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Thereby Hangs a Tale. Volume One

by George Manville Fenn · English · Gutenberg #32929 · 589,127 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Thereby Hangs a Tale. Volume One

Author: George Manville Fenn


        
Release date: June 20, 2010 [eBook #32929]

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/32929

Credits: Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THEREBY HANGS A TALE. VOLUME ONE ***




Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England




Volume 1, Chapter I.

A PEEP AT TOLCARNE.

"Ed--Ward!"

"Yes, mum."

A stiff, high-shouldered footman turned round as he reached the
breakfast-room door.

"Are you sure Sir Hampton has been called?"

"Yes, mum."

"And did Smith take up her ladyship's hot water?"

"Yes, mum."

"Are the young ladies coming down?"

"They went out for a walk nearly an hour ago, mum."

"Dear me! and such a damp morning, too!  Did they take their
waterproofs?"

"Please, 'm, I didn't see them go."

"Look if they're hanging in the hall, Edward."

"Yes, mum."

Edward walked stiffly out, closed the door, "made a face" at it, and
returned at the end of a minute.

"Waterproofs hanging on the pegs, mum."

"Dear, dear, dear, dear!  Then of course they put on their goloshes!  Go
and see if they're in the lobby, Edward."

"Did see, mum," said Edward, who was wise in his generation, and had
learned the art of making his head save his heels--"goloshes is in the
lobby."

"Goloshes is in the plural, Edward, and should be _are_--mind that:
goloshes are."

"Yes, mum--galoshes are," said Edward; "and the letter-bag _are_ just
come into the kitchen.  Shall I fetch it?"

"_Is_, Edward, _is_.  Now do, pray, be careful.  Nothing is more
annoying to visitors than to hear servants make grammatical mistakes."

"Yes, mum," said Edward.

"Is the heater very hot?"

"Yes, mum--white 'ot."

"White _what_, Edward?"

"'Ot, mum! white 'ot!"

Miss Matilda Rea, a rather compressed, squeezy lady of forty-five,
shuddered, and rearranged her black net mittens.

"Go and fetch the letter-bag, Ed-ward."

The footman made the best of his way out, and Miss Matilda inspected the
well-spread breakfast table through a large, square, gold-rimmed
eyeglass; walked to the sideboard, upon which were sundry cold meats;
and finished with a glance round the handsomely furnished room, ready to
be down upon a speck of dust.  But the place was scrupulously well kept;
even the great bay window, looking out upon sloping green lawn, flower
beds, and clumps of evergreens, backed up by a wall of firs, was
perfectly clean.  So Miss Matilda preened her feathers, frowned, and
waited the return of Edward with a locked wallet of leather, bearing the
Rea crest--a peacock with expanded tail, the motto "_Floreat
majestas_"--and, in large letters on the brass plate, the words, "Sir
Hampton Rea, Tolcarne."

"Place it beside Sir Hampton's chair, Edward," said Miss Matilda.

The wallet was duly deposited in the indicated place.

"Now bring in the urn, Edward."

"Please, 'm, Sir Hampton said it was to come in at nine punctually, and
it wants a quarter."

"Then go and be quite ready to fill it, Edward," said Miss Matilda, not
daring to interfere with the Mede-like laws of the master of the house.

And Edward departed to finish his own breakfast, and confide to the cook
his determination that if that old tabby was to be always worriting him
to death, he would give warning.

Miss Matilda gave another look round, and then going to the end of the
hearthrug, she very delicately lifted up the corner of a thick wool
antimacassar, when a little, sharp, black nose peeped up, and a pair of
full black eyes stared at her.

"A little darling!" said Miss Matilda, soothingly.  "It was very ill, it
was; and it should have some medicine to-day, it should."

The little toy terrier pointed its nose at the ceiling, and uttered a
wretched, attenuated howl, cut short by Miss Matilda, who popped the
antimacassar down; for at that moment there was heard upon the stairs a
sonorous "Er-rum!  Er-rum!"--a reverberating, awe-inspiring sound, as of
a mighty orator clearing his voice before sending verbal thunder through
an opposing crowd.  Then came steps across the marble hall, the door
handle rattled very loudly, the door was thrown open very widely, and
entered Sir Hampton Rea.

The sounds indicated bigness--grandeur; but Sir Hampton Rea was not a
big man--saving his head, which was so large that it had sunk a little
down between his shoulders, where it looked massive and shiny, being
very bald and surrounded by a frizzle of grizzly hair.

Sir Hampton came in stiffly, for his buff vest was as starchy as his
shirt front and sprigged cravat, which acted like a garrote, though its
wearer suffered it, on account of its imposing aspect, and now walked
with long strides to the fire, to which he turned his back, threw up his
chin, and made his bald crown double in the glass.

"Matilda, have the goodness to close the door."

"Yes, dear," and the door was closed.

"Matilda, have the goodness to ring for the urn.  Oh, it is here!"

In effect, hissing and steaming, the urn was brought in by Edward, and
the tea-caddy placed upon the table.

"Edward!"

"Yes, Sir Hampton."

"Tell Miss Smith to inform her ladyship that we are waiting breakfast."

"Yes, Sir Hampton."

The footman hurried out, and Sir Hampton took up yesterday's _Times_,
which arrived so late on the day of issue that it was not perused by the
good knight till breakfast-hour the next morning, his seat, Tolcarne,
being three hundred and twenty miles from town, and some distance off
the West Cornwall Railway.

Sir Hampton--tell it not in the far West--had made his money by tea; had
been made alderman by his fellow-citizens, and made a knight by his
sovereign, upon the occasion of a visit to the City, when the turtle
provided was extra good, and pleased the royal palate.

While waiting the coming of her ladyship, Sir Hampton, a staunch
Conservative, skimmed the cream of a tremendously Liberal leader, grew
redder in the face, punched the paper in its Liberal wind to double it
up, and then went on with it, shaking his head fiercely, as his sister
smoothed her mittens and watched him furtively, till the door opened
with a snatch, and a little round, plump body, very badly dressed, and,
so to speak, walking beneath a ribbon and lace structure, which she bore
upon her head as if it were something to sell, bobbed into the room.

Description of people is absolutely necessary on the first introduction,
so a few words must be said about Lady Frances Rea.  She was what vulgar
people would have termed "crumby;" but, literally, she was a plump
little body of forty, who, born a baby, seemed to have remained
unaltered save as to size.  She was pink, and fair, and creamy, and
soft, and had dimples in every place where a dimple was possible; her
eyes were bright, teeth good, her hair a nice brown, and in short she
seemed as if she had always lived on milk, and was brimming with the
milk of human kindness still.

"Ten minutes past nine, Fanny," said Sir Hampton, pompously, after a
struggle with a watch that did not want to be consulted.

"Never mind, dear," said her ladyship, going at him like a soft ball,
and giving him a loud kiss.  "Matty, where's my keys?"

"In your basket, dear," said Miss Matilda, pecking her sister-in-law
softly on the forehead.

"So they are, dear," said her ladyship, rattling open the tea-caddy, and
shovelling the tea into the silver pot.

"Er-rum, er-rum!" coughed Sir Hampton, clearing his throat.

His sister fell into an attitude of attention, with one thin finger
pressed into her yellow cheek.

"Er-rum," said Sir Hampton.  "Punctuality, Lady Rea, is a necessity in
an establishment like ours, and--"

"Now don't be so particular, Hampy," said her ladyship, watching the
boiling water run into the teapot.  "It's like having crumbs in bed with
you.  Ring the bell, Matty."

"But, my dear," began Sir Hampton, pompously, "with people in our
position--"

The door opened and Edward appeared.

"Tell cook to poach the eggs and grill the cold turkey, Edward."

"Yes, my lady."

"And where are the young--oh, dear me! bring a cloth; there's that
stupid teapot running over again."

"Turn off the water, dear," said Miss Matilda, with the suffering look
of one who had been longing to make the tea herself.

"Oh yes, of course!" said her ladyship.  "Quick, Edward, bring a cloth
and sop up this mess."

"Yes, m' lady."

Sir Hampton rustled his paper very loudly, rolled his head in his cravat
till it crackled again, and looked cross.  Then he strode to the table,
took his seat, and began methodically to open the letter-bag and sort
the letters; and then, in the midst of the sopping process and the
exclamations of her ladyship, a door was heard to open, steps pattered
over the hall floor, there was a babble of pleasant voices, a scuffling
as of hats and baskets being thrown on to a table, and then the
breakfast-room door opened, and two young girls hurried into the room.

"Nearly twenty minutes past nine, my dears," said Sir Hampton,
consulting his watch.

"Ah! so late, papa?" said one, hurrying up to kiss Lady Rea, and receive
a hearty hug in return.

"Oh, never mind," said the other, following her sister's suit, and
vigorously returning the maternal hug.  "We've had such a jolly walk.
Oh, ma, how well you look this morning!"

"Do I, my love?  There, Edward--that will do.  Now, the poached eggs and
the turkey, quick!"

"Yes, m' lady," said Edward.

And he disappeared, as Sir Hampton was forgetting to be stiff for a few
minutes, as he returned the salute of his eldest girl, Valentina.

"I'm sorry we're late, papa; but we went farther than we meant."

"But you know, Tiny," said Sir Hampton, "I like punctuality."

And he glanced with pride at the graceful undulating form, in its pretty
morning dress; and then gazed in the soft grey eyes, looking lovingly
out of a sweet oval face, framed in rich brown hair.

"Oh, bother punctuality, daddy!" said the younger girl, a merry,
mischievous-looking blonde, with freckled face, bright eyes, and a
charming petite form that was most attractive.  "Don't be cross," she
cried, getting behind his chair, throwing her arms round his neck, and
laying a soft downy cheek upon his bald head.  "Don't be cross; we've
had such a jolly walk, and got a basketful of ferns.  There! that'll
make you good tempered."

And she leaned over, dragging his head back, and kissed him half a dozen
times on the forehead.

"Fin!  Finetta!" exclaimed Sir Hampton.  "Now, suppose one of the
servants saw you!"

"Oh, they wouldn't mind, daddy," laughed the girl.  "Oh, I say, how your
head shines this morning!"

And bubbling over, as it were, with fun, she breathed sharply twice on
her astonished parent's crown, gave her hand a circular movement over it
a few times, and, before he could recover from his surprise, she
finished it off with a polish from her pocket-handkerchief, and then
stepped back, looking mischievously at the irate knight, as he forced
his chair back from the table and stared at her.

"Is the girl mad?" he exclaimed.  "Finetta, you make me exceedingly
angry."

"Not with me, daddy," said the girl placing herself on his knee.  "Kiss
me, and say good morning, sir."

The head of the family hesitated for a moment, and then could not resist
the upturned face, which he kissed and then pushed the girl away.

"Now go to your place; and I insist Fin, upon your dropping--"

Miss Matilda started.

"I mean leaving off--using that absurdly childish appellation.  I desire
you always to address me as papa."

"All right, daddy," said the girl, laughing--"as soon as I can teach
myself."

Sir Hampton snatched himself back into his place, and began to open
letters; while Finetta went and kissed her aunt.

"Well, aunty, how's Pip this morning?"

"Pepine is very unwell, my dear," said Miss Matilda, coldly.

"You stuff him too much, aunty, and don't give him exercise enough."

"My dear you should not deliver opinions upon what you do not
understand.  Your papa's cup."

"Don't understand, aunty!" said the girl, passing the cup; "why, I know
all about dogs and horses.  You give Pip over to me for a week; I'll
soon put the little wretch right."

Lady Rea saw the horror upon her sister-in-law's countenance, and
catching her daughter's eye, shook her head at her, as she went on
dispensing the tea.

"Have some poached eggs, daddy--pa?" said Fin, correcting herself with
much gravity, and revelling in the look of suffering upon her aunt's
face.  "No?  Tiny, give papa some of the turkey."

Sir Hampton fed himself mechanically, passed some letters to his wife
and eldest daughter, and read his own.

"Is there no letter for me, Hampton?" said Miss Matilda, plaintively.

There was a grunt, indicative of "No," from the knight; and Miss Matilda
sighed, and went on sipping her sugarless tea, and nibbling some very
dry, butterless toast.

"I say, Aunt Matty," said Fin, merrily, "I mean to take you in hand."

"Take me in hand, child?" said the spinster.

"Yes, aunty.  Now, look here; if, instead of stopping grumping here at
home, you had had a jolly good run with us--"

Miss Matilda took a sip of her tea, which might have been vinegar from
the aspect of her countenance.

"You could have gathered ferns, sipped the bright morning dew, come back
with a colour, and eaten a breakfast like I do.  Tiny, give me some more
of that turkey."

"Your appetite is really ravenous, child," said Miss Matilda, with a
shudder.

"Not it, aunty; I'm growing--ain't I, ma, dear?"

"Well, my love, I think you are filling out--not growing."

"Oh, but, ma," laughed Fin, with her mouth full, "I'm not going to be
round and plump like you are, am I?"

"Fin!" exclaimed her sister, from the other side of the table.

"Oh, ma knows I don't mean any harm; don't you, dear?  It's only my fun,
isn't it?  I shouldn't mind--I should like to be such a soft, loving old
dear; shouldn't I?"

"Hush, hush, hush!" exclaimed Lady Rea.  "I do think, though, aunty, a
walk would do you good before breakfast."

"Perhaps it might do you good, too," said Miss Matilda, with some
asperity.

"Er-rum, er-rum!" ejaculated Sir Hampton, laying down a big blue
official envelope.  "Lady Rea--my dears, I have something to
communicate."

He sat back in his chair, and brushed a few crumbs from his buff
waistcoat.

"Well, pa, dear, what is it?" said Lady Rea, out of her tea-cup.

"Er-rum, I have at last," said Sir Hampton, pompously, "received public
recognition of my position.  My dears, I have been placed upon the
bench, and am now one of the county magistracy."

He looked round for the applause which should follow.

"Well, my dear, I'm sure I'm very glad if it pleases you," said Lady
Rea.  "Matty, give me another poached egg."

"It was quite time they did, Hampton," said Miss Matilda.

"I congratulate you, papa, dear," said Valentina, going up to him and
kissing him; "and I'm sure the poor will be glad to have so kind a
magistrate to deal with them."

"Thank you, Tiny--thank you," said Sir Hampton, smiling, and trying to
look every inch a magistrate, before turning to his second daughter, who
was intent upon a turkey drumstick.

"But I say, pa, what fun it will be!" she said at last; "you'll have to
sit on the poachers."

"Yes, the scoundrels!" said Sir Hampton, and his cravat crackled.

"And send all the poor old women to quod for picking sticks."

"To where?" exclaimed Miss Matilda, in horrified tones.

"Quod," said Finetta, quite unmoved; "it's Latin, I think, for prison,
or else it's stable slang--I'm not sure.  But oh, my," she continued,
seeing her father's frown, "we've got some news, too."

"Have you, dear?" said mamma, "what is it?"

"We saw Humphrey Lloyd this morning."

"Who is Humphrey Lloyd?" said Lady Rea.

"The keeper at Penreife."

"Penreife," said Sir Hampton, waking up out of a day-dream of judicial
honours.  "Yes, a beautiful estate.  I would have bought it instead of
this if it had been for sale."

"Well," said Finetta, "we met Humphrey, and talked to him."

"I think, if I may be allowed to say so, Finetta, that you are too fond
of talking to grooms and keepers, and people of that class," said Miss
Matilda, glancing at her brother, who, however, was once more immersed
in judicial dreams--J.P., _custos rotulorum_, commission of the peace,
etcetera.

"Tennyson used to hang with grooms and porters on bridges, and he's poet
laureate; so why shouldn't I?" said Finetta, rebelliously.

"I don't think it's nice, though," said mamma.  "Aunt Matty is quite
right; you are not a child now, my dear."

"Oh, mamma, dear, it's only Fin's nonsense," said Tiny.  "Humphrey is a
very respectful, worthy young fellow, and he climbed up the big rocks
down by Penreife for us, and got us some of those beautiful little
aspleniums we couldn't reach."

"Yes, ma, dear," said Finetta; "and he says that the next time he writes
to his old aunt in Wales, he'll tell her to send some of the beautiful
little rare ferns that grow up on one of the mountains, in a place that
nearly broke my teeth when I tried to say it."

Lady Rea shook her head at her daughter, who rattled on.

"Well, you know about Penreife belonging to Lieutenant Trevor?"

Lady Rea nodded.

"Well, Humphrey's got orders to go to town to meet his master, who has
been on a cruise round the world, and his ship's paid off, and now he's
going to settle at home."

"Who's going to settle at home?" inquired Sir Hampton.

"Lieutenant Trevor."

"Ah! a sailor person, and rough, I suppose--sailors always are," said
Sir Hampton.

"Yes," cried Finetta, "they haul in slack, and cry `Avast!' at you, and
`shiver my timbers!'  But, I say--I like sailors; I shall set my cap at
him."

"Finetta!" gasped Miss Matilda.

"Don't talk nonsense, child," said Lady Rea.  "Don't you hear what papa
says about sailors being so rough?  I daresay he isn't a bit of a
gentleman."

"But he's an officer, ma, dear," said Finetta; "and if Tiny hasn't made
up her mind to have him, I shall.  They are doing all sorts of things up
at the house; and it's to be full of company, Mrs Lloyd says; and she
looked as proud as a peacock, as she stood smoothing her white apron.
We're sure to be invited; and won't it be a good job! for this place is
so jolly dull."

"Ah, my child," said Aunt Matilda, "if you would only properly employ
your time, you would not find it dull."

"What! knit mittens, bother the poor people, and read Saint Thomas a
Kempis, aunty?" replied Finetta.  "No, thank you.  But Mr Trevor's
coming--I say, ought we to call him lieutenant?--it's so absurd--ought
to brighten up the place a bit; and of course, ma, you'll ask him here?"

"Er-rum!" ejaculated Sir Hampton, rousing himself from his day-dreams.
"It is my wish that there should always be shown in my establishment the
hospitality of--er--er--a country gentleman."

"And a knight," said Miss Matilda, softly.

"Thank you, Matilda--and a knight," said Sir Hampton.  "But, my dears, I
have great pleasure in announcing to you that I have made up my mind
that we shall now pay a short visit to the great metropolis."

"How jolly!" said Finetta.  "But what are we going for, pa, dear?"

"My dear, I have several things to see about," said Sir Hampton.  "To
engage a groom for one thing, to buy horses for another, and a gun or
two for my friends.  I intend to have, too, the west room fitted up for
billiards."

"For what, Hampton?" said his sister.

"Er-rum!--billiards," said Sir Hampton.

"It is not often that I venture upon a word, Hampton, respecting your
household management; but when I hear of propositions which must
interfere with your fixture welfare, I feel bound to speak."

"And, pray, what do you mean?" said Sir Hampton, angrily.

"I mean that I gave way when you insisted on having cards in the house,
because you said your visitors liked whist--"

"And you were always rattling the dice box and playing backgammon,"
retorted Sir Hampton.

"That is different," said Miss Matilda; "backgammon is a very old and a
very innocent game."

"Oh!" said Sir Hampton.

"I have known great divines play at backgammon."

"And I've known a bishop play a good rubber at whist," said Sir Hampton.

"I am sorry for it," said Miss Matilda; "but I draw the line at
billiards.  It is a detestable game, played on a green cloth which is
the flag of gambling, and--"

"If you will take my advice, Matty, you will hold your tongue," said Sir
Hampton.  "My guests will like a game at billiards, and I'll be bound to
say, before we've had the table in the house a month, you'll be playing
a game yourself."

"Hampton!"

"Same as you do at whist."

"I oblige your guests, and make up your horrid rubbers."

"But I say, aunty, you do like winning, you know," chimed in Fin.

"Oh, my dear, I--"

"You pocketed fifteen shillings--I won't say `bob,' because it's
slangy," said Fin, laughing mischievously.

"I protest, I--"

"Er-rum!--I will not hear another word.  We start for town to-morrow;
and, my dears, you asked me once for horses--you shall have them.  Fin,
my child, don't strangle me!  There, now, see how you've rumpled my
cravat!"

"Oh, thank you, daddy!"

"Now, if you say _daddy_ again, I'll alter my mind," said the old
gentleman, angrily.

"There, then, I won't," said Fin.  "But I say, pa, we must have a
groom."

"Of course, my dear."

"And riding-habits."

"To be sure."

"And we can get them in town.  Oh, Tiny, do say `Hooray' for once in
your life."

"Er-rum!  It's my intention," said Sir Hampton, "to patronise the sports
of our country, and foster hunting, game-keeping, and the like.  By the
way, that man Lloyd might do some commissions for me.  Matty, you will
keep house till we return.  My dears, we start to-morrow morning."

"Then all I've got to say," said Miss Matilda, sharply, "is this--"

"Yelp! yelp! yelp!"--a succession of wild shrieks from beneath the
antimacassar, out of one side of which lay a thin black tail, in very
close proximity to Fin's pretty little foot, and in an instant Aunt
Matty was down upon her knees, talking to and caressing the dog.

"Er-rum!" went Sir Hampton, slowly crossing the hall to his library,
followed by Lady Rea; and directly after Miss Matilda hurried away, with
her pet in her arms.

"Now, Fin, that was cruel.  I saw you tread on Pip's tail," said Tiny.

"Doing evil that good might come," said Fin, defiantly.  "Look here,
Tiny--pets were anciently offered up to save a row.  If I hadn't made
him squeal, there would have been pa storming, Aunt Matty going into
hysterics, and ma worried to death; so that it was like the old nursery
rhyme--"

  "I trod sharp on the little dog's tail;
  The dog began to shriek and wail,
  And poor Aunty Matty turned mighty pale:
  It stopped papa from blowing a gale;
  And that's the end of my little tale."

"Er-rum!" was heard from across the hall.

"There's daddy going to lecture me; and look here, Tiny, Edward will
come in directly to clear the cloth.  Now, then, here's a penny; let's
toss.  Heads or tails, who wins."

"Wins what?"

"Mr Richard Trevor, and Penreife.  Now then, cry!"

"No," said Tiny, "I'll laugh instead."

And she kissed her sister on the cheek.

Volume 1, Chapter II.

IN PALL MALL.

"Voila!--the pilot-fish and the shark!"

The words were spoken by an individual idly smoking a cigar on the steps
of that gloomy-looking pile in Pall Mall known as the Peripatetics.  He
was the being that, go where he would, uneducated people would set down
as belonging to the division Swell; for there was _ton_ and aristocrat
in the fit of his clothes and every curve of his body.  Women would have
called his black moustache and beard handsome, and spoken of his
piercing eyes, high white forehead, and wonderful complexion; but Podger
Pratt--that is to say, Frank Pratt--said more than once he had never
seen a barber's dummy that was his equal.  He said it in a very solemn
way; and when it came to the ears of the gentleman in question, he
denounced Podger Pratt as a disgusting little cad, and the next time
they met at the club Captain Vanleigh asked Pratt what he meant by it.

"What did I mean?" said Pratt, in a serious, puzzled tone of voice.
"What did I mean?--oh, just what I said.  It's a fact."

Captain Vanleigh stood glaring at him as if trying to pierce the
imperturbable crust of solemnity on the speaker's face; but Pratt
remained as solemn as a judge, and amidst an ill-suppressed tittering,
the Captain stalked from the room, saying to his companion--

"The fellow's a fool--an ass--little better than an idiot!"

