Nest of linnets : a novel

Jj^

'"/L~-£^

pL^.

f. ^u^-*^

)\*^j-in^

University of California • Berkeley

Gift of
THE HEARST CORPORATION

Hearst Memorial Library

DrawerNo -- -7 Ho. ±r

-NOT ID BE RBAOVcu tOM LIBRARY

WTHOUT PROPER AUTHORITY."

ptOPEftTY » HSA2ST CORP.

A Nest of Linnets

" Dick— Dick
Frontispiece']

SHE GASPED,

A DREADFUL THING HAS HAPPENED !

[page 350.

A Nest of Linnets

By Frank Frankfort Moore
Author of "I Forbid the
Banns," " The Jessamy Bride,"
"The Fatal Gift," "According
to Plato," Etc., Etc.

WITH 1 6 ILLUSTRATIONS
BY J. JELLICOE . . .

London: HUTCHINSON & CO

Paternoster Row . . . 1901

PRINTED BY
HAZELL, WATSON, AND VINEY, LD.
LONDON AND AYLESBURY.

A NEST OF LINNETS

CHAPTER I

" This will never do, Betsy," said Mr. Linley, shaking his
head. "Sir Joshua calls you Saint Cecilia, but 'twere a
misnomer if you do not sing the phrase better than you
have just sung it. ' She drew an angel down ' : let that
be in your mind, my dear. There is no celestial being
that would move a pinion to help a maiden who implored
its aid in so half-hearted a way. Let us try again. One,

two, three "

" • Angels, ever bright and fair,' "

sang Miss Linley.

Her father sprang from the harpsichord.

" Gracious powers, madam ! the angels are not in the
next room — they are not even in Pierrepont Street, take my
word for it ; they are in heaven, and heaven, let me tell
you, is a very long way from Bath ! " he cried. " Give forth
the ' Angels ' as if you meant to storm the ears of heaven
with your cry. Think of it, girl — think that you are lost,
eternally lost, unless you can obtain help that is not of
earth. Stun their ears, madam, with the suddenness of
your imploration, and let the voice come from your heart.
Betsy, that smile is not in the music. If Maestro Handel
had meant a smile to illuminate the part, take my word

6 A NEST OF LINNETS

for it he would have signified it by a bar of demi-semi-
quavers, followed by semi-quavers and quavers. Good
heavens, madam ! do you hope to improve upon Handel ?"

" Ah, father, do not ask too much of me to-night ; I am
tired — anxious. Why, only last week a highwayman "

Miss Linley glanced, eagerly listening, toward the window,
as if she fully expected to see the mask of a highwayman
peering between the blinds.

" Betsy, I am ashamed of you ! " said her father. "What
stuff is this ? Is there any highwayman fool enough to
collect fiddles? Do you fancy that a boy with a fiddle
tucked under his arm is in any peril of a bullet ? "

"But they may affright the child."

" Child ? Child ? Who is the child ? What ! Do you
think that because you have not seen your brother since he
was fourteen, the four years that have passed can have
made no impression on him?"

" I suppose he will have grown."

11 You may be sure that he will be able to defend himself
without drawing either his sword or his fiddle. To your
singing, Betsy. Go back to the recitative."

"It would be a terrible thing to find that he had outgrown
his affection for us. I have heard that in Italy "

"Still harping on my daughter's brother! Come, Miss
Linnet, you shall have your chance. You shall fancy that
your prayer is uttered on behalf of your brother.

' Angels, ever bright and fair,
Take, oh, take him to your care.'

Now shall the angels hear for certain. Come, child ; one,
two "

" ' Angels ' "

sang Miss Linley.

" Brava !" cried her father sotto voce, as the sound thrilled

A NEST OF LINNETS 7

through the room and there was a suggestion of an answering
vibration from the voice of the harpsichord.

" ' Angels, ever bright and fair,
Take, oh, take me '"

The harpsichord jingled alone. The girl's voice failed.
She threw herself into a chair, and, covering her face with
her hands, burst into a passion of sobbing.

" Oh, if he does not arrive after all — if some accident has
happened — if — if "

The apprehensions which she was too much overcome to
name were emphasised in the glance that she cast at her
father. Her eyes, the most marvellous wells of deep
tenderness that ever woman possessed, at all times suggested
a certain pathetic emotion of fear, causing every man who
looked into their depths to seek to be her protector from
the danger they seemed to foresee; but at this moment they
appeared to look straight into the face of disaster.

"If I could translate that expression of your face into
music, I should be the greatest musician alive," said her
father.

In a second the girl was on her feet, uttering a little sound
of contempt. She began pacing the floor excitedly, her long
white muslin dress flowing from her high waist in waves.

" Ah, always this art — always this art ! " she cried.
11 Always the imitation — always the pitiful attempt to arouse
an artificial emotion in others, and never to have an hour of
true emotion oneself, never an hour of real life, never an
hour apart from the artifices of Art, — that is the life which
you would have me to lead. I hate it ! I hate it ! Oh,
better a day — an hour — a minute of true tenderness than a
long lifetime spent in shamming emotion ! "

"Shamming? Shamming? Oh, my Elizabeth!" said
the musician in a voice full of reproach.

"Shamming! Shamming!" she cried. "I think that

8 A NEST OF LINNETS

there is no greater sham than music. The art of singing is
the art of shamming. I try to awaken pity in the breast of
my hearers by pretending that I am at the point of death
and anxious for the angels to carry me off, yet all the time
I care nothing for the angels, but a good deal for my
brother Tom, who is coming home to-night. Oh, father,
father, do not try to teach me any more of this tricking of
people into tears by the sound of my voice. Dear father, let
me have this one evening to myself — to live in my own
world — my own world of true tears, of true feeling, of true
joy. Let me live until to-morrow the real life of the people
about us, who have not been cursed by Heaven with
expressive voices and a knowledge of the trick of drawing
tears by a combination of notes,"

She had flung herself down at his knees and was pressing
one of his hands to her face, kissing it.

" Betsy, you are not yourself this evening," he said in a
voice that was faltering on the threshold of a sob.

"Nay, nay; 'tis just this evening that I am myself," she
cried. "Let me continue to be myself just for one evening,
dear father. Let me Ah ! "

She had given a little start, then there was a breathless
pause, then, with a little cry of delight, she sprang to her
feet and rushed to the window.

Her father had rushed to the second window with just
such another cry.

Hearing it she turned to him in amazement; with the
edge of the blind that she was in the act of raising still in
her hand. She gave a laugh, pointing a finger of her other
hand at him, while she cried :

" Ah, you are a father after all ! "

His head was within the blind, and he was shutting off
with his hands the light of the candles of the room while
he peered into the darkness, so that the reproach passed
unheeded.

A NEST OF LINNETS 9

Before she had put her face to the pane her father had
dropped the blind that he was holding back.

" Good lud ! how the lad has grown ! " he said in an
astonished whisper.

" Tom ! 'tis Tom himself ! " cried Betsy, turning from
the window and making for the door.

There was a sound of merry voices and many shouts of
children's welcome downstairs — a stamping of feet on the
stairs, a stream of questions in various tones of voice, a quiet
answer or two, a children's quarrel in the passage as a boy
tried to run in front of a girl. Betsy flung wide the door,
crying :

" Tom, brother Tom ! "

In another second he was in her arms, kissing her face
and being kissed by her without the exchange of a word.

The other members of the family of Linley stood by, the
father slightly nervous, fingering an invisible harpsichord,
the brothers and sisters callous only when they were not
nudging one another lest any detail of the pathetic scene of
the meeting of the eldest brother and sister should pass
unnoticed.

11 Hasn't he grown ! " remarked Mrs. Linley. Some of
the flour of the pie which she had been making was on the
front of her dress and one of the sleeves. She had trans-
ferred a speck or two to her son's travelling-cloak.

" He hasn't shaken hands with father yet," said Master
Oziah with the frankness of observant childhood.

" He doesn't mind j he's too big for father to thwack ! "
whispered Master Willie.

" Oh, Tom ! — but it was my fault — all my fault ! " cried
Betsy, releasing her brother, and passing him on to their
father almost with the air of introducing the two.

For a moment the musician felt the aloofness of the artist.

" Father— caro padre ! " said the boy, who had just
returned from Italy.

io A NEST OF LINNETS

"Son Tom," said the father, giving his cheek to be
kissed, while he pressed the hand that the boy held out
to him.

" What has he brought us, I wonder ? " remarked little
Oziah to Willie in a moderately low tone.

" Nothing that's useful, I hope," said Willie. " People
have no business bringing home useful presents."

" I can't believe that these big girls are the little sisters I
left at home when I set out on my travels," said Tom, when
he had thrown off his travelling-cloak. " Polly ? Oh, she is
very pretty — yes, in her own way ; and I daresay she is as
pert as ever."

" And she needs all her pertness to keep her head above
water in such a household ! " said Polly.

" But Betsy — oh, what an English sound Betsy has — far
sweeter than Bettina, I'll swear ! Oh, Bacco, Betsy is
our beauty," said Tom, looking critically at the blushing girl
before him.

" Psha ! everybody knows that," said Polly. " We
don't stand in need of a traveller's opinion on so plain a
matter."

" You, Tom, are as like Betsy now as two — two roses that
have grown on the same stem," said Mr. Linley.

"Then I cannot without boasting say another word about
her beauty," laughed Tom, making a very Italian bow to the
sister whom he loved.

He undoubtedly bore a striking resemblance to her.
His complexion was just as exquisitely transparent as hers,
and his eyes had the same expression, the same timorous
look, that suggested the eyes of a beautiful startled animal —
the most wonderful eyes that had ever been painted by
Gainsborough.

"And her voice — has it also improved?" asked Tom,
turning to their father with the air of an impresario making
an inquiry of a trusted critic

A NEST OF LINNETS n

" Look at her face, boy ; look in her eyes, and then you
will know what I mean when I say that her voice is no
more than the expression of her face made audible," said
Mr. Linley. " Look well at her this evening, my son ; you
will appreciate her beauty now that it is still fresh in your
eyes; to-morrow you will have begun to get used to it.
Brothers cease to be impressed with the beauty of their
sisters almost as quickly as husbands do with the beauty of
their wives."

" Tom is so like Betsy, there is no danger of his forgetting
that she is beautiful," said Polly.

Tom gave a little frown, then a little laugh. His laugh
was just as sweet as Betsy's : both suggested a campanile.

"You have made her a great singer, I hear, sir," he
remarked, when he had kissed her again — this time on the
hand.

" She was born a great singer : I have only made her
a great artist," said the father. Then noticing her frown,
he cried in quite another tone : " But how is't with you, my
fine fellow ? Have you proved yourself to be a genius or
only an artist ? "

"Ah, you remember how I replied to the bishop who
had heard Betsy sing, and thought it only civil to inquire if
I was musical also : ■ Yes, sir, we are all geniuses ' ? "

" It has become the household jest," said Polly. " But
my own belief is, that mother is the only genius among us ;
you shall taste one of her pies before you are an hour older.
If you say that you tasted a better one in all Italy, you will
prove yourself no judge of cookery."

" I should eat that pie even if it should contain not four-
and-twenty blackbirds, but as many nightingales — or linnets.
Ah, you remember, Betsy, how the name c Miss Linnet '
remained with you ? Who was it that first called you Miss
Linnet ? "

" That were a question for the Society of Antiquaries,"

12 A NEST OF LINNETS

said Betsy, " and the bird we are all thinking of is a pie.
Hurry to your room, Tom, or I vow there will not be left
so much as a clove for you. You knew Polly's appetite ; well,
it has improved to the extent of an octave and a half since."

" Corpo di Bacco ! I have no inclination to play second
fiddle to an appetite of such compass ! " cried Tom,
hurrying from the room.

"I sing as Miss Cormorant in the bills when Betsy
appears as Miss Linnet," cried Polly from the lobby.

And then they all talked of Tom — all except the mother,
who had gone downstairs to the kitchen. How Tom had
grown ! How good it was of him to remember through all
the stress of foreign travel and foreign study, the household
characteristics of the Linleys, of 5, Pierrepont Street, Bath !
It seemed so strange — just as strange as if a stranger had
come into the house showing himself acquainted with the
old family jests. And he had not even forgotten that Polly
was pert ! Polly held her head high at the thought that he
had not forgotten her pertness. How noble it was of him !
And yet he must have had a great many more important
details to keep in his head.

Maria was thinking of the possibility of a brooch being
among the luggage of her newly returned brother — a real
Italian brooch, with perhaps a genuine yellow topaz in it,
or perhaps a fascinating design done in mosaic, or a
shell cameo of the head of Diana, or some other foreign
goddess. Little Maria had been thinking of this brooch
for some weeks. At times she could scarcely hope that so
great a treasure should ever escape the notice of those lines
of banditti, who, according to reports that had reached her,
contested the passage of any article of value across the
Italian frontier. But even admitting the possibility of its
safe arrival in England, would not the news of its coming be
passed round from highwayman to highwayman until the
last chance of its reaching her had fled ? Then there were

A NEST OF LINNETS 13

the perils of innkeepers, of inquisitive postboys, of dishonest
porters. She had heard of them all, and thus was for weeks
in a condition of nervousness quite unusual to her. And
now the dreadful thought came to her: "Perhaps he has
brought the brooch to Polly \ and only a book to me ! "

She looked with eager, searching eyes at Polly, and felt
sure that she detected on her sister's face the expression of
a girl who has secret intelligence that a brooch is about to
be presented to her. She hoped that she would be strong
enough to resist the temptation to pinch Polly. She had
no confidence in Polly's self-control, however, should the
book fall to Polly's lot.

And thus they all trooped downstairs to supper, and the
moment they had seated themselves there arose one septet
of joyful exclamations, for between the knife and fork of
every one lay a neat parcel wrapped up in cotton-wool and
silken paper.

And Maria's was a brooch — a beautiful mosaic design of
the Pillar of Trajan.

And nobody had received anything that could possibly
be called useful, so every one was happy.

And when Tom entered, after a dramatic interval, he was
assailed on all sides by exclamations of gratitude. But he
put his fingers in his ears for a few moments, and only
removed them to be able /nore freely to repel the attacks
made upon him by the gins. He could only receive one
kiss at a time, though he did make a masterful attempt to
take the two elders as a concerto allegro movement ; the others
he treated as a scherzo. He had the lordly air of the patron
who flings his guineas about: the Italian jewellery had
made a deep inroad upon a lira ; but he was a generous
man, and he loved his family. But his mother, being a
thrifty soul — Mr. Foote thought her miserly — shook her
head. She felt that he had been too lavish, not knowing
anything about Italian jewellery.

CHAPTER II

"'The greatest singer in England.' Yes, that is what I
heard," said Tom, patting Betsy's hand, which he held
affectionately in his own. He had made quite an art of
fondling hands, having been for four years in Italy. The
family had returned to the drawing-room after supper,
but as Mr. Linley and his son had begun to talk about
music, the younger members had escaped to another
apartment, the better to push on a nursery quarrel as to
the respective value of their presents. The novelty of a
newly returned elder brother was beginning to decline ; he
had eaten of the pie just as they had eaten of it, and now
he was beginning to talk quite easily of music, when they
had fully expected him to tell them some thrilling stories of
Italian brigands full of bloodshed.

"She has sung better than any singer in England,"
said the father ; " but that does not make her the greatest
singer."

" Pacchierotti is the best critic in the world, and he told
a company in my hearing three months ago that there is
no singer in England who can compare with Miss Linley,"
said Tom. " Why, the great Agujari herself allowed that
in oratorio she could never produce the same impression as
our Miss Linnet."

"She spoke the truth, then, though she is an Italian,"
said Mr. Linley.

A NEST OF LINNETS 15

"Ah, let us talk about something else," cried Betsy.
f< Why should we talk of music within the first hour of
Tom's return to us ? Surely we might have one evening
of pleasure." .

Tom ceased fondling her hand and looked seriously into
her face. And now the expression in their eyes was not the
same. The soft, beseeching look that she cast at him was
very different from the serious glance — it had something of
reproach in it — with which he regarded her.

" We talk of music because there is nothing else worth
talking about in the world," said he, and she saw with
dismay the strange light that burned in the depths of his
eyes, while his glance passed suddenly beyond her face —
passed away from her face, from the room, from the world
altogether. She knew what that light meant, and she
shuddered. She had seen it in Mr. Garrick's face when
he was playing in Hamlet ; she had seen it in Mr. Gains-
borough's face when he was painting the picture of her
and her brother j she had seen it in the plain face of little
Dr. Goldsmith when he had repeated in her hearing the
opening lines of his sublime poem, " The Traveller " ; she
had seen it in the face of Mr. Burke when he was making
a speech. She knew what it meant — she knew that that
light was the light which men call genius, and she shuddered.
She knew that to have genius is only to have a greater
capacity for suffering than other men. What she did
not know was that people saw the same light in her
eyes when she was singing, " I know that my Redeemer
liveth."

" What do you say ? " cried the father, springing from
his chair with a hand upraised. "What do you say,
my son?"

" I say, sir, that we talk of music because there is
nothing else in the world worth talking about," said Tom
stoutly.

16 A NEST OF LINNETS

With a cry of delight the father threw himself into his
son's arms.

"Thank God for that— thank God for that!" he mur-
mured. " You have not worked in vain, my boy ; I have
not prayed in vain. The truth has been revealed to you.
You are my son."

" Can any one doubt that this is the truth ? " said
the boy.

Betsy saw that he was careful to avoid looking in her
direction. That was why she felt that he was addressing
her personally.

" No, no ! " she said, catching his hand again. " No, no,
dear Tom ; no one in this house will doubt that music is
the only subject worth a word, a thought. It is our life.
Is there any better life ? How we can gladden the hearts
of all who come near us ! Even at Oxford — I have sung
a great deal at Oxford, you know — I have seen the tears
upon the faces of those men — the most learned men in the
world. Just think of a poor ignorant girl like myself being
able to move a learned man to tears ! Oh, there is nothing
worth a thought in the world save only music. Let me
sing to you now, Tom ; you will be able to say if I have
improved."

Tom's face glowed.

"We have wasted an hour over supper," he said, and
there was actually mournfulness in his voice. Happily his
mother, the pie-maker, was not present ; she had run from
the room at the first mention of music. " I always think
that eating is a huge waste of time. We might have been
singing an hour ago. And what think you of this new instru-
ment— the forte-piano — father? I have heard it affirmed
that it will make even the harpsichord become obsolete.
I laughed, having heard you play the harpsichord."

" Burney talks much about the forte-piano," said the
father. " And Mr. Bach, who has been giving his

A NEST OF LINNETS 17

concerts in the Thatched House in St. James's Street,
has surprised us all by his playing upon its keyboard j but,
my son, 'tis less refined than my harpsichord."

" No one will ever be able to invent any instrument
that will speak to one as does your violin, Tom," said Betsy.
" You need have no fear that your occupation will soon
be gone."

Tom smiled.

" The violin is the only instrument that has got a soul,"
said he. "Only God can create a soul. Doubtless God
could make another instrument with a soul, to speak direct
to the souls of men, but beyond doubt He has not done
so yet."

"And now you shall awaken all the soul which is in
yours, and make it reveal its celestial mysteries to us," said
the father. "I am more than anxious to learn how you
have progressed. I dare swear that you have not wasted
your time in Italy ? "

" Heaven only knows if I have done all that was in my
power to do," said the boy, after a curious pause.

He was staring at the furthest corner of the ceiling while
he spoke. Then he got upon his feet and walked across
the room and back again without speaking j then he threw
himself down upon a sofa with a sigh.

"Now and again — only now and again — father, I think
that I succeed in reaching the soul of the thing," he said.
" After long waiting and working and longing I sometimes
hear its voice speaking to me, and then I feel that I am
very near to God. Surely music is the voice of God
speaking to the soul of man — speaking its message of
infinite tenderness — gladness that is the gladness of
heaven. ... I think I have heard it, but not always —
only at rare intervals. And I took up the violin when
I was a child as if it were a simple thing — an ordinary
instrument, and not a thing of mystery — a living thing ! "

2

18 A NEST OF LINNETS

" You have learned the truth since those days ! " cried
the delighted father.

" The truth ? Who is there alive that has learned the
whole truth — the whole mystery of the violin ? " said
the boy. " I think that I have crept a little nearer to it
during these years j that is all that I dare to say."

" You are a musician," said the father, and the tears of
joy that were in his eyes were also in his voice. " The
true musician is the one who fears to speak with assurance.
He is never without his doubts, his fears, his hours of
depression, as well as his moments of celestial joy. I thank
heaven that I am the father of a musician."

" I thought that I was a musician until I heard Pugnani,''
said the son. "Hearing him showed me that I had not
even crossed the threshold of the temple. Shall I ever
forget that day ? I was sent by my master with a message to
his house on that hill where the olive-trees mingle with the
oranges and the vines. I remember how the red beams of
the sun at its setting swept across the Arno, and crept among
the olives, and blazed upon the oranges till they seemed like
so many lamps half hidden among the glossy foliage. "

" Would that I had been with you ! " said Betsy in a
twilight voice.

" Ah, if you had but been with me, you would have
learned more of music in half an hour than you could
acquire elsewhere in a lifetime," said her brother.

" He played for you ? " said the father.

" Yes, he played. The words are easily said. The villa
is a lovely one, and when I reached the entrance, walking
through the orange-grove, the sun had sunk, and from a
solitary oleander a nightingale had begun to sing in the
blue twilight. I stood listening to it, and feeling how truly
Handel had interpreted the bird's song."

" Betsy shall sing you the aria ' Sweet Bird ' when you
have told us your story," said Mr. Linley.

A NEST OF LINNETS 19

" I entered during the first pause, for there was no
bell to ring — my master had told me not to look for a
bell or to call for a servant; the Maestro does not live
as other men. The hall was empty ; but I had re-
ceived my instructions to wait there, and I waited until a
man strolled in after me from the garden. He wore the
common blouse of the Italian peasant, and carried a
pruning-knife in one hand and a huge bunch of grapes
in the other. I took him for a gardener, and the low
bow which he made to me confirmed this impression. In
replying to his courteous ' Buona sera, signore,' I told him
that if he should chance to find Signore Pugnani in the villa,
I would thank him greatly if he would let him know that I
brought a message from Maestro Grassi. ' Signore Pugnani
will be here presently,' said he. I thanked him, and,
wishing to be civil, I said : ' His garden does you great
credit— you are, I venture to think, his gardener ? ' ' Alas !
sir,' said he, smiling, 'lama much humbler person than
his gardener. I have, it is true, dared to cut a bunch of
grapes, but I am even now trembling at my boldness. I
shall have to face the gardener before night, for he is sure
to miss it. You are one of Maestro Glassi's pupils, sir ? '
he added; and when I assented, 'I, too, am learning to
play the violin,' he said. ' It is very creditable to you
to wish to master the instrument,' said I. ■ You must have
many opportunities in this household of hearing good
music. Your master is, I believe, one of the greatest
composers. I am overcome with admiration of his night
piece — La Voce della Notte, he has called it.' ■ I have
heard him play it,' said he — { at least I think I recollect it.
I fancy I should recall it fully if you were to play a few bars
of the prelude.' He picked up a violin which, with its bow,
was lying on a cushion on the settee of the hall, and began
tuning it. When he had satisfied himself that the instru-
ment was in tune, he handed it to me. ' Have you memory

20 A NEST OF LINNETS

sufficient to play a few bars of the Andante ? ' he inquired.
'Oh, I can play the thing throughout,' said I eagerly. I
prided myself on having mastered the Andante^ and I did
not hesitate to play it. In the dimness of that twilight in
the hall, through which the scents of the orange-trees
floated — I can perceive the delicate perfume of that Italian
evening still — I played the Andante"

The narrator paused, and then, lying back in his chair, he
laughed heartily. His father smiled ; his sister was grave.

" You played it creditably, I hope ? You were in the
presence of the composer, I begin to see," said Mr. Linley.

" Of course the stranger was Signore Pugnani, but I did
not know it until he had taken the instrument from me," said
the son. " He was courteous in his compliments upon my
performance. ' I am but a pupil of that wonderful instru-
ment,' said he, 'but I clearly perceive that you treat it
with reverence. Would I tire you if I were to submit
to your criticism my recollection of La Voce della JVotte,
sir ? ' I replied, of course, that he should find in me an
indulgent critic, and I made up my mind to be indulgent.
And then— then — he held the bow for a long time over the
string — I scarce knew when he began to make it speak.
I scarce knew whence the sound came. All the mystery
of night was in that single note ; it was an impassioned
cry for rest — the rest brought by night. While it sounded
I seemed to hear the far-off cry of the whole creation that
travaileth, yearning for the rest that is the consummation
of God's promises. Again he moved the bow, and that
wailing note increased. . . . Ah, how can I express the
magic of that playing ? . . . I tell you that in a moment
before my eyes the dim hall was crowded with figures. I
sat in amazement watching them. They were laughing
together in groups. Lovely girls in ravishing dishevelment
flung roses up to the roof of the hall, and the blooms,
breaking there, sent a shower of rosy perfumed petals

A NEST OF I.INNETS 21

quivering and dancing like butterflies downward. Children
ran to catch the frail falling flakes, and clapped their hands.
Men old and young sang in varying harmonies, and at
intervals of singing quaffed sparkling wine from cups of
glass. Suddenly, while all were in the act of drinking, the
goblets fell with a crash upon the pavement, and the red
wine flowed like blood over the mosaics of the floor. When
the crash of the glasses had rung through the hall there
was a moment of deathly silence, and then, far away, I
heard once more the wailing of a great multitude. It drew
closer and closer until men, women, and children in the
hall joined in that chorus of ineffable sadness — that cry of
the world for the rest which has been promised. They lay
on the pavement before my eyes, wailing— wailing. . . .

" Silence followed. The hall became dark in a moment ;
I could not have seen anything even if my eyes had been
dry. They were not dry : that second wail had moved me
as I had never before been moved. The darkness was
stifling. I felt overwhelmed by it, but I could not stir. I
remained bound to my seat by a spell that I could not
not break. But just as I felt myself struggling for breath,
a long ray of moonlight slipped aslant the pavement of
the hall, and the atmosphere became less dense. In a
few moments the hall was filled with moonlight, and I saw
that, just where the light streamed, there was growing
a tree — a tree of golden fruit that shone in the moon's
rays. A little way off a fountain began to flash, and its
sparkling drops fell musically into the basin beneath the
fantastic jets. All at once a nightingale burst into rapturous
song among the foliage. Ah, that song ! — the soul of
tranquillity, of a yearning satisfied ! While I listened in
delight I breathed the delicate dewy odours which seemed
to come from the glossy leaves that hid the nightingale
from sight.

" I do not know how long I listened — how long I tasted

22 A NEST OF LINNETS

of the delight of that sensation of repose. I only know
that I was on my feet straining to catch the last exquisite
notes that seemed to dwindle away and become a part of
the moonlight, when I heard a voice say :

" ' I find that my memory is trustworthy. I have played
the whole of the Voce. I hope that I find in you a lenient
critic, sir.'

"But I was on my knees at his feet, and unable to
utter a word. Ah, it is the recollection of that playing
which makes me feel that, even though I give up my life
to the violin, I shall never pass beyond the threshold
of the study."

"Sir," said the father, "you have told us of the effect
produced upon your imagination by the playing of a great
musician. But what you have proved to us is not that
Signore Pugnani is a great musician, but that you are one.
Give me your hand, my son ; you are a great musician."

Betsy wiped her eyes and sighed.

CHAPTER III

It was some time before Tom caught up his violin and
began to tune it. His father had seated himself at the
harpsichord, and Betsy had astonished her brother by her
singing of Handel's "Sweet Bird." He affirmed that she
was the greatest singer in the world. All that Pacchierotti
and the Agujari had said about her singing failed to do
full justice to it, he declared. He had heard singers in
Italy who were accounted great, but the greatest of them
might sit at her feet with profit.

"She will sing 'Angels, ever bright and fair' with
true effect now, I promise you," said the father, with a
shrewd smile.

" Ah, yes ! now — now ! " said the girl j and before her
father had touched the keys of the harpsichord she had
flashed into the recitative.

Her brother clasped his hands over his bosom, and,
with his eyes fixed on her face, listened in amazement.
She had become the embodiment of the music. She was
the spirit of the song made visible. All the pure maidenly
ecstasy, all the virginal rapture was made visible. Before
she had ended the recitative, every one who ever heard
that lovely singer was prepared to hear the rustling of
the angels' wings. It was the greatest painter of the day
who heard her sing the sublime melody, and painted his
greatest picture — one of the greatest pictures ever painted
in the world — from her.

24 A NEST OF UNNETS

" Saint Cecilia — Saint Cecilia, and none other," said
Sir Joshua Reynolds. " She sings and draws the angels
down when she calls upon them."

But the jingling harpsichord !

"It is unworthy of her," cried her father, taking his
hands off the keys before playing the prelude to the air.

In an instant her brother had caught up his violin; he
had been tuning it while they had been talking — and
began to improvise an obbligato with the confidence of a
master of the instrument. And then with the first sound
of the harpsichord came that exquisite voice of passionate
imploration :

" ' Angels, ever bright and fair,

Take, oh, take me to your care.' "

She had never sung it so well before. She had never
before known how beautiful it was. And now, while she
sang, the violin obbligato helping her onward, she became
aware of distant angel-voices answering her — soft and low
they were at first, but gradually they drew nigh, increasing
in volume and intensity, until at the end of the first part
the air was thrilling with the sound of harps, and through
all the joyous confidence of the last phrases came that
glorious harp-music, now floating away into the distance,
and anon flashing down with the sound of mysterious
musical voices in response to her singing. At the last she
could see the heavens opened above her, and a flood of
melody floated down, and then dwindled away when her
voice had become silent.

There was a silence in the room. Even the father, who
thought he knew all the magic that could be accomplished
on the fourth string, was dumb with amazement and delight.

"Ah, my sweet sister," said the violin-player, "your
singing has led me to perceive something of the beauty
of that aria. I think I caught a glimpse of the country

1 Angels, ever bright and fair,
Take, oh, take me to your care!

[page 24.

A NEST OF LINNETS 25

to which it leads one. Thank you, my Betsy. Neither of
us can go very far beyond the point that we have reached
to-night."

"That point has never been reached in the world
before ! " cried the father. " I know what has been done,
and I give you my word that here, in this room, a point
of musical expression has been reached beyond what the
greatest of our musicians have ever aimed at."

" What Tom said when a child has turned out true,"
said Polly. " Yes, we are all geniuses, and the half of
Bath may be seen outside the house enjoying a free
concert."

Tom drew one of the blinds and looked out ; there was
a crowd of some hundreds of persons in the street. The
oil lamps shone upon the rich brocades of ladies who had
been in both the Assembly Rooms, and upon the gold
lace of the fine gentlemen who accompanied them. Richly
painted chairs had been set down on the pavement, and
the roofs tilted up to allow of the sound of the music
reaching the occupants, whose heads, white with powder,
sometimes protruded beyond the lacquered brass-work of
the brim of their chairs. The linkboys stood with their
torches in the roadway, making a lurid background to the
scene. The moment that Tom drew back the blind, the
yellow light from without flared into the room.

" Cielo ! " he cried, lifting up his hands, " Pierrepont
Street is turned into a concert-room."

11 The only marvel is that we have not had several
visitors," said his father. " It was widely known through
Bath that you were to return to us this evening. I feared
that we should not be allowed to have a quiet hour or two
to ourselves. The good folk here are as fond of a new
sensation as were the Athenians. How can we account
for their considerate behaviour to-night ? "

Betsy laughed.

26 A NEST OF LINNETS

" I think I can account for it," she cried. " Look out
again, Tom, and try if you cannot see a Cerberus at the
door."

" A Cerberus ? " said he, peering out at the edge of the
blind. " T faith, I do perceive something that suggests
one of the great hounds which I saw at the Hospice of
St. Bernard — an enormous mass of vigilance, not over-
steady on his legs."

" A three-decker sort of man, rolling at anchor ? " sug-
gested Polly, the pert one.

"An apt description," said Tom.

" I will not hear a word said against Dr. Johnson," cried
Betsy. " He has kept his promise. When I told him
that you were coming home to-day, he said : ' Madam,
though your occupation as a singer entitles every jackanapes
to see you for half a crown, still, in order to inculcate
upon you the charm of a life of domesticity, I shall prevent
your being pestered with busybodies for one night. I shall
take care that no eye save that of Heaven sees you kiss
your brother on his return.' "

" Dr. Johnson is not without a certain sense of what
is delicate, though he may be in one's company a long
time before one becomes aware of it," said Mr. Linley.

11 Betsy did not tell you what he said when she thanked
him," cried Polly. " But he rolled himself to one side,
and pursed out his lips in a dreadful way. 'Tell the
truth, Miss Linnet,' said he at last. ' Tell the truth : do
you indeed welcome my offer, or do you not rather regret
that the young rascals — ay, and the old rascals too — will
be deprived of the opportunity of having their envy aroused
by observing the favours you bestow on the cold lips of
a brother?' Those were his very words."

" And his very manner, I vow," laughed her father; and
indeed Miss Polly had given a very pretty imitation of the
Johnsonian manner.

A NEST OF UNNETS 27

" Never mind," said Betsy. " If he only succeeds in
keeping away Mrs. Thrale, he deserves all our gratitude."

And it was actually Mrs. Thrale whom Dr. Johnson was
trying to convince that she had no right to enter the Linleys'
house at that moment.

Hearing that Tom Linley was to return after an absence
of four years in Italy, and knowing the spirit of impudent
curiosity that pervaded the crowds of idlers in Bath, Dr.
Johnson had posted himself at the door of 5, Pierrepont
Street, when he learned that Tom had reached the house,
and he had prevented even those persons who had legiti-
mate business with Mr. Linley from intruding upon the
family party.

He was having a difficult task with Mrs. Thrale, for the
sprightly little lady had made up her mind to visit the
Linleys and have at least one bon mot respecting Tom
circulated among the early visitors to the Pump Room
before any of her rival gossips had a chance of seeing the
youth. But she found herself confronted by the mighty
form of Johnson a few yards from the door of their house.

" Dear sir," she cried, "you are doing yeoman's service
to the family of Linley. Oh, the idle curiosity of the people
here ! How melancholy is the position of a public character !
Every fellow who has ever heard Miss Linley sing fancies
he is privileged to enter her house upon the most sacred
occasion ; and as for your modish young woman, she looks
on the Linley family as she does upon the Roman baths —
to be freely visited as one of the sights of the place."

"Madam, you exaggerate," said Dr. Johnson. "The
persons in Bath whose inquisitiveness makes them disregard-
ful of the decencies of life do not number more than a
dozen."

" Ah, sir," said the lady, " you are charitably disposed."

" Madam, to suggest that I am charitable were to suggest
that I am incapable of taking a just view of a very simple

28 A NEST OF LINNETS

matter, and that, let me tell you, madam, is something
which no considerations of charity will prevent my con-
testing."

" Dear sir," said Mrs. Thrale, " you will force me to
appeal to your charity at this time on behalf of Mr.
Boswell. If you do not permit him to enter the house
and bring us a faithful report of young Mr. Linley, a
whole day may pass before the Pump Room knows any-
thing of him."

" Psha ! madam, do you know the Pump Room so
indifferently as to fancy that it will wait for any report of
the young gentleman before forming its own conclusions on
the subject of his return ? "

" Ah, Dr. Johnson, but Mr. Boswell is invariably so
accurate in his reports on everything," persisted the lady.

Little Mr. Boswell smirked between the cross-fires of the
yellow lamplight and the lurid links ; he smirked and
bowed low beneath the force of the lady's compliment.
He had not a nice ear either for compliment or detraction :
he failed to appreciate the whisper of a zephyr of sarcasm.

But his huge patron was not Zephyrus, but Boreas.

" Madam," he cried, " I allow that Mr. Boswell is
unimaginative enough to be accurate ; but he is a busy-
body, and I will not allow him to cross this threshold.
List to those sounds, Mrs. Thrale" — Polly in the room
upstairs had just begun to sing, with her two sisters, a glee
of Purcell — " list to those sounds. What ! madam, would
you have that nest of linnets disturbed ? "

"Is Saul also among the prophets? Oh, 'tis sure
edifying to find Dr. Johnson the patron of music," said the
lady with double-edged sweetness.

" Madam, let me tell you that one cannot rightly be said
to be a patron of music," said Dr. Johnson. " Music is an
abstraction. One may be a patron of a musician or a
painter — nay, I have even heard of a poet having a patron,

A NEST OF LINNETS 29

and dying of him too, because, like a gangrene that proves
fatal, he was not cut away in time."

" And just now you are the patron of the musicians,
sir?" said the lady.

" Just now, madam, I am hungry and thirsty. I have a
longing to be the patron of your excellent cook, and the still
more excellent custodian of your tea-cupboard. Come,
Mrs. Thrale, sweet though the sounds of that hymn may be
— if indeed it be a hymn and not a jig ; but I hope it is a
hymn — take my word for it, madam, a hungry man would
like better to hear the rattle of crockery."

" Dear sir, I feel honoured," cried Mrs. Thrale. " But
who will take charge of your nest of linnets in the mean-
time ? "

" Our friend Dr. Goldsmith will be proud of that duty,
dear madam," said Johnson.

" Madam," said Dr. Goldsmith, " I have my flute in my
pocket ; if any one tries to enter this house, I swear that I
shall play it, and if every one does not fly then, a posse of
police shall be sent for. You have heard me play the flute,
doctor ? "

" Sir," said Johnson, " when I said that music was of all
noises the least disagreeable, I had not heard you play upon
your flute."

" No, sir ; for had you heard me, you would not have
said 'least disagreeable' — no, sir; least would not have
been the word," said Goldsmith.

" Pan-pipes would be an appropriate instrument to such a
satyr," said a tall thin gentleman in an undertone to another,
when Johnson and Mrs. Thrale had walked away, and
Goldsmith had begun to listen in ecstasy to Tom Linley's
playing of Pugnani's nocturne.

" Ah, friend Horry, you have never ceased to think ill of
Dr. Goldsmith since the night you sat beside him at the
Academy dinner," said the other gentleman.

30 A NEST OF LINNETS

" I think no ill of the man, George," said Horace Walpole.
"Surely a man may call another a scarecrow without malice,
if t' other be a scarecrow."

" 'Tis marvellous how plain a fellow seems when he has
got the better of one in an argument," laughed George
Selwyn, for he knew that Walpole had not a good word to
say for Goldsmith since the former had boasted, on the
narrowest ground, of having detected the forgeries of
Chatterton, thereby calling for a scathing word or two from
Goldsmith, who had just come from the room where the
unfortunate boy was lying dead.

The two wits walked on toward the house that Gilly
Williams had taken for a month ; but before they had gone
a dozen yards they were bowing to the ground at the side
of a gorgeous chair carried by men wearing the livery of the
Duchess of Devonshire, and having two footmen on each
side.

The beautiful lady whose head, blazing with jewels,
appeared when the hood was raised, caused her folded fan
to describe a graceful curve in the direction of Walpole,
while she cried :

" You were not at the Assembly to-night, Mr. Walpole."

" Nay, your Grace, I have scarce left it : we are on the
fringe of it still," replied Walpole.

" Under Miss Linley's window," said the duchess.

"Wherever Miss Linley sings and the Duchess of
Devonshire listens is the Assembly," said George Selwyn.

" I have heard of one Orpheus who with his lute drew
inanimate things to listen to him," said the duchess ;
" Miss Linley seems to have equal powers ; for were it
otherwise, I should not have seen my Lord Coventry in
Pierrepont Street to-night."

" Your Grace doubted whether the people flocked to
Miss Linley's concerts in the Assembly Rooms to hear
her sing or to feast on her beauty," said Walpole.

A NEST OF LINNETS 31

" Well, now I confess that I am answered," said her
Grace, " for the singer did not deign to appear even at a
window. But I call it a case of gross improvidence for a
young woman to be so beautiful of feature, and so divine
of voice at the same time. Either of her attractions should
be enough for one in a humble position in life. I call it a
waste. Now tell me frankly, Mr. Selwyn, is Miss Linley
as beautiful as your friend Lady Coventry was — the first of
them, I mean."

"Madam, there have been but three beautiful women
in the world ; the first was Helen of Troy, the second was
Maria Lady Coventry, and the third is "

" Miss Elizabeth Linley ? " cried the duchess when
George Selwyn made a pause — a pause that invited a
question — the pause of the professed raconteur who fully
understands the punctuation of a sentence. " What ?
Miss Elizabeth Linley ? "

" Madam, the third is her Grace the Duchess of Devon-
shire/' said Selwyn with a bow.

" Oh, sir," cried the duchess, " you are unkind to offer
me such a compliment when I am enclosed in my chair. I
protest that you have no right to take me at such a dis-
advantage. Pray consider that I have sunk to the ground
at your feet in acknowledgment of your politeness. But
pray note the silence of Mr. Walpole."

" Tis the silence of aquiescence, madam," said Selwyn.

" Pray let Mr. Walpole speak for himself, Selwyn," said
the duchess. " As a rule he is able to speak not only for
himself, but for every one else."

" 'Twas but the verse of Mr. Dryden which came into my
mind when George spoke of his three beauties, duchess,"
said Walpole :

' ' ' The force of Nature could no further go ;
To make a third she joined the other two.' "

32 A NEST OF LINNETS

"'Tis the compliment of a scholar as well as a wit,"
said her Grace — " a double-edged sword, keen as well as
polished, which I vow there is no resisting. What return
can I make for such favours — a sweet nosegay of favours in
full bloom and tied with a riband of the finest brocade?
The flowers of compliment are ever more welcome when
tied with a riband of wit."

" O Queen, live for ever ! " cried Selwyn.

"Nay, sir, that is not a reply to my question," said the
duchess. " I asked you what return I can make for your
compliments ? "

" True, madam, and I reply, ' O Queen, live for ever ! '
in other words, give Mr. Gainsborough an order to paint
your portrait," said Mr. Selwyn.

" Ah, now 'tis Mr. Gainsborough whom you are compli-
menting," said the duchess. " Alas ! that we poor women
must be dependent for immortality upon the pigments of
a painter ! "

" Your Grace is in the happy position of being indepen-
dent of his pigments except on his canvas," said Walpole.
" But let me join my entreaty to Mr. Selwyn's. Give to
posterity a reflection of the privilege which is enjoyed
by us."

" I vow that the king I feel like to is King Herod," cried
the duchess.

" And with great reason, madam," said Walpole : " we
are the innocents slain by your Grace's beauty."

" Nay, that was not the episode that was in my mind,"
laughed the lady. " Nay, 'twas t'other one : I offered you a
favour, and you, like the daughter of Herodias, have de-
manded a human head — in pigment. But I have pledged
myself, and I will e'en send a note to Mr. Gainsborough
in the morning. What ! the concert is over ? Gentlemen,
I trust that you are satisfied with your night's work ? "

"Madam, should it be known that it was George and

A NEST OF LINNETS 33

myself who brought about this happy accident, we should
rest secure in the thought that we too shall live among
the immortals," cried Walpole.

" Future generations shall rise up and call us blessed,"
said Selwyn.

"And what will Mr. Gainsborough say?" asked the
duchess.

" If he were a man like one of us, he would be in despair
of ever being able to execute the task which your Grace
imposes on him," said Walpole.

" True, if he were not supported from one day to the next
by the thought of being for another hour in your Grace's
presence," said Selwyn.

The beautiful lady held up both her hands in pretty
protest, while she cried :

11 If I tarry here much longer, I shall find myself pro-
mising to give sittings to Sir Joshua Reynolds and the full
company of Academicians ; so a good-night to you pair of
flatterers. Heaven grant that I get safe home ! Your al
fresco concert-goers jostle one horribly."

The two gentlemen bowed while her Grace's chair was
borne on through the sauntering crowd, for the house
which had been the centre of the gathering had now become
silent, tand the candles in the drawing-room were extin-
guished. The clocks had chimed out the first quarter past
eleven — an hour when most Londoners were in bed ; but
Bath during the eighteenth century was the latest town in
England, and long after the duchess's chair had been borne
away, long after Walpole and his friend had sauntered on
to Gilly Williams's j long after Johnson had lectured the
saturnine brewer, Mr. Thrale, on the evil of Mr. Thrale's
practice of over-eating (Johnson himself was enough of an
anchorite to limit himself when at Streatham to fifteen
peaches before breakfast, and an equal number before
dinner, and had never been known to swallow more than

3

34 A NEST OF LINNETS

twenty cups of tea at a sitting) ; long after Dr. Goldsmith had
worried poor Mr. Boswell by pretending to be taking a note
of Dr. Johnson's sayings for the day, having, as he affirmed,
an eye to a future biography of the great man ; long after
Miss Linley had knelt down by her bedside to thank Pro-
vidence for having restored her dear brother to his home,
even though Providence had seen fit to supplant her in her
brother's affection by an abstraction which he called his
Art ; long after the night had closed upon all these incidents
in the beautiful city of Bath, some people were still
sauntering through Pierrepont Street.

From the left there sauntered a young man of good figure
and excellent carriage. He wore a cloak, and he had tilted
his hat over his eyes, in imitation of the prowling young
man on the stage. He kept on the dark side of the street
and looked furtively round every now and again. He
slipped into a deep doorway when almost opposite the
house of the Linleys, and stood there with his eyes fixed
on the highest windows.

" Sleep, beloved, sleep," he murmured, with a sentimental
turn of his head. " Sleep, knowing naught of the passion
that burns in the heart of thy faithful swain, who wakes to
watch over thy slumbers."

He was so absorbed in his rhapsodising that he failed to
notice the approach of another young man from the opposite
direction to that from which he himself had come. The
other was somewhat taller, and his carriage was better
displayed by the circumstance of his being uncloaked,
and of his walking frankly along the street until he too
had reached the dim doorway. Then with a glance up to
the windows of the Linleys' house, he too slipped into
that doorway.

He started, finding that another person was there — a
man who quickly turned away his head and let his chin
fall deep into the collar of his cloak.

A NEST OF UNNETS 35

" What ! Charles ? " cried the newcomer. " Why, I left
you at home going to your bedroom half an hour ago.
What, man, have you turned footpad that you steal out
in this fashion and wearing a cloak ? "

"I trust, brother, that one may take a quiet walk without
having to give an explanation of its purport," said the first
sulkily.

"To be sure — to be sure," said the other. " I suppose
that Joseph, even before he became a patriarch, took many
a stroll in the cool of the night through the streets of
Thebes — or was it Memphis ? — without reproach."

" For that matter," cried the first, with some irritation
in his voice, "what was your motive in coming hither,
brother Dick? Did not you say that you were going to
bed also ? "

" I — oh, I only came out to search for you, Joseph — I
mean Charles," said the second. "Yes, Jo — Charles,
hearing you leave the house by the back, I thought it the
duty of a younger brother to see that you did not get into
any harm. Good heavens, brother ! what would become
of the Sheridan family if the elder son were to fall among
thieves ? Do you think that our patriarchal father would
be satisfied if he were shown his Joseph's cloak saturated
with red claret? Come home, Joseph, come home, I
entreat of you. You can compose your sonnet to Betsy
Linley much more fluently at your desk at home. Besides,
father has a rhyming-dictionary — an indispensable work of
reference to a lover, Charles."

"What do you mean, Dick?" said Charles in an
aggrieved voice — the aggrieved voice afterwards assumed
by the representative of the part of Joseph in The School
for Scandal. " Brother, I really am surprised to find you
making light of so estimable a family."

"As the Linleys or the Sheridans — which ?" cried Dick.
" Oh, man, come home ; the girl is asleep hours ago and

36 A NEST OF LINNETS

dreaming of — of you, maybe, Charles. Think of that, man
— think of that — dreaming of you ! Oh, if you have any
appreciation of a true lover's duty, you will hasten to your
bed to return the compliment by dreaming of her."

Mr. Richard Brinsley Sheridan put his arm through his
brother's, and Charles suffered himself to be led away to
their house on the Terrace Walks, protesting all the time
that the man who rushed hastily to conclusions was more
to be execrated than the footpad, for the latter was content
when he had stolen a man's purse, whereas the other . . .

" True — true — quite true, Joseph," said Dick. " We
can make another score or two of those sentiments when
we get home. Father has a copy of the ' Sentiments of
all Nations' as well as a rhyming-dictionary."

CHAPTER IV

Betsy Linley awoke in the morning with a feeling of
having been disappointed about something, and she was
disappointed with herself for being so weak as to be
conscious of such an impression. In short, she was dis-
appointed with herself for awaking in disappointment. She
should have felt gladness, only gladness, to think that the
brother, who had ever been so dear to her, had escaped
all the perils of the years he had spent among the artistic
barbarians of Italy, all the perils of the long journey
through the land of brigands to land of highwaymen.
No other consideration should have produced any impression
on her.

The previous morning she had awakened with the one
thought dancing before her, " He will be at home when I
next wake in this house ! " and it seemed to her then that
this was all she required to make her happy. What more
than this could she need ? If he returned to her side safe
and well, what could anything else matter ? There was
nothing else in the world of sufficient importance in com-
parison with such an occurrence to be worth a thought.
The feeling that he was near her would absorb every
thought of her heart, and nothing that might occur after-
wards could diminish from the joy of that thought.

Well, he had come — she had felt his kisses on her cheek,
and for an hour she had felt that he was her dear brother

37

38 A NEST OF LINNETS

as he had been in the old days. She felt sure that he
would understand her, and, understanding her, sympathise
with her. But from the moment that he had taken his violin
out of its baize bag — he had nursed the instrument on his
knees, as a mother carries her baby, during the entire
journey from Italy — from the moment that she had seen
that divine light in his eyes, when he drew his bow across
the strings, she knew that there was a barrier between
them. She felt as a sister feels when a well-beloved only
brother returns to her with a wife by his side.

His art — that was what he had brought home with him,
and she saw that it held possession of all his heart She
felt that she occupied quite a secondary place in his
affections compared with music — that he loved music with
the passionate devotion of a lover, while to her he could
only give the cold, calculable affection of a brother. She
felt all the sting of jealousy which an affectionate sister
feels when her brother, in her presence, looks into the
eyes of the woman whom he loves and puts his arm about
her. She felt all the bitterness of the step-daughter who
sees her father smiling as he looks into the eyes of his
new wife.

She had hoped that Tom's home-coming would make her
father less exacting than he always had been in regard to
her singing — that Tom would take her part when she pro-
tested against being forced to sing so constantly in public.
Her nature was one of extraordinary sensitiveness, and it
was this fact that caused her to be the most exquisite
singer of her day. But then it was her possession of
this very sensitiveness that caused her to shrink from an
audience. It was with real terror that she faced the
thousands of people whom her singing delighted. The
reflection that her singing delighted every one who heard
her gave her no pleasure, and the tumult of applause which
greeted her gave her no exultation j it only added to the

A NEST OF LINNETS 39

terror she felt on appearing on a platform. She wept in
her room, refusing anything to eat or drink for hours
preceding an evening when she had to sing in public.
More than once she had actually fainted on reaching the
concert-room ; and these were the occasions when she had
thrilled every one present with the divine charm of her
voice.

She was the most sensitive instrument that ever the spirit
of music breathed through ; but the cruelty of the matter
was, that although without this sensitiveness she would
never have been able to move the hearts of every man
and woman who heard her sing, yet possessing it unfitted
her for the rdle of a great singer.

This was the paradox of the life of this woman of genius.
The most cruel jest ever perpetrated by Nature was giving
this creature the divinest voice that ever made a mortal a
little lower than the angels, and at the same time decreeing
that it should be an agony for her to exercise her powers
as infinitely less gifted women exercise their talents.

It is all to be seen in her face as we can see it on the
canvases of Gainsborough and Reynolds — two of the
greatest pictures ever painted by the hand of man. If
the face of Miss Linley in Gainsborough's picture is divine,
the face of Sir Joshua's " Saint Cecilia " is sublime. In
both one may perceive the shrinking of a sensitive soul
from anything less divine than itself.

And her father, an excellent man, who had made himself
a musician in spite of many difficulties, insisted on her
singing in public as frequently as he thought consistent
with the preservation of her voice. He was incapable of
understanding such a nature as hers, and she had this fact
impressed upon her every day. He would tell her what
Handel meant to accomplish in certain of his numbers,
and she would listen as in a dream, and then sing the
number in her own way, going to the very soul of its

40 A NEST OF LINNETS

mystery, and achieving an effect of which her father had
never dreamed. She used to wonder how any one could
be content, as her father was, to touch merely upon the
surface of the matter and make no attempt to reach the
soul underlying it.

Every day she startled him by her revelation of the depths
of Handel's music — the blue profundity of his ocean, the
immeasurable azure of his heaven ; and sometimes he could
not avoid receiving the impression that this daughter, whom
he had taught the rudiments of his art, knew a great deal more
about it than he did ; and he only recovered his position
as her master by pointing out her technical mistakes to her :
she had dwelt too long on a certain note ; the crescendo in
the treatment of a certain phrase had not been gradual
enough ; her finish had been staccato. She must go over
the air again.

So it was that he worried her. He was trying to teach
a nightingale to sing by playing the flute to it. But the
nightingale sang, in spite of his instruction ; the nightingale
sang, sang, and longed all the time for the wings of a dove,
so that she might fly away and be at rest.

She knew that her father was incapable of understanding
her sensitiveness, and she had looked forward to the return
of her brother, who might help her father to understand.
Alas ! the instant she saw that strange light in his eyes she
knew that she had nothing to hope for from him. And
now she was putting on her clothes to begin another day
which should be as all the weary days which had gone
before — a day of toiling over exercises with her father at
the harpsichord, so that her voice should not be wanting in
flexibility when she would appear before an audience in the
Assembly Rooms on the evening of the next day.

"Oh for the wings of a dove ! " her heart was singing,
when, pausing for a moment, with her beautiful hair falling
over her shoulders, she heard the strains of her brother's

A NEST OF LINNETS 41

violin floating from the room below. He played the violin
beautifully, but ..." Oh for the wings of a dove to fly
away and be at rest ! "

Mr. Garrick called upon them before they had left the
music-room. The children were delighted with Garrick,
who could imitate, in such a funny way, their father giving
a lesson, and Dr. Johnson assisting by the superiority of
his lungs the excellence of his argument on some very
delicate question — say, the necessity for building a hospital
for spiders which had grown old and past work. This he
made the subject of an animated discussion between Dr.
Johnson and Sir Joshua Reynolds, keeping the whole family
in fits of laughter at Dr. Johnson's polysyllabic references
to the industry of the spider, and then bringing tears to
their eyes at his picture of the heartlessness of allowing
a grey-haired spider to be cast upon the world in its declin-
ing years. Of course the children appreciated the ludicrous
mistakes made by Sir Joshua, whose infirmity of deafness
caused him to assume that Johnson had said exactly the
opposite to what he was saying. And then he pretended that
he heard a knock at the door. He hastened to admit a
gentleman with a very lugubrious face, and before he had
opened his mouth there was a cry of " Mr. Cumberland ! Mr.
Cumberland ! " In the truest style of Richard Cumberland,
he hastened to decry the whole spider family. Their spin-
ning was grossly overrated, he declared ; for his part, he had
known many spiders in his time, but he had never known
one that was a spinster.

This sort of fooling was what Garrick enjoyed better than
anything else, and he brought all his incomparable powers
to bear upon it. He played this form of comedy with the
same supreme perfection that he displayed in the tragedy
of Hamlet. Even Tom Linley, who was inclined to be

43 A NEST OF LINNETS

coldly critical of such buffoonery, soon became aware of
the difference between the fooling of a man of genius and
that of an ordinary person. He laughed as heartily as his
younger brothers and sisters during the five minutes that
Garrick was in the room.

"By the way," cried the actor when he was taking his
leave (Mr. Linley had just entered the room), " our friend
Tom Sheridan goes to Ireland to-morrow. He has been
released from his little difficulties which sent him to France.
It seems that his chief creditor in Dublin actually petitioned
the court to grant Tom exemption from any liability to pay
what he owes. Is not that an ideal creditor for one to have ?
What persuasive letters Tom must have written to him !
But for that matter, he could persuade the most obdurate
man out of his most cherished belief."

" Could he persuade you that his Hamlet is superior to
yours, Mr. Garrick ? " said Linley with a twinkle.

" Well, sir, he might succeed in persuading me of that,
but that would be of little value to him, for he could per-
suade no one else in the world of it. Just now he was
trying to persuade me that his elder son, Charles, is a man
of parts, and that his second son, Dick, is a nincompoop."

He gave a casual glance round the Linley circle ; his
eyes did not rest for a longer space of time upon Elizabeth
than upon any of the others, but he did not fail to notice
that a delicate pink had come to her cheeks, and that for
the second that elapsed before her eyes fell there was an
unusual sparkle in them. He did not need to look at the
girl again. He had learned enough to make him certain
that she was interested in at least one of the Sheridan
family. But he was left wondering which of them it was
that interested her. He had sufficient experience of the
world, as well as of the Green Room, which he believed
to be a world in itself, to be well aware of the fact that a
beautiful girl may be as greatly interested in a nincompoop

A NEST OF LINNETS 43

as in his astuter brother; and this might mean that Miss
Linley was interested in Charles Sheridan rather than in
Dick.

" And did he succeed in persuading you ? " asked Linley.

" Faith, sir, he had no trouble persuading me to believe
that if it is a wise son who knows his own father, 'tis a wiser
father than Tom Sheridan that knows his own sons," said
Garrick, giving another glance round the circle. This time
he saw Miss Linley's long lashes flash from her cheek ; but
her eyes were not dancing, they were full of mournfulness.

Garrick found that he would have to give time to the
consideration of what this expression of mournfulness
meant.

" Tom was, as usual, combining the arts of devotion and
elocution in his household," continued the actor. "He
holds that devotion is the handmaid to elocution. He has
morning prayer in his house, not only because he is a good
Churchman, but because he is an excellent teacher of
elocution. He makes his children learn Christian principles
and correct pronunciation at the same time."

"That is the system of the copybooks," said Linley.
" By giving headlines of notable virtue, they inculcate good
principles as well as good penmanship."

"I call it killing two birds with the one stone," said
Polly.

" Mr. Sheridan is a copybook-heading sort of man in
himself," cried Garrick. " He is an admirable sentiment
engraved in copper-plate. He thinks that Heaven will pay
more attention to a petition that is pronounced according
to the rules of Sheridan's dictionary than to one which is
founded on Johnson. This is how he says grace : — ' For

these and all Thy mercies ' ' Observe, children, I say

" mercies," not " murcies." There is not nearly enough
attention given in England to discriminating between the
vowel sounds Observe I say " vowel sounds," not " vowil

44 A NEST OF LINNETS

sounds." I have now and again heard Mr. Garrick say
" vowil " instead of " vowel," which would almost lead me to
believe that he has more Irish blood in his veins than his
shocking parsimony would suggest. But for that matter, Mr.

Garrick is constantly making errors in his elocution Pray

note that I say "errors," not " errurs" — and the only wonder
is that any educated audience can follow the fellow. You
perceive that I say "follow the fellow," not "folly the
feller," — to be sure, it is folly to follow the fellow, but that
is a matter of taste, not truth. You mark me, Richard ? '
* Faith, sir,' says Richard, c I am thinking more of swallowing
than of following at the present moment ; but if you begin
upon the rashers, I promise you that I shall follow and say
in the purest English, " For these and all Thy mercies,
make us to be truly thankful." ' Thereat brother Charles
shakes his head, and says, ' You were remarking, sir, that
the English are most careless over their quantities.' { That
is because they have not had the privilege of being born
Irishmen,' says Dick ; ' but we have, and for this and all
Thy mercies, make us to be truly thankful. Let me help
you to one of these excellent rashers, father.' Then the
girls grin, looking down at their plates. Brother Charles
shakes his head over Dick's levity, and the father puts on
his best ' Cato ' face, and remains dignified and, like the
breakfast, cold. But by the Lord Harry, I am worse than
Tom Sheridan j I am keeping you from your breakfast of
sweet sounds. There is Master Tom tuning his violin in
a suggestive way. Is it true what people say, Miss Polly,
that the Linley family break their fast on buttered fugues,
dine off a sirloin of sonatas, and sup off jugged symphonies,
drinking mugs of oratorio, and every mug with a Handel ?
Farewell, dear friends — farewell ! ' Oh, now for ever, fare-
well the tranquil mind, farewell content.'"

In a second he had become Othello, and the laughter
was frozen on the face of every one in the circle. This

A NEST OF LINNETS 45

magician carried them at will from world to world. They
were powerless before him. He left them gasping, looking
at one another as if they had just awakened from a dream.

"A genius!" murmured Mr. Linley, when Garrick had
gone, and a long silence followed in the room. " 'Tis
a doubtful privilege to be visited by a genius. It unfits
one for one's daily work."

" Nay, sir," cried Tom, " I would fain believe that the
visits of a genius are like those of an angel — that he brings
us food, in the strength of which we can face the terrors of
a wilderness as the prophet did — the wilderness of the
commonplace."

" True— true," said his father. " Still, I think that 'tis
just as well for us all that the visits of a genius have the
qualities which have been ascribed to those of an angel.
Now we shall begin our studies. After all, Mr. Garrick
only delayed us for twenty minutes. It might have been
much worse."

" Yes, it might have been Mr. Foote," said Polly.

" That would indeed have been much worse," said her
father. " Mr. Foote makes us laugh, and leaves us laughing ;
Mr. Garrick makes us laugh, and leaves us thinking."

And then the lessons began.

Even the delight of hearing her brother play one of Bach's
most ethereal compositions for the violin and harpsichord
failed to make Betsy submissive to the ordeal from which
she shrank. Her father seemed especially exacting on this
morning, but he was not so in reality ; it was only that Betsy
felt more weary of the constant references to the technica-
lities which her fine feeling now and again discarded, greatly
to the advantage of the composition which she was set to
interpret, but which her father, with all the rigid scruple of
the made musician, insisted on her observing.

And Tom, whom she had trusted to take her part,
believing that he would understand her feelings by

46 A NEST OF LINNETS

considering his own — Tom stood by, coldly acquiescing in
her father's judgment in all questions of technique ; nay, he
showed himself, by his criticism of her phrasing at one part
of an air from Orfeo, more a slave to precision than was her
father. She had had some hope of Tom when he had
begun to improvise that mysterious accompaniment to her
singing on the previous evening. Surely any one who could
so give himself up to his imagination as he had done would
understand how she should become impatient of the reins
of technique ! Surely he would understand that there are
moments when one can afford to sing out of the fulness of
one's heart rather than in strict accordance with the sugges-
tions of the composer !

Alas ! Tom had failed her in her hour of need. He
seemed to think that the privilege of improvising should be
enjoyed only by a player on the violin, and that it would
be the grossest presumption on the part of a vocalist so to
indulge her imagination. And thus, bringing weariness
and disappointment to the girl, the day wore away.

When the family dinner was over, there were numerous
callers at the house in Pierrepont Street. Among them
there was an elderly gentleman named Long, who was
treated with marked civility by Mr. Linley.

When he had left the house, and Tom and Betsy were
alone, the former, after referring to some of the visitors,
inquired :

" Who is that old gentleman whom you called Mr. Long? "

" He is nothing in particular ; that is why I am going to
marry him," said she.

CHAPTER V

Apparently Tom was not greatly startled by the declaration
which his sister had made to him. He was screwing up
a new string which he had just put on his violin, and he
continued twanging it with his thumb as he raised it to the
proper note in the scale. She watched him, with his head
slightly turned to one side, and she heard the string creep
up by quarter-tones until at last it satisfied his fastidious
ear. Then he played pizzicato on all the strings for a while
before he said :

" He is an old man, is he not ? "

" He is the man whom I am going to marry," said she.

l< He must be over fifty," said he.

" He is the man I am going to marry," said she.

" I saw by the papers that were sent to me from time to
time that you had many suitors," said he. "I did not pay
much attention to the papers, but now I recollect that some
of them made sport of an elderly admirer. I suppose Mr.
Long was he ? "

"I daresay. Mr. Long cannot help his age. 'Tis not
more absurd for him to be old than it is for me to be young.
I suppose some newspapers would think it no shame to
slight me for being young."

He gave a passable imitation of an Italian's shrug — he
had learned something beyond the playing of the violin in
Italy.

47

48 A NEST OF LINNETS

" Che sara sara" said he, and there was a shrug in his
voice. " After all, what does it matter whom one marries ? "

" That's exactly what I say ! " she cried, her quick ear
catching his cynical tone. " What does it matter ? I must
marry some one, and is it not better for me to marry a man
to whom I am indifferent than one whom I detest ? "

He mused for a few moments, and then he said :

" I have not given much thought to the matter, but I
think I should prefer marrying a woman who hated me
rather than one who looked on me with indifference. Never
mind. I suppose this Mr. Long is rich ? "

" He is very rich. I may be able to save Maria from
having to be a singer. I shall certainly save myself from
continuing one."

His violin dropped upon his knees.

" What do you mean ? " he cried. " It cannot be
possible that it is your wish to cease from singing in
public ? »

" That is the only reason I have for agreeing to marry
any one," she replied.

" Dio mio ! You — you — you, who can become the
greatest singer in the world; you, who have been given
a voice such as might be envied by the very greatest of
lyric artists ; you with an intelligence that could not be
surpassed, an imagination that actually stands in need of
being restrained ; you, who have it in your power to sway
the souls of men and women as the tide of the sea sways
the ships that are borne on its surface — you talk of ceasing
to sing ! Psha ! 'tis not in your power to cease to sing.
'Tis laid upon you as a duty — a sacred duty."

" Ah, Tom — brother, cannot you understand something
— a little— of what I feel ? " she cried almost piteously. " I
looked forward to your return with such happiness, and
felt sure that you would understand how it is that I
shrink from coming forward on a platform to sing for the

A NEST OF LINNETS 49

amusement — for the gratification of every one who can afford
to pay half a crown to hear me — foolish men, and still more
foolish women, caring nothing for music. You and I have
always thought of music as something sacred, a gift of God,
given to us as it is given to the angels — to be used in the
service of God. Idle curiosity, fashion — foolish fashion,
that is why they come to hear me sing. I know it. I
know it. I have overheard them chattering about me.
The Duchess of Devonshire, I overheard her say to Mrs.
Crewe that she had come to see if I was as beautiful as she
— as beautiful as Mrs. Crewe ! And Mrs. Crewe said how
lucky it was that they had an opportunity of judging upon
this point for so small a sum as half a guinea. And there
was I, compelled to stand up before them and sing, ' I know
that my Redeemer liveth,' while they smiled, criticising me
through their glasses, just as if I were a horse being put
through its paces ! Oh, my brother, I felt all the time
that I was degrading my gift, that I was selling those
precious words of comfort and joy and their wonderful
interpretation into music that goes straight to the soul
of men and women — selling them for money which I
put into my own pocket ! There they sat smiling before
me, and Mrs. Crewe said she did not like the way my
hair was dressed. I heard her whisper it just as I had
sung the first phrase of ' For now is Christ risen from the
dead,' just as the joy — the note of triumph that rings
through the passage had begun to sound through my
heart as it always does ! Oh, what humiliation ! I
broke down ; no one but myself knew it, for I sang the
notes correctly to the end — the notes, but not the music.
It is one thing to sing notes correctly and quite another
to make music : the music is the spirit that goes to the
soul of those who listen, producing its effect upon them
either for good or bad. Alas ! there was nothing spiritual
in my singing that night. I was telling them that our

4

50 A NEST OF LINNETS

Redeemer had risen from the dead, and they replied
that they did not like the way my hair was dressed !
Oh, brother, can you wonder that I shrink with absolute
terror from coming before an audience — that all my longing
is for a cottage among trees, where I may sing as the
birds sing, without caring whether or not any one hears
me?"

