text: m. L I B RAR.Y OF THE UN IVLR5ITY or ILLINOIS M5-84S /^ '-\ {~ll-^ Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2009 with funding from University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign i http://www.archive.org/details/sackclothbroadcl02midd j 1 1J7\ . 1 SACKCLOTH AND BROADCLOTH. A NO V E L. BY JEAN MIDDLEMASS, AUTHOR OF WILD GEORGIE, SEALED BY A KISS, INNOCEN'CE AT PLAY, ETC., ETC. IN THREE VOLUMES. VOL. II. TINSLEY BROTHERS, CATHERINE STREET, STRAND, LONDON. I 88 I. \^AU Rights re served. '\ COLSTON AND SON, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH. Sackcloth and Broadcloth. CHAPTER I. LADY VALENTIN A. A PA can never go to a ball with- ^^^ out getting a headache, unless he is home in time to hear his own clock strike one.' This interesting physical fact was enunci- ated in her usual dead level way by Valen- tina, only daughter of the fourteenth Earl of Beaurepaire, as she sat armed cap-d-pie against such cold as there was in the super- portal gardenette of their house in Belgrave Square. Her remark was in response to a half-serious, half-playful reproof she had VOL. IL A Sackcloth and Broadcloth, just received from the Duchess of Mont- arh's, for having left her ball — a fete de noces given in honour of the duke's niece — the previous evening. It was about two o'clock in the afternoon, and the two ladies were sitting together enjoying some unusually bright gleams of November sun- shine. Lady Valentina, a distant relation of the duke's, was of a very different world to that in which Mrs Tremayne, the duchess's usual associate, moved. Till one happens to want, and conse- quently to seek a specimen, the extreme rarity of typical individuals is but seldom realised. To be the type of a class, the first requisite is the absence of all strongly-marked per- sonal characteristics. By the same rule that a mesmerist is never a good subject for mesmerism, so a typical individual is con- stituted but to reflect the general character Lady Valentina. of his surroundings, and not to Influence or Impress them with any part of his own idiosyncrasy. Lady Valentina was a strong case in point, though the large yet terribly select world in which she moved, offers but few typical specimens of distinguished men or women. In the most recherchd assembly of, say three hundred people, we venture to affirm that it will always be difficult — often impos- sible — to select three persons of each sex who, seen singly, and In any unusual position, in a bathing dress, or down a coal mine for instance, would at once impress a casual ob- server with their unconscious but indelible air noble. Lady Valentina's associates were all of what is vulgarly styled ' the first cream.' All had much the same training, blood, and opportunities as herself ; but the difference lay in the fact that they for the most part only possessed negatively, what existed in her so to speak actively. They were not Sackcloth and Broadcloth. in any way common or ill bred ; but she was noticeably the reverse. * Two negatives make one affirmative,' saith the grammar, an indefinite number of negatives made up the strong affirmative which rendered the noble Valentina a class- type ; the hauteur stamped upon her nature and royal beauty being due chiefly to the permanent banishment of every other ex- pression. Her speech was devoid of rise or fall ; she was not clever, though she possessed admirable sense ; she was not witty, not accomplished in any just sense of the word, not enthusiastic about anything in the uni- verse, not learned, not even ignorant. This sketch of her characteristics would scarcely denote her as remarkable were one strong, almost startling individuality omitted — her marvellous, almost tremendous repose. The Duchess of Montarlis \N2iS grande dame to a degree that crushed the uninitiated ; Lady Valenti7ia. but all the lustre of her queenllness paled before the more effortless unaimed at tran- quillity of the imperial Valentina. ' I regret exceedingly Lord Beaurepaire's fear of headache, since your early departure last night prevented you from making fuller acquaintance with my young protege' ' Mr Desborough ? ' * Yes, Matthew Desborough. George is very amusing and quite nice, but he is not altogether the sort of man to be patronised/ * Ah ! I do not know him except by sight and name ; but your young friend seems very pleasant. He is engaged to be married, is he not ? ' * Now who on earth told you that ? ' * Mrs Tremayne.' ' Violet Tremayne is a fool. If a man looks at a girl twice, she always says they are engaged.' ' Oh, that is all ! ' and Lady Valentina reclined yet more comfortably in her chair, Sackcloth and Broadcloth. and gave her soft satin skirts a wider expanse. There was a short pause, broken by a remark from the duchess, uttered as if she were half afraid of offending her companion. * Report has linked your name with that of Lord Casdetowers,' she said very daintily. ' If there is any truth in It, why not have told me — one of your oldest friends.' ' Lord Castletowers ! ' and Lady Valen- tlna's eyebrows arched. * His grandmother was a milliner.' ' And must the blood be noble } ' asked the duchess. ' Has love no levelling power ? ' ' Love ! ' and the word was spoken with an expression of supreme contempt. ' I care not for titles so the race be pure.' * As long as the aristocracies of rank and wealth commingle, what matter ? ' The duchess laughed forcedly — she herself had brought money from cottonocracy into the ducal house of Montarlis. ' Then Matthew Lady Valentina. Desborough will be especially recom- mended to you. His sixteen quarterings are without a flaw — not noble, except in some alliances, but traceable back as far as the Norman kings ; there is never a link missing in the genealogy of the squires of Vantage, and Mrs Des- borough's father was a Tenterden — a name which is a host in itself ; her mother a Scrivenour, one of us, you know, while her grandmother — * * My dear duchess, pray have mercy. I am not going to pass a genealogical exami- nation. Your Mr Matthew Desborough is charming — what can I say more ? and withal good-looking ; he has but one fault — youth.' ' That is a very trifling one, my dear Valentina.' ' Not altogether. He is so impetuous, so zealous — in fact so young that he makes me feel quite maternal.* ' Borrow some of his redundancy of Sackcloth and Broadcloth. colouring — its absence is the one want in your character, if I may venture to say what I think.' ' You, duchess ; oh, yes, of course you are privileged to speak as you please, still I disagree with you. Nothing, according to my opinion, is so detestable as strongly- marked individual qualities. Did I unfor- tunately possess them, I would devote my life to uprooting them as though they were upas trees.' ' Yet vapidity is surely a worse poison than originality,' persisted the duchess. ' For my part, I would rather be called clever than bon ton; but not being clever, I try to faire valoh" my position. I am sure that the world would be very stupid if everybody was — of us.' * Oh, duchess ! how can you hold such heretical opinions. I once heard one of papa's political friends say that refinement is death to originality, and I instantly voted Lady Valentma. him a boor, and took no farther trouble to talk to him, though I was told he was amiable and 2l parti' ' Lord Beaurepaire Is very anxious you should marry,' said the duchess ; ' he was talking to me about it only a day or two ago.' A faint flush spread Itself over Lady Valentina's proud face. She was elght- and-twenty, it was true, but she felt so cer- tain that having remained single till that age was entirely her own doing, that she did not choose to have an opposite view of the case even hinted at, far less that the matter should be discussed, as though a topic of mere sale or barter, by her father and the duchess. * When I find an individual who suits me in every respect, perhaps Lord Beaurepalre's wish will be gratified,' she said with a quiet dignity that made the duchess smile. ' Ideal men are rare. You may spend a 1 o Sackcloth and Broadcloth. lifetime in the search, neglecting meanwhile the practical exigencies of life.' * Exigencies, my dear duchess. Is mar- riage an exigency ? * * In some cases — yes. You are an only child. At Lord Beaurepaire's death his title and estates will ^o to a distant cousin, with whom I know you have but little sympathy. Do you never think what your position may be then ? ' * Perhaps. But my father is strong — young for his age ; the time is distant,' and there was just a little choke about Lady Valentina's voice as she spoke ; her love for Lord Beaurepaire was as yet the strongest feeling of which her heart had been capable. * That is all true, my dear child, and sin- cerely do I hope that Lord Beaurepaire may live many, many years; still, I think it would add very much to his longevity if he could see you happily married.' * Has he commissioned you to tell me this ? ■ Lady Valentina. 1 1 * No ; I am entirely taking the Initiative. I have been so successful myself in the matrimonial market, you see, that I should like you to follow my example.' ' Find another Duke of Montarlls,' and Lady Valentina smiled aloud ; never would she be guilty of so vulgar a recreation as a laugh. Now the duchess, for reasons of her own, had planned in her head an alliance between Lady Valentina and no more exalted an In- dividual than Matthew Desborough. What did Lady Valentina want with a duke ? She was in a position to confer rank ; it was quite unnecessary that she should re- ceive it. So partly to oblige her dear friend Mrs Desborough, but much more at the instigation of Mr Sivewrlght, she had under- taken to do her best In arranging this mar- riage. Poor Claire ; she was Ignorant of the powerful engines that had been set at work to separate her from Matthew. As 1 2 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. yet, however, but little harm was done. Matthew had been more astonished and awed than pleasurably impressed by Lady Valentina's cold majestic bearing ; while she had regarded him as a mere cipher — a hand- some boy, who looked well in a drawing- room, and whom the great ladies would consequendy invite to their parties. The duchess was quite sufficiently au coztrant with the workings of life to be aware that the bare mention of Matthew's name at this juncture would at once frustrate all her schemes ; so she merely answered Lady Val- entina's last remark by saying carelessly, — ' Proud as I am of Montarlis, I scarcely think him to be the only matrimonial prize. We must use all our woman's acumen, my dear Valentina, and see if we cannot sift the good qualities from the bad ones among our masculine acquaintances. You have al- ready acknowledged, In your allusion to the duke, that I am not deficient In discernment.' Lady Valentina, 13 ' You can do as you like, but remember I have not given my consent,' said Lady Valentina stiffly. The conversation was at this moment in- terrupted by the advent of Lord Beaurepaire, a grand specimen of blue blood, courteous and charming ; in appearance and bearing a very race-horse. * My dear child, you will take cold. Duchess, is this wise ? Remember it is November, though the sun does shine feebly.' 'It is so refreshing to sit here after last night's ball,' pleaded the duchess. ' You see I did not go to bed this morning on the stroke of one.' ' No ; I am afraid we ran away rather early. But I own to being fond of my bed ; and as far as Valentina is concerned, I think a lady should never leave a ball- room less fresh than when she entered it.' ' Indeed ! ' said the duchess archly, perhaps 14 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. she thoueht of the wild danclne, the lone nights devoted to Terpsichore she had passed in those eventful years never alluded to now — before she had entered the charmed precincts of the aristocracy. ' You agree with papa, I am sure,' put in Lady Valentina. ' It does look horrid to see a woman go home with her dress chiffonn^ and torn, her hair crimpless, her flowers flattened.' ' Of course I do ; but why is so dissipated an alternative necessary. It is only the romps of society who waste their clothes and their appearance in so wanton a manner. Violet Tremayne danced till four this morn- ing, and her toilette looked as if it had just arrived from Paris.' ' Mrs Tremayne is a singularly happy instance of a woman who allows herself the freedom of being a little fast, without over- stepping the boundaries of good taste and decorum,' said Lord Beaurepaire warmly. Lady Valentina. 15 The duchess smiled ; perhaps she thought how utterly those within the pale fail, as a rule, to detect the adventuress, if the part be acted with the faintest amount of cleverness and dash, much less when played by so ac- complished a comedian as Violet Tremayne. In fact, the duchess was very much aston- ished at the manner in which Mrs Tremayne was accepted, even feted, by very fastidious people, especially by those arch exclusionists — the Beaurepaires. And who shall say but that, in strict privacy, the duchess and her friend did not ungratefully indulge in many a laugh and joke at the expense of the great world into which they had been so amiably received ? The arrival of Lord Beaurepaire had put a stop for a time to the intimate conversa- tion of the two ladies ; and as a chill was creeping over the unusually bright afternoon, the duchess rose to take her departure, not altogether dissatisfied with her first step 1 6 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. in the art of match-making-, though bably any other but herself would have believed no ground whatever had been eained. ' Delightful woman the duchess, so grace- ful and refined,' Lord Beaurepaire observed to his daughter when they were alone. His early retreat from the ball had evi- dently put him in a good humour, for he seemed particularly eulogistic of humanity that afternoon, especially of the female por- tion. Could it be that Violet Tremayne — but no, she would never have dared. ' The duchess has got a new protdgd, a Mr Matthew Desborough,' said Lady Valen- tina quietly — a boy ; his people live some- where near Montarlis.' ' A very handsome youth. I saw him last night, of course ; dear me, I knew his mother well in fifty — ; but no, I won't go into dates. We'll ask the boy to dinner, Valentina ; it will only be kind.' Lady Valentina. 17 ' If you like, papa ; but very young men are generally bores, they are so offensive and overpowering.' ' Do us good, dear ; we want a little fresh- ness and light sometimes, I am not sure you and I, living for each other as much as we do, have not become rather shadowy. My Valentina must not become old before her hair whitens,* and Lord Beaurepaire smoothed his daughter's jet black hair, as it was colled classically round her head with- out a straggling lock to mark that she lived in an age when fashion takes furze bushes and birds' nests as models for ladies' coiffures. Lady Valentina^ smiled under the paternal caress, and gave her consent about inviting Matthew ; perhaps he would bring a fusion of young life into their circle, she thought, and then she wondered what feeling young was like — gush and abandon and impetu- osity had ever been unknown to Lady Val- entina — it was not that she suppressed them VOL. II. B 1 8 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. for the sake of propriety, but that a wild pulse-beat from any sudden cause would have been impossible to her. So Lord Beaurepaire wrote a kind note of invitation to Matthew, telling him of his early acquaintance with his mother, and the second step was taken along the winding path the Duchess of Montarlis had marked out and planted with rose trees. CHAPTER II. HARD ROADS. ATTHEW had had a good deal of experience in tutors, having been so wayward a pupil as to neces- sitate frequent change ; but he had never before been placed under a preceptor of Mr Wharton's type. In fact, life in Gower Street, where Mr Wharton lived, was so different from anything Matthew had ever seen before, that at first he seemed as it were paralysed. He was the only pupil re- siding in the house, though several young men of very free opinions came daily to read hard classics with the learned Wharton It will be suggested that Matthew had been 20 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. at Oxford — consequently he must have been thrown into the society of men of every denomination and grade of character ; but Matthew had eschewed the companionship of those who did not indulge in his own peculiar tenets and views ; and they, form- ino- a set of their own, knew but little of the ways and thoughts of those who elected to pursue a more worldly course. The ideas and remarks then which fell quite naturally from the lips of his new as- sociates, filled Matthew's mind with terror, and made him at first feel even more un happy than he had done during the last few weeks while he had given himself up to the torturing conflicts of a mind ill at ease. If holy and reverend things had been scoffed at, Matthew would have been less aghast ; but to meet people who seriously and honestly believed in their non-existence was a new phase in human short-sightedness with which he had never as yet been brought Hard Roads. 2 1 into personal contact. All the young men who read with Mr Wharton were energetic students (he would keep no others) qualifying themselves for what they trusted would prove brilliant careers of learning, while with no exception each one of them was searching diligently for truth under a master who, though he in no way sought to control their opinions, yet proved in occasional discus- sions that the temper of his own mind led him into the broad fields of much self- opiniation. Mr Wharton was a cheery little man with a stentorian voice and bluff manners — the very opposite of his friend Mr Sivewright, whose high breeding was completely lost on him ; in fact they did not seem to have any common meeting ground, except that of dis- tinguished intellectual endowments. As you looked at the rough ready style of the Gower Street interior, you could not help wondering how the luxury-loving Sivewright could toler- 2 2 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. ate or recommend such a total absence of the civilising amenities and good things of life. Whereas Mr Sivewright's philosophy- gave him epicurean tendencies, that of Mr Wharton taught him to regard as wanton every indulgence that was not an absolute necessity. The living, though ample, was of the plainest. Indifferently cooked, coarsely served, and eaten hurriedly, because forsooth the short day left no time to be bestowed on consideration for the digestive organs. The furniture of the house was shabby and scant, carpets and fires being luxuries In which Mr Wharton himself Indulged but very moder- ately, though he was ready to provide them in all generosity to his pupils, his own disregard for comfortable details arising entirely from a want of taste for them, not in the least from a wish to air any outward exhibition of philo- sophical austerity. One room in the house seemed to have usurped for itself all the light ; this was where old Mrs Wharton, the tutor's Ha rd Roads. 2 3 mother, sat day by day by the chimney corner. She was his sole surviving relation, and was very feeble and infirm, but her pleasant cheery old face shone out with humanising womanly softness from among the ponderous fusty tomes in which the house abounded — it glad- dened the philosopher's heart meanwhile, and gave him an interest and a joy in life which all his erudition and deep researches could never have afforded. To Matthew, old Mrs Wharton seemed like an angel sent by God to help him to endure ; true, she could not argue with him — poor aged body, she was long past that — even had she excelled in it in her time ; but Mrs Wharton had never aspired to being more than a genial kindly woman, who left cleverness to the men, and this she would remain to the end. It was no infrequent occurrence for Matthew to steal into Mrs Wharton's little parlour and spend half-an- hour chatting to the old lady, while he knelt 24 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. on the hearth-rug warming himself before the fire ; then, and then only, did he seem to forget for a brief space the turmoils of life, and a strange picture was presented by this very young man kneeling at the feet of the octogenarian confidante, to whom, before he had been in Gower Street many days, he had told all the simple story of his love for pretty Claire. This was scarcely perhaps what either his mother or the Vicar of Fernwood had intended in sending him to London ; yet Mr Wharton did not interfere, he had sufficient scrutiny to discover at first sight that Mat- thew possessed one of these excitable im- pressionable temperaments which, without soothing womanly influence, would over- stretch itself, till guidance would be impos- sible ; he noticed that the boy was unhappy, and therefore allowed him to go his own way for a time without any interference from him. The fact was, Mr Wharton was a little puzzled by Matthew ; there were so many Hard Roads. 25 contradictions in his nature, that when the master thought he had discovered a tiny point to work on, some new crotchet would arise and upset all his calculations. There was no want of cleverness about the youth, that, he was compelled to avow ; he was quick and sharp beyond the average, but had such a total incapability for classifying his ideas as to render a teacher perfectly hopeless. If he would only give up all idea of entering a learned profession, he might take a very fair position in life as an agreeable accom- plished member of society ; but make his way by his brains, except as far perhaps as writing an occasional brilliant article, startling the world with a thought or thoughts which he would not have the logic to sustain, — this was all Mr Wharton hoped for Matthew ; though his opinions being as yet very nascent, he had not judged it expedient to give them even to his friend Sivewright until he should have had more opportunity of maturing them. 26 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. As far as religious views went, Mr Wharton had the honesty to decide that it were unwise and unkind to tamper with Matthew's faith. * He has not the grasp of mind which can find its level unaided ; moral philosophy- would be wholly insufficient to satisfy him. Men of his calibre invariably give themselves up entirely either to some formulated faith, or to the systematic pursuit of vice. His family may thank their stars that his pre- dilections have taken a pious turn. So reasoned this astute man of the world, who for the last five-and-twenty years had made developing youth the chief study of his life, and fortunate it was for Matthew that his arguments took this turn ; for the misery and unhappiness he would have endured, if subjected to a course of enforced abnegation of his religious opinions, would have been past all endurance. As it was, the training at Mr Wharton's was no useless one to Matthew. His tutor Hard Roads. 2 7 was invariably Impressing on him the necessity and the possibility of bringing his Ideas under the yoke of work, — concen- tration of mind on any given subject even for an hour in the day being a difficulty which Matthew had never as yet been able to conquer. Now Mr Wharton, as he ap- peared to the outside world and to his pupils during the hours of recreation, was a genial, easy-going, and at the same time a highly intellectual man, whose conversation, though rough and to the point, was always replete with sarcastic humour, while never- theless it gave strong evidence of much good-heartedness, which he seemed to be making a perpetual effort to repress. In truth, simply to converse with Mr Wharton was no mean advantage, and one which many a young neophyte in philosophy would have accepted with avidity ; how far more grateful then were the pupils with whom he not only talked daily on all the multitudin- 28 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. ous subjects which his extended knowledge embraced, but to whom he gave particular instruction on the various topics to which each one felt himself especially drawn ; indeed, all his young friends appreciated this to the fullest, save Matthew, who looked on Mr Wharton's teaching as a hard, cold, lifeless lesson. The young zealot was too bigoted to feel that there was any desirable object to be attained in the pursuit of knowledge for knowledge's sake ; he failed utterly to re- cognise any aim in enlarging the mental capabilities. The fields of philosophy were to him as a vast graceless desert ; the his- tory of antiquity, with its classical allusions, an utterly useless study, since it had no Bible relations ; and though he was com- pelled at times to listen to the conversation going on in Gower Street between master and pupils, it was always with a sort of protest at his heart. But though they might Hard Roads. 29 accept the privilege or not as they pleased of conversing with him at other times, in the study Mr Wharton gave the young men under his charge no option, for a given number of hours they must work resolutely and determinedly — remembering that their entire future career depended on their exer- tions now — while he presided as autocrat, slurring over no faults and severely dealing with every inaccuracy, however slight. Thus then, as far as his mother and Mr Sivewright were concerned, things were going well with Matthew. He was learn- ing, slowly it is true, to adopt habits of thought, and he was certainly being trained out of the Church, if that were a desirable object ; for he was daily, nay hourly, be- coming more and more cognisant of the fact, that it was futile in him to hope to be a teacher of men, since it was obvious that most of his fellows had much more know- ledge than he had. Poor Matthew, it would 30 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. indeed have proved bewildering to a stronger mind than his, this sudden plunging into a coterie of thinkers, who allowed themselves to be actuated by reason alone ; but, added to this, he was being initiated in the ways of London society — another terra incognita — under the auspices of Lord Beaurepaire and Lady Valentina, at whose house he had dined more than once since his arrival in town, not to speak of two little dinners at the Duchess of Montarlis, who seemed quite to have taken Matthew under her sheltering wing, and who evidently contemplated a little match-making, wholly ignoring the affair with Claire Bailey, doubtless at the instigation of Mrs Desborough. From every one with whom he came in contact, he heard Mr Wharton's praises chanted, ' he was so clever, so deeply read — Matthew was most fortunate in being placed with so able a man.' Thus ran the refrain, till Matthew, being influenced to a certain extent Hard Roads. by the old axiom that what everybody says must be true, began to accept Mr Wharton as the Socrates every one proclaimed him to be. Scarcely then, after the first week or two had passed, could he deem his life in Gower Street an unhappy one — it was too full of wholesome occupation for him to have much time to dwell on the dark fancies and scrupulous quibbles of church law and of faith, on which he had been for so long prone to dwell. Each hour, each section of an hour, there were presented to him fresh phases for his mental calculation of which he had never dreamed before, rushing with his thoughts, turning them from Lently and his school into, it is true, a sort of chaos, but a chaos from which Mr Wharton hoped he would attain a clearer, more prosaic view in life. Matthew's letters home at this juncture were short and scarcely explanatory of his feelings. He told of his doings in the world Sackcloth and Broadcloth. of fashion, but little of his scholastic life, because forsooth that life was to himself an enigma which he was at present only seeking somewhat vaguely to guess. To Claire Bailey he had written but twice, and on each occasion very succiently. What could she understand of the feelings which were actuating him in his new life, and even if she could, what right had he to risk her clear undimmed faith, by exposing it to any contact, however remote, with the new phases of thought which had of late been presented to his notice? Such was his argu- ment, whenever he sat down to write, so he threw away his pen. Excitement Matthew loved, and excite- ment he found among the hard truths pro- pounded, though his fellow students, who had been tramping for years the highways of literature, would scarcely have suspected the amount of feverish agitation their dry- as-dust studies had aroused In his heart ; Hard Roads. but then they could not possibly guess that what was substantial food to them, food which from years of habit they had learned thoroughly to digest, came to Matthew as stranofe and unwholesome, even if he re- garded it as an alimentary substance at all. He had been three weeks in Gower Street — three weeks as far as faith was concerned spent in stumbling over huge blocks of reasoning and logic. During the latter por- tion of the time he had given up his attend- ance at daily service, not because Mr Whar- ton's hours of study interfered with the same, but because he found that amid the new ideas with which his mind was overstocked, there was no place for religious fervour. If ever a poor soul travailing in anguish needed a sym- pathising voice to cheer it, an understanding spirit to help it, Matthew's was that soul. Among all the witnesses of his perplexities there was not one who, holding out the right hand of fellowship, could say, ' I, too, have VOL. II. c 34 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. passed through the same ordeal of suffering. I have felt your scruples, known your doubts, and see how I at last have landed on firm substantial ground.' The chief evil lay in that INIatthew's re- ligious start had been made under difficulties, seeing that he had no implicit belief in his great high priest, Mr Lently. Had this, his first instructor been more practical and less effusive in his treatment of spiritual things, he would have given his young highly im- aginative disciple a clearer Idea of duty, by leading him into its habitual practice, instead of tickling his senses by perpetual mystical revelations. Hard reading, self-application, restraint, a high moral tone, all this Matthew would doubtless learn at Mr Wharton's ; but the sympathising human voice which should strike a kindred chord in his mind — vacillating as it was from the very fervour with which it was filled — would not make itself heard in the Ha7'd Roads. 