As for Podger Pratt, he looked innocently round the room as if asking
the meaning of the laugh, and then went on with his paper.

But that was months before the present day, when Captain Vanleigh,
gracefully removing his cigar from between his white teeth, said--

"Voila! the pilot-fish and the shark!"

"The sucking-fish and the porpoise, I should say," remarked his
companion, a fair young fellow, dressed evidently upon the other's
model.  "What big fellow Dick Trevor has grown!"

"You're right, Flick; sucking-fish it is.  That fat, little, briefless
barrister will fatten still more on Dick Trevor's chequebook.  Ah, well,
Flicky, it is a wise ordination of Providence that those men who have
the largest properties are the biggest fools."

"Ya-as, exactly," said Flick, otherwise Sir Felix Landells.  "I daresay
you're right, Van; but don't quite see your argument.  I s'pose may call
'self a wealthy man?"

"No rule without an exception, my dear boy; you are one of the
exceptions.  Odd, though, isn't it, how we have all been thrown together
after four years?"

"Yes, 'tis odd; but think it's dooced nice of Dick to look us up as he
has.  You'll make one of the party, of course?"

"Well, I don't know.  Certainly, town is empty.  These sailor fellows
are rather rough, though."

"Oh, come down.  Besides, it's in the country."

"Such an infernal distance!--but there, perhaps I will."

As they stood talking, there came slowly sauntering along the pave a
well-built young fellow, broad of shoulder and chest, and fining rapidly
down to the loins.  He seemed to convey the idea that he was rolling up
to you on the deck of a ship with a sea on, and he carried his hands as
if it might be necessary at any moment to throw them out to seize
belaying pin or handrail.  He was well dressed; but there was a certain
easy freedom in the fit of his garments, and a loose swing pervading
all, much in contrast with the natty, fashionable attire of the friends,
whom he saluted with a pleasant smile lighting up his bronzed face and
clear grey eyes.  His hair was crisp, curly, and brown, seeming rather
at war with the glossy new hat he wore, and settled more than once upon
his head as he listened to the remarks of the little dapper-looking man
at his side--Podger, otherwise Frank, Pratt, of the Temple.

Pratt was a solemn, neutral-looking fellow; but none the less he was
keen and peculiar, even though, to use his own words, he had been born
without any looks at all.

"There's the wolf, Dick," said Pratt, as they approached the club.
"Who's that with him?  Ah, might have known--the lamb."

"You seem to have kept up the old school tricks, Frank," said Trevor,
"and I suppose it gets you into hot water sometimes.  Bad habit giving
nicknames.  We shouldn't stand it at sea."

"It breaks no bones," said the other, quietly, "and seems to do me
good--safety-valve for my spleen.  How odd it is, though, that we four
should be thrown together again in this way!"

"I was thinking the same; but I don't see why we should call things odd
when we have shaped them ourselves.  I was cruising about for days to
find you all out."

"Well, it's very kind of you, Dick," said Pratt.  "And let me see--I've
won four pounds ten and six of you during the last week at pool and
whist.  Dick, you're quite a godsend to a poor fellow.  Look here, new
gloves--ain't had such a pair for a month."

"By the way," said Trevor, "is Vanleigh well off?"

"He was," said Pratt--"came in for a nice property.  How he stands now I
can't say."

"And Landells?"

"Landells has a clear nine thousand a year; but I've seen hardly
anything of them lately.  Poole dresses them; and how could you expect
such exquisites to seek the society of a man who wears sixteen-shilling
pantaloons, dines on chops, reads hard, and, when he does go to a
theatre, sits in the pit?  By Jove, Dick, you would have laughed one
night!  I did--inside, for there wasn't a crease in my phiz.  They cut
me dead.  I was sitting in the front row in the pit, and as luck or some
mischievous imp would have it, they were placed in two stalls in the
back row, exactly in front of me, so that I could inhale the ambrosial
odours from Flick Landells' fair curls the whole evening."

"Snobbish--wasn't it?" said Dick.

"Just half," said Pratt.  "Landells is a good chap at heart; but society
is spoiling him.  He came to my chambers the very next day, with a face
like a turkey-cock, to ask me if it was I that he saw at the theatre.  I
looked at him out of the corner of one eye, and he broke down, and asked
my pardon like a man.  Swore he wouldn't have minded a bit, if Van
hadn't been with him.  It's all right, Dick; I can read Felix the
Unhappy like a book."

"Well, gentlemen," said Trevor, as they reached the steps, "it is
settled for Wednesday, of course?"

"Well," said Landells, hesitating, "I--er--I--er--"

"Oh, you must come, Flick," said Trevor; "we've got all our old days to
go over, and I've ordered the yacht round.  Vanleigh, help me to
persuade him."

"You might come," said Vanleigh, in a half-injured tone.

"Oh, I'll go if you are going," said Sir Felix, hastily; and then,
correcting himself--"if you both really wish it."

"That's right," said Trevor; "take pity on my seafaring ignorance.  I
shall want some company down at the old place.  Pratt has promised."

"Indeed!" said Vanleigh, fixing his glass in one eye.  "I thought last
night he couldn't leave his reading?"

"Obliged to yield, like you, to the force of circumstances," said Pratt,
"and give way to our old friend's overwhelming hospitality.  But you
needn't mind, Van, old fellow, I won't disgrace you.  Look here," he
said, taking off his hat and speaking loudly, "new tile, fourteen bob--
couldn't afford a Lincoln and Bennett; brand-new gloves, two-and-three;
and I've ordered one of Samuel Brothers' tourist suits for the
occasion."

"My dear fellow," said the Captain, after a look of disgust at Sir
Felix, "I really do not want to know the extent of your wardrobe.  In
fact, mine is at your service--my valet--er--I beg your pardon, Trevor."

"I say, don't take any notice of that solemn little humbug," said
Trevor, laughing; "you know what he always was.  I--oh, my God!"

The exclamation was involuntary, for just at that moment a hansom cab
was driven sharply out of the turning leading to Saint James's Square,
the horse shied--Pratt afterwards swore it was at Vanleigh's eyes--and
in another instant would have stricken down a faded-looking woman, who
seemed to be crossing towards the club steps, but for the act of a
passer-by.

The act was as quick as thought.  With a bound he caught the woman,
swung her round, and was struck by the horse full on the shoulder, to
reel for a few yards with his burden, and then roll over and over in the
muddy road.

The cabman pulled sharp up, and leapt off his perch with a face white as
ashes, in an instant, while Trevor and Pratt ran to the fallen pair--the
former to raise the woman, and carry her scared and trembling to the
club steps, where Vanleigh stood looking as scared as the sufferer,
while Pratt helped the gentleman to rise.

"Take me away, please; let me go--away," said the woman, shivering with
fear.

"Are you hurt?" said Trevor, with his arm still round her.

"No, no; not hurt--only let me go."

"I couldn't help it, gen'lemen," began the cabman.

"No, confound you!--it was an accident, worse luck!" said the
principal sufferer, "or you should have caught it sharply, Mr
Nine-hundred-and-seventy-six.  Here's a pretty mess I'm in!"

"Very sorry, sir," said the cabman,--"but--"

"There, that'll do.  Is the lady hurt?"

"No, no," said the woman, hastily, and she glanced timidly at Vanleigh,
and then at Pratt, who was watching her keenly.

Just then a four-wheeler, which Trevor had hailed, came up, and he
handed her in.

"Where shall he drive you?" said Trevor, as he slipped half-a-crown in
the driver's hand.

"Twenty-seven, Whaley's Place, Upper Holloway," said the woman, in an
unnecessarily loud voice; and the cab was driven off.

"Thank you," said the muddy stranger, holding out a very dirty hand to
Trevor, who grasped it heartily.

"Worse disasters at sea," he said, smiling.

"Yes," said the other, looking hard in his face, "so I suppose; but then
you do get an action for damages, or insurance money.  I don't insure my
clothes," he said, looking ruefully at his muddy garments, and then at
those of the man who had served him.  "I say, that was very kind of you,
though."

"Nonsense!" said Trevor, laughing in the bright, earnest, middle-aged
face before him.  "Come into the club, and send for some fresh things."

"Thanks, no," said the stranger, "I'll get back to my rooms.  I must
have something out of somebody, so I'll make cabby suffer."

The cabman rubbed his ear, and looked blue.

"You'll drive me home, cabby?" said the stranger.

"That I will, sir, for a week," said the man, eagerly.

"We may as well exchange cards," said the stranger, pulling out a case,
and putting a muddy thumb upon the top card.  "There you are--John
Barnard, his mark," he said, laughing.  "Thanks once more.  I'll stick
your card in here with mine; and now good-bye."

"Good-bye," said Trevor, frankly; and they shook hands.

"I shall know your face again."

Saying which, after a curious stare in Trevor's face, the stranger
climbed into the cab, the driver touched up his horse, and the two
street boys and the crossing-sweeper, who had been attracted to the
scene, were about to separate, when the latter pounced upon something
white and held it up to Pratt.

"Did yer drop this 'ere, sir?"

"No," said Pratt, looking at the muddy note; "but here is sixpence--it
is for one of my friends."

Directly after, to the disgust of the two exquisites, Trevor, soiled
from head to foot, was laughing heartily at the rueful aspect of Frank
Pratt as he entered the hall.

"Look here," he said, dolefully, as he held out his muddy gloves.
"Two-and-three; and brand-new to-day.  Van," he added, with a peculiar
cock of one eye, "have you a clean pair in your pocket?"

"No," said Vanleigh, coldly.  "You can get good gloves in the Arcade;
but not," he added, with a sneer, "at two-and-three."

"Thanks," said Pratt; "but I am not a simple Arcadian in my ideas.  Oh,
by the way, Van, here's a note for you which somebody seems to have
dropped."

Vanleigh almost snatched the muddy note, which was directed in a fine,
lady's hand; and there was a curious pinched expression about his lips
as he took in the address.

"Ah, yes; thanks, much," he drawled.  "Very kind of you, I'm shaw.  By
the way, Trevor, dear boy," he continued, turning to his friend, "hadn't
you better send one of the fellows for some things, and then we might
walk on to the Corner if you had nothing better to do?  Try a suit of
mine; those don't fit you well."

"No, I'll keep to my own style," said Trevor, laughing.  "I don't think
I could quite manage your cut."

Then nodding merrily in answer to the other's rather disgusted look, he
sent a messenger to his hotel, and strolled off to one of the
dormitories, while Frank Pratt went into the reading-room, where the
others had walked to the window, took up a newspaper, furtively watching
Captain Vanleigh and his friend, in the expectation that they would go;
but, to his great annoyance, they stayed on till Trevor reappeared, when
Vanleigh, with his slow dawdle, crossed to him.

"What are you going to do this afternoon, dear boy?"

"Well, I was thinking of what you said--running down to the Corner to
look at a horse or two.  Things I don't much understand."

"I'll go with you," said Vanleigh.  "You'll come, won't you, Flick?"

"Delighted, quite!" was the reply, very much to Pratt's disgust--the
feeling of disgust being equally shared by Vanleigh, when he saw "that
gloveless little humbug" get up to accompany them.

No matter what the feelings were that existed, they sent for a couple of
cabs, and a few minutes after were being trundled down Piccadilly
towards what is still known as "The Corner" where that noble animal the
"'oss" is brought up and knocked down day by day, in every form and
shape--horses with characters, and horses whose morals are bad; right up
through park hacks and well-matched high steppers, greys, chestnuts,
roans and bays, well-broken ladies' steeds, good for a canter all day,
to the very perfection of hunters up to any weight--equine princes of
the blood royal, that have in their youth snuffed the keen air of the
Yorkshire wolds; mares with retrousse noses and the saucy look given by
a dash of Irish blood.  Racers, too, are there, whose satin skins,
netted with veins, throb with the blue blood that has come down from
some desert sire, who has been wont in fleet career to tear up the sand
of Araby like a whirlwind, spurn it behind his hoofs, and yet, at the
lightest touch of the bit, check the lithe play of his elastic limbs at
the opening of some camel or goat-hair tent, where half a dozen swarthy
children are ready to play with it, and crawl uninjured about its feet--
the mother busily the while preparing the baken cakes and mares-milk
draught for her Bedouin lord.

Volume 1, Chapter III.

FIRST ENCOUNTERS.

"Clean yer boots?  Brush down, sir?"

"Why can't yer leave the gent alone?  I spoke fust, sir."

"Here y'are, sir--out of the crowd, sir."

Sixpence to be earned, and a scuffle for it, with the result that
Richard Trevor stood a little out of the stream of passengers, stoically
permitting a gentleman in an old red-sleeved waistcoat to "ciss-s-s" at
him, as he brushed him most carefully down with an old brush, even
though he was not in the slightest degree dusty.

"Now, look here, Dick, if I'm to go trotting about at your heels like a
big dog, I shall bite at everybody who tries to rob you.  I shan't stand
by and see you fleeced.  Is there something in salt water that makes you
sailors ready to part with your money to the first comer?"

The speaker was Frank Pratt, as he drew his friend away towards one of
the omnibuses running that day from Broxford Station to where a regular
back and heart-breaking bit of country had been flagged over for a
steeplechase course.

"You shall do precisely as you like, Frank," was the quiet reply.

"Very good, then--I will.  Now, look here, Dick; you have now, I
suppose, a clear income of twelve thousand a year?"

"Yes, somewhere about that."

"And you want to fool it all away?"

"Not I."

"Well, there was a specimen.  You gave that fellow a shilling for
brushing your coat that was not dirty."

"Poor devil, yes!  He tried to earn it honestly, and we don't get such
luxuries at sea."

"As honestly as Van earned forty sovs. of you after we left Tatt's
yesterday."

"Don't understand you, Franky," said Trevor, with a twinkle of the eye,
as he allowed himself to be caught by a shoeblack, and placed a slightly
soiled boot upon his stand.

"Tut!" ejaculated Pratt.  "There you go again.  What a fellow you are,
Dick!  What I meant was that horse of his.  You gave him a cheque for a
hundred for it."

"Yes, I did, Franky."

"He gave sixty for it last week."

Trevor winced slightly, and said quietly--

"Dealer's profit; and he understands horses.  Try another cigar, Frank."

Pratt took another cigar, lit it, and said, quietly--

"Now look here, Dick, old fellow, I'm afraid I'm going to be a great
nuisance to you.  You're so easy-going, that with this money of yours--
to use your sea-going terms--you'll be all amongst the sharks; every one
will be making a set at you.  'Pon my soul, I've been miserable ever
since I won that four pound ten.  The best thing we can do is to see one
another seldom, for if I stay with you I shall always be boring you
about some foolish bit of extravagance, and getting into hot water with
the friends who take a fancy to you."

"My dear Frank," said Trevor, smoking away in the most unruffled
fashion, "you will oblige me very much by letting that be the
clearing-up shower as far as talk of leaving me is concerned.  It is
quite right.  Here have I been to sea, middy and man, for twelve years;
and now I come back to England a great helpless baby of a fellow, game
for everybody.  You think I'm a fool.  Well, I am not over-wise; but my
first act ashore here was the looking-up of a tried old schoolfellow,
whose purse I've often shared, and who never once left me in the lurch--
and," he added, slowly and meaningly, "who never will leave me in the
lurch.  Am I right?"

Frank Pratt turned one sharp, quick flash upon the speaker, and that was
enough.

"Thanky, sir," cried the shoeblack, spinning up the sixpence he had
received.

The friends turned towards one of the omnibuses about to make a start
for the course.

"Beg parding, sir," said a voice, "just a speck left on your coat, sir!"
And the man who had received the shilling for the brushing began to
"ciss" once more.

"That'll do, sir!  That's the next 'bus, sir!  Good luck to you for a
real gent, sir," he added; and then in a whisper, "Back White Lassie!"

Trevor turned sharply round, just time enough to encounter a most
knowing wink, and the man was gone.

"Dick, I'm afraid that's a trap," said Pratt, gazing after the man.
"Better not bet at all; but if you do, I don't think I should go by what
that fellow says.  Well, come along.  Eh? what?"

"Consequential-looking old chap in that barouche, I said;" and Trevor
pointed to where a carriage had drawn up by the railway hotel, the owner
having posted down from town--"regular type of the old English
gentleman."

"Now, if we are to get on together, Dick," said Pratt, plaintively,
"don't try to humbug me in that way.  Don't hoist false colours."

"Humbug you?--false colours?"

"Yes, humbug me.  Now, on your oath, didn't you think more of the two
ladies in the barouche than of the old gentleman?"

"Without being on my oath--yes, I did; for I haven't seen a pretty girl
for three years.  Get up first."

"After you," was the response.

And directly after the friends were mounted on the knifeboard of a great
three-horse omnibus, brought down expressly for the occasion.

The vehicle was soon loaded in a way that put its springs to the test,
for the exact licenced number was not studied upon that day.  There was
a fair sprinkling of gentlemen, quiet, businesslike professionals, and
decent tradesmen with a taste for sport; but the railway company having
run cheap special trains, London had sent forth a few representative
batches of the fancy, in the shape of canine-featured gentlemen "got up"
expressly for the occasion, with light trousers, spotted neckerchiefs,
velvet coats, and a sign in the breast of their shirt or tie in the
shape of a horseshoe pin.  It is impossible to sit in such company
without wondering whether the closely cropped hair was cut at the
expense of the country; and when a quiet, neutral-looking man, sitting
amongst them, accidentally clicks something in his pocket, you may know
all the time that it is the lid of a tobacco-box, or a few halfpence,
but you are certain to think of handcuffs.

You cannot pick your companions on an omnibus bound from a little
country station to the scene of a steeplechase, and Richard Trevor and
his friend soon found that they were in luck; for in addition to the
regular racing attendants, London had sent down a pleasant assortment of
those sporting gentlemen who used to hang about London Bridge Station on
the morning when an event was to "come off," police permitting, some
forty miles down the line.

In the hurry of climbing up, Pratt had not noticed the occupants of the
vehicle but as soon as they had taken their seats he was for descending
again, and he turned to whisper his wishes to his friend.

"All comes of being in such a plaguy hurry, Frank.  Always take
soundings before you come to an anchor.  Never mind now, though the
onions are far from agreeable."

The words had hardly left his lips, when a man on his left turned
sharply, and asked why he hadn't ordered his "kerridge," subsiding
afterwards into a growl, in which the word "sweeps" was plainly to be
made out.

This acted as the signal for a little light chaff, and remarks began to
fly about the dress of the friends.  Moses Brothers and Whitechapel hags
were mentioned, counter-jumping playfully alluded to, and permissions to
be out for the day; and then a battery of exceedingly foul pipes came
into play, emitting odours resembling anything but those of Araby the
Blest, and driving Frank Pratt to ask his friend, in self-defence, for a
cigar.

"Giv's that there light," said an individual on his right--a gentleman
in velveteen coat, tight trousers, and eyes of so friendly a nature that
they seemed ever seeking each other's society, and trying to burrow
beneath the bridge of their owner's flat nose.  He had no whiskers nor
beard, but a great deal of mouth and chin, spotted all over with tiny
black dots.  His massive neck was swathed in a great belcher kerchief,
with ample but useful ends; for besides supplying warmth, one was used
occasionally to supply the lack of nutriment, and be nibbled by the
owner's great horse-teeth.

Trevor took the vesuvian from his friend, and politely passed it to the
man, who leered, grinned, stuffed it into his pipe-bowl, holding it
there as he puffed for a few moments, and then, winking at a companion,
he pitched the little incandescent globe upon Pratt's light overcoat.

Pratt started, flushed angrily, and brushed the vesuvian from his coat,
but not until it had burned there a round black spot.  But he said
nothing; his face only twitched a little, as he began to make remarks
about the country they were passing.

"Hillo!--eo--eo!" came from behind, as the omnibus slowly lumbered
along; the driver drew a little on one side, and the open carriage, with
its post-horses, that they had seen by the railway hotel, began slowly
to pass, with the two young men eagerly scanning the occupants.

"Look at that old cock in the buff weskit," said some one on the
omnibus--a sally which was followed by roars of laughter, as an elderly
gentleman, of portly, magisterial aspect, half started from the back
seat, filming and frowning in utter astonishment at so ribald an attack
on his dignity.

"Going to ask us to lunch, guv'nor?" laughed a third.

"That's Brighamy Young and his three wives," cried some one else.

"Tell the postboy to go a little faster, Edward," the old gentleman
called out to a footman on the box.

"Do you hear, Edward?  Why don't you go on faster, Edward?--eh, Edward?"
cried the first speaker, while the old gentleman leaned forward to speak
to one of the young ladies opposite, who was evidently somewhat
agitated; while, to make matters worse, the omnibus driver had whipped
up his horses, and the great vehicle kept on thundering along abreast of
the barouche.

This fresh movement was the signal for a volley from the fellow on
Trevor's right; and he now made himself especially conspicuous, kissing
his hand, and evidently goading the old gentleman into a state of
apoplexy.  A scene was evidently brewing, and something unpleasant must
have inevitably occurred, had not, almost at one and the same moment,
Pratt whispered a word or two in French to his friend, and the postboy
given his horses a few cuts, which made them start forward with such
energy that the barouche was soon out of sight.

"You're about right, Frank," Trevor said, leaning back; "it is not worth
notice."

"P'raps you'll just use about as much of this here 'bus as you pays
for," said the man seated dos-a-dos to him, and whom he had slightly
pressed.

Trevor started forward; for the remark was unpleasantly made, and
qualified with offensive adjectives.  Pratt looked anxious, and would
gladly have finished the distance on foot; but to stop the omnibus, and
get down, would probably have made bad worse--especially as Trevor only
smiled, and sat up quite erect.

"He've been taking more than his share of the 'bus ever since he got
up," said the black-looking gentleman on the right, pressing closer to
Trevor.  "Keep yer own side, will yer?"

Very pale and quiet, Richard Trevor edged a little more towards his
companion; but this was only the signal for renewed insult, the
knifeboard being in possession of the fellow's friends.

"Where are you a-scrowging to?" said the fellow on Pratt's left.

And then, acting in concert, he and his companions forced the little
barrister closer to his friend.

"Here, let's speak to the driver," said Trevor, quietly; but there was a
dull red spot in each cheek.

"No, no!" said Pratt.  "It's not much further; don't let us have a row."

"Mind your pockets, then," muttered Trevor.

"Ah, just as I thought," said the fellow who had been ringleader
throughout.  "They're a talking about pockets--button up, gents."

Here followed a roar of laughter, and a few more witticisms of a similar
character were fired off.  Then, seeing how patiently the two friends
bore it all, a fresh crowding was tried, and one of the most offensive
of the fellows called out to the man in velveteens--

"Why don't you leave off, Barney?"

"Tain't me," said Barney, grinning hugely; "it's these here two swell
mob blokes."

There was another roar of laughter, which culminated in a shriek of
delight when Barney of the black muzzle removed his pipe from his mouth,
and designedly spat upon Trevor's glossy boot.

The young man started as if he had been stung; but there was a quiet,
firm pressure of his arm, and he said, in French--

"Is it much further to the course?"

