of that Opera 
Thursday night — the third Thursday of the 
Countess Baltakis — written in "The Glass 
of Fashion." 




181 



CHAPTER X. 



BEHIND THE SCENES. 



The scene at the Opera had been more 
gravely tragical to some of our acquaint- 
ances than the dulcet journalist had re- 
corded,— or than any of the midnight 
talkers at the party of the Countess Baltakis 
had dreamed. The failure of the poor 
dancer, so liberally fitted up with romantic 
antecedents, had not been a mishap brewed 
by the spite of a cabal. It was not refer- 
able to the emotion of one presenting her- 
self for the first time to a strange public — 



182 A PRODIGY. 

or to any public. — ^Neither was it ruthlessly 
to be ascribed to utter incapacity ; though a 
sense of insufficient preparation rushing on 
the aspirant, when it was too late, had its 
share in the terrible disappointment. Some- 
thing worse than any of these was inter- 
woven with it. It was not merely a com- 
mon spasm of mortification : a common re- 
fusal of overwrought nerves to support 
their owner one second longer — ^not merely 
the common confused terror of one scared 
by perils of which she had taken no account 
— which had given such poignancy to the 
cries of the poor creature, as, staggering 
from the stage, half supported, half forced 
(for she had to the last tried to dance down 
the storm of disapproval which had risen 
against her), — she feU in hopeless, acute 
misery, on the floor of her dressing-room : 
— an object which even the most malicious 
and unsightly among her rivals could 
afford to pity. 

" This is worse than hysterics," said one 



BEHIND THE SCENES. 183 

of the dressers of the theatre, who had 
crowded in to stare rather than to help. 

" Baptiste said she was flighty from the 
first. He'll remember the blow she gave 
him, when they were rehearsing, for many a 
day to come !" — struck in another commen- 
tator on the exciting scene : " I would not 
be the young man she does favour for a 
good deal — ^pretty as she is." 

Will you stand out of the way, every- 
body," cried the elder woman in French, 
leaning over her; "will you make less 
noise ? How can she get any air if you 
crowd about her so ? How can she recover 
in time?. 0, for Heaven's sake!" as the 
paroxysm grew wilder and wilder, " if you 
will stay then, will no one call a doctor ? 
— She is very ill ! She has not eaten any- 
thing this three days." 

" What is the matter ?" said a deep voice, 
whose owner made his way through the 
crowd ; " I am a physician, and I believe I 
know the lady. — Is this her aunt ?" 



184 A PRODIGY. 

" Ouij Monsieur /" 

"I knew your niece at Munich/' said 
the man, studying the prostrate figure. 
Perhaps the attitude brought the blood to 
his face ; but never had the scar on it looked 
so ferocious and ugly, as he added in a low 
voice, with a smile meant to be reassuring, 
" and I knew Einstem, her husband." 

'^ Achf hush I It makes her frantic to 
hear his name ! She was so determined to 
keep it all a secret to surprise him. — She 
even made our great friend, Count Foltz, 
swear . . . ." 

" Never mind all that," said Dr. Mondor, 
with decision. "There is no time to be 
lost. I must have this room cleared, and 
some one must go immediately to the nearest 
chemist's. — ^No — ^by good luck, I have it 
about me. — Collect yourself, my good 
woman, — or I will not answer for the con- 
sequences." 

His prompt but not uncivil tone of com- 
mand did clear the room. In the compara- 



BEHIND THE SCENES. 185 

tive quiet which followed after the door had 
shut out the starers, the violent agitation of 
the wilful and reckless beauty made itself 
heard more loudly than before. It was on 
the increase. She made one or two convul- 
sive efforts to rise, tried to arrange her 
dress, hke one dissatisfied with its disorder, 
and looked wildly and brilliantly forward 
into his eyes, without testifying the slightest 
recognition. 

" Have you forgotten me, Marie Becker?" 
said he, returning her gaze; "have you 
forgotten my seeing you in Munich? — My 
name is Zuccaglio." 

"Who are you? I do not know you! 
I will not have any one here when Charles 
is away ! Aunt Claussen, how dare you ? 
It is some vile trick to put me out, — to 
prevent my dancing, — to shame me I . . , 
Go, man! — go, go! — I shall be wanted 
directly" (beating time with her head, as it 
were, to imaginary music), " and I am not 
ready I Where have you put my tiara and 



186 A PRODIGY. 

my scarf?" — ^and out burst a new volley of 
violent exclamations, as she tried to take 
to her feet again, and again feU backward, 
almost bruising herself by her violence. 

"You will be ready in two moments," 
said the strange physician, fixing her glance 
by his, with a singular coolness ; — and 
rapidly dropping into a glass some pre- 
paration from the phial he had produced. 
" Drink this, it will steady you. — Give her 
her tiara and scarf,— if she has set her heart 
on dancing in the next scene ;" adding, in 
a lower tone to her miserable attendant, 
" Humour her ; or it may become a fixed 
raving madness." 

The poor creature, parched with burning 
thirst, desperately clutched the glass and 
drained its contents. The narcotic must 
have been of no common strength, or her 
bodily exhaustion must have been great; 
for, after groping distressfuUy here and 
there for a few instants, like a blind person, 
and making one or two harsh but half- 



BEHINl) THE SCENES. 187 

audible attempts to speak, she fell back 
insensible. 

" She must be got home," said the man 
with the scarred face; "and her husband 
must be sent to," he added, with a look, 
dark, rather than betraying concern. 

The old woman, who had neither truth nor 
falsehood ready for any emergency — ^maun- 
dered and protested. It would be as much, 
she declared, as her life was worth. — ^Her 
niece would never forgive her when she 
came to herself. Count Foltz would never 
forgive her ! Ach! everybody was so hard 
on her ! 

" Then Count, who did you say ? — Foltz ? 
— answers for your niece here ? It must be 
done, I tell you. — I will not take the re- 
sponsibiUty of deceiving Einstem, and for- 
tunately I know where to find him! — 
" Yes," thinking aloud, as he wrote a few 
rapid words on a leaf of paper—" he will 
be beholden to me ; and not for the first 
time either. — ^Now get everything together. 



■^=:^ 



188 A PRODIGY. 

We must remove her while we can, and she 
is quiet. Where are you living ?" 

Still Aunt Claussen hesitated. 

" If you will not tell me, you shall tell 
one of the police." 

She grumbled as she muttered the required 
words — bewildering herself with a selfish 
cowardice for the wrath she was sure to 
draw down. 

"^cA ! what a wretched, wretched jour- 
ney! — what an end of my poor dove's 
prospects I — He will kill her when he 
knows!" 

" Are you ready? — Have you any servant 
below?" said the physician, throwing open 
the door of the dressing-room. 

"Surely — surely, at the stage-door 1" 
answered the woman incoherently, bundling 
together the treasure and trumpery belong- 
ing to her niece ; who was still insensible. 
"And where is everybody? There is no 
one about. What a horrible noise !" 

The corridor was deserted — ^the entire 



BEHIND THE SCENES. 189 

service of the theatre having huddled itself 
together behind the curtain, in order to 
Usten to the particulars of the reckoning 
that was passing betwixt an infuriate public 
and a caterer for their good will accused of 
tricking. — Under cover of the riot, poor 
Marie was half carried, half supported 
through the filthy passages, and down the 
crooked stairs, with none to question her 
departure. "For Heaven's sake!" cried 
Aunt Claussen, bent, it seemed, on keep- 
ing up the deception, "call for Signora 
Morgiana's servant. — He will not answer to 
any other name." 

The functionary thus called did not in- 
stantaneously answer. In the interim, the 
foreign physician had time, in the office of 
the stage door-keeper, to write, direct, and 
despatch a note. 

" Coming up !" cried a voice at the door. 
" Stand by. — ^You really must not come in, 
sir, the Lady is so very ill. No>v, if you 
please, my Lord. . . •" And Dr. Mondor, thus 



190 A PRODIGY. 

adjured, came forward, with the helpless 
burthen half in his arms, and her little less 
helpless relative close behind. The servant 
held the door of the little carriage open. 
The light was full on the faces of both 
men. 

They recognised one another : though the 
man with the scar had altered the garniture 
of his visage before his arrival in England, 
and much of it was now uncovered, which 
in the Munich days had been overgrown. 
The other, however, did not stir till the 
women were in the carriage, — ^and the phy- 
sician's foot was on the step. Then he said 
quietly, "I must speak to you at once, 
Adalbert Einstern, or whoever you please 
to be called now. Drive home I" to the 
charioteer — " I will be there as soon as you," 
and the door was shut, and the carriage 
gone. 

" I tell you I will speak to you, so surely 
as my name is Meshek, — I had a fancy it 
might be you, after all — ^and so I mentioned 



BEHIND THE SCENES. 191 

it at the Embassy. You had better come 
away, and make no noise :" and jostling his 
way through the crowd, now pouring from 
the theatre and full of its affairs — ^keeping 
the while a grasp of iron on the elbow of the 
other, whom the neighbourhood of this man 
seemed to paralyse as with a fascination — 
Meshek and the miscreant crossed among 
the carriages which filled the wide street: 
— and disappeared in the quiet darkness of 
Suffolk-place. 

*' Now, sir," said the stage*door-keeper to 
Count Foltz, who had been charging that 
entrance, — and not finally in vain, — ^by the 
exhibition of* gold — " what Lady's address 
was it you wanted ?^ 



192 



CHAPTER XI. 

HARRINGTON VILLAS. 

Many a day before " The Glass of Fashion" 
began its shining course to run, — ahnost 
from the beginning of this century, Bromp- 
ton has been a neighbourhood frequented 
by actors, singers, and dancers,— a supersti- 
tion being attached to its climate, which is 
sure to attract those who cross the Channel, 
under shadowy terrors of fogs. The house 
to which Charles and Doctor Orelius were 
bound — so bran-new that it was not easy to 
discover — ^was a separate villa ; in a lane off 



HARRINGTON VILLAS. 193 

the main road : — almost the last solitary 
house of an outlying district. 

So dead and deserted did the neighbour- 
hood seem, — ^that the two were tempted to 
imagine they had been misdirected, and to 
forbear attempting to announce themselves, 
till, on looking up, behind a cloudy curtain 
something moved, — the pale flame of a 
candle, telling of the presence of a •watcher. 
— ^The address given them had been freshly 
painted on the gate-post. — ^This must be the^ 
house. The gate of the little court-yard was; 
open : and, with a hand which trembled with 
fever, passion, and expectation, Charles rang 
the bell, which sounded loud at that dead 
hour. — ^A shufliing of feet on the staircase 
was heard: and, on the other side of the 
door, a voice which neither recognised, speak-* 
ing in German. " Who is there ?" 

" Lives Madame Einstem here?" said 
Doctor Orelius, putting himself forward. 

