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Cashel Byron's Profession

NEWLY REVISED

WITH SEVERAL PREFACES AND AN ESSAY ON PRIZEFIGHTING

ALSO

The Admirable Bashville

OR, CONSTANCY UNREWARDED

.».

BEING THE NOVEL OF CASHEL BYRON S PROFESSION
DONE INTO A STAGE PLAY IN THREE
ACTS AND IN BLANK VERSE

GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

AUTHOR OF "PLAYS PLEASANT AND CNPLBASANT," "THR PERFECT
WAONBRITB,*' "THREE PLAYS FOR PURITANS,**
"LOVE AMONG THE ARTISTS,** ETC.

HERBERT S. STONE AND COMPANY
ELDRIDGE COURT, CHICAGO

MDCCCCI

CONTENTS

Paob

Preface to Cashel Byron's Profession , • . . vii

Prologue i

Chapter 1 31

II 42

III 58

IV 78

" ^ V 98

VI Ill

VII 134

VIII . . . .156

IX 169

X 193

XI 218

XII. ......... 233

XIII 249

XIV. .265

" XV. . 292

XVI 299

The Admirable Bashville 305

Preface 309

Note on Modern Prizefighting 359

28P456

Cashel Byron's Profession

PREFACE

NOVELS OF MY NONAGE

I never think of Cashel Byron's Profession without
a shudder at the narrowness of my escape from becom-
ing a successful novelist at the age of twenty-six. At
that moment an adventurous publisher might have
ruined me. Fortunately for me, there were no adven-
turous publishers at that time; and I was forced to
fight my way, instead of being ingloriously bought off
at the first brush. Not that Cashel Byron's Profession
was my very first novel. It was my fourth, and was
followed by yet another. I recall these five remote
products of my nonage as five heavy brown paper par-
cels which wfere always coming back to me from some
publisher, and raising the very serious financial ques-
tion of the sixpence to be paid to Messrs. Carter, Pater-
son, and Co., the carriers, for passing them on to the
next publisher. Eventually, Carter, Paterson, and Co.
were the only gainers; for the publishers had to pay
their readers' fees for nothing but a warning not to
publish me; and I had to pay the sixpences for send-
ing my parcels on a bootless errand. At last I grew
out of novel-writing, and set to work to find out what
the world was really like. The result of my investiga-
tions, so far, entirely confirms the observation of
Goethe as to the amazement, the incredulity, the
moral shock with which the poet discovers that what

he supposed to be the real world does not exist, and

vii

viii Cashel Byron's Profession

that men and women are made by their own fancies in
the image of the imaginary creatures in his youthful
fictions, only much stupider.

Unfortunately for the immature poet, he has not in
his nonage the satisfaction of knowing that his guesses
at life are true. Bring a peasant into a drawing-room,
and though his good sense may lead him to behave
very properly, yet he will suffer torments of misgiving
that everything he does must be a solecism. In my
earlier excursions into literature I confess I felt like
the peasant in the drawing-room. I was, on the
whole, glad to get out of it. Looking back now with
the eyes of experience, I find that I certainly did make
blunders in matters outside the scope of poetic divina-
tion. To take a very mild example, I endowed the
opulent heroine of this very book with a park of thirty
acres in extent, being then fully persuaded that this
was a reasonable estimate of the size of the Isle of
Wight or thereabouts. But it is not by the solecisms
of ignorance that the young man makes himself most
ridiculous. Far more unnatural than these were my
proprieties and accuracies and intelligences. I did
not know my England then. I was young, raw from
eighteenth century Ireland, modest, and anxious lest
my poverty and provinciality should prevent me from
correctly representing the intelligence, refinement,
conscience, and good breeding which I supposed to be
as natural and common in English society as in Scott's
novels. I actually thought that educated people con-
scientiously learnt their manners and studied their
opinions — were really educated, in short — instead of
merely picking up the habits and prejudices of their
set, and confidently presenting the resultant absurd

Preface ix

equipment of class solecisms to the world as a perfect
gentility. Consequently the only characters which
were natural in my novels were the comic characters,
because the island was (and is) populated exclusively
by comic characters. Take them seriously in fiction,
and the result is the Dickens heroine or the Sarah
Grand hero: pathetically unattractive figments both of
them. Thus my imaginary persons of quality became
quite unlike any actual persons at large in England,
being superior to them in a priggish manner which
would nowadays rouse the humor of our younger pub-
lishers' readers very inopportunely. In 1882, how-
ever, the literary fashion which distinguished the
virtuous and serious characters in a novel by a decorous
stylishness and scrupulousness of composition, as if
all their speeches had been corrected by their govern-
esses and schoolmasters, had not yet been exploded by
"the New Journalism" of 1888 and the advent |of a
host of authors who had apparently never read any-
thing, catering for a proletariat newly made literate
by the Education Act. The distinction between the
naturalness of Caleb Balderstone and the artificiality
of Edgar and Lucy was still regarded as one of the
social decencies by the seniors of literature; and this
probably explains the fact that the only intimations I
received that my work had made some impression,
and had even been hesitatingly condemned, were from
the older and more august houses whose readers were
all grave elderly lovers of literature. And the more I
progressed towards my own individual style and ven-
tured upon the freer expression of my own ideas, the
more I disappointed them. As to the regular novel-
publishing houses, whose readers were merely on the

X Cashel Byron's Profession

scent of popularity, they gave me no quarter at all.
And so between the old stool of my literary conscien-
tiousness and the new stool of a view of life that did
not reach publishing-point in England until about ten
years later, when Ibsen drove it in, my novels fell to
the ground.

I was to find later on that a book is like a child: it
is easier to bring it into the world than to control it
when it is launched there. As long as I kept sending
my novels to the publishers, they were as safe from
publicity as they would have been in the fire, where I
had better, perhaps, have put them. But when I flung
them aside as failures they almost instantly began to
shew signs of life.

The Socialist revival of the eighties, into which I
had plunged, produced the usual crop of propagandist
magazines, in the conduct of which payment of the
printer was the main problem,- payment of contributors
being quite out of the question. The editor of such a
magazine can never count on a full supply of live
matter to make up his tale of pages. But if he can
collect a stock of unreadable novels, the refuse of the
publishing trade, and a stock of minor poems (the
world is full of such trash), an instalment of serial
novel and a few verses will always make up the mag-
azine to any required size. And this was how I found
a use at last for my brown paper parcels. It seemed a
matter of no more consequence than stuffing so many
broken window-panes with them; but it had momen-
tous consequences; for in this way four of the five got
printed and published in London, and thus incidentally
became the common property of the citizens of the
United States of America. These pioneers did not at

Preface xi

first appreciate their new acquisition; and nothing
particular happened except that the first novel (No. 5;
for I ladled them out to the Socialistic magazine
editors in inverse order of composition) made me
acquainted with William Morris, who, to my surprise,
had been reading the monthly instalments with a cer-
tain relish. But that only proved how much easier it
is to please a great man than a little one, especially
when you share his politics. No. 5, called An
Unsocial Socialist, was followed by No. 4, Cashel
Byron's Profession; and Cashel Byron would not lie
quiet in his serial grave, but presently rose and
walked as a book.

It happened in this way. The name of the magazine
was To-Day, not the present paper of that name, but
one of the many To-Days which are now Yesterdays.
It had several editors, among them Mr. Belfort Bax
and the late James Leigh Joynes; but all the editors
were in partnership with Mr. Henry Hyde Champion,
who printed the magazine, and consequently went on for
ever, whilst the others came and went. It was a fan-
tastic business, Joynes having thrown up an Eton mas-
tership, and Champion a commission in the army, at
the call of Socialism. But Champion's pugnacity
survived his abdicated adjutancy: he had an unre-
generate taste for pugilism, and liked Cashel Byron so
much that he stereotyped the pages of To-Day which it
occupied, and in spite of my friendly remonstrances,
hurled on the market a misshapen shilling edition.
My friend Mr. William Archer reviewed it prominently;
the Saturday Review, always susceptible in those days
to the arts of self-defence, unexpectedly declared it
the novel of the age; Mr. W. E. Henley wanted to

xii Cashel Byron's Profession

have it dramatized; Stevenson wrote a letter about it,
of which more presently; the other papers hastily
searched their waste-paper baskets for it and reviewed
it, mostly rather disappointedly; and the public pre-
served its composure and did not seem to care.

That shilling edition began with a thousand copies;
but it proved immortal. I never got anything out of
it; and Mr. Champion never got anything out of it;
for he presently settled in Australia, and his printing
presses and stereo plates were dispersed. But from
that time forth the book was never really out of print;
and though Messrs. Walter Scott soon placed a
revised shilling edition on the market, I suspect that
still, in some obscure printing office, those old plates
of Mr. Champion's from time to time produce a
* 'remainder" of the original "Modern Press'* edition,
which is to the present what the Quarto Hamlet is to
the Folio.

On the passing of To-Day, I became novelist in ordi-
nary to magazine called Our Corner, edited by Mrs.
Annie Besant. It had the singular habit of paying
for its contributions, and was, I am afraid, to some
extent a device of Mrs. Besant' s for relieving neces-
sitous young propagandists without wounding their
pride by open almsgiving. She was an incorrigible
benefactress, and probably revenged herself for my
freely expressed scorn for this weakness by drawing on
her private account to pay me for my jejune novels.
At last Our Corner went the way of all propagandist
magazines, completing a second nonage novel and its
own career at the same moment. This left me with
only one unprinted masterpiece, my Opus i, which
had cost me an unconscionable quantity of paper, and

Preface xiii

was called, with merciless fitness, ** Immaturity." Part
of it had by this time been devoured by mice, though
even they had not been able to finish it. To this day
it has never escaped from its old brown paper travel-
ling suit; and I only mention it because some of its
characters appear, Trollope fashion, in the later novels.
I do not think any of them got so far as Cashel Byron's
Profession; but the Mrs. Hoskyn and her guests who
appear in that absurd Chapter VI. are all borrowed
from previous works.

The unimportance of these particulars must be my
apology for detailing them to a world that finds some-
thing romantic in what are called literary struggles.
However, I must most indignantly deny that I ever
struggled. I wrote the books: it was the publishers
who struggled with them, and struggled in vain. The
public now takes up the struggle, impelled, not by any
fresh operations of mine, but by Literary Destiny.
For there is a third act to my tragedy.

Not long ago, when the memory of the brown paper
parcels of 1879-1883 had been buried under twenty
years of work, I learnt from the American papers that
the list of book sales in one of the United States was
headed by a certain novel called An Unsocial Social-
ist, by Bernard Shaw. This was unmistakably Opus 5
of the Novels of My Nonage. Columbia was beginning
to look after her hitherto neglected acquisition.
Apparently the result was encouraging; for presently
the same publisher produced a new edition of Cashel
Byron's Profession (Opus 4), in criticising which the
more thoughtful reviewers, unaware that the publisher
was working backwards through the list, pointed out
the marked advance in my style, the surer grip, the

xiv Cashel Byron's Profession

clearer form, the finer art, the maturer view of the
world, and so forth. As it was clearly unfair that my
own American publishers should be debarred by
delicacy towards me from exploiting the new field of
derelict fiction, I begged them to make the most of
their national inheritance; and with my full approval.
Opus 3, called Love Among the Artists (a paraphrase
of the forgotten line Love Among the Roses) followed.
No doubt it will pay its way: people who will read An
Unsocial Socialist will read anything. But the new
enthusiasm for Cashel Byron did not stop here.
American ladies were seized with a desire to go on the
stage and be Lydia Carew for two thrilling hours.
American actors **saw themselves" as Cashel. One
gentleman has actually appeared on the New York
stage in the part. At the end of this volume will be
found a stage version of my own ; and I defer further
particulars as to Cashel Byron on the stage until we
come to that version. Suffice it to say here that there
can be no doubt now that the novels so long left for
dead in the forlorn-hope magazines of the eighties,
have arisen and begun to propagate themselves vigor-
ously throughout the new world at the rate of a dollar
and a half per copy, free of all royalty to the flattered
author.

Blame not me, then, reader, if these exercises of a
raw apprentice break loose again and insist on their
right to live. The world never did know chalk from
cheese in matters of art; and, after all, since it is only
the young and the old who have time to read, the rest
being too busy living, my exercises may be fitter for
the market than my m^asterpieces.

Preface

THE MORALS OF PUGILISTIC FICTION

Cashel Byron's Profession is not a very venturesome
republication, because, as I have said, the story has
never been really out of print But for some years
after the expiration of my agreement with Messrs.
Walter Scott I did my best to suppress it, though by
that time it had become the subject of proposals from
a new generation of publishers. The truth is, the
preference for this particular novel annoyed me. In
novel-writing there are two trustworthy dodges for
capturing the public. One is to slaughter a child and
pathosticate over its deathbed for a whole chapter. The
other is to describe either a fight or a murder. There
is a fight in -Cashel Byron's Profession: that profession
itself is fighting; and here lay the whole schoolboy
secret of the book's little vogue. I had the old griev-
ance of the author: people will admire him for the
feats than any fool can achieve, and bear malice
against him for boring them with better work. Besides,
my conscience was not quite easy in the matter. In
spite of all my pain to present the prizefighter and his
pursuits without any romantic glamor (for indeed the
true artistic material of the story is the comedy of the
contrast between the realities of the ring and the com-
mon romantic glorification or sentimental abhorrence
of it), yet our non-combatant citizens are so fond of
setting other people to fight that the only effect of such
descriptions as I have incidentally given of Cashel' s
professional performances is to make people want to see
something of the sort a^id take steps accordingly.
This tendency of the book was repugnant to me; and

xvi Cashel Byron's Profession

if prizefighting were a sleeping dog, I should certainly
let it lie, in spite of the American editions.

Unfortunately the dog is awake, barking and biting
vigorously. Twenty years ago prizefighting was sup-
posed to be dead. Few living men remembered the
palmy days when Tom and Jerry went to Jackson's
rooms (where Byron — not Cashel, but the poet — studied
"the noble art") to complete their education as Corin-
thians; when Cribb fought Molyneux and was to Tom
Spring what Skene was to Cashel Byron; when Kem-
ble engaged Dutch Sam to carry on the war with the
O. P. rioters; when Sharpies' portraits of leading
bruisers were engraved on steel; when Bell's life was a
fashionable paper, and Pierce Egan's Boxiana a more
expensive publishing enterprise than any modern
Badminton Volume. The sport was supposed to have
died of its own blackguardism by the second quarter
of the century; but the connoisseur who approaches
the subject without moral bias will, I think, agree with
me that it must have lived by its blackguardism and
died of its intolerable tediousness; for all prizefight-
ers are not Cashel Byrons, and in barren dreariness
and futility no spectacle on earth can contend with
that of two exhausted men trying for hours to tire one
another out at fisticuffs for the sake of their backers.
The Sayers revival in the sixties only left the ring
more discredited than ever, since the injuries formerly
reserved for the combatants began, after their culmina-
tion in the poisoning of Heenan, to be showered on
the referee; and as the referee was usually the repre-
sentative of the Bell's Life type of paper, which natu-
rally organized the prizefights it lived by reporting,
the ring went under again, this time undoubtedly

Preface xvii

through its blackguardism and violence driving away
its only capable organizers.

In the eighties many apparently lost causes and
dead enthusiasms unexpectedly revived: Imperialism,
Patriotism, Religion, Socialism, and many other
things, including prizefighting in an aggravated form,
and on a scale of commercial profit and publicity
which soon made its palmy days insignificant and
ridiculous by contrast. A modern American pugilist
makes more by a single defeat than Cribb made by all
his victories. It is this fact that has decided me to
give up my attempt to suppress Cashel Byron's Pro-
fession. Silence may be the right policy on a dropped
subject; but on a burning one every work that can cool
the fervor of idolatry with a dash of cold fact has its
value.

I propose, therefore, to reissue this book with a
statement of the truth about the recent development
of prizefighting as far as I have been able to ascertain
it. I should make this statement here and now if it
were a subject of general interest. But as it is really
a technical one, and would probably bore and even dis-
gust those who buy books from love of literature, I
transfer it to the end of the volume, and' recommend a
perusal and consideration of it to law-givers, electors,
members of watch committees. Justices of the Peace,
Commissioners of Police, and amateur pugilists who
would rather read anything about boxing than, say,
Spenser's Faery Queen.

I need not, however, postpone a comment on the
vast propaganda of pugnacity in modern fiction: a
propaganda that must be met, not by shocked silence,
but by counter-propaganda. And this counter-propa-

xviii Cashel ByronV Profession

ganda must not take the usual form of ''painting the
horrors." Horror is fascinating: the great criminal is
always a popular hero. People are seduced by
romance because they are ignorant of reality; and this
is as true of the prize-ring as of the battlefield. The
intelligent prizefighter is not a knight-errant: he is a
dis-illusioned man of business trying to make money
at a certain weight and at certain risks, not of bodily
injury (for a bruise is soon cured), but of pecuniary
loss. When he is a Jew, a negro, a gypsy, or a recruit
from that gyspified, nomadic, poaching, tinkering,
tramping class which exists in all countries, he di£fers
from the phlegmatic John Bull pugilist (an almost
extinct species) exactly as he would differ from him in
any other occupation: that is, he is a more imaginative
liar, a more obvious poser, a more plausible talker, a
vainer actor, a more reckless gambler, and more easily
persuaded that he is beaten or even killed when he
has only received an unusually hard punch. The
unintelligent prize-fighter is often the helpless tool of
a gang of gamblers, backers, and showmen, who set
him on to fight as they might set on a dog. And the
spectacle of a poor human animal fighting faithfully for
his backers, like a terrier killing rats, or a racehorse
doing its best to win a race for its owner, is one which
ought to persuade any sensible person of the folly of
treating the actual combatants as **the principals" in a
prizefight. Cock-fighting was not suppressed by
imprisoning the cocks; and prizefightings will not be
suppressed by imprisoning the pugilists. But, intelli-
gent or unintelligent, first rate like Cashel Byron,
second rate like Skene, or third rate like William
Paradise in this story, the prize-fighter is no more

Preface xix

what the spectators imagine him to be than the lady
with the wand and star in the pantomime is really a
fairy queen. And since Cashel Byron's Profession, on
its prizefighting side, is an attempt to take the reader
behind the scenes without unfairly confusing profes-
sional pugilism with the blackguardly environment
which is no more essential to it than to professional
cricket, and which is now losing its hold on the
pugilist through the substitution of gate-money at
boxing exhibitions for stakes at prizefights as his
means of living, I think I may let it go its way with a
reasonable prospect of seeing it do more good than
harm.

It may even help in the Herculean task of eliminat-
ing romantic fisticuffs from English novels, and so
clear them from the reproach of childishness and cru-
dity which they certainly deserve in this respect. Even
in the best nineteenth century novels the heroes knock
the villains down. Bulwer Lytton's Kenelm Chillingly
was a "scientific" pugilist, though his technique will
hardly be recognized by experts. Thackeray, who,
when defeated in a parliamentary election, publicly
compared himself to Gregson beaten by Gully, loved
a fight almost as much as he loved a fool. Even the
great Dickens himself never quite got away from this
sort of schoolboyishness; for though Jo Gargery
knocking down Orlick is much more plausible than
Oliver Twist punching the head of Noah Claypole,
still the principle is the same: virtue still insists on
victory, domination, and triumphant assault and bat-
tery. It is true that Dombey and Son contains a pious
attempt to caricature a prizefighter; but no qualified
authority will pretend that Dickens caught The Chick-

XX Cashel Byron's Profession

en's point of view, or did justice to the social accom-
plishments of the ring. Mr. Toots's silly admiration
of the poor boxer, and the manner in which the
Chicken and other professors of the art of self-defence
used to sponge on him, is perfectly true to life; but in
the real pugilistic world so profitable a gull would soon
have been taken out of the hands of the Chicken and
preyed upon by much better company. It is true that
if the Chicken had been an unconquerable fighter, he
might have maintained a gloomy eminence in spite of
his dulness and disagreeable manners; but Dickens
gave away this one possible excuse by allowing The
Larky Boy to defeat the Chicken with ignominy.
That is what is called poetic justice. It is really
poetic criminal law; and it is almost as dishonest and
vindictive as real criminal law. In plain fact, the
pugilistic profession is like any other profession: com-
mon sense, good manners, and a social turn count for
as much in it as they do elsewhere; and as the pugilist
makes a good deal of money by teaching gentlemen
to box, he has to learn to behave himself, and often
succeeds very much better than the average middle-
class professional man. Shakespear was much nearer
the mark when he made Autolycus better company,
and Charles the Wrestler a better-mannered man, than
Ajax or Cloten. If Dickens had really known the
ring, he would have made the Chicken either a Sayers
in professional ability or a Sam Weller in sociability.
A successful combination of personal repulsiveness
with professional incompetence is as impossible there
as at the bar or in the faculty. The episode of the
Chicken, then, must be dismissed, in spite of its hero's
tempting suggested remedy for Mr. Dombey's stiff-

Preface xxi

ness, as a futile atonement for the heroic fisticuffs of
Oliver Twist and Co.

There is an abominable vein of retaliatory violence
all through the literature of the nineteenth century.
Whether it is Macaulay describing the flogging of
Titus Oates, or Dickens inventing the scene in which
Old Martin Chuzzlewit bludgeons Pecksniff, the
curious childishness of the English character, its
naughty relish for primitive brutalities and tolerance
of physical indignities, its unreasoning destructive-
ness when incommoded, crop up in all directions.
The childishness has its advantages: its want of fore-
sight prevents the individual from carrying weapons,
as it prevents the nation from being prepared for war;
its forgetfulness prevents vendettas and prolonged
malice-bearing; its simplicity and transparency save
it from the more ingenious and complicated forms of
political corruption. In short, it has those innocences
of childhood which are a necessary result of its
impotences. But it has no true sense of human dig-
nity. The son of a Russian noble is not flogged at
school, because he commits suicide sooner than sur-
vive the outrage to his self-respect. The son of an
English noble has no more sense of dignity than the
master who flogs him: flogging maybe troublesome
to the flogger and painful to the floggee, but the
notion that the transaction is disgusting to the public
and dishonorable and disgraceful to the parties is as
unintelligible and fantastic in England as it is in a
nursery anywhere. The moment the Englishman gets
away from Eton, he begins to enjoy and boast of flog-
ging as an institution. A school where boys are
flogged and where they settle their quarrels by fight-

xxii Cashel Byron's Profession

ing with their fists he calls, not, as one might expect,
a school of childishness, but a school of manliness.
And he gradually persuades himself that all English^
men can use their fists, which is about as true as the
parallel theory that every Frenchman can handle a
foil and that every Italian carries a stiletto. And so,
though he himself has never fought a pitched battle at
school, and does not, pugilistically speaking, know his
right hand from his left; though his neighbors are as
peaceful and as nervous as he; though if he knocked a
man down or saw one of his friends do it, the event
would stand out in his history like a fire or a murder;
yet he not only tolerates unstinted knockings-down in
fiction, but actually founds his conception of his nation
and its destiny on these imaginary outrages, and at
last comes to regard a plain statement of the plain
fact that the average respectable Englishman knows
rather less about fighting than he does about flying, as
a paradoxical extravagance.

And so every popular English novel becomes a gos-
pel of pugilism. Cashel Byron's Profession, then, is
like any other novel in respect of its hero punching
people's heads. Its novelty consists in the fact that
an attempt is made to treat the art of punching seri-
ously, and to detach it from the general elevation of
moral character with which the ordinary novelist per-
sists in associating it.

Here, therefore, the prizefighter is not idolized. I
have given Cashel Byron every advantage a prize-
fighter can have: health and strength and pugilistic
genius. But by pugilistic genius I mean nothing
vague, imaginary, or glamorous. In all walks of life
men are to be found who seem to have powers of

Preface xxiii

divination. For example, you propound a complicated
arithmetical problem: say the cubing of a number
containing four digits. Give me a slate and half an
hour's time, and I will produce a wrong answer.
But there are men to whom the right answer is instantly
obvious without any consciousness of calculation on
their part. Ask such a man to write a description o'^
put a somewhat complicated thought into words; ana
he will take my slate and blunder over it in search of
words for half an hour, finally putting down the wrong
ones; whilst for a Shakespear the words are there id
due style and measure as soon as the consciousness of
the thing to be described or the formation of the
thought. Now there are pugilists to whom the
process of aiming and estimating distance in hitting,
of considering the evidence as to what their opponent
is going to do, arriving at a conclusion, and devising
and carrying out effective counter-meaures, is as
instantaneous and unconscious as the calculation of the
born arithmetician or the verbal expression of the
born writer. This is not more wonderful than the
very complicated and deeply considered feats of
breathing and circulating the blood, which everybody
does continually without thinking; but it is much
rarer, and so has a miraculous appearance. A man
with this gift, and with no physical infirmities to dis-
able him, is a born prizefighter. He need have no
other exceptional qualities, courage least of all: indeed
there are instances on record of prizefighters who have
only consented to persevere with a winning fight when
a mirror has been brought to convince them that their
faces were undamaged and their injuries and terrors
imaginary. "Stage fright" is as common in the ring

xxiv Cashel Byron's Profession

as elsewhere: I have myself seen a painful exhibition
of it from a very rough customer who presently
knocked out his opponent without effort, by instinct.
The risks of the ring are limited by rules and condi-
tions to such an extent that the experienced prize-
fighter is much more afraid of the blackguardism of
the spectators than of his opponent: he takes care to
have a strong body of supporters in his corner, and to
keep carefully away from the opposite corner. Cour-
age is if anything rather scarcer, because less needed,
m the ring than out of it; and there are civil occupa-
tions which many successful prizefighters would fail
in, or fear to enter, for want of nerve. For the ring,
like all romantic institutions, has a natural attraction
for hysterical people.

When a pugilistic genius of the Cashel Byron type
appeared in the ring of his day, it soon became evident
to the betting men on whom the institution depended,
that it was useless to back clever boxers against him;
for, as the younger Lytton said (I quote from
memory) —

Talk not of genius baffled: genius is master of man.
Genius does what it must ; and Talent does what it can.

But there is a well-known way of defeating the
pugilistic genius. There are hard-fisted, hard-hitting
men in the world, who will, with the callousness of a
ship's figurehead, and almost with its helplessness in
defence, take all the hammering that genius can give
them, and, when genius can hammer no more from
mere exhaustion, give it back its blows with interest
and vanquish it. XU pug'lism lie.« between these two
extremes — between Casnef Byron and Wilhani T^^r;;,

Preface xxv

dise; and it is because the Paradises are as likely to
win as the Byrons, and are by no means so scarce, that
the case for fist fighting, with gloves or without, as a
discipline in the higher athletic qualities, moral and
physical, imposes only on people who have no prac-
tical knowledge of the subject.

STEVENSON'S EULOGIUM

> On a previous page I have alluded to a letter from
Robert Louis Stevenson to Mr. William Archer about
Cashel Byron's Profession. Part of that letter has
been given to the public in the second volume of Mr.
Sidney Colvin's edition of Stevenson's letters (Meth-
uen, 1900). But no document concerning a living person
of any consequence (by which I mean a person with
money enough to take an action for libel) is ever pub-
lished in England unless its contents are wholly com-
plimentary, Stevenson* s letters were probably all
unfit for publication in this respect. Certainly the
one about Cashel Byron's Profession was; and Mr.
Sidney Colvin, out of consideration for me and for his
publishers and printers, politely abbreviated it. For-
tunately the original letter is still in the hands of Mr.
Archer. I need not quote the handsome things which
Mr. Colvin selected, as they have been extensively
reprinted in America to help the sale of the reprints
there. But here is the suppressed portion, to which I
leave the last word, having no more to say than that
the book is now reprinted, not from the old Modern
Press edition which Stevenson read, but from the

xxvi Cashel Byron's Profession

revised text issued afterwards by Messrs. Walter Scott,
from which certain "little bits of Socialism daubed in"
for the edification of the readers of To-Day were either
painted out or better harmonized with the rest. I had
intended to make no further revision; and I have in
fact made none of any importance; but in reading the
proofs my pen positively jumped to humanize a few
passages in which the literary professionalism with
which my heroine expresses herself (this professional-
ism is usually called "style" in England) went past all
bearing. I have also indulged myself by varying a
few sentences, and inserting one or two new ones, so
as to enable the American publisher to secure copy-
right in this edition. But I have made no attempt to
turn an 1882 novel into a twentieth century one; and
the few alterations are, except for legal purposes, quite
negligeable.

And now for the suppressed part of Stevenson's ver-
dict, which is in the form of an analysis of the book's
composition: —

"Charles Reade * . . i part

Henry James or some kindred author, badly

assin^lated i part

Disraeli (perhaps unconscious) }i part

Struggling, overlaid original talent . . . i>i part

Blooming gaseous folly i part

"That is the equation as it stands. What it may become, I
don't know, nor any other man. Vtxere fortes— O, let him
remember that — let him beware of his damned century: his gifts
of insane chivalry and animated narration are just those that
might be slain and thrown out like an untimely birth by the
Dsemon of the Epoch.

** And if he only knew how I had enjoyed the chivalry! Bash-
ville— O Bashville! fen chortle! (which is finely polyglot)."

Cashel Byron's Profession

PRbtOGUE

Moncrief House, Panley Common. Scholastic
establishment for the sons of gentlemen, etc.

Panley Common, viewed from the back windows of
Moncrief House, is a tract of grass, furze, and rushes,
stretching away to the western horizon.

One wet spring afternoon the sky was full of broken
clouds; and the common was swept by their shadows,
between which patches of green and yellow gorse were
bright in the broken sunlight. The hills to the north-
ward were obscured by a heavy shower, traces of
which were drying o£f the -slates of the school, a square
white building, formerly a gentleman's country house.
In front of it was a well-kept lawn with a few dipt holly
trees: at the rear, quarter of an acre of land enclosed
for the use of the boys. Strollers on the common
could hear, at certain hours, a hubbub of voices and
racing footsteps within the boundary wall. Some-
times, when the strollers were boys themselves, they
climbed to the coping, and saw on the other side a
piece of comnion trampled bare and brown, with a
few square yards of concrete, so worn into hollows as

to be unfit for its original use as a ball alley. Also a

2 Cashel Byron's Profession

long shed, a pump, a door defaced by innumerable
incised inscriptions, the back of the house in much
worse repair than the front, and about fifty boys in
tailless jackets and broad turned-down collars. When-
ever the fifty boys perceived a young stranger on the
wall, they rushed to the spot with a wild halloo; over-
whelmed him with insult and defiance; and dislodged
him by a volley of clods, stones, lumps of bread, and
such other projectiles as were at hand.

On this rainy spring afternoon, a brougham stood at
the door of Moncrief House. The coachman, envel-
oped in a white india-rubber coat, was bestirring him-
self a little after the recent shower. Within doors, in
the drawing-room, Dr. Moncrief was conversing with
a stately lady aged about thirty-five, elegantly
dressed, of attractive manner, and beautiful at all
points except her complexion, which was deficient in
freshness.

"No progress whatever, I am sorry to say, the doc-
tor was remarking.

"That is very disappointing," said the lady, con-
tracting her brows.

"It is natural that you should feel disappointed,"
replied the doctor. "I should myself earnestly advise

you to try the eflFect of placing him at some other "

The doctor stopped. The lady's face had lit with a
wonderful smile; and her hand was up with a bewitch-
ing gesture of protest.

"Oh no. Dr. Moncrief," she said: "I atti not disap-
pointed with you; but I am all the more angry with
Cashel because I know that if he makes no progress
here, it must be his own fault. As to taking him
away, that is out of the question. I should not have

Prologue 3

a moment's peace if he were out of your care. I will
speak to him very seriously about his conduct before
I leave to-day. You will give him another trial, will
you not?"

"Certainly. With the greatest pleasure,"^ said the
doctor, confusing himself by an inept attempt at gal-
lahtry. "He shall stay as long as you please. But" —
here the doctor became grave again — **you cannot too
strongly urge upon him the importance of hard work
at the present time, which may be said to be the turn-
ing point of his career as a student. He is now nearly
seventeen; and he has so little inclination for study
that I doubt whether he could pass the examination
necessary to enter one of the universities. You prob-
ably wish him to take a degree before he chooses a
profession."

"Yes, of course," said the lady vaguely, evidently
assenting to the doctor's remark rather than expressing
a conviction of her own. "What profession would
you advise for him? You know so much better
than I."

"Hum!" said Dr, Moncrief, puzzled. "That would
doubtless depend to some extent on his own taste "

"Not at all," said the lady, interrupting him viva-
ciously. "What does he know about the world, poor
boy? His. own taste is sure to be something ridic-
ulous. Very likely he would want to go on the stage,
like me."

"Oh! Then you would not encourage any tendency
of that sort?"

"Most decidedly not. I hope he has no such idea."

"Not that I am aware of. He shews so little ambi-
tion to excel in any particular branch, that I should

4 Cashel Byron's Profession

say his choice of a profession may be best determined
by his parents. I am, of course, ignorant whether his
relatives possess influence likely to be of use to him.
That is often the chief point to be considered, partic-
ularly in cases like your son's, where no special apti-
tude manifests itself."

"I am the only relative he ever had, poor fellow,'"
said the lady, with a pensive smile. Then, seeing
an expression of astonishment on the doctor's face,
she added quickly, "They are all dead."

"Dear me!"

"However," she continued, "I have no doubt I can
make plenty of interest for him. But I suppose it is
difficult to get anything nowadays without passing
competitive examinations. He really must work. If
he is lazy he ought to be punished."

The doctor looked perplexed. "The fact is," he
said, "your son can hardly be dealt with as a child
any longer. He is still quite a boy in his habits and
ideas; but physically he is rapidly springing up into a
young man. That reminds me of another point on
which I will ask you to speak earnestly to him. I
must tell you that he has attained some distinction
among his school-fellows here as an athlete. Within
due bounds I do not discourage bodily exercises: they
are a recognized part of our system. But I am sorry
to say that Cashel has not escaped that tendency to
violence which sometimes results from the possession
of unusual strength and dexterity. He actually fought
with one of the village youths in the main street of
Panley some months ago, I am told, though the matter
did not come to my ears immediately. He was guilty
of a much more serious fault a little later. He and a

Prologue 5

companion of his obtained leave from me to walk to
Panley Abbey together; but I afterwards found that
their real object was to witness a prizefight that took
place — illegally, of course — on the common. Apart
from the deception practised, I think the taste they
betrayed a dangerous one; and I felt bound to punish
them by a severe imposition, and restriction to the
grounds for six weeljs. I do not hold, however, that
everything has been done in these cases when a boy
has been punished. I set a high value on a mother's
influence for softening the natural roughness of boys."

"I don't think he minds what I say to him in the
least," said the lady, with a sympathetic air, as if she
pitied the doctor in a matter that chiefly concerned
him. **I will speak to him about it, certainly. Fight-
ing is an unbearable habit. His father's people were
always fighting; and they never did any good in the
world."

"If you will be so kind. There are just three points:
the necessity for greater — much greater — application
to his studies; a word to him on the subject of rough
habits; and to sound him as to his choice of a career,
I agree with you in not attaching much importance to
his ideas on that subject as yet. Still, even a boyish
fancy may be turned to account in rousing the ener-
gies of a lad."

"Quite so," assented the lady. **I shall take care
to give him a lecture."

The doctor looked at her mistrustfully, thinking per-
haps that she herself would be the better for a lecture
on her duties as a mother. But he did not dare to tell
her so: indeed, having a prejudice that actresses were
deficient in natural feeling, he doubted the use of dar-

6 Cashel Byron's Profession

ing. He also feared that subject of her son was begin-
ning to bore her; and, though a doctor of divinity, he
was as reluctant as other men to be found wanting in
address by a pretty woman. So he rang the bell, and
bade the servant send Master Cashel Byron. Pres-
ently a door was heard to open below; and a buzz of
distant voices became audible. The doctor fidgeted
and tried to think of something to say; but his inven-
tion failed him: he sat in silence whilst the inarticulate
buzz rose into a shouting of **By-ron! Cash!" the
latter cry imitated from the summons usually addressed
to cashiers in haberdashers' shops. Finally there was
a piercing yell of '*Mam-ma-a-a-a-ah!** apparently in
explanation of the demand for Byron's attendance in
the drawing-room. The doctor reddened. Mrs.
Byron smiled. Then the door below closed, shutting
out the tumult; and footsteps were heard on the
stairs.

**Come ln,«» cried the doctor encouragingly.

Master Cashel Byron entered blushing; made his
way awkwardly to his mother; and kissed the critical
expression which was on her upturned face as she
examined his appearance. Being only seventeen, he
had not yet acquired a taste for kissing. He inex-
pertly gave Mrs. Byron quite a shock by the collision
of their teeth. Conscious of the failure, he drew him-
self upright, and tried to hide his hands, which were
exceedingly dirty, in the scanty folds of his jacket.
He was a well-grown youth, with strong neck and
shoulders, and short auburn hair curling in little rings
close to his scalp. He had blue eyes, and an expres-
sion of boyish good humour, which, however, did not
convey any assurance of good temper.

Prologue 7

*'How do you do, Cashel?" said Mrs. Byron, with
queenly patronage, after a prolonged look at him.

"Very well, thanks,** said he, grinning and avoiding
her eye.

"Sit down, Byron," said the doctor. Byron sud-
denly forgot how to sit down, and looked irresolutely
from one chair to another. The doctor made a brief
excuse, and left the room, much to the relief of his pupil.

"You have grown greatly, Cashel. And I am afraid
you are very awkward." Cashel colored and looked
gloomy.

"I do not know what to do with you," continued
Mrs. Byron. "Dr. Moncrief tells me that you are
very idle and rough."

"I am not," said Cashel sulkily. "It is bee- *'

"There is no use in contradicting me in that fash-
ion," said Mrs. Byron, interrupting him sharply. "I
am sure that whatever Dr. Moncrief says is perfectly
true."

"He is always talking like that," said Cashel plain-
tively. "I can't learn Latin and Greek; and I don't
see what good they are. I work as hard as any of the
rest — except the regular stews perhaps. As to my
being rough, that is all because I was out one day
with Gully Molesworth; and we saw a crowd on the
common; and when we went to see what was up it was
two men fighting. It wasn't our fault that they came
there to fight."

"Yes: I have no doubt that you have fifty good
excuses, Cashel. But I will not allow any fighting;
and you really must work harder. Do -you ever think
of how hard / have to work to pay Dr. Moncrief one
hundred and twenty pounds a year for you?"

8 Cashel B}rron's Profession

"I work as hard as I can. Old Moncrief seems to
think that a fellow ought to do nothing else from morn-
ing till night but write Latin verses. Tatham, that the
doctor thinks such a genius, does all his constering
from cribs. If I had a crib I would conster as well —
very likely better."

'*You are very idle, Cashel: I am sure of that. It is
too provoking to throw away so much money every
year for nothing. Besides, you must soon be think-
ing of a profession."

**I shall go into the army," said Cashel. **It is the
only profession for a gentleman."

Mrs. Byron looked at him for a moment as if amazed
at his presumption. But she checked herself and only
said, **I am afraid you will have to choose some less
expensive profession than that. Besides, you would
have to pass an examination to enable you to enter
the army; and how can you do that unless you
study?"

**Oh, I shall do that all right enough when the time

comes."

( I-

Dear, dear! You are beginning to speak so
coarsely, Cashel. After all the pains I took with you
at home!"

*'I speak the same as other people," he replied
sullenly. **I don't see the use of being so jolly par-
ticular over every syllable. I used to have to stand no
end of chaff about my way of speaking. The fellows
here know all about you, of course."

"All about me?" repeated Mrs. Byron, looking at
him curiously.

**A11 about your being on the stage, I mean," said
Cashel. **You complain of my being rough; but I

Prologue 9

should have a precious bad time of it if I didn't lick
the cha£f out of some of them."

Mrs. Byron smiled doubtfully to herself, and
remained silent and thoughtful for a moment. Then
she rose and said, glancing at the weather,' **I must go
now, Cashel, before another shower begins. And do,
pray, try to learn something, and to polish your man-
ners a little. You will have to go to Cambridge soon,
you know."

"Cambridge!" exclaimed Cashel, excited. "When,
mamma? When?"

"Oh, I don't know. Not yet. As soon as Dr.
Moncrief says you are fit to go."

"That will be long enough," said Cashel, much
dejected by this reply. "He will not turn ;£i20 a
year out of doors in a hurry. He kept big Inglis here
until he was past twenty. Look here, mamma: might
I go at the end of this half? I feel sure I should do
better at Cambridge than here."

"Nonsense," said Mrs. Byron decidedly. "I do
not expect to have to take you away from Dr. Mon-
crief for the next eighteen months at least, and not
then unless you work properly. Now don't grumble,
Cashel: you annoy me exceedingly when you do. I
am sorry I mentioned Cambridge to you."

"I would rather go to some other school, then,"
said Cashel ruefully. "Old Moncrief is so awfully
down on me."

"You only want to leave because you are expected
to work here; and that is the very reason I wish you
to stay."

Cashel made no reply; but his face darkened omi-
nously.

lo Cashel Byron's Profession

**I have a word to say to the doctor before I go,"
she added, reseating herself. **You may return to
your play now. Good-bye, Cashel." And she again
raised her face to be kissed.

"Good-bye," said Cashel huskily, as he turned
towards the door, pretending that he had not noticed
her action.

**Cashel!" she said, with emphatic surprise. "Are
you sulky?"

"No," he retorted angrily. "I haven't said any-
thing. I suppose my manners are not good enough.
I'm very sorry; but I can't help it."

"Very well," said Mrs. Byron firmly. "You can
go. I am not pleased with you."

Cashel walked out of the room and slammed the
door. At the foot of the stairs he was stopped by a
boy about a year younger than himself, who accosted
him eagerly.

"How much did she give you?" he whispered.

"Not a halfpenny," replied Cashel, grinding his
teeth.

"Oh, I say!" exclaimed the other, deeply disap-
pointed. "That was beastly mean."

"She's as mean as she can be," said Cashel. "It's
all old Monkey's fault. He has been cramming her
with lies about me. But she's just as bad as he is.
I tell you. Gully, I hate my mother."

"Oh, come!" said Gully, shocked. "That's a little
too strong, old chap. But she certainly ought to have
stood something."

"I don't know what you intend to do. Gully; but I
mean to bolt. If she thinks I am going to stick here
for the next two years, she is jolly much mistaken."

Prologue 1 1

*'It would be an awful lark to bolt," said Gully with
a chuckle. "But," he added seriously, **if you really
mean it; by George, Til go too! Wilson has just
given me a thousand lines; £;nd Til be hanged if I do
them."

'*Gully," said Cashel, his frown deepening and
fixing itself forbiddingly: **I should like to see one of
those chaps we saw on the common pitch into the
doctor — get him on the ropes, you know."

Gully's mouth watered. **Yes," he said breath-
lessly; "particularly the fellow they called the Fibber.
Just one round would be enough for the old beggar.
Let's come out into the playground: I shall catch it if
I am found here."

That night there was just sufficient light struggling
through the clouds to make Panley Common visible as
a black expanse, against the lightest tone of which a
piece of eboiiy would have appeared pale. Not a
human being was stirring within a mile of Moncrief
House, the chimneys of which, ghostly white on the
side next the moon, threw long shadows on the sil-
very-grey slates. The stillness had just been broken
by the stroke of a quarter-past twelve from a distant
church tower, when, from the obscurity of one of
these chimney shadows, a head emerged. It belonged
to a boy, whose body presently came wriggling through
an open skylight. When his shoulders were through,
he turned himself face upwards; seized the miniature

12 Cashel Byron's Profession

gable in which the skylight was set; drew himself
completely out; and made his way stealthily down to
the parapet. He was immediately followed by another
boy.

The door of Moncrief House was at the left hand cor-
ner of the front, and was surmounted by a tall porch, the
top of which was flat and could be used as a balcony. A
wall, of the same height as the porch, connected the
house front with the boundary wall, and formed part
of the inclosure of a fruit garden which lay at the side
of the house between the lawn and the playground.
When the two boys had crept along the parapet to a
point directly above the porch, they stopped; and each
lowered a pair of boots to the balcony by means of
fishing lines. When the boots were safely landed,
their owners let the lines drop, and re-entered the house
by another skylight. A minute elapsed. Then they
reappeared on the top of the porch, having come out
through the window to which it served as a balcony.
Here they put on their boots, and made for the wall of
the fruit garden. As they crawled along it, the hind-
most boy whispered,

•'I say, Cashy."

**Shut up, will you," replied the other under his
breath. '* What's wrong?"

**I should like to have one more go at old mother
Moncrief s pear tree: that's all."

"There are no pears on it at this time of year, you
fool."

"I know. This is the last time we shall go this
road, Cashy. Usent it to be a lark? Eh?"

"If you don't shut up, it won't be the last time; for
you'll be caught. Now for it."

Prologue 13

Cashel had reached the outer wall; and he finished
his sentence by dropping from the coping to the com-
mon. Gully held his breath for some moments after
the noise made by his companion's striking the
ground. Then he demanded in a whisper whether all
was right.

"Yes," returned Cashel impatiently. '*Drop as soft
as you can,"

Gully obeyed; and was so careful lest his descent
should shake the earth and awake the doctor, that his
feet shrank from the concussion. He alighted in a
sitting posture, and remained there, looking up at
Cashel with a stunned expression.

"Crickey!" he ejaculated presently. "That was a
buster."

"Get up, I tell you," said Cashel. "I never saw
such a jolly ass as you are. Here, up with you!
Have you got your wind back?"

"I should think so. Bet you twopence Til be first
at the cross roads. I say: let's pull the bell at the
front gate and give an awful yell before we start.
They'll never catch us."

"Yes," said Cashel ironically: "I fancy I see myself
doing it, or you either. Now then. One, two, three,
and away."

They ran off together, and reached the cross roads
about eight minutes later: Gully completely out of
breath, and Cashel nearly so. Here, according to
their plan. Gully was to take the north road and run to
Scotland, where he felt sure his uncle's gamekeeper
would hide him. Cashel was to go to sea, so that if
his affairs became desperate he could at least turn
pirate, and achieve eminence in that profession by

i,ii~

14 Cashel Byron's Profession

adding^^ chivalrous humanity to the ruder virtues for
which it is already famous.

Cashel waited until Gully had recovered from his
race. Then he said,

"Now, old fellow. We've got to separate.*

Gully, confronted with the lonely realities of his
scheme, did not like the prospect. After a moment's
reflection he exclaimed,

"Damme, old chap, I'll come with you. Scotland
may go and be hanged."

But Cashel, being the stronger of the two, was as
anxious to get rid of Gully as Gully was to cling to
him. "No," he said, "I'm going to rough it; and you
wouldn't be able for that. You're not strong enough
for a sea life. Why, man, those sailor fellows are
as hard as nails; and even they can hardly stand it."

"Well, then, do you come with me," urged Gully.
"My uncle's gamekeeper won't mind. He's a jolly
good sort; and we shall have no end of shooting."

"That's all very well for you Gully; but I don't know
your uncle; and I'm not going to put myself under a
compliment to his gamekeeper. Besides, we should
run too much risk of being caught if we went through
the country together. Of course I should be only too
glad if we could stick to one another; but it wouldn't
do: I feel certain we should be nabbed. Good-bye."

"But wait a minute," pleaded Gully. "Suppose
they do try to catch us: we shall have a better chance
against them if there are two of us."

"Stuff!" said Cashel. "That's all boyish nonsense.
There will be at least six policemen sent after us; and
even if I did my very best, I could barely lick two if
they came on together. And you would hardly be

Prologue 1 5

able for one. You just keep moving, and don't go
near any railway station; and you will get to Scotland
all safe enough. Look here: we've wasted five minutes
already. I've got my wind now; and I must be off.
Good-bye."

Gully disdained to press his company on Cashel any
further. * 'Good-bye," he said, mournfully shaking
his hand. "Success, old chap."

"Success!" echoed Cashel, grasping Gully's hand
with a pang of remorse for leaving him. "I'll write to
you as soon as I have anything to tell you. I may be
some months, you know, before I get regularly
settled."

He gave Gully a final squeeze; released him; and
darted off along the road leading to Pauley Village.
Gully looked after him a moment, and then ran away
Scotlandwards.

Pauley Village is nothing but a High Street, with an
old-fashioned inn at one end, a modern railway station
and bridge at the other, and a pump and pound mid-
way between. Cashel stood for a while in the shadow
under the bridge before venturing along the broad
moonlit street. Seeing no one, he stepped out at
a brisk walking pace; for he had by this time reflected
that it was not possible to run all the way to the Span-
ish main. There was, however, another person stirring
in the village besides Cashel. This was Mr. Wilson,
Dr. Moncrief's professor of mathematics, who was
returning from a visit to the theatre. Mr. Wilson
believed that theatres were wicked places, to be visited
by respectable men only on rare occasions and by
stealth. The only plays he went openly to witness
were those of Shakespear; and his favourite was "As

1 6 Cashel Byron's Profession

you like it": Rosalind in tights having an attraction
for him which he missed from Lady Macbeth in petti-
coats. This evening he had seen Rosalind imperson-
ated by a famous actress, who had come to a neighbor-
ing town on a starring tour. After the performance
he had returned to Panley to sup there with a friend,
and was now making his way back to Moncrief House.
He was in a frame of mind favorable for the capture of
a runaway boy. An habitual delight in being too
clever for . his pupils, fostered by frequently over-
reaching them in mathematics, was just now stimulated
by the effect of a liberal supper and the roguish con-
sciousness of having been to the play. He saw and
recognized Cashel as he approached the village pound.
Understanding the situation at once, he hid behind the
pump; waited until the unsuspecting truant was pass-
ing within arm's length; and then pounced out and
seized him by the collar of his jacket.

"Well, sir," he said. **What are you doing here at
this hour? Eh?"

Cashel, scared and white, looked at him, and could
not answer a word.

**Come along with me,*^ said Wilson, sternly.

Cashel suffered himself to be led some twenty yards.
Then he stopped and burst into tears.

"There is no use in my going back," he said.
"I have never done any good there. I can't go
back."

"Indeed," said Wilson, with magisterial sarcasm.
"We shall try to make you do better in future." And
he forced the fugitive to resume his march.

Cashel, bitterly humiliated by his own tears, and
exasperated by a certain cold triumph which Wilson

Prologue 17

evinced on witnessing them, did not go many steps
further without protest.

''You needn't hold me," he said angrily: "I can
walk without being held. ' The master tightened his
grasp and pushed his captive forward. **I won't run
away, sir," said Cashel more humbly, shedding fresh
tears. "Please let me go," he added in a suffocated
voice, trying to turn his face towards his captor. But
Wilson twisted him back again, and still urged him
onward. Cashel cried out passionately, **Let me go,"
and struggled to break lose.

**Come, come, Byron," said the master, controlling
him with a broad strong hand: **none of your non-
sense, sir."

Then Cashel suddenly slipped out of his jacket;
turned on Wilson; and struck up at him savagely
with his right fist. The master received the blow just
beside the point of his chin; and his eyes seemed to
Cashel to roll up and fall back into his head 'with the
shock. He drooped forward for a moment, and fell in
a heap face downwards. Cashel recoiled, wringing his
hand to relieve the tingling of his knuckles, and terri-
fied by the possibility that he had committed murder.
But Wilson presently moved and dispelled that mis-
giving. Some of Cashel' s fury returned as he shook
his fist at his prostrate adversary, and, exclaiming,
'*Yau won't brag much of having seen me cry,"
wrenched the jacket from him with unnecessary vio-
lence, and darted away at full speed.

Mr. Wilson, though he was soon conscious and able
to rise, did not at first feel disposed to stir. He began
to moan, with a dazed faith that some one would
eventually come to him with sympathy and assistance.

1 8 Cashel Byron's Profession

But the lapse of time brought nothing but increased
cold and pain. It occurred to him that if the police
found him they might suppose him to be drunk; also
that it was his duty to go to them and give the alarm.
He rose, and, after a struggle with dizziness and
nausea, concluded that his most pressing duty was to
get to bed, and leave Dr. Moncrief to recapture his
ruffianly pupil as best he could.

At half-past one o'clock the doctor was roused by a
knocking at his chamber-door, outside which he found
his professor of mathematics, bruised, muddy, and
apparently inebriated. Some minutes were lost before
Wilson could get his principal's mind on the right
track. Then the boys were awakened and the roll
called. Byron and Molesworth were reported absent.
No one had seen them go: no one had the least sus-
picion of how they had got out of the house. One
little boy mentioned the skylight; but, observing a
threatening expression on the faces of a few of the
bigger boys, who were fond of fruit, he did not press
his suggestion, and submitted to be snubbed by the
doctor for having made it. It was nearly three
o'clock before the alarm reached the village, where the
authorities tacitly declined to trouble themselves
about it until morning. The doctor, convinced that
the lad had gone to his mother, did not believe that
any search was necessary, and contented himself with
writing a note to Mrs. Byron describing the attack on
Mr. Wilson, and expressing regret that no proposal
having for its object the readmission of Master Byron
to the academy could be entertained.

The pursuit was now directed entirely after Moles-
worth, as it was plain, from Mr. Wilson's narrative.

Prologue 19

that he had separated from Cashel outside Panley.
Information was soon forthcoming. Peasants in all
parts of the country had seen, they said, **a lad that
might be him." The search lasteduntil five o'clock
next afternoon, when it was terminated by the appear-
ance of Gully in person, footsore and repentant. After
parting from Cashel and walking two miles, he had
lost heart and turned back. Half way to the cross
roads he had reproached himself with cowardice, and
resumed his flight. This time he placed eight miles
betwixt himself and Moncrief House. Then he left
the road to make a short cut through a plantation, and
went astray. After wandering dejectedly until morn-
ing, he saw a woman working in a field, and asked her
the shortest way to Scotland. She had never heard of
Scotland; and when he asked the way to Panley, she
grew suspicious and threatened to set her dog at him.
This discouraged him so much that he was afraid to
speak to the other strangers whom he met. Steering
by the sun, he oscillated between Scotland and Panley
according to the fluctuation of his courage. At last he
yielded to hunger, fatigue, and loneliness; devoted his
remaining energy to the task of getting back to school;
struck the common at last; and hastened to surrender
himself to the doctor, who menaced him with imme-
diate expulsion. Gully was greatly concerned at the
prospect of being compelled to leave the place he had
just run away from; and earnestly begged the doctor
to give him another chance. His prayer was granted.
After a prolonged lecture, the doctor, in consideration
of the facts that Gully, though corrupted by the
example of a desperate associate, had proved the sin-
cerity of his repentance by coming back of his own

20 Cashel Byron's Profession

accord, and had not been accessory to the concussion
of the brain from which Mr. Wilson supposed himself
to be suffering, accepted his promise of amendment
and gave him a free pardon. Gully accordingly
attempted for the first time in his life to play the part
of the studious and sensible boy; and was so much
struck by the safety, credit, and self-satisfaction which
it gained for him, that he kept it up to the end of his
schooldays. Yet he did not lose the esteem of his
comrades; for he succeeded in convincing them, by
the license of his private conversation, that his refor-
mation was only a consummate imposture, of which that
common enemy, the principal, was the unpitied dupe.
Meanwhile, Mrs. Byron, not suspecting the impor-
tance of the doctor's note, and happening to be in a
hurry when it arrived, laid it by unopened, intending to
read it at her leisure. She would have forgotten it
altogether but for a second note which came two days
later, requesting some acknowledgement of the pre-
vious communication. On learning the truth she
immediately drove to Moncrief House, and there
abused the doctor as he had never been abused in his
life before; after which she begged his pardon, and
implored him to assist her to recover her darling boy.
When he suggested that she should offer a reward for
information and capture, she indignantly refused to
spend a farthing on the little ingrate; wept and accused
herself of having driven him away by her unkindness;
stormed and accused the doctor of having treated him
harshly; and finally said that she would give ^lOO to
have him back, but that she would never speak to him
again. The doctor promised to undertake the search,
and would have promised anything to get rid of his

Prologue 21

visitor. A reward of j£^o was offered. But whether
the fear of falling into the clutches of the law for
murderous assault stimulated Cashel to extraordinary
precaution, or whether he had contrived to leave the
country in the four days between his flight and the
offer of the reward, the doctor's efforts were unsuccess-
ful; and he had to confess their failure to Mrs. Byron.
She agreeably surprised him by writing a pleasant let-
ter to the effect that it was very provoking, and that
she could never thank him sufficiently for all the
trouble he had taken. And so the matter dropped.

Ill

There was at this time in the city of Melbourne, in
Australia, a wooden building, above the door of which
was a board inscribed GYMNASIUM AND SCHOOL
OF ARMS. In the long narrow entry hung a framed
manuscript which set forth that Ned Skene, ex-cham-
pion of England and the Colonies, was to be heard of
within by gentlemen desirous of becoming proficient
in the art of self-defence. Also the terms on which
Mr. Skene, assisted by a competent staff of professors,
. would give lessons in dancing, deportment, and calis-
thenics.

One evening a man sat smoking on a common
kitchen chair on the threshold of this establishment.
Beside him were some tin tacks and a hammer. He
had just nailed to the doorpost a card on which was
written in a woman's handwriting: ** Wanted, a male
oMendani who can keep accounts. Inquire within,^'

22 Cashel Byron's Profession

The smoker was a powerful man, with a thick neck
that swelled out beneath his broad flat ear-lobes. He
had small eyes, and large teeth over which his lips
were slightly parted in a smile, good humored but
affectedly cunning. His hair was black and close cut,
his skin indurated, and the bridge of his nose smashed
level with his face. The tip, however, was uninjured.
It was squab and glossy, and, by giving the whole
feature an air of being on the point of expanding to
its original shape, produced a snubbed expression
which relieved the otherwise formidable aspect of the
man, and recommended him as probably a modest and
affable fellow when sober and unprovoked. He
seemed about fifty years of age, and was clad in a
straw hat and a suit of white linen.

Before he had finished his pipe, the card on the
doorpost attracted the attention of a youth attired in a
coarse sailor's jersey and a pair of grey tweed trousers
which he had outgrown.

**Looking for a job?" inquired the ex-champion of
England and the Colonies.

The youth blushed and replied, **Yes. I should
like to get something to do."

Mr. Skene stared at him with stern curiosity. His
professional pursuits had familiarized him with the
manners and speech of English gentlemen; and he
immediately recognized the shabby sailor lad as one
of that class.

'Terhaps you're a scholar," said the prizefighter,
after a moment's reflection.

**I have been at school; but I didn't learn much
there. I think I could book-keep by double entry.'

** Double entry! What's that?"

Prologue 2 3

"It's the way merchants' books are kept. It is
called so because everything is entered twice over."

"Ah!" said Skene, unfavorably impressed by the
system: "once is enough for me. What's your
weight?"

"I don't know," said the lad with a grin.

"Not know your own weight! That ain't the way to
get on in life."

"I haven't been weighed since a long time ago in
England," said the other, beginning to get the better
of his shyness. "I was eight stone four then; so you
see I am only a light weight."

"And what do you know about light weights? Per-
haps, being so well educated, you know how to fight.
Eh?"

"I don't think I could fight you," said the youth,
with another grin.

Skene chuckled; and the stranger, with boyish
communicativeness, gave him an account of a real
fight (meaning apparently one between professional
pugilists) which he had seen in England. He went on
to describe how he had himself knocked down a master
with one blow when running away from school. Skene
received this sceptically, and cross-examined the nar-
rator as to the manner and effect of the blow, with the
result of convincing himself that the story was true.
At the end of quarter of an hour, the lad had com-
mended himself so acceptably by his conversation that
the champion took him into the gymnasium, where he
weighed him; measured him; and finally handed him
a pair of boxing gloves and invited him to shew what
he was made of. The youth, though impressed by the
prizefighter's attitude with a hppeless sense of the

24 Cashel Byron's Profession

impossiblity of reaching him, rushed boldly at him
several times, knocking his face on each occasion
agciinst Skene's left fist, which seemed to be ubiqui-
tous, and to have the power of imparting the con-
sistency of iron to padded leather. At last the novice
directed a frantic assault at the champion's nose, ris-
ing on his toes in that aspiration. Skene stopped the
blow with a jerk of his right elbow; and the impetuous
youth spun and stumbled away until he fell supine in a
corner, rapping his head smartly on the floor at the
same time. He rose with unabated cheerfulness and
offered to continue the combat; but Skene declined
any further exercise just then, though he was so much
pleased with his novice's game that he promised to
give him a scientific education and make a man of
him.

The champion now sent for his wife, whom he
revered as a pre-eminently sensible and well-man-
nered woman. The new comer could see in her only a
ridiculous dancing mistress; but he treated her with
great deference, and thereby improved the high opin-
ion which Skene had already formed of him. He
related to her how, after running away from school, he
had made his way to Liverpool; gone to the docks;
and contrived to hide himself on board a ship bound
for Australia. Also how he had suffered severely
from hunger and thirst before he discovered himself;
and how, notwithstanding his unpopular position as
stowaway, he had been fairly treated as soon as he had
shewn that he was willing to work. And in proof that
he was still willing, and had profited by his maritime
experience, he offered to sweep the floor of the gym-
nasium then and th-sre. This proposal convinced the

Prologue 25

Skenes, who had listened to his story like children
listening to a fairy tale, that he was not too much of a
gentleman to do rough work; and it was presently
arranged that he should thenceforth board and lodge
with them; have five shillings a week for pocket
money; and be man of all work, servant, gymnasium
attendant, clerk, and apprentice to the ex-champion
of England and the Colonies.

He soon found his bargain no easy one. The gym-
nasium was open from nine in the morning until
eleven at night; and the athletic gentlemen who came
there not only ordered him about without ceremony,
but varied the monotony of vainly opposing the invin-
cible Skene, by practising what he taught them on the
person of his apprentice, whom they pounded with
great relish, and threw backwards, forwards, and over
their shoulders as though he had been but a senseless
effigy provided for that purpose. The champion
looked on and laughed, being too lazy to redeem his
promise of teaching the novice to defend himself.
The latter, however, watched the lessons he saw daily
given to the others; and before the end of the month
he so completely turned the tables on the amateur
pugilists of Melbourne that Skene one day took occa-
sion to remark that he was growing uncommon clever,
but that gentlemen liked to be played easy with, and
that he should be careful not to knock them about too
much. Besides these bodily exertions, he had to keep
account of gloves and foils sold and bought, and of the
fees due both to Mr. and Mrs. Skene. This was the
most irksome part of his -duty; for he wrote a large
schoolboy hand, and was not quick at figures. When
he at last began to assist his master in giving lessons.

26 Cashel Byron's Profession

the accounts had fallen into arrear; and Mrs. Skene
had to resume her former care of them: a circumstance
which gratified her husband, who regarded it as a fresh
triumph of her superior intelligence. Then a China-
man was engaged to do the more menial work of the
establishment. "Skene's Novice," as he was now
generally called, was elevated to the rank of assistant
professor to the champion, and became a person of
some consequence in the gymnasium.

He had been there more than nine months, and had
developed into an athletic young man of eighteen with
a keen eye for a tip, and a scale of **Thank you, sirs"
nicely graduated from half-a-crown to a sovereign,
when an important conversation took place between
him and his principal. It was evening; and the only
persons in the gymnasium were Ned Skene, who sat
smoking at his ease with his coat off, and the novice,
who had just come downstairs from his bedroom,
where he had been preparing for a visit to the
theatre.

Well, my gentleman," said Skene mockingly:
you're a fancy man, you are. Gloves, too! They're
too small for you. Don't you get hittin' nobody with
them on, or you'll mebbe sprain your wrist."

**Not much fear of that," said the novice, looking
at his watch. Finding that he had some minutes to
spare, he sat down opposite Skene.

"No," assented the champion. "When you rise to
be a regular professional, you won't care to spar with
nobody without you're well paid for it."

"I may say I am in the profession already. You
don't call me an amateur, do you?"

"Oh, no," said Skene: "not so bad as that. But

Prologue 27

mind you, my boy, I don't call no man a fighting man
what ain't been in the ring. You're a sparrer, and a
clever, pretty sparrer; but sparring ain't the real
thing. Some day, please God, we'll make up a little
match for you, and show what you can do without the
gloves."

**I would just as soon have the gloves off as on,"
said the novice, a little sulkily.

* 'That's because you have a heart as big as a lion,"
said Skene, soothingly. But the novice, accustomed
to hear his master pay the same compliment to his
patrons whenever they were seized with fits of boast-
ing (which usually happened when they got worsted),
looked obdurate and said nothing.

**Sam Ducket of Milltown was here to-day while you
was out giving Captain Noble his lesson," continued
Skene, watching his apprentice's face. **Now Sam is
a real fighting man, if you like."

**I don't think much of him. He's a liar, for one
thing."

"That's a failing of the profession.* I don't mind
telling you so," said Skene mournfully. Now the
novice had found out this for himself already. He
never, for instance, believed the accounts which his
master gave of the accidents and conspiracies which
had led to his being defeated three times in the ring.
However, as Skene had won fifteen battles, his next
remark was undeniable. **Men fight none the worse
for being liars. Sam Ducket bet Ebony Muley in
twenty minutes,"

"Yes," said the novice scornfully; "and what is
Ebony Muley? A wretched old nigger nearly sixty
year? old. who i? drunk seven days in the week, and

28 Cashel Byron's Profession

would sell a fight for a glass of brandy! Ducket ought
to have knocked him out of time in twenty seconds.
Ducket has no science."