As he spoke, he quietly drew a white cambric handkerchief from his
pocket, carefully removed all trace of the disgusting offence from his
boot, and threw the handkerchief into the road, following it up by
lighting a fresh cigar.

"My! what a pity!" said the fellow, sneeringly, as he watched with
curiosity the young man's action.  "I am sorry.  Wouldn't you like the
handkerchief--again?"

And he pointed to a boy who had just picked it up from the road.

The pressure was again upon Trevor's arm, but he did not speak, and the
only movement was a slight twitching about the muscles of the face.

What more insult might have followed it is impossible to say, for the
omnibus now stopped at a gate, and the occupants began to scramble off.
Trevor rose, and waited for the gentleman called Barney to get down.
But he remained; so Trevor stepped over him, and Pratt was about to
follow, when the fellow thrust out his legs, and the young man tripped,
staggered, and would have fallen from the omnibus but for the strong arm
of his friend.

"Get down first," said Trevor.

"No, no--never mind," said Pratt, catching his arm.

"Get down first," said Trevor, as if he were on the quarter-deck.

"There's nothing to be gained by it," whispered Pratt.

"I'll come directly," was the reply; and facing round upon the fellow,
who had risen, he looked him full in his closely-set eyes, face close to
face, as he said, quietly--

"I think I shall know you again, my friend."

Before the fellow had recovered from his surprise, Trevor stepped
lightly down, took Pratt's arm in an easy-going, familiar way, and the
friends joined the string of people crossing the fields.

"Thank goodness!" said Pratt; "I do hate a row.  You must be on the
losing side.  Lost anything?"

"No," said Trevor, thoughtfully.  "But if that fellow had been at sea
with me, and behaved like that--"

"You'd have had him flogged?"

"No," said Trevor, "I'd have pitched him overboard."

"Overboard?"

"Yes," said Trevor, with his face once more all smiles--"and fished him
out!"

Volume 1, Chapter IV.

RATHER UNPLEASANT.

"Ah," said Pratt, after a brisk walk, "it might have been worse; it all
comes of getting on knife-boards.  I never do go on a 'bus but I'm sure
to meet some one I don't want to see from that elevated position.  Let's
see: in somebody's fables one poor bird got his neck wrung through being
in bad company, and getting caught by the fowler."

"And what has that to do with knife-boards?"

"Only this," said Frank, grimly; "I should uncommonly like to see that
barouche; and the cocky old gentleman inside will be safe to give us
credit for being the ringleaders of those rowdies."

"Well, never mind," said Trevor; "I wanted to see a steeplechase, though
I don't suppose I shall like it any more than a ball."

No more was said then, for they had reached the ground flagged out for
the course--a pleasant tract running round in front of a mound-like
hill, affording the spectators from the various stands a capital view of
the whole race; save where here and there a tiny copse intervened, so
that it must inevitably hide the horses for a few moments.

They were in ample time, for twelve, one, and two o'clock upon racing
cards are very different hours to those represented upon the time-tables
at our various termini; so they had a stroll round, pausing here or
there; but, no matter where they strayed, so sure as Frank Pratt turned
his head, it was to see the evil-looking countenance of their companion
on the omnibus close at hand, though whether Trevor had seen him or not
he could not tell.

For, probably from a love of the beautiful, the young men's steps
generally led them to where they could stand in pretty close proximity
to the barouche--whose occupants seemed to have, for one at least,
something of an attraction.  And no wonder; for on the front seat were
two fresh, bright-eyed English girls, whose eyes sparkled with
animation, and in whose cheeks came and went the bright colour that told
you of excited interest in the day's proceedings.

"I thought as much," said Pratt, as they passed once close by the
carriage on their way to the stand, and a quick glance showed that they
were recognised by the ladies, who coloured slightly, and turned away;
whilst the old gentleman's countenance, as he stood up, gradually
assumed the purply-red well known to all who have seen a turkey-cock at
such time as he ruffleth his plumes, and scowled fiercely at the
friends.

"The impudent scoundrels!" he said aloud, as he turned to the elderly
lady at his side.

"That comes of being in bad company," said Pratt.  "Dick, old fellow, I
shall walk back.  Here, my friend, I have feeling in my toe."

"Beg pardon, sir, I'm sure," said a fine, handsome, bluff
West-countryman--a regular keeper, in brown velveteens; "I really didn't
see you."  And he passed on towards the barouche, the friends following
him with their eyes, to see him touch his hat to first one and then
another of the inmates, who smiled, and seemed to talk to him in a very
animated way, the old gentleman ending by pointing to the box-seat, a
good post for seeing, to which the young man climbed.

"Lucky dog!" said Frank Pratt, softly; and they took their places on the
stand, from which, close at hand, they could readily command the
movements of all in the barouche.

But there was the ground mapped out by the little flags; green field,
ploughed piece, brook, road, double fence, bullfinch; a cluster of
spectators by this dangerous leap; a pollard laden with human fruit
there; oak branches bending, groups of mounted men, with here and there
the flutter of veil and riding-habit; vehicles in pastures, lanes, and
wherever a glimpse could be obtained of the course; and over all the
bright unclouded sun looked down, gilding, with its mellow beams, brown
stubble and changing leaf; while overhead, little troubled by the
buzzing crowds, a lark carolled its sweet song.

The friends were in ample time; but at last the excitement here and
there announced the coming of the horses, and one by one the sleek,
fleet creatures made their appearance to give the customary canter down
the field, and then be gathered together for the start.

At last a low, dull, murmurous buzz runs through the crowd.  They are
off--nearly all together.  The first hedge--only a preparation for
troubles to come--and the horses going easily over a ploughed piece, the
young and ardent jockeys pushing to the front, the old stagers waiting
their opportunity.

Another hedge.  A refusal.  One--two--four--six--nine over somehow or
another, and one down.

Then a loud cheer, by no means pleasant for the fallen man; and "for the
fun of the thing," as he said, Trevor began to back the grey mare known
as White Lassie.

"How can you be so foolish?" said Pratt.

"So," said Trevor, laughing; and he doubled his stakes with another.

"I believe we should be better off there on the knoll," said Pratt,
pointing to the spot where the barouche was standing hemmed in by the
crowd.

And acting upon the suggestion, the two friends quitted the low,
temporary stand, and managed to get a pretty good position on the little
eminence, where they could see right down the valley with the horses
running along its slope.

But Pratt saw more than this; he noted that they were within half a
dozen yards of the barouche where the ladies were standing on the seats,
with eyes sparkling and parted lips, whilst close at hand were Barney,
of the omnibus, and a couple of his intimates, demonstrative in their
comments upon the race.

Of the eleven horses that started, four had, in hunting parlance, come
to grief; and now of the others only five seemed to be in the race.

"Twenty pounds fooled away, Dick," said Pratt, in a whisper, as they now
made out, the last of the five, the white cap and pale blue shirt of the
rider of White Lassie.

"Be quiet, raven," was the calm reply; "the race is not won yet.  Look
at that."

_That_ was the downfall of the leading horse at the next fence, the poor
beast literally turning a somersault, and then getting up to stand
shaking itself, as the other competitors got safely over; White Lassie,
still last clearing the obstacle with ease.

"Now comes the tug of war," said Trevor; and all eyes were strained in
the direction now taken by the horses towards a tolerably wide brook
running between stunted pollards; for this once passed, there was only a
low fence, and a straight run in to the winning post.

The betting on all sides was now fast and furious, Pratt biting his lips
with vexation as, in spite of the distance his favourite was behind,
Trevor kept making fresh engagements.

"He'll lose as much in ten minutes as would have kept me for a year,"
Pratt grumbled to himself; and then he was all eyes for the race, as, on
reaching the brook, the leading horse stopped short and shot his rider
right into the middle.

The next horse leaped short, and came into the brook with his hoofs
pawing the crumbling bank, the rider having to crawl over his head, and
help him ignominiously from his position.  But long ere this, a great
bay had cleared the brook easily, closely followed by White Lassie,
whose rider now seemed to press her forward till she was not more than a
length in the rear, the two horses racing hard for the last leap.

At a distance it looked but a low hedge, but there was a deep dyke on
the riders' side which would require no little skill to clear; and now,
of course, the slightest slip would be fatal to either.

"Don't look so bad now, does it, Franky?" said Trevor.

"No," said the other between his teeth.  "Look, how close they are.  I
couldn't have--bravo!"

For the mare had run up alongside of her great competitor, and together
they literally skimmed over the obstacle in front, and landing on the
stretch of smooth green sward, raced for home.

"King Dick!"

"White Lassie!"

"King Dick!"

"White Lassie!"

"White Lassie!"

"White Lassie!" rose in a perfect roar, as first one and then the other
head appeared in front, till, within a hundred yards of the stand, the
white mare's head--neck--shoulders--half-length--whole length appeared
in front of her competitor, and, amidst the frantic cheers of the crowd,
she leaped in, a clear winner.

"There," said Trevor, turning with a smile to Pratt, "what do--"

He stopped short, and seemed to have tried to emulate the last hound of
the mare; for at that moment, all excitement as she watched the race,
Trevor saw one of the occupants of the barouche give a sudden start, and
nearly fall over the side.

The cause was simple, and was seen by Pratt at the same moment.

Barney, of the omnibus, for the delectation of his friends, had, the
moment the race was ended, raised his stick, reached over the heads of
the crowd, and given the old gentleman a sharp thrust in the ribs.

The result was a violent start, and, as we have said, the young girl was
nearly precipitated from the seat upon which she stood.

A hoarse roar of laughter followed the clown-like feat; and then there
was a dead silence, for a fresh character appeared upon the scene, and
Barney was stooping down shaking his head to get rid of the dizziness
caused by a tremendous blow upon his bull-dog front.

The silence lasted but for a few moments, dining which Richard Trevor
caught one frightened glance from the lady in the barouche, and then
there was an ugly rush, and he and his friend were borne down the slope
of the hill.

The crowd seemed bubbling and seething with excitement for a few
minutes, during which the voices of Barney's friends could be heard
loudly exclaiming amongst them; and the gentleman named, in whose eyes
the tears had previously been gathering from the excess of his mirth,
was borne along with the others, still shaking his head, and feeling as
if the drops that collected had suddenly been turned to molten metal.

"Come away, Dick; for goodness' sake come away."

"My dear Frank, if you fill a vessel quite full, it begins to run over.
This ungodly vessel has been filled full of the gall of bitterness
to-day, and now it is running over."

"But, consider--what are you going to do?"

"I'm going to thrash this fellow within an inch of his life."

"But, Dick--the disgrace--you can't fight; you've punished him enough.
Think of what you're going to do."

"I am thinking," said Trevor, in a quiet, slow way--"thinking that he's
an ugly customer, and that his head looks precious hard."

"Keep back!"--"Make a ring!"--"Let him have it!"

"Now, Barney!" shouted the bystanders.

"Here, let me get at him!" shouted Barney.

"Call up the police!" said a mounted gentleman.  "You can't fight that
fellow, sir."

"I'm going to try," said Trevor, grimly.

There was a buzz of voices, the crowd swayed here and there, and an
opening was made--Barney having struggled out of his upper garments, and
begun to square--when, to the surprise of all, he was suddenly
confronted by the stout-built West-country-man, who had leaped off the
box of the barouche, now on the other side of the hill; and before the
fellow had recovered from his surprise, he was sent staggering back into
the arms of his friends with a sensation as if a hive of bees, suddenly
let loose, were buzzing and stinging in his head.

That was the end of the engagement, for there was a rush of police
through the crowd, people were separated, and by the time Frank Pratt
had fought his way out of a state of semi-suffocation, he was standing
with his friend fifty yards away, and the constables were hurrying two
men off to the station.

"Let's get back," said Trevor.  "I can't let that fellow bear all the
brunt of the affair."

Pratt felt disposed to dissuade, but he gave way, and they got to the
outskirts with no little difficulty, just in time to see that the
barouche horses had been put to, and that the carriage was being driven
off the ground with the West-countryman upon the box.

"He's out of the pickle, then," said Pratt.

"There, come away, man; the police have, for once in a way, caught the
right offender; don't let's get mixed up with it any more."

"Very well," said Dick, calmly.  "I feel better now; but I should have
liked to soundly thrash that scoundrel."

"It's done for you," said Pratt.  "Now let's go and get in your bets."

"I'm afraid, Franky," said Trevor, "that you are not only a mercenary
man, but a great--I mean little coward."

"Quite right--you're quite right," said Pratt.  "I am mercenary because
the money's useful, and enables a man to pay his laundress; and as to
being a coward, I am--a dreadful coward.  I wouldn't mind if it were
only skin, that will grow again; but fancy being ragged about and
muddied in tussle with that fellow!  Why, my dear Dick, I should have
been six or seven pounds out of pocket in no time."

"I wonder who those girls were in the barouche," said Trevor, after a
pause.

"Daresay you do," was the reply; "so do I.  Sweet girls--very; but you
may make yourself quite easy; you will never see either of them again."

"Don't know," said Trevor, slowly.  "This is a very little place, this
world, and I have often run against people I knew in the most
out-of-the-way places."

"Yes, you may do so abroad," said Pratt; "but here, in England, you
never do anything of the kind, except in novels.  I saw a girl once at
the chrysanthemum show in the Temple, and hoped I should ran against her
again some day, but I never did.  She wasn't so nice, though, as these."

Trevor smiled, and then, encountering one or two gentlemen with whom he
had made bets, a little pecuniary business followed, after which the
friends strolled along the course.

"By the way," said Trevor, "I was just thinking it rather hard upon our
friend of the omnibus; those policemen pounced upon him and walked him
off, without much consideration of the case.  Well, I don't want to see
the fellow again; he made my blood boil to-day."

"Then you will see him, you may depend upon it," said Pratt.  "That's
just the awkwardness of fate, or whoever the lady is that manages these
matters.  Owe a man ten pounds, and you will meet him every day like
clock-work."

"Why, Franky," said Trevor, laying his hand upon the other's arm, and
speaking with the old schoolboy familiarity, "I can't help noticing
these money allusions.  Have you been very short at times?"

There was a pause of a few moments' duration, and then Pratt said,
shortly--"Awfully!"

They walked on then in silence, which was broken at last by Pratt, who
said in a hurried way--

"That accounts for my shabby, screwy ways, Dick, so forgive me for
having developed into such a mean little beggar.  You see, the governor
died and left madam with barely enough to live on, and then she pinched
for my education, and she had to fight through it all to get ready for
my call to the bar, where, in our innocence--bless us!--we expected that
briefs would come showering in, and that, once started in chambers in
the Temple, my fortune would be made."

"And the briefs do not shower down yet, Franky?" said Trevor.

"Don't come even in drops.  Haven't had occasion for an umbrella once
yet.  So I went out to Egypt with Landells, you know, and wrote letters
and articles for the Geographical; and, somehow, I got elected to the
`Wanderers,' and--here's the gorgeous Van and little Flick."

"Ah, Trevor, my dear boy!" said the first-named gentleman, sauntering
up, "thought we should see you somewhere.  Flick, have the goodness to
slip that into the case for me."

As he spoke, he handed the race-glass he held in his delicately-gloved
hands to the young baronet, who looked annoyed, but closed the glass,
and slipped it into the sling-case hanging at his companion's side.

"We should have seen you before, but we came upon a pair of rural houris
in a barouche."

"Where?" said Pratt, sharply.

"Ah, Pratt--you there?  How do?" said the Captain, coolly.  "Over the
other side of the course, in a lane.  I couldn't get Landells away."

"Oh--come!" drawled the young baronet.

"Had his glass turned upon them, and there he was, perfectly
transfixed."

"Boot was on the other foot, 'sure you," said Sir Felix.  "It was Van
first made the discovery.  It was so, indeed."

"What, going?" said Vanleigh, as Trevor moved on.

"Yes; we were going to walk all round the course."

"No use to go houri hunting," said Vanleigh, maliciously.  "The barouche
has gone."

Trevor coloured slightly, and then more deeply, as he saw a smile on the
Captain's lip.

"We shall see you again, I daresay, by the stand," he said, taking no
notice of the allusion; and, laying a hand upon Pratt's shoulder, he
strolled away.

"Well," he said, after a few minutes, "the barouche had not quite
disappeared, Franky."

"No," said the other, shortly.  "Better for its occupants if it had.  I
say, Dick, if I had sisters, it would make me feel mad every time that
fellow looked at them."

"What--Landells?"

"Oh no, Felix is a good sort of fellow enough; getting spoiled, but I
don't think there's a great deal of harm in him.  I've taken a dislike
to Van, and I'm afraid I'm rather bitter, and--look, there goes, the
barouche!  Quick, lend me your glass!"

"Thanks, no, Franky," said Trevor, quietly, raising it to his eyes, and
watching the carriage, which was going down a lane to their left, the
owner having apparently given orders for the postboy to drive them from
place to place, where they could get a view of the races, which had
succeeded each other pretty quickly.  "Thanks, no, I will keep it; but,
for your delectation, I may mention that the ladies look very charming,
the old gentleman very important; and--now they are gone."

He replaced the glass in its case, smiled good-humouredly at his
companion, and they walked on.

"Dick," said Pratt, after a few moments' silence, "if I were a
good-looking fellow like you, I should get married."

"And how about yourself?" said the other, smiling.

"Self?  I marry?  My dear old fellow, marriage is a luxury for the rich.
I should be very sorry to starve a wife, and--I say, though, I'm as
hungry as a hunter.  Take me back to London, old fellow, and feed me,
without you want to stay."

"Stay--not I!" said Trevor; "a very little of this sort of thing goes a
long way with me.  But about those two fellows?"

"Let them try to exist without our company, for once in a way," said
Pratt, looking earnestly at his friend, who was busy once more with the
glass; but, catching his companion's eye, Trevor closed the binocular,
and they left the course.

Volume 1, Chapter V.

THE WRITER OF THE LETTER.

"Woa! d'ye hear? woa!  I'm blest if I ever did see sich a 'oss as you
are, Ratty, 'ang me if I did.  If a chap could drive you without
swearing, he must be a downright artch-angel.  Holt still, will yer?
Look at that now!"

A jig here at the reins, and Ratty went forward; a lash from the whip,
and the horse, a wall-eyed, attenuated beast, with a rat-tail, went
backwards, ending by backing the hansom cab, in whose shafts he played
at clay mill, going round and round in a perfect slough of a new unmade
road, cut into ruts by builders' carts.

"Now, look'ee here," said the driver, our friend of the Pall Mall
accident; "on'y one on us can be master, yer know.  If you'll on'y say
as yer can drive, and will drive, why, I'll run in the sharps, and
there's an end on't.  Hold still, will yer?  Yer might be decent
to-day."

The horse suddenly stood still--bogged, with the slushy mud over his
fetlocks, and the cab wheels half-way down to the nave.

"Thenky," said the driver, standing up on his perch; "much obliged.  I'm
blessed!" he muttered.  "Buddy may well say as mine's allus the dirtiest
keb as comes inter the yard, as well as the shabbiest.  'Struth, what a
place!  Now, then, get on, will yer?"

The horse gave his Roman-profiled head a shake, and remained motionless.

"Just like yer," said the cabman.  "When I want yer to go, yer stop; and
when I don't want yer to go, off yer do go, all of a shy, and knocks
'alf a dozen people into the mud, and gets yer driver nearly took up for
reckless driving, as the bobbies calls it.  Come, get on."

Another shake of the head, but the four legs seemed planted as if they
were to grow.

"Well, there's one thing, Ratty," said the driver, "we're about square,
mate; for if ever I've give yer too much of the whip, yer've had it
outer me with obstinacy.  Look at this now, just when yer oughter be on
yer best manners, seeing as I've come about the mischief as yer did; and
then, to make it wus, yer takes advantage of yer poor master's weakness,
and goes a-leading of him inter temptation sore as can't be bore, and
pulls up close aside of a public."

For the spot at which the horse had stopped was at the opening of one of
those new suburban streets run up by speculative builders--a street of
six and seven-roomed houses, with a flaring tavern at the corner; and
the houses, starting from the commencement of the street, in every stage
from finished and inhabited, through finished and uninhabited, down to
unfinished skeletons with the bricks falling out--foundations just above
the ground, foundations merely dug, to end only with a few scaffold
poles, and a brick-field in frill work.

"Stops right in front of a public, yer do," said the driver; "and me as
thirsty as a sack o' sawdust."

The cabman looked at the public-house, to read golden announcements of
"Tipkin's Entire," of "The Celebrated Fourpenny Ale," and the "Brown
London Stout, threepence per pot in your own jugs," and his whip-hand
was drawn across his lips.  Then the whip-hand was set free, and forced
its way into his pockets, where it rattled some halfpence.

"Must have 'alf pint now, anyhow," he muttered, and he made as if to
fasten the reins to the roof of the cab, but only to plump himself down
into his seat again, jig the reins, and give his whip, a sharp crack.

"I'll tell the missus on you, Hatty, see if I don't?" he said, "a-trying
to get your master back into his old ways.  Get on with yer, or yer'll
get it directly."

He gave his whip such a vigorous crack in the air that Ratty consented
to go, and dragging the muddy cab partially down the new street, its
driver pulled up by where a knot of shoeless boys were ornamenting, and
amusing themselves with, the new ill-laid pavement.  One was standing
like a small Colossus of Rhodes, with his grimy feet at either corner of
a loose slab, making the liquid mud beneath squirt out into a puddle,
while a companion carefully turned a naked foot into a stamp, dipped it
in the mud, and printed a pattern all along the pave, till a third
smudged it out, and a fight ensued.

"Hallo, yer young dogs," roared the cabman, and his long whip gave a
crack which stopped the fray; "a-fightin' like that!  Where's Whaley's
Place?"

"First turn to the left, and first to the right," shouted two boys.

"And is it all like this here?" said the cabman.

"No; you should have gone round Brick Street.  I'll show yer."

"Hook on, then," said the cabman, turning his horse; and, to the extreme
envy of his companions, the little speaker "hooked on" behind, his muddy
feet slipping about on the step; but he clung fast, shouting his
directions till the driver reached the main road, made a detour, and
arrived at last in Whaley's Place, where the present of a copper sent
the boy off in high glee to spend it in some coveted luxury.

"Nice sorter cheerful spot this," said the cabman, taking an
observation of the street, which was of a similar class to the new one
he had left, only that the houses had fallen into a state of premature
decay; quite half, too, had declined from the genteel private and taken
to trade, with or without the bow window of shop life.  For instance,
one displayed a few penny illustrated sheets and an assortment of
fly-specked clay pipes, the glass panes bearing the legends, "Tobacco"
and "Cigars."  Another house had the door wide open, and sundry squeaks
issued therefrom--squeaks of a manufacturing tendency, indicative of
grinding, the process being explained by a red and yellow board, having
an artistic drawing of the machinery used, and the words, "Mangling Done
Here."  Then, after an interval of private houses, there was a
fishmonger's, with a stock-in-trade of four plaice and ten bloaters,
opposite to a purveyors, in whose open window--the parlour by rights,
with the sashes out--were displayed two very unpleasant-looking
decapitations of the gentle sheep, and three trays of pieces, labelled
ninepence, sevenpence, and sixpence individually, apparently not from
any variation of quality, but the amount of bone.

"A werry nice sorter place," said the cabman, gazing down at the
numerous children, and the preternaturally big-headed, tadpoleish
babies, whose porters were staring at him.  "Said it was a little
groshers shop.  Ah, here we are."

