GIFT OF
MICHAEL REE.SE
WENDERHOLME.
A STORY OF LANCASHIRE AND YORKSHIRE.
BY
PHILIP GILBERT HAMERTON,
AUTHOR OF "THE INTELLECTUAL LIFE," ETC.
It takes a deal o' sorts to make a world."
Popular Proverb.
BOSTON:
ROBERTS BROTHERS.
1882.
Author's Edition.
UNIVERSITY PRESS:
JOHN WILSON & SON, CAMBRIDGE.
f
TO AN OLD LADY IN YORKSHIRE.
You remember a time when the country in which this story is placed
was quite different from what it is to-day ; when the old proprietors
lived in their halls undisturbed by modern innovation, and neither
enriched by building leases, nor humiliated by the rivalry of mighty
manufacturers. You have seen wonderful changes come to pass, the
valleys filled with towns, and the towns connected by railways, and the
fields covered with suburban villas. You have seen people become
richer and more refined, though perhaps less merry, than they used to
be ; till the simple, unpretending life of the poorer gentlefolks of the past
has become an almost incredible tradition, which few have preserved
in their memory.
When this story was first written, some passages of it were read to
you, and they reminded you of those strong contrasts in the life of the
North of England which are now so rapidly disappearing. WENDER-
HOLME is therefore associated with you in my mind as one of its first
hearers, and I dedicate it to you affectionately.
PREFACE
TO THE AMERICAN EDITION.
IT happened, some time before this story was originally
composed, that the author had a conversation, about
the sale of novels, with one of the most eminent publish-
ers of fiction in London.* The result of his experience
was, that in the peculiar conditions of the English market
short novels did not pay, whilst long ones, of the same
quality, were a much safer investment. Having incurred
several successive losses on short novels, my friend, the
publisher, had made up his mind never to have any thing
more to do with them, and strongly recommended me,
if I attempted a work of fiction, to go boldly into three
volumes at once, and not discourage myself by making an
experiment on a smaller scale, which would only make
failure a certainty. The reader may easily imagine the
effect of such a conversation as this upon an author who,
whatever may have been his experience in other depart-
ments of literature, had none at all in the publication of
novels. The practical consequence of it was, that, when
the present story was written, commercial reasons pre-
vailed, as they unhappily so often do prevail, over artistic
* This publisher was not a member of the firm of Messrs. W. Black-
wood & Sons, who afterwards purchased the copyright of Wenderholme>
nor was the story ever offered to him ; but his opinion had great influ-
ence with the author on account of his large experience.
viii Preface to the American Edition.
reasons, and the book was made far longer than, as a
work of art, it ought to have been.
The present edition, though greatly abridged, is not
by -any means, from the author's point of view, a muti-
lated edition. On the contrary, it rather resembles a
building of moderate dimensions, from which excres-
cences have been removed. The architect has been
careful to preserve every thing essential, and equally
careful to take away every thing which had been added
merely for the sake of size. The work is therefore at
the present time much nearer in character to the origi-
nal conception of the designer than it has ever been
before.
Notwithstanding the defect of too great length, and
the difficulty which authors often experience in obtain-
ing recognition in a new field, Wenderholme was very
extensively reviewed in England, and, on the whole,
very favorably. Unfortunately, however, for the author's
chances of profiting by the suggestions of his critics, it
so happened that when any character or incident was
selected for condemnation by one writer, that identical
character or incident was sure to be praised enthusias-
tically by another, who spoke with equal authority and
decision, in some journal of equal importance. The same
contradictions occurred in criticisms by private friends,
people of great experience and culture. Some praised
the first volume, but did not like the third ; whilst oth-
ers, who certainly knew quite as much about such mat-
ters, considered that the book began badly, but improved
immensely as it went on, and finished in quite an admir-
able manner, like a horse that has warmed to his work.
These differences of opinion led me to the rather dis-
couraging conclusion that there is nothing like an ac-
Preface to the American Edition. ix
cepted standard of right and wrong in the criticism of
fiction ; that the critic praises what interests or amuses
him, and condemns what he finds tiresome, with little
reference to any governing laws of art. I may observe,
however, that the book had an artistic intention, which
was the contrast between two classes of society in Lan-
cashire, and that the militia was used as a means of
bringing these two classes together. I may here reply
to one or two objections which have been made as to the
manner in which this plan was carried out.
Most of the local newspapers in the north of England
at once recognized the truth of local character in the
book ; but one Manchester critic, with a patriotism for
his native county which is a most respectable senti-
ment, felt hurt by my descriptions of intemperance, and
treated them as a simple calumny, arguing that the best
answer to them was the industry of the county, which
would not have been compatible with such habits. I
have never desired to imply that all Lancashire people
were drunkards, but there are certain nooks and corners
of the county where drinking habits were prevalent, in
the last generation, to a degree which is not exaggerated
in this book. Such places did not become prosperous
until the energy of the better-conducted inhabitants pro-
duced a change in the local customs ; and I need hardly
say that the hard drinkers themselves were unable
to follow business either steadily or long. Downright
drunkenness is now happily no longer customary in the
middle classes, and in the present day men use stimu-
lants rather to repair temporarily the exhaustion pro-
duced by over-work than for any bacchanalian pleasure.
In this more modern form of the drinking habit I do
not think that Lancashire men go farther than the
x Preface to the American Edition.
inhabitants of other very busy counties, or countries,
where the strain on human energy is so great that there
is a constant temptation to seek help from some kind of
stimulating beverage.
The only other objection to the local truth of Wender-
holme which seems to require notice is that which was
advanced in the Saturday Review. The critic in that
periodical thought it untrue to English character to
represent a man in Colonel Stanburne's position as
good-natured enough to talk familiarly with his infe-
riors. Well, if modern literature were a literature of
types, and not of persons, such an objection would un-
doubtedly hold good. The typical Englishman, when
he has money and rank, is certainly a very distant and
reserved being, except to people of his own condition ;
but there are exceptions to this rule, I have known
several in real life, and I preferred to paint an excep-
tion, for the simple reason that reserve and pride are
the death of human interest. It would be possible
enough to introduce a cold and reserved aristocrat in a
novel of English life, such personages have often been
delineated with great skill and fidelity, but I maintain
that they do not excite sympathy and interest, and that
it would be a mistake in art to place one of them in a
central situation, such as that of Colonel Stanburne in
this volume. They may be useful in their place, like a
lump of ice on a dinner-table.
On the first publication of Wendcrholme, the author
received a number of letters from people who were quite
convinced that they had recognized the originals of the
characters. The friends and acquaintances of novelists
always amuse themselves in this way; and yet it seldom
happens, I believe, that there is any thing like a real
Preface to the American Edition. xi
portrait in a novel. A character is suggested by some
real person, but when once the fictitious character exists
in the brain of the author, he forgets the source of the
original suggestion, and simply reports what the imagi-
nary personage says and does. It is narrated of an
eminent painter, famous for the saintly beauty of his
virgins, that his only model for them was an old man-
servant, and this is a good illustration of the manner
in which the imagination operates. Some of my corre-
spondents made guesses which were very wide of the
mark. One lady, whom I had never thought about in
connection with the novel at all, recognized herself in
Mrs. Prigley, confessed her sins, and promised amend-
ment ; an illusion 'scarcely to be regretted, since it may
have been productive of moral benefit. A whole' town-
ship fancied that it recognized Jacob Ogden in a wealthy
manufacturer, whose face had not been present to me
when I conceived the character. A correspondent rec-
ognized Dr. Bardly as the portrait of a surgeon in Lan-
cashire who was never once in my mind's eye during
'the composition of the novel. The Doctor was really
suggested by a Frenchman, quite ignorant of the Lan-
cashire dialect, and even of English. But, of all these
guesses, one of the commonest was that Philip Stan-
burne represented the author himself, probably because
he was called Philip. There is no telling what may
happen to us before we die ; but I hope that the sup-
posed original of Jacob Ogden may preserve his sanity
to the end of his earthly pilgrimage, and that the author
of this volume may not end his days in a monastery.
P. G. H
CONTENTS.
PART I.
CHAPTER
I. MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF SHAYTON .... i
II. GRANDMOTHER AND GRANDSON 5
III. AT THE PARSONAGE 16
IV. ISAAC OGDEN BECOMES A BACKSLIDER .... 29
V. FATHER AND SON 42
VI. LITTLE JACOB is LOST 52
VII. ISAAC OGDEN'S PUNISHMENT 59
VIII. FROM SOOTYTHORN TO WENDERHOLME .... 69
IX. THE FUGITIVE 87
X. CHRISTMAS AT MILEND 94
XI. THE COLONEL GOES TO SHAYTON 106
XII. OGDEN'S NEW MILL 119
XIII. STANITHBURN PEEL 130
XIV. AT SOOTYTHORN 136
XV. WITH THE MILITIA 143
XVI. A CASE OF ASSAULT 150
XVII. ISAAC CGDEN AGAIN 155
XVIII. ISAAC'S MOTHER COMES 161
XIX. THE COLONEL AT WHITTLECUP 170
XX. PHILIP STANBURNE IN LOVE 174
XXI. THE WEXDERHOLME COACH 179
XXII. COLONEL STANBURNE APOLOGIZES 185
xiv Contents.
CHAPTER
XXIII. HUSBAND AND WIFE 193
XXIV. THE COLONEL AS A CONSOLER . . . . . . 201
XXV. WENDERHOLME IN FESTIVITY 212
XXVI. MORE FIREWORKS '. . 225
XXVII. THE FIRE 229
XXVIII. FATHER AND DAUGHTER 238
XXIX. PROGRESS OF THE FIRE 241
XXX. UNCLE JACOB'S LOVE AFFAIR 249
XXXI. UNCLE JACOB is ACCEPTED 252
XXXII. MR. STEDMAN RELENTS 258
XXXIII. THE SADDEST IN THE BOOK 265
XXXIV. JACOB OGDEN FREE AGAIN 273
XXXV. LITTLE JACOB'S EDUCATION 280
XXXVI. A SHORT CORRESPONDENCE 284
XXXVII. AT WENDERHOLME COTTAGE 286
XXXVIII. ARTISTIC INTOXICATION 290
XXXIX. GOOD-BYE TO LITTLE JACOB 301
PART II.
I. AFTER LONG YEARS .- ... 303
II. IN THE DlNING-ROOM 318
III. IN THE DRAWING-ROOM 322
IV. ALONE 327
V. THE Two JACOBS 331
VI. THE SALE 336
VII. A FRUGAL SUPPER 340
VIII. AT CHESNUT HILL 345
IX. OGDEN OF WENDERHOLME 354
X. YOUNG JACOB AND EDITH 357
Contents. xv
CHAPTER
XI. EDITH'S DECISION 366
XII. JACOB OGDEN'S TRIUMPH 374
XIII. THE BLOW-OUT 380
XIV. MRS. OGDEN'S AUTHORITY 389
XV. LADY HELENA RETURNS 393
XVI. THE COLONEL COMES . . * . 400
XVII. A MORNING CALL 404
XVIII. MONEY ON THE BRAIN 409
XIX. THE COLONEL AT STANITHBURN 418
XX. A SIMPLE WEDDING 425
XXI. THE MONK 431
WENDERHOLME.
MANNERS AND CUSTOMS OF SHAYTON.
IT was an immemorial custom in Shayton for families to
restrict themselves to a very few Christian names, usually
taken from the Old Testament, and these were repeated, gen-
eration after generation, from a feeling of respect to parents,
very laudable in itself, but not always convenient in its con-
sequences. Thus in the family of the Ogdens, the eldest son
was always called Isaac, and the second Jacob, so that if they
had had a pedigree, the heralds would almost have been
driven to the expedient of putting numbers after these names,
as we say Henry VIII. or Louis XIV. The Isaac Ogden
who appears in this history may have been, if collateral Isaacs
in other branches were taken into account, perhaps Isaac
the fortieth ; indeed, the tombstones in Shayton churchyard
recorded a number of Isaac Ogdens that was perfectly bewil-
dering. Even the living Isaac Ogdens were numerous enough
to puzzle any new-comer; and a postman who had not been
accustomed to the place, but was sent there from Rochdale,
solemnly declared that " he wished all them Hisaac Hogdens
was deead, every one on 'em, nobbut just about five or six,
an' then there'd be less bother about t' letters." This wish
may seem hard and unchristian, it may appear, to readers
who have had no experience in the delivery of letters, that
x
2 Wcnderholme. PART i.
to desire the death of a fellow-creature merely because he
happened to be called Isaac Ogden implied a fearful degree
of natural malevolence ; but the business of a postman culti-
vates an eagerness to get rid of letters, whereof the lay mind
has no adequate conception ; and when a bachelor Isaac
Ogden got a letter from an affectionate wife, or an Isaac
Ogden, who never owed a penny, received a pressing dun
from an impatient and exasperated creditor, these epistles
were returned upon the postman's hands, and he became
morbidly anxious to get rid of them, or " shut on 'em," as he
himself expressed it. Some annoying mistakes of this kind
had occurred in reference to our Mr. Isaac Ogden at the time
when he was engaged to Miss Alice Wheatley, whose first
affectionate letter from her father's house at Eatherby had
not only miscarried, but actually been opened and read by
several Isaac Ogdens in Shayton and its vicinity; for poor
Miss Alice, in the flurry of directing her first epistle to her
lover, had quite forgotten to put the name of the house where
he then lived. This was particularly annoying to Mr. Ogden,
who had wished to keep his engagement secret, in order to
avoid as long as possible the banter of his friends ; and he
sware in his wrath that there were far too many Isaac Ogdens
in the world, and that, however many sons he had, he would
never add to their number. This declaration was regarded
by his mother, and by the public opinion of the elder gene-
ration generally, as little better than a profession of atheism ;
and when our little friend Jacob, about whom we shall have
much to say, was christened in Shayton church, it was believed
that the misguided father would not have the. hardihood to
maintain his resolution in so sacred a place. He had, how-
ever, the courage to resist the name of Isaac, though it was
pressed upon him with painful earnestness ; but he did not
dare to offend tradition so far as to resist that of Jacob also,
though the objections to it were in truth equally cogent.
On his retirement to Twistle Farm, an out-of-the-way little
CHAP. i. Manners and Customs of Shay ton. 3
estate up in the hill country near Shayton, Mr. Ogden, who
was now a widower, determined, at least for the present, to
educate his child himself. And so it was that, at the age of
nine, little Jacob was rather less advanced than some other
boys of his age. He had not begun Latin yet, but, on the
other hand, he read English easily and with avidity, and
wrote a very clear and legible hand. His friend Doctor
Bardly, the Shayton medical man, who rode up to Twistle
Farm very often (for he liked the fresh moorland air, and
enjoyed a chat with Mr. Ogden and the child), used to exam-
ine little Jacob, and bring him amusing books, so that his
young friend had already several shelves in his bedroom
which were filled with instructive histories and pleasant tales.
The youthful student had felt offended one day at Milend,
where his grandmother and his Uncle Jacob lived, when a
matronly visitor had asked whether he could read.
" He can read well enough," said his grandmother.
" Well, an' what can he read ? can he read i' th' Bible ? "
The restriction of Jacob's reading powers to one book
offended him. Could he not read all English books at
sight, or the newspaper, or any thing? Indeed, few people
in Shayton, except the Doctor, read as much as the little
boy at Twistle Farm ; and when his uncle at Milend dis-
covered one day what an appetite for reading the child had,
he was not altogether pleased, and asked whether he could
" cast accounts." Finding him rather weak in the elementary
practice of arithmetic, Uncle Jacob made him "do sums"
whenever he had an opportunity. Arithmetic (or "areth-
mitic," as Uncle Jacob pronounced it) was at Milend consid-
ered a far higher attainment than the profoundest knowledge
of literature ; and, indeed, if the rank of studies is to be
estimated by their influence on the purse, there can be no
doubt that the Milend folks were right. Without intending
a pun (for this would be a poor one), Uncle Jacob had never
found any thing so interesting as interest, and the annual
4 Wenderholme. PART i.
estimate which he made of the increase of his fortune brought
home to his mind a more intense sense of the delightfulness
of addition than any school-boy ever experienced. But arith-
metic, like every other human pursuit, has its painful or
unpleasant side, and Uncle Jacob regarded subtraction and
division with an indescribable horror and dread. Subtraction,
in his vivid though far from poetical imagination, never meant
any thing less serious than losses in the cotton trade ; and
division evoked the alarming picture of a wife and eight
children dividing his profits amongst them. Indeed, he never
looked upon arithmetic in the abstract, but saw it in the
successes of the prosperous and the failures of the unfortu-
nate, in the accumulations of rich and successful bachelors
like himself, and the impoverishment of struggling mortals,
for whom there was no increase save in the number of their
children. And this concrete conception of arithmetic he
endeavored to communicate to little Jacob, who, in conse-
quence of his uncle's teaching, already possessed the theory
of getting rich, and was so far advanced in the practice of
it that, by keeping the gifts of his kind patrons and friends,
he had nearly twenty pounds in the savings bank.
CHAP. IL Grandmother and Grandson.
OF THE *i
UNIVERSITY
jApiEtrti
GRANDMOTHER AND GRANDSON.
MRS. OGDEN, at the time when our story commences,
was not much above sixty, but had reached an appear-
ance of old age, though a very vigorous old age, which she kept
without perceptible alteration for very many years afterward.
Her character will develop itself sufficiently in the course of
the present narrative to need no description here ; but she
had some outward peculiarities which it may be well to
enumerate.
She is in the kitchen at Milend, making a potato-pie,
or at least preparing the paste for one. Whilst she delib-
erately presses the rolling-pin, and whilst the sheet of paste
becomes wider and thinner under the pressure of it as it
travels over the soft white surface, we perceive that Mrs.
Ogden's arms, which are bare nearly to the elbow, are strong
and muscular yet, but not rounded into any form that suggests
reminiscences of beauty. There is a squareness and a rigidity
in the back and chest, which are evidences rather of strength
of body and a resolute character than of grace. The visage,
too, can never have been pretty, though it must in earlier life
have possessed the attractiveness of health ; indeed, although
its early bloom is of course by this time altogether lost,
there remains a firmness in the fleshy parts of it enough to
prove that the possessor is as yet untouched by the insidious
advances of decay. The cheeks are prominent, and the jaw
is powerful ; but although the forehead is high, it suggests no
ideas of intellectual development, and seems rather to have
6 Wenderholme. PART I.
grown merely as a fine vegetable-marrow grows, than to have
been developed by any exercise of thought. The nose is
slightly aquiline in outline, but too large and thick ; the lips,
on the contrary, are thin and pale, and would be out of har-
mony with the whole face if the eyes did not so accurately
and curiously correspond with them. Those eyes are of an
exceedingly light gray, rather inclining to blue, and the mind
looks out from them in what, to a superficial observer, might
seem a frank and direct way ; but a closer analyst of charac-
ter might not be so readily satisfied with a first impression,
and might fancy he detected some shade of possible insin-
cerity or power of dissimulation. The hair seems rather
scanty, and is worn close to the face ; it is gray, of that
peculiar kind which results from a mixture of very fair hairs
with perfectly white ones. We can only see a little of it,
however, on account of the cap.
Although Mrs. Ogden is hard at work in her kitchen, mak-
ing a potato-pie, and although it is not yet ten o'clock in the
morning, she is dressed in what in any other person would
be considered rather an extravagant manner, and in a man-
ner certainly incongruous with her present occupation. It is
a theory gf hers that she is so exquisitely neat in all she
does, that for her there is no danger in wearing any dress
she chooses, either in her kitchen or elsewhere ; and as she
has naturally a love for handsome clothes, and an aversion
to changing her dress in the middle of the day, she comes
downstairs at five o'clock in the morning as if she had just
dressed to receive a small dinner-party. The clothes that
she wears just now have in fact done duty at past dinner-
parties, and are quite magnificent enough for a lady at the
head of her table, cutting potato-pies instead of fabricating
them, if only they were a little less shabby, and somewhat
more in harmony with the prevailing fashion. Her dress is
a fine-flowered satin, which a punster would at once acknowl-
edge in a double sense if he saw the farinaceous scatterings
CHAP. ii. Grandmother avid Grandson. 7
which just now adorn it ; and her cap is so splendid in rib-
bons that no writer of the male sex could aspire to describe
it adequately. She wears an enormous cameo brooch, and a
long gold chain whose fancy links are interrupted or con-
nected by little glittering octagonal bars, like the bright glass
bugles in her head-dress. The pattern of her satin is occa-
sionally obscured by spots of grease, notwithstanding Mrs.
Ogden's theory that she is too neat and careful to incur any
risk of such accidents. One day her son Isaac had ventured
to call his mother's attention to these spots, and to express
an opinion that it might perhaps be as well to have two ser-
vants instead of one, and resign practical kitchen-work; or
else that, if she would be a servant herself, she ought to
dress like one, and not expose her fine things to injury ; but
Mr. Isaac Ogden received such an answer as gave him no
encouragement to renew his remonstrances on a subject so
delicate. " My dresses," said Mrs. Ogden, " are paid for out
of my own money, and I shall wear them when I like and
where I like. If ever my son is applied to to pay my bills
for me, he may try to teach me economy, but I 'm 'appy to
say that I 'm not dependent upon him either for what I eat
or for what I drink, or for any thing that I put on." The
other brother, who lived under the same roof with Mrs.
Ogden, and saw her every day, had a closer instinctive feel-
ing of what might and might not be said to her, and would
as soon have -thought of suggesting any abdication, however
temporary, of her splendors, as of suggesting to Queen Vic-
toria that she might manage without the luxuries of her
station.
When the potato-pie stood ready for the oven, with an
elegant little chimney in the middle and various ornaments
of paste upon the crust, Mrs. Ogden made another quantity
of paste, and proceeded to the confection of a roly-poly
pudding. She was proud of her roly-polies, and, indeed, of
every thing she made or did ; but her roly-polies were really
8 Wender holme. PART i.
good, for, as her pride was here more especially concerned,
she economized nothing, and was liberal in preserves. She
had friends in a warm and fertile corner of Yorkshire who
were rich in apricots, and sent every year to Milend several
large pots of the most delicious apricot preserve, and she
kept this exclusively for roly-polies, and had won thereby a
great fame and. reputation in Shay ton, where apricot-puddings
were by no means of everyday occurrence.
The judicious reader may here criticise Mrs. Ogden, or
find fault with the author, because she makes potato-pie and
a roly-poly on the same day. Was there not rather too much
paste for one dinner, baked paste that roofed over the
savory contents of the pie-dish, and boiled paste that en-
closed in its ample folds the golden lusciousness of those
Yorkshire apricots ? Some reflection of this kind may arise
in the mind of Jacob Ogden when he comes back from the
mill to his dinner. He may possibly think that for to-day
the pie might have been advantageously replaced by a beef-
steak, but he is too wise not to keep all such reflections
within his own breast. No such doubts or perplexities will
ever disturb his mother, simply because she is convinced that
no man can eat too much of her pastry. Other people's
pastry one might easily get too much of, but that is different.
And there is a special reason for the pudding to-day.
Little Jacob is expected at dinner-time, and little Jacob loves
pudding, especially apricot roly-poly. His grandmother, not
a very affectionate woman by nature, is, nevertheless, dot-
ingly fond of the lad, and always makes a little feast to
welcome him and celebrate his coming. On ordinary days
they never have any dessert at Milend, but, as soon as dinner
is over, Uncle Jacob hastily jumps up and goes to the
cupboard where the decanters are kept, pours himself two
glasses of port, and swallows them one after the other,
standing, after which he is off again to the mill. When little
Jacob comes, what a difference 1 There is a splendid dessert
CHAP. II. Grandmother and Grandson. g
of gingerbread, nuts, apples, and fruits glacts; there are
stately decanters of port and sherry, with a bottle of spark-
ling elder-flower wine in the middle, and champagne-glasses
to drink it from. There is plenty of real champagne in the
cellars, but this home-made vintage is considered better for
little Jacob, who feels no other effect from it than an almost
irresistible sleepiness. He likes to see the sparkling bubbles
rise ; and, indeed, few beverages are prettier or pleasanter to
the taste than Mrs. Ogden's elder-flower wine. It is as clear
as crystal, and sparkles like the most brilliant wit.
But we are anticipating every thing ; we have jumped from
the very fabrication of the roly-poly to the sparkling of the
elder-flower, of that elder-flower which never sparkled at
Milend, and should not have done so in this narrative, until
the pudding had been fully disposed of. The reader may,
however, take that for granted, and feel perfectly satisfied
that little Jacob has done his duty to the pudding, as he is
now doing it to the nuts and wine. He has a fancy for
putting his kernels into the wine-glass, and fishing them out
with a spoon, and is so occupied just now, whilst grandmother
and Uncle Jacob sit patiently looking on.
" Jerry likes nuts," says little Jacob ; " I wonder if he likes
wine too."
" It would be a good thing," said Mrs. Ogden, with her
slow and distinct pronunciation, " it would be a good thing
if young men would take example by their 'orses, and drink
nothing but water."
" Nay, nay, mother," said Uncle Jacob, " you wouldn't wish
to see our lad a teetotaller."
" I see no 'arm in bein' a teetotaller, and I see a good
deal of 'arm that 's brought on with drinking spirits. I wish
the lad's father was a teetotaller. But come " (to little Ja-
cob), " you '11 'ave another glass of elder-flower. Well, willn't
ye now ? Then 'ave a glass of port ; it '11 do you no 'arm."
Mrs. Ogden's admiration for teetotalism was entirely theo-
to Wender holme. PART i.
retical. She approved of it in the abstract and in the dis-
tance, but she could not endure to sit at table with a man
who did not take his glass like the rest; the nonconformity
to custom irritated her. There was a curate at Shayton who
thought it his duty to be a teetotaller in order to give weight
to his arguments against the evil habit of the place, and the
curate dined occasionally at Milend without relaxing from
the rigidity of his rule. Mrs. Ogden was always put out by
his empty wine-glass and the pure water in his tumbler, and
she let him have no peace ; so that for some time past he
had declined her invitations, and only dropped in to tea,
taking care to escape before spirits and glasses were brought
forth from the cupboard, where they lay in wait for him. The
reader need therefore be under no apprehensions that little
Jacob was likely to be educated in the chilly principles of
teetotalism ; or at least he may rest assured that, however
much its principles might be extolled in his presence, the
practice of it would neither be enforced nor even tolerated.
" I say, I wish my son Isaac was a teetotaller. I hear tell
of his coming to Shayton time after time without ever so much
as looking, at Milend. Wasn't your father in the town on
Tuesday ? I know he was, I was told so by those that saw
him ; and if he was in the town, what was to hinder him from
coming to Milend to his tea ? Did he come down by himself,
or did you come with him, Jacob ? "
" I came with him, grandmother."
" Well, and why didn't you come here, my lad ? You
know you 're always welcome."
" Father had his tea at the Red Lion. Well, it wasn't
exactly tea, for he drank ale to it ; but I had tea with him,
and we 'd a lobster.":
" I wish he wouldn't do so."
" Why, mother," said Uncle Jacob, " I see no great 'arm in
drinking a pint of ale and eating a lobster; and if he didn't
come to Milend, most likely he 'd somebody to see ; very
CHAP. ii. Grandmother and Grandson. 1 1
likely one of x his tenants belonging to that row of cottages
he bought. I wish he hadn't bought 'em ; he '11 have more
bother with 'em than they 're worth."
" But what did he do keeping a young boy like little Jacob
at the Red Lion ? Why couldn't he send him here ? The lad
knows the way, I reckon." Then to her grandson, " What
time was it when you both went home to Twistle Farm ? "
" We didn't go home together, grandmother. Father was
in the parlor at the Red Lion, and left me behind the bar,
where we had had our tea, till about eight o'clock, when he
sent a message that I was to go home by myself. So I
went home on Jerry, and father stopped all night at the Red
Lion."
" Why, it was after dark, child ! and there was no moon ! "
" I 'm not afraid of being out in the dark, grandmother ; I
don't believe in ghosts."
"What, hasn't th' child sense enough to be frightened in
the dark? If he doesn't believe in ghosts at his age, it's a
bad sign ; but he 's got a father that believes in nothing at
all, for he never goes to church; and there 's that- horrid Dr.
Bardly "
" He isn't horrid, grandmother," replied little Jacob, with
much spirit ; "he's very jolly, and gives me things, and I love
him ; he gave me a silver horn."
Now Dr. Bardly's reputation for orthodoxy in Shayton was
greatly inferior to his renown as a medical practitioner ; but
as the inhabitants had both Mr. Prigley and his curate, as well
as several Dissenting ministers, to watch over the interests
of their souls, they had no objection to allow Mr. Bardly to
keep their stomachs in order ; at least so far as was com-
patible with the freest indulgence in good living. His bad
name for heterodoxy had been made worse by his favorite
studies. He was an anatomist, and therefore was supposed
to believe in brains rather than souls ; and a geologist, there-
fore he assigned an unscriptural antiquity to the earth.
12 Wenderholme. PART L
" I 'm sure it 's that Dr. Bardly," said Mrs. Ogden, " that 's
ruined our Isaac."
"Why, mother, Bardly 's one o'th' soberest men in Shayton ;
and being a dqctor beside, he isn't likely to encourage Isaac
i' bad 'abits."
" I wish Isaac weren't so fond on him. He sets more store
by Dr. Bardly, and by all that he says, than by any one else
in the place. He likes him better than Mr. Prigley. I Ve
heard him say so, sittin' at this very table. I wish he liked
Mr. Prigley better, and would visit with him a little. He 'd get
nothing but good at the parsonage ; whereas they tell me
and no doubt it 's true that there's many a bad book in
Dr. Bardly's library. I think I shall ask Mr. Prigley just to
set ceremony on one side, and go and call upon Isaac up at
Twistle Farm ; no doubt he would be kind enough to do so."
" It would be of no use, mother, except to Prigley's appe-
tite, that might be a bit sharpened with a walk up to Twistle ;
but supposin' he got there, and found Isaac at 'ome, Isaac
*ud be as civil as civil, and he 'd ax Prigley to stop his
dinner; and Prigley 'ud no more dare to open his mouth
about Isaac's goin's on than our sarvint lass 'ud ventur to
tell you as you put too mich salt i' a potato-pie. It 's poor
folk as parsons talks to ; they willn't talk to a chap wi' ten
thousand pound till he axes 'em, except in a general way in
a pulpit."
"Well, Jacob, if Mr. Prigley were only just to go and
renew his acquaintance with our Isaac, it would be so much
gained, and it might lead to his amendment."
" Mother, I don't think he needs so much amendment.
Isaac's right enough. I believe he's always sober up at
Twistle ; isn't he, little 'un ? "
Little Jacob, thus appealed to, assented, but in rather a
doubtful and reserved manner, as if something remained
behind which he had not courage to say. His grandmother
observed this.
CHAP. ii. Grandmother and Grandson. 1 3
" Now, my lad, tell me the whole truth. It can do your
father no 'arm nothing but good to let us know all about
what he does. Your father is my son, and I Ve a right to
know all about him. I 'm very anxious, and 'ave been, ever
since I knew that he was goin' again to the Red Lion. I
'oped he 'd given that up altogether. You must tell me
I insist upon it."
Little Jacob said nothing, but began to cry.
" Nay, nay, lad," said his uncle, " a great felly like thee
should never skrike. Thy grandmother means nout. Mother,
you 're a bit hard upon th' lad ; it isn't fair to force a child
to be witness again' its own father." With this Uncle Jacob
rose and left the room, for it was time for him to go to the
mill ; and then Mrs. Ogden rose from her chair, and with the
stiff stately walk that was habitual to her, and that she never
could lay aside even under strong emotion, approached her
grandson, and, bending over him, gave him one kiss on the
forehead. This kiss, be it observed, was a very exceptional
event. Jacob always kissed his grandmother when he came
to Milend; but she was invariably passive, though it was
plain that the ceremony was agreeable to her, from a certain
softness that spread over her features, and which differed
from their habitual expression. So when Jacob felt the old
lady's lips upon his forehead, a thrill of tenderness ran
through his little heart, and he sobbed harder than ever.
Mrs. Ogden drew a chair close to his, and, putting her
hand on his brow so as to turn his face a little upwards that
she might look well into it, said, " Come now, little un, tell
granny all about it."
What the kiss had begun, the word "granny" fully accom-
plished. Little Jacob dried his eyes and resolved to tell his
sorrows.
" Grandmother," he said, " father is so so "
" So what, my lad ? "
" Well, he beats me, grandmother 1 "
14 Wender holme. PART I.
Now Mrs. Ogden, though she loved Jacob as strongly as
her nature permitted, by no means wished to see him entirely
exempt from corporal punishment. She knew, on the au-
thority of Scripture, that it was good for children to be
beaten, that the rod was a salutary thing ; and she at once
concluded that little Jacob had been punished for some fault
which in her own code would have deserved such punishment,
and would have drawn it down upon her own sons when they
were of his age. So she was neither astonished nor indignant,
and asked, merely by way of continuing the conversation,
" And when did he beat thee, child ? "
If Jacob had been an artful advocate of his own cause,
he would have cited one of those instances 'unhappily too
numerous during the last few months, when he had been
severely punished on the slightest possible pretexts, or even
without any pretext whatever; but as recent events occupy
the largest space in our recollection, and as all troubles
diminish by a sort of perspective according to the length of
time that has happened since their occurrence, Jacob, of
course, instanced a beating that he had received that very
morning, and of which certain portions of his bodily frame,
by their uncommon stiffness and soreness, still kept up the
most lively remembrance.
" He beat me this morning, grandmother."
"And what for?"
" Because I spilt some ink on my new trowsers that I 'd put
on to come to Milend."
" Well, then, my lad, all I can say is that you deserved it,
and should take better care. Do you think that your father
is to buy good trowsers for you to spill ink upon them the
very first time you put them on ? You '11 soon come to ruin
at that rate. Little boys should learn to take care of their
things ; your Uncle Jacob was as kerfle * as possible of his
things ; indeed he was the kerflest boy I ever saw in all my
* Careful.
CHAP. ii. Grandmother and Grandson. 1 5
life, and I wish you could take after him. It 's a very great
thing is kerfleness. There 's people as thinks that when
they Ve worn * their money upon a thing, it 's no use lookin'
after it, and mindin' it, because the money 's all worn and
gone, and so they pay no heed to their things when once
they 've got them. And what 's the consequence ? They find
that they have to be renewed, that new ones must be bought
when the old ones ought to have been quite good yet ; and
so they spend and spend, when they might spare and have
every thing just as decent, if they could only learn a little
kerfleness."
After this lecture, Mrs. Ogden slowly rose from her seat
and proceeded to put the decanters into a triangular cupboard
that occupied a corner of the room. In due course of time
the apples, the gingerbread, and the nuts alike disappeared
in its capacious recesses, and were hidden from little Jacob's
eyes by folding-doors of dark mahogany, polished till they
resembled mirrors, and reflected the window with its glimpse
of dull gray sky. After this Mrs. Ogden went into the
kitchen to look after some household affairs, and her grand-
son went to the stable to see Jerry, and to make the acquaint-
ice of some puppies which had recently come into the world,
but were as yet too blind to have formed any opinion of its
beauties.
* Spent.
1 6 Wenderholme. PART i
CHAPTER III.
AT THE PARSONAGE.
MRS. OGDEN'S desire to bring about a renewal of the
acquaintance between her son Isaac and Mr. Prigley
was not an unwise one, even if considered independently of
his religious '.interests. Mr. Prigley, though by no means a
man of first-rate culture or capacity, was still the only gentle-
man in Shayton, the only man in the place who resolutely
kept himself up to the standard of the outer world, and
refused to adopt the local dialect and manners. No doubt
the Doctor was in a certain special sense a gentleman, and
much more than a gentleman, he was a man of high attain-
ment, and had an excellent heart. But, so far from desiring
to rise above the outward ideal of the locality, he took
a perverse pleasure in remaining a little below it. His
language was a shade more provincial than that of the
neighboring manufacturers, and his manners somewhat more
rugged and abrupt than theirs. Perhaps he secretly enjoyed
the contrast between the commonplace exterior which he
affected, and the elaborate intellectual culture which he knew
himself to possess. He resembled the house he lived in,
which was, as to its exterior, so perfectly commonplace that
every one would pass it without notice, yet which contained
greater intellectual riches, and more abundant material for
reflection, than all the other houses in Shayton put together.
Therefore, if I say that Mr. Prigley was the only gentleman
in the place, I mean externally, in language and manner.
The living of Shayton was a very meagre one, and Mr.
CHAP. in. At the Parsonage. 17
Prigley had great difficulty in keeping himself above water ;
but there is more satisfaction in struggling with the difficul-
ties of open and avowed poverty than in maintaining deceitful
appearances, and Mr. Prigley had long since ceased to think
about appearances at all. It had happened some time ago
that the carpets showed grievoifc signs of wear, and in fact
were so full of holes as to be positively dangerous. They had
been patched and mended over and over again, and an in-
genious seamstress employed by Mrs. Prigley, and much
valued by her, had darned them with variously colored wools
in continuation of the original patterns, so that (unless on
close inspection) the repairs were not very evident. Now,
however, both Mrs. Prigley and the seamstress, notwithstand-
ing all their ingenuity and skill, had reluctantly come to the
conclusion that to repair the carpets in their present advanced
stage of decay it would be necessary to darn nothing less than
the whole area of them, and Mrs. Prigley declared that she would
rather manufacture new ones with her knitting-needles. But
if buying carpets was out of the question, so it was not less out
of the question for Mrs. Prigley to fabricate objects of luxury,
since her whole time was taken up by matters of pressing
necessity ; indeed, the poor lady could only just keep up with
the ceaseless accumulations of things that wanted mending ;
and whenever she was unwell for a day or two, and unable to
work, there rose such a heap of them as made her very heart
sink. In this perplexity about the carpets, nature was left to
take her course, and the carpets were abandoned to their fate,
but still left upon the floors ; for how were they ever to be re-
placed ? By a most unfortunate coincidence, Mr. Prigley dis-
covered about the same time that his shirts, though apparently
very sound and handsome shirts indeed, had become deplor-
ably weak in the tissue ; for if, in dressing himself in a hurry,
his hand did not just happen to hit the orifice of the sleeve,
it passed through the fabric of the shirt itself, and that with
so little difficulty that he was scarcely aware of any impedi-
3
1 8 Wenderholme. PART i.
ment ; whilst if once the hem were severed, the immediate
consequence was a rent more than a foot long. Poor Mrs.
Prigley had mended these patiently for a while ; but one
day, after marvelling how it happened that her husband
had become so violent in his treatment of his linen, she tried
the strength of it herself, and, to use her own expressive
phrase, "it came in two like a sheet of wet paper." It was
characteristic of the Prigleys that they determined to renew
the linen at once, and to abandon carpets for ever.
Shayton is not in France, and to do without carpets in
Shayton amounts to a confession of what, in the middle class,
is looked upon as a pitiable destitution. Mr. Prigley did not
care much about this ; but his wife was more sensitive to
public opinion, and, long after that heroic resolution had been
taken, hesitated to put it in execution. Day after day the
ragged remnants remained upon the floor, and still did Mrs.
Prigley procrastinate.
Whilst things were in this condition at the parsonage, the
conversation took place at Milend which we have narrated in
the preceding chapter ; and as soon as Mrs. Ogden had seen
things straight in the kitchen, she "bethought her," as she
would have herself expressed it, that it might be a step to-
wards intercourse between Isaac Ogden and the clergyman
if she could make little Jacob take a fancy to the parsonage.
There was a little boy there nearly his own age, and as Jacob
was far too much isolated, the acquaintance would be equally
desirable for him. The idea was by no means new to her ;
indeed, she had long been anxious to find suitable playmates
for her grandson, a matter of which Isaac did not sufficiently
perceive the importance ; and she had often intended to take
steps in this direction, but had been constantly deterred by
the feelings of dislike to Mr. Prigley, which both her sons did
not hesitate to express. What had Mr. Prigley done to them
that they should never be able to speak of him without a
shade of very perceptible aversion or contempt ? They had
CHAP. in. At the Parsonage. 19
no definite accusation to make against him ; they did not
attempt to justify their antipathy, but the antipathy did npt
disguise itself. In an agricultural district the relations between
the parson and the squire are often cordial ; in a manu-
facturing district the relations between the parson and
the mill-owners are usually less intimate, and have more the
character of accidental neighborship than of natural alliance.
The intercourse between Milend and the parsonage had
been so infrequent that Mrs. Prigley was quite astonished
when Betty, the maid-of-all-work, announced Mrs. Ogden as
she pushed open the door of the sitting-room. But she was
much more astonished when Mrs. Ogden, instead of quietly
advancing in her somewhat stiff and formal manner, fell for-
ward on the floor with outstretched arms and a shriek. Mrs.
Prigley shrieked too, little Jacob tried manfully to lift up his
grandmother, and poor Betty, not knowing. what to say under
circumstances so unexpected, but vaguely feeling that she
was likely to incur blame, and might possibly (though in some
manner not yet clear to her) deserve it, begged Mrs. Ogden's
pardon. Mr. Prigley was busy writing a sermon in his study,
and being suddenly interrupted in the midst of what seemed
to him an uncommonly eloquent passage on the spread of
infidelity, rushed to the scene of the accident in a state of
great mental confusion, which for some seconds prevented
him from recognizing Mrs. Ogden, or Mrs. Ogden's bonnet,
for the lady's face was not visible to him as he stood amazed
in the doorway. " Bless me ! " thought Mr. Prigley, " here 's
a woman in a fit ! " " And then came a dim and somewhat
unchristian feeling that women liable to fits need not just
come and have them in the parlor at the parsonage. "It's
Mrs. Ogden, love," said Mrs. Prigley ; " and, oh dear, I am so
sorry ! "
By the united efforts of the parson and his wife, joined to
those of Betty and little Jacob, Mrs. Ogden was placed upon
the sofa, and Mr. Prigley went to fetch some brandy from the
2O Wenderholme* PART I,
dining-room. On his way to the door, the cause of the acci-
dent became apparent to him in the shape of a yawning rent
in the carpet, which was dragged up in great folds and
creases several inches high. He had no lime to do justice to
the subject now, and so refrained from making any obser-
vation ; but he fully resolved that, whether Mrs. Prigley liked
it or not, all ragged old carpets should disappear from the
parsonage as soon as Mrs. Ogden could be got out of it.
When Mrs. Prigley saw the hole in her turn, she was over-
whelmed with a sense of culpability, and felt herself to be
little better than a murderess.
" Betty, run and fetch Dr. Bardly as fast as ever you can."
" Please let me go," said little Jacob ; " I can run faster
than she can."
The parson had a professional disapproval of Dr. Bardly
because he would not come to church, and especially, per-
haps, because on the very rare occasions when he did present
himself there, he always contrived to be called out in time to
escape the sermon ; but he enjoyed the Doctor's company
more than he would have been willing to confess, and had
warmly seconded Mrs. Prigley's proposal that, since Mrs.
Ogden, in consequence of her accident, was supposed to need
the restoration of " tea and something to it," the Doctor
should stay tea also. The arrival of Isaac and Jacob . gave
a new turn to the matter, and promised an addition to the
small tea-party already organized.
It was rather stiff and awkward just at first for Isaac and
Jacob when they found themselves actually in the parson's
house, and forced to stop there to tea out of filial attention to
their mother ; but it is wonderful how soon Mr. Prigley con-
trived to get them over these difficulties. He resolved to
take advantage of his opportunity, and warm up an acquaint-
ance that might be of eminent service in certain secret
projects of his. Shayton church was a dreary old building of
the latest and most debased Tudor architecture ; and, though
CHAP. in. At the Parsonage. 21
it sheltered the inhabitants well enough in their comfortable
old pews, it seemed to Mr. Prigley a base and degraded sort
of edifice, unfit for the celebration of public worship. He
therefore nourished schemes of reform; and when he had
nothing particular to do, especially during the singing of the
hymns, he could not help looking up at the flat ceiling and
down along the pew-partitioned floor, and thinking what might
be done with the old building, how it would look, for
instance, if those octagon pillars that supported those hateful
longitudinal beams were crowned with beautiful Gothic arches
supporting a lofty clerestory above; and how the organ,
instead of standing just over the communion-table, and pre-
venting the possibility of a creditable east window, might be
removed to the west end, to the inconvenience, it is true, of
all the richest people in the township, who held pews in a
gallery at that end of the church, but to the general advance-
ment of correct and orthodox principles. Once the organ
removed, a magnificent east window might gleam gorgeously
over the renovated altar, and Shayton church might become
worthy of its incumbent.
And now, as he saw, by unhoped-for good-luck, these three
rich Ogdens in his own parlor, it became Mr. Prigley's
earnest wish to keep them there as long as possible, and
cultivate their acquaintance, and see whether there was not
some vulnerable place in those hard practical minds of theirs.
As for the Doctor, he scarcely hoped to get any money out
of him; he had preached at him over and over again, and,
though the Doctor only laughed and took care to keep out
of the way of these sermons, it was scarcely to be expected
that he should render good for evil, money for hard lan-
guage. Nobody in Shayton precisely knew what the Doctor's
opinions were ; but when Mr. Prigley was writing his most
energetic onslaughts on the infidel, it is certain that the type
in the parson's mind had the Doctor's portly. body and plain
Socratic face.
22 Wenderholme. PART 1
Mrs. Prigley had rather hesitated about asking the man to
stay tea at the parsonage, for her husband freely expressed
his opinion of him in privacy, and when in a theological
frame of mind spoke of him with much the same aversion that
Mrs. Prigley herself felt for rats and toads and spiders. And as
she looked upon the Doctor's face, it seemed to her at fir;t
the face of the typical "bad man," in whose existence she
firmly believed. The human race, at the parsonage, was
divided into sheep and goats, and Dr. Bardly was amongst
the goats. Was he not evidently a goat? Had not nature
herself stamped his badness on his visage ! His very way of
laughing had something suspicious about it ; he seemed always
to be thinking more than he chose to express. What was he
thinking? There seemed to be something doubtful and wrong
even about his very whiskers, but Mrs. Prigley could not
define it, neither can we. On the contrary, they were re-
spectable and very commonplace gray whiskers, shaped like
mutton-chops, and no doubt they would have seemed only
natural to Mrs. Prigley, if they had been more frequently
seen in Shayton church.
It was a very pleasant-looking tea-table altogether. Mrs.
Prigley, who was a Miss Stanburne of Byfield, a branch of
the Stanburnes of Wenderholme, possessed a little ancestral
plate, a remnant, after much subdivision, of the magnificence
of her ancestors. She had a tea-pot and a coffee-pot, and a
very quaint and curious cream-jug ; she also possessed a pair
of silver candlesticks, of a later date, representing Corinthian
columns, and the candles stood in round holes in their grace-
ful acanthus-leaved capitals. Many clergymen can display
articles of contemporary manufacture bearing the most flat-
tering inscriptions, but Mr. Prigley had never received any
testimonials, and, so long as he remained in Shayton, was not
in the least likely to enrich his table with silver of that kind.
Mrs. Prigley, whilst apparently listening with respectful at-
tention to Mrs. Ogden's account of a sick cow of hers (in
CHAP. in. At the Parsonage. 23
which Mrs. Ogden seemed to consider that she herself, and
not the suffering animal, was the proper object of sympathy),
had in fact been debating in her own mind whether she
ought to display her plate on a mere chance occasion like the
present ; but the common metal tea-pot was bulged and shabby,
and the thistle in electro-plate, which had once decorated its
lid, had long since been lost by one of the children, who had
fancied it as a plaything. The two brass candlesticks were
scarcely more presentable ; indeed, one of them would no
longer stand upright, and Mrs. Prigley had neglected to have
it repaired, as one candle sufficed in ordinary times ; and
when her husband wrote at night, he used a tin bed-candle-
stick resembling a frying-pan, with a tin column, not of the
Corinthian order, sticking up in the middle of it, and awk-
wardly preventing those culinary services to which the utensil
seemed naturally destined. As these things were not pre-
sentable before company, Mrs. Prigley decided to bring forth
her silver, but in justice to her it is necessary to say that she
would have preferred something between the two, as more
fitted to the occasion. For similar reasons was displayed
a set of old china, of whose value the owner herself was
ignorant ; and so indeed would have been the present writer,
if he had not recognized Mrs Prigley's old cups and saucers
in Jacquemart's ' Histoire de la Porcelaine.'
The splendor of Mrs. Prigley's tea-table struck Mrs. Ogden
with a degree of surprise which she had not art enough to
conceal, for the manners and customs of Shayton had never
inculcated any kind of reticence as essential to the ideal of
good-breeding. The guests had scarcely taken their places
round this brilliant and festive board when Mrs. Ogden said,
" You 've got some very 'andsome silver, Mrs. Prigley. I 'd
no idea you 'd got such 'andsome silver. Those candlesticks
are taller than any we Ve got at Milend."
A slight shade of annoyance passed across the countenance
of the hostess as she answered, " It came from Wenderholme ;
24 Wenderholme. PART i.
there 's not much of it except what is on the table ; there
were six of us to divide it amongst."
" Those are the Stanburne arms on the tea-pot," said the
Doctor ; " I Ve hoftens noticed them at Wendrum 'all. They
have them all up and down. Young Stanburne 's very fond
of his coat-of-arms, but he 's a right to be proud of it, for it 's
a very old one. He 's quite a near relation of yours, isn't he,
Mrs. Prigley?"
" M) father and his grandfather were brothers, but there
was a coolness between them on account of a small estate in
Yorkshire, which each thought he 'd a right to, and they had
a lawsuit. My father lost it, and never went to Wenderholme
again ; and they never came from Wenderholme to Byfield.
When my Uncle Reginald died, my father was not even asked
to the funeral, but they sent him gloves and a hatband."
" Have you ever been at Wenderholme, Mrs. Prigley ? "
said Isaac.
"Never! I've often thought I should like to see it, just
once ; it 's said to be a beautiful place, and I should like to
see the house my poor father was born in."
" Why, it 's quite close to Shayton, a great deal nearer than
anybody would think. It isn't much more than twelve or
fourteen miles off, and my house at Twistle is within nine
miles of Wenderholme, if you go across the moor. There is
not a single building of any kind between. But it 's thirty
miles to Wenderholme by the turnpike. You have to go
through Sooty thorn."
" It 's a very nice estate," said Uncle Jacob ; and, to do him
justice, he was an excellent judge of estates, and possessed
a great fund of information concerning all the desirable
properties in the neighborhood, for he made it his business
to acquire this sort of knowledge beforehand, in case such
properties should fall into the market. So that when Uncle
Jacob said an estate was "very nice," you may be sure it
was so.
CHAP. in. At the Parsonage. 25
"There are about two thousand acres of good land at
Wendrum," he continued, " all in a ring-fence, and a very
large moor behind the house, with the b&Bt shooting any-
where in the whole country. Our moors join up to Mr.
Stanburne's, and, if the whole were put together, it would be
a grand shooting."
"That is," said Mr. Prigley, rather maliciously, "if Mr.
Stanburne were to buy your moor, I suppose. Perhaps he
might feel inclined to do so if you wished to sell."
Mrs. Ogden could not endure to hear of selling property,
even in the most remote and hypothetical manner. Her
back was generally as straight as a stone wall, but it became,
if possible, straighter and stiffer, as, with a slight toss of the
head, she spoke as follows :
"We don't use selling property, Mr. Prigley ; we're not
sellers, we are buyers."
These words were uttered slowly, deliberately, and with the
utmost distinctness, so that it was not possible for any one
present to misunderstand the lady's intention. She evidently
considered buying to be the nobler function of the two, as
implying increase, and selling to be a comparatively degrad-
ing operation, a confession of poverty and embarrassment.
This feeling was very strong, not only in Shayton, but for
many miles round it, and instances frequently occurred of
owners who clung to certain properties against their pecuniary
interest, from a dread of it being said of them that they had
sold land. There are countries where this prejudice has no
existence, and where a rich man sells land without hesitation
when he sees a more desirable investment for his money;
but in Shayton a man was married to his estate or his estates
(for in this matter polygamy was allowed) ; and though the
law, after a certain tedious and expensive process, technically
called conveyancing, permitted divorce, public opinion did not
permit it.
Mr. Prigley restored the harmony of the evening by admit-
26 Wenderholme. PART I.
ting that the people who sold land were generally the old land-
owners, and those who bought it were usually in trade,
not a very novel *or profound observation, but it soothed the
wounded pride of Mrs. Ogden, and at the same tinje flattered
a shade of jealousy of the old aristocracy which coexisted
with much genuine sympathy and respect.
" But we shouldn't say Mister Stanburne now," observed
the Doctor ; " he 's Colonel Stanburne."
" Do militia officers keep their titles when not on duty ? "
asked Mr. Isaac.
"Colonels always do," said the Doctor, "but captains
don't, in a general way, though there are some places where
it is the custom to call 'em captain all the year round. I
suppose Mr. Isaac here will be Captain Ogden some of these
days."
" I was not aware you intended to join the militia, Mr.
Isaac," said the clergyman. " I am very glad to hear it. It
will be a pleasant change for you. Since you left business,
you must often be at a loss for occupation."
" I 've had plenty to do until a year or two since in getting
Twistle Farm into order. It 's a wild place, but I Ve im-
proved it a good deal, and it amused me. I sometimes wish
it were all to be done over again. A man is never so happy
as when he 's very busy about carrying out his own plans."
"You made -a fine pond there, didn't you?" said Mr.
Prigley, who always had a hankering after this pond, and
was resolved to improve his opportunity.
" Yes, I need a small sheet of water. It is of use to me
nearly the whole year round. I swim in it in summer, I
skate on it in winter, and in the spring and autumn I can
sail about on it in a little boat, though there is not much
room for tacking, and the pond is too much in a hollow to
have any regular wind."
" Ah ! when the aquatic passion exists in any strong form,"
said Mr. Prigley, " it will have its exercise, even though on a
CHAP. in. At the Parsonage. 27
small scale. One of the great privations to me in Shayton
is that I never get any swimming."
" My pond is very much at your service," said Mr. Isaac,
politely. "J am sorry that it is so far off, but one cannot
send it down to Shayton in a cart, as one might send a
shower-bath."
