Skip to main content

Full text of "The tenants of Malory : a novel"

See other formats 


L  I  B  RAR.Y 

OF   THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF    1LLI  NOIS 

823 
L5l3t 

M.2 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2010  with  funding  from 

University  of  Illinois  Urbana-Champaign 


http://www.archive.org/details/tenantsofmaloryn02lefa 


THE 

TENANTS    OF    MALOEY. 

(Reprinted  from  the  "  Dublin  University  Magazine.") 


THE 


TENANTS    OF    MALOEY 


%  lofol. 


BY 

JOSEPH   SHERIDAN  LE   FANU, 


AUTHOR   OF     "  UNCLE   SILAS, '*      "  GUY   DEYERELL."      "  THE    HOUSE 
BY   THE   CHURCHYARD,"    ETC.    ETC. 


IN  THREE  VOLUMES. 
VOL.  II. 


LONDON : 

TINSLEY  BROTHERS,   18,   CATHERINE   ST.,  STRAND. 

1867. 

[The  Bight  of  Translation  in  reserved.] 


LONDON : 
BRADBCHT,    EVANS,    AND   CO..   PRINTERS,   WH1TEFRIARS. 


TO 


CONTEXTS. 


CHAP.  PAGE 

I. — IX  THE  OAK  PARLOUR— A  MEETING  AND  PARTING.  1 

II. — JUD.EUS   APELLA 12 

III.— MR.   LEVI    VISITS    MRS.   MERVYN           .            .            .       .  21 

IV. — MR.    BENJAMIN    LEVI     RECOGNISES    AN    ACQUAINT- 
ANCE        32 

V. — A    COUNCIL   OF    THREE 44 

VI.— MR.  DINGWELL   ARRIVES 56 

VII. — MR.   DINGWELL    MAKES    HIMSELF    COMFORTABLE  .       68 

VIII. — THE   LODGER   AND   HIS    LANDLADV            ...  76 

IX. — IN   WHICH     MR.    DINGWELL     PUTS     HIS     HAND    TO 

THE    POKER 87 

X. — CLEVE  VERNEY  SEES  THE  CHATEAU  DE  CRESSERON  102 

XL— SHE    COMES    AND    SPEAKS 112 

XII. — CLEVE   VERNEY    HAS    A    VISITOR          .            .            .       .  125 

XIII. — THE  REV.    ISAAC  DIXIE    SETS  FORTH  ON  A  MISSION  136 

XIV.— OVER    THE   HERRING-POND 146 


VI 


CONTENTS. 


CHAP.  PAGE 

XV.— Mi:.  CLBVE  VERNKV   PAY8   A    VI8IT    TO    ROBEMABY 

157 


.  OURT 

XVI. — IN    LORD   \t.i:m:v\s  LIBRARY   . 

XVII. — AN   OVATION 

XVIII. —  OLD   FRIENDS   ON   THE    GREEN 
XIX.  — VANE  ETIIERAGE   GREETS    LORD   VERNEY 

XX.— REBECCA  MERVYN  READS  HER  LETTER 
XXI. — BY  RAIL  TO  LONDON  .... 
XXII. — LADY   DORMINSTER's   BALL 


176 

191 
205 
222 
235 

252 
264 


THE 


\h 


TENANTS  OF  MALORY, 


CHAPTER  I. 

IN  THE  OAK  PARLOUR A  MEETING  AND  PARTING. 

"  Gossiping  place  Cardyllian  is,"  said  Miss 
Anne  Sheckleton,  after  they  had  talked  on  a 
little  in  silence.  "  V>That  nonsense  the  people  do 
talk.  I  never  heard  anything  like  it.  Did  you 
ever  hear  such  a  galamathias  ?  n 

The  young  lady  walking  by  her  side  answered 
by  a  cold  little  laugh — 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  so.  All  small  country  towns 
are,  I  believe,"  said  she. 

"  And  that  good  old  soul,  Mrs.  Jones,  she  does 
invent  the  most  absurd  gossip  about  every  body 
that  imagination  can  conceive.  Wilmot  told  me 
the  other  day  that  she  had  given  her  to  under- 
stand that  your  father  is  a  madman,  sent  down 
here  by  London  doctors  for   change  of  air.     I 


2  THE   TENANTS   OF   B1ALORY. 

make  it  a  point  never  to  mind  one  word  she  says; 
although  her  news,  I  confess,  does  amuse  me." 

"  Yes,  it  is,  very  foolish.  Who  are  those  Ethe- 
rages  ?  M  said  Margaret. 

"  Oh  !  They  are  village  people  —  oddities/' 
said  Miss  Sheckleton.  "  From  all  I  can  gather, 
you  have  no  idea  what  absurd  people  they  are." 

"  He  was  walking  with  them.  Was  not  he?" 
asked  the  young  lady. 

"  Yes — I  think  so,"  answered  her  cousin. 

Then  followed  a  long  silence,  and  the  elder 
lady  at  length  said — 

"  How  fortunate  we  have  been  in  our  weather  ; 
haven't  we  ?  How  beautiful  the  hills  look  this 
evening!"  said  the  spinster;  but  her  words  did 
not  sound  as  if  she  cared  about  the  hills  or  the 
light.  I  believe  the  two  ladies  were  each  acting 
a  part. 

"  Yes,"  said  Margaret ;  "  so  they  do." 

The  girl  felt  as  if  she  had  walked  fifty  miles 
instead  of  two — quite  worn  out — her  limbs  aching 
with  a  sense  of  fatigue  ;  it  was  a  trouble  to  hold 
her  head  up.  She  would  have  liked  to  sit  down 
on  the  old  stone  bench  they  were  passing  now, 
and  to  die  there  like  a  worn-out  prisoner  on  a 
march. 

Two  or  three  times  that  evening  as  they  sat 
unusually  silent  and  listless,  Miss  Anne  Sheckleton 


A  MEETING   AND   PARTING.  3 

peeped  over  her  spectacles,  lowering  her  work  for 
a  moment,  with  a  sad  inquiry,  into  her  face,  and 
seemed  on  the  point  of  speaking.  But  there  was 
nothing  inviting  to  talk,  in  Margaret's  face,  and 
when  she  spoke  there  was  no  reference  to  the 
subject  on  which  Miss  Sheckleton  would  have 
liked  to  speak. 

So,  at  last,  tired,  with  a  pale,  wandering  smile, 
she  kissed  the  kind  old  spinster,  and  bid  her 
good  night.  AVhen  she  reached  her  room,  how- 
ever, she  did  not  undress,  but  having  secured  her 
door,  she  sat  down  to  her  little  desk,  and  wrote  a 
letter ;  swiftly  and  resolutely  the  pen  glided  over 
the  page.  Nothing  added — nothing  erased;  each 
line  remained  as  she  penned  it  first. 

Having  placed  this  letter  in  its  envelope,  and 
addressed  it  to  "Cleve  Yerney,  Esq.,  Ware,"  she 
opened  her  window.  The  air  was  mild ;  none  of 
the  sharpness  in  it  that  usually  gives  to  nights  at 
that  time  of  year,  a  frosty  foretaste  of  winter. 
So  sitting  by  the  window,  which,  placed  in  one 
of  the  gables  of  the  old  house,  commands  a  view 
of  the  uplands  of  Cardyllian,  and  to  the  left,  of 
the  sea,  and  the  misty  mountains — she  sat  there, 
leaning  upon  her  hand. 

Here,  with  the  letter  on  her  lap,  she  sat,  pale 
as  a  meditating  suicide,  and  looking  dreamily 
over  the  landscape.     It  is,  at  times,  some  little 


4  THE  TENANTS   OF  MALORY. 

incident  of  by-play,  or  momentary  hesitation  of 
countenance,  that  gives  its  whole  character  and 
force  to  a  situation.  Before  the  retina  of  Mar- 
garet one  image  was  always  visible,  that  of  Cleve 
Yerney  as  she  saw  him  to-day,  looking  under 
Agnes  Etherage's  bonnet,  with  interest,  into  her 
eyes,  as  he  talked  and  walked  by  her  side,  on  the 
Green  of  Cardyllian. 

Of  course  there  are  false  prophecies  as  well  as 
true,  in  love ;  illusions  as  well  as  inspirations, 
and  fancied  intimations  may  mislead.  But  Mar- 
garet could  not  doubt  here.  All  the  time  she 
smiled  and  assumed  her  usual  tone  and  manner, 
there  was  an  agony  at  her  heart. 

Miss  Fanshawe  would  trust  no  one  with  her 
secret.  She  was  not  like  other  girls.  Something 
of  the  fiery  spirit  of  her  southern  descent  she  had 
inherited.  She  put  on  the  shawl  and  veil  she 
had  worn  that  day,  unbarred  the  hall-door,  and 
at  two  o'clock,  when  Cardyllian  was  locked  in  the 
deepest  slumber,  glided  through  its  empty  streets, 
to  the  little  wooden  portico,  over  which  that  day 
she  had  read  "  Post-office,"  and  placed  in  it  the 
letter  which  next  morning  made  quite  a  little 
sensation  in  the  Post-office  coterie. 

Under  the  awful  silence  and  darkness  of  the 
old  avenue,  she  reached  again  the  hall-door  of 
Malory.     She  stood  for  a  moment  upon  the  steps 


A  MEETING   AND   PABTING.  5 

looking  seaward — I  think  towards  Ware — pale  as 
a  ghost,  with  one  slender  hand  clenched,  and  a 
wild  sorrow  in  her  face.  She  cared  very  little,  I 
think,  whether  her  excursion  were  discovered  or 
not.  The  messenger  had  flown  from  her  empty 
hand ;  her  voice  could  not  recall  it,  or  delay  it 
for  an  hour  —  quite  irrevocable,  and  all  was 
over. 

She  entered  the  hall,  closed  and  barred  the 
door  again,  asceDded  to  her  room,  and  lay  awake, 
through  the  long  night,  with  her  hand  under  her 
cheek,  not  stunned,  not  dreaming,  but  in  a  frozen 
apathy,  in  which  she  saw  all  with  a  despairing 
clearness, 

Next  day  Cleve  Yerney  received  a  note,  in  a 
hand  which  he  knew  not;  but  having  read — 
could  not  mistake — a  cold,  proud  note,  with  a 
gentle  cruelty,  ending  all  between  them,  quite 
decisively,  and  not  deigning  a  reason  for  it. 

I  dare  say  that  Cleve  could  not  himself  de- 
scribe with  much  precision  the  feelings  with 
which  he  read  this  letter. 

Cleve  Yerney,  however,  could  be  as  impetuous 
and  as  rash  too,  on  occasion,  as  other  people. 
There  was  something  of  rage  in  his  soul  which 
scouted  all  consequences.  Could  temerity  be 
imagined  more  audacious  than  his  ? 

Right  across  from  Ware  to  the  jetty  of  Malory 


6  THE  TENANTS   OF   MALOEY. 

ran  Lis  yacht,  audaciously,  in  open  sea,  in  broad 
daylight.  There  is,  in  the  Dower  House,  a  long 
low  room,  wainscoted  in  black  shining  panels 
from  floor  to  ceiling,  and  which  in  old  times  was 
called  the  oak  parlour.  It  has  two  doors,  in  one 
of  its  long  sides,  the  farther  opening  near  the 
stairs,  the  other  close  to  the  hall  door. 

Up  the  avenue,  up  the  steps,  into  the  hall,  and, 
taking  chance,  into  this  room,  walked  Cleve 
Yerney,  without  encountering  interruption  or 
even  observation.  Fortuna  f civet  fortibus,  so  runs 
the  legend  in  faded  gold  letters,  under  the  dim 
portrait  of  Sir  Thomas  Verney,  in  his  armour, 
fixed  in  the  panel  of  the  hall.  So  it  had  proved 
with  his  descendant. 

Favoured  by  fortune,  without  having  met  a 
human  being,  and  directed  by  the  same  divinity 
it  would  seem,  he  had  entered  the  room  I  have 
described ;  and  at  the  other  end,  alone,  awaiting 
Miss  Sheckleton,  who  was  to  accompany  her  in  a 
little  ramble  among  the  woods,  stood  Miss  Fan- 
shawe,  dressed  for  her  walk. 

In  came  Cleve  pale  with  agitation  ;  approached 
her  quickly,  and  stopped  short,  saying — 

"Fve  come;  Fm  here  to  ask — how  could  you 
— my  God  ! — how  could  you  write  the  letter  you 
sent  this  morning  ?  " 

Mi>s  Fanshawe  was  leaning  a  little  against  the 


A   MEETING   AXD    PARTING.  7 

oak  window-frame,  and  did  not  change  this  pose, 
which  was  haughty  and  almost  sullen. 

"  Why  I  wrote  that  letter,  no  one  has  a  right 
to  ask  me,  and  I  shall  say  no  more  than  is  con- 
tained in  the  letter  itself."  She  spoke  so  coldly 
and  quietly  that  there  seemed  almost  a  sadness 
in  her  tones. 

"  I  don't  think  you  can  really  mean  it,"  said 
Cleve,  "I'm  sure  you  can't;  you  can't  possibly 
think  that  any  one  would  use  another  so,  without 
a  reason." 

"Not  without  a  reason,"  said  she. 

"But  I  say,  surely  I  have  a  right  to  hear  it/' 
urged  Cleve.  "  Is  it  fair  to  condemn  me,  as  your 
letter  does,  unheard,  and  to  punish  me,  in  igno- 
rance ?  M 

"  Not  in  ignorance ;  at  this  moment,  you  know 
the  reason  perfectly,"  replied  the  girl,  and  he  felt 
as  if  her  great  hazel  eyes  lighted  up  all  the  dark 
labyrinths  of  his  brain,  and  disclosed  every  secret 
that  lurked  there. 

Cleve  was  for  a  moment  embarrassed,  and 
averted  his  eyes.  It  was  true.  He  did  know  ;  he 
could  not  fail  to  guess  the  cause.  He  had  been 
cursing  his  ill  luck  all  the  morning,  and  wonder- 
ing what  malign  caprice  could  have  led  her,  of  all 
times  and  places,  at  that  moment,  to  the  Green 
of  Cardyllian. 


8  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

In  the  "Arabian  Nights,"  that  delightful 
volume  which  owes  nothing  to  trick  or  book- 
craft,  and  will  preserve  its  charm  undimmed 
through  all  the  mutations  of  style  and  schools, 
which,  projecting  its  images  from  the  lamp  and 
hues  of  a  dazzling  fancy,  can  no  more  be  lectured 
into  neglect  than  the  magic  lantern,  and  will 
preserve  its  popularity  while  the  faculty  of  imagi- 
nation and  the  sense  of  colour  remain,  we  all 
remember  a  parallel.  In  the  "  Sultan's  Pur- 
veyor's Story,"  where  the  beautiful  favourite  of 
Zobaide  is  about  to  make  the  bridegroom  of  her 
love  quite  happy,  and  in  the  moment  of  his  adora- 
tion, starts  up  transformed  with  a  "  lamentable 
cry,"  and  hate  and  fury  in  her  aspect,  all  about 
an  unfortunate  "  ragout  made  with  garlic,"  and 
thereupon,  with  her  own  hand  and  a  terrible 
scourge,  lashes  him,  held  down  by  slaves,  into  a 
welter  of  blood,  and  then  orders  the  executioner 
to  strike  off,  at  the  wrist,  his  offending  hand. 

"  Yes!  you  do  know,  self- convicted,  ichy  1  think 
it  better  for  both  that  we  should  part  now — 
better  that  we  should  thus  early  be  undeceived ; 
with  little  pain  and  less  reluctance,  forget  the 
precipitation  and  folly  of  an  hour,  and  go  our 
several  ways  through  life  apart.  You  are  fickle; 
you  are  selfish ;  you  are  reckless ;  you  are  quite 
unworthy   of  the  love  you  ask  for;  if  you  are 


A  MEETING   AND   PARTING.  9 

trifling  with  that  young  lady,  Miss  Etherage,  how 
cruel  and  unmanly  !  and  if  not,  by  what  right  do 
you  presume  to  stand  here  ?  " 

Could  he  ever  forget  that  beautiful  girl  as  he 
saw  her  before  him  there,  almost  terrible — her 
eves — the  strange  white  light  that  seemed  to 
flicker  on  her  forehead  —  her  attitude,  Italian 
more  than  English,  statuesque  and  wild  ? 

On  a  sudden  came  another  change,  sad  as  a 
broken-hearted  death  and  farewell — the  low  tone 
— the  fond  lingering — of  an  unspeakable  sorrow, 
and  eternal  leave-taking. 

"  In  either  case  my  resolution  is  taken.  I 
have  said  Farewell;  and  I  will  see  you  no  more 
— no  more — never." 

And  as  she  spoke,  she  left  the  room  by  the 
door  that  was  beside  her. 

It  was  a  new  sensation  for  Cleve  Yerney  to 
feel  as  he  did  at  that  moment.  A  few  steps  he 
followed  toward  the  door,  and  then  hesitated. 
Then  with  a  new  impulse,  he  did  follow  and  open 
it.  But  she  was  gone.  Even  the  sound  of  her 
step  was  lost. 

He  turned  back,  and  paused  for  a  minute 
to  collect  his  thoughts.  Of  course  this  must 
not  be.  The  idea  of  giving  her  up  so,  was  simple 
nonsense,  and  not  to  be  listened  to. 

The  door  at  which  the  young  lady  had  left  the 


10         THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

room  but  two  or  three  minutes  before,  now 
opened,  and  Miss  Sheckleton's  natty  figure  and 
kind  old  face  came  in.  Quite  aghast  she  looked 
at  him. 

"For  God's  sake,  Mr.  Verney,  why  are  you 
here?  How  can  you  be  so  rash?"  she  almost 
gasped.     "You  must  go,  instantly" 

"  How  could  you  advise  the  cruelty  and  folly 
of  that  letter?  "  he  said,  impetuously. 

"  What  letter  ?  " 

u  Oh  !  Miss  Sheckleton,  do  let  us  be  frank ; 
only  say  what  have  I  done  or  said,  or  thought, 
that  I  should  be  condemned  and  discarded  with- 
out a  hearing  ?  " 

Hereupon  Miss  Sheckleton,  still  urging  his 
departure  in  frightened  whispers,  protested  her 
innocence  of  his  meaning,  and  at  last  bethought 
her  of  persuading  him,  to  leave  the  house,  and 
meet  her  for  the  purpose  of  explaining  all,  of 
which  he  soon  perceived  she  was  honestly  igno- 
rant, in  their  accustomed  trysting-place. 

There,  accordingly,  among  the  old  trees,  they 
met,  and  discussed,  and  she  blamed  and  pitied 
him ;  and  promised,  with  such  caution  as  old 
ladies  use  in  speaking  for  the  resolves  of  the 
young  of  their  own  sex,  that  Margaret  should 
learn  the  truth  from  her,  although  she  could  not 
of  course  say  what  she  might  think  of  it,  taking 


A  MEETING  AND   PARTING.  11 

as  she  did  such  decided,  and,  sometimes,  strange 
views  of  things. 

So  they  parted  kindly.  But  Cleve's  heart  was 
disquieted  within  him,  and  his  sky  this  evening 
was  wild  and  stormy. 


CHAPTER    II. 


JUD.EL'S   APELLA. 


Ox  the  stillest  summer  day  did  you  ever  see 
nature  quite  still,  even  that  circumscribed  nature 
that  hems  you  round  with  densest  trees,  as  you 
lounge  on  your  rustic  seat,  in  lazy  contemplation, 
amid  the  shorn  grass  of  your  flower-beds,  while 
all  things  are  oppressed  and  stifled  with  heat  and 
slumber  ?  Look  attentively,  and  you  will  see  a 
little  quiver  like  a  dying  pulse,  in  the  hanging 
flower-bells,  and  a  light  faint  tremble  in  this  leaf 
and  that.  Of  nature,  which  is,  being  interpreted, 
life,  the  law  is  motion,  and  this  law  controls  the 
moral  as  well  as  the  physical  world.  Thus  it  is 
that  there  is  nowhere  any  such  thing  as  absolute 
repose,  and  everywhere  we  find  change  and 
action. 

Over  Malory,  if  anywhere,  broods  the  spirit  of 
repose.  Buried  in  deep  forest — fenced  on  one 
side  by  the  lonely  estuary — no  town  or  village 
lying   beyond   it;    sea-ward   the  little  old-world 


JUD.EUS  APELLA.  13 

road  that  passes  by  it  is  quite  forsaken  by  traffic. 
Even  the  sound  of  children's  laughter  and  prattle 
is  never  heard  there,  and  little  but  the  solemn 
caw  of  the  rooks  and  the  baying  of  the  night- 
dog.  Yet  chance  was  then  invading  that  quiet 
seclusion  with  an  unexpected  danger. 

A  gentleman  driving  that  day  to  the  "  George 
Inn"  at  Cardyllian,  from  a  distant  station  on  the 
Great  London  line,  and  having  picked  up  from 
his  driver,  a  Cardyllian  man,  all  he  could  about 
Malory,  and  an  old  Mrs.  Mervyn  who  lived  there, 
stopped  suddenly  at  the  corner  of  the  old  road, 
which,  two  miles  below  Cardyllian,  turns  off 
inland,  and  rambles  with  many  pleasant  windings 
into  the  road  that  leads  to  Penruthyn  Priory. 

This  gentleman,  whose  dress  was  in  the  cheap 
and  striking  style,  and  whose  jewellery  was  con- 
spicuous, was  high-shouldered,  with  a  very  de- 
cided curve,  though  not  exactly  a  hunch.  He 
was  small,  with  rather  long  arms.  His  hair, 
whiskers,  and  beard  were  glossy  black,  and  his 
features  Jewish.  He  switched  and  twirled  a 
black  walking-cane,  with  silver  knobs  on  it,  in  his 
hand,  and  he  had  two  or  three  rings  on  his 
fingers. 

His  luggage  had  gone  on  to  the  "  George," 
and  whenever  opportunity  occurred  along  that 
solitary   road   he   renewed    his    inquiries    about 


14        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

Malory,  with  a  slight  peculiarity  of  accent  which 
the  unsophisticated  rustics  in  that  part  of  the 
world  had  never  heard  before. 

By  this  time  it  was  evening,  and  in  the  light 
of  the  approaching  sunset,  he  might  now,  as  the 
view  of  the  sea  and  the  distant  mountains  opened, 
have  enjoyed  a  pleasure  for  which,  however,  he 
had  no  taste ;  these  evening  glows  and  tints  were 
to  him  but  imperfect  light,  and  he  looked  along 
the  solemn  and  shadowy  hills  as  he  would  have 
run  his  eye  along  the  shops  in  Cheapside — if 
with  any  interest,  simply  to  amuse  himself  with 
a  calculation  of  what  they  might  be  worth  in 
money. 

He  was  now  passing  the  pretty  church-yard  of 
Llanderris.  The  gray  head-stones  and  grass- 
grown  graves  brought  home  to  him  no  passing 
thought  of  change  and  mortality;  death  was  to 
him  an  arithmetical  formula  by  which  he  mea- 
sured annuities  and  reversions  and  policies. 
And  now  he  had  entered  the  steep  road  that 
leads  down  with  an  irregular  curve  to  Malory. 

He  looked  down  upon  the  grand  old  wood. 
He  had  a  smattering  of  the  value  of  timber,  and 
remembered  what  a  hit  Rosenthal  and  Solomons 
had  made  of  their  purchase  of  the  wood  at  East 
Milton,  when  the  railway  was  about  to  be  made 
there ;  and  what   a  nice   bit  of  money  they  had 


JUD.EUS   APELLA.  15 

made  of  their  contract  for  sleepers  and  all  sorts 
of  other  things.  Could  not  Jos.  Larkin,  or  some 
better  man,  be  found  to  get  up  a  little  branch 
line  from  Llwynan  to  Cardyllian  ?  His  large 
mouth  almost  watered  as  he  thought  of  it ;  and 
how  that  eight  or  nine  miles  of  rail  would  devour 
every  inch  of  timber  that  grew  there — not  a 
branch  would  be  lost. 

But  now  he  was  descending  toward  Malory, 
and  the  banks  at  the  right  hand  and  the  left  shut 
out  the  view.  So  he  began  to  descend  the  slope 
at  his  leisure,  looking  up  and  about  him  and 
down  at  the  worn  road  for  material  for  thought, 
for  his  mind  was  bustling  and  barren. 

The  road  is  not  four  steps  across.  It  winds 
steeply  between  high  banks.  Over  these  stoop 
and  mingle  in  the  perspective,  the  gray  stems  of 
tall  ash  trees  mantled  in  ivy,  which  here  and  there 
climbs  thickly  among  the  boughs,  and  makes  a 
darker  umbrage  among  the  foliage  of  the  trees. 
Beneath,  ascending  the  steep  banks,  grow  clumps 
of  nettles,  elder,  hazel,  and  thorn.  Only  down 
the  slope  of  the  road  can  the  passenger  see  any- 
thing of  the  country  it  traverses,  for  the  banks 
out-top  him  on  either  side.  The  rains  have 
washed  its  stones  so  bare,  wearing  a  sort  of  gulley 
in  the  centre,  as  to  give  it  the  character  in  some 
sort  of  a  forest  ravine. 


16        THE  TEXAXTS  OF  MALORY. 

The  sallow,  hatchet-faced  man,  with  prominent 
black  eves,  was  walking  up  this  steep  and  secluded 
road.  Those  sharp  eyes  of  his  were  busy.  A 
wild  bee  hummed  over  his  head,  and  he  cut  at  it 
pleasantly  with  his  stick,  but  it  was  out  of  reach, 
and  he  paused  and  eyed  its  unconscious  flight, 
with  an  ugly  smile,  as  if  he  owed  it  a  grudge  for 
having  foiled  him.  There  was  little  life  in  that 
secluded  and  dark  track.  He  spied  a  small  dome-.^ 
shaped  black  beetle  stumbling  through  the  dust 
and  pebbles,  across  it. 

The  little  man  drew  near  and  peered  at  it  with 
his  piercing  eyes  and  a  pleasant  grin.  He 
stooped.  The  point  of  his  pale  nose  was  right 
over  it.  Across  the  desert  the  beetle  was  toiling. 
His  path  was  a  right  line.  The  little  man  looked 
across  to  see  what  he  was  aiming  at,  or  where 
was  his  home.  There  was  nothing  particular 
that  he  could  perceive  in  the  grass  and  weeds  at 
the  point  witherward  he  was  tending  in  a  right 
line.  The  beetle  sprawled  and  stumbled  over  a 
little  bead  of  clay,  recovered  his  feet  and  his  direc- 
tion, and  plodded  on  in  a  straight  line.  The 
little  man  put  his  stick,  point  downward,  be- 
fore him.  The  beetle  rounded  it  carefully,  and 
plodded  on  inflexibly  in  the  same  direction.  Then 
he  of  the  black  eyes  and  long  nose  knocked  him 
gently  in  the  face,  and  again  and  again,  jerking 


JUD.EUS   APELLA.  17 

him  this  way  or  that.  Still,  like  a  prize-fighter 
he  rallied  between  the  rounds,  and  drove  righw  on 
in  his  old  line.  Then  the  little  man  gave  him  a 
sharper  knock,  which  sent  him  a  coup^  of  feet 
away,  on  his  back;  right  and  left  sprawled  and 
groped  the  short  legs  of  the  beetle,  but  alas  ! 
in  vain.  He  could  not  right  himself.  He 
tried  to  lurch  himself  over,  but  in  vain.  Now 
and  then  came  a  frantic  gallop  with  his 
little  feet;  it  was  beating  the  air.  This  was 
pleasant  to  the  man  with  the  piercing  eyes,  who 
stooped  over,  smiling  with  his  wide  mouth,  and 
showing  his  white  fangs.  I  wonder  what  the 
beetle  thought  of  his  luck — what  he  thought  of  it 
all.  The  paroxysms  of  hope,  when  his  feet  worked 
so  hard,  grew  shorter.  The  intervals  of  despair 
and  inaction  grew  longer.  The  beetle  was  making 
up  his  mind  that  he  must  lie  on  his  back  and 
die  slowly,  or  be  crushed  under  a  hoof,  or  picked 
up  and  swallowed  by  a  wandering  farm-yard  fowl. 
Though  it  was  pleasant  to  witness  his  despair, 
the  man  with  the  prominent  eyes  tired  of  the 
sight,  he  gave  him  a  poke  under  the  back,  and 
tumbled  him  up  again  on  his  feet,  and  watched 
him.  The  beetle  seemed  a  little  bothered  for  a 
while,  and  would  have  shaken  himself  I'm  sure  if 
he  could.  But  he  soon  came  to  himself,  turned 
in  his  old  direction,  and,  as  it  seemed  to   the 

VOL.  II.  c 


IS        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

observer,  marched  stumbling  on  with  indomitable 
perseverance  toward  the  selfsame  point.  I  know 
nothing  of  beetle  habits.  I  can  make  no  guess 
why  he  sought  that  particular  spot.  Was  it 
merely  a  favourite  haunt,  or  were  there  a  little 
beetle  brood,  and  a  wife  awaiting  him  there  ?  A 
strong  instinct  of  some  sort  urged  him,  and  a 
most  heroic  perseverance. 

And  now  I  suppose  he  thought  his  troubles 
over,  and  that  his  journey  was  about  surely  to  1  ! 
accomplished.  Alas  !  it  will  never  be  accom- 
plished. There  is  an  influence  near  which  you 
suspect  not.  The  distance  is  lessening,  the  green 
grass,  and  dock  leaves,  and  mallows,  very  near. 
Alas  !  there  is  no  sympathy  with  your  instinct, 
with  the  purpose  of  your  life,  with  your  labours 
and  hopes.  An  inverted  sympathy  is  there;  a 
sympathy  with  the  difficulty — with  "the  Adver- 
sary"— with  death.  The  little  man  with  the 
sharp  black  eyes  brought  the  point  of  his  stick 
near  the  beetle's  back,  having  seen  enough  of  his 
pilgrimage,  and  squelched  him. 

The  pleasure  of  malice  is  curious.  There  are 
people  who  flavour  their  meals  with  their  revenges, 
whose  future  is  made  interesting  by  the  hope  that 
this  or  that  person  may  come  under  their  heel. 
Which  is  pleasantest,  building  castles  in  the  air 
for  ourselves,  or  dungeons  in  pandemonium   for 


JUTLEUS   APELLA.  19 

our  enemies  ?  It  is  well  for  one  half  of  the 
human  race  that  the  other  has  not  the  disposal  of 
them.  More  rare,  more  grotesque,  more  exqui- 
sitely fiendish,  is  that  sport  with  the  mysteries  of 
agony,  that  lust  of  torture,  that  constitute  the 
desire  and  fruition  of  some  monstrous  souls. 

Now,  having  ended  that  beetle's  brief  life  in 
eternal  darkness,  and  reduced  all  his  thoughts 
and  yearnings  to  cypher,  and  dissolved  his  perse- 
vering and  resolute  little  character,  never  to  be 
recombined,  this  young  gentleman  looked  up 
among  the  yellow  leaves  in  which  the  birds  were 
chirping  their  evening  gossip,  and  treated  them 
to  a  capital  imitation  of  a  wild  cat,  followed  by  a 
still  happier  one  of  a  screech-owl,  which  set  all 
the  sparrows  in  the  ivy  round  twittering  in 
panic;  and  having  sufficiently  amused  himself, 
the  sun  being  now  near  the  horizon,  he  bethought 
him  of  his  mission  to  Malory.  So  on  he  marched 
whistling  an  air  from  an  opera,  which,  I  am  bound 
to  admit,  he  did  with  the  brilliancy  and  precision 
of  a  little  flageolet,  in  so  much  that  it  amounted  to 
quite  a  curiously  pretty  accomplishment,  and  you 
would  have  wondered  how  a  gentleman  with 
so  unmistakeable  a  vein  of  the  miscreant  in 
him,  could  make  such  sweet  and  bird-like 
music. 

A  little  boy  riding  a  tired  donkey  into  Cardyl- 


20  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY.. 

lian,  pointed  out  to  him  the  gate  of  the  old  place, 
and  with  a  jaunty  step,  twirling  his  cane,  and 
whistling  as  he  went,  he  reached  the  open  space 
before  the  door  steps. 

The  surly  servant  who  happened  to  see  him  as 
he  hesitated  and  gaped  at  the  windows,  came 
forth,  and  challenged  him  with  tones  and  looks 
the  reverse  of  hospitable. 

"  Oh  !  Mrs.  Mervyn  ?  "  said  he  ;  "  well,  she 
doesn't  live  here.  Get  ye  round  that  corner 
there,  and  you'll  see  the  steward's  house  with  a 
hatch-door  to  it,  and  you  may  ring  the  bell,  and 
leave,  d'ye  mind,  by  the  back  way.  You  can 
follow  the  road  by  the  rear  o'  the  house." 

So  saying,  he  warned  him  off  peremptorily  with 
a  flunkey's  contempt  for  a  mock  gentleman,  and 
the  sallow  man  with  the  black  eyes  and  beard, 
not  at  all  put  out  by  that  slight  treatment,  for  he 
had  seen  all  sorts  of  adventures,  and  had  learned 
unaffectedly  to  despise  contempt,  walked  listlessly 
round  the  corner  of  the  old  house,  with  a  some- 
what knock-kneed  and  ungainly  stride,  on  which 
our  bandy  friend  sneered  gruffly. 


CHAPTER  III. 

MR.    LEVI    VISITS    MRS.    MERVYN. 

And  now  the  stranger  stood  before  the  stew- 
ard's house,  which  is  an  old  stone  building,  just 
three  stories  high,  with  but  few  rooms,  and  heavy 
stone  shafts  to  the  windows,  with  little  diamond 
lattices  in  them,  all  stained  and  gray  with  age — 
antiquaries  assign  it  to  the  period  of  Henry  VII. 
— and  when  the  Jewish  gentleman,  his  wide, 
loose  mouth  smiling  in  solitary  expectation, 
slapped  and  rattled  his  cane  upon  the  planks  of 
the  hatch,  as  people  in  old  times  called  "  house  ! " 
to  summon  the  servants,  he  was  violating  the 
monastic  silence  of  a  building  as  old  as  the  by- 
gone friars,  -with  their  matin  bells  and  solemn 
chants. 

A  little  "Welsh  girl  looked  over  the  clumsy 
banister,  and  ran  up  with  his  message  to  Mrs. 
Mervyn. 

"Will  you  please  come  up  stairs,  sir,  to  the 
drawing-room  ?"  asked  the  child. 


22        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

He  -was  amused  at  the  notion  of  a  "  drawing- 
room"  in  such  a  place,  and  with  a  lazy  sneer 
climbed  the  stairs  after  her. 

This  drawing-room  was  very  dark  at  this  hour, 
except  for  the  patch  of  red  light  that  came 
through  the  lattice  and  rested  on  the  old  cup- 
board opposite,  on  wrhich  stood,  shelf  above  shelf, 
a  grove  of  coloured  delf  candlesticks,  tea-cups, 
jugs,  men,  women,  tea-pots,  and  beasts,  all  in  an 
old-world  style,  a  decoration  which  prevails  in 
humble  "Welsh  chambers,  and  which  here  was  a 
property  of  the  house,  forgotten,  I  presume,  by 
the  great  house  of  Verney,  and  transmitted  from 
tenant  to  tenant,  with  the  lumbering  furniture. 

The  flighty  old  lady,  Mrs.  Mervyn  of  the  large 
eyes,  received  him  with  an  old-fashioned  polite- 
ness and  formality  which  did  not  in  the  least 
embarrass  her  visitor,  who  sate  himself  down, 
smiling  his  moist,  lazy  smile,  with  his  knees 
protruded  under  the  table,  on  which  his  elbows 
rested,  and  with  his  heels  on  the  rung  of  his 
chair,  while  his  hat  and  cane  lay  in  the  sunlight 
beside  him. 

"The  maid,  I  think,  forgot  to  mention  your 
name,  sir?"  said  the  old  lady  gently,  but  in  a 
tone  of  inquiry. 

"  Very  like,  ma'am — very  like,  indeed — because, 
I  think,  I  forgot  to  mention  my  name  to  her," 


ME.  LEVI   VISITS   1CR&  MERVYN.  23 

he  drawled  pleasantly.  "  I've  taken  a  deal  of 
trouble — I  have — to  find  you  out,  ma'am,  and 
two  hundred  and  forty-five  miles  here,  ma'am, 
and  the  same  back  again — a  journey  of  four 
hundred  and  ninety  miles — is  not  just  nothing. 
I'm  glad  to  see  you,  ma'am — happy  to  find  you  in 
your  drawing-room,  ma'am — hope  you  find  your- 
self as  well,  ma'am,  as  your  numerous  friends 
could  wish  you.  My  name,  ma'am,  is  Levi, 
being  junior  governor  of  the  firm  of  Goldshed 
and  Levi,  well  known  on  'Change,  ma'am,  and 
justly  appreciated  by  a  large  circle  of  friends,  as 
you  may  read  upon  this  card." 

The  card  which  he  tendered  did  not,  it  must 
be  allowed,  speak  of  these  admiring  friends,  but 
simply  announced  that  u  Goldshed  and  Levi" 
were  "  Stockbrokers/'  pursuing  their  calling  at 
"  Offices — 10,  Scroop  Street,  Gimmel  Lane/'  in 
the  City.  And  having  held  this  card  before  her 
eyes  for  a  sufficient  time,  he  put  it  into  his  pocket. 

"You  see,  ma'am,  I've  come  all  this  way  for 
our  house,  to  ask  you  whether  you  would  like  to 
hear  some  news  of  your  governor,  ma'am  V 

"  Of  whom,  sir  ? M  inquired  the  tall  old  lady, 
who  had  remained  standing  all  this  time,  as  she 
had  received  him,  and  was  now  looking  at  him 
with  eyes,  not  of  suspicion,  but  of  undisguised 
fear. 


24  THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

u  Of  your  husband,  ma'am,  I  mean,"  drawled 
he,  eyeing  her  with  his  cunning  smile. 

"  You  don't  mean,   sir "   said  she  faintly, 

and  thereupon  she  was  seized  with  a  trembling, 
and  sat  down," and  her  very  lips  turned  white,  and 
Mr.  Levi  began  to  think  "  the  old  girl  was  look- 
ing uncommon  queerish,"  and  did  not  like  the 
idea  of  "  its  happening,"  under  these  circum- 
stances. 

"  There,  ma'am — don't  take  on  !  "Where's  the 
water  ?  Da-a-a-mn  the  drop  ! "  he  exclaimed, 
turning  up  mugs  and  jugs  in  a  flurry.  "  I  say 
— Mary  Anne — Jane  —  chick-a-biddy  —  girl — be 
alive  there,  will  ye  ?  "  howled  the  visitor  over  the 
banister.  "  Water,  can't  ye  ?  Old  woman's 
sick ! " 

"Better  now,  sir — better — just  open  that — a 
little  air,  please,"  the  old  lady  whispered. 

With  some  hurried  fumbling  he  succeeded  in 
getting  the  lattice  open. 

"  "Water,  will  you  ?  What  a  time  you're  about 
it,  little  beast!"  he  bawled  in  the  face  of  the 
child. 

"Much  better,  thanks — very  much  better," 
whispered,  the  old  lady. 

"  Of  course,  you're  better,  ma'am.  Here  it  is 
at  la-a-ast.  Have  some  water,  ma'am  ?  Do. 
Give  her  the  water,  you  little  fool." 


MR.  LEVI   VISITS   MRS.  MERVYN.  25 

She  sipped  a  little. 

"  Coming  round — all  right,"  he  said  tenderly. 
"  What  cattle  them  old  women  are  !  drat  them." 
A  little  pause  followed. 

"A  deal  better  now,  ma'am?" 

"  I'm  startled,  sir."  stea 

"Of  course  you're  startled,  ma'am." 

"  And  faint." 

"Why  not,  ma'am?" 

Mrs.  Rebecca  Mervyn  breathed  three  or  four 
great  sighs,  and  began  to  look  again  like  a  living 
woman. 

"  Now  she  looks  quite  nice,"  (he  pronounced  it 
ni-i-ishe)  doesn't  she?  You  may  make  tracksh, 
young  woman;  go,  will  you?" 

"  I  feel  so  much  better,"  said  the  old  lady 
when  they  were  alone,  "  pray  go  on." 

"You  do — quite — ever  so  much  better.  Shall 
I  go  on?" 

"  Pray  do,  sir." 

"Well  now,  see,  if  I  do,  there  must  be  no 
more  of  that,  old  lady.  If  you  can't  talk  of  the 
governor,  we'll  just  let  him  alone,"  said  Levi, 
sturdily. 

"  For  God's  sake,  sir,  if  you  mean  my  husband, 
tell  me  all  you  know." 

"  All  aint  a  great  deal,  ma'am  j  but  a  cove  has 
turned  up  who  knew  him  well." 


26        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

"  Some  one  who  knew  him?" 

"  Just  so,  ma'am."  He  balanced  whether  he 
should  tell  her  that  he  was  dead  or  not,  but 
decided  that  it  would  be  more  convenient,  though 
less  tragic,  to  avoid  getting  up  a  new  scene  like 
the  other,  so  he  modified  his  narrative.  "  He's 
turned  up,  ma'am,  and  knew  him  very  intimate  ; 
and  has  got  a  meogny"  (he  so  pronounced  ma- 
hogany) M  desk  of  his,  gave  in  charge  to  him, 
since  he  could  not  come  home  at  present,  con- 
taining a  law  paper,  ma'am,  making  over  to  his 
son  and  yours  some  property  in  England." 

"Then,  he  is  not  coming?''  said  she. 

"Not  as  I  knowzh,  ma'am." 

"  He  has  been  a  long  time  away,"  she  con- 
tinued. 

"  So  I'm  informed,  ma'am,"  he  observed. 

"I'll  tell  you  how  it  was,  and  when  he  went 
away." 

"Thank  ye,  ma'am,"  he  interposed.  I've 
heard — melancholy  case,  ma'am;  got  seven  pen- 
n'orth, didn't  he,  and  never  turned  up  again?" 

"  Seven  what,  sir?  " 

"  Seven  years,  ma'am  ;  seven  penn'orth  we  call 
it,  ma'am,  familiar  like." 

"  I  don't  understand  you,  sir — I  don't  know 
what  it  means;  I  saw  him  sail  away.  It  went 
off,  off,  off." 


MR.  LEVI    VISITS   MRS.  MERVYX.  27 

"  I'll  bet  a  pound  it  did,  rua'ain,"  said  Mr. 
Levi. 

"  Only  to  be  for  a  very  short  time  ;  the  sail — I 
could  see  it  very  far — how  pretty  they  look  on 
the  sea ;  but  very  lonely,  I  think — too  lonely." 

"A  touch  of  solitary,  ma'am,"  acquiesced 
Levi. 

"  Away,  in  the  yacht,"  she  dreamed  on. 

**  The  royal  yacht,  ma'am,  no  doubt." 

"  The  yacht,  we  called  it.  He  said  he  would 
return  next  day;  and  it  went  round  Pendillion 
— round  the  headland  of  Pendillion,  I  lost  it, 
and  it  never  came  again ;  but  I  think  it  will,  sir 
— don't  you?  I'm  sure  it  will — he  was  so  con- 
fident ;  only  smiled  and  nodded,  and  he  said, 
'No,  I  won't  say  good-bye.'  He  would  not  have 
said  that  if  he  did  not  mean  to  return — he  could 
not  so  deceive  a  lonely  poor  thing  like  me,  that 
adored  him." 

"No,  he  couldn't  ma'am,  not  he;  no  man 
could.  Betray  the  girl  that  adored  him  ! 
Ba-a-ah !  impossible,"  replied  Mr.  Levi,  and 
shook  his  glossy  ringlets  sleepily,  and  dropped 
his  eyelids,  smiling.  This  old  girl  amused  him, 
her  romance  was  such  a  joke.  But  the  light  was 
perceptibly  growing  more  dusky,  and  business 
must  not  wait  upon  fun,  so  Mr.  Levi  said — 

"  He'sh  no  chicken  by  this  time,  ma'am — your 


28        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

son,  ma'am ;  I'm  told  lie'sh  twenty-sheven  yearsh 
old  —  thatsh  no  chicken  —  twenty-sheven  next 
birth-day." 

"  Do  you  know  anything  of  him,  sir  ?  Oh,  no, 
he  doesn't,"  she  said,  looking  dreamily  with  her 
great  sad  eyes  upon  him. 

"  Jest  you  tell  me,  ma'am,  where  was  he 
baptised,  and  by  what  name  ?  "  said  her  visitor. 

A  look  of  doubt  and  fear  came  slowly  and 
wildly  into  her  face  as  she  looked  at  him. 

"  AYho  is  he — I've  been  speaking  to  you,  sir  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  yesh,  mo-o-st  beautiful,  you  'av,  ma'am," 
answered  he ;  "  and  I  am  your  son's  best  friend 
— and  yours,  ma'am;  only  you  tell  me  where  to 
find  him,  and  he'sh  a  made  man,  for  all  his 
dayzh." 

"  Where  has  he  come  from? — a  stranger,"  she 
murmured. 

"  I  told  you,  ma'am." 

"  I  don't  know  you,  sir;  I  don't  know  your 
name/'  she  dreamed  on. 

"  Benjamin  Levi.  I'll  spell  it  for  you,  if  you 
like,"  he  answered,  beginning  to  grow  testy.  "  I 
told  you  my  name,  and  showed  you  my  ca-a-ard. 
Bah  !  it  ravels  at  one  end,  as  fast  as  it  knits  at 
the  other." 

And  again  he  held  the  card  of  the  firm  of  Gold- 
shed  and  Levi,  with  his  elbows  on  the  table,  between 


MR.  LEVI   VISITS   MRS.  MERVYX.  29 

the  fingers  of  his  right  and  left  hand,  bowed  out 
like  an  old-fashioned  shopboard,  and  looking  as 
if  it  would  spring  out  elastically  into  her  face. 

"  There,  ma'am,  that'sh  the  ticket ! "  said  he, 
eyeing  her  over  it. 

"Once,  sir,  I  spoke  of  business  to  a  stranger, 
and  I  was  always  sorry;  I  did  mischief,"  said  the 
old  woman,  with  a  vague  remorsefulness. 

"I'm  no  stranger,  ma'am,  begging  your  par- 
don," he  replied,  insolently;  "you  don't  half 
know  what  you're  saying,  I  do  think.  Goldshed 
and  Levi — not  know  us  ;  sich  precious  rot,  I 
never  /" 

"  I  did  mischief,  sir." 

u  I  only  want  to  know  where  to  find  your  son, 
ma'am,  if  you  know,  and  if  you  won't  tell,  you 
ruin  that  poor  young  man.  It  aint  a  pound  to 
me,  but  it'sh  a  deal  to  him,"  answered  the  good- 
natured  Mr.  Levi. 

"I'm  very  sorry,  sir,  but  I  once  did  mischief 
by  speaking  to  a  gentleman  whom  I  didn't  know. 
Lady  Verney  made  me  promise,  and  I'm  sure  she 
was  right,  never  to  speak  about  business  without 
first  consulting  some  member  of  her  family.  I 
don't  understand  business — never  did,"  pleaded 
she. 

"  Well,  here's  a  go  !  not  understaan'  ?  Why, 
there's  nothing  to  understaan'.     It  isn't  business. 


30        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

S-o-n,"  he  spelt  "son.  H-u-s-b-a-n-d — uzbaan' 
that  aint  business  —  da-a-m  me  !  Where's  the 
business  ?     Ba-ah !  " 

"  Sir/'  said  the  old  lady,  drawing  herself  up, 
"  I've  answered  you.  It  was  about  my  husband 
— God  help  me — I  spoke  before,  and  did  mischief 
without  knowing  it.  I  won't  speak  of  him  to 
strangers,  except  as  Lady  Verney  advises — to  any 
stranger — especially  to  you,  sir." 

There  was  a  sound  of  steps  outside,  which,  per- 
haps, modified  the  answer  of  Mr.  Levi.  He  was 
very  much  chagrined,  and  his  great  black  eyes 
looked  very  wickedly  upon  her  helpless  face. 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  as  you  please,  ma'am.  It  isn't 
the  turn  of  a  shilling  to  me,  but  you  ru-in  the 
poo-or  young  man,  your  son,  for  da-a-am  me,  if  I 
touch  his  bushinesh  again,  if  it  falls  through  now  ; 
mind  you  that.  So,  having  ruined  your  own  flesh 
and  blood,  you  tell  me  to  go  as  I  came.  It's  nau- 
thing  to  me — mind  that — but  ru-in  to  him  ; 
here's  my  hat  and  stick — I'm  going,  only  just  I'll 
give  you  one  chance  more  for  that  poor  young 
man,  just  a  minute  to  think  again."  He  had 
stood  up,  with  his  hat  and  cane  in  his  hand. 
"Just  one  chance — you'll  be  sending  for  me 
again,  and  I  won't  come.  No — no — never,  da-a-am 
me!" 

"  Good  evening,  sir,"  said  the  lady. 


MR.  LEVI   VISITS   MRS.  MERVYX.  31 

Mr.  Levi  bit  his  thumb-nail. 

"  You  don't  know  what  you're  a-doing,  ma'am," 
said  he,  trying  once  more. 

"  I  can't,  sir — I  can't?  she  said,  distractedly. 

H  Come,  think — I'm  going — going ;  just  think 
— what  do  you  shay  ?  " 

He  waited. 

"  I  won't  speak,  sir." 

"  You  won't  ?  " 

"  No,  sir." 

He  lingered  for  a  moment,  and  the  red  sunlight 
showed  like  a  flush  of  anger  on  his  sallow  face. 
Then,  with  an  insolent  laugh,  he  turned,  sticking 
his  hat  on  his  head,  and  walked  down  the  stairs, 
singing. 

Outside  the  hatch,  he  paused  for  a  second. 

"  I'll  get  it  all  another  way,"  he  thought. 
"Round  here,"  he  said,  "wasn't  it— the  back 
way.  Good  evening,  you  stupid  old  crazy  cat," 
and  he  saluted  the  windows  of  the  steward's  house 
with  a  vicious  twitch  of  his  cane. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

MR.  BENJAMIN  LEVI  RECOGNISES  AN 
ACQUAINTANCE. 

Mr.  Benjamin  Levi,  having  turned  the  corner 
of  the  steward's  house,  found  himself  before  two 
great  piers,  passing  through  the  gate  of  which  he 
entered  the  stable-yard,  at  the  further  side  of 
which  was  a  second  gate,  which  he  rightly  conjec- 
tured would  give  him  access  to  that  back  avenue 
through  which  he  meant  to  make  his  exit. 

He  glanced  round  this  great  quadrangle,  one 
end  of  which  was  over-looked  by  the  rear  of  the 
old  house,  and  that  quaint  old  refectory  with  its 
clumsy  flight  of  stone  steps,  from  the  windows 
of  which  our  friend  Sedley  had  observed  the 
ladies  of  Malory  while  engaged  in  their  garden 
work. 

There  was  grass  growing  between  the  paving 
stones,  and  moss  upon  the  walls,  and  the  stable 
doors  were   decaying   upon   their   rusty   hinges. 


MR.  LEVI   RECOGNISES   AN   ACQUAINTANCE.     33 

Commenting,  as  so  practical  a  genius  naturally 
would,  upon  the  surrounding  capabilities  and 
decay,  Mr.  Levi  had  nearly  traversed  this  solitude 
when  he  heard  some  one  call,  "Thomas  Jones  !  M 
twice  or  thrice,  and  the  tones  of  the  voice  arrested 
him  instantly. 

He  was  a  man  with  a  turn  for  musical  busi- 
ness, and  not  only  dabbled  in  concerts  and  little 
operatic  speculations,  but,  having  a  naturally 
musical  ear,  had  a  retentive  memory  for  voices — 
and  this  blind  man's  faculty  stood  him  in  stead 
here,  for,  with  a  malicious  thrill  of  wonder  and 
delight,  he  instantly  recognised  this  voice. 

The  door  of  that  smaller  yard  which  is  next  the 
house  opened  now,  and  Sir  Booth  Fanshawe 
entered,  bawling  with  increased  impatience — 
"  Thomas  Jones  !  " 

Sir  Booth's  eye  lighted  on  the  figure  of  Mr. 
Levi,  as  he  stood  close  by  the  wall  at  the  other 
side,  hoping  to  escape  observation. 

^Yith  the  same  instinct  Sir  Booth  stepped  back- 
ward hastily  into  an  open  stable  door,  and  Mr. 
Levi  skipped  into  another  door,  within  which  un- 
fortunately, a  chained  dog,  Neptune,  was  dozing. 

The  dog  flew  the  length  of  his  tether  at  Mr. 
Levi's  legs,  and  the  Jewish  gentleman  sprang 
forth  more  hastily  even  than  he  had  entered. 

At  the  same  moment,  Sir  Booth's  pride  deter- 

VOL.   II.  D 


34         THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

mined  his  vacillation,  and  he  strode  boldly  forward 
and  said — 

"  I  think  I  know  you,  sir  ;  don't  I  ?  " 

As  there  was  still  some  little  distance  between 
them,  Mr.  Levi  affected  near-sightedness,  and, 
compressing  his  eyelids,  smiled  dubiously,  and 
said — 

"Kayther  think  not,  sir.  No,  sir — I'm  a 
stranger ;  my  name  is  Levi — of  Goldshed  and  Levi 
— and  I've  been  to  see  Mrs.  Mervyn,  who  lives 
here,  about  her  young  man.  I  don't  know  you, 
sir — no — it  is  a  mishtake." 

"No,  Mr.  Levi — you  do  know  me — you  do,"  re- 
plied Sir  Booth,  with  a  grim  oath,  approaching, 
while  his  fingers  clutched  at  his  walking-stick  with 
an  uneasy  gripe,  as  if  he  would  have  liked  to 
exercise  it  upon  the  shoulders  of  the  Israelite. 

"  Oh  !  crikey  !  Ay,  to  be  sure — why,  it's  Sir 
Booth  Fanshawe  !  I  beg  pardon,  Sir  Booth.  We 
thought  you  was  in  France ;  but  no  matter,  Sir 
Booth  Fanshawe,  none  in  the  world,  for  all  that 
little  bushiness  is  blow'd  over,  quite.  We  have  no 
interest — no  more  than  your  horse — in  them 
little  securities,  upon  my  shoul;  we  sold  them  two 
months  ago  to  Sholomons ;  we  were  glad  to  sell 
them  to  Sholomons,  we  were;  he  hit  us  pretty 
hard  with  some  of  Wilbraham  and  Cumming's 
paper,  and  I  don't  care  if  he  never  sees  a  shilling 


MR.  LEVI  RECOGNISES  AN  ACQUAINTANCE.  35 

of  it — we  would  rayther  like  it."     And  Air.  Levi 
again  made  oath  to  that  confession  of  feeling. 

"Will  you  come  into  the  house  and  have  a 
glass  of  sherry  or  something  ?  "  said  Sir  Booth, 
on  reflection. 

"  Well,  I  don't  mind,"  said  Mr.  Levi. 

And  in  he  went  and  had  a  glass  of  sherry  and  a 
biscuit,  and  grew  friendly  and  confidential. 