She was weeping in his arms before she had finished
speaking. He was deeply affected.

" My poor sister — my poor dear sister ! " he said, caress-
ing her hair ; " I feel for you with all my heart. You are
too highly strung — you are over-sensitive. What can I say
to comfort you ? How have you come to allow yourself to
be carried away by the foolishness of some members of your
audience ? Good heavens ! Think that if Handel had
suffered from such sensitiveness the world would to-day be
without some of its sublimest music ! "

" How did he do it ? I cannot understand how he could
suffer his music to be played and sung, knowing the people
as he did," she said. " It is all a mystery to me. It must
have been an agony to him. But he was a genius ; it may
be different with a genius. A genius may be able so to
absorb himself in his music that he becomes oblivious of
the presence of every one. Alas ! I am not a genius — I am
only a girl. I cannot understand how Handel felt ; I only
know that I feel."

" And I feel for you," he said soothingly, as one addresses
a frightened child.

" You do — I think that you do ; and you will join your
voice to mine in imploring our father to spare me the agony
of appearing before an audience ? Oh, surely there is some-
thing to live for besides singing to divert the people here !
Surely Heaven has not given me a voice to make me
wretched ! Has Heaven given me a voice instead of
happiness ? "

A NEST OF LINNETS 51

" Do you indeed fancy that you could find any happiness
apart from music?" said he. "If you do, you are not
my sister. There is nothing in the world that is worth
a thought save only music."

"What, have you never loved?" she cried.

" Love — love ! Ah, yes ; 'tis a sentiment, a beautiful
sentiment. I do not say that it was created solely to
give a musician a sentiment to illustrate — I do not talk
so wildly; but I do say that it lends itself admirably to
illustration at the hands of a competent musician ; so
that if Heaven had decreed that it should exist for this
purpose, I would not hesitate to say that the object of
its existence was a worthy one."

She put him away from her.

" I have talked to you to no purpose : you do not under-
stand," she said. "It is left to me to work out my own
freedom, and I mean to do it by marrying Mr. Long."

" I do not think that your feeling for Mr. Long would
lend itself to interpretation through the medium of music,"
said he, smiling, as he picked up his violin.

She threw herself wearily into the chair that it vacated,
and listlessly, hopelessly, watched him screwing up another
of the strings.

" Listen to me, Betsy," said he, after a pause filled up by
his twanging of the catgut : " I remember how good Bishop
O'Beirne called you a link between an angel and a woman.
Pray do not let the link be snapped, for in that case you
would be all angel ; let me talk to you as if there was still
something of the woman in your nature. Handel was a
genius. Mr. Garrick is a genius, too ; each of them is the
greatest in his own art that the world has ever known. And
yet you do not hear that either of them thought as you
do ; you do not hear that Handel ever said that he was
degrading himself because he overheard some fool saying
that his suggestion of the hailstones in his treatment of the

52 A NEST OF LINNETS

Plagues was only worthy of the ingenuity of the carpenter of
a theatre ; we have never heard that Mr. Garrick resolved
to retire from Drury Lane stage because some fools per-
ferred Spranger Barry's Romeo to his."

" Ah, genius ; but I am only a girl."

" Handel was a genius, and when he found that the
public did not want his operas, he showed himself quite
ready to give them what they did want. And yet there
were as many fools and coxcombs in his day as there
are in ours. My dear sister, it is for you and me to do
what we can without minding what foolishness those who
hear us may speak, being incapable of understanding us.
When I was at Florence I was present one night at a
great concert at which Maestro Pugnani was to play. Just
before he began, one of the princes entered the theatre,
and began to talk and jest in a loud tone with an officer
who was in attendance. It was clear that he was not
quite sober, and he continued to make himself offensive
even after the Maestro had begun to play. We were all
very indignant, and we felt certain that Pugnani would retire
from the stage. He did not do so. When he had played
his first movement, he looked up to the royal box, and then
he smiled down at us. I saw the look that was upon his
face, a look of determination — the look which is on the
face of a master of fence when he is about to engage a
tyro. In a second he had drawn his bow across the
strings, and the jest that the prince was in the act of
uttering remained frozen on his lips. We saw that —
we saw the Maestro smile as he went on playing ; he
had the prince in his grasp as surely as if he had had
his hand on the fellow's throat ; he kept him enthralled
for a quarter of an hour, and then, without a pause,
he went on to the Andante. Before he had reached
the second bar the prince was in tears. We saw that —
yes, for a few bars, but after that we could see nothing,

A NKST OF LINNETS 53

for we also were in tears. At the conclusion of that
incomparable performance the Maestro left the stage,
smiling his smile of triumph. He had conquered that
scoffer by the sheer power of his genius. When he
appeared later on he was wearing on his breast the
diamond order that the prince had worn. . . . Dear
sister, let that be an example to you. When you find
that you have scoffers among your hearers, you should
feel yourself stimulated, rather than discouraged. You
should remember that you are the greatest singer in the
world, and that to be a great singer is to be able to
sway at will the souls of men. You sent me a copy of
Dr. Goldsmith's lovely poem. You remember that line
in it, ' Those who went to scoff remained to pray ' ! That
is how it should be when you are singing."

" How can you liken me to these men — all of them
geniuses?" she cried with some measure of impatience.
" Their life is their music ; they live in a world of their
own, and it is a world the air of which I have never
breathed. It is the breath of their nostrils to face a
great audience : I have been told that they feel miserable

if they see a single vacant chair. But my life Ah,

if I could but be allowed to live in a cottage ! "

"What folly!" he cried. "And you intend to marry
this old man in order to be released from the necessity
to sing?"

" Is it an unworthy reason ? " she asked. " I think 'tis
not so. I shall be a good wife to Mr. Long."

" Oh, what folly ! You — a good wife ! Heavens ! a girl
with such a voice as you possess talking of becoming a good
wife — a good wife — in a cottage, counting the eggs, milking
the cows ! " He was almost fierce in his scorn. " Is it
possible that this is the sum of your ambition ! "
" I ask for nothing better."
"As if there were any scarcity of good wives in the world !

54 A NEST OF UNNETS

Any girl may become a good wife, but only one in a
generation can become a great singer, and I tell you
that you may be the greatest singer that lives. Tis not
I alone who have said it, though I have heard the best
in Italy and I am capable of judging ; no, 'tis your rivals
who have said it — and Mr. Garrick. Would he have
offered such sums to get you to sing at Drury Lane if
he had not known that you were without an equal ? And
you talk about a cottage ! I tell you, my sister, if you were
to give up singing you would be guilty of a crime — the
crime of spurning the greatest gift that Heaven can bestow
upon a human being ! "

" Ah, no ! " she said. " If Heaven had designed that I
should sing in the presence of all those frivolous people
who pay their money to see me as well as to hear me,
should I not have been endowed also with that talent
which your maestro was able to exercise? Should I feel
that shrinking from the platform which I now feel every
time I have to sing? Should I not feel the pride which
comes to every great musician on stirring an audience to
its depths?"

"You tell me that you feel not that pride? — that you
remain unmoved, no matter how greatly you have moved
your hearers ? "

" Weariness — only weariness, that is what I feel. My
sole joy comes from the thought that it is all over. Indeed,
I can honestly tell you, my brother, that when I get more
applause than usual, I feel no pride, I only feel oppressed
by the thought that I have pleased so well that the managers
will be anxious to have me to sing soon again."

He looked at her with wonder in his eyes for a long time.
Then he shook his head, saying :

"You were wrong to fancy that I would understand you.
I confess that 'tis beyond my power to sympathise with you
in your weakness. I could understand the nervousness of

A NEST OF IvINNBTS 55

a girl such as you on coming forward to sing an exacting
part in an opera or an oratorio j but for one to be endowed
with such a gift as yours, and yet to feel — as you say

you do Oh, it is impossible for me to fathom such

a mystery ! Twere unjust to blame you, but Oh,

well, a girl is a queer thing. My Maestro holds that
every woman comes into the world not merely as a portion
of that mystery — Woman, but as an individual mystery
in herself. He might have founded his theory on you.
But I will not say a word of blame to you — no, not a
word, unless you marry Mr. Long and then give up
singing."

" I will marry Mr. Long," she said after another pause.

She walked firmly to the door, and then upstairs to her
room. Before she had got to the top of the stairs she heard
him play the first bars of Bach's Chaconne which he was
practising.

CHAPTER VI

It was no new topic that found favour in the Pump Room
on the morning following the concert in the Assembly
Rooms. Yes, Miss Linley had never looked more
beautiful and had never sung more beautifully. Most
people took the view that had been expressed by the
Duchess of Devonshire, and affirmed that it was quite
improvident on the part of Nature to give so exquisite
a voice to so exquisite a creature. It was quite a new
departure, this combination of song and beauty. Nature
had revealed her system in the case of the nightingale —
a divine voice coming from a body that is no more
attractive than that of a sparrow ; and in the case of
the peacock — a beautiful creature with the shriek of a
demon.

But Mr. Walpole, who had a whole night to think over a
reply to the suggestion made by her Grace, found himself
quite equal to the task of facing such persons as were
ready — as he expected they would be — to repeat the
Duchess's phrase. People at Bath liked repeating the
words of a Duchess, just as people like to sit on a chair
in which a Prince has sat.

It seemed that her Grace had expressed her views
regarding the prodigality of Nature in the case of
Elizabeth Linley more than once before she had met
Mr. Walpole, and more than once after that rencontre,

56

A NEST OF LINNETS 57

so that her phrases were vieing with the sparkle of the
waters the next morning.

" Have you heard what the Duchess of Devonshire
said about Miss Linley, Mr. Walpole ? " cried Mrs.
Thrale.

"Madam," said Mr. Walpole, "her Grace forgot
that even Shakespeare is enhanced when bound in fine
levant."

"To be sure, sir," said the lady; "but in the case of
a singer "

"Madam, you have in your mind the nightingale and
Dr. Goldsmith," said Walpole. " But I do not mean to
destroy the printing-press at Strawberry Hill because a
clown can read the types in the Advertiser without a
qualm."

And Dr. Johnson, too, had his views on the subject of
Nature and Miss Linley.

" Sir," said Dr. Johnson, when his friend Beauclerk made
an allusion to the topic which was being turned into verse
in half the garrets in Grub Street, " sir, 'twere preposterous
to assume that Nature works solely for the gratification
of such people as have ears. I am more gratified to
see Miss Linley sing than I should be to hear a less
beautiful songstress."

"Nature created Miss Linley to set my mind at rest
on a matter which has been puzzling me for years,"
said Dr. Goldsmith, when in the company of his dear
friends, the beautiful Miss Horneck and her sister, Mrs.
Bunbury.

" Then Miss Linley has not been created in vain," said
Mr. Bunbury, who was busy with his sketch-book.

"Nay, let us hear what is your puzzle which has been
solved," cried Mrs. Bunbury.

" I never could make out whether it was my beauty or
my music that so charmed the people among whom I

58 A NEST OF LINNETS

travelled in Europe, but, listening to Miss Linley last
evening, the truth was revealed to me."

And while the two beautiful ladies held up their hands
and laughed merrily at the solemn face of their friend, Mr.
Boswell, who had been hiding behind one of Dr Johnson's
legs, went off with another story of Dr. Goldsmith's extra-
ordinary vanity.

The next day it became known that the beautiful Miss
Linley had actually promised to marry the elderly gentle-
man who had been so attentive to her for some months,
thereby giving quite an impetus to the business of the
lampooner. Mr. Walter Long was the gentleman's name,
and he was known to have large estates in Wiltshire.

The news overwhelmed Bath.

"What, a third attraction accruing to Miss Linley ! " cried
the Duchess of Devonshire with uplifted hands.

11 Poor Miss Linley ! " said George Selwyn.

" Poor Mr. Long ! " said Horace Walpole.

" Ton my word," said Garrick, when the news of Miss
Linley's engagement to Mr. Long was coupled with the
information that she would not sing after her marriage,
"Linley is thrown away as a musician. Such adroitness
as he has shown in this matter should be sufficient to avert
ruin from many a manager of a playhouse."

Indeed, the general opinion that prevailed among the
cynical people, who knew what an excellent man of busi-
ness was Linley, and how thoroughly he believed in the
duty of his children to contribute to their support, was
either that he wished to add to the elements of interest
associated with his eldest daughter in order to make
her more attractive to the public who paid to hear her
sing, or that he had made an uncommonly good bargain
with Mr. Long in respect of the compensation which
he should receive for the loss of his daughter's services.
The receipts of the next three concerts, people were

The two beautiful ladies held up their hands and laughed merrily.

{page 58.

A NEST OF UNNETS 59

ready to affirm, were to be regarded as the basis of the
negotiations respecting the sum to be paid to him for
the loss of his daughter.

But while the cynical ones were talking the brutal
truth, there were blank looks on the faces of the many
admirers of Miss Linley. She had had suitors by the
score in Bath, and it was understood that when she sang
for the first time at Oxford, she could have married the
whole University. A wit with a capacity for mensuration
had calculated that the amount of verses written to
her upon this occasion would, if bound in volume
form, and the volumes placed side by side, be sufficient
to cover the quadrangle at Christ Church, and to leave
as many over as would conceal the bareness of any lobby
at Magdalen.

The consternation among the poets on hearing that Miss
Linley had given her word to Mr. Long, was huge ; and if
all who threatened — through the medium of elegiacs — to
fling themselves into some whirling stream (rhyming with
their " vanish'd dream ") had carried out this determination,
there would not have been enough poets left to carry on
the business of Bath.

The young bloods, who had been ready at any moment
to throw themselves, or their rivals, at her feet — whichever
would please her best — were full of rage at the thought of
having been slighted by the lady, and swore fearful oaths,
and made strange vows that she should never be united
to Mr. Long. The elderly sparks, most of whom had
been deterred by certain considerations of rheumatism
and stays, and other infirmities, from kneeling to her,
now looked very glum. They were full of self-reproach
now that they had found how easily she had been
won ; and some of them were incautious enough to
confide their feelings to their friends, and these friends
had no hesitation in ridiculing them to other friends ;

60 A NKST OF LINNETS

and as the consciousness of a lost opportunity usually
makes a man rather touchy, there was a pretty fair
share of recrimination in Bath circles during these days,
and more than one duel was actually fought between
friends of long standing; so that Miss Linley's triumph
was complete.

11 What more has the girl to wish for ? " cried Mrs. Crewe,
when some one had remarked that Elizabeth was looking a
trifle unhappy. " She is beautiful, she has the voice of an
angel, she is likely to be a rich widow before she is twenty,
and she has made the best of friends ready to cut each
other's throats ! Pray, what more does she look for that
she is still unhappy ? "

" Is it not enough to make any young woman sad to think
that she must relinquish a score of suitors, and only to
obtain one husband in return?" said Mrs. Cholmondeley,
who was of the party upon this occasion.

" It does truly seem a ridiculous sacrifice, with very little
compensation," said another lady critic.

" The rejected suitors may find some consolation for their
sufferings in the reflection that Miss Linley is said to be
looking unhappy," said Mrs. Crewe.

14 What ! is't possible that she looks unhappy, although
she is not yet married, but only promised? I, for one,
cannot believe it ! " cried another of the party.

"There goes a suitor who will need a great deal of
consolation," said Mrs. Thrale, as a small man in military
undress walked past the group with a scowl and a swagger.
44 Lud ! Captain Mathews is so fond a lover I doubt if
he would feel completely happy even if he had proof that
the lady was crying her eyes out ! "

44 What ! is't possible that the list of suitors included a
person so obviously ineligible as that Captain Mathews ? "
cried Mrs. Cholmondeley.

44 My dear, you should know better than to suggest

A NKST OF LINNETS 61

that the ineligibility of any man is obvious," said Mrs.
Thrale. " Did not we all, up to this morning, regard
Mr. Long as the most obviously ineligible of all the
lady's admirers ? "

" He is certainly old enough to be her father," said
Mrs. Cholmondeley.

" And a man who is old enough to be a young woman's
father is certainly old enough to be her husband j that is
what we should have said, had we made a right use of our
experience of life — and love," said Mrs. Crewe.

"And some of us have had a good deal of both,"
remarked Mrs. Thrale, looking vaguely into the distance,
lest any one of her hearers might fancy that her comment
was meant to be personal, and not general.

But of course there was no lady within hearing who
did not accept the compliment as directed against herself.
And whatever Mrs. Th rale's experiences of life and love
may have been, she had sufficient knowledge of her own
sex to be well aware that no vagueness of generalisation
on her part would prevent any one of her friends from
feeling assured that the lady had some one in her eye
when she spoke. That was why they all smiled con-
sciously, and glanced down with an excellent simulation
of artlessness.

Before they had raised their eyes again, the sour-faced
officer who had been referred to by Mrs. Thrale as
Captain Mathews, had returned from his march across
the gardens. He was about to pass the group when he
seemed to change his mind. He turned on his heel and
swaggered up to them.

"I dare swear, ladies, that you have been, like all the
rest of our friends in this place, discussing the latest freak
of the beautiful Miss Linley ? " he said.

" On the contrary, sir, we have been discussing the
engagement of Miss Linley to Mr. Long," said Mrs. Thrale.

62 A NEST OF UNNBTS

He stared at the lady for some moments. He had not
yet mastered Mrs. Thrale's conversational methods.

"What did I say?" he inquired after a pause. "Did
not I suggest that you were discussing her latest freak ?
Lord ! 'tis a fine freak ! Her father has urged her to it.
I shouldn't wonder if you have heard that I was depressed
by the news ! Now, tell the truth, Mrs. Cholmondeley, did
not you hear it said that I was in despair ? "

" Why, what on earth have you got to say to the matter,
Captain Mathews ? " cried Mrs. Cholmondeley, with a
pretty affectation of amazement. She was a capital actress,
though, of course, inferior to her sister, Mrs. Margaret
Woftington.

Captain Mathews looked more than a trifle upset by the
lady's suggestion. His laugh was hollow.

11 Of course, nothing ; 'tis nothing to me — nothing i' the
world, I assure you," he said. " But you know how
malicious are our good friends in Bath ; you know how

ready they are to attribute an indiscretion to Ah,

you take me, Mrs. Crewe ? You are a woman of
the world."

" Oh, sir, you are a flatterer, I vow," said Mrs. Crewe.
"Ah, yes, Captain Mathews, I am ready to admit that
all our friends are malicious, but I give you my word
that their malice never went the length of hinting anything
so preposterous as that you could have expectations of
finding favour in the eyes of Miss Linley."

" Preposterous ? By the Lord, madam, were you a man

who made use of such a word But of course Oh

yes, 'twas a preposterous notion ; and yet, madam, there
are some in this town who do not think the notion of a
man of family and property aspiring to the hand of a
beggarly music mistress so preposterous."

Captain Mathews drew himself up, and swung his cane
in long sweeps from side to side, assuming a self-satisfied

A NEST OF LINNETS 63

smile, as though he had made a crushing reply to the lady's
rather broad satire.

" True, sir," said Mrs. Crewe ; " Mr. Walter Long is a
man of family and a man of property ; that is possibly
why no one has alluded to his engagement with Miss Linley
as preposterous."

"What, madam, do you mean to suggest that that old

curmudgeon Heavens ! the fellow is sixty if he is a

day But I vow 'tis nothing to me — nothing i' the

world, I swear ! " cried Mathews, with an extravagant
swagger by which he meant to show his complete in-
difference.

" Of course 'tis nothing to you, sir," said Mrs.
Cholmondeley. "No one ever fancied that it was
anything to you."

"Seriously now, Mrs. Cholmondeley," said he, striking
another attitude, " can you fancy that I ever thought of
that sly patriarch as my rival ? "

" Indeed, sir, I could never believe that you would be so
ungenerous as to allude to a rival in such terms as you have
applied to Mr. Long," said Mrs. Cholmondeley.

" A rival ! my rival ? Oh no, no ! " he cried. " He is
an old fool, but no rival to me."

" Certainly no rival to you, sir," said Mrs. Thrale.

" I knew that I could depend on you, Mrs. Thrale," said
Mathews warmly; but noticing how the others in the
group were smiling significantly, he began to feel that he
had not been quite quick enough in the attention which
he had given to the lady's words. It was being forced
upon him that he was not quite certain of shining in
conversation with these ladies who had a reputation for
brilliancy to maintain.

He burst into a loud laugh, with one hand resting on
his hip : his cane was in his other ; he was pointing it
roguishly at Mrs. Thrale.

64 A NEST OF LINNETS

The ladies instantly became grave ; they could not
possibly continue smiling while the man was laughing.
But he soon became less exuberant in his forced merriment,
and it did not seem at all unnatural for the wrinkles of his
laughter to assume the design of a full-bodied scowl. He
struck his cane violently upon the ground, saying :

" If any man in Bath dares to say that this fellow Long
took her away from me he shall eat his words. And as
for Mr. Long himself — well, let him look to himself —
let him look to himself. He has not yet married Elizabeth
Linley ! "

He raised his cane as he spoke and struck it at an
imaginary foe.

He did not see how it came that the ladies were in
a paroxysm of laughter; but had he been thoughtful
enough to glance round, he would have been enlightened
on this point, for he would have seen just behind him a
small man giving a representation of one who is paralysed
by fear, his face haggard, his eyes dilated, and his knees
trembling.

" I protest, Mr. Garrick, that you will be the death of us
yet," said Mrs. Crewe, when Mathews had stalked off, and
the little man was beginning to breathe again — heavily,
and with an occasional sigh of relief, though he still kept
his eyes fixed upon the disappearing figure.

Mrs. Cholmondeley fanned him daintily.

" Thank Heaven he is gone, and we are all safe ! "
gasped the actor.

" Had he turned round for a single moment he would
have killed you, Mr. Garrick, and all England would be
mourning," said Mrs. Crewe.

" Why, what is this, madam ? " said Garrick. " A
moment ago and you were accusing me of being the death
of you, and now you go still further, and accuse me of
running a chance of being killed myself ! "

A NEST OF LINNETS 65

"Were both catastrophes to occur, they would be no
more than a fitting overture to the tragedy on the threshold
of which we stand at this moment," said Mrs. Thrale.
"Why, the tragedy of Penelope and her suitors is like
to be a trifle compared with that of Elizabeth Linley
and her admirers."

" I feel that slaughter is in the air," said Garrick. " Has
Captain Mathews a mind to be the Ulysses of the tragedy ?
In that case, I would not have the suitors to be quite
despondent. But beyond doubt 'tis becoming a serious
matter for Bath, this engagement of the sweetest of our
nest of linnets. For Bath, did I say ? Nay, I might e'en
have said ' for England,' for of course you have heard that
this is why Tom Sheridan has fled to Ireland ? "

" WThat do you mean, Mr. Garrick — Tom Sheridan ?
Oh, lud ! you cannot mean to suggest that he was among
the suitors?" said Mrs. Cholmondeley.

"Why should he not occupy so honourable a position,
madam? "said Garrick. "He is, I have good reason to
know, some years younger than Mr. Long, and he is full
of gratitude to Miss Linley for having made his enter-
tainments a success by singing at them. I ask you,
Mrs. Crewe, for I know that you are well acquainted
with all these delicate matters — I ask you, can a man
show his gratitude to a lady in any more satisfactory way
than by begging her to marry him ? "

" I should have to refer to my commonplace book to
answer that question, sir," said Mrs. Crewe ; " but I can
assure you that it has long ago been decided that if a
young woman be truly grateful to an elderly man for
a past kindness, she will certainly refuse to marry him
when he asks her. But you are not serious about
Tom Sheridan?"

"Well, I admit that I have not yet been successful in
getting any one to accept my theory on this matter," replied

5

66 A NEST OF UNNETS

Garrick. " But I know for sure that Tom Sheridan has
gone to Ireland, and why should any man go to Ireland
unless he has been refused by a lady in England ? If the
man have importunate creditors in Ireland, of course my
argument is vastly strengthened."

" H'sh ! here comes one of the sons," said Mrs. Thrale.
" Tis the younger — Dick his name is. I vow that I had
an idea that 'twas he who was most favoured by the lovely
Miss Linnet."

" Then take my word for it, madam, 'twas the father who
was making love to her," said Garrick. "Surely, 'tis no
more than natural that a right-thinking young woman should
show some favour to the son of the man who hopes to
marry her ! But pray do not cite me as an authority on this
point to Dick Sheridan. I own that I have strong hopes
that Dick will one day become a great dramatist. Should
his father marry Miss Linley, nothing could prevent Dick
from becoming a great dramatist."

"Then let us hope that Miss Linley will marry Mr. Long,
and so save Dick Sheridan from the terrible fate that you
predict for him, Mr. Garrick," said Mrs. Thrale.

Before Garrick had thought out a fitting reply to the
sprightly little lady, young Mr. Sheridan had sauntered up
to the group. He was dressed with extreme care, and his
carriage was so graceful — thanks to the early instruction
which he had received from Monsieur Angelo, who had
taught him to fence, as well as to dance — that he was a
most attractive figure. Though his features were not hand-
some, his face had a winning expression, and he was entirely
without self-consciousness. He had his hat in his hand
when he approached the ladies, and his salutation of them
was easy, but at the same time deferential.

"You have come at the right moment, Mr. Sheridan,"
said Mrs. Cholmondeley. "Mr. Garrick has just been
saying shocking things about you."

A NEST OF LINNETS 67

" I am sorry that I came up, madam," said Sheridan.
" Yes ; for by doing so I know that I anticipated an abler
defence of myself than I have at my command."

" Indeed, your reputation was quite safe in our keeping,"
said Mrs. Cholmondeley.

" True," said Garrick : " Mrs. Cholmondeley, Mrs. Crewe,
and Mrs. Thrale are well known to constitute a medical
board for an hospital for sickly reputations : one is as
safe in their keeping as one would be in a ward at
St. Thomas's."

" What ! no safer than that ? " cried Dick. " Oh, ladies !
Mr. Garrick's compliments are certainly not overwhelming."

" Nay, Dick, I exhausted my art in referring to you before
you came up ; for I said that I had hopes that you would
one day become a great dramatist," said Garrick.

" That was going to the extreme limit of the art of flattery
indeed, sir," said Sheridan. " But one cannot become a
great dramatist unless one has the subject for a great
drama. Can any one of you ladies supply me with such
a subject?"

" Pray try your hardest, Mrs. Crewe, if only to establish
my reputation as a prophet," said Garrick.

" What ! are the ladies to take Drury Lane reputations
into their hospital ? " cried Sheridan.

" Nay, sir, we are not the Board at an hospital for incur-
ables," said Mrs. Crewe. " But you ask for a subject for a
play, do you not ? "

"lam ever on that quest, madam."

" If 'tis the subject for a comedy you seek, all you have
to do is to look in the direction of the entrance to the
gardens, and you will find it," said Mrs. Crewe : " a charming
and sprightly young woman marrying an elderly gentleman."

Dick glanced toward the entrance to the gardens. Betsy
Linley was walking by the side of Mr. Long.

There was a pause before Dick said : " True, madam,

68 A NKST OF UNNETS

there is a drama in the situation j and the beauty of it is,
that it may be treated from the standpoint of tragedy, as
well as comedy. Thank you, Mrs. Crewe ; I shall e'en
haste to write it."

He turned about and hurried away, with only the most
general bow.

" Good lud ! " whispered Mrs. Crewe, " the lad is in love
with Betsy Linley, after all."

CHAPTER VII

Having satisfied herself on one point, the astute lady ost
no time making an attempt to satisfy herself on another
point quite as interesting : being convinced that Dick
Sheridan had hurried away because he was in love with
Miss Linley, she was anxious to learn if Miss Linley was in
love with any one. The fact that Miss Linley was walking
by the side of the man whom it was announced she had
promised to marry, was not accepted by Mrs. Crewe as any
indication of the direction in which she should look for an
answer to the question. Nay, so astute an observer of life
was this lady, that she made up her mind in an instant not
to assume at the outset of her investigation that, because
Betsy Linley had promised to marry Mr. Long, she was
therefore in love with some one else. She could remember
instances of young women being actually devoted to the
men whom they had promised to marry. She had an
excellent memory.

She turned her eyes upon Betsy coming up the garden
walk, but the result of her observation was inconclusive ;
Mr. Long was at that instant making some remark to the
girl, and she had her head slightly bent toward him,
while she listened attentively — smilingly. Clearly she
had not noticed the abrupt departure of Dick Sheridan.
There was nothing in the attentive smile with which she
was encouraging the remark of Mr. Long.

69

70 A NEST OF LINNETS

" He does not look a day over sixty," said Mrs. Thrale.
" Nor a day under it," responded Mrs. Cholmondeley.
Garrick was quoting Shakespeare :

" Here comes the lady ; O so light a foot
Will ne'er wear out the everlasting flint ! "

And then Mr. Long and Miss Linley reached the group,
and Betsy was responding with exquisite blushes to the
patronising smiles of the ladies, who greeted her with
effusion and Mr. Long with great self-possession.

Mr. Long was, however, the most self-possessed of the
group. There was gravity as well as dignity in his acceptance
of the congratulations of the party.

" I am the most fortunate of men, indeed," he said, bowing
low, and touching the grass of the border with the sweep of
his hat.

"Nay, Mr. Long, do not depreciate your own worth by
talking of fortune," said Mrs. Thrale.

" There is philosophy in your suggestion, madam," said
he. " 'Twas feeble of me to make the attempt to fall in
with the general tone of the comments of my friends. Still,
there is but one Miss Linley in the world."

" And you are ungenerous enough, sir, to seek to deprive
the world of that one," cried Mrs. Thrale.

She had failed to perceive the tendency of his remark.

" What, Mrs. Thrale ! is't possible that you are weak
enough to look for generosity in a lover?" said Garrick.
" Good lud, madam! the very>oul of true love is the most
ungenerous essence on earth."

" Ah, you see, madam, Mr. Garrick's love is of the earth
earthy ; but we were talking of quite another kind of love,
were we not ? " said Mr. Long readily, but not in a tone of
badinage.

" We are very well content to be terrestrial," said Mrs.
Crewe, lifting her chin an inch or so in the air.

A NEST OF LINNETS 71

"lam more ambitious ; that is why I am by the side of
Miss Linley," said Mr. Long.

" Very prettily spoke, sir," said Garrick. " Miss Linley
I have always held to be celestial. Is not that so, Betsy ? "

" Indeed, sir, you were good enough to offer me an
engagement to sing at Drury Lane," replied Betsy, with a
smile.

Every one laughed, and Garrick gave a wonderful repre-
sentation of a man who is completely discomfited by an
antagonist.

Mr. Long seemed to think that the moment was a
favourable one for resuming his stroll with Betsy ; he had
just taken her hand and was in the act of bowing to the
three beautiful ladies who were laughing archly at Garrick,
when a loud laugh that had no merriment in it sounded
at the further side of a line of shrubs, and Mathews
reappeared.

Betsy, with a look of apprehension, started and took a
step closer to Mr. Long. Mr. Long's face beamed with
pride at that moment, for the girl's movement suggested her
confidence in his power to protect her. The ladies saw the
expression that was on her face, and the glance that he cast
upon her, and there was not one of them who did not envy
her, although Mr. Long was sixty years old.

" Ha, Miss Linley ! are you never to be found except in
the company of your grandfather ? " cried Mathews, while
still a few paces away from the group. Then, pretending
to become aware of the identity of Long at the same
moment, he roared with laughter.

" I swear to you, madam, I thought that you were in the
company of your grandfather," he cried. " Sure, my error
was a natural one ! I ask you, Mrs. Thrale, if 'twas not
natural that I should take this gentleman for Miss Linley's
grandfather ? "

" Mr. Mathews," said Mrs. Thrale, " I have no opinion

72 A NEST OF LINNETS

on such matters, I though I have my own idea of what
constitutes a piece of impudence on the part of a man."

" Ha, Grandfather Long, you hear that ? " cried Mathews.
" Mrs. Thrale says she knows what impudence is."

" Then where is the need for you to give her examples of
it, sir ? " said Long.

" Any fool could see that she had in her eye the case of
an old man who makes love to a young woman," said
Mathews brutally.

" Only a fool would take my words in such a sense, Mr.
Mathews," said Mrs. Thrale.

" Nay, good madam, 'twas but my jest," said Mathews.

" Then let me tell you, sir, 'twas a very sorry jest," said
Mrs. Thrale.

"I say 'twas a jest; at the same time, should any gentle-
man within earshot feel himself aggrieved by my humour,
he will not find Captain Mathews slow to give him any
satisfaction he may demand."

The fellow pursed out his lips, and struck the ground with
his cane.

Mr. Long turned his back upon the man and entered
smilingly into conversation with Mrs. Cholmondeley. For
a moment he was separated from Betsy, and Mathews took
advantage of that moment to get beside her.

"You are never going to be fool enough to marry a
man old enough to be your grandfather ? " said he in a low
voice.

She made a movement as if to get beside Mr. Long ; but
he adroitly prevented her from carrying out her intention.

" You think I am the man to stand tamely by and see
you marry him or any one else ? " he said, putting his face
close to hers, his eyes glaring into her own (he was imi-
tating the attitude and the language of one of the actors
whom he had recently seen at the Bristol theatre).

" Why should you be so chagrined, Captain Mathews ? "

YOU THINK I AM THE MAN TO STAND TAMELY BY AND SEE YOU MARRY HIM
OR ANY ONE ELSE?" [page 72-

A NEST OF LINNETS 73

she said. " There are many girls far more worthy than I
am who would feel flattered by your attentions. I am sure
you do not wish to persecute me."

She was, woman-like, hoping by temporising with the
man to prevent an open quarrel. He saw that he had
succeeded in making her afraid of him.

" I set my heart on you, I set my soul on you, Betsy
Linley, and you know that your father and mother favoured
me; you, and you only, stood out against me." He had
put his face closer to hers, causing her to shrink back an
inch or two. " But you will have me yet — you must — by
the Lord, you shall ! " he resumed. " I swear to you that
I have set my soul upon you. Murder — what is murder to
such a man as I have become through you — all through the
curse of your beauty S Do you think that I would hold
back my knife for the space of a second from the throat
of any man who was going to take you away from me ? I
swear to you that I would kill him — kill him without mercy
— and you — you too ! My love is of that sort. I would
account killing you the next best thing to 'wedding you.
I'll do either the one or the other — make up your mind to
that — make up your mind to that ! If you would save
yourself — and him — and him, mind you — you will take me ;
'tis your only chance."

She was terrified, for she saw that he had reached that
point in the madness of his jealousy which was reached by
Othello when he cried :

"Blood, Iago— blood, blood ! "

She had seen Garrick in the part, and had been thrilled
by his awful delivery of the words. Even now, in spite of
her terror, she did not fail to be struck with the marvellous
accuracy of Garrick's art. She was now face to face with
the real thing — with the man in the clutch of an over-
whelming passion ; and yet she was not more terrified than

74 A NEST OF LINNETS

she had been when Garrick's voice had become hoarse
while uttering those words of murder that had been put into
the mouth of Othello by Shakespeare.

" What is this madness that has come to you ? " she
cried. " Oh, you must be quite mad ! If you cared ever
so little for me you would not overwhelm me with terror."

" I don't know which would be the sweeter — killing you
or wedding you," he said. He kept his eyes fixed upon
hers for some seconds, and then he added in a lower tone
that chilled her : "By heavens ! I do know now — now ! "

She gave a little cry. She had done her best to restrain
it, for the dread of a quarrel taking place between the men
was upon her, and in an instant Mr. Long had turned to
her. Another instant and he had thrust himself between
her and Mathews and had taken her hand. He was not
looking at her, but straight into the face of Mathews.

"We must not be late, Miss Linley," he said quietly,
"and unless we hasten onward we shall not be in time to
meet our friends at Bath-Easton. Stand aside, sir, if you
please."

Mathews instinctively took a couple of steps back, while
Long, still holding Betsy's hand, bent his head before the
ladies and young Captain Horneck, of the Guards, who had
just appeared by the side of his fiancee^ Lord Albemarle's
daughter.

There was a pause in the conversation passing round
that little group — an electric pause, it seemed ; every one
appeared to be waiting for a thunderbolt to fall, for
Mathews had a reputation for being an element of the
lurid in the atmosphere of Bath. For a few moments
after Long and Betsy had gone, he seemed uncertain what
course to adopt j but suddenly he appeared to have light
granted to him. He bent his malacca cane until he made
both ends meet ; then, with an oath, he hurried after
Long and Betsy.

A NEST OF LINNETS 75

He overtook them before they had gone twenty yards,
but while he was still some way behind them he called out :

" A word with you, Mr. Long, if you please."

Mr. Long turned round.

" I wish no words with you, sir," he said.

"But I wish some with you, sir," said Mathews, coming
up to him, " I wish to give you a word of warning. I wish
you to hear me swear that the day you wed Elizabeth
Linley shall be your last on earth."

Long smiled in his face, and then in the terrified face of
the girl by his side.

"What a compliment Mr. Mathews pays to you, Miss
Linley ! " said he. " My last day on earth — true ; for
thenceforth I shall be in heaven. Thank you, Mr.
Mathews."

" In heaven ? No, by the Lord, you will find yourself
not in heaven, but "

" You scoundrel ! if you utter one more word I shall
hand you over neck and crop to the hangman," said Long.
"You think that your braggadocio airs have weight with
me ? I have but to raise my finger and the handcuffs are
about your wrists. I know more about your past life than
you seem to imagine, my good fellow. Now, get out of my
way, or I shall subject you to the humiliation of a public
caning."

He grasped his cane firmly, and there was upon his face
a look of determination. Mathews took a step or two back.
His jaw had fallen, and the ferocity of his expression had
become tempered by the terror that appeared in his eyes.
Mechanically he bowed, removing his hat while Long and
Betsy walked on. Then he stood staring after them,
failing to recover himself even though he could scarcely
have avoided hearing the laugh that broke from one of the
ladies in the group which he had just left. Some minutes
had passed before he ceased gnawing the silver top of his

76 A NEST OF LINNETS

cane and stalked off in a direction opposite to that which
Miss Linley and Mr. Long had taken.

11 A duel ! oh no ; there will be no duel," cried Garrick
in reply to a suggestion made by one of his group. " Oh
no ; I have studied men and their motives to small purpose
these thirty years if I could bring myself to believe that
Captain Mathews is the man to challenge Mr. Long to
a duel in such circumstances."

" What ! Did not you see the way Mr. Long grasped his
cane ? " cried Mrs. Cholmondeley.

"To be sure I did, my dear lady; that is why I am
convinced that there will be no duel," replied Garrick.
" We did not hear what Mr. Long said to the fellow, but
we saw how he grasped his cane, and let me assure you,
madam, that the language of cane-grasping is a good deal
more intelligible than the English of our friend Dr. Johnson."

" If there be no duel I am sorry for Mr. Long," said
Mrs. Thrale.

Her friends stared at her.

" I should rather be sorry for the elderly gentleman if he
had to stand up before a man twenty-five years his junior,
with pistol or small sword," said Mrs. Crewe.

" Ah, my dear, one must take a less superficial view of
men and their motives — an excellent phrase, Mr. Garrick' —
if one desire to arrive at a complete understanding of both,"
said Mrs. Thrale. "lam sure that so excellent an observer
as Mrs. Crewe will, upon reflection, perceive that the best
chance an elderly gentleman has of captivating the heart
of a young woman is by fighting for her. Mr. Long is
clearly aware of this elementary truth. He is a brave
man, and he is ready to risk his life in order that he
may have a chance of winning his lady."

" But he has won her already," said Mrs. Crewe.

" Nay, she has only promised to marry him," said Mrs.
Thrale, with the smile of the sapient one.

A NEST OF UNNETS 77

" It will be time enough for him to think of winning her
after he has married her," remarked Mrs. Cholmondeley.

"I would not be so sure of that," said Mrs. Thrale.
" Procrastination in a lover can be carried too far. Is
not that your opinion, Mr. Garrick ? "

" Madam, I feel like the negro who was choked when en-
deavouring to swallow a diamond : I am so overwhelmed
by the jewels of wisdom which you have flung before me
that I am incapable of expressing any opinion," said
Garrick.

" You are far from being complimentary to Mrs. Thrale if
you suggest that you have failed to assimilate her precious
words, sir," said Mrs. Cholmondeley.

" Nay, 'twas not the negro and the diamond that was in
Mr. Garrick's mind," said Mrs. Crewe. "'Twas Macbeth
and his 'Amen.' We have seen Macbeth's 'Amen'
stick in your throat more than once, Mr. Garrick, and I
vow that when Mrs. Thrale asked you just now to say
the word that would hall-mark her wisdom, as it were, the
same expression was on your face."

"Madam, I would scorn to contradict a lady unless I
differed from her," said Garrick ; " but I repeat, there will
be no duel."

"Why, who was talking about duels, sir?" inquired
Mrs. Crewe. " Lud ! Mr. Garrick, duels was the topic
of five minutes ago, and time at Bath is precious."

" From duels to jewels is not a huge distance," said Mrs.
Cholmondeley, whose pronunciation was not quite free from
the Irish brogue which increased the fascination of her
sister, Mrs. Woffrngton.

CHAPTER VIII

While the coldly gay circle were endeavouring — as most
people do who discuss the problems of life — to display
their own cleverness in whirling round the topic of the
moment, Mr. Long and Miss Linley were walking on
through Sydney Gardens, neither of them so much as
glancing behind them to observe what had become of
Mathews.

The expression of apprehension which had made Betsy's
face pale with the pink pallor of the blanch rose while Mr.
Long was threatening Mathews, had not quite vanished.
She seemed to feel that all cause for apprehension had
not passed. Remembering the wild, savage way in which
he had addressed |her — his furious threats and his fierce
passion, it seemed to her quite a miracle that he did
not fly at Mr. Long's throat before the latter had com-
pleted the sentence that he uttered, while grasping his
cane in that expressive way which had so appealed to
the imagination of Garrick. She had ever sought to
allay by considerate words the anger which Mathews had
shown upon several occasions when she had apparently
favoured other suitors ; her whole aim was to prevent
his quarrelling openly with any of her friends, forcing
them to fight him ; and she had been successful in her
aims to quite a remarkable degree. She was thus amazed
to find that, when Mr. Long assumed the aggressive

78

A NEST OF UNNETS 79

attitude, Mathews, so far from showing any disposition
to fly at his throat, became absolutely passive.

It was too much for her to believe all at once, that
Mathews had no intention of resenting the threats of
Mr. Long ; he might, she felt, be too greatly astonished at
the adoption of such an attitude by an elderly man to be
able to respond in his own way; but he would assuredly
recover himself in a few moments, and then

She glanced behind her and saw that the man was
actually hurrying away in the direction of a distant exit from
the gardens beyond the maze ; and then the expression of
terror which had been on her face gave way to one of
astonishment. She looked at the man beside her ; he was
smiling quite benignly. She smiled too at his smiling.

" I cannot understand," she cried, after giving a sigh
of relief — " I cannot understand how you succeeded with
him. I felt sure when you had spoken that he would
. . . Oh, he never spoke to me unless to utter a threat,
and yet "

" And yet he became amenable in a moment to the force
of one insignificant threat on my part," said he, when she
made a pause. "Ah, dear child, you have no need to
be astonished at so simple a matter. The one argument
which the habitual biter appreciates to the full is the bite,
therefore one should make one's teeth meet upon his flesh,
and all will be well. There is no need to be surprised
at the sudden departure of this fellow; what should
cause surprise is his appearance in your society. Pray,
how did he ever contrive to gain such a degree of intimacy
with you as enabled him to address you as he did?"

" What ! is he not an officer and a gentleman of
property?" cried Betsy.

" He is both. Was no further passport necessary to obtain
his admission to your father's house ? " asked Long.

She shook her head

80 A NKST OF LINNETS

"I am afraid that my father has never been very
particular in the matter of admitting people to our house,"
she replied. " Ah ! that is one of the most distressing
things about our life — the life of people who are dependent
on the good-will of the public for their daily bread : we
cannot afford to offend any one."

" You are thereby deprived of one of the greatest luxuries
in life — the pleasure of offending the offensive," said he,
smiling. "But quite apart from being cut off from this
enjoyment, I really fail to see how your father's profession
— and yours — gives the right to every adventurer to your
society. It is one thing to be debarred the privilege
of hurting the feelings of those who should be subjected
to such treatment, and quite another to admit to your
house every visitor who may come thither with no further
credentials than his own impudence."

"That is what I have always felt," said she. "I have
felt that that is one of the greatest hardships of our life.
But all our life is made up of these things from which
I shrink. Ah, I told you all this long ago."

"Yes, I shall not soon forget the hour when you opened
your own sweet maiden heart to me," said he. "I had
long been lost in admiration of your beauty and the un-
speakable charm of your singing. I fancied more than
once, however, that I noticed in your manner a certain
shrinking from the favours which the public are ever
ready to fling upon their favourites — yes, for a time,
until a fresher favourite comes before them. I felt
that that expression of timidity was the one thing by
which your beauty was capable of being enhanced, but
I never doubted for a moment that your shrinking from
the gaze of the public was part of your nature."

" It is indeed an unhappy part of my nature ; but I have
not been deaf to the cruel comments which some people
have made upon me in that respect," said she, and her face

A NEST OF UNNETS 81

became roseate at the recollection of how her timidity had
been referred to as affectation.

" I have heard such comments too ; they came from
women who were overwhelmed by their jealousy of your
beauty and your genius."

"Ah, no, not genius — I have no genius. My brother
has genius. I know what it is to have genius. Tom tells
me that he is in no way impressed by the presence of
thousands listening to his playing on his violin. Mr.
Garrick — he, too, has genius, and he has acted for Polly
and myself quite as grandly as I have ever seen him act
in his own play-house."

11 Your definition of genius is founded on a somewhat
arbitrary basis, my dear. Indifference to the public does
not invariably indicate genius. I have heard it said by
some who know, that David Garrick spends the first ten
minutes of his appearance on the stage every night cal-
culating the sum of money there is in the house. That
is beside the question. If you are not in the possession
of genius, you have at your command a possession even
more subtle, more delicate, purer — you have the sweetest
soul that ever lived in woman, and every time you sing you
communicate some portion of it to your hearers."

She looked at him with some apprehension in her eyes.

" You promised me that I should never be forced to sing
in public again," she said. " Oh, surely you are not now
going to tell me that you take back your promise ? "

" Nay, nay, let no such apprehension weigh upon you,
dear child," said he. " Our conversation has drifted far
from its starting-place. We were talking about that
Mathews, and how easily he obtained admission to your
father's house. I wonder should I be wrong if I were to
suggest that he was the suitor who found most favour in
the eyes of your father?"

"For a time, only for a time," she cried quickly, as if

6

82 A NEST OF LINNETS

anxious to exculpate her father. " When my father became
aware of how distasteful Mr. Mathews was to me, he ceased
urging me to accept his proposals. Oh, I can assure you
that my father has never been anxious for me to marry
any one."

" I can well believe that," said Long drily. Only a day
had passed since he had been sitting at a desk opposite to
Mr. Linley, while the latter explained to him, by the
assistance of certain memoranda on a sheet of paper,
the exact amount of loss per annum, worked out to
shillings and pence, that the withdrawal of Betsy from
the concert platform would mean to her father. Mr. Long
had been greatly interested in the calculation, for it repre-
sented the sum which he had agreed to pay to the devoted
father by way of compensation for the loss of his daughter's
services. " And you — you have never been anxious to
marry any one ? " he added.

There was a little pause before she said :

" I have never been strongly tempted. I have never had
a sleepless night thinking what answer I should give to the
gentlemen who were good enough to ask me to marry them."

11 1 feel flattered, my dear one," said he.

" Oh no, you have no need to do so," she cried almost
eagerly, and he perceived that she had a conscientious fear
of his assuming that she had disregarded many eligible
suitors in favour of himself. " Oh no, indeed ! I do not
believe that there was any offer made to me that caused
me a great pang to decline. Of course I was sorry — yes,
once or twice, when I really felt that they truly loved me ;

but Oh, why should I have accepted any of them when

to do so would only mean adding to my fetters ? "

" Ah, why indeed ? A husband is sometimes a harder
taskmaster than a father. Even with your small experience
of life, you must have perceived this. Well, so much for
the men who professed to love you ; but you must know

A NEST OF LINNETS 83

that when we have talked about them we have dealt with
one class only j we have not yet touched upon those whom
you loved."

Her face had become roseate, and it wore a troubled
expression. He laughed, and she saw that the expression
on his face was that of a man who is amused. Her quick
ear had told her that there was no note of jealousy in
his laugh.

"Pray forgive me, my dear," he said. " Be assured that
I have no intention of extorting any confession from you.
Believe me, my child, I am glad of the evidence which
you have given me — that sweet confusion — that sweeter
blush — of your having the heart of a girl. 'Tis as natural
for a girl to love as it is for her to laugh. If you had
assured me that you had never loved, I feel that I should
not love you as I do at this moment — as I have loved
you from the first moment that I looked upon your dear
face."

"Ah, sir, I pray to God that I may one day love you as
you should be loved ! " she cried, and he saw that tears
were in her eyes.

"As I should be loved — I ask nothing more," he said.
" That is what has always been in my mind with regard to
you. Have you marvelled that I have not yet asked you
to love me ? I refrained, because I had told you that my
sole hope in regard to yourself was to make you happy ;
and I knew that I should be making you unhappy if I were
to impose upon you the duty of loving me. Such curious
creatures we are, that when love exists only as a duty it
ceases to be love. I pray to Heaven, Betsy, that you may
never come to think that it is your duty to love any one —
even a husband."

" Ah, you are too good to me — too considerate ! " she
cried. " Every time that you speak to me as you have just
spoken, you overwhelm me with remorse."

84 A NEST OF LINNETS

" With remorse ? Does that mean that you love some
one else ? "

"It means that I do not love you as I should — as
you expect to be loved — as you have a right to expect
that I should."

" Ah, dear girl, how do you know how I expect to
be loved?"

" I know well how you should be loved, and I fear that
I have deceived you."

" Nay, I never asked you if you loved me. If I had
done so, and you had answered ' Yes,' you would have made
at least an attempt to deceive me. I do not say, mind you,
that I would have been deceived. I have been speaking
just now of what is natural in a girl. Do you think that I
fancy it is natural in a girl who is not yet twenty to fall in
love with a man who is more than thrice her age ? "

"Surely 'tis not impossible?"

" Ah, the little note of hope that I detect in your inquiry
shows me how conscientious a young woman you are— how
determined you are to give me every chance, so to speak.
But I do not wish you to think of me in that way. I do
not want you to try to love me."

" Not to try to love you — not to try ? "

" Even so ; because love to be love must come without
your trying to love. Is that too hard a saying for you,
Miss Betsy?"

"It is not too hard a saying; what is hard is the
matter to which it refers — you would not have me do
my best to love you?"

" Even so. Do you believe that you will find it so very
hard to refrain from such an attempt ? "

" I have promised to marry you."

"And, believe me, I would not have you keep your
promise unless you are sure that you can love me without
trying. You must try not to try."

A NEST OF LINNETS 85

She gave a laugh, but checked it abruptly before it had
run its course. She became graver than ever as she walked
along by his side. She was silent, and there was a dimness
over her eyes which made their liquid depths seem more
profound.

" Pray tell me what there is on your mind, my Betsy,"
he said. "Tell me, what is the thought which weighs
upon you ? "

"Alas!" she cried, "I did not know that you were so
good a man."

" Nor am I," he said. " Believe me, I am not nearly so
good as that ; but even if I were, is that any reason why
the reflection should weigh you down, or cause your eyes
to become tremulous ? "

She shook her head, but made no attempt to speak.

He did not urge her to speak. They had reached a
green lane just outside the gardens — a graceful acknowledg-
ment of the privileges of Nature on the outskirts of
artificiality. There was a warm sigh of wild thyme in
the air. A bee hovered drowsily upon the scent. Two
yellow butterflies whirled in their dance above a bank
of primroses.

He pointed them out to her.

" The butterflies have an aery dance of their own, and
so have the dragon-flies," he said. " I have watched them
by my lake. Did I tell you that there is a tiny lake in
my grounds ? One can see its gleam from the windows
of the house. It is pleasant to stand at the top of the
terrace-steps and look across the greensward to the basin
of my lake. Very early in the summer morning the deer
come to drink there ; I have seen the graceful creatures
trooping through the dawn, and every now and again a
hind would stop for a moment to scratch its neck with
a delicate hind-foot, and then bound onward to join its
brethren."

86 A NEST OF UNNETS

Still she did not speak. The butterflies fluttered past her
face, but she did not follow them with her eyes.

"Sweet one, I grow alarmed," he said; "pray tell me
all that is on your mind — in your heart. I think I can
promise you that its weight will be lessened when you
have told me of it."

" Alas ! " she said, " nothing can lessen my fault —
my shame."

" That is a word which I will not allow any one to speak
in connection with you," he said. "You cannot frighten
me, my dear ; I have looked into your eyes."

"I have been guilty — I am ashamed. I gave you my
promise, not because I loved you, or because I hoped to
love you, but solely because singing in public had become
so great a terror to me that I welcomed the earliest chance
that came of freeing myself. Let me take back my promise.
I am unworthy of so good a man."

" And that is your whole confession?"

" Ah ! is it not enough ? I tell you that I gave you my
promise only because I was selfish. I was ready to sacrifice
you so that I might gain my own ends."

" Ah, surely that were to pay too heavy a price for your
freedom ! " said he. " What ! you were willing to submit
to the rule of an elderly and arbitrary husband so that you
might escape from the irksome flatteries of the crowds of
discriminating people who have always delighted to do you
honour ? Do you wonder that I ask you if you do not
think that you offered too high a price for what you hoped
to gain ? "

" Oh, if you could but know what I have felt, what I still
feel about this life which I have been forced to lead, you
would pity me and perhaps forgive me for the wrong which
I offered to you ! But no one seems to understand that it
is just because I feel singing to be so great a gift, so divine
a gift, that I shrink from exercising whatever of that gift

A NEST OF UNNETS 87

has been given to me by God, only for the amusement of
people who are incapable of understanding anything of the
beauty — of the real meaning of music. Oh, I tell you,
Mr. Long, I have felt, every time I have sung for such
people, as if I were guilty of a great profanation of some-
thing that is quite holy. Indeed, I tell you the truth, and,
knowing it, I think that you will forgive me for promising to
marry you in order to escape from a life that had become
quite intolerable to me."

She had put out an appealing hand to him, speaking her
last sentence, and he took it in both his own hands, looking
tenderly into her face.

" My child," he said, " your confession reveals nothing to
me. Can you fancy for a moment that I have lived in the
world for sixty years and yet believe that I could be
attractive to a young girl full of a young girl's dreams of
the joy of life, which is the joy of love ? Some men of my
age undoubtedly are capable of cherishing such an illusion.
People refer to them as ' old fools.5 I think that within the
past two days I have noticed on many faces the expression
— a mingling of amusement and indignation — worn by the
faces of people who have just exclaimed, or who are about
to exclaim, ' Old fool ! ' Well, I may be an old fool for
trying an experiment which involves the assumption that
looking at happiness through another man's eyes is in itself
the truest form of happiness ; but however this may be, I
was not so senile as to believe that when you honoured me
by accepting my offer, you loved me with the natural love
of a young girl for a young man. You confided in me upon
one occasion when I pressed you to answer some questions
which I ventured to put to you, that it was a torture to you
to face the public, and that you were awaiting the return of
your brother from Italy, in great hope that he would be able
to persuade your father to permit your withdrawal from a
career which, however brilliant it promised to be, was more

88 A NEST OF LINNETS

than distasteful to you. I confess to you, my dear, that I
thought I saw my chance in this circumstance, and I too
awaited the return of your brother with great interest. I
knew that I had it in my power to save you from all that
you dreaded, and also to save you from all that I dreaded —
to save you from becoming the victim of some such
unscrupulous fellow as that Mathews. Well, I have great
hope that all I thought possible will be accomplished. So
far, I can assure you, I am satisfied with the progress of
events toward the end which I have always had in view —
that end being to make you happy."

" But I want to make you happy ; you are so good — so
noble."

" I know you do, my child, and I have let you into the
secret of the only way by which you can make me happy."

" Oh no, no ! you have not said a word about your own
happiness — you have talked about nothing but mine."

"Dear child, in talking about your happiness I have
talked about my own. In endeavouring to compass your
happiness I have been altogether selfish, for I have been
seeking to realise my own. Now, my sweet one, we shall
talk no more on this subject. I only ask you to remember
that my aim is to see you happy. In what direction you
may find that happiness is a question which I dare not try
to answer for you ; you will have to work out the answer
for yourself."

He stooped over her hand and raised it to her lips. But
hers lay limp in his own. She gave him the idea that she
did not quite accept this closure of their conversation.

"You have not made me understand all that I think I
should know," she said. " My mind is still vague ; you
have not even said that you forgive me for deceiving you,
for agreeing to marry you when all that I hoped for was,
not to make you happy, but to escape from the life which
I was forced to lead."

A NEST OF LINNETS 89

" I positively refuse to say another word," he cried.

11 But you forgive me — can you ? "

" I could forgive you anything, my dear, except your
persistency in the belief that you stand in need of my
forgiveness. Now we must hasten on to our destination ;
and if you see any of the modish people nudge each other
whispering, ' Old fool ! ' as we pass, you will only smile,
knowing as you now do that they are the fools and that I
am none."

She did not move from where she was standing, and a
puzzled expression was on her face— an unsatisfied ex-
pression— not, however, quite a dissatisfied one. Once or
twice her lips parted as if she were about to speak, but some
minutes had passed before she found her voice ; then she
said :

"Ido not understand more than one thing, and that is
that you are the best and noblest man who lives in the
world, and that I shall never deceive you."

" It is not in your nature to deceive any one," said he.
" Some people — they are, however, few — are so gifted by
nature."

CHAPTER IX

When Richard Sheridan hastily left Sydney Gardens on the
appearance of Long with Betsy Linley by his side, causing
thereby all the faculties of subtle discrimination and of still
more subtle deduction of at least one of the ladies of the
fascinating group to be awakened, he sought neither the
allurements of the gossip of the Pump Room nor the dis-
tractions of the scandal of the Assembly Rooms. He felt a
longing for some place where he could hide himself from the
eyes of all men — some sanctuary on an island where he
might eat his heart out, far from the crowd who take a
delight in making a mock of one who sits down to such
a banquet.

He had left his father's house after breakfast, determined
that no one whom he might meet should be able to
perceive from his demeanour anything of what he felt on
the subject of Betsy Linley's engagement to Mr. Long.
He had heard the announcement of this engagement on the
previous evening when leaving the Concert Rooms where
Betsy had sung and her brother Tom had played, and it
had come upon him with the force of a great blow — a blow
from which no recovery was possible for him. That was
why he had accepted the invitation of one of his friends to
supper, with cards to follow. For several months he had
resisted steadily the allurements of such forms of entertain-
ment, for then the reward which he held before himself for

A NEST OF LINNETS 91

his abstinence was the winning of the girl whom he had
loved since he and she had been children together. But
now that his dream was broken he felt in that cynical mood
with which the plunge is congenial. He welcomed the
opportunity of plunging. When the waters had closed
over his head, they would shut out from his sight the
odious vision which had followed his pleasant dreams of
past years.

He was the merriest, the wildest, the wittiest of the little
party of gay youths that night. His was the most gracefully
cynical of the banter which was directed against young
Halhed — a youth who had acquired quite a reputation at
Oxford as the avowed but hopeless lover of Miss Linley,
and who was now rather overdoing the part of the rejected
swain, going the length of quoting Horace and Juvenal on
the subject of the lightness of woman's love, and being
scarcely able to conceal his gratification at the distinction
conferred upon him on being made the subject of the banter
of his friends in general and of young Sheridan in particular.
Before midnight had come and the first dozen of claret had
gone, he was really not quite sure whether it conferred
greater distinction on a man to be the accepted or the
rejected lover of a young woman about whose beauty and
accomplishments every one raved. The role of the Victim
possessed several heroic elements. He was quite certain,
however, that in introducing a mildly melancholy note
regarding her heartlessness, he was conferring distinction
upon the lady.

But when Dick Sheridan had crept upstairs to his room
— somewhat unsteadily— after his bitterly merry night, he
found that the bracing effects of the plunge are temporary.
He found that though the plunge may alleviate, it is not
curative — that the momentary alleviation which it secures
has to be paid for.

He lay awake for hours, his remorse for having been so

92 A NEST OF LINNETS

weak as to lapse from the straight path which he had laic-
out for himself since he became conscious of his love for
Betsy Linley, adding to the bitterness of the reflection that
he had lost her for ever.

When he awoke after a few hours of intermittent sleep, he
had a sense of his disaster ; but with it came the resolution
that he would let no one suspect how hard hit he was by
the announcement of Betsy's engagement to marry Mr.
Long — he would not even let the girl herself suspect it. He
would smile and shrug when people referred to the matter
in his presence. He would not be such a poor, weak
creature as Halhed, who went about bleating his plaint in
every stranger's ear. He would show himself to be more
a man of the world than that.

He dressed with scrupulous care — he was not going to
affect the loose garters of the woful lover — and sauntered
out, swinging his cane with the ease and nonchalance of the
man of fashion ; and he flattered himself that the sharp and
rapid repartee in which he indulged when he joined the
group in the gardens, would be sufficient to convince even
Garrick himself that he regarded the engagement of Miss
Linley with complete indifference. The moment, however,
that the girl appeared with Mr. Long at the entrance, he felt
unable to sustain the role any longer : he felt that he must
run away and hide himself in some secret corner where he
could see no one and where no one could see him. He had
not counted upon facing the girl so soon — he had not counted
upon witnessing the chastened pride of her successful lover
in the presence of the unsuccessful. He knew that he
could not continue acting the part which he had assumed :
he knew that he should break down and be shamed for
evermore.

He hurried away without once glancing round, and his
first impression was that he must weep. He only bore up
against this appalling impulse until he reached his home.

A NEST OF UNNETS 93

He entered the house whistling, and shouted out a line or
two of a merry song when on the stairs ; but before the
echo of his voice had died away, he was lying on his bed
in tears.

He felt that his part in the world had come to an end —
that for him no future but one of misery was possible. The
hope which had sustained him in the face of his struggles to
make a name for himself had turned to despair. She was
not to be his. She was to go to another. She had elected
to go to a man who, he believed, with all a true lover's sus-
picion of another's merits, was incapable of appreciating her
beauty — her beautiful nature — her lovely soul.

He was overwhelmed by the thought of the bare pos-
sibility of a thing so monstrous being sanctioned by Provi-
dence. He despaired of the future of a world in which it
was possible for so monstrous a thing to occur. It was no
world for worthy lovers to live in — so much was perfectly
clear to him. He felt himself to be a worthy lover, for had
he not resisted temptations innumerable, during the years
that he had loved Betsy, only for her sake ?

He had felt upon every occasion of resisting a temptation
that he was increasing his balance, so to speak, in his
banking account with Fate — paying another instalment, as
it were, toward acquiring Betsy Linley. He had worked
for her as Jacob had worked for Rachel, but Fate had
turned out to him as unjust as Laban had been — nay,
more unjust, for he had not even a Leah given to him to
console him ; and, besides, his Rachel was bestowed upon
another.

How could he be otherwise than hopeless of a world so
ill-governed as to allow of such a gross injustice taking
place ?

The possible joys of the many temptations which he had
resisted appealed to his imagination. So one thinks what
one could have done with the sums with which one's banker

94 A NEST OF LINNETS

has absconded ; and the result was to increase his bitterness.
But perhaps what poor Dick felt most bitterly of all was his
inability to sustain the dignified role of a cynical man of the
world with which he had started the day. The reflection
that he had completely broken down the moment that the
girl appeared even in the distance, and that he had given
way to his disappointment just as if he were nothing more
than a schoolboy, was a miserable one. He wept at the
thought of his own weeping, and beat his pillow wildly in
vexation ; and an hour had passed before he was able to
control himself.

He sprang from the bed with a derisive cry of " What a
fool I am ! — a worse fool than Halhed ! Good heavens !
A girl ! — she is nothing but a girl ; and where's the girl
who is worth such self-abasement ? I am a man, and I'll
show myself to be a man, even though she elect to marry
every dolt in Bath ! "

He felt that if she had appeared in the lobby outside
his door at that moment, he would not break down. He
would be able to smile upon her as Mr. Walpole was
accustomed to smile when saying something very wicked
and satirical. He knew that he was quite as witty and a
good deal readier than Horace Walpole ; but even if he
lacked something of the polish which Walpole — sitting up
all the night for the purpose — was able to give to a phrase,
he believed that he could still say enough to let Betsy
Linley learn what sort of a man he was. He would let
her see that he was a man of the world looking on with
a tolerant, half-amused smile and quite a disinterested
manner at such incidents of life as marrying and giving
in marriage. Oh, the cynical things that could be said
about marriage ! Some such things had, of course, already
been said by the wits, but they had not nearly exhausted
the subject. It would be left for him to show Miss Linley
how supremely ridiculous was the notion of two people

A NEST OF LINNETS 95

believing — or rather pretending to believe — that they could
find satisfaction only in each other's society !

Oh, the notion of marriage was utterly ridiculous ! What
was it like ? Was it not the last refuge of the unimaginative ?
Or should he suggest that marriage was the pasteboard
fagade of a palace of fools?

Oh yes, he felt quite equal to the task of saying a
number of witty things on the subject of marriage in
general j but when he came to think of all that might be
said on the subject of a young woman's agreeing to marry
an old man, he felt actually embarrassed by the wealth
of cynical phrases which lent themselves to a definition of
such an incident.

He kept pacing his room, becoming more cynical every
moment, until he had almost recovered his self-respect, and
had forgotten that singular lapse of his from the course
which he had marked out for himself in the morning —
that lapse into the tears of true feeling from his elaborate
scheme of simulated indifference — when the dinner-bell
sounded.

He cursed the clanging of the thing. He was in no
humour for joining the family circle : he knew that his
sisters would delight in discussing the topic of the hour,
and as for his brother . . .

Then it occurred to him that, seeing he would have to
face his relations some time, he would excite their suspicion
less were he to meet them at once. He now believed himself
to be quite equal to sustaining the role of the indifferent
man of fashion in the presence of his relations, though he
had ignominiously failed to realise his ideal after a certain
point earlier in the day.

He dipped his face in a basin of water to remove every
trace of his weakness — the poor fellow actually believed
that tears were an indication of weakness — and he was
surprised to find how easily the marks were obliterated.

96 A NEST OF UNNETS

He was comforted by the reflection that his tears had been
very superficial; they were not even skin deep, — so that
he had not, after all, been so foolish as he fancied —
he had been unjust to himself. He only needed a fresh
ruffle to give a finishing touch to his freshness.

He descended to the dining-room lazily, and entered
languidly. He found that the other members of the family
had not been polite enough to wait for him for the two
minutes he had taken to complete his toilet. They were
deep in their leg of mutton, and the younger Miss Sheridan
was calling for another dish of potatoes. The big wooden
bowl which, Irish fashion, lay upon a silver ring, was still
steaming, but it was empty.

" Bless my soul ! " he exclaimed, entering the room, " I
had no notion that I was late. Upon my life, I meant
only to have a doze of ten minutes, but I must have slept
for half an hour."

