CHAPTER I.

In the yard of a third-rate inn, in a large market town of one of the Midland counties, stood a carrier's cart, ready to start for home. In large letters on its side was painted 'John Sparks, Carrier to Parker's Due and Stoney Gates.' Some of the passengers were seated; others were busy arranging their goods ready for transit; some were resting on their empty baskets, till the carrier appeared, talking over the events of the market, and comparing prices. The landlord was in and out perpetually, with a glass for one and a joke for another, looking with anxious (and, of course, benevolent) solicitude around, lest a customer should escape through want of care.

'Will John Sparks go to-night?' asked an old woman peevishly. Her question was not addressed to any one in particular; but the ostler, who was passing, answered, 'He's not in the best company for making haste at this present,' and nodded to a group of men standing at the entrance of the yard, to which group the busy landlord had made frequent visits, never going empty-handed.

A general murmur arose as this speech circulated among the passengers. 'Go and tell him to come, granny,' said one; 'he'll mind you; if he stays drinking there, we shall be upset, depend upon it.'

'And what's the use of my telling him?' replied the old woman. 'It's hard work I have to make him mind when he's sober; he'll only sauce me now he's the worse for liquor.'

'You should get him to take the pledge,' said the ostler; 'carriers' work is full of temptations, 'specially if a man's got a taste that way.'

While Granny Sparks was considering how to get John away from his companions, the thing was done by the arrival of a fish-basket, followed by a smart-looking maid-servant.

'Oh, not gone! that's well. Where's Mr. Sparks? I was kept so long, I was quite afraid of being too late. Put the fish in under that seat. Things there? oh, they must come out then; the fish must go in safe. Where's Mr. Sparks, I say? I should think the fish for the Hall is to have the proper place.'

It was soon made known to the speaker that Mr. Sparks was not far off, and, almost as soon, he was seen hurrying from his companions, with a somewhat blustering manner, which people are apt to put on when they expect a deserved rebuke, and want to get out of it.

'We'd a' ought to a' been on the road this half-hour, John,' muttered his granny.

'We're all right, Mr. Sparks,' cried those from inside. 'You may do what you like with my basket,' said several, who would not attempt to arrange themselves till the maid from the Hall had chosen her seat. 'I hope you will start at once,' said that damsel, who looked with superiority on those around; 'the fish is for dinner, and we are never later than eight.'

'Off at once, miss, when you're seated,' said John in as sober a tone as he could assume, and looking a thundering look at his granny, who imprudently kept up a low grumbling remonstrance on his behaviour. The luggage was soon settled, in defiance of all opposition, so that the fish had honourable stowage; and the Hall maiden, declaring, as she stepped jauntily up, that she could not abide the van, but it was a great convenience, took the seat at the front, and all was ready.

Sparks, a little steadied, was mounting, and the horse, which through the whole hurried scene had stood motionless, his head hanging down, as if dreaming of his own particular interests and affairs, awoke up and prepared to step forward. But patience was to be tried that day. In the entrance of the yard appeared a tall thin individual, dressed in sober and somewhat shabby clothes. He had his arms full of packages of all sorts and sizes, and an urchin followed, bearing a large basket.

'Deary me!' said Sparks, dropping the reins; 'if there isn't Shady Eggs. Well, to think of his being so late! Folks ought to be more considerate.'

'How excessive troublesome!' said the Hall servant, who had herself wasted so much time in the town that she had lost the early carrier, and run the risk of being too late with the fish for the second.

Meantime, 'Shady Eggs' advanced. 'I rejoice, Mr. Sparks, that you are yet here; be so good as to accommodate these articles. Young man,' he continued, to the boy with the basket, 'you can return; there is a small remuneration for your trouble.' The lad grinned, pocketed the remuneration, and the basket, etc., were with some difficulty placed in the van. Miss from the Hall kept up a continual series of shruggings: her dress was invaded in some way by every package that was put in, and there was as much vinegar in her expression as beer in that of Sparks.

'If you'd a' knowed of coming, Mr. Eggs, it's a pity you wasn't more for'ard,' she said tartly.

'It is a pity—I sit corrected,' he replied meekly, trying to put his long legs into the least inconvenient place.

'Nobody never quarrels with Mr. Eggs,' said the carrier good-humouredly. The maid looked scornful; but Shady acknowledged the courtesy by a bland smile. They had cleared the town, and were advancing at a reasonable pace up the road, pleasant hedges on either side, and green fields around and before them, when again they were brought to a halt. A traveller, who, sitting on a milestone, was apparently awaiting their arrival, stood up as they advanced, and cried out, 'Room?'

Sparks looked dubious; the maid said 'No;' but Shady Eggs, with a complacent look, suggested that with management room might be found. All the company, except the one objector, seemed willing to accommodate; they took their packages on their knees, and sat closer.

'How excessive awk'ard!' said the angry servant; 'I really cannot carry more than this; I must have room for this parcel on the seat.'

'Allow me to convey it for you, ma'am,' said the imperturbable Shady; and, taking it from her as gently as if it had been a baby, he placed it on his knees and encompassed it with his arms. It was indeed a fragile thing—enveloped in paper, like a light-brown cloud, and bearing a printed declaration that it came from Mrs. Davy's fashionable millinery establishment.

'It's our cook's bonnet,' condescended the maid, not vouchsafing to thank Shady any further. Shady looked affectionately at his delicate burden, as if the whole van should perish before it should come to grief, and the stranger was installed a passenger.

It was not very hard to read the characters of his fellow-passengers. On faces worn by labour and bronzed by exposure might be chiefly read family cares—questionings of mind, perchance, as to whether the 'second-handed shoes' would fit Tommy, or whether Eliza would like her new place. Some were enjoying the opportunity of canvassing village matters, and others slept through all the joggings of the van. Such as they were, he scrutinized all, and then fixed his keen grey eyes on Shady. An amused expression passed over his face as he noticed the grave care he bestowed on his charge. Turning to the driver, he began to question him as to the surrounding objects. Not a building escaped; he would know everything, and John was as communicative as any questioner could wish.

'That building in the distance, among trees,' said the stranger; 'it looks well—what is it?'

'What! you?' said Sparks. 'Why, that's the Jew, sir; we shall pass it—it's one of my places I stop at.'

'The Jew?' said the stranger.

'The Dew, sir,' interposed Shady, with a look of benevolent pity for Sparks' ignorance,—'Parker's Dew, as it is commonly, but erroneously called.' This was added with solemn importance.

'And what is the proper name?' asked the stranger.

Shady, with a conscious look round the van, that betrayed his self-satisfaction, replied, rather pompously, 'Par grÂce de Dieu, sir, which, if, as I suppose, you are a French scholar' (another glance at the passengers), 'you are aware means, "By the grace of God."' The stranger nodded. 'Originally, sir,' continued Shady, drawing up his back to its full length, 'it was given by the Norman William to the founder of the family of De la Mark, in whose possession it has ever since continued. There were strange ideas of right in those days, as you, sir, if a student of history, must know, and that which men got by the violence of the sword they considered to be theirs by the grace of God. But whether the name was invented by the Conqueror, or given to the place by Mark de la Mark, the first lord of the manor, and founder of the distinguished line, I have not been able to discover.'

'What! have you ever tried?' said the stranger, laughing. The laugh was infectious; Sparks laughed, the Hall maid laughed, with something like scorn, and all the van grinned, though those at the back had not heard the conversation. Shady's equanimity was not broken; he surveyed all with a surprised—perhaps a little injured—but forgiving air, and was silent.

But the stranger had no wish to silence him. He plied him with numerous questions as to the place, its owner, etc., to all of which Shady replied with perfect good temper, but more reserve.

'You seem to know much about it; you live there, do you?'

'I have the honour to be a retainer of the family,' said Shady, with much dignity.

'In what capacity?' said the stranger, looking at the milliner's address on the package he carried. For the first time an answer was difficult, for many were the posts combined in one that Shady occupied.

'Librarian,' he would have said, or 'secretary,' for these he was; but he feared the van,—for he was well known to be also serving-man in chief, and figured at different times as tutor, valet, butler,—and at length he replied with calmness, 'I execute any commission I may be honoured with: I superintend the library, arrange the steward's books, etc.; sometimes I have the honour of assisting in the studies of my young lady.'

'And you does a bit of dressing for Sir Valary sometimes, doesn't you, Shady?' asked Sparks, who thought he might get up a good laugh at him with impunity, and so obtain the lead in the conversation, which he was impatient at Shady's engrossing.

The colour rose to the pale face, and an emotion of pain and reproach agitated it for a moment; but, soon recovering himself, he replied gently, 'Yes, I am sometimes so far favoured by Sir Valary, I am proud to say.'

'A sort of man of all work,' said the maid, with a sneer.

'Ah, I see,' cried the stranger at the same time; 'you are Sir Valary's right hand—not many either willing or able to fill so onerous a post. I congratulate you on being both.'

Gratitude danced in Shady's eyes; he said nothing, and the stranger now turned to Sparks. He inquired if he could obtain a lodging at Stoney Gates. Sparks told him it was only a village, with no house fit for any but a poor man to live in except the Hall.

'A lodging fit for a poor man will suit me,' said the stranger, 'if I can get it.'

'Well, sir,' said Sparks, 'then maybe granny might let you have the parlour; it's got a very handsome chest o' drawers as makes into a bed. Eh, granny?'

Mrs. Sparks demurred—she was afraid it wouldn't suit.

'Take me in to-night,' said the stranger; 'to-morrow I will tell you about it.' And so it was agreed. After which the maid from the Hall looked with ineffable contempt on him.

The branch road leading to Parker's Dew now came in sight, and Shady prepared to alight. He placed the bonnet tenderly on his vacant seat, and gathered his many goods from their various hiding-places. 'You can't carry them all,' said Sparks.

'I expected Robinson to be here,' replied the librarian.

'I'm here, please,' said a little lad, springing up from under the hedge.

'That is well, Robinson,' said he, with dignity; and, having nearly covered him with parcels, he took the basket, and, bowing courteously to the stranger, with a somewhat patronizing nod to Sparks, he took his way to 'the Jew.'

'Isn't he a speciment?' said Sparks to the stranger.

'A most benevolent spirit,' replied the stranger. And at the same time Biddy Sparks, who now sat next her grandson, administered a cautioning nudge.

'What are ye poking me for, granny?' he cried out. 'I suppose there's no purtickler harm in that; he is a speciment, and I maintains it.'

As if in defiance of her, he immediately began a long description of Shady's life and occupations, to which the stranger listened with interest.

'Is Sir Valary poor, then, that his man is so variously employed?' he asked.

'There it is,' replied Sparks; 'there's a deal of talk about it; he 'adn't a' ought to be poor; but what becomes of his money there's nobody knows. There's some as thinks—I tell 'ee what, granny, if you goes on for to poke me at that rate, you may just drive the van yourself. Why, how can I help folks talking? I'm sure I never said no harm of Sir Val'ry. You know, sir,' turning to the stranger, 'when people has queer ways they're bound to be called over; and there's a many as says'—

'John Sparks,' cried his grandmother, 'are you out of your senses to go and talk of Sir Val'ry in this way, and him the squire's own brother!' This was accompanied with a glance at the Hall maiden, intended to strengthen the warning.

'I meant no offence to the squire,' grumbled he; 'he's a gentleman, and no mistake; there's nobody about him but looks the better for it, is there, miss?' The Hall servant did not deign to reply, except with a faint smile. 'There's nobody at Brimble Hall as looks as if they'd breakfasted on tin-tacks, is there, miss? I knows as the squire has his vally, and his butler, and everything else in proper style, hasn't he, miss? And he haven't got Steward Bloodworth to rack the tenants, and pocket the rents neither,' said Sparks, who had now in this back-handed way delivered himself of the substance of what his granny had tried to make him keep in.

'Bloodworth!' said the stranger; 'what a very unpleasant name!'

'Him as 'as got it's a deal unpleasanter—I'm sure you'll hold wi' that, granny. Why, we had as pretty a bit of land, belonging to the Jew, as you'd wish to see, sir; and if that man didn't turn us out without why or wherefore, just because'—

'Never mind that,' said Biddy; 'forget and forgive.'

'How can I forget it, when I pass the land every time I goes to the Jew? and as to forgiving him, he haven't asked me. Why, sir,' turning to the stranger, 'if it hadn't 'a been that the squire—long life to him—took pity on us, and set me up in this van, and gave granny the cottage and garden we live in, she must 'a gone to the Union; we couldn't get a yard of land, and the stock went at ruin's price; so we had only enough to pay up rent and our little debts.'

'Then this steward has full power over the estates? I mean Sir Valary doesn't interfere?'

'You'll excuse me making so bold, sir,' said Biddy, 'but it ain't becoming of John to make free with anything about Sir Valary. Poor folks like us had best leave the quality alone; and in the van too,' she once more whispered to Sparks. The carrier whistled, laid his whip over his horse's back, and little more was said in the front of the van till a pair of handsome bronzed gates opening on a broad avenue appeared.

'Brimble Hall, sir,' said Sparks. 'Now, miss, will you please to unlight here, or go round?'

'Miss' would go round, for there was not even 'a Robinson' to help her, and she preferred going in at the kitchen entrance to carrying the fish.

Sparks now spent all his eloquence on the beauty of the Hall, and the benevolence of Squire Brimble, who was, as he said, the very pattern of a squire—such a landlord, such a master! there wasn't a man or woman in the neighbourhood but would run at his call. The remaining passengers, who chiefly lived at Stoney Gates and around, left the van; and the stranger and miss, with Spark and his granny, were alone.

Sparks pointed out the stables with great pride to the stranger, telling him the squire was the man for a horse. 'It's well worth getting up early to see him start for the hunt. He's as good a sight as sunrise,' was his concluding speech as he turned in the direction of the back premises, and brought the van to the servants' door. Here he was encountered by the cook.

'A pretty time of night, John Sparks!' she cried. 'Where's the fish? I thought you'd broke down on the road.'

'Why ever didn't you come by the other van?' she cried to the maid, who had now dismounted; 'I'm sure you hadn't so much to do but what you might; and madam has been wondering at you ever so, for the young ladies wanted their things; and I'm sure I don't know what the squire'll say at waiting all this time for dinner.'

'It's a rale love of a beauty,' said the maid, handing the bonnet to the angry cook; 'I had to wait while they finished it.'

'Ah,' said she in a mollified tone, 'those shopkeepers are so troublesome. I told Phipps to put it to madam that you were sure to be kept for something;' and, calling the scullery maid to fetch the fish, she carried off the bonnet that had wrought so happy a change in her disposition.

No one noticed the stranger, who, however, quietly saw and heard everything, and who only left the van to take possession of his humble lodging at Biddy Sparks. A shabby portmanteau and a large portfolio made up his luggage, and, having seen what appliances Biddy could afford, he speedily dismissed her to procure any supper at hand, and arranged them himself in somewhat military order, and, throwing open the window, told her not to be alarmed if she heard him early in the morning, for it was his custom to rise with the dawn.

CHAPTER II.

When the stranger was fairly settled down in the humble dwelling of Mrs. Sparks, he seemed well pleased with his quarters.

'He've been brought up hard, granny,' said John; 'that's how he's so contented.'

'I don't believe it, John; he's the rale gentleman, only he've got the sense to come down to his means.'

At this juncture their lodger appeared, and cut short the conference. He has been partially described. To finish the portrait, the reader must add to his penetrating grey eyes a mouth indicating great decision of character, a head finely formed, with hair changing to grey. In the vigour of his expression, carriage, and manner, you would read his age to be thirty; but the worn look of his cheek, his furrowed brow, and his changing hair put many years on him: he might be forty or forty-five. Leaning over the garden gate with a paper in his hand, he nodded pleasantly to John, who was gardening, while his grandmother kept watch lest he should slip from his work.

'This Parker's Due that you told me of,' he said, 'how shall I find it by walking?'

John and his granny, having almost quarrelled about the nearest way, gave him a direction at last, as plain as a Chinese puzzle.

'Bring me a jug of milk, Mrs. Sparks, and some of your good brown bread; I see I have a long walk before me, and must be fortified.' Wouldn't he have some bacon, or wait for her to make a pan pudding with two or three eggs? No, he would not; he drank the milk, and putting the bread in his knapsack, took his iron-ended staff, or spud, and was opening the gate when two young ladies rode up, and, dismounting, the younger, who was exceedingly handsome, threw the bridle with an air of condescension into his hands. The elder, less beautiful, but pleasant-looking, hesitated to follow her example, and regarded him inquiringly.

Biddy Sparks came out, calling, 'John, John;' but John, reckoning on her having a longer talk with her lodger, and being tired of digging, had escaped to the Brimble Arms.

'Oh, ladies, I'm never so sorry—please, sir—I beg a hundred pardons, miss—couldn't I hold the horses, sir?—where can John be gone? You seen him here this minute, sir?'

Biddy knew well where he was gone, but did not hint at it, for fear of injuring his character before the ladies. The stranger, meantime, quietly tethered the horses securely to the strong fence, and, raising his cap to the young ladies, said to Biddy, 'I will find your grandson, and send him; they will stand quite safely,' looking at the horses, and then turned towards the inn, where he expected to see him.

Miss Brimble watched him out of sight; but her sister Flora scarcely allowed him to be beyond hearing before she asked who he was, adding, 'I thought it was one of the farm people.'

'He's my lodger, miss, and quite a gentleman, for all he's put up here,' said Biddy. 'Please walk in, ladies. The chickens are all alive, Miss Flora—I'm proud to say I haven't lost one; you'll please to come and look at them; and belike Miss Brimble will look at the beautiful pictures as Mr. Jobson have put up in the parlour.'

'Beautiful indeed!' said Miss Brimble, standing before a rough water-colour drawing of an extensive country scene. 'Oh, Flora, look! how exceedingly clever!' she exclaimed, and pointed out the merits of distance, colour, etc. Flora had no doubt it was all true, but did not examine it with much interest. While Miss Brimble stood before it in silent admiration, she went with Biddy to visit her chickens, plying her with innumerable questions about her lodger.

'Jobson—what a name! poor old man! I daresay he's some map-maker, or surveyor, or that kind of thing. And so he plays the flute? Why, how entertaining he must be! And you don't know where he came from, nor where he is going, nor what he wants here, nor how long he is going to stay? Well, if he had but a better name, he would be delightfully mysterious; but Jobson—and Matthew Jobson, too—there's no harmonizing that with mystery.'

Miss Brimble had well surveyed, not only the drawing described but several others,—some unintelligible to a common eye, from their roughness,—and seemed disinclined to leave them, when Flora returned from her visit to her pet chickens. As they rode through the long narrow lane that formed with its overhanging boughs an avenue almost private to the Hall, Flora upbraided her sister with not having visited her pets—' the sweetest little creatures in the world,' she said.