It was only four doors farther on, and at this establishment there was a
shop front, with the name "B. Sturt" on the facia.  The stock here did
not seem to be extensive, though the place was scrupulously clean.
There was a decorative and pictorial aspect about the trade carried on,
which was evidently that of a chandler's shop; for, in attenuated
letters over the door, you read that Barnabas Sturt was licenced by the
Board of Inland Revenue to deal in tea, coffee, pepper, vinegar, and
tobacco.  The panes of the windows were gay with show cards, one of
which displayed the effects of Tomkins's Baking Powder, while in another
a lady was holding up fine linen got up with Winks's Prussian Blue, and
smiling sweetly at a neighbouring damsel stiff with regal starch.  There
were pictorial cards, too, telling of the celebrated Unadulterated
Mustard, the Ho-fi Tea Company, and Fort's Popular Coffee.

Descending from his perch, the cabman stroked and patted his horse, and
then entered the shop, setting a bell jingling, and standing face to
face with a counter, a pair of scales, and a box of red herrings.

Nobody came, so he tapped the floor with his whip, and a voice growled
savagely from beyond a half-glass door which guarded an inner room--

Waiting patiently for a few moments, the cabman became aware of the fact
that Barnabas Sturt consumed his tobacco as well as dealt in it; and at
last, growing impatient, he peered through the window, to perceive that
a very thin, sour-looking woman, with high cheek bones, was dipping
pieces of rag into a tea-cup of vinegar and water, and applying them to
the contused countenance of a bull-headed gentleman, who lay back in a
chair smoking, and making the woman wince and sneeze by puffing volumes
of the coarse, foul vapour into her face.

"Better mind what you are doing!" he growled.

"Can't help it, dear," said the woman, plaintively, "if you smoke me so.
Well, what now?" she said, waspishly, and changing her tone to the
metallic aggressive common amongst some women.

"Been having a--?" the cabman finished his sentence by grinning, and
giving his arms a pugilistic flourish.

"What's that got to do with you?" growled Mr Sturt.  "What d' yer come
into people's places like that for?"

"Because people says as they sells the werry best tobacco at threepence
a hounce," said the cabman.  "Give's half-hounce."

"Go an' weigh it," said Mr Sturt.

The woman dropped the piece of rag she held, and passed shrinkingly into
the shop, took the already weighed-out tobacco from a jar, and held out
her hand for the money.

"Now then," growled Mr Sturt from the back room, "hand that over here,
will yer?"

The cabman walked into the room and laid down the money, slowly emptying
the paper afterwards into a pouch, which he took from a side pocket.

"This here's twenty-seven, ain't it?" said the cabman then.

"Yes, it is twenty-seven," cried Mr Sturt--our friend Barney of the
steeplechase--and he seemed so much disturbed that he leaped up and
backed into a corner of the room.  "You ain't got nothin' again' me,
come, now."

"No, I ain't got nothin' again' yer," said the cabman, quietly, but with
his eye twinkling.  "Did yer think I was--?"

He finished his sentence with a wink.

"Never you mind what I thought," said Barney.  "What d' yer want here?"

"Only to know if Mrs Lane lives here."

"Yes, she do," cried the woman, spitefully; "and why couldn't you ring
the side bell, and not come bothering us?"

"Because I wanted some tobacco, mum," said the cabman, quietly.

"Oh!" said the woman, in a loud voice; "with their cabs, indeed,
a-comin' every day: there'll be kerridges next!"

"Just you come and go on with your job," said Barney, with a snarl.

"I'm coming!" said the woman, sharply.  Then to the cabman--"You can go
this way;" and she flung open a side door and called up the
stairs--"Here, Mrs Lane, another cab's come for you.  There, I s'pose
you can go up," she added; and then, in a voice loud enough to be heard
upstairs, "if people would only pay their way instead of riding in cabs,
it would be better for some of us."

A door had been heard to open on the first floor, and then, as the
vinegary remark of Mrs Sturt rose, voices were heard whispering.  The
cabman went straight up the uncarpeted stairs, to pause before the
half-open door, as he heard, in a low conversation, the words--

"Mamma--dear mamma, pray don't notice it."

The next moment the door opened fully, and the pale, worn-looking woman
of the accident stood before the cabman, who shuffled off his hat, and
stood bowing.

"Jenkles, mum," he said--"Samuel Jenkles, nine 'underd seven six, as
knocked you down in Pall Mall."

The woman stepped back and laid her hand upon her side, seeming about to
fall, when the cabman started forward and caught her, helping her to a
chair in the shabbily-furnished room, as the door swung to.

"Oh, mamma," cried a girl of about seventeen, springing forward, the
work she had been engaged upon falling on the floor.

"It is nothing, my dear," gasped the other; though her cheek was ashy
pale, and the dew gathered on her forehead.

"She's fainting, my dear," said the cabman.  "Got anything in the
house?"

"Yes, some water," said the girl, supporting the swooning woman, and
fanning her face.

"Water!" ejaculated the cabman, in a tone of disgust.  "Here, I'll be
back directly."

He caught up a little china mug from a side table, and ran out, nearly
upsetting Mrs Sturt on the landing and Barney at the foot of the
stairs, to return at the end of a few minutes, and find the passage
vacant; so he hastily ran up, to see that Mrs Lane had come to in his
absence, though she looked deadly pale.

"Here, mum," he said, earnestly, "drink this; don't be afeard, it's port
wine.  A drop wouldn't do you no harm neither, Miss," he added, as he
glanced at the pale, thin face and delicate aspect of the girl.

Mrs Lane put the mug to her lips, and then made an effort, and sat up.

"You was hurt, then, mum?" said the cabman, anxiously.

"Only shaken--frightened," she said, in a feeble voice.

"And my coming brought it all up again, and upset you.  It's jest like
me, mum, I'm allus a-doing something; ask my missus if I ain't."

"It did startle me," said Mrs Lane, recovering herself.  "But you
wished to see me.  I am better now, Netta," she said to the girl, who
clung to her.  "Place a chair."

"No, no, arter you, Miss," said the cabman; "I'm nobody;" and he
persisted in standing.  "'Scuse me, but I knows a real lady when I sees
one; I'll stand, thanky.  You see, it was like this: I saw Tommy Runce
on the stand--him, you know, as brought you home from the front of the
club there--and I ast him, and he told me where he brought you.  And
when I was talking to the missus last night, she says, says she, `Well,
Sam,' she says, `the least you can do is to drive up and see how the
poor woman is, even if you lose half a day.'  `Well,' I says, `that's
just what I was a thinking,' I says, `only I wanted to hear you say it
too.'  So you see, mum, thinking it was only decent like, I made bold to
come and tell you how sorry I am, and how it was all Ratty's fault; for
he's that beast of a horse--begging your pardon, mum, and yours too,
Miss--as it's impossible to drive.  He oughter ha' been called
Gunpowder, for you never know when he's going off."

"It was _very_ kind and very thoughtful of you, and--and your wife,"
said Mrs Lane; "and indeed I thank you; but I was not hurt, only
shaken."

"Then it shook all the colour outer your face, mum, and outer yours too,
Miss," he said, awkwardly.  "You'll excuse me, but you look as if you
wanted a ride every day out in the country."

As he spoke, the girl glanced at a bundle of violets in a broken glass
of water in the window; then the tears gathered in her eyes.  She seemed
to struggle for a moment against her emotion, and then started up and
burst into a passion of weeping.

"My darling!" whispered Mrs Lane, catching her in her arms, and trying
to soothe her, "pray--pray don't give way."

"I've done it again," muttered Jenkles--"I'm allus a-doing it--it is my
natur' to."

The girl made a brave effort, dashed away the tears, shook back her long
dark hair, and tried to smile in the speaker's face, but so piteous and
sad a smile that Jenkles gave a gulp; for he had been glancing round the
room, and in that glance had seen a lady and her daughter living in a
state of semi-starvation, keeping life together evidently by sewing the
hard, toilsome slop-work which he saw scattered upon the table and
chairs.

"She has been ill," said Mrs Lane, apologetically, "and has not quite
recovered.  We are very much obliged to you for calling."

"Well, you see, mum," said Jenkles, "it was to set both of us right,
like--you as I didn't mean to do it, and me and my missus that you
warn't hurt.  And now I'm here, mum, if you and the young lady there
would like a drive once or twice out into the country, why, mum, you've
only got to say the word, and--"

"You'll excuse me, ma'am," said the sharp voice of Mrs Sturt, laying
great stress on the "ma'am," "but my 'usban' is below, and going out on
business, and he'd be much obliged if you'd pay us the rent."

The girl looked in a frightened way at her mother, who rose, and said,
quietly--

"Mrs Sturt, you might have spared me this--and before a stranger, too."

"I don't know nothing about no strangers, ma'am," said Mrs Sturt,
defiantly.  "I only know that my master sent me up for the rent; for he
says if people can afford to come home in cabs, and order cabs, and
drink port wine, they can afford to pay their rent; so, if you please,
ma'am, if you'll be kind--"

"Why, them two cabs warn't nothing to do with the lady at all," said
Jenkles, indignantly; "and as for the wine, why, that was mine--and--and
I paid for it."

"And drunk it too, I dessay," said Mrs Sturt.  "Which it's four weeks
at seven-and-six, if you please, ma'am--thirty shillings, if you
please."  The girl stood up, her eyes flashing, and a deep flush in her
cheeks; but at a sign from her mother she was silent.

"Mrs Sturt," she said, "I cannot pay you now; give me till Saturday."

"That won't do for my master, ma'am; he won't be put off."

"But the work I have in hand, Mrs Sturt, will half pay you--you shall
receive that."

"I'm tired on it," said Mrs Sturt, turning to the door; "p'r'aps I'd
better send him up."

"Oh, mamma," said the girl, in a low, frightened voice, and she turned
of a waxen pallor, "don't let him come here."

And she clung trembling to her arm as the retreating footsteps of Mrs
Sturt were heard, and, directly after, her vinegary voice in colloquy
with her husband.

"Here, I'll soon let 'em know," he was heard to say, roughly.

The trembling girl hid her face on her mother's shoulder; but only to
start up directly, very pale and firm, as Barney's heavy step was heard.

"Blame me if I can stand this," muttered Jenkles.

Then without a word he stuck his hat on his head and walked out of the
room, in time to meet the master of the house on the stairs.

"Now, then?" said Barney, as Jenkles stopped short.

"Now, then," said Jenkles, "where are you going?"

"In there," said Barney, savagely; and he nodded towards the room.

"No, you ain't," said Jenkles; "you're a-going downstairs."

"Oh, am I?  I'll just show you about that."

He rushed up two more of the stairs; but Jenkles did not budge an inch--
only met the brute with such a firm, unflinching look in his ugly eyes
that the bully was cowed, puzzled at the opposition.

"You're a-going downstairs to send yer missus up; and jest you tell her
to go and take a spoonful o' treacle out o' the shop afore she does come
up, so as she'll be a little bit sweeter when the ladies pays her."

Then Jenkles walked back into the room, rammed his hand into his pocket,
and pulled out a dirty canvas bag, out of which he fished a piece of rag
tied tightly, in one corner of which was a sovereign, which had to be
set free with his teeth.  From another corner he tried to extricate a
half-sovereign, but it would not come, the knot was too tight.

"Here, lends a pair o' scissors," he exclaimed, angrily.

"What are you going to do?" said Mrs Lane.

"To cut this here out," said Jenkles; "there, that's it.  Here's a sov
and a arf, mum, as was saved up for our rent.  I never did such a thing
afore, but that's nothing to you.  I'll lend it you, and you'll pay me
again when you can.  There's my name on that dirty envelope, and you'll
send it, I know."

"No," exclaimed Mrs Lane, in a choking voice, "I--"

At this moment Mrs Sturt entered the room, looking very grim; but no
sooner did she see the money lying upon the table than she walked up,
took it, said "Thanky," shortly, and jerked a letter upon the table.

Jenkles was following her, when Mrs Lane cried "Stop!" seized the
letter, tore it open, and read it.

It was in reply to the second she had written, both of which had reached
Captain Vanleigh, though she believed the first had been lost.

Her letter had been brief--

  "Help us--we are destitute.

  "A.V."

The reply was--

  "Do what I wish, and I will help you."

No signature.

Mrs Lane clenched her teeth as she crushed the letter in her hand, then
raised her eyes to see the cabman at the door, with her daughter kissing
his hand.

"Oh, God!" she moaned, "has it come to this!"

The next minute Netta was clinging to her, and they wept in unison as
the sound of wheels was heard; and Sam Jenkles apostrophised his ugly
steed.

"Ratty," he said, "I wonder what it feels like to be a fool--whether
it's what I feels just now?"

There was a crack of the whip here, and the hansom trundled along.

"How many half-pints are there in thirty bob, I wonder?" said Sam again.

And then, as he turned into the main road at Upper Holloway, he pulled
up short--to the left London, to the right over the hills to the
country.

"Not above four or five mile, Ratty, and then there'll be no missus to
meet.  Ratty, old man, I think I'd better drive myself to Colney Hatch."

Volume 1, Chapter VI.

ALL AMONG THE FERNS.

An autumn morning in a lane.  A very prosaic beginning.  But there are
lanes and lanes; so let not the reader imagine a dreary, clayey way
between two low-cropped hedges running right across the flat landscape
with mathematical severity, and no more exciting object in view than a
heap of broken stones ready for repairs.  Our lane is a very different
affair, for it is a Cornish lane.

Do you know what a Cornish lane is like--a lane in a valley?  Perhaps
not; so we will describe the winding road, where, basket in hand, Tiny
and Fin Rea, walking home, were seeking ferns.

In this land of granite, a clear field is an exception--the great bare
bones of earth peer out in all directions; and however severe the taste
of the first maker of a beaten track, unless he were ready with
engineering tools and blasting appliances, instead of making his way
straight forward, he would have to go round and dodge about, to avoid
the masses of stone.  Hence, then, many of the lanes wind and double
between piled-up heaps of granite, through steep gorges, and rise and
fall in the most eccentric way; while--Nature having apparently scoured
the hill-tops, and swept the fertile soil into the vales along these
dell-like lanes--the verdure is thick and dense; trees interlace
overhead till you walk in a pale green twilight flecked with golden
rays; damp dripping stones are covered with velvet moss; a tiny spring
trickles here, and forms crystal pools, mirroring delicate fronds of
fern; gnarled oaks twist tortuous trunks in the great banks, and throw
distorted arms across the road; half hidden from sight--here five, there
fifty feet below the _toad_--a rapid stream goes musically onward
towards the sea, singing silvery songs to the little speckly trout which
hide beneath the granite shelves in their crystal homes.  Verdure rich
and bright on every side, and above all ferns--ferns of the tiniest, and
ferns tall and towering, spreading luxuriant fronds, and sending up
spikes of flowers, while lesser neighbours form patches of wondrous
beauty--tropic palm forests in miniature.

"Now, then, who's going to take my picture?" cried Fin Rea, plumping
herself down on a mossy stone, and snatching off her hat.  "Should I do
now, Tiny?"

Undoubtedly: for her lithe, slight form, in its grey muslin, stood out
from the ashy brown of the oak trunk that formed the background, while a
wondrous beauty of light and shade fell through the leafy network above.

"Oh, isn't it heavenly to be back?  I couldn't live in London.  I liked
the theatres, and going to the race, and seeing pictures, but I should
soon be tired of it all.  It makes you so cross.  I believe the blacks
get into your temper.  I say, Tiny, I wonder what Aunt Matty would be
like if she lived in London?"

"Don't make fun of poor Aunt Matty," said her sister.  "She has had a
good deal of trouble in her life."

"And made it," said Fin, jumping up.  "Oh, I say, look down there," she
cried, pointing through the ferns at her feet to a cool, dark pool,
twenty feet below; "there's a place.  Oh, Tiny, if I thought I should
ever grow into such a screwy, cross old maid as Aunt Matty, I think I
should jump down there and let the fishes eat."

"Fin, that little tongue of yours goes too fast," said her sister.

"Let it," was the laconic reply.  "Tongues were made to talk with.
Let's go on; I'm tired of digging up ferns.  Wasn't it funny, seeing
Humphrey Lloyd at that race?  And I wonder who those gentlemen were."

"Do you mean the people who stared at us so through the race-glass?"

"No, I don't, Miss Forgetful.  I mean the big, dark man, and the funny,
little fierce fellow with his hair brushed into points.  You don't
remember, I suppose?"

"Oh yes," said Tiny, quietly.  "I remember, for I was very much
frightened."

"Ah, I hope the knight-errant wasn't hurt; and, oh, do look, Tiny," Fin
cried, putting down her basket.  "What's that growing in that tree?"

As she spoke, she climbed from stone to stone up the steep bank, till
she was stopped short by her dress being caught by a bramble.

"Oh, Tiny, come and unloose me, do.  I'm caught."

There was nothing for it but that her sister should clamber up the bank,
and unhook the dress, which she did, when Fin gave her a hand, and drew
her up to her side.

"What a tomboy you do keep, Fin," said Tiny, panting; "see how my dress
is torn."

"Never mind, I'll sew it up for you.  What's the good of living in the
country if you can't be free as the birds?  Sweet, sweet, sweet!  Oh,
you beauty!" she cried, as a goldfinch sounded his merry lay.  "Tiny,
shouldn't you like to be a bird?"

"No," was the quiet reply.  "I would rather be what I am."

"I should like to be a bird," said Fin, placing one foot on an
excrescence of a stumpy pollard oak, and, making a jump, she caught hold
of a low bough.

"But not now," cried Tiny.  "What are you going to do?"

"Going to do?" laughed Fin.  "Why, climb this tree;" and she got a step
higher.

"Oh, Fin, how foolish!  Whatever for?  Suppose some one came by?"

"Nobody comes along here at this time of the day, my dear; so here goes,
and if I fall pick up my pieces, and carry them safely home to dear Aunt
Matty.  `And the dicky-bird sang in the tree,'" she trilled out, as step
by step she drew herself up into the crown of the stumpy, gnarled
pollard.

"Oh, Fin!" exclaimed her sister.

"Its all right, Miss Timidity.  I'm safe, and I came on purpose," cried
Fin, from up in her perch, her face glowing, and eyes sparkling with
merriment.

"But what are you trying to do?"

"To get some of this, sweet innocent.  You can't see, I suppose, what it
is?"

"No, indeed, I cannot," said Tiny--"yes, I can.  Why, it's mistletoe."

"Mistletoe, is it, Miss?  Ahem!" cried Finn, resting one little fist
upon her hip,--and stretching out the other--"Tableau--young Druid
priestess about to cut the sacred plant with a fern trowel."

"Fin, dear, do come down.  Don't touch it."

"Not touch it?  But I will.  There!" she cried, tearing off a piece of
the pretty parasite.  "I'll wear that in my hat all the way home as a
challenge to nobody, and on purpose to make Aunt Matty cross.  She'll--"

"Hist, Fin; oh, be quiet," whispered Tiny.

"Eh?  What's the matter?" cried Fin, from her perch.

"Oh, pray be quiet; here's somebody coming."

"Never mind," said Fin.  "You stand behind the tree--they can't see us--
till I shout `Hallo!'"

But Fin kept very quiet, peering down squirrel-wise, as a step was heard
coming along the lane, and she caught glimpses through the trees of a
man in a rough tweed suit and soft felt hat.  The face was that of a
keen, earnest man of eight-and-forty, with a full beard, just touched by
life's frost, sharp dark eyes, and altogether a countenance not
handsome, but likely to win confidence.

The newcomer was walking with an easy stride, humming scraps of some
ditty, and he swung by his side an ordinary tin can, holding about a
quart of some steaming compound.

"It's Saint Timothy," whispered Fin, from her perch.  "Keep close."

Tiny drew her dress closer together, and pressed to the tree trunk,
looking terribly guilty, while her sister went on watching.

The steps came nearer, and the stepper's eyes were busy with a keen look
for everything, as he seemed to feast on the beauties of Nature around
him.

"`I love the merry, merry sunshine,'" he sang, in a bold, bluff voice;
"and--Hallo, what the dickens have we here?" he cried, stopping short,
and setting two hearts beating quickly.  "Lady's basket and ferns dug
up--yes, within the last hour.  Why, that must be--Hallo, I spy, hi!"

For as he spoke his eyes had been wandering about, amongst the brakes
and bushes, and he had caught sight of a bit of muslin dress peeping out
from behind a gnarled oak.

The result of his summons was that the scrap of dress was softly drawn
out of sight, and a voice from up in the ties whispered--

"Oh, go down, Tiny, and then he won't see me."

"Hallo! whispers in the wind," cried the newcomer, glancing higher, and
seeing a bit of Fin.  "Is it a bird?  By Jove, I wish I'd a gun.  No:
poachers--trespassers.  Here, you fellows, come out!"

Volume 1, Chapter VII.

JENKLES'S CONFESSION.

Sam Jenkles always boasted that he never kept anything from his wife;
but he was silent for two days; and then, after a hard day's work, he
was seated in his snug kitchen, watching the browning of a half-dozen
fine potatoes in a Dutch oven before the fire, when Mrs Jenkles, a
plump, bustling little woman, who was stitching away at a marvellous
rate, her needle clicking at every stroke, suddenly exclaimed--

"Sam, you'd better give me that two pound you've got, and I'll put it
with the rest."

Sam didn't answer, only tapped his pipe on the hob.

Mrs Jenkles glanced at him, and then said--

"Did you hear what I said, Sam?"

"Yes."

"Then why don't you give it me?  Draw that oven back an inch."

"Aint got it--only half a sov," said Sam, leaving the potatoes to burn.

Mrs Jenkles dropped her work upon her lap, and her face grew very red.

"Didn't you say, Sam, that if I'd trust you, you wouldn't do so any
more?"

"Yes."

"And you've broke your word, Sam."

"I aint, 'pon my soul, I aint, Sally," cried Sam, earnestly.  "I've had
my pint for dinner, and never touched a drop more till I had my pint at
home."

"Then where's that money?"

"Spent it," said Sam, laconically.

"Yes, at the nasty public-houses, Sam.  An' it's too bad, and when I'd
trusted you!"

"Wrong!" said Sam.

"Then where is it?"

"Fooled it away."

"Yes, of course.  But I didn't expect it, Sam; I didn't, indeed."

"All your fault," said Sam.

"Yes, for trusting you," said Mrs Jenkles, bitterly.  "Nice life we
lead: you with the worst horse and the worst cab on the rank, and me
with the worst husband."

"Is he, Sally?" said Sam, with a twinkle of the eye.

"Yes," said Mrs Jenkles, angrily; "and that makes it all the worse,
when he might be one of the best.  Oh, Sam," she said, pitifully, "do I
ever neglect you or your home?"

"Not you," he said, throwing down his pipe, and looking round at the
shining tins, bright fireplace, and general aspect of simple comfort and
cleanliness.  "You're the best old wife in the world."

And he got up and stood behind her chair with his arms round her neck.

"Don't touch me, Sam.  I'm very, very much hurt."

"Well, it was all your fault, little woman," he said, holding the comely
face, so that his wife could not look round at him.

"And how, pray?" said she.