'^ Ach! yes! God be thanked, if you 
are a doctor. Is that Meshek with you?'* 

VOL, m. 



194 A PRODIGY. 

was the answer, and bolt and chain were 
undone ; and a scared-looking woman, with 
a filthy candle in her hand, presented her- 
self at the door. 

Charles knew her again ; the woman who 
had made her way to his wife that morning 
ia Vienna, when he had introduced Count 
Foltz to her. Who else might be in the 
house? — Aunt Claussen recollected him 
too — ^for she gave back with* a scream. 

" Where is she?" cried the Prodigy, made 
none the more forbearing by the name 
called on by her. " Where is my wife ? 
Orelius I I call you to witness " 

" 0, be still! be still?" cried the woman, 
in an agony of honest fear. — "She is at 
last asleep, after those terrible fits. . . . Achl 
they are brutes in this country — and to 
be left alone in the house, with nothing in 
it, it is horrible ? Tread very quietly." 

The villa was so tiny, that as the doors on 
each side of the narrow passage were staring 



HARRINGTON VILLAS. 195 

open — a neglected candle was seen smoulder- 
ing away in the parlour, and the fierce glance 
of the Prodigy must have acquainted him 
with the presence of any one disposed to step 
aside. — But no such person was there: as 
Aunt Claussen had said. The two women 
were left alone in the house — ^the young 
wife flung on the bed : a truly pitiable spec- 
tacle. 

That she ha'd been flung there in haste 
and confusion was evident, as also, that 
there had been no one to take order or to 
minister to her comfort. — The floor of the 
room was littered with shreds of gauze and 
scraps of paper. Tossed down, beside a 
common bonnet and shawl, in which the 
little dog had coiled itself to sleep, were a 
tiara, a pair of bracelets — ^two tiny satin 
slippers, and other paraphernalia of- a 
dancer's stage attire. — On the table were a 
few glasses — a druggist's bottle half fille^ 
with' some dark mixture — a cup and a 

o2 



196 A PRODIGY. 

spoon — a bottle of beer uncorked, and one 
or two Savoy biscuits tumbled out on a 
cracked plate. 

Marie breathed heavily. 

There had been rouge on her face, and 
some white colour, which had been only 
half washed away. — ^The story of the past 
night's miserable adventure was in part 
told, before a word was spoken. Yet it was 
hard for Charles to restrain \ns passion, and 
to moderate his voice, as he cried, "What 
wretched work is this?" 

" Ach ! great Heaven !" whimpered the 
old woman, " who could have expected such 
a calamity, after all they had promised her, 
and the great hopes they had held out I 
So sure she was of making a delightful 
surprise for you to-morrow morning I — So 
afraid of your knowing a minute too soon I 
— ^Yet she saw you every day ; she would 
jgo and sit before your hotel in a jiacre till 
you came out : — and once, when some ladies 
came out too, she was beside herself with 



HARRINGTON VILLAS. 197 

passion — ^and I had to hold her ! — She has 
never been well since, — and no wonder, 
rehearsing in the morning, among those 
French people — a parcel of savages ! They 
were determined to destroy her. — She heard 
them say from the first that she knew no 
more how to dance than an old shoe. — 
And we had not money enough to bribe 
and to keep them quiet. How should we ?" 
" Who brought you here ?" said Charles, 
in a hoarse and suppressed whisper. — " Who 
are you with here ? — ^Whose house is 
this ?" 

" They took it for us at the theatre, 
before we came — as Marie wished to be out 
of the way, till all was over. — Such a 
wretched place ! and that Meshek knowing 
nothing of London — ^though he pretended 
all the way we came that he had been here 
half a hundred of times. — ^And now, he 
will have lost himself — ^there can be no 
doubt of it — ^in place of bringing us a 
doctor." 



198 A PRODIGY. 

" Who was it, then, that sent for me ? 
Who MTTote this f " and he thrust in her face 
the crushed paper, the writing on which 
was now, indeed, scarcely legible. 

" I cannot tell you, — I do not know," 
was the woman's terrified answer: — and 
this time Aunt Clausen did not lie. 

" Then you were not expecting me I 
Whom is it that you were expecting ?" 

" 0, speak more gently," said the grave 
voice of Doctor Orelius in his ear. " The 
poor thing hears you." 

His voice had aroused Marie. She stirred 
uneasily in the bed, and made a motion as 
if trying to rise — ^moaning to herself, " 0, 
I want rest! I want rest!" and the next 
instant, more loudly, " 0, I want water ! 0, 
I want wine ! I must have wine to steady me 
before I begin ! or how can I dance ? 0, be 
quick, aunt ! be quick !" 

" I am with you, love ! I am here with 
you !" said her husband, raising her on his 
arm, and steadying his voice with a desperate 



HARRINGTON VILLAS. 199 

effort. " You will be better soon; — Orelius I 
What is to be done ? Give me some water I'' 
and he put it to her lips, — she turned and 
opened her eyes languidly. 

" 0, Charles ! my own Charles, is it you ?" 
and she felt about him, again and again, as 
if still uncertain. "What are you doing 
here, at this time of the day ? I know now. 
Make them play in time ! How can I dance 
unless they play in time ? — But you don't 
want me to dance — or anybody, save that 
fat Miss Minna Twiese ! I saw her I Yes ! 

* 

I saw her with you ! You false, cruel — 
cruel creature 1 Take it away from my head ! 
Take it away from my head !" and she lifted 
her hands powerlessly to her forehead, and 
fell back again into that melancholy stupor. 

" What is to be done ? Is there nothing 
in the house ?" said Doctor Orelius, trying to 
rouse the elder woman, who continued whim- 
pering and rocking herself to and fro. 

" Nothing, sir. We took our meals always 
near the theatre j and Meshek has not come 



200 A PRODIGY. 

back yet ! — Ach 1 Heaven ! and it is near 
two o'clock." 

" And the carriage has gone ! — ^We must 
wait tiU dayUght, and then I wiU find my 
way back to London. — If she will only sleep, 
Charles, that may be the best." — ^And Doctor 
Orelius drew his old pupil away from the 
wreck of his beautiful wife, and removed the 
light, placing it where it should not disturb 
her. — ^There was already some hint of pale 
dawn on the sky, across the open ground. 

"And now, shall I not go to bed?" said 
that worthless, helpless old woman. — " Ach! 
Heaven ! and I want rest, too !" 

•' Rest!" cried Charles, made almost furious 
by her selfishness. — Come with me, below 
stairs, — I will know at once what brought 
you here! I will have your whole abo- 
minable story out of you. Orelius, if the 
slightest change takes place, let me know. — 
So long as she is still, there is no time lost. 
— Come with me," and grasping Aunt 
Claussen's arm with a force she could not 



- ■ " T * 



HARRINGTON VILLAS. 201 

resist, Charles compelled her into the little 
parlour. — " Sit down and teU me what all 
this means. — Can you swear to me that 
there has been no one here save yourselves 
— that you have come to London alone?" 

'^ Ach! yes !— except with that Meshek — 
whom we engaged with at Dresden. He 
was to have gone with us to Vienna. I 
thought you knew all about it ! Marie told 
me" (with some little quickening of confi- 
dence) " that you knew all : — ^that you knew 
she was engaged to dance at Vienna." 

" Marie ! You are putting off your own 
lies on her ! If you hope for pardon — ^if 
you hope to lie quiet in your grave I — tell 
me the truth ! tell nie as much truth as you 
can, poor debased creature. For Becker's 
sake, I will forgive you 1" 

Ach! how could she know what she 
told — ^truth or untruth — ^terrified as she 
had been last night, and with that poor dove 
lying in such a state above-stairs. If her 
niece died, however, God be thanked I no 



202 A PRODIGY. 

one could blame her aunt I the only blood 
relation left her in the world ! — But he had 
known — had he not known? — ^that Marie 
had refused to come to England with him 
because she had engaged to appear in the 
ballet at Vienna. — ^Her aunt had been deli- 
cate, she confessed, and it was a pity ! — and 
had not presented herself to him at Dresden 
— ^because he had been so munificent to her 
family ; to her poor dear nephew — ^and her 
unfortunate brother ! — She was sure she 
could not be welcome to him, — ^but she had 
been always her niece's best friend — and 

had always had her confidence ! 

* 

"Marie engaged herself to dance at Vienna! 
-^in her state, about to become a mother !" 

AchI Heaven! what did he mean? — 
That her niece was about to become a 
mother? — No (and the miserable woman 
kissed a dirty cross that she drew from her 
breast), nothing of the kind could be 
known to her. — ^And if it could be proved 
that Marie had made such an invention 



HARRINGTON YILLAS. 203 

a pretext to linger behind and surprise him 
— ^was her aunt to blame ? 

" Surprise me ! What did you mean, 
then, by telling me you thought I knew 
she was staying behind, to dance ?" 

Ach! she really did not know what she 
said. There was one way at looking at 
everything, and there was another. — But 
she did know that her niece could never 
have had the slightest hope of becoming 
a mother. " Or else," said she — ^becoming 
indignant in her virtuous experience — 
" should I have let her dance ? — I who have 
been a dancer myself." 
' " Deceit on deceit," muttered the poor 
fellow — ^inexperienced in such ways — ^within 
himself. " But what has your being here 
to do with dancing at Vienna ?" 

That was glibly explained. — ^The Austrian 
manager had been applied to by the great 
London manager, in distress how to rid 
himself of a member of his company, whose 
exactions were becoming too serious. Marie's 



204 A PRODIGY. 

engagement had been transferred from 
Vienna to London — and, ^^Ach! Heaven! 
how she rejoiced in surprising you! be- 
cause she knew you wanted money ! — ^and 
because she was so proud to earn some for 
herself — and so she would have surprised 
you ! — ^if it had not been for that French 
party in the theatre. — They would not yield 
her one instant's chance. They saw how 
beautiful she was I They began to hiss her 
from the very first moment ! I know what it 
is ! — I was a dancer myself — and so she lost 
courage, poor dove ! and she could hardly 
get to the side-scenes, when she fainted. — I 
don't know what we should have done, had 
not there been by chance a celebrated 
physician on the stage :— Dr. Mondor is his 
name.— He gave her something, and it 
quieted her. — He was gone before we could 
thank him— and that Meshek promised to 
bring us a doctor — ^and so I got her home. 
And there he is, at last" (the sound of 
wheels grating on the pebbles making itself 



HARRINGTON VILLAS. 205 

heard) ; " I will run and let him in before 
he rings." 

Charles was close behind her. — ^The light 
in the sky was beginning to be a trifle less 
indistinct. — ^There was a carriage : and out 
of it already were two persons — and one of 
the two was Count Foltz. 



206 



CHAPTER XII. 

THE MAN WHO HAD LOVED HER. 

" You have saved me trouble, Count 
Foltz — ^though, doubtless you did not expect 
to find me here !" 