35 Govver Street household. Happy the day for Matthew when it should be awakened, and pray God that naught may occur to still it, for, to quote an eighteenth century essayist, — ' When two beings naturally allied meet, it may be regarded as the greatest blessing that can befall them in this world, for this similarity is so rare that, if overlooked in one, it may never be found in another.* CHAPTER III. A CONJUGAL TETE-A-TETE. R DESBOROUGH'S private room at Vantage Park is, as far as untidiness goes, a replica of Mr Lently's. He loves to pass his time among endless papers and old books, sorting, investigating, jotting down tangled points in art and archaeology ; nor does he like his pet companions to be touched by the ruthless hand of a barbarian, and he wages open war against feather brooms and dusters, never allowing his papers to be arranged, except about twice in the year, when, with Mat- thew's assistance, they undergo a regular sifting and straightening. He is deeply A Conjugal Tete-ct-Teie. 2>7 engaged in the study of some old Syra- cusan rites, when his researches are inter- rupted by the entrance of his wife. He looks astonished ; she never, as a rule, invades his premises, having, as she invariably shows by her manner a per- fect contempt for what she calls his toy knowledge, her own erudition being directed in a very different channel. ' Is anything the matter, my dear Min- nie ? ' he asks a little nervously as he pushes a chair towards her, and watches the almost set expression of her face. * It is provoking, Mr Desborough, that you cannot remain quietly in your own province, and leave me undisputed government in my part of the domestic territory,' she says rather doggedly, as she sits down in the arm-chair by the fire, and draws closely round her a large black shawl, in which she invariably wraps herself when desperately aggrieved. 38 Sackcloth and B^'oadcloth, ' I ? my dear Minnie. What have I done ? Nothing that I am aware of. I always leave you full sway,' and the squire of Vantage looks rather frightened. ' You went yesterday afternoon to call on Lady Laura Bailey.' ' Well, my love, I have called from time to time on Lady Laura, ever since she came to Swanover Cottage.' ' I daresay you have, Mr Desborough, a great deal too often ; but that is not the case in point. You agreed that Matthew should be sent to London, in order to facilitate the breaking off of this silly engagement between him and Claire, and you yourself keep the flame alive by going there.' ' I did not know you wished me to quarrel with Lady Laura, my love.' ' I wish you to quarrel with Lady Laura ? Really you are too provoking. I don't care whether you quarrel with her or not ; but I think it is very ill-advised that you should A Conjugal Tele -a- Tele. 39 call there just now, exactly as if you, in oppo- sition to me, wished to encourage the thing for Matthew.' ' I can't see it,' said Mr Desborough meekly ; * I did not make love to Claire.' * Good gracious ! I should hope not, Richard. You must be mad to talk such nonsense ; anyone would think that you would have sufficient discernment to know that your calling at Swanover just now looks exactly as if you approved of the whole thing, and that mine was the only dissentient voice.' * Lady Laura is an old friend of mine. I did not think of the children's love-making. I am sure we never alluded to it.' * I daresay not ; you were probably too much taken up with yourselves.' Very unjust of Mrs Desborough was this remark. She could form strong male friend- ships for her own part, yet she grudged her husband his innocent little amitids defemme. 40 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. ' It is fortunate if we were,' he answered with a smile, 'since it saved us from talk- ing on a forbidden subject. It occurs to me now, however, that Lady Laura was rather silent and preoccupied.' ' Of course she has tact enough to see that your calling on her just now was a gross piece of masculine clumsiness. I should really have thought, Mr Desborough, after all the years you have been married to me, that you would have had a nicer perception of the fitness of things.' *Yes,' he said very quietly, 'it is odd I cannot see clearly at all times ; but then you get so much more kv^o^ for your perspicacity.' It was always rather difficult to know when Mr Desborough was in earnest, and when he was poking sly fun at his wife. ' What nonsense you do talk ; but it is useless for me to say anything. If I had told you this morning not to go to Swan- over, you would only have argued the point A Conjugal Tete-a-Tete. 41 and gone all the same. Men are so obstinate. I had a letter from Matthew this morning.' ' Good news ? ' * Socially, he seems to be very well placed, if he only could get rid of those fanatical opinions which are the bugbear to his ad- vancement. He has been dining at Lord Beaurepaire's.' * Fine old fellow Beaurepaire. Kind of him to ask Matthew. I should not think he cared much for boys.' ' Of course you disparage your own be- longings, Mr Desborough ; you always do. Matthew is perfectly fit to hold his own in any society. He is certainly not wanting in cleverness, though he is not a favourite of yours. I must beg that you will not in- sinuate to Lord Beaurepaire that Matthew is not eligible for his set. I have great hopes from the introduction.' ' My dear Minnie, am I likely to see Lord Beaurepaire ? You are unusually severe in 42 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. your remarks this morning. What has happened ? ' ' I have been excessively annoyed for some days past ; anyone but yourself would have remarked It,' and Mrs Desborough held her handkerchief to her eyes for a minute, as though there were tears In them she wished to dry. ' We are living In the midst of a cabal, my dear Richard.' ' Good gracious ! my love. You don't mean it ? No — ' * It is true, nevertheless, and it makes me very miserable.' ' But what is it, Minnie ? I don't under- stand In the least.' ' The future of both our sons is a subject of deep anxiety — deep, prayerful anxiety.' Now, Mr Desborough had heard this fact stated periodically for many years past ; the only part of the declaration that was new to him was the word cabal. He was curious to ascertain what tangle in the events of A Conjugal Tele-d-Tete. 43 every-day life she had magnified into a cabal ; but he knew, from past experience, that to seem desirous of receiving informa- tion was the surest way to prevent him- self from obtaining it, so he only said quietly, — * They must qualify for their respective positions in the world, as their forefathers have had to do before them.' * Of course, Mr Desborough, that is all the interest you take in the welfare of your boys ; if all the adventuresses in Europe were to fight for them, you would only smile.' * My dear Minnie, you surely do not designate poor little Claire Bailey as an adventuress ? ' * Claire Bailey is a little fool. I am not referring to her in the very least. But you can think of nothing but Matthew, you quite ignore poor George.' She entirely forgot that, five minutes before, she had accused him of slighting Matthew. 44 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. * George beset by an adventuress ? Why, he is becoming quite a hero of romance. Ever since that Dutch journey of his it has — ' * Exactly, that is it ; for once you are on the right track,' cried Mrs Desborough eagerly, interrupting him. ' Ever since that Dutch journey our poor George has not been like the same man — since that horrid little woman bewitched him, in fact' ' You don't mean Mrs Tremayne ? Why, only a few days ago you declared her to be so very charming ! ' * What a happy knack you have of re- minding one of mistakes,' she said angrily. ' A mistake, was it ? So Mrs Tremayne is a mistake ? ' It must be allowed that Mr Desborough's manner and remarks were most irritating ; but he knew so well that by the spur thus slightly but perpetually administered would he alone arrive at the gist of her story, A Conjugal Tcte-ct-Tete. 45 that he had no compunction at the in- fliction. ' She is a vile, designing, good-for-nothing little woman.' Mr Desborough drew a long breath. ' And the duchess ? ' he asked. * Oh, I suppose the duchess has been im- posed on like the rest. It is time her eyes were opened.' ' Perhaps you have been misinformed. It is a serious thing to malign a woman's re- putation. It were wise to be careful, Minnie.' And Mr Desborough began to turn his papers over as though he regarded the whole affair in the light of an old wife's tale, and would fain be done with it. Mrs Desborough's next remark, however, made him look round. * Mr Sivewright does not generally speak about what he does not know for certain.' ' Sivewright ? ' *Yes. He told me yesterday — in strict secrecy, of course.' 4t) Sackcloth and Broadcloth. ' Told you what ? ' ' That he beHeves Mrs Tremayne's object is to marry George.' ' Is that all ? I suspect It is the object of a good many women to marry George, since he is the heir to a good estate,' said his father laughing. ' I should not trouble my- self about that if I were you. George is very capable of taking care of himself ' Of course you have never noticed that George has been quite hipped and low ever since that balloon affair.' ' No wonder, it was a stupid business. I am not surprised he is ashamed of it — setting the whole county talking for the sake of such folly.' ' Condemning your own flesh and blood again as usual ; and that brazen minx who induced him to go — you say nothing about her.' * I think they both behaved like silly children,' answered ]\Ir Desborough ; 'farther than that, there is not much to say.' A ConJ2cgal Tete-ct-Tete. 47 ' Do you wish George to marry Mrs Tremayne?' asked Mrs Desborough very petulantly. The squire shrugged his shoulders. ' I think it would be wiser if both George and Matthew put off all thought of marrying for the next ten years ; but Mrs Tremayne is a nice lively little woman. I do not, how- ever, imagine he has any serious intentions.' ' Nice merry little woman ! a thorough man's verdict. I tell you she is an adven- turess, and is not fit to be in our society at all.' ^ Only last week you thought her a piece of perfection, my love.' ' You know, Richard, I have been quite ddsillusionde about Mrs Tremayne ever since the balloon business, and now I know that she is thoroughly good for nothing. I am utterly puzzled how to act. I don't dare speak to the duchess, and yet for George's sake — ' 48 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. Mr Desborough left off sorting his papers, wheeled his chair right round, and confronted his wife. ' My dear Minnie, you do not really seriously mean that you attach any import- ance to this gossip.' ' Mr Sivewright does not usually indulge in idle words,' she answered, pursing up her lips. ' And he advises — ' ' He advises nothing — he only warns against Mrs Tremayne's machinations.' ' Well, she is in London, perhaps she will stay there, and George is at Bicester. There is no immediate danger.' * Oh, if you are going to take the thing in spirit, I must call some one else into my counsels. Consult Mr Sivewright, in fact,' and Mrs Desborough got up and looked magnificent. Perhaps she only wanted an excuse to abide by the Rev. Lawrence's judgment. Conscience prompted that her husband was A Conjugal Tete-d-Tete, 49 the first person who ought to be appealed to in family matters ; but of course if he did not perceive that there was any cause for alarm or action, she had done her duty in warning him, and it was his fault if the course she elected to follow was the result of extraneous influence. And Mr Des- borough was nothing loth to be left with his old papers and researches. Perfect peace was all he craved ; he was very idle and procrastinating about practical matters. It was not at all part of his system of life to look a-head for troubles which might never arrive, and in this light he viewed the sup- posed imbroglio between George and Mrs Tremayne. ' Well, my dear, I daresay Sivewright will be better able to advise in the matter than I am. He is a safe man — will not let you get into any trouble about character and all that sort of thing. Do be careful, my love ; you know there is nothing I hate like a county VOL. II. D 50 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. spar, and the duke is sure to take it up if you asperse Mrs Tremayne.' * The duke ! ' and with a toss, signify- ing the most supreme contempt, Mrs Des- borough flounced out of the room, holding her shawl very tightly round her neck as she crossed the corridor which led from Mr Des- borough's sitting-room to her own sanctum. There she sat down, and dropping the high tone she had assumed in her husband's pres- ence she looked very dismal and out of spirits. Both her sons were away, which was a fact in which Mrs Desborough did not rejoice. She loved to hear the sound of male voices in the house, and furthermore, about neither of them did she feel particularly happy. Probably she magnified the grievance from the reason that to the heart of Mrs Des- borough a grievance was dear — hers was a nature that required a certain amount of excitement to cherish it, and whether the excitement came in a pleasurable or a ques- A Conjugal Tete-d-Tete, 51 tlonable form, it was equally welcome since it gave her an object for movement. Mr Sivewright, during a visit he had paid her three or four days before, had casually asked her if there were any flirtations afoot between George and Mrs Tremayne, observ- ing as he did so that the widow was slightly flighty. No more had the rev. gentleman averred ; he was a safe man, as the squire had remarked. He guessed, more- over, in all probability how his meaning would be enhanced, his words embroidered, till out of nothing would grow the thing of magnitude he perhaps desired to see. If such were his intention, it had succeeded beyond his desires, for in three days Mrs Desborough had worked herself into a per- fect fever about the man-trap which had been set for poor George by that good-for-nothing little woman — a fever which Mr Desborough's cooling draught had in no wise allayed. Since that afternoon the vicar had not ^^^^ ^,r.^yy^^^ iVBHH^^^V-^ (\c AO\^ 52 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. seen her, whether accldently or Intentionally was best known to himself. But his absence at this crisis was to be borne no longer ; If she had not some one with whom she could converse, and who would understand her, Mrs Desborough felt she should succumb to a violent attack of nerves, so she sent the vicar a note requesting him to come to her Immediately ; and then trying to assume an air of composure she by no means felt, she sat down In the corner of the sofa with her never-falling knitting, and tried as a duty to be patient. Mrs Desborough's con- fusion of ideas on the subject of duty rendered it rather difficult to obtain from her any practical definition of its require- ments. CHAPTER IV. EQUIPPED FOR CONQUEST. iOMB the curls out into quite thin bits of hair till they look frizzly — it is more becoming ; then another rosebud on this side — that will do ; now I am perfectly coiff^e. Felix himself could not beat it. I must say, Amandine, you are the queen of lady's maids, you shall have my pink silk dress before it is quite in rags. You can go to the Bal de rOpera in it next time you are in Paris. Heigho ! I should not much mind going to the Bal de I'Opera myself.' ' You, madame ? Why you are going to a much more recherchd ball to-night.' 54 Sackcloth a7id B^'oadcloth. ' Recherchd, Amandine, that I don't doubt ; but not buoyant and gay — that is what I like. There is no entrain about these lordly English assemblies, and they bore me to distraction.' ' Pourqtwi y allez ? ' asked the French- woman sententiously. ' Because it is distinguished and chic, and perhaps — Well, never mind the perhaps, go and get me a glass of champagne after all this toilette labour, I'll eat no dinner, ril rest for half-an-hour before I put on my dress ; there is oceans of time.' And Violet Tremayne — for who but she among our dr^amatis personcs would take life thus, au grand galop — sat down in her pretty blue satin dressing-gown with its lace fur- belows, and looked at the fire. Well might she send her maid for champagne, in order to give her a little fictitious courage, for she felt very down-hearted as she thought of how much to her individually depended on the luck with which she should throw Equipped for Conquest. 55 the dice that night. She had played for many a high stake In her time, and her hand had never trembled nor her brain reeled ; but she was about to throw to-night for the highest prize as yet presented in her life-lottery — even for Lord Beaurepaire him- self. And yet in the outside pocket of her dainty robe her hand could touch an epistle received but that morning from George Des- borough, in which he rejoiced that * three weary months of waiting were well-nigh over — only three more and he looked forward to presenting her to his family as his promised bride. Of course he should run up to town for the Beaurepaire ball, when he hoped she would give him all the round dances. Surely the world had long since forgotten about that balloon adventure/ ' All the round dances,' Violet murmured to herself with a smile. ' George has evi- dently ceased to remember what the exigen- cies of good society demand. All the round 56 Sackcloth a7id Broadcloth. dances — he must be reminded that is a sort of thing that is only done — ' and she laughed. ' Well, in the dear old merry world, where people please themselves and not their neighbours — George never belonged to it, nor Matthew, nor Lord Beaurepaire for the matter of that. I do like Bohemia best ; there is no gainsaying the matter. Black Vandyke clothes, a red tie and a Tyrolese hat, dirt and all, for they don't waste much on soap, those dear old witty Bohemians ; but they are far above these quiet-mannered, soberly-attired landowners. Yet one must have money, and there is not a ten-pound note in all Bohemia. The light-hearted darlings, they would not know how to keep one if they had it. No bottoms to Bohe- mian pockets, everything goes straight through. So it is hey for Lord Beaure- paire — only George is a nuisance. Why can he not stop at Bicester .^ I am sure his hunters will get ill for want of exercise. Equipped f 07^ Conqzcest. 57 Just when I had persuaded the Beaurepaires into giving this ball — to think of his turning up three months before the time. Well, I can only hope my woman's wit will not desert me. That is right, Amandine, give me some fizz, and stir up the fire. Life wants encouragement when a swell's ball is in prospect. Don't you think I shall look rather like Flora to-night with those showers of rosebuds all over that white tulle ? ' ^ Mais madame^ cest parfait. No dress chez mi lor, to-night, will surpass madame's.' * Not in costliness, I daresay. I wonder, Amandine, whether it will ever get paid for ?' ' For the pleasure to see madame look so gentille, many a conturiere would forget her bill' * Oh, Amandine, you horrible little flatterer. It really is a pretty dress though, and if it does its work effectually to-night, Fll pay for it next week, instead of giving you your wages.' ' Comme madame sa^nuse d plaisanter.' 58 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. ' Well, you get enough out of my ward- robe to keep a starving family. I can't think how you dare expect money besides, you avaricious little thing ; but all right, I won't forget you. Drink some fizz to keep your spirits up, and then a la toilette — dress me as you never dressed me before.' Amandine was accustomed to Mrs Tre- mayne's noisy rattling ways, and probably liked her all the better for them, for she "vvas very devoted to her mistress. She set to work then in playful earnest, and at the end of half-an-hour, thanks to Amandine's clever knowledge of the numberless details necessary to form an artistic whole, Violet Tremayne was faultlessly equipped for conquest. ' If only George would not come,' and w^ith these words she went downstairs and got into the duchess's carriage, which had been sent for her. Arrived in Belgrave Square, she had ample space to shake out her gauzy skirts Equipped for Conquest. 59 as she went up the staircase, for but few guests had as yet arrived. At the door of the ball-room she was met with cold dignity by Lady Valentina. The regal - looking daughter of the house did not altogether approve of Mrs Tremayne — perhaps she had a vague fear of mischief in the future as she looked at her, perhaps she owed her just as much of a grudge as a cold nature could be excited into bestowing for having per- suaded Lord Beaurepaire into giving this entertainment, for Lady Valentina's sake, as she had suggested. That young lady by no means echoed the desire for a dance ; she hated the even current of her life to be ruffled, * and a dance in London in November was/ she argued, 'such an utter anomaly, that their friends would think they were bereft of reason. It was very well for the Montarlises — there had been a wed- ding as an excuse ; but why for no reason go out of the natural course of events ? ' 6o Sackcloth and Broadcloth, But if Lady Valentina's manner to Violet was only frigidly civil, Lord Beaurepaire's fully compensated for his daughter's absence of warmth. He looked at her with admira- tion in his gaze, assured her that she was the queen of the fete, and in fact made so much of her that the little woman's head ran such a chance of being turned, that any amount of wild vagaries might be expected in the future. By the time the Duchess of Montarlis had arrived, for whom the car- riage had returned after setting Violet down, she was already in full flight as Lady Beaurepaire, soaring in imagination above the mere vulgar denizens of earth. She looked round the room on the very chosen society which formed Lady Valentina's coterie, and impertinently wondered how she should weed it. No easy matter, since everyone was incontrovertibly 'hall-marked,' as far as birth and position went. 'Disagreeable people; nasty wrinkled hags Equipped for Conqttest. 6i in ddcollettd dresses and turbans. These are the people who shall not come to my parties. I can't afford to be uncivil to them on ac- count of their respectability now ; but then — oh, then — I may ask Cheap Jack to dinner, and invite the whole of the Lion Theatre to a banquet, and no one will say, "■ How odd." That is the advantage of marrying a swell' ' There are a good many, I should think ; but what is the especial one ? ' asked a mas- culine voice behind her, for Violet had in- advertently uttered the last part of this sentence aloud. ' That you can cut fools and snobs,' she answered laughing. ' What a good thing you broke in on my meditations. I had no idea I was thinking aloud.' ' It is my fault you were thinking at all. This is my dance, I believe.' Another minute and the gay little widow was whirling round with a scion of nobility 62 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. richer in pedigree than brains, when on a sudden she caught sight of Matthew Des- borough's face, as he stood leaning against the mantelpiece watching the giddy throng ; of it, but not in it, to judge from the thoughtfulness of his expression. Seeing him recalled George, of whose very exist- ence Violet had been quite oblivious during the last hour. She stopped her partner near the fire-place, and began to look about her. ' George has not come yet, or he would have ferreted me out by this time,' she thought, and she held out her hand to Matthew. ' How do you do ? Any of your people here to-niorht ? ' * No,' said Matthew. ' George wrote that he was coming, but I have not seen him. Odd, as he is generally reliable about ap- pointments, and he begged me be sure and meet him here.' Equipped for Conquest. 63 * It isn't late,' said Violet ; ' he may come yet.' 'Just twelve. I am sure he intended to be here before this.' ' Dining out probably,' answered Violet, as she whisked away with her partner once more, and after taking- two or three turns, stopped this time close to Lord Beaurepaire. George was not coming, or at least was unpardonably late ; he could not expect her to wear the willow for the whole evening on account of his non-appearance ; on the contrary, she was not quite sure whether she would speak civilly to him when he did come. If he intended to treat her to cavalier airs, he must learn that it was a game two could play at. So had reasoned Violet as she waltzed, and the bright smile she gave Lord Beaurepaire when she stopped was but putting her theory into practice. * Such a delightful ball. I do enjoy it so much,' she said. 64 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. ' It gives me immense pleasure to see you so happy,' and the courteous old noble- man's voice fell almost to a whisper as he uttered these vi^ords, glancing meanwhile across the room at his superb daughter, and perhaps for the first time in his life feeling that he should be glad if there were more dash and entrain in her manner ; if she were more like the lovely Violet in fact. The music ceased, thus setting Violet to a cer- tain extent free from her partner, from whom she intended to get thoroughly rid, if it were possible, at once, so she began a sentence. ' I wanted so much to ask you, Lord Beaurepaire — ' and then she looked round as if there were a little secret involved in the query. ' Never mind — another time. Per- haps it will scarcely do just now — ' ' May I take you down to have some refreshment ? ' Her partner made his bow. He had not Equipped for Conquest. 