He yawned, and then stood before a mirror for a few
moments, twitching his front into shape.

" You came in pretty late last night," said his elder sister,
cutting another wedge from the already gaping wound in
the leg of mutton before her.

" Nay, sweet sister, you are wrong," he said with a laugh.
" Nay, 'twas not late last night, but early this morning I
returned to my home. Prithee, sister, is't outside the
bounds of possibility for you to provide us with a change
of fare now and again? Mutton is doubtless wholesome,
and occasionally it is even succulent, but after the fourth
day of mutton, the most tolerant palate "

"Have you heard that Betsy Linley is to marry old
Mr. Long ? " cried the girl with the air of one making an
effective retort.

He was about to indicate to her his complete self-
possession by inquiring what bearing Miss Linley and
Mr. Long had upon the question of the advisability of

A NEST OF LINNETS 97

substituting veal for mutton now and again, but he was
clever enough to perceive that his attitude would become con-
vincing were he to appear less nonchalant ; so after only an
interval of a few seconds, he dropped his fork, crying :

"What ! what do you say? Betsy Linley and Mr. Long?
Oh, lud ! "

Then he threw himself back in his chair and roared with
laughter. He was amazed to find how easily he was able
to laugh heartily — nay, how greatly he was eased by his
outburst of hearty laughter. He felt that he was playing
his part very well, and so indeed he was.

" Oh, lud ! Oh, lud ! " he managed to ejaculate between
his paroxysms of mirth. " Oh, lud ! ' Crabbed age and
youth ! ' Has not Mr. Linley set the lyric to music ? If
not, he must lose no time in doing so, and Betsy will sing
it at all the concerts. I foresee another triumph for her.
He is sixty-five if he is a day — I'll swear it. But are you
sure that there is truth in the rumour ? How many names
have not been associated with Miss Linley's during the last
two years ? Were not people rude enough to mention
Mathews's name with hers six months ago ? "

11 Tis more than mere rumour this time," said his sister.
" I wonder that you did not hear all about the matter last
night. Every one was talking of it in the Rooms."

" Ah, you see, I was hurried off to that supper, confound
it ! and, as you remarked, I did not get up in time for the
Pump Room gossip," said he glibly. " Ah, I should have
gone to the Pump Room, if only for the sake of studying
the effect of this disastrous news upon the beaux ! 'Twill
be a blow to some of our friends — to some ; but we need
not travel beyond the limits of the Sheridan family to
become acquainted with the effects of that blow." He
pointed a finger toward his brother Charles, who indeed
was looking very glum over his mutton. "Oh, my dear
brother, you have my profound sympathy in your affliction.

7

98 A NEST OF LINNETS

But, prithee, be cheered, my Charles ; do not let those
doleful dumps get hold of you at this time.

1 Shall I, wasting with despair,
Sigh because a woman's fair?'

Surely not, sir. This is not our way, in these days — these
unromantic days.

1 If she be not fair to me
What care I how fair she be?
With a hey, nonny, nonny ! ' "

"Do not tease him, Dick," said Alicia. "Poor Charlie!"

" Poor Charlie ! " cried Dick. " Nay, I never meant to
go so far as to call him ' Poor Charlie ! ' You have a
strange notion of what constitutes sympathy, my dear, if
you fancy that our brother's wound is softened by his being
called ' Poor Charlie ! ' The cruel shepherdess did not
send you any softening message, Strephon ? "

"She sent me no message," said Charles.

" Then she was less unkind than she might have been,"
said Dick. " The woman who sends a kind message to
the lover whom she has discarded is as cruel as the Red
Indian would be were he to scalp his victim and then
offer him as a solace a box of Canada Balsam for the
healing of the wound. Oh no, dear Charles, Miss Linley
is not all unkind."

" Do you know, Dick, that once or twice I received the
impression that 'twas you yourself, and not Charles, that
Betsy favoured?" said Elizabeth.

" What ! I— I ? Oh, my dear, you flatter me at the
expense of my elder brother," laughed Dick. " Moreover,
you cast an aspersion on the taste, the discrimination, and
the prudence of the young lady. Dear sisters, take the
advice of your brother, who knows this world and its
weaknesses, and when it comes to your turn to choose

A NEST OF UNNETS 99

husbands, marry nice elderly gentlemen with large fortunes,
as your friend Miss Linley is doing. Marriage should be
regarded simply as an unavoidable preliminary to a brilliant
widowhood. And let me assure you, Eliza, your widowhood
will not be long averted if you provide your husband with
mutton as tough as that which you set before your brothers
four days out of the seven."

CHAPTER X

Dick Sheridan felt it to be a great relief to him to turn
a laugh against his brother in regard to the sudden step
taken by Miss Linley, which seemed to have disconcerted
not only Charles, but half the population of Bath as well.
Dick could not bear to be suspected of entertaining hopes
on his own account as to Elizabeth Linley ; he possessed a
certain amount of vanity — the vanity of a young man who
is the son of an extremely vain old man, and who, though
gifted — or cursed — with a certain wit in conversation, is
still rather uncertain about his future. It was this vanity
which had caused him to keep as a profound secret his
attachment to Betsy : he could not have endured the
humiliation of taking a place among the rejected suitors, and
he had not so much vanity as made him unable to perceive
that there was always a possibility of his loving in vain.

He felt that, as his secret had hitherto escaped suspicion
— and he fancied that it had done so — he could best keep
it concealed by laughing at the men who, like his friend
Halhed and his brother Charles, had worn their heart upon
their sleeve. The man who is ready to laugh is not the
man who is ready to love, most people think ; and, being
aware of this, he made himself ready to laugh. Before
the evening had come, he had so many opportunities of
laughing that he felt sure, if he were to meet Betsy and
her elderly lover, he would be able to laugh in their faces.

A NEST OF LINNETS 101

He could not understand how it was that he had been so
overcome in the morning by an emotion which was certainly
not one of laughter, when he had seen Betsy in the distance.

It was really extraordinary how many young men showed
their desire to confide in him in the course of the afternoon.
Some were even anxious to read to him the verses which
they had composed in celebration of their rejection by Miss
L-nl-y; and this showed him how well he had kept his
secret. His brother, who seemed, in spite of Dick's want
of sympathy, to take a very lenient view of Dick's attitude
toward him, was actually the first to approach him after
dinner with the story of his sufferings, and with an attempt
to enshrine the deepest of them in a pastoral poem which
took the form of a dialogue between one Corydon and his
friend Damon, on the subject of the ill-treatment of both
of them by the shepherdess Phyllis, who, they both frankly
admitted, was as charming a vocalist as she was a beautiful
nymph, and who dwelt on the banks of a stream, to which
all the country were in the habit of flocking on account of
its healing properties.

Charles inquired if his brother did not think that the
allusions to the vocalism of the young shepherdess and the
incident of her living in the neighbourhood of a medicinal
spring were rather apt; and Dick, taking the matter
very seriously now, had no hesitation in expressing the
opinion that no unprejudiced critic could fail to perceive
from these data that the poet meant to refer to Miss Linley
and to Bath. He was not sure, however, that Miss Linley
would, on reading the verses, be stung to the quick. Dick
did not think that as a rule young women were deeply
affected by classical allusions, however apt they might be.
But undoubtedly the verses were well intentioned, and quite
equal in merit to many that appeared in the Advertiser.

Poor Charles was forced to be content with such com-
mendation. To be sure, he took rather a higher view of

io2 A NEST OF UNNETS

the poem himself, and he said that young Halhed had
declared that some of the lines were quite equal to any that
Pope had written, and that Mr. Greville had assured him
that if he had not known that he, Charles, had composed
the poem, he would unhesitatingly have accepted it as the
work of Dryden. Still, he was much gratified by Dick's
opinion that it was on an intellectual level with the material
which appeared in the Poet's Corner of the Advertiser. He
rather thought that he would go away for a while to the
country. Did not Dick think that the situation of the
moment necessitated his retirement from the frivolities of
Bath for a month or two ?

After due consideration Dick replied that perhaps on the
whole a month or two in the country would do his brother
some good; though, to be ,sure, if he were missed from
Bath, some people might be found ready to say that he
was overcome by the blow of his rejection by Miss Linley.
Charles's eyes gleamed at the prospect of being thus singled
out for distinction ; and Dick knew why they were gleam-
ing. He knew that his brother would certainly hurry away
to the seclusion of the country before it would be too late —
before people would cease talking of Miss Linley and the
desolation that her cruelty had wrought. He knew that
Charles would feel that, if people failed to associate the
incident of his withdrawal from Bath with the announce-
ment of the choice of Miss Linley, he might as well remain
at his home.

"I shall go, Dick — I feel that I must go," murmured
Charles. "Let people say what they will, I must go. I
have no doubt that tongues will wag when it is known that
I have gone. I would not make the attempt to conceal the
fact that I have gone, and I hope that you will never stoop
to pander with the truth in this matter, Richard."

" If you insist on my telling the truth, of course I shall
do so ; but I see no reason why I should depart from an

A NEST OF UNNETS 103

ordinary and reasonable course of prevarication," said Dick,
with a shrug.

" Not for the world ! " cried Charles anxiously. " No,
brother j the truth must be told. I lay it upon you to tell
the truth."

" 'Twill be a strain at first," said Dick doubtfully —
musingly, as if balancing a point of great nicety in his
mind. " Still, one should be ready to make some sacrifice
for one's brother : one should be ready at his bidding to
make a departure even from a long-cherished habit. Yes,
Charles, I love you so well that I'll e'en tell the truth at
your bidding."

" God bless you, Dick — God bless you ! " said Charles
with real tears in his eyes and a tremolo note in his voice
as he turned away. He never could understand his
brother's humour.

"Hasten and pack your bag, and get off at once, or
people will cease to be suspicious, and disbelieve me when
I tell them the true story of your wrongs," said Dick. " It
would be very discouraging to me to find that my deviation
into the truth is not credited. You can send your poem to
the Advertiser from the country ; mind that you append to
it the name of your place of concealment."

Charles lagged. He seemed a little taken aback.

" The verses would lose half their value unless they were
dated from some place of concealment," Dick insisted.

"I perceive now that that is so," said Charles. "But,
unhappily, it did not occur to me when I sent the verses
to the editor an hour ago."

"What! you have sent them already?" cried Dick.
"Oh, dear brother, you need no instruction from me as
to the acting of the rdle of the complete lover. I will see
that your grief receives the most respectful attention in your
absence. Let that thought make you happy. It will be
my study to see that you are referred to in the highest

104 A NEST OF LINNETS

circles as the unhappy swain. By the way, would you wish
it to be understood that you are Damon, or do you prefer
to be associated with the sentiments of Corydon ? "

" I have not fully considered that question," said Charles
seriously.

"What ! Ah, well, perhaps it would be unreasonable to
expect you to make up your mind in a hurry. But since
both the shepherds express the sentiment of their grief
with commendable unanimity, you cannot be prejudiced by
being associated with either."

Charles went away very thoughtfully.

For the remainder of the afternoon Dick found himself
advanced to the position of confidant in relation to several
other young men, and at least two elderly gentlemen. He
was amazed to find how closely the tale poured into his
sympathetic ear by every one of the young men resembled
that confided to him by his brother. And there was not
one of them who had not made some attempt to embody
his sentiment in a pastoral poem. All the poems were
alike in their artificiality. He felt that he was hearing, not
six different poems read once over, but one indifferent
poem read six times over.

The elderly discarded swains who confided in him had
also endeavoured to express their views of their treatment
on paper. One had written a Pindaric ode on the subject,
the other, who had a vivid recollection of the earliest essays
in the Rambler, had written an imaginary epistle in the
approved Johnsonian manner, beginning: "Sir, if no spec-
tacle is more pleasing to a person of sensibility than an
artless maiden dissembling her love by a blush of inno-
cence, none is more offensive than that of the practised
coquette making the attempt to lure into her toils an un-
suspecting swain. Among the antient writers few passages
are more memorable than the one in which, in sublime

A NEST OF LINNETS 105

language, Homer describes the effect of the song of the
Sirens upon Ulysses. If the right exercise of the gift
of song be deserving of approval, assuredly its employ-
ments a lure to the adventurous is a fitting subject for
reprobation."

The elderly gentleman, who was endeavouring to show to
young Mr. Sheridan how closely Miss Linley resembled one
of the Sirens, did not find a sympathetic listener.

"If Ulysses did not want to be made a fool of, why the
deuce did he shape his course within earshot of the Sirens ? "
said Dick. "I don't suppose that they wanted him par-
ticularly, and the Mediterranean was broad enough for him
to give them a wide birth."

" What, sir ! Would you presume to teach Homer how
to deal with his hero ? " cried the interrupted author.

" I don't care a fig for Homer ! You need not have paid
your half-guinea, and then you would not have been made
a fool of by Miss Linley's singing," said Dick.

" She has made no fool of me, sir," said the other tartly.
" She did not presume so far, Mr. Sheridan."

" I suppose it would have been an act of presumption on
her part to try to supplement Nature's handiwork," said
Dick, with a smile so enigmatical that the gentleman was
left wondering if he meant to pay him a compliment or the
reverse.

Dick went away wondering also — wondering if he alone
loved Betsy Linley in very truth. The artificiality of all the
professed lovers was contemptible in his eyes. Was it
possible, he asked himself, that not one of these men, young
or old, loved her sufficiently to be able to conceal his
affection within his own breast ? There they were, writing
their artificial verses and still more artificial essays — looking
about for some one to make a confidant of in respect of the
secret that each should have locked up in his own bosom !
Truly a paltry set of lovers were these ! Rhyme-hunters,

106 A NEST OF LINNETS

phrase-hunters, conceit-hunters, and nothing more. He,
and he only, loved Betsy.

Had he carried his secrecy too far in that he had not
confided, even in her ? he wondered. But had he kept his
love a secret from her ? Alas ! he felt that although he
had never told her of his love, she was well aware of its
existence.

And yet she had promised to marry Mr. Long.

He began to feel very bitterly about her — about Mr. Long
— about womankind and mankind generally. He endea-
voured as he entered the Assembly Rooms, to recall some of
the bitter things which had occurred to him earlier in the
day on the subject of the institution of marriage. He would
show people that he could be quite as cynical as any of the
Walpole set when it came to a definition of marriage.

But before he had drawn much consolation from such a
reflection, he heard behind him the most musical laugh that
ever suggested to an imaginative young man a moonlight
effect upon a brook that rippled through a glen. It was a
laugh that had rippled through England and made all the
land joyous — it was the laugh of the beautiful Mrs. Abington :
and for a century it has rippled forth from the canvases of
Sir Joshua Reynolds, who painted her as Miss Prue and
Roxalana.

Dick turned about and faced the charming creature, who,
in the midst of a sunlit cloud of iridescent satin brocade, an
embroidered mist of lace swirling about the bodice, stood
there in the most graceful of attitudes, her head poised like
the head of a coquettish bird that turns a single eye upon
one, raising her closed fan in her right hand to the dimple
on her chin, the first two fingers of her left supporting the
other elbow.

" Heavens ! what a ravishing picture ! Is Mr. Gains-
borough in the Rooms ? " cried young Mr. Sheridan in an
outburst of admiration. He forgot all the bitter things he

A NKST OF LINNETS 107

had on his mind. He forgot the grudge that he owed to
the world : the world that included so joyous a creature as
Mrs. Abington could not be in a wholly deplorable
condition. This is what Mr. Sheridan thought at that
particular moment, and that is what all England thought
from time to time, when the same lady exercised her
fascination over her audiences through the medium of a
character in some new comedy. No heart could be heavy
for long when Mrs. Abington was on the stage.

"Ah, sir," said she, "you are, I perceive, like the rest of
your sex : you confound the effect of a new gown with that
of an attractive face. You mix up a woman with her dress
until you don't know which is which. Mr. Gainsborough
knows the difference. Ask him to paint me. ' I will hang
her brocade on a wig-stand and that will be enough for
most critics,' he will answer. They say that the Duchess of
Devonshire has induced him to paint her hat, and to eke
out what little space remains on the canvas with her grace's
brocade. Oh, Mr. Gainsborough is the only man who
knows the woman from her dress ! "

" Madam," said Dick, who had been whetting his wits all
the time she had been speaking, "madam, when I look at
Mrs. Abington it is revealed to me that a beautiful woman
is a poem ; her dress is merely the music to which the poem
is set."

She did not sink in a courtesy at the compliment ; most
women would have done so, therefore Mrs. Abington
refrained. She only gave an extra tilt of an inch or
thereabouts to her stately head, and allowed her fan to
droop forward until it was pointing with an expression of
exquisite roguishness at the young man's face.

"'Tis a pretty conceit, i' faith, Dick," said she, "and its
greatest charm lies in its adaptability to so many women.
A song ! quite true : we have both seen women who were
the merest doggerel ; and as for the music — oh, lud ! I

108 A NEST OF LINNETS

have seen women dress so that it would need a whole
orchestra to do them justice. For my own part, I aim no
higher than the compass of a harpsichord ; and I hold that
one whose garments suggest a band is unfit for a private
room. Music ! I have seen women apparelled in a
flourish of trumpets, and others diaphanously draped in
the thin tones of a flute."

" 'Twas a happy conceit that crossed my mind, since it has
opened a vein of such wit," said Dick. "But pray, my
dear madam, tell us how it is that Bath is blest."

" Bath blest ! Tis the first I heard of it."

" Since Mrs. Abington has come hither. How is it
possible that you have been able to forsake Mr. Colman and
Covent Garden ! "

" Mr. Colman is a curmudgeon, and Covent Garden is —
not so far removed from Drury Lane."

" That means that you are not in any of the pieces this
week ? "

" Nan Cattley has it all her own way just now. All that
she needs to make her truly happy and to make Mr. Colman
a bankrupt is to get rid of Mrs. Bulkley."

"All Bath will rise up and thank her, since she has
enabled Mrs. Abington to come hither. ' Bath knows when
it is blest."

" Then Bath is blest indeed — more than all mankind.
Was it not Pope who wrote, ' Man never is but always to be
blest'?"

M I do believe that it was Pope who said it. Your voice
sets a bald line to music."

" Lud ! Mr. Sheridan, your thoughts are running on
music to-day. Why is that, prithee? Is't possible that
since Miss Linley has given up music and has taken to
marriage — a state from which music is perpetually absent —
you feel that 'tis laid on you as a duty to keep people
informed of the fact that there is music still in the world,

A NEST OF UNNETS 109

even though Miss Linley no longer sings? But perhaps
you believe exactly the opposite ? "

"Just the opposite, madam?"

" Yes. Do you believe that there is no music in the world
now that Miss Linley has promised to marry Mr. Long ? "

He felt that his time had come ; he would show her that
he could be as cynical fas the best of them — he meant the
worst of them, only he did not know it.

" Ah ! my dear lady, you and I know well that the
young woman who gives up singing in favour of marriage
exchanges melody for matrimony."

11 Subtle," said the lady, with a critical closing of her eyes.
" Too subtle for the general ear. 'Tis a kind of claret wit,
this of yours ; claret is not the beverage of the herd — they
prefer rum. Melody on the one side and matrimony on
t'other."

" Madam, I am not talking to the crowd ; on the contrary,
I am addressing Mrs. Abington," said young Mr. Sheridan,
bowing with the true Angelo air. Mr. Angelo's pupils were
everywhere known by the spirit of their bows.

The beautiful lady did not respond except by a smile;
but then most people with ability enough to discriminate
would have acknowledged that a smile from Mrs. Abington
expressed much more than the lowest courtesy from the
next most beautiful woman could ever express; and they
would have been right. She smiled gently, looking at him
with languorous eyes for a few moments, and then the
expression on her face changed somewhat as she said
slowly :

11 What a pity 'tis that you still love her, Dick ! "

CHAPTER XI

The roseate hue that fled over the face of young Mr.
Sheridan, when the lady had spoken, was scarcely that
which would have tinted the features of the hardened man
of the world which s he had felt himself to be — for some
hours. But all the same, it was vastly becoming to the face
at which the lady was looking ; and that is just what the
lady herself thought. She would have given worlds to have
been unworldly enough to be able to blush so innocently as
Dick Sheridan. But she knew that the peculiarity of the
blush of innocence is its innocence, whereas she was the
favourite actress of the day.

She kept her eyes fixed upon him, and that boyish blush
remained fixed upon his face. He was not self-possessed
enough to look at her; but even if he had been so, he
would not have been able to see the jealousy which her
smile indifferently concealed.

"I protest, madam," he began. " I protest that I scarce
understand the force of your remark — your suggestion "

"Ah, my poor Dick, 'tis not alone a lady that doth
protest too much," said the play -actress. " What force do
you fancy any protest coming from you would have while
the eloquent blood in your cheeks insists on telling the
truth ? The eloquence of the blush, unlike most forms of
eloquence, is always truthful. Come along with me to one
of the quiet corners, — I dare swear that you know them all,

A NEST OF LINNETS in

you young rascal, in spite of that blush of yours ; come
along, and you shall get me a glass of ice."

She gave him her hand with a laugh, and he led her to a
nook of shrubs and festooned roses at the farther end of the
Long Room. The Rooms were beginning to receive the
usual fashionable crowd, and the word had gone round that
Mrs. Abington was present, so that she tripped along between
bowing figures in velvet and lace and three-cocked hats
brushing the floor. She saw that her companion was proud
of his position by her side, and she knew that he had every
reason to be so ; she hoped that he would remain proud of
her. The man who is proud of being by the side of one
woman cannot continue thinking only of the other woman.

And all the time Dick Sheridan was hoping that the
people who saw him conducting the beautiful lady to that
pleasant place which, like all really pleasant places, held
seats only for two, would say that he was a gay young dog,
and look on him with envious eyes.

It was, however, of the lady that people talked.

But then, people were always talking of Mrs. Abington —
especially the people who never talked to her.

She was wise enough to refrain from ignoring the topic
which had caused him to blush.

" What a whim to take possession of such a young woman
as Miss Linley ! " she cried. " Have you tried to account
for it, Dick ? Of course I was in jest when I suggested that
she had smitten you. 'Twas your elder brother who was
her victim, was it not ? "

He was strong enough, though he himself thought it a
sign of weakness, to say at once :

" 'Twas Charlie who fancied that he was in love with her;
but 'twas I, alas ! who loved her."

Mrs. Abington's lips parted under the influence of her
surprise. She stared at him for some moments, and then
she said :

ii2 A NEST OF LINNETS

" Dick Sheridan, you are a man ; and a few minutes ago
I thought that you were only a boy."

" I have known her since my father brought me from
Harrow to Bath," said he mournfully. "She was only a
child ; but I know that I loved her then. I have loved her
ever since, God help me ! "

" My poor Dick ! and you told her of your love ? "

" Once ; we were both children. Then we were separated,
and when we met again everything was changed. I think it
was her beauty that frightened me."

" I can believe that. A girl's beauty brings many men
to her feet ; but I am sure that those who are worthiest
among men are too greatly overcome by it to do more than
remain her worshipper from afar. Have you anything more
to tell me ? "

He shook his head. His eyes were fixed upon the floor.

" Ah, that is your history — a blank, my lord ! a blank ? "
said she in the pathetic tone of Viola. " Ah, Dick, she
cannot have guessed your secret, or she would have been
content to wait until the time came for you to reveal it to
her."

" Pray do not torture me by suggesting what might have
come about !" he cried. " Psha ! I have actually come to
be one of her commonplace swains — her Damons and her
Corydons — at whom I have been laughing all day."

"Laughing?"

" Well, yes, in a sort of way."

"Oh, I know that sort of laughter. Tis not pleasant to
hear."

" Such a batch of commonplace lovers. They went about
in search of a confidant. And I find that I am as common-
place as any of the crew."

" Nay, friend Dick ; 'twas your confidante who went in
search of you. I tell you, Dick, that when I heard two days
ago that your Elizabeth Linley had made up her mind to

A NEST OF IvINNKTS 113

marry Mr. Long, I gave Mr. Colman notice that I would
not play during the rest of the week, and I posted down
here to do my best to comfort you, my poor boy ! Oh,
do not stare so at me, Dick ! I am as great a fool
as any woman can be, and that is saying much ; and I
would not have confessed this to you if you had not
been manly enough to tell me that you love her still.
I can only respond to your manliness, Dick, by my
womanliness; but I have done it now, and yet you are
only bewildered."

" I am bewildered indeed," said Dick, and he spoke the
truth. "I do not quite understand what — that is, I do not
quite understand you."

"Oh, do you fancy that I expected you to understand
me when I do not understand myself ? " she cried, opening
and closing her fan nervously half a dozen times, and then
giving the most scrupulous attention to the design painted
on the satin between the ivory ribs. " Ah, what a fool a
really wise woman — a woman of worldly wisdom — can be
when her turns comes, Dick ! " she said, after a rather
lengthy pause.

Dick was more bewildered than ever. His knowledge of
women was never very profound. He was slightly afraid
of this enigma enwrapped — but not too laboriously — in
brocade and misty lace.

" I think that you are a very kind woman, Mrs.
Abington," said he at last. "'Twas very kind of you to
come here solely because — because — well, solely out of the
goodness of your own heart ; and if you call this being a
fool "

He was startled by her outburst of laughter — really merry,
spontaneous actress's laughter ; it almost amounted to a
paroxysm as she lay back on the pretty gilded sofa in the
most charming attitude of self-abandonment. Joyous humour
danced in her eyes — and tears as well; and once again she

8

ii4 A NEST OF LINNETS

had closed her fan and was pointing it at him quite
roguishly. And the tears that had been in her eyes dropped
down upon the roseate expanse of her bosom, and two
others took the place in her eyes of those that had fallen,
and her bosom was tremulous.

He looked at her, and was more bewildered than ever.
What did this mingling of laughter and tears and mocking
gestures and throbbing pulses mean ? Was the woman in
earnest ? Was the actress acting ?

He felt himself as bewildered as he could imagine a man
being whose boat is suddenly capsized when sailing in
what he fancies to be smooth water, but finds to be a
whirlpool.

He somehow had lost confidence in his own power of
judgment. He was forced to apply to her for an explana-
tion of her attitude. But before he had opened his lips,
that whirlpool of a woman was spinning him round on
another course.

" My dear friend Dick," she said — her voice had acquired
something of the uncertainty of her bosom : there was a
throb in it — a throb that had something of the quality of
a sob, — "oh, my dear Dick, I find that I must be very
plain with you, and so I tell you plainly, Dick, that the
sole reason I have in coming hither at this time is my
regard for your future."

" For my future ? I cannot see "

" Ah, there are a great many things that you cannot see,
Dick — thank God, thank God ! Your future, dear sir, is
what troubles me. Well, I frankly allow that my own
ambition in this life does not extend beyond the play-
house. I am an actress, that is my life ; I do not want
to be accounted anything else by man or woman — only
an actress. And I have in my mind something of a
comedy which you are to write. Have you not confided
to me your hopes of some day writing a comedy — not

A NEST OF LINNETS 115

that burletta stuff about Jupiter and the rest of them at
which you have been working, but a true comedy ? Mr.
Garrick says he knows you have far more talent than
Mr. Cumberland."

"Mr. Garrick is not extravagant in his eulogy," said
Dick, becoming interested.

" No, he does not go too far. At any rate, I believe in
your powers, Dick, if they are but allowed scope, and I
have posted hither with the idea I have formed of the
comedy which you are to write for me without delay.
What say you to the notion of a young woman marrying
an old man ? Oh, no ! you need not start and frown,
Dick, for 'tis not your charmer and her elderly choice
that I have in my mind, though I allow that 'twas the
hearing of them put the thing into my head. No, a
young woman, who has lived all her life in the country —
she is very pretty (of course I am to play the part) ;
marries an elderly gentleman (Shuter would play the
husband), and forthwith launches out into all the extrava-
gances of town life, to the terrible dismay of the old
gentleman. 'Twill give you a fine opportunity of
laughing at him for an old fool, who finds out that he
is married to a young wife, but not sooner than she
finds out that she is married to an old husband. Dick,
Dick, you don't laugh. Is it possible that you fail to
catch the idea of the comedy?"

" Oh, no ! I catch the idea. I wonder what sort of a
life they will have ? Only Betsy will never want to come
to town. All that she seeks is to be left in the solitude of
the country."

" Who was talking of your Betsy ? " cried the future
Lady Teazle. " And who is there that can say with any
measure of certainty what a young woman will be after she
has married ? Cannot you perceive that this must be the
moral of the comedy? The young woman who appears

n6 A NEST OF LINNETS

to her elderly beau to be quite content with the joys of
country life, and to entertain no longing for any dissipation
more extravagant than a game of Pope Joan with the
curate, becomes, when once she has secured her husband,
the leader of the wildest set about town, and perhaps
eventually allows herself to be led away by a plausible

scoundrel " Dick sprang from his seat with clenched

hands, and before a second had elapsed Mrs. Abington was
by his side, and her fingers were grasping her famso tightly
that the ivory ribs crackled.

" You cannot get Betsy Linley out of your head, although
she is no longer for you," she said in a low voice. " You
are living in a fool's paradise, and are delighted to live
there, although some woman may be at your hand who
loves you better than you have ever hoped to be loved
by Betsy Linley, and who would repay your love better
than your dreams of Betsy Linley ever suggested to you.
Take care, sir, that in the story of Miss Linley's future,
the plausible scoundrel does not enter with more disastrous
effect that ever I intended him to play in my little comedy !
That is my warning to you, friend Dick. And now, tell me
who is that pretty fellow that is staring at us yonder? I
swear that I have rarely seen a prettier ! "

Some moments had passed before Dick Sheridan had
recovered himself sufficiently to answer her. He glanced
in the direction indicated by her, and saw that Tom
Linley was standing a little way off.

"Tis Tom Linley," said Dick.

" One of the brothers ? "

" The eldest. You have puzzled me, Mrs. Abington. I
should like to know just what you meant when "

" And I should like to know that young gentleman.
If you do not beckon him hither and present him to
me, I shall apply to Mr. Hale to perform that friendly
office for me."

Dick sprang from his seat with clenched hands.

[page 1 1 6.

A NEST OF LINNETS 117

11 1 must know what you meant by introducing the idea
of a comedy "

"And I insist on your introducing young Mr. Linley.
What, sir ! are you fearful lest that pretty youth may
become, under my tuition, a fitting subject for another
serious comedy ? No, no ; no further word will you get
from me. I have said far too much already. Go home,
Dick, and try to recall something of all the nonsense that I
talked in your hearing, and if you succeed, believe me, you
will know more of woman and a woman's comedy than you
have acquired during all your life."

"Am I to believe "

" You are to believe nothing except the sincerity of my
desire to see you the foremost dramatic writer of our time.
To become a true writer of comedy needs discipline as well
as a knowledge of the world, Dick, and discipline is some-
times galling, my friend. But I have hope of you, Dick
Sheridan, and that is why I mean to leave you alone just
now and seek out that young Mr. Linley, who is, I vow, a
vastly pretty fellow and as like his beautiful sister as Apollo
was like Psyche."

She kissed the tips of her closed fan and made a motion
as if she were about to hasten to where Tom Linley was
still standing ; but Dick laid his hand on her arm.

H You have puzzled me thoroughly," said he. " But you
shall have your new toy. He will be discipline enough for
you, for Tom has long ago buried his heart in his violin."

CHAPTER XII

Tom frowned when Dick suggested to him — in a delicate
way, so that he should not be frightened — that the beautiful
Mrs. Abington was greatly interested in him and had
been gracious enough to give Dick permission to present
him to her. Tom frowned. It was not that he placed
a fictitious value upon himself; it was only that he could
not be brought to take an interest in anything outside
his art. Talking to a woman, however beautiful she
might be, he regarded as a waste of time, unless she
talked to him of his art, or, better still, listened to him
while he talked of it.

" I came hither only to hear Mr. Bach's playing on the
forte-piano," he said. " I think he is over sanguine of the
effects that new instrument can produce, though I allow
that he can do more with it than would be possible with the
harpsichord. Its tones are certainly richer."

" Rich as they are, they are not to be compared to the
tones of Mrs. Abington's voice," said Dick, taking him by
the arm.

11 Will she distract me, do you fancy ? I do not like
women who interfere with my enjoyment of the music,"
said the musician. " Most women are a great distraction."

" So it is rumoured," said Dick. "But Mrs. Abington

Oh, you confounded coxcomb ! there is not a man in

the Rooms who would not feel himself transported to the

118

A NEST OF IylNNHTS 119

seventh heaven at the prospect of five minutes' conversation
with this lady. Come along, sir, and do not shame me and
your own family by behaving like an insensible bear who
will only dance to music."

Tom suffered himself to be led to the lady.

She had watched with an amused smile the attitude of
protest on the part of the good-looking young man. She
was greatly amused; but in the course of her life she
had had occasion to study the very young man, and she
rather fancied that she had acquired some knowledge of
him and his ways. He was an interesting study. She
had found Dick Sheridan extremely interesting even during
the previous half hour — though she had not begun her
course of lessons with him. As a matter of fact, he
had been in the nursery when she had begun to take
her lessons.

She would have been greatly surprised if young Linley
had acquiesced with any degree of eagerness in the sugges-
tion made to him by Dick, and she did not feel in the least
hurt to notice his frown and his general air of protest. She
had once watched from the window of her cottage on the
Edgeware Road the breaking-in of a spirited young colt.
She had admired his protests ; but before the day was done,
the horse-breaker had put the bit in his mouth and was
trotting him quietly round the field.

She had done something in the way of breaking in colts
in her time, and they had all begun by protesting.

" I saw that you were a musician the instant you appeared,
Mr. Linley," she said. " I know that you are devoted to
your art. Ah, sir, yours is an art worthy of the devotion
of a lifetime. Is there any art besides music, Mr. Linley ?
I sometimes feel that there is none."

The large eyes of the young man glowed.

"There is none, madam," he said definitely.

His air of finality amused her greatly.

120 A NEST OF LINNETS

" I feel pleased that you agree with me," she said. " I
have no patience with such people as one meets at times
— men who are ever ready to decry the art which they
themselves practise. I have known painters complain
bitterly that Heaven had not made them poets, and I
have known poets cry out against the fate that had not
created them wits. Here is our friend Mr. Sheridan,
who is both a poet and a wit, and yet he is ready to
complain that Heaven has not made him a successful lover
as well."

Young Mr. Sheridan cast upon the lady a reproachful
glance, and went off with a bow.

Mrs. Abington made room for Tom on her sofa. She
sent him an invitation from her eyes. It was a small sofa ;
but he was entirely free from self-consciousness, and there-
fore he did not know what it was to be shy. He seated
himself by her side. A fold of her brocade flowed over his
feet. This did not embarrass him in the least.

He waited for her to talk. It did not occur to him that
he should make the attempt to be agreeable to her.

" 'Twas a pretty conceit that of Mr. Sheridan's," said
she musingly. " But I am convinced that 'tis true. He
said that you had buried your heart into your violin,
Mr. Linley. Yes, I am sure that that is the truth ; for
were it otherwise how could the people who have heard
you play declare, as some have done to me, that when
you play 'tis as if you were drawing your bow across your
heart-strings ? "

" You have heard people say that ? " he cried, leaning
forward in eagerness ; he had allowed the sofa to support
his shoulders up to this point. " You have met some who
heard me play ? But I have only returned from Italy a few
days. I have only played once in Bath."

" You can only be upheld when you play in public by
the thought that in every audience there are some persons

A NKST OF LINNETS 121

— few though they may be, still they are there — who are
capable of appreciating your playing — who are capable of
receiving the impressions which you seek to transfer to
them."

He looked at her with wide eyes, surprise, admiration, in
his gaze.

" I never begin to play without such a thought," he cried.
" That, as you say, is the thought that upholds me, that
uplifts me, that supports me. I had it first from my dear
Maestro. He used to urge us daily, ' Play your best at
all times ; even though you fancy you are alone 1 in the
room, be assured that the true musician can never be alone.
Who can tell what an audience the spirit world gives to
him? He must remember that his playing is not merely
a distraction for the crowd in the concert-room, it is an
act of devotion — an act of worship.' That is what the
Maestro said, and every day I recall his words."

" They are words which no true artist should forget," said
she. "The sentiment which they convey should be the
foundation of every art. We cannot all build cathedrals
to the glory of God, but it is in the power of every true
artist to raise a shrine — perhaps it is only a humble one of
lath and plaster, but it is still a sacred place if one puts
one's heart into it. That reflection is a dear consolation to
me, Mr. Linley, when I reflect sometimes that I am only
an actress."

The boy was delighted. His face glowed. His heart
burned.

"Dear madam," he cried, "do not depreciate your
calling. Why, I have heard even great musicians say that
the most one could do in a lifetime was to add a single
note to the great symphony which Nature sings in adoration
of the Creator."

" Then I was unduly ambitious when I talked of a shrine,"
said she. " And I am, I repeat, only an actress. Such as

122 A NKST OF IjNNETS

I can only utter a feeble pipe — the trill of a robin. Tis you
musicians whose works sound in the ears of all ages. Time
calls aloud to time through you, until the world is girt about
with a circle of glorious melody, and men live rejoicing
within its clasp. Ah, sir, what am I, to talk of shrine-
building ? What am I in the presence of a great musician ?
Shrines ? Oh, I can only think of Handel as a builder of
cathedrals. Every oratorio that he composed seems to me
comparable only to a great cathedral — glorious within and
without, massive in its structure, and here and there a spire
tapering up to the heaven itself, and yet with countless
columns made beautiful with the finest carving. Ah, Mr.
Linley, if the music of Messiah were to be frozen before our
eyes, would it not stand before us in the form of St.
Paul's ?"

" I am overwhelmed by the grandeur of the thought," said
he ; and indeed he spoke the truth. His eyes had grown
larger and more lustrous than ever while she had been
speaking, and he could scarcely articulate for emotion. So
highly strung was his temperament that the force of a
striking poetic image affected him as it did few men. He
had, as it were, reduced all the possibilities of life to a
musical scale, and his thoughts swept over him as a bow
sweeps over the strings of an instrument until all are set
quivering.

" A cathedral ! " he murmured — " a cathedral ! "
She could see that those eyes of his were looking at such
a fabric as she had suggested. He was gazing in admiration
from pillar to dome, and from the dome to the blue heaven
above all. She had never before come in contact with so
emotional a nature — with so sensitive a soul. She knew
that what Dick Sheridan said was true : Tom Linley had
hidden his heart in his violin, and every breeze that touched
the strings caused his heart to vibrate in unison with the
music they made. She had only spoken to him on the

A NKST OF LINNETS 123

subject of music, and already his face was glowing — his heart
was quivering.

Some minutes had gone by before he was able to ask
her :

" When did you conceive that wonderful thought — the
oratorio — the cathedral ? Ah, Handel spent his life build-
ing cathedrals ! "

"It was when I had heard your sister sing in the
greatest of all the master's works," she replied. "Could
any one hear Miss Linley sing ' I know that my Redeemer
liveth,' and remain unmoved ? Ah, what a gift is hers ! I
am certain that she is as sensible as you are of the precious
heritage that is hers."

" Alas ! " he cried, " she has flung it away from her. She
has no thought of her responsibility. Nay, she is ready to
sacrifice herself so that she may never be asked to sing
again."

" Is't possible ? Good heavens ! you cannot mean that
'tis her intention to sing no more after she is married ? "

" That is why she is marrying Mr. Long — to be saved
from the necessity of singing in public ; those were her
words — ' to be saved/ Just think of it ! Oh, she can never
have had any true love for music ! "

" You think not ? But perhaps she has given all her love
to Mr. Long."

" She confessed to me — at least, she as good as confessed
to me — that she intended marrying Mr. Long only because
he had promised that she should not be asked to sing in
public any more."

" She cannot care for this elderly lover of hers. Has she
tried to make you believe that she does ? "

" She professes to be grateful to him for releasing her
from her bondage : those were her words also — ' released
from her bondage.' She has always thought of her singing
in public as a cruel bondage."

124 A NEST OF LINNETS

" Heavens ! But why — why ? "

" I protest I cannot understand her. She is nervous — I
think that she must be strangely nervous. She spends all
the day in tears when she is to sing in the evening, and she
is like to faint when she walks on the platform. And my
sister Polly, who shares her room, told me that on returning
from singing, Betsy has wept half the night under the
influence of the thought that there were some people who
remained untouched by her singing."

" Singular ! Good heavens ! where would we be if we
all had the same share of sensibility ? What, does she
think that the plaudits of her audiences are not loud enough
or long enough ? "

"She is utterly indifferent to applause. Indeed, she
acknowledged to me that she was better satisfied when she
was coldly received than when she succeeded in arousing
people to a frenzy of delight, because then 'twas her hope
that the managers would not be so anxious to engage her
again. Oh, Betsy is my despair."

" I can quite believe it. But you talked to her — reasoned
with her ? "

" Oh yes ; I tried to make her feel as I do — that
nothing in the world is worth a moment's thought save
only music."

"But even that argument did not prevail with her? Did
she not confide in you that she thought something else
worth living for? Young girls have their fancies, as you
may have heard — oh yes, their fancies and their loves. Has
she been so foolish as to give her heart to any one, do you
think?"

" She is going to marry Mr. Long."

" Oh yes, but I was not talking on the subject of marriage ;
on the contrary, I was speaking on the topic of love. She
has had many suitors. Do you fancy that she may love one
of them ? "

A NEST OF LINNETS 125

He gave a shrug and smiled.

" She has had no lack of suitors, but I don't think that she
set her heart on marrying any of them."

" Not even the poorest of them ? "

He looked at her enquiringly.

" Do you know anything of her suitors ? " he asked. " I
have been in Italy for some years, and so came in contact
with none of them."

" You did not put any question to her on the subject on
your return ? "

Once again he lapsed into the habit of shrugging, which
he had acquired abroad.

" My dear madam," said he, " I was not sufficiently
interested in the matter to put any question to her touching
so indifferent a topic. But now that I come to think of it,
I fancy she did say something to me about love being —

being — being something that deserved Let me see,

was it the word ' attention ' that she employed ? No, con-
sideration ; I believe that was the word. Yes, she said that
she had considered the question of love."

" And with what result, sir ? I protest that you interest
me greatly," said Mrs. Abington. And indeed she had now
become quite interested in this boy with the large eyes so
full of varying expression.

" Alas ! madam, this is the point at which my treacherous
memory fails me," said he, after a little pause.

" Ah, is not that a pity, seeing that the point was one that
promised to be of interest ? " said Mrs. Abington.

" I am afraid that I was not interested, madam," said he.
" If she had come to me with the result of her consideration
of Mozart's additional instrumental parts to Messiah I feel

sure that I would remember every word ; but I wonder

what view you take of the instrumental parts introduced by
Mozart, Mrs. Abington ? I should like to have your opinion
on this subject."

126 A NEST OF LINNETS

" And I should like to have your opinion on the subject
of love, Mr. Linley," said she in a slow voice, and letting
her languorous eyes rest for a second or two on his — for a
second or two — no longer. She recollected the horse-
breaker ; he did not force the bit into the mouth of his colt
all at once. He allowed the little animal to put his nose
down to the steel gradually. He did not frighten him by
flashing it in his face.

" I told Betsy what I thought about love," said he. " I
told her that, while I did not assert that the sentiment of
love had been brought into existence solely to give a
musician an opportunity for illustrating it, still it formed an
excellent subject for a musician to illustrate."

" Indeed, you think well of love, Mr. Linley. Your
views interest me amazingly. I should like to hear further
of them. Love lends itself readily to the art of the
musician ? Yes, I should like to have this point further
explained to me. I wonder if you chance to have by you
any musical pieces by which you could demonstrate your
theory."

" Oh, there is no lack of such works, I assure you."

" And I take it for granted that the only instrument that
adequately interprets them is the violin. The violin is
surely the lover's choice in an orchestra ! "

" It is the only instrument that has a soul, madam.
Other instruments may have a heart : only the violin has a
soul."

" That is what I have felt — all my life — all my life ; but
until now my feeling was never put into words. Oh, it
would be so good of you if you would play at your next
concert some of the music that illustrates your theory. I
wish to learn from you — indeed I do."

" I do not play in public for another week."

She gave an exclamation of impatience and then one of
regret.

A NEST OF LINNETS 127

" 'Tis too tiresome ! I shall be back in London within
the next day or two, and we may never meet again."

Her long lashes were resting on her cheeks as she looked
down at the tip of one of her dainty shoes. He looked at
her, and his artistic appreciation compelled him to acknow-
ledge that he had never before seen such marvellously long
lashes.

He followed the direction of her eyes, and his artistic
feeling — he had begun to feel — assured him that he had
never seen a daintier foot.

" Why should it be impossible for us ever to meet again ? "
he asked.

" Ah ! why — why, indeed ? " she cried. " It has just
occurred to me that if you had half an hour to spare
to-morrow, you might not grudge sharing it with an old
woman whose interest you have aroused on a question of
art. You shall bring your violin with you and demonstrate
to me your theory that love is particularly susceptible of
being illustrated through the medium of music. Oh, 'tis
wholly a question of art — that is why I am so interested in
its solution."

" Why, madam, nothing could give me greater pleasure ! "
he cried. " I shall go to you after dinner, and I promise
you that I shall convince you."

" You may have a hard task, sir. I give you warning
that on any question of art I am obstinate."

" Then my victory will be all the greater. Should I
bring with me also a sonata illustrating the approach
of autumn — 'tis by a German composer of some dis-
tinction ? "

" The approach of autumn ? " said she. " Ah, I think
we would do well to defer the consideration of the chills
as long as possible. We will content ourselves with the
approach of love, for the time being."

" Perhaps you are right," he said.

128 A NEST OF UNNETS

" The second house from the street in the Grand Parade
is where I am lodging," said she. " You will not be later
than four o'clock, unless you choose to come very much
later and share my humble supper?" she added.

But the boy said he thought that it would be wiser for
him to go while the daylight lasted.

And perhaps he was right.

CHAPTER XIII

It was not within the bounds of possibility that the
fascinating Mrs. Abington should remain for the rest of
the evening seated by the side of young Mr. Linley in the
Assembly Rooms. It was, as a matter of fact, thought
very remarkable that she and he were permitted to
have so long a conversation without interruption. This
circumstance, however, did not prevent the young man's
resenting deeply the intrusion of Mr. Walpole and his
friend Gilly Williams upon the artistic and philosophical
duologue in which he was taking, as he fancied, the
prominent part. (He did not doubt that philosophy as
well as art formed the subject of his discourse with the
charming lady.)

He thought that he might tire out Mr. Walpole and his
friend, who had the bad taste to push themselves forward —
they did not even think it necessary to have philosophy and
art as their excuse — to the destruction of that seclusion
which he had no trouble in perceiving the lady loved dearly.
He found, however, that Mr. Walpole and Mr. Williams
represented merely a beginning of the obtrusive elements
of the mixed society at Bath ; for before they had got rid
of more than a few brilliant phrases embodying some neatly
turned but empty compliments — he was convinced that
Mrs. Abington, the actress, was just the sort of woman
to detest compliments — quite a number of men, well

129 9

130 A NEST OF IjNNETS

known in the world of art as well as of fashion (to say
nothing of philosophy), were bowing before her and
delivering themselves of further compliments in the ears
of the lady.

There was Mr. George Selwyn, for instance, who had
some cofTee-house jargon for her ; its delivery necessitated
his putting his face very close to her ear, and when she
heard it, she gave a delightful simulation of a lady who is
shocked — Tom actually believed that she was shocked.
And then that awkward little Dr. Goldsmith, who, strange
to say, was a great friend of Lord Clare and Bishop Percy
and Captain Horneck of the Guards, and others of the
most fastidious people in England — people who had it in
their power to pick and choose their associates — came up
with some witticism so delicately tinged with irony that
no one laughed for several seconds. Dr. Goldsmith had
to tell her that he had received a letter from Mr. Colman
in which he had promised to put his new comedy in
rehearsal immediately.

" That is good news for you, doctor," said the actress.
" For me ? Nay, madam, 'tis not of myself I am
thinking, but of you; for the comedy contains a part —
Kate Hardcastle is the name of the heroine — which will
make you famous. Oh yes, indeed, 'tis entirely on your
account I am gratified."

" Sir, poor Goldsmith is vainer even than I believed him
to be," Tom Linley heard the foolish little Scotchman, who
followed Dr. Johnson about in Bath as well as London,
say to the huge man of letters ; and Tom thought that he
was fully justified in making such a remark. He was,
therefore, all the more surprised to hear Johnson say, after
giving himself a roll or two :

" Sir, Dr. Goldsmith may at times have been deserving
of reproof, not to say reprobation, but it would be
impossible for him to go so far as to make your remark

A NEST OF LINNETS 131

justifiable. It is not for such as you to say * poor
Goldsmith!'"

Then quite a number of other notable people sauntered
up, so that Mrs. Abington became the centre of the
most distinguished group in the Long Room, and Tom,
who did not see his way to protect her from these incon-
siderate obtruders, felt that he would not be acting properly
were he tacitly to countenance their attitude; so with a
bow he stalked away. What dull-witted wits were these,
who were too dense to perceive that the lady's most earnest
desire was to be permitted to remain unobserved !

He hastened to his home and spent the remainder of the
night practising over such musical selections as would tend,
he hoped, to dissipate the philosophical doubts which
Mrs. Abington appeared to have in regard to the relations
existing between music and the sentiment of love.

Dick Sheridan did not leave the Assembly Rooms quite
so soon. He had boldly entered the place in order to get
over the meeting with Betsy Linley. He had felt sure that
she would come to the Rooms this evening ; for it appeared
to him that Mr. Long was anxious to parade his prize —
that was the phrase which was in Dick's mind — before the
eyes of the many suitors whom she had discarded in his
favour. Dick felt that he, for one, would not shrink from
meeting her in a public place now ; it was necessary for him
to make up for his shortcoming in the morning.

But while she remained away, he was conscious of the
fact that Mrs. Abington had given him something to think
about. How was it possible that she knew that he loved
Betsy Linley ? he wondered ; and what did she mean by
suggesting that she had come down to Bath to say some-
thing that should console him for having lost Betsy ? What
sudden friendship was this which she professed for him ?
Why should she have assumed, unasked, the part of his
sympathiser? He had been frequently in her company

132 A NEST OF LINNETS

during the previous year, both in Bath and London ; for
she had taken lessons in elocution from his father, and
had naturally become intimate with the Sheridan family.
Besides, she had more than once helped to drag his father
from the brink of bankruptcy in Dublin, and lent the
prestige of her presence in some of his seasons at that very
fickle city ; and for these favours Mr. Sheridan had been
truly grateful, and had ordered his family to receive her at
all times as their good angel.

Dick remembered how his father had dwelt upon the
phrase, " our good angel," and he was thus led to wonder
if it was her anxiety to act consistently with this role that
had caused her to post to Bath without a moment's
delay in order that she might offer him consolation in
respect of Betsy.

He began to feel that he had not adequately expressed
his gratitude to her for all the trouble which she had taken
on his behalf — for the thoughtfulness which she had dis-
played in regard to him. He felt that she had not been
merely acting a part in this matter. Whatever he may have
suspected on this point at first, he could not doubt the
sincerity of the note that sounded through that confession
of hers — she had called it a confession, and she had called
herself a fool. He did not know much about women, but
he knew that when a woman calls herself a fool in earnest,
she is very much in earnest.

But why should she have called herself a fool ?
This was the question which had bewildered him before,
and when it recurred to him now, it produced the same
effect upon him.

The more he tried to recall her words the more satisfied
he became that there was a good deal in the attitude of
Mrs. Abington that he had not yet mastered.

He turned and looked up the room to where she was
sitting. She was not looking in his direction. Her eyes

A NEST OF IvINNETS 133

were fixed upon the face of Tom Linley, and she was
listening with the most earnest attention to what Tom
was saying. She really seemed to be completely absorbed
in Tom.

For a few minutes Dick felt jealous of the other youth.
Why should this lovely creature, who confessed that she had
come from London solely to say a word of comfort in his
(Dick's) ear, become in a moment so deeply absorbed in
Tom Linley, who had no aspiration in the world except to
improve himself as a performer on the violin ?

In spite of that sudden twinge — it could scarcely be
called a pang — of jealousy which he felt while watching
Mrs. Abington giving all her attention to Tom Linley, his
bewilderment did not disperse. But to do him justice, he
had already ceased to think of her as a kind woman, and
this was one step — though he did not know it — toward his
discovery of the truth.

He did not get a chance to give further consideration to
the question of the lady's motives at that time, for his friend
Halhed waylaid him with a lugubrious face and a smile of
infinite sickliness.

" You observe, Dick ? " he said, nodding significantly.

" I observe much — a good deal more than I can under-
stand," said Dick. " But what do you observe — that I am
observing ? "

"What? Oh, you must notice it — everybody must
notice it. I dare swear that remarks are being made about
it in every part of the Rooms," said Halhed.

Dick frowned.

" Do you mean Mrs. Abington ? " he asked. " Why, man,
'tis only her fancy to give some slight attention to Tom
Linley. She is an actress, and she may be about to act the
part of a boy. They are all wild to do boys' parts. My
father tells me that it was Mrs. Woffington who set the
fashion more than twenty years ago."

i34 A NEST OF LINNETS

" Mrs. Abington ! Who cares the toss of a penny what
freaks Mrs. Abington may indulge in ? " sneered Mr.
Halhed.

"No one, except fifty or sixty thousand playgoers in
London," said Dick. " But pray, what is on your mind,
Nat? Who is there present apart from her that calls for
observation ? "

" You are not so acute as I believed you to be, Dick, or
you would know that 'tis not of any one present people are
talking. You should have noticed that Miss Linley is
absent, and that every one is saying that she is ashamed to
face me. She has reason for it, Dick. Do you not allow
that she treated me badly ? Oh, you must allow so much ;
she treated me cruelly, for I give you my word, Dick, that I
never offended her even by a look. I was not one of those
presumptuous fools who made love to her. No word of
love did I ever breathe in her hearing. Do you fancy that
I am not speaking the truth, sir ? "

" I do not doubt it, Nat — indeed I do not doubt it."

"Give me your hand, Dick; you are my friend. That is
why I am perfectly frank with you now, as I have always
been. I was ever silent in her presence, and I believed
that she respected my silence ; she must have known that
I was ready to lay my heart at her feet, I was so silent. Ah,
she is afraid to face me. She stays away."

"Nat, my friend, if you ask me for my opinion," said
Dick, " I will tell you without hesitation that if you saw
there was great reason to maintain silence in the presence of
Miss Linley, the attitude is even more becoming in her
absence. Come, sir, be a man. Think that there's as good
fish in the sea as ever came out of it. Good heavens,
man ! am I doomed to listen to the plaint of every foolish
swain who believes that he has been aggrieved by Miss
Linley? I tell you plainly, Nat, you must find another
confidant. What ! Have you no self-respect ? Do you

A NEST OF LINNETS 135

think it is to your credit to go about, like a doctor at a
funeral, advertising your own failures? Oh, I have no
patience with fellows like you who have no backbone. And
so good-evening to you, sir."

He turned about, leaving the young man overwhelmed
with amazement, for Dick had always shown himself to be
most sympathetic — a man to encourage confidences.

Strolling to another part of the Rooms, he felt himself
tapped on the shoulder. Looking round, he saw that he
was beside a certain Mr. Bousfield — a young gentleman of
property who had been paying great attention to Miss
Linley.

"You see, she is not here — she has not the courage to
come face to face with me," said young Mr. Bousfield.

Dick looked at him from head to foot, and then with an
exclamation ran for the nearest door, and made his way
home without glancing to right or left, lest he should be
confronted by some other men seeking to pour their
grievances into his ear. He thought that he had exhausted
the tale of the rejected lovers, but it seemed that when he
had routed the main body, a company of the reserves had
come up, and he did not know what strategy they might
employ to force themselves upon him. He felt relieved
when he found himself safe at home.

But to say the truth, he was greatly disappointed at not
meeting Betsy face to face, when he felt sure of himself —
when he felt sure that he would be able to offer her his
congratulations without faltering. He had prepared himself
for that meeting ; and now he had begun to lose confidence
in his self-possession, having had a proof of his weakness in
the presence of Mrs. Abington. It was not satisfactory for
him to reflect upon the ease with which that lady had
extorted from him his confession that he was miserable
because Betsy had promised to marry another man.
Although he had begun talking to her in the same spirit

136 A NEST OF LINNETS

that he had meant to adopt in regard to Betsy, yet she had
only to utter a single sentence, suggesting that she knew his
secret, and forthwith he had broken down, and, by confiding
in her, had put himself on a level with the full band of
plaintive suitors who had gone about boring him with the
story of their disaster.

To be sure, Mrs. Abington had professed to stand in
need of no confession from him. She had — if she was to
be believed — posted down to Bath the moment she had
heard that Betsy had given her promise to Mr. Long, in
order to tell Dick that she sympathised with him.

And if Mrs. Abington, living in London, was aware of his
secret, might it not be possible that it was known to
numbers of people living in Bath, who had far more
frequent opportunities than could possibly be available to
her to become aware of the truth ?

This question caused him a sleepless hour after he had
gone to bed. He could not endure the thought of being
pointed at — of being whispered at by busy bodies as one of
the rejected suitors. His vanity recoiled from the thought of
the bare possibility of his being relegated to so ignoble a
position. He made up his mind to go to Mrs. Abington
the next day and beg of her to keep his secret.

But, strangely enough, he became conscious of a curious
reluctance — it seemed a curious instinct of reluctance — to
go to Mrs. Abington. The truth was that what she had
said to him when talking unreservedly and sincerely had
somewhat frightened him. He had not quite understood
what she meant when she had reproached herself for being
a fool, and it was because he did not understand her that
he was — in a measure — afraid of her. The young animal is
invariably afraid of what it does not understand. To do so
is an elementary impulse of instinct. That is why a dog is
cowed when it sees a ghost; ghosts are unusual — very
unusual ; and that is why men who have not gone through

A NEST OF IvINNBTS 137

a course of astronomy are terrified at the appearance of
a comet.

And the more that Dick Sheridan tried to arrive at an
understanding of what the fascinating actress had said to
him, the more frightened he became. She had spoken with
convincing sincerity. That was just where the element of
the unusual appeared, giving rise to his fears.

And then there was that little twinge — was it of jealousy ?
— which he had felt on looking up the Room and seeing
her lavishing her attention upon Tom Linley.

He resolved that for the present, at any rate, he would
not go near Mrs. Abington.

But when was he to meet Betsy face to face ?

CHAPTER XIV

It was not until he had dined the next day that the thought
suddenly came to him :

" Why should not I solve in the simplest way the problem
of meeting Betsy Linley, by seeking such a meeting myself?
Why should not I go to her at her father's house on the
chance of finding her there ? "

He wondered how it was that it had not occurred to him
long ago to take such a step. Surely, since his aim was to
show her and the rest of the world how little he was
touched by the news of her having promised to marry
Mr. Long, no more effective step than £his could be taken
by him !

Of course her father would be in the room when he
should meet her — certainly Mr. Long would be there;
perhaps Tom would be scraping away at his violin, and
Polly would be squalling — that was the word which was in
his mind when he thought of the likelihood of Mary Linley's
being engaged in practising some of her songs in the music-
room — Polly would be squalling at the top of her voice.
But any one, or all, of these incidents would only tend to
make him more at home — more at ease when meeting Betsy
for the first time under the changed conditions of her life.
The Linleys' house in Pierrepont Street would not seem
like the same place to him if Polly's voice were not ringing
through it — if the children were not making a noise on the

138

A NEST OF LINNETS 139

stairs— if Mrs. Linley was not bustling about with a kitchen
apron on, or, in the moments of her leisure, with her
knitting-needles clicking over half a yard of worsted hose.
Yes, he felt that he would be quite at his ease under the
usual conditions of the Linleys' house ; and that was why
he took no pains to dress himself for the visit. With an
instinct of what was dramatically appropriate — he never
lost this instinct — he put on the old coat which he had
been accustomed to wear when he had enjoyed what
Mr. Linley called the " freedom of the Guild of Linley."
That would show Betsy and the rest of them — though it
didn't matter about the rest of them — that, whoever had
changed, he was still the same.

He got his first surprise when the door was opened for
him by Mrs. Linley. She had on her working-apron, and
her hands were not free from a suspicion of flour. She
beamed on Dick and wiped one of her hands on her apron
to greet him.

" Come within, Dick," she cried. " Come within, man ;
though there's no one at home but Betsy and me. These
are busy days with us, Dick, and this is the first quiet hour
we have had since Tom returned from Italy. Of course
you have heard the news — all Bath is talking of it, and I
shouldn't wonder if it had gone as far as the Wells ! Tis
great news, to be sure ; but it means a deal of extra house-
work, and more pastry. The children are all gone to
Monsieur Badier's assembly. The boys are taking part in
the minuet, and Polly is to sing for the company between
the dances. Mr. Linley and Mr. Long are at Lawyer Stott's.
These settlements are always a trouble, though I will say
that Mr. Long is more than liberal in his views. Poor
Betsy ! What will the house be without her, Dick ? You
will find her in the music-room. She sings every day now,
but not real singing — only for her own pleasure. There
she goes. Oh lud ! why am I standing talking like this

i4o A NEST OF UNNETS

when I should be turning my tartlets in the oven ? Sniff,
Dick, sniff! You have a fine nose. Do you smell the
smell of burning paste, or is it only a bit over-crisp?"

Dick sniffed.

" I wouldn't be too sure of those tartlets, madam," said
he. " But I don't believe there is more than a brown sniff
coming from the oven."

" Oh lud ! if you can sniff the brown, you may swear
that the paste is black j you must make allowance for the
distance the smell has to travel. Go upstairs; you'll be
able to track her by the sound."

The good woman was already at the farther end of the
passage to her kitchen before Dick had begun to mount the
stairs.

The sound of Betsy's singing went through the house.
The song was one of Dr. Arne's, which he had always loved.
But had he ever loved the voice till now ?

This was his thought while he stood outside the door
of the music-room waiting for the song to come to an
end.

It seemed to him that her singing of that song had the
magical power of bringing before his eyes every day in the
past that he had spent near her. The day when he first
saw her she had sung that very song. It was at one of
the entertainments given by his father in Bath, and he had
just left Harrow. Every phrase of that song which now
came from her lips renewed his boyish impressions of the
girl, her beauty and the witchery of her voice. He could
see himself standing before her, silent and shy, when she
had come later in the day to have supper at his father's
house. He had been silent and shy, but she had been
quite self-possessed. It was upon that occasion that Mr.
Burke referred to the Linley family as a Nest of Linnets.

Dick remembered how he had wondered why it was that
he himself had not said that about the Linleys : why should

A NEST OF UNNETS 141

it be left to Mr. Burke to say it when it was exactly what
was in his own mind ?

He had loved her then. He recollected how he had
struggled hard all the next day to write a poem about her —
a song that her father might perhaps set to music to be
sung by Betsy herself.

And then . . . and then . . . and then. . . .

The ghosts of the sweet past days flitted before him
while the sound of that song enveloped him, and every
spectral day shone white and bright in his memory. For a
time he failed to realise that they were merely shadows
flitting across his memory. They seemed to him full of
life — a heart beating in every one of them. Alas ! it was
only his own heart that throbbed with those sweet recollec-
tions ; for when the song faded away and closed in silence,
he felt that he was alone. The beautiful creature of those
old days had passed away from him and had left him lonely.
He had awakened from a dream.

He felt such a sadness come over him that he could not
open the door that separated them. He turned silently
away, and was about to go down the stairs, when suddenly
the door opened and the girl took a step into the lobby.
She started, and gave an exclamation of surprise.

" What ! is't you, Dick ? " she cried. " Why, how was it
that I failed to hear you come ? How is it that you are
going down the stairs?"

His self-possession had fled at the moment of her
appearance. He faltered out. something.

" You were singing, that was how you did not hear me
come ; and then — then— well, I thought that — that maybe
I should disturb you by entering. Yes, you were singing."

" Oh, Dick ! " she said, and there was a note of reproach
in her voice.

She turned and walked back into the room. He followed
her.

142 A NEST OF LINNETS

" I knew you would come, Dick," she cried, giving him
both her hands. " Oh, I knew that you were not one who
would stay away ! I looked for you all yesterday, and I
waited within the house all this morning. But you have
come now, Dick, and I am glad — you know that I am glad
to see you. Were we not always friends — the very best
friends that could be, Dick?"

"Yes, I have come, dear Betsy," he said. " I have come
to wish you — to wish you happiness ; indeed, I wish you all
happiness — with all my heart — with all my heart and soul,
dear Betsy."

He saw her white figure before him through the mist of
the tears that sprung to his eyes. And at that moment
there was really no desire in his heart but that she should
be entirely happy. Every selfish wish — every sense of
disappointment — every sense of wounded vanity — every
sense of self had dissolved in that mist of tears that came to
his eyes, but did not fall.

She was looking into his face, but she did not see that
there were tears in his eyes. Her own tears had sprung,
and they did not remain in her eyes; they were running
down her face.

She could not speak. She could only hold his hands,
and all the time she was making a pitiful attempt to smile,
only he could not see this.

They stood there silently for a long time. At last he felt
her hold upon his hands slacken. Still, there was a sudden-
ness in her act of letting them drop finally. With a sound
like that of a little sob, she turned away from him and stood
before one of the windows looking out upon the street.

He did not say a word. What word was there for him
to say ? He had no thought of the clever, cynical things
he had meant to say to her on the subject of marriage. He
did not at that moment even remember that it had been
his intention to say such words to her, so that he did not

A NEST OF LINNETS 143

loathe himself until he had gone home and remembered
what his intentions had been the previous day.

He stood silent in the middle of the room. Quite a
long space of time had elapsed before she turned to him,
and now he could see the smile that was upon her face.

" I knew you would come to see me, Dick," she said ; " for
I know that there is no one in the world who would be
gladder to see me happy than you, Dick. And you— you
will be happy too — you will give me a chance some day of
seeing you happy, will you not? It would make me so
happy, Dick."

He shook his head — that was his first impulse; but
immediately afterwards he said :

"Oh yes; why should not I be happy — one day, Betsy?
Oh, don't take any thought for me, dear ; I dare say that

I shall be able to — to What is it that makes people

happy, Betsy ? Is it love — is it loving — is it being loved ? "

" Oh, Dick, there are surely plenty of things in the world
besides love ! " said she.

" There are, but none of them is worth working for," said
he. " There is fame ; you have that — you have enjoyed it
for years "

"Enjoyed it? Enjoyed Ah, Dick, I have promised

to marry Mr. Long in order to escape from it. Now you
know why I have given him my promise. It is because I
cannot live the life that is imposed on me — because I feel
that if I were to continue leading this life I must one day
throw myself into the Avon, seeking for rest. I hate the
fame which has put my name into the mouth of every one.
Oh, Dick, if you could know how all these years my heart has
been singing that one anthem, ' Oh for the wings of a dove —
the wings of a dove, to fly away and be at rest ! ' I have
heard the boys in the Abbey sing it, but they did not know
what the words meant. I know what they mean, and my
heart has been singing them all these years. My soul has

i44 A NEST OF LINNETS

been so filled with that longing that there has been no
room in it for any other thought — any other aspiration.
You can understand me, Dick — I know that you can under-
stand me. My father cannot. He loses patience with me ;
and Tom, from whom I hoped so much, he is worse than
my father. He has no thought in life apart from his violin,
and he is happy only when people are applauding him."

"And Mr. Long — does he understand you?" asked Dick.

" Oh yes — yes ; I feel that he does," said the girl. " Mr.
Long is so good — so kind — so considerate."