Mrs. Ogden was much pleased to see her scheme realizing
itself so naturally, without any ingerence of her own, and
only regretted that it was not the height of summer, in order
that Mr. Prigley might set off for Twistle Farm the very next
morning. However enthusiastic he might be about swim-
ming, he could scarcely be expected to explore the too cool
recesses of the Twistle pond in the month of November,
at least for purposes of enjoyment; and Mrs. Ogden was
not Papist enough to encourage the good man in any thing
approaching to a mortification of the flesh.
Little Jacob had been admitted to the ceremony of tea, and
had been a model of good behavior, being " seen and not
heard," which in Shayton comprised the whole code 9f eti-
quette for youth when in the presence of its seniors and
superiors. Luckily for our young friend, he sat between the
Doctor and the hostess, who took such good care of him that
by the time the feast was over he was aware, by certain feel-
ings of tightness and distension in a particular region, that
the necessities of nature were more than satisfied, although,
like Vitellius, he had still quite appetite enough for another
equally copious repast if only he had known where to put it.
If Sancho Panza had had an equally indulgent physician at
his side, one of the best scenes in Don Quixote could never
have been written, for Dr. Bardly never hindered his little
neighbor, but, on the other hand, actually encouraged him to
do his utmost, and mentally amused himself by enumerating
the pieces of tea-cake and buttered toast, and the helpings to
crab and potted meat, and the large spoonfuls of raspberry-
jam, which our hero silently absorbed. The Doctor, perhaps,
28 Wenderholme. PART L
acted faithfully by little Jacob, for if nature had not intended
boys of his age to acomplish prodigies in eating, she would
surely never have endowed them with such vast desires ; and
little Jacob suffered no worse results from his present excesses
than the uncomfortable tightness already alluded to, which, as
his vigorous digestion operated, soon gave place to sensations
of comparative elasticity and relief.
The parson's children had not been admitted to witness
and partake of the splendor of the festival, but had had their
own tea or rather, if the truth must be told, their meal of
porridge and milk in a nursery upstairs. They had been
accustomed to tea in the evening, but of late the oatmeal-
porridge which had always been their breakfast had been
repeated at tea-time also, as the Prigleys found themselves
compelled to measures of still stricter economy. People must
be fond of oatmeal-porridge to eat it with pleasure seven hun-
dred times a-year ; and whenever a change did come, the
children at the parsonage relished it with a keenness of
gastronomic enjoyment which the most refined epicure might
envy, and which he probably never experienced. There were
five little Prigleys, and it is a curious fact that the parson's
children were the only ones in the whole parish that did not
bear Biblical names. All the other households in Shayton
sought their names in the Old Testament, and had a special
predilection for the most ancient and patriarchal ones ; but
the parson's boys were called Henry and William and Rich-
ard, and his girls Edith and Constance not one of which
names are to be found anywhere in Holy Scripture, either in
the Old Testament or the New.
CHAP. iv. Isaac Ogden becomes a Backslider. 29
CHAPTER IV.
ISAAC OGDEN BECOMES A BACKSLIDER.
ABOUT a month later in the year, when December
reigned in all its dreariness over Shayton, and the wild
moors were sprinkled with a thin scattering of snow, little
Jacob began to be very miserable.
His grandmother had gone to stay a fortnight with some
old friends of hers beyond Manchester, and his father had
declared that for the next two Sundays he should remain at
Twistle, and not "go bothering his uncle at Milend." Mr.
Prigley had walked up to the farm, and kindly offered to
receive little Jacob at the parsonage during Mrs. Ogden's
absence ; but Mr. Isaac had declined .the proposal rather
curtly, and, as Mr. Prigley thought, in a manner that did not
sufficiently acknowledge the kindness of his intention. In-
deed^ th$ clergyman had not been quite satisfied with his
reception ; for although Mr. Isaac had shown him the pond,
and given him something to eat, there had been, Mr. Prigley
thought, symptoms of secret annoyance or suppressed irrita-
tion. Little Jacob's loneliness was rendered still more com-
plete by the continued absence of his friend the Doctor, who,
in consequence of a disease then very prevalent in the neigh-
borhood, found his whole time absorbed by pressing profes-
sional duties, so that the claims of friendship, and even the
anxious interest which he took in Mr. .Isaac's moral and
physical condition, had for the time to be considered in abey-
ance. We have already observed that Mr. Jacob Ogden of
Milend never came to Twistle Farm at all, so that his absence
30 Wenderholme. PART i.
was a matter of course ; and as he was not in the habit of
writing any letters except about business, there was an entire
cessation of intercourse with Milend.
It had been a part of Mr. Isaac's plan of reformation not
to keep spirits of any kind at the farm, but he had quite
enough ale and wine to get drunk upon in case his resolution
gave way. He had received such a lecture from the Doctor
after that evening at the parsonage as had thoroughly fright-
ened him. He had been told, with the most serious air that
a doctor knows how to assume, that his nervous system was
already shattered, that his stomach was fast becoming worth-
less, and that, if he continued his present habits, his life would
terminate in eighteen months. Communications of this kind
are never agreeable, but they are especially difficult to bear
with equanimity when the object of them has lost much of
the combative and recuperative powers which belong to a
mind in health ; and the Doctor's terrible sermon produced
in Mr. Isaac not a manly strength of purpose that subdues
and surmounts evil, and passes victoriously beyond it, but an
abject terror of its consequences, and especially a nervous
dread of the Red Lion. He would enter that place no more,
he was firmly resolved upon that. He would stay quietly at
Twistle Farm and occupy himself, he would try to read,
he had often regretted that business and pleasure had together
prevented him from cultivating his mind by reading, and now
that the opportunity was come, he would seize it and make
the most of it. He would qualify himself to direct little
Jacob's studies, at least so far as English literature went. As
for Latin, the little he ever knew had been forgotten many
years ago, but he might learn enough to judge of his boy's
progress, and perhaps help him a little. He knew no modern
language, and had not even that pretension to read French
which is so common in England, and which is more injurious
to the character of the nation than perfect ignorance, whilst it
is equally unprofitable to its intellect. If Mr. Isaac were an
CHAP. iv. Isaac Ogden becomes a Backslider. 31
ignorant man, he had at least the great advantage of clearly
knowing that he was so, but it might not even yet be too late
to improve himself. Had he not perfect leisure? could he
not study six hours a day, if he were so minded ? This would
be better than destroying himself in eighteen months in the
parlor at the Red Lion.
There were not many books at Twistle, but there were
books. Mr. Isaac differed from his brother Jacob, and from
the other men in Shayton, in having long felt a hankering
after various kinds of knowledge, though he had never pos-
sessed the leisure or the resolution to acquire it. There was
a bookseller's shop in St. Ann's Square, in Manchester, which
he used to pass when he was in the cotton business on his
way from the exchange to a certain oyster-shop where it was
his custom to refresh himself; and he had been occasionally
tempted to make purchases, amongst the rest, the works of
Charles Dickens and Sir Walter Scott, and the ' Encyclopaedia
Britannica.' He had also bought Macaulay's ' History of
England,' and subscribed to a library edition of the British
poets in forty volumes, and a biographical work containing
lives of eminent Englishmen, scarcely less voluminous.
These, with several minor purchases, constituted the whole
collection, which, though not extensive, had hitherto much
more than sufficed for the moderate wants of its possessor.
He had read all the works of Dickens, having been enticed
thereto by the pleasant merriment in ' Pickwick ; ' but the
Waverley Novels had proved less attractive, and the forty
volumes of British poets reposed uncut upon the shelf which
they adorned. Even Macaulay's History, though certainly
not less readable than any novel, had not yet been honored
with a first perusal ; and, as Mr. Ogden kept his books in a
bookcase with glass doors, the copy was still technically a
new one.
He resolved now that all these books should be read, all
except perhaps the ' Encyclopaedia Britannica ; ' for Mr. Ogden
32 Wenderholme. PART i.
was not then aware of the fact, which a successful man has
recently communicated to his species, that a steady reading
of that work according to its alphabetical arrangement may
be a road to fortune, though it must be admitted to be an ar-
duous one. He would begin with Macaulay's History ; and
he did begin one evening in the parlor at Twistle Farm after
Sarah had removed the tea-things. He took down the first
volume, and began to cut the leaves ; then he read a page or
two, but, in spite of the lucid and engaging style of the his-
torian, he felt a difficulty in fixing his attention, the diffi-
culty common to all who are not accustomed to reading, and
which in Mr. Ogden's case was perhaps augmented by the
peculiar condition of his nervous system. So he read the
page over again, but could not compel his mind to follow
the ideas of the author : it would wander to matters of every-
day interest and habit, and then there came an unutterable
sense of blankness and dulness, and a craving yes, an all
but irresistible craving for the stimulus of drink. There
could be no harm in drinking a glass of wine, everybody,
even ladies, might do that, and he had always allowed him-
self wine at Twistle Farm. He would see whether there was
any in the decanters. What ! not a drop ? No port in the
port decanter, and in the sherry decanter nothing but a shal-
low stratum of liquid which would not fill a glass, and was
not worth drinking. He would go and fill both decanters
himself : there ought always to be wine ready in case any one
should come. Mr. Prigley might walk up any day, or the
Doctor might come, and he always liked a glass or two of
port.
There was a nice little cellar at Twistle Farm, for no inhab-
itant of Shayton ever neglects that when he builds himself
a new house ; and Mr. Ogden had wine in it to the value of
three hundred pounds. Some friends of his near Manches-
ter, who came to see him in the shooting season and help him
to kill his grouse, were connoisseurs in port, and he had been
CHAP. iv. Isaac Ogden becomes a Backslider. 33
careful to " lay down " a quantity of the finest he could get.
He was less delicate in the gratification of his own palate,
and contented himself with a compound of no particular
vintage, which had the advantage of being exceedingly strong,
and therefore allowed a sort of disguised dram-drinking. It
need therefore excite little surprise in the mind of the reader
to be informed that, when Mr. Isaac had drunk a few glasses
of this port of his, the nervous system began to feel more
comfortable, and at the same time tempted him to a still
warmer appreciation of the qualities of the beverage. His
mind was clearer and brighter, and he read Macaulay with a
sort of interest, which, perhaps, is as much as most authors
may hope for or expect ; that is, his mind kept up a sort
of double action, following the words of the historian, and
even grasping the meaning of his sentences, and feeling their
literary power, whilst at the same time it ran upon many
subjects of personal concern which could not be altogether
excluded or suppressed. Mr. Ogden was not very delicate
in any of his tastes ; but it seemed to him, nevertheless, that
clay tobacco-pipes consorted better with gin-and-water than
with the juice of the grape ; and he took from a cupboard
in the corner a large box of full-flavored havannas, which,
like the expensive port in the cellar, he kept for the gratifica-
tion of his friends.
Now, although the first five or six glasses had indeed done
no more than give a beneficial stimulus to Mr. Ogden's brain,
it is not to be inferred, as Mr. Ogden himself appeared to
infer, that the continuation of the process would be equally
salutary. He went on, however, reading and sipping, at the
rate of about a glass to a page, smoking at the same time
those full-flavored havannas, till after eleven at night.
Little Jacob and the servants had long since gone to bed ;
both decanters had been on the table all the evening, and
both had been in equal requisition, for Mr. Ogden had been
varying his pleasures by drinking port and sherry alternately
34 Wenderholme. PART L
At last the eloquence of Macaulay became no longer intelli-
gible, for though his sentences had no doubt been constructed
originally in a perfectly workmanlike manner, they now
seemed quite out of order, and no longer capable of holding
together. Mr. Ogden put the book down and tried to read
the Manchester paper, but the makers of articles and the
penny-a-liners did not seem to have succeeded better than
Macaulay, for their sentences were equally disjointed. The
reader rose from his chair in some discouragement and looked
at his watch, and put his slippers on, and began to think
about going to bed, but the worst of it was he felt so thirsty
that he must have something to drink. The decanters were
empty, and wine would not quench thirst ; a glass of beer
might, perhaps but how much better and more efficacious
would be a tall glass of brandy-and-soda-water ! Alas! he
had no brandy, neither had he any soda-water, at least he
thought not, but he would go down into the cellar and see.
He took a candle very deliberately, and walked down the
cellar-steps with a steady tread, never staggering or swerving
in the least. " Am I drunk ? " he thought ; " no, it is impos-
sible that I should be drunk, I walk so well and so steadily.
I 'm not afraid of walking down these stone steps, and yet if
I were to fall I might hit my forehead against their sharp
edges, sharp edges yes, they have very sharp edges ; they
are very new steps, cut by masons ; and so are these walls
new good ashlar stones ; and that arched roof that arch
is well made : there isn't a better cellar in Shayton."
There was no soda-water, but there were bottles whose
round, swollen knobs of corks were covered with silvery foil,
that glittered as Mr. Ogden's candle approached them. The
glitter caught his eye, and he pulled one of the bottles out.
It wasn't exactly soda-water, but it would fizz ; and just now
Mr. Ogden had a morbid, passionate longing for something
that would " fizz," as he expressed it in his muttered soliloquy.
So*he marched upstairs with his prize, in that stately and
CHAP. iv. Isaac Ogden becomes a Backslider. 35
deliberate manner which marks his particular stage of intoxi-
cation.
" It 's good slekk ! " * said Mr. Ogden, as he swallowed a
tumblerful of the sparkling wine, " and it can do me no harm
it 's only a lady's wine." He held it up between his eye
and the candle, and thought that really it looked very nice
and pretty. How the little bubbles kept rising and spark-
ling! how very clear and transparent it was! Then he sat
down in his large arm-chair, and thought he might as well
have another cigar. He had smoked a good many already,
perhaps it would be better not; and whilst his mind was re-
solving not to smoke another, his fingers were fumbling in
the box, and making a sort of pretence at selection. At
last, for some reason as mysterious as that which decides the
famous donkey between two equidistant haystacks, the fingers
came to a decision, and the cigar, after the point had been
duly amputated with a penknife, was inserted between the
teeth. After this the will made no further attempt at resist-
ance, and the hand poured out champagne into the tumbler,
and carried the tumbler to the lips, with, unconscious and in-
stinctive regularity.
Mr. Isaac was now drunk, but it was not yet proved to him
that he was drunk. His expedition to the cellar had been
perfectly successful ; he had walked in the most unexcep-
tionable manner, and even descended those dangerous stone
steps. He looked at his watch it was half-past twelve ;
he read the hour upon the dial, though not just at first, and
he replaced the watch in his fob. He would go to bed it
was time to go to bed ; and the force of habits acquired at the
Red Lion, where he usually went to bed drunk at midnight,
aided him in this resolution. But when he stood upon his legs
this project did not seem quite so easy of realization as it
* Slake; it is good slake it slakes thirst' well. The expression
was actually used by a carter, to whom a gentleman gave champagne in
order to ask his opinion of the beverage.
36 Wenderholme. PART I.
had done when viewed in theory from the arm-chair. " Go
to bed ! " said Mr. Isaac ; " but how are we to manage it ? "
There were two candles burning on the table. He blew
one of them out, and took the other in his hand. He took
up the volume of Macaulay, with an idea that it ought to be
put somewhere, but his mind did not successfully apply itself
to the solution of this difficulty, and he laid the book down
again with an air of slight disappointment, and a certain
sense of failure. He staggered towards the doorway, steadied
himself with an effort, and made a shot at it with triumphant
success, for he found himself now in the little entrance-hall.
The staircase was a narrow one, and closed by a door, and
the door of the cellar was next to it. Instead of taking the
door that led up to his bedroom, Mr. Ogden took that of the
cellar, descended a step or two, discovered his mistake, and,
in the attempt to turn round, fell backwards heavily down the
stone stair, and lay at last on the cold pavement, motionless,
and in total darkness.
He might have remained there all night, but there was a
sharp little Scotch terrier dog that belonged to little Jacob,
and was domiciled in a snug kennel in the kitchen. The
watchful animal had been perfectly aware that Mr. Ogden
was crossing the entrance on his way to his bedroom, but if
Feo made any reflections on the subject they were probably
confined to wonder that the master of the house should go
to bed so unusually late. When, however, the heavy thud of
Mr. Ogden's body on the staircase and the loud, sharp clatter
of the falling candlestick came simultaneously to her ears,
Feo quitted her lair at a bound, and, guided by her sure
scent, was down in the dark cellar in an instant. A less
intelligent dog than Feorach (for that was her Gaelic name
in the far Highlands where she was born) would have known
that something was wrong, and that the cold floor of the
cellar was not a suitable bed for a gentleman and no sooner
had Feorach ascertained the state of affairs than she rushed
to the upper regions.
CHAP. iv. Isaac Ogden becomes a Backslider. 37
Feorach went to the door of little Jacob's chamber, and
there set up such a barking and scratching as awoke even
him from the sound sleep of childhood. Old Sarah came
into the passage with a lighted candle, where Jim joined her,
rubbing his eyes, still heavy with interrupted sleep. " There 's
summat wrong," said old Sarah ; " I 'm feared there 's sum-
mat wrong."
" Stop you here," said Jim, " I '11 wake master : he 's gotten
loaded pistols in his room. If it's thieves, it willn't do to
feight 'em wi' talk and a tallow candle."
Jim knocked at his master's door, and, having waited in
vain a second or two for an answer, determined to open it.
There was no one in the room, and the bed had not been
slept upon.
" Hod thy din, dog," said Jim to Feorach ; and then, with
a grave, pale face, said, " It isn't thieves ; it 's summat 'at 's
happened to our master."
Now Lancashire people of the class to which Jim and
Sarah belonged never, or hardly ever, use the verb to die,
but in the place of it employ the periphrase of something
happening ; and, as he chanced to use this expression now,
the idea conveyed to Sarah's mind . was the idea of death,
and sh'e believed that Jim had seen a corpse in the room.
He perceived this, and drew her away, whispering, " He isn't
there : you stop wi' little Jacob." So the man took the
candle, and left Sarah in the dark with the child, both
trembling and wondering.
Feorach led Jim down into the cellar, and he saw the dark
inert mass at the bottom of the steps. A chill shudder
seized him as he recognized the white, inanimate face. One
of Mr. Ogden's hands lay upon the floor; Jim ventured to
touch it, and found it deadly cold. A little blood oozed from
the back of the head, and had matted the abundant brown
hair. Perhaps the hand may have been cold simply from
contact with the stone flag, but Jim did not reflect about this,
38 Wenderkolme. , PART i.
and concluded that Mr. Ogden was dead. He went hastily
back to old Sarah. " Master Jacob," he said, " you must go
to bed."
" No, I won't go to bed, Jim ! "
" My lad," said old Sarah, "just come into your room, and
I '11 light you a candle." So she lighted a candle, and then
left the child, and Jim quietly locked the door upon him.
The lock was well oiled, and Jacob did not know that he
was a prisoner,
" Now what is 't ? " said old Sarah, in a whisper. .
" Master 's deead : he 's fallen down th' cellar-steps and
killed hisself."
Old Sarah had been fully prepared for some terrible com-
munication of this kind, and did not utter a syllable. She
simply followed the man, and between them they lifted Mr.
Ogden, and carried him, not without difficulty, up the cellar-
steps. Sarah carried the head, and Jim the legs and feet,
and old Sarah's bed-gown was stained with a broad patch of
blood.
It is one of the most serious inconveniences attending a
residence in the country that on occasions of emergency it
is not possible to procure prompt medical help ; and Twistle
Farm was one of those places where this inconvenience is
felt to the uttermost. When they had got Mr. Ogden on the
bed, Jim said, " I mun go an' fetch Dr. Bardly, though I
reckon it 's o' no use ; " and he left Sarah alone with the
body.
The poor woman anticipated nothing but a dreary watch
of several hours by the side of a corpse, and went and
dressed herself, and lighted a fire in Mr. Ogden's loom.
Old Sarah was not by any means a woman of a pusillani-
mous disposition ; but it may be doubted whether, if she had
had any choice in the matter, a solitary watch of this kind
would have been exactly to her taste. However, when the
fire was burning briskly, she drew a rocking-chair up to it,
CHAP. iv. Isaac Ogden becomes a Backslider. 39
and, in order to keep up her courage through the remainder
of the night, fetched a certain physic-bottle from the kitchen,
and her heavy lead tobacco-pot, for like many old women
about Shayton she enjoyed the solace of a pipe. She did
not attempt to lay out the body, being under the impression
that the coroner might be angry with her for having done so
when the inquest came to be held.
The physic-bottle was full of rum, and Sarah made herself
a glass of grog, and lighted her pipe, and looked into the
fire. She had drawn the curtains all round Mr. Ogden's
bed ; ample curtains of pale-brown damask, with an elabo-
rate looped valance, from whose deep festoons hung multi-
tudes of little pendants of turned wood covered with flossy
silk. The movement communicated to these pendants by
the act of drawing the curtains lasted a very long time, and
Sarah was startled more than once when on looking round
from her arm-chair she saw them swinging and knocking
against each other still. As soon as the first shock of alarm
was past, the softer emotions claimed their turn, and the old
woman began to cry, repeating to herself incessantly, " And
quite yoong too, quite yoong, quite a yoong man ! "
Suddenly she was aware of a movement in the room.
Was it the little dog ? No ; Feorach had elected to stay
with his young master, and both little Jacob and his dog
were fast asleep in another room. She ventured to look at
the great awful curtained bed. The multitudinous pendants
had not ceased to swing and vibrate, and yet it was now a
long time since Sarah had touched the curtains. She wished
they would give up and be still ; but whilst she was looking
at them and thinking this, a little sharp shock ran round the
whole valance, and the pendants rattled against each other
with the low dull sound which was all that their muffling of
silk permitted; a low sound, but an audible one, audible
especially to ears in high excitement; a stronger shock, a
visible agitation, not only of the tremulous pendants, but
4<D W en dtr holme. PART I
even of the heavy curtain-folds themselves. Then they open,
and Mr. Ogden's pale face appears.
" Well, Sarah, I hope you 've made yourself comfortable,
you damned old rum-drinking thief ! D'ye think I can't
smell rum ? Give me that bottle."
Sarah was much too agitated to say or do any thing what-
ever. She had risen from her chair, and stood looking at
the bed in speechless amazement. Mr. Ogden got up, and
walked towards the fire with an unsteady pace. Then he
possessed himself of the rum-bottle, and, putting it to his lips,
began to swallow the contents. This brought Sarah to herself.
"Nay, nay, master: you said as you wouldn't drink no
sperrits at Twistle Farm upo' no 'count."
But the rum had been tasted, and the resolution broken.
It had been broken before as to the intention and meaning
of it, and was now broken even as to the letter. Isaac
Ogden had got drunk at Twistle Farm ; and now he was
drinking spirits there, not even diluting them with water.
After emptying old Sarah's bottle, which fortunately did
not contain enough to endanger, for the present, his existence,
Mr. Ogden staggered back to his bed, and fell into a drunken
sleep, which lasted until Dr. Bardly's arrival. The Doctor
found the wound at the back of the head exceedingly slight ;
there was abrasure of the skin and a swelling, but nothing
more. The blood had ceased to flow soon after the accident ;
and there would be no worse results from it than the tempo-
rary insensibility, from which the patient had already recovered.
The most serious results of what had passed were likely, for
the present, to be rather moral than physical. Dr. Barclly
greatly dreaded the moral depression which must result from
the breaking down of the only resolution which stood between
his friend and an utter abandonment to his propensity.
Twistle Farm would no longer be a refuge for him against
the demon, for the demon had been admitted, had crossed
the threshold, had taken possession.
CHAP. iv. Isaac Ogden becomes a Backslider. 41
Mr. Ogden was not in a condition to be advised, for he
was not yet sober, and, if he had been, the Doctor felt that
advice was not likely to be of any use : he had given enough
of it already. The parson might try, if he liked, but it seemed
to the Doctor that the case had now become one of those
incurable cases which yield neither to the desire of self-
preservation nor to the fear of hell; andjthat if the warnings
of science were disregarded by a man intelligent enough to ap-
preciate the certainty of the data on which they were founded,
those of religion were not likely to have better success.
42 Wenderholme. PART I.
CHAPTER V.
FATHER AND SON.
MR. OGDEN came downstairs in the middle of the day,
and ordered breakfast and dinner in one meal. He
asked especially for Sarah's small-beer, and drank two or three
large glasses of it. He did not eat much, and used an unusual
quantity of pepper. He was extremely taciturn, contrarily to
his ordinary habit, for he commonly talked very freely with
old Sarah whilst she served him. When his repast was fin-
ished, he expressed a wish to see little Jacob.
" Good morning, papa ! I hope you are better. Sarah
says you were poorly last night when Feorach barked so."
" Oh, she says I was poorly, does she ? Then she lies : I
wasn't poorly, I was drunk. I want you to read to me."
" Must I read in that book Mr. Prigley gave me when he
came ? "
" Read what you please."
So little Jacob opened for the first time a certain volume
which will be recognized by every reader when he begins :
" ' The way was long, the wind was cold,
The minstrel was infirm and old.' "
" That would be difficult," said Mr. Ogden.
"What, papa?"
"I say, it would be difficult."
Little Jacob felt rather frightened. He did not understand
in what the supposed difficulty consisted, and yet felt that he
was expected to understand it. He did not dare to ask a
second time for enlightenment on the point, so he stood quite
CHAP. v. Father and Son.
43
still and said nothing. His father waited a minute in perfect
silence, and then burst out,
"Why, you little confounded blockhead, I mean that it
would be difficult for a man to be infirm and bold at the same
time ! Infirm people are timid, commonly."
''Please, papa, it doesn't say infirm and bold it says
infirm and old see, papa ; " and little Jacob pointed with
his finger to the place.
" Then you read damned badly, for you read it ' bold,' and
it 's ' old.' I expect you to read better than that you read
badly, damned badly."
" Please, papa, I read it * old ' the first time, and not
'bold.'"
" Then you mean to say I cannot trust my own ears, you
little impertinent monkey. I say you read it ' bold,' and I
heard you."
An elder person would have perceived that Mr. Ogden was
ill, and humored him ; and a child of a more yielding dispo-
sition would have submitted to the injustice, and acquiesced.
But little Jacob had an instinctive hatred of injustice, and his
whole nature rose in revolt. He had also made up his mind
never to tell lies less perhaps from principle than from a
feeling that it was cowardly. The present was an occasion
which roused these feelings in all their energy. He was re-
quired to utter a falsehood, and submit to an injustice.
" No, papa, I said ' old.' I didn't say * bold ' at all. It
was you that heard wrong."
Mr. Ogden became white with anger. " Oh, / was mis-
taken, was I ? Do you mean to say that I am deaf ? "
" No, papa."
" Well, then, if I 'm not deaf I have been lying. I am a
liar, am I ? "
The state of extreme nervous depression, in combination
with irritability, under which Mr. Ogden's system was labor-
ing that day, made him a dangerous man to contradict, and
44 Wenderholme. PART i.
not by any means a pleasant antagonist in argument. But he
was not altogether lost ; he still kept some control over him-
self, in proof of which may be mentioned the fact that he
simply dismissed little Jacob without even a box on the ear.
" He deserves a good thrashing," said Mr. Ogden ; " but if
I were to begin with him I should nearly kill him, the little
impudent scoundrel ! "
The Afternoon was exceedingly dull and disagreeable to
Mr. Ogden. He walked out into his fields and round the
pond. He had made a small footpath for his walks, which,
after leaving the front-door first, went all round the pond,
and then up to the rocks that overlooked the little valley, and
from which he enjoyed a very extensive view. There were
several springs in the little hollow, but before Mr. Ogden's
settlement they had contented themselves with creating those
patches of that emerald grass, set in dark heather, which are
so preciously beautiful in the scenery of the moors. At each
of these springs Mr. Ogden had made a circular stone-basin,
with a water-duct to his pond, and it was his fancy to visit
these basins rather frequently to see that they were kept clean
and in order. He did so this afternoon, from habit, and by
the time he had finished his round it was nearly dark.
He was intensely miserable. Twistle Farm had been sweet
and dear to him because he had jealously guarded the purity
of the associations that belonged to it. Neither in the house
nor in the little undulating fields that he had made was there
a single object to remind him of his weakness and his sin,
and therefore the place had been a refuge and a sanctuary.
It could never again be for him what it had been ; this last
lamentable failure had broken down the moral defences of
his home, and invaded it and contaminated it for ever. What-
ever the future might bring, the event of the past night was
irrevocable; he had besotted himself with drink; he had
brought the mire of the outer world into his pure dwelling,
and defiled it. Isaac Ogden felt this the more painfully that
CHAP. v. Father and Son. 45
he had little of the support of religion, and few of the con-
solations and encouragements of philosophy. A religious
mind would have acknowledged its weakness and repented
of its sin, yet in the depths of its humiliation hoped still for
strength from above, and looked and prayed for ultimate-
deliverance and peace. A philosophic mind would have re-
flected that moral effort is not to be abandoned for a single
relapse, or even for many relapses, and would have addressed
itself only the more earnestly to the task of self-reformation
that the need for effort had made itself so strikingly apparent.
But Mr. Ogden had neither the faith which throws itself on
the support of Heaven, nor the faculty of judging of his own
actions with the impartiality of the independent intellect.
He was simply a man of the world, so far as such a place as
Shayton could develop a man of the world, and had neither
religious faith' nor intellectual culture. Therefore his misery
was the greater for the density of the darkness in which he
had stumbled and fallen. What he needed was light of some
sort ; either the beautiful old lamp of faith, with its wealth of
elaborate imagery, or the plainer but still bright and service-
able gas-light of modern thought and science. Mr. Prigley
possessed the one, and the Doctor gave his best labor to
the maintenance of the other ; but Mr. Ogden was unfortu-
nate in not being able to profit by the help which either of
these friends would have so willingly afforded.
No one except Dr. Bardly had suspected the deplorable
fact that Mr. Ogden was no longer in a state of mental sanity.
The little incident just narrated, in which he had mistaken
one word for another, and insisted, with irritation, that the
error did not lie with him, had been a common one during
the last few weeks, whenever little Jacob read to him. If
our little friend had communicated his sorrows to the Doctor,
this fact would have been a very valuable one as evidence of
his father's condition ; but he never mentioned it to any one
except his grandmother and old Sarah, who both inferred that
46 Wenderholme. PART i.
the child had read inaccurately, and saw no reason to suspect
the justice of Mr. Ogden's criticism. The truth was, that by
a confusion very common in certain forms of brain-disease, a
sound often suggested to Mr. Ogden some other sound re-
sembling it, or of which it formed a part, and the mere sug-
gestion became to him quite as much a fact as if he had
heard it with his bodily ears. Thus, as we have seen, the
word " old " had suggested " bold ; " and when, as in that
instance, the imagined word did not fit in very naturally with
the sense of the passage, Mr. Ogden attributed the fault to
little Jacob's supposed inaccuracy in reading. Indeed he
had now a settled conviction that his son was unpardonably
careless, and no sooner did the child open his book to read,
than his father became morbidly expectant of some absurd
mistake, which, of course, never failed to arrive, and to give
occasion for the bitterest reproaches.
On his return to the house Mr. Ogden desired his son's
attendance, and requested him to resume his reading. Little
Jacob took up his book again, and this time, as it happened,
Mr. Ogden heard the second line correctly, and expressed his
satisfaction. But in the very next couplet
" His withered cheek and tresses gray
Seemed to have known a better day "
Mr. Ogden found means to imagine another error. " It
seems to me curious," said he, " that Scott should have de-
scribed the minstrel as having a ' withered cheek and tresses
gay ; ' there could be little gayety about him, I should imagine."
" Please, papa, it isn't gay, but gray."
" Then why the devil do you read so incorrectly ? I have
always to be scolding you for making these absurd mistakes ! "
If little Jacob had had an older head on his shoulders he
would have acquiesced, and tried to get done with the read-
ing as scon as possible, so as to make his escape. But it was
repugnant to him to admit that he had made a blunder of
which he was innocent, and he answered,
CHAP. v. Father and Son.
47
" But, papa, I read it right I said gray ; I didn't say gay."
Mr. Ogden made a violent effort to control himself, and
said, with the sort of calm that comes of the intensest emo-
tion,
" Then you mean to say I am deaf."
Little Jacob had really been thinking that his father might
be deaf, and admitted as much.
" Fetch me my riding- whip."
Little Jacob brought the whip, expecting an immediate ap-
plication of it, but Mr. Ogden, still keeping a strong control
over himself, merely took the whip in his hands, and began
to play with it, and look at its silver top, which he rubbed a
.little with his pocket-handkerchief. Then he took a candle
in his right hand, and brought the flame quite close to the
silver ornament, examining it with singular minuteness, so as
apparently to have entirely ceased to pay attention to his
son's reading, or even to hear the sound of his voice.
" Is this my whip ? "
" Yes, papa."
" Well, then, I am either blind or I have lost my memory.
My whip was precisely like this, except for one thing my
initials were engraved upon it, and I can see no initials here."
Little Jacob began to feel very nervous. A month before
the present crisis he had taken his- father's whip to ride with,
and lost it on the moor, after dark, where he and Jim Jiad
sought for it long and vainly. Little Jacob had since con-
sulted a certain saddler in Shayton, a friend of his, as to the
possibility of procuring a whip of the same pattern as the
lost one, and it had fortunately happened that this saddler
had received two precisely alike, of which Mr. Isaac Ogden
had bought one, whilst the other remained unsold. There
was thus no difficulty in replacing the whip so as to deceive
Mr. Ogden into the belief that it had never been lost, or
rather so as to prevent any thought or suspicion from pre-
senting itself to his mind. When the master of a house has
48 Wender holme. PART i.
given proofs of a tyrannical disposition, or of an uncontrol-
lable and unreasonable temper, a system of concealment
naturally becomes habitual in his household, and the most
innocent actions are hidden from him as if they were crimes.
Some trifling incident reveals to him how sedulously he is
kept in ignorance of the little occurrences which make up the
existence of his dependants, and then he is vexed to find him-
self isolated and cut off from their confidence and sympathy.
Mr. Ogden continued. " This is not my whip ; it is a whip
of the same pattern, that some people have been buying to
take me in. Fetch me my own whip the one with my
initials."
Little Jacob thought the opportunity for escaping from the
room too good to be thrown away, and vanished. Mr. Ogden
waited quietly at first,' but, after ten minutes had escaped,
became impatient, and rang the bell violently. Old Sarah
presented herself.
" Send my son here."
On his reappearance, little Jacob was in that miserable
state of apprehension in which the most truthful child will lie
if it is in the least bullied or tormented, and in which indeed
it is not possible to extract pure truth from its lips without great
delicacy and tenderness.
" Have you brought my whip ? "
" Please, papa," said little Jacob, who began to get very red
in the face, as he always did when he told a downright fib
" please, papa, that 's your whip." There was a mental reser-
vation here, slightly Jesuitical ; for the boy had reflected,
during his brief absence, that since he had given that whip to
Mr. Ogden, it now, of course, might strictly be said to belong
to him.
"What has become of my whip with I. O. upon it ? "
" It 's that whip, papa ; only you you told Jim to clean
the silver top, and and perhaps he rubbed the letters off."
" You damned little lying sneaking scoundrel, this whip is
CHAP. v. Father and Son.
49
perfectly new ; but it will not be new long, for I will lay it
about you till it isn't worth twopence."
The sharp switching strokes fell fast on poor little Jacob.
Some of them caught him on the hands, and a tremendous
one came with stinging effect across his lips and cheek ; but
it was not the first time he had endured an infliction of this
sort, and he had learned the art of presenting his body so as
to shield the more sensitive or least protected places. On
former occasions Mr. Ogden's anger had always cooled after
a score or two of lashes, but this time it rose and rose with
an ever-increasing violence. Little Jacob began to find his
powers of endurance exhausted, and, with the nimble ingenu-
ity of his years, made use of different articles of furniture as
temporary barriers against his enemy. For some time he
managed to keep the table between Mr. Ogden and himself,
but his father's arm was long, and reached far, and the child
received some smarting cuts about the face and neck, so then
he tried the chairs. Mr. Ogden, who was by this time a furi-
ous madman, shivered his whip to pieces against the furniture,
and then, throwing it with a curse into the fire, looked about
him for some other means of chastisement. Now there hung
a mighty old hunting-whip in a sort of trophy with other
memorials of the chase, and he took this down in triumph.
The long knotted lash swung heavily as he poised it, and
there was a steel hammer at the end of the stick, considered
as of possible utility in replacing lost nails in the shoes of
hunters.
A great terror seized little Jacob, a terror of that utterly
hopeless and boundless and unreasoning kind that will some-
times take possession of the nervous system of a child a
terror such as the mature man does not feel even before
imminent and violent death, and which he can only conceive
or imagine by a reference to the dim reminiscences of his
infancy. The strong man standing there menacing, armed
with a whip like a flail, his eyes glaring with the new arid
4
50 Wender holme. PART i.
baleful light of madness, became transfigured in the child's
imagination to something supernatural. How tall he seemed,
how mighty, how utterly irresistible ! When a Persian trav-
els alone in some wide stony desert, and sees a column of dust
rise like smoke out of the plain and advance rapidly towards
him, and believes that out of the column one of the malignant
genii will lift his colossal height, and roll his voice of thunder,
and wield his sword of flame, all that that Persian dreads in
the utmost wildness of his credulous Oriental imagination this
child felt as a present and visible fact. The Power before
him, in the full might and height of manhood, in the fury of
madness, lashing out the great thong to right and left till
it cracked like pistol-shots with glaring eyes, and foaming
lips out of which poured curses and blasphemies was this
a paternal image, was it civilized, was it human ? The aspect
of it paralyzed the child, till a sharp intolerable pain came
with its fierce stimulus, and he leaped out from behind
his barricade and rushed towards the door.
The lad had thick fair hair in a thousand natural curls.
He felt a merciless grip in it, and his forehead was drawn vio-
lently backwards. Well for him that-he struggled and writhed !
for the steel hammer was aimed at him now, and the blows
from it crashed on the furniture as the aim was continually
missed.
The man-servant was out in the farm-buildings, and old
Sarah had been washing in an out-house. She came in first,
and heard a bitter cry. Many a time her heart had bled for
the child, and now she could endure it no longer. She
burst into the room, she seized Ogden's wrist and drove her
nails into it till the pain made him let the child go. She had
left both doors open. In an instant little Jacob was out of
the house.
Old Sarah was a strong woman, but her strength was
feebleness to Ogden's. He disengaged himself quite easily,
and at every place where his fingers touched her there was a
CHAP. v.
Father and Son.
mark on her body for days. The child heard curses follow-
ing him as he flew over the smooth grass. The farm was
bounded by a six-foot wall. The curses came nearer and
nearer ; the wall loomed black and high. " I have him now,"
cried Ogden, as he saw the lad struggling to get over the wall.
Little Jacob felt himself seized by the foot. An infinite
terror stimulated him, and he wrenched it violently. A sting
of anguish crossed his shoulders where the heavy whip-lash
fell, a shoe remained in Ogden's hand.
UNIVERSITY
52 Wender holme. PART i.
CHAPTER VI.
LITTLE JACOB IS LOST.
OGDEN flung the shoe down with an imprecation, and the
whip after it. He then climbed the wall and tried to
run, but the ground here was rough moorland, and he fell
repeatedly. He saw no trace of little Jacob. He made his
way back to the house, sullen and savage, and besmeared
with earth and mud.
"Give me a lantern, damn you," he said to old Sarah,
" and look sharp ! "
Old Sarah took down a common candle-lantern, and pur-
posely selected one with a hole in it. She also chose the
shortest of her candle-ends. Ogden did not notice these
particulars in his impatience, and went out again. Just then
Jim came in.
"Well," said old Sarah, "what d'ye think master's done?
He 's licked little Jacob while* he 's wenlyf kilt him, but t'
little un 's reight enough now. He '11 never catch him."
" What ! has little Jacob run away ? "
" Ay, that he has ; and he can run, can little Jacob ; and he
knows all th' places about. I Ve no fears on him. Master 's
gone after him wi' a lantern wi' a hoile in it, and auve a hinch
o' cannle. It 's like catchin' a bird wi' a pinch o' salt."
" Little un 's safe enough, I 'se warrant him."
" We mun just stop quite \ till th' ould un 's i' bedd, and
then we '11 go and seech little Jacob."
In a quarter of an hour Ogden came back again. His
* Till. t Almost. \ Quiet. Seek.
CHAP. vi. Little Jacob is Lost. 53
light had gone out, and he threw the lantern down on the
kitchen-floor without a word, and shut himself up in his
sitting-room.
The furniture was in great disorder. The chairs were all
overturned, the mahogany table bore deep indentations from
the blows of the hammer. Some pieces of old china that had
ornamented the chimney-piece lay scattered on the hearth.
He lifted up a chair and sat upon it. The disorder was rather
pleasing to him than otherwise ; he felt a bitter satisfaction in
the harmony between it and the state of his own mind. A
large fragment of broken china lay close to his foot. It be-
longed to a basin, which, having been broken only into three
or four pieces, was still repairable. Ogden put it under his
heel and crushed it to powder, feeling a sort of grim satisfac-
tion in making repair out of the question.
He sat in perfect inaction for about a quarter of an hour,
and then rang the bell. " Bring me hot water, and, stop
put these things in their places, will you ? "
Old Sarah restored some order in the room, removed the
broken china, and brought the hot water.
" Now, bring me a bottle of rum."
" Please, Mestur Ogden, you Ve got no rum in the house."
" No, but you have."
"Please, sir, I've got very little. I think it's nearly all
done."
" D 'ye think I want to rob you ? I '11 pay ye for 't, dama
you ! "
" Mestur Ogden, you don't use drinkin' sperrits at Twistle
Farm."
Ogden gave a violent blow on the table with his fist, and
shouted, " Bring me a bottle of rum, a bottle of rum ! D 'ye
think you 're to have all the rum in the world to yourself, you
drunken old witch ? "
There was that in his look which cowed Sarah, and she
reflected that he might be less dangerous if he were drunk.
So she brought the rum.
54 Wenderholme. PART i.
Ogden was pouring himself a great dose into a tumbler,
when a sudden hesitation possessed him, and he flung the
bottle from him into the fireplace. There was a shivering
crash, and then a vast sheet of intolerable flame. The intense
heat drove Ogden from the hearth. He seized the candle,
and went upstairs into his bedroom.
Sarah and Jim waited to see whether he would come down
again, but he remained in his room, and they heard the boards
creak as he walked from wall to wall. This continued an
hour. At last old Sarah said,
" I cannot bide no longer. Let 's go and seech th' childt ; "
and she lighted two lanterns, which, doubtless, were in better
condition, and better provided with candles, than the one she
had lent to Mr. Ogden.
They went into the stable and cowhouse (or mistle as it was
called in that country), and called in the softest and most win-
ning tones their voices knew how to assume. " Little Jacob,
little Jacob, come, my lad, come j it 's nobbut old Sarah an'
Jim. Mestur's i' bedd."
They went amongst the hay with their lanterns, in spite of
the risk of setting it on fire, but he was not there. He was
not to be found in any of the out-buildings. Suddenly an idea
struck Jim.
" If we 'd nobbut his bit of a dog, who 'd find him, sure
enough."
But Feorach had disappeared. Feorach was with her young
master.
They began to be rather alarmed, for it was very cold, and
intensely dark. The lad was certainly not on the premises.
They set off along the path that led to the rocks. They ex-
amined every nook and cranny of the huge masses of sand-
stone, and their lanterns produced the most unaccustomed
effects, bringing out the rough projections of the rock against
the unfathomable black sky, and casting enormous shadows
from one rock to another. Wherever their feet could tread
CHAP. vi. Little Jacob is Lost. 55
they went, missing nothing ; but the lad was not amongst the
rocks. It began to be clear to them that he could not even
be in a place of such shelter as that He must be out on the
open moor.
"We mun go and tell Mestur," said Jim. "If he's feared
about th' childt, he willn't be mad at him."
So they returned straight to the house, and went to Mr.
Ogden's room. He had gone to bed, but was not asleep. If
he thought about little Jacob at all, his reflections were prob-
ably not of an alarming kind.. The child would come back, of
course.
" Please, sir," said Jim, " Master Jacob isn 't come back,
and we can't find him."
" He '11 come back," said Ogden.
" Please, sir, I 'm rather feared about him," said Jim ; " it 's
nearly two hours sin' he left the house, and it 's uncommon
cold. We 've been seekin' him all up and down, old Sarah
and me, and he 's nowhere about th' premises, and he isn't
about th' rocks neither."
Mr. Ogden began to feel rather alarmed. The paroxysm
of his irritation was over by this time, and he had become
rational again ; indeed his mind was clearer, and, in a certain
sense, calmer, than it had been for two or three days. For
the last half-hour he had been suffering only from great pros-
tration, and a feeling of dulness and vacancy, which this new
anxiety effectually removed. Notwithstanding the violence of
his recent treatment of his son a violence which had fre-
quently broken out during several months, and which had
culminated in the scene described in the last chapter, when it
had reached the pitch of temporary insanity he really had
the deepest possible affection for his child, and this paternal
feeling was more powerful than he himself had ever con-
sciously known or acknowledged. When once the idea was
realized that little Jacob might be suffering physically from
the cold, and mentally from a dread of his father, which the
56 Wender holme. PART i.
events of the night only too fully justified, Mr. Ogden began
to feel the tenderest care and anxiety. " I '11 be down with
you in a moment," he said. " See that the lanterns are in
good order. Have the dogs ready to go with us they may
be of some use."
He came downstairs with a serious but quite reasonable
expression on his face. He spoke quite gently to old Sarah,
and said, with a half-smile, " You needn't give me a lantern
with a hole in it this time ; " and then he added, " I wasted all
that rum you gave me."
" It 'ud 'ave been worst wasted if you 'd swallowed it, Mestur."
" It would it would ; but we may need a little for the lad
if we find him very cold, you know. Give a little to Jim,
if you have any ; and take a railway rug, or a blanket from
my bed, to wrap him in if he should need it."
The dogs were in the kitchen now a large mastiff and a
couple of pointers. Mr. Ogden took down a little cloak that
belonged to Jacob, and made the dogs smell at it. Then he
seemed to be looking about for something else.
" Are ye seekin' something, Mr. Ogden ? "
" I want something to make a noise with, Sarah." She
fetched the little silver horn that had been the Doctor's last
present to his young friend. " That 's it," said Mr. Ogden ;
" he '11 know the sound of that when he hears it."
The little party set out towards the moor. Mr. Ogden led
it to the place where Jacob had crossed the wall ; and as Jim
was looking about with his lantern he called out, " Why,
master, here 's one of his shoes, and summat else."
The " summat else " was the great whip.
Mr. Ogden took the shoe up, and the whip. They were
within a few yards of the pond, and he went down to the
edge of it. A slight splash was heard, and he came back
without the whip. The weight of the steel hammer had sunk
it, and hidden it from his eyes for ever. He carried the little
shoe in his right hand.
CHAP. vi. Little Jacob is Lost. 57
When they had crossed the wall, Mr. Ogden bent down
and put the shoe on the ground, and called the dogs. The
pointers understood him at once, and went rapidly on the
scent, whilst the little party followed them as fast as they
could.
It led out upon the open moor. When they were nearly a
mile from the house, Mr. Ogden told Sarah to go back and
make a fire in little Jacob's room, and warm his bed. The
two men then went forward in silence.
It was bitterly cold, and the wind began to rise, whistling
over the wild moor. It was now eleven o'clock : Mr. Osrden
* o
looked at his watch. Suddenly the dogs came to a stand-
still ; they had reached the edge of a long sinuous bog with
a surface of treacherous green, and little black pools of
peat-water and mud. Mr. Ogden knew the bog perfectly, as
he knew every spot on the whole moor that he was accus-
tomed to shoot over, and he became terribly anxious. "We
must mark this spot," he said ; but neither he nor Jim carried
a stick, and there was no wood for miles round. The only
resource was to make a little cairn of stones.
When this was finished, Mr. Ogden stood looking at the
bog a few minutes, measuring its breadth with his eye. He
concluded that it was impossible for a child to leap over it
even at the narrowest place, and suggested that little Jacob
must have skirted it. But in which direction to the right
hand or the left ? The dogs gave no indication ; they were
off the scent. Mr. Ogden followed the edge of the bog to
the right, and after walking half a mile, turned the extremity
of it, and came again on the other side till he was opposite
the cairn he had made. The dogs found no fresh scent;
they were perfectly useless. " Make a noise," said Mr. Ogden
to Jim ; " make a noise with that horn."
Jim blew a loud blast. There came no answering cry.
The wind whistled over the heather, and a startled grouse
whirred past on her rapid wings.
58 Wenderholme. PART I.
An idea was forcing its way into Mr. Ogden's mind a
hateful, horrible, inadmissible idea that the foul black pit
before him might be the grave of his only son. How ascer-
tain it ? They had not the necessary implements ; and what
would be the use of digging in that flowing, and yielding,
and unfathomable black mud ? He could not endure the
place, or the intolerable supposition that it suggested, and
went wildly on, in perfect silence, with compressed lips and
beating heart, stumbling over the rough land.
Old Sarah warmed the little bed, and made a bright fire
in Jacob's room. When Ogden came back, he went there at
once, and found the old woman holding a small night-gown
to the fire. His face told her enough. His dress was covered
with snow.
"Th' dogs is 'appen mistaken," she said; "little Jacob
might be at Milend by this time."
Mr. Ogden sent Jim down to Shayton on horse-back, and
returned to the moor alone. They met again at the farm at
three o'clock in the morning. Neither of them had any news
of the child. Jim had roused the household at Milend, and
awakened everybody both at the parsonage and the Doctor's.
He had given the alarm, and he had done the same at the
scattered cottages and farm-houses between Twistle Farm
and Shayton. If Jacob were seen anywhere, news would be,
at once sent to his father. Dr. Bardly was not at home ; he
had left about noon for Sootythorn on militia business, and
expected to go on to Wenderholme with Colonel Stanburne,
where he intended to pass the night.
CHAP. vii. Isaac Ogderi s Punishment.
59
CHAPTER VII.
ISAAC OGDEN'S PUNISHMENT.
DURING what remained of the night, it is unnecessary
to add that nobody at Twistle Farm had rest. The
search was continually renewed in various directions, and
always with the same negative result. Mr. Ogden began to
lose hope, and was more and more confirmed in his supposi-
tion that his son must have perished in the bog. Jim returned
to Shayton, where he arrived about half-past four in the
morning. When the hands assembled at Ogden's mill, Mr.
Jacob told them that the factory would be closed that day,
but that he would pay them their full wages ; and he should
feel grateful to any of the men who would help him in the
search for his little nephew, who had unfortunately disap-
peared from Twistle on the preceding evening, and had not
been since heard of. He added, that a reward of a hundred
pounds would be given to any one who would bring him news
of the child. Soon after daylight, handbills were posted in
every street in Shayton offering the same reward. Mr. Jacob
returned to Milend from the factory, and prepared to set out
for Twistle.
The sun rose in clear frosty air, and the moors were cov-
ered with snow. Large groups began to arrive at the farm
about eight o'clock, and at nine the hill was dotted with
searchers in every direction. It was suggested to Mr. Ogden
by a policeman that if he had any intention of having the
pond dragged, it would be well that it should be ^one at
once, as there was already a thin coat of ice upon it, and it
60 Wenderholme. PART i,
would probably freeze during the whole of the day and fol-
lowing night, so that delay would entail great additional labor
in the breaking of the ice. An apparatus was sent up from
Shayton for this purpose. Mr. Ogden did not superintend
this operation, but sat alone in his parlor waiting to hear the re-
sult. There was a tap at the door, and the policeman entered.
"We 've found nothing in the pond, Mr. Isaac, except "
" Except what ? "
" Only this whip, sir, that must belong to you ; " and he
produced the whip with the steel hammer. " It may be an
important hindication, sir, if it could be ascertained whether
your little boy had been playin' with it yesterday evenin'.
You don't remember seein' him with it, do you, sir ? "
Mr. Ogden groaned, and covered his face with his hands.
Then his whole frame shook convulsively. Old Sarah came in.
" I was just askin' Mr. Ogden whether he knew if the little
boy had been playin' with this 'ere whip yesterday we've
found it in the pond ; and as I was just sayin', it might be a
useful hindication."
Old Sarah looked at the whip, which lay wet upon the table.
" I seed that whip yistady, but I dunnot think our little lad
played wi' it. He didn't use playin' wi' that whip. That
there whip belongs to his father, an' it 's him as makes use
on it, and non little Jacob."
Mr. Ogden removed his hands from his face, and said,
" The whip proves nothing. I threw it into the pond yester-
day myself."
The policeman looked much astonished. " It 's a fine good
whip, sir, to throw away."
*' Well, take it, then, if you admire it. I '11 make ye a pres-
ent of it."
" I Ve no use for it, sir."
" Then, I reckon," said old Sarah, " as you 'aven't got a
little lad about nine year old ; such whips as that is consith-
ered useful for thrashin' little lads about nine year old."
CHAP. vii. Isaac Ogderis Punishment. 61
Mr. Ogden could bear this no longer, and said he would go
down to the pond. When he had left the room, old Sarah
took up the whip and hung it in its old place, over the silver
spurs. The policeman lingered. Old Sarah relieved her
mind by recounting what had passed on the preceding even-
ing. " I am some and glad * as you brought him that there
whip. Th' sight of it is like pins and needles in 'is een.
You Ve punished 'im with it far worse than if you 'd laid it
ovver his shoulthers."
Mr. Ogden gave orders that every one who wanted any
thing to eat should be free-ly supplied in the kitchen. One of
old Sarah's great accomplishments was the baking of oat-
cake, and as the bread in the house was soon eaten up, old
Sarah heated her oven, and baked two or three hundred oat-
cakes. When once the mixture is prepared, and the oven
heated, a skilful performer bakes these cakes with surprising
rapidity, and old Sarah was proud of her skill. If any thing
could have relieved her anxiety about little Jacob, it would
have been this beloved occupation but not even the pleas-
ure of seeing the thin fluid mixture spread over the heated
sheet of iron, and of tossing the cake dexterously at the
proper time, could relieve the good heart of its heavy care.
Even the very occupation itself had saddening associations,
for when old Sarah pursued it, little Jacob had usually been
a highly interested spectator, though often very much in the
way. She had scolded him many a time for his " plagui-
ness ; " but, alas ! what would she have given to be plagued
by that small tormentor now !
The fall of snow had been heavy enough to fill up the
smaller inequalities of the ground, and the hills had that
aspect of exquisite smoothness and purity which would be
degraded by any comparison. Under happier circumstances,
the clear atmosphere and brilliant landscape would have been
* " Some and glad " is a common Lancashire expression, meaning
" considerably glad."