65 exactly heard Violet's sotto voce sentence, but he saw there was some mystery between Mrs Tremayne and her noble host, in which he was not intended to participate, so he wisely decided to leave them ; and Violet, her little head proudly erect, went down the staircase on Lord Beaurepaire's arm, looking at every lady she met as though she expected them to do her homage for the proud position in which she felt herself to be placed, and perhaps a little disap- pointed that no one even looked surprised. He took her into the dining-room, seated her in a comfortable arm-chair in a corner, and gave her an ice. Then he asked what the mysterious matter was on which she wished to consult him. ' I want to know whether — ' and she looked demurely down and played with her spoon — ' I want to know whether you and Lady Valentina would come to dinner some evening in my little house/ VOL. II. E 66 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. Lord Beaurepaire stood gazing at her for a second or two without answering. Nothing would give him greater pleasure. But Valentina — he felt that Valentlna would decline to go. . * No, of course you will not come. It was presumptuous of me to ask such a thing,' cried Violet, starting up as she marked the momentary pause. 'Don't think of it again, please, or you will make me quite uncomfortable at having committed 2l gaucherie.' * My dear lady, pray do not misconstrue my meaning. I shall be only too delighted to dine with you, and so I am sure will Valentina. She must go if I desire it,' he mentally added. ' You are always so good and kind,' murmured Violet ; ' but of course Lady Valentina never goes to such small houses as mine. We had better say no more about it.' Equippea Jor Co7iquest. 67 Lord Beaurepaire felt that to allow this was to argue Valentina a snob, and yet what could he say. He was so certain that she would rebel against his authority In the matter of going to Mrs Tremayne, who, she instinctively felt, was not one of them, and should not therefore be received on equal terms. * Are you not going to Montarlis with the duchess ? ' he asked. ' She tells me they are all going back the day after to-morrow. She has kindly Invited Valentina and myself to spend Christmas with them.' Violet's eyes beamed with satisfaction. ' How delightful. I am going down next week — not with the duchess. I have a little business I must attend to in London. Dear Julia must do without me for a while ; but of course I shall be there for Christ- mas. Montarlis is a second home to me — so kind of them — for mine is lonely enough.' * It scarcely need be lonely, save at your 68 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. own will,' answered Lord Beaurepaire, a little pointedly Violet thought. She did not venture on any remark, save a half suppressed ' Ah ! ' and his lordship evi- dently decided that he had said enough for the present, for he took her plate, and then gave her his arm to go back to the ball-room. Arrived in the hall, they met the duchess with Matthew Desborough, both hurrying along, the duchess rather in front of her companion, more as though they were rush- ing to catch a train, than merely going down to a ball buffet ; moreover, there was a startled look on both their faces, which made Lord Beaurepaire stop as he noted it. ' I am looking for the duke. Have you seen him ? ' * He is in the supper-room, I think ; but, my dear duchess, what is the matter ? ' * There has been an accident to the four o'clock express on the Great Western.' Equipped for Conquest. 69 ' And— ' * George Desborough was to come up by that train.' Mrs Tremayne's hand trembled on Lord Beaurepaire's arm. * What have you heard ? ' she asked nervously. ' Nothing ; but he is not here. I want Montarlis to go with Matthew, and find out if possible whether anything has happened to him.' ' Oh ! I hope — ' and then she stopped. What did she hope ? Lord Beaurepaire expressed a regret at their anxiety, and a belief that all would be well — he did not personally know George Desborough, who had been invited as Matthew's brother — and then they all went into the supper-room together, where they found the duke, who at once agreed to accompany Matthew in his quest for George. Mrs Tremayne touched the duchess on 70 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. the arm. ' Let us go home, JuHa,' and she looked ghastly white. * My gracious, child, you don't mean that you — ' ' No, no, no, don't question me ; but It Is a horrible thing, like a presage of evil, and I feel upset.' CHAPTER V. •grim death. EORGE DESBOROUGH is dead ! Killed in a railway ac- cident on his journey up from Bicester to Lord Beaurepaire's ball/ Such was the sad news that was re- peated and discussed at every breakfast-table among the set who knew him, as the morn- ing papers were opened on the day succeed- ing the ball. And who among those who had assisted at the fete of the previous evening did not feel at least shocked and startled, even if George Desborough's sudden death produced no deeper feeling ? ' He was so bright, so genial, so full of 72 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. life and spirits, to be cut off thus in the very morning of his days, was indeed a trial to his relations. Matthew — why, of course, Matthew would now be the heir. How strangely things happen in human affairs. Fancy Matthew the heir of Vantage. He was not a bit like a squire ; never fired a gun or rode to hounds in his life. George would indeed be a loss to the whole county.' Thus tattled the outside world, touching but with light breath the awfulness of poor George's unexpected summons Into eternity, and then prattling over Matthew's succes- sion as though It were a mere question of an old or new garment. Violet Tremayne had gone home with the duchess to watch till tidings should come of the result of the duke's and Matthew's quest. She never spoke or moved when the message arrived that they had both gone down the line, but that the report was George was killed. Grim Death! 73 * Poor, bright, merry George. Oh, Violet, I am so sorry for Mrs Desborough,' said the duchess very feehngly. ' I will go off to Vantage by the first train in the morning ; but Violet did not answer, she only sat lookinof at the fire in the duchess's boudoin where they both were, her ringlets, tangled and curl-less, her dress crumpled, the rose- buds crushed, a very different looking Violet to the one who had started in the zenith of her fascinations only a few hours ago. ' If only George would not come.' The words rang again and again in her ears, as she sat there horror-stricken. It seemed to her over-wrought mind as though George had died for her, obeying her be- hests with faithful scrupulousness. * I was very fond of George Desborough,' went on the duchess ; ' he was always so pleasant and ready to make himself useful. Do you know, Violet, I had hoped you would marry George.* 74 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. Still no answer from Mrs Tremayne, who only shivered, and shut her eyes as she laid her head against the side of the arm-chair on which she was sitting. * My gracious, child ! how ill you look. It cannot be that — ' And the duchess looked keenly at Violet, as a new light seemed to dawn on her. ' Don't question me, please ; do leave me alone,' muttered Violet at last, the words coming out very slowly from between her blue pinched lips. She could have answered then as truthfully as when she questioned herself a few weeks ago, — ' Did she love George Desborough ? No, no, no.' But her conscience was upbraiding her for her treatment of him in act and thought, and who so severe a taskmaster as one's own conscience ? Violet had never shown her- self capable of feeling an honest, lasting love ; but she was vividly impressionable, and the sense of startled horror which was Grim Death' 75 upon her now, was almost more than she could endure. She did not wish to discuss it, only desired to sit in a sort of stony silence, contemplating the ghastly picture of George Desborough, as she seemed to see him, lying mangled amid the mixed masses of incongruous odds and ends ejected from that fatal train. Who but one possessing a heart of stone could have thought of George, as she was forcibly reminded of him, tenderly caring for her every weakness during that foolhardy balloon ascent, and not have re- gretted his hapless fate ? Thus Violet was more taken aback by what had happened to George, than she had ever been in all her life before. The duchess was indeed astonished — she herself was full of sincere regrets ; but for Violet's horrified look she could in no way account. Full of mis- takes and egregious folly as was Violet Tremayne's life, would not the unfeigned sorrow she had shown over George Des- 76 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. borough's untimely end score one for her to the good when the reckoning came ? Since Violet refused to speak, the duchess walked away Into her dressing-room. There she took off her evening finery, put on a comfortable flannel wrapper, and sent the maid to bed, with orders to come early and pack up a few things, as she meant to be off to Montarlls, and from thence to Vantage. Then she wondered when the duke would be back ; thought how cold and miserable he would be, and more than half regretted she had let him go. It was very awful about poor George ; but then of course the duke came first to her. How it befel that Violet, who usually shook away every supposition of feeling, should take his death, horrible though It was, so fearfully to heart, she could not Imagine. Yet when she went back Into the boudoir, there sat Violet In the same attitude, looking such a chiffonde wreck of pleasure, and such a dashed spirit- Grim Death' 'jj less beauty, as a painter might have taken for the reversed picture of some bright carousal. * My dear Violet, this is maudlin and foolish ; brighten up for goodness' sake, and let us chat, or I shall have the horrors. What are you thinking of ? ' Violet, thus appealed to, roused herself with a tremendous effort. ' I don't know ; it is all so dreadful. I was so jolly to-night, and George — ' she left off as suddenly as she had begun, and ended her sentence in such a frantic fit of laughter as quite to startle the duchess, who rang the bell furiously to recall the maid. Violet was in strong hysterics. ' Poor girl ; she has danced herself nearly to death. And then these ghastly tidings ! ' explained the duchess, as she helped to take off her finery, though secretly she imagined there must be some deeper reason for Mrs Tremayne's unaccountable display of feel- ing. In a few minutes they had undressed 78 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. her, and, having given her a calming potion, persuaded her to go to bed ; but all through the small grey hours she lay as one stupe- fied, by her occasional sobs showing that, although she was quieted by the draught, sleep refused to visit her excited brain. The duchess watched In utter astonishment till daylight came, and with the sounds of busy life once more awakening the echoes, another message arrived from the duke. ' They had seen poor George, and all was over ; he should arrive with Matthew in an hour or two. God grant his telegram would reach Mrs Desborough before she saw the papers.' Yes, this was the one thought that filled Matthew's heart with dread, as he stood be- side his dead brother. His mother — what would his mother say ? He instinctively felt that George was her favourite son ; that she had learned to lean on his strong sup- porting character, while Matthew's vacillating Grim Death' 79 morbid tendencies only filled her mind with anxiety. He knew it all too well, and he trembled at the knowledge, fearing the re- sponsibility of being an only child, as only one of Matthew's temperament would fear it. That he would inherit the broad acres of Vantage Park flashed across his mind like an evil dream, and the vision increased his terror tenfold. What did he want with gold and pos- sessions and dependants — as it was it was impossible to him to control satisfactorily his own actions ; as an individual of greater magnitude, would not the difficulty be enhanced beyond endurance. But he re- fused to give way to these thoughts as yet ; the one picture his mind dwelt on was that of his broken-hearted mother, wailing in inconsolable lamentations over the fate of her first-born. And so Matthew came back to London to await the arrival of his father, or instructions 8o Sackcloth and Broadcloth. how he was to act, and to see the duke and duchess start for Montarlis, on their kind mis- sion to soothe if possible Mrs Desborough's sufferings. Then Lord Beaurepaire came and carried Matthew off to Belgrave Square ; he could not stay all alone in the duke's house, and to eo back to his tutor's, under the circum- stances, was not to be heard of. Thus, in the course of a few short hours, a heavy stroke had fallen, and the issues of a good many lives had changed. Violet heard that Lord Beaurepaire was in the house, and the intelligence roused her for the first time. She could not see him, she was too generally upset ; but she got up and dressed herself, Amandine having arrived with a morning toilette, and she resolved to return to her little house and wait there quietly till this horrible tragedy should have played itself out, and a less mournful series of events have begun its reign. She looked Grim Death! 8i so white and ghastly when she said 'good- bye,' that the duchess scarcely liked leaving her alone, and tried to persuade her to accompany her, but Violet shook her head. * I am much better quiet and alone. I do not feel well. My nerves have had a horrible shock.' It was the first time she had ever refused an invitation to Montarlis, and the duchess was amazed accordingly. The fact was, Violet felt she could not stand questioning eyes and lips — that if she would guard her secret she must remain alone with it. Above all people, she felt she dare not risk a meeting with Mr Sivewright, which she could not avoid if she went into the country at that moment. The weary days of mourning slowly dragged on. Neither the squire nor Mrs Desborough came to town, for poor George was to be buried in Fernwood churchyard — they would wait at Vantage to receive the VOL. II. F 82 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. dead body of the son who only a few weeks ago had left them so full of life and vigour. Matthew was to accompany it, and begin from henceforth his new career of only child and heir. But * rhomme propose Dieu dis- pose! Before the sad time arrived Matthew, whose constitution had but little vigour and strength, was stricken down by illness, and when the day came for George's funeral he was lying unconscious at Lord Beaurepalre's, while every precaution was being taken to guard him from all sounds of outward life and turmoil. Not that Matthew's state was exactly a critical one, — he had always been more or less delicate, and the exciting epi- sode of the last few days had so shattered him that it would take some time to rally from the evil effects. In no house could Matthew have fallen better than In that of the kindly old peer, who had offered him a temporary home, while Lady Valentlna's efforts to make herself useful, and the extra- Gri7n Death! 83 ordinary amount of sympathy she had shown throughout all the trying circumstances, were the wonder of every one who happened to have the opportunity of observing them. Lady Valentlna sympathetic ! Who would have given her credit for the capability — • certainly not the duchess ; yet had she re- mained In London she could not have helped noticing how the great lady was set aside, and the woman shone forth, as Lady Valentlna seemed to take a pleasure In per- forming kindly offices for Matthew. Especi- ally when, the worst symptoms of his malady being past, the doctors expressed their opinion that the patient required nothing but amusement judiciously administered, In order to produce convalescence. Then did Lady Valentlna redouble her efforts, so as to make the little drawing-room which had been given up to the Invalid shine with light and brightness, herself casting off much of her habitual coldness, as she brought Into 84 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. play those powers of conversation in which she was by no means wanting, talking, when she chose to talk very far above the average, owing to the strict course of reading to which she daily subjected herself. Lady Valentina's life was one of rule and rote, governed by a system which extended itself to her mind, and thus rendered her much clearer and more logical in her arguments and definitions than any woman whom Mat- thew had yet met, even including his mother, who had till then been Matthew's beau-ideal of feminine cleverness. As he lay on the sofa listening to Valen- tina's talk, he for a while forgot all the vicissitudes through which he had lately passed, all the trouble and difficulty through which he had yet to struggle. This was exactly what she desired. To strengthen his mind by amusing It, and thus render it capable of warfare, was the noble Valentina's object. Grwt Death.' 85 She devoted herself ceaselessly to Mat- thew. Strange that, during their many t^te- d'tetes, Matthew never once alluded to Claire Bailey, and yet she had formed the sole subject of his conversation whenever he had been alone with old Mrs Wharton. Perhaps he thought this new companion with whom chance had so persistently thrown him for a while, was of too cold a nature to listen patiently to a love tale, or perhaps he thought it an insult to a young and beautiful woman to entertain her with an account of the worship in which he had prostrated him- self at the shrine of another beauty. Be his reason known, or probably unknown to him- self — for Matthew's actions were seldom the result of motive — Claire Bailey's name was never mentioned. Two weeks of very pleasant, calming days passed away, when suddenly, as he lay awake one night, the feeling came strongly upon him that he must go to Vantage, to begin 86 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. forthwith the duties that fate had sent him to perform. Claire too — he had been very remiss to Claire — two tender loving letters lay unanswered in his pocket ; but then he had been too ill to write, and even Claire could scarcely expect letters at such a time ; but now he was strong again, he must bid farewell to the reposeful paradise In which he had felt such a sense of safety of late, and must embark once more on the sea of duty. From wakefulness his state passed to restlessness, and tossing about for hours magnifying every trouble, every vexation, every detail. By morning Matthew's cheeks were flushed with fever, and when he joined Lord Beaurepaire and Lady Valentina at breakfast, which, for the first time since his illness, he had insisted on doing, they were both startled at his appearance, neither of them being able to understand this sudden and seemingly motiveless excitement ; but then neither Lady Valentina nor her father Grim Death! 87 were subject to spasmodic fits of exagger- ated scruples — they pursued a very even honourable path ; both possessed much de- cision of character, and but seldom experi- enced a difficulty in deciding between right and wrong — how then could they easily enter into and comprehend the perplexities which at times drove Matthew into extremes of depression or exaltation. * I ought to go and see my mother, happy as I am here it is my duty ; don't you think so, Lord Beaurepaire ? ' Matthew blurted out before either of his friends had had time to ask him what had happened. ' No, my dear boy,' answered his lordship very kindly, ' your first duty is to get well. Your father and mother are coming to town to-morrow. I have just had a letter. The duke has lent them his house. A change is thought advisable for Mrs Desborough, and she will be able to see that we are taking proper care of you.' 88 Sackcloth and Broadcloth, * Oh ! Lord Beaurepaire, how kind and good every one is,' and a sort of moisture came about Matthew's eyes, which stoics might have called effeminate. * Never mind kindness and goodness now. It is a lovely morning, Valentina is going to take you for a drive in the victoria. Don't think about anything, save enjoying it as much as you can.' And so Matthew's path was smoothed for him once more ; he had only to make him- self as happy as he could, and for a little longer time Claire Bailey must wait. CHAPTER VI. SEEKING CONSOLATION. ' Omnes eodem cogimur ; omnium Versatur urna serius ocius Sors exitura, et nos in ceternum Exsilium impositura cymbra.' R SIVEWRIGHT muttering these lines to himself in a suppressed dirge-like voice, walked slowly on the day following George Desborough's funeral across that portion of Vantage Park which divided the house from the vicarage. Scarcely a fortnight ago Mrs Desborough had sent for him in hot haste to hold counsel about the trap they both believed Mrs Tre- mayne to have set for poor George, and now he was slowly nearing the house in the hope 90 Sackcloth and Broadcloth, of pouring some comfort In among the mother's sorrow, even he, with his ready- speech, feehng perhaps that words would come haltingly. Philosopher though he was, Mr Sivewright was gravely Impressed by George's sudden and fearful death. He had loved the bright, buoyant youth with whom he had so often sat in friendly parlance over a bottle of good old port in the vicarage dining-room. He believed in George, and appreciated the true metal from which he gave him credit for being moulded, while he could not help fearing that Matthew's character presented decided symptoms of alloy. Mr Sivewright detested weakness — he had not therefore weighed with sufficient care the consideration that weakness in Mat- thew was a commendable virtue, since the very conscientious scrupulosity it produced, though troublesome to his companions, was yet calculated to lead him into the highest walks of rectitude and truth. That Mat- Seeking Consolation. gi thew was henceforth to be heir of Vantage, Mr SIvewriorht regarded as a serious mis- fortune, and perhaps in adding up the sum total of his regrets over the premature death of poor George, he even reckoned it as the heaviest. To talk of this to Mrs Desborough was, however, scarcely consistent with the mission on which he was bent ; no easy one, be it remembered. He could generally and sincerely grieve with her over her loss, but dare he enter on spiritual subjects, and touch on any belief of what exists in that impene- tralia, the mystic life ? Nay, in their many conversations had not Mr Sivewright and Mrs Desborough allowed their natural intel- lects too free scope, practised too persistently the art of sophistry for any words of his to touch the well-spring of religious feeling now, as far as Mrs Desborough was concerned ? He might grow eloquent from oft -quoted sources to others of his flock, but would Mrs Desborough, with whom he had so frequently 92 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. discussed the pros and the cons of vital sub- jects, beheve in him, however eloquent the lecture he gave her on the comfort of revealed religion ? As Mr Sivewright wended his way through Vantage Park, was there no regret about the forbidden ground he had trod with his old friend, and which would seal his lips against saying many things that might have afforded her comfort now ? He had not seen Mrs Desborough since the news of George's death had come ; but that morning a little perfumed note, with a deep black border, had reached him. * Try to come to me about four/ it said, with neither head nor tail to it, as though the writer was in no mood for adjuncts or super- fluities — this straw in the wind being an index to Mrs Desborough's feelings at the moment. Nothing like the tragedies of life for bringing our true selves to the surface. There was more than one dark chapter in the past career of the mistress of Vantage Seeking Consolation. 93 Park, whicli li.ul hvx^w over and over attain laitl bare l)y lliis williiiL;" [x'liitciU to lu.'r some- what unwillliit;- confcsscjr, for Mr Sivcvvri^ht was well i"iiL;li as iiUolci'ant of the j)i"a(:Li(:(: of confession in the houdoir as he was in th(! confessional. Nevertheless, then; wen; not wanting" tini(!S when, in tlu; healthy breeze; of prosperity and worldly excitement, Mrs I )(;s- borough more than half recoiled from th(; remembrance; of haviniL;' b(;(;n so sj)iritiially lavish to her beloved director, and th(|-e were even mom(;nts when, bein^;' pi(|ii('d by or provok(;(l with him for somelhiiif^ about h(;r Grace of Montariis, or ev(;n lesser matters, she would r(;iL(r(;t th(;m ouli-ii^ht. I>ut if tlu; strongest of us an; |)ron(; at times t(j yearn lor sonu; one; on whom to lean wlien utt(;rly w(;ary and (l(;j(;ct(;d, it will scarcely b(; conc(;ive.{l that Mrs I)esborou;,di, who, if a clever, was d(;ci(le(lly a weak woman, nced(;d a far less touch of sorrow than that under which she now stagg(;red to necessitate; 94 Sackcloth and B^^oadcloth. that she should support all the weary weights on that firm prop, the Vicar of Fernwood. To a doubting, wind-tossed nature, there is nothing: so restful as a confidante who Is free alike from doubts and scruples. Mrs Desborou^h knew that Mr SIvewrIo;ht had arrived at Immutable conclusions on the great questions of life, death, the soul's eternity, and the like, and that beyond that point it was as useless as it was vexatious for us finite beings to pry. Intellectually, he was therefore to all appearance, strong, and without doubt, he was consistent ; but she scarcely knew the w^eakness before which he trembled at the coming tcte-d-tete, and that the danger he feared arose from simple goodness of heart. Apart from any individual feeling for his still fair friend, he knew himself to be habitually — constitutionally he called It — tender-hearted to a fault. Intellect may occasionally get the better of our worst and fiercest passions. Seekmg Consolatio7i. 95 but it has little chance against the nobler emotions. Men of Lawrence Sivewright's calibre have had so many bitter experiences of having been run away with by their heart, long before they begin to go down life's hill, that as they grow older they are per- petually on the look-out for surprises, and the first suspicion of one instantly produces an impulse of self-preservation, and hence it is that we are not Infrequently astonished by little outbursts on the part of those whom we know to be most tender-hearted, which, taken in the abstract, fall little short of sheer brutality. Having slowly walked over to the great house, been announced, and heard the boudoir door closed by the retreating foot- man, Mr SIvewrlght took both Mrs Des- borough's hands in his own as she rose to meet him, and seeing her falter in her steps, paternally put one arm round her, and led 96 Sackcloth and B^'oadcloth. her to a seat. Neither had a clear throat nor dry eyes, and some minutes elapsed before either attempted to speak. Mrs Desborough it was who did so the first. * I have been wanting so to see you, but I did not feel — I could not muster up courage to send even for you till to-day.' * I know — I know,' he said nervously, and without a particle of his usual self-contained manner — so gallant and at the same time so dienified. Whatever there was of dross in the affection that existed between these two, grief purified it for the time being at any rate. ' I wanted you so much to ask you- — to speak of poor darling George's — of whether we could not have some special prayers said for his soul. It seems so awful to be hurried into eternity without a moment to prepare.' Poor woman ! she was terribly in earnest, and meant admirably of course, yet there was something in itself comically incon- Seeking Consolation. 