" Oh yes ; and you are still ready to do him the injustice
of marrying him ? " said Dick.

Her face flushed. She looked at him without speaking
a word for some moments, then she turned away from him
and faced the window, out of which she had been looking
pensively.

He caught one of her hands from behind.

"Forgive me, dear Betsy, forgive me !" he cried passion-
ately. "Oh, my Betsy, I did not come here to add to
the burden which you have to bear; I did not mean to
reproach you ; only — you know — you know what is in my
heart, dear — what has been in my heart all these years ! I
did not speak. What would have been the good of telling
you ? You knew it ; you knew all that was in my heart ! "

"I knew — I knew," she said, and every word sounded
like a sob.

He was still holding her hand, but she had not turned
to him. He was behind her.

" And I knew that you knew, and that gave me hope,"

he said. " I had hopes that one day — some day ■ Oh,

why did my father treat me as he did ? Why did he take
me from school and bring me here to spend my life in
idleness ? He would not consent to my learning anything
that would be of use to me, that would have enabled me
to earn bread for myself. Why could not he have given

A NEST OF LINNETS 145

me at least a chance of doing something — the chances that
other boys are given ? "

He had flung her hand away from him and had gone
passionately to the farther end of the room, his hands
clenched.

" What was the good of my hoping — dreaming— longing?"
he continued, speaking across the room. " It seemed that
every one was to have a chance except myself. But still,
that did not prevent my loving you, Betsy — loving you as
none of the more fortunate ones could love you. It was
the one solace left to me, and you knew it ; you knew that
I loved you always j you knew "

" Oh, Dick, Dick, do not be cruel ! " she cried. " Let me
implore of you. Oh, Dick, let us be to each other to-day
as we used to be long ago when we were children together.
You remember how frank we used to be to each other,
telling each other everything? How could we be other-
wise? We had not learned any language but that of
frankness. Dear Dick, I know what was in your heart.
You hoped, and I, too, hoped and hoped, until my life
became unendurable. . . . Ah, can you blame me because
when my chance of freedom came I accepted it? I
promised to marry Mr. Long ; but listen to me, Dick :
I give you my word that if you tell me that I was wrong
I will go to him and take back my promise."

He turned to her, and his hands instinctively clasped
themselves.

" Oh, Betsy — my Betsy ! " he cried ; and then he was
silent.

There was a long pause before she said, in a low but
firm voice :

"Tell me what I am to do, Dick, and I will do it. I
have given you my word."

" Oh, my beloved ! " he said. His hands were clasped.
He was gazing at her standing there before him in all the

10

146 A NEST OF LINNETS

pathos of her beauty. He knew that if he were to speak
the word to her she would keep her promise to him, and
the word was trembling on his lips. The temptation to
speak it — to bring her back to him — almost overcame him.
He looked at her — he faltered — then, with a cry, he put up
his hands to his face, shutting her out from his sight, and
flung himself into a chair with his head bent and his hands
still upon his face.

" God help me ! God help me ! " he cried through his
tears.

"And me too, Dick; God help me!" she said. "Oh,
I knew that I could trust you, my Dick ! I knew that you
were noble — that you were equal to that act of self-sacrifice :
a greater act of self-sacrifice than mine. You will not say the
word ; I knew that you would not say it."

She was kneeling beside his chair, and she had put an
arm across his shoulders — it was almost round his neck.

Still he sat there with his face down upon his hands.

" Dear Dick, the noblest life is that which is made up of
self-sacrifice," said she. " Yours is the strong and the

noble life. But mine Oh, I feel that if I were strong

I would be able to submit to my fate without murmuring.
I would not seek to free myself from the life which I have
led — the life which I abhor. But I am weak — I know it —
I own it, and I feel that I cannot endure it any longer.
The last time that I sang in public must be my last
time to sing. I made up my mind that anything — death
— would be preferable to such an ordeal. Oh, Dick, can
you blame me greatly if, when Mr. Long came to me,
I welcomed him as a slave welcomes the one who sets
him free? I felt that he had come to stand between me
and death."

He put up his hand and took the hand which was resting
on his shoulder, her arm crossing his neck. He held it in
all tenderness for some time, his eyes looking into hers.

A NEST OF LINNETS 147

Their faces were close together, but he did not kiss her
face. Their breath came with the sound of a sigh.

" Dear child," he said at last, " dear child — dear Betsy,
I was selfish even to say so much as I did to you — to say
so much as even suggested a reproach. But, thank God,
I am strong enough to resist the temptation which you put
before me. I dare not ask you to change anything that has
happened. It has been decreed by Heaven that we are to
walk in different ways, and I hope with all my heart that
you will have happiness. I asked you just now whence
happiness sprang to any one. Dear Betsy, that question
has been answered since I heard you speak. Happiness
comes by self-sacrifice. Happiness comes to those who seek
not their own good, but the good of others. That is why
I can hope that you will be happy, my dear one."

" Indeed, that is what is in my heart, Dick," she said.
" I feel that I can now do something for the ones I love — for
my sisters — for my brothers. Mr. Long is kind and
generous. He will, I am assured, help us all. Poor father
is obliged to work so hard, and mother is a drudge. I think
that little Maria has a nature like mine, and I shall be able
to save her from all that I have gone through. And then,
and then — well, there is something else to take into account.
You can guess what it is, Dick?"

"Yes, I think I know what is on your mind, Betsy," he
said. " You have been pestered by suitors, and now you
hope that you will have at least a respite."

* A respite ! " she cried. " Oh, Dick, I shall be safe for
evermore. You do not know what I have suffered. It
would seem as if every man who ever heard me sing con-
sidered that he had a right to send letters to me — letters
full of compliments — and every compliment was an insult
to me."

" Why did you not tell me?" he cried, starting up with
clenched hands. " Why did you not give me a hint of this ?

148 A NEST OF LINNETS

You know that I would have made every rascal among
them answer to me with his life for every insult offered
to you."

" I know that — that was why I kept everything a secret
from you," she said. " The thought that you would be in

danger on my account Ah, I know that blood has

been shed already, and even now I do not feel safe.
Captain Mathews — he was the most persistent of my
persecutors, and even yet ... he uttered the most terrible
threats against me only yesterday. I do not feel secure."

" I will kill him — I swear to you that you have only to
hold up your finger, and I will kill him."

" I know it, dear Dick — I know it. But do you think that
I would consent to your running into danger for me ? Oh,
I would submit to anything sooner than that you should be
put in jeopardy of your life. But I have told you all this that
you may the more readily understand why I should be filled
with longing to go away and hide myself in some place
where there is calm and quiet — some place that has always
been in my dreams. It must have come to me with the
hearing of the anthem, ' The Lord is my Shepherd.' Oh,
the vision of the green pastures beside the still waters !
Now you know all that there is to be known, and you will
not judge me too harshly, Dick?"

CHAPTER XV

He saw the appealing look upon her face, and he knew that
he had never seen so pitiful an expression before. Her
fear was that he might judge her hastily and harshly. Ah,
how could she have such an apprehension so far as he was
concerned ? He forgot while he looked into her face that
there had ever been in his heart any thought of bitterness
against her. It was impossible that he could even for a
moment have entertained a thought except of sympathy in
regard to her.

Did there exist in all the world a girl with so gentle — so
sensitive — a nature as was hers ? It would, he knew, have
been impossible to make most people in the world in which
they lived — the shallow, cynical, artificial world of fashion —
understand how this girl should shrink from everything
that young women in their world hoped to achieve. He
knew that Elizabeth Linley was envied even by duchesses.
There was no woman too exalted to be incapable of looking
on her with envy. Dick Sheridan had heard from time to
time the remarks which were made upon her by the grandes
dames who frequented the Pump Room. The Duchess of
Argyll, who twenty years before, had taken St. James's by
storm, when she was only the younger of the two Miss
Gunnings — she had now become Mistress of the Robes and
had been made a Peeress in her own right — he heard this
great lady say that Miss Linley was the most beautiful

150 A NKST OF LINNETS

young woman in England, and almost equal in this respect
to what her own sister, the Countess of Coventry, had been
at her age.

And the Duchess of Devonshire — he had heard her say
that she was quite content to come to Bath to hear Miss
Linley sing once only.

This was the verdict of the two greatest ladies in England,
and he knew that what the duchesses thought one day all
England thought the next. (The commendation which
Miss Linley had received from the king himself when she
had sung to his Majesty and the Queen at Buckingham
House was not worth considering alongside that of the two
great duchesses.)

Could any one believe that such a girl, envied as she
was by all the rest of womankind, should shrink from the
applause which greeted her every time that she sang —
from the admiration which the most distinguished people in
England offered to her ? Could any one but himself under-
stand the shrinking of that pure soul of hers from the fame
that was hers — the adulation of the fastidious ? Could any
one believe that with all the world at her feet, her dearest
wish — her most earnest longing — was for the seclusion of
the green pastures, for the quiet that was to be found beside
the still waters.

He looked at her, and felt a better man for looking at
her. She was one of those rare women who carry with
them the power of making their influence for good felt by
all with whom they come in contact. No one could be
in her presence and remain the same. She was a garden
of roses. Dick Sheridan had come to her with his heart
full of bitterness — he had been treasuring up hard words
to say to her — treasuring up words of keen steel as though
they were soft gold j and yet before he had even come into
her presence — while he was still standing leaning up against
the doorway, listening to her singing — every hard word,

A NEST OF LINNETS 151

every harsh thought had vanished. And now he was
standing before her wondering how he could ever have had
a thought of her except of tenderness and unselfish devo-
tion. In her presence he had ceased to think of himself.
Her happiness — that was what he thought of. He was
quite content to take no account of himself in the world in
which her happiness was centred. And yet she suggested
that there was a possibility of his judging her harshly.

" What you have suffered ! " he cried. " Is it the decree
of Heaven that those who are more than half divine should
have more than double the human capacity for suffering ?
That is the price which such as you have to pay for a
nature such as yours. And you ask me not to judge
you too harshly. Ah, my Betsy, you are judging me too
harshly if you fancy it possible that I could have any
thought about you that was not one of tenderness and
affection. Tell me how I can serve you, tell me how
I can stand between you and the world — the world that
can never understand such a nature as yours. The world
is human, and you are half divine."

" Ah, no ! " she cried. " If mine were such a nature, I
should be strong enough to endure the worst that could
come to me. Alas ! I am very human."

" Show me some one who is very human, and I will show
you some one who is very nearly divine," said he. " What
Bishop O'Beirne said about you long ago is the truth ; you
are more than half an angel. That is why people fail
to understand you. I do not think that even I, who
have known you so long, have quite understood all the
sweet unselfishness of your nature until now. We are
being divided now, dear Betsy. We are like ships that
meet and then sail separate ways ; but whatever may
happen, I pray of you to think of me as one who under-
stood you. I pray of you to call for me at any time
that you may stand in need of some one to help you.

152 A NKST OF LINNETS

You know that I will come from the farthest ends of the
earth to help you."

" I know it, Dick," she cried, — " I know it. A day
may come when I shall have only that thought to
sustain me."

There was a silence between them. It lasted for some
time, each looking into the face of the other, and seeing
there a very pale face — each holding the hand of the other,
and finding it very cold.

Suddenly the silence was broken by the sound of voices
downstairs — the voices and the laughter of children. Their
feet sounded on the stairs.

In a quick impulse of the moment not to be resisted,
the girl threw herself into his arms and kissed him on each
cheek — rapidly — almost passionately. He held her close to
him and kissed her on the lips. In another instant they
had separated ; the door of the room was flung wide,
and the boys rushed in, followed scarcely less leisurely
by Maria and Polly. They all talked together, giving
some of the more striking details of the Dancing-Master's
Assembly.

Polly, who was burning to make Dick acquainted
with the opportunities of the newest minuet, was uncere-
moniously elbowed aside by one of the boys, who had
a good deal to say on the subject of the refreshments.
The buns might certainly have been fresher, he asserted;
and Dick freely admitted his right to speak as one of
the cognoscenti on the subject of the bun. But the critic
was in turn pulled aside by little Maria, who had been
presented with a cup of ice for the first time in her
life, and was (paradoxically) burning to record her im-
pressions on the subject of ice as a comestible. She
admitted being startled at first, but she indignantly
denied the impeachment of one of her frank brothers to
the effect that she had been too frightened to swallow

The door of the room was flung wide, and the boys rushed in.

[page 152.

A NEST OF LINNETS 153

the first spoonful, but had, without a voice, borrowed a

hasty handkerchief No, she had swallowed it, she

declared, with a vehemence that carried suspicion to
all hearers — she had swallowed it, and if she had not
taken a second it was not because she was afraid,
but because she was not greedy, like — she was in no
doubt as to the identity of the greedy one of the
party — the one who had eaten three slices of plum cake,
and had not refused, as would have been polite, the
fourth tumbler of lemonade. It was Master Oziah who
accused himself by excusing himself in respect of this
transaction.

Only three of the group were talking together, their
voices becoming somewhat shrill, when Tom entered,
and in a moment silence dropped on all. Tom had,
since his return, given them to understand, upon many
occasions, that he would not overlook any boisterousness on
their part. He talked of nerves, and the young ones had
stared at him. They had never heard the word before, and
at once jumped to the conclusion that it was some foreign
malady — perhaps Italian, and not unlikely to be a variant
on the plague or the black death — terrors which had now
and again been used by a nurse as a deterrent to their
boisterousness.

Silence followed the entrance of Tom — silence and a
nudge or two passed faithfully round the group from rib
to rib. Tom, on entering the room, had suggestively left
the door open — quite wide enough to allow of the exit
of all the youngsters in couples without inconveniencing
themselves.

He glanced significantly at the opening, and the hint
was not lost upon the children.

Only Polly remained in the room. Tom could, no
doubt, have dispensed with the society even of Polly ; but
that young lady had no intention of being in any sense

154 A NEST OF LINNETS

put out by her brother, though her father had hitherto
taken his part in any domestic difference, on the plea that
Tom was a genius.

She threw herself in a chair, displaying all her finery,
and hoping Dick would notice at least some portion of it.

"Tom has been visiting Mrs. Abington these three
hours," said she, with a nod to Dick.

"She took quite a fancy to Tom last night," said Dick.
" But I had great trouble inducing Tom to let me present
him to her. I think I showed some tact in excusing him
by letting the lady know that he had buried his heart
under the bridge of his fiddle."

"You did not tell me that she is devoted to music —
to the fiddle," said Tom.

" Tis the first I heard of it," said Dick. " I have heard
of some of her devotions, but the fiddle was not among
the number."

"You probably never took the trouble to find out, and
she is not the sort of lady to obtrude her talents on an
unwilling ear," said Tom.

" Oh ! " remarked Dick.

" She is not such a lady," continued Tom. " But the
truth is that she possesses a fine and elevated judgment
on musical matters."

" That means that she praised your playing up to the
skies," suggested Polly. " I have not lived in the house
with musicians all these years to no purpose."

Betsy and Dick laughed; but Tom ignored their laughter
as well as Polly's rudeness.

"I knew what a mind she had when she gave me her
opinion on Handel last night," said he. " ' Handel spent
all his life building cathedrals,' were her words."

" And somebody else's words, I daresay, before they
descended to her," remarked Polly. " But they are not
true; at least, I never heard of Handel's building any

A NEST OF LINNETS 155

cathedral. Let us count all the cathedrals in England,
and you'll very soon see "

Tom gave a contemptuous laugh.

" Of course, every one must know that she was alluding
to the oratorios of Handel," said he. " Has anything finer
or more apt been said about the oratorios, Dick ? "

"The phrase is very apt — indeed, it is striking," acquiesced
Dick.

This degree of praise by no means satisfied Tom. He
gave an exclamation that sounded almost derisive.

"Apt — striking — almost striking!" he cried. " Cielo !
have you no appreciation of perfection? I tell you that
nothing finer — nothing more beautiful was ever said in the
world."

"Oh, she must have been impressed by your playing,"
said Polly.

" Don't be a goose, Polly," said Betsy. Then she turned
to her brother. "Yes, dear Tom, any one who knows
anything of Handel's methods will allow that to suggest
a parallel between one of his great oratorios and a cathedral
is — is — well, all that you say it is."

" Only one who is devoted to music and who under-
stands its mysteries could have so sublime a thought," said
Tom. " I felt it to be a great privilege to be permitted to
play to such an audience this afternoon."

" For three mortal hours," whispered Polly.

" Three hours — immortal hours," said Tom. " But the
time was all too short."

" I am afraid that I shall never be a musician," said
Polly, with a stage sigh.

" What did you play for Mrs. Abington, Tom ? " asked
Betsy.

" I took some rolls of music with me," replied Tom ;
" but I found that there was no need to have gone to such
trouble. She wished to have it explained to her how —

156 A NEST OF LINNETS

how — never mind, 'twas a theory of mine — we talked
together about it — she and I — last night in the Long
Room. Mr. Walpole came up — Mr. Selwyn — Mr. Williams
— they had fresh-made epigrams — pleasantries taken from
the French. They wearied her, but she was too polite
to yawn in their faces."

"No; she would not yawn in their faces," said Dick.
"And what was the subject of your theory, Tom? And
how did it come that you had no need for the rolls of
music you took with you to her lodgings ? "

" ■ Love and its Interpretation by Music ' — that was the
point upon which she expressed the liveliest interest," said
Tom.

"Oh, this is no place for me; I am too young," cried
Polly demurely, as she rose from her chair and went to
the door.

" Polly has become insufferable," said Tom in a tone of
irritation. " Of course, any one who has studied music
knows that it is a science."

" It is assuredly a science. Language is a science, I
have often heard my father assert; and since music can
interpret the language of love into phrases that can be
easily understood, it must be granted a place among the
sciences," said Dick. " But is't possible that Mrs. Abington
would not listen to your demonstration of this science on
your violin ? "

" Cielo ! Why do you suggest that she would not
listen ? " cried Tom.

"Why, man, have you not just said that you had no
need of the rolls of music which you carried with you?''
said Dick.

" Oh, I had no need for the printed music. I improvised
for her," replied Tom.

"In the Italian fashion?" inquired Dick. "Well, I am
certain that you had a most sympathetic listener to your

A NEST OF LINNETS 157

phrases of interpretation. She is, as you say, devoted to
— to — science."

"She was more than sympathetic," cried Tom. "Oh,
it is a better instruction for one to play to such a listener
than to receive a lesson from a Maestro."

" Mrs. Abington is undoubtedly fully qualified to give
lessons," said Dick. " I am sure you will learn much from
her, Tom, if you give her your attention."

And then Mr. Linley entered the room.

CHAPTER XVI

Dick stayed to supper with the Linley family ; and in spite
of the thought that this was probably the last of many
delightful suppers at the house in Pierrepont Street — the
reflection came to him often in the course of the evening
after a burst of merriment from the children, in which
Betsy and he joined, Tom being the only one to remain
grave — he felt quite happy. To be sure his happiness was
tinged with melancholy ; but this fact did not cause it to
be diminished — nay, his gentle melancholy seemed only
to have the qualities of a tender summer mist at sunset,
which makes the sun seem larger and gives it colour. The
gentle sadness of his reflections only impressed him more
deeply with a sense of his happiness — his happiness which
arose from a sense of self-sacrifice. In the presence of
Betsy he had lost sight of himself, as it were. He gave
no thought to the certainty of his own lonely future. He
could only think of the possibility of happiness which
awaited his dear Betsy.

Mr. Long was not present at this supper : he had gone
to his friends, the Lambtons, at the Circus, Mr. Linley
explained ; and Dick fancied that he saw a new light in
Betsy's face when her father had presented Mr. Long's
apologies. But he did not mistake the meaning of what
he saw ; he knew that whatever satisfaction she felt at that
moment was due solely to her reflection that he, Dick,

158

A NEST OF UNNETS 159

would not now be subjected to the restraint which Mr.
Long's presence could scarcely fail to put on him. He
perceived that she was anxious that this farewell supper
should include no element that would interfere with his
happiness. And he gave her to understand that in this
respect she need have no misgivings. The children, who
had always made a great friend of him, had never before
found him so merry — so full of stories : he had not really
met an ogre since he had last seen them ; but he was in
correspondence with one, and hoped, upon the next
occasion of his coming to Pierrepont Street, to be able to
let them know what his views were on many topics of
interest. And perhaps at the same time he might be able
to tell them something of the professional career of a pirate
whom he knew, and who was making quite a name for
himself by his many acts of cold-blooded barbarity in the
Channel. Meantime he gave them a circumstantial account
of the night's work of a certain Irish fairy, who had attained
some amount of popularity in the old days, when the only
industrious section of the inhabitants were the fairies.

The children, consulting together in a corner of the
room after supper, came to Dick and communicated to
him the result of a plebiscite as to whether he or Mr.
Garrick was the more entertaining; and they were happy
to let him know that, while opinion was divided as to
which of them could make the funniest faces when telling
a story, there was perfect unanimity on the question of
the quality of the stories, those told by Dick being far in
advance of Mr. Garrick's, on account of their seriousness.
Mr. Garrick's stories were, Maria asserted, as the mouth-
piece of the group, far too ridiculous to be believed. But
Dick's, it appeared, were well up to the level of the nursery,
being perfectly plausible, especially those dealing with the
Irish fairies.

Mrs. Linley was the only one of the party who was in

160 A NEST OF LINNETS

a mood to regret the absence of Mr. Long. She had taken
special care that the pastry should be of that type which
appeals to gentlemen who are as a general rule not partial
to pastry. Mr. Long, she told Dick, had never avoided her
pastry — no, not even when it came in such a questionable
shape as an open tartlet, which Mr. Linley had often said
might well make the boldest tremble.

The good woman questioned very much if Mr. Long
would partake at the Lambtons' of any more wholesome
fare than would have been at his service had he returned
to Pierrepont Street ; for though it was understood that
the Lambtons had a French cook, who had once been
in the employment of Lord Durham, yet for her part she
did not believe that a Frenchman could cook a supper for
an English palate, — palate was not the word she made use
of, but in gastronomy politeness ignores precision.

After supper Betsy sang one song, her father smoked his
pipe outside the music-room, and, refraining from criticism,
suffered her to sing it after her own heart. He recognised
the fact that she had now passed out of the sphere of
serious criticism : she had become an amateur, and an
amateur is one who sings for one's own satisfaction,
regardless of the feelings of others. Tom was not in the
room either : he had gone to his bedroom immediately
after supper, and was playing on a muted violin ; so that
Betsy was permitted to sing without the restraint of any
musical presence.

It was getting late when Dick took his leave of those
members of the family who remained out of bed, and he
found that only for himself and Betsy this leave-taking had
any significance. They all begged him to come back again
soon — all except Betsy. She took his hand and was silent.
She did not even say " good-bye." He said " good-night "
to every one but Betsy. To her he said " good-bye."

He found that although the street was in darkness, there

A NEST OF LINNETS 161

was a suggestion of moonlight on the rims of the hills
toward the east. The moon was some days past the
full and did not rise till within an hour of midnight.
Pierrepont Street was lighted by only one lamp, and was
quite silent. In the distance he could see the flaring
links of a few belated chairs. From another direction
there came to his ears the sounds of the singing of some
revellers returning from supper and probably on their way
to the lodgings of one of their number, where there would
be a card-table.

Before these sounds had passed away into the distance
he heard the music that was being played in one of the
houses in the South Parade, where a dance was taking
place. All the windows were lighted, and, looking up,
he saw a shadow or two on the blinds — shadows moving
to music — a graceful swaying with arched arms to and
fro, and then the sudden sweep of the courtesy and the
swing of the bow with the gold-laced hat skimming the
the floor. All the grace, the allurement, of that lost poem
of the eighteeenth century — the Minuet — came before his
eyes with the motion of those shadows with the subdued
blaze of a hundred candles behind them.

" Shadows," he said, " these things are all shadows :
there is no substance in all this life ; shadows fluttering for
an hour in the light of the candles, and then passing away
to the land of shadows whence they came."

He was in the true mood of the moralist. A gentle
melancholy was upon him; and he was outside the room
with the dancers. The moralist is the man who has not
been asked to join in the dance. He walked on, and before
he had quite gone out of hearing of the fiddles, the moon
had risen above the edge of the hill and was moving among
the fleecy clouds that covered the sky, making irises along
their edges.

He had intended to go home, but the night was congenial

ii

162 A NEST OF UNNETS

with his mood ; the moonlight had a touch of his melan-
choly : it was not garish, but tenderly softened by the
swimming clouds ; so, feeling as if he had a sympathetic
companion, he strolled on for a couple of miles on the
Gloucester road, and then turned into a lane that led up
the hill. Arriving at the highest point, he seated himself
on a low bank, whence he could look down upon the lovely
city bathed in that milk-white moonlight.

In the moonlight it seemed to his eyes like the city of a
dream. All the enchantment of the first sweet sleep of night
permeated it. It was surely like a silver city of a mirage —
a wonder of the desert, with towers mingling with minarets
and shadowy spires.

He did not feel unhappy. How could any one feel
unhappy looking down upon such a scene ? And there
beneath his eyes the mystery and the magic of it all was
added to, for the delicate veil of vapour which had been
hanging over the windings of the river began to crawl up
the banks, and, under the influence of the gentlest of
breezes, to spread itself abroad over the city. Looking
down upon it, it seemed to be a silent sea — the sea of
a dream that comes without sound and floods the visionary
landscape, and then swims into the dreamy moonlight.
Tower and spire remained above the surface of the river
mist — silver islands rising out of a silver sea.

What was this mystery of moonlight that was spread
abroad before his eyes ? he asked himself. What did it
mean to him ? Why had he been led forth on this night
to be a witness of its wonders ?

Was he to learn on this night of nights something of the
mystery of life ? Was he to learn that the destiny of man is
worked out in many phases unfamiliar to man ?

One mystery of life had already been revealed to him
this night : the happiness of self-abnegation. She had
taught him this — the one girl who came into his life, and

A NEST OF IylNNKTS 163

who would, he felt sure, ever remain a part of his life,
though it might be that he and she would never meet again
as they had been accustomed to meet during the previous
two years — she had taught him this, at least, and he felt
that his life was not the same since he had learned that
lesson. He was conscious of the change. His life was
better. It was purified; he was living it, not for the joy
of life, not for the ambitions which he hitherto sought to
realise, but for the spiritual gain j and he was content even
though that gain could only be achieved at the sacrifice of
all that he had once held most dear.

And all the time that he was reflecting upon the change
that had come to him, the scene was changing under his
eyes. The breeze that had lifted the mist from the river
and spread it abroad through the by-ways of Bath,
strengthened and swept those airy billows away into
nothingness, and the still fleecy clouds that had been
floating motionless about the moon began to feel the
breath that came from the west, bringing up somewhat
denser, but still fleecy, masses. The moon began to climb
among the clouds, and now and again its disc was hidden
as it laboured upward.

He rose from his seat on the green bank, and began to
make his way down the lane to the London road. The
night was very silent. The striking of the clocks of the city
was less clear than that of a bell in the far distance. The
barking of a dog came from one of the farms on the opposite
slope of the river. The bleating of sheep came fitfully and
faintly through the trees that concealed the meadow beyond
the upward curve of the road.

He reached the road and made some haste homeward.
Hitherto he had seen no wayfarer ; but before he had gone
more than a mile, he heard the rumble of a vehicle in the
distance, and a few minutes after, one of the coaches came
up and galloped past in a whirl of dust. Dick turned aside

164 A NEST OF UNNETS

to avoid the dust, and stood for a few minutes in the cover
of a small shrubbery. When he resumed his walk the
coach was not only out of sight, it was out of hearing as
well.

But before he had gone on more than a hundred yards
he was startled by hearing another sound — the sound of
a man's shout as if for help. It came from the distance
of the road in front of him, and it was repeated more
than once.

Dick stopped at the first cry, faint though it sounded,
and listened closely. After all, he thought, the sound
might only come from a shepherd driving his sheep from
one pasturage to another ; but the next time it came his
doubt vanished. He was running at the. top of his speed
round where the road curved, and before he had gone far
he saw three men furiously lunging — the moonlight flashed
on their blades — at what seemed to him to be the iron
gate between the carriage drive of a house and the road.
When he got closer to them, however, he saw that there
was a man behind the bars of the gate, and that while
he was holding the latch fast with his left hand, with the
sword which he held in his right he was cleverly parrying
the thrusts of the others.

Without thinking of the likelihood of the men turning
upon him if he interfered with them — his Irish blood, which
was now pretty hot in his veins, prevented his entertaining
the thought of danger to himself — he whisked out his sword,
and, with a shout to encourage the man behind the gate,
made for his antagonists. He never reached them. At
the sound of his voice they contented themselves with a
vicious thrust or two between the bars, and then turned
and ran.

But Dick's blood was up, and he gave chase to them
without pausing to see the condition of the man to whose
relief he had come. The fugitives ran for some distance

He whisked out his sword, and, with a shout to encourage the man

BEHIND THE GATE, MADE FOR HIS ANTAGONISTS. [page 164.

A NEST OF LINNETS 165

along the road, and then jumped the ditch where it was
lowest and went headlong down the slope to the river.
He followed hard upon them j but a small, though dark,
cloud blotted out the moon for a couple of minutes, and he
lost sight of them. When the moonlight came again he
could only see two of the men ; and they were still making
for the river. Noting this, all his energies were strained in
an effort to cut them off — he did not pause to consider the
chance there was of the third man waiting in ambush to
rush out on him when he should be passing.

He gained upon the fugitives when racing down the
slope, and he was confident of getting within sword length
of them when they should be stopped by the river. But the
next dozen yards showed him that they would escape : a
boat lay under the bank, and the fellows were making for it.

He gathered himself together at the brink of the river
and made a rush at the hindmost man ; but before Dick's
sword reached him, the fellow sprang forward and went
headlong into the water. At the same instant the other man
threw himself into the boat, and the force of his leap broke
loose the boat's mooring-line and sent the small craft half-
way across the stream. Dick saw the man make a sudden
grab over the side, and then a head appeared above the
water, and an arm was stretched up to the gunwale. The
boat drifted slowly across the stream, and Dick saw the two
men get safely to the opposite bank, where they quietly
seated themselves, the one who had been in the river
squeezing the water from his hair.

" You rascals ! " cried Dick, between his gasps for breath.
" You rascals ! I'll live to see you hanged for to-night's
work."

" You'll do better if you save your breath to chase our
employer," said one of the men, and Dick knew from his
speech that he was a common man.

"Who is your employer?" he shouted.

166 A NEST OF LINNETS

The man laughed, saying :

" Find him. He can't be very far off."

Dick ceased parleying with the fellow, and made his way
slowly up the sloping ground, looking carefully in every
direction for the third man, but not going out of his way to
search for him, the truth being that he began to feel that
he had had his share in this adventure, the origin of which
was as completely unknown to him as its meaning.

He reached the road without catching a glimpse of the
third fugitive ; and then he sheathed his sword and began
to retrace his steps toward the iron gate where the encounter
had taken place. Now that the affair had reached a certain
point he had become sufficiently interested in it to have
a desire to know what it had all been about.

Before he had reached the place, however, he came upon
a man in a rather dishevelled condition, engaged in bind-
ing up his right hand with shreds of his handkerchief.

He saw that the man was Mr. Walter Long.

CHAPTER XVII

" Heavens, Mr. Sheridan, it is to you I am indebted for
my preservation from those rascals ! " said Mr. Long.

Dick took off his hat in acknowledgment of the com-
pliment.

" May I venture to hope that you have not received any
severe injuries, sir? Your hand "

Dick could see that there were some dark spots on the
portions of the handkerchief that Mr. Long had managed
to tie about his wrist and his knuckles.

"Only flesh wounds — scratches," said Mr. Long. "But
you followed the fellows, Mr. Sheridan? That was brave
of you. My mind was greatly relieved when I saw you
returning. I am glad that you were not so foolish as to
rush into what may have been a trap. I suppose that,
like rats — other vermin — they escaped by the river ? "

" Two of them escaped by the river — I followed them
down to the very brink, sir, and saw one of them safely into
the water," said Dick. " His companion went headlong
into a boat and picked him up. The third I lost sight of
shortly after they turned aside from the road."

" Let them go," said Mr. Long. " Twas God's mercy,
Mr. Sheridan, that you were within earshot when I called
for help. They attacked me on the road without a
moment's warning."

" Footpads ! " said Dick.

l67

168 A NEST OF LINNETS

" H'm — perhaps footpads," said Mr. Long doubtfully.

" I never heard that they infested this road, sir," said
Dick. " They must be the lowest in practice at this work.
The chance passengers so far out of the city are not
frequent after dusk."

" I have my suspicions," said Mr. Long. " I must have
been followed by those scoundrels — or they may have lain
in wait for me. I was supping with Mr. Lambton at his
house on the Circus, and did not leave until late. Then I
ventured to take a walk of a mile, tempted by the curiously
beautiful night. I assure you I was not dreaming of an
attack ; but it came. Luckily the fellows rushed out upon
me from the shrubbery along the carriage drive to that
house, leaving the gate ajar. I had barely time to parry
the thrusts of the foremost of the band, and by a dis-
concerting movement to get within the gate and close it. I
saw that my only chance lay in keeping the bars between
us. I will do them the justice to say that they also
perceived that this was the case. But they only lacerated
my hand and wrist."

" You fought bravely and adroitly, sir," cried Dick.

" At the same time, Mr. Sheridan, I know that if you
had not come up at that instant I should now be a dead
man," said Mr. Long.

" Oh no, sir ; you would most probably have run some
of them through the body," said Dick. " Cowardly rascals
they must be ! They showed themselves ready enough to
run ; they did not give me a chance of a single thrust at
any one of them."

" I sympathise with you, Mr. Sheridan," said Mr. Long.
" But your sword will be the less soiled. Five minutes —
perhaps two — would have done for me. A gate with bars
is no effective barrier where the small sword is concerned ;

and then Well, I'm not so young a man as I once

was, sir ; I was heartily glad at your coming on the scene.

A NEST OF LINNETS 169

If you are walking back to the town I hope that I may
claim your escort to my house."

" I shall feel proud to walk with you, sir," replied Dick,
with alacrity. "But I venture to hope, sir, that you will
see a surgeon before you retire."

" I assure you there is no need, Mr. Sheridan. I have
an excellent servant ; there is scarce a wound that he could
not heal — he even professes to deal with those of the heart ;
but there, I think, he professes overmuch. I should like to
put his skill to the test ; so if you have a friend who is in an
evil case in any matter pertaining to that organ, you have
only to let me know. By the way, Mr. Sheridan, it may
sound ungenerously inquisitive on my part to inquire to
what happy accident I owe my life ? Is it a usual custom
with you to take a rural walk after midnight? Pray, sir,
rebuke my impertinence as it deserves by refusing to answer
me, if it so please you."

They had now begun to walk in the direction of Bath.
The moon had risen high in the sky, and no cloud was
visible. The night was so clear that Dick could not help
feeling that the gentleman by his side saw his blushes that
followed the inquiry. For the first time Dick perceived
that he might have some little difficulty in explaining how
it was that he came to be outside Bath on foot at that hour.
When he had set out on his midnight stroll it had not
occurred to him that he might be asked to give an explana-
tion as to the impulse that had sent him forth. He hoped
that Mr. Long did not notice his blush. It was only the
suddenness of the question that had caused it.

" I took the walk because I had something to — to — think
over," he said, without any particular readiness.

" Then you did well to walk at this hour and on such
a night," said Mr. Long. " For myself, I can say that I
have never yet faced any question that refused to be
answered after a night's walk and a night's thoughts. And

170 A NEST OF LINNETS

now I will place myself on a confessional level with you,
by telling you before you ask — you are not so impertinent
as to ask — if it be habitual with me to take a midnight
walk ? I will answer ' No ' to that question, sir, and tell
you that my walk was due to a certain want of confidence
on my part in respect of Mr. Lambton's excellent — too
excellent French cook. I supped at Mr. Lambton's, as I
believe I mentioned ? "

"Mr. Linley said you were going to Mr. Lambton's
house, sir," said Dick.

" Oh, then you supped at the Linleys' ? " said Mr. Long ;
" or did you merely meet Mr. Linley in the course of the
night after he left me ? "

" I supped with the family, sir. Mrs. Linley has had
the kindness to treat me as one of the family. She
expressed her regrets that you did not come to eat her
pastry. She also expressed her want of confidence in
Mr. Lambton's cook."

Mr. Long laughed.

" Our fears were not wholly groundless," he said. " I
think I made as frugal a supper as is possible in a house
where a French cook possessing some determination and four
new dishes reigns in the kitchen. And yet I own that
an hour after supper, I — I — well, I felt that a brisk walk
of a mile might at least prevent my forming an unjust
judgment on the cook. On the whole, however, so far as
I can gather, I am inclined to believe that Mr. Lambton's
cook is merciful as he is powerful. Neither you nor I,
Mr. Sheridan, can know into what temptations to tyranny
a first-class cook is led. He cannot but be conscious of
his own power; and yet Mr. Lambton's cook is, I under-
stand, as approachable as if he were an ordinary person
like one of ourselves. Nay, I have heard that some
Cabinet Ministers are infinitely more frigid to their
colleagues than he is to the other members of the Lambton

A NEST OF IylNNBTS 171

household. There's a man for you ! And yet people say

that the French nation But I have not asked you if

Mrs. Linley's pastry was as crisp as usual."

" It could scarcely be surpassed, sir, even if it had been
made under the superintendence of an university of cooks,"
replied Dick.

" Then it was not to get rid of the thoughts impelled by
your supper that you set out on your walk ? " said Mr. Long.
" I have heard it said that no man can be a poet who has
not been subjected to a course of bad cooking. 'Tis a
plausible theory. You have read the poem of the great
Italian, Dante, Mr. Sheridan? Well, sir, will any one
have the temerity to assert that it was not penned under
the influence of a series of terrible suppers ? Twas but one
step further, you will see, from the supper to the Inferno ?
And there was Milton — well, he follows the Biblical
account of the curse falling upon humanity owing to the
indiscreet breakfast indulged in by the lady of the garden.
And John Bunyan — a great poet, sir, except when he tried
his hand at verse-making — his description of the terrors of
that Slough of Despond was most certainly written under
the influence of a dinner in Bedford gaol. But perhaps
you do not think of being a poet, Mr. Sheridan ? "

M I have had my dreams in that direction, sir," said
Dick, and once again he was led to hope that Mr. Long
would not notice his blush. He could not understand
how it was that Mr. Long succeeded in getting him to
confess so much — more than he had ever confessed to
another man.

"You have had your dreams, sir ? I am glad to hear it.
I would not give much for a lad who has not, before he
is twenty, had dreams of becoming a poet. As a matter
of fact, Mr. Sheridan, all men who do anything in the
world are poets before they are twenty. The practical men
are the men who have imagination; and to be a man

172 A NEST OF IvINNBTS

of imagination is to be a poet. Now you, Mr. Sheridan,
will do something in the world, I fancy."

" Ah, sir, that was my hope — long ago — long ago."

" Long ago — long Heavens ! you talk of long ago,

when you cannot have more than reached the age of twenty-
one ! Why, I am sixty, sir, and do not venture to speak
of long ago. Your life is all before you, Mr. Sheridan ; and
permit me to say that 'twill be your own fault if it be not a
noble life — a notable life 'tis bound to be, considering your
parentage. Your mother was one of the most remarkable
women of this period of the century. Her novels possess
extraordinary merit ; I say that, and I was a friend of Mr.
Richardson. Your father's genius is recognised. And think
of the variety of his attainments. He is not only a great
actor, he is a scholar as well j but if he were neither the one
nor the other, he might still claim attention as a writer. His
theories respecting the importance of elocution are valuable.
One has only to hear you speak to become a convert to your
father's theories. If you some day obtain recognition as an
orator, you will have to thank your father for his admirable
training of your voice. You intend, of course, to enter
yourself as a student for the Bar ? "

" That was also my hope, sir j but I cannot persuade
my father to give me his permission to my studying for
the Bar."

" What ! does he wish you to enter the Church and
become as distinguished as your grandfather — one of the
few friends and the many victims of the Dean of St.
Patrick's ? "

" He does not seem to think it necessary for me to enter
any profession, Mr. Long. He says I have not sufficient
ability to do credit to him and the family — 'tis in my brother
Charles he has placed his hopes. He has been striving for
some time to secure for Charles an appointment under the
Government."

A NEST OF LINNETS 173

" I hope that he may be successful. And does he make
no suggestion to you in regard to your future ? "

" None whatever. 'Twas my dear mother who insisted
on my being sent to Harrow, and I know that her intention
was that I should in due time go to Oxford. Unhappily for
us all, however, she died before her hopes were realised ;
and when my father returned from France with my sisters
and brothers, I was taken from Harrow and brought here
to waste my time. He seemed to think that I should be
content to become a hanger-on of some fine gentleman.
That is why he has always encouraged me to mingle only
with people of title. Our bitterest quarrels — and we have
had some, Mr. Long — have been about the Linleys. He
has so exaggerated an opinion of the importance of our
family, he thinks that it is not fitting that we should
associate with the Linleys because they sing in public —
because Mr. Linley is merely a teacher of music."

" You amaze me, Mr. Sheridan ! Has your father never
asked himself wherein lies the difference between a man who
teaches singing and one who teaches elocution ? I had no
idea that he was so narrow in his views. Why, he is worse
than Dr. Johnson. 'Twas Dr. Johnson who declared that
if your father got a pension from the king, 'twas time that
he gave up his. That was a very narrow-minded theory to
pretend to have — I say ' pretend,' for when your father got
his pension, the good Doctor showed no intention of
relinquishing his. Still, that contemptible Mr. Boswell had
no right repeating in every direction what Johnson may
have said in his haste. You have heard Mr. Garrick draw-
ing on the fool for the entertainment of a company ? Every
one knows that it was Dr. Goldsmith s humour to say to
Johnson, 'Why do you call me "Goldy," sir— "Goldy,"
when you are well aware that I haven't even silver in my
pocket ? ' And yet Garrick got Boswell to tell us the story
t'other night as proof positive of Dr. Goldsmith's vanity.

174 A NEST OF LINNETS

But this is beside the point, the point being that you would
not give up the Linleys, however narrow-minded your father
was. Well, Mr. Sheridan, I do not say that you were in the
wrong. You have known Miss Linley for some years, have
you not? "

" Ever since we were children, sir."

"What! so long ago as that?" Mr. Long laughed, but
quite pleasantly — not as some people would have laughed at
that moment. "Then I hope, Mr. Sheridan, that you did
not fail to offer the lady your congratulations on having
accepted the offer of marriage made to her a few days ago ?
By the way, now that I come to think on it, the one to be
congratulated in this case is not the lady, but the gentleman.
Is not that your view of the matter ? ".

" I think, sir, that Miss Linley is the sweetest girl that
lives in the world, and that any man whom she loves is
fortunate above all his fellows."

"And I agree with you, with all my soul. The man
whom Elizabeth Linley loves is fortunate above all the rest
of the world. What I am wondering just at this moment,
Mr. Sheridan, is whether that man be you or I. Here we
are at Millsom Street. I lodge in the last house, where I
hope you will be polite enough to call to-morrow to make
inquiries after my health. Pray do not forget that I owe my
life to you. The man who saves the life of another accepts
a fearful responsibility. You will find that out before you
have done with me."

He was holding Dick by the hand. But Dick heard
nothing of his invitation delivered in so unconventional a
formula. A previous phrase of Mr. Long's had taken com-
plete possession of his mind.

" I should like to know, sir, what you meant by saying —
by suggesting that — that "

Dick's stammering was interrupted.

" Good heavens, Mr. Sheridan ! you cannot be in earnest

A NEST OF LINNETS 175

in demanding an explanation of anything I say at this hour ? "
cried Mr. Long, with uplifted hands. " This, sir, is accept-
ing your responsibility a little too seriously. You will be
genteel enough to pay me a visit to-morrow — that is, to-day,
for 'tis more than an hour past midnight. In the meantime,
may I beg of you to — to . . . that is, not to . . . ah, on second
thoughts, I will not beg anything of you. Good-night,
good-night."

He took off his hat, and Dick mechanically raised his
own. Mr. Long had turned down the street, but Dick
still remained at the corner. Mr. Long had actually pulled
the bell at the door of his house before Dick ran to
his side.

" Mr. Long," he cried, " it has just occurred to me that —
that it might be as well for you to say nothing to Miss
Linley about the little affair that happened to-night. You
know that she is nervous, and to hear that an attack was
made upon you might prostrate her."

Mr. Long looked at him in a strangely penetrating way
for some moments ; then he said :

11 You have given expression to the request which I was
about to make to you just now. After a moment's con-
sideration I withheld it : I remembered that you were an
Irishman, and therefore that there was no need for me to
ask you to remain silent in regard to an incident of which you
were the hero. Mr. Sheridan, I will respect your wishes.
Miss Linley shall not, unless I find reason to act differently,
hear of your heroism through me."

" Oh, sir — heroism ! that is too strong a word," said
Dick.

" Perhaps it is, considering that it was only my life that
you saved. Well, we shall say your good-fortune. Will
you accept the compromise ? "

" Gladly, sir : I shall always think of the incident as the
most fortunate of my life."

176 A NEST OF UNNETS

"And I hope that neither of us, nor Miss Linley, will
ever have occasion to think of it as otherwise ; and so I wish
you good-night again, my dear boy — my dear boy."

He gave Dick his hand once more, and Dick felt his
fingers pressed with more warmth than he had ever received
from his own father.

He rather wished that Mr. Long was his father.

CHAPTER XVIII

Dick Sheridan was conscious of a curious impression of
elation while lying awake recalling the somewhat exciting
incident in which he had played an important part. And
when he thought over the details of the occurrence, he
felt glad that he was elated. He did himself the justice
to refrain from attributing his elation solely to the fact of
his having put some rascals to flight, and his having
followed them with a naked sword, anxious to run them
through. Of course, he did not deny that he found
pleasure in the reflection that he had made the rascals fly,
and he was quite ready to allow that this pleasure was tinged
with regret that he had not been able to get the point of his
weapon in between some of their ribs. At the same time,
however, he knew that he was sincerely glad that he had
been able to save the life of the man who was taking
Betsy Linley out of his life.

She had told him, when her hand was in his, that the joy
of life was not in living for oneself, but in bringing happi-
ness to others ; and he had gone forth from her presence
feeling that she had spoken the truth. It was a truth that
he had often heard before from the lips of teachers of the
elements of Christianity ; but its enunciation had produced
no greater impression on him than the words of such
teachers usually do upon their hearers. All his thoughts
had been for himself: seeking his own pleasure — seeking

177 12

178 A NEST OF LINNETS

to cut a good figure before the eyes of the people who
were around him. He had even gone to pay his visit to
her in the same spirit. He was anxious to cut the figure
of a cynical man of the world in her presence, and to show
her that he was in no way touched by the announcement
that she had given her promise to marry Mr. Long.

But in her presence he felt all the sweet influence of her
nature; it surrounded him as the scent of a rose-garden
surrounds one who comes among the flowers in June j he
breathed it as one breathes the scent of the roses. The
fragrance of her presence permeated his life. Her spirit
became part of his spirit, and, sitting on the hill-slope,
with the mystery of the moonlight about him, he felt himself
to be a new man The reality of the change that had
come to him was soon put to the test. The chance had
been given to him of saving the life of the man who was
taking Betsy from him, and he had welcomed that chance.
To be sure, when he had run upon the men with his naked
sword, he had not known who it was that he was rescuing
from his assailants ; but he knew now, and he felt that the
reflection that he had saved his life for Betsy was the
greatest happiness he had ever known.

What would have happened if he had held back his
hand at that time?

That question he asked of himself, and he had no diffi-
culty in answering it. He knew that, unless some miracle
had happened, nothing could have saved Mr. Long from
being murdered. And in that case Betsy would be freed
from the obligation which she had accepted.

He knew all this, and he thanked Heaven in all sincerity
that he had been able to save the life of the man who
stood between him and Betsy Linley. He shuddered at
the thought of the bare possibility of his having failed to
hear Mr. Long's cries for help ; and he felt rejoiced at the
thought that he had done an unusual thing in wearing his

A NEST OF UNNETS 179

sword when going to pay his visit to Betsy. It was not
customary to wear swords in the afternoon at Bath, though,
of course, they were carried at night. But, when setting
out to pay his call, Dick had fastened on his sword, the fact
being — though he tried not to include it in the sequence
of his thoughts while lying awake that night — that he had
meant to accept an invitation to supper and cards at which
one of his fashionable friends had hinted the previous
evening. After offering Betsy his congratulations, and
making a few worldly-wise remarks on the absurdity of
marriage, it had been his intention to go to one of the
Assembly Rooms, and thence to the supper-party ; and, as
an early return home was not among his calculations, he
felt that it would be prudent to wear his sword.

What a lucky chance it was that he had been so prudent!
(He had so successfully avoided thinking of his unworthy
project that he had come to attribute his carrying of the
sword to his own prudence and forethought.) Without a
weapon, he himself, as well as Mr. Long, could hardly have
escaped from the footpads, who were undoubtedly most
desperate ruffians. And then, having settled the matter of
his caution and forethought — two attributes which he had
certainly not inherited, and which he could scarcely regard
as inevitable to his nationality as an Irishman, from what-
ever source his intentions regarding the supper-party may
have sprung — he went on to think of Mr. Long.

He had never exchanged more than half a dozen words
with Mr. Long during the six months that the latter had
been in Bath, and he had looked on him as quite an old
fogey, possessing none of the brilliant gifts of a man of
fashion. None of the bons mots of the dialogues of scandal
which circulated in the Pump-Room in the morning and
in the Assembly Rooms in the evening, having blown about
the town during the day, were attributed to him. None
of the dainty plums of malice — preserved in vinegar, not

180 A NEST OF LINNETS

in sugar — which the ladies with the rouge and patches
passed round in their bonbonnilres at the card-tables, came
from him ; and therefore Dick had never thought of him
except as a good-natured elderly gentleman. To have a
reputation for good-nature was of itself quite sufficient to
exclude any one from the most fashionable set in Bath.

It was really only when it was announced that he was the
successful suitor for the hand of Miss Linley, that people
began to notice Mr. Long, and then the form that their
attention took consisted in their alluding to him as an
old fogey, if not an old fool.

Dick noticed that it was mostly the rejected suitors
who so alluded to him, and he thought that it showed
an amazing amount of weakness on their part : they
were simply advertising their own failure — he had said
so to his friend Halhed the previous evening in the Long
Room, and he made up his mind that, whatever might
happen and whatever he might think, he would never
betray his own chagrin by calling Mr. Long an old fool.

Of course he could not but feel that it was an act of
folly for a man turned sixty to make up his mind to marry
a beautiful girl not yet twenty; he thought that he was
equal to taking a dispassionate view of the matter. But
he would never be heard alluding to Mr. Long as an old
fool. He himself was not such a young fool as to give
himself credit for any generosity in maintaining an attitude
of reticence on this question ; he was only determined not
to show the same weakness as his friends, who acknow-
ledged Mr. Long to be their successful rival.

But now, after recalling the attitude of Mr. Long when
recovering from the effects of the attack made upon him
by the three footpads — after recalling the easy tone of his
conversation, and the adroitness with which he had obtained
from Dick a good deal of information about himself and
his prospects, and more particularly his lack of prospects,

A NEST OF IvINNETS 181

Dick came to the conclusion that for the first time in his
life he had been speaking to one who was indeed a man
of the world— a man who understood his fellow men and
who could be humorously tolerant of their weaknesses and
their prejudices. He could not but feel, however, that
among the attributes of a man of the world which he pos-
sessed, there was in parts of his conversation a certain
element of the enigmatical. For instance, when almost at

the point of parting he had said ■ What were his exact

words ?

11 The man whom Elizabeth Linley loves is fortunate. . . .
I am wondering whether that man be you or /."

Those were his very words, and they had puzzled Dick
the moment they were uttered. They puzzled him much
more now that he recalled them. They were certainly
very strange words for such a man as Mr. Long to say at
such a time as he had said them. Did they mean that he
questioned whether Betsy loved him or Dick ; or did he
merely mean that he was uncertain whether he or Dick
was the more fortunate in regard to some matter quite
apart from the love of Elizabeth Linley — say, in the matter
of age, or in respect of the adventure in which they had
both been concerned ? Did he mean that it was an open
question whether the man who saves another man's life or
the one whose life has been saved is the more fortunate ?

To be sure, his remark about the good-fortune of a
man was connected solely with the question of the love
of Elizabeth Linley, so that his saying that he wondered
whether the fortunate man was himself or Dick, seemed to
be simply equivalent to saying that he wondered whether
Elizabeth Linley loved himself, whom she had promised
to marry, or Dick, who was no more to her than other men.
Still, it might be susceptible of a different meaning; for
instance . . . Great heavens ! Could it be that Mr. Long
was treating thus lightly the bare possibility that the girl

18a A NEST OF LINNETS

whom he hoped to marry had given all her love to another
man?

He could not believe this of such a man as Mr. Long.
No ; Dick felt that his ear had been over-sensitive. He had
allowed himself to be led into a tortuous course of thought,
only because Mr. Long had made a pause of perhaps two
seconds instead of four between his sentences. It would,
he felt, be ridiculous for him to base a theory upon so
shallow a foundation. It would be absurd for him to
assume that Mr. Long meant to suggest anything more
than a casual reflection on a topic worn threadbare in the
pulpit — namely, the uncertainty of human happiness.

It was, however, one thing to assure himself that it
would be unreasonable to suppose that Mr. Long meant
to suggest anything but what was trite, but quite another
to convince himself that his ear had played him false ; and
this was how it came about that he had the first sleepless
night of his life, and that he startled his sisters by coming
down in good time to breakfast. His appearance was, in
fact, rather embarrassing to the housekeeper for the week :
Alicia had heard him enter the house at so late an hour
that she took it for granted he would not come down to
breakfast before noon, and had given her instructions to the
cook on this basis. Dick had to face an empty plate until
his fish was made ready.

He inquired for his brother — was he the late one this
morning ?

" What ! did not Charles tell you that he meant to go to
the country ? " asked Alicia.

" Not he," replied Dick. " The country? Why should
he go to the country at this time?"

"Why, he said that you advised him to do so," cried
Elizabeth. " You know what is the only reason he could
have for flying from Bath just now. Poor Charlie ! he feels
that Betsy was not considerate toward him."

A NEST OF LINNETS 183

Dick laughed. He had quite forgotten that he had
counselled his brother to go away for a time. He had
really been more in jest than in earnest in the matter ; but
Charles had taken him very seriously, and had gone off
without an hour's delay to a farmhouse eight miles out
of Bath, on the Wells road. He was not slow to perceive
what Dick had hinted at — that a gratifying degree of
prominence might be given to his name if the fact
became well known that he had been so greatly over-
come by the news of Miss Linley's having promised to
marry another man as to make it impossible for him to
continue living in the same town with her.

" Poor Charlie ! " said the elder Miss Sheridan in a
tone that was meant as a reproof to Dick for his levity —
" poor Charlie ! But we can keep the matter a secret ;
we need not add to his humiliation, Dick, by talking of
his having gone away on account of Betsy's treatment
of him."

Dick laughed more heartily still.

" My dear girl," he cried, "your suggestion is well meant,
but poor Charlie would not thank you if you were to act on
it. Poor Charlie knows perfectly well that he has now got
a chance of attaining such fame as may never come to him
again so long as he lives. When the fickle Phyllis rejects
Strephon's advances and accepts those of Damon, the
Pastoral that commemorates the event confers immortality
upon Strephon the rejected, just as surely as if he had
been the fortunate lover. I can assure you that Bath,
and Oxford too, I doubt not, are just now crowded with
Strephons anxious to be handed down to posterity as
the rejected swains. Take my word for it, poor Charlie
would only be chagrined if he thought that no notice
whatever would be taken of his forlorn condition as the
rejected swain. Good heavens ! wait until Friday comes,
and you scan the Poet's Corner of the Advertiser; if you

184 A NEST OF UNNETS

do not find poor Charlie making a bid for the immortality
of the doleful Strephon, I am greatly mistaken."

The girls stared at him.

"You are wrong — quite wrong, Dick," cried the elder.
" Yes, you are. Charlie begged of us to keep his departure
a secret. He said he would not have it known for the
world."

Dick did not laugh again : on the contrary, he became
solemn. He felt that it would be heartless on his part
to make the attempt to undermine the simplicity of his
sisters. But the fact that Charlie had taken such elaborate
precautions to give publicity to the news of his departure
caused Dick to have a higher opinion than he had up to
that moment possessed of his brother's knowledge of human
nature.

And then, finding that Dick was silent — penitentially
silent — the two girls thought that the opportunity was a
fitting one to give expression to their views regarding
the heartlessness of Betsy and the devotion of Charlie.
They had seen Mr. Long, and were ready to assert that
poor Charlie was quite as good as he was, without being
nearly so old; and Miss Sheridan went so far as to
suggest that the family of Sheridan were fortunate in
that they were not called on to welcome Betsy Linley
as a stepmother.

Dick began to think, after this remark, that perhaps he
had done his sisters an injustice in assuming their entire
simplicity.

Mrs. Abington was in her chair.

[page 185.

CHAPTER XIX

Mrs. Abington was in her chair. She had just been to
see her friends at Bath-Easton, and was hoping that she
would be in time for service at the Abbey. That was
why she stopped Dick in the street. What did he think ?
would she be in time for the service ? She would be quite
content to accept Dick's opinion on the subject.

Dick looked at his watch.

" Madam," he said, after calculating a moment, " you will
not be in time for the Confession, which seems rather a
pity ; but I promise you that you will be in good time for
the Absolution, if you make haste, and that will be to your
advantage."

"Sir, you are a rude boor ! " cried the lady very prettily.

11 If so, madam, I am rude at my own expense," said he.
" My words implied a ' Nunc Dimittis? "

" Now that I come to think on't, that is so," said she.
" But I am sure that you, being a man, must hold with me
that the ideal Church is the one that grants absolution
without insisting on confession."

"I am a sound Churchman, Mrs. Abington," said he;
" I will not countenance the least suspicion of what is not
orthodox."

"Psha! sir, that is equivalent to a confession that you
like your salads without vinegar," said she — "your punch
without lemon — your spice-cakes without spice — your
charmer without a bit of Mother Eve."

185

186 A NEST OF LINNETS

" Madam," said he, " 'tis now you who are orthodox — ay,
up to the first chapter of Genesis ; but for my part, I adore
your sex, from Genesis until the Revelation comes."

"The Revelation? Do you mean until the revealing of
the woman or the Revelation of the Divine ? "

14 Mrs. Abington, I am orthodox : I cannot admit that
there is any difference between the two."

" You are a quibbler, I vow ; but I would not hear your
worst enemy accuse you of being orthodox."

" You can silence such an aspersion, madam, by letting it
be known that you extended your friendship to me."

44 More quibbling ? I swear that 'tis a relief to have a
simple chat with young Mr. Linley, after all this battledore
and shuttlecock with you wits. Oh yes, Tom is a charming
boy."

44 1 am told that he can illustrate the progress of a passion
from Genesis to the Revelation."

"Ay, sir ; but with the Apocryphal books left out."

44 You can hear passages from them read out in the
Abbey."

44 He has made me wild to learn the violin. But, I fear,
alas ! that 'twill be too much for me."

44 Faith, Mrs. Abington, 'twill not be for want of strings
to your bow," cried Dick, dropping the tone of the man of
fashion and assuming the good fellowship of the Irishman,
even to his manner of raising his hat and bowing ; he hoped
that the hint would be taken by the Irish chairmen to lower
the roof and resume their journey.

Mrs. Abington put up her hand to the roof.

"Tom is a charming boy," she cried, smiling the
enigmatical smile of Miss Prue. " Oh yes ; 'twas you
who said that his heart was buried in his violin."

44 1 perceive that 'twas not a safe place of sepulture,"
said Dick.

44 You said the truth when you told me that his heart was

A NEST OF LINNETS 187

there," said she. " Yes, I can hear the poor thing wail to
be released every time he draws his bow across the strings.
You will come to see me at my lodgings, will you not, Mr.
Sheridan?"

"I will wait until your heart is buried beside Tom's
within the frame of his fiddle ; 'twere not safe else," cried
Dick. " Hasten to your Abbey, or you will miss even the
Blessing."

"Meantime, you will think out an epitaph to scratch into
the varnish of the violin."

" A simple Resurgam will do, for, by the Lord Harry,
your heart will not rest long in one place, you beautiful
creature ! " cried Dick, standing with his hat in his hand
while the roof of the chair was lowered on its hinges, and
the chairmen went off with their fair burden.

Dick made up his mind that he would be in no haste to
visit her at her lodgings. She had made him somewhat
afraid of her two nights before, when she had lapsed into
sincerity in the Assembly Rooms, and he had not yet come
to regard her as free from any element of danger to his
peace of mind. He felt, however, that he had accused her
wrongfully of the butterfly quality of fickleness: nearly
forty-eight hours had passed since she had thought it worth
while to captivate Tom Linley, and yet it seemed that she
was still faithful to him.

But why should she think it worth her while to captivate
Tom Linley?

Dick thought out this question while walking to Mr.
Long's house, and before he pulled the bell he had come to
the conclusion that Mrs. Abington was merely adapting to
her own purposes the advice which Angelo, the fencing-
master, was accustomed to give to his pupils. "Have a
bout with the foils every day of your life, if only for ten
minutes with your little brother in the nursery," was the
advice which Angelo gave to pupils when urging on them

188 A NEST OF LINNETS

the need to keep in constant practice. Yes, Mrs. Abington
must have heard him say that.

Tom Linley represented the young brother in the
nursery. That was all very well, so long as the fencing
was done with foils ; but it would be an act of cruelty
for an accomplished fencer to introduce rapiers into the
nursery. He hoped that little brother Tom would come
unscathed out of the encounter which represented to
Mrs. Abington nothing more than a laudable desire to
keep her hand in.

Dick found Mr. Long alone in his sitting-room. His
left hand was rather more elaborately bandaged than it had
been when Dick had seen it last. But Mr. Long assured
him that the wounds were quite trifling — mere scratches, in
fact, scarcely asking for the attention of a surgeon, although
his valet had on his own responsibility called in an
excellent young man, who could be trusted to do as little
as possible to the wounds and so give them a chance of
healing speedily, and who also could be trusted to hold his
tongue in regard to the occurrence.

" I have been using the cudgel on my brains all the
morning trying to invent some plausible excuse for carrying
a bandaged hand for a day or two," said Mr. Long; "but
up to the present I cannot boast of the result. My dull ass
will not mend his pace by beating. Can you come to my
help in this matter, as you did in the matter that placed me
in need of such a story ? Come, Mr. Sheridan, you are a
man of imagination and resource."

" Alas, sir," said Dick, " all that I can offer to do is to
bear testimony to the truth of any inaccuracy you may find
needful."

" Whatever story we may invent, it will not be believed
in Bath — so much is certain," said Mr. Long.

" I begin to think that, after all, we might as well tell the
truth," said Dick.

A NEST OF LINNETS 189

" What ! you think the case is so desperate as all that?"
said Mr. Long.

" There is no better way of mystifying people than by
telling the truth, especially when it sounds improbable,"
said Dick.

" I give you my word, Mr. Sheridan, you seem to speak
with the authority of one who had tried what you suggest.
Perhaps you may, under the stress of circumstances, have
been led into the tortuous paths of the truth. Well, I
think that, on the whole, we had better brazen the matter
out, and give all Bath a chance of disbelieving us. But if
we do so, we must also be prepared with a story to account
for our being on the road at so late an hour. Ah, you will
find, Mr. Sheridan, that telling the truth necessitates a
great deal of tergiversation."

" I must confess, sir," said Dick, " I could scarcely hope
to be believed if I were to make the attempt to account for
my midnight walk on the simple ground of the fineness of
the night."

"It would certainly be thought a very weak plea.
Thank Heaven if I say that I supped at Mr. Lambton's
and thought it prudent to have a stroll afterwards, I will be
believed — at any rate, by such as know that Mr. Lambton
has a French cook."

"Then I think it would be as well if we were to make an
agreement not to mention my name in connection with the
assault upon you; that will save the need for my think-
ing out a moderately plausible story to account for my
presence on the scene."

" What ! you would have me face all Bath with the story
of having beaten off three footpads single-handed ? Oh no,
Mr. Sheridan ! Anything in reason I am quite willing to
state, but I have still some respect left for our acquaintance
in Bath, and I decline to lay such a trust in their credulity.
Why, sir, Falstaffs story of the knaves in Kendal Green

ic/o A NEST OF LINNETS

would seem rational compared with mine ! The wits would
dub me Sir John the first day I appeared abroad after telling
such a tale. And the lampooners — that pitiful tribe who
fancy that possessing Pope's scurrility is the same thing as

possessing his genius Ah, I hear some of the doggerel

— I could even make a quatrain or two myself on my own
valour ! Well, we shall not trouble ourselves further on
this matter just now ; we shall let our good friends take the
first step. So soon as we hear what story they invent to
account for my wounds, we shall know how much truth is
needed ; but we must economise our store. By the way,
Mr. Sheridan, I wonder, if one of us had been killed last
night, would Miss Linley be more distressed had it been
you than if I had been the victim ? "

The suddenness of Mr. Long's remark produced upon
Dick the same effect as his remark of the previous night had
done — that remark which Dick had pondered over during
his sleepless hours.

He had no reply ready for such a question as Mr. Long
had suggested to him — unless, indeed, Mr. Long would
accept his unreadiness as a reply — his unreadiness and the
confused, downcast look on his face, of which he himself
was painfully conscious.

Some time had passed before Dick recovered himself
sufficiently to be able to glance at Mr. Long, and then the
expression which Mr. Long wore did not tend to make him
feel more at ease. The smile which Dick saw on his face
was a curious one — a disconcerting one.

" My poor boy," said Mr. Long, "I have no right to
plague you with suggestions such as these. Still, I cannot
help wondering if you are yet reconciled to the thought of
Miss Linley's having promised to marry me ? "

" I am reconciled, sir," said Dick in a low voice. " I was
not so until I went to see her yesterday. I went, I may as
well confess to you, Mr. Long, in a spirit of — of — no, not

A NEST OF LINNETS 191

mockery ; I could not think of myself falling so low as to
have a desire to mock her — no ; I only meant to show her
that I did not mind — that I did not mind."

" And all the time you were eating your heart out ? My
poor boy, I can appreciate what was in your mind, not
merely because I am not without imagination, but because
I have an excellent memory. But you saw her, and I do
not think that you were quite the same man when you left
her ; I cannot understand any man remaining unchanged in
the presence of that divine creature."

" She changed me. She made me to look on life
differently from the way in which I had previously thought
of it. She made me to perceive what 'tis to have a soul.
She made me see that the real life which is worthy to be
lived by a man is — is "

" You can feel what it is, that is enough," said Mr. Long
when Dick paused, lacking the words to express what was
in his heart. " Tis enough for a man to feel — only to the
few is it given to put these feelings into words, and those
few we call poets. The poet is the one who has the power
to give expression to what the man feels. 'Tis doing an
injustice to men to suggest, as some people do, that all the
feeling is on the part of the poet. Have I interrupted your
thoughts by anticipating you, Mr. Sheridan ? "

" You have said what was on my mind and in my heart —
to-day," cried Dick. " I was a fool to make the attempt to
define what I felt. I am not a poet."