62 Wenderholme. PART i.
in the highest degree exhilarating ; but I suppose nobody at
Twistle felt that exhilaration now. On the contrary, there
seemed to be something chilling and pitiless in that cold
splendor and brightness. No one could look on the vast
sweep of silent snow without feeling that somewhere under its
equal and unrevealjng surface lay the body of a beloved child.
The grave-faced seekers ranged the moors all day, after a reg-
ular system devised by Mr. Jacob Ogden. The circle of their
search became wider and wider, like the circles from a splash
in water. In this way, before nightfall, above thirty square
miles had been thoroughly explored. At last, after a day that
seemed longer .than the longest days of summer, the sun
went down, and one by one the stars came out. The heav-
ens were full of their glittering when the scattered bands of
seekers met together again at the farm.
The fire was still kept alive in little Jacob's room. The
little night-gown still hung before it. Old Sarah changed
the hot water in the bed-warmer regularly every hour. Alas !
alas ! was there any need of these comforts now ? Do
corpses care to have their shrouds warmed, or to have hot-
water bottles at their icy feet ?
Mr. Ogden, who had controlled himself with wonderful
success so long as the sun shone, began to show unequivocal
signs of agitation after nightfall. He had headed a party on
the moor, and came back with a sinking heart. He had no
hope left. The child must certainly have died in the cold.
He went into little Jacob's bedroom and walked about alone
for a few minutes, pacing from the door to the window,
and looking out on the cold white hills, the monotony of
which was relieved only by the masses of black rock that rose
out of them here and there. The fire had burnt very briskly,
and it seemed to Mr. Ogden that the little night-gown was
rather too near. As he drew back the chair he gazed a
minute at the .bit of linen; his chest heaved with violent
emotion, and then there came a great and terrible agony. He
CHAP. vii. Isaac Ogden s Punishment. 63
sat down on the low iron bed, his strong frame shook and quiv-
ered, and with painful gasps flowed the bitter tears of his
vain repentance. He looked at the smooth little pillow, un-
touched during a whole night, and thought of the dear head
that had pressed it, and might never press it more. Where
was it resting now ? Was the frozen snow on the fair cheek
and open brow, or oh horror, still more horrible! had he
been buried alive in the black and treacherous pit, and were
the dear locks defiled with the mud of the bog, and the bright
eyes filled with its slimy darkness for ever ? Surely he had
not descended into that grave ; they had done what they
could to sound the place, and had found nothing but earth,
soft and yielding no fragment of dress had come up or
their boat-hooks. It was more endurable to imagine the
child asleep under the snow. When the thaw came they
would find him, and bring him to his own chamber, and lay
him again on his own bed, at least for one last night, till the
coffin came up from Shayton.
How good the child had been ! how brutally Ogden felt
that he had used him ! Little Jacob had been as forgiving as
a dog, and as ready to respond to the slightest mark of kind-
ness. He had been the light of the lonely house with his
innocent prattle and gayety. Ogden had frightened him into
silence lately, and driven him into the kitchen, where he had
many a time heard him laughing with old Sarah and Jim, and
been unreasonably angry with him for it. Ogden began to
see these things in a different light. " I used him so badly,"
he thought, " that it was only natural he should shun and
avoid me." And then he felt and knew how much sweet and
pure companionship he had missed. He had not half en-
joyed the blessing he had possessed. He ought to have made
himself young again for the child's sake. Would it have
done him any harm to teach little Jacob cricket, and play at
ball with him, or at nine-pins ? The boy's life had been ter-
ribly lonely, and his father had done nothing to dissipate or
64 Wenderholme. PART r.
mitigate its loneliness. And then there came a bitter sense
that he had really loved the child with an immense affection,
but that the coldness and roughness and brutality of his out-
ward behavior had hidden this affection from his son. In
this, however, Mr. Ogden had not been quite so much to
blame as in the agony of his repentance he himself believed.
His self-accusation, like all sincere and genuine self-accusa-
tion, had a touch of exaggeration in it. The wrong that he
had done was attributable quite as much to the temper of the
place he lived in as to any peculiar evil in himself as an in-
dividual man. He had spoiled his temper by drinking, but
every male in Shayton did the same ; he had been externally
hard and unsympathetic, but the inhabitants of Shayton car-
ried to an excess the English contempt for the betrayal of the
softer emotions. In all that Ogden had done, in the whole
tenor of his life and conversation, he had merely obeyed the
great human instinct of conformity. Had he lived anywhere
else had he even lived at Sootythorn he would have
been a different man. Such as he was, he was the product
of the soil, like the hard pears and sour apples that grew in
the dismal garden at Milend.
He had been sitting more than an hour on the bed, when
he heard a knock at the door. It was old Sarah, who an-
nounced the arrival of Mr. Prigley and Mrs. Ogden. Mr.
Prigley had been to fetch her from the place where she was
visiting, and endeavored to offer such comfort to her during
the journey as his heart and profession suggested. As on
their arrival at Milend there had been no news of a favor-
able or even hopeful kind, Mrs. Ogden was anxious to pro-
ceed to Twistle immediately, and Mr. Prigley had kindly
accompanied her.
The reader may have inferred from previous pages of this
history, that although Mr. Prigley may have been a blameless
and earnest divine, he was not exactly the man best fitted to
influence such a nature as that of Isaac Ogden. He had
CHAP. viz. Isaac Ogderis Punishment. 65
little understanding either of its weakness or its strength
of its weakness before certain forms of temptation, or its
strength in acknowledging unwelcome and terrible facts.
After Mrs. Ogden had simply said, " Well, Isaac, there 's no
news of him yet," the clergyman tried to put a cheerful light
on the subject by expressing the hope that the boy was safe
in some farmhouse. Mr. Ogden answered that every farm-
house within several miles had been called at, and that Twistle
Farm was the last of the farms on the moor side. It was
most unlikely, in his opinion, that the child could have re-
sisted the cold so long, especially as he had no provisions of
any kind, and was not even sufficiently clothed to go out ;
and as he had certainly not called at any house within seven
or eight miles of Twistle, Mr. Ogden could only conclude
that he must have perished on the moor, and that the thick
fall of snow was all that had prevented the discovery of his
body.
Mrs. Ogden sat down and began to cry very bitterly. The
sorrow of a person like Mrs. Ogden is at the same time quite
frank in its expression, and perfectly monotonous. Her regrets
expressed themselves adequately in three words, and the
repetition of them made her litany of grief "Poor little
lad ! " and then a great burst of weeping, and then " Poor little
lad ! " again, perpetually.
The clergyman attempted to " improve " the occasion in
the professional sense. " The Lord hath given," he said,
" and the Lord hath taken away ; " then he paused, and
added, " blessed be the name of the Lord." But this brought
no solace to Ogden's mind. " It was not the Lord that took
the lad away," he answered ; " it was his father that drove
him away."
The great agony came over him again, and he flung himself
on his breast upon the sofa and buried his face in the cush-
ions. Then his mother rose and came slowly to his side, and
knelt down by him. Precious maternal feelings, that had
5
66 Wenderholme. PART i.
been, as it were, forgotten in her heart for more than twenty
years, like jewels that are worn no more, shone forth once
more from her swimming eyes. " Isaac, lad," she said, with
a voice that sounded in his ears like a far-off recollection of
childhood, " Isaac, lad, it were none o' thee as did it, it
were drink. Thou wouldn't have hurt a hair of his head."
And she kissed him.
It was a weary night at Twistle. Nobody had any hope
lelc, but they felt bound to continue the search, and relays
of men came up from Shayton for the purpose. They were
divided into little parties of six or eight, and Mr. Jacob
directed their movements. Each group returned to the house
after exploring the ground allotted to it, and Mr. Ogden fe-
verishly awaited its arrival. The ever-recurring answer, the
sad shake of the head, the disappointed looks, sank into the
heart of the bereaved father. About two in the morning he
got a little sleep, and awoke in half an hour somewhat stronger
and calmer.
It is unnecessary to pursue the detail of these sufferings.
The days passed, but brought no news. Dr. Bardly came
back from Wenderholme, and seemed less affected than would
have been expected by those who knew his love and friend-
ship for little Jacob. He paid, however, especial attention to
Mr. Isaac, whom he invited to stay with him for a few weeks,
and who bore his sorrow with a manly fortitude. The Doctor
drank his habitual tumbler of brandy- and-water every evening
before going to bed, and the first evening, by way of hospi-
tality, had offered the same refreshment to his guest. Mr.
Ogden declined simply, and the offer was not renewed. For
the first week he smoked a great deal, and drank large quan-
tities of soda-water, but did not touch any intoxicating liquor.
He persevered in this abstinence, and declared his firm re-
solve to continue it as a visible sign of his repentance, and
of his respect to the memory of his boy. He was very gentle
and pleasant, and talked freely with the Doctor about ordi-
CHAP. vii. Isaac Ogderis Punishment. 67
nary subjects ; but, for a man whose vigor and energy had
manifested themselves in some abruptness and rudeness in
the common intercourse of life, this new gentleness was a
marked sign of sadness. When the Doctor's servant, Martha,
came in unexpectedly and found Mr. Ogden alone, she often
observed that he had shed tears ; but he seemed cheerful
when spoken to, and his grief was quiet and undemonstrative.
The search for the child was still actively pursued, and
his mysterious disappearance became a subject of absorbing
interest in the neighborhood. The local newspapers were full
of it, and there appeared a very terrible article in the ' Sooty-
thorn Gazette ' on Mr. Ogden's cruelty to his child. The
writer was an inhabitant of Shayton, who had had the mis-
fortune to have Mr. Jacob Ogden for his creditor, and had
been pursued with great rigor by .that gentleman. He got
the necessary data from the policeman who had brought the
whip back from the pond, and wrote such a description of it
as made the flesh of the Sooty thorn people creep upon their
bones, and their cheeks redden with indignation. The Doc-
tor happened to be out of the house when this newspaper
arrived, and Mr. Isaac opened it and read the article. The
facts stated in it were true and undeniable, and the victim
quailed under his punishment. If he had ventured into
Sootythorn, he would have been mobbed and pelted, or per-
haps lynched. He was scarcely safe even in Shayton ; and
when he walked from the Doctor's to Milend, the factory
operatives asked him where his whip was, and the children
pretended to be frightened, and ran out of his way. A still
worse punishment was the singular gravity of the faces that
he met a gravity that did not mean sympathy but censure.
,The * Sootythorn Gazette' demanded that he should be pun-
ished that an example should be made of him, and so on.
The writer had his wish, without the intervention of the law.
After a few weeks the mystery was decided to be insoluble,
and dismissed from the columns of the newspapers. Even
68 Wenderholme. PART L
the ingenious professional detectives admitted that they were
at fault, and could hold out no hopes of a discovery. Mr.
Ogden had with difficulty been induced to remain at the Doc-
tor's during the prosecution of these inquiries ; but Dr. Bardly
had represented to him that he ought to have a fixed address
in case news should arrive, and that he need not be wholly
inactive, but might ride considerable distances in various
directions, which indeed he did, but without result
Mrs. Ogden remained at Milend, but whether from the
strength of her nature, or some degree of insensibility, she did
not appear to suffer greatly from her bereavement, and pur-
sued her usual household avocations with her accustomed
regularity. Mr. Jacob went to his factory, and was absorbed
in the details of business. No one put on mourning, for the
child was still considered as possibly alive, and perhaps his
relations shrank from so decided an avowal of their abandon-
ment of hope. The one exception to this rule was old Sarah
at Twistle, who clad herself in a decent black dress that she
had by her. " If t' little un 's deead," she said, " it's nobbut
reight to put mysel' i' black for him ; and if he isn't I 'm so
sore in my heart ovver him 'at I 'm fit to wear nought else."
CHAP. viii. From Sooty thorn to Wenderholme. 69
CHAPTER VIII.
FROM SOOTYTHORN TO WENDERHOLME.
THE next scene of our story is in the Thorn Hotel at the
prosperous manufacturing town of Sootythorn, a place
superior to Shayton in size and civilization and selected by
the authorities as the head-quarters of Colonel Stanburne's
regiment of militia.
Dr. Bardly arrived at the Thorn the morning after Isaac
Ogden's relapse, having driven all the way from Shayton,
through scenery which would have been comparable to any
thing in England, if the valleys had not been spoiled by cot-
ton-mills, rows of ugly cottages, and dismal-looking coal-pits.
"Colonel Stanburne's expecting you, Doctor," said Mr.
Garley, the landlord of the Thorn : " he 's in the front sitting-
room."
The Colonel was sitting by himself, with the * Times ' and
a little black pipe.
" Good morning, Dr. Bardly ! you 've a nice little piece of
work before you. There are a lot of fellows here to be exam-
ined as to their physical constitution fellows, you know,
who aspire to the honor of serving in the twentieth regiment
of Royal Lancashire Militia."
" Perhaps I 'd better begin with the hofficers," said the
Doctor.
The Colonel looked alarmed, or affected to be so. " My
dear Doctor, there's not the least necessity for examining
officers it isn't customary, it isn't legal ; officers are always
perfect, both- physically and morally."
70 Wenderholme. PART i.
A theory of this kind came well enough from Colonel
Stanburne. He was six feet high, and the picture of health.
He brought forth the fruits of good living, not, as Mr. Garley
did, in a bloated and rubicund face and protuberant corpo-
ration, but in that admirable balance of the whole human
organism which proves the regular and equal performance
of all its functions. Dr. Bardly was a good judge of a man,
and he had the same pleasure in looking at the Colonel that
a fox-hunter feels in contemplating a fine horse. Beyond this,
he liked Colonel Stanburne's society, not precisely, perhaps,
for intellectual reasons for, intellectually, there was little
or nothing in common between the two men but because
he found in it a sort of mental refreshment, very pleasant to
him after the society at Shayton. The Colonel was a dif-
ferent being he lived in a different world from the world
of the Ogdens and their friends ; and it amused and inter-
ested the Doctor to see how this strange and rather admirable
creature would conduct itself under the conditions of its
present existence. The Doctor, as the reader must already
feel perfectly assured, had not the weakness of snobbishness
or parasitism in any form whatever ; and if he liked to go to
Wenderholme with the Colonel, it was not because there was
an earl's daughter there, and the sacred odor of aristocracy
about the place, but rather because he had a genuine pleasure
in the society of his friend, whether amongst the splendors of
Wenderholme, or in the parlor of the inn at Sootythorn.
The Colonel, too, on his part, liked the Doctor, though he
laughed at him, and mimicked him to Lady Helena. The
mimicry was not, however, very successful, for the Doctor's
Lancashire dialect was too perfect and too pure for any mere
ultramontane (that is, creature living beyond the hills that
guarded the Shayton valley) to imitate with any approxima
tion to success. If the Colonel, however, notwithstanding
all his study and effort, could not succeed in imitating the
Doctor's happy selection of expressions and purity of style,
CHAP. viii. From Sooty thorn to Wenderholme. 7 1
he could at any rate give him a nickname so he called
him Hoftens, not to his face, but to Lady Helena at home,
and to the adjutant, and to one or two other people who
knew him, and the nickname became popular; and, after a
while, the officers called Dr. Bardly Hoftens to his face,
which he took with perfect good-nature. The first time that
this occurred, the Doctor (such was the delicacy of his ear)
believed he detected something unusual in the way an impu-
dent ensign pronounced the word often, and asked what he
meant, on which the adjutant interposed, and said, "Don't
mind his impudence, Doctor; he 's mimicking you." "Well,"
said the Doctor, simply, " I wasn't aware that there was hany
thing peculiar in my pronunciation of the word, but people
hoftens are unaware of their own defects." But we anticipate.
They lunched at the Thorn with the adjutant, a fair-haired
and delicate-looking little gentleman of exceedingly mild and
quiet manners, whose acquaintance the Doctor had made
very recently. Captain Eureton had retired a year or two
before from the regular army, and was now living in the
neighborhood of Sootythorn with his old mother whom he
loved with his whole heart. He had never married, and now
there was little probability of his ever marrying. The people
of Sootythorn would have set him down as a milk-sop if he
had not seen a good deal of active service in India and at
the Cape ; but a soldier who has been baptized in the fire of
the battle-field has always that fact in his favor, and has
little need to give himself airs of boldness in order to impose
upon the imagination of civilians.
"I believe, Dr. Bardly," said Eureton, "that we are going
to have an officer from your neighborhood, a Mr. Ogden.
His name has been put down for a lieutenant's commission."
" Yes, he 's a neighbor of mine," answered the Doctor,
rather curtly.
"You should have brought him with you, Doctor," said
Colonel Stanburne, "that we might make his acquaintance,
72 Wenderholme. PART i.
I 've never seen him, you know, and he gets his commission
on your recommendation. I should like, as far as possible,
to know the officers personally before we meet for our first
training. What sort of a fellow is Mr. Ogden ? Tell us all
about him."
The Doctor felt slightly embarrassed, and showed it in
his manner. Any true description of Isaac Ogden, as he
was just then, must necessarily seem very unfavorable. Dr.
Bardly had been to Twistle that very morning before day-
light, and had found Mr. Ogden suffering from the effects of
that fall down the cellar-steps in a state of drunkenness.
The Doctor had that day abandoned all hope of reclaiming
Isaac Ogden, and saving him from the fate that awaited him.
" I 've nothing good to tell of Mr. Ogden, Colonel Stan-
burne. I wish I hadn't recommended him to you. He 's an
irreclaimable drunkard ! "
" Well, if you 'd known it you wouldn't have recommended
him, of course. You found it out since, I suppose. You
must try and persuade him to resign. Tell him there '11 be
some awfully hard work, especially for lieutenants."
" I knew that he drank occasionally, but I believed that it
was because he had nobody to talk to except a drunken set
at the Red Lion at Shayton. I thought that if he came into
the regiment it would do him good, by bringing him into more
society. Shayton 's a terrible place for drinking. There 's a
great difference between Shayton and Sootythorn."
" What sort of a man is he in other respects ? " asked the
Colonel.
" He 's right enough for every thing else. He 's a good-
looking fellow, tall, and well-built ; and he used to be pleas-
ant and good-tempered, but now his nervous system must be
shattered, and I would not answer for him."
"If you still think he would have sufficient control over
himself to keep sober for a month we might try him, and
see whether we cannot do him some good. Perhaps, as you
CHAP. viii. From Sooty thorn to Wender holme. 73
thought, it 's only want of society that drives him to amuse
himself by drinking. Upon my word, I think I should take
to drinking myself if I lived all the year round in such a
place as Sootythorn and I suppose Shayton 's no better."
Captain Eureton, who was simple and even abstemious in
his way of living, and whose appetite had not been sharpened,
like that of the Doctor, by a long drive in the morning, fin-
ished his lunch in about ten minutes, and excused himself
on the plea that he had an appointment with a joiner about
the onlerly-room, which had formerly been an infant-school
of some Dissenting persuasion, and therefore required re-
modelling as to its interior fittings. We shall see more of
him in due time, but for the present must leave him to the
tranquil happiness of devising desks and pigeon-holes in
company with an intelligent workman, than which few occu-
pations can be more delightful.
" Perhaps, unless you Ve something to detain you in Sooty-
thorn, Doctor, we should do well to leave here as early as
possible. It 's a long drive to Wenderholme twenty miles,
you know ; and I always make a point of giving the horses
a rest at Rigton."
As the Doctor had nothing to do in Sootythorn, the Colonel
ordered his equipage. When he drove alone, he always pre-
ferred a tandem, but when Lady Helena accompanied him,
he took his seat in a submissive matrimonial manner in the
family carriage. As Wenderholme was so far from Sooty-
thorn, the Colonel kept two pairs of horses ; and one pair
was generally at Wenderholme and the other in Mr. Garley's
stables, where the Colonel had a groom of his own perma-
nently. The only inconvenience of this arrangement was
that the same horses had to do duty in the tandem and the
carriage ; but they did it on the whole fairly well, and the
Colonel contented himself with the carriage-horses, so far as
driving was concerned.
The Doctor drove his own gig with the degree of skill
74 Wenderholme. PART i.
which results from the practice of many years ; but he had
never undertaken the government of a tandem, and felt, per-
haps, a slight shade of anxiety when John Stanburne took the
reins, and they set off at full trot through the streets of Sooty-
thorn. A manufacturing town, in that particular stage of its
development, is one of the most awkward of all possible places
to drive in the same street varies so much in breadth that
you never can tell whether there will be room enough to pass
when you get round the corner ; and there are alarming
noises of many kinds the roar of a cotton-mill in the
street itself, or the wonderfully loud hum of a foundry, or the
incessant clattering hammer-strokes of a boiler-making estab-
lishment which excite and bewilder a nervous horse, till, if
manageable at all, he is manageable only with the utmost
delicacy and care. As Colonel Stanburne seemed to have
quite enough to do to soothe and restrain his leader, the
Doctor said nothing till they got clear of the last street ; but
once out on the broad turnpike, or " Yorkshire Road," the
Colonel gave his team more freedom, and himself relaxed
from the rigid accuracy of seat he had hitherto maintained.
He then turned to the Doctor, and began to talk.
" I say, Doctor, why don't you drive a tandem ? You you
ought to drive a tandem. 'Pon my word you ought, seriously,
now."
The Doctor laughed. He didn't see the necessity or the
duty of driving a tandem, and so begged to have these points
explained to him.
" Well, because, don't you see, when you Ve only got one
horse in your dog-cart, or gig, or whatever two-wheeled vehicle
you may possess, you Ve no fun, don't you see ? "
The Doctor didn't see, or did not seem to see.
" I mean," proceeded the Colonel, explanatorily, " that you
haven't that degree of anxiety which is necessary to give a
zest to existence. Now, when you Ve a leader who is almost
perfectly free, and oyer whom you can only exercise a control
CHAP. viii. From Sooty thorn to Wenderholme. 75
of the most gentle and persuasive kind, you're always
slightly anxious, and sometimes you're very anxious. For
instance, last time we drove back from Sootythorn it was
pitch dark, wasn't it, Fyser ? "
Here Colonel Stanburne turned to his groom, who was
sitting behind ; and Fyser, as might be expected, muttered
something confirmatory of his master's statement.
" It was pitch dark ; and, by George ! the candles in the
lamps were too short to last us ; and that confounded Fyser
forgot to provide himself with fresh ones before he left Sooty-
thorn, and didn't you, Fyser ? "
Fyser confessed his negligence.
" And so, when the lamps were out, it was pitch dark ; so
dark that I couldn't tell the road from the ditch upon my
word, I couldn't ; and I couldn't see the leader a bit, I could
only feel him with the reins. So I said to Fyser, ' Get over
to the front seat, and then crouch down as low as you can, so
as to bring the horses' heads up against the sky, and tell me
if you can see them.' So Fyser crouched down as I told him ;
and when I asked him if he saw any thing, he said he did
think he saw the leader's ears. Well, damn it, then, if you
do see 'em, I said, keep your eye on 'em."
" And were you going fast ? " asked the Doctor.
" Why, of course we were. We were trotting at the rate of,
I should say, about nine miles an hour ; but after a while,
Fyser, by hard looking, began to see rather more distinctly
so distinctly that he clearly made out the difference between
the horses' heads and the hedges ; and he kept calling out
'right, sir,' 'left, sir,' 'all right, sir,' and so he kept me
straight. If he 'd been a sailor he 'd have said ' starboard '
and ' port ; ' but Fyser isn't a sailor."
" And did you get safe to Wenderholme ? "
" Of course we did. Fyser and I always get safe to Wen-
derholme."
" I shouldn't recommend you to try that experiment hoftens."
76 Wender holme. PART i.
" Well, but you see the advantage of driving tandem. If
you Ve only one horse you know where he is, however dark it
is he 's in the shafts, of course, and you know where to find
him : but when you Ve got a leader you never exactly know
where he is, unless you can see him."
The Doctor didn't see the advantage.
The reader will have gathered from this specimen of Colonel
Stanburne's conversation that he was a pleasant and lively
companion ; but if he is rather hasty in forming his opinion
of people on a first acquaintance, he may also infer that the
Colonel was a man of somewhat frivolous character and very
moderate intellectual powers. He certainly was not a genius,
but he conveyed the impression of being less intelligent and
less capable of serious thought than nature had made him.
His predominant characteristic was simple good-nature, and
he possessed also, notwithstanding a sort of swagger in his
manner, an unusual share of genuine intellectual humility, that
made him contented to pass for a less able and less informed
man than he really was. The Doctor's perception of charac-
ter was too acute to allow him to judge Colonel Stanburne
on the strength of a superficial acquaintance, and he clearly
perceived that his friend was in the habit of wearing, as it
were, his lighter nature outside. Some ponderous Philistines
in Sootythorn, who had been brought into occasional contact
with the Colonel, and who confounded gravity of manner
with mental capacity, had settled it amongst themselves that
he had no brains ; but as the most intelligent of quadrupeds
is at the same time the most lively, the most playful, the most
good-natured, and the most affectionate, so amongst human
beings it does not always follow that a man is empty because
he is lively and amusing, and seems merry and careless, and
says and does some foolish things.
An hour later they reached Rigton, a little dull village
quite out of the manufacturing district, and where it was the
Colonel's custom to bait. The remainder of the drive was in
CHAP. viii. From Sooty thorn to Wen'der- holme. 77
summer exceedingly beautiful j but as it passed through a rich
agricultural country, whose beauty depended chiefly on luxuri-
ant vegetation, the present time of the year was not favorable to
it. All this region had a great reputation for beauty amongst
the inhabitants of the manufacturing towns, and no doubt fully
deserved it ; but it is probable that their faculties of appre-
ciation were greatly sharpened by the stimulus of contrast.
To get fairly clear of factory-smoke, to be in the peaceful
quiet country, and see no buildings but picturesque farms, was
a definite happiness to many an inhabitant of Sootythorn.
There were fine bits of scenery in the manufacturing district
itself picturesque glens and gorges, deep ravines with hid-
den rivulets, and stretches of purple moorland ; but all this
scenery lacked one quality amenity. Now the scenery from
Rigton to Wenderholme had this quality in a very high degree
indeed, and it was instantly felt by every one who came from
the manufacturing district, though not so perceptible by trav-
ellers from the south of England. The Sootythorn people
felt a soothing influence on the nervous system when they
drove through this beautiful land ; their minds relaxed and
were relieved of pressing cares, and they here fell into a state
very rare indeed with them a state of semi-poetical reverie.
The reader is already aware that Wenderholme is situated
on the opposite side of the hills which separate Shayton from
this favored region, and close to the foot of them. Great
alterations have been made in the house since the date at
which our story begins, and therefore we will not describe it
as it exists at present, but as it existed when the Colonel
drove up the avenue with the Doctor at his side, and the faith-
ful Fyser jumped up behind after opening the modest green
gate. A large rambling house, begun in the reign of Queen
Elizabeth, but grievously modernized under that of King
George the Third, it formed three sides of a quadrangle, and,
as is usual in that arrangement of a mansion, had a great hall
in the middle, and the principal reception rooms on each side
78 Wender holme. PART I.
on the ground floor. The house was three stories high, and
there were great numbers of bedrooms. An arched porch in
the centre, preceded by a flight of steps, gave entrance at
once to the hall ; and over the porch was a projection of the
same breadth, continued up to the roof, and terminated in a
narrow gable. This had been originally the centre of enrich-
ment, and there had been some good sculpture and curious
windows that went all round the projection, and carried it en-
tirely upon their mullions ; but the modernizer had been at
work and inserted simple sash-windows, which produced a
deplorable effect. The same owner, John Stanburne's grand-
father, had ruthlessly carried out that piece of Vandalism over
the whole front of the mansion, and, except what architects
call a string-course (which was still traceable here and there),
had effaced every feature that gave expression to the original
design of the Elizabethan builder.
The entrance-hall was a fine room fifty feet long, -and as
high as two of the ordinary stories in the mansion. It had, no
doubt, been a splendid specimen of the Elizabethan hall ; but
the modernizer had been hard 'at work here also, and had put
himself to heavy expense in order to give it the aspect of a
thoroughly modern interior. The wainscot which had once
adorned the walls, and which had been remarkable for its
rich and fanciful carving, the vast and imaginative tapestries,
the heraldic blazonries in the flaming oriels, the gallery for
the musicians on twisted pillars of sculptured chestnut, all
these glories had been ruthlessly swept away. The tapestries
had been used as carpets, and worn out ; the wainscot had
been made into kitchen cupboards, and painted lead-color ;
and the magnificent windows had been thrown down on the
floor of a garret, where they had been trodden under foot and
crushed into a thousand fragments: and in place of these
things, which the narrow taste of the eighteenth century had
condemned as barbarous, and destroyed without either hesita-
tion or regret, it had substituted what ? absolute emptiness
CHAP. viii. From Sooty thorn to Wenderholme. 79
and negation ; for the heraldic oriels, sash-windows of the
commonest glass j for the tapestry and carving, a bare wall of
yellow-washed plaster; for the carved beams of the roof, a
blank area of whitewash.
The Doctor found Lady Helena in the drawing-room ; a
little woman, who sometimes looked very pretty, and some-
times exceedingly plain, according to the condition of her
health and temper, the state of the weather, and a hundred
things beside. Hence there were the most various and con-
tradictory opinions about her ; the only apprpach to unanim-
ity being amongst certain elderly ladies who had formed the
project of being mother-in-law to John Stanburne, and failed
in that design. The Doctor was not much accustomed to
ladyships they did not come often in his way ; indeed, if the
truth must be told, Lady Helena was the only specimen of the
kind he had ever enjoyed the opportunity of studying, and he
had been rather surprised, on one or two preceding visits to
Wenderholme, to find that she behaved so nicely. But there
are ladyships and ladyships, and the Doctor had been for-
tunate in the example which chance had thrown in his way.
For instance, if he had known Lady Eleanor Griffin, who
lived about ten miles from Wenderholme, and came there
occasionally to spend the day, the Doctor would have formed
quite a different opinion of ladyships in general, so much do
our impressions of whole classes depend upon the individual
members of them who are personally known to us.
Lady Helena asked the Doctor a good many questions
about Shayton, which it is quite unnecessary to report here,
because the answers to them would convey no information to
the reader which he does not already possess. Her ladyship
inquired very minutely about the clergyman there, and whether
the Doctor " liked " him. Now the verb " to like," when ap-
plied to a clergyman, is used in a special sense. Everybody
knows that to like a clergyman and to like gooseberry-pie are
very different things ; for nobody in England eats clergyman,
8o Wenderholme, PART I.
though the natives of New Zealand are said to appreciate cold
roast missionary. But there is yet another distinction
there is a distinction between liking a clergyman and liking
a layman. If you say you like a clergyman, it is understood
that it gives you a peculiar pleasure to hear him preach, and
that you experience feelings of gratification when he reads
prayers. And in this sense could Dr. Bardly say that he
liked the reverend incumbent of his parish? certainly not;
so he seemed to hesitate a little and if he said "yes" he
said it as if he meant no, or a sort of vague, neutral answer,
neither negative nor affirmative.
" I mean," said Lady Helena, " do you like him as a
preacher ? "
" Upon my word, it J s so long since I heard him preach
that I cannot give an opinion."
" Oh ! I thought you attended his church. There are other
churches in Shayton, I suppose."
" No, there 's only one," said the imprudent and impolitic
Doctor.
Lady Helena began to think he was some sort of a
Dissenter. She had heard of Dissenters she knew that
such people existed but she had never been brought into
contact with one, and it made her feel rather queer. She
felt strongly tempted to ask what place of worship this man
did attend, since by his own confession he never went to his
parish church ; but curiosity, and the natural female tendency
to be an inquisitor, were kept in check by politeness, and
also, perhaps, a little restrained by the perfectly fearless
aspect of the Doctor's face. 'If he had seemed in the least
alarmed or apologetic, her ladyship would probably have
assumed the functions of the inquisitor at once; but he
looked so cool, and so very capable of a prolonged and
vigorous resistance, that Lady Helena retired. When she
began to talk about Mrs. Prigley, the Doctor knew that she
was already in full retreat.
CHAP. vm. From Sooty thorn to Wenderholme. 81
A little relieved, perhaps (for it is always disagreeable to
quarrel with one's hostess, even though one has no occasion
to be afraid of her), the Doctor gladly told Lady Helena all
about Mrs. Prigley, and even narrated the anecdote about
the hole in the carpet, and its consequences to Mrs. Ogden,
which put Lady Helena into good humor, for nothing is more
amusing to rich people than the ludicrous consequences of
a certain kind of poverty. The sense of a pleasant contrast,
all in their own favor, is delightful to them and when the
Doctor had told this anecdote, Lady Helena became agree-
ably aware that she had carpets, and that her carpets had no
holes in them two facts of which use and custom had made
her wholly unconscious. Her eye wandered with pleasure
over the broad soft surface of dark pomegranate color, with
its large white and red flowers and its nondescript ornaments
of imitated gold, and the ground seemed richer, and the
flowers seemed whiter and redder, because poor Mrs. Prig-
ley's carpets were in a condition so lamentably different.
"Mrs. Prigley 's a relation of yours, Lady Helena, rather
a near relation, perhaps you are not aware of it? "
Lady Helena looked, and was, very much surprised. " A
relation of mine, Dr. Bardly ! you must be mistaken. I
believe I know the names of all my relations ! "
"I mean a relation of your husband of Colonel Stan-
burne. Mrs. Prigley was a Miss Stanburne of Byfield, and
her father was brother to Colonel Stanburne's father, and
was born in this house."
"That's quite a near relationship indeed," said Lady
Helena ; " I wonder I never heard of it. John never spoke
to me about Mrs. Prigley."
" There was a quarrel between Colonel Stanburne's father
and his uncle, and there has been no intercourse between
their families since. I daresay the Colonel does not even
know how many cousins he had on that side, or what mar-
riages they made." On this the Colonel came in.
6
82 - Wenderholme. PART i.
"John, dear, Dr. Bardly has just told me that we have
some cousins at Shayton that I knew. nothing about. It 's the
clergyman and his wife, and their name is Prig Prig "
" Prigley," suggested the Doctor.
"Yes, Prigley; isn't it curious, John? did you know about
them ? "
"Not very accurately. I knew one of my cousins had
married a clergyman somewhere in that neighborhood, but
was not aware that he was the incumbent of Shayton. I
don't know my cousins at all. There was a lawsuit between
their father and mine, and the two branches have never eaten
salt together since. I haven't the least ill-will to any of them,
but there's an awkwardness in making a first step one
never can tell how it may be received. What do you say,
Doctor? How would Mrs. Prig Prigley and her husband
receive me if I were to go and call upon them ? "
" They 'd give you cake and wine."
"Would they really, now? Then I'll go and call upon
them. I like cake and wine always liked cake and wine."
The conversation about the Prigleys did not end here.
The Doctor was well aware that it would be agreeable to
Mrs. Prigley to visit at Wenderholme, and be received there
as a relation ; and he also knew that the good-nature of the
Colonel and Lady Helena might be relied upon to make
such intercourse perfectly safe and pleasant. So he made
the most of the opportunity, and that so successfully, that by
the time dinner was announced both John Stanburne and his
wife had promised to drive over some day to Shayton from
Sootythorn, and lunch with the Doctor, and call at the
parsonage before leaving.
Colonel Stanburne's conversation was not always very pro-
found, but his dinners were never dull, for he would talk,
and make other people talk too. He solemnly warned the
Doctor not to allow himself to be entrapped into giving
gratuitous medical advice to. Lady Helena. "She thinks
CHAP. viii. From Sootythorn to Wender holme. 83
she 's got fifteen diseases, she does, upon my word ; and
she 's a sort of notion that because you 're the regimental
doctor, she has a claim on you for gratuitous counsel and
assistance. Now I consider that I have such a claim if a
private has it, surely a colonel has it too and when we
come up for our first training I shall expect you to look at
my tongue, and feel my pulse, and physic me as a militiaman,
at her Majesty's expense. But it is by no means so clear to
me that my wife has any right to gratuitous doctoring, and
mind she doesn't extort it from you. She 's a regular screw,
my wife is ; and she loses no opportunity of obtaining benefits
for nothing." Then he rattled on with a hundred anecdotes
about ladies and doctors, in which there was just enough truth
to give a pretext for his audacious exaggerations.
When they returned to the drawing-room, the Colonel made
Lady Helena sing; and she sang well. The Doctor, like
many inhabitants of Shayton, had a very good ear, and
greatly enjoyed music. Lady Helena had seldom found so
attentive a listener ; he sought old favorites of his in her
collection of songs, and begged her to sing them one after
another. It seemed as if he never would be tired of listen-
ing. Her ladyship felt pleased and flattered, and sang with
wonderful energy and feeling. The Doctor, though in his
innocence he thought only of the pure pleasure her music
gave him, could have chosen no better means of ingratiating
himself in her favor ; and if there had not, unhappily, been
that dark and dubious question about church attendance,
which made her ladyship look upon him as a sort of Dis-
senter, or worse, the Doctor would that night have entered
into relations of quite frank and cordial friendship with Lady
Helena. English ladies are very kind and forgiving on many
points. A man may be notoriously immoral, or a gambler,
or a drinker, yet if he be well off they will kindly ignore and
pass over these little defects ; but the unpardonable sin is
failure in church attendance, and they will not pass over that.
84 Wenderholme. PART I.
Lady Helena, in her character of inquisitor, had discovered
this* symptom of heresy, and would have been delighted to
find a moral screw of some kind by which the culpable
Doctor might be driven churchwards. If the law had per-
mitted it, I have no doubt that she would have applied mate-
rial screws, and pinched the Doctor's thumbs, or roasted him
gently before a slow fire, or at least sent him to church be-
tween two policemen with staves ; but as these means were
beyond her power, she must wait until the moral screw could
be found. A good practical means, which she had resorted to
in several instances with poor people, had been to deprive
them of their means of subsistence ; and all men and women
whom her ladyship's little arm could reach knew that they
must go to church or leave their situations ; so they attended
with a regularity which, though exemplary in the eyes of men,
could scarcely, one would think (considering the motive), be
acceptable to Heaven. But Lady Helena acted in this less
from a desire to please God than from the instinct of domi-
nation, which, in her character of spiritual ruler, naturally
exercised itself on this point. It seldom happens that the
master of a house is the spiritual ruler of it ; he is the tem-
poral power, not the spiritual. Colonel Stanburne felt and
knew that he had no spiritual power.
This matter of the Doctor's laxness as a church-goer had
been rankling in Lady Helena's mind all the time she had
been singing, and when she closed the piano she was ready
for an attack. If the Doctor had been shivering blanketless
in a bivouac, and she had had the power of giving him a
blanket or withholding it, she would have offered it on condi-
tion he promised to go to church, and she would have with-
held it if he had refused compliance. But the Doctor had
blankets of his own, and so could not be touched through a
deprivation of blanket. She might, however, deprive the old
woman he had recommended, and at the same time give the
Doctor a lesson, indirectly.
CHAP. viii. From Sooty thorn to Wenderholme. 85
" I forgot to ask you, Dr. Bardly, whether the old woman
you recommended for a blanket was a churchwoman, and
regular in her attendance."
" Two questions very easily answered," replied that auda-
cious and unhesitating Doctor ; " she is a Wesleyan Metho-
dist, and irregular in her attendance."
" Then I 'm very sorry Dr. Bardly, but I cannot give
her a blanket, as I had promised. I can only give them to
our own people, you know ; and I make it essential that
they should be good church-people I mean, very regular
church-people."
" Very well ; I '11 give her a blanket myself."
The opportunity was not to be neglected, and her ladyship
fired her gun. She had the less hesitation in doing so, that
it seemed monstrously presumptuous in a medical man to
give blankets at all ! What right had he to usurp the especial
prerogative of great ladies ? And then to give a blanket to
this very woman whom, for good reasons, her ladyship had
condemned to a state of blanketlessness !
"I 'quite understand," she said, with much seventy of
tone, "that Dr. Bardly, who never attends public worship
himself, should have a fellow-feeling with those who are
equally negligent."
It is a hard task to fight a woman in the presence of her
husband, who is at the same time one's friend. The Doctor
thought, " Would the woman have me offer premiums on hypoc-
risy as she does ? " but he did not say so, because there was
poor John Stanburne at the other end of the hearth-rug in a
state of much uncomfortableness. So the Doctor said nothing
at all, and the silence became perfectly distressing. Lady
Helena had a way of her own out of the difficulty. Though
it was-an hour earlier than the usual time for prayers, she rang
the bell and ordered all the servants in. When they were
kneeling, each before his chair, her ladyship read the prayers
86 Wenderholme. PART i.
herself, and accentuated with a certain severity a paragraph
in which she thanked God that she was not as unbelievers,
who were destined to perish everlastingly. It was a satisfac-
tion to Lady Helena to have the Doctor there down upon his
knees, with no means of escape from the expression of spir-
itual superiority.
CHAP. ix. The Fugitive. 87
CHAPTER IX.
THE FUGITIVE.
" T SAY, Doctor," said John Stanburne, when her ladyship
-*- was fairly out of hearing, and half-way in her ascent of
the great staircase "I say, Doctor, I hope you don't mind,
what Helena says about you not being you know some
women are so indeed I do believe all women are so. They
seem laudably anxious to keep us all in the right path, but
perhaps they 're just a little too anxious."
The Doctor said he believed Lady Helena meant to do
right, but and then he hesitated.
" But you don't see the sense of bribing poor people into
sham piety with blankets."
"Well, no, I don't."
"Neither do I, Doctor. There's a Roman Catholic family
about three miles off, and the lady there gives premiums on
going to mass, and still higher premiums on confession. She
has won a great many converts ; and there 's a strong antag-
onism between her and Helena a most expensive warfare
it is too, I assure you, this warfare for souls. However, it's
an ill wind that blows nobody good, and the poor profit by it,
which is a consolation, only it makes them sneaks it makes
them sneaks and hypocrites. Doctor, come into my study,
will you, and let 's have a weed ? "
The "study," as John Stanburne called it, was a cosey little
room, with oak wainscot that his grandfather had painted
white. It contained a small bookcase, and the bookcase con-
tained a good many novels, some books of poetry, a treatise
88 Wenderholme. PART i.
on dog-breaking, a treatise on driving, and a treatise on fish-
ing. The novels were very well selected, and so was the
poetry ; and John Stanburne had read all these books, many
of them over and over again. Such literary education as he
possessed had been mainly got out of that bookcase ; and
though he had no claim to erudition, a man's head might be
worse furnished than with such furniture as that. There was
a splendid library at Wenderholme a big room lined with
the backs of books as the other rooms were lined with paper
or wainscot ; and when Stanburne wanted to know something
he went there, and disturbed his ponderous histories and en-
cyclopaedias ; but he used the little bookcase more than the
big library. He could not read either Latin or Greek. Few
men can read Latin and Greek, and of the few who can,
still fewer do read them ; but his French was very much above
the usual average of English French that is, he spoke flu-
ently, and would no doubt have spoken correctly if only he
could have mastered the conjugations and genders, and imi-
tated the peculiar Gallic sounds.
The society of ladies is always charming, but it must be
admitted that there is an hour especially dear to the male sex,
and which does not owe its delightfulness to their presence.
It is the hour of retirement into the smoking-room. When the
lady of the house has a tendency to make the weight of her
authority felt (and this will sometimes happen), the male mem-
bers of her family and their guests feel a schoolboyish sense of
relief in escaping from it ; but even when she is very genial and
pleasant, and when everybody enjoys the light of her counte-
nance, it must also be confessed that the timely withdrawal of
that light, like the hour of sunset, hath a certain sweetness of
its own.
" My wife 's always very good about letting me sit here, and
smoke and talk as long as I like with my friends, after she 's
gone to bed," said Colonel Stanburne. " You smile because
I seem to value a sort of goodness that seems only natural,
CHAJ. ix. The Fugitive. 89
but that's on account of your old-bachelorish ignorance of
womankind. There are married men who no more dare sit
an hour with a cigar when their wives are gone to bed than
they dare play billiards on Sunday. Now, for instance, I was
staying this autumn with a friend of mine in another county,
and about ten o'clock his wife went to bed. He and I wanted
to talk over a great many things. We had been old school-
fellows, and we had travelled together when we were both
bachelors, and we knew lots of men that his wife knew nothing
about, and each of us wanted to hear all the news that the
other had to tell ; so he just ventured, the first night I was
there, to ask me into his private study and offer me a cigar.
Well, we had scarcely had time to light when his wife's maid
knocks at the door and says, ' Please, sir, Missis wishes to see
you ; ' so he promised to go, and began to look uncomfortable,
and in five minutes the girl came again, and she came three
times in a quarter of an hour. After that came the lady her-
self, quite angry, and ordered her husband to bed, just as if
he had been a little boy ; and though he seemed cool, and
didn't stir from his chair, it was evident that he was afraid of
her, and he solemnly promised to go in five minutes. At the
expiration of the five minutes in she bursts again (she had
been waiting in the passage perhaps she may have been
listening at the door), and held out her watch without one
word. The husband got up like a sheep, and said ' Good-
night, John,' and she led him away just like that ; and I sat
and smoked by myself, thinking what a pitiable spectacle it
was. Now my wife is not like that ; she will have her way
about her blankets, but she 's reasonable in other respects."
They sat very happily for two hours, talking about the
regiment that was to be. Suddenly, about midnight, a large
watch-dog that inhabited a kennel on that side of the house
began to bark furiously, and there was a cry, as of spme
woman or child in distress. The Colonel jumped out of his
chair, and threw the window open. The two men listened
9O Wenderholme. PART i.
attentively, but it was too dark to see any thing. At length
Colonel Stanburne said, " Let us go out and look about a
little that was a human cry, wasn 't it ? " So he lighted a
lantern, and they went.
There was a thick wood behind the house of Wenderholme,
and this wood filled a narrow ravine, in the bottom of which
was a little stream, and by the stream a pathway that led up
to the open moor. This moor continued without interruption
over a range of lofty hills, or, to speak more strictly, over a
sort of plateau or table-land, till it terminated at the enclosed
pasture-lands near Shayton. John Stanburne and the Doctor
walked first along this pathway. The watch-dog's kennel was
close to the path, at a little green wooden gate, where it
entered the garden.
The dog, hearing his master's step, came out of his kennel,
much excited with the hope of a temporary release from the
irksomeness of his captivity ; but his master only caressed
and spoke to him a little, and passed on. Then he began to
talk to the Doctor. The sound of his voice reached the ears
of a third person, who came out of the wood, and began to
follow them on the path.
The Doctor became aware that they were followed, and
they stopped. The Colonel turned his lantern, and the light
of it fell full upon the intruder.
" Why, it 's a mere child," said the Colonel. " But what on
earth 's the matter with the Doctor ? "
Certainly that eccentric Doctor did behave in a most
remarkable manner. He snatched the lantern from the
Colonel's hand without one word of apology, and having
cast its beams on the child's face, threw it down on the
ground, and seized the vagrant in his arms. " The Doctor 's
mad," thought the Colonel, as he picked up the lantern.
".Why, it 's little Jacob!" cried Dr. Bardly.
But this conveyed nothing to the mind of the Colonel.
What did he know about little Jacob ?
CHAP. ix. The Fugitive. 91
Meanwhile the lad was telling his tale to his friend.
Father had beaten him so, and he 'd run away. " Please,
Doctor, don't send me back again." The child's feet were
bare, and icy cold, and covered with blood. His clothes were
wel up to the waist. His little dog was with him.
" It 's a little boy that 's a most particular friend of mine," said
the Doctor ; " and he 's been very ill-used. We must take
care of him. I must beg a night's lodging for him in the house."
They took him into the Colonel's study, before the glowing
fire. "Now, what's to be done ?" said the Colonel. "It's
lucky you 're a doctor."
" Let us undress him and warm him first. We can do eveiy
thing ourselves. There is a most urgent reason why no domes-
tic should be informed of his being here. His existence here
must be kept secret."
The Colonel went to his dressing-room and brought towels.
Then he set some water on the fire in a kettle. The Doctor
took the wet things off, and examined the poor little lacerated
feet. He rubbed little Jacob all over with the towels most
energetically. The Colonel, whose activity was admirable to
witness, fetched a tub from somewhere, and they made
arrangements for a warm bath.
" One person must be told about this," said Dr. Bardly,
" and that 's Lady Helena. Go and tell her now. Ask her
to get up and come here, and warn her not to rouse any of
the servants."
Her ladyship made her appearance in a few minutes in a
dressing-gown. "Lady Helena," said the Doctor, "you're
wanted as a nurse. This child requires great care for the
next twenty-four hours, and you must do every thing for him
with your own hands. Is there a place in the house where
he can be lodged out of the way of the servants ? "
Lady Helena had no boys of her own. She had had one
little girl at the beginning of her married life, who had lived,
and was now at Wenderholme, comfortably sleeping in the
92 Wender holme. PART i
prettiest of little beds, in a large and healthy nursery in the
left wing of the building. She had had two little boys since,
but they were both sleeping in Wenderholme churchyard.
When she saw little Jacob in his tub, the tears came into her
eyes, and she was ready to be his nurse as long as ever he
might have need of her.
" I '11 tell you all about him, Lady Helena, when we 've put
him to bed."
Little Jacob sat in his tub looking at the kind, strange lady,
and feeling himself in a state of unrealizable bliss. " You
must be very tired and very hungry, my poor child," she said.
Little Jacob said he was very hungry, but he didn't feel tired
now. He had felt tired in the wood, but he didn't feel tired
now in the tub.
The boy being fairly put to bed, female curiosity could not
wait till the next day, and she sought out the Doctor, who was
still with the Colonel in his study. " I beg to be excuse.fl,
gentlemen," she said, " for intruding in this room in an unauth-
orized manner, but I want to know all about that little boy."
The Doctor told his history very minutely, and the history
of his father. Then he added, " I believe the only possible
chance of saving his father from killing himself with drinking
is to leave him for some time under the impression that the
boy, having been driven away by his cruelty, has died from
exposure on the moor. This may give him a horror of drink-
ing, and may effect a permanent cure. There is another
thing to be considered, the child's own safety. If we send
him back to his father, I will not answer for his life. The
father is already in a state of hirritability bordering on insan-
ity in fact he is partially insane ; and if the child is put
under his power before there has been time to work a thorough
cure, it is likely that he will beat him frequently and severely
he may even kill him in some paroxysm of rage. If Isaac
Ogden knew that the child were here, and claimed him to-
morrow, I believe it would be your duty not to give him up, and
CHAP. ix. The Fugitive. 93
I should urge his uncle to institute legal proceedings to
deprive the father of the guardianship. A man in Isaac
Ogden's state is not fit to have a child in his power. He has
beaten him very terribly already, his body is all bruises ;
and now if we send him back, he will beat him again for
having run away."
These reasons certainly had great weight, but both the
Colonel and Lady Helena foresaw much difficulty in keeping
the child at Wenderholme without his presence there becom-
ing immediately known. His disappearance would make
a noise, not only at Shayton, but at Sootythorn, and every-
where in the neighborhood. The relations of the child were
in easy circumstances, and a heavy reward would probably
be offered, which the servants at Wenderholme Hall could
scarcely be expected to resist, still less the villagers in the
neighboring hamlet. It would be necessary to find some very
solitary person, living in great obscurity, to whose care little
Jacob might be safely confided at any rate, for a few days.
Lady Helena suggested two old women who lived together in
a sort of almshouse of hers on the estate, but the Colonel said
they were too fond of gossip, and received too many visitors,
to be trusted. At last the Doctor's countenance suddenly
brightened, and he said that he knew where to hide little Jacob,
but where that was he positively refused to tell. All he asked
for was, that the child should be kept a close prisoner in the
Colonel's sanctum for the next twenty-four hours, and that the
Colonel would lend him a horse and gig not a tandem.
94 Wender holme. PART i
CHAPTER X.
CHRISTMAS AT MILEND.
IT is quite unnecessary to inform the reader where Dr. Bardly
had determined to hide little Jacob. His resolution be-
ing decidedly taken, the Colonel and he waited till the next
night at half-past twelve, and then, without the help of a single
servant, they harnessed a fast-trotting mare to a roomy dog-
cart. Little Jacob and Feorach were put where the dogs
were kept on shooting expeditions. And both fell asleep
together. It was six o'clock in the morning when the Doctor
arrived at his destination.
Mr. Isaac Ogden, whose wretchedness the reader pities
perhaps as much as the Doctor did, continued his researches
for some weeks in a discouraged and desultory way, but little
Jacob was perfectly well hidden. Mrs. Ogden had been
admitted into the secret by the Doctor, and approved of his
policy of concealment. Under pretext of a journey to Man-
chester with Dr. Bardly. to consult an eminent physician
there, she absented herself two days from Milend and went
to visit her grandson. The truth was also known to Jacob
Ogden, senior, who supported his mother's resolution, which
would certainly have broken down without him. It pained
her to see her son Isaac in the misery of a bereavement which
he supposed to be eternal. The Doctor took a physiological
view of the case, and argued that time was a necessary condi-
tion of success. " We aren't sure of having saved him yet,"
said the Doctor : " we must persevere till his constitution has
got past the point of craving for strong drink altogether."
CHAP, x. Christmas at Milcnd.
95
Matters remained in this state until Christmas Eve. Pe-
riodical festivals are highly agreeable institutions for happy
people, who have the springs of merriment within them,
ready to gush forth on any pretext, or on the strength of
simple permission to gush forth but it is difficult for a man
oppressed by a persistent weight of sorrow to throw it off
because the almanac has brought itself to a certain date, and
it is precisely at the times of general festivity that such a
man feels his burden heaviest. It may be observed also,
that as a man, or a society of men, approaches the stage of
matui .ty and reflection, the events of life appear more and
more to acquire the power of coloring the whole of existence ;
so that the faculty of being merry at appointed times, and
its converse, the faculty of weeping at appointed times, both
give place to a continual but quiet sadness, from which we
never really escape, even for an hour, though we may still be
capable of a manly fortitude, and retain a certain elasticity,
or the appearance of it. In a word, our happiness and
misery are no longer alternative and acute, but coexist in a
chronic form, so that it has ceased to be natural for men to
wear sackcloth and heap ashes on their heads, and sit in the
dust in their wretchedness ; and it has also ceased to be
natural for them to crown themselves with flowers, and anoint
themselves with the oil of gladness, and clothe themselves in
the radiance of purple and cloth-of-gold. No hour of life is
quite miserable enough or hopeless enough for the sackcloth
and the ashes no hour of life is brilliant enough for the
glorious vesture and the flowery coronal.