"Didn't you send me up to see that poor woman as Ratty knocked down?"

"Yes; but did you go?"

"To be sure I did--you told me to go."

"Then why didn't you tell me you had been?"

"Didn't like to," said Sam.

"Such stuff!" cried Mrs Jenkles.  "But what's that got to do with it?"

Sam remained silent.

"What's that got to do with it, Sam?"

Silence still.

"Now, Sam, you've got something on your mind, so you'd better tell me.
Have you been drinking?"

"No, I haven't," said Sam, "and I don't mean to again."

"Then I'm very sorry for what I said."

"I know that," said Sam.

"But what does it all mean?"

"Well, you see," said Sam, "I've been a fool."

And after a little more hesitation, he told all about his visit.

Mrs Jenkles sat looking at the fire, rubbing her nose with her thimble,
both she and Sam heedless that the potatoes were burning.

"You've been took in, Sam, I'm afraid," she said at last.

"Think so?" he said.

"Well, I hope not; but you've either been took in, or done a very, very
kind thing."

"Well, we shall see," he said.

"Yes, we shall see."

"You aint huffy with me?"

"I don't know yet," said Mrs Jenkles; "but I shall go up and see them."

"Ah, do," said Sam.

"Yes, I mean to see to the bottom of it," said Mrs Jenkles.  "I haven't
patience with such ways."

"They can't help being poor."

"I don't mean them; I mean those people they're with.  I couldn't do
it."

"Not you," said Sam.  "But I say, don't Mr Lacy go next week?"

"Yes."

"And the rooms will be empty?"

"Yes," said Mrs Jenkles.  "I have put the bill up in the window; he
said he didn't mind."

Sam Jenkles went and sat down in his chair with an air of relief and
looked at his wife.

Mrs Jenkles looked at Sam, as if the same idea was in both hearts.
Then she jumped up suddenly.

"Oh, Sam, the potatoes are spoiling!"

They were, but they were not spoilt; and Sam Jenkles made a very hearty
meal, washing it down with the pint of beer which he termed his
allowance.

"Ah!" he said, speaking like a man with a load off his mind, "this
here's a luxury as the swells never gets--a regular good, hot, mealy
tater, fresh from the fire.  It's a wonderful arrangement of nature that
about taters."

"Why?" said Mrs Jenkles, as she emptied the brown coat of another
potato on her husband's plate.  "What do you mean?"

"Why, the way in which roast potatoes and beer goes together.  Six
mouthfuls of tater, and then a drink of beer to get rid of the dryness."

"I wish you wouldn't be so fond of talking about beer, Sam," said Mrs
Jenkles.

"All right, my dear," said Sam; and he finished his supper, retook his
place by the fireside, filled his pipe, glanced at the Dutch clock
swinging its pendulum to and fro; and then, as he lit the tobacco--"Ah!
this is cheery.  Glad I aint on the night shift."

Mrs Jenkles was very quiet as she bustled about and cleared the table,
before once more taking her place on the other side of the fire.

"Ratty went first-rate to-day," said Sam, after a few puffs.

But Mrs Jenkles did not take any notice; she only made her needle
click, and Sam kept glancing at her as he went on smoking.  At last she
spoke.

"I shall go up and see those people, Sam, for I'm afraid you've been
taken in.  Was she a married woman."

"Yes," said Sam; "I saw her ring.  But I say, you know, 'taint my fault,
Sally," he said, plaintively.  "I was born a soft un."

"Then it's time you grew hard, Sam," said Mrs Jenkles, bending over her
work.  "Thirty shillings takes a deal of saving with people like us."

"Yes," said Sam, "it do, 'specially when you has so many bad days to
make up."

"You ought not to have to pay more than twelve shillings a day for that
cab, Sam."

"I told the gov'nor so, and he said as it oughter be eighteen, and
plenty would be glad to get it at that."

Mrs Jenkles tightened her mouth, and shook her head.

"Oh!  I say, Sally," said Sam, plaintively, "I've been worried about
that money; and now it was off my mind, I did think as it was all right.
You've reglarly put my pipe out."

Mrs Jenkles rose, took a splint from the chimney-piece, lit it, and
handed it to her husband.

"No," he said, rubbing his ear with the stem of his pipe, "it aint that,
my dear; I meant figgeratively, as old Jones says."

Mrs Jenkles threw the match into the fire, and resumed her work for a
few minutes; then glanced at the clock, and put away her work.

"Yes, Sam, I shall go to Upper Holloway to-morrow, and see what I
think."

"Do, my lass, do," said Sam, drearily.  Then, in an undertone, as he
tapped his pipe-bowl on the hob, "Well, it's out now, and no mistake.
Shall we go to bed?"

Volume 1, Chapter VIII.

"OUR NEXT MEETING."

Fin Rea stood gazing down for a few moments, and then said--"No, indeed,
I can't, Mr Mervyn.  Pray go."

"Oh, Mr Mervyn," said Tiny, softly, "don't tease her any more."

"It is hard to refuse such a request," said the newcomer; "but, as
trespassers, you must leave me to administer punishment.  And, besides,
I owe Miss Fin here a grudge.  She has been laughing at me, I hear."

"I'll never do so any more, Mr Mervyn--I won't indeed," cried Fin;
"only let me off this time."

"Jump, you little gipsy, jump," cried Mr Mervyn.

"It's too high--I daren't," cried Fin.

"I have seen you leap down from a place twice as high, my little fawn.
Now, then, jump at once."

Fin looked despairingly round for a few moments, then made a piteous
grimace, and lastly sprang boldly down into the strong arms, which held
her as if she had been a child.

"Now," said Mr Mervyn, "about the mistletoe?"

"Mr Mervyn, pray.  Oh, it's too bad.  I..."

"Don't be frightened, little one," he said, tenderly, as he retained her
with one hand, to smooth her breeze-blown hair with the other.  "There,
come along; let me help you down."

But Fin started from him, like the fawn he had called her, and sprang
down the great bank.

"Mind my soup," shouted Mr Mervyn; and only just in time, for it was
nearly overset.  Then he helped Tiny down, blushing and vexed; but no
sooner were they in the lane, than Fin clapped her hands together, and
exclaimed--

"Oh, Mr Mervyn, don't go and tell everybody what a rude tomboy of a
sister Tiny is blessed with.  I am so ashamed."

"Come along, little ones," he said, laughing, as he stooped to pick up
the tin, and at the same time handed Fin her basket.

"How nice the soup smells," said Fin, mischievously.

"Yes; you promised to come and taste it some day," said Mr Mervyn; "but
you have never been.  I'm very proud of my soup, young ladies, and have
many a hard fight with Mrs Dykes about it."

"Do you?" said Tiny, for he looked seriously at her as he spoke.

"What about?" said Fin, coming to her sister's help.

"About the quantity of water," said Mr Mervyn.  "You know we've a big
copper for the soup; and Mrs Dykes has an idea in her head that eight
quarts of water go to the gallon, mine being that there are only four."

"Why, of course," laughed Fin.

"So," said Mr Mervyn, "she says I have the soup too strong, while I say
she wants to make it too weak."

"And what does old Mrs Trelyan say?"

"Say?" laughed Mr Mervyn.  "Oh, the poor old soul lets me take it to
her as a favour, and says she eats it to oblige me."

"It's so funny with the poor people about," said Fin; "they want things,
but they won't take them as if you were being charitable to them; they
all try to make it seem like a favour they are doing you."

"Well, I don't know that I object to that much," said Mr Mervyn.

"They're all pleased enough to see us," continued Fin; "but when Aunt
Matty and papa go they preach at them, and the poor people don't like
it."

"Fin!" said Tiny, in a warning voice.

"I don't care," said Fin; "it's only Mr Mervyn, and we may speak to
him.  I say, Mr Mervyn, did you hear about old Mrs Poltrene and Aunt
Matty?"

"Fin!" whispered Tiny, colouring.

"I _will_ tell Mr Mervyn; it isn't any harm," cried downright Fin.

And her sister, seeing that she only made matters worse, remained
silent.

"Mr Mervyn, you know old Mrs Poltrene, of course?"

"Oh yes, the old fisherman's wife down by the cliff."

"Yes; and Aunt Matty went to see her, and talked to her in her way, and
it made the old lady so cross that--that--oh, I mustn't tell you."

"Nonsense, child, go on."

"She--she told Aunt Matty to go along and get married," tittered Fin,
"and she could stay at home and mend her husband's stockings, and leave
people alone; and Aunt Matty thought it so horrible that she came home
and went to bed."

"Ha! ha! ha!" laughed Mr Mervyn.  "Mrs Poltrene has a temper; but here
we are--you'll come in?"

Tiny was for drawing back, but her sister prevailed.  They had been
walking along the lane, and had now reached a long, low cottage, built
after the fashion of the district, with massive blocks of granite, and
roofed with slabs of the same.  There was a strip of garden, though
gardens were almost needless, banked up as the place was on all sides
with the luxuriant wild growth of the valley.  On one side, though, of
the doorway was the simple old fuchsia of bygone days, with a stem here
as thick as a man's wrist--a perfect fuchsia tree, in fact; and on the
other side, leafing and flowering right over the roof, a gigantic
hydrangea, the flower we see in eastern England in pots, but here of a
delicious blue.

"Any one at home," said Mr Mervyn, walking straight in.  "Here, Mrs
Trelyan, I've brought you two visitors," and a very old, white-haired
woman, who was making a pilchard net, held her hand over her forehead.

"Sit down, girls--sit down," she said, in the melodious sing-song voice
of the Cornish people.  "I know them--they come and see me sometimes.
Eh?  How am I?  But middling--but middling.  It's been a bad season for
me.  Oh, soup?  Ah, you've brought me some more soup; you may empty it
into that basin.  I didn't want it; but you may leave it.  They've
brought me up some hake and a few herrings, so I could have got on
without.  That last soup was too salt, master."

"Was it?" said Mr Mervyn, giving a merry glance at Fin.  "Well, never
mind, I'll speak to Mrs Dykes about it."

"Ay, she's an east-country woman.  Those folks don't know much about
cooking.  Well, young ladies, I hear you have been to London."

"Yes, Mrs Trelyan."

"And you're glad to come back?"

"Yes, that we are," said Fin.

"Ay, I've heard it's a poor, lost sort of place, London," said the old
lady.  "I never went, and I never would.  My son William wanted to take
me once in his boot; but I wouldn't go.  Your father was a wise man to
buy Tolcarne; but it'll never be such a place as Penreife."

"You know young Trevor's coming back?" said Mr Mervyn.

"Ay, I know," said the old lady.  "Martha Lloyd came up to tell me, as
proud as a peacock, about her young master, talking about his fine this
and fine that, till she nearly made me sick.  I should get rid of her
and her man if I was him."

"What, Lloyd, the butler?" said Mr Mervyn, smiling.

"Yes," said the old lady, grimly, "they're Welsh people; so's that young
farm-bailiff of his."

"You know the whole family?" said Mr Mervyn.

"Why, I was born here!" said the old lady, "and I ought to.  We've been
here for generations.  Ah! and so the young squire's coming back.  Time
he did; going gadding off into foreign countries all this time.  Why,
he's six or seven and twenty now.  Ay, how time goes," continued the old
lady, who was off now on her hobby.  "Why, it was like yesterday that
the Lloyds got Mrs Trevor to send for their sister from some place with
a dreadful name; and she did, and I believe it was her death, when she
might have had a good Cornish nurse; and the next thing we heard was
that there was a son, and the very next week there was a grand funeral,
and the poor squire was never the same man again.  Ah! it was an artful
trick that--sending for the nurse because Mrs Lloyd wanted her too; and
young Humphrey Lloyd was born the same week.  Ay, they were strange
times.  It seemed directly after that we had the news about the squire,
who got reckless-like, always out in his yacht, a poor matchwood sort of
a thing, not like our boots, and it was blown on the Longships one
night, and there wasn't even a body came ashore."

"Rather a sad family history," said Mr Mervyn.

"Ay, sad enough," said the woman; "and now the young squire's coming
home at last from sea, but he'll never be such a man as his father."

"Think not?" said Mr Mervyn, musing.

"Sure not," said the old woman.  "Why, he was petted and spoiled by
those Lloyds while he was a boy, and a pretty limb he was.  Him and that
young Lloyd was always in some mischief.  Pretty pranks they played me.
I've been out with the stick to 'em scores of times; but he was
generous--I will say that--and many's the conger and bass he's brought
me here, proud of 'em as could be, because he caught them himself."

"Well, Mrs Trelyan, we must say good morning," said Tiny, rising and
taking the old lady's hand.  "Is there anything you would like--anything
we can bring you?"

"No, child, no," said the old lady; "I don't want anything.  If you'd
any good tea, I'd use a pinch; but I'm not asking for it, mind that."

"Where's your snuff-box, granny?" said Mr Mervyn, bringing out a small
canister from his pocket.

"Oh, it's here," said the old lady, fishing out and opening her box to
show it was quite empty.  "I don't know that I want any, though."

"Try that," said Mr Mervyn, filling it full; and the old lady took a
pinch.  "That's not bad, is it?"

"N-n-no, it's not bad," said the old lady, "but I've had better."

"No doubt," said Mr Mervyn, smiling.

"By the way, Mrs Trelyan, how old are you?"

"Ninety next month," said the old lady; "and--dear, dear, what a bother
visitors are.  Here's somebody else coming."

For at that moment there was a firm step heard without, and some one
stooped and entered the doorway, hardly seeing the group on his left in
the gloomy room.

"Is Mrs Trelyan at home?" he said; and Tiny Rea laid her hand upon her
sisters arm.

"Yes, young man," said the old lady, shading her eyes, and gazing at the
strongly-built figure before her.  "I'm Mrs Trelyan, and what may you
want?"

"To see how you are, granny.  I'm Richard Trevor."

"And--and--" cried the old woman, letting fall her net as she rose
slowly and laid her hand upon his arm; "and only a minute ago I was
talking about you, and declaring you'd never be such a man as your
father.  My dear boy, how you have grown."

"One does grow in twelve years, granny," said the young man.  "Well, I'm
glad to see you alive and hearty."

"Thank you, my boy," said the old lady; and then turning and pointing to
the wall, "Look!" she said, "that's the very stick that I took away from
you one day for teasing my hens.  You were a bad boy.  You know you
were."

"I suppose I was," said the young man, smiling.  "But I beg pardon; you
have company, granny."

"Oh, that's only Mr Mervyn, my dear, and he's going; and those are only
the two girls from Tolcarne.  I let them come and see me sometimes, but
they're going now."

"Mr Mervyn," said the young man, holding out his hand, which was taken
in a strong grip, "I am glad to meet so near a neighbour; perhaps you
will introduce me to the ladies?"

"That I will," said Mr Mervyn, heartily.  "Mr Trevor!"

"It's Squire Trevor now, Mr Mervyn," said the old lady, with some show
of impatience.

"I beg pardon," said Mr Mervyn, smiling.  "Squire Trevor, your very
near neighbours, Miss Rea, Miss Finetta Rea, of Tolcarne."

"Ladies whom I have had the pleasure of meeting before," said Trevor,
with a smile.

And then, in a confusion of bows, the two girls made their retreat,
followed by Mr Mervyn.

"Oh, Fin, how strange!" exclaimed Tiny; "it's the gentleman who struck
that man at the race."

"Yes," exclaimed Fin; "and that horrid little creature's sure to be
close behind."

Volume 1, Chapter IX.

SAM JENKLES PREPARES FOR AN EXPEDITION.

"There you are, Ratty," said Sam Jenkles, sticking a small yellow
sunflower in each of his horse's blinkers, before mounting to his perch
and driving out of the yard.  "Now you look 'andsome.  Only recklect
'andsome is as 'andsome does; so just putt your right leg fust for once
in a way."

He walked round the horse, giving it a smooth here and a smooth there
with his worn-out glove, and patting its neck, before walking back, and
beginning to button-up for the day.

"Blest if ever I see such a tail in my life as he's got," he muttered.
"Wonder what a hartificial one 'ud cost.  It aint no kind o' use to comb
it, 'thout you want to comb it all out and leave no tail at all I
wouldn't care if it warn't so ragged."

It certainly was a melancholy-looking tail, but only in keeping with the
rest of the horse's personal appearance, which was of the most
dejected--dispirited.  If it had only been black, the steed would have
been the beau ideal beast for a workhouse hearse; as he was of a dingy
brown, he was relegated to a cab.

"What's the matter, Sam?" said a cleaner, coming up--a man with a stable
pail of water in one hand, a spoke-brush in the other, and a general
exemplification of how, by degrees, Nature will make square people fit
into round holes, and the reverse; for, by the constant carriage of
stable pails, the man's knees had gone in, and out of the perpendicular,
so as to allow for the vessels' swing.

"What's the matter, Buddy?  Why, everythink.  Look at that there 'oss--
look at his tail."

"Well, he aint 'andsome, suttunly," said the helper.

"'Andsome!" exclaimed Sam; "no, nor he aint anythink else.  He won't go,
nor he won't stop.  If you wants him to 'old 'is 'ead up, he 'angs it
down; and if you wants him to 'old it down, he shoves it up in the air,
and goes shambling along like a sick camel.  He's all rules of
contrairy."

"'Oppin' about like a little canary," chimed in the helper.

"'Oppin' about!" said Sam, in a tone of disgust.  "I should just like to
see him, if on'y for once in a way.  I tell yer what it is, Buddy, I
believe sometimes all he does is to lift his legs up, one at a time, an'
lean up agin his collar.  Natur' does the rest."

"Werry likely," said Buddy; "but you can't expect everything in a cab
'oss."

"Heverythink?" said Sam.  "I don't expect everythink; I only want
some-think; and all you've got there," he continued, pointing with one
thumb over his shoulder at the unfortunate Ratty, "is so much walking
cats'-meat."

"Yes, he aint 'andsome, suttunly," said Buddy again, screwing up one
side of his face.  "But why don't you smooth him over?  Try kindness,
and give the whip a 'ollerday."

"Kindness--whip--'ollerday!  Why, I'm like a father to 'im.  Look here."

Sam went to the little boot at the back of his cab, and tugged out the
horse's nose-bag, which was lined at the bottom with tin, so that it
would have held water.

"See that?" said Sam.

"Yes: what's it for?" said Buddy.

"Beer," said Sam, fiercely, "beer!  Many's the 'arfpint I've poured in
there along of his chopped meat, jest to cheer him up a bit, and he aint
got no missus to smell his breath.  I thought that 'ud make 'im go if
anythink would."

"Well, didn't it?" said Buddy, rubbing his ear with the spoke-brush.

"Didn't it?" said Sam.  "Lets out at me with his orf 'ind leg, and then
comes clay mill, and goes round and round till he oughter 'ave been
dizzy, but he worn't.  There never was sech a ungrateful beast."

Buddy grinned as Sam stuffed back the nose-bag, the horse shaking his
head the while.

"Try it on me, Sam," said Buddy, as the driver prepared to mount.  "I
won't let out with no orf 'ind legs."

Sam winked, and climbed to his perch.

"What's the flowers for, Sam?" said the helper.

"The missus.  Goin' to call for her, and drive her to Upper 'ollerway,"
said Sam, "afore I goes on the rank."

"Oh, will you tell her," said Buddy, earnestly, "as Ginger's ever so
much better, and can a'most putt his little leg to the ground?  He eats
that stuff she brought him like fun."

"What stuff was that?" said Sam, gathering up the reins.

"Sorter yaller jally," said Buddy.

"What, as smells o' lemons?" said Sam.

"Yes, that's it," said Buddy; "he just do like it."

"How long's he been bad now?"

"Twelve weeks," said Buddy; "and he's been 'most worn to skin and bone;
but he's pulling up now.  Takes his corn."

"Mornin'," said Sam.

He tried to start; but Batty moved sidewise, laid a blinker against the
whitewashed wall of the yard, and rubbed it up and down, so that it had
to be wiped over with a wet leather by Buddy; and when that was done, he
tried to back the cab into a narrow stable door.  After that, though, he
seemed better, and began to go in a straight line.

"Tried that there game at a plate-glass winder t'other day," said Sam,
shouting over his shoulder as he left the yard.  "He'd ha' done it, too,
if it hadn't been for a lamp-post."

Sam and his steed went gently out of Grey's Inn Lane towards
Pentonville, where, in a little quiet street, Mrs Jenkles resided, and
Sam began musing as he went along--

"I smelt that there stuff in the cupboard, and meant to ask her what it
was, but I forgot.  On'y to think of her making that up, and taking it
to poor Buddy's little bairn!  Well, she's a good sort, is the missus,
on'y she will be so hard on me about a drop o' beer.  'Old that there
'ead still, will yer?  What are yer lookin' arter, there?  Oh! that
cats-meat barrer.  Ah! yer may well shy at that, Ratty; I don't wonder
at it.  Now, then, get on, old boy, the missus 'll be waiting."

On reaching Spring Place, where Sam dwelt, the horse objected.  He was
sawing along in a straightforward way, when Sam drew one rein, with the
consequence that the horse's head came round, his long neck bending till
the animal's face was gazing at him in a dejected, lachrymose fashion:
Ratty seeming to say, as plainly as looks would express it, "What are
you doing?" while all the time the legs went straight forward up
Pentonville Hill.

They had got twenty yards past Spring Place before Sam could pull the
horse up; and then he had to get down to take it by the head and turn it
in a very ignominious fashion.

"Jest opposite a public, too," said Sam.  "I never did see such a
haggravating beast as you are, Ratty.  Here, come along.  It aint no
wonder as fellows drinks, with a place offering 'em the stuff every five
minutes of their lives, and when they've got a Ratty to lead 'em right
up to it.  Come on, will yer?"

Mrs Jenkles was standing at the door ready, in a blue bonnet and red
Paisley shawl--for she was a woman of her word.  She had said that she
would go up and see those people, and Sam had promised to drive her.

Volume 1, Chapter X.

GOING THE ROUNDS.

Fin was quite right.  They had not gone above a couple of hundred yards
down the lane, with Mr Mervyn between them, swinging his empty soup
tin, when they became aware of a loud whistling, as of some one
practising a polka.  Then it would cease for a few moments, and directly
after begin again.

"There's somebody," said Fin; and then, turning a sharp corner, they
came suddenly on Mr Frank Pratt, perched in a sitting posture on the
top of a huge, round lith of granite, with his back to them, and his
little legs stretching out almost at right angles.  He was in his
threatened tweeds, a natty little deerstalker's hat was cocked on one
side of his head; in one hand he held a stick, and in the other a large
pipe, from which he drew refreshment between the strains of the polka he
tried to whistle.

Mr Frank Pratt was evidently enjoying the beauty of the place after his
own particular fashion; for, being a short man, he had a natural love
for elevated places.  As a boy, he had delighted in climbing trees, and
sitting in the highest fork that would bear him, eating cakes or
munching apples; as a man, cakes and apples had given way to extremely
black pipes, in company with which he alternately visited the top of the
Monument, the Duke of York's column, and the golden gallery of Saint
Paul's, where he regretted that the cost was eighteen-pence to go any
higher.  In these places, where it was strictly forbidden, he indulged
in surreptitious smokes, from which his friends deduced the proposition
that if not the cakes, probably the apples had been stolen.