'Who can this person be?' said Miss Brimble, musingly, and not noticing her sister's reproaches.

'Oh, some poor old broken-down artist—or—or—but what does it signify? I do believe, Charity, you are more interested in him than in my little darlings.'

'I wish,' said Miss Brimble, 'I had asked more questions of Biddy about him.'

'Don't be unhappy,' said Flora; 'I asked every conceivable question while you were looking at those things on the wall. His name is Matthew Jobson; he gets up at some unearthly hour—four or five—after sleeping on a mat on the floor, miserable man, with his window open; when the milk comes in, he drinks one long draught, and eats brown bread, and that's his breakfast; then he shuts himself up in the parlour, and makes those smudges and scratches—I should call them—but of course you know best; then he starts off with hard-boiled eggs and brown bread, and walks no one knows where, and doesn't return till evening, and finishes the day with a solo on the flute, and some more bread and milk. Well, stop—I haven't done; he is undoubtedly very poor, but very honest, for he pays his reckoning every evening, which makes Biddy afraid he won't stay very long. He gives John the best advice—he knows everything, and has been everywhere—there!'

'I wonder if he would give drawing-lessons,' said Charity.

'Not to me,' said Flora; 'not even to be able to do those wonderful things that you admire so would I take lessons of such a sharp-looking old man.'

'Old!' said Miss Brimble; 'he's not old; I was quite struck with his appearance and manner; I believe he's a gentleman in reduced circumstances.'

'Gentleman Jobson,' said Flora.

'As for that, I think Jobson quite as good a name as Brimble.'

'I admit it—how could it be worse? but please to remember we are not bona fide Brimbles, as papa says; woe worth the day that turned us out of honourable "De la Marks" into people so ignoble!'

The ride ended, and the story of the stranger was soon told to the family. Squire Brimble, who was the essence of indulgent fathers, promised to see him, and ascertain if Charity's wish could be accomplished.

Accordingly, the next morning he set off to Stoney Gates to fulfil his promise. He found Mrs. Sparks at her wheel before the door, and the stranger leaning against the large walnut tree, sketching her. Mr. Brimble advanced with an air of easy kindness. 'Mr. Jobson, I believe.' The stranger, with a half-suppressed smile, returned his bow. 'My name is Brimble. I live at yon old red house. My daughters were here yesterday, and had the pleasure of seeing a drawing of yours which they admired exceedingly.' Again the stranger bowed. 'May I have the pleasure of seeing it?'

'By all means, if you will find it a pleasure;' and they entered the house together. Mr. Brimble walked to the largest drawing. He had no doubt Charity was right, and admired it in nearly the same terms in which she had praised it to him; but he wondered whether Flora might not be right—smudge and scratch.

'There's something very extraordinary in genius,' he said. 'It seems to make people forget the ordinary things of life. You, for instance, are so interested in your art, that I daresay you are insensible to half that you are exposed to in this queer place.'

'Queer place!' said the stranger; 'I wish genius may never fare worse. What can a man enjoy more than ease and sumptuous abundance?' and he seated himself carelessly on his portmanteau, while he pushed the only chair towards Mr. Brimble.

The squire answered with a chuckle. Biddy Sparks' lodger revelling in ease and sumptuous abundance! The stranger smiled at his merriment, and said, 'If you had passed through what some travellers have,—I speak not of myself,—you would call this accommodation fit for a prince.'

The tone and manner which accompanied these words convinced Mr. Brimble that the person before him was no starved-out son of genius, that fed ill from an empty pocket; and as the conversation continued he became more and more impressed with the feeling that he was a gentleman who wanted no help, and, moreover, a man of highly gifted and cultivated mind. A thorough lover of ease in mind and body, Mr. Brimble enjoyed nothing more than amusement without the cost of exertion; he was quite elated at the idea of having found a pleasant companion in so near a neighbour, whose company could be enjoyed without the bondage of ceremony. On the other hand, the stranger, keen in the perception of character, had at a glance read that of his visitor; kindness and candour were its leading features: the effect was mutual satisfaction.

At last, being satisfied that the stranger was travelling merely from amusement, and lived as he did from preference, the squire said, with a frank smile, as he proffered his snuff-box, 'Well, now for the truth. I came here fancying that you were a poor genius, at your wits' end for money, and I intended asking you to give lessons to my daughter; but, as I happen to be wrong in everything but the genius, instead of that come and dine with us to-day. We shall be alone, I believe; but even then we may hope to be as entertaining as Sparks and his granny.'

The stranger smiled, but shook his head. He glanced at his dress. 'I have no means of making a toilet here,' he said, 'and couldn't appear thus before ladies.'

'Nonsense!' said Mr. Brimble; 'you are fit for court. Mrs. Brimble and my children are quite indifferent to such matters; you are an idle man, and you've no excuse. Walk down with me now, and make a long day of it.' The stranger, still declaring that he could not then accept his hospitality, added that he would gladly walk with him, and they left the house together.

'This avenue, you see,' said the squire, 'amounts to a private road. None but our own people intrude on it; so that my daughters can ride or walk to their favourite haunts in the village and around it, without any fear of molestation, without the tediousness of an attendant. We are all for liberty; it is as much our delight as if we had been born birds of the air. Anything like etiquette—when it is constraint—is our torment. Now you see that little pathway that opens into a very pretty little wood, where there are all sorts of rustic gimcracks put together to please the ladies, who by the way seldom go there,—dove-house, hermitages, labyrinths, and so on. Over yonder hill lies the Dew, a fine old place going to ruin; the estate at one point joins mine, or would, but for a trout stream. Are you an angler? Capital! then we shall have some sport together. I preserve, or pretend to do, but I'm poached on most unmercifully, and can't help myself. There's the house—"Hall," we call it—a good place enough. But before we go in, I must take you round my stables; I have just bought a hunter, high price—you shall judge him,' etc.

Thus Mr. Brimble talked; while the stranger, when his turn came, amused and interested the squire with his anecdotes of persons, places, and things. 'Why, you've been everywhere,' he cried, 'and know all the world! Here's my purchase,' as they entered the stable; and he was soon listening with the deepest admiration to his companion's strictures on the hunter, and the peculiarities of the Arab and other horses; but when a suggestion was made as to an improvement in ventilating the stables, the squire was rather nettled. He was sure nothing could be better than his own plan; he'd no doubt Mr. Jobson might be right as to stables of other climates; but, etc. And in much vehemence did he continue the argument, till he found himself walking under the windows of the room in which the ladies were accustomed to sit during the morning.

Suddenly stopping, and forgetting stables and all connected with them, he pointed to Charity, who was sitting at one of them, and said, 'There's your pupil that was to have been. Let us go in. Mr. Jobson—Mrs. Brimble and my daughters. Ah, Miss Cruden! I didn't see your carriage. How's the doctor? My dear, Mr. Jobson is a friend of our old friend General Topham.'

'Scarcely a friend,' said the stranger, returning the salutation of the ladies with grave but frank courtesy.

'Well, well, you served with him somewhere, didn't you? or saw him, or something; I don't remember exactly what it was. We've been over so much ground that I've forgotten half the things you told me.'

The stranger gave a brief but interesting account of his last interview with the general, whom he incidentally described so graphically as to leave no doubt of his acquaintance with him. When this had come to an end, the squire seemed rather nervous lest the conversation should flag, and trotted out his new friend with the most scientific jockeyism, plying him with questions as to the Levant, America, and every place on which they had touched during their morning conversation.

The stranger seemed to suffer this tax upon his conversational powers rather than to enjoy it; he saw Mr. Brimble's motive, which was to gain for him the favour of his family, and, appreciating his kindness, fell in with his wish. Charity and Flora exchanged glances; the former looked triumphant—she had been right in her conjecture. Flora listened to him for a little time, but very soon joined her mother and Miss Cruden in the discussion of some new crochet patterns, giving only an occasional exclamation when any circumstance of particular interest was narrated. Mr. Jobson seemed equally ignorant of the indifference of the trio, and of the deep interest with which Charity listened to him. The squire was the centre of his notice, and he was evidently pleased with the gratification he was affording him. Dame Sparks' criticism, that he knew everything, seemed nearer the truth than such criticisms generally are.

At the luncheon, of which he could not with courtesy refuse to partake, he delighted the squire by giving him the history of almost every known wine, and charmed the ladies, one and all, with descriptions of foreign fruits and flowers. Every object suggested some fresh ground on which to display his boundless information, and the ease with which the remarks passed from topic to topic, and the perfect simplicity of his manner, so free from conceit, gave a tenfold charm to all. When he had left,—for he declined positively to remain the day, sorely to Mr. Brimble's disappointment,—a discussion concerning him naturally arose among the ladies, while the squire accompanied him, as he said, off the grounds.

'Oh, mamma, what a man!' said Flora; 'isn't he worse than a dictionary? I should get a brain fever if I heard him talk every day.'

'Where does he come from?' asked Miss Cruden—a rather elderly lady, with grey hair and gold spectacles and thin, sharp features.

'That remains to be proved,' said Mrs. Brimble.

'Come from!' cried Flora; 'why, he's like the man in the fairy tale, that came in at a hundred doors at once.'

'Mr. Brimble,' said his wife impressively, and turning with a confidential air to Miss Cruden, 'is so exceedingly imprudent, so easily deceived, that any one might take him in—any one that can talk.'

'There's no question about this person being able to talk,' said Miss Cruden; 'but why do you suppose he has been taken in now?'

'Tell me what a gentleman fit to be introduced here, and a friend of General Topham's, should do at Biddy Sparks'.'

'Biddy Sparks'!' said Miss Cruden, raising her eyebrows under her spectacles; 'that is indeed a singular lodging for a gentleman.'

'Oh, but he's a genius, mamma,' said Flora, 'and lives on bread and milk, and never goes to bed. I only hope, if papa brings him here again, he'll make him bring his flute; I should think we had come to an end of his geography.'

'I hope,' said Mrs. Brimble, 'if your papa does bring him here again, it will be with a letter of introduction, without which no one ought to be received here.'

'But, mamma, the man has had an introduction without a letter,' said Flora; 'and if it pleases papa, what does it signify? He won't run away with any of us—certainly not with me. I don't know about Charity,' she said, suddenly turning round and looking at her sister, who had not yet spoken. 'She was rather moonstruck about him this morning; but whether he's a gentleman or not, Char, I'm positive he's old, and he's got the most frizzly little whiskers I ever saw; in fact, to me he is very much like his pictures.'

'And to me too,' said Charity.

'His pictures!' said Miss Cruden; 'pray, what are they like?'

'Oh, stop, Char!' said Flora; 'do let me tell first. You know, Miss Cruden, there's a long blue uneven smudge—that's a "distance;" then there are'—

'Flora,' cried her sister, 'how can you be so foolish? Miss Cruden is fond of drawing; the best way would be to ask for her to see them, and judge for herself; they are full of spirit and feeling.'

'What is his name?' said Miss Cruden; 'I did not hear.'

'Ah! that's the melancholy part of it,' said Flora. 'Char can't make that better—Jobson, undeniable Jobson. Here's papa; now, mamma, find out about the letter of introduction. I should rather enjoy his turning out an impostor, because Char looks so triumphant.'

Mr. Brimble had indeed appeared, but he remained in a hesitating manner on the walk, as if undecided about rejoining the ladies. The truth was that, upon reflection, he felt he had committed what his wife would call a most imprudent action. He hardly shaped her censure into a definite form; but any form would be unpleasant enough. He knew her first question would be, 'credentials,' and none had he to give; in fact, he had nothing but the stranger's word as a guarantee for his respectability. Poor Mr. Brimble! he abhorred a lecture; yet he was always carelessly exposing himself to one. With the consoling remembrance that Miss Cruden's presence would break the force of the attack, he ventured on the enemy.

'Couldn't prevail on him to turn back,' he said (looking anywhere but at Mrs. Brimble). 'A positive fellow when he's once made up his mind, I can see; but he has promised to come when he returns from a few days' ramble; and, in the meantime, you, Char, are welcome to any of his sketches that you think worth copying; he has a large portfolio, which you may ransack at pleasure during his absence.'

'Did he bring letters of introduction?' asked Mrs. Brimble, with significant dryness.

'I didn't require any,' said her husband carelessly, less uneasy at the conflict now he was fairly in for it.

'Your imprudence, Mr. Brimble, does surprise me, though it ought not to do so, considering my long experience of it.'

'Imprudence, imprudence! what imprudence?' inquired the squire quickly; 'am I to welcome no one to my house who does not bring a certificate? Isn't it my habit to call on all new-comers?'

'Very few gentlemen would expect to be called on in this person's circumstances; and I must say'—

'Now, there's your mistake, Mary. You think you must say; but you mustn't say; for once, my imprudence will come to no harm, at any rate. He's a gentleman,—a most agreeable, clever fellow, and a great acquisition to us in our dull quarters.'

'Don't you remember that account in the paper,' said Mrs. Brimble, turning to Miss Cruden, 'of a very clever man, who introduced himself under false pretences into a family, and an extensive robbery was the consequence?'

'No, she does not; though she is trying to get up a reminiscence to accommodate you, I can see. But if she does, it proves nothing; there's no analogy. To begin, this man didn't introduce himself; I sought him, and, to cut it short, Mary, I have indubitable proof that he is a gentleman.'

Mrs. Brimble looked up for the proof that thus cut her short; but the squire, feeling he had the advantage in asserting which he would have lost in proving,—for his conviction lay only in his innate perception of gentle birth and high breeding,—kept on high ground, and, declaring it was not endurable that they should waste the day in the house during such glorious weather, invited them to follow him to the shrubberies to look at his improvements there.

Miss Cruden immediately proceeded to fold into its proper creases a large square of cambric she was hemming for the doctor; Mrs. Brimble looked offended, and disinclined to accede to the proposal. Flora threw down her work, wondering she could have stayed in so long; and Charity, as she followed her, questioned why the stranger should have remembered her and her love for art. Her sister, as if answering her thoughts, said carelessly, while adjusting her hat, 'How kind it was of papa to ask that you might see those things! for of course he asked, though he is willing that the credit should lie with "the admirable Jobson." It's just like him, dear kind heart!' and she hastened after him into the shrubbery.

CHAPTER III.

It is time to introduce the reader to Parker's Dew and its inmates. We cannot do this better than by following Shady Higgs and his companion on their way from the van.

'Anything occurred in my absence?' asked the librarian in a tone of condescension.

'No,' said Robinson, rather sullenly; 'only the pigs has got into the garden and turned up the flowers.'

'Untoward creatures! Have they made much havoc?'

'They's made a plenty of mess; they's been a-devouring of the cabbages, and Mrs. Gillies were in a fine way because you never looked after them afore you went.'

Now Robinson was not often guilty of such direct violations of duty towards dignity; but his patience had been tried by long waiting under the hedge, and Mrs. Gillies had unjustly punished him for the offence of the marauding pigs. He was, moreover, so laden with parcels that he was obliged to walk with a precision ill according with his taste or age, lest some of them should be dislodged altogether; therefore in respect of temper he was in a poor way.

SHADY EGGS HAS A PRINCIPLE TO MAINTAIN.
SHADY EGGS HAS A PRINCIPLE TO MAINTAIN.

Shady, whose weak point was sensitiveness in this particular, was divided in his mind between vexation at the misbehaviour of the pigs and discomfort at the republican tone of the lad whom he had long been trying to improve into a character worthy of the honour of serving in the family of De la Mark. He determined to pass by the pigs, and, turning to his companion, said, 'How often, child, am I to exhort you to remember the respect due to your superiors, whether in age, station, or any good conditions?' Perhaps Robinson was not decided as to the required number of times; at any rate, he did not answer, nor was his expression promising. 'Listen,' said the librarian, 'while I repeat a form of words which would have been a becoming answer to my question; and in the first place you should have begun with "No, sir," or "No, Mr. Higgs;" say that, and remember it is for your own good that I enforce this principle on you.' Robinson may not have believed in the philanthropy of his preceptor, or he was heroically indifferent to his own interests; he walked on in dogged silence. '"No, sir," or "No, Mr. Higgs,"' said the librarian, standing still, and looking firmly at the young incorrigible; for, gentle as a lamb at all other times, when Shady had, as he considered, a principle to maintain, or a duty to perform, he was a very lion. Robinson saw that he must give in, and muttered in a low tone, 'No, Mr. Higgs.' 'It is well,' said the librarian; and, considering the better part of valour to be discretion, he conceded the rest of the speech, content with the conquest gained, adding in a more gentle tone, 'I hope in time to cure you of the slaughter of the aspirate, so offensive to a cultivated ear and so general in this place. It is indeed wonderful how letters are subverted and substituted for one another by the careless and ignorant. Take Higgs, for instance: what name more simple? yet do they indiscriminately render it, "Eggs and Iggs, Heggs and Higgs."' Robinson interrupted this meditation by letting fall one of his parcels. 'I fear,' said the librarian, picking it up and laying it carefully in its place, 'the corners of a book which I have purchased for you may have been injured, Robinson.' Robinson looked as if he could bear the calamity. 'There's a knife in that parcel also,' continued Shady, 'with many blades, which I intended for you when your improvement deserved it.'

'Thank'ee, Mr. Higgs, sir,' said Robinson, the knife going straight to his heart; and, as his hands were not at liberty to touch his cap or pull his hair, he made the most deferential nod his circumstances would permit.

'As to the book,' resumed Shady, 'it is not of a character to please you as yet; I had a prospective view in purchasing it, when your mind— But I see you wish to speak.'

'I was just a-going to ask, Mr. Higgs, sir, how many blades there was in the knife?'

Rather disconcerted that the knife should engross the whole of his mind, he gave him first a little lecture on the superior value of that which he seemed to disregard, adding at the end, 'There are four blades, a buttonhook, and a corkscrew.' Oh, how light from that moment was Robinson's load! not that he had the least use for a buttonhook or a corkscrew; but to be the owner of a knife of such multifarious powers was to him a new idea of happiness. In the fulness of his gratitude he volunteered much fresh information, carefully putting 'Mr. Higgs, sir,' whenever an opportunity occurred.

Mr. Bloodworth had been at the Dew, and had high words with Miss De la Mark, and Sir Valary had been very ill, and Mrs. Gillies had wished Mr. Higgs back again twenty times. Altogether it had been a day of commotion at the Dew, from Sir Valary down to his pigs.

'Sacrilegious man!' said Shady, turning whiter with indignation, as the lad repeated some expressions dropped by Bloodworth in the courtyard. 'Had you spoken of this sooner,' he continued, 'we might have hastened.'