A year before, Isaac. Ogden would have welcomed the
Christmas festivities as a legitimate occasion for indulgence
in his favorite vice, without much meditation (and in this
perhaps he may have resembled some other very regular
observers of the festival) on the history of the Founder of
Christianity. But as it was no longer his desire to celebrate
either this or any other festival of the Church by exposing
96 Wender holme. PART I.
himself to a temptation which, for him, was the strongest
and most dangerous of all temptations and as the idea of
a purely spiritual celebration was an idea so utterly foreign
to the whole tenor pf his thoughts and habits as never even
to suggest itself to him he had felt strongly disposed to
shun Christmas altogether, that is, to escape from the
outward and visible Christmas to some place where the days
might pass as merely natural days, undistinguished by any
sign of national or ecclesiastical commemoration. He had
determined, therefore, to go back to Twistle Farm, from
which it seemed to him that he had been too long absent,
and had announced this intention to the Doctor. But when
the Doctor repeated it to Mrs. Ogden, she would not hear
of any such violation of the customs and traditions of the
family. Her sons had always spent Christmas Eve together ;
and so long as she lived, she was firmly resolved that they
always should. The pertinacity with which a determined
woman will uphold a custom that she cherishes is simply
irresistible that is, unless the rebel makes up his mind to
incur her perpetual enmity ; and Isaac Ogden was less than
ever in a condition of mind either to brave the hostility of
his mother or wound her tenderer feelings. So it came to
pass that on Christmas Eve he went to Milend to tea.
Now on the tea-table there were some little cakes, and
Mrs. Ogden, who had not the remotest notion of the sort of
delicacy that avoids a subject because it may be painful to
somebody present, and who always simply gave utterance to
her thoughts as they came to her, observed that these little
cakes were of her own making, and actually added, " They 're
such as I used makin' for little Jacob he was so fond
on 'em."
Isaac Ogden's feelings were not very sensitive, and he
could bear a great deal ; but he could not bear this. He set
down his cup of tea untasted, gazed for a few seconds at the
plateful of little cakes, and left the room.
CHAP. x. Christmas at Milend. 97
The Doctor was there, but he said nothing. Jacob Ogden
did not feel under any obligation to be so reticent. " Mother,"
he said, " I think you needn't have mentioned little Jacob
our Isaac cannot bear it ; he knows no other but what th'
little un 's dead, and he 's as sore as sore."
This want of delicacy in Mrs. Ogden arose from an all but
total lack of imagination. She could sympathize* with others
if she suffered along with them an expression which might
be criticised as tautological, but the reader will understand
what is meant by it. If Mrs. Ogden had had the toothache,
she would have sympathized with the sufferings of another
person similarly afflicted so long as her own pangs lasted ;
but if a drop of creosote or other powerful remedy proved
efficacious in her own case, and released her from the tortur-
ing pain, she would have looked upon her fellow-sufferer as
pusillanimous, if after that she continued to exhibit the out-
ward signs of torment. Therefore, as she herself knew that
little Jacob was safe it was now incomprehensible by her
that his father should not feel equally at ease about him,
though, as a matter of fact, she was perfectly well aware that
he supposed the child to be irrecoverably lost. Mrs. Ogden,
therefore, received her son Jacob's rebuke with unfeigned
surprise. She had said nothing to hurt Isaac that she knew
of she "had only said that little Jacob used being fond o'
them cakes, and it was quite true."
Isaac did not return to the little party, and they began to
wonder what had become of him. After waiting some time
in silence, Mrs. Ogden left her place at the tea-tray, and
went to a little sitting-room adjoining a room the men
were more accustomed to than any other in the house, and
where indeed they did every thing but eat and sleep. Mr.
Ogden had gone there from habit, as his mother expected,
and there she found him sitting in a large rocking-chair, and
gazing abstractedly into the fire. The chair rocked regularly
but gently, and its occupant seemed wholly unconscious
7
98 Wender holme. PART I.
not only of its motion, but of every other material circum-
stance that surrounded him.
Mrs. Ogden laid her hand upon his shoulder, and said,
" Isaac, willn't ye come to your tea ? we 're all waiting for
you."
The spell was broken, and Ogden suddenly started to his
feet. " Give me my hat," he said, " and let me go to my own
house. I 'm not fit to keep Christmas this year. How is a
man to care about tea and cakes when he 's murdered his
own son ? I 'm best by myself ; let me go up to Twistle
Farm. D 'ye expect me to sing songs at supper, and drink
rum-punch ? "
" There '11 be no songs, and you needn't drink unless you
like, but just come and sit with us, my lad you always used
spendin' Christmas Eve at Milend, and Christmas Day too."
" It signifies nought what I used doin'. Isaac Ogden isn't
same as he used to be. He 'd have done better, I reckon,
if he 'd altered a month or two sooner. There 'd have been
a little lad here then to make Christmas merry for us all."
" Well, Isaac, I 'm very sorry for little Jacob ; but it cannot
be helped now, you know, and it 's no use frettin' so much
over it."
" Mother," said Isaac Ogden, sternly, " it seems to me that
you 're not likely to spoil your health by frettin' over my little
lad. You take it very easy it seems to me, and my brother
takes it easy too, and so does Dr. Bardly but then Dr.
Bardly was nothing akin to him. Folk says that grand-
mothers care more for chilther than their own parents does ;
but you go on more like a stepmother nor a grandmother."
This was hard for Mrs. Ogden to bear, and she was strongly
tempted to reveal the truth, but she forebore and remained
silent. Ogden resumed,
" I cannot tell how you could find in your heart to bake
them little cakes when th' child isn't here to eat 'em."
The effort to restrain herself was now almost too much for
CHAP. x. Christmas at Milend.
99
Mrs. Ogden, since it was the fact that she had baked the said
little cakes, or others exactly like them, and prepared various
other dainties, for the especial enjoyment of Master Jacob,
who at that very minute was regaling himself therewith in the
privacy of his hiding-place. Still she kept silent.
After another pause, a great paroxysm of passionate regret
seized Ogden one of those paroxysms to which he was
subject at intervals, but which in the presence of witnesses
he had hitherto been able to contend against or postpone.
" Oh, my little lad ! " he cried aloud, " oh, my little innocent
lad, that I drove away from me to perish ! I 'd give all 1 5 m
worth to see thee again, little 'un ! " He suddenly stopped,
and as the tears ran down his cheeks, he looked out of the
window into the black night " If I did but know," he said,
slowly, and with inexpressible sadness " mother, mother, if
I did but know where his bits o' bones are lying ! "
It was not possible to witness this misery any longer. All
Dr. Bardly's solemn injunctions, all dread of a possible re-
lapse into the terrible habit; were forgotten. The mother had
borne bitter reproaches, but she could not bear tm's agony
of grief. " Isaac," she said, " Isaac, my son, listen to me :
thy little lad is alive he 's alive and he 's well, Isaac."
Ogden did not seem to realize or understand this commu-
nication. At last he said, " I know what you mean, mother,
and I believe it. He's alive in heaven, and he can ail
nothing, and want nothing, there."
" I hope he '11 go there when he 's an old man, but a good
while after we go there ourselves, Isaac."
A great change spread over Ogden's face, and he began to
tremble from head to foot. He laid his hand on his mother's
arm with a grasp of iron. His eyes dilated, the room swam
round him, his heart suspended its action, and in a low hiss-
ing whisper, he said, " Mother, have they found him ? "
" Yes and he 's both safe and well."
Ogden rushed out of the house, and paced the garden-walk
ioo Wenderholme. PART i.
hurriedly from end to end. The intensity of his excitement
produced a commotion in the brain that needed the counter-
stimulus of violent physical movement. It seemed as if the
Toof of his skull must be lifted off, and for a few minutes
there was a great crisis of the whole nervous system, to which
probably his former habits may have more especially exposed
him. When this was over, he came back into the house,
feeling unusually weak, but incredibly calm and happy. Mrs.
Ogden had told the Doctor and Mr. Jacob what had passed,
and the Doctor without hesitation set off at once for his own
house, where he ordered his -gig, and drove away rapidly on
the Sootythorn road.
" Mother," said Isaac, when he came in, " give me a cup
of tea, will you ? "
" A glass of brandy would do you more good."
" Nay, mother, we 've had enough of brandy, it will not do
to begin again now."
He sat down in evident exhaustion and drank the tea
slowly, looking rather vacantly before him. Then he laid his
head back upon the chair and closed his eyes. The lips
moved, and two or three tears ran slowly down the cheeks.
At last he started suddenly, and, looking sharply round him,
said, "Where is he, where is he, mother? where is little
Jacob, my little lad, my lad, my lad ? "
" Be quiet, Isaac try to compose yourself a little ; Dr.
Bardly 's gone to fetch him. He '11 be with us very soon."
Mr. Ogden remained quietly seated for some minutes with-
out speaking, and then, as his mind began to clear after the
shock of the great emotion it had passed through, he asked
who had found his boy, and where they had found him, and
when.
These questions were, of course, somewhat embarrassing
to his mother, and she would probably have sheltered herself
behind some clumsy invention, but her son Jacob interposed.
" The fact is, Isaac, the loss of your little 'un seemed to be
CHAP. x. Christmas at Milend. 101
doin' you such a power o' good 'at it seemed a pity to spoil it
by tellin' you. And it 's my opinion as mother 's let th' cat
out o' th' bag three week too soon as it is."
" Do you mean to tell me," said Isaac, " that you knew the
child was found, and hid him from his own father ? "
"Isaac, Isaac, you mun forgive us," said the mother; "we
did it for your good."
" Partly for his good, mother," interposed Jacob, " but still
more for th' sake o' that child. What made him run away
from Twistle Farm, Isaac Ogden ? answer me that."
Isaac remained silent.
" Do you fancy, brother Isaac, that any consideration for
your feelin's was to hinder us from doin' our duty by that
little lad ? What sort of a father is it as drives away a child
like that with a horsewhip? Thou was no more fit to be
trusted with him nor a wolf wi' a little white lamb. If he 'd
been brought back to thee two days after, it 'ud a' been as
much as his life was worth. And I '11 tell thee what, Isaac
Ogden, if ever it comes to my ears as you take to horse-
whippin' him again, I '11 go to law wi' you and get the guardi-
anship of him into safer hands. There 'd be little difficulty
about that as it is. I 've taken my measures my witnesses
are ready I 've consulted lawyers ; and I tell you candidly,
I mean to act at once if I see the least necessity for it. Little
Jacob was miserable for many a week before you drove him
out o' th' house, an' if we 'd only known, you would never
have had the chance."
" Nay, Jacob," interposed Mrs. Ogden, " you 're a bit too
hard on Isaac ; he 's the child's own father, and he had a
right to punish him within reason."
" Father ! father ! " cried Jacob, scornfully ; " there isn't a
man in Shayton as isn't more of a "father to our little un
than Isaac has been for many a month past. There isn't a
man in Shayton but what would have been kinder to a nice
little lad like that than he has been. What -signifies havin'
begotten a child, if fatherin' it is to stop there ? "
IO2 Wenderholme. PART i.
At last Isaac Ogden lifted up his face and spoke.
" Brother Jacob, you have said nothing but what is right
and true, and you have all acted right both by me and him.
But let us start fresh. I Ve turned over a new leaf ; I 'm not
such as I used to be. I mean to be different, and to do dif-
ferent, and I will be a good father to that child. So help me
God ! "
He held out his hand, and Jacob took it and shook it
heartily. The two brothers looked in each other's face, and
there was more of brotherly affection in their look than there
had ever been since the dissolution of their partnership in
the cotton business, which had taken place some years before.
Mrs. Ogden saw this with inexpressible pleasure. " That's
right, lads that 's right, lads ; God bless you ! God bless
both on you ! "
The customs of Shayton were mighty, especially the cus-
tom of drinking a glass of port-wine on every imaginable
occasion. If a Shayton man felt sorry, he needed a glass of
port-wine to enable him to support his grief ; but if he felt
glad, there arose at once such a feeling of true sympathy be-
tween his heart and that joyous generous fluid, that it needed
some great material impediment to keep them asunder, and
such an impediment was not to be found in any well-to-do
Shayton household, where decanters were always charged,
and glasses ever accessible. So it was inevitable that on an
occasion so auspicious as this Mr. Jacob Ogden should drink
a glass or, more probably, two glasses of port ; and his
mother, who did not object to the same refreshment, bore him
company.
"Now Isaac, lad, let's drink a glass to mother's good
health."
Mr. Ogden had not made any positive vow of teetotalism,
and though there might be some danger in allowing himself
to experience afresh, however slightly, the seductive stimulus
of alcohol, whole centuries of tradition, the irresistible power
CHAP. x. Christmas at Milend. 103
of prevalent custom, and the deep pleasure he felt in the new
sense of brotherly fellowship, made his soul yearn to the wine.
" Here's mother's good health. Your good health, mother,"
he said, and drank. Jacob repeated the words, and drank
also, and thus in a common act of filial respect and affection
did these brothers confirm and celebrate their perfect recon-
ciliation.
Isaac now began to show symptoms of uneasiness and
restlessness. He walked to the front door, and listened
eagerly for wheels. " How fidgety he is, th' old lad ! " said
Jacob ; " it 's no use frettin' an' fidgetin' like that ; come and
sit thee down a bit, an' be quiet."
" How long will he be, mother ? "
Before Mrs. Ogden could reply, Isaac's excited ear detected
the Doctor's gig. He was out in the garden immediately,
and passed bareheaded through the gate out upon the public
road, Two gig-lamps came along from the direction of
Sootythorn. He could not see who was in the gig, but some-
thing told him that little Jacob was there, and his heart beat
more quickly than usual.
Perhaps our little friend might have behaved himself some-
what too timidly on this occasion, but the Doctor had talked
to him on the road. He had explained to him, quite frankly,
that Mr. Ogden's harshness had been wholly due to the irri-
table state of his nervous system, and that he would not be
harsh any more, because he had given up drinking. He had
especially urged upon little Jacob that he must not seem
afraid of his father ; and as our hero was of a bold disposi-
tion, and had plenty of assurance, he was fully prepared to
follow the Doctor's advice.
Isaac Ogden hails the gig ; it stops, and little Jacob is in
his arms.
" Please, papa, I wish you a merry Christmas and a happy
New Year ! "
Little Jacob's pony was sent for, and the next morning his
IO4 Wenderholme. PART I.
father and he rode together up to Twistle Farm. Until the
man came for the pony, old Sarah had not the faintest hope
that little Jacob was in existence, and the shock had nearly
been too much for her. The messenger had simply said, " I J m
corned for little Jacob* tit." "And who wants it?" Sarah
said ; for it seemed to her a desecration for any one else to
mount that almost sacred animal. " Why, little Jacob wants
it hissel, to be sure." And this (with some subsequent
explanations of the most laconic description) was his way of
breaking the matter delicately to old Sarah.
The old woman had never spent an afternoon, even the
afternoon of Christmas Day, so pleasantly as she spent that.
How she did toil and bustle about ? The one drawback to
her happiness was that she did not possess a Christinas
cake ; but she set to work and made tea-cakes, and put such
a quantity of currants in them that they were almost as good
as a Christmas cake. She lighted a fire in the parlor, and
another in little Jacob's room ; and she took out the little
night-gown that she had cried over many a time, and, strange
to say, she cried over it this time too. And she arranged the
small bed so nicely, that it looked quite inviting, with its
white counterpane, and clean sheets, and bright brass knobs,
and pretty light iron work painted blue. When all was ready,
it occurred to her that since it was Christmas time she would
even attempt a little decoration ; and as there were some ever-
greens at Twistle Farm, and some red berries, she went and
gathered thereof, and attempted the adornment of the house
somewhat clumsily and inartistically, it must be confessed,
yet not without giving it an air of festivity and rejoicing.
She had proceeded thus far, and could not " bethink her "
of any thing else that needed to be done, when, suddenly
casting her eye on her own costume, she perceived that it
was of the deepest black ; for, being persuaded that the dear
child was dead, she had so clothed herself out of respect for
* The possessive is omitted in the genuine Lancashire dialect.
CIIAP. x. Christmas at Milend. 105
his memory. She held her sombre skirt out with both her
hands as if to push it away 'from her, and exclaimed aloud,
"I'll be shut o' thee, onyhow, and sharply too;" and she
hurried upstairs to change it for the brightest garment in her
possession, which was of sky-blue, spotted all over with
yellow primroses. She also put on a cap of striking and
elaborate magnificence, which the present writer does not
attempt to describe, only because such an attempt would
incur the certainty of failure.
That cap had hardly been assumed and adjusted when it
was utterly crushed and destroyed in a most inconsiderate
manner. A sound of hoofs had reached old Sarah's ears,
and in a minute afterwards the cap was ruined in Master
Jacob's passionate embraces. You may do almost any thing
you like to a good-tempered old woman, so long as you do
not touch her cap \ and it is an undeniable proof of the
strength of old Sarah's affection, and of the earnestness of
her rejoicing, that she not only made no remonstrance in
defence of her head-dress, but was actually unaware of the
irreparable injury which had been inflicted upon it.
io6 Wenderholme. PART i
CHAPTER XL
THE COLONEL GOES TO SHAYTON.
THE next time the Doctor, met Colonel Stanburne at
Sootythorn, he gave such a good account of Mr. Isaac
Ogden, that the Colonel, who took a strong interest in little
Jacob, expressed the hope that Mr. Ogden would still join the
regiment ; though in the time of his grief and tribulation he
had resigned his commission, or, to speak more accurately
for the commission had not yet been formally made out and
delivered to him he had withdrawn his name as a candidate
for one. The Colonel, in his friendly way, declared that the
Doctor was not a hospitable character. " I ask you to Wen-
derholme every time I see you, and you come and stay some
times, though not half often enough, but you never ask me
to your house ; and, by Jove ! if I want to be invited at all, I
must invite myself." The Doctor, who liked John Stanburne
better and better the more he knew of him, still retained the
very erroneous notion that a certain state and style were
essential to his happiness ; and, notwithstanding many broad
hints that he had dropped at different times on the subject,
still hung back from asking him to a house where, though
comfort reigned supreme, there was not the slightest preten-
sion to gentility. The old middle-class manner of living still
lingered in many well-to do houses in Shayton, and the
Doctor faithfully adhered to it. Every thing about him was
perfectly clean and decent, but he had not marched with the
times ; and whilst the attorneys and cotton-spinners in Sooty-
thorn and elsewhere had the chairs of their dining-rooms
CHAP. XL The Colonel goes to Shay ton. 107
covered with morocco leather, and their drawing-rooms filled
with all manner of glittering fragilities, and Brussels carpets
with pretty little tasteful patterns, and silver forks, and nap-
kins, and a hundred other visible proofs of the advance of
refinement, the worthy Doctor had not kept up with them at
all, but lagged behind by the space of about thirty years. He
had no drawing-room ; the chairs of his parlor were of an
ugly and awkward pattern, and their seats were covered with
horsehair ; the carpet was cheap and coarse, with a mon-
strous pattern that no artistic person would have tolerated
for a single day ; and though the Doctor possessed a silver
punch-ladle -and teapot, and plenty of silver spoons of every
description, all the forks in the house were of steel !, Indeed,
the Doctor's knives and forks, which had belonged to his
mother, or perhaps even to his grandmother, were quite a
curiosity in their way. They had horn handles, of an odd
indescribable conformation, supposed to adapt itself to the
hollow of the hand, but which, from some misconception of
human anatomy on the part of the too ingenious artificer,
seemed always intended for the hand of somebody else.
These handles were stained of such a brilliant green, that, in
the slang of artists, they " killed " every green herb on the
plate of him who made use of them. The forks had spring
guards, to prevent the practitioner from cutting his left hand
with the knife that he held in his right ; and the knife had a
strange round projection at what should have been the point,
about the size of a shilling, which (horrible to relate !) had
been originally designed to convey gravy and small fragments
of viands, not prehensible by means of the two-pronged fork,
into the human mouth ! In addition to these strange relics of
a bygone civilization the Doctor possessed two large rocking-
chairs, of the same color as the handles of his knives. The
Doctor loved a rocking-chair, in which he did but share a
taste universally prevalent in Shayton, and defensible on the
profoundest philosophical grounds. The human creature loves
io8 Wender holme. PART i.
repose, but a thousand causes may hinder the perfect enjoy-
ment of it, and torment him into restlessness at the very time
when he most longs for rest. He may sit down after the
business of the day, and some mental or bodily uneasiness
may make the quiet of the massive easy-chair intolerable to
him. The easy-chair does not sympathize with him, does not
respond to the fidgety condition of his nervous system and
yet he tries to sit down in it and enjoy it, for, though fidgety,
he is also weary, and needs the comfort of repose. Now, the
rocking-chair that admirable old Lancashire institution
and the rocking-chair alone, responds to both these needs.
If you are fidgety, you rock ; if not, you don't. If highly ex-
cited, you rock boldly back, even to the extremity of danger ;
if pleasantly and moderately stimulated, you lull yourself with
a gentle motion, like the motion that little waves give to a
pleasure boat. It is true that the bolder and more emphatic
manner of rocking has become impossible in these latter days,
for the few upholsterers who preserve the tradition of the
rocking-chair at all make it in such a highly genteel manner,
that the rockers are diminished to the smallest possible arc ;
but the Doctor troubled himself little concerning these achieve-
ments of fashionable upholstery, and regarded his old rocking-
chairs with perfect satisfaction and complacency in which,
without desiring to offend against the decisions of the fashion-
able world, we cannot help thinking that he was right.
A large green rocking-chair, with bold high rockers and
a soft cushion like a small feather-bed, a long clay pipe quite
clean and new, a bright copper spittoon, and a jug of strong
ale, these things, with the necessary concomitants of a
briskly burning fire and an unlimited supply of tobacco, formed
the ideal of human luxury and beatitude to a generation now
nearly extinct, but of which the Doctor still preserved the
antique traditions. In substance often identical, but in out-
wardly visible means and appliances differing in every detail,
the pleasures of one generation seem quaint and even ridicu-
CHAP. XL The Colonel goes to Shay ton. 109
lous in comparison with the same pleasures as pursued by its
successor. Colonel Stanburne smoked a pipe, but it was a
short meerschaum, mounted in silver; and he also used a
knife and fork, and used them skilfully and energetically, but
they were not like the Doctor's grandmother's knives and
forks.
And yet, when the Colonel came to Shayton, he managed
to eat a very hearty dinner at one P.M. with the above-named
antiquated instruments. After the celery and cheese, Dr.
Bardly took one of the rocking-chairs, and made the Colonel
sit down in the other ; and Martha brought a fresh bottle of
uncommonly fine old port, which she decanted on a table in
the corner that did duty as a sideboard. When they had
done full justice to this, the Doctor ordered hot water ; and
Martha, accustomed to this laconic command, brought also
certain other fluids which were hot in quite a different sense.
She also brought a sheaf of clay tobacco-pipes, about two
feet six inches long, and in a state of the whitest virginity
emblems of purity ! emblems, alas ! at the same time, of all
that is most fragile and most ephemeral !
" Nay, Martha," said the Doctor, " we don't want them clay
pipes to-day. Colonel Stanburne isn't used to 'em, I reckon.
Bring that box of cigars that I bought the other day in
Manchester."
The Colonel, however, would smoke a clay pipe, and he
tried to rock as the Doctor did, and soon, by the effect of
that curious sympathy which exists between rocking-chairs
(or their occupants), the two kept time together like mu-
sicians in a duet, and clouds of the densest smoke arose
from the two long tobacco-pipes.
It had been announced to the inhabitants of the parsonage
that the representative of the house of Stanburne intended
to call there that afternoon ; and though it would be an
exaggeration to state that the preparations for his reception
were on a scale of magnificence, it is not an exaggeration to
no Wender holme. PART i
describe them as in every respect worthy of Mrs. Prigley's
skill as a manager, and her husband's ingenuity and taste.
New carpets they could not buy, so it was no use thinking
about them ; and though Mrs. Prigley had indulged the hope
that Mrs. Ogden's attention would be drawn to the state of
her carpets by that accident with which the reader is already
acquainted, so as to lead, it might be, to some act of gener-
osity on her part, this result had not followed, and indeed
had never suggested itself to Mrs. Ogden, who had merely
resolved to look well to her feet whenever she ventured into
the parlor at the parsonage, as on dangerous and treacherous
ground. Under these circumstances Mrs. Prigley gradually
sank into that condition of mind which accepts as inevitable
even the outward and visible signs of impecuniosity ; and
though an English lady must indeed be brought low before
she will consent to see the boards of her floors in a condition
of absolute nakedness, poor Mrs. Prigley had come down to
this at last ; and she submitted without a murmur when her
husband expressed his desire that "that old rag" on the floor
of the drawing-room might be removed out of his sight.
When the deal boards were carpetless, Mrs. Prigley was pro-
ceeding with a sigh to replace the furniture thereon ; but her
husband desired that it might be lodged elsewhere for a few
days, during which space of time he kept the door of the
drawing-room locked, and spent two or three hours there
every day in the most mysterious seclusion, to the neglect of his
parochial duties. Mrs. Prigley in vain endeavored to discover
the nature of his occupation there. She tried to look through
the key-hole, but a flap of paper had been adapted to it on the
inside to defeat her feminine curiosity ; she went into the
garden and attempted to look in at the window, but the blind
was down, and as it was somewhat too narrow, slips of paper
had been pasted on the glass down each side so as to make
the interstice no longer available. The reverend master of the
house endeavored to appear as frank and communicative as
CHAP. XL The Colonel goes to Shay ton. 1 1 1
usual, by talking volubly on all sorts of subjects except the
mystery of the drawing-room ; but Mrs. Prigley did not con-
sider it consistent with her self-respect to appear to take any
interest in his discourse, and during all these days she pre-
served, along with an extreme gentleness of manner, the air
of a person borne down by secret grief. An invisible line of
separation had grown up between the two ; and though both
were perfectly courteous and polite, each felt that the days
of mutual confidence were over. There was a difference,
however, in their respective positions ; for the parson felt tran-
quil in the assurance that the cloud would pass away, where-
as his wife had no such assurance, and the future was dark
before her. It is true, that, notwithstanding the outward se-
renity of her demeanor, Mrs. Prigley was sustained by the
inward fires of wrath, which enable an injured woman to
endure almost any extremity of mental misery and distress.
We have seen that the Shayton parson had that peculiar
form of eccentricity which consists in the love of the Beau-
tiful. He had great projects for Shayton Church, which as
yet lay hidden in the privacy of his own breast ; and he had
also projects for the parsonage, of which the realization, to
the eye of reason and common-sense, would have appeared
too remote to be entertained for an instant. But the enthu-
siasm for the Beautiful does not wait to be authorized by the
Philistines, if it did, it would wait till the end of all things;
and Mr. Prigley, poor as he was, determined to have such a
degree of beauty in his habitation as might be consistent with
his poverty. Without being an artist, or any thing approach-
ing to an artist, he had practised the drawing of the simpler
decorative forms, and was really able to combine them very
agreeably. He could also lay a flat tint with a brush quite
neatly, though he could not manage a gradation. When it
had been finally decided that carpets could no longer be
afforded, Mr. Prigley saw that the opportunity had come for
the exercise of his talents ; but he was far too wise a man to
1 1 2 Wenderholme. PART i.
confide to his wife projects so entirely outside the orbit of
her ideas. He had attempted, in former days, to inoculate
her mind with the tastes that belong to culture, but he had
been met by a degree of impenetrability which proved to
him that the renewal of such attempts, instead of adding to
his domestic happiness by creating closer community of ideas,
might be positively detrimental to it, by proving too phinly
the impossibility of such a community. Mrs. Prigley, like
many good women of her class, was totally and absolutely
devoid of culture of any kind. She managed her house ad-
mirably, and with a wonderful thrift and wisdom ; she was
an excellent wife in a certain sense, though more from duty
than any great strength of affection ; but beyond this and
the Church Service, and three or four French phrases which
she did not know how to pronounce, her mind was in such a
state of darkness and ignorance as to astonish even her hus-
band from time to time, though he had plenty of opportuni-
ties for observing it.
But what was he doing in the drawing-room ? He was
doing things unheard of in the Shayton valley. In the days
of his youth and extravagance he had bought a valuable
book on Etruscan design ; and though, as we have said else-
where, his taste and culture, though developed up to a certain
point, were yet by no means perfect or absolutely reliable,
still he could not but feel the singular simplicity and grace of
that ancient art, and he determined that the decoration of his
drawing-room should be Etruscan. On the wide area of the
floor he drew a noble old design, and stained it clearly in
black and red ; and, when it was dry, rubbed linseed-oil all
over it to fix it. The effect was magnificent ! the artist was
delighted with his performance ! but on turning his eye from
the perfect unity of the floor, with its centre and broad bor-
der, to the old paper on the walls, which was covered with a
representation of a brown angler fishing in a green river,
with a blue hill behind him, 'and an equally blue church-
CHAP. xi. The Colonel goes to Shay ton. 113
steeple, and a cow who had eaten so much grass that it had
not only fattened her but colored her with its own green-
ness and when the parson counted the number of copies
of this interesting landscape that adorned his walls, and
saw that they numbered sixscore and upwards then he felt
that he had too much of it, and boldly resolved to abolish it.
He looked at all the wall-papers in the shop at Shayton, but the
endurable ones were beyond his means, and the cheap ones
were not endurable so he purchased a quantity of common
brown parcel-paper, of which he took care to choose the
most agreeable tint ; and he furtively covered his walls with
that, conveying the paper, a few sheets at a time, under his
topcoat. When the last angler had disappeared, the parson
began to feel highly excited at the idea of decorating all that
fresh and inviting surface. He would have a frieze yes, he
would certainly have a frieze ; and he set to work, and copied
long Etruscan processions. Then the walls must be divided
into compartments, and each compartment must have its
chosen design, and the planning and the execution of this
absorbed Mr. Prigley so much, that for three weeks he did
not write a single new sermon, and, I am sorry to say, scarcely
visited a single parishioner except in cases of pressing neces-
sity. As the days were so short, he took to working by
candle-light ; and when once he had discovered that it was
possible to get on in this way, he worked till two o'clock in the
morning. He made himself a cap-candlestick, and with this
crest of light on the top of his head, and the fire of enthusi-
asm inside it, forgot the flying hours.
The work was finished at last. It was not perfect ; a good
critic might have detected many an inaccuracy of line, and
some incongruousness in the juxtaposition of designs, which,
though all antique and Etruscan, were often of dissimilar
epochs. But, on the whole, the result justified the proud
satisfaction of the workman. The room would be henceforth
marked with the sign of culture and of taste : it was a little
Temple of the Muse in the midst of a barbarian world.
8
1 1 4 Wender holme. PART I
But what would Mrs. Prigley say ? The parson knew that
he had done a bold deed, and he rather trembled at the
consequence. " My love," he said, one morning at breakfast-
time, " I Ve finished what I was doing in the drawing-room,
and you can put the furniture back when you like ; but I
should not wish to have any thing hung upon the walls
they are sufficiently decorated as it is. The pictures " (by
which Mr. Prigley meant sundry worthless little lithographs
and prints) "the pictures may be hung in one of the bed-
rooms- wherever you like."
Mrs.* Prigley remained perfectly silent, and her husband
did not venture to ask her to accompany him into the scene
of his artistic exploits. He felt that in case she did not
approve what he had done, the situation might become embar-
rassing. So, immediately after breakfast, he walked forth
into the parish, and said that he should probably dine with
Mr. Jacob Ogden, who (by his mother's command) had
kindly invited him to do so whenever he happened to pass
Milend about one o'clock in the day. And in this way the
parson managed to keep out of the house till tea-time. It
was not that Mr. Prigley dreaded any criticism, for to criti-
cise, one must have an opinion. Mrs. Prigley on these matters
had not an opinion. All that Mr. Prigley dreaded was the
anger of the offended spouse of the spouse whom he had
not even gone through the formality of seeming to consult.
He was punished, but not as he had expected to be pun-
ished. Mrs. Prigley said nothing to him on the subject ;
but when they went into the drawing-room together at night,
she affected not to perceive that he had done any thing what-
ever there. Not only did she not speak about these changes,
but, though Mr. Prigley watched her eyes during the whole
evening to see whether they would rest upon his handiwork,
they never seemed to perceive it, even for an instant. She
played the part she had resolved upon with marvellous per-
sistence and self-control. She seemed precisely as she had
CHAP. XT. The Colonel goes to Shay ton. 1 1 5
always been : sulky ? not in the least ; there was not the slight-
est trace of sulkiness, or any thing approaching to sulkiness
in her manner the Etruscan designs were simply invisible
for her, that was all.
They were not so invisible for the Colonel when he came
to pay his visit at the parsonage, and, in his innocence, he
complimented Mrs. Prigley on her truly classical taste. He
had not the least notion that the floor was carpetless because
the Prigleys could not afford a carpet the degree of pov-
erty which could not afford a carpet not being conceivable
by him as a possible attribute of one of his relations or
friends. He believed that this beautiful Etruscan design was
preferred by Mrs. Prigley to a carpet to the best of car-
pets on high aesthetic grounds. Ah ! if he could have read
her heart, and seen therein all the shame and vexation that
glowed like hidden volcanic fires ! All these classical deco-
rations seemed to the simple lady a miserable substitute for
the dear old carpet with its alternate yellow flourish and
brown lozenge ; and she regretted the familiar fisherman
whose image used to greet her wherever her eyes might rest.
But she felt a deeper shame than belongs to being visibly
poor or visibly ridiculous. The room looked poor she knew,
and in her opinion it looked ridiculous also but there was
something worse than that, and harder far to bear. How
shall I reveal this bitter grief and shame how find words
to express the horror I feel for the man who was its unpardon-
able cause ! Carried away by his enthusiasm for a profane
and heathen art, Mr. Prigley had actually introduced, in the
frieze and elsewhere, several figures which well, were di-
vested of all drapery whatever ! " And he a clergyman, too ! "
thought Mrs. Prigley. True, they were simply outlined ; and
the conception of the original designer had been marvellously
elegant and pure, chastened to the last degree by long de-
votion to the ideal ; but there they were, these shameless
nymphs and muses, on the wall of a Christian clergyman !
1 1 6 Wenderholme. PART i
John Stanburne, who had travelled a good deal, and who had
often stayed in houses where there were both statues and
pictures, saw nothing here but the evidence of cultivated
taste. " What will he think of us ? " said Mrs. Prigley to
herself ; and she believed that his compliments were merely
a kind way of trying to make her feel less uncomfortable.
She thought him very nice, and he chattered as pleasantly as
he possibly could, so that the Doctor, who had come with
him, had no social duty to perform, and spent his time in
-studying the Etruscan decorations. Colonel Stanburne apolo-
gized for Lady Helena, who had intended to come with him ;
but her little girl was suffering from an attack of fever not
a dangerous fever, he hoped, though violent.
The Doctor, who had not before heard of this, was sur-
prised ; but as he did not visit Wenderholme professionally
(for Wenderholme Hall was, medically speaking, under the
authority of the surgeon at Rigton, whose jealousy was already
awakened by our Doctor's intimacy with the Colonel), he
reflected that it was no business of his. The fact was, that
little Miss Stanburne was in the enjoyment of the most per-
fect health, but her mother thought it more prudent to let the
Colonel go to Shayton by himself in the first instance, so as
to be able to regulate her future policy according to his
report. Mr. Prigley came in before the visitor had exhausted
the subject of the fever, which he described with an accuracy
that took in these two very experienced people, for he de-
scribed from memory his daughter having suffered from
such an attack about six months earlier than the very recent
date the Colonel found it convenient to assign to it.
It was, of course, a great satisfaction to the Prigleys that
the head of the Stanburnes should thus voluntarily renew a
connection which, so far as personal intercourse was con-
cerned, was believed to have been permanently severed. It
was not simply because the Colonel was a man of high
standing in the county that they were glad to become ac-
CHAP. xi. The Colonel goes to Shay ton. 117
quainted with him there were certain clannish and romantic
sentiments which now found a satisfaction long denied to
them. Mrs. Prigley felt, in a minor degree, what a Highland
gentlewoman still feels for the chief of her clan; and she
was disposed to offer a sort of loyalty to the Colonel as the
head of her house, which was very different from the common
respect for wealth and position in general. The Stanburnes
had never taken any conspicuous part in the great events of
English history, but the successive representatives of the
family had at least been present in many historical scenes;
in conflicts civil and military, on the field, on the quarter-deck
of the war-ship, in stormy Parliamentary struggles ; and the
present chief of the name, for other descendants of the family,
inherited in an especial sense a place in the national life of
England. Not that Mrs. Prigley had any definite notions
even about the history of her own family ; the sentiment of
birth is quite independent of historical knowledge, and many
a good gentlewoman in these realms is in a general way
proud of belonging to an old family, without caring to inquire
very minutely into the history of it, just as she may be
proud of her coat-of-arms without knowing any thing about
heraldry.
The Colonel, in a very kind and graceful manner, expressed
his regret that such near relations should have been sepa-
rated for so long by an unfortunate dispute between their
fathers. " I believe," he said, " that your side has most to
forgive, since my father won the lawsuit, but surely we ought
not to perpetuate" ill-feeling, generation after generation."
Mr. Prigley said that no ill-feeling remained ; but that though
he had often wished to see Wenderholme and its owner, he
knew that, as a rule, poor relations were liked best at a dis-
tance, and that not having hitherto had the pleasure of knowing
Colonel Stanburne, he must be held excusable for having
supposed him to be like the rest of the world. John Stan-
burne was not quite satisfied with this somewhat formal and
1 1 8 Wenderholme. PART i
dignified assurance, and was resolved to establish a more
intimate footing before he left the parsonage. He exerted
himself to talk about ecclesiastical matters and church archi-
tecture, and when Mr. Prigley offered to show him the church,
accompanied him thither with great apparent interest and
satisfaction. The Doctor had patients to visit, and went his
own way.
CHAP. xii. Ogderis New Mill. 1 1 9
CHAPTER XII.
OGDEN'S NEW MILL.
OUR Jacob, or big Jacob, or Jacob at Milend, as he now
began to be called in the Ogden family, to distinguish
him from his nephew and homonym, had arrived at that point
in the career of every successful cotton-spinner when a feeling
of great embarrassment arises as to the comparative wisdom
of purchasing an estate or " laying down a new mill." When
his brother Isaac retired from the concern with ten thousand
pounds, Jacob had not precisely cheated him, perhaps, but
he had made a bargain which, considered prospectively, was
highly favorable to his own interest; and since he had been
alone, the profits from the mill had been so considerable that
his savings had rapidly accumulated, and he was now troubled
with a very heavy balance at his bankers, and in various
investments, which, to a man accustomed to receive the large
Interest of successful cotton-spinning, seemed little better
than letting money lie idle. Mrs. Ogden had three hundred
a-year from five or six very small farms of her own, which
she had inherited from her mother, and this amply sufficed
for the entire expenses of the little household at Milend.
Jacob spent about a hundred and fifty pounds a-year on
himself personally, of which two-thirds were absorbed in
shooting, the only amusement he cared about. His tailor's
bill was incredibly small, for he had the excuse, when in
Shayton, of being constantly about the mill, and it was natu-
ral that he should wear old fustian and corduroy there ; and
I2O Wender holme. PART I,
as for his journeys to Manchester, it was his custom on these
occasions to wear the suit which had been the Sunday suit
of the preceding year. His mother knitted all his stockings
for him, and made his shirts, these being her usual occupa-
tions in an evening. His travelling expenses were confined
to the weekly journeys to Manchester, and as these were
always on business, they were charged to the concern. If
Jacob Ogden had not been fond of shooting, his personal
expenses, beyond food and lodging (which were provided for
him by his mother), would not have exceeded fifty pounds
a-year ; and it is a proof of the great firmness of his character
in money matters that, although by nature passionately fond
of sport, he resolutely kept the cost of it within the hundred.
His annual outlay upon literature was within twenty shil-
lings ; not that it is to be supposed that he spent so large a
sum as one pound sterling in a regular manner upon books,
but he had been tempted by a second-hand copy of Baine's
* History of Lancashire/ which, being much the worse for
wear, had been marked by the bookseller at five pounds,
and Jacob Ogden, by hard bargaining, had got it for four
pounds nine shillings and ninepence. After this extrava-
gance he resolved to spend no more " foolish money," as he
called it, and for several years made no addition to his library,
except a book on dog-breeding, and a small treatise on the
preservation of game, which he rightly entered amongst his
expenses as a sportsman. We are far from desiring to imply
that Jacob Ogden is in this respect to be considered a repre-
sentative example of the present generation of cotton-manu-
facturers, many of whom are highly educated men, but he
may be fairly taken as a specimen of that generation which
founded the colossal fortunes that excite the wonder, and
sometimes, perhaps, awaken the envy, of the learned. When
nature produces a creature for some especial purpose, she
does not burden it with wants and desires that would scatter
its force and impair its efficiency. The industrial epoch had
CHAP. xii. Ogdens New Mill. 121
to be inaugurated, the manufacturing districts had to be
created and to do this a body of men were needed who
should be fresh springs of pure energy, and reservoirs of all
but illimitable capital ; men who should act with the certainty
and steadiness of natural instincts which have never been
impaired by the hesitations of culture and philosophy men
who were less nearly related to university professors than to
the ant, and the beaver, and the bee. And if any cultivated
and intellectual reader, in the thoughtful retirement of his
library, feels himself superior to Jacob Ogden, the illiterate
cotton-spinner, he may be reminded that he is not on all
points Ogden's superior. We are all but tools in the hands
of God ; and as in the mind of a writer great delicacy and
flexibility are necessary qualities for the work he is appointed
to do, so in the mind of a great captain of industry the most
valuable qualities may be the very opposite of these. Have
we the energy, the directness, the singleness of purpose, the
unflinching steadiness in the dullest possible labor, that
mark the typical industrial chief ? We know that we have
not ; we know that these qualities are not compatible with
the tranquillity of the studious temperament and the medi-
tative life. And if the Ogdens cannot be men of letters,
neither can the men of letters be Ogdens.
It is admitted, then, that Jacob Ogden was utterly and
irreclaimably illiterate. He really never read a book in his
life, except, perhaps, that book on dog-breaking. Whenever
he tried to read, it was a task and a labor to him ; and as
literature is not of the least use in the cotton trade, the
energy of his indomitable will had never been brought to
bear upon the mastery of a book. And yet you could not
meet him without feeling that he was very intelligent that
he possessed a kind of intelligence cultivated by the closest
observation of the men and things within the narrow circle
of his life. Has it never occurred to the reader how won-
derfully the most illiterate people often impress us with a
122 Wender holme. PARTI
sense of their intelligence how men and women who never
learned the alphabet have its light on their countenance and
in their eyes? In Ogden's face there were clear signs of
that, and of other qualities also. And there was a keenness
in the glance quite different from the penetration of the
thinker or the artist a keenness which always comes from
excessively close and minute attention to money matters, and
from the passionate love of money, and which no other
passion or occupation ever produces.
In all that related to money Jacob Ogden acted with the
pitiless regularity of the irresistible forces of nature. As
the sea which feeds the fisherman will drown him without
remorse as the air which we all breathe will bury us under
heaps of ruin so this man, though his capital enabled a
multitude to live, would take the bed from under a sick
debtor, and, rather than lose an imperceptible atom of his
fortune, inflict the utmost extremity of misery. Even Hanby,
his attorney, who was by no means tender-hearted, had been
staggered at times by his pitilessness, and had ventured upon
a feeble remonstrance. On these occasions a shade of stern-
ness was added to the keenness of Ogden's face, and he
repeated a terrible maxim, which, with one or two others,
guided his life : " If a man means to be rich, he must have
no fine feelings;" and then he would add, "/mean to be
rich."
Perhaps he would have had fine feelings on a Sunday, for
on Sundays he was religious, and went to church, where he
heard a good deal about being merciful and forgiving which
on week-days he would have attributed to the influence of
the sentiments which he despised. But Ogclen was far too
judicious an economist of human activities to be ignorant of
the great art of self-adaptation to the duties and purposes of
the hour; and as a prudent lawyer who has a taste for music
will take care that it shall not interfere with his professional
work, so Jacob Ogden, who really had rather a taste for
CHAP. xii. Ogderis New- Mill. 123
religion, and liked to sit in church with gloved hands and
a clean face, had no notion of allowing the beautiful senti-
ments which he heard there to paralyze his action on a
week-clay. Every Sunday he prayed repeatedly that God
would forgive him his debts or trespasses as he forgave his
debtors or those that trespassed against him ; but that was
no reason why he should not, from Monday morning to
Saturday night inclusively, compel everybody to pay what he
owed, and distress him for it if necessary. After all, he
acted so simply and instinctively that one can hardly blame
him very severely. The truest definition of him would be,
an incarnate natural force. The forces of wealth, which are
as much natural forces as those of fire and frost, had incar-
nated themselves in him. His sympathy with money was so
complete, he had so entirely subjected his mind to it, so
thoroughly made himself its pupil and its mouth-piece, that
it is less accurate to say that he had money than that he
was money. Jacob Ogden was a certain sum of money
whose unique idea was its own increase, and which acted in
obedience to the laws of wealth as infallibly as a planet acts
in obedience to the cosmic forces.
It is only natural that a man so endowed and so situated
should grow rich. In all respects circumstances were favor-
able to him. He had robust health and indefatigable energy.
His position in a little place like Shayton, where habits of
spending had not yet penetrated, was also greatly in his favor,
because it sheltered him in undisturbed obscurity. No man
who is born to wealth, and has lived from his infancy in the
upper class, will confine his expenditure during the best years
of manhood to the pittance which sufficed for Ogden. It
was an advantage to him, also, that his mind should be empty,
because he needed all the room in it for the endless details
concerning his property and his trade. No fact of this nat-
ure, however minute, escaped him. His knowledge of the
present state of all that belonged to him was so clear and
124 Wenderholme. PART i.
accurate, and his foresight as to probable changes so sure,
that he anticipated every thing, and neutralized every cause
of loss before it had time to develop itself.
That a man whose daily existence proved the fewness of
his wants should have an eager desire for money, may appear
one of the inconsistencies of human nature ; but in the case
of Jacob Ogden, and in thousands of cases similar to his,
there is no real inconsistency. He did not desire money in
order to live luxuriously ; he desired it because the mere pos-
session of it brought increased personal consideration, and
gave him weight and importance in the little community he
lived in. And when a man relies on wealth alone for his po-
sition when he is, obviously, not a gentleman he needs a
great quantity of it. Another reason why Jacob Ogden never
felt that he had enough was because the men with whom he
habitually compared himself, and whom he wished to distance
in the race, did not themselves remain stationary, but enriched
themselves so fast that it needed all Jacob Ogden's genius for
money-getting to keep up with them ; for men of talent in
every order compare themselves with their equals and rivals,
and not with the herd of the incapable. It was his custom
to go to Manchester in the same railway carriage with four or
five men of business, who talked of nothing but investments,
and it would have made Jacob Ogden miserable not to be
able to take a share in these conversations on terms of per-
fect equality.
" I 'm sure," thought Mrs. Ogden, " that our Jacob 's got
something on his mind. He sits and thinks a deal more than
he used doin'. He 's 'appen * fallen in love, an' doesn't like
to tell me about it, because it 's same as tellin' me to leave
Milend."
Mrs. Ogden was confirmed in her suspicions that very even-
ing by the fact that " our Jacob " shut himself up in the little
sitting-room with a builder. "If it's to build himself a new
* Perhaps.
CHAP. xn. Ogderis New Mill. 125
'ouse and leave me at Milend, I willn't stop ; and if it 's to
build me a new 'ouse, I shall never live there. I shall go an'
live i' th' Cream-pot."
The idea of Mrs. Ogden living in a cream-pot may appear
to some readers almost as mythical as the story of that other
and much more famous old lady who lived in a shoe ; but
although a cream-pot would not be a bad place to live in if
one were a mouse, and the rich fluid not dangerously deep, it
is not to be supposed that Mrs. Ogden entertained such a
project in an obvious and literal sense. Her intentions were
rational, but they need a word of explanation. She possessed
a small farm called the Cream-pot ; and of all her small farms
this was her best beloved. Therefore had she resolved, years
and years before, that when Jacob married she would go to
the Cream-pot, and dwell there for the days that might remain
to her.
She waited till the builder had gone, and then went into
the little room. Jacob was busy examining a plan. " I wish
you wouldn't trouble yourself about that buildin', Jacob," said
Mrs. Ogden ; " there needs no buildin', for as soon as ever
you get wed I shall go to th' Cream-pot."
Her son looked up from his plan with an air of the utmost
astonishment. Mrs. Ogden continued,
" I think you might have told me about it a little sooner.
I don't even know her name, not positively, though I may
guess it, perhaps. There's no doubt about one thing
you '11 have time enough to repent in. As they make their
bed, so they must lie."
"What the devil," said Jacob, thinking aloud and very
loudly, " what the devil is th' ould woman drivin' at ? "
" Nay, if I 'm to be sworn at, I Ve been too long i' this
'ouse already."
And Mrs. Ogden, with that stately step which distinguished
her, made slowly for the door.
In cases where the lady of a house acts in a manner which
126 Wenderholme. PARTI.
is altogether absurd, the male or males, whose comfort is in a
great degree dependent upon her good temper, have a much
better chance of restoring it than when she is but moderately
unreasonable. They are put upon their guard ; they are
quite safe from that most fatal of errors, an attempt to bring
the lady round by those too direct arguments which are sug-
gested by masculine frankness ; they are warned that judicious
management is necessary. Thus, although Jacob Ogden, in
the first shock of his astonishment, had not replied to his
mother in a manner precisely calculated to soothe her, he at
once perceived his error, and saw that she must be brought
round. In politer spheres, where people beg pardon of each
other for the most trifling and even imaginary offences, the
duty of begging pardon is so constantly practised that (like
all well-practised duties) it is extremely easy. But it was im-
possible for Jacob Ogden, who had never begged pardon in
his life.
" I say, mother, stop a bit. You Ve gotten a bit o' brass o'
your own, an' I 'm layin' down a new mill, and I shall want
o' th' * brass I can lay my hands on. I willn't borrow none,
out of this 'ouse, not even of my brother Isaac ; but if you
could lend me about four thousand pound, I could give a
better finish to th' new shed."
" Why, Jacob, you never told me as you were layin' down a
new mill."
" No, but I should a' done if you 'd a' waited a bit. I never
light made up my mind about it while last night."
It was not Jacob Ogden's custom to be confidential with his
mother about money matters, and she on her part had been
too proud to seek a confidence that was never offered ; but
many little signs had of late led her to the conclusion that
Jacob was in a period of unusual prosperity. He had bought
one or two small estates for three or four thousand pounds
* All the. In Lancashire the word all is abbreviated, as in Scotland,
to a', but pronounced o.
CHAP. xii. Ogderis New Mill. 127
each, and then had suddenly declared that he would lay out
no more money in "potterin' bits o' property like them, but
keep it while he 'd a good lump for summat o' some use." The
decision about the new mill proved to Mrs. Ogden that the
' lump " in question was already accumulated.
" Jacob," she said, " how much do you reckon to put into
th' new mill ? "
" Why, 'appen about forty thousand ; an' if you '11 lend me
four, that '11 be forty-four."
This was a larger sum than Mrs. Ogden had hoped ; but she
showed no sign of rejoicing beyond a quiet smile.
" And where do you think of buildin' it ? "
" Well, mother, if you don't mind sellin' me Little Mouse
Field, it 's the best mill-site in all Shayton. There 's that
water-course so handy ; and it '11 increase the valley * of our
land round about it."
Mrs. Ogden was perfectly soothed by this time. Jacob
wanted to borrow four thousand pounds of her. She had coal
under her little farms, of which the accumulated produce had
reached rather more than that amount ; and she promised the
loan with a facetious hope that the borrower would be able to
give her good security. As to Little Mouse Field, he was
quite welcome to it, and she begged him to accept it as a
present.
" Nay, mother ; you shouldn't give me no presents bout t
givin' summat to our Isaac. But I reckon it 's all one ; for all
as I have, or shall have, '11 go to little Jacob."
"Eh, how you talk, lad! Why, you'll get wed an' have
chilther of your own. You're young enough, an' well off
beside."
"There 's no need for me to get wed, mother, so long as th'
old woman lasts, an' who '11 last a long while yet, I reckon.
There 's none o' these young ladies as is kerfle enough to do
for a man like me as has been accustomed to see his house
* Value. t Without.
128 Wenderholme. PARTI.
well managed. Why, they cannot neither make a shirt nor a
puddin'."
These disparaging remarks concerning the "Girl of the
Period " filled (as they were designed to fill) Mrs. Ogden 's
mind with tranquillity and satisfaction. To complete her
good-humor, Jacob unrolled the plans and elevation of his new
mill. The plans were most extensive, but the elevation did
not strike the spectator by its height ; for as the site was not
costly, Jacob Ogden had adopted a system then becoming
prevalent in the smaller towns of the manufacturing districts,
where land was comparatively cheap the system of erecting
mills rather as sheds than on the old five-storied model. His
new mill was simply a field w.illed in and roofed over, with
a tall engine house and an enormous chimney at one end.
People of aesthetic tastes would see nothing lovely in the long
straight lines of roofs and rows of monotonously identical
windows which displayed themselves on the designs drawn by
Ogden's architect ; but to Ogden's eyes there was a beauty
. here greater than that of the finest cathedral he had ever
beheld. He was not an imaginative person ; but he had quite
enough imagination to realize the vista of the vast interior,
the roar of the innumerable wheels, the incessant activity of
the living makers of his wealth. He saw himself standing in
the noble engine-room, and watching the unhurried see-saw of
the colossal beams ; the rise and fall of the pistons, thicker
than the spear of Goliath, and brighter than columns of silver ;
the revolution of the enormous fly-wheel ; the exquisite truth
of motion ; the steadiness of man's great creature, that never
knows fatigue. That engine-room should be the finest in all
Shayton. It should have a plaster cornice round its ceiling,
and a great moulded ornament in the middle of it ; the gas-
lights should be in handsome ground-glass globes ; and about
the casings of the cylinders there should be a luxury of mahog-
any and brass.
" But, Jacob," said his mother, when she had duly adjusted
CHAP. xii. Ogderis New MilL 129
her spectacles, and gradually mastered the main features of
the plan, " it seems to me as you 've put th' mill all o' one
side, and th' engine nobbut half-fills th' engine-house."