" I am not so sure of that. Our friend Mr. Linley will
tell you that the pauses in music are quite as important
as the combination of notes in interpreting the emotions ;
and you have made some eloquent and touching pauses,
Mr. Sheridan. Believe me, my friend, those pauses did not
speak in vain to me, and now . . . well, you took that long
walk in the mystery of the moonlight. Did that represent
the final struggle with yourself, my boy ? When you found

192 A NEST OF LINNETS

out that it was I whom you had rescued from death, there
was nothing in your heart but satisfaction ? You were glad
that you had saved me for her ? "

" God knows it — God knows it ! " said Dick, with bent
head.

" I knew it too, my boy. I knew that you had taken the
first step on that path to the new life which that sweet girl
opened up before your eyes — a life in which self plays but
the part of the minister to the happiness of others. And
I ... it may occur to you that I can make but an indifferent
preacher on this subject, since it was I who asked Miss
Linley to give me her promise. There are some people
who say that marriage is the most pronounced form of
selfishness in existence. I fear that in addition to being
called by a considerable number of persons ' an old fool/ I
am also called a ' selfish old fool.' Selfish ; yes, they call
me selfish because, appreciating the nature of that girl, and
seeing how intolerable her position had become to her,
mainly through the persecution of the very people who now
call me selfish and ridiculous, I had the courage to ask her
to give me the privilege of freeing her from surroundings that
were stifling to her nature. Is the man who opens the
door of its cage for the linnet impelled by selfish motives ?
I think that he is not. But in any case, the carping and
criticism — the playful winks which I have seen exchanged
between good people when I have passed with Miss Linley
by my side — the suggestive nudges which I have noticed
— I daresay you noticed them too "

" I heard the remarks that were made when you appeared
with her for the first time," said Dick.

" I did not hear them ; but I saw the expression on the
faces of the groups — that was enough for me. I had no
difficulty in translating that expression into words. But you,
who know, — you who have learned something of the nature
of that girl "

A NEST OF LINNETS 193

"Since yesterday — only since yesterday, sir."

" Even so — you, I say, knowing something of her nature,
perceiving how her father had simply come to see in her
the means of filling his purse — poor man ! he was only
acting according to his lights, and the nest of linnets takes
much feeding — you, Mr. Sheridan, recognising the shrink-
ing of that sweet creature from the public life which was
being forced upon her, will, I think, not be hard upon me
because I came forward to save her from all that was changing
the beautiful spirit with which she was endowed by Heaven,
into something commonplace — as commonplace as the
musical education which her father was forcing upon her.
She did not pay full attention to the dotted quavers, he told
me one day in confidence, when I noticed the traces of tears
upon her face. Dotted quavers ! Good heavens ! think of
the position of the man who found fault with the song of the
linnet on account of its inattention to the dotted quavers !
. . . Her father understood as little of the spirituality of
the linnet's song as did the fashionable folk who crowded to
her concerts, not because they loved the linnet's song — not
because it told them of the joy of the springtime come back
to make the world a delight — no, but only because Fashion
had decreed that it was fashionable to attend Miss Linley's
concerts."

" Poor Betsy ! "

11 Poor Betsy ! ay, and poor, poor Fashion ! The child
confided in me. So terrible an effect had that life to
which she was condemned upon her that — you will scarce
believe it— she was ready to become the prey of any
adventurer who might promise to release her from it."

" And I failed to see this — I failed to see this," said Dick.
His voice sounded like a moan of pain.

" You know the men who paid her attention — who were
encouraged by her father ; you know some of them," con-
tinued Mr. Long. " One of them, who was reported to be

13

i94 A NEST OF LINNETS

the owner of a fortune, found great favour in the eyes of her
father. He obtained easy access to the house, and he
might actually have prevailed upon her to run away with
him, for there was no lack of promises with him, if I had
not come here. It was to save her from him that I asked
her to give me her promise ; for I knew that he had a wife
already."

Dick started to his feet, his eyes blazing.

" The infamous hound ! " he cried. " Who is he ? What
is his name ? Only let me know what is his name, that I
may kill him."

"There is no need for me to mention his name," said
Mr. Long; "there is no immediate need for you to kill
him or to give him a chance of killing you."

" Can you sit there before me, and tell me that 'tis not
the duty of every man to do his best to rid the world of such
a ruffian ? " cried Dick passionately.

" I will not take it upon me to define what is the duty of
a man in certain circumstances," said Mr. Long. " But I
assure you that I should be sorry to go so far as to assert that
the world would not be well rid of this particular ruffian ;
still, I know that the killing of him just now would be to
overwhelm one who, we know, shrinks from even a publicity
which is wholly honourable. There are doubtless many
girls who retain so much of the feminine animal in their
nature as causes them to delight to be made the subject of
a fight between two men; that is — unhappily, it seems to
me, but that may be because I do not understand all the
principles of nature — an ordinary trait of the sex ; but — you
and I — ah, we know something of her, do we not ? "

" But a fellow who set himself to bring about her ruin

He is not still in Bath — you would not allow him to remain
in Bath?"

" I have seen to that. I have reason to believe that he
has fled. At any rate, he has not been seen in public since

A NEST OF LINNETS 195

I gave him a hint, the purport of which he could scarcely
mistake. We will talk no more of him. I only referred
to him as an instance of the dangers which, I perceived,
surrounded Miss Linley, and which led me to make a
move for her protection. I have been judged harshly. I
was prepared for that. Sometimes in this matter I have
felt disposed to judge myself much more harshly than any
one else might feel. I wonder if you think that I was
justified in asking Miss Linley to give me her promise
when I saw that she was anxious to escape from a life
which was killing her — when I saw that she was anxious
to save her sisters from the necessity to appear in public
and to sing for money — when I saw that she was set on
this, and on helping all the other members of her family.
Do you think that I was justified in asking her for her
promise to marry me, seeing all that I tell you I saw, and
knowing something of her pure and self-sacrificing nature?"

Dick was overcome by his own thoughts ; but through
all the discord in which they enveloped him there rang
out clearly one note :

"You saved her," he said. "You saved her; that is
all that I can think. Let me go away now."

He had spoken with his head bent, but his voice did
not falter. And then he leapt up from his chair and
turned to the door.

CHAPTER XX

"Do not go yet, my boy," said Mr. Long. It was his
voice that was faltering. " Do not go until I have said all
that is on my mind to say to you."

" Can I hear more, sir ? Is there anything more to be
said?"

" Not much, but still something."

He motioned Dick back to his chair, and, after a
pause, Dick resumed his seat.

" I saved her, you said," continued Mr. Long. " It was
in order to save her that I asked her for that promise. Is
that as noble a motive as most men have when they ask a
young woman to marry them ? I think that it is, whatever
any one who knows the facts of this matter as you and I
know them may say. It may be said that it was despicable
on my part to take advantage of the longing for freedom
of this dear caged linnet of ours — that I took advantage of
her inexperience of life to bind her down to a marriage
that would mean to her a far worse bondage than that from
which she hoped to escape."

" I am not one of those who say so, Mr. Long."

"lam certain of that. Still, she is a child, and I am an

old man Ah, no ! you need not be at the trouble to

protest; I shall probably live for twenty years yet; but when
she was born I was old enough to be her father. Can I
expect to have the girl's love of tnat dear girl? I am not

190

A NEST OF LINNETS 197

so foolish as to entertain such a dream. I have her grati-
tude, her respect, her regard, everything except her love.
That is impossible."

" I do not know that it is impossible, sir. She is not as
other girls are."

"It is impossible, my boy; I know it. It must be
impossible, because I have not asked her for her love. It
is impossible for me to love her with the love of a lover —
with the love that is love. I did not offer her love when
I asked her for her promise."

Dick looked at the man with something akin to wonder-
ment in his eyes.

Mr. Long rose from his chair and slowly walked to and
fro some half-dozen times. Then he went to one of the
windows and looked out. On the pavement a large number
of notable persons were strolling. Mr. Edmund Burke
was there ; he had arrived in Bath the previous evening,
and he was walking with Sir Joshua Reynolds and Miss
Theophila Palmer.

The voices of the crowd outside only seemed to increase
the silence in the room.

But still Dick did not move from his place.

Then Mr. Long walked from the window to the chair
which he had occupied. He looked for a long time at
Dick, as if debating with himself what to say to him. The
prolonged silence was almost embarrassing to the younger
man ; but he felt that he was not called on to speak. And
still the elder man sat with his eyes fixed on him, but with
his thoughts far away, and still the faint sound of the
laughter and the voices in the Street came intermittently
to the room.

"I have spoken somewhat enigmatically, Mr. Sheridan,"
said Mr. Long after this long pause. " I shall do so no
longer. I told you that it is impossible for me to offer
Miss Linley the love which I know you deem impossible

198 A NEST OF IJNNETS

that any man should withhold from her. Why ? you will
ask. My answer to you is that I have loved. It is difficult
to make some people believe that there is no past tense to
the verb * To love ' ; but I do not think that I shall have
such difficulty with you. The man who says, ' I have loved,'
is saying, if he speak the truth, ' I love.' Mr. Sheridan,
when I say to you, ' I have loved,' you know what I mean.
It was close upon forty years ago that I found her; and
time has dealt graciously with her ; for while I have grown
old, she is still young and joyous and sweet. The laugh
of the girl still rings through my heart as it did forty years
ago. There are no wrinkles on her fair face; there is in
her expression nothing of that fear of growing old which I
have seen and shuddered at in the faces of many women.
Perpetual youth — perpetual youth. God's best gift to any
human being — it has been bestowed upon her by the
goodness of God; for those who die young have been
granted the gift of perpetual youth. Our wedding-day
came, and on that very day she was borne to the church in
her wedding-dress, and with the wedding-flowers about her.
I stood beside her, and, instead of hearing the Service for
the Dead spoken as it was that day, I heard the Marriage
Service that was to have been said between us. . . . Forty
years ago . . . and she is still young — unchanged —
untouched by the terrors of time ; and I have been true
to her — every day — every hour. I smile when I think of
her, and I know that she is smiling in return; I am joyous
at my table because I know that she is sitting opposite to
me, and I can walk through the woodlands which surround
my house, taking pleasure in observing all things of nature,
feeling that she is by my side, sharing in my happiness. . . .
My boy, you, I know, can understand how it is the truth
that I have told you when I said that I could not ask our
dear Betsy to love me because I could not offer her that
love which is love."

A NEST OF LINNETS 199

" Do not tell her that — if you wish her to be happy,"
said Dick suddenly, almost bluntly.

Mr. Long laid his hand — it was his wounded hand — with
great tenderness upon Dick's shoulder.

" You have shown me by that remark that what you seek
to bring about is her happiness," said he. " That is what I
aim at. Whatever becomes of us, she must be happy.
Richard, take my word for it, this is the true love — the love
that is immortal — the love in the image of which God
created man, making him a little lower than the angels —
this is the glory with which He crowns him. You, my dear
boy, have taken one step toward that goal of glory if you
have learned that love is spiritual and that its aim is not
one's own happiness but the happiness of another. You
love Betsy Linley ; and it is left for you to show what this
love can accomplish in yourself. Love for love's sake — let
that be your motto. It will mean happiness to you, for it
will mean everything that makes a man a man : the trampling
down of all that is base in nature — the resisting of tempta-
tion— the facing of that stern discipline of life which alone
makes life noble and worthy to be lived. And if she loves
you "

Dick started up.

"Ah, sir, for Heaven's sake do not suggest that to me
now ! " he cried. " Can not you know that that is the
thought which I have been doing my best to suppress — to
beat down — to bury out of sight "

" There is no need for me to withhold what I have said ;
she may love you, and that thought should be a grateful
one to you. It should nerve you, as such a thought has
nerved many men, to do something worthy of her love.
Richard Sheridan, you would not have her love some one
who is unworthy of her love. You would not have her love
a man who is wanting in any of those elements that make
a man worthy to be loved. Richard Sheridan, if she loves

200 A NEST OF LINNETS

you 'tis for you to determine whether she loves a true man
or one who is false to his manhood, which was made in the
image of Godhood. This is what a woman's love should
mean to a man ; and this is love's reward, which comes to
a man even though he may never hold in his arms the one
whom he loves — the one by whom he is beloved. Dick,
let this be my last word to you : whether that girl who is so
dear to us comes to me or to you, if you love her truly 'twill
be a source of good to you while you live, for your constant
aim will be to live worthy not only of her love, but worthy
to love her. That is all I have to say to you, and it is
a good deal more than I have said to any man who lives.
But she must be happy, Dick ; that is the bond there is
between you and me. We must make her happy, whether
we do so by being near her or by being apart from her."

He gave his hand to Dick, and the young man took it,
and then left the room without another word. He had
only a vague idea of the finality, so to speak, of what Mr.
Long had said; and he knew that nothing that left him
with such vagueness in his mind could be final. But
Mr. Long had said enough to strengthen the impression
which Dick had acquired of him the previous night.

A few days before, Dick, with his knowledge of the
world, would have had no hesitation in ridiculing this
principle of love for love's sake which Mr. Long had
impressed upon him ; but now he was sensible for the first
time in his life of the reality of all that Mr. Long had said
on this subject. He became sensible of the spiritual
element in love. Had he not just been made aware of
its existence ? Had he not just come from the presence
of a man who had cherished a spiritual love through all the
years of a long lifetime, until it had become a part of his
life, influencing him in all his actions, as though it were
a living thing ?

As 'though it were a living thing? But it was surely a

A NEST OF LINNETS 201

living thing. This surely was the love which poets had
sung of as being immortal ! It was purely spiritual, and
therefore immortal. It was cherished for its own sake,
and the reward which it brought to one who was true to
it came solely in the act of cherishing it. The consciousness
of cherishing it — that was enough for such as were strong
enough to cherish it for its own sake ; to take it into one's
life, and to guard one's life rigidly — jealously — because it is
in one's life ; to guard one's life for its sake as one guards
the casket that contains a great treasure.

Dick felt that this was the sum of what Mr. Long had
sought to impress upon him, and he also felt that this great
truth had long ago been revealed to Betsy Linley. It was
in the spirit of this spirit of love that she had kissed him
the previous evening j and now he felt that he had no
longing for any love but this. She had set his feet upon
the way to this goal, and he was assured that should he
falter, should he look back, she would be by his side to put
a hand in his, to bid him take courage and press forward to
that goal which she had pointed out to him.

He did not at that time make even an attempt to
consider such questions as he would have suggested a few
days before, to any one who might have come to him telling
him all that Mr. Long had just said in his hearing. Mr.
Long had encouraged him to love Betsy Linley — to con-
tinue loving her ; and he had not shrunk from suggesting
the possibility of the girl's returning his love. A few days
before Dick would have been inclined to ask any one who
might have come to him telling him this, if Mr. Long was
encouraging another man to love the girl whom he himself
meant to marry. But now this seemed to him to be a
point unworthy of a thought. So deeply impressed was
he by what Mr. Long had just said to him, he could not
give a thought to anything less spiritual. The splendid
light that came from that heaven to which his eyes had

202 A NEST OF LINNETS

been directed, so dazzled him with its effulgence as to make
him incapable of giving any attention to matters of detail.

It never occurred to him to ask himself if it was Mr.
Long's intention to marry Betsy immediately. Whatever
answer might be given to such a question, it could not
possibly affect the reality of the religion of love as
stated by Mr. Long. Of this he was satisfied. He knew
that whoever might marry Betsy Linley, his own love for
her had become part of his life, and its influence upon his
life was real.

He went to his home looking neither to the right hand
nor the left, and when he reached his room he was
conscious of very different thoughts from those which had
been his a few mornings before, when he had thrown
himself on his bed in a passion of tears after seeing, though
but for a moment, Betsy by the side of Mr. Long in the
gardens. At that time the pangs that he felt — the vexation
that he felt — were due, in a large measure, to the blow
which his vanity had sustained, and it was his vanity that
had suggested to him, with a view of recovering its
equilibrium, as it were, the advisability of his adopting
the tone and playing the role of a cynical man of the world,
who has seen the foolishness — the ludicrous foolishness ot
what is called love.

But now

Well, now he was kneeling by his bedside.

CHAPTER XXI

Dick was greatly surprised when, on going out to take the
air the next day, he was met by one of his acquaintance —
a young Mr. Vere, who shook him warmly by the hand,
offering him his congratulations.

"'Twas very spirited of you so to take up the quarrel
of your brother, Mr. Sheridan j that is what every one in
Bath is saying to-day," cried Mr. Vere. " I give you my
word, sir, there is not one who ventures to assert that you
were not fully justified in sending the challenge."

11 Tis most gratifying to me, I am sure, that people take
so lenient a view of an affair of which I have heard nothing
up to the present moment," said Dick.

" I refer to your duel, Mr. Sheridan. Surely that
incident, trifling though it may be to a gentleman of your
experience, has not yet escaped your memory ? " said Vere.

"To tell you the truth, Mr. Vere," said Dick, "I have
got a very short memory for incidents that have not taken
place. Pray, what duel do you refer to, and what had
I got to do with it ? Pardon my curiosity, sir ; 'tis rather
ridiculous, I allow, but my nature is sufficiently inquiring to
compel me to ask you if I was a principal in the duel or
merely one of the seconds. I hope you do not consider
me impertinent in putting such a question to you."

Mr. Vere stared at him for a few moments, and then
laughed.

204 A NEST OF LINNETS

"You carry it off very well, I must confess," said he.
11 But there is no need for you to affect such complete
ignorance. I give you my word that every one acquits you
of blame in the matter — nay, I am assured that the meeting
was inevitable ; but I doubt not there is no one more ready
than yourself to rejoice that your adversary was not severely
wounded."

" Tis a source of boundless satisfaction to me to learn
so much from your lips, sir," said Dick. "And if you
could see your way to add to my obligation by making me
acquainted with the name of my antagonist, I would never
forget your kindness."

" Upon my soul, you carry it off very well ! I dare swear
that Mr. Garrick, for all his reputation, could not do it
much better," said Mr. Vere. " But your acting is wasted,
Mr. Sheridan j I tell you that the general opinion in Bath
is that your act was highly commendable. Pray, Sheridan,
tell me in confidence what was the exact nature of the
affront put upon your brother — apart, of course, from
the question of the lady; I promise you that 'twill go
no further ! "

" Look you here, Mr. Vere," said Dick, " I do not mind
being made a fool of up to a certain point — there is no
positive disgrace in being a fool in Bath, one finds oneself
in such congenial company, — but I tell you, sir, I will not
suffer any one to go beyond a certain distance with me, and
you are going perilously close to my frontier with these
compliments of yours. Come, sir, tell me plainly, what
do you mean by suggesting that I have been concerned in
a duel, and with whom do you suggest I have been
fighting ? "

"What, sir, do you mean to say that you have not
just fought a duel with Mr. Long on behalf of your
brother?"

" Yes, sir, I have no hesitation in affirming that I have

A NEST OF UNNETS 205

fought no duel with Mr. Long or with any one else, either
on behalf of my brother or any one else."

" Heavens ! you surprise me, sir. Why, all Bath is
talking "

" Talking nonsense — that is the mother tongue of Bath j
and so far as I can gather, you do not stand in need of a
course of lessons in this particular language, Mr. Vere, and
so I wish you good-morning, sir."

Mr. Vere's jaw fell. His usual alertness of manner
disappeared before Dick's energetic rebuff. He did not
even retain sufficient presence of mind to take off his hat
when Dick made such a salutation, and walked quietly on.

But when Dick had gone something less than twenty
yards on his way, a sudden thought seemed to strike young
Vere. Hurrying after him, he cried :

" Look here, Mr. Sheridan, if you did not fight Mr. Long,
how does his arm come to be wounded, — tell me that ? "

"Mr. Vere," said Dick, stopping and turning to the
other, — " Mr. Vere, unless your story of Mr. Long's having
sustained a wound be much more accurate than much of
what you have just been telling me, it stands in great need
of verification."

He walked on, leaving the young man to recover as best
he could from his astonishment.

But Dick had scarcely resumed his walk before he en-
countered his friend Nat Halhed, who almost threw himself
into Dick's arms, so great was his emotion at that moment.

" My dear Dick — my dear Dick, you are unhurt ! " he
cried. " Thank Heaven for that — thank Heaven ! I hear
on good authority that 'tis only a flesh wound, and that he
will be out of the house by the end of the week. But
'twas unkind of you not to ask me to be your friend in
this affair, Dick. Sure, you might have given me your
confidence."

" I was afraid of that wagging tongue of yours, Nat,"

2o6 A NEST OF UNNETS

said Dick; (<I was afraid that you might be the dupe
of some of the scandal-mongers who have become the curse
of Bath."

"Nay, Dick, this is unkind," said Nat reproachfully.
"You know that I am the soul of discretion, and that
nothing would tempt me to talk of any matter of the
accuracy of which I was not fully assured."

" I know that you have just been repeating a story which
had its origin only in the imagination of some gossip-
monger," said Dick.

" What — I — I ? Pray, what story do you allude to ? "

" To the story of my duel. I have been concerned in
no duel. But mark my words, Nat, if I hear much more
about this business, I shall be engaged in several duels."

" Do you mean to deny the fact of your having had an
encounter with Mr. Long two days ago — a secret encounter,
because of his having accused you of the attempt to turn
away from him the affections of Miss Linley ? "

Dick became pale with anger.

" I tell you what it is, sir," he cried j " I have had no
encounter with Mr. Long on any question ; and let me add,
for your benefit and the benefit of your associates, that
if any one wishes to provoke me to a duel, he can
accomplish his purpose best by asserting in my hearing
that I am capable of making such an attempt as that which
you say has been attributed to me. That is all I have to
say to you, my friend Nat."

Halhed gasped, and Dick walked on.

Before many seconds had elapsed he heard Halhed's
voice behind him.

" If you had no duel with Mr. Long, pray, how does he
come to have that ugly wound on his wrist?" cried the
young man.

"Why not ask him?" said Dick. "What am I that
I should be held accountable for every scratch that one

A NEST OF LINNETS 207

receives at Bath ? Are there not cats enough at Bath — in
the Pump Room, and the Assembly Rooms, and other
schools for scandal — to account for all the scratches upon
a man's wrist or reputation that he may sustain in the
course of the season ? "

He hastened on, leaving young Halhed still gasping.

It now appeared quite clear to Dick that the gossip-
mongers had somehow got to hear that Mr. Long had
sustained a sword-wound on the wrist, and they were not
slow to invent a story possessing at least some elements of
romance to account for it. It seemed that a course of the
waters had as stimulating an effect upon the imagination
as it had upon a sluggish liver. Some of the visitors were
such clever naturalists and had had so large an experience
of fossilised deposits, that they had become adroit in the
construction of a whole mammoth fabric if only a single
tooth were placed at their disposal. Dick had heard of
such feats being performed by persons who combined a
knowledge of geology with an acquaintance with zoology,
supplementing the two by as much imagination as was
necessary to achieve any result at which they aimed.
Learning that Mr. Long had his left arm bound up, these
professors of social zoology had proved themselves fully
equal to the task of accounting for his wound.

What Dick could not understand was why they should
associate him with the imaginary duel. It was not until he
heard his name called out by a lady in a splendidly painted
chair — the chair is still in existence, though the splendidly
painted occupant is no more than the dust of one of the
pigments used in painting a bit of a picture of the brilliant
society of a century and a half ago — and found that Mrs.
Cholmondeley was looking eagerly through the window,
beckoning to him with her fan, that he learned how it was
that his name became mixed up with the story.

He bowed to the ground before the beautiful structure so

208 A NEST OF UNNETS

elaborately built up within the cramping limits of the
chair ; and the bearers, at a signal from the lady, came to a
halt and raised the roof on its hinges.

" Oh, Mr. Sheridan," she cried, " you gave us all such a
shock ! But we are so glad that you are safe ! "

" Safe, madam ? " said he. " Heavens ! what man in
Bath can consider himself safe when Mrs. Cholmondeley
turns her eyes upon him ? Dear madam, 'tis sure un-
generous of you to jest at the expense of one of your most
willing victims."

" Jest, sir ? I vow 'twould have been no jest to Bath if
you had been wounded instead of Mr. Long," cried Mrs.
Cholmondeley. " And you kept the whole business so
secret too ; you did not give any of us a chance of inter-
fering with you, you hot-headed young Achilles ! Of
course, you did not inflict a severe wound upon the poor
gentleman ! We Irish are generous by instinct. And 'twas
like you to sit with him for more than an hour yesterday,
and then go straight home, never leaving the house all the
night, though you must have known that you would have
been well received at the Rooms had you put in an
appearance there. But you ever showed good taste, sir —
that is another Irish trait."

" Madam," said he, " I cannot doubt that the infatuation
which, alas ! I have never been able to conceal for the
beautiful Mrs. Cholmondeley has gained for me a reputation
for taste ; I trust, madam, that I did not altogether forfeit
it by omitting to visit the Rooms last night, where, I
hear, she was as usual the cynosure of the most brilliant
circle."

" A truce to compliments, Mr. Sheridan," said she.
" Young men shaped after Apollo have no need for them.
Compliments are the makeshifts of the elderly to call away
attention from their spindleshanks. Confidences, and not
compliments, are what we old women look for from such as

A NEST OF LINNETS 209

you ; so prithee, Dick, tell me all about the matter — 'twill
go no further, I promise you."

"At no more adorable shrine need I ever hope to
confess my virtues, madam," said he ; " but in this
matter "

" Oh, sir, the man who has only virtues to confess soon
ceases to interest a confidante," said she. " But it may be
that you consider fighting a duel to be praiseworthy ? "

" Let any one cast an aspersion upon Mrs. Colmondeley
in my presence, and I shall prove that a duel is one of the
cardinal virtues, madam," said Dick.

"'Twas not about me you fought Mr. Long at dawn
yesterday," she cried.

"Madam, you may venture on that statement, being
aware that Mr. Long is alive to-day," said Dick.

" I perceive that you and he have entered into a compact
to keep the affair a secret," said she. "Well, though I
think that you might make an exception of me, I cannot
but acknowledge that you have good taste on your side."

" I have the mirror of good taste at my side when Mrs.
Cholmondeley honours me by stopping her chair while I
am in the act of passing her," said Dick.

" Oh, sir, you are monstrous civil. But if you think that
you can keep the details of your duel secret at Bath, you
compliment yourself rather than your acquaintance in this
town."

" Faith, Mrs. Cholmondeley, my acquaintance seem to
know a good deal more about this duel than I do," said
Dick.

" You will make me lose patience with you," said she.
" But I will be content if you give me your word that you
will not tell Mrs. Thrale or Mrs. Crewe what has occurred.
You will promise me, Dick ? I should die of chagrin if
either of that gossiping pair were to come to me with a
circumstantial account of the duel."

2io A NEST OF UNNETS

" I can give you that promise with all my heart," said
he. " But if you assume that my reticence will prevent
either of the ladies from being able to give a circumstantial
account of this incident, about which every one seems to be
talking, you will show that you know a good deal less about
them than you should."

"You are quite right; they are the grossest of the
scandal-mongers — ay, and the least scrupulous," she cried.
"Why, it was only last night that one of them — I shall
leave you to guess which — asserted that she had the
evidence of her own eyes to prove to her that it was the
younger of the Sheridan sons, and not the elder, who was in
love with Miss Linley, although the other talked most of
his passion. And by the Lord, sir, she was right, if my
eyesight be worth anything."

Dick was always on the alert — as, indeed, he required to
be — when engaged in conversation with Mrs. Cholmondeley
and the other ladies of the set to which she belonged j but
the impudence of her suggestion, made in so direct a
fashion, startled him into a blush. He recovered himself
in a moment, however, and before her chairmen could
comply with her signal to take up the chair, he was smiling
most vexatiously, while he said :

" 'Twere vain, dear madam, to make an attempt to
dissemble before such well-informed ladies. You are fully
acquainted not only with the particulars of a duel which
never took place, but also with the details of a passion
which exists only in the imagination. Ah, Mrs. Cholmon-
deley, we men are poor creatures in the presence of a lady
with much imagination and few scruples."

He bowed, with his hat in his hand.

" You do well to run away, sir," said the lady, with a
malicious twinkle.

" Tis the act of a wise man," said he. " The cat that
only scratches a man's hand, one may play with, but the cat

A NEST OF LINNETS 211

that scratches a man's heart should be handed over to the
gamekeeper to nail upon the door. I, however, prefer to
run away."

He had gone backward, still bowing with profound
respect, for half a dozen yards, before she had recovered
from the strongest rebuff she had ever received.

Then she asked her chairmen, in a tone that had some-
thing of shrillness in it, if they intended leaving her in the
road for the rest of the day.

She was very angry, not only because she was conscious
of having received a rebuke which she had richly merited,
but also because she had failed to find out whether or not
there was any truth in the story of the duel between Mr.
Long and Dick Sheridan, which had been discussed all the
day in the least trustworthy of the many untrustworthy
circles in Bath.

She herself had had her doubts as to the accuracy of the
story. Mr. Horace Walpole had shown himself to be too
greatly interested in it to allow of any reasonable person's
accepting it without serious misgivings j for she knew that
the leading precept in Mr. Walpole's ethics of scandal was,
" Any story is good enough to hang an epigram on." But
in spite of the fact that Walpole was highly circumstantial in
his account of the duel, its origin, and its probable results,
Mrs. Cholmondeley thought that there might be something
in it. This was why she had stopped Dick so eagerly.
She thought that she might trust to her own adroitness to
find out from him enough to place her friends in the right
or in the wrong in respect of the story ; she would have
liked to have it in her power to put them in the wrong, but
hers was not a grasping nature : she would have been quite
content to be able to put them in the right.

Well, it was very provoking to be foiled by the cleverness
of that young Sheridan. He had been impudent, too, and
had actually shown that he resented her cultured curiosity

212 A NEST OF LINNETS

on the subject of his affairs. This she felt to be insufferable
on the part of young Sheridan.

Happily, however, though she had learned nothing from
him — except, perhaps, that there were in existence some
young men who objected to their personal affairs being
made the subject of public conversation by people who
knew nothing about them — she did not despair of being
able to make herself interesting to her friends when
describing her rencontre with Dick; and, setting her
imagination to work, she found that she could serve up quite
a palatable and dainty dish out of the story of how she had
overwhelmed him with confusion. She did not at that
moment remember what were the exact phrases she had
employed to compass this end, but she had every confidence
in the power of her imagination to suggest to her before the
time for going to the Assembly Rooms the well-balanced
badinage which she had used to send him flying from her in
confusion.

And Dick, as he walked homeward, without feeling that
he had vastly enjoyed his walk, knew perfectly well just
what was in the lady's mind. He had no illusions on the
subject of her scrupulousness. He was well aware that she
would not hesitate to give her circle any account that suited
her, respecting her meeting with him. He had an idea,
however, that the members of her circle would only believe
as much of her story as suited themselves. How much this
was would be wholly dependent upon the piquant elements
introduced into the story by Mrs. Cholmondeley. He
knew enough of the world to know that people would give
credence to the more malicious of her suggestions without
weighing the probability of the matters on which they bore.

But what he thought about most was the reference which
she had made to Betsy and himself. Up to that time it
was only the most jealous of Betsy's many suitors who had
looked on him as a rival. Very few persons in Bath had

A NEST OF LINNETS 213

discovered his secret, and it had certainly never been spoken
of seriously. An exceedingly poor man has always, he
knew, a better chance than the man of means of evading
the vigilance of the gossip-mongers ; therefore he had
escaped having the compliment paid to him of being
referred to as a possible suitor.

It was becoming clear to him, however, that there were
some people in Bath whose experience of life had led them
to believe that the lack of worldly means was not a certain
deterrent to the aspirations of a young man with talent —
assuming that talent means making the most of one's oppor-
tunities : a very worldly definition of talent, but not the
less acceptable on that account to the fashionable people
of Bath.

The reflection that his secret was no longer one annoyed
him, but not greatly. His consciousness of vexation had
disappeared before he turned the corner of Orange Grove
into Terrace Walk.

And then he entered his house and almost walked into
the arms of Mrs. Abington, who was waiting for him on the
first lobby.

" Oh, Dick, Dick ! safe— safe ! Thank Heaven ! " she
cried, putting out both her hands to him and catching him
by the arms.

Her form of greeting him had about it more than the
suggestion of a clasp.

CHAPTER XXII

He was not angry — what was there to be angry about?
The greeting of a beautiful woman (with the suggestion of a
clasp) when one expects to meet only a sister may contain
the elements of surprise, but rarely those of vexation.

Dick was surprised — in fact, he was slightly alarmed, but
he retained his self-possession.

" Safe ? " he cried. " Why should not I be safe, unless " —
he recollected that not half an hour before he had been
greeted by a lady with the same word, and he had replied
to it with great glibness : could he do better than repeat

himself? He thought not — unless "Ah, madam,

what man is safe when such beauty "

" Do not talk to me in that way. Is this a time for com-
pliments— empty — obvious — odious ? " she cried, loosing
his arms with such suddenness as almost to suggest flinging
them from her.

Before she went in a whirl into the room beyond the
lobby, he had seen that her face — it had come very close to
his own at one moment — was white.

He followed her slowly into the room.

" Forgive me, madam," he said. " Pray forgive me ; I
did not realise that you were in earnest. I cannot under-
stand. Some one else greeted me just now with the same
word — safe. Why "

" And you made the same reply to me that you made to

A NEST OF UNNBTS 215

her, and doubtless she was completely satisfied, and you
paid me the compliment of taking it for granted that the
same compliment would repay me for all that I have
suffered ? Dick, you are — oh, I have no words — you are —
a man — I know you — I know men."

" The retort is just. I assumed, for the moment, that you
were like other women. I was wrong. I see now that you
were really concerned — for some reason — for my safety ;
Mrs. Cholmondeley was not."

" Mrs. Cholmondeley ? Who is Mrs. Cholmondeley that
she should have any thought for you ? Curiosity — oh, yes
— tattle — scandal — the material for a pretty piece of scandal,
no doubt — that's how she looked at the whole affair. I
know her — a woman — a very woman — I know women."

" I do not. I admit that I do not understand woman.

I fancied But every woman is a separate woman. She

has an identity that is wholly her own."

" That is the first step a man should take if he seek
to understand us. But philosophy — what is philosophy at
such a moment as this ? I cannot take your safety philo-
sophically, Dick — thank Heaven — thank Heaven ! "

" That is wherein I differ from you. I take my safety
philosophically ; I bear it with equanimity. Has it been
imperilled ? Not that I know of."

She looked at him ; a puzzled expression was on her face.

" A young philosopher shows his wisdom only if he is a
young fool," she said. " But you are not so foolish as to be
a philosopher at your time of life, Dick. Equanimity —
there's a word for you ! But you never felt in peril. Mr.
Long is an old man. Do you fancy that Betsy Linley will
forgive you for fighting him ? "

11 Mrs. Abington," said Dick, " you have been like several
other people in this town — the victim of a very foolish and
malicious piece of gossip which seems to have been most
persistently spread abroad. I have been concerned in no

216 A NEST OF LINNETS

duel, and I swear to you that for no earthly consideration —
not even if my own honour were in peril — would I fight Mr.
Long. I have a greater respect — a deeper affection — for
Mr. Long than I have for any living man."

The lady stood before him speechless. She was breath-
ing hard. The hand that she had laid upon the upper lace
of her bodice rose and fell several times before the expres-
sion that had been on her face gave place to quite a different
one. The new expression suggested something more than
relief, and so did the long sigh that caused her hand to
remain for some moments poised above her lace, like a
white bird on the curve of a white wave.

She sighed.

Then she gave a laugh — a laugh of pleasant derision —
the tolerant derision that one levels at oneself, saying, when
things have turned out all right, " What a fool I have been /"
Those were her very words.

" What a fool I have been, Dick ! I was told that

But I was a fool to believe anything that came from such a
source! Did Mr. Walpole invent the whole story merely
out of malice ? He is quite equal to it. Or was it a
woman ? Most likely it came from a woman ; but, lud, if
you were to try to find the woman who started the lie you
would be overcome, for there's not one of the whole set that
wouldn't take a pleasure in't. I'm so sorry, Dick ! But the
story at first was that you had received an injury. What a
state I was in ! And then some one came with the news that
'twas your opponent who was hurt. Oh, the liars ! liars all !
But you are not hurt — I mean, you are in no way hurt, my
Dick, by this silly story ? "

"Hurt? Why, I am overwhelmed with conceit at the
thought that my condition should cause so much concern to
my friends," said Dick. " 'Tis a great feather in my cap
that I should become all in a moment, and without doing
anything for it, the topic of the day in a town which is

A NEST OF LINNETS 217

fastidious in its choice of topics. You were talking a few
nights ago of my writing a comedy. Well, here is one
scene in it ready-made. Scene : A room in the house of

Lady What shall we call her — Lady Sneerwell or the

Countess of Candour ? The members of the Senate of the
College of Scandal have met. 'What, you have surely
heard of the duel ? Oh, lud ! is't possible that you have
not heard it ? Where can your ladyship have been living ?
Oh, faith, 'tis but too true. They met in Kingsmead Fields
by the light of a lovely moon last night, and, after a pass or
two, Mr. Thompson's sword pierced the lungs of old Sir

Simon, and ' 'No, no, sir, you are wrong there;

'twas with pistols they fought,' cries another gentleman, who
enters hurriedly. ' Pistols, sir ? Swords, as I heard it.'
'Nay, sir, you cannot believe all you hear. They fought
with pistols, I give you my word. They exchanged seven
shots apiece, and two of the seconds and one of the surgeons
fell mortally wounded ; it was the seventh broadside that
struck a knot in the third lowest branch of a pollard ash at
one side of the ground, and glancing off at an acute angle,
passed through a thrush's nest in a Westphalian poplar
containing four eggs, three of them speckled and one of
them, strange to say, plain, all within six days and two
hours of incubation. The bullet smashed one of them,
containing a fine hen bird, to atoms, but without disturbing
the mother, who continued sitting on the clutch, and,
touching the third button on the left-hand side of the peach-
coloured coat, made by Filby, of London, and not yet paid
for, of one of the onlookers, glanced off to the right shoe-
buckle of Sir Simon, and cut off the great toe of his left foot
as clean as if it had been done under the surgeon's knife.'
' Nay, sir, you are sure in error. 'Twas Mr. Thompson
who sustained the wound , and let me tell, sir, that 'twas
his right ear that was cut off.' * With respect, sir, 'twas the
elder gentleman.' ' Nay, sir, I should know ; 'twas the

218 A NEST OF UNNETS

younger, I assure you.' 'Sir, you take too much upon you.'
1 And you, sir, are a jackanapes ! ' Enter Sir Simon and
Mr. Thompson, arm in arm. There's the scene ready for
rehearsal. Oh, I should feel extremely obliged to my kind
traducers for suggesting it all to me."

Dick had bustled through the imaginary scene with the
greatest vivacity j and Mrs. Abington perceived that he did
it very well and that he had acquired something of the true
spirit of comedy, though he exaggerated everything, after the
manner of the schoolboy who takes the clown as his mentor.
But after she had greeted his performance with a laugh, she
pouted and protested that he had offended her. She seated
herself on the sofa, and turned her head away from him with
the air of the offended lady.

Dick watched her performance critically, and fully
appreciated the delicacy of her comedy — all the more as
he was elated with the scene which he had just invented.
He hoped that he would have a chance of introducing
something like it in a comedy, and he had such a chance a
few years later, nor did he forget to put Mrs. Abington on
in that scene.

" Why should you be offended, you beautiful creature ? "
he said, leaning over her from behind.

" I am offended because you are making a mock of my
concern for your safety," she replied. " Oh, Dick, if you
knew what I suffered, you would not make a mock of me."

" Believe me, dear lady, 'twas not my intention to say a
word in that spirit," said he. " Nay, I give you my word
that, however I may be disposed to regard the remarks
made by Mrs. Cholmondeley and the rest of her set in
respect of this ridiculous affair, I can only feel touched —
yes, deeply touched and honoured — by the concern you
showed on my behalf."

" No, you do not feel touched ; you only think of me as
a silly old woman," she cried.

A NEST OF LINNETS 219

" Nay, you do me a great injustice," he said. " I was
affected by what you said to me on the evening of your
arrival ; it showed me how good and kind was your heart,
and now — well, I can say with truth that my feeling has
been increased by the additional evidence you have given
me of your — your kind heart."

11 Ah, that is just the limit of your feeling for me ! * she
said in a low voice — a voice that coaxed one into contra-
diction— while her eyes, cast downward to the point of her
dainty little shoe, coerced one into contradiction.

Most men were quite content to be coaxed, but there
were an obstinate few who required coercion.

But she had a point still in reserve. She knew it to be
irresistible in an emergency.

Dick yielded to the coaxing of her voice.

" Nay," he said, " I have not yet expressed all that I feel
of regard for you, Mrs. Abington. I shall not make the
attempt to do so."

" Regard ? Regard ? Regard is the feeling that a miss
has for her governess," said she. " You should have no
special trouble expressing your regard for me, sir. 'Tis
usually done through the medium of a book of poetry —
schoolroom verses writ solely for the sake of the moral
in the last stanza. Will you buy me such a volume,
Dick ? "

" Now 'tis I who have reason to complain of being
mocked," said he.

She started up and stood face to face with him. It
seemed to him that she was full of eagerness to say some-
thing. She had her fingers interlaced in front of her ; there
was a tremulous movement about her lips suggesting a flood
of emotion about to be released in words.

And the flood came.

"Good-bye! "she said.

And then he understood her.

22o A NEST OF LINNETS

He took the hand which she had flung out to him and
bowed his head down to it.

There was a silence while he laid his lips upon it. And
then she gave a derisive laugh.

" You are the greatest fool I ever met in my life ! " she
cried. "You are a fool, Dick. Any man is a fool who
kisses a woman's hand when he might kiss her lips."

" That is not as I have read the history of the world
from the days of Queen Dido of Carthage down to the days
of Queen Diana of Poictiers," said Dick.

" And you call yourself an Irishman ! " she cried, with
affected scorn.

"As seldom as possible," he said. "Only when 'tis
needful for me to make an excuse for an indiscretion. I do
not feel the need to call myself one to-day."

" I have always paid you the compliment of thinking of
you as very human," she said.

"And now you have proved the value of your judgment,"
said he.

She took a step toward the door, still keeping her eyes
upon his face.

" Human ? " she said sadly. " Human, and yet you
drive me from your presence like this ? That is where
you err."

" To err is human," said he.

She was back again in a flash.

" Oh, Dick, are you not a fool ? " she cried. " Why will
you continue troubling yourself about a girl who has passed
away from you — who treated you with indifference— when
there are others within reach who would make your fortune
— who would spend all their time thinking — thinking —
thinking how to make you happy — and who would succeed,
too ? Do you prefer a dream of love to the reality, Dick ? "

" I do not understand you," said Dick. " Nay, do not
make any further attempt to enlighten my dulness, I entreat

A NEST OF UNNETS 221

of you. I prefer remaining in ignorance of your meaning,
because I like you so well, Mrs. Abington, and because I
never mean to forget your kindness to me, and because I
think the woman of impulse is the most charming of all
women ; I think her so charming that I hold in contempt
the man who does not stand between her and her impulses."

11 And I hold in contempt the man who, when a young
girl has given her promise to marry another man, continues
to love her and to remain in her neighbourhood instead
of behaving reasonably and as ordinary self-respect should
dictate. Self-respect, did I say? Let me rather say as
ordinary respect for the young woman should dictate. I
have a contempt for the man who fails to do the young
woman the justice of giving her a chance of forgetting him,
as she should when she has made up her mind to marry his
rival. Richard Sheridan, if you were desirous of treating
Elizabeth Linley fairly you would leave Bath to-day and not
return until she has become the wife of Mr. Long and has
gone with him to his home and her home. I looked on
you as a man of honour, Dick — a man who liked to see
fair play ; but I am disappointed in you. Your brother is
a truer man than you are; he had the decency to take
himself off when he found that the girl had made her
choice. That is all I have to say to you, Master Richard
Brinsley. I have spoken in a moment of impulse, you
will say, no doubt ; and in that reflection you will
probably find a sufficient excuse for disregarding all that I
have said. Now good-bye to you, my friend. I never wish
to see your face again."

She flashed through the door before he could say a word j
but for that matter he had no word to say. He stood for
a few moments where she had left him in the middle of
the room; then he seated himself on the sofa where she
had sat.

He was disturbed by what she had just said to him —

222 A NEST OF UNNETS

more disturbed than he was by the thought of all that she
had said in the early part of their interview, though that
could not be said to have a tranquillising influence upon
a young man whose emotions were not always under his
control.

She had told him that if he had any self-respect — if he
had any regard for Betsy Linley, he would hasten away from
Bath and not return until she had left it.

That would be doing only what was fair to Betsy and to
the man whom she had promised to marry, Mrs. Abington
had said ; and Dick could not but feel that there was some
show of reason in this view of a matter that concerned him
deeply.

He wondered if she had not spoken wisely — if she had
not given him the most sensible advice possible, and at the
same time the most philosophical — the two are not always
the same thing. To be sure, she had assumed that Betsy
Linley loved him, and that, therefore, his presence near her
could not fail to be a menace to the girl's peace of mind —
could not fail to tend to make her thoughts dwell upon
the past rather than to look into the future j and perhaps
this was assuming too much. He did not know that Betsy
had ever loved him. But still Mrs. Abington's words made
their impression.

And then he began to think of the bitter words which she
had spoken. The room still seemed to ring with those
words which had whirled from her when she had stood with
her hand on the door :

" / never wish to see your face again ! "

Those were bitter words ; and he felt that she meant
them. She meant them. He could not doubt that. Yes,
she meant . . .

And then the door was thrown open, and before he could
raise his head, which was bent forward, his chin resting on
one hand, she had flung herself on her knees before him,

Oh, Dick— my own dear Dick, forgive me for what I have said ! "

[page 223.

A NEST OF UNNETS 223

and was kissing his face, holding a hand on each of his
cheeks, sobbing at the intervals.

" Oh, Dick — my own dear Dick, forgive me for what I
have said — forget all that I have said! You are the
only good man that I have met, Dick, and I will not go
back to London without knowing that you have forgiven
me. Say that you do, Dick ; I am only a poor woman — it
is so easy to forgive a woman, is it not, Dick ? "

He kissed her on the forehead, and then on one of her
cheeks, where a tear was glistening.

" You have no business with tears," said he.

But that was just where he made a mistake.

CHAPTER XXIII

Yes, but had she not given him good advice ?

This was the question which she had left him to think
over, and it was one which excluded every other thought for
some days.

She had suggested to him in her own way — he re-
membered the flashing of her eyes and her attitude in front
of him, with a denunciatory forefinger pointed at him —
that he was behaving basely by remaining in Bath after
Betsy Linley had given her promise to marry Mr. Long.
He should have shown his brother an example in this
respect, rather than have allowed his brother to make the
first move.

He thought again, as he had thought before — in the
interval between Mrs. Abington's hasty exit from the room
and her unexpected return to him — that the value of this
counsel was wholly dependent on the assumption that
Betsy loved him; and he felt that it would be a piece
of presumption on his part to take so much for granted.
He reflected that he had really no absolute proof that
she had ever entertained a thought of him as a lover. To
be sure, when they were children together they had been
sweethearts ; but since they had passed out of that period,
neither of them had ever referred to the promises of con-
stancy which they had exchanged. He could not deny to
himself, nor did he make the attempt to do so, that his

A NEST OF LINNETS 225

affection for Betsy had been continuous ; but this was not
a point that had any bearing upon the question of whether
he was doing right or wrong in remaining in Bath.

So far as he himself was concerned, he felt that, though
he loved Betsy as deeply as ever, he could trust himself to
be near her. His love had been chastened, purified, exalted
since that evening when she had kissed him and told him
what love really was. He felt that he had acquired a share
of her unselfishness, a sense of the glory of self-sacrifice.

He would stay.

He would not suggest that he had a doubt as to the
stability of her purpose. He would not suggest that his
vanity was so great as to make it impossible for him to
conceive of her not being in love with him. His flying
from Bath at such a time would certainly tend to give her
pain. It would be equivalent to an impudent suggestion
on his part — the suggestion that his staying would be too
much for her — the suggestion that his flight would be an
act of mercy shown by him to her.

He would stay.

He would not assume even in confidence with himself
that Betsy loved him; and as for himself, had not Mr.
Long's parting words to him opened up before his eyes
a new vista of the influence of love — that love which seeks
not a reward — that love which is in itself the reward of
loving ? Mr. Long had not urged him to abandon as an
idle dream the love that he had for Betsy Linley : he had
rather exhorted him to continue steadfast in his love, since
its influence upon him would be wholly for good.

He would stay.

And he did stay ; and so did Mrs. Abington.

When she said good-bye to him, in a passion of repentant
tears, he took it for granted that she would return to London
probably the next day j but somehow, if that was her inten-
tion, she fell short of realising it. She appeared every day

15

226 A NEST OF LINNETS

on the Parade, and every evening either in one of the
Assembly Rooms or at a concert, with Tom Linley by
her side.

Dick heard of her from day to day, and at first he
was surprised to learn that she was still in Bath; and
then he became positively annoyed that she should give
people an opportunity of smiling as they did when they
talked about her and Tom Linley. The young man, who
was reported to be a most diligent student, was enlarging
his course of study, they said ; but they rather thought that
he was too ambitious. Was it not usually thought prudent
for any one who aspired to a knowledge of Latin, not to
begin with Catullus or Lucretius, but with a book chiefly
made up of cases and declensions ? The most rational
progress toward Parnassus was by a gradus, or step, they
said. But there was the earnest young student beginning
his knowledge of a language, previously unknown to him,
with the beautiful Mrs. Abington. Faith, 'twas like setting
Sappho before a youth who had not mastered the Greek
alphabet ; 'twas like offering a porter-house steak to a child
before it has cut its teeth, the less refined of the critics
declared.

But however wise these criticisms may have been, at the
end of a week Mrs. Abington lingered on in Bath and
young Mr. Linley lingered by her side ; and then the men
of the world began to shrug their shoulders and to talk —
also in metaphors — of the whims of the actress. Had Mrs.
Abington's teeth become suddenly weak, they inquired, that
she was compelled to take to a diet of caudle ? She had
mastered many a tough steak in her time, and had never
been known to complain of toothache. Surely she must
find caudle to be very insipid !

The ladies were the hardest on her, of course ; for every
morning she appeared in a new gown, and every evening
in another, and they all differed the one from the other,

A NEST OF LINNETS 227

only as one star differs from another in glory j and it was
difficult to say which was the most becoming to her, though
this point was most widely discussed among the men who
knew nothing whatever about the matter, and showed their
ignorance by admiring a simple taffeta made for a hoop,
but worn without one, quite as much as that gorgeous
brocade about which foaming torrents of lace fell, called
by ordinary people flounces.

The ladies sneered, for not one of these gowns could be
imitated. They knew that they could not be imitated, for
they had tried, worrying the life out of their maids in the
fruitless attempt. They sneered. What else could they do,
after they had boxed the ears of their maids in accordance
with the best manners of the period before the trying days
of the French Revolution ? They sneered, and the more
imaginative ones compared her to a confectioner's window,
which is laid out with infinite pains, though it is only attrac-
tive to the immature taste of a child. That young Linley
had really not got past the toffee stage, they declared;
always admitting, however, that he was a pretty lad, and
bemoaning his fate in being compelled to do the bidding
of a lady of such experience as Mrs. Abington.

And then they called her a harpy.

But Tom Linley felt very proud to be permitted to walk by
the side of so distinguished a lady ; and he never seemed
prouder of this privilege than when he went with her to one
of the Thursday receptions given by Lady Miller at Bath-
Easton, for every one of note seemed to be promenading
on the lawn, and there was a flowing stream of coaches and
chariots and curricles and chairs still on the road, bearing
additional visitors to eat the lady's cakes and to drink her
tea, before taking part in the serious business that called for
their attention.

Tom had spent half the previous night in an attempt to
produce a poem that might have a chance of winning the

228 A NEST OF UNNETS

chaplet, which was the prize for the verses pronounced the
best of the day. To be able to lay the trophy at the feet
of the lady in praise of whose beauty and virtue he had
composed his sonnet, after the fashion of the poet Petrarch,
whose works he had studied in Italy, would, he felt, be the
greatest happiness he could hope for in life.

The lady whose ingenuity in devising the literary contests
at Bath-Easton has caused her name to live when other
names far more deserving of immortality have been for-
gotten, has had ample injustice done to her in every
diary, and in most of the letters, of the period. Of course
Walpole's faun-like humour found in Lady Miller and
her entertainments a congenial topic. Whenever there
was a woman to be lied about, with wit and in polished
periods, Walpole was the man to undertake the business.
He could make the most respectable of ladies entertaining
to his correspondents, and his sneers at the good women of
whose hospitality he seemed glad enough to partake, must
have formed very amusing reading when they were quite
fresh. Even now, though the world has become accustomed
to the taste of frozen meat, his wit, when taken out of the
refrigerator, does not seem altogether insipid.

He ridiculed Lady Miller, after he had been entertained
by her, with exquisitely bad taste. She was vulgar, and she
was forty. Chatty little Miss Burney, too, believed her to be
forty also, — actually forty ; so that it seemed inconceivable
how, with such a charge hanging over her, Lady Miller was
able to fill her house and crowd her grounds month after
month with the most distinguished men and women in
England.

The estimable Mrs. Delany, who fervently hoped that no
friend of hers would ever be painted by so dreadful an
artist as Gainsborough — a hope which, fortunately, was
not realised, or the world would have lacked one of its
greatest pictures — was also unable to take a charitable

Took from its depths the various manuscripts and read them aloud.

[page 229.

A NEST OF LINNETS 229

view of Lady Miller's age. But still the curious enter-
tainment took place every Thursday during the season,
and was attended by every one worth talking about, and
by a good many persons who were talked about without
being worth it, in Bath and the region round about.
Every one who was considered eligible to enter the
Assembly Rooms was qualified to attend the ceremony
of the urn at Bath-Easton.

This faint echo of the contests of the minnesingers
originated with a Greek vase which came into the
possession of Lady Miller. Having acquired this pro-
perty, it seemed to have occurred to her that it would
be well to put it to some practical use, so she put it to a
singularly unpractical one. The vase was called an urn,
and in it were deposited, on the day of the ceremony,
certain rhymed couplets bearing, with varying degrees
of directness, upon topics of the hour. The company
having gathered round the urn, which was placed on a
pedestal, Lady Miller or her husband took from its depths
the various manuscripts and read them aloud. Prizes were
then awarded to the poems which a committee considered
best worthy of honour.

At first the entertainment was regarded with coldness :
hearing copies of verses read aloud, most of them of
indifferent merit, failed as an attraction ; but so soon as
it became known that some highly spiced personalities were
embodied in no less than three of the poems taken from the
urn one day, people began to perceive that the ceremony
might be well worth attending, and its popularity increased
to such a degree that few of the people possessing the
slender qualification for visiting Bath-Easton failed to put
in an appearance every Thursday.

Dick Sheridan, who went with one of his sisters, noticed
Tom Linley scowling by the side of Mrs. Abington, for on
the other side of the lady was Dr. Goldsmith with his friend

230 A NEST OF LINNETS

Lord Clare, and both were distracting her attention from
what he was saying to her regarding Petrarca. She had
professed an unbounded admiration for Petrarca, when his
verses were quoted in the language in which they were
written. But Dick saw that Tom had his revenge upon the
others, for Dr. Johnson came up with Mr. Edmund Burke,
and before the broadsides of such conversational frigates,
what chance had a mere bumboat like Dr. Goldsmith ?

In the distance Dick saw Mrs. Thrale by the side of her
husband, and Dr. Burney had just joined them with Signor
Piozzi — the accomplished Italian whom Mrs. Thrale had
mocked with marvellous effrontery while he was playing the
piano one day in Dr. Burney's house in St. Martin's Street,
off Leicester Fields. Dr. Burney had gravely rebuked her
for her impoliteness ; but his doing so only made the little
invisible imp of Fate, who had been very hilarious over the
lady's mimicry, as he sat perched up on the cornice of the
ceiling, almost choke himself with chuckling.

Mrs. Thrale was now very polite to Signor Piozzi, and so
also was Mr. Thrale.

Then Miss Angelica Kauffmann, accompanied by Sir
Joshua Reynolds and Miss Theophila Palmer, hastened
to greet Garrick, who had once contributed a poem to
the urn. Afterward, Mr. Richard Cumberland drew nigh,
and Garrick lost no time making him contribute to the
amusement of Miss Palmer.

"They tell me that Dr. Goldsmith's new play is a fine
piece of work, sir," said the actor.

" Oh no, sir, no. Believe me you have been misinformed,
Mr. Garrick; 'tis a wretched thing, truly," cried Cumber-
land, who would not admit that any one could write except
himself.

"Nay, sir, I hear that it surpasses The Good-Natured
Man, and that, you will admit, was a very fine piece of
work/' said Garrick,

A NEST OF LINNETS 231

" What ! The Good-Natured Man I You surprise me,
Mr. Garrick ! " said Cumberland. " Heavens, sir, 'twas a
pitiful thing. You cannot surely call to mind the scene
with the bailiffs ! Oh, sir, you must be joking — yes, yes ;
I like to take the most charitable view of everything, so I
assume that you are joking."

" I know that your charitable views are your strong point,
Mr. Cumberland," said Garrick ; " but you should not let
them bias your judgment. You should not say a word
against Goldsmith, for people say that he wrote The Good-
Natured Man after he had been a good deal in your
company."

" 'Tis a calumny, sir — a calumny," said Cumberland
warmly. "He was never inspired by me to write The
Good-Natured Man."

" Well, well, how people do talk ! " said Garrick. " But
I am glad to have your denial on this point, though I must
say that when I produced the play I never heard it asserted
that you had stood for the character."

With his accustomed adroitness Garrick led Cumberland
on to talk of many persons and their works, and for every
person and every work he had some words of condemnation.
Sir Joshua, standing by placidly with his ear-trumpet, saw
that Miss KaurTmann was becoming indignant, so he led
her away, leaving Garrick to amuse Miss Palmer to his
heart's content.

While Dick watched the little comedy, he heard a
greeting laugh behind him, and, turning, he found himself
face to face with Captain Mathews, whom he had known
for some time, and thoroughly disliked.

He was surprised to see the man, for he heard that he
had left Bath the day after it was announced that Betsy
Linley was to marry Mr. Long. He certainly had not been
seen in public since that day.

"Will they come, Sheridan — will they come, do you

232 A NEST OF LINNETS

think ? " asked Mathews, with a note of apprehension in
his voice.

" I have no idea of whom you are speaking j but whoever
they are, I think I may safely prophesy that they will come,"
said Dick.

"Thank Heaven!" said Mathews. "You must know
that I mean Miss Linley and her grandfather, whom she
is going to marry. But do you think that the marriage will
ever come off? Oh, a pretty set of lovers that girl got
around her — not a man of spirit among them all, or that
old fool Long would have got six inches of cold steel
through his vitals ! I am the only man among them all,
Sheridan — I am the only man of spirit left in Bath, as
you'll see this day, whether they come or not."

" What do you mean by that threat, sir ? n said Dick
quickly.

The man laughed.

" I haven't said aught to wound your feelings, have I ? "
he said. " Oh no ! I don't mean to say that you're not a
fellow of spirit, Sheridan, only you never loved Miss Linley
as the others pretended to do. They showed their spirit by
slinking off, sir, just when they should have stayed. You
didn't see me slink off, Sheridan ? No, I am here, and here
I mean to stay until the end of this affair has come, and it
cannot be far off after to-day. I tell you, Dick Sheridan,
that I am not the man to lie tamely down, as the rest of
them did, and let Walter Long and Elizabeth Linley walk
over my body to the church portal ! "

" You are pleased to talk in the strain of a riddle, and
that, Mr. Mathews, is an infernally dull strain, let me assure
you," said Dick. " Come, sir, if you have anything to say,
say it out plainly, like a man. But first I venture to remind
you that Mr. Linley and his family have been for years my
friends, and also that Mr. Long honours me by his friend-
ship, and I promise you that anything you say of them that

A NEST OF WNNETS 233

verges on an affront I shall think it my duty to resent.
Now, Mr. Mathews, say what you have to say."

Mathews looked at him for some time ; then he laughed
as he had laughed before.

"Your father is a play-actor, Mr. Sheridan," said he at
last. " I have seen him in more than one piece, both in
Dublin and Bristol. He is a fine actor. Well, go to him,
and he will tell you that the way to make a play a success is
to keep the playgoers interested in it from scene to scene,
and the best way to do this is to tell them only a little of
the story at one time. Now, sir, consider that this scene
is the beginning of a comedy — maybe it will turn out a
tragedy before we have done with it — but this is the first
scene ; keep your eyes and your ears open, and you will
find it worth your while. By the Lord, there they come at
last ! Curse it ! the girl is getting lovelier every day —
every day ! Such beauty is enough to make any man mad.
Look at her, Sheridan — look at her, and tell me if there is
any man living that would not run a risk of all the tortures
of the lost to be near her ! Dick Sheridan, I don't love
her — not I, not I : I hate her ! Deep down in my heart I
tell you that I hate her. But there's no human being that
can tell the difference between the passion of love and the
passion of hate."

Dick saw that the man was not far removed from
madness ; but before he could give him the warning which
was in his mind to bestow upon him, Mathews had turned
about and hurried away to where people were grouping
themselves round the urn.

Mr. Long, with Betsy Linley by his side, was replying
to the greetings of some of their friends. He no longer
carried his arm in a sling.

CHAPTER XXIV

Dick Sheridan looked on at the scene of bright colours
before him on the lawn ; the newly erected imitation Greek
temple was at the farther end of one of the many vistas,
and at regular intervals stood Greek pediments of carven
stone surmounted by busts of Greek poets. Among the
shrubberies were pedestals with grinning fauns, and an
occasional nymph with flying drapery. An Artemis with
her dogs stood in the attitude of pursuit between two
laurels.

Dick felt strangely lonely, although he had frequently
attended the ceremony of the urn. His sister had
gone to discharge the imaginary duties of one of the
priestesses of the urn, and was, with another girl, engaged
in twisting twigs of bay into a practicable wreath, her
companion showing her how it was necessary not to make
the joining too rigid, so that the wreath could be easily
enlarged or diminished in size to suit the circumference of
the head of the victor ; for it was not to be taken for granted
that the bays must go to the largest brow.

For a short time he watched the weaving of the wreath,
and then he looked across the lawn to where Betsy was
talking to Dr. Burney, Mr. Long standing close by with
Dr. Delap, who had come from Brighthelmstone to drink
the waters. Mathews had disappeared as suddenly as he
had come upon the scene, but Dick made up his mind to

234

A NEST OF LINNETS 235

keep a watch for his return. The threats of which he had
made use in regard to Mr. Long and Betsy were vague, but
their utterance by the man at that time had startled Dick.
The fellow might be mad, and yet have, with all the cunning
of a madman, concocted a plot that might mean disaster to
Betsy; but if he were narrowly watched his scheme of
revenge could doubtless be frustrated, and Dick felt that
he would never forgive himself if, after being forewarned, he
should let Mathews carry out his purpose, assuming that
he meant mischief.

While he was watching for a possible reappearance of
the man, Mr. Linley came across the lawn to him, and
drew him away in the direction of the gods and god-
desses of the shrubberies. Dick saw that there was an
expression of anxiety on his face. His manner, too, was
nervous.

" Dick, I am in great trouble," he said in a low voice.
" You can guess what is its origin, I am sure ? "

Dick had just seen Mr. Long and Betsy side by side.
The match had not been broken off. What trouble, then,
could possess the girl's father?

11 Indeed, sir, you surprise me," said Dick. " I see Betsy
with Mr. Long, and "

"Oh, 'tis not about Betsy I am troubled," said Mr.
Linley, " though, Heaven knows, she has given me trouble
enough in the past with her whimsies about singing in
public. If I had not been firm with her, Dick, she would
have given up singing a year ago. No, 'tis not about her,
but Tom, that I wish to speak to you. You have seen him
to-day with that woman — a play-actress ? "

" I have seen him, sir. My father was a play-actor," said
Dick quietly.

" Surely you know what I mean, Dick ! Surely you
know that it is not in my thoughts to utter a word that
would assume the form of a reproach upon the theatre.

236 A NEST OF LINNETS

No, Dick, no j that is not my intention. But you have
seen them together — Tom and Mrs. Abington ? I don't
say a word against her, mind. She may lead a blameless

life, though I have heard But that is not to the

point."

"Mrs. Abington is a very charming lady, Mr. Linley,
and as for propriety — Dr. Johnson himself has dined
with her."

" Dr. Johnson — Dr. Johnson ! Dr. Johnson is not to
the point ; he is old enough to take care of himself and
to protect himself from the wiles of all the coquettes in
England."

Dick laughed.

" Nature and the small-pox have given him great
advantage over the majority of men, sir. They have made
him practically invulnerable."

" But Nature and Italy have done just the opposite for
Tom ; his soul is capable of the deepest feeling, Dick,
and he is open to every influence that an accomplished
woman of the world has at her command. That creature —
I mean that lady — Mrs. Abington — oh, she is undoubtedly
a charming creature ! — that's where the danger lies. You
know her, Dick ; tell me what it is that she means to do in
regard to Tom."

" Oh, sir ! she has taken a passing fancy to Tom — that's
all. You know what 'tis to possess the soul of an artist, sir.
So far as I can gather, that soul is full of whimsies. The
only comforting thought in connection with suchlike is that
none of their whims lasts long. Their inconstancy is their
greatest charm. Mrs. Abington will soon have done with
Tom, sir."

" Thank Heaven — thank Heaven ! The sooner the
better, say I. Dick, a fortnight ago Tom had no thought
for anything save his violin. I felt that he was actually
too deeply absorbed in it : he would scarce give himself

A NEST OF I.INNKTS 237

time to take his meals, and he was at the point of falling
into a rage because I had given my consent to Betsy's
retirement from the concerts. He called me a traitor — a
renegade — worse than a Mohammedan — for allowing her to
renounce the true faith ; those were his words, Dick. And
yet, now, he has done nothing but improvise, and that the
most sickly stuff — lovelorn ; and his poetry — he has bought
a rhyming-dictionary, and has turned the half of Petrarch's
poems into English."

" You take this little matter too seriously, believe
me, Mr. Linley. Tis but a bubble of feeling, sir — an
airy nothing. 'Twill float away and leave not a trace
behind."

"I hope so — with all my heart I hope so. You do
not think that you could do something to assist its
flight, Dick?"

" Dear sir, I am convinced that any interference by me —
yes, or even by you, sir — would have just the opposite
effect to what we hope for in this matter."

" What, don't you think that you might bring the
creat — the lady, I mean — that you might bring her to
reason ? "

" The soul of an artist is susceptible to many influences —
love, hate, jealousy, criticism, a wet day, a gown that has
been made a little tight in the bodice, a gewgaw, — all these
have great weight with the soul of an artist ; but reason has
none. You must perceive, sir, that if every one were
reasonable there would be no artists. Mrs. Abington is
an artist in the comedy of love ; she has curiosity, but 'tis
of the butterfly order — a sip here and a sip there among
the flowers. Oh, the flowers are nothing the worse for the
curiosity of the butterfly. Tom will be himself again when
she flies off to another part of the garden."

" I have my fears, Dick. But I don't doubt that you
take the most sensible view of the matter. I believe that

238 A NEST OF LINNETS

he has sent in a sonnet in praise of her to the urn to-day.
Petrarch is his model. If he is awarded the prize he will
lay it at her feet; they do these things in Italy but
here we are more prosaic. Are they beginning to read
the stuff?"