'*Not a bit/' said Ned. **But he has lots of
game."

*Tshaw! That's what they always try to make out.
If a fellow knows how to box, they say he has science
but ho pluck. If he doesn't know his right hand from
his left, they say that he isn't clever, but that he's full
of game."

Skene looked with secret wonder at his pupil, whose
powers of observation and expression sometimes
seemed to him almost to rival those of Mrs. Skene.
**Sam was saying something like that to-day," he
remarked. **He says you're only a sparrer, and that
you'd fall down with fright if you was put into a
twenty-four foot ring."

The novice flushed. **I wish I had been here when
Sam Ducket said that."

**Why, what could you ha' done to him?" said
Skene, his small eyes twinkling.

**rd have punched his head: that's what I could
and would have done to him."

**Why, man, he'd eat you."

**He might. And he might eat you too, Ned, if he
had salt enough with you. He talks big because he
knows I have no money; and he pretends he won't
strip for less than fifty pounds a side."

*'No money!" cried Skene. *'I know them as'll
make up fifty pound before twelve to-morrow for any
man as I will answer for. There' d be a start for a
young man! Why, my fust fight was for five shillings
in Tott'nam Fields; and proud I was when I won it.

Prologue 29

I don't want to set you on to fight a crack like Sam
Ducket anyway against your inclinations; but don't go
to say that money isn't to be had. Let Ned Skene
pint to a young man and say, 'That's the young man
that Ned backs'; and others' 11 come forard with the
stakes — aye, crowds of 'em."

The novice hesitated. '*Do you think I ought to,
Ned?" he said.

"That ain't for me to say," said Skene doggedly.
**I know what I would ha' said at your age. But per-
haps you're right to be cautious. I tell you the truth,
I wouldn't care to see you whipped by the like of Sam
Ducket."

**Will you train me if I challenge him?"

**Will I train you I" echoed Skene, rising with
enthusiasm. **Aye will I train you, and put my
money on you too; and you shall knock fireworks out
of him, my boy, as sure as my name's Ned Skene."

"Then," cried the novice, reddening with excite-
ment, "I'll fight him. And if I lick him, you will have
to hand over your belt as champion of the colonies to
me.

"So I will," said Skene affectionately. "Don't stay
out late; and don't for your life touch a drop of liquor.
You must go into training to-morrow."

This was Cashel Byron's first professional engage-
ment.

END OF PROLOGUE

CHAPTER I

Wiltstoken Castle was a square building with cir-
cular bastions at the corners: each bastion terminating
skyward in a Turkish minaret. The south-west face
was the front, pierced by a Moorish arch fitted with
glass doors, which could be secured on occasion by
gates of fantastically hammered iron. The arch was
enshrined by a Palladian portico, which rose to the
roof, and was surmounted by an open pediment, in the
cleft of which stood a black marble figure of an
Egyptian, erect, and gazing steadfastly at the midday
sun. On the ground beneath was an Italian terrace
with two great stone elephants at the ends of the balus-
trade. The windows of the upper storey were, like the
entrance, Moorish; but the principal ones below were
square bays, mullioned. The castle was considered
grand by the illiterate; but architects, and readers of
books on architecture, condemned it as a nondescript
mixture of styles in the worst possible taste. It stood
on an eminence surrounded by hilly woodland, thirty
acres of which were enclosed as Wiltstoken Park.
Half a mile south was the little town of Wiltstoken,
accessible by rail from London in about two hours.

Most of the inhabitants of Wiltstoken were Con-
servatives. They stood in awe of the Castle; and
some of them would at any time have cut half a dozen
of their oldest friends to obtain an invitation to din-
ner, or even a bow in public, from Miss Lydia Carew,
its orphan mistress. This Miss Carew was a remark-

32 Cashel Byron's Profession

able person. She had inherited the Castle and park
from her aunt, who had considered her niece's large
fortune in railways and mines incomplete without land.
So many other legacies had Lydia received from kins-
folk who hated poor relations, that she was now, in her
twenty-fifth year, the independent possessor of an
annual income equal to the year's earnings of five hun-
dred workmen, and under no external compulsion to
do anything in return for it. In addition to the
advantage of being a single woman with unusually
large means, she enjoyed a reputation for vast learn-
ing and exquisite culture. It was said in Wiltstoken
that she knew forty-eight living languages and all the
dead ones; could play on every known musical instru-
ment; was an accomplished painter; and had written
poetry. All this might as well have been true as far
as the Wiltstokeners were concerned, since she knew
more than they. She had spent her life travelling
with her father, a man of active mind and bad diges-
tion, with an independent income, and a taste for
sociology, science in general, and the fine arts. On
these subjects he had written books, mostly about the
Renaissance, by which he had earned a reputation as a
sort of culture merchant for tourists. They involved
much reading, travelling, sight-seeing, and theorizing,
of all which, except the theorizing, his daughter had
done her share, and indeed, as she grew more compe-
tent, and he weaker and older, more than her share.
Having had to combine health-hunting with culture-
distillation, and being very irritable and fastidious, he
had schooled her in self-control and endurance by
harder lessons than those which had made her
acquainted with the works of Greek and German

Cashel Byron's Profession 33

philosophers long before she understood the English
into which she translated them.

When Lydia was in her twenty-first year, her father's
health failed seriously. He became more dependent
on her; and she anticipated that he would also become
more exacting in his demands on her time. But one
day, at Naples, she had arranged to go riding with a
newly arrived and rather pleasant English party.
Shortly before the appointed hour, he asked her to
make a translation of a long extract from Lessing.
Lydia, in whom self-questionings as to the justness of
her father's yoke had for some time been stirring,
paused thoughtfully for perhaps two seconds before
she consented. Carew said nothing; but he presently
intercepted a servant who was bearing an apology to
the English party; read the note; and went back to his
daughter, who was already busy at Lessing.

"Lydia," he said, with a certain hesitation which
she would have ascribed to shyness had that been at
all credible of her father when addressing her: **I wish
you never to postpone your business to literary
trifling."

She looked at him with the vague fear that accom-
panies a new and doubtful experience; and he, dis-
satisfied with his way of putting the case, added, **It
is of greater importance that you should enjoy your-
self for an hour than that my book should be advanced.
Far greater!"

Lydia, after some consideration, put down her pen
and said, *'I shall not enjoy riding if there is anything
else left undone."

**I shall not enjoy your writing if your excursion is
given up for it," he said. *'I prefer your going."

34 Cashel Byron's Profession

Lydia obeyed silently. An odd thought struck her
that she might end the matter gracefully by kissing
him. But they were unaccustomed to make demon-
strations of this kind; so nothing came of the impulse.
She spent the day on horseback; reconsidered her late
rebellious thoughts; and made the translation in the
evening.

Thenceforth, Lydia had a growing sense of the
power she had unwittingly been acquiring during her
long subordination. Timidly at first, and more boldly
as she became used to dispense with the parental lead-
ing strings, she began to follow her own bent in select-
ing subjects for study, and even to defend certain
recent developments in music and painting against
her father's conservatism. He approved of this inde-
pendent mental activity on her part, and repeatedly
warned her not to pin her faith more on him than on
any other critic. She once told him that one of her
incentives to disagree with him was the pleasure it
gave her to find out ultimately that he was right. He
replied gravely,"

"That pleases me, Lydia, because I believe you.
But such things are better left unsaid. They seem to
belong to the art of pleasing, which you will perhaps
soon be tempted to practise, because it seems to all
young people easy, well-paid, amiable, and a mark of
good breeding. In truth it is vulgar, cowardly,
egotistical, and insincere: a virtue in a shopman: a
vice in a free woman. It is better to leave genuine
praise unspoken than to expose yourself to the suspi-
cion of flattery."

Shortly after this, at his desire, she spent a season in
London, and went into English polite society, which

Cashel B3rron's Profession 35

she found to be in the main a temple for the worship
of riches and a market for the sale of virgins. Hav-
ing become familiar with both the cult and the trade
elsewhere, she found nothing to interest her except
the English manner of conducting them; and the
novelty of this soon wore off. She was also incom-
moded by her involuntary power of inspiring affection
in her own sex. Impulsive girls she could keep in
awe; but old women, notably two aunts who had
never paid her any attention during her childhood,
now persecuted her with slavish fondness, and tempted
her by mingled entreaties and bribes to desert her
father and live with them for the remainder of their
lives. Her reserve fanned their longing to have her
for a pet; and, to escape them, she returned to the
continent with her father, and ceased to hold any cor-
respondence with London. Her aunts declared them-
selves deeply hurt; and Lydia was held to have treated
them very injudiciously; but when they died, and their
wills became public, it was found that they had vied
with one another in enriching her.

When she was twenty-five years old, the first star-
tling event pf her life took place. This was the death
of her father at Avignon. No endearments passed
between them even on that occasion. She was sitting
opposite to him at the fireside one evening, reading
aloud, when he suddenly said, *'My heart has stopped,
Lydia. Goodbye!" and immediately died. She had
some difficulty in quelling the tumult that arose when
the bell was answered. The whole household felt
bound to be overwhelmed, and took it rather ill that
she seemed neither grateful to them nor disposed to
imitate their behaviour.

36 Cashel Byron's Profession

Carew's relatives agreed that he had made a most
unl>ecoming will. It was a brief document, dated five
years before his death, and was to the effect that he
bequeathed to his dear daughter Lydia all he pos-
sessed. He had, however, left her certain private
instructions. One of these, which excited great indig-
nation in his family, was that his body should be con-
veyed to Milan, and there cremated. Having disposed
of her father's, remains as he had directed, she came
to set her affairs in order in England, where she
inspired much hopeless passion in the toilers in Lin-
coln's Inn Fields and Chancery Lane, and discon-
certed her solicitors by evincing a capacity for business
hardly compatible with the docility they expected
from a rich and unprotected young lady. When all was
arranged, and she was once more able to enjoy a settled
tranquillity, she returned to Avignon, and there dis-
charged her last duty to her father. This was to open
a letter she had found in his desk, inscribed by his
hand, **For Lydia. To be read by her at leisure when
I and my affairs shall be finally disposed of." The
letter ran thus: —

"My Dear Lydia,

"I belong to the great company of disap-
pointed men. But for you, I should now write myself
down a failure like the rest. It is only a few years
since it first struck me that although I had failed in
many vain ambitions with which (having failed) I need
not trouble you now, I had been of some use as a
father. Upon this it came into my mind that you
could draw no other conclusion from the course of our
life together than that I have, with entire selfishness,

Cashel Byron's Profession 37

used you throughout as my mere amanuensis and
clerk, and that you are under no more obligation to
me for your attainments than a slave is to his master
for the strength which enforced labor has given to his
muscles. Lest I should leave you suffering from so
mischievous and oppressive an influence as a sense of
injustice, I now justify myself to you.

**I have never asked you whether you remember
your mother. Had you at any time broached the sub-
ject, I should have spoken quite freely to you on it;
but as some wise instinct led you to avoid it, I was
content to let it rest until circumstances such as the
present should render further reserve unnecessary. If
any regret at having known so little of the woman who
gave you birth troubles you, shake it off without
remorse. She was an egotist who could keep neither
husband, child, servant, nor friend, under the same
roof with her. I speak dispassionately. ^ All my bit-
ter personal feeling against her is as dead whilst I
write as it will be when you read. I have even come to
regard tenderly certain of her characteristics which you
inherit; so that I can confidently say that I never,
since the perishing of the infatuation in which I mar-
ried, felt more kindly towards her than I do now. I
made the best, and she the worst, of our union for six
years; and then we parted. I permitted her to give
what account of the separation she pleased, and made
her a much more liberal allowance than she had any
right to expect. By these means I induced her to
leave me in undisturbed possession of you, whom I
had already, as a measure of precaution, carried off to
Belgium. The reason why we never visited England
during her lifetime was that she could, and probably

38 Cashel Byron's Profession

would, have made my previous conduct and my
hostility to popular religion an excuse for wresting
you from me. I need say no more of her, and am
sorry it was necessary to mention her at all.

**I will now tell you what induced me to secure you
for myself. It was not natural affection: I did not
love you then; and I knew that you would be a serious
encumbrance to me. But having brought you into the
world, and then broken through my engagements with
your mother, I felt bound to see that you should not
sufifer for my mistake. Gladly would I have per-
suaded myself that she was (as the gossips said) the
fittest person to have charge of you; but I knew bet-
ter, and made up my mind to discharge my responsi-
bility as well as I could. In course of time you
became useful to me; and, as you know, I made use
of you without scruple, but never without regard to
your own advantage. I always kept a secretary to do
whatever I considered mere copyist's work. Much
as you did for me, I think I may say with truth that I
never imposed a task of no educational value on you.
I fear you found the hours you spent over my money
affairs very irksome; but I need not apologize for that
now: you must already know by experience how
necessary a knowledge of business is to the possessor
of a large fortune.

"I did not think, when I undertook your education,
that I was laying the foundation of any comfort for
myself. For a long time you were only a good girl,
and what ignorant people called a prodigy of learning.
In your circumstances a commonplace child might
have been both. I subsequently came to contemplate
your existence with a pleasure which I never derived

Cashel Byron's Profession 39

from the contemplation of my own. I have not suc-
ceeded, and shall not succeed in expressing the affec-
tion I feel for you, or the triumph with which I find
that what I undertook as a distasteful and thankless
duty has rescued my life and labor from waste. My
literary travail, much as it has occupied us both, I now
value only for the share it has had in educating you;
and you will be guilty of no disloyalty to me when you
come to see that though I sifted as much sand as most
men, I found no gold. I ask you to remember then
that I did my duty to you long before it became
pleasurable or even hopeful. And, when you are older
and have learned from your mother's friends how I
failed in my duty to her, you will perhaps give me
some credit for having conciliated the world for your
sake by abandoning habits and acquaintances which,
whatever others may have thought of them, did much
whilst they lasted to make life endurable to me.

* 'Although your future will not concern me, I often
find myself thinking of it. I fear you will soon find
that the world has not yet provided a place and a
sphere of action for well-instructed women. In my
younger days, when the companionship of my fellows
was a necessity to me, I tried to set aside my culture;
relax my principles; and acquire common tastes, in
order to fit myself for the society of the only men
within my reach; for, if I had to live among bears, I
had rather be a bear than a man. The effort made me
more miserable than any other mistake I have ever
made. It was lonely to be myself, but not to be
myself was death in life. Take warning, Lydia: do
not be tempted to accommodate yourself to the world
by moral suicide.

40 Cashel Byron's Profession

**Some day, I expect and hope, you will marry.
You will then have an opportunity of making an irre-
mediable mistake, against the possibility of which no
advice of mine or subtlety of yours can guard you. I
think you will not easily find a man able to satisfy m
you that desire to be relieved of the responsibility of
thinking out and ordering our course of life that makes
us each long for a guide whom we can thoroughly
trust. If you fail, remember that your father, after
suffering a bitter and complete disappointment in his
wife, yet came to regard his marriage as the only
fruitful event in his career. Let"tne remind you also,
since you are so rich, that you need not, in jealousy
of your own income, limit you choice of a husband to
those already too rich to marry for money. No vulgar
adventurer, I hope, will be able to recommend him-
self to you; and better men will beat least as much
frightened as attracted by your wealth. The only
class against which I need warn you is that to which I
myself am supposed to belong. Never think that a
man must prove a suitable and satisfying friend for
you merely because he has read much criticism; that
he must feel the influences of Art as you do, because
he knows and adopts the classification of names and
schools with which you are familiar; or that because
he agrees with your favourite authors he must neces-
sarily interpret their words to himself as you under-
stand them. Beware of men who haye read more than
they have worked, or who love to read better than to
work. Do not forget that where the man is always at
home, thie woman is never happy. Beware of painters,
poets, musicians, and artists of all sorts, except very
great artists; beware even of them as husbands and

Cashel Byron's Profession 41

fathers. Self-satisfied workmen who have learnt their
business well, whether they be chancellors of the
exchequer or farmers, I recommend to you as, on
the whole, the most tolerable class of men I have
met.

**I shall make no further attempt to advise you.
As fast as my counsels rise to my mind follow reflec-
tions that convince me of their futility.

'*You may perhaps wonder why I never said to you
what I have written down here. I have tried to do so
and failed. If I understand myself aright, I have
written these lines mainly to relieve a craving to
express my affection for you. The awkwardness
which an over-civilized man experiences in admitting
that he is something more than an educated stone pre-
vented me from confusing you by demonstrations of a
kind I had never accustomed you to. Besides, I wish
this assurance of my love — my last word — to reach you
when no further commonplaces to Ijlur the impres-
siveness of its simple truth are possible.

''I know I have said too much; and I feel that I
have not said enough. But the writing of this letter
has been a difficult task. Practised as I am with my
pen, I have never, even in my earliest efforts, com-
posed with such labor and sense of inadequacy "

. Here the manuscript broke off. The letter had
never been finished.

CHAPTER II

In the month of May, seven years after the flight of
the two boys from Moncrief House, a lady sat in an
island of shadow made by a cedar tree in the midst of
a glittering green lawn. She did womanly to avoid
the sun; for her complexion was as delicately tinted
as mother-of-pearl. She was a small, graceful woman
with sensitive lips and nostrils, green eyes with quiet
unarched brows, and ruddy gold hair, now shaded by a
large untrimmed straw hat. Her dress of Indian mus-
lin, with half sleeves ending in wide ruffles at the
elbows, hardly covered her shoulders, where it was
supplemented by a fleecy white scarf which made a
nest of soft woollen lace for her throat. She was
reading a little ivory-bound volume — a miniature edi-
tion of the second part of Goethe's ** Faust."

As the afternoon wore on and the light mellowed,
the lady dropped her book and began to think and
dream, unconscious of a prosaic black object crossing
the lawn towards her. This was a young gentleman
in a frock coat. He was dark, and had a long, grave
face, with a reserved expression, but not ill-looking.

'*Going so soon, Lucian?" said the lady, looking up
as he came into the shadow.

Lucian looked at her wistfully. His name, as she
uttered it, always stirred him vaguely. He was fond
of finding reasons for things, and had long ago decided
that this inward stir was due to her fine pronunciation.
His other intimates called him Looshn.

Cashel Byron's Profession 43

"Yes," he said. '*I have arranged everything, and
have come to give an account of my stewardship, and
to say good-bye."

He placed a garden chair near her and sat down.
She laid her hands one on the other in her lap, and
composed herself to listen.

"First," he said, **as to the Warren Lodge. It is
let for a month only; so you can allow Mrs. Goff to
have it rent free in July if you wish to. I hope you
will not;act so unwisely."

She smiled, and said, **Who are the present tenants?
I hear that they object to the dairymaids and men
crossing the elm vista."

**We must not complain of that. It was expressly
stipulated when they took the lodge that the vista
should be kept private for them. I had no idea at that
time that you were coming to the castle, or I should of
course have declined such a condition."

"But we do keep it private for them: strangers are
not admitted. Our people pass and repass once a day
on their way to and from the dairy: that is all."

"It seems churlish, Lydia; but this is a special
case — a young gentleman who has come to recruit his
health. He needs daily exercise in the open air; but
he cannot bear observation: indeed I have not seen
him myself; and he has only a single attendant with
him. Under these circumstances, I agreed that they
should have the sole use of the elm vista. In fact
they are paying more rent than would be reasonable
without this privilege."

"I hope the young gentleman is not mad."

"I satisfied myself, before I let the lodge to him,
that he would be a proper tenant," said Lucian, with

44 Cashel Byron's Profession

reproachful gravity. **He was strongly recommended
to me by Lord Worthington, who spoke quite warmly
of him. As it happens, I expressed to him the sus-
picion you have just suggested. Worthington vouched
for the tenant's sanity as well as for his solvency, and
offered to take the lodge in his own name and be per-
sonally responsible for the good behaviour of the
invalid. You need have no fear: it is only some
young fellow who has upset his nerves by hard read-
ing. Probably some college friend of Worthing-
ton' s."

'Terhaps so. But I should expect a college friend
of Lord Worthington' s to be a hard rider or drinker,
rather than a hard reader."

**You may be quite at ease, Lydia. I took Lord
Worthington at his word so far as to make the letting
to him."

''I am quite satisfied, Lucian; and I am greatly
obliged to you. I will give orders that no one is to
go to the dairy by way of the warren."

**The next point," resumed Lucian, **is more
important, as it concerns you personally. Miss Goff
is willing to accept your offer. And a most unsuit-
able companion she will be for you!"

'•Why, Lucian?"

**On all accounts. She is younger than you, and
therefore cannot chaperone you. She has received
only an ordinary education; and her experience of
society is derived from loc^l subscription balls. And
as she is not unattractive, and is considered a beauty
in Wiltstoken, she is self-willed, and will probably take
your patronage in bad part."

**Is she more self-willed than I?"

Cashel Byron's Profession 45

"Yoii are not self-willed, Lydia; except that you are
deaf to advice."

"You mean that I seldom follow it. And so you
think I had better employ a professional companion —
a decayed gentlewoman — than save this young girl,
from going out as a governess and beginning to decay
at twenty-three?' '

*/The business of getting a suitable companion, and
the duty of relieving poor people, are two different
things, Lydia."

True, Lucian. When will Miss Goff call?"
'This evening. Mind: nothing is settled as yet.
If you think better of it on seeing her, you have only
to treat her as an ordinary visitor, and the subject will
drop. For my own part, I prefer her sister; but she
will not leave Mrs. Goff, who has not yet recovered
from the shock of her husband's death."

Lydia looked reflectively at the little volume in her
hand, and seemed to think out the question of Miss
Goff. When she looked up again it was evidently set-
tled; but she said nothing.

"Well?" said Lucian presently, embarrassed by her
silence.

'Well?" said Lydia, not at all embarrassed.
'You have not said anything."
1 have nothing to say."

Then," said Lucian shortly, giving way to a sense
of injury, **I had better go."

**Not at all," said Lydia. **I am enjoying your
company in the Wiltstoken way. When two of our
laborers, here are friends, how do they shew it? They
lean on the same gate for hours together every Sunday
morning without exchanging a word.^ Surely that's

((

46 Cashel Byron's Profession

better than the nervous horror of silence and self-con-
sciousness called society in our unfortunate circle."

**You have such extraordinary ideas, Lydia! An
agricultural laborer is silent just as a dog is silent."

*'Dogs are very good company," said Lydia.

To this he found nothing to say. The only relation
to a woman in which he felt happy was one of intel-
lectual condescension and explanation. Lydia never
questioned his explanations; but as she did not draw
the same moral from them, he, seldom felt that they
had been successful. As to maintaining a silence with
her on the agricultural laborers' lines, that was beyond
his utmost power of self-possession. He had to plead
his train and say good-bye.

She gave him her hand; and a dull glow came into
his gray jaws as he took it. Then he buttoned his
coat and walked gravely away. As he went, she
watched the sun flashing from his glossy hat, and
drowning in his respectable coat. She sighed, and
took up Goethe again.

But after a little while she tired of sitting still, and
rose and wandered through the park for nearly an hour,
trying to find the places where she had played in her
childhood during a visit to her late aunt. She recog-
nized a great toppling Druid's altar that had formerly
reminded her of Mount Sinai threatening to fall on the
head of Christian in *The Pilgrim's Progress."
Further on she saw and avoided a swamp in which she
had once earned a scolding from her nurse by filling
her stockings with mud. Then she found herself in a
long avenue of green turf, running east and west, and
apparently endless. This seemed the most delightful
of all her possessions; and she had begun to plan a

Cashel Byron's Profession 47

pavilion to build near it, when she suddenly recollected
that this must be the elm vista of which the privacy
was so stringently insisted upon by her invalid tenant
at the Warren Lodge. She fled into the wood at once,
and, when she was safe there, laughed at the oddity of
being a trespasser in her own domain. A wide detour
was needed to avoid intruding again: consequently, after
walking a little time, she lost herself. The trees
seemed never-ending: she began to think she must
possess a forest as well as a park. At last she saw an
opening. Hastening towards it, she came again into
' the sunlight, and stopped, dazzled by an apparition
which she at first took to be a beautiful statue, but
presently recognized, with a strange glow of delight,
as a living man.

To so mistake a gentleman exercising himself in the
open air on a nineteenth century afternoon would,
under ordinary circumstances, imply incredible igno-
rance either of men or statues. But the circumstances
in Miss Carew's case were not ordinary; for the man
was clad in a jersey and knee breeches of white mate-
rial; and his bare arms shone like those of a gladiator.
His broad pectoral muscles, in their white covering,
were like slabs of marble. Even his hair, short, crisp,
and curly, seemed like burnished bronze in the even-
ing light. It came into Lydia's mind that she had
disturbed an antique god in his sylvan haunt. The
fancy was only momentary; for her next glance fell on
a third person, a groom-like man, impossible to asso-
ciate with classic divinity, contemplating his compan-
ion much as a groom might contemplate an exception-
ally fine horse. He was the first to see Lydia; and
'his expression as he did so plainly shewed that he

48 Cashel Byron's Profession

regarded her as a most unwelcome intruder. The
statue-man, following his sinister look, saw her too,
but with different feelings; for his lips parted; his
color rose; and he stared at her with undisguised
admiration and wonder. Lydia's first impulse was to
turn and fly; her next, to apologize for her presence
Finally she went away quietly through the trees.

The moment she was out of their sight, she increased
her pace almost to a run. The day was warm for rapid
movement; and she soon stopped and listened. There
were the usual woodland sounds: leaves rustling,
grasshoppers chirping, and birds singing; but not a
human voice or footstep. She began to think that the
god-like figure was only the Hermes of Praxiteles,
suggested to her by Goethe's classical Sabbat, and
changed by a day-dream into the semblance of a living
reality. The groom must have been one of those
incongruities characteristic of dreams — probably a rem-
iniscence of Lucian's statement that the tenant of
the Warren Lodge had a single male attendant. It was
impossible that this glorious vision of manly strength
and beauty could be substantially a student broken
down by excessive study. That irrational glow of
delight too was one of the absurdities of dreamland:
otherwise she should have been ashamed of it.

Lydia made her way back to the Castle in some
alarm as to the state of her nerves, but dwelling on
her vision with a pleasure that she would not have
ventured to indulge had it concerned a creature of
flesh and blood. Once or twice it recurred to her so
vividly that she asked herself whether it could have
been real. But a little reasoning convinced her that
it must have been an hallucination.

Cashel Byron's Profession 49

"If you please, madam/' said one of her staff of
domestics, a native of Wiltstoken, who stood in deep
awe of the lady of the Castle, '*Miss Goff is waiting
for you in the drawing-room."

The drawing-room of the Castle was a circular apart-
ment, with a dome-shaped ceiling broken into gilt
ornaments resembling thick bamboos, which projected
vertically downward like stalagmites. The heavy
chandeliers were loaded with flattened brass balls,
magnified facsimiles of which crowned the uprights of
the low, broajd, massively-framed chairs, covered in
leather statnped with Japanese dragon designs in cop-
per-coloured metal. Near the fireplace was a bronze
bell of Chinese shape, mounted like a mortar on a
black wooden carriage for use as a coal-scuttle. The
wall was decorated with large gold crescents on a
ground of light blue.

In this barbaric rotunda Miss Carew found awaiting
her a young lady of twenty-three, with a well-devel-
oped, resilient figure, and a clear complexion, porce-
lain surfaced, and with a fine red in the cheeks. The
lofty pose of her head expressed the habitual sense of
her own consequence given her by the admiration of
the youth of the neighborhood, which was also, per-
haps, the cause of the neatness of her inexpensive
black dress and of her irreproachable gloves, boots,
and hat. She had. been waiting to introduce herself to
the lady of the Castle for ten minutes in a state of
nervousness that culminated as Lydia entered.

"How do you do. Miss Goff? Have I kept you
waiting? I was out."

"Not at all," said Miss Goff, with a confused
impression that red hair was aristocratic, and dark

50 Cashei Byron's Profession

brown (the color of her own) vulgar. She had risen to
shake hands, and now, after hesitating a moment to
consider what etiquette required her to do next,
resumed her seat. Miss Carew sat down too, and
gazed thoughtfully at her visitor, who held herself
rigidly erect, and, striving to mask her nervousness,
unintentionally looked disdainful.

"Miss Goff,'* said Lydia, after a silence that made
her speech impressive: '*will you come to me on a
long visit? In this lonely place, I am greatly in want
of a friend and companion of my own age and posi-
tion. I think you must be equally so."

Alice Goff was very young, and very determined to
accept no credit that she did not deserve. She pro-
ceeded to set Miss Carew right as to her social posi-
tion, not considering that the lady of the Castle
probably understood it better than she did herself, and
indeed thinking it quite natural, that she should be
mistaken.

**You are very kind,*' she replied stiffly; **but our
positions are quite different. Miss Carew. The fact is
that I cannot afford to live an idle life. We are very
poor; and my mother is partly dependent on my
exertions."

'*I think you will be able to exert yourself to good
purpose if you come to me," said Lydia, unimpressed.
"It is true that I shall give you very expensive habits;
but I will also enable you to support them."

"I do not wish to contract expensive habits," said
Alice, reproachfully. "I shall have to content myself
with frugal ones throughout my life."

"Not necessarily. Tell me frankly: how had you
proposed to exert yourself? As a teacher, was it not?"

Cashel Byron's Profession 51

Alice flushed, but assented.

"You are not at all fitted for it; and you will end by
marrying. As a teacher you could not marry well.
As an idle lady, with expensive habits, you will marry
very well indeed. It is quite an art to know how to be
rich — an indispensable art, if you mean to marry a
rich man."

"I have no intention of marrying," said Alice loftily.
She thought it time to check this cool aristocrat. **If
I come at all, I shall come without any ulterior
object."

**That is just what I had hoped. Come without con-
ditions or second thought of any kind."

"But " began Alice, and stopped, bewildered by

the pace at which the negotiation was proceeding.
She murmured a few words, and waited for Lydia to
proceed. But Lydia had said her say, and evidently
expected a reply, though she seemed assured of having
her own way, whatever Alice's views might be.

"I do not quite understand, Miss Carew. What
duties? — what would you expect of me?"

**A great deal," said Lydia gravely. "Much more
than I should from a mere professional companion."

"But I shall be a professional companion," protested
Alice.

"Whose?^'

Alice flushed again, angrily this time. "I did not
mean to say "

"You do not mean to say that you will have nothing
to do with me," said Lydia, stopping her quietly.
"Why are you so scrupulous, Miss Goff? You will be
close to your home, and can return to it at any moment
if you become dissatisfied with your position here."

52 Cashel Byron's Profession

Fearful that she had disgraced herself by bad man-
ners; loth to be taken possession of as if her wishes
were of no consequence when a rich lady's whim was
to be gratified; suspicious — since she had often heard
gossiping tales of the dishonesty of people in high
positions — lest she should be cheated out of the sub-
stantial salary she had come resolved to demand; and
withal unable to defend herself against Miss Carew,
Alice caught at the first excuse that occurred to her.

**I should like a little time to consider," she said.

**Time to accustom yourself to me, is it not? You
can have as long as you plea "

**0h, I can let you know to-morrow," interrupted
Alice, officiously.

'Thank you. I will send a note to Mrs. Goff to say
that she need not expect you back until to-morrow."

"But I did not mean I am not prepared to

stay," remonstrated Alice, feeling more and more
entangled in Lydia's snare.

**We shall take a walk after dinner, then, and call at
your house, where you can make your preparations.
But I think I can lend you all you will require."

Alice dared make no further objection. "I am
afraid," she stammered, *'you will think me horribly
rude; but I am so useless, and you are so sure to be
disappointed, that — that "

"You are not rude, Miss Goff; but I find you very
shy. You want to run away and hide from new faces
and new surroundings."

Alice, who was self-possessed and even overbearing
in Wiltstoken society, felt that she was misunderstood,
but did not know how to vindicate herself.

Lydia resumed. "I have formed my habits in the

Cashel Byron s Profession 53

course of my travels, and so live without ceremony.
We dine early — at six."

Alice had dined at two, but did not feel bound to
confess it.

**Let me shew you your room," said Lydia, rising.
"This is a curious drawing-room," she added, glancing
around. "I have never used it before." She looked
about her again with some interest, as if the apartment
belonged to some one else; and then led the way to a
room on the first floor, furnished as a lady's bed-cham-
ber. "If you dislike this," she said, "or cannot
arrange it to suit you, there are others, of which you
can have your choice. Come to my boudoir when you
are ready."

"Where is that?" said Alice anxiously.

"It is — You had better ring for some one to show
you. I will send you my maid."

Alice, even more afraid of the maid than of the mis-
tress, declined hastily. "I am accustomed to attend
to myself, Miss Carew," she added, with proud
humility.

"You will find it more convenient to call me Lydia,"
said Miss Carew. "Otherwise you will be supposed
to refer to my grand-aunt, a very old lady." She then
left the room.

Alice was fond of thinking that she had a w6manly
taste and touch in making a room pretty. She was
accustomed to survey with pride her mother's drawing-
room, which she had garnished with cheap cretonnes,
Japanese paper fans and nic-nacs in ornamental pottery.
She felt now that if she slept once in the bed before
her, she could never be content in her mother's house
again. All that she had read and believed of the

54 Cashel Byron's Profession

beauty of cheap and simple ornament, and the vul-
garity of costliness, recurred to her as a paraphrase of
the **Sour grapes** of the fox in the fable. She pic-
tured to herself with a shudder the effect of a sixpenny
Chinese umbrella in that fireplace, a cretonne valance
to that bed, or chintz curtains to those windows.
There was in the room a series of mirrors consisting of
a great glass in which she could see herself at full
length, another framed in the carved oaken dressing
table, and smaller ones of various shapes fixed to
jointed arms that turned every way. To use them for
the first time was like having eyes in the back of one's
head. She had never seen herself from all points of
view before. As she gazed, she strove not to be
ashamed of her dress; but even her face and figure,
which usually afforded her unqualified delight, seemed
robust and middle-class in Miss Carew's mirrors.

* 'After all," she said, seating herself on a chair that
was even more luxurious to rest in than to look at;
"putting the lace out of the question — and my old lace
that belongs to mamma is quite as valuable — her
whole dress cannot have cost much more than mine.
At any rate, it is not worth much more, whatever she
may have chosen to pay for it."

But Alice was clever enough to envy Miss Carew her
manners more than her dress. She would not admit to
herself that she was not thoroughly a lady; but she
felt that Lydia, in the eye of a stranger, would answer
that description better than she. Still, as far as she
had observed. Miss Carew was exceedingly cool in her
proceedings, and did not take any pains to please
those with whom she conversed. Alice had often
made compacts of friendship with young ladies, and

Cashel Byron's Profession 55

had invited them to call her by her Christian name;
but on such occasions she had always called them
"dear** or "darling," and, whilst the friendship lasted,
which was often longer than a month, had never met
them without exchanging an embrace and a hearty
kiss.

"And nothing," she said, springing from the chair
as she thought of this, and speaking very resolutely,
"shall tempt me to believe that there is anything vul-
gar in sincere affection. I shall be on my guard
against this woman."

Having settled that matter for the present, she went
on with her examination of the room, and was more
and more attracted by it as she proceeded. For,
thanks to her eminence as a local beauty, she had not
that fear of beautiful and rich things which renders
abject people incapable of associating costliness with
comfort. Had the counterpane of the bed been her
own, she would unhesitatingly have converted it into
a ball dress. There were toilet appliances of which
she had never felt the need, and could only guess the
use. She looked with despair into the two large
closets, thinking how poor a show her three dresses,
her ulster, and her few old jackets would make there.
There was also a dressing-room with a marble bath
that made cleanliness a luxury instead of, as it seemed
at home, one of the sternest of the virtues. Every-
thing was appropriately elegant; but nothing had been
placed in the rooms for the sake of ornament alone.
Miss Carew, judged by her domestic arrangements,
was a utilitarian before everything. There was a very
handsome chimneypiece; but as there was nothing on
the mantelshelf, Alice made a faint effort to believe

56 Cashel Byron's Profession

that it was inferior in point of taste to that in her own
bedroom, which was covered with blue cloth, bordered
by a fringe and a row of brass-headed nails, and laden
with photographs in plush frames.

The striking of the hour reminded her that she had
forgotten to prepare for dinner. She hastily took off
her hat; washed her hands; spent another minute
among the mirrors; and was summoning courage to
ring the bell, when a doubt occurred to her. Ought
she to put on her gloves before going down or not?
This kept her in perplexity for many seconds. At last
she resolved to put her gloves in her pocket, and be
guided as to their further disposal by the example of
her hostess. Not daring to hesitate any longer, she
rang the bell, and was presently joined by a French
lady of polished manners — Miss Carew's maid — who
conducted her to the boudoir, an hexagonal apart-
ment that, Alice thought, a sultana might have
envied. Lydia was there, reading. Alice noted with
relief that she had not changed her dress, and was
ungloved.

Miss Goff did not enjoy the dinner. There was a
butler who seemed to have nothing to do but stand at
a buffet and watch her. There was also a swift, noise-
less footman who presented himself at her elbow at
intervals, and compelled her to choose on the instant
between unfamiliar things to eat and drink. She
envied these men their knowledge of society, and
shrank from their criticism. Once, after taking a
piece of asparagus in her hand, she was deeply morti-
fied to see her hostess consume the vegetable with the
aid of a knife and fork; but the footman's back was
turned to her just then; and the butler, oppressed by

Cashel Byron's Profession 57

the heat of the weather, was in a state of abstraction
bordering on slumber. On the whole, by dint of imi-
tating Miss Carew, who did not plague her with any
hostess-like vigilance, she came off without discredit to
her breeding.

Lydia, on her part, acknowledged no obligation to
entertain her guest by chatting, and enjoyed hp
thoughts and her dinner in silence. Alice began to be
fascinated by her, and to wonder what she was think-
ing about. She fancied that the footman was not quite
free from the same influence. Even the butler might
have been meditating himself to sleep on the subject.
Alice felt tempted to offer her a penny for her
thoughts; but she dared not be so familiar as yet.
Had the offer been made and accepted, butler, foot-
man, and guest would have been plunged into equal
confusion by the explanation, which would have run
thus:

"I had a vision of the Hermes of Praxiteles in a
sylvan haunt to-day; and I am thinking of that."

I f

CHAPTER III

Next day Alice accepted Miss Carew's invitation.
Lydia, who seemed to regard all conclusions as fore-
gone when she had once signified her approval of them,
took the acceptance as a matter of course. Alice there-
upon thought fit to remind her that there were other
persons to be considered. She said,

**I should not have hesitated yesterday but for my
mother. It seems so heartless to leave her.'*
'You have a sister at home, have you not?'*
'Yes. But she is not very strong; and my mother
requires a great deal of attention.'* Alice paused, and
added in a lower voice, **She has never recovered from
the shock of my father's death."

'*Your father is then not long dead?" said Lydia in
her usual tone.

**Only two years," said Alice coldly. **I hardly
know how to tell my mother that I am going to desert
her."

**Go and tell her to-day, Alice. You need not be
afraid of hurting her. Grief of two years' standing is
only a bad habit."

Alice started, outraged. Her mother's grief was
sacred to her; and yet it was by her experience of
her mother that she recognized the truth of Lydia' s
remark, and felt that it was unanswerable. She
frowned; but the frown was lost: Miss Carew was not
looking at her. Then she rose and went to the door,
where she stopped to say,

Cashel Byrbn's Profession 59

"You do not know our family circumstances. I will
go now and try to prevail on my mother to let me stay
with you."

"Please come back in good time for dinner/* said
Lydia, unmoved. "I will introduce you to my cousin
Lucian Webber: I have just received a telegram from
him. He is coming down with Lord Worthington.
I do not know whether Lord Worthington will come to
dinner or not. He has an invalid friend at the Warren
Lodge; and Lucian does not make it clear whether he
is coming to visit him or me. However, it is of no
consequence: Lord Worthington is only a young
sportsman. Lucian is a clever man, and will be a
well-known one some day. He is secretary to a Cabinet
Minister, and is very busy; but we shall probably see
him often whilst the Whitsuntide holidays last.
Excuse my keeping you waiting at the door to hear
that long history. Adieu!" She waved her hand;
and Alice suddenly felt that it might be possible to
become very fond of Miss Carew.

She spent an unhappy afternoon with her mother.
It had been Mrs. GofPs fortune to marry a man of
whom she was afraid, who made himself very disagree-
able whenever his house or his children were neglected
in the least particular. Making a virtue of necessity,
she had come to be regarded in Wiltstoken as a model
wife and mother. At last, when a drag ran over Mr.
Go£f and killed him, she was left almost penniless,
with two daughters on her hands. In this extremity,
she took refuge in grief, and did nothing. Her
daughters settled their father's affairs as best they
could; moved into a cheap house; and procured a
strange tenant for that in which they had lived during

6o Cashel Byron's Profession

many years. Janet, the elder sister, a student by di. s
position, employed herself as a teacher of the latest
fashions in female education, rumors of which h
already reached Wiltstoken. Alice was unable to
teach mathematics and moral science; but she formed
a dancing class,' and gave lessons in singing and in a
language which she believed to be current in Francei
but which was not intelligible to natives of t
country travelling through Wiltstoken. Both sisters
were devoted to one another and to their mother.
Alice, who had enjoyed the special affection of her
self-indulgent father, preserved some regard for his
memory, though she could not help wishing that 1
affection had been strong enough to induce him to
save a provision for her. She was ashamed, too, of
the very recollection of his habit of getting drunk at
races, regattas, and other national festivals, by an acci-
dent at one of which he had met his death.

Alice went home from the Castle expecting to leave
her family divided between joy at her good fortune
and grief at losing her; for her views of human nature
and parental feeling were as yet purely romantic
But Mrs. Goff, at once becoming envious of the luxury
her daughter was about to enjoy, overwhelmed her
with accusations of want of feeling, eagerness to desert
her mother, and vain love of pleasure. Alice, who, in
spite of a stubborn sense of the duty of truth telling,
had often told Mrs. Goff half a dozen lies in one after-
noon to spare her some unpleasant truth, and would
have scouted as infamous any suggestion that her
parent was more selfish than saintly, soon burst into
tears, declaring that she would not return to the Cas-
tle, and that nothing would have induced her to stay

Cashel Byron's Profession 6i

there the night before had she thought that her doing
so could give pain at home. This alarmed Mrs. Goff,
who knew by experience that it was easier to drive
Alice upon rash resolves than to shake her in them
afterwards. Fear of incurring blame in Wiltstoken for
wantonly opposing her daughter's interests, and of
losing her share of Miss Carew'« money and counte-
nance, got the better of her jealousy. She lectured
Alice severely for her headstrong temper, and com-
manded her on her duty not only to her mother, but a
also and chiefly to her God, to accept Miss Carew's offer
with thankfulness, and to insist upon a definite salary
as soon as she had, by good behaviour, made her society
indispensable at the Castle. Alice, dutiful as she was,
reduced Mrs. Goff to entreaties, and even to symp-
toms of an outburst of violent grief for the late Mr.
Goff, before she consented to obey her. She would
wait, she said, until Janet, who was absent teaching,
came in, and promised to forgive her for staying away
the previous night (Mrs. Goff had falsely represented
that Janet, deeply hurt, had lain awake weeping
during the small hours of the morning). The mother,
seeing nothing for it but either to get rid of Alice
before Janet's return, or be detected in a spiteful
untruth, had to pretend that Janet was spending the
evening with some friends, and to urge the unkindness
of leaving Miss Carew lonely. At last Alice washed
away the traces of her tears, and returned to the
Castle, feeling very miserable, and trying to comfort
herself with the reflection that her sister had been
spared the scene which had just passed.

Lucian Webber had not arrived when she reached the
Castle. Miss Carew glanced at her melancholy face

62 Cashel Byron s Profession

as she entered, but asked no questions. Presently,
however, she put down her book; considered for a
moment; and said,

**It is nearly three years since I have had a new
dress." Alice looked up with interest. **Now'that I
have you to help me to choose, I think I will be ,
extravagant enough to renew my entire wardrobe. I
wish you would take this opportunity to get- some
things for yourself. You will find that my dress-
maker, Madame Smith, is to be depended on for work^
though she is expensive and dishonest. When we are .
tired of Wiltstoken we can go to Paris, and be mil-
linered there; but in the meantime we can resort to
Madame Smith."

"I cannot afford expensive dresses," said Alice.

"I should not ask you to get them if you could not
afford them. I warned you that I should give you
expensive habits."

Alice hesitated. She had a healthy inclination to
take whatever she could get on all occasions; and she
had suffered too much from poverty not to be more
thankful for her good fortune than humiliated by Miss
Carew's bounty. But the thought of being driven,
richly attired, in one of the Castle carriages, and meet-
ing Janet trudging about her daily tasks in a cheap
black serge and mended gloves, made Alice feel that
she deserved all her mother's reproaches. However,
it was obvious that a refusal would be of no materiak..
benefit to Janet; so she said,

**Really I could not think of imposing on your kind-
ness in this wholesale fashion. You are too good to me.*^

**I will write to Madame Smith this evening," saicr
Lyai*.

Cashel Byron's Profession 63

Alice was about to renew her protest more faintly,
when Mr. Webber was announced. She stiffened her-
self to receive the visitor. Lydia's manner did not
alter in the least. Lucian, whose demeanour resembled
Miss Goff's rather than his cousin's, went through the
ceremony of introduction with solemnity, and was
received with a dash of scorn; for Alice, though •
secretly awe - stricken, bore herself tyrannically
towards men from habit.

In reply to Alice, Mr. Webber thought the day cooler
than yesterday. In reply to Lydia, he admitted that
the resolution of which the Leader of the Opposition
had given notice was tantamount to a vote of censure
on the Government. He was confident that Ministers
would have a majority. He had no news of any
importance. He had made the journey down with
Lord Worthington, who had come to Wiltstoken to see
the invalid at the Warren Lodge. He had promised
to return with Lucian in the seven-thirty train.

When they went down to dinner, Alice, profiting by
her experience of the day before, faced the servants
with composure, and committed no solecisms. Unable
to take part in the conversation, as she knew nothing
of politics, which were the staple of Lucian's dis-
course, she sat silent, and reconsidered an old opinion
of hers that it was ridiculous and ill-bred in a lady to
discuss anything that was in the newspapers. She was
impressed by Lucian* s cautious and somewhat dog-
matic style of conversation, and concluded that he
knew everything. Lydia seemed interested in his
information, but quite indifferent to his opinions.

Towards half-past seven, Lydia proposed that they
should walk to the railway station, adding, as a reason

64 Cashel Byron's Profession

for going, that she wished to learn bookmaking from
Lord Worthington, Lucian looked grave at this; and
Alice, to show that she shared his notions of propriety,
looked shocked. Neither demonstration had the
slightest effect on Lydia. She led the way to the hall;
took her untrimmed straw hat and her scarf from a
stand there; and walked out, gloveless, into the fresh
spring evening. Alice, aghast at these manlike pro-
ceedings, and deprived of the ten^ minutes upon which
she had counted to pin on her hat and equip herself
for public inspection, had to rush upstairs and down
again with undignified haste. When she overtook
them on the lawn, Lucian was saying,

**Worthington is afraid of you, Lydia — needlessly,
as it seems."

"Why?"

"Because you know so mucn more than he does,"
said Lucian, rejoiced by an invitation to explain.
"But perhaps you have more sympathy with his tastes
than he supposes."

"I may explain to you, Alice, that Lord Worthing-
ton is a young gentleman whose calendar is the racing
calendar, and who interests himself in favorites and
outsiders much as Lucian does in prime ministers and
independent radicals. He never reads anything, and
never associates with people who read anything; so
his conversation is bearable. Would you like to go to
Ascot, Alice?*

Alice answered, as she felt Lucian expected her to
answer, that she had never been to a race, and that she
had no desire to go to one.

"You will change your mind in time for next year's
meeting. A race interests every one, which is

Cashel Byron's Profession 65

more than can be said for the opera or the
Academy."

**I have been at the Academy/' said Alice, who had
been once with her father to London.

* 'Indeed!*' said Lydia. **Were you in the National
Gallery?"

"The National Gallery! I think not. I forget."

**Did you enjoy the pictures?"

"Oh, very much indeed."

"You will find Ascot far more amusing."

"Let me warn you," said Lucian to Alice, "that my
cousin's pet caprice is to affect a distaste for art, to
which she is passionately devoted; and for literature,
in which she is profoundly read."

"Cousin Lucian," said Lydia: "should you ever be
cut off from your politics, and disappointed in your
ambition, you will have an opportunity of living upon
art and literature. Then I shall respect your opinion
of their satisfactoriness as a staff of life. As yet you
have only tried them as a sauce."

Discontended, as usual?" said Lucian.
'Your one idea respecting me, as usual," replied
Lydia with patient impatience, as they entered the
station.

The train, three carriages and a van, was waiting at
the platform. The engine was humming subduedly;
and the driver and fireman were leaning out: the lat-
ter, a young man, eagerly watching two gentlemen
standing before the first-class carriage; whilst the
driver shared his curiosity in an elderly, preoccupied
manner. One of the persons thus observed was a bul-
let-headed little man of about twenty-five, in the after-
noon costume of metropolitan fashion. Lydia

66 Cashel Byron's Profession

instantly recognized the other as the Hermes of the
day before, in spite of his straw hat, canary-coloured
scarf, and a suit of minute black-and-white chessboard
pattern, with a crimson silk handkerchief overflowing
the breast pocket of the coat. His hands were unen-
cumbered by stick or umbrella; he carried himself
smartly, balancing himself so accurately that he
seemed to have no weight; and his expression was
self-satisfied and good-humoured. But — 1 Lydia felt
that there was a But somewhere about this handsome,
powerful, and light-hearted young man.

'There is Lord Worthington," she said, indicating
the bullet-headed gentleman. * 'Surely that cannot be
his invalid friend with him?'*

**That is the man that lives at the Warren Lodge,"
said Alice. **I know his appearance."

* 'Which is certainly not suggestive of a valetudi-
narian," remarked Lucian, looking hard at the stranger.

They had now come close to the two, and could hear
Lord Worthington, as he opened the carriage door to
get in, saying, **Take care of yourself, like a good
fellow, won't you? Remember! If it lasts a second
over the fifteen minutes, I shall drop five hundred
pounds."

Hermes placed his arm round the shoulders of the
young lord, and gave him an elder-brotherly roll.
Then he said with correct accent and pronunciation,
but with a certain rough quality of voice, and louder
than English gentlemen usually speak: **Your money
is as safe as the Mint, my boy."

Evidently, Alice thought, the stranger was an inti-
mate friend of Lord Worthington. She resolved to be
particular in her behavior before him, if introduced.

Cashel Byron's Profession 67

"Lord Worthington," said Lydia.

Startled, he turned and climbed hastily down from
the step of the carriage, saying in some confusion,
"How de do, Miss Carew? Lovely country and lovely
weather — must agree awfully well with you. You
look as if it did.'

"Thank you: I dare say I do. Your friend is a
tenant of mine, I think.'

Lord Worthington looked at her with a countenance
that expressed a sudden and vivid dread of detection,
and answered not a word.

"You are going to introduce him to me,, are you
not?"

"You give me leave to?'* he stipulated.

"Of course," said Lydia. "Is there any reason "

"Oh, not the least in the world, since you wish it,"
he replied quickly, his eyes twinkling mischievously
as he turned to his companion, who was standing at
the carriage door admiring Lydia, and being himself
admired by the stoker. "Mr. Cashel Byron: Miss
Carew."

"Mr. Cashel Byron reddened a little as he raised
his straw hat, but, on the whole, bore himself like an
eminent man who was not proud. As, however, he
seemed to have nothing to say for himself, Lydia set
Lord Worthington talking about Ascot, and listened
to him whilst she lool^ed at her new acquaintance.
Now that the constraint of society had banished his
former expression of easy good humor, there was
something formidable in him that gave her an unac-
countable thrill of pleasure. The same impression of
latent danger had occurred, less agreeably, to Lucian,
who was affected much as he might have been by the

68 Cashel Byron's Profession

proximity of a large dog of doubtful temper, Lydia
thought that Mr. Byron did not, at first sight, like. her
cousin; for he was looking at him obliquely, as though
stealthily measuring him.

The group was broken up by the guard calling to
the passengers to take their seats. Farewells were
exchanged; and Lord Worthington cried, **Take care
of yourself," to Cashel Byron, who replied somewhat
impatiently, and with an apprehensive glance at Miss
Carew, "All right, all right: never you fear, sir."
Then the train went off; and he was left on the plat-
form with the two ladies.

**We are returning to the Park, Mr. Cashel Byron,"
said Lydia.

**So am I," said he. * 'Perhaps ** Here he

broke down, and looked at Alice to avoid Lydia' s eye.
Then they went out together.

When they had walked some distance in silence:
Alice looking rigidly before her, recollecting with sus-
picion that he had just addressed Lord Worthington as
**sir"; whilst Lydia was observing his light step and
perfect balance, and trying to read his troubled face,
he said,

**I saw you in the park yesterday; and I thought you
were a ghost. Old Mellish — my man, I mean — saw
you too. I knew by that that you were genuine."

"Strange!" said Lydia. **I had the same fancy
about you."

"What! You had!" he exclaimed, looking at her.
Whilst thus unmindful of his steps, he stumbled, and
recovered himself with a stifled oath. Then he
became very red, and remarked to Miss Goff, that it
was a warm evening.

Cashel Byron's Profession 69

Alice assented. **I hope," she added, **that you
are better."

He looked puzzled. Concluding, after considera-
tion, that she had referred to his stumble, he said.
Thank you: I didn't hurt myself."
Lord Worthington has been telling us about you,"
said Lydia. He halted suddenly, evidently deeply
mortified. She hastened to add, **He mentioned that
you had come down here to recruit your health: that
is all."

Cashel's features relaxed into a curious smile; and
he walked on again. But presently he became sus-
picious, and said anxiously, **He didn't tell you any-
thing else about me, did he?"

Alice stared at him superciliously. Lydia replied,
"No. Nothing else."

"I thought you might have heard my name some-
where," he persisted.

"Perhaps I have; but I cannot recall in what con-
nexion. Why? Do you know any friends of mine?"

"Oh no. Only Lord Worthington."

"I conclude then that you are celebrated, and that
I have the misfortune not to know it, Mr. Cashel
Bvron. Is it so?"

"Not a bit of it," he replied hastily. "There's no
reason why you should ever have heard of me. I am
much obliged to you for your kind inquiries," he con-
tinued, turning to Alice. "Fm quite well now, thank
you. The country has set me right again."

Alice, who was beginning to have her doubts of Mr.
Byron, smiled falsely and drew herself up a little.
He turned away from her, hurt by her manner, and so
ill able to conceal his feelings that Miss Carew, always

JO Cashel Byron's Profession

watching him, saw what he felt, and knew with delight
that he was turning to her for consolation. He looked
at Lydia wistfully, as if trying to guess her thoughts,
which seemed to be with the setting sun, or in some
equally beautiful and mysterious region. But he
could see that there was no reflection of Miss GofPs
scorn in her face.

"And so you really took me for a ghost?" he said.

"Yes. At first I thought you were a statue."

"A statue!"

"You do not seem flattered by that."

"It is not flattering to be taken for a lump of stone,**
he replied ruefully.

Here was a man whom she had mistaken for the
finest image of manly strength and beauty known to
her; and he was so void of artistic culture that he held
a statue to be a distasteful lump of stone.

"I believe I was trespassing then," she said; "but
I did so unintentionally. I had gone astray; for I am
comparatively a stranger here, and cannot find my way
about my park yet."

"It didn't matter a bit," said Cashel impetuously.
"Come as often as you want. Mellish fancies that if
any one gets a glimpse of .me he won't get any odds.

You see he would like people to think " Here

Cashel, recollecting himself, broke off, and added in
confusion, "Mellish is mad: that's about where it is."

Alice glanced significantly at Lydia. She had
already suggested that madness was the real reason for
the seclusion of the tenants at the Warren Lodge.
Cashel saw the glance, and intercepted it by turning
to her, and saying, with an attempt at conversational
ease.

Cashel Byron's Profession 71

"How do you young ladies amuse yourselves in the
country? Do you play billiards ever? *

**Noi" said Alice indignantly. The question, she
thought, implied that she was capable of spending her
evenings on the first floor of a public-house. To her
surprise, Lydia remarked,

**I play — a little. I do not care sufficiently for the
game to make myself proficient. You were equipped
for lawn-tennis, I think, when I saw you yesterday.
Miss Goff is a celebrated lawn-tennis player. She
vanquished the Australian champion last year."

It seemed that Byron, after all, was something of a
courtier; for he displayed great astonishment at this
feat. **The Australian champion!*' he repeated.

"And who may A^ Oh! you mean the lawn-tennis

champion. To be sure. Well, Miss Goff, I congratu-
late you. It is not every ammichoor [amateur] that
can brag of having shewn a professional champion to
a back seat."

Alice, outraged by the imputation of bragging, and
. certain that slang was vulgar, whatever billiards might
be, bore herself still more loftily, and resolved to snub
him explicitly if he addressed her again. But he did
not; for they came just then to a narrow iron gate in
the wall of the park, at which Lydia stopped.

"Let me open it for you," said Cashel. She gave
him the key; and he seized one of the bars of the gate
with his left hand, and stooped as though he wanted to
look into the keyhole. Yet he opened it smartly enough.

Alice was about to pass in with a cool bow when she
saw Miss Carew offer Cashel her hand. Whatever
Lydia did was done so that it seemed the right thing
to do. He took the hand timidly, and gave it a little

72 Cashel Byron's Profession

shake, not daring to meet her eyes. Alice put out
her glove stiffly. Cashel immediately stepped forward
with his right foot and enveloped her fingers with the
hardest clump of knuckles she had ever felt. Glanc-
ing down at this remarkable fist, she saw that it was
discoloured almost to blackness. Then she went in
through the gate, followed by Lydia, who turned to
close it behind her. As she pushed, Cashel, standing
outside, grasped a bar and pulled. She at once relin-
quished to him the shutting of the gate, and smiled
her thanks as she turned away; but in that moment he
plucked up courage to look at h^r. The sensation of
being so looked at was quite novel, and very curious.
She was even a little out of countenance, but not so
much so as Cashel, who nevertheless could not take
his eyes away.

**Do you think," said Alice, as they crossed the
orchard, **that that man is a gentleman?"

**How can I possibly tell? We hardly know him."

**But what do you think? There is always a certain
something about a gentleman that one recognizes by
instinct."

**Is there? I have never observed it."

**Have you not?" said Alice, surprised, and begin-
ning uneasily to fear that her superior perception of
gentility was in some way the effect of her social
inferiority to Miss Carew. **I thought one could
always tell."

'Terhaps so," said Lydia. **For my own part I
have found the same varieties of address in every
class. Some people, no matter what the style of their
particular set may be, have a native distinction and
grace of manner — "

Cashel Byron's Profession 73

That is what I mean/' said Alice,
"but you find that as often among actors, gipsies,
and peasants, as among ladies and gentlemen. One
can make a fair guess with most people, but not with
this Mr. Cashel Byron. Are you curious about
him?"

**I!" exclaimed Alice superbly. "Not in the least."

'*I am. He interests me. I seldom see anything
novel in humanity; and he is a very singular man."

**I meant," said Alice, crestfallen, **that I take no
special interest in him."

Lydia, not being concerned as to the exact degree
of Alice's interest, merely nodded, and continued,
"He may, as you suppose, be a man of humble origin,
who has seen something of society; or he may be a
gentleman unaccustomed to society. I fell no convic-
tion either way."

"But he speaks very roughly; and his slang is dis-
gusting. His hands are hard and quite black. Did
you not notice them?"

**I noticed it all; and I think that if he were a man
of low condition he would be careful not to use slang.
Self-made persons are usually precise in their lan-
guage: they rarely break the formulated laws of
society, whereas he breaks every one of them. His
pronunciation of some words is so distinct that an
idea crossed me once that he might be an actor. But
then it is not uniformly distinct. I am sure that he
has some object or occupation in life: he has not the
air of an idler. Yet I have thought of all the ordinary
professions; and he does not fit one of them. That is
perhaps what makes him interesting. He is unac«
countable."

74 Cashel Byron's Profession

**He must have some position. He was very
familiar with Lord Worthington."

* 'Lord Worthing ton is a sportsman, and is familiar
with all sorts of people."

**Yes; but surely he would not let a jockey, or any-
body of that class, put his arm round his neck, as we
saw Mr. Byron do." '

"Perhaps not," said Lydia thoughtfully. **Still,"
she added, clearing her brow and laughing, **I don't
believe he is an invalid student."

**I will tell you what he is," said Alice suddenly.
"He is companion and keeper to the man with whom
he lives. Do you recollect his saying *Mellish is
mad' ?"

"That is possible," said Lydia. "At all events we
have got somebody to talk about; and that is an
ihiportant home-comfort in the country."

Just then they reached the Castle. Lydia lingered
for a moment on the terrace. The tall Tudor chim-
neys of the Warren Lodge stood up against the long
crimson cloud into which the sun was sinking. She
smiled as if some quaint idea had occurred to her;
raised her eyes for a moment to the black marble
Egyptian gazing with unwavering eyes into the sky;
and followed Alice indoors.

Later on, when it was quite dark, Cashel sat in a
spacious kitchen at the lodge, thinking. His com-
panion, who had laid his coat aside, was at the fire,
smoking, and watching a saucepan that simmered
there. He broke the silence by remarking, after a
glance at the clock, "Time to go to roost."

"Time to go to the devil," said Cashel. "I am
going out."

Cashel Byron's Profession 75

**Yes, and get a chill. Not if I know it, you don't.'*

"Well, go to bed yourself; and then you won't know
it. I want to take a walk round the place."

**If you put your foot outside that door to-night,
Lord Worthington will lose his five hundred pounds.
You can't lick any one in fifteen minutes if you train
on night air. Get licked yourself, more likely."

"Will you lay two to one that I don't sleep on the
grass and knock the Flying Dutchman out of time in
the first round afterwards?"

"Come," said Mellish coaxingly: "have some com-
mon sense. I'm advising you for your good."

"Suppose I don't want to be advised for my good.
Eh? Hand me over that lemon. You needn't start a
speech: I'm not going to eat it."

"Blest if he ain't rubbin' 'is'ands with iti" exclaimed
Mellish, after watching him for some moments.
"Why, you-bloomin* fool, lemon won't 'arden your
'ands. Ain't I took enough trouble with them?"

"I want to whiten them," said Cashel, impatiently
throwing the lemon under the grate; "but it's no use.
I can't go about with my fists like this. I'll go up to
London to-morrow and buy a pair of gloves."

"What! Real gloves? Wearin' gloves?"

"You thundering old lunatic," said Cashel, rising
and putting on his hat: "is it likely that I want a pair
of mufflers? Perhaps you think you could teach me
something with them. Ha! ha! By the bye — now
mind this, Mellish — don't let it out down here that
I'm a fighting man. Do you hear?"

"Me let it out!" cried Mellish indignantly. "Is it
likely? Now, I asts you, Cashel Byron, is it likely?"

"Likely or not, don't do it," said Cashel. "You

76 Cashel 'Byron's Profession

might get talking with some of the chaps about the
Castle stables. They are free with their liquor when
they can get sporting news for it."

Mellish looked at him reproachfully; and Cashel
turned towards the door. The movement reminded
the trainer of his professional duties. He renewed his
remonstrances as to the folly of venturing into the
night air, citing many examples of pugilists who had
suffered defeat through neglecting the counsel of their
trainers. Cashel expressed his disbelief in these
anecdotes in brief and personal terms; and at last
Mellish had to content himself with proposing to
limit the duration of the walk to half an hour.

"Perhaps I shall come back in half an hour," said
Cashel. **And perhaps I shan't."

"Well, look here," said Mellish. "Don't let us two
pals quarrel about a minute or so. I feel the want of
a walk myself; and Til come with you."

"I'm damned if, you shall," said Cashel. "Here:
let me out; and shut up. I'm not going further than
the park. I have no intention of making a night of it
in the village, which is what you are afraid of. I
know you, you old dodger. If you don't get out of
my way, I'll seat you on the fire."

"But dooty, Cashel, dooty," pleaded Mellish per-
suasively. "Every man oughter do his dooty.
Consider your dooty to your backers."

"Are you going to get out of my way; or must I put
you out of it?" said Cashel, reddening ominously.

Mellish went back to his chair; bowed his head on
his hands; and wept. "I'd sooner be a dog nor a
trainer," he sobbed. "Oh! the cussedness o' bein*
shut up for weeks with a fightin' manl For the fust

Cashel Byron's Profession ^^

two days they're as sweet as treacle; and then their
contrairyness comes out. Their tempers is puffict
'ell."

Cashel, additionally engraged by a sting of remorse,
went out and slammed the door. He made straight
towards the Castle, and watched its windows for
nearly half an hour, keeping in constant motion so as
to avert a chill. At last a bell struck the hour from
one of the minarets. To Cashel, accustomed to the
coarse jangling of ordinary English bells in too low
belfries, the sound seemed to belong to fairyland. He
went slowly back to the Warren Lodge, and found his
trainer standing at the open door, smoking, and anx-
iously awaiting his return. Cashel rebuffed his con-
ciliatory advances with a haughty reserve more
dignified but much less acceptable to Mr. Mellish
than his former profane familiarity, and went thought-
fully to bed.