Ogden had never heard of Taymouth Castle and the old
Earl of Breadalbane, who, when somebody asked him why he
built his house at the extremity of his estate, instead of in the
middle of it, answered that he intended to "brizz yint." *
But, like the ambitious Earl, Ogden was one of those who
"buzz yint."
" Why, mother," he said, " this 'ere 's nobbut half the new
mill. What can you do with forty-five thousand ? "
* Push beyond.
130 Wenderholme. PARTI.
CHAPTER XIII.
STANITHBURN PEEL.
" T TELEN A ! " said Colonel Stanburne one morning when
-*-* he came down to breakfast, " I Ve determined on a
bold stroke. I 'm going to take the tandem this morning to
Stanithburn Peel, to see young Philip Stanburne and get him
to accept a captaincy in the new regiment."
Her ladyship did not see why this should be called a bold
stroke, so she asked if the road were particularly dangerous
to drive upon, and suggested that, if it were, one horse would
be safer than two.
" That 's not it. The sort of courage wanted on the present
occasion, my dear Helena, is moral courage and not physical
courage, don't you see ? Did you never hear the history of
the Stanburnes of Stanithburn? Surely female ignorance
does not go so far as to leave you uninformed about such a
distinguished family as ours ? "
" I know the history of its present representative, or at least
as much of it as he chooses to tell me."
" Error added to ignorance ! I am not the representative
of the family. We of Wenderholme are only a younger branch.
The real representative is Philip Stanburne, of Stanithburn
Peel."
" I scarcely ever heard of him before. I had some vague
notion that such a person existed. Why does he never come
here?"
CHAP. xiii. Stanithburn Peel. 1 3 1
" It 's a long story, but you will find it all in the county
histories. In Henry the Eighth's time Sir Philip Stanburne
was a rebel and got beheaded, some people say hanged, for
treason, so his estates were confiscated. Wenderholme and
Stanithburn Tower were given back to the family in the next
generation, but the elder branch had only Stanithburn, which
is a much smaller estate than this. Since then they married
heiresses, but always regularly spent their fortunes, and now
young* Philip Stanburne has nothing but the tower with a
small estate of bad land which brings him in four or five
hundred a-year."
" Not much certainly ; but why does he never come here ? "
" My father used to say that there had been no intercourse
between Stanithburn and Wenderholme for three hundred
years. Most likely the separation was a religious quarrel,
to begin with. The elder branch always remained strictly
Roman Catholic ; but the Wenderholme branch was more
prudent, and turned Protestant in Queen Elizabeth's time."
" All this is quite a romantic story, but those county
histories are so full of archaeology that one does not venture
to look into them. Would it not be better to write to Mr.
Philip Stanburne ? There is no knowing how he may receive
you."
The Colonel thought it better to go personally. " I 'm not
clever, Helena, at persuading people with a pen ; but I can
generally talk them round, when I have a chance of seeing
them myself."
The distance from Wenderholme to Stanithburn Peel was
exactly twenty-five miles ; but the Colonel liked a long drive,
and the tandem was soon on its way through the narrow but
well-kept lanes that traversed the stretch of fertile country
which separated the two houses. The Colonel lunched and
baited his horses at a little inn not often visited by such a
stylish equipage, and it was nearly three o'clock in the after-
noon when he began to enter the hilly country near the Peel.
132 Wenderholme* PART i.
The roads here were not so good as those in the plain, and
instead of being divided from the fields by hedges they
passed between gray stone walls. The scenery became more
and more desolate as the horses advanced. There was little
sylvan beauty left in it except that of the alders near a rapid
stream in the valley, and the hills showed the bare limestone
in many places through a scanty covering of grass. At
length a turn of the road brought the Colonel in sight of the
Tower or Peel of Stanithburn itself, an edifice which had little
pretension to architectural beauty, and lacked altogether that
easily achieved sublimity which in so many Continental build-
ings of a similar character is due to the overhanging of
machicoulis and tourelles. It possessed, however, the dis-
tinguishing feature of a battlement, which, still in perfect
preservation, entirely surrounded the leads of the flat roof.
Beyond this the old Tower retained no warlike character, but
resembled an ordinary modern house, with an additional
story on the top of it. There were, alas ! some modern sash-
windows, which went ' far to destroy the character of the
edifice ; yet whatever injury the Philistinism of the eighteenth
century might have inflicted upon the building itself, it had
not been able to destroy the romantic beauty of its site.
The hill that separates Shayton from Wenderholme is of
sandstone; and though behind Twistle Farm and elsewhere
there are groups of rocks of more or less picturesque interest,
they are not comparable to the far grander limestone region
about the Tower of Stanithburn. The Tower itself is situated
on a bleak eminence, half surrounded by a curve of the
stream already mentioned ; but a mile below the Tower the
stream passes through a ravine of immense depth, and in
a series of cascades reaches the level of the plain below.
Above Stanithburn Peel, on the other hand, the stream
comes from a region of unimaginable desolation where
the fantastic forms of the pale stone lift themselves, rain-
worn, like a council of rude colossi, and no sound is heard
CHAP. xiii. StanithburnPeeL 133
but the wind and the stream, and the wild cry of the
plover.
A very simple gateway led from the public to a private
road, which climbed the hill till it ended in a sort of farm-
yard between the Peel and its outbuildings. When the
Colonel arrived here, he was received by a farm-servant, who
showed the way to the stable, and said that his master was
out fishing. By following the stream, the Colonel would be
sure to find him.
John Stanburne set off on foot, not without some secret
apprehension. " Perhaps Helena was right, " he thought ;
" perhaps I ought to have written. They say he is a strange,
eccentric sort of fellow, and there is no telling how he may
receive me."
Philip Stanburne, of the Peel, was in fact reputed to be
morbid and misanthropic, with as much justice as there
usually is in such reports. After his father's death he had
been left alone with his mother, and the few years that he
lived in this way with her had been the sweetest and happiest
of his life. When he lost her, his existence became one of
almost absolute solitude, broken only by a weekly visit to a
great house ten miles from Stanithburn, where a chaplain
was kept, and he could hear mass or by the occasional
visits of the doctor, and one or two by no means intimate
neighbors. In country places a difference of religion is a
great impediment to intercourse ; and though people thought
it quite right that Philip Stanburne should be a Catholic, they
never could get over a feeling of what they called " queerness "
in the presence of a man who believed in transubstantiation,
and said prayers to the Virgin Mary. Like many other
recluses, he was credited with a dislike to society far differ-
ent from his real feeling, and much less creditable to his
good sense. Habit had made solitude endurable to him, and
there was something agreeable, no doubt, in the sense of his
independence, but there was not the slightest taint of mis-
1 34 Wenderholme. PART i.
anthropy in his whole nature. He naturally shrank from
the society of Sootythorn because it was so strongly Protes-
tant; and there were no families of his own creed in his
immediate neighborhood. His way of living was too simple
for the entertainment of guests. Having no profession by
which money might be earned, he was reduced to mere
economy, which got him a reputation for being stingy and
unsociable.
The Colonel walked a mile along the stream without per-
ceiving anybody, but at length he saw Philip Stanburne, very
much occupied with his fly-book, and accompanied only by
a dog, which began to bark vigorously as soon as he per-
ceived the presence of a stranger. A quarter of an hour
afterwards the two new acquaintances were talking easily
enough, and the recluse of the Tower began to feel inclined
to join the militia, though he had asked for time to consider.
" I have heard," said the Colonel, " that the name which
your house still keeps, and from "which our own name comes,
is due to some stone in your stream stone in the burn, or
stane i' th' burn, and so to Stanithburn and Stanburne.
Is there any particular stone here likely to give a ground
for the theory, or is it only a tradition ? "
" I have no doubt," said Philip Stanburne, " of the accu-
racy of tradition in this instance. Come and look at the
stone itself."
He turned aside from the direct path to the Tower, and
they came again to the brink of the stream, which had here
worn for itself two channels deep in the limestone. Between
these channels rose an islanded rock about thirty feet above
the present level of the water. A fragment of ruined building
was discernible on its narrow summit.
As the two men looked together on the stone from which
their race had taken its name centuries ago, both fell under
the influence of that mysterious sentiment, so different from
the pride of station or the vanity of precedence, which binds
CHAP. xiii. StanithburnPeeL 135
us to the past. Neither of them spoke, but it is not an
exaggeration to say that both felt their relationship then.
Had not the time been when Stanburne of the Peel and Stan-
burne of Wenderholme were brothers ? A fraternal feeling
began to unite these two by subtle, invisible threads.
136 Wender holme. PART I.
CHAPTER XIV.
AT SOOTYTHORN.
NOT man)' days after the little events narrated in the
preceding chapter, Mr. Philip Stanburne awoke in a
small bedroom on the second floor of the Thorn Inn, or
Thorn Hotel, at Sootythorn. It was a disagreeable, stuffy
little room ; and an extensive four-poster covered fully one-
half the area of the floor. There was the usual wash-hand
stand, and close to the wash-hand stand a chair, and on the
chair the undress uniform of a militia officer. Philip Stan-
burne lay in the extensive four-poster, and contemplated the
military equipment, of which the most brilliant portions were
the crimson sash, and the bright, newly gilded hilt of a
handsome sword. As it was only the undress uniform, there
was nothing particularly striking in the dress itself, which
consisted of a plain dark-blue frock-coat, and black trowsers
with narrow red seam. Nevertheless, Captain Stanburne felt
no great inclination to invest his person with what looked
very like a disguise. His instincts were by no means mili-
tary ; and the idea of marching through the streets of Sooty-
thorn with a drawn sword in his hand had little attraction
for him.
When he drew up his blind, the view from the window was
unpleasantly different from the view that refreshed his eye
every morning at Stanithburn Peel. The Thorn Inn was
higher than most of the houses in Sootythorn, and Philip
Stanburne had a view over the roofs. Very smoky they all
CHAP. xiv. At Sootythorn. 137
were, and still smokier were the immense chimney-stalks of
the cotton-mills. "One, two, three, four," began Philip, aloud,
as he counted the great chimneys, and he did not stop till he
had counted up to twenty-nine. The Thorn Inn was just in
the middle of the town, and there were as many on the other
side a consideration which occurred to Philip Stanburne's
reflective mind, as it sometimes occurs to very philosophical
people to think about the stars that are under our feet, on
the other side of the world.
" What a dirty place it is ! " thought Philip Stanburne.
" I wish I had never come into the militia. Fancy me
staying a month in such a smoky hole as this ! I wish I
were back at the Peel. And just the nicest month in the
year, too ! " However, there he was, and it was too late to
go back. He had to present himself at the orderly-room at
half-past nine, and it was already a quarter to nine.
On entering the coffee-room of the hotel he found half-a-
dozen gentlemen disguised like himself in military apparel,
and engaged in the business of breakfast. He did not know
one of them. He knew few people, especially amongst
the Protestant gentry ; and he literally knew nobody of the
middle class in Sootythorn except Mr. Garley the innkeeper,
and one or two tradesmen.
Philip had no sooner entered the coffee-room than Mr.
Garley made his .appearance with that air of confidence
which distinguished him. Mr. Garley was not Philip Stan-
burne's equal in a social point of view, but he was immensely
his superior in aplomb and knowledge of the world. Thus,
whilst Captain Stanburne felt'slightly nervous in the presence
of the gentlemen in uniform, and disguised his nervousness
inder an appearance of lofty reserve, Mr. Garley, though
little accustomed to the sight of military men, or of gentle-
men wearing the appearance of military men, was no more
embarrassed than in the presence of his old friends the
commercials. " Good morning, Captain Stanburne," said
1 38 Wenderholme. PART L
Mr. Garley ; " good morning to you, sir ; 'ope you slep well ;
'ope you was suited with your room."
Philip muttered something about its being "rather small."
"Well, sir, it is rather small, as you say, sir. I could have
wished to have given you a better, but you see, sir, I kep the
best room in the 'ouse for the Curnle ; and then there was
the majors, and his lordship here, Captain Lord Henry
Ughtred, had bespoke a good room more than six weeks
ago ; so you see, sir, I wasn't quite free to serve you quite
so well as I could have wished. Sorry we can't content all
gentlemen, sir. What will you take to breakfast, Captain
Stanburne ? Would you like a boiled hegg, new-laid, or a
little fried 'am, or shall I cut you some cold meat ; there 's
four kinds of cold meat on the sideboard, besides a cold
beefsteak -pie ? "
As he finished his sentence, Mr. Garley drew a chair out,
the seat of which had been under the table, and, with a
mixture of servility and patronage (servility because he was
temporarily acting the part of a waiter, patronage because he
still knew himself to be Mr. Garley of the Thorn Hotel), he
invited Philip Stanburne to sit down. The other gentlemen
at the table had not been engaged in a very animated con-
versation, and they suspended it by mutual consent to have
a good stare at the new-comer. For it so happened that
these men were the swell clique, which had for its head
Captain Lord Henry Ughtred, and for its vice-captain the
Honorable Fortunatus Brabazon ; and the swell clique had
determined in its own corporate mind that it would have as
little to do with the snobs of Sootythorn as might be. It
was apprehensive of a great influx of the snob element into
the regiment. There was a belief or suspicion in the clique
that there existed cads even amjongst the captains ; and as
the officers had not yet met together, a feeling of great
circumspection predominated amongst the members of the
clique. Philip Stanburne ventured to observe that it was a
CHAP. xiv. At Sooty thorn. 139
fine morning ; but although his next neighbor admitted that
fact, he at once allowed the conversation to drop. Mr.
Garley had given Philip his first cup of tea; but, in his
temporary absence, Philip asked a distinguished member of
the swell clique for a second. The liquid was not refused,
yet there was something in the manner of giving it which
might have turned the hottest cup of tea in Lancashire to a
lump of solid ice. At length Lord Henry Ughtred, having
for a length of time fixed his calm blue eyes on Philip (they
were pretty blue eyes, and he had nice curly hair, and a
general look of an overgrown Cupid), said,
" Pray excuse me ; did I not hear Mr. Garley say that
your name was Stanburne ? "
" Yes, my name is Stanburne."
" Are you Colonel Stanburne's brother, may I ask ? "
" No ; the Colonel has no brothers."
" Ah,, true, true ; I had forgotten. Of course, I knew Stan-
burne had no brothers. Indeed, he told me he 'd no relations
or something of the kind. You're not a relation of his,
I presume ; you don't belong to his family, do you ? "
Philip Stanburne, in these matters, had very much of the
feeling of a Highland chief. He was the representative of
the Stanburnes, and the Colonel was head of a younger
branch only. So when he was asked in this way whether he
belonged to the Colonel's family, he at once answered "no,"
seeing that the Colonel belonged to his family, not he to the
Colonel's. He was irritated, too, by the tone of his ques-
tioner j and, besides, such a relationship as the very distant
one between himself and Colonel Stanburne was rather a
matter for poetical sentiment than for the prose of the outer
world.
Mr. Garley only made matters worse by putting his word in.
" Beg pardon, Captn Stanburne, but I 've always 'card say that
your family was a younger branch of the Wendrum family."
" Then you were misinformed, for it isn't."
140 Wenderholme. PART i
" Perhaps it isn't just clearly traced out, sir," said Mr.
Garley, intending to make himself agreeable ; " but all the
old people says so. If I was you, sir, I 'd have it properly
traced out. Mr. Higgin, the spinner here, got his pedigree
traced out quite beautiful. It 's really a very 'andsome pedi-
gree, coats of arms and all. Nobody would have thought
Mr. Higgin 'ad such a pedigree ; but there 's nothin' like
tracin' and studyin', and 'untin' it all hup."
Philip Stanburne was well aware that his position as chief
of his house was very little known, and that he was popularly
supposed to descend from some poor cadet of Wenderholme ;
but it was disagreeable to be reminded of the popular belief
about him in this direct way, and in the hearing of witnesses
before whom he felt little disposed to abate one jot of his
legitimate pretensions. However, pride kept him silent, even
after Mr. Garley's ill-contrived speech, and he sought a
diversion in looking at his watch. This made the others
look at their watches also ; and as it was already twenty-five
minutes after nine, they all set off for the orderly-room, the
swell clique keeping together, and Philip Stanburne following
about twenty yards in the rear.
The streets of Sootythorn were seldom very animated at
ten o'clock in the morning, except on a market-day ; and
though there was a great deal of excitement amongst the
population of the town on the subject of the militia, that
population was safely housed in the fifty-seven factories of
Sootythorn, and an officer might pass through the streets in
comparative comfort, free from the remarks which would be
likely to assail him when the factories loosed. With the ex-
ception of two or three urchins who ran by Philip's side, and
stared at him till one of them fell over a wheelbarrow, nothing
occurred to disturb him. As the orderly-room was very near,
Captain Stanburne thought he had time to buy a pocket-book
at the bookseller's shop, and entered it for that purpose.
Whilst occupied with the choice of his pocket-book he
heard a soft voice close to him.
CHAP. xiv. At Sooty thorn. 141
" Papa wishes to know if you have got Mr. Blunting's
Sermons on Popery."
" No, Miss Stedman, we haven't a copy left, but we can
order one for Mr. Stedman if he wishes it. Perhaps it would
be well to order it at once, as there has been a great demand
for the book, and it is likely to be out of print very soon,
unless the new edition is out in time to keep up the supply.
Four editions are exhausted already, and the book has only
been out a month or two. We are writing to London to-day ;
shall we order the book for you, Miss Stedman ? "
The lady hesitated a little, and then said, " Papa seemed
to want it very much yes, you can order it, please."
There was something very agreeable to Philip Stanburne's
ear in what he had heard, and something that grated upon
it harshly. The tone of the girl's voice was singularly sweet.
It came to him as comes a pure unexpected perfume. It was
amongst sounds what the perfume of violets is amongst odors,
and he longed to hear it again. What had grated upon him
was the word " Popery ; " he could not endure to hear his
religion called " Popery." Still, it was only the title of some
Protestant book the girl had mentioned, and she was not re-
sponsible for it she could not give the book any other title
than its own. Philip Stanburne was examining a quantity of
morocco contrivances (highly ingenious, most of them) in a
glass case in the middle of the shop, and he turned round to
look at the young lady, but she had her back to him. She
was now choosing some note-paper on the counter. Her
dress was extremely simple white muslin, with a little sprig ;
and she wore a plain straw bonnet for in those days women
did wear bonnets. It was evident that she was not a fashion-
able young lady, for her whole dress showed a timid lagging
behind the fashion.
When she had completed her little purchases Miss Stedman
left the shop, and Captain Stanburne was disappointed, for
she had given him no opportunity of seeing her face ; but
142 Wender holme. PART i.
just as he was leaving she came back in some haste, and
they met rather suddenly in the doorway. " I beg your
pardon," said the Captain, making way for her and then
he got a look at her face. The look must have been agree-
able to him, for when he saw a little glove lying on the
mat in the doorway, he picked it up rather eagerly and pre-
sented it to the fair owner. " Is this your glove, Miss Miss
Stedman ? "
Now Miss Stedman had never in her life been spoken to
by a gentleman in military uniform, with a sword by his side,
and the fact added to her confusion. It was odd, too, to hear
him call her Miss Stedman, but it was not disagreeable, for
he said it very nicely. There is an art of pronouncing names
so as to turn the .commonest of them into titles of, honor;
and if Philip had said " your ladyship," he could not have
said it more respectfully. So she thanked him for the glove
with the warmth which comes of embarrassment, and she
blushed, and he bowed, and they saw no more of each other
that day.
It was a poor little glove a poor little cheap thread glove ;
but all the finest and softest kids that lay in their perfumed
boxes in the well-stocked shops of Sootythorn, all the pale
gray kids and pale yellow kids which the young shopmen so
strongly recommended as " suitable for the present season,"
were forgotten in a month, whereas Alice Stedman's glove
was remembered for years and years.
CHAP. xv. With the Militia. 143
CHAPTER XV.
WITH THE MILITIA.
THE officers met at the orderly-room, after which they
all went to the parade-ground at once ; the field-officers
and the Adjutant on horseback, the rest on foot.
Philip Stanburne followed the others. He knew nobody
except the Colonel and the Adjutant, who had just said "Good
morning " to him in the orderly-room ; but they had trotted
on in advance, so he was left to his own meditations. It was
natural that in passing the bookseller's shop he should think
of Miss Stedman, and he felt an absurd desire to go into the
shop again and buy another pocket-book, as if by acting the
scene over again he could cause the principal personage to
reappear. " I don't think she 's pretty," said Philip to him-
self "at least, not really pretty; but she's a sweet girl.
There 's a simplicity about her that is very charming. Who
would have thought that there was any thing so nice in Sooty-
thorn ? " Just as he was thinking this, Philip Stanburne
passed close to one of the blackest mills in the place an
old mill, that is, a mill about thirty years old, for mills, like
horses, age rapidly ; and through the open windows there
came a mixture of bad smells on the hot foul air, and a deaf-
ening roar of machinery, and above the roar of machinery a
shrill clear woman's voice singing. The voice must have been
one of great power, for it predominated over all the noises
in the place ; and it either was really a very sweet one or
its harshness was lost in the noises, whilst it rose above them
purified. Philip stopped to listen, and as he stopped, two
144 Wenderholme. PART i.
other officers came up behind him. The footpath was nar-
row, and as soon as he perceived that he impeded the circu-
lation, Philip went on.
"That's one o' th' oudest mills i' Sootythorn," said one of
the officers behind Captain Stanburne ; " it's thirty year oud,
if it 's a clay."
The broad Lancashire accent surprised Captain Stanburne,
and attracted his attention. Could it be possible that there
were officers in the regiment who spoke no better than that ?
Evidently this way of speaking was not confined to an indi-
vidual officer, for the speaker's companion answered in the
same tone,
"Why, that's John Stedman's mill, isn't it ?"
"John Stedman? John Stedman? it cannot be t' same as
was foreman to my father toward thirty year sin' ? "
When Philip Stanburne heard the name of Stedman, he
listened attentively. The first speaker answered, " Yes, but it
is it's t' same man."
" Well, an' how is he ? he must be well off. Has he any
chilther?"
" Just one dorter, a nice quiet lass, 'appen eighteen year
old."
" So she 's the daughter of a cotton-spinner," thought Philip,
" and a Protestant cotton-spinner, most likely a bigot. Indeed,
who ever heard of a Catholic cotton-spinner? I never did. I
believe there aren't any. But what queer fellows these are to
be in the militia ; they talk just like factory lads." Then, from
a curiosity to see more of these extraordinary officers, and
partly, no doubt, from a desire to cultivate the acquaintance
of a man who evidently knew something about Miss Stedman,
Philip left the causeway, and allowed the officers to come up
with him.
" I beg your pardon," he said ; " no doubt you are going
to the parade-ground. Will you show me the way? I was
following some officers who were in sight a minute or two
CHAP. xv. With the Militia. 145
since, but they turned a corner whilst I was not looking at
them, and I have lost my guides."
To Captain Stanburne's surprise he was answered in very
good English, with no more indication of the Lancashire
accent than a clearly vibrated r, and a certain hardness in the
other consonants, which gave a masculine vigor to the language,
not by any means disagreeable. The aspirate, however, was
too frequently omitted or misplaced.
" We are going straight to the parade-ground ourselves, so
if you come with us you cannot go wrong." There was a short
silence, and the same speaker continued, " The Colonel said
we were to consider ourselves introduced. I know who you
are you're Captain Stanburne of Stanithburn Peel; and
now I '11 tell you who we are, both of us : I 'm the Doctor
my name 's Bardly. I don't look like a doctor, do I ? Per-
haps you are thinking that I don't look very like an officer
either, though I 'm dressed up as one. Well, perhaps I don't.
This man here is called Isaac Ogden, and he lives at Twistle
Farm, on a hill-top near Shayton, when he 's at home."
This queer introduction, which was accompanied by the
oddest changes of expression in the Doctor's face, and hy a
perpetual twinkle of humor in his gray eye, amused Philip
Stanburne, and put him into a more genial frame of mind
than his experience of the swell clique at breakfast-time. Isaac
Ogden asked Stanburne what company he had got, and on
being told that it was number six, informed him that he him-
self was only a lieutenant.
" He 's lieutenant in the grenadier company," said the Doc-
tor, " and on Sunday morning we shall see him like a butter-
fly with a pair of silver wings.* He 's only a chrysalis to-day ;
his wings haven't budded yet. He 's very likely put 'em on
in private most of them put on their full uniform in private,
* For the information of some readers, it may be well to explain that
the epaulettes of flank companies, which were of a peculiar shape, used
to be called wings.
10
146 Wenderholme. PART i,
as soon as ever it comes from the tailor's. It 's necessary to
try it on, you know it might not fit. The epaulettes would
fit, though ; but they generally take their epaulettes out of
the tin box and put them on, to see how they look in the
glass."
" Well, Doctor," said Stanburne, " I suppose jou are
describing from personal experience. When your own epau-
lettes came, you looked at yourself in the glass, I suppose."
Here an indescribably comic look irradiated Dr. Bardly's
face. " You don't imagine that / have laid out any money on
epaulettes and such gear ? The tailor tried to make me buy
a full uniform, of course, but it didn't answer with me. What
do I want with a red coat, and dangling silver fringes over my
shoulders? I've committed one piece of tomfoolery, and
that 's enough I 've bought this sword ; but a sword might
just possibly be of use for a thief. There was a man in Shay-
ton who had an old volunteer sword always by his bedside, and
one night he put six inches of it into a burglar ; so you see a
sword may be of use, but what can you do with a bit of silver
fringe ? "
".Put I don't see how you are to do without a full uniform.
How will you manage on field days, and how will you go to
church on Sundays ? "
" Get leave of absence on all such occasions," said the Doc-
tor ; "so long as I haven't a full uniform I have a good
excuse." The fact was, that the Doctor's aversion to full
dress came quite as much from a dislike to public ceremonies
as from an objection to scarlet and silver in themselves. He
had a youthful assistant in the regiment who was perfectly
willing to represent the medical profession in all imaginable
splendor, and who had already passed three evenings in full
uniform, surrounded by his brothers and sisters, and a group
of admiring friends.
The day was a tiresome idle day for everybody except the
Adjutant, who shouted till his throat was sore, and the ser-
CHAP. xv. With the Militia. 147
geants, on whom fell the real work of the companies. After
lunch, the important matter of billets had to be gone into,
and it was discovered that it was impossible to lodge all the
men in Sootythorn. One company, at least, must seek accom-
modation elsewhere. The junior captain must therefore
submit, for this training, to be banished from the mess, and
sent to eat his solitary beefsteak in some outlandish village,
or, still worse, in some filthy and uncouth little manufacturing
town. His appetite, it is true, might so far benefit by the
long inarches to and from the parade-ground that the beef-
steak might be eaten with the best of sauces ; but the ordi-
nary exercises of the regiment would have been sufficient
to procure that, and the great efforts of Mr. Garley at the
Thorn might have been relied upon for satisfying it. So the
junior captain was ordered to take his men to Whittlecup, a
dirty little town, of about six thousand inhabitants, four miles
distant from Sootythorn \ and the junior captain was Philip
Stanburne.
Behold him, therefore, marching at the head of his rabble,
for the men as yet had neither uniforms nor military bearing,
on the dusty turnpike road ! The afternoon had been un-
commonly hot for the season of the year ; and a military
uniform, closely buttoned across the breast, and padded with
cotton wool, is by no means the costume most suitable for
the summer heats. There were so few lieutenants in the
regiment (there was not one ensign) that a junior captain
could not hope for a subaltern, and all the work of the
company fell upon Philip Stanburne and his old sergeant. It
was not easy to keep any thing like order amongst the men.
They quarrelled and fought during the march ; and it became
necessary to arrange them so as to keep enemies at a distance
from each other. Still, by the time they reached the pre-
cincts of Whittlecup several of the men were adorned with
black eyes ; and as a few had been knocked down and
tumbled in the dust by their comrades, the company presented
1 48 Wender holme. PART i
rather the appearance of a rabble after a riot than of soldiers
in her Majesty's service. Philip Stanburne's uniform was
white with dust; but as the dust that alighted on his face
was wetted by perspiration, it did not there remain a light-
colored powder, but became a thick coat of dark paste.
Indeed, to tell the truth, the owner of Stanithburn had never
been so dirty in his life.
Now there was a river at the entrance to Whittlecup, and
over the river a bridge ; and on the bridge, or in advance of
it (for the factories had just loosed), there stood a crowd of
about three thousand operatives awaiting the arrival of the
militia-men.
The Lancashire operative is not accustomed to restrain
the expression of his opinions from motives of delicacy, and
any consideration for your feelings which he may have when
isolated diminishes with the number of his companions.
Three factory lads may content themselves with exchanging
sarcastic remarks on your personal appearance when you are
out of hearing, thirty will make them in your presence, three
hundred will jeer you loudly ; and from three thousand, if
once you are unlucky enough to attract their attention, there
will come such volleys of derision as nobody but a philoso-
pher could bear with equanimity.
Not only was the road lined on both sides with work-
people, but they blocked it up in front, and made way for
the militia-men so slowly, that there was ample time for
Philip Stanburne to hear every observation that was directed
against him. Amidst the roars of laughter which the appear-
ance of the men gave rise to, a thousand special commentaries
might be distinguished.
" Them chaps sowdiers ! Why, there 's nobbut one sowdier
i' th' lot as I can see on."
" Where is he ? I can see noan at o'."
" Cannot ta see th' felly wi' th' red jacket ?"
" Eh, what a mucky lot ! "
CHAP. xv. With the Militia. 149
" They'll be right uns for fightin', for there 's four on 'em
'as gotten black een to start wi'."
" Where 's their guns ? "
" They willn't trust 'em wi' guns. They 'd be shootin* one
another."
" There 's one chap wi' a soourd."
" Why, that 's th' officer."
" Eh, captain ! " screamed a factory girl in Philip's ear,
*' I could like to gi' thee a kiss, but thou 's getten sich a mucky
face ! "
" I wouldn't kiss him for foive shillin'," observed another.
" Eh, but I would ! " said a third ; " he 's a nice young felly.
I '11 kiss him to-neet when he 's washed hissel ! "
150 Wenderholme. PART L
CHAPTER XVI.
A CASE OF ASSAULT.
THE officers' mess was rather a good thing for Mr.
Garley. He charged five shillings a-head for dinner
without wine ; and although both the Colonel and the large
majority of his officers were temperate men, a good deal of
profit may be got out of the ordinary vinous and spirituous
consumption of a set of English gentlemen in harder exercise
than usual, and more than usually disposed to be convivial.
Even the cigars were no inconsiderable item of profit for Mr.
Garley, who had laid in a stock large enough and various
enough for a tobacconist.
A dense cloud of smoke filled the card-room, and through
it might be discerned a number of officers in red shell-
jackets reposing after the labors of the day, and wisely
absolving nature from other efforts, in order that she might
give her exclusive care to the digestion of that substantial
repast which had lately been concluded in the mess-room.
There was a party of whist-players in a corner, and the rattle
of billiard-balls came through an open door.
Captain Eureton's servant came in and said that there was
an innkeeper from Whittlecup who desired to speak to the
Adjutant. The Captain left the card-room, and the officers
scarcely noticed his departure, but when he came back their
attention was drawn to him by an exclamation of the Colonel's.
" Why, Eureton, what 's the matter now ? how grave you
look ! "
The Adjutant came to the hearth-rug where John Stan-
CHAP. xvi. A Case of Assault. 151
burne was standing, and said, "Is not Captain Stanburne
a relation of yours, Colonel ? "
" Cousin about nine times removed. But what 's the matter ?
He 's not ill, I hope."
" Very ill, very ill indeed," said Eureton, with an expres-
sion which implied that he had not yet told the whole truth.
" There 's no near relation or friend of Captain Stanburne
in the regiment, is there, Colonel ? "
" None whatever ; out with it, Eureton you 're making
me very anxious ; " and the Colonel nervously pottered with
the end of a new cigar.
" The truth is, gentlemen," said Eureton, addressing him-
self to the room, for every one was listening intently, " a
great crime has been committed this evening. Captain Stan-
burne has been murdered or if it 's not a case of murder
it 's a case of manslaughter. He has been killed, it appears,
whilst visiting a billet, by a man in his company."
The Colonel rang the bell violently. Fyser appeared
he was at the door, expecting to be called for.
" Harness the tandem immediately."
"The tandem is at the door, sir, or will be by the time you
get downstairs. I knew you would be wantin' it as soon as
I 'card the bad news."
The Doctor was in the billiard-room, trying to make a
cannon, to the infinite diversion of his more skilful brother
officers. His muscular but not graceful figure was stretched
over the table, and his scarlet shell- jacket, whose seams were
strained nearly to bursting by his attitude, contrasted power-
fully with the green cloth as the strong gas-light fell upon
him. Just as he was going to make the great stroke a strong
hand was laid upon his arm.
" Now then, Isaac Ogden, you Ve spoiled a splendid stroke.
I don't hoftens get such a chance."
"You're wanted for summat else, Doctor. Come, look
sharp ; the Colonel 's waiting for you."
152 Wenderholme. PART I.
In common with many members of his profession, Dr.
Bardly had a dislike to be called in a hurried and peremptory
manner, and a disposition, when so called, to take his time.
He had so often been pressed unnecessarily that he had
acquired a general conviction that cases could wait and
he made them wait, more or less. In this instance, however,
Isaac Ogden insisted on a departure from the Doctor's usual
customs, and threw his gray military cloak over his shoulders,
and set his cap on his head, and led him to the street-door,
where he found the tandem, the Colonel in his place with
the Adjutant, Fyser already mounted behind, and the leader
dancing with impatience.
The bright lamps flashed swiftly through the dingy streets
of Sooty thorn, and soon their light fell on the blossoming
hedges in the country. Colonel Stanburne had been too
much occupied with his horses whilst they were in the streets ;
but now on the broad open road he had more leisure to talk,
and he was the first to break silence.
" You don't know any further details, do you, Eureton ? "
"Nothing beyond what I told you. The innkeeper who
brought the news was the one Captain Stanburne was billeted
with, and he quitted Whittlecup immediately after the event.
He appears quite certain that Captain Stanburne is dead.
The body was brought to the inn before the man left, and
he was present at the examination of it by a doctor who had
been hastily sent for."
" Beg pardo'i, sir," said Fyser from behind, " I asked the
innkeeper some questions myself. It appears that Captain
Stanburne was wounded in the head, sir, and his skull was
broken. It was done with a deal board that a Hirish militia-
man tore up out of a floor. There was two Hirish that was
quarrellin' and fightin', and the Captain put 'em both into a
hempty room which was totally without furnitur', and where
they 'd nothink but straw to lie upon ; and he kep 'em there
under confinement, and set a guard at the door. And then
CHAP. xvi. A Case of Assault. 153
these two drunken 'Hirish fights wi' their fists but fists isn't
bloody enough for Hirish, so they starts tearin' up the boards
o' the floor, and the guard at the door tried to interfere be-
tween 'em, but, not havin' no arms, could do very little ; and
the Captain was sent for, and as soon as hever one o' these
Hirish sees him he says, * Here 's our bloody Captain,' and
he aims a most tremenjious stroke at him with his deal board,
and it happened most unfortunate that it hit the Captain with
the rusty nail in it."
" I wonder it never occurred to him to separate the Irish-
men," observed Eureton, in a lower tone, to the Colonel.
" He ought not to have confined them together."
" Strictly speaking, he ought not to have placed them in
confinement at all at Whittlecup, but sent them at once under
escort to headquarters."
"What's this that we are meeting?" said the Adjutant.
" I hear men marching."
The Colonel drew up his horses, and the regular footfall of
soldiers became audible, and gradually grew louder. " They
march uncommonly well, Eureton, for militia-men who have
had no training ; I cannot understand it."
"There were half-a-dozen old soldiers in Captain Stan-
burne's company, and I suppose the sergeant has selected
them as a guard for the prisoners."
The night was cloudy and dark, and the lamps of the
Colonel's vehicle were so very splendid and brilliant that they
made the darkness beyond their range blacker and more im-
penetrable than ever. As the soldiers came nearer, the
Colonel stopped his horses and waited. Suddenly out of the
darkness came a corporal and four men with two prisoners.
The Colonel shouted, " Halt ! "
" Have you any news of Captain Stanburne ? "
" He 's not quite dead, sir, or was not when we left."
The tall wheels rolled along the road, and in a quarter of
154 Wenderholme. PART i.
an hour the leader had to make his way through a little crowd
of people in front of the Blue Bell.
The -Doctor was the first in the house, and was led at once
to young Stanburne's room. The Whittlecup surgeon was
there already. No professional men are so ticklish on pro-
fessional etiquette as surgeons are, but in this instance there
could be little difficulty of that kind. " You are the surgeon
to the regiment, I believe," said the Whittlecup doctor; "you
will find this a very serious case. I simply took charge of it
in your absence."
The patient was not dead, but he was perfectly insensible.
He breathed faintly, and every few minutes there was a rat-
tling in the throat, resembling that which precedes immediate
dissolution. The two doctors examined the wound together.
The skull had been fractured by the blow, and there was a
gash produced by the nail in the board. The face was ex-
tremely pale, and so altered as to be scarcely recognizable.
The innkeeper's wife, Mrs. Simpson, was moistening the pale
lips with brandy.
When the Colonel and Captain Eureton had seen the pa-
tient, they had a talk with Dr. Bardly in another room. The
Doctor's opinion was that there were chances of recovery,
but not very strong chances. Though Philip Stanburne had
enjoyed tolerably regular health in consequence of his tem-
perate and simple way of living, he had by no means a robust
constitution, and it was possible it was evfin probable
that he would succumb ; but he might pull through. Dr.
Bardly proposed to resign the case entirely to the Whittlecup
doctor, as it would require constant attention, and the sur-
geon ought to be on the spot.
CHAP. xvii. Isaac Ogden Again. 155
CHAPTER XVII.
ISAAC OGDEN AGAIN.
AS the lieutenant of the Grenadier Company, Mr. Isaac
Ogden was appointed to do captain's work at Whittle-
cup in the place of Philip Stanburne.
For many weeks Mr. Ogden had displayed a strength of
resolution that astonished his most intimate friends. Without
meanly taking refuge in the practice of total abstinence, he
had kept strictly within the bounds of what in Shayton is con-
sidered moderation.
The customs of the mess at Sootythorn were not likely to
place him in the power of his old enemy again ; for although
the officers were not severely abstinent, their utmost convivi-
ality scarcely extended beyond the daily habits of the very
soberest of Shaytonians.
Viewing the matter, therefore, from the standpoint of his
person al experience, Dr. Bardly looked upon Ogden as now
the most temperate of men. It is true that as a militia officer
he could not follow a new rule of his about not entering inns,
for the business of the regiment required him to visit a dozen
inns every day, and to eat and sleep in one for a month to-
gether ; and it is obvious that the other good rule about not
drinking spirits at Twistle Farm could not be very advantage-
ous to him just now, seeing that, although it was always in
force, it was practically efficacious only during his residence
under his own roof. It seems a pity that he did not legislate
for himself anew, so as to meet his altered circumstances ; but
the labors of regimental duty appeared so onerous that ex-
156 Wenderholme. PART i.
traordinary stimulation seemed necessary to meet this ex-
traordinary fatigue, and it would have appeared imprudent
to confine himself within rigidly fixed limits which necessity
might compel him to transgress. So in point of fact Mr.
Ogden was a free agent again.
Whilst Philip Stanburne had remained at the Blue Bell,
Lieutenant Ogden had been in all respects a model of good
behavior. He had watched by Philip's bedside in the even-
ings, sometimes far into the night, and the utmost extent of
his conviviality had been a glass of grog with the Whittlecup
doctor. But the day Philip Stanburne was removed, Lieuten-
ant Ogden, after having dined and inspected his billets, began
to feel the weight of his loneliness, and he felt it none the less
for being accustomed to loneliness at the Farm. Captain
Stanburne's illness, and the regular evening talk with the
Whittlecup doctor, had hitherto given an interest to Isaac
Ogden's life at the Blue Bell, and this interest had been
suddenly removed. Something must be found to supply its
place ; it became necessary to cultivate the acquaintance of
somebody in the parlor.
It is needless to trouble the reader with details about the
men of Whittlecup whom Mr. Ogden found there, because
they have no connection with the progress of this history. But
he found somebody else too, namely, Jeremiah Smethurst, a
true Shaytonian, and one of the brightest ornaments of the
little society that met at the Red Lion. When Jerry saw his
old friend Isaac Ogden, whom he had missed for many weeks,
his greeting was so very cordial, so expressive of good-fellow-
ship, that it was not possible to negative his proposition that
they should " take a glass together."
Now the keeper of the Blue Bell Inn knew Jerry Smethurst.
He knew that Jerry drank more than half a bottle of brandy
every night before he went to bed, and without giving Mr.
Ogden credit for equal powers, he had heard that he came
from Shayton, which is a good recommendation to a vendor
CHAP. xvii. Isaac Ogden Again. 157
of spirituous liquors. He therefore, instead of bringing a
glass of brandy for each of the Shayton gentlemen, uncorked
a fresh bottle and placed it between them, remarking that they
might take what they pleased that there was 'ot warter on
the 'arth, for the kettle was just bylin, an' there was shugger
in the shugger-basin.
The reader foresees the consequences. After two or three
glasses with his old friend, Isaac Ogden fell under the
dominion of the old Shayton associations. Jerry Smethurst
talked the dear old Shayton talk, such as Isaac Ogden had
not heard in perfection for many a day. For men like the
Doctor and Jacob Ogden were, by reason of their extreme
temperance, isolated beings beings cut off from the heart-
iest and most genial society of the place and Isaac had
been an isolated being also since he had kept out of the Red
Lion and the White Hart.
" Why should a man desire in any way
To vary from the kindly race of men ? "
That abandonment of the Red Lion had been a moral gain
a moral victory but an intellectual loss. Was such a fellow
as Parson Prigley any compensation for Jerry Smethurst ?
And there were half-a-dozen at the Red Lion as good as
Jerry. He was short of stature so short, that when he sat
in a rocking-chair he had a difficulty in giving the proper im-
petus with his toes ; and he had a great round belly, and a
face which, if not equally great and round, seemed so by
reason of all the light and warmth that radiated from it. It
was enough to cure anybody of hypochondria to look at Jerry
Srnethurst's face. I have seen the moon look rather like it
sometimes, rising warm and mellow on a summer's night ; but
though anybody may see that the moon has a nose and eyes,
she certainly lacks expression. It was pleasant to Isaac
Ogden to see the friendly old visage before him once again.
Genial and kind thoughts rose in his mind. Tennyson had
not yet written "Tithonus," and if he had, no Shaytonian
158 Wenderholme. PART i.
would have read it but the thoughts in Ogden's mind were
these:
" Why should a man desire in any way
To vary from the kindly race of men,
Or pass beyond the goal of ordinance,
Where all should pause, as is most meet for all ? "
The "goal of ordinance," at Shayton, being death from
delirium tremens.
Mr. Smethurst would have been much surprised if anybody
had told him that he was inducing Ogden to drink more than
was good for him. It seemed so natural to drink a bottle of
brandy ! And Jerry, too, in his way, was a temperate man
a man capable of self-control a man who had made a reso-
lution and kept it for many years. Jerry's resolution had
been never to drink more than one bottle of spirits in an
evening; and, as he said sometimes, it was "all howin' to
that as he enjy'd sich gud 'ealth." Therefore, when Mr.
Simpson had placed the bottle between them, Mr. Smethurst
made a little mental calculation. He was strong in mental
arithmetic. "I've 'ad three glasses afore Hogden coom, so
when I 've powered him out three glasses, the remainder '11 be
my 'lowance." Therefore, when Isaac had mixed his third
tumbler, Jerry Smethurst rang the bell.
" Another bottle o' brandy."
Mr. Simpson stood aghast at this demand, and his eyes
naturally reverted to the bottle upon the table. "You 've not
finished that yet, gentlemen," he ventured to observe.
" What 's left in it is my 'lowance," said Mr. Smethurst.
"Mr. Hogden shalln't 'ave none on 't."
" Well, that is a whimmy gent," said Mr. Simpson to him-
self but he fetched another bottle.
They made a regular Red Lion evening of it, those two.
A little before midnight Mr. Smethurst rose and said Good
night. He had finished his bottle, and his law of temper-
ance, always so faithfully observed, forbade him one drop
CHAP. xvii. Isaac Ogden Again. 159
more. The reader probably expects that Mr. Smethurst was
intoxicated ; but his genial nature was only yet more genial.
He lighted his bed-candle with perfect steadiness, shook
Ogden's hand affectionately, and mounted the stair step by
step. When he got into his bedroom he undressed himself
in a methodical manner, laid his clothes neatly on a chair,
wound his watch up, and when he had assumed his white
cotton night-cap, looked at himself in the glass. He put his
tongue out, and held the candle close to it. The result of
the examination was satisfactory, and he proceeded to pull
down the corners of his eyes. This he did every night. The
bugbear of his life was dread of a coming fit, and he fancied
he might thus detect the premonitory symptoms.
Meanwhile Mr. Ogden, left by himself, took up the " Sooty-
thorn Gazette," and when Mr. Simpson entered he found him
reading, apparently. " Beg pardon, sir," said Mr. Simpson,
" but it 's the rule to turn the gas out at twelve, and it 's a
few minutes past. I '11 light you your bed-candle, sir, and
you can sit up a bit later if you like. You '11 find your way
to your room."
Ogden was too far gone to have any power of controlling
himself now. The type danced before his eyes, the sentences
ran into one another, and the sense 'of the phrases was a
mystery to him. He kept drinking mechanically ; and when
at length he attempted to reach the door, the candlestick
slipped from his hand, and the light was instantly extinguished.
A man who is quite drunk cannot find the door of a dark
room he cannot even walk in the dark; his only chance
of walking in broad daylight is to fix his eye steadily on
some object, and when it loses its hold of that, to fasten it
upon some other, and so on. Ogden stumbled against the
furniture and fell. The deep insensibility of advanced drunk-
enness supervened, and he lay all night upon the floor. The
servant-girl found him there the next morning when she came
to clean the room.
1 60 Wenderholme. PART I
He could not go to Sootythorn that day, and the true reason
for his absence soon became known to Dr. Bardly, who asked
leave to drive over to Shayton to see a patient of his own.
He drove directly to Milend.
" Well, Mrs. Ogden," said the Doctor, " I Ve come wi' bad
news for you this time. Your Isaac's made a beast of him-
self once more. He lay all night last night dead drunk upo'
th' parlor-floor o' th' Blue Bell Inn i' Whittlecup."
"Why you don't say so, Dr. Bardly ! Now, really, this
is provokin', and 'im as was quite reformed, as one may say.
I could like to whip him I could."
" Well, I wish you 'd just go to Whittlecup and take care
of him while he stops there. If he'd nobbut stopped at
Sootythorn I could have minded him a bit mysen, but there 's
nout like his mother for managin' him."
Little Jacob was staying at Milend during his father's mili-
tary career, and so Mrs. Ogden objected " But what 's to
become o' th' childt?"
" Take him with ye take him with ye. It '11 do him a
power o' good, and it '11 amuse him rarely. He '11 see the
chaps with their red jackets, and his father with a sword, and
a fine scarlet coat on Sundays, and he '11 be as fain as fain."
So it was immediately decided that Mrs. Ogden and little
Jacob should leave for Whittlecup as soon as they possibly
could. A fly was sent for, and Mrs. Ogden hastily filled two
large wooden boxes, which were her portmanteaus. Little
Jacob was at the parsonage with the youthful Prigleys, and
had to be sent for. Mrs. Ogden took the decanters from the
corner cupboard, and drank two glasses of port to sustain
her in the hurry of the occasion. " Well, who would have
thought," she said to herself, as she ate a piece of cake
" who would have thought that I should go and stop at "Whit-
tlecup ? I wonder how soon Mary Ridge will have finished
my new black satin."
CHAP. XVIIL Isaac s Mother comes. 161
CHAPTER XVIIL
ISAAC'S MOTHER COMES.
MRS. OGDEN and her grandson reached Sootythorn
rather late that evening namely, about eight o'clock ;
and as it happened that she knew an old maid there one
Miss Mellor whose feelings would have been wounded if
Mrs. Ogden had passed through Sootythorn. without calling
upon her, she took the opportunity of doing so whilst the
horse was baited at the inn. The driver took the fly straight
to the Thorn ; and when Mr. Garley saw a lady and a little
boy emerge therefrom he concluded that they intended to
stay at his house, and came with his apologies for want of
room. " But we can let you 'ave a nice parlor, mum, to take
your tea, and I can find you good bedrooms in the town."
Mrs. Ogden declined these obliging propositions, in the
hope that Miss Mellor would offer her a night's lodging. It
was not that she loved Miss Mellor so much as to desire to
stay longer under her roof than was necessary to keep her in
a good temper, but she had made sundry reflections on the
road. " If I stop at th' Thorn they '11 charge me 'appen 'alf-
a-crown for my bedroom, and Jane Mellor 'ad a nice spare
bedroom formerly. It really is no use throwin' money away
on inn-keepers. And then there 's our tea ; they '11 make me
pay eighteenpence or two shillin' for 't at Garley's, and very
likely charge full as much for little Jacob. It 's quite enough
to 'ave to pay seven shillin' for th' horse and fly." And in
any case there would be time to get on to Whittlecup after
the horse had had his feed.
IX
1 62 Wenderholme. PART I
But Miss Mellor, who had not been to Shayton or heard
direct news of Shayton for several years, was so delighted to
see Mrs. Ogden that she would not hear of her going for-
ward that night. " It 's lucky I 'appened to be at 'ome," said
Miss Mellor, " for I 'm often out of an evening." It was
lucky, certainly, for little Jacob, who got a much better tea
than he would have done at the Thorn Inn, with quantities
of sweet things greatly to his taste. Little Jacob was con-
vinced that there was nobody in the world so kind and gen-
erous as his grandmother, yet he conceived an affection for
Miss Mellor also before the close of the evening.
" The devil take the people," said Isaac Ogden, when he
got back from Sooty thorn to the Blue Bell, and had gone as
usual to his bedroom there " the devil take the people,
they 've hidden all my things ! "
Just then came a gentle knock at the door, and the ser-
vant-maid entered. " Please, sir, your mother 's come, and
she says you aren't to sleep here any more, sir ; and she 's
fetched your things to lodgings that she 's took over Mr.
Wood's, the shoemaker's."
It is at all times vexatious and humiliating to the indepen-
dent spirit of a man to be disposed of by female authority,
but it is most especially so when the authority is one's mamma.
A grown-up man will submit to his mother on most points if
he is worth any thing, but the best of sons does not quite
like to see his submission absolutely taken for granted.
In this case there was an aggravation in the look of the
servant-girl. Notwithstanding the respectful modesty of her
tone, there was just a twinkle of satire in her eye. It
was plain that she was inwardly laughing at the Lieuten-
ant. " Damn it ! " he said, " this house is good enough for
me; I don't want to leave it." Yet he did leave, never-
theless.
The next day was Sunday, and it was a satisfaction to
Mrs. Ogden to think that Isaac would be professionally com-
CHAP, xviii. Isaacs Mother comes. 163
pelled to attend public worship. Little Jacob was one of the
crowd of spectators who gathered round the company when
it was mustered for church-parade. He was proud of his
resplendent papa a papa all scarlet and silver; and it was
a matter of peculiar anxiety with him that they should sit in
the same pew. Mr. Ogden gratified him in this respect, and
the child felt himself the most important young personage in
Whittlecup. A steady attention to the service is not com-
monly characteristic of little boys ; and on this occasion little
Jacob's eye was so continually caught by the glitter of his
father's gold sword-knot and the silver embroidery on his
sleeve, that he followed the clergyman much less regularly
than usual.
The neighborhood of Whittlecup was not aristocratic, but
there were one or two manufacturing families of rather a
superior description. One of these families, the Anisons,
were at church not far from the pew which the Ogdens
occupied. They lived at a house near Whittlecup called
Arkwright Lodge, in a comfortable manner, with most of
those refinements of civilization which are to be met with in
the houses of rich professional men in London. Mr. Anison,
indeed, was a manufacturer of the new school, whilst Jacob
Ogden belonged to the old one. Men of the Anison class
sometimes make large fortunes, but they more frequently
content themselves with a moderate independence and a
sufficient provision for their families. Money does not seem
to them an end in itself, but they value the comforts and
refinements which it procures and which cannot be had
without it. Jacob Ogden, on the other hand, did not care a
fig for comforts and refinements, and had no domestic objects :
his only purpose was the inward satisfaction and the outward
glory of being rich. Mr. Anison worked in moderation, spent
a good deal, saved something, and kept a very hospitable
house, where everybody who had the slightest imaginable
claim upon his kindness was always heartily welcome.
164 Wenderholme. PART i.
After Philip Stanburne's accident he had been immediately
moved to Arkwright Lodge, in compliance with the surgeon's
advice and Mr. Anison's urgent request. Here he had rap-
idly passed into a state of agreeable convalescence, and
found the house so pleasant that the prospect of a perfect
recovery, and consequent departure, was not very attractive
to him now.
When the service in Whittlecup church was over, Joseph
Anison went straight to Mr. Ogden's pew and reminded him
that he had promised to dine that day at Arkwright Lodge.
When they got out of the church, Isaac presented his mother
to Mr. Anison, and to Mrs. Anison also, who joined them in
the midst of that ceremony. This was followed by a polite
little speech from Mrs. Anison (she was an adept in polite
little speeches), to the effect that, as Mr. Ogden had kindly
promised to eat a dinner and pay his first call at the Lodge
at the same time, his duties in the militia having prevented
him from calling during the week, perhaps they might hope
that Mrs. Ogden would allow them to call upon her at once
at her lodgings, and then would she come with her son to the
Lodge to spend the afternoon ? So when the. militia-men
were disbanded, the Anisons accompanied the Ogdens to the
lodging over Mr. Wood's, the shoemaker.
It was a very fine May morning, and they had all come on
foot. There are families in Sootythorn (perhaps also there
may be families out of Sootythorn) who, though living within
a very short distance of their parish church, go thither always
in their carriages on the same principle which causes the
Prince of Wales to go from Marlborough House to St James's
Palace in a state-coach namely, for the maintenance of
their dignity. But though the Anisons' carriage was an
institution sufficiently recent to have still some of the charms
of novelty, they dispensed with it as much as possible on
Sundays.