" God be thanked that I do !" was the 
eager answer. " I was at my wits' ends 
where to find you — ^but I dared wait no 

longer, for her sake. This is Doctor ," 

and he named one of the medical celebrities 
of London. — " Is Madame Einstern worse ?'' 

" Which is the way?" said the physician, 
speaking German, and obviously possessed 
with the idea that the case was not one to 



THE MAN WHO HAD LOYED HER. 207 

be trifled with. — "Where is her woman 
servant?" 

"I am here with her," was Aunt Claus- 
sen's answer. 

The physician threw a sharp and any- 
thing but respectful look at the woman. 
"Come with me, then," he said; "I shall 
want to ask you some questions. Not you, 
8U-— I wiU see you after." 

" But you should know r-" and Charles 

whispered a word in the physician's ear. 

" The more need, then, that no time 
should be lost, and that I should see her 
alone" — ^and led by Aunt Claussen, he went 
up-stairs. 

The sound was heard of a chair drawn 
across the floor, and Doctor Orelius ciame 
staggering down, hardly able longer to 
make head against sleep. Then the door 
closed above. 

" I could not stay away, Einstem !" cried 
the young Austrian, almost with tears of 
earnestness, grasping the other's hand ere 



208 A PRODIGY. 

it could be prevented — "I have done you 
wrong enough as it is ! — ^Forgive me ! for- 
give me ! for her sake." 

"Forgive you!" cried poor Marie's hus- 
band, haughtily. — "You make a strange re- 
quest, — at a strange time, — ^in a strange way. 
— I suppose you fancy that because I am a 
musician and not a soldier, my wife is nothing 
to me, and that you can carry everything 
off with a few smooth words! — But my 
father was as noble as yours: and I can 
fight you, though I am a pianoforte player. 
You do well to be afraid, and to try to 
make peace ! — ^I will not strike you now, — 
here in my own house ! — Or, I am wrong, 
perhaps. — Is it yours ? Tell me !" 

The Prodigy's insulting tone was not lost 
on the young Austrian ; who was no coward. 
But for the presence of Doctor Orelius there 
might have been immediate mischief. 

" Charles !— Count Foltz!— with Death, 
for aught we know, up-stairs, restrain your 
passions here ! — Is there not some mistake 



THE MAN WHO HAD LOVED HER. 209 

between you? — Is there not something to 
be explained ?" 

" To be explained ! — ^This man's presence 
here, — at this hour of the night — ^and he to 
help ! and he to give orders ! . . . There can 
be only one explanation !" 

" 0, less loud ! less loud !" interposed 
the clergyman. — " Your wife can hear every 
word that passes here. Think of her before 
your own passion !" 

"As you loved her, and as she loved 
you," said Count Foltz — "listen to me! — I 
have been to blame in doing her a pleasure 
— ^yet who could refuse her anything? — 
but never was any man so faithfully loved 
as you are by your wife; — and that she has 
not wronged you, I swear to you by my 
own mother's honour." 

The« wa, a dnceri.y in the speaker's 
accent, beyond the unintentional reproach 
in his words, ^'As you loved her^^ which mo- 
dified the tone in which the Prodigy put the: 
plain question, — " How is it, then, that my 

VOL. m. p 



210 A PRODIGY. 



wife is here in London : hiding from me — 
and with you?" 

" Hiding from you, I know : and I have 
been to blame — ^but not with me ! — Hiding 
from me, too ! — Had it not been so— had I 
known how or where to find her, do you 
think she should have been deserted in such 
a wretched place as this ? — ^I had to pay be- 
fore I could get the address where she lived, 
at the Opera House to-night, after I saw her 
driven away from the door ! — I had reason 
to think she was in bad hands. — Could I 
help, then, breaking my promise to her, and 
coming to find you ? — ^When you were not 
to be found, could I help bringing a phy- 
sician, after what they had told me in the 
theatre ? — ^And what a hole for them to have 
put her in !" 

The direct and earnest concern, working 
in every feature of the young Austrian's 
face, gave weight to his words — ^though 
they increased the listener's perplexity.- 
" Did you not bring my wife to London, 



THE MAN WHO HAD LOVED HER. 211 

then ? — ^Did you not come'with her ? — ^Why 
did you keep out of my way else ?" 

" I will tell you/' said the other, " in 
three words. — Because I loved her ! Now, 
do you fancy I am frightened of you, and 
am lying to get out of a scrape ?" 

Charles would have sprung up, with a 
violent and menacing gesture: — ^had not 
Doctor Orelius forcibly restrained him. 
" You must hear this gentleman to an end. 
— ^You must hear all, and quietly." 

" Yes," repeated Count Foltz.— " I loved 
her, I tell, you, from that first night in the 
theatre at Vienna : from that morning af- 
terwards when you presented me to her. — 
And then^ I will teU you plainly, I thought 
that you had made an artist's marriage, if 
you were married at all ! — It was put about 
among us that you were not married to 
her ! — Persons who had known you when 
you were with the Prince Chenzikoff said 
so. — If this was the case, why should not 
I try my luck? I do not pretend to be 

p2 



212 A PRODIGY. 

better than other fellows. — ^Your fancy for 
her, I thought, was sure to pass — ^run after 
as you were by all the women." 

^•He is long," said Charles, listening. 
" Hark ! surely . . ." 

" No, it is not her voice," interrupted the 
other, — "and I must have a moment or 
two more. — ^Then, at Kaisersbad — ^you re- 
collect Kaisersbad? — every one could see 
you were tired of her.- — ^The Schilkenstein 
said so, if once, a thousand times. — ^Well, 
all this was so much encouragement. One 
day, I let her see I thought so . . ." 

" 0, young man ! young man !" began 
Doctor Orelius, gravely, — "can you look 
us in the face, and tell us of your bad 
doings ?" 

" Do you fancy I am afraid of him ? — 
Yes, I can tell you, — for her sake ! And I can 
tell you of the utter downright contempt 
with which she cut me short before I had 
finished ! No princess could be more inso- 
lent. — 'You must be mad! you must be 



THE MAN WHO HAD LOVED HER. 213 

drunk, Count Foltz !' she cried (I hear her 
voice in my ears now), 'before you could 
dare hint at such things to Charles Ein- 
stern's wife ! I despise you too much to tell 
him I for I have no need of any defence ! — 
There are plenty of other women in Kai- 
sersbad for you to buy !' — -I had taken her in 
a nosegay. — Heavens ! to see the look with 
which she stood up and, trampled on it ! — I 
tell you she made me afraid of her. — If I 
had stayed two minutes longer, she would 
have done herself a mischief. — I did not see 
her again at Kaisersbad." 

Charles had buried his forehead in his 
hands — ^not only because it burned and 
throbbed with pain, but also to hide the 
blush which covered it, as he thought, 
" This man did love her." 

" I never thought to see her again," con- 
tinued Count Foltz, like one careless of the 
effect his words produced. — "I did not 
know where she might be — till the other 
day at Cologne. — I met her on the stairs 



214 A PRODIGY. 

at the Rheinberg, in bad company — an old 
woman with her, well known about the 
theatres of Vienna; and a cunning Jew 
fellow, who called himself her theatrical 
agent and secretary, as ready to take a 
bribe as those people always are." 

"Meshek? . . ." 

" Yes, that is his name." 

"We know too much about him," said 
Doctor Orelius. — " He had been connected, 
and not creditably, with some of her family." 

" So I gathered. . . . What was I to 
think now ? — I had no difficulty in getting 
the story out of Meshek. You and she had 
not agreed, he said ; and she had for some 
time been determined to resume her old 
profession ; and had been practismg at 
Dresden, under engagement to appear at 
the Vienna Opera. House. — It turned out, 
that on the moment of her starting for 
Dresden, she had received a letter acquaint- 
ing her that her services were made over to 
the manager at London ; where her appear- 



THE MAN WHO HAD LOVED HER. 215 

ance must take place immediately — 'Un- 
less,' said the scoundrel, 'some unforeseen 
circumstance make it worth her while to 
alter her plans.' — But she was very difficult, 
he warned me, to deal with; as well as out 
of health. — He would not for the world 
she should know he had told me so much 
as he had told me. 

" Well, I sent in my name to her ; putting 
on my card 'en route to London,' and asking 
if she would see me. ... I was kept wait- 
ing an hour before any answer came back. 
— Then it was, that she would receive Count 
Foltz for ten minutes. 

" I saw, by a glance, that she had been in 
a terrible state of excitement. — ^The other 
woman would have left her when I went 
in. — 'No, Aunt Claussen, I wish you to 
stay. — ^Now, Count Foltz, will you tell me 
why you asked to see me ?' — ^There was that 
fierce, commanding look in her face again ! 
— I durst not allude to what Meshek had 
just told me ; so I said, that having met her 



216 A PRODIGY. 

on the stairs, I simply wished to know, if 
she had any message or other commands for 
her husband, in London. I would see him 
immediately on my arrival. 

"McA/' — ^broke in the old woman, 'is 
the gentleman going to London ? Could 
we not all go together? That would be 
delightful !' 

" Your wife darted a furious look at her 
aunt; and bade her leave the room, since 
she was not to be trusted. — ' I will speak 
with you alone. Count Foltz," she said. 

" I told her, when we were alone, that she 
was perfectly right ; — ^that the people about 
her were not to be trusted, — ^that if she 
would only allow me to be of use . . . 

" ' I will,' was her answer, interrupting 
me, with such a smile ! — I mistook it, how- 
ever, when she asked me to promise — ^to 
swear on the word of a gentleman — ^that I 
would render her the important service she 
required. For the moment, she had no one 



THE MAN WHO HAD LOVED HER. 217 

about her to rely on, I had told her so. 
Might she rely on me ? 

" I promised — I swoi'e. — Can you won- 
der ? 

" ' That is right,' she said, springing up 
from the sofa, and clapping her hands I — 
* Then my secret is safe ! You have pro- 
mised to keep it. — ^Then you will not let 
any living creature know I am in London 
— ^you will not go near my husband, or let 
him know you are there, till after I have 
danced at the Opera. — I am to dance in ten 
days; and he does not dream of such a 
thing. — ^You could not keep it from him! 
He thinks I am safe in Dresden ! Poor 
fellow 1 I cannot let him work so hard, 
and not take my share. — He would not 
permit it, if he knew. (You see, I do trust 
you.) It would half kill him : so I have 
changed my name. It will be only for a few 
days, — and then I — and then it will be too 
late to hinder me !' — ^And she danced round 



218 A PKODIGY. 

the room, perpetuafly stopping herself short 
to say — ' You have sworn, Count Foltz.' 