'You see, Mr. Higgs, sir, it's impossible to do unpossibilities, and I can't hasten with all these things,' said the lad, whose head came out of his parcels like that of a tortoise from its shell; ''sides, he's gone now, and Sir Valary's better, and miss was in the garden quite comfortable when I came away.'

Shady nevertheless pressed on, in agitated expectation, until they reached the place. It was a large, dark, irregular pile, on a thickly-wooded eminence—a landmark conspicuous for many miles round. All that remained of the original castle was one tower, which was called Sir Mark's Tower, in honour of the founder of the family; the remainder had been raised by several of his descendants, to repair the decay of accident and time; and each seemed to have built according to his own age, without reference to what had been before him. Sir Mark's Tower, with a part of one side of the quadrangle, formed the dwelling of the present possessor; part of the remainder was an ivy-covered ruin; while a long and dreary-looking portion, containing the state rooms, portrait gallery, armoury, and library, was given up to darkness and silence, being carefully boarded, barred, and bolted. The great entrance had not been approached for many years; the stately avenue of limes had interwoven their branches and formed an extended archway. To Sir Valary and his daughter was reserved a private doorway in the tower, while the retainers (as Shady was pleased to style himself, Mrs. Gillies, the steward, and Robinson), together with all comers, had ingress and egress by the outer courtyards and kitchen entrance. It was not, however, to the kitchen of former days that Shady now hastened; a small servitors' hall attached to it better answered the purposes of their economy.

Mrs. Gillies scarcely waited for his entrance to pour out a medley of abuse and lamentation concerning her master, her young lady, and the steward, finishing up with an angry avowal that Shady was never in the way when he was wanted. Shady, exhausted with his day of fasting and fatigue, pained by the occurrences in his absence, and somewhat discomfited by the undeserved castigation he was receiving, seated himself in the corner to wait until the high wind should have passed.

Nothing tires a passionate temper like letting it have its way; Shady had often tried the force of non-resistance, and depended on it now, for staying the torrent before Robinson's appearance. As at other times, he was right. Mrs. Gillies, subsiding, passed from a scolding to a declarative tone, and from that to one of ordinary talk, which finally warmed into kindness, as she saw the inoffensive librarian sit silently fanning himself, with an air of patient dejection.

'Why, you look as if Bloodworth had blew at you, and had the best of it too,' she said.

'I have not broken fast since I left, and am weary and hungry,' replied Shady.

'Then it is high time to eat,' said the housekeeper; and, quickly unloading Robinson, who had just appeared, and despatching him with his evening meal to the ancient kitchen, she hastened to spread the table, recounting in cooler temper the events of the day.

There was nothing new in substance, for Robinson had told as much; but of course each fact was given with particularity.

'It's a strange thing to me, Shady,' she said, 'that Sir Valary, so high as he is, can bear with Bloodworth. It's easy to say he's used to him; but if he forgives the things that man said to-day there's more than use that he depends on. He was daring to-day beyond what I ever saw him; if Sir Valary had not fainted when he did, I believe he would not have left; but he saw staying was of no use, and he was afraid, too, of Miss Marjory. She said but a word or two, but he couldn't stand her looks.'

'Sacrilegious man!' cried Shady, shuddering more than once. His anxiety was appeased by learning that Sir Valary had not awoke since he took the sleeping-draught. Miss De la Mark had been sitting at his door for the last hour, watching.

'I haven't been able to get her to eat nor drink; she's as pale as a ghost, and trembles like a leaf; but I don't think it's fear she shakes with.'

Poor Shady! it was too much for him. Bloodworth was the only human being he regarded with dislike; notwithstanding his arrogant assumption, he was well known to be a man of low origin, who owed all his fortune to the family he served. If his insolence had been confined to those of his own rank, it would have been worthy only of contempt; but the indignation of the librarian knew no bounds when the dignity of De la Mark was tarnished by his insolent bearing and free speech; it was one of the very few subjects that deprived him of his habitual serenity.

Whatever were his own views as to the secret of Bloodworth's impunity, he listened without replying to many of Mrs. Gillies' half-hinted suspicions. 'Time will reveal all things,' he said. 'And now I must enter in my books the moneys expended. I must see, too, that those rebellious animals are properly secured; and if I can in a measure repair the damage they have done'—

'Mr. Higgs, sir,' said Robinson, appearing at the door with his empty cup and platter, 'please, sir, don't you want me to go and help to look arter them pigs?'

'Ah!' said Shady, smiling benignantly on him; 'I must leave your lesson to-night, Robinson.'

'It don't signify,' said Robinson cheerfully.

'No?' said Shady.

'Not for once, you know, Mr. Higgs, sir,' said the lad, who felt he had been too accommodating. Suddenly recollecting, the librarian guessed his drift, and, placing the knife in his hands, told him that nothing but learning was really worth desiring.

CHAPTER IV.

A few words are needful concerning Sir Valary and his daughter. Sir Valary, known to be as proud as any who had ever borne his name, lived a life of extraordinary seclusion and self-denial. For many years he had banished from his home every sound of mirth, every vestige of social comfort. His servants, who had, at the death of Lady De la Mark, been greatly reduced in number, had gradually become fewer, until every female office was represented by Mrs. Gillies, a old and greatly-attached domestic, while Shadrach Higgs, with his boy Robinson, whom he had pressed into the service, held the same comprehensive post in the other sex.

What had caused so great a change—for at one time Parker's Dew, or Castle De la Mark, as it was called, was noted for its courtly splendour and unbounded hospitality—no one knew. Some attributed it to the early death of Lady De la Mark; others to the influence of Bloodworth. Squire Brimble, who seldom allowed himself to speak of his brother, when he did give an opinion said, 'It's the love of money—that's enough to account for anything.'

The growing infirmities of Sir Valary had kept him long a prisoner in his chamber, at the door of which now, as described by Mrs. Gillies, sat his daughter Marjory. There was nothing heroine-like in her appearance. Low in stature and plain in feature, she owed all her attraction to the force of her character and the peculiarity of her early training. Indomitable courage shone in her dark eyes, and patience, the result of a deeply-exercised spirit, gave a sweet calm to her face. Her dress was, from necessity, somewhat singular. For a long period she had been limited to her mother's wardrobe, and, careless of the fashion in which the garments were made, she wore them without change, as her mother had left them.

'He sleeps so long!' said Marjory, her pale face resting against the chamber door.

'I've known him sleep longer, miss,' said Mrs. Gillies, peering up the spiral staircase. 'If you'd just please to taste these fresh cakes that Shady has brought in, and the chocolate, that's drying up from standing these hours, I should be thankful;' and she displayed the cakes, the choice of which had exercised greatly Shady's discriminating powers. Marjory, prevailed on, left her to watch. 'You know, miss,' said the faithful creature, 'if you take ill, we have no power to keep off that man when he comes; and one way we're all alike, for the highest can't do without eating and drinking, no more than the lowest.' Marjory did not at all, at that moment, feel exalted above the conditions of humanity. Bloodworth's behaviour had convinced her that he possessed some secret militating against her father's honour, and that this was the source of the power he exercised over him.

The loneliness in which she had been reared had made her very self-reliant. She had borne much personal inconvenience in silence; and if it had been only for herself that she had now to suffer or to do, she would not have been slow in her plan of acting; but it seemed necessary that some one, more equal than she was to cope with the steward, should step in between him and her father, for whose very life she trembled, if such excitement as he had that day suffered should be renewed. Yet, if her suspicions were correct, how could she, without treading on dangerous ground, take any one into her counsels? and, indeed, who was there to whom she could refer? To her uncle, her natural protector after her father, she had been a stranger for many years; and she had grown from childhood to womanhood with no other companion than her father. One there was, indeed, and to him she inclined to open her heart, and that one was Dr. Cruden, the high-minded and skilful physician, who was the sole visitor of gentle blood at Parker's Dew.

Filled with painful conflict, she resumed her seat at the chamber-door. A slight noise was gratefully heard by her, and, entering, she found the long sleep had produced its usual effect of refreshing calm. Sir Valary smiled gently on her, and, as if forgetful of the distressing occurrences of the morning, received with pleased readiness all her tender endeavours to restore and amuse him; and thus passed the evening peacefully away.

Several days followed in the same calm. Sir Valary and his daughter seemed with equal care to avoid the name of Bloodworth, and both were secretly thankful when the evening closed, without his presence having embittered the day.

One morning, Marjory, receiving Shady's promise not to go beyond earshot of her father, prepared for one of those long rambles in the surrounding woods which never failed to procure for her rest and relaxation of mind. Her book-learning was small. In the great book of nature, that lay before her, she was an ardent student. Shady, who fondly considered himself, in some sort, her preceptor, had endeavoured to inspire her with a love of heraldry, and was never tired of expatiating on the endless genealogies connected with the tree of De la Mark. But though she loved to wander among the portraits of her ancient house, dimly lighted up by the few sunbeams that could struggle through a loosened shutter here and there, her thoughts were wholly given to those people of the past that looked grimly from the wall, while he was trying to explore and expound their heraldic bearings. She knew most of the faces by heart; but her head was little encumbered with the technicalities of which he was so proud. Shady had plodded through the elements of botany, that he might usher her also into it. She soon learned with avidity all he could teach her, and, unaided by other help than her own affection for the pursuit, became well accomplished in it. But we must follow her in her walk.

Her mind had been too much exercised of late to allow her to give thought to anything but one reigning subject. Her case for wild flowers remained unused, as she passed musingly through the tangled wood. When at a little distance from the house, she was arrested once or twice by sounds of rustling amongst the branches. The once carefully-arranged paths were now so ill kept that they were in some parts difficult to penetrate. No stranger ever intruded there. She supposed it to be some woodman gathering brushwood, and passed carelessly on; but, coming suddenly on a cleared space, from which, through an opening in the trees, appeared a fine and extensive view of the country around, she saw whence the sounds had proceeded.

The reader does not need a second description—it was the strange lodger from Stoney Gates. He was apparently surveying the scene with artistic purpose, his implements lying on the turf, and he was arranging a piece of broken timber to form a seat of convenient height and situation.

The meeting was one of mutual and equal surprise. Each surveyed the other steadily, and in silence; but the stranger, soon recovering himself, lifted his cap with courtly propriety, for he needed nothing to tell him he was in company with gentle blood. Marjory returned the salutation, and was passing onward; but a sense of inhospitality detained her; she lingered, and said hesitatingly, 'You are a draughtsman?' He bowed. 'You are going to put down some of our scenery?' Again he assented. 'Would you not like to have the Castle De la Mark in your foreground, with this fine country behind?'

'I have been trying to get that,' he replied; 'but the house is so surrounded I can find no favourable standing-ground.'

'I will lead you to one,' she said; and, making her way with easy rapidity through the thicket, she emerged on a spot favourable in every way to the accomplishment of the design. The graceful dexterity with which she overcame all the obstacles of the labyrinth struck him with admiration. 'She is worthy of an American forest,' he thought.

When they stood face to face upon the spot sought for, a slight exclamation of surprise burst from the stranger, which was answered with a smile of satisfaction from Marjory. There was pride in her heart and triumph in her eye, as she turned exultingly to the scene before them, upon which they both gazed silently. Suddenly she asked, 'Who could put this down?' and looked at him for an answer; but his eyes were fixed, not on the landscape—they were busily and intently studying her face. He withdrew them in some little confusion, and the blood of De la Mark crimsoning her cheek warned him that to win patronage he must woo it discreetly. He thanked her, in most deferential terms, for having given him the opportunity of trying, but agreed that the subject was one to mock art. His voice and bearing were so remote from intrusion or unbecoming forwardness, that Marjory was willing to believe the look that had offended her was one of natural and excusable curiosity. She allowed him, therefore, to make one or two remarks on various points around before she left him.

As she was turning away, the stranger, still uncovered, said, 'I have had the honour of speaking to Miss De la Mark?' She looked assent, and they parted, he to pursue his task, and she to wonder who, among the few persons whose faces were familiar to her, continually floated in her memory while she was in company with the stranger.

In this short interview, in which so little had been said, a great advance had been made by each in the favour of the other. The fire of her eye and the freedom of her step, her genuine dignity and self-respect, untinged by affectation, all betokened a character which had great charms for the stranger, while his sympathy with her, so evident in those slight indications of look and bearing which are to be felt but not described, had won upon her strangely; so that in truth they were both far more intimate from this few minutes in the wilderness than months of drawing-room proprieties would ever have made them. What a sudden check he had given to the current of her thoughts! All that had so deeply interested her fell aside, and, by some inexplicable attraction, he took its place.

Again the crashing of the distant boughs as she wandered homeward struck her ear, and it was with somewhat of disappointment that, after a minute or two of watching and waiting, she saw the faithful Shady struggling through the thicket to reach her.

If his young lady would only condescend to walk in the paths where the trees did not meet right over, trusting she would pardon him for saying so, it would be far less perilous for limbs and their coverings to pursue her. Indeed he made a rueful figure; for although he had guarded his dress, by turning it up or turning it down, as circumstances recommended the precaution, he had met with sundry tears and scratches, as though he had been at war with all the under-wood he had encountered. Marjory smiled at his expostulations and his appearance, but, suddenly remembering his promise, inquired why he had left her father.

Shady assured her that Dr. Cruden was with Sir Valary, and would remain till his return, for he wished to see Miss De la Mark, and had sent him in pursuit of her.

'Then,' said Marjory, 'Mr. Higgs, there is a stranger in the wood; he is drawing on my favourite seat—drawing the place, you see; and I wish—I should like you—to—just to say—if he would wish to draw any of the interior you can lead him through it.'

Shady stared. 'I invite a stranger to the Dew, madam!' he said slowly.

'No, no,' said Marjory emphatically; 'of course ha will not be intruded on my father nor on me; he greatly admires the place, and it seems unkind not to allow him to enjoy the pleasure fully. It is little we do in hospitality, Mr. Higgs; we may at least show this poor favour to strangers; and this is no ordinary person, but a man of birth and high taste, as you will see, I am sure.' An appeal on the score of hospitality could not be made to a more ready ear than that of Shadrach Higgs. How had he mourned in time past over the silent halls and untrodden doorways of Parker's Dew, when his large heart would have welcomed the whole world! But time and use had reconciled him to all; and now to introduce a visitor seemed as strange a work to him as it had once been to exclude one.

While he was gathering up his thoughts to make a suitable, respectful protest against the imprudence of doing what, if Sir Valary heard of it, might give him umbrage, Marjory had vanished. Shady looked after her disconsolately. Not having been able to resign his commission, he felt it imperative on him to fulfil it, and with troublous cogitations on the matter, and earnest hopes that the stranger would not fall in with the invitation, he scrambled on towards the place. While he was engaged in his contest with the bushes, he thought only of how best to escape them; but when he stood in the presence of the stranger, whom he immediately recognised, a feeling of vexation that he should appear in a style so inconsistent with the dignity of De la Mark mingled with it.

On seeing him, the stranger, who seemed to have been of Marjory's mind, and had thrown aside his sketch as unsuccessful, accosted him as an old friend. 'What! the librarian! I am fortunate indeed! Are you seeking your lady? She was here, but left a little ago.'

Shady, in as collected and proper a form as he could get up for the occasion, told him that he had met his young lady, and delivered her invitation.

The stranger started up at once. 'We will lose no time, Mr. Higgs; nothing would give me greater delight;' and immediately he began, in a manner which Shady well remembered, a series of questions as to every part of the dwelling, the order in which it was kept, and so on. While he endeavoured to answer these becomingly, an under-current of thought occupied Shady. Various schemes he devised and rejected for keeping the stranger out of sight and hearing of any of the household, without allowing him to discover that he was there by stealth. Under other circumstances he could have discoursed with delight on the wonders and glories of Parker's Dew—to him an untiring subject. Then again, the incongruities of ancient grandeur and present meanness forced themselves upon him, and an uneasy consciousness arose, of the effect they would have in diminishing the stranger's reverence for the noble house in whose honour his heart was bound up.

'Why, it is in ruins!' exclaimed the stranger, coming abruptly on one side of the quadrangle.

'That portion is,' said Shady; 'the exact reason I cannot tell, but there is a tradition'—

'It has been in decay for many years,' said the stranger, not waiting for the tradition; 'this, I presume, is the chapel?'

'It is;' and now did Shady, with all the formality of a grave court official, introduce him respectively to the armoury, the picture gallery, and the library; that is to say, he pointed to their positions.

The stranger surveyed all with the deepest interest. 'Did I understand,' said he, 'that I was to be allowed to see the interior of these places?'

'The library,' said Shady, 'being my particular department, I carry the key of the side entrance; the other keys are in Sir Valary's room, but I can readily obtain them. There is no worthier part of the building, in my humble estimation, than this,' he said, placing the small key in the lock of a low door, to enter which they were obliged to stoop.

'Where are we?—in a tomb?' said the stranger.

'No,' said Shady, 'though indeed we are among the dead; wait, if you please, till I kindle the lantern.'

CHAPTER V.

Familiar as he was with every crevice of his dearly-loved resort, having closed the door on the inside, Shady without difficulty lowered a large lantern, that hung from the centre of the roof, and lit two of the candles ranged within it. By degrees the stranger's eyes, at first dazzled by daylight, were able to discern something of what was around. The walls, the roof, and the floor, were all of dark polished oak—the roof richly carved; books and vellum rolls in antique cases, all of the same dark wood, left little of the walls uncovered. Amid objects so sombre, the feeble rays of the lantern, which Shady had now drawn up, were of little use.

'I never saw a better effect of darkness,' said the stranger; 'but is there no possibility of letting daylight in here? I would rather read some of these books by the sun than by yonder lantern.'

Shady pointed out to him that the windows, high and small, were boarded up.

'This,' said his companion, pointing to a library ladder, 'this would reach one; if I loosened a board I could easily replace it; may I do so?'

Shady demurred. It would take time; he had already been too long from his duties—Sir Valary might require him; not adding his conviction, that Mrs. Gillies would rate him soundly for not being in time to carry in the dinner—a service he always performed.

'Leave me,' said the stranger; 'trust me with this key, or lock me in; there is much here that I should like to examine; come to me when you will, when you can; an hour, or hours hence, will do for me.'

Again there was a conflict in Shady's mind; the inhospitality of locking him up among paper and vellum, at a time when his own appetite was reminding him that nature required support of another kind, was repugnant to his feelings; yet, to have him so secured was a convenience of which he saw the value. After a short pause, he said he would return as quickly as he could, and, locking the door on the outside, went somewhat nervously to present himself to the housekeeper. Happily for him, the lengthened stay of Dr. Cruden had saved him from wrath on account of his protracted absence.

'I am glad you are come,' said Mrs. Gillies; 'it is a long talk the doctor is having to-day, and there's Robinson been all the time holding his horse, and nobody to clean a knife, for the little there is to cut.'