CHAPTER IV

Miss Carew sat on the bank of a great pool in the
park, throwing pebbles two by two into the water, and
intently watching the intersection of the circles they
made on its calm surface. Alice, who had rashly
begun her companionship by a parade of all her accom-
plishments, was sketching the Castle. The woodland
rose round them like the sides of an amphitheatre; but
the trees did not extend to the water's edge: there was
an ample margin of bright greensward and a narrow
belt of gravel, from which Lydia was picking her peb-
bles.

Hearing a footstep, she looked back, and saw Cashel
Byron standing behind Alice, apparently much inter-
ested in her drawing. He was dressed as she had last
seen him, except that he wore gorgeous primrose
gloves and an Egyptian red scarf. Alice turned, and
surveyed him with haughty surprise; but he stood at
ease with an inept swagger; and she, after glancing at
Lydia to reassure herself that she was not alone, bade
him good morning, and resumed her work.

"Queer place," he remarked, after a pause, alluding
to the Castle. "Chinese looking, isn't it?"

It is considered a very fine building," said Alice.

"Oh, hang what is considered!" said Cashel.
What is it? That is the point to look to."

It is a matter of taste," said Alice, very coldly.

"Mr. Cashel Byron."

Cashel started and hastened to the bank. "How
d'ye do, Miss Carew," he said. "I didn't see you until

< (

II'
ll*^

Cashel Byron's Profession 79

you called me.'* She looked at him quietly; and he
quailed, convicted of a foolish falsehood. "There is
a splendid view of the Castle from here/' he continued,
to change the subject. '*Miss Goff and I have just
been talking about it."

'Yes. Do you admire it?"

'Very much indeed. It is a beautiful place. Every
one must acknowledge that."

**It is considered kind to praise my house to me,
and to ridicule it to other people. You do hot say,
'Hang what it is considered,* now."

Cashel, with an unaccustomed sense of getting the
worst of an encounter, almost lost heart to reply.
Then he brightened, and said, VI can tell you how
that is. As far as being a place to sketch, or for
another person to look at, it is Chinese enough. But
somehow your living in it makes a difference. That
is what I meant: upon my soul it is."

Lydia smiled; but he, looking down at her, did not
see the smile because of her coronet of red hair, which
seemed to flame in the sunlight. The obstruction was
unsatisfactory to him: he wanted to see her face. He
hesitated, and then sat down on the ground beside her
cautiously, as if getting into a very hot bath.

**I hope you won't mind my sitting here," he said
timidly. **It seems rude to talk down at you from a
height."

She shook her head and threw two more stones into
the pool. He could think of nothing further to say;
and as she did not speak, but gravely watched the
circles in the water, he began to stare at them too; and
they sat in silence for some minutes, steadfastly regard-
ing the waves: she as if there were matter for infinite

C ('

< c

< ('

80 Cashel Byron's Profession

thought in them: he as though the spectacle wholly
confounded him. At last she said,

Have you ever realized what a vibration is?"
No/' said Cashel, after a blank look at her.
I am delighted to hear you confess that. We have
reduced everything nowadays to vibration. Light —
sound — sensation — all are either vibrations or interfer-
ence of vibrations. There," she said, throwing another
pair of pebbles in, and pointing to the two sets of
widening rings as they overlapped one another: "the
twinkling of a star, and the pulsation in a chord of
music, are that. But I cannot picture the thing in
my own mind. I wonder whether the hundreds of
writers of text-books on physics, who talk so glibly of
vibrations, realize them any better than I do."

**Not a bit of it. Not one of them. Not half so
well," said Cashel cheerfully, replying to as much of
her speech as he understood.

'Terhaps the subject does not interest you,*" she
s^id, turning to him.

**On the contrary: I like it of all things," said he
boldly.

**I can hardly say as much for my own interest in it.
I am told that you are a student, Mr. Cashel Byron.
What are your favourite studies? — or rather, since that
is generally a hard question to answer, what are your
pursuits?" * '■

Alice listened.

Cashel looked doggedly at Lydia, his colour slowly
deepening. **I am a professor," he said.

*'A professor of what? I know I should ask of
where; but that would only elicit the name of a col-
lege, which would convey no real information to me."

Cashel Byron's Profession 8i

"I am a professor of science," said Cashel in a
low voice, looking down at his left fist, which he
was balancing in the air before him, and stealthily
hitting his bent knee as if it were another person's
face.
^ "Physical or moral science?" persisted Lydia.

"Physical science," said Cashel. "But there's more
moral science in it than people think."

"Yes," said Lydia seriously. "Though I have no
real knowledge of physics, I can appreciate the truth
of that. Perhaps all the science that is not at bottom
physical science, is only formal nescience. I have
read much of physics, and have often been tempted
to make the experiments with my own hands — to fur-
nish a laboratory— to wield the scalpel even. For to
master science thoroughly, I suppose one must take
one's gloves off. Is that your opinion?"

Cashel looked hard at her. "You never spoke a
truer word," he said. "But you can become a very
respectable amateur by working with the gloves."

"/ never should. The many who believe they are
the wiser for reading accounts of experiments, deceive
themselves. It is as impossible to learn science from
hearsay as to gain wisdom from proverbs. Ah, it is so
easy to follow a line of argument, and so difficult to
grasp the facts that underlie iti Our popular lecturers
on physics present us with chains of deductions so
highly polished that it is a luxury to let them slip
from end to end through our fingers. But they leave
nothing behind but a vague memory of the sensation
they afforded."

"I wish I could talk like that," said Cashel: "—like
a book, I mean."

82 Cashel B3n:on's Profession

. "Heaven forbid!" said Lydia. **I beg your pardon
for it. Will you give me some lessons if I set to work
in earnest at science?*'

**Well/' said Cashel with a covert grin, **I would
rather you came to me than to another professor; but
I don't think it' would suit you. I should like to try
my hand on your friend there. She's stronger and
straighter than nine out of ten men."

"You set a high value on physical qualifications,
then. So do I."

"Only from a practical point of view, mind you,"
said Cashel earnestly. "It isn't right to be always
looking at men and women as you look at horses. If
you want to back them in a race or in a fight, that's
one thing; but if you want a friend or a sweetheart,
that's another."

"Quite so,"said Lydia, smiling. "You do not wish
to commit yourself to any warmer feeling towards
Miss Goff than a critical appreciation of her form and
condition."

"Just that," said Cashel satisfied. **You understand
me. Miss Carew. There are some people that you
might talk to all day, and they'd be no wiser at the end
of it than they were at the beginning. You're not one
of that sort."

"I wonder do we ever succeed really in communi-
cating our thoughts to one another. A thought must
take a new shape to fit itself into a strange mind.,
You, Mr. Professor, must have acquired special experi-
ence of the incommunicability of ideas in the course
of your lectures and lessons."

Cashel looked uneasily at the water, and said in a
lower voice, "Of course you may call me just what-

Cashel Byron's Profession 83

ever you like; but — if it's all the same to you — I wish
you wouldn't call me Professor."

"I have lived so much in countries where people
expect to be addressed by even the most trivial titles
on all occasions, that I may claim to be excused for
having offended on that point. Thank you for telling
me. But I am to blame for discussing science with
you. Lord Worthington told us that you had come
down here expressly to escape from it — to recruit
yourself after an excess of work."
It doesn't matter," said Cashel.
I have not done harm enough to be greatly con-
cerned; but I will not offend again. To change the
subject, let us look at Miss Goff's sketch."

Miss Carew had hardly uttered this suggestion,
when Cashel, in a business-like manner, and without
the slightest air of gallantry, expertly lifted her and
placed her on her feet. This unexpected attention
gave her a shock, followed by a thrill that was not
disagreeable. She turned to him with a faint mantling
in her cheeks.

"Thank you," she said; '*butpraydo not do that
again. It is a little humiliating to be lifted like a
child. You are very strong."

"There is not much strength needed to lift such a
feather-weight as you. Seven stone two, I should
judge you to be about. But there's a great art in
doing these things properly. I have often had to
carry off a man of fourteen stone, resting him all the
time as if he was in bed."

"Ah," said Lydia: "I see you have had some hos-
pital practise. I have often admired the skill with
which trained nurses handle their patients." '

84 Cashel Byron's Profession

Cashel, without a word, followed her to where Alice
sat.

**It IS very foolish of me, I know," said Alice pres-
ently; *'but I never can draw when any one is looking
at me."

**You fancy that everybody is thinking about how
you're doing it," said Cashel, encouragingly. "That's
always the way with amateurs. But the truth is that
not a soul except yourself is a bit concerned about it.
-£;ir-cuse me," he added, taking up the drawing, and
proceeding to examine it leisurely.

"Please give me my sketch, Mr. Byron," she said,
her cheeks red with anger. Puzzled, he turned to
Lydia for an explanation, whilst Alice seized the
sketch and packed it in her portfolio.

"It is getting rather warm," said Lydia. "Shall we
return to the castle?"

"I think we had better," said Alice, trembling with
resentment as she walked away quickly, leaving Lydia
alone with Cashel, who exclaimed,

"What in thunder have I done?"

"You have made an inconsiderate remark with
unmistakable sincerity.'

"I only tried to cheer her up. She must have mis-
taken what I said."

"I think not. Do you believe that young ladies like
to be told that there is no occasion for them to be
ridiculously self-conscious?"

"I say that! I'll take my oath I never said any-
thing of the sort."

"You worded it differently. But you assured her
that she need not object to have her drawing over-
looked, as it is of no importance to any one."

Cashel Byron's Profession 85

"Well, if she takes offence at that, she must be a
born fool. Some people can't bear to be told any-
thing. But they soon get all that thin-skinned non-
sense knocked out of them."

"Have you any sisters, Mr. Cashel Byron?"

"No. Why?"

"Or a mother?"

"I have a mother; but I haven't seen her for years;
and I don't much care if I never see her. It was
through her that I came to be what I am."

"Are you then dissatisfied with your profession?"

"No: I don't mean that. I am always saying stupid
things."

"Yes. That comes of your ignorance of a sex
accustomed to have its silliness respected. You
will find it hard to keep on good terms with my
friend without learning a little more of womanly
ways."

"As to her, I won't give in that I'm wrong unless I
am wrong. The truth's the truth."

"Not even to please Miss Goff?"

"Not even to please you. You'd only think the
worse of me afterwards."

"Quite true, and quite right," said Lydia cordially.
"Good-bye, Mr. Cashel Byron. I must go back to
Miss Goff."

"I suppose you will take her part if she keeps a
down on me for what I said to her."

"What is a down? A grudge?"

"Yes. Something of that sort."

"Colonial, is it not?" pursued Lydia, with the air of
a philologist.

"Yes, I believe I picked it up in the colonies." Then

86 Cashel Byron's Profession

he added sullenly, "I suppose I shouldn't use slang in
speaking to you. I beg your pardon."

"Not at all. I like finding out about things, espe-
cially about words. And I want to find out about you.
You were not born in Australia, were you?"

"Good Lord! no. But are you out with me because
I annoyed Miss Goff?"

"Not in the least. I sympathize with her annoy-
ance at the manner, if not the matter, of your rebuke:
that is all."

"I can't, for the life of me, see what there was in
what I said to raise such a fuss about. I wish you
would give me a nudge whenever you see me making
a fool of myself. I will shut up at once and ask no
questions."

"So that it will be understood that my nudge means
*Shut up, Mr. Cashel Byron: you are making a fool of
yourself?"

"Just so. You understand me. I told you that
before, didn't I?"

"I am afraid," said Lydia, her face bright with
laughter, "that I cannot take charge of your manners
until we are a little better acquainted."

He seemed disappointed. Then his face clouded;
and he began, "If you regard it as a liberty "

"Of course I regard it as a liberty," she said, neatly
interrupting him. "My own conduct gives me quite
enough to take care of. Do you know that for so very
strong a man and learned a professor, you seem to
have very little sense?"

"By Jingo!" exclaimed Cashel, with sudden excite-
ment, "I don't care what you say to me. You have a
way of giving things a turn that makes it a pleasure to

Cashel Byron's Profession 87

be shut up by you; and if I were a gentleman as I
ought to be, instead of a poor devil of a professional

pug, I would " He recollected himself, and

turned quite pale. There was a pause.

"Let me remind you," said Lydia composedly,
though she too had changed color at the beginning of
his outburst, **that we are both wanted elsewhere at
present: I by Miss Goff; and you by your servant,
who has been hovering about us and looking at you
anxiously for some minutes."

Cashel turned fiercely, and saw Mellish standing a
little way off, sulkily watching them. Lydia took the
opportunity, and left the place. As she retreated, she
could hear that they were at high words together; but
she could not distinguish what they were saying.
This was fortunate; for their language was abom-
inable.

She found Alice in the library, seated bolt upright
in a chair that would have tempted a good-humored
person to recline. Lydia sat down in silence. Alice,
looking at her, discovered that she was in a fit of noise-
less laughter. The effect, in contrast to her habitual
self-possession, was so strange that Alice almost for-
got to be offended.

"I am glad to see that it is not hard to amuse you,"
she said.

Lydia waited to recover herself thoroughly, and then
replied, **I have not laughed so three times in my life.
Now, Alice, put aside your resentment of our neigh-
bor's impudence for the moment; and tell me what you
think of him."

"I have not thought about him at all, I assure you,"
said Alice disdainfully.

88 Cashel Byron's Profession

"Then think about him for a moment to oblige me;
and let me know the result."

**Really, you have had much more opportunity of
judging than I. I have hardly spoken to him."

Lydia rose patiently and went to the bookcase.
**You have a cousin at one of the universities, have
you not?" she said, seeking along the shelf for a vol-

ume.

Yes," replied Alice, speaking very sweetly to atone
for her want of amiability on the previous subject.

**Then perhaps you know something of university
slang?"

**I never allow him to talk slang to me," said Alice
quickly.

**You may dictate modes of expression to a single
man, perhaps, but not to a whole university," said
Lydia, with a quiet scorn that brought unexpected
tears to Alice's eyes. **Do you know what a pug is?"

**A pug!" said Alice vacantly. **No: I have heard
of a bulldog — a proctor's bulldog, but never of a pug."

**I must try my slang dictionary," said Lydia, tak-
ing down a book. **Here it is. Tug — a fighting man's
idea of the contracted word to be produced from
pugilist' What an extraordinary definition! A fight-
ing man's idea of a contraction! Why should a man
have a special idea of a contraction when he is fight-
ing; or why should he think of such a thing at all
under such circumstances? Perhaps fighting man is
slang too. No: it is not given here. Either I mis-
took the word, or it has some signification unknown to
the compiler of my dictionary."

"It seems quite plain to me," said Alice. "Pug
means pugilist."

< <'
<(-

Cashel Byron's Profession • 89

"But pugilism is boxing: it is not* a profession. I
suppose all men are more or less pugilists. I want a
sense of the word in which it denotes a calling or
occupation of some kind. I fancy it means a demon-
strator of anatomy. However, it does not matter."
'Where did you meet with it?"
Mr. Byron used it just now."

'Do you really like that man?" said Alice, returning
to the subject more humbly than she had quitted it.

**So far, I do not dislike him. He puzzles me. If
the roughness of his manner is an affectation, I have
never seen one so successful before."

"Perhaps he does not know any better. His coarse-
ness did not strike me as being affected at all."

"I should agree with you but for one or two remarks
that fell from him. They shewed an insight into the
real nature of scientific knowledge, and an instinctive
sense of the truths underlying words, which I have
never met with except in men of considerable culture
and experience. I suspect that his manner is deliber-
ately assumed in protest against the selfish vanity
which is the common source of social polish. It is
partly natural, no doubt. He seems too impatient to
choose his words heedful Fy. Do you ever go to the
theatre?"

*No," said Alice, taken aback by this apparent
irrelevance. "My father disapproved of it. But I
was there once. I saw The Lady of Lyons."

"There is a famous actress, Adelaide Gisborne "

"It was she whom I saw as the Lady of Lyons. She
acted it beautifully."

"Did Mr. Byron remind you of her?"

Alice stared incredulously at Lydia. "I don't

90 Cashel Byron's Profession

believe there can be two people in the world less like
one another/' she said. "Nor do I/' said Lydia,
meditatively, dropping into the literary manner which
Cashel admired. "But I think their dissimilarity
must owe its emphasis to some lurking likeness.
Otherwise how could he have reminded me of her?"
A long silence ensued, during which Alice, conscious
of some unusual stir in her patroness, watched her
furtively and wondered what would happen next.

"Alice."

"Yes."

"My mind is running on trifles — a sure symptom of
failing mental health. My visit to Wiltstoken is only
one of several attempts I have made to live idly since
my father's death. They have all failed. Work is
one of the necessaries of life to me. I will go up to
London to-morrow."

Alice's heart sank; for this seemed equivalent to a
dismissal. But her face expressed nothing but polite
indifference.

"We shall have time to run through all the follies of
the season before June, when I hope to return here and
set to work at a book I have planned. I must collect
materials for it in London. If I leave town before the
season is over, and you are unwilling to come away
with me, I can easily find some one who will take care
of you as long as you please to stay. I wish it were
June already!"

Alice preferred Lydia's womanly impatience to her
fatalistic calm. It relieved her sense of inferiority,
which familiarity had increased rather than dimin-
ished. She did not yet dare to suspect her patroness
of anything so vulgarly human as a sexual interest in

Cashel Byron's Profession 91

Cashel; but she was beginning to persuade herself
with some success that the propriety of Lydia's man-
ners was at least questionable. That morning Miss
Carew had not scrupled to ask a man what his profes-
sion was; and this, at least, Alice congratulated her-
self on being too well bred to do. She had quite lost
her awe of the servants; and had begun to address
them with an unconscious haughtiness and a conscious
politeness that were making the word upstart frequent
in the servants* hall. ' Bashville, the footman, had
risked his popularity there by opining that Miss Goff
was a fine young woman.

Bashville was in his twenty-fourth year, and stood
five feet ten in his stockings. At The Green Man in
the village all the rustic pretence of indifference to his
metropolitan prestige had melted before his fluent
oratory and his keenness in political debate. In the
stables he was deferred to as an authority on sporting
affairs, and an expert wrestler in the Cornish fashion.
The women servants regarded him with undissembled
admiration. They vied with one another in inventing
expressions of delight when he recited before them,
which, as he had a good memory, and was fond of
poetry, he often did. They were proud to go out
walking with him. But his attentions never gave rise
to jealousy; for it was an open secret in the servants'
hall that he loved his mistress. He had never said
anything to that effect; and no one dared allude to it
in his presence, much less rally him on his weakness;
but his passion was well known for all that; and it
seemed by no means so hopeless to the younger mem-
bers of the domestic staff as it did to the cook, the
butler, and Bashville himself. Miss Carew, who

92 Cashel Byron's Profession

knew the value of good servants, appreciated her
footman's smartness, and paid him accordingly; but
she had no suspicion that she was waited on by a
versatile young student of poetry and public affairs,
distinguished for his gallantry, his personal prow-
ess, his eloquence, and his influence in local pol-
itics.

It was Bashville who now entered the library with a
salver, which he proffered to Alice, saying, **The gen-
tleman is waiting in the round drawing-room. Miss."

Alice took the gentleman's card, and read, **Mr.
Wallace Parker."

**Ohr* she said, with vexation, glancing at Bashville
as if to divine his impression of the visitor. **My
cousin — the one we were speaking of just now — has
come to see me."

"How fortunate!" said Lydia. **He will tell me the
meaning of pug. Ask him to lunch with us."

**You would not care for him," said Alice. "He is
not much used to society. I suppose I had better go
and see him."

Miss Carew did not reply, being plainly at a loss to
understand how there could be any doubt about the
matter. Alice went to the round drawing-room,
where she found Mr. Parker examining a trophy of
Indian armor, and presenting a back view of a short
gentleman in a spruce blue frock-coat. A new hat and
pair of gloves were also visible as he stood looking
upward with his hands behind him. When he turned
to greet Alice, he displayed a face expressive of reso-
lute self-esteem, with eyes whose watery brightness,
together with the bareness of his temples, from which
the hair was worn away, suggested late hours and

Cashel Byron's Profession 93

either very studious or very dissipated habits. He
advanced confidently; pressed Alice's hand warmly for
several seconds; and placed a chair for her, without
noticing the marked coldness with which she received
his attentions.

"I am not angry, Alice," he said, when he had
seated himself opposite to her; **but I was surprised
to learn from Aunt Emily that you had come to live
here without consulting me. . I "

**Consult you!" she exclaimed, scornfully interrupt-
ing him. **I never heard of such a thing! Why
should I consult you as to my movements?"

*'Well, I should not have used the word consult,
particularly to such an independent little lady as
sweet Alice Goff. Still, I think you might at least
have gone through the form of acquainting me with
the step you were taking. The relations that exist
between us give me a right to your confidence."
What relations, pray?"

What relations!" he repeated, with reproachful
emphasis.

*'Yes. What relations?"

He rose, and addressed her with tender solemnity.
''Alice," he began: "I have proposed to you six
times "

"And have I accepted you once?"

"Hear me to the end, Alice. I know that you have
never explicitly accepted me; but it has always been
understood that, my needy circumstances were the
only obstacle to our happiness. We Don't inter-
rupt me, Alice: you little know what's coming. That
obstacle no longer exists. I have been made second
master at Sunbury College, with ;^3S0 a year, a house,

94 Cashel Byron's Profession

coals, and gas. In the course of time, I shall undoubt-
edly succeed to the head mastership — a splendid posi-
tion, worth ;^i6oo a year. You are now free from the
troubles that have pressecj so hard upon you since your
father's death; and you can quit at once — now —
instantly, your dependent position here."

"Thank you: I am very comfortable here. I am
staying on a visit with Miss Carew."

Silence ensued; and he sat down slowly. Then she
added, "I am exceedingly glad that you have got
something good at last. It must be a great relief to
your poor mother."

"I fancied, Alice — though it may have been only
fancy — I fancied that your mother was colder than
usual in her manner this morning. I hope the luxuries
of this palatial mansion are powerless to corrupt your
heart. I cannot lead you to a castle and place crowds
of liveried servants at your beck and call; but I can
make you mistress of an honorable English home,
independent of the bounty of strangers. You can
never be more than a lady, Alice."

**It is very good of you to lecture me, I am
sure."

'*You might be serious with me," he said, rising in
ill humor, and walking a little way down the room.
"I think the offer of a man's hand ought to be received
with respect."

"Oh! I did not quite understand. I thought we
agreed that you are not to make me that offer every
time we meet."

"It was equally understood that the subject was only
deferred until I should be in a position to resume it
without binding you to a long engagement. That time

Cashel Byron's Profession 95

has come now; and I expect a favorable answer at
last. I am entitled to one, considering how patiently
I have waited for it."

"For my part, Wallace, I must say I do not think
it wise for you to think of marrying with only ;;^350 a
year."

"With a house: remember that; and coals, and gas!
You are becoming very prudent now that you live with
Miss Whatshername here. I fear you no longer love
me, Alice."

"I never said I loved you at any time."

"Pshaw! You never said so, perhaps; but you
always gave me to understand "

"I did nothing of the sort, Wallace; and I won't
have you say so."

"In short," he retorted bitterly, "you think you will
pick up some swell here who will be a better bargain
than I am."

'Wallace! How dare you?"

'You hurt my feelings, Alice; and I speak out. I
know how to behave myself quite as well as those
who have the entr/e here; but when my entire
happiness is at stake I do not stand on punctilio.
Therefore I insist on a straightforward answer to my
fair, honorable proposal."

"Wallace," said Alice, with dignity: "I will not be
forced into giving an answer against my will. I
regard yoii as a cousin."

"I do not wish to be regarded as a cousin. Have I
ever regarded you as a cousin?"

"And do you suppose, Wallace, that I should per-
mit you to call me by my Christian name, and be as
familiar as we have always been together, if you were

1 1^

96 Cashel Byron's Profession

not my cousin? If so, you must have a very strange
opinion of me."

**I did not think that luxury could so corrupt **

"You said that before," said Alice pettishly. **Do
riot keep repeating the same thing over and over: you
know it is one of your bad habits. Will you stay to
lunch? Miss Carew told me to ask you."

"Indeed! Miss Carew is very kind. Please inform
her that I am deeply honored, and that I feel quite
disturbed at being unable to accept her patronage."

Alice poised her head disdainfully. "No doubt it
amuses you to make yourself ridiculous," she said;
"but I must say I do not see any occasion for it."

"I am sorry that my behavior is not sufficiently good
for you. You never found any cause to complain of it
when our surroundings were less aristocratic. I am
quite ashamed of taking so much of your valuable
time. Good morning. ' '

"Good morning. But I do not see why you are in
such a rage."

"I am not in a rage. I am only grieved to find that
you are corrupted by luxury. I thought your prin-
ciples were higher. Good morning. Miss Goff. I
shall not have the pleasure of seeing you again in this
very choice mansion."

"Are you really going, Wallace?" said Alice, rising.

"Yes. Why should I stay?"

She rang the bell, greatly disconcerting him; for he
had expected her to detain him and make advances for
a reconciliation. Before they could exchange more
words, Bashville entered.

"Good-bye," said Alice politely.

"Good-bye," he replied, through his teeth. He

Cashel Byron's Profession 97

walked loftily out, passing Bashville with marked
scorn.

He had left the house, and was descending the ter-
race steps, when he was overtaken by the footman,
who said civilly,

"Beg your pardon, sir. You've forgotten this, I
think." And he handed him a walking stick.

Parker's first idea was that his stick had "attracted
the man's attention by the poor figure it made in the
castle hall, and that Bashville was requesting him,
with covert superciliousness, to remove his property.
On second thoughts his self-esteem rejected this sus-
picion as too humiliating; but he resolved to shew
Bashville that he had a gentleman to deal with. So he
took the stick, and, instead of thanking Bashville,
handed him five shillings.

Bashville smiled and shook his head. "Oh no,
sir," he said: "thank you all the same. Those are
not my views."

"The more fool you," said Parker, pocketing the
coins, and turning away.

Bashville' s countenance changed. "Come, come,
sir," he said, following Parker to the foot of the
steps: "fair words deserve fair words. I am no more
a fool than you are. A gentleman should know his
place as well as a servant."

"Oh, go to the devil," muttered Parker, turning
very red, and hurrying away.

"If you weren't my mistress's guest," said Bash-
ville, looking menacingly after him, "I'd send you to
bed for a week for sending me to the devil."

CHAPTER V

Miss Carew unhesitatingly carried out her intention
of going to London, where she took a house in
Regent's Park, to the disappointment of Alice, who
had hoped to live in Mayfair, or at least in South
Kensington. But Lydia set great store by the high
northerly ground and open air of the Park; and Alice
found almost perfect happiness in driving through Lon-
don in a fine carriage and fine clothes. She liked that
better than concerts of .'classical music, which she did
not particularly relish, or even than the opera, to
which they went often. The theatres pleased her
more, though the amusements there were tamer than
she had expected. * 'Society" was delightful to her
because it was real London society. She acquired a
mania for dancing; went out every night; and seemed
to herself far more distinguished and attractive than
she had ever been in Wiltstoken, where she had never-
theless held a sufficiently favorable opinion of her own
manners and person.

Lydia did not share all these dissipations. She
easily procured invitations and chaperones for Alice,
who wondered why so intelligent a woman would take
the trouble to sit out a stupid concert, and then go
home, just as the real pleasure of the evening was
beginning.

One Saturday morning, at breakfast, Lydia said,

"Have you ever been to the Crystal Palace?*

Cashel Byron's Profession 99

"No," said Alice, with some scorn, which she
repented when Lydia rejoined sedately,

**I think I will go down there to-day and wander
about the gardens for a while. There is to be a con-
cert in the afternoon, at which Madame Szczympli9a,
whose playing you do not admire, will appear. Will
you come with me?*'

**Of course," said Alice, resolutely dutiful.

"Of choice: not of course," said Lydia. "Are you
engaged for to-morrow evening?**

"Sunday? Oh no. Besides, I consider all my
engagements subject to your convenience.*'

There was a pause, long enough for this assurance
to fall perfectly flat. Alice bit her lip. Then Lydia
said, "Do you know Mrs. Hoskyn?*'

"Mrs. Hoskyn who gives Sunday evenings? Shall
we go there?" said Alice eagerly. "People often ask
me whether I have been at one of them. But I don't
know her — though I have seen her. Is she nice?**

"She is a young woman who has read a great deal of
art criticism, and been deeply impressed by it. She
has made her house famous by bringing there all the
clever people she meets, and making them so com-
fortable that they take care to go again. But she has
not, fortunately for her, allowed her craze for art to
get the better of her common sense. She has married
a prosperous man of business, who probably never read
anything but a newspaper since he left school; and I
doubt if there is a happier pair in England.**

"I presume she had sense enough to know that she
could not afford to choose,** said Alice complacently.
"She is very ugly.**

''Do you think so? She has many admirers, and

* • •• .

: : ,••' :•• :••

• • % • • •

lOO

Cashel Byron's Profession

was, I am told, engaged to Mr. Herbert, the artist,
before she met Mr. Hoskyn. We shall meet Mr. Herbert
there to-morrow, and a number of celebrated persons
besides: his wife Madame Szczympli9a the pianiste,
Owen Jack the composer, Conolly the inventor, and
others. The occasion will be a special one, as Herr
Abendgasse,a remarkable German socialist-of-the-chair
and art critic, is to deliver a lecture on The True
in Art' Be careful, in speaking of him in society, to
refer to him as a sociologist, and not a socialist. Are
you particularly anxious to hear him lecture?"

**No doubt it will be very interesting," said Alice.
"I should not like to miss the opportunity of going to
Mrs. Hoskyn' s. People so often ask me whether I
have been there, and whether I know this, that, and
the other celebrated person, that I feel rather out of it
in my rustic ignorance."

"Because," pursued Lydia, **I had intended not to
go until after the lecture. Herr Abendgasse is enthu-
siastic and eloquent, but not original. I prefer to get
his ideas direct from their inventors; so unless you
are specially interested "

"Not at all. If he is a socialist I had much rather
not listen to him, particularly on Sunday evening.'

It was arranged accordingly that they should go to
Mrs. Hoskyn' s after the lecture. Meanwhile they
went to Sydenham, where Alice went through the
Crystal Palace with provincial curiosity, and Lydia
explained the place encyclopaedically. In the after-
noon there was a concert, at which a band played
several long pieces of music, which Lydia seemed to
enjoy, though she occasionally found fault with the
performers. Alice, able to detect neither the faulti!

b «

Cashel Byron's Profession loi

in the execution nor the beauty of the music, did as
she saw the others do — pretended to be pleased, and
applauded decorously. Madame Szczympli9a, whom
she expected to meet at Mrs. Hoskyn's, appeared, and
played a fantasia for pianoforte and orchestra by the
famous Jack, another of Mrs. Hoskyn's circle. There
was in the program an analysis of this composition,
from which Alice learnt that by attentively listening
to the adagio she could hear the angels singing therein.
She listened as attentively as she could, but heard no
angels, and was astonished when, at the conclusion of
the fantasia, the audience applauded Madame Szczym-
pli9a as if she had made them hear the music of the
spheres. Even Lydia seemed moved, and said,

**Strange, that she is only a woman like the rest of
us, with just the same narrow bounds to her existence,
and just the same prosaic cares — that she will go by
train • to Victoria, and thence home in a common
vehicle, instead of embarking in a great shell, and
being drawn by swans to some enchanted island. Her
playing reminds me of myself as I was when I believed in
fairyland, and indeed knew little about any other land."

**They say," said Alice, **that her husband is very
jealous, and that she leads him a terrible life.'

''They say anything that brings gifted people to the
level of their own experience. Doubtless they are
right. I have not met Mr. Herbert; but I have seen
his pictures, which suggest that he reads everything
and sees nothing; for they all represent scenes
described in some poem. If one could only find an
educated man who had never read a book, what a
delightful companion he would be!"

When the concert was over, they did not return

I02 Cashel Byron's Profession

directly to town, as Lydia wished to walk a while in
the gardens. In consequence, when they left Syden-
ham they got into a Waterloo train, and so iiad to
change at Clapham Junction. It was a fine summer
evening; and Alice, though she thought it became
ladies to hide themselves from the public in waiting-
rooms at railway stations, did not attempt to dissuade
Lydia from walking to and fro at an unfrequented end
of the platform, which ended in a bank covered with
flowers.

"To my mind,** said Lydia, "Clapham Junction is
one of the prettiest places about London."

"Indeed!" said Alice, a little maliciously. *^I
thought that all artistic people looked on junctions'^
and railway lines as blots on the landscape."

"Some of them do," said Lydia, "but they are not
the artists of our generation; and those who take up
their cry are no better than parrots. If every holiday
recollection of my youth — every escape from town to
country — be associated with the railway, I must feel
towards it otherwise than my father did, upon whose
middle age it came as a monstrous iron innovation.
The locomotive is one of the wonders of modern
childhood. Children crowd upon a bridge to see the
train pass beneath. Little boys strut along the streets
puffing and whistling in imitation of the engine. All
that romance, silly as it looks, becomes sacred in after
life. Besides, when it is not underground in a foul
London tunnel, a train is a beautiful thing. Its pure
white fleece of steam harmonizes with every variety of
landscape. And its sound I Have you ever stood on
a sea qoast skirted by a railway, and listened as the
train came into hearing in the far distance? At first it

Cashel Byron's Profession 103

can hardly be distinguished from the noise of the sea;
then you recognize it by its variation: one moment
smothered in a deep cutting, and next sent echoing
from some hillside. Sometimes it runs smoothly for
many minutes, and then breaks suddenly into a
rhythmic clatter, always changing in distance and
intensity. When it comes near, you should get into a
tunnel, and stand there whilst it passes. I did that
once; and it was like the last page of an overture by
Beethoven, thunderingly impetuous. I cannot con-
ceive how any person can hope to disparage a train by
comparing it with a stage coach; and I know some-
thing of stage coaches, or, at least, of diligences.
Their effect on the men employed about them ought
to decide the superiority of steam without further
argument. I never saw an engine driver who did not
seem an exceptionally intelligent mechanic; whilst the
very writers and artists who have preserved the
memory of the coaching days for us do not appear to
have taken coachmen seriously, or to have regarded
them as responsible and civilized men. Abuse of the
railway from a pastoral point of view is obsolete.
There are millions of grown persons in England to
whom the far sound of the train is as pleasantly sug-
gestive as the piping of a blackbird. And then — is
not that Lord Worthington getting out of the train?
Yes, that one, at the third platform from this.

He ' She stopped. Alice looked, but could see

neither Lord Worthington nor the cause of a subtle
but perceptible change in Lydia, who said quickly,

**He is probably coming to our train. Come to the
waiting-room. She walked swiftly along the platform
as she spoke. Alice hurried after her; and they had

I04 Cashel Byron's Profession

but just got into the room, the door of which was close
to the staircase which gave access to the platform,
when a coarse din of men's voices told them that a
noisy party was ascending the steps. Presently a man
emerged reeling, and at once began to execute a
drunken dance, and to sing as well as his condition
and musical faculty allowed. Lydia stood near the
window of the room, and watched in silence. Alice,
following her example, recognized the drunken dancer
as Mellish. He was followed by three men, gaily
attired and highly elated, but comparatively sober.
After them came Cashel Byron, shewily dressed in a
velveteen coat and tightly fitting fawn-coloured panta-
loons that displayed the muscles of his legs. He also
seemed quite sober; but he was dishevelled; and his
left eye blinked frequently, the adjacent brow and cheek
being much yellower than his natural complexion,
which appeared to advantage on the right side of his
face. Walking steadily to Mellish, who was now ask-
ing each of the bystanders in turn to come and drink
at his expense, he seized him by the collar, and
sternly bade him cease making a fool of himself.
Mellish tried to embrace him.

"My own boy," he exclaimed affectionately.
"He's my little nonpareil. Cashel Byron agin the
world at catch weight. Bob Mellish' s money "

"You sot," said Cashel, rolling him about until he
was giddy as well as drunk, and then forcing him to
sit down on a bench: "one would think you never saw
a mill or won a bet in your life before."

"Steady, Byron," said one of the others. "Here's
his lordship." Lord Worthington was coming up the
stairs, apparently the most excited of the party.

Cashel Byron's Profession 105

"Fine man!" he cried, patting Cashel on the shoul-
der. "Splendid man! You have won a monkey for
me to-day; and you shall have your share of it, old
boy."

"I trained him," said Mellish, staggering forward
again. "I trained him. You know me, my lord. You
know Bob Mellish. A word with your lordship in c —
confidence. You jes ask who knows how to make the

beef go and the muscle come. You ask 1 ask your

lorship's par'n. What' 11 your lorship take?"

"Take care, for Heaven's sake!" exclaimed Lord
Worthington, clutching at him as he reeled backwards
towards the line. "Don't you see the train?"

"/know," said Mellish gravely. "I am all right:
no man more so. I am Bob Mellish. You ask "

"Here. Come out of this," said one of the party,
a powerful man with a scarred face and crushed nose,
grasping Mellish and thrusting him into the train.
**You want a beefsteak on that ogle of yours, where
you napped the Dutchman's auctioneer, Byron. It's
got more yellow paint on it than y'll like to shew in
church to-morrow."

At this they all gave a roar of laughter, and took an
empty first-class compartment by storm. Lydia and
Alice had hardly time to take their places in the train
before it started.

"Really I must say," said Alice, "that if those were
Mr. Cashel Byron's and Lord Worthington' s associ-
ates, their tastes are very peculiar."

"Yes," said Lydia, almost grimly. "I am a fair
linguist; but I did not understand a single sentence of
their conversation, though I heard it all distinctly."

"They were not gentlemen," said Alice. "You say

io6 Cashel Byron's Profession

that no one can tell by a person's appearance whether
he is a gentleman or not; but surely you cannot think
that those men are Lord Worthington's equals."

"I do not," said Lydia. "They are ruffians; and
Cashel Byron is the most unmistakable ruffian of
them all."

Alice, awestruck, did not venture to speak again
until they left the train at Victoria. There was a
crowd outside the carriage in which Cashel had trav-
elled. Alice hastened past; but Lydia asked a guard
whether anything was the matter. He replied that a
drunken man, alighting from the train, had fallen
down upon the rails, so that, had the carriage been in
motion, he would have been killed. Lydia thanked
the guard, and, as she turned from him, found Bash-
ville standing before her, touching his hat. She had
given him no instructions to attend. However, she
accepted his presence as a matter of course, and
inquired whether the carriage was there.

"No, madam," replied Bashville., "The coachman
had no orders."

"Quite right. A hansom, if you please." When
he was gone, she said to Alice, "Did you tell Bash-
ville to meet us?"

"Oh dearnol I should not think of doing such a
thing."

"Strange! However, he knows his duties better
than I do; so I have no doubt that he has acted prop-
erly. He has been waiting all the afternoon, I sup-
pose, poor fellow."

"He has nothing else to do," said Alice carelessly.
"Here he is. He has picked out a new hansom for us
too."

/ Cashel Byron's Profession 107

Meanwhile, Mellish had been dragged from beneath
the train, and seated on the knee of one of his com-
panions. He was in a stupor, and had a large lump
. o^ his brow. His eye was almost closed. The
^'tnaii with the crushed nose now^ shewed himself
an expert surgeon. Whilst Cashel supported the
patient on the knee of another man, and the rest of the
pairty kept off the crowd by mingled persuasion and
viplence, he produced a lancet and summarily reduced
the swelling by lancing it He then dressed the punc->
tare neatly with appliances for that purpose which he
carried about him, and shouted in Mellish' s ear to rouse
him. But the trainer only groaned, and let his head
dn^ inert on his breast. More shouting was resorted
tcs but in vaift. Cashel impatiently expressed an
Opinion that Mellish was shamming, and declared that
he would not stand there to be fooled with all the
evttiing.

"If he was my pal 'stead o' yours, said the man
with the broken nose, **rd wake him up fast enough."

"I'll save you the trouble," said Cashel, coolly
ileoping and seizing between his teeth the cartilage of
. tlMi trainer's ear.

"That's the way to do it," said the other approvingly,
as Mellish screamed and started to his feet. "Now
then. On with you," He took Mellish's right arm;
Cashel took the left; and they brought him away
between them without paying the least heed to his
tears, his protestations that he was hurt, his plea that
. he was an old man, or his bitter demand as to where
Cashel would have been at that moment without his
care.

Lord Worthington had taken advantage of this acci-

io8 Cashel B3rron*s Profession

dent to slip away from his travelling companions, and
drive alone to his lodgings in Jermyn Street. He was
still greatly excited; and when his valet, an old
retainer with whom he was on familiar terms, brought
him a letter that had arrived during his absence, he
asked him four times whether any one had called, and
four times interrupted him by scraps of information
about the splendid day he had had and the luck he was
in.

"I betted five hundred even that it would be over in
quarter of an hour; and then I betted Byron two hun-
dred and fifty to one that it wouldn't. That's the way
to do it: eh, Bedford? Catch Cashel letting two hun-
dred and fifty slip through his fingers! By George
though, he's an artful card. At the end of fourteen
minutes I thought my five hundred was corpsed. The
Dutchman was full of fight; and Cashel suddenly
turned weak and tried to back out of the rally. You
should have seen the gleam in the Dutchman's eye
when he rushed in after him. He made cock-sure of
finishing him straight off."

* 'Indeed, my lord. Dear me!"

**I should think so: I was taken in by it myself. It
was only done to draw the poor devil. By George,
Bedford, you should have seen the way Cashel put in
his right. But you couldn't have seen it: it was too
quick. The Dutchman was asleep on the grass before
he )cnew he'd been hit. Byron had collected fifteen
pounds for him before he came to. His jaw must feel
devilish queer after it. By Jove, Bedford, Cashel is a
perfect wonder. I'd back him for every penny I pos-
sess against any man alive. He makes you feel proud
of being an Englishman."

Cashel Byron's Profession 109

Bedford looked on with submissive wonder as'his mas-
ter, transfigured with enthusiasm, went hastily to and
fro through the room, occasionally clenching his fist
and smiting an imaginary Dutchman. The valet at
last ventured to remind him that he had forgotten the
letter.

*'Oh, hang the letter!'* said Lord Worthington.
**It's Mrs. Hoskyn's writing — an invitation, or some
such rot. Here: let's see it."

Campden Hill Road. Saturday.
My dear Lard Worthington

I have not forgotten my promise to obtain for you a near
view of the famous Mrs. Herbert — Madame Simplicita, as
you call her. She will be with us to-morrow evening; and
we shall be very happy to see you then, if you care to come.
At nine 0^ clocks Herr Abendgasse, a celebrated German Art
critic and a great friend of mine, will read us a paper on
**The True in Art*'; but I will not pay you the compliment
of pretending to believe that that interests you; so you may
come at tenor half-past, by which hour all the serious busi-
ness of the evening will be over.

"Well, there is nothing like cheek," said Lord
Worthington, breaking off in his perusal. "These
women think that because I enjoy life in a rational
way, I don't know the back of a picture from the
front, or the inside of a book from the cover. I shall
go at nine sharp."

I suppose none of your acquaintances take an interest in
Art. Could you not bring m£ a celebrity or two! I am very
anxious to have as good an audience as possible for Herr
Abendgasse. However , as it is, he will have no reason to

no Cashel Byron s Profession

complain^ as I flatter myself that I have already secured a
very distinguished assembly, StiU, if you can add a second
illustrious name to my list, by all means do so,

**Yery good, Mrs. Hoskyn," said Lord Worthington,
looking cunningly at the bewildered Bedford. **You
shall have a celebrity — a real one — none of your
mouldy old Germans — if I can only get him to come.
If any of her people don't like him, they can tell him
so Eh, Bedford?"

CHAPTER VI

Next evening, Lydia and Alice reached Mrs. Hos-
kyn*s house in Campden Hill Road a few minutes
before ten o'clock. They found Lord Worthington in
the front garden, smoking and chatting with Mr. Hos-
kyn. He threw away his cigar, and returned to the
house with the two ladies, who observed that he was
somewhat flushed with wine. They went into a parlor
to take off their wraps, leaving him at the foot of the
stairs. Presently they heard some one come down
and address him excitedly.

"Worthington. Worthington. He has begun mak-
ing a speech before the whole room. He got up the
moment old Abendgasse sat down. Why the deuce
did you start champagne at dinner?*'

**Sh-sh-sh! You don't say so! Come with me; and
let's try to get him away quietly."

**Did you hear that?" said Alice. ''Something must
have happened."

**I hope so," said Lydia. "Ordinarily, the fault in
these receptions is that nothing happens. Do not
announce us, if you please," she added, to the serv-
ant, as they ascended the stairs. "Since we have
come late, let us spare the feelings of Herr Abendgasse
by going in as quietly as possible."

They had no difficulty in entering unnoticed; for Mrs.
Hoskyn considered obscurity beautiful; and her rooms
were but dimly lighted by two curious lanterns of pink
glass, within which were vaporous flames. In the

iij

112 Cashel Byron's Profession

middle of the larger apartment was a small table cov-
ered with garnet-colored plush, bearing a reading desk
and two candles in silver candlesticks, the light from
which, brighter than the lanterns, cast strong double
shadows from the groups of standing figures. The
surrounding space was crowded with chairs, occupied
chiefly by ladies. Behind them, along the wall,
stood a row of men, among whom was Lucian Webber.
All were staring at Cashel Byron, who was making a
speech to some bearded and spectacled gentlemen at
the table. Lydia, who had never before seen him
either in evening dress or quite at his ease, was aston-
ished at his bearing. His eyes were sparkling; his
confidence overbore the company; and his rough voice
created the silence it broke. He was in high good
humor, and marked his periods by the swing of his
extended left arm, whilst he held his right hand close
to his body and occasionally pointed his remarks by
slyly wagging its forefinger.

** executive power,'* he was saying, as Lydia

entered. * 'That's a very good expression, gentlemen,
and one that I can tell you a lot about. We have been
told that if we want to civilize our neighbors, we must
do it mainly by the example of our own lives, by each
becoming a living illustration of the highest culture
we know. But what I ask is, how is anybody to know
that you're an illustration of culture? You can't go
about like a sandwich man with a label on your back
to tell all the fine notions you have in your head;
and you may be sure no person will consider your
mere appearance preferable to his own. You want an
executive power: that's what you want. Suppose you
walked along the street and saw a man beating a

Cashel Byron's Profession 113

woman, and setting a bad example to the roughs.
Well, you would be bound to set a good example to
them; and, if you're men, you'd like to save the
woman; but you couldn't do it by merely living; for
that would be setting the bad example of passing on
and leaving the poor creature to be beaten. What is
it that you need to know, then, so as to be able to act
up to your ideas? Why^ you want to know how to hit
him, when to hit him,and where to hit him; and then you
want the nerve to go in and do it. That's executive pow-
er; and that's what's wanted worse than sitting down and
thinking how good you are, which is what this gentle-
man's teaching comes to after all. Don't you see?
You want executive power to set an example. If you
leave all that to the roughs, it's their example that
will spread, and not yours. And look at the politics
of it. I heard a man in the park one Sunday say that
in this country we can do nothing; for, says he, if the
lords and the landlords, or any other collection of
nobs, were to drive us into the sea, what could we do
but go? There's a gentleman laughing at me for say-
ing that; but I ask him what would he do if the police
or the soldiers came this evening and told him to turn
out of his comfortable house into the Thames? Tell
'em he wouldn't vote for their employers at the next
election, perhaps? Or, if that didn't stop them, tell
'em that he'd ask his friends to do the same? That's
a pretty executive power! No, gentlemen. Don't let
yourself be deceived by people that have staked their
money against you. The first thing to learn is how to
fight. There's no use in buying books and pictures
unless you know how to keep them and your own head
as well. If that gentleman that laughed knew how to

114 Cashel Byron's Profession

fight, and his neighbors all knew how to fight, too, he
wouldn't need to fear police, nor soldiers, nor Rus-
sians, nor Prussians, nor any of the millions of men
that may be let loose on him any day of the week,
safe though he thinks himself. But, says you, let's
have a division of labor. Let's not fight for ourselves,
but pay other men to fight for us. That shows how
some people, when they get hold of an idea, will work
it to that foolish length that it's wearisome to listen
to them. Fighting is the power of self-preservation:
another man can't do it for you. You might as well
divide the labor of eating your dinner, and pay one
fellow to take the beef, another the beer, and the
third the potatoes. But let us put it for the sake of
argument that you do pay others to fight for you.
Suppose some one else pays them higher, and they
fight a cross, or turn openly against you? You'd have
only yourself to blame for giving the executive power
to money. Therefore I say that a man's first duty is
to learn to fight. If he can't do that, he can't set an
example; he can't stand up for his own rights or his
neighbor's; he can't keep himself in bodily health;
and if he sees the weak ill-used by the strong, the most
he can do is to sneak away and tell the nearest police-
man, who most likely won't turn up until the worst of
the mischief is done. Coming to this lady's drawing-
room, and making an illustration of himself, won't
make him feel like a man after that. Let me be
understood though, gentlemen: I don't intend that
you should take everything I say too exactly — too
literally, as it were. If you see a man beating a
woman, I think you should interfere on principle.
But don't expect to be thanked by her for it; and keep

Cashel Byron's Profession 115

your eye on her: don't let her get behind you. As
for him, just give him a good one and go away.
Never stay to get yourself into a street fight; for it's
low, and generally turns out badly for all parties.
However, that's only a bit of practical advice. It
doesn't alter the great principle that you should
get an executive power. When you get that, you'll
have courage in you; and, what's more, your courage
will be of some use to you. For though you may have
courage by nature; still, if you haven't executive
power as well, your courage will only lead you to
stand up to be beaten by men that have both courage
and executive power; and what good does that do you?
People say that you're a game fellow; but they won't
find the stakes for you unless you can win them.
You'd far better put your game in your pocket, and
throw up the sponge while you can see to do it.

**Now, on this subject of game, I've something to
say that will ease the professor's mind on a point that
he seemed anxious about. I am no musician; but I'll
just show you how a man that understands one art
understands every art. I made out from the gentle-
man's remarks that there is a man in the musical line
named Wagner, who is what you might call a game
sort of composer; and that the musical fancy, though
they can't deny that his tunes are first-rate, and that,
so to speak, he wins his fights, yet they try to make
out that he wins them in an outlandish way, and that
he has no real science. Now I tell the gentleman not
to mind such talk. As I have just shown you, his
game wouldn't be any use to him without science.
He might have beaten a few second-raters with a rush
while he was young; but he wouldn't have lasted out

ii6 Cashel B3rron's Profession

as he has done unless he was clever as well. It's the
newness of his style that puzzles people; for, mind
you, every man has to grow his own style out of him-
self; and there is no use in thinking that it will be the
same as the last fellow's, or right for the next fellow,
or that it's the style, and that every other style is
wrong. More rot is talked through not knowing that
than anything else. You will find that those that run
Professor Wagner down are either jealous, or they are
old stagers that are not used to his style, and think
that anything new must be bad. Just wait a bit, and
take my word for it, they'll turn right round and swear
that his style isn't new at all, and that he stole it from
some one they saw when they were ten years old.
History shews us that that is the way of such fellows
in all ages, as the gentleman said; and he gave you
Beethoven as an example. But an example like that
don't go home to you, because there isn't one man in
a million that ever heard of Beethoven. Take a man
that everybody has heard of: Jack Randall 1 The very
same things were said of him. After that, you needn't
go to musicians for an example. The truth is, that
there are people in the world with that degree of envy
and malice in them that they can't bear to allow a
good man his merits; and when they have to admit
that he can do one thing, they try to make out that
there's something else he can't do. Come: I'll put it
to you short and business-like. This German gentle-
man, who knows all about music, tells you that many
pretend that this Wagner has game, but no science.
Well, I, though I know nothing about music, will bet
you twenty-five pounds that there's others that allow
him to be full of science, but say thit he has no game.

f
\

Cashel Byron's Profession 117

and that all he does comes from his head, and not
from his heart. Iwill, Til bet twenty-five pounds on
it; and let the gentleman of the house be stakeholder,
and the German gentleman referee. Eh? Well, Fm
glad to see that there are no takers.

"Now we'll go to another little point that the gen-
tleman forgot. He recommended you to learn — to
make yourselves better and wiser from day to day.
But he didn't tell you why it is that you won't learn,
in spite of his advice. I suppose that, being a for-
eigner, he was afraid of hurting your feelings by talk-
ing too freely to you. But you're not so thin-skinned
as to take offence at a little plain speaking, I'll be
bound; so I tell you straight out that the reason you
won't learn is not that you don't want to be clever, or
that you are lazier than many that have learnt a great
deal; but just because you'd like people to think that
you know everything already — because you're ashamed
to be seen going to school; and you calculate that if
you only hold your tongue and look wise, you'll get
through life without your ingorance being found out.
But Where's the good of lies and pretence? What
does it matter if you get laughed at by a cheeky brat
or two for your awkward beginnings? What's the use
of always thinking of how you're looking, when your
sense might tell you that other people are thinking
about their own looks and not about yours? A big boy
doesn't look well on a lower form, certainly; but when
he works his way up he'll be glad he began. I speak
to you more particularly because you're Londoners;
and Londoners beat all creation for thinking about
themselves. However, I don't go with the gentleman
in everything he said. All this struggling and striving to

1 1 8 Cashel B)rron's Profession

make the world better is a great mistake; not because
it isn't a good thing to improve the world if you know
how to do it, but because striving and struggling is the
worst way you could set about doing anything. It
gives a man a bad style, and weakens him. It shews
that he don't believe in himself much. When I heard
the professor striving and struggling so earnestly to
set you to work reforming this, that, and the other, I
said to myself, 'He's got himself to persuade as well
as us. That isn't the language of conviction.'

Whose "

** Really, sir," said Lucian Webber, who had made
his way to the table, **I think, as you have now
addressed us at considerable length, and as there are
other persons present whose opinions probably excite

as much curiosity as yours " He was interrupted

by a **Hear, hear," followed by **No, no," and "Go
on," uttered in more subdued tones than are customary
at public meetings, but with more animation than is

. usually displayed in drawing-rooms. Cashel, who had
been for a moment somewhat put out, turned to Lucian
and said, in a tone intended to repress, but at the same
time humor his impatience, "Don't you be in a hurry,
sir. You shall have your turn presently. Perhaps I
may tell you something you don't know before you
stop." Then he turned again to the company, and
resumed.

"We were talking about effort when this young gen-
tleman took it upon himself to break the ring. Now,
nothing can be what you might call artistically done,
if it's done with an effort. If a thing can't be done

flight and easy, steady and certain, let it not be done
at all. Sounds strange, doesn't it. But I'll tell you a

Cashel Byron's Profession 119

stranger thing. The more effort you make, the less
effect you produce. A would-be artist is no artist at
all. I learnt that in my own profession (never mind
what that profession is just at present, as the ladies
might think the worse of me for it). But in all pro-
fessions any work that shows signs of labor, straining,
yearning — as the German gentleman said — or effort of
any kind, is work beyond the man's strength that does
it, and therefore not well done. Perhaps it's beyond
his natural strength; but it is more likely that he was
badly taught. Many teachers set their pupils on to
strain and stretch ^o that they get used up, body and
mind, in a few months. Depend upon it, the same
thing is true in other arts. I once taught a fiddler that
used to get a hundred guineas for playing two or three
tunes; and he told me that it was just the same thing
with the fiddle — that when you laid a tight hold on
your fiddle-stick, or even set your teeth hard together,
you could do nothing but rasp like the fellows that
play in bands for a few shillings a night."

**How much more of this nonsense must we endure?"
said Lucian audibly, as Cashel stopped for breath.
Cashel turned, and looked at him.

**By Jove," whispered Lord Worthington to his
' companion, **that fellow had better be careful. I wish
he would hold his tongue."

"You think it's [nonsense, do you?" said Cashel,
after a pause. Then he raised one of the candles, and
illuminated a picture that hung on the wall. **Look
at that picture," he said. "You see that fellow in
armor — St. George and the dragon or whatever he may
be? He's jumped down from his horse to fight the
other fellow — that one with his h^ad in a big helmet,

I20 Cashel Byron's Profession

whose horse has tumbled. The lady in the gallery is
half crazy with anxiety for St. George; and well she
may be. There's a posture for a man to fight in! His •
weight isn't resting on his legs: one touch of a child's
finger would upset him. Look at his neck craned out
in front of him, and his face as flat as a full moon
towards his man, as if he was inviting him to shut up
both his eyes with one blow. You can all see that
he's as weak and nervous as a cat, and that he doesn't
know how to fight. And why does he give you that
idea? Just because he's all strain and stretch; because
he isn't at his ease; because he carries the weight of
his body as foolishly as one of the ladies here would
carry a hod of bricks; because he isn't safe, steady-,
and light on his pins, as he would be if he could forget
himself for a minute and leave his body to find its
proper balance of its own accord. If the painter of
that picture had known his business, he would never
have sent his man up to the scratch in such a figure
and condition as that. But you can see with one eye
that he didn't understand — I won't say the principles
of fighting, but the universal principles that I've told
you of, that ease and strength, effort and weakness, go
together. Now!" added Cashel, again addressing
Lucian: *'do you still think that notion of mine non-
sense?" And he smacked his lips with satisfaction;
for his criticism of the picture had produced a marked
sensation; and he did not know that this was due to
the fact that the painter, Mr. Adrian Herbert, was
present.

Lucian tried to ignore the question; but he found it
impossible to ignore the questioner. "Since you have
set the example of expressing opinions without regard

Cashel Byron s Profession 121

to considerations of common courtesy," he said
shortly, **I may say that your theory, if it can be
called one, is a contradiction in terms."

Cashel, apparently unruffled, but with more deliber-
ation of manner than before, looked about him as if in
search of a fresh illustration. His glance finally
rested on the lecturer's seat, a capacious crimson
damask armchair that stood unoccupied at some dis-
tance behind Lucian.

'*I see you're no judge of a picture," he said good-
humoredly, putting down the candle, and stepping in
front of Lucian, who regarded him haughtily, and did '
not budge. "But just look at it in this way. Suppose
you wanted to hit me the most punishing blow you
possibly could. What would you do? Why, accord-
ing to your own notion, you'd make a great effort.
*The more effort, the more force,* you'd say to your-
self. 'I'll smash him even if I burst myself in doing,^
it.' And what would happen then? You'd only cut
me and make me angry, besides exhausting all your
strength at one gasp. Whereas, if you took it easy —

like this " Here he made a light step forward,

and placed his open palm gently against the breast of
Lucian, who, as if the piston-rod of a steam-engine had
touched him, instantly reeled back and dropped into
the chair.

* There!" exclaimed Cashel, beaming with self-satis-
faction as he stepped aside and pointed at Lucian
"It's like pocketing a billiard ball!"

A chatter of surprise, amusement, and remonstrance
spread through the rooms; and the company crowded
towards the table. Lucian rose, white with rage, and
for a moment entirely lost his self-control. Fortu-

122 Cashel Byron's Profession

nately, the effect was to paralyze him: he neither
moved nor spoke, and only betrayed his conditidn by
his pallor, and the hatred in his expression. Presently
he felt a touch on his arm, and heard his name pro-
nounced by Lydia. Her voice calmed him. He tried
to look at her; but his vision was disturbed: he saw
double; the lights seemed to dance before his eyes;
and Lord Worthington's voice, skying to Cashel,
** Rather too practical, old fellow,*' seemed to come
from a remote corner of room, and yet to be whispered
into his ear. He was moving irresolutely in search of
Lydia, wh^n his senses and his resentment were
restored by a clap on the shoulder.

**You wouldn't have believed that now, would you?'*
said Cashel. *' Don't look startled: you've no bones
broken. You had your little joke with me in your own
way; and I had mine in my own way. That's
only *'

He stopped: his brave bearing vanished: he became
limp and shamefaced. Lucian, without a word, with-
drew with Lydia to the adjoining apartment, and left him
staring after her with wistful eyes and slackened jaw.

In the meantime Mrs. Hoskyn, an earnest-looking
young woman with striking dark features and gold
spectacles, was looking for Lord Worthington, who
betrayed a consciousness of guilt by attempting to
avoid her. But she cut off his retreat, and confronted
him with a steadfast gaze that compelled him to stand
and answer for himself.

"Who is that gentleman whom you introduced to
me? I have forgotten his name."

"I am really awfully sorry, Mrs. Hoskyn. It was too
i^ad of Byron. But Webber was excessively nasty."

Cashel Byron's Profession 123

Mrs. Hoskyn, additionally annoyed by apologies
which she had not invited, and which put her in the
ignominious position of a complainant, replied coldly,
"Mr. Byron. Thank you: I had forgotten," and was
turning away when Lydia came up to introduce Alice,
and to explain why she had entered unannounced.
Lord Worthington seized the chance of improving
Cashel* s credit by claiming Lydia* s acquaintance for
him.

"Did you hear our friend Byron's speech, Miss
Carew? Very characteristic, I thought.**

**Very,** said Lydia. '*I hope Mrs. Hoskyn* s guests
are all familiar with his style. Otherwise they must
find him a little startling."

**Yes," said Mrs. Hoskyn, beginning to wonder
whether Cashel could be some well-known eccentric
genius. **He is very odd. I hope Mr. Webber is not
offended.**

'*If his tact had been equal to the other gentleman's,
it would not have happened to him," said Lydia.
*'It is really very clever of Mr. Byron to knock my
cousin down in the middle of a drawing-rpom without
scandalizing anybody."

"You see, Mrs. Hoskyn, the general verdict is
'serve him right,* ** said Lord Worthington.
' "With a rider to the effect that both gentlemen dis-
played complete indifference to the comfort of their
hostess,** said Lydia. "However, men so rarely
sacrifice their manners to their minds that it would be
a pity to blame them. You do not encourage conven-
tionality, Mrs. Hoskyn?*'

"I encourage good manners, though certainly not
conventional manners."

124 Cashel Byron's Profession

'And you think there is a difference?*'
I/eel that there is a difference/' said Mrs. Hoskyn
with dignity.

"So do I/' said Lydia; "but one can hardly
call others to account for one's own subjective
ideas."

Lydia went away to another part of the room with-
out waiting for a reply. All this time, Cashel stood
friendless, stared at by most of his neighbors, and
spoken to by none. Women looked at him coldly lest
it should be suspected that they were admiring him;
and men regarded him stiffly according to the national
custom. Since his recognition of Lydia, his self-con-
fidence had given place to a misgiving that he had
been making a fool of himself. He felt lonely and
abashed: but for his professional habit of maintaining
a cheerful countenance under adverse circumstances,
he would have hid himself in the darkest corner of the
room. Like many eminent members of his profession,
he was rather prone to tears when his feelings were
wounded; and his countenance was falling rapidly
when Lord Worthington came up to him.

*'I had no idea you were such an orator, Byron,** he
said. "You can go into the Church when you cut the
other trade. Eh?**

"I wasn*t brought up to the other trade,** said
Cashel; "and I know how to talk to ladies and gentle-
men as well as to what you'd suppose to be my own
sort. Don't you be anxious about me, my lord. I
know how to make myself at home."

"Of course, of course," said Lord Worthington
soothingly. "Every one can see by your manners that
you are a gentleman: they recognize that even in the

Cashel Byron's Profession 125

ring. Otherwise, you see — I know you won't mind
my saying so — I daren't have brought you here."

Cashel shook his head, but was pleased. He
thought he hated flattery: had Lord Worthington told
him that he was the best boxer in England — which he
probably was — he would have despised him. But he
wished to believe the false compliment to his manners,
and was therefore perfectly convinced of its sincerity.
Lord Worthington perceived this, and retired, pleased
with his own tact, in search of Mrs. Hoskyn, to claim
her promise of an introduction to Madame Szczym-
pliga, which Mrs. Hoskyn, by way of punishing him
for Cashel's misdemeanor, had privately determined
not to keep.

Cashel began to think he had better go. Lydia was
surrounded by men who were speaking to her in German.
He felt his own inability to talk learnedly even in Eng-
lish; and he felt sure, besides, that she was angry with
him for upsetting her cousin, who was gravely con-
versing with Miss Go£f. Suddenly a horrible noise
caused a general start and pause. Mr. Jack, the
eminent composer, had opened the pianoforte, and
was illustrating some points in a musical composition
under discussion by making discordant sounds with
his voice, accompanied by a few chords. Cashel
laughed aloud in derision as he made his way towards
the door through the crowd, which was now pressing
round the pianoforte, at which Madame Szczympli9a
had just come to the assistance of Jack. Near the
door, and in a corner remote from the instrument, he
came upon Lydia and a middle-aged gentleman, evi-
dently neither a professor nor an artist.

"Abngas is a very clever man," the gentleman was

126 Cashel Byron's Profession

saying. "I am sorry I didn't hear the lecture. But I
leave all that to Mary. She receives the people who
enjoy high art upstairs; and I take the sensible men
down to the garden or the smoking-room, according
to the weather."