"Don't  you  be  running  up  to  town,  Sir  Booth 
— Sholomons  is  looking  for  you.  Clever  man, 
Sholomons,  and  you  should  get  quietly  out  of  this 
country  as  soon  as  you  conveniently  can.  He 
thinks  you're  in  France  now.  He  sent  Rogers — 
you  know  Rogers?" 

He  paused  so  long  here  that  Sir  Booth  had  to 
answer  "No." 

"Well,  he  sent  him — a  good  man,  Rogers,  you 
know,  but  drinks  a  bit — after  you  to  Vichy,  ha, 
ha,  ha !  Crikey  !  it  v:as  rich.  Sholomons  be 
blowed  !  It  was  worth  a  pound  to  see  his  face — 
ugly  fellow.     You  know  Sholomons  ?  " 

And  so  Mr.  Levi  entertained  his  host,  who 
neither  loved  nor  trusted  him,  and  at  his  depar- 
ture gave  him  all  sorts  of  friendly  warnings  and 
sly  hints,  and  walked  and  ran  partly  to  the 
"  George,"  and  got  a  two-horse  vehicle  as  quickly 
as  they  could  harness  the  horses,  and  drove  at 
great  speed  to  Llywnan,  where  he  telegraphed  to 

d  2 


36        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

his  partner  to  send  a  writ  down  by  the  next  train 
for  Sir  Booth,  the  message  being  from  Benjamin 
Levi,  George  Inn,  Cardyllian,  to  Goldshed  and 
Levi,  &c,  &c,  London. 

Mr.  Levi  took  his  ease  in  his  inn,  sipped  a  good 
deal  of  brandy  and  water,  and  smoked  many 
cigars,  with  a  serene  mind  and  pleasant  anticipa- 
tions, for,  if  nothing  went  wrong,  the  telegram 
would  be  in  his  partner's  hand  in  ample  time  to 
enable  him,  with  his  accustomed  diligence,  to  send 
down  a  "  beak  "  with  the  necessary  documents  by 
the  night  train  who  would  reach  Cardyllian  early, 
and  pay  his  little  visit  at  Malory  by  nine  o'clock 
in  the  morning. 

Mr.  Levi,  as  prosperous  gentlemen  will,  felt  his 
solitude,  though  luxurious,  too  dull  for  the  effer- 
vescence of  his  spirits,  and  having  questioned  his 
host  as  to  the  amusements  of  Cardyllian,  found 
that  its  normal  resources  of  that  nature  were  con- 
fined to  the  billiard  and  reading  rooms,  where,  on 
payment  of  a  trifling  benefaction  to  the  institu- 
tion, he  enjoyed,  as  a  "visitor,"  the  exhilarating 
privileges  of  a  member  of  the  club. 

In  the  billiard-room,  accordingly,  that  night, 
was  the  fragrance  of  Mr.  Levi's  cheroot  agreeably 
perceptible,  the  sonorous  drawl  of  his  peculiar 
accent  vocal  amongst  pleasanter  intonations,  and 
his  "cuts,"  "double  doubles," and  "long  crosses,'' 


MR.  LEVI   RECOGNISES   AX  ACQUAINTANCE.     37 

painfully  admired  by  the  gentlemen  whose 
shillings  he  pocketed  at  pool.  And  it  was  plea- 
sant to  his  exquisitively  commercial  genius  to 
think  that  the  contributions  of  the  gentlemen  to 
whom  he  had  "  given  a  lesson,"  and  whose  "  eyes 
he  had  opened,"  would  constitute  a  fund  sufficient 
to  pay  his  expenses  at  the  "  George,"  and  even 
to  leave  something  towards  his  return  fare  to 
London. 

The  invalid  who  was  suffering  from  asthma  in 
the  bedroom  next  his  was  disturbed  by  his  ejacu- 
lations as  he  undressed,  and  by  his  repeated 
bursts  of  laughter,  and  rang  his  bell  and  implored 
the  servant  to  beg  of  the  two  gentlemen  who 
were  conversing  in  the  next  room  to  make  a 
little  less  noise,  in  consideration  of  his  indisposi- 
tion. 

The  manner  in  which  he  had  "potted"  the 
gentlemen  in  the  billiard-room,  right  and  left, 
and  the  uncomfortable  admiration  of  his  successes 
exhibited  in  their  innocent  countenances,  had,  no 
doubt,  something  to  do  with  these  explosions  of 
merriment.  But  the  chief  source  of  his  amuse- 
ment was  the  anticipated  surprise  of  Sir  Booth, 
when  the  little  domiciliary  visit  of  the  next  morn- 
ing should  take  place,  and  the  recollection  of  his 
own  adroitness  in  mystifying  the  Baronet. 

So  he  fell  into  a  sweet  slumber,  uncrossed  by 


38        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

even  an  ominous  dream,  not  knowing  that  the 
shrewd  old  bird  for  whom  his  chaff  was  spread 
and  his  pot  simmering  had  already  flown  with  the 
scream  of  the  whistle  on  the  wings  of  the  night 
train  to  Chester,  and  from  that  centre  to  an  un- 
known nook,  whence,  in  a  day  or  two  more,  he 
had  flitted  to  some  continental  roost,  which  even 
clever  Mr.  Levi  could  not  guess. 

Next  morning  early,  the  ladies  were  on  their 
way  to  London,  through  which  they  were  to 
continue  their  journey,  and  to  join  Sir  Booth 
abroad. 

Two  persons  were,  therefore,  very  much  dis- 
appointed next  day  at  Malory ;  but  it  could  not 
be  helped.  One  was  Cleve  Yerney,  who  tried  the 
inexorable  secrecy  of  the  servant  in  every  way, 
but  in  vain ;  possibly  because  the  servant  did  not 
himself  know  where  "  the  family "  were  gone. 
The  other  was  Mr.  Benjamin  Levi,  who  resented 
Sir  Booth's  selfish  duplicity  with  an  exasperation 
which  would  hardly  have  been  appeased  by  burn- 
ing that  "old  mizzled  robber "  alive. 

Air.  Levi  flew  to  Chester  with  his  "  beak  "  in 
a  third-class  carriage,  and  thence  radiated  tele- 
graphic orders  and  entreaties  affecting  Sir  Booth 
wherever  he  had  a  frieud,  and  ready,  on  a  hint  by 
the  wires,  to  unleash  his  bailiff  on  his  track,  and 
fix  him  on  the   soil,  immovable   as  the  petrified 


MR.  LEVI   RECOGNISES   AX    ACQUAINTANCE.      30 

witch  of  Alucklestane  Muir,  by  the  spell  of  his 
parchment  legend. 

But  no  gleam  of  light  rewarded  his  labours. 
It  was  enough  to  ruffle  even  Mr.  Levi's  temper, 
which,  accordingly,  was  ruffled.  To  have  been 
so  near !  To  have  had  his  hand,  as  it  were,  upon 
the  bird.  If  he  had  only  had  the  writ  himself  in 
his  pocket  he  might  have  dropped,  with  his  own 
fingers,  the  grain  of  salt  upon  his  tail.  But  it 
was  not  to  be.  At  the  moment  of  possession, 
Mr.  Levi  was  balked.  He  could  grind  curses 
under  his  white  teeth,  and  did  not  spare  them 
now.  Some  of  them  were,  I  dare  say,  worthy  of 
that  agile  witch,  "  Cuttie  Sark,"  as  she  stood 
baffled  on  the  "  key-stane  "  of  the  bridge,  with 
Meggie's  severed  tail  in  her  grip. 

In  the  meantime,  for  Cleve  Verney,  Malory  is 
stricken  with  a  sudden  blight.  Its  woods  are 
enchanted  no  longer;  it  is  dark,  now,  and  empty. 
His  heart  aches  when  he  looks  at  it. 

He  missed  his  accustomed  walk  with  the 
Etherage  girls.  He  wrote  to  tell  old  Vane 
E:herage  that  he  was  suffering  from  a  severe 
cold,  and  could  not  dine  with  him,  as  he  had 
promised.  The  cold  was  a  lie — but  was  he  really 
well?  Are  the  spirits  no  part  of  health;  and 
where  were  his  ? 

About  a  fortnight  later,  came  a  letter  from  his 


40         THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

good  friend,  Miss  Sheckleton.  How  delightfully 
interesting,  though  it  contained  next  to  nothing. 
But  how  interesting !  How  often  he  read  it 
through  !  How  every  solitary  moment  was  im- 
proved by  a  glance  into  it ! 

It  was  a  foreign  letter.  It  would  be  posted, 
she  said,  by  a  friend  in  Paris.  She  could  not  yet 
tell,  even  to  a  friend  so  kind  as  he,  the  address 
which  would  find  them.  She  hoped,  however, 
very  soon  to  be  at  liberty  to  do  so.  All  were 
well.  Her  young  friend  had  never  alluded  since 
to  the  subject  of  the  last  painful  interview.  She, 
Miss  Sheckleton,  could  not,  unless  a  favourable 
opening  presented,  well  invite  a  conversation  on 
the  matter.  She  had  no  doubt,  however,  that  an 
opportunity  would  occur.  She  understood  the 
peculiar  character  of  her  beautiful  young  cousin, 
and  saw  a  difficulty,  and  even  danger,  in  pressing 
the  question  upon  her,  possibly  prematurely. 
When  he,  Cleve,  wrote — which  she  supposed  he 
would  so  soon  as  he  was  in  possession  of  her 
address — he  could  state  exactly  what  he  wished 
her  to  say.  Meanwhile,  although  as  she  had 
before  hinted,  dear  Margaret  was  admired  and 
sought  by  a  man  both  of  rank  and  fortune,  with 
very  great  constancy,  (she  thought  it  not  im- 
probable that  Cleve  had  already  suspected  that 
affair,)  there  was  in  her  opinion  nothing  to  appre- 


MR  LEVI   RECOGNISES  AN   ACQUAINTANCE.     41 

hend,  at  least  at  present,  in  that  gentleman's  suit 
— flattered,  of  course,  she  must  be  by  a  constancy 
so  devoted ;  but  she  hardly  thought  there  was  a 
chance  that  the  feeling  would  grow  to  anything 
beyond  that.  So,  she  bid  God  bless  him,  and 
wrote  Anne  Sheckleton  at  the  foot  of  the  page. 

The  physician  who,  mistaking  a  complaint, 
administers  precisely  the  concoction  which  debili- 
tates the  failing  organ,  or  inflames  the  tortured 
nerve,  commits  just  such  an  innocent  cruelty  as 
good  Miss  Sheckleton  practised,  at  the  close  of 
her  letter,  upon  Cleve  Verney. 

She  had  fancied  that  he  knew  something  of  the 
suit  to  which  she  referred  for  the  purpose  of  re- 
lieving an  anxiety  to  which  her  thoughtful  allu- 
sion introduced  him,  in  fact,  for  the  first  time. 

"Who  was  this  faithful  swain?  He  knew  enough 
of  Sir  Booth  Fanshawe's  surroundings,  his  friends 
and  intimates,  to  count  up  four,  or  five,  or  six 
possible  rivals.  He  knew  what  perseverance 
might  accomplish,  and  absence  undo,  and  his 
heart  was  disquieted  within  him. 

If  he  had  consulted  his  instinct,  he  would  have 
left  Ware  forthwith,  and  pursued  to  the  Conti- 
nent, and  searched  every  town  in  France;  but  he 
could  not  act  quite  according  to  impulse.  He 
had  told  the  Cardyllian  people  that  he  was  not  to 
leave  Ware  till  the  fourteenth  j  would  no  remark 


42  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

attend  his  sudden  departure,  following  imme- 
diately upon  the  mysterious  flitting  of  the  Malory 
people  ?  He  knew  what  wonderful  stories  might 
thereupon  arise  in  Cardyllian,  and  how  sure  they 
would  be,  one  way  or  another,  to  reach  his  uncle 
Kiffyn,  and  how  that  statesman's  suspicions  might 
embarrass  him.  Then  a  letter  might  easily  reach 
"Ware  while  he  was  away,  and  be  lost,  or  worse. 

So  he  resolved  to  see  out  the  rest  of  his  time 
where  he  was.  In  Cardyllian  church,  how  dark 
and  cold  looked  the  cavity  of  the  Malory  pew  ! 
The  saints  and  martyrs  in  the  great  eastern 
window  were  subdued,  and  would  not  glow,  and 
their  glories  did  not  burn,  but  only  smouldered 
that  day.  And  oh  !  how  long  was  Dr.  Splayfoot's 
sermon  !  And  how  vague  was  his  apprehension 
of  the  "  yarn  "  to  which  Miss  Charity  Etherage 
treated  him  all  the  way  from  the  church  porch  to 
the  top  of  Castle  Street. 

He  was  glad  when  the  fifteenth,  which  was  to 
call  him  away  from  Ware,  approached.  He  was 
glad  to  leave  this  changed  place,  glad  to  go  to 
London — anywhere. 

Just  as  all  was  ready  for  his  flight  by  the  night 
train,  on  the  eveuing  of  the  14th,  to  his  great 
joy,  came  a  letter,  a  note,  almost,  so  short,  from 
kind  Anne  Sheckleton. 

All — underlined — were  well.      There   was   no- 


MR  LEVI    RECOGNISES   AN   ACQUAINTANCE.      4o 

thing  more,  in  fact,  but  one  satisfactory  revela- 
tion, which  was  the  address  which  would  now  find 
them. 

So  Cleve  Verney  made  the  journey  to  London 
that  night  in  better  spirits. 


CHAPTER   V. 


A    COUNCIL    OF    THREE. 


Messrs.  Goldshed  and  Levi  have  a  neat  office 
in  Scroop  Street.  As  stockbrokers,  strictly, 
they  don't,  I  am  told,  do  anything  like  so  large 
a  business  as  many  of  their  brethren.  Those 
brethren,  for  the  most  part,  are  not  proud  of 
them.  Their  business  is  of  a  somewhat  contra- 
band sort.  They  have  been  examined  once  or 
twice  uncomfortably  before  Parliamentary  Com- 
mittees. They  have  been  savagely  handled  by 
the  great  Mr.  Hackle,  the  Parliamentary  counsel. 
In  the  great  insurance  case  of  "  The  executors  of 
Shakerly  v.  The  Philanthropic  Union  Company/' 
they  were  hideously  mangled  and  eviscerated  by 
Sergeant  Billiooke,  whose  powers  are  well  known. 
They  have  been  called  "  harpies,"  "  ghouls," 
"Madagascar  bats,"  "vermin,"  "wolves,"  and 
"mousing  owls,"  and  are  nothing  the  worse  of 
it.  Some  people  think,  on  the  contrary,  rather 
the  better,  as  it  has  helped  to  advertise  them  in 


A   COUNCIL   OF   THREE.  4-5 

their  particular  line,  which  is  in  a  puffing,  rigging, 
fisliy,  speculative,  "  queerish  "  business,  at  which 
moral  stockbrokers  turn  up  their  eyes  and  noses, 
to  the  amusement  of  Messrs.  Goldshed  and  Levi, 
who  have — although  the  sober  office  in  Scroop 
Street  looks  sometimes  a  little  neglected — no  end 
of  valuable  clients,  of  the  particular  kind  whom 
they  covet,  and  who  frequent  the  other  office,  in 
"Wormwood  Court,  which  looks  so  dirty,  mean, 
and  neglected,  and  yet  is  the  real  seat  of  power. 

The  "  office  "  in  Wormwood  Court  is  an  old- 
fashioned,  narrow-fronted,  dingy  house.  It 
stands  apart,  and  keeps  its  own  secrets,  having 
an  uninhabited  warehouse  on  one  side,  and  a 
shabby  timber-yard  at  the  other.  In  front  is  a 
nagged  court-yard,  with  dingy  grass  sprouting 
here  and  there,  and  lines  of  slimy  moss,  grimed 
with  soot. 

The  gate  is,  I  believe,  never  opened — I  don't 
know  that  its  hinges  would  work  now.  If  you 
have  private  business  with  the  firm  on  a  wet  day, 
you  must  jump  out  of  your  cab  in  the  street,  and 
run  up  through  the  side  door,  through  the  rain, 
over  the  puddled  flags,  and  by  the  famous  log  of 
mahogany  which  the  Messrs.  Goldshed  and  Levi 
and  their  predecessors  have  sold,  in  bill  transac- 
tions, nearly  six  thousand  distinct  times,  without 
ever  losing  sight  of  it. 


4G  THE  TENANTS   OF  MALORY. 

Iii  the  street  this  day  there  stood  a  cab,  at  that 
door.  Mr.  Jos.  Larkin,  the  Gylingden  attorney, 
was  in  consultation  with  the  firm.  They  were 
sitting  in  "the  office,"  the  front  room  which  you 
enter  at  your  right  from  the  hall.  A  high,  old- 
fashioned  chimney-piece  cuts  off  the  far  angle  of 
the  room,  obliquely.  It  is  wainscoted  in  wood, 
in  tiny  square  panels,  except  over  the  fireplace, 
where  one  great  panel  runs  across,  and  up  to  the 
ceiliug,  with  somebody's  coat  of  arms  carved  in 
relief  upon  it.  This  woodwork  has  been  painted 
white,  long  ago,  but  the  tint  has  degenerated  to 
a  cream  or  buff  colour,  and  a  good  washing  would 
do  it  no  harm.  Mr.  Levi  and  others  have  pen- 
cilled little  sums  in  addition,  subtraction,  and 
multiplication  on  it.  You  can  see  the  original 
oak  where  the  hat-rack  was  removed,  near  the 
window,  as  also  in  those  places  where  gentlemen 
have  cut  their  names  or  initials. 

The  window  is  covered  with  dust  and  dirt, 
beaten  by  the  rain  into  all  sorts  of  patterns.  A 
chastened  light  enters  through  this  screen, 
and  you  can't  see  from  without  who  is  in  the 
room. 

People  wonder  why  Messrs.  Goldshed  and  Levi, 
with  so  well-appointed  an  office  in  Scroop  Street, 
will  keep  this  private  office  in  so  beggarly  a  state; 
without  a  carpet,  only  a  strip  of  nearly-obliterated 


A    COUNCIL    OF   THREE.  47 

oil-cloth  on  its  dirty  floor.  Along  the  centre  of 
the  room  exteuds  a  great  old,  battered,  oblong 
mahogany  quadrangle,  full  of  drawers,  with  dingy 
brass  handles,  and  having  midway  a  sort  of  arch- 
way, like  a  bridge  under  a  railway  embankment, 
covered  with  oil-cloth  of  an  undistinguishable 
pattern,  blotched  with  old  stains  of  red  ink  and 
black,  and  dribblings  of  sealing-wax,  curling  up 
here  and  there  dustily,  where  office-knives,  in 
fiddling  fingers,  have  scarred  its  skin.  On  top 
of  this  are  two  clumsy  desks.  Behind  one  sits 
the  junior  partner,  on  a  high  wooden  stool,  and 
behind  the  other,  the  senior,  on  a  battered 
office  chair,  with  one  of  its  haircloth  angles 
protruding,  like  the  corner  of  a  cocked  hat,  in 
front,  dividing  the  short,  thick  legs  of  Mr.  Gold- 
shed,  whose  heels  were  planted  on  the  rungs, 
bending  his  clumsy  knees,  and  reminding  one  of 
the  attitude  in  which  an  indifferent  rider  tries  to 
keep  his  seat  on  a  restive  horse. 

Goldshed  is  the  senior  in  every  sense.  He  is 
bald,  he  is  fat,  he  is  short.  He  has  gems  on  his 
stumpy  fingers,  and  golden  chains,  in  loops  and 
curves,  cross  the  old  black  velvet  waistcoat,  which 
is  always  wrinkled  upward  by  the  habit  he  has 
of  thrusting  his  broad,  short  hands  into  his 
trousers  pockets. 

At  the   other   side,  leaning  back  in  his  chair, 


48  THE  TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

and  offering,  he  flatters  himself,  a  distinguished 
contrast  to  the  vulgar  person  opposite,  sat  Mr. 
Jos.  Larkin,  of  the  Lodge,  Gylingden.  His  tall, 
bald  head  was  thrown  a  little  back ;  one  arm,  in 
its  glossy  black  sleeve,  hung  over  the  back  of  his 
chair,  with  his  large  red  knuckles  near  the  floor. 
His  pink  eyes  wore  their  meek  and  dove-like 
expression ;  his  mouth  a  little  open,  in  repose ; 
an  air  of  resignation  and  beatitude,  which,  to- 
gether with  his  well-known  elegance,  his  long, 
lavender  tinted  trousers,  and  ribbed  silk  waistcoat 
of  the  same  favourite  hue,  presented  a  very  perfect 
picture,  in  this  vulgar  Jewish  setting,  of  a  perfect 
Christian  gentleman. 

"If  everything  favours,  Mr.  Goldshed,  Mr. 
Ding  well  may  be  in  town  to-morrow  evening. 
He  sends  for  me  immediately  on  his  arrival,  to 
my  quarters,  you  understand,  and  I  will  send  him 
on  to  you,  and  you  to  Mrs.  Sarah  Uurnble's 
lodgings." 

"  Mish  Rumble/'  drawled  Goldshed  ;  "  not 
married — a  girl,  Mish." 

"  Yes,  Mrs.  Rumble,"  continued  Larkin,  gently, 
"there's  no  harm  in  saying  Mrs.;  many  ladies 
in  a  position  of  responsibility,  prefer  that  style  to 
Miss,  for  obvious  reasons." 

Here  Goldshed,  who  was  smiling  lazily,  winked 
at  his  junior,  who  returned  that  signal  in  safety^ 


A   COUNCIL   OF   THREE.  49 

for  Mr.  Larkin,  whose  countenance  was  raised 
toward  the  ceiling,  had  closed  his  eyes.  The 
chaste  attorney's  discretion  amused  them, 
for  Miss  Sarah  Rumble  was  an  industrious, 
careworn  girl  of  two-and-fifty,  taciturn,  and 
with  a  brown  pug  face,  and  tresses  somewhat 
silvery. 

"  We  are  told  by  the  apostle,"  continued  Mr. 
Larkin,  musingly,  "not  only  to  avoid  evil,  but 
the  appearance  of  evil.  I  forgot,  however,  our 
religions  differ." 

"  Yes — ay — our  religions  differ,  he  says  ;  they 
differ,  Levi,  don't  they  ?" 

"  Yes,  they  do,"  drawled  that  theologian. 

"  Yes,  they  do ;  we  see  our  way  to  that,"  con- 
cluded Goldshed. 

Larkin  sighed. 

There  was  a  short  silence  here.  Mr.  Larkin 
opened  his  pink  eyelids,  and  showing  his  small, 
light  blue  eyes,  while  he  maintained  his  easy  and 
gentlemanlike  attitude. 

The  senior  member  of  the  firm  looked  down  on 
his  desk,  thoughtfully,  and  picked  at  an  old  drop 
of  sealing  wax  with  his  office  knife,  and  whistled 
a  few  slow  bars,  and  Mr.  Levi,  looking  down  also, 
scribbled  the  cipher  of  the  firm  thirteen  times, 
with  flourishes,  on  a  piece  of  paper. 

Mr.  Goldshed  worked   his   short   thick  knees 

VOL.   II.  E 


50        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

and  Iris  heels  a  little  uneasily;  the  office  chair 
was  growing  a  little  bit  frisky,  it  seemed. 

"  Nishe  shailing,  Mr.  Larkin,  and  oh,  dear ! 
a  great  lot  of  delicashy  !  What  do  you  think?" 
said  Mr.  Goldshed,  lifting  up  the  office  knife, 
with  the  edge  toward  the  attorney,  and  letting  it 
fall  back  two  or  three  times,  between  his  finger 
and  thumb,  dubiously.  "  The  parties  being 
swells,  makesh  it  more  delicate — ticklish — tick- 
lish ;  do  you  shinsherely  think  it's  all  quite 
straight  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  it's  straight.  I  should  hope,  Mr. 
Goldshed,  I  have  never  advised  any  course  that 
was  not  so,"  said  Mr.  Larkin,  loftily. 

"  I  don't  mean  religious — law  blesh  you — I 
mean  safe"  said  Mr.  Goldshed,  soothingly. 

A  light  pink  flush  touched  the  bald  forehead 
of  the  attorney. 

"  Whatever  is  right,  sir,  is  safe ;  and  that,  I 
think,  can  hardly  be  wrong — I  hope  not — by 
which  all  parties  are  benefited,"  said  the  attorney. 

"All  parties  be  diddled — except  our  shelves. 
I'm  thinking  of  my  shelf — and  Mr.  Levi,  here — 
and,  of  courshe,  of  you.  Very  much  of  you,"  he 
added,  courteously. 

Mr.  Larkin  acknowledged  his  care  by  a  faint 
meek  bow. 

"  They're  swells,"  repeated  Mr.  Goldshed. 


A   COUNCIL    OF   THREE.  51 

"  He  saysh  they're  s  welsh,"  repeated  Mr.  Levi, 
whose  grave  look  had  something  of  the  air  of  a 
bully  in  it,  fixing  his  dark  prominent  eyes  on  Mr. 
Larkin,  and  turning  his  cheek  that  way  a  little, 
also.  "There's  a  danger  in  handling  a  swell — in 
them  matters  specially." 

"  Suppose  theresh  a  contempt  ? "  said  Mr. 
Goldshed,  whose  chair  grew  restive,  and  required 
management  as  he  spoke. 

"  He  saysh  a  contempt,"  repeated  Mr.  Levi, 
"or  shomething  worse,"  and  he  heightened  the 
emphasis  with  an  oath. 

"  I'll  guarantee  you  for  twopence,  Mr.  Levi ; 
and  pray  consider  me,  and  do  not  swear/'  urged 
Mr.  Larkin. 

"  If  you  guarantee  us,  with  a  penalty,"  began 
Mr.  Levi,  who  chose  to  take  him  literally. 

"  I  said  that,  of  course,  Mr.  Levi,  by  way  of 
illustration,  only ;  no  one,  of  course,  dreams  of 
guaranteeing  another  without  a  proper  considera- 
tion. I  should  have  hoped  you  could  not  have  mis- 
understood me.  I  don't  understand  guarantees, 
it  is  a  business  I  have  never  touched.  I'm  con- 
tent, I  hope,  with  the  emoluments  of  my  profes- 
sion, and  what  my  landed  property  gives  me.  I 
only  mean  this — that  there  is  no  risk.  What  do  we 
know  of  Mr.  Dingwell,  that  is  not  perfectly  above 
board — perfectly?      I   challenge  the   world   upon 

E    2 


52        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

that.  If  anything  should  happen  to  fall  through, 
we,  surely,  are  not  to  blame.  At  the  same  time  if 
you — looking  at  it  with  your  experience — appre- 
hend any  risk,  of  course,  I  couldn't  think  of  allow- 
ing you  to  go  on.  I  can  arrange,  this  evening, 
and  not  very  far  from  this  house,  either." 

As  Mr.  Larkin  concluded,  he  made  a  feint  ot 
rising. 

"  Baah  !  "  exclaimed  Levi.  "  You  don't  think 
we  want  to  back  out  of  thish  transhaction,  Mr. 
Larkin  ?  rco-o-oh  !  That's  not  the  trick  of  thish 
offishe — is  it,  gov'nor  ?     He  saysh  ?io" 

"No,"  echoed  Goldshed. 

"  No,  never — noways  !  you  hear  him  ?  "  re- 
iterated Mr.  Levi.  "In  for  a  penny,  in  for  a 
pound — in  for  a  shilling,  in  for  a  thousand. 
Baah  ! — No,  never." 

"  No,  noways — never  !  "  reverberated  Goldshed, 
in  deep,  metallic  tones.  "  But,  Levi,  there,  must 
look  an  inch  or  two  before  his  noshe — and  sho 
must  I — and  sho,  my  very  good  friend,  Mr. 
Larkin,  must  yon—h  bit  before  your  noshe.  I 
don't  see  no  great  danger.  "We  all  know,  the 
Honourable  Arthur  Verney  is  dead.  We  are 
sure  of  that — and  all  the  rest  is  not  worth  the 
odd  ha'pensh  in  that  book,"  and  he  touched  the 
mighty  ledger  lying  by  him,  in  which  millions 
were  entered.     "  The  rest  is  Dingwell's  affair." 


A   COUNCIL   OF   THREE.  53 

"  Just  so,  Mr.  Goldshed,"  acquiesced  Mr. 
Larkiu.     "  We  go  together  in  that  view." 

"  Dingwell  be  blowed  ! — what  need  we  care  for 
Dingwell  ? M  tolled  out  Mr.  Goldshed,  with  his 
ringing  bass. 

"  Baah  ! — drat  him  !  "  echoed  the  junior. 

"Yes — a — quite  as  you  say — but  where's  the 
good  of  imprecation?  With  that  exception,  I 
quite  go  with  you.  It's  DingwelFs  affair — not 
ours.  We,  of  course,  go  straight — and  i"  certainly 
have  no  reason  to  suspect  Dingwell  of  anything 
crooked  or  unworthy." 

"  Oh,  no— baah  \— nothing  !  "  said  Levi. 

"  Nor  I,"  added  Goldshed. 

"  It'sh  delicate — it  izh  delicate — but  very  pro- 
mishing,"  said  Mr.  Goldshed,  who  was  moisten- 
ing a  cigar  in  his  great  lips.  "  Very — and  no- 
thing crooked  about  it." 

*  No-thing  crooked— wo  /  "  repeated  Mr.  Levi, 
shaking  his  glossy  curls  slowly.  "But  very  deli- 
cate." 

"  Then,  gentlemen,  it's  understood — I'm  at 
liberty  to  assume — that  Mr.  Dingwell  finds  one 
or  other  of  you  here  whenever  he  calls  after  dark, 
and  you'll  arrange  at  once  about  the  little  pay- 
ments." 

To  which  the  firm  having  promptly  assented, 
Mr.  Larkin  took  his  leave,  and,  being  a  client  of 


54        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

consideration,  was  accompanied  to  the  shabby 
doorstep  by  Mr.  Levi,  who,  standing  at  the  hall- 
door,  with  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  nodded  slily 
to  him  across  the  flagged  courtyard,  into  the  cab 
window,  in  a  way  which  Mr.  Jos.  Larkin  of  the 
Lodge  thought  by  many  degrees  too  familiar. 

"Well — there's  a  cove  !  "  said  Mr.  Levi,  laugh- 
ing lazily,  and  showing  his  long  rows  of  ivory 
fangs,  as  he  pointed  over  his  shoulder,  with  the 
point  of  his  thumb,  towards  the  street. 

"  Rum  un !  "  said  Mr.  Goldshed,  laughing 
likewise,  as  he  held  his  lighted  cigar  between  his 
fingers. 

And  they  laughed  together  tranquilly  for  a 
little,  till,  with  a  sudden  access  of  gravity,  Mr. 
Goldshed  observed,  with  a  little  wag  of  his 
head — 

"  He's  da-a-am  clever  !  " 

"  Ay — yes — da-a-am  clever  !  "  echoed  Levi. 

"  Not  as  much  green  as  you'd  put  your  finger 
on — I  tell  you — no  muff — devilish  good  lay,  as 
you  shall  see,"  continued  Goldshed. 

"  Devilish  good — no,  no  muff — nothing  green," 
repeated  Mr.  Levi,  lighting  his  cigar.  "  Good 
head  for  speculation — might  be  a  bit  too  clever, 
Tin  thinking,"  and  he  winked  gently  at  his 
governor. 

"  Believe  you,  my   son,  if  we'd  let   him — but 


A    COUNCIL   OF    THREE.  55 

we    won't — will   we  ?  "    drawled    Mr.    Goldshed, 
jocosely. 

"Not  if  I  knows  it,"  said  Mr.  Levi,  sitting  on 
the  table,  with  his  feet  on  the  stool,  and  smoking 
towards  the  wall. 


CHAPTER   VI. 

MR.  DINGWELL    ARRIVES. 

Messrs.  Goldshed  and  Levi  owned  four 
houses  in  Rosemary  Court,  and  Miss  Sarah 
Rumble  was  their  tenant.  The  court  is  dark, 
ancient,  and  grimy.  Miss  Rumble  let  lodgings, 
worked  hard,  led  an  anxious  life,  and  subsisted  on 
a  remarkably  light  diet,  and  at  the  end  of  the 
year  never  had  a  shilling  over.  Her  Jewish  land- 
lords used  to  pay  her  a  visit  now  and  then,  to 
receive  the  rent,  and  see  that  everything  was 
right.  These  visits  she  dreaded;  they  were 
grumbling  and  minatory,  and  enlivened  by  occa- 
sional oaths  and  curses.  But  though  it  was  part 
of  their  system  to  keep  their  tenants  on  the  alert 
by  perpetual  fault-findings  and  menaces,  they 
knew  very  well  that  they  got  every  shilling  the 
house  brought  in,  that  Miss  Rumble  lived  on 
next  to  nothing,  and  never  saved  a  shilling,  and 
was,  in  fact,  their  underfed,  overworked,  and  inde- 
fatigable slave. 


MR.  DIXGWELL   ARRIVES.  57 

"With  the  uncomplaining  and  modest  charity  of 
the  poor,  Sarah  Rumble  maintained  her  little 
orphan  niece  and  nephew  by  extra  labour  at 
needle- work,  and  wonderful  feats  of  domestic 
economy. 

This  waste  of  resources  Mr.  Levi  grudged.  He 
had  never  done  complaining  of  it,  and  demon- 
strating that  it  could  only  be  accomplished  by  her 
holding  the  house  at  too  low  a  rent ;  how  else 
could  it  be?  Why  was  she  to  keep  other  people's 
brats  at  the  expense  of  Messrs.  Goldshed  and 
Levi  ?  What  was  the  workhouse  for  ?  This  per- 
petual pressure  was  a  sore  trouble  to  the  poor 
woman,  who  had  come  to  love  the  children  as  if 
they  were  her  own;  and  after  one  of  Mr.  Levi's 
minatory  visits  she  often  lay  awake  sobbing,  in 
the  terror  and  yearnings  of  her  unspeakable  affec- 
tion, whilst  its  unconscious  objects  lay  fast  asleep 
by  her  side. 

From  Mr.  Levi,  in  his  accustomed  vein,  Miss 
Humble  had  received  full  instructions  for  the 
reception  and  entertainment  of  her  new  lodger, 
Mr.  Dingwell.  He  could  not  say  when  he  would 
arrive,  neither  the  day  nor  the  hour;  and  several 
days  had  already  elapsed,  and  no  arrival  had 
taken  place.  This  evening  she  had  gone  down  to 
■'  the  shop,"  so  designated,  as  if  there  had  been 
but  one  in  Loudon,  to  lay  out  a  shilling  and  seven 


58  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

pence  very  carefully,  leaving  her  little  niece  and 
nephew  in  charge  of  the  candle  and  the  house, 
and  spelling  out  their  catechism  for  next  day. 

A  tapping  came  to  the  door ;  not  timid,  nor  yet 
menacing ;  a  sort  of  double  knock,  delivered  with 
a  walking-cane ;  on  the  whole  a  sharp  but  gentle- 
manlike summons,  to  which  the  little  company 
assembled  there  were  unused.  The  children  lifted 
their  eyes  from  the  book  before  them,  and  stared 
at  the  door  without  answering.  It  opened  with  a 
latch,  which,  without  more  ado,  was  raised,  and  a 
tall,  white-haired  gentleman,  with  a  stoop,  and  a 
very  brown  skin,  looked  in  inquisitively,  and  said, 
with  a  smile  that  was  not  pleasant,  and  a  voice  not 
loud  but  somewhat  harsh  and  cold — 

"  Mrs.  or  Miss  Rumble  hereabouts,  my  dears  ?  " 

"  Miss  Rumble ;  that's  aunt,  please,  sir ; " 
answered  the  little  girl,  slipping  down  from  her 
chair,  and  making  a  courtesy. 

r<  Well,  she's  the  lady  I  want  to  speak  with,  my 
love.  AVhere  is  she  ? "  said  the  gentleman, 
glancing  round  the  homely  chamber  from  under 
his  white  eyebrows  with  a  pair  of  cold,  gray, 
restless  eyes. 

"  She's — she's  " — - —  hesitated  the  child. 

"  Not  in  bed,  I  see;  nor  in  the  cupboard" 
(the  cupboard  door  was  open).  "  Is  she  up  the 
chimney,  my  charming  child  ?  " 


MR  DIXGWELL   ARRIVES.  59 

"  No,  sir,  please ;  she's  gone  to  Mrs.  Chalk's 
for  the  bacon." 

"Mrs.  Chalk's  for  the  bacon?"  echoed  the 
gentleman.  "Very  good!  Excellent  woman! 
excellent  bacon,  I  dare  say.  But  how  far  away 
is  it  ? — how  soon  shall  we  have  your  aunt  back 
again  ?  " 

"  Just  round  the  corner,  please,  sir ;  aunt's 
never  no  time,"  answered  the  child.  "  Would 
you  please  call  in  again  ?  " 

"  Charming  young  lady  !  So  accomplished  ! 
Who  taught  you  your  grammar  ?  So  polite — so 
suspicious.  Do  you  know  the  meaning  of  that 
word,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,  please." 

"  And  Fm  vastly  obliged  for  your  invitation 
to  call  again ;  but  I  find  your  company  much  too 
agreeable  to  think  of  going  away ;  so,  if  you 
allow  me — and  do  shut  that  door,  my  sweet  child  ; 
many  thanks — I'll  do  myself  the  honour  to  sit 
down,  if  I  may  venture,  and  continue  to  enjoy 
your  agreeable  conversation,  till  your  aunt  returns 
to  favour  us  with  her  charming  presence — and 
bacon." 

The  old  gentleman  was  glancing  from  under 
his  brows,  from  corner  to  corner  of  this  homely 
chamber;  an  uneasy  habit,  not  curiosity;  and, 
during  his  ceremonious  speech,  he  kept  bowing 


60        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

and  smiling,  and  set  down  a  black  leather  bag 
that  he  had  in  his  hand,  on  the  deal  table,  together 
with  his  walking-cane,  and  pulled  off  his  gloves, 
and  warmed  his  hands  at  the  tiny  bit  of  fire. 
When  his  back  was  toward  them  the  children  ex- 
changed a  glance,  and  the  little  boy  looked  fright- 
ened, and  on  the  point  of  bursting  into  tears. 

"  Hish  I  "  whispered  the  girl,  alarmed,  for  she 
could  not  tell  what  effect  the  demonstration 
might  have  upon  the  stranger — "  quiet  !  " — and 
she  shook  her  finger  in  urgent  warning  at 
Jemmie.  u  A  very  nice  gent,  as  has  money  for 
aunty- — there  !  " 

So  the  tears  that  stood  in  Jemmie's  big  eyes 
were  not  followed  by  an  outcry,  and  the  gentle- 
man, with  his  hat  and  outside  wrapper  on,  stood, 
now,  with  his  back  to  the  little  fire,  looking,  in 
his  restless  way,  over  the  children's  heads,  with 
his  white,  cold  eyes,  and  the  same  smile.  There 
was  a  dreamy  idea  hauuting  Lucy  Maria's  head 
that  this  gentleman  was  very  like  a  white  animal 
she  had  seen  at  the  Surrey  Zoological  Gardens 
when  her  uncle  had  treated  her  to  that  instructive 
show  ;  the  same  sort  of  cruel  grin,  and  the  same 
restless  oscillation  before  the  bars  of  its  cage. 

"Hey!  so  shell  be  back  again?"  said  he, 
recollecting  the  presence  of  the  two  children; 
"  the  excellent  lady,  your  aunt,  I  mean.     Superb 


MR.   DING  WELL   ARRIVES.  Gl 

apartment  this  is,  but  it  strikes  me,  hardly  suffi- 
ciently lighted,  hey?  One  halfpenny  candle, 
however  brilliant,  can  hardly  do  justice  to  such  a 
room  j  pretty  taper — very  pretty — isn't  it  ?  Such 
nice  mutton  fat,  my  dear  young  lady,  and  such  a 
fine  long  snuff — like  a  chimney,  with  a  Quaker's 
hat  on  the  top  of  it — you  don't  see  such  fine 
things  everywhere  !  And  who's  this  young  gen- 
tleman, who  enjoys  the  distinction  of  being  ad- 
mitted to  your  salon  j  a  page,  or  what  ?  " 

"  It's  Jemmie,  sir;  stand  up,  and  bow  to  the 
gentleman,  Jemmie." 

Jemmie  slipped  down  on  the  floor,  and  made  a 
very  alarmed  bow,  with  his  great  eyes  staring 
deprecatingly  in  the  visitor's  face. 

"  I'm  charmed  to  make  your  acquaintance. 
What  grace  and  ease  !  It's  perfectly  charming  ! 
I'm  too  much  honoured,  Mr.  Jemmie.  And  so 
exquisitely  got  up,  too !  There's  only  one  little 
toilet  refinement  I  would  venture  to  recommend. 
The  worthy  lady,  Mrs.  Chalks,  who  contributes 
bacon  to  this  house,  and,  I  presume,  candles — 
could,  I  dare  say,  also  supply  another  luxury, 
with  which  you  are  not  so  well  acquainted,  called 
soap — one  of  the  few  perfectly  safe  cosmetics. 
Pray  try  it;  you'll  find  it  soluble  in  water.  And, 
ho  ?  reading  too  !  "What  have  you  been  reading 
out  of  that  exquisite  little  volume  ?  " 


62         THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

"  Catechism,  please  sir,"  answered  the  little 
girl. 

"  Ho,  Catechism  ?  Delightful  !  What  a  won- 
derful people  we  English  are  ! ''  The  latter  re- 
flection was  made  for  his  own  entertainment,  and 
he  laughed  over  it  in  an  under-tone.  "  Then 
your  aunt  teaches  you  the  art  of  godliness? 
You've  read  about  Babel,  didn't  you? — the  accom- 
plishment of  getting  up  to  heaven  is  so  nice  !  " 

"  Sunday  school,  sir,  please,"  said  the  girl. 

"Oh,  it's  there  you  learn  it?  Well,  I  shall 
ask  you  only  one  question  in  your  Catechism,  and 
that's  the  first — what's  your  name?  " 

"  Lucy  Maria." 

"  Well,  Lucy  Maria  and  Mr.  Jemmie,  I  trust 
your  theological  studies  may  render  you  at  last 
as  pious  as  I  am.  You  know  how  death  and  sin 
came  into  the  world,  and  you  know  what  they 
are.  Sin  is  doing  anything  on  earth  that's 
pleasant,  and  death's  the  penalty  of  it.  Did  you 
ever  see  any  one  dead,  my  sweet  child — not  able 
to  raise  a  finger  or  an  eyelid  ?  rather  a  fix,  isn't 
it  ? — and  screwed  up  in  a  stenching  box  to  be 
eaten  by  worms — all  alone,  under  ground  ?  You'll 
be  so,  egad,  and  your  friend,  Jemmie,  there, 
perhaps  before  me — though  I'm  an  old  boy. 
Younkers  go  off  sometimes  by  the  score.  I've 
seen  'em  trundled  out  in  fever  and  plague,  egad, 


MR.  DIXGWELL   ARRIVES.  63 

lying  in  rows,  like  plucked  chickens  in  a  poul- 
terer's shop.  And  they  say  you  have  scarlatina 
all  about  you  here,  now ;  bad  complaint,  you 
know,  that  kills  the  little  children.  You  need 
not  frighten  yourselves  though,  because  it  must 
happen,  sooner  or  later — die  you  must.  It's  the 
penalty,  you  know,  because  Eve  once  eat  an 
apple." 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Rather  hard  lines  on  us,  isn't  it  ?  She  eat 
an  apple,  and  sin,  and  death,  and  colic — I  never 
eat  an  apple  in  consequence — colic  came  into  the 
world,  and  cider,  as  a  consequence — the  worst 
drink  ever  invented  by  the  devil.  And  now  go 
on  and  learn  vour  Church  Catechism  thorou&hlv, 
and  you'll  both  turn  into  angels.  Upon  my  life, 
I  think  I  see  the  feathers  beginning  to  sprout 
from  your  shoulders  already.  You'll  have  wings, 
you  know,  if  all  goes  right,  and  tails  for  anything 
I  know." 

The  little  boy  looked  in  his  face  perplexed  and 
frightened — the  little  girl,  answering  his  haggard 
grin  with  an  attempted  smile,  showed  also  bewil- 
derment and  dismay  in  her  eyes.  They  were  both 
longing  for  the  return  of  their  aunt. 

Childish  nature,  which  is  only  human  nature 
without  its  scarf  skin,  is  always  afraid  of  irony. 
It   is    not   its   power,  but   its   treachery   that    is 


G4-  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

dreadful — the  guise  of  friendship  hiding  a  baleful 
purpose  underneath.  One  might  fancy  the  sea- 
soned denizens  of  Gehenna  welcoming,  compli- 
menting, and  instructing  new  comers  with  these 
profound  derisions.  How  children  delight  in 
humour  !  how  they  wince  and  quail  under  irony ! 
Be  it  ever  so  rudely  fashioned  and  clumsily 
handled,  still  it  is  to  them  a  terrible  weapon.  If 
children  are  to  be  either  ridiculed  or  rebuked,  let 
it  be  honestly,  in  direct  terms.  We  should  not 
scare  them  with  this  jocularity  of  devils. 

Having  thus  amused  himself  with  the  children 
for  a  time,  he  unlocked  his  leather  bag,  took  out. 
two  or  three  papers,  ordered  the  little  girl  to 
snuff  the  candle,  and  pulled  it  across  the  table  to 
the  corner  next  himself,  and,  sitting  close  by, 
tried  to  read,  holding  the  letter  almost  in  the 
flame,  screwing  his  white  eyebrows  together,  and 
shifting  his  position,  and  that  of  the  candle  also, 
with  very  little  regard  to  the  studious  convenience 
of  the  children. 

He  gave  it  up.  The  red  and  smoky  light  tried 
his  eyes  too  severely.  So,  not  well  pleased,  he 
locked  his  letters  up  again. 

"  Cat's  eyes — owls  !  How  the  devil  they  read 
by  it  passes  my  comprehension.  Any  more 
candles  here — hey  ?  "  he  demanded  with  a  sudden 
sharpness  that  made  the  children  start. 


MR.  DING  WELL   ARRIVES.  Go 

""  Three,  please  sir." 
«  Get  'em." 

"  On  the  nail  in  the  closet,  please  sir." 

«  Get  'em;  d— n  it !  " 

"  Closers  locked,  please  sir.  Aunt  has  the  key." 

"  Ha  !  M  he  snarled,  and  looked  at  the  children 
as  if  he  would  like  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  them. 

"  Does  your  aunt  allow  you  to  let  the  fire  out 
on  nights  like  this — hey  ?  You're  a  charming 
young  lady,  you — and  this  young  gentleman,  in 
manners  and  appearance,  everything  the  proudest 
aunt  could  desire  ;  but  I'm  curious  to  know 
whether  either  one  or  the  other  is  of  the  slightest 
earthly  use ;  and  secondly,  whether  she  keeps  a 
"birch-rod  in  that  closet — hey  ? — and  now  and 
then  flogs  you — ha,  ha,  ha  !  The  expense  of  the 
rod  is  trifling,  the  pain  not  worth  mentioning, 
and  soon  over,  but  the  moral  effects  are  ad- 
mirable, better  and  more  durable — take  my  word 
for  it — than  all  the  catechisms  in  Paternoster 
Row." 

The  old  gentleman  seemed  much  tickled  by  his 
own  pleasantries,  and  laughed  viciously  as  he 
eyed  the  children. 

"  You  did  not  tell  me  a  fib,  I  hope,  my  dear, 
about  your  aunt  ?  She's  a  long  time  about 
coming ;  and,  I  say,  do  put  a  little  coal  on  the 
fire,  will  you  ?  " 

VOL.  II.  F 


6$  THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

"  Coal's  locked  up,  please  sir/'  said  the  child, 
■who  was  growing  more  afraid  of  him  every 
minute. 

"  'Gad,  it  seems  to  me  that  worthy  woman's 
afraid  you'll  carry  off  the  bricks  and  plaster. 
"Where's  the  poker?  Chained  to  the  wall,  I  sup- 
pose. Well,  there's  a  complaint  called  klepto- 
mania— it  comes  with  a  sort  of  irritation  at  the 
tips  of  the  fingers,  and  I  should  not  be  surprised 
if  you  and  your  friend  Jemmie,  there,  had 
got  it." 

Jemmie  looked  at  his  fingers'  ends,  and  up  in 
the  gentleman's  face,  in  anxious  amazement. 

"  But  there's  a  cure  for  it — essence  of  cane — 
and  if  that  won't  do,  a  capital  charm — nine  tails 
of  a  gray  cat,  applied  under  competent  direction. 
Your  aunt  seems  to  understand  that  disorder — it 
begins  with  an  itching  in  the  fingers,  and  ends 
with  a  pain  in  the  back — ha,  ha,  ha !  You're  a 
pair  of  theologians,  and,  if  you've  read  John 
Bunyan,  no  doubt  understand  and  enjoy  an 
allegory." 

"  Yes,  sir,  please,  we  will/'  answered  poor  Lucy 
Maria,  in  her  perplexity. 

"  And  we'll  be  very  good  friends,  Miss  Maria 
Louise,  or  whatever  your  name  is,  I've  no  doubt, 
provided  you  play  me  no  tricks  and  do  precisely 
whatever  I  bid  you ;  and,  upon  my  soul,  if  you 


MR.  DINGWELL   ARRIVES.  67 

don't,  Fll  take  the  devil  out  of  my  pocket  and 
frighten  you  out  of  your  wits,  I  will — ha,  ha,  ha  ! 
— so  sure  as  you  live,  into  fits  ! " 

And  the  old  gentleman,  with  an  ugly  smile  on 
his  thin  lips,  and  a  frown  between  his  white  eye- 
brows, fixed  his  glittering  gaze  on  the  child  and 
wagged  his  head. 

You  may  be  sure  she  was  relieved  when,  at  that 
moment,  she  heard  her  aunt's  well-known  step  on 
the  lobby,  and  the  latch  clicked,  the  door  opened, 
and  Miss  Rumble  entered. 


f  2 


kCHAPTER  VII. 

MR.  DINGWELL    MAKES    HIMSELF    COMFORTABLE. 

"Ah  ! — ho  !  you  are  Miss  Rumble — hey  ?  "  said 
the  old  gentleman,  fixing  a  scrutinising  glance 
from  under  his  white  eyebrows  upon  Sally  Rumble, 
who  stood  in  the  doorway,  in  wonder,  not  unmixed 
with  alarm ;  for  people  who  stand  every  hour  in 
presence  of  Giant  Want,  with  his  sword  at  their 
throats,  have  lost  their  faith  in  fortune,  and  long 
ceased  to  expect  a  benevolent  fairy  in  any  stranger 
who  may  present  himself  dubiously,  and  anticipate 
rather  an  enemy.  So,  looking  hard  at  the  gentle- 
man who  stood  before  the  little  fire,  with  his  hat 
on,  and  the  light  of  the  solitary  dipt  candle  shining 
on  his  by  no  means  pleasant  countenance,  she 
made  him  a  little  frightened  courtesy,  and  ac- 
knowledged that  she  was  Sally  Rumble,  though 
she  could  not  tell  what  was  to  follow. 

u  I've  been  waiting ;  I  came  here  to  see  you — 
pray,  shut  the  door — from  two  gentlemen,  Jews 
whom    you    know — friends — don't    be   uneasy —  ' 


MR.  DINGWELL  MAKES  HIMSELF  COMFORTABLE.     69 

friends  of  mine,  friends  of  yours — Mr.  Goldshed 
and  Mr.  Levi,  the  kindest,  sweetest,  sharpest  fel- 
lows alive,  and  here's  a  note  from  them — you  can 
read?  " 

"  Read  !  Law  bless  you — yes,  sir,"  answered 
Sally. 

"Thanks  for  the  blessing:  read  the  note;  it's 
only  to  tell  you  Pm  the  person  they  mentioned 
this  morning,  Mr.  Dingwell.  Are  the  rooms 
ready  ?     You  can  make  me  comfortable — eh  ?  " 

"  In  a  humble  way,  wr"  she  answered,  with  a 
courtesy. 

u  Yes,  of  course ;  I'm  a  humble  fellow,  and — I 
hear  you're  a  sensible  young  lady.  These  little 
pitchers  here,  of  course,  have  ears  :  I'll  say  all 
that's  necessary  as  we  go  up  :  there's  a  fellow  with 
a  cab  at  the  door,  isn't  there?  Well,  there's  some 
little  luggage  of  mine  on  it — we  must  get  it  up 
stairs  ;  give  the  Harnal  something  to  lend  a  hand  ; 
but  first  let  me  see  rny  room>." 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Sally,  with  another  courtesy, 
not  knowing  what  a  Hamal  meant.  And  Mr. 
Dingwell,  taking  up  his  bag  and  stick,  followed 
her  in  silence,  as  with  the  dusky  candle  she  led 
the  way  up  the  stairs. 

She  lighted  a  pair  of  candles  in  the  drawing- 
room.  There  was  some  fire  in  the  grate.  The 
rooms  looked  better  than  he  had  expected  :  there 


70        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

were  curtains,  and  an  old  Turkish  carpet,  and 
some  shabby,  and  some  handsome,  pieces  of  fur- 
niture. 

"  It  will  do,  it  will  do — ha,  ha,  ha  !  How  like  a 
pawnbroker's  store  it  looks — no  two  things  match 
in  it ;  but  it  is  not  bad  :  those  Jew  fellows,  of 
course,  did  it  ?  All  this  stuff  isn't  yours  ?  n  said 
Mr.  Dingwell. 

"  Law  bless  you,  no,  sir,"  answered  Sally,  with 
a  dismal  smile  and  a  shake  of  her  head. 

"  Thanks  again  for  your  blessing.  And  the 
t>ed-room  ?  "  inquired  he. 

She  pushed  open  the  door. 

a  Capital  looking-glass,"  said  he,  standing  before 
his  dressing-table — acap-i-tal!  if  it  weren't  for 
that  great  seam  across  the  middle — ha,  ha,  ha ! 
funny  effect,  by  Jove  !  Is  it  colder  than  usual, 
here?" 

"  No,  sir,  please ;  a  nice  evening." 

<f  Devilish  nice,  by  Allah  !  I'm  cold  through  and 
through  my  great  coat.  Will  you  please  poke  up 
that  fire  a  little  ?  Hey  !  what  a  grand  bed  we've 
got  !  what  tassels  and  ropes !  and,  by  Jove,  carved 
angels  or  Cupids — I  hope  Cupids — on  the  foot- 
board !  "  he  said,  running  the  tip  of  his  cane  along 
the  profile  of  one  of  them.  "  They  must  have  got 
this  a  wonderful  bargain.  Hey !  I  hope  no  one 
died  in  it  last  week?  " 


MR  DINGWELL  MAKES  HIMSELF  COMFORTABLE.     71 

u  Oh,  la  !  sir ;  Mr.  Levi  is  a  very  pitickler 
gentleman ;  he  wouldn't  for  all  he's  worth." 

"  Oh  !  not  he,  I  know  ;  very  particular." 

Mr.  Dingwell  was  holding  the  piece  of  damask 
curtain  between  his  finger  and  thumb,  and  she 
fancied  was  sniffing  at  it  gently. 