Shady quietly began gathering up the knives, intending to release Robinson from his post, when Dr. Cruden and Miss de la Mark, in deep conversation, crossed the courtyard and met him at its entrance. In a moment of weakness he slipped the knives into his pocket, as he could, and with a low bow stood deferentially until they had passed. They had scarcely done so when the doctor turned suddenly round, saying, 'Why, here is Higgs; you could not have a better person than Higgs.'

'How could I forget him?' said Marjory.

'HIGGS, I WANT SOME PRIVATE TALK WITH YOU,' SAID THE DOCTOR.
'HIGGS, I WANT SOME PRIVATE TALK WITH YOU,' SAID THE DOCTOR.

'Higgs,' said the doctor, 'I want some private talk with you; we can neither be overlooked nor overheard here,' he continued, looking round.

'Entirely secluded, sir, from all observation,' said Higgs, with another low bow.

'Here, then,' said the doctor, pointing to an ancient cross, surmounting some broad stone steps, 'let us sit here;' and placing Miss De la Mark on the higher step, and seating himself by her side, he pointed to the lower one, telling Shady to sit down. Shady preferred standing, for two reasons; one was, that it seemed little less than treason in him to sit in such a presence; the other, he had apprehensions as to the kind of cushion his pocket would afford, with its present contents.

'You must come close,' said the doctor; 'we don't want what we say to be caught by the birds of the air.'

'The library, Dr. Cruden,' said Marjory; 'shall we go to the library?'

How unfortunate! During the many years that Shady Higgs had been librarian, he had never received an order connected with his post that he did not hail with delight. Now he fell back, and looked almost reproachfully at Marjory, she having been the means of bringing them into the dilemma in which he now stood. But the doctor did not observe his looks. 'By all means, the library,' he said; 'we are sure to be safe there;' and assisting Marjory down, he led her with a quick step towards it, Shady following irresolutely. Opening the door, he expected to hear the stranger's voice immediately, in salutation; but all was silent, and the glimmer of the lantern nowhere revealed a human form. No boards appeared to have been removed; and as Shady nervously cast his eyes into the remoter parts, where the shadows were the thickest, he was equally perplexed and relieved to find nothing but vacancy. 'He must be in the room,' he thought, 'but where?'

'Now, Higgs,' said the doctor, 'you keep your favourite haunt lighted: I wish I could hope it was dusted; we are at any rate safe now. I want you to answer me some questions. You have a grandmother?'

'Softly,' said Shady, looking round.

'Well, I'm not going to say any harm of her,' said the doctor; 'so you need not be afraid of her coming. Where is she?'

Shady looked with an expression of innocent surprise. 'My grandmother Elizabeth?' he asked.

'Yes; commonly called Bet Eggs,' said the doctor.

'Is she not dead?' his large eyes dilating with a questioning look, which Dr. Cruden could not quite understand.

'Ay; is she, or is she not? that is the point.'

'I have been given to believe she died,' said Shady, quite forgetting the stranger, in the interest this question had excited in him.

'Do you believe it?' asked the doctor.

'Why should I not?'

'No evasions,' said the doctor, rather sharply; 'answer me plainly. Is she living?'

'Sir,' said Shady, glancing at Marjory, 'at another time I might speak of this—'

'This time—now,' said the doctor; 'the truth is, Higgs, she is not dead, and you know it, and you know why her existence is concealed, and you know—'

'Sir,' said Shady drawing himself to his full height, 'pardon me if I am wanting in duty, that I contradict you. I know nothing of what you have said.'

'Has Bloodworth never spoken to you concerning her?'

'It is seldom we converse, and never with my will, excepting on the household business.'

'How many years is it since you saw her?'

'Twenty—when she crossed the sea, to wait on some noble lady following her husband.'

'How long since you received the report of her death?'

'I think it may be about a twelvemonth.'

'Well, you have at least reason to doubt the truth of that report?' He was silent.

'Higgs,' said the doctor, 'you have now an opportunity of proving the truth of your fidelity and affection to Sir Valary. It is of the utmost importance to ascertain, whether your grandmother is alive or dead. What light can you throw upon the matter?'

'Well, if I offend my young lady's ears in what I say, the blame be far from me,' he answered, with a sigh. 'When my grandmother Elizabeth had finished the work of nursing my young lady, an ill feeling was raised against her by some means in the breast of my gracious lady, her honourable mother. I well remember, though I was then but a youth, her tears and complaints—yes, and bitter vows of vengeance too, against the one that had done her this wrong. I grieved for her, for, though she was harsh and choleric in temper, she had well supplied the place of parents to me, and I was grateful. A place was provided for her, and the disgrace in which she left was unknown to any, save the few concerned in it. I well remember her words the last time I saw her.'

'What were they?' said the doctor quickly.

'She told me (my young lady will pardon me), she had more power to injure than her enemies had power to injure her; and nothing but her love for my young lady would have kept her quiet. "If they desert you," she said, "I will come back before they expect, and do right to the wronged."'

'Anything else?'

'Much of the same sort.'

'And how did you get the account of her death?'

'It was reported in the neighbourhood, some time before a letter came from Dusseldorf, written by the person in whose house she died, and containing certificates of her death from the doctor and a Lutheran minister.'

'Did you credit these reports?'

'I did.'

'But have you had anything since to shake your confidence in them?'

'Last summer,' said Shady, 'my young lady will remember the visit of a German pedlar?'

Marjory assented. 'Looking among his wares for a suitable offering for my young lady for the next New Year's Day, I found a small purse of beads, bearing on one side the initials E. H., and on the other side the crest of De la Mark; the snap and the trimmings were new; but by the beadwork I recognised it was no other than a purse given in days of favour by my Lady De la Mark to my grandmother. I questioned the pedlar as to how he became possessed of it. He told me he had bought it, with some other trifles, of an aged woman who was in difficulty and wanted to raise money. I then asked him to describe the person, and how long it was since he had seen her. His description differed from what she was at our parting—'bent and feeble' for strong and upright, 'snow-white hair' for raven black; but years and sorrow may have done this. He had seen her some ten months back. Since then, I confess a vague suspicion has crossed my mind as to the truth of her death.'

'And how was it you did not name this?'

'It never arose to more than suspicion; her things, no doubt, passed into other hands after her death, if she died. I love quietness, and would not make marvels.'

'Do you think Bloodworth had any hand in the offence taken by Lady De la Mark?'

'Bloodworth is a sacrilegious man,' said Shady; 'his evil deeds known are enough. I would not lay suspicions at his door.'

'Well, Higgs, I tell you it is of the greatest consequence that your grandmother, if living, should be produced; and I believe you are the most likely person to find her. Will you go over to the place where she is said to have died, and ascertain for us the facts, finding out, if possible, the persons who signed the certificate, and, indeed, all facts necessary for substantiating either her death or her life? and in the meantime keep your mission a perfect secret from every one. I will prepare everything. You will be sent with a message to me when I am ready for you, and the cause of your detention must be known to no one.'

Shady was aghast, and far too much surprised to answer.

'This is settled, then. So far, so good,' said the doctor, rising. 'Now, Mr. Shady, let us out of this black hole.'

Marjory looked doubtingly, as Shady stooped down to unfasten the door; she felt that Dr. Cruden was mistaken, and that many things conspired to make him unfit for the important mission imposed on him. A book falling at her feet startled her into a slight cry.

'What! are your books alive, Higgs?' said the doctor, picking it up, 'flying about the place like bats.'

Shady instantly recollected the stranger. While he was debating as to the course he should pursue, a voice from the top of the room, which Marjory recognised, said, 'Pardon the intrusion of a friend;' and the stranger descended the ladder. A more curious group can hardly be imagined than that on which the light of the lantern now fell; the slight, small form of Marjory, her face pale with fatigue, anxiety, and now with something like terror; the parchment-like visage of Dr. Cruden, his periwig and hat both rather displaced by stooping for the book; Shady, the very picture of astonishment and mortification; and the stranger, the only one of the whole who appeared noways discomfited by his presence among them.

'Mr. Higgs, don't distress yourself; you have done good service to the house of De la Mark this day, though inadvertently,' said the stranger. 'I don't fear receiving a full pardon from you, madam, and from you, sir,' bowing to them respectively, 'when I have disclosed a few facts. Shall we return to the council table?'

The doctor, putting one hand through the breast of his waistcoat, and the other under his coat tails, his favourite attitude in delivering a lecture, surveyed him from head to foot. Regardless of the scrutiny, he placed himself at the table, and began thus; 'Elizabeth Higgs is dead—I saw her burial.'

They looked incredulous, but none spoke.

'I was in Dusseldorf at the time, and knew the Lutheran minister who attended her. She died in peace with all men, and fervently desiring a blessing on the infant she had left,' bowing to Marjory, 'and praying heartily for her grandson. I happened to be confined to the house from an accident at the time, and saw much of her, for we lodged under the same roof. A little kind sympathy with her sufferings from a fellow countryman opened her heart, and she unburdened it to me of every secret that had distressed her—a revelation I have never confided to human ear, and will not, until it shall be for the benefit of those whom it concerns. But rest satisfied; she is dead, and your mission useless.'

The doctor's surprise at all that he had just heard had prevented him from interrupting the stranger with any questions; but now that he saw he had told all that he meant to tell, he said, 'You will excuse me, sir; it is possible that all you have advanced may be perfectly correct; and I am far from wishing to offend you or any gentleman in so near a point as doubting veracity; but you will please to remember that the subject having been so amply discussed in your hearing, and you being a perfect stranger to us, it is natural that we should look for something—some confirming evidence—before trusting implicitly to you; and also, it would be pleasant to know who our informant is, and, I may add, how he came to drop upon us so opportunely.'

The stranger, looking calmly and steadily at him, replied, 'For my presence here, I refer you to Miss De la Mark. I am a world-wide wanderer, without a settled home as yet. I can give you no proof that I have advanced the truth now. I do not blame you for being sceptical; but, according to human maxims, you may believe me, since I have no interest in deceiving you.'

If he would only trust the doctor with some of Bet Eggs' revelations. The stranger shook his head. 'In due time, when I am wanted, you may depend upon me: it is not whim, but necessity, that keeps me silent.'

'Answer me one thing,' said the doctor. 'Did the widow Higgs confine herself to her own history, or—or—'

'Come, Mr. Higgs,' said the stranger, 'advance—I shall beg for a night's lodging in yonder gallery.'

'He is impenetrable,' thought the doctor.

'I think the portrait of the nurse is hanging there, isn't it, carrying an infant?'

His three hearers exchanged glances quickly.

He smiled. 'There,' he said, 'is evidence for you.'

'Strange,' said Dr. Cruden; and Shady advanced to the door. All attempts on the part of the doctor to induce the stranger to return to his house and become his guest were unavailing.

'No,' he replied; 'I will be Sir Valary's guest, though he shall not know it. My plaid is an excellent soldier's bed, and I shall sleep soundly among the shadows of the house of De la Mark.'

'I really believe he is a true man,' said the doctor to Marjory, as they walked towards the tower, Shady following to obtain the keys.

'There is a frankness in his manner,' replied Marjory, 'that quite fascinated me when I first met him.'

CHAPTER VI.

Shady's perplexities were great. How to account to Mrs. Gillies for his long absence, without raising her woman's curiosity, he knew not; and the knives! he thought, 'Yes, I have the knives,' putting his hand to his pocket. While the domestic difficulties were being overcome, we will follow the stranger. He had told Shady not to hurry himself with the key, for the fresh air, and a stroll among the ruins, would better accord with his taste than to be again immediately immured in dust and semi-darkness. While examining a curious archway, he heard horse hoofs, and looking down saw a man dismount, fasten his horse to a tree, and climb the bank through a place where the wall was very low, and would permit scaling easily. He soon cleared the wall, and stood upon the loose stones within the quadrangle.

The stranger had time to observe him, being hidden in the shadow of the archway; there was nothing remarkable in his appearance; his dress was plain, his age a little more or less than sixty. The stranger, quitting the archway, advanced to meet him, looking fixedly upon his face while he spoke.

'Mr. Anthony Bloodworth, I think?' The horseman started, but replied in the affirmative.

'I am glad,' said the stranger. 'I have long had this to deliver, and am glad to be rid of it;' and he placed in his hands a small paper parcel; 'but,' he said, before he relinquished his hold of it, 'there is some receipt or acknowledgment that I must have.'

'What is it? what is it?' asked Bloodworth; 'I must see it before I can give a receipt.'

'The receipt is written out for you—you have but to sign it.' Bloodworth opened the packet, which contained two papers, with a letter.

He glanced continually from the paper to the stranger, and at last, in a husky voice, asked him how long it had been in his possession.

'I see,' he continued; 'you were acquainted with my correspondent.'

'Yes,' said the stranger, carelessly, 'I knew him well.'

'Have you been long about here?' asked Bloodworth, who was beginning to put the papers into his pocket.

The stranger produced a small ink-horn, saying, 'The receipt, if you please.'

'I don't know,' said Bloodworth; 'I would rather convey an important document in another way. Why, if charged with this for me, did you wait to meet me here, instead of seeking me at my own dwelling?'

The stranger held the ink-horn. 'Sign the receipt, man,' he said, not deigning to answer the question.

With much reluctance he drew out the papers, and doing as the stranger bade him, delivered the document into his hands.

'What brings you here?' he said, looking nervously at him.

'What brings you here?' said the stranger.

'My business,' answered Bloodworth doggedly.

'And I was brought here by your business and my pleasure.'

'Had you any message?' asked the steward, cowed by the stranger's manner.

'No other than I have delivered; but tell me how long do you mean to pursue this work? Take my advice; repent, and make a clean breast of it, or you will be caught in your own toils.'

'Then he has betrayed me,' said Bloodworth, 'and you know all.'

'I know enough to advise you this.'

At this moment Shady approached with the key; he made a sort of gesture to the steward, as destitute of respect or cordiality as it could well be, and, turning to the stranger, proffered the key and his guidance.

'This gentleman,' said the steward, in a lamb-like tone, which Shady was greatly surprised to hear, 'is a friend of mine, Mr. Higgs, and as soon as I have waited on Sir Valary I shall be glad to show him the few curiosities we have.' He was continuing his civil address, when the stranger, laying his hand on Shady's shoulder, pointed to the gallery, and left him without reply.

Whatever the papers were that Bloodworth had received, it was evident they had greatly altered the state of feeling in which he had crossed the wall. His leaden eyes were then as quiet as stagnant water—now his whole visage was agitated; he passed his hand nervously over his face, went towards the tower, and returned, as if in uncertainty. He had ridden round in order to avoid Dr. Cruden, whom he had been told in the village was at the Dew, little expecting what he had met with.

Guilt makes a coward; he feared every one he met. Robinson, who was sitting on the stone steps of the [** Transcriber's note: missing line of text?] cross carving devices on a stick with his new knife, looked with amazement at him, as he saluted him with kindness, and told him gently where to find his horse.

Entering the kitchen, he spoke in the same tone to Mrs. Gillies, inquiring with respect and concern after Sir Valary and his daughter. Mrs. Gillies, to whom the sight of him was wormwood, could not help being struck with his altered tone, and put it down to repentance for his late misbehaviour. He asked for water, complained of weariness, and altogether stirred up something less akin to hatred than she was accustomed to feel for him. 'You have had company to-day, Mrs. Gillies?' Supposing he meant Dr. Cruden, Mrs. Gillies nodded.

'I'm afraid you were not prepared for him.'

'As for that,' she said quickly, 'we are not allowed enough to keep the house going at any time; however, he is a plain man, and never eats nor drinks.'

'Dr. Cruden, you mean?'

'Who else comes here?' said the housekeeper.

By various indirect questions, he ascertained that, so far as Mrs. Gillies knew, the only person of the household to whom the stranger had introduced himself was Shady Higgs.

'The house ill kept!' said Bloodworth, after a pause. 'Mrs. Gillies, I fear that my good intentions towards Sir Valary and the well-being of his estate have gotten me a poor name, that I ill deserve.'

'Well, I hope you don't deserve all that is said of you,' she answered blandly; 'there's many as say the money that ought to go for the proper keeping of the house, as Sir Valary's house ought to be kept, is worse than sunk in the sea. I know for my part, I'd rather be the poorest on earth than rich with such gains; and if it was not for the love to Sir Valary and my young lady, I'd sooner be in a close cottage, with bread enough and no care, and nothing expected from me, than be in a corner of a great place like this, with such stint allowance. Why, you may believe me, if I wasn't to contrive and to contrive, and keep us three down here at a very near rate, I could never make what I have enough to serve Sir Valary and my young lady, even as well as I do serve them. The world is changed a good deal, for the housekeeper of Parker's Dew to be put to the shifts I am; and since you give me the liberty to speak, Mr. Bloodworth,' she continued, growing eloquent on the strength of the steward's silence, 'I may tell you, that if things go on much longer, there is them that will look into it, and know the reason why; and I've heard as much as that, and a little more too.'

'IF THINGS GO ON MUCH LONGER, THERE IS THEM THAT WILL LOOK INTO IT.'
'IF THINGS GO ON MUCH LONGER, THERE IS THEM THAT
WILL LOOK INTO IT.'

Bloodworth sat perfectly silent; he may have heard all the housekeeper's oration, or he may not; probably the latter, for he looked abstracted, and, taking his hat, said, 'I have a little work outside—some one to speak to—you need not let Sir Valary know that I am here, until my return; and for the matter of stint, Mrs. Gillies, you will be pleased to remember that I am but a servant like yourself; I have not the ordering of Sir Valary's mind about his money.'

'What has come to the man?' said the housekeeper, as she watched him through the heavy stone window: 'I never thought to hear him own himself a servant; something has taken him down since he was last here.'

With his head bent down, and his hands folded behind his back, he walked slowly towards the spot where he had left Shady and the stranger. He met the former advancing towards the tower.

'What have you done with Mr. Vandercroft?' he said, looking sharply up.

'Mr. ——?' Shady asked, not catching the name.

'My friend, whom I left with you; I wish to see him.'

'The gentleman is in the portrait gallery,' said Shadrach, 'and has no desire for company.'

'Not for yours, perhaps.'

'You are correct, Mr. Bloodworth, for he requested me to go; but I did not take it to be personal, as he desired to be locked in, that none might intrude.'

'Where's the key?'

'The key?' said Shady, looking at him calmly.

'Yes, the key,' repeated Bloodworth, his natural fierceness returning; 'I tell you I wish to see him.'

'You can see him,' said Shady, looking up as if calculating, 'at eleven o'clock to-morrow, if you will ride so far.'