'What do the sensible women do?*' said Lydia.
They come late," said Mr. Hoskyn, and then,
laughed at his repartee until he became aware of the
vicinity of Cashel, whose health he immediately
inquired after, shaking his hand warmly and receiving
a numbing grip in return. As soon as he saw that
Lydia and Cashel were acquainted, he slipped away
and left them to entertain one another.

"I wonder how he knows me," said Cashel, heart-
ened by her gracious reception of a nervous bow. **I
never saw him before in my life."

"He does not know you," said Lydia, with some
sternness. *'He is your host, and therefore concludes
that he ought to know you."

"Oh! That was it, was it?" He paused, at a- loss
for conversation. She did not help him. At last he
added, "I haven't seen you this long time. Miss Carew."

"It is not very long since I saw you, Mr. Cashel
Byron. I saw you yesterday at some distance from
London."

"Oh Lord!" exclaimed Cashel, "don't say that.
You're joking, ain't you?" ,

"No. Joking, in that sense, does not amuse me."

Cashel looked at her in consternation. "You don't

mean to say that you went to see a — a — Where

when did you see me? You might tell me."

"Certainly. It was at Clapham Junction, at a quar-
ter past six."

Cashel B}rron's Profession 127

'Was any one with m^?'/

'Your friend Mr. Mellish, Lord Worthington, and
some other persons.**

"Yes. Lord Worthington was there. But where
were you?*'

"In a waiting-room, close to you.'*

"I never saw you,*' said Cashel, very red. "Mellis^
drove our trap into a ditch and broke it: we had to get
home by train. We must have looked a queer lot.
Did you think I was in bad company?'*

"That was not my business, Mr. Cashel Byron."

"No,** said Cashel, with sudden bitterness. "What
did^^;^ care what company I kept? You* re mad with
me because I made your cousin look like a fool, I sup-
pose. That's what*s the matter.**

Lydia, speaking in a low tone to remind him that they
were not alone, said, "There is nothing the matter,
except that you act and speak like a grown-up boy
rather than a man. I am not mad with you because of
your attack upon my cousin; but he is very much
annoyed; and so is Mrs. Hoskyn, whose guest you
were bound tq respect.*'

"I knew you'd be down on me. I wouldn't have
said a word if I'd known you were here," said Cashel
dejectedly. "Lie down and be walked over: that's
what you think I'm fit for. Another man would have
twisted his head off."

"Is it possible that you do not know that gentlemen
never twist one another's heads off in society, no mat-
ter how great may be the provocation?"

"I know nothing," said Cashel, with plaintive sullen-
ness. "Everything I do is wrong. There! Will that
satisfy you?"

128 Cashel Byron's Profession

"I take no pleasure in making you confess yourself
in the wrong; and you cannot have a lower opinion of
me than to think that I do."

''That's just where you're mistaken/* said Cashel
obstinately. "I haven't got a low opinion of you at
all. There's such a thing as being too clever."

"You may not know that it is a low opinion.
Nevertheless, it is so."

"Well, have it your own way. I'm wrong again;
and you're right."

"So far from being gratified by that, I had rather we
were both in the right and agreed. Can you under-
stand that?"

"I can't say I do. But I give in to it. What more
need you care for?"

"Please, I had rather you understood. Let me try
to explain. You think I like to be cleverer than other
people. You are mistaken. I should like them all to
know whatever I know."

Cashel laughed cunningly, and shook his head.
"Don't you make any mistake about that," he said.
"You don't want anybody to be quite as clever as
yourself: it isn't in human nature that you should.
You'd like people to be just clever enough to shew you
off — to be worth beating. But you wouldn't like them
to be able to beat you. Just clever enough to know
, how much cleverer you are : that' s about the mark. Eh?' '

Lydia made no further effort to enlighten him. She
looked at him thoughtfully, and said slowly, "So this
perpetual fighting metaphor is the clue to your idio-
syncrasy. You have attached yourself to the modern
doctrine of a struggle for existence, and look on life
as a continual combat "

Cashel Byron's Profession 129

"A fight? Just so. What is life but a fight? The
curs forfeit or get beaten; the rogues sell the fight and
lose the confidence of their backers; the game ones,
and the clever ones, win the stakes, and have to hand
over the lion's share of them to the moneyed loafers
that have stood the expenses; and luck plays the devil
with them all in turn. That's not the way they
describe life in books; but that's what it is."

* 'Oddly put, and perhaps true But it is not the
creed of the simpleton you pretended to be a moment
ago. You are playing with me — revealing your wis-
dom from beneath a veil of the boyish. My compli-
ments on your excellent acting. I have no more to
say."

"May I be shot if I understand you! Td rather be
a horse than an actor. Come: is it because I raised a
laugh against your cousin that you're so spiteful?"

Lydia looked earnestly and doubtfully at him; and
he instinctively put his head back, as if it were in
danger. *'You do not understand, then?" she said.
'*I will test the genuineness of your stupidity by an
appeal to your obedience."

''Stupidity! Go on."

"But will you obey me, if I lay a command upon
you?"

"I will go through fire and water for you."

Lydia blushed faintly, and paused to wonder at the
novel sensation before she resumed. "You had better
not apologize to my cousin: partly because you would
only make matters worse: chiefly because he does not
deserve it. But you must make this speech to Mrs.
Hoskyn when you are going: 'I am very sorry I forgot
myself "

130 Cashel Byron's Profession

"Sounds like Shakespear, doesn't it?" observed
Cashel.

"Ah! the test has found you out: you are only act-
ing after all. But that does not alter my opinion that
you should apologize.*'

'*A11 right. I don't know what you mean by testing
and acting; and I only hope you know yourself. But
no matter: I'll apologize: a man like me can afford
to. I'll apologize to your cousin too, if you like."

*'I do not like. But what has that to do with it? I
suggest these things, as you must be aware, for your
own sake and not for mine."

**As for my own, I don't care twopence: I do it all
for you. I don't even ask whether there is anything
between you and him."

"Would you like to know?" said Lydia deliber-
ately, after a pause of astonishment.

"Do you mean to say you'll tell me?" he exclaimed.
If you do, I'll say you're as good as gold."
Certainly I will tell you. There is an old friend-
ship and cousinship between us; but we are not
engaged, nor at all likely to be. I tell you so because
you would draw the opposite and false conclusion if I
avoided the question."

"I am glad of it," said Cashel, unexpectedly becom-
ing very gloomy. "He isn't man enough for you.
But he's your equal, damn him!"

"He is my cousin, and, I believe, my sincere friend.
Therefore please do not damn him."

"I know I shouldn't have said that. But I am only
damning my own luck."

Which will not improve it in the least."

I know that. You needn'c have said it. I

II'

Cashel Byron's Profession 131

wouldn't have said a thing like that to you, stupid as I

am/'

*'Oh, you ar6 impossible: I meant nothing. How-
ever, that does not matter. You are still an enigma
to me. Had we not better try to hear a little of
Madame Szczympliga's performance?"

**rm a pretty plain enigma, I should think,** said
Cashel mournfully. **I would rather have you than
any other woman in the world; but you're too rich and
grand for me. If I can't have the satisfaction of
marrying you, I may as well have the satisfaction of
saying I'd like to."

"Hardly a fair way of approaching the subject,"
said Lydia composedly, but with a play of color again
in her cheeks. "Allow me to forbid it uncondition-
ally. I must be plain with you, Mr. Cashel Byron. I
do not know what you are or who you are; and I
believe you have tried to mystify me on both points — "

"And you never shall find out either the one or the
other if I can help it," put in Cashel; "so that we're
in a preciously bad way of coming to a good under-
standing."

"True," assented Lydia. "I do not make secrets;
I do not keep them; and I do not respect them.
Your humor clashes with my principle."

"You call it a humor!" said Cashel angrily. "Per-
haps you think I'm a duke in disguise. If so, you
may think better of it. If you had a secret, and the
discovery of it would cause you to be kicked out of
decent society, you would keep it pretty tight. And
that through no fault of your own, mind you; but
through downright cowardice and prejudice in other
people."

132 Cashel Byron's Profession

"There are at least some fears and prejudices com-
mon in society that I do not share," said Lydia, after
a moment's reflection. "Should I ever find out your
secret, do not too hastily conclude that you have for-
feited my consideration."

"You are just the last person on earth I want to be
found out by. But you'll find out fast enough.
Pshaw!" cried Cashel, with a laugh: "I'm as well
known as Trafalgar Square. But I can't bring myself
to tell you; and I hate secrets as much as you do; so
let's dfop it and talk about something else."

"We have talked long enough. The music is over;
and the people will return to this room presently, per-
haps to ask me who and what is the stranger that made
them such a remarkable speech."

"Just a word. Promise me that you won't ask any
oitkemthat,"

"Promise you! No. I cannot promise that."

"O Lord!" said Cashel, with a groan.

"I have told you that I do not respect secrets. For
the present I will not ask; but I may change my mind.
Meanwhile we must not hold long conversations. I even
hope that we shall not meet. There is only one thing
that I am too rich and grand for — mystification. Adieu. ' '

Before he could reply, she was away from him in
the midst of a number of gentlemen, and in conversa-
tion with one of them. Cashel seemed overwhelmed.
But in an instant he recovered himself, and stepped
jauntily before Mrs. Hoskyn, who had just come into
his neighborhood.

"I'm going, ma'am," he said. "Thank you for a
pleasant evening. I'm very sorry I forgot myself.
Good-night."

Cashel Byron's Profession 133

Mrs. Hoskyn, naturally frank, felt some vague
response within herself to this address. But, though
not usually at a loss for words in social emergencies,
she only looked at him, blushing slightly, and offering
her hand. He took it as if it were a tiny baby's hand;
gave it a little pinch; and turned to go, Mr. Adrian
Herbert, the painter, was directly in his way, with his
back towards him.

'*\lyau please, sir," said Cashel, taking him gently '
by the ribs, and lifting him aside as if he were a
tailor's dummy. The artist turned indignantly; but
Cashel was passing the doorway. On the stairs he
met Lucian and Alice.

"Good-night, Miss Goff," he said. *'It's a pleasure
to see the country roses in your cheeks." He lowered
his voice as he added, to Lucian, "Don't you worry
yourself over that little trick I shewed you. If any of
your friends chaff you about it, tell them that it was
Cashel Byron did it, and ask them whether they think
they could have helped themselves any better than
you could. Don't ever let a person come within dis-
tance of you while you're standing in that silly way on
both your heels. Why, if a man isn't properly planted
on his pins, a broom-handle falling against him will
upset him. That's the way of it. Good-night."

Lucian returned the salutation, mastered by a certain
latent dangerousness in Cashel, suggestive that he might
resent a snub by throwing the offender over the balus-
trade. As for Alice, she had entertained a super-
stitious dread of him ever since Lydia had pronounced
him a ruffian. Both felt relieved when the house
door, closing, shut him out from them.

CHAPTER VII

Society was much occupied during Alice's first
season in London with one of the accidents of the
beginnings of England's destiny in South Africa.
When Destiny tlakes nations into new places, it offers
them the choice of marching boldly with it and under-
standing it, or being led like pigs to market, intensely
recalcitrant, scuttling in sudden panics or charging in
sudden huffs, and using such rests as its leader gives
it, to eat, never to ask Whither? How? or What then?
Only when Destiny gives the word to stop eating and
march, a useless Why? is raised, whereupon Destiny,
out of patience, gives the rope a jerk which fetches
the poor pig off his trotters. England, observant of
the fact that the pig's line of conduct shifted all moral
responsibility to his leader, and got the pig finally to
his destination without brain worry, adopted it with-
out hesitation in Africa, with the result that when the
king of a considerable people there fell, with his terri-
tories, into British hands, the conquest seemed useless,
troublesome, and expensive; and after repeated
attempts to settle the country on impracticable plans
suggested to the Colonial Office by a popular historian
who had made a trip to Africa, and by generals who
were tired of their primitive remedy of killing the
natives, it appeared that the best course was to release
the king and get rid of the unprofitable booty by
restoring it to him. However, as the pig policy
had enabled him to win on^ battle against English

134

Cashel Byron's Profession 135

troops, it was thought advisable to take him first to
London, and shew him the wonders of English civili-
zation, especially in the matter of cannon and high
explosives.

But when the African king arrived, his rreedom
from English prepossessions made it difficult to
amuse, or even to impress him. A stranger to the idea
that a handful of private persons could own a country
and make others pay them for permission to live and
work there, he was unable to understand why such a
prodigiously rich nation should be composed chiefly
of poor and uncomfortable persons toiling incessantly
to create riches, and partly of a class that confiscated
and dissipated the riches thus produced without seem-
ing in the least happier than the unfortunate laborers
at whose expense they existed. He was seized with
strange fears: first for his health, since it seemed to
him that the air of London, filthy with smoke, engen-
dered puniness and dishonesty in those who breathed
it; and eventually for his life, when he learned that
kings in Europe were sometimes shot at in the streets.
The queen of England, though accounted the safest of
all, had had some half dozen escap&s; and the autocrat
of an empire huge beyond all other European coun-
tries, whose father had been torn asunder in the streets
of his capital, lived surrounded by soldiers who shot
down every stranger that approached him, even at his
own summons; so that he was an object of compassion
to the humblest of his servants. Under these circum-
stances, the African king was with difficulty induced
to stir out of doors; and he only visited Woolwich
Arsenal — the destructive resources of which were
ei^ected to silently warn him against taking the

136 Cashel Byron's Profession

Christian religion too literally — under compulsion.
At last the Colonial Office, which had charge of him,
was at its wit's end to devise entertainments to keep
him in good humor until the time appointed for his
departure.

On the Tuesday following Mrs. Hoskyn's reception,
Lucian Webber, calling at his cousin's house in
Regent's Park, said, in the course of conversation,

**The Colonial Office has had an idea. The king, it
appears, is something of an athlete, and is curious to
witness what Londoners can do in that way. So a
grand assualt-at-arms is to be held for him."

**What is an assault-at-arms?" said Lydia. "I have
never been at one; and the name suggests nothing but
an affray with bayonets."

'*It is an exhibition of swordsmanship, military drill,
gymnastics, and so forth."

**I will go to that," said Lydia. "Will you come,
Alice?"

"Is it usual for ladies to go to such exhibitions?"
said Alice cautiously.

"On this occasion ladies will go for the sake of see-
ing the king," said Lucian. "The Olympian gym-
nastic society, which has undertaken the direction of
the civilian part of the assault, expects what it calls
a flower-show audience."

"Will you come, Lucian?"

"If I can be spared, yes. If not, I will ask Worth-
ington to go with you. He understands such matters
better than I."

"Then let us have him by all means," said Lydia.

"I cannot see why you are so fond of Lord Worth-
ington," said Alice. "His manners are good; but

Cashel Byron's Profession 137

•

there is nothing in him. Besides, he is so young. I
cannot endure his conversation. He has begun to talk
about Goodwood already."

"He will grow out of his excessive addiction to
sport," said Lucian, paternally.

"Indeed!" saidLydia. **And what will he grow into?"

"Possibly into a more reasonable man," said Lucian,
unabashed.

"I hope so," said Lydia; "but I prefer a man who
is interested in sport to a gentleman who is interested
in nothing."

"Much might indubitably be said from that point of
view. But it is not necessary that Lord Worthington
should waste his energy on horse-racing. I presume
you do not think political life, for which his position
peculiarly fits him, unworthy his attention."

"Party tactics are both exciting and amusing, no
doubt. But are they better than horse-racing?
Jockeys and horse-breakers at least know their busi-
ness: members of parliament do not. Is it pleasant to
sit on a bench — even though it be the Treasury
bench — and listen to amateur discussions about mat-
ters that have been settled for the last hundred years
to the satisfaction of everybody who has seriously
studied them?"

"You do not understand the duties of a government,
Lydia. You never approach the subject without con-
firming my opinion that women are constitutionally
incapable of comprehending it."

"It is natural for you to think so, Lucian. The
House of Commons is to you the goal of existence.
To me it is only an assemblage of ill-informed gentle-
men who have botched every business they have ever

138 Cashel Byron's Profession

undertaken, from the first committee of supply down
to the last land Act; and who arrogantly assert that I
am not good enough to sit witt them."

**Lydia/' said Lucian, annoyed: "you know that I
respect women in their own sphere "

"Then give them another sphere, and perhaps they
will earn your respect in that also. I am sorry to say
that men, in ^leir sphere, have not won my respect.
Enough of that for the present. I have to make some
arrangements before I go out. They are of more
immediate importance than the conversion of a will-
ing Conservative into a reluctant Women's Suffragist.
Excuse me for five minutes."

She left the room. Lucian sat down and gave his
attention to Alice, who had still enough of her old
nervousness to straighten her shoulders and look
stately. But he did not object to this: a little stiff-
ness of manner gratified his taste.

**I hope^"* he said, "that my cousin has not suc-
ceeded in inducing you to adopt her peculiar views."

"No,** said Alice. "Of course her case is quite
exceptional. She is so wonderfully accomplished! In
general, I do not think women should have views.
There are certain convictions which every lady holds:
for instance, we know that Roman Catholicism is
wrong. But that can hardly be called a view: indeed
it would be wicked to call it so, as it is one of the
highest truths. What I mean is that women should
not be political agitators."

"I understand and quite agree with you. Lydia's
is, as you say, an exceptional case. She has lived
much abroad; and her father was a very singular man.
Even the clearest heads, when removed from the

Cashel Byron's Profession 139

direct influence of English life and thought, contract
extraordinary prejudices. It is almost a pity that
such strength of mind and extent of knowledge should
be fortified by the dangerous independence which
great wealth confers. Advantages like these bring
with them certain duties to the class that has produced
them — duties to which Lydia is not merely indifferent,
but absolutely hostile."

"I never meddle with her ideas on — on these sub-
jects. I am too ignorant to understand them. But
Miss Carew's generosity to me has been unparalleled.
And she does not seem to know that she is generous.
I owe more to her than I ever can repay." "At
least," Alice added to herself, *'I am not ungrateful."

Miss Carew now reappeared, dressed in a long grey
coat and plain beaver hat, and carrying a roll of writ-
ing materials.

**I am going tq the British Museum to read," said she.

"To walk! — alone!" said Lucian, looking at her cos-
tume.

"Yes. Prevent me from walking and you deprive
me of my health. Prevent me from going alone
where I please and when I please, and you deprive
me of my liberty — tear up Magna Charta, in effect.
But I do not insist upon being alone in this instance.
If you can return to your office by way of Regent's
Park and Gower Street without losing too much
time, I shall be glad of your company."

Lucian decorously suppressed his eagerness to com-
ply by looking at his watch, and pretending to con-
sider his engagements. In conclusion, he said that he
should be happy to accompany her.

It was a fine summer afternoon; and there were

140 Cashel Byron's Profession

many people in the park. Lucian was soon incom-
moded by the attention his cousin attracted. In spite
of the black beaver, her hair shone like fire in the sun.
Women stared at her with unsympathetic curiosity
and turned as they passed to examine her attire. Men
resorted to various subterfuges to get a satisfactory
look without rudely betraying their intention. A few
stupid youths gaped; and a few impudent ones smiled.
Lucian would gladly have kicked them all without dis-
tinction. He suggested that they should leave the
path, and make a short cut across the greensward. As
they emerged from the shade of the trees, he had a
vague impression that the fineness of the weather and
the beauty of the park made* the occasion romantic,
and that the words by which he hoped to make the
relation between him and his cousin dearer and closer
would be well spoken there. But he immediately
began to talk, in spite of himself, about the cost of
maintaining the public parks, particulars of which
happened to be within his official knowledge. Lydia,
readily interested by facts of any sort, thought the
subject not a bad one for a casual afternoon conversa-
tion, and pursued it until they left the turf and got
into the Euston Road, where the bustle of traffic
silenced them for a while. When they escaped from
the din into the respectable quietude of Gower Street,
he suddenly said,

**It is one of the evils of great wealth in the hands

of a woman, that she can hardly feel sure " Here

his ideas fled suddenly. He stopped; but he kept his
countenance so well that he had the air of having
made a finished speech, and being perfectly satisfied
with it

Cashel Byron's Profession 141

"Do you mean that she can never feel sure of the
justice of her title to her riches? That used to trouble
me; but it no longer does so."

* 'Nonsense!*' said Lucian. "I alluded to the dis-
interestedness of your friends."

"That does not trouble me either. Absolutely dis-
interested friends I do not seek, as I should only find
them among idiots or somnambulists. As to those
whose interests are base, they do not know how to con-
ceal their motives from me. For the rest, I am not
so unreasonable as to object to a fair account being
taken of my wealth in estimating the value of my
friendship."

"Do you not believe in the existence of persons who
would like you just as well as if you were poor?"

"Such persons would wish me to become poor,
merely to bring me nearer to themselves; for which I
should not thank them. I set great store by the
esteem my riches command, Lucian. It is the only
set-off I have against the envy they inspire."

"Then you would refuse to believe in the disinter-
estedness of any man who — who "

"Who wanted to marry me? On the contrary: I
should be the last person to believe that a man could
prefer my money to myself. If he were independent,
and in a fair way to keep his place in the world with-
out my help, I should despise him if he hesitated to
approach me for fear of misconstruction. I do not
think a man is ever thoroughly honest until he is
superior to that fear. But if he had no profession, no
money, and no aim except to live at my expense, then
I shoufd regard him as an adventurer, and treat him
as one — unless I fell in love with him."

142 Cashel Byron's Profession

'Unless you fell in love with him?"
That — assuming that such things really happen —
might make a difference in my feeling, but none in
my conduct. I would not marry an adventurer under
any circumstances. I could cure myself of a misdi-
rected passion, hut not of a bad husband."

Lucian said nothing: he walked on with long irreg-
ular steps, lowering at the pavement as if it were a
difficult problem, and occasionally thrusting at it with
his stick. At last he looked up and said,

"Would you mind prolonging your walk a little by
going round Bedford Square with me? I have some-
thing particular to say."

She turned and complied without a word; and they
had traversed one side of the square before he spoke
again.

"On second thoughts, Lydia, this is neither the
time nor the place for an important communication.
Excuse me for having taken you out of your way for
nothing."

"I do not like this, Lucian. Important communica-
tions — in this case — corrupt good manners. If your
intended speech is a sensible one, the present is as
good a time, and Bedford Square as good a place, as
you are likely to find for it. If it is otherwise, con-
fess that you have decided to leave it unsaid. But do
not postpone it. Reticence is always an error — even
on the Treasury bench. It is doubly erroneous in
dealing with me; for I have a constitutional antipathy
to it.

"Yes, " he said hurriedly; "but give me one
moment — until the policeman has passed."

The policeman went leisurely by, striking the flags

Cashel Byron's Profession 143

with his heels, and slapping his palm with a white
glove.

"The fact is, Lydia, that I feel great diffi-
culty "

"What is the matter?" said Lydia, after waiting in
vain for further particulars. "You have broken down
twice." There was a pause. Then she looked at him
quickly, and added, incredulously, "Are you going to
get married? Is that the secret that ties your practised
tongue?"

"Not unless you take part in the ceremony."

"Very gallant; and in a vein of humor that is new
in my experience of you. But what have you to tell
me, Lucian? Frankly, your hesitation is becoming
ridiculous."

"You have certainly not made matters easier for me,
Lydia. Perhaps you have a womanly intuition of my
purpose, and are intentionally discouraging me."

"Not the least. I am not good at intuitions,
womanly or otherwise. On my word, if you do not
confess at once, I will hurry away to the Museum."

"I cannot find a suitable form of expression," said
Lucian, in painful perplexity. "I am sure you will
not attribute any sordid motive to my — well, to my
addresses, though the term seems absurd. I am too
well aware that there is little, from the usual point of
view, to tempt you to unite yourself to me. Still "

A rapid change in Lydia's face shewed him that he
had said enough. "I had not thought of this, ' ' she said,
after a silence that seemed long to him. "Our obser-
vations are so meaningless until we are given the
thread to string them on! You must think better of
this, Lucian. The relation that at present exists

144 Cashel Byron's Profession

between us is the very best that our different characters
will admit of. Why do you desire to alter it?"

"Because I would make it closer and more perma*
nent. I do not wish to alter it otherwise."

**You would run some risk of destroying it by the
method you propose," said Lydia, with composure
**We could not work together. There are differences
of opinion between us amounting to differences of
principle."

**Surely you are not serious. Your opinions, or
notions, are not represented by any political party in
England; and therefore they are practically ineffect-
ive, and could not clash with mine. And such di^er-
ences are not personal matters."

**Such a party might be formed a week after our
marriage — will, I think, be formed a long time before
our deaths. In that case I fear that our difference of
opinion would become a very personal matter."

He began to walk more quickly as he replied, "It is
too absurd to set up what you call your opinions as a
serious barrier between us. You have no opinions,
Lydia. The impracticable crotchets you are fond of
airing are not recognized in England as sane political
convictions."

Lydia did not retort. She waited a minute in pen-
sive silence, and then said,

"Why do you not marry Alice Goff?"

"Oh, hang Alice Goff!"

"It is so easy to come at the man beneath the veneer
by chipping at his feelings," said Lydia, laughing.
"But I was serious, Lucian. Alice is energetic, ambi*
tious and stubbornly upright, in questions of principle.
I believe she would assist you steadily at every step of

Cashel Byron's Profession 145

your career. Besides, she has physical robustness.
Our student stock needs an effusion of that."

**Many thanks for the suggestion; but I do not hap-
pen to want to marry Miss Goff."

**I invite you to consider it. You have not had time
yet to form any rtew plans."

**New plans! Then you absolutely refuse me — with-
out a moment's consideration."

* 'Absolutely, Lucian. Does not your instinct warn
you that it would be a mistake to marry me?"

**No, I cannot say that it does."

**Then trust to mine, which gives forth no uncertain
note on this question, as your favorite newspapers are
fond of saying."

**It is a question of feeling," he said, in a con-
strained voice.

"Is it?" she replied with interest. "You have sur-
prised me somewhat, Lucian. I have never observed
any of the extravagances of a lover in your con-
duct."

"And you have surprised me very unpleasantly,
Lydia. I do not think now that I ever had much
hope of success; but I thought, at least, that my disil-
lusion would be gently accomplished."

"Have I been harsh?"

"I do not complain."

"I was unlucky, Lucian; not malicious. Besides,
the artifices by which friends endeavor to spare one
another's feelings are petty disloyalties. I am frank
with you. Would you have me otherwise?"

"Of course not. I have no right to be offended."

"Not the least. Now add to that formal admission
a sincere assurance that you are not offended."

146 Cashel Byron's Profession

"I assure you I am not," said Lucian, with melan-
choly resignation.

They had by this time reached Charlotte Street; and
Lydia tacitly concluded the conference by turning
towards the Museum, and beginning to talk upon
indifferent subjects. At the corner of Russell Street
he got into a cab and drove away, dejectedly acknowl-
edging a smile and wave of the hand with which she
tried to console him. Lydia then went to the national
library, where she forgot Lucian. The effect of the
shock of his proposal was in store for her; but as yet .
she did not feel it; and she worked steadily until the
library was closed and she had to leave. As she had
been sitting for some hours, and it was still light, she
did not take a cab, and did not even walk straight
home. She had heard of a bookseller in Soho who
had for sale a certain scarce volume which she wanted;
and it occurred to her that the present was a good
opportunity to go in search of him. Now there was
hardly a capital in Western Europe that she did not
know better than London. She soon lost herself in a
labyrinth of narrow streets of once fashionable dwell-
ing-houses, long ago turned into small shops or let in
tenements, and now succumbing to a slow but steady
invasion of large business houses. Nevertheless it was
not the bustle of trade that broke the curious Soho
quietude. The shops did not seem to do much busi-
ness; the big counting-houses kept their activity within
doors; the few clerks, tradesmen, and warehouse-men
who were about had the air of slipping across to the
public-houses rather than of having urgent affairs in
hand. But the place was alive with children, who
flocked and chattered and darted about like sparrows,

Cashel Byron's Profession 147

putting their elders oiit of countenance and making
the patiently constructed haunts of commerce their
playground.

Lydia noted one small boy looking wistfully through
the window of a sweetshop, evidently in the keenest
want of money. To him she proposed that he should
guide her back to the Broad Street of that region. He
embraced the offer greedily, and presently led her
thither by way of Lexington Street. She thanked
him, and gave him the smallest coin in her purse,
which happened to be a shilling. He, in a transport
at possessing what was to him a fortune, uttered a
piercing yell, and darted off to shew the coin to a
covey of small boys who had just raced into view
round the corner by the public-house. In his haste,
he dashed headlong against one of the usual group
outside, apowerfully built young man, who cursed him
fiercely. The boy retorted passionately, and then,
hurt by the collision, began to cry. When Lydia
came up, the child stood whimpering directly in her
path; and she, pitying him, patted him on the head
and reminded him of all the money he had to spend.
He seemed comforted, and scraped his eyes with his
knuckles in silence; but the man who, having received
a rude butt in the groin, was stung by Lydia' s injustice
in according to the aggressor the sympathy due to
himself, walked threateningly up to her, and
demanded, with a startling oath, whether he had
offered to do anything to the boy. And, as he
refrained from applying any epithet to her, he hon-
estly believed that in deference to Lydia' s sex and
personal charms he had expressed himself with a dash-
ing combination of, gallantry with manly heat of spirit.

148 Cashel Byron's Profession

She, not appreciating his chivalry, recoiled, and
stepped into the roadway in order to pass him. Indig-
nant at this attempt to ignore him, he again placed
himself in her path, and was repeating his question
with increased sternness, when a jerk in the pit of his
stomach caused him a severe internal qualm, besides
disturbing his equilibrium so rudely that he narrowly
escaped a fall against the kerbstone. When he recov-
ered himself he saw before him a showily dressed
young man, who thus accosted him:

"Is that the way to talk to a lady, eh? Isn't the
street wide enough for two? Where's your manners?"

*'And who are you; and where are you shoving your
elbow to?" said the man, with a surpassing impreca-
tion.

**Come, come," said Cashel Byron admonitorily.
"You'd better keep your mouth clean if you wish to
keep your teeth inside it. Never you mind who I am."

Lydia, foreseeing an altercation, and alarmed by
the threatening aspect of the man, sensibly resolved
to hurry away and send a policeman to Cashel' s assist-
ance. But on turning she discovered that a crowd had
already gathered, and tliat she was in the novel posi-
tion of a spectator in the inner ring at what promised
to be a street fight. Her attention was recalled to the
disputants by a violent demonstration on the part of
her late assailant. Cashel seemed alarmed; for he
hastily retreated a step without regard to the toes of
those behind him, and exclaimed, waving the other
off with his open hand,

"Now you just let me alone. I don't want to have
anything to say to you. Go away from me, I tell
you."

Cashel Byron's Profession 149

**You don't want to have nothink to say to me! Oh!
And for why? Because you ain't man enough: that's
why. What do you mean by coming and shoving
your elbow into a man's breadbasket for, and then
wanting to sneak o£f? Did you think I'd 'a bin fright-
ened of your velvet coat?"

**Very well," said Cashel pacifically: **we'll say that
I'm not man enough for you. So that's settled.
Are you satisfied?"

But the other, greatly emboldened, declared with
many oaths that he would have Cashel' s heart out, and
also, if he liked, that of Lydia, to whom he alluded in
coarse terms. The crowd cheered, and called upon
him to **go it." Cashel then said sullenly,

*'Verywell. But don't you try to make out after-
wards that I forced a quarrel on you. And now," he
added, with a grim change of tone that made Lydia
shudder, and shifted her fears to the account of his
antagonist, 'Til make you wish you'd bit your tongue
out before you said what you did a moment ago. So
take care of yourself."

**0h, I'll take care of myself," said the man,
defiantly. *Tut up your hands."

Cashel surveyed his opponent's attitude with
unspeakable disparagement. "You'll know when my
hands are up by the feel of the pavement," he said.
**Better keep your coat on. You'll fall softer."

The rough expressed his repudiation of this counsel
by beginning to strip energetically. A nameless thrill
passed through the crowd. Those who had bad places
pressed forward; and those who formed the inner ring
pressed back to make room for the combatants.
Lydia, who occupied a coveted position close to

150 Cashel Byron's Profession

Cashel, hoped to be hustled out of the throng; for she
was beginning to feel faint and ill. But a handsome
butcher, who had found a place by her side, held that
she was entitled to the post of honor in the front row,
and bade her not be frightened. As he spoke, the
mass of faces before Lydia seemed to give a sudden
lurch. To save herself from falling, she slipped
her arm through the butcher's; and he, much
gratified, tucked her close to him, and held her up
effectually. His support was welcome, because it was
needed.

Meanwhile, Cashel stood motionless, watching with
unrelenting contempt the movements of his adversary,
who rolled up his discolored shirt sleeves amid
encouraging cries of **Go it, Teddy," **Give it 'im,
Ted,'* and other more precise suggestions. But
Teddy's spirit was chilled: he advanced with a pre-
sentiment that he was courting destruction. He dared
not rush on his foe, whose eye seemed to discern his
impotence. When at last he ventured to strike, the
blow fell short, as Cashel evidently knew it would;
for he did not stir. There was a laugh and a murmur
of impatience in the crowd.

**Are you waiting for'^he copper to come and sepa-
rate you?*' shouted the butcher. '*Come out of your
corner and get to work, can't you?'*

This reminder that the police might baulk him of
his prey seemed to move Cashel. He took a step for-
ward. The excitement of the crowd rose to a climax;
and a little man near Lydia cut a frenzied caper and
screamed, **Go it, Cashel Byron."

At these words Teddy was frankly terror-stricken.
His hands went down hastily; and a pitiable green

Cashel Byron's Profession 151

pallor flitted across his cheek. "It ain't fair/' he
exclaimed, retreating as far as he could: *'I give in.
Cut it, master: you're too clever for me." But the
cruel crowd, with a jeer, pushed him towards Cashel,
who advanced remorselessly. Teddy dropped on both
knees. **What can a man say more than that he's had
enough?" he pleaded. **Be a Englishman, master;
and don't hit a man when he's down."

"Down!", said Cashel. "How long will you stay
down if I choose to have you up?" And, suiting the
action to the word, he seized Teddy with his left hand;
lifted him to his feet; threw him in a helpless position
across his knee; and poised his right iist like a ham-
mer over his upturned face. "Now," he said, "you're
not down. What have you to say for yourself before
I knock your face down your throat?"

"Don't do it, gov'nor," gasped Teddy. "I didn't
mean no harm. How was I to know that the young
lady was your fancy?" Here he struggled a little;
and his face took a darker hue. "Let go, master," he
cried, almost inarticulately. You're ch — choking me."

"Pray let him go," said Lydia, disengaging herself
from the butcher and catching Cashel' s arm."

Cashel, with a start, relaxed his grasp; and Teddy
rolled on the ground. He went away thrusting his
hands into his sleeves, and outfacing his disgrace by a
callous grin. Cashel, without speaking, offered Lydia
his arm; and she, seeing that her best course was to
get away from that place with as few words as pos-
sible, accepted it, and then turned and thanked the
butcher, who blushed and became speechless. The
little man, he whose exclamation had interrupted the
combat, now waved his hat, crying,

152 Cashel Byron's Profession

"The British Lion for ever! Three cheers for
Cashel Byron."

Cashel turned upon him curtly, and said, ** Don't
you make so free with other people's names, or per-
haps you may get into trouble yourself."

The little man retreated hastily; but the crowd
responded with three cheers as Cashel, with Lydia on
his arm, withdrew through a lane of disreputable-look-
ing girls, roughs of Teddy's class, white-aproned
shopmen who had left their counters to see the fight,
and a few pale clerks, who looked with awe at the
prizefighter and with wonder at the refined appearance
of his companion. The two were followed by a double
file of little ragamuffins, who, with their eyes fixed
earnestly on Cashel, walked on the footways whilst he
conducted Lydia down the middle of the narrow
street. Not one of them turned a somersault or
uttered a shout. Intent on their hero, they pattered
along, coming into collision with every object that lay
in their path. At last Cashel stopped. They instantly
stopped too. He took some bronze coin from his
pocket; rattled it in his hand; and addressed them.

**Boys." Dead silence. "Do you know what I
have to do to keep up my strength?" The hitherto
steadfast eyes wandered uneasily. "I have to eat a
little boy for supper every night, the last thing before
going to bed. Now, I haven't quite made up my
mind which of you would be the most to my taste; but
if one of you comes a step further, I'll eat him. So
away with you." And he jerked the coins to a con-
siderable distance. There was a yell and a scramble;
and Cashel and Lydia pursued their way unattended. .

Lydia had taken advantage of the dispersion of the

Cashel Byron's Profession 153

boys to detach herself from Cashel' s arm. She now
^aid, speaking to him for the first time since she had
interceded for Teddy,

**I am so sorry to have given you so much trouble,
Mr. Cashel Byron. Thank you for interfering to pro-
tect me; but I was in no real danger. I would gladly
have borne with a few rough words for the sake of
avoiding a disturbance."

"There!" cried Cashel. *-I knew it. You'd a deal
rather I had minded my own business and not inter-
fered. You're sorry for the poor fellow I treated so
badly: ain't you now? That's a woman all over."

"I have not said one of these things."

"Well, I don't see what else you mean. It's no
pleasure to me to fight chance men in the streets for
nothing: I don't get my living that way. And now that
I have done it for you sake, you as good as tell me I
ought to have kept myself quiet."

"Perhaps I am wrong. I hardly understand what
passed. You seemed to drop from the clouds."

"Aha! You were glad when you found me at your
elbow, in spite of your talk. Come now: weren't you
glad to me see me?"

"I confess it: very glad indeed. But by what magic
did you so suddenly subdue that man? And was it
necessary to sully your hands by throttling him?"

"It was a satisfaction to me; and it served him
right?"

"Surely a very poor satisfaction! Did you notice
that some one in the crowd called out your name; and
that it seemed to frighten the man terribly?"

"Indeed. Odd, wasn't it? But you were saying
that you thought I dropped from the sky. Why, I had

154 Cashel Byron's Profession

been following you for five minutes before! What do
you think of that? If I may take the liberty of asking,
how did you come to be walking round Soho at such
an hour with a little boy?"

Lydia explained. When she finished, it was nearly
dark. They had reached Oxford Street, where, like
Lucian in Regent's Park that afternoon, she became
conscious that her companion was an object of curi-
osity to many of the wayfarers, especially the cabmen
and omnibus drivers.

''Alice will think I am lost," she said, making a
signal to a cabman, who made his horse plunge to
obey it. * 'Good-bye; and many thanks. I am always
at home on Fridays, and shall be very happy to see
you."

She handed him a card. He took it; read it;
looked at the back to see if there was anything written
there; and then said dubiously,

"I suppose there will be a lot of people."

"Yes, you will meet plenty of people."

"H'm! I wish you'd let me see you home now. I
won't ask to go any further than the gate."

Lydia laughed. "You should be very welcome,"
she said; "but I am quite safe, thank you. I need not
trouble you."

"But suppose the cabman bullies you for double
fare," persisted Cashel. "I have business up in Kil-
burn; and your place is right in my way there. Upon
my soul I have," he added, suspecting that she
doubted him. "I go every Tuesday evening to the
St. John's Wood Ccstus Club."

"I am hungry and in a hurry to get nome," said
Lydia. " *I must begone and live, or stay and die.*

Cashel Byron's Profession 155

Come if you will; but in any case let us go at

once."

She got into the cab; and Cashel followed, making
some remark which she did not quite catch about its
being too dark for any one to recognize him. They
spoke little during the drive, which was soon over.
Bashville was standing at the open door as they came
to the house. When Cashel got out, the footman
looked at him with interest and some surprise. But
when Lydia alighted he was so startled that he stood
open-mouthed, although he was trained to simulate
insensibility to everything except his own business,
and to do that as automatically as possible. Cashel
bade Lydia good-bye, and shook hands with her. As
she went into the house, she asked Bashville whether
Miss Go£f was within. To her surprise, he paid no
attention to her, but stared after the retreating cab.
She repeated the question.

Madam," he said, recovering himself with a start:

she has asked for you four times."

Lydia, relieved of a disagreeable suspicion that her
usually faultless footman must be drunk, thanked him
and went upstairs.

CHAPTER VIII

One morning a handsome young man, elegantly
dressed, presented himself at Downing Street, and
asked to see Mr. Lucian Webber. He declined to
send in a card, and desired to be announced simply as
''Bashville." Lucian had him admitted at dnce; and,
when he entered, condescended to him and invited
him to sit down.

"I thank^you, sir," said Bashville, seating himself.
It struck Lucian then, from a certain strung-up reso-
lution in his visitor's manner, that he had come on
some business of his own, and not with a message
from his mistress.

**I have come, sir, on my own responsibility this
morning. I hope you will excuse the liberty.'

* 'Certainly. If I can do anything for you, Bash-
ville, don't be afraid to ask. But be as brief as you
can. I am so busy that every second I give you will
probably come off my night's rest. Will ten minutes
be enough?"

"More than enough, sir, thank you. I only wish to
ask one question. I own that I am stepping out of my
place to ask it; but I'll risk that. Does Miss Carew
know what the Mr. Cashel Byron is that she receives
every Friday with her other friends?"

"No doubt she does," said Lucian, at once becom-
ing cold in his manner, and looking severely at Bash-
ville. "What business is that of yours?"

"Do you know what he is, sir?" said Bashville,

156

Cashel Byron's Profession 157

returniiig Lucian's gaze steadily. Lucian changed
countenance, and replaced a pen that had slipped from
a rack on his desk. "He is not an acquaintance of
mine," he said. **I only know him as a friend of
Lord Worthington's."

"Sir," said Bashville, with sudden vehemence, **he
is no more to Lord Worthington than the racehorse his
lordship bets on. /might as well set up to be a friend
of his lordship because I, after a manner of speaking,
know him. Byron is in the ring, sir. A common
prizefighter!"

Lucian, recalling what had passed at Mrs. Hoskyn's,
believed the assertion at once. But he made a faint
effort to resist conviction. **Are you sure of this,
Bashville?" he said. **Doyou know that your state-
ment is a very serious one?"

"There is no doubt at all about it, sir. Go to any
sporting public-house in London and ask who is the best-
known fighting man of the day, and they'll tell you
Cashel Byron. I know all about him, sir. Perhaps
you have heard tell of Ned Skene, who was champion,
belike, when you were at school."

"I believe I have heard the name."

"Just so, sir. Ned Skene picked up this Cashel
B)a'on in the streets of Melbourne, where he was a
common sailor bojr, and trained him for the ring.
You may have seen his name in the papers, sir. The
sporting ones are full of him; and he was mentioned
in The Times a month ago."

"I never read articles on such subjects. I have
hardly time to glance through the ones that concern

me.

"That's the way it is with everybody, sir. Miss

158 Cashel Byron's Profession

Carew never thinks of reading the sporting intelligence
in the papers; and so he passes himself off on her for
her equal. He's well known for his wish to be
thought a gentleman, sir, I assure you."

"I have noticed his manner as being odd, certainly."

'*Odd, sir! Why, a child might see through him;^
for he has not the sense to keep his own secret. Last
Friday he was in the library; and he got looking at
the new biographical dictionary that Miss Carew con-
tributed the article on Spinoza to. And what do you
think he said, sir? 'This is a blessed book,' he says.
'Here's ten pages about Napoleon Bonaparte, and not
one about Jack Randall: as if one fighting man wasn't
as good as another!' I knew by the way Miss Carew
took up that saying, and drew him out, so to speak,
on the subject, that she didn't know who she had in
her house; and then I determined to tell you, sir. I
hope you won't think that I come here behind his
back out of malice against him. All I want is fair
play. If I passed myself off on Miss Carew as a gen-
tleman, I should deserve to be exposed as a cheat;
and when he tries to take advantages that don't belong
to him, I think I have a right to expose him."

"Quite right, quite right," said Lucian, who cared
nothing for Bashville's motives. **I suppose this
Byron is a dangerous man to have any personal
unpleasantness with."

"He knows his business, sir. I am a better judge of
wrestling than half of these London professionals; but
I never saw the man that could put a hug on him.
Simple as he is, sir, he has a genius for fighting, and
has beaten men of all sizes, weights, and colors.
There's a new man from the black country, named

Cashel B3rron's Profession 159

Paradise, who says he'll bectt him; but I won't believe
it till I see it."

"Well," said Lucian, rising, "I am much indebted
to you, Bashville, for your information; and I shall
take care to let Miss Carew know how you have "

"Begging your pardon, sir," said Bashville; "but,
if you please, no. I did not come to recommend
myself at the cost of another man; and perhaps Miss
Carew might not think it any great recommendation
neither." Lucian looked quickly at him as if about
to speak, but checked himself. Bashville continued,
"If he denies it, you may call me as a witness; and I
will tell him to his face that he lies — and so I would if
he were twice as dangerous; but, except in that way,
I would ask you, sir, as a favor, not to mention my
name to Miss Carew."

"As you please," said Lucian, taking out his purse.
"Perhaps you are right. However, you shall not have
your trouble for nothing."

"I couldn't really, sir," said Bashville, retreating a
step. "You will agree with me, I'm sure, that this is
not a thing that a man should take payment for.
It is a personal matter between me and Byron, sir."

Lucian, displeased that a servant should have any
personal feelings on any subject, much more one that
concerned his mistress, put back his purse without
comment, and said, "Will Miss Carew be at home
this afternoon between three and four?"

"I have not heard of any arrangement to the con-
trary, sir. I will telegraph to you if she goes out — if
you wish."

"It does not matter. Thank you. Good morning."

"Good morning, sir," said Bashville respectfully, as

i6o Cashel Byron's Profession

he withdrew. Outside the door his manner chang^ed.
He put on a pair of cinnamon gloves; took up a silver-
mounted walking stick which he had left in the corri-
dor; and walked from Downing Street into Whitehall.
A party of visitors from the country, standing there
examining the buildings, guessed that he was a junior
lord of the Treasury.

He waited in vain that afternoon for Lucian to
appear at the house in Regent's Park. There were no
callers; and he wore away the time by endeavoring,
with the aid of the library Miss Carew had placed at
the disposal of her domestics, to unravel the philos-
ophy of Spinoza. At the end of an hour, feeling satis-
fied that he had mastered that author's views, he
proceeded to vary the monotony of the long summer's
day by polishing Lydia's plate.

Meanwhile, Lucian was considering how he could
best make Lydia not only repudiate Cashel's acquaint-
ance, but feel thoroughly ashamed of herself for hay-
ing encouraged him, and wholesomely mistrustful of
her own judgment for the future. His secretarial duties
had taught him to provide himself with a few well-
arranged relevant facts before attempting to influence
the opinions of others on any subject. He knew no
more of prizefighting than that it was a brutal and
illegal practice, akin to cockfighting, and, like it,
generally supposed to be obsolete. Knowing how
prone Lydia was to suspect any received opinion of
being a prejudice, he felt that he must inform himself
more particularly. To Lord Worth ington's astonish-
ment, he not only asked him to dinner next evening,
but listened with interest whilst he expatiated to his
heart's content on his favorite theme of the ring.

Cashel Byron's Profession i6i

As the days passed, Bash vi lie became nervous, and
sometimes wondered whether Lydia had met her
cousin and heard from him of the interview at Down-
ing Street. He fancied that her manner towards him
was changed; and he was once or twice on the point of
asking the most sympathetic of the housemaids
whether she had noticed it. On Wednesday his sus-
pense ended. Lucian came, and had a long conversa-
tion with Lydia in the library. Though Bashville was
too honorable to listen at the door, he almost hoped
that the sympathetic housemaid would prove less
scrupulous. But Miss Carew had contrived to leave
her servants some self-respect; and Lucian' s revela-
tion was made in complete privacy.

When he entered the library, he looked so serious
that she asked him whether he had neuralgia, from
which he occasionally suffered. He replied with some
indignation that he had not, and that he had a com-
munication of importance to make to her.

"What! Another!"

'*Yes, another," he said, with a sour smile; "but
this time it does not concern myself. May I warn you
as to the character of one of your guests without over-
stepping my privilege?"

"Certainly. Do you mean Cheffsky. » If so, I am
perfectly aware that he is a proscribed Nihilist."

**I do not mean Monsieur Cheffsky. You under-
stand, I hope, that I do not approve of him, nor of
your strange fancy for Nihilists, Anarchists, and
other doubtful persons; but I think that even you
might draw the line at a prizefighter."

Lydia lost color, and said, almost inaudibly,
"Cashel Byron!"

1 62 Cashel Byron's Profession

"Then you knewf exclaimed Lucian, scandalized.

Lydia waited a moment to recover; settled herself
quietly in her chair; and replied calmly, "I know
what you tell me — nothing more. And now will you
explain to me exactly what a prizefighter is?"

"He is simply what his name indicates. He is a
man who fights for prizes."

"So does the captain of a man-of-war. And yet
society does not place them in the same class — at
least I do not think so."

"As if there could be any doubt that society does
not! There is no analogy whatever between the two
cases. Let me endeavor to open your eyes a little, if
that be possible, which I am sometimes tempted to
doubt. A prizefighter is usually a man of naturally
ferocious disposition, who has acquired some reputa-
tion among his associates as a bully; and who, by con-
stantly quarrelling, has acquired some practice in
fighting. On the strength of this reputation, he can
generally find some gambler willing to stake a sum of
money that he will vanquish a pugilist of established
fame in single combat. Bets are made between the
admirers of the two men; a prize is subscribed for,
each party contributing a share; the combatants are
trained as racehorses, gamecocks, or their like are
trained; they meet, and beat each other as savagely as
they can until one or the other is too much injured to
continue the combat. This takes place in the midst
of a mob of such persons as enjoy spectacles of the
kind: that is to say, the vilest blackguards a large city
can afford to leave at large, and many whom it can
not. As the prize-money contributed by each side
often amounts to upwards of a thousand pounds; and

Cashel Byron's Profession 163

as a successful pugilist commands far higher terms
for giving tuition in boxing than a tutor at one of the
universities does for coaching, you will see that such
a man, whilst his youth and luck last, may have plenty
of money, and may even, by aping the manners of the
gentlemen whom he teaches, deceive careless people —
especially those who admire eccentricity — as to his
true character and position."

"What is his true position? I mean before he
becomes a prizefighter."

"Well, he may be a skilled workman of some kind:
a journeyman butcher, skinner, tailor, or baker. Pos-
sibly a discharged soldier, sailor, gentleman's servant,
or what not? But he is generally a common laborer.
The waterside is prolific of such heroes."
'Do they never come from a higher rank?"
'Never, even from the better classes in their own.
Broken-down gentlemen are not likely to succeed at
work that needs the strength and endurance of a bull,
and the cruelty of a butcher."

"But what becomes of them in the end? They can-
not keep at such work all their lives."

"They do not. When through age a prizefighter is
found to be repeatedly beaten, no one will either bet
on him or subscribe to provide him with a stake. Or if
he is invariably successful, those, if any, who dare fight
him find themselves, in a like predicament. In either
case his occupation is gone. If he has saved money,
he opens a sporting public-house, where he sell spirits
of the worst description to his old rivals and their
associates, and eventually drinks himself to death or
bankruptcy. If, however, he has been improvident or
unfortunate, he begs from his former patrons and

164 Cashel B3rron's Profession

gives lessons. Finally, when the patrons are tired of
him and the pupils fail, he relapses into the dregs of
the laboring class with a ruined constitution, a disfig-
ured face, a brutalized nature, and a tarnished reputa-
tion."

Lydia remained silent so long after this that Lucian's
magisterial severity first deepened, then wavered, and
finally gave way to a sense of injury; for she seemed
to have forgotten him. He was about to protest
against this treatment, when she looked at him again,
and said,

"Why did Lord Worthington introduce a man of
this class to me?"

"Because you asked him to do so. Probably he
thought that if you chose to make such a request with-
out previous inquiry, you should not blame him if you
found, yourself saddled with an undesirable acquaint-
ance. Recollect that you asked for the introduction
on the platform at Wiltstoken, in the presence of the
man himself. Such a ruffian would be capable of mak-
ing a disturbance for much less offence than an expla-
nation and refusal would have given him."

"Lucian," said Lydia: **I asked to be introduced to
my tenant, for whose respectability you had vouched
by letting the Warren Lodge to him." Lucian red-
dened. "How does Lord Worthington explain Mr.
Byron's appearance at Mrs. Hoskyn's?"

"It was a stupid joke. Mrs. Hoskyn had worried
Worthington to bring some celebrity to her house; and
in revenge he took his pugilistic /n?/^/."
H'm!"

I do not defend Worthington. But discretion is
hardly to be expected from him."

Cashel Byron's Profession 165

"He has discretion enough to understand a case of
this kind thoroughly. But let that pass. I have been
thinking upon what you tell me about these singular
people, whose existence I hardly knew of before.
Now, Lucian, in the course of my reading I have come
upon denunciations of every race and pursuit under the
sun. Very respectable and well-informed men have
held that Jews, Irishmen, Christians, atheists, lawyers,
doctors, politicians, actors, artists, flesh-eaters, and
spirit-drinkers, are all of necessity degraded beings.
Such statements can be easily proved by taking a black
sheep from each flock, and holding him up as the type.
It seems reasonable to infer a man's character from
the nature of his occupation: still, who would act
upon an opinion based on that alone? War is a cruel
business; but soldiers are not exceptionally blood-
thirsty and inhuman men. I am not quite satisfied
that a prizefighter is a violent ahd dangerous man
because he follows a violent and dangerous profes-
sion — I suppose they call it a profession."

Lucian was about to speak; but she interrupted him
by continuing,

**And yet that is not what concerns me at present.
Have you found out anything about Mr. Byron person-
ally? Is he an ordinary representative of his class?"

*'No: I should rather think — and hope — that he is a
very extraordinary representative of it. I have
traced his history back to the time when he was a
cabin-boy. Having apparently failed to recommend
himself to his employers in that capacity,, he became
errand boy to a sort "of mditre d'armes at Melbourne.
Here he discovered where his genius lay; and he pres-
ently appeared in the ring with an unfortunate young

1 66 Cashel Byron's Profession

man named Ducket, whose jaw he fractured. This
laid the foundation of his fame. He fought several
^ battles with unvarying success; but at last he allowed
his valor to get the better of his discretion so far as
to kill an Englishman who fought him with desperate
obstinacy for two hours. I am informed that the par-
ticular blow by which he felled the poor wretch for
the last time is known in pugilistic circles as 'Cashel' s
killer/ and that he has attempted to repeat it in all
his subsequent encounters, without, however, achiev-
ing the same fatal result. The failure has doubtless
been a severe disappointment to him. He fled from
Australia, and reappeared in America, where he
resumed his victorious career, distinguishing himself
specially by throwing a gigantic opponent in some
dreadful fashion that these men have, and laming him
for life. He then^ "

"Thank you, Lucian,** said Lydia, rather faintly.
'That is quite enough. Are you quite sure it is all
true? '

"My authority is Lord Worthington, and the files
of the sporting newspapers. Byron himself will
probably be proud to give you the fullest confirmation
of the record. I should add, in justice to him, that
he is looked upon as a model — to pugilists — of tem-
perance and general good conduct."

"Do you remember my remarking a few days ago,
on another subject, how meaningless our observations
are until we are given the right thread to string them
on?"

"Yes," said Lucian, disconcerted by the allusion.

"My acquaintance with this man is a case in point.
He has obtruded his horrible profession upon me

Cashel Byron's Profession 167

every time we have met. I have actually seen him
publicly cheered as a pugilist-hero; and yet, being ofiE
the track, and ignorant of the very existence of such a
calling, I have looked on and seen nothing."

Lydia then narrated her adventure in Soho, and
listened with the perfect patience of indifference to
his censure of her imprudence in walking by herself in
town.

"May I ask," he added, "what you intend to do in
this matter?"

"What would you have me do?"

"Drop his acquaintance at once. Forbid him your
house in the most explicit terms."

"A pleasant task!" said Lydia ironically. "But I
will do it — not so much, perhaps, because he is a prize-
fighter as because he is an impostor. Now go to the
writing table, and draft me a proper letter to send
him."

Lucian's face elongated. "I think," he said, "you
can do that better for yourself. It is a delicate sort
of thing."

"Yes. It is not so easy as you implied a moment
ago. Otherwise I should not require your assistance.
As it is " She pointed again to the table.

Lucian was not ready with an excuse. He sat down
reluctantly, and, after some consideration, indited the
following: —

Miss Carew presents her compliments to Mr, Cashel
Byron, and begs to inform him that she will not be at home
during the remmnder of the season as heretofore. She there-
fore regrets that she cannot have the pleasure of receiving
him on Friday afternoon.

1 68 Cashel Byron's Profession

**I think you will find that sufficient," said Lucian.

"Probably," said Lydia, smiling as she read it.
"But what shall I do if he takes offence; calls here;
breaks the windows; and beats Bashville. That is
what such a letter would provoke me to do."

"He dare not give any trouble. But I will warn the
police if you feel anxious.'

"By no means. We must not shew ourselves inferior
to him in courage, which is, I suppose, his cardinal
virtue."

"If you write the note now, I will post it for you."

"No, thank you. I will send it with my other let-
ters."

Lucian tried to wait; but she would not write
whilst he was there. So he left, satisfied on the whole
with the success of his mission. When he was gone,
she endorsed his draft neatly, and placed it in a
drawer. Then she wrote to Cashel thus: —

Dear Mr. Cashel Byron

I have just discovered your secret I am sorry ; but you
must not come again. Farewell. Yours faithfully ^

Lydia Carew.

Lydia kept this note by her until next morning,
when she read it through carefully. She then sent
Bashville to the post with it.

CHAPTER IX

Cashel's pupils sometimes requested him to hit them
hard — not to play with them — to accustom them to
regular right-down severe hitting, and no nonsense.
He only pretended to comply; for he knew that a
black eye or loosened tooth would be immoderately
boasted of if received in combat with a famous pugil-
ist, and that the sufferer's friends would make private
notes to avoid so rough a professor. But when Miss
Carew's note reached him, he made an exception to
his practise in this respect. A young guardsman,
whose lesson began shortly after the post arrived,
remarked that Cashel was unusually distraught, and
exhorted him to wake up and pitch in in earnest.
Instantly a blow in the epigastrium stretched him
almost insensible on the floor. His complexion was
considerably whitened when he was set on his legs
again; and he presently alleged an urgent appoint-
ment, and withdrew, declaring in a shaky voice that
that was the sort of bout he really enjoyed.

When he was gone, Cashel walked distractedly to
and fro, cursing, and occasionally stopping to read the
letter. His restlessness only increased his agitation.
The arrival of a Frenchman whom he employed to give
lessons in fencing made the place unendurable to him.
He changed his attire; went out; called a cab; and
bade the driver, with an oath, drive to Lydia's house
as fast as the horse could go. The man made all the
haste he could, and was presently told impatiently that

169

170 Cashel Byron's Profession

there was no hurry. Accustomed to this sort of incon-
sistency, he was not surprised when, as they approached
the house, he was told not to stop, but to drive slowly
past. Then, in obedience to further instructions, he
turned and repassed the door. As he did so, a lady
appeared for an instant at a window. Immediately
his fare, with a groan of mingled rage and fear, sprang
from the moving vehicle; rushed up the steps of the
mansion; and rang the bell violently. Bashville,
faultlessly dressed and impassibly mannered, opened
the door. In reply to Cashel' s half inarticulate
inquiry, he said,

"Miss Carew is not at home."

"You lie," said Cashel, his eyes suddenly dilating.
"I saw her."

Bashville reddened, but replied coolly, "Miss Carew
cannot see you to-day."

"Go and ask her," returned Cashel sternly, advanc-
ing.

Bashville, with compressed lips, seized the door to
shut him out; but Cashel forced it back against him
and went in, shutting the door behind him. He
turned from Bashville for a moment to do this; and
before he could face him again he was tripped and
flung down upon the tesselated pavement of the hall.
When Bashville was given the lie, and pushed back
behind the door, the excitement he had been sup-
pressing since his visit to Lucian exploded. He had
thrown Cashel in Cornish fashion, and now desperately
awaited the upshot.

Cashel got up so rapidly that he seemed to rebound
from the flags. Bashville, involuntarily cowering
before his onslaught, justs escaped his right fist, and

Cashel Byron's Profession 171

as though his heart had been drawn with it as it
zed past his ear. He turned and fled frantically
lirs.

ydia was in her boudoir with Alice when Bashville

ed in and locked the door. Alice rose and

uned. Lydia, though startled, and that less by

unusual action than by the change in a familiar face

:h she had never seen influenced by emotion

»re, sat still, and quietly asked what was the mat-

Bashville checked himself for a moment. Then

spoke linintelHgibly, and went to the window, which

opened. Lydia divined that he v^as about to call

r help to the street.

"Bashville," she said authoritatively: **be silent;
nd close the window. I will go downstairs myself."
Bashville then ran to prevent her from unlocking the
»or; but she paid no attention to him. He did not
lare to oppose her forcibly. He was beginning to
ecover from his panic, and to feel the first stings of
ihame for having yielded to it.

"Madam," he said: **Byron is below; and he insists
m seeing you. He's dangerous; and he's too strong
or me. I have done my best: on my honor I have.
;^et me call the police. ^ Stop," he added, as she
)pened the door. **If either of us goes, it must be
ne."

**I will see him in the library," said Lydia com-
posedly. **Tell him so; and let him wait there for
ne — if you can speak to him without running any
risk."

**Oh pray let him call the police," urged Alice.
"Don't attempt to go to thalt man."
"Nonsense!" said Lydi t *good-humoredly, "I am

172 Cashel Byron's Profession

not in the least afraid/ We must not fail in courage
when we have a prizefighter to deal with."

Bashville, white, and with difficulty preventing his
knees from knocking together, but not faltering for a
second, went devotedly downstairs and found Cashel
leaning upon the balustrade, panting, and looking
perplexedly about him as he wiped his dabbled brow.
Bashville halted on the third stair; and said,

**Miss Carew will see you in the library. Come this
way, please."

Cashel's lips moved; but no sound came from them:
he followed Bashville in silence. When they entered
the library, Lydia was already there. Bashville with-
drew without a word. Then Cashel sat down, and, to
her consternation, bent his head on his hand, and
yielded to a hysterical convulsion. Before she could
resolve how to act, he looked up at her with his face
distorted and discolored, and tried to speak.

'Tlease don't cry," said Lydia. '*I am told that
you wish to speak to me."

'*I don't wish to speak to you ever again," said
Cashel hoarsely. **You told your servant to throw me
down the steps. That's enough for me."

Lydia caught from him the tendency to sob which
she was struggling with; but she repressed it, and
answered firmly, *'If my servant has been guilty of the
least incivility to you, Mr. Cashel Byron, he has
exceeded his orders."

**It doesn't matter," said Cashel. **He may thank
his luck that he has his head on. But A^ doesn't
matter. Hold on a bit — I can't talk — I shall get —

second wind — and then " Cashel raised his head

with a curiously businesslike expression; threw him-

c <

(I'

Cashel Byron's Profession 173

self supinely against the back of his chair; and in that
position deliberately rested until he could trust him-
self to speak. At last he pulled himself together, and
said, **Why are you going to give me up?"

Lydia ranged her wits in battle, array, and replied.
Do you remember our talk at Mrs. Hoskyn's?"

Yes."

You admitted then that if the nature of your occu-
pation became known to me, our acquaintance should
cease."

**That was all very fine to excuse my not telling you.
But I find, like many another man when put to the
proof, that I didn't mean it. Who told you I was a
fighting man?"

I had rather not tell you that."

'Aha!" said Cashel, with a triumph that was half
choked by the remnant of his hysteria. **Who is try-
ing to make a secret now, I should like to know?"

''I do so in this instance because I am afraid to
expose a friend to your resentment."

**And why? He's a man, of course: else you
wouldn't be afraid. You think that I'd go straight off
and murder him. Perhaps he told you that it would
come quite natural to a man like me — a ruffian like
me — to smash him up. That comes of being a cow-
ard. People run my profession down, not because
there is a bad one or two in it — there's plenty of bad
bishops, if you come to that — but because they're
afraid of us. You may make yourself easy about your
friend. I am accustomed to get well paid for the beat-
ings I give; and your own common sense ought to tell
you that any one who is used to being paid for a job is
just the last person in the world to do it for nothing."

174 Cashel Byron's Profession

**I find the contrary to be the case with first-rate
artists," said Lydia.

*'Thank you," retorted Cashel sarcastically. "I
ought to make you a bow for that."

**But," said Lydia seriously, **it seems to me that
your art is wholly anti-social and retrogade. And I
fear that you have forced this interview on me to no
purpose."