" I was fairly entrapped — ^but I had pro- 
mised — and who knew what might happen ? 
• — ' And now that I am safe in your honour,' 
she continued, with her princess air, ' I will 
not detain you ;-r-for I need not point out 
to you, that while I am alone and in con- 
cealment^ I can admit no visitors. — ^You will 
make no attempt to follow, or to find me in 
London. — ^Accident has put you in posses- 
sion of the dearest secret of my life !— I do 
not rely on your oath, — ^but on your ho- 
nour ;' and she bade me good evening — ^and 
fairly bowed me out. — I left Cologne that 
very night. — Since then I have not seen 
your wife — save for a few moments on-e 
morning in the Park — ^when she would 
hardly allow me to speak to her — till to- 
night, at the theatre. — I could do nothing 
but keep my word ; so I have been living 
at Richmond — ^in no very enviable position, 
as you will believe — ^though how could one 



THE MAN WHO HAD LOVED HER. 219 

have foreseen such a terrible business ? — 
Einstern, I admire, I love your wife — ^but I 
have not wronged you, save in keeping her 
secret — ^and you, now, know to the utmost 
all that has passed between us." 

That is almost as terrible a moment when 
passion is suddenly balked, as when the ca- 
taract leaps into the abyss. — But there was 
no time for Charles to be aware of the 
extent to which he had been stunned by the 
plain, yet not passionless tale he had just 
heard — still less to try it by such knowledge 
of facts and characters as he possessed. — 
Though the floor seemed to reel beneath 
him, as he rose, aware of the tears in the 
eyes of Count Folta — aware of his frank 
outstretched hand — ^he had to recal him- 
self to instant composure. The physician 
was in the room, looking grave. — " Is my 
wife seriously ill ?" said Charles. 

"Very," was the reply: "and, for the 
moment, it is impossible to see my way. 
Till she recovers entirely from the eflfect of 



220 A PRODIGY. 

the medicine given to her, yonder woman 
informs me, at the theatre, I can hardly form 
an idea what we have to meet. — I could not 
disturb her too much — ^but once or twice 
when she spoke, and looked as if she wanted 
somebody — I tried to ask her a question or 
two — ^but could get no answer. — Her pulse 
is in a sad state of irritation ; and there 
seems to be unusual bodily exhaustion. — 
For the moment, nothing is to be done, save 
to wait, and to keep her as quiet as possible. 
But she should have better attendance. 
That woman would have given her the rest of 
the opiate that was in the bottle, to keep her 
quiet. — I must test it. — ^There is something 
stronger than mere laudanum. — I must see 
what it is ! One is no match for these foreign 
quacks — and this was the very man who 
killed Lord Caldermere. — I do not wonder 
he did not come to see the effect of his me- 
dicine. — Shall I send you a nurse, Herr 
Einstern? — ^And she ought to have more 




THE MAN WHO HAD LOVED HER. 221 

comforts about her ! — I shall be back in a 
few hours." 

" If you will graciously let me go with 
you into London," said Doctor Orelius, — 
" two of her countrywomen shall be with 
her as soon as possible : — my wife, who is 
used to sickness — and a young friend of 
ours. — Ach ! if these English distances of 
yours were not so unmanageable," — and the 
good man would have lost ten manageable 
English minutes in bemoaning the fact, had 
not the physician, more prompt after his 
kind, cut the matter short. As it was, the 
divine returned to say, " Also, comes the 
gentleman with us ?" casting a look of some 
uneasiness towards Count Foltz. 

" No," said the other, — " I will walk into 
town ; but I am coming." 

" Walk ! it is a league at least," was the 
comment of the Rector, as he spread himself 
in the carriage by the side of the physician. 
— "And permit me, honoured sir, — ^about 



222 A PRODIGY. 

that poor lady. I fear she is in greater 
danger, because she shall become a mo- 
ther r 

" She become a mother ! — It's a dream ! 
Yonder old woman (more like a procuress 
she is, than any decent person's relation) 
confessed that she had instructed the niece 
so as to enable her to set up the pretence. 
There is no chance of the kind there never 
has been ; but the people who could be taken 
in by it, must have known nothing of the 
matter." 

" Do you think she will recover ?" 
" I fear ! if she do, — she will not recover 
her reason. — ^There has been madness in the 
family, I find. But there is no need of 
troubling that poor boy (he's hardly a man 
yet) with such an affiction as that. — He 
wants some one to take care of him, him- 
self." 



223 



CHAPTER XIII. 



DAY DAWN. 



Charles Einstern did, indeed, stand in 
need of care. There was fever in every 
drop of his blood; there was irritation in 
every pore of his skin. There was a storm 
brewed of every conceivable hope, fear, 
memory, and self-reproach, mingling as in a 
wicked witch-dance, careering through his 
brain j and withal, an exaggerated sensitive- 
ness to every passing detail; as he took 
up his watch by the wreck of Becker's 
sister — ^now stretched in the bed : drawing 
her breath sorrowfully — and from time to 



224 A PRODIGY. 

time, mechanically opening her eyes — ^poor, 
dreary eyes which took note of nothing. 

Yes, to this his dream had come I to this 
the great mistake of his life ! to this his fierce 
self-assertion, which had seemed so gene- 
rous ! Could it have been, also, a little 
selfish? He would display himself — he 
would bear down obstacles — and be bounte- 
ous — and revenge himself on those who had 
thwarted him. — ^He would make the happi- 
ness of another living creature. — ^And there 
before him lay the result — ^the answer. — ^As 
he sat by her bed — ^Aunt Claussen twitching 
in her chair, with efforts to keep awake, and 
forbidden to stir from the spot by his stern 
face — ^how everything came back to him 
that regarded that ill-starred, wa3rward 
creature! — every turn of Marie's temper, 
— every freak of her jealousy, — every in- 
stance of her undisciplined, idolatrous love. 
And with these would recur the question : 
"Have I not been to blame? Did I not 
do by her what they would have done by 



DAY DAWN. 225 

me? — ^Did I not thwart her in the dearest 
wish of her life — all because of my own 
vanity ? — ^Why was I to play — and why was 
she not to dance ?" — He tried to pacify him- 
self with the answer : " It was Becker's doing. 
— He would not have let her dance." But 
then came the thought (for Charies had 
within himself the very soul of truthfulness) 
that he had not followed, but habitually 
overruled Becker. The poor fellow's death 
had been in part owing to a suggestion of 
his.— Ah ! how hard it is not to be morbid 
— ^not to be over-subtle in questioning the 
past, — when a man, be he genius or not, 
has hidden during years, months, days, even, 
such a secret as the one which had burst 
on Einstern that evening, when the young 
husband and wife were walking under the 
pine-trees on the short thjnny turf of 
Kreuth, — and when that secret is only one 
among others of a prematurely entangled 
life! 

Further, that wreck on the bed was not to 

VOL. m. Q 



226 A PRODIGY. 

be seen without a sudden and fearful glance 
back to tKe night at Munich, and to the 
evil geiiius who had brought the two 
together^, under pretext of service. Must it 
. not have been for a reality of revenge ? 
The story which Justin had imperfectly 
told y him, derived^ from their mother, with 
all her reserves and colourings, received a 
strange meaning and verification from every 
experience of his own.. — He had been 
marked out, and followed up, by a mis- 
creant, from that eventful evening of his 
life — of Becker's death I — ^The wretch had 
included him in a great scl^eme : of which 
his mother had been in part one victim — 
and of which that brilliant, incomplete, 
perishing creature, might be anothef.^^^^:' 
The death of Lord Caldermere had been 
hastened by Dr. Mondor.-^Was that of 
his wife to come from the same hand? 
^' Audit mighf' (so ran the ghastly thought), 
"because he could not know that I did not 



DAT DAWN. 22^7 

love her !" — If the quack had really meant 
service to poor Marie, what could be the 
meaning of his unaccountable disappear- 
ance? 

Then, rose the question how far the mis- 
creant had instigated his wife's flight to 
London ? — ^how deeply his hand had been in 
every proceeding of her family, since he had 
reappeared — and every step of the painful 
ground of doubt and difficulty which the 
Prodigy had travelled over on the morning 
of hk return to London from Blackchester 
was retraced; — and, with some of these, 
curiosity to ascertain how far Meshek was 
mixed up with the affair. — ^He did not ap- 
pear ; and Aunt Claussen bewailed his ab- 
sence every quarter of an hour, because he 
had money of theirs. — But Aunt Claussen 
had been already. proved guilty of so many 
lies, that from her nothing could be gathered 
deserving a moment's trust. 

The day was not long in breaking : and 

q2 



228 A PRODIGY. 

as the paltry candle died out-extinguished 
by the fresher light of the dawn — ^the 
haggard misery of the sick-chamber be- 
came more and more evident — every 
detail seeming to pierce like an acute spear, 
one whose nerves were so over-wrought, 
that he was unable to admit possible com- 
fort, or to plan relief. — Scarcely knowing 
what he did, yet cautiously, Charles opened 
the window to let in the blessed air. 

He was startled by the babny freshness, 
which the neighbourhood of London had 
not yet tainted — ^by the tender and rapidly 
glowing yellow light — as it fell across a flat 
of market-gardens, from behind a ridge of 
ragged trees, which the builders had doomed. 
He was startled by a sight at the comer of 
the lane without an outlet, — ^which brought 
back an odd thought of the flags on the 
Lower Pavement. — It was merely a man 
leaning against the rails and smoking. 

The man — so breathlessly quiet was yet 
the hour — ^had heard the window opening. 



DAT DAWN. 229 

and he turned sharply, and approached a 
few steps. " Is there any change ? Is she 
still asleep ?" 

" Count Foltz I There stiU ?" 

"Here still. You see," was the other's 
light answer; "what would have been the 
good of going into London before the houses 
are open? And who could tell but you 
might want a messenger ? So I thought I 
would wait, — ^at least, till that Meshek came 
back." 

Who can wonder that such a simple act 
of thoughtful kindness drew tears from the 
eyes burning with fever of the miserable 
watcher, over his broken dream? — It had 
been a matter of course ; for every one knew 
that Count Foltz had not the smallest capa- 
city. If he had, he might not have owned 
his love for Einstern's wife to her husband. 
— ^And now he stood there, serious enough : 
but to all appearance, none the worse for 
his vigil. — "Don't mind me," he said; 
" unless I can be of any use. I knew that 



230 A PRODIGY. 

scoundrel would play her some trick :" and, 
as if it were to avoid conversation, or being 
thanked, he began to whistle the "Rosen 
ohne Domen" waltz, and moved beyond the 
reach of Einstem's voice. 

Presently, the day began to wak^n ; and 
some change was observable in the invalid: 
She became, not more conscious, but more 
restless;— The effects of the narcotic might 
be passing off, and then some recollection 
of time and place might return. — She began 
to beat with her little hand on the head of 
her bed, as if it had been a tambourine, 
and to sing in a shriU false voice, at which 
in merrier days the two had laughed, a tune 
of her husband's making, — and to rock her 
head to and fro, in time. — Suddenly she 
raised herself and cast her eyes about the 
room, — but the eyes, bright and wide 
open as they were, took small note of any 
object. 