The young ladies had gone slowly forwards towards the
CHAP. xvin. Isaacs Mother comes. 165
Lodge with the clergyman, who had a standing invitation to
dine there whenever he came to Whittlecup. Mrs. Ogden's
great regret in going to dine at the Lodge was for the dinner
she left behind her, and she did not hesitate to express it.
" It seems quite a pity," she said, " to leave them ducks and
green peas they were such fine ducks, and we 're all of us
very fond o' ducks, 'specially when we Ve green peas to 'em."
After this little speech, she paused regretfully, as if meditat-
ing on the delightfulness of the ducks, and then she added,
more cheerfully, " But what ducks are very good cold, and
they '11 do very well for supper to-morrow night, when our
Isaac comes back from Sootythorn."
The dinner at the Lodge was good enough to compensate
even for the one left untasted at the shoemaker's, and nobody
did better justice to it than the Rev. Abel Blunting. A man
may well be hungry who has preached vehemently for seventy
minutes, and eaten nothing since seven in the morning, which
was Mr. Blunting's habitual breakfast-hour. He was a very
agreeable guest, and worth his salt. He had a vein of rich
humor approaching to joviality, yet he drank only water. On
this matter of teetotalism he was by no means fanatical, but
he said simply that in his office of minister it was useful to
his work amongst the poor. Mrs. Ogden sat next to him at
table, and was perfectly delighted with him. The Rev. Abel
perceived at once what manner of woman she was, and
talked to her accordingly. When he found out that she
came from Shayton, he said that he had a great respect for
Shayton, it was such a sound Protestant community there
was not a single Papist in the place Popery had no hold
there. Unfortunately, when Mr. Blunting made this observa-
tion, there happened to be a lull in the talk, and it was
audible to everybody, including Philip Stanburne, who was
well enough to sit at table. Poor Mrs. Anison began to feel
very uncomfortable, but as Mr. Blunting sat next to her, she
whispered to him that they had a Roman Catholic at table.
1 66 Wender holme. PART I.
This communication not having been loud enough to be
heard by Mrs. Ogden, who, never having sat down with a
Roman Catholic in her life, was incapable of imagining such
a contingency, that lady replied,
" Shayton folk believe i' th' Bible."
" And may I ask," said Philip, very loudly and resolutely
from the other end of the table, "what Catholics be-
lieve in?"
" Why, they believe i' th' Koran."
The hearers and everybody present had heard Mrs. Og-
den distinctly could not credit their cans. Each thought
that he must be mistaken that by some wholly unaccount-
able magic he had heard the word " Koran " when it had
been pronounced by no mortal lips. Nobody laughed
nobody even smiled. There is a degree of astonishment
which stuns the sense of humor. Every one held his breath
when Mr. Blunting spoke.
"No, ma'am," he said, respectfully, "you are somewhat
mistaken. You appear to have confounded the Papal and
the Mohammedan religions."
What Mrs. Ogden's answer may have been does not matter
very much, for Mr. and Mrs. Anison both saw the necessity
for an immediate diversion, and talked about something else
in the most determined manner. On reflection, Philip
Stanburne thought his Church quite sufficiently avenged
already. " As I believe in the Koran," he said to Miss
Anison, "I may marry four wives. What an advantage that
will be!"
" You horrible man ! "
" Why am I a horrible man ? Why are you so ungracious
to me ? The Sultan and the Viceroy of Egypt are like me
they believe in the Koran and they act upon their belief
as I intend to do. Yet a Christian queen has been gracious
to them. She did not tell them they were horrible men.
Why should you not be gracious to me in the same way?
CHAP, xviii. Isaacs Mother comes. 167
When I have married my four wives, you will come and visit
me, won't you, in my palace on the Bosphorus? Black
slaves shall bring you coffee in a little jewelled cup, and
your lips shall touch the amber mouth-piece of a diamonded
chibouque."
"But then your four wives will all be Orientals, and I
shall not be able to talk to them."
The Misses Anison were not the only young ladies at the
table. Philip Stanburne had a neighbor on his left hand
who interested him even more than- the brilliant girl on his
right. This was Miss Alice Stedman, whom he had seen in
the bookseller's shop at Sootythorn.
" And if you believe in the Koran," said Miss Stedman,
" you ought to show it by refusing to drink wine."
" Ah, then, I renounce Mohammed, that I may have the
pleasure of drinking wine with you, Miss Stedman ! " This
was said with perfect grace, and in the little ceremony which
followed, the young gentleman contrived to express so much
respect and admiration for his fair neighbor, that Mrs. Anison
took note of it. " Mr. Stanburne is in love with Alice," she
said to herself.
" Would you renounce your religion for love ? " asked
Madge Anison, in a low tone.
Philip felt a sudden sensation, as if a doctor had just
probed him. Garibaldi felt the corresponding physical pain
when Nelaton found the bullet.
He turned slowly and looked at Madge. There was a
strange expression about her lips, and the perennial merri-
ment had faded from her face. " Are you speaking seriously,
Miss Anison, I wonder ? "
The talk was noisy enough all round the table to isolate
the two completely. Even Miss Stedman was listening to
her loud-voiced neighbor, the Lieutenant. Madge Anison
looked straight at Philip, and said, "Yes, I am speaking
seriously."
1 68 Wender holme. PART i.
" I believe I should not, now. But nobody knows what
he may do when he is in love."
" You are in love."
This time the room whirled, and the voices sounded like
the murmur of a distant sea. In an instant Philip Stanburne
passed from one state of life to another state of life. A
crisis, which changed the whole future of four persons there
present, occurred in the world of his consciousness. His
imagination rioted in wild day-dreams ; but one picture rose
before him with irresistible vividness a picture of Alice
kneeling with him under a canopy, before the high altar at
St. Agatha's.
A slight pressure on his left arm recalled him to the actual
world. The ladies were all leaving their seats, and Madge
had kindly reminded him where he was.
" A sad place for drinking is Shayton," observed Mr.
Blunting, as he poured himself a glass of pure water. " I
wonder if one could do any good there? "
"They 're past curing, mostly, are Shayton folk," answered
John Stedman. " Are not they, Mr. Ogden ? "
" There 's one here that is, I 'm afraid," answered Isaac,
with much humility.
Mr. Blunting inquired, with sympathy in his tone, whether
Mr. Ogden had himself fallen under temptation. When
Isaac confessed his backslidings of the past week, the rev-
erend gentleman requested permission to see him in private.
Isaac had a dislike to clergymen in general, and in matters
of religion rather shared the latitudinarian views of his friend
Dr. Bardly ; but he was in a state of profound moral dis-
couragement, and ready to be grateful to any one who
held out prospects of effectual help. So it ended by his
accepting an invitation to take tea at the parsonage at Sooty-
thorn. .
" If you take tea with Mr. Blunting," said Joseph Anison,
"you must mind he doesn't inoculate you with his own sort
CHAP. xvin. Isaacs Mother comes. 1 69
of intemperance, if he cures you of your little excesses. He
drinks tea enough in a year to float a canal-boat. It's a
terribly bad habit. In my opinion it 's far worse than drink-
ing brandy. The worst of it is that it makes men like gossip
just as women do. Stick to your brandy-bottle, Mr. Ogden,
like a man, and let Mr. Blunting empty his big tea-pot ! "
1 70 Wenderholme. PART i.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE COLONEL AT WHITTLECUP.
WHILST the gentlemen were still in the dining-room,
Mr. Blunting saw a horse pass the window a rider-
less, yet harnessed horse followed by another horse in an
unaccustomed manner ; and then came a lofty vehicle, drawn
by the latter animal. I have described this equipage as it
appeared to Mr. Blunting ; but the experienced reader will
perceive that it was a tandem, and by the association of ideas
will expect to see Fyser and the Colonel.
Colonel Stanburne came into the dining-room, and soon
made himself at home there. He had never happened to
meet Joseph Anison or Mr. Stedman, but he knew the incum-
bent of Sootythorn slightly, and the other two men were his
own officers, though he had as yet seen very little of either
of them. The Stanburnes of Wenderholme held a. position
in all that part of the country so far above that to which
their mere wealth would have entitled them (for there were
manufacturers far richer than the Colonel), that Joseph An-
ison felt it an honor that the head of that family should have
entered his gates. " He 's only calling on young Stanburne,"
thought Joseph Anison ; " he isn't calling upon us."
" I came to thank you and Mrs. Anison," said the Colonel,
" for having so kindly taken care of our young friend here.
He seems to be getting on uncommonly well ; and no won-
der, when he 's in such good quarters."
" Captain Stanburne is gaining strength, I am glad to say,"
CHAP. xix. The Colonel at Whittlecup. 1 7 1
replied the master of the house. "He rather alarmed us
when he came here, he seemed so weak ; but he has come
round wonderfully."
" I am very much better, certainly," said the patient himself.
The commanding officer hoped he would be fit for duty
again at an early date, but Captain Stanburne declared that
he did not feel strong enough yet to be equal to the march
and the drill ; that he was subject to frequent sensations of
giddiness, which would make him most uncomfortable, if not
useless, on the parade-ground ; and that, in a word, he was
best for the present where he was. This declaration was ac-
companied by due expressions of regret for the way in which
he abused the kind hospitality of the Anisons expressions
which, of course, drew forth from the good host a cordial
renewal of his lease.
" And what have you done with the Irishman who nearly
killed him?" asked Mr. Anison of the Colonel. "I've
heard nothing about him. If you 'd had him shot, we should
have heard of it."
" It was a perplexing case. If you consider the man a
soldier, the punishment is most severe in fact it is death,
even if he did not mean to kill. But we hardly could con-
sider him a soldier he had had no military experience a
raw Irish laborer, who had never worn a uniform. I have
been unwilling to bring the man before a court-martial. He
is in prison still."
" He has been punished enough," said Philip. " Pray con-
sider him simply as having been drunk. Irishmen are always
combative when they are drunk. It was not a deliberate
attack upon me as his officer. The man was temporarily out
of his senses, and struck blindly about him."
It having been settled that the Irishman was to be par-
doned on the intercession of Captain Stanburne, the Colonel
begged to be presented to Mrs. Anison. " He had not much
time," he said, looking at his watch ; " he had to be back in
172 Wender holme. PART i.
Sootythorn in time tor mess, and he was anxious to pay his
respects to the lady of the house."
So they all went into the drawing-room. After the intro-
ductory bows, the Colonel perceived our friend, little Jacob
(who had retreated with the ladies) ; but as he had not quite
finished his little speech to Mrs. Anison about her successful
nursing, he did not as yet take any direct notice of him.
When the duties of politeness had been fully performed, the
Colonel beckoned for little Jacob, and when he came to him,
laid both hands on his shoulders.
" And so you 're here, too, are you, young man ? I thought
you were at Shayton with your grandmamma."
Lieutenant Ogden came up at this instant to excuse him-
self. " My mother only came to Whittlecup yesterday, Col-
onel, and she brought my little boy with her." Mrs. Ogden
approached the group.
"I'm little Jacob's grandmother," she said, "and I'm
mother to this great lad here " (pointing to the Lieutenant),
" and it 's as much as ever I can do to take care of him.
What did you send him by himself to Whittlecup for ? You
should have known better nor that ; sending a drunkard like
him to stop by hisself in a public-house. If he 's a back-
slider now, it 's 'long o' them as turned him into temptation,
same as a cow into a clover-field. I wish he 'd never come
into th' malicious (militia) I do so."
The Colonel was little accustomed to be spoken to with
that unrestrained frankness which characterizes the in-
habitants of Shayton, and felt a temporary embarrassment
under Mrs. Ogden's onslaught. " Well, Mrs. Ogden, let
us hope that Mr. Isaac will be safe now under your pro-
tection."
" Safe ? Ay, he is safe now, I reckon, when he 's getten
his mother to take care of him ; and there 's more on ye as
wants your mothers to take care on ye, by all accounts."
" Mother," said the Lieutenant, " you shouldn't talk so to
CHAP. xix. The Colonel at Whittlecup. 173
the Colonel. You should bear in mind how he kept little
Jacob at Wenclerholme Hall."
Mrs. Ogden was pacified immediately, and held out her
hand. "I thank you for that," she said, "you were very
kind to th' childt ; and I Ve been doin' a piece of needlework
ever since for your wife, but it willn't be finished while
Christmas."
" Mother, you shouldn't say 'your wife ' you should say
* her ladyship,' " observed the Lieutenant, in a low tone.
" My wife will be greatly obliged to you, Mrs. Ogden. I
hope you will make her acquaintance before you leave' the
regiment ; for I may say that you belong to the regiment now,
since you have come to be Lieutenant Ogden's commanding
officer."
Mrs. Anison had been first an astonished and then an
amused auditor of this colloquy, but she ended it by offering
Mrs. Ogden a cup of tea. Then the Colonel began to talk
to Mrs. Anison. He had that hearty and frank enjoyment of
the society of ladies which is not only perfectly compatible
with morality, but especially belongs to it as one of its best
attributes and privileges. Good women liked the Colonel,
and the Colonel liked good women ; he liked them none the
less when they were handsome, as Mrs. Anison was, and
when they could talk well and easily, as she did. Some
women are distinguished by nature ; and though Mrs. Anison
had seen little of the great world, and the Colonel had seen
a good deal of it, the difference of experience did not place a
perceptible barrier between them. The time seemed to have
passed rapidly for both when the visitor took his leave.
174 Wender holme. PART i.
CHAPTER XX.
PHILIP STANBURNE IN LOVE.
IF any rational and worldly-minded adviser had said to
Philip Stanburne a month before, "Why don't you look
oult for some well-to-do cotton-spinner's daughter in Sooty-
thorn ? you might pick up a good fortune, that would mend
the Stanithburn property, and you might find a nice well-
educated girl, who would do you quite as much credit as if she
belonged to one of the old families" if any counsel of this
kind had been offered to Philip Stanburne then, before he
saw Alice Stedman, he would have rejected it at once as being
altogether inadmissible. Jife, the representative of the house
of Stanburne, connect himself with a family of cotton-spinners !
He, the dutiful son of the Church, ally himself with a mem-
ber of one of those heretical sects who insult her in her
affliction ! Our general views of things may, however, be
very decided, and admit, nevertheless, of exception in favor
of persons who are known to us. To hate Protestants in
general to despise the commercial classes as a body is
one thing ; but to hate and despise a gentle maiden, whose
voice sounds sweetly in our ears, is quite another thing.
" She 's as perfect a lady as any I ever saw," thought
Philip, as she walked before him in the garden at Arkwright
Lodge. A closer social critic might have answered, that
although Alice Stedman was a very admirable and good
young woman, absolutely free from the least taint of vul-
garity, she lacked the style and " go " of a young lady of the
world. Her deficiency in this respect may, however, have
CHAP. xx. Philip Stanburne in Love. 175
gone far to produce the charm which attracted Philip. Alice
had not the aplomb of a fine lady, nor the brilliance of a
clever woman ; but nature had given her a stamp of gen-
uineness which is sometimes effaced by the attrition of
society.
" It 's wrong of me to have taken possession of you, Cap-
tain Stanburne," said Margaret Anison ; " I see you are
longing to be with Alice Stedman you would be a great
deal happier with her ; " and, without consulting him further,
she called her sister, adding, " I beg pardon, Lissy, but I
want to say something to Sarah."
Of course, as Miss Anison had some private communi-
cation to make to her sister, Philip and Alice had nothing to
do but s'eloigner. The young gentleman offered his arm,
which was accepted, and they went on down a deviously
winding walk. Alice looked round, and seeing nobody, said,
" Hadn't we better wait, or go back a little ? we have been
walking faster than they have." Philip did as he was bid,
not precisely knowing or caring which way he went. But
the young ladies were not there.
" I think," he said at last, " we should do better to go in
our first direction, as they will expect us to do. Very likely
Miss Anison may have taken her sister to the house, to show
her something, and they will meet us in the garden again, if
we go in the direction they calculate upon." So they turned
round and walked down the winding path again.
"You often come to this place, I believe," said Philip.
"The Anisons are old friends of yours, are they not, Miss
Stedman ? "
"Oh yes; I come to stay here very often. The Anisons
are very kind to me."
" They are kind to me also, Miss Stedman, and yet I have
no claim of old acquaintance. A fortnight since I did not
even know their name, and yet it seems to me now as if I
had known them for years. You are rather an older ac-
176 Wender holme. PART i.
quaintance, Miss Stedman. I had the pleasure of seeing
you at Sootythorn before I came to Whittlecup."
Alice looked up at her companion rather archly, and said,
" You mean in the bookseller's shop ? "
" Yes, when you came to buy a book of sermons. Shall
I tell you what book you ordered ? I remember the name
perfectly. It was ' Blunting's Sermons on Popery.' "
" So you were listening, were you ? "
" I wasn't listening when I heard your voice for the first
time, but I listened very attentively afterwards. My atten-
tion was attracted by the title of the book. You know that
I am a Catholic, Miss Stedman ? "
" Yes," said Alice, very briefly, and in a tone which seemed
to endeavor not to imply disapprobation.
"And perhaps you know that Catholics don't quite like to
hear their religion called * Popery.' So I was a little irri-
tated ; but then I reflected that as the title of the book was
so, you could not order it by another name than the name
upon its titlepage." Here there was a pause, as Alice did
not speak. Philip resumed,
"Do you live in Sootythorn, Miss Stedman?"
" Not far out of the town. Indeed our house is surrounded
by buildings now. It used to be quite in the country."
"I I should like to call upon Mr. Stedman very much
when I am quite well again."
For some seconds there was no answer. Then Alice said
in a low tone, almost inaudible, " I should be very glad to
see you again."
A heavy and rapid step on the gravel behind them abruptly
ended this interesting conversation.
It was not Madge Anison's step. They stopped and looked
round. The Reverend Abel Blunting confronted them.
If poor Alice had not had that miserable habit of blush-
ing, the reverend gentleman would have perceived nothing
beyond the simple fact that the young lady was walking in
CHAP. xx. Philip Stanburne in Love. 177
a garden with Mr. Philip Stanburne. But Alice's face was
suffused with crimson, and the knowledge that it was so
made her so uncomfortable that she blushed more than ever.
In spite of his manhood, there was a slightly heightened color
on Philip's cheek also, but a good deal of this may be attrib-
uted to vexation at what he was disposed to consider an
ill-timed and unwarrantable intrusion.
" Good morning, Miss Alice ! I hope you are quite well :
and you, sir, I wish you good morning; I hope I see you
well."
Philip bowed, a little stiffly, and Alice proceeded to make
hasty inquiries about her papa. Did Mr. Blunting know if
hei papa had changed his intentions ?
Mr. Blunting was always very- polite, the defect in his
manners (betraying that he was not quite a gentleman) being
that they were only too deferential. He had a fatherly affec-
tion for Alice Stedman, whose spiritual guide he had been
from her infancy, and it was certainly the very first time in
her life that she had seen him without feelings of unmingled
satisfaction.
" I have come to fetch you myself, Miss Alice. I met your
papa in Sootythorn this morning as I was leaving in my gig,
and he asked if I were coming to Whittlecup. So he re-
quested me to offer you the vacant seat, Miss Alice, which I
now do with great pleasure." Here Mr. Blunting made a
soft of a bow. There was an unctuousness in his courtesy
that irritated Philip, but perhaps Philip envied him his place
in the gig.
" Are we going to leave immediately, then ? " inquired
Miss Stedman, in a tone which did not imply the most
perfect satisfaction with these arrangements.
" Mrs. Anison has been so kind as to invite me to dine,
and I have accepted." Mr. Blunting was too honest to say
that Miss Alice ought to dine before her drive. He accepted
avowedly in his own interest. He had a large body to nour-
12
178 Wenderholme. PARTI.
ish, he had to supply energies for an enormous amount of
work, and the dinners at the Sootythorn parsonage were not
always very succulent. He therefore thought it not wrong
to accept effective aid in his labors when it offered itself in
the shape of hospitality.
At dessert the clergyman found an opportunity of convey-
ing, not too directly, a little hint or lesson which he felt it
his duty to convey, and which had been tormenting him
since the meeting in the garden. The conversation, which
at Whittlecup, as elsewhere, very generally ran upon people
known to the speakers, had turned to a case of separation
between a neighboring country gentleman and his wife, who
were, or had been, of different religions.
"Marriages of that kind," said Mr. Blunting, "between
people of different religions, seldom turn out happily, and it
is a great imprudence to contract them."
Mrs. Anison expressed a hearty concurrence in this view,
but certain young persons present believed that, however just
Mr. Blunting's observation might be, considered generally,
there must be exceptions to a rule so discouraging:.
CHAP. xxi. The Wenderholme Coach. 179
UNIVERSITY
CPL
THE WENDERHOLME COACH.
THE distance from Wenderholme to Sooty thorn was rather
inconveniently great, being about twenty miles ; and as
there was no railway in that direction, the Colonel determined
to set up a four-in-hand, which he facetiously entitled " The
Wenderholme Coach." The immediate purpose of the Wen-
derholme coach was to enable the officers to enjoy more fre-
quently the hospitalities of the Hall ; but it may be admitted
that John Stanburne had a natural gift for driving, and also a
cultivated taste for that amusement, which may have had their
influence in deciding him to add this item to his establishment.
He had driven his tandem so long how, that, though it was
still very agreeable to him, it no longer offered any excite-
ment ; but his experience of a four-in-hand was much more
limited, and it therefore presented many of the allurements
of novelty. Nothing is more agreeable than a perfect harmony
between our duties towards others and our private tastes and
predilections. It was clearly a duty to offer hospitality to the
officers ; and the hospitality would be so much more graceful
if Wenderholme were brought nearer to Sootythorn by a capa-
cious conveyance travelling at high speed, and with the style
befitting a company of officers and gentlemen. At the same
time, when John Stanburne imagined the charms of driving a
four-in-hand, his fingers tingled with anticipations of their
delight in holding " the ribbons." Like all men of a perfectly
healthy nature, he still retained a great deal of the boy (alas
for him whose boyhood is at an end for ever !), and he was
1 80 Wender holme. PART i.
still capable of joyously anticipating a new pleasure. The idea
of the four-in-hand was not new to him. He had long secretly
aspired to its realization, but then Lady Helena (who had not
the sacred fire) was not likely to see the thing quite in the
same light. John Stanburne had never precisely consulted
her upon the subject he had never even gone so far as to
say that he should like a four-in-hand if he could afford it ;
but he had expatiated on the delights of driving other people's
teams, and his enthusiasm had met with no answering warmth
in Helena's unresponsive breast. She had known for years
that her husband had a hankering after a four-in-hand, and
had discouraged it in her own way namely, by steadily
avoiding the least expression (even of simple politeness)
which might be construed into approbation. In this negative
way, without once speaking openly about the matter, she had
clearly conveyed to the Colonel's mind her opinion there-
upon. The reader, no doubt, approves her ladyship's wisdom
and economy. But Lady Helena was not on all points wise
and economical. Her qualities of this order shone most
conspicuously with reference to pleasures which she did not
personally appreciate. It is with* sins of extravagance as
with most other sins we compound for those which we 're
inclined to by condemning those that we Ve no mind to.
On the other hand, it may most reasonably be argued,
in favor of her ladyship and other good women who criticise
their husbands' expenditure on this excellent old principle,
that if they not only encouraged the outlay which procures
them the things they like, but also outlay for things they are
indifferent about, the general household expenditure would
be ruinously augmented.
The Colonel's manner of proceeding about the four-in-hand
was characteristic of a husband in his peculiar position.
He knew by experience the strength of the fait accompli. He
wrote privily to a knowing friend of his who was spending
the pleasant month of May amidst the joys of the London
CHAP.X'XI. The Wenderholme Coach. 181
season, to purchase for him at once the commodious vehicle
destined to become afterwards famous as the Wenderholme
coach. He wrote for it on that Monday evening when Alice
Stedman returned from her interrupted visit to Whittlecup ;
and as it was sent down on a truck attached to a passenger
train, it arrived at the Sooty thorn station within forty-eight
hours of the writing of the letter, and was brought to the
Thorn Inn by two of Mr. Garley's hacks. The officers
turned out to look at it after mess, and as it was known to
have been selected by a man of high repute in the sporting
world, its merits were unanimously allowed. There was a
complete set of silver-mounted harness for four horses in the
boot, carefully wrapped up in three sorts of paper ; and Lon-
don celerity had even found time to emblazon the Stanburne
arms on the panels. It is true that they were exceedingly
simple, like the arms of most old families, and the painter
had omitted to impale them with the bearings of her lady-
ship an accident which might also be considered ominous
under the circumstances, since it seemed to imply that in this
extravagance .of the Colonel's his wife had no part nor lot.
As the mess was just over when the coach entered Mr.
Garley's yard, the Colonel, with the boyish impulsiveness
which he did not attempt to conceal, said, " Let 's have a
drive in the Wenderholme coach! Where shall we go to?
Let 's go and look up Lieutenant Ogden at Whittlecup, and
see what he 's doing ! " So the two tandem horses and two
of Mr. Garley's hacks were clothed in the splendors of the
new harness, and attached to the great vehicle, whilst a dozen
officers mounted to the lofty outside places. They wore the
mess costume (red shell-jacket, &c.), and looked something
like a lot of scarlet geraniums on the top of a horticul-
turist's van.
Just as they were starting, and as the Colonel was begin-
ning to feel his reins properly, a youthful lieutenant who pos-
sessed a cornet-a-piston, and had privily carried it with him
1 82 Wenderholme. 'PART i.
as he climbed to his place behind, filled the streets of Sooty-
thorn with triumphant trumpet-notes. The sound caused
many of the inhabitants to come to their windows, and
amongst others Miss Mellor and her friend, Mrs. Ogden, who
had been drinking tea with her that evening. " Why," said
Miss Mellor, " it 's a new coach ! " " And it's boun' to 'rd
Whittlecup, I declare," added Mrs. Ogden. She had already
put her things on, intending to walk back to Whittlecup with
little Jacob in the cool of the evening, for it was quite con-
trary to Mrs. Ogden's character (at once courageous and
economical) to hire a fly for so short a distance as four mile's.
But when she saw the coach, it occurred to her that here was
a golden mean betwixt the extravagance of fly-hiring and the
fatigues of pedestrianism ; so she clapped little Jacob's cap
on his head (in a manner unsatisfactory to that young gentle-
man, for nobody can put a boy's cap on to suit him except
himself), and dragged him out at the front door, hardly taking
time to say good night to the worthy lady by whom she had
just been so hospitably entertained.
When the Colonel saw Mrs. Ogden making signs with her
parasol, he recognized her at once, and good-naturedly drew
up his horses that she might get inside. Fyser got down to
open the door, and the following conversation, which was
clearly overheard by several of the officers, and partially by
the Colonel himself, took place between Fyser and Mrs.
Ogden.
" Is this Whittlecup coach ? "
" Yes, mum."
" Is there room inside for me and this 'ere little lad ? "
" Plenty of room, mum. Step in, please ; the horses is
waitinV
" Stop a bit. What 's the fare as far as Whittlecup ? "
" One shilling, mum," said Fyser, who ventured thus far,
from his knowledge of the Colonel's indulgent disposition
when a joke was in the wind.
CHAP. xxi. The Wenderholme Coach. 183
"The childt'll be half-price?" said Mrs. Ogden, mixing
the affirmative with the interrogative.
" Very well, mum," said Fyser, and shut the door on Mrs.
Ogden and little Jacob.
The Colonel, since the box-seat was on the other side of
the vehicle, had not heard the whole of this colloquy ; and
when it was reported to him amidst roars of laughter, he
looked rather graver than was expected. " It 's a good joke,
gentlemen," he said, " but there is one little matter I must
explain to you. Our inside passenger is the mother of one
of our brother officers, Lieutenant Ogden, who is command-
ing number six company 'at Whittlecup, and the little boy with
her is his son ; so please be very careful never to allude to
this little incident in his presence, you understand."
Meanwhile Mrs. Ogden found the Whittlecup coach com-
fortable in a supreme degree. " They 've rare good coaches
about Sootythorn," she said to little Jacob ; " this is as soft
as soft it 's same as sittin' on a feather-bedd." A few
minutes later she continued : " Th' outside passengers is
mostly soldiers * by what I can see. They 're 'appen some
o' your father's men as are boun' back to Whittlecup."
In less than half an hour the Colonel drew up in the mar-
ket-place at Whittlecup, at the sign of the Blue Bell. He.
handed the reins to his neighbor on the box, and descended
with great alacrity. Fyser had just opened the door when
the Colonel arrived in time to help Mrs. Ogden politely as
she got out.
" It 's eighteenpence," she said, and handed him the
money. The Colonel had thrown his gray cloak over his
shell-jacket, and, to a person with Mrs. Ogden's habits of
observation, or non-observation, looked sufficiently like a
* The reader who cares to attain the perfection of Mrs. Ogden's
pronunciation will please to bear in mind that she pronounced the d well
in "soldiers 1 ' (thus, sol-di-ers), and did not replace it with a g t accord-
ing to the barbarous usage of the polite world.
184 Wenderholme. PART i.
coachman. He thought it best to take the money, to prevent
an explanation in the presence of so many witnesses. So he
politely touched his cap, and thanked her. It being already
dusk, she did not recognize him. Suddenly the love of a
joke prevailed over other considerations, and the Colonel,
imitating the cabman's gesture, contemplated the three six-
pences in his open hand by the light of the lamp, and said,
u Is there nothing for the coachman, mum ? " The lamplight
fell upon his features, and Mrs. Ogden recognized him at
once ; so did little Jacob. Her way of taking the discovery
marked her characteristic self-possession. She blundered
into no apologies ; but, fixing her stony gray eyes full on the
Colonel's face, she said, " I think you want no sixpences ;
Stanburnes o' Wendrum Hall doesn't use wantin' sixpences.
Give me my eighteenpence back." Then, suddenly changing
her resolution, she said, " Nay, I willn't have them three six-
pences back again ; it 's worth eighteenpence to be able to tell
folk that Colonel Stanburne of Wenderholme Hall took money
for lettin' an old lady ride in his carriage." She said this
with real dignity, and taking little Jacob by the hand, moved
off with a steady step towards her lodging over the shoe-
maker's shop.
CHAP. xxii. Colonel Stanburne apologizes. 185
CHAPTER XXII.
COLONEL STANBURNE APOLOGIZES.
r I ^HE next day Lieutenant Ogden appeared not on the
-L parade-ground at Sootythorn. Captain Stanburne
commanded his own company for the first time since his ac-
cident (his cure having been wonderfully advanced by the
departure of Miss Stedman from Arkwright Lodge) ; and
during one of the short intervals of repose which break the
tedium of drill, he went to pay his respects to the Colonel,
who was engaged in conversation with the Adjutant on a bit
of elevated ground, whilst Fyser promenaded his war-horse
to and fro.
Colonel Stanburne, who was ignorant of the cause to which
he owed the rapid recovery of his young friend, heartily con-
gratulated him, and then said, " But where is Ogden ? what 's
Ogden doing ? Why didn't he come to the parade-ground to
join the grenadier company again ? Is he taking a day's holi-
day with those pretty girls at Arkwright Lodge ? "
" Mr. Ogden begs to be excused from attending drill to-day.
I have a note from him." And Captain Stanburne handed
the letter to the Colonel.
As soon as John Stanburne had read the letter he looked
very grave, or rather very much put out, and made an ejacu-
lation. The ejaculation was "Damn it!" Then he folded
the letter again, and put it in his pocket-book.
" Have you had any conversation with Mr. Ogden on the
subject of this letter?" Captain Stanburne knew nothing
about it.
1 86 Wenderholme. PART i.
The Colonel made a signal for Fyser, and mounted his
horse. Fyser mounted another, and followed his master. The
senior Major was telling humorous anecdotes to a group of
captains, and the Colonel went straight to him at a canter.
He told him to command the regiment in his absence, enter-
ing into some details about what was to be done details
which puzzled the Major exceedingly, for he knew nothing
whatever about battalion drill, or any drill, though in some
former state of existence he had been an ornamental officer in
the Guards. This done, the Colonel galloped off the field.
The letter which had caused this sudden departure was as
follows :
" SIR, As you have thought fit to play a practical joke
upon my mother, I send in my resignation.
" Your obedient servant, ISAAC OGDEN."
There was no hesitation about the Colonel's movements ;
he rode straight to Whittlecup as fast as his horse could carry
him. He went first to the Blue Bell, where he found a guide
to Mrs. Ogden's lodging over the shoemaker's shop. In
answer to his inquiries, the shoemaker's wife admitted that
all her lodgers were at home, but but in short, they were
" getting their breakfast." The Colonel said his business was
urgent that he must see the Lieutenant, and Mrs. Ogden
too so Mrs. Wood guided him up the narrow stairs.
We may confess for John Stanburne that he had not much of
that courage which rejoices in verbal encounters, or if he had,
it was of that kind which dares to do what the man is consti-
tutionally most afraid to do. The reader may remember an
anecdote of another English officer, who, as he went into
battle, betrayed the external signs of fear, and in reply to a
young subaltern, who had the impudence to taunt him, said,
" Yes, I am afraid, and if you were as much afraid as I am,
you would run away." Yet, by the strength of his will, he con-
ducted himself like a true soldier. And there is that other
CHAI.XXII. Colonel Stanburne apologizes. 187
stirring anecdote about a French commander, who, when his
body trembled at the opening of a battle, thus apostrophized
it : " Tu trembles, vile carcasse ! tu tremblerais bien plus si tu
savais oil je vais te mener ! " If these men were cowards,
John Stanburne was a coward too, for he mortally dreaded
this encounter with the Ogdens ; but if they were not cowards
(having will enough to neutralize that defect of nature),
neither was John Stanburne.
Lieutenant Ogden rose from his seat, and bowed rather
stiffly as the Colonel entered. Mrs. Ogden made a just per-
ceptible inclination of the head, and conveyed to her mouth
a spoonful of boiled egg, which she had just dipped in the
salt.
" I beg pardon," said the Colonel, "for intruding upon you
during breakfast time, but -= but I was anxious" The
moment of hesitation which followed was at once taken ad-
vantage of by Mrs. Ogden.
" And is that all you 've come to beg pardon for ? "
This thrust put the Colonel more on his defence than a
pleasanter reception would have done. He had intended to
offer nothing but a very polite apology ; but as there seemed
to be a disposition on the part of the enemy to extort conces-
sions so as to deprive them of the grace of being voluntary, he
withdrew into his own retrenchments.
" I came to ask Mr. Ogden for an explanation about his
letter of this morning."
"I should think you need no explanations, Colonel Stan-
burne. You know what passed yesterday evening."
" He knows that well enough," said Mrs. Ogden.
" I should be glad if Lieutenant Ogden would tell me in
detail what he thinks that he has to complain of."
" Leaftenant ! Leaftenant ! nay, there 's no more leaftenan-
tin', I reckon. This is Isaac Ogden plain Isaac Ogden
an' nout elz. He 's given up playin' at soldiers. He 's a
cotton-spinner, or he were one, nobbut his brother an' him
1 88 Wenderholme. PART I.
quarrelled ; and I wish they hadn't done, many a time I do
for our Jacob 's as much as ever he can manage, now as he 's
buildin' a new mill; an' if he gets wed- and there's Hiram
RatclhTs dorther " Mrs. Ogden might have gone very
far into family matters if her son had not perceived (or im-
agined that he perceived) something like a smile on Colonel
Stanburne's face. In point of fact, the Colonel did not pre-
cisely smile ; but there was a general relaxation of the muscles
of his physiognomy from their first expression of severity,
betraying an inward tendency to humor.
" Well, sir," broke in Ogden, " I '11 tell you what you did, if
you want me. It seems that you Ve set up a new carriage, a
four-in-hand, which looks very like a mail coach, and you drove
this vehicle yesterday through the streets of Sootythorn, and
you saw my mother on the footpath, and you made a signal to
her with your whip, as coachmen do, and you allowed her to
get inside under the impression that it was a public convey-
ance, so that you might make a laughing-stock of her with the
officers. And "
" Pardon me," said the Colonel, " it was not "
" You 've asked me to tell you why I sent in my resignation,
and I 'm telling you. If you stop me, I shalln't begin it over
again. Let me say my say, Colonel Stanburne ; you may ex-
plain it away afterwards at your leisure, if you can. When
you got into Whittlecup, and stopped at the Blue Bell, you
took my mother's money and not only that, but you asked
for a gratuity for yourself, as driver, to make her ridiculous in
the eyes of your friends on the vehicle. I suppose, though
your joke may have been a very good one, that you will be
able to understand why it is not very pleasing to me, and why
I don't choose to remain under you in the militia."
" If the thing had occurred as you have told it " the
Colonel began, but was instantly interrupted by Mrs. Ogden.
" Do you mean to say I didn't tell him right what hap-
pened ? If anybody knows what happened, I do."
CHAP. xxii. Colonel Stanburne apologizes. 1 89
" Let the Colonel say what he has to say, mother ; don't
you stop him. I 've said my say, and it 's his turn now."
The Colonel told the facts as the reader knows them. " He
had made no sign to Mrs. Ogden," he said, " in the street at
Sootythorn, but she had made a sign with her parasol, which
he had interpreted as a request for a place. He had been
ignorant that Fyser had kept up her illusion about the vehicle
being a public one until after the fact ; and so far from en-
couraging the merriment of the officers, had put a stop to it by
telling them who Mrs. Ogden was, particularly requesting that
the incident might not be made a subject of pleasantry, lest
it should reach Mr. Ogden 's ears. On arriving in Whittlecup,
he had taken her money, but with the express purpose of
saving her the pain of an explanation. He had intended
Mrs. Ogden to remain ignorant happily ignorant of her
little mistake."
" Pardon me," said Isaac Ogden ; " this might have been
equally well accomplished without asking my mother for
a coachman's gratuity. That was done to make a fool of
her, evidently ; and no doubt you laughed about it with your
friends as you drove back to Sootythorn."
"Here is the only point on which I feel that I owe an
apology to Mrs. Ogden, and I very willingly make it. In
every thing else I did what lay in my power to save her from
ridicule, but on this point I confess that I did wrong. I
couldn't help it. I was carried away by a foolish fancy for
acting the coachman out and out. The temptation was too
strong for me, you know. I thought I had taken the money
cleverly, in the proper professional manner, and I was tempted
to ask for a gratuity. I acknowledge that I went too far.
Mrs. Ogden, I am very sorry for this."
Mrs. Ogden had been gradually softening during the
Colonel's explanation, and when it came to its close she
turned to him and said, " We Ve been rather too hard upon
you, I think." Such an expression as this from Mrs. Ogden
Wenderholme. PART i.
was equivalent to a profuse apology. The Lieutenant added
a conciliatory little speech of his own : " I think my mother
may accept your explanation. I am willing to accept it my-
selk" This was not very cordial, but at any rate it was an
expression of satisfaction.
Little Jacob had hitherto been a silent and unobserved
auditor of this conversation, but it now occurred to the
Colonel that he might be of considerable use. " Mrs. Og-
den," he said, " will you allow me to transfer your eighteen-
pence to this young gentleman's pocket?" Mrs. Ogden
consented, and it will be believed that little Jacob on his
part had no objection. Then the Colonel drew little Jacob
towards him, and began to ask him questions "What would
he like to be ? " Little Jacob said he would like to be a
coachman, as the Colonel was, and drive four horses. The
Colonel promised him a long drive on the coach.
" And may I drive the horses ? "
" Well, we shall see about that. Yes, you shall drive them
a little some day." Then turning towards Mrs. Ogden, he
continued,
"Lady Helena is not at Wenderholme just now, unfortu-
nately ; she is gone to town to her father's for a few days, so
that I am a bachelor at present, and cannot invite ladies ;
but if it would please little Jacob to ride on the coach with
me, I should be very glad if you would let him. I am going
to drive to Wenderholme this evening as soon as our after-
noon drill is finished, and shall return to-morrow morning.
About half-a-dozen officers are going to dine with me. Og-
den, you '11 dine with me too, won't you ? Do there 's a
good fellow ; and pray let us forget this unlucky bit of un-
pleasantness. Don't come full fig come in a shell-jacket."
" Well, but you know, Colonel Stanburne, I Ve resigned
my commission, and so how can I come in a red jacket ? "
This was said with an agreeable expression of countenance,
intended to imply that the resignation was no longer to be
CHAP. xxii. Colonel Stanburne apologizes. 191
taken seriously. The Colonel laughed. "Nonsense," he
said; "you don't talk about resigning? It isn't a time for
resigning when there 's such a capital chance of promotion.
Most likely you '11 be a captain next training, for there 's a
certain old major who finds battalion drill a mystery beyond
the utmost range of his intellect, and I don't think he '11
stop very long with us, and when he leaves us there '11 be a
general rise, and the senior lieutenant, you know, will be a
captain."
Mrs. Ogden's countenance began to shine with pride at
these hints of promotion. After all, he would be somebody
at Shayton, would Captain Ogden, for she was fully deter-
mined that when once he should be in possession of the
title, it should not perish for want of use.
When the Colonel rose to take his leave, Mrs. Ogden
said, " Nay, nay, you shalln't go away without drinking a
glass of wine. There 's both port and sherry in the cup-
board ; and if you'd like something to eat you must be
quite hungry after your ride. Why, you Ve 'appen never
got your breakfast? "
The Colonel confessed that he had not breakfasted. He
had come away from early drill just before his usual break-
fast-hour.
" Eh, well, I wish I 'd known sooner ; indeed I do. The
coffee 's quite cold, and there 's nothing worse than cold cof-
fee ; but Mr. Wood '11 very soon make some fresh." Colonel
Stanburne was really hungry, and ate his breakfast in a
manner which gave the greatest satisfaction to Mrs. Ogden.
The more he ate the more he rose in her esteem, and at
length she could no longer restrain her feelings of approval,
and said, " You can eat your breakfast ; it does me good to
watch ye. There 's many a young man as cannot eat half
as much as you do. There 's our Isaac here that 's only
a very poor breakfast-eater. I tell him so many a time."
Indeed she did tell him so many a time namely, about
192 Wender holme. PART i.
fifteen times whenever they breakfasted together. When the
Colonel had done eating, he looked at his watch and said it
was time to go. " Well, I 'm very sorry you 're goin' so soon
indeed I am," said Mrs. Ogden, who, when he ceased to
eat, felt that her own pleasure was at an end. But you must
drink a glass of wine. It isn't bought at the Blue Bell at
Whittlecup it comes from Shayton." She said this with
a calm assurance that it settled the question of the wine's
merits, just as if Shayton had been the centre of a famous
wine-district. Returning to the subject of breakfast-eating,
she repeated, " Eh, I do wish our Isaac could eat his break-
fast same as you do, but he 's spoiled his stomach wi' drink-
ing." Then addressing her son : " Isaac, I put two glasses
with the decanter why don't you fill your glass?"
" I 've given up drinking."
" Do you mean to say as you 're teetotal ? "
" Yes, I do, mother ; I 'm teetotal now."
Mrs. Ogden's face assumed an expression of extreme as-
tonishment and displeasure. " Well," she said, " Isaac Og-
den, you 're the first teetotal as has been in our family ! "
and she looked at him in scorn. Then she resumed : " If
I 'd known what was to come of your meeting that teetotal
clergyman for it 's him that 's done it I 'd have prevented
it if I could. Turned teetotal ! turned teetotal ! Well, Isaac,
I never could have believed this of any son of mine ! "
CHAP. XXIIL Husband and Wife. 193
CHAPTER XXIII.
HUSBAND AND WIFE.
WHEN Lady Helena came back from London, she found
the Wenderholme coach already in full activity. It
ran from Sootythorn to Wenderholme twice a week regularly
with many passengers, who, so far from contributing to its
maintenance, did but yet further exhaust the pocket of its
proprietor. It happened precisely that on the day of her
ladyship's return the Colonel had one of his frequent dinner-
parties at the Hall parties composed almost exclusively of
militia officers, and already known in the regiment as the
" Wenderholme mess." The Colonel had thought it prudent
to prepare Lady Helena for his new acquisition by mention-
ing it in a letter, so that sh^ experienced no shock of sur-
prise when the four-in-hand came swinging heavily round the
drive in front of the house, announcing itself with loud blasts
from Ensign Featherby's cornet-a-piston. They had such
numbers of spare bed-rooms at Wenderholme that these hos-
pitalities caused no perceptible inconvenience, except that of
getting up very early the next morning, which chiefly affected
the guests themselves, who had' to be in time for early drill.
On this point the Colonel was inexorable, so that the Wen-
derholme mess was much more popular on Saturday than on
Thursday evening, as the officers stayed at Wenderholme till
after luncheon, going to the village church in the morning
with the people at the Hall, and returning to Sootythorn in
the course of the afternoon, so as to be in time for mess. It
happened that the day of Lady Helena's return was a Satur-
194 Wender holme. PART i.
day, and the Colonel thought, " She said nothing about the
coach to-night, but I 'm in for it to-morrow morning." How-
ever, when Sunday morning came, beautiful with full spring
sunshine, her ladyship's countenance appeared equally cloud-
less. Encouraged by these favorable appearances, John
Stanburne observed, a little before church-time,
" I say, Helena, you haven't seen the Wenderholme coach.
Come and look at it ; do come, Helena that 's a good gell
It 's in the coach-house."
But her ladyship replied that she had seen the coach the
evening before from the drawing-room window, when it ar-
rived from Sootythorn.
"Well, but you can't have seen it properly, you know.
You can't have looked inside it. Come and look inside it,
and see what comfortable accommodation we Ve got for in-
side passengers. Inside passengers don't often present them-
selves, though, and yet there's no difference in the fare.
You'll be an inside passenger yourself won't you, now,
Helena?"
Her ladyship was clearly aware that this coaxing was in
tended to extract from her an official recognition of the new
institution, and she was resolutely determined to withhold it.
So she looked at her watch, and observed that it was nearly
church-time, and that she must go at once and put her things on.
As they walked to church, she said to one of the officers,
" We always walk to church from the Hall, even in rainy
weather."
" Helena-'s a capital walker," said the Colonel.
" It is fortunate for ladies to be good walkers," replied her
ladyship, " when they have no carriage-horses."
Here was a stab ; and the worst of it was, that it might
clearly be proved to be deserved. The Colonel had suggested
in his letter to Lady Helena that she would do well to come
by way of Manchester to Sootythorn, instead of going by
Bradford to a little country station ten miles on the Yorkshire
CHAP. XXTII. Husband and Wife. 195
side of Wenderholme. Her ladyship had not replied to this
communication, but had written the day before her return to
the housekeeper at Wenderholme, ordering her carriage, as
usual, to the Yorkshire station. The carriage had not come ;
the housekeeper had only been able to send the pony car-
riage, a tiny basket that Lady Helena drove herself, with
seats for two persons, no place for luggage, and a black pony
a little bigger than a Newfoundland dog. Lady Helena had
driven herself from the station ; there had been a smart
shower, and, notwithstanding a thin gray cloak, which was
supposed to be waterproof, she had been wet through. The
Colonel had taken possession of all the carriage- horses for
his four-in-hand, and they were at Sootythorn. Her ladyship
would continue to be equally carriageless, since the Colonel
would take his whole team back with him, unless he sent
back the horses from Sootythorn on the day following. These
things occupied John Stanburne's mind when he should have
been attending to the service. They had always kept four
carriage-horses since their marriage, but never more than
four ; and though one of the two pairs had been often kept
at Sootythorn, when circumstances required them to go there
frequently, still her ladyship had never been left carriageless
without being previously consulted upon the subject, and then
only for twenty-four hours at the longest. The idea of setting
up a four-in-hand with only two pairs of horses, one of which
was in almost daily requisition for a lady's carriage, would
indeed have been ridiculous if John Stanburne had quite
seriously entertained it; but, though admitting vaguely the
probable necessity of an increase, he had not yet recognized
that necessity in a clear and definite way. It came to his
mind, however, on that Sunday morning with much distinct-
ness. " Well, hang it ! " he thought, as he settled down in
his corner at the beginning of the sermon, " I have as much
right to spend my own money as Helena has. Every journey
she makes to town costs more than a horse. I spend nothing
196 Wender holme. PART i.
on myself really nothing whatever. Look at my tailor's
bill! I positively haven't any tailor's bill. Helena spends
more on dress in a month than I do in a year. And then her
jeweller's bill ! She spends hundreds of pounds on jewellery,
and I never spend one penny. Every time she goes to a
Drawing-room she has all her old jewels pulled to pieces and
set afresh, and it costs nobody knows what it does. I '11
have my four-in-hand properly horsed with horses of my own,
by George ! and none of those confounded Sootythorn hacks
any more ; and Helena shall keep her carriage-horses all to
herself, and drive about all day long if she likes. Of course
I can't take her carriage-horses she 's right there."
On her own part, her ladyship was steadily resolved not
to be deprived of any of those belongings which naturally
appertained to a person of her rank and consideration ; and
there had existed in her mind for several years a feeling of
jealous watchfulness, which scrutinized at the same time
John Stanburne's projects of economy and his projects of
expense. It had happened several times within the experi-
ence of this couple that the husband had taken little fits of
parsimony, during which he attacked the expenditure he
least cared for, but which, by an unfortunate fatality, always
seemed to his wife to be most reasonable and accessary.
It might perhaps have been more favorable to his tranquillity
to ally himself with some country girl acclimatized to the
dulness of a thoroughly provincial existence, and satisfied
with the position of mistress of Wenderholme Hall, who
would have let him spend his money in his own way, and
would never have dragged him beyond the circle of his
tastes and inclinations. He hated London, especially dur-
ing the season ; and though he enjoyed the society of people
whom he really knew something about, he disliked being in
a crowd. Lady Helena, on the other hand, was fond of
society, and even of the spectacle of the court. John Stan-
burne had regularly accompanied his wife on these annual
CHAP. xxin. Husband and Wife. 197
visits to the metropolis until this year, when the militia
afforded an excellent pretext for staying in the country but
every year he had given evidence of an increasing disposition
to evade the performance of his duties ; and it had come to
this at last, that Lady Helena was obliged to go about with
the Adisham family, since John Stanburne could not be
made to go to parties any more. He grumbled, too, a good
deal about the costliness of these London expeditions, and
sometimes . talked of suppressing them altogether. There
was another annual expedition that he disliked very much,
namely, a winter expedition to Brighton ; and it had come to
pass that a coolness had sprung up between John Stanburne
and the Adisham family (who went to Brighton every year),
because his indisposition to meet them there had been some-
what too openly manifested. His old mother was the confidant
of these rebellious sentiments. She lived in a picturesque
cottage situated in Wenderholme Park, which served as a
residence for dowagers. She came very regularly to Wen-
derholme church, and sat there in a small pew of her own,
which bore the same relation to the big family pew that the
cottage bore to the Hall. John Stanburne had objected
very strongly to his mother's removal to the cottage, and he
had also objected to the separate pew, but his mother main-
tained the utility of both institutions. She said it was good
for an old woman, who found some difficulty in fixing her
attention steadily, not to be disturbed in her devotions by
the presence of too many strangers in the same pew ; and
as there would often be company at the Hall, she would
stick to her own seat. So she sat there as usual on this
particular Sunday, looking very nice in her light summer
dress. The Colonel's little daughter, Edith, had slipped
into her grandmamma's pew, as she often did, when they
were walking up the aisle. She had been staying at the
cottage during her mother's absence, as was her custom when
Lady Helena went to London ; and it had cost her, as usual,
198 Wenderholme. PART I.
a little pang to leave the old lady by herself again. Besides,
she felt that it would be pleasanter to sit with her grand-
mother than with all those strange militia officers. She
would have felt, in the family pew, as a very young sapling
may be supposed to feel when it is surrounded by over-
poweringly big trees sufficiently protected, no doubt, but
more than sufficiently overshadowed.
Amongst the officers in the Wenderholme pew was Lieu-
tenant Ogden, and by his side a young gentleman whose
presence has not hitherto been mentioned, namely, little
Jacob. Little Jacob's curious eyes wandered over the quaint
old church during the sermon, and they fixed frequently upon
the strange hatchments and marble monuments in the chapel
of the Stanburnes. He had never seen such things before
in his life (for there were no old families at Shayton), and
he marvelled greatly thereat. Advancing, however, from the
known to the unknown, he remembered the royal arms which
decorated the front of the organ gallery in Shayton church,
and finding a similar ornament at Wenderholme, proceeded
to the inference that the hatchments were something of the
same kind, in which he was not far wrong. Gradually his
eyes fell upon Mrs. Stanburne's pew, and rested there. A
vague new feeling crept into his being; Edith Stanburne
seemed very nice, he thought. It was pleasant to look upon
her face.
Here the more rigid of my readers may exclaim, " Surely
he is not going to make little Jacob fall in love at that age ! "
Well, not as you would fall in love, respected reader, if that
good or evil fortune were to happen to you ; but a child like
little Jacob is perfectly capable of falling in love in his own
way. The loves of children bear about the same proportion
to the great passion which rules the destiny of men, that
their contests in fisticuffs do to the bloody work of the bayo-
net ; but as we may many of us remember having given Bob
or Tom an ugly-looking black eye, or perchance remember
CHAP, xxiii. Husband and Wife. 199
having received one from Tom or Bob, so also there may
linger amongst the recollections of our infancy some vision
of a sweet little child-face that seemed to us brighter than
any other face in the whole world. In this way did Edith
Stanburne take possession of Master Jacob's honest little
heart, and become the object of his silent, and tender, and
timid, and exceedingly respectful adoration. He intensely
felt the distance between himself and the heiress of Wen-
derholme Hall, and so he admired her as some young officer
about a court may admire some beautiful princess whom
it is his dangerous privilege to see. Children are affected
by the externals of ancient wealth to a degree which the
mature mind, dwelling amongst figures, is scarcely capable
of realizing; and the difference between Wenderholme and
Twistle Farm, or Wenderholme and Milend, seemed to little
Jacob's imagination an utterly impassable abyss. But there
was steam in Ogden's mill, and there was a leak in John
Stanburne's purse, and the slow months and years were
gradually bringing about great changes.
Little Jacob's adventure on the moor, and his fortunate
arrival at the Hall, had given him a peculiar footing there.