**I don't know whether it's anti-social or not. But
I think it hard that I should be put out of decent
society when fellows that do far worse than I are let
in. Whom did I see here last Friday, the most honored
of your guests? Why, that Frenchman with the gold
spectacles. What do you think I was told when I
asked what his little game was? Baking dogs in ovens
to see how long a dog could live red hot! Td like to
catch him doing it to a dog of mine. Aye; and stick-
ing a rat full of nails to see whether pain makes a rat
sweat. Why, it's just sickening. Do you think I'd
have shaken hands with that chap? If he hadn't been
a friend of yours, I'd have taught him how to make a
Frenchman sweat without sticking any nails into him.
And he*s to be received and made much of, while I am
kicked out! Look at your relation the general, too!
What is he but a fighting man, I should like to know?
Isn't it his pride and boast that as long as he is paid
so much a day, he'll ask no questions whether a war is
fair or unfair, but just walk out and put thousands of
men in the best way to kill and be killed — keeping
well behind them himself all the time, mind you.
Last year he was up to his chin in the blood of a lot of
poor blacks that were no more a match for his armed
men than a feather-weight would be for me. Bad as I

Cashel Byron's Profession 175

am, I wouldn't attack a feather-weight, or stand by
and see another heavy man do it. Plenty of your
friends go pigeon-shooting to Hurlingham. There's a
humane and manly way of spending a Saturday after-
noon! Lord Worthington, that comes to see you when
he likes, though he's too much of a man or too little
of a shot to kill pigeons, thinks nothing of fox-hunt-
ing. Do you think foxes like to be hunted, or that the
people that hunt them have such fine feelings that they
can afford to call prizefighters names? Look at the
men that get killed or lamed every year at steeple-
chasing, fox-hunting, cricket, and football! Dozens
of them! Look at the thousands killed in battle! Did
you ever hear of any one being killed in the ring?
Why, from first to last, during the whole century that
my sort of fighting has been going on, there's not
been six fatal accidents at really respectable fights.
It's safer than dancing: many a woman has danced her
skirt into the fire and been burnt. I once fought a
man who had spoiled his constitution with bad living;
and he exhausted himself so by going on and on long
after he was beaten that he died of it, and nearly fin-
ished me too. If you'd heard the fuss that even the
old hands made over it, you'd have thought a blessed
baby had died from falling out of its cradle. A good
milling does a man more good than harm. And if all
these damned dog-bakers, and soldiers, and pigeon-
shooters, fox-hunters, and the rest of them, are made
welcome here, why am I shut out like a brute beast?"

**Truly I do not know," said Lydia, puzzled;
* 'unless it be that your profession is not usually
recruited from our ranks."

**I grant you that boxers arn't gentlemen, as a rule.

176 Cashel Byron's Profession

No more were painters or poets, once upon a time.
But what I want to know is this. Supposing a boxer
has as good manners as your friends, and is as well
born, why shouldn't he mix with them and be consid-
ered their equal?*'

*'The distinction seems arbitrary, I confess. But
perhaps the true remedy would be to exclude the
vivisectors and soldiers, instead of admitting the prize-
fighters. Mr. Cashel Byron," added Lydia, changing
her manner: **I cannot discuss this with you. Society
has a prejudice against you. I share it; and I cannot
overcome it. Can you find no nobler occupation than
these fierce and horrible encounters by which you con-
descend to gain a living?"

"No," said Cashel flatly. **I can't. That's just
where it is."

Lydia looked grave, and said nothing.

"You don't see it?" said Cashel. "Well, I'll just
tell you all about myself, and then leave you to judge.
May I sit down while I talk?" He had risen in the
course of his remarks on Lydia' s scientific and mili-
tary acquaintances.

She pointed to a chair near her. Something in the
action brought color to his cheeks.

"I believe I was the most unfortunate devil of a boy
that ever walked," he began. "My mother was — and
is — an actress, and a tiptop crack in her profession.
One of the first things I remember is sitting on the
floor in the corner of a room where there was a big
glass, and she flaring away before it, attitudinizing and
spouting Shakespear like mad. I was afraid of her, '
because she was very particular about my manners
ana appearance, and would never let me go near a

Cashel Byron's Profession 177

theatre. I know nothing about my people or hers; for
she boxed my ears one day for asking who my father
was, and I took good care not to ask her again. She
was quite young when I was a child: at first I thought
her a sort of angel. I should have been fond of her, I
think, if she had let me. But she didn't, somehow;
and I had to keep my affection for the servants. I
had plenty of variety in that way; for she gave her
whole establishment the sack about once every two
months, except a maid that used to bully her and give
me nearly all the nursing I ever got. I believe it was
my crying about some housemaid or other who went
away that first set her abusing me for having low
tastes — a sort of thing that used to cut me to the
heart, and which she kept up till the very day I left
her for good. We were a precious pair: I sulky and
obstinate; she changeable and hot-tempered. She
used to begin breakfast sometimes by knocking me to
the other side of the room with a slap, and finish it by
calling me her darling boy and promising me all man-
ner of toys and things. I soon gave up trying to
please her or like her, and became as disagreeable a
young imp as you'd ask to se^. My only thought was
to get all I could out of her when she was in a good
humor, and to be sullen and stubborn when she was in
a tantrum. One day a boy in the street threw some
mud at me; and I ran in crying, and complained to
her. She told me I was a little coward. I haven't
forgiven her for that yet — perhaps because it was one
of the few true things she ever said to me. I was in a
state of perpetual aggravation; and I often wonder I
wasn't soured for life at that time. At last I got to be
such a little fiend that when she hit me I used to guard

178 Cashel Byron's Profession

off her blows, and look so wicked that I think she got
afraid of me. Then she put me to school, telling me
I had no heart, and telling the master I was an ungov-
ernable young brute. So I, like a little fool, cried at
leaving her; and she, like a big one, cried back again
over me, — just after telling the master what a bad one
I was, mind you — and off she went, leaving her darling
boy and blessed child howling at his good luck in get-
ting rid of her.

*'I was a nice boy to let loose in a school. I could
speak as well as an actor, as far as pronunciation goes;
but I could hardly read words of one syllable; and as
to writing, I couldn't make pothooks and hangers
respectably. To this day, I can no more spell than
old Ned Skene can. What was a worse sort of igno-
rance was that I had no idea of fair play. I thought
that all servants would be afraid of me; and that all
grown-up people would tyrannize over me. I was
afraid of everybody; afraid that my cowardice would
be found out; and as angry and cruel in my ill-tempers
as cowards always are. Now you'll hardly believe
this; but what saved me from going to the bad alto-
gether was my finding out that I was a good one to
fight. The bigger boys were like grown-up people in
respect of liking to see other people fight; and they
used to set us young ones at it, whether we liked it or
not, regularly every Saturday afternoon, with seconds,
bottleholders, and everything complete, except the
ropes. At first, when they made me fight, I shut my
eyes and cried; but for all that I managed to catch the
other fellow tight round the waist and throw him. After
that, it became a regular joke to make me fight; for
I always cried. But the end of it was that I learnt to

Cashel Byron's Profession^ 179

keep my eyes open and hit straight. I had no trouble
about fighting then. Somehow, I could tell by
instinct when the other fellow was going to hit me;
and I always hit him first. It's the same with me now
in the ring: I know what a man is going to do before
he rightly knows himself. The power this gave me,
civilized me. In the end it made me cock of the
school; and, as cock, I couldn't be mean or childish.
There would be nothing like fighting for licking boys
into shape if every one could be cock; but every one
can't; so I suppose it does more harm than good.

**I should have enjoyed school well enough if I had
worked at my books. But I wouldn't study; and the
masters were all down on me as an idler, though I
shouldn't have been like that if they had known how
to teach: I have learnt since what teaching is. As to
the holidays, they were the worst part of the year to
me. When I was left at school I was savage at not
being let go home; and when I went home, my mother
did nothing but find fault with my schoolboy manners.
I was getting too big to be cuddled as her darling boy,
you understand. Her treatment of me was just the
old game with the affectionate part left out. It wasn't
pleasant, after being cock of the school, to be made
feel like a good-for-nothing little brat tied to her
apron strings. When she saw that I was learning
nothing, she sent me to another school at a place in
the north called Panley. I stayed there until I was
seventeen; and then she came one day; and we had a
row, as usual. She said she wouldn't let me leave
school until I was nineteen; and so I settled that ques-
tion by running away the same night. I got to Liver*
pool, where I hid in a ship bound for Australia. When

i8o Cashel Byron's Profession

I was starved out, they treated me better than I
expected; and I worked hard enough to earn my pas-
sage and my victuals. But when I was left ashore in
Melbourne, I was in a pretty pickle. I knew nobody;
and I had no money. Everything that a man could
live by was owned by some one or other. I walked
through the town looking for a place where they
might want a boy to run errands or to clean the win-
dows. But I hadn't the cheek to go into the shops
and ask. Two or three times, when I was on the
point of trying, I caught sight of some cad of a shop-
man, and made up my mind that I wouldn't be ordered
about by him^ and that since I had the whole town to
choose from I might as well go on to the next place.
At last, quite late in the afternoon, I saw an adver-
tisement stuck up on a gymnasium; and while I was
reading it I got talking to old Ned Skene, the owner,
who was smoking at the door. He took a fancy to me«
and offered to have me there as a sort of lad-of-all-
work. I was only too glad to get the chance; and I
closed with him at once. As time went on, I -became
so clever with the gloves that Ned matched me against
a light-weight named Ducket, and bet a lot of money
that I would win. Well, I couldn't disappoint him
after his being so kind to me — Mrs. Skene had made
as much of me as if I was her own son. What could I
do but take my bread as it came to me? I was fit for
nothing else. Even if I had been able to write a
good hand and keep accounts, I couldn't have brought
myself to think that quill driving and counting other
people's money was a fit employment for a man. It's
not what a man would like to do that he must do in
this world: it s what he can do; and the only mortal

Cashel Byron's Profession i8i

thing I could do properly was to fight. There was
plenty of money and plenty of honor and glory to be
got among my acquaintance by fighting. So I chal-
lenged Ducket, and knocked him all to pieces in about
ten minutes. I half Killed him, because I didn't know
my own strength and was afraid of him. I have been
at the same work ever since; for I never was offered
any other sort of job. I was training for a fight when
I was down at Wiltstoken with that old fool Mellish.
It came off the day you saw me at Clapham when I
had such a bad eye. Wiltstoken did for me. With
all my fighting, I'm no better than a baby at heart;
and ever since I found out that my mother wasn't an
angel, I have always had a notion that a real angel
would turn up some day. You see, I never cared
much about women. Bad as my mother was as far as
being what you might call a parent went, she had
something in her looks and manners that gave me a
better idea of what a nice woman was like than I had
of most things; and the girls I met in Australia and
America seemed very small potatoes to me in com-
parison with her. Besides, of course they were not
ladies. I was fond of Mrs. Skene because she was
good to me; and I made myself agreeable, for her
sake, to the girls that came to see her; but in reality I
couldn't stand them. Mrs. Skene said they were all
setting their caps at me — women are death on a crack
fighter — but the more they tried it on the less I liked
them. It was no go: I could get on with the men
well enough, no matter how common they were; but
the snobbishness of my breed came out with regard to
the women. When I saw you that day at Wiltstoken
walk out of the trees and stand looking so quietly at

1 82 Cashel Byron's Profession

me and Mellish, and then go back out of sight with-
out a word, I'm blest if I didn't think you were the
angel come at last. Then I met you at the railway station
and walked with you. You put the angel out of my
head quick enough; for an angel, after ail, is only a
shadowy, childish notion — I believe it's all gammon
about there being any in heaven — ^but you gave me a
better idea than mamma of what a woman should be,
and you came up to that idea and went beyond it. I
have been in love with you ever since; and if I can't
have you, I don't care what becomes of me. I know
I am a bad lot, and have always been one; but when I
saw you taking pleasure in the society of fellows just
as bad as myself, I didn't see why I should keep away
when I was dying to come. I am no worse than the
dog-baker, anyhow. And hang it. Miss Lydia, I
don't want to brag; but there are clean ways and dirty
ways in prizefighting the same as in anything else;
and I have tried my best to keep in the clean wajrs.
I never fought a cross or struck a foul blow in my life;
and I have never been beaten, though I'm only a mid-
dle-weight, and have stood up with the best fourteen
stone men in the Colonies, the States, or in England."

Cashel ceased. As he sat eyeing her wistfully,
Lydia, who had been perfectly still, said bemusedly,

**I was more prejudiced than I knew. ^What will
you think of me when I tell you that your profession
does not seem half so shocking now that I know you
to be the son of an artist, and not a journeyman
butcher or a laborer, as my cousin told me."

**What!" exclaimed Cashel. **That lantern-jawed
fellow told you I was a butcher!"

**I did not mean to betray him; but, as I have

Cashel B3rron's Profession 183

already said, I am bad at keeping secrets. Mr. Lucian
Webber is my cousin and friend, and has done me
many services. May I rest assured that he has noth-
ing to fear from you?"

"He has no right to tell lies about me. He is sweet
• on you too: I twigged that at Wiltstoken. I have a
good mind to let him know whether I am a butcher or
not."

"He did not say so. What he told me of you, as far
as it went, is exactly confirmed by what you have said
yourself. I happened to ask him to what class men
of your calling usually belonged; and he said that they
were laborers, butchers, and so forth. Do you resent
that?"

"I see plainly enough that you won't let me resent
it. I should like to know what eise he said of me.
But he was right enough. There are all sorts of black-
guards in the ring: there's no use denying it. Since
it's been made illegal, decent men won't go into it.
All the same, it's not the fighting men, but the betting
men, that bring discredit on it. I wish your cousin had
held his confounded tongue."

"I wish you had forestalled him by telling me the
truth."

**I wish I had, now. But what's the use of wishing?
I didn't dare run the chance of losing you. See how
soon you forbade me the house when you did find
out."

"It made little difference," said Lydia gravely.

"You were always friendly to me," said Cashel
plaintively.

"More so than you were to me. You should not
have deceived me. And now I think we had better

184 Cashel Byron's Profession

part. I am glad to know your history; and I admit
that you made perhaps the best choice that society
offered you. I do not blame you."

**But you give me the sack. Is that it?"

"What do you propose, Mr. Cashel Byron? Is it to
visit my house in the intervals of battering and maim-
ing butchers and laborers?"

"No, it's not," retorted Cashel. "You're very
aggravating. I won't stay much longer in the ring
now: my luck is too good to last. Anyhow, I shall
have to retire soon, luck or no luck, because no one can
match me. Even now there's nobody except Bill
Paradise that pretends to be able for me; and I'll set-
tle him in September if he really means business.
After that, I'll retire. I expect to be worth ten thou-
sand pounds then. Ten thousand pounds, I'm told, is
the same as five hundred a year. Well, I suppose,
judging from the style you keep here, that you're
worth as much more, besides your place in the coun-
try; so if you will marry me we shall have a thousand
a year between us. I don't know much of money mat-
ters; but at any rate we can live like fighting cocks on
that much. That's a straight and businesslike pro-
posal, isn't it?"

"And if I refuse?" said Lydia, with some stern-
ness.

"Then you may have the ten thousand pounds to do
what you like with," said Cashel despairingly. "It
won't matter what becomes of me. I won't go to the
devil for you or any woman if I can help it; and I —
but where' s the good of saying ^you refuse? I know
I don't express myself properly: I'm a bad hand at
sentimentality; but if I had as much gab as any of

Cashel Byron's Profession .185

those long-haired fellows on Friday, I couldn't be any
fonder of you, or think more highly of you."

"But you are mistaken as to the amount of my
income."

"That doesn't matter a bit. If you have more, why,
the more the merrier. If you have less, or if you have
to give up all your property when you're married, I
will soon make another ten thousand to supply the
loss. Only give me one good word, and, by George,
I'll fight the seven champions of Christendom, one
down and t'other come on, for five thousand a side
each. Hang the money!"

"I am richer than you suppose," said Lydia,
unmoved. "I cannot teil you exactly how much I
possess; but my income is about forty thousand
pounds."

"Forty thousand pounds I" ejaculated Cashel.
"Holy Moses! I didn't think the Queen had as much
as that."

For a moment he felt nothing but mere astonish-
ment. Then, comprehending the situation, he became
very red. In a voice broken by mortification, he said,
"I see I have been making a fool of myself," and took
his hat and turned to go.

"It does not follow that you should go at once with-
out a word," said Lydia, betraying nervousness for the
first time during the interview,

"Oh, that's all rot," said Cashel. "I may be a fool
while my eyes are shut; but I'm sensible enough when
they're open. I have no business here. I wish to the
Lord I had stayed in Australia."

"Perhaps it would have been better," said Lydia,
troubled, "But since we have met, it is useless to

1 86 Cashel Byron's Profession

deplore it; and Let me remind you of one thii

You have pointed out to me that I have made friem *
of men whose pursuits are no better than yours. Id ^
not wholly admit that; but there is one respect
which they are on the same footing as you. They ar^
all, as far as worldly gear is concerned, much pooref"
than I. Most of them, I fear, are poorer — much, ;
poorer than you are."

Cashel looked up quickly with returning hope; but
it lasted only a moment. He shook his head
dejectedly.

**I am at least grateful to you," she continuedv
* 'because you have sought me for my own sake, know-
ing nothing of my wealth."

**I should think not," groaned Cashel. "Your
wealth may be a very fine thing for the other fellows;
and I'm glad you have it, for your own sake. But it's
a settler for me. So good-bye."

"Good-bye," said Lydia, almost as pale as he had
now become, "since you will have it so."

"Since the devil will have it so," said Cashel rue-
fully. "It's no use wishing to have it any other way.
The luck is against me. I hope. Miss Carew, that
you'll excuse me for making such an ass of myself.
It's all my blessed innocence: I never was taught any
better."

"I have no quarrel with you except on the old score
of hiding the truth from me; and I forgive you that —
as far as the evil of it affects me. As for your declara-
tion of attachment to me personally, I have received
many similar ones that have flattered me less. But
there are certain scruples between us. You will not
court a woman a hundred-fold richer than yourself;

Cashel Byron's Profession 187

lad'X will not entertain a prizefighter. My wealth
ir'igVitens every man who is not a knave; and your pro-
ion frightens every woman who is not a fury."

"Then you Just tell me this," said Cashel

:rly. "Suppose I were a rich swell, and were not

((1

'No," said Lydia, peremptorily interrupting him.
"I will suppose nothing but what is."

Cashel relapsed into melancholy. "If you only
bdn't been kind to me!" he said. "I think the
reason I love you so much is that you're the only per-
son that is not afraid of me. Other people are civil
because they daren't be otherwise to the cock of the
ring. It's a lonely thing to be a champion. You
knew nothing about that; and you knew I was afraid
of you; and yet you were as good as gold."

"It is also a lonely thing to be a very rich woman.
People are afraid of my wealth, and of what they call
my learning. We two have at least one experience
in common. Now do me a great favor by going. We
have nothing further to say."

"I'll go in two seconds. But I don't believe much
in you being lonely. That's only fancy."

"Perhaps so. Most feelings of this kind are only
fancies."

There was another pause. Then Cashel said,
"I don't feel half so downhearted as I did a minute
ago. Are you sure that you're not angry with me?"
"Quite sure. Pray let me say good-bye."
"And may I never see you again? Never at all? —
world without end, Amen?"

"Never as the famous prizefighter. But if a day
should come when Mr. Cashel Byron will be some-

1 88 Cashel Byron's Profession

thing better worthy of his birth and nature, I will not
forget an old friend. Are you satisfied now?"

CasheFs face began to glow, and the roots of his hair
to tingle. **One thing more," he said. **If you meet
me by chance in the street before that, will you give
me a look? I don't ask for a regular bow, but just a
look to keep me going?"

**I have no intention of cutting you," said Lydia
gravely. **But do not place yourself purposely in my
way."

"Honor bright, I won't. I'll content myself with
walking through that street in Soho occasionally.
Now I'm off: I know you're in a hurry to be rid of

me. So good-b Stop a bit, though. Perhaps

when that time you spoke of comes, you'll be mar-
ried."

"It is possible; but I am not likely to marry. How
many more things have you say, that you have no
right to say?"

"Not one," said Cashel, with a laugh that rang
through the house. "I never was happier in my life,
though I'm crying inside all the time. I'll have a try
for you yet. Good-bye. No," he added, turning
from her proffered hand: "I daren't touch it: I
should eat you afterwards." He made for the door,
but turned on the threshold to say in a loud whisper:
"Mind, I'm engaged to you. I don't say you're
engaged to me; but it's an engagement on my side."

And he ran out of the room.

In the hall was Bashville, pale and determined,
waiting there to rush to the assistance of his mistress
at her first summons. He had a poker concealed at
hand. Having just heard a great laugh, and seeing

Cashel Byron's Profession 189

1 coming downstairs in high spirits, he stood
:k still, not knowing what to think. *
'Well, old chap," said Cashel boisterously, slap-
him on the shoulder: **so you're alive yet. Is
re any one in the dining-room?'
'No,'' said Bashville.

"There's a thick carpet there to fall soft on," said

hel, pulling Bashville into the room. "Come

( 5. Now shew me that little trick of yours again.

^me! don't be afraid: I won't hit you. Down with

. Take care you don't knock my head against the

jre-irons."

• •'D..^. »»

But

"But be hanged. You were spry enough at it before.
Come!"

Bashville, after a moment's hesitation, seized
Cashel, who immediately became grave and attentive,
and remained imperturbably so whilst Bashville
expertly threw him. He sat thinking for a moment
on the hearthrug before he rose. **I see," he said
then, getting up. "Now do it again."

"But it makes such a row," remonstrated Bashville.

"Only once more. There'll be no row this time."

"Well, every man to his taste," said Bashville, com-
plying. But instead of throwing his man, he found
himself wedged into a collar formed by Cashel' s arms,
the least constriction of whiqh would have strangled
him. Cashel again roared with laughter as he released
him.

"That's the way, ain't it?" he said. "You can't
catch an old fox twice in the same trap. Do you
know any more falls?"

"I do," said Bashville; "but I really can't shew

ii;:.

iQO Cashel Byron's Profession

them to you here. I shall get into trouble on
account of the noise."

**You come down to me whenever you have an even-
ing out/' said Cashel, handing him a card, "to that
address, and shew me what you know; and I'll see
what I can do with you. There's the making of a
man in you."

"You're very kind," said Bashville, pocketing^ the
card with a grin.

**And now let me give you a word of advice that
will be of use to you as long as you live," said Cashel
impressively. **You did a damned silly thing to-day.
You threw a man down — a fighting man — and then
stood looking at him like a fool, waiting for him to
get up and kill you. If ever you do that again, fall
on him as heavily as you can the instant he's off his
legs. Double your elbow well under you, and see that
it gets into a soft place. If he grabs it and turns
you, make play with the back of your head. If
he's altogether too big for you, put your knee on
his throat as if by accident. But on no account stand
and do nothing. It's flying in the face of Prov-
idence."

Cashel emphasized each of these counsels by an
impressive tap of his forefinger on one of Bashville's
buttons. In conclusion, he nodded; opened the
housedoor; and walked away in buoyant spirits.

Lydia, standing near the library window, saw him
go down the long front garden, and observed how his
light alert step, and a certain gamesome assurance of
manner, marked him off from a genteelly promenad-
ing middle-aged gentleman, a trudging workman, and
a vigorously striding youth passing without. The

Cashel Byron's Profession 191

railings that separated him from them reminded her
of the admirable and dangerous creatures passing and
repassing behind iron bars in the park yonder. But
she exulted, in her quiet manner, in the thought that,
dangerous as he was, she had no fear of him. When
his cabman had found him and taken him off, she went
to a private drawer in her desk, and took out her
father's last letter. She sat for spme time looking at
it without unfolding it.

**It would be a strange thing, father,*' she said, as
if he were actually there to hear her, **if your paragon
should end as the wife of an illiterate prizefighter. I
felt a pang of despair when he replied to my forty
thousand pounds a year with an unanswerable good-
bye. And now he is engaged to me."

She locked up her father, as it were, in the drawer
again, and rang the bell. Bashville appeared, some-
what perturbed.

"If Mr. Byron calls again, admit him if I am at
home."

**Yes, madam."

'Thank you."

** Begging your pardon, madam, but may I ask has
any complaint been made of me?"

**None." Bashville was reluctantly withdrawing
when she added, **Mr. Byron gave me to understand
that you tried to prevent his entrance by force. You
exposed yourself to needless risk by doing so; and
you may make a rule in future that when people are
importunate, and will' not go away when asked, they
had better come in until you get special instructions
from me. I am not finding fault: on the contrary, I
approve of your determination to carry out your

192 Cashel Byron's Profession

orders; but under exceptional circumstances you may
use your own discretion."

**He shoved the door into my face; and I acted on
the impulse of the moment, madam. I hope you will
forgive the liberty I took in locking the door of the
boudoir. He is older and heavier than I am, madam;
and he has the advantage of being a professional.
Else I should have stood my ground."

**I am quite satisfied," said Lydia a little coldly, as
she left the room.

**How long you have been!" cried Alice, almost in
hysterics, as Lydia entered. **Is he gone? What
were those dreadful noises? Is anything the matter?"

**Dancing and late hours are the matter," said
Lydia. **The season is proving too much for you,
Alice."

**It is not the season: it is the man," said Alice,
with a sob.

**Indeed? I have been in conversation with the
man for more than half an hour; and Bashville has
been in actual combat with him; yet we are not in
hysterics. You have been sitting here at your ease,
have you not?"

**I am not in hysterics," said Alice indignantly.

**So much the better," said Lydia gravely, placing
her hand on the forehead of Alice, who subsided with
a sniff.

CHAPTER X

Mrs, Byron, under her stage name of Adelaide
Gisborne, was now, for the second time in her career,
talked of in London, where she had been for many
years almost forgotten. The metropolitan managers
of ►her own generation had found that her success in
new parts was very uncertain; that she was more
capricious than the most petted favorites of the pub-
Jic; and that her invariable reply to a business pro-
posal was that she detested the stage, and was resolved
never to set foot upon it again. So they had managed
to do without her for so long that the younger London
playgoers knew her by reputation only as an old-fash-
iofted actress who wandered through the provinces
palming herself off on the ignorant inhabitants as a
great artist, and boring them with performances of the
plays of Shakespear. It suited Mrs. Byron well to
travel with the nucleus of a dramatic company from
town to town, staying a week or two in each, and
repeating half-a-dozen characters in which she was
very effective, and which she knew so well that she
never thought about them when she had anything else
to think about. Most of the provincial populations
received her annual visits with enthusiasm. Among
them she found herself more excitingly applauded
before the curtain, her authority more despotic behind
it, her expenses smaller, and her gains greater than
in London, for which she accordingly cared as little as

193

194 Cashel Byron's Profession

London cared for her. As she grew older she made
more money and spent less. When she complained to
Cashel of the cost of his education, she was rich.
Since he had relieved her of that cost, she had visited
America, Egypt, India, and the colonies, and had
grown constantly richer. From this great tpur she
had returned to England on the day when Cashel added
the laurels of the Flying Dutchman to his trophies;
and the next Sunday's paper had its sporting column
full of the prowess of Cashel Byron, and its theatrical
column full of the genius of Adelaide Gisborne. But
she never read sporting columns, though he kept an
eye on theatrical ones.

The managers who had formerly avoided Mrs. Byron
were by this time dead, bankrupt, or engaged in less
hazardous pursuits. One of the actor-managers who
succeeded them had lately restored Shakespear to
popularity as signally as Cashel had restored the prize
ring. Being anxious to produce the play of King
John, he made the newly-returned actress a tempting
offer for the part of Constance, instigating some jour-
nalist friends of his at the same time to lament the
decay of the grand school of [acting, and to invent or
republish anecdotes of Mrs. Siddons.

This time Mrs. Byron said nothing about detesting
the stage. She had really detested it once; but by
the time she was rich enough to give up the theatre
she had worn that feeling out, and had formed a habit
of acting which was as irksome to shake off as any
other habit. She also found a certain satisfaction in
making money with ease and certainty; and she had
already made so much that she was beginning to trifle
with plans of retirement, of playing in Paris, of tak-

Cashel Byron's Profession 195

ing a theatre in London, and other whims. The
chief public glory of her youth had been a sudden
triumph in London on the occasion of her first appear-
ance on any stage; and she now felt a mind to repeat
this and crown her career where it had begun. So she
accepted the manager's offer, and even went the
length of privately reading King John from beginning
to end.

It happened that one of the most curious documents
of the Plantagenet period was a scrap of vellum con-
taining 'a fragment of a chronicle of Prince Arthur,
with an illuminated portrait of his mother. It had
been picked up for a trifling sum by the late Mr.
Carew, and was now in the possession of Lydia, to
whom the actor-manager applied for leave to inspect
it. Leave being readily given, he visited the house
in Regent's Park, which he declared to be an
inexhaustible storehouse of treasure. He deeply
regretted, he said, that he could not shew the portrait
to Miss Gisborne. Lydia replied that if Miss Gis-
borne would come and look at it, she should be very
welcome. Two days later, ' at noon, Mrs. Byron
arrived and found Lydia alone. Alice had gone out,
feeling that it was better not to meet an actress — one
could never tell what they might have been.

The years that had elapsed since Mrs. Byron's visit
to Dr. Moncrief had left no perceptible trace on her:
indeed she looked younger now than on that occasion,
because she had been at the trouble of putting on an
artificial complexion. Her careless refinement of
manner was so different from the studied dignity and
anxious courtesy of the actor-manager, that Lydia
could hardly think of them as belonging to the same

196 Cashel Byron's Profession

profession. Her voice gave a subtle charm to her
most commonplace remarks; and it was as different as
possible from Cashel' s rough tones. Yet Lydta was
convinced by the first note of it that she was Cashel' s
mother. Besides, they had one another's chins.

Mrs. Byron, coming to the point without delay, at
once asked to see the picture. Lydia brought her to
the library, where several portfolios were ready for
inspection. The precious fragment of vellum was
uppermost.

"Very interesting indeed," said Mrs. Byron, throw-
ing it aside after one glance at it, and turning over
some later prints, whilst Lydia, amused, looked on in
silence. **Ah,** she said: **here is something that
will suit me exactly."

**Do you mean for Constance in King John?"'

**Yes."

**But silk was not 'made in western Europe until
three hundred years after Constance's death. And
that drawing is a sketch of Marie de Medicis by
Rubens."

**Neyer mind," said Mrs. Byron smoothly. "What
does a dress three hundred years out of date matter
when the woman inside it is seven hundred "years out?
What can be a greater anachronism than the death of
Prince Arthur three months hence on the stage of the
Panopticon Theatre? I am an artist giving life to a
character in romance, I suppose: certainly not a
grown-up child playing at being somebody out of Mrs.
Markham's History of England. I wear whatever
becomes me. I cannot act when I feel dowdy."

"But what will the manager say?"

"To me? Nothing," said Mrs. Byron; and her

Cashel Byron's Profession 197

calm implied that he had better not. "Besides, you
do not suppose he is a learned person, do you? And
as he will wear a suit of armor obviously made the

other day in Birmingham, why !" Mrs. Byron

shrugged her shoulders, and did not take sufficient
interest in the manager's opinion to finish her sen-
tence.

**Is this part of Lady Constance a favorite one of
yours?"

'Troublesome, my dear," said Mrs. Byron absently.
"The men look ridiculous in it; and it does not draw."

"No doubt," said Lydia, watching her face. "But
I spoke rather of your personal feeling towards the
character. Do you, for instance, like portraying
maternal tenderness on the stage?"

"Maternal tenderness," said Mrs. Byron with sud-
den nobleness, "is far too sacred a thing to be mim-
icked. Have you any children?"

"No," said Lydia demurely. "I am not married.'

"You should get a baby: it will do you good,
physically and morally. Maternity is an education in
itself."

"Do you think it suits every woman?"

"Undoubtedly. Without exception. Only think,
dear Miss Carew, of the infinite patience with which
you must tend a child — of the necessity of seeing with
its little eyes and with your own wise ones at the same
time — of bearing without a reproach the stabs it inno-
cently inflicts — of forgiving its hundred little selfish-
nesses — of living in continual fear of wounding its
exquisite sensitiveness, or rousing its bitter resentment
of injustice and caprice. Think of how you must
watch yourself; check yourself; exercise and develop

198 Cashel Byron's Profession

everything in you that can help to attract and retain
the most jealous love in the world! Believe me, it is
a priceless trial to be a mother. It is a royal compen-
sation for having been born a woman."

''Nevertheless/'* said Lydia, "I wish I had been
born a man. Since you seem to have thougt^t deeply
on these matters, I should like to ask you a question.
Do you not think that the acquirement of an art
demanding years of careful self-study and training —
such as yours, for example — is also of great educational
value? Almost as good a discipline as motherhood, is
it not?"

"Nonsense!" said Mrs. Byron decidedly. "People
come into the world ready-made. I went on the stage
when I was eighteen, and succeeded at once. Had I
known anything of the world, or been four years older,
I should have been weak, awkward, timid, and flat: it
would have taken me twelve years to crawl to the
front. But I was young, passionate, beautiful, and
indeed terrible; for I had run away from home two
years before, and been cruelly deceived. I learned
the business of the stage as easily and thoughtlessly as
a child learns a prayer: the rest came to me by nature.
I have seen others spend years in struggling with bad
voices, uncouth figures, and diffidence; besides a
dozen defects that existed only in their imaginations.
Their struggles may have educated them; but had they
possessed sufficient genius they would have needed
neither struggle nor education. Perhaps that is why
geniuses are such erratic people, and mediocrities so
respectable. I grant you that I was very limited when
I first came out: I was absolutely incapable of comedy.
But I never took any trouble about it; and by-and-by,

Cashel B3rron's Profession 199

when I began to mature a little, and see the absurdity
of most of the things I had been making a fuss about,
comedy came to me unsought, as romantic tragedy
had come before. I suppose it would have come just
the same if I had been laboring to acquire it, except
that I should have attributed its arrival to my own
exertions. Most of the laborious people think they
have made themselves what they are — much as if a
child should think it had made itself grow."

**You are the first artist I ever met," said Lydla,
"who did not claim art as the most laborious of all
avocations. They all deny the existence of genius,
and attribute everything to work."

**Of course one picks up a' great deal from experi-
ence; and there is plenty of work on the stage. But
it is my genius which enables me to pick up things,
and to work on the stage instead of in a kitchen or
laundry."

"You must be very fond of your profession."

"I do not mind it now: I have shrunk to fit it. I
began because I couldn't help myself; and I go on
because, being an old woman, I have nothing else to
do. Bless me, how I hated it after the first month!
I must retire soon now. People are growing weary of
me."

**I doubt that. I am bound to assume that you are
an old woman, since you say so; but you must be
aware, flattery apart, that you hardly seem to have
reached your prime yet."

"I might be your mother, my dear. I might be a
grandmother. Perhaps I am." There was a plaintive
tone in the last sentence; and Lydia seized the oppor-
tunity.

2CX) Cashel Byron's Profession

**You spoke of maternity then from experience,
Miss Gisborne?"

**I have one son — a son who was sent to me in my
eighteenth year.'*

**I hope he inherits his mother's genius and per-
sonal grace.*'

**I am sure I don't know," said Mrs. Byron pen-
sively. **He was a perfect devil. I fear I shock you,
Miss Carew; but really I did everything for him that
the most devoted mother could; and yet he ran away
from me without making a sign of farewell. Little
wretch!"

**Boys do cruel things sometimes in a spirit of
adventure," said Lydia, watching her visitor's face
narrowly.

**It was not that. It was his temper, which was
ungovernable. He was sulky and vindictive. It is
quite impossible to love a sulky child. I kept him
constantly near me when he was a tiny creature; and
when he grew too big for that I spent oceans of money
on his education. All in vain! He never shewed any
feeling towards me except a sense of injury that no
kindness could remove. And he had nothing to com-
plain oL Never was there a worse son."

Lydia remained silent and grave. Mrs. Byron
looked beside rather than at her. Suddenly she
added,

**My poor darling Cashel" (Lydia repressed a
start), **what a shame to talk of you so! You see I
love him in spite of his wickedness." Mrs. Byron
took out her pocket-handkerchief; and Lydia was for
a moment alarmed by the prospect of tears. But Miss
Gisborne only blew her nose with perfect composure.

Cashel Byron's Profession 201

and rose to take her leave. Lydia, who, apart from
her interest in Cashel' s mother, was attracted and
amused by the woman herself, induced her to stay for
Iqncheon, and presently discovered from her conver-
sation that she had read much romance of the Werther
sort in her youth, and had, since then, employed her
leisure in reading every book that came in her way
without regard to its quality. Her acquirements were
so odd, and her character so unreasonable, that Lydia,
whose knowledge was unusually well organized, and
who was eminently reasonable, concluded that she was
a woman of genius. For Lydia knew the vanity of her
own attainments, and believed herself to be merely a
patient and well-taught plodder. Mrs. Byron hap-
pening to be pleased with the house, the luncheon, and
the hostess's intelligent listening, her natural charm
became so intensified by her good humpr that even
Lydia was quite fascinated, and began to wonder what
its force might have been if some influence-^that of a
lover, for instance. — had ever made Mrs. Byron
ecstatically happy. She surprised herself at last in
the act of speculating whether she could ever make
Cashel love her as his father must, for a time at least,
have loved Mrs. Byron.

When the visitor was gone, Lydia considered
whether she was justified in keeping these two apart.
It seemed plain that at present Cashel was a disgrace
to his mother, and had better remain hidden from her.
But if he should for any reason abandon his ruffianly
pursuits, as she had urged him to do, then she could
bring about a meeting between them; and the truant's
mother might take better care of him in the future,
besides n;iaking him pecuniarily independent of prize-

202 Cashel Byron's Profession

fighting. This led Lydia to ask herself what new pro-
fession Cashel could adopt, and what probability there
was of his getting on with his mother any better than
formerly. No satisfactory answer was forthcoming.
So she went back to the likelihood of his reforming
himself for her sake. On this theme her imagination
carried her so far from all reasonable conjecture, that
she was shaking her head at her own folly when Bash-
ville appeared and announced Lord Worthington, who
came into the room with Alice. Lydia had not seen
him since her discovery of the true position of the
tenant he had introduced to her; and he was conse-
quently a little afraid to meet her. To cover his
embarrassment, he began to talk quickly on a number
of commonplace topics. But when some time had
passed, he began to show signs of fresh uneasiness.
He looked at his watch, and said,

**I don't wish to hurry you, ladies; bat this affair
commences at three."

*'What affair?" said Lydia, who was privately won-
dering why he had come.

*'The assault-at-arms. King Whatshisname's affair.
Webber told me he had arranged for us to go together."

**Oh, you have come to take us there. I had forgot-
ten. Did I promise to go?"

** Webber said so. He was to have taken you him-
self; but he's busy, and has done a good thing for me
and put me in his place. He said you particularly
wanted to go, hang him!"

Lydia rose promptly and sent for her carriage.
"There is no hurry," she said. "We can easily drive
to St. James's Hall in twenty minutes."

"But we have to go to Islington, to the Agricultural

Cashel Byron's Profession 203

Hall. There will be cavalry charges, and all sorts of
fun."

"Bless me! said Lydia. , ** Will there be any box-
ing?"

**Yes," said Lord Worthington, reddening, but
unabashed. **Lots of it. It will be by gentlemen,
though, except perhaps one bout to show the old king
our professional form."

"Then excuse me whilst I go for my hat," said
Lydia, leaving the room. Alice had gone some time
before to make a complete change in her dress, as the
occasion was one for display of that kind.

"You look awfully fetching. Miss Goff," Lord
Worthington said as he followed them into the car-
riage. Alice did not deign to reply, but tossed her
head superbly, and secretly considered whether people
would, on comparison, think her overdressed or Lydia
underdressed. Lord Worthington thought they both
looked their best, and reflected for several seconds on
the different styles of different women, and how what
would suit one would not do at all for another. It
seemed to him that Miss Carew's presence made him
philosophical.

The Agricultural Hall struck Alice at first sight as
an immense tan-strewn barn round which heaps of old
packing cases had been built into racecourse stands,
scantily decorated with red cloth and a few flags.
Lord Worthington had secured front seats in one of
these balconies. Just below were the palisades, orna-
mented at intervals with evergreens in tubs, and
pressed against from without by the shilling crowd.
Alice remarked that it was little to the credit of the
management that these people should be placed so

204 Cashel Byron's Profession

close beneath her tBat she could hear their conversa-
tion; but as Lydia did not seem to share her disgust,
she turned her attention to the fashionable part of the
audience. On the opposite side of the arena the bal-
conies seemed like beds of flowers in bloom : blacknesses
formed here and there by the hats and coats of gentle-
men representing the interspaces of clay. In the
midst of the flowers was a gaudy dais, on which a
powerfully built black gentleman sat in a raised chair,
his majestic impassivity contrasting with the overt
astonishment with which a row of attendant chiefs
grinned and gaped on either side of him.

**What a pity we are not nearer the king!" said
Alice. **I can hardly see the dear old fellow."

"You will find these the best seats for seeing the
assault. It will be all right," said Lord Worthington.

Lydia' s attention was caught by something guilty in
his manner. Following a furtive glance of his, she
saw in the arena, not far from her, an enclosure about
twenty feet square, made with ropes and stakes. It
was unoccupied; and near it were a few chairs, a basin,
and a sponge.

'What is that?" she asked.

That! Oh, that's the ring

It is not a ring. It is a square.'

**They call it the ring. They have succeeded in
squaring the circle."

A piercing bugle call rang out; and a troop of
cavalry trotted into the arena. Lydia found it pleas-
ant enough to sit lazily admiring the horses and men,
and comparing the members of the Olympian Club,
who appeared when the soldiers retired, to the marble
gods of Athens, and to the Bacchus or David of

Cashel Byron's Profession 205

Michael Angelo. They fell short of the Greek statues
in tranquil refinement, and of the Italian in heroic
energy as they vaulted over a wooden horse, and
swung upon horizontal bars, each cheapening the
exploits of his forerunner by outdoing them. Lord
Worthington, who soon grew tired of this, whispered
that when all that rubbish was over, a fellow would cut
a sheep in two with a sword, after which there would
be some boxing.

**Do you mean to say," sai^ Lydia indignantly,
**that they are going to turn a sheep loose and hunt it
on horseback with swords?"

Lord Worthington laughed and said yes; but it
presently appeared that by a sheep was meant a lean
carcass of mutton. A stalwart sergeant cut it in half
as a climax to slicing lemons, bars of lead, and silk
handkerchiefs; and the audience, accustomed to see
much more disgusting sights, in butchers' shops, liber-
ally applauded him.

Two gentlemen of the Olympian Club now entered
the inclosure which Lord Worthington called the ring.
After shaking hands with one another as well as their
huge padded gloves permitted, they hugged them-
selves with their right arms as if there were some dan-
ger of their stomachs falling out if not held tightly in;
and danced round one another, throwing out and
retracting their left fists like pawing horses. They
were both, as Lydia learned from the announcement
of their names and achievements by the master of the
ceremonies, amateur champions. She thought their
pawing and dancing ridiculous; and when they occa-
sionally rushed together and scuffled, she could distin-
guish nothing of the leading off, stopping, ducking.

2o6 Cashel B3rron's Profession

countering, guarding, and getting away to which Lord
Worthington enthusiastically invited her attention, and
which elicited alternate jeers and applause from the
shilling audience below. When, at the expiration of
three minutes, the two dropped supine into chairs at
opposite corners of the ring as if they had sustained
excessive fatigue, she would have laughed outright if
they had not reminded her of Cashel trying to recover
himself in her library. At the end of a minute, some
one hoarsely cried **Time!*' and they rose and repeated
their previous performance for three minutes more.
Another minute of rest followed; and then the danc-
ing and pawing proceeded for four minutes, after
which the champions again shook hands and left the
arena.

"And is that all?" said Lydia.

'That's all," said Lord Worthington. ''It's the
most innocent thing in the world, and the prettiest."

"It does not strike me as being pretty," said
Lydia; "but it seems as innocent as inanity can make
it." Her mind misgave her that she had ignorantly
and unjustly reproached Cashel Byron with ferocity
merely because he practised this harmless exercise.

The show progressed through several phases of
skilled violence. Besides single combats between men
armed in various fashions, there were tilts, tent-pqr.
gings, drilling and singlestick practice by squads of
British tars, who were loudly cheered, and more box-
ing and vaulting by members of the club. Lydia's
attention soon began to wander from the arena.
Looking down at the crowd outside the palisades, she
saw a small man whom she vaguely remembered,
though his face was turned from her. In conversation

Cashel Byron's Profession 207

with him was a powerful man dressed in a yellow
tweed suit and green scarf. He had a coarse strong
voice, and his companion a shrill mean one, so that
their remarks could be heard by an attentive listener
above the confused noise of the crowd.

^*Do you admire that man?'* said Lord Worthing-
ton, following Lydia's gaze.

**No. Is he anybody in particular?*'

**He was a great man once — in the days of the
giants. He was champion of England. He has a
special interest for us as the teacher of a mutual
friend of ours."

* 'Please name him,*' said Lydia, intending that the
mutual friend should be named.

**Ned Skene," said Lord Worthington, taking her
to mean the man below. "He has done so well in the
colonies that he has indulged himself and his family
with a trip to England. His arrival made quite a sen-
sation in this country: last week he had a crowded
benefit, at which he sparred with our mutual friend and
knocked him about like a baby. Our mutual friend
behaved very well on the occasion in letting himself
be knocked about. You see he could have killed old
Skene if he had tried in earnest."

"Is that Skene?*' said Lydia, looking at him with an
earnest interest that astonished and delighted Lord
Worthington. "Ah! Now I recognize the man with
him. He is one of my tenants at the Warren Lodge —
I believe I am indebted to you for the introduction."

"Mellish the trainer?" said Lord Worthington,
looking a little foolish "So it is. What a lovely bay
that lancer has! — the second from the far end."

But Lydia would not look at the lancer's horse.

2o8 Cashel Byron's Profession

*Taradise!*' she heard Skene exclaim just then with
scornful incredulity. **Ain't it likely?" It occurred
to her that if he was alluding to his own chance of
arriving there, it was not likely.

**Less likely things have happened/' said Mellish.
"I won't say that Cashel Byron is getting stale, but I
will say that his luck is too good to last; and I know
for a fact that he's gone quite melancholy of late."

"Melancholy be blowed!" said Skene. "What
should he go melancholy for?"

*'Oh, I know," said Mellish reticently.

"You know a lot," retorted Skene with contempt.
"I spose you mean the young 'oman he's always talk-
ing to my missus about."

"I mean a young woman he ain't likely to get.
One of the biggest swells in England — a little un with
a face like the inside of a oyster shell, that he met
down at Wiltstoken, where I trained him to fight the
Flying Dutchman. He went right off his training
after he met her — wouldn't do anything I told him.
I made so cock sure he'd be licked that I hedged
every penny I had laid on him except twenty pound I
got a flat to bet agen him down at the fight after I
changed my mind. Curse that woman! I lost a hun*
dred pound by her."

"And serve you right too, you old stoopid. You
was wrong then; and you're wrong now, with your
blessed Paradise!"

"Paradise has never been beat yet."

"No more has my boy."

"Well, we'll see."

"We'll see! I tell you I've seed for myself. I've
seed Billy Paradise spar; and it ain't boxing: it's

Cashel Byron's Profession 209

ruffianing; that's what it is. Ruffianing! Why, my
old missus has more science.'*

*'Mebbe she has/' said Mellish. *'But look at the
men he's licked that were chock full of science.
Shepstone, clever as he is, only won a fight from him
by claiming a foul, because Billy lost his temper and
spiked him. That's the worst of Billy: he can't keep
his feelings in. But no fine-lady sparrer can stand afore
that ugly rush of his. Do you think he'll care for
Cashel's showy long shots? Not he: he'll just take 'em
on that mahogany nut of his, and give him back one o'
them smashers that he knocked out Dick Weeks
with."

**ril lay you any money he don't. Tf he does, I'll
go back into the ring myself, and bust his head off for
it." And Skene, very angry, heaped epithets on
Paradise until he became so excited that Mellish had
to soothe him by partially retracting his forebodings,
and asking how Cashel had been of late.

"He's not been taking care of himself as he
oughter," said Skene gloomily. **He's shewing the
London fashions to the missus and Fanny; they're
here in the three-and-sixpenny seats, among the
swells. Theatres every night; and walks every day to
see the Queen drive through the park, or the like.
My Fan likes to have him with her on account of his
being such a gentleman: she. don't hardly think her
own father not good enough to walk down Piccadilly
with. Wants me to put on a black coat, and make a
parson of myself. The missus just idolizes him. She
thinks the boy far too good for the young 'oman you
was speaking of, and tells him that she's letting on not
to care for him only to raise her price, just as I used

2IO Cashel Byron's Profession

to pretend to be getting beat, to see the flats betting
agin me. The women always made a pet of him. In
Melbourne it wasn't what I liked for dinner: it was
always what the boy 'ud like, and when it 'ud please
him to have it. I'm blest if I usent to have to put
him up to ask for a thing when I wanted it myself.
And you tell me that that's the lad that's going to let
Billy Paradise lick him, I s'pose. Walker!"

Lydia, with Mrs. Byron's charm fresh upon her,
wondered what manner of woman this Mrs. Skene
could be who had supplanted her in the affections of
her son, and yet was no more than a prizefighter's old
missus. Evidently she was not one to turn a young
man from a career in the ring. The theme of Cashel* s
occupation and the chances of his quitting it ran away
with Lydia' s attention. She sat with her eyes fixed
on the arena, without seeing the soldiers, swordsmen,
or athletes who were busy there. Her mind wandered
further and further from the place; aad th^ chattering
of the people resolved itself into a distant hum and
was forgotten.

Suddenly she became conscious of a dreadful look-
ing man coming towards her across the arena. His
face had the surface and colour of blue granite: his
protruding jaws and retreating forehead were like
those of an ouran-outang. She started from her
reverie with a shiver, and, recovering her hearing as
well as her vision. of external things, heard a burst of
applause from a few persons below greeting this
apparition. The man grinned ferociously; placed one
hand on a stake of the ring; and vaulted over the
ropes. Lydia remarked that, excepting his hideous
head and enormous hands and feet, he was a well-made

Cashel Byron s Profession 211

man, with loins and shoulders that shone in the light,
and gave him an air of great strength and activity.

** Ain't he a picture?" she heard Mellish exclaim
ecstatically. 'There's condition for you!"

**Ah!" said Skene disparagingly. **But ain't he the
gentleman! Just look at him. It's like the Prince of
Wales walking down Pall Mall."

Lydia looked again, and saw Cashel Byron, exactly
as she had seen him for the first time in the elm vista
at Wiltstoken, approaching the ring, with the indiffer-
ent air of a man going through some tedious public
ceremony.

**A god coming down to compete with a gladiator,"
whispered Lord Worthington eagerly. * 'Isn't it. Miss
Carew? Apollo and the satyr! You must admit that
our mutual friend is a splendid looking fellow. If he
could go into society like that, by Jove, the women — "

**Hush," said Lydia, as if his words were intolerable.

Cashel did not vault over the ropes. He stepped
through them languidly, and, rejecting the proffered
assistance of a couple of officious friends, drew on a
boxing glove fastidiously, like an exquisite preparing
for a fashionable promenade. Having thus muffled
his left hand so as to make it useless for the same
service to his right, he dipped his fingers into the
other glove, gripped it between his teeth, and dragged
it on with action of a tiger tearing its prey. Lydia
shuddered again.

''Bob Mellish," said Skene: "I'll lay you twenty to
one he stops that rush that you think so much of.
Come: twenty to one!"

Mellish shook his head. Then the master of the
ceremonies, pointing to the men in succession.

212 Cashel Byron's Profession

shouted, *Taradise: a professor. Cashel Byron: a
professor. Time!"

Cashel now looked at Paradise, of whose existence
he had not before seemed to be aware. The two men
advanced towards the centre of the ring; shook hands
at arm's length; cast off each other's grasp suddenly;
fell back a step; and began to move warily round
from left to right like a pair of panthers.

"I think they might learn manners from the gentle-
men, and shake hands cordially," said Alice, trying to
appear unconcerned, but oppressed by a vague dread
of Cashel.

* 'That's the traditional manner," said Lord Worth-
ington. **It's done that way to prevent one from
pulling the other over, and hitting him with the
disengaged hand before he could get loose."

*'What abominable treachery!" exclaimed Lydia.

"It's never done, you know," said Lord Worthing-
ton apologetically. **It wouldn't be any good, because
you can't use your left hand effectively that way."

Lydia turned away from him, and gave all her
attention to the boxers. Of the two. Paradise
shocked her least. She saw that he was nervous and
conscious of a screwed-up condition as to his courage;
but his sly grin implied a wild sort of good humor,
and seemed to promise the spectators that he would
shew them some fun presently. Cashel watched his
movements with a relentless vigilance and a sidelong
glance in which, to Lydia's apprehension, there was
something infernal.

Suddenly the eyes of Paradise lit up: he lowered his
head; made a rush; baulked himself purposely; and
darted at Cashel. There was a sound like the pop of

Cashel fiyron's Profession

213

a champagne cork, after which Cashel was* seen undis-
turbed in the middle of the ring, and Paradise, flung
against the ropes and trying to grin at his discomfiture,
shewed his white teeth through a mask of blood.

**Beautifuir* cried Skene with emotion. "Beauti-
ful! There ain't but me and' my boy in the world can
give the upper cut like that! I wish I could see my
old missus's face now! This is nuts to her."

**Let us go away," said Alice.,

"That was a very different blow to any the gentle-
men gave," said Lydia, without heeding her, to Lord
Worthington. "The man is bleeding horribly."

"It's only his nose," said Lord Worthington.
"He's used to it."

"Look at that!" chuckled Skene. "My boy's fol-
lowed him up to the ropes; and he means to keep him
there. Let him rush now if he can. See what it is to
have a good judgment!"

Mellish shook his head again despondingly. The
remaining minutes of the round were unhappy ones
for Paradise. He struck viciously at his opponent's
ribs; but Cashel stepped back just out his reach, and
then returned with extraordinary swiftness and dealt
him blows from w)iich, with the ropes behind him, he
had no room to retreat, and which he was too slow to
stop or avoid. His attempts to reach his enemsr's
face were greatly to the disadvantage of his own; for
Cashel* s blows were never so tremendous as when he
turned his head deftly out of harm's way, and met his
advancing foe with a counter hit. There was no
chivalry and no mercy in him; but his grace could not
have been surpassed by his mother. He reveled in
the hardness of his hitting, and gathered fresh vigor

214 Cashel Byron's Profession

as his gloves resounded on Paradise's face or seemed
to go almost through his body. The better sort among
the spectators were disgusted by the sight; for as
Paradise bled profusely, and as his blood smeared the
gloves, and the gloves smeared the heads and bodies
of both combatants, they were soon stained with it
from their waists upward. The managers held a whis-
pered consultation as to whether the sparring exhibi-
tion had not better be stopped; but they decided to let
it proceed on seeing the African king, who had
watched the whole entertainment up to the present
without displaying the least interest, now raise his
hands and clap them with delight.

"Billy don't look half pleased with hisself,"
observed Mellish, as the two boxers sat down for the
minute's respite. "He looks just like he did when he
spiked Shepstone."

"What does spiking mean?" said Lydia.

"Treading on a man's foot with spiked boots,"

■ replied Lord Worthington. "Don't be alarmed: they

have no spikes in their shoes to-day. And don't look

at me like that. Miss Carew. It's not my fault that

they do such things."

Time was called; and the pugilists, who had by dint
of sponging been made somewhat cleaner, rose with
mechanical promptitude at the sound. They had
hardly advanced two steps, when Cashel, though his
adversary seemed far out of his reach, struck him on
the forehead with such force as to stagger him, and
then jumped back laughing. Paradise rushed forward;
but Cashel eluded him, and fled round the ring, look-
ing back derisively over his shoulder. Paradise now
dropped all pretence of good humor. With reckless

Cashel Byron's Profession 215

ferocity he dashed in; endured a startling blow with-
out flinching; and fought savagely at close quarters.
For a moment the falling of their blows reminded
Lydia of the rush of raindrops against a pane in a sud^
den gust of wind. The next moment Cashel was
away; apd Paradise, whose blood was again flowing,
was trying to repeat his manoeuvre, to be met this
time by a blow that brought him upon one knee. He
had scarcely risen when Cashel sprang at him and
drove him once more against the ropes with four
dazzlingly rapid blows; but this time, with tigerish
coquetry, released him by again running away prettily
in the manner of a child at play. Paradise, with foam
as well as blood at his lips, uttered a howl, and tore
off his gloves. There was a shout of protest from the
audience; and Cashel, warned by it, tried to get off
his gloves in turn. But Paradise was upon him before
he could accomplish this; and the two mep laid hold
of one another amid a great clamor: Lord Worthing-
ton and others rising and excitedly shouting, ".gainst
rules! No wrestling!" followed by a roar of indigna-
tion as Paradise was seen to seize Cashel' s shoulder in
his teeth as they struggled for the throw. Lydia, for
the first time in her life, screamed. Then she saw
Cashel, his face fully as fierce as his foe's, get his arm
about Paradise's neck; lift him as a coal-heaver lifts a
sack; and fling him over his back, heels over head, to
the ground, where he instantly dropped on him with
his utmost weight and impetus. The two were at once
separated by a crowd of managers, umpires, policemen
and others who had rushed towards the ring when
Paradise had taken off his gloves. A distracting
wrangle followed. Skene had climbed over the pali-

2i6 Cashel Byron's Profession

sade, and was hurling oaths, threats, and epithets at
Paradise, who, unable to stand without assistance, was
trying to lift his leaden eyelids and realize what had
happened to him. A dozen others, encouraging him
to sit up, remonstrating with him on his conduct, or
trying to pacify Skene, only added to the confusion.
Cashel, on the other side, raged at the managers, who
were reminding him that the rules of glove exhibitions
• did not allow wrestling and throwing.

Rules be damned!" Lydia heard him shouting
He bit me; and I'll throw him to " Then every-
body spoke at once; and she could only conjecture
where he would throw him to. He seemed to have no
self-control: Paradise, when he came to himself,
behaved better. Lord Worthington descended into
the ring, and tried to calm the hubbub; but Cashel
shook his hand fiercely from his arm; menaced a man-
ager who attempted to call him sternly to order; fran-
tically pounded his wounded shoulder with his
clenched fist; and so outswore and outwrangled them
all that even Skene began to urge that there had been
enough fuss made. Then Lord Worthington whispered
a word more; and Cashel suddenly subsided, pale and
ashamed, and sat down on a chair in his corner as if to
hide himself. Five minutes afterwards, he stept out
from the crowd with Paradise, and shook hands with
him amid much cheering. Cashel was the humbler of
the two. He did not raise his eyes to the balcony
once; and he seemed in a hurry to retire. But he was
intercepted by an officer in uniform, accompanied by
a black chief, who came to conduct him to the dais
and present him to the African King: an honor he was
not permitted to decline.

Cashel Byron's Profession 217

The king informed him, through an interpreter, that
he had been unspeakably gratified by what he had just
witnessed, and expressed great surprise that Cashel,
notwithstanding his prowess, was neither in the army
nor in parliament. He also offered to provide him
with three handsome wives if he would come out to
Africa in his suite. Cashel was much embarrassed;
but he came off with credit, thanks to the interpreter,
who was accustomed to invent appropriate speeches
for the king on public occasions, and was kind enough
to invent an equally appropriate one for Cashel on
this.

Meanwhile, Lord Worthington returned to his place.
"It's all settled now," he said to Lydia. **Byron shut
up when I told him his aristocratic friends were look-
ing at him; and Paradise has been so bullied that he is
crying in a corner downstairs. He has apologized;
but he still maintains that he can beat our mutual
friend without the gloves; and his backers apparently
think so too; for it is understood that they are to fight
in the autumn for a thousand a side."

**To fight! Then he has no intention of giving up
his profession?'*

**Nor' said Lord Worthington, astonished. **Why
on earth should he give it up? Paradise's money is as
good as in his pocket. You have seen wh^t he can'do."

**I have seen enough. Alice: I am ready to go as
soon as you are."

Miss Carew returned to'^Viltstoken next day. Miss
Goff remained in London to finish the season in charge
of a friendly lady who, having married off all her own
daughters, was willing to set to work again to marry
Alice sooner than remain idle.

CHAPTER XI

Alice was more at her ease during the remnant of
the season. Though she had been proud of her con-
nexion with Lydia, she had always felt eclipsed in her
presence; and now that Lydia was gone, the pride
remained and the sense of inferiority was forgotten.
Her freedom emboldened and improved her. She
even began to consider her own judgment a safer
guide in the affairs of everyday than the example of
her patroness. Had ^e not been right in declaring
Cashel Byron an ignorant and common man when
Lydia, in spite of her warning, had actually invited
him to visit them? And now all the newspapers were
confirming the opinion she had been trying to impress
on Lydia for months past. On the evening of the
assault-at-arms, the newsmen had shouted through the
streets, * 'Disgraceful scene between two pugilists at
Islington in the presence of the African king." Next
day the principal journals commented on the recent
attempt to revive the brutal pastime of prizefighting;
accused the authorities of conniving at it; and called
on them to put it down at once With a strong hand.
"Unless," said a Nonconformist organ, **this plague
spot be rooted out from our midst, it will no longer be
possible for our missionaries to pretend that England
is the fount of the Gospel of Peace." Alice collected
these papers, and forwarded them to Wiltstoken.

On this subject one person at least shared her bias.
Whenever she met Lucian Webber, they talked about

218

Cashel Byron's Profession 219

Cashel, invariably coming to the t:onclusion that
though the oddity of his behavior had gratified Lydia's
unfortunate taste for eccentricity, she had never
regarded him with serious interest, and would not
now, under any circumstances, renew her intercourse
with him. Lucian found little solace in these conver-
sations, and generally suffered from a vague sense of
meanness after them. Yet next time they met they
would drift into discussing Cashel over again; and he
always rewarded Alice for the admirable propriety of
her views by dancing at least three times with her
when dancing was the business of the evening. The
dancing was still less congenial than the conversation.
Lucian danced stiffly and unskilfully. Alice, whose
muscular power and energy were superior to anything
of the kind that Mr. Mellish could artificially produce,
longed for swift motion and violent exercise. Waltz-
ing with Lucian was like carrying a stick round the
room in the awkward fashion in which Punch carries
his baton. In spite of her impression that he was a
man of unusually correct morals and high political
importance, greatly to be considered in private life
because he was Miss Carew's cpusin, it was hard to
spend quarter-hours with him that were asked for by
some of the best dancers in her set.

She began to tire of the subject of Cashel and Lydia.
She began to tire of Lucian's rigidity. * She began to
tire exceedingly of the vigilance she had to maintain
constantly over her own manners and principles.
Somehow, this vigilance defeated itself; for she one
evening overheard a lady of rank (who meant her to
overhear) speak of her as a stuck-up country girl. For
a week afterwards she did not utter a word or make a

220 Cashel Byron's Profession

movement in society without first considering whether
it could by any malicious observer be considered rustic
or stuck-up. But the more she strove to attain perfect
propriety of demeanor, the more odious did she seem
to herself, and, she inferred, to others. She longed
for Lydia's secret of always doing the right thing at
the right moment, even when defying precedent.
Sometimes she blamed the dulness of the people she
met. It was impossible not to be stiff with them.
When she chatted with an entertaining man, who made
her laugh and forget herself for a while, she was con-
scious afterwards of having been at her best with him.
But she saw that those whose manners she most
coveted were pleasantly at their ease even in stupid
society. She began to fear at last that she was natu-
rally disqualified by her comparatively humble birth
from acquiring the well bred air she envied.

One day she conceived a doubt whether Lucian was
so safe an authority and example in matters of per-
sonal deportment as^ she had hitherto believed. He
could not dance: his conversation was priggish: it was
impossible to feel at ease when speaking to him.
Was it courageous to stand in awe of his opinion?
Was it courageous to stand in awe of anybody? Alice
closed her lips proudly and began to feel defiant.
Then a reminiscence, which had never before failed
to rouse indignation in her, made her laugh. She
recalled the scandalous spectacle of the stiff, upright
Lucian doubled up in Mrs. Hoskyn's gilded armchair
to illustrate the prizefighter's theory of effort defeating
itself. After all, what was that caressing touch of
Cashel' s hand in comparison with the tremendous
rataplan he had beaten on the ribs of Paradise? Could

Cashel Byron's Profession 221

it be true that effort defeated itself — in personal
behavior, for instance? A ray of the truth that underlay
Cashel's grotesque experiment was flickering in her
mind as she asked herself that question. She thought
a good deal about it; and one afternoon, when she
looked in at four at-homes in succession, she studied
the behavior of the other guests from a new point of
view, comparing the most mannered with the best man-
nered, and her recent self with both. The result half
convinced her that she had been occupied during her
first London season in displaying, at great pains, a
very unripe self-consciousness — or, as her conscience
phrased it, in making an insufferable fool of her-
self.

Then came an invitation or two from the further
west — South Kensington and Bayswater; and here she
struck the deeper sociarl stratum of the great commer-
cial middle class, with its doctors, lawyers and clergy.
She found it all a huge caricature of herself — a society
ashamed of itself, afraid to be itself, suspecting other
people of being itself and pretending to despise them
for it, and so stifling and starving itself that indi-
viduals with courage enough to play the piano on Sun-
day were automatically extruded by the pressure and
shot on to a Bohemian debatable land where they
amused themselves by trifling with the fine arts.
Alice recognized her own class, but did not on that
account spare it the ridicule which, from her point of
view as one of Miss Carew's superior set, was due to
its insipid funereal dancing, its flagrantly studied man-
ners, its ostentation, its voice and accent warped by
the strain of incessant pretending, its habitual insolence
to servants, its idolatrous deference to rank, its Sab-

222 Cashel Byron's Profession

batarianism, and a dozen other manifestations of what
Alice, not feeling in any way concerned to find the
root of the matter, summed up as its vulgarity.