M  Very  particular,  but  I'm  more  so.  We, 
English,  are  the  dirtiest  dogs  in  the  world.  They 
ought  to  get  the  Turks  to  teach  'em  to  wash  and 
be  clean.  I  travelled  in  the  East  once,  for  a  com- 
mercial house,  and  know  something  of  them. 
Can  you  make  coffee?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  please." 

'•'Very  strong?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  sure." 

"  Very,  mind.  As  strong  as  the  devil  it  must 
be,  and  as  clear  as — as  your  conscience."  He  was 
getting  out  a  tin  case,  as  he  spoke.  "  Here  it  is. 
I  got  it  in — I  forget  the  name — a  great  place, 
near  one  of  your  bridges.  I  suppose  it's  as  good 
as  any  to  be  had  in  this  place.  Of  course  it  isn't 
all  coffee.  AYe  must  go  to  the  heathen  for  that ; 
but  if  they  haven't  ground  up  toasted  skeletons, 
or  anything  dirty  in  it,  I'm  content.  I'm  told 
you  can't  eat  or  drink  a  mouthful  here  without 
swallowing  something  you  never  bargained  for. 
Everything  is  drugged.  Look  at  our  Caiquejees  ! 
You  have  no  such  men  in  your  padded  Horse- 


72  Tin-:  tenants  of  malouy. 

guards.  And  what  do  they  live  on?  Why,  a 
crust  of  brown  bread  and  a  melon,  and  now  and 
then  a  dish  of  pilauf !     But  it's  good—it's  pure — 

it's  what  it  calls    itself.     You  d d  Christian 

cheats,  you're  an  opprobrium  to  commerce  and 
civilisation;  you're  the  greatest  oafs  on  earth, 
with  all  your  police  and  spies.  Why  it's  only  to 
will  it,  and  you  dont;  you  let  it  go  on.  We  are 
assuredly  a  beastly  people  !  " 

"  Sugar,  please,  sir?  " 

"No,  thank  you." 

"  Take  milk,  sir  ?  " 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  Milk,  indeed  !  I  tell  you 
what,  Mrs. — What's  your  name  I — I  tell  you,  if 
the  Sultan  had  some  of  your  great  fellows — your 
grocers,  and  bakers,  and  dairymen,  and  brewers, 
egad ! — out  there,  he'd  have  'em  on  their  ugly 
faces  and  bastinado  their  great  feet  into  custard 
pudding  !  I've  seen  fellows — and  devilish  glad  I 
tvas  to  see  it,  I  can  tell  you — screaming  like  stuck 
pigs,  and  their  eyes  starting  out  of  their  heads, 
and  their  feet  like  bags  of  black  currant  jelly, 
ha,  ha,  ha  ! — for  a  good  deal  less.  Now,  you  see, 
ma'am,  I  have  high  notions  of  honesty  j  and  this 
tin  case  I'm  going  to  give  you  will  give  me  three 
small  cups  of  coffee,  as  strong  as  I've  described, 
six  times  over;  do  you  understand? — six  times 
three,  eighteen ;    eighteen  small   cups   of  coffee ; 


MR.  DIXGWELL  MAKES  HIMSELF  COMFORTABLE.     73 

and  don't  let  those  pretty  little  foxes'  cubs  down 
stairs  meddle  with  it.  Tell  'em  I  know  what  I'm 
about,  and  they'd  better  not,  ha,  ha,  ha  !  nor  with 
anything  that  belongs  to  me,  to  the  value  of  a 
single  piastre." 

Miss  Sarah  Rumble  was  a  good  deal  dismayed 
by  the  jubilant  severity  of  Mr.  Dingwell's  morals. 
She  would  have  been  glad  had  he  been  of  a  less 
sharp  and  cruel  turn  of  pleasantry.  Her  heart 
was  heavy,  and  she  wished  herself  a  happy  deliver- 
ance, and  had  a  vague  alarm  about  the  poor  little 
children's  falling  under  suspicion,  and  of  all  that 
might  follow.  But  what  could  she  do  ?  Poverty 
is  so  powerless,  and  has  so  little  time  to  weigh 
matters  maturely,  or  to  prepare  for  any  change  ; 
its  hands  are  always  so  full,  and  its  stomach  so 
empty,  and  its  spirits  so  dull. 

"I   wish  those   d d  curtains  were   off   the 

bed,"  and  again  they  underwent  the  same  dis- 
gusting process;  "and  the  bed-clothes,  egad! 
They  purify  nothing  here.  You  know  nothing 
about  them  either,  of  course  ?  No — but  they 
would  not  like  to  kill  me.  No; — that  would  not 
do.  Knock  their  little  game  on  the  head,  eh?  I 
suppose  it  is  all  right.  What's  prevalent  here 
now  ?  What  sort  of — I  mean  what  sort  of  death 
— fever,  small-pox,  or  scarlatina — eh  ?  Much 
sickness  going  ?  " 


74         THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

"  Nothink  a'rnost,  sir ;  a  little  measles  among 
the  children." 

"  No  objection  to  that ;  it  heads  them  down  a 
bit,  and  does  not  trouble  us.  But  what  among 
the  grown  people  ?  " 

"  Nothink  to  signify  in  the  court  here,  for  three 
months  a' most." 

"And  then,  ma'am,  what  was  it,  pray?  Give 
those  to  your  boy  "  (they  were  his  boots)  ;  "  let 
him  rub  'em  up,  ma'am,  he's  not  a  bit  too  young 
to  begin  ;  and,  egad  !  he  had  better  do  'em  well, 
too ; "  and  thrusting  his  feet  into  a  great  pair  of 
slippers,  he  reverted  to  his  question — "What 
sickness  was  then,  ma'am,  three  months  ago,  here 
in  this  pleasant  little  prison-yard  of  a  place — 
hey  ?  " 

"  Fever,  please,  sir,  at  No.  4.  Three  took  it, 
please :  two  of  'em  went  to  hospital." 

u  And  never  walked  out  ?  " 

u  Don't  know,  indeed,  sir — and  one  died,  please, 
sir,  in  the  court  here,  and  he  left  three  little 
children." 

"  I  hope  they're  gone  away  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  please." 

"  Well,  that's  a  release.  Rest  his  soul,  he's 
dead  !  as  our  immortal  bard,  that  says  everything 
so  much  better  than  anyone  else,  says ;  and  rest  our 
souls,  they're  gone  with  their  vile  noise.     So  your 


MB.  DIXGWELL  MAKES  HIMSELF  COMFORTABLE.     75 

bill  of  mortality  is  not  much  to  signify;  and  make 
that  coffee — d'ye  see  ? — this  moment,  and  let  me 
have  it  as  hot  as— as  the  final  abode  of  Dissenters 
and  Catholics — I  see  you  believe  in  the  Church 
Catechism — immediately,  if  you  please,  to  the 
next  room." 

So,  with  a  courtesy,  Sally  Rumble  tripped  from 
the  room,  with  the  coffee-case  in  her  hand. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE    LODGER    AND    HIS    LANDLADY. 

Sally  was  beginning  to  conceive  a  great  fear 
of  her  guest,  and  terror  being  the  chief  spring  of 
activity,  in  a  marvellously  short  time  the  coffee 
was  made,  and  she,  with  Lucy  Maria  holding  the 
candle  behind  her,  knocking  at  what  they  called 
the  drawing-room  door.  When,  in  obedience  to 
his  command,  she  entered,  he  was  standing  by  the 
chimney-piece,  gazing  at  her  through  an  atmo- 
sphere almost  hazy  with  tobacco  smoke.  He  had 
got  on  his  dressing-gown,  which  was  pea- green, 
and  a  scarlet  fez,  and  stood  with  his  inquisitive 
smile  and  scowl,  and  his  long  pipe  a  little  re- 
moved from  his  lips. 

"Oli,  it's  you?  yes;  no  one — do  you  mind — 
except  Mr.  Larkin,  or  Mr.  Levi,  or  Mr.  Goldshed, 
ever  comes  in  to  mc — always  charmed  to  see  you, 
and  them — but  there  ends  my  public ;  so,  my 
dear  lady,  if  any  person  should  ask  to  see  Mr. 
Dingwell,    from    New    Fork   in   America,   you'll 


THE  LODGER  AXD  HIS  LANDLADY.     77 

simply  say  there's  no  such  person  here — yes — 
there's  —  no  —  such  — person  —  here  —  upon  my 
honour.  And  you're  no  true  woman  if  you  don't 
say  so  with  pleasure — because  it's  a  fib." 

Sarah  Rumble  courtesied  affirmatively. 

"  I  forgot  to  give  you  this  note — my  letter  of 
introduction.  Here,  ma'am,  take  it,  and  read  it, 
if  you  can.  It  comes  from  those  eminent  harpies, 
the  Messrs.  Goldshed  and  Levi — your  landlords, 
aren't  they  ?  " 

Another  courtesy  from  grave,  dark-browed  Miss 
Rumble  acknowledged  the  fact. 

"  It  is  pleasant  to  be  accredited  by  such  gentle- 
men— good  landlords,  I  dare  say  ?  " 

"  I've  nothing  to  say  against  Mr.  Levi ;  and 
I'm  'appy  to  say,  sir,  my  rent's  bin  always  paid 
up  punctual,"  she  said. 

"Yes,  just  so  —  capital  landlord!  charming 
tenant ;  and  I  suspect  if  you  didn't,  they'd  find  a 
way  to  make  you — eh  ?  Your  coffee's  not  so  bad 
— you  may  make  it  next  time  just  a  degree 
stronger,  bitter  as  wormwood  and  verjuice,  please 
— black  and  bitter,  ma'am,  as  English  prejudice. 
It  isn't  badly  made,  however — no,  it  is  really 
good.  It  isn't  a  common  Christian  virtue,  making 
good  coffee — the  Mahometans  have  a  knack  of  it, 
and  you  must  be  a  bit  of  a  genius,  ma'am,  for  I 
think    you'll    make   it   very   respectably   by   to- 


rfS        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

morrow  evening,  or  at  latest,  by  next  year.  You 
shall  do  everything  well  for  me,  madam.  The 
Dingwells  are  always  d — d  nighty,  wicked,  un- 
reasonable people,  ma'am,  and  you'll  find  me  a 
regular  Dingwell,  and  worse,  madam.  Look  at 
me — don't  I  look  like  a  vampire.  I  tell  you, 
ma'am,  I've  been  buried,  and  they  would  not  let 
me  rest  in  my  grave,  and  they've  called  me  up  by 
their  infernal  incantations,  and  here  I  am,  ma'am, 
an  evoked  spirit.  I  have  not  read  that  bit  of 
paper.  How  do  they  introduce  me — as  Mr. 
Dingwell,  or  Mr.  Dingwell's  ghost  ?  I'm  wound 
up  in  a  sort  of  way ;  but  I'm  deficient  in  blood, 
ma'am,  and  in  heat.  You'll  have  to  keep  the  fire 
up  always  like  this,  Mrs.  Rumble.  You'd  better 
mind,  or  you'll  have  me  a  bit  too  like  a  corpse  to 
be  pleasant.  Egad  !  I  frighten  myself  in  the  glass, 
ma'am.  There  is  what  they  call  transfusion  of 
blood  now,  ma'am,  and  a  very  sensible  thing  it  is. 
Pray,  don't  you  think  so  ?  " 

u  I  do  suppose  what  you  say's  correct,  sir." 
"  When  a  fellow  comes  out  of  the  grave,  ma'am 
— that's  sherry  in  that  bottle ;  be  kind  enough  to 
fill  this  glass — he's  chilly,  and  he  wants  blood, 
Mrs.  Rumble.  A  gallon,  or  so,  transfused  into 
my  veins  wouldn't  hurt  me.  You  can't  make 
blood  fast  enough  for  the  wear  and  tear  of  life, 
especially  in  a  place  like  merry  England,  as  the 


THE  LODGER  AND  HIS  LANDLADY.      79 

poets  call  it— and  merry  England  is  as  damp  all 
over  as  one  of  your  charnel  vaults  under  your 
dirty  churches.  Egad  !  it's  enough  to  make  a 
poor  ghost  like  me  turn  vampire,  and  drain  those 
rosy  little  brats  of  yours — ha,  ha,  ha  ! — your  chil- 
dren, are  they,  Mrs.  Rumbble — eh?  " 

"No,  sir,  please — my  brother's  children." 

"Your  brother's — ho  !  He  doesn't  live  here,  I 
hope  ?  " 

"  He's  dead,  sir." 

"Dead — is  he?  " 

"  Five  years  last  May,  sir." 

"Oh  !  that's  good.  And  their  mother  ? — some 
more  sherry,  please." 

"Dead  about  four  years,  poor  thing!  They're 
orphans,  sir,  please." 

"'Gad  !  I  do  please  ;  it's  a  capital  arrangement, 
ma'am,  as  they  are  here,  and  you  mustn't  let  'em 
go  among  the  children  that  swarm  about  places 
like  this.  Egad  !  ma'am,  I've  no  fancy  for  scar- 
latina or  small-pox,  or  any  sort  or  description  of 
your  nursery  maladies." 

"  They're  very  'ealthy,  sir,  I  thank  you,"  said 
grave  Sarah  Rumble,  a  little  mistaking  Mr.  Ding- 
well's  drift. 

"  Very  glad  to  hear  it,  ma'am." 

"Very  kind  o'  you,  sir,"  she  said,  with  a 
courtesy. 


80        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALOBY. 

"Kind,  of  course,  yes,  very  kind,"  he  echoed. 

"Very  'ealthy,  indeed,  sir,  I'm  thankful  to 
say." 

"  Well,  yes,  they  do  look  well — for  town  brats, 
you  know — plump  and  rosy — hang  'em,  little 
skins  of  sweet  red  wine ;  egad  !  enough  to  make 
a  fellow  turn  vampire,  as  I  said.  Give  me  a  little 
more  sherry — thank  you,  ma'am.  Any  place  near 
here  where  they  sell  ice  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,  there's  Mr.  Candy's  hice-store,  in 
Love  Lane,  sir." 

"  You  must  arrange  to  get  me  a  pound,  or  so, 
every  day  at  twelve  o'clock,  broken  up  in  lumps, 
like  sugar,  and  keep  it  in  a  cold  cellar;  do  you 
mind,  ma'am  ?  " 

"Yes,  sir,  please." 

"  How  old  are  you,  ma'am  ?  Well,  no,  you 
need  not  mind — hardly  a  fair  question  ;  a  steady 
woman — a  lady  who  has  seen  the  world — some- 
thing of  it,  hey  ?  w  said  he ;  "  so  have  / — I'm  a 
steady  old  fellow,  egad ! — you  must  give  me  a 
latch-key,  ma'am." 

"Yes,  sir." 

"  Some  ten  or  twelve  years  will  see  us  out ; 
curious  thing  life,  ma'am,  eh?  ha,  ha,  ha!  — 
Sparkling  cup,  ma'am,  while  it  lasts — sometimes ; 
pity  the  flask  has  so  few  glasses,  and  is  flat  so 
soon  ;  isn't  it  so,  ma'am  ?  " 


THE  LODGER  AND  HIS  LANDLADY.     81 

"  I  never  drank  wine,  sir,  but  once." 

"  No  !  where  was  that  ?  " 

"  At  Mr.  Snelly's  wedding,  twenty  years  since." 

"  'Gad  !  you'd  make  a  good  Turk,  ma'am — don't 
mistake  me — it's  only  they  drink  no  wine.  You've 
found  life  an  up-hill  business,  then,  hey  ?  " 

Mrs.  Humble  sighed  profoundly,  shook  her 
head,  and  said, — 

"  I've  'ad  my  trials,  sir." 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  !  to  be  sure,  why  not  ?  then  you're 
a  bit  tired,  I  dare  say ;  what  do  you  think  of 
death  ?  " 

"  I  wish  I  was  ready,  sir." 

"An  ugly  fellow,  hey?  1  don't  like  the  smell 
of  him,  ma'am." 

"We  has  our  hopes,  sir." 

"  Oh  !  sure  and  certain  hope — yes,  the  resur- 
rection, hey  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  there's  only  one  thing  troubles  me — 
them  poor  little  children.  I  wouldn't  care  how 
soon  I  went  if  they  was  able  to  do  for  them- 
selves." 

"They  do  that  very  early  in  London — girls 
especially  j  and  you're  giving  them  such  an  ex- 
cellent training — Sunday  school — eh — and  Church 
Catechism,  I  see.  The  righteous  are  never  for- 
saken, my  excellent  mother  used  to  tell  me;  and 
if  the  Catechism  does  not  make  little  Miss  what's- 


82         THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

her-narae  righteous,  I'm  afraid  the  rosy  little 
rogue  has  a  spice  of  the  devil  in  her." 

"  God  forbid,  sir." 

11  Amen,  of  course.  I'm  sure  they're  all  right — 
I  hope  they  are — for  I'll  whip  'em  both;  I  give 
you  fair  warning,  on  my  honour,  I  will,  if  they 
give  me  the  least  trouble." 

"  I'll  be  very  careful,  sir,  and  keep  them  out  of 
the  way,"  said  the  alarmed  Sarah  Rumble. 

"  Oh  !  I  don't  care  about  that ;  let  'em  run 
about,  as  long  as  they're  good ;  I've  no  objection 
in  life  to  children — quite  the  contrary — plump 
little  rogues — I  like  'em — only,  egad !  if  they're 
naughty,  I'll  turn  'em  up,  mind." 

Miss  Rumble  looked  at  him  with  as  much 
alarm  as  if  the  threat  had  been  to  herself. 

He  was  grinning  at  her  in  return,  and  nodded 
once  or  twice  sharply. 

"  Yes,  ma'am,  lollypops  and  sugar-candy  when 
they're  good ;  but,  egad  !  when  they're  naughty, 
ma'am,  you'll  hear  'em  squalling." 

Miss  Rumble  made  an  alarmed  courtesy. 

"'Gad,  I  forgot  how  cold  this  d d  town  is. 

I  say,  you'll  keep  a  fire  in  my  bed-room,  please; 
lay  on  enough  to  carry  me  through  the  night,  do 
you  mind  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"And   poke  this  fire  up,  and   put  some  more 


THE  LODGER  AND  HIS  LANDLADY.     83 

wood,  or  coal,  on  it ;  I  don't  expect  to  be  ever 
warm  again — in  this  world,  eh  ? — ha,  ha,  ha !  I 
remember  our  gardener,  when  we  were  boys,  tell- 
ing me  a  story  of  a  preacher  in  a  hard  frost, 
telling  his  congregation  that  hell  was  a  terribly 
cold  place,  lest  if  he  described  what  good  fires  they 
kept  there  they'd  all  have  been  wishing  to  get 
into  it.  Did  you  ever  know  any  one,  ma'am,  of 
my  name,  Dingivell,  before,  eh  ?  Where  were 
you  born  ?  " 

"  London,  sir,  please." 

"  Ho !  Canterbury  was  our  place ;  we  were 
great  people,  the  Dingwells,  there  once.  My 
father  failed,  though — fortune  of  war— and  I've 
seen  all  the  world  since;  'gad,  I've  met  with  queer 
people,  ma'am,  and  one  of  those  chances  brings 
me  here  now.  If  I  had  not  met  the  oddest  fish  I 
ever  set  my  eyes  on,  in  the  most  out-o'-the-way- 
place  on  earth,  I  should  not  have  had  the  happi- 
ness of  occupying  this  charming  apartment  at  this 
moment,  or  of  making  your  acquaintance,  or  that 
of  your  plump  little  Cupid  and  Psyche,  down 
stairs.  London,  I  suppose,  is  pretty  much  what 
it  always  was,  where  any  fellow  with  plenty  of 
money  may  have  plenty  of  fun.  Lots  of  sin 
in  London,  ma'am,  eh?  Not  quite  so  good 
as  Vienna.  But  the  needs  and  pleasures  of  all 
men,  according  to  their  degree,  are  wonderfully 

g2 


84  THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

provided  for ;  wherever  money  is  there  is  a  market 
— for  the  cabman's  copper  and  the  guinea  of  the 
gentleman  he  drives — everything  for  money, 
ma'am — bouquets,  and  smiles,  and  coffins,  wooden 
or  leaden,  according  to  your  relative  fastidious- 
ness. But  things  change  very  fast,  ma'am.  Look 
at  this  map;  I  should  not  know  the  town — a 
wilderness,  egad  !  and  no  one  to  tell  you  where 
fun  is  to  be  found." 

She  gazed,  rather  frightened,  at  this  leering, 
giggling  old  man,  who  stood  with  his  shoulders 
against  the  chimney-piece,  and  his  hands  tum- 
bling over  his  shillings  in  his  pockets,  and  his 
sinister  and  weary  face  ever  so  little  flushed  with 
his  sherry  and  his  talk. 

"  Well,  if  you  can  give  a  poor  devil  a  wrinkle  of 
any  sort — hey? — it  will  be  a  charity ;  but,  egad  ! 
I'm  as  sleepy  as  the  Homilies,"  and  he  yawned 
direfully.  "  Do,  like  an  angel,  go  and  see  to  my 
room,  I  can  scarcely  keep  my  eyes  open." 

From  the  next  room  she  heard  him  hi-yeawing 
in  long-drawn  yawns,  and  talking  in  snatches  to 
himself  over  the  fire,  and  when  she  came  buck  he 
took  the  candle  and  said, — 

"  Beaten,  ma'am,  fairly  beaten  to-night.  Not 
quite  what  I  was,  though  I'm  good  for  something 
still ;  but  an  old  fellow  can't  get  on  without  his 
Bleep." 


THE  LODGER  AND  HIS  LANDLADY.      8 5 

Mr.  Dingwell's  extraordinary  communicative- 
ness Mould  have  quite  charmed  her,  had  it  not 
been  in  a  faint  way  racy  of  corruption,  and  fol- 
lowed with  a  mocking  echo  of  insult,  which  she 
caught,  but  could  not  accurately  interpret.  The 
old  rascal  was  irrepressibly  garrulous ;  but  he  was 
too  sleepy  to  talk  much  more,  and  looked  ruefully 
worn  out. 

He  took  the  bed-room  candle  with  a  great 
yawn,  and  staggering,  I  am  bound  to  say  only 
with  sleep,  he  leaned  for  a  moment  against  the 
doorway  of  his  room,  and  said,  in  his  grimmer 
vein, — 

"You'll  bring  me  a  cup  of  coffee,  mind,  at 
eight  o'clock — black,  no  milk,  no  sugar — and  a 
bit  of  dry  toast,  as  thin  as  a  knife  and  as  hard  as 
a  tile ;  do  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  And  why  the  devil  don't  you  say  so  ?  And, 
lest  I  should  forget,  Mr.  Levi  will  be  here  to- 
morrow, at  eleven,  with  another  gentleman. 
Show  them  both  up  ;  and,  I  say,  there  are  several 
things  I'm  particular  about,  and  Fll  put  them  on 
paper — egad  !  that's  the  best  way — to-morrow,  and 
I'll  post  it  up  in  my  room,  like  a  firmaun,  and 
you  had  better  attend  to  them,  thafs  all ;  "  and 
holding  up  his  candle,  as  he  stood  in  the  door, 
way,  he  gazed  round  the  bed-room,  and  seemed 


86        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

satisfied,  and  shut  the  door  sharply  in  her  face, 
without  turning  about,  or  perhaps  intending  that 
rudeness,  as  she  was  executing  her  valedictory 
courtesy. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

IN    WHICH    MR.    DINGWELL    PUTS    HIS    HAND    TO 
THE    POKER. 

At  eleven  o'clock  next  morning,  Mr.  Dingwell 
was  refreshed,  and  ready  to  receive  his  expected 
visitors.  He  had  just  finished  a  pipe  as  he  heard 
their  approaching  steps  upon  the  stairs,  and  Miss 
Sarah  Rumble  pushed  open  the  door  and  per- 
mitted Mr.  Levi  and  his  friend  to  enter  and 
announce  themselves.  Mr.  Dingwell  received 
them  with  a  slight  bow  and  a  rather  sarcastic 
smile. 

Mr.  Levi  entered  first,  with  his  lazy  smile 
showing  his  glittering  fangs,  and  his  fierce,  cun- 
ning, prominent  eyes  swept  the  room,  and  rested 
on  Mr.  Dingwell.  Putting  down  his  hat  on  the 
middle  of  the  narrow  table,  he  stooped  across, 
extending  his  lank  arm  and  long  hand  towrard 
the  white-headed  old  man  with  the  broad  fore- 
head and  lean  brown  face,  who  happened  to  turn 
to  the  chimneypiece  just  then,  to  look  for  a  paper, 
and  so  did  not  shake  hands. 


88        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

<{  And  Mr.  Larkin?"  said  Mr.  Dingwell,  with 
the  same  smile,  as  he  turned  about  and  saw  that 
slim,  bald,  pink-eyed  impersonation  of  Christianity 
overtopping  the  dark  and  glossy  representative  of 
the  Mosaic  dispensation. 

"  Sit  down,  pray  —  though  —  eh  ?  —  has  my 
friend,  Miss  Rumble,  left  us  chairs  enough?" 
said  Mr.  Dingwell,  looking  from  corner  to  corner. 

"  Quite  ample ;  thanks,  many  thanks,"  an- 
swered Mr.  Larkin,  who  chose,  benignantly,  to 
take  this  attention  to  himself.  "  Three  chairs, 
yes,  and  three  of  us;  pray,  Mr.  Dingwell,  don't 
take  any  trouble." 

"  Oh  !  thank  you ;  but  I  was  not  thinking  of 
taking  any  trouble,  only  I  should  not  like  to  be 
left  without  a  chair.  Miss  Sarah  Rumble,  I  dare 
say  she's  very  virtuous,  but  she's  not  brilliant," 
he  continued  as  he  approached.  "  There,  for 
instance,  her  pot-house  habits  !  She  leaves  my 
old  hat  on  the  centre  of  the  table  !  "  and  with  a 
sudden  sweep  of  the  ebony  stem  of  his  long  pipe, 
he  knocked  Mr.  Levi's  hat  upon  the  floor,  and 
kicked  it  into  the  far  corner  of  the  room. 

u  Da-a-am  it ;  that'sh  my  hat !  "  said  Mr.  Levi, 
looking  after  it. 

"  So  much  the  better  for  me"  said  Mr.  Ding- 
well, with  an  agreeable  smile  and  a  nod. 

"  An  error — quite  a  mistake,"  interposed  Mr. 


MR.  DINGWELL   HANDLES   THE   POKER,         H') 

Larkin,  with  officious  politeness.     "  Shall  I  pick 
it  up,  Mr.  Levi  ?  ,J 

"  Leave  it  lay,"  said  Mr.  Levi,  sulkily ;  "  no 
use  now.     It's  got  its  allowance,  I  expect." 

"  Gentlemen,  you'll  not  detain  me  longer  than 
is  necessary,  if  you  please,  because  I  hate  busi- 
ness, on  principle,  as  a  Jew  does  ham — I  beg 
pardon  Mr.  Levi,  I  forgot  for  a  moment — the 
greatest  respect  for  your  religion,  but  I  do  hate 
business  as  I  hate  an  attorney — 'Gad  !  there  is 
ray  foot  in  it  again  :  Mr.  Larkin,  no  reflection,  I 
assure  you,  on  your  excellent  profession,  which 
everyone  respects.  But  life's  made  up  of  hours: 
they're  precious,  and  I  don't  want  to  spoil 
'em." 

"  A  great  trust,  sir,  a  great  trust,  Mr.  Dingwell, 
is  time.  Ah,  sir,  how  little  we  make  of  it,  with 
eternity  yawning  at  our  feet,  and  retribution 
before  us  !  " 

"  Our  and  us  ;  you  don't  narrow  it  to  the  legal 
profession,  Mr.  Larkin?  " 

"  I  speak  of  time,  generally,  Mr.  Dingwell,  and 
of  eternity  and  retribution  as  applicable  to  all 
professions,"  said  Mr.  Larkin,  sadly. 

"  I  don't  follow  you,  sir.  Here's  a  paper,  gen- 
tlemen, on  which  I  have  noted  exactly  what  I  can 
prove." 

"Can    I    have    it,    Mr.   Dingwell?"    said    the 


90  THE   TENANTS   OF  MALORY. 

attorney,  whose  dove-like  eyes  for  a  moment  con- 
tracted with  a  hungry,  rat-like  look. 

w  No,  I  think,  no"  said  Mr.  Dingwell,  with- 
drawing it  from  the  long,  red  fingers  extended  to 
catch  the  paper;  Mr.  Levi's  fingers,  at  a  more 
modest  distance,  were  also  extended,  and  also  dis- 
appointed ;  "  anything  I  write  myself  I  have  a 
kind  of  feeling  about  it;  Fd  rather  keep  it  to 
myself,  or  put  it  in  the  fire,  than  trouble  the  most 
artless  Jew  or  religious  attorney  I  know  with  the 
custody  of  it:  so,  if  you  just  allow  me,  I'll  read  it. 
It's  only  half  a  dozen  lines,  and  I  don't  care  if  you 
make  a  note  of  it,  Mr.  Larkin." 

"  Well,"  he  resumed,  after  he  had  glanced 
through  the  paper,  Mr.  Larkin  sitting  expectant 
arrectis  auribus,  and  with  a  pen  in  his  fingers, 
"  you  may  say  that  I,  Mr.  Dingwell,  knew  the  late 
Honourable  Arthur  Yerney,  otherwise  Hakim 
Frank,  otherwise  Hakim  Giaour,  otherwise  Mam- 
houd  Ali  Ben-Nezir,  for  five  years  and  two 
months,  and  upwards — three  days,  I  think — im- 
mediately preceding  his  death  ;  for  the  latter  four 
years  very  intimately.  That  I  frequently  pro- 
cured him  small  loans  of  money,  and  saw  him,  one 
way  or  another,  nearly  every  day  of  my  life  :  that 
I  was  with  him  nearly  twice  a  day  during  his  last 
illness :  that  I  was  present  when  he  expired,  and 
was  one  of  the  three  persons  who  saw  him  buried  : 


MB.  DINGWELL    HANDLES   THE   POKER.         91 

and  that  I  could  point  out  his  grave,  if  it  were 
thought  desirable  to  send  out  persons  acquainted 
with  his  appearance,  to  disinter  and  identify  the 
body." 

rrNo  need  of  that,  I  think,"  said  Mr.  Larkin, 
looking  up  and  twiddling  his  eye-glass  on  his 
finger. 

He  glanced  at  Levi,  who  was  listening  intensely, 
and  almost  awfully,  and,  reading  no  sign  in  his 
face,  he  added, — 

"  However,  I  see  no  harm  in  making  the  note." 

So  on  went  Mr.  Dingwell,  holding  a  pair  of 
gold  glasses  over  his  nose. 

a  I  can  perfectly  identify  him  as  the  Hon. 
Arthur  Yerney,  having  transacted  business  for 
him  respecting  an  annuity  which  was  paid  him 
by  his  family;  written  letters  for  him  when  his 
hand  was  affected  j  and  read  his  letters  for  him 
when  he  was  ill,  which  latter  letters,  together 
with  a  voluminous  correspondence  found  in  his 
box,  and  now  in  my  possession,  I  can  identify 
also  as  having  been  in  his/' 

"I  don't  see  any  need,  my  dear  Mr.  Dingwell* 
of  your  mentioning  your  having  written  any  let- 
ters for  him  ;  it  has,  in  fact,  no  bearing  that  I  can 
recognise  upon  the  case.  I  should,  in  fact,  appre- 
hend complicating  the  case.  You  might  find  it 
difficult  to  specify,  and  we  to  produce,  the  parti- 


92        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

cular  letters  referred  to;  so  I  should  simply  say 
you  read  them  to  him,  at  his  desire,  before  he 
despatched  them  for  England;  that  is,  of  course, 
assuming  that  you  did  so." 

"  Very  good,  sir;  knock  it  out,  and  put  that  in; 
and  I  can  prove  that  these  letters,  which  can  easily, 
I  suppose,  be  identified  by  the  writers  of  them  in 
England,  were  in  his  possession,  and  that  several 
of  them  I  can  recollect  his  having  read  to  me  on 
the  day  he  received  them.  That's  pretty  nearly 
what  strikes  me — eh?  " 

"  Yes,  sir — certainly,  Mr.  Dingwell — most  im- 
portant ;  but  surely  he  had  a  servant ;  had  he  not, 
my  dear  sir? — an  attendant  of  some  sort?  they're 
to  be  had  there  for  next  to  nothing,  I  think,"  hesi- 
tated Mr.  Larkin. 

"  Certainly — so  there  was — yes;  but  he  started 
for  Egypt  in  a  boat  full  of  tiles,  or  onions,  or 
something,  a  day  or  two  after  the  Hakim  was 
buried,  and  I'm  afraid  they'll  find  it  rather  hard 
to  fiud  him.  I  think  he  said  Egypt,  but  I  won't 
swear/' 

And  Mr.  Dingweli  laughed,  very  much  tickled, 
with  intense  sarcastic  enjoyment;  so  much  so  that 
Mr.  Larkin,  though  I  have  seldom  before  or  since 
heard  of  his  laughing,  did  suddenly  laugh  a  short, 
explosive  laugh,  as  he  looked  down  on  the  table, 
and  immediately  looked  very  grave  and  sad,  and 


MR.  DING  WELL    HANDLES   THE    POKER.         Do 

pinked  up  to  the  very  summit  of  his  narrow  bald 
head ;  and  coughing  a  little,  he  said, — 

"  Thank  you,  Mr.  Dingwell ;  this  will  suffice 
very  nicely  for  an  outline,  and  I  can  consult  with 
our  adviser  as  to  its  particular  sufficiency — is  not 
that  your  impression,  Mr.  Levi  \  " 

"  You  lawyer  chaps  undusta-ans  that  line  of 
business  best;  I  know  no  more  about  it  than 
watch-making — only  don't  shleep  over  it,  for  it's 
costing  us  a  da-a-am  lot  of  money,"  said  Mr.  Levi, 
rising  with  a  long  yawn  and  a  stretch,  and  em- 
phasising it  with  a  dismal  oath  \  and  shutting  his 
great  glaring  eyes  and  shaking  his  head,  as  if  he 
were  being  victimised  at  a  pace  which  no  capital 
could  long  stand. 

"  Certainly,  Mr.  Levi,"  said  the  attorney,  "you 
quite  take  me  with  you  there.  We  are  all  contri- 
buting, except,  perhaps,  our  valued  ;riend,  Air. 
Dingwell,  our  quota  towards  a  very  exhausting 
expense." 

"  Da-a-md  exhausting,"  interposed  Mr.  Levi. 
"Well,  pray   allow  me  my   own  superlative," 
said  the  attorney,  with  religious  grandeur.     "  I 
do  say  it  is  very  exhausting ;  though  we  are  all,  I 

hope,  cheerfully  contributing " 

"  Curse  you !  to  be  sure  you  are,"  said  Mr. 
Dingwell,  with  an  abrupt  profanity  that  startled 
Air.  Larkin.     "Because  you  all  expect  to  make 


94         THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

money  by  it ;  and  I'm  contributing  my  time,  and 
trouble,  and  danger,  egad  !  for  precisely  the  same 
reason.  And  now,  before  you  go — just  a  moment, 
if  you  please,  as  we  are  on  the  subject — who's 
Chancellor  of  the  Exchequer  here?" 

"Who  advances  the  necessary  funds?"  inter- 
preted Mr.  Larkin,  with  his  politest  smile. 

"Yes"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  sharp  menac- 
ing nod.  "Which  of  you  two  comes  down,  as 
you  say,  with  the  dust  ?  Who  pays  the  piper  for 
this  dance  of  yours,  gentlemen  ? — the  Christian 
or  the  Jew  ?  I've  a  word  for  the  gentleman  who 
holds  the  purse — or,  as  we  Christians  would  say, 
who  carries  the  bag;  "  and  he  glanced  from  one  to 
the  other  with  a  sniff,  and  another  rather  vicious 
wag  of  his  head. 

"I  believe,  sir,  you  may  address  us  both  as 
voluntary  contributors  towards  a  fund  for  carrying 
on,  for  the  present,  this  business  of  the  Honour- 
able Kiffyn  Fulke  Yerney,  who  will,  of  course, 
recoup  us/'  said  Mr.  Larkin,  cautiously. 

He  used  to  say  sometimes  to  his  conducting 
man,  with  a  smile,  sly  and  holy,  up  at  the  yellow 
letters  of  one  of  the  tin  deed-boxes  on  his  shelves 
at  the  Lodge,  after  an  adroit  conversation,  "  I 
think  it  will  puzzle  him,  rather,  to  make  an 
assumpsit  out  of  that.,} 

"  Well,  you  talk  of  allowing  me — as  you  term 


MR.  DINGWELL   HANDLES   THE   POKER.         95 

it — four  pounds  a  week.  I'll  not  take  it,"  said 
Mr.  Dingwell. 

"  My  hye  !  That/sh  liberal,  shir,  uncommon 
'anshome,  be  Ga-a-ad  !  "  exclaimed  Mr.  Levi,  in  a 
blessed  mistake  as  to  the  nature  of  Mr.  Dingwell's 
objection. 

"  I  know,  gentlemen,  this  business  can't  advance 
without  me — to  me  it  may  be  worth  something; 
but  you'll  make  it  worth  a  great  deal  more  to 
yourselves,  and  whatever  else  you  may  find  me, 
you'll  find  me  no  fool;  and  Til  not  take  one 
piastre  less  than  five-and-twenty  pounds  a  week. 

"Five-and-twenty  pounsh !  "  howled  Mr.  Levi; 
and  Mr.  Larkm's  small  pink  eyes  opened  wide  at 
the  prodigious  idea. 

u  You  gentlemen  fancy  you're  to  keep  me  here 
in  this  black-hole  making  your  fortunes,  and  living 
on  the  wages  of  a  clerk,  egad !  You  shall  do  no 
such  thing,  I  promise  you  ;  you  shall  pay  me  what 
I  say.  I'll  see  the  town,  sir,  and  I'll  have  a  few 
guineas  in  my  pocket,  or  I'll  know  the  reason  why. 
I  didn't  come  all  the  way  here  for  nothing — 
d — n  you  both  !  " 

"  Pray,  sir,  a  moment,"  pleaded  Mr.  Larkin. 

"  Pray,  sir,  as  much  as  you  like;  but  pay,  also, 
if  you  please.  Upon  my  life,  you  shall !  Fortune 
owes  me  something,  and  egad  !  Til  enjoy  myself 
while  I  can." 


96         THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

"  Of  course,  sir ;  quite  reasonable — so  you 
should ;  but,  my  dear  Mr.  Dingwell,  five-and- 
twenty  pounds  ! — we  can  hardly  be  expected,  my 
dear  sir,  to  see  our  way." 

"  'Gad,  sir  !  /  see  mine,  and  I'll  go  it,"  laughed 
Mr.  Dingwell,  with  a  most  unpleasant  glare  in  Lis 
eyes. 

"  On  reflection,  you  will  see,  my  dear  Mr. 
Dingwell,  the  extreme  inexpediency  of  anything 
in  the  least  resembling  a  fraycas  "  (Air.  Larkin  so 
pronounced  his  French)  "  in  your  particular  case. 
I  should  certainly,  my  dear  sir,  recommend  a 
most  cautious  line." 

"  Cautious  as  the  devil,"  seconded  Mr.  Levi. 

"  You  think  I'm  afraid  of  my  liabilities/' 
croaked  Mr.  Dingwell,  with  a  sudden  flush  across 
his  forehead,  and  a  spasm  of  his  brows  over  his 
wild  eyes,  and  then  he  laughed,  and  wagged  his 
head. 

"  That's  right — quite  right,"  almost  sighed  Mr. 
Larkin — "do — do — pray  do — just  reflect  for  only 
a  moment — and  you'll  see  it." 

"  To  be  sure,  I  see  it,  and  you  shall  see  it,  too. 
Egad!  I  know  something,  sir,  at  my  years.  I  know 
how  to  deal  with  screws,  and  bullies,  and  schemers, 
sir — and  that  is  by  going  straight  at  them — and 
I'll  tell  you  what,  sir,  if  you  don't  pay  me  the 
monev  I  name,  I'll  make  you  regret  it." 


MR.  DINGWELL    HANDLES  THE   POKER.         97 

For  a  moment,  Mr.  Larkin,  for  one,  did  almost 
regret  his  share  in  this  uncomfortable  and  highly 
"  speculative "  business.  If  this  Mr.  Dingwell 
chose  to  turn  restive  and  extortionate,  it  would 
have  been  better  it  had  never  entered  into  his 
ingenious  head,  and  he  could  already  see  in  the 
Jew's  eyes  the  sulky  and  ferocious  expression  that 
seemed  to  forebode  defeat. 

"  If  you  don't  treat  me,  as  I  say,  with  common 
fairness,  I'll  go  straight  to  young  Mr.  Verney 
myself,  and  put  you  out  of  the  baby -house 
altogether." 

"  What  babby-houshe  ?  "  demanded  Air.  Levi, 
glowering,  and  hanging  the  corners  of  his  great 
half-open  mouth  with  a  sullen  ferocity. 

"  Your  castle — in  the  air — your  d — d  plot,  sir." 

"  If  you  mean  you're  going  to  turn  stag,"  began 
the  Jew. 

"  There — do — pray,  Mr.  Levi — you — you  mis- 
take" interposed  Mr.  Larkin,  imploringly,  who 
had  heard  tales  of  this  Mr.  DingwelPs  mad 
temper. 

"  I  say,"  continued  Levi,  "  if  you're  going  to 
split " 

"  Split,  sir ! "  cried  Mr.  Dingwell,  with  a  ma- 
lignant frown,  and  drawing  his  mouth  together 
into  a  puckered  ring,  as  he  looked  askance  at  the 
Jew.     "  What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  sjjlit,  sir  ? 

VOL.    II.  R 


98        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

'Gad  !  sir,  I'd  split  your  black  head  for  you,  you 
little  Jew  miscreant !  " 

Mr.  Larkin  saw  with  a  qualm  that  the  sinews 
of  that  evil  face  were  quivering  with  an  insane 
fury,  and  that  even  under  its  sun-darkened  skin 
it  had  turned  pale,  while  the  old  man's  hand  was 
instinctively  extended  towards  the  poker,  of  which 
he  was  thinking,  and  which  was  uncomfortably 
near. 

"  No,  no,  no — pray,  gentlemen — I  entreat — only 
think"  urged  Mr.  Larkin,  seriously  alarmed  for 
the  Queen's  peace  and  his  own  precious  character, 
and  for  the  personal  safety  of  his  capitalist  and 
his  witness. 

Mr.  Larkin  confronted  the  Jew,  with  his  great 
hands  upon  Mr.  Levi's  shoulders,  so  as  to  prevent 
his  advance ;  but  that  slender  Hebrew,  who  was 
an  accomplished  sparrer,  gave  the  godly  attorney 
a  jerk  by  the  elbows  which  quite  twirled  him 
about,  to  his  amazement  and  chagrin. 

'*  'Andsh  off,  old  chap,"  said  the  Jew,  grimly, 
to  Mr.  Larkin,  who  had  not  endured  such  a 
liberty  since  he  was  at  his  cheap  day-school, 
nearly  forty  years  ago. 

But  Mr.  Larkin  interposed  again,  much  alarmed, 
for  behind  him  he  thought  he  heard  the  clink  of 
the  fire-irons. 

"  He  thinks  he  may  say  what  he  pleases,"  cried 


DINGWELL   HANDLES  THE   POKER.         99 

the  old  man's  voice  furiously,  with  a  kind  of 
choking  laugh. 

'*  No,  sir — no,  Mr.  Dingwell — I  assure  you — do, 
Mr.  Levi — how  can  you  mind  him  ?  "  he  added  in 
an  undertone,  as  he  stood  between. 

"I  don't  mind  him,  Mr.  Larkin :  only  I  won't 
let  no  one  draw  it  that  sort.  I  won't  stand  a  lick 
of  a  poker  for  no  one ;  he  shan't  come  that  over 
me  " — and  concurrently  with  this  the  shrill  voice 
of  Mr.  Dingwell  was  yelling — 

"  Because  Fni — because  Pm — I'm — every  d — d 
little  whipper-snapper — because  they  think  I'm 
down,  the  wretches,  Fm  to  submit  to  their  in- 
sults !  " 

"  I  don't  want  to  hurt  him,  Mr.  Larkin ;  if  I 
did,  I'd  give  'm  his  tea  in  a  mug  this  minute;  but 
I  don't,  I  say — only  he  shan't  lift  a  poker  to 
me." 

"  Xo  one,  my  dear  sir,  has  touched  a  poker;  no 
one,  Mr.  Levi,  ever  dreamed  of  such  a  thing. 
Pray,  my  dear  sir,  my  dear  Mr.  Dingwell,  don't 
misconceive ;  we  use  slang  phrases,  now  and  then, 
without  the  least  meaning  or  disrespect :  it  has 
become  quite  the  torn/.  I  assure  you — it  was 
only  last  week,  at  Nyworth  Castle,  where  I  had 
the  honour  to  be  received,  Lady  Mary  Wrangham 
used  the  phrase  yarn,  for  a  long  story." 

"D — n  you,  can't  you  answer  my  question?" 


100       THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

said  Mr.  Dingwell,  more  in  his  accustomed 
vein. 

"  Certainly,  sir,  we'll  reply  to  it.  Do,  Mr. 
Levi,  do  leave  the  room ;  your  presence  at  this 
moment  only  leads  to  excitement." 

Levi,  for  a  moment,  pondered  fiercely,  and  then 
nodded  a  sulky  acquiescence. 

"  I  shall  overtake  you  in  the  court,  Mr.  Levi, 
if  you  can  wait  two  or  three  minutes  there." 

The  Jew  nodded  over  his  shoulder,  and  was 
gone. 

"  Mr.  Dingwell,  sir,  I  can't,  I  assure  you.  It's 
not  in  my  power;  it  is  in  the  hands  of  quite 
other  people,  on  whom,  ultimately,  of  course, 
these  expenses  will  fall,  to  sanction  the  outlay  by 
way  of  weekly  allowance,  which  you  suggest. 
It  is  true  I  am  a  contributor,  but  not  exactly  in 
cash  ;  only  in  money's  worth — advice,  experience, 
and  technical  knowledge.  But  I  will  apply  in 
the  proper  quarter,  without  delay.  I  wish,  Mr. 
Dingwell,  I  were  the  party;  you  and  I  would 
not,  I  venture  to  think,  be  long  in  settling  it 
between  us." 

"  No,  to  be  sure,  you're  all  such  liberal  fellows 
— it's  always  some  one  else  that  puts  us  under  the 
screw,"'  laughed  Mr.  Dingwell,  discordantly,  with 
his  face  still  flushed,  and  his  hand  trembling 
visibly,  u  you  never  have  the  stock  yourselves — 


MR.    DINGWELL   HANDLES   THE   POKER.      101 

not  you, — there's  always,  Mr.  Slieridau  tells  us, 

you  know,  in  that  capital  play  of  his,  a  d d 

unconscionable  fellow  in  the  background,  and  in 
Shakspeare's  play,  Ski/lock,  you  remember,  he 
hasn't  the  money  himself,  but  Tubal,  a  wealthy 
Hebrew  of  his  tribe,  will  furnish  him.  Hey !  I 
suppose  they  gave  the  immortal  Shakspeare  a 
squeeze  in  his  day;  he  understood  'em.  But 
Shylock  and  Tubal  are  both  dead  and  rotten  long 
ago.  It's  a  comfort  you  can't  escape  death,  with 
all  your  cunning,  d — n  you." 

But  Mr.  Larkin  spoke  peaceably  to  Mr.  Ding- 
well.  The  expense,  up  to  a  certain  time,  would, 
of  course,  fall  upon  Mr.  Kiffyn  Verney  ;  after 
that,  however,  Mr.  Larkin  and  the  Jew  firm 
would  feel  it.  But  be  it  how  it  might,  they  could 
not  afford  to  quarrel  with  Mr.  Dingwell;  and 
Mr.  Dingwell  was  a  man  of  a  flighty  and  furious- 
temper. 


CHAPTER  X. 

CLEVE  VERNEY  SEES  THE   CHATEAU  DE   CRESSERON. 

I  fancy  that  these  estimates,  on  a  rather  large 
scale,  moved  by  Mr.  Dingwell,  were  agreed  to, 
for  sufficient  reasons,  by  the  parties  interested  in 
disputing  them. 

Mr.  Dingwell  kept  very  close  during  the  day- 
time. He  used  to  wander  listlessly  to  and  fro, 
between  his  bedroom  and  his  drawing-room,  with 
his  hands  in  the  pockets  of  his  dressing-gown,  and 
his  feet  in  a  pair  of  hard  leather  slippers,  with 
curled-up  toes  and  no  heels,  that  clattered  on  the 
boards  like  sabots. 

Miss  Sarah  Rumble  fancied  that  her  lodger  was 
a  little  shy  of  the  windows;  when  he  looked  out 
into  the  court,  he  stood  back  a  yard  or  more  from 
the  window-sill. 

Mr.  Larkin,  indeed,  made  no  secret  of  Mr. 
Ding  well's  uncomfortable  position,  in  his  confer- 
ences with  the  Hon.  Kiflyn  Fulke  Yerney.  Mr. 
Dingwell   had   been    a    bankrupt,    against   whom 


THE   CHATEAU   DE   CEESSERON.  103 

many  transactions  to  which  the  Court  had  applied 
forcible  epithets,  had  been  proved;  to  whom,  in 
fact,  that  tribunal  had  refused  quarter;  and  who 
had  escaped  from  its  fangs  by  a  miracle.  There 
were  judgments,  however,  in  force  against  him; 
there  was  a  warrant  procurable  any  day  for  his 
arrest;  he  was  still  "in  contempt;"  I  believe  he 
was  an  "  outlaw ;  "  and,  in  fact,  there  was  all  but 
a  price  set  on  his  head.  Thus,  between  him  and 
his  outcast  acquaintance,  the  late  Hon.  Arthur 
Verney,  had  subsisted  some  strong  points  of  sym- 
pathy, which  had  no  doubt  helped  to  draw  them 
into  that  near  intimacy  which  stood  the  Hon. 
Kiffyn,  no  less  than  Mr.  Ding  well  (to  whose  mill 
it  was  bringing  very  comfortable  grist),  so  well  in 
stead,  at  this  moment. 

It  behoved  Mr.  Dingwell,  therefore,  to  exercise 
caution.  Many  years  had  passed  since  he  figured 
as  a  London  trader.  But  time,  the  obliterator, 
in  some  cases  works  slowly;  or  rather,  while  the 
pleasant  things  of  memory  are  sketched  in  with  a 
pencil,  the  others  are  written  in  a  bold,  legible, 
round  hand,  as  it  were,  with  a  broad-nibbed  steel 
pen,  and  the  best  durable  japanned  ink  ;  on  which 
Father  Time  works  his  India-rubber  in  vain,  till 
his  gouty  old  fingers  ache,  and  you  can  fancy  him 
whistling  curses  through  his  gums,  and  knocking 
his  bald  pate  with  his  knuckles.     Mr.  Dingwell, 


104       THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

on  the  way  home,  was,  to  his  horror,  half  recog- 
nised by  an  ancient  Cockney  at  Malta.  Time, 
therefore,  was  not  to  be  relied  upon,  though  thirty 
years  had  passed;  and  Mr.  Dingwell  began  to 
fear  that  a  debtor  is  never  forgotten,  and  that  the 
man  who  is  thoroughly  dipt,  like  the  lovely  woman 
who  stoops  to  folly,  has  but  one  way  to  escape 
consequences,  and  that  is  to  die — a  step  which 
Mr.  Dingwell  did  not  care  to  take. 

The  meeting  on  the  15th,  at  the  Hon.  Kiffyn 
Fulke  Verney's  house,  Mr.  Dingwell  was  pre- 
vented by  a  cold  from  attending.  But  the  note 
of  his  evidence  sufficed,  and  the  consultation,  at 
which  Mr.  Larkin  assisted,  was  quite  satisfactory. 
The  eminent  parliamentary  counsel  who  attended, 
and  who  made,  that  session,  nearly  fifty-thousand 
pounds,  went  to  the  heart  of  the  matter  direct ; 
was  reverentially  listened  to  by  his  junior,  by  the 
parliamentary  agent,  by  the  serious  Mr.  Larkin, 
at  whom  he  thrust  sharp  questions,  in  a  peremp- 
tory and  even  fierce  way,  like  a  general  in  action, 
to  whom  minutes  are  everything;  treated  them 
once  or  twice  to  a  recollection  or  short  anecdote, 
which  tended  to  show  what  a  clever,  sharp  fellow 
the  parliamentary  counsel  was,  which,  indeed,  was 
true ;  and  talked  to  no  one  quite  from  a  level,  ex- 
cept to  one  Hon.  Kiffyn  Fulke  Verney,  to  whom 
he  spoke  confidentially  in  his  ear,  and  who  him- 


THE   CHATEAU   DE   CKESSEROX.  105 

self  quickly  grew  into  the  same  confidential  re- 
lations. 

M  I'm  glad  you  take  my  view — Mr. — Mr.  For- 
sythe — very  happy  about  it,  that  we  should  be  in 
accord.  I've  earned  some  confidence  in  my 
opinion,  having  found  it  more  than  once,  I  may 
say,  come  out  right ;  and  it  gives  me  further  con- 
fidence that  you  take  my  view,"  said  the  Honour- 
able Kiffyn  Fulke  Yerney,  grandly. 

That  eminent  parliamentary  counsel,  Forsythe, 
was  on  his  way  to  the  door,  when  Mr.  Yerney  in- 
terposed with  this  condescension. 

"Oh!  Ha!  Do  I?  Very  happy.  What  is 
it?"  said  Forsythe,  smiling  briskly,  glancing 
at  his  watch  and  edging  towards  the  door,  all 
together. 

"  I  mean  the  confident  view — the  cheerful — 
about  it,"  said  the  Hon.  Mr.  Yerney,  a  little 
flushed,  and  laying  his  thin  hand  on  his  counsel's 
arm. 

M  Certainly — confident,  of  course,  smooth  sail- 
ing, quite.     I  see  no  hitch  at  present. " 

Mr.  Forsythe  was  now,  more  decidedly,  going. 
But  he  could  not  treat  the  Hon.  Kiffyn  Yerney 
quite  like  an  ordinary  client,  for  he  was  before 
him  occasionally  in  Committees  of  the  House  of 
Commons,  and  was  likely  soon  to  be  so  in  others 
of  the  Lords,  and  therefore,  chafing  and  smiling, 


10G        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

lie  hesitated  under  the  light  pressure  of  the  old 
gentleman's  stiff  fingers. 

"  And  you  know  the,  I  may  say,  absurd  state 
of  the  law,  about  it — there  was,  you  know,  my 
unfortunate  brother,  Arthur — you  are  aware — 
riviliter  mortuus,  stopping  the  way,  you  know,  for 
nearly  twenty  years,  about  it,  ever  since  my  poor 
father,  Lord  Verney,  you  know,  expired,  about  it, 
and  I've  been,  as  you  know,  in  the  most  painful 
position — absurd,  you  know." 