" Ai*e you better, love ?" said Charles, ap- 



DAY DAWN. 231 

proacliing her tenderly. "Try to sleep a 
little more. It is very early yet." 

" Not to please you, Count Haugwitz," 
was her harsh and voluble answer. " Nor 
you, Count Foltzv — No harm can happen 
so long as people are awake — and Herr 
Einstern will e;8:pect to find me when he 
comes back — ^though why he must always ^ 
be walking and wasting his time with that 
vulgar red-faced girl! — Charles! where 
are you ? — ^It is cruel, cruel usage ! I have 
never given you any cause. — Jacob knows 
I have never given you any cause^— and he 
is ready enough to find fault with me, when 
there is no cause. — I must, I will get up and 
be dressed :" and Marie would have suited 
the action to the word, had not her husband 
prevented her with his encircling arms- 
only just strong enough to restrain the 
strength of delirious fever. Aunt Claussen 
remained throughout the scene worse than 
useless — ^able to do nothing save to whimper 



232 • A PRODIGY. 

her wonder at that Meshek for never coming 
back. "And he has carried off all our 
money." 

" You shall go and find him, wretched 
woman I" cried Charies, irritated past all 
patience ; " and not come back, too ! — But 
for your accursed meddling, this would 
never have happened." 

The Prodigy's raised voice provoked 
Marie's distress. "Who are you? What 
are you that are holding me I Because you 
are to dance with me, do you fancy that you 
are to take liberties with Charles Einstem's 
wife ? — ^that you are to keep him away from 
me? — ^that I cannot defend myself? — ^Let 
me go, I tell you ! — ^Let me go, I tell you ! 
or else — What? you will not?" — and with 
that, the weapon was withdrawn from her 
bosom by a struggle, for the violence of 
which he was unprepared : and stricken by 
Semler's niece, as he had been by Sender, 
the unhappy Prodigy, faithful to the last in 
his ward over Becker's sister, relaxed his 



DAY DAWN. 233 

grasp, and fell from beside her down on the 
floor, heavily wounded; perhaps mortally. 
What did she care ? 

The screams of her helpless aunt were 
shriller than her own : — and they brought 
to their immediate aid the lazy watcher at 
the comer — poor Marie Becker's one real 
lover — Count Foltz. 



PART THE SEVENTH. 



ODDS AND ENDS. 



CHAPTER I. 

MISTRESS WHITELAMB IN LONDON. 

The Lord of Eternal Rest be thanked, 
who, even when disease lies heavy on body 
and soul, can still temper sickness and pain 
with oblivion. — ^The sleep of the Prodigy 
was no real sleep, such as the reaper knows 
after his long day's work in the sun ; such 
as relieves the watch of the sailor, till his 
call shall rouse him again to duty ; — but it 
was, nevertheless, a pause, a forgetfulness — 
a respite— a chasm bridged over :— and 



MISTRESS WHITELAMB IN LONDON. * 235 



when the poor feeble body rose up, poorly* 
and feebly, and* the poor feverish mind^ 
awaked, — ^weak as were body and mind, 
there was still a feeling of some cabn and 
relief. 

" Ah ! the old ring," said the boy. "Alas ! 
Daphne !— Colonel Vandaleur, again." 

"Yes, my boy, again! There is your 
brother, too. — Mr. Justin, I will not let you 
talk to him; but, you see, Charles will know 
us all, presently." 

" Me, too?" cried a cheery little voice. 
" 0, Charles ! my dear boy — to see you, and 
to see you sitting up and better, is such a 
treat !" 

Yes, by the side of the elbow-chair into 
which he had been lifted, there was not only 
Colonel Vandaleur, sharp, serious, yet not un- 
kind ; not only Justin ; but also — b, wonder 
of wonders — as neat as if she had been only 
just making one of her redoubtable chicken- 
pies on the Lower Pavement — who, but 
Mistress Galatea Whitelamb? — ^In spite of 



236 A PRODIGY, 

all her neatness, however, she was crying 
like a child — " like an idiot," Miss Ann Ogg 
would say, — " but, bless the boy 1" ran her 
song, " what a treat to see him sitting up 
again, there — and his mother hardened 
against him, as is the case!" 

" you, capital, dear old Gatty I" faltered 
the invalid. 

" but, you should notice Mr. Justin 
first." — ^The elder brother of Charles loitered 
in the shadow, till he was put forward by 
Colonel Vandaleur ; and then. Mistress Ga- 
latea was suppressed, since — considering 
that as the first return of Charles to con- 
sciousness, — ^it was to be feared she might 
have warbled too long. 

He was very weak; and his memory, it 
seemed, for the moment staggered ; — ^but he 
was aware that friends were aroimd him — 
friends besides that devoted adherent, the 
boy Gottlieb. — The first thing he did, was 
to ask for the day of the week ; but what 
week ? — ^He could hardly fix his mind on 



MISTEESS WHITELAMB IN LONDON. 237 

the answer. Perhaps they put him off 
without satisfying him : and he sank back, 
and dozed — ^it may be, contented to wait — 
because, as consciousness returned, there re- 
turned, too, a sort of dim presentiment that 
bad news was to be heard and trouble was 
in waiting. He had never loved his wife, and 
therefore, not strangely, the impression that 
her presence was missing seemed to dawn 
upon him, remotely as it were, from a dis- 
tance. — It might be cold, it might be 
cowardly; but he shrunk from asking for 
tidings concerning the Brompton house, 
and lay wondering on what had been, and 
on what might be, while quiet feet trotted 
to and fro. — It was clear that nothing Ger- 
man was in the sick-room, save Justin and 
Gottlieb: and on these two Colonel Van- 
daleur had managed to impose silence. 

A day and a half passed (how many days 
he could not count) in this strange, dreamy 
plight: — the mind, however, beginning to 
be more and more astir, as the revival went 



238 A PRODIGY. 

on. — The absence of Justin, for some hours 
at a time, began to be noticed : — ^then the 
splendour of a noseg^rj of flowers, " from the 
Countess Baltakis," was Colonel Vandaleur's 
account. — " She h^. pot missed a day to 
come or send for these three weeks past ; 
and she left these herself, yesterday, before 
she went out of town. Her endless voice 
would have killed you — ^but she has really 
been anxio.us about you; coarse creature 
though she is." 

" And I call that a bunch of grapes," was 
Gatty's complement to the story, advancing 
with her dimpled face lit up with satisfac- 
tion. " Now, pray taste two or three, 
Charles, do." 

'^But I am not at Blackohester — ^how 
jfiit?" 

" He means me, bless the boy ! I saw 
his eyes following me up and down the 
room. Let us satisfy him by dow degrees. 
— ^You know, dear Charles " 

" Pray, dear Miss Whitekmb," interposed 



MISTRESS WHITELAMB IN LONDON. 239 

Colonel Vandaleur, " he has no strength to 
bear being too itnUch talked to. Poor boy 
— ^he yAH need it all, T*^hen the news has 
to be told him." 

" And so, dear sir, I *^should like to cheer 
him up a little; if I might have been al- 
lowed — ^though yt)u Tsnow best : for laugh 
he would — ^yes, I know him of old — ^if he 
heard how, coming in that terrible railroad, 
when we got into those awful dark tun- 
nels, I sat down in the bottom of the car- 
riage, put my fingers in my ears, and said 
my prayers. But for Mr. Justin, I could 
never have gone through it — and the bare 
idea of ever going back makes me quiver. — 
Mr. Ogg, I am persuaded, will not believe 

it yet, that I am in London. And what 
would dear Mr. SmaUey have said? — And 
so," sinking her 'voice to a whisper inau- 
dible to the dull ears in the bed, "is the poor 
thing- reaUy given .up-.her mind, I mean ?" 
"Nothing can be worse than to-day's 
account: and we muHt prepare ourselves — 



240 A PRODIGY. 

to prepare him, when he aaks after her. — 
But you see his mind is not clear. — He has 
neither missed his wife — ^nor his mother — 
and small matter" (was ground out between 
Colonel Vandaleur's teeth). " But, in any 
case, Lady Caldermere has quite too much 
on her hands to care if she be missed or not. 
— Gad ! she's the same woman, for all she has 
gone through, as she was the day when we 
came all down together, with that dear boy 
there, to Ostend — and, if cunning could do 
it" (here again he spoke Uke one thinking 
aloud), " she would not be dispossessed of 
Caldermere — no matter who owned the 
place." 

" Dear me, sir, — dear ! dear I — ^but after 
such prosperity ; and when I think of those 
two outriders, whom I was always afraid to 
speak to, — and the Caldermere desserts, 
when there was nobody at dinner but Mr. 
Justin and our two selves ! — I was talking 
about them to Susanna Openshaw, — only 
ten minutes before Mr. Justin came tearing 



MISTRESS WHITELAMB IN LONDON. 24 1 

up that day, like a wild creature, with the 
news of the dear boy's seizure. — I am sorry 
for Lady Caldermere; — though why her 
loss should turn her against her own flesh 
and, blood, whom she used to profess to love 
so (and such a precious creature as he is), 
what power can fathom ?" 

" She never loved him really. She never 
really cared for anything save her own self 
and her own ambition. — She wanted to get 
on in life by playing oflF her boy— — ^" 
" What a thing, Colonel Vandaleur !" 
" — and having failed, she is selfish and 
frivolous enough to blame him for what 
has happened to her. And now, like what 
she is, — since I will not understand any of 
her overtures (absolutely not a month a 
widow!) — I hear she intends to dispute 
every inch of my claim till the very 
last: — ^though Lord Caldermere was sa- 
tisfied that he had not a shadow of a 
chance — and that was what killed him, 
really — ^that, and mistaken medical treat- 

TOL. m. R 



1 I 



242 A PRODIGY. 

ment. Dr. Mondor is off, with his thousand 
pounds." 

" And a shame too, — as I was saying to 
Susanna, that very express day. — Mr. 
Brudge has a very strong feeling on the 
subject. *Any doctor,' he remarked to 
Mr. Ogg, the day after the inquisition (the 
examination, I mean), ^ could order any 
patient to drink as much champagne as the 
patient wished — but is that practice ?' And 
Mr. Brudge's belief is that he did not care 
whether my Lord got better or not. — ^And 
Miss Scatters, she thinks the same. Yet 
Mr. Brudge was the gentleman who brought 
Miss Ann Ogg through her pleurisy." 

" Take my word for it, there is more in 
the matter than we know. But, provided 
the fellow gives nobody any more trouble — 
or any more medicine — ^we are well rid of 
him." 