The tail stone then being handy, Mr Pratt was enjoying himself, when he
suddenly became aware of steps behind, and hopped down in a most
ungraceful fashion to stare with astonishment so blank, that by the time
he had raised his hat Fin had gone by with her chin raised in the air,
and a very disdainful look upon her countenance, and her sister, with a
slightly heightened colour, had plunged into conversation with Mr
Mervyn.

Pratt stood half paralysed for a few moments, watching the party, until
a turn in the lane hid them from sight, and then he refilled and lit his
pipe, from which the burning weed had fallen.

"It's a mistake," he said at last, between tremendous puffs at his pipe.
"It's impossible.  I don't believe it.  One might call it a
hallucination, only that the beardless female face is so similar in one
woman to another that a man easily makes a mistake.  Those cannot be the
same girls that we saw at the steeplechase--it isn't possible; but there
is a resemblance, certainly; and, treating the thing philosophically, I
should say here we have the real explanation of what is looked upon as
infidelity in the male being."

A few puffs from the pipe, and then Mr Pratt reclimbed to his perch
upon the stone.

"I'll carry that out, and then write it down as a position worthy of
argument.  Yes, to be sure.  Here it is.  A man falls in love--say, for
the sake of argument, at first sight, with a pretty girl, quite unknown
to him before, upon a racecourse.  Symptoms: a feeling of sympathetic
attraction; a throbbing of the pulses; and the heart beating bob and go
one.  Say he gets to know the girl; is engaged to her; and is then
separated by three or four hundred miles."

A few more puffs, and sundry nods of the head, and then Mr Pratt went
on.

"He there encounters another girl, whose face and general appearance are
so much like the face and general appearance of girl number one, that
his secondary influences--to wit, heart, pulses, and sympathies
generally--immediately give signals; love ensues, and he declares and is
accepted by girl number two, while girl number one says he is
unfaithful.  The man is not unfaithful; it is simply an arrangement of
Nature, and he can't help himself.  Infidelity, then, is the same thing
in a state of change.  Moral: Nature has no business to make women so
much alike."

Mr Pratt got down once more from his perch, and began to stroll up the
lane, to encounter Trevor at the end of a few minutes.

"Did you meet any one?" was the inquiry.

"Yes," said Pratt, "a gentleman and two ladies."

"Well?"

"Well?"

"Did you not know them?"

"Ah!" said Pratt, "then you, too, noticed the similarity of feature, did
you?"

"Similarity?"

"Yes; wonderfully like the ladies we met at the steeplechase, were they
not?"

Richard Trevor looked hard in his friend's face for a moment, and then
they walked on side by side; for at a turn of the lane they met the
young keeper, who had so suddenly changed the aspect of the encounter on
the course.

"Ah, Humphrey!" said Trevor, "I'm glad I've met you.  I'll have a walk
round the preserves."

The young keeper touched his hat, changed the double gun from one
shoulder of his well-worn velveteen coat to the other, whistled to a
setter, and led the way to a stone stile.

"Another curious case of similarity of feature," said Trevor, laughing.

"Well, no--I'll give in now," said Pratt; "but I say, Dick, old fellow,
ought coincidences like this to occur out of novels?"

"Never mind that," said Trevor, "the keeper here, who used to be my
playmate as a boy, was as much astonished as I was--weren't you,
Humphrey?"

"Well, sir," said the young man, "when I see you th' other morning, I
couldn't believe my eyes like, that the gentleman who'd pummelled that
fellow was the one I'd come up to London to meet.  I saw you, too, sir,"
he said, touching his hat to Pratt.

"Yes, my man," said Pratt, "and felt my toe.  I'm sorry to find you did,
for you've blown up one of the most beautiful propositions I ever made
in my life."

"Well, now then," said Trevor, "I'll see about matters with you, Lloyd;
but, by the way, you had better be Humphrey, on account of your father."

"Yes, sir; Humphrey, please, sir," said the young man.

"Well, now then, as we go on," said Trevor, "if it don't bore you,
Pratt, we'll have a talk about farm matters."

"Won't bore me," said Pratt; "I'm going in for the country gentleman
while I stay."

"Well, then, Humphrey, how are the crops!"

"Well, sir," said Humphrey.  "Ah, Juno! what are you sniffing after
there?"  This to the young dog, which seemed to have been born with a
mission to push its head up rabbit burrows too small for the passage.
"Well, sir, begging your pardon, but that dog's took more looking after
than e'er a one I ever had."

"All right, go on," said Trevor, following the man across a broad,
rock-sided ditch, with a little brook at the bottom.

"Well, sir," said the keeper, "the corn is--"

"Here, I say, hold hard a minute!  This isn't Pall Mall, Trevor,"
shouted Pratt.  "How the deuce am I to get over that place?"

"Jump, man," cried Trevor, laughing and looking back.  "That's nothing
to some of our ditches."

Pratt looked at the ditch, then down at his little legs, and then blew
out his cheeks.

"Risk it," he said, laconically; and, stepping back a few yards, he took
a run, jumped, came short, and had to scramble up the bank, a little
disarranged, but smiling and triumphant.  "All right," he said, "go on."

"Corn is, on the whole, a fair crop, sir," said Humphrey.

"And barley?"

"Plenty of that too, sir.  But I've a deal of trouble with trespassers,
sir."

"How's that?" said Trevor, looking round at the bright, rugged hill and
dale, with trees all aglow with the touch of autumn's hand.

"You see, sir, it's the new people," said the keeper.

"What new people?"

"The old gentleman as bought Tolcarne, sir."

"Well, what of him?" said Trevor, rather anxiously.

"Well, sir, he's a magistrate and a Sir, and a great City of London man,
and he wants to be quite the squire.  The very first thing he does is to
get two men to work on the estate, and who does he get but that Dick
Darley and Sam Kelynack; and a nice pair they are, as you may know,
sir."

"Seeing that I've been away for years, Humphrey, I don't know," said
Trevor.

"Well, sir, they was both turned out of their last places--one for a bit
o' poaching, and the other for being always on the drink.  They know I
don't like 'em--both of 'em," said Humphrey, with the veins swelling in
his white forehead; "and no sooner do they get took on, than they begin
to worry me."

"How?" said Trevor, smiling.

"Trespassing on my land, sir--I mean yours, sir, begging your pardon,
sir.  They will do it, too, sir.  You see, there's a bit of land at the
corner where Penreife runs right into the Tolcarne estate--sort of
tongue o' land, sir--and to save going round, they make a path right
across there, sir, over our bit of pasture."

"Put up a fence, Humphrey," said Trevor.

"I do, sir, and bush it, and set up rails; but they knocks 'em down, and
tramples all over the place.  Sir Hampton's got an idea that he's a
right to that bit, as his land comes nigh surrounding it, and that makes
'em so sarcy."

"Well, we must see to it," said Trevor.  "I want to be good friends with
all my neighbours."

"Then you've cut out your work," said Pratt, drily.

"You won't be with Sir Hampton, sir, you may reckon on that," said
Humphrey.  "Lady Rea is a kind, pleasant lady enough, and the young
ladies is very nice, sir, and he's been civil enough to me; but he
upsets everybody nearly--him and his sister."

"Never mind about that," said Trevor, checking him.  "I wish to be on
good terms with my neighbours, and if there be any trespass--any
annoyance from Sir Hampton's people--tell me quietly, and I will lay the
matter before their master."

"Or we might get up a good action for trespass," said Pratt.  "But, by
the way," he said, stopping short, and sticking one finger on his
forehead, "is this Sir Hampton the chuffy old gentleman we saw at the
steeplechase?"

"Yes, sir; and as told me I might get up on the box-seat.  That was him,
you know, as that blackguard prodded with his stick."

"Phew!" whistled Pratt.  "I say, Dick," he whispered, "the old chap did
not see us under the best of auspices."

"No; it's rather vexing," was the reply.

They walked on from dense copse to meadow, through goodly fields of
grain, and down in deep little vales, with steep sides covered with
fern, bramble, and stunted pollard oaks.

"Poor youth!" said Pratt, and stopped to mop his forehead.  "How
low-spirited you must feel to be the owner of such a place.  It's
lovely.  Nature's made it very beautiful; but no wonder--see what
practice she has had."

Trevor laughed, and Humphrey smiled, saying--

"If you come a bit farther this way, sir, there's a capital view of the
house."

Pratt followed the man; and there, at about half a mile distance, on the
slope of a steep hill, was the rugged, granite-built seat--Penreife--
half ancient, half modern; full of buttresses, gables, awkward
chimney-stacks, and windows of all shapes, with the ivy clustering over
it greenly, and a general look of picturesque comfort that no
trimly-built piece of architecture could display.  The house stood at
the end of one of the steep valleys running up from the sea, which shone
in the autumn sun about another half-mile farther, with grey cottages
clustering on the cliff, and a little granite-built harbour, sheltering
some half a dozen duck-shaped luggers and a couple of yachts.

"Ah," said Pratt, "that's pretty!  Beats Ludgate Hill and Fleet Street
all to fits.  Is that your master's yacht?"

"The big 'un is, sir--the _Sea Launce_," said Humphrey; "the little
'un's Mr Mervyn's--the _Swallow_."

"By the way, who is this Mr Mervyn?" said Trevor, who had sauntered up.

"Well, sir," said Humphrey, taking off his hat and rubbing his brown
curls, "I don't kinder know what he is.  He's been in the navy, I think,
for he's a capital sailor; but he's quite the gentleman, and wonderful
kind to the poor people, and he lives in that little white house the
other side of the cliff."

"I can't see any white house," said Pratt.

"No, sir, you can't see it, 'cause it's the other side of the cliff; but
that's his flagstaff rigged up, as you can see, with the weathercock on
it, and--Here, hi! you, sir, come out of that!  Here, Juno, lass, come
along."

"Has he gone mad?" cried Pratt.

For Humphrey had suddenly set off down a steep slope towards a meadow,
and went on shouting with all his might.

"No," said Trevor, shading his eyes, "there's a man--two men with
billhooks there--labourers, I should think.  Come along, or perhaps
there'll be a quarrel; and I can't have that."

Volume 1, Chapter XI.

THE LION AT HOME.

Sir Hampton Rea was out that morning, and very busy.

He had been round to the stables and seen the four horses that had
arrived the night before, and bullied the coachman because he had said
that one of them had a splinter in its leg, and that the mare meant for
Miss Rea had rather a nasty look about the eye.

"You're an ass, Thomas," he said.

The man touched his hat, and Sir Hampton walked half across the
stable-yard.

"Er-rum!" he ejaculated, half turning; and the coachman came up,
obsequiously touching his hat again.

"Those horses, Thomas, were examined by a veterinary surgeon."

"Yes, sir," said the man.

"Er-rum!  And I chose them and examined them myself."

"Yes, sir."

"You've made a mistake, Thomas."

"Very like, sir," said the man.  "Very sorry, sir."

Sir Hampton did not respond, but gave a sharp glance round the very
new-looking stable-yard and buildings, saw nothing to find fault about;
and then, clearing his throat, went into the garden as the coachman
winked at the groom, and the groom raised a wen upon his cheek by the
internal application of his tongue.

"Er-rum!--Sanders!" cried the knight.

And something that had worn the aspect of a huge boa constrictor in cord
trousers, crawling into a melon-frame, slowly drew itself back, stood
upright, and revealed a yellow-faced man with a scarlet head and
whiskers.

Perhaps it is giving too decided a colour to the freckles which covered
Mr Sanders's face to say they were yellow, and to his hair to say it
was scarlet; but they certainly approached those hues, "Er-rum!
Sanders, come here," said Sir Hampton.

Sanders leisurely closed the melon-frame and raised the light a few
inches with a piece of wood, and then slowly approached his master, to
stop in front of him and scrape his feet upon a spade.

"Er-rum!  I'm going to inspect the grounds this morning, Sanders," said
Sir Hampton.

Sanders, head gardener, nodded; for he was a man so accustomed to deal
with silent objects that he seldom spoke, if he could possibly help it;
but here he was obliged.

"Shall I want a spade?"

"No; certainly not."

"Nor a barrow?"

"No!" sharply.

"Maybe ye'll like me to bring a billhook?"

"Er-rum!  No.  Yes; bring a billhook."

The gardener went slowly off to his tool-house, and returned as
leisurely; Sir Hampton the while fiercely poking vegetables about with
his stick--stirring up cabbages, as if angry because they did not grow--
beet, for having too much top-onions, for not swelling more
satisfactorily--and ending with a vicious cut at a wasp bent on a feast
of nectarine beneath the great, new, red-brick wall.

Wasp did not like it.  Ignorant of any doctrine concerning _meum_ and
_tuum_, he looked upon all fruit as _pro bono publico_, as far as the
insect world was concerned.  The nectarines might be choicely named
varieties, planted by Sir Hampton's order, after having been obtained at
considerable expense--the wall having been built for their use; but
fruit was fruit to the wasp, so long as it was ripe, and he resented
interference.  Pugnacity was crammed to excess in his small, yellow
body, and prevented from bursting it by a series of strong black rings;
so it was not surprising that the insect showed fight, and span round
the new magistrate's head with a fierce buzz.

"Css!  Get out!  Sh!" ejaculated Sir Hampton; and he struck at the wasp
again and again.  But the little insect was no respecter of persons.  He
had been insulted, and, watching his opportunity, he dashed in, and
stung the knight in the tender red mark where his stiffly starched
cravat frayed his neck, gave a triumphant buzz, and went over the wall
like a yellow streak.

"Confound!  Ugh!" ejaculated the knight; and then, seeing Sanders coming
slowly back, he played Spartan, and preserved outward composure, though
there was a volcano of wrath smouldering within.

He strutted off, with the gardener behind, fired a couple of shots at
gardeners two and three, who were sweeping the lawn, and then entered
into a general inspection of the garden.

"How--Er-rum!--how is it that bed is not in flower, Sanders?"  "Done
blooming," said Sanders, gruffly.

"Done blooming, Sir Hampton!" exclaimed the knight, facing round.

"Done blooming, Sir Hampton," said the gardener, slowly; and he looked
as expressionless as a big sunflower.

"Take off that branch," said the knight, pointing to an overhanging
bough; and it was solemnly lopped off.

"Er-rum!" ejaculated the knight, when they had gone a little farther.
"How is it that patch of lawn is brown?"

"Grubs," said the gardener.

"Grubs, Sir Hampton," said the knight, fiercely.

"Grubs, Sir Hampton," said the corrected gardener.

"Ha!" said Sir Hampton, and they went a little farther.

"Those Wellingtonias are not growing, Sanders."

"Two foot this year," said the gardener.

"That's very slow."

"Fast," said the gardener.

"Fast, Sir Hampton," said the knight.

"Fast, Sir Hampton," said the gardener, corrected again.

"Er-rum!  Ah!  This won't do.  This clump must be moved farther to the
right," said Sir Hampton, pointing to a cluster of shrubs.

"Kill 'em," said Sanders.

"Then we'll set more," said the knight; and he went on to the farthest
entrance of the garden, and the paths cut through the plantation, with a
general desire exhibited in his every act, that as he had, so to speak,
made the place and planted the grounds, it was absolutely necessary that
he should have all the trees pulled up at stated intervals, to see how
the roots were getting along.

There was a small iron gate at the end of the plantation walk, and this
the gardener opened for his master to pass through, closing it after
him, and sticking the billhook in his breast.

"Er-rum!  Where are you going, Sanders?" said the knight, sharply.

"Back," said Sanders--"'taint garden here."

His domain extended no farther.

"Come along this moment, sir; and stop till I dismiss you."

The knight looked purple as the gardener slowly unlatched the gate, and
followed him about a quarter of a mile, to where the estate joined that
of the Trevors; and here, as they neared the pastures, angry voices were
heard.

"Quick, Sanders," cried Sir Hampton--"trespassers!"

The next minute they were upon an angry group, consisting of Trevor,
Pratt, Humphrey, a man with a sinister look and a mouth like a rat-trap,
and a stumpy fellow, who was armed with a long plashing hook.

"Er-rum! what's this?" exclaimed Sir Hampton, with the voice of
authority.

"These men of yours, Sir Hampton," said Humphrey, flushed and angry,
"always trespassing across our ground."

"My servants would do nothing of the sort, fellow," said Sir Hampton.

"But they have done it, Sir Hampton," said Humphrey.  "There they are;
there's their footmarks right across the field; and they're always at
it, and breaking down the bushes."

"Hold your tongue, Humphrey," said Trevor.  "I beg your pardon--Sir
Hampton Rea, I believe?"

The wasp sting, kept back so long, now came out.

"And pray, sir, why are you trespassing on my grounds?" exclaimed the
knight, furiously.

"Excuse me, I am on my own," said Trevor.

"Your own!  I never heard such insolence in my life.  Who are you, sir?
What the devil are you?  Where do you come from?"

"Well," said Trevor, with a red spot coming into each cheek, but
speaking quite coolly, "my name is Trevor.  I am the owner of Penreife,
and I have lately returned from sea."

"Then--then--go back to sea, sir, or get off my grounds; or, by gad,
sir, my labourers shall kick you off."

The men advanced menacingly; but, with a face like fire, Humphrey rolled
up his cuffs.

"Humphrey!  Stop; how dare you!" exclaimed Trevor, angrily.

The young keeper drew back, grinding his teeth; for the others continued
to advance, and the rat-trap-mouthed man, finding Juno, the dog,
smelling about him, gave the poor brute a kick, which produced a loud
yelp.

"Excuse me, Sir Hampton, but--"

"Get off my grounds, sir, this instant!" roared the knight.

Wasp sting again.

"Look here," said Pratt, "if it's a question of boundary, any solicitor
will look through the deeds, and a surveyor measure, and put it all
right in--"

"Who the devil is this little cad?" exclaimed Sir Hampton.

"Cad?" cried Pratt.

"Yes, sir, cad.  Oh!  I thought I knew you again.  Yes; you are one of
that gang on the omnibus who insulted me the other day.  And--and--" he
stammered in his rage, turning to Trevor, "you were another of the
party.  Get off my grounds, sir--this instant, sir.  Darley, Sanders,
Kelynack--drive these fellows off!"

The three men advanced, and Sir Hampton took the general's place in the
rear, quivering still with rage and the poison of the wasp.  Trevor was
now flushed and angry, and Humphrey evidently ripe for any amount of
assault or resistance, when Pratt stepped forward and laid his hand upon
the arm of the angry knight.

Volume 1, Chapter XII.

HEBE.

"Stand back, sir--get off my ground, sir!" cried Sir Hampton, furiously.
"Look here, men, this is--er-rum--an assault."

"No, it is not, Sir Hampton," said Pratt, coolly.  "Look here, my good
man."

"Your good man, sir?"

"Yes," said Pratt, quietly; and there was something in the little fellow
that enforced attention.  "You are, I believe, a magistrate here--for
the county?"

"Yes, sir; I am, sir; and--er-rum--"

"Be cool--be cool," said Pratt, "You called me a cad just now."

"I did, sir; and--"

"Well, I am a barrister--of the Temple.  There is my card."

He stuck the little piece of pasteboard into the magistrate's hand.

"Confound your card, sir!  I--"

"Now--now, look here," said Pratt, button-holing him; "don't be cross.
Let me ask you this--Is it wise of you--a justice of the peace--to set
your men on, right or wrong, to break that peace?"

Sir Hampton Rea stopped short for a moment or two, and then gasped,
seemed as if he would choke, and ended by snatching his coat away from
Pratt's grasp.

"Darley, Sanders, come back--go back," he said at last.  "These people
shall hear from me."

The rat-trap man stood looking evilly at the young keeper, and the
Scotch gardener took a pinch of snuff.  Then they slowly followed their
master, and the coast was clear.

"You're sure, I suppose, about this tongue of land?" said Pratt.  "By
Jove! what a rage, though, the old boy was in."

"Sure? yes--oh yes," said Trevor.  "Wasn't it here that they sunk the
shaft for the copper mine, Humphrey?"

"Yes, sir, twenty yards farther on, under that clump.  It's 'most filled
up, though, now."

"To be sure, I recollect the spot well enough now.  But this is a bad
job, Franky," he continued, in an undertone.  "I wanted to be on the
best of terms with my neighbours."

"'Specially that neighbour," said Pratt, meaningly.

"With all my neighbours," said Trevor.

"You've made a nice beginning, then," said Pratt.

"If there is any fresh upset, Humphrey, let me know; but don't pick a
quarrel," said Trevor.  "I shall not go any farther to-day."

"Very well, sir," said the keeper; and then in an undertone, as he
stooped and patted the dog, "Kick you, would he, Juno, lass?  Never
mind, then, he shall have it back some day."

The dog whined and leaped up at him, as he rose again, and looked after
his master.

"Well, he's grown into a fine, bold-speaking gentleman," he said to
himself; "but I should have liked it better if he'd tackled to and
helped me to thrash them two ill-looking blackguards."

Meanwhile Trevor and his old schoolfellow had been walking sharply back
towards the house, where they were evidently being watched for by the
old butler, Lloyd--the remains of a fine-looking man, for he was bent
now, though his eyes were clear and bright.

"I saw you coming across the park, Master Dick," he said, his face
shining with pleasure.  "You'll have a bit of lunch now, won't you?"

"Early yet, isn't it?" said Pratt.

"I don't think so, sir," said the old butler, austerely.  "I am sure
Master Dick requires something after his long walk."

"Yes, yes--that he does," said a rather shrill voice; and an active,
grey-haired woman of about fifty came bustling out.  She was very primly
dressed in black silk, with white muslin kerchief, white holland apron,
in whose pockets her hands rested; and her grey hair was carefully
smoothed back beneath her plain white muslin cap.

"No, no; it's only twelve o'clock, Mrs Lloyd," said Trevor,
good-humouredly.  "I lunch at one."

"You take my advice, Master Dick, and have it now," said the butler.

"Yes, Lloyd, have it brought in, and ask Master Dick if he'll have some
of the old claret," said the woman.

"My dear Mrs Lloyd," said Trevor, smiling, "this is very kind of you--
of you both--but I'm not ready for lunch yet.  You can both go now.
I'll ring when I'm ready."

He led the way into his handsomely furnished study, the beau ideal of a
comfortable room for a man with a mingling of literary and sporting
tastes.

"Here, let's sit down and have a cigar," he said, pushing a great
leather-covered chair to his friend; "it will smooth us down after our
encounter."

"No; I'll fill my pipe," said Pratt, suiting the action to the word, and
lighting up, to send big clouds of smoke through the large room.

"You mustn't take any notice of the old butler and housekeeper, Frank,"
said Trevor, after a pause.

"Don't mean to."

"You see, they've had their own way here since I was a child."

"And now they don't like to give it up?"

"I suppose not.  But they mean well.  They were always, I can remember,
most affectionate to me."

"Yes; they seem to like Master Dick."

"Pish! yes, of course--their way.  Sounds stupid, though, Franky; but
you can't wonder at it."

"I don't," said Pratt.  "But I should put my foot down, I think."

"That I most decidedly shall, and before Van and the little Baronet come
down."

"Oh, by Jove!" said Pratt, starting, "why those two fellows are coming
to-morrow."

"Yes; they'll be here about five."

"And what in the world are you going to do with them?"