Shortly afterwards, she met Lucian at a dance. He
came late, as usual, and gravelly asked whether he
might have the pleasure of dancing with her. This
forni of address he never varied. To his surprise, she
made some difficulty about granting the favor, and
eventually offered him **the second extra." He
bowed. Just then a young man came up, and, remark-
ing that he thought this was his turn, bore Alice away.
Lucian smiled indulgently, thinking that though
Alice's manners were wonderfully good, considering
her antecedents, yet she occasionally betrayed a lower
tone than that which he sought to exemplify in his
own person.

When his own turn came, and they had gone round
the room twice to the strains of the second extra, they
stopped — Alice was always willing to rest during a
waltz with Lucian; and he asked her whether she had
heard from Lydia.

**You always ask me that," she replied. **Lydia
never writes except when she has something particular
to say, and then only a few lines."

* 'Precisely. But she might have had something
particular to say since we last met."

*'She hasn't had,*' said Alice, provoked by an
almost arch smile from him.

"She will be glad to hear that I have at last suc-
ceeded in recovering possession of the Warren Lodge
from its undesirable tenants."

"I thought they went long ago, said Alice indiffer-
ently.

Cashel B3n:on's Profession 223

"The men have not been there for a month or more.
The difficulty was to get them to remove their prop-
erty. However, we are rid of them now. The only
relic of their occupation is a Bible, with half the leaves
torn out, and the rest scrawled with records of bets,
receipts for sudorific and other medicines, and a mass
of unintelligible memoranda. One inscription, in
faded ink, runs To Robert Mellish, from his affection-
ate mother, with her sincere hope that he may ever
walk in the ways of this book.' I am afraid that hope
was not fulfilled."

"How wicked of him to tear a Bible!" said Alice
seriously. Then she laughed, and added, "I know I
shouldn't; but I can't help it."

"The incident strikes me rather as being pathetic,"
said Lucian, who liked to shew that he was not
deficient in sensibility. "One can picture the inno-
cent faith of the poor woman in her boy's future. If
she could only have foreseen!"

"Inscriptions in books are like inscriptions on tomb-
stones," said Alice disparagingly. "They don't mean
much."

"I am glad that these men have no further excuse
for going to Wiltstoken. It was certainly most unfor-
tunate that Lydia should have made the acquaintance
of one of them."

"So you have said at least fifty times," replied Alice
deliberately. "I believe you are jealous of that poor
boxer."

Lucian became quite red. Alice trembled at her
own audacity, but kept a bold front.

"Really — it's too absurd," he said, betraying his
confusion by assuming a carelessness quite foreign to

224 Cashel Byron's Profession

his normal manner. '*In what way could I possibly be
jealous, Miss Goff?"

'That is best known to yourself."

Lucian now saw that there was a change in Alice,
and that he had lost ground with her. His wounded
vanity, like a corrosive acid, suddenly obliterated his
impression that she was, in the main, a well conducted
and meritorious young woman. But in its place came
another impression that she was a spoiled beauty.
And, as he was by no means fondest of the women
whose behavior accorded best with his notions of pro-
priety, the change was not in all respects a change
for the worse. Only he could not forgive her last
remark, though he tried not to let her see how it stung
him.

''I am afraid I should cut a poor figure in an
encounter with my rival,** he said^ smiling.

"Call him out and shoot him," said Alice viva-
ciously. **Very likely he does not know how to use a
pistol."

He smiled again; but had Alice known how seriously
he entertained her suggestion for some moments before
dismissing it as impracticable, she might not have
offered it. Putting a bullet into Cashel struck him
rather as a luxury which he could not afford than as a
crime. And now Alice, quite satisfied that this Mr.
Webber, on whom she had wasted so much undeserved
awe, might be treated as inconsiderately as she used
to treat her admirers at Wiltstoken, proceeded to
amuse herself by torturing him a little.

**It is odd," she said, in her best imitation of
Lydia's reflective manner, **that a common man like
that should be able to make himself so very attractive

Cashel Byron's Profession 225

to Lydia. It was not because he was such a fine man;
for she does not care in the least about that. I don't
think she would give a second look at the handsomest
man in London, she is so purely intellectual. And
yet she used to delight in talking to him.'*

"Oh, that is a mistake. Lydia has a certain man-
ner which leads people to believe that she is deeply
interested in the person she happens to be speaking
to; but it is only manner. It means nothing."

"I know that manner of hers perfectly well. But
this was something quite different.*'

Lucian shook his head reproachfully. "I cannot
jest on so serious a matter," he said, resolving on an
attempt to re-establish his dignity with Alice. "I
think. Miss Goff, that you perhaps hardly know how
absurd your supposition is. There are not many men
of distinction in Europe with whom my cousin is not
personally acquainted. A very young girl, who had
seen little of the world, might possibly be deceived by
the exterior of such a man as Byron. A woman accus-
tomed to society could make no such mistake. No
doubt the man's vulgarity and uncouth address amused
her for a moment; but *

"But why did she ask him to come to her Friday
afternoons?"

"A mere civility which she extended to him because
he assisted her in some difficulty she got into in the
street."

"She might as well have asked a policeman to come ♦
to see her. I don't believe that was it."

Lucian at that momet hated Alice. "I am sorry you
think such a thing possible," he said. "Shall we
resume our waltz?"

226 Cashel Byron's Profession

Alice was not yet able to bear an implication that
she did not understand society sufficiently to appre-
ciate the distance between Lydia and Cashel.

*'0£ course I know it is impossible/' she said, in her
old manner. *'I did not mean it."

Lucian, failing to gather from this what she did
mean, took refuge in waltzing, in the course of which
she advised him to take a dozen lessons from an
instructress whom she recommended as specially skil-
ful at getting gentlemen into what she called the smart
way of dancing. This sally produced such a chill that
at last, fearing lest her new lights had led her too far,
she changed her tone and expressed her amazement at
the extent and variety of the work he performed in
Downing Street. He accepted her compliments with
perfect seriousness, leaving her satisfied that they had
smoothed him down. But she was mistaken. She
knew nothing of politics or official work; and he saw
the worthlessness of her pretended admiration of his
share in them, although he felt it right that she should
revere his powers from the depths of her ignorance.
What stuck like a burr in his mind was that she
thought him small enough to be jealous of the poor
boxer, and found his dancing deficient in smartness.

After that dance Alice thought much about Lucian,
and also about the way in which society regulated mar-
riages. Before Miss Carew sent for her, she had often
sighed because all the nice men she knew of moved in
circles to which an obscure governess had no chance
of admission. She had met them occasionally at
subscription balls; but for sustained intimacy and pro-
posals of marriage she had been dependent on the
native youth of Wiltstoken, whom she looked upon as

Cashel Byron's Profession 227

louts or prigs, and among Whom Wallace Parker had
shone pre-eminent as a university man, scholar, and
gentleman. Now that she was a privileged beauty in
a set which would hardly tolerate Wallace Parker, she
found that the nice men were younger sons, poor and
extravagant, far superior to Lucian Webber as partners
for a waltz, but not to be thought of as partners
in home-keeping. Alice had experienced the troubles
of poverty, and had met with excellence in men only
in poems, which she never seriously connected with
the [possibilities of actual life. She was quite uncon-
scious of the privation caused by living with meanly-
minded people: she was acutely conscious of that
caused by want piE money. Not that she was indiffer-
ent to rectitude as she understood it: nothing could
have induced her to marry a man, however rich, whom
she thought wicked. She wanted money, good char-
acter and social position; but she naturally desired
youth and good looks as well; and here it was that she
found herself unsuited. For not only were all the
handsome, gallant, well-bred men getting deeply into
debt by living beyond smaller incomes than that with
which Wallace Parker had tempted her, but many of
those who had inherited both riches and rank were as
inferior to him in appearance and address as they
were in scholarship. No man satisfying all her
requirements had yet shewn the least disposition to
fall in love with her.

One bright forenoon in July, Alice, attended by a
groom, went to the Park on horseback. The freshness
of morning was upon horses and riders: there were not
yet any jaded people lolling supine in carriages, nor
discontented spectators sitting in chairs to envy them.

228 Cashel Byron's Profession

Alice, who was a better horsewoman than might have
been expected from the little practise she had had,
looked well in the saddle. She had just indulged in a
brisk canter from the Corner to the Serpentine when
she saw a large white horse approaching with Wallace
, Parker on its back.

*'Ah!" he exclaimed, expertly wheeling his steed
and taking off his hat at the same time with an inten-
tional display of gallantry and horsemanship. "How
are you, Alice?'*

''Goodness!" she cried, forgetting her manners in
her astonishment. "What brings you here; and where
on earth did you get that horse?"

"I presume, Alice," said Parker, satisfied with the
impression he had made, "that I am here for much the
same reason as you are — to enjoy the morning in
proper style. As for Rozinante, I borrowed him. Is
that chestnut yours? Excuse the rudeness of the ques-
tion."

"No," said Alice, coloring a little. "This seems
such an unlikely place to meet you."

"Oh no. I always take a turn in the season. But
certainly it would have been a very unlikely place for
us to meet a year ago."

So far, Alice felt, she was getting the worst of the
conversation. She changed the subject. "Have you
been to Wiltstoken since I last saw you?"

"Yes. I go there once every week at least"

"Every week! Janet never told me."

Parker implied by a cunning air that he thought he
knew the reason of that; but he said nothing. Alice,
piqued, would not condescend to majke inquiries. So
he said,

Cashel Byron's Profession 229

How is Miss Thingumbob?"

I do not know any one of that name.

"You know very well whom I mean. Your aristo-
cratic patron, Miss Carew.'*

Alice flushed. "You are very impertinent, Wal-
lace/' she said, grasping her riding whip. "How dare
you call Miss Carew my patron?*'

Wallace suddenly became solemn. "I did not know
that you objected to be reminded of all you owe her,*'
he said. "Janet never speaks ungratefully of her,
though she has done nothing for Janet.'*

"I have not spoken ungratefully,** protested Alice,
almost in tears. "I feel sure you are never tired of
speaking ill of me to them at home.**

"That shews how little you understand my real char-
acter. I always make excuses for you.*'

"Excuses for what? What have I done? What do
you mean?"

"Oh, I don*t mean anything, if you don*t. I
thought from your beginning to defend yourself that
you felt yourself to be in the wrong."

"I did not defend myself. Don't dare to say such a
thing again, Wallace."

"Always your obedient humble servant," he replied
with complacent irony.

She pretended not to hear him, and whipped up her
horse to a smart trot. The white steed being no
trotter, Parker followed at a lumbering canter. Alice,
in a shamefaced fear that he was making her ridiculous,
soon checked her speed; and the white horse subsided
to a walk, marking its paces by deliberate bobs of its
unfashionably long mane and tail.

"I have something to tell you,** said Parker at last.

230 Cashel Byron's Profession

Alice did not deign to reply.

**I think it better to let you know at once," he con-
tinued. "The fact is, I intend to marry Janet."

** Janet won't," said Alice promptly.

Parker smiled conceitedly, and said, *'I don't think
she will raise any difficulty if you give her to under-
stand that it is all over between tis.'*

'That what is all over?"

**Well, if you prefer it, that there never has been
anything between us. Janet believes that we were
engaged. So did a good many other people until you
went into high life."

**I cannot help what people thought"

**And they all know that I, at least, was ready to
perform my part of the engagement honorably."

"Wallace," she said, with a sudden change of tone:
"I think we had better separate. It is not right for
me to be riding about the park with you when I have
nobody belonging to me here except a man servant."

"Just as you please," he said coolly, halting. "May
I assure Janet that you wish her to marry me?"

"Most certainly not. I do not wish any one to
marry you, much less my own sister. I am far inferior
to Janet; and she deserves a much better husband than
I do."

"I quite agree with you, though I don't quite see what
that has to do with it. As far as. I understand you,
you will neither marry me yourself — mind, I am quite
willing to fulfil my engagement still — nor let any one
else have me. Is that so?"

"You may tell Janet," said Alice vigorously, her
face glowing, "that if we — you and I — were con-
demned to live for ever on a desert isl No: I will

Cashel Byron's Profession 231

write to her. That will be the best way. Good morn-
ing.

Parker, hitherto unperturbed, shewed signs of alarm.
*'I beg, Alice," he said, "that you will say nothing
unfair to her of me. You cannot with truth say any-
thing bad of me.*'

"Do you really care for Janet?" said Alice, waver?
ing.

"Of course," he replied indignantly. "Janet is a
very superior girl."

"I have always said so," said Alice, rather angry
because some one else had forestalled her in that
meritorious admission. "I will tell her the simple
truth — that there has never been anything between us^
except what is between all cousins; and that there
never could have been anything more on my part. I
must go now. I don't know what that man must think
already."

"I should be sorry to lower you in his esteem," said
Parker maliciously. "Good-bye, Alice." Uttering
the last words in a careless tone, he again flourished
his hat as he pulled up the white horse's head and
sped away. It was not true that he was in the habit of
riding in the park every season. He had learnt from
Janet that Alice was accustomed to ride there in the
forenoon; and he had hired the white horse in order to
meet her on equal terms, feeling that a gentleman on
horseback in the road by the Serpentine could be at
no social disadvantage with any lady, however exalted
her associates.

As for Alice, his reminder that Miss Carew was her
patron rankled in her. The necessity for securing an
independent position seemed to press imminently upon

232 Cashel Byron's Profession

her. And as the sole way of achieving this was by
marriage, she almost made up her mind to marry any
man, whatever his person, age, or disposition, if only
he could give her a place equal to that of Miss Carew
in the little world of which she had lately acquired the
manners and customs.

CHAPTER XII

When the autumn set in, Alice was in Scotland,
learning to shoot; and Lydia was at Wiltstoken, pre-
paring her father's letters and memoirs for publication.
She did not write at the castle. All the rooms there
were either domed, vaulted, gilded, galleried, three
sided, six sided, anything except four sided: all in
some way suggestive of the Arabian nights* entertain-
ments and out of keeping with the associations of her
father's life. In her search for a congruous room to
work in, the idea of causing a pavilion to be erected in
the elm vista recurred to her. But she had no mind
to be disturbed just then by workmen; so she had the
Warren Lodge cleansed and limewashed, and the
kitchen transformed into a comfortable library,
whence, as she sat facing the door at her writing table
in the centre of the room, she could see the elm vista
through one window, and through another a tract of
wood and meadow intersected by the high-road and by
a canal, beyond which the prospect ended in a distant
green slope used as a sheep run. The other apart-
ments were used by a couple of maid servants, who
kept the place swept and dusted, and prepared Miss
Carew's lunch, besides answering her bell and going
on errands to the castle. Failing any of these employ-
ments, they sat outside in the sun, reading novels.

When Lydia had worked in this retreat daily for two
months, her mind became so full of the old life with
her father, that the interruptions of the servants

233

234 Cashel Byron's Profession

became so many shocks recalling her to the present.
On the twelfth of August, Phoebe, one of the maids,
entered and said,

''If you please, Miss, Bashful is wishville to know
can he speak to you a moment?"

Permission given, the footman entered. Since his
wrestle with Cashel he had never quite recovered his
former imperturbability. His manner and speech
were as smooth and respectful as before; but his coun-
tenance was no longer stedfast: he was on bad terms
with the butler because he had been reproved by him
for blushing. On this occasion he came to beg leave
to absent himself during the afternoon. He seldom
asked favors of this kind, and was never refused.

* 'There are more people than usual in the road
to-day," she observed, as he thanked her. "Doyou
know why?"

''No, madam, said Bashville, and blushed.

"People begin to shoot on the twelfth," she said;
"but I suppose it cannot have anything to do with
that. Is there a race, or a fair, or any such thing in
the neighborhood?"

"Not that I am aware of, madam.'

Lydia dipped her pen in the ink and thought no
more of the matter. Bashville returned to the castle,
and attired himself like a country gentleman of sport-
ing tastes before going out to enjoy his holiday.

The forenoon passed away quietly. There was no
sound in the Warren Lodge except the scratching of
Lydia' s pen, the ticking of her favorite skeleton clock,
an occasional clatter of crockery from the kitchen, and
the voices of the birds and maids without. As the
hour for lunch approached, Lydia became a little rest-

Cashel Byron s Profession 235

less. She interrupted her work to look at the clock,
and brushed a speck of dust from her blotter with the
feather of her quill. Then she looked absently
through the window along the elm vista, where she had
once seen, as she had thought, a sylvan god. This
time she saw a less romantic object: a policeman. She
looked again incredulously: there he was still, a black-
bearded helmeted man, making a dark blot in the
green perspective, and surveying the landscape
cautiously. Lydia summoned Phoebe, and bade her
ask the man what he wanted.

The girl soon returned out of breath, with the news
that there were a dozen more constables hiding among
the elms, and that the one she had spoken to had>given
no account of himself, but had asked her how many
gates there were to the park; whether they were always
locked; and whether she had seen many people about.
She felt sure that a murder had been committed some-
where. Lydia shrugged her shoulders, and ordered
luncheon, during which Phoebe gazed eagerly through
the window, and left her mistress to wait on herself.

"Phoebe," said Lydia, when the dishes were
removed: "you may go to the gate lodge, and ask
them there what the policemen want. But do not go
any further. Stay. Has Ellen gone to the castle. with
the things?'

Phoebe reluctantly admitted that Ellen had.

"Well, you need not wait for her return; but come
back as quipkly as you can, in case I should want any*
body."

"Directly, miss," said Phoebe, vanishing.

Lydia, left alone, resumed her work leisurely, occa-
sionally pausing to gaze at the distant woodland, and

236 Cashel Byron's Profession

note with transient curiosity a flock of sheep on the
slope, or a flight of birds above the tree tops. Some-
thing more startling occurred presently. A man,
apparently half-naked, and carrying a black object
under his arm, darted through a remote glade with the
swiftness of a stag, and disappeared. Lydia concluded
that he had been disturbed whilst bathing in the canal,
and had taken to flight with his wardrobe under his
arm. She laughed at the idea; turned to her manu-
script again; and wrote on. Suddenly there was a
rustle and a swift footstep without. Then the latch
was violently jerked up; and Cashel Byron rushed in
as far as the threshold, where he halted, stupefied at
the presence of Lydia and the change in the appear-
ance of the room.

He was himself remarkably changed. He was
dressed in a pea-jacket, which evidently did not belong
to him; for it hardly reached his middle, and the
sleeves were so short that his forearms were half bare,
shewing that he wore nothing beneath this borrowed
garment. He had on white knee-breeches, soiled with
clay and green stains of bruised grass. The breeches
were made with a broad flap in front, under which,
and passing round his waist, was a scarf of crimson
silk. From his knees to his socks, the edges of which
had fallen over his laced boots, his legs were visible,
naked and muscular. On his face was a mask of
sweat, dust, and blood, partly sponged away in black-
bordered streaks. Underneath his left eye was a
mound of blueish flesh nearly as large as a walnut.
The jaw below it, and the opposite cheek, were
severely bruised; and his lip was cut through at one
corner. He had no bat; his close-cropped hair was

Cashel Byron's Profession 237

disordered; and his ears were as though they had been
rubbed with coarse sand-paper.

Lydia looked at him for some seconds, and he at
her, speechless. Then she tried to speak; failed; and
sank into the chair.

*'I didn't know there was any one here/ he said, in
a hoarse, panting whisper. **The police are after me.
I have fought for an hour, and run over a mile; and
Tm dead beat: I can go no further. Let me hide in
the backroom; and tell them you haven't seen any
one, will you?"

**What have you done?'* she said conquering her
weakness with an effort, and standing up.

**Nothing,*' he replied, groaning occasionally as he
recovered breath. ''Business: that's all.'

"Why are the police pursuing you? Why are you in
such a dreadful condition?"

Cashel seemed alarmed at this. There was a mirror
in the lid of a paper-case on the table. He took it
up, and looked at himself anxiously, but was at once
relieved by what he saw. "I'm all right," he said.
"I'm not marked. That mouse" — he pointed gaily to
the lump under his eye — "will run away to-morrow.
I am pretty tidy, considering. But it's bellows to
mend with me at present. Whoosh! My heart's as
big as a bullock's, after that run."

"You ask me to shelter you," said Lydia sternly.
* 'What have you done? Have you committed murder?' '

"Nol" exclaimed Cashel, trying to open his eyes
widely in his astonishment, but only succeeding with
one, as the other was gradually closing. "I tell you
I've been fighting; and it*s illegal. You don't want
to see me in prison, do you? Confound him!" he

238 Cashel Byron's Profession

added, reverting to her question with sudden wrath:
"a steam-hammer wouldn't kill him. You might as
well hit a sack of nails. And all my money, my time,
Tiy training, and my day's trouble gone for nothing!
It's enough to make a man cry. "

'*Go/' said Lydia, with uncontrollable disgust.
"And do not let me see which way you go. How
dare you come to me?"

The sponge marks on Cashel' s face grew whiter;
and he began to pant heavily again. "Very well," he
said, "I'll go. There isn't a boy in your stables
would give me up like that.'*

As he spoke, he opened the door; but he involun-
tarily shut it again immediately. Lydia looked
through the window, and saw a crowd of men, police
and others, hurrying along the elm vista. Cashel cast
a glance round, half piteous, half desperate, like a
hunted animal. Lydia could not resist it. "Quick!"
she cried, opening one of the inner doors. "Go in
there, and keep quiet — if you can." And, as he
sulkily hesitated a moment, she stamped vehemently.
He slunk in; and she, having shut the door, resumed
her place at the writing table: her heart beating with
a kind of excitement she had not felt since, in her
early childhood, she had kept guilty secrets from her
nurse.

There was a tramping without, and a sound of
voices. Then two peremptory raps at the door.

"Come in,*' said Lydia, more composedly than she
knew. But the asked permission was not waited for.
Before she ceased speaking, a policeman opened the
door, and looked quickly round the room. He was
taken aback by what he saw, and finally touched his

Cashel Byron's Profession 239

helmet to signify respect for Lydia. As he opened his
mouth to speak, Phoebe, flushed with running, pushed
past him; put her hand on the door; and pertly asked .
what he wanted.

**Come away from the door, Phoebe,*' said Lydia
**Wait here with me until I give you leave to go,** she
added, as the girl moved towards the inner door.
*'Now," she said, turning courteously to the police-
man, "what is the matter?"

"I ask your pardon, mum," said the constable
agreeably. "Did you happen to see any one pass
hereabouts lately?**

"Do you mean a man only partly dressed, and
carrying a black coat?*' said Lydia.

"That's him, miss," said the policeman, greatly
interested. "Which way did he go?**

"I will shew you where I saw him," said Lydia, ris-
ing and going to the door, outside which she found a
crowd of rustics around five policemen, who held in
custody two men, one of whom was Mellish (without
a coat), and the other a hook-nosed man whose like
Lydia had seen often on racecourses. She pointed
out the glade across which she had seen Cashel run,
and felt as if the guilt of the deception was wrenching
some fibre in her heart from its natural order. But
she spoke with apparent self-possession; and no shade
of suspicion fell on the minds of the police.

Several peasants now came forward, each professing
to know exactly whither Cashel had been making when
he crossed the glade. Whilst they were arguing,
many persons, resembling the hook-nosed captive in
general appearance, sneaked into the crowd and
regarded the police with furtive hostility. Soon

240 Cashel Byron's Profession

after, a second detachment of police came up, with
another prisoner and another crowd: Bashville among
them.

''Better go in, mum/' said the policeman who had
spoken to Lydia first. **We must keep together, being
so few; and he ain't fit for you to look at."

But Lydia had looked already, and had guessed that
the last prisoner was Paradise, although his counte-
nance was damaged beyond recognition. His costume
was like that of Cashel, except that his girdle was a
blue handkerchief with white spots, and his shoulders
were wrapped in an old horsecloth, through the folds
of which his naked ribs could be seen, tinged with
every hue a bad bruise can assume. As to his face, a
crease and a hole amid a cluster of lumps of raw flesh
indicated the presence of an eye and a mouth: the rest
of his features were indiscernible. He could still see
a little; for he moved his puffed and lacerated hand
to arrange his blanket, and demanded hoarsely, and
with greatly impeded articulation, whether the lady
would stand a drain to a poor fighting man what had
done his best for his backers. On this some one pro-
duced a flask; and Mellish volunteered, provided he
were released for a moment, to get the contents down
Paradise's throat. As soon as the brandy had passed
his swollen lips, he made a few preliminary sounds,
and then shouted,

"He sent for the coppers because he couldn't stand
another round. I am ready to go on."

The policemen bade him hold his tongue, and closed
round him, hiding him from Lydia, who, without
shewing the mingled pity and loathing with which his
condition inspired her, told them to bring him to the

Cashel Byron's Profession 241

•

castle, and have him attended to there. She added
that the whole party could obtain refreshment at the
same time. The sergeant, who was very tired and
thirsty, wavered in his resolution to continue the
pursuit. Lydia, as usual, treated the matter as
settled.

"Bashville," she said: "will you please show them
the way, and see that they are satisfied."

''Some thief has stole my coat," said Mellish sul«
lenly to Bashville. "If you'll lend me one, governor^
and these blessed policemen will be so kind as not to
tear it off my back. Til send it down to you in a day
or two. Tm a respectable man, and have been her
ladyship's tenant here."

"Your pal wants it worse than you," said the ser-
geant. "If there was an old coachman's cape or any-
thing to put over him, I would see it returned safe. I
don't want to bring him round the country in a blanket,
like a wild Injin."

"I have a cloak inside," said Bashville. "I'll get
it for you." And before Lydia could devize a pretext
for stopping him, he disappeared, and she heard him
entering the lodge by the back door. It seemed to
her that a silence fell on them all, as if her deceit was
already discovered. Mellish, who had been waiting
for an opportunity to protest against the Jast remark
of the policeman, said angrily,

"Who are you calling my pal? I hope I may be
struck dead for a liar if I ever set eyes on him in my
life before."

Lydia looked at him as a martyr might look at a
wretch to whom she was to be chained. He was
doing as she had done — lying. Then Bashville, hav-

t .

242 Cashel Byron's Profession

ing passed through the other rooms, came into the
library by the inner door, with an old livery cloak on
his arm.

*Tut that on him/' he said; '*and come along to the
castle with me. You can see the roads for five miles
round from the south tower, and recognize every- man
on them through the big telescope. By your leave,
madam, I think Phoebe had better come with us to
help/;

**Certainly," said Lydia, looking quietly at him.

'*ril get clothes at the castle for the man that wants
them," he added, trying to return her gaze, but failing
with a blush. **Now boys. Come along.*'

**I thank your ladyship,*' said the sergeant. "We
have had a hard morning of it; and we can do no more
at present than drink your health." He touched his
helmet again; and Lydia bowed to him. **Keep close
together, men," he said, as the crowd moved off with
Bashville.

**Ah, sneered Mellish: **keep close together, like
the geese do. Things has come to a pretty pass when
a Englishman is run in for stopping when he sees a
crowd. ' '

**A11 right," said the sergeant. '*I have that bun-
dle of colored handkerchiefs you were selling; and
ril find the other man before you're a day older. It's
a pity, seeing how you've behaved so well and haven't
resisted us, that you don't happen to know where
those ropes and stakes are hid. I might have a good
word at the sessions for any one that would put me in
the way of finding them."

"Ropes and stakes! Fiddlesticks and grand-
mothers! There weren't no ropes and no stakes. It

Cashel Byron's Profession 243

was only a turn-up: that is, if there was any fighting
at all. * / didn't see none; but I s' pose you did. But
then you're clever; and I'm not."

By this time the last straggler of the party had dis-
appeared from Lydia, who had watched their retreat
from the door of the Warren Lodge. When she turned
to go in she saw Cashel cautiously entering from the
room in which he had lain concealed. His excitement
had passed off: he looked cold and anxious, as if a
reaction were setting in.

**Are they all gone?" he said. "That servant of
yours is a good sort. He has promised to bring me

some -clothes. As for you, you're better than

What's the matter? Where are you going to?"

Lydia had put on her hat, and was swiftly wrapping
herself in a shawl. Wreaths of rosy colour were chas-
ing each other through her cheeks; and her eyes and
nostrils, usually so traniiil, were dilated.*

* 'Won't you speak to me?" he said irresolutely.

*7ust this," she replied, with passion. "Let me
never see you again. The very foundations of my life
are loosened: I have told a lie. I have made my serv-
ant — an honorable man — my accomplice in a lie. We
are worse than you; for even your wild-beast's handi-
work is a less evil than the bringing of a falsehood
into the world. This is what has come to me out of
our acquaintance. I have given you a hiding-place.
Keep it. I will never enter it again."

Cashel, appalled, shrank back like a child which,
trying to steal sweetmeats from a high shelf, pulls the
whole cupboard down about its ears. He neither
spoke nor stirred as she left the Lodge.

At the castle she went to her boudoir, where she

244 Cashel Byron's Profession

found her maid the French lady, from whose indig-
nant description of the proceedings below she gath-
ered that the policemen were being regaled with bread
and cheese, beef and beer; and that the attendance of
a surgeon had been dispensed with, Paradise's wounds
having been dressed skilfully by Mellish. Lydia bade
her send Bash vi lie to the Warren Lodge to see
whether any strangers were still loitering about it;
and ordered that none of the female servants should
return there until he came back. Then she sat down,
and tried not to think. But as she could, not help
thinking, she submitted, and tried to think the late
catastrophe out. An idea that she had disjointed the
whole framework of things by creating a false belief,
filled her imagination. The one conviction she had
brought out of her reading was that the concealment
of a truth, with its resultant false beliefs, must produce
mischief, even though the beginning of that mischief
might be as inconceivable as the end. She made no
distinction between the subtlest philosophical sophism
and the vulgarest lie. The evil of ^Cashel's capture
was measurable, the evil of any lie beyond all measure.
She felt none the less assured of that evil because she
could not foresee one bad consequence likely to ensue
from what she had done. Her misgivings pressed
heavily upon her; for her father, a determined sceptic*
had left her destitute of the consolations which
theology has for the wrongdoer. It was plainly her
duty to send for the policeman and clear up the
deception she had practised on him. But this she
cQuld not do. Her will, in spite of her reason, acted
in the opposite direction. And in this paralysis of
her moral power she saw the evil of the lie beginning.

Cashel Byron s Profession 245

She had given it birth; and Nature would not permit
her to strangle the monster.

At last her maid returned and informed her that the
canaille had gone away. When s^e was again alone,
she rose, and walked slowly to and fro through the
room, forgetting the lapse of time in the restless
activity of her mind, until she was again interrupted,
this time by Bashville.

"Well?"

He was daunted by her tone; for he had never before
heard her speak haughtily to a servant. He did not
understand that he had changed subjectively, and was
now her accomplice.

*'He's given himself up."

**What do you mean?" she said, with sudden dis-
may.

"Byron, madam. I brought some clothes to the
Lodge for him; but when I got there he was gone. I
went round to the gates in search of him, and found
him in the hands of the police. They told me he'd
just given himself up. He wouldn't give any account
of himself; and he looked — well, sullen and beaten-
down like."

"What will they do with him?" she asked, turning
quite pale.

"A man got six weeks hard labor last month for the
same offense. Most likely that's what he'll get.
And very little for what he's done, as you'd say if you
saw him doing it, madam."

"Then, " said Lydia sternly, "it was to see this'* —
she shrank from naming it — "this fight, that you asked
my permission to go out!"

"Yes, madam, it was," said Bashville, with some

246 Cashel Byron's Profession

bitterness. '*I recognized Lord Worthington and
plenty more noblemen and gentlemen there."

Lydia was about to reply sharply; but she checked
herself; and her usual tranquil manner came back as
she said, **That is no reason why you should have been
there. ' *

Bashville's color began to waver, and his voice to
increased control. "It*s in human nature to go to
such a thing once/' he said; **but once is enough, at
least for me. You'll excuse my mentioning it, madam;
but what with Lord Worthington and the rest of
Byron's backers screaming oaths and abuse at the
other men; and the opposite party doing the same to
Byron — well, I may not be a gentleman; but I hope I
can conduct myself like a man, even when I'm losing
money."

"Then do not go to such an exhibition again, Bash-
ville. I must not dictate your amusements; but I do
not think you are likely to benefit yourself by copying
Lord Worthington's tastes."

"I copy no lord's tastes," said Bashville, redden-
ing. "You hid the man that was fighting. Miss
Carew. Why do you look down on the man that was
only a bystander?'*

Lydia* s color rose too. Her first impulse was to
treat this outburst as rebellion against her authority,
and crush it. But her vigilant sense of justice with-
held her. "He was a fugitive who took refuge in our
house, Bashville. You did not betray him."

"No," said Bashville, his expression subdued to
one of rueful pride. "When I am beaten by a better
man, I have courage enough to get out of his way and
take no mean advantage of him."

Cashe] Byron's Profession. 247

Lydia, not understanding, looked inquiringly at
him. He made a gesture as if throwing sometning
from him, and continued recklessly,

'*But one way Tm as good as he, and better. A
footman is held more respectable than a prizefighter.
He*s told you that he's in love with you; and if it is
to be my last word, I'll tell you that the ribbon round
your neck is more to me than your whole body and
soul is to him or his like. When he took an unfair
advantage of me, and pretended to be a gentleman, I
told Mr. Lucian of him, and shewed him up for what
he was. But when I found him to-day hiding in the
pantry at the Lodge, I took no advantage of him,
though I knew well that if he*d been no more to you
than any other man of his sort, you'd never have hid
him. You know best why he gave himself up to the
police after your seeing his day's work. But I will
leave him to his luck. He is the best man: let the
best man win. Fm sorry," added Bashville, recover-
ing his ordinary suave manner with an effort, "to
inconvenience you by a short notice; but I should take
it as a particular favor if I might go this evening."

"You had better," said Lydia, rising quite calmly,
and keeping resolutely away from her the strange
emotional effect of being astonished, outraged, and
loved at one unlooked-for stroke. "It is not advisable
that you should stay after what you have just "

"I knew that when I said it," interposed Bashville
hastily and doggedly.

"In going away you will be taking precisely the
course that would be adopted by any gentleman who
had spoken to the same effect. I am not offended by
your declaration: I recognize your right to make it.

248 Cashel Byron's Profession

If you need my testimony to further your future
arrangements, I shall always be happy to say that I
believe you to be a man of honor."

Bashville bowed, and said in a low voice, very
nervously, that he had no intention of going into serv-
ice again, but that he should always be proud of her
good opinion.

**You are fitted for better things," she said. "If
you embark in any enterprise requiring larger means
than you possess, I will be your surety. I thank you
for your invariable courtesy to me in the discharge of
your duties. Good-bye."

She bowed to him and left the room. Awestruck,
he returned her salutation as best he could, and stood
motionless after she disappeared: his mind advancing
on tiptoe to grasp what had just passed. His chief
' sensation was one of relief. He no longer dared to
fancy himself in love with such a woman. Her sud-
den consideration for him as a suitor overwhelmed him
with a sense of his unfitness for such a part. He saw
himself as a very young, very humble, and very igno-
rant man, whose head had been turned by a pleasant
place and a kind mistress. He stole away to pack his
trunk, and to consider how best to account to his fel-
low-servants for his sudden departure.

CHAPTER XIII

One afternoon, Lydia, returning from her daily con-
stitutional walk, descried a strange woman on the
castle terrace, in conversation with the butler. Though
it was warm autumn weather, this person wore a black
silk mantle trimmed with fur, and heavily decorated
with spurious jet beads. As the female Wiltstokeners
always approached Miss Carew in their best raiment,
whether it suited the season or not, she concluded that
she was about to be asked for a subscription to a
school treat, a temperance festival, or perhaps a testi-
monial to one of the Wiltstoken curates.

When she came nearer, she saw that the stranger
was an elderly lady — or possibly not a lady — with
crimped hair, and ringlets hanging at each ear in a
long-forgotten fashion.

"Here is Miss Carew,'* said the butler shortly, as if
the old lady had tried his temper. "You had better
talk to her yourself.*'

At this she seemed fluttered, and made a solemn
curtsy. Lydia, noticing the curtsy and the curls,
guessed that her visitor "kept a dancing academy. Yet
a certain contradictory hardihood in her frame and
bearing suggested that perhaps she kept a tavern.
However, as her face was, on the whole, an anxious
and a good face, and her attitude towards the lady of
the castle one of embarrassed humility, Lydia acknowl-
edged her salutation kindly, and waited for her to
speak.

249

250 Cashel Byron's Profession

'*I hope you won't consider it a liberty," said the
stranger tremulously. **Vm Mrs. Skene."

Lydia became ominously grave; and Mrs. Skene
reddened a little. Then she continued, as if repeating
a carefully prepared and rehearsed speech, "It would
be esteemed a favor if I might have the honor of a few
words in private."

Lydia looked and felt somewhat stern; but it was
not in her nature to rebuff any one without strong
provocation. She invited her visitor to enter, and led
the way to the circular drawing-room, the strange
decorations of which exactly accorded with Mrs.
Skene's ideas of aristocratic splendor. As a professor
of deportment and etiquette, the ex-champion's wife
was nervous under the observation of such an expert as
Lydia; but she rose to the occasion and got safely
seated without a mistake. For, although entering a
room seems a simple matter to many persons, it was
to Mrs. Skene an operation governed by the strict laws
of the art she professed — one so elaborate, indeed, that
few of her pupils mastered it satisfactorily in less than
half-a-dozen lessons. Mrs. Skene soon dismissed it
from her mind. She was too old to dwell upon such
vanities when real anxieties were pressing upon her.

•*Oh, miss," she began appealingly, "the boy!"

Lydia knew at once who was meant. But she
repeated, as if at a loss, 'The boy?" And imme-
diately accused herself of insincerity.

"Our boy, ma'am. Cashel."

"Mrs. Skene!" said Lydia, reproachfully.

Mrs. Skene understood all that Lydia' s tone implied.
"I know, ma'am," she pleaded. "I know well. But
what could I do but come to you? Whatever you

Cashel Byron's Profession 251

said to him, it has gone to his heart; and he's
dying."

*Tardon me," said Lydia promptly: "men do not
die of such things; and Mr. Cashel Byron is not so
deficient either in robustness of body or hardness of
heart as to be an exception to that rule."

"Yes, miss," said Mrs. Skene sadly. "You are
thinking of the profession. You can't believe he has
any feelings because he fights. Ah, miss, if you only
knew them as I do! More tender hearted men don't
breathe. Cashel is like a young child, his feelings are
that easily touched; and I have known stronger than
he to die of broken hearts only beca.use they were
unlucky in their calling. Just think what a high-
spirited young man must feel when a lady calls him a
wild beast. That was a cruel word, miss: it was
indeed."

Lydia was so disconcerted by this attack that she
had to collect herself carefully before replying. Then
she said, "Are you aware, Mrs. Skene, that my knowl-
edge of Mr. Byron is very slight — that. I have not seen
him ten times in my life? Perhaps you do not know
the circumstances in which we last met. I was greatly^
shocked by the injuries he had inflicted on another
man; and I believe I spoke of them as the work of a
wild beast. For your sake, I am sorry I said so; for
he has told me that he regards you as his mother;
but " / '

"Oh no! Far from it, miss. I ask your pardon a
thousand times for taking the word out of your mouth;
but me and Ned is no more to him than your house-
keeper or governess might be to you. That's what I'm
afraid you don't understand, miss. He's no relation

252 Cashel Byron's Profession

of ours. I do assure you that he's a gentleman born
and bred; and when we go back to Melbourne next
Christmas, it will be just the same as if he had never
known us."

*'I hope he will not be so ungrateful as to forget
you. He has told me his history."

* 'That's more than he ever told me, miss; so you
may judge how much he thinks of you."

Another pause followed this. Mrs. Skene felt that
the first round was over, and that she had held her own
with a little to spare. But Lydia soon rallied.

'*Mrs. Skene," she said, penetratingly: "when you
came to pay me this visit, what object did you propose
to yourself? What do you expect me to do?"

"Well, ma'am," said Mrs. Skene, troubled, "the
poor lad has had crosses lately. There was the disap-
pointment about you — the first one, I mean — that had
been preying on his mind for a long time. Then
there was that exhibition spar at the Agricultural
Hall, when Paradise acted so dishonorable. Cashel
heard that you were looking on; and then he read the
shameful way the newspapers wrote of him; and he
thought you'd believe it all. I couldn't get that
thought out of his head. I said to him, over and over
again "

"Excuse me," said Lydia, interrupting. "We had
better be frank with one another. It is useless to
assume that he mistook my feeling on that subject. I
was shocked by the severity with which he 'treated his
opponent."

"But bless you, that's his business," said Mrs.
Skene, opening her eyes widely. "I put it to you,
miss," she continued, as if mildly reprobating some

Cashel Byron's Profession 253

want of principle on Lydia's part, ''whether an honest
man shouldn't fulfil his engagements. I assure you
that the pay a respectable professional usually gets for
a spar like that is half a guinea; and that was all Para-
dise got. But Cashel stood on his reputation, and.
wouldn't take less than ten guineas; and he gotit too.
Now many another in his position would have gone
into the ring, and fooled away the time pretending to
box, and just swindling those that paid him. But
Cashel is as honest and high-minded as a king. You
saw for yourself the trouble he took. He couldn't' have
spared himself less if he had been fighting for a thou-
sand a side and the belt, instead of for a paltry ten
guineas. Surely you don't think the worse of him for
his honesty, miss?"

**I confess," said Lydia, laughing in spite of herself,
**that your view of the transaction did not occur to
me.

**Of course not, ma'am: no more it wouldn't to any
one, without they were accustomed to know the right
and wrong of the profession. Well, as I was saying,
miss, that was a fresh disappointment to him. It
worrited him more than you can imagine. Then came
a deal of bother about the match with Paradise. First
Paradise could only get five hundred pounds; and the
boy wouldn't agree for less than a thousand. I think
it's on your account that he's been so particular about
the money of late; for he was never covetious before.
Then Mellish was bent on its coming off down here-
abouts; and the poor lad was so mortal afraid of its
getting to your ears that he wouldn't consent until
they persuaded him you would be in foreign parts in
August. Glad I was when the articles were signed at

254 Cashel Byron's Profession

last, before he was worrited into his grave. All the
time he was training he was longing for a sight of you;
but he went through with it as steady and faithful as a
man could. And he trained beautiful. I saw him on
the morning of the fight; and he was like a shining
angel: it would have done a lady's heart good to look
at him. Ned went about like a madman offering
twenty to one on him: if he had lost, we should have
been ruined at this moment. And then to think of the
police coming just as he was finishing Paradise. I
I cried like a child when I heard of it: I don't think
there was ever anything so cruel. He could have fin-
ished him quarter of an hour sooner, only he held back
to make the market for Ned." Mrs. Skene, over-
come, blew her nose before proceeding. **Then, on
the top of that, came what passed betwixt you and
him, and made him give himself up to the police.
Lord Worthington bailed him out; but what with the
disgrace, and the disappointment, and his time and
money thrown away, and the sting of your words all
coming together, he was quite brokenhearted. And
now he mopes and frets; and neither me nor Ned nor
Fan can get any good of him. They tell me that he
won't be sent to prison; but if he is" — here Mrs. Skene
broke down and began to cry — **it will be the death of
him; and God forgive those that have brought it
about."

Sorrow always softened Lydia; but tears hardened
her again: she had no patience with them.

"And the other man?" she said. "Have you heard
anything of him? I suppose he is in some hospital."

"In hospital!" repeated Mrs. Skene, checking her
tears in alarm. "Who?"

Cashel Byron's Profession 255

"Paradise," replied Lydia, pronouncing the name
reluctantly.

**He in hospital! Why, bless your innocence, miss,
I saw him yesterday looking as well as such an ugly
brute could look: not a mark on him, and he bragging
what he would have done to Cashel if the police
hadn't come up! He's a nasty low fighting man, so
he is; and I'm only sorry that our boy demeaned him-
self to strip with the like of him. I hear that Cashel *
made a perfect picture of him, and that you saw him.
I suppose you were frightened, ma'am, and very natu-
rally too, not being used to such sights. I have had
my Ned brought home to me in that state that I have
poured brandy into his eye, thinking it was his mouth;
and even Cashel, careful as he is, has been nearly
blind for three days. It's not to be expected that they
could have all the money for nothing. Don't let it
prey on your mind, miss. If you married — I am only'
supposing it," said Mrs. Skene in soothing parenthesis '
as she saw Lydia shrink from the word — "if you were
married to a great surgeon, as you ipight be without
derogation to your high rank, you'd be ready to faint
if you saw him cut off a leg or an arm, as he would
have to do every day for his livelihood; but you'd be
proud of his cleverness in being able to do iL That's
how I feel with regard to Ned. I tell you the truth,
ma'am, I shouldn't like to see him in the ring no more
than the lady of an officer in the Guards would like to
see her husband in the field of battle running his sword
into the poor blacks or into the French; but as it's his
profession, and people think so highly of him for it, I
make up my mind to it; and now I take quite an
interest in it, particularly as it does nobody any harm.

256 Cashel Byron's Profession

Not that I would have you think that Ned ever took
the arm or leg off a man: Lord forbid! or Cashel
either. Oh ma'am, I thank you kindly; and I'm sorry
you should have given yourself the trouble." This
referred to the entry of a servant with tea.

"Still," said Lydia, when they were at leisure to
resume the conversation, **I do not quite understand
why you have come to me. Personally you are most
welcome; but in what way did you expect to relieve
Mr. Byron's mind by visiting me? Did he ask you to
come?"

**He'd have died first. I came down of my own
accord, knowing what was the matter with him."

''And what then?"

Mrs. Skene looked around to satisfy herself that
they were alone. Then she leaned towards Lydia,
and said in an emphatic whisper,

"Why not marry him, miss?"

"Because I don't chose, Mrs. Skene," said Lydia,
with perfect good humor.

"But consider a little, miss. Where will you ever
get such another chance? Only think what a man he
is: champion of the world and a gentleman as well!
The two things have never happened before, and never
will again. I have known lots of champions; but they
were not fit company for the like of you. Ned was
champion when I married him; and my family thought
that I lowered myself in doing it, because I was a pro-
fessional dancer on the stage. The men in the ring
are common men mostly; and so ladies are cut off
from their society. But it has been your good luck
to take the fancy of one that's a gentleman. What
more could a lady desire? Where will you find his

Cashel Byron's Profession 257

equal in health, strength, good looks or good manners?
As to his character, I can tell you about that. In Mel-
bourne, as you may suppose, all the girls and women
were breaking their hearts for his sake. I declare to
you that I used to have two or three of them in every
evening merely to look at him; and he, poor innocent
lad, taking no more notice of them than if they were
cabbages. He used to be glad to get away from them
by going into the saloon to box with the gentlemen;
and then they used to peep at him through the door and
get worse than ever. But they never got a wink from
him. You were the first. Miss Carew; and, believe
me, you will be the last. If there had ever been
another, he couldn't have kept it from me; because his
disposition is as open as a child's. And his honesty
is beyond everything you can imagine. I have known
him to be offered eight hundred pounds to lose a fight
that he could only get two hundred by winning, not
to mention his chance of getting nothing at all if he
lost honestly. You kndw — for I see you know the
world, ma'am — how few men would be proof against
such a temptation. There are men high up in their
profession — so high that you'd as soon suspect the
queen on her throne of selling her country's battles as
them — that fight across on the sly when it's made
worth their while. My Ned is no low prizefighter, as
is well known; but when he let himself be beat by that
little Killarney Primrose, and went out and bought a
horse and trap next day, what could I think? There,
ma'am: I tell you that of my own husband; and I tell
you that Cashel never was beat, although times out of
mind it would have paid him better to lose than to
win, along of those wicked betting men. Not an

258 Cashel Byron's Profession

angry word have I ever had from him, nor the sign of
liquor have I ever seen on him, except once on Ned's
birthday; and then nothing but fun came out of him
in his cups, when the truth comes out of all men. Oh
do just think how happy you ought to be, miss, if you
would only bring yourself to look at it in the proper
light. A gentleman born and bred, champion of the
world, sober, honest, spotless as the unborn babe, able
to take his own part and yours in any society, and mad
in love with you! He thinks you an angel from
heaven — and so I am sure you are, miss, in your heart.
I do assure you that my Fan gets quite put out because
she thinks he draws comparisons to her disadvantage.
I don't think you can be so hard to please as to refuse
him, miss."

Lydia leaned back in her chair, and looked at Mrs.
Skene with a curious expression which soon brightened
into an irrepressible smile. Mrs. Skene smiled very
slightly in complaisance, but conveyed by her seri-
ous brow that what she had said was no laughing
matter.

"I must take some time to consider all that you
have so eloquently urged," said Lydia. **I am in
earnest, Mrs. Skene: you have produced a great
effect upon me. Now let us talk of something else
for the present. Your daughter is quite well, I
hope."

"Thank you kindly, ma'am, she enjoys her health."
'And you also?"

1 am as well as can be expected," said Mrs. Skene,
too fond of commiseration to admit that she was in
perfect health.

**You must have a rare sense of security," said

Cashel Byron's Profession 259

Lydia, watching her, "being happily married tp so
celebrated a — a professor of boxing as Mr. Skene Is
it not pleasant to have a powerful protector?"

*'Ah, miss, you little know," exclaimed Mrs. Skene,
falling into the trap baited by her own grievances, and
losing sight of Cashel' s interests. **The fear of his
getting into trouble is never o£E my mind. Ned is
quietness itself until he has a drop of drink in him;
and then he is like the rest — ready to fight the first
that provokes him. And if the police get hold of him
he has no chance. There's no justice for a fighting
man. Just let it be said that he's a professional, and
that's enough for the magistrate: away with him to
prison, and good-bye to his pupils and his respecta-
bility at once. That's what I live in terror of. And
as to being protected, I'd let myself be robbed fifty
times over sooner than say a word to him that might
bring on a quarrel. Many a time driving home of a
night have I overpaid the cabman on the sly, afraid
he would grumble and provoke Ned. It's the drink
that does it all. Gentlemen are proud to be seen
speaking with him in public; and they come up one
after another asking what he'll have, until the next
thing he knows is that he's in bed with his boots on,
his wrist sprained, and maybe his eye black, trying to
remember what he was doing the night before. What
I suffered the first three years of our marriage none
can tell. Then he took the pledge; and ever since
that he's been very good. I haven't seen him what
you could fairly call drunk, not more than three times a
year. It was the blessing of God, and a beating he
got from a milkman in Westminster, that made him
ashamed of himself. I kept him to it and emigrated

26o Cashel Byron's Profession

him out of the way of his old friends. Since that,
there has been a blessing on him; and we've pros-
pered."

**Is Cashel quarrelsome?"

The tone of this question awakened Mrs. Skene to
the untimeliness of her complaints. **No, no," she
protested. '*He never drinks; and as to fighting, if
you can believe such a thing, miss, I don't think he
has had a casual turn-up three times in his life: not
oftener, at any rate. All he wants is to be married;
and then he'll be steady to his grave. But if he's
left adrift now. Lord knows what will become of hin\.
He'll mope first — he's moping at present — ; then he'll
drink; then he'll lose his pupils; get out of condition,

be beaten, and One word from you, miss, would

save him. If I might just tell him "

"Nothing," said Lydia. "Absolutely nothing.
The only assurance I can give you is that you have
softened the opinion I had formed of some of his
actions. But that I should marry Mr. Cashel Byron is
simply the most improbable thing in the world. All
questions of personal inclination apart, the mere
improbability is enough in itself to appal an ordinary
woman.**

Mrs. Skene did not quite understand this; but she
understood sufficient for her purpose. She rose to go,
shaking her head despondingly, and saying, "I see
how it is, ma'am. You think him beneath you. Your
relations wouldn't like it."

"There is no doubt that my relations would be
greatly shocked; and I am bound to take that into
account — for what it is worth."

"We should never trouble you," said Mrs. Skene,

Cashel Byron's Profession 261

lingering. "England will see the last of usfin a month
or two."

"That will make no difference to me, except that I
shall regret not being able to have a pleasant chat with
you occasionally." This was not true; but Lydia
fancied that she was beginning to take a hardened
delight in lying.

Mrs. Skene was not to be consoled by compliments.
She again shook her head. **It is very kind of you to
give me good words, miss," she said; "but if I might
have one for the boy, you could say what you liked to
me.

Lydia considered far before she replied. At last
she said, "I am sorry I spoke harshly to him, since,
driven as he was by circumstances, I cannot see how
he could have acted otherwise than he did. And I
overlooked the economics of his profession. In short,
I am not used to fisticuffs; and what I saw shocked
me so much that I was unreasonable. But," continued
Lydia, checking Mrs. Skene's rising hope with a warn-
ing finger, "how, if you tell him this, will you make
him understand that I say so as an act of justice, and
not in the least as a proffer of affection?"

"A crumb of comfort will satisfy him, miss. Til
just tell him that I've seen you, and that you meant
nothing by what you said the other "

"Mrs. Skene," said Lydia, interrupting her softly:
"tell him nothing at all as yet. I have made up my
mind at last. If he does not hear from me within a
fortnight, you may tell him what you please. Can
you wait so long?"

"Of course. Whatever you wish, ma'am. But
Mellish's benefit is to be to-morrow night; and "

262 Cashel Byrons Profession

**What have I to do with Mellish or his benefit?"

Mrs. Skene, abashed, murmured apologetically that
she was only wishful that the boy should do himself
credit.

"If he is to benefit Mellish by beating somebody, he
will not be behindhand. Remember: you are not to
mention me for a fortnight. Is that a bargain?"

''Whatever you wish, ma'am," repeated Mrs. Skene,
hardly satisfied. But Lydia gave her no further com-
fort; so she begged to take her leave, expressing a
hope that things would turn out to the advantage of
all parties. Lydia insisted on her partaking of some
solid refreshment, and afterwards drove her to the
railway station in the pony-carriage. Just before they
parted, Lydia, suddenly recurring to their former sub-
ject, said,

**Does Mr. Byron ever think f*

''Think!" said Mrs. Skene emphatically. "Never.
There isn't a more cheerful lad in ex istence^ miss."

Then Mrs. Skene was carried away to London,
wondering whether it could be quite right for a young
lady to live in a gorgeous castle without any elder of
her own sex, and to speak freely and civilly to her
inferiors. When she got home, she said nothing of
her excursion to Skene, who had never been known to
keep a secret except as to the whereabouts of a pro-
jected fight. But she sat up late with her daughter
Fanny, tantalizing her by accounts of the splendor of
the castle, and consoling her by describing Miss Carew
as a slight creature with red hair and no figure (Fanny
having jet black hair, fine arms, and being one of
Cashel's most proficient pupils).

"All the same, Fan," added Mrs. Skene, as she

Cashel Byron's Profession 263

took her candlestick at two In the morning, **i{ it
comes off, Cashel will never be master in his own
house."

**I can see that very plain," said Fanny; '*but if
respectable professional people are not good enough
for him, he will have only himself to thank if he gets
himself looked down upon by empty-headed swells."

Meanwhile, Lydia, on her return to the castle after
a long drive round the country, had attempted to over-
come an attack of restlessness by getting to work on
the biography of her father. With a view to prepar-
ing a chapter on his taste in literature she had lately
been examining his favorite books for marked pas-
sages. She now resumed this search, standing perched
on the library ladder, taking down volume after vol-
ume, and occasionally dipping into the contents for a
few pages or so. At this desultory work the time
passed as imperceptibly as the shadows lengthened.
The last book she examined was a volume of poems.
There were no marks in it; but it opened at a page
which had evidently lain open often before. The first
words Lydia saw were these:

"What would I give for a heart of flesh to warm me through
Instead of this heart of stone ice-cold whatever I do!
Hard and cold and small, of all hearts the worst of all.*'

Lydia hastily stepped down from the ladder, and
recoiled until she reached a chair, where she sat and
read and re-read these lines. The failing light roused
her to action. She replaced the book on the shelf,
and said, as she went to the writing table, **If such a
doubt as that haunted my father, it will haunt me,
unless I settle what is to be my heart's business now

264 Cashel Byron's Profession

and for ever. If it be possible for a child of mine to
escape this curse, it must inherit its immunity from
its father, and not from me— from the man of impulse
who never thinks, and not from the rationalizing
woman, who cannot help thinking. Be it so."

CHAPTER XIV

Before many days had elapsed, a letter came for
Cashel as he sat taking tea with the Skene family.
When he saw the handwriting, a deep red color
mounted to his temples.

**0h LorT' said Miss Skene who sat next him.
"Let's read it."

"Go to the dickens," cried Cashel, hastily baffling
her as she snatched at it.

"Don't worrit him, Fan," said Mrs. Skene tenderly.

"Not for the world, poor dear," said Miss Skene,
putting her hand affectionately on his shoulder. "Let
me just peep at the name — only to see who it's from.
Do, Cashel dear,''

"It's from nobody," said Cashel. "Here: get out.
If you don't let me alone, I'll make it warm for you
the next time you come to me for a lesson."

"Very likely," said Fanny contemptuously. "Who
had the best of it to-day, I should like to know?"

"Gev him a hot un on the chin with her right as ever
I see," observed Skene, with hoarse mirth.

Cashel moved out of Fanny's reach to read the let-
ter, which ran thus:

Regent's Park,

Dear Mr. Cashel Byron

I am desirous that you should meet a friend of mine.
She will be here at three o'clock to-morrow afternoon. You
would oblige me greatly by calling on me at that hour.

Yours faithfully,

Lydia Carew.
26s

266 Cashel Byron's Profession

There was a long pause, during which there was no
sound in the room except the ticking of the clock and
the munching of shrimps by the ex-champion.

"Good news, I hope, Cashel,** said Mrs, Skene at
last, tremulously.

"Blow me if I understand it," said Cashel. "Can you
make it out?** And he handed the letter to his adopted
mother.

Skene stopped eating to see his wife read, a feat
which was to him one of the wonders of learning.

"I thi'nk the lady she mentions must be herself,"
said Mrs. Skene, after some consideration.

"No, said Cashel, shaking his head. "She alwasrs
says what she means."

"Ah," said Skene cunningly; "but she can't write it
though. That's the worst of writing: no one can't
never tell exactly what it means. I never signed
articles yet that there weren't some misunderstanding
about; and articles is the best writing that can be had
anywhere."

"You'd better go and see what it means," said
Mrs. Skene.

"Right," said Skene. "Go and have it out with
her, my boy."

"It is short, and not particularly sweet," sa|fl
Fanny. "She might have had the civility to put her
crest at the top."

"What would you give to be her?" said Cashel
derisively, catching the letter as she tossed it disdain-
fully to him.

"If I was, I'd respect myself more than to throw
myself diiyour head."

"Hush, Fanny," said Mrs. Skene: "you're too

Cashel Byron's Profession 267

sharp. Ned: you oughtn't to encourage her by
laughing."

Next day Cashel paid extra attention to his diet;
took some exercise with the gloves; had a bath and a
rub down; and presented himself at Regent's Park at
three o'clock in excellent condition. Expecting to
see Bashville, he was surprised when the door was
opened by a female servant.

**Miss Carew at home?"

**Yes, sir/' said the girl, falling in love with him at
first sight. *'Mr. Byron, sir?"

'That's me," ^said CasheU "I say: is there any
one with her?"

"Only a lady, sir.'

**0h damn! Well, it can't be helped. Never say
die."

The girl led him to a door; and when he entered
shut it softly without announcing him. The room
was a picture gallery, lighted from the roof. At the
end, with their backs towards him, were two ladies:
Lydia, and a woman 'whose noble carriage and elegant
form would have raised hopes of beauty in a man less
preoccupied than Cashel. But he, after advancing
some distance with his eyes on Lydia, suddenly
changed countenance; stopped; and was actually
turning to fly when the ladies, hearing his light step,
faced about and rooted him to the spot. As Lydia
offered him her hand, her companion, who had sur-
veyed the visitor first with indifference and then with
incredulous surprise, exclaimed, in a burst of delighted
recognition, like a child finding a long lost plaything,
**My darling boy!" And going to Cashel with the
grace of a swan, she clasped him in her arms. In

268 Cashel Byron's Profession

acknowledgment of which, he thrust his red discom-
fited face over her shoulder; winked at Lydia with his
tongue in his cheek; and said,

'This is what you may call the Voice of Nature, and
no mistake."

"What a splendid creature you are!" said Mrs.
Byron, holding him a little away from her, the better
to admire him. How handsome you are, you wretch!"

**How d'ye do, Miss Carew," said Cashel, breaking
loose, and turning to Lydia. * 'Never mind her: it's
only my mother. At least," he added, as if correct-
ing himself, "she's my mamma."

"And where have you come from? Where have you
been? Do you know that I have not seen you for
seven years, you unnatural boy? Think of his being
my son, Miss Carew! Give me another kiss, my
own," she continued, grasping his arm affectionately.
"What a muscular creature you are!"

"Kiss away as much as you like," said Cashel,
struggling with the old schoolboy sullenness as it
returned oppressively upon him. "I suppose you're
well. You look right enough."

"Yes," she said mockingly, beginning to. despise
him for his inability to act up to her in this thrilling
scene: "I am right enough. Your language is as
refined as ever. And why do you get your hair
cropped close like that? You must let it grow,
and "

"Now look here," said Cashel, stopping her hand
neatly as she raised it to re-arrange his locks. "You
just drop it, or I'll walk out at that door and you
won't see me again for another seven years. You can
either take me as you find me, or let me alone. If you

Cashel Byron's Profession 269

want to know the reason for my wearing my hair short,
you'll find it in the histories of Absalom and Dan
Mendoza. Now are you any the wiser?"

Mrs. Byron became a shade colder. "Indeed!" she
said. *7^st the same still, Cashel?"

"Just the same, both one and other of us," he
replied. "Before you spoke six words, I felt as if
we'd parted only yesterday.'

"I am rather taken aback by the success of my
experiment," interposed Lydia. "I invited you pur-
posely to meet one another. The resemblance between
you led me to suspect the truth; and my suspicion was
confirmed by the account Mr. Byron gave me of his
adventures."

Mrs. Byron's vanity was touched. "Is he like me?"
she said, scanning his features. He, without heeding
her, said to Lydia with undisguised mortification,

"And was that -why you sent for me?"

"Are you disappointed?" said Lydia

"He is not in the least glad to see me," said Mrs.
Byron plaintively. "He has no heart."

"Now she'll go on for the next hour," said Cashel,
looking to Lydia, obviously because he found it much
pleasanter than looking at his mother. "No matter:
if you don't care, I don't. So fire away, mamma."

"And you think we are really like one another?"
said Mrs. Byron, not heeding him. "Yes: I think we

are. There is a slight " She broke off, and added

with sudden mistrust, "Are you married, Cashel?"

"Ha! ha! ha!" shouted Cashel. "No; but I hope
to be, someday." And he ventured to glance again
at Lydia, who was, however, attentively observing
Mrs. Byron.

270 Cashel Byron's Profession

"Well, tell me everything about yourself. What
are you? Now I do hope, Cashel, that you have not
gone upon the stage."

"The stage!" said Cashel contemptuously. "Do I
look like it?"

"You certainly do not," said Mrs. Byron whimsi*
cally, "although you have a certain odious professional
air too. What did you do when you ran away so scan*
dalously from that stupid school in the north? How
do you earn your living? Or do you earn it?"

"I suppose I do, seeing that I am alive. What do
you think I was best fit for after my bringing up?
Crossing sweeping, perhaps! When I ran away from
Panley, I went to sea."

"A sailor, of all things! You don't look like one.
And pray, what rank have you attained in your pro-
fession?"

"The front rank. The top of the tree," said Cashel
shortly.

"Mr. Byron is not at present following, the profes-
sion of a sailor, nor has he done so for many years,"
said Lydia.

Cashel looked at her, half in appeal, half in remon-
strance.

"Something very different indeed," pursued Lydia,
with quiet obstinacy. "And something very startling."

"C2«7 you shut up," exclaimed Cashel. "I should
have expected more sense from you. What's the use
of setting her on to make a fuss and put me in a rage?
ril go away if you don't stop."

"What is the matter?" said Mrs. Byron. "Have
you been doing anything disgraceful, Cashel?"

"There she goes: I told you so. I keep a gym-

Cashel Byron's Profession 271

nasium: that's all. .There's nothing disgraceful in
that, I hope.'*

*'A gymnasium!" repeated Mrs. Byron, with imperi-
ous disgust. '*What nonsense! You must give up
everything of that kind, Cashel. It is very silly, and
very low. You were too ridiculously proud, of course,
to come to me for the means of keeping yourself in a
proper position. I suppose I shall have to provide

you with **

"If I ever take a penny from you, may I —
Cashel caught Lydia's anxious look, and checked him-
self. He lightly retreated a step, a cunning smile
flickering on his lips. "No,** he said: "it's just play-
ing into your hands to lose temper with you. Make
me angry now if you can."

"There is not the slightest reason for anger," said
Mrs. Byron, angry herself. "Your temper seems to
have become ungovernable — or rather to have remained
so; for it was never remarkable for sweetness."