" And so Mr. Justin thinks ako. He is 
longer at Brompton than usual : — and fancy 
his accepting to dine there, day after day, 



MISTRESS WHITELAMB IN LONDON. 243 

off those unwholesome German messes. — 
But he prefers them." 

" Ah ! but you forget the German young 
lady . . . ." 

" Fie, sir, — ^though I don't like saying so 
to you ! — and so lately as he was making 
up to Susanna — ^not that they could have 
ever been happy, had she .... Susanna 
is much improved from the prying child I 
recollect her. Might not she have been a 
comfort to Lady Caldermere now ?" 



r2 



244 



CHAPTER 11. 



DISAPPEARANCE. 



" Gad, sir I" said Colonel Vandaleur to 
Justin, " as this sad affair was to be, your 
brother may think himself fortunate that it 
happened in England, with real friends about 
him. So that that vulgar creature, the 
Countess Baltakis, has done some good: 
little though she meant it ! — And, after all, 
she has shown feeling in her own way. Her 
man has been here, only half an hour ago — 
with all these flowers and fruit, sent up 
from the country, Mr. Bower." 

" And Count Foltz, too," rejoined Justin, 



DISAPPEARANCE. 245 

whose unreadiness in response no commerce 
with life had improved — " has been like a 
brother on the occasion." 

*^ Gad, sir ! yes !— more's the pity, as she 
wounded them both, that they did not 
change hands. — ^I never encouraged Charles 
in his pianoforte playing, — ^as he will tell 
you : and* once or twice he was high with 
me about it — ^but now I am as sorry as if 
the accident had happened to myself. Poor 
dear boy, he set such store on it I — ^There's 
no chance of the sinew coming to rights.— 
After all, it might have been his right hand. 
— He can put down music — ^if he can't play 
it. But now, Mr. Bower, — Baron Einstern 
I ought rather to call you, — ^that we are at 
ease as to his recovery, let us have some 
talk about other matters. What is to be 
done with your brother's wife ? — Sooner or 
later he must be told of the hopeless state 
she is in. What a mercy that there is no 
chance of a child 1 — But it will kill him. — 
He doted on her so." 



246 A FRODIGT. 

Justin could have set the other right — 
remembering the outburst of his brother's 
confidence; but while he was considering 
how far it would be right and loyal in 
him to undeceive the Colonel, the latter 
went on. 

" Madness ! incurable madness there was in 
the family, from the first. Every child in 
Tubingen knew that ! And, on my honour, I 
never took so much pains to impress any 
one with anything — as I did to divert 
Charies from his fancy for her. Gad, sir! 
his^ too, was a case of temporary insanity." 

" And he was terribly played upon," 
said Justin. " Sir, you have been so true , 
a friend to my poor brother, and so con- 
siderate throughout all this sad law business, 
that I feel as if I could not resist confiding 
to you our whole family misfortunes. I am 
satisfied that Charles was hurried into that 
marriage, by a man bent on ruining him. He 
tied my poor brother fast ; and it was easy, 
with such a glorious, unsuspecting, chival- 



< 



DISAPPEAEANCE. 247 

rous nature. Doctor Orelius will tell you 
how Charles protected Becker, — Marie's 
brother!" 

" I know — I could see that by what he 
let out when we were at Tubingen together." 

"The man hates our family like an evil 
spirit. He made his way to Caldermere, 
not merely to enrich himself — ^but to injure 
my mother. — He succeeded only too well 
with Lord Caldermere, whose mind was not 
what it had been. When he was himself, he 
was a just man, however prejudiced — I am 
sure his death was hastened by the wild 
way in which that man treated him — and 
I verily beKeve on purpose — as part of his 
terrible schemes." 

" Lord Caldermere was a strong man, but, 
as you say, obstinate to the very death. — 
But do you mean to teU me that yonder 
quack, Dr. Mondor, had anything to do 
with our Einstem's marriage ?" 

" The man was called Zuccaglio when he 
was in Prince Chenzikoff's family." 



248 A PRODIGY. 

The Colonel got up, and began to tramp 
about the room, swinging his arms behind 
his back. " Gad, sir I — Charles ran headlong 
to meet mischief ! — ^wrote to that very fellow 
from Tubingen, when he wanted to find the 
girl I — ^Tempted his fate, he did, with a ven- 
geance I Gad, sir ! — ^I see it all, yes — yes — 
yes. — ^A serpent ! a real serpent ! — ^What can 
have been his motive ?" 

" He was the doctor who got to poor 
Marie that night behind the scenes at the 
Opera — what he gave her was enough to 
unsettle the brain of any strong, healthy 
woman. — ^He was the person who summoned 
my brother to that Brompton house— with 
a villanous insinuation. — Poor Marie had 
had it in her mind to dance, — and Charles 
would not hear of it : — and so she planned to 
deceive him : and Dr. Mondor tried to make 
him believe she was false to him with Count 
Foltz. — ^He wrote, mind — ^from the theatre 
— «ee! — ^Ah, sirl — It is too shocking. — I 



.— -1 



DISAPPEARANCE. 249 

will now tell you whom I believe him to be. 
— ^An illegitimate son of my father's. — My 
mother says so." 

" Lady Caldermere ! — Does he know who 
his mother was ?" 

There was a moment of dead silence, 
which the elder man was the first to break 
— ^like the considerate gentleman he was — ^by 
changing the subject. — " But this does not 
brmg us nearer a decision about that poor 
lunatic wife of your brother's. — Her Ger- 
man friends, — ^kind and indefatigable as 
they have been — cannot stay out of their 
own country for ever. — It stands to reason 
they can't." 

The Colonel did not know Justin's face 
well enough to imderstand a solid sort of a 
smile which passed behind — rather than 
over it. 

" Gad, sir," he drove on — " I honoured 
that young fresh-coloured girl, when I saw 
how she rattled out that abominable old 



250 A PRODIGY. 

Claussen — I know her by heart I — aye, and 
searched her boxes first 1 — But she can't 
devote herself much longer/' 

*' Miss Minna Twiese," interposed Justin, 
" has a true soul." 

The energetic Colonel started off again. 
" True or false will not settle our question. 
If this poor wife of your brother's is to have 
a chance of recovery, it will not be in Ger- 
many (excuse me, Baron Einstem). That 
is no country for mad people to get better in, 
— and, as I understand, she has no relations, 
save yonder old wretch — ^who would be 
always coming after her, and trying to make 
a livelihood out of her, somehow. — ^And, as 
to his being tied to her, the idea is pre- 
posterous — Q, fine fellow like that. — ^We 
must not hear of such a thing ! He might 
come to me at once, if he were like other 
people — ^but. Gad, sir, your geniuses I And 
he will want to wander about, and to make 
love. — ^Why! how young, and how hand- 



DISAPPEAKANCE. 251 

some he is — ^not fairly begun life yet ; — and 
to make himself of consequence — ^real, mu- 
sical consequence. That he can't do here — ^if 
twenty such women as the Countess Baltakis 
were to buy him for good and all. It's all 
a mere rage ! — ^No, by Jove ! he can't, sir 1 
not in any way that would satisfy him. — 
And somehow, as I have accidentally been 
thrust into the midst of your family affairs 
— ^and as I love your brother, though he 
was a pianoforte player, — ^what I have to 
say is, — I will undertake that his wife shall 
be well cared fpr ;— and hei:e wiU be better 
than there. — ^There's Old Caldermere, for in- 
stance, — / shall not live at the great house, 
— I shall not sell it, for a while, but shut 
it up. — It's a palace, fit for a Mazarin, — but, 
as I say, there's Old Caldermere.— Your 
mother" (with studied respect), " I am told, 
is going abroad. — ^Miss Scatters, I think you 
said, means to build at Lockerby. — Gad, sir 1 
she may be not so far wrong — except as to 



252 A PRODIGY. 

building at her time of life ! — So there the 
place is, I repeat, and, with all my heart, 
put at your disposal for the use of your 
brother — or rather for the use of his wife." 

'^ Sir, you are honourably generous," said 
Justin — melted; though unable to express 
feeling, save in handsome, ceremonious lan- 
guage. 

^' Gad, sir, — ^nothing of the kind ! I am 
what I am, — and your brother is what 
your brother is ! — But now, as we are about 
it, tell me, — what has become of Dr. 
Mondor ?— And, by the way, what has be- 
come of the man who brought over that 
poor creature to this country ? — Since that 
night at the Opera!— (Gad, sir 1 — ^there has 
been more dirty work mixed up with that 
night than either you or I know— be satis- 
fied of it I) — ^neither the one nor the other 
has been heard of. — ;Dr. Mondor's luggage 
is packed up, and ticketed for Lisbon — and 
there it lies at Bevillon's, and the bill not 



DISAPPEAKANGE. 253 

paid — these three weeks. — ^The two were in 
confederacy, be sure. — He will give more 
trouble, — and so will the other man, — 
Meshek, the Jew. — ^But hush ! — Charles is 
talking.— Go in." 



254 



« 



CHAPTER III. 

THE EVIL GENIUS OF THE STORY. 

Bevillon's Hotel was not troubled by 
many inquirers for Dr. Mondor — the 
Countess Baltakis having given up a fancy 
which had for a week possessed her — ^namely, 
of travelling on the Continent, with the mys- 
terious mediciner as her state physician. — 
"It's beyond all doubt, Kitty, that he drove 
our poor dear thing's wife mad, by what he 
poured down her throat that night at the 
Opera. — ^Let us be charitable, and hope it 
was a mistake. Yet Sir Matthew shakes his 
head about Lord Caldermere. — ^Doctors dare 



THE EVIL GENIUS OF THE STORY. 255 

not do more, my dear, one about another, 
or there would be no end of law and libel 
cases. — ^No, thank you! fancy his making 
an end of Baltakis, by giving him corrosive 
sublimate or burnt caustic, or something of 
the kind ; and he might very easily, because 
Baltakis believes everything every doctor 
says, and never utters." 