Bloodworth could scarcely speak for emotion, but controlling himself said, 'Shady, my friend, you are disposed to be pleasant, but do not trifle with me just now. Let me have the key; I must see this man; what reason did he give you for saying he would not see me?'

'I do not know that you were in his thoughts at all,' said Shady calmly, 'when he said he wanted no intruders; but I believe I know his reason for seeking seclusion.'

'You do?' said Bloodworth, his lips growing white, and his eyes fixed earnestly upon him.

'Yes, he preferred to be alone.'

'Is that all? Then give me the key.'

'I am under promise.'

'Give me the key!' said Bloodworth, choking with ill-concealed passion.

'Nay, then, if you are bent on it, I must return with you and explain, and leave the gentleman, whose name I could not catch, to arrange with you according as he is affected.'

The cool determination with which Higgs said this exhausted the remains of the steward's temper, and he demanded the key in violent language, Shady remaining perfectly unmoved, though his face became serious, and expressed as much aversion as he could feel.

'It is better that your venom should fall upon the unworthy,' he said, with a placidity that only exasperated the railer. How far the altercation would have proceeded is doubtful, but, happily for Higgs, it was suddenly closed by Dr. Cruden.

'Mr. Bloodworth, I was told, when at a short distance from the house, that you must have entered it about the time that I left; now I particularly wish to have some conversation with you, so I turned my horse. Higgs, it is private business,' he said, nodding to Shady, who, with an air of much satisfaction, left the steward with one far better able, as he felt, to cope with him than himself.

The doctor looked at his watch. 'I have already spent some hours here, Mr. Bloodworth, and am far beyond my usual time for dinner; but I am so deeply interested in the affairs of your master, that I am determined if possible to come to an understanding with you as to—that—in fact, pray, Mr. Bloodworth, what is the meaning of all this? I find Sir Valary suffering from severe nervous shocks, owing entirely to your interviews with him. Though known to be one of the richest men in the county, and possessing as liberal a heart as a gentleman of his station ought to have, his household, I find, is limited to bare necessities, and even the young lady his daughter has no command of money. What does it all mean, Mr. Bloodworth? I must tell you in plain English that the whole is laid at your door.'

All this was said in the heat and rapidity of indignation, and it was about the last kind of attack that the doctor had meditated making. He had ridden back hastily, and had settled as he rode what would be the wisest way of handling the steward, so as to get at the secret. 'I must take him quietly,' he said to himself, 'make no charges, suspect nothing;' and he had even prepared the opening of his harangue; but the sight of Bloodworth, his face inflamed with passion, looking much as Marjory had described him on his last visit to Sir Valary, had completely thrown him off his balance, and all his wise resolutions went to the winds. The steward felt the advantage of his position, and said somewhat sullenly, if Sir Valary had any complaint to make of him, he would hear it from himself; he was answerable to no one else; and with regard to the expenditure of the household, he was not responsible for that; but Sir Valary was not the only rich man in the world that chose rather to live like a poor one; however, it was not his duty to interfere in such matters; he supposed Sir Valary had a right to spend or save without accounting to any one.

'Well, well, well, well,' said the doctor, vexed with himself for his rashness, 'I spoke hastily; but you must know, Bloodworth, that you are the talk of the country, and that people consider you have obtained such an influence over Sir Valary, that you can get him to consent to anything, and, therefore, all the hard measures with tenants, and the penurious way in which he lives, are ascribed to you.'

Bloodworth shrugged his shoulders. 'I never cared much for what people said of me,' he answered.

'Very good,' said the doctor; 'it's a fine thing to have a clear conscience; but what I want to know is, why latterly your visits have excited him so strangely?'

After a short pause, Bloodworth, who kept his eyes fixed on the ground all the time, scarcely raising them, said, 'Sir Valary is very much altered lately; things that did not fret him fret him now; the business that I am obliged to tell him makes him furious—that is no fault of mine.'

'But your own behaviour the last time?' said the doctor, in a voice which showed that Bloodworth's words had not been without some effect.

'Well, I was wrong, and I own it; I am a bad temper; I get ill-will every way; there is not a tenant that wouldn't shoot me if he could; the people at the house hate me worse than a dog; the squire has no name bad enough for me—and all because I follow out Sir Valary's directions; and then when I go to him to tell him what I've done, and find him take everything the wrong way, it puts me off, and I forget myself; I did last time, I know it, and I am sorry for it.'

He said this with an air of so much candour, with something so like injured innocence, that he quite won the doctor, who was a far better adept in detecting the evil workings of the body than the secret mischiefs of the mind.

'But,' he said, considerably mollified, 'you have been in Sir Valary's secrets for many years; can't you now help us to deliver his mind from some very oppressive burden—we know not what—that lies on it? Don't you know of anything which leads him to this strange way of living, which it would be better for his friends also to know?'

'Supposing I did, sir,' said Bloodworth, 'have I any right to betray my master's confidence? But can you suppose, sir, that he would tell me anything except about money matters, that he would keep from Miss De la Mark, or from you?'

What could the doctor say to so much reason? 'It is really very mysterious,' he said, after a pause. 'Well, as I've undertaken Sir Valary's medical condition, you cannot wonder that I am in every way interested for his health; and I assure you I tremble to think of his having such another attack as the last one you left him in.'

'You see, sir,' said Bloodworth, very well satisfied with the victory he had gained, 'I get sore at heart sometimes; but I promise you to do my best to tell him as little to vex him as I can; and I hope I'll learn to keep my own temper as I ought to do; and if you would be so good as to make my peace with my young lady, sir, I should be glad;' and so they parted, the doctor going towards the house with a mixed feeling.

'The man speaks fair enough; but then, here is this about Bet Eggs. If I could have asked him about that—I almost wish I had; it was on the tip of my tongue; however, it was as well to keep it in. I'll have a little talk with Marjory, and calm her feelings towards him.'

Bloodworth meantime stood watching him as he went. 'If I could dispose of all my troubles as easily as this,' he thought, 'I shouldn't have much to fear;' and a bitter and derisive smile for a moment rested on his features. To obtain the key of the portrait gallery was now his business. When he returned to the tower in search of Shady, he found the librarian quietly resting in one of the deep windows, arranging some plants for his young lady, while awaiting the call of Sir Valary.

'Higgs, I hope you've come to your senses.'

Shady smiled.

'Come, I've been hindered long enough; let me have that key.'

Shady immediately produced it. 'You will return it to me, Mr. Bloodworth, when you have done with it, as it is my office to lay all the keys on Sir Valary's table at night.'

'Higgs,' said the steward, as he clutched the key. 'I have been a good friend to you and yours; are you joining with the rest against me?'

Shady, raising his eyebrows, looked at him without answering.

'I say, are you going to turn against me?' he repeated.

'Not that I am aware of,' said Shady.

'You'll all know better some day.'

'That I believe, in most things. For myself, I hope it sincerely; but in this particular I do not quite see your meaning.'

'Yes, you do; you don't take me in with your mock simplicity. You know how I've helped you, and your grandmother before you.'

'I am no mocker, Mr. Bloodworth,' said Shady with dignity; 'and I deny that you have ever helped me; how you helped my grandmother Elizabeth you best know.'

'Ah! there it is, there's the gratitude I get,' said Bloodworth, who felt that Shady was in no spirit to be tampered with. 'I wish I'd never seen one of your name!' he growled, as he was leaving the apartment.

'Mr. Bloodworth,' said Shady, with a slight cough, 'you'll excuse my calling you back, but I should be sorry to forget my duty, through any natural rising of the heart against your very unmerited and unexpected attack, and therefore, in order to save you unnecessary trouble, may I ask whether you require that key for the same purposes which induced you to demand it before?'

'Of course I do,' said Bloodworth quickly.

'Ah!' said Shady, 'I guessed it might be so; then permit me to say that the gentleman whose name I could not catch is no longer there.'

'Not there!'

'No,' said Shady, again turning to his plants; 'having pledged myself to preserve him in privacy, and concluding that you would again demand the key, I informed him of my dilemma—which was that I must fail in respect either to him or to you; upon which he departed.'

'Which way?' muttered the steward, as soon as he could control his voice to utter the words.

'I didn't think he would wish to be followed,' said Shady coolly, 'and therefore did not observe him.'

'Let him go!' said the steward, with an oath, throwing the key to Shady; 'I'll remember you for this!'

'And I'll do my best to forget you for this,' said Shady, rubbing his leg, against which the key had struck with some force. 'In some way or other, I fear he is a bad man. How pleasant to turn to these innocent things!' tenderly looking at the flowers, 'after contention with the rude passions of men—yes, and even of women,' he mentally added, as Mrs. Gillies crossed his mind.

CHAPTER VII.

'The fact is, Jobson,' said Mr. Brimble, 'there's a skeleton cupboard in every man's house, and mine hasn't escaped that ugly piece of furniture.'

The squire was at his dinner-table, which the ladies had not long left, and at which the stranger had that day been a guest.

'I married to please myself, and not my father, and he took an effectual way of showing me that he had that view of it, by disinheriting me. It did not happen to be of any consequence, as far as the money went, for Mrs. Brimble had more than we wanted. I was obliged to part with my name, and take hers, before I could lay hold of her property; but as I have no sons, that is a trifle. When a man gets to grey hairs, he knows what a name is worth; though I believe the girls would rather be poor De la Marks than rich Brimbles—at least they fancy so now; but money is a vastly comfortable thing, Jobson, and glory without it is very hungry work.'

'You had another brother?' said the stranger, moving aside the wine which the squire pushed towards him.

'I had,' said the squire sorrowfully; 'did you ever hear of him?'

'Yes; I knew one who was intimate with him abroad; he was strongly attached to you.'

'Attached!' said the squire, with an agitated voice; 'we had but one heart. He ought now to be at Parker's Dew; instead of that—there,' said the squire, emptying his glass; 'I won't say any more, and I give myself great credit. Come,' he continued cheerfully, 'who was it that knew Eustace?'

'A stranger to you,' was the reply; 'but, Mr. Brimble, I knew your brother myself.'

'Hah!' said the squire starting; 'knew him, and you never told me.'

'No,' said the stranger; 'the truth is, I loved him, and you reminded me of him so much, when first I saw you, that I should have found it difficult to speak of him.'

'They always thought us alike,' said the squire gently, leaning his head down to hide the tears that filled his eyes. 'Well'—stretching out his hand—'we have now indeed a bond of union. Tell me all you remember about him.'

'All I remember of him?' said the stranger, with a smile, grasping the proffered hand; 'I cannot do that to-night; it is now'—

A violent ringing and the sudden entrance of a servant put a stop to the conversation, 'Dr. Cruden, sir, has just come from Parker's Dew, and wishes to see you alone. I have shown him into your room.'

'I am alone,' said the squire; 'tell him I've only a particular friend with me, and the wine's on the table. He's one of the best little fellows in the world, the doctor is,' he said, as the door closed; 'but he's continually croaking at me about a reconciliation with that fellow that turned poor Eustace out of his place to get into it. Every time he starves himself into a low fever, he comes here telling me he is going to die. I won't see him alone.'

The servant re-entered, 'Dr. Cruden, sir, cannot see you in the presence of anybody; his compliments, and he will not detain you.' And, having received no answer, the man respectfully closed the door.

'Don't you go to the ladies yet, Jobson,' said the squire, as he reluctantly followed the servant. 'I shall soon dispose of the doctor's confab, and send him into the drawing-room for some music, and then you and I can finish our wine and our talk together.'

'My dear sir,' said Dr. Cruden, as soon as he saw him, 'I've something most important to communicate.'

'I'm very sorry for it; people should never talk of important things at this time of night—it's the way to get nightmare, and you ought to know that. Come now, put it off till to-morrow; they are all in fine order for music in the drawing-room; and there's your sister, that you haven't seen for this fortnight, and your bed is ready always. Come now,' laying his hand upon his shoulder, with a heartiness that shook the doctor's frame, but not his purpose.

'My good friend,' he said solemnly, 'I do assure you what I have to say cannot be put off; your brother is ill, seriously ill.'

'So he has been once a fortnight, regularly, for the last three years, according to your account.'

'I beg you to be serious,' said the doctor, shaking his head; 'I question if he will recover this attack.'

'Oh, you are a capital hand at questioning; but what do you want me to do?'

'I want you'—said the doctor slowly; 'but you will promise me to be calm?' he said, laying his hand on the squire's arm, for he could not reach his shoulder.

'Now, don't be impressive,' said the squire, 'but out with it. I'll forgive him, send him anything, do anything for him but go there.'

'The very thing I wish you to do,' said the doctor.

'Pshaw, nonsense! What! turn out at this time of night, to see a man that you kill regularly with every full moon—not I. Now, doctor, you know I've no illwill towards him, old screw as he is—and that is not saying the worst of him. And as to poor little Marjory, I would do for her as for my own child; but I haven't forgotten how you served me before. I said then that while he lived I'd never darken the doors of Parker's Dew.'

'My dear squire,' said the doctor, 'I can assure you he was entirely innocent of that; I believe Bloodworth was at the bottom of it.'

'I wish he were at the bottom of the sea.'

'We can't spare him just yet, to go so far,' said the doctor drily; 'but now let me tell you, we have made a little progress into an important discovery. All Sir Valary's strange conduct, I think, may be accounted for. There is a mystery which we are beginning to unravel, and I hope with your help'—

'Come and have some wine,' said the squire. 'I unravel a mystery! cut it up, that's my advice.'

'Dear, dear,' said the doctor, much vexed, 'you will spoil everything by your impetuosity. I tell you the truth; I think Sir Valary will die unless his mind is relieved. Bloodworth must be discharged from the stewardship, and we have no means of getting rid of him.'

'Shoot him!' said the squire angrily.

'Shoot him, and send him to the bottom of the sea! That would be a severe dismissal.'

'No more than he deserves,' muttered the squire.

'Let us keep to common sense,' said the doctor. 'I feel sure that if you would come to see him, Sir Valary would hold out to you the right hand of brotherly fellowship. I do assure you he is a poor, shattered creature; and if you would but befriend that poor girl now, by helping him to get rid of Bloodworth, you would be thankful for having done it all the days of your life. Come now,' he continued, seeing that the squire was relenting, 'I have scarcely been at home for these three days; I have come in my own chaise now, thinking to save time, to take you back at once. Every hour is of consequence,' he said quickly, in answer to the squire's unpromising look and shrug.

'Come and have a glass of wine, and we'll talk about it, and I'll introduce you to Jobson; he was an intimate friend of poor Eustace. We were just talking about him when you came.'

The doctor made a faint protestation that he wanted neither wine nor Mr. Jobson; but when once Mr. Brimble had entered upon action it was not a little that could stop him; so, with a sigh of regret, he followed the squire to the dining-room. What occurred there shall appear in the next chapter.

CHAPTER VIII.

'Mr. Cruden—Mr. Jobson, an intimate friend of poor Eu. Now, doctor, draw to the fire—the nights are getting quite chilly;' and the squire rang the bell.

'Have the horses taken from the doctor's chaise, and let them be well attended to.'

'My dear sir, no, no!' urged the doctor, attempting to stop the order.

'Why, man, you would never disgrace yourself by taking those poor brutes back again to-night: the merciful man is kind to his beast.'

'But I must go back,' cried the doctor.

'Well, then, put the greys in when the doctor is ready. One of our fellows can take yours back to-morrow—they shan't go away to-night; I'll answer for it they have done enough for to-day. So, now, sit down, and tell me your story; but first taste this claret—it's the king of my cellar at present. Jobson says it's excellent; but I can't make him drink any.'

The doctor gave himself up in despair for the time being, feeling that there was no possibility of stemming the tide; so he sat down in silence, filled with chagrin, taking little notice of Mr. Jobson, whose back was towards the light, obscuring his face. This circumstance, the difference in his dress, and the absence of all idea of seeing him there, together with the perturbation of his spirits, prevented immediate recognition of the stranger on the part of the doctor.

'So Bloodworth has been at his tricks, has he? Well, I'm glad there is an idea of ousting him; but you will never get it done. The best thing that could be done for Valary would be to bankrupt him, and send him to the Union; he would live better there, and so would all his family, than they do in that grim old place: it has never been the same since he had it.'

'Come, come,' said the doctor, giving a glance at the stranger; 'it is neither the time nor the place to take up old grievances.'

'Not the time? Why, hasn't his gruel disagreed with him, and made his conscience troublesome, and sent you to fetch me out to quiet it! I say it's just the time. As to the place, it's a very comfortable one, and the only thing to make such an uncomfortable subject tolerable; so begin at once. Don't wink towards Jobson,' he added, with a mischievous laugh; 'he may as well know what all the world knows.'

As to being angry with the squire, it was impossible under the greatest provocation; he managed to keep all personal ill-feeling at bay; he overcame every one with a certain frank benevolence that was irresistible.

The doctor and the stranger joined in the laugh, and for the first time the former looked fairly at the latter; he was struck with doubt and surprise.

'You'll excuse me,' he said; 'has Mr. Jobson been long with you?'

The stranger placed himself in the light and bowed, enjoying the effect of his silent answer.

'Well, this is marvellous,' said the doctor. 'I shall begin to believe I have been in fairyland.'

'Ha, ha, ha! a bright set of fairies you have been among,' said the squire. 'Somebody said they had worn out all their clothes, and Val had made them take to the old armour. Fancy fairies flying about in old armour!' and again he laughed. But the doctor's face grew more and more solemn—a fact which only increased the squire's merriment.

'Sir,' said the doctor with earnest gravity, 'may I ask who you are?'

'Now, that's your way of putting a question. I should have said, "When I have asked, will you tell me?"' said the squire, not recovered from his laugh.

'Oh, really, squire, this is very ill-timed,' said the doctor; 'and—and I may say unfeeling. I beg your pardon, but really it is'—

'As to unfeeling,' said Mr. Brimble, now serious, 'I've told you I don't believe a word about Valary's dying; he'll outlive us all—the worst always stay till the last; he will starve his own party out of the world, and then remain to plague us. You may shake your head; you are not the only man that shakes his head when there is nothing in it.'

'I believe I must turn you out of the conference, and take to Mr. Jobson,' said the doctor good-humouredly, for gravity, he saw, was of no avail. 'I wish I could starve you into a sober mind.'

'Sober nonsense!—drink some claret: I'm sure you must want some, for there's nothing but sawdust in Valary's cellar, I'll answer for it.'

'Well, now, listen to me,' said the doctor. 'I know I have given some false alarms; but this is no false alarm; and I promise you, if I am proved an ignoramus this time, to let things go as they will hereafter without interfering. As to seeing poor Marjory wither away without stirring a hand to help, or raising a voice for her, that man is not a man who could do it.'

'I honour you. Chivalry for ever! And poor little Madge, that I haven't spoken to since she was a few inches long, shall have help, and we'll all go to their rescue—say to-morrow morning.'