"No?" retorted Cashel, jeering good-humoredly.
"Not the slightest occasion to lose my temper! Not
when I am told that I am silly and low! Why, I think
you must fancy that you're talking to your little
Cashel, that blessed child you were so fond of. But
you're not. You're talking — now for a screech, Miss
Carew! — to the champion of Australia, the United
States, and England; holder of three silver belts and
one gold one; professor of boxing to the nobility and
gentry of St. James's; and common prizefighter to the
whole globe without reference to weight or color for
not less than ;^500 a side. That's Cashel Byron."

Mrs. Byron recoiled, astounded. After a pause,
she «aid, "Oh, Cashel, how could you?" Then,

272 Cashel Byron's Profession

approaching him again, "Do you mean to say that
you go out and fight those great rough savages?"

**Yes, I do. You can have the gold belt to wear in
King John if you think it'll become you."

'*And that you beat them?"

"Yes. Ask Miss Carew how Billy Paradise looked
after standing before me for an hour."

"You wonderful boy! What an occupation! And
have you done all this in your own name?"

"Of course I have. I am not ashamed of it. I often
wondered whether you had seen my name in the
papers?"

"I never read the papers. But you must have heard
of my return to England. Why did you not come to
see me?"

"I wasn't quite certain that you would like it," said
Cashel uneasily, avoiding her eye. "Hallo!" he
exclaimed, as he attempted to refresh himself by
another look at Lydia: "she's given us the slip."

"She is quite right to leave us alone together under
the circumstances. And now tell me why my precious
boy should doubt that his own mother wished to see
him."

"I don't know why he should," said Cashel, with
melancholy submission to her affection. "But he
did."

"How insensible you are! Did you not know that
you were always my cherished darling — my only son?"

Cashel, who was now sitting beside her on an otto-
man, groaned, and moved restlessly, but said nothing.

"Are you glad to see me?"

"Yes," said Cashel dismally, "I suppose I am.
1 By Jingo!" he cried, with sudden animation,

Cashel Byron's Profession 273

"perhaps you can give me a lift here. I never thought
of that. I say, mamma: I am in great trouble at pres-
ent; and I think you can help me if you will."

Mrs. Byron looked at him satirically. But she
said soothingly, **0f course I will help you — as far
as I am able — my precious one. All I possess is
yours."

Cashel ground his feet on the flopr impatiently, and
then sprang up. After an interval, during which he
seemed to be swallowing some indignant protest, he
said,

"You may put your mind at rest, once and for all,
on the subject of money. I don't want anything of
that sort."

"I am glad you are so independent, Cashel."

"So am I."

"Do, pray, be more amiable."

"I am amiable enough," he cried desperately, "only
you won't listen."

"My treasure," said Mrs. Byron remorsefully.
"What is the matter?"

"Well, said Cashel, somewhat mollified, "it's this.
I want to marry Miss Carew: that's all."

''You marry Miss Carew!" Mrs. Byron's tenderness
had vanished; and her tone was shrewd and con-
temptuous. "Do you know, you silly boy, that "

"I know all about it," said Cashel determinedly:
"what she is; and what I am; and the rest of it. And
I want to marry her; and, what's more, I wiU marry
her, if I have to break the neck of every swell in Lon-
don first. So you can either help me or not, as you
please; but if you won't, never call me your precious
boy any more. Now!"

274 Cashel Byron's Profession

Mrs. Byron abdicated her dominion there and then
for ever. She sat with quite a mild expression for
some time in silence. Then she said,

** After all, I do not see why you should not. It
would be a very good match for you."

'*Yes; but a deuced bad one for her.'*

"Really I do not see that, Cashel. When your uncle
dies, I suppose you will succeed to the Dorsetshire
property.'*

"I the heir to a property! Are you in earnest?".

**0f course. Old Bingley Byron, disagreeable as he
is, cannot live for ever."

"Who the dickens is Bingley Byron; and what has
he to do with me?'*

"Your uncle, of course. Really, Cashel, you ought
to think about these things. Did it never occur to you
that you must have relatives, like other people?"

"You never told me anything about them. Well, I

am blowed! But — but — I mean . Supposing he is

my uncle, am I his lawful heir?"

"Yes. Walford Byron, the only brother besides
your father, died years ago, whilst you were at Mon-
crief s; and he had no sons. Bingley is a bachelor."

"But," said Cashel cautiously, "won't there be some
bother about my — at least "

"My dearest child, what are you thinking or talking
about. Nothing can be clearer than your title."

"Well," said Cashel blushing, "a lot of people used
to make out that you weren't married at all."

"What!" exclaimed Mrs. Byron indignantly. "Oh,
they dare not say so! Impossible. Why did you not
tell me at once?"

"I didn't think about it," said Cashel, hastily excus*

Cashel Byron's Profession 275

ing himself. **I was too young to care. It doesn't
matter now. My father is dead, isn't he?"

"He died when you were a baby. You have often
made me angry with you, poor little innocent, by
reminding me of him. Do not talk of him to me."

**Not if you don't wish. Just one thing though,
mamma. Was he a gentleman?"

'*Of course. What a question!"

*Then I am as good as any of the swells that think,
themselves her equals? She has a cousin in a govern-
ment office: a fellow that gives himself out as the
Home Secretary, and most likely sits in a big chair in
a hall and cheeks the public. Am I as good as
he is?"

VYou are perfectly well connected by your mother's
side, Cashel. The Byrons are only commoners; but
even they are one of the oldest county families in Eng-
land."

Cashel began to show signs of excitement. "How
much a year are they worth?" he demanded.

"I don't know how much they are worth now:, your
father was always in difficulties; and so was his father.
But Bingley is a miser. Five thousand a year, per-
haps." ^

'That's an independence. That's enough. She
said she couldn't expect a man to be so thunderingly
rich as she is."

"Indeed? Then you have discussed the questibn
with her?"

Cashel was about to speak, when the maid entered
to say that Miss Carew was in the library, and begged
that they would come to her as soon as they were quite
disengaged. As the girl withdrew, he said eagerly,

• * * i*"* Sv

276 Cashel Byron's Profession

"I wish you'd go home, mamma, and let me catch
her in the library by herself. Tell me where you live;
and ril come in the evening and let you know all
about it. That is, if you have no objection."

"What objection could I possibly have, dearest one?
Are you sure you are not spoiling your chance by too
much haste? She has no occasion to hurry, Cashel;
and she knows it.**

"I am dead certain that now is my time or never. I
always know by instinct when to go in and finish.
Here's your mantle."

"In such a hurry to get rid of your poor old mother,
Cashel?"

"Oh bother! you're not old. You won't mind my
wanting you to go for this once, will you?"

She smiled affectionately; put on her mantle; and
turned her cheek towards him to be kissed. The
unaccustomed gesture alarmed him: he got away a
step, and involuntarily assumed an attitude of self-
defence, as if the problem before him were a pugilistic
one. Recovering himself immediately, he kissed her,
and impatiently accompanied her to the house door,
which he closed softly behind her, leaving her to walk
in search of her carriage alone. Then he stole upstairs
to the library, where he found Lydia reading.

"She's gone," he said.

Lydia put down her book; looked up at him; saw
what was coming; looked down again to hide a spasm
of terror; and said, with a steady severity that cost
her a great effort, "I hope you have nbt quar-*
relied."

"Lord bless you, no! We kissed one another like
turtle doves. At odd moments she wheedles me into

• • • •

Cashel Byron's Profession 277

feeling fond of her in spite of myself. She went away
because I asked her to."

**And why do you ask my guests to go away?"

"Because I wanted to be alone with you. Don't
look as if you didn't understand. She's told me a
whole heap of things about myself that alter our
affairs completely. My birth is all right; I'm heir to
a county family that came over with the Conqueror; and
I shall have a decent income. I can afford to give
away weight to old Webber now."

"Well?" said Lydia sternly.

"Well," said Cashel unabashed, "the only use of all
that to me is that I may marry if I like. No more
fighting or teaching now."

"And when you are married, will you be as tender
to your wife as you are to your mother?"

Cashel's elation vanished. "I knew you'd think
that," he said. "I am always the same with her: I
can't help it. I can't like a woman through thick and
thin merely because she happens to be my mother;
and I won't pretend to do it to please anybody. She
makes me look like a fool, or like a brute. Have I
ever been so with you?"

"Yes," said Lydia. "Except," she added, "that
you have never shewn absolute dislike to me."

"Ah! Except! That's a very big except. But I,
don't dislike her. Blood is thicker than water; and I
have a softness for her; only I won't put up with her
nonsense. But it's different with you — I can't explain
how, because I'm not good at sentiment — not that
there's any sentiment about it. At least, I don't mean

that; but You're fond of me in a sort of way,

ain't you?"

278 Cashel Byron's Profession

"Yes, Fm fond of you in a sort of way."

*'Well, then,** he said uneasily, "won't you marry
me? Tm not such a fool as you think; and you'll like
me better after a while."

Lydia became very pale. "Have you considered,"
she said, "that henceforth you will be an idle man, and
that I shall always be a busy woman, pre-occupied with
work that may seem very dull to you?"

"I won't be idle. There's lots of things lean do
besides boxing. We'll get on together, never fear.
People that are fond of one another never have any
difficulty; and people that hate each other never have
any comfort. I'll be on the look-out to make you
happy. You needn't fear my interrupting your Latin
and Greek: I won't expect you to give up your whole
life to me. Why should I? There's reason in every-
thing. So long as you are mine, and nobody else's,
I'll be content. And I'll be yours and nobody else's.
What's the use of supposing half-a-dozen accidents
that may never happen? Let's take our chance. You
have too much good nature ever to be nasty."

"It would be a hard bargain," she said doubtfully;
"for you would have to give up your occupation; and
I should give up nothing but my unfruitful liberty."

"I will swear never to fight again; and you needn't
swear anything. If that is not an easy bargain, I
don't know what is."

"Easy for me: yes. But for you?"

"Never mind me. You do whatever you like; and
I'll do whatever you like. You have a conscience; so
I know that whatever you like will be the best thing.
I have the most science; but you have the most sense.
Come!"

Cashel Byron's Profession 279

Lydia looked around, as if for a means of escape.
Cashel waited anxiously. There was a long pause.

'*It can't be," he said pathetically, **that you're
afraid of me because I was a prizefighter."

"Afraid of you I No: I am afraid of myself; afraid
of the future; afraid yJv' you. But my mind is already
made up on this subject. When I brought about this
meeting between you and your mother, I determined
to marry you if you asked me again."

She stood up quietly, and waited. The rough hardi-
hood of the ring fell from him like a garment: he
blushed deeply, and did not know what to do. Nor
did she; but without willing it she came a step closer
'o him, and turned up her face towards his. He,
nearly blind with confusion, put his arms about her
and kissed her. Suddenly she broke loose from his
arms; seized the lappels of his coat tightly in her
hands; and leaned back until she hung from him with
all her weight.

"Cashel," she said: "we are the silliest lovers in
the world, I believe: we know nothing about it. Are
you really fond of me?"

He could only answer "Yes" in a constrained way,
and stare helplessly and timidly at her. His inepti-
tude was embarrassing; but she had sense enough to
be glad to find him unmistakably as entire a novice at
lovemaking as herself. He remained shy, and was so
evidently anxious to go that she presently asked him
to leave her for a while, though she was surprised to
feel a faint pang of disappointment when he consented^

On leaving the house, he hurried to the address.
which his mother had given him: a prodigious build-
ing in Westminster, divided into residential flats, to

28o Cashel Byron's Profession

the seventh floor of which he ascended in a lift. As
he stepped from it he saw Lucian Webber walking
away from him along a corridor. Obeying a sudden
impulse, he followed, and overtook him just as be* was
entering a room. Lucian, findihg that some one was
resisting his attempt to close the door, looked out;
recognized Cashel; turned white; and hastily retreated
into the apartment, where, getting behind a writing-
table, he snatched a revolver from a drawer. Cashel
recoiled, amazed and frightened, with his right arm up
as if to ward off a blow.

"Hallo!" he cried. **Drop that damned thing, will
you! If you don't, TU shout for help."

**lf you approach me, I will fire," said Lucian
excitedly. **I will teach you that your obsolete
brutality is powerless against the weapons Science has
put into the hands of civilized men. Leave my apart-
ments. I am not afraid of you; but I do dot choose
to be disturbed by your presence."

Confound your cheek," said Cashel indignantly:
is that the way you receive a man who comes to
make a friendly call on you?"

"Friendly now, doubtless, when you see that I am
well protected."

Cashel gave a long whistle. **Oh," he said: "you
thought I came to pitch into you. Ha! ha! And you
call that science — to draw a pistol on a man! But you
daren't fire it; and well you know it. You'd better
put it up, or you may let it off without intending to: I
never feel comfortable when I see a fool meddling with
firearms. I came to tell you that Fm going to be mar-
ried to your cousin. Ain't you glad?*

Lucian' s face changed. He believed; but he said

I <

Cashel Byron's Profession 281

obstinately, **I don't credit that statement It is a
lie.'*

This outraged Cashel. **I tell you again," he said,
in a menacing tone, "that your cousin is engaged to
me. Now call me a liar, and hit me in the face if you
dare. Look here," he added, taking a leather case
from his pocket, and extracting from it a bank note:
"I'll give you that twenty-pound note if you will hit
me one blow." And he put his hands behind him,
and placed himself before Lucian, who, sick with fury,
and half paralyzed by a sensation which he would not
acknowledge as fear, forced himself to stand his
ground. Cashel thrust out his jaw invitingly, and
said, with a sinister grin, "Put it in straight, governor.
Twenty pounds, remember."

At that moment Lucian would have given all his
political and social chances for the strength and skill
of his adversary. He could see only one way to
epcape the torment of Cashel' s jeering, and the self-
reproach of a coward; for his point of honor, learnt at
an English public school, was essentially the same as
the prizefighter's. He desperately clenched his fist
and struck out. The blow wasted itself on space; and
he stumbled forward against Cashel, who laughed
uproariously, and exclaimed, clapping him on'the back,

"Well done, my boy. I thought you were going to
be mean; but you've been game; and you're welcome
to the stakes. I'll tell Lydia that you have fought me
for twenty pounds and won on your merits. Ain't you
proud of yourself for having had a go at the cham-
pion?"

"Sir -" began Lucian. But nothing coherent fol-
lowed.

282 Cashel Byron's Profession

'*You just sit down for quarter of an hour, and don't
drink any spirits; and you'll be all right. When you
recover you'll be glad you shewed pluck. So good-
night for the present: I know how you feel; and Til
be off. Be sure not to try to settle yourself with wine:
it'll only make you worse. Ta-ta!"

As Cashel withdrew, Lucian collapsed into a chair,
shaken by the revival of passions and jealousies which
he had thought as outgrown as the schoolboy jackets
in which he had formerly experienced them. He
rehearsed the scene a hundred times, not as it had
happened, though the recollection of that stung him
every moment, but as it might have happened had he,
instead of Cashel, been the stronger man. He strove
in vain to get on the lower plane, and plume himself
on his pluck in having at least dared to strike. There
was no escape from his inner knowledge that he had
been driven by fear and hatred into a parozysm of
wrath against a man to whom he should have set an
example of dignified control. An exhausting whirl in
his thoughts, at once quickened and confused by the
nervous shock of bodily violence, to which he was
quite unused, distracted him. He wanted sympathy,
refuge, an opportunity to retrieve himself by doing it
all over again the right way. Before an hour had
passed he was on his way to the house in Regent's
Park.

Lydia was in her boudoir, occupied with a book,
when he entered. He was not an acute observer: he
could see no change in her. She was as calm as ever:
her eyes were not fully open; and the touch of her
hand subdued him as it had always done. Though he
had never entertained any hope of possessing her since

Cashel Byron s Profession 283

the day when she had refused him in Bedford Square,
a sense of intolerable loss came upon him as he saw
her for the first time pledged to another — and such
another!

**Lydia/' he said, trying to speak vehemently, but
failing to shake off the conventional address of which
he had made a second nature: '*I have heard some-
thing that has filled me with inexpressible dismay. Is
it true?"

'*The news has travelled fast," she said. "Yes, it
is true." She spoke composedly, and so kindly that
he choked in trying to reply.

*'Then, Lydia, you are the chief actor in a greater
tragedy than I have ever witnessed on the stage."

**It is strange, is it not?" she said, smiling at his
effort to be impressive.

''Strange! It is calamitous. I trust I may be
allowed to say so. And you sit there reading as
calmly as though nothing had happened."

She handed him the book without a word.

"Ivanhoe!" he said. "A novel!"

**Ves. Do you remember once, before you knew me
very well, telling me that Scott's novels were the only
ones you liked to see in the hands of ladies?"

**No doubt I did. But I cannot talk of literature
just "

"I am not leading you away from what you want to
talk of. I was about to tell you that I came upon
Ivanhoe by chance half an hour ago when I was search-
ing — I confess it — for something very romantic to
read. Ivanhoe was a prizefighter: the first half of the
book is a description of a prizefight. I was wondering
whether some romancer of the twenty-fourth century

284 Cashel Byron's Profession

will hunt out the exploits of my husband, and present
him to the world as a sort of English nineteenth century
Cid, with all the glory of antiquity upon his deeds."

Lucian made a gesture of impatience. "I have
never been able to understand," he said, "how it is
that a woman of your ability can habitually dwell on
perverse and absurd ideas. Oh, Lydia, is this to be
the end of all your great gifts and attainments? For-
give me if I touch a painful chord; but this marriage
seems to me so unnatural that I must speak out. Your
father left you one of the richest and best-educated
women in Europe. Would he approve of what you
are about to do?"

*'It almost seems to me that he educated me
expressly to some such end. Whom would you have
me marry?"

"Doubtless few men are worthy of you, Lydia. But
this man least of all. Could you not marry a gentle-
man? If he were even an artist, a poet, or a man of
genius of any kind, I could bear to think of it; for
indeed I am not influenced by class prejudice in the

matter. But a 1 will tryto say nothing that you

must not in justice admit to be too obvious to be
ignored — a man of the lower orders, pursuing a calling
which even the lower orders despise; illiterate, rough,
awaiting at this moment a disgraceful sentence at the
hands of the law! Is it possible that you have consid-
ered all these things?"

"Not very deeply: they are not of a kind to concern
me much. I can console you as to one of them. I
have always recognized Cashel as a gentleman, in your
sense of the word. He proves to be so: his people are
county people and so forth. As to his trial, I have

Cashel Byron's Profession 285

spoken with Lord Worthington about it, and also with
the lawyers who have charge of the case; and they say
positively that, owing to certain proofs not being in
the hands of the police, a defence can be set up that
will save him from imprisonment."

'There is no such defence possible," said Lucian,
angrily.

"Perhaps not. As far as I understand it, it is rather
an aggravation of the offence than an excuse for it.
But if they imprison him, it will make no difference.
He can console himself with the certainty that I will
marry him at once when he is released."

Lucian' s face lengthened. He abandoned the argu-
ment, and said blankly, **I cannot suppose that you
would allow yourself to b,e deceived. If he is a gen-
tleman, that of course alters the case completely."

"Lucian," said Lydia earnestly: "will you believe
that it actually altered the case with me? There is, I
know, a plane upon which his past pursuits are wrong;
but we are not upon that plane any more than he.
The discovery of his rank does not alter the weight of
one blow he has ever struck; and yet you have just
now admitted that it alters the case completely. It
was not prizefighting that you objected to: that was
only a pretence: your true repugnance was to the class
to which prizefighters belong. And so, worldly cousin
Lucian, I silence all your objections by convincing
you that I am not going to connect you by marriage
with a butcher, bricklayer, or other member of the
trades from which Cashel' s profession, as you warned
me, is usually recruited. Stop a moment: I am going
to do justice to you. You want to say that my
unworldly friend Lucian is far more deeply concerned

286 Cashel Byron's Profession

at seeing the phoenix of modern culture throw herself
away on a man unworthy of her."

"That is what I mean to say, except that you put it
too modestly. It is a case of the phoenix, not only of
modern culture, but of natural endowment and of every
happy accident of the highest civilization, throwing
herself away on a man specially incapacitated by his
tastes and pursuits from comprehending her or enter-
ing the circle in which she moves."

"Listen tome patiently, Lucian; and I will try to
explain the mystery to you, leaving the rest of the
world to misunderstand me as it pleases. First, you
will grant me that even a phoenix must marry some
one in order that she may hand on her torch to her
children. Her best course would be to marry another
phoenix; but as she — poor girl! — cannot appreciate
even her own phoenixity, much less that'of another,
she perversely prefers a mere mortal. Who is the
mortal to be? Not her cousin Lucian; for rising
young politicians must have helpful wives, with
feminine politics and powers of visiting and entertain-
ing: a description inapplicable to the phoenix. Not,
as you just now suggested, a man of letters. The
phoenix has had her share of playing helpmeet to a
man of letters, and does not care to repeat that experi-
ence. She is sick to death of the morbid introspection
and ignorant self-consciousness of poets, novelists, and
their like. As to artists, all the good ones are mar-
ried; and ever since the rest have been able to read in
hundreds of books that they are the most gifted and
godlike of men, they are become almost as intolerable
as their literary flatterers. No, Lucian: the phoenix
has paid her debt to literature and art by the toil of

Cashel Byron's Profession 287

her childhood. She will use and enjoy both of them
in future as best she can; but she will never again
drudge in their laboratories. You say that she might
at least have married some one with the habits of a
gentleman. But the gentlemen she knows are either
amateurs of the arts, having the egotism of profes-
sional artists without their ability; or they are men of
pleasure, which means that they are dancers, tennis
players, butchers, and gamblers. I leave the nonen-
tities out of the question. In the eyes of a phoenix,
even the arena — the ring, as they call it — is a better
school of character than the drawing-room; and a
prizefighter is a hero in comparison with the wretch
who sets a leash of greyhounds upon a hare. Imagine,
now, this poor phoenix meeting with a man who had
never been guilty of self-analysis in his life — whb
complaine4 when he was annoyed, and exulted when
he was glad, like a child and unlike a modern man —
who was honest and brave, strong and beautiful. You
open your eyes, Lucian: do you not do justice to
Cashel' s good looks. He is twenty-five; and yet
there is not a line in his face. It is neither thought-
ful, nor poetic, nor wearied, nor doubting, nor old,
nor self-conscious, as so many of his contemporaries*
faces are — as mine, perhaps, is. The face of a pagan
god, assured of eternal youth! I should be mad, since
I must marry, to miss such a man."

**You are mad as it is," cried Lucian rising, scared
and vehement. 'This is infatuation. You no more
see the real man as I see him than "

"Than you can see me as I appear to those who dis-
like me, Lucian. How do you know that what you
see is the real man?"

288 Cashel Byron's Profession

"I see him as everyone sees him except you. That
shews that you are infatuated. You know — ^you tnusi
know — that you have lost your senses on this subject/*

**I have given you reasons, Lucian. I am open to
argument."

"Argument! Reasons! Do you think that your
folly is any the less folly because you have reasons for
it?. Rational folly is the worst of all folly, because it
is armed against reason."

Lydia opened her eyes fully for the first time during
the conversation. **Lucian," she said, delightedly:
*'you are coming out. I think that is the cleverest
thing I ever heard you say. And it is true — frighf-
fully true."

He sat down despairingly. **You would not admit
it so readily," he said, **if you intended it to have the
smallest effect on you. Even if all your arguments
were good ones, what would they prove? If you really
despise the pursuits of gentlemen, is that a reason for
respecting the pursuits of prizefighters? Is the ring
any the better because you can pretend to think the
drawing-room worse? — for you do nof really hold any
such monstrous opinion. How you would scout your
own sophistry if I used it in trying to persuade you to
conform to social usages!"

''We are drifting back again into mere rationalism,
Lucian. However, it is my fault. I began an expla-
nation, and rambled off, womanlike, into praise of my
lover. Do not think that I wish to represent my
choice as any better than a choice of the least of two
evils. I strongly think that Society ought to have
made something better of Cashel than a prizefighter;
but he, poor fellow, had no choice at all. I once

Cashel Byron's Profession 289

called him a ruffian; and I do not retract the word;
though I expect you to forgive him his ruffianism as
you forgive a soldier his murders, or a lawyer his lies.
When you condemn the others — and with all my, heart
I say the sooner the better — condemn him, but not
before. Besides, my dear Lucian, the prizefighting is
all over: he does not intend to go on with it. As to
our personal suitability, I believe in the doctrine of
heredity; and as my body is frail and my brain
morbidly active, I think my impulse towards a man
strong in body and untroubled in mind a trustworthy
one. You can understand that: it is a plain proposi-
tion in eugenics."

**I know that you will do whatever you have made
up your mind to do," said Lucian desolately.

"And you will make the best of it, will you not?"

"The best or worst of it does not rest with me. I
can only accept it as inevitable."

"Not at all. You can make the worst of it by
behaving distantly to Cashel; or the best of it by
being friendly with him."

"I had better tell you," he said. "I have seen

him since — since " Lydia nodded. "I mistook

his object in coming into my room as he did, unan-
nounced. In fact, he almost forced his way in. Some
words arose between us. At last he taunted me
beyond endurance, and offered me — characteristically
— ^20 to strike him. And I am sorry to say that I
did so."

"You did so!" said Lydia, turning very pale. "And
what followed?"

"I should say rather that I meant to strike him; for
he avoided me, or else I missed my aim. He only

290 Cashel Byron's Profession

gave me the money and went away, evidently with a
high opinion of me. He left me with a very low one
of myself."

"What! He did not retaliate!" exclaimed Lydia,
recovering her color. "Oh, he has beaten you on
your own ground, Lucian. It is you who are the
prizefighter at heart; and you grudge him his superi-
ority in the very art you condemn him for profess-
ing.

"I was wrong, Lydia, but I grudged him you. I
know I acted hastily; and I will apologize to him. I
wish matters had fallen out otherwise."

"They could not have done so; and I believe you
will yet acknowledge that they have arranged them-
selves very well. Now that the phoenix is disposed
of, I want to read you a letter I have received from
Alice Goff, which throws quite a new light on her
character. I have not seen her since June; and her
mind seems to have grown three years in the interim.
Listen to this, for example."

And so the conversation turned upon Alice.

When Lucian returned to his chambers, he wrote
the following note, which he posted to Cashel Byron
before going to bed:

Dear Sir,

I beg to enclose you a bank note which you left here
this evening, I feel bound to express my regret for what
passed on that occasion, and to assure you that it proceeded
from a misapprehension of your purpose in calling- on me.
The nervous disorder into which the severe mental applica-
tion and late hour; of the past session have thrown me must

Cashel Byron's Profession 291

be my excuse. I hope to have the pleasure of meeting you
again soon, and offering you personally my congratulations
on your approaching marriage.

I am, dear Sir,

Yours very truly,

Lucian Webber.

CHAPTER XV

In the following month Cashel Byron, William Para-
dise, and Robert Mellish appeared in the dock
together, the first two for having been principals in a
prizefight, and Mellish for having acted as bottle-
holder to Paradise. These offences were verbosely
described in a long indictment which was to have
included the fourth man captured. But against him
the grand jury had refused to find a true bill. The
prisoners pleaded not guilty.

The defence was that the fight, the occurrence of
which was admitted, was not a prizefight, but the out-
come of an enmity which had subsisted between the
two men since one of them, at a public exhibition at
Islington, had attacked and bitten the other. In sup-
port of this, it was shewn that Byron had occupied a
house at Wiltstoken, and had lived there with Mellish,
who had invited Paradise to spend a holiday with him
in the country. This accounted for the presence of
the three men at Wiltstoken on the day in question.
Words had arisen between Byron and Paradise on the
subject of the Islington affair; and they had at last
agreed to settle the dispute in the old English fashion.
They had adjourned to a field, and fought fairly and
determinedly until interrupted by the police, who,
misled by appearances, mistook the affair for a prize-
fight.

Prizefighting, Cashel Byron's counsel said, was a

brutal pastime, rightly discountenanced by the law;

292

Cashel Byron's Profession 295

but a fair stand-up fight between two unarmed men,
though doubtless technically a breach of the peace,
had never been severely dealt with by British juries or
British judges , who .knew how much it was' to our
national and manly tolerance of the fist. Nature's
weapon, that we owed our freedom from the murder-
ous stiletto of the Italian, the revolver of the cowboy,
and the treacherous kick of the French savate player
(Mellish, whose favorite spectacle was Devonshire
and Lancashire wrestling, murmured in patriotic
assent). The case would be amply met by binding
over the prisoners, who were now on the best of terms
with one another, to keep the peace for a reasonable
period. The sole evidence against this view of the
case was police evidence; and the police were naturally-
reluctant to admit that they had found a mare's nest.
In proof that the fight had been premeditated, and
was a prizefight, they alleged that it had taken place
within an enclosure formed with ropes and stakes.
But where were those ropes and stakes? They were not
forthcoming; and he (counsel) submitted that the
reason was not, as had been suggested, that they had
been spirited away, which was plainly impossible; but
that they had existed only in the excited imagination
of the posse of constables who had arrested the
prisoners.

Again, it had been urged that the prisoners were in
fighting costume. But cross-examination had elicited
that fighting costume meant practically no costume at
all: the men had simply stripped in order that their
movements might be unembarrassed. It had been
proved that Paradise had been — well, in the traditional
costume of Paradise (Roars of laughter: Paradise grin-

294 Cashel Byron's Profession

ning in confusion) until the police borrowed a horse-
cloth to put upon him.

That the constables had been guilty of gross exag-
geration was shewn by their evidence as to the
desperate injuries the combatants had inflicted upon
one another. Of Paradise in particular it had been
alleged that his features were obliterated. The jury
had before them in the dock the man whose features had
been obliterated only a few weeks previously. If that
were true, where had the prisoner obtained the
unblemished lineaments which he was now, full of
health and good humor, presenting to them? (Renewed
laughter. Paradise suffused with blushes.) It was
said that these terrible injuries, the traces of which
had disappeared so miraculously, were inflicted by the
prisoner Byron, a young gentleman tenderly nurtured,
and visibly inferior in strength and hardihood to his
herculean opponent. Doubtless Byron had been
emboldened by his skill in mimic combat with softly
padded gloves to try conclusions, under the very
different conditions of real fighting, with a man whose
massive shoulders and determined cast of features
ought to have convinced him that such an enterprise
was nothing short of desperate. Fortunately the
police had interfered before he had suffered severely
for his rashness. Yet it had been alleged that he had
actually worsted Paradise in the encounter — obliterated
his features! That was a fair sample of the police evi-
dence, which was throughout consistently incredible
and at variance with the dictates of common sense.

It was unnecessary to waste the time of the jury by
comment on the honorable manner in which Byron
had come forward and given himself up to the police

Cashel Byron's Profession 295

the moment he learnt that they were in search of him.
Such conduct spoke for itself. Paradise would, beyond
a doubt, have adopted the same straightforward course
had he not been arrested at once, and that too without
the least effort at resistance on his part, Surely this
was hardly the line that would have suggested itself to
two lawless prizefighters.

An attempt had been made to prejudice the prisoner
Byron by the statement that he was a notorious pro-
fessional bruiser. But no proof of that was forthcom-
ing; and if the fact were really notorious there could
be no difficulty in proving it. Such notoriety as Mr.
Byron enjoyed was due, as his friend Lord Worthing-
ton had let slip in the course of examination, to his
approaching marriage with a lady of distinction. Was
it credible that a highly connected gentleman in this
enviable position would engage in a prizefight, risking
disgrace and personal disfigurement for a sum of
money that could be no object to him, or for a glory
that would appear to all his friends as little better than
infamy?

The whole of the evidence as to the character of the
prisoners went to shew that they were men of unim-
peachable integrity and respectability. An impres-
sion unfavorable to Paradise might have been created
by the fact that he was a professional pugilist and a
man of hasty temper; but it had also transpired that
he had on one occasion rendered assistance to the
police, thereby employing his athletic attainments in
the interests of law and order. As to his temper, it
accounted for the quarrel which the police — knowing
his profession — had mistaken for a prizefight.

Mellish was a trainer of athletes: hence the wit-

296 Cashel Byron's Profession

nesses to his character were chiefly persons connected
with sport; but they were not the less worthy of
credence on that account.

In fine, the charge would have been hard to believe
even if supported by the strongest evidence. But
when there was no evidence — ^hen the police had
failed to produce any of the accessories of a prizefight
— when there were no ropes nor posts, no written
articles, no stakes nor stakeholders, no seconds except
the unfortunate Mellish — whose mouth was closed by a
law which, in defiance of the obvious interests of jus-
tice, forbade a prisoner to speak and clear himself —
nothing, in fact*, but the fancies of constables who had,
under cross-examination, not only contradicted one
another, but shewn the most complete ignorance (a
highly creditable ignorance) of the nature and condi-
tions of a prizefight, then counsel would venture to say
confidently that the theory of the prosecution, ingen-
ious as it was, and ably as it had been put forward,
was absolutely and utterly untenable.

This, and much more of equal value, was delivered
with relish by an eminent Queen's counsellor, whose
spirits rose as he felt the truth change and fade whilst
he rearranged its attendant circumstances. Cashel at
first listened anxiously. He flushed and looked
moody when his marriage was alluded to; but when
the whole defence was unrolled, he was awestruck, and
stared at his advocate as if he half feared that the
earth would gape and swallow such a reckless per-
verter of known facts. Paradise felt that he was free
already: his admiration for the barrister rose to the
point of hero-worship. The judge, and the more
respectable persons in court, became extraordinarily

Cashel Byron's Profession 297

grave, as Englishmen will when their sense of moral
responsibility is roused on behalf of some glaring
imposture. Every one in court knew that the police
were right; that there had been a prizefight; that the •
betting on it had been recorded in all the sporting
papers for weeks beforehand; that Cashel was the most
terrible fighting man of the day; that Paradise had not
dared to propose a renewal of the interrupted contest.
And they listened with solemn approbation to the man
who knew all this as well as they did, but who was
clever enough to make it appear incredible and non-
sensical.

It remained for the Judge to sweep away the
defence, or to favor the prisoners by countenancing it.
Fortunately for them, he had handled the gloves him-
self in his youth, and was old enough to recall, not
without regret, a time when the memory of Cribb and
Molyneux was yet green. He began his summing-up
by telling the jury that the police had failed to prove
that the fight was a prizefight. After that, the sport-
ing spectators, by indulging in roars of laughter when-
ever they could find a pretext for doing so without
being turned out of court, shewed that they had ceased
to regard the trial seriously. The lay public retained
its gravity to the last.

Finally the jury acquitted Mellish, and found Cashel
and Paradise guilty of a common assault. They were
sentenced to two days imprisonment, and bound over
in sureties of ^150 each to keep the peace for twelve
months. The sureties were forthcoming; and as the
imprisonment was supposed to date from the begin-
ning of the sessions, the prisoners were at once
released.

298 Cashel B)nron's Profession

••'By Jingo," said Cashel emphatically as he left the

court, '*if we didn't fight fairer than that in the ring,

we'd be disqualified in the first round. It's the first

• cross I ever was mixed up in; and I hope it will be the

last,"

CHAPTER XVI

Miss Carew, averse to the anomalous relations of
courtship, made as little delay as possible in getting
married. Cashel's luck was not changed by the event.
Bingley Byron died three weeks after the ceremony
(which was civil and private); and Cashel had to
claim possession of the property, in spite of his
expressed wish that the lawyers would take them-
selves and the property to the devil, and allow him to
enjoy his honeymoon in peace. The transfer took
some time. Owing to his mother's capricious reluc-
tance to give the necessary information without
reserve, and to the law's delay, his first child was born
some time before his succession was fully established,
and the doors of a dilapidated country house in
Dorsetshire opened to him. The conclusion of the
business was a great relief to his solicitors, who had
been unable to shake his conviction that the case was
clear enough, but that the referee had been squared.
By this he meant that the Lord Chancellor had been
bribed to keep him out of his property.

His marriage proved a happy one. To make up for
the loss of his occupation, he farmed, and lost six
thousand pounds by it; tried gardening with better
success; began to meddle in commercial enterprise as
director of joint-stock companies in the city; and was
soon after invited to represent a Dorsetshire constit-
uency in Parliament in the Conservative interest. He
was returned by a large majority; but as he voted just

S99

300 Cashel Byron's Profession

as often with the extreme Radicals as with the party
which had returned him, he was speedily called upon
to resign. He flatly refused, and held on until the
next general election, which he carried as an independ-
ent candidate, thanks to a loud voice, an easy man-
ner, the popularity of his own views, and the extent of
his wife's information, which he retailed at second-
hand. He made his maiden speech in the House
unabashed the first night he sat there. Indeed, he, was
afraid of nothing except burglars, big dogs, doctors,
dentists, and street-crossings. Whenever an accident
through any of these was reported, he read it to Lydia
very seriously, and preserved the newspaper for quite
two days as a document in support of his favorite
assertion that the only place a man was safe in was the
prize-ring. As he objected to most field sports on the
ground of inhumanity, she, fearing that he would
suffer in health and appearance from want of sys-
tematic exercise, suggested that he should resume the
practise of boxing with gloves. But he shook his
head. Boxing was too serious a pursuit to him to be
either an amusement or a mere exercise. Besides, he
had a prejudice that it did not become a married man.
He had gone through with it when it was his business;
but he had no idea of doing it for pleasure. His
career as a pugilist was closed by his marriag^e.

His admiration for his wife survived the ardor of
his first love for her; and her habitual forethought
saved her from disappointing his reliance on her. judg-
ment. Her children, so carefully planned by her to
inherit her intelligence with their father's robustness,
proved to her that heredity is not so simple a matter
as her father's generation supposed. They were

Casfael Byron's Profession 301

healthy enough, certainly; and in their childhood they
were all alike in being precocious and impudent; hav-
ing no respect for Cashel; and shewing any they had
for their. mother principally by running to her when
they were in difficulties. Of punishments and scold-
ings they had no experience. Cashel was incapable
of deliberate retaliation upon a child; and in sudden
emergencies of temper he could always master his
hands: perhaps because he had learnt to do so in the
ring: perhaps because he remembered his own child-
hood. Lydia controlled her children, as far as they
were controllable, just as she controlled every one
else. When she spoke of them to Cashel in private,
he seldom said more than that the imps were too sharp
far him, or that he was blest if he didn't believe they
were born older than their father. Lydia often
thought so too; but the care of this troublesome fam-
ily had one advantage for her. It left her little time
to think about herself at the time when the illusion of
her love passed away, and she saw Cashel as he really
was. She soon came to regard him as one of the
children. He was by far the stupidest of them; but
he needed her more, loved her more, and belonged to
her more than any of them. For as they grew up, and
the heredity scheme began to develop results, the
boys disappointed her by turning out almost pure
Carew, without the slightest athletic aptitude, whilst
the girls were impetuously Byronic; indeed one of
them, to Cashel' s utter dismay, cast back so com-
pletely to his mother that when she announced at
thirteen, her intention of going on the stage, he bowed
to her decision as to the voice of Destiny.
Alice Goff, when she heard of Lydia' s projected

302 Cashel Byron's Profession

marriage, saw that she must return to Wiltstoken and
forget her brief social splendor as soon as possible.
She therefore thanked Miss Carew for her bounty, and
begged to relinquish* her post of companion. Lydia
assented, but managed to delay this sacrifice to a
sense of duty and necessity until a day early in wintett
when Lucian, who felt inclined to commit suicide,
allowed his cousin to persuade him to offer his hand
to Alice. She indignantly refused; not that she had
any reason to complain of him, but because the pros-
pect of returning to Wiltstoken made her feel ill-used,
and she could not help revenging her soreness upon
the first person she could find a pretext for attacking.
He, lukewarm before, now became eager; and she,
after trampling on him to her heart's content for
months, drifted into an engagement, and was promptly
married to him by Lydia, who took the matter in hand
with her usual decision. She kept Lucian's house,
entertained his guests, and domineered over his select
social circle with complete success. She was some-
thing of a domestic bully; but her empire over her
husband and home was never shaken. Lucian found
unexpected depth and strength in her nature; and his
uxoriousness was only held in check by the fierce
impatience with which she sometimes made him feel
that the excess of his content was measured by the
shortcoming of hers. She invited her brother-in-law
and his wife to dinner every Christmas day, and once
a year in the season; but she never admitted that Wal-
lace Parker and Cashel Byron were gentlemen, though
she invited the latter freely, notwithstanding the
frankness with which he spoke of his former exploits
to strangers after dinner, without deference to their

Cashel Byron's Profession 303

professions or prejudices. Her respect for Lydia
remained so great that she never complained of Cashel
save on one occasion, when, at a very special dinner
party in her house, he shewed a bishop, whose man-
sion had been recently broken into and robbed, how
to break a burglar's back in the act of grappling with
him.

The Skenes returned to Australia and went their way
there, as Mrs. Byron did in England, in the paths
they had pursued for years before. Cashel spoke
always of Mrs. Skene as "mother," and of Mrs.
Byron as '*mamma."

William Paradise, though admired by the fair sex
for his strength, courage and fame, was not, like
Cashel and Skene, wise or fortunate enough to get a
good wife. So exceedingly did he drink that he had
but few sober intervals after his escape from the law.
He claimed the title of champion of England on
Cashel' s retirement from the ring, and challenged the
world. The world responded in* the persons of sundry
young laboring men with a thirst for glory and a taste for
fighting. Paradise fought and prevailed twice. Then
he drank whilst in training, and was beaten. By this
time, too, the ring had lapsed into the disrepute from
which Cashel' s unusual combination of pugilistic
genius with honesty had temporarily raised it; and the
law, again seizing Paradise as he was borne vanquished
from the field, atoned for its former leniency by
incarcerating him for six months. The abstinence
thus enforced restored him to health and vigor; and
he achieved another victory before he succeeded in
drinking himself into his former state. This was his
last triumph. With his natural ruffianism complicated

304 Cashel Byron's Profession

by drunkenness, he went rapidly down the hill into the
Valley of Humiliation. Becoming noted for his readi-
ness to sell the victories he could no longer win, he
only appeared in the ring to test the capabilities of
untried youths, who beat him with all the ardor of
their age. He became a potman, and was immediately
discharged as an inebriate. He had sunk into beggary
when, hearing in his misery that his former antagonist
was contesting a parliamentary election, he applied to
him for alms. Cashel at the time was in Dorsetshire;
but Lydia relieved the destitute bruiser, whose condi-
tion was now far worse than it had been at their last
meeting. At his next application, which followed
soon, he was confronted by Cashel, who bullied him
fiercely; threatened to break every bon6 in his skin if
he ever dared present himself again before Lydia;
flung him five shillings; and bade him begone. For
Cashel retained for Paradise that contemptuous and
ruthless hatred in which a duly qualified professor
holds a quack. The poor wretch, inured to insult and
violence from men who had once feared his prowess
as he, to give him such credit as he cared for, had
never feared Cashel' s, thought the abuse natural, and
the gift generous. He picked up the money and
shambled off to buy a few pence- worth of food, which
he could hardly eat; and to spend the rest in brandy,
which he drank as fast as his stomach would endure
it. Shortly afterwards, a few newspapers reported his
death, which they attributed to * 'consumption, brought
on by the terrible injuries sustained by him in his
celebrated fight with Cashel Byron."

THE END

The Admirable Bashville

"Over Bashville the footman I howled with derision
and delight. I dote on Bashville: I could read of him
forever: dU Bashville je suis le fervent: there is only one
Bashville; and I am his devoted slave; Bashville est
magnifique; mais il n*est gu^re possible/*

ROBBRT I«Oni8 STBVBNSON.

The Admirable Bashville

OR, CONSTANCY UNREWARDED

BEING IRE HOVEL OP CASHEL BVRON S PKOFESSION

DONE INTO A STAGE PLAY IN THREE

ACTS AND IN BDANK VERSE

GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

HERBERT S. STONE AND COMPANY

ELDRIDGE COURT, CHICAGO

MDCCCCI

This play has been publicly performed within the United Kingdom, At»
entered at Stationers* Hall and The Library of Congress^ U.S. A.

PREFACE

The Admirable Bashville is a product of the British
law of copyright. As that law stands at present, the
first person who patches up a stage version of a novel,
however worthless and absurd that version may be,
and has it read by himself and a few confederates^ to
another confederate who has paid for admission in a
hall licensed for theatrical performances, secures the
stage rights of that novel, even as against the author
himself; and the author must buy him out before he
can touch his own work for the purposes of the stage.

A famous case in point is the drama of East Lynne,
adapted from the late Mrs. Henry Wood's novel of
that name. It was enormously popular, and is still
the surest refuge of touring companies in distress.
Many authors feel that Mrs. Henry Wood was hardly
used in not getting any of the money which was plen-
tifully made in this way through her story. To my
mind, since her literary copyright probably brought
her a fair wage for the work of writing the book, her
real grievance was, first, that her name and credit wert
attached to a play with which she had nothing to do,
and which may quite possibly have been to her a
detestable travesty and profanation of her story; and
second, that the authors of that play had the legal
power to prevent her from having any version of her
own performed, if she had wished to make one.

There is only one way in which the author can pro-
tect himself; and that is' by making a version of his

309

. ■'■'

3IO The Admirable Bashville

own and going through the same legal farce with it.
But the legal farce involves the hire of a hall and the
payment of a fee of two guineas to the King's Reader
of Plays. When I wrote Cashel Byron's Profession I
had no guineas to spare, a common disability of young
authors. What is equally common, I did not know the
law. A reasonable man may guess a reasonable law;
but no man can guess a foolish anomaly. Fortunately,
by the time my book so suddenly revived in America
I was aware of the danger, and in a position to protect
myself by writing and performing The Admirable
Bashville. The prudence of doing so was soon demon-
strated; for rumors soon reached me of several Ameri-
can stage versions; and one of these has actually been
played in New York, with the boxing scenes under the
management (so it is stated) of the eminent pugilist
Mr. James Corbet. The New York press, in a some-
what derisive vein, conveyed the impression that in
this version Cashel Byron sought to interest the public
rather as the last of the noble race of the Byrons of
Dorsetshire than as his unromantic self; but in justice
to a play which I never read, and an actor whom I
never saw, and who honorably offered to treat me as if
I had legal rights in the matter, I must not accept the
newspaper evidence as conclusive.

As I write these words, I am promised by the King
in his speech to Parliament a new Copyright Bill. I
believe it embodies, in our British fashion, the recom-
mendations of the book publishers as to the concerns
of the authors, and the notions of the musical publish-
ers as to the concerns of the playrights. As author
and playwright I am duly obliged to the Commission
for saving me the trouble of speaking for myself, and

Preface 3 1 1

to the witnesses for speaking for me. But unless
Parliament takes the opportunity of giving the authors
of all printed works of fiction, whether dramatic or
narrative, both playwright and copyright (as in Amer-
ica), such to be independent of any insertions or omis-
sions of formulas about '*all rights reserved*' or the
like, I am afraid the new Copyright Bill will leave me
with exactly the opinion both of the copyright law
and the wisdom of Parliament I at present entertain.
As a good Socialist I do not at all object to the limita-
tion of my right of property in my own works to a
comparatively brief period, followed by complete
Communism: in fact, I cannot see whv the same
salutary limitation should not be applied to all prop-
erty rights whatsoever; but a system which enables
any alert sharper to acquire property rights in my
stories as against myself and the rest of the com-
munity would, it seems to me, justify a rebellion if
authors were numerous and warlike enough to make
one.

It may be asked why I have written The Admirable
Bashville in blank verse. My answer is that I had but
a week to write it in. Blank verse is so childishly
easy and expeditious (hence, by the way, Shakespear's
copious output), that by adopting it I was enabled to
do within the week what would have cost me a month
in prose.

Besides, I am fond of blank verse. Not nineteenth
century blank verse, of course, nor indeed, with a very
few exceptions, any post-Shakespearean blank verse.
Nay, not Shakespearean blank verse itself later than
the histories. When an author can write the prose
dialogue of the first scene in As You Like It, or Ham-

312 The Admirable Bashville

let's colloquies with Rosencrantz and Guildenstern,
there is really no excuse for The Seven Ages and **To
be or not to be/' except the excuse of a haste that
made great facility indispensable. I am quite sure
that any one who is to recover the charm of blank
verse must frankly go back to its beginnings and start
a literary pre-Raphaelite Brotherhood. I like the
melodious sing-song, the clear simple one-line and
two-line sayings, and the occasional rhymed tags, like
the half closes in an eighteenth century symphony, in
Peele, Kyd, Greene, and the histories of Shakespear.
How any one with music in him can turn from Henry
VI., John, and the two Richards to such a mess of
verse half developed into rhetorical prose as Cymbeline,
is to me explicable only by the uncivil hypothesis that
the artistic qualities in the Elizabethan drama do not
exist for most of its critics; so that they hang on to its
purely prosaic content, and hypnotize themselves into
absurd exaggerations of the value of that content.
Even poets fall under the spell. Ben Jonson described
Marlowe's line as **mighty"! As well put Michael
Angelo's epitaph on the tombstone of Paolo Uccello.
No wonder Jonson' s blank verse is the most horribly
disagreeable product in literature, and indicates his
most prosaic mood as surely as his shorter rhymed
measures indicate his poetic mood. Marlowe never
wrote a mighty line in his life: Cowper's single phrase,
**Toll for the brave," drowns all his mightinesses as
Great Tom drowns a military band. But Marlowe
took that very pleasant-sounding rigmarole of Peele
and Greene, and added to its sunny daylight the insane
splendors of night, and the cheap tragedy of crime.
Because he had only a common sort of brain, he was

Preface 3 1 3

hopelessly beaten by Shakespear; but he had a fine ear
and a soaring spirit: in short, one does not forget
**wanton Arethusa's azure arms" and the like. But
the pleasant-sounding rigmarole was the basis of the
whole thing; and as long as that rigmarole was prac-
tised frankly for the sake of its pleasantness, it was
readable and speakable. It lasted until Shakespear did
to it what Raphael did to Italian painting: that is,
overcharged and burst it by making it the vehicle of a
new order of thought, involving a mass of intellectual
ferment and psychological research. The rigmarole
could not stand the strain; and Shakespear's style
ended in a chaos of half-shattered old forms, half-
emancipated new ones, with occasional bursts of prose
eloquence on the one hand, occasional delicious echoes
of the rigmarole, mostly from Calibans and masque
personages, on the othef, with, alas! a great deal of
filling up with formulary blank verse which had no
purpose except to save the author's time and thought.
When a great man destroys an art form in this way,
its ruins make palaces for the clever would-be great.
After Michael Angelo and Raphael, Giulio Romano
and the Carracci. After Marlowe and Shakespear,
Chapman and the Police News poet Webster. Web-
ster's speciality was blood: Chapman's, balderdash.
Many of us by this time find it diflScult to believe that
pre-Ruskinite art criticism used to prostrate itself
before the works of Domenichino and Guido, and to
patronize the modest little beginnings of those who
came between Cimabue and Masaccio. But we have
only to look at our own current criticism of Eliza-
bethan drama to satisfy ourselves that in an art which
has not yet found its Ruskin or its pre-Raphaelite

314 The Admirable Bash villa

Brotherhood, the same folly is still academically
propagated. It is possible, and even usual, for men
professing to have ears and a sense of poetry to snub
Peele and Greene and grovel before Fletcher and
Webster — Fletcher! a facile blank verse penny-a-liner:
Webster! a turgid paper cut-throat. The subject is
one which I really cannot pursue without intemper-
ance of language. The man who thinks The Duchess
of Malfi better than David and Bethsabe is outside the
pale, not merely of literature, but almost of humanity.
Yet some of the worst of these post-Shakspearean
duffers, from Jonson to Heywood, suddenly became
poets when they turned from the big drum of pseudo-
Shakespearean drama to the pipe and tabor of the
masque, exactly as Shakespear himself recovered the
old charm of the rigmarole when he turned from
Prospero to Ariel and Caliban. Cyril Tourneur and
Heywood could certainly have produced very pretty
rigmarole plays if they had begun where Shakespear
began, instead of trying to begin where he left off.
Jonson and Beaumont would very likely have done
themselves credit on the same terms: Marston would
have had at least a chance. Massinger was in his
right place, such as it was; and one would not disturb
the gentle Ford, who was never born to storm the foot-
lights. Webster could have done no good anyhow or
anywhere: the man was a fool. And Chapman would
always have been a blathering unreadable pedant, like
Landor, in spite of his classical amateurship and
respectable strenuosity of character. But with these
exceptions it may plausibly be held that if Marlowe
and Shakespear could have been kept out of their way,
the rest would have done well enough on the lines of

Preface 315

Peele and Greene. However, they thought otherwise;
and now that their freethinking paganism, so dazzling
to the pupils of Paley and the converts of Wesley,
offers itself in .vain to the disciples of Darwin and
Nietzsche, there is an end of them. And a good rid-
dance, too.

Accordingly, I have poetasted The Admirable Bash-
ville in the rigmarole style. And lest the Webster
worshippers should declare that there is not a single
correct line in all my three acts, I have stolen or para-
phrased a few from Marlowe and Shakespear (not to
mention Henry Carey); so thatif any man dares quote
me derisively, he shall do so in peril of inadvertently
lighting on a purple patch from Hamlet or Faustus.

I have also endeavored in this little play to prove
that I am not the heartless creature some of my critics
take me for. I have strictly observed the established
laws of stage popularity and probability. I have sim-
plified the character of the heroine, and summed up
her sweetness in the one sacred word: Love. I have
given consistency to the heroism of Cashel. I have
paid to Morality, in the final scene, the tribute of
poetic justice. I have restored to Patriotism its usual
place on the stage, and gracefully acknowledged The
Throne as the fountain of social honor. I have paid
particular attention to the construction of the play,
which will be found equal in this respect to the best
contemporary models.

And I trust the result will be found satisfactory.

The Admirable Bashville; or, Constancy Unre-
warded

ACT I

A glade in WUtstoken Park

Enter Lydia

LYDiA. Ye leafy breasts and warm prptectiog wings
Of mother trees that hatch our tender souls,
And from the well of Nature in our hearts
Thaw the intolerable inch of ice
That bears the weight of all the stamping world.
Hear ye me sing to solitude that I,
Lydia Carew, the owner of these lands,
Albeit most rich, most learned, and most wise,
Am yet most lonely. What are riches worth
When wisdom with them comes to "show the purse

bearer
That life remains unpurchasable? Learning
Learns but one lesson: doubt! To excel all
Is, to be lonely. Oh, ye busy birds.
Engrossed with real needs, ye. shameless trees
With arms outspread in welcome of the sun.
Your minds, bent singly to enlarge your lives.
Have given you wings and raised your delicate heads
High heavens above us crawlers.

\A rook sets up a great cawing; and the other birds chatter
loudly as a gust of wind sets the branches swaying.
She makes as though she would shew them her sleeves.

Lo, the leaves
317

3i8 The Admirable Bash villa

That hide my drooping boughs! Mock me — poor

maid! —
Deride with joyous comfortable chatter
These stolen feathers. Laugh at me, the clothed one.
Laugh at the mind fed on foul air and books.
Books! Art! And Culture! Oh, I shall go mad.
Give me a mate that never heard of these,
A sylvan god, tree born in heart and sap;
Or else, eternal maidhood be my hap.

[Afioiher gust of wind and bird-chatter. She sits on the
mossy root of an oak and buries her face in her hands,
Cashel Byron, in a white singlet and breeches, comes
through the trees.

CASHEL. What's this? Whom have we here? A
woman!

LYDIA [looking up]. Yes.

CASHEL. You have no business here. I have. Away!
Women distract me. Hence!

LYDIA. Bid you me hence?

I am upon mine own ground. Who are you?
I take you for a god, a sylvan god.
This place is mine: I share it with the birds,
The trees, the sylvan gods, the lovely company
Of haunted solitudes.

CASHEL. A sylvan god!

A goat-eared image! Do your statues speak?
Walk? heave the chest with breath? or like a feather
Lift you — like this? [He sets her on her feet.

LYDIA [panting\. You take away my breath!
You're strong. Your hands off, please. Thank you.
Farewell.

CASHEL. Before you go: when shall we meet again?

or, Constancy Unrewarded 319

LYDIA. Why should we meet again?

CASHEL. Who knows? We shall

That much I know by instinct. What's your name?

LYDiA. Lydia Carew.

CASHEL. Lydia' s a pretty name.

Where do you live?

LYDIA. r the castle.

CASHEL [thunderstrtick]. Do not say

You are the lady of this great domain.

LYDIA. I am.

CASHEL. Accursed luck! I took you for

The daughter of some farmer. Well, your pardon.
I came too close: I looked too deep. Farewell.

LYDIA. I pardon that. Now tell me who you are.

CASHEL. Ask me not whence I come, nor what I am.
You are the lady of the castle. I
Have but this hard and blackened hand to live by.

LYDIA. I have felt its strength and envied you.
Your name?
I have told you mine.

CASHEL. My name is Cashel Byron.

LYDIA. I never heard the name; and yet you utter it
As men announce a celebrated name.
Forgive my ignorance.

CASHEL. I bless it, Lydia.

I have forgot your other name.

LYDIA. Carew.

Cashel' s a pretty name too.

MELLisH [calling through the wood]. Coo-ee! Byron!

CASHEL. A thousand curses! Oh, I beg you, go.
This is a man you must not meet.

MELLISH [further off], Coo-ee! '

LYDIA. He's losing us. What does he in my woods?

320 The Admirable Bashville

CASHEL. He is a part of what I am What that is
You muit not know. It would end all between us.
And yet there's no dishonor in't: your lawyer,
Who let your lodge to me, will vouch me honest.
I am ashamed to tell you what I am —
At least, as yet. Some day, perhaps.

MELLiSH [nearer], Coo-ee!

LYDiA. His voice is nearer. Fare you well, my
tenant.
When next your rent falls due, come to the castle.
Pay me in person. Sir: your most obedient.

[She curtsies and goes.

CASHEt. Lives in this castle I Owns this park I A
lady
Marry a prizefighterl Impossible.
And yet the prizefighter must marry her.

Enter Mellish

Ensanguined swine, whelped by a doggish dam,
Is this thy park, that thou, with voice obscene,
Fillst it with yodeled yells, and screamst my name
For all the world to know that Cashel Byron
Is training here for combat.

MELLISH. Swine you me?

I've caught you, have I? You have found a woman.
Let her shew here again, I'll set the dog on her.
I will. I say it. And my name's Bob Mellish.

CASHEL Change thy initial and be truly hight
Hellish. As for thy dog, why dost thou keep one
And bark thyself? Begone.

MELLISH. I'll not begone.

You shall come back with me and do your duty—

or, Constancy Unrewarded 321

Your duty to your backers, do you hear?

You have not punched the bag this blessed day.

CASHEL. The putrid bag engirdled by thy belt
Invites my fist.

MELLiSH [weeping]. Ingrate! O wretched lot!
Who would a trainer be? O Mellish, Mellish,
Trainer of heroes, builder-up of brawn.
Vicarious victor, thou createst champions
That quickly turn thy tyrants. But beware:
Without me thou art nothing. Disobey me,
And all thy boasted strength shall fall from thee.
With flaccid muscles and with failing breath
Facing the fist of thy more faithful foe,
ril see thee on the grass cursing the day
Thou did' St forswear thy training.

CASHEL. Noisome quack

That canst not from thine own abhorrent visage
Take one carbuncle, thou contaminat'st
Even with thy presence my untainted blood
Preach abstinence to rascals like thyself
Rotten with surfeiting. Leave me in peace.
This grove is sacred: thou profanest it.
Hence! I have business that concerns thee not.

MELLISH. Ay, with your woman. You will lose
your fight.
Have you forgot your duty to your backets?
Oh, what a sacred thing your duty is!
What makes a man but duty? Where were we
Without our duty? Think of Nelson's words:
England expects that every man

CASHEL. Shall twaddle

About his duty. Mellish: at no hour
Can I regard thee wholly without loathing;

322 The Admirable Bashville

But when thou play'st the moralist, b> Heaveiii
My soul flies to my fist, my fist to thee;
And never did the Cyclops* hammer fall
On Mars' s armor — but enough of that.
It does remind me of my mother.

MELLISH. Ah,

Byron, let it remind thee. Once I heard

An old song: it ran thus. [He clears his throat.'\ Ahenit

Ahem!

[Sings^ — ^They say there is no other

Can take the place of mother —

I am out o* voice: forgive me; but remember:
Thy mother — were that sainted woman here —
Would say. Obey thy trainer.

CASHEL. Now, by Heaven,

Some fate is pushing thee upon thy doom.
Canst thou not hear thy sands as they run out?
They thunder like an avalanche. Old man:
Two things I hate, my duty and my mother.
Why dost thou urge them both upon me now?
Presume not on thine age and on thy nastiness.
Vanish, and promptly.

MELLISH. Can I leave thee here

Thus thinly clad, exposed to vernal dews?
Come back with me, my son, unto our lodge.

CASHEL. Within this breast a fire is newly lit
Whose glow shall sun the dew away, whose radiance
Shall make the orb of night hang in the heavens
Unnoticed, like a glow-worm at high noon.

MELLISH. Ah me, ah me, where wilt thou spend
the night?

CASHEL. Wiltstoken's windows wandering beneath',

or, Constancy Unrewarded 323

Wiltstoken's holy bell hearkening,
^Wiltstoken's lady loving breathlessly.

MELLisH. The lady of the castle! Thou art mad.
CASHEL. *Tis thou art mad to trifle in my path.
Thwart me no more. Begone.

MELLISH. My boy, my son,

rd give my heart's blood for thy happiness.
Thwart thee, my son! ,Ah no. Til go with thee,
r 11 -brave the dews., Fll sacrifice my sleep.
I am old — no matter: ne'er shall it be said
Mellish deserted thee.

CASHEL. You resolute gods

That will not spare this man, upon your knees
Take the disparity twixt his age and mine.
Now from the ring to the high judgment seat
I step at your behest. Bear you me witness
This is not Victory, but Execution.

[He solemnly projects his fist with colossal force against
the waistcoat of Mellish^ who eUnibles up like a folded
towels and lies without sense or motion.
And now the night is beautiful again.

\The castle clock strikes the hour in the distance.
Hark! Hark! Hart! Hark! Hark! Hark! Hark!

Hark! Hark! Hark!
It strikes in poetry. 'Tis ten o'clock.
Lydia: to thee!
{He steals off towards the castle. Mellish stirs and
groans.

324 The Admirable Bashville

ACT II

London. A room in Lydids house
Enter Lydia and Lucian

LYDIA. Welcome, dear cousin, to my London house.
Of late you have been chary of your visits.

LUCIAN. I have been greatly occupied of late.
The minister to whom I act as scribe
In Downing Street was born in Birmingham,
And, like a thoroughbred commercial statesman.
Splits his infinities, which I, poor slave,
Must reunite, though all the time my heart
Yearns for my gentle coz's company.

LYDIA. Lucian: there is some other reason. Think!
Since England was a nation every mood
Her scribes have prepositionally split;
But thine avoidance dates from yestermonth.

LUCIAN. There is a man I like not haunts this house.

LYDIA. Thou speak' st of Cashel Byron?

LUCIAN. Aye, of him.

Hast thou forgotten that eventful night
When as we gathered were at Hoskyn House
To hear a lecture by Herr Abendgasse,
He placed a single finger on my chest.
And I, ensorceled, would have sunk supine
Had not a chair received my falling form.

LYDIA. Pooh! That was but by way of illustration.

LUCIAN. What right had he to illustrate his point
Upon my person? Was I his assistant
That he should try experiments on me
As Simpson did on his with chloroform?

or, Constancy Unrewarded 325

Now, by the cannon balls of Galileo
He hath unmanned me: all my nerve is gone.
This very morning my official chief,
Tapping with friendly forefinger this button,
Levelled me like a thunderstricken elm
Flat upon the Colonial Office floor.

LYDIA. Fancies, coz.

LUCiAN. Fancies! Fits! the chief said fits!

Delirium tremens! the chlorotic dance
Of Vitus! What could any one have thought?
Your ruffian friend hath ruined me. By Heaven,
I tremble at a thumbnail. Give me drink.

LYDIA. What ho, without there! Bashville.

BASHViLLE [mtk<mt]. Coming, madam.

EnUr BashTville

LYDIA. My cousin ails, Bashville. Procure some
wet. [Exif Bashville.

LUCIAN. Some wet!!! Where learnt you that
atrocious word?
This is the language of a flower-girl.

LYDIA. True. It is horrible. Said I **Some wet"?
I meant, some drink.. Why did I say "Some wet"?
Am I ensorceled too? **Some wet"! Fie! fie!
I feel as though some hateful thing had stained me.
Oh, Lucian, how could I have said **Some wet"?

LUCIAN. The horrid conversation of this man
Hath numbed thy once unfailing sense of fitness.

LYDIA. Nay, he speaks very well: he's literate:
Shakespear he quotes unconsciously.

LUCIAN. And yet

Anon he talks pure pothouse.

.y^'

326 The Admirable Bash villa

Enter Bashville

BASHViLLE. Sir: your potion.

LuciAN. Thanks. \He drinks.] I am better.

A NEWSBOY [calling without]. Extra special Start
R.esult of the great fight! Name of the winner!

LYDiA. Who calls so loud?

BASHVILLE. The papers, madam.

LYDIA. Why?

Hath ought momentous happened?