But Dr. Mondor did not come back to 
BeviUon's ; — and his name ran a fair chance 
of being forgotten, save by the cashier of 
that establishment, and the wretched Lady 
Caldermere, of all the persons of my story 
(severely stricken as some of them were) the 
most wretched, — ^because perverse, and not 
penitent, under her trials, — because nourish- 
ing, for the relief of her own conscience, a 
dark, vindictive spirit. She had long been en- 
couraging herself to ascribe aU the unhappi- 
ness and failure of her life to the wilfulness 
of her youngest son. — ^The scandal he had 
brought on her name ! — ^The manner in 
which, as if on purpose, he had divided her 



256 A PRODIGY. 

from Lord Caldermere I She had to thank 
her favourite that she was a beggared widow, 
dependent on the charity of Justin — Justin, 
with whom she had never, from the hour 
he was bom, had anything in common.— 
And now there was to be an end of all the 
Prodigy's music ; and he would come upon 
them to be a burden, — she saw it all clearly. 
— ^Yes, and that poor mad wife of his, too. 
In the selfishness of her irritebility, she 
allowed a part of feelings like these to escape 
in the presence of Mistress Whitelamb. — 
" Now, fie ! — ^I say boldly, fie— cousin. Lady 
Caldermere I I am sorry your troubles have 
not made you more submissive. Shifting 
ofi^ the blame on him — the dear, generous 
being! It is not the part of a Christian. 
It is not the part of a mother — and you in 
weeds, too, which ought to make one meek : 
Mr. Ogg would agree with me ! — I am afraid 
we must be two people after this 1 — ^And so 
I got up, Susanna," was the conclusion of 
Cousin Gatty's account of the scene, — " for 



THE EVIL GENIUS OF THE STORY. 257 

who could bear it ? — ^to let her see that she 
had sat longer than was welcome. — ^And glad 
I shall be when she leaves the neighbour- 
hood — even though I shall never set foot 
within the gates of Caldermere again 1" 

Mistress Galatea might, peradventure, 
have been less irate, had she been aware of 
the extremity of the misery that was tortur- 
ing her relative. To Lady Caldermere, the 
miscreant's disappearance, unaccounted for, 
brought such a terror, as none but the weak 
and guilty can feel. She was possessed with 
the idea that Adalbert was lying in wait 
somewhere or other, to do her some further 
mischief.— She did not feel her life safe so 
long as she was ignorant of his motions. He 
might be propitiated, it was true,— but she 
had no longer the means of doing so : and 
on such a hint being dropped in the pre- 
sence of Miss Scatters, to whom, it was art- 
fully suggested. Dr. Mondor was sure to feel 
inimical, — ^that fiery old north-woman, so 
far from expressing alarm, broke out into a 

VOL. in, s 



258 A PRODIGY. 

Strain of contumely and defiance — "He 
come where I am, troubling. — - Let him ! 
I'll soon show him what Abby Scatters has 
to say. to yon scratched chafts of his I" 

The same view was taken by Justin — 
though he was less animated in his phrases. 
On him, too, fell a large share of his mother's 
displeasure. In one breath, my Lady re- 
proached him bitterly for the turn which the 
great Caldermere suit was taking, though in 
the next she rejoiced that that old Border 
woman was not going to sit on the throne 
where she had queened it* — He had managed, 
she declared, to put her wrong with Colonel 
Vandaleur, who would otherwise, she was 
sure, have shown more consideration under 
the circumstances.-^As it was, on all mat- 
ters of business he communicated with her 
through his solicitors : and had been formally 
laconic from the moment when she had 
expressed herself as too utterly shattered 
in, health and spirits to take part in tending 
the poor Prodigy. Here, once again, her old 



THE EVIL GENIUS OF THE STORY. 25^ . 

favourite, and the interest he had inspired, 
did her disservice. €ould ahe have dreamed 
of Colonel Vandaleur's strong prepossession, 
she ttnight have tried to get up a show of 
maternal devotion: but her nerves were 
unhinged, and the days of her dramatic be- 
haviour were over.— Her second married life 
had weakened and worsened her. She had 
less courage, less sense of abiding by what is* 
right— ^ven now than in her first unmarried 
days, as Aunt Sarah Jane's dau^ter, when 
her ^nly thought was to fascinate the brute, 
Wolf Einstem, so as to induce him to make 
her his wife. 

It was a part of the unhappy woman's 
malady, that she clung to Caldermere and its 
splendourSy-^^-'^as though, in the clutching of 
them to the very last possible moment, there 
might be found some magical chance of her 
reversing her f(»tunes. Colonel Vandaleur 
had entreated her to consult her own con- 
sdence^ and had requested her to acceipt 
any objects in the house to which she was 

s2 



260 A PKODIGY. 

attached, in addition to those which were her 
own by right ; and for many a day after, was 
it told in Blackchester by the industrious 
tongue of Miss Ann Ogg — ^how my Lady 
had taken advantage of this liberality, and 
had sent off crates on crates of things to 
which Miss Scatters had a far better right. — 
Mr. Quillsey, too, with whom Lady Calder- 
mere's day of pride was over (and who was 
heard over " The Glass of Fashion" now to 
say, "that she had been always postiche'')^ had 
many items to add to the catalogue. — ^The 
establishment had been broken up some 
weeks ago. Miss Scatters had taken flight — 
and yet there were rumours that Old Calder- 
mere was not to be dismantled. Colonel 
Vandaleur was an eccentric : who knew but 
that he might find that fragment of a house 
more manageable as a residence for a single 
man than the palace ? — She would not tear 
herself away till the last moment. — Her 
first move was to be to Bath : out of the 
reach of the Quillsey and the Baltakis tribe. 



THE EVIL GENIUS OF THE STOKY. 261 

There, on the contribution freely under- 
taken by Justin — ^and the hoard of money 
brought home from a night's work at 
Baden-Baden, — some appearance might be 
maintained by her, for the time being, at 
least. " And then," she said, thinking aloud, 
" though it is not likely — if I should make 
a third marriage^ — '' 

As she spoke. Lady Caldermere was stand- 
ing on the precise spot in the park where the 
boy in the velvet coat, with the harebells and 
feathers in his hat, and the grey Quaker girl, 
had sat on the grass ; — ^the Old House before 
her : looking a little — only a little — more 
awake than it had done on that day, when the 
great Mr. Bower had opened its doors to re- 
ceive her. It was now October, — ^the fresh 
day of a genial autumn : but if she had been 
ever penetrable by the influences of Nature 
— she was no longer so : and had merely 
aimlessly rambled out to escape the desola- 
tion of a home from which Justin was to 
take her away that evening. 



262 A PEODIGT. 

An upper window ar two which she had 
been used to see closed were so no longer. 
One of these was decked with fresh pknts 
in flower. She did not remember the white 
curtain-hanging having been there before. 
There was clearly some inhabitant in Old 
Caldermere — ^and as she drew nearer, fresh 
tracks in the gravel told her of a late arrival. 
^If it should be Colonel Vandaleur ,*^ well, 
and what can be more natural? — ^Natural 
enough that I should come to take a last 
look at the poor old place." 

If it was Colonel Vandaleur— he had not 
come to the Old House alone; but with 
companions of the strangest kind* The 
curtain moved; and disclosed a staid, re- 
spectable female in a bonnet^ obviously of 
superior quality to any domestic who had 
belonged to Miss Scatters ; and then there 
flashed out by her side a younger female 
face.— What a fitce it was I 

Dazzling in its^ whiteness,-'-«et off' in vio- 
lent contrast by a fantastic heap of flowers 



THE EVIL GENIUS Of THE STORY. 263 

and ribbons, — ^with eyes, the piercing bril- 
liancy of which could even be remarked 
from below, and a beautifully turned and 
emaciated neck, with which a bare and taper 
arm and hand agreed — its owner's de- 
meanour was as singular as her almost spec- 
tral beauty. She seemed to be wantonly 
tearing the asters newly placed on the sill 
from then- branches, and trying fancies with 
them round her cheeks^ — ^her head sinking 
and rising, as though belongmg to some one 
answering an unseen musician — ^and her lips 
arranged in a smile anything rather than the 
smile of gaiety or nature. — ^As suddenly as 
she had shown herself, she disappeared from 
the window — and the wild sound of unre- 
strained sobbing was to be heard. 

Such an apparition on a bright autumn 
morning might have shaken steadier nerves 
than those of Lady Caldermere I — ^Nor was 
her surprise diminished when the door of 
the Old House opened ; and when, at the top 
of the flight of grey steps, appeared one 



264 A PRODior. 

whom sh^ had not expected for some hours, 
whom she had never seen without a feeling 
of self-rebuke — ^her son Justin. 

The amazement was mutual. " Good 
God! mother! — I thought I should have 
found you up at the house," said he, closing 
the door — and coming down the steps ra- 
pidly towards her. 

" May I ask what this means ?" said she ; 
not without some sharpness of tone. " Tou 
seem established at home here." 

" You would have been told weeks ago — 
before dear Charles left England — only 
. . . . and Colonel Vandaleur thought it 
would be best to spare you, and hoped you 
might not hear of it just yet. We only 
arrived here a few hours ago." 

" Colonel Vandaleur may rest assured, 
that his coming or going cannot be of the 
slightest consequence to me. — ^The house is 
his own : and he may fill it with any strange 
company that suits him. — But I may be ex- 
cused for thinking of my beloved husband's 



THE EYIL GENIUS OF THE STOKY. 265 

death, when I see a painted creature making 
antics in yonder window ; and I may be for- 
given for wondering what your respectable 
part may be in an affair which I was to 
know nothing about. — Is that gay lady, 
pray, the German acquaintance you are so 
mightily taken with — and whom I shall 
never be surprised at having the honour to 
call my daughter-in-law ?" 

" mother ! mother ! hush 1 and be more 
compassionate and gentle. She is your 
daughter-in-law already. — Did you not 
guess? — The poor unfortunate wife of 
Charles." 

Even Lady Caldermere, steeped in nar- 
rowing selfishness as she was, was not proof 
against an announcement so utterly unex- 
pected. — Under her rouge she becamewhiter 
than the face she had seen in the window, 
and grasped Justin's arm to support her- 
self — ^then, suddenly returning to her new 
antagonism, "Good Godl and so he has 
gone roaming away on the Continent 



266 A PRODIGI. 

again, and left her to other people's cha- 
rity!" 

« You are not fair," said Justin, with a 
touch of the tone he had used at the Royal 
visit, — " You are set against Charles 1 — I 
cannot tell why. — He must carry on his: 
prof^ion — and as he wiU never be able 
to play any more, he must do what he 
can with composition.— It has been ascer^ 
tained that the sight of him only makes 
his wife worse. She does not know hint-^ 
She fancies he is a dancer who wanted to 
take liberties with her at the Opera — ^there 
was such a man — and she tries to hurt 
him whenever she sees him. She cannot 
be with him. Here she will be under my 
eye, — as my bu^ess will be more in Black- 
chester than formerly — and Cousin Gatty 
will see after her,, and Miss Openshaw — and 
perhaps a countrywoman of her own. Out 
of England, she has not a firiend that they 
know of — and Colonel Vandaleur — a most 
generous man^ mother l-~say» that she can- 



THE EYIL GENIUS OF THE STORY. 267 

not have better aijr or more complete retire- 
ment thaa here ;. and wishes to try^ at least, 
whether total change and gentle treatment 
will not do some good, — ^You woidd have 
been told all this two monthjsr ago, had it 
nob seemed as if you could not bear to hear 
of Charles, or anything belonging to him. 
And that is wrong ! and that is cruel !" 