"  Quite  so ;  I'm  afraid — n  Forsythe  was  again 
edging  toward  the  door. 

"  And  I  always  contended  that  where  the  heir 
was  civilly  dead,  about  it,  the  law  should  make 
proper  provision — don't  you  see  ?  " 

"  Quite  so,  only  fair — a  very  wise  and  politic 
statute — and  I  wish  very  much,  with  your  expe- 
rience, vou'd  turn  vour  attention  to  draw  one. 
I'm  obliged  to  be  off  now,  to  meet  the  New 
Discount  directors;  consultation  at  my  cham- 
bers." 

And  so,  smiling,  Forsythe,  Q.C.,  did  vanish, 
at  last. 

All  this  over,  Mr.  Cleve  Verney  proposed  to 
himself  a  little  excursion,  of  a  day  or  two,  to 
Paris,  to  which  his  uncle  saw  no  objection. 

Not  very  far  from  the  ancient  town  of  Caen, 
where    the  comparative   quietude   of  Normandy, 


Till:    CHATEAU   DE   CRESSEROX.  107 

throughout  the  throes  of  the  great  revolution,  has 
spared  so  many  relics  of  the  bygone  France,  is  an 
old  chateau,  still  habitable — still,  after  a  fashion, 
comfortable — and  which  you  may  have  at  a  very 
moderate  rent  indeed. 

Here  is  an  old  wood,  cut  in  a  quincunx ;  old 
ponds  stocked  with  carp ;  great  old  stables  gone 
to  decay ;  and  the  chateau  itself,  is  indescribably 
picturesque  and  sad. 

It  is  the  Chateau  de  Cresseron — withdrawn  in 
historic  seclusion,  amid  the  glories  and  regrets  of 
memory,  quite  out  of  the  tide  of  modern  traffic. 

Here,  by  the  side  of  one  of  the  ponds,  one 
evening,  was  an  old  lady,  throwing  in  little  bits 
of  bread  to  the  carp  that  floated  and  flitted,  like 
golden  shadows,  this  way  and  that,  as  the  crumbs 
sank  in  the  water,  when  she  heard  a  well-known 
voice  near  her  which  made  her  start. 

"  Good  heavens  !  Mr.  Verney  !  You  here  ?  " 
she  exclaimed,  with  such  utter  wonderment,  her 
little  bit  of  bread  raised  in  her  fingers,  that  Cleve 
Verney,  though  in  no  merry  mood,  could  not  help 
smiling. 

"  Yes — here  indeed — and  after  all,  is  it  quite  so 
wonderful  ?  "  said  he. 

"  Well,  of  course  you  know,  Mr.  Verney,  Fro 
very  glad  to  see  you.  Of  course,  you  know  that ; 
but  I'm  very  far  from  being  certain  that  you  have 


108  THE  TENANTS   OF  MALORY. 

done  a  wise  or  a  prudent  thing  in  coming  here,  and 
I  don't  know  that,  under  the  circumstances,  I 
(jiKjht  to  be  glad  to  see  you  j  in  fact,  I'm  afraid  it 
is  very  rash"  said  Miss  Sheckleton,  growing  more 
decided  as  she  proceeded. 

"  No,  not  rash.  I've  been  very  miserable ;  so 
miserable,  that  the  worst  certainty  which  this  visit 
might  bring  upon  me  would  be  almost  a  relief 
compared  with  the  intolerable  suspense  I  have  lived 
in  ;  therefore,  you  see,  it  really  is  not  rash." 

"  I'm  very  bad  at  an  argument/'  persisted  the 
old  lady ;  "  but  it  is  rash,  and  very  rash.  You 
can't  conceive,"  and  here  she  lowered  her  voice, 
"  the  state  of  exasperation  in  which  he  is." 

"  He,"  of  course,  could  only  mean  Sir  Booth 
Fanshawe ;  and  Cleve  answered, — 

"  I  assure  you,  I  can't  blame  him.  I  don't 
wonder.  I  think  a  great  deal  has  been  very 
wantonly  done  to  aggravate  his  misfortunes;  but 
surely,  he  can't  fancy  that  I  could  sympathise 
with  any  such  proceedings,  or  feel  anything  but 
horror  and  disgust.  Surely,  you  would  not  allow 
him  to  connect  me,  however  slightly  ?  I  know 
you  would  not." 

"  My  dear  Mr.  Yerney,  you  don't  know  Booth 
Fanshawe,  or  rather,  you  do,  I  believe,  know  him 
a  great  deal  too  well,  to  fancy  that  I  could  venture 
to  speak  to  him  upon  the  subject.     That,  I  assure 


THE   CHATEAU    DE   CRESSEROX.  109 

you,  is  quite  out  of  the  question  ;  and  I  may  as 
well  tell  you  frankly,  if  he  were  at  home,  I  mean 
here,  I  should  have  begged  you  at  once,  inhos- 
pitable as  it  might  seem,  to  leave  this  place,  and 
trust  to  time  and  to  letters,  but  here  I  would  not 
have  allowed  you  to  linger." 

"  He's  away  from  home,  then  !  "  exclaimed 
Cleve. 

"  Yes ;  but  he'll  be  back  to-night  at  ten 
o'clock." 

"  At  ten  o'clock,"  repeated  Cleve,  and  the 
young  man  thought  what  a  treasure  of  minutes 
there  was  in  the  interval.  "  And  Miss  Fanshawe 
— Margaret — she's  quite  well  ?  " 

"  Yes,  she's  quite  well,"  answered  kind  Miss 
Sheckleton,  looking  in  his  earnest  eyes,  and 
thinking  that  he  looked  a  little  thin  and  pale. 
"  She's  quite  well,  and,  I  hope,  you  have  been." 

"  Oh,  yes,"  answered  the  young  man,  "  as  well 
as  a  man  with  a  good  many  troubles  can  be.  In 
fact,  I  may  tell  you,  I've  been  very  unhappy.  I 
was  thinking  of  writing  to  Sir  Booth." 

"  Don't,"  implored  Miss  Sheckleton,  looking 
quite  wildly  into  his  eyes,  and  with  her  hand 
upon  his  arm,  as  if  to  arrest  the  writing  of  that 
letter,  "  you  have  no  notion  how  he  feels.  I 
assure  you,  an  allusion — the  slightest  thing  is 
quite  enough  to  set  him   in   a   blaze.     The  other 


110  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

day,  for  instance,  I  did  not  know  what  it  was,  till 
I  took  up  the  paper  he  had  been  reading,  and  I 
found  there  something  about  the  Verney  peerage, 
and  proof  that  Arthur  Verney  was  dead,  and  your 
uncle  to  get  it ;  and  really  I  can't  wonder — some 
people  seem  so  unaccountably  fortunate,  and 
others,  everything  goes  wrong  with — even  /  felt 
vexed  when  I  read  it,  though,  of  course,  any  good 
fortune  happening  to  you,  I  should  be  very  glad 
of.  But  he  did  not  see  any  of  us  till  next  day — 
even  Macklin." 

"  Yes,  it  is  very  true,"  said  Cleve,  "my  uncle 
is  dead,  and  we  shall  prove  it,  that  is,  my  uncle 
KifFyn  will.  But  you  are  quite  right  to  distin- 
guish as  you  do.  It  involves  nothing  for  me. 
Since  it  has  come  so  near,  I  have  lost  all  faith  in 
it's  ever  reaching  me.  I  have,  I  can't  call  it  a 
conviction,  but  a  superstition,  that  it  never  will. 
I  must  build  my  own  fortunes  from  their  founda- 
tions, with  my  own  hand.  There  is  but  one  suc- 
cess on  earth  that  can  make  me  very  proud  and 
very  happy.  Do  you  think,  that  having  come  all 
this  way,  in  that  hope,  on  that  one  chance,  that 
Margaret  will  see  me  ?  " 

"  I  wish  you  had  written  to  me  before  coming/' 
said  Anne  Sheckleton,  after  a  little  pause.  "  I 
should  have  liked  to  find  out  first,  all  I  could, 
from  herself;   she  is  so  odd.     I've  often  told  you 


THE   CHATEAU   DE   CRESSKBON.  Ill 

that  she  is  odd.  I  think  it  would  have  been 
wiser  to  write  to  me  before  coming  over,  and  I 
should  have  talked  to  her, — that  is,  of  course,  if 
she  had  allowed  me, — for  I  can't  in  the  least  say- 
that  she  would  even  hear  me  on  the  subject." 

"  Well,"  said  Cleve,  with  a  sigh,  "  I  have  come 
— I  am  here— and  go  I  cannot  without  seeing 
her — I  cannot — and  you,  I  think,  are  too  kind  to 
wish  that  I  should.  Yes,  Miss  Sheckleton,  you 
have  been  my  true  friend  throughout  this — what 
shall  I  call  it? — wild  and  terrible  dream — for  I 
cannot  believe  it  real — I  wonder  at  it  myself — I 
ought  to  wish  I  had  never  seen  her — but  I  cannot 
— and  I  think  on  the  result  of  this  visit  depends 
the  whole  course  of  my  life.  You'll  not  see  me 
long,  I  think,  in  the  House  of  Commons,  nor  in 
England  ;  but  I'll  tell  you  more  by- and- by." 

The  sun  had  gone  down  now.  A  red  and 
melancholy  glow,  rising  from  piles  of  western 
cloud,  melted  gradually  eastward  into  the  deep 
blue  of  night  in  which  the  stars  were  already 
glimmering. 

Along  one  of  the  broad  avenues  cut  through 
the  forest  that  debouches  upon  the  court-yard  of 
the  quaint  old  chateau  they  were  now  walking, 
and,  raising  his  eyes,  he  saw  Margaret  approaching 
from  the  antique  house. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

SHE    COMES    AND    SPEAKS. 

"She  is  coming,  Mr.  Verney,"  said  Miss 
Sheckleton,  speaking  low  and  quietly;  but  her 
voice  sounded  a  little  strangely,  and  I  think  the 
good-natured  spinster  was  agitated. 

Cleve,  walking  by  her  side,  made  no  answer. 
He  saw  Margaret  approach,  and  while  she  was  yet 
a  good  way  off,  suddenly  stop.  She  had  not  seen 
them  there  before.  There  seemed  no  indecision.  It 
was  simply  that  she  was  startled,  and  stood  still. 

"Pray,  Miss  Sheckleton,  do  you  go  on  alone. 
Entreat  her  not  to  refuse  me  a  few  minutes," 
said  he. 

"I  wjU — she  shall— I  will,  indeed,  Mr.  Verney," 
said  Miss  Sheckleton,  very  much  fidgetted.  "  But 
you  had  better  remain  where  we  were,  just  now; 
I  will  return  to  you,  and — there  are  some  French 
servants  at  the  house — will  you  think  me  very 
strange — unkind,  I  am  sure,  you  will  not— if  I  say 
it  is  onlv  common  prudence  that  you  should  not 


SHE  COMES  AND  SPEAKS.        113 

be  seen  at  the  house?  You  understand  why  I 
say  so." 

"  Certainly.  I  shall  do  whatever  you  think 
best,"  he  answered.  They  had  arrested  their 
walk,  as  Margaret  had  done,  during  this  little 
parley.  Perhaps  she  was  uncertain  whether  her 
approach  had  been  observed.  The  sun  had  gone 
down  by  this  time,  and  the  twilight  had  begun  to 
make  distant  objects  a  little  indistinct. 

But  there  was  no  time  for  manoeuvring  here, 
for  Miss  Fanshawe  resumed  her  walk,  and  her 
cousin,  Anne  Sheckleton,  advanced  alone  to  meet 
her. 

"Margaret,  dear,  a  friend  has  unexpectedly 
arrived,"  began  Miss  Sheckleton. 

"And  gone,  perhaps,"  answered  Margaret 
Fanshawe,  in  one  of  her  moods.  "  Better  gone — 
come,  darling,  let  us  turn,  and  go  towards  home 
— it  is  growing  so  dark." 

And  with  these  words,  taking  Miss  Sheckleton's 
hand  in  hers,  she  turned  towards  the  house,  not 
choosing  to  see  the  friend  whom  that  elderly  lady 
had  so  eagerly  indicated. 

Strangely  did  Cleve  Verney  feel.  That  beau- 
tiful, cruel  girl  ! — what  could  she  mean  ? — how 
could  she  treat  him  so  ?  Is  there  not,  in  strange 
countries,  where  people  meet,  a  kindlier  impulse 
than  elsewhere  ? — and   here — could    anything   be 

VOL.  II.  i 


114  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

more  stony  and  utterly  cruel  ?  The  same  won- 
derful C^nci — the  same  low,  sweet  voice — the  same 
laugh,  even — just  for  a  moment  heard — but  now — 
how  unspeakably  cruel !  He  could  see  that  Miss 
Sheckleton  was  talking  earnestly  to  her,  as  they 
walked  slowly  away.  It  all  seemed  like  a  dream. 
The  formal  old  wood — the  grey  chateau  in  the 
background,  rising,  with  its  round  turrets,  and 
conical  tops,  and  steep  roofs  against  the  rose- 
tinted  sky  of  evening;  and  in  the  foreground — 
not  two  score  steps  away — those  figures — that  girl 
to  whom  so  lately  he  was  so  near  being  all  the 
world — to  whom,  it  now  appeared,  he  was  abso- 
lutely nothing — oh  !  that  he  had  never  heard,  in 
Shakspeare's  phrase,  that  mermaid  voice  I 

His  pride  was  wounded.  With  a  yearning  that 
amounted  to  agony,  he  watched  their  receding 
steps.  Follow  them  he  would  not.  He  leaned 
against  the  tree  by  which  Miss  Sheckleton  had 
left  him,  and  half  resolved  to  quit  that  melancholy 
scene  of  his  worst  disaster  without  another  look  or 
word — with  only  the  regrets  of  all  a  life. 

When  Miss  Sheckleton  had  reached  Margaret, 
before  the  young  lady  spoke,  she  saw,  by  her  un- 
usual paleness  and  by  something  at  once  of  pain 
and  anger  in  her  face,  that  she  had  seen  Cleve 
Verney. 

"Well,  Margaret,  if  you  will  go,  vou  ivill ;  but, 


SHE  COMES  AND  SPEAKS.        115 

before  you  make  it  irreparable,  you  must,  at  least, 
think." 

"  Think  of  what  ?  "  said  Margaret,  a  little  dis- 
dainfully. 

"  Think  that  he  has  come  all  this  way  for 
nothing  but  the  chance  of  seeing  you  j  of  perhaps 
saying  a  few  words  to  set  himself  right." 

"  If  he  wished  to  speak  to  me,  he  might  have 
said  so,"  she  answered.  "Not  that  I  see  any 
reason  to  change  my  mind  on  that  point,  or  any 
good  that  can  come,  possibly,  or  for  ever,  if  he 
could  talk  and  I  listen  for  so  long." 

"  Well,  but  you  can't  doubt  what  he  has  come 
for,''  said  Miss  Sheckleton. 

"  I  don't  doubt,  because  I  don't  mean  to  think 
about  it,"  said  the  young  lady,  looking  fiercely  up 
toward  the  gilded  weather  vanes  that  glimmered 
on  the  grey  pinnacles  of  the  chateau. 

"Yes,  but  it  is  not  a  matter  of  doubt,  or  of 
thinking,  but  of  fact,  for  he  did  say  so,"  pleaded 
Miss  Sheckleton. 

il  I  wish  we  were  in  Italy,  or  some  out-of-the- 
way  part  of  Spain,"  said  the  handsome  girl,  in  the 
same  vein,  and  walking  still  onward;  "I  always 
said  this  was  too  near  England,  too  much  in  the 
current." 

"No,  dear,  it  is  a  quiet  place,"  said  good  Anne 
Sheckleton. 

i  2 


116  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

"  Xo,  cousin  Anne,  it  is  the  most  tinquiet  place 
in  all  the  world,"  answered  the  girl,  in  a  wild,  low 
tone,  as  she  walked  on. 

"  And  he  wants  to  speak  to  you ;  he  entreats  a 
few  words,  a  very  few." 

"  You  know  I  ought  not,"  said  she. 

"I  know  you  ought,  my  dear;  you'll  be  sorry 
for  it,  all  your  days,  Margaret,  if  you  don't,"  re- 
plied Anne  Sheckleton. 

"  Come  home,  dear,  come  home,  darling,"  said 
the  girl,  peremptorily,  but  sadly. 

"  I  say,  Margaret,  if  you  let  him  go  without 
speaking  to  him,  you  will  regret  it  all  your  days." 

"  You  have  no  right  to  talk  this  way,  cousin 
Anne  ;  I  am  unhappy  enough  as  it  is.  Let  us  go 
on,"  she  said. 

"If  you  send  him  away,  as  I  say,  it  is  all  over 
between  you." 

"  So  it  is,  it  is  all  over;  let  the  dead  rest." 

"The  world  is  wide  enough;  there  are  many 
beautiful  creatures  there,  and  he  is  himself  so 
beautiful,  and  so  clever ;  be  very  sure  you  care 
nothing  for  him,  before  you  send  him  away,  for 
you  will  never  see  him  again,"  said  Miss  Anne 
Sheckleton. 

"  I  know — I  am  sure — I  have  thought  of  every- 
thing. I  have  made  up  my  account  long  ago,  for 
now,  and  for  all  my  days/'  said  she. 


SHE  COMES  AND  SPEAKS.        117 

u  So  you  have"  answered  Miss  Sheckleton. 
"  But  while  you  have  a  moment  still  allowed  you, 
[Margaret,  review  it,  I  implore  of  you." 

"  Come,  darling,  come — come — you  ought  not 
to  have  spoken  to  me;  why  have  you  said  all 
this  V  said  Margaret,  sadly  and  hurriedly. 

"  Now,  Margaret  darling,  you  are  going  to  stay 
for  a  moment,  and  I  will  call  him." 

"No!"  said  the  girl,  passionately,  "my  mind's 
made  up ;  not  in  haste,  cousin  Anne,  but  long 
ago.     I've  looked  my  last  on  him." 

"  Darling,  listen  :  you  know  Fve  seen  him,  he's 
looking  ill,  I  think ;  and  I've  told  him  that  you 
must  speak  to  him,  Margaret ;  and  I  tell  you  you 
must,"  said  Miss  Sheckleton,  blushing  in  her 
eagerness. 

"  No,  cousin  Anne,  let  there  be  an  end  of  this 
between  us ;  I  thought  it  was  over  long  ago.  To 
him,  I  will  never,  never — while  life  remains — 
never  speak  more." 

As  she  thus  spoke,  walking  more  hurriedly 
toward  the  house,  she  heard  a  voice  beside  her 
say,— 

"  Margaret !  Margaret,  darling — one  word  !  " 

And  turning  suddenly,  she  saw  Cleve  Ver- 
ney  before  her.  Under  the  thick  folds  of  her 
chestnut  hair,  her  features  were  pale  as  marble, 
and   for    a  time  it  seemed   to   him   he  saw  no- 


118  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

thing  but  her  wild,  beautiful  eves  fixed  upon 
him. 

Still  as  a  statue,  she  stood  confronting  him. 
One  little  foot  advanced,  and  her  tiny  hand  closed, 
and  pressed  to  her  heart  in  the  attitude  in  which 
an  affrighted  nun  might  hold  her  crucifix. 

"  Yes,  Margaret,"  he  said  at  last,  "  I  was  as 
near  going — as  you  were  near  leaving  me — un- 
heard ;  but,  thank  God  !  that  is  not  to  be.  No, 
Margaret  darling,  you  could  not.  Wild  as  my 
words  may  sound  in  your  ears,  you  will  listen  to 
them,  for  they  shall  be  few;  you  will  listen  to 
them,  for  you  are  too  good  to  condemn  any  one 
that  ever  loved  you,  unheard." 

There  was  a  little  pause,  during  which  all  that 
passed  was  a  silent  pressure  of  Miss  Sheckleton's 
hand  upon  Margaret's,  as  very  pale,  and  with  her 
brow  knit  in  a  painful  anxiety,  she  drew  hurriedly 
back,  and  left  the  two  young  people  together, 
standing  by  the  roots  of  the  old  tree,  under  the 
faint,  rose-tinted  sky  of  evening. 

Lovers'  promises  or  lovers'  cruelties — which 
oaths  are  most  enduring?  Where  now  were 
Margaret's  vows?  Oh  !  inexhaustible  fountain  of 
pity,  and  beautiful  mutability  of  woman's  heart ! 
In  the  passion  avowed,  so  often  something  of 
simulation  j  in  the  feeling  disowned,  so  often  the 
true  and  beautiful  life.    Who  shall  read  this  won- 


SHE  COMES  AND  SPEAKS.        119 

derful  riddle,  running  in  romance,  and  in  song, 
and  in  war,  the  world's  history  through? 

"  .Margaret,  will  you  hear  me?"  he  pleaded. 

To  her  it  was  like  a  voice  in  a  dream,  and  a 
form  seen  there,  in  that  dream-land  in  which  we 
meet  the  dead,  without  wonder,  forgetting  time 
and  separation. 

"I  don't  know  that  I  ought  to  change  my 
purpose.  I  don't  know  why  I  do ;  but  we  shalj 
never  meet  again,  I  am  sure,  so  speak  on." 

"Yes,  Margaret,  I  will  speak  on,  and  tell  you 
how  entirely  you  have  mistaken  and  wronged 
me,"  said  Cleve  Verney,  in  the  same  sad  and 
passionate  tones. 

Good-natured  Anne  Sheckleton,  watching  at  a 
little  distance,  saw  that  the  talk — at  first  belonging 
altogether  to  Mr.  Verney,  at  last  began  to  divide 
itself  a  little;  then  side  by  side  they  walked  a 
few  steps,  and  then  paused  again  :  and  so  once 
more  a  short  way,  the  lady  looking  down,  and 
then  on  and  on  to  the  margin  of  that  long 
straight  pond,  on  which  in  their  season  are  float- 
ing water-lilies,  and,  under  its  great  oblong 
mirror,  gliding  those  golden  fishes  which  are,  as 
we  have  seen,  one  of  our  spinster  friend's  kindly 
resources  in  this  quaint  exile.  And  so  the  twi- 
light deepened  :  and  Miss  Sheckleton  saw  these 
two  figures  like  shadows  gliding  side  by  side,  to 


120  THE  TENANTS   OF  MALORY. 

and  fro,  along  the  margin,  till  the  moonlight 
came  and  lighted  the  still  pool  over,  and  dappled 
the  sward  with  the  shadows  of  the  trees,  and 
made  the  old  chateau  in  the  background,  with  its 
white  front,  its  turrets  and  pinnacles  and  gilded 
vanes,  look  filmy  as  a  fairy  castle. 

Wrapping  her  cloak  about  her,  she  sat  herself 
down  upon  the  marble  seat  close  by,  unobserved 
and  pleased,  watching  this  picture  of  Lorenzo  and 
Jessica,  and  of  all  such  moonlighted  colloquies, 
with  a  wonderful  and  excited  interest — with,  in- 
deed, a  mixture  of  melancholy  and  delight  and 
fear. 

Half-hour  after  half-hour  glided  by,  as  she 
looked  on  this  picture,  and  read  in  fancy  the 
romance  that  was  weaving  itself  out  of  the  silvery 
thread  of  their  discourse  in  this  sad  old  scene. 
And  then  she  looked  at  her  watch,  and  wondered 
how  the  time  had  sped,  and  sighed ;  and  smiling 
and  asking  no  question,  came  before  them,  and  in 
a  low,  gentle  warning,  told  them  that  the  hour 
for  parting  had  come. 

As  they  stood  side  by  side  in  the  moonlight, 
did  the  beautiful  girl,  with  the  flush  of  that 
romantic  hour,  never,  never  to  be  forgotten,  on 
her  cheek,  with  its  light  in  her  wonderful  eyes, 
ever  look  so  beautiful  before  ?  Or  did  that  young 
man,  Cleve  Yerney,  whom  she  thought  she  under- 


SHE   COMES   AND    SPEAKS.  121 

stood,  but  did  not,  ever  look  so  handsome  ? — the 
enthusiasm  and  the  glow  of  his  victory  in  his 
strangely  beautiful  face. 

There  were  a  few  silent  moments :  and  she 
thought  could  fancy  paint  a  more  beautiful  young 
couple  than  these  ! 

There  are  scenes — only  momentary — so  near 
Paradise — sights,  so  nearly  angelic,  that  they 
touch  us  with  a  mysterious  ecstasy  and  sorrow. 
In  the  glory  and  translation  of  the  moment,  the 
feeling  of  its  transitoriness,  and  the  sense  of  our 
mortal  lot,  cross  and  thrill  us  with  a  strange  pain, 
like  the  anguish  that  mingles  in  the  rapture  of 
sublime  music.  So,  Miss  Sheckleton,  very  pale, 
smiling  very  tenderly,  sobbed  and  wept,  one 
would  have  said  bitterly,  for  a  little  while ;  and, 
drying  her  eyes  quickly,  saw  before  her  the  same 
beautiful  young  faces,  looking  upon  hers;  and 
the  old  lady  took  their  hands  and  pressed  them, 
and  smiled  a  great  deal  through  her  tears,  and 
said — "  All,  at  last,  as  I  wished  it  :  God  bless  you 
both — God  Almighty  bless  you,  my  darling  : " 
and  she  put  her  arms  about  Margaret's  neck,  and 
kissed  her  very  tenderly. 

And  then  came  the  reminder,  that  must  not  be 
slighted.  The  hour  had  come,  indeed,  and  Cleve 
must  positively  go.  Miss  Sheckleton  would  hear 
of  no   further    delav — no,    not   another   minute. 


\2'2  THE  TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

Her  fear  of  Sir  Booth  was  profound  j  so,  with  a 
"  God  bless  you,  darling,"  and  a  very  pale  face, 
and — why  should  there  not  be? — one  long,  long 
kiss,  Cleve  Yerney  took  his  leave,  and  was  gone ; 
and  the  sailing  moon  lost  herself  among  clouds, 
so  darkness  stole  swiftly  over  the  landscape. 

Margaret  Fanshawe  drew  her  dear  old  cousin 
near  to  her,  and  in  her  turn,  placing  her  arms 
round  her  neck,  folded  her  close,  and  Anne  Sheck- 
leton  could  feel  the  wild  throbbing  of  the  young 
girl's  heart  close  to  her  own. 

Margaret  was  not  weeping,  but  she  stood  very 
pale,  with  her  arms  still  laid  on  her  cousin's 
shoulders,  and  looked  almost  wildly  down  into  her 
wistful  eyes. 

"  Cousin  Anne — oh,  darling  !  you  must  pray 
for  me,"  said  Margaret  Fanshawe.  "  I  thought 
it  could  never  be ;  I  thought  I  knew  myself,  but 
all  that  is  vain  :  there  is  another  will  above  us — 
Fate — Eternal  Fate,  and  I  am  where  I  am,  I 
know  not  how." 

"Why,  Margaret,  darling,  it  is  what  I  have 
been  longing  for — the  very  best  thing  that  could 
have  happened ;  you  ought  to  be  the  happiest 
girl  in  the  world,"  urged  Miss  Anne  Sheckleton, 
cheerily. 

"No,  darling;  I  am* not  happy,  except  in  this, 
that  I  know  I  love  him,  and  would  not  give  him 


SHE   COMES    AND   SPEAKS.  123 

up  for  all  the  world ;  but  it  seems  to  me  to  have 
been,  from  first  to  last,  a  fatality,  and  I  can't 
shake  off  the  fear  that  lies  at  my  heart." 

"Hush,  dear — I  hear  wheels,  I  think.."  said 
Miss  Shecklcton,  listening. 

Margaret  was  pre-occupied,  and  did  not  listen. 
I  don't  think  she  cared  much  at  that  moment 
who  came  or  went,  except  that  one  to  whom  her 
love  was  now  irrevocably  given. 

"  No ;  I  can't  hear — no ;  but  he  will  be  here 
immediately.  We  must  not  be  out,  you  know; 
he  may  ask  for  me,  and  he  is  so — so  very — what 
shall  I  say  ?  " 

Margaret  did  not  mind.  She  turned  a  wild 
and  plaintive  look  upward  towards  the  struggling 
moon — now  emerging,  now  lost  a<iain. 

"  Come,  darling — let  us  go,"  said  Margaret. 

And  she  looked  round  her  gently,  as  if  awaking 
from  a  dream. 

"Yes,  darling,  come/'  she  continued,  placing 
her  hand  on  Anne  Sheckleton's  arm. 

"And  you  are  not  to  tease  yourself,  Mar* 
garet,  dear,  with  fancies  and  follies.  As  I  said 
before,  you  ought  to  be  one  of  the  happiest  girls 
in  existence." 

"  So  I  am."  she  answered,  dreamily — "  very 
happy — oh  !  wonderfully  happy — but  there  is  the 
feeling  of  something — fatal,  as  I  said ;  and,  be  it 


124  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

what  it  may,  let  it  come.  I  could  not  lose  him 
now,  for  all  the  world." 

She  was  looking  up,  as  she  spoke,  towards  the 
broken  moonlight,  herself  as  pale,  and  a  strange 
plaintive  smile  of  rapture  broke  over  her  beautiful 
face,  as  if  answering  the  smile  of  a  spirit  in  the 
air. 

"  Come  quickly,  darling,  come,"  whispered 
Miss  Sheckleton,  and  they  walked  side  by  side  in 
silence  to  the  house,  and  so  to  Margaret's  room, 
where  she  sat  down  by  the  window,  looking  out, 
and  kind  Anne  Sheckleton  sat  by  the  table,  with 
her  thin  old  hand  to  her  cheek,  watching  her 
fondly,  and  awaiting  an  opportunity  to  speak, 
for  she  was  longing  to  hear  a  great  deal  more. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

CLEVE    VERNEY    HAS    A    VISITOR. 

So  Cleve  Verney  returned  direct  to  England, 
and  his  friends  thought  his  trip  to  Paris,  short  as 
it  was,  had  done  him  a  world  of  good.  What  an 
alterative  and  tonic  a  little  change  of  air  some- 
times is  ! 

The  Honourable  Kiffyn  Fulke  Verney  was,  in 
his  high,  thin -minded  way,  at  last  tolerably  con- 
tent, and  more  pompous  and  respected  than  ever. 
The  proof  of  his  succession  to  the  peerage  of 
Verney  was  in  a  perfectly  satisfactory  state.  He 
would  prove  it,  and  take  his  seat  next  session. 
He  would  add  another  to  the  long  list  of  Lord 
Viscounts  Verney  of  Malory  to  be  found  in  the 
gold  and  scarlet  chronicle  of  such  dignities.  He 
had  arranged  with  the  trustees  for  a  provisional 
possession  of  Verney  House,  the  great  stone 
mansion  which  glorifies  one  side  of  the  small 
parallelogram  called  Verney  Square.  Already 
contractors  had  visited  it  and  explored  its  noble 


126  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

chambers  and  long  corridors,  with  foot-rule  and 
note-book,  getting  together  material  for  tenders, 
and  Cleve  had  already  a  room  there  when  he  came 
up  to  town.  Some  furniture  had  been  got  in,  and 
some  servants  were  established  there  also,  and  so 
the  stream  of  life  had  begun  to  transfuse  itself  from 
the  old  town  residence  of  the  Hon.  Kiffyn  Fulke 
Verney  into  these  long- forsaken  channels. 

Here,  one  morning,  called  a  gentleman  named 
Dingwell,  whom  Cleve  Verney,  happening  to  be 
in  town,  desired  the  servant  to  show  into  the 
room  where  he  sat,  with  his  breakfast,  and  his 
newspapers  about  him. 

The  tall  old  man  entered,  with  a  slight  stoop, 
leering,  Cleve  thought,  a  little  sarcastically  over 
his  shoulder  as  he  did  so. 

Mr.  Dingwell  underwent  Mr.  Cleve  Yerney's 
reception,  smiling  oddly,  under  his  white  eye- 
brows, after  his  wont. 

"  I  suspect  some  little  mistake,  isn't  there  ? " 
said  he,  in  his  cold,  harsh,  quiet  tones.  "  You 
can  hardly  be  the  brother  of  my  old  friend,  Arthur 
Verney.  I  had  hoped  to  see  Mr.  Kiffyn  Fulke 
Verney — I — eh  ?  " 

"  I'm  his  nephew." 

"Oh!  nephew?  Yes— another  generation — 
yes,  of  course.  I  called  to  see  the  Honourable 
Kiffyn  Fulke  Verney.     I  was  not  able  to  attend 


CLEVE  VERNEY   HAS   A   VISITOR.  I  '2 1 

the  consultation,  or  whatever  you  call  it.  You 
know  I'm  your  principal  witness,  eh  ?  Dingwell's 
my  name." 

"  Oh,  to  be  sure — I  beg  pardon,  Mr.  Dingwell," 
said  Cleve,  who,  by  one  of  those  odd  slips  of 
memory,  which  sometimes  occur,  had  failed  to 
connect  the  name  with  the  case,  on  its  turning 
up  thus  unexpectedly. 

"  I  hope  your  admirable  uncle,  KifFyn  Verney, 
is,  at  all  events,  alive  and  approachable"  said  the 
old  man,  glancing  grimly  about  the  room ;  "  though 
perhaps  ijou're  his  next  heir,  and  the  hope  is  hardly 
polite." 

This  impertinence  of  Mr.  Dingwell's,  Mr.  Cleve 
Verney,  who  knew  his  importance,  and  had  heard 
something  of  his  odd  temper,  resented  only  by 
asking  him  to  be  seated. 

"  That,"  said  the  old  man,  with  a  vicious  laugh 
and  a  smirk,  also  angry,  "is  a  liberty  which  I  was 
about  to  take  uninvited,  by  right  of  my  years  and 
fatigue,  eh  ?  " 

And  he  sat  down  with  the  air  of  a  man  who  is 
rather  nettled  than  pleased  by  an  attention. 

"  And  what  about  Mr.  KifFyn  Verney  ? "  he 
asked,  sharply. 

"  My  uncle  is  in  the  country,"  answered  Cleve, 
who  would  have  liked  to  answer  the  fool  according 
to  his  folly,  but  he  succumbed  to  the  necessity, 


128        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

inculcated  with  much  shrewdness,  garnished  with 
some  references  to  Scripture,  by  Mr.  Jos.  Larkin, 
of  indulging  the  eccentricities  of  Mr.  Dingwell's 
temper  a  little. 

"  Then  he  is  alive  ?  I've  heard  such  an  account 
of  the  Verneys,  their  lives  are  so  brittle,  and  snap 
so  suddenly ;  my  poor  friend  Arthur  told  me,  and 
that  Jew  fellow,  Levi,  here,  who  seems  so  intimate 
with  the  family — d — n  him  ! — says  the  same  :  no 
London  house  likes  to  insure  them.  Well,  I  see 
you  don't  like  it :  no  one  does ;  the  smell  of  the 
coffin,  sir;  time  enough  when  we  are  carrion,  and 
fill  it.     Ha,  ha,  ha  !  " 

"  Yes,  sir,  quite,'  said  Cleve,  drily. 

"  No  young  man  likes  the  sight  of  that  stinking 
old  lantern-jawed  fellow,  who  shall  be  nameless, 
looking  over  his  spade  so  slily ;  but  the  best  way 
is  to  do  as  I've  done.  Since  you  must  meet  him 
one  day,  go  up  to  him,  and  make  Lis  acquaintance, 
and  shake  hands ;  and  egad  !  when  you've  grown 
a  little  bit  intimate,  he's  not  half  so  disgusting, 
and  sometimes  he's  even  a  little  bit  funny/' 

"  If  I  were  thinking  of  the  profession  of  a 
sexton,  or  an  undertaker,  I  might,"  began  Cleve, 
who  felt  a  profound  disgust  of  this  old  Mr.  Ding- 
well,  "but  as  I  don't,  and  since  by  the  time  it 
comes  to  my  turn,  I  shall  be  pretty  well  past  seeing 
and  smelling " 


CLEVE   VERXEY   HAS   A   VISITOR.  129 

"  Don't  be  too  sure  of  that,"  said  Mr.  Dingwell, 
with  one  of  his  ugly  smirks.  "  Some  cheerful 
people  think  not,  you  know.  But  it  isn't  about 
such  matters  that  I  want  to  trouble  you ;  in  fact, 
I  came  to  say  a  word  to  your  uncle;  but  as  I 
can't  see  him,  you  can  tell  him,  and  urge  it 
more  eloquently  too,  than  I  can.  You  and  he 
are  both  orators  by  profession;  and  tell  him  he 
must  give  me  five  hundred  pounds  immediately." 

"  Five  hundred  pounds  !  Why  1 "  said  Cleve, 
with  a  scornful  surprise. 

"Because  I  want  it/'  answered  the  old  gentle- 
man, squaring  himself,  and  with  the  corner  of  his 
mouth  drawn  oddly  in,  his  white  head  a  little  on 
one  side,  and  his  eyebrows  raised,  with  altogether 
an  air  of  vicious  defiance. 

"  You  have  had  your  allowance  raised  very 
much,  sir — it  is  an  exorbitant  allowance — what 
reason  can  you  now  urge  for  this  request  ? " 
answered  Cleve. 

u  The  same  reason,  sir,  precisely.  If  I  don't 
get  it  I  shall  go  away,  re  i?ifecta,  and  leave  you  to 
find  out  proof  of  the  death  how  you  may." 

Cleve  was  very  near  giving  this  unconscionable 
old  extortioner  a  bit  of  his  mind,  and  ordering 
him  out  of  the  house  on  the  instant.  But  Air. 
Larkin  had  been  so  very  urgent  on  the  point,  that 
he  commanded  himself. 

VOL.    II.  K 


130  THE   TENANTS   OF    MALORY. 

"  1  hardly  think,  sir,  you  can  be  serious/'  said 
Cleve. 

"  Egad,  sir  !  you'll  find  it  a  serious  matter  if  you 
don't;  for,  upon  my  soul,  unless  I'm  paid,  and 
well  paid  for  it,  I'll  depose  to  nothing." 

"That's  plain  speaking,  at  all  events,"  said 
Mr.  Cleve  Verney. 

"  Oh  !  sir,  I'll  speak  more  plainly  still,"  said 
Mr.  Dingwell,  with  a  short  sarcastic  bow.  "  I 
never  mince  matters ;  life  is  too  short  for  circum- 
locutions." 

"  Verney  life,  at  all  events,  by  your  account,  sir, 
and  I  don't  desire  them.  I  shall  mention  the 
matter  to  my  uncle  to-day  in  my  letter,  but  I 
really  can't  undertake  to  do  more;  for  I  may  tell 
you  frankly,  Mr.  Dingwell,  I  can't,  for  the  life  of 
me,  understand  what  you  can  possibly  want  of 
such  a  surn." 

"  I  suppose,  young  gentleman,  you  have  your 
pleasures,  and  I  have  mine,  and  they're  not 
to  be  had  without  money ;  and  egad,  sir !  if 
you  fancy  it's  for  love  of  your  old  uncle  or  of 
you,  that  I'm  here,  and  taking  all  this  trouble, 
you  are  very  much  mistaken;  and  if  I  help 
you  to  this  house,  and  the  title,  and  estates, 
I'll  take  leave  to  help  myself  to  some  little 
amusement — money,  I  mean,  also.  Cool  fellows, 
egad!" 


CLEVE    VERNE?    HAS   A   VISITOR.  131 

The  brown  features  of  the  old  man  flushed 
angrily  as  he  laughed. 

"  Well,  Mr.  Dingwell,  I  can  only  repeat  what 
1  have  said,  and  I  will  also  speak  to  Mr.  Larkin. 
I  have  no  power  in  the  business  myself,  and  you 
had  better  talk  to  him/'  said  Cleve. 

u  I  prefer  the  fountain-head,  sir.  I  don't  care 
twopence  how  you  arrange  it  among  yourselves ; 
but  you  must  give  me  the  money  by  Saturday." 

"  Rather  an  early  day,  Mr.  Dingwell;  however, 
as  I  said,  the  question  is  for  my  uncle ;  it  can't 
affect  me,"  said  Cleve. 

Mr.  Dingwell  mused  angrily  for  a  little,  and 
Cleve  thought  his  face  one  of  the  wickedest  he 
had  ever  seen  while  in  this  state  of  excited  rumi- 
nation. 

"  You  all — both  owe  me  more  in  that  man's 
death — there  are  very  odd  circumstances  about 
it,  I  can  tell  you — than,  perhaps,  you  at  present 
imagine,"  said  Mr.  Dingwell,  looking  up  suddenly, 
with  a  dismal  sneer,  which  subsided  into  an  equally 
dismal  stare. 

Cleve,  for  a  second  or  two,  returned  the  stare, 
while  the  question  crossed  his  mind :  "  Can  the 
old  villain  mean  that  my  miserable  uncle  met  his 
death  by  foul  means,  in  which  he  took  a  part,  and 
intends  to  throw  that  consideration  in  with  his 
averred  services,  to  enhance  his  claim  ? 

k  2 


132        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

"You  had  better  tell  your  uncle,  with  my  com- 
pliments," said  Mr.  Dingwell,  "  that  he'll  make  a 
kettle  of  fish  of  the  whole  affair,  in  a  way  he 
doesn't   expect,  unless  he  makes  matters  square 

with  me.     I  often  think  I'm  a  d d  fool,  sir,  to 

let  you  off  as  I  do." 

"  I  don't  see,  Mr.  Dingwell,  that  you  are  letting 
us  off,  as  you  say,  so  very  easily,"  answered  Cleve, 
with  a  cold  smile. 

"No,  you  don't  see,  but  I'll  make  yon  see  it," 
said  Mr.  Dingwell,  very  tartly,  and  with  an  un- 
pleasant laugh.  "  Arthur  Verney  was  always 
changing  his  quarters — was  never  in  the  light. 
He  went  by  different  nicknames.  There  were 
in  all  Constantinople  but  two  men,  except  my- 
self, the  Consul,  and  the  stockbroker,  who 
cashed  the  money-orders  for  him,  who  could 
identify  him,  or  who  knew  his  name.  He  lived 
in  the  dark,  and  not  very  cleanly — you'll  excuse 
the  simile — like  one  of  your  sewer-rats.  He 
died  suddenly  and  oddly,  sir,  like  a  candle  on 
which  has  fallen  a  drop  of  water,  with  a  splutter 
and  a  flash,  in  a  moment — one  of  your  Verney 
deaths,  sir.  You  might  as  well  hope  to  prove 
the  death  of  a  particular  town-dog  there,  with- 
out kennel,  or  master,  or  name,  a  year  after  his 
brothers  had  eaten  him."  Cleve  knew  that  old 
Dingwell  in   this  spoke  the   truth  and  lied  not. 


CLEVE   VERXEY   HAS   A   VISITOR.  133 

Lord  Yerney  had  written  to  great  people  there, 
who  had  set  small  ones  in  motion,  with  a  result 
very  like  what  Dingwell  described.  Arthur 
Yerney  was  a  gipsy — seldom  sleeping  for  two 
weeks  in  the  same  house — with  so  many  different 
names  that  it  was  vain  attempting  to  trace  him, 
and  merely  emerging  when  he  wanted  money. 
u  So,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Dingwell,  with  a  smirk,  "  I  see 
my  value." 

"I  don't  recollect  that  my  uncle  ever  disputed 
it,"  replied  Mr.  Cleve  Verney. 

"  I  understand  your  difficulty  perfectly.  The 
presumption  of  English  law,  ha  !  ha  !  ha  !  is  in 
favour  of  the  duration  of  human  life,  whenever 
you  can't  prove  a  death.  So,  English  law,  which 
we  can't  dispute — for  it  is  the  perfection  of  human 
wisdom — places  the  putrid  body  of  my  late  friend 
Arthur  in  the  robes,  coronet,  and  staff  of  the 
Yerney s,  and  would  give  him  the  spending  of  the 
rents,  too,  but  that  you  can't  make  a  horse  drink, 
though  you  may  bring  him  to  the  water.  At  all 
events,  sir,  my  festering  friend  in  the  shroud  will 
hold  secure  possession  of  the  estates  against  all 
comers  till  he  exhausts  that  patient  presumption, 
and  sees  Kiffyn,  and  you,  sir,  and  every  Yerney 
now  alive,  laid  with  their  faces  upward.  So,  sir, 
you  see  I  know  my  value.  I  have  the  grand 
arcanum ;   I  hold  in  my  hand  the  Philosopher;, 


134        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

Stone  that  can  turn  your  pewter  and  brass  into 
gold.  I  hold  it  fast,  sir,  and,  egad !  I'll  run  away 
with  it,  unless  I  see  a  reason."  And  the  old 
gentleman  laughed,  and  shrugged  and  expanded 
his  slender  hands  with  a  deprecation  that  was 
menacing. 

Cleve  was  very  angry,  but  he  was  also  alarmed ; 
for  Mr.  Dingwell  looked  quite  capable  of  any 
treason  against  the  Verney  interest  to  which  his 
avarice  or  his  spites  might  prompt  him.  A  wild, 
cold,  wandering  eye;  a  play  of  the  nostrils,  and 
a  corrugation  of  the  brows  that  gave  to  his  smile, 
or  his  laugh,  a  menace  that  was  villanous,  and 
almost  insane — warned  the  young  man  of  the 
quality  of  the  beast,  and  invited  him  to  the 
exercise  of  all  his  self-control. 

"I  am  quite  certain,  Mr.  Dingwell,  that  my 
uncle  will  do  whatever  is  reasonable  and  fair, 
and  I  am  also  sure  that  he  feels  his  obligations 
to  you.  I  shall  take  care  that  he  hears  all  that 
you  have  said,  and  you  understand  that  I  lite- 
rally have  neither  power  nor  influence  in  his 
decision." 

"  Well,  he  feels  his  obligations,"  said  Mr. 
Dingwell.     "  That  is  pleasant." 

"  Certainly;  and,  as  I  said,  whatever  is  fair  and 
reasonable  I  am  certain  he  will  do/;  said  Cleve 
Verney. 


CLEVE   VERNEY    HAS   A   VISITOR.  135 

"  Fair  and  reasonable — that  is  exactly  the  thing 
— the  value ;  and  you  know — 

1  The  worth  precise  of  anything 
Is  so  much  money  as  'twill  bring. ' 

And  Fll  make  it  bring  what  I  say  j  and  I  make 
it  a  rule  to  treat  money  matters  in  the  grossest 
terms,  because  that  is  the  only  language  which  is 
at  once  intelligible  and  direct — and  grossness  I 
believe  to  be  the  soul  of  business  j  and  so,  sir,  tell 
him  with  my  compliments,  I  shall  expect  five 
hundred  pounds  at  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning,  in 
Bank  of  England  notes." 

At  this  moment  the  servant  announced  the 
Rev.  Isaac  Dixie,  and  Mr.  Dingwell  stood  up, 
and,  looking  with  a  kind  of  amusement  and  scorn 
round  the  room  upon  the  dusty  portraits,  made  a 
sharp  bow  to  Cleve  Verney,  and  saying, — 

"  That's  all;  good  morning,  sir" — with  another 
nod,  turned  about,  and  walked  jauntily  out  of  the 
room. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

THE    REV.     ISAAC    DIXIE    SETS    FORTH    ON    A 
MISSION. 

There  was,  as  Cleve  knew,  a  basis  of  truth 
in  all  that  Mr.  Dingwell  had  said,  which  made 
his  voice  more  grating,  his  eye  more  alarming, 
and  his  language  more  disgusting. 

"\Yould  that  Fortune  had  sent  them,  Cleve 
thought,  some  enchanted  horse,  other  than  that 
beast,  to  fly  them  into  the  fairy-land  of  their  long- 
deferred  ambition  !  Would  that  she  had  sent 
them  a  Rarey,  to  lead  him  by  a  metaphoric 
halter,  and  quell,  by  his  art,  the  devil  within  him 
— the  evil  spirit  before  which  something  in  Cleve's 
nature  quailed,  because  it  seemed  to  know  nothing 
but  appetite,  and  was  destitute  of  sympathy  and 
foresight. 

Dingwell  was  beset  with  dangers  and  devils  of 
his  own ;  but  he  stood  in  his  magic  circle,  making 
mouths  and  shaking  his  fist,  and  cursing  at 
them.      He   seemed  to   have  no  imagination  to 


REV.  ISAAC  DIXIE  SETS  FORTH  ON  A  MISSION.     137 

awe,  or  prudence  to  restrain  him.  He  was  awrare, 
and  so  was  Cleve,  that  Larkin  knew  all  about  his 
old  bankruptcy,  the  judgments  against  him,  the 
impounded  forgeries  on  which  he  had  been  on  the 
brink  of  indictment,  and  his  escape  from  prison ; 
and  yet  he  railed  at  Larkin,  and  defied  the 
powerful  Verneys,  as  if  he  had  been  an  angel 
sent  to  illuminate,  to  lecture,  and  to  rule  them. 

Mr.  Larkin  was  usually  an  adroit  and  effectual 
tamer  of  evil  beasts,  in  such  case  as  this  Mr. 
Dingwell.  He  wraved  his  thin  wand  of  red-hot 
iron  with  a  light  and  firm  hand,  and  made  every 
raw  smoke  in  turn,  till  the  lion  was  fit  to  lie  down 
with  the  lamb.  But  this  Dingwell  was  an  eccen- 
tric brute ;  he  had  no  awe  for  the  superior  nature, 
no  respect  for  the  imposing  airs  of  the  tamer — 
not  the  slightest  appreciation  even  of  his  cautery. 
On  the  contrary,  he  seemed  to  like  the  sensation, 
and  amuse  himself  with  the  exposure  of  his  sores 
to  the  inspection  of  Mr.  Larkin,  who  began  to 
feel  himself  drawn  into  an  embarrassing  and 
highly  disreputable  confidence. 

Mr.  Larkin  had  latterly  quite  given  up  the  idea 
of  frightening  Mr.  Dingwell,  for  when  he  tried 
that  method,  Mr.  Dingwell  had  grown  uncomfort- 
ably lively  and  skittish,  and,  in  fact,  frightened 
the  exemplary  Mr.  Larkin  confoundedly.  He  had 
recapitulated  his  own  enormities  with  an  elation 


138  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

and  frightful  merriment  worthy  of  a  scandalous 
corner  at  a  YValpurges  ball;  had  demonstrated 
that  he  perfectly  understood  the  game  of  the 
serious  attorney,  and  showed  himself  so  curiously 
thick  of  skin,  and  withal  so  sportive  and  formid- 
able a  rhinoceros,  that  Mr.  Larkin  then  and  there 
learned  a  lesson,  and  vowed  no  more  to  try  the 
mesmerism  that  succeeded  with  others,  or  the  hot 
rod  of  iron  under  which  they  winced  and  gasped 
and  succumbed. 

Such  a  systematic,  and  even  dangerous  defiance 
of  everything  good,  he  had  never  encountered  be- 
fore. Such  a  person  exactly  as  this  Mr.  Dingwell 
he  could  not  have  imagined.  There  was,  he  feared, 
a  vein  of  insanity  in  that  unfortunate  man. 

He  had  seen  quite  enough  of  the  horrid  adroit- 
ness of  Mr.  Dingwell's  horse-pla}',  and  felt  such 
qualms  whenever  that  animal  capered  and  snorted, 
that  he  contented  himself  with  musing  and  won- 
dering over  his  idiosyncrasies,  and  adopted  a 
soothing  treatment  with  him — talked  to  him  in  a 
friendly,  and  even  tender  way — and  had  some 
vague  plans  of  getting  him  ultimately  into  a 
mad-house. 

But  Mr.  Dingwell  was  by  this  time  getting 
into  his  cab,  with  a  drapery  of  mufflers  round 
him,  and  telling  the  man  through  the  front  win- 
dow to  drive  to  Rosemary  Court ;  he  threw  him- 


REV.  ISAAC  DIXIE  SETS  EORTH  ON  A  MISSION.      139 

self  back  into  a  corner,  and  chuckled  and  snorted 
in  a  conceited  ecstasy  over  his  victory,  and  the 
money  which  was  coming  to  minister  to  no  good 
in  this  evil  world. 

Cleve  Verney  leaned  back  in  his  chair,  and 
there  rose  before  him  a  view  of  a  moonlighted 
wood,  and  old  chateau,  with  its  many  peaked 
turrets,  and  steep  roofs,  showing  silvery  against 
the  deep,  liquid  sky  of  night,  and  with  a  sigh,  he 
saw  on  the  white  worn  steps,  that  beautiful,  won- 
derful shape  that  was  his  hope  and  his  fate;  and 
as  he  leaned  on  his  hand,  the  Reverend  Isaac 
Dixie,  whose  name  had  strangely  summoned  this 
picture  from  the  deep  sea  of  his  fancy,  entered  the 
room,  smiling  rosily,  after  his  wont,  and  extend- 
ing his  broad  hand,  as  he  marched  with  deliberate 
strides  across  the  floor,  as  much  as  to  say—"  Here 
I  am,  your  old  tutor  and  admirer,  who  always 
predicted  great  things  for  you  ;  I  know  you  are 
charmed,  as  I  am  ;  I  know  how  you  will  greet  me." 

"  Ha !  old  Dixie,"  and  Cleve  got  up,  with  a 
kind  of  effort,  and  not  advancing  very  far,  shook 
hands. 

"  So  you  have  got  your  leave — a  week — or  how 
long  ?  " 

"  Pve  arranged  for  next  Sunday,  that's  all,  my 
dear  Mr.  Verney ;  some  little  inconvenience,  but 
very  happy — always  happy." 


140  THE   TENANTS    OF   MALORY. 

"  Come,  I  want  to  have  a  talk  with  you,"  said 
Cleve,  drawing  the  clergyman  to  a  chair.  "  Don't 
you  remember — you  ought,  you  know — what  Lord 
Sparkish  (isn't  it?)  says  in  Swift's  Polite  Conver- 
sations— c  "lis  as  cheap  sitting  as  standing/  M 

The  clergyman  took  the  chair,  simpering  bash- 
fully, for  the  allusion  was  cruel,  and  referred  to  a 
time  when  the  Reverend  Isaac  Dixie,  being  as 
yet  young  in  the  ways  of  the  world,  and  some- 
what slow  in  apprehending  literary  ironies,  had 
actually  put  his  pupil  through  a  grave  course  of 
(i  Polite  Conversation,"  which  he  picked  up  among 
some  odd  volumes  of  the  works  of  the  great  Dean 
of  St.  Patrick's,  on  the  school-room  shelf  at 
Malory. 

"  And  for  my  accomplishment  of  saying  smart 
things  in  a  polite  way,  I  am  entirely  obliged  to 
you  and  Dean  Swift,"  said  Cleve,  mischievously. 

"  Ah  !  ah  !  you  were  always  fond  of  a  jest,  my 
dear  Mr.  Yerney;  you  liked  poking  fun,  you  did, 
at  your  old  tutor;  but  you  know  how  that  really 
was — I  have  explained  it  so  often;  still,  I  do 
allow,  the  jest  is  not  a  bad  one. 

But  Cleve's  mind  was  already  on  quite  another 
subject. 