" We must not lose the chance of applauding Tom's
sonnet," said Dick, making a move toward the circle that
was formed round the Greek urn, from which Lady Miller,
not looking so ridiculous as might have been expected, in
her white robes, as a priestess (the period was a masquerade
in itself, and the painters made the most of it), had just
taken one of the manuscripts, and was putting herself in an
attitude to read.

Mr. Linley saw this ; but what Dick saw was that
Mathews had reappeared, and was standing on the outskirts
of the circle, his eyes fixed upon Betsy, with a poisonous
smile about their corners.

Dick hastened across the lawn, and was in time to hear
the second line of the heroics which the lady had begun to
read, not without a certain amount of stumbling over un-
familiar words and an over-emphasising of the epithets,
which were numerous and safely commonplace.

"What is it that Mathews means to do?" that was the
question which came to Dick when he perceived the evil
smile of the man, for he saw that it was a smile anticipa-
tory of triumph ; and all the time that Lady Miller was
meandering through the poem, with its allusions to the
deities in the mythologies of Greece and Rome, and its
rhymes of " fault " and "thought," "smile" and "toil,"
with an Alexandrine for the third rhyme of "isle," he was
asking himself that question : " What is it that Mathews
means to do ? "

He looked across the listening circle, and saw that
Mr. Long also had his eyes fixed upon the man, and
that the same question had been suggested to him. Mr.

A NEST OF LINNETS 239

Long was watching and waiting. And then he glanced
away from Mathews and saw Dick. He smiled and nodded
pleasantly ; but Dick had no difficulty in perceiving that
behind these courtesies Mr. Long was ill at ease.

And then the high-priestess extracted another poem from
the urn. It was written in precisely the same strain as the
first ; only the rhymes were more palpably false — the same
greater and lesser deities talked about the condition of
society at Olympus, which every one recognised by the
description as Prior Park; but just as it promised to
become delightfully, spitefully, personal, and therefore
interesting, the poem shuffled out on the spindleshanks of
a reference to the need for clean napkins for the glasses
in the Pump Room.

This was very feeble, most people thought (the author
was not among them), even though the Pump Room was
artfully disguised under the name of the Fount of
Helicon. There was a distinct impression of relief when
the third poem was found to be written as a lyric with
a comfortable jolt about it, to which Lady Miller, after
two or three false starts, accommodated her voice. It
touched with light satire upon the question of watering
the roads, and as this was the topic of the hour, it was
received with abundant applause, and the general idea was,
that unless something extremely good awaited reading, this
lyric would carry off a prize.

The fourth poem turned out to be Tom Linley's sonnet
in praise of Mrs. Abington ; and as every one knew Mrs.
Abington, and as she herself was present, and as no one
was able to identify the translation of Petrarch's beautiful
sentiments, there seemed little doubt the poet's ambition
would be rewarded.

Tom flushed, and was more overcome than he had ever
been when playing before his largest audience. Mrs.
Abington, too, gave a very pleasing representation of the

240 A NEST OF LINNETS

ingenue fluttered with compliments which she knows are
thoroughly well deserved. She would have the people
believe that she was overwhelmed — that she was not at
all pleased with the publicity given to her in so unexpected
a way, and the way she shook her head at Tom should
have conveyed to him the fact that she considered him to
be a very naughty boy — the result being that the crowd
perceived that Mrs. Abington was a very modest lady,
and that Garrick, who] was something of a judge of such
performances, was ready to affirm that Mrs. Abington had
a very light touch.

Then Lady Miller, after a few complimentary remarks
upon Mrs. Abington's style of dress, began to read the next
poem. Having now read four copies of verses, that fulness
of expression with which she had begun her labours, had
disappeared from her voice, and she had read the greater
part of the sonnet in a purely mechanical way. It became
clear before she had got through more than five lines of
the new rhymes, that she had not the slightest idea what
they were about. The stanzas were quite illiterate and the
merest doggerel ; but, at the end of the first, glances were
exchanged around the circle, for the stanza was coarse in
every way, and it contained ,a pun upon the name Long
that could only be regarded as a studied insult to the
gentleman bearing that name.

But it was plain that the high-priestess had not the
remotest idea that anything was particularly wrong with the
poem. She looked up from the paper with the smile with
which she was accustomed to punctuate the periods, and
then began to read the second stanza.

She did not get further than the third line. The first
two contained a very gross allusion to an old man's marry-
ing a young woman ; but the third was so coarse that even
the apathetic reader was startled and made a pause, during
which she scanned the remainder of the manuscript, and

A NEST OF IvINNBTS 241

in doing so her face became crimson. She handed the
sheet to her husband, saying a few words to him, and
then tried to gather up the threads of her smile, so to
speak.

" I think that I had better go on to the next poem," she
said aloud. " The writer of the last must have inad-
vertently sent us the wrong leaf. He must have designed
it for his favourite pothouse."

This expression of opinion was received with general
applause. Yet no one except Dick seemed to suspect
Mathews of being the writer of the doggerel. But in the
mind of Dick there was no doubt on the matter. He saw
the triumphant leer on the man's face, and could scarcely
restrain himself from rushing at him and at least making
an attempt to knock him down. He only held himself
back by the reflection that before the evening had come,
Mathews would have received a challenge from him. He
made up his mind to challenge him, as certain as his
name was Mathews. It would be in vain for people
to assure him that this was not his quarrel, but Mr.
Long's ; he would assert that, as the insult was directed
against a lady, in the presence of his (Dick's) sister,
he was quite entitled to take it on himself to punish the
perpetrator.

He had glanced at Mr. Long when Lady Miller made
her pause, and had seen him smiling, while he addressed
some words to Betsy, evidently regarding the creases of
her glove, for immediately afterwards she held out her
hand to him, and he straightened the little ripples on
the silk.

Dick wondered if Mr. Long had failed to catch the
insulting lines of the doggerel before the high-priestess
had become aware of what she had been reading. Cer-
tainly he gave no sign of having caught their import.
Dick rather hoped that he had not; he had no desire

16

242 A NKST OF LINNETS

to cede to Mr. Long the part which he meant to play
in this affair.

When he glanced again across the circle, he noticed
that Mr. Long had disappeared. And the voice of Lady
Miller, with its wrong inflections and its exaggerated
emphasis on the adjectives, went on in its delivery of
the even lines of the new poem, which was all about
Phoebus and Phaeton, and Actseon and Apollo, and the
Muses and Marsyas, though nobody seemed to care what
it was about. It was very long, and it led nowhere. The
circle gave it their silent inattention. Some yawned behind
polite hands ; one or two whispered. The last lines came
upon all as a delightful surprise, for there was really no
reason why it should ever end, and for that matter there
was no reason why it should ever have begun.

This was, happily, the last of the contents of the urn.
Most of the habitues of Bath-Easton felt that the day had
been one of mediocrity ; the entertainment would have
been even duller than ordinary if it had not been for that
shocking thing to which no one referred. Of course Tom
Linley was awarded the wreath of bays, which, with some
ceremony, the high-priestess laid upon his brows, making
him look quite as ridiculous as he felt.

" O lud ! " whispered Mrs. Abington to Mr. Walpole,
who had got beside her, " O lud ! if young gentlemen
will write prize poems, they have a heavy penalty to pay
for it."

" Nay, my dear creature," said he, " 'tis but fitting that
the victim calf should be decorated for the sacrificial altar."

" I admit the calf," said she, " but whose is the altar ? "

" Tis dedicated to Hymen or Hades j it rests with you
to determine which," said he, with one of his wicked leers.
He was very like one of the marble satyrs, she perceived —
a Marsyas without his music. She longed for an Apollo
skilled in flaying.

Flogged the fellow as never horse had been flogged.

[page 243.

A NEST OF UNNETS 243

The ceremony over, congratulatory smiles were sent
flying around the listeners, and there was a general move-
ment toward the house, full of spontaneity.

"Ladies and gentlemen," came a voice from one side,
and the movement was arrested. People looked over their
shoulders. O lud ! was the dulness of the day to be
increased by speeches ? they enquired.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you were grossly insulted just
now by a wretch who is a master of the arts of the brigand,
though he meant his poisoned knife for me alone. This is
the blackguard, and I treat him as such."

Before any one was aware of the fact that it was Mr. Long
who was speaking, he had his hand upon the collar of
Captain Mathews, and had swung him round by a certain
jerk well known to wrestlers of the old school. Forcing
him, staggering, backward with one hand, with a postillion's
short whip, which he held in the other, he flogged the
fellow as never horse had been flogged. He cut strips off
his garments as neatly as if his weapon had been a pair of
shears ; a cut of the lash made the blood spurt from one
of his calves, another took a slice off his small-clothes just
above the knee — ludicrous but effective. His coat parted
at the back seams in the stress of the struggle, and a few
more cuts at the opening made shreds of his shirt and let
free, as it seemed, all the blood in his body. There was
the shriek of females, and this brought the men to their
senses. They hastened to interpose. Mr. Long sent his
victim staggering against two or three of them. Mathews
trod on their toes, and they cursed him unaware, Mr. Long
belabouring away with a deftness that lacked neither style
nor finish; and all the time his knuckles were digging
into Mathew's throat, until the wretch's face became
purple.

Half a dozen gentlemen launched themselves upon Mr.
Long. He stepped adroitly to one side, and let them have

244 A NKST OF LINNETS

Mathews. They fell on him in a heap, crushing out of his
body whatever trifle of breath he retained.

Mr. Long politely assisted them to rise, affecting to wipe
from their garments the result of their contact with the
grass. He was breathing heavily, and his wig had become
disordered.

He flung his whip — it was still serviceable — into a
plantation, and when he found his breath he said :

" I think I should like a dish of tea."

CHAPTER XXV

"If anyone says that Mr. Long was not justified in his act,
I tell him he lies," remarked Dick grandly to the group who
were propping up Mathews in a sitting posture on the
grass.

The wretch seemed ludicrously out of place on the
lawn, and the gentlemen who saw him there did not fail to
perceive that the expression on the faces of the stone satyrs
was for the first time appropriate. Had he been in the
middle of a field of young wheat, he might have relieved a
less disreputable figure from duty.

"Who is there that says Mr. Long was not justified?"
cried one of the gentlemen; he was trying to remove a
stain from his sleeve. " Good lud ! does the lad think that
county gentlemen are to learn discrimination as well as
elocution from the Sheridan family ? "

" The Sheridans take too much upon them," said another ;
he was unlucky enough to have his wig trampled on by the
huge foot of a first-class county gentleman in the melee,
and was inclined to be testy in consequence. "Be
advised, Mr. Sheridan, leave these matters to your elders
and betters."

Dick felt that he deserved the rebuke. His scarcely veiled
threat savoured of impertinence. He lifted his hat and
walked away. No one took any notice of him.

" By the Lord Harry, friend Long has a pair of arms that

246 A NEST OF LINNETS

a man thirty years younger might envy ! " Dick heard one
of the gentleman say.

" He will have a wife that a man forty years younger does
envy," laughed a second.

" I heard my father talk of the great strength of Mr.
Long when he was at his best," said a third. " Why, 'twas
he that floored Devonshire Paul, the wrestler, early in the
forties, going to Barnstaple to do it — 'tis one of Sir
Edmund's stories. Well, I dare swear that we haven't seen
the last of this business. How is the fellow ? Bind him
over not to make a disturbance in the house."

Dick walked slowly to the villa. He found that the
ladies who had been so overcome by the sight of Mathews'
blood were being carefully attended to. Poor Tom Linley
was sitting in a corner with his sister. Tom looked very
sulky. He was the hero of Parnassus, and yet no one paid
any attention to him. People were laughing and talking,
some in a loud tone, others in a whisper, not upon the
subject of the construction of the sonnet of Petrarch as
distinguished from the sonnet of Shakespeare, but upon the
likelihood of a duel following the exciting scene which they
had witnessed. Tom sulked, and tried to avoid seeing that
Mrs. Abington was the centre of a group of gentlemen of
fashion, with whom she was exchanging quips, also on the
subject of the horsewhipping of Mathews.

Of course there would be a duel. Mathews held the
king's commission and wore the king's uniform. If he
failed to send a challenge to the man who had so publicly
disgraced him, he need never show his face in society
again. That was the opinion which was universal among
the party in Lady Miller's drawing-room, and it was only
modified by the rider which some people appended to their
verdict, to the effect that it was quite surprising how
Mathews had ever got a footing in Bath society.

Mr. Linley, fwho was by the side of his daughter when

A NEST OF LINNETS 247

Dick entered, was looking solemn. He was greatly per-
turbed by what had taken place, and expressed the opinion
that Mr. Long would have shown more wisdom by refrain-
ing from noticing Mathew's insult than he had displayed by
avenging it, even though he had done so with remarkable
success. Of course there would be a duel, he said; and
Mathews was probably a first-class pistol-shot, though he
had shown himself unable to contend with Mr. Long when
taken by surprise.

Poor Betsy was overwhelmed by the thought of such a
possibility. She appealed to Dick when he had come to
her side. Was a duel inevitable ? Was there no alter-
native ? Could she do nothing to prevent such a sequel to
the quarrel ?

" Why should you be distressed at the possibility of a
duel?" said Dick. "There is no particular reason why
Mr. Long should stand up against that fellow ; any gentle-
man who was present here to-day has a perfect right to send
a challenge to Mathews."

" Oh, that is only saying that some one else may be killed
— some one in addition to Mr. Long," cried Betsy. " Ah,
why is it that disaster follows an acquaintance with me?
Why have I been doomed to bring unhappiness upon so
many people ? "

Dick did not ransack his memory for an answer to her
question — an answer founded upon the records of history.
He did not cite any of the cases with which he was
acquainted, of the unhappiness brought about by the fatal
dower of beauty.

" How can you accuse yourself in such a matter as
this?" he said. "If a rascal behaves with rascality, are
you to blame yourself because he tries to make you the
victim? I will not hear so cruel, so unjust a thing said
about one who is more than blameless in this matter.
Dear Betsy, I know the sensibility of your heart, and

248 A NEST OF UNNETS

how it causes you to shrink from much that others would
give worlds to accomplish ; but you must not be unjust
to yourself."

This was poor pleading with the super-sensitiveness of a
girl who could never be brought to look on fame as the
noblest of cravings — nay, who was ready to sacrifice much
in order to escape being famous.

" Bloodshed— bloodshed ! " she murmured in great dis-
tress. " Oh, why did we come here to-day ? If we had
remained at home, all might have been well. Why cannot
we go away to some place where we can live in freedom
from all these disturbing influences ? Ah, here comes Mr.
Long. How pale he looks ! Pray Heaven he has not been
already hurt ! "

Mr. Long, who had been repairing the slight disorderliness
of his dress in one of the bedrooms, had some difficulty in
reaching Betsy, where she sat remote from the crowd in the
drawing-rooms. He had to wait for the compliments which
his friends offered to him on all sides. Every one treated
him with great respect, and many with deference. There
did not seem to be any difference of opinion among Lady
Miller's guests as to the propriety of his recent action ; the
only point which had been seriously discussed was in regard
to the postillion's whip. Where had he got it? It was
suggested on one side that he had brought it with him;
but some who knew affirmed that the whip had been
hanging in the hall, and that Mr. Long had, after the
reading of the insulting doggerel, hurried up to the house
and got possession of the weapon while the last poem
was being lilted to the audience. At first, of course, there
were some people who thought that Mr. Long had acted
precipitately in assuming that Mathews had written the
objectionable stanzas ; but Lady Miller acknowledged
immediately on entering the house that the manuscript
was signed by Mathews, and thus complete unanimity

A NEST OF UNNETS 249

prevailed by the time Mr. Long had returned to the
room.

Even on his way to Betsy he received a dozen offers from
gentlemen to act for him in the event of his receiving a
challenge. Betsy was somewhat cheered when she heard
him say to one of them :

" You do me great honour, sir, but there will be no duel.
I doubt if there will even be a challenge."

She heard that with pleasure.

Dick heard it with amazement.

Could it be possible, he asked himself, that Mr. Long
fancied that Mathews, boor though he was, would be
content to accept his public horsewhipping as the final
incident in the squalid comedy of his suitorship for the
hand of Miss Linley ? If that was indeed his belief, all
that Dick could say was that he took a rather extraordinary
view of the matter.

But Betsy, not having any experience of questions of
honour, but having faith in the word of a man whom she
respected, was reassured.

" Do say that again," she cried, when Mr. Long had
come to her.

" What do you command me to say again, madam ? " he
inquired. " Oh, a duel ? Heavens, Mr. Sheridan, is't
possible that you are here and have not yet convinced Miss
Linley that I shall not have to fight a duel ? "

" Nay, sir," said Dick, " I have done my best to impress
upon her that there is no need for you to fight — that the
quarrel belongs as much to any gentleman who was present
as it does to you."

" You will pardon me for saying that I do not think that
that suggestion would tend to place Miss Linley's mind at
rest," said Mr. Long. " But now I can give you my word
that there will be no duel. If any one is foolish enough to
send a challenge to the rascal whom I treated to a drubbing,

250 A NEST OF LINNETS

he will do so without my knowledge and without my
consent. Dear child, I can give you my word that there
will be no duel."

" I am satisfied," she said simply, with a grateful look up
to his face.

" If you are satisfied, all the world is satisfactory," said
Mr. Long.

But it did not appear as if Mr. Linley was quite
satisfied.

" If there be no duel, sir, all that I can say is that 'tis not
your fault," he cried.

" Not my fault ! — nay, just the contrary : 'tis to my
credit," laughed Mr. Long.

" I mean, sir, that you did your very best to provoke a
duel," said Mr. Linley with severity. Mr. Long was about
to become his son-in-law, and this he considered, gave him
a right to object to any incident that tended to jeopardise
the connection.

" Oh, my dear sir," said Mr. Long, " can you really think
that so simple an incident as horsewhipping a man in
a public place could be considered by him a sufficient
excuse for a challenge ? Nay, sir, you will find, I am
persuaded, that Captain Mathews is not inclined to take
your view of this business. He will, I think, be satisfied
to let bygones be bygones."

Dick was dumb. The only ground on which he
thought he could reconcile Mr. Long's confident asser-
tion of what any person with experience of the world
would consider incredible, was his desire to allay Betsy's
anxiety.

But Betsy's father apparently did not see so much as
Dick. Though a professional musician, he was not without
his experience of quarrels. He shook his head when Mr.
Long had spoken with that airy confidence which he had
assumed, and said :

A NEST OF IjNNETS 251

" I would fain hope that events will justify the confidence
with which you speak, sir ; but to my mind it would seem
as if "

" Nay, dear sir, I will give you my assurance that I shall
not be called on to fight any duel over this matter," cried
Mr. Long in the tone of a man who has said the last word
on a matter that has been under discussion for some time.
" I admit that before I took the unusual step which I
thought I was justified in adopting, I saw the risk that I was
running. A man who horsewhips his fellow-guest may be
made to answer to his host for so doing. I ran that risk,
and I am happy to say that our host did not take too severe
a view of the occurrence. That puts an end to any
suspicion that one may entertain as to the likelihood of
swords being crossed or pistols unloaded to the detriment
of my health. Let us change the subject, if you please.
It seems to me that enough attention has not been given
to Tom's beautiful sonnet. Dear friend Tom, you have
proved by the writing of that sonnet that you have already
mastered the elements of successful authorship. If all
poets would choose a popular subject for their songs, they
would have no need to wear hats, for they would be
perpetually crowned with bays. May I ask the favour of
a copy of your sonnet, sir ? I should like to have it printed
to place beneath my print of Sir Joshua's picture of Mrs.
Abington ? "

Tom was delighted. His mortification at the neglect
which he had received — was he not really the hero of the
day ? — vanished. His large eyes shone with pleasure as he
gave his promise to supply Mr. Long with the copy which
he desired.

Mr. Long, seeing that Betsy's large eyes, so wonderfully
like those of her brother, were also shining with pleasure,
was quite satisfied.

Unfortunately, just as Tom was beginning to explain

252 A NEST OF LINNETS

the difficulties in the way of any one wishing to create
a sonnet which was really a sonnet, and not merely
a fourteen-line poem, a number of people came up to talk
to his sister and Mr. Long, thus interrupting him. But
neither Betsy nor Dick failed to notice the vexed look
which Mr. Long gave to the boy, by way of assuring him
that his discourse on the Italian sonnet was something to
be parted from only with a deep regret.

Dick, at the suggestion of Mr. Long, walked with
Betsy round the gardens, Mr. Long following with Miss
Sheridan.

The walk was a silent one. It did not seem as if they
had any topic in common. They seemed to have nothing
to talk about. But their silence was not the silence of
strangers ; it was that which exists only between the
closest of friends. They had not had such a stroll side
by side since she had given her promise to Mr. Long.
But how many walks they had had together in the old
days ! Their thoughts flashed back to those days on the
perfume of the rosebuds. They had often walked among
the roses.

It was Dick who broke the silence.

" I do not think that a better man lives than Mr. Long,"
said he.

She sighed.

He glanced down at her in surprise. He was almost
irritated by her sigh.

She did not speak.

" I do not believe that a better man lives in the world,"
he said with emphasis. " Surely you do not think that he
is to blame for what took place here to-day, Betsy ? "

" Oh, no, no ! he behaved like — like a man," she replied
at once. " And he has given us his assurance that there
will be no duel," she added joyfully.

" Yes, he has given us that assurance," said Dick. " But

A NEST OF LINNETS 253

even if there were to be a duel, I have no doubt that he
would show himself to be as brave a man."

" But there will be no duel — he said so," she cried.
"And to think of that foolish rumour that went round
the town, that you and he had fought ! I never
believed it for a moment. It was senseless — cruel !
The gossips circulated the report simply because it was
known that you had been with him for more than an
hour on the day after you had saved him from his
assailants."

Dick was once again surprised.

" How could you know that I had been with him on that
night ? " he inquired.

" I know it — alas ! I know it," she cried. " He is so
good — so — generous — so noble ! Oh, I must love him —
I must ! Sometimes I really think that I do love him. . . .
And you saved his life, Dick. It would be the basest
ingratitude on my part if I did not love him after that. , . .
And the way he talks of your courage ! — he told me how
bravely you pursued the wretches who had waylaid him.
He is full of your praises, Dick. Oh, I must love him !
He is the worthiest man in the world to • be loved. And
I believe that I do love him. I sometimes believe that
I do."

" My poor Betsy," he said, " I might give you counsel
on this matter if it would be of any value to you.
Alas ! dear, I know that nothing that I could say to
you would avail against the promptings of your own
true heart. It was you who first taught me the lesson
which I think I have since learned more fully — the
lesson of the meaning of love. Who am I that I should
offer any counsel to such as you? I can only tell you
that I feel that Mr. Long is the best worthy of your
love of all the men in the world. But you yourself know
that already."

254 A NEST OF LINNETS

" I do — indeed, I do know it," she cried eagerly. " And
that is why I say that I am sure, sometimes, that I do

love him. I must — I must — only Oh, Dick, I am very

unhappy ! "

" My poor Betsy ! my poor Betsy ! "

That was all he could say.

CHAPTER XXVI

Several versions of the story of the exciting occurrence at
the Parnassus of Bath-Easton were in circulation during
the next few days. The fact that over fifty persons had
witnessed the whole affair was only a guarantee that there
would be at least forty-nine different versions of it. The
consequence was that before two days had passed, people
in Bath were quarrelling over such details as whether
Captain Mathews had or had not made an attack upon
Mr. Long with his cane, or if it was really true that Miss
Linley had been walking with Captain Mathews, thereby
arousing the jealousy of Mr. Long, and causing him to
assault the other. Before the second day had gone
by, there was, of course, a report that a duel had taken
place, and the result was, according to the various
reports :

(i) Captain Mathews had run Mr. Long through the
body with a sword.

(2) Captain Mathews had shot Mr. Long with a pistol.

(3) Mr. Long had run Captain Mathews through the

body with a sword.

(4) Mr. Long had shot Captain Mathews with a pistol.

(5) Mr. Long was dead.

(6) Captain Mathews was dead.

(7) Both Mr. Long and Captain Mathews were dead.

(8) Neither of them had received a scratch.

25s

256 A NEST OF LINNETS

(9) There had been no fight, as Mr. Long had offered a
handsome apology for his conduct, and had agreed
to pay Mathews a thousand pounds by way of
compensation.

These were only a few of the items of the Pump Room
gossip, and every item found its adherents.

The lampooners took their choice. It was immaterial
to them whether Mathews killed Long or Long killed
Mathews ; they treated the matter with the cynicism of
Iago in regard to the killing of Cassio. They found that
there was a good deal to be said in favour of every rumour,
and they said it through the medium of some very wretched
verses.

Mr. Long seemed to be the only man in Bath who
remained unaffected in any way by the occurrence at
Bath-Easton, about which, and its sequel, every one was
talking. He refused to be drawn into the controversy as
to whether he had attacked Mathews or been attacked
by Mathews, and he declined to take sides in the question
of the identity of the one who had been killed in the duel,
though it might have been fancied that this was a question
which would have a certain amount of interest for him. He
refused to alter his mode of life in any degree. He
appeared in public places no less frequently, but no more
frequently, than before, and those people who had heard
him affirm that there would be no duel, began, when the
third day had passed, to think that there was some element
in the quarrel with which' they were unacquainted.

Dick Sheridan was greatly amazed, but extremely well
pleased, when he heard from Mr. Long's own lips that he
had not received a communication on behalf of the man
whom he had horsewhipped. It was when he was sitting at
supper within his own house, with Dick sitting opposite to
him, on the fourth day after the incident, that he so informed
Dick.

A NEST OF LINNETS 257

" I did not speak without a full knowledge of my man,
when I affirmed that there would be no duel," said Mr.
Long. " I was not so sure in regard to the challenge ; but
you see there is to be no challenge."

It so happened, however, that before they had risen
from the table, a gentleman arrived at the house on
behalf of Captain Mathews, bearing a challenge, and
requesting to be put in communication with Mr. Long's
friend.

The gentleman's name was Major O'Teague. He was
an Irishman, who lived for two months out of the year at
Bath, and the remaining ten months no one knew where
— perhaps in Ireland. No one knew in what regiment he
served, and no one cared to know. He himself was not
communicative on the matter, and he did not affect any
particular uniform. He had, however, been known to talk
of his father's fighting in the Irish Brigade at Fontenoy, and
that led some people to believe that he had won his rank in
the same service.

When questioned on this point, he had replied that he
always stood by the side of Freedom and the Fair.
The consensus of opinion was that this sentiment did not
materially assist one to identify the corps or the country
in which he had won distinction. He was, however, known
to be a good swordsman, and he always paid something on
account to his landlady, so Bath ceased to take an interest
in his military career. That he was carefully studied by
young Mr. Sheridan there can be but little' doubt, though
it was Mrs. Cholmondeley who pretended to forget
his name upon one occasion, and alluded to him as
Major OTrigger, an accident which young Mr. Sheridan
never forgot.

He was excessively polite — " No man is so polite unless
he means mischief," was the thought which came to Dick
when Major O'Teague was announced.

17

258 A NEST OF LINNETS

He addressed himself to Mr. Long, having declined,
with a longing eye and a reluctant voice, a glass of
sherry.

"Sir," he said, "I come on a delicate mission" — he
pronounced the adjective " dilicate," for even the stress
of Fontenoy and a course of Bath waters failed to reduce
the heritage of the Irish Brigade — and gave a polite glance
in the direction of Dick.

" Mr. Richard Brinsley Sheridan is my friend, sir," said
Mr. Long. " He is in my confidence, so that it is un-
necessary for him to retire."

"Very well, sir," said the visitor. "I doubt not that
Mr. Sheridan is a man of honour : his name, anyway, is
illustrious" (pronounced " illusthrious ") in the roll of fame
of Irishmen. I mind that my father, the colonel, said
that Owen Roe O'Neil Sheridan was a lieutenant in Clare's
regiment, and a very divil at that."

" I have no doubt that Mr. Richard Brinsley Sheridan is
duly proud of having at least one name in common with the
lieutenant, sir," said Mr. Long.

" And he would have every right, sir, let me tell you,"
said Major O'Teague warmly. "My father knew that the
boast of the Sheridans was that before the trouble came
upon them in Ireland there never had been a wine-glass
inside their castle."

"A family of water-drinkers, sir?" suggested Mr. Long.

" Nothing of the sort, sir ; they drank their liquor out
of tumblers," cried Major O'Teague. "Did y' ever hear
tell " — the Major had elapsed into the French idiom —
"did y' ever hear tell of the answer that Brian Oge
O'Brian Sheridan made to the English officer that called
at the castle when the colonel's horse had been stolen,
Mr. Sheridan?"

" Sir," said Dick with dignity, " these are family affairs,
and I should be reluctant to obtrude them on the attention

A NEST OF LINNETS 259

of Mr. Long at this time — though, of course, if you came to

talk to him on this topic "

" I ask your pardon, sir," said Major O'Teague fiercely.
"I come on business, not pleasure. Mr. Long, sir, I
have been entrusted by my friend, Captain Mathews, with a
communication which I have no doubt that, as a man of
honour, you have been anticipating since that unfortunate
little affair at Bath-Easton."

With a low bow he handed Mr. Long a folded-up letter.
Mr. Long turned it over in his hands without opening it.
A puzzled expression was on his face. " I expected no
communication from Mr. Mathews, sir," said he. " Pray,
Major O'Teague, are you certain that the missive has not
been wrongly directed to me ? "

"What, sir," cried Major O'Teague, "do you tell me that
after what happened, after whaling another gentleman within
an inch of his life, and in the middle of the best company
in Bath, you don't expect to hear from him ? "

" Is it possible that Mr. Mathews considers himself
insulted, sir ? " asked Mr. Long.

The Irishman's jaw fell. He was stupefied. His lips
moved, but it was a long time before a word came.

" An insult — an ins Hivins above us, sir, where is

it that y' have lived at all ? " he managed to say at last.

" An insult — an ins Oh, the humour of it ! Flaying

a man alive with a postillion's whip ; not even a coachman's
whip, — there's some dignity in a coachman's whip, — but a
common postillion's ! sir, the degradation of the act passes
language, so it does. 'Tis an insult that can only be
washed out by blood — blood, sir — a river of blood ! A
river ? A sea of blood, sir — an ocean of blood ! Egad,
sir, 'tis a doubtful question, that it is, if all great Neptune's

ocean Ye've seen Mrs. Yates as Lady Macbeth, I

doubt not, Mr. Sheridan? A fine actress, sir, and an
accomplished lady "

260 A NEST OF LINNETS

" I have never had that privilege, sir," said Dick. " You
were making a remark about great Neptune's ocean."

" And I'll make it again, by your leave, sir. I say that 'tis
a nice question if the wounds inflicted upon a gentleman's
honour by the free use of a low postillion's whip can be
cauterised by all great Neptune's ocean."

" Tis a nice question, I doubt not, sir," said Dick.

" That's the conclusion my friend the captain and me
came to before we had more than talked the business half
over, and so we determined that it must be nipped in the
bud," said Major O'Teague, with the fluency of a practised
rhetorician.

Meantime Mr. Long had opened the letter. The seal
was about the size of a crown piece, and the breaking of it
was quite apocalyptic.

" 'Tis true, Major O'Teague," said he mournfully. "Your
friend has been pleased to take offence at what was, after
all, an unimportant incident."

" Pray, sir, may I inquire if your notion is that a
gentleman should not take offence at anything less than
getting his head cut off ? " said Major O'Teague with
great suavity. "You think that a gentleman shouldn't
send a challenge unless the other gentleman has mortally
wounded him ? "

" I like to take a charitable view of every matter, sir ;
and I give you my word that I believed that Mr. Mathews
had more discretion than to challenge me to — to — may I
say ? — to show him my hand," said Mr. Long.

" To show him your hand, sir ? I protest that I don't
understand you at all, Mr. Long," said Major O'Teague.
" This is not a challenge to a friendly game of cards, sir, let
me assure you. When you show your hand to my friend,
I trust it's a couple of swords that'll be in it, or a brace of
pistols, which form a very gentlemanly diversion on the
green of a morning."

A NEST OF LINNETS 261

" Mr. Sheridan, I shall ask you to do me the honour of
acting for me in this unfortunate affair," said Mr. Long.

" Sir," cried Dick, " if you will allow me to take this
quarrel on myself I shall feel doubly honoured."

"Tis reluctant I ; am to thrust forward my opinion
uncalled for ; but if my own father — rest his sowl ! — was to
offer to cheat me out of a fight, I'd have his life, if he was a
thousand times my father," said Major OTeague.

"This quarrel is mine, Mr. Sheridan," said Mr. Long.
" You and Major O'Teague will settle the preliminaries in
proper fashion. Have you ever been concerned in an affair
of this sort before, Major O'Teague, may I ask ? "

Major O'Teague staggered back till he was supported by
the wainscot. He stared at his questioner.

11 Is it Major O'Teague that y'ask the question of? " he
said in a whisper that was not quite free from hoarseness.
"Is it me — me — ever engaged in an affair of honour ? " He
took out his handkerchief and wiped his brow. Then he
shook his head mournfully and turned his eyes devotionally
to the ceiling. " And this is fame ! " he murmured. " Oh,
my country ! this is fame ! "

11 By the way, sir, what is your country ? " asked Mr.
Long.

" My father fought at Fontenoy, and my mother was
called in her young days the Lily of the Loire, on account of
her elegance and simplicity ; and if that doesn't make me
an Irishman in the sight of Heaven, you may call me any-
thing you please. But I've been mistaken for an English-
man before now," he added proudly, "and I might have
been one too if it hadn't been for my parentage."

" An Irish exile. The figure is a pathetic one, sir," said
Mr. Long. " I have met several in France."

" France was overrun with them, sir. But 'tis not so
bad now as it used to be," said Major O'Teague. "A
good many of them have returned to Ireland, and in a

262 A NEST OF UNNETS

short time we'll hear that Ireland is overrun with her own
exiles."

"We shall be compelled in that case to withdraw our
sympathy from them and bestow it upon their country,"
said Mr. Long. " We can only sympathise with expatriated
patriots who live in banishment. With exiles who refuse to
die out of their own country we can have no sympathy."

"My sentiments to a hair's breadth," cried Major O'Teague.
"I declare to hivins there's some Irish exiles that have
never stirred out of Ireland ! But they're not the worst.
Ireland has harboured many snakes in her bosom from time
to time, but the bitterest cup of them all has been the one
that burst into flower on a foreign shore, and, having feathered
its nest, crawled back to the old country to heap coals of fire
upon the head of her betrayers."

" The metamorphoses of the Irish snake — which I
believed did not exist — appear to have been numerous and
confusing ; but surely you will take a glass of wine now,
major ? " said Mr. Long. " Pray pass Major O'Teague the
decanter, Mr. Sheridan."

Dick obeyed, and Major O'Teague's face, which one
might have expected to brighten, became unusually and, as
it seemed, unnecessarily solemn. He protested that he had
no need for any refreshment — that so far from regarding as
irksome the duty which he had just discharged, he con-
sidered it one of the greatest pleasures in life to bring a
challenge to a gentleman of Mr. Long's position. He only
accepted the hospitality of Mr. Long lest he should be
accused of being a curmudgeon if he refused.

" Gentlemen," he cried, raising his glass, " I drink to your
very good health and to our better acquaintance. I have
been more or less intimately concerned in the death of
fourteen gentlemen, but there's not one of them that won't say
to-day, if y'ask him, that he was killed in the most gentle-
manly way, and in a style suitable to his position. If you

A NEST OF LINNETS 263

have anything to complain of on this score, Mr. Long, my
name is not O'Teague. Here's long life to you, sir."

" Without prejudice to the longevity of your friend Captain
Mathews, I suppose ?" said Mr. Long.

" We'll drink to him later on, sir. The night's young
yet," said Major O'Teague, with a wink that had a good deal
of slyness about it.

CHAPTER XXVII

Major O'Teague did not stay late. He apologised for
hurrying away from such excellent company ; but the fact
was that he had, in a thoughtless hour, accepted an invita-
tion to supper from a lady who was as beautiful as she was
virtuous — perhaps even more so. He hoped that Mr. Long
would pardon the precipitancy of his flight, and not attribute
it to any churlishness on his part.

Mr. Long did his best to reassure him on this point, —
he had already stayed for an hour, and had drunk a bottle
and a half of claret and half a tumbler of brandy "to steady
the wine," he declared ; and indeed it seemed that the
claret was a little shaky.

When they were alone Dick said :

" I was afraid, sir, that letter would come to you."

He shook his head with the air of a man who has had a
varied experience of men and their ways.

" I frankly confess that I was surprised to receive it," said
Mr. Long. " But I had made my calculations without
allowing for such a possibility as this Major O'Teague.
Mathews had some remnant of discretion, and that is why
three days have passed before I receive his challenge."

" You think that Mathews would not have sent it of his
own accord ? " said Dick.

" I am convinced of it," replied Mr. Long. " He knows

something of what I know about him, and he has given me

264

A NEST OF LINNETS 265

the best evidence in the world of his desire to get rid of me
once and for all. But he would never have sent me this
challenge had it not been that that fire-eating Irish ad-
venturer got hold of him and talked him into a fighting
mood. What chance would a weak fool such as
Mathews have against so belligerent a personality as
O'Teague ? Heavens, sir, give the man an hour with the
most timorous of human beings, and I will guarantee that he
will transform him into a veritable swashbuckler. Mathews
is a fool, and he is probably aware of it by now — assuming
that an hour and a half has elapsed since O'Teague
left him."

"If he had not challenged you, he need never have
shown his face in Bath again," said Dick.

"Oh, my dear Dick, you have not seen so much of Bath
as I have," said Mr. Long. " Bath will stand a great deal.
Has it not stood Mathews for several years ? "

Dick made no reply ; he was walking to and fro in the
room in considerable agitation. At last he stood before
Mr. Long.

" Dear sir," he cried, "why will you not consent to my
taking this quarrel on myself? Why should you place
your life in jeopardy for the gratification of Mathews and
his associates ? Think, sir, that your life is valuable \ while
mine — well, I can afford to risk it."

" My dear boy, you have risked your life once for me,"
said Mr. Long, laying a hand on Dick's shoulder. "I
cannot permit you to do so a second time. But believe
me, I shall run no risk in this matter. I give you my word
that I shall never stand up before that fellow. Why, when
his friend the major was juggling, but without the skill of a
juggler, with his metaphors just now, I was thinking out
three separate and distinct plans for making a duel
impossible, however well-intentioned Major O'Teague
may be."

266 A NKST OF LINNETS

" Tell me but one of them, Mr. Long," said Dick.

" Nay, my friend, I debated the question of telling you
when I had worked out my plans of campaign, and I came
to the conclusion that you must know nothing of — of — of
what I know," said Mr. long. " You hope to write a play
one of these days ? Well, sir, there is no discipline equal
to that of one's daily life for a man who aspires to write a
comedy dealing with the follies of the time. The comedy
of the duel has never been rightly dealt with. Behold your
chance, sir."

Dick resumed the shaking of his head.

"Ah, sir, what I dread is the play which one means
to be a comedy, but which becomes in its development
a tragedy."

"True, that is always to be dreaded," said Mr. Long.
"And I allow that Fate is not a consistent designer
of plays. She mixes up comedy and tragedy in such a
tangle that her own shears alone can restore the symmetry
of the piece. When Fate puts on the mask of comedy the
result is very terrible. But we shall do our best to get her
to play a leading part on our side, in our company, and I
promise you some diversion. Now you must act in this
little play as if you were no novice on the stage, but as
if, like Major O'Teague, you had played the part fourteen
times. At the outstart you must get rid of your nervousness.
I tell you again, the play is a comedy."

"I would not be nervous if I were playing the chief
part, sir."

" What, you are still willing to play the leading character ?
That is quite unlike a play-actor, Mr. Sheridan. Is't not
very well known that an actor would submit to anything
rather than play a leading character? Has your father
never told you how anxious they all are to be cast for the
insignificant parts ? "

Dick laughed.

A NEST OF LINNETS 267

" Oh, that, sir, is one of the best-known traits of the
profession of acting," he said. " But I should dearly like
to have a shot at Captain Mathews."

"He is a soldier, but I fear that he will not meet his
death by so honourable an agent," said Mr. Long. " No,
if he dies by a shot it will be fired at him by a platoon of
men with muskets. Now, you will arrange with Major
O'Teague as to the time and place of the meeting. T
have no choice in regard to the weapons ; but I wish to sug-
gest as a suitable ground the green paddock facing the iron
gate where you came to my assistance when I was attacked
by the footpads."

" I do not see that the man can make any objection to so
suitable a place," said Dick.

" We shall see," said Mr. Long. " At any rate, it is my
whim to meet him there. You see, I was once very lucky
in that neighbourhood, and I have my superstitions."

Dick went home with a heavy heart. He could not
understand why Mr. Long should still persist in the belief
that no duel would be fought. He seemed to have ac-
quired the idea that Mathews was a coward because he
had taken his horsewhipping so quietly ; but Dick, having
seen how the fellow had been overpowered at the outset
by the superior strength of his opponent, knew perfectly
well that he had had no choice in the matter. He had
displayed weakness, but not cowardice ; and Dick had
felt certain that he was just the man to seek an
opportunity of revenging himself with the weapons of
the duellist. He had believed all along that Mathews
would regard the realisation of his scheme as a matter
of life or death. If it became known that he had
evaded calling out the man who had so publicly insulted
him, he would, of course, be compelled to leave Bath.
If, however, he succeeded in killing Mr. Long — and
Dick felt convinced that he would do his best to kill

268 A NEST OF LINNETS

him — he would be able to swagger about as the hero
of the hour. That was the role which exactly suited
him.

But would he have the chance of killing Mr. Long?

Before he slept, Dick had made up his mind that if
Mathews killed Mr. Long, he himself would either prevent
his playing the role of the hero, or give him a double chance
of playing it. The moment this duel with Mr. Long
was over he would send a challenge to Mathews. He
felt that he would have every right to do so. The horse-
whipping which Mr. Long had administered to the man
was a sufficient punishment for his insult ; but Dick did not
forget that the placing of the ribald verses in the urn was a
gross insult to every lady present on the lawn at Bath-Easton,
and he had long ago made up his mind that he would
accept the responsibility of avenging this special affront.
All the sophistry of his chivalrous nature backed up this
resolution of his, until he had no difficulty in feeling that
he was the exponent of a sacred duty. Was it to be placed
in the power of any rascal, he asked an imaginary objector,
to insult a number of ladies in the shocking way that
Mathews had done, with impunity? Was that entire
company to have no redress for the gross conduct of
the fellow ?

Surely it was the privilege of every man with a spark
of chivalry in his nature — ordinary chivalry, mind, the
ordinary spirit of manhood — to do all that lay within his
power to prevent a recurrence of such an outrage upon
civilised society as had been perpetrated. If no other
man thought fit to make a move toward so desirable
an end, he, Richard Brinsley Sheridan, thanked God
that he saw his way clearly in the matter; and the
moment he had ceased to act for Mr. Long, he would
take action on his own behalf as the representative of the
ladies on whose fastidious ears the ribald lines had fallen.

A NEST OF LINNETS 269

He fell asleep quite easily, having made up his mind on
this point.

He had an interview the next day with Major O'Teague,
and found him ready to agree to any suggestion made
in regard to the meeting. The only detail to which
he took a momentary exception was in respect of the
ground.

" Hivins, Mr. Sheridan, aren't there many nice and tidy
places more adjacent than that paddock, where our friends
can have an enjoyable hour ? " he said. ' Faith, sir, I have
always thought Bath singularly favoured by Providence in
this respect. A bountiful Hivin seems to have designed
it for the settlement of these little affairs. 'Tis singularly
complete in this way, as you may have remarked. Egad !
you could kill your man at the corner of any street. Doesn't
it seem to be spurning the gifts which Providence has laid
at our very feet to go two miles out into the country ? "

But Mr. Sheridan had something of the sentimental
Irishman in his nature also, and so he was able to
acknowledge frankly that it was on the border-line of
atheism for any one to assert that it was necessary to go
two miles out of Bath in order to conduct friendly
hostilities j still, he thought that the whim of an old
gentleman should be respected.

" Mr. Long has lived in the country all his life, you see,
Major O'Teague, and that is no doubt why he makes it a
point of sentiment always to fight in the midst of a sylvan
landscape, free from the contaminating hand of man, you
understand ? " said Dick.

"'Tis a beautiful thought, sir," said Major O'Teague,
raising his eyes toward the ceiling. " And 'tis one that I
can appreciate to the full, Mr. Sheridan. Thank Hivin,
a life of pretty rough campaigning among pretty rough
characters hasn't blunted my finer sensibilities. I feel
that we are bound to respect the whim of your friend

270 A NEST OF LINNETS

just as if we were his executors. 'T would be just the
same if he had expressed a desire to be buried under a
special tree — maybe one that he had climbed for chestnuts
when a boy, or courted the girl of his choice under when a
sthripling. He didn't say that he had a whim about being
laid to rest under a special tree, sir ? "

" We haven't discussed that point yet, sir," said Dick.
" The fact is, I am rather a novice in this business, as you
may have perceived, major."

" Don't apologise, sir ; we must all make a beginning.
'Tis not your fault, I'm sure, Mr. Sheridan, that y' haven't
killed your man long ago."

M You do me honour, sir," said Dick.
" Not I, sir. Can't I see with half an eye that y' have
the spirit of an annihilator beating within your bosom ?
'Tis only your misfortune that y' haven't been given your
chance yet. But I hope that y'll mind that you must make
up for lost time."

" It will be my study, sir. I intend to begin without
delay by calling out your friend Captain Mathews when this
little affair is over."

" Good luck to you, my boy ! " cried Major O'Teague,
enthusiastically flinging out his hand to Dick. " Good luck
to you, sir ! If you'll allow me to act for you, 'twill be the
proudest day of my life."

"We shall talk the matter over when the first affair is
settled. One thing at a time has always been my motto,"
said Dick.

" I ask your pardon, Mr. Sheridan ; I was a bit prema-
ture," said Major O'Teague. "I won't inquire what your
reasons are for fighting Mathews ; I never preshume to pry
into the motives of gentlemen for whom I act. I hold that
'twould be an insult to their intelligence to do so. Besides,
if one were to inquire into the rights and wrongs of every
quarrel before it takes place, all manhood would die out of

A NEST OF LINNETS 271

England inside a year. No, sir; after the fight is the
time to inquire, just as after dinner is the time for the
speeches."

But when Major O'Teague called upon Dick the same
evening, as courtesy demanded, a wonderful smile came
over his face while he said :

"What is there about that paddock opposite the iron
gate by the Gloucester Road that makes your friend insist
on it as the place of meeting ? "

" I give you my word that I have no notion," replied
Dick. " Why should Captain Mathews object to it ? "

"That's more than I can say, sir," said O'Teague. "But,
by the Lord Harry, I had a long job getting him to agree
to that point. You should have seen his face when I told
him that we were to meet at that same paddock. He
turned as white as a sheet, and said that Mr. Long meant
to insult him by making such a suggestion. ' Tis not
there that I'll fight,' said he, quite livid. You'll excuse
me introducing the special oaths that he made use of, Mr.
Sheridan?"

" I am quite sure that their omission is more excusable
than their utterance would be," said Dick. "But he
consented to the ground at last?"

" Ay, at last. But between the first hint of the matter
and this 'at last' a good deal of conversation occurred.
'Twas pretty near my gentleman came to having a third
affair pressed on him. For some reason or other he wanted
to fight nearer town. Well, to be sure, it would be more
homelike. I never did believe an the suburbs myself,
and, besides, 'twill be very inconvenient for the spectators.
Still "

" My dear major," cried Dick, " I trust that there will
be no spectators beyond those gentlemen."

"What, sir, would you propose to exclude the public
from this entertainment ? I hope that is not your idea of

272 A NEST OF LINNETS

what is due to the intelligent curiosity of the people of
Bath ? Asking your pardon, Mr. Sheridan, I must say that
you have no notion at all of fair play."

"You have had so much experience of these matters,
Major O'Teague, I have every confidence that under your
guidance we can manage this little business by ourselves,
and without the need for the intrusion of all the busybodies
in Bath," said Dick.

"That may be true enough, Mr. Sheridan," said
Major O'Teague, "but let me remind you that the
gentleman for whom I am acting got his horsewhip-
ping in public Why the mischief wasn't I there to

see it? I would have given a guinea for a place in the
front row ! "

Dick clearly perceived that the man was anxious to be
the centre of a crowd of onlookers j he was treating the
duel from the standpoint of a showman desirous of making
plain his own ability as a stage-manager of experience,
and nothing would have pleased him better than to have
engaged Drury Lane for the spectacle.

For a moment or two Dick was annoyed ; he was sorely
tempted to say something that would have been hurtful to
Major O'Teague's feelings. He restrained himself, how-
ever, and then he suddenly remembered — Major O'Teague
had given him no reason to forget it — that he was talking
to an Irishman. That was why he said in a confidential
tone:

" I acknowledge the force of your argument, sir ; but the
fact is " — his voice became a whisper — " there is a lady in
the case. You will agree with me in thinking that her
feelings must be respected at any cost. Major O'Teague,
if the lady — I refrain from mentioning her name in this
connection — who has given Mr. Long her promise, were
to hear of his danger, the consequences might be very
serious to her. We are both Irishmen, sir."

A NEST OF LINNETS 273

" Sir/' said Major O'Teague, " your thoughtfulness does
you honour. No one ever yet made an appeal to me on
behalf of a beauteous creature without success. The least
wish of a lady is sacred in the eyes of Major O'Teague.
If the lady wishes, we'll set our men to fight at midnight
in a coal-cellar."

18

CHAPTER XXVIII

Somehow, in spite of Major O'Teague's promise of secrecy,
the rumour of the impending duel went round Bath, and
Dick had to use all his adroitness in replying to those of
his friends who questioned him on the subject in the
course of the evening. But of course people were not
nearly so certain about this encounter as they had been
about the previous one — the one which did not take place.
Young Mr. Sheridan's imagination was quite equal to the
strain put upon it by his interrogators, and he was able
to give each of them a different answer. He assured
some of them that he had excellent authority for believing
that there was to be a meeting between Mr. Long and
Captain Mathews, and that, in order to assure complete
secrecy, it was to take place in the Pump Room before
the arrival of the visitors some morning — he hoped to be
able to find out the exact morning. Others he informed
that it had been agreed by the friends of Mr. Long and
Captain Mathews that they were to fight with pistols across
the Avon at the next full moon ; while to such persons as
wanted circumstantial news on the subject, he gave the
information in an undertone in a corner, that the fight
was to come off on the following Thursday, on the lawn
at Bath-Easton, Captain Mathews having declared that he
would not be satisfied unless the same people who had
witnessed the insult that had been put upon him were

A NEST OF LINNETS 275

present to see him wipe it out. Dick even went the
length of quoting the first two lines of a poem which
he himself was composing for Lady Miller's urn, feeling
convinced that the prize would be awarded to him on
account of its appropriateness. He meant to leave a
blank in the final line, he said, to be filled up at the las.t
moment with the name of the survivor.

The result of this unscrupulous exercise of his imagina-
tion was to alienate from him several of his friends and to
mystify the others; so that, when he drove out with Mr.
Long the next morning to the paddock by the Gloucester
Road, it was plain that the secret as to the place of meeting
had been well kept. Whatever might be said about Major
O'Teague, he had respected the plea for secrecy advanced
by Dick, though Dick knew that it must have gone to his
heart to be deprived of the crowd of spectators on whom
he had reckoned.

Dick saw that the ground lent itself to secrecy. At one
part of the paddock there was a small plantation, and this
screened off the greater part of it from the road. Here
the ground was flat, but only for about half an acre ;
beyond this space there was a gradual rise into a wooded
knoll, which could also be reached by a narrow lane
leading off the road. Opposite the entrance to the
paddock was the iron gate, behind which Mr. Long had
retreated on the night when he was attacked; and now
that Dick saw the place by daylight, he noticed that
the gate gave access to the weedy carriage drive of an
unoccupied house.

" A capital covert for footpads," said Dick, when he stood
by the side of Mr. Long beyond the plantation in the
paddock. " I daresay it was just here that the fellows lay
in wait for the approach of a victim."

"That was the conclusion to which I came," said Mr.
Long. "And now here are we waiting for them."

276 A NEST OF LINNETS

" For them ? " said Dick.

" Well, for Mathews and his friend," said Mr. Long with
a quiet laugh.

" Worse than any footpads," growled Dick, examining the
ground just beyond the belt of trees.

11 1 promise you that they shall have neither my money
nor my life, friend Dick," said Mr. Long, looking round
as if in expectation of seeing some one.

" We are before the appointed time," said Dick, framing
an answer to his inquiring look.

" We shall have the longer space to admire the prospect
from yon knoll," said his friend. " I am minded to have a
stroll round the paddock. I .promise you that I shall not
disgrace you by running away."

He waved his hand to Dick, who accepted the gesture
as an indication that he desired to be alone. He busied
himself about the ground while Mr. Long strolled toward
the hedge that ran alongside the narrow lane skirting the
paddock.

Dick fancied that he understood his desire to be alone
for the brief space left to him before the probable arrival
of Mathews and O'Teague. Could Mr. Long doubt for
a moment that Mathews would do his best to kill him ?
Surely not.

So, then, the next quarter of an hour would decide the
question whether he was to live or die. Dick remembered
what Mr. Long had told him respecting his early life — his
early love — his enduring love. What had his words been
at that time ?

" Those who die young have been granted the gift of per-
petual youth."

He watched Mr. Long walking slowly and with bent head
up the sloping ground by the bramble hedge. He could
believe that he was communing with the one of whom he
had never ceased to think as his companion — the one who

A NEST OF LINNETS 277

walked unseen by his side — whose gracious presence had
never ceased to influence him throughout his life. And
then, all at once the younger man became conscious of that
invisible presence. Never before had he been aware of
such an impression. It was not shadowy. It was not
vague. It was not a suggestion of the imagination. It
was an impression as real as that of the early morning-
air which exhilarated him — as vivid as that of the song of the
skylark which had left its nest at the upper part of the green
meadow, and was singing while it floated into the azure
overhead. He felt as if he were standing beneath outspread
wings, and the consciousness was infinitely gracious to him.
All through the night and so far into the morning he had
been in great trouble of thought. The shocking possibilities
of this duel had suggested themselves to him every moment,
and it was with a feeling of profound depression that he had
taken the case of pistols from the carriage and entered
the paddock.

But now, with the suddenness of entering a wide space
of free air, out of a narrow room of suffocating vapours —
with the suddenness of stepping into the sunlight out of
a cell, his depression vanished. He felt safe beneath the
shadow of those gracious, outstretched wings. Every
suggestion that had come to him during the night, every
thought of the likelihood of disaster, disappeared.

The dead are mightier than the living.

That was the thought which came to him now. He
knew that the sense of perfect security of which he was
now aware, could not have been imparted to him by any
earthly presence ; and looking across the green meadow to
where Mr. Long was standing motionless, Dick knew that
he also was living in this consciousness. And the cool
scent of the meadow grass filled the morning air, and high
overhead the wings of song spread forth by the ecstasy of
the skylark winnowed the air. The feeling of exhilaration

278 A NEST OF UNNETS

of which Dick Sheridan was conscious, was such as he had
never known before.

Looking up the paddock, Dick fancied that he saw a

figure moving stealthily among the fringe of trees ; but he

was not quite certain that some one was there. A few

sheep were in the meadow at the other side of the hedge,

and he thought it was quite possible that one of the flock

had strayed through a gap and had wandered among the

trees. At any rate he failed to see again any moving object

in the same direction, and he did not think it worth his

while going across the ground to make further investigations.

He reflected that, after all, assuming that some one was

among the trees, it was out of his power to insist on the

withdrawal of such a person. He felt that, if it were to turn

out that the owner of the ground was there, the combatants

might find themselves ordered off the ground, for assuredly

they were trespassers. And then his reflections were broken

by the noise of carriage wheels on the road — sounds which

ceased quite suddenly just when they were being heard most

distinctly. After a pause came the sound of voices and a

laugh or two. In a few moments Major O'Teague, with

Mathews by his side, and followed by two gentlemen — one

of them was recognised by him as Mr. Ditcher, the surgeon

—appeared beyond the plantation.

Dick advanced to meet the party, but Mr. Long made
no move. He was still on the slope of the meadow,
apparently giving a good deal of attention to the distant
view of the city of Bath.

"Sir," said Major O'Teague, "we're a trifle late, and
an apology is jew to you. I promise you that 'twill not
occur again."

Dick had been extremely punctilious in the matter of
taking off his hat to the party, and he declined to replace

A NEST OF IvINNETS 279

it until every one was covered. He assured Major O'Teague
that no apology was necessary ; he did not believe that it
was yet five minutes past the appointed hour. Then Major
O'Teague presented the only stranger of the party — a
gentleman named MacMahon — "a brother Irishman, Mr.
Sheridan," he said, in discharging this act of courtesy;
"a lineal descendant of the great FitzUrse who killed
St. Thomas a Becket some years back ; you may have
heard of the occurrence. 'Tis not every day that one has
a chance of killing a saint. Faith, I'm inclined to think
that the practice has become obsolete owing to the want of
material. Any way, Bath is not the place for any man to
come to who seeks to emulate such a feat."

Mr. MacMahon said he was modest ; he sought to kill
neither saint nor sinner. He hoped that Mr. Sheridan
would not consider him an obtruder upon the scene ; if Mr.
Sheridan took such a view of the case, he would, he assured
him, retire without a word of complaint.

Dick acknowledged his civility, and said that no friend
of Major O'Teague's would be out of place where an affair
of honour was being settled.

While these courtesies were being exchanged, Mathews
stood silently by, his teeth set, and his eyes fixed upon the
distant figure of Mr. Long. He turned suddenly while
Dick and Mr. MacMahon were bowing to each other,
hat in hand.

" Is this a fete champetre or the rehearsal of a comedy ? "

he said. " If my time is to be wasted Where is your

man, Mr. Sheridan ? — produce your man, sir, if he be not
afraid to show his face."

" I trust that no suggestion will be made to that effect,
sir," said Dick.

" No one will make it while I am on the ground,
Mr. Sheridan," said Major O'Teague. "If anybody here
sees anything inappropriate in Mr. Long spending a few

280 A NEST OF UNNETS

minutes in meditation, that person differs from me. Come,
Mr. Sheridan, 'tis only for you and me to make any remarks.
Egad, sir ! I compliment your friend on his choice of the
ground. It seems made for a jewel, so it does. That belt
of trees shuts off the road entirely, and if we place our men
on the flat, that hill behind us will give neither of them an
unjew advantage. Sir, for one who is unfortunate enough
to have had no experience of these affairs, you have
shown an aptitude for the business that falls little short
of jaynius."

He glanced at the ground and its surroundings with the
easy confidence of a general, and then marching to the right
and left, cocked an eye in the direction of the sun.

" There's no choice of places, that I can see ; what do
you say, Mr. Sheridan ? " he asked.

" So far as I can judge there is no question of choice,''
said Dick. "That is, of course, with pistols; it would be
another matter with swords."

" I agree with you, sir. Then, with your leave, we will
measure the ground twenty paces from the line of trees."

A considerable space of time was occupied in these
formalities, and then came the question of the weapons.
This was settled without discussion — Major O'Teague
proving as courteous as he had promised to be ; in fact,
he thought it necessary to excuse his constant agreement
with Dick.

" If there was anything to disagree about, you may be
sure that I'd do it in the interest of Mr. Mathews, sir," he
said ; " but I give you my word that there's nothing to
allow any side the smallest advantage. And now, sir,
though it seems a pity to disturb the meditations of your
friend, I am afraid that the time has come for you to
take that step. I hope to Hivins that he won't think it
in bad taste. But you're spared the trouble : he is coming
to us."

A NEST OF UNNETS 281

Mr. Long was walking quickly down the meadow, and
when still a few paces away, he raised his hat to Major
O'Teague, but ignored Mathews, who was standing some
yards off.

" Major O'Teague," he said, " I have to inform you that
I have been giving the question of the projected duel my
earnest thought, and the conclusion that I have come to
is that I am not called on to fight Mr. Mathews."

CHAPTER XXIX

The words, spoken deliberately, but without any particular
emphasis, startled Dick quite as much as they did Major
O'Teague.

" You're a coward, sir, and I will force you to fight me ! "
shouted Mathews.

Dick took a couple of steps to the side of Mr. Long, and
at the same instant O'Teague took three to the side of
Mathews.

11 Hold your tongue, sir ; leave me to manage this affair,"
said Major O'Teague to his principal.

He took a step nearer Mr. Long.

" I'm afraid, sir," he said in a frigid tone and with a
distinctly English accent, which sounded very much more
formal than the soft Irish slur which came so easily to him
— " I'm afraid that there's some misunderstanding between
us ; but a little explanation will, I daresay, tend to smooth
away matters, and lead to such an amicable settlement that
the fight will take place as originally intended. Pray, sir,
state your reasons for saying that you're not called on to
consummate the jewel. Come, sir, your reasons."

" My reasons ? This is one of them," said Mr. Long,
pointing toward the bramble hedge beside the lane.

So intent had every one been over the technicalities of
the duel, none had noticed a little figure standing there
waiting for a signal — the figure of a little boy. When

282

A NEST OF UNNETS 283

Mr. Long raised his arm and pointed toward him, he
began to run to the group, and now all eyes were turned
upon him. He was a pretty child of perhaps eight or nine
years of age, and while he ran he kept calling out :

" Daddy, daddy, I'se come, I'se come ! "

No one in the group moved, and the little boy ran toward
Mathews with outstretched arms. He had almost reached
him before Mathews had recovered from the astonishment
that had left his face pale. He stepped back, saying :

** Take the brat away ! What demon brought him hither ?
Take him away, I say, before I do him a hurt."

" Tis not a demon that brings the like of that to men,"
said O'Teague. Then, putting out his hands to the little
boy, he cried, " Come hither, my little man, and tell us
what is your name."

The child stopped and gazed with wondering eyes at
Major O'Teague, who was kneeling on one knee, with
inviting hands stretched forth.

" Mammy said for I to run to daddy," lisped the little
fellow, and he looked round, putting a tiny thumb in his
mouth.

" Take the brat away, or I shall do it a hurt," shouted
Mathews.

The child shrank back, and a frightened look came to his
face.

" I'se good to-day, pappy," he said. " I'se very good.
I'se did what mammy told. She said, ' Go to pappy,' and
I'se goed."

Mathews, his hands clenched, took a step in the direction
of Mr. Long, and Dick took a step in the direction of
Mathews.

" Coward ! " said the last named. " Coward ! this is
how you would shirk the fight that you owe me. You have
brought them here."

"Yes, I brought them here— all your family," said

284 A NEST OF LINNETS

Mr. Long. " And — yes, I own to being a coward ; I
own that I shrink from standing up with a deadly weapon
in my hand before the husband of an estimable lady and
the father of an innocent child. Captain Mathews, you are
aware of the fact that I am acquainted with some com-
promising incidents in your past life. I do not wish you
ill, sir. I implore of you to be advised in time. Return
to your home, and make an honest attempt to redeem the
past."

" I will — I will — when I have seen you lying dead at my
feet," said Mathews. Then, turning to the others of the
party, he cried : " Gentlemen, are we here to be made
fools of? Let the affair proceed, or let Mr. Long and his
friend make up their minds to be branded in public as
cowards and poltroons."

" Major O'Teague," said Dick, " you cannot possibly
have known that Captain Mathews, while professing
honourable intentions in regard to a lady in Bath, was
all the time a married man?"

" I acknowledge that that is the truth, Mr. Sheridan,"
said Major O'Teague ; " but you'll pardon me if I say
that I can't for the life of me see what that disclosure has
to do with the matter before us."

" What, sir, you don't think that a gentleman should be
exempted from fighting with so unscrupulous an adventurer
as, on your own admission, Captain Mathews has proved
to be?" said Dick.

" Upon my soul, I don't, Mr. Sheridan," said O'Teague.
" On the contrary, sir, it appears to me that a man who
behaved so dishonourably as my friend Captain Mathews
has done, makes a most suitable antagonist for a gentleman
of honour like Mr. Long or yourself, sir."

Mr. MacMahon, the stranger who had come to witness
the fight, had taken the little boy by the hand, and was
leading him up the meadow away from the men ; and every

A NEST OF LINNETS 285

now and again the child looked over his shoulder with big,
puzzled eyes. He was asking a perpetual question.

" Sir," said Dick, with great promptitude when OTeague
had spoken — "Sir, I give you my word that I have no
objection to fight Captain Mathews myself."

" No," cried Mr. Long. " No laws of honour demand
that a gentleman shall stand up before a felon."

"True, sir," said Major O'Teague ; "but you see,
nothing that Captain Mathews has yet done can be con-
strued as an act of felony."

" Indeed, sir, Captain Mathews and I know better than
that," said Mr. Long.

"'Tis a lie — I swear that 'tis a foul lie!" shouted Mathews.

" I admit that years ago But there were no proofs

that the girl did not die by her own hands. She did it to
be revenged upon me. Have you proofs? If you have,
pray produce them."

" I have proof enough to send you to the hangman," said
Mr. Long.

" Sir," said Major O'Teague, " I did not come hither to
listen to such recrimination. You must be aware, Mr. Long,
that you have seriously compromised your position as a man
of honour by making a vague charge against your opponent
a pretext for backing out of a fight with him. If a man was
a fool years ago — well, which of us hasn't been a fool at
some time of our life?"

"Sir," said Mr. Long, "I do not need to be instructed
on points of honour by you or any one else. I did not refer
to your friend's felony of four years ago, but to a much
more recent act of his."

" Let us have your proofs, sir, or, by Hivins, my felonious
friend will have my assistance in branding you as a coward ! "
cried Major O'Teague.

Mr. Long was holding between his finger and thumb a
small piece of lace before the man had done speaking.

286 A NEST OF LINNETS

" This is my proof," he said.

Major O'Teague stared at him and then at Dick Sheridan.
He saw that Dick was as much puzzled as himself.

" In the name of all that's sensible " he began.

"The fellow is a fool," cried Mathews. "Ay, a fool as
well as a coward."

" In the name of all that's sensible, Mr. Long, tell us
what it is you mean at all," said O'Teague. " What in the
name of all the Hivins do you mean by showing us that
rag?"

"This piece of lace is a souvenir that your friend left
with me of our last encounter. Look at the torn ruffle of
his right sleeve, sir. I think you will find that the rent
needs for its repair this piece of lace which I hold in my
hand."

" Sir, I heard of no encounter," said Major O'Teague.

"Then you would do well to get your friend to acquaint
you with some of its details," said Mr. Long.

Major O'Teague, mystified to a point of distraction,
turned to Mathews ; but he failed to catch his eye, the fact
being that Mathews was gazing at Mr. Long as a man
gazes at another who has just amazed him by a sudden
revelation.

" Am I asleep or awake — that's what I want to know ? "
cried Major O'Teague. "And I want to know it badly
too, for what's the drift of all these hints and all this aimless
talk baffles me. Look you here, Mr. Long, you tell me you
crossed swords with Captain Mathews quite lately; well,
sir, if that is the truth, will you tell me why you should object
to fight with him now ? "

" Sir," said Mr. Long, " Mr. Mathews was in the disguise
of a footpad on that road between those trees and the iron
gate opposite, and I fought for my life against him and his
two confederates."