Colonel Stanburne had taken a marked fancy to the lad ;
and Lady Helena who, as the reader may perhaps remem-
ber, had lost two little boys in their infancy was always
associating him with her tenderest regrets and recollections,
so that there was a sad kindness in her ways with him that
drew him very strongly towards her. Isaac Ogden spoke
the Lancashire dialect as thoroughly, when it suited him, as
any cotton-spinner in the county ; but he could also speak,
when he chose, a sort of English which differed from aris-
tocratic English by greater hardness and body, rather than
by any want of correctness, and he had always strictly for-
bidden little Jacob to speak the Lancashire dialect in his
presence. The lad spoke Lancashire all the more energeti-
cally for this prohibition when his father was not within
2OO Wender holme. PART i
hearing; but the severity of the paternal law had at least
given him an equal facility in English, and he kept the two
languages safely in separate boxes in his cranium. It is un-
necessary to say that at Wenderholme Hall the box which
contained the Lancashire dialect was shut up with lock and
key, and nothing but the purest English was produced, so
that her ladyship thought that the little boy " spoke very
nicely with a northern accent, of course, but it was not
disagreeable."
When they came out of church Lady Helena said to Lieu-
tenant Ogden, " Of course you will bring your little boy here
on Thursday for the presentation of colors ; " and then,
whilst Mr. Ogden was expressing his acknowledgments, she
interrupted him : " Why not let him remain with us till then ?
We will try to amuse him, and make him learn his lessons."
Mr. Ogden said he would have been very glad, but in
short, his mother was staying at Sootythorn, and might wish
to keep her little grandson with her. Colonel Stanburne
came up just then, and her ladyship's answer was no doubt
partially intended for his ear. " Let me keep little Jacob till
to-morrow at any rate. I have several people to see in
Sootythorn, and must go there to-morrow. I scarcely know
how I am to get there, though, for I have no carriage-horses."
CHAP. xxiv. The Colonel as a Consoler. 201
CHAPTER XXIV.
THE COLONEL AS A CONSOLER.
" T SAY, Doctor," said Colonel Stanburne to Dr. Bardly,
* the day before the presentation of colors, " I wish
you'd look to Philip Stanburne a little. He doesn't seem to
me to be going on satisfactorily at all. I 'm afraid that acci-
dent at Whittlecup has touched his brain he's so absent.
He commanded his company very fairly a short time back,
and he took an interest in drill, but now, upon my word, he
gets worse and worse. To-day he made the most absurd
mistakes ; and one time he marched his company right off,
and, by George ! I thought he was going to take them straight
at the hedge ; and I believe he would have done so if the
Adjutant hadn't galloped after him. Eureton rowed him so,
that it brought him to his senses. I never saw such a youth.
He doesn't seem to be properly awake. I 'm sure he 's ill.
He eats nothing. I noticed him at mess last night. He
didn't eat enough to keep a baby alive. I don't believe he
sleeps properly at nights. His face is quite haggard. One
might imagine he 'd got something on his conscience. If you
can't do him any good, I '11 see the Catholic priest, and beg
him to set his mind at ease. I 'm quite anxious about him,
really."
The Doctor smiled. " It's my opinion," he said, "that the
young gentleman has a malady that neither you nor I can
cure. Some young woman may cure it, but we can't. The
lad's fallen in love."
2O2 Wenderholme. PART i.
" Why, Doctor, you don't believe that young fellows make
themselves ill about such little matters as that, do you ? Men
are ill in that way in novels, but never in real life. I was des-
perately spoony myself before I married Helena, and it wasn't
Helena I was spoony about either, and the girl jilted me to
marry a marquis ; and I think she did quite right, for I 'd
rather she ran away with the marquis before she was my wife
than after, you know. But it didn't spoil me a single meal
it didn't make me sleep a wink the less. In fact I felt
immensely relieved after an hour or two ; for there 's nothing
like being a bachelor, Doctor it's so jolly being a bache-
lor ; no man in his senses can be sad and melancholy because
he 's got to remain a bachelor."
The Doctor heartily agreed with this opinion, but observed
that men in love were not men in their senses. " Indeed they 're
not, Doctor indeed they're not; but, I say, have you any
idea about who the girl is in this business of Philip's ? It
isn't that pretty Miss Anison, is it ? "
Now the Doctor had seen Captain Stanburne coming out
of Mr. Stedman's mill one day when he went there to- get
the manufacturer's present address, and, coupling this inci-
dent with his leave of absence, had arrived at a conclusion
of his own. But he was not quite sure where young Stan-
burne had been during his leave of absence.
" Why, he was down in Derbyshire," said the Colonel.
" He told me he didn't feel quite well, and wanted a day or
two for rest in the country. He said he was going to fish. I
don't like giving leaves of absence we're here only for
twenty-eight days ; but in his case, you know, after that ac-
cident "
" Oh, he went down to Derbyshire, did he ? Then I know
for certain who the girl is. It 's Alice Stedman. Her father
is down there, fishing."
" And who 's she ? "
"Why, you met her at Whittlecup, at Joseph Anison's.
CHAP. xxiv. The Colonel as a Consoler. 203
She 's a quiet bit of a lass, and a nice-looking lass, too. He
might do worse."
" I say," said the Colonel, " tell me now, Doctor, has she
got any tin ? "
" She 's safe to have thirty thousand if she 's a penny ;
but it '11 most likely be a good bit more." Then the Doctor
continued, " But there 's no blood in that family. Her father
began as a working man in Shayton. It wouldn't be much
of a match for a Stanburne. It would not be doing like you,
Colonel, when you married an earl's daughter."
" Hang earls' daughters ! " said the Colonel, energetically ;
and then, recollecting himself, he added, "Not all of em, you
know, Doctor I don't want all of 'em to be hanged. But
this young woman I suppose she hasn't been presented at
Court, and doesn't want to be and doesn't go to London
every season, and has no swell relations." The Doctor gave
full assurances on all these points. " Then I '11 tell you what
it is, Doctor ; if this young fellow 's fretting about the girl,
we '11 do all we can to help him. He 'd be more prudent still
if he remained a bachelor ; but it seems a rational sort of a
marriage to make. She ain't got an uncle that 's a baronet
eh, Doctor ? "
" There 's no danger of that."
" That 's right, that 's right ; because, look you here, Doc-
tor it's a foolish thing to marry an earl's daughter, or a
marquis's, or a duke's ; but the foolishest thing of all is to
marry a baronet's niece. A baronet's niece is the proudest
woman in the whole world, and she 's always talking about
her uncle. A young friend of mine married a baronet's niece,
and she gave him no rest till, by good luck, one day his uncle
was created a baronet, and then he met her on equal terms.
It 's the only way out of it : you must under those circum-
stances get your uncle made a baronet. And if you don't
happen to have such a thing as an uncle, what then ? What
can cheer the hopelessness of your miserable position ? "
204 Wenderholme. PART I.
After this conversation with the Doctor, the Colonel hnd
another with Philip Stanburne himself. " Captain Stan-
burne," he said, gravely, in an interval of afternoon drill, " I
consider you wanting in the duties of hospitality. I ask you
to the Sootythorn mess, and you never ask me to the Whit-
tlecup mess. I am reduced to ask myself. I beg to inform
you that I shall dine at the Whittlecup mess this evening."
" I should be very happy, but but I 'm afraid you '11 have
a bad dinner. There 's nothing but a beefsteak."
" Permit me to observe," continued the Colonel, in the
same grave tone, " that there 's a most important distinction to
be drawn between bad dinners and simple dinners. Some of
the very worst dinners I ever sat down to have been elabo-
rate, expensive affairs, where the ambition of the cook ex-
ceeded his artistic skill ; and some of the best and pleasantest
have been simple and plain, and all the better because they
were within the cook's capacity. That's my theory about
dining, and every day's experience confirms it. For instance,
between you and me, it seems to me highly probable that
your Whittlecup mess is better than ours at headquarters, for
Mr. Garley rather goes beyond what nature and education
have qualified him for. His joints are good, but his side-
dishes are detestable, and his sweets dangerous. So let us
have the beefsteak to-night ; there '11 be enough for both of
us, I suppose. And, I say," added the Colonel, "don't ask
anybody to meet me. I want to have a quiet hour or two
with you."
When drill was over, Fyser appeared on the field with a
led horse for the Captain, and the two Stanburnes rode off
together in advance of the company, which for once was left
to the old sergeant's care. The dinner turned out to be a
beefsteak, as had been promised, and there was a pudding
and some cheese. The Colonel seemed to enjoy it very
much, and ate very heartily, and decl-ared that every thing was
excellent, and talked at random about all sorts of subjects.
CHAP. xxiv. The Colonel as a Consoler. 205
They had the inn parlor all to themselves ; and when dinner
was over, and coffee had been served, and Mr. Simpson, the
innkeeper (who had waited), had retired into other regions,
the Colonel lighted a cigar, and plunged in medias res.
" I know what you went down into Derbyshire for. You
didn't go to fish ; you went to ask Mr. Stedman to let you
marry his daughter, Miss Alice Stedman."
For the first time since he had known him, Philip Stanburne
was angry with the Colonel. His face flushed at once, and he
asked, in a tone which was any thing but conciliatory,
"Do you keep spies in your regiment, Colonel Stanburne?"
" Bardly saw you accidentally just as you were coming out
of Mr. Stedman's counting-house, and between us we have
made a guess at the object of your visit to Derbyshire."
"You are very kind to interest yourself so much in my
affairs."
" Try not to be angry with me. What if I do take an interest
in your affairs ? It isn't wrong, is it ? I take an interest in all
that concerns you, because I wish to do what I can to be of
use to you."
" You are very kind."
" You are angry with me yet ; but if I had plagued you with
questions about your little excursion, would it not have been
more impertinent and more irritating? I thought it best to
let you see that I know all about it."
" It was unnecessary to speak upon that subject until I had
informed you about it."
"My dear fellow, look here. It is not in the nature of
things that you would tell me. You have been rejected either
by the father or the daughter, and you are going to make
yourself ill about it ; you are ill already you are pale, and
you never eat any thing, and your face is as melancholy as a
face well can be. Be a good fellow, and take me into your
confidence, and we will see if we cannot put you out of your
misery."
206 Wenderholme. PART i.
" That is a phrase commonly used by people who kill dis-
eased or wounded animals. You are becoming alarming. You
will let me live, I hope, such as I am."
The Colonel perceived that Philip was coming round a little.
He waited a minute, and then went on.
" She's a very nice girl. I met her at Mr. Anison's here.
I would rather you married her than one of those pretty Miss
Anisons. She seems a quiet sensible young lady, who will
stay at home with her husband, and not always be wanting
to go off to London, and Brighton, and the Lord knows
where."
Philip had had a suspicion that the Colonel was going to
remonstrate with him for making a plebeian alliance, but that
began to be dispelled. To induce him to express an opinion
on that point, Philip said,
" Her father is not a gentleman, you know."
" I know who he is a very well-to-do cotton manufacturer ;
and a very intelligent, well-informed man, I 'm told. A gentle-
man ! pray what is a gentleman ? "
" A difficult question to answer in words ; but we all know
what we mean by the word when we use it."
" Well, yes ; but is it quite necessary to a man to be a
gentleman at all ? Upon my word, I very often think that in
our line of life we are foolishly rigid on that point. I have
met very clever and distinguished men men of science, and
artists, and even authors who didn't seem quite to answer to
our notions of what a gentleman is ; and I know scores of
fellows who are useless and idle, and vicious too, and given
up to nothing but amusement and not always the most
innocent amusement either and yet all who know society
would recognize them as gentlemen at once. Now, between
ourselves, you and I answer to what is called a gentleman, and
your proposed father-in-law, Mr. Stedman, you say doesn't ;
but it 's highly probable that he is superior to either of us, and
a deal more useful to mankind. He spins cotton, and he
CHAP. xxiv. The Colonel as a Consoler. 207
studies botany and geology. I wish I could spin cotton, or
increase my income in any honest way, and I wish I had some
pursuit. I tried once or twice : I tried botany myself, but I
had no perseverance ; and I tried to write a book, but I found
my abilities weren't good enough for that; so I turned my
talents to tandem-driving, and now I Ve set up a four-in-hand.
By the by, my new team 's coming to-morrow from London
a friend of mine there has purchased it for me."
There was a shade of dissatisfaction on John Stanburne's
face as he concluded this little speech about himself. He did
not seem to anticipate the arrival of the new team with
pleasure unalloyed. The price, perhaps, may have been some-
what heavy somewhat beyond his means. That London
friend of his was a sporting character, with an. ardent appre-
ciation of horse-flesh in the abstract, and an elevated ideal.
When he purchased for friends, which he was sometimes com-
missioned to do, he became truly a servant of the Ideal, and
sought out only such realities as a servant of the Ideal might
contemplate with feelings of satisfaction. These realities
were always very costly they always considerably exceeded
the pecuniary limits which had been assigned to him. This
was his only fault ; he purchased well, and none of the pur-
chase-money, either directly or indirectly, found its way into
his own pocket.
The Colonel did not dwell, as he might have been expected
to do, upon the subject of the horses he returned almost
immediately to that of matrimonial alliances.
" It 's not very difficult to make a guess at the cause of Mr.
Stedman's opposition. Bardly tells me he 's a most tremendous
Protestant, earnest to a degree, and you, my dear fellow, hap-
pen to be a Catholic. You'll have to let yourself be con-
verted, I 'm afraid, if you really want the girl."
" A man cannot change his faith, when he has one, because
it is his interest to do so. I would rather you did not talk
about that subject at least, in that strain. You know my
nd
my
1
2o8 Wenderholme. PART i.
views ; you know that nothing would induce me to profess any
other views."
"Bardly tells me he doesn't think Stedman will give in, so
long as you remain a Catholic."
"Very well."
" Yes, it may be very well it may be better than marrying,
rfs a very good thing, no doubt, to marry a good wife, but
I'm not sure that the condition of a bachelor isn't really
better than that of the most fortunate husband in the world.
You see,Whilip (excuse me calling you by your Christian
name; I^Lh you'd call me John), you see a married man
either care^bout his wife or he doesn't. If he doesn't care
about her, wfl^t 's the use of being married to her? If, on the
other hand, hefe<?j care about her, then his happiness becomes
entirely dependent upon her humors. Some women who are
very good women in other respects are liable to long fits of
the sulks. You Shut some little attention which they think is
their due ; you omit it in pure innocence, because your mind
is very much occupied with other matters, and then the lady
attributes it to all sorts of imaginary motives it is a plan
of yours to insult her, and so on. Or, if she attributes it to
carelessness, then your carelessness is itself such a tremen-
dous crime that she isn't quite certain whether you ought ever
to be forgiven for it or not ; and she hesitates about forgiving
you for a fortnight or three weeks, and then she decides that
you shall be forgiven, and taken into her grace and favor
once more. But by the time this has been repeated twenty
or thirty times, a fellow gets rather weary of it, you know.
It 's my belief that women are divided into two classes the
sulky ones and the scolds. Some of 'em do their sulking
in a way that clearly shows it 's done consciously, and inten-
tionally, and artistically, as a Frenchwoman arranges her
ribbons. The great object is to show you that the lady holds
herself in perfect command that she is mistress of her own
manner in every thing ; and this makes her manner all the
CHAP. xxiv. The Colonel as a Consoler. 209
more aggravating ; because, if she is so perfectly mistress of
it, why doesn't she make it rather pleasanter? "
" It 's rather a gloomy picture that you have been painting,
Colonel, but every lover will believe that there is one excep-
tion to it."
" Of course he will. You believe Miss Alice Stedman is
the exception ; only, if you can't get her, don't fret about her.
She seems a very admirable young lady, and I should be glad
if you married her; because, if you don't, the chances are
that you will marry somebody else not quite so suitable. But
if I could be quite sure that you would remain a bachelor,
and take a rational view of the immense advantages of bach-
elorhood, I shouldn't much regret Mr. Stedman's obduracy
on your account."
These views of the Colonel's were due, no doubt, to his
present position with Lady Helena. The causes which were
gradually dividing them had been slowly operating for several
years, but the effects which resulted from them were now much
more visible than they had ever previously been. First they
had walked together on one path, then the path had been
divided into two by an all but invisible separation still they
had walked together. But now the two paths were diverging
so widely that the eye began to measure the space between
them, and as it measured the space widened. It is as when
two trains leave some great railway station side by side. For
a time they are on the same railroad, but after a while you
begin to perceive that the distance from your own train to the
other is gradually widening; and on looking down to the
ground, which seems to flow like a swift stream, you see a
streak of green between the two diverging ways, and it deep-
ens to a chasm between two embankments ; and after that
they are separated by spaces ever widening spaces of field
and river and wood till the steam of the other engine has
vanished on the far horizon.
John Stanburne's offers of assistance were very sincere,
14
2io Wenderholme. PARTI.
but what, in a practical way, could he do ? He could not
make Mr. Stedman come round by asking him to Wender-
holme. There were plenty of people at Sootythorn who
would have done any thing to be asked to Wenderholme,
but Mr. Stedman was not one of them. Him the blandish-
ments of aristocracy seduced not; and there was something
in his looks, even when you met him merely by accident for
an hour, as the Colonel had met him at Arkwright Lodge,
which told you very plainly how obdurate he would be where
his convictions were concerned, and how perfectly inacces-
sible to the most artful and delicate coaxing. So the Colonel's
good offices were for the present very likely to be confined to
a general willingness to do something when the opportunity
should present itself.
The day fixed for the ceremony of presentation of colors
was now rapidly approaching, and the invitations had all
been sent out. It was the Colonel's especial desire that this
should take place at Wenderholme, and the whole regiment
was to arrive there the evening before, after a regular military
march from Sootythorn. The Colonel had invited as many
guests of his own as the house could hold ; and, in addition
to these, many of the Sootythorn people, and one family from
Whittlecup, were asked to spend the day at Wenderholme
Hall, and be witnesses of the ceremony. The Whittlecup
family, as the reader has guessed already, was that from
Arkwright Lodge ; and it happened that whilst the Colonel
was talking with Philip Stanburne about his matrimonial
prospects, Mr. Joseph Anison came to the Blue Bell to call
upon his young friend.
Philip and the Colonel were both looking out of the win-
dow when he came, and before he entered the room, the
Colonel found time to say, " Take Anison into your confi-
dence /it'll be your best man, he knows Stedman so
well. Let me tell him all about it, will you ? Do, now, let
me." Philip consented, somewhat reluctantly, and Mr. An-
CHAP. xxiv. The Colonel as a Consoler. 211
ison had not been in the room a quarter of an hour before
the Colonel had put him in possession of the whole matter.
Mr. Anison's face did not convey very much encouragement.
"John Stedman is very inflexible," he said, "where his re-
ligious convictions are in any way concerned, and he is very
strongly Protestant. I will do what I can with him. I don't
see why he should make such a very determined opposition
to the match it would be a very good match for his daugh-
ter but he is a sort of man that positively enjoys sacri-*
ficing his interests and desires .to his views of duty. If I 've
any advice to offer, it will be to leave him to himself for a
while, and especially not to do any thing to conciliate him.
His daughter may bring him round in her own way ; she 's a
clever girl, though she's a quiet one and she can manage
him better than anybody else."
When Mr. Anison got back to Arkwright Lodge, he had a
talk with Mrs. Anison about Philip's prospects, "/shouldn't
have objected to him as a son-in-law," said the husband ;
" he '11 be reasonable enough, and let his wife go to her own
church."
" I wish he 'd taken a fancy to Madge," said Mrs. Anison.
" Have you any particular reason for wishing so ? Do you
suspect any thing in Madge herself ? Do you think she cares
for him ? "
Mrs. Anison looked grave, and, after a moment's hesita-
tion, said, " I 'm afraid there is something. I 'm afraid she
does think about him more than she ought to do. She is more
irritable and excitable than she used to be, and there is a look
of care and anxiety on her face which is quite painful some-
times. And yet I fancy that when Alice was here she rather
encouraged young Stanburne to propose to Alice. She did
it, no doubt, from anxiety to know how far he would go in
that direction, and now he 's gone farther than she wished."
2 1 2 Wenderholme. PART i.
CHAPTER XXV.
WENDERHOLME IN FESTIVITY.
AT length the eve of the great day arrived on which the
Twentieth Royal Lancashire was to possess its colors
those colors which (according to the phrase so long estab-
lished by the usage of speech-making subalterns) it was pre-
pared to dye with all its blood yes, to the very last drop
thereof.
Lady Helena had had a terribly busy time during the whole
week. Arrangements for this ceremony had been the sub-
ject of anxious planning for months before ; and during her
last stay in London her ladyship had been very active in
seeing tradesmen accustomed to create those temporary splen-
dors and accommodations which are necessary when great
numbers of people are to be entertained. Mr. Benjamin
Edgin'gton had sent down so many tents and marquees that
the park of Wenderholme presented the appearance of a
rather extensive camp. The house itself contained even
more than the amount of accommodation commonly found in
houses of its class, but every chamber had its destined occu-
pant. A great luncheon was to be given in the largest of
the marquees, and the whole regiment was to be entertained
for a night and a day.
The weather, fortunately, was most propitious, the only ob-
jection to it being the heat, and the consequent dust on the
roads. Once fairly out of Sootythorn, the Colonel gave per-
mission to march at ease, and the men opened their jackets
and took their stiff collars off, and began to sing and talk
CHAP. xxv. Wenderholme in Festivity. 213
very merrily. They halted, too, occasionally, by the banks
of clear streams, and scattered themselves on the grass,
drinking a great deal of water, there being fortunately noth-
ing stronger within reach. At the half-way house, however,
the Colonel gave every man a pint of ale, and drank one
himself, as he sat on horseback.
It was after sunset when they reached Wenderholme, and
the men marched into the park not at ease, as they had
marched along the road, but in fairly good military order.
Lady Helena and a group of visitors stood by the side of
the avenue, at the point where they turned off towards the
camp. A quarter of an hour afterwards the whole regiment
was at supper in the tents, except the officers, who dined at
the Hall, with the Colonel's other guests, in full uniform.
The dining-room presented a more splendid and animated
appearance than it had ever presented since the days of John
Stanburne's grandfather, who kept a pack of hounds, and
received his scarlet-coated companions at his table. And
even the merry fox-hunters of yore glittered not as glittered
all these majors and captains and lieutenants. Their full
uniforms were still as fresh as when they came from the tail-
or's. They had not been soiled in the dust of reviews, for
the regiment had never been reviewed. The silver of the
epaulettes was as brilliant as the brilliant old plate that cov-
ered the Colonel's hospitable board, and the scarlet was as
intense as that of the freshest flower with which the table
was decorated. It was more than a dinner it was a stately
and magnificent banquet. The Stanburnes, like many old
families in England, had for generations been buyers of silver
plate, and there was enough of the solid metal in the house
to set up a hundred showy houses with electro. Rarely did
it come forth from the strong safes where it reposed, eating
up in its unprofitable idleness the interest of a fortune. But
now it glittered once again under the innumerable lights, a het-
erogeneous, a somewhat barbarous, medley of magnificence.
214 Wenderholme. PART I.
Lady Helena, without being personally self-indulgent
without caring particularly about eating delicately or being
softly clad had a natural taste for splendor, which may often
be independent both of vanity and the love of ease. Human
pomp suked her as the pomp of nature suits the mind of the
artist and the poet ; instead of paralyzing or oppressing her,
it only made her feel the more perfectly at home. John
Stanburne had known beforehand that his clever wife would
order the festivities well, and he had felt no anxiety about
her management in any way, but he had not quite counted
upon this charming gayety and ease. There are ladies who,
upon occasions of this kind, show that they feel the weight
of their responsibility, and bring a trouble-clouded visage to
the feast. They cannot really converse, because they cannot
really listen. They hear your words, perhaps, but do not re-
ceive their meaning, being distracted by importunate cares.
Nothing kills conversation like an absent and preoccupied
hostess ; nothing animates it like her genial and intelligent par-
ticipation. Surely, John Stanburne, you may be proud of Helena
to-night ! What would your festival have been without her ?
He recognizes her superiorities, and admires them ; but he
would like to be delivered from the little inconveniences
which attend them. That clear-headed little woman has
rather too much of the habit and the faculty of criticism, and
John Stanburne would rather be believed in than criticised.
Like many other husbands, he would piously uphold that an-
tique religion of the household which sets up the husband as
the deity thereof a king who can do no wrong. If these
had been his views from the beginning if he j had wanted
simple unreasoning submission to his judgment, aid unques-
tioning acceptance of -his actions what a mistake he made
in choosing a woman like Lady Helena ! He who marries a
woman of keen sight cannot himself expect to be screened
from its keenness. And this woman was so fearless shall
we say so proud ? that she disdained the artifices of what
CHAP. xxv. Wenderholme in Festivity. 215
might have been a pardonable hypocrisy. She made John
Stanburne feel that he was living in a glass case, nay,
more, that she saw through his clothes through his skin
into his viscera into his brain. You must love a woman
very much indeed to bear this perpetual scrutiny, or she must
love you very much to make it not altogether intolerable.
The Colonel had a reasonable grievance in this, that in the
presence of his wife he found no moral rest. But her criti-
cisms were invariably just. For example, in that last cause
of irritation between them that about the horses Lady
Helena had been clearly in the right. It was, to say the
least, a want of good management on the Colonel's part to
have all the carriage-horses at Sootythorn on the day of her
arrival. And so it always was. She never made any obser-
vation on his conduct except when such an observation was
perfectly justified perfectly called for, jf you will ; but then,
on the other hand, she never omitted to make an observation
when it was called for. It would have been more graceful
it would certainly have been more prudent to let things
pass sometimes without taking them up in that way. She
might have let John Stanburne rest more quietly in his own
house, I think ; she might have forgiven his little faults more
readily, more freely, more generously than she did. The
reader perhaps wonders whether she loved him. Yes, she
was greatly attached to him. She loved him a great deal
better than some women love their husbands who give them
perfect peace, and yet she contrived to make him feel an irk-
someness in the tie that bound him. Perhaps, with all her
perspicacity, she did not quite thoroughly comprehend did
not quite adequately appreciate his simple, and frank, and
honorable nature, his manly kindness of heart, his willingness
to do all that could fairly be required of him, and the sincer-
ity with which he would have regretted all his little failures
in conjugal etiquette, if only he might have been left to find
them out for himself, and repent of them alone.
2 1 6 Wenderholme. PART I.
The digression has been long, but the banquet we were
describing was long enough to permit us to absent ourselves
from the spectacle for a while, and still find, on returning to
it, all the guests seated in their places, and all the lights
burning, though the candles may be half an inch shorter.
Amongst the guests are several personages to whom we have
not yet had the honor of being introduced, and some good
people, not personages, whom we know already, but have
lost sight of for a long time. There are two belted earls
namely, the Earl of Adisham, Lady Helena's august papa;
and the Earl Brabazon, who is papa to Captain Brabazon of
the Sootythorn mess. There are two neighboring baronets,
and five or six country squires from distant manor-houses,
some of which are not less considerable than Wenderholme
itself, whilst the rent-rolls which maintain them are longer.
Then there is a military commander, with gray whiskers and
one eye, and an ugly old sword-cut across the cheek. He is
in full uniform, with three medals and perfect ladders of
clasps the ladders by which he has climbed to his present
distinguished position. He wears also the insignia of the
Bath, of which he is Grand Cross.
But of all these personages, the most distinguished in
point of rank must certainly be the little thin gentleman
who is sitting by Lady Helena. It is easy to see that he
is perfectly delighted with her ladyship, for he is constantly
talking to her with evident interest and pleasure, or listening
to her with pleasure still more evident. He has a broad
ribbon across his white waistcoat, and another round his
neck, and a glittering star on his black coat. It is his
Grace of Ingleborough, Lord Henry Ughtred's noble father.
He is a simple, modest little man both agreeable and, in
his way, intelligent; an excellent man of business, as his
stewards and agents know too well and one of the best
Greek scholars in England. Habits of real work, in any
direction, have a tendency to diminish pride in those gifts
CHAP. xxv. Wenderholme in Festivity. 217
of fortune with which work has nothing to do ; and if the
Duke found a better Greek scholar than himself, or a better
man of business, he had that kind of hearty and intelligent
respect for him which is yielded only by real workmen to
their superiors. Indeed he had true respect for excellence
of all kinds, and was incomparably more human, more capa-
ble of taking an interest in men and of understanding them,
than the supercilious young gentleman his son.
Amongst our acquaintances at this great and brilliant
feast are the worthy incumbent of Shayton and his wife,
Mr. and Mrs. Prigley. Whilst we were occupied with the
graver matters which affected so seriously the history of
Philip Stanburne, Lady Helena had been to Shayton and
called upon Mrs. Prigley, and after that they had been
invited to the great festivities at Wenderholme. It was kind
of Lady Helena, when the house was so full that she hardly
knew where to lodge more distinguished guests, to give the
Prigleys one of her best bedrooms ; but she did so, and
treated them with perfect tact and delicacy, trying to make
them feel like near relations with whom intercourse had
never been suspended. Mrs. Prigley was the exact opposite
of a woman of the world, having about as much experience
of society as a girl of nine years old who is receiving a
private education ; yet her manners were very good, except
so far as she was too deferential, and it was easy to see that
she was a lady, though a lady who had led a very retired
life. Mrs. Prigley had never travelled more than twenty
miles from her two homes, Byfield and Shayton, since she
was born ; she had read nothing she had no time for read-
ing and the wonder is how, under these circumstances,
she could be so nice and lady-like as she was, so perfectly
free from all taint of vulgarity. The greatest evil which
attends ladies like Mrs. Prigley, when they do go into soci-
ety, is, that they sometimes feel obliged to tell white lies,
and that these white lies occasionally lead them into embar-
2i8 Wenderholme. PART i.
\
rassment. Mrs. Prigley never frankly and simply avowed her
ignorance when she thought it would not be comme il faut to
be ignorant. For instance, if you asked her whether she
had read some book, or heard some piece of music, she
always answered with incredible temerity in the affirmative.
If your subsequent remarks called for no further display of
knowledge it was well she felt that she had bravely acted
her part, and not been behind the age ; but if in your inno-
cence or in your malice (for now and then a malicious
person found her out and tormented her) you went into
detail, asking what she thought, for instance, of Becky Sharp
in " Vanity Fair," she might be ultimately compelled to avow
that though she had read "Vanity Fair" she didn't remember
Becky. Thus she placed herself in most uncomfortable situ-
ations, having the courage to run perpetual risks of detection,
but not the courage to admit her ignorance of any thing
which she imagined that a lady ought to know. When she
had once affirmed her former knowledge of any thing, she
stuck to it with astonishing hardihood, and accused the
imperfection of her memory one of her worst fibs, for
her memory was excellent.
The conversation at a great banquet is never so pleasant
as that at a table small enough for everybody to hear every-
body else, and the only approach to a general exchange of
opinion on any single topic which occurred on the present
occasion was about the house in which the entertainment
was given. The Duke had never been to Wenderholme be-
fore, and during a lull in the conversation his eye wandered
over the wainscot opposite to him. It had been painted
white, but the carved panels still left their designs clearly
visible under the paint.
" What a noble room this is, Lady Helena ! " he said ;
" but it is rather a pity don't you think so ? that those
beautiful panels should have been painted. It was done, no
doubt, in the last century."
CHAP. xxv. Wender holme in Festivity. 2 1 9
"Yes, we regret very much that the house should have '
been modernized. We have some intention of restoring it."
" Glad to hear that very glad to hear that. I envy you
the pleasure of seeing all these beautiful things come to light
again. I wish I had a place to restore, Lady Helena ; but
those delights are over for me, and I can only hope to
experience them afresh by taking an interest in the doings
of my friends. I had a capital place for restoration formerly
an old Gothic house not much spoiled by the Renaissance,
but overlaid by much incongruous modern work. So I deter-
mined to restore it, and for nearly four years it was the
pleasantest hobby that a man could have. It turned out
rather an expensive hobby, though, but I economized in some
other directions, and did what seemed to be necessary."
" Does your Grace allude to Varolby Priory ? " asked Mr.
Prigley, timidly.
" Yes, certainly ; yes. Do you know Varolby ? "
" I have never been there, but I have seen the beautiful
album of illustrations of the architectural details which was
engraved by your directions."
Mrs. Prigley was within hearing, and thinking that it
would be well not to be behind her husband, said, " Oh yes ;
what a beautiful book it was ! " The Duke turned towards
Mrs. Prigley, and made her a slight bow ; then he asked in
his innocence, and merely to say something, "whether the
copy which Mrs. Prigley had seen was a colored one or a
plain one ? "
"Oh, it was colored," she answered, without hesitation
" beautifully colored ! "
This was Mrs. Prigley's way she waited for the sugges-
tions of her interlocutor, and on hearing a thing which was
as new to her as the kernel of a nut just cracked, assented
to it with the tone of a person to whom it was already
familiar. So clever had she become by practice in this arti-
fice, that she conveyed the impression that nothing could be
220 Wender holme. PART I.
new to her ; and the people who talked with her had no idea
that it was themselves who supplied, ci mesure, all the informa-
tion wherewith she met them, and kept up the conversation.
She had never heard of Varolby Priory before she had
never heard of the album of engravings before and there-
fore it is superfluous to add that, as to colored copies or
plain ones, she was equally unacquainted with either. Mrs.
Prigley had however gone a step too far in this instance, for
the Duke immediately replied,
" Ah, then, I know that you are a friend of my old friend,
Sir Archibald. You wonder how I guessed it, perhaps?
It 's because there are only two colored copies of the album
in existence my own copy and his."
Mrs. Prigley tried to put on an agreeable expression of as-
sent, intended to imply that she knew Sir Archibald (though
as yet ignorant of Sir Archibald's surname), when her husband
interposed. She made him feel anxious and fidgety. He
always knew when she was telling her little fibs he knew
it by a certain facile suavity in her tone, which would not
have been detected by a stranger.
" The old mural paintings must be very interesting," said
the incumbent of Shayton, and by this skilful diversion saved
his wife from imminent exposure.
"Most interesting most interesting: they were found
in a wonderful state of preservation under many layers of
whitewash in the chapel. And do you know, apropos of your
carved panels, Lady Helena, we found such glorious old
wainscot round a room that had been lined with lath and
plaster afterwards, and decorated with an abominably ugly
paper. Not one panel was injured really not one panel !
and the designs carved upon them are so very elegant ! That
wis one of the best finds we made."
*' I should think it very probable," said Mr. Prigley, " that
discoveries would be made at Wenderholme if a thorough
restoration were undertaken."
CHAP. xxv. Wenderholme in Festivity. 221
"No doubt, no doubt," said the Duke, "and there is
nothing so interesting. Even the workmen come to take
an interest in all they bring to light. Our workmen were
quite proud when they found any thing, and so careful not
to injure what they found. Do induce your husband* to
restore Wenderholme, Lady Helena \ it would make such
a magnificent place ! "
This talk about Wenderholme and restoration had gradu-
ally reached the other end of the table, and John Stanburne,
feeling no doubt rather a richer and greater personage that
evening than usual, being surrounded by more than common
splendor, announced his positive resolution to restore the
Hall thoroughly. "It was lamentable," he said," perfectly
lamentable, that the building should have been so meta-
morphosed by his grandfather. But it was not altogether
past mending ; and architects, you know, understand old
Elizabethan buildings so much better than they used to do."
It was a delicious evening, soft and calm, without either
the chills of earlier spring or the sultriness of the really hot
weather. When the ladies had left the room, and the gentle-
men had sat long enough to drink the moderate quantity of
wine which men consume in these days of sobriety, the
Colonel proposed that they should all go and smoke in the
garden. There was a very large lawn, and there were a
great many garden-chairs about, so the smokers soon formed
themselves into a cluster of little groups. The whole lawn
was as light as day, for the front of the Hall was illumi-
nated, and hundreds of little glow-worm lamps lay scattered
amongst the flowers. The Colonel had managed to organize
a regimental band, which, being composed of tolerably good
musicians from Shayton and Sootythorn (both musical places,
but especially Shayton), had been rapidly brought into work-
ing order by an intelligent bandmaster. This band had been
stationed somewhere in the garden, and began to fill the
woods of Wenderholme with its martial strains.
222 Wender holme. PART i.
" Upon my word, Colonel," said the Duke, stirring his cup
of coffee, "you do things very admirably; I have seen many
houses illuminated, but I think I never saw one illuminated
so well as Wenderholme is to-night. Every feature of the
building is brought into its due degree of prominence. All
that rich central projection over the porch is splendid ! A
less intelligent illuminator would have sacrificed all those
fine deep shadows in the recesses of the sculpture, which
add so much to the effect."
" My wife has arranged all about these matters," said John
Stanburne; "she has better taste than I have, and more
knowledge. I always leave these things to her."
" Devilish clever woman that Lady Helena ! " thought his
Grace ; but he did not say it exactly in that way.
" All these sash-windows must be very recent Last cent-
ury, probably eighteenth century; very sad that eighteenth
century wish it had never existed, only don't see how we
should have got into the nineteenth ! "
The Colonel laughed. " Very difficult," he said, " to get into
a nineteenth century without passing through an eighteenth
century of some sort."
"Yes, of course, of course; but I don't mean merely in
the sense of numbers, you know in the arithmetical sense
of eighteen and nineteen. I mean, that seeing how very
curiously people's .minds seem to be generally constituted,
it does not seem probable that they could ever have reached
the ideas of the nineteenth century without passing through
the ideas of the eighteenth. But what a pity it is they were
such destructive ideas ! The people of the eighteenth century
seem to have destroyed for the mere pleasure of destroying.
Only fancy the barbarism of my forefathers at Varolby, who
actually covered the most admirable old wainscot in the
world, full of the most delicate, graceful, and exquisite work,
with lath and plaster, and a hideous paper ! They preferred
the paper, you see, to the wainscot."
CHAP. xxv. Wender holme in Festivity. 223
" Perhaps paper happened to be more in the fashion, and
they did not care about either. My grandfather did not
leave the wainscot, however, under the paper. At least, he
must have removed a great deal of it. There is an immense
lot of old carved work that he removed from the walls and
rooms in a lumber-garret at the top of the house."
"Is there though, really?" said the Duke, with much
eagerness; then you must let me see it to-morrow you
must indeed ; nothing would interest me more."
Just then a white stream of Jadies issued from the illu-
minated porch, and flowed down the broad stairs. Their
diamonds glittered in the light, flashing visibly to a consider-
able distance. They came slowly forward to the lawn.
" I think it is time to have the fireworks now," said Lady
Helena to the Colonel.
The Colonel called the officers about him, whilst the other
gentlemen began to talk to the ladies. " It would prevent
confusion," he said, " if we were to muster the men properly
to see the fireworks. I should like them to have good places ;
but there is some chance, you know, that they might damage
things in the garden unless they come in military order.
There are already great numbers of people in the park, and I
think it would be better to keep our men separate from the
crowd as much as possible." Horses were brought for the
Colonel and other field-officers, and they rode to the camp,
the others following on foot. Transparencies had been set
up at different parts of the garden, with the numbers of the
companies; and the arrangements had been so perfectly
made, that in less than twenty minutes every company was at
its appointed place.
No private individual in John Stanburne's position could
afford a display of pyrotechnics sufficient to astonish such
experienced people as his noble guests ; but Lady Helena
and the pyrotechnician, or " firework-man," as her ladyship
more simply called him, had planned something quite suffi-
224 Wender holme. PART i.
ciently effective. He and his assistants were on the roof of
the Hall, where temporary platforms and railings had been
set up in different places for their accommodation ; and the
floods of fire that soon issued therefrom astonished many of
the spectators, especially Mrs. Prigley. And yet when a per-
fectly novel device was displayed, which the " firework-man "
had invented for the occasion, and Lady Helena asked Mrs.
Prigley what she thought of it, that lady averred that she had
seen it before, in some former state of existence, and had
"always thought it very beautiful."
Suddenly these words, " The Fiery Niagara," shone in
great burning letters along the front of the house, and then
an immense cascade of fire poured over the roof in all direc-
tions, and hid Wenderholme Hall as completely as the rock
is hidden where the real Niagara thunders into its abyss. At
the same time trees of green fire burned on the sides of the
flowing river, and their boughs seemed to dip in its rushing
gold, as the boughs of the sycamores bend over the swift-
flowing water. And behind the edge of the great cascade
rose slowly a great round moon.
CHAP. xxvi. More Fireworks.
225
CHAPTER XXVI.
MORE FIREWORKS.
AFTER the fiery cascade came the bouquet ; and the fire-
works ended with a prodigious sheaf of rockets, which
made the country people think that the stars were falling.
Though the Hall was still illuminated, it looked poorer
after the brilliant pyrotechnics ; and as this diminution of its
effect had been foreseen, arrangements had been made be-
forehand to cheer the minds of the guests at the critical mo-
ment by a compensation. The Venetian lanterns had been
reserved till now, and the band had been silent during the
fireworks. A large flat space on the lawn had been sur-
rounded by masts with banners, and from mast to mast hung
large festoons of greenery, and from the festoons hung the
many-colored lanterns. A platform had been erected at one
end for the band ; and before the last rocket-constellation
f had burst into momentary splendor, and been extinguished as
it fell towards the earth, the lanterns were all burning, and
the band playing merrily. Before and during the fireworks
the company had been considerably increased by arrivals
from neighboring villages and the houses of the smaller gen-
try, so Lady Helena passed the word that there would be a
dance in the space that was enclosed by the lanterns.
It had been part of our friend Philip Stanburne's duty to
march to Wenderholme with his company, and to dine with
the Colonel in the Hall ; but in his present moody and mel-
ancholy temper he found it impossible to carry complaisance
so far as to whirl about in a waltz with some young lady whom
15
226 Wenderholme. PART i.
he had never before seen. There was nobody there that he
knew ; and when Lady Helena kindly offered to introduce
him to a partner, his refusal was so very decided that it
seemed almost wanting in politeness. The Colonel had not
mentioned Philip's love-affair to her -ladyship, for reasons
which the reader will scarcely need to have explained to him.
People who have lived together for some years generally know
pretty well what each will think and say about a subject be-
fore it has been the subject of open conversation between
them ; and since Philip Stanburne was now treated as a near
relation at Wenderholme, it was clear that her ladyship would
be a good deal put out if she heard of his intended misalli-
ance. The Colonel himself was by no means democratic in
his aboriginal instincts ; but after his experience of married
life, the one quality in Lady Helena which he would most
willingly have done without was her rank, with its concomi-
tant inconveniences. He did not now feel merely indifferent
to rank, he positively disliked it ; and with his present views,
Alice Stedman's humble origin seemed a guarantee of immu-
nity from many of the perils which were most dangerous to
his own domestic peace. But Lady Helena (as he felt in-
stinctively, without needing to give to his thought the con-
sistency of words and phrases) was still in that state of mind
which is natural to every one who is born with the advantages
of rank the state of mind which values rank too highly to
sacrifice it willingly, or to see any relation sacrifice it without
protesting against his folly. Hers would be the natural and
rational view of the matter ; the common -sense view - k the
view which in all classes who have rank of any sort to main-
tain (and what class has not ?) has ever been recognized, has
ever persisted and prevailed. The Colonel did not go so far
as to wish that he had married some other person of humble
provincial rank ; but he often wished that Lady Helena her-
self had been the daughter of some small squire, or country
clergyman, or cotton-spinner, if he had brought her up as
CHAP. xxvi. More Fireworks. 227
nicely as Alice Stedman had been brought up. It was not to
be expected that she could ever share this opinion about her-
self, or the opinion about Alice Stedman, which was merely a
reflection of it.
Owing to Philip Stanburne's exile at Whittlecup, which had
continued during the whole of the training, and to his natural
shyness and timidity, which the extreme reclusion of his ex-
istence had allowed to become the permanent habit of his
nature, he had made few acquaintances amongst the officers,
and not one friend. There were several men in the regiment
to know whom would have done Philip Stanburne a great
deal of good, but he missed the opportunities which presented
themselves. For instance, on the present occasion, though
several of his brother officers, who, like himself, were not
dancing, had gathered into a little group, Philip Stanburne
avoided the group, and walked away by himself in the direc-
tion of the great dark wood. He felt the necessity for a little
solitude ; he had not been by himself during the whole day,
and it was now nearly midnight. A man who is accustomed
to be alone will steal out in that way from society to refresh
himself in the loneliness which is his natural element pour
se remettre, as a Frenchman would express it. So he followed
a narrow walk that led into the wood, and soon lost sight of
the illuminations, whilst the music became gradually fainter,
and at last was confined to such hints of the nature of the
melody as could be gathered from the occasional fortissimo
of a trumpet or the irregular: booming of a drum.
There was, as the reader already knows, a ravine behind
Wenderholme Hall, which was a gash in the great hill that
divided Wenderholme from Shayton. All this ravine was
filled with a thick wood, and a stream came down the middle
of it from the moorland above a little noisy stream that
tumbled over a good many small rocks, and made some cas-
cades which the inhabitants of Wenderholme showed to all
their visitors, and which lady visitors often more or less sue-
228 Wender holme. PART i.
cessfully sketched. By an outlay of about a hundred pounds,
John Stanburne's grandfather had dammed this stream up in
one conveniently narrow place, and made a small pond there,
and the walk which Philip Stanburne was now following
skirted the stream till it came to the pond's edge. It turned
round the upper end of the tiny lake, and crossed the stream
where it entered by means of a picturesque wooden bridge.
From this bridge the Hall might be distinctly seen in the
daytime ; and Philip, remembering this, or perhaps merely
from the habit of looking down towards the Hall when he
crossed the bridge, stopped and looked, as if in the darkness
of the night he could hope to distinguish any thing at the
back of the house, which, of course, was not illuminated.
Not illuminated ! .Why, the firework-men have applied a
more effective device to the back of the house than the elab-
orate illumination of the front ! They have invented a curling
luminous cloud, these accomplished pyrotechnicians !
Philip Stanburne began to Wonder how it was managed,
and to speculate on the probable artifice. Was the smoke
produced separately, and then lighted from below, or was it
really luminous smoke ? However produced, the effect was
an admirable one, and Philip admired it accordingly. " But
it is odd," he thought, "that I should be left to enjoy it
(probably) by myself. It 's not likely that they have left
their dancing I 'm sure they haven't ; I can hear the drum
yet, and it 's marking the time of a waltz." A gentle breeze
came towards him, and rippled the surface of the dark water.
It brought the sound of the trumpets and he recognized the
air. " They are waltzing still, -no doubt."
The luminous smoke still rose and curled. Then a red
flash glared in it for an instant. " Those are not fire-
works," said Philip Stanburne, aloud; " Wenderholme Hall
isonfirel"
CHAP, xxvii. The Fire.
229
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE FIRE.
' Philip '" Said the Colonel > " l didn>t know that
you'd been dancing. You've been over-exerting
yourself. You look tremendously hot, and very much out of
breath."
" Young fellahs will dance, you know, Colonel," said the
General with the ladders of clasps " young fellahs will ;
I envy them ! "
"Where is Edith your daughter little Edith?" Philip
asked, with a scared and anxious face.
" In bed, of course, at this time of night. You don't want
to dance with her, a small child like her ? " Then fixing his
eyes on Philip Stanburne's face, the Colonel exclaimed,
grasping his arm so strongly as to cause pain. " Something
is wrong, by Jove ! out with it, out with it ! "
" Where 's Edith's room ? the house is on fire ! "
John Stanburne said nothing, but turned at once with swift
steps towards the house. Philip followed him closely : they
entered by the great doorway under the porch, and passed
rapidly across the hall. It was quiet and empty, lighted by a
few lamps suspended from the ceiling by long crimson cords
the portraits of the old fox-hunting Stanburnes looking
down with their usual healthy self-possession. The door
from the hall to the staircase was closed : when the Colonel
opened it, a smell of burning became for the first time per-
ceptible. He took four steps at a time. Edith's rooms were
nearly at the top of the house. The nurseries had been up
230 Wenderholme. PART i.
there traditionally, because that situation kept noisy children
well out of the way of guests.
Wenderholme was a lofty house, with a long lateral corri-
dor on each story. As they ascended, the smell of burning
strongly increased. The lower corridors were lighted all
the guests' rooms were there. But the uppermost corridor,
where the servants' rooms and the nurseries were, was not
permanently lighted, as the servants took their own bed-
candlesticks from below. When the Colonel got there he
could not see, and he could not breathe. Volumes of dense
smoke rolled along the dark passages. He ran blindly in
the direction of Edith's room. Philip tried to follow, but
the suffocating atmosphere affected his more delicate organ-
ization with tenfold force, and he was compelled to draw
back. He stood on the top of the great staircase, agitated
by mortal anxiety.
But the Colonel himself, strong as he was, could not
breathe that atmosphere for long. He came back out of the
darkness, his hands over his face. Even on the staircase
the air was stifling, but to him, who had breathed thick fire,
it was comparative refreshment. He staggered forward to
the banister, and grasped it. This for three or four seconds,
then he ran down the stairs without uttering one word.
The two passed swiftly through a complicated set of pas-
sages on the ground-floor and reached one of the minor
staircases, of which there were five or six at Wenderholme.
This one led directly to the nurseries above, and was their
most commonly used access. When they came to this, John
Stanburne turned round, paused for an instant, and said,
" Come with me, Philip ; it 's our last chance. Poor little
Edith ! O God, O God ! "
In this narrow stair there was no light whatever. The
Colonel ran up it, or leaped up it, in a series of wild bounds,
like a hunted animal. Philip kept up with him as he could.
As they rose higher and higher the temperature quickly
CHAP. xxvn. The Fire. 231
increased: the> walls were hot it was the temperature of
a heated oven. The Colonel tried to open a door, but the
brass handle burnt his hand. Then he burst it open by
pushing against it with his shoulder. A gust of air rushed
up the staircase, and in an instant the room they were trying
to enter was illuminated by a burst of flame. For a second
the paper was visible a pretty, gay paper, with tiny flowers,
suitable for a young girl's room and a few engravings on
the walls, and the pink curtains of a little French bed.
Either by one of those unaccountable presentiments which
sometimes hold us back at the moment of imminent danger,
or else from horror at the probable fate of little Edith, the
Colonel paused on the threshold of the burning room. Then
the ceiling cracked from end to end, and fiery rafters, with
heaps of other burning wood, came crashing down together.
The heat was now absolutely intolerable to remain on the
threshold was death, and the two went down the stairs.
There was a strong draught in the staircase, which revived
them physically, and notwithstanding the extremity of his
mental anguish, the Colonel descended with a steady step.
When they came into the lighted hall he stood still, and then
broke into stifled, passionate sobs. " Edith ! little Edith ! "
he cried, "burnt to death! horrible! horrible!", Then he
turned to his companion with such an expression on his white
face as the other had never before seen there. " And, Philip,
the people were dancing on the lawn ! "
Then John Stanburne sat down in one of the chairs against
the wall, and set his elbows on his knees, and covered his
face with both his hands. So he sat, immovable. The house
was burning above him it might burn. What were all the
treasures of Wenderholme to its master, who had lost the
one treasure of his heart ? W r hat were the parchments and
the seals in the charter-room what were the records of the
Stanburnes what was that waggon-load of massive silver
which had shone at the festival that night ?
232 Wenderholme. PART I
His anguish was not wild he did not become frantic
and the shock had not produced any benumbing insensi-
bility; for his health was absolutely sound and strong, and
his nervous system perfectly whole and unimpaired. But
the sound mind in the sound body is still capable of an
exquisite intensity of suffering, though it will live through
it without either madness or insensibility.
Philip Stanburne felt compelled to respect this bitter agony
of his friend ; but he was anxious to lose no more time in try-
ing to save the house. So at last he said, " Colonel, the house'
is burning ! "
John Stanburne looked up, and said, " It may burn now
it may burn now." Then suddenly seeming to recollect him-
self, he added, " God forgive me, Philip, I have not bestowed
one thought on the poor girl that was burnt with Edith
Edith's maid ! She brought my child to me to say good-
night, just when the fireworks were over, and kiss me "
here his voice faltered " and kiss me for the last time.'
This extension of his sympathy to another did John Stan-
burne good. " I wonder where her parents are ; they must be
told God help them ! "
" And the house, Colonel ! the house ! can you give some
orders ? "
"No, Philip; not fit for that not fit for that yet,
you know, dear Philip. Ask Eureton, the Adjutant ask
Eureton."
Then he rose suddenly, and went towards the drawing-
room. Some of the older ladies had come in, and were sit-
ting here and there about the room, which was brilliantly
lighted. On one of the walls hung a portrait of Edith Stan-
burne, by Millais one of his most successful pictures of
that class. The Colonel went straight to this picture, but
could not politely get at it without begging two old ladies,
who were sitting on a causeuse under it, to get out of his way.
When a man who has just been brought face to face with
CHAP, xxvii. The Fire. 233
one of the tragical realities of life comes into what is called
" society " again, he is always out of tune with it, and it is
difficult for him to accept the legerefe of its manner without
some degree of irritation. He appears brutal to the people
in society, and the people in society seem exasperatingly friv-
olous to him. Thus, when the Colonel came amongst these
bediamonded old ladies in the drawing-room, a conversation
took place which he was not quite sufficiently master of him-
self to maintain in its original key.
" Ah, here is Colonel Stanburne ! We were just saying
how delightful your fireworks were ; only they Ve left quite a
strong smell of fire, even in the house itself. Don't you per-
ceive it, Colonel Stanburne ? "
" I want to get this picture excuse me," and he began to
put his foot on the white silk damask of the causeuse, between
the two great ladies. They rose immediately, much aston-
ished, even visibly offended.
" Colonel Stanburne might have waited until we had left
the room," said Lady Brabazon, aloud, " if he wished to
change the hanging of his pictures."
" The house is on fire ! My daughter is burnt to death !
I want to save this. You ladies are still in time to save the
originals of your portraits."
In an instant they were out upon the lawn, running about
and calling out " Fire ! " They had not time to take care of
their dignity now.
Luckily Philip Stanburne was already with the Adjutant,
who was giving his orders with perfect calm, and an authority
that made itself obeyed. Lady Helena was not to be found.
Fyser had been summoned into the Adjutant's presence.
" Fyser," he said, " what are the water supplies here ? "
" Pump-water, sir, for drinking, and the stream behind the
house for washing."
" No pipes of any sort in the upper rooms ? "
" No, sir."
\
234 Wender holme. PART i.
" Sergeant Maxwell, collect all the men who have served
in the army. I don't want any others at present." Then,
turning to Fyser, " Harness four horses to a carriage, and
drive to the nearest station. Telegraph for fire-engines and
a special locomotive. Whilst they are coming, collect more
horses near the station. When they arrive, leave your car-
nage there, and harness your team to a fire-engine, and come
here as fast as you can. Do you hear ? Repeat what I have
said to you. Very well."