"And  now,  Dixie,"  said  he,  with  a  sharp  glance 
into  the  clergyman's  eyes,  "you  know,  or  at  least 
you  guess,  what  it  is  1  want  you  to  do  for  me?  " 


REV.  ISAAC  DIXIE  SETS  FORTH  OX  A  MISSION.      HI 

The  clergyman  looked  down  by  his  gaiter,  with 
his  head  a  little  a-one-side,  and  his  mouth  a  little 
pursed  ;  and  said  he,  after  a  momentary  silence, — 

"  I  really,  I  may  say,  unaffectedly t  assure  you 
that  I  do  not." 

"You're  a  queer  fellow,  old  Dixie/'  said  Cleve; 
"you  won't  be  vexed,  but  you  are  always  a  little 
bit  too  clever.  I  did  not  tell  you  exactly,  but  I 
told  you  enough  to  enable  you  to  guess  it.  Don't 
you  remember  our  last  talk  ?  Come  now,  Dixie, 
you're  no  muff." 

"  I  hope  not,  my  dear  Cleve ;  I  may  be,  but  I 
don't  pretend  to  that  character,  though  I  have 
still,  I  apprehend,  much  to  learn  in  the  world's 
ways.'-' 

"  Yes,  of  course,"  said  the  young  man ;  and 
tapped  his  small  teeth  that  glittered  under  his 
moustache,  with  the  end  of  his  pencil-case,  while 
he  lazily  watched  the  face  of  the  clergyman  from 
under  his  long  lashes. 

"And  I  assure  you,"  continued  the  clergyman, 
"if  I  were  to  pretend  that  I  did  apprehend  your 
intentions,  I  should  be  guilty  of  an  inaccuracy 
amounting,  in  fact,  to  an  untruth." 

He  thought  he  detected  something  a  little 
mocking  in  the  handsome  face  of  the  young 
gentleman,  and  could  not  tell,  in  the  shadow  of 
the   window-curtain,    whether    those    even    white 


142  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

teeth  were  not  smiling  at  him  outright ;  and  a 
little  nettled,  but  not  forgetting  himself,  he  went 
on, — 

"You  know,  my  dear  Cleve,  it  is  nothing  on 
earth  to  me — absolutely ;  I  act  merely  to  oblige 
— merely,  I  mean,  to  be  useful — if  in  my  power, 
consistently  with  all  other  considerations,  and  I 
speak,  I  humbly,  but  confidently  hope,  habitually 

the  truth  " 

"  Of  course  you  do,"  said  the  young  gentleman, 
with  emphasis,  and  growing  quite  serious  again. 
"  It  is  very  kind,  I  know,  your  coming  all  this 
way,  and  managing  your  week's  absence;  and 
vou  may  for  the  present  know  just  as  little  or  as 
much  of  the  matter  as  you  please  ;  only  mind, 
this  is — not  of  course  in  any  wrong  sense — a  dark 
business — awfully  quiet.  They  say  that,  in  Eng- 
land, a  talent  for  speaking  may  raise  a  man  to 
anything,  but  I  think  a  talent  for  holding  one's 
tongue  is  sometimes  a  better  one.  And — I'm  quite 
serious,  old  Dixie — I'll  not  forget  your  fidelity  to 
me,  upon  my  honour — really,  never ;  and  as  you 
know,  1  may  yet  have  the  power  of  proving  it." 

The  Rev.  Isaac  Dixie  folded  his  hands,  and 
hung  his  head  sideways  in  a  meek  modesty,  and 
withal  smiled  so  rosily  and  gloriously,  as  he  sate 
in  front  of  the  window,  that  had  it  happened  an 
hour  before  sunrise,  the  sparrows  in  the  ivy  all 


REV.  ISAAC  DIXIE  SETS  FORTH  ON  A  MISSION.      143 

along  the  stable  walls,  would  undoubtedly  have 
mistaken  it  for  the  glow  of  Aurora,  and  com- 
menced their  chirping  and  twittering  salutations 
to  the  dawn  an  hour  too  soon. 

"  It  is  very  gratifying,  very,  you  cannot  readily 
estimate,  my  dear,  and — may  I  not  say? — my 
illustrious  pupil,  how  gratifying  to  me,  quite  irre- 
spective of  all  those  substantially  kind  intentions 
which  you  are  pleased  to  avow  in  my  behalf,  to 
hear  from  your  lips  so  frank  and — may  I  say, — 
almost  affectionate  a  declaration  ;  so  just  an  esti- 
mate of  my  devotion  to  your  interests,  and  I  may 
say,  I  hope,  of  my  character  generally  ?  " 

The  Rector  of  Clay  was  smiling  with  a  huge 
bashfulness,  and  slowly  folding  and  rubbing  one 
hand  over  the  other,  with  his  head  gently  in- 
clined, and  his  great  blue  chin  upon  his  guileless, 
single-breasted,  black  silk  bosom,  as  he  spoke  all 
this  in  mellow  effusion. 

"  Now,  Dixie,"  said  the  young  man,  while  a 
very  anxious  expression  for  the  first  time  showed 
itself  in  his  face,  "  I  want  you  to  do  me  a  kind- 
ness—a kindness  that  will  tie  me  to  you  all  the 
days  of  my  life.  It  is  something,  but  not  much ; 
chiefly  that  you  will  have  to  keep  a  secret,  and 
take  some  little  trouble,  which  I  know  you  don't 
mind  ;  but  nothing  serious,  not  the  slightest  irre- 
gularity, a  trifle,   I  assure  you,  and  chiefly,  as  I 


1 44-  THE  TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

said,  that  you  will  have  to  keep  a  secret  for 
me." 

Dixie  also  looked  a  good  deal  graver  as  he 
bowed  his  acquiescence,  trying  to  smile  on,  and 
still  sliding  his  hands  softly,  one  over  the  other. 

"  I  know  you  guess  what  it  is — no  matter — 
we'll  not  discuss  it,  dear  Dixie  j  it's  quite  past 
that  now.  You'll  have  to  make  a  little  trip  for 
me — you'll  not  mind  it;  only  across  what  you 
used  to  call  the  herring-pond  j  and  you  must  wait 
at  the  Silver  Lion  at  Caen ;  it  is  the  best  place 
there  — I  wish  it  was  better — not  a  soul  will  you 
see — I  mean  English,  no  one  but  quite  French 
people ;  and  there  is  quite  amusement,  for  a  day 
or  so,  in  looking  over  the  old  town.  Just  wait 
there,  and  I'll  let  you  know  everything  before 
you  have  been  two  days  there.  I've  got  your 
passport;  you  shall  have  no  trouble.  And  you 
need  not  go  to  a  bank ;  there's  gold  here ;  and 
you'll  keep  it,  and  spend  it  for  me  till  I  see  you  ; 
and  you  must  go  to-day." 

"  And,  of  course,  I  know  it  is  nothing  wrong, 
my  dear  Cleve;  but  we  are  told  to  avoid  even  the 
appearance  of  evil.  And  in  any  case,  I  should 
not,  of  course,  for  the  world  offend  your  uncle — 
Lord  Verney,  I  may  call  him  now — the  head  of 
the  family,  and  my  very  kind  patron  ;  for  I  trust 
I  never  forget  a  kindness ;  and  if  it  should  turn 


REV.  ISAAC  DIXIE  SETS  FORTH  OX  A  MISSIOX.     145 

out  to  be  anything  which  by  any  chance  he  might 
misinterpret,  I  may  reckon  upon  your  religious 
silence,  my  dear  Cleve,  as  respects  my  name  ?  " 

"  Silence !  of  course — Fd  die  before  I  should 
tell,  under  any  pressure.  I  think  you  know  I 
can  keep  a  secret,  and  my  own  especially.  And 
never  trust  my  honour  more  if  your  name  is  ever 
breathed  in  connexion  with  any  little  service  you 
may  render  me." 

He  pressed  the  Eev.  Isaac  Dixie's  hand  very 
earnestly  as  he  spoke. 

"  And  now,  will  you  kindly  take  charge  of  this 
for  me,  and  do  as  I  said  ? "  continued  Cleve, 
placing  the  gold  in  Dixie's  not  unwilling  hand. 
"  And  on  this  paper  I  have  made  a  note  of  the 
best  way — all  about  the  boat  and  the  rest ;  and 
God  bless  you,  my  dear  Dixie,  good-bye." 

"And  God  bless  you,  my  dear  Cleve,"  recipro- 
cated the  clergyman,  and  they  shook  hands  again, 
and  the  clergyman  smiled  blandly  and  tenderly ; 
and  as  he  closed  the  door,  and  crossed  the  hall, 
grew  very  thoughtful,  and  looked  as  if  he  were 
getting  into  a  possible  mess. 

Cleve,  too,  was  very  pale  as  he  stood  by  the 
window,  looking  into  the  sooty  garden  at  the 
back  of  Verney  House. 


VOL.  II. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

OVER    THE    HERRING-POND. 

Like  the  vision  that  had  visited  Cleve  as  he 
sate  in  the  breakfast-room  of  Verney  House, 
awaiting  the  Rev.  Isaac  Dixie,  the  old  Chateau 
de  Cresseron  shared  that  night  in  the  soft  yet 
brilliant  moonlight.  That  clergyman — vulgar  I 
am  afraid  ;  worldly,  perhaps ;  certainly  not  beau- 
tiful— had  undertaken  this  foreign  mission  into 
the  land  of  romance  ;  and  among  its  shadows  and 
enchanted  lights,  and  heroic  phantoms,  looked,  I 
am  afraid,  incongruous,  as  the  long-eared,  shaggy 
head  of  Bottom  in  the  fairy-haunted  wood  near 
Athens. 

In  the  ancient  town  of  Caen,  in  the  Silver 
Lion,  the  Rev.  Isaac  Dixie  that  evening  made 
himself  partially  understood,  and  altogether  com- 
fortable. He  had  an  excellent  dinner,  and  par- 
took, moderately  of  course,  of  the  very  best  vin- 
tage in  the  crypt  of  that  venerable  inn.  Why 
should  he  not  ?     Was  he  not  making  harmless 


OVER   THE    HERRIXG-POXD.  147 

holiday,  and  guilty  of  no  extravagance  j  for  had 
not  Mr.  Cleve  Verney  buckled  a  long  purse  to 
his  girdle,  and  told  him  to  dip  his  fingers  in 
it  as  often  and  as  deep  as  he  pleased  ?  And 
if  he  undertook  the  task  —  trod  out  Cleve 
Verney's  corn,  surely  it  was  no  business  of  his 
to  call  for  a  muzzle,  and  deny  himself  his  heart's 
content. 

In  that  exquisite  moonlight,  having  had  his 
cup  of  coffee,  the  Rev.  Isaac  Dixie  made  a  loiter- 
ing promenade  :  everything  was  bewitching — a 
little  wonderful,  he  fancied — a  little  strange  — 
from  his  shadow,  that  looked  so  sharp  on  the 
white  road,  to  the  gothic  fronts  and  gables  of 
old  carved  houses,  emitting  ruddy  glimmerings 
from  diamond  casemates  high  in  air,  and  half- 
melting  in  the  deep  liquid  sky,  gleaming  with 
stars  over  his  head. 

All  was  perfectly  French  in  language  and  cos- 
tume: not  a  note  of  the  familiar  English  accent 
mingled  in  the  foreign  hum  of  life.  He  was 
quite  at  his  ease.  To  all  censorious  eyes  he 
walked  invisible  ;  and,  shall  I  tell  it  ?  Why  not  ? 
For  in  truth,  if  his  bishop,  who  abhors  that  nar- 
cotic, and  who,  I  am  sure,  never  reads  novels, 
and  therefore  cannot  read  it  here,  learns  nothing 
of  it,  the  telling  can  hurt  nobody.  He  smoked 
three    great    cheroots,    mild    and    fragrant,    that 

l2 


14S       THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

evening,  in  the  ancient  streets  of  Caen,  and  re- 
turned to  his  inn,  odorous  of  that  perfume. 

It  would  have  been  altogether  a  delicious  ex- 
cursion, had  there  not  been  a  suspense  and  an 
anxiety  to  trouble  the  divine.  The  Rev.  Isaac 
Dixie  regretted  now  that  he  had  not  asked  Cleve 
to  define  his  object.  He  suspected,  but  did  not 
know  its  nature.  He  had  no  idea  how  obsti- 
nately and  amazingly  the  problem  would  recur  to 
his  mind,  and  how  serious  would  grow  his  qualms 
as  the  hour  of  revelation  drew  near. 

The  same  moon  is  shining  over  the  ancient 
streets  of  Caen,  and  over  smoke-canopied  Verney 
House,  and  over  the  quaint  and  lonely  Chateau 
de  Cresseron.  In  a  tapestried  room  in  this  old 
French  house  candles  were  burning,  the  window 
open,  and  Margaret  Fanshawe  sitting  at  it,  and 
looking  out  on  the  moonlit  woods  and  waters, 
and  breathing  the  still  air,  that  was  this  night 
soft  as  summer,  in  the  raptures  of  a  strange 
dream :  a  dream  no  more ;  the  uncertainty  is 
over,  and  all  her  griefs.  No  longer  is  she  one  of 
that  forlorn  race  that  hath  but  a  short  time  to 
live,  and  is  full  of  misery.  She  is  not  born  to 
trouble,  as  the  sparks  fly  upward,  but  translated. 
Is  it  so  ?  Alas  !  alas  !  the  angelic  voice  has  not 
yet  proclaimed  "  that  God  shall  wipe  away  all 
tears  from    their  eyes;    and    there  shall    be  no 


OVER   THE    HERRING-POND.  149 

more  death,  neither  sorrow,  nor  crying,  neither 
shall  there  be  any  more  pain ;  for  the  former 
things  are  passed  away."  These  words  are  for 
the  glorified,  who  have  passed  the  gates  of  death. 

In  this  bliss,  as  in  all  that  pertains  to  love, 
reason  has  small  share.  The  heart  rejoices  as 
the  birds  sing.  A  great  suspense — the  greatest 
care  that  visits  the  young  heart — has  ended  in  a 
blessed  certainty,  and  in  so  far  the  state  re- 
sembles heaven ;  but,  as  in  all  mortal  happiness, 
there  mingles  in  this  also  a  sadness  like  distant 
music. 

Old  Sir  Booth  Fanshawe  is  away  on  one  of  his 
mysterious  journeys,  and  cannot  return  for  three 
or  four  days,  at  soonest.  I  do  not  know  whether 
things  are  beginning  to  look  brighter  with  Sir 
Booth,  or  whether  his  affairs  are  being  " managed" 
into  utter  ruin.  Meanwhile,  the  evil  spirit  has 
departed  from  the  house,  and  the  spirit  of  music 
has  come,  music  with  yet  a  cadence  of  sadness 
in  it. 

This  fair,  quaint  landscape,  and  beautiful 
moonlight  !  Who  ever  looks  on  such  a  scene 
that  does  not  feel  a  melancholy  mingling  in  his 
delight  ? 


•©■ 


"  The  moon  shines  bright : — in  such  a  night  as  this, 
When  the  sweet  wind  <li<l  gently  kiss  the  trees, 
And  they  did  make  no  noise ;  in  such  a  night, 


150        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

Troilus,  methinks,  mounted  the  Trojan  walls, 
And  sighed  his  soul  toward  the  Grecian  tents, 
Where  Cresid  lay  that  night.     In  such  a  night 
Stood  Dido,  with  a  willow  in  her  hand, 
Upon  the  wild  sea-banks,  and  waved  her  love 
To  come  again  to  Carthage." 

Thus,  in  the  visions  of  the  Seer  who  lies  in 
Stratford-on-Avon,  moonlight  and  love  and  melan- 
choly are  related  ;  and  so  it  is,  and  will  be,  to 
the  end  of  time,  till  mortal  love  is  no  more,  and 
sadness  ends,  and  the  moon  is  changed  to  blood, 
and  all  things  are  made  Dew. 

And  now  over  the  moonlit  water,  through  the 
boughs  of  the  old  trees,  the  still  night  air  is 
thrilled  with  a  sweet  contralto — a  homely  song — 
the  echo  of  childish  days  and  the  nursery.  Poor 
Milly  !  her  maid  who  died  so  early,  whose  lover 
was  a  young  sailor,  far  away,  used  to  sing  it  for 
her  in  the  summer  evenings,  when  they  sat  down 
under  the  hawthorns,  on  Winnockhough,  looking 
toward  the  sea,  though  the  sea  was  many  a  mile 
away  : — 

"  As  Eve  went  forth  from  Paradise, 
She,  weeping,  bore  away- 
One  flower  that,  reared,  in  tears  and  sighs, 
Is  growing  to  this  day. 

"  Where'er  the  children  of  the  fall 
Are  toiling  to  this  hour, 
It  blooms  for  each,  it  blooms  for  all, 
And  Love  we  call  this  flower. 


OVER   THE   HERRING-POND.  151 

"  Red  roses  of  the  bygone  year 
Are  mingled  with  the  mould, 
And  other  roses  will  appear 
Where  they  grew  pale  and  old. 

"  But  where  it  grew,  no  other  grows, 
No  bloom  restores  the  sear  ; 
So  this  resembles  not  the  rose, 
And  knows  no  other  year. 

"  So,  welcome,  when  thy  bloom  is  red, 
The  glory  of  thy  light  ; 
And  welcome  when  thy  bloom  is  shed, 
The  long  sleep  of  my  night." 

And  now  the  song  is  ended,  and,  listening, 
nature  seems  to  sigh;  and  looking  toward  the  old 
chateau,  the  front  next  you  is  in  shadow,  the  win- 
dow is  open,  and  within  you  see  two  ladies.  The 
elder  is  standing  by  the  girl,  who  sits  still  at  the 
open  window,  looking  up  into  the  face  of  her  old 
friend— the  old  friend  who  has  known,  in  the 
early  days  of  romance,  what  love  is,  for  whom  now 
"the  bloom  is  shed,  and  mingling  with  the  mould/' 
but  who  remembers  sadly  the  blush  and  glory  of 
its  light  that  died  five-and-thirty  years  ago  upon 
Canadian  snows. 

Gently  the  old  lady  takes  her  hand,  and  sits 
beside  her  girlish  kinswoman,  and  lays  her  other 
hand  over  that,  and  smiles  with  a  strange  look  of 
affection,  and  admiration,  and  immeasurable  com- 
passion, that  somehow  seems  to  translate  her,  it 


152  THE   TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

is  so  sad  and  angelic.  I  cannot  hear  what  she  is 
saying,  but  the  young  lady  looks  up,  and  kisses 
her  thin  cheek,  and  lays  her  head  upon  her  old 
shoulder. 

Behind,  high  over  the  steep  roofs  and  pin- 
nacles, and  those  glimmering  weather-vanes,  that 
seem  sometimes  to  melt  quite  away,  hangs  the 
moon,  unclouded — meet  emblem  of  a  pure  love — 
no  longer  crossed  by  the  sorrows  of  true  love's 
course — Dian  the  Chaste,  with  her  sad,  pure,  and 
beautifully  misleading  light — alas  !  the  emblem, 
also,  of  mutation. 

In  a  few  concise  and  somewhat  dry  sentences, 
as  old  prison  stones  bear  the  records  which  thin 
hands,  long  since  turned  to  dust,  have  carved,  the 
world's  corridors  and  corners  bear  the  tracings  of 
others  that  were  busy  two  thousand  years  ago ; 
and  the  inscriptions  that  tell  the  trite  story  of 
human  fears  and  sadness,  cut  sharp  and  deep  in 
the  rock,  tell  simply  and  briefly  how  Death  was 
the  King  of  Terrors,  and  the  shortness  of  Life  the 
bitter  wonder,  and  black  Care  the  companion  of 
the  wayfarers  who  marched  by  the  same  route  to 
the  same  goal,  so  long  ago.  These  gigantic  griefs 
and  horrors  are  all  in  a  nutshell.  A  few  words 
tell  them.  Their  terror  is  in  their  truth.  There 
is  no  use  in  expanding  them  :  they  are  sublimely 
simple.      Among  the  shadowy  men  and  women 


OVER   THE    HERRING-POND.  153 

that  people  these  pages,  I  see  them  everywhere — 
plots  too  big  and  complicated  to  be  got,  by  any 
compression,  within  the  few  pages  and  narrow 
covers  of  the  book  of  their  lives  :  Care,  in  her  old 
black  weeds,  and  Death,  with  stealthy  foot  and 
blow  like  thunder. 

Twelve  months  had  come  and  gone  for  ever 
since  the  Reverend  Isaac  Dixie  made  that  little 
trip  to  Caen,  every  month  bringing  his  portion  of 
blossom,  fruit,  or  blight  to  every  mortal.  All  had 
gone  well  and  gloriously  in  this  Verney  Peerage 
matter. 

The  death  of  the  late  Honourable  Arthur  Ver- 
ney was  proved ;  and  the  Honourable  Kiffyn 
Fulke  Verney,  as  next  heir,  having  complied  with 
the  proper  forms,  duly  succeeded  to  the  ancient 
peerage  of  the  Verneys.  So  the  dream  was 
accomplished  more  splendidly,  perhaps,  than  if 
the  prize  had  come  earlier,  for  the  estates  were  in 
such  condition  as  they  had  never  attained  to  since 
the  great  rebellion ;  and  if  Viscount  Verney  was 
not  among  the  more  potent  of  his  peers,  the  fault 
was  not  in  the  peerage  and  its  belongings. 

I  don't  know  that  Lord  Verney  was  on  the 
whole  a  happier  man  than  the  Honourable  Kiffyn 
had  been.  He  had  become  somewhat  more  exact- 
ing; his  pride  pronounced  itself  more  implacably; 
men  felt  it  more,  because  he  was  really  formid- 


154        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

able.  Whatever  the  Viscount  in  the  box  might 
be,  the  drag  he  drove  was  heavy,  and  men  more 
alert  in  getting  out  of  his  way  than  they  would, 
perhaps,  had  he  been  a  better  whip. 

He  had  at  length  his  heart's  desire ;  but  still 
there  was  something  wanting.  He  was  not  quite 
where  he  ought  to  be.  With  his  boroughs,  and 
his  command  of  one  county,  and  potent  influence 
in  another,  he  ought  to  have  been  decidedly  a 
greater  man.  He  could  not  complain  of  being 
slighted.  The  minister  saw  him  when  he  chose  ; 
he  was  listened  to,  and  in  all  respects  courteously 
endured.  But  there  was  something  unsatisfactory. 
He  was  not  telling,  as  he  had  expected.  Perhaps 
he  had  no  very  clear  conceptions  to  impress.  He 
had  misgivings,  too,  that  secretly  depressed  and 
irritated  him.  He  saw  Twyndle's  eye  wander 
wildly,  and  caught  him  yawning  stealthily  into 
his  hand,  while  he  was  giving  him  his  view  of  the 
affair  of  the  "  the  Matilda  Briggs/'  and  the  right 
of  search.  He  had  seen  Foljambe,  of  the  Trea- 
sury, suddenly  laugh  at  something  he  thought  was 
particularly  wise,  while  unfolding  to  that  gentle- 
man, in  the  drawing-room,  after  dinner,  his  ideas 
about  local  loans,  in  aid  of  agriculture.  Foljambe 
did  not  laugh  outright.  It  was  only  a  tremulous 
qualm  of  a  second,  and  he  was  solemn  again,  and 
rather  abashed.     Lord  Verney  paused,  and  looked 


OVER   THi:    HERRING-POND.  L55 

for  a  second,  with  stern  inquiry  in  his  face,  and 
then  proceeded  politely.  But  Lord  Yerney  never 
thought  or  spoke  well  of  Foljambe  again ;  and 
often  reviewed  what  he  had  said,  in  secret,  to  try 
and  make  out  where  the  absurdity  lay,  and  was 
shy  of  ventilating  that  particular  plan  again,  and 
sometimes  suspected  that  it  was  the  boroughs  and 
the  county,  and  not  Kiffyn  Lord  Yerney,  that 
were  listened  to. 

As  the  organ  of  self-esteem  is  the  region  of  our 
chief  consolations  and  irritations  (and  its  con- 
dition regulates  temper),  this  undivulged  mortifi- 
cation, you  may  be  sure,  did  not  make  Lord 
Yerney,  into  whose  ruminations  was  ever  trick- 
ling, through  a  secret  duct,  this  fine  stream  of 
distilled  gall,  brighter  in  spirits,  or  happier  in 
temper. 

Oh  !  vanity  of  human  wishes  !  Not  that  the 
things  we  wish  for  are  not  in  themselves  plea- 
sant, but  that  we  forget  that,  as  in  nature  every 
substance  has  its  peculiar  animalcule  and  infest- 
ings,  so  every  blessing  has,  too  minute  to  be  seen 
at  a  distance,  but  quite  inseparable,  its  parasite 
troubles. 

Cleve  Yerney,  too,  who  stood  so  near  the 
throne,  was  he  happy?  The  shadow  of  care  was 
cast  upon  him.  He  had  grown  an  anxious  man. 
"  Yemey's  looking  awfully  thin,  don't  you  think, 


15G        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

and  seedy?  and  he's  always  writing  long  letters, 
and  rather  cross/'  was  the  criticism  of  one  of  his 
club  friends.  "  Been  going  a  little  too  fast,  I  dare 
say." 

Honest  Tom  Sedley  thought  it  was  this  pend- 
ing peerage  business,  and  the  suspense ;  and  re- 
ported to  his  friend  the  confident  talk  of  the  town 
on  the  subject.  But  when  the  question  was 
settled,  with  a  brilliant  facility,  his  good  humour 
did  not  recover.  There  was  still  the  same  cloud 
over  his  friend,  and  Tom  began  to  fear  that  Cleve 
had  got  into  some  very  bad  scrape,  probably  with 
the  Hebrew  communitv. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

MR.    CLEVE    YERXEY    PAYS    A    YISIT    TO     ROSEMARY 
COURT. 

That  evoked  spirit,  Dingwell,  was  now  functus 
officio,  and  might  be  dismissed.  He  was  as  much 
afraid  of  the  light  of  London — even  the  gaslight 
— as  a  man  of  his  audacity  could  be  of  anything. 
Still  he  lingered  there. 

Mr.  Larkin  had  repeatedly  congratulated  the 
Verney  peer,  and  his  young  friend  and  patron, 
Cleve,  upon  his  own  masterly  management,  and 
the  happy  result  of  the  case,  as  he  called  it.  And 
although,  with  scriptural  warning  before  him,  he 
would  be  the  last  man  in  the  world  to  say,  "  Is 
not  this  great  Babylon  that  I  have  builded?" 
Yet  he  did  wish  Lord  Viscount  Verney,  and  Cleve 
Verney,  M.P.,  distinctly  to  understand  that  he, 
Mr.  Larkin,  had  been  the  making  of  them. 
There  were  some  things — very  many  things,  in 
fact,  all  desirable — which  those  distinguished  per- 
sons could  effect  for  the  good  attorney  of  Glyng- 


158        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

den,   and   that  excellent   person   in  consequence 
presented  himself  diligently  at  Verney  House. 

On  the  morning  I  now  speak  of,  he  was  intro- 
duced to  the  library,  where  he  found  the  peer  and 
his  nephew. 

"  I  ventured  to  call,  my  lord — how  do  you  do, 
Mr.  Verney  ? — to  invite  your  lordship's  attention 
to  the  position  of  Mr.  Dingwell,  who  is  compelled 
by  lack  of  funds  to  prolong  his  stay  in  London. 
He  is,  I  may  say,  most  anxious  to  take  his  de- 
parture quietly  and  expeditiously,  for  Constanti- 
nople, where,  I  venture  to  think,  it  is  expedient 
for  all  parties,  that  his  residence  should  be  fixed, 
rather  than  in  London,  where  he  is  in  hourly 
danger  of  detection  and  arrest,  the  consequence  of 
which,  my  lord; — it  will  probably  have  struck  your 
lordship's  rapid  apprehension  already, — would  be, 
I  venture  to  think,  a  very  painful  investigation  of 
his  past  life,  and  a  concomitant  discrediting  of 
his  character,  which  although,  as  your  lordship 
would  point  out  to  me,  it  cannot  disturb  that 
which  is  already  settled,  would  yet  produce  an 
unpleasant  effect  out  of  doors,  which,  it  is  to  be 
feared,  he  would  take  care  to  aggravate  by  all 
means  in  his  power,  were  he  to  refer  his  detention 
here,  and  consequent  arrest,  to  any  fancied  eco- 
nomy on  your  lordship's  part." 

"I  don't  quite  follow  you  about  it,  Mr.  Larkin," 


A   VISIT   TO   ROSEMARY   COURT.  159 

said  Lord  Verney,  who  generally  looked  a  little 
stern  when  he  was  puzzled.  "  I  don't  quite 
apprehend  the  drift — be  good  enough  to  sit  down 
— about  it — of  your  remarks,  as  they  bear  upon 
Mr.  Dingwell's  wishes,  and  my  conduct.  Do  you, 
Cieve?" 

"I  conjecture  that  Dingwell  wants  more  money, 
and  can't  be  got  out  of  London  without  it,"  said 
Cleve. 

"  Eh  ?  Well,  that  did  occur  to  me  ;  of  course, 
that's  plain  enough — about  it — and  what  a  man 
that  must  be  !  and — God  bless  me  !  about  it — all 
the  money  he  has  got  from  me  !  It's  incredible, 
Mr.  —  a  —  Larkin,  three  hundred  pounds,  you 
know,  and  he  wanted  five,  and  that  absurdly 
enormous  weekly  payment  besides  !" 

"  Your  lordship  has  exactly,  as  usual,  touched 
the  point,  and  anticipated,  with  your  wonted  accu- 
racy, the  line  at  the  other  side ;  and  indeed,  I  may 
also  say,  all  that  may  be  urged  by  way  of  argu- 
ment, pro  and  con.  It  is  a  wonderful  faculty  !  " 
added  Mr.  Larkin,  looking  down  with  a  contem- 
plative smile,  and  a  little  wondering  shake  of  the 
head. 

"  Ha,  ha  !  Something  of  the  same  sort  has 
been  remarked  in  our  family  about  it,"  said  the 
Viscount,  much  pleased.  "It  facilitates  business, 
rather,  I  should  hope — about  it." 


160  THE  TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

The  attorney  shook  his  head,  reflectively,  raising 
his  hands,  and  said,  "No  one  but  a  professional 
man  can  have  an  idea!" 

"And  what  do  you  suggest?"  asked  Cleve, 
who  was  perhaps  a  little  tired  of  the  attorney's 
compliments. 

"  Yes,  what  do  you  suggest,  Mr. — Mr.  Larkin  ? 
Your  suggestion  I  should  be  prepared  to  con- 
sider. Anything,  Mr.  Larkin,  suggested  by 
you  shall  be  considered,"  said  Lord  Yerney 
grandly,  leaning  back  in  his  chair,  and  folding 
his  hands. 

"I  am  much — very  much — flattered  by  your 
lordship's  confidence.  The  former  money,  I  have 
reason  to  think,  my  lord,  went  to  satisfy  an  old 
debt,  and  I  have  reason  to  know  that  his  den 
has  been  discovered  by  another  creditor,  from 
whom,  even  were  funds  at  his  disposal  to  leave 
England  to-night,  escape  would  be  difficult,  if  not 
impossible." 

"  How  much  money  does  he  want,"  asked  Mr. 
Cleve  Yerney. 

"  A  moment,  a  moment,  please.  I  was  going  to 
say,"  said  Lord  Yerney,  "if  he  wants  money — 
about  it  —  it  would  be  desirable  to  state  the 
amount." 

"  Mr.  Larkin,  thus  called  on,  cleared  his  voice, 
and  his   dove-like  eyes  contracted,  and  assumed 


A   VISIT   TO    ROSEMARY    COURT.  161 

their  rat-like  look,  and  he  said,  watching  Lord 
Yerney's  face, — 

"  I  am  afraid,  my  lord,  that  less  than  three 
hundred " 

Lord  Yerney  contracted  his  brows,  and  nodded, 
after  a  moment. 

"  Three  hundred  pounds.  Less,  1  say,  my  lord, 
will  not  satisfy  the  creditor,  and  there  will  remain 
something  still  in  order  to  bring  him  back,  and 
to  keep  him  quiet  there  for  a  time ;  and  I  think, 
my  lord,  if  you  will  go  the  length  of  five  hun- 
dred  " 

"  'Gad,  it's  growing  quite  serious,  Mr. — Mr. 
Sir,  I  confess  I  don't  half  understand  this  per- 
son, Mr.  Ding — Dong — whatever  it  is — it's  going 
rather  too  fast  about  it.  I — I — and  that's  my 
clear  opinion — M  and  Lord  Yerney  gazed  and 
blinked  sternly  at  the  attorney,  and  patted  his 
fragrant  pocket-handkerchief  several  times  to  his 
chin — "  very  unreasonable  and  monstrous,  and, 
considering  all  I've  done,  very  ungrateful" 

iC  Quite  so,  my  lord;  monstrously  ungrateful. 
I  can't  describe  to  your  lordship  the  trouble  I 
have  had  with  that  extraordinary  and,  I  fear  I 
must  add,  fiendish  person.  I  allude,  of  course, 
my  lord,  in  my  privileged  character  as  having  the 
honour  of  confidential  relations  with  your  lord- 
ship,  to   that    unfortunate    man,    Dingwell.      I 

VOL.   II.  M 


1G2  THE   TENANTS    OF  MALORY. 

assure  you,  on  one  occasion,  he  seized  a  poker  in 
his  lodgings,  and  threatened  to  dash  my  brains 
out." 

"  Very  good,  sir,"  said  Lord  Verney,  whose 
mind  was  busy  upon  quite  another  point;  "and 
suppose  I  do,  what  do  we  gain,  I  ask,  by  assist- 
ing him  ?  " 

"  Simply,  my  lord,  he  is  so  incredibly  reckless, 
and,  as  I  have  said,  fiendish,  that  if  he  were  dis- 
appointed, I  do  think  he  will  stick  at  nothing, 
even  to  the  length  of  swearing  that  his  evidence 
for  your  lordship  was  perjured,  for  the  purpose  of 
being  revenged,  and  your  generosity  to  him 
pending  the  inquiry,  or  rather  the  preparation  of 
proofs,  would  give  a  colour  unfortunately  even  to 
that  monstrous  allegation.  Your  lordship  can 
have  no  idea — the  elevation  of  your  own  mind 
prevents  it  —  of  the  desperate  character  with 
whom  we  have  had  to  deal." 

w  Upon  my  life,  sir,  a  pleasant  position  you 
seem  to  have  brought  me  into,"  said  Lord 
Yerney,  flushing  a  good  deal. 

"  My  lord,  it  was  inevitable,"  said  Mr.  Larkin, 
sadly. 

"  I  don't  think  he  could  have  helped  it,  really," 
said  Cleve  Yerney. 

"  And  who  says  he  could  ? "  asked  Lord 
Yerney,  tartly.     u  I've  all  along  said  it  could  not 


A  VISIT  TO   ROSEMARY   COURT.  1G3 

well  be  helped,  and  that's  the  reason  I  did  it, 
don't  you  see  ?  but  I  may  be  allowed  to  say,  I 
suppose,  that  the  position  is  a  most  untoward 
one ;  and  so  it  is,  egad  ! "  and  Lord  Verney  got 
up  in  his  fidget,  and  walked  over  to  the  window, 
and  to  the  chimney-piece,  and  to  the  table,  and 
fiddled  with  a  great  many  things. 

"I  remember  my  late  brother,  S  had  well  Yerney 
— he's  dead,  poor  Shad  well — had  a  world  of  trouble 
with  a  fellow — about  it— who  used  to  extort  money 
from  him — something  I  suppose — like  this  Mr. 
Ringwood — or  I  mean — you  know  his  name — till 
he  called  in  the  police,  and  put  an  end  to  it." 

"  Quite  true,  my  lord,  quite  true ;  but  don't 
you  think,  my  lord,  such  a  line  with  Mr.  Dingwell 
might  lead  to  afraycas,  and  the  possible  unplea- 
santness to  which  /  ventured  to  allude  ?  You 
have  seen  him,  Mr.  Yerney  ?  " 

u  Yes  j  he's  a  beast,  he  really  is ;  a  little  bit 
mad,  I  almost  think." 

"  A  little  bit  mad,  precisely  so;  it  really  is,  my 
lord,  most  melancholy.  And  I  am  so  clearly  of 
opinion  that  if  we  quarrel  definitively  with  Mr. 
Dingwell,  we  may  find  ourselves  in  an  extremely 
difficult  position,  that  were  the  case  my  own,  I 
should  have  no  hesitation  in  satisfying  Mr.  Ding- 
well,  even  at  a  sacrifice,  rather  than  incur  the 
annoyance  I  anticipate.     If  you   allow  me,   my 


164  THE   TENANTS   OF  MALORY. 

lord,  to  conduct  the  matter  with  Mr.  Dingwell, 
I  think  I  shall  succeed  in  getting  him  away 
quietly." 

"It  seems  to  me  a  very  serious  sum,  Mr, 
Larkin,"  said  Lord  Yerney. 

"  Precisely  so,  my  lord ;  serious — very  serious  ; 
but  your  lordship  made  a  remark  once  in  my 
hearing  which  impressed  me  powerfully :  it  was 
to  the  effect  that  where  an  object  is  to  be  accom- 
plished, it  is  better  to  expend  a  little  too  much 
power,  than  anything  too  little."  I  think  that  Mr. 
Larkin  invented  this  remark  of  Lord  Yerney's, 
which,  however,  his  lordship  was  pleased  to  recog- 
nise, notwithstanding. 

So  the  attorney  took  his  departure,  to  call 
again  next  day. 

"  Clever  man  that  Mr. — Mr.  Larkin — vastly 
clever,"  said  Lord  Yerney.  "I  rather  think 
there's  a  great  deal  in  what  he  says — it's  very 
disgusting — about  it  j  but  one  must  consider,  you 
know  —  there's  no  harm  in  considering  —  and 
— and  that  Mr. — Dong — Dingleton,  isn't  it  t 
— about  it — a  most  offensive  person.  I  must 
consider — I  shall  think  it  over,  and  give  him  my 
ideas  to-morrow." 

Cleve  did  not  like  an  expression  which  had 
struck  him  in  the  attorney's  face  that  day, 
and     he    proposed   next    day    to  write    to     Mr. 


A   VISIT   TO   ROSEMARY   COURT.  165 

Dingwell,  and  actually  did]  so,  requesting  that 
he  would  be  so  good  as  to  call  at  Yerney 
House. 

Mr.  Dingwell  did  not  come;  but  a  note  came 
by  post,  saying  that  the  writer,  Mr.  Dingwell,  was 
not  well  enough  to  venture  a  call. 

What  I  term  Mr.  Larkin's  rat-like  eyes,  and  a 
certain  dark  and  even  wicked  look  that  crosses 
the  attorney's  face,  when  they  appear,  had  left  a 
profound  sense  of  uncertainty  in  Cleve's  mind 
respecting  that  gentleman's  character  and  plans. 
It  was  simply  a  conviction  that  the  attorney 
meditated  something  odd  about  Mr.  Dingwell, 
and  that  no  good  man  could  look  as  he  had 
looked. 

There  was  no  use  in  opening  his  suspicion, 
grounded  on  so  slight  a  thing  [as  a  look,  to  his 
uncle,  who,  though  often  timid  and  hesitating, 
and  in  secret  helpless,  and  at  his  wits'  end  for 
aid  in  arriving  at  a  decision,  was  yet,  in  a  matter 
where  vanity  was  concerned,  or  a  strong  preju- 
dice or  caprice  involved,  often  incredibly  ob- 
stinate. 

Mr.  Larkin's  look  teased  Cleve.  Larkin  might 
grow  into  an  influence  very  important  to  that 
young  gentleman,  and  was  not  lightly  to  be 
quarrelled  with.  He  would  not  quarrel  with  him; 
but  he  would  see  Dingwell,  if  indeed  that  person 


1GG  THE  TENANTS   OF  MALORY. 

were  still  in  London ;  a  fact  about  which  he  had 
begun  to  have  some  odd  misgivings.  The  note 
was  written  in  a  straight,  cramp  hand,  and  Mr. 
Larkin's  face  was  in  the  background  always.  He 
knew  Mr.  Dingwell's  address  j  an  answer,  real  or 
forged,  had  reached  him  from  it.  So,  full  of  dark 
dreams  and  conjectures,  he  got  into  a  cab,  and 
drove  to  the  entrance  of  Rosemary  Court,  and 
knocked  at  Miss  Sarah  Rumble's  door. 

That  good  lady,  from  the  shadow,  looked  sus- 
piciously on  him. 

"Is  Mr.  Dingwell  at  home?" 
"Mr.  Dingwell,  sir?"  she  repeated. 
"Yes.     Is  he  at  home?" 
"Mr.  Dingwell,  sir  ?     No  sir." 
"  Does  not  Mr.  Dingwell  live  here  ?  " 
"There  was  a  gentleman,  please,   sir,   with  a 
name  like  that.    Go  back,  child,"  she  said,  sharply 
to  Lucy  Maria,  who  was  peeping  in  the  back- 
ground, and  who  might  not  be  edified,  perhaps, 
by  the  dialogue.     "  Beg  parding,  sir,"  she   con- 
tinued,  as  the  child  disappeared  j  "  they  are  so 
tiresome  !     There  was  an  old  gentleman  lodging 
here,  sir,  please,  which  his  name  was  like  that  I 
do  remember." 

Cleve  Verncy  did  not  know  what  to  think. 
"  Is  there  anyone  in  the  house  who  knows  Mr. 
Dingwell?      I've    come    to   be    of  use  to   him; 


A   VISIT   TO    ROSEMARY   COURT.  167 

perhaps   lie   could   see   me.     Will   you   say  Mr. 
Verney  ?  " 

"  Mr. — what,  sir,  please  ?  " 

"Verney  —  here's  my  card;  perhaps  it  is 
better." 

As  the  conversation  continued,  Miss  Rumble 
had  gradually  come  more  and  more  forward, 
closing  the  door  more  and  more  as  she  did  so,  so 
that  she  now  confronted  Cleve  upon  the  step,  and 
could  have  shut  the  door  at  her  back,  had  he 
made  any  attempt  to  get  in ;  and  she  called  over 
her  shoulder  to  Lucy  Maria,  and  whispered  some- 
thing, and  gave  her,  I  suppose,  the  card;  and  in 
a  minute  more  Miss  Rumble  opened  the  door 
wide,  and  showed  "  the  gentleman  n  upstairs,  and 
told  him  on  the  lobby  she  hoped  he  would  not  be 
offended,  but  that  she  had  such  positive  orders  as 
to  leave  her  no  choice ;  and  that  in  fact  Mr. 
Dingwell  was  in  the  drawing-room,  and  would  be 
happy  to  see  him,  and  almost  at  the  same  moment 
she  threw  open  the  door  and  introduced  him, 
with  a  little  courtesy,  and — 

"  This  way,  please,  sir ;  here's  the  gentleman, 
please,  sir." 

There  he  did  find  Mr.  Dingwell,  smoking  a 
cigar,  in  his  fez,  slippers,  and  pea-green  silk 
dressing-gown,  with  a  cup  of  black  coffee  on  the 
little  table  beside  him,  his  Times  and  a  few  maga- 


168       THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

zines  there  also.  He  looked,  in  vulgar  parlance, 
w  seedy,"  like  an  old  fellow  who  had  been  raking 
the  night  before,  and  was  wofully  tired,  and  in  no 
very  genial  temper. 

"  AVill  you  excuse  an  old  fellow,  Mr.  Verney, 
and  take  a  chair  for  yourself?  I'm  not  very  well 
to-day.  I  suppose,  from  your  note,  you  thought 
I  had  quitted  London.  It  was  not  to  be  expected 
so  old  a  plant  should  take  root ;  but  it's  some- 
times not  worth  moving  'em  again,  and  they 
remain  where  they  are,  to  wither,  ha,  ha,  ha ! " 

"  I  should  be  sorry  it  was  for  any  such  pur- 
pose ;  but  I  am  happy  to  find  you  still  here,  for  I 
•was  really  anxious  to  call  and  thank  you." 

"  Anxious — to  thank  me  !  Are  you  really  serious, 
Mr.  Verney  ?  "  said  Ding  well,  lowering  his  cigar 
again,  and  looking  with  a  stern  smile  in  his 
visitor's  face. 

"Yes,  sir;  I  did  wish  to  call  and  tell  you," 
said  Cleve,  determined  not  to  grow  angry  ;  "  and 
I  am  here  to  say  that  we  are  very  much  obliged." 

"Wet" 

"  Yes ;  my  uncle  and  I." 

"Oh,  yes;  well,  it  is  something.  I  hope  the 
coronet  becomes  him,  and  his  robes.  I  venture 
to  say  he  has  got  up  the  masquerading  properties 
already ;  it's  a  pity  there  isn't  a  coronation  or 
something  at  hand  ;  and  I  suppose  he'll  put  up  a 


A  VISIT  TO   ROSEMARY   COURT.  160 

monument  to  my  dear  friend  Arthur — a  mangy 
old  dog  he  was,  you'll  allow  me  to  say,  though  he 
was  my  friend,  and  very  kind  to  me ;  and  I,  the 
most  grateful  fellow  he  ever  met ;  Fve  been  more 
grieved  about  him  than  any  other  person  I  can 
remember,  upon  my  soul  and  honour — and  a 
devilish  dirty  dog  he  was." 

This  last  reflection  was  delivered  in  a  melancholy 
aside,  after  the  manner  of  a  soliloquy,  and  Cleve 
did  not  exactly  know  how  to  take  this  old  fellow's 
impertinence. 

"  Arthur  Yerney — poor  fellow  !  your  uncle.  He 
had  a  great  deal  of  the  pride  of  his  family,  you 
know,  along  with  utter  degradation.  Filthy  dog  ! 
— pah  ! ,J  And  INIr.  Dingwell  lifted  both  his 
hands,  and  actually  used  that  unpleasant  uten- 
sil called  a  "  spittoon,"  which  is  seen  in 
taverns,  to  give  expression,  it  seemed,  to  his 
disgust. 

"  But  he  had  his  pride,  dear  Arthur ;  he  was 
proud,  and  wished  for  a  tombstone.  AY  hen  he 
was  dyiug,  he  said,  ( I  should  like  a  monument — 
not  of  course  in  a  cathedral,  for  I  have  been 
living  so  darkly,  and  a  good  deal  talked  about ; 
but  there's  an  old  church  or  abbey  near  Malory 
(that  I'm  sure  was  the  name  of  the  place)  where 
our  family  has  been  accustomed  to  bury  its  quiet 
respectabilities    and   its    mauvais   sujets ;    and    I 


170  THE   TENANTS    OF   MALORY. 

think  they  might  give  me  a  pretty  little  monu- 
ment there,  quite  quietly/  I  think  you'll  do  it, 
for  you're  a  grateful  person,  and  like  thinking 
people ;  and  he  certainly  did  a  great  deal  for  his 
family  by  going  out  of  it,  and  the  little  vanity  of 
a  monument  would  not  cost  much,  and,  as  he 
said  himself,  no  one  would  ever  see  it ;  and  I 
promised,  if  I  ever  had  an  opportunity,  to  men- 
tion the  subject  to  your  uncle." 

Cleve  bowed. 

"  '  And,'  said  he,  c  there  will  be  a  little  conflict 
of  feeling.  I  am  sure  they'd  like  the  monument, 
but  they  would  not  make  an  ostentation  of  me. 
But  remind  them  of  my  Aunt  Deborah.  Poor 
old  girl !  she  ran  away  with  a  fiddler.'  Egad,  sir  ! 
these  were  his  very  words,  and  I've  found,  on 
inquiring  here,  they  were  quite  true.  She  ran 
away  with  a  fiddler — egad  !  and  I  don't  know 
how  many  little  fiddlers  she  had ;  and,  by  Jove  ! 
he  said  if  I  came  back  I  should  recognise  a  pos- 
sible cousin  in  every  street-fiddler  I  met  with,  for 
music  is  a  talent  that  runs  in  families.  And  so, 
when  Atropos  cut  his  fiddlestri ng,  and  he  died, 
she  took,  he  said,  to  selling  mutton  pies,  for  her 
maintenance,  in  Chester,  and  being  properly 
proud  as  a  Ycrney,  though  as  a  fiddler's  widow 
necessitous,  he  said  she  used  to  cry,  behind  her 
little  table,  '  Hot  mutton  pies  !  '  and  then,  sotto 


A   VISIT   TO    ROSEMARY   COURT.  171 

voce, 'I  hope  nobody  hears  me;'  and  you  may 
rely  upon  that  family  anecdote,  for  I  had  it  from 
the  lips  of  that  notorious  member  of  your  family, 
your  uncle  Arthur,  and  he  hoped  that  they  would 
comply  with  the  tradition,  and  reconcile  the 
Verney  pride  with  Verney  exigencies,  and  con- 
cede him  the  secret  celebration  of  a  monument." 

"  If  you  are  serious " 

"  Serious  about  a  monument,  sir  !  who  the 
devil  could  be  lively  on  such  a  subject  ? n  and 
Mr.  Dingwell  looked  unaccountably  angry,  and 
ground  his  teeth,  and  grew  white.  "  A  monu- 
ment, cheap  and  nasty,  I  dare  say ;  it  isn't  much 
for  a  poor  devil  from  whom  you've  got  everything. 
I  suppose  you'll  speak  to  your  uncle,-  sir. " 

"  I'll  speak  to  him,  sir." 

"Yes,  do,  pray,  and  prevail.  Tin  not  very 
strong,  sir,  and  there's  something  that  remains  for 
you  and  me  to  do,  sir." 

«  What  is  that  ?  " 

"  To  rot  under  ground,  sir ;  and  as  I  shall  go 
first,  it  would  be  pleasant  to  me  to  be  able  to  pre- 
sent your  affectionate  regards  to  your  uncle,  when 
I  meet  him,  and  tell  him  that  you  had  complied 
with  his  little  fancy  about  the  monument,  as  he 
seemed  to  make  a  point  that  his  name  should  not 
be  blotted  totally  from  the  records  of  his  family." 

Cleve  was  rather   confirmed  in  his  suspicions 


17'2  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

about  the  sanity  of  this  odious  old  man — as  well 
he  might — and,  at  all  events,  was  resolved  to 
endure  him  without  a  row. 

"  I  shall  certainly  remember,  and  mention  all 
you  have  said,  sir/'  said  Cleve. 

u  Yes,"  said  the  old  man,  in  a  grim  meditation, 
looking  down,  and  he  chucked  away  the  stump  of 
his  cigar,  "it's  a  devilish  hard  case,  Kismet!" 
he  muttered. 

"  I  suppose  you  find  our  London  climate  very 
different  from  that  you  have  grown  accustomed 
to  ?  "  said  Cleve,  approaching  the  point  on  which 
he  desired  some  light. 

"I  lived  in  London  for  a  long  time,  sir.  I 
was — as  perhaps  you  know — junior  partner  in  the 
great   Greek  house  of  Prinkipi  and  Dingwell — 

d n  Prinkipi !  say  I.     He  ran  us  into  trouble, 

sir  j  then  came  a  smash,  sir,  and  Prinkipi  le- 
vanted, making  a  scapegoat  of  me,  the  most 
vilified  and  persecuted  Greek  merchant  that  ever 
came  on  'Change  !  And,  egad  !  if  they  could 
catch  me,  even  now,  I  believe  they'd  bury  me  in 
a  dungeon  for  the  rest  of  my  days,  which,  in  that 
case,  would  not  be  many.  I'm  here,  therefore,  I 
may  say,  at  the  risk  of  my  life." 

"A  very  anxious  situation,  indeed,  Mr.  Ding- 
well  j  and  I  conclude  you  intend  but  a  short  stay 
here  ?  " 


A   VISIT   TO   ROSEMARY   COURT.  173 

11  Quite  the  contrary,  sir.  I  mean  to  stay  as 
long  as  I  please,  and  that  may  be  as  long  as  I 
live." 

"  Oh  !  I  had  thought  from  something  that  Mr. 
Larkin  said,"  began  Cleve  Verney. 

"  Larkin  !  He's  a  religious  man,  and  does  not 
put  his  candle  under  a  bushel.  He's  very  parti- 
cular to  say  his  prayers ;  and  provided  he  says 
them,  he  takes  leave  to  say  what  he  likes 
beside." 

Mr.  Dingwell  was  shooting  his  arrows  as  freely 
as  Cupid  does  ;  but  Cleve  did  not  take  this  satire 
for  more  than  its  worth. 

"  He  may  think  it  natural  I  should  wish  to  be 
gone,  and  so  I  do,"  continued  the  old  man,  set- 
ting down  his  coffee  cup,  "  if  I  could  get  away 
without  the  trouble  of  going,  or  was  sure  of  a 
tolerably  comfortable  berth,  at  my  journey's  end ; 
but  I'm  old,  and  travelling  shakes  me  to  pieces, 
and  I  have  enemies  elsewhere,  as  well  as  here  ; 
and  the  newspapers  have  been  printing  sketches 
of  my  life  and  adventures,  and  poking  up  atten- 
tion about  me,  and  awakening  the  slumbering 
recollection  of  persons  by  whom  I  had  been,  in 
effect,  forgotten,  ei;en/-where.  No  rest  for  the 
wicked,  sir.  I'm  pursued;  and,  in  fact,  what 
little  peace  I  might  have  enjoyed  in  this,  the 
closing  period  of  my  life,   has  been  irreparably 


174  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

wrecked  by  my  visit  and  public  appearance  here, 
to  place  your  uncle,  and  by  consequence  you,  in 
the  position  now  secured  to  you.  What  do  you 
think  of  me  ?  " 

"  I  think,  sir,  you  have  done  us  a  great  ser- 
vice; and  I  know  we  are  very  much  obliged," 
said  Cleve,  with  his  most  engaging  smile. 

"And  do  you  know  what  I  think  of  myself? 

I  think  I'm  a  d d  fool,  unless  I  look  for  some 

advantage." 

"  Don't  you  think,  sir,  you  have  found  it,  on 
the  whole,  advantageous,  your  coming  here  ?  " 
insinuated  Cleve. 

K  Barren,  sir,  as  a  voyage  on  the  Dead  Sea. 
The  test  is  this— what  have  I  by  it  ?  not  five 
pounds,  sir,  in  the  world.  Now,  I've  opened  my 
mind  a  little  to  you  upon  this  subject,  and  I'm  of 
the  same  mind  still;  and  if  I've  opened  Alad- 
din's garden  to  you,  with  its  fruitage  of  emeralds, 
rubies,  and  so  forth,  I  expect  to  fill  my  snuff-box 
with  the  filings  and  chippings  of  your  gigantic 
jewellery." 

Cleve  half  repented  his  visit,  now  that  the  pre- 
sence of  the  insatiable  Mr.  Dingwell,  and  his 
evident  appetite  for  more  money,  had  justified  the 
representations  of  the  suspected  attorney. 

"I  shall  speak  to  Mr.  Larkin  on  the  subject/' 
said  Cleve  Verney. 


A   VISIT   TO    ROSEMARY   COURT.  IT-') 

"  D n  Larkin,  sir  !     Speak  to  me." 

"But,  Mr.  Dingwell,  I  have  really,  as  I  told 
you  before,  no  authority  to  speak  ;  and  no  one 
has  the  least  power  in  the  matter  but  my  uncle." 