Major O'Teague did not allow any one to see how startled

A NKST OF LINNETS 287

he was. He stroked his chin and pursed out his lips.
There was a long pause before he said :

" And that is the evidence you bring forward of a very
remarkable affair, sir — that scrap of rag ? "

" Psha ! sir, I have as much evidence of that remarkable
affair as would suffice to hang the dean and chapter of a
cathedral ! " said Mr. Long.

" Pray give us an example of it, sir," said the major.
" Juries in this country don't hang even dogs, to say nothing
of deans, on the evidence of a scrap of rag."

" That's it," said Mathews ; his voice was a trifle husky —
he had not had much practice in speaking for some minutes.
" That's it ! — Major O'Teague, you are my friend : I ask no
better friend. Let the fellow produce his evidence."

" I will," said Mr. Long.

He took a few steps toward the trees around the knoll
where Dick had fancied he saw some figures moving. He
raised a finger, and at this signal two men clad in homespun
hastened down the meadow.

Mathews' jaw fell.

" One of these men was Mathews' confederate, the other
is an honester man ; he is the shepherd who lay concealed
among the brambles yonder when Mathews and his bravos
waited for me in this very place. He saw the fight, but
having no weapon, he was wise enough to refrain from inter-
fering in what did not concern him. He was fortunate
enough, however, to pick up the shoe which came off
Mathews' foot in his hasty flight from my friend, Mr.
Sheridan, so that "

A shout of warning came from Major O'Teague's friend,
MacMahon, and the next second a sword went flashing
through the air a dozen yards away, and Dick Sheridan,
breathing hard, stood with his own sword in his hand. He
had been just in time to disarm Mathews, who had drawn
his sword and rushed with it upon Mr. Long.

288 A NKST OF UNNKTS

And while every one stood aghast for the moment, there
came forth from the plantation of trees a well-dressed lady,
leading by the hand the little boy who had been on the
scene before. She walked slowly across the meadow to the
group, arid every one looked at her.

The sword that had been jerked out of Mathews' hand
remained nodding, like a reed before the wind, with its hilt
in the air, for the point had penetrated the soft turf an inch
or two, at such an acute angle as made the steel top-heavy at
the hilt.

No one had the presence of mind to call Mathews an
assassin, but all removed their hats at the approach of the
lady.

She was smiling.

" Good-morning, gentlemen," she said, responding to
their respectful salutations. " I perceive that my dear
husband has been at his tricks again. He has been passing
himself off at Bath as a gay bachelor, I hear, and the
people were fools enough to be taken in by him ; and all
the time he was writing to me such loving letters, and
sending them to the North to be posted. He made out
that he was recruiting in Kendal, the sly rogue ! "

She gave a laugh, pointing an upbraiding finger at
Mathews. Clearly she was not greatly put out by anything
that had yet come under her notice, — she seemed more
inclined to regard the escapade of which her husband was
guilty, in the light of a piece of pleasantry, to be referred
to with smiles ; but the only one of the party who responded
to her in a like spirit was Major O'Teague.

" O madam ! " he cried, " he is indeed a sad dog — quite
inexcusable, madam — oh, altogether inexcusable ! For I
vow that, however leniently disposed his friends may have
been in regard to his freak before they had seen the lady
whom he forsook, they cannot condone his offence now
that they have been so happy as to make her acquaintance.

A WELL-DRESSED LADY . . . WALKED SLOWLY ACROSS THE MEADOW TO THE

group. [page 288.

A NEST OF UNNETS 289

Madam, the man that could leave you for — for — the frivolities
of Bath deserves no sympathy."

" Sir, you are, I protest, vastly polite," said Mrs. Mathews ;
"but I am sure you will not be hard upon poor Captain
Mathews' frailties. 'Tis his misfortune to be over-susceptible
to the charms of new faces. Who can blame him when the
trait was born with him ? After all, constancy is an acquired
virtue."

"True, madam, quite true," said Major O'Teague.
" But, Mrs. Mathews, I beg of you to permit me to say that
if a gentleman who is fortunate enough to be married to so
charming a lady as yourself does not acquire constancy, we
may well distrust your theory."

"I vow, sir, you overwhelm a simple country-bred
woman with your flattery," said she. " But I see that Mr.
Long and his friends are feeling bored by our philosophy.
Still, I should like to ask Mr. Long if his experience can
suggest better advice to a woman married to so erratic
a gentleman as Captain Mathews than to make the best of
a bad bargain ? Lud, sir, to spend my days weeping on a
bed because of my husband's peccadilloes would only be
to make myself miserable, without improving him. After
all, he doesn't annoy me much. I have a fortune of my
own and two sweet children, and he is a good deal from
home, so that I have much to be thankful for. Come along,
captain : you see that no one here wishes to fight with you.
Perhaps at home you will have a better chance. A husband,
if he keeps his eyes open, can always find some one at
home to quarrel with. At the worst, there are always
servants to be sworn at. 'Tis a great ease to a man's mind
to know that he can always curse a groom or a wife or a dog
without being called to account. Come along, captain ;
you have still got your grooms and your wife left to you.
You know as well as I do that if you succeeded in captivating
a young beauty at Bath — though I haven't seen much of

*9

290 A NEST OF WNNETS

this beauty — you would swear at her within the month as
heartily as you do at me."

Mathews looked quite ready to swear at her at that
moment. He restrained himself, however, and, after only a
short pause, went hastily to where his sword was still swaying
on its point. He drew it out of the wound it had made in
the earth, and rammed it back into its sheath. Then he took
the shortest route to the gate ; only when he was passing
the line of trees in the plantation did he turn and glance
back at the group whom he had left. The expression upon
his face was one of disappointed malice ; no trace of repent-
ance was to be seen there.

With a laugh, his wife followed him, the golden-haired
little boy running by her side. She cast an apologetic
glance at the gentlemen, and they all made profound
bows.

" Major O'Teague, I ask your pardon, sir, for having
caused you to come here on a business which I knew must
prove fruitless," said Mr. Long.

" Sir," said Major O'Teague, " I think that if there's to be
an apology it should come from me. But I give you my
word of honour, sir, I had no idea that the fellow was such
a rascal : he has only been acquainted with me for three
days. I guessed that he was bad enough. But think of
that last coup of his, sir — trying to run you through the
body while you were speaking ! By my soul, Mr. Long,
'tis something of a pity that he was obstructed in time, for
'twould be a pleasure to all of us to see him hanged for such
an act."

" I fear that I could not have shared that pleasure," said
Mr. Long.

" And pray why not, sir, when you would know that the
fellow was the greatest rascal unhung?" cried Major
O'Teague.

" Perhaps I am too tender-hearted, sir," said Mr. Long,

A NEST OF UNNETS 291

" but truth compels me to assure you that I could not bear
to see a man hanged merely for killing me."

" Faith, and you are mighty compassionate, sir," said
Major O'Teague. "I give you my word that there's no
sight I would enjoy so much as the hanging of the man
that had killed me by a mortal wound when my attention
was diverted elsewhere."

CHAPTER XXX

Dick Sheridan believed that his ingenuity would be taxed
to the uttermost to invent plausible answers to satisfy the
curiosity of the many people who would be questioning him
on the subject of Mr. Long's meeting with Captain Mathews.
When he had to make up so many replies to the questions
put to him regarding the duels that had never been contem-
plated, what would he not have to do in respect of this
meeting, which had actually taken place, though without an
exchange of shots? His reasoning on this basis showed
that he had but an imperfect acquaintance with the methods
of the good people of Bath. He should have known that,
having had two duels to talk about within the previous
fortnight, and having, moreover, found out that neither of
these encounters had taken place, they would lose all
interest in duels real or imaginary. But that was just
the view the people of Bath took of the incident. If any
tale of the interrupted encounter — surely a most piquant
topic ! — reached the ears of the gossips of the Pump Room
and the Parade, they were reticent on the subject. Not one
question was put to Dick respecting Mr. Long and Captain
Mathews, the fact being that all Bath was talking about
quite another matter — namely, the infatuation of Mrs.
Abington.

What a freak it was to be sure ! There was the most
charming actress of the day (her day had lasted a pretty

292

A NKST OF LINNETS 293

long while), at whose feet had sat in vain some of the most
distinguished men then living, infatuated with that young
Linley, neglecting her engagements at Mr. Colman's theatre,
laughing at Mr. Cumberland, who had one of his most
lugubrious comedies ready for her to breathe into it the
spirit of life, and all on account of a youth who was certainly
(they said) utterly incapable of appreciating her varied
charms.

Mr. Colman had posted down from London to reason with
her : in spite of his experience, he was still of the impression
that a woman in love would listen to reason — and that
woman an actress too ! He made a step forward (he
thought) in his knowledge of women and actresses, when
he had had a talk with Mrs. Abington.

And Mr. Cumberland But then, Mr. Cumberland

knew nothing whatever about the nature of men and women }
he had taken the pains to prove this by the production of
a dozen comedies — so that when he tried to wheedle her
by obvious flatteries, she laughed in his face, and that
annoyed Mr. Cumberland greatly; for he thought that
laughter was always out of place except during the perform-
ance of one of his comedies, though people said that that
was the only time when laughter was impossible.

Poor Tom Linley (the men who envied him alluded to
him as poor Tom Linley) was having the finishing touch
put to his education, all sensible people agreed. The wits
said that he would learn more of what music meant by
listening to Mrs. Abington's voice, than he would by
studying all the masters of harmony, from Palestrina to
Handel.

Of course the scandal-mongers made a scandal out of
this latest whim of Mrs. Abington, but the lovely lady was
so well accustomed to be the centre of a cocoon of scandal
(she had a good deal of the nature of the butterfly about
her), she did not mind. She only wondered what Dick

294 A NEST OF LINNETS

Sheridan thought of Tom Linley's being the hero of so
fascinating a scandal. She wondered how long it would be
before Dick Sheridan would become jealous of the position
to which his friend had been advanced. She judged of
Dick Sheridan from her previous knowledge of him j but as
the days went on, she began to feel that a change had come
over him.

And then Mrs. Abington became a little reckless ; for
whenever she and Tom Linley were in the same room as
Dick, her laugh was a little louder than usual and a good
deal less melodious ; and the way she allowed her eyes to
rest on Tom's face when she knew that Dick was looking,
was rather too pictorial for everyday life, some people
thought, and these were the people who said, "Poor Tom
Linley ! "

But there came a day when Tom Linley was announced
to play at a concert. He was to take the violin part in a
concerto, and to play in two duets with the harpsichord;
but these selections had to be omitted from the programme,
the fact being that Master Tom had that day gone a-driving
into the country with Mrs. Abington.

It was a very pretty scene in high comedy, that in which
the actress got the promise of the youth who had buried his
heart in his violin, to fling his music-book to the unmelodious
winds in order to take up the Book of Life and turn over
its glowing pages with her. She had told him that she
wished to take a drive into the country the next day, and
had expressed the hope that he would act as her protector.

Of course he replied that it would be to him a trip to the
Delectable Mountains to be by her side, or something to
that effect j but he pointed playfully (now and again Tom
could become playful, though never in the artless spirit of
Mrs. Abington) at the bill of the concert in which his name
figured.

What had the fact of his name being on the bill to do

A NEST OF LINNETS 295

with the question of his coming with her ? she inquired in
a sweetly simple way, with artless open eyes,

" Good heavens, sweet lady, surely you must see that I
cannot be at the concert and in your carriage at the same
time ? " he cried.

" Did I assert that you could ? " she asked. "All I did
was to ask you to be my protector to-morrow. I did not
say a word about your going to the concert. What is the
concert to me — to you or me, Tom ? "

" Nothing — oh, nothing ! " he cried, and she allowed him
to kiss her hand. " 'Tis nothing. Have not I proved it by
refraining from attending a single practice of the instru-
ments, thereby making my father furious ? "

" Then if the concert be nothing to you, am I something
less than nothing ? " she cried.

" Ah, you are everything — everything, only Heavens,

if I were to absent myself my prospects would be ruined ! "

" Ah, 'tis the old story ! " sighed the lady, — there was
more indignation in her sigh than Mr. Burke could in-
corporate in one of his speeches on the Marriage Act, —
" the old story : a man's ambition against a woman's
affection ! Go to your concert, sir, but never let me see
your face again."

" Dear child ! " he cried, — he sometimes called her " dear
child," because she was not (he thought) more than two
years older than himself, — " cannot you see that when my
name is printed "

" Do you presume to instruct me on these points, sir ? "
she cried. " Does not all the world know that my name is
down in every playbill that Mr. Colman prints, as a member

of his company ? and yet But you have taught me my

duty. I shall go back to London to-morrow. I thank you,
sir, for having given me a lesson. O man, man ! always
cruel ! — always ready to slight the poor, trustful creature
who gives up all for your sake."

296 A NEST OF LINNETS

She dissolved into tears, and he was kneeling by her side,
trying to catch the hand which she withheld from him, and
all the time swearing that she was everything to him — his
life, his soul, his hope, his future. . . .

And so the pieces in which Tom Linley was to take part
at the concert were omitted from the performance, and the
manager assured Mr. Linley that his son's career, so far as
Bath was concerned, was at an end.

Mr. Linley that evening — at one moment weeping in the
arms of his daughter, at another pacing the room declaring
passionately that Tom need never again look near his
house, that he would turn him out neck and crop into the
street — said some severely accurate things about Mrs.
Abington and the stage generally, and the Linley household
was in a condition bordering on distraction.

But Mrs. Abington, sitting in an attitude of inimitable
grace upon her little gilded sofa, passing her fingers through
Tom's curls as he sat on a stool at her feet, was in no way
disturbed by the condition of things in Pierrepont Street,
the fact being that she was just at that moment thinking
more of Mrs. Abington than of any one else in the world.
She knew that the next day every one in Bath would be
talking about the completeness of her conquest of the
ardent young musical genius who, it was well known, held
the theory that there was nothing in the world worth
living for save only music. She wondered what Dick
Sheridan would think now. And she was quite right so
far as her speculations in regard to Bath were concerned.
Every one was talking of how she had been the ruin of
Tom Linley, and most of the men who talked of it, envied
Tom most heartily ; all the women who talked of it, envied
Mrs. Abington her taste in dress.

And as for Dick Sheridan — well, Dick was for quite an

A NEST OF UNNETS 297

hour of that morning doing his best to comfort Betsy
Linley in the grief that had overwhelmed her family. She
had written to Dick to come to her, and he had obeyed.
He found her alone, and, though not in tears, very close to
the weeping point. He saw, when he had looked into
her face, that she had not slept all night for weeping. She
never looked lovelier than when bearing the signs of
recent tears.

" O Dick, Dick, is not this dreadful ? " she cried. " You
have heard of it — of course you have heard of it ? All
Bath is talking of it to-day."

Dick acknowledged that he had heard of Tom's dis-
appointing the audience at the concert-room the previous
day, and of the roars of laughter that had greeted the
manager's announcement that Mr. Tom Linley had un-
fortunately contracted a severe indisposition which would,
the doctors declared, prevent his appearing that day. He
had not heard, however, that the manager, smarting from
the ridicule of the audience, had told Mr. Linley that his
son was to consider his career as a musician closed, so far as
Bath was concerned.

" But 'tis so indeed ; father told us so," said Betsy.
" Oh, poor father ! what he has been called on by Heaven
to suffer ! How dismal his early life was ! But he freed
himself by his own genius from that life and its associations,
and then, just when happiness seemed at the point of
coming to him, he finds that he has instructed me in vain, —
that was a great blow to him, Dick — oh, what a disappoint-
ment ! But what was it compared to this ? O Dick, Dick,
something must be done to save Tom ! "

" She will soon tire of his society," said Dick. " She is
not a woman of sentiment : when she finds that the topic of
her conquest of Tom has ceased to be talked about, she will
release him."

" That is what you said to me long ago, and yet he is

298 A NEST OF LINNETS

not released, and people are talking more than ever," she
cried.

" We must have patience, Betsy."

11 What ! do you suggest that we should do nothing —
absolutely nothing ? O Dick, I looked for better advice
from you ! What comfort is it to the friends of a prisoner
immured in a dungeon to tell them that if they have
patience his prison bars will rust away and he will then
be free?"

" Do you fancy that my going to Mrs. Abington to plead
for him will have any effect upon her ? Do you really
believe that all the eloquence of man has any influence
upon a woman with a whim ? "

" Ah, she will listen to you — you will be able to persuade
her. She cares for you, Dick — I know that."

He looked at her wonderingly. How was it possible, he
asked himself, that she had found out Mrs. Abington's
secret ? He himself had not found it out of his own accord,
and he was a man. (He ventured to assume that such
secrets were more likely to be guessed by a man than by
a woman.)

"She likes me — yes, I suppose — in a way," he ,said.
"But I am not sure that this fact would make her the
more ready to abandon a whim of the moment. On the
contrary "

"Ah, Dick, will you not help us?" she cried. "Surely
if she cares about you "

" Dear Betsy, I think we should do well to avoid
giving any consideration to that particular point," said Dick
hastily. " I will go to Mrs. Abington and make an appeal
to her, but 'twill not be on the ground that she cares for
me ; in fact, I do not at this moment know on what ground
I can appeal to her."

" But you will go ? Ah, I knew that we could depend
on you to do your best for us, Dick," said she, and there

A NEST OF LINNETS 299

passed over her face a glimpse of gladness — a flash of
sunshine making more transparent the azure of her eyes.
"You are the one whom I can always trust, dear Dick,
because I know that you can always trust yourself."

" I have learned that from you, my Betsy ; I can stand
face to face with you, and yet — I can trust myself."

"Ah, do not say that you learned it from me," she cried.
She had turned away from him suddenly and was looking
pensively at the hand which she had rested on the back
of a chair. " If you could know what is in my heart, Dick,
you would not talk about learning anything from me —
alas — ! alas ! "

"You can trust your heart," he said — "you can trust
your heart, for it is true."

" Oh, do not talk in that way — for Heaven's sake, do not
talk in that way ! " she cried. " My heart — true ? — ah, I
fancied that I could trust myself — I fancied that I was
strong, that I could do all that I had set myself to do, but —
ah, Dick, my heart, my poor heart ! It is not strong, it is
not true, and the worst of it is that I — I myself — I cannot
be true to my heart, and I am too weak to be true to my
resolution."

She was walking to and fro nervously, and now she
threw herself into a chair and put her hands up to her face.

He looked at her without moving, though it was in his
heart to kneel before her and, taking her hands in his own,
pour out the tale of his love to her. His heart whispered
to him that she would at that moment give him kiss for
kiss. A month ago no power would have restrained
him from kneeling to her ; but now he was under the
control of another power and a stronger than that which
set his heart beating as it was beating. He felt the con-
trolling influence; but — well, he thought it would not be
wise to look at her any longer.

He turned away from where she was sitting ; his hands

3oo A NEST 0E LINNETS

were behind him and his fingers locked together. He
stood looking out of the window, but seeing nothing. The
room was very silent. He thought he heard a movement
behind him. He thought he heard her footfalls ap-
proaching him, he thought he heard a sigh close to him
— a sigh with the inflection of a sob ; but still he did not
move — his fingers tightened about each other. He would
not turn round. His heart beat more wildly, and the
rhythm of its beats made up a siren-song hard to be
resisted.

But there was another power upholding him in the
struggle to which he had nerved himself, and he knew that
that power was love. He felt that it was his love for her
that saved him — that saved her. He did not turn round.

And then there came dead silence.

He knew that she had gone.

In another moment he was kneeling beside the chair in
which she had sat, kissing the place where her hand had
rested. It was still warm from her touch, and he kissed it
again and again, crying in a voice tremulous not with
passion, but with love :

" My beloved ! my beloved ! You have been true — true
to true love — true to the truest love ! "

CHAPTER XXXI

With what story was he to go to her ? What excuse was
he to make for interfering between her and the carrying out
of her whims ? How was he to tell her that she was no
longer to make a fool of the youth whom she had taken a
fancy to fool ?

He found no answer to any of these questions which he
asked himself. But when he went on to ask himself if she
would not have a right to accuse him of impudence and
presumption were he to go to her for the purpose of
remonstrating with her, he had no difficulty in finding
an answer.

He had never set about any business for which he had
less aptitude than this. He was sufficiently a man of the
world to know that he was the last person who should go to
Mrs. Abington to remonstrate with her. The man who
interposes in a quarrel between a man and a wife is
accounted a fool ; but a man who interposes between an
actress and her lover is much worse — he is a busybody, and
he usually comes off as badly as does an arbitrator, who
reconciles two of his friends in order to become the enemy
of both.

Dick felt that not only would his mission be fruitless, he
would be regarded by both the actress and the lover with
righteous rage. And then he was a little afraid of Mrs.
Abington. She had availed herself to the uttermost of her

302 A NEST OF LINNETS

opportunities of studying men, and she had, he believed,
acquired a knowledge of how to treat individual cases
without risk to herself, that was little short of marvellous.
A woman possessing such powers was one whom every
sensible man feared ; the others fell in love with her. And
he had promised to go to her upon a mission that would
have been odious to him if it had not been suggested by
Betsy Linley.

He could not explain to Betsy that there are certain
lessons in life that must be learned by all men who wish to
be men, and that these lessons cannot be learned from
the study of books, but only by experience, and that her
brother was learning his lesson at the sacrifice only of a
few weeks of his time (he did not believe that at the best
— or was it the worst ? — Mrs. Abington's caprice would
last longer than a week or two), at a period of his life that
could by no means be called critical. Betsy would not
have understood, and he was glad at the thought that
she would not have understood.

When he had given himself up to thinking with what
wisdom on his lips he should go to Mrs. Abington, he did
what a wise man would do — that is, a moderately wise man j
an entirely wise man would have stayed at home — he went
to her without a portfolio. He had no idea what he would
say to her ; he had no policy to carry out. In dealing with
a capricious woman, so much depends on her caprice.
About Mrs. Abington nothing was steadfast except her
capriciousness ; and Dick felt that, in going to her, his
success would be dependent on his treatment of her caprice
of the moment.

He thought that the hour of his visit to her should
be immediately following the departure of Tom Linley from
her presence. He took it for ganted that Tom would be
paying her his usual afternoon visit, and he was not astray.
Passing her lodgings, he heard the long and melancholy

A NEST OF LINNETS 303

wail of a violin in which a young man has hidden his heart,
turning the instrument into an oubliette with air-holes, so
that the moaning and the wailing of the immured can be
heard at some distance. On and on went the moan of the
imprisoned heart, until Dick felt that the lady was paying a
high price for her caprice, if she was compelled to listen
daily to such melodies.

No, this particular whim of hers could not possibly last
longer than a few more weeks, he thought, as he strolled by
and waited for Tom to leave the house. Tom stayed a long
time ; but Dick reflected that the longer he stayed the better
chance there would be of Mrs. Abington's listening to
reason. After the dolorous complaint of the catgut, even
reason, though usually unpalatable, would sound grateful
to her ears.

In course of time Tom went away; Dick saw him go
with his fiddle tucked under his arm in its baize cover.
A rapt look was on his face. He had a double inspira-
tion : he was a musical genius, and he was in love for
the first time.

" Surely you have the kindest heart of any woman in the
whole world ! " cried Dick, when he had kissed her hand.

" Yes," she said, " I believe that I have — at times ; but
how have you found me out ? I fancied that I had done
my best to conceal that fact from you."

" Enough that I have found it out," said he.

" 'Tis not enough, sir," she cried. "What ! do you make
an accusation against a poor woman and then refuse to say
on what grounds it is made ? "

" 'Tis a fault that carries its own punishment, madam,"
said he, " so I will reproach you no further. Faith, there
are few ladies nowadays who lay themselves open to such
a charge."

" All the greater reason why I should know your reasons
for making me an exception," said she.

304 A NEST OF LINNETS

He laughed, saying :

"Well, if you must know, I passed by this house a
quarter of an hour ago."

" That is evidence of your lack of a kind heart, Dick,
not of my possession of such a disqualification for success
in the world," said she.

" True ; but I heard the wail of the catgut, and yet
when I saw Tom Linley just now his face wore a
look of triumph, and so far as I could see, his fiddle was
intact."

" Psha ! Dick, you should not cultivate that roundabout
mode of speech unless you mean to be taken for a poet.
I was not thinking of Tom Linley — 'tis minutes since
he was here. No, I had a fancy that you called me
kind-hearted because I did not reproach you for failing
to visit me once, though I have now been here several
weeks."

" I was wrong — very wrong. But, you see, with Tom
Linley "

" Ah, poor Tom ! Yes, he has certainly been here
more than once. I have really become quite fond of
Tom. He is such a nice boy — surely the handsomest boy
that— that "

"That was ever made a fool of," suggested Tom, when
the lady paused.

" Well, we shall say that ever made a fool of himself —
that frees every one else from responsibility," laughed the
lady. " Dick, the man who is wise enough to make a
fool of himself every now and again is indeed the wise
man. But Tom is a mighty pretty fellow. He is coming
up to London, too."

Dick's face became grave. He shook his head.

" That is past a jest," said he.

"Past a jest? Pray, who was talking of jesting?" she
asked quite gravely.

A NEST OF LINNETS 305

11 Would you not regard his going to London in the light
of a jest ? " he asked.

" Not I, sir ! " she cried. " On the contrary, I have
done my best to dissuade him from such a project,
knowing as I do, how serious a thing it would be for
him. But you boys are all equally self-willed, Dick ; I
can do nothing with any of you. I am as the potter's clay
in your hands."

" How does Tom Linley mean to live when he goes to
London ? " he asked, after a pause.

" Lud, sir ! how should I know ? " she cried very prettily,
holding up her hands.

" You do not mean to take him up to London with you
to starve ? " he said.

"And this is the man who swore just now that I had the
kindest heart among living women ! " she cried. " Mr.
Sheridan, did you come hither to-day solely to talk about
Tom Linley?"

" Yes," he said, " solely to talk about Tom Linley. My
dear creature, I shall have to throw myself on the kind-
ness of your heart before I have done, for I want to tell
you the truth."

"You had much better refrain, sir, from venturing into
such an unexplored region," said she. " I have noticed
that when people threaten you with telling the truth they
invariably become rude."

" It will not be rudeness on my part to suggest to you
that it is not quite fair for you to stake counters in a game
where the other player stakes gold."

" In other words ? — pray let me have the interpretation
of this fable."

" In other words, Tom Linley has staked his heart
against — against "

" Against what, sir ? Against mine, do you say ? —
against my heart — my kind heart ? And you hold that

20

306 A NEST OF LINNETS

my heart is a counter —something spurious — something
base?"

"Nay, madam, I was not so foolish as to fancy for
a moment that your heart had any connection with this
game. But that is where you do not play fair. You
know that poor Tom Linley's heart is laid at your feet,
and yet "

11 And yet ? Pray continue your criticism of the game,
sir — I vow 'tis vastly diverting. And yet Well, sir ? "

" And yet — well, surely with your many conquests, Mrs.
Abington, you cannot set any store upon the devotion of
Tom Linley!"

"Why should not I?" she cried. "Why should not
I do so, if it so please me ? He is, I repeat, a delightful
boy, and why I should not value his devotion simply
because I have had conquests and he has had none —
that is your argument, I think — I cannot at this moment
perceive."

"If you had any real affection for him you would not
seek to spoil his career at the outset. The manager of the
concerts told his father that Tom need never hope to get
a hearing in Bath so long as he lives. You took him out
driving with you when he should have been playing at the
concert. Ah, my dear madam, one who is so strong as you
are should be merciful."

" You come here to tell me that, do you ? O Dick, you
have, after all, no true sense of comedy, though I fancied
that none could surpass you in that respect. Is't possible
that you fail to see how ludicrous is your appearance here
to-day pleading to me for — for — what ? You have not yet
told me what 'tis that you plead for."

" I plead with you to send Tom Linley back to the
career which will surely be his if you set him free. Dear
madam, you can have no idea in what anxiety his family
are about him just now."

A NEST OF IvINNKTS 307

" They have been reading the parable of the one ewe
lamb. They ask if Mrs. Abington has not at her feet
flocks and herds which she devours at her leisure and
when she has an appetite, and demand to know why
she should want their one ewe lamb. They have not
the wit to perceive that one may tire of beef and mutton,
and so ask lamb by way of change. They are not
good housekeepers. Besides, now that I come to think
on't, they have more than one ewe lamb : are they not
at the point of sacrificing one of them — the flower of the
flock?"

" Leaving parables out of the question, dear madam, let
me ask you if you do not think that it would be to the
advantage of Tom Linley to remain under the influence
of his home for some years, free from the distractions of
the town ? I have heard that he promises to become a very
great musician; but if "

"You have some skill as a pleader, Dick. But I am
thinking at this moment what it is you hope to gain by
bringing me to a sense of my own iniquity in listening for
an hour or two every day to the fiddling of a youth who is
fresh and natural and a genius to boot."

" What do I hope to gain ? "

"Yes. I take it for granted that the eldest sister of the
genius implored of you to come to me : you would not be such
a fool as to come of your own accord. You know too much
of the nature of women, Dick, to believe that one would
relinquish even the youngest and most innocent of her
adorers just when she had the satisfaction of learning that
she was looked on as dangerous — so few women attain the
distinction of being thought dangerous, though most of them
aim at it."

Dick laughed approvingly; he felt that it would never
do for him to neglect any of the conciliatory arts of the
pleader.

3o8 A NEST OF LINNETS

"Tom is, as you say, young and innocent, Mrs.
Abington," he said indulgently. " That is why I offer to
you the parable of the fisherman. A good fisherman — one
who fishes for sport and not for the fish-kettle — never fails
to take the hook out of the jaws of a young and innocent
fish, and to send it back to its sorrowing relations."

" Faith, 'tis a pretty parable, Dick," said she. " But how if
your fisherman has been angling all the day for a fish on
which he has set his heart ? Failing to catch it, is he to
be greatly blamed if he retain the little one which he has
hooked, and try to make the most of it, dangling it at the
end of the line before the onlookers ? "

" Nay. When he has in his basket all the fish that swim
in the river — when he "

" Dick Sheridan," whispered the actress, going close to
him and putting her face closer still, — " Dick Sheridan, I
will let Tom Linley go down the stream if you will take
his place."

He started back and felt himself flushing all over — the
woman had revealed herself; and she too was flushing
through the force of her revelation.

They stood there looking at each other, separated by
only a few feet. Some moments had passed before he
said:

"Ah, you were born a coquette! Dangerous— you
were born dangerous, you beautiful creature ! You would
lure me on to make a fool of myself. Nay, seriously, my
dear madam "

He did not act the part very well ; she could have given
him a lesson as to the exact inflection of the phrases. But
just then she was not inclined to be a severe critic.

" Dick," she whispered, with tremulous tenderness, " is it
so hard for you to love me — to love me a little — not as I
love you, Dick — I don't expect so much as that — you are
only a man, but still "

A NEST OF LINNETS 309

" Stop ! for Heaven's sake, stop ! Ah, you do not
know what you say — you do not know what you ask ! "
he said.

" Alas ! I know it but too well," she said, her voice
broken by sobs. " Dick, dear Dick, I can be a good
woman for your sake. I know that I am older than you
by some years — oh, what do the years matter when the
heart has not grown old ? Dick, there is not a grey hair
in my heart. I have been vain, I know; I have loved
seeing men make fools of themselves, but none of them all
has ever made a fool of me. No, don't tell me that I am
making a fool of myself before you now ! I am not — I am
not ! "

" No — no, that is not what is in my heart," said he
gently. The thought that was in his heart at that moment
was that though he had gone to her to plead, it was she
who was doing all the pleading with him.

" Am I unwomanly ? Ah, my fault has been that I am
too womanly."

" I do not know what it is that you suggest," he said
slowly.

" Ah, Dick, do not overwhelm me with scorn. Say a
word to me — speak words to me, not icicles, that cut me as
icicles cut one."

" I am thinking," he said. " You give me so much to
think about. My first thought is that you are a free woman.
You can marry whomsoever you will ? "

" I am free," she said. " I can marry — one — one."

" You would not be afraid to marry that one ? " said he.

" Afraid ! Ah, my only fear would be that I could not
do enough to make him happy."

" Would you be afraid to marry me ? " he said in a low
voice.

" Ah, Dick, only for the reason that I have said ! " she
cried.

310 A NEST OF LINNETS

"You need not be afraid on that account. I shall
be happy — I shall be happy. Dear madam, I kiss your
hand."

" O Dick, my own dear Dick ! I shall make you happy —

not so happy as you have made me, but still No, no,

Dick, not my hand, my cheeks — my lips — all are yours,
Dick, and you are mine — mine — at last — at last ! "

CHAPTER XXXII

It was on the evening of the next day that Tom Linley
entered the house at Pierrepont Street, and ran upstairs and
flung himself into the music-room, where his father was
giving Polly and Maria a lesson on a part song. They had
gone over the lines :

" Sigh no more, ladies :

Men were deceivers ever,
One foot on sea and one on land,
To one thing constant never."

" ' Deceivers ever — deceivers ever,' " came Maria's pretty
treble.

11 ' Sigh no more — sigh no more,' " whispered Polly in
simple harmony, and then their voices joined with Betsy's
in the half-mocking bourdon —

"With a hey nonny, nonny — "

when Tom entered and threw himself on the sofa. The
singers ceased their song and stared at him. He held his
violin laid across his knees, and then a sudden horror came
over the girls, paralysing them where they stood, for they
saw that the violin was broken. Its long neck was severed
close to the body of the instrument, and hung down, sus-
pended by the strings, from his knees. It was as if they
were looking at a strangled infant — the droop of the
severed neck had about it all the limpness of death.

312 A NEST OF IylNNKTS

It was ludicrously ghastly, and Tom was gazing at the
wreck with unspeculative eyes.

" Heavens above us ! What has happened ? " cried Mr.
Linley.

" I broke it — God forgive me — I broke it in my anger ! "
sobbed Tom. " What does it matter ? " he cried, recovering
himself. " 'Tis not alone the fiddle that is broken ; my heart
is broken, and I shall never touch the instrument again ! "

He flung it away from him, but Betsy saw that he took
good care that it should alight on the cushion of the sofa.
The moan that came from the headless trunk striking the
soft place was distractingly human. Maria had lately been
reading of a decapitated prince whose head, after the opera-
tion, had rolled off the sawdust, so that all could see the
disdainful expression on the face ; and here was the de-
capitated violin moaning.

She shuddered.

" It can be mended," said Mr. Linley, examining the
wreck.

u I shall never play again," moaned Tom. " My heart
is broken."

" Thank Heaven ! " murmured his father.

Betsy went to her brother's side, and put an arm about
his neck.

" You have come back to us, dear Tom," she said ; " and
you will never go away from us again. We all here love
you, Tom. Ah, you know that nothing can change our love
for you."

" Delilah— Delilah— traitress ! " murmured Tom. " O
Betsy, there has been no deception like mine since the
days of Delilah ! She told me plainly that she was tired of
me — that she had never thought of me except as a nice boy
— she actually called me a pretty boy ! And my playing —
she said that it was dreary — it gave her the vapours ; she
asked me to play a jig — an Irish jig, too — Irish ! I told

Curse Dick Sheridan! he has done it all!

[page 313.

A NEST OF IvINNETS 313

her that sooner than see my instrument desecrated I would
break it across my knee. ' Virginius, the Roman father ! '
she cried, pointing a ringer at me. I always thought her
fingers shapely j but I saw then that they were not fingers,
but talons — talons ! . . . and I broke my violin before her,
and yet she laughed. . . . O Delilah — Delilah ! . . . But
I shall set the scene to music that shall wring her heart, if
she have one. I see clearly how it can be dealt with by a
small orchestra. Handel fell lamentably short of the truth
when he wrote the music to Delilah. I have the prelude in
my mind. This is how it will go."

He mechanically stretched across the sofa for the violin.
Crash went the pegs, drooping with the neck by the catgut
strings, against the hollow body of the instrument. He
started up as if he had become aware of the disaster for
the first time. For some moments he stood handling
the wreck, and then he laid it down very gently on the
sofa. He went with the bowed head of a father in the
death-chamber of his child, to the door; but when he
had opened it, and was in the act of departing, he turned
and stood up straight like a man ; his hands were clenched,
his eyes were blazing, while he cried :

" Curse Dick Sheridan ! he has done it all. Curse him !
Curse him ! "

He banged the door behind him, leaving the girls white
and awed. They had never before witnessed a really tragic
scene ending up with a curse, and they felt that it was very
awful.

11 Yes," said Mr. Linley quietly, " we can all join in
his prayer and say, ' Bless Dick Sheridan ! Bless Dick
Sheridan ! ' — that will be poor Tom's prayer in another
month — perhaps another week."

" Oh, no, no ! not another week," said Betsy. " I should
be sorry to think that Tom could be himself within a week.
Tom has too deep feeling for that."

314 A NEST OF LINNETS

"Let us return to our lesson," said her father. "Dwell
lightly on ■ deceivers ever,' Maria ; and I think, Betsy,
you might give full value to the minim rest before ' Sigh
no more/ after the ' hey nonny ! ' I think I see the delicate
humour of the composer's treatment of the song better now
than I did ten minutes ago."

But the girls were too unnerved to be able to return
to their lesson just then. They remonstrated with their
father.

"Well, perhaps one lesson in the day is enough," said he,
" and Tom has just had his."

It was altogether very amusing and quite infamous, Bath
said. Heavens ! the way in which that woman pursued her
course, being on with a new love quite two days before she
was off with the old, was absolutely shameless.

" A female comet with an ardent train — no fixed star in the
firmament," said Mr. Walpole, when it was found that Mrs.
Abington had discarded Tom Linley and had taken on
Dick Sheridan. It was found that she had done so within
an hour of Tom's dismissal.

" The comet has in all ages been looked on as a portent
of disaster," said George Selwyn. " I wonder what does
this particular heavenly body portend?"

" I am1 no astrologer, but I dare swear that Mr. Cumber-
land's new comedy will be damned," said Walpole.

" My dear Horry, the obvious needs no portent !
'Twould be a ridiculous waste of fuel to send a comet
flaring through the sky merely to let the world know
that Sir Joshua's macaw will lose his tail-feathers in the
moulting season," said Selwyn. " Mrs. Abington has not
come to Bath for a whole month solely to give Nan
Cattley a chance of making the damning of Cumberland's
play a certainty."

A NEST OF LINNETS 315

" Nay, but her acting might save it if she were to return
to town," said Walpole.

"Then it must be our duty to keep her here," said
Selwyn.

" Tis two days since she found young Sheridan attractive,"
said Walpole ; "so that she is not the fickle creature some
people have called her."

"With economy she may be faithful to Dick Sheridan till
the end of the week," said Selwyn. "Can Bath furnish
another swain with ruddy cheeks and a glib tongue to follow
him?"

The cynical pleasantries of the Walpole circle, dealing
with the case of Mrs. Abington and young Sheridan, were
echoed by the inferior wits of the Pump Room — for the
flare of a comet affects , other systems besides the solar.
Dick Sheridan was in as active attendance upon the lady
as Tom Linley had been even in the early days of his
attachment to her. He did not play the violin to her,
and this fact, some people declared, should not be lost
sight of by those who were venturing to assign a duration
of just one week to this new caprice on the part of the
actress. There was no predicting the length of time that
she might remain faithful to a good-looking youth, provided
that he refrained from playing the violin to her — her
constancy might even last out the fortnight.

But these were the optimists.

Dick Sheridan knew perfectly well what the people were
saying when they shrugged their shoulders and smiled
significantly as he went by with Mrs. Abington ; but he
too shrugged his shoulders, and his smile also had a
significance of its own. He went everywhere with the
lady, even to her own house ; but this was when she
entertained some of her friends to supper.

Once when by the side of Mrs. Abington in Spring
Gardens he caught sight of Betsy Linley in the distance.

316 A NEST OF LINNETS

She was looking toward him across the green lawn, and
their eyes met. He fancied that there was something of
gratitude in the smile which she sent to him — he knew
that there was something of sadness in it; and then — he
could not doubt that the expression on her face was
one of reproach — reproach and indignation.

For a moment he omitted to reply to a casual question
put to him by his gay companion, and she quickly followed
the direction of his eyes. She saw Betsy and gave a laugh.
She accepted the reproachful look in the girl's eyes as a
tribute to her own powers. She was not astute enough to
keep her satisfaction to herself.

" Lud ! " she cried, " that young woman has strange
notions of the duty of a censorship. She is e'en reproving
you, Dick, for being in my company. That is like enough
a woman to serve you for a lesson, my dear. A woman
has no sense of gratitude for a favour done to her by a
man whom she loves and whom she has discarded."

"Madam," said Dick, "it is not for such as we are to
judge Miss Linley by our standards : we are only men and
women."

"That is all, praise Heaven!" cried the actress. "I
claim to be nothing more than a woman, and I don't
know that one can be much better — ay, or worse, Dick.
God made me a woman, and I don't believe that He
will be hard on a woman for being womanly. If He
had meant me to be an angel, He would have given me
wings, and then I should be angelic — and to be angelic
is to be insipid. But take my word for it, Miss Linley,
though she judge us from the standpoint of an angel, is
just as much a woman as the best of us — ay, or the worst
of us. She is just as jealous of me, thank God, as I
am of her at this moment ; and that's the last word
that you and I will have about Miss Linley."

Dick resolved that, so far as he was concerned, there

A NEST OF LINNETS 317

should be no need for another word on the subject of
Miss Linley to pass between them; and when he came
to think over the matter, he was glad that so much
had already passed between them regarding Betsy. He
had been warned, from what Mrs. Abington had said,
that she was under no delusion respecting Betsy and
himself. That same astuteness which she had shown
in reading the secret of his love for Betsy, had enabled
her to perceive that the fact of his having entered into
an agreement with herself did not in a moment cause him
to forget Betsy Linley.

And thus, day by day, he was in attendance upon Mrs.
Abington, appearing by her side in all public places, and at
many private suppers and card-tables, so that a good
many people looked on him as an extremely fortunate
young man.

As for Dick himself, he began to feel that he was indeed
fortunate. Had he not been able to do a great service to
the only one whom he loved, at a sacrifice of himself?
He was proving his love to Betsy Linley by marrying Mrs.
Abington. Yes, he felt that he was fortunate.

But all these days he failed to call upon Mr. Long. The
truth was that it now and again occurred to him that Mr.
Long might not understand without more explanation than
he was inclined to offer, the position which he had taken
up. He shrank from the duty — if he might call it a duty —
of making it plain to Mr. Long that he was marrying Mrs.
Abington in order that Betsy Linley might get back her
brother. But there came a day when he learned that Mr.
Long was waiting on him, and he found himself in the
presence of that gentleman in the room in which he had
received Mrs. Abington a short time before.
Mr. Long greeted him cordially.

"You will pardon my obtruding upon you at this time,
Mr. Sheridan," said he ; " but I must confess that I thought

318 A NKST OF LINNETS

it strange that we should separate good friends a fortnight
ago and then remain apart. Surely our friendship promised
better things than this, sir ! "

Dick made up his mind to be bold. He smiled, ex-
amined the tips of his fingers, and then said:

11 1 assure you, sir, that I retain all the liveliest sentiments
of regard for you. Dear sir, you have been kindness itself to
me, and I should be most ungrateful if I were to fail in my

duty to you. But the fact is, Mr. Long, that — that Ah

well, sir, you will understand my seeming neglect when I
inform you that I have been successful in engaging the
affections of a lady to whom I have been devoted for — for
— some time. When I tell you the lady's name, sir, I know
I shall be the more easily excused."

" Do not tell me that the lady's name is Mrs. Abington,"
said Mr. Long gravely.

" I am sorry — I mean I am glad — yes, I am glad, sir,
that it is not in my power to obey you in this matter," said
Dick, still smiling, but with more than a little self-conscious-
ness. He was beginning to feel uneasy beneath the grave,
searching look of his visitor. " Yes, dear sir, we are to be
married very shortly, so that you will understand, I am
sure, that, just now, I do not count my time my own."

" You are to marry Mrs. Abington, the actress — the
actress ? " said Mr. Long.

" Ah, sir, there is only one Mrs. Abington in the world,
and — my father is an actor," said Dick.

" And you expect to be happy with her as your wife ? "
said Mr. Long.

" If I am not, sir, it will be because I am not easily made
happy ; 'twill not be the lady's fault."

" Then I wish you every happiness, Mr. Sheridan."

Mr. Long rose from his chair and took up his hat.

" There is a forlorn hopefulness in your tone, sir, that has
a chilling effect upon me," said Dick. " May I ask why it

A NEST OF LINNETS 319

should appear ridiculous to expect that I should be happy —
at least as happy as most wedded folks are ? "

" You have disappointed me, Dick, that is all I can say
to you — you have grievously disappointed me. That one
who had ever loved Elizabeth Linley could bring himself to

marry I ask your pardon, sir; I exceed my privileges

as a friend. I have no right to express myself in such
terms. I have the honour to wish you a very good
day, sir."

" Mr. Long," said Dick, " I seek for your good opinion
more than that of any man living. I pray of you to think
the best of me — not the worst."

" And what is the best that you would have me think ? "
cried Mr. Long. "Just state with some show of reason
what you wish me to think of you, and I promise that I will
be influenced by what you say. You talked to me of loving
Elizabeth Linley."

" Nay, sir, 'twas you who talked to me of it. 'Twas you
strange to say — you, to whom Miss Linley has given her
promise — 'twas you who talked to me of my love for her."

" I allow it. Alas ! I believed — in my ignorance of men
and of their motives — in my ignorance of how men regard
love — I prayed of you to allow your love for her — her love
for you — to urge you to achieve something noble in life. I
flattered myself that I had impressed upon you the true
nature of love — the sentiment that exalts, that ennobles,
that leads a man into deeds of self-sacrifice and devotion to
duty ; and yet — you are ready to marry Mrs. Abington."

For a moment Dick was stung with a sense of the
injustice that was being done to him.

" I am ready to marry Mrs. Abington," he cried, " and
you, sir, are ready to marry Elizabeth Linley."

" You fool ! " said Mr. Long, " I have no hope of
marrying her. I knew too well that she loved you, and —
as I fancied — that you loved her, ever to think of marrying

320 A NEST OF LINNETS

her. My only hope was to see her happy — to look at her
happiness through another man's eyes — through your eyes,
Dick — your eyes. But now — alas ! alas ! "

He spoke rapidly, almost passionately, facing Dick. His
breaking off was abrupt ; it seemed as if he had a great deal
more to say, but that words failed him unexpectedly. His
lips were parted, his hand was upraised, but he stopped
short, saying :

"Alas! Alas!"

Then he turned quickly and walked out of the room.

Dick dropped into a chair.

CHAPTER XXXIII

In no house in Bath was Dick Sheridan's conduct regarded
in the same light as it was in the home of the Linleys.
That was, of course, because only by the Linley family was
his conduct regarded as a personal matter. His perfidy in
professing a friendship for Tom, while all the time he was
contriving to take poor Tom's place in the affections of
Mrs. Abington, was referred to with great bitterness by
Tom's mother, and by Polly and Maria in wrathful
whispers. They referred to Tom daily as " poor Tom ! " —
sometimes " poor dear Tom ! " All their sympathy went
forth for Tom in these days, and every one in the house-
hold— not even excepting Mr. Linley and Betsy — felt that
it was necessary to treat him with the greatest tenderness.
He was the victim of an unhappy attachment to one who
was unworthy of the inestimable treasure of his young
affections ; and, in addition, he had been the dupe of an
unscrupulous man who had not hesitated to elbow him
aside in order to take his place. Surely one would be
quite heartless who failed to have the deepest sympathy
with poor Tom, or to heap reprobation on the head of
his perfidious friend !

To be sure, Tom's attachment to Mrs. Abington had
been a terror to the household. The father had stormed
about it, and the mother had wept over it. The father had
threatened in no undertone to turn Tom out of the house,

3« 21

322 A NEST OF LINNETS

and the mother — with the true instincts of a woman and
the experience of a wife — had made her crispest pates to
tempt him to stay at home. But Tom disregarded alike
threats and tartlets, and his sisters had sat daily in terror of
a catastrophe. But the remembrance of those awful days
did not in the least tend to mitigate their abhorrence of the
perfidy of Dick Sheridan. They could not contain their
anger when one day they caught sight of him flaunting his
success in the face of all the people of Bath while he took
the air by the side of Mrs. Abington in her chariot.

Maria, with great tact, drew Tom away from the window
on some pretext. Her heart was beating in the excitement
of the moment. If Tom had chanced to see that sight it
would, she felt, have been impossible to predict what
might happen. Tom was a man of spirit — so much was
certain — and he had brought home with him from Italy a
stiletto with beautiful jewels and pieces of coral set in
the haft. . . .

Mr. Linley only smiled when he was alone, and repeated
in whispers those words, "God bless Dick Sheridan!"
He felt truly grateful to Dick, but not quite so grateful
as to make the attempt to force him upon the family
as their benefactor; and as for his flaunting it with
Mrs. Abington — well, that was Dick's own affair. He
was not in the least offended at his triumph. It
was better for Dick Sheridan to make a fool of himself
than for Tom Linley to be made a fool of. That was
what Mr. Linley thought; and he helped Tom to mend
his violin. Tom was ready to begin the work just two days
after his breaking of the instrument, and when the glue had
properly dried — before the touch of varnish that he gave
to the fractured part had ceased to perfume the room, he
was improvising that " Elegy to a Dead Love ■ which, later
on, caused some of his audience (women) at a concert to be
moved to bitter tears. Love was dead, and a musical elegy

A NEST OF UNNETS 323

had been played over its grave, because Tom Linley had
been jilted by Mrs. Abington ! And when Mr. Linley
declared that nothing more classical than that composition
had been produced by an English musician, Tom began to
recover from the effects of his wound as speedily as his
violin had done. Only once did his sister Maria hear
him murmur, while he breathed hard and his eyes were
alight with the true fire of genius :

" A jig — an Irish jig ! O heavens ! an Irish jig ! "
The expression on his face was one of bitterness —
bitterness tempered by the thought that he had produced
an immortal work : the mortality of his love had given
him immortality.

But Betsy did not speak a word. Tom was too full
of himself and of setting his sorrow to rhythm to notice
how often during every day her eyes filled with tears.
But one of her sisters who occupied the same bedroom, had
awakened once in the night hearing Betsy sob on her
pillow, and had asked her what was the matter — was it
toothache ? " Ah, the ache ! the ache ! " Betsy had
answered. The little girl had expressed her sympathy
with her sister's suffering, and had straightway fallen
asleep, forgetting in the morning that she had ever been
awakened.

But Mr. Long was not among those who were insensible
of any change in Betsy. He did not fail to preceive that
some trouble was upon her. He wondered if it was the
family trouble in regard to Tom's promise that oppressed
her, or was it due to something more closely affecting
herself?

After Tom had renounced the enchantress, and it might
have been expected that Betsy would become herself again,
Mr. Long noticed that she was more tristful than ever. He
made up his mind that, failing to find out by chance the
cause of the change, he would ask her concerning it. For

324 A NEST OF LINNETS

some days, however, he had no chance of talking with her
apart from the members of her family. But at the end of a
week, he found her alone in the music-room. He had met
Mr. Linley and his wife on their way to look at a house in
the Circus, which their improving circumstances seemed to
warrant their taking, and he perceived that there was a likeli-
hood of Betsy's being at home and alone. He knew that
he was fortunate when he heard the sound of her voice
while he rang the bell. She was singing, and he knew that
now she rarely sang unless she was alone.

She sprang from the harpsichord when he entered the
room, and turned away for a suspicious moment before
greeting him.

"My dear child, why should you wipe the tears from
your eyes ? " he said, retaining her hand. " Do you fancy
that I am one of those people who think tears a sign of
weakness? Nay, you should know that I regard them as
an indication of strength — of womanliness, which is the
strongest influence that remains with us in the world."

" Ah, no, no ! with me they are a proof of weakness," she
cried quickly — " weakness — weakness ! Oh, I am in great
trouble, Mr. Long, because I am conscious daily of doing
you a great wrong. But you will bear with me — you will
forgive me when I confess it to you ? "

" Before you confess — before," he said. " But what can
you have to confess ? "

" It is terrible — terrible, for though I have given you my
promise to marry you, I find that I cannot do it — I cannot
do it."

She remained standing before him, but put both her
hands up to her face. The movement was ineffectual ; her
hands failed to conceal her tears.
" Why ? " he asked, after a pause.
There was another and a longer pause before she said :
" Because 'twere to do you a great wrong, sir. I believed

A NEST OF LINNETS 325

when I gave you my promise that I would be strong enough
to keep it. But I find that I am too weak. Oh, I am
miserable on account of it ! Tis not that I have failed
in my respect for you — in my regard — but I feel that
'twould be impossible. Oh, I cannot do it — I cannot
marry you, Mr. Long."

"You do not love me as a girl should love her lover?"
said he, and he was actually smiling.

She could not answer him. The truth seemed too cruel.
She could only put her hand in his. That was her instinct.
She knew that she could trust him to understand her.

"Yes, I see that you do not love me," said he; "and
I too have to confess that I cannot give to you the love of
a lover."

Her eyes opened wide as she looked at him j there was
deep pathos in her look of innocent inquiry.

"You have found that your love is given to some one
else ? " he said, with great gentleness.

A flush came to her face ; she turned away her head.

" And I — I too have given all my love to another,"
he said still more gently.

Quickly she turned to him again. She laid the hand
which he was not holding on the hand that held hers.

He led her to the sofa, and she seated herself, wondering.

"My Betsy," he said, "I hoped that I would never
be led to do you a wrong, and I hope that I did not
wrong you when I asked you for the promise which you
gave me; but at that time, and before it, all my love
was given to another — another even younger than yourself."

A little coldness had come to her eyes. She drew back
an inch from him. He recognised how womanly was the
movement.

" You will see her — one day ; but I cannot show her to
you now. I can only show you her likeness."

He took out of an inner pocket a miniature enclosed in a

326 A NEST OF LINNETS

plain red gold case. It was attached to a black watered
silk riband which he wore round his neck. He looked at
the picture for a long time before handing it to her, which
he did with a sigh.

She took the case in her hands, and saw that the picture
was of a girl's face, lovely in its spirituality, pathetic in its
innocence. The eyes were of the softest grey, and their
expression had a certain indefinable sadness in it, in spite of
the smile that illuminated the face.

" She is beautiful," said Betsy gently.

11 Ah, she is more beautiful than that picture now," said
he. " It was painted forty years ago. She is more beauti-
ful now."

" Only an angel could be more beautiful," said Betsy.

"That is true — only an angel. She is among the angels,"
said he. " Dear child, it was Mr. Jackson, the organist of
Exeter, who told me that when you sang your face was like
the face of one who is looking at an angel. I wondered
if I should think so when I saw you. I found that he spoke
the truth : I have seen you when you seemed to be looking
into her face. It was for her sake, my dear, that I wished
to do something to help you. I hoped that this privilege
might be granted to me."

"And you have helped me — no one has helped me
more."

" Have I helped you to understand yourself — to under-
stand what love means ? That is sometimes the last thing
that women understand."

" I think that you helped me to understand myself, and
the result is, pain — self-reproach."

" There is no need for either, Betsy. There is no need
for pain, even though the one whom you loved showed
himself to be unworthy of you. Ah, my dear, if you mourn
until you find a man worthy of your love, you will pass a
melancholy lifetime. Listen to me, my sweet one, while I

She took the case in her hands.

{page 326.

A NEST OF LINNETS 327

tell you what was my dream. When I came here for the
first time and found you in the midst of danger, surrounded
by unscrupulous men — men who were as incapable of appre-
ciating your real nature as — as — well, as incapable as was
your father ; when I perceived that you were like a white
lily that slowly withers when brought out of the gladness
of the garden to be stifled by the air of a dark room j when
I perceived that, in order to avoid the shame of facing
the public from the platform of a concert-room, you might
be led to give your hand to some one who would lead you
into misery and dishonour — then, for her sake — for the sake
of the angel whom I loved in my boyhood and whom I love
now in the autumn of my life — I made up my mind that I
would try to help you."

14 And you did — indeed, you did help me. Ah, I should
have known what you meant — I might have known how
good and unselfish you were. Tis true that sometimes
I fancied — something like what you have told me now.
Yes, I felt that you were too fond of me to love me. That
sounds absurd, but I think you understand what I mean."

" You have put the sentiment into the best phrase : I was
too fond of you to be in love with you or to look for you to
love me with the love of a girl for her lover. I wondered
who it was you did love in that way, and I believed that
the truth was revealed to me. I saw Dick Sheridan in
the same room with you, and I saw the light that came into
your face."

" Alas— alas ! "

" The chance that I told you of when he came to my
help, enabled me to see a good deal of him, and I felt sure
that it would be given to me to have my dearest wish realised
— to see you happy by the side of a man who adored you
and who could appreciate the beauty of your nature. Alas !
I was disappointed. Instead of earning my respect by his
constancy to the sentiment of love — constancy to that ideal

328 A NEST GF UNNETS

of love which I believed he could appreciate — he has earned
my contempt."

" Ah, no — not contempt ! " she cried almost piteously.

11 Why not contempt ? " he said. " I tell you that in
giving himself to that woman — he confessed to me that
he was going to marry her — he has earned my contempt
and yours."

" No, 'tis not true. I love him and he loves me ! "
she cried. " Ah, you should spare him — you should
spare him ! "

" Why should I spare him ? He is worthy only of
contempt."

" No, no ! he is to be pitied — only pitied. Do not be
hard on him : he did it because he loved me."

CHAPTER XXXIV

And now the girl was sitting looking up with dry eyes to
the face of the man who had sprung from her side the
moment she had spoken, and was standing a yard or two
away from her. She saw that, although the words which
she had spoken had sent him to his feet in an instant, he
now felt that he had perhaps been too hasty. She saw that
there was a puzzled look on his face. She did not wait for
him to put a question to her. She perceived that her
explanation needed to be explained. It is unusual, she
thought, for a man to ask a woman to marry him simply
because he loves another woman.

" Indeed, he did it all for me," she said. " I sent
for him more than a week ago to ask him to plead
with Mrs. Abington to break with my brother, whose
infatuation for her was ruining his career, and he pro-
mised to do this for me. The day that my brother
returned I knew what Dick Sheridan had done — all for
me — all for me ! "

11 Is it possible that you suggest that the woman stipulated
with him to release your brother only if Dick Sheridan took
his place ? " he asked.

" I am as certain that she did so as if I had heard her
making a compact with him," said Betsy. "She had an
old infatuation for Dick ; Mr. Garrick told my father so
two days ago. Had I known that, I would not have brought

329

330 A NEST OF LINNETS

Dick here to beg of him to help us. But he came and
this is the result of his coming."

" I have treated him unjustly — God forgive me ! " said
Mr. Long. " I went to him and — you can imagine what I
said to him. But he did not say a word about — about any-
thing that you have told me."

"No, he would not do that. He showed me, when I
stood before him, how unselfish he could be. And yet once
— once — ah, how long ago it seems ! — I had a feeling that
his whole aim in life was to excel others — to shine as a man
of fashion. Like you, I did him an injustice."

" Ah, my dear, he had not then learned what 'tis to love.
You it was, my Betsy, who taught him that the spirit of love
— the truest love — the only love — is self-sacrifice."

" Then would to Heaven he had never learned the
lesson ! " cried the girl passionately. " I have ruined his
life, and my life is over ! But what is my life ? It matters
nothing about my life."

" Dear one," he said, " I cannot hear you say that. Nay,
my Betsy, I shall live to look on my happiness through
his eyes. The position of affairs, though desperate, is not
irretrievable. You do not know the world, my child. You
do not know the sordid world. Thank Heaven that I have
money enough to compensate even the most avaricious of
actresses for depriving her of a caprice on which she had set
her heart ! Betsy, all will yet come right : 'tis merely a
question of money."

But her instinct was truer than all his worldly wisdom.

"Now you are doing her a great injustice," she said.

" Not I ! " he cried. " Though I am pleased to think
that I have never had a proof of the exact extent of the
rapacity of such as she, yet "

She laid her hand upon his arm.

11 Dear friend, remember that you are speaking of one of
us," she said.

A NEST OF LINNETS 331

" One of you ! — one of Heaven forbid ! You are

as far removed from her as heaven is removed from

from Bath."

" Nay, nay, she is a woman ; and indeed I think that
between the best of us and the worst there is no great gulf
fixed. If you go to Mrs. Abington on the errand which
you have in your mind, you will be putting upon her a gross
affront — yes, and upon Dick Sheridan as well, and much
will be lost and nothing gained."

" Then I will not speak to her of money ; I will make
the appeal to her generosity to set Dick free. Now, you
shall not forbid me to make an appeal to her generosity ;
to do so would be to put an affront on her far more gross
than you perceived in my first intention ! "

He rose from where he was sitting on the sofa, and began
pacing the room thoughtfully. After some time he stopped
before her, saying in a low voice :

" Betsy, my child, I fear that I must confess that the
design which I had planned out for you, for bringing about
your happiness, has been frustrated. My hope was to save
you from the evil fate which I feared would overtake you,
and the only way that seemed to me to promise well was
the one which I took. Was I wrong, dear one, to ask you
to give me that promise, knowing, as I did, that it would
be a crime on my part to hold you to it ? "

"No, no — a thousand times no!" she cried. "You
hoped to save me from all that I abhorred, and you
succeeded. Indeed you were right. If you had not
come to my help, who can tell what might have
happened ? I knew not in what direction I had a friend
who would be true to me, and you know that my father
favoured that man, Captain Mathews ; he urged upon me
to listen to him. . . . Ah, you saved me ! "

" But for what — for what have you been saved ? " he
said.

332 A NEST OF LINNETS

" I have been thinking much on that point for some
days," she replied. " I seem to have lived through many
years of life in those singing days of mine, and now the
feeling that I have is a feeling of weariness. Oh, I am
tired — tired to death of the struggle — the artifices — the
world ! How long ago is it since I heard the boys in the
choir sing those words, ' O for the wings of a dove to
fly away and be at rest ' ? That is the anthem which
my heart is singing now. 'The wings of a dove.' I
want to be at rest — to take no part in the struggle going
on in the world — the sordid troubles — the jealousies that
make life seem so petty. Dear friend, I have my heart
set upon a place of rest. Elizabeth Sheridan told me of
it — a place where the peace of God dwells for evermore.
It is a convent at Lille, in France, and its doors are
open to those wayfarers through the world whose feet
have become weary, and who seek rest. Will you lead
me thither? I will trust to you to lead me. I hear the
voice that calls from there in the silence that follows
the ringing of the Angelus, 'Come unto Me, and I will
give you rest.' You will take me thither for the sake of
her whom you love — her whose face I looked upon. Oh,
she — she has found rest ! Would to God that I had found
the same rest ! "

She flung herself down on her knees at the sofa, and
buried her face in her hands.

The man stood by without a word. He was too greatly
overcome to be capable of speech. Only now did he
perceive how she had been suffering in silence for weeks
— only now, when she had broken down, unable to control
herself any longer. And he had no word of comfort to say
to her.

He remained by her side in silence for some minutes
(she had not risen from her knees), and then left the
room and the house.

A NEST OF LINNETS 333

He went straight in search of Dick Sheridan. He did
not succeed in finding him at home. Mr. Sheridan had
gone out some hours before, the maid said ; and forth-
with Mr. Long concluded that Dick was visiting Mrs.
Abington. His judgment was not at fault. Dick had
been dining with the lady ; but he did not stay for more
than half an hour afterwards, consequently he was met by
Mr. Long at the corner of York Street.

" I have been seeking you," said Mr. Long. " I have
done you a great injustice, sir, and I live only in the hope
of being able to make amends for my grossness of thought.
You will grant me five minutes with you in private, Mr.
Sheridan ? "

Dick raised his hat gravely, but without speaking, and
Mr. Long walked with him back to the Sheridans' house.
Dick bowed him into the hall and into the room which Mr.
Sheridan the elder called his study. It was obvious that
the young man wished his visitor to understand that he was
being received with ceremony.

" I feel honoured by your attention, sir," he said, offering
Mr. Long a chair.

" O Dick, Dick," said Mr. Long, " I fear that I have
made some terrible mistakes; but I hope they may not
prove irretrievable."

" So far as I am concerned, sir," said Dick, " the error
into which you fell need cause you no uneasiness. Indeed,

I rather regret that you have discovered your mistake as to
my motives in — in the matter to which you referred. I trust
that you have not come hither to re-open the subject,
Mr. Long?"

" But that is just why I have come," said Mr. Long.

II Dick, my boy, will you not aid me to make matters
come right ? "

"Is there any need for one to trouble oneself in the
attempt to control the inevitable, sir ? " asked Dick coldly.

334 A NEST OF UNNETS

" Have you any reason to complain of the direction
in which matters have shaped themselves, Mr. Long?
Because I can assure you that I see no particular reason
for interference, so far as I am concerned. Here am I,
a penniless man, a man without a profession, brought in
contact accidentally with people of wealth and position. It
was my father's wish that my brother and I should cut a
figure in this world of fashion to which he led us ; but
unhappily, however meritorious may be one's ambition
in this direction, it needs a fortune to achieve it and
another fortune to maintain it. Now, sir, I trust that
you perceive how great is the reason I have for feeling
satisfied at the turn for the better which my affairs
have taken. I am about to be married to a lady
whose charms are acknowledged all over England, and
whose ability enables her to earn such sums of money
as should satisfy all but the most extravagant. Egad,
sir! I do not think that many people would be disposed
to call me unlucky or to suggest that my affairs stand in
need of being shaped in a new direction. Now, sir, I will
listen to you with deference."

Mr. Long looked at him and there was no feeling
except of pity in his heart. He understood the impulse
in which Dick had spoken. He could appreciate the
bitterness underlying all that he had said. But it was
also plain to him that Dick's pride would not allow him
to sanction any scheme that might be proposed for his
release.

Mr. Long stood before him as silently as he had stood
over Betsy when she had been sobbing on her knees.
What could he say to a man who took up such an
attitude as Dick had assumed? How could he tell Dick
that he was anxious to consult him in respect of the sum
of money which he meant to offer Mrs. Abington for his
release? Dick's pride would, Mr. Long knew, cause him

A NEST OF UNNETS 335

to open the door, and to show his visitor into the street
whence he had come with such a suggestion.

It was plain to him that, however bitterly Dick Sheridan
might feel the humiliation of his position as the penniless
young man about to marry an actress who was at least ten
years older than himself, and whose reputation for beauty
and taste was the only one that she retained, he was too
proud not to regard as a gross affront any suggestion to the
effect that he was about to make himself contemptible in
the eyes of honourable people.

" Dick," said he after a long pause — " Dick, it was Betsy
who told me that you had done this for her sake, and I am
here now to say to you that, whatever may happen, I honour
you more than any man of my acquaintance. I take pride
in being your friend, Mr. Sheridan, if you will allow me to
think of myself as such."

"Sir," said Dick, "you do me great honour; but I
cannot permit even so valued a friend as yourself to suggest
that, in taking this step, I was actuated by any motive
except of regard and esteem for the lady who is about to
honour me with her hand. I will have you know that,
Mr. Long."

Mr. Long looked at the younger man, who stood up
before him dignified and self-respecting. But he did not
fail to detect a shake in his voice and, when he had ceased
speaking, a quivering about his lips.