97 gruous In this highly intellectual woman, who had never before regarded religion in any other light than as one of her occasional luxuries, now in the simplest way turning to it in her sore need, much as she would have sought the aid of an architect for a tumble-down house, or a celebrated physi- cian for some bodily ailment from which she was suffering. Mr Sivewright had known her too long and too intimately to be much surprised at anything she could say or do ; but even he had never seen her before in so seriously religious a mood — awakened in the spirit, to use a technical phrase. Some- how it had the effect of drying his tears ; he moved a little uneasily on his chair and said — ' Praying for the dead is a practice both poetical and picturesque, no doubt ; but, my dear friend, it Is founded on the Romish dogma of purgatory, which the Church of England holds to be a heresy.' It suited Mrs Desborough to-day that VOL. II. G 98 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. there should be a purgatory. She wanted one to put her dead son into in imagination, and she v^diS froiss^e that in applying to a professional dealer in such articles he should not at once supply it ; she had a confused idea that hell was only for murderers, and those sort of people, you know ; or perhaps for just a few criminals of position who had been very wicked indeed, the Borgias and Judas, and perhaps Richard the Third. Yet probably, even she did not imagine that her gay eldest son had been leading exactly the sort of life to enable him to enter unchal- lenged at the narrow gate. She had been reading up a little on the subject, so she answered pluckily, — ' But it says in Maccabees, that it is a holy and a wholesome thought to pray for the dead, that they may be loosed from their sins.' ' I will not enter upon the subject at present with you,' he replied, ' because I feel Seeking Consolation. 99 convinced such a course would not bring you comfort or peace ; but I have debated the point often, both with Romanists and Ritual- ists — take my advice, I pray you. Let it suffice you that the Anglican Church, your Church, has always held that the dogma of purgatory is not supported by the Bible.' ' But friend, friend, never mind the church of this or that, but tell me, on your honour, do you feel quite sure on the matter .»* ' ' Absolutely.' * And you believe — ' ' I give you my honour, I feel absolutely sure there is no purgatory.' ' How dreadful ! ' ' Not at all, my dear lady, to my mind it would be far more dreadful if there were.' ' Oh, but my son ! my poor thoughtless boy ! ' and she bent down and gave way to a burst of tears and grief. * It is so awful for you and me to be sitting in this comfortable room, and to think that perhaps poor George, I CO Sackcloth and Broadcloth. just because he did like most other spirited young men about society, to think that he should be lost for ever is quite too horrible/ and she sobbed as if her heart must break. Her friend was terribly pained to see her suffer so, but he hoped the torrents of tears he saw flowing might relieve her physically as well as mentally. He placed his hand on hers and said, — * Be reasonable. You believe in God, do you not ? ' ' I do, I do.' * Well, you cannot do that and doubt of His infinite mercy and goodness.' ' But,' she objected, ' how can anything impure enter heaven.' ' It is useless for you and me to discuss what we neither of us can know anything about ; but you will never persuade me that God can look on for all eternity and see one of His creatures broiling and grilling, much less a fine good-hearted fellow like George, Seeking Consolation. loi who, as the saying is, would not have hurt a fly.' ' Then you really do not believe in hell ? * she said, looking up suddenly, quite radiant, * I do not believe in a place of eternal torments — no.' ' But is not that heresy ? ' * It has of late years been decided not. Many of our bishops hold that no soul can be entirely lost' * But the scripture — ' * It is very doubtful what the precise meaning of the word really is. Christ descended into a part of hell called Limbo. This gives rise to countless suggestions as to the meaning of hell, none of them favour- able to its being a place of excruciating and never-ending torture. But, dear friend, you know well my strong objection to contro- versy, nor do I think the pursuit of it now will prove consolatory to you. Try and divert your mind from painful subjects I02 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. until time shall have somewhat assuaged your grief.' But Mrs Desborough was in a very religious mood, and would think and talk of nothing but this and kindred topics. She was beginning to ask herself at this point of the conversation whether she would not send for Mr Lently, and for a few moments, so keen was she on the matter, that she had already begun to think how she could dismiss the more polished divine, when all at once it struck her that as much depended upon the speaker as on the words spoken by a spiritual comforter, and that it avails little to have the right thing said, so long as it is not uttered by the right man. There were times when she was afraid to think how little Mr Sivewright really in his heart believed of revelation and the great truths of Christianity, while his realistic brother was, as it were, a burn- ing ball of faith. No one who knew Lently Seeking Consolation. lo; could fail to do him the justice to believe in his honesty. ' But alas ! ' and as this clinching argument rose to her mind, all thought of sending for him passed away from it. ' I can trust his honesty as though I could read him through ; but where, oh where is his judgment ?' It was here that Sivewright shone out so unapproachably in the comparison. The most unlikely thing grew probable the moment he said it, for he invariably carried the conviction to another mind, not only that he believed, but that he had not arrived at any convictions whatever without having submitted them to the crucial analysis of his exceptional intellect ; but then he but seldom could be induced, either in the pulpit or out of it, to enlighten any one as to the nature of his tenets. He was, in matters of faith, a mere channel ; no one had ever heard him say ' I believe this or that,' except as he was obliged to do so in the Church's I04 Sackcloth a7id Broadcloth. formula. It was accordingly often remarked that the subjects of his sermons were almost without exception, the human (or as they are sometimes called the Pagan) virtues and their contrary sins ; passing events, political or otherwise ; scientific discoveries, or what may be termed the purely historical aspect of the Christian truth. Mrs Desborough was quite aware of all this, for often, in their confidential talks, had she made the vicar's face darken as she would try to explore the attractive unknown country of her friend's conscience, either by direct questioning or by pretend- ing to take free - thinking views herself. Always, however, she came out second best from her daring encounters of feminine against clerical wit. The Rev. Lawrence was sure, either by a well turned jest or an abrupt change of subject, to extricate himself from the dilemma, if dilemma it were, without affording his interlocutory a Seeking Consolation. 105 scintilla of the knowledge she so rashly sought. To-day, writhing under the selfishness of grief, she felt particularly reckless, and was determined if possible to discover what Mr Sivewright — being the polished heathen his enemies whispered him to be — what he might have to set up, In the stead of all he mentally, though secretly, demolished. List- lessly, then, throwing herself back in her seat, she said, — * If you do away with everlasting punish- ment — for my part, it implies doing away equally with eternal reward. It is contrary to a sense of justice to retain one without the other, and that would lead one straight to believing nothing at all. I was reading Nicolas, which, by-the-bye, is the only reli- gious book that does not bore me, and he says : — '' L'homme se sentant eternel, tout ce qui finit n'est rien pour lui." This is sense indeed. The notion of a heaven or a 1 06 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. hell, say of a thousand years and no more, or any other limited period, is not only illogical, but positively comic' ' Of course, any precise period of time named as a portion of eternity is absurd,' said the vicar. ' It is the only way we have of expressing our thoughts on these points. How can a mortal define Eternity but as Time going on for ever ? ' ' And yet I can conceive, but only vaguely, that it may be nothing of the sort.' ' Well, I confess I cannot ; but then,' she added, with just a shade of sarcasm and irritability in her voice, ' I cannot be ex- pected to be so clever as you are.' The churchman's habitual treatment of little thrusts like these was the rather cruel one of ignoring them. ' Time, space,' he went on musingly, there is something, to my mind, intrinsi- Seeking Consolation, 107 cally finite about both, whether considered as terms or ideas.' ' The simplest way is to believe in nothing at all.' This remark Mrs Desborough threw out merely as a feeler. He replied, — * It is simple.' * It is what I am being hurried into,' said the lady. ' I most devoutly hope not,' was the clergyman's prompt answer. * Why should you care ? ' 'If for no better reason, because I con- sider a woman without religion the most uninteresting object in creation.' * It is vulgar,' she said, softening at what she thought a proof of his interest in her. ' I think you will never grow uninterest- ing,' and he gave her a bright smile. * I am sure you will never be vulgar.' And after this compliment the conversation between the vicar and Mrs Desborough, as far as re- ligious matters were concerned, proceeded 1 o8 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. no farther ; but turning on Matthew, his present position as eldest son, and various other family details, it dawdled on, watered by many tears on the part of the lady, till the dressing-bell warned them of the approaching dinner hour. For though a seeming mockery, even with the shadow of death still lying on the house, the usual conventional observances had not been interrupted. CHAPTER VII. AUTOLYCUS. Lawn as white as driven snow ; Cyprus black as e'er was crow ; Gloves as sweet as damask roses ; Masks for faces, and for noses ; Bugle bracelet, necklace amber, Perfume for a lady's chamber. Golden quoifs and stomachers For my lads to give their dears ; Pins, and poking sticks of steel, What maids lack from head to heel. Come buy of me, come ; come buy, come buy ; Buy, lads, or else your lasses cry. Come buy.' UTOLYCUS may chant his ware- catalogue at pleasure ; she for whom and from whom he had the Shakespearian verse, hears not his ditty. Ay, the duke and duchess are at Montarlis Castle, but Violet Tremayne is still in 1 1 o Sackcloth and Broadcloth. London, looking her prettiest, playing her sweetest, to attract If possible his sexa- genarian lordship. The maids and grooms at Montarlis have come out in a little crowd into the stable-yard, called together by Mr Varley's song. Who does not know Cheap Jack through all that country side ? and from every one he receives a hearty wel- come. True, poor folks sometimes spend more money on the knick-knacks he offers for sale than they can well afford ; but then Jack has such a pleasing way of wheedling the money out of their pockets, that they cannot altogether resist It. Even the duke, passing through the yard by chance, stands for a moment to listen, and tosses a half- crown to the country favourite as he passes on and leaves the coast clear for his de- pendants to amuse them.selves. Cheap Jack pattered his nonsense, offered silver chains at the low sum of sixpence, gold rings with large diamonds for one shilling — in fact, Autolycus. 1 1 1 gimcracks for any given sum, from a sove- reign to a penny ; but it was clear his heart was not in his work. He talked and looked and talked again ; then he took to flirting with a buxom bright-eyed wench, on the old principle that by the maid you eet at the mistress. * It isn't overworked you are at Montarlis, my dear, to judge by your good looks. Is there no company staying at the castle ? ' ' Not a guest for this fortnight past. The duke and duchess are quite alone — not even a strange tabby cat about the place.' 'What! not even Mrs — Mrs — ' * Mrs Tremayne } Oh, she's in London. She's never been well since poor young Mr Desborough was killed. It's my belief she was spoony on him.' Cheap Jack looked very blank. Mopsy's information was evidently more extended than he had bargained for. As he did not answer, she went on, — I [2 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. ' He was a pretty gentleman. I was dreadfully sorry when I heard he was killed. The maid says as Mrs Tremayne was in a faint for hours, and never stopped sobbing all the night through.' . ' Isn't she coming back here ?' asked Mr Varley at last. * I dunno. I haven't heard nothing.' He began to pack up his wares, and, sum- moning his tiger from the * shay,' handed packet after packet to him ; the zest was all gone out of his gay prattle, and Mopsy's shining well - soaped face had no farther charm. Having put away all his goods, rather carelessly for him, Varley being as a rule a neat-handed man, he started the ' shay/ with orders that it was to jog quietly down the road and wait for him, as he would follow on foot. He chucked the lively Mopsy under the chin, promised her a blue ribbon the next time he came that way, and then walked leisurely down A utolycus. the footpath towards the back lodge. His hands were thrust in the pockets of his blouse, his cap was considerably on one side, and he was whistling — no surer sign of premeditation in a man. He was ruminating on the subject of Mrs Tremayne ; picturing her in his mind's eye, and wishing she were not so attractive, since her beauty was for him a snare ; then, with a sudden intention to shake off if pos- sible the fancy, he took off his cap and ran his fingers through his hair. ' If she be not fair to me, What care I how fair she be/ was the substance of his meditation. It was a philosophic one, but it was disturbed by a friendly voice. * Hullo, Jack, my friend. I have not seen you for many a day.' The speaker was the Rev. Lawrence Sivewright, who at this moment overtook Cheap Jack in his walk. Mr Varley took VOL. II. H 1 1 4 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. his fingers out of his hair when he saw him, and he did not attempt to replace his cap. He, Hke the rest of the people round, was impressed by the magnitude of Mr Sivewright's office and position ; no one, perhaps, regarding him more in the light of a clerical potentate than did Varley, although he himself possessed but a very faint scintilla of religious inspiration. He, however, made it his never - failing practice to be obsequious to magnates. * I hope your reverence is well,' he said, shambling from leg to \^<g, much as he had done during his first visit to Violet. * Very well, thank you, Jack. You never pay the vicarage a visit.' * Bless your reverence, it's too grand the vicarage is for me. Your reverence's house- keeper looks on me as a *' ne'er do weel," and flouts me in the face with my lies, as she calls them. The lasses and boys up at Montarlis are quite different.' Autolycus, 1 1 5 ' Oh, that is the reception you meet with from Mrs Green, is it ? Well, she is counted a wise woman in her generation, and you can't say you don't impose on the public ; eh. Jack ? But never mind, stroll down to the vicarage with me now, and we will see if we cannot put things on a more friendly footing.' ' South-west wind often blows up a squall,' muttered Jack to himself as he followed the Rev. Lawrence, insisting on walking just one step behind him, to that gentle- man's no small discomfort ; his object being to hold amiable converse with Cheap Jack. For what purpose was a riddle, which per- haps Mr Sivewright intended to solve when he had enticed his humble companion into the snug study at Fernwood-cum-Grasdale, for certes, he talked of nothing but gener- alities en rotite ; succeeding, however, there- by in setting Cheap Jack entirely at his ease, which was probably part of the vicar's plan. 1 1 6 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. Being quite a mile and a-half from Mont- arlls to Fernwood, even by short cuts across the fields, there was time for much discourse, and there were no Interruptions, save an oc- casionally ' Rheumatics better, Mrs Jukes ? You should make the youngsters do that hard work, Timothy,' as the vicar passed a well-known parishioner, till they had nearly reached their destination, when, going through a gate leading into the main road, they came suddenly on the Rev. Luke Lently. * Ah, Lently, how are you ? ' Mr Sive- wrlght called out familiarly, a free mode of speech which Lently particularly resented, always being on the qui vive to keep up the dignity which Mr Sivewright attained with- out any effort at all. Mr Lently put his hand to his soft hat with some gravity. ' Seen the Baileys lately ? Little Claire was looking rather peepy when last I called.' Atitolycus. 1 1 7 ' I have not had that honour/ Mr Lently was very short in his manner. It was obvious that he was exactly in that frame of mind into which a quarrel fits easily, but the Rev. Lawrence, on the con- trary, was in the blandest of humours ; and since it takes two people to wrangle, there was not much chance of a dispute arising out of this unexpected meeting. If Mr Lently had considered for a moment, he might have remembered that his clerical brother and rival had never been known to involve himself in any contentious argu- ment : as soon as the laws of high breeding were in danger of being violated, he ever retired gracefully from the field. The men- tion of the Baileys* name was especially riling to Mr Lently, since now that George Desborough was dead there was little chance that Matthew would take orders, and Mr Lently would, under these circumstances, have especially chosen Claire, one of his 1 1 8 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. own flock, as future mistress of Vantage. He could but regret how completely the circumstances had been unpropitious to him, even impelling him into that interview with Lady Laura on the day subsequent to meeting her and Claire in the wood, which had been so stormy as to be necessarily final. For all these disagreeables and con- tretemps he felt perhaps a little unjustly inclined to thank Mr Sivewright, never giving that gentleman his due in acknow- ledging him to be a much better diplomat than himself, but hating him for his success — hating him, that is, with a sort of spiritual hatred, which always had the Lord for its witness. Mr Sivewright crossed the road with Cheap Jack, and went in at another gate on the opposite side, leading directly into his own glebe. Having closed it behind him, he called out once more, — * Lently, half a moment. I nearly forgot AutolycMs. 119 something I have been wishing to say to you for weeks.' The Rev. Luke, who by this time had got some yards down the road, and was chewing the cud of his displeasure as he went, turned round, though it is scarcely likely he would have done so could he have known the question his reverend brother was about to propound. ' That meeting that is to take place on Tuesday for discussing the advantages that would be derived from forming an associa- tion to convert certain parishioners into scripture readers. Are you going to it ? ' ' Most decidedly not,' was Mr Lently's brief but emphatic answer. * Oh, you don't care for interference or help from neighbours. But it is only the funds that are to be general ; we are to find the readers among ourselves.' But Mr Lently only flourished his hand in token of a dissent too deep for words, and 1 20 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. walked on. While Mr Sivewright, a smile on his face the while, turned to his com- panion with the most perfect courtesy. * Excuse me, Jack ; but these little parish details must be attended to. By Jove ! the geese have strayed into the garden ; here's another interruption. Where on earth is the boy ? Here, boy, boy.' Had the geese played havoc with every vegetable and shrub in the vicarial garden, the lordly Sivewright would have taken no more active measures than that of shouting, and the boy's head appearing over the top of a hedge, he made the entire business over to him, with orders that he was to see all the gaps secured, and then, always accompanied by Mr Varley, he went into the vicarage. Mrs Green's surprise, when she saw her master with this man, knew no bounds ; but she invariably made a point of seeing with the vicar's eyes, so henceforth she would con- trive to regard Cheap Jack as a respectable Autolycus. 121 member of society, with whom honest folk should sit and chat, since, not five minutes later, Mr Varley was sitting in the vicar's study, a decanter of old brown sherry be- tween them, and some of Mrs Green's snow cakes lying on a plate before the hawker of cheap wares. The object of Mr Sivewright in thus inviting Varley into these intimate and friendly relations still remained unrevealed. From his behaviour it was almost evident that the vicar — while he, from some private motive, chatted pleasantly with Cheap Jack — did not in the meantime intend that usually astute individual to imagine he had any ulterior reason beyond the condescension which it behoves a Christian teacher to evince towards all his poorer brethren. They talked on a variety of social subjects. Varley's knowledge of neighbourhoods and people was, as we are aware, large, and under the vicars potent wine he unfolded and grew communicative. George Des- 122 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. borough s fearful and sudden death was not omitted. Then Varley, taking a long pull at his glass, asked boldly, — ' Was the young squire sweethearting with the lady at the castle, your reverence ? ' Mr Sivewright looked keenly for a mo- ment at the questioner from under his heavy eyebrows ; the man's face expressed no sign, save that conveyed by a deep flush. ' What do you know of this lady ? ' he asked after a second. ' Little enough — save from talk,' answered the other, too loyal by nature to betray Violet's meetings with himself. * Talk involves a good many falsehoods, my friend ; we should, all of us, beware of idle words. What you have heard of Mrs Tremayne and Mr George Desborough is very idle, I should imagine.' The flush deepened on Varley's face ; but, if the vicar noted it, he did not appear to do so — only turned away from the subject, as Autolycus. 123 though it did not interest him, and said in a very off-hand way, — * Your life must have been somewhat of a chequered one- Eh, Jack ? I have a curiosity to learn a few of its vicissitudes. How came you to take to your present trade ? ' Jack's tongue had been untied by good liquor ; he lay comfortably back in his arm- chair, took up the right side of his blouse, and tucked it carefully into the left side of a leather belt he wore, crossed his legs, and began what was evidently about to prove a yarn. CHAPTER VIII. LITTLE PEARL. ELL, your reverence, though its a good many years since I was a boy, and though perhaps you wouldn't believe it, yet I had a bit of eddication in those days ; but, bless ye, it's so long ago, and I've passed through such a world of contrariness since that, I've a'most forgotten all the learning I ever picked up. My father was a sort of a gentleman in his way — at least, he was above his class, and went with those who knew him by the name of '' Gentleman Varley." It wasn't a paying title, since it made him lazy ; but ril do my best towards giving you a de- Little Pearl. 125 scrlptlon of my home life. Maybe you know Marston-on-Willows ; if you never was there, it's a place worth looking at, if you should chance that way. It's not because it was my native town that I speak of it, but on account of its own interest.' ' I have heard of the place,' said the vicar, * and heard that it has a peculiarity all its own — so you were born at Marston-on Wil- lows, Mr Varley ? ' ' That's it, sir, and I'll make so bold as to tell you about what Marston's like. It has long straight streets, with gabled roofs and small casement windows to the houses, and black and white tiles let in all over the fronts of them, and every house has its motto or sign writ somewhere on the lintel. Ours was — " Happiness weddeth virtue," They was funny little rooms in the old house, a tall man couldn't stand upright in 1 26 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. a many of them, in the attic where I slept you might touch the ceiling as you lay a bed ; but then you had only got to open your eyes wide enough to see the loveliest landscape as God ever made on this beauti ful earth. Talk o' panoramas and dioramas, them as swells in big cities goes to look at there never was a one of them to come up to that natural picture, as my window did peep hole to, and yet I didn't valley it, then got tired of looking at it, I suppose — though it varied pretty much too as times and sea- sons changed. It was prettiest of all when the sun was shining on the river as it twined in and out among the willows, every now and then coming out like a great sparkling diamond, then hiding itself again right away from view under the rushes that gives a bit of trade to Marston, and makes it a sort of basket town. They are tolerably well known about the country is Marston baskets ; never a visitor came as didn't buy one, and Little Pearl. 127 that was what we made our living by. Our shop, which wasn't a big one, was the great emporium for Marston baskets ; it was crammed to the roof with them, of every size and shape, though it was mostly fancy small ones as we sold. Father was salesman ; it was a genteel trade, as suited his dainty gentleman habits — especially when ladies came to buy, then wouldn't he show his white teeth and his white hands as though he was a born actor. Mother, she was a hard-working, driving body, with an uneven temper and a sharp tongue. That she had her worrits and her draw-backs I know now, as I look back on things with a bit of world- learnt knowledge ; but young blood can't always put up with rowing and complaining, least-wise mine wouldn't. I looked on mother as a shrew, and one fine day I made up my mind, all on a sudden-like, to be a man all at once, and have no more scoldings or blows, for it cam.e to that sometimes. 