BASHVILLE. Madam: yes.

\He produces a newspaper.
All England for these thrilling paragraphs
A week has waited breathless.

LYDIA. Read them us.

BASHVILLE \reading], ''At noon to-day, unknown to
the police,
Within a thousand miles of Wormwood Scrubbs,
Th* Australian Champion and his challenger,
The Flying Dutchman, formerly engaged
r the mercantile marine, fought to a finish.
Lord Worthington, the well-known sporting peer
Acted as referee."

LYDIA. Lord Worthington!

BASHVILLE. *The bold Ned Skene revisited the
ropes
To hold the bottle for his quondam novice;
Whilst in the seaman's corner were assembled
Professor Palmer and the Chelsea Snob.
Mellish, whose epigastrium has been hurt,
'Tis said, by accident at Wiltstoken,
Looked none the worse in the Australian's corner.
The Flying Dutchman wore the Union Jack:
His colors freely sold amid the crowd;

or, Constancy Unrewarded 327

But Cashers well-known spot of white on blue "

LYDiA. Wkose^ did you say?

BASHViLLE. , Cashel's, my lady.

LYDIA. Lucian:

Your hand — a chair —

BASHViLLE. Madam: you're ill.

LYDIA. Proceed.

What you have read I do not understand;
Yet I will hear it through. Proceed.

LUCIAN. Proceed.

BASHVILLE. "But Cashcl's well-known spot of white
on blue
Was fairly rushed for. Time was called at twelve,
When, with a smile of confidence upon
His ocean-beaten mug "

LYDIA. His mug?

LUCIAN [explaining]. His face.

BASHVILLE [continuing''], **The Dutchman came un-
daunted to the scratch.
But found the champion there already. Both
Most heartily shook hands, amid the cheers
Of their encouraged backers. Two to one
Was offered on the Melbourne nonpareil;
And soon, so fit the Flying Dutchman seemed,
Found takers everywhere. No time was lost
In getting to the business of the day.
The Dutchman led at once, and seemed to land
On Byron's dicebox; but the seaman's reach.
Too short for execution at long shots,
Did not get fairly home upon the ivory;
And Byron had the best of the exchange."

LYDIA. I do not understand. What were they
doing?

328 The Admirable Bashville

LUCiAN. Fighting with naked fists.

LYDiA. Oh, horrible!

ril hear no more. Or stay: how did it end?
Was Cashel hurt?

LUCIAN [fy Bashville]. Skip to the final round.

BASHVILLE. **Round Three: the rumors that had
gone about
Of a breakdown in Byron's recent training
Seemed quite confirmed. Upon the call of time
He rose, and, looking anything but cheerful.
Proclaimed with every breath Bellows to Mend.
At this point six to one was freely offered
Upon the Dutchman; and Lord Worthington
Plunged at this figure till he stood to lose
A fortune should the Dutchman, as seemed certain.
Take down the number of the Pauley boy.
The Dutchman, glutton as we know he is.
Seemed this time likely to go hungry. Cashel
Was clearly groggy as he slipped the sailor.
Who, not to be denied, followed him lip.
Forcing the fighting mid tremendous cheers."

LYDIA. Oh stop — no more — or tell the worst at
once,
ril be revenged. Bashville: call the police.
This brutal sailor shall be made to know
There's law in England.

LUCIAN. Do not interrupt him:

Mine ears are thirsting. Finish, man. What next?

BASHVILLE. "Forty to one, the Dutchman's friends
exclaimed.
Done, said Lord Worthington, who shewed himself
A sportsman every inch. Barely the bet
Was booked, when, at the reeling champion's jaw

or, Constancy Unrewarded 329

The sailor, bent on winning out of hand,
Sent in his right. The issue seemed a cert.
When Cashel, ducking smartly to his left.
Cross-countered like a hundredweight of brick- "

LuciAN. Death and damnation!

LYDiA. Oh, what does it mean?

BASHViLLE. "The Dutchman went to grass, a beaten

man."

LYDIA. Hurrahl Hurrah! Hurrah! Oh, well done,
Cashel!

BASHVILLE. **A scene of indescribable excitement
Ensued; for it was now quite evident
That Byron's grogginess had all along
Been feigned to make the market for his backers.
We trust this sample of colonial smartness
Will not find imitators on this side.
The losers settled up like gentlemen;
But many felt that Byron shewed bad taste
In taking old Ned Skene upon his back,
And, with Bob Mellish tucked beneath his oxter,
Sprinting a hundred yards to show the crowd
The perfect pink of his condition" — [a knock],

LYDIA [pirning pale], Bashville

Didst hear? A knock.

BASHVILLE. Madam: 'tis Byron's knock.

Shall I admit him?

LUCIAN. Reeking from the ring!

Oh, monstrous! Say you're out.

LYDIA. Send him away.

I will not see the wretch. How dare he keep
Secrets from me? I'll punish him. Pray say
I'm not at home. \^h'svL\iiA.n turns to go.] Yet stay.
I am afraid

330 The Admirable Bashville

He will not come again.

LUCiAN. A consummation

Devoutly to be. wished by any lady.
Pray, do you wish this man to come again?

LYDiA. No, Lucian. He hath used me very ill.
He should have told me. I will ne'er forgive him.
Say, Not at home.

BASHVILLE. Yes, madam. [Exit.

LYDIA. Stay —

LUCIAN [stopping ker\. No, Lydia:

You shall not countermand that proper order.
Oh, would you cast the treasure of your mind,
The thousands at your bank, and, above all,
Your unassailable social position
Before this soulless mass of beef and brawn.

LYDIA. Nay, coz: you^re prejudiced.

CASHEL [without]. Liar and slave!

LYDIA. What words were those?

LUCIAN. The man is drunk with slaughter.

Enter Bashville running: he shuts the door and locks it.

BASHVILLE. Save yourselves: at the staircase foot
the champion
Sprawls on the mat, by trick of wrestler tripped;
But when he rises, woe betide us all!

LYDIA. Who bade you treat my visitor with violence?

bashville. He would not take my answer; thrust
the door
Back in my face; gave me the lie i' the throat;
Averred he felt your presence in his bones.
I said he should feel mine there too, and felled him;
Then fled to bar your door.

LYDIA. O lover's instinct!

He felt my presence. Well, let him come in.

or, Constancy Unrewarded 331

We must not fail in courage with a fighters-
Unlock the door.

LUCIAN. Stop. Like all women, Lydia,

You have the courage of immunity.
To strike you were against his code of honor;
But mCy above the belt, he may perform on
T' th' height of his profession. Also Bashville.

BASHVILLE. Think not of me, sir. Let him do his
worst.
Oh, if the valor of my heart could weigh
The fatal difference twixt his weight and mine,
A second battle should he do this day:
Nay, though outmatched I be, let but my mistress
Give me the word: instant I'll take him on
Here — now — at catchweight. Better bite the carpet
A man, than fly, a coward

LUCIAN. Bravely said:

I will assist you with the poker.

LYDiA. No:

I will not have him touched. Open the door.

BASHVILLE. Destruction knocks thereat. I smile,
and open.

[Bashville opens the door. Dead silence, Cashel
enters f in tears. A solemn pause.

CASHEL. You know my secret?

LYDIA. Yes.

CASHEL. And thereupon

You bade your servant fling me from your door.

LYDIA. I bade my servant say I was not here.

CASHEL \p Bashville]. Why didst thou better thy
instruction, man?
Hadst thou but said, **She bade me tell thee this/'
Thoudst burst my heart. I thank thee for thy mercy.

332 The Admirable Bashville

LYDiA. Oh, Lucian, didst thou call him "drunk with •
slaughter"?
Canst thou refrain from weeping at his woe?
CASHEL [to lucian]. The unwritten law that shields
the amateur
Against professional resentment, saves thee.

coward, to traduce behind their backs
Defenceless prizefighters!

LUCIAN. Thou dost avow

Thou art a prizefighter.
CASHEL. It was my glory.

1 had hoped to offer to my lady there

My belts, my championships, my heaped-up stakctg
My undefeated record; but I knew
Behind their blaze a hateful secret lurked.

LYDIA. Another secret?

LUCIAN. ^ Is there worse to come?

CASHEL. Know ye not then my mother is an
actress?

LUCIAN. How horrible!

LYDIA. Nay, nay: how interesting!

CASHEL. A thousand victories cannot wipe out
That birthstain. Oh, my speech bewrayeth it:
My earliest lesson was the player's speech
In Hamlet; and to this day I express itiyself
More like a mobled queen than like a man
Of flesh and blood. Well may your cousin sneerl
What's Hecuba to him or he to Hecuba?

LUCIAN. Injurious upstart: if by Hecuba
Thou pointest darkly at my lovely cousin,
Know that she is to me, and I to her.
What never canst thou be. I do defy thee;
And maugre all the odds thy skill doth give,

or, Constancy Unrewarded 333

Outside I will await thee.

LYDiA. I forbid

Expressly any such duello. BashviUe:
The door. Put Mr. Webber in a hansom,
And bid the driver hie to Downing Street.
No answer: 'tis my will.

[Exeunt Lucian a?ui Bashville.
And now, farewell.
You must not come again, unless indeed
You can some day look in my eyes and say: x
Lydia: my occupation's gone.

CASHEL. Ah no:

It would remind you of my wretched mother.

God, let me be natural a moment I
What other occupation can I try?
What would you have me be?

lVdia. a gentleman.

CASHEL. A gentleman! I, Cashel Byron, stoop
To be the thing that bets on me! the fool

1 flatter at so many coins a lesson!

The screaming creature who beside the ring
Gambles with basest wretches for my blood,
And pays with money that he never earned!
Let me die broken hearted rather!

LYDIA. But

You need not be an idle gentleman.
I call you one of Nature's gentlemen.

CASHEL. That's the collection for the loser, Lydia.
I am not wont to need it. When your friends
Contest elections, and at foot o' th' poll
Rue their presumption, 'tis their wont to claim
A moral victory. In a sort they are
Nature's M.P.s. I am not yet so threadbai^e

334 ^h^ Admirable BashviUe

■

As to accept these consolation stakes. ,

LYDiA. You are offended with me.

CASHEL. Yes I am.

I can put up with much; but — "Nature's gentleman'M
I thank your ladyship of Lyons, but
Must beg to be excused.

LYDIA. But surely, surely,

To be a prizefighter, and maul poor mariners
With naked knuckles, is no work for you.

CASHEL. Thou dost arraign the inattentive Fates
That weave my thread of life in ruder patterns ^

Than these that lie, antimacassarly,
Asprent thy drawingroom. As well demand
Why I at birth chose to begin my life
A speechless babe, hairless, incontinent,
Hobbling upon all fours, a nurse's nuisance?
Or why I do propose to lose my strength,
To blanch my hair, to let the gums recede
Far up my yellowing teeth, and finally
Lie down and moulder in a rotten grave?
Only one thing mere foolish could have been,
And that was to be born, not man, but womaJn.
This was thy folly, why rebuk'st thou mine? *

LYDIA. These are not things of choice.

CASHEL. And did I choose

My quick divining eye, my lightning hand.
My springing muscle and untiring heart?
Did I implant the instinct in the race-
That found a use for these, and said to me.
Fight for us, and be fame and fortune thine?

LYDIA. But there are other callings in the world.

CASHEL. Go tell thy painters to turn stockbrokers,
Thy poet friends to stoop o'er merchants' desks

or, Constancy Unrewarded 335

And pen prose records of the gains of greed.
Tell bishops that religion is outworn,
And that the Pampa to the horsebreaker
Opes new careers. Bid the professor quit
His fraudulent pedantries, and do i' the world
The thing he would teach others. Then return
To me and say: Cashel: they have obeyed;
And on that pyre of sacrifice I, too,
Will throw my championship.

LYDiA. But 'tis so cruel,

CASHEL. Is it so? I have hardly noticed that.
So cruel are all callings. Yet this hand,
That many a two days* bruise hath ruthless given,
Hath kept no dungeon locked for twenty years.
Hath slain no sentient creature for my sport.
I am too squeamish for your dainty world.
That cowers behind the gallows and the lash.
The world that robs the poor, and with their spoil
Does what its tradesmen tell it. Oh, your ladies I
Sealskinned and egret-feathered; all defiance
To Nature; cowering if one say to them
"What will the servants think?*' Your gentlemen I
Your tailor-tyrannized visitors of whom
Flutter of wing and singing in the wood
Make chickenbutchers. And your medicine men!
Groping for cures in the tormented entrails
Of friendly dogs. Pray have you asked all these
To change their occupations? Find you mine
So grimly crueller? I cannot breathe
An air so petty and so poisonous.

LYDIA. But find you not their manners very nice?

CASHEL. To me, perfection. Oh, they condescend
With a rare grace. Your duke, who condescends

336 The Admirable Bashville

Almost to the whole world, might for a Man

Pass in the eyes of those who never saw

The duke capped with a prince. See then, ye gods,

The duke turn footman, and his eager dame

Sink the great lady in the obsequious housemaid!

Oh, at such moments I could wish the Court

Had but one breadbasket, that with my fist

I could make all its windy vanity

Gasp itself out on the gravel. Fare you well.

I did not choose my calling; but at least

I can refrain from being a gentleman.

LYDiA. You say farewell to me without a pang.

CASHEL. My calling hath apprenticed me to pangs.
This is a rib-bender; but I can bear it.
It is a lonely thing to be a champion.

LYDIA. It is a lonelier thing to be a woman.

CASHEL. Be lonely then. Shall it be said of thee
That for his brawn thou misalliance mad'st
Wi' the Prince of Ruffians? Never. Go thy ways;
Or, if thou hast nostalgia of the mud.
Wed some bedogg^d wretch that on the slot
Of gilded snobbery y/z'^w/lr^ i terret
Will hunt through life with eager nose on earth
And hang thee thick with diamonds. I am rich;
But all my gold was fought for with my hands.

LYDIA. What dost thou mean by rich?

CASHEL. There is a man,

Hight Paradise, vaunted unconquerable.
Hath dared to say he will be glad to hear from me.
I have replied that none can hear from me
Until a thousand solid pounds be staked.
His friends have confidently found the money.
Ere fall of leaf that money shall be mine;

or, Constancy Unrewarded 337

And then I shall posse$$ ten thousand pounds.
"I had hoped to tempt thee with that monstrous
sum.

LYDiA. Thou silly Cashel, 'tis but a week's income.
I did propose to give thee three times that
For pocket money when we two were wed.

CASHEL. Give me my hat. I have been fooling
here.
Now, by the Hebrew lawgiver, I thought
That only in America such revenues
Were decent deemed. Enough. My dream is

dreamed.
Your gold weighs like a mountain on my chest.
Farewell.

LYDIA. The golden mountain shall be thine
The day thou quit'st thy horrible profession.

CASHEL. Tempt me not, woman. It is honor calls.
Slave to the Ring I rest until the face
Of Paradise be changed.

EnUr Bashville

BASHViLLE. Madam, your carriage,

Ordered by you at two. 'Tis now half-past.

CASHEL. SdeathI is it half-past two? The king!
the king!

LYDIA. The king! What mean you?

CASHEL. I must meet a m6narch

This very afternoon at Islington.

LYDIA. At Islington! You must be mad.

CASHEL. A cab!

Go call a cab; and let a cab be called;
And let the man that calls it be thy footman.

LYDIA. ^ You are not well. You shall not go alone.

338 The Admirable Bashville

My carriage waits. I must accompany you.

I go to find my hat. [Exit.

CASHEL. Like Paracelsus,

Who went to find his soul. [7b Bashville.] And

now, young man,
How comes it that a fellow of your inches,
So deft a wrestler and so bold a spirit.
Can stoop to be a flunkey? Call on me
On your next evening out. Til make a man of you.

Surely you are ambitious and aspire

BASHVILLE. To be a butler and draw corks; where-
fore,
By Heaven, I will draw yours.

[He hits Cashel on the nose^ and runs out.
CASHEL [thoughtfully putting the side of his forefinger io
his nose, and studying the blood on it]. Too quick for
me/
There's money in this youth.

Re-enter Lydi a, hatted and gloved,
LYDiA. O Heaven! you bleed.

CASHEL. Lend me a key or other frigid object,
That I may put it down my back, and staunch
The welling life stream.
LYDIA [giving him her keys']. Oh, what have you

done?
CASHEL. Flush on the boko napped your footman's

left.
LYDIA. I do not understand.
CASHEL. True. Pardon me.

I have received a blow upon the nose
In sport from Bashville. Next, ablution; else
I shall be total gules. [He hurrus ami.

LYDIA. How well he speaks!

or, Constancy Unrewarded 339

^here is a silver trumpet in his lips
That stirs me to the finger ends. His nose
Dropt lovely color: 'tis a perfect blood.
I would 'twere mingled with mine own!

Enter Bashville

What now?

BASHVILLE. Madam, the coachman can no longer
wait:
The horses will take cold

LYDIA. I do beseech him

A moment's grace. Oh, mockery of wealth!
The third class passenger unchidden rides
Whither and when he will: obsequious trams
Await him hourly: subterranean tubes
With tireless coursers whisk him through the town;
But we, the rich, are slaves to Houyhnhnms:
We wait upon their colds, and frowst all day
Indoors, if they but cough or spurn their hay.

BASHVILLE. Madam, an omnibus to Euston Road,
And thence t' th' Angel—

Enter Cashel

LYDIA. Let us haste, my love:

The coachman is impatient.

cashel. Did he guess

He stays for Cashel Byron, he'd outwait
Pompei's sentinel. Let us away.
This day of deeds, as yet but half begun,
Must ended be in merrie Islington.

[Exeunt Lydia and Cashel.

BASHVILLE. Gods! how she hangs on's arm! I am
alone.

340 T&e Admirable Bashville

Now let me lift the cover from my soul.

wasted humbleness! Deluded diffidencel
How often have I said, Lie down, poor footmatft
She'll never stoop to thee, rear as thou wilt
Thy powder to the sky. And now, by Heaven,
She stoops below me; condescends upon

This hero of the pothouse, whose exploits,
Writ in my character from my<last place.
Would damn me into ostlerdom. And yet
There's an eternal justice in it; for
By so much as the ne'er subdued Indian
Excels the servile negro, doth this ruffian
Precedence take of me. ''Ich dien.** Damnation!

1 serve. My motto should have been, *'I scalp."
And yet I do not bear the yoke for gold.
Because I love her I have blacked her boots;
Because I love her I have cleaned her knives,
Doing in this the office of a boy,

Whilst, like the celebrated maid that milks

And does the meanest chares, I've shared the passions

Of Cleopatra. It has been my pride

To give her place the greater altitude

By lowering mine, and of her dignity

To be so jealous that my cheek has flamed

Even at the thought of such a deep disgrace

As love for such a one as I would be

For such a one as she; and now! and now!

A prizefighter! O irony! O bathos!

To have made way for this! Oh, Bashville, Bashville:

Why hast thou thought so lowly of thyself.

So heavenly high of her? Let what will come.

My love must speak: 'twas my respect was dumb.

or, Constancy Unrewarded 341

Scene II

l^he Agricultural Hall in Islington, crowded with spectators.
In die arena a throne , with a boxing ring before it. A
balcony above on the right y occupied by persons of fash-
ion: among others y Lydia and Lord Worthington.

Flourish. Enter Lucian and Cetewayo, with Chiefs in

attendance.

CETEWAYO. Is this the Hall of Husbandmen?

LUCIAN. It IS.

CETEWAYO. Are these anaemic dogs the English
people?

LUCIAN. Mislike us not for our complexions,
The pallid liveries of the pall of smoke
Belched by the mighty chimneys of our factories,
And by the million patent kitchen ranges
Of happy English homes.

CETEWAYO. When first I came

i deemed those chimneys the fuliginous altars
Of some infernal god. I now perceive
The English dare not look upon the sky.
They are moles and Cwls: they call upon the soot
To cover them.

LUCIAN. You cannot understand

The greatness of this people, Cetewayo.
You are a savage, reasoning like a child.
Each pallid English face conceals a brain
Whose powers are proven in the works of Newton
And in the plays of the immortal Shakespear.
There is not one of all the thousands here
But, if you placed him naked in the desert,
Would presently construct a steam engine,
And lay a cable t' th' Antipodes.

342 The Admirable Bashville

CETEWAYO. Have I been brought a million miles
by sea
To learn how men can lie I Know, Father Webber,
Men become civilized through twin diseases,
Terror and Greed to wit: these two conjoined
Become the grisly parents of Invention.
Why does the trembling white with frantic toil
Of hand and brain produce the magic gun
That slays a mile off, whilst the manly Zulu
Dares look his foe i' the face; fights foot to foot;
Lives in the present; drains the Here and Now;
Makes life a long reality, and death
A moment only; whilst your Englishman
Glares on his burning candle's winding-sheets,
Counting the steps of his approaching doom.
And in the murky corners ever sees
Two horrid shadows, Death and Poverty:
In the which anguish an unnatural edge
Comes on his frighted brain, which straight devises
Strange frauds by which to filch unearned gold.
Mad crafts by which to slay unfac^d foes,
Until at last his agonized desire
Makes possibility its slave. And then —
Horrible climax! All-undoing spite! —
Th' importunate clutching of the coward's hand
From wearied Nature Devastation's secrets
Doth wrest; when straight the brave black-livered man
Is blown explosively from off the globe;
And Death and Dread, with their white-livered slaves
O'er-run the earth, and through their chattering teeth
Stammer the words "Survival of the Fittest."
Enough of this: I came not here to talk.
Thou say' St thou hast two white- faced ones who dare

or, Constancy Unrewarded 343

Fight without guns, and spearless, to the death.
Let them be brought.

LUCIAN. They fight not to the death,

But under strictest rules: as, for example,
Half of their persons shall not be attacked;
Nor shall they suffer blows when they fall down.
Nor stroke of foot at any time. And, further,
Thac frequent opportunities of rest
With succor and refreshment be secured them.

CETEWAYO. Ye gods, what cowards! Zululand, my
Zululand:
Personified Pusillanimity
Hath ta'en thee from the bravest of the brave!

LUCIAN. Lo the rude savage whose untutored mind
Cannot perceive self-evidence, and doubts
That Brave and English mean the self-same thing!

CETEWAYO. Well, well, produce these heroes. I
surmise
They will be carried by their nurses, lest
Some barking dog or bumbling bee should scare them.

Cetewayo takes his state. Enter Paradise

LYDIA. What hateful wretch is this whose mighty
thews
Presage destruction to his adversaries?

LORD WORTHINGTON. 'Tis Paradise,

LYDIA. He of whom Cashel spoke?

A dreadful thought ices my heart. Oh, why
Did Cashel leave us at the door?

Enter Cashel

LORD WORTHINGTON. Behold!

The champion comes.
LYDIA. Oh, I could kiss him now

344 ^^^ Admirable Bashville

Here, before all the world. His boxing things
Render him most attractive. But I fear
Yon villain's fists may maul him.

WORTHINGTON. HaVC HO fcdf.

Hark! the king speaks.

CETEWAYO. Ye sons of the white queen:

Tell me your names and deeds ere ye fall to.

PARADISE. Your royal highness, you beholds a bloke
What gets his living honest by his fists.
I may not have the polish of some toffs
As I could mention on; but up to now
No man has took my number down. I scale
Close on twelve stun; my age is twenty-three;
And at Bill Richardson's Blue Anchor pub
Am to be heard of any day by such
As likes the job. I don't know, governor,
As ennythink remains for me to say.

CETEWAYO. Six wives and thirty oxen sbalt thou
have
If on the sand thou leave thy foeman dead.
Methinks he looks scornfully on thee.
\To Cashel] Hal dost thou not so?

CASHEL. Sir, I do beseech you

To name the bone, or limb, or special place
Where you would have me hit him with this fist.

CETEWAYO. Thou hast a noble brow; but much I fear
Thine adversary will disfigure it.

CASHEL. There's a divinity that shapes our ends
Rough hew them how we will. Give me thegloves.

THE MASTER OF THE REVELS. Paradise, a professor.
Cashel Byron,
Also professor. Time! \Tkiy sfiar.

LYDiA. Eternity

or, Constancy Unrewarded 345

It seems to me until this %ht be done.

CASHEL. Dread monarch: this is called the upper
cut,
And this a hook-hit of mine own invention.
The hollow region where I plant this blow
Is called the mark. My left, you will observe,
I chiefly use for long shots: with my right
Aiming beside the angle of the jaw
And landing with a certain delicate screw
I without violence knock my foeman out.
Mark how he falls forward upon his face!
The rules allow ten seconds to get up;
And as the man is still quite silly, I
Might safely finish him; but my respect
For your most gracious majesty's desire
To see some further triumphs of the science
Of self-defence postpones awhile his doom.

PARADISE. How can a bloke do hisself proper justice
With pillows on his fists?

[He tears off his gloves and attacks Cashel widt his bare
knuckles.

THE CROWD. Unfair! The rules!

CETEWAYO. The joy of battle surges boiling up
And bids me join the mellay. Isandhlana
And Victory! [He falls on the bystanders.

TH£ CHIEFS. Victory and Isandhlana!

[They run amok. General panic and stampede. The
ring is swept away.

LUCiAN. Forbear these most irregular proceedings.
Police! Police!

[He engages Cetewayo with his umbrella. The bal-
cony comes down with a crash. Screams from its occu-
pants. Indescribable confusion.

34^ The Admirable Bashville

CASHEL [dragging Lydia from the struggling heap\
My love, my love, art hurt?

LYDIA. No, no; but save my sore o'ermatch^d
cousin.

A POLICEMAN. Give us a lead, sir. Save the English
flag.
Africa tramples on it.

CASHEL. Africa!

Not all the continents whose mighty shoulders
The dancing diamonds of the seas bedeck
Shall trample on the blue with spots of white.
Now, Lydia, mark thy lover. \He charges the Zulus.

LYDIA. Hercules

Cannot withstand him. See: the king is down;
The tallest chief is up, heels over head,
Tossed corklike o'er my Cashel's sinewy back;
And his lieutenant all deflated gasps
For breath upon the sand. The others fly
In vain: his fist o'er magic distances
Like a chameleon's tongue shoots to its mark;
And the last African upon his knees
Sues piteously for quarter. [Rushing into Cashel's

arms.] Oh, my hero:
Thou'st saved us all this day.

CASHEL. 'Twas all for thee.

cetewayo [trying to rise]. Have I been struck by
lightning?

LuciAN. Sir, your conduct

Can only be described as most ungentlemanly.

policeman. One of the prone is white.

CASHEL. Tis Paradise.

POLICEMAN. He's choking: he has something in his
mouth.

or, Constancy Unrewarded 347

LYDiA [to Cashel]. Oh Heavenl there is blood upon
your hip.
You're hurt.

CASHEL. The morsel in yon wretch's mouth

Was bitten out of me.

[Sensation. Lydia screams and swoons in Cashel 's
arms.

ACT III

Wiltstoken. A room in the Warren Lodge

Lydia at her writing table

LYDIA. O Past and Present, how ye do conflict
As here I sit writing my father's life!
The autumn woodland woos me from without
With whispering of leaves and dainty airs
To leave this fruitless haunting of thie past.
My father was a very learned nian.
I sometimes think I shall oldmaided be
Ere I unlearn the things he taught to me.

Enter Policeman

POLICEMAN. Asking your ladyship to pardon me
For this intrusion, might I be so bold
As ask a question of your people here
Concerning the Queen's peace?

LYDIA. My people here

Are but a footman and a simple maid;
And both have craved a holiday to join
Some local festival. But, sir, your Ivelmet
Proclaims the Metropolitan Police.

POLICEMAN. Madam, it does; and I may now inform
you

34^ The Admirable Bashville

That what you term a local festival

Is a most hideous outrage 'gainst the law,

Which we to quell from London have come down:

In short, a prizefight. My sole purpose here

Is to inquire whether your ladyship

Any bad characters this afternoon

Has noted in the neighborhood.

LYDiA. No, none, sir.

I had not let my maid go forth to-day
Thought I the roads unsafe.

POLICEMAN. Fear nothing, madam:

The force protects the fair. My mission here
Is to wreak ultion for the broken law.
I wish your ladyship good afternoon.

LYDIA. Good afternoon. [Exit Policeman.

A prizefight! O my heart 1
Cashel: hast thou deceived me? Can it be
Thou hast backslidden to the hateful calling
I asked thee to eschew?

O wretched maid.
Why didst thou flee from London to this place
To write thy father's life, whenas in town
Thou might' St have kept a guardian eye on him —
What's that? A flying footstep —

Enter Cashel

CASHEL. Sanctuary 1

The law is on my track. What! Lydia here!

LYDIA. Ay: Lydia here. Hast thou done murder,
then,
That in so horrible a guise thou comest?

CASHEL. Murder! I would I had. Yon cannibal
Hath forty thousand lives; and I have ta'en

or, Constancy Unrewarded 349

But thousands thirty-nine. I tell thee, Lydia,
* On the impenetrable sarcolobe
That holds his seedling brain these fists have pounded
' By Shrewsbury clock an hour. This bruised grass
And caked mud adhering to my form
I have acquired in rolling on the sod
Clinched in his grip. This scanty reefer coat
For decency snatched up as fast I fled
When the police arrived, belongs to Mellish.
'Tis all too short; hence my display of rib
And forearm mother-naked. Be not wroth
Because I seem to wink at you: by Heaven,
'Twas Paradise that plugged me in the eye
Which I perforce keep closing. Pity me,
My training wasted and my blows unpaid,
Sans stakes, sans victory, sans everything
I had hoped to win. Oh, I could sit me down
And weep for bitterness.

LYDiA. Thou wretch, begone.

CASHEL. Begone !

LYDIA. I say begone. Oh, tiger's heart

Wrapped in a young man's hide, canst thou not live
In love with Nature and at peace with Man?
Must thou, although thy hands were never made
To blacken other's eyes, still batter at
The image of Divinity? I loathe thee.
Hence from my house and never see me more.

CASHEL. I go. The meanest lad on thy estate
Would not betray me thus. But 'tis no matter.

\^He opens the door.
Ha! the police. I'm lost. [He shuts Hie door again.

Now shaft thou see
My last fight fought. Exhausted as I am.

350 The Admirable Bashville

To capture me will cost the coppers dear.
Come one, come all!

LYDiA. Oh, hide thee, I implore:

I cannot see thee hunted down like this.
There is my room. Conceal thyself therein.
Quick, I command. [He goes into iAe room,^

With horror I foresee,
Lydia, that never lied, must lie for thee.

Enter Policeman, with Paradise and Mellish in
custody y Bashville, constables^ and others

POLICEMAN. Keep back your bruised prisoner lest
he shock
This wellbred lady's nerves. Your pardon, ma'am;
But have you seen by chance the other one?
In this direction he was seen to run.

LYDIA. A man came here anon with bloody hands
And aspect that did turn my soul to snow.

POLICEMAN. 'Twas he. What said he?

LYDIA. Begged for sanctuary.

I bade the man begone.

POLICEMAN. Most properly.

Saw you which way he went?

LYDIA. I cannot tell.

PARADISE. He seen me coming; and he done a
bunk.

POLICEMAN. Peace, there. Excuse his damaged
features, lady:
He's Paradise; and this one's Byron's trainer.
Mellish.

MELLISH. Injurious copper, in thy teeth
I hurl the lie. I am no trainer, I.
My father, a respected missionary,

or, Constancy Unrewarded 351

Apprenticed me at fourteen years of age
T' the poetry writing. To these woods I came
With Nature to commune. My revery
Was by a sound of blows rudely dispelled.
Mindful of what my sainted parent taught.
I rushed to play the peacemaker, when lo!
These minions of the law laid hands on me.

BASHVILLE. A lovely woman, with distracted cries,
In most resplendent fashionable frock.
Approaches like a wounded antelope.

Enter Adelaide Gisborne

ADELAIDE. Where is my Cashel? Hath he been

arrested?
POLICEMAN. I would I had thy Cashel by the collar:
He hath escaped me.
ADELAIDE. Praises be for ever!

LYDiA. Why dost thou call the missing man tity

Cashel?
ADELAIDE. He IS mine only son.
ALL. Thy son!

ADELAIDE. My SOU.

LYDIA. I thought his mother hardly would have
known him,
So crushed his countenance.

ADELAIDE. A ribald peer,

Lord Worthington by name, this morning came
With honeyed words beseeching me to mount
His four-in-hand, and to the country hie
To see some English sport. Being by nature
Frank as a child, I fell into the snare.
But took so long to dress that the design
Failed of its full effect; for not until

352 The Admirable Bashville

The final round we reached the horrid scene.
Be silent all; for now I do approach
My tragedy's catastrophe. Know, then,
That Heaven did bless me with an only son,
A boy devoted to his doting mother-

POLICEMAN. Hark! did you hear an oath from
yonder room?

ADELAIDE. Respect a broken - hearted mother's
grief.
And do not interrupt me in my scene.
Ten years ago my darling disappeared
(Ten dreary twelvemonths of continuous tears,
Tears that have left me prematurely aged;
For I am younger far than I appear).
Judge of my anguish when to-day I saw
Stripped to the waist, and fighting like a demon
With one who, whatsoe'er his humble virtues,
Was clearly not a gentleman, my son!

ALL. O strange event! O passing tearful tale!

ADELAIDE. I thank you from the bottom of my heart
For the reception you have given my woe;
And/iibw I ask, where is my wretched son?
^H'eimtiktat once come home with me, and quit
A course of life that cannot be allowed.

Enter Cashel

CASHEL. Policeman: I do yield me to the law.

LYDiA. Ob no.

ADELAIDE. My son!

CASHEL. My mother! Do not kiss me.

My visage is too sore.

POLICEMAN. The lady hid him.

This is a regular plant. You cannot be

or, Constancy Unrewarded 553

Up to that sex. [Tl? Cashel] « You come along with
me.

LYDiA. Fear not, my Cashel: I will bail thee out

CASHEL. Never. I do embrace my doom with joy.
With Paradise in Pentonville or Portland
I shall feel safe: there are no mothers there.

ADELAIDE. Ungracious boy—

CASHEL. Constable: bear me hence.

MELLiSH. Oh, let me sweetest reconcilement make
By calling to thy mind that moving song: —

[Sink's] They say there Is no other—

CASHEL. Forbear at once, or the next note of music
That falls upon thine ear shall clang in thunder
From the last trumpet.

ADELAIDE. A disgraccful threat

To level at this virtuous old man.

LYDIA. Oh, Cashel, if thou scorn'st thy mother
thus,
How wilt thou treat thy wife?

CASHEL. There spake my fate:

I knew you would say that. ' Oh, mothers, mothers,
Would you but let your wretched sons alone .
Life were worth living I Had I any choice
In this importunate relationship?
None. And until that high auspicious day
When the millennium on an orphaned world
Shall dawn, and man upon his fellow look,
Reckless of consanguinity, my mother
And I within the self-same hemisphere
Conjointly may not dwell.

ADELAIDE. Ui^entlemantyt

CASHEL. I am no gentleman. I am a criminal.

354 The Admirable Bashville

Redhanded, baseborn —

ADELAIDE. Basebom! Who dares say it?

Thou art the son and heir of Bingley Bumpkin
FitzAlgernon de Courcy Cashel Byron,
Sieur of Park Lane and Overlord of Dorset,
Who after three months wedded happiness
Rashly fordid himself with prussic acid,
Leaving a tearstained note to testify
That having sweetly honeymooned with me.
He now could say, O Death, where is thy sting?'

POLICEMAN. Sir: had I known your quality,, this
cop
I had averted; but it is too late.
The law's above us both.

Enter Lucian, with an Order in Council

LUCiAN. Not so, policeman

I bear a message from The Throne itself
Of fullest amnesty for Byron's past.
Nay, more: of Dorset deputy lieutenant
He is proclaimed. Further, it is decreed,
In memory of his glorious victory
'Over our country's foes at Islington,
The flag of England shall for ever bear
On azure field twelve swanlike spots of white;
And by an exercise of feudal right
Too long disused in this anarchic age
Our sovereign doth confer on him the hand
Of Miss Carew, Wiltstoken's wealthy heiress.

[General acclanuuUm^

POLICEMAN. Was anything, sir, said about me?

LUCIAN. Thy faithful services are not forgot:
In future call thyself Inspector Smith.

[Renewed acclamatum.

or, Constancy Unrewarded 355

POLICEMAN. I thank you, sir. I thank you, gentle-
men.

LUCiAN. My former opposition, valiant champion,
Was based on the supposed discrepancy
Betwixt your rank and Lydia's. Here's my hand.

BASHViLLE. And I do here unselfishly renounce
All my pretensions to my lady's favor. [Sensation.

LYDiA. What, Bashvillel didst thou love me?

BASHVILLE. Madam: yes,

'Tis said: now let me leave immediately.

LYDIA. In taking, Bashville, this n\ost tasteful course
You are but acting as a gentleman
In the like case would act. I fully grant
Your perfect right to make a declaration
Which flatters me and honors your ambition.
Prior attachment bids me firmly say ^
That whilst my Cashel lives, and polyandry
Rests foreign to the British social scheme,
Your love is hopeless; still, your services.
Made zealous by disinterested passion.
Would greatly add to my domestic comfort;
And if

CASHEL. Excuse me. I have other views.
I've noted in this man such aptitude
For art and exercise in his defence
That I prognosticate for him a future
More glorious than my past. Henceforth I dub him
The Admirable Bashville, Byron's Novice;
And to the utmost of my mended fortunes
Will back him 'gainst the world at ten stone six.

ALL. Hail, Byron's Novice, champion that shall bel

BASHVILLE. Must I reDouDce my lovely lady's serv-
ice,

356 The Admirable Bashville

And mar the face of man?

CASHEL. 'Tis Fate's decree.

For know, rash youth, that in this star crost world
Fate drives us all to find our chiefest good
In what we catty and not in what we would.

POLICEMAN. A post-horn — hark!

CASHEL. What noise of wheels is this?

Lord WoRTHiNGTo:^ drives upon the scene in his fimr-in-

hand, and descends

ADELAIDE. Perfidious peer!

LORD woRTHiNGTON. Swect Adelaide

ADELAIDE. ' Forbcar,

Audacious one: my name is Mrs. Byron.

LORD WORTHINGTON. Oh, change that title for the
sweeter one
Of Lady Worth ington.

CASHEL Unhappy man,

You know not what you do.

LYDiA. Nay, 'tis a match

Of most auspicious promise. Dear Lord Worthington,
You tear from us our mother-in-law —

CASHEL. Hal True.

LYDiA. — but we will make the sacrifice. She
blushes:
At least she very prettily produces
Blushing's effect.

ADELAIDE. My lord: I do accept you.

[They embrace. Rejoicings.

CASHEL [aside]. It wrings my heart to see my noble
backer
Lay waste his future thus. The world's a chessboard,
And we the merest pawns in fist of Fate.

or, Constancy Unrewarded 357

[Aloud,] And now, my friends, gentle and simple both.

Our scene draws to a close. In lawful course

As Dorset's deputy lieutenant I

Do pardon all concerned this afternoon

In the late gross and brutal exhibition

Of miscalled sport.

LYDiA [throwing herself into his arms']. Your boats
are burnt at last.

CASHEL. This is the face that burnt a thousand
boats,
And ravished Cashel B3rron from the ring.
But to conclude. Let William Paradise
Devote himself to science, and acquire,
By studying the player's speech in Hamlet,
A more refined address. You, Robert Mellish,
To the Blue Anchor hostelry attend him:
Assuage his hurts, and bid Bill Richardson .
Limit his access to the fatal tap..
Now mount we on my backer's four-in-hand,
And to St. George's Church, whose portico
Hanover Square shuts off from Conduit Street,
Repair we all. Strike up the wedding march;
And, Mellish, let thy melodies trill forth
Broad o'er the wold as fast we bowl along.
Give me the post-horn. Loose the flowing rein;
And up to London drive with might and main.

[Exemit.

Note on Modern Prizefighting

In 1882, when this book was written, prizefighting
seemed to be dying out. Sparring matches with box-
ing gloves, under the Queensberry rules, kept pugilism
faintly alive; but it was not popular, because the pub-
lic, which cares only for the excitement of a strenuous
fight, believed then that the boxing glove made spar-
ring as harmless a contest of pure skill as a fencing
match with buttoned foils. This delusion was sup-
ported by the limitation of the sparring match to
boxing. In the prize-ring under the old rules a com-
batant might trip, hold, or throw his antagonist; so
that each round finished either with a knockdown
blow, which, except when it is really a liedown blow,
is much commoner in fiction than it was in the ring,
or with a visible body-to-body struggle ending in a
fall. In a sparring match all that happens is that a
man with a watch in his hand cries out "Time!"
whereupon the two champions prosaically stop spar-
ring and sit down for a minute's rest and refreshment.
The unaccustomed and inexpert spectator in those
days did not appreciate the severity of the exertion or
the risk of getting hurt: he underrated them as igno-
rantly as he would have overrated the more dramatic-
ally obvious terrors of a prizefight. Consequently the
interest in the annual sparrings for the Queensberry
Championships was confined to the few amateurs who
had some critical knowledge of the game of boxing,
and to the survivors of the generation for which the

359

360 Cashel Byron's Profession

fight between Sayers and Heenan had been described
in The Times as solemnly as the University Boat Race.
In short, pugilism was out of fashion because the
police had suppressed the only form of it which fasci-
nated the public by its undissembled pugnacity.

All that was needed to rehabilitate it was the dis-
covery that the glove fight is a more trying and dan-
gerous form of contest than the old knuckle fight.
Nobody knew that then: everybody knows it, or ought
to know it, now. And, accordingly, pugilism is more
prosperous to-day than it has ever been before.

How far this result was foreseen by the author of
the Queensberry Rules, which superseded those of the
old prize-ring, will probably never be known. There
is no doubt that they served their immediate turn
admirably. That turn was, the keeping alive of box-
ing in the teeth of the law against prizefighting.
Magistrates believed, as the public believed, that
when men's knuckles were muffled in padded gloves;
when they were forbidden to wrestle or hold one
another; when the duration of a round was fixed by the
clock, and the number of rounds limited to what seems
(to those who have never tried) to be easily within the
limits of ordinary endurance; and when the tradi-
tional interval for rest between the rounds was doubled,
that then indeed violence must be checkmated, so that
the worst the boxers could do was* to "spar for points"
before three gentlemanly members of the Stock
Exchange, who would carefully note the said points
on an examination paper at the ring side, awarding
marks only for skill and elegance, and sternly dis-
countenancing the claims of brute force. It may be
that both the author of the rules and the "judges"

Modern Prizefighting 361

who administered them in the earlier days really
believed all this; for, as far as I know, the limit of an
amateur pugilist's romantic credulity has never yet
been reached and probably never wilL But if so, their
good intentions were upset by the operation of a single
new rule. Thus.

In the old prize-ring a round had no fixed duration.
It was terminated by the fall of one of the combatants
(in practise usually both of them), and was followed
by an interval of half a minute for recuperation. The
practical effect of this was that a combatant could
always get a respite of half a minute whenever he
wanted it by pretending to be knocked down: "finding
the earth the safest place,** as the old phrase went.
For this the Marquess of Queensberry substituted a
rule that a round with the gloves should last a specified
time, usually three or four minutes, and that a com-
batant who did not stand up to his opponent continu-
ously during that time (ten seconds being allowed for
rising in the event of a knock-down) lost the battle.
That unobtrusively slipped-in ten seconds limit has
produced the modern glove fight. Its practical effect
is that a man dazed by a blow or a fall for, say, twelve
seconds, which would not have mattered in an old-
fashioned fight with its thirty seconds interval,* has

1 In a treatise on boxing by Captain Edgeworth Johnstone,
just published, I read, "In the days of the prize-ring, fights lasted
for hours; and the knock-out blow was unknown." This state-
ment is a little too sweeping. The blow was known well enough.
A veteran prizefighter once described to me his first experience of
its curious effect on the senses. Only, as he had thirty seconds to
recover in instead of ten, it did not end the battle. The thirty
seconds made the knock-out so unlikely that the old pugilists
regarded it as a rare accident, not worth trying for. The glove

362 Cashel Byron's Profession

under the Queensberry rules either to lose or else
stagger to his feet in a helpless condition and be
eagerly battered into insensibility by his opponent
before he can recover his powers of self-defence. The
notion that such a battery cannot be inflicted with
boxing gloves is only entertained by people who have
never used them or seen them used. I may say that I
have myself received, in an accident, a blow in the face,
involving two macadamized holes in it, more violent
than the most formidable pugilist could have given me
with his bare knuckles. This blow did not stun or
disable me even momentarily. On the other hand, I
have seen a man knocked quite silly by a tap from the
most luxurious sort of boxing glove made, wielded by
a quite unathletic literary man sparring for the first
time in his life. The human jaw, like the human
elbow, is provided, as every boxer knows, with a
"funny bone"; and the pugilist who is lucky enough
to jar that funny bone with a blow practically has his
opponent at his mercy for at least ten seconds. Such
a blow is called a **knock-out." The funny bone
and the ten seconds rule explain the development of
Queensberry sparring into the modern knocking-out
match or glove fight.

This development got its first impulse from the dis-
covery by sparring competitors that the only way in

fighter tries for nothing else. Nevertheless knock-outs, and very
dramatic ones too (Mace by King, for example), did occur in the
prize ring from time to time. Captain Edgeworth Johnstone's
treatise is noteworthy in comparison with the earlier Badminton
handbook of sparring by Mr. E. B. Michell (one of the Queensberry
champions) as throwing over the old teaching of prize-ring boxing
with mufflers, and going in frankly for glove fighting, or, to put it
classically, cestus boxing.

Modern Prizefighting 363

which a boxer, however skilful, could make sure of a
verdict in his favor, was by knocking his opponent
out. This will be easily understood by any one who
remembers the pugilistic Bench of those days. The
"judges" at the competitions were invariably ex-cham-
piotis: that is, men who had themselves won former
competitions. Now the judicial faculty, if it is not
altogether a legal fiction, is at all events pretty rare
even among men whose ordinary pursuits tend to cul-
tivate it, and to train them in dispassionateness.
Among pugilists it is quite certainly very often non-
existent. The average pugilist is a violent partisan,
who seldom witnesses a hot encounter without getting
much more excited than the combatants themselves.
Further, he is usually filled with a local patriotism
which makes him, if a Londoner, deem it a duty to
disparage a provincial, and, if a provincial, to support
a provincial at all hazards against a cockney. He
has, besides, personal favorites on whose success he
bets wildly. On great occasions like the annual
competitions, he is less judicial and more convivial
after dinner (when the finals are sparred) than before
it. Being seldom a fine boxer, he often regards skill
and style as a reflection on his own deficiencies, and
applauds all verdicts given for "game" alone. When
he is a technically good boxer, he is all the less likely
to be a good critic, as Providence seldom lavishes two
rare gifts on the same individual. Even if we take the
sanguine and patriotic view that when you appoint
such a man a judge, and thus stop his betting, you
may depend on his sense of honor and responsibility
to neutralize all the other disqualifications, they are
sure to be exhibited most extremely by the audience

364 Cashel B3rron's Profession

before which he has to deliver his verdict. Now it
takes a good deal of strength of mind to give an
unpopular verdict; and this strength of mind is not
necessarily associated with the bodily hardihood of
the champion boxer. Consequently, when the strength
of mind is not forthcoming, the audience becomes the
judge, and the popular competitor gtts the verdict.
And the shortest way to the heart of a big audience is
to stick to your man; stop his blows bravely with your
nose and return them with interest; cover yourself and
him with your own gore; and outlast him in a hearty
punching match.

It was under these circumstances that the competi-
tors for sparring championships concluded that they
had better decide the bouts themselves by knocking
their opponents out, and waste no time in cultivating a
skill and style for which they got little credit, and
which actually set some of the judges against them.
The public instantly began to take an interest in the
sport. And so, by a pretty rapid evolution, the dex-
terities which the boxing glove and the Queensbeiry
rules were supposed to substitute for the old brutali-
ties of Sayers and Heenan were really abolished by
them. '

Let me describe the process as I saw it myself.
Twenty years ago a poet friend of mine, who, like all
poets, delighted in combats, insisted on my sharing
his interest in pugilism, and took me about to all the
boxing competitions of the day. I was nothing loth;
L tny own share of original sin apart, any one with
a s. ise of comedy must find the arts of self-defence
delightful (for a time) through their pedantry, their
quackery, and their action and reaction between

Modern Prizefighting 365

amateur romantic illusion and professional eye to busi-
ness.

The fencing world, as Moliere well knew, is perhaps
a more exquisite example of a fool's paradise than the
boxing world; but it is too restricted and expensive to
allow play for popular character in a non-duelling
country, as the boxing world (formerly called quite
appropriately *'the Fancy") does. At all events, it
was the boxing world that came under my notice;
and as I was amused and sceptically observant, whilst
the true amateurs about me were, for the most part,
merely excited and duped, my evidence may have
a certain value when the question comes up again
for legislative consideration, as it assuredly will some
day.

The first competitions I attended were at the begin-
ning of the eighties, at Lillie Bridge, for the Queens-
berry championships. There were but few competitors,
including a fair number of gentlemen; and the style of
boxing aimed at was the "science" bequeathed from
the old prize-ring by Ned Donnelly, a pupil of Nat
Langham. Langham had once defeated Sayers, and
thereby taught him the tactics by which he defeated
Heenan. There was as yet no special technique of
glove fighting: the traditions and influence of the old
ring were unquestioned and supreme; and they dis-
tinctly made for brains, skill, quickness, and mobility,
as against brute violence, not at all on moral groundsi
but because experience had proved that giants did not
succeed in the ring under the old rules, and that c(rf^
middle-weights did. . ^^

This did not last long. The spectators did nof want
to see skill defeating violence: they wanted to see

366 Cashel Byron's Profession

violence drawing blood and pounding its way to a sav-
age and exciting victory in the shortest possible time
(the old prizefight usually dragged on for hours, and
was ended by exhaustion rather than by victory). So
did most of the judges. And the public and the judges
naturally had their wish; for the competitors, as I have
already explained, soon discovered that the only way
to make sure of a favorable verdict was to "knock
out" their adversary. All pretence of sparring "for
points": that is, for marks on an examination paper
filled up by the judges, and representing nothing but
impracticable academic pedantry in its last ditch, was
dropped; and the competitions became frank fights,
with abundance of blood drawn, and "knock-outs"
always imminent. Needless to add, the glove fight
soon began to pay. The select and thinly attended
spars on the turf at Lillie Bridge gave way to crowded
exhibitions on the hard boards of St. James's Hall.
These were organized by the Boxing Association; and
to them the provinces, notably Birmingham, sent up a
new race of boxers whose sole aim was to knock their
opponent insensible by a right-hand blow on the jaw,
knowing well that no Birmingham man could depend
on a verdict before a London audience for any less
undeniable achievement.

The final step was taken by an American pugilist.
He threw off the last shred of the old hypocrisy of the
gloved hand by challenging the whole world to pro-
duce a man who could stand before him for a specified
time without being knocked out. His brief but
glorious career completely re-established pugilism by
giving a world-wide advertisement to the fact that t)ie
boxing glove spares nothing but the public conscience.

Modern Prizefighting 367

and that as much ferocity, bloodshed, pain, and risk
of serious injury or death can be enjoyed at a glove
fight as at an old-fashioned prizefight, whilst the strain
on the combatants is much greater. It is true that
these horrors are greatly exaggerated by the popular
imagination, and that if boxing were really as danger-
ous as bicycling, a good many of its heroes would give
it up from simple fright; but this only means that
there is a maximum of damage to the spectator by
demoralization, combined with the minimum of deter-^
rent risk to the poor scrapper in the ring.

Poor scrapper, though, is hardly the word for a
modern fashionable American pugilist. To him the
exploits of Cashel Byron will seem ludicrously obscure
and low-lived. The contests in which he engages are
like Handel Festivals: they take place in huge halls
before enormous audiences, with cinematographs hard
at work recording the scene for reproduction in Lon-
don and elsewhere. The combatants divide thousands
of dollars of gate-money between them: indeed, if an
impecunious English curate were to go to America and
challenge the premier pugilist, the spectacle of a match
between the Church and the Ring would attract a
colossal crowd; and the loser's share of the gate would
be a fortune to a curate — assuming that the curate
would be the loser, which is by no means a foregone
conclusion. At all events, it would be well worth a
bruise or two. So my story of the Agricultural Hall,
where William Paradise sparred for half a guinea, and
Cashel Byron stood out for ten guineas, is no doubt
read by the profession in America with amused con-
tempt. In 1882 it was, like most of my conceptions,
a daring anticipation of coming social developments,

368 Cashel Byron's Profession

though to-day it seems as far out of date as Slender
pulling Sackerson's chain.

Of these latter-day commercial developments of
glove fighting I know nothing beyond what I gather
from the newspapers. The banging matches of the
eighties, in which not one competitor in twenty either
exhibited artistic skill, or, in his efforts to knock out
his adversary, succeeded in anything but tiring and
disappointing himself, were for the most part tedious
beyond human endurance. When, after wading
through Boxiana and the files of Bell's Life at the
British Museum, I had written Cashel Byron's Profes-
sion, I found I had exhausted the comedy of the sub-
ject; and as a game of patience or solitaire was
decidedly superior to an average spar for>a champion-
ship in point of excitement, I went no more to the
competitions. Since then six or seven generations of
boxers have passed into peaceful pursuits; and I have
no doubt that my experience is in some respects out
of date. The National Sporting Club has arisen; and
though I have never attended its reunions, I take its
record of three pugilists slain as proving an enormous
multiplication of contests, since such accidents are
very rare, and in fact do not happen to reasonably
healthy men. I am prepared to admit also that the
disappearance of the old prize-ring technique must by
this time have been compensated by the importation
from America of a new glove-fighting technique; for
even in a knocking-out match, brains will try con-
clusions with brawn, and finally establish a standard of
skill; but I notice that in the leading contests in
America luck seems to be on the side of brawn, and
brain frequently finishes in a state of concussion, a

Modern Prizefighting 369

loser after performing miracles of * 'science." I use
the word luck advisedly; for one of the fascinations of
boxing to the gambler (who is the main pillar of the
sporting world) is that it is a game of hardihood, pug-
nacity and skill, all at the mercy of chance. The
knock-out itself is a pure chance. I have seen two
powerful laborers batter one another's jaws with all
their might for several rounds apparently without giv-
ing one another as much as a toothache. And I have
seen a winning pugilist collapse at a trifling knock
landed by a fluke at the fatal angle. I once asked an
ancient prizefighter what a knock-out was like when it
did happen. He was a man of limited descriptive
powers; so he simply pointed to the heavens and said
"Up in a balloon." An amateur pugilist, with greater
command of language, told me that "all the milk in
his head suddenly boiled over." I am aware that
some modern glove fighters of the American school
profess to have reduced the knock-out to a science.
But the results of the leading American combats con-
clusively discredit the pretension. When a boxer so
superior to his opponent in skill as to be able prac-
tically to hit him where he pleases not only fails to
knock him out, but finally gets knocked out himself,
it is clear that the phenomenon is as complete a mys-
tery pugilistically as it is physiologically, though every
pugilist and every doctor may pretend to understand
it. It is only fair to add that it has not been proved
that any permanent injury to the brain results from it.
In any case the brain, as English society is at present
constituted, can hardly be considered a vital organ.

This, to the best of my knowledge, is the technical
history of the modern revival of pugilism. It is only

370 Cashel Byron's Profession

one more example of the fact that legislators, like
other people, must learn their business by their own
mistakes, 'and that the first attempts to suppress an
evil by law generally intensify it. Prizefighting,
though often connived at, was never legal. Even in
its palmiest days prizefights were banished from cer-
tain counties by hostile magistrates, just as they have
been driven from the United States and England to
Belgium on certain occasions in our own time. But as
the exercise of sparring, conducted by a couple of gen-
tlemen with boxing gloves on, was regarded as part
of a manly physical education, a convention grew up
by which it became practically legal to make a citizen's
nose bleed by a punch from the gloved fist, and illegal
to do the same thing with the naked knuckles. A
code of glove-fighting rules was drawn up by a prom-
inent patron of pugilism; and this code was practically
legalized by the fact that even when a death resulted
from a contest under these rules the accessaries were
not punished. No question was raised as to whether
the principals were paid to fight for the amusement of
the spectators, or whether a prize for the winner was
provided in stakes, share of the gate, or a belt with the
title of champion. These, the true criteria of prize-
fighting, were ignored; and the sole issue raised was
whether the famous dictum of Dr. Watts, **Your little
hands were never made, etc.," had been duly consid-
ered by providing the said little hands with a larger
hitting surface, a longer range, and four ounces extra
weight.

In short, then, what has happened has been the vir-
tual legalization of prizefighting under cover of the
boxing glove. And this is exactly what public opin-

Modern Prizefighting 371

ion desires. We do not like fighting; but we like
looking on at fights: therefore we require a law which
will punish the prizefighter if he hits us, and secure us
the protection of the police whilst we sit in a comfort-
able hall and watch him hitting another prizefighter.
And that is just the law we have got at present.

Thus Cashel Byron's plea for a share of the legal
toleration accorded to the vivisector has been virtually
granted since he made it. The legalization of cruelty
to domestic animals under cover of the anesthetic is
only the extreme instance of the same social phenom-
enon as the legalization of prizefighting under cover of
the boxing glove. The same passion explains the
fascination of both practices; and in both, the profes-
sors — pugilists and physiologists alike — have to per-
suade the Home Office that their pursuits are painless
and beneficial. But there is also between them the'
remarkable difference that the pugilist, who has to
suffer as much as he inflicts, wants his work to be as
painless and harmless as possible whilst persuading
the public that it is thrillingly dangerous and destruc-
tive, whilst the vivisector wants to enjoy a total
exemption from humane restrictions in his laboratory
whilst persuading the public that pain is unknown
there. Consequently the vivisector is not only crueller
than the prizefighter, but, through the pressure of pub-
lic opinion, a much more resolute and uncompromis-
ing liar. For this no one but a Pharisee will single
him out for special blame. All public men He, as a
matter of good taste, on subjects which are considered
serious (in England a serious occasion means simply
an occasion on which nobody tells the truth); and
however illogical or capricious the point of honor may

372 Cashel B)rron's Profession

be in man, it is too absurd to assume that the doctors
who, from among innumerable methods of research,
select that of tormenting animals hideously, will hesi-
tate to come on a platform and tell a soothing fib to
prevent the public from punishing them. No crim-
inal is expected to plead guilty, or to refrain from
pleading not guilty with all the plausibility at his
command. In prizefighting such mendacity is not
necessary: on the contrary, if a famous pugilist were
to assure the public that a blow delivered with a box-
ing glove could do no injury and cause no pain, and
the public believed him, the sport would instantly lose
its following. It is the prizefighter's interest to abol-
ish the real cruelties of the ring and to exaggerate the
imaginary cruelties of it. It is the vivisector's inter-
est to refine upon the cruelties of the laboratory,
whilst persuading the public that his victims pass into
a delicious euthanasia and leave behind them a row of
bottles containing infallible cures for all the diseases.
Just so, too, does the- trainer of performing animals
assure us that his dogs and cats and elephants atxl
lions are taught their senseless feats by pure kindness.
The public, as Julius Caesar remarked nearly 2000
years ago, believes on the whole, just what it wants to
believe. The laboring masses do not believe the false
excuses of the vivisector, because they know that the
vivisector experiments on hospital patients; and the
masses belong to the hospital patient class. The
well-to-do people who do not go to hospitals, and who
think they benefit by the experiments made there,
believe the vivisectors' excuses, and angrily abuse and
denounce the anti-vivisectors. The people who **love
animals," who keep pets, and stick pins through butter

Modem Prizefighting 373

flies, support the performing dog people, and are sure
that kindness will teach a horse to waltz. And the
people who enjoy a fight will persuade themselves that
boxing gloves do not hurt, and that sparring is an
exercise which teaches self-control and exercises all
the muscles in the body more efficiently than, any
other.

My own view of prizefighting may be gathered from
Cashel Byron's Profession, and from the play written
by me more than ten years later, entitled Mrs. War-
ren's Profession. As long as society is so organized
that the destitute athlete and the destitute beauty are
forced to choose between underpaid drudgery as indus-
trial producers, and comparative self-respect, plenty,
and popularity as prizefighters and mercenary brides,
licit or illicit, it is idle to affect virtuous indignation
at their expense. The word prostitute should either
not be used at all, or else applied impartially to all
persons who do things for money that they would not
do if they had any other assured means of livelihood.
The evil caused by the prostitution of the Press and
the Pulpit is so gigantic that the prostitution of the
prize-ring, which at least makes no serious moral pre-
tensions, is comparatively negligeable by comparison.
Let us not forget, however, that the throwing of a hard
word such as prostitution does not help the persons
thus vituperated out of their difficulty. If the soldier
and gladiator fight for money, if men and women
marry for money, if the journalist and novelist write
for money, and the parson preaches for money, it
must be remembered that it is an exceedingly difficult
and doubtful thing for an individual to set up his own
scruples or fancies (he cannot himself be sure which

374 Cashel Byron's Profession

they are) against the demand of the community when
it says, Do thus and thus, or starve. It was easy for
Ruskin to lay down the rule of dying rather than
doing unjustly; but death is a plain thing: justice a
very obscure thing. How is an ordinary man to draw
the line between right and wrong otherwise than by
accepting public opinion on the subject; and what
more conclusive expression of sincere'public opinion
can there be than market demand? Even when wc
repudiate that and fall back on our private judgment,
the matter gathers doubt instead of clearness. The
popular notion of morality and piety is to simply b^
all the most important questions in life for other
people; but when these questions come home to our-
selves, we suddenly discover that the devil's advocate
has a stronger case than we thought: we remember
that the way of righteousness or death was the way of
the Inquisition; that hell is paved, not with bad inten-
tions, but with good ones; that the deeper seers have
suggested that the way to save your soul is perhaps to
give it away, casting your spiritual bread on the
waters, so to speak. No doubt, if you are a man of
genius, a Ruskin or an Ibsen, you can divine your way
and finally force your passage. If you have the con-
ceit of fanaticism you can die a martyr like Charles I.
If you are a criminal, or a gentleman of independent
means, you can leave society out of the question and
prey on it. But if you are an ordinary person you take
your bread as it comes to you, doing whatever you can
make most money by doing. And you are really shew-
ing yourself a disciplined citizen and acting with per-
fect social propriety in so doing. Society may be,
and generally is, grossly wrong in its offer to you; and

Modern Prizefighting 375

you maybe, and generally are, grossly wrong in sup-
porting the existing political structure; but this only
means, to the successful modern prizefighter, that he
must reform society before he can reform himself. A
conclusion which I recommend to the consideration of
those foolish misers of personal righteousness who
think they can dispose of social problems by bidding
reformers of society reform themselves first.

Practically, then, the question raised is whether
fighting with gloves shall be brought, like cockfight-
ing, bear-baiting, and gloveless fist fighting, explicitly
under the ban of the law. I do not propose to argue
that question out here. But of two things I am cer-
tain. First, that glove fighting is quite as fierce a
sport as fist fighting. Second, that if an application
were made to the Borough Council of which I am a
member, to hire the Town Hall for a boxing competi-
tion, I should vote against the applicants.

This second point being evidently the practical one,
I had better give my reason. Exhibition pugilism is
essentially a branch of Art: that is to say, it acts and
attracts by propagating feeling. The feeling it propa-
gates is pugnacity. Sense of danger, dread of danger,
impulse to batter and destroy what threatens and
opposes, triumphant delight in succeeding: this is
pugnacity, the great adversary of the social impulse to
live and let live; to establish our rights by shouldering
our share of the social burden; to face and examine
danger instead of striking at it; to understand every-
thing to the point of pardoning (and righting) every-
thing; to conclude an amnesty with Nature wide
enough to include even those we know the worst of:
namely, ourselves. If two men quarrelled, and asked

376 Cashel Byron's Profession

the Borough Council to lend them a room to fight it
out in with their fists, on the ground that a few min-
utes hearty punching of one another's heads would
work off their bad blood and leave them better friends,
each desiring, not victory, but satisfacHan^ I am not
sure that I should not vote for compliance. But if a
syndicate of showmen came and said, Here we have
two men who have no quarrel, but who will, if you pay
them, fight before your constituency and thereby make
a great propaganda of pugnacity in it, sharing the
profits with us and with you, I should indignantly
oppose the proposition. And if the majority were
against me, I should try to persuade them to at least
impose the condition that the fight should be with
naked fists under the old rules, so that the combatants
should, like Sayers and Langham, depend on bunging
up each other's eyes rather than, like the modem
knocker-out, giving one another concussion of the
brain.

I may add, finally, that the present halting between
the legal toleration and suppression of commercial
pugilism is much worse than the extreme of either,
because it takes away the healthy publicity and sense
of responsibility which legality and respectability
give, without suppressing the blackguardism which
finds its opportunity in shady pursuits. I use the term
commercial advisedly. Put a stop to boxing for
money; and pugilism will give society no further
trouble.

London, igoi.

UNIV. OF MICHIGAN,
JUN19 1912

PRINTED BY R. R. DONNELLIT
AND SONS COMPANY AT THE
LAKESIDE PRESS, CHICAGO, ILL.

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