Then he walked quickly towards the band, and made signs
to the band-master to stop. The music ceased abruptly, and
Captain Eureton ascended the platform. " I wish to be
heard ! " he said, in a loud voice. The dancers gave up their
dancing, and came towards the orchestra, followed by the
other guests.
"Excuse this interruption to your pleasures. You had
better not go into the Hall."
At this instant the old ladies (as has just been narrated)
came out of the hall-door shrieking, " Fire ! " Their cry was
taken up immediately, and wildly repeated amongst the crowd.
" Silence ! " shouted Eureton, with authority. " Silence !
I have something to say to you."
The people crowded round him. " The Colonel wishes me
to act for him. Our only chance of saving the house is to
set to work systematically. I forbid any one to enter it for
the present."
" But my trunks," cried Lady Brabazon ; " I will order my
people to save my trunks ! "
This raised a laugh ; but Eureton's answer to it came in
the shape of an order. " Sergeant Maxwell," he said, " if
ny one attempts to enter the house without leave, you will-
ave him arrested."
Yes, sir."
The sergeant was there with a body of about forty old
soldiers.
CHAP, xxvii. The Fire. 235
" Captains of numbers one, two, three, four, and five com-
panies ! " shouted the Adjutant. They came forward. " You
will form a cordon with your men round the front of the house,
and prevent any unauthorized person from breaking it. All
who enter the cordon will be considered as volunteers, and
set to carry water. They will not be allowed to get out of it
again, on any pretext."
" Now send me Colonel Stanburne's men-servants."
Several men presented themselves. "Fetch every thing
you can lay your hands on in the out-houses that will hold
water."
" Pray accept me as a volunteer, Captain Eureton," said
the Duke.
" And I 'm an old soldier," said the medalled General ;
"you'll have me, too, I suppose."
The cordon was by this time formed, and a quantity of
buckets fetched from the out-houses.
A chain was very soon formed from the brink of the rivu-
let to the inside of the house, and the Adjutant went in with
Philip Stanburne to reconnoitre. When he came out he walked
to the middle of the space enclosed by the cordon of militia-
men, and cried with a loud voice, " Volunteers for saving the
furniture, come forward ! "
Such numbers of men presented themselves (including the
Colonel's guests), that it was necessary to close the cordon
against many of them. Those who were admitted were told
off by the Adjutant in parties of a dozen each, and each
party placed under the command of a gentleman, with an old
soldier for a help. It was Philip Stanburne's duty to guide
and distribute the parties in the house the Adjutant com-
manding outside. The Colonel, in his kind way, had shown
Philip Stanburne over the house on his first visit to Wender-
holme, so that he knew and remembered the arrangement of
the rooms.
Though the house did not front precisely to the west, it
236 Wenderholme. PARTI.
will best serve our present purposes to speak as if it had
done so. Supposing, then, the principal front to be the west
front, the back of the edifice, where Philip Stanburne first
discovered the fire, was to the east, whilst the south and
north fronts looked to the wood on each side the ravine, at
the opening of which Wenderholme Hall was situated. The
fire had been discovered towards the south-east corner of
the edifice, where little Edith's apartments were. The great
staircase was in the centre, immediately behind the entrance-
hall ; but there were five other staircases of much narrower
dimensions, two of them winding stairs of stone, the other
three modern stairs of deal wood, such as are commonly
made for servants.
Acting under Captain Eureton's directions, Philip Stan-
burne distributed his parties according to the staircases, and
other parties were stationed at the doors to receive the
things they brought down, and carry them to places already
decided upon by the Adjutant. The business of extinguish-
ing or circumscribing the fire was altogether distinct from
that of salvage. Two lines of men were stationed from the
side of the rivulet to the top of the great staircase. One
line passed full buckets from hand to hand, the other passed
them down again as soon as they were empty. A special
party, consisting of the gardeners belonging to Colonel Stan-
burne's establishment, a joiner, and one or two other men
who were employed at Wenderholme, had been formed by
the Adjutant for the purpose of collecting what might serve
as buckets, the supply being limited. Various substitutes
were found ; amongst others, a number of old oyster-barrels,
which were rapidly fitted with rope-handles.
Notwithstanding the number of men under his command,
and the excellent order which was maintained, it became
evident to Captain Eureton that it was beyond his power to
save the south* wing of the building. Even the northern
end of the upper corridor was filled with dense smoke, and
CHAP, xxvii. The Fire. 237
towards Edith Stanburne's apartments there was a perfect
furnace. By frequently changing places, the men were able
to dispute the ground against the fire inch by inch ; and the
clouds of steam which rose as they deluged the hot walls had
the effect of making the atmosphere more supportable. If
the fire did not gain on them too rapidly, there seemed to
be a fair chance of saving some considerable proportion of
the mansion by means of the fire-engines, when they arrived.
Meanwhile the salvage of goods went forward with perfect
regularity. The influence of Captain Eureton's coolness and
method extended itself to every one, and the things were
handed down as quietly as in an ordinary removal. Hardly
any thing was broken or even injured ; the rooms were
emptied one by one, and the contents of each room placed
together. Every thing was saved from the charter-room
Philip Stanburne took care to see to that.
What the Duke was most anxious to save was the contents
of the lumber-garrets, where lay the dishonored remnants of
the old wainscot and carved furniture of Elizabethan Wen-
derholme. But when he got up there with his party he
found that it was not quite possible to breathe. A more
serious discovery than the inevitable loss of the old oak
was that the fire was rapidly spreading northwards in the
garrets.
There was a little ledge round the roof outside, protected
by a stone parapet, and broad enough for a mar to walk
along ; so the chain of water-carriers was continued up to
this ledge, and a hole was made in the slating through which
a tolerably continuous stream was poured amongst the burn-
ing lumber inside. The uselessness of this, however, shortly
became apparent ; the water had little or no effect it flowed
along the floor, and the rafters had already caught fire. The
slates were so hot that it was impossible to touch them. It
was evident that the lead under the men's feet would soon
begin to melt, and the men were withdrawn into the interior.
238 Wender holme. PART L
CHAPTER XXVIII.
FATHER AND DAUGHTER.
WHEN Colonel Stanburne had removed Edith's picture,
he carried it away into the darkness. He could not
endure the idea of having to explain his action, and instinc-
tively kept out of people's way. Still, he could not leave it
out of doors ; he dreaded some injury that might happen to
it. Where could he put it ? In one of the out-houses ? A
careless groom might injure it in the hurry and excitement
of the night. No ; it would be safe nowhere but at his
mother's, and thither he would carry it.
There were two communications from the Hall to the
cottage a carriage-drive and a little footpath. The drive
curved about a little under the old trees in the park, but the
footpath was more direct, and went through a dense shrub-
bery. On his way to the cottage the Colonel met no one,
but on his arrival there he met Lady Helena in the entrance.
His mother was there too. Late as it was, she had not yet
gone to bed.
The sight of the Colonel, bareheaded, and carrying a great
oil-picture in his hands, greatly astonished both these ladies.
" What are you doing with that picture, John ? " said Lady
Helena.
" I want it to be safe it will be safe here ; " and he reared
it against the wall. Then he said, " No, not here ; it will be
safer in the drawing-room ; open the door. Thank you."
When they got into the drawing-room, the Colonel delib-
erately took down a portrait of himself and hung Edith's
CHAP, xxvin. Father and Daughter. 2 39
portrait in its place. His manner was very strange, both
the ladies thought ; his action most strange and eccentric.
Lady Helena thought he had drunk too much wine ; Mrs.
Stanburne dreaded insanity.
With that humoring tone which is often adopted towards
persons not in possession of their mental faculties, Mrs.
Stanburne said, " Well, John, I shall be glad to take care of
Edith's picture for you, if you think that it can be safer here
than at the Hall."
" Yes, it will be safer it will be safer."
This answer, and his strange wild look, confirmed poor
old Mrs. Stanburne's fears. She began to tremble visibly.
"Helena, Helena," she whispered, "poor John is has"
" No, mother, I 'm not mad, and I 'm not drunk either,
Helena, but I 've brought this picture here because it 's more
valuable to me now than it used to be, and I don't want
it to be burnt, you understand."
" No, I don't understand you at all," said her ladyship ;
"you are unintelligible to-night. Better come home, I think,
and not drink any more wine. I never saw you like this
before. It is disgraceful."
" Helena ! " said the Colonel, in a very deep, hoarse voice,
"Wenderholme Hall is on fire, and my daughter Edith is
burnt to death ! "
Just as he finished speaking, a lurid light filled the sky, and
shone through the windows of the cottage. Lady Helena
went suddenly to the window, then she left the room, left the
house, and went swiftly along by the little path. John Stan-
burne was left alone with his mother.
She took him by the hand, and looked in his face anxiously.
"My dear boy," she said, "it's a pity about the house, you
know ; but our little Edith "
"What?"
"Is perfectly safe here, and fast asleep up-stairs in her
own little bed!"
240 Wenderholme. PART i.
John Stanburne did not quite realize this at first. When
it became clear to him, he walked about the room in great
agitation, not uttering a word. Then he stopped suddenly,
and folded his mother in his arms, and kissed her. He kept
her hand and knelt down before the sofa ; she understood
the action, and knelt with him. Edith's picture was hanging
just above them, and as his lips moved in inaudible thanks-
giving, his eyes rose towards it and contemplated its sweet
and innocent beauty. He had had the courage to save it
from the burning house, but not the courage to let his eyes
dwell upon it thus. Fair hair that hast not been consumed
in cruel flame ! fair eyes that shall shine in the sunlight of
to-morrow ! sweet lips whose dear language shall yet be heard
in your father's house! your living beauty shall give him
cheerfulness under this calamity !
When they rose, his mother said, " Come and see ; " and
she took him up to a little dainty room which Edith loved,
and there, in a narrow bed curtained with pale blue silk, she
lay in perfect peace. The night was warm, and there was
a glow on the healthy cheek, and one little hand, frilled with
delicate lace, lay trying to cool itself upon the counterpane.
" I 'm afraid she 's rather too warm," said her grand-
mother. But John Stanburne thought of the fiery chamber
at Wenderholme.
CHAP. xxix. Progress of the Fire. 241
CHAPTER XXIX.
PROGRESS OF THE FIRE.
MRS. STANBURNE'S tender sympathy for her son's
grief at the supposed loss of Edith, and participation
in his gladness at the recovery of his treasure, had for a time
restrained the expression of her anxiety about the fire at the
Hall ; but now that her son had seen little Edith, Mrs.
Stanburne went to the 'window of the bed-room and looked
out. The Hall was not visible from the lower rooms of the
cottage, being hidden by the thick shrubbery which bounded
the little lawn ; but it was clearly visible from the upper
windows, which looked in that direction.
No sooner had Mrs. Stanburne opened the curtains and
drawn up the blind, than she uttered a cry of alarm. The
fire having originated in the garret, the carpentry of the roof
had been attacked early, and now a portion of it had given
way. A column of sparks, loftier than the Victoria Tower at
Westminster, shot up in the dark sky.
Mrs. Stanburne turned round in great agitation. "Let us
go, John let us go to the Hall ; it will be burnt down. You
will be wanted to give orders."
This recalled the Colonel to himself, and for the present
he gave up thinking about his little Edith. " Eureton is in
command, and he 's a better officer than I am. He will do
all that can be done. But come along, mother come along;
let us go there."
As they approached the Hall, it was evident to John Stan-
burne that the fire had made terrible progress. The whole
16
242 Wenderholme. PART i.
of the uppermost story was illuminated by the dread light of
conflagration. At the south end, which had been burning
longest, and where the roof had fallen in, sparks still rose
in immense quantities, and terrible tongues of flame showed
their points, darting angrily, above the lofty walls.
- Eureton was in the centre of the open space still steadily
guarded by the cordon of militia-men. He was looking at
his watch, but on lifting his eyes from the dial, saw the Colo-
nel and Mrs. Stanburne, and went to them at once. " I have
been anxious to see you for some time, Colonel. Do you
wish to take the men under your own orders ? "
" My dear fellow, do oblige me by directing every thing just
as you have done. You do it ten times better than I should
I know you do."
" I am sorry we have been unable to save the roof. I with-
drew the men from it rather early, perhaps, but wished lo
avoid any sacrifice of life."
" Better let the whole place burn down than risk any of
these good fellows' lives. Is there anybody in the house now ? "
" Captain Stanburne has eight parties on the first floor re-
moving furniture. He has removed every thing from the upper
floors,"
" But are they safe ? " said Mrs. Stanburne.
"No floors have fallen in yet except part of the garret
floor, and one or two in the south wing. We have drenched
every room with water, after it was emptied ; we have left the
carpets on the floors purposely, because being thoroughly
wetted, they will help to delay the progress of the fire. We
have used all the blankets from the beds in the same way.
Every thing else has been removed."
" I hope all the visitors' things will be safe. Some of those
old ladies, you know, have wonderful lots of things in their
portmanteaus. I believe that in point of mere money's worth,
old Lady Brabazon's boxes are more valuable than all Wen-
derholme and its furniture too, by Jove ! "
CHAP. xxix. Progress of the Fire. 243
" I must ask the ladies to sleep at the cottage," said Mrs.
Stanburne.
" They are at the summer-house, watching the fire," said
the Adjutant. " I believe it amuses them."
" You are uncharitable," said Mrs. Stanburne ; " nobody
can help watching a fire, you know. A fire always fascinates
people."
" I wouldn't let old Lady Brabazon have her boxes, and
she 's furiously angry with me."
" Well, but why wouldn't you ? "
" If I let one, I must let another, and there would be no
end to the confusion and breakage that would ensue. I have
refused Lady Helena herself, but she took it very nicely and
kindly. It 's different with Lady Brabazon ; she 's in a rage."
" I '11 go with my mother to the summer-house, and come
back to you, Eureton, in ten minutes."
The summer-house in question presented rather a curious
picture. , It was not strictly a " house " at all, but simply a
picturesque shed with a long bench under it, which people
could sit down upon at noon, with their backs to the south,
well sheltered from the summer sun by a roof and wall of
excellent thatch, whilst the stream purled pleasantly at the
foot of a steep slope, and seemed to cool the air by its mere
sound. The back of the seat was towards the steep wooded
hill, and the front of it looked towards the south wing of the
house, including a very good view of the front. It was deci-
dedly the best view of Wenderholme which could be had ;
and when artists drew Wenderholme for those well-known
works, " Homes of the Landed Gentry," and " Dwellings of
the English Aristocracy," and " Ancient Seats of Yorkshire,"
here they always rubbed their cakes of sepia and' began.
The ladies were not playing the harp or the fiddle, as Nero
is said to have done during the burning of Rome ; but they
were enjoying the spectacle as most, people enjoy that which
greatly interests and excites. Lady Adisham, John Stan-
244 Wender holme. PART i.
burne's august mother-in-law, was not there ; she was in close
conference with her daughter, in a part of the grounds yet
more private and remote. But Lady Brabazon was there,
and some other splendidly adorned dames, who were passing
an opera-glass from hand to hand.
As the Colonel and his mother approached, they had the
pleasure of overhearing the following fragment of conversation.
" Quite a great fire ; really magnificent ! Don't you think
so ? We 're safe here, I believe."
" Yes ; Captain Eureton said we should be safe here."
" I wonder if Mr. Stanburne has insured his house. They
say he 's not at all rich. Pity his little daughter was burnt
really great pity ; nice little girl ! "
" Where are we to sleep to-night, do you think ? "
" Really don't know. JL la belle etoile, I suppose. That
horrid man that 's ordering the men about won't let us have
our boxes. We shall take cold. I have nothing but this shawl."
Just then the Colonel presented himself.
" I am very sorry," he said, with some bitterness, " that my
house should be burnt down, if the accident has caused you
any inconvenience. Mrs. Stanburne is come to offer you
some accommodation at Wenderholme Cottage."
Lady Brabazon was going to make a speech of condolence,
but the Colonel prevented it by adding, " Pray excuse me
I ought to be amongst the men ; " and bowing very deferen-
tially, he disappeared.
John Stanburne left Eureton in command, and worked him-
self as a volunteer amongst the water-carriers within the
building. The reaction from his despair about Edith made
his other misfortunes light, and he worked with a cheerfulness
and courage that did good to the men about him.
" This is hot work," he said to one of the volunteers ;
" have none of the men had any thing to drink ? "
" Thank you, sir, we are doing pretty well for that. We
take a little water from the buckets now and then."
CHAP. xxix. Progress of the Fire. 245
" And the other fellows who are removing the furniture ? "
" It must be dry work for them, sir."
On this the Colonel said he could be more useful else-
where, and went to find out his old butler. This was very
easy, since the Adjutant knew where every one was posted.
The Colonel, with a small party of trustworthy sober fel-
lows, went down into the cellar, and returned with some doz-
ens of bottled ale and other liquids. He made it his business
to distribute refreshment amongst the men, giving the glass
always with his own hand, and never without some kind ex-
pression of his personal gratitude for the exertions they had
made. He took this office upon himself simply because he
" thought the men must be thirsty," as he expressed it ; but
the deepest policy could not have suggested a better thing to
do. It brought him into personal contact with every volun-
teer about the place, and in the most graceful way.
Captain Eureton was beginning to be anxious about the
fire-engines,' and had the road cleared, and kept clear, by a
patrol. Fyser had been absent nearly three hours. The dis-
tance from Wenderholme to the little station (the same that
Lady Helena had arrived at on her return from London) was
ten miles. Supposing that Fyser drove at the rate of thir-
teen miles an hour, or thereabouts (which he would do on
such an emergency), he would be at the station in forty-five
minutes. He would have to seek the telegraphist in the vil-
lage, and wake him up, and get him to the station all that
would consume twenty minutes. Then to get the engines
from Bradford, over thirty miles of rail, a special locomotive
running fifty miles an hour, thirty-six minutes. Time to get
the engines in Bradford to the station and to start the train,
say thirty minutes total, a hundred and thirty-one minutes,
or two hours and eleven minutes. Then the return to Wen-
derholme, forty-five minutes say three hours. " Yes, three
hours," said Captain Eureton to himself ; " I believe,! should
have done better to send for the Sootythorn engines. Fyser
246 Wenderholme. PART i.
would have been there in an hour and a half, and there would
have been no delays about the railway."
Just then a sound of furious galloping was heard in the
distance, and the welcome exclamation, " The engines, the
engines ! " passed amongst the crowd. The gates being all
open, and the road clear, the engines were soon in the ave-
nue. The drivers galloped into the middle of the space
enclosed by the cordon of militia-men, then they trotted a
few yards and stopped. The horses were covered with, foam
and perspiration ; the men leaped down from their seats and
at once began to arrange the hose.
Captain Eureton went to the captain of the fire-brigade.
" You have lost no time ; I feared some delay on the railway."
" Railway, sir ? there is no railway from Sootythorn to this
place."
" But you come from Bradford."
" Beg pardon, sir, we are the Sootythorn brigade we come
from Sootythorn. You telegraphed for us anyhow, a Mr.
Fyser did."
" He did right. What do you think of the fire ? "
The fireman looked up. " It 's a bad one. Been burning
three hours ? We may save the first floor, and the ground-
floor. Not very likely, though. Where 's water ? "
" Small stream here ;" the Adjutant led the fireman to the
rivulet.
" Very good, very good. House burns most at this end, I
see."
The hose was soon laid. There were two engines, and the
firemen, aided by volunteers, began to pump vigorously. Two
powerful jets began to play upon the south wing, and it was
a satisfaction to Captain Eureton to see them well at work,
though with little immediate effect. There being no sign of
Fyser, the Adjutant concluded that he was waiting for the
Bradford engines.
The whole remaining mass of roof now fell in with a tre-
CHAP. xxix. Progress of the Fire. 247
mendous crash, and the flames enveloped the gables, issu-
ing from the windows of the uppermost story. The mul-
titude was hushed by the grandeur of the spectacle. All the
woods of Wenderholme, all its deep ravine, were lighted by
the glare, and even at Shayton the glow of an unnatural dawn
might be seen in the sky over the lofty moorland.
And the real dawn was approaching also, the true Aurora,
ever fresh and pure, bathed in her silver dews. There are
engines hurrying towards Wenderholme, through the beautiful
quiet lanes and between the peaceful fields ; and the gray
early light shows the road to the eager drivers and their gal-
loping steeds, and the breath of the pure morning fans the
brows of the men who sit in dark uniforms, helmeted, peril-
ously on those rocking chariots.
But the old house is past any help of theirs ! The floors
have fallen one after another. All the accumulated wood is
burning together on the ground-floor now : in the hall, where
Reginald Stanburne's portrait hung ; in the dining-room,
where, a few hours before, the brilliant guests had been sump-
tuously entertained ; in the drawing-room, where the ladies
sat after dinner in splendor of diamonds and fine lace. Ev-
ery one of these rooms is a focus of ardent heat a red fur-
nace, terrible, unapproachable. The red embers will blacken
in the daylight, under the unceasing streams from the fire-
engines,, and heaps of hissing charcoal will fill the halls of
Wenderholme !
But the walls are standing yet the brave old walls ! Even
the carving of the front is not injured. The house exists
still, or the shell of it the ghost of old Wenderholme, its
appearance, its eidolon !
I know who laments this grievous misfortune most. It is
not John Stanburne : ever since that child of his was known
to be in safety, he has been as gay as if this too costly spec-
tacle had been merely a continuation of the fireworks. It is
not Lady Helena : she is very busy, has been very busy all
248 Wenderholme. PART I
night, going this way and that, and plaguing the people with
contradictory orders. She is much excited even irritated
but she is not sad. Wenderholme was not much to her ;
she never really loved it. If a country house had not been a
necessity of station, she would have exchanged Wenderholme
for a small house in Belgravia, or a tiny hotel in Paris.
But old Mrs. Stanburne grieved for the dear old house that
had been made sacred to her by a thousand interests and
associations. There was more to her in the rooms as they
had been, than there was either to Lady Helena or to the
proprietor himself. She had dreaded in silence the proposed
changes and restorations, and this terrible destruction came
upon her like the blow of an eternal exclusion and separa-
tion. The rooms where her husband had lived with her, the
room he died in, she could enter never more ! So she sat
alone in her sadness, looking on the ruin as it blackened
gradually in the morning, and her spirits sank low within
her, and the tears ran down her cheeks.
CHAP. xxx. Uncle Jacob's Love Affair. 249
CHAPTER XXX.
UNCLE JACOB'S LOVE AFFAIR.
THE fire at Wenderholme was known all over the coun-
try the same morning, so the people who had been
asked to the presentation of colors stayed away. The colors
were given almost without ceremony, and the men came back
to Sooty thorn.
Jacob Ogden had got as far as Sootythorn the evening be-
fore with the intention of going on to Wenderholme in the
morning to see the ceremony, for he had been invited thereto
by his brother Isaac. As matters turned out, however, he
thought he would go to Whittlecup to fetch his mother back
to Milend, for the house seemed to him very uncomfortable
without her.
He called at Arkwright Lodge, and spent the day there.
The day following, Mr. Anison was to give a small dinner-
party composed of some of the leading manufacturers in
that neighborhood, so he pressed Jacob Ogden to stay it
over.
He stayed three days at Arkwright Lodge three whole
days away from the mill from the mills, we may now say,
for Jacob Ogden was already a pluralist in mills. The new
one was rising rapidly out of the green earth, and a smooth,
well-kept meadow was now trampled into mud and covered
with heaps of stone and timber, and cast-iron columns and
girders. And for three days had Jacob Ogden left this de-
lightful, this enchanting scene ! What a strong attraction
there must have been at Whittlecup, to draw him from his
250 Wenderholme. PART L
industrial paradis'e ! He felt bound to the unpoetical Shay-
ton, as Hafiz was to his fair Persian valley when he sang
" They will not allow me to proceed upon my travels,
Those gentle gales of Mosellay,
That limpid stream of Rooknabad."
"I've no time for goin' courtin'," thought Jacob to himself
as he sat drinking his port wine after dinner. " I Ve been
here three days, and it 's as much as I can afford for courtin'.
But who's a rare fine lass is Miss Madge, an' I'll write her a
bit of a letter."
Before leaving the Lodge, he thought it as well to prepare
Mr. Anison's mind for what was to come, so he asked to go
and see the works. As they were walking together, Ogden
went abruptly into the subject of matrimony.
" Mother 's been stoppin' at Whittlecup a good bit, 'long of
our Isaac. I felt very lonesome at Milend 'bout th' oud
woman, and I thought I s'd be lonesomer and lonesomer if
who * 'ere deead."
" No doubt she would be a very great loss to you," said
Mr. Anison; "but Mrs. Ogden appears to enjoy excellent
health."
Ogden scarcely heard this, and continued, " So I 've been
thinkin', like, as I 'appen might get wed."
" It would certainly be a good security against loneliness."
" I can afford to keep a wife. You may look at my
banker's account whenever you like. I 've a good property
already in land and houses, and I 'm building a new mill."
" There is no necessity for going into detail," Mr. Anison
said deprecatingly ; " every one knows that you are a rich
man."
Ogden laughed, half inwardly. It was a chuckling little
laugh, full of the intensest self-satisfaction. " They think
they know," he said, " but they don't know not right.
* The reader will please to bear in mind that -who means she in the
pure Lancashire dialect.
CHAP. xxx. Uncle Jacob's Low Affair. 251
Nobody knows what I 'm worth, and nobody knows what I
shall be worth. I 'm one o' those as sovereigns sticks to,
same as if they 'd every one on 'em a bit o' stickih'-plaister
to fasten 'em on wi'. If I live ten year, I s'll be covered
over wi' gold fourteen inch thick."
" Is there any positive necessity for you to leave us now ?
Why not remain a little longer ? "
" Do you think I Ve any chance at your house ? "
Mr. Anison laughed at the eagerness of Ogden's manner.
Then he said, " I see no reason for you to be discouraged.
You cannot expect a young lady to accept you before you
have asked her."
Ogden hesitated a moment, and then determined to go on
to Shayton and write his letter.
252 Wender holme. PART i.
A
CHAPTER XXXI.
UNCLE JACOB IS ACCEPTED.
ND this is the letter Jacob Ogden wrote :
"Miss MARGARET ANISON.
"Miss, When I was at your house this afternoon, I
meant to say something to you, but could not find a chance,
because other people came in just at the time. I wished to
ask you to be so kind as to marry me. I believe I shall be
a good husband at any rate, I promise to do all I can to
be one. My wife shall have every thing that a lady wants,
and I will either build a new house or purchase one, as she
may like best. There 's a good one on sale near Shayton,
but I don't mind building, if you prefer it. I am well able
to keep my wife as a lady. I may say that I have always
been very steady, and not in the habit of drinking. I never
go into an ale-house, and I never spend any foolish money.
I shall feel very anxious until I receive your answer, as you
will easily understand ; for my regard for you is such that I
most sincerely wish your answer may be favorable.
"Yours truly, JACOB OGDEN."
Though rather a queer letter, and singularly devoid of the
graces of composition and the tenderness of love, its purport,
at least, was intelligible. The reply showed that the lover
had made himself clearly understood.
CHAP. xxxi. Uncle Jacob is accepted. 253
" MY DEAR SIR, The proposal contained in your letter
has rather surprised me, as we have seen so little of each
other, but after consulting my parents I may say that I do
not refuse, and they desire me to add that there will be a
room for you here whenever your business engagements per-
mit you to visit us. Sincerely yours,
" MARGARET ANISON."
It is to be supposed that Mr. Ogden felt sensations of
profound happiness on reading this little perfumed note ;
but when a man is an old bachelor by nature, he does not
become uxorious in a week or two ; and we may confess that,
after the unpleasantness of the first shock, a positive refusal
would have left the lover's mind in a state of far more per-
fect happiness and calm. His pride was gratified, his passion
was fortunate in dreaming of its now certain fruition, and
he knew that such a woman as Margaret Anison would add
greatly to his position in the world. He knew that she
would improve it in one way, but then he felt anxiously
apprehensive that she might deteriorate it in another. He
would become more of a gentleman in society with a lady
by his side, but a wife and family would be a hindrance to
his pecuniary ambition. From the hour of his acceptance
he saw this a good deal more clearly than he had done since
this passion implanted itself in his being. He had seen it
clearly enough before he knew Margaret Anison, but the
strength of a new passion acting upon a nature by no means
subtly self-conscious, had for a time obscured the normal
keenness of his sight. After re-reading Margaret's note for
the tenth time, Mr- Jacob Ogden said to himself : " She 's
a fine girl there isn't a finer lass in all Manchester'; but
I 'm a damned fool that's what I am. What have I to do
goin' courtin' ? Howsomever, it 's no good skrikin' over spilt
milk we mun manage as well as we can. We 've plenty to
live on, and she can have four or five servants, if she '11
254 Wender holme. PART L
nobbut look well afther 'em." Then he went into the little
sitting-room, where his mother sat mending his stockings.
" Mother," he said, abruptly, " there 's news for you. Some-
body's boun' to be wed."
The stocking was deposited in Mrs. Ogden's lap, and she
looked at her son with fixed eyes.
" It 's owther our Isaac or me, and it isn't our Isaac."
"Why, then, it 's thee, Jacob."
" You 're clever at guessin', old woman ; you always was
a 'cute un."
" What ! are you boun' to wed somebody at Whittlecup ? "
" She doesn't live a hundred mile off Whittlecup."
Mrs. Ogden rose from her seat and laid down her stock-
ing, and made slowly for the door. She stopped, however,
midway, and with a stately gesture pointed to the mended
stocking. " Can she darn like that ? "
" She 'appen can do, mother."
" Han you seen her do ? "
" No."
" Nor nobody else nayther. But what I reckon you think
you can do b'out havin' your stockin's mended when you get
your fine wife into th' house, and you think servants '11 do
every thing. But if you 'd forty servants, you 'd be badly off
without somebody as knew how to look afther 'em all. And
if they cannot do for theirselves, they cannot orther other
folk not right."
" Well, but, mother," said Jacob, deprecatingly. He was
going to suggest consolatory considerations, founded upon
the apparent order and regularity of the housekeeping at
Arkwright Lodge, in the midst of which Miss Anison had
been educated.
But Mrs. Ogden was not disposed to enter into a discus-
sion which would have involved the necessity of giving her
son a hearing, and she cut short his expostulation with a
proverb, solemnly enunciated,
CHAP. xxxi. Uncle Jacob is accepted. 255
" As they make their bed, so they must lie," and then she
left the room.
"Th' old woman isn't suited," thought Jacob, "but it
makes nothing who it had been, she would have been just
the same. She used always to reckon she could like me to
get .wed, but I knew well enough that when it came to the
point I could never get wed so as to suit her. Whoever I
wedded, she 'd always have said it should have been some-
body else." The fact was, that whilst Mrs. Ogden warmly
and sincerely approved of marriage as a sort of general
proposition, and had even advised her son for many years
past to take unto himself a wife, her jealousy only slumbered
so long as the said wife remained a vague impersonal idea.
Mrs. Ogden had not much imagination, and the mere notion
of a possible wife for Jacob was very far from arousing in
her breast the lively sensations which were sure to be aroused
there by a visible, criticisable young woman, of flesh and
blood, with the faults that flesh is heir to. Now she had
seen Margaret Anison, and she had thought at Whittlecup,
" She might happen do for our Jacob ; " but when " our
Jacob " announced that he had decided to espouse Margaret
Anison, that was quite a different thing.
Matters had been in this condition for a month or two,
when Jacob Ogden, whose visits to his beloved one had been
made rare by the exigencies of business, became somewhat
importunate about the fixing of his wedding-day. It was
not that he looked forward thereto with feelings of very
eager or earnest anticipation, but he had a business-like
preference for " fixtures " and dates over the vague promises
of an indefinite avenir. Miss Anison, on the contrary, seemed
to have a rooted objection to such rigid limitations of liberty ;
and, like a man in debt whose creditor proposes to draw
upon him for an inexorable thirtieth of next month, felt that
the vague intention of paying some time was for the present
less hard and harassing to the mind. And as the debtor
256 Wcnder holme. PART i.
procrastinates, so did Margaret Anison procrastinate. Her
heart was not in this marriage, but her interest was ; and, so
far as she avowed to herself any purpose at all, her purpose
was to gain time, and keep Jacob Ogden as a resource, when
all chance of Philip Stanburne should be lost finally and
for ever.
Miss Anison, in a matter of this kind, was a great deal
cleverer than Jacob Ogden, who, though not easily taken in
by a man in men's business, had little experience of woman-
kind, and none whatever of polite young ladies and their
ways. Margaret Anison had found a capital excuse for
delay in the necessity for building a new house, and she set
Jacob Ogden to work thereupon with an energy at least
equal to that which he lavished on the new mill. He wanted
very much to have the house close to the factory, but the
young lady preferred the tranquillity of the country, and
went to Milend expressly to select a site. She chose a little
dell that opened into the Shayton valley; and though of all
views in the world the pleasantest for Mr. Ogden would have
been a view of his own mills, he was denied this satisfaction,
and his windows looked out upon nothing but green fields.
" If they 'd nobbut been my own fields," Jacob thought, " I
wouldn't so much have cared. Not but what a good mill is
a prettier sight than the greenest field in Lancashire, but it 's
no plezur to me to look out upon other folks' property."
And the worst of it was, that there was no chance of ever
purchasing the said property, for it belonged to an ancient
Lancashire family, which had a wise hereditary objection to
parting with a single acre of land.
Mrs. Ogden, now that the engagement was a fait accompli,
expressed the most perfect readiness to quit Milend and go
and live in "th' Cream-pot," which, as the reader is already
aware, was the expressively rich appellative of the richest of
her little farms. But such was the amiable and truly filial
consideration displayed by Margaret Anison towards her
CHAP. xxxi. Uncle Jacob is accepted. 257
future mother-in-law, that she would on no account hear of
such an arrangement. " Mrs. Ogden," she said, "had always
been accustomed to Milend, and it would be quite wrong to
turn her out ; " indeed she " would not hear of such a thing."
So the obedient Jacob hurried on the construction of a man-
sion worthy of the young lady who had honored him with her
affections a mansion to be replete with all modern comforts
and conveniences, such as abounded at Arkwright Lodge.
258 Wender holme* PART I.
CHAPTER XXXII.
MR. STEDMAN RELENTS.
PHILIP STANBURNE'S life had not been settled or
i happy since the date of his visit to Derbyshire. The
old tranquil existence at the Peel had become impossible for
him now. It was intolerable to him to be cut off from all
direct communication with Miss Stedman, and one day he
went boldly to Chesaut Hill. He went there, not under
cover of the darkness, as cowardly lovers do, but in the
broad openness of such daylight as is ever to be seen in
Sootythorn. I think, however, that it would have needed
still greater courage on his part to present himself there
about eight o'clock in the evening; for in the day-time Mr.
Stedman was usually at his factory, whereas about eight in
the evening a friend might count upon the pleasure of find-
ing him at Chesnut Hill.
The servant-maid who opened the door to Philip showed
him at once into the drawing-room. "What name shall I
say, sir?" she asked. Philip gave his name, and waited.
He had not inquired whether Miss Stedman was at home
he felt a slight embarrassment in inquiring about Miss Sted-
man and the servant on her part had simply asked him to
walk in.
He had waited about five minutes, when a heavy step
became audible in the passage, and the door of the room was
opened. The Reverend Abel Blunting stood before him.
" Pray sit down, sir," said the reverend gentleman ; " I
hope you are quite well. I hope I see you well. Mr. Sted-
CHAP, xxxii. Mr. Stedman relents. 259
man is not at home he is down at the mill but I am
expecting him every minute."
Mr. Blunting's bland amiability ought no doubt to have
awakened amiable feelings in Mr. Stanburne's breast, but,
unfortunately, it had just the opposite effect. "I did not
come here to see Mr. Stedman," he replied ; " I came to see
his daughter."
Now Mr. Blunting was a powerful man, both physically
and mentally, and a man by no means disposed to yield
when he considered firmness to be a duty. In the preseut
instance he did consider it necessary to prevent an interview
between Alice and her lover, and he quietly resolved to do
so at all costs. " I am sorry," he said, " that you cannot see
Miss Stedman."
" Why cannot I see her ? Is she not at home ? "
" She is under this roof, sir,"
" Then I will see her," Philip answered, and rose to his feet.
."Pray sit down, sir pray sit down," said Mr. Blunting,
without stirring from the easy-chair in which he had en-
sconced himself. He made a gesture with his hand at the
same time, which said as plainly as it could, " Calm yourself,
young gentleman, and listen to me."
" Pray sit down. Miss Stedman is not very well to-day ;
indeed she has not been really well, I am sorry to say, for
some time past. She does not rise until the afternoon, and
of course you cannot go into her bedroom."
"Why not? Come with me if you like. The doctor may
go there, I suppose ? "
"The doctor goes there professionally, and so does Miss
Stedman's spiritual adviser."
"I could do her more good than either of you. How
wretchedly lonely she is ! "
" My wife comes to sit with Miss Stedman every day."
" What is the matter with her ? Tell me the plain truth."
"Most willingly most happy to reassure you, sir. There
260 Wenderholme. PART i.
is really nothing serious in Miss Stedman's case ; the medical
men are agreed upon that. She merely suffers from debility,
which has been neglected for some time because she did not
complain. Now tftat the ailment is known, it will be com-
bated in every way. Already there is a decided improvement.
But in her present state of weakness, agitation of any kind
might be most prejudicial most prejudicial ; and therefore
I hope you will easily see that I dare not accept the respon-
sibility of permitting an interview between you."
" I shall wait here till Mr. Stedman comes, and ask his
permission."
"That is a very proper course to pursue, and I highly
approve your resolution. But from what we both know of
Mr. Stedman's sentiments, it seems scarcely probable that
he will grant your request. You will do well, however, to
wait and see him. It is always the best, when there are
differences of opinion, that the contending parties should
meet personally."
Here there was a pause of a minute or two, after which
Mr. Blunting resumed, with great politenes's of manner,
" I fear you must need refreshment, sir, if you have come
from a distance. Your own residence, as I am informed, is
at a considerable distance from this place. In Mr. Stedman's
absence, I may take upon myself to offer you something.
Would you like a sandwich and a glass of wine ? I cannot
offer to drink wine with you, being myself a total abstainer,
but as I know that you use it in great moderation, it is not
against my conscience to ring for the decanters."
Philip Stanburne had eaten nothing since six in the
morning, and willingly accepted the clergyman's proposition.
Perhaps he accepted it the more willingly that he felt the
need of all his courage for the approaching interview with
Mr. Stedman. When the decanters and the sandwich came,
the teetotal parson filled a wine-glass with formal courtesy, and
young Stanburne could not help feeling a certain liking, and
CHAP, xxxii. Mr. Stedman relents. 261
even admiration, for the man. In truth, without being a
gentleman, Mr. Blunting had many of the best qualities ?f
a gentleman. He was as brave as a man well could be,
more learned than most members of his own learned profes-
sion, and he had a feminine softness of manner.
Whilst Philip was engaged with his sandwiches and sherry,
he heard the hall-door open, and a manly step on the stone
floor. Though by no means a coward, either mora'fly or
physically, he had a sensitive constitution, and his pulse
was considerably accelerated by the knowledge, that Mr.
Stedman had entered the house. The heavy steps passed
the drawing-room door, and became gradually less and less
audible as they ascended the stairs.
" Mr. Stedman is gone to see his daughter," said Mr.
Blunting. " He always goes straight to her room when
he returns from the mill. He is a most affectionate
father."
" Where his prejudices are not concerned," added Philip
Stanburne.
" Where his conscience is not involved, you ought to say.
His objection to your suit is strictly a conscientious objec-
tion. Personally, he likes you, and your position would be
an excellent one for Miss Alice; indeed it is beyond what
she might have hoped for. But Mr. Stedman ah ! he is
coming now."
Philip had somewhat hastily finished his sandwich, and
resumed his first seat. Mr. Stedman opened the door slowly,
and walked in. He gave no sign of astonishment on seeing
Philip (who rose as he entered), but simply bowed. Then
turning to Mr. Blunting, he said, quietly, " I think Alice
would be glad to see you now," on which Mr. Blunting left
the room.
There was an expression of deep sadness on John Sted-
man's face as he sat down and looked fixedly at the table.
His eyes looked in the direction of the decanters, but he
262 Wenderholme. PART i.
evidently did not see them. Suddenly recalling himself to
the things about him; he saw the decanters before any thing
else, and said,
" Have you had a glass of wine ? Take another. Take
one with me."
Astonished at this reception, Philip Stanburne held his
glass whilst John Stedman rilled it. A tremulous hope rose
in his breast. What if this man were relenting? what if the
icy barrier were gradually thawing away ?
They drank the wine in silence, and Mr. Stedman sat
down again. " Sit down," he said, " sit down. You are
come to talk to me about my daughter. You are under my
roof, and are my guest. I will listen to you patiently, and I
will answer you plainly. I can do no more than that, can I ? "
Philip urged his suit with all the eloquence at his command.
John Stedman listened, as he had promised, patiently ; and
when his guest's eloquence had exhausted itself, he spoke in
this wise :
"I explained my views to you on a former occasion, in
Derbyshire. It is no use going over all that ground again.
But since we met then, the position of matters has changed
somewhat. My daughter is getting nearer to her majority ;
at the same time, you and she have made an engagement
between yourselves without my sanction, and I have reason
to suspect that you have corresponded. Miss Margaret Ani-
son has been here rather too much lately, and I have politely
informed Miss Margaret Anison that she had better remain
at Arkwright Lodge. But another thing has altered matters
still more that is, my daughter's health. I'm very much
grieved to say that I haven't a great deal of confidence in
her constitution. She gets* weaker everyday."
" Mr. Blunting says she is getting stronger again now."
" Stronger ? Well, momentarily she may, by the help of
tonics and stimulants, but it will not last. She was never
really strong, but if I 'd not been so much absorbed in
CHAP, xxxii. Mr. Stedman Relents. 263
business, I might have taken her more out, and given her
more exercise. I am ready to give up business now. I 'd
give up any thing for my Alice. Poor Alice, poor Alice ! "
Philip Stanburne became inoculated with Mr. Stedman's
openly expressed alarm. " Are you seriously afraid, sir ? "
he asked, with intense anxiety.
Mr. Stedman looked at him fixedly and seemed absorbed
in his own thoughts. "You love my girl, young man, but
you don't love her as I do. Ever since I have got this fear
into my heart and into my brain I can neither eat nor sleep.
I think sometimes I shall go out of my mind. A man loves
a daughter, Mr. Stanburne, differently from the way he loves
a son. If I 'd had a son, I shouldn't have felt so anxious,
for it seems that a lad should bear illnesses and run risks ;
but a tender little girl, Philip Stanburne a tender little
girl, and a great rough fellow like me to take care of her ! "
" Is there any change in your feelings towards me, sir ? "
" No, none at all. I always liked you very well, and I like
you very well still. There isn't a young fellow anywhere
who would suit me better, if it weren't for your being such a
Papist. I '11 tell you what I '11 do with you, if you like. You
give me an honest promise not to marry my daughter before
twelve months are out, and you shall see her every clay if
you like. And if you can cheer her up and make her get
her strength back again, you shall have her and welcome,
Papist or no Papist. I 'd let her marry the Pope of Rome
before I 'd see her as sad as she has been during the last
two or three months. Stop your dinner, will you ? That
sandwich is nothing ; our dinner-time 's one o'clock, and it 's
just ten minutes to. Alice '11 get up when she knows you 're
here, I '11 warrant."
The reader will easily believe that Philip Stanburne heard
this speech with a joy that made him forget his anxiety about
Alice. He would bring gladness to her, and with gladness,
health. How bright the long future seemed for these two,
264 Wenderholme. PART L
true lovers always, till the end of their lives ! O golden
hope, fair promise of happy years !
But the doctor, who had been at Chesnut Hill that morn-
ing, had heard a little faint sound in his polished black
stethoscope, which was as terrible in its import as the noise
of the loudest destroyers, as the crack of close thunder, the
roar of cannon, the hiss of the hurricane, the explosion of
a mine 1
CHAP, xxxin. The Saddest in the Book. 265
CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE SADDEST IN THE BOOK.
LET this part of our story be quickly told, for it is very
sad ! Let us not dwell upon this sorrow, and analyze
it, and anatomize it, and lecture upon it, as if it were merely
a study for the intellect, and caused the heart no pain !
It is the middle of winter. The streets of Sootythorn are
sloppy with blackened snow, the sky is dreary and gray, and
dirtied by the smoke from the factory-chimneys. Sootythorn
is dismal, and Manchester is all in a fog. The cotton-spin-
ners' train that goes from Sootythorn to Manchester is run-
ning into a cloud that gets ever denser and yellower, and the
whistle screams incessantly. The knees of the travellers are
covered with " Guardians," and " Couriers," and " Examin-
ers," for there is not light enough to read comfortably. One
manufacturer asks his neighbor a question : " Where is John
Stedman of Sootythorn ? He uses comin' by this train, and
I haven't seen him as I cannot tell how long."
The question interests us also. Where is John Stedman ?
Not at Chesnut Hill, certainly. There is nobody at Chesnut
Hill but the old gardener and his wife. He tends the plants
in the hothouse, and keeps them comfortable in this dreary
Lancashire winter by the help of Lancashire coal. But the
house is all shut up, except on the rare days when a bit
of sunshine comes, and the old woman opens the shutters
and draws up the blinds to let the bright rays in. Every
thing seems ready for Alice, if she would only come. There
is her little pretty room upstairs, and there are twenty
266 Wenderholme. PART i.
things of hers in the drawing-room that wait for their absent
mistress.
Miss Alice is far away in the south, and her father is with
her and there is a third, who never leaves them.
They had been travelling towards Italy, but when they
reached Avignon, Alice became suddenly worse, and they
stayed there to give her a long rest. The weather happened
to be very pure and clear, and it suited her. The winter
weather about Avignon is often very exhilarating and deli-
cious, when the keen frost keeps aloof, and the dangerous
winds are at rest.
As for saving Alice now, not one of the three had a vestige
of delusive hope. The progress of the malady had been ter-
ribly rapid ; every week had been a visible advance towards
the grave. John Stedman had hoped little from the very
beginning, Philip Stanburne had hoped much longer, and
Alice herself longest of all. But none of the three hoped any
longer now.
When Alice found herself settled at Avignon, she felt a
strong indisposition to go farther. The railway tired and
agitated her, and the dust made her cough more painful.
" Papa," she said one day, as she sat in her easy-chair look-
ing up the Rhone, "I think we cannot do better than just
remain where we are. I shall not keep you in this place very
long. No climate can save me now, and this weather is as
pleasant as any Italian weather could be. I am cowardly
about travelling, and it troubles me to think of the journey
before us." Mr. Stedman feebly tried to encourage Alice, and
talked of the beautiful Italian coast as if they were going to
see it ; but it soon became tacitly understood that Alice's
travels were at an end.
Mr. Stedman, who, since he had left England with his
daughter, had never considered expense in any thing in which
her comfort was, or seemed to be, involved, sought out a
pleasanter lodging than the hotel they had chosen as a tern-
CHAP, xxxiii. The Saddest in the Book. 267
porary resting-place. He found a charming villa on the slopes
that look towards Mount Ventoux. The view from its front
windows included the great windings of the Rhone and the
beautiful mountainous distance ; whilst from the back there
was a very near view of Avignon, strikingly picturesque in
composition, crowned by the imposing mass of the Papal
palace. Alice preferred the mountains, and chose a delightful
little salon upstairs as her own sitting-room, whilst her bed-
room was close at hand. There was a balcony, and she liked to
sit there in the mild air during the warmest and brightest hours.
Mr. Stedman's powerful and active nature suffered from
their monotonous life at the villa, and he .needed exercise both
for the body and the mind. Alice perceived this, and, well
knowing that it was impossible for her father to do any thing
except in her service, plotted a little scheme by which she
hoped to make him take the exercise and the interest in out-
ward things which in these sad days were more than ever
necessary to him.
" Papa," she said one day, " I think if I 'd a little regular
work to' do, it would do me good. I wish you would go
geologizing for me, and bring me specimens. You might
botanize a little, too, notwithstanding the time of the year ; it
would be amusing to puzzle out some of the rarer plants. It's
a very curious country, isn't it, papa ? I 'm sure, if I were
well, we should find a great deal of work to do together here."
Then she began to question him about the geology and botany
of the district, and made him buy some books which have
been written upon these subjects by scientific inhabitants of
Avignon. Her little trick succeeded. Mr. Stedman, under
the illusion that he was working to please his poor Alice,
trudged miles and miles in the country, and extended his ex-
plorations to the very slopes of Mount Ventoux itself. In this
way he improved the tone of his physical constitution, and
Alice saw with satisfaction that it would be better able to
endure the impending sorrow.
268 Wenderholme. PART I.
He had long ceased to treat Philip Stanburne with coldness
or distrust. His manner with his young friend was now quite
gentle, and even affectionate, tenderly and sadly genial. The
one point on which they disagreed was no longer a sore point
for either of them. One day, when they were together, they
met a religious procession, with splendid sacerdotal costumes
and banners, and Philip kneeled as the "host was carried by.
Their conversation, thus briefly interrupted, was resumed
without embarrassment, and Mr. Stedman asked some ques-
tions about the especial purpose of the procession, without the
slightest perceptible expression of contempt for it. He began
to take an interest in the charities of the place, and having
visited the hospital, said he thought he should like to give
something, and actually left a bank-note for five hundred
francs, though the managers of the institution, and the nurses,
and the patients, were Romanists without exception. Mean-
while, he read his Bible very diligently every day, and the
prayers of the little household, in which Philip willingly
joined.
During one of Mr. Stedman's frequent absences on the
little scientific missions ordered by his daughter Alice, she
and Philip had a conversation which he ever afterwards
remembered.
" Philip," she said, " do you ever think much about what
might have been, if just one circumstance had been otherwise ?
I have been thinking a great deal lately, almost constantly,
about what might have been, for us two, if my health had
been strong and good. People say. that love sucji as ours
is only an illusion only a short dream but I cannot
believe that. It might have changed, as our features change,
with time, but it would have remained with us all our lives.
Do you ever fancy us a quiet respectable old couple, living
at the Tower, and coming sometimes to Sootythorn together ?
I do. I fancy that, and all sorts of things that might have
been and some of them would have been, too if I had
CHAP, xxxin. The Saddest in the Book. 269
lived. There 's one thing vexes me, and that is, that I never
saw the Tower. I wish I had just seen it once, so that I
might fancy our life there more truly. How glad dear papa
would have been to come and stay with us, and botanize and
geologize amongst your rocks there! You would have let
him come, wouldn't you, dear? I am sure you would have
been very kind to him. You will be kind to him, won't you,
my love, when he has no longer his poor little Lissy to take
care of him ? Don't leave him altogether by himself. I am
afraid his old age will be very sad and lonely. It grieves me
to think of that, for he will be old in a few years now, and
his poor little daughter will not be near him to keep him
cheerful. Fancy him coming home every evening from the
mill, and nobody but servants in the house ! Go and stay
with him sometimes, dear, at Chesnut Hill, and get him to
go to the Tower, and you will sometimes talk together about
Alice, and it will do you both good."
Philip had kept up manfully as long as he was able, but
the vivid picture that these words suggested of a world with-
out Alice was too much for him to bear, and he burst into
passionate tears. As for Alice, she remained perfectly calm,
but when she spoke again it was with an ineffable tenderness.
She took his hand in hers, and drew him towards her, and
kissed him. Again and again she kissed him, smoothing his
hair caressingly with her fingers gentle touches that thrilled
through his whole being. " You don't know, my darling,"
she said, " how much I love you, and how miserable it made
me when I thought we must be separated in this world. It
isn't so hard to be separated by death ; but to live both of
us in the same world, seeing the same sun, and moon, and
stars, even the same hills, and not to be together, bi,c always
living out of sight and hearing of each other, and yet so
near it would have been a trial beyond my strength ! And
isn't it something, my love, to be together as we are now for
the last few weeks and days? You don't know how happy
270 Wenderholme. PART i.
it makes me to see you and papa getting on so nicely as you
do. Isn't he nice, now? I don't believe he thinks a bit the
worse of you for being a Catholic. We shall all meet again,
darling shall we not ? in the same heaven, and then we
shall have the same perfect knowledge, and our errors an'd
differences will be at an end for ever."
She was a good deal exhausted with- saying this, and leaned
back in her chair, closing her eyes for a while. Philip gradu-
ally recovered his usual melancholy tranquillity, and they sat
thus without speaking, he holding both her hands in his, and
gently chafing and caressing them. He had not courage to
speak to Alice indeed, in all their saddest and most serious
conversations, the courage was mainly on her side.
Whilst they were sitting thus, the sky became suddenly
overcast, and there came a few pattering drops of rain.
Alice started suddenly, and seemed to be agitated by an
unknown terror. , She grasped Philip's hand in a nervous
way, and complained of a strange suffering and foreboding.
" I felt so calm and peaceful all the morning," she said; " I
wish I could feel so now."
The agitation increased, and it was evident to Philip that
a great change had taken place. Alice threw her arms round
him, and clasped him to her. " O Philip ! " she cried, wildly,
"don't leave me now don't leave me even for a minute!
Stay, darling, stay ; it is coming, coming ! "
The pattering of the rain had ceased. It had been noth-
ing but a few drops scarcely even a shower and it had
ceased.
But the air was not clearer after the rain. On the contrary,
it had been clearer before it than it was now. The snowy
summit of Mount Ventoux was hidden in an opaque, thick
atmosphere ; mist it was not, as we northerns understand
mist, but a substantial thickening of the air.
Soon there was the same thickening, the same opacity in
the atmosphere of the remote plain that stretched to the
CHAP. xxxin. The Saddest in the Book. 271
mountain's foot. It was invisible now, the Mount Ventoux,
the Mountain of the Winds.
And as the plain grew dark the Rhone as suddenly whitened.
It whitened and whitened, nearer and nearer Avignon ; then
a dull distant roar became audible, steadily increasing. A
violent brief squall shook the villa. What ! so frightened
already ? Poor children, it is nothing yet !
Over the terrified plain, over the foaming river, comes the
MISTRAL, careering in his strength ! Well for you, walls of
Avignon, that you were built for the shocks of battle ! well
for thee, most especially, O palace of the transplan