'Ah! that's of no use. Sir Valary had a bad fit yesterday. If another should come, his mind may not be clear, and he wishes for reconciliation: he does, I am convinced.'

'Ah! but you have a happy knack of being convinced of whatever you happen to wish. Now, I daresay you were quite convinced that I should return with you to-night.'

'Till I saw you, I confess,' said the doctor somewhat ruefully; 'but I might have known better.'

'Of course you might; hasn't he had the same fits for years, and is his intellect any the worse?'

The stranger interposed. 'You'll excuse my speaking' (to Mr. Brimble); 'but what if Dr. Cruden were to give a narrative of the facts that brought him to-night? If you'd give a patient hearing, you might judge whether the doctor's anxiety has magnified the necessity for prompt measures.'

'Capital plan,' said the squire. 'Go on, doctor; I'll listen. Jobson, pass the wine: it'll be a new story to you, but an old one to me; but mind, facts—no mysteries: they're altogether out of my way.'

'Well, there is a mystery now at Parker's Dew,' said the doctor.

'No doubt, and that is how Valary ever got there,' said the squire quickly.

'I believe you are right; and, as this gentleman is a friend of yours, and was the friend of your brother, perhaps I may speak about that very thing before him?'

The stranger rose to leave the room.

'Sit down,' said the squire, holding his arm. 'Go on, doctor.'

'The facts, then, are these. A short time since, Bloodworth went to the Dew and saw Sir Valary, and whatever passed between them had such an effect on him that he was placed in a most critical situation. During his rambling state of mind, when the violence of the attack was passing, Marjory noticed that he repeatedly asked for Elizabeth Higgs. You remember her, squire?'

'Old Bet? of course,' said the squire, with a nod.

'"She is dead, long ago dead, father," said Marjory, over and over again; but he moaned out, "No, she is not; she will rob you of everything," or something to that effect.'

'He ought to be ashamed of himself,' said the squire; 'old Bet was as honest as the day; but he fancies every one is like himself and Bloodworth.'

'Pray, don't!' expostulated the doctor. 'Well, when he was quite well and calm, Marjory told him of this; he looked vexed, at first, that he had disclosed so much, but afterwards confessed to her that there were reasons why the life or death of that woman was a matter of great importance to him, and that he had lately heard she was living; and Marjory gathered that Bloodworth had told him so. The first time I was alone with Sir Valary after Marjory had told me this,—which was on the very day that she met with you, sir,—I gently led the way to the subject, having first discovered, through the medium of Mr. Jobson, who knew the old woman, that she was really dead.'

'What! knew Bet Eggs?' said the squire, 'Why, Jobson, I shall get quite afraid of you, and begin to talk about fairies myself.'

'It was not very remarkable, when you know how the acquaintance was brought about,' said the stranger, smiling.

'Go on, doctor,' said the squire, who was beginning to get interested.

'Well, as I said, I led to the subject indirectly—gently.'

'Leave you alone for finessing,' said the squire; 'now, I should have gone straight at him at once.'

'And missed your aim, squire—I knew better. Very gently I got him to talk of old times, and then I brought the woman Higgs upon the carpet, and mentioned, just incidentally, that I had met with a person who had actually seen her buried—not assuming, you understand me, that Sir Valary had any interest in her death, nor even hinting at such a thing.'

'Well,' said the squire, 'go on.'

'Well, he didn't speak at first; he became much agitated, which I pretended not to notice; and after I had changed the subject, and he had recovered, he said, "Are you sure of that woman's death? I heard lately that she was living." I told him I believed there was no doubt of it, but if he had any interest in her, as an old servant, I would get indubitable proof for him. He said quickly, "I wish you could." Now this gentleman, my informant, has been the object of my search ever since, but I could get no clue to him. I was afraid of making direct inquiry, lest I should excite suspicion in Bloodworth, who has been very uneasy and changed in his manner lately. Yesterday morning he went to the Dew, and had a long interview with Sir Valary, the result of which was the severest attack I ever saw him in. I really can't see what Bloodworth has to do with it; the man is reasonable enough to speak to; but Sir Valary's state last night, and the whole of to-day, plainly indicates that there must be interference—that Sir Valary must be treated as incapable of conducting his own affairs, and Bloodworth made accountable to others, or else altogether ejected.'

'Now, do you see,' said the squire, when the doctor had finished, 'I have had this story, almost word for word, except Bet Eggs, over and over again; Valary quarrels with Bloodworth, gets into a rage, has a fit, and frightens them all. Well, that is as far as the play has gone yet. Now comes the second part. Bloodworth comes, begs pardon, is forgiven, and they are thicker than ever. I tell you, doctor, I would as soon interfere between a man and his wife as between those two.'

'You are hard to convince,' said the doctor. 'Mr. Jobson, you seem an authority with Mr. Brimble. I wish you would say a word; at any rate, I wish you would give me some evidence that Sir Valary will believe, of the death of that woman.'

The stranger fixed his eyes for a moment on the fire, then turning to the squire said, 'The death of that woman is of importance—at least, so Sir Valary thinks. Bloodworth is a desperate villain, as I have good reason to know.'

'You!' said the squire, almost breathless.

'Yes, I have known him for many years, though I never saw him till lately.'

'Well,' said the squire, throwing back his head and putting his hands in his pockets, 'I give you up.'

'Don't do that; you have shown such generosity in taking me almost entirely on my own testimony, that you must not stumble at trifles.'

'You are an odd fellow,' said the squire, looking at him; 'but I believe in you.'

'Do you know this?' asked the stranger, taking a miniature from his pocket.

'Know it!' said the squire; 'why, it's Eu; I remember the case. It was done before he was married.'

A knock at the door, and the entrance of a servant with a note, almost made the squire angry. 'What does this mean?' he said, looking at the address.

'What! —— Vandercroft, Esquire! What did you bring it here for?'

The servant said it was for the gentleman who lodged at Biddy Sparks'.

'THIS IS FROM SHADY EGGS. I SHALL READ IT ALOUD.'
'THIS IS FROM SHADY EGGS. I SHALL READ IT ALOUD.'

Mr. Brimble looked inquiringly at the stranger, who immediately took the note. 'Leave it with me,' he said to the servant. 'This,' he continued, 'is from Shady Eggs. I shall read it aloud.'

'"RESPECTED SIR,—I trust you will excuse the incorrectness of putting a dash before your name, also any mistake I may have made in spelling it, should it be erroneously written. I have to inform you that Mr. Bloodworth, the steward to Sir Valary de la Mark, has pertinaciously endeavoured to discover your address, which I have, to the best of my poor ability, kept from him. If you desire to avoid an interview with him, as I divined was the case from your manner in the portrait gallery, I warn you that he now knows of your abode; that is, if it continues to be in the apartments at Mrs. Sparks', which you bespoke when I had the honour of being with you in the public vehicle. I do not love to interfere in other men's matters; and truly, with no malice to Mr. Bloodworth, but with respectful consideration for you, I write these few lines,

"And am, your servant to command,
"SHADRACH HIGGS.

'"I send this by a trusty messenger, who will return it to me if you are not to be found."'

'Higgs all over,' said Dr. Cruden.

'Stop,' said the squire; 'let us begin at the beginning. What makes him call you Vandercroft?'

'It is not the first name,' said the stranger, 'that has been gratuitously assigned to me, over and above that with which my parents honoured me.'

'Then your name is not Vandercroft?' said Dr. Cruden.

'No.'

'Why, then, assume it?'

'I did not; Bloodworth bestowed it on me through a natural misconstruction of his, and I did not think it worth while to undeceive him.'

'Capital!' said the squire. 'I'll wager anything that you are not Jobson.'

The stranger smiled.

'Are you?' asked the squire eagerly.

'According to you and Biddy Sparks I am.'

'According to me! why, you told me it was so.'

'On the contrary, it was you told me.'

'Why,' said the squire, starting from his seat, 'don't you remember that morning?'—

'Perfectly,' interrupted the stranger,—'when you addressed me as Mr. Jobson.'

'Well, you never contradicted me.'

'A man hasn't lived to grey hairs,' said the stranger, with a smile, pointing to the changing colour of his own, 'without knowing the worth of a name, as you observed just now; and as you were satisfied with Jobson, it quite contented me.'

'But how did Biddy get hold of it?'

'Like many others, Biddy is satisfied with slight evidence; she saw "Matthew Jobson" on the brass plate of a portmanteau which by an accident I had exchanged for my own in travelling, and she settled the matter at once without question.'

Mr. Brimble, holding the miniature in his hand, looked alternately at it and the stranger, while Dr. Cruden asked, 'Will you favour us with your true name?'

The stranger looked at the squire and replied, 'I think my uncle knows it—Eustace De la Mark.'

'I did know it,' said the squire, almost breathless; 'I did know it—I was sure of it; even while I called him Jobson I felt drawn to him. My dear boy, what right have you with grey hairs?' he said, affectionately grasping both his hands; 'and why have you served us in this way?'

'I have a very long story to tell,' said Eustace—no longer 'the stranger'—after the first agitation had passed; 'but it is of the utmost importance, remember, that I should not be known to any but yourselves for the present. My intention was to remain altogether concealed for some time yet; but I could not withstand it,' he said, again grasping his uncle's hand.

'You'll let me tell my wife? Up to this moment she believes you an impostor, and me a dupe.

'Let her think so still; the longer she is deceived the more complete the triumph will be.'

'Well, I may tell Char, at all events. How delighted she will be! she has never doubted you a minute.

A smile of satisfaction brightened the face of Eustace.

'No;' he said; 'let me have the pleasure of telling her myself, at some future time.'

'Pooh!' said the squire, who hated secrets; 'I almost wish I didn't know it; I must tell somebody.'

'When you have heard what I have to tell you, you will see the importance of secrecy; and, to prevent you from indiscretion, I think, with Dr. Cruden, if Sir Valary is indeed so very ill, we had better all three go to Parker's Dew; and on our journey you shall have a full account of all my history. You know Sir Valary believes me to be dead?'

'Not a bit of it,' said the squire; 'and I never believed it.'

'I give you my honour he does,' said Dr. Cruden.

'Have it your own way; but, Eu, is it necessary to go to-night? why not start the first thing in the morning? You know they have no beds, no supper; I doubt if they have even a rushlight.'

'It is growing late,' said Dr. Cruden; 'if we had gone when I first came'—

'I should not have found my nephew,' said the squire, looking with beaming affection on Eustace.

'You anticipate me, squire, but not correctly; I meant we should have had time to go without alarming them at so unseasonable an hour as we should now arrive at.'

'All right; then you think it is better to go to-morrow morning?'

'I am sorry for the delay.'

'Its importance,' said Eustace, 'depends on Sir Valary's state. Is he expecting my uncle?'

'Oh no; and he has nothing to fear from Bloodworth to-night. I trust, indeed, he will be kept calm till morning; and on the whole, perhaps'—

'Beaten, fairly beaten,' said the squire. 'Now that is settled; so draw close, and, Eustace, begin.'

CHAPTER IX.

'Need I remind you,' began Eustace, 'of my father's high, indomitable spirit?

'No, no,' said the squire hastily; 'he was the finest'—

'Now, squire,' said Dr. Cruden, laying his hand gently on his knee, 'let us agree, before Mr. De la Mark begins, that there shall be no interruptions, or we shall not finish to-night.'

'Go on,' said the squire.

'He could never brook the stern temper of my grandfather, and constant contention created serious disaffection between them.'

'That was all through Bloodworth,' said the squire; 'he was at the bottom of it all; he is a very'—

'Now, do hush,' said the doctor in a deprecating tone.

'Go on, Eu,' said the squire impatiently.

'He married—that you know—and I was born before he was twenty-one.'

'Yep, you must be pretty near thirty by this time.'

'I am thirty-five.'

'Why, that makes me fifty-three. How time flies! Well, lad!'

'You are aware that the discovery of his marriage was the cause of the final rupture.'

'Ah! Eu was wrong there; I was but a boy then, and did not understand things, and took his part through thick and thin; but it was a very foolish thing to fly in the old man's face that way.'

'Squire, squire,' said the doctor, 'what right have you to talk?'

'Well, that's true; but I thought he would get over mine, and Mary's property made it of little consequence, as far as money went.'

Eustace took the miniature from his uncle, and, opening the case on the other side, showed the portrait of a lady. 'That was my mother,' he said quietly.

'Ay, to the life; yes, she was a lovely creature, and as good as she was beautiful. Eu was perfectly right to marry her; but then he should have waited a little.'

'Bloodworth hurried him into it,' said Eustace, 'by telling him, in confidence, of another match which Sir Eustace had determined to effect between him and some lady distantly connected with his family.'

'Now, Eu,' said the squire, rising in his chair, 'if you expect me to keep my temper, don't mention that—pshaw! nonsense!' pushing away the doctor's hand—'that fellow's name more than you can help.'

'No. My father left his birthplace with a parent's curse ringing in his ears.'

'Shocking, shocking!' said the squire.

'You know nay mother,' continued Eustace, 'scarcely outlived my birth.'

'Poor Eu! Poor girl!' sighed the squire.

'At that time my father, as he afterwards told me, broken down with grief, wrote to Sir Eustace, entreating a reconciliation and a revocation of his curse.'

'I'll answer for it, my father never had that letter. I know he was hard, but he could not have stood that.'

'An answer came to it, written by Bloodworth, who complained bitterly of being made the medium of so painful a message. It was to the effect that Sir Eustace would pardon and receive him upon condition of his marrying again immediately, according to his choice; and it was couched in such arbitrary terms, so devoid of all natural feeling, so insulting to my mother's memory, and casting such unworthy reflections on my father's motive for making the advance, that he spurned the thought of replying to it. In that letter, too, Bloodworth confirmed what he had often insinuated in his former letters—that his brothers had helped to embitter the mind of Sir Eustace against him.'

'Oh, my dear sir,' said the doctor, laying his hand on Mr. Brimble, 'what is the use of chafing so? Pray, pray be pacified!'

The squire leant back in his chair in silence.

'I must tell you, my dear uncle, that my father did not believe it of you,—you were then about seventeen or eighteen,—and he could not credit that selfish interest could so have altered your heart, full of affection as he had left it, in the very bloom of youth. But, you excepted, he determined to forget all England and devote himself to me. My mother's slender fortune, and an estate to which he became entitled when of age'—

'Yes, Itterdale,' interrupted the squire.

'Left him by old Jasper Honeyman, some fiftieth cousin of my mother's—this enabled him to live at ease, though not in affluence. He converted the estate into money, and, without any settled home, wandered from country to country as inclination led him.'

'Eu, I could never understand why he did not write to me,' cried the squire, 'especially as we were in the same box; he married for love a woman of high family; I, for something of the sort, a woman of no particular "family,"'—involuntarily glancing round at the door,—'and glorious fortune, so we both came under the ban; he knew it, and I am puzzled to this day to know why he remained silent.'

'I am afraid of telling you the cause,' said Eustace.

'Go on,' said the squire, clenching his fist, and flushing with indignation.

'Yes; he was wholly deceived by that man, who wrote, adjuring him to be patient, entreating him to communicate all his proceedings to him, mourning over the conduct of his unnatural relatives, and promising'—

'Now don't, pray don't!' said the squire; 'if you love me, don't!'

'At last came the announcement of the death of Sir Eustace, and of his will, by which you and my father were disinherited, and Parker's Dew, with all other property, was left to Sir Valary.'

'Eu,' said the squire, starting up, 'I never believed in that will. I saw my father not long before his death; he entirely forgave me, and told me it lay sore on his heart that he could not see Eu before he closed his eyes. I gathered from what he said—but he was too ill to talk much—that he had tried to get at him for years, but without success. That will was a forgery!' continued the squire, striking the table with a vehemence that made the glasses dance.

'My father did not think so. We were in Rome when we received the news, and he determined on returning to England, that he might see you and find the truth of what he had heard. I was then eighteen, and rejoiced in the prospect of seeing my own country—the only one in Europe that I had not visited; but after a three days' illness my father fell a victim to malaria, and I was so ill as to be reported dead.'

'Of course,' said the squire; 'everybody said you were.'

'I think I should have justified the report, if it had not been for an excellent Protestant clergyman, who felt deeply for me, having just buried his wife in the same disease; he became a father to me, though I had no other claim upon his sympathy than needing it.'

'Where is he now?' asked the squire eagerly.

Eustace was silent.

'Ha!' said the squire; 'go on.'

'Like me, he was, as far as human ties go, alone in the world, and determined to spend the remainder of his life as a missionary in the East. I resolved to accompany him; for when we paid our last visit to the little Protestant burial-place, which contained the two who had been all to us on earth, it seemed as if nature and heaven had marked us out for companions. Eight years we wandered together through the East, he by his life and preaching teaching Christianity, I learning it. I cannot pretend to enter now into the labours and pleasures of those eight years. His health broke down. He died at Beirut, on our return westward, and again I was alone. Now my heart yearned for England. Was I to wander a stranger through life with mere chance companions? I embarked on board a vessel bound for Alexandria, intending to shape my course finally to my own country; but a doctor from Frankfort, our fellow-traveller through part of Syria, who had shown great kindness to my friend in his illness, and had skilfully soothed his sufferings, being my fellow-passenger now, won so upon my regard, which was before his, from gratitude, that I was induced to change my purpose, and try the Western world, where he designed to settle. Seven long years I spent in the two Americas, till, weary of the wide, wide world, I once more determined on seeking a home in the hearts of some who, strange to me, yet seemed to beckon me from the distance. It was you, uncle.'

'Ay, my lad; if I had known your whereabouts, I should have done more than beckon, I can tell you.'

'It happened, singularly enough, that the Frankfort doctor and I became again passengers in the same vessel. He had married an American lady, and was taking her home to Fatherland, preferring the small gains he expected to get in Dusseldorf, where he had a connection, to any amount of money away from it.'

'In the right of it!' said the squire. 'I would rather live on bread and cheese in England than have all the treasures of the Great Mogul in any other country.'

'You never did live on bread and cheese, squire,' said the doctor, with a smirk.

'Again his importunity overcame me,' continued Eustace, 'and for a time I deferred coming to England, and went instead with him to a country, many scenes in which were familiar to me, all my early education having been in Germany. Fascinated with old associations, I wandered about from place to place, as memory led me, feeling a happier nearness to my father there than I did when standing beside his grave. One day the fall of an old house in Dusseldorf, to which I had for a short time returned, induced me, with many passers-by, to assist in examining the ruins, lest any unfortunates should have been buried under them. Here I met with an accident, and was too much injured to speak. As a stranger, I was carried to the nearest hotel, I may call it. As soon as I could give an account of myself, my friend the doctor was sent for, and by his advice I was not moved to his house, but remained there under his care. Hearing that a pious Lutheran minister was visiting a sick woman in the same house, I requested to see him. In the course of conversation he told me he wished he could understand and speak English well, for the poor woman he was visiting, he said, was much restrained by feeling him to be foreign, and his words had less weight with her than they thought they otherwise would. "She is much troubled in mind," he said, "and I would thankfully give her relief."