"Oh, there's plenty to do--billiards, and cards, and smoking indoors;
fishing and yachting out of doors."

"Yes," said Pratt, with a sigh; "but they'll both be murmuring after the
flesh-pots of Pall Mall.  You'll have your hands pretty full."

"Never fear," said Trevor; "I shall be able to entertain them.  How
strange it all seems, though--such a little while since we were boys at
Eton, and now Van a perfect exquisite."

"Landells an imperfect ditto."

"You a barrister."

"Yes," said Pratt, "very barrister, indeed; and you altered into a tawny
tar, regularly disguised by Nature."

Here there was a tap at the door.  "Come in," said Trevor, who was
sitting in a low, big-backed chair.  And then, as the door opened, "Who
is it?"

"Hebe!" said Pratt, softly.

"Eh?" said Trevor.

"If you please, sir, Mrs Lloyd said I was to bring this in," said a
pleasant little voice; and Trevor swung himself round in his chair, to
gaze upon a pretty little very round-faced girl of about seventeen or
eighteen, with smooth brown hair, clear white complexion, rather large
eyes, ruddy lips, and a face like fire with confusion.  There were the
faint traces, too, of tears lately wiped from her eyes, and her pleasant
little voice had a plaintive ring in it as, in answer to Trevor's "Eh?"
and wondering stare, she repeated her words--

"If you please, sir, Mrs Lloyd said I was to bring this in."

"And pray what is this?" said Trevor, glancing at the salver the girl
carried, bearing a good-sized silver flagon, with chased lid, and a
snowy napkin placed through the handle.

"If you please, sir, it's a pint of new milk beat up with three eggs,
three glasses of sherry, and some lump sugar," said the girl.

"And who's it for?" said Trevor.

"For you and the gentleman, sir; Mrs Lloyd said the sea air must have
made you faint."

"Well," said Trevor, "hand it to Mr Pratt, there."

The girl bore the flagon to Pratt, who took it, but emitted such a
volume of strong tobacco smoke that the girl sneezed, and choked, and
then looked more scarlet and confused than ever.

"I beg your pardon," said Pratt; and then he raised the flagon to his
lips, and took a long draught, wiping the brim afterwards with the
napkin.  "Splendid, old fellow!" he said.  "Take it to--your master."

"And pray who may you be, my dear?" said Trevor, looking critically at
the girl, but relieving her from his gaze the next moment, in compassion
for her confusion.

"If you please, sir, I'm Aunt Lloyd's niece," said the girl.

"And are you anything here--housemaid, or--?"

"Oh no, sir, if you please.  I am here on a long visit to my aunt; and
she said I was to help her."

"Well," said Trevor, setting down the flagon, "tell her the milk was
excellent; but she is not to send anything in again without I ring for
it.  Well, what's the matter?"

The girl was looking in a pitiful way at him, and she remained silent
for a few moments, when he spoke again.

"Is anything the matter?"

"Must--must I tell her that, sir?"

"Yes.  Why not?" said Trevor.

"Because--because, if you please, sir, I..."

The girl did not finish, but uttered a sob, and ran out of the room.

"Cornwall promises to be a queer place," said Pratt; "but that stuff was
heavenly--did you finish it, Dick?"

"Not quite, I think," said Trevor.

"And you sent it away.  Oh, Dick!"

The little maid had hardly got outside the door, when Mrs Lloyd came
across the hall, followed at a short distance by the butler, rubbing his
hands, smiling feebly, and looking anxious.

"Crying?" said Mrs Lloyd, sharply.  "You little goose!"

"I--I--couldn't help it, aunt, indeed," sobbed the girl.

"'Sh! not a sound," said Mrs Lloyd, sharply; and she caught the girl by
the arm.  "Did he drink the milk?"

"Yes, aunt."

"Did that other gentleman take any?"

"Yes, aunt--a lot."

"As if he couldn't come home without bringing such a pack with him.  Now
come into my room, and I'll talk to you, madam.  Lloyd, take that
waiter."

She led the way into the housekeeper's room, as her husband obediently
bore off the flagon to his pantry; and then, shutting the door, she took
her seat in a stiff, horse-hair-covered chair, looking as hard and prim
as the presses and cupboards around.

"Now listen to me," she said, harshly.

"Yes, aunt."

"I'm not going to boast; but what have I done for you?"

"Paid for my schooling, aunt, and kept me three years."

"Where would you have been if it hadn't been for me?"

"Living with Aunt Price at Caerwmlych."

"Starving with her, you mean, when she can hardly keep herself," said
Mrs Lloyd, sharply.  "Now, look here, Polly, I've taken you from a life
of misery to make you well off and happy; and I will be minded.  Do you
hear me?"

"Yes, aunt."

"Then do as I tell you exactly.  Do you hear?"

"I'll try, aunt."

"Try?  You must.  Now, then: Did he speak to you?"

"Yes, aunt."

"What did he say?  Come, speak, child!"

"He asked me who I was, aunt; and what I had come for."

"Of course, you silly little thing.  There, no more tears.  It's
dreadful treatment, isn't it, to make you go in and attend to him a
little?"

"Please, aunt, I don't mind that," said the girl.

"No, I should think not, indeed," said Mrs Lloyd.  "He's an ogre to
look at, isn't he?"

"No, aunt, I think he's a fine, handsome man."

"Not a finer, nor a handsomer, nor a nicer in all Cornwall: and you
ought to be fine and pleased to be in the house.  And now look here,
madam--no more tears, if you please."

"No, aunt."

"And you're always to be nicely dressed, and do your hair well."

"Yes, aunt."

"And keep yourself to yourself, madam.  Recollect, please, that you're
my niece, staying in the house, and not one of the servants."

"Yes, aunt."

The door opened, and the butler put in his head.

"It's lunch-time now, and I am having the things taken in again."

"That's quite right."

"Do you want to come?"

"Not now; only Mary shall bring in the vegetables."

"Hadn't William better help?" said the butler.

"No, not to-day.  There will be a pack more people here to-morrow, and
she can't come then.  Here, child, take these clean napkins and be ready
to carry them into the dining-room."

"But my face, aunt--won't they see?"

"What--that you have been crying?" said the housekeeper, critically.
"No; they won't.  Stop here a minute while I go out into the hall."

The girl, from being scarlet, was now pale, but quite a little "rustic
beauty" all the same; and she stood by the linen press looking very
troubled, while Mrs Lloyd went back into the hall, where Trevor had
stepped out to speak to the butler.

"Oh, there you are, Mrs Lloyd," he said, in a quiet, decided tone of
voice.  "I was just speaking to Lloyd about one or two little matters.
Of course, I feel the highest respect for both you and your worthy
husband."

"Thank you, Master Dick," said the housekeeper, stiffly.

"Yes, that's it," said Trevor.  "And of course you can't help looking
upon me as the boy you were almost father and mother to at one time."

"Of course not," said Mrs Lloyd, stiffly; "but you don't mean to turn
us away now you have grown a man?"

"God forbid!" said Trevor, earnestly.  "While I live, this is your home,
and I shall interfere but little with you in the conduct of the house.
But I take this opportunity of saying that I must ask of you both to
remember--old friends as well as old servants of the family--that I have
now come back to take my position here as the master of Penreife, and
that, in speaking to me before visitors, `Master Dick' sounds rather
childish.  That will do, Mrs Lloyd.  Yes, Lloyd, you can bring in some
of the claret."

He walked into the dining-room, the quiet, calm man of the world, with
enough dignity and self-assertion to show the housekeeper that the days
of her rule had departed for ever.

"That's going to sea, that is," she muttered.  "That's being used to
order people about, and being an officer.  But we shall see, Master
Dick--we shall see!"

And with a quick, spasmodic twitching of her hands as she smoothed down
her apron, she went back muttering to her own room.

Volume 1, Chapter XIII.

MISHAPS.

Lunch at Tolcarne that day was not one of the most pleasant of meals.
Sir Hampton had come in, looking purple instead of red with his walk, to
pause at the hall door and dismiss Sanders, the gardener, who stood
mopping his face.

"Er-rum!  Look here, Sanders!" he exclaimed.

"Yes, sir," said Sanders.

"Yes, Sir Hampton, man!"

"Yes, Sir Hampton," said Sanders, slowly and impressively, as if he were
trying to fix the formula in his mind.

"I'll see you in the morning about a new bed on the lawn, and--er-rum--
don't let this affair be talked about."

"No, sir--Hampton," said Sanders.

He went heavily down the new path, while his master stood apparently
loading himself--that is to say, he thrust what seemed to be a white
gun-wad into his mouth, before turning into the hall, and letting off a
tremendous "Er-rum," which echoed through the house.  The wad, however,
was only a digestive tablet, an antidote to the heartburn, from which
Sir Hampton suffered; and he strode into the dining-room, where the
family was already assembled for luncheon.

"Oh, dad--papa," cried Fin, "such news for you."

"Don't worry your papa, my dear," said Miss Matilda, smoothing her
handkerchief, which, from being sat upon, resembled a cambric cake;
"wait till he has had some refreshment.  He is tired.  Hampton, will you
take a cutlet?"

"Don't, pa.  Have some chicken pie."

"Shall I send you a poached egg, dear?" said Lady Rea, who was in
difficulties with the mustard-pot, the protruding spoon of which had
entangled itself with her open lace sleeve, and the yellow condiment was
flowing over the table.

"No," said Sir Hampton, gruffly.

"Tut, tut, tut," said Lady Rea, making matters worse by trying to scrape
up the mustard with a spoon.

"Hadn't you better let Edward do that, dear?" said Miss Matilda, with a
pained expression of countenance, as she played pat-a-cake once more
with her handkerchief.

"They do make the mustard so horribly thin," said Lady Rea.  "Finetta,
give papa some of the pie."

Fin looked mischievously across at her sister, and then cut a large
portion of the patty, enough to have called forth an angry remonstrance
at another time; but though Miss Matilda looked perfectly horrified, Sir
Hampton was too angry and absorbed to notice it; he only went on eating.

"Well, Finetta, dear," said Lady Rea, "what's the grand news?"

"Seen the sailor, ma, dear; been introduced to him.  Such a nice
fellow."

"Seen whom?" said Lady Rea, making a last scrape at the mustardy cloth.

"Mr Trevor, ma; met him at old Mrs Trelyan's.  Such fun."

"My dear Finetta," began Miss Matilda; but a shot fired by Sir Hampton
stopped her in dismay.

"Er-rum--what's that?" he asked.  "Have you met that person?"

"What person, papa?" said Finetta.  "That--that Penreife man--that
Trevor, or whatever his name is?"

"Yes, pa, we met him this morning; and he's the same--"

"Er-rum, I know!" exclaimed Sir Hampton, upsetting a carafe in his
excitement, and making Miss Matilda start back to save her silk.  "I
ought to have bought Penreife--it's one of those persons we saw--I know;
I met him this morning--trespass--an insulting--ugh! ugh! ugh!"

"Oh, pa!" cried Finetta, "you shouldn't get in a passion with your mouth
full; and so much pepper as there is in that pie."

For Sir Hampton had begun to cough furiously, his face growing deeper in
tint, and his eyes protruding, so alarming Lady Rea that she bustled
round the table and began to hammer his back, while Miss Matilda offered
a glass of water.

"Ugh! ugh! ugh!  Sit down--sit down!" gasped Sir Hampton.  "I--er-rum--I
forbid all fixture communication with that--that fellow.  If he calls
here, I'll have the door shut in his face.  Insulted me grossly this
morning, on my own grounds, and a dirty little jackanapes with him
talked to me in such a way as I was never spoken to before."

"Oh, Tiny, it's the horrid little man," whispered Fin.

"Why, my dear Hampy, whatever is it all about?" said Lady Rea.  "There,
do drink some water, and get cool."

Sir Hampton glanced at his wife and sister, and poured himself out half
a tumbler of sherry, which he drained, and then began to cough once
more.

"Eat a bit of bread, dear," said Lady Rea.  "Quick, you won't mind
mine--I haven't touched it."

Saying which she held a piece out to him on a fork.

"Frances!" ejaculated Miss Matilda.

"Ugh!  Any one would think I was a bear upon a pole," coughed Sir
Hampton; and he wiped his eyes as he grew better.

"But, Hampy, dear," said Lady Rea, "it will be so strange.  Suppose Mr
Trevor calls?"

"Tell the servants to shut the door in his face," growled Sir Hampton.
"An insulting puppy!"

"Oh, pa, dear, don't be so cross," said Fin.  "Take us out for a drive
this afternoon, and let's see if the box has come from Mudie's."

"Disgraceful--and on one's own land, too," growled Sir Hampton, not
heeding his daughter, but still muttering thunder.

"But you will take us, papa?" said Fin, leaning on his shoulder.

"Such insolence!" muttered Sir Hampton.

"Was he trespassing, Hampton?" said Miss Matilda.

"Yes, and a pack of fellows along with him," cried Sir Hampton, firing
up once more.

"You'll take us out, pa, dear?" said Fin, getting her cheek against his.

"No, no! well, there, yes," said Sir Hampton; and then, looking like a
half-mollified bull, he submitted to having his cheeks patted, and his
stiff cravat untied and retied by the busy fingers of his pet child.

"In half an hour, dad?"

"Yes, yes; only don't bother.  Er-rum!" he ejaculated, as Fin flew to
the bell, "tell them to bring round the waggonette."

Sir Hampton rose and left the room, firing a shot as he crossed the
hall.  Then the footman came in to receive his orders, and directly
after Lady Rea looked admiringly across at her daughter.

"Ah, Fin, my dear, I wish I could manage your papa as you do."

"Really, Frances," said Miss Matilda, bridling up, "I don't think that
is a proper way for you to speak respecting a parent to a child."

Poor downright Lady Rea looked troubled and distressed.

"Really, Matty," she began.

"Oh, it's all right," said Fin, coming to the rescue.  "It's because you
don't understand, Aunt Matty; only married people do.  Why don't you
marry Mr Mervyn?"

Miss Matilda rose from her chair, smoothed her skirts, gazed in utter
astonishment at her niece, and marched out of the room.

"Oh, Fin!" exclaimed her sister.

"You shouldn't do it, my dear," said Lady Rea, in whose gentle eyes the
tears were gathering.

"I should!" said Fin, stamping her foot and colouring with passion.  "I
won't stand here and hear my dear mother snubbed in that way by any one
but papa; and if Aunt Matty only dares to do such a thing again, I'll--
I'll--I'll say something horrid."

The next moment she had flung her impetuous little self into Lady Rea's
arms, and was sobbing passionately; but only to jerk herself free, and
wipe her eyes directly in a snatchy fashion.

"It's so vexatious, too, for papa to turn like that, when Mr Trevor's
one of the nicest, dearest, handsomest fellows you ever saw.  Isn't he,
Tiny?"

"I thought him very pleasing and gentlemanly," said Tiny, flushing
slightly.

"She thought ever so much more of him than that, I know, ma," said Fin,
nodding her head.  "But isn't it vexatious, mamma, dear?"

"It'll all come right, my dear," said Lady Rea, kissing her child
fondly.  "There, now, go and get ready, or papa will be cross."

Fin felt ready to say "I don't care," so rebellious was the spirit that
invested her that day; but she set her teeth, and ran to the door.

"You're coming, mamma?"

"No, my dear, Tiny will go with you.  I shall stay in this afternoon."

"And leave Aunt Matty to say disagreeable things to you.  Then I shall
stay, too."

"No, no, dear, go--to please me," said Lady Rea; and the girl ran off.

The waggonette was round, and Sir Hampton was drawing on his gloves, the
image of punctuality, when Fin came rushing down, closely followed by
her sister, and the party started for the little station town, Saint
Kitt's, passing on the road another handsome new waggonette, with a
fine, well-paced pair of horses.

"I wonder whose turn-out that is?" said Sir Hampton.  "Strange thing
that everybody gets better horses than I do."

"I know whose it is," said Fin, demurely.

"Whose?" said Sir Hampton.

"Daren't say," replied Fin.  "Ask Edward.  Edward!" she cried, "whose
carriage is that?"

"Think it's Mr Trevor's, ma'am," said the footman, touching his hat.

"Er-rum," ejaculated Sir Hampton, and Fin nudged her sister and made her
colour.

The box was at the station, and it was put in the waggonette by a tall
porter, whom Fin spoke of to her sister as the signal post, and then she
proposed that they should wait and see if anything would come by the
train due in a few minutes.

Now, Sir Hampton expected something by that train, but he had been so
crossed that day, and was in such a contrary mood, that he exclaimed--

"Er-rum, absurd; certainly not.  Drive back at once."

Fin made a grimace at her sister, who replied with a look of
remonstrance; Sir Hampton sat back and frowned at the landscape, as if
he thought it too green; and away they bowled just as the whistle of the
engine was heard in the distance.

Something has been said before about the Cornish lanes, and the way in
which the granite bones of Mother Nature peer out and form buttresses to
the banks, huge pillars, and mighty corners.  The lane they were
traversing on their way back was not one of the least rugged, though the
road was good; and they had gone at a pretty sharp trot for about a
mile, when a cart came rattling along just at a turn of the road where
it was narrow; and in making way--_click_! the box of one wheel caught
against a granite buttress pushed forth from the bank, the wheel
wriggled about, and fifty Yards farther came off and went trundling down
the hill--the coachman fortunately pulling his horses up short, so that
the waggonette sidled over against the ferny bank, and no one was hurt.

"Such abominable driving," exclaimed Sir Hampton.

"Very sorry, sir," said the coachman.

"Oh, pa, it was those other people's fault.  I saw it all," said Fin.

The coachman gave her a grateful look, and the footman helped all to
alight.

Five minutes' inspection showed that the wheel was so much injured that
it would take time to repair, and there was nothing for it but to send
to the little town to get assistance.

"Shall I send Edward with one horse, Sir Hampton, and ride the other
home and fetch the barouche."

"Yes--no--yes," said Sir Hampton, waking to the fact that they were yet
eight miles from home, and he had done quite as much walking as he cared
for in one day.

At this moment the sound of wheels was heard, and the waggonette they
had before passed came up, evidently from the station, with two
gentlemen inside, the coachman pulling up on seeing that there was an
accident, while the gentlemen leaped out.

"I trust," said the elder, raising his hat, "that no one is hurt."

"Er-rum! none; no one," said Sir Hampton, stiffly.

"What misfortune!" said the younger, fixing his glass in his eye, and
looking in a puzzled way at the ladies.  "Under circumstances,
Vanleigh?"

"Yes, of course," said the other, and then raising his hat to the
ladies, "as my friend here observes.  You will allow me to place the
carriage at your disposal?"

Sir Hampton looked at the speaker, then at the carriage, then at his
own.  That was Trevor's carriage, but these were strangers, and he was
not obliged to know.  His legs ached; it was a long while to wait; and
he was still pondering when the first speaker said--

"Allow me," and offered his arm to Tiny, who glanced at her father, and
seeing no commands against the act, suffered herself to be led to the
whole waggonette, the other stranger offering his arm to Fin, who just
touched it, and then leapt in beside her sister.

"Will you follow, Mr--Mr--?"

"Er-rum!  Sir Hampton Rea, at your service, gentlemen," said the knight,
stiffly.

"I beg pardon, Sir Hampton--strangers, you see.  My friend here is Sir
Felix Landells; my name is Vanleigh--Captain Vanleigh."

"Guards," said Sir Felix, in the midst of a good deal of formal bowing;
and then, all being seated, the waggonette drove off, Sir Hampton, in
the conversation which ensued, being most careful to avoid any reference
to the destination of his new friends, merely requesting to be set down
at the end of the lane leading to Tolcarne, the party separating amidst
a profusion of bows.

"What a pair of dandies!" said Fin.

"A most refined gentleman that Captain Vanleigh," said Sir Hampton.

"What did you think of the other one, dad?" said Fin.

"Aristocrat.  Er-rum! aristocrat," said Sir Hampton.  "Blue blood there,
for a certainty.  I hope they'll call.  By the way, Tiny, I thought you
unnecessarily cold and formal."

"Did you, papa?" said Tiny.  "Indeed, I did not mean to be so."

Here they reached the hall, and the girls went to their room.

"Dad's hooked," said Fin, throwing herself into a chair.  "Tiny, that
dandy would come to grief if I knew him long.  I should feel obliged to
singe his horrid little sticky mustachios; and as for the other--oh, how
I could snub him if he looked and talked at me as he did at you."

"I sincerely hope," said Tiny, "that we shall never see them again."

Volume 1, Chapter XIV.

POLLY'S TROUBLES.

"By the way, Pratt," said Trevor, as they were strolling through the
grounds, "what aged man should you take Vanleigh to be?"

"Close upon forty," said Pratt; "but he takes such care of himself, and
dresses so young, that he keeps off the assaults of old Father Time."

"He can't be so old as that," said Trevor, thoughtfully; "and yet he
must begetting on.  He was much older than we were, you know, in the old
days."

"Yes," said Pratt; "bless him, I love Van dearly.  I suppose they'll be
here soon.  H'm!"

"Eh?" said Trevor.

"I said H'm!" replied Pratt.

"Yes, I know," said Trevor, laughing; "but what does H'm mean?"

"Shall I make mischief, or shan't I?  Well, I don't know that it would
be making mischief, for it seems quite natural."

"My dear Frank, don't play the Sphinx, please, for I'm one of the most
dense men under the sun.  Now, then, speak out."

"Only thinking, and putting that and that together," said Pratt,
relighting his cigar.  "Well?"

"Well--handsome young bailiff seen in the copse yonder; pretty girl is
seen going rather hurriedly along path leading to copse; and elderly
lady who holds post of housekeeper, and who, by the way, seems to know
it, is seen to peer through window, and then to come to door, as if in
search of pretty girl.  I say only, what does it mean?"

"Means a bit of sweethearting, apparently," said Trevor, laughing.
"Well, I suppose it's all right!"

"Not if the old lady catches them, perhaps; so let's go and talk to the
old lady."

Trevor shrugged his shoulders, and the couple walked back towards the
house, where Mrs Lloyd was standing, evidently fidgeted about something
or another.

"I tell you she must have gone out," she was saying as they came up.

But just at that moment the sound of carriage wheels was heard, and the
waggonette drew up at the door with Vanleigh and Landells.

"Jove!" said the latter, "what out-of-the-way place, Trevor.  Thought
never get here."

A sharp sniff drew his attention to Mrs Lloyd, who stood with her
husband just inside the door.

"Not bad," said Vanleigh, superciliously.

"Ah, you'll like it when you've been down a day or two," said Trevor.
"I'm heartily glad to see you both."

"Thanks," said Vanleigh, as his host led the way into the hall.  "Ah,
quite mediaeval."

"Mrs Lloyd, you've got the oak room ready for Captain Vanleigh?" said
Trevor.

"No, Master Dick, I've ordered the blue room for him."

Trevor's brow clouded, but he only bit his lip.

"Then you've arranged that Sir Felix shall have the oak room?"

"No, Master--sir," she said, correcting herself in a very stately way,
"Sir Felix will sleep in the chintz chamber."

Trevor flushed, but he turned it off lightly.

"These are our old butler and housekeeper, Vanleigh," he said.  "Mrs
Lloyd there was almost like a mother to me as a child."