128 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. *■ There was a show came to Marston, down in the meadow, four great carts and ever so many horses, with a lot of boys and girls and men and women, in tinsel and fine clothes, with their faces all chalked and pinked and blacked, till they looked real beautiful as I thought then. I spent hours a looking at them, and didn't seem to re- member the cuffing I should get on my return home for the time I had wasted away from my baskets. It was a rare one though, when it came ; but instead of curing me it made me worse. I bolted off back to the vans, and sitting down at the back of one of them, I sulked and sobbed dry tear- less sobs for a while. I was a good big boy, too big to mind a woman's hand, though it was a heavy one ; but my self-love was wounded, and that's harder to bear than a bruised skin. The master of the caravan saw me sitting there at last, and came to me. L it tie Pea rl. 1 2 9 ' " What's up with you, lad ? " he asked In a cheery tone. * He was a Httle fat man, who wore tights, and a short green velvet frock, all greasy and mangy when you was close to it, but real beautiful he looked on the stage when the dip candles was lighted up, and he had a wreath of gold leaves round his head, tied with dingy coloured ribbon meant for white. He was Achilles or Agamemnon or some such swell. ' " Well," says this hero to me. '* Darn It, don't sit whimpering there, my lad ; but come and give us a hand inside." ' Inside that wonderful show ! there was luck to be sure ; so I up and followed him, and soon forgot my cuffs and my troubles in that there wonderful place.' Here Mr Varley left off his story to chuckle quietly to himself, and then he remarked in an utterly different tone to the one in which he had been narrating his experiences, — VOL. II. I 1 30 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. ' Strange, sir, isn't it, what different im- pressions is produced at the different ages of man ? I thought that there caravan a paradise then. Now I know it was a very hell.' ' Well, you joined it, of course,' broke in Mr Sivewright, a little impatiently for him. * Ay, sir, and what is more, spent five years going about the country doing every kind of mountebank trick they put me to. Making a goodish bit of money too, at times, though not much of it found its way into my pocket. " More kicks than ha'pence," was the motto of the establish- ment ; but somehow I put up with ill-usage there, though I wouldn't do it from my poor old mother, whose heart was well-nigh broken by my desertion and evil ways.' ' What, then, was the especial attraction that kept you for five years with these people ?' asked Mr Sivewright. ' Ah, that's it, sir ; and perhaps it will Little Pearl. surprise your reverence when I tell you it was a child/ * A female child of course/ put in the vicar smiling. Mr Varley bowed his head In acquiescence. * She was a pretty little thing was Pearl. She had bright blue eyes and curling dark hair, and such rosy healthy cheeks — at least when she first joined us — for hard work and poor fare soon made little Pearl want the rouge pot. She was eight years old when she first joined us, and where she came from I couldn't make out. But one morning when I got up there was Pearl, in a black frock, outside the van opposite the one I had been sleeping in, sitting upon the step in a bewildered sort of way. ' '• Mother has gone to heaven," was the only answer she made, when asked where she hailed from, a fact which her black frock seemed to speak up to. The loss of her mother did not, however, seem to make 1 3 2 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. Pearl very sad, for she munched a piece of apple some one had given her, between sundry repeatings of this fact, in various shapes. Hadn't she a temper, my little beauty, my little beauty Pearl. She was the wilfullest 3'Oung filly as ever took to scampering over male hearts ; and she left the prints of her tiny feet on mine, and no mistake. Ain't sure but they are there yet.' Mr Sivewright smiled, and pushed the sherry a little nearer his guest. * So you stayed five years with the itiner- ant players in order to be near little Pearl.' ' She wanted some one to get her out of scrapes, you see, sir, and to help her a bit when the master gave her high flights to perform. Pearl's wasn't an easy life, for she was so clever, he wouldn't believe she couldn't do anything. She could read and write, too, which was more than the most of the children could do ; and sing, law bless ye, when she opened her mouth to Little Pearl. sing It was like all the larks a-rippling at once. I often wonder if she was happy — she didn't look it always ; but she never complained, and she was always cheery, even under difficulties ; but then no girl ever had such a courageous way of looking straight at life as had little Pearl. Bless me, shouldn't I like to see little Pearl again ? ' ' What became of her '^, ' asked the vicar, and there was a sort of twinkle in his eye as he put the question. ' She disappeared in a flash like, same as she come ; and the curtain as went down that day on the first act in my life was a black one.' * Did you never see her again, or ascer- tain where she had gone ? ' * Never. I asked the master what had become of her, but he only said, " An open- ing had been found for her as was likely to give her a start in life." She never said "good-bye," nor writ *' good-bye," nor ap- J 34 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. peared again in any way ; and yet I was a good Jack to her. Do you know, sir, I often think little Pearl must be dead.' The vicar shook his head. * Do you know anything about her, sir ? You look as if you did.' ' My friend, what should I know of your Pearl ? But to imagine a woman is dead, solely because she neglects to follow up a youthful flirtation, is a little unworthy of your supposed knowledge of the world. Eh, Jack ? ' ' Well, I don't know, sir ; but I was good to Pearl, I was. Why, I have been thrashed often when I had done nothing, solely to shield her from the blame. Many's the time I have gone without my meals to give them to her.' * Do you think you should know her if you met her now ? ' ' Know Pearl ? among: ten thousand beauties I'd pick out Pearl. I goes to Little Pearl. 135 every theayter and shilling caravan as I comes across ; but it's never the likes of her as I sees in any of them. There's only one person as I have ever met as brings little Pearl back to my mind when I looks at her,' and Mr Varley's voice sank almost to a whisper during the last part of this sentence. ' And she Is — ' * Mrs Tremayne/ he answered in the same low tone ; ' her as went up in the balloon so plucky like.' * Mrs Tremayne ! Have you ever told her this ? ' ' Lor' bless your reverence, I shouldn't dare. She is a free-spoken lady enough, and mighty civil and even tongued, but I'm expecting as it ain't many liberties as she'd take without rising.* * In that perhaps also she resembles your little Pearl, who, you say, had a temper.' * Maybe, maybe, your reverence. There's 136 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. an uncommon likeness, but most folks has their doubles in this life, so they says. Well, as J was telling you, Pearl left the caravan, and I wasn't long in followin' her example. A sort of home-sickness came over me after Pearl went, so I skedaddled without leave one fine day, and made my appear- ance in Marston without announcing my arrival. In five years everything had gone topsy-turvy ; father was dead, and mother had worn out all her sperrit, and had turned from a scold into a whimpering old woman. I stayed at home a bit and put things straight for her, but Marston life was weari- some after ^sr^ years of vagabondising ; be- sides, I had to look for Pearl, so I took a few pounds father had left me, 'cause I was the scapegrace of the family, I suppose, and set up in my present line o' business. I'd seen a many cheap Jacks when I was with the mummers, and it had always seemed a merry, money - making perfession, and it Little Pearl. 0/ hain't proved contrairy, except that though I've got a bit of money in the bank, I hav'n't found the Httle beauty as I thought to share it with/ * Have you ever talked of Pearl to Mrs Tremayne ? ' ' I never speaks of her, your reverence. This is the first time her name has crossed my lips these ten years. It's that there wine as has done it to-day.' * I'm glad you have spoken, my friend, and if I can help you in your search, command me.' * Lor', sir, I ain't a-searchin' now. She's took up her line by this, has Pearl, either above or below the sod. She don't want me, or she'd have found me, for she knows as Jack is faithful ; but I am weary in' your reverence with this long account, and its getting late. I must be off to Hurton and look after my cart and goods.' * I am never wearied. Jack, by listening to Sackcloth and Broadcloth, the story of a fellow-creature's life. We are all benefited by hearing of the trials and difficulties of others, my friend. Remember you have always an ally and a patient hearer at Fern wood Vicarage. If you ever find Pearl you will let me know. Eh ? ' ' Ay, ay, sir, that I will ; but it won't be on this side of the c^rave.' ' Not so sure of that, Jack ; not so sure of that.' And with a hand - shake they parted. Jack walked off in the now gathering dark- ness towards Hurton, going over once again the story of his youth as he strolled on, and wondering why the Vicar of Fernwood should interest himself in the doings of such as he. * 'Taint his usual habit to put hisself out- of-the-way for the sheep as doesn't step kindly inside the fold,' he decided, as he turned into the gate of the inn, where he expected to find his cart and tiger. L it tie Pea rl. 1 3 9 The vicar meanwhile stretched his feet out lazily on the hearthrug, the fading day- light just being sufficient to show the smile that was wreathing Itself about his lips. * Pearl/ he muttered softly, * so every life has its pearl, even Cheap Jack's.' CHAPTER IX. FAREWELL SWEET DREAM. L A I R E and her mother are sitting at breakfast about three weeks after George Desborough's death. It is a bitterly cold morning, the snow is lying a foot deep in the garden, and a gloomy, foggy atmosphere makes all external objects seem drear, nor is there much more cheerfulness in the breakfast- room at Swanover Cottage. Claire's white face does not exhibit one symptom of joy, and Lady Laura's heart beats, oh, so throb- bingly, as she looks at her child. There has been a long silence, during which they have both seemed afraid that each Farewell Szveet Dream. 141 should read the other's private thoughts ; at last, however, Claire said very softly and gently,— * I shall write to Matthew to-day, mother, and give him back his promise.' Lady Laura did not answer, save by an almost Inarticulate ' Ah.' She, too, felt that as long as Matthew was a younger son, the objections to the marriage were removable, notwithstanding Mr Lently's strictures and Mrs Desborough's spite ; but now he was heir of Vantage they were increased tenfold. ' You approve, dearest mother, do you not?' Lady Laura looked at Claire for a minute, as though her child's happiness alone could influence her ; but then she said, — * Yes, Claire, I suppose it is the only course to be pursued. If Matthew — ' * He must be free and unbiassed,' inter- rupted the girl, a hot flush coming suddenly across the blanched face ; * there must be no 142 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. ifs. I should be more unhappy as Matthew's wife by compulsion than — ' and she stopped. School herself as she would, the great love of her life would hold a sway not easily to be set on one side, even at the prompt- ings of honour. She went on again, how- ever, after a short pause, boldly enough. ' Whatever my feelings, they must be counted for nothing now. Matthew is in a new position. For at least a year I will listen to no word of engagement between us. He must feel his way in this fresh life, learn what he can, and what he cannot give up. Mother, it is very hard to bear, but it must be done, honour and pride demand it. You will help me, will you not ? ' Claire's griefs, great or small, ever since her baby days, were invariably accompanied by an appeal for maternal succour. ' My child, of course I will, but look up, my Claire, such devotion and honesty must have their reward — you will be happy yet.' Farewell Szueet Dream. 143 But the girl only shook her head with a faint smile. A few hours later, and Claire's simple letter was written to Matthew, and the post-bag that went that day from Swan- over was a heavy one, if the weight of post-bags may be judged by the amount of heart that goes in the letters. ' Of course Matthew will disdain this sacrifice,' Lady Laura thought, ' though it was only right and fitting that Claire should offer it.' But for once Lady Laura judged falsely. Two days later Matthew's answer came. He accepted a temporary suspension of their engagement, ' not,' as he said, ' for any want of his old ardent love for Claire, but merely as a soother to the feelings of others, till they should have learnt in fact that he meant to be self-reliant, and resolved in all things now, more than ever, to have his own way.' Then he finished his missive with pro- 1 44 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. testations of affection and devotion, which were almost rhapsodical In their extrava- gance; but which, nevertheless, failed to blind Claire to the fact that he was free, as her heart whispered, free from her — for ever. She laid the letter in her mother's lap — a cold stony look on her face, a stare in her large eyes. She neither spoke nor wept — speech and tears for the time seemed utterly to have deserted her. What could Lady Laura say ? with that letter so unlike what she had expected lying before her, she dare not whisper words of hope for the future — in kindness to her child, she felt It were wiser to face the truth now. She would get over her disappointment, she trusted, as many a young heart has had to do before ; she did not stop to calculate the amount of fresh- ness and brightness and trusting love that getting over such a disappointment demands, all she considered at that moment was, Farewell Sweet Dixam. 145 how she could help to mitigate the blow which had come, none the less heavily from having been foreseen. She drew her daughter's head down on her shoulder as she still sat with Matthew's letter before her. ' You have done your duty, my child ; may that at least be some small comfort in your trial, and now let us try and make the best of what is left us.' ' The best, mother. What is the best ? The best has gone,' and Claire's words sounded like the echo of some far-off moan. ' Life and youth and health, Claire, do they count for nothing in the summing up of our earthly relations. Listen, my love, I have arranged a plan which we will put into operation with all due speed. We will not sit here and bewail, that were but ill in accordance with the pride we have already shown. We will go off to the sunny south and see if we cannot bring the colour back VOL. II. K 146 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. to those pale cheeks, for the look of your face makes your mother's heart very sad, my child, and it will not add to your happiness to make me miserable too. Eh, Claire ? ' ' No, mother ; but I can't be gay. You must forgive — ' and poor Claire broke down, and finished her sentence in a sob. This was what Lady Laura hoped for ; tears at seventeen are the natural result of intense grief, and Lady Laura trusted that, by dint of them, in time the grief would wear itself away, and that bright days would ensue. If she only could get Claire to take an interest in going abroad, the first step would be gained ; but that could scarcely be expected yet. True, she went about the house mak- ing the necessary preparations with some show of interest; but every now and then she would pause in her work, and stand with a distant look in her eyes, as though indulging in some thought which carried her far away. All communication with Matthew had not wholly Farewell Sweet D ream. 147 ceased ; probably from the sheer satisfaction of feeling himself to be free, he had written Claire more letters during the ten days after she had suggested their engagement should be broken off, than he had done during all the time he had been in London. She read them through with a perplexed look in her eyes, they seemed so bereft of life and spirit ; and Lady Laura, as she watched her without venturing on any remark, re- joiced that she had arranged a plan for continental travel, since thus she hoped the faint link which still bound them together would break of itself without compulsion. For Lady Laura saw that Claire's only chance of happiness now was to be at once and for ever free from Matthew — there must be no half measures, no halting between two opinions. Claire wrote to Matthew sometimes kind sisterly letters — full of in- terest and good advice, if scarcely as loving as they erst were ; for some reason, which 1 48 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. was not defined even to herself, she did not tell him she was leaving England ; perhaps she dreaded lest, on discovering that this separation was more tangible than when only the distance between London and Swanover lay between them, he might seek in hot haste to renew the old love ; or per- haps she did not wish to add one more drop to that cup of bitterness, which she knew full well he was drinking over George's death. Be it what It might, save for gentle sympathy, she was silent, and on a cold December morning, before the country neighbours should begin to talk of Christmas festivities, Claire and her mother, with one faithful old attendant, set out for Dover, bound for the sunny south, which Lady Laura had not visited since she was a child, and which to Claire was an unknown land. Yet she evinced no girlish curiosity — poor Claire, it was as though the well-spring of expectation had suddenly been dried up. Farewell Sweet Dream. 149 From Dover she wrote a farewell note to Matthew, telling him she was going abroad for a few months, and then with the fragments of the snapt cord coiled about her heart, she followed her mother on board the steamer. What Matthew's feelings were when he received that letter it were impossible to describe, since he scarcely knew himself; but perhaps relief was supreme. Claire was right ; mixing with the great London world had made him see things from a different aspect, and, moreover, he was still dwelling in Lord Beaurepaire's house, under the fas- cinating influence of Lady Valentina. His father and mother had come to London ; but, notwithstanding her great grief, which per- haps was the only genuine thing her life had yet produced, Mrs Desborough was not so utterly lost to all sense of worldly aggran- disement as to desire Matthew to quit the Beaurepaire's house in order to dwell under the same roof with herself. Strange the 1 50 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. amount of snobbism that not infrequently develops itself in the characters of those who, by birth and position, are themselves qualified to be among the leaders of society. Mrs Desborough was prepared to cringe to the duchess and to Lord Beaurepaire, while at the same time she gave herself little airs of superior wisdom, which showed at once that though she regarded them as social deities, she was not exactly inclined to cede the place as a clever woman. How much more overpowering would have been her deferential treatment of Lady Valentina, had not her behaviour been tempered by sorrow, it were difficult to decide ; as it was, re- dundant gratitude was the special quality in which she elected to excel — gratitude for all the kindness shown to her beloved Matthew ; and probably it was as useful as any other in bringing about the intimate relations which she desired to see existent between the two families. Farewell Sweet Dream. 1 5 1 There was something about Mrs Des- borough which was especially attractive to Lady Valentina. In the first place she re- cognised at once her intellectual superiority — perhaps the adulation she personally received had some share in her keen-sightedness ; then she regarded her as a thorough gentle- woman, untainted by any of the tricks of slang and bye-play which mar so many of those who inherit even high descent, but which were particularly distasteful to Lady Valentina. ' True, Mrs Desborough might be just slightly a bore with her hyper-prudery and ultra-particularity of detail, but then was not that infinitely preferable to women of Mrs Tremayne's type ? ' quoth the Lady Valentina to herself during her solitary meditations. Since George's death, Mrs Desborough's sentiments about Violet Tremayne had greatly modified ; as she could not injure him by marrying him, perhaps she liked her 152 Sackcloth and Bj^oadcloth. all the better for having thought about him ; and that Mrs Desborough had been attracted by Violet Tremayne's ways on their first introduction there is little doubt. The day. after her arrival in town, Violet had called-in just the little half-mourning garments which etiquette demands out of compliment. She had been admitted from a sort of mistake, owing to her usual at home-edness in the ducal house, and once having succeeded in seeing Mrs Desborough, it were strange if her re-establishment in favour had not from that moment been complete. Her manners were so winning, so endearing, that they went straight to the bereaved mother's heart, and she felt that were her son restored to her, she could almost give him to this charming little woman. That Mrs Des- borough, keen reader of character though she was, would always be more attracted by Violet than by Lady Valentina, there is no doubt, and yet the one was noble-minded. Farewell Sweet Dream. 153 grand, and altogether worthy ; while the other — well, she was Bohemian and in- triguing in the very extreme. The Rev. Lawrence Sivewriorht was not far wrono;- in the estimate he had drawn of Mrs Tre- mayne's character, though he might morally receive his 'quietus with a bare bodkin,' before he proceeded much farther with his strictures on the subject, that is, if he allowed the lady herself to become an courant with them. Mrs Desborough had not been two days in London before she discovered how de- cidedly antipathetic were Violet and Lady Valentina, and, wise woman as she was, she was carefully silent to the latter on the subject of the daily visits Mrs Tremayne paid her, and which each day she felt more and more that she should miss, if by any fortuitous circumstance they should be dis- continued. And whilst his daughter com- placently hugged the belief that, since the 154 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. night of the fatal ball, Mrs Tremayne and her father had not seen each other, they meanwhile not infrequently met in Mrs Desborough's drawing-room, and so pointedly attentive was the old earl, that Mrs Desborough began after a while to see through the smoked glass they had at first held up before her ; merely judging, however, with much discretionary prudence, that Mrs Tremayne must be the piece of perfection she deemed her, since Lord Beaurepaire, re- nownedly the most difficult of men, accorded her so high a place in his esteem. Thus within a month of George Desborough's death, before the tears shed to his memory had been dried up, two new friendships — for they were scarcely love-knots, at least not yet — had arisen among those whom he estimated as his own particular belongings. But he had gone to his rest — they might for him, henceforth, mate as they listed ; while poor little Claire Bailey, exiled in a Farezuell Siveet Dream. \ 5 5 foreign land, had of her own free will given an open field to the rival of whom she scarcely suspected the existence. So, in that ever-changing kaleidoscope society, do new pictures and amalgamations daily present themselves to the vigilant observer. CHAPTER X. A GUIDING STAR. ijj#0 you think I ought to go back to Mr Wharton's ? I will be guided entirely by you. Give me your opinion as what I ought to do/ says Matthew Desborough, as he is lounging on the sofa in Lady Valentina's boudoir, still allowed, on account of his recent indisposi- tion, an amount of liberty which no other male had ever previously been permitted in the presence of the stately Valentina. She is sitting in a chaise longue by the fire looking very regal in a tight - fitting black velvet dress, with a large ruffle of creamy lace about her neck. She drops the book she had A Guiding Star. 1 5 7 been reading steadily for more than half- an-hour, and looks at Matthew as though, even durine the last three weeks of intimate acquaintance with him, she has scarcely yet become accustomed to these sudden appeals. If she had been watching him instead of reading her book, she would have been aware that he meantime had never turned a page, while the working of his expressive face would have told her that in his mind at that moment there was subject matter for whole volumes. But Lady Valentina was not in the habit of noting signs ; to her matter-of-fact nature they had but little meaning. Matthew had gone through a perfect mental tempest, while she had steadily perused the rather dull pages of some travels in Persia, and she had known nothing of it. Now, however, that she was addressed, she took the matter in hand practically, and at once, as was her wont ; her first remark being a question, — 158 Sackcloth and Broadcloth, * What do your father and mother wish ? ' * My father is so knocked down by my poor brother's death that he gives no opinion ; of course he does not think I am worthy to fill his place, and he is right. Oh ! Lady Valentina, if it were not that my mind is so ill at ease, my faith so shaken, I should often wish that I were lying beside poor George ; or, better still, were lying there instead of him.' * Hush ! Mr Desborough ; pray do not talk in that strain. A shaken faith ! Why should your faith be shaken } You come of an old family who have been firm church, men for years. Fanaticism and heresy, my dear friend, are invariably the result of disease ; as you grow stronger, you will lose these vague waverings.' Conservative alike in religion and politics. Church and State were the golden words inscribed on Lady Valentina's life banner. * That is what every one tells me — that A Guiding Star. 159 I am ill, weak alike in mind and body,' said Matthew querulously. * And yet, only this morning, my mother was urging me to walk alone — to take counsel of no man, but follow the unbiassed dictates of my own feelings.' ' Well,' answered Lady Valentina, ' let us see how we can work out Mrs Des- borough's plan. Let us jot down the points at issue, with their pros and cons ; and, having considered the latter carefully, accept or reject them according to their weight. Are you agreeable to abide by this arrangement } ' * To have a fixed line of action marked out for me, would be the commencement of a new epoch of happiness.' ' Exactly. Now, the first question is. Shall I return to Mr Wharton's to improve my mind, and render myself more fit to become a responsible member of the con- stitution ? Against going back, — coercion 1 6o Sackcloth and Broadcloth, is a nuisance, and nursing the quirks of my own brain a pastime in which convalescence invariably delights.' ' Oh, Lady Valentina ! you are making fun of the whole concern.' * Fun ? ' and Lady Valentina looked in- tensely surprised ; it was the first time in her whole life that she had ever been ac- cused deliberately of committing so heinous an offence. * Fun ? ' she repeated, * there must surely be a visible line somewhere between common sense and fun.' *You are treating me a little bit like a school-boy,' said Matthew, turning away with a flushed face. ' And I have been out of leading strings some time.' * It strikes me you gave them to me to hold. I am sorry I misunderstood you,' and she took up her book as though pro- posing to return once more to the per- usal of the Persian travels. A Gttiding Star. i6i But Matthew had no intention of giving up the discussion so readily. He loved argument, but then he liked it to move round a circle. A beginning and an end were definite existences with which he could not grapple ; thus Lady Valentina's practical answers to the first questions he had set her tormented him, but he went on, as If desirous to pursue the subject, — ' You see, If I go back to Wharton's, I shall hear the perpetual discussion of sub- jects bearing on logic, metaphysics, philo- sophy, and all that catalogue ; and if I do not go back — ' ' You will still live In the world and hear those subjects frequently discussed, without having gone through the course of study which will enable you to understand them/ * Lady Valentlna, does It ever occur to you to believe in any of these new ideas ? ' and Mat- thew sat down on a footstool at Lady Valen- tina's feet, and looked up at her earnestly. VOL. II. L I 62 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. * I am a Beaurepaire,' she answered proudly, 'hence a churchwoman.' Matthew twisted himself round, fronting the fire, his arms embracing his knees, as he sat looking at it with a glowing face, and eyes that shone like the stars in heaven. ' I wonder what Sivewright really seriously believes,' he said after a short pause. * In the constitution,' she answered, ' or he is not an Englishman.' It had been Matthew's lot of late to meet people holding varied creeds, both religious and political ; but no one had yet crossed his path who took his stand-point of faith on exactly the same ground as did Lady Valen- tina. She believed rigidly, firmly, zealously, because disbelief would have been a flaw in the requirements society demands from the noble daughter of a noble house. To read controversial books, or dispute in any way the faith of her ancestors, would never have occurred to her for an instant. She went to A Guiding Star. 163 church regularly on Sunday mornings and on the chief red letter days, she subscribed to several public charities, made Christmas gifts and Easter offerings, led a strictly moral and truthful life, but knew naught of spirituality or mysticism. * High and dry,' on the old established last century model — such was Lady Valentina's creed ; for the first time, perhaps it was likely to prove advantageous to another mind, since the steady machinery which actuated her was exactly the regulative power which was wanting to Matthew. Pos- sibly he felt that her strong unshaken faith would act as a prop to his over-scrupulous inquiries, and he was therefore inclined to be honestly guided by the opinions of another. Lady Valentina was firm as granite — there was nothing of the shuttlecock about her — at least so Matthew decided in his mind as he sat at her feet and looked at the fire. He never asked himself whether the drawing towards her, which he undeniably felt, was 1 64 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. entirely mental, or whether physical attributes had their share therein. Or perhaps it was gratitude for kindly nursing which was filling him with strong regard and making him feel a longing that this regal-looking passive woman should take the reins of his life-chariot In her firm fair hands, and guide those unreliable steeds, Scruple and Self-reproach, as he could never succeed In guiding them himself. Be the exact definition of his feelings what It might, It was to her his thoughts wandered as they passed quickly away from the contem- plation of Mr SIvewrlght's belief, and Lady Valentlna's finely balanced equilibrium re- ceived a fresh shock as he asked, very unexpectedly, dashing away with his usual impetuosity from the last subject under discussion, — ' Lady Valentina, did you ever see any one like me before ? Do you think my quirks and difficulties perfectly unamenable to discipline ? * A Gtciding Star, 165 She looked at him for a moment in some surprise, then she folded her arms on the velvet skirt, and, leaning on them, brought her head down more on a level with his as he sat below her. ' I think you are a very troublesome boy,' she said smilincr ; ' but troublesome children are often cured by coercion.' Now Matthew did not exactly relish the idea of being treated as a child by Valentina — still he did not attempt to resent it, but said in very low tones, — * Coercion from you ; yes, I could bear it very patiently. Punish me as much as you will, I shall never complain.' Lady Valen- tina blushed. Unparalleled coincidence ! Why should these words of Matthew's call up a blush on a pale cold cheek, on which till now the colour had never deepened for any speech or thought. ' I do not wish to punish you,' she said, * I 1 66 Sackcloth and Broadcloth, would far rather — ' and she stopped for a second, ' see you happy.' ' Ah ! much of my prospective happiness lies in your hands. You have the power to make or mar my future.' Had he quite forgotten Claire Bailey al- ready, or did he only mean that the agency of the Intellectual affinity which bound him to Valentlna would make his happiness. It is a question which at that moment he would have been utterly incapable of answering. The glow on her face deepened, but she rose quickly so that he should not re- mark it. ' This conversation is not good for an in- valid,' she said a little hurriedly, ' you ought to be out walking in the sunshine.' Matthew sprang to his feet. * Already am I to be punished by being sent away. Oh, Lady Valentlna, one moment before you begin to subject me to a system. Promise sometimes to temper your treatment A Guiding Star, 167 with mercy, and occasionally to be kind and good, and — loving.' The last word made Lady Valentlna wince, but she did not treat it as an impertinence, as might have been supposed ; she only said quite playfully, — * What a silly boy you are ; one would think I was a perfect Tartar.' ' Instead of the kindest and most adorable woman in the universe. Oh, Lady Valen- tina ! how should I ever have got through all this trying time without you ? You have been my good genius ; only tell me how I can in some degree show my gratitude and requite you, however infinitesimally, for all you have done for me.' * Really, Mr Desborough, you will be quite ill if you excite yourself in this way ; if you want to please me, do be a little amenable to reason.' ' Yes. I have promised, and you have the right to hold me to my word/ 1 68 Sackcloth afid Broadcloth. 