'I immediately offered, as soon as I should be sufficiently recovered, to visit her for him; and I did so. I saw she had not very long to live, and had a burdened conscience; but I little suspected what she was about to confide to me. She had been nurse in the family of Sir Valary, having previously lived for many years with Sir Eustace. She revealed to me the whole of Bloodworth's villainy, in which she was deeply implicated, and gave me all the history of his contrivance to keep her away—of what she had suffered in banishment and in leaving Lady De la Mark and her infant—in fact, she left nothing untold, her great anxiety being to know if there were any pardon for sin like hers. She seemed reckless of exposure, and declared that if she lived she would willingly receive any punishment, provided she might have a hope of mercy hereafter. Her gratitude, when I disclosed to her who I was, was beyond bounds. She said she thought that having been permitted to restore me to my rights in so strange a manner was almost like a merciful assurance that there was pardon for her.'

OLD BET REVEALS THE WHOLE OF BLOODWORTH'S VILLAINY.
OLD BET REVEALS THE WHOLE OF BLOODWORTH'S VILLAINY.

'Poor old Bet!' said the squire; 'I don't know what she did, but I'll answer for it, Bloodworth put her up to it.'

'And what was it?' said the doctor, breathless with interest.

'That I cannot divulge just now, and it is equally necessary that Bloodworth knows nothing of me until I convict him.'

'Let us go to-night,' said the squire.

'Too late, too late now!' said the doctor, shaking his head. 'Will you let me ask Mr. De la Mark'—

'He is Sir Eustace,' exclaimed the squire, 'and Valary has no right at Parker's Dew, and I always said so!'

'It is quite true, uncle; but at present I prefer to waive the honour; his infirmity, perhaps nearness to death, and poor Marjory's forlorn condition, have kept me back from taking any steps for the recovery of my rights. Of course I have taken legal means; but they are yet in abeyance. My intention in coming to England was to see those who would now be forced to acknowledge me as kin, without apprising them of the obligation.'

'Then the will is an absolute forgery?' said the doctor.

'An absolute forgery,' was the reply.

'And Sir Valary knows it?'

'He has known it for many years; but he did not at the time of taking possession.'

'Well, I'm glad of that, for the honour of the family,' said the squire huskily.

'And for his conscience' sake,' said the doctor.

'Well, it makes it a shade lighter. Pray, does Bloodworth know you are living?'

'He is uncertain about it; he has had glimpses of me now and then, but has not been able to follow me up.'

'And Valary—does he know it?'

'He also is uncertain. Bloodworth holds me over him, as nurses frighten children with spectres; and no doubt the attacks from which he has lately suffered have been in some way connected with the failure of their plans to ascertain the fact.'

'How came Bloodworth to call you Mr.—what was it?' asked the doctor.

'I purposely obtained a draft for him from a person in Dusseldorf with whom he has invested some of his ill-gotten gains. I was able to do this through the information given me by the woman Higgs. Vandercroft was the name of the person to whom the draft had been committed, and, not knowing that I was his substitute, he naturally gave the name to me. He had never received communications of the kind in so careless and open a manner, and became alarmed, I saw at once.'

CHAPTER X.

'My dear,' said Mr. Brimble, 'our being so late is entirely Mr. Jobson's fault. He has been telling us such astonishing things that all we have heard before from him has vanished into what Char calls, "blue distance." Eh, Char?' he continued, putting his arm fondly round her; 'wouldn't you have enjoyed being in my waistcoat pocket? Miss Cruden,' he added, addressing that lady, 'your brother has been almost as bad as Jobson, and I shall turn him over to you for correction.'

Mrs. Brimble looked stately, so far as her peevishness would allow her; Mora was half asleep over some embroidery—Miss Cruden, rather more than half, and hardly awoke to reply.

'Valary is very ill,' said the squire, advancing to his wife, 'and we are going in a body to see him to-morrow morning, first thing.'

'What do you mean by going in a body?'

'Why, I mean Eu and I and the doctor.'

'I?' exclaimed Mrs. Brimble.

'You—no,' said the squire, recollecting himself, 'Jobson I meant.'

'A strange mistake!' said the lady superciliously. 'You said, "you and I and the doctor."'

'Now, Mary,' said the squire in a whisper, 'just look at him, as he is standing between the two girls; isn't he a fine, handsome fellow? did you ever see any one like him?'

'Dear me, Mr. Brimble! I never saw any one like him but Saunders, our last footman, and he had just the same kind of nose. I see nothing particular in him; and I think it very forward of him to talk to the girls when there is Miss Cruden by.'

The squire laughed; he was afraid of going further; but Mrs. Brimble had not finished. 'Indeed, Mr. Brimble, your indiscretion is beyond everything. Here is a perfect stranger, who, because he happens to be agreeable to you, and is able to talk, is made quite at home among us, and we are expected to treat him like a friend. If you have no regard for your daughters, I have; it surprises me, after all the cautions I have given you, and the number of things I have saved you from, that you will not learn prudence.'

'My dear, you have enough for us all. It's seldom that more than a fair share of wisdom falls to the lot of any family, and you have monopolized all that was intended for the Brimbles. But tell me,' he said, trying to be grave, though the many mischievous twinkles of his eye ought to have betrayed him to so keen a judge of appearances as Mrs. Brimble considered herself to be,—'tell me, Mary, do you really look on Jobson as an impostor?'

'Mr. Brimble,' returned the lady, with an impressive shake of the head, 'I say nothing, but as to proof of the contrary, why, with me there is none, and there is a something about him that is very much Like an adventurer. I may be wrong—I would not be uncharitable; but'—

'Then you wouldn't advise me to let him visit here? in short, you would have me cut him?'

'All I desire is caution, Mr. Brimble. He has a manner I do not admire, and I think I may be allowed to be a judge of such things.'

'Well, I will be careful. He has rather a designing look, now I come to examine him,' said the squire, putting up his eyeglass; 'and he seems to me to be just now taking the bearings of Bessie Cruden's cap. I think I must go and put her on scent of danger.'

'Ah! you will be surprised one day, Mr. Brimble, and then you will remember my words, as you have often done before.'

'Well, Mary, if I'm wrong this time, you shall be right without question for ever, and administer lynch law to your heart's delight; but if I should be right, what then? It's just possible, though, he may turn out an adventurous "footman"—some spirited Saunders, as you fancy.'

'Charity!' said the lady impatiently, as she saw the object of her suspicion approaching her daughter. 'Mr. Brimble, pray go and entertain your guest, and send Charity to me—I wish to speak to her.'

The squire obeyed, and so did Charity, very reluctantly. Florence, having heard from Dr. Cruden of the intended expedition to Parker's Dew, assailed him with innumerable questions as to what was the matter—what would happen if Sir Valary died, where Marjory would go, etc.; and there was much wonderment among all the ladies as to the merits of the case, when they separated for the night.

* * * * *

In a room, dimly lighted by the early sun, streaming through narrow windows in a heavy wall, sat the sick man, with Marjory at his side.

'It is growing into day, Marjory,' he said in a feeble voice, raising himself from his half-recumbent posture.

Marjory, tenderly kissing his forehead, prepared the draught which Dr. Cruden had left for her father to take on his awaking.

Poor Marjory! all night she had been watching; every sound had made her heart beat. It might be Dr. Cruden; he promised to return—promised to bring her uncle; but the night had worn away; her father, sleeping and waking, had on the whole been more restful, more at ease, than she could have hoped. 'Something has kept him away,' she thought; but fatigue and anxiety, added to disappointment, had for the time quelled much of her dauntless spirit.

'Yours has been a dreary life, my child,' said the old man—old, not by years, but through the ravages of an embittered spirit; 'your youth buried in this gloomy place—no companionship'—

'No companionship!' exclaimed Marjory, nearly letting the medicine fall in her surprise.

More groaning out his feelings than addressing her, the old man continued, 'I have many sins on my head—my greatest—my love for you—drove me to— Alas! what a delusion! I see it now; he was right. I have been cruelly unjust—I have crushed your youth.'

'Who is right? who dares to say so? Cruel! are you not the very life of my heart, my father—my own, own father?' cried Marjory, closely embracing him.

'It has been delusion—strange delusion—fears for your future have driven me hither and thither. Oh, conscience! oh, the wrongs that I have done! Marjory, I implore you, beware of sin; poverty cannot make a hell, sin can. If I had resisted the tempter, I should not have been thus—blighted, cursed!'

Never had Marjory heard words like these from her father's lips. The suspicions she had allowed herself in were faint, compared with these vague confessions. Lost in pain and wonder, she mingled her tears with his, entreating him to be comforted, and to remember how precious to her was his love, how burdensome life would be without it. After a short pause, she said in a gentle tone, 'Father, dear father, have you any secret trouble on your mind? will you hide it from me—from Marjory?'

Sir Valary was long silent; while Marjory fondly smoothed the long white locks that strayed upon his shoulder. 'Perhaps, father, while the world counts you rich, you are poor, or you fear to be so, for my sake.'

Sir Valary laid his hand upon her head as she knelt by his side, but made no reply.

'I hear footsteps,' said Marjory, opening the door.

'Mistress Gillies, madam, entreats you so far to consider your health as to retire for a short time for refreshment, allowing me to take your place. I should not have left it till now to proffer my unworthy services, but I feared disturbing either your or my honoured master's sleep. I have been some time assuring myself that I heard your voices.'

Poor Shady had the whole of that night made the passage his chamber, sitting bolt upright with his back near his master's door, fearing that Marjory might require help before it could be rendered, unless he were a wakeful watcher.

Marjory saw plainly enough that something more than the request he had made had brought him, and immediately guessed that the doctor and her uncle had arrived.

'Where?' she said quietly, as she passed from the room, Sir Valary having entreated her to obey the summons of Mrs. Gillies.

'In the hall below,' replied Shady in the same tone.

Much exhausted, she gathered up her spirits, and, descending the stairs, had her hand upon the door, when Mrs. Gillies, who was awaiting her, lifted it off hastily. 'Are they not there?' said Marjory in surprise.

Instead of answering, the housekeeper laid her finger on her lips, and, taking Marjory's hand, led her through the passage that led to the kitchen. She followed unresistingly, too weary almost for curiosity. When safe within her own precincts, the housekeeper said, 'My dear young lady, Bloodworth is in the hall; he has got Shady's books and many papers, and wants to see Sir Valary as soon as he can; for he says he has a long journey before him, and has nothing but pleasant news, and that everything is going well, and Sir Valary will not be fretted, and many more fine speeches; so I thought it was better to leave him quiet, for I knew Dr. Cruden would be as good as his word, and be here soon, and then his chance of doing mischief would be over. I have turned the key outside the door, without his knowing it.'

Mrs. Gillies was so pleased with her own adroitness that she scarcely noticed the colourless lips and sunken eyes of Marjory at first. 'Ah!' cried she; 'here am I chattering, and you too ill to listen.'

Warmth, restoratives, and an hour's rest brought back some colour, some sign of life, some spirit in the eye of Marjory, and the first return of power took her again to the side of her father. His head, a little on one side, rested on the back of his chair, and his eyes were closed as though in sleep. Shady had arranged his pillow, adjusted the room, and, with all the ingenuity of affection, tried to give an air of cheerfulness and comfort to the apartment. With his usual deferential bow he left the room as she entered it, determined, whatever might come, that if the doctor did not appear till midnight, Bloodworth should not have access without him to Sir Valary. Marjory sat down silently in her old place at her father's feet, leaning her head upon his knee, having told Shady not to allow them to be disturbed until Dr. Cruden's arrival. 'It cannot be long,' she said, 'before he comes.'

A gentle sigh escaped the sleeper. 'He is awaking,' said Marjory, kissing the hand that lay close beside her cheek; but sleep seemed to return again, no other sound followed; and, resting her face against him, while she clasped the hand in her own, overcome with weariness she slept.

CHAPTER XI.

'Take the chaise down to the inn,' said the squire.

'That is advisable,' said Dr. Cruden. 'I never bring a servant here.'

'I haven't seen poor Shady for a long time,' said the squire. 'He's a good fellow, but has lived so long alone that strange faces would scare him; and as to horses, I would not trust one in such a miserable wilderness of starvation for the world. How are we to get in? In my time we went in and out at the front door like other folks; the last time I came, you took me through the little door in the tower.'

'I think it would be more prudent if we entered the kitchen way—Sir Valary is less likely to hear us;' for the doctor knew perfectly well that when the squire meant to be exceedingly quiet he carried a considerable amount of bustle, which seemed as necessary to him as his breath.

'All right; we might have a worse place than the kitchen at breakfast-time, and I should think we must all of us be pretty nearly ready for a second. What a miserable place it is!' he continued, as they entered the courtyard; 'doesn't it look as if it had had the nightmare for the last fifty years? Well, stone walls are not worth crying about; but I can't say this is a very promising introduction to the home of your ancestors, Eu.'

Mrs. Gillies, who had seen their advance, met them, making her lowest curtsey to the squire, for whom, in common with all, she entertained a hearty regard.

'What! you haven't forgotten me then!' he said good-humouredly.

'Forgotten you, sir!' was the reply. A few questions put them in possession of all they wanted to know concerning Sir Valary, and of more than they expected in respect of Bloodworth's opportune visit.

'Capital! we can settle the whole affair at once; I like finishing up. Now, how shall we proceed?'

'My advice is that I go in to Sir Valary directly he awakes, and prepare him for an interview with you. By degrees we must unfold the cause of our visit as he is able to bear it, and'—

'And then Eu is to come in. I see.' Shady, who had been listening at Sir Valary's door for sounds within and sounds without, heard the squire's voice, and, gently descending, made his appearance among them. Bloodshot eyes from a sleepless night had not increased the vivacity of his countenance.

'Shady,' said the squire, shaking him kindly by the hand, 'why, what have they been doing to you? I hope your master does not look as bad as you do.'

'He is tranquilly sleeping,' said Shady, moved to tears by the squire's kindness. 'I have but now left his door, and there is not the sound of a breath within; but Miss De la Mark requested that when Dr. Cruden arrived he might be taken to the chamber.'

'Good,' said the squire; 'I am glad we are going to proceed to action. Go, doctor; tell him to cheer up, and he'll soon come right again.'

The doctor was halfway up-stairs before the squire's parting charge was over. Mr. Brimble and his nephew were engaged in such conversation as their circumstances naturally suggested, questioning Shady on points on which he could perchance throw light. The doctor returned, looking exceedingly pale.

'What! back already!' said the squire.

'My dear friend,' he replied, unable to restrain his tears, 'it is all over; such a scene may I never witness again!'

Exclamations of shocked surprise burst from Sir Eustace and his uncle, while Shady stood transfixed and seemed ready to faint.

'Come,' said the doctor; and he returned, leading the way to the chamber of death.

Leaning in his chair, his attitude unchanged, his eyes still closed, rested all that remained of Sir Valary De la Mark, while Marjory, with the hand still clasped in hers, slept that heavy sleep which nature sometimes claims to repair extreme exhaustion.

'This is too much!' said the squire; 'how shall we get her away?'

'Leave me, leave me,' replied the doctor. 'I will do it.'

Willingly Mr. Brimble relinquished to him the task, and the doctor, gently releasing the cold hand from Marjory's grasp, raised her from her father's side.

'My dear child,' he said tenderly, 'you must not remain here now. Your uncle is come, and we need to be alone with—in this room; and you shall lie down, my dear—Mrs. Gillies—rest on me—this way;' and he attempted to lead her from the room, but Marjory was now awake, and resisted the movement at first. 'Need I leave him?' she whispered. 'I have slept, I am quite strong now, and he must be better, for he has slept so long.'

Importunity at last prevailed. She consented to go for a while. 'But let me see him first,' she said; just one look. He was so calm, so peaceful, when he first sank into sleep. How could I sleep when I ought to have been watching him?'

Finding it vain to resist, the doctor yielded, and she advanced.

Not a cry—not a word—but one long settled look of horror and despair. She stood motionless before the body.

* * * * *

'Leave me to deal with him,' said Eustace. 'But you,' turning to the doctor, 'had better be with me. We will spare you, my dear uncle; there is no necessity to arouse your feelings by bringing you in contact with him.'

'Good!' said the squire, who had been leaning silently on the window-frame, looking out on the neglected garden, and living over again the scenes of his youth. There had never existed any brotherly affection between him and Sir Valary; entire contrariety of character, and the treatment of Eustace, which the squire had always attributed to him, had early separated them, and the influence of Bloodworth had succeeded in keeping them apart, even to the end. It was not grief for the dead, therefore, that gave the saddened expression to his fine manly countenance. There were, no doubt, regrets, but they were for Eustace, whom he had dearly loved. But there were uneasy thoughts—unwelcome reminders—that he alone remained of that generation, and that he too must die.

From subjects pointing this way Mr. Brimble ever studiously turned. He had faced death often in the pursuit of pleasure, for he was still so fearless a rider that his escapes while hunting were often the marvel of the neighbourhood.

Yet to see the destroyer close, in calmness and quiet, was more than he could bear! indeed, if truth were told, that ever joyous face was sometimes but a mask hiding gloomy, heart-sickening misgivings. He had a deep-seated respect for religion. He fully, honestly, intended one day to be ready to die, and hoped, or thought he did, to go to heaven, when he could no longer live on earth. But that day he put off as an evil day, and avoided everything that reminded him of its necessity. It was, therefore, very acceptable to him to be released from a scene that was every way adverse to his comfort.

'If I could be of any use,' he said; 'but I am no man of business, and as to poor Madge, I couldn't see her yet; I should only make her worse.'

Ah! it is at such times that the truth of human nature comes out. The squire was benevolent to a proverb—open-handed as the day, kind as a father—up to a certain point, in earthly relationships and dealings, blameless. Yet, after all, his was a most refined selfishness. He enjoyed the happiness of others, for it unconsciously helped to make his own, and this gave the glowing colours to his universally admired character. But to deny himself, to suffer with others, to descend into darkness with them, and bear their sorrows—oh no! Yet this shrinking from the griefs of others was looked on as a finishing mark of his great amiability. Thus, even in regard to his fellow-men, his love was one-sided; and in regard to the higher love, without which all earthly excellencies are vain, his heart had it not. Every mile that took him from Parker's Dew lightened his spirit, for his constant habit of suppressing all painful or serious thoughts had made the effort a very easy one.