"Indeed," said Vanleigh, superciliously; and Sir Felix fixed his glass
and had a good stare at the old lady, who looked every whit the mistress
of the house.

"Grey mare?" he said, in a whisper.

"Old favoured servants," said Trevor, in return; and the young men
walked into the drawing-room.

"Don't stand staring there," said Mrs Lloyd, fiercely, to the footman;
"take up these portmantees."

The man gave her a surly look.

"He'll go to ruin, that he will," said Mrs Lloyd, in a voice of
suppressed anger, to her husband, as soon as they were alone; "and there
you stand without a word to say for yourself."

"Well, what can I do, my dear?" said Lloyd, feebly.

"Nothing--nothing; what you have always done--nothing.  But I'll stop it
soon.  I won't be made quite a nonentity of.  Where's that girl?  Go and
look for her.  Or, no, you must see to the dinner; and mind this,
Lloyd--she's to be kept out of sight while these fine sparks are here.
I don't like the looks of that dark fellow at all."

Mrs Lloyd hurried away to meet Polly, just about to enter the
housekeeper's room.

"And pray, where have you been, madam?"

"Only out in the grounds, aunt--it was so fine," was the reply.

Mrs Lloyd looked at her till a red glow overspread the girl's face.

"Look here," said Mrs Lloyd, catching her by one hand; "you are not a
fool, Polly.  You understand what I mean, don't you?"

The girl looked up at her with a shiver, and then her eyes fell.

"Don't you try to thwart me, mind, or you'll be sorry for it to the last
day of your life.  Now, look here, do you mind me?"

"Yes, aunt."

"You are to keep in the housekeeper's room here till those friends of
Master Dick's are gone.  And don't you try to deceive me, because I can
read that pink and white face of yours like a book."

Mrs Lloyd flung the little maiden's hand away from her, walked to a
drawer, and brought out some new linen, which she set the girl to sew,
while she went about the house seeing to the arrangements for her
master's guests.

As a matter of course, little Polly had "a good cry," making several
damp places on the new linen; and then, with a sob, she wished herself
safe back at her old aunt's in the Welsh mountains, where she was poor,
but happy and free as the goats.

"I'd go to-morrow if I could," she sobbed, and then the needle hand fell
upon the stiff, hard work, and she closed her wet eyes till a faint
smile came across her face like a little ray of sunshine; and she
whispered softly to herself, as if it were a great secret, "No, I don't
think I would."

Volume 1, Chapter XV.

MRS JENKLES'S MORNING CALL.

"Been waiting, old lady?" said Sam Jenkles, throwing open the apron of
the cab as he reached his wife's side.

"Not a minute, Sam; but why weren't you driving?  Is he restive?"

"Restive!" said Sam; "I only wish he was.  I'd give 'arf a sovrin' to
see 'im bolt."

"And suppose I was in the cab!" said Mrs Jenkles.

"There, don't you be alarmed.  Jump in.  Ratty wouldn't run away with
you inside, my dear--nor any one else."

Sam rattled the apron down, hopped on to his perch, chirruped to Ratty,
and, for a wonder, he went decently out on to Pentonville Hill, past the
Angel, along Upper Street, and round by the Cock at Highbury.

"What do you think of that, old lady?" said Sam, opening his little lid
to peer down at his wife.  "Comfortable?"

"Comfortable--yes," said Mrs Jenkles, looking up and beaming.  "And you
said he wouldn't go."

"He knows as you're here," said Sam; "and that's his aggrawating nature.
He's a-selling me."

"Selling you, Sam?"

"Yes; a-making out as I grumbles without cause.  Sit fast; I'll bowl yer
up there in no time."

"No, Sam, don't--pray, don't go fast!" said his wife, in alarm.

"You sit still; it's all right, I tell yer.  Good wives is scarce,
Sally, so you won't be spilled."

Only half convinced, Mrs Jenkles held on very tightly by the sides of
the cab, till, well up now in the geography of the place, Sam ran round
by the better road, and drew up at B. Sturt's grocery warehouse.

"No," said Sam, as Mrs Jenkles made for the shop; "side door, and ring
once."

As he spoke, Barney's ill-looking face appeared at the door; and as Mrs
Jenkles went and rang--

"Mornin'," said Sam.

Barney scowled, and blew a cloud of tobacco at him.

"Keb, sir?" said Sam, mounting to his perch.

Barney growled, and then spat.

"Run yer up to town in no time.  Cheap trains to S'burban 'andicap,"
said Sam, grinning.

But Barney turned his back as the cab drove off, and asked his
wife--"What, them people wanted with kebs now?"

Mrs Lane admitted her visitor, and, in a hesitating way, asked her
upstairs, where her daughter, looking very pale, was seated by the
window, working for very life at the hard, blue cloth garments upon
which they were engaged.

The girl rose as Mrs Jenkles entered, and bent towards her, flushing
slightly beneath the scrutinising gaze to which she was subjected.

At the same time, Mrs Jenkles made a short bob, and then another to
Mrs Lane, who placed a chair for her, which she declined to take.

"It was my husband, ma'am," said Mrs Jenkles, "who came up to you the
other day."

"Yes," said Mrs Lane.  "You have come from him.  He brought you
to-day?"

"I said I should come and see you," said Mrs Jenkles, looking sharply
from one to the other.

"And he told you?" said Mrs Lane, hesitatingly.

"Yes; my husband tells me everything," said Mrs Jenkles, stiffly.

"Then you know how good he was to mamma?" said the girl, coming forward.

"My husband's one of the best men under the sun, Miss; only he has his
weaknesses."

"Yes, it was weak," said Mrs Lane, with a touch of bitterness in her
voice--"and to such strangers."

"If you mean about the money, ma'am," said Mrs Jenkles, in the same
uncompromising manner, "I don't; I meant something else."

Mrs Lane directed an imploring look at her daughter, and the girl
hastily took up her work, as did her mother, and stitched away.

"That may have been weak, and it may not," said Mrs Jenkles, who took
in everything.  "It all depends."

"It was a most generous act," said Mrs Lane, in a low, pained voice,
"and will bear its fruit.  But you will sit down?"

Mrs Jenkles seated herself on the very edge of her chair, bolt upright,
while Mrs Lane drew out a well-worn purse, took from it half a
sovereign, and laid it upon the table.

"I am ashamed to offer you so little of it back," said Mrs Lane, "but
it was all we could get together in so short a time.  You shall have the
rest--as we can make it up."

"Thanky," said Mrs Jenkles, shortly; but without attempting to touch
the coin.

There was a pause then, only broken by that weary sound of hard
stitching, which tells of sore fingers and aching eyes.

"How much more have you got in that purse?" said Mrs Jenkles, shortly.

A faint flush of resentment appeared in the mothers face, and the
daughter darted an angry look at the speaker.  But it died out in an
instant, as with a sad, weary action, Mrs Lane reopened the purse, and
shook out two more coins beside the half-sovereign upon the table.

"Two shillings," she said, faintly; "it is all."

Mrs Jenkles sat very still, and the stitching went on like the ticking
of two clocks, measuring out the short span of the workers' lives.

Mrs Jenkles's eyes were busy, and she saw, as they went over the room,
how shabbily it was furnished, how thinly mother and daughter were
clothed, how pale and weary was their aspect, while the girl's eyes were
unnaturally bright.

At last Mrs Jenkles's eyes caught sight of a little white corner in one
of the compartments of the open purse, and she gave a hysterical gulp.

There was a heap of thick cloth work lying on the table between the two
women--the one coarse, unrefined, but comfortably clothed and fed, the
other refined and worn to skin and bone--and this heap covered Mrs
Jenkles's actions as she rose, walked to the table, and then, without a
word, went out of the room.

"Has she gone?" whispered Netta, as Mrs Jenkles's retreating footsteps
were heard.

"Yes," said Mrs Lane, with a weary sigh, and she worked on.

"It was very, very cruel," said the girl, with her voice shaking, and,
in spite of her efforts, a heavy sob would make its way from her breast,
and the tears stole down her cheeks.  "Mother, darling, what shall we
do?"

"Hope and wait," was the response, in a low, pained voice.  "It was only
their due.  The husband was very kind."

"But the two shillings--for bread," sobbed the girl.  "Mamma, does papa
know--can he know of this?"

Mrs Lane leaned back in her chair, and held one hand over her eyes for
a few moments; then, with a gesture to her child to be silent, she once
more bent over her work.

Netta brushed the tears from her eyes, drew in her breath as if in pain,
and worked on in silence for a quarter of an hour, when steps were once
more heard upon the stairs.

The eyes of mother and daughter met, those of the latter in dread; but
it was not the heavy step of Barney, nor the snatchy shuffle of his
wife, but a quick, decided, solid footstep, and the moment afterwards
Mrs Jenkles re-entered the room, and closed the door.

Mrs Lane rose in surprise, and took a step to meet her.  Directly
after, completely broken down, she was sobbing on the coarse, uneducated
woman's neck; for she had seen at a glance that the money still lay upon
the table by the empty purse--empty now, for the duplicate it had
contained was gone--as, with a loving, sisterly movement, the cabman's
wife slipped back upon her finger the ring she had been to redeem, and
then, kissing her upon the forehead, whispered--

"My poor dear, what you must have suffered!  Hush, hush!  There, there!"
said Mrs Jenkles, after a pause, with tears streaming down her own
simple, honest face; and she patted and tried to soothe her forsaken
sister as she would a child.

"There, there, there; don't you cry too, my pretty," she said, as Netta
flew to her, and kissed her on the cheek.  "Come, come, come, we must
hold up.  There, that's better; now sit down."

"And I said God had forsaken us in our distress," sobbed Mrs Lane.  "I
little thought what forms his angels took."

"There, there, there," said Mrs Jenkles, wiping her eyes with a rapid
motion; "if you talk like that you'll drive me away.  I told Sam I'd
come up to see, for I didn't know; and he is so easily led away, and I
thought all sorts of things.  But, bless and save us, he never told me
half enough.  There, there, wipe your eyes."

As she spoke, with a delicacy for which one might not have given her
credit, she turned her back, leaving mother and daughter sobbing in each
other's arms, while she slipped the money back in the purse, and placed
it on the chimney-piece.  Her next act was to take off her bonnet and
shawl, hang them behind the door, and take up Netta's work and chair,
beginning to stitch away with a vigour that astonished the girl, as she
tore herself away from her mother, and came to resume her toil.

"No, no, my dear; I'll give you a rest while you see about a bit of
dinner; for," she said, with a cheery smile, "you'll let me have a bit
with you to-day, now, won't you?  I'll try and earn it."

The girl's tears were ready to flow again, but Mrs Jenkles's finger was
shaken menacingly at her, and she turned to her mother, who rose, dried
her eyes, and came and kissed the broad, smooth forehead.

"God will bless you for this," she said, softly; and then the work went
on once more, with such sunshine in the room as had not seemed to enter
it for weeks.

"Ah!" said Mrs Jenkles, as she bit off a fresh length of thread with
her firm, white teeth.  "Rents are dear up this part, I suppose."

"I pay seven and sixpence a week for this and the back room," said Mrs
Lane.

"They'd be dear at half with such furniture," said Mrs Jenkles.

There was another spell of sewing, when Mrs Lane said that she would
see about the dinner; and then, as if reading Mrs Jenkles's thoughts--

"I don't like letting Netta go out alone."

"And quite right, too, with her face," said Mrs Jenkles.  "But she
looks tired.  You ought to walk out every day for an hour or two."

The girl gave her a pitiful look.

So the day wore on, Mrs Jenkles taking dinner and tea with them, and
seeing that each of them partook of a hearty meal, leaving about
half-past nine with a bundle.

It was sharp work to get home before Sam should arrive from the yard;
but Mrs Jenkles managed it, had the table laid, the supper out, and the
beer fetched, before he came in, took off his shiny hat and old coat,
and seating himself began to fill his pipe.

"Well, old lady," he said, "what time did yer get back?"

"About a quarter of an hour ago," said Mrs Jenkles, as she took out
some of the work upon which she had been engaged.

Sam whistled and stared.

"What's them?" he said, pointing with his pipe at the work.

"Only some slop-work I want to finish."

Mrs Jenkles seemed so busy, that she could not look up and meet her
husband's eye.  In fact, to use her own expression, she was all of a
twitter, and did not know what Sam would say; for though she nominally
ruled him, Sam had a will of his own.

"Well, and did you find out about 'em?"

"Yes, Sam," said Mrs Jenkles, without raising her eyes.

"Bad lot, aint they?" he said, puffing away at his pipe.

Mrs Jenkles shook her head.

"What, aint I been took in, then?" said Sam.  "Aint they deep, designing
people, as got hold of yer poor innocent husband, and swindled him out
of thirty bob?"

"Oh, Sam, Sam!" exclaimed Mrs Jenkles, with her lip quivering, "I never
see anything so pitiful in my life."

"Poof!" exclaimed Sam, bursting out into a guffaw, as he turned in his
seat, hugged the back of the chair, and shook with laughter.  "That's my
poor, silly, soft old wife, as can't be trusted out.  Did they offer to
pay you any of the money back?"

Mrs Jenkles nodded.

"How much?"

"Half a sovereign, Sam."

"Well, that's something; and jolly honest, too!"

"But I didn't take it, Sam," said Mrs Jenkles, dropping her work, to go
and rest her hands upon his shoulder.

"You didn't take it?"

"No, Sam, dear."

"Then you've been and let 'em have more."

"Yes, Sam, dear."

"There's a wife for you," he said--"there's a helpmate; and I aint made
my guv'nor's money to-day by four bob."

"I couldn't help it, Sam--I couldn't, indeed," she said; bursting into
tears; "it was so pitiful--she's a real lady, I'm sure, and her
daughter, straining over that heart-breaking work; oh! it was more than
I could bear."

"I wasn't such a werry great fool, Sally," he said.

"Oh no, Sam.  Oh no.  But I haven't told you all yet."

"You haven't?"

"No, dear."

"Well, put me out of my misery at once," said Sam, "that's all."

"Don't be angry with me, Sam, it'll come back to us some way, I hope;
and if it don't, we shall only have done what thousands more would have
done if they had only known."

"Let's have it," said Sam, gruffly.

"They're paying seven and six, Sam, for those wretched rooms, and the
woman's a horrid creature."

"Yes, she is that," said Sam, nodding.

"And the poor young lady's frightened to death of the man, who insulted
her once.  He is a dreadful-looking fellow."

"Wuss, ever so much," said Sam, nodding at his pipe-bowl.

"And I--I--"

"Told 'em about our being about to be empty; that's about what you did,"
said Sam.

"Yes, Sam."

"Well, you're a nice one.  Of course you've put the rent up?"

"No, I haven't, Sam," said Mrs Jenkles.  "I've--"

"Asked only the same.  Why, our rooms is a palace to theirs--not as I
ever see a palace to know."

"They're smaller, Sam," said Mrs Jenkles.

"Precious little," said Sam.  "Well, you've offered 'em at six bob, eh?
Well, you are a nice one; and doing their work, too!"

"No, Sam, dear, I told them they could have them for five shillings a
week."

"Five!" shouted Sam.

"Yes, dear," said Mrs Jenkles, pitifully; "don't be cross, dear.  They
said they wouldn't take them."

"That's a comfort," said Sam.

"But," exclaimed Mrs Jenkles, hurriedly, "I persuaded them to come.  I
told them that they would be saving half a crown a week, and that in
twelve weeks they would have paid off the thirty shillings you lent
them, and they're coming."

"And how many more weeks will it take to pay off the money you lent
them?" said Sam, facing round sharply.

"Only three, dear; it was only seven and sixpence, Sam."

"You'll ruin me," said Sam.  "You know as we're as poor as can be," he
went on, with his eyes averted from her.

"No, Sam, we're not; for we've a comfortable home, and we always save a
little."

"And you go and make jellies and give away."

"How did you know that?" said Mrs Jenkles, sharply.

"Ah! you women can't go on long in your wicked ways without being found
out," said Sam.  "I heerd on it."

"The poor child was dying, same as our poor little Dick was, Sam, and--
and--"

Sam turned his head farther away.

"And now you invite poor people to come, as 'll never be able to pay
their bit o' rent; an' the end on it all 'll be the workus."

"Oh, Sam; pray, pray, don't!  Do I deserve all this?" and the poor woman
burst out sobbing.

"God bless you! no, old lady," cried Sam, pulling her on to his knee,
and giving her a sounding kiss, as she laid her head upon his shoulder.
"It 'll all come right in the long run; see if it don't.  Life aint
worth having if you can't do, a bit o' good in it."

"Then you really aint cross with me, Sam?"

"Not a bit," said Sam.  "Look at me.  Sally, my old gal, it's my belief
as them angels as takes the toll at the gate up above in the shiny way
'll let you go through free."

"Sam!" cried Mrs Jenkles, trying to lay her hand on his mouth.

"And look here, old lady," he continued, stroking her face; "when that
does come off, which I hope it won't be for scores o' years to come, you
keep werry, werry tight hold o' my hand, and then, perhaps, I shall
stand a chance of getting into heaven too."

End of Volume One.

Volume 2, Chapter I.

LOVE MINOR.

Little Polly wiped her eyes after her happy thoughts; for the shower had
passed, and the gleam of sunshine augmented till her face grew dimpled,
and she went on stitching busily.  It was very evident that she had some
consolation--some pleasant unguent for the irritation caused by Aunt
Lloyd; for at the end of half an hour she was singing away at some old
Welsh ditty, in a sweet, bird-like voice, filling up, when she forgot
the words, with a melodious little hum, which was only checked on the
appearance of her tyrant, that lady mating occasional incursions.
Sometimes Aunt Lloyd required table linen; then she came to unlock the
press where the dessert was laid out, and hand it to the footman,
counting the fruit on the dishes as she did so.

"Now, Robert, what are you looking at there?" she said, sharply, as she
caught the man's eyes straying in the direction of Polly.  "Mind your
work, if you please."

Polly did not get snubbed, for she had been bending diligently over her
stitching, which, as soon as the tray of dessert had gone, came in for a
close inspection; but, as it was very neatly done, there was no
complaint.

"Hold out your hands, child," said Mrs Lloyd, suddenly; and she
examined the finger roughened by the hard material and contact with the
needle.  "Ah, that stuffs too stiff; it shall be washed first.  Mend
those."

The linen was doubled up, put away, and some soft material placed in the
girl's hands, over which she had been diligently at work one hour, when
Mrs Lloyd returned for coffee from her stores, with which she again
departed, muttering about "Such a set to bring down!" and Polly's
musical little voice began once more.

Let's see: the dictionary says that an enchanter is one who calls down
by chanting or singing--one who practises sorcery by song.  Polly, then,
must have been an enchantress, for her little ditty about the love of
some deserted maid had the effect of bringing cousin Humphrey Lloyd
through the shrubbery to the open window of the housekeeper's room; and
just in the midst of one of the sweetest of the little trills there was
a rustle amongst the laurels, and a deep voice whispered "Polly!"

"Oh, my!" ejaculated Polly, dropping her work, and starting farther from
the window.  "What will aunt say?"

Now, her instructions had been stringent; and knowing that it would be
like high treason to speak to Humphrey, she determined that she would
not, just as an industrious young needle, which had been warned not to
get rusty by associating with common bits of steel, might have gone on
busily through its work like the one Polly held in her hand.

But supposing that, instead of a common piece of steel, a magnet that
had been rubbed with the loadstone of love should come in its way, what
could the poor needle do?

Even as did little Polly--vow that aunt would be so cross; and then feel
herself drawn, drawn closer and closer to the iron-barred window, till
her little hands were caught in two strong, muscular fists, which
pressed them so hard that they almost hurt.

"Oh! you mustn't, mustn't come!" sobbed Polly.  "If aunt found it out
she would almost kill me!"

"No, no, little one," said Humphrey; "why should she?"

"You--you don't know aunt," whispered Polly.  "She's ordered me not to
speak to you."

"Not to speak to me!"

"Yes; nor to any one else.  She would be so angry if she knew.  You
don't want to get me scolded."

"No, no," he whispered--"not for worlds."

"Pray, pray, go then; and you must not speak to me any more."

"But Polly, dear Polly," whispered Humphrey, "tell me one thing, and
then I'll go and wait years and years, if you like, only tell me that."

Humphrey stopped short, for a singular phenomenon occurred.  Polly's
fingers seemed to suddenly change from within his hands to his wrists,
and to become bony and firm, a sharp voice at the same moment
exclaiming--

"Who's this?"

Humphrey Lloyd was a man, every inch of him, and he spoke out boldly--

"Well, if you must know, it's me--Humphrey."

"Go round to the side door, and come to my room," said Mrs Lloyd, in a
low, angry voice.

Humphrey was heard to go rustling through the laurels, as Mrs Lloyd
exclaimed--

"Go up to your room, Miss, this instant; and don't you stir till I call
you down."

Shivering with fear and shame, Polly made her escape to run up to her
room, throw herself on the bed, and cry as if her heart would break,
just missing Humphrey, who came round without loss of time.

"Now," said Mrs Lloyd, as soon as the door was closed, "what have you
to say to this?"

"Only that it was my fault," said Humphrey--"all my fault; so don't
blame the poor little girl.  It was all my doing."

"Now, look here, Humphrey Lloyd," exclaimed the housekeeper, speaking in
a low, angry voice, "you like your place here?"

"Yes, if you and he could treat me a little better."

"Never mind about that," said Mrs Lloyd.

"It's no use to mind," said Humphrey, bitterly.  "If I had been a dog
instead of your own flesh and blood, you couldn't have treated me
worse."

"Treated you badly!" exclaimed Mrs Lloyd; "haven't you been well fed,
educated, and placed in a good situation?"

"Yes--all that," said Humphrey.  "And for reward you fly in my face.
Now, look here, Humphrey.  If you so much as look at that girl again,
let alone speak to her, off you go.  You shall not stay on the premises
another day."

"Well," said Humphrey, "that's pleasant; but all the same I don't see
what power you have in the matter, so long as I satisfy the young
master."

"Then just content yourself with satisfying your young master, sir, and
mind, that girl's not for you, so let's have no more of it.  Now go."

"But look here," said Humphrey.  "I told you to go," said Mrs Lloyd,
pointing.  "Your place is at the keeper's lodge.  Go and stay there, and
don't go thinking you can influence Master Dick--Mr Trevor--to keep
you, because even if you could, the girl should go away, and you should
see her no more.  Now go."

"Poor little lassie," muttered Humphrey, as, in obedience to Mrs
Lloyd's pointing finger, he slowly left the room, walked heavily along
the passage, and out into the dark evening, to pass round the house, and
cross the lawn, where he could see through the open windows into the
dining-room.

"Nice for me," he muttered.  "Forbidden to go near her--girl in my own
station.  What does the old woman mean?"

He stood gazing in at the merry, laughing party of young, well-dressed
men.

"Nice to be you," he thought; "plenty of money to spend; people to do
all you tell them to; nobody to thwart you.  But I wonder what the old
lady means."

He laughed to himself directly after, in a low, bitter fashion.

"No, not so bad as that," he said, half aloud.  "She's ambitious, and
scheming, but that would be going too far."

Volume 2, Chapter II.

KINKS IN THE LINE.

Matters were not so pleasant, though, with the four occupants of the
dining-room 

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