'You don't mean really that you expect me to arrange your life for you ? I am not clever enough to — not capable — besides, what will Mrs Desborough think ? ' ' Oh, my mother is not likely to interfere with my affairs when she knows they are in such safe hands.' ' It is impossible, Mr Desborough ; you do not know what you are asking.' * When I was ill in body, physically incap- able of acting for myself, you nursed me, fed me, looked after me ; do you regard the mind as inferior to the body that you refuse to bestow on it a portion of the tender treatment the body has received ? ' and Matthew followed her to the window, where she had taken refuge from a con- versation which visibly alarmed and moved her. ' Why have you selected me for this office ? To be the body's nurse is womanly ; but to tutor and teach requires A G7iiding Star, 169 an amount of intellect and learninof which I do not possess.' 'Intellect and learning, avaunt!' cried Matthew excitedly. * I have been lectured enough by so-called clever people ; hence- forth I will choose my own mentor, and, if I mistake not, you have already accepted the office. So, Lady Valentina, I will bear no refusal patiently — ' for she held out her hand as though objectingly. ' Tut, tut, Mr Desborough. I shall be failing in my duty as body's nurse if I allow this conversation to go on.' * Promise then — ' She looked at him without speaking, as she pondered over the immense respon- sibility which this promise involved ; he, meanwhile, paced the room with feverish agitation. No movement on his part could have been more successful in gaining her speedy consent to his wishes ; for she feared the effect her refusal might have on his I 70 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. excitable temperament, and, stopping him, she just touched his sleeve with her jewelled hand. * I will do the best I can for you — you most irrational of men.' He cauo^ht her hand and kissed it fer- vently, while the woman's pale face was once more all aglow as she snatched it from him, and bade him go out and leave her to her reflections for an hour or so. Lad}^ Valentina's reflections, as a rule, were of a very orderly sequent nature, but, on this occasion they entirely deserted the beaten track, and declined in toto to be made subservient to will. This rash ex- citable, impassioned boy was a perfect anomaly in her life. She did not wholly understand him — how could she, since his nature was so utterly and entirely opposite to her own — and yet she had undertaken to help him through the tangled mazes of some tolerably thick brushwood. If she A Guiding Star. i 7 1 were successful, and they found themselves together on a broad firm path, what then ? Practical Lady Valentina could not solve the problem, so she sat down and resumed once more the readinor of the Persian travels ; but during the last half-hour a sad flagging in interest had supervened, and ere many minutes the book was thrown on one side, to be taken up no more for that day it least. And Lady Valentina sat very pas lively for a long while ; probably she was mapping out Matthew Des- borough's future, a task many of his inti- mates would have judged that she was likely to perform but very imcompletely, since, from each of the several chapters into which she divided it, Claire Bailey was singularly absent. CHAPTER XI SCHEMING. INCE Matthew has gone back to Mr Wharton's, I do not see any reason for prolonging our visit to London,' Mrs Desborough was explain- ing to Mrs Tremayne, as they sat together in friendly chat in the duchess's drawing- room, Mrs Desborough's pro tern. ' But the change is so good for you,' pleaded Violet, to whom Mrs Desborough's return to Vantage Park was anything but agreeable. For where then would be the daily meetings with Lord Beaurepaire ? * Mr Desborough misses his country avo- cations, his books, and his pet papers. I Scheming. 173 must consider him ; he has not looked the same man since — since — that awful accident.' The difference between the squire of Van- tage and his wife lay in that he never spoke of poor George's dreadful death ; while she talked of it volubly and incessantly. ' Yes, of course. I wonder you don't per- suade him to send for his papers and stay in town for a little. Can't he get books at the British Museum, or some of those places ?' Violet's literary knowledge was of the vaguest. ' Oh, I daresay, yes, certainly ; and it would be delightful to be near you — you have cheered me up as no one else could have done ; but you will come and stay at Vantage, so we need not be separated.' Mrs Tremayne shook her head. * Circumstances keep me in London just at present, a little troublesome law business, or I suppose Julia would have insisted on my accompanying her back to Montarlis. 1 74 Sackcloth and Bivadclotk. I am glad, however, since during the last few weeks it has enabled me to be of use to you.' ' I am sure I don't know what I should have done without you, dear,' and Mrs Des- borough, with a sudden gush of affection, kissed Mrs Tremayne effusively. ' Then you will stay just a week more. I am sure Mr Desborough does not dislike being in London half as much as you imagine, and we can't lose you yet, can we. Lord Beaure- paire ? ' and she held out her hand to the peer, who was announced at that moment. ' Lose Mrs Desborough, no indeed. Where does she talk of going ? ' ' Back to be mummified at Vantage. Such a mistake, when she is not in the best of spirits.' ' You are all very good, too good,' and Mrs Desborough's black bordered handker- chief touched her eyelashes. ' Matthew left us this morning,' went on Scheming, 175 his lordship, thinking to avert her thoughts by interesting her in her surviving son, ' he was really looking quite brisk. He is a dear boy, and I have grown very fond of him, so has Valentina, who rarely takes to any one ; but she lectures Matthew, and arranges everything for him in a way it is quite wonderful to behold.' ' I am sure I am most grateful to you both. Matthew, as you say, is a dear boy, his loving affectionate nature will fully repay any sacrifices made for him. Ah ! I was blessed in both my sons, pray God this one may be spared to me. Do you approve of Mr Wharton as a tutor for Matthew, Lord Beaurepaire ? ' ' As tutors go, yes. But since Matthew, under the different circumstances in which he is now placed, will probably not take orders, it seems to me his best tutor would be the world. He has no fault save that he knows too little of life.' I 76 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. ' And that is scarcely a grievous one ; but you are right, Matthew is almost too good.' ' Not too good, Mrs Desborough, but too scrupulous. We must see if amongst us we cannot rub the edge off some of his scruples ; for a little while, however, I daresay he will do very well at Wharton's.' Mrs Tremayne got up and shook her skirts and her curls — this conversation bored her — she had not come there to listen to a panegyric on Matthew, who, even though he had become an elder son, was to her a totally uninteresting object. ' I must go,' she said, examining with atten- tion a vase on the mantel-shelf as she spoke. She had not the slightest intention of going ; but it was one of her habits to be perpetually on the move, ever seemingly oppressed by an amount of business she had to get through, -''1 of which could very conveniently have been postponed sine die ; but then the general Scheming, 1 7 7 fuss that encircled Mrs Tremayne would have been non-existent, and she would have lost half her identity. * Going ! ' exclaimed both Lord Beaure- paire and Mrs Desborough as in one breath. It was very evident that Mrs Tremayne had made herself very necessary to both of them during the last few days. * I have so much to do.' * What can you have to do, I wonder 1 ' asked his lordship. * Well, I have to order a dress at Elise's for her Grace of Montarlis. I have to go and scold the cleaner for sending home my new lace curtains all in holes. I have to go to one or two house agents to see if I can let my house till the end of next season. Heigho ! what it is to be poor ! And I have to go and get an estimate for doing a cer- tain amount of whitewashing and papering to the same. If that is not a catalogue of necessity's obligations, I don't know what is.' VOL. II. M I yS Sackcloth and Broadcloth. ' My dear child, you need not go to-day about the house — to-morrow will do quite as well,' suggested Mrs Desborough. But it was towards Lord Beaurepaire that Violet looked to see the effect of her speech, most of which was pure fiction. There was a curious expression on his face, to say the least of it, and it augered well for the future, she thought. In fact she did not doubt but the business would have been settled long ago, save for Lady Valentina's palpable dis- approval. True, they had met but seldom since the ball, and then only by chance at Mrs Desborough's ; yet Violet felt it were easier to go on a pilgrimage to the frigid zone, than to attempt to make any way among the icebergs which debarred her from all entrance into Lady Valentina's good graces. But to return to the present position. Lord Beaurepaire, having recovered from the shock the idea of losing Mrs Tre- Scheming. 1 79 mayne's society in London for the whole of the next season had given him, said rather pointedly, — * Pray do not be in a hurry to do so rash a thing. There is no saying what may happen between this and the season ; wait, at least, till after Christmas.' ' Nothing is at all likely to happen/ cried Violet. ' I have no rich relations to die, and I am so overhoused that it swallows all my income — in fact, I am thinking of sitting on my doorstep with my mouth open like a bird waiting to be fed.' Both her friends laughed, and Violet, having obtained what she wanted — namely the whole attention — went on chattering. ' Something I must do to live. The stage would suit me best, only I am afraid to my appeal, " Walk up, walk up, ladies and gentlemen," all my friends would immedi- ately walk down and leave me shivering outside the pale of society.' 1 80 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. * Do you think you would have the nerve to act in pubhc ? ' asked Mrs Des- borough. * Nerve ! good gracious ! That is just what I have in abundance. At twelve years old I could jump through a hoop with anybody.' * Jump through a hoop ! Did you ever try ? ' and Mrs Desborough's voice was so reprovingly astonished that Mrs Tremayne coloured up. * What have I not tried ? ' she answered. * I was once a sad tom-boy ; but poverty stops most things, even vices. No ; I don't think I'll take to the stage, it is too naughty. Fish is a wonderfully money-making trade, that is what I will go In for/ and she began to wander about the room, singing ' Caller Herrin' ! ' in that clear rich voice of hers, so as thoroughly to entrance both her hearers. In fact, Mrs Tremayne was in the full swing of triumph, when a most unexpected Scheming. 1 8 1 and unwelcome visitor was announced ; more unwelcome than could even have been Lady Valentina herself. It was none other than the Rev. Lawrence Sivewright, whom every one had supposed to be safe in the bosom of his flock at Fernwood. He could scarcely believe his ears when he first heard such festal strains proceeding from a room which, judging from his last interview with Mrs Desborough, he believed must be the abode of mourning, nor in fact his eyes when, having crossed the threshold, he saw Mrs Tremayne. Was it not enough that he had to contend with the presence of this lady at Montarlis Casde ? Little did he expect to find her on equally intimate terms with his older and more sagacious ally, Mrs Desborough. Having shaken hands with his old friend, who was really glad to see him, though she assumed the most afflicted manner the moment he appeared, he turned to Violet, and the look they gave 1 82 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. each other showed plainly that under the civility with which they managed to get through a greeting, there was a well-spring of ill-feeling which, on one side or the other, must some day bubble up. But Lord Beau- repalre had to be introduced to the clergy- man, and in the hearty meeting of the two men, known to each other so well by re- pute, the existent animosity between Violet and Mr Sivewright passed unnoticed. ' I am only in town for two days. I came up on some personal business — nothing of importance. More, perhaps, to get rid of a little country mould,' was the vicar's answer to Mrs Desborough's questioning. ' How is the squire ? ' ' Very dejected — very sadly dejected. We are both of us terribly broken down.' The Rev. Lawrence wondered whether 'Caller Herrin'!' would have a beneficial effect on the squire ; but save by a smile which Mrs Desborough's despondent mien Scheming. 183 did not seem to occasion, he gave no sign, only asked, — ' And Matthew — how is Matthew ?' ' Ask Lord Beaurepaire ; he knows the best and latest news of Matthew/ * Always Matthew,' murmured Mrs Tre- mayne to herself, as she walked away to a distant .window and stood playing with the blind tassel. ' Always Matthew. How sick I am of his quirks and his fancies. I wish — well, I wish the stately Valentina would marry him. By St Hymen, that is a lordly idea ! I'll see if I can't promote it. It would get rid of her at all events. I wish I could marry the parson to somebody. If it were to the angel of destruction, I should not much care ; but I'll be even with him some- how,' and having given vent to her feelings in this little stage-aside, she strolled back to the fireplace, where the two gentlemen were still discussing Matthew's prospects con amove, Mrs Tremayne to a certain extent 1 84 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. was right ; it had become a sort of trouble- some habit with all his friends to discuss Matthew's affairs exhaustively, possibly be- cause he himself set them the example by so constantly seeking counsel from every one. Mrs Tremayne sat down by Mrs Des- borough. * I really am going now/ she said, * you must have so much to talk over with Mr Sivewright that you can't want me, or Lord Beaurepaire either. Are you walk- ing ? Can I put you down anywhere ? ' she went on, turning to him. ' I am going to- wards St James' Street' Mrs Tremayne was too much bored by Mr Sivewright's advent to extend her visit, but she had no intention of leaving Lord Beaurepaire behind her to hear any dis- advantageous remarks which she thought very possibly might be made. * Thank you very much. I am going to Scheming. 185 the Carlton. I shall be delighted if you will set me down/ ' You have been missed in the north ; but who does not miss Mrs Tremayne ? ' said Mr Sivewright as they shook hands, ' though it is amusing — really amusing.' * Who ? what ?' asked Violet in some trepidation, though curious to know what he meant. ' Oh, only a very odd man I was talking to the other day, who has taken quite a fancy to you — sees some likeness to an old love he tells me.' * Who on earth is it ? * * I fancy you know him very well ; his name is Varley.' ' Cheap Jack ! Yes, he is a great friend of mine.' * My dear Violet ! ' interposed Mrs Des- borough a little reprovingly. ' Of course I don't mean exactly a friend ; only I patronise him ; he amuses me.' 1 86 Sackcloth and Broadcloth, ' While he evidently has an immense ad- miration for you — says you resemble some Pearl he once knew in his early youth.' Mrs Tremayne grew white enough to merit the soubriquet, but she said with a very off-hand manner, — ' I don't know anything about his recollec- tions, only he is a funny little man who makes me laugh, so I toss him a half-crown occasionally.' ' Next time you see him ask him about Pearl. He told me the whole story.' * Oh, I never encourage those sort of people in telling stories ; they are, as a rule, far too prolix.' ' Yes, he might be so, it is very probable. Good-bye, Mrs Tremayne, I daresay we shall meet soon at Montarlis.' ' Good-bye, Mr Sivewright.' ' I never saw Sivewright before ; he seems a highly cultivated delightful man, very unlike the usual run of countrv Scheming. 187 parsons,' said Lord Beaurepaire, when they were seated side by side in the widow's brougham. ' Don't trust him, Lord Beaurepaire. He is a sort of man who will say anything. He is clever and polished enough and all that ; but he would not mind swearing away a woman's reputation.' ' The basest sin a man can commit. I hope you are labouring under a mistake.' ' Well, Mr Sivewright always will have what he calls the truth, and whatever flaw there might be in any one's character, he would expose it, probably exaggerate it, for the sake of his beloved truth.' * Ah, that is rather another reading ; but I perceive he is no favourite of yours.' ' I hate him,' replied Violet very decidedly. Lord Beaurepaire laughed as he remarked, that ' it was always desirable to hear of hating, since it made its opposite so much more worth having.' 1 88 Sackcloth and Broadcloth, Violet smiled, and looked up at him with a little blush ; but, somewhat to her disap- pointment, his conversation did not become more personal. In fact it had not ascended above mere platitudes when they arrived at the Carlton, and save that he did just squeeze the tips of her fingers as he ex- pressed a hope that he should meet her next day at Mrs Desborough's, she would have been inclined to think that the chase was a useless one. As it was, she went on her way ruminating and uttering invectives against Lady Valentina and Mr Sivewright by turns. * The first must be married to Matthew ; the second must be silenced — but how .'^ ' And then she fell into a train of thouofht about that ' Pearl ' story. * What could Cheap Jack have been say- ing ? What could he know ? She was like a Pearl he had once known ? She would have to go back to Montarlis and find out several Scheming, 1 89 things — but Lord Beaurepaire ! Why, Mrs Desborough must ask the Beaurepaires to Vantage, it was only the right thing to do after their kindness to Matthew. The mourning — oh, that did not matter, since they had been through the whole thing ; of course that was the plan. She was doubtless quite as desirous about Matthew's marriage with Valentina, as it behoved an anxious mother to be. Quel parti ! Yes, yes, there lay a map of the next few weeks in a nut- shell' CHAPTER XII. TEA AT THE VICARAGE. HE bell at Ravensholme Church Is ringing for evensong — service on week days in the winter is at four o'clock. The Rev. Luke Lently, in his cas- sock, passes quickly across the narrow path which leads directly from his study to the back door of the church. Having put on his surplice and gone into his stall on the right side of the chancel, he glances his eye over the congregation. Mrs Giles is well in front, the school mistress in her usual seat. Two old women from the alms-house are a few seats behind her, a nursing sister to whom Mrs Giles is strongly antagonistic, Tea at the Vicarage. 191 in the shade by the wall. Yes, the whole week-day congregation is there ; nay more, as far he can see by the dimly burning candles, there is another and an unusual worshipper ; but recognition is impossible. He begins to repeat the service with rapid indistinctness, nor does he make any farther attempt to discover who the stranger is till he advances to the eagle to read the first lesson ; he can, however, only discern that it is a lady who has seated herself at the farther end of the church behind the sister. * Mrs Giles will be able to tell him who she is,' he decides at last, and proceeds with the service, giving the matter no farther consideration. Half-past-four ! it is all over, and the vicar is standing on the church step, waiting to see the last candle carefully put out by a very little boy, who acts as acolyte, sacristan, and sweeper by turns. * How do you do, Mr Lently 1 ' 192 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. In the short early December afternoon it is nearly dark. The vicar removes his soft hat by the crown in deference to the tone of the speaker's voice, for he cannot see who addresses him till she comes up quite close. ' Mrs Tremayne ! ' And the sudden appearance of Beelzebub himself could scarcely have surprised him more than that of Violet at a week-day service, or in fact at Ravensholme Church at all ; for so antipathetic were Mr Lently s practices to the duke's ideas, that although Montarlis Castle was in Ravensholme parish, the entire household invariably attended divine service at Fernwood. ' You seem surprised/ was Violet's an- swer to the vicar s exclamation ; ' but why should I not come to Ravensholme ? It is a prettier church than Fernwood, I think ; at all events there is some aesthetic display, that's the right term, isn't it ? Mr Sivewright Tea at the Vicarage. 193 is so hard and intellectual, so I thought I would come and pay you a visit.' * I am sure I am delighted to see you. I trust you will return very often, and that — ' ' Don't begin to preach, Mr Lently ; I am horribly wilful. If you don't let me have my own way, I shall not come at all.' The vicar smiled at her bluntness, which was rather an unusual element in the life of obsequious respect that he commanded, and for that very reason perhaps attractive. ' You haven't got a large congregation, I must say. I wonder if Sivewright would have more people if he set up these daily services.' At the name of his rival Mr Lently's brow lowered, but he did not venture on an answer, only observed that the evening was rather cold. * Cold, I should think it is cold in this bitinor east wind ! If I come into the vicar- age, will Mrs Lently give me some tea before I walk back to Montarlis ! ' VOL. II. N 194 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. ' Tea ! oh yes, certainly ; ' but there was an uneasy expression on the priestly coun- tenance. He made it an especial rule to keep his penitents carefully apart from his domestic circle, Into which even Mrs Giles but rarely penetrated, but this new truth-seeker seemed determined to break through every rule. ' Tea at the vicarage — the chances were that there would be no milk, perhaps no tea in the house, or even It was possible not a whole cup to drink out of/ thus soliloquised the vicar, and then he looked round for Mrs Giles. * Mrs Giles, would you mind going on to the house and telling my wife that Mrs Tremayne Is coming to tea. In the meantime I should like to show you my Venetian reredos and a frontal which has just been worked for the church by one who bestows all her time in such offerings.* This latter part of the sentence was, of course, addressed to Violet ; the small boy Tea at the Vicarage. 195 was recalled, a few candles were lighted, and Mr Lently spent at least a quarter of an hour in the exhibition of some of his treasures in art ; rather to Violet's surprise, be it said, for, unaccustomed to stray into ritualistic territory, she had scarcely cal- culated on finding so many pretty things in a village church, and lover of beauty as she was, Mr Lently rose in her estimation accordingly. At last however the exhibi- tion was over, and chatting pleasantly on matters in connection with it, they went up the little path to the vicar's study, passing through which they gained the interior of the house, from whence proceeded, as usual, the screams of many children. ' I did not know you had a number of children ! ' remarked Violet when she heard the cries. * How many ? ' * Five,' he answered with a sigh. * The usual clerical quiver full,' she an- swered flippantly, with utter disregard for his 196 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. feelings ; but how could she know that he regarded them as five separate sins. He opened the dining-room door. Mrs Lently had tortured herself into her best Sunday silk dress in anticipation of the guest announced by Mrs Giles, but she could not find any cuffs, or had none clean, so her arms hung bare out of full old-fashioned sleeves. Her collar was rumpled, while the bow of the ribbon she had tied hastily round her neck had slipped considerably on one side — as for her hair, well, even in days when untidy coifi'ures are reckoned fashionable, hers would scarcely pass muster. The tea had not yet made its appearance, and the fire, which had evidently been out, was feebly trying to burn up, and emitted every now and then an unpleasant little gust of smoke. A lamp which reeked of paraffin stood on the table, casting a sort of impertinent glare on the general dis- comfort of the room and on Mrs Giles' Tea at the Vicarage, 197 features, as she sat looking on in grave disapproval. ' Very glad to make your acquaintance, Mrs Lently,' said Violet, and she took the vicaress's chubby hand in hers, feeling as if she rather liked the fat moon-like face, weak and characterless though it was. ' Is this your youngest child ? He is a nice curly-headed fellow.' This to Master Bobbie, who presented a physiognomy so besmeared with jam that it would have been impossible for the most zealous devotee at the shrine of childhood to have kissed him. * So kind of you to give me some tea.' Not that there were any signs of that re- past, but Violet sat down, and while they were waiting for it an inquiring thought passed simultaneously through the other three brains as to what had brought her there. * I only came back from London yesterday,' she went on after a short rather uncomfort- 198 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. able pause, Mr Lently having become abso- lutely silent since he had joined his family. ' I travelled up with the Desboroughs. Such a large party — so pleasant. The Beau- repaires have come to stay at Vantage for a few weeks. Very good of them, for poor Mrs Desborough is sadly out of spirits, and as for the squire, I never saw any one so utterly broken.' ' And Mr Matthew ? ' asked Mrs Lently. * Oh ! he is still in London. I daresay he will soon come home.' * I am very fond of Mr Matthew. He is always so good to the children. I am sorry he went away. He — ' Mrs Lently said, but she was interrupted by her husband. * It was the most evil day that ever dawned for Matthew.