" Give me your hand, Dick Sheridan," he cried. " You
are a man ! "

He grasped the hand that Dick offered him, and held it
for a long time in his own, with his eyes fixed upon the
young fellow's face. Dick's eyes were cast down. It was
not until Mr. Long had released his hand that he said in a
low tone :

" It was from you, sir, I learned what 'tis to be a man.
God help me if I fall short of all that I should be ! Now,

336 A NEST OF LINNETS

sir, pray leave me to myself. Ah, will you not have pity on
me and leave me ? Cannot you see that this moment is too
much for me ? Cannot you see that in your presence the
struggle in which I have taken part is telling on me ? Ah,
go, for God's sake, go ! "

His fingers were interlaced in front of him, and he was
pacing the room with bowed head.

" My poor boy — my brave boy, remember that whatever
may happen I am your friend," said Mr. Long, with his
hand on the door.

Dick did not seem to hear him. He had thrown himself
into a chair, and his back was turned to the door. He was
unaware of Mr. Long's departure.

Mr. Long was a man of courage. On leaving Dick he
made up his mind that he would pay a visit to Mrs.
Abington. But his bravery had its limits j he did not
pay the visit. Before he had reached the actress's lodgings
he had come to the conclusion that he was upon a fool's
errand. What could he say to her that would have the
smallest influence upon her determination to marry Dick
Sheridan ? It would be much more to the point to consider
what he could offer her to release Dick Sheridan, and of
this fact he was well aware, consequently he addressed him-
self to the task of calculating his resources available for this
purpose.

Money — he had said to Betsy that, in regard to such
women as Mrs. Abington, such a matter as he had to
discuss with her was nothing more than a question of
figures. But Betsy's instinct had told her that the rapacity
of Mrs. Abington was something altogether different from
that with which other actresses with a liking for adventure
were -accredited — or discredited ; and Betsy was right.
Mrs. Abington had never, so far as he could remember

A NEST OF LINNETS 337

— and he knew a good many of the traits of the dis-
tinguished people of his time — been accused of having
a mercenary tendency. On the contrary, she was known
to be generous to a fault, and, unlike Mrs. Clive and
Miss Bellamy, to refrain from clamouring for a higher
salary and more liberal benefits. To be sure, she was the
idol of the playgoers, and Mr. Colman paid her more than
Mr. Garrick had ever paid a member of his company,
so that she had little cause for complaint. But to have
no cause for complaint and to refrain from complaining
did not mean exactly the same thing in the minds of most
actresses, Mr. Long knew ; so that he could not but feel
that Mrs. Abington's reputation for generosity was well
founded. She would laugh at his offer of money, he
now felt; and what else had he to offer her in exchange
for Dick Sheridan?

He had come to the end of his resources available for
negotiation with the lady when the question ceased to be
one of money. He could not pretend to himself that he
would have any chance of success with her were he merely
to go to her with the assurance that Dick Sheridan and
Betsy Linley loved each other and would be happy together
if she, Mrs. Abington, were to release Dick from the promise
she had obtained from him. He knew that her generosity
would not be equal to such a strain as he should put
upon it, were he to make such a suggestion to her. She
was a woman, and he had an idea that women have a ten-
dency to place an extravagant value upon what other women
show themselves anxious to possess. The fact that Miss
Linley was in love with Dick Sheridan would only cause
Mrs. Abington to chuckle over the bargain she had made
with Dick. It seemed clear to him that he could gain
nothing beyond that chuckle by his visit to the actress.
To be sure, she would take care that it was a purely artistic
suggestion of something rather more than content, and

22

338 A NEST OF LINNETS

it would be made worthy of the attention of the most
exalted order of critics ; still, it would represent to Mr.
Long (he knew) something rather more humiliating than the
failure of his mission, and it was his fear of this chuckle
that caused him to abandon his enterprise and to shape his
steps in the direction of his own house.

He opened the door of his parlour and found himself face
to face with Mrs. Abington !

CHAPTER XXXV.

His first thought was, curiously, of the story he had heard
of the man who had left London to escape the plague and
had found it waiting for him at Highbury. He bowed to
the ground.

" Madam," he said, " I have never before been so

honoured. My poor rooms But is this visit in

accordance with the well-known discretion of Mrs.
Abington ? "

" Tis a great risk I run, sir," she cried, with a delightful
uplifting of two shapely arms and an expression of fear such
as one assumes in order to make a child laugh, — " oh yes,
a terrible risk ! — but I am adventurous."

" And your example is stimulating to the timid, madam ;
that is why I beg of you to be seated. Pray Heaven that
that fiery young Mr. Sheridan be not in the neighbourhood.
Still, for five minutes of Mrs. Abington's wit a more timid
man than myself would run the chance of a duel with
Colonel Thornton himself."

This was scarcely the style of the conversation which he
hoped to have with the lady when he had been on his
way to her lodgings ; but one does not adopt the same
style with a person to whom one is about to make an
appeal, as one adopts with a person who is about to be
an appellant ; and he felt sure that Mrs. Abington had
come to him in this character.

339

340 A NEST OF LINNETS

"Dear sir, I protest that you overwhelm me with your
compliments," she cried. "The younger generation have
much to learn in courtesy from the one to which you and
I belong, sir."

"Madam," he said, "you prove the contrary when
you couple me with yourself. What are all the com-
pliments which my poor ingenuity could discover compared
with that ' you and I ' which has just come from your
lips ? "

" Nay, but I can prove that we belong to the same
generation, sir ; for are not you marrying a lady of the
same age as the gentleman who is to be my husband ? "
she cried, with an exquisite assumption of archness.

" Against such profundity of logic 'twere vain to contend,
Mrs. Abington," he said. " I yield to it, more especially as
you prove what I have spent my years trying to prove to
myself. Alas, madam ! is it not sad that old age should
come down upon a man before he has succeeded in con-
vincing himself that he is still young ? "

" Mr. Long," said the lady, " I couple myself with you for
our mutual protection."

" I acknowledge the honour, madam, but appreciate the
danger," said he.

" Let me explain myself, sir."

" To explain yourself, Mrs. Abington, were to supply a
key to the most charming riddle of the century. Let me
paraphrase Mr. Dryden :

1 A dame so charming that she seem'd to be
Not one, but womankind's epitome.'"

" That is the wittiest turning of satire into comedy I have
ever known," she cried. "And it makes my explanation
easy. Mr. Long, I desire to be your best friend ; and when
a woman professes a wish to be a man's best friend, you
may be sure that she wants him to stand in that relationship

A NEST OF UNNETS 341

to her. But you gathered, I know, that I was thinking at
least as much of myself as of you when I made you that
offer."

" I give you credit for thinking most of the one worthiest
of your thoughts, Mrs. Abington," said he.

She took a step nearer to him.

M Mr. Long," she said in a lower tone, " these young
people are very well, and they make delightful companions
for us, but they cannot always be depended on."

" You mean that "

" I mean that Dick Sheridan and Betsy Linley were once
in love with each other, and that they fancy they love each
other still."

" That means that they are to be depended on, does
it not?"

"They may be depended on to lose no opportunity of
making fools of themselves if we allow them, Mr. Long."

" Does that mean that they may be trusted to marry, the
one you, t'other me ? "

"It means that you would do well to keep an eye on
Elizabeth Linley, or you will lose her, sir."

" What is this ? "

" 'Tis the truth, Mr. Long. Only to-day there came to
my ears the whisper of preparations for an abduction
having your Miss Linley for its object — the hiring of
relays of horses along the London road, and so forth.
My woman, an honest creature, gave me the hint ; she
had the news in confidence."

" And in confidence transferred it to you, no doubt."

" I am not the woman to credit every rumour that the
gossips of Bath set in circulation ; but this special rumour
was so circumstantial that "

"Ah, if 'twas circumstantial its falsity is assured," cried
Mr. Long. " Dear madam, can you really believe that Dick
Sheridan would make the attempt to run away with Miss

342 A NEST OF LINNETS

Linley when he is still under an engagement to marry
you ? "

" Psha, sir ! " she cried, " I know but too well that his
heart is still with Miss Linley. Would my gentleman be
so ready to answer my beck and call — would he be so
desperately punctilious in his discharge of all the duties
of lovership in respect to me, if he were not in love with
Miss Linley ? Mr. Long, the husband who is punctilious
in his treatment of his wife is, you may be sure, not in love

with her, and the lover who Ah, sir ! I have had my

experiences, Heaven help me ! and I am now in the
position of the doctor who knows the condition of a
patient the moment he looks into his face. Sir, I have
had my finger on Dick Sheridan's pulse, so to speak, for
the past week, and though he has tried hard to deceive me
into the belief that he loves me, he has not succeeded. I
have seen through his attentions — his constant show of
devotion. O sir, I am a miserable woman ! But I can-
not lose him — I swear to you that I shall not lose him !
And you — would you be content to lose her — to lose
Elizabeth Linley?"

" I would be content to lose her if I were sure that she
did not love me," said Mr. Long.

" What ? what ? Ah, you do not love her ! " she cried
contemptuously.

"I love her so well as to have implicit confidence in
her," said he. "There will be no running away so far
as Miss Linley is concerned — rest assured of that, my
dear madam, and take my word for it, Dick Sheridan is
too honourable to entertain such a design."

" Ah, honourable ! what does honour mean to a man
when he is in love — ay, or to a woman either ? " she cried.

"You are proving one of your contentions by entertaining
such suspicions," said he.

"They are well founded. Ah, when I think that he

A NEST OF LINNETS 343

loved her so well as to give up his life only for the sake of
saving her from the pang of seeing her brother made a fool
of, I have a right to my suspicions. He will never love me
like that. When I think of it all, I feel tempted — some-
times ; the fit soon passes away, thank Heaven ! — I feel
tempted to let him go to her — to let him be happy with
her : she would not let you stand in the way of her own
happiness, you may be sure, though she has promised
to marry you."

" If you loved Dick Sheridan truly, madam, you would
not stand between him and happiness," said Mr. Long.

" And if you loved Miss Linley truly, you would not stand
between her and happiness," responded the actress, turning
suddenly upon him with the stage instinct of making an
effective retort.

"Nor shall I," he cried. "Come, Mrs. Abington, let us
make a compact for their happiness. I will release Miss
Linley if you will do the same for Dick Sheridan."

" No — no — no ! " Her voice had almost become a
shriek, and it went through the room without the interval
of a second. Her head was craned forward ; her hands
were clenched ; her eyes were half closed.

So she remained for a long time after that shriek had
come from her. Then she drew a long breath. She kept
her eyes fixed keenly upon his face. She went back from
him slowly, step by step.

Suddenly she made a quick movement toward him with
her right hand outstretched, as if about to clench a com-
pact. But when his hand went out to hers, she snatched
her own back with a cry.

" No, no, I cannot do it — I cannot do it ! I cannot give
him up. I have made him mine — mine he shall remain.
You shall tempt me no further."

"He never was yours — he never shall be yours! You
know it, woman, you know it ! That is the thought which

344 A NEST OF LINNETS

is in your heart just now, and that is the thought which
makes your life a curse to you. Never yours — never yours !
By your side, but never yours — never yours ! "

With a cry she covered her face with one hand, the other
was on the handle of the door. She staggered out.

" Did ever man utter words of such cruelty ? " said Mr.
Long when he heard the hall door close. u Poor creature !
poor creature ! And I trod on her — I crushed her. God
forgive me ! God forgive me ! "

An hour later Mrs. Abington, shining out amid her
jewels as a rose is resplendent amid the diamonds of a
spendthrift morning, welcomed the arrival of Dick Sheridan
with smiles and a gracious white hand for him to kiss. He
kissed the hand, and noticed that the lady was wearing a
gown which he had never before seen — something roseate
and misty — the waves of dawn, out of which the goddess
Aphrodite was in the act of rising ; he saw her before
him, and said so ; he called her the Cyprian : she had
been called that so often that she understood quite well
what he meant.

" You have come in good time, my dear ! " she cried.
" If you had not come early I would have gone to you."

" I got your note only a quarter of an hour ago," said he.

"'Twas only writ half an hour ago," she said, "and the
express from Mr. Colman arrived within the hour. Dear
Dick, we must fly to London post haste in the morning.
They can do without me no longer. Mr. Colman implores
of me to come. Ruin stares him in the face. I must have
some pity for him."

" The humblest thing that crawls — even the manager of a
theatre — claims one's compassion now and again," said
Dick. " Will you set out in the morning ? "

A NEST OF LINNETS 345

" At daybreak. You can pack your trunk before you
sleep to-night, and the chaise will pick it up and you
astride of it when we start."

" Heavens, my dear madam ! I heard nothing about my
departure ! Mr. Colman does not venture to say that ruin
stares him in the face if I remain in Bath."

" Nay, he does not go so far. 'Tis only I who claim
you. I shall need your escort, Dick, and I shall make
arrangements for your remaining in London — some simple
arrangements, Dick."

"The simpler they are the more difficult it is for me
to accept them. I do not think it would be wise for me to
be your escort to London and in London, enviable though
the duty would be."

She started into a sitting posture. She had been reclining
on her tiny sofa.

" What is't you mean, sir ?" she cried. " Surely if I find
no fault with the arrangement you need not do so. Scandal ?
Psha ! My name has been associated with more than one
scandal in my time, and yet I do not think that I am greatly
the worse for it to-day."

" No," he said, " but you may be to-morrow. My dear
sweet creature, I perceive at once how much depends on
our discretion just now ; and if I were, in the absence of my
father in Dublin, to desert my sisters and the household,
people would call me a wretch, and they would be
right, too."

" People would call you a wretch — a wretch and — a
poltroon — a — a curmudgeon, and they would be right,
too, were you to stay in Bath when I — I — ask your
protection on my journey to London," she cried.

He was silent. He did not even shake his head. He
saw her diamonds flashing ominously. Theirs was a
summer lightning, denoting a storm taking place out of
sight — a storm that might rise over the horizon at any

346 A NEST OF LINNETS

moment. He became conscious of a highly charged
atmosphere. A flash or two came from her eyes.

" Why do you stand there dumb?" she said. " Do you
not think me worthy of a word, Dick ? "

" Dear lady, you are worthy only of words that will give
you pleasure ; that is why I am silent now," he said.

" You have but to say one word to give me the greatest
pleasure that I look for in this world, and I know that you
will say it, Dick — my Dick."

" Alas — alas ! " he said.

" That is not the word, Dick ; you know that that is not
the word I want you to speak."

" That is the word which we should both say, my dear, if
I were even to breathe the word which you ask of me. Oh,
you must surely see that it would be impossible for me to
forsake all that my father has entrusted me with. My sisters
are young. What sort of brother should I be were I to
leave them alone at a moment's notice ? No, no ! you will
not ask me to do it ; you have always shown yourself to be
full of sensibility. You would hate me if I were to desert
my sisters at such a time as this."

She looked at him straight in the eyes for a long time — it
was a searching, suspicious gaze. Then she gave a laugh —
a scornful, suspicious laugh. Her scorn was not intolerable ;
it was tempered by the half-amused smile that flashed about
the corners of her lips.

" It must be pleasant to have so strong a sense of duty,
Dick," she said, — " yes, very pleasant, when your duty and
your inclination go hand in hand j nay, perhaps their relation-
ship is closer still. Inclination puts an arm round the waist
of duty, and so they go dancing down the green mead—
Oberon and Titania — only without a chance quarrel. But
it appears to me that if Betsy Linley were not in Bath your
duty to your sisters would somewhat relax. Listen to me,
Dick. You are not so near a holiday as you have been led

A NEST OF UNNETS 347

to believe, for, by the Lord Harry, if you refuse to come
with me to London I shall remain at Bath, if only to
frustrate your plans. Ay, sir, I know more about your
plans than you may perhaps think."

" If you know anything of them whatsoever, your know-
ledge is wider than mine," said he.

" Oh, go away — take yourself off. I am beginning to tire
of you, Dick Sheridan," she said, leaning back in an attitude
of negligent ennui between the sympathetic arms of her sofa.

" I do not need to be told to go a second time, madam,"
said Dick.

But before he reached the door the capricious creature
had sprung from her seat and flashed beside him.

" Dick, my Dick, I am a fool~oh, such a fool ! " she
cried. " But the truth is that I am too fond of you, my
beloved boy ! Now, don't go, Dick — or go if you please to
go — you may do what you please ; I will not think anything
of it. Oh, if you could only give me a little of your love !
Must she have all — all — all?"

" Do not be foolish, my dear," said he. "And you know
as well as I do that 'tis foolish to be jealous. Ah, you
know that I am true to you. I need not protest to you of
my truth."

She looked at him steadfastly once more ; and now there
was no scorn in her look — only a nervous anxiety.

" I think," said she, " that you are true to me, and that
you detest yourself on that account ; because to be true to
me involves your being false to Betsy Linley. Oh, this
constancy according to compact is no virtue. Honesty is
no virtue on the part of a man who is cast on a desert island.
But you will come with me to-morrow, Dick — my Dick ? "

" Indeed, it is impossible," he replied. " I will leave you
now. Think over the matter till to-morrow, and you will
agree with me, I am convinced."

With an exclamation of impatience she went back to

348 A NEST OF UNNETS

her sofa, wheeled it suddenly round, and then seated herself
in it with her back turned to him.

He went behind her with a laugh.

11 Good-bye, you beautiful, petulant, typical woman," he
said. " Good-bye, I will come to you to-morrow, when
I am sure you will be polite enough to turn your face
to me."

She gave a pout and a shrug and picked up the newspaper
which she had been pretending to read at his entrance. She
pretended to read it again.

He responded with another laugh of good-humour, not of
derision, and went to the door.

He shouted another " Good-bye ! "

She made no answer. But when he had left the house
she tore her newspaper to shreds and snowed them on the
carpet at her feet. Then she put her face down to the
pillow and wept, but only for a few minutes. She was on
her feet again and tugging at the bell-pull.

Her maid was at her side before the bell had ceased
to sound.

" Are you sure that 'twas the evening of to-day that was
named for the rendezvous you told me of, Williams ? " she
asked.

" There is no mistake, madam," replied the woman. " If
it were mere gossip, I should never have mentioned it.
Lud ! if one gave attention to all the gossip that one
hears ! But this is the truth. The chaise is to wait on the
London road, and the young lady is to be brought to
it in a chair at nine o'clock. 'Twill then be rather more
than dusk."

" Good ! " said Mrs. Abington. " You got the hint from
your cousin — I think you said he was your cousin — who is
confidential servant to Allen, the postmaster ? "

11 Yes, madam — cousin on my mother's side. My mother
married for the second time into the Cookson family, and

YOU WILL ACCOMPANY ME TO THE RENDEZVOUS ON THE LONDON ROAD

to-night, Williams." [page 349-

A NEST OF UNNETS 349

they thought a good deal of themselves, through Cookson
having been butler to a vicar; but they really wasn't so

much after all "

" You will accompany me to the rendezvous on the
London road to-night, Williams. You will hire a fly,
and when we get within sight of the coach, the fly shall
turn down one of the lanes, so as to excite no suspicion.
We shall get out and conceal ourselves among the bushes
at the roadside until the chair with my lady is brought up.
I think that we shall probably suprise them, Williams."
The maid simpered.

" And I shall wear the travelling-cloak that is quilted with
the pink satin. The chaise lamps will doubtless be lighted,
and I have no desire to look like a guy."

" I vow 'twill be quite an adventure, madam ! " said the
woman, simpering very agreeably.

" You will see that nothing miscarries, my good Williams,"
said the actress. " The most romantic adventures have been
known to break down before now through so foolish a thing
as a lame horse."

" You may trust to me, madam," said the maid.
When she was alone, Mrs. Abington stood in the centre
of the room, with a smile that was not a smile on her face.

" A compact — a compact ! " she muttered. " He fancied
that I should be blinded by his fidelity. Oh, his fidelity
was touching — ay, up to that last cheery ' good-bye ' that he
said at that door before going home to complete the packing
of his trunk. By the lud ! if 'twere not for the humiliation,
I could e'en bring myself to let the pair of them run away
together and make fools of themselves. But I will show
them that I am not one to be hoodwinked."

It was barely half-past nine that night when a fly dashed
up to the door of the Sheridans' house, and a lady wearing

350 A NEST OF UNNETS

a travelling-cloak lined with quilted pink satin sprang to
the ground and battered at the door of the house. She
met Dick Sheridan in the hall.

"Dick — Dick," she gasped, "a dreadful thing has
happened ! O Dick, he has got her in his power now
— Mathews — a plot — a vile plot to abduct her! He is
on his way to London with her now in a chaise with
four horses."

11 Woman, what do you mean ? Good God ! Mathews
— Betsy — is it Betsy, you mean ? " cried Dick.

" Yes — yes — Betsy ! Oh, why do you wait here like a
fool ? Why are you not on your way after them ? Follow
them, Dick ! — follow them and save her for yourself. She
is yours, Dick. I never was yours ! Ah,'" man, why do you
stand there ? Oh, I am dead ! "

She dropped into a chair, gasping.

Dick caught her hand, and when he found that it was
warm he kissed it.

She laughed, and her laugh continued long after he
had rushed out of the house; it went on and on, and
the two Sheridan girls stood by listenings in horror to
that laugh.

CHAPTER XXXVI

He rushed out of the house and up the street. He was
pulling wildly at the bell-handle at Mr. Long's door in
Millsom Street before five minutes had passed. He did
not wait to make an inquiry of the man, but plunged into
the room to the right ; the door was slightly ajar, and
he saw that the room was lighted.

Mr. Long was seated at the table.

" Heavens ! " he cried, " what has happened ? "

"Your horse — Sultan — it must be Sultan — he must be
saddled — give the order — 'tis life or death — nay, more —
more ! "

Only for a second did Mr. Long look at him. Then
he was shouting to his man in the hall orders for the
groom.

" Mathews has succeeded," gasped Dick. " An abduction
— Mrs. Abington brought me word of it. But 1 shall
follow them — overtake them — or I shall never return. I
swear that — I swear it ! "

Mr. Long's face had become white. He was supporting
himself by the back of a chair. His lips moved, but the
words did not come. He managed to stagger to a garde-vin
that stood in a corner and to take out a decanter of brandy.
Dick heard how the tumbler jingled against the mouth of
the bottle while some of the brandy was being poured out.
Mr. Long offered him a tumbler. He refused it.

352 A NEST OF LINNETS

" Never fear — never fear — I'll overtake them ! " he cried,
while he paced the room. "I knew that I was right to
come to you, sir. You love her; and you — you have
pistols. He escaped them once — only once."

" She heard a rumour that an abduction was to be
attempted; she told me so here to-day," said Mr. Long.
" She is suspicious ; she fancied that you had planned it —
she came to warn me. O Dick, you must be in time ! By
Heaven, sir, you must be in time to save her ! If I were
ten years younger — only ten years — but I will trust you.
Here are the pistols, and you may need to reload them :
you must have these bullets. Don't bring them all back,
Dick; but take care of her. Aim at one of the horses.
And money — you may need money for the postboys — I
have never met any that were not open to bribes. Here's

a purse. If fifty guineas is not enough By heavens,

the horse is at the door ! You have no sword — here is
mine ! God bless you, my boy — God bless you ! I'll look
to the girths. Sultan will do his twenty miles ; but spare
him on the highway. You will take the short cuts through
the Hampton Fields."

All the time that Mr. Long was speaking, Dick Sheridan
was pulling on a pair of riding- boots, with spurs attached,
which Mr. Long's servant had brought into the room.

He examined the priming of the pistols, he pocketed the
leathern wallet heavy with guineas, and buckled on the
sword. Not a word did he find it necessary to utter ; even
when he was in the saddle and felt the strong grasp of Mr.
Long's right hand, he did not find words, but he returned the
grasp, and looked into Mr. Long's face. Then he gave Sultan
his head, and waved his hand before turning the corner.

The street was flaring with links; chairs by the score
were carrying ladies and gentlemen of fashion to their supper-
parties and card-parties. The sound of post-horns was heard
as the mail-coaches with their splendid teams set out on

A NEST OF LINNETS 353

their night journeys. It did not take Dick long to thread
his way among the vehicles, reaching the first slope of the
London road without having allowed his horse to break into
a gallop. Sultan was quite prepared to charge the hill ; he
was a thoroughbred Arab, with an indomitable heart in his
work. Dick held him in so long as the ground sloped up j
but when the summit of the hill was gained, he sent him
forward ; the animal responded with a will, but Dick
kept him at the trot. Not until the Hampton Fields were
reached did he put the horse to the gallop. But then,
leaping the ditch, he got upon the green turf, and, knowing
what was expected of him, the Arab stretched himself out
for a race.

The two miles of the cut across the fields was not a
great journey, and after a mile's trot along the highway,
up the long hill through the village of Bathford, Dick took
to the fields once more. Another flying gallop — ventre a
terre — across the Downs, brought him to the Horse Jockey
Inn, and Dick thought that a bucket of water would not
do Sultan any harm. But he found that he could not pull
him up; the horse had his head and seemed determined
to keep it. By the time, however, that the vane of Atworth
church gave a feeble flash in the moonlight (the moon was
in her first quarter and far down in the western sky) the
Arab was ready to receive a hint, and Dick brought him to
a walk.

He pulled him up at the Three Cups, and awoke the
elderly ostler to get a bucket of bran and water, while he
himself rubbed the animal down with a damp stable-cloth.

Had the man seen a chaise and four horses going in the
direction of London within the half-hour ? No, no, he had
seen no " shay "; but mayhap that was by reason of having
been asleep since supper-time ; a tedious night with the
master's heifer — mayhap the young gentleman had heard
of the accident to the heifer ? — having deprived him of his

23

354 A NEST OF UNNETS

accustomed slumber. The worst was over with the heifer,
Heaven be praised ; but still

The veteran was still gazing at Dick's half-crown while
Sultan was pounding away toward Melksham as fresh as
he had been when taken out of his stable, although the
nine miles of the journey already passed had occupied just
fifty-five minutes.

And now that a long level of highway was in front of him,
Dick had time to calculate his chances of overtaking the
chaise. He did not know how great was the start which it
had on him ; but he did not think it likely that Mrs.
Abington had taken longer than a quarter of an hour to
come to him with the alarm. Ten minutes added to this
brought him up to the moment when he had started in
pursuit. Twenty-five minutes of a start !

He could not imagine the chaise travelling at the speed
that Sultan had maintained. The hills along the road were
in favour of a horseman. But then at the end of another
seven or eight miles Sultan must be dead-beat, however
willing he might be, whereas the chaise would be flying
along with four fresh horses in front of it, for Mathews
would certainly arrange to have relays of fresh horses at
every stage, well knowing that only by this means could he
evade the pursuit which he would assume must take place.

Dick perceived that he too must have fresh horses if he
meant to overtake the chaise. But being well aware that
some of the posting-inns on the London road had as many
as a hundred and fifty horses in their stables at one time, he
had no fear of a difficulty arising in the matter of getting
remounts.

When he thought of Betsy Linley being in the power of
that mad ruffian for another hour, he instinctively touched
Sultan with the spur; and at the touch the good horse
broke into a gallop, and it was in this gallop that he reached
Seend Hill and climbed it as though it were level road.

A NEST OF LINNETS 355

It needed a strong pull from Dick to bring him up at the
Bear Inn.

Two coaches had just arrived from London, and the
passengers were getting all the attendance the place could
afford.

Dick found himself standing in the yard with Sultan's
saddle on the ground beside him, while the horse stood
steaming in the light that came from the stable lantern. He
showed a guinea to an ancient, hurrying groom, and the
sight was too much for the man.

Had a chaise with four horses from Bath changed, and
how long ago?

Not half an hour ago, if it was Captain Mathews' shay
his honour spoke of. Oh, ay, the captain had changed, and
madam would not leave the shay — half an hour ago — barely
— more like twenty minutes. A fresh saddle-horse ? Ah,
his honour must book that at the bar. Why, the London
folk would be away in a quarter of an hour — mayhap ten
minutes.

Dick rushed to the bar. Twenty people were between
him and the landlord, who was responding with a fussy
leisure to ^eighteen out of the twenty.

Dick rushed back to the stable-yard and found the groom
still gazing at the guinea. Dick produced a second.

" You know Mr. Long, of Rood Ashton, my man ? " he
said. " This is Mr. Long's horse. Look to him and put
the saddle on the freshest horse in your stable. Take this
guinea and don't lose a moment. Refuse it, and as surely
as you stand there like a fool, I'll put a bullet through your
head."

" Your honour's a gentleman," cried the ostler, making a
grasp for that hand which held the guinea as a bribe, and
neglecting the one that held the pistol as a menace.

" You shall have the guinea when the horse is saddled,"
said Dick. " Lead the way to the stable."

356 A NEST OF LINNETS

But the man had had a second for reflection. He felt
prepared to control his impulses. He began to scratch his
head with the black tip of a forefinger.

11 This may cost me my place," he muttered.

" If you refuse, 'twill certainly cost you your life," said
Dick, grasping his arm. " Lead me to the stable, you
rascal, and that at the top of your speed. If you try to
trick me, 'twill be the last mistake of your life. Pick up the
saddle and earn your guinea."

The man certainly lost no time in obeying him ; he
shambled across the yard and through a stable door. Dick
heard the sound of halter-rings and the fitful stamp of an
iron hoof.

"That's Hero, the best roadster in the stable," said the
man, pointing to a big roan horse. " But your honour will
need to have it out with the master."

" You'll get your guinea and your master will get double
the hire. Everybody knows Mr. Long," said Dick.

Being aware of the instinctive cunning of these simple
country people, Dick thought it as well to give a brief
examination to the animal. So far as he could tell in the
glimmer of the stable lantern the horse was a good one —
broad-chested and strong.

The man flung on the saddle, and Dick saw that the
girths were tight ; then with a friendly nod to Sultan, who
stood in one of the vacant stalls, he was mounting the roan.
He threw the old man his promised guinea, saying :

"If I find that you've looked well after the Arab, you
shall have another guinea to-morrow."

The ostler dropped the stable lantern with a crash on the
stones.

Dick was on the road once again. He knew that he
had lost quite five minutes changing horses : he could only
console himself by the reflection that most likely the chaise
had taken ten minutes.

A NEST OF LINNETS 357

He found that the roan required to be ridden. He was
a strong horse and had good wind, but he had not the
heart of the Arab. It was clear that he did not know all
that was demanded of him this night. But when Dick
put him at a low hedge he did not refuse it, and on the
turf of a long meadow beyond, he showed that he could
gallop. For another three miles, partly on the road and
partly across country, when any saving of space was possible,
horse and man went until they were breasting Round way
Hill.

Dick walked the horse to the top, and then reined in to
let him recover his wind before starting on the clear five
miles of level road. In a few minutes he had fallen into
the steady trot of the old roadster, and Dick felt sure that
he could keep it up for the five miles ; but at the end of
the first mile he began to be aware of a certain uneven-
ness in his trot. The horse responded to the spur, but
only for a short time ; then he stumbled, nearly throwing
his rider on his head. There was no ignoring what had
occurrred — the horse had " gone lame " and was unfit for
his work; and the nearest inn where he could get a new
mount was still five miles away.

What did this mean ?

Nothing, except that he was beaten. The hour and a
quarter that he would take going to that inn would place
the chaise which he was pursuing far beyond the possibility
of capture.

Dick saw it all clearly the moment that the roan halted
and stretched his head forward, breathing hard. Nothing
was left for him but to dismount. He was defeated, and
life was worth nothing to him now. He dismounted, and
examined the horse's leg. There could be no doubt about
the matter now : he was badly lame.

And then Dick did the most foolish and natural thing
that a man could do in such circumstances. He went mad

358 A NEST OF UNNETS

for a time, slashing at the weeds on the roadside with his
riding-whip, cursing all the earth — the ostler who had given
him the horse which went lame — the horse for going lame
at the worst time — the fate which had helped him up to a
certain point and then deserted him. It did him good
to slash and swear for a while; and when he felt better
he put his horse's bridle-rein over his arm and set out upon
the journey which was inevitable in the circumstances.

He had not gone more than a hundred yards when he
heard the sound of a shot in the distance ; then a second
— a third.

"Poachers," he thought, resuming his walk. He was
within a mile or two of Roundway Park, and the estate
was full of game. He thought no more about the shots
until, after he had trudged on for another mile, he saw on
the summit of a grassy knoll a couple of men on horseback.
The moon had gone down, but the night was beautifully
clear, with stars overhead.

He stopped, his first thought being that he might nego-
tiate with one of the men for the loan of his horse. But
when he saw that they were making straight for him, he
pulled his pistols out of the holsters and put his horse
between himself and the fence of the field beyond which
was the knoll. The horsemen were highwaymen, he was
convinced, and he made up his mind that they should not
ride off with the remainder of his guineas, if he could
prevent it. He was just in the humour for tackling a pair
of rascals ; but for that matter, he would not have objected
to fight with the honestest men in England.

Before he had more than cocked his pistols the two
fellows — he now saw that they wore masks — had leapt their
horses over the fence not a dozen yards from where he was
standing.

" Well met, my lord ! " roared one, drawing a pistol from
his holster. " Well met I I'll trouble your lordship to hand

A NEST OF UNNETS 359

over your purse, also your watch and any trifle of jewelry
your lordship "

" Come and take them," said Dick.

" And, by the Lord, we accept the invitation ! " shouted
the second horseman, going forward with a bound toward
Dick with his pistol in his hand.

In another moment all was over. Dick slipped under
his horse's nose ; at the same instant that the man fired,
Dick's horse lashed out, and Dick, catching at the rein of
the man who was riding him down, shot him in the body.
The yell that went through the air did not come from this
man, however — he was past yelling ; it came from his com-
panion, whose leg Dick had heard break like a stick of
barley sugar beneath the kick of the roan. The second
yell came from half a mile down the road ; for, not being
able to control his horse, the animal had bolted with him.

Dick knew nothing of this. He had his attention fully
occupied at the head of the rearing horse of the man whom
he had shot. The horse reared, and when Dick tugged at
the reins he plunged forward. A limp arm struck Dick in
the face, and he had to be agile to evade the headlong fall
of the limp body.

It was a busy half-minute. It was such a whirl of the
wheels of chance that Dick Sheridan could scarcely be
blamed for standing aghast for quite another half-minute.
He was bewildered by the effort of trying to think what had
happened. A minute before he had been a man suffering
all the pangs of defeat — plunged into those depths of despair
which overwhelm a man who needs to ride like a god upon
the wings of the wind, but finds himself crippled with a
lame horse ; whereas now. . . .

He gave a cheer and in a second was on the back of
the fine horse — his mane was dripping with the blood of
the rider whom he had thrown over his head — and flying
along the road at a speed that he had not surpassed even

360 A NEST OF LINNETS

when mounted on Mr. Long's Sultan. The highwaymen
were excellent judges of cattle, he was bound to confess.
He galloped like one of Liitzow's wild huntsmen, and in
the exhilaration of the moment he shouted with delight — he
shouted and cheered until, swinging round a curve in the
road, he saw before him Beckhampton Common, with the
woods at one side and the long row of poplars at the other.
But while the common was still a long way off, and he
was flying past a high bank densely planted with small firs,
he heard something that caused him to throw all his weight
upon the reins, and almost to bring his horse upon his
haunches.

What he heard, or fancied he heard, was his name called
out by the most musical voice in the world :

" Dick — Dick ! you have come ! "

The first words struck his ears when he was beneath the
high bank j before the last were uttered he was a hundred
yards away, tugging at the reins. When he succeeded in
bringing his horse to a standstill, he heard in front of him a
hailing of voices. Peering forward beyond the shade of the
bank on the white road, he saw figures moving — figures with
a swaying lantern.

He responded to their hail, and saw them hurrying
toward him, their lantern swinging more rapidly.

And then behind him he heard Betsy Linley's voice
crying :

" Dick — Dick, come back to me — come back ! "

He swung his horse round with a cry of delight.

There she stood, a white figure at the foot of the firs of a
wooded slope — there she stood, waving her white arms to
him — waving him back to her.

" Thank God— thank God— thank God ! "

He could gasp nothing more as he flung himself from his
saddle, and she sprang from the bank into his arms.

" My Betsy — my own dear Betsy ! "

A NEST OF UNNETS 361

" Dick — Dick, you have saved me ! Oh, I never doubted
it, my Dick ! — I knew you would be in time to save me."

He had thrown the reins on his horse's neck. But the
animal was well trained : he was as faithful to the man who
had just dismounted as though he were a highwayman who
had left his saddle to plunder a coach. He only turned his
head when the figures with the lantern came in sight beyond
the curve in the road.

"Who are these — your friends or our enemy ?" whispered
Dick.

He had hold of her hand, and they were both gazing up
the road.

" It can only be he," she cried. " We were attacked by
highwaymen. A horse was shot, and when the wretch was
helping the postboys, I escaped from the coach and fled
hither. I was hiding among the trees ! "

" Stand back among the trees again — only for a moment
— only for a moment," he said in a low voice.

" You will not kill him ! " said the girl piteously. " Dick,
I could not bear to think of your killing him, wretch though
he be."

11 Perhaps I may not. Stand back among the trees."

" Found — she is found ! " came the voice of Mathews on
the road. He was running ahead of the postboys with the
chaise lantern. Postboys were poor things on their feet.

Dick waited with the firs behind him. He was silent.
His features could not be seen — only his figure.

" Sir," said Mathews, when still a dozen yards away —
" sir, you have found the lady — my wife — I thank you."

" I have found the greatest villain that lives," cried Dick,
stepping into the road. " He shall soon cease to live."

Back went Mathews with an oath — back half a dozen
steps.

The whiz of Dick's sword through the air was like the
sudden sweep of a hailstorm.

362 A NEST OF UNNETS

Mathews had already drawn his weapon. In a second
he had rushed upon Dick. Nothing could have resisted
such an attack. Dick made no attempt to resist it. He
sprang to one side and so avoided the point of the
sword. He took care that Mathews should not have
another such chance. The man had barely time to turn
and put up his guard before Dick was upon him. With
heads bent eagerly forward (the situation was not one for
the punctilios of the duello), the men crossed blades —
the rasp of steel against steel — the heavy breathing — the
quick lunge and the deft response — a little gasp — a flash —
more rasping of steel — backward and forward — flat hands
in the air — a fierce lunge — a second — a third — fierce —
fiercer — fiercest — a whiz and a whirl. Mathews' sword
flashed through the air. The two postboys with the
lantern sprang apart to avoid its fall. The next instant
Mathews had sprung upon Dick, catching him by the
throat, and trying to force him back. Dick tried to shorten
his sword, but failed. Mathews made a clutch for the
blade, but missed it, and Dick struck him full in the face
with the steel guard ; a second blow made a gash on his
left temple, and the man went down in a heap. He fell
neither backward nor forward. His legs seemed to be
paralysed, and he went down as though a swordsman had
cut him through as one does a sheep.

Dick took the man's sword — a grinning postboy had
picked it up — and snapped it in two across his knee.

" He is not dead — he cannot be dead ! " cried Betsy.

" I am sorry to say that he will not die just now — vermin
are not so easily killed," said Dick.

Dick

FULL IN THE FACE WITH THE STEEL GUARD

[page 362.

CHAPTER XXXVII

Dick ordered the postboys to return to the chaise.

" We will return with you to Bath," said he. " Put the
harness of your horse which was shot on mine. We will
join you before you have got the horse in the traces. Carry
the man to the bank and lay him among the trees."

" Not back to Bath, Dick— not back to Bath," said Betsy,
when the postboys had gone.

" Good heavens ! if not to Bath — whither ? " he cried.

"The thought came to me just now — an inspiration," she
said. " I will not return home. I have not the courage.
Do you know what has happened ? I have told Mr. Long
that I cannot marry him, and when my father heard it
he was furious, and gave me notice that I must begin
singing once more at his concerts. I cannot do that !
Oh, it would kill me, Dick ! "

" Dear one," he said, " I will do my best to carry out any
plan that you may suggest — I give you my promise, dear
Betsy."

" I spoke to Mr. Long of my hope — of the one longing
there is in my heart, Dick. Your sisters told me of the
convent at Lille, beside where they lived. The old grey
building among the ancient trees — far away from any sound
of the world. Oh, surely that is the one spot in the world
where rest — the divine rest— the peace of God — may be
found. O Dick, Dick, if you could know how I long for it ! "

363

364 A NEST OF UNNETS

He started away from her.

" Is it possible that that is your choice, Betsy ? " he cried,
and there was agony in his voice. "Is it possible that you
can shut yourself off from your friends — from those who
love you ? Ah, dear child, you know that I "

" Do not say it — ah, do not say the words that are
trembling on your lips, Dick. You will not say them when
you know that they will make me miserable. Dick, I will
think of you as my dear, dear brother, and you will take me
away to that place of rest. Ah, I feel that all I have gone
through to-day since that man sent a forged message to me
at nine o'clock to the effect that my father wished me to
play the harpsichord in his place at the concert, and so
trapped me into the chair which he had waiting and on to
the chaise, the linkmen whom he had bribed standing so
close to the windows that I was quite concealed, and my
cries to the passers-by were unheeded, — all that I have gone
through, I say, must have been designed by Heaven to
enable me to reach my goal — my place of rest."

"I will take you there, Betsy," he said in a low voice.
" You may trust me to take you there, dear sister — sweet
sister Betsy."

She put her arms about him and kissed him on both
cheeks.

It was the scheme of a boy and a girl, that flight of
Richard Brinsley Sheridan and Elizabeth Linley to France
as brother and sister. It has never been explained, nor can
any explanation of it be offered that is not founded upon
the passionate yearning of that purest-minded girl that ever
lived in the world, for a time of seclusion such as she had
never known — for a period of tranquillity such as had never
come to her.

Dick led her to the chaise, and gave the postboys orders

A NEST OF LINNETS 365

to go on to the next stage at which Mathews had ordered
fresh horses to await his arrival. The men grumbled. Dick
threatened them with hanging. They should have trouble
in proving to any jury that they were not privy to the
abduction of the lady, he said ; adding, that if they did not
keep the secret of the change in the lady's companionship
at the various stages of the journey, they would be running
their heads into the hangman's noose. The men protested
that they were on his side down to every rowel of their
spurs, and one of them went so far, in demonstration of his
good-will, as to curse soundly Captain Mathews and all his
connections.

In the chaise Betsy gave Dick a circumstantial account
of the attack made by the highwaymen — the highwaymen
of Providence, Dick ventured to term them. The two shots
which he had heard in the distance when he was assuring
himself that his horse had become lame, were fired, the first
by Mathews on the appearance of the highwaymen, the
second by one of the highwaymen. Only the latter had
taken effect ; it had brought down the off-wheeler, and then,
the chaise coming to a standstill, a man had stood with
a cocked pistol at each of the windows until Mathews
handed over his purse. The robbers had then ridden
off, and while Mathews was helping the postboys to dis-
entangle the harness of the dead horse, she had, unperceived
by any one, crept out of the chaise and made her way up
the bank where she had hidden among the trees.

"But I never doubted that you would come to my help,
Dick," she said in conclusion. " Oh, no ! I had faith in
you from the very first to the very last. When we saw the
figures of the two highwaymen in the distance, I cried out,
1 'Tis Dick — Dick and Mr. Long come to save me ! ' And
when I heard the sound of your horse galloping on the road
I said, ' 'Tis Dick come to save me ! ' I had called out your
name before the horse came abreast of the bank. But how

366 A NEST OF LINNETS

did you learn what had happened ? Who could have been
near us when that man dragged me from the chair and
forced me into the chaise ? "

He told her that it was Mrs. Abington who had come to
him with the news, and she was amazed.

" But how could she — why should she be at that part of
the road at such an hour ? "

"Alas, my dear Betsy, she had a fancy that you were
being carried off, not by Mathews, but another," said Dick.
" She must have acquired by some means an inkling of the
plot, and she was foolish enough to take it for granted that
the man who was playing the chief part was — some one else.
But we cannot refuse her our gratitude. When she had
found out that it was Mathews who was the abductor, she
did not falter in her purpose. It is to her that we owe your
safety."

There was a long pause before Betsy said :

" She acted honourably — nobly. Tis for us to respond
in like. We shall not fail, Dick."

At the end of the next stage Dick wrote a letter to Mr.
Long acquainting him in brief with all that had occurred,
and telling him of Betsy's desire to go to the convent at
Lille. He ordered the letter to be posted to Bath at once.
Betsy wrote to her father.

When they reached London he drove with her to the
house of a friend of his — a Mr. Ewart ; and Mr. Ewart
and his wife assumed that Betsy was his elder sister.

"Yes, this is Elizabeth," said Dick. "I am taking her
on to Lille for a holiday."

Mrs. Ewart, knowing that the Sheridan family had lived
at Lille for some years, merely said :

"You must have formed many friendships in France,
my dear?"

" I have got some dear friends there," said Betsy.

Mr. Ewart found out that a packet was leaving Margate

A NEST OF LINNETS 367

in two days for Calais, and at Dick's request wrote to
secure cabins aboard. After staying two nights at the
Ewarts' house, the boy and girl posted to Margate, and
duly set sail in the packet, which was really only a smack,
but one with a reputation for making rapid passages. It
acted up to its traditions by landing them at Calais in
twenty-two hours.

The first person whom they met on the quayside was
Mr. Long.

They were both astonished. How on earth did he
contrive to reach Calais before them? they inquired.

Well, he had got Dick's letter the morning after Dick
had posted it, and he had set out at once for Dover, where
he had found a faster boat even than the Margate smack.
He had been at Calais since the previous afternoon.

He led them to his inn, and ordered breakfast. When
they were alone together after that repast, he said :

" My dear children, I do not think that this story of ours
should have an unhappy ending, and every young woman
of sense who has read Mr. Richardson's novels — assuming
that any young woman of sense ever read novels — will tell
you that a convent in a foreign land cannot possibly be
regarded as furnishing a happy ending to a story. Ah, my
dear Betsy, when I saw you and Dick just now walking
side by side on the quay, I knew that you were meant by
Heaven to walk side by side through life. Will you not
consent to make me happy ? I have money enough to
allow of your living in some peaceful cottage until Dick
gets a footing in a profession. Dear child, I know that
you love him, and I think that he loves you, too."

11 1 will consent with joy if he consent," said she. " But
I know that he will not. I do not think that I could love
him if he were to consent. Dear sir, 'tis to Mrs. Abington
I owe my safety, and can I act with such base ingratitude
to her as to do what you suggest?"

368 A NEST OF LINNETS

" God help me ! " said Dick. " I am weak — oh, so
weak ! It seems as if I should be turning my back upon
all the happiness which I could ever hope for in the world,
were I to refuse now what is offered to me. O Betsy, tell
me what to do ! Will you not raise your finger to help
me, Betsy ? "

" I dare not, dear. There is one who stands between us.
You owe everything to her. I owe everything to her."

" You have helped me," he said in a low voice. " Mr.
Long, you will take Betsy on to Lille. I shall return
alone to Bath."

" No, my boy," said Mr. Long, " we shall return to
Bath together. Mrs. Abington is more than generous —
she is sensible. She came to me before I started on my
journey. She brought with her a letter, charging me to
put it into your hands. Read it, Dick."

Dick, with nervous fingers, tore open the letter which
Mr. Long handed to him. He read it, but he gave no
cry of gladness. Tears were in his eyes. He handed
it to Betsy. She read it. It dropped from her grasp.
There was a long pause. Then each looked into the
face of the other.

The next moment they were in each other's arms.

L'ENVOI

{FROM THE DIARY OF MR. WALTER LONG),

October \st. — I have just returned from paying my
long-promised visit to Dick Sheridan and his wife at their
cottage. During the three days that I was with them I
have been looking at happiness through these young
people's eyes, and indeed I think that I felt as happy as
they. Betsy's few months of married life seem to have
added to that half divine beauty which ever dwelt upon
her face. A lovely light came to her eyes when I told her
that such was my thought. " Ah, yes," she said, " when
one has been living in heaven for a space, one cannot help
acquiring something of a region that is all divine." No flaw
in her happiness seems to exist, though I fancied that I
detected a certain momentary uneasiness on her face when
Dick began to talk of his plans and his hopes for the future.
He has a mind to write a comedy satirising Bath society —
nay, he has even progressed so far as to have found a name
for his heroine — a very foolish young woman, as full of
ridiculous whims as any Bath belle — Miss Lydia Languish
she is to be called ; but 'tis doubtful if the name will ever
become familiar to playgoers, in spite of the attractive
jingle there is in it. I do not say that Betsy has yet come
to look upon Miss Lydia Languish as a rival, but I am sure
that she does not like to hear the wench's name so often on
the lips of her husband, though, like a good wife, she tries

369 24

37o A NEST OF UNNETS

to brighten up and to discuss all the points of character
which the young woman should possess. Has she a fear
that Dick will some of these days tire of the blessed retire-
ment— the sweet peace of this cottage to which she has led
him ? I know not. If he be wise he will perceive that the
world can give him no more perfect measure of happiness
than that which is his to-day ; but alas ! a man's ambition
soon passes beyond the pure tranquillity of a wife's devotion.
Alas ! alas !

A REVERIE

{WRITTEN APPARENTLY ON THE SAME DAY)

Beloved, who art ever by my side, whose gracious presence,
unseen by mortal eye, is ever, ever felt by me — dear Com-
panion, ever youthful, ever lovely, come with me into the
autumn woodland and let us converse together. See, my
dear one, the bend of the river by which we wander has
brought us within view of the wonderful tints of the
hedgerow. If the summer has died it has left the autumn
wealthy, and its treasury is a hedgerow. Here on this first
day of autumn we see scattered in profusion the yellow gold
and the mellow bronze of Nature's cunning coinage. One
might be tempted not to forsake the simile, but to anticipate
the coming of those bleak days when the spendthrift winds
— children of the autumn — rush down in riotous mirth to
disperse with prodigal fingers the wealth of the season's
store, only that the tinge of melancholy which one feels
when looking over the autumn landscape at the close of
day quickly passes in view of the charms of mingled tints
that meet the eye. The gracious warmth of green leaves
whose edges are embroidered with bronze may be found
when the hedgerow is sheltered by a sturdy ash from both

A NEST OF LINNETS 371

wind and sun. Does not the full depth of rich colour at
this place suggest June rather than October ? but where the
hedgerow bourgeons out beyond the line of straggling
leafless trees, the signs of the month are apparent. Here,
beneath the fringe of a dark cloud of russet leafage, shine
a few stars of brilliant yellow — the Pleiades of the hedgerow
— and light up the dimness with their mellow radiance.
Further down the variegated forms of the crisp foliage
become more fantastic. In requires no vivid imagination
to see here and there a thick cluster of yellow grapes,
through which the sun shines as they show themselves
among the close network of vine leaves, and for a single
moment one recalls a day spent in the South, where the
grapes overhung the dusty roadway, and a muleteer paused
to gather a splendid cluster. But quickly the vision passes,
when our eyes wander on down the leafy path of autumn
that was once the primrose path of spring; for there we
see — is it an autumn hedgerow or an ocean on a night when
the air is saturate with golden moonlight ? All before our
eyes is yellow — not a russet tinge appears among those
gracious leaf-ripples that lose themselves in the distance.
We wander along until the mellow line is broken by a forest
of bramble. The purple berries are set like jewels among
the golden leaves — the amethyst, the topaz, and here and
there an exquisite emerald appear in profusion. Have we
indeed reached the yellow strand of an ocean island where
every pebble is a precious stone ? Alas ! a few steps
onward, and we are face to face with the realities of
autumn, for here the hedgerow has been exposed to the
blast of a cold wind from the north, and we see nothing
but a tangled network of gaunt branches. Weird skeleton
fingers are stretched out at us on every side. Every leaf
save one has been swept away, and as we stand looking at
this desolate place — the visible boundary of autumn and
winter— the sere solitary leaf flutters to the ground at our feet.

372 A NEST OF UNNETS

The wind that comes from where the sun is setting in lurid
glory sends a faint whisper through the woodland. We
stand in the silence, and the touch of the spirit of autumn
is upon us. We feel that every sound of the woodland is
a sigh for its departed glories — the glories of blossom and
leafage and days that have passed away. When the autumn
winds have garnered their harvest from the boughs of the
woodland, their aftermath begins in the meadow. But, my
Beloved, neither you nor I can be altogether melancholy
among the autumn hedgerows, for, through the signs of the
year's decay, the Hope that is in us seems to break more
abundantly into bloom. We feel that death is not for all
things that made life beautiful ; Love and Faith and Truth
are not among the spoils of Time. We are lifted up and
strengthened by this reflection as we retrace our steps amid
the slowly gathering shadows of the evening.

THE END

Printed by Hasrtl, Watson, <$• Viney, Ld., London and Aylesbury.

l»essrs. fiutcftinson $ Co/$
Dew novels, Autumn 1901

By F. FRANKFORT MOORE.

A Nest of Linnets

By the Author of " The Jessamy Bride,"
"The Fatal Gift," etc.

With 16 Full-page Illustrations by J. JELLICOE.

In crown 8vot cloth gilt. 6s.

The story opens in Bath at the time when that city
was at the height of its popularity as a fashionable resort.
Most of the action of the story takes place there or in
the neighbourhood, and Mr. Moore could scarcely have
chosen a more interesting period. Such well-known
characters as Dr. Johnson, Horace Walpole, the Duchess
of Devonshire, David Garrick, Mr. Boswell, Mrs. Thrale,
the Sheridans, and the Linleys, are introduced with all
the skill and close intimacy to which Mr. Moore has
accustomed us in "The Jessamy Bride" and "The
Fatal Gift " ; but the chief interest is centred in the
beautiful Miss Linley and Dick Sheridan, whose romantic
and faithful attachment ends, after many exciting inci-
dents, in the well-known denouement. Of Mr. Moore's
trio of fascinating historical romances "A Nest of
Linnets " will undoubtedly rank as the daintiest and most
charming of all.

By RONALD MACDONALD.

God Save the King

By the Author of " The Sword of the King."

In crown 8vo, cloth. 6s.

This historical novel of the Stuart period has a fine
literary quality. The Author has already done promising
work, and he more than fulfils expectations in this new
novel.

HUTCHINSON & CO., Paternoster Row

SRessrs. RutcDinson $ Co.'s
new Dowels, Autumn 1901

By "IOTA."

Jill Drake

By the Author of " A Yellow Aster," " A Quaker

Grandmother," etc., etc.

In crown &vo, cloth gilt. 6s.

Mrs. Caffyn has taken a somewhat reckless but brilliant
Irish girl as the heroine of her new story. She knows
the Irish character well ; there is great force in her
portraiture, and apart from the Author's style, which is
distinctly her own, the story is uncommon in its plot and
unconventional in treatment.

By ALLEN RAINE.

A Welsh Witch

By the Author of " A Welsh Singer," "Torn
Sails," " Garthowen," etc.

In crown Svo, cloth gilt. 6s.

No one can write a Welsh story like " Allen Raine."
She commands the field, and there is not one of her
novels that has not been read by thousands of admirers
of her work. The new story will be even more generally
liked, for it marks a great advance in the Author's work ;
it is stronger in the delineation of character, while pos-
sessing all the charm of style which is so characteristic of
the earlier works, and it has, moreover, an uncommonly
interesting story.

HUTCHINSON & CO., Paternoster Row

fRessrs. Rutcbinson $ Co/s
new Roods, Autumn 1901

By A. W. MARCHMONT.

For Love or Crown

By the Author of " By Right of Sword,"
"A Dash for a Throne," etc.

With 8 Full-page Illustrations by
D. MURRAY SMITH.

In crown Svo, cloth gilt. 6s.

The many thousands of readers of the Author's novels,
" By Right of Sword " and " A Dash for a Throne," will
read with avidity this new stirring story. It is full of
incident, and the action never flags. The heroine is
kidnapped ; there are escapes, rescues, duels, and exciting
situations which carry the reader along in a way the
Author has made peculiarly his own, until in the end
the heroine renounces her claim to a throne to mate
with the lover who has encountered innumerable perils on
her behalf.

By E. EVERETT-GREEN.

Olivia's Experiment

By the Author of " Golden Gwendolyn,"
"The Silver Axe," etc.

In crown 8vo, cloth gilt. 6s.

Lady Charteris, who has lost both husband and
children, adopts the baby boy of a depraved woman.
The story gives the life history of this boy, who is
underbred and low in the scale of moral development.
A bright and noble girl comes largely into the story,
and there are several love-threads. The story is very
readable, and the moral excellent. It will appeal to all
those who like such writers as Rosa N. Carey, Charlotte
M. Yonge, and L. T. Meade.

HUTCHINSON & CO., Paternoster Row

Messrs* Butcblnson $ co/s
Rcio novels* Autumn 1901

By ADELINE SERGEANT.

The Marriage of Lydia
Mainwaring

By the Author of "The Idol Maker,"
" The Mistress of Quest," etc.

In crown Svo, cloth gilt. 6s.

Miss Sergeant can always be relied upon for a good
story, and her new novel will not disappoint her many
readers. It is on a level with her best work, which is
saying much.

By MARIAN FRANCIS

Where Honour Leads

In crown 8vo> cloth gilt. 6s.

This story of events during the reign of George II. has
for its chief actors a Canon of York and his motherless
daughter. It is full of incident, and the characterisation
is excellent, the heroine in particular, a noble and heroic
figure, being a fine study. There is also much charm to
be found in the thorough grasp which its Author has of
the period of which she writes. She has distinctly
realised its atmosphere and tone of thought. The story
is one of Hanoverians and Jacobites ; but it has the
novelty of concentrating the interest upon the Hanoveri-
ans and not on the Jacobites. The book is a delightful
picture of eighteenth-century life in England.

HUTCHINSON & CO., Paternoster Rov

Messrs. butcbinson $ Co/$
new Rowels, Autumn 1901

By GEORGE GRIFFITH.

Captain Ishmael

By the Author of " The Angel of the Revolution/
11 The Outlaws of the Air," etc.

With a Frontispiece and Cover design by
HAROLD PIFFARD.

In crown &vo, cloth gilt. 6s.

This Saga of the South Seas is a legitimate mixture of
fact and legendary fancy, so woven together that a most
spirited and weird story of adventure is achieved. It
quickens in action as it proceeds, until a fine climax is
reached; and all who have read the Author's previous
book, " The Angel of the Revolution," will be grateful
for such a thrilling story as he has given here. It
deals with vast treasures, naval engagements, guns of
marvellous power, volcanic isles, and other marvels
which the Author knows so well how to turn to account
in an exciting work of fiction.

By CHRIS. HEALY.

The Work of his Hands

In crown &vo, cloth gilt. 6s.

This unusually powerful story by a clever new novelist
is bound to command attention. It is altogether original,
and exceptionally well written. The principal character
is a wood-carver— a genius : he is devoted to his art, but
is unstable ; his weaknesses bring him much trouble ; he
passes through fire, but his good angel saves him. The
characters are strongly drawn, the style is vigorous, and
the story itself absorbingly interesting.

HUTCHINSON & CO., Paternoster Row

Messrs, mitcbmson $ co/s
Rew Roods, Autumn 1901

By ARABELLA KENEALY.

The Love of Richard Herrick

By the Author of " A Semi-Detached Marriage,"
" Charming Renee," etc.

In crown 8vo, cloth gilt. 6s.

There is a freshness about every new novel by Miss
Kenealy which is as welcome as it is rare in the realm
of fiction. "The Love of Richard Herrick" is a quite
original book by a very capable writer, and it is sure
of attention.

By MBS. HUGH ERASER.

Mama's Mutiny-
By the Author of "A Diplomatist's Wife in
Japan," "A Little Grey Sheep," etc.

In crown Svo, cloth gilt. 6s.

u A heroine who is charming from her first appearance
to her last ; a delightful Japanese background, delicately
painted in words, and an easy style. These three things
are so rare in combination, and so pleasant, as to make
1 Mama's Mutiny ' a most attractive book." — World.

"A charming story. The characters are capitally
drawn. We have heartily enjoyed its perusal. "-
rames's Gazette.

HUTCHINSON & CO., Paternoster Row

n?e$$r$* fiutcblnson $ Co/s
Rcu) novels* Autumn 1901

By EMILE ZOLA.

The Monomaniac

By the Author of "A Love Episode," etc.
Translated by Edward Vizetelly.

In crown Svo, cloth gilt, with Frontispiece by
N. Tenison. $s. 6d.

To the large and ever-increasing public which reads Zola
in the English translations this novel will make a special
appeal. It is one of the Author's finest works, and of
deep interest throughout. In no work has the Author
portrayed diverse characters more convincingly, or
worked out a more elaborate plot. It is a matter of
surprise that it has not hitherto been published in
England. The translation now presented has been very
carefully made by Mr. Edward Vizetelly, who is already
known as a translator of other of the Author's works.

By PERCY WHITE.

The Grip of the Bookmaker.

By the Author of " The West End," The Heart
of the Dancer," etc.

In crown Svo, cloth gilt. 6s.

»** A Second Edition immediately called for.

"All that one expects from Mr. White is to be found
in his latest book. It abounds with cynicism so delicate
and restrained as to be most unkindly telling. It gives
brilliant little peeps at a world less respectable than its
half-sister, the demi-monde, because so infinitely more
cruel and less candid." — Saturday Review.

HUTCHINSON & CO., Paternoster Row

messrs, Rutcbinson $ Co/s
Reu> Roods, Autumn 1901

By GEORGE GIBBS.

In Search of Mademoiselle

In crown 8vo, cloth gilt. 6s.
With 8 full-page Illustrations by the Author.

Sydney Killigrew, the hero of this historical romance
of the time of Elizabeth, is a young Englishman who,
being impoverished, is easily induced to serve on board
a ship which is about to take a hazardous voyage. He
soon sees same fighting : a Spanish ship is captu red, and
the Mademoiselle of the story rescued from captivity. She
and her father are Huguenots, and circumstances impel
Killigrew to join them when they sail, with other
Huguenots, for Florida. Spanish vessels follow them.
On the Huguenots landing there is a massacre. Killigrew
escapes, but Mademoiselle is left, and he is uncertain of
her fate. Another expedition sets out from France to
save the honour of the country and to avenge the massacre.
Killigrew joins this expedition, hoping to save Made-
moiselle ; and after many misfortunes and terrible fighting,
the French, being aided by the Indians, ultimately put
the Spaniards to the sword, and Killigrew and Made-
moiselle meet again, to enjoy together the wealth and
happiness for which they have waited. There is much
that is fresh in this story, for the early colonisation of
Florida has not been frequently dealt with ; but the story
makes, in addition, special claims to attention. It is
written in a simple but vigorous style, there is not a dull
page in the book, the characters are boldly drawn, and,
without being sensational, there are thrilling adventures
vividly described. It is a fine, well-constructed romance,
founded on historical facts, and a thoroughly artistic piece
of work right above the average of historical novels.

HUTCHINSON & CO., Paternoster Row

l»c$$r$< Rutcblnson $ co/s
Reu) I?omI$, Autumn 1901

^y /. F. CAUSTON.

The Comedy of a Surburban
Chapel

By the Author of "A Modern Judas."

In crown 8vo, cloth gilt. 6s.

The interest of this novel is focussed on a large and
important Wesleyan Chapel in one of the London
suburbs. The action is concerned with the doings of
members of the congregation, which is composed of
well-to-do middle-class folk. The love interest is sup-
plied by two girls who are both in love with the same
man. There is a good plot well worked out, and some
excellent delineations of character, particularly of the
Neve family— Mr. and Mrs. Neve and their seven
daughters. Mrs. Neve is a born match-maker, and
has the instinct of a general for planning attacks, the
masterly manner in which she contrives to marry off her
daughters being described in a most amusing manner.
The manoeuvring mother is not altogether a novelty ;
but the Author has made of Mrs. Neve a humorous and
original figure, and withal she is a good-natured and
likeable woman. John Blount, the wealthy man and
chief pillar of the congregation, is also an admirable
study. He is not a humbug ; his religion is real ; but
his self-importance is terrible. The Author writes with
a skilful hand, his style is good, and he is evidently
thoroughly acquainted with the subject of which he
treats. In talent, humour, and insight, this story is far
superior to the ordinary run of novels.

HUTCHINSON & CO.. Paternoster Row

n?c$$r$* Dutcbinson $ Co/$
Reu> Roods, jvutumn 1901

By LILIAN BELL.

The Expatriates

In crown &vo, cloth gilt. 6s.

The principal characters of the story are rich Americans
and titled Parisians, and the action takes place largely
in Paris. It depicts a certain class of modern Parisians,
which looks upon the rich Americans as legitimate prey,
uses them, and despises them. The writer shows up the
malice, the meanness, the greed, the utter callousness of
this class. The Author evidently writes from first-hand
knowledge, and feels keenly ; but if the work is some-
what bitter, it is undoubtedly clever, and contains a most
interesting story. There is, too, a freshness about the
characters — the heroine, Rose, being a delightful type of
the American girl.

By VIOLET TWEEDALE

Her Grace's Secret

By the Author of " The Kingdom of
Mammon," etc.

In crown &vo, cloth gilt. 6s.

This Society story is written by one who clearly knows
Society from the inside. There is a go about it that will
attract many readers. She is daring, and deals strongly
with the faults and foibles of the great world, in a style
not unlike that of " Ouida."

"Mrs. Tweedale's best novel. It is a distinct advance
in skilful construction upon " The Kingdom of Mam-
mon,'* and is a striking story, told with vigour and
intensity. The situation is remarkably clever and quite
aovd.*— World.

HUTCHINSON & CO., Paternoster Row

rnessrs, Hutchinson $ Co.'s
new novels* Autumn 1901

By JOHN OXENHAM.

Our Lady of Deliverance

By the Author of " God's Prisoner," etc.

In crown &vo, cloth gilt. 6s.

The teller of this story, Lamont, a young Scotsman
of partially French extraction, becoming enamoured of
the portrait of a beautiful girl, tracks the original, and
finds her in the hands of those who mean mischief; her
brother is in New Caledonia under charge of treason by
a man who wishes to marry her. The story concerns
itself with Lamont's successful efforts to free Denise and
her brother ; and there is a joyful ending, after exciting
scenes. Denise makes a capital heroine, and the Author
has succeeded in making his story move along quickly,
and keeping the interest alive from start to finish.

By DOUGLAS SLADEN

My Son Richard

A Romance of the River Thames

Second Large Edition.

In crown 8vo, cloth gilt. 6s.

"A delightful book ; charming pictures of river life ; an
irresistible atmosphere ; very human ; a book to enjoy a
long success." — Standard.

" Seldom have I read a book with better appreciation,
or laid one down with more regret — altogether a delight-
ful book."— Sporting Times ("The Pink 'Un").

" I have not read any book which is so deliriously
saturated with the gay spirit of the river. " — Star.

" Strikes a fresh note, and presents us with charming
visions of English youth and maidenhood on the loveliest
reaches of the Thames." — Queen.

HUTCHINSON & CO., Paternoster Row

The NOVELS of F. FRANKFORT MOORE.

In cloth gilt. 6s. each.

According to Plato
Well, After All

Second Large Edition.

The Fatal Gift

With 8 Full-page Illustrations by Saubrr.
Second Large Edition.

The Millionaires

With Illustrations by Maurice Grieffenhagen.
Eighteenth Thousand.

The Jessamy Bride

With Illustrations by A. Forestier.
Fourth Edition.

I Forbid the Banns

Fortieth Thousand.

A Gray Eye or So

Ninth Edition.

One Fair Daughter

Fourth Edition.

Phyllis of Phiiistia

Fifth Edition.

They Call it Love

Second Edition.

Daireen

Third Edition.
HUTCHINSON & CO., Paternoster Row

f^50"5Cf

'■9lo | ■ '