11  And  what  the  devil  did  you  come  here  for  ?  " 
demanded  Mr.  Dingwell,  suddenly  blazing  up 
into  one  of  his  unaccountable  furies.  "  I  suppose 
you  expected  me  to  congratulate  you  on  your 
success,  and  to  ask  leave  to  see  your  uncle  in  his 
coronet — ha,  ha,  ha  ! — or  his  cap  and  bells,   or 

whatever  he  wears.     By sir,  I  hope  he  holds 

his  head  high,  and  struts  like  a  peacock,  and  has 
pleasant  dreams  j  time  enough  for  nightmares, 
sir,  hereafter,  eh  ?  Uneasy  rests  the  head  that 
wears  the  crown  !  Good  evening,  sir ;  I'll  talk 
to  Mr.  Larkin." 

And  with  these  words  Mr.  Dingwell  got  up, 
looking  unaccountably  angry,  and  made  a  half- 
sarcastic,  half- furious  bow,  wherewith  he  dis- 
missed Mr.  Cleve  Yerney,  with  more  distinct 
convictions  than  ever  that  the  old  gentleman  was 
an  unmitigated  beast,  and  more  than  half  a 
lunatic. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

IN    LORD    VERNEY'S    LIBRARY. 

AViio  should  ligbt  upon  Cleve  that  evening  as 
he  walked  homeward  but  our  friend  Tom  Sedley, 
who  was  struck  by  the  anxious  pallor  and  melan- 
choly of  his  face. 

Good-natured  Sedley  took  his  arm,  and  said  he, 
as  they  walked  on  together, — 

"  Why  don't  you  smile  on  your  luck,  Cleve  ?  " 
"  How  do  you  know  what  my  luck  is  ?  " 
"  All  the  world  knows  that  pretty  well." 
u  All  the  world  knows  everything  but  its  own 
business." 

"  "Well,  people  do  say  that  your  uncle  has  lately 
got  the  oldest  peerage — one  of  them — in  England, 
and  an  estate  of  thirty-seven  thousand  a  year,  for 
one  thing,  and  that  you  are  heir-presumptive  to 
these  trifles." 

"  And  that  heirs-presumptive  often  get  nothing 
but  their  heads  in  their  hands." 

"No,  you'll   not  come  Saint   Denis   nor  any 


IX   LORD  VERXEY'S   LIBRARY.  177 

other  martyr  over  us,  my  dear  boy ;  we  know 
very  well  how  you  stand  in  that  quarter." 

"  It's  pleasant  to  have  one's  domestic  relations 
so  happily  arranged  by  such  very  competent  per- 
sons. I'm  much  obliged  to  all  the  world  for  the 
parental  interest  it  takes  in  my  private  concerns." 

"And  it  also  strikes  some  people  that  a  per- 
fectly safe  seat  in  the  House  of  Commons  is  not 
to  be  had  for  nothing  by  every  fellow  who  wishes 
it." 

"  But  suppose  I  don't  wish  it." 

"  Oh  !   we  may  suppose  anything." 

Tom  Sedley  laughed  as  he  said  this,  and  Cleve 
looked  at  him  sharply,  but  saw  no  uncomfortable 
meaning  in  his  face. 

"  There  is  no  good  in  talking  of  what  one  has 
not  tried,"  said  he.  "  If  you  had  to  go  down  to 
that  tiresome  House  of  Commons  every  time  it 
sits ;  and  had  an  uncle  like  mine  to  take  you  to 
task  every  time  you  missed  a  division — you'd  soon 
be  as  tired  of  it  as  I  am." 

"  I  see,  my  dear  fellow,  you  are  bowed  down 
under  a  load  of  good  luck."  They  were  at  the 
door  of  Tom  Sedley's  lodgings  by  this  time,  and 
opening  it,  he  continued,  "  I've  something  in  my 
room  to  show  you ;  just  run  up  with  me  for  a 
minute,  and  you'll  say  I'm  a  conjuror." 

Cleve,  not  to  be  got  into  good  spirits  that  even- 


178  THE  TENANTS   OF    MALORY. 

ing,  followed  liim  upstairs,  thinking  of  something 
else. 

"  I've  got  a  key  to  your  melancholy,  Cleve," 
said  he,  leading  the  way  into  his  drawing-room. 
" Look  there"  and  he  pointed  to  a  clever  copy  in 
crayons  of  the  famous  Beatrice  Cenci,  which  he 
had  hung  over  his  chimney-piece. 

Tom  Sedley  laughed,  looking  in  Cleve's  eyes. 
A  slight  flush  had  suddenly  tinged  his  visitor's 
face,  as  he  saw  the  portrait.  But  he  did  not 
seem  to  enjoy  the  joke,  on  the  contrary,  he  looked 
a  little  embarrassed  and  angry.  "  That's  Guido's 
portrait — well,  what  about  it  ?  "  he  asked,  rather 
surlily. 

"  Yes,  of  course ;  but  who  is  it  like  ?  " 

"  Very  few,  I  dare  say,  for  it  is  very  pretty  ; 
and  except  on  canvas,  there  is  hardly  such  a 
thing  as  a  pretty  girl  to  be  seen.  Is  that  all  ? 
for  the  life  of  me,  I  can't  see  where  the  conjuring 
lies." 

"Not  in  the  picture,  but  the  likeness;  don't 
you  see  it  ?  " 

"No"  said  Cleve.  "I  must  go;  are  you 
coming  ?  " 

"Not  see  it!"  said  Tom.  "Why  if  it  were 
painted  for  her,  it  could  net  be  more  like.  Why, 
it's  the  Flower  of  Cardyllian,  the  Star  of  Malory. 
It  is  your  Miss   Fanshawe — my  Margaret — oar 


in;  lord  yerxey's  library.  170 

Miss  Margaret  Fanshawe.  I'm  making  the 
fairest  division  I  can,  you  see  ;  and  I  would  not 
be  without  it  for  all  the  world." 

"  She  would  be  very  much  gratified  if  she 
heard  it.  It  is  so  flattering  to  a  young  lady  to 
have  a  fellow  buy  a  coloured  lithograph,  and  call 
it  by  her  name,  and  crack  jokes  and  spout  mock 
heroics  over  it.  It  is  the  modern  way  of  celebra- 
ting a  lady's  name.  Don't  you  seriously  think, 
Sedley,  it  would  be  better  to  smash  it  with 
a  poker,  and  throw  it  into  the  fire,  than  go  on 
taking  such  liberties  with  any  young  lady's 
name  ?  " 

"  Upon  my  honour,  Cleve,  you  mistake  me ; 
you  do  me  great  injustice.  You  used  to  laugh 
at  me,  you  know,  when  I'm  quite  sure,  thinking 
over  it  now,  you  were  awfully  gone  about  her 
yourself.  I  never  told  any  one  but  you  why  I 
bought  that  picture ;  it  isn't  a  lithograph,  but 
painted,  or  drawn,  or  whatever  they  call  it,  with 
chalks,  and  it  cost  five  guineas;  and  no  one  but 
you  ever  heard  me  mention  [Miss  Fanshawe's 
name,  except  the  people  at  Cardyllian,  and  then 
only  as  I  might  mention  any  other,  and  always 
with  respect." 

"What  does  it  signify?"  interrupted  Cleve,  in 
the  middle  of  a  forced  yawn.  "I'm  tired  to-day, 
and  cross — don't  you  see;  and  man  delights  not 

x  2 


180  THE   TENANTS   OF  MALORY. 

me,  nor  woman  neither.  So,  if  you're  coming, 
come,  for  I  must  go." 

"And,  really,  Cleve,  the  Cardyllian  people  do 
say  (I've  had  letters)  that  you  were  awfully  in 
love  with  her  yourself,  and  always  haunting  those 
woods  of  Malory  while  she  was  there,  and  went 
away  immediately  she  left,  and  have  never  been 
seen  in  Cardyllian  since." 

w  Those  Cretans  were  always  liars,  Tom  Sedley. 
That  comes  direct  from  the  club.  I  can  fancy 
old  Shrapnell  in  the  light  of  the  bow-window, 
composing  his  farrago  of  dreams,  and  lies,  and 
chuckling  and  cackling  over  it." 

"Well,  I  don't  say  that  Shrapnell  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  it ;  but  I  did  hear  at  first  they 
thought  you  were  gone  about  little  Agnes  Ethe- 
rage." 

"Oh!  they  found  that  out — did  they?"  said 
Cleve.  "  But  you  know  those  people — I  mean 
the  Cardyllian  people — as  well,  or  better  than  I, 
and  really,  as  a  kindness  to  me,  and  to  save  me 
the  trouble  of  endless  explanations  to  my  uncle, 
I  would  be  so  much  obliged  if  you  would  not 
repeat  their  follies — unless,  of  course,  you  happen 
to  believe  them." 

Cleve  did  not  look  more  cheerful  as  he  drove 
away  in  a  cab  which  he  took  to  get  rid  of  his 
friend  Tom    Sedley.     It  was  mortifying  to  find 


IN   LORD    YERXEY's    LIBRARY.  181 

how  vain  were  his  clever  stratagems,  and  how  the 
rustic  chapmen  of  that  \Velsh  village  and  their 
wives  had  penetrated  his  diplomacy.  He  thought 
he  had  killed  the  rumours  about  Malory,  and  yet 
that  grain  of  mustard  seed  had  grown  while  his 
eye  was  off  it,  with  a  gigantic  luxuriance,  and 
now  was  large  enough  to  form  a  feature  in  the 
landscape,  and  quite  visible  from  the  windows  of 
Ware—  if  his  uncle  should  happen  to  visit  that 
mansion — overtopping  the  roofs  and  chimneys  of 
Cardyllian.  His  uncle  meditated  an  early  visit 
to  Cardyllian,  and  a  short  stay  at  Ware,  before 
the  painters  and  gilders  got  possession  of  the 
house ;  a  sort  of  ovation  in  demi-toilette,  grand 
and  friendly,  and  a  foretaste  of  the  splendours 
that  were  coming.  Cleve  did  hope  that  those 
beasts  would  be  quiet  while  Lord  Yerney  was 
(as  he  in  his  grand  manner  termed  it)  "  among 
them."  He  knew  the  danger  of  a  vague  sus- 
picion seizing  on  his  mind,  how  fast  it  clung,  how 
it  fermented  like  yeast,  fantastic  and  obstinate  as 
a  foolish  woman's  jealousy;  and  as  men  some- 
times will,  he  even  magnified  this  danger.  Al- 
together, Cleve  was  not  causelessly  anxious  and 
alarmed.  He  had  in  the  dark  to  navigate  a 
channel  which  even  in  broad  daylight  tasked  a 
good  steersman. 

AVhen   Cleve    reached    Yerney    House   it    was 


182        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

eight  o'clock.  Lord  Ycrnev  had  ordered  his 
brougham  at  half-past,  and  was  going  down  to 
the  House ;  he  had  something  to  say  on  Lord 
Frompington's  bill.  It  was  not  very  new,  nor 
very  deep,  nor  very  much;  but  he  had  been  close 
at  it  for  the  last  three  weeks.  He  had  amused 
many  gentlemen — and  sometimes  even  ladies — at 
many  dinner  parties,  with  a  very  exact  recital  of 
his  views.  I  cannot  say  that  they  were  exactly 
his,  for  they  were  culled,  perhaps  unconsciously, 
from  a  variety  of  magazine  articles  and  pamphlets, 
which  happened  to  take  Lord  Verney's  view  of 
the  question. 

It  is  not  given  to  any  mortal  to  have  his  heart's 
desire  in  everything.  Lord  Yerney  had  a  great 
deal  of  this  world's  good  things — wealth,  family, 
rank.  But  he  chose  to  aim  at  official  station, 
and  here  his  stars  denied  him. 

Some  people  thought  him  a  goose,  and  some 
only  a  bore.  He  was,  as  we  know,  pompous,  con- 
ceited, obstinate,  also  weak  and  dry.  His  grand- 
father had  been  a  cabinet  minister,  respectable 
and  silent ;  and  was  not  he  wiser,  brighter,  and 
more  learned  than  his  grandfather  ?  "  Why 
on  earth  should  not  he?"  His  influence  com- 
manded two  boroughs,  and  virtually  two  counties. 
The  minister,  therefore,  treated  him  with  distinc- 
tion ;  and  spoke  of  him  confidentially  as  horribly 


IX    LORD    YLRXEV'S    LIBRARY.  183 

foolish,  impracticable,  and  at  times  positively 
impertinent. 

Lord  Verney  was  subject  to  small  pets  and 
huffs,  and  sometimes  was  affronted  with  the 
Premier  for  four  or  five  weeks  together,  although 
the  fact  escaped  his  notice.  And  when  the 
viscount  relented,  he  would  make  him  a  visit  to 
quiet  his  mind,  and  show  him  that  friendly 
relations   were   re-established ;    and  the   minister 

would  say,  "  Here    comes    that   d d  Verney ; 

I  suppose  I  must  give  him  half-an-hour  ! "  and 
when  the  peer  departed,  thinking  he  had  made 
the  minister  happy,  the  minister  was  seriously 
debating  whether  Lord  Verney's  boroughs  were 
worth  the  price  of  Lord  Verney's  society. 

His  lordship  was  no^v  in  that  sacred  apartment, 
his  library ;  where  not  even  Cleve  had  a  right  to 
disturb  him  uninvited.  Preliminaries,  however, 
were  now  arranged;  the  servant  announced  him, 
and  Cleve  was  commanded  to  enter. 

"  I  have  just  had  a  line  to  say  I  shall  be  in 
time  at  half-past  ten  o'clock,  about  it.  From- 
pington's  bill  won't  be  on  till  then;  and  take 
that  chair  and  sit  down,  about  it,  won't  you  ? 
I've  a  good  many  things  on  my  miud;  people  put 
things  upon  me.  Some  people  think  I  have  a 
turn  for  business,  and  they  ask  me  to  consider 
and   direct   matters   about  theirs,  and  I  do  what 


184        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

I  can.  There  was  poor  "Wimbledon,  who  died, 
about  it,  seven  years  ago.  You  remember  Wim- 
bledon— or — I  say — you  either  remember  him  or 
you  don't  recollect  him ;  but  in  either  case  it's  of 
no  importance.  Let  me  see:  Lady  Wimbledon — 
she's  connected  with  you,  about  it — your  mother, 
remotely — remotely  also  with  us,  the  Yerneys. 
Iv'e  had  a  world  of  trouble  about  her  settlements 
— I  can't  describe — I  can't  describe — I  was  not 
well  advised,  in  fact,  to  accept  the  trust  at  all. 
Long  ago,  when  poor  Frompington — I  mean  poor 
"Wimbledon,  of  course — have  I  been  saying  Wim- 
bledon?" 

Cleve  at  once  satisfied  him. 

u  Yes,  of  course.  When  poor  Wimbledon  looked 
as  healthy  and  as  strong  as  I  do  at  this  moment, 
about  it — a  long  time  ago.  Poor  Wimbledon  ! — 
he  fancied,  I  suppose,  I  had  some  little  turn, 
about  it,  for  business — some  of  my  friends  do — 
and  I  accepted  the  trust  when  poor  Wimbledon 
looked  as  little  likely  to  be  hurried  into  eternity, 
about  it,  as  I  do.  1  had  a  regard  for  him,  poor 
AVimbledou,  and  he  had  a  respect  for  me,  and 
thought  I  could  be  of  use  to  him  after  he  was. 
dead,  and  I  have  endeavoured,  and  people  think 
I  have.  But  Lady  Wimbledon,  the  dowager,  poor 
woman !  She's  very  long-winded,  poor  soul,  and 
gives  me  an  infinity  of  trouble.     One  can't  say 


IX   LORD   VERNEY'S  LIBRARY.  185 

to  a  lady,  '  You  are  detaining  me  j  you  are  wan- 
dering from  the  subject ;  you  fail  to  come  to  the 
point.'  It  would  be  taking  a  liberty,  or  some- 
thing, about  it.  I  had  not  seen  Lady  Wimble- 
don, simple  'oman,  for  seven  years  or  more.  It's 
a  very  entangled  business,  and  I  confess  it  seems 
rather  unfair,  that  I  should  have  my  time,  already 
sufficiently  occupied  with  other,  as  I  think,  more 
important  affairs,  so  seriously  interrupted  and 
abridged.  There's  going  to  be  a  biil  filed — yes, 
and  a  great  deal  of  annoyance.  She  has  one 
unmarried  daughter,  Caroline,  about  it,  who  is 
not  to  have  any  power  over  her  money  until  she 
is  thirty-one.  She's  not  that  now.  It  was  hardly 
fair  to  me,  putting  it  in  trust  so  long.  She  is  a 
very  superior  person — a  young  woman  one  does 
not  meet  with  every  day,  about  it;  and — and 
very  apprehensive — a  great  deal  of  mind — quite 
unusual.     Do  you  know  her  ?  " 

The  viscount  raised  his  eyes  toward  the  ceiling 
with  a  smile  that  was  mysterious  and  pleased. 

Cleve  did  know  that  young  lady  of  eight- 
and-twenty,  and  her  dowager  mamma,  "  simple 
'omau,"  who  had  pursued  him  with  extraordinary 
spirit  and  tenacity  for  several  years,  but  that  was 
past  and  over.  Cleve  experienced  a  thrill  of  pain 
at  his  heart.  He  suspected  that  the  old  torturing 
idea  was  again  active  in  his  uncle's  mind. 


1S6  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

Yes,  he  did  know  them — ridiculous  old  wo- 
man ;  and  the  girl — he  believed  she'd  many  any 
one;  he  fancied  she  would  have  done  him  that 
honour  at  one  time,  and  he  fancied  that  the  trust, 
if  it  was  to  end  when  she  was  thirty-one,  could 
not  be  very  long  in  force. 

"  My  dear  Cieve,  don't  you  think  that's  rather 
an  odd  way  of  speaking  of  a  young  lady?  People 
used  not  in  my  time — that  is,  when  I  was  a  young 
man  of  two  or  three-and-twenty,  about  it — to  talk 
so  of  young  ladies.  It  was  not  considered  a  thing 
that  ought  to  be  done.  I — I  never  heard  a  word 
of  the  kind." 

Lord  Yerney's  chivalry  had  actually  called  a 
little  pink  flush  to  his  old  cheeks,  and  he  looked 
very  seriously  still  at  the  cornice,  and  tapped  a 
little  nervous  tattoo  with  his  pencil-case  on  the 
table  as  he  did  so. 

"  I  really  did  not  mean — I  only  meant — in 
fact,  uncle,  I  tell  you  everything;  and  poor  Caro- 
line is  so  much  older  than  I,  it  always  struck  me 
as  amusing." 

"  Their  man  of  business  in  matters  of  law  is 
Mr.  Larkington,  about  it.  Our  man,  you  know 
— you  know  him." 

"  Oh,  yes.  They  could  not  do  better.  Mr. 
Larkin — a  very  shrewd  fellow.  I  went,  by-the- 
by,  to  see  that  old  man,  Dingwell." 


IX   LORD   VEKXEY's   LIBRARY.  187 

"Ah,  well,  very  good.  We'll  talk  of  that  br- 
and-by, if  you  please ;  but  it  has  been  occurring 
to  my  mind,  Cleve,  that — that  you  should  look 
about  you.  In  fact,  if  you  don't  like  one  young 
lady,  you  may  like  another.  It  strikes  me  I 
never  saw  a  greater  number  of  pretty  young 
women,  about  it,  than  there  are  at  present  in 
town.  I  do  assure  you,  at  that  ball — where  was 
it  ? — the  place  I  saw  you,  and  sent  you  down  to 
the  division  —  don't  you  remember?  —  and  next 
day,  I  told  you,  I  think,  they  never  said  so  much 
as  '  I'm  obliged  to  you '  for  what  I  had  done, 
though  it  was  the  saving  of  them,  about  it.  I 
say  I  was  quite  struck;  the  spectacle  was  quite 
charming,  about  it,  from  no  other  cause  ;  and  you 
know  there  is  Ethel — I  always  said  Ethel — and 
there  can  be  no  objection  there;  and  I  have  dis- 
tinct reasons  for  wishing  you  to  be  well  connected, 
about  it — in  a  political  sense — and  there  is  no 
harm  in  a  little  money ;  and,  in  fact,  I  have  made 
up  my  mind,  my  dear  Cleve,  it  is  indispensable, 
and  you  must  marry.  I'm  quite  clear  upon  the 
point." 

M I  can  promise  you,  my  dear  uncle,  that  I 
shan't  marry  without  your  approbation.'" 

"Well,  I  rather  took  that  for  granted,"  ob- 
served Lord  Verney,  with  dry  solemnity. 

"  Of  course.    I  only  say  it's  very  difficult  some- 


1SS        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

times  to  see  what's  wisest.  I  have  you,  I  know, 
uncle,  to  direct  me ;  but  you  must  allow  I  have 
also  your  example.  You  relied  entirely  upon 
yourself  for  your  political  position.  You  made 
it  without  the  aid  of  any  sucli  step,  and  I  should 
be  only  too  proud  to  follow  your  example." 

"A — 'yes — but  the  cases  are  different;  there's 
a  difference,  about  it.  As  I  said  in  the  debate  on 
the  Jewish  Disabilities,  there  are  no  two  cases, 
about  it,  precisely  parallel;  and  I've  given  my 
serious  consideration  to  the  subject,  and  I  am 
satisfied  that  for  every  reason  you  ought  to  choose 
a  wife  immediately ;  there's  no  reason  against  it, 
and  you  ought  to  choose  a  wife,  about  it,  imme- 
diately ;  and  my  mind  is  made  up  quite  decidedly, 
and  I  have  spoken  repeatedly ;  but  now  I  tell  you 
I  recognise  no  reason  for  further  delay — no  reason 
against  the  step,  and  every  reason  for  it ;  and  in 
short,  I  shall  have  no  choice  but  to  treat  any 
dilatory  procedure  in  the  matter  as  amounting  to 
a  distinct  trifling  with  my  known  wishes,  desire, 
and  opinion." 

And  the  Right  Hon.  Lord  Viscount  Yerney 
smote  his  thin  hand  emphatically  at  these  words, 
upon  the  table,  as  he  used  to  do  in  his  place  in 
the  House. 

Then  followed  an  impressive  silence,  the  peer 
holding    his    head    high,    and    looking   a   little 


IN  LORD  VERNEY'S  LIBRARY.       189 

flushed ;  and  Cleve  very  pale,  with  the  ghost  of 
the  smile  he  had  worn  a  few  minutes  before. 

There  are  instruments  that  detect  and  measure 
with  a  beautiful  accuracy,  the  presence  and  force 
of  invisible  influences  —  heat,  electricity,  air, 
moisture.  If  among  all  these  "  meters  " — elec- 
tronometers,  hygrometers,  anemometers — an  ody- 
nometer,  to  detect  the  presence  and  measure  the 
intensity  of  hidden  pain,  were  procurable,  and 
applied  to  the  breast  of  that  pale,  smiling  young 
man  at  that  moment,  I  wonder  to  what  degree  in 
its  scale  its  index  would  have  pointed  ! 

Cleve  intended  to  make  some  slight  and  playful 
remark,  he  knew  not  what,  but  his  voice  failed 
him. 

He  had  been  thinking  of  this  possibility — of 
this  hour — for  many  a  day,  as  some  men  will  of 
the  Day  of  Judgment,  and  putting  it  aside  as  a 
hateful  thought,  possibly  never  to  be  embodied  in 
factj  and  here  it  was  come  upon  him,  suddenly, 
inevitably,  in  all  its  terrors. 

""Well,  certainly,  uncle, — as  you  wish  it.  I 
must  look  about  me  —  seriously.  I  know  you 
wish  me  to  be  happy.  Fm  very  grateful;  you 
have  always  bestowed  so  much  of  your  thought 
and  care  upon  me — too  good,  a  great  deal." 

So  spoke  the  young  man — white  as  that  sheet 
of  paper  on  which  his  uncle  had  been  pencilling 


190        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

two  or  three  of  what  he  called  his  thoughts — and 
almost  as  unconscious  of  the  import  of  the  words 
he  repeated. 

"  I'm  glad,  my  dear  Cleve,  you  are  sensible 
that  I  have  been,  I  may  say,  kind  ;  and  now  let 
me  say  that  I  think  Ethel  has  a  great  deal  in  her 
favour.  There  are  others,  however,  I  am  well 
aware,  and  there  is  time  to  look  about,  but  I 
should  wish  something  settled  this  season — in 
fact,  before  we  break  up,  about  it;  in  short  I 
have,  as  I  said,  made  up  my  mind.  I  don't  act 
without  reasons ;  I  never  do,  and  mine  are  con- 
clusive; and  it  was  on  this  topic,  my  dear  Cleve, 
I  wished  to  see  you.  And  now  I  think  you  may 
as  well  have  some  dinner.  I'm  afraid  I've  de- 
tained you  here  rather  long." 

And  Lord  Yerney  rose,  and  moved  toward  a 
book-case  with  Hansard  in  it,  to  signify  that  the 
conference  was  ended,  and  that  he  desired  to  be 
alone  in  his  study. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

AN    OVATION. 

Cleve  had  no  dinner;  he  had  supped  full  of 
horrors.  He  got  on  his  coat  and  hat,  and  appeared 
nowhere  that  evening,  but  took  an  immense  walk 
instead,  in  the  hope  I  dare  say  of  tiring  out  his 
agony — perhaps  simply  because  quietude  and  un- 
interrupted thought  were  unendurable. 

Next  day  hope  began  a  little  to  revive.  An 
inventive  mind  is  inexhaustible;  and  are  not  the 
resources  of  delay  always  considerable  ? 

"Who  could  have  been  acting  upon  his  uncle's 
mind  in  this  matter  ?  The  spring  of  Lord  Verney's 
action  was  seldom  quite  within  himself.  All  at 
once  he  recollected  that  he  had  come  suddenly 
upon  what  seemed  an  unusually  secret  conference 
between  his  uncle  and  Mr.  Larkin  about  ten  days 
since ;  it  was  in  the  library.  He  was  sure  the 
conversation  had  some  reference  to  him.  His 
uncle  looked  both  annoyed  and  embarrassed  when 
he  came  into  the  room;  even  the  practised  coun- 


192  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

tenance  of  Mr.  Larkin  betrayed  some  faint  signs 
of  confusion. 

Larkin  he  knew  had  been  down  in  the  neigh- 
bourhood of  Ware,  and  probably  in  Cardyllian. 
Had  anything  reached  him  about  the  Malory 
romance?  Mr.  Larkin  was  a  man  who  would 
not  stick  at  trifles  in  hunting  up  evidence,  and 
all  that  concerned  him  would  now  interest  Mr. 
Larkin,  and  Cleve  had  too  high  an  opinion  of 
that  gentleman's  sagacity  not  to  assume  that  if 
he  had  obtained  the  clue  to  his  mystery  he  would 
make  capital  of  the  secret  with  Lord  Yerney. 
Viscera  magnorum  domuum — nothing  like  secret 
relations — confidences, — and  what  might  not  come 
of  this  ?  Of  course,  the  first  result  would  be  a 
peremptory  order  on  which  Lord  Verney  had 
spoken  last  night.  The  only  safety  for  the  young 
man,  it  will  be  concluded,  is  to  marry  him  suit- 
ably forthwith. 

And — by  Jove  ! — a  flash  of  light !  He  had  it ! 
The  whole  thing  was  clear  now.  Yes ;  lie  was  to 
be  married  to  Caroline  Oldys,  because  Mr.  Larkin 
was  the  professional  right  hand  of  that  family, 
and  so  the  attorney  would  glide  ultimately  into 
the  absolute  command  of  the  House  of  Yerney  ! 

To  think  of  that  indescribably  vulgar  rogue's 
actually  shaping  the  fortunes  and  meting  out  the 
tortures  of  Cleve  Yerney. 


AN    oVATloN.  193 

How  much  of  our  miseries  result  from  the  folly 
of  those  who  would  serve  us  !  Here  was  Viscount 
Yerney  with,  as  respected  Cleve,  the  issues  of 
life  very  much  in  his  fingers,  dropping  through 
sheer  imbecility  into  the  coarse  hands  of  that 
odious  attorney  ! 

Cleve  trembled  with  rage  as  he  thought  of  the 
degradation  to  which  that  pompous  fool,  Lord 
Verney,  was  consigning  him,  yet  what  was  to  be 
done  ?  Cleve  was  absolutely  at  the  disposal  of 
the  peer,  and  the  peer  was  unconsciously  placing 
himself  in  the  hands  of  Mr.  Larkin,  to  be  worked 
like  a  puppet,  and  spoken  for  by  the  Pharisaical 
attorney. 

Cleve's  theory  hung  together  plausibly.  It 
would  have  been  gross  folly  to  betray  his  jealousy 
of  the  attorney,  whose  opportunities  with  his 
uncle  he  had  no  means  of  limiting  or  interrupting, 
and  against  whom  he  had  as  yet  no  case. 

He  was  gifted  with  a  pretty  talent  for  dissimu- 
lation ;  Mr.  Larkin  congratulated  himself  in 
secret  upon  Cleve's  growing  esteem  and  confi- 
dence. The  young  gentleman's  manner  was 
gracious  and  even  friendly  to  a  degree  that  was 
quite  marked,  and  the  unconscious  attorney  would 
have  been  startled  had  he  learned  on  a  sudden 
how  much  he  hated  him. 

Ware — that  great  house  which  all  across   the 

VOL.     II.  O 


194  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

estuary  in  which  its  princely  front  was  reflected, 
made  quite  a  feature  in  the  landscape  sketched  by 
so  many  tourists,  from  the  pier  on  the  shingle  of 
Cardyllian  on  bright  summer  days,  was  about  to 
be  re-habilitated,  and  very  splendid  doings  were 
to  follow. 

In  the  mean  time,  before  the  architects  and 
contractors,  the  plumbers,  and  painters,  and  car- 
penters, and  carvers,  and  gilders  had  taken  pos- 
session, and  before  those  wonderful  artists  in 
stucco  who  were  to  encrust  and  overspread  the 
ceilings  with  noble  designs,  rich  and  graceful  and 
light,  of  fruit  and  flowers  and  cupids,  and  from 
memory,  not  having  read  the  guide-book  of 
Cardyllian  and  its  vicinity  for  more  than  a  year, 
I  should  be  afraid  to  say  what  arabesques,  and 
imagery  beside,  had  entered  with  their  cements 
and  their  scaffolding;  and  before  the  three 
brother  artists  had  got  their  passports  for  England 
who  were  to  paint  on  the  panels  of  the  doors  such 
festive  pieces  as  "Watteau  loved.  In  short,  before 
the  chaos  and  confusion  that  attend  the  throes  of 
that  sort  of  creation  had  set  in,  Lord  Verney  was 
to  make  a  visit  of  a  few  days  to  Ware,  and  was  to 
visit  Cardyllian  and  to  receive  a  congratulatory 
address  from  the  corporation  of  that  ancient  town, 
and  to  inspect  the  gas-works  (which  I  am  glad  to 
say  are  hid  away  in  a  little  hollow),  and  the  two 


AN    OVATION.  195 

fountains  which  supply  the  town — constructed,  as 
the  inscription  tells,  at  the  expense  of  "  the  Right 
Honourable  Kiffyn  Fulke,  Nineteenth  Viscount 
Verney,  and  Twenty-ninth  Baron  Penruthyn,  of 
Malory."  \Vhat  else  his  lordship  was  to  see,  and 
to  do,  and  to  say  on  the  day  of  his  visit  the 
county  and  other  newspapers  round  about  printed 
when  the  spectacle  was  actually  over,  and  the 
great  doings  matter  of  history. 

There  were  arches  of  evergreens  and  artificial 
flowers  of  paper,  among  which  were  very  tolerable 
hollyhocks,  though  the  roses  were  startling. 
Under  these,  Lord  Viscount  Verney  and  the 
"  distinguished  party "  who  accompanied  him 
passed  up  Castle  Street  to  the  town-hall,  where  he 
was  received  by  the  mayor  and  town-councillors, 
accompanied  and  fortified  by  the  town-clerk  and 
other  functionaries,  all  smiling  except  the  mayor, 
on  whom  weighed  the  solemn  responsibility  of 
having  to  read  the  address,  a  composition,  and  no 
mean  one,  of  the  Rev.  Dr.  Splayfoot,  who  attended 
with  parental  anxiety  "  to  see  the  little  matter 
through,"  as  he  phrased  it,  and  was  so  awfully 
engaged  that  Mrs.  Splayfoot,  who  was  on  his  arm, 
and  asked  him  twice,  in  a  whisper,  whether  the 
tall  lady  in  purple  silk  was  Lady  Wimbledon, 
without  receiving  the  slightest  intimation  that  she 
was  so  much  as  heard,  remarked  testily  that  she 

0   2 


196  THE   TENANTS   OF    MALORY. 

hoped  he  would  not  write  many  more  addresses, 
inasmuch  as  it  made  him  ill-bred  to  that  degree 
that  if  the  town-hall  had  fallen  during  the  read- 
ing, he  never  would  have  perceived  it  till  he  had 
shaken  his  ears  in  kingdom-come.  Lord  Verney 
read  his  answer,  which  there  was  much  anxiety 
and  pressure  to  hear. 

"Now  it  really  ivas  be-autifu'i — wasn't  it  ?  "  our 
friend  Mrs.  Jones,  the  draper,  whispered,  in  parti- 
cular reference  to  that  part  of  it,  in  which  the 
viscount  invoked  the  blessing  of  the  Almighty 
upon  himself  and  his  doings,  gracefully  admitting 
that  in  contravention  of  the  Divine  will  and  the 
decrees  of  heaven,  even  he  could  not  be  expected 
to  accomplish  much,  though  with  the  best  inten- 
tions. And  Captain  Shrapnell,  who  felt  that  the 
sentiment  was  religious,  and  was  anxious  to  be 
conspicuous,  standing  with  his  hat  in  his  hand, 
with  a  sublime  expression  of  countenance,  said  in 
an  audible  voice — "Amen." 

All  this  over,  and  the  building  inspected,  the 
distinguished  party  were  conducted  by  the  mayor, 
the  militia  band  accompanying  their  march —  [air 
—  "The  Meeting  of  the  Waters"]— to  the 
"Fountains"  in  Gunner's  Lane,  to  which  I  have 
already  alluded. 

Here  they  were  greeted  by  a  detachment  of  the 
Llanwthyn  Temperance  Union,  luaded  by  short, 


AN    OV  \TK')X.  107 

fat  Thomas  Pritchard,  the  interesting  apostle  of 
total  abstinence,  who  used  to  preach  on  the  sub- 
ject alternately  in  Welsh  and  English  in  all  the 
towns  who  wonld  hear  his  gospel,  in  most  of  which 
he  was  remembered  as  having  been  repeatedly 
fined  for  public  intoxication,  and  known  by  the 
familiar  pet-name  of  "  Swipey  Tom/'  before  his 
remarkable  conversion. 

Mr.  Pritchard  now  led  the  choir  of  the  Lan- 
wthyn  Temperance  Union,  consisting  of  seven 
members,  of  various  sizes,  dressed  in  their  Sunday 
costume,  and  standing  in  a  row  in  front  of  foun- 
tain Xo.  1 — each  with  his  hat  in  his  left  hand  and 
a  tumbler  of  fair  water  in  his  right. 

Good  Mrs.  Jones,  who  had  a  vague  sense  of 
fun,  and  remembered  anecdotes  of  the  principal 
figure  in  this  imposing  spectacle,  did  laugh  a  little 
modestly  into  her  handkerchief,  and  answered  the 
admonitory  jog  of  her  husband's  elbow  by  plead- 
ing— "  Poor  fellows  !  "Well,  vou  know  it  is  odd — 
there's  no  denying  that  you  know;'9  and  from  the 
background  were  heard  some  jeers  from  the  ex- 
cursionists who  visited  Cardyllian  for  that  gala, 
which  kept  Hughes,  the  Cardyllian  policeman, 
and  Evans,  the  other  "  horney,"  who  had  been 
drafted  from  Llwynan,  to  help  to  overawe  the  tur- 
bulent, very  hot  and  active  during  that  part  of  the 
ceremony. 


198  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

Particularly  unruly  was  John  Swillers,  who, 
having  failed  as  a  publican  in  Liverpool,  in  con- 
sequence of  his  practice  of  drinking  the  greater 
part  of  his  own  stock  in  trade,  had  migrated  to 
"The  Golden  Posts"  in  Church  Street,  Cardyllian, 
where  he  ceased  to  roll  his  barrel,  set  up  his  tres- 
sels,  and  had  tabernacled  for  the  present,  drink- 
ing his  usual  proportion  of  his  own  liquors,  and 
expecting  the  hour  of  a  new  migration. 

Over  the  heads  of  the  spectators  and  the  admir- 
ing natives  of  Cardyllian  wrere  heard  such  exhor- 
tations as  "  Go  it,  Swipey."  "  There's  gin  in 
that,"  "  Five  shillin's  for  his  vorship,  Swipey,"  "  I 
say,  Swipey  Tom,  pay  your  score  at  the  Golden 
Posts,  will  ye?"  "Will  ye  go  a  bit  on  the 
stretcher,  Swipey  ?  "  "  Here's  two  horneys  as  '11 
take  ye  home  arter  that." 

And  these  interruptions,  I  am  sorry  to  say, 
continued,  notwithstanding  the  remonstrances 
which  Mr.  Hughes  addressed  almost  pathetic- 
ally to  John  Swillers  of  the  Golden  Po>ts,  as  a 
respectable  citizen  of  Cardyllian,  one  from  whose 
position  the  police  were  led  to  expect  assistance 
and  the  populace  an  example.  There  was  some- 
thing in  these  expostulations  which  struck  John 
Swillers,  for  he  would  look  with  a  tipsy  solemnity 
in  Hughes's  face  while  he  delivered  them,  and 
once  took  his  hand,  rather  affectionately,  and  said, 


AN   OVATION.  199 

"That's  your  sort."  But  invariably  these  un- 
pleasant interpolations  were  resumed,  and  did 
not  cease  until  this  moral  exhibition  had  ended 
with  the  last  verse  of  the  temperance  song, 
chanted  by  the  deputation  with  great  vigour,  in 
unison,  and  which,  as  the  reader  will  perceive, 
had  in  it  a  Bacchanalian  character,  which  struck 
even  the  gravest  listeners  as  a  hollow  mockery: — 

Refreshing  more  than  sinful  swipes, 

The  weary  man 

AYho  quaffs  a  can, 
That  sparkling  foams  through  leaden  pipes. 

Chorus. 

Let  every  man 

Then,  fill  his  can, 

And  till  the  glass 

Of  every  iass 
In  brimming  bumpers  sparkling  clear, 
To  pledge  the  health  of  Verney's  Peer  ! 

And  then  came  a  chill  and  ghastly  "  hip-hip, 
hurrah/'  and  with  some  gracious  inquiries  on  Lord 
Verney's  part,  as  to  the  numbers,  progress,  and 
finances  of  "  their  interesting  association,"  and  a 
subscription  of  ten  pounds,  which  Mr.  John 
Swillers  took  leave  to  remark,  "wouldn't  be  laid 
out  on  water,  by  no  means/'  the  viscount,  with 
grand  and  radiant  Mr.  Larkin  at  his  elbow,  and 
frequently  murmuring  in  his  ear — to  the  infinite 
disgust    of    my    friend,    Wynne   Williams,    the 


200  THE  TENANTS  OF   MALORY. 

Cardyllian  attorney,  thus  out-strutted  and  out- 
crowed  on  his  own  rustic  elevation — was  winning 
golden  opinions  from  all  sorts  of  men. 

The  party  went  on,  after  the  wonders  of  the 
town  had  been  exhausted,  to  look  at  Malory,  and 
thence  returned  to  a  collation,  at  which  toasts 
were  toasted  and  speeches  spoken,  and  Captain 
Shrapnell  spoke,  by  arrangement,  for  the  ladies 
of  Cardyllian  in  his  usual  graceful  and  facetious 
manner,  with  all  the  puns  and  happy  allusions 
which  a  month's  private  diligence,  and,  I  am 
sorry  to  say,  some  shameless  plagiarisms  from 
three  old  numbers  of  poor  Tom  Hood's  "  Comic 
Annual/'  could  get  together,  and  the  gallant 
captain  concluded  by  observing  that  the  noble 
lord  whom  they  had  that  day  the  honour  and 
happiness  to  congratulate,  intended,  he  under- 
stood, everything  that  was  splendid  and  liberal 
and  handsome,  and  that  the  town  of  Cardyllian, 
in  the  full  radiance  of  the  meridian  sunshine, 
whose  golden  splendour  proceeded  from  the 
smith — "  The  cardinal  point  at  which  the  great 
house  of  Ware  is  visible  from  the  Green  of  Car- 
dyllian " — (hear,  hear,  and  laughter)  —  "there 
remained  but  one  grievance  to  be  redressed,  and 
that  set  to  rights,  every  ground  of  complaint 
would  slumber  for  ever,  he  might  say,  in  the 
great  bed  of  "Ware  M — (loud  cheers  and  laughter) 


AX    0VATI0N.  201 

— "and  what  was  that  complaint?  He  was  in- 
structed by  his  fair,  lovely,  and  beautiful  clients 
— the  Indies  of  Cardyllian — some  of  whom  he  saw 
in  the  gallery,  and  some  still  more  happily  situ- 
ated at  the  festive  board"— (a  laugh).  "AY ell, 
he  was,  he  repeated,  instructed  by  them  to  say 
that  there  was  one  obvious  duty  which  the  noble 
lord  owed  to  his  ancient  name — to  the  fame  of 
his  public  position — to  the  coronet,  whose  golden 
band  encircled  his  distinguished  brow — and  above 
all,  to  the  ancient  feudal  dependency  of  Cardyl- 
lian"—(hear,  hear) — "and  that  was  to  select 
from  his  county's  beauty,  fascination,  and  accom- 
plishment, and  he  might  say  loveliness,  a  partner 
worthy  to  share  the  ermine  and  the  coronet  and 
the  name  and  the — ermine  "  (hear,  hear)  "  of  the 
ancient  house  of  Yerney  "  (loud  cheers) ;  "  and 
need  he  add  that  when  the  selection  was  made, 
it  was  hoped  and  trusted  and  aspired  after,  that 
the  selection  would  not  be  made  a  hundred  miles 
away  from  the  ivied  turrets,  the  feudal  ruins,  the 
gushing  fountains,  and  the  spacious  town-hall  of 
Cardyllian  "  (loud  and  long-continued  cheering, 
amid  which  the  gallant  captain,  very  hot,  and 
red,  and  smiling  furiously,  sat  down  with  a  sort 
of  lurch,  and  drank  off  a  glass  of  champagne,  and 
laughed  and  giggled  a  little  in  his  chair,  while 
the  "cheering  and  laughter"  continued). 


202        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

And  Lord  Verney  rose,  not  at  all  hurt  by  this 
liberty,  very  much  amused  on  the  contrary,  and 
in  high  good  humour  his  lordship  said, — 

"Allow  me  to  say — I  am  sure  you  will" — 
(hear,  hear,  and  cries  of  "We  will") — "I  say,  I 
am  sure  you  will  permit  me  to  say  that  the  ladies 
of  Cardylliarj,  a-a-about  it,  seem  to  me  to  have 
chosen  a  very  eloquent  spokesman  in  the  gallant, 
and  I  have  no  doubt,  distinguished  officer  who 
has  just  addressed  the  house.  AVe  have  all  been 
entertained  by  the  eloquence  of  Captain  Scollop  " 
—  [here  the  mayor  deferentially  whispered  some- 
thing to  the  noble  orator] — "I  beg  pardon — 
Captain  Grapnell — who  sits  at  the  table,  with  his 
glass  of  wine,  about  it — and  very  good  wine  it  is 
— his  glass,  I  say,  where  it  should  be,  in  his 
hand" — (hear,  hear,  and  laughter,  and  "You 
got  it  there,  captain").  "And  I  assure  the  gal- 
lant captain  I  did  not  mean  to  be  severe — only 
we  were  all  joking — and  I  do  say  that  he  has  his 
hand — my  gallant  friend,  Captain  Grabblet,  has 
it — where  every  gallant  officer's  ought  to  be, 
about  it,  and  that  is,  upon  his  weapon  " — (hear, 
hear,  laughter,  and  cries  of  "  His  lordship's  too 
strong  for  you,  captain").  "  I  don't  mean  to  hurt 
him,  though,  about  it,"  (renewed  cries  of  hear, 
and  laughter,  during  which  the  captain  shook 
his  ears  a  little,  smiling  into  his  glass  rather  fool- 


AX    OVATION.  203 

ishly,  as  a  man  who  was  getting  the  worst  of  it, 
and  knew  it,  but  took  it  pleasantly).  "No,  it 
would  not  be  fair  to  the  ladies  about  it,"  (renewed 
laughter  and  cheering),  "and  all  I  will  say  is 
this,  about  it — there  are  parts  of  Captain  Scrap- 
let's  speech,  which  I  shan't  undertake  to  answer 
at  this  moment.  I  feel  that  I  am  trespassing, 
about  it,  for  a  much  longer  time  than  I  had 
intended,"  (loud  cries  of  "  No,  no,  go  on,  go  on/' 
and  cheering,  during  which  the  mayor  whispered 
something  to  the  noble  lord,  who,  having  heard 
it  twice  or  thrice  repeated,  nodded  to  the  mayor 
in  evident  apprehension,  and  when  silence  was 
restored,  proceeded  to  say,)  "I  have  just  heard, 
without  meaning  to  say  anything  unfair  of  the 
gallant  captain,  Captain  Scalpel,  that  he  is  hardly 
himself  qualified  to  give  me  the  excellent  advice, 
about  it,  which  I  received  from  him  ;  for  they 
tell  me  that  he  has  rather  run  away,  about  it, 
from  his  colours,  on  that  occasion."  (Great 
laughter  and  cheering).  "I  should  be  sorry  to 
wound  Captain  Shat — Scat — Scrap,  the  gallant 
captain,  to  wound  him,  I  say,  even  in  front." 
(Laughter,  cheering,  and  a  voice  from  the  gallery 
"Hit  him  hard,  and  he  won't  swell,"  "Order.") 
"  But  I  think  I  was  bound  to  make  that  observa- 
tion in  the  interest  of  the  ladies  of  Cardyllian, 
about    it  j "    (renewed   laughter) ;    "  and,  for  my 


204  THE   TENANTS   OF    MALORY. 

part,  I  promise  my  gallant  friend  — my — captain 
— about  it — that  although  I  may  take  some  time, 
like  himself"  (loud  laughter);  "although  lean- 
not  let  fall,  about  it,  any  observation  that  may 
commit  me,  yet  I  do  promise  to  meditate  on  the 
excellent  advice  he  has  been  so  good  as  to  give 
me,  about  it."  And  the  noble  lord  resumed  his 
seat  amid  uproarious  cheering  and  general  laugh- 
ter, wondering  what  had  happened  to  put  him 
in  the  vein,  and  regretting  that  some  of  the  people 
at  Downing  Street  had  not  been  present  to  hear 
it,  and  witness  its  effect. 


CHAPTER   XVIII. 

OLD    FRIENDS    OX    THE    GREEN. 

Tom  Sedley  saw  the  Etherage  girls  on  the 
green,  and  instead  of  assisting  as  he  had  intended, 
at  the  great  doings  in  the  town,  he  walked  over 
to  have  a  talk  with  them. 

People  who  know  Cardyllian  remember  the 
two  seats,  partly  stone,  partly  wood,  which  are 
placed  on  the  green,  near  the  margin  of  the  sea — 
seats  without  backs — on  which  you  can  sit  with 
equal  comfort,  facing  the  water  and  the  distant 
mountains,  or  the  white-fronted  town  and  old 
Castle  of  Cardyllian.  Looking  toward  this  latter 
prospect,  the  ladies  sat,  interested,  no  doubt, 
though  they  preferred  a  distant  view,  in  the 
unusual  bustle  of  the  quiet  old  place. 

On  one  of  these  seats  sat  Charity  and  Agnes, 
and  as  he  approached,  smiling,  up  got  Charity 
and  walked  some  steps  towards  him !  looking 
kindly,   but   not   smiling,  for   that    was    not    her 


206  THE  TENANTS   OF   HALORY. 

wont,  and  with  her  thin  hand,  in  dog-skin  glove, 
extended  to  greet  him. 

"  How  are  you,  Thomas  Sedley  ?  when  did  you 
come  ? "  asked  Miss  Charity,  much  gladder  to 
see  him  than  she  appeared. 

"  I  arrived  this  morning ;  you're  all  well,  I 
hope; "  he  was  looking  at  Agnes,  and  would  have 
got  away  from  Miss  Charity,  but  that  she  held 
him  still  by  the  hand. 

"All  very  well,  thank  you,  except  Agnes.  I 
don't  think  she's  very  well.  I  have  ever  so 
much  to  tell  you  when  you  and  I  have  a  quiet 
opportunity,  but  not  now," — she  was  speaking 
in  a  low  tone ; — "  and  now  go  and  ask  Agues 
how  she  is."' 

So  he  did.  She  smiled  a  little  languidly,  he 
thought,  and  was  not  looking  very  strong,  but 
prettier  than  ever — so  very  pretty  !  She  blushed 
too,  very  brilliantly,  as  he  approached  ;  it  would 
have  been  nattering  had  he  not  seen  Cleve  Ver- 
ney  walking  quickly  over  the  green  toward  the 
Etherage  group.  For  whom  was  the  blush  ? 
Two  gentlemen  had  fired  simultaneously. 

"Your  bird?  I  rather  think  my  bird? — isn't 
it?" 

Now  Tom  Sedley  did  not  think  the  bird  his, 
and  he  felt,  somehow,  strangely  vexed.  And  he 
got    through    his    greeting    uncomfortably ;    his 


OLD    FRIENDS    OX    THE    GREEN.  207 

mind  was  away  with  Cleve  Verney,  who  waa 
drawing  quickly  near. 

"  Oh  !  Mr.  Verney,  ivhat  a  time  it  is  since  we 
saw  you  last  !  "exclaimed  emphatic  Miss  Charity; 
"  I  really  began  to  think  you'd  never  come." 

"Very  good  of  you,  Miss  Etherage,  to  think 
about  me." 

"And  you  never  gave  me  your  subscription  for 
our  poor  old  women,  last  winter  !  " 

"  Oh  !  my  subscription  ?  I'll  give  it  now — 
what  was  it  to  be — a  pound  ?  " 

"  No,  you  promised  only  ten  shillings,  but  it 
ought  to  be  a  pound.  I  think  less  would  be 
shameful." 

"  Then,  Miss  Agnes,  shall  it  be  a  pound  ?  "  he 
said,  turning  to  her  with  a  laugh — with  his  fin- 
gers in  his  purse,  "  whatever  you  say  I'll  do." 

"  Agnes — of  course,  a  pound,"  said  Charity,  in 
her  nursery  style  of  admonition. 

"  Charity  says  it  must  be  a  pound,"  answered 
Agues. 

"  And  you  say  so  ?  " 

"  Of  course,  I  must." 

"Then  a  pound  it  is — and  mind,"  he  added, 
laughing,  and  turning  to  Miss  Charity  with  the 
coin  in  his  fingers,  "  I'm  to  figure  in  your  book 
of  benefactors — your  golden  book  of  saints,  or 
martyrs,  rather;  but  you  need  not  put  down  my 


208  THE   TENANTS   OF    MALORY. 

name,  only  ' The  old  woman's  friend,'  or  'A 
lover  of  Annuel/  or  '  A  promoter  of  petticoats/ 
or  any  other  benevolent  alias  you  think  be- 
coming." 

" '  The  old  woman's  friend/  will  do  very 
nicely,"  said  Charity,  gravely.  "Thank  you, 
Air.  Yerney,  and  we  were  so  glad  to  hear  that 
your  uncle  has  succeeded  at  last  to  the  peerage. 
He  can  be  of  such  use — you  really  would  be — he 
and  you  both,  Mr.  Yerney — quite  amazed  and 
shocked,  if  you  knew  how  much  poverty  there  is 
in  this  town." 

"It's  well  he  does  not  know  just  now,  for  he 
wants  all  his  wits  about  him.  This  is  a  critical 
occasion,  you  know,  and  the  town  expects  great 
things  from  a  practised  orator.  I've  stolen  away, 
just  for  five  minutes,  to  ask  you  the  news.  We 
are  at  Ware,  for  a  few  days;  only  two  or  three 
friends  with  us.  They  came  across  in  my  boat 
to-day.  We  are  going  to  set  all  the  tradespeople 
on  earth  loose  upon  the  house  in  a  few  days.  It 
is  to  be  done  in  an  incredibly  short  time;  and 
my  uncle  is  talking  of  getting  down  some  of  his 
old  lady  relations  to  act  chaperon,  and  we  hope  to 
have  you  all  over  there.  You  know  it's  all  made 
up,  that  little  coldness  between  my  uncle  and  your 
father.  I'm  so  glad.  Your  father  wrote  him 
such  a  nice  note  to-day  explaining  his  absence — 


OLD    FRIENDS    ON    THE   GBEEN. 

he  never  goes  into  a  crowd,  lie  Bays — and  Lord 
Veruey  wrote  him  a  line  to  say,  if  he  would  allow 
him,  he  would  go  up  to  Hazelden  to  pay  his 
respects  this  afternoon." 

This  move  was  a  suggestion  of  Mr.  Larkin's, 
who  was  pretty  well  up  in  election  strategy. 

"  I've  ascertained,  my  lord,  he's  good  for  a 
hundred  and  thirty-seven  votes  in  the  county, 
and  your  lordship  has  managed  him  with  such 
consummate  tact  that  a  very  little  more  will, 
with  the  Divine  blessing,  induce  the  happiest, 
and  I  may  say,  considering  the  disparity  of  your 
lordship's  relations  and  his,  the  most  dutiful  feel- 
ings on  his  part — resulting,  in  fact,  in  your  lord- 
ship's obtaining  the  absolute  command  of  the 
constituency.  You  were  defeated,  my  lord,  last 
time,  by  only  forty-three  votes,  with  his  influence 
against  you.  If  your  lordship  were  to  start  your 
nephew,  Mr.  Cleve  Verney,  for  it  next  time, 
having  made  your  ground  good  with  him,  he 
would  be  returned,  humanly  speaking,  by  a 
sweeping  majority/' 

u  So,  Lord  Verney's  going  up  to  see  papa ! 
Agnes,  we  ought  to  be  at  home.  He  must  have 
luncheon." 

"No — a  thousand  thanks — but  all  that's  ex- 
plained. There's  luncheon  to  be  in  the  town- 
hall — it's  part  of  the  programme — and  speeches  - 
VOL.  ii.  p 


*J1()  THE  TENANTS  OF   KALORY. 

and  all  that  kind  of  rubbish;  so  he  can  only  rue 
up  for  a  few  minutes,  just  to  say,  'How  do  ye 
do?'  and  away  again.  So,  pray,  don't  think  of 
going  all  that  way,  and  he'll  come  here  to  be 
introduced,  and  make  your  acquaintance.  And 
now  tell  me  all  your  news." 

"  Well,  those  odd  people  went  away  from 
Malory" — began  Charity. 