* * Mr Sivewright may be thanked for it,' observed Violet knowingly, * We all of us have a good deal to thank Mr Sivewright for. Eh, Mr Lently ? ' Tea at the Vicarage. 199 * I owe him nothing,' was the Vicar of Ravensholme's dignified answer. * Not for one single mauvais tour — then all I can say is, you have much to be grateful for — but here comes the tea luckily, for I must make haste home, it is growing dark.' * It will give me great pleasure to accom- pany you as far as the gate at Montarlis.' The offer came from Mrs Giles, to whom Violet turned with a beaming smile. She was an oddity, and Violet delighted in oddities. That she had had some project in her head when she walked out of the beaten track in order to attend service at Ravensholme, and have tea at the vicarage, there is little doubt, though what it was had not transpired. While she sat there she made up her mind to come again ; everything was a novelty — down to the thick hunches of bread and butter which came in with the tea — and, as a novelty, priceless. She was quite resolved to make herself thoroughly agreeable, and 200 Sackcloth and Broadcloth, she ate and drank and praised everything in a way that won both the women's hearts at once. Mr Lently alone laboured under a vague sort of feeling that she was poking fun ; but then he alone of the party knew how dif- ferent the appointments in the houses of the great were from those of his ill-regulated home. Vainly he strove to silence his wife's tongue as she chatted on about Bobbie's cough and Jacky's broken head, and how the kitchen chimney smoked, because Mary would not manage it properly, till at last he worked himself to a perfect acme of impatience, and saying he must go to his night school, left Violet to the tender mercies of the women. ' They must make the best of it as long as he was not there to hear,' he said to him- self as he passed into his study, and very speedily, in the zeal of parochial work, forgot for a while the petty annoyances and dis- comforts of his daily life, which, though small in each detail, yet as a whole — Tea at the Vicarage. 201 * Might shake the saintship of an anchorite.' In a very minutes Violet rose to depart. She had succeeded to a certain extent in her project — she had gained a footing in Ravens- holme Vicarage. She bade Mrs Lently quite an affectionate farewell, promising to come again very soon, and then she and Mrs Giles set out for a dark walk up the hill to Montarlis. She had not said 'nay' to the curious old widow's offer, not because she was in the least afraid of being out in the dark alone, but because she wanted to pick the widow's brains about what was going on in the neighbourhood generally. It had occurred to Violet that possessing the enemy she did in Mr Sivewright, it would be as well to gain all the information she could about his practices and habits, so as to use them to her own advantage as diplomacy should suggest, and where so likely to become well informed on these points as in the rivals camp ? * 202 Sackcloth a7id Broadcloth. ' You have lived in this neighbourhood for some time, I think ? ' she asked Mrs Giles before she had proceeded far. * Since Mr Lently came to Ravensholme.' * Oh, that is only two years ; but I sup- pose you know everybody ? ' ' In the village ? Oh yes. I do a good deal of work under the vicar. Nothing w^Ill give me greater pleasure than to dispense any charities you may be inclined to bestow.' Violet laughed. * You know the old saying about charity beginning at home. I very often have not two gold pieces to chink together ; in fact I live a good deal on charity myself.' ' My dear madam ! ' * It is quite true. If it were not for my friends I should be in the workhouse.' Mrs Giles, who had been admiring her pretty furs and well-fitting gown, thought she must be slightly demented when she made this announcement. Tea at the Vicarage. 203 * You don't know anything about the system of tick that goes on in a certain world — so much the better for you.* * Indeed, no. We condemn it in the village as most reprehensible, and have almost succeeded in eradicating it.' * Quite right. I wish I could eradicate it, by having the ready coin ; but that is neither here nor there — tell me something of the workings of your parish. I know more about Sivewright s place.' But Violet scarcely expected the tirade her question called forth. The list of mother's meetings, night schools, day schools, services, instructions, meditations, that Mrs Giles gave as following in a perpetual routine in the parish, fairly took her breath away. * And how many inhabitants ? ' she asked. * About one hundred and fifty — all counted.' ' Well, I pity them. All I can say is, if I 204 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. had such a surfeit of good things, I should become bad for variety.' Mrs Giles leapt half across the road, as though a viper had struck her with its sting. * Oh, I daresay you think I am very wicked — so I am ; but what can one do if one has not the vocation to be orood.' 'Pray for grace,' said the widow devoutly. ' I am really sorry for you, lady ; you will pardon me saying it, but if you have had no ministrations but those of Mr Sivewright, it is not to be expected that light can have dawned on your dreary darkness.' * He is an able scholar and an eloquent preacher,' answered Violet in her flippant way ; * one must give the devil his due.' * Sermons are the snare of the godly,' was Mrs Giles' reply. 'Did you ever hear Mr Sivewright preach?' ' God forbid ! ' * Mercy, you don't mean to say that you hate him too ? ' Tea at the Vicarage, 205 * I should be sorry to harbour a feeHng of hatred for any one. Personally, Mr Sive- wright is indifferent to me ; but I hold him in high reprobation for the lukewarm effort he is making in the Church's cause. As a young man, too, he was so bright and full of promise.' * You knew him in his youth ? Before he took orders ? ' 'Yes.' * Gracious ! how interesting, and he was — * Clever always, spiritual never.' 'Just so, and a little bit wild, like other young men, I have no doubt.' * He has never married,' said the widow shortly. ' It never occurs to me that he is a marry- ing man ; but do you know any reason why he has omitted to fulfil this great social duty?' * I can put two and two together as well as another,' said Mrs Giles. ' I daresay if I were to rake my memory I could find a 2o6 Sackcloth and Bi'oadcloth. few scraps which might be made to fit in so as to form a background to Fernwood Parsonage ; but it is not fitting that one devoted to good works, as I am now, should spend my time in idle words and idle reports.' * Of course not,' answered Violet hypo- critically, * It would be very wrong ; besides, Mr Sivewright might not like it. — You'll tell me every word before you are a week older, you stupid old woman,' was her mental determination. * For the matter of that, I should not study what he likes ; but we must each one work for our own soul, lady, and scandal is a grievous offence.' * I did hear once that Mr Sivewright has a wife hidden away somewhere,' said Violet, firing a stray shot. * Oh ! that's nonsense ; that isn't the story. He is not such a fool as to have committed himself in that way — it is something quite Tea at the Vicarage. 207 different. But here we are at the Httle wicket leading to the MontarHs stables. You'll be quite safe now, and I shall be late for Compline, if I don't go back.' * I'll come and see you soon,' Violet called after her. ' Oh ! visiting is idle work ; it's seldom you'll find me disengaged,' the widow grumbled as she sped down the hill. Mrs Tremayne walked slowly on, grum- bling too after her fashion. ' Stupid old idiot ! why can't she speak ? I must hear that story, if I die for it. I shall have to invent a rack of some sort for this silent woman. Gracious, Jack ! is that you ? You made me start, coming so suddenly from under those trees in the gloaming ! ' CHAPTER XIII. HIGH PRESSURE. INCE Mr Sivewrlght had told Mrs Tremayne when they met in Mrs Desborough's drawing-room in London of Cheap Jack's reminiscences and personal liking for herself, her meetings with her low-born admirer had lost all their zest ; if he were going to make himself obnoxious by his remarks, the sooner she dropped his acquaintance the better, she conjectured. This unexpected meeting in the semi-dark- ness was then by no means pleasing to her. ' I can't stop now,' she said hurriedly ; ' the duke will look like three days' rainy weather if he hears I have been wandering after dark. High Pressure. 209 * May I see you safely to the house ? ' * No ; we are close to the stables, and it would look horrid.' ' I want to tell you something — something very particular/ pleaded Varley. * What can you have to tell me ? What- ever it is it can't be very important, and it must keep.' ' If you knew the hours I have spent in making up my mind to speak, you would not object to listen.' ' It was obvious that this man was likely to prove troublesome if he were encouraged. She had been a fool for the sake of mere amusement to have put herself in the posi- tion to receive his impertinent familiarities ; but then she always was doing these stupid heedless things,' were the thoughts that passed rapidly through Violet's mind, while she said rather tartly, — ' Because I have talked to you when I was in the humour, is no reason why you VOL. II. o 2 1 o Sackcloth and Broadcloth. should detain me when I am not in the humour.' ' No, madam, certainly not,' and Cheap Jack took off his hat and stood with it in his hand, looking at Violet very abjectly ; though fortunately she could not see him in the dark, or she would certainly have burst out laughing. ' But still if I might only tell you the story of little Pearl that I have spent my life in trying to find.' Violet gave an hysterical giggle as she said, striving to be facetious, — * A good many people spend their time looking for pearls ; but very few oysters yield them.' ' I did find my Pearl once, only I lost it again,' persisted Varley. ' Who are you ? ' asked Mrs Tremayne, all of a sudden changing her manner into one of interest, ' and who is Pearl ? Tell me in two words, for I can't stop.' ' My Pearl was a little beauty who danced High Pressure. 2 1 1 in a travelling show, and I was leading man in the same august company.' * You ! ' then she went on hurriedly. * Good gracious ! why do you tell me all this nonsense ? What do you suppose I care about your dancing dolls and ambling monkeys ? ' * I tell you because you are so like what my little Pearl would have been if she ever had had the chance of becoming a fine lady.' 'MrVarley!' * I wasn't called Mr Varley in those days,' he said quietly, * simply Jack — Jack Lee. I didn't think I was warranted in giving my father's name, and he gentleman Varley in a brisk trade.' ' And having told me this, what next ? ' asked Violet. ' Nothing, lady, only thank you for listening. If you knew how much you remind me of little Pearl, you'd know what a kindness it is 2 1 2 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. every time you are condescending enough to let me have five minutes' talk with you.' Violet laughed very excitedly, and then she half held out her hand to the Cheap Jack, but she speedily put it back again into the little muff she was carrying. In the dark he saw nothing of the movement. ' Well, 1 7nust go now,' she said, ' on account of the duke. I'll meet you to-morrow at the old place in the wood if you like, and then you can tell me all the history of this said Pearl.' * Thank you, thank you, from the bottom of my heart ; thank you,' said the man so warmly as quite to astonish Violet, in whose nature, always employed in calculating the amount of gain to be derived from the various issues of life, warm-heartedness had never dreamed of seeking a place. Yet she was very pensive for a few seconds, when, having nodded a cheery farewell to her humble acquaintance, ' she strolled quite slowly towards a side entrance High Presstire. 213 into the castle, by which means she hoped her late absence would pass unquestioned. So far she was successful ; she passed up sundry back staircases till she reached her own room, and did not meet even an in- quisitive servant. In a very few minutes she had tossed off her walking costume and was seated in a pretty dressing-gown by her own fire. The future lay toler- ably bright before her. Lord Beaurepaire seemed an easy prey, and would doubtless put his head at once into her silken noose, if only Lady Valentina were married. She did not even anticipate opposition from Mr Sivewright. ' He'll be so glad to get me out of here and have dear Julia all to himself that he won't interfere this time. George Desborough was quite a different matter — how funny it all is, I wonder which of the two Mr Sivewright likes the best, Julia or Mrs Desborough. He seems to be equally aux petit soins with both. 2 1 4 Sackcloth and Broadcloth, Oh ! how I hate that man. If old Mrs Giles can tell me a good story about him, I verily believe I'll kiss her, though she has a very repellant moustache, and is, I suspect, far too great a saint to wash herself,' then she broke off in her soliloquy for a few minutes and sat very still. ' Little Pearl and Jack Lee,' she muttered at last, ' that is a queer story ; but then Varley is an odd man. Can it be possible that among the lower classes there are such things as con- stancy and devotion — it is very certain they don't exist among the upper ten — so he has not forgotten his little Pearl, strange, most passing strange,' and Mrs Tremayne ran her fingers through her short crisp curls and looked well pleased at the idea of having dis- covered a constant man, perhaps because the strong qualities necessary to develop such a character were totally unknown to herself. Her ruminations however were broken off at this juncture by a low tap at the door. To High Pressure. 2 1 5 the ' Come in,' rather grudgingly given, it opened, and the duchess put her head in and looked round. * Oh ! it is you, Julia. Come and sit by the fire.' ' Why have you not been in to tea ? ' asked the duchess, as she walked into the room. * Lazy, I suppose. It is awfully cosy here.' ' Awfully cosy — my dear Violet, when will you be cured of slang.' ' Never. It is as much part of me as my hair or my eyes.' * Nonsense, we can all cure ourselves of our faults ; but tell me, where have you been wandering to ? I heard of you at Mr Lently's.' ' Already, news does fly fast in this northern district.' ' Why did you go there ? ' ' Why does one generally go to church, unless for religious purposes.' 2 1 6 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. ' Bah ! you should not do it. You will only annoy Mr Sivewrlght and the duke.' ' Of which, pray, does your grace stand in the greater awe ? ' ' I don't know ; they are both rather formid- able,' and her grace sat down ; ' but tell me, Vi, why did you go to Ravensholme '^, ' ' Fancy asking me why I do anything ; because the whim of the moment dictated it, I suppose. I thought I should like to see in what Lently differed from Sivewright ; perhaps I wanted to deceide which were preferable — a priestly confessor or a divine autocrat.' ' What nonsense you do talk.' * Granted ; but somehow my nonsense generally has an underlayer of sense in the form of a motive, which is more than can be said for most people.' ' I wish I understood your motives.' ' It would not do you any good. Her Grace of Montarlis will preserve her position High Pressure. 2 1 7 much more immaculately, if she does not con- descend to understand the motives of ca^iaille like me.' ' Tell me, Violet, did you love George Desborough ? ' ' What can it matter since he is dead.' ' But I want particularly to know.' ' Ask his mother what she thinks. Really she is a joke, that woman, she cossets me and muches me as if I were the bereft widow of the dear deceased, whereas, if she had had the remotest inkling in his lifetime that I might one day become his wife, no epithet would have been sufficiently opprobrious for her to hurl at my inoffensive head.' * Mrs Desborough allows herself to be swayed by sentiment to an overwhelming extent, there is no doubt of it' * Yes, when the road is safe. She would soon banish the sentiment if she saw any danger from its whimsical flights. Oh, she can be as matter-of-fact as I am when 2 1 8 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. she likes. If I were a woman of feeling, I should get up a protracted howl on that little puppet Claire Bailey's behalf.' ' Hush, nonsense ; don't you Interfere. Of course Matthew is to marry Lady Valentina.' * Oh, don't alarm yourself, it suits my book exactly, only I don't quite see your manoeuvre.' ' I like match-making,' said the duchess, stretching herself with a half yawn, ' it gives one importance. To tell you the truth, I had set my heart on your marrying poor George.' ' And, failing George, what say you to Lord Beaurepaire ? ' and Violet burst out laughing at the duchess's look of utter bewilderment. ' Never. You, Violet Tremayne, dare not fly as high as that.' 'You, Julia Benson, quondam — but we will not enter into the quondams, you are now Julia, Duchess of Montarlls. Wherein lies the difference between us ? You have '' struck He." Why should not I '> ' High Pressu7^e, 2 1 9 ' I don't know ; but the Beaurepalres are so proud, if they knew.' 'Just so; but they must not know, and it rests with you to keep them in the dark; * I have an idea that Mr Sivewright suspects,' and the duchess looked very pale and perturbed. * Exactly, he is a regular ferret ; but if you can't manage him you must sadly have forsaken your old cunning.' * I had hoped all that sort of thing was. at an end, and that henceforth I should live in peace.' ' So you will, when I am Countess of Beaurepaire.' ' Tell me what you wish me to do ? ' ' I don't care what you do as long as you make Sivewright hold his tongue. It can't matter to him whether I marry Lord Beaurepaire or whether I don't. Lady Val- entina is not one of his penitents, by chance. 2 20 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. Tell him I am quite determined to make my own position in life, that I am sick of dependence, and that, if I am smashed, every one else shall be smashed too. We are all walking on ice, with a thaw hanging about. I even suspect I am on the track of a good story about his reverence.' 'Now, I know what took you to Ravens- holme.' ' Then you have discovered that I am in earnest. Know too that I have another powerful ally in Mr John Varley, alias Cheap Jack.' * My dear Violet, how can you take up with those low people ? ' ' In order to become Lady Beaurepaire, I have already told you.' * But what can this Cheap Jack have to do with it ? ' * Oh, he'll give a hand in the general smash, he is much more ///with me than you, any of you, think. Now Julia, look here, High Pressure. 2 2 1 nonsense apart — you must silence Slvewright forthwith — talk over Lady Valentina — in fact plane away all the bits of rough wood.' ' And in return ? ' *0h, is it a case of give and take ? Well, in return you shall have a certain bundle of letters, which are at this moment hidden in my house in London, and you shall live happy ever after, the irreproachable, grand, good Duchess of Montarlis.' * If it were only possible,' she murmured, passing her white jewelled hand slowly across her brow. ' I will do my best ; but it seems so unlikely that you — shall I be doing my duty if I move in this matter ? ' 'The letters,' exclaimed the other, 'surely they are worth a few silent lies. You really have grown too Sivewrightish and scrupul- ous — it is as well to sweep away the past before you set up for so much sanctity in the present.' ' Sanctity ! oh, Violet, do not mock me. If 222 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. I could only feel I was standing on firm earth, and without that horrible precipice which is ever yawning in front of me.' * You always magnified small excitements into big terrors, my dear Julia ; but once in the possesion of these letters, how safe you will feel. We shall run our team so much more easily when we are both ladies of society.' The duchess gave a low moan. She must have been unusually dyspeptic that evening, or perhaps she had been having a conver- sation with Mr Sivewright, for she evidently did not see clearly the way to arriving at that peaceful happy future, of which Violet had just been displaying the map. Mr Sivewright had told her that lying was a grievous offence, of which no one possessing a scintilla of honour or moral rectitude would permit themselves to be guilty ; and yet she was fully aware that Violet would coerce her into telling any amount of lies if once High Pressure. 223 she saw fit to put the pressure on, and the duchess hated intrigue and scandal, and their concomitant worries, just as much as Violet loved and lived by them. They both sat silently for a few minutes, then Violet burst out laughing. * You miserable looking object. One would think I had bled you nearly to death, whereas I have not asked for a farthing, only a little sisterly help. Though how I am to get money to pay for my trousseau I don't know, and I shouldn't like to let Lord Beaurepaire do it.' ' Oh, that can be easily arranged,' an- swered the duchess. ' If it were only that ; but you married to Lord Beaurepaire ! It seems so incongruous — you, a horrible little nobody, while he — ' * Is de sang pur et noble — you are not very flattering ; but never mind, if there were not a few mesalliances among the aristocracy, they would all be drivelling idiots.' 224 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. ' I wonder what I am to say about you when asked of your antecedents ? ' ' Anything you like, except the truth, which will not be difficult, since I don't think you know it.' ' I know quite enough/ * Yes; but not all. Now it is settled, isn't it ? for I am getting bored with the subject ; let us talk of something else. Here, you may read those if you like,' and Violet tossed into her lap a small packet of letters, being those she had received from George Desborough since the balloon ascent. While the duchess read them she stood before the looking-glass, combing out and arranging her curly locks, humming while she did so a gay street organ ditty. The impression created in Violet's mind by poor George's dreadful accident was only of twenty-four hours' duration, and had long since become a thing of the past. ' Hot, ain't they ? ' she said, as the duchess High Pressure. 225 finished reading the last one. * What would the dear mother say if she saw them ? ' The duchess eave a little shudder as she returned them. ' You are too heartless for anything,' she muttered. ' No, Julia, pardon me, the remark is unjust. I was horribly shocked by George Desborough's death,, but as I never loved him, I cannot be expected to go on pining for ever.' ' And do you wish to insinuate that you do love Lord Beaurepaire ? ' She turned round, looked at the duchess, and nodded her head. * Nonsense, Violet, it is quite impossible. He is sixty, while George Desborough was — ' ' " Is human love the growth of human will?" Strange as you may think it, I care more for Lord Beaurepaire than for any man I have ever seen. We love by con- VOL. II. p 2 2 6 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. trast, they say. I suppose It is the grand old oak character there is about him which contrasts with my unsubstantial nature.' 'Well, I am surprised. If I thought you really loved him, it would of course make it easier for me to give my assistance. But Lord Beaurepaire is too good and noble to be made your plaything and to be thrown on one side the moment you have grasped his coronet.' ' A nice opinion you have of me, but I believe I have deserved it, only in this instance I am true.' ' Then to the fullest extent you may command me.' Mrs Tremayne sat down once more by the fire, and they talked over ways and means till the dressing-bell rang, and the duchess went off to her own apartments, leaving Violet with a more pensive, softer expression haunting her pretty face than High Pressure. 227 was wont to linger among its dimples. Could it be that the gay madcap was caught in reality at last, and was not acting a part in order to make an ally of her Grace of Montarlis. CHAPTER XIV. A RENDEZVOUS. RS TREMAYNE had spoken truly when she told the duchess that she cared for Lord Beaure- paire, much though her grace was inclined to disbelieve the statement. For the first time in her life Violet had been caught ; as she herself said, the immeasurable distance which seemed to lie between her and Lord Beaurepaire had probably, in the first place, awakened that tender regard for him which is, as a rule, fostered by contraries. She had begun by striving to win him merely for position's sake, but since her return to Montarlis she had grown terribly cognisant A Rendezvous, 229 of the fact that to fail in becoming Lady Beaurepaire would bring her many a more uncomfortable half-hour than mere disap- pointment could produce. She dressed for dinner very silently and thoughtfully after the duchess left, making Amandine wonder what had happened to dash her mistress's high spirits. ' I'll wear my black lace frock, and a red rose or two,' she said at last, seeing the maid had laid a gorgeous blue satin on the bed. ' Mais^ madaine^ que cest triste le noir! ' I feel depressed to-night ; besides, there is no one to dinner except Mr Sivewright.' So Violet went down looking very sub- dued, even a little pale, whether by art or nature did not transpire. It was evidently her intention to assume a quiet subdued sort of manner, still the wonted flash came for a moment into her eyes when she shook hands with the vicar. Actress though she 230 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. was, she could not so entirely conceal her feelings as not to let the lurking hate peep out. She was very civil, however ; it was her intention to be civil if she gained her point, spitefully revengeful if she missed it. The dinner was a pleasant one, pleasanter than might have been expected with two such antagonistic elements as Violet and the vicar sitting face to face, and the duchess living in a constant dread of what the next word might entail. But the enemies had evi- dently declared a temporary truce ; Violet, to suit her purposes, Mr Sivewright because he deemed it bad taste to be otherwise than perfectly polite to guests he met at the duke's table. For a while the conversation was very general, then after the servants had left the room it crept on to more intimate and neighbourly matters, naturally touching more or less on the Desboroughs ; although George had been dead nearly six weeks, A Rendezvozis. 