The heavy walls and high windows of the apartment in which Bloodworth had remained forgotten had prevented him from hearing the hurry and confusion of the last two or three hours, and he was chafing with rage against the housekeeper and Shady for their insolence in thus detaining him, if done purposely, when the door opened and the doctor and Sir Eustace entered. Various emotions in turn took the place of anger, but fear was predominant. He looked with a cowering, questioning expression, but was silent.

'Mr. Bloodworth,' said Dr. Cruden, 'your accounts will be required—your late master's affairs'—

The doctor always failed in a set speech: he could get no further. The shock, compassion for Marjory, sympathy with the heart-stricken Shady and the faithful housekeeper, had left him no time to feel; but now that he came to announce the death of his friend, whose sickness he had so long anxiously watched, and for whom he had from boyhood had a very sincere attachment, he was overcome.

Bloodworth's eyes moved quickly from one to the other. He was by no means taken by surprise. He had long expected it. He had intended to make his final visit to his master that morning, hoping so to profit by it as to remove all fear and establish his future fortunes.

'Am I to understand,' he said, 'that Sir Valary'—

'You understand aright,' said Sir Eustace, interrupting him. 'And now, sir, where is the original will of Sir Eustace De la Mark? Understand me. By the original will, I mean that which was set aside to make way for the instrument that put your late master in possession of his father's property, to the exclusion of his brother. Are you prepared to produce it?' he continued, waving his hand, as he saw that Bloodworth was about to assert a denial.

'Really,' said the steward, pale with terror, but trying to recover his effrontery, 'this is very strange conduct. Sir Valary, whom I have served so faithfully for so many years, and for whom I have sacrificed my comfort and earned a bad name, is no longer alive to protect me, and therefore I am to be attacked with base charges,—unjust charges,—and that by strangers. Where is Mr. Brimble? I know that he is executor to Sir Valary; I always begged that he would make him so. He is the proper person to inquire into all the affairs, and I hold myself answerable to him, and to no one else.'

'You talk beside the mark,' said Sir Eustace coolly; 'you will certainly be called upon to account for your stewardship. But you know perfectly well that the estates which Sir Valary was supposed to possess did not belong to him. We need not waste words; the will to which you were last a witness was a forgery. You are now required to produce that for which it was substituted, and which I know is not destroyed.'

'I will take my oath,' said Bloodworth after a pause, 'that I saw that will signed by Sir Eustace's own hand, and that I was a true witness to the signature. There was indeed a previous will,' he continued, rather reassured by the silence that followed this declaration, 'to which I and my fellow-witness in the last both subscribed also. Sir Eustace suddenly had another one drawn up, in consequence of certain reports that reached him concerning his two sons.'

'Who drew up the will?'

'Nicholas Harris, a clerk of mine bred to the law.'

'Where is he to be found?'

'That would be unimportant,' said Bloodworth carelessly; 'he died, however, shortly afterwards.'

'Bloodworth,' said Sir Eustace, 'the deed was soon done, and will take little time to confess. Make a clean breast, and say who signed that second will that you attested?'

'Sir Eustace De la Mark.'

CHAPTER XII.

The three had up to this point been standing; but Sir Eustace, motioning to Bloodworth to be seated, beckoned Dr. Cruden to stand before them; then, placing a pen in the steward's hand, he guided it with his own, and wrote in large letters on a piece of blank paper that lay on the table, 'Eustace De la Mark,' the steward passively submitting to the movement.

'Whose signature?' he asked, fixing his eyes on Bloodworth. The steward trembled violently, and was about to rise, but Sir Eustace held his arm. 'Shall we make another will and let Sir Valary sign it? A pen in a dead man's hand has been found a pliant writer before now.'

There was no answer, for the culprit could not trust his voice; but an exclamation of horror and surprise burst from the doctor.

'It was so,' said Sir Eustace; 'I have the confession in full of the woman Higgs, dictated on her deathbed, and taken down and witnessed by the clergyman and surgeon who attended her—a strange device for quieting conscience and cloaking perjury. Your partner in crime, every way less guilty than yourself, saw through the flimsy cheat, and heartily repented.'

'I never heard of such shocking wickedness!' said the doctor, holding up his hands; 'oh dear, dear—no wonder my poor friend—oh, horrible!' he said, turning his back on Bloodworth. The scornful sneer with which the steward noticed this movement quickly gave way to an assumption of boldness.

'I don't know you,' he said fiercely. 'I am not to be brow-beaten for a crazy woman's ravings—got out of her, perhaps, by some impostor to get money out of Sir Valary while he was alive, or out of the son of him that was disinherited; but the will was proved and never questioned. Let me pass, I say,' he said, trying to get towards the door; 'I have much to do. Mr. Brimble is executor to Sir Valary, and I will account to him.'

'The business is in the hands of the law,' said Sir Eustace, 'as you will shortly be. You will have more help in preparing your papers than you desire.'

'You can't search my house, you have no warrant. Oh, let me go—I promise—yes, only let me go—I will indeed'—

'Confess?' asked Sir Eustace. 'It is needless.'

'No, no, explain it, and—and'—

'Give up the will. That may as well be taken from its hiding-place; the law employs expert seekers.'

'Fool that I have been!' cried the steward, who now saw his true position—that he was without hope of escape.

'It is well that you know that,' said Sir Eustace; 'there is hope that you may seek for wisdom.'

But the steward rocked to and fro in his chair, his violent passions venting themselves in choking imprecations on his own folly.

Hoping little from him in this state, Sir Eustace beckoned the doctor to the door, intending to leave him awhile; but the paroxysm had passed, and, starting up, he looked fixedly on Sir Eustace. 'Tell me one thing,' he said; 'are you employed by the son of the last Sir Eustace?' Sir Eustace nodded assent. 'Then if I were to disclose the truth of everything'—

'Needless—it is disclosed; have I not told it but now?'

'Ay! but how it came about, and—and'—

'My dear Sir Eustace,' said the doctor, who thought his companion looked inflexible, and who was extremely and anxiously curious to know the particulars of the wonderful story, 'let him speak; let him tell it all. I long to have my poor dear friend's memory cleared. I'm sure he never could have known of such unnatural wickedness.'

Nothing of this speech came to the ears of Bloodworth but the title of him who was addressed. He looked fixedly at him, and then, falling on his knees, entreated pardon, repeatedly promising to reveal all.

Tenderness for Sir Valary's memory, and the feelings of his cousin Marjory, who had not shown any sign of recovery from the shock of his death, with a natural desire to spare the honour of his name, made Sir Eustace willing to pass with as little notoriety as possible through the strange revelations that must be made in order to put him in possession of his rights. He saw the importance of having Bloodworth's free and unconstrained testimony in order to obtain this, and conditionally promised his pardon.

The long story that followed must be told in few words. The second will was executed and signed after death, as described, by Bloodworth's contrivance, in order that Sir Valary might succeed to the whole property. His motive was to open to himself a source of wealth otherwise unattainable. For some time after Sir Valary's succession he kept the dead signature an entire secret; when all things were well established and going smoothly, and a daughter was born, in whom, after the death of his wife, all his affections were centred, pretending to be pricked by conscience, he revealed it. Sir Valary's first impulse was to seek out his brother's heir and make restoration, but the steward artfully represented that the reported death of the young man must be true, or he would have sought refuge in England when left alone; again, the portionless state of his infant daughter was adroitly brought before him, and in a moment of weakness he relented, and promised to conceal the strange forgery.

This placed him wholly in Bloodworth's power. At one time he would work on his gratitude, declaring it was love for him that led him to the deed; at another, talk of conscience, and hint at the need of a public confession, wringing from him some costly gift, either to repay his service or to calm his conscience. The death of the widow Higgs, who, while she lived, was a terror to him, lest she should turn betrayer, was a great relief to Sir Valary, and to rob him of this Bloodworth had thrown doubt on its truth. The malady from which he suffered was greatly aggravated by the conflicts of his mind, which became clouded and weakened by the ravages of the disease. The steward had already obtained large sums of money, which he had invested in foreign property, to avoid suspicion, and it was his hope that morning to obtain the assignment of a valuable deposit, in return for which he intended to give up the original will to his master, over whom he had long held it as a scorpion whip, and quit with his then sufficient gains a place that would soon be stripped of its attraction; for with Sir Valary he knew would die his hope of further fortune. The true will established, and Sir Eustace De la Mark acknowledged as the rightful possessor of Parker's Dew, his rule must be considered as of the past.

Sir Valary's funeral was, according to an urgent request in his will, private; and to this will, which was attested by Shady Higgs and Mrs. Gillies, was appended a desire in his own hand that his tenants, if any had suffered wrong, should be righted; that they should be made to understand, in common with all, that his rigid economy had been occasioned by a desire to realize an honourable portion for his daughter, after such sums as had been expended by him out of the property had been repaid to his brother's son, whenever he should appear.

'This,' it concluded with saying, 'being the only way left me to repair a great wrong done, and to blot out the disgrace that I have unwittingly brought on the name of De la Mark.'

All the injustice the tenants had suffered, all extortions, were with one consent laid to Bloodworth's door, and Sir Valary was heartily forgiven by all, from his nephew downwards. Great was the rejoicing that welcomed Sir Eustace. Once more the 'Dew' would be what the old inhabitants of the place remembered it. Nay, it promised to surpass its former grandeur; for, simple and unostentatious as Sir Eustace was in his personal habits and tastes, he spared nothing in restoring the home of his ancestors. It was the delight of the squire to look over his plans, suggest improvements, and extol those already made. It seemed as if he had indeed found a son in Sir Eustace, who was able to interest him in all things; such subjects, even, as Charity seldom dared to enter on, came with acceptance from him.

'What shall we do when the Dew is finished?' said the squire to the ladies, as he looked at the drawing-room timepiece; 'already, you see, we lose him day after day; he promised faithfully to be here by seven.'

'Then he will be here,' said Mrs. Brimble, confidently; and scarcely had she said so when he entered. Most heartily was he greeted.

'Where's Char?' said the squire, looking round; 'she was here just now. I want her to see the plan of the new windows in Sir Mark's Tower. Eu has brought them to-night.'

'She will, I think,' said Mrs. Brimble, 'spend the evening with poor Marjory, whom we cannot prevail on to leave her room.'

'She seems to me to be always chosen,' said the squire, in a tone of displeasure, as he glanced at Flora.

'Yes, papa dear, she is,' said Flora; 'that's just it. Marjory likes me very well for five minutes, but at the end of that time I'm quite sure she neither sees nor hears me, though she is looking straight at me, and I am talking as fast as I can. I'm sure I can't think how Charity manages it—she can amuse her a whole evening.'

'It is not fair,' said the squire, 'that we should always lose Char in this way. Couldn't you brush up a few subjects, Flo?'

'Why, papa, there are so many interdicted, and they happen to be the very ones that come most naturally—the improvements at the Dew, and the way you tease mamma about cousin "Jobson." Of course one must not say anything about these, for fear of hurting her feelings, and reminding her; and music makes her melancholy. I'll go now with pleasure,' she said, rising, 'and send Char down; but—but—she'll go to sleep, and so shall I.'

Mrs. Brimble interposed. 'Charity had earnestly begged to spend the evening with her; and indeed,' she said, 'strange as it may seem, though Charity is so serious, she has a wonderful way of making everybody lively.'

'That is the reason we want her here,' said the squire.

While Flora Brimble was apparently never so happy as in the society of her cousin, whom, like her father, she found a great addition to their family party, Charity was restrained in her manner towards him, and seemed tacitly to avoid even speaking of him, availing herself of the plea of Marjory's preference for her company to quit the family circle when he was there.

CHAPTER XIII.

'Well, Dr. Cruden,' said Mrs. Brimble, 'what is your opinion of the improvements going on at the Dew? Mr. Brimble will not take us till all is complete.'

'The place will be charming, and so transformed that poor Marjory will not know it. Sir Eustace has an excellent taste, has he not, squire?'

'He's excellent every way, except that he has a sort of Saunders look sometimes, Mary thinks.'

'We are none of us infallible, Mr. Brimble; and, so exposed to mistakes as we have been by your imprudence, it was necessary I should be cautious.'

'Quite,' said the squire, who was watching with his eyeglass through a side window something that attracted him, and he immediately left the room.

'I think Eustace will be a valuable person in that position, doctor,' continued the lady, looking up from her work-frame, on which she was embroidering the arms of De la Mark for a chair for her nephew.

'I feel sure of it,' said the doctor.

'We shall miss him very much when he settles at the Dew. I hope he will marry well.'

'I don't know any one better able to choose a good wife, madam, and he is worthy of the best; therefore his marriage will doubtless give satisfaction.'

'I daresay, like all young men in his position, he has been married to more young ladies than one by the country gossips.'

'Not unlikely,' said the doctor.

'I have not heard any reports,' said Mrs. Brimble; 'but of course people would be delicate in speaking to me.'

'Oh yes, very properly so,' said the doctor, not in the least divining the lady's tactics.

'I suppose,' said Mrs. Brimble carelessly, looking very intently on some shades of wool, as if her whole heart were fixed upon making a right choice, 'you have never heard anything hinted, doctor?'

'I cannot say I have not. My sister, in her numerous visits, falls in with such reports, and she has told me of several; but I think none likely, though, indeed, one lady that I am not at liberty to name would shine in married life.'

Mrs. Brimble got quite out of sorts with her wools, and had to tumble her basket over for some time before she was calm enough to ask the doctor for the lady's name, which of course she did not wish to know from idle curiosity, but out of pure disinterested affection for her dear nephew.

'I hope I am not doing wrong,' said the doctor, 'in mentioning the Honourable Amelia Groves.'

'Oh, you need not fear my mentioning it,' said Mrs. Brimble quickly; 'but that will never come to anything. I know the kind of girl he ought to marry—some one with spirit, lively and amusing, and if I know anything of Eustace, his choice is nearly made, if not quite.'

'Oh,' said the doctor, 'I am sure you ought to tell me.'

'If you have not had a guess that way yourself, doctor, I would rather not.'

The doctor looked up at the ceiling, crossed and uncrossed his legs, leant his head upon his hand, rubbed his forehead, and went through all the various manoeuvres which imply deep thought, finishing the process by guessing one of the Miss Punters.

'I am a bad hand at guessing,' he said, finding that Miss Punter was not well received. 'At one time I thought it not unlikely that poor little Marjory would be his choice, but I think now he never felt anything for her but deep pity; and as to her, poor girl, her heart is buried with her father, whom I fear she will shortly follow.'

'I thought people never died of grief, doctor.'

'Grief is a strong consumer, madam; but Marjory inherits from her mother that terrible disease that laid her in an untimely grave.'

The squire, re-entering, turned the conversation. 'Eu tells me that he must return to-night, and that you go with him, and he wants me to go too; he says he has capital quarters there, so I think of sending one of the fellows on with some dogs—eh, Mary? only for a day or so, you know.'

Flora came into the room just in time to hear the announcement, and protested loudly against it, denouncing her cousin Eu in no very measured terms for his unreasonable proposal.

'You little vixen!' said the squire; 'isn't it enough for your mother to sit there harrowing my heart with her looks, but I must stand your tongue too? How would it be if we all went?'

'Oh, lovely!' said Flora; 'how I should like it!'

'Highly incorrect,' said Mrs. Brimble.

'My dear Mary, if you would be so very correct, you must abide by being uncomfortable. Let us share the honours; you shall be correct, and Flo and I will be comfortable. Flo, we'll go—we'll have rooms at the De la Mark Arms, and we can rough it there for a night.'

The horror of Mrs. Brimble at such a proposal was too much for the squire, and, taking the doctor's arm, with a mischievous laugh he left the room.

'I'm sure papa has got something in his head,' said Flora; 'see how he's talking, too, in the garden with Dr. Cruden; he is so delighted! What can it be?'

While Flora and her mother were watching and wondering, Charity was learning the secret that so perplexed them. She had been reading to Marjory, and a gentle tap at the door introduced, to her great surprise, her cousin Eustace. He so strongly recalled Marjory's most painful feelings that it was sometimes beyond her strength to be long in his society. To-day she felt weaker than usual, and left the room soon after he entered it.

An awkward silence ensued, then a few remarks as to her state. At length Eustace, breaking through the restraint, said, 'Cousin Charity, I fear I have driven Marjory away, and yet I cannot regret it; indeed, my purpose was to see you; yes, and to see you alone—a privilege I have sometimes thought you studiously avoided giving me. I wanted to ask you one question. Is the kind feeling with which you regarded me when I was poor Jobson quite gone?'

Charity was silent; but a glance at her satisfied Eustace that he had nothing to fear.

About half an hour afterwards Eustace joined his uncle, telling him that he had received Charity's consent, for which he had asked permission to plead, and that there was now no necessity to punish him with a secret.

The squire shook him warmly by the hand, and lost no time in taking advantage of his liberty.

CHAPTER XIV.

'Who's ready for Parker's Dew?' said the squire, entering the drawing-room. 'Now is your time to see it, for I have just heard a grand secret—there is going to be a wedding.'

'Oh, I am so glad!' said Flora. 'Who is it?'

'Well, that is very good-natured,' said the squire, 'considering you have nothing to do with it; and yet we are all deeply interested in it. Now guess who it is. I am sure it's worth a guess.'

'Oh, it's cousin Eu, of course,' said Flora.

'Ay, but the lady, Flo, the lady'—

Mrs. Brimble looked up nervously.

'Miss Punter,' and 'the Honourable Amelia Groves,' died upon her lips.

'What! give it up without a guess?' said the squire, looking at them both.

'I know whom he ought to have married,' said Flora, with a little toss of her head.

'You?' said the squire.

'Me!' said Flora; 'he would have despised me before a month was up, as Marjory does in five minutes. Oh, no, he is beyond me, besides being too old.'

After a little more teasing, in which the squire did not spare Mrs. Brimble's penetration, the secret was out; and a day of much rejoicing it was at Brimble Hall.

It was arranged that, on the marriage taking place, Marjory should occupy rooms fitted up for her at Parker's Dew, as her own independent home; but she did not live to see their completion.

'By the grace of God, you know, Shady,' said Sir Eustace, when fairly settled, 'as you once interpreted to me, we have all things;' and constantly had Shady proof that his master knew this. As home steward and librarian, he reigned supremely happy in his paradise, but never so happy as when labouring under Sir Eustace's direction for the improvement of the poor around.

Mrs. Gillies was now truly the housekeeper of Parker's Dew, with a goodly retinue of underlings.

Squire Brimble, as years advanced and the influence of his son-in-law increased, lost the dark clouds that had at times obscured his sunshine, and enjoyed a far more solid happiness than he had known in the most joyous days of his youth.

THE END.

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