"  Oh,  yes,  I  heard,  I  think,  something  of  that," 
said  Cieve,  intending  to  change  the  subject,  per- 
haps j  but  Miss  Charity  went  on,  for  in  that 
eventless  scene  an  occurrence  of  any  kind  is  too 
precious  to  be  struck  out  of  the  record  on  any 
ground. 

"  They  went  away  as  mysteriously  as  they  came 
— almost — and  so  suddenly" 

"  You  forgot,  Charity,  dear,  Mr.  Verney  was 
at  Ware  when  they  went,  and  here  two  or  three 
times  after  they  left  Malory." 

"  So  I  was,"  said  Cleve,  with  an  uneasy  glance 
at  Tom  Sedley;  "  I  knew  I  had  heard  something 
of  it." 

"  Oh,  yes ;  and  they  say  that  the  old  man  was 
both  mad  and  in  debt." 

"  What  a  combination  !  "  said  Cleve. 

u  Yes,  I  assure  you,  and  a  Jew  came  down 
with  twenty  or  thirty  bailiffs — I'm  only  telling 
you  what  Mr.  Apjohn  heard,  and  the  people  here 


OLD    FRIENDS   ON   THE   GREEN  211 

tell  us — and  a  mad  doctor,  and  people  with  strait 
waistcoats,  and  they  surrounded  Malory;  but  he 
was  gone! — not  a  human  being  knew  where — 
and  that  handsome  girl,  wasn't  she  quite  bee-au- 

tifuir 

"  Oh,  what  everyone  says,  you  know,  must  be 
true,"  said  Cleve. 

"  What  do  you  say  ?  "  she  urged  upon  Tom 
Sedley. 

"  Oh,  I  say  ditto  to  everyone,  of  course." 

"Well,  I  should  think  so,  for  you  know  you 
are  quite  desperately  in  love  with  her,"  said  Miss 
Charity. 

"I?  "Why,  I  really  never  spoke  to  her  in  all 
ray  life.     Now,  if  you  had  said  Cleve  Verney." 

"  Oh,  yes  !  If  you  had  named  me.  But,  by 
Jove  !  there  they  go.  Do  you  see  ?  My  uncle 
and  the  mayor,  and  all  the  lesser  people,  trooping 
away  to  the  town-hall.  Good-bye !  I  haven't 
another  moment.  You'll  be  here,  I  hope, 
when  we  get  out ;  do,  pray.  I  have  not  a  mo- 
ment." 

And  he  meant  a  glance  for  Miss  Agnes,  but  it 
lost  itself  in  air,  for  that  young  lady  was  looking 
down,  in  a  little  reverie,  on  the  grass,  at  the  tip  of 
her  tiny  boot. 

"  There's  old  Miss  Christian  out,  I  declare  !  " 
exclaimed  Charity.     "  Did  you  ever  hear  of  such 

P  2 


•212  THE  TENANTS  OF   MALORY. 

a  thing?  I  wonder  whether  Doctor  Lyster 
knows  she  is  out  to-day.  I'll  just  go  and  speak 
to  her.  If  he  doesn't,  Til  simply  tell  her  she  is 
mad!" 

And  away  marched  Miss  Charity,  bent  upon 
finding  out,  as  she  said,  all  about  it. 

"Agnes,"  said  Tom  Sedley,  "it  seemed  to  me 
to-day,  you  were  not  glad  to  see  me.  Are  you 
vexed  with  me  ?  " 

"Vexed  ?  No,  indeed  !  "  she  said,  gently,  and 
looking  up  with  a  smile. 

"  And  your  sister  said n     Tom  paused,  for 

he  did  not  know  whether  Charity's  whisper  about 
her  not  having  been  "very  strong  "  might  not  be 
a  confidence. 

"  What  does  Charity  say  ? n  asked  Agnes, 
almost  sharply,  while  a  little  flush  appeared  in 
her  cheeks. 

"  Well,  she  said  she  did  not  think  you  were  so 
strong  as  usual.     That  was  all." 

"That  was  all — no  great  consequence,"  said 
she,  with  a  little  smile  upon  the  grass  and  sea- 
pinks — a  smile  that  was  bitter. 

"  You  can't  think  I  meant  that,  little  Agnes,  I 
of  all  people ;  but  I  never  was  good  at  talking. 
And  you  know  I  did  not  mean  that." 

"People  often  say — /  do,  I  know — what  they 
mean  without  intending  it,"  she  answered,  care- 


OLD   FRIENDS   ON    THE   GREEN.  213 

lessly.  '•  I  know  you  would  not  make  a  rude 
speech — I'm  sure  of  that;  and  as  to  what  we 
say  accidentally,  can  it  signify  very  much?  Mr. 
Yerney  said  lie  was  coming  back  after  the 
speeches,  and  Lord  Yerney,  he  said,  didn't  he  ? 
I  wonder  you  don't  look  in  at  the  town- hall. 
You  could  make  us  laugh  by  telling  all  about  it, 
by-and-by  —  that  is,  if  we  happen  to  see  you 
again." 

"Of  course  you  should  see  me  again."' 

"I  meant  this  evening;  to-morrow,  perhaps, 
we  should,"  said  she. 

"  If  I  went  there ;  but  I'm  not  going.  I  think 
that  old  fellow,  Lord  Yerney,  Cleve's  uncle,  is  an 
impertinent  old  muff.  Every  one  knows  he's  a 
muff,  though  he  is  Cleve's  uncle;  he  gave  me  just 
one  finger  to-day,  and  looked  at  me  as  if  I  ought 
to  be  anywhere  but  where  I  was.  I  have  as 
good  a  right  as  he  to  be  in  Cardyllian,  and  I 
venture  to  say  the  people  like  me  a  great  deal 
better  than  they  like  him,  or  ever  will." 

"And  so  you  punish  him  by  refusing  your 
countenance  to  this — what  shall  I  call  it  ? — 
gala." 

"  Oh  !  of  course  you  take  the  Yerneys'  part 
against  me;  they  are  swells,  and  I  am  a  no- 
body." 

He   thought    Miss    Agnes  coloured  a  little  at 


214        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

this  remark.  The  blood  grows  sensitive  and 
capricious  when  people  are  ailing,  and  a  hint  is 
enough  to  send  it  to  and  fro;  but  she  said 
only, — 

"  I  never  heard  of  the  feud  before.  I  thought 
that  you  and  Mr.  Verney  were  very  good 
friends." 

"  So  we  were ;  so  we  are — Cleve  and  I.  Of 
course,  I  was  speaking  of  the  old  lord.  Cleve, 
of  course,  no  one  ever  hears  anything  but  praises 
of  Cleve.  I  suppose  I  ought  to  beg  your  pardon 
for  having  talked  as  I  did  of  old  Lord  Verney; 
it's  petty  treason,  isn't  it,  to  talk  lightly  of  a 
Verney,  in  Cardvllian  or  its  neighbourhood?" 
said  Sedley,  a  little  sourly. 

"  I  don't  know  that ;  but  I  dare  say,  if  you 
mean  to  ask  leave  to  fish  or  shoot,  it  might  be  as 
well  not  to  attack  them." 

"  Well,  I  shan't  in  your  hearing." 

And  with  this  speech  came  a  silence. 

"  I  don't  think,  somehow,  that  Cleve  is  as  frank 
with  me  as  he  used  to  be.  Can  you  imagine  any 
reason?  "  said  Tom,  after  an  interval. 

"I?  No,  upon  my  word — unless  you  are  as 
frank  to  him  about  his  uncle,  as  you  have  been 
with  me." 

"  Well,  I'm  not.  I  never  spoke  to  him  about 
his  uncle.     But  Shrapnell,  who  tells  me  all  the 


OLD   FRIENDS   OH    THE    GREEN.  215 

aews  of  Cardyllian  while  I'm  away" — thU  waa 
pointedly  spoken — "  said,  I  thought,  that  he  had 
not  been  down  here  ever  since  the  Malory  people 
left,  and  I  find  that  he  was  here  for  a  week 
— at  least  at  Ware  —  last  autumn,  for  a  fort- 
night ;  and  he  never  told  me,  though  he  knew, 
for  I  said  so  to  him,  that  I  thought  that  he 
had  stayed  away ;  and  I  think  that  was  very 
odd." 

"  He  may  have  thought  that  he  was  not  bound 
to  account  to  you  for  his  time  and  movements," 
said  Miss  Agnes. 

"Well,  he  was  here;  Mrs.  Jones  was  good 
enough  to  tell  me  so,  though  other  people 
make  a  secret  of  it.  You  saw  him  here,  I  dare 
say.'" 

"  Yes,  he  was  here,  for  a  few  days.  I  think  in 
October,  or  the  end  of  September." 

"  Oh  !  thank  you.  But,  as  I  said,  I  had  heard 
that  already  from  Mrs.  Jones,  who  is  a  most  in- 
convenient gossip  upon  nearly  all  subjects." 

"I  rather  like  Mrs.  Jones;  you  mean  the 
'draper,'  as  we  call  her?  and  if  Mr.  Yernev  is 
not  as  communicative  as  you  would  have  him, 
I  really  can't  help  it.  I  can  only  assure  you, 
for  your  comfort,  that  the  mysterious  tenants 
of  Malory  had  disappeared  long  before  that 
visit." 


216        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALOEY. 

(%  I  know  perfectly  well  when  they  went  away/' 
said  Sedley,  drily. 

IMiss  Agues  nodded  with  a  scarcely  perceptible 
smile. 

"And  I  know — that  is,  I  found  out  afterwards 
— that  he  admired  her,  I  mean  the  young  lady — 
Margaret,  they  called  her — awfully.  He  never- 
let  me  know  it  himself,  though.  I  hate  fellows 
being  so  close  aud  dark  about  everything,  and 
I've  fouud  out  other  things;  and,  in  short,  it 
people  don't  like  to  tell  me  their—  secrets  I  won't 
call  them,  for  everyone  in  Cardyllian  knows  all 
about  them — I'm  hanged  if  I  ask  them.  All  I 
know  is,  that  Cleve  is  going  to  live  a  good  deal 
at  Ware,  which  means  at  Cardyllian,  which  will 
be  a  charming  thing,  a  positive  blessing, — won't 
it  ? — for  the  inhabitants  and  neighbours ;  and  that 
I  shall  trouble  them  very  little  henceforward  with 
my  presence.  There's  Charity  beckoning  to  me; 
would  you  mind  my  going  to  see  what  she 
wants?" 

So,  dismissed,  away  he  ran  like  a  "  fielder " 
after  a  "  by,"  as  he  had  often  run  over  the  same 
ground  before. 

"  Thomas  Sedley,  I  want  you  to  tell  Lyster,  the 
apothecary,  to  send  a  small  bottle  of  sal  volatile 
to  Miss  Christian  immediately.  I'd  go  myself — 
it's  onlv  round  the  corner— but  I'm  afraid  of  the 


OLD   FRIENDS   ON   THE    G  v  217 

crowd.  If  he  can  give  it  to  you  now,  perhaps 
you'd  bring  it,  and  I'll  wait  here." 

"When  he  brought  back  the  phial,  and  ZNIi  -s 
Charity  had  given  it  with  a  message  at  Miss 
Christian's  treiliced  door,  she  took  Tom's  arm, 
and  said, — 

"  She  has  not  been  looking  well." 

"You  mean  Agnes?"  conjectured  he. 

"Yes,  of  course.  She's  not  herself.  She  does 
not  tell  me,  but  I  know  the  cause,  and,  as  an  old 
friend  of  ours,  and  a  friend,  beside,  of  Mr.  Cleve 
Verney,  I  must  tell  you  that  I  think  he  is  using 
her  disgracefully." 

"Really?" 

"  Yes,  most  flagitiously ." 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  Shrapnell  wrote  me 
word  that  he  was  very  attentive,  and  used  to 
join  her  in  her  walks;  and  afterwards  he  said 
that  he  had  been  mistaken,  and  discovered  that 
he  was  awfully  in  love  with  the  young  lady  at 
Malory." 

"  Don't  believe  a  word  of  it.  I  wonder  at 
Captain  Shrapnell  circulating  such  insanity.  He 
must  know  how  it  really  was,  and  is.  I  look  upon 
it  as  perfectly  wicked,  the  way  that  Captain  Shrap- 
nell talks.  You're  not  to  mention  it,  of  course } 
to  anyone.  It  would  be  scandalous  of  you, 
Thomas    Sedlev,   to    think    of  breathing    a  word 


218       THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

to   mortal — mind    (hat;    but    I'm    certain   you 
wouldn't.1' 

"  What  a  beast  Cleve  Verney  has  turned  out ! " 
exclaimed  Tom  Sedley.     " Do  you  think  she  still 

cares  for  him?" 

"  Why,  of  course  she  does.  If  he  had  been 
paying  his  addresses  to  me,  and  that  /  had  grown 
by  his  perseverance  and  devotion  to  like  him,  do 
you  think,  Thomas  Sedley,  that  although  I  might 
give  him  up  in  consequence  of  his  misconduct, 
that  I  could  ever  cease  to  feel  the  same  kind  of 
feeling  about  him  V  And  as  she  put  this  incon- 
gruous case,  she  held  Tom  Sedley's  arm  firmly, 
showing  her  bony  wrist  above  her  glove;  and 
with  her  gaunt  brown  face  and  saucer  eyes  turned 
full  upon  him,  rather  fiercely,  Tom  felt  an  inward 
convulsion  at  the  picture  of  Cleve's  adorations  at 
this  shrine,  and  the  melting  of  the  nymph,  which 
by  a  miracle  he  repressed. 

"  But  you  may  have  more  constancy  than 
Agnes,"  he  suggested. 

"Don't  talk  like  a/oo/,  Thomas  Sedley.  Every 
nice  girl  is  the  same" 

'•  May  I  talk  to  Cleve  about  it?" 

"  On  no  account.  No  nice  girl  could  marry 
him  now,  and  an  apology  would  be  simply  ridi- 
culous. I  have  not  spoken  to  him  on  the  subject, 
and    though    I    had    intended    cutting    him,    my 


OLD  FRIENDS  ON  THE  GREEN.      219 

friend  Mrs.  Splayfoot  was  so  clear  that  I  should 
meet  him  just  as  usual,  that  I  do  control  the 
expression  of  my  feelings,  and  endeavour  to  talk 
to  him  indifferently,  though  I  should  like  un- 
commonly to  tell  him  how  odious  I  shall  always 
think  him."" 

"  Yes,  I  remember,"  said  Tom,  who  had  been 
pondering.  "  Cleve  did  tell  me,  that  time — it's 
more  than  a  vear  ago  now — it  was  a  year  in 
autumn — that  he  admired  Agnes,  and  used  to 
walk  with  you  on  the  green  every  day  j  he  did 
certainly.  I  must  do  him  that  justice.  But 
suppose  Agnes  did  not  show  that  she  liked  him, 
he  might  not  have  seen  any  harm/' 

"That's  the  way  you  men  always  take  one 
another's  parts.  I  must  say,  1  think  it  is  odious  !  " 
exclaimed  Charity,  with  a  flush  in  her  thin  cheeks, 
and  a  terrible  emphasis. 

"  But,  I  say,  did  she  let  him  see  that  she  liked 
him  ?  u 

"No,  of  course  she  didn't.  No  nice  girl  would. 
But  of  course  he  saw  it,"  argued  Charity. 

"  Oh,  then  she  showed  it  t" 

"No,  she  did  not  show  it;  there  was  nothiny  in 
anything  she  said  or  did,  that  could  lead  anyone, 
by  look,  or  wrord,  or  act,  to  imagine  that  she  liked 
him.  How  can  you  be  so  perverse  and  ridiculous, 
Thomas  Sedley,  to  think  she'd  show  her  liking  ? 


THE   TENANTS   OF    MALORY. 

A\  hy,  even  /  don't  know  it.  I  never  saw  it. 
She's  a  great  deal  too  nice.  You  don't  know 
Agnes.  I  should  not  venture  to  hint  at  it  myself. 
Gracious  goodness  !  What  a  fool  you  are,  Thomas 
Sedley!     Hush. 

The  concluding  caution  was  administered  in 
consequence  of  their  having  got  \ery  near  the 
seat  where  Agnes  was  sitting. 

"  Miss  Christian  is  only  nervous,  poor  old 
thing  !  and  Thomas  Sedley  has  been  getting  sal 
volatile  for  her,  and  she'll  be  quite  well  in  a  day 
or  two.  Hadn't  we  better  walk  a  little  up  and 
down;  it's  growing  too  cold  for  you  to  sit  any 
longer,  Agnes,  dear.     Come." 

And  up  got  obedient  Agnes,  and  the  party  of 
three  walked  up  and  down  the  green,  conversing 
upon  all  sorts  of  subjects  but  the  one  so  ably 
handled  by  Charity  and  Tom  Sedley  in  their  two 
or  three  minutes'  private  talk. 

And  now  the  noble  lord  and  his  party,  and  the 
mayor,  and  the  corporation,  and  Mr.  Larkin,  and 
Captain  Shrapnell,  and  many  other  celebrities, 
were  seen  slowly  emerging  from  the  lane  that 
passes  the  George  Inn,  upon  the  green ;  and  the 
peer  having  said  a  word  or  two  to  the  mayor,  and 
also  to  Lady  Wimbledon,  and  bowed  and  pointed 
toward  the  jetty,  the  main  body  proceeded  slowly 
toward  that  point,  while  Lord  Yerncv,  accompanied 


(>LD    FRIENDS    ON    THE   I  221 

by  Clevc,  walked  grandly  towards  the  young  ladies 
who  were  to  be  presented. 

Tom  Sedley,  observing  this  movement,  took 
his  leave  hastily,  and,  in  rather  a  marked  way, 
walked  off  at  right  angles  with  Lord  Verney's 
line  of  march,  twirling  his  cane. 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

VANE  ETHERAGE  GREETS  LORD  VERNEY. 

So  the  great  Lord  Verney,  with  the  flush  of 
his  brilliant  successes  in  the  town-hall  still  upon 
his  thin  cheeks,  and  a  countenance  dry  and  so- 
lemn, to  which  smiling  came  not  easily,  made  the 
acquaintance  of  the  Miss  Etherages,  and  observed 
that  the  younger  was  "  sweetly  pretty,  about  it, 
and  her  elder  sister  appeared  to  him  a  particularly 
sensible  young  woman,  and  was,  he  understood, 
very  useful  in  the  charities,  and  things."  And 
he  repeated  to  them  in  his  formal  way,  his  hope 
of  seeing  them  at  Ware,  and  was  as  gracious  as 
such  a  man  can  be,  and  instead  of  attorneys  and 
writs  sent  grouse  and  grapes  to  Hazelden. 

And  thus  this  narrow  man,  who  did  not  easily 
forgive,  expanded  and  forgave,  and  the  secret  of 
the  subsidence  of  the  quarrel,  and  of  the  Christian 
solution  of  the  "  difficulty,"  was  simply  Mr.  Vane 
Etherage's.  hundred  and  thirty  votes  in  the  county. 

What   a  blessing  to  these   counties  is   repre- 


VANE  ETHERAGE  GREETS  LORD  VEBNEY.  2'-23 

tentative  government,  with  its  attendant  insti- 
tution of  the  canvass  !  It  is  the  one  galvanism 
■which  no  material  can  resist.  It  melts  every 
heart,  and  makes  the  coldest,  hardest,  and 
heaviest  metals  burst  into  beautiful  flame. 
Granted  that  at  starting,  the  geniality,  repen- 
tance, kindness,  are  so  many  arrant  hypocrisies; 
yet  who  can  tell  whether  these  repentances,  in 
white  sheets,  taper  in  hand,  these  offerings  of 
birds  and  fruits,  these  smiles  and  compliments, 
and  "  Christian  courtesies,"  may  not  end  in  im- 
proving the  man  who  is  compelled  to  act  like  a 
good  fellow  and  accept  his  kindly  canons,  and 
improve  him  also  with  whom  these  better  rela- 
tions are  established  ?  As  muscle  is  added  to  the 
limb,  so  strength  is  added  to  the  particular  moral 
quality  we  exercise,  and  kindness  is  elicited,  and 
men  perhaps  end  by  having  some  of  the  attributes 
which  they  began  by  affecting.  At  all  events, 
any  recognition  of  the  kindly  and  peaceable  social 
philosophy  of  Christianity  is,  so  far  as  it  goes,  good. 
"  What  a  sensible,  nice,  hospitable  old  man 
Lord  Verney  is;  I  think  him  the  most  sensible 
and  the  nicest  man  I  ever  met,"  said  Miss  Charity, 
in  an  enthusiasm  which  was  quite  genuine,  for 
she  was,  honestly,  no  respecter  of  persons.  "And 
young  Mr.  Verney  certainly  looked  very  hand- 
some, but  I  don't  like  him." 


22  I  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

"Don't  like  hi  in  !  Why?"  said  Agnes,  look- 
ing up. 

"  Because  I  think  him  perfectly  odious,"  re- 
plied Miss  Charity. 

Agnes  was  inured  to  Miss  Charity's  adjectives, 
and  even  the  fierce  flush  that  accompanied  some 
of  them  failed  to  alarm  her. 

"  Well,  I  rather  like  him,"  she  said,  quietly. 

"  You  cant  like  him,  Agnes.  It  is  not  a  matter 
of  opinion  at  all;  it's  just  simply  a  matter  of  fact 
— and  you  know  that  he  is  a  most  worldly,  selfish, 
cruel,  and  I  think,  wicked  young  man,  and  you 
need  not  talk  about  him,  for  he's  odious.  And 
here  comes  Thomas  Sedley  again." 

Agnes  smiled  a  faint  and  bitter  smile. 

"  And  what  do  you  think  of  him?"  she  asked. 

"Thomas  Sedley?  Of  course  I  like  him;  we 
all  like  him.     Don't  you?  "  answered  Charity. 

"  Yes,  pretty  well — very  well.  I  suppose  he  has 
faults,  like  other  people.  He's  good-humoured, 
selfish,  of  course  —  I  fancy  they  all  are.  And 
papa  likes  him,  I  think;  but  really,  Charrie,  if 
vou  want  to  know,  I  don't  care  if  I  never  saw 
him  again." 

"  Hush ! " 

"  Well!  You've  got  rid  of  the  Yerneys,  and 
here  I  am  again,"  said  Tom,  approaching.  "  They 
are  going  up  to  Hazclden  to  see  your  father." 


VAXE  ETHERAGE  GREETS  LORD  VERNEY.  225 

And  so  they  were — np  that  pretty  walk  that 
passes  the  mills  and  ascends  steeply  by  the  pre- 
cipitous side  of  the  wooded  glen,  so  steep,  that  in 
two  places  you  have  to  mount  by  rude  flights  of 
steps — a  most  sequestered  glen,  and  utterly  silent, 
except  for  the  sound  of  the  mill-stream  tinkling 
and  crooning  through  the  rocks  below,  unseen 
through  the  dense  boughs  and  stems  of  the  wood 
beneath. 

If  Lord  Verney  in  his  conciliatory  condescen- 
sion was  grand,  so  was  Vane  Etherage  on  the 
occasion  of  receiving  and  forgiving  him  at  Hazel- 
den.  He  had  considered  and  constructed  a  little 
speech,  with  some  pomp  of  language,  florid  and 
magnanimous.  He  had  sat  in  his  bath-chair  for 
half  an  hour  at  the  little  iron  gate  of  the  flower- 
garden  of  Hazelden,  no  inmate  of  which  had  ever 
seen  him  look,  for  a  continuance,  so  sublimely 
important,  and  indeed  solemn,  as  he  had  done  all 
that  morning. 

Vane  Etherage  had  made  his  arrangements  to 
receive  Lord  Verney  with  a  dignified  deference. 
He  was  to  be  wheeled  down  the  incline  about  two 
hundred  yards,  to  "  the  bower/'  to  meet  the  peer 
at  that  point,  and  two  lusty  fellows  were  to  push 
hi  in  up  by  Lord  Verney' s  side  to  the  house,  where 
wine  and  other  comforts  awaited  him. 

John  Evans   had    been  placed   at  the  mill   to 

YOL.   II.  Q 


22G        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

signal  to  the  people  above  at  Hazelden,  by  a 
musket-shot,  the  arrival  of  Lord  Verney  at  that 
stage  of  his  progress.  The  flagstaff  and  rigging 
on  the  green  platform  at  Hazelden  were  fluttering 
all  over  with  all  the  flags  that  ever  were  invented, 
in  honour  of  the  gala. 

Lord  Verney  ascended,  leaning  upon  the  arm 
of  his  nephew,  with  Mr.  Larkin  and  the  mayor 
for  supporters,  Captain  Shrapnell,  Doctor  Lyster, 
aud  two  or  three  other  distinguished  inhabitants 
of  Cardyllian  bringing  up  the  rear. 

Lord  Verney  carried  his  head  high,  and  grew 
reserved  and  rather  silent  as  they  got  on,  and  as 
they  passed  under  the  solemn  shadow  of  the  great 
trees  by  the  mill,  an  overloaded  musket  went  off 
with  a  sound  like  a  cannon,  as  Lord  Verney  after- 
wards protested,  close  to  the  unsuspecting  party, 

and  a  loud  and  long  whoop  from   John  Evans 

completed  the  concerted  signal. 

The  Viscount  actually  jumped,  and  Cleve  felt 

the  shock  of  his  arm  against  his  side. 

"  D you,  John  Evans,  what  the  devil  are 

you  doing  ?  "  exclaimed  Captain  Shrapnell,  who, 

turning  from  white  to  crimson,  was  the  first  of 

the  party  to  recover  his  voice. 

"  Yes,  sir,  thank  you — very  good,"  said  Evans, 

touching  his  hat,  and  smiling   incessantly  with 

the    incoherent   volubility   of    \Velsh   politeness. 


VANE  ETHERAGE  GREETS  LORD  VERNE Y.  227 

"  A  little  bit  of  a  squib,  sir,  if  you  please,  for 
Captain  Squire  Etherage — very  well,  I  thank  you 
—  to  let  him  know  Lord  Yerney  —  very  much 
obliged,  sir — was  at  the  mill — how  do  you  do, 
sir? — and  going  up  to  Hazelden,  if  you  please, 
sir/' 

And  the  speech  subsided  in  a  little,  gratified 
laugh  of  delighted  politeness. 

"  You'd  better  not  do  that  again,  though,"  said 
the  Captain,  with  a  menacing  wag  of  his  head, 
and  availing  himself  promptly  of  the  opportunity 
of  improving  his  relations  with  Lord  Yerney,  he 
placed  hiinself  by  his  side,  and  assured  him  that 
though  he  was  an  old  campaigner,  and  had  smelt 
powder  in  all  parts  of  the  world,  he  had  never 
heard  such  a  report  from  a  musket  in  all  his 
travels  and  adventures  before;  and  hoped  Lord 
Yerney's  hearing  was  not  the  worse  of  it.  He 
had  known  a  general  officer  deafened  by  a  shot, 
and,  by  Jove !  his  own  ears  at  ere  singing  with  it 
still,  accustomed  as  he  was,  by  Jupiter !  to  such 
things. 

His  lordship,  doing  his  best  on  the  festive  occa- 
sion, smiled  uncomfortably,  and  said, — 

"Yes  —  thanks — ha,  ha!  I  really  thought  it 
was  a  cannon,  or  the  gas-works — about  it." 

And  Shrapnell  called  back  and  said, — 

"  Don't  you  be  coming   on   with  that   thing, 

Q  2 


228  THE   TENANTS   OF  MALORY. 

John  Evans — do  you  mind? — Lord  Verney's  had 
quite  enough  of  that.  You'll  excuse  me,  Lord 
Verney,  I  thought  you'd  wish  so  much  said," 
and  Lord  Verney  bowed  graciously. 

The  answering  shot  and  cheer  which  were 
heard  from  above  announced  to  John  Evans  that 
the  explosion  had  been  heard  at  Hazelden,  and 
still  smiling  and  touching  his  heart,  he  continued 
his  voluble  civilities — "  Very  good,  sir,  very  much 
obliged,  sir,  very  well,  I  thank  you ;  I  hope  you 
are  very  well,  sir,  very  good  indeed,  sir,"  and  so 
forth,  till  they  were  out  of  hearing. 

The  shot,  indeed,  was  distinctly  heard  at  the 
gay  flag-staff  up  at  Hazelden,  and  the  Admiral 
got  under  weigh,  and  proceeded  down  the  incline 
charmingly  till  they  had  nearly  reached  the  little 
platform  at  the  bower,  where,  like  Christian  in 
his  progress,  he  was  to  make  a  halt. 

But  his  plans  at  this  point  were  disturbed. 
Hardly  twenty  yards  before  they  reached  it,  one 
of  his  men  let  go,  the  drag  upon  the  other  sud- 
denly increased,  and  resulted  in  a  pull,  which 
caused  him  to  trip,  and  tripping  as  men  while  in 
motion  downhill  will,  he  butted  forward,  charging 
headlong,  and  finally  tumbling  on  his  face,  he 
gave  to  the  rotatory  throne  of  Air.  Etherage  such 
an  impulse  as  carried  him  quite  past  the  arbour, 
and  launched  him  upon  the  steep  descent  of  the 


VAXE    ETHERAGE   GREETS    LORD   VERNEY.    229 

gravel-walk  with  a  speed  every  moment  accele- 
rated. 

"  Stop  her ! — ease  her ! — d you,  Williams ! " 

roared  the  Admiral,  little  knowing  how  idle  were 
his  orders.  The  bath-chair  had  taken  head,  the 
pace  became  furious ;  the  running  footmen  gave 
up  pursuit  in  despair,  and  Mr.  Vane  Etherage 
was  obliged  to  concentrate  his  severest  attention, 
as  he  never  did  before,  on  the  task  of  guiding  his 
flying  vehicle,  a  feat  which  was  happily  favoured 
by  the  fact  that  the  declivity  presented  no  short 
turns. 

The  sounds  were  heard  below — a  strange 
ring  of  wheels,  and  a  powerful  voice  bawling, 
"  Ease  her !  stop  her !  "  and  some  stronger  ex- 
pressions. 

"  Can't  be  a  carriage,  about  it,  here  ? "  ex- 
claimed Lord  Yerney,  halting  abruptly,  and  only 
restrained  from  skipping  upon  the  side  bank  by  a 
sense  of  dignity. 

"  Never  mind,  Lord  Verney  !  don't  mind — I'll 
take  care  of  you — I'm  your  vanguard,"  exclaimed 
Captain  Shrapnell,  with  a  dare-devil  gaiety,  in- 
spired by  the  certainty  that  it  could  not  be  a 
carriage,  and  the  conviction  that  the  adventure 
would  prove  nothing  more  than  some  children 
and  nursery  maids  playing  with  a  perambulator. 

His  feelings  underwent  a  revulsion,   however, 


230        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

when  old  Vane  Etherage,  enveloped  in  cloak, 
and  shawls,  his  hat  gone,  and  his  long  grizzled 
hair  streaming  backward,  with  a  wild  counte- 
nance, and  both  hands  working  the  directing 
handle,  came  swooping  into  sight,  roaring,  mania- 
cally, "  Ease  her  !  back  her  !  M  and  yawing  fright- 
fully in  his  descent  upon  them. 

Captain  Shrapnell,  they  say,  turned  pale  at  the 
spectacle;  but  he  felt  he  must  now  go  through 
with  it,  or  for  ever  sacrifice  that  castle-in-the-air, 
of  which  the  events  of  the  day  had  suggested  the 
ground-plan  and  elevation. 

"  Good  heaven  !  he'll  be  killed,  about  it  !  n 
exclaimed  Lord  Verney,  peeping  from  behind  a 
tree,  with  unusual  energy ;  but  whether  he  meant 
Shrapnell,  or  Etherage,  or  both,  I  don't  know, 
and  nobody  in  that  moment  of  sincerity  minded 
much  what  he  meant.  I  dare  say  a  front-rank 
man  in  a  square  at  Waterloo  did  not  feel  before 
the  gallop  of  the  Cuirassiers  as  the  gallant  Captain 
did  before  the  charge  of  the  large  invalid  who  was 
descending  upon  him.  All  he  meditated  was  a 
decent  show  of  resistance,  and  as  he  had  a  stout 
walking-stick  in  his  hand,  something  might  be 
done  without  risking  his  bones.  So,  as  the  old 
gentleman  thundered  downward,  roaring,  f<  Keep 
her  off — keep  her  clear,"  Shrapnell,  roaring  "Pm 
your  man  !  M  nervously  popped  the  end  of  his  stick 


VANE   ETHERAGE  GREETS   LOUD   VEBNEY.    231 

under  the  front  wheel  of  the  vehicle,  himself 
skipping  to  one  side,  unhappily  the  wrong  one, 
for  the  chair  at  this  check  spun  round,  and  the 
next  spectacle  was  Mr.  Vane  Etherage  and 
Captain  Shrapnell,  enveloped  in  cloaks  and 
mufflers,  and  rolling  over  and  over  in  one  an- 
other's arms,  like  athletes  in  mortal  combat,  the 
Captain's  fist  being  visible,  as  they  rolled  round, 
at  Air.  Vane  Etherage's  back,  with  his  walking- 
stick  still  clutched  in  it. 

The  chair  was  lying  on  its  side,  the  gentlemen 
were  separated,  and  Captain  Shrapnell  jumped  to 
his  feet. 

"  Well,  Lord  Verney,  I  believe  I  did  some- 
thing there  !  "  said  the  gallant  Captain,  with  the 
air  of  a  man  who  has  done  his  duty,  and 
knows  it. 

"  Done  something  !  you've  broke  my  neck,  you 
lubber  !  "  panted  Mr.  Vane  Etherage,  who,  his 
legs  not  being  available,  had  been  placed  sitting 
with  some  cloaks  about  him,  on  the  bank. 

Shrapnell  grinned  and  winked  expressively, 
and  confidentially  whispered,  "Jolly  old  fellow 
he  is — no  one  minds  the  Admiral ;  we  let  him 
talk." 

u  Lord  Verney,"  said  his  lordship,  introducing 
himself  with  a  look  and  air  of  polite  concern. 

"  No,  my  name's  Etherage,"  said   the  invalid, 


232       THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

mistaking — he  fancied  that  Jos.  Larkin,  who  was 
expounding  his  views  of  the  accident  grandly  to 
Cleve  Verney  in  the  background,  could  not  be 
less  than  a  peer — "  I  live  up  there,  at  Hazelden — 
devilish  near  being  killed  here,  by  that  lubber 
there.  Why  I  was  running  at  the  rate  of  five- 
and-twenty  knots  an  hour,  if  I  was  making  one ; 
and  I  remember  it  right  well,  sir,  there's  a  check 
down  there,  just  before  you  come  to  the  mill-stile, 
and  the  wall  there ;  and  I'd  have  run  my  bows 
right  into  it,  and  not  a  bit  the  worse,  sir,  if  that 

d fellow  had  just  kept   out  of  the — the — 

king's  course,  you  know ;  and  egad !  I  don't 
know  now  how  it  is — I  suppose  I'm  smashed, 
sir." 

"  I  hope  not,  sir.  I  am  Lord  Verney — about 
it ;  and  it  would  pain  me  extremely  to  learn  that 
any  serious  injuries,  or — or — things — had  been 
sustained,  about  it." 

"  I'll  tell  that  in  a  moment,"  said  Doctor  Lys- 
ter,  who  was  of  the  party,  briskly. 

So  after  a  variety  of  twists  and  wrenches  and 

pokes,  Vane  Etherage  was  pronounced  sound  and 

safe. 

"  I    don't   know  how  the    devil   I  escaped  !  " 

exclaimed  the  invalid. 

"By  tumbling   on    me — \ery  simply,"  replied 

Captain  Shrapnell  with  a  spirited  laugh. 


VANE   ETHEBAGE  GREETS  LORD  YERXEY.    233 

H  You  may  set  your  mind  at  rest,  Shrapnell," 
said  the  Doctor,  walking  up  to  him,  with  a  con- 
gratulatory air.  "He's  all  right,  this  time;  but 
you  had  better  mind  giving  the  old  fellow  any 
more  rolls  of  that  sort — the  pitcher  to  the  well, 
you  know — and  the  next  time  might  smash 
him." 

"  I*m  more  concerned  about  smashing  myself, 
thank  you.  The  next  time  he  may  roll  to  the 
devil — and  through  whoever  he  pleases  for  me — 
knocked  down  with  that  blackguard  old  chair,  and 
that  great  hulking  fellow  on  top  of  me — all  for 
trying  to  be  of  use,  egad  !  when  everyone  of  you 
funked  it — and  not  a  soul  asks  about  my  bones, 
egad  !  or  my  neck  either." 

"  Oh  !  come,  Shrapnell,  you're  not  setting  up 
for  an  old  dog  yet.  There's  a  difference  between 
you  and  Etherage,"  said  the  Doctor. 

<fI  hope  so,"  answered  the  Captain,  sarcastic- 
ally, "  but  civility  is  civility  all  the  world  over; 
and  I  can  tell  you,  another  fellow  would  make 
fuss  enough  about  the  pain  I'm  suffering/' 

It  was  found,  further,  that  one  wheel  of  the 
bath-chair  was  disorganised,  and  the  smith  must 
come  from  the  town  to  get  it  to  rights,  and  that 
Vane  Etherage,  who  could  as  soon  have  walked 
up  a  rainbow  as  up  the  acclivity  to  Hazeldcn, 
must  bivouac  for  a  while  where  he  sat. 


234  THE    TENANTS    OP   MALORY. 

So  there  the  visit  was  paid,  and  the  exciting 
gala  of  that  day  closed,  and  the  Viscount  and  hi3 
party  marched  down,  with  many  friends  attend- 
ant, to  the  jetty,  and  embarked  in  the  yacht  for 
Ware. 


CHAPTER  XX. 

REBECCA    MERVYN    READS    HER    LETTER. 

The  evenings  being  short,  the  shops  alight,  and 
the  good  people  of  Cardyllian  in  their  houses, 
Tom  Sedley  found  the  hour  before  dinner  hang 
heavily  on  his  hands.  So  he  walked  slowly  up 
Castle  Street,  and  saw  Mr.  Robson,  the  worthy 
post-master,  standing,  with  his  hands  in  his 
pockets,  at  the  open  door. 

"  No  letter  for  me,  I  dare  say  ?  "  asked  Sedley. 

"  Xo,  sir — nothing." 

"  I  don't  know  how  to  kill  the  time.  I  wish  my 
dinner  was  ready.  You  dined,  like  a  wise  man,  at 
one  o'clock,  I  dare  say?" 

"  AVe  do — we  dine  early  here,  sir." 

"I  know  it;  a  capital  plan.  I  do  it  myself, 
whenever  I  make  any  stay  here." 

"  And  you  can  eat  a  bit  o'  something  hearty  at 
tea  then." 

"  To  be  sure  j  that's  the  good  of  it.  I  don't 
know  what  to  do  with  myself.     I'll  take  a  walk 


236  THE   TENANTS   OF    MALORY. 

round  by  Malory.  Can  I  leave  the  Malory  letters 
for  you  ?  " 

"  You're  only  joking,  sir." 

"  I  was  not,  upon  my  honour.  I'd  be  glad  to 
bolt  your  shutters,  or  to  twig  your  steps — any- 
thing to  do.  I  literally  don't  know  what  to  do 
with  myself." 

"  There's  no  family  at  Malory,  you  know,  now, 
sir." 

"  Oh !  I  did  not  know.  I  knew  the  other 
family  had  gone.  No  letters  to  be  delivered 
then  ?  » 

"  Well,  sir,  there  is — but  you're  only  joking." 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  A  letter  to  Mrs.  Rebecca  Mervyn — but  I 
would  not  think  of  troubling  a  gentleman  with 
it." 

"  Old  Rebecca?  why  I  made  her  acquaintance 
among  the  shingles  and  cockles  on  the  sea-shore 
last  year — a  charming  old  sea-nymph,  or  what- 
ever you  call  it." 

"  We  all  have  a  great  respect  for  Mrs.  Mervyn, 
down  here,  in  Cardyllian.  The  family  has  a  great 
opinion  of  her,  and  they  think  a  great  deal  of  her, 
like  us,"  said  Mr.  Robson,  who  did  not  care  to 
hear  any  mysterious  names  applied  to  her  without 
a  protest. 

"Well — so  I  say — so  have  1.     I'll  give  her  the 


REBECCA  MERVYN  READS  HER  LETTER.  237 

letter,  and  take  a  receipt/'  said  Sedley,  extending 
his  hand. 

"  There  really  is  a  receipt,  sir,  wanting,"  said 
the  official,  amused.  "  It  came  this  morning — 
and  if  you'll  come  in — if  it  isn't  too  much  trouble 
— I'll  show  it  to  you,  please,  sir." 

In  he  stepped  to  the  post-office,  where  Mr. 
Robson  showed  him  a  letter  which  he  had  that 
afternoon  received.     It  said, — 

"Sir, — I  enclose  five  shillings,  represented  by 
postage-stamps,  which  will  enable  you  to  pay  a 
messenger  on  whom  you  can  depend,  to  deliver  a 
letter  which  I  place  along  with  this  in  the  post- 
office,  into  the  hand  of  Mrs.  Mervyn,  Steward's 
House,  Malory,  Cardyllian,  to  whom  it  is  ad- 
dressed, and  which  is  marked  with  the  letter  D  at 
the  left-hand  corner. 

"  I  am,  sir, 

"  Your  obt.  servant, 

"  J.  DlNGWELL." 

"  The  letter  is  come,"  said  Mr.  Robson,  taking 
it  out  of  a  pigeon-hole  in  a  drawer,  and 
thumbing  it,  and  smiling  on  it  with  a  gentle 
curiosity. 

"  Yes — that's  it,"  said  Tom  Sedley,  also  reading 
the  address.      "  '  Mrs.  Mervyn ' — what   a   queer 


238  THE   TENANTS   OF  MALORY. 

old  ghost  of  a  lady  she  is  — (  Malory/  that's  the 
ground — and  the  letter  D  in  the  corner.  Well, 
I'm  quite  serious.  I'll  take  the  letter  with  plea- 
sure, and  see  the  old  woman,  and  put  it  into  her 
hand.  I'm  not  joking,  and  I  shall  be  back  again 
in  an  hour,  I  dare  say,  and  I'll  tell  you  what  she 
says,  and  how  she  looks — that  is,  assuming  it  is  a 
love-letter." 

"  Well,  sir,  as  you  wish  it  j  and  it's  very  kind  of 
you,  and  the  old  lady  must  sign  a  receipt,  for  the 
letter's  registered — but  it's  too  much  trouble  for 
you,  sir,  isn't  it  really  ?  " 

"Nonsense;  give  me  the  letter.  If  you  won't, 
I  can't  help  it." 

"  And  this  receipt  should  be  signed." 

"  And  the  receipt  also." 

So  away  went  our  friend,  duly  furnished,  and 
marched  over  the  hill  we  know  so  well,  that  over- 
hangs the  sea,  and  down  by  the  narrow  old  road 
to  Malory,  thinking  of  many  things. 

The  phantom  of  the  beautiful  lady  of  Malory 
was  very  much  faded  now.  Even  as  he  looked 
down  on  the  old  house  and  woodlands,  the 
romance  came  not  again.  It  was  just  a  remem- 
bered folly,  like  others,  and  excited  or  pained  him 
little  more.  But  a  new  trouble  vexed  him.  How 
many  of  our  blessings  do  we  take  for  granted, 
enjoy  thanklessly,  like  our  sight,  our  hearing,  our 


REBECCA  MERVYN    READS   HER   LETTER.    239 

health,  and  only  appreciate  when  they  are  either 
Withdrawn  or  in  danger  ! 

Captain  Shrapnell  had  written  among  his 
gossip  some  jocular  tattle  about  Cleve's  devotion 
to  Miss  Agnes  Etherage,  which  had  moved  him 
oddly  and  uncomfortably;  but  the  next  letter 
disclosed  the  mystery  of  Cleve's  clandestine  visits 
to  Malory,  and  turned  his  thoughts  into  a  new 
channel. 

But  here  was  all  revived,  and  worse.     Charity, 
watching  with  a  woman's  eyes,  and  her  opportu- 
nities, had  made  to  him  a  confidence  about  which 
there  could  be  no  mistake ;  and  then  Agnes  was 
so  changed — not  a  bit  glad  to  see  him  !     And  did 
not   she  look  pretty  ?     Was    there   not  a  slight 
look  of  pride — a  reserve — that  was  new — a  little 
sadness — along  with  the  heightened  beauty  of  her 
face  and  figure  ?     How  on  earth  had  he  been  so 
stupid  as  not  to  perceive  how  beautiful  she  was 
all  this  time  ?     Cleve  had  more  sense.     By  Jove  ! 
she  was  the  prettiest  girl  in  England,   and  that 
selfish  fellow  had  laid  himself  out  to   make  her 
fond  of  him,  and,  having  succeeded,  jilted  her  ! 
And  now  she  would  not  care  for  any  one  but  him. 
There  was  a  time,  he  thought,  when  he,  Tom 
Sedley,  might  have  made  her  like  him.     What  a 
fool  he  was  !     And  that  was  past — unimproved — 
irrevocable — and  now  she  never  could.     Girls  may 


240  THE  TENANTS   OF  MALORY. 

affect  those  second  likings,  he  thought,  but  they 
never  really  care  after  the  first.  It  is  pride,  or  pique, 
or  friendship,  or  convenience — anything  but  love. 

Love !  And  what  had  he  to  do  with  love  ? 
Who  would  marry  him  on  four  hundred  a  year, 
and  no  expectations?  And  now  he  was  going  to 
teaze  himself  because  he  had  not  stepped  in 
before  Cleve  Verney  and  secured  the  affections 
of  little  Agnes.  What  a  fool  he  was  !  What  busi- 
ness had  he  dreaming  such  dreams  ?  He  had  got 
on  very  well  without  falling  in  love  with  Agnes. 
Why  should  he  begin  now?  If  he  found  that 
folly  gaining  upon  him,  he  would  leave  Cardyllian 
without  staying  his  accustomed  week,  and  never 
return  till  the  feeling  had  died  as  completely  as 
last  year's  roses. 

Down  the  hill  he  marched  in  his  new  romance, 
as  he  had  done  more  than  a  year  ago,  over  the 
same  ground,  in  his  old  one,  when  in  the  moon- 
light, on  the  shingle,  he  had  met  the  same  old 
lady  of  whom  he  was  now  in  quest. 

The  old  trees  of  Malory  rose  up  before  him, 
dark  and  silent,  higher  and  higher  as  he  ap- 
proached. It  was  a  black  night — no  moon;  even 
the  stars  obscured  by  black  lines  of  cloud  as  he 
pushed  open  the  gate,  and  entered  the  deeper 
darkness  of  the  curving  carriage-road  that  leads 
up  through  the  trees. 


REBECCA   MERVYN    READS    HER   LETTER.    24-1 

It  was  six  o'clock  now,  and  awfully  dark. 
When  he  reached  the  open  space  before  the  hall- 
door,  he  looked  up  at  the  dim  front  of  the  house, 
but  no  light  glimmered  there.  The  deep-mouthed 
dog  in  the  stable-yard  was  yelling  his  challenge, 
and  he  further  startled  the  solitary  woods  by 
repeated  double-knocks  that  boomed  through  the 
empty  hall  and  chambers  of  the  deserted  house. 

Despairing  of  an  entrance  at  last,  and  not 
knowing  which  way  to  turn,  he  took  the  way  by 
chance  which  led  him  to  the  front  of  the  steward's 
house,  from  the  diamond  casement  of  which  a 
light  was  shining.  The  door  lay  open ;  only  the 
latch  was  closed,  such  being  the  primitive  secu- 
rity that  prevails  in  that  region  of  poverty  and 
quietude. 

With  his  stick  he  knocked  a  little  tattoo,  and  a 
candle  was  held  over  the  clumsy  banister,  and  the 
little  servant  girl  inquired  in  her  clear  Welsh 
accent  what  he  wanted. 

So,  preliminaries  over,  he  mounted  to  that 
chamber  in  which  Mr.  Levi  had  been  admitted  to 
a  conference  among  the  delft  and  porcelain, 
stags,  birds,  officers,  and  huntsmen,  who,  in  gay 
tints  and  old-fashioned  style,  occupied  every 
coigne  of  vantage,  and  especially  that  central 
dresser,  which  mounted  nearly  to  the  beams  of 
the  ceiling. 


242  THE  TENANTS   OF  MALORY. 

The  room  is  not  large,  the  recesses  are  deep, 
the  timber-work  is  of  clumsy  oak,  and  the  deco- 
rations of  old-world  teapots,  jugs,  and  beasts  of 
the  field,  and  cocked-hatted  gentlemen  in  gor- 
geous colouring  and  gilding,  so  very  gay  and 
splendid,  reflecting  the  candle-light  and  the 
wavering  glare  of  the  fire  from  a  thousand  curves 
and  angles ;  the  old  shining  furniture,  and 
carved  oak  clock  j  the  room  itself,  and  all  its 
properties  so  perfectly  neat  and  tidy,  not  one 
grain  of  dust  or  single  cobweb  to  be  seen  in  any 
nook  or  crevice,  that  Tom  Sedley  was  delighted 
with  the  scene. 

What  a  delightful  retreat,  he  thought,  from 
the  comfortless  affectations  of  the  world.  Here 
was  the  ideal  of  snugness,  and  of  brightness,  and 
warmth.  It  amounted  to  a  kind  of  beauty  that 
absolutely  fascinated  him.  He  looked  kindly  on 
the  old  lady,  who  had  laid  down  her  knitting, 
and  looked  at  him  through  a  pair  of  round  spec- 
tacles, and  thought  that  he  would  like  to  adopt 
her  for  his  housekeeper,  and  live  a  solitary  life  of 
lonely  rabbit-shooting  in  Penruthyn  Park,  trout- 
fishing  in  the  stream,  and  cruising  in  an  imagi- 
nary yacht  on  the  estuary  and  the  contiguous 
seaboard. 

This  little  plan,  or  rather  vision,  pictured  itself 
to  Tom  Sedley's  morbid  and  morose  imagination 


REBECCA   MERVYN    READS    HER   LETTER.     243 

as  the  most  endurable  form  of  life  to  which  he 
could  now  aspire. 

The  old  lady,  meanwhile,  was  looking  at  him 
with  an  expression  of  wonder  and  anxiety,  and  he 
said — 

"I  hope,  Airs.  Mervyn,  I  have  not  disturbed 
you  much.  It  is  not  quite  so  late  as  it  looks,  and 
as  the  post-master,  Mr.  Robson,  could  not  find  a 
messenger,  and  I  was  going  this  way,  I  under- 
took to  call  and  give  you  the  letter,  having  once 
had  the  pleasure  of  making  your  acquaintance, 
although  you  do  not,  I'm  afraid,  recollect  me." 

"  I  knew  it,  the  moment  his  face  entered  the 
room.  It  was  the  same  face,"  she  repeated,  as  if 
she  had  seen  a  picture,  not  a  face. 

"Just  under  the  walls  of  Malory;  you  were 
anxious  to  learn  whether  a  sail  was  in  sight, 
in  the  direction  of  Pendillion,"  said  he,  sug- 
gesting. 

u  Xo,  there  was  none ;  it  was  not  there. 
People — other  people — would  have  tired  of  watch- 
ing long  ago ;  my  old  eyes  never  dazzled,  sir. 
And  he  came,  so  like.  He  came — I  thought  it — 
was  a  spirit  from  the  sea ;  and  here  he  is.  There's 
something  in  your  voice,  sir,  and  your  face.  It  is 
wonderful;  but  not  a  Verney — no,  you  told  me 
so.  They  are  cruel  men — one  way  or  other  they 
were  all  cruel,  but  some  more  than  others — my 

r.  2 


2  [  I  THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

God !  much  more.  There's  something  in  the 
eyes — the  setting,  the  light — it  can't  be  mis- 
taken ;  something  in  the  curve  of  the  chin,  very 
pretty — hut  you're  no  Verney,  you  told  me — and 
see  how  he  comes  here  a  second  time,  smiling — 
and  yet  when  he  goes,  it  is  like  waking  from  a 
dream  where  they  were,  as  they  all  used  to  look, 
long  ago;  and  there's  a  pain  at  my  heart,  for 
weeks  after.  It  never  can  he  again,  sir;  I'm 
growing  old.  If  it  ever  comes,  it  will  find  me  so 
changed — or  dead,  I  sometimes  begin  to  think,  and 
try  to  make  up  my  mind.  There's  a  good  world, 
you  know,  where  we'll  all  meet  and  be  happy,  no 
more  parting  or  dying,  sir.  Yet  I'd  like  to  see 
him  even  once,  here,  just  as  he  was,  a  beautiful 
mortal.  God  is  so  good;  and  while  there's  life 
there  is  hope." 

"Certainly,  hope,  there's  always  hope;  every- 
one has  something  to  vex  them,  /have,  I  know, 
Mrs.  Mervyn ;  and  I  was  just  thinking  what  a 
charming  drawing-room  this  is,  and  how  de- 
lightful it  must  be,  the  quiet  and  comfort,  and 
glow  of  such  a  room.  There  is  no  drawing-room 
on  earth  I  should  like  so  well,"  said  good-natured 
Tom  Sedley,  whose  sympathies  were  easy,  and 
who  liked  saying  a  pleasant  thing  when  he  could  ; 
"  And  this  is  the  letter,  and  here  is  a  printed 
receipt,  which,  when  you  have  been  so  kind  as  to 


REBECCA   MERVYN   READS    HER    LETTER.     24:5 

sign  it,  I've  promised  to  give  my  friend,  Mr. 
Robson  of  the  post-office." 

"  Thank  you,  sir ;  this  is  registered,  they  call 
it.  I  had  one  a  long  time  ago,  with  the  same 
kind  of  green  ribbon  round  it.  Won't  you  sit 
down  while  I  sign  this  ?" 

"Many  thanks/'  said  Sedley,  sitting  down 
gravely  at  the  table,  and  looking  so  thoughtful, 
and  somehow  so  much  at  home,  that  you  might 
have  fancied  his  dream  of  living  in  the  Steward's 
House  had  long  been  accomplished. 

"  I'd  rather  not  get  a  letter,  sir ;  I  don't  know 
the  handwriting  of  this  address,  and  a  letter  can 
but  bring  me  sorrow.  There  is  but  one  welcome 
chance  which  could  befall  me,  and  that  may  come 
yet,  just  a  hope,  sir.  Sometimes  it  brightens  up, 
but  it  has  been  low  all  to-day." 

"  Sorry  you  have  been  out  of  spirits,  Mrs. 
Mervyn,  I  know  what  it  is ;  I've  been  so  myself, 
and  I  am  so,  rather,  just  now,"  said  Tom,  who 
was,  in  this  homely  seclusion,  tending  towards 
confidence. 

"There  are  now  but  two  handwritings  that  I 
should  know ;  one  is  his,  the  other  Lady 
Verney's ;  all  the  rest  are  dead ;  and  this  is 
neither." 

u  Well,  Mrs.  Mervyn,  if  it  does  not  come  from 
either  of  the  persons  you  care  for,  it  yet  may 


246  THE  TENANTS   OF  MALORY. 

tell  you  news  of  them,"  remarked  Tom  Sedley, 
sagely. 