231 yet they were still objects of interest to each of the little party assembled In the duke's dining-room. In fact Mr Sive- wrlght had never ceased to lament over George's death, or to regret that Matthew would probably one day inherit the fine old estate of Vantage. * And I doubt if it will be long,' he added, * for the squire does not seem to recover either his tone or his spirits.' * He is fond of Matthew, though,' re- marked the duke. * Naturally. Indeed, I am not sure that Matthew was not his favourite son ; but he was so proud of George, believed so fully in his grand, noble disposition, and told me only a few weeks back that he meant at once to give over the chief man- agement of the estate to George. "It will keep him out of the mischief idleness pro- duces, and give him an interest in his future property," he said.* 232 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. ' Yes, George was cut out for a county gentleman, while Matthew scarcely knows arable land from pasture,' remarked the duke. ' He must learn,' said the duchess. ' I am not going to have Matthew so utterly run down. He is a dear boy, and very handsome ; all the ladies like him. Of course he will not take orders now.' ' I should imagine not ; but Matthew never consults me on his affairs, so I can tell you but little,' and then as though the subject of Matthew's future bored him from the very frequency with which it was discussed, he changed it by remarking, — ' The Beaurepaires are expected at Van- tage to-morrow.' ' We shall all be glad to have them there,' said the duchess. ' I am particularly fond of Lady Valentina. Do you like her, Mr Sivewright ? ' ' I have not the honour of being acquainted A Re7idezvoiis. with her. I met Lord Beaurepaire when I was last in London, but did not see his daughter.' * I think you will acknowledge her to be a very agreeable addition to our circle. I, for my part, think it would be charming if she became a permanent member of it.' ' How so ? ' 'Why, by marrying Matthew, of course.' The vicar's eyebrows arched, and he gave a little bow, but did not trust himself to answer ; he either thought a great deal or not at all on the subject, it were difficult to judge which. Then there was a tiny pause, broken by Mrs Tremayne's inquiring as to whether Mr Sivewright had heard of or from the Baileys. Hard though she might try, she could not succeed in keeping out of troubled waters. ' They are Mr Lently's parishioners,' was the rather evasive ansv/er. 2 34 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. * This house is in Mr Lently's parish, is it not ? ' she asked, with a sort of innocent ingenue manner. ' Partly,' answered the duke ; * the west side of the house is in the parish of Fern- wood.' ' And I sleep in the east,' went on Violet, ' so I am in Mr Lently's parish. I ought to go to Ravensholme Church, ought not I, Mr Sivewright ? ' * I have no doubt Mr Lently would be delighted to have you to swell the list of his daily attendants.' ' Really, and you so lightly give up the care of my soul, just when I was beginning to think you had made an impression.' The duchess rose, Violet's badinage sin- cerely alarmed her, and she resolved to put an end to it, even though rising at that moment entailed the seeming gaucherie of an interruption. Once in the hall, she said hurriedly, — A Rendezvous. 235 ' Positively, Vi, if you wish to succeed in your project, you must leave off twitting Mr Sivewright.' ' He is such a lovely soft pincushion, the pins' points all go in so easily.' * Nonsense ! now do go and sing, and let us have no more intrio^uino^ and double entendres to-night.* By the time the gentlemen came into the drawing-room, Violet's fresh sweet voice was trilling away its nightingale notes, now lend- ing a pathos — of which but few would have believed her capable — to some ballad of Moore's, now dashing with petulant spirit into a lively French ckansonnette, of which perhaps it was fortunate that she alone in the quartette knew the exact meaning. * Out of an art, a man may be so trivial you would mistake him for an imbecile, at best a grown infant. Put him into his art, and how high he soars above you,' is a quotation from a great writer; it contains the key to much of 236 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. Violet Tremayne's success. Many who cen- sured her usual flighty giddy behaviour, among them the duke, entirely forgot the volumes of disapprobation which could be writ against her, as soon as she called on them to follow her into the realms of song. The evening passed without any more unsafe passages ; the duke listened entranced to Violet's music, while the duchess carried on a whispered tete-a-tite with her clerical friend, whose savage breast music had no powers to soothe. ' Won the priest, eh ? ' asked Violet of the duchess, as an hour or two later they stood alone for a moment on the staircase. ' Don't call Mr Sivewright a priest ; he hates it.' ' Well, casuist, sophist. I don't care what he calls himself as long as he does not attempt to tell the truth about me. But it rests with you. Good-night.' She speedily dismissed Amandine, who A Rendezvous. 237 was waiting in the room, and became quite a pensive Violet. She took out a bundle of old letters from under the tray in her dressing-case, well worn, yellow-looking mis- sives, and read them over carefully, and with as grave a face and sober a mien as though there really was an under-current of senti- ment flowing quietly beneath the more noisy gurgling stream of her life. Perhaps it was so ; few natures present all their aspects to the world's gaze, and some people seem to take special pains In keeping their better qualities carefully concealed. Violet dug a good many fossils out of the dead past that night, for the ' iron tongue of midnight had long since tolled twelve,' before covering them once again with a thin layer of earth, she got Into bed, and after a while fell sleep. It was the custom at Montarlis Castle for the ladies to have breakfast in their rooms, and no one was expected to appear or to 238 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. have their whereabouts inquired into so long as they presented themselves at the two o'clock luncheon. Mrs Tremayne woke about half-past nine, shook away with an effort the sense of weariness that still haunted her eyelids, looked at the fire which Amandine had stirred into a cheerful blaze, got up and refreshed herself with a warm bath — little Sybarite that she was, she would not have got into cold water for the world — then in a warm silk-quilted dressing-gown she sat by the fire and sipped her chocolate with an enjoyment which testified that luxury was the chief desideratum of her life. * Half-past ten ! Good gracious ! how late it is ! Here, Amandine, quick, my grey flannel dress. I am going out.' In a very few minutes her toilette was accomplished, for Violet was no dawdler, and then she sped down the staircases by which she had entered on the previous evening, and went ^ut at the side door. She did not go near A Rendezvous, 239 Ravensholme, however, but bore off to the right towards the Httle wood which lay down in the hollow just out of sight of the many windows of the castle, and where she had met ' Cheap Jack ' a few weeks back, before such an unexpected fresh chapter had com- menced in her life. Jack Varley had appa- rently more belief in a fine lady's promise than have most men, for he was at the trysting- place before her, and pulling off his velvet cap as she approached, he stood looking at her abjectly. ' Well, Jack,' she said, trying to be off-hand. I have come, you see, though I daresay you did not expect me.' * Indeed I did, or I should not be here.' * Ah, well. Tell me quickly all the tale of little Pearl. I must not be absent long. They will be expecting me back at the castle.' Without waiting for farther bidding, Jack told her, only more succintly, all the story he 240 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. had on a previous occasion related to Mr Slvewrlght. Mrs Tremayne sat meantime in her usual careless manner swinging on the bough of an adjacent tree, occasionally nodding her head or exclaiming as the narrative called forth her approbation or the contrary. • So you were very fond of little Pearl. Dear me, how odd that you should remember her all these years ? ' ' I'd give my entire travelling parapher- nalia, merchandise and all, if I could only know that she's alive and well ! ' he said heartily. ' And if you met this said Pearl, would you be very good to her and help her, and do what you could to serve her ? ' ' I'd give her my life, lady. I cannot say more.' ' Bless the man, there is no one in the world I belong to who would promise so much. And you say I am like this Pearl.' A Re7idezvotis> 241 ' More like than any one I have ever seen in all my wanderings.' * I wonder if that is flattering ? ' said Violet with a laugh. * I thought her very beautiful,' was the simple answer. She looked at him for a moment with a flush on her face, then she held out her hand. ' Suppose I were to tell you that I am Pearl, her own self ? ' ' You ! Oh, lady, don't mock me,' and there were tears in Jack Varley's eyes, and such a gulp in his throat as he tried to speak steadily, that even Violet did not dare to laugh. She only said, very gravely and soberly, — ' It is quite true. I am Pearl, the Pearl for whom it seems you have been looking so long,' then, with her usual volatility, she changed her tone into a light bantering one, ' now you have found me, what do you mean to do with me ? ' VOL. II. Q . 242 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. ' I hoped when I found Pearl never to be parted from her again ; but such a great lady as you are cannot be Pearl/ ' I tell you I am Pearl, and if you'll sit down and be rational for five minutes, instead of looking like a gaping madman, I'll tell you all about it. My mother, well, I don't think I ever had one. Anyhow, she was dead and gone before I can remember. No one ever told me anything about her, and my father could not be troubled with me. I daresay I was a little vixen, so he put me out to nurse, and then went abroad and for- got to pay for me, and the dear sweet woman who had charge of me handed me over to her brother, who was the master of the travelling caravan, in order that my talents might be utilised for my keep. At last it occurred to my worthy parent that he might as well see what I was like. He had had a lucky stroke at the gaming tables, so he sent the arrears to the woman who had .-/ Rendezvous. 243 charge of me, and demanded the presence of his daughter. I suppose my aspect was agreeable to him, for he took me with him the next time he went abroad, and sent me to a French school. It's a queer story isn't it ? but its a true one. And so you are Jack.' ' Do you remember me .^ ' ' Remember you '^. I should think I do. Why, life would have been unbearable in that travelling establishment if it had not been for you.' * And yet you did not know me again.' ' Indeed no. How should I ? Why, you were only a stripling then, and I was such a mite. I only remember there was a Jack who was very kind ; but look you. Jack, you must not tell this story all about. What would people think if they knew that Violet Tremayne had once been little Pearl dancing at an itinerant show.' ' Am I then never to see you, now I have 244 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. found you ? ' and Mr Varley's countenance saddened notably. ' Why, of course sometimes. You see me now, don't you ? ' ' But can't we be always together ? ' * Always together ? No, that would be quite impossible, you see good luck or bad luck, which ever it is, has made me hunt with a different pack from yours.' ' We began life with the same hounds ! ' suggested Jack. ' No, we didn't. I only came into your country for a while by accident.' ' I wish accident would bring you back now. To think I have found you again only to lose you directly ! It is too bad. Now I've always thought when I met little Pearl, what a pleasure it would be to drive her about in my yellow shay, and show her sonsy face at all the fair meetings.' A Rendezvous. 245 ' It can't be, my honest friend, it cannot be. Granted, it would be enormous fun ; but there are reasons,' and as she thought of Lord Beaurepaire her face grew pale. * Then I wish, lady, the dream about find- ing Pearl had never become true.' ' That is all nonsense, Jack. I shall be able to help you in many ways, and you'll help me ; having a secret, too, will be a bond of unity between us.' * I hate secrets,' cried Jack. * I like plain straightforward sailing. I never was ashamed of nothing in my life, and to think I've found Pearl only to hear that she is ashamed of me.' * I am not ashamed of you. Jack. How can you say so ? If I had not loved those dear old childish days, I should not have owned that I am Pearl ; so be reasonable, old com- rade, and we will do the best we can for each other.' But Varley shook his head. 246 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. ' I don't want to have nothing to do with Pearl on these terms. All or nothing, says I.' * What rubbish. Do you mean you would rather never see me again, because if so, I'll say *' good-bye " this very minute. Though I must say, Jack, for the sake of *' auld lang syne," I should like to see you some- times.* * Little Pearl, little Pearl ! ' he murmured, ' a fine lady in a big castle. It's a poor ending to a man's life-dream.' * You shouldn't have dreams, Jack ; you should be practical like me. Now look here, for I must go, they will miss me at the house, let us agree to meet here once a week while I'm at Montarlis, and talk over our respective prospects seriously.' ' I don't care for meeting once a week,' he said doggedly. ' Oh do, Jack,' and she looked at him so pleadingly that he turned away not to let her A Rendezvous. 247 see how much her tone affected him. ' Do, Jack, to please poor Httle Pearl.' * All right then, if you wish it, this day week, we'll see after.' ' That's right. Good-bye, dear old Jack. I must go, or the whole house will be in a commotion. Good-bye.' She took his hand, which he did not attempt to offer, and then she ran off, muttering to herself, — ' I believe I was a fool to tell him ; but human weakness is human weakness, and I was very fond of Jack.' He meanwhile stood gazing after her till she was quite out of sight. CHAPTER XV. TOO MUCH LIGHT. HE feelings with which Matthew entered once more on what he called the drudgery work In Gower Street were very different from those In which he had left It. It was not that his position of eldest son weighed on him heavily, It had never occurred to him that for that reason he was to give up the great business of mental instruction ; still he could not help regarding the future from a different aspect to that from which he had hitherto viewed it. Every one by common consent seemed to decide that of course he would not take orders now, that the duties Too rmcch Light. 249 which would fall on him as heir of Vantage were quite incompatible with those the Church demands of her priests. And truth being told, Matthew felt considerably re- lieved at not being compelled to exercise his free will in the matter. Circumstances, though dark in themselves, had freed him from a very disagreeable dilemma, in which conscientious scruples on the one hand and obstinacy on the other were arrayed in fierce combat. One feature in his fresh term of residence in Gower Street was that he never now paid intimate and friendly visits to old Mrs Wharton, though she still sat as ready to listen to his confidences as of old in her place by the parlour fire. She regretted in her kindly old heart the sad accident which, causing his brother's death, had so dried up the fount of spontaneity in Matthew, that he no longer cared to seek for sympathy. It never occurred to her to guess that an estrangement existed between 250 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. him and Claire Bailey, and that, though he would have told her he loved Claire still, yet the marvellous energy which he had devoted to work since his return — an energy which had not a little surprised Mr Wharton, — was entirely due to another woman's influence. To please Lady Valentina he had resolved to trample on his chimeras, and become as far as he could a practical man of the world. But how could he own this to Mrs Wharton ? Nothing, Matthew was beginning to dis- cover, was so irksome as a confidante, when the confidence does not possess a realistic form, and his mind at this moment was too full of shifting scenes to suffer much prying into ; he could not bear to be questioned about old acknowledgments or exclaimed at for making fresh ones. So he settled down to work at Mr Wharton's very assiduously, hoping there- by to silence many voices which were whis- Too much Light, 25 pering within. He had elected to return to his tutor's at once, and spend his Christ- mas in London ' to economise time,' he said ; but it was in a great measure, perhaps, be- cause a meeting with Mr Lently would have been far more seriously distasteful to him than even the fireside explanation with Mrs Wharton, which he so persistently avoided. Henceforth he would have no counsellor but Lady Valentina. She understood his * thick-coming fancies ' better than any human being, and in answer to the closely written pages of note-paper which he constantly sent her, there invariably came a soothing well- advised missive. So far it was well, and Matthew could not have chosen better, save for little Claire who was fretting her heart out in foreign exile ; but of this he knew not, or pretended not to know. She had gone abroad because it pleased her, he supposed, and having gone, could scarcely expect him 252 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. to follow. Was he going to marry Claire ? He presumed so, her image it was that held a very conspicuous place in future plans ; still somehow Lady Valentina always seemed to be towering over it. At all events he would not think of marriage at all for the present, but devote himself to study for — well, for Lady Valentina's sake. And Matthew set his shoulder so vigor- ously to the wheel, that Mr Wharton was beginning to think he had miscalculated his mental powers, and that he was capable of greater things than he had at first believed. He had yet to discover to what an extent Matthew was wanting in stability, and that it was in this rather than in quickness that he was deficient. Two or three weeks devoted to hard classics, and the books bored him ; a little longer to logic, and the craving for knowledge was satiated, for, * to be logical you must be irreligious,' was Matthews argument — 'after all, what did it Too much Light. 253 all tend to — what more could a man want in life than faith ? ' then he sat down and wrote an extensive exposition of his views to Lady Valentina. Having done this, he set himself to a new study, namely, the discovery, if possible, of his tutor's religious opinions, for whom he had conceived during the last few weeks feelings of deep interest, even if they did not amount to affection — for Matthew was not only compelled to acknowledge Mr Wharton's vast mental superiority, but also to recognise the many amiable and endear- ing qualities with which his nature was replete. Invariably the first question that arose in Matthew's pious mind, whenever he found his roomy heart tenanted by a new friend, was whether that friend's spiritual state was a happy one. He was naturally a doctor of souls, and though wanting the sanction of ordination to enable him to practice ex officio, it was his bent and his delight to treat stray 2 54 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. cases en amatezir. The delicacy then which Mr Wharton showed in avoiding the discus- sion of rehgious matters with the young zealot — one of those refinements so common in rough intellectual men, proceeding as they do from mind and principle and not from breeding — could not for very long stave off the explanation which one of the parties concerned was bent upon seeking. Sunday was the only day when anything like leisure ventured to smile on the busy Whartonian household, and between the two services, which Matthew still punctually attended — though he had given up the week-day ones — he proposed to his master the frivolity of a walk. Thus on a bright frosty afternoon they found themselves in deep confabula- tion in Kensington Gardens. Matthew was querying in his somewhat undecided way which ritualistic church he should attend for evening service, when he asked abruptly, — * Do you never go to church, Mr Wharton?' Too much Light. 255 * I hope the fact does not shock you very much ? ' was the tutor's answer. * That depends on why you keep away.' * Exactly ; very sensibly put, and deserv- ing a straightforward answer. The only object I could possibly have in going would be to avoid shocking the few people who trouble their heads about the matter, and as it would, more or less, compel me to act a lie, I think I am better away.' ' I am afraid I understand you only too well ; but I trust you are too good, too noble a man not to change in all these respects in time.' * I wonder If you know how full of awe and solemnity your tone and face have become,' remarked Mr Wharton with a smile. * As a mark of friendly interest this is not lost on me, believe me ; but as for changing — well, I am not bigoted enough in my philosophy to say anything for cer- 256 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. tain ; still, I believe very few things to be more unlikely.' * I take the Hberty of praying for you night and morning,' said Matthew fervently. ' Well, that can do me no harm.' ' But do you never pray ? Pardon me, of course you do. It is impertinent of me to ask the question.' * There is no danger of my thinking you impertinent ; only, for your own faith's sake, it were as well perhaps that you should not pry too closely into the secrets of another's mind who does not think as you do.' ' My faith must be a halting one, and I were indeed unfit for the holy office to which I hoped one day to be called, if I can be tainted by every heresy,' said Matthew zealously. ' Please tell me what you really believe.' * Has it never occurred to you that prayer must be difficult for those whose ideas of God Too much Light. 257 are not as limitless as yours are, who merely regard God as the whole good and noble part of the universe, a being who may or may not have a conscious entity, who may or may not be infinite in His attributes ?' The tears rose into Matthew's eyes, and for a second or two he did not speak ; then he said energetically, — * I would rather be one of those innocent ducks, paddling away its brief existence in- nocuously on that placid water, than have the awful responsibility of humanity unen- lightened by Christian grace/ * My dear young friend, provided we are all sincere, provided we all seek the truth honestly, and act up to our respective ideas of right, surely that must be the main point ? ' * If we do — ay, there is the tremen- dous point ; but I fear there is no such thing as a man with advantages and train- ing who arrives honestly at this. Oh, don't VOL. II. R 258 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. mistake me ; in all other matters he may be sincerity itself: to be trusted with life and honour, so were many of the heathen, still there must be a cankerous plague-spot somewhere. The devil — nay, do not smile — the devil has blinded him.' * Granting you your devil, why should he be allowed to blind him ? ' ' There is no commoner punishment for sin. Either in his early believing days, for probably he was taught Hke other people, he fell into what he well knew to be mor- tal sin, or what is perhaps more likely, he has glided into the heinous offence of set- ting up his pride of intellect against the Almighty.' ' Surely you admit the right of an intellectually endowed being to use his reason ? ' ' Only so far, in religious matters, as to assure himself of what every child and every philosopher must alike see and ac- Too miLch Light, 259 knowledge — that regarding things infinite and supernatural, grace is the only road to wisdom ; for your boasted logic itself is the first to prove that the natural and finite, of which order are our minds, cannot possibly deal with them.' Mr Wharton looked at Matthew for a second or two with a very scrutinising glance ; he marked the flushed cheek, the bright speaking eye by which the young devotee showed how much his heart was in his words, and then, being an honourable, sin- cere man, he stopped short in his walk, and, laying his hand on his young friend's arm, he said very gravely, — ' My dear Matthew, as tutor and pupil, we must pursue this subject no farther. You have been confided to me by your friends in order that your secular studies should receive my best attention. With religious matters I doubt if I have any right to tamper. Keep your faith, my 26o Sackcloth and Bi^oadcloth, boy, since it gives you peace, and don't let John Wharton have it upon his con- science that he taught you a philosophy which may, probably will, utterly fail to fill its place.' * But since you doubt the truth of this philosophy, why do you practise it ? ' said Matthew, who was not easily silenced when once set a-going on matters of faith.' * That entails the very discussion which I wish to avoid.' * You treat me as if I were a child, by declining to argue with me,' exclaimed the young man, with some irritation. * Is this your vaunted liberty of opinion ? ' * You forget that to me you are as a child. I am your tutor, set up in authority over you. My honour forbids that I should say anything that might have the effect of subverting your faith. Now let us talk of other matters, while we make for a metro- politan station and take an underground Too much Li o^ lit. 261 train to Gower Street, or we shall be late.' Matthew's good breeding prevented him from pursuing the subject as he would dearly have liked to do, but he repeated the word honour to himself in various tones. It seemed marvellous to him that a man should care so much for his honour and so little for his God. The rest of the walk that day- was comparatively silent ; none of the points of interest which Mr Wharton loved to dis- cuss with his pupils on history, classics, etc., were likely to fall otherwise than flat, after the grander system which had been brought before their minds, and then so summarily discarded. Only one month out of the six Matthew had arranged with Lady Valentina that he would spend in self-improvement had passed^ and his zest was already gone. Mr Wharton had been quite wise in stopping argument \i he wished to have 262 Sackcloth a7id Broadcloth. any farther hold on his pupil's mental power — only unfortunately he had allowed the discussion to go too far. Matthew had as- certained positively what he had only pre- viously suspected — that Mr Wharton did not believe in revealed religion, and from that moment, though he would have given his life to save his tutor's soul, he had no farther confidence In him as a master, and moreover was beset by many scruples as to whether he were acting in accordance with his conceived views of right and wrong in remaining any longer as a pupil under so unholy a teacher. A letter to Lady Valentina was of course the unfailing result of much worry and anxiety, and perhaps Matthew could scarcely have credited the amount of perplexity in which its perusal involved her. Lady Val- entlna's range, though she had naturally a clear brain and had read largely, was a imited one, the fact being that her brain Too much Light. 263 had never had its working powers fully tested, and her reading had been of the most desul- tory character. The ideas then propounded by Matthew as being those of his tutor were entirely new to Lady Valentina, who had never looked outside her old-fashioned Church of England doctrines. ' Of course she knew there were Dissenters, but they were generally found only among the lower classes, while of men with philosophical views, she had naturally heard — Kant, Hegel, Comte, and the like ; but to meet one