They were on the way to the New House, 
as this explanation went on — -Lady Calder- 
meve preserving a sullen silence. "And 
there is sometiiing else, mother," continued 
her worthy son, " which you must know one 
day, and which I may as well tell you now 
•— ^nd which, also, you would have known 
earlier,— had not everything seemed to ex- 
asperate you — I can tell it you better walk- 
ing than sitting stiU." 

— ^Now, grant me patience, Justin : — ^you 
are more than I can bear." 

" A mystery, yes," wa5 the cahn answer, 
for his mother's flights and fevers were losing 



268 A PRODIGY. 

their power over the upright man — " a de- 
liverance, perhaps. — ^That last night at Old 
Caldermere. You recollect that night ?" 

" I have reason to do so." 

" And after ? — ^You kngw that no one 
knows what has become of him — since the 
day when we met him, as I told you — in 
the oflSice of Mr. Toms." 

" I know 1" burst from the woman — " I 
know that tiU I am laid in the grave he 
wiU torment me ! He has gone out of the 
way on purpose. He will come back again 
to revenge himself — ^and for what?" 

"Whatever his will may have been, 
mother — ^whatever his birth may have been 
— ^this is a most painful subject — ^his power 
to injure you may be over." 

Lady Caldermere stood still, and began 
to cry hysterically. 

" Dr. Mondor was seen the last time," the 
other went on, " on the stage of the Opera 
House — ^that unfortunate Thursday night. — 
He had only stayed in England, I have no 



THE EVIL GENIUS OF THE STORY. 269 

doubt, to do mischief — for his bill was made 
out at the hotel, and his clothes were packed. 
•*— He carried the poor creature yonder" 
(pointing as he spoke) " to her carriage— 
And since that hour he has been missing. 
And Marie's servant, whom I have every 
reason, so far as I can make out, to believe 
a thorough rascal, was seen speaking to him 
at the carriage door. — Count Foltz saw 
them. Well : the servant has been missing 
too, from that hour." 

"But they are not gone, really?" she 
cried. " He is not gone, reaUy?" 

" No one knows precisely," was Justin's 
answer, " what has come of either of the 
two. — But Meshek, her servant — ^his name 
was Meshek (that I have learnt from Count 
Foltz, our good friend) — ^has disappeared 
entirely. — ^And a few weeks ago there was 
a body washed on shore, low down the 
Thames. — ^The body had been in the water 
for many days — ^and creatures from the bank 
had eaten its face — ^but they could see, on 



270 A PEODicar. 

wliat was left, marks of a great scar. The 
body had on some ra^ed dothing, a pair 
of black t3*ousers, and in otte pocket of these 
was something (they mtist dry these things) 
which turned out to be a ^aord of Lord Cal- 
dermere's. — ^And so, it was sent up to Torris, 
as his agent : and so Torris told me. — ^The 
body was all but decomposed. — I believe 
you are set free." 

"0 no I no 1 — He was drowned once 
before ! and it all came to nothing I" burst 
from the frivolous woman. 

After that speech, Justin believes that 
Lady Caldermere never opened her lips 
again till she was deposited in Bath. 



PART THE EIGHTH. 

ONE AND THE LAST CHAPTER. 

Susanna, and her firm friend Countess 
Westwood, were to be found, on a certain 
warm summer evening, sitting late in the 
dusk on a bench by the sea-side. 

And where but at Drearmouth? — the 
place which had first brought the one to 
the knowledge of the other. — But since the 
days when the girl had so wistfully tumbled 
over the few forlorn novels of the Paddox 
library, and had read to the imprisoned 
lady there, as much change had come over 
Drearmouth as over any other one of the 
scenes and persons with whom we are so 



272 A PRODIGY. 

soon to close acquaintance. — ^A speculator 
had seen or fancied capabilities in Drear- 
mouth, and had laid hold of it : — and, being 
a man of fortune, and, also, of good fortune 
(unlike the contriver who had planned the 
incomplete wonders of Blackchester), had 
succeeded in attracting attention to the 
charming sands and the salubrious climate. 
— Drearmouth had been written up in " The 
Glass of Fashion." The Countess Baltakis 
had been induced to patronise it ; — ^and there 
was her flaunting villa with its four minarets, 
— " a fancy, a bizarre fancy," Mr. Quillsey 
would say, with that inimitable smile and 
shrug of his — "but what can you do? — 
She's a good creature, though coarse— and 
patronises the Arts : when one only under- 
stands how to manage her." 

So there sat the two friends at Drear- 
mouth : now an accredited retreat, as yet not 
overrun — but frequented by choice guests. 

The quiet wash of the tide on the shingle, 
the deliciously genial air, the mystery of 



■ ■-rag- 



mamw^ 



ONE AND THE LAST CHAPTER. 273 

4 

boat and ship as they silently slid past on 
the wide water, all helped to enhance the 
spirit of the hour, which was one of repose 
and confidence. And long^ long had it been 
ere the younger of the two had found any 
one to whom she could speak, concerning 
deep matters very dear to her heart — ^That 
sweetly-natured woman, Susanna's only 
neighbour on the Lower Pavement, Cousin 
Gatty — ^notable as she had proved herself 
to be in sickness or in sorrow, commanded 
but a tiny range of experience; and ever 
since that tremendous adventure of hers^ — 
her journey up to London by rail, so 
i^lendidly shaded off by Colonel Vandaleur 
sending her down to Blackchester in his 
own carriage — ^hadbecome less and less able 
to dwell on any subject, save that noble 
jommey. — ^Also, though Time was kind to 
Mistress Whitelamb, as Time fc to all of 
placid nature, and who have done their best 
to be kind to others — she was growing old : — 
" not hard of hearing," she maintained, " but 

VOL. m. T 



274 A PRODIGY. 

she liked people to speak up— as Mr. Smalley 
did" — ^and to " speak up" is just that feat 
which is the least possible to those who have 
the concerns which Susanna had on her 
mind. 

" And to think," said she, " of you seeing 
so much, — and realising your fancy, half 
jest, half earnest, of visiting the Himalayas, 
and the cave-temples of Ellora — ^while I have 
been so still — ^pacing to and fro on the 
Lower Pavement 1" 

" Ah 1 my child 1" — and the Countess 
Westwood pressed the hand of the other with 
real tenderness — "it is not going about 
among snow-peaks, or rhododendrons, — ^nor 
having a heap of brown people to light up 
a strange sepulchre for you, which means 
seeing and feeling. — I do not doubt but 
that in your quieter path your heart has 
seen and felt more than mine has done, 
during these past few years." 

" Well, that may be true," — and here Su- 
sanna dropped into abrupt silence. — It was 



ONE AND THE LAST CHAPTER. 275 

as easy, for her listener as for herself, to stop 
as to speak. 

But her listener knew, with tjie tact of 
a true and tender woman, that, after the 
tide had murmured up on the shingle, and 
a few more gliding boats had darkened the 
water for a while longer — the other heart 
so pent in, and delicately reserved, must be 
made to speak. 

" Do you ever go to Caldermere now ? — 
As there is no one living there, the grounds 
must be a resource to you.'* 

" 0, that day in the park, when he came 
in among us all, while we were sitting on 
the grass ! — ^Yes, I was a good deal at Old 
Caldermere, — after my father's death set me 
free — so long as she was there. — Poor, poor 
Marie ! She was so full of life to the last, 
even in her worst moments of wildness: 
and so full of love for Charles when he was 
away : and yet the one time when he came 
to see her, she would not know him — and 
flew at him with a terrible frenzy, — ^like that 



276 A PfiODIGY. 

crther time, you know ! — ^It was evident, 
that her one chance was not to see him. The 
fire wore out so fraU a body as hers was. 
She had strength of will to keep her alive ; . 
for fifty years, even. When she was weak and 
dying, she used to try to sing dance tunes. — 
Why, she made attitudes with her hands in 
bed, ten minutes before the spirit passed. 
Since then, I have not been ^t Old Calder- 
mere. — It is now to be puUed down, as I 
wrote to you — ^and fancy that strange 
Countess Baltakis buying the place ! — ^They 
buy everything — ^Colonel Vandaleur found 
the house out of aU proportion to the 
estate." 

" I know," was the answer; "though I 
know, too, that with the house he might have 
succeeded also to Lady €aldermere. Con- 
ceive that woman making advances to him !" 

" Well, poor miserable woman \ there is 
a Nemesis for everybody — and her ambition 
may have found out as much in the ad- 
vances which I am assured Mr. QuiUsey 



ONE AND THE LAST CHAPTER. 277 

made to Aer, only six weeks after the death 
of his wife T 

" No 1 Susanna. Are you growing sati- 
rical ? — That man ! But he was always aris- 
tocracy-bitten. — ^What an escape / have had ! 
— ^Mr. Quillsey used to like to sit by me ! 
Depend on it, that if Count Baltakis di^ 
Mr. Quillsey will propose to his widow ! — 
What changes I And where is Lady Calder- 
mere T 

" What changes, indeed I — ^No one can tell 
precisely. Abroad somewherc-^They say 
that she haunts German watering-places; 
and gambles.^' 

^^ Ah well 1 — ^but it seems only like yester- 
day when I met her on the Dyke at Ostend — 
with that capital Justin behind her, carry- 
ing all manner of shawls. — Have you not 
been wrong, Susanna, — ^unjust to yourself? 
— That man would have made you a good 
husband.'' 

The younger speafcer laughed — though 
the laugh was quiet. — " But could I have 



278 A PfiODIGY. 

been as good a wife to him as Miss Minna 
Twiese? 0, dear friend, no! — ^and both 
have grown so fat, and so red in the face ! 
They eat all the day long ; and so does the 
baby. — Justin is worthy of a much better 
wife than I could ever have been. — Dear 
friend • . ." And then came a sudden stop 
—and a choking of the breath. 

The elder woman paused again.— After 
a while — ^after a little more of the mur- 
muring of the tide on the shingle, and of 
the shadows crossing the water — she asked : 
" Are you to marry Charles?" 

" God knows !" was Susanna's reply, with 
a burst of tears. — " He writes to me long — 
long letters — and he sends me every sort of 
foreign journal in which his music is men- 
tioned — and .... You never liked him. — 
You would not continue to love me, if ... . 
But, dear friend, he has been the influence 
of my life. — He says he has grey hairs on his 
head, and on his heart. — ^He will never ap- 
pear in public again in England : and the 



ONE AND THE LAST CHAPTER. 279 

Countess Baltakis is very much pleased at 
this ; because, she says, she did what nobody 
else could do, and got what nobody else 
could get : — ^and she says she is sure he will 
end his days as a monk." ^ * * 

" Ah, then ! I see how it will be I — ^You 
will not permit that." 

And the tide murmured up on the shingle 
a little higher — ^and the crescent moon crept 
out, and made a pa^e thread of light on the 
water. — ^And the two speakers were still. 



THE END. 



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