"  Hardly,  sir.  I  hear  every  three  months  from 
Lady  Verney.  I  heard  on  Tuesday  last.  Thank 
God,  she's  well.  No,  it's  nothing  concerning 
her,  and  I  think  it  may  be  something  bad.  I  am 
afraid  of  this  letter,  sir — tell  me  I  need  not  be 
afraid  of  it." 

"  I  know  the  feeling,  Mrs.  Mervyn ;  Fve  had 
it  myself,  when  duns  were  troublesome.  But 
you  have  nothing  of  the  kind  in  this  happy 
retreat;  which  I  really  do  envy  you  from  my 
heart." 

"  Envy  !  Ah,  sir — happy  retreat !  Little  you 
know,  sir.  I  have  been  for  weeks  and  months 
at  a  time  half  wild  with  anguish,  dreaming  of  the 
sea.     How  can  he  know?" 

"  Very  true,  I  can't  know  ;  I  only  speak  of  it 
as  it  strikes  me  at  the  moment.  I  fancy  I 
should  so  like  to  live  here,  like  a  hermit,  quite 
out  of  the  persecutions  of  luck  and  the  nonsense 
of  the  world." 

"  You  are  wonderfully  like  at  times,  sir — it  is 
beautiful,  it  is  frightful — when  I  moved  the  candle 
then " 

"I'll  sit  any  way  you  like  best,  Mrs.  Mervyn, 
with  pleasure,  and  you  can  move  the  candle,  and 
try  ;  if  it  amuses — no,  I  mean  interests  you." 


REBECCA  MERVYX   READS   HEB    LETTER     247 

If  some  of  his  town  friends  could  have  peeped 
in  through  a  keyhole,  and  seen  Tom  Sedley  and 
old  Rebecca  Mervyn  seated  at  opposite  sides  of 
the  table,  in  this  very  queer  old  room,  so  like 
Darby  and  Joan,  it  would  have  made  matter  for 
a  comical  story. 

u  Like  a  flash  it  comes  ! " 

Tom  Sedley  looked  at  the  wild,  large  eyes  that 
were  watching  him — the  round  spectacles  now 
removed — across  the  table,  and  could  not  help 
smiling. 

"  Yes,  the  smile — it  is  the  smile  !  You  told 
me,  sir,  your  name  was  Sedley,  not  Verney." 

"  My  name  is  Thomas  Sedley.  My  father  was 
Captain  Sedley,  and  served  through  a  part  of  the 
Peninsular  campaign.  He  was  not  twenty  at  the 
battle  of  Yittoria,  and  he  was  at  \Yaterloo.  My 
mother  died  a  few  months  after  I  was  born." 

"Was  she  a  Verney  ?  M 

"  No ;  she  was  distantly  connected,  but  her 
name  was  Melville,"  said  he. 

"  Connected.  That  accounts  for  it,  per- 
haps." 

"  Yery  likely." 

"  And  your  father — dead  ?"  she  said,  sadly. 

"  Yes  ;  twenty  years  ago." 

"I  know,  sir;  I  remember.  They  are  all 
locked  up  tliere,  sir,  and  shan't  come  out  till  old 


248  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

Lady  Verney  dies.  But  he  was  not  related  to 
the  Verneys?" 

"  No,  they  were  friends.  He  managed  two  of 
the  estates  after  he  left  the  army,  and  very  well, 
I'm  told/' 

"Sedley — Thomas  Sedley — I  remember  the 
name.  I  did  not  know  the  name  of  Sedley — 
except  on  one  occasion — I  was  sent  for,  but  it 
came  to  nothing.  I  lived  so  much  in  the  dark 
about  things,"  and  she  sighed. 

"  I  forgot,  Mrs.  Mervyn,  how  late  it  is  growing, 
and  how  much  too  long  I  have  stayed  here  ad- 
miring your  pretty  room,  and  I  fear  interrupting 
you,"  said  Tom,  suddenly  remembering  his  dinner, 
and  standing  up — "If  you  kindly  give  me  the 
receipt,  I'll  leave  it  on  my  way  back." 

Mrs.  Mervyn  had  clipped  the  silken  cord,  and 
was  now  reading  the  letter,  and  he  might  as  well 
have  addressed  his  little  speech  to  the  china  shep- 
herdess, with  the  straw  disc  and  ribbons  on  her 
head,  in  the  bodice  and  short  petticoat  of  flowered 
brocade,  leaning  against  a  tree,  with  a  lamb  with 
its  hind  leg  and  tail  broken  off,  looking  affection- 
ately in  her  face. 

"  I  can't  make  it  out,  sir ;  your  eyes  are  young 
— perhaps  you  would  read  it  to  me — it  is  not  very 
long." 

"Certainly,  with  pleasure"— and  Tom  Sedley 


REBECCA  MERVYX  READS  HER  LETTER.  240 

sat  down,  and,  spreading  the  letter  on  the  table, 
under  the  candles,  read  as  follows  to  the  old  lady 
opposite  : — 

"Private. 

"  Madam, — As  an  old  and  intimate  friend  of 
your  reputed  husband,  I  take  leave  to  inform  you 
that  he  placed  a  sum  of  money  in  my  hands  for 
the  use  of  your  son  and  his,  if  he  be  still  living. 
Should  he  be  so,  will  you  be  so  good  as  to  let  me 
know  where  it  will  reach  him.  A  line  to  Jos. 
Larkin,  Esq.,  at  the  Verney  Arms,  Cardyllian, 
or  a  verbal  message,  if  you  desire  to  see  him,  will 
suffice.  Mr.  Larkin  is  the  solvent  and  religious 
attorney  of  the  present  Lord  Verney,  and  you 
have  my  consent  to  advise  with  him  on  the 
subject. 

"  I  have  the  honour  to  be, 
"  Madam, 

"Your  obedient  servant, 

"J.  DlNGWELL." 

"P.S. — You  are  aware,  I  suppose,  madam,  that 
I  am  the  witness  who  proved  the  death  of  the  late 
Hon.  Arthur  Verney,  who  died  of  a  low  fever  in 
Constantinople,  in  July  twelve  months." 

"Died/   My  God!    Died!  did  you  say  died  ? " 
"  Yes.     I  thought  you  knew.     It  was  proved  a 


250       THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

year  ago  nearly.    The  elder  brother  of  the  present 
Lord  Yerney." 

There  followed  a  silence  while  you  might  count 
ten,  and  then  came  a  long,  wild,  and  bitter  cry. 

The  little  girl  started  up,  with  white  lips,  and 
said,  "  Lord  bless  us  ! "  The  sparrows  in  the  ivy 
about  the  windows  fluttered — even  Tom  Sedley 
was  chilled  and  pierced  by  that  desolate  scream. 

"  I'm  very  sorry,  really,  I'm  awfully  sorry," 
Tom  exclaimed,  finding  himself,  he  knew  not 
how,  again  on  his  feet,  and  gazing  at  the  white, 
imploring  face  of  the  trembling  old  woman.  "  I 
really  did  not  know — I  had  not  an  idea  you  felt 
such  an  interest  in  any  of  the  family.  If  I  had 
known,  I  should  have  been  more  careful.  I'm 
shocked  at  what  I've  done." 

"  Oh  !  Arthur — oh  !  Arthur.  He's  gone — after 
all,  after  all.  If  we  could  have  only  met  for  one 
minute,  just  for  one  look."  She  was  drawing 
back  the  window-curtain,  looking  towards  the 
dark  Pendillion  and  the  starless  sea.  "  He  said 
he'd  come  again — he  went — and  my  heart  misgave 
me.  I  said,  he'll  never  come  again — my  beau- 
tiful Arthur — never — never — never.  Oh,  darling, 
darling.     If  I  could  even  see  your  grave." 

"  I'm  awfully  sorry,  ma'am  ;  I  wish  I  could  be 
of  any  use/'  said  honest  Tom  Sedley,  speaking 
very  low  and  kindly,  standing  beside  her,  with,  I 


REBECCA   MERVYX    READS    HER    LETTER.     251 

think,  tears  in  his  eves.  "I  wish  so  much, 
ma'am,  you  could  employ  me  any  way.  I'd  be  so 
glad  to  be  of  any  use,  about  your  son,  or  to  see 
that  ^Ir.  Larkin.  I  don't  like  his  face,  ma'am, 
and  would  not  advise  your  trusting  him  too 
much." 

"Our  little  child's  dead.  Oh!  Arthur — Arthur! 
— a  beautiful  little  thing ;  and  you,  my  darling, 
— that  I  watched  for,  so  long — never  to  come 
again — never,  never — never — I  have  no  one  now." 

u  Fll  come  to  you  and  see  you  in  the  morning," 
said  Tom. 

And  he  walked  home  in  the  dark,  and  stopped 
on  the  summit  of  the  hill,  looking  down  upon  the 
twinkling  lights  of  the  town,  and  back  again 
toward  solemn  Malory,  thinking  of  what  he  had 
seen,  and  what  an  odd  world  it  was. 


CHAPTER   XXT. 

BY    RAIL    TO    LONDON. 

About  an  hour  later,  Tom  Sedley,  in  solitude, 
meditated  thus — 

"  I  wonder  whether  the  Etherages" — (meaning 
pretty  Miss  Agnes) — "  would  think  it  a  bore  if  I 
went  up  to  see  them.  It's  too  late  for  tea.  I'm 
afraid  they  mightn't  like  it.  No  one,  of  course, 
like  Cleve  now.  They'd  find  me  very  dull,  I 
dare  say.  I  don't  care,  I'll  walk  up,  and  if  I 
see  the  lights  in  the  drawing-room  windows,  I'll 
try." 

He  did  walk  up ;  he  did  see  the  lights  in  the 
drawing-room  windows ;  and  he  did  try,  with  the 
result  of  finding  himself  upon  the  drawing-room 
carpet  a  minute  after,  standing  at  the  side  of 
Agnes,  and  chatting  to  Miss  Charity. 

"  How  is  your  father  ?  "  asked  Tom,  seeing  the 
study  untenanted. 

"  Not  at  all  well,  /  think  ;  he  had  an  accident 
to-day.     Didn't  you  hear  ?  " 


BY   RAIL   TO   LONDON.  253 

"  Accident  I     No,  I  didn't/' 

"  Oh  !  yes.  Somehow,  when  Lord  Yerney  and 
the  other  people  were  coming  up  here  to-day,  he 
was  going  to  meet  them,  and  among  them  they 
overturned  his  bath-chair,  and  I  don't  know  really 
who's  to  blame.  Captain  Shrapnell  says  he  saved 
his  life ;  but,  however  it  happened,  he  was  upset 
and  very  much  shaken.  I  see  you  laughing, 
Thomas  Sedley !  What  on  earth  can  you  see  in 
it  to  laugh  at  ?  It's  so  exactly  like  Agnes — she 
laughed!  you  did,  indeed,  Agnes,  and  if  I  had 
not  seen  it,  with  my  own  eyes,  I  could  not  have 
believed  it  ! " 

"  I  knew  papa  was  not  hurt,  and  I  could  not 
help  laughing,  if  you  put  me  to  death  for  it, 
and  they  say  he  drove  over  Lord  Yerney's  foot." 

"  That  would  not  break  my  heart,  said  Sedley. 
"  Did  you  hear  the  particulars  from  Cleve  ?  " 

"  No,  I  did  not  see  Mr.  Yerney  to  speak  to, 
since  the  accident,"  said  Miss  Charity.  "  By- 
the-by,  who  was  the  tall,  good-looking  girl,  in 
the  seal-skin  coat,  he  was  talking  to  all  the  way 
to  the  jetty  ?  I  think  she  was  Lady  Wimbledon's 
daughter." 

"  So    she    was  j    has    she    rather    large    blue 
eyes  ?  n 
'  "  Yes." 

"  Oh  !  it   must    be  she ;    that's  Miss   Caroline 


254  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

Oldys.  She's  such  a  joke ;  she's  elder  than 
Cleve." 

"Oh!  that's  impossible;  she's  decidedly  younger 
than  Mr.  Cleve  Yerney,  and,  I  think,  extremely 
pretty." 

"  Well,  perhaps  she  is  younger,  and  I  do  believe 
she's  pretty  j  but  she's  a  fool,  and  she  has  been 
awfully  in  love  with  him  for  I  don't  know  how 
many  years — every  one  was  laughing  at  it,  two  or 
three  seasons  ago;  she  is  such  a  muff? " 

"What  do  you  mean  by  a  muff?"  demanded 
Charity. 

"Well,  a  goose,  then.  Lord  Yerney's  her 
guardian  or  trustee,  or  something ;  and  they  say, 
that  he  and  Lady  Wimbledon  had  agreed  to  pro- 
mote the  affair.  Just  like  them.  She  is  such  a 
scheming  old  woman ;  and  Lord  Yerney  is  such 
a — I  was  going  to  say,  such  a  muff, — but  he  is 
such  a  spoon.  Cleve's  wide  awake,  though,  and  I 
don't  think  he'll  do  that  for  them." 

I  believe  there  may  have  been,  at  one  time, 
some  little  foundation  in  fact  for  the  theory  which 
supposed  the  higher  powers  favourable  to  such  a 
consummation.  But  time  tests  the  value  of  such 
schemes,  and  it  would  seem  that  Lady  Wimbledon 
had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the  speculation 
was  a  barren  one :  for,  this  night,  in  her  dressing- 
gown,   with  her   wig  off,  and  a  silken  swathing 


BY   RAIL   TO    LONDON.  255 

about  her  bald  head,  she  paid  a  very  exciting  visit 
to  her  daughter's  room,  and  blew  her  up  in  her 
own  awful  way,  looking  like  an  angry  Turk. 
"  She  wondered  how  any  person  with  Caroline's 
experience  could  be  such  an  idiot  as  to  let  that 
young  man  go  on  making  a  fool  of  her.  He  had 
no  other  idea  but  the  one  of  making  a  fool  of  her 
before  the  world.  She,  Lady  Wimbledon,  would 
have  no  more  of  any  such  insensate  folly — her 
prospects  should  not  be  ruined,  if  she  could  pre- 
vent it,  and  prevent  it  she  could  and  would — there 
should  be  an  end  of  that  odious  nonsense;  and  if 
she  chose  to  make  herself  the  laughing-stock  of 
the  world,  she,  Lady  Wimbledon,  would  do  her 
duty  and  take  her  down  to  Slominton,  where  they 
would  be  quiet  enough  at  all  events  ;  and  Cleve 
Verney,  she  ventured  to  say,  with  a  laugh,  would 
not  follow  her." 

The  young  lady  was  in  tears,  and  blubbered 
in  her  romantic  indignation  till  her  eyes  and  nose 
were  inflamed,  and  her  mamma  requested  her  to 
look  in  the  glass,  and  see  what  a  figure  she  had 
made  of  herself,  and  made  her  bathe  her  face  for 
an  hour,  before  she  went  to  bed. 

There  was  no  other  young  lady  at  Ware,  and 
Cleve  smiled  in  his  own  face,  in  his  looking-glass, 
as  he  dressed  for  dinner. 

"  My  uncle  will  lose  no  time — I  did  not  intend 


256  THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

this ;  but  I  see  very  well  what  he  means,  and  he'll 
be  disappointed  and  grow  suspicious,  if  I  draw 
back  ;  and  she  has  really  nothing  to  recommend 
her,  poor  Caroline,  and  he'll  find  that  out  time 
enough,  and  meanwhile  I  shall  get  over  some 
months  quietly." 

There  was  no  great  difficulty  in  seeing,  indeed, 
that  the  noble  host  distinguished  Lady  Wimble- 
don and  her  daughter.  And  Lord  Yerney,  leaning 
on  Cleve's  arm,  asked  him  lightly  what  he  thought 
of  Miss  Caroline  Oldys ;  and  Cleve,  who  had  the 
gift  of  presence  of  mind,  rather  praised  the  young 
lady. 

"  My  uncle  would  prefer  Ethel,  when  he  sees  a 
hope  in  that  direction,  I  shan't  hear  much  more 
of  Caroline,  and  so  on — and  we  shall  be  growing 
older — and  the  chapter  of  accidents — and  all 
that." 

For  a  day  or  two  Lord  Verney  was  very 
encouraging,  and  quite  took  an  interest  in  the 
young  lady,  and  showed  her  the  house  and  the 
place,  and  unfolded  all  the  plans  which  were 
about  to  grow  into  realities,  and  got  Cleve  to  pull 
her  across  the  lake,  and  walked  round  to  meet 
them,  and  amused  the  young  man  by  contriving 
that  little  opportunity.  But  Lady  Wimbledon 
revealed  something  to  Lord  Verney,  that  evening, 
over  their  game  of  ecartc,  which  affected  his  views. 


BY    RAIL    TO   LONDON.  257 

Cleve  was  talking  to  the  young  lady,  but  he 
saw  Lord  Verney  look  once  or  twice,  in  the  midst 
of  a  very  serious  conversation  with  Lady  \\  im- 
bledon,  at  Caroline  Oldys  and  himself,  and  now 
without  smiliug. 

It  was  Lady  Wimbledon's  deal,  but  she  did  not 
deal,  and  her  opponent  seemed  also  to  have  for- 
gotten the  cards,  and  their  heads  inclined  one 
toward  the  other  as  the  talk  proceeded. 

It  was  about  the  hour  when  ladies  light  their 
bedroom  candles,  and  ascend.  And  Lady  \\  im- 
bledon  and  Caroline  Oldys  had  vanished  in  a  few 
minutes  more,  and  Cleve  thought,  "  She  has  told 
him  something  that  has  given  him  a  new  idea." 
His  uncle  was  rather  silent  and  dry  for  the  rest  of 
that  evening,  but  next  morning  seemed  pretty 
much  as  usual,  only  Lord  Verney  took  an  oppor- 
tunity of  saying  to  him — 

"I  have  been  considering,  and  I  have  heard 
things,  and,  with  reference  to  the  subject  of  my 
conversation  with  you,  in  town,  I  think  you  ought 
to  direct  your  thoughts  to  Ethel,  about  it— you 
ought  to  have  money — don't  you  see  ?  It's  very 
important — money — very  well  to  be  le  fils  de  ses 
centres,  and  that  kind  of  thing;  but  a  little  money 
does  no  harm  ;  on  the  contrary,  it  is  very  desir- 
able. Other  people  keep  that  point  in  view  ;  I 
don't  see  why  we  should  not.     I  ask  myself  this 

VOL.   II.  8 


258  THE  TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

question  : — How  is  it  that  people  get  on  in  the 
world  ?  And  I  answer — in  great  measure  by- 
amassing  money ;  and  arguing  from  that,  I  think 
it  desirable  you  should  have  some  money  to  begin 
with,  and  I've  endeavoured  to  put  it  logically, 
about  it,  that  you  may  see  the  drift  of  what  I 
say."  And  he  made  an  excuse  and  sent  Cleve  up 
to  town  next  day  before  him. 

I  have  been  led  into  an  episode  by  Miss 
Charity's  question  about  Miss  Caroline  Oldys ; 
and  returning  to  Hazelden,  I  find  Tom  Sedley 
taking  his  leave  of  the  young  ladies  for  the  night, 
and  setting  out  for  the  Yerney  Arms  with  a  cigar 
between  his  lips. 

Next  morning  he  walked  down  to  Malory 
again,  and  saw  old  Rebecca,  who  seemed,  in  her 
odd  way,  comforted  on  seeing  him,  but  spoke 
little — almost  nothing ;  and  he  charged  her  to  tell 
neither  Dingwell,  of  whom  he  had  heard  nothing 
but  evil,  nor  Jos.  Larkin,  of  whom  he  had  intui- 
tively a  profound  suspicion, — anything  about  her 
own  history,  or  the  fate  of  her  child,  but  to 
observe  the  most  cautious  reserve  in  any  commu- 
nications they  might  seek  to  open  with  her.  And 
having  delivered  this  injunction  in  a  great  variety 
of  language,  he  took  his  leave,  and  got  home  very 
early  to  his  breakfast,  and  ran  up  to  London,  oddly 
enough,  in  the  same  carriage  with  Cleve  Yerney. 


BY    RAIL    TO    LONDON.  259 

Tom  Sedley  was  angry  with  Cleve,  I  am  afraid 
not  upon  any  very  high  principle.  If  Cleve  had 
trifled  with  the  affections  of  Miss  Caroline  Oldys, 
I  fear  he  would  have  borne  the  spectacle  of  her 
woes  with  considerable  patience.  But  if  the  truth 
must  be  told,  honest  Tom  Sedley  was  leaving 
Cardyllian  in  a  pet.  Anger,  grief,  jealousy,  were 
seething  in  his  good-natured  heart.  Agnes 
Etherage — his  little  Agnes — she  had  belonged  to 
him  as  long  as  he  could  remember ;  she  was  gone, 
and  he  never  knew  how  much  he  had  liked  her 
until  he  had  lost  her. 

Gone?  No;  in  his  wanton  cruelty  this  hand- 
some outlaw  had  slain  his  deer — had  shot  his 
sweet  bird  dead,  and  there  she  lay  in  the  sylvan 
solitude  she  had  so  beautified — dead ;  and  he — 
heartless  archer — went  on  his  way  smiling,  having 
darkened  the  world  for  harmless  Tom  Sedley. 
Could  he  like  him  ever  again  ? 

"Well,  the  world  brooks  no  heroics  now  ;  there 
are  reserves.  Men  cultivate  a  thick  skin — nature's 
buff-coat — in  which,  with  little  pain  and  small 
loss  of  blood,  the  modern  man-at-arms  rides 
cheerily  through  life's  battle.  When  point  or 
edge  happen  to  go  a  little  through,  as  I  have  said, 
there  are  reserves.  There  is  no  good  in  roaring, 
grinning,  or  cursing.  The  scathless  only  laugh 
at   you ;  therefore   wipe   away   the  blood   quietly 


260       THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

and  seem  all  you  can  like  the  rest.  Better  not  to 
let  them  see  even  that.  Is  there  not  sometimes 
more  of  curiosity  than  of  sympathy  in  the  scru- 
tiny ?  Don't  you  even  see,  at  times,  just  the 
suspicion  of  a  smile  on  your  friend's  pitying  face, 
as  he  prescribes  wet  brown  paper  or  basilicon,  or 
a  cob-web,  according  to  his  skill? 

So  Tom  and  Cleve  talked  a  little — an  acquain- 
tance would  have  said,  just  as  usual — and  ex- 
changed newspapers,  and  even  laughed  a  little 
now  and  then  ;  but  when  at  Shillingsworth  the 
last  interloper  got  out,  and  Tom  and  Cleve  were 
left  to  themselves,  the  ruling  idea  asserted  itself, 
and  Sedley  looked  hurriedly  out  of  the  window, 
and  grew  silent  for  a  time,  and  pretended  not  to 
hear  Cleve  when  he  asked  him  whether  he  had 
seen  the  report  of  Lord  Verney's  visit  to  Cardyl- 
lian,  as  displayed  in  the  county  paper  of  that  day, 
which  served  to  amuse  him  extremely. 

"I  don't  think/'  said  Tom  Sedley,  at  last, 
abruptly,  "  that  nice,  pretty  little  creature,  Agnes 
Etherage — the  nicest  little  thing,  by  Jove,  I  think 
I  ever  saw — I  say  she  is  not  looking  well." 

"  Is  not  she  really  ?  "  said  Cleve,  very  coolly 
cutting  open  a  leaf  in  his  magazine. 

"  Didn't  you  observe  ?  "  exclaimed  Tom,  rather 
fiercely. 

"  Well,  no,  I  can't  say  I  did ;  but  you  know 


BY   RAIL  TO   LONDON.  2C1 

them  so  much  better  than  I,"  answered  Cleve; 
"  it  can't  be  very  much  ;  I  dare  say  she's  well  by 
this  time." 

"  How  can  you  speak  that  way,  Verney,  know- 
ing all  you  do  ?  " 

"  Why,  what  do  I  know  ? "  exclaimed  Cleve, 
looking  up  in  unaffected  wonder. 

"  You  know  all  about  it  —  ivhy  she's  out  of 
spirits,  why  she's  looking  so  delicate,  why  she's 
not  like  herself,"  said  Tom,  impatiently. 

"  Upon  my  soul  I  do  not,"  said  Cleve  Verney, 
with  animation. 

"That's  odd,  considering  you've  half  broken 
her  heart,"  urged  Tom. 

"  I  broken  her  heart  ?  "  repeated  Cleve.  "  Now, 
really,  Sedley,  do  pray  think  what  you're  saying. ' 

u  I  say  1  think  you've  broken  her  heart,  and 
her  sister  thinks  so  too;  and  it's  an  awful  shame," 
insisted  Tom,  very  grimly. 

"  I  really  do  think  the  people  want  to  set  me 
mad,"  said  Cleve,  testily.  "  If  anyone  says  that 
I  have  ever  done  anything  that  could  have  made 
any  of  that  family,  who  are  in  their  senses,  fancy 
that  I  was  in  love  with  Miss  Agnes  Etherage,  and 
that  I  wished  her  to  suppose  so,  it  is  simply  an 
untruth.  I  never  did,  and  I  don't  intend;  and  I 
can't  see,  for  the  life  of  me,  Tom  Sedley,  what 
business  it  is  of  yours.     But  thus  much  I  do  say, 


262  THE   TENANTS   OF    MALORY. 

upon  my  honour,  it  is  a  lie.  Miss  Charity  Ethe- 
rage,  an  old  maid,  with  no  more  sense  than  a 
snipe,  living  in  that  barbarous  desert,  where  if  a 
man  appears  at  all,  during  eight  months  out  of 
the  twelve,  he's  a  prodigy,  and  if  he  walks  up  the 
street  with  a  Cardyllian  lady,  he's  pronounced  to 
be  over  head  and  ears  in  love,  and  of  course  medi- 
tating marriage — I  say  she's  not  the  most  reliable 
critic  in  the  world  in  an  affair  of  that  sort ;  and 
all  I  say  is,  that  I've  given  no  grounds  for  any 
such  idea,  and  I  mean  it,  upon  my  honour; 
and  I've  seldom  been  so  astonished  in  my  life 
before." 

There  was  an  air  of  frank  and  indignant  repu- 
diation in  Cleve's  manner  and  countenance,  which 
more  even  than  his  words  convinced  Tom  Sedley, 
who  certainly  was  aware  how  little  the  Cardyllian 
people  knew  of  the  world,  and  what  an  eminently 
simple  maiden  in  all  such  matters  the  homely 
Miss  Charity  was.  So  Tom  extended  his  hand 
and  said — 

"Well,  Cleve,  I'm  so  glad,  and  I  beg  your 
pardon,  and  I  know  you  say  truth,  and  pray  shake 
hands ;  but  though  you  are  not  to  blame — I'm 
now  quite  sure  you're  not — the  poor  girl  is  very 
unhappy,  and  her  sister  very  angry.'' 

"  I  can't  help  that.  How  on  earth  can  /  help 
it  ?     I'm  very  sorry,  though  I'm  not  sure  that  I 


BY    RAIL   TO   LONDON.  2G3 

ought  to  care  a  farthing  about  other  people's 
nonsense,  and  huffs,  and  romances.  I  could  tell 
you  things  about  myself,  lots  of  things  you'd 
hardly  believe — real  dreadful  annoyances.  I  tell 
you  Tom,  I  hate  the  life  I'm  leading.  You  only 
see  the  upper  surface,  and  hardly  that.  "I'm 
■worried  to  death,  and  only  that  I  owe  so  much 
money,  and  can't  get  away,  I  can  tell  you — I 
don't  care  two  pins  whether  you  believe  it  or  not 
— I  should  have  been  feeding  sheep  in  Australia 
a  year  ago." 

"  Better  where  you  are,  Cleve." 

"  How  the  devil  do  you  know  ?  Don't  be 
offended  with  me,  Tom,  only  make  allowances, 
and  if  I  sometimes  talk  a  bit  like  a  Bedlamite 
don't  repeat  my  ravings  j  that's  alt.  Look  at  that 
windmill ;  isn't  it  pretty  ?  " 


CHAPTER  XXII. 

LADY    DORMINSTER'S    BALL. 

Cleve  Yerney  was  in  harness  again — attend- 
ing the  House  with  remarkable  punctuality;  for  the 
eye  of  the  noble  peer,  his  uncle,  was  upon  him. 
He  had  the  division  lists  regularly  on  his  table, 
and  if  Cleve's  name  was  missing  from  any  one 
of  even  moderate  importance,  his  uncle  took  leave 
to  ask  an  explanation.  Cleve  had  also  reasons  of 
his  own  for  working  diligently  at  the  drudgery  of 
public  life.  His  march  was  not  upon  solid  ground, 
but  over  a  quaking  bog,  every  undulation  and 
waver  of  which  was  answered  by  a  qualm  at  his 
heart. 

Still  it  was  only  some  nice  management  of  time 
and  persons ;  it  was  a  mere  matter  of  presence  of 
mind,  of  vigilance,  of  resource,  to  which  he  felt — 
at  least  hoped  he  might  be  found  equal,  and  all 
must  end  well.  Was  not  his  uncle  sixty-six  his 
last  birthday?  People  might  natter  and  say  he 
looked  nothing  like  it ;  but  the  red  book  so  pro- 


LADY   PORMIXSTER'S    BALL.  265 

nounced,  and  there  is  no  gainsaying  that  sublime 
record.  After  all,  his  uncle  was  not  an  everlast- 
ing danger.  Time  and  the  hour  will  end  the 
longest  day;  and  then  must  come  the  title,  and 
estates,  and  a  quiet  heart  at  last. 

When  the  House  did  not  interfere,  Cleve  was  of 
course  seen  at  all  the  proper  places.  On  the 
night  of  which  I  am  now  speaking  there  was 
among  others  Lady  Dorminster's  ball,  and  a 
brilliant  muster  of  distinguished  persons. 

On  that  crowded  floor,  in  those  celebrated 
salons,  in  an  atmosphere  of  light  and  music,  in 
which  moved  so  much  of  what  is  famous,  distin- 
guished, splendid,  is  seen  the  figure  of  Cleve 
Verney.  Everyone  knew  that  slight  and  graceful 
figure,  and  the  oval  face,  delicate  features,  and 
large,  dark,  dreamy  eyes,  that  never  failed  to 
impress  you  with  the  same  ambiguous  feeling. 
It  was  Moorish,  it  was  handsome ;  but  there  was 
a  shadow  there  —  something  secret  and  selfish, 
and  smilingly,  silently  insolent. 

This  session  he  had  come  out  a  little,  and  made 
two  speeches  of  real  promise.  The  minister  had 
complimented  his  uncle  upon  them,  and  had  also 
complimented  him.  The  muse  was  there ;  some- 
thing original  and  above  routine — genius  perhaps 
— and  that  passion  for  distinction  which  breaks  a 
poor  man's  heart,  and  floats  the  rich  to  greatness. 


266  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

A  man  of  Cleve's  years,  with  his  position,  with  his 
promise,  with  London  life  and  Paris  life  all  learned 
by  rote,  courted  and  pursued,  wary,  contemptuous, 
sensual,  clever,  ambitious — is  not  young.  The 
whole  chaperon  world,  with  its  wiles,  was  an  open 
book  for  him.  For  him,  like  the  man  in  the  Ger- 
man legend,  the  earth  under  which  they  mined 
and  burrowed  had  grown  to  his  eyes  transparent, 
and  he  saw  the  gnomes  at  work.  For  him  young 
ladies'  smiles  were  not  light  and  magic  —  only 
marsh  fires  and  tricks.  To  him  old  and  young 
came  up  and  simpered  or  fawned;  but  they 
dimpled,  or  ogled,  or  grinned,  all  in  the  Palace  of 
Truth.  Truth  is  power,  but  not  always  pretty. 
For  common  men  the  surface  is  best  ;  all  beyond 
is  knowledge — an  acquisition  of  sorrow. 

Therefore,  notwithstanding  his  years,  the  clear 
olive  oval  of  his  handsome  face,  the  setting — void 
of  line  or  colour — of  those  deep  dark  eyes,  so 
enthusiastic,  yet  so  cold,  the  rich  wave  of  his 
dark  hair,  and  the  smooth  transparency  of 
temples  and  forehead,  and  all  the  tints  and  signs 
of  beautiful  youth,  Cleve  Verney  was  well 
stricken  in  years  of  knowledge;  and  of  that  sad 
gift  he  would  not  have  surrendered  an  iota  in 
exchange  for  the  charms  and  illusions  of  inno- 
cence, so  much  for  the  most  part  do  men  prefer 
power  to  happiness. 


LADY    DORMIXSTER'S   BALL.  267 

"How  d'ye  do,  Miss  Oldys?"  said  this 
brilliant  young  man  of  actualities  and  expec- 
tations. 

"  Oh,  Mr.  Verney,  you  here  !  " 

This  Miss  Caroline  Oldys  was  just  nine-and- 
tweuty.  Old,  like  him,  in  the  world's  dismal 
psychology,  but  with  one  foolish  romance  still  at 
her  heart;  betrayed  into  a  transient  surprise, 
smiling  in  genuine  gladness,  almost  forgetting  her- 
self, and  looking  quite  country-girlish  in  the  mo- 
mentary effusion.  It  is  not  safe  affecting  an 
emotion  with  men  like  Cleve,  especially  when  it 
does  not  flatter  them.  He  did  not  care  a  farthing 
whether  she  was  surprised  or  not,  or  glad  or 
sorry.  But  her  very  eye  and  gesture  told  him 
that  she  had  marked  him  as  he  stood  there,  and 
had  chosen  the  very  seat  on  which  her  partner 
had  placed  her  of  malice  aforethought.  Fine 
acting  does  it  need  to  succeed  with  a  critic  like 
Cleve. 

"  Yes,  I  here — and  where's  the  wonder  ?  " 

"  Why, — who  was  it  ? — some  one  told  me  only 
half  an  hour  ago,  you  were  somewhere  in 
France." 

"  Well,  if  it  was  a  man  he  told  a  story,  and  if 
a  lady  she  made  a  mistake/'  said  Cleve,  coolly  but 
tartly,  looking  steadily  at  her.  "And  the  truth 
is,  I  wanted  a  yacht,  and  I  went  down  to  look  at 


268  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

her,  tried  her,  liked  her,  and  bought  her.  Doesn't 
it  sound  very  like  a  marriage  ?  " 

Caroline  laughed. 

"  That's  your  theory — we're  all  for  sale,  and 
handed  over  to  the  best  bidder." 

"Pretty  waltz,"  said  Cleve,  waving  his  slender 
hand  just  the  least  in  the  world  to  the  music. 
"Pretty  thing!  " 

He  did  not  use  much  ceremony  with  this  young 
lady — his  cousin  in  some  remote  way — who,  under 
the  able  direction  of  her  mother,  Lady  AVimble- 
don,  had  once  pursued  him  in  a  barefaced  way 
for  nearly  three  years  ;  and  who,  though  as  we 
have  seen,  her  mother  had  by  this  time  quite 
despaired,  yet  liked  him  with  all  the  romance  that 
remained  to  her. 

"And  who  are  you  going  to  marry,  Caroline? 
There's  Sedley — I  see  him  over  there.  What  do 
you  say  to  Sedley  ?  " 

"  Xo,  thanks — much  obliged — but  Sedley,  you 
know,  has  seen  his  fate  in  that  mysterious  lady  in 
Wales,  or  somewhere. 

"Oh?  has  he?"  He  signed  to  Sedley  to 
come  to  them. 

Looking  through  the  chinks  and  chasms  that 
now  and  then  opened  in  the  distinguished  mob 
of  which  he  formed  a  unit,  he  occasionally  saw 
the  stiff  figure  and  small  features  of  his  pompous 


LADY   DORMIXSTER's   BALL.  269 

uncle,  Lord  Verney,  who  "was  talking  affably  to 
Lady  Wimbledon.  Lord  Verney  did  not  wear 
his  agreeable  simper.  He  had  that  starch  and 
dismal  expression,  rather,  which  came  with  grave 
subjects,  and  he  was  tapping  the  fingers  of  his 
right  hand  upon  the  back  of  his  left,  in  time  to 
the  cadence  of  his  periods,  which  he  did  when 
delivering  matter  particularly  well  worth  hear- 
ing. It  plainly  did  not  displease  Lady  Wirn- 
bledon,  whatever  his  discourse  might  be.  "  Fm 
to  be  married  to  Caroline,  I  suppose.  I  wish 
that  old  woman  was  at  the  bottom  of  the  Red 
Sea." 

Cleve  looked  straight  in  the  eyes  of  the 
Honourable  Miss  Caroline  Oldys,  and  said  he, 
with  a  smile,  "  Lady  Wimbledon  and  my  uncle 
are  deep  in  some  mystery — is  it  political  ?  Have 
you  an  idea  ? 9i 

Caroline  Oldys  had  given  up  blushing  very  long 
ago  indeed ;  but  there  was  the  confusion,  with- 
out the  tint  of  a  blush  in  her  face,  as  he  said 
these  words. 

"I  dare  say — mamma's  a  great  politician." 
"  Oh !      I  know  that.      By  Jove,  my  uncle's 
looking  this  way.     I  hope  he's  not  coming." 
"  Would  you  mind  taking  me  to  mamma  ?  " 
"  No  —  pray    stay    for    a    moment.        Here's 
Sedley." 


270  THE   TENANTS    OF   MALORY. 

And  the  young  man,  whom  we  know  pretty 
well,  with  the  bold  blue  eyes  and  golden  mous- 
taches, and  good  frank  handsome  face,  approached 
smiling. 

"How  are  you,  Sedley?"  said  Cleve,  giving 
him  two  fingers.  ,€  Caroline  Oldys  says  you've 
had  an  adventure.     Where  was  it  ?" 

"  The  lady  in  black,  you  know,  in  Wales/' 
reminded  Miss  Oldys. 

u  Oh !  to  be  sure,"  said  Sedley,  laughing. 
"  A  lady  in  gray,  it  was.  I  saw  her  twice.  But 
that's  more  than  a  year  old,  and  there  has  been 
nothing  ever  since." 

"Do  go  on." 

Sedley  laughed. 

"  It  was  at  Cardyllian,  in  the  church.  She 
lived  at  Malory — that  dark  old  place  you  went  to 
see  with  the  Verneys,  the  day  you  were  at  Car- 
dyllian— don't  you  remember  ?  " 

"  Oh,  yes, — what  a  romantic  place  !  M 

"  What  an  awfully  cross  old  fellow,  old  enough 
to  be  her  father,  but  with  the  air  of  her  husband, 
guarding  her  like  a  dragon,  and  eyeing  every 
fellow  that  came  near  as  if  he'd  knock  him  down  ; 
a  lean,  white-whiskered,  bald  old  fellow,  with 
bushy  eyebrows,  and  a  fierce  face,  and  eyes  jump- 
ing out  of  his  head,  and  lame  of  one  foot,  too. 
Not  a  beauty,  by  any  means." 


LADY   DORMINSTER'S    BALL.  271 

"  Where  did  you  see  him  9  "  said  Cleve. 

"  I  did  not  see  him — but  Christmass  Owen  the 
boatman  told  me." 

"  Well,  and  which  is  your  fate — which  is  to 
kill  you — the  husband  or  wife  ?  "  inquired  Cleve, 
looking  vaguely  among  the  crowd. 

"  Oh,  the  wife,  as  he  calls  her,  is  really  quite 
beautiful,  melancholy  and  that,  you  know.  I'd 
have  found  out  all  about  them,  but  they  left 
before  I  had  time  to  go  back,  but  Verney  was  at 
Cardyllian,  when  I  was  there." 

"  When  was  that  ?  "  asked  Cleve. 

"  I  mean  when  these  people  were  at  Malory. 
Cleve  was  much  more  gone  about  her  than  I  was 
— at  least  so  I've  heard,"  answered  Sedley. 

"  That's  very  ungrateful  of  you,  Sedley.  I 
never  interfered,  upon  my  honour.  I  saw  her 
once  in  church,  and  accompanied  him  in  his 
pursuit  at  his  earnest  request,  and  I  never  saw 
her  again.  Are  you  going  on  to  the  Halbury's, 
Caroline  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  are  you  ?  " 

"  No,  quite  used  up.  Haven't  slept  since 
Wednesday  night." 

Here  a  partner  came  to  claim  Miss  Caroline. 

"  I'll  go  with  you,"  said  Sedley. 

"  Very  well,"  answered  Cleve,  without  looking 
back.      "  Come   to   my    lodgings,    Sedley — we'll 


'27 '2  THE   TENANTS    OF  MALORY. 

smoke,     shall     we  ?       I've     got     some     capital 
cigars." 

"  I  don't  care.     I'm  going  on  also." 

''AYhat  a  delicious  night!"  exclaimed  Tom 
Sedley,  looking  up  at  the  stars.  "  Suppose  we 
walk — it  isn't  far." 

"  I  don't  care — let  us  walk,"  said  Cleve. 

So  walk  they  did.  It  was  not  far  to  Cleve's 
lodgings,  in  a  street  off  Piccadilly.  The  young 
men  had  walked  rather  silently  ;  for,  as  it  seemed 
to  Sedley,  his  companion  was  not  in  a  temper  to 
talk  a  great  deal,  or  very  pleasantly. 

"  And  what  about  this  gray  woman  ?  Did  you 
ever  follow  it  up  ?  Did  the  romance  take  fire 
where  it  ought  ?  Is  it  a  mutual  flame?"  asked 
Cleve,  like  a  tired  man  who  feels  he  must  say  some- 
thing, and  does  not  care  what.  "  I  don't  think  you 
mentioned  her  since  the  day  you  showed  me  that 
Beatrice  Cenci,  over  your  d d  chimney-piece." 

"  Of  course  I'd  have  told  you  if  there  had  been 
anything  to  tell,"  said  Tom. 

"  They  haven't  been  at  Malory  since  ?  " 
"  Oh  !  no — frightened  away — you'll  never  see 
them  there  again.  There's  nothing  absolutely 
in  it,  and  never  was,  not  even  an  adven- 
ture. Nothing  but  the  little  that  happened 
long  ago — and  you  know  all  about  that,"  con- 
tinued Sedley.     "  She's  a  wonderfully  beautiful 


LADY   DOBMINSTER'S    BALL.  273 

creature,  though;  I  wish  you  saw  her  again, 
Cleve.  You're  such  a  clever  fellow,  you'd  make 
a  poem  of  her,  or  something — she'd  hring  you 
back  to  the  days  of  chivalry,  and  that  style  of 
thing.  I'm  a  sort  of  fellow,  you  know,  that 
feels  a  lot,  and  I  think,  I  think  some  too ;  but  I 
haven't  the  knack  of  saying  it,  or  writing  it — I'm 
not  particularly  good  at  anything  ;  but  I  went 
that  morning,  you  know,  into  the  Refectory — you 
know — there  are  such  a  lot  of  stairs,  and  long 
places  and  doors,  it  makes  a  fellow  quite  foolish — 
and  there  she  was — don't  you  remember? — I  wish 
I  could  describe  her  to  you  gardening  there  with 
her  gloves  on." 

"Don't  try — you've  tried  so  often — there's  a 
good  fellow;  but  just  tell  me  her  name?"  said 
Cleve,  looking  straight  before  him,  above  the 
lamps  and  the  slanting  slates  and  chimneys,  into 
the  deep  sky,  where  brilliantly,  spite  of  London 
smoke,  shone  the  clear  sad  moon. 

"  Her  name  ? — I  never  found  out,  except  Mar- 
garet— I  don't  know ;  but  I  believe  they  did  not 
want  their  name  told." 

"  That  did  not  look  well— did  it  \ "  suggested 
Cleve. 

a  Well,  no  more  it  generally  does  ;  but  it  is 
not  her  fault.  It  was — in  fact  it  was — for  I  did 
find   it   out,   I   mav  as  well    tell    vou — old    Sir 

VOL.    II.  T 


-74  THE   TENANTS   OF   MALORY. 

Booth  Fanshawe,  you  know  he's  broken — not 
worth  a  guinea — and  always  running  about 
from  place  to  place  to  avoid  pursuit,  in  fact. 
It  can't  signify,  you  know,  now  that  I  think  of 
it,  mentioning  him,  because,  of  course,  he's  gone 
somewhere  else  long  ago." 

So  said  romantic  little  Sedley,  and  Cleve 
sneered. 

"  I  see  you  can  tell  a  fib  on  occasion,  Tom,  like 
another  man.  So  you  found  out  the  name,  and 
knew  it  all  the  time  you  were  protesting  ignorance. 
And  who  told  you  that  ?  People  here  thought 
Sir  Booth  had  gone  to  Italy." 

"Well,  it  was — but  you  mustn't  tell  him  I  told 
you.  There  was  a  Jew  fellow  down  at  Malory, 
with  a  writ  and  a  lot  of  fellows  to  nab  him  ;  but 
the  old  fellow  was  off;  and  the  Jew,  thinking 
that  Wynne  Williams  knew  where  he  was,  came 
to  his  office  and  offered  him  a  hatfull  of  money  to 
tell,  and  he  was  going  to  kick  him  out ;  and  that's 
the  way  he  found  out  it  was  old  Sir  Booth ;  and 
he  is  awfully  afraid  of  getting  into  a  scrape  about 
it,  if  the  old  people  heard  who  the  tenant  was." 

"  So  he  would — the  worst  scrape  he  ever  was 
in,  with  my  wide,  at  all  events.  And  that  d — d 
Larkin  would  get  into  the  management  of  every- 
thing, I  suppose.  I  hope,  you  have  not  been 
telling  everyone  ?  " 


LADY   DORMINSTEBS    HALL.  275 

"  Not  a  soul — not  a  human  being." 

"  There  are  some  of  the  Cardyllian  people  that 
hardly  come  under  that  term;  and,  by  Jove,  if 
you  breathe  it  to  one  of  them,  it's  all  over  the 
town,  and  my  uncle  will  be  sure  to  hear  it ;  and 
poor  Wynne  Williams  ! — you'll  be  the  ruin  of 
him,  very  likely." 

"I  tell  you,  except  to  you,  I  swear  to  you,  I 
haven't  mentioned  it  to  a  soul  on  earth," 
exclaimed  Tom. 

"  Well,  I  do  think,  as  a  matter  of  conscience 
and  fairness,  you  ought  to  hold  your  tongue, 
and  keep  faith  with  poor  "Wynne,"  said  Cleve, 
rudely,  "  and  I  think  he  was  a  monstrous  fool 
to  tell  you.  You  know  I'm  interested,"  con- 
tinued Cleve,  perceiving  that  his  vehemence 
surprised  Tom  Sedley ;  "  because  I  have  no 
faith  in  Larkin — I  think  him  a  sneak  and  a 
hypocrite,  and  a  rogue — of  course  that's  in  con- 
fidence, and  he's  doing  all  in  his  power  to  get  a 
fast  hold  of  my  uncle,  and  to  creep  into  Wynne 
Williams's  place,  and  a  thing  like  this,  with  a 
hard  unreasonable  fellow  like  my  uncle,  would 
give  him  such  a  lift  as  you  can't  imagine." 

"But,  I'm  not  going  to  tell;  unless  you  tell,  or 
he,  I  don't  know  who's  to  tell  it — /  won't,  I 
know." 

"And  about  Sir  Booth — of  course  he's  not  in 


276        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

England  now — but  neither  is  he  in  Italy,"  said 
Tom. 

"  It's  well  he  has  you  to  keep  his  '  log '  for 
him,"  said  Cleve. 

"  He's  in  France." 

"  Oh !  " 

a  Yes,  in  the  north  of  France,  somewhere  near 
Caen,"  said  Tom  Sedley. 

"  I  wonder  you  let  him  get  so  near  England. 
It  seems  rather  perilous,  doesn't  it  ?  " 

"So  one  would  think,  but  there  he  is.     Tom 
Blackmore,  of  the  Guards — you  know  him  ?  " 

"  No,  I  don't." 

"Well  he  saw  old  Fanshawe  there.  He  hap- 
pened to  be  on  leave." 

"  Old  Fanshawe  ?  " 

"  No,  Tom  Blackmore.  He  likes  poking  into 
out-of-the-way  places." 

"  I  dare  say." 

"  He  has  such  a  turn  for  the  picturesque  and 
all  that,  and  draws  very  nicely." 

11  The  long  bow,  I  dare  say." 

"Well,  no  matter,  he  was  there — old  Fan- 
shawe I  mean — Blackmore  saw  him.  He  knows 
his  appearance  perfectly — used  to  hunt  with  his 
hounds,  and  that  kind  of  thing,  and  often  talked 
to  him,  so  he  could  not  be  mistaken — and  there 
he  was  as  large  as  life." 


LADY   DORMINSTERS   BALL.  'Ill 

"Well?" 

"  He  did  not  know  Tom  a  bit,  and  Tom  asked 
no  questions — in  fact,  he  did  not  care  to  know 
where  the  poor  old  fellow  hides  himself — he  pre- 
ferred not — but  Madame  something  or  other — I 
forget  her  name — gave  him  a  history,  about  as 
true  as  Jack  the  Giant-Killer,  of  the  eccentric 
English  gentleman,  and  told  bim  that  he  had 
taken  a  great  old  house,  and  had  his  family  there, 
and  a  most  beautiful  young  wife,  and  was  as 
jealous  as  fifty  devils ;  so  you  see  Margaret  must 
have  been  there.  Of  course  that  was  she,"  said 
Tom. 

"  And  you  said  so  to  your  friend  Blackmore  ?  n 
suggested  Cleve  Verney. 

"Yes,"  said  Tom. 

"  It  seems  to  me  you  want  to  have  him 
caught." 

"  Well,  I  did  not  think — I  hope  not — and  I 
did  not  know  you  took  any  interest  in  him,"  said 
Sedley,  quite  innocently. 

"  Interest !  / — me  !  Interest,  indeed  !  Why 
the  devil  should  /  take  an  interest  in  Sir  Booth 
Fanshawe  ?  Why  you  seem  to  forget  all  the 
trouble  and  annoyance  he  has  cost  me.  Interest, 
indeed  !  Quite  the  contrary.  Only,  I  think,  one 
would  not  like  to  get  any  poor  devil  into  worse 
trouble   than    he's    in,   for  no  object,    or   to   be 


278        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

supposed  to  be  collecting  information  about 
him." 

"  No  one  could  suppose  anything  like  that  of 
me,"  said  Tom  Sedley. 

"  I  beg  your  pardon ;  they  can  suppose  any- 
thing of  anybody,"  answered  Cleve,  and,  seeing 
that  Tom  looked  offended,  he  added,  "  and  the 
more  absurd  and  impossible,  the  more  likely.  I 
wish  you  heard  the  things  that  have  been  said  of 
me — enough  to  make  your  hair  stand  on  end,  by 
Jove ! " 

"  Oh  !  I  dare  say." 

They  were  now  turning  into  the  street  where 
Cleve  had  taken  lodgings. 

"  I  could  not  stand  those  fellows  any  longer. 
My  uncle  has  filled  the  house  with  them — varnish 
and  paint  and  that  stifling  plaster — so  I've  put  up 
here  for  a  little  time." 

"  I  like  these  streets.  I'm  not  very  far  away 
from  you  here,"  said  Tom.  "  And  talking  of 
that  affair  at  Caen,  you  know,  he  said,  by  Jove  he 
did,  that  he  saw  you  there." 

"  Who  said  ?  " 

"  Tom  Blackmore  of  the  Guards." 

"  Then  Tom  Blackmore  of  the  Guards  lies — 
that's  all.  I  never  saw  him — I  never  spoke  to 
him — I  don't  know  him ;  and  how  should  he 
know  me?     And  if  he  did,  I  wasn't  there;  and 


LADY   DORMINSTER'S   BALL.  279 

if  I  had  been,  what  the  devil  was  it  to  him  ? 
So  besides  telling  lies,  he  tells  impertinent  lies, 
and  he  ought  to  be  kicked." 

"  "Well,  of  course  as  you  say  so,  he  must  have 
made  a  mistake ;  but  Caen  is  as  open  to  you  as 
to  him,  and  there's  no  harm  in  the  place ;  and  he 
knows  you  by  appearance." 

"  He  knows  everybody  by  appearance,  it 
seems,  and  nobody  knows  him ;  and,  by  Jove, 
he  describes  more  like  a  bailiff  than  a  Guards- 
man." 

"  He's  a  thorough  gentleman  in  every  idea. 
Tom  Blackmore  is  as  nice  a  little  fellow  as  there 
is  in  the  world,"  battled  Tom  Sedley  for  his 
friend. 

"  Well,  I  wish  you'd  persuade  that  faultless 
gentleman  to  let  me  and  my  concerns  alone.  I 
have  a  reason  in  this  case ;  and  I  don't  mind  if  I 
tell  you  I  ivas  at  Caen,  and  I  suppose  he  did  see 
me.  But  there  was  no  romance  in  the  matter, 
except  the  romance  of  the  Stock  Exchange  and  a 
Jew;  and  I  wish,  Tom,  you'd  just  consider  me  as 
much  as  you  do  the  old  baronet,  for  my  own 
sake,  that  is,  for  Fm.  pretty  well  dipped  too,  and 
don't  want  everyone  to  know  when  or  where  I  go 
in  quest  of  my  Jews.  I  was — not  very  far  from 
that  about  four  months  ago ;  and  if  you  go  about 
telling  everyone,  by  Jove   my  uncle  will   guess 


280        THE  TENANTS  OF  MALORY. 

what  brought  me  there,  and  old  fellows  don't  like 

post-obits  on  their  own  lives." 

"  My  dear  Cleve,  I  had  not  a  notion " 

"  Well,    all  you   can    do   for  me  now,  having 

spread  the  report,  is  to  say  that  I  wasn't  there — 

Fm  serious.     Here  we  are." 


END   OF   VOL.    II. 


BRADBURY.    EVAN'<,    AND   CO.,    PRINTERS,    WHITKKRIARS. 


a 

en 

o 

Uh 

C/3 

CD 

a 

> 

<u 

o 

u 

O 

<u 

u 

J= 

O 

— 

ba 

j- 

^ 

jg 

£ 

O 
O 

•3 

r-1 

a 

G 

£ 

J2 

.2 

O 

.2 

V 

IS 

'-*-> 

o 

— 

u 

*rt 

>> 

■+-> 

a> 

o 

Ih 

— 

£ 

C 

-*-» 

CJ 

+-> 

to 

•— 

•  ^H 

u 

'o 

<L> 

c 

_ 

en 

bx 

en 

In 

•*—i 

u 

MH 

J3 

H 

1) 

rt 

~o 

Cm 

3 

HH 

s 

C 

Ih 

Oh 

c/5 

rt 

•  »-* 

o 

<L> 

A 

en 

C 

bjc 

<u 

_^ 

r-1 

#c 

> 

'So 

i 

c7 

O 

.2 

•3 

en 

•  — 

bo 
o 

d 

o 

-5 

-t-> 

.2 

— 

IS 

~£ 

-*-j 

en 

_ 

en 

G 

- 

O 

•o 

■r-t 

en 

o 

O 

•5 

o 

o 

cd 

< 

< 

U 

u 

W 
4 

fe 

fe 

en 

U 

•  ^* 

•  — 

J= 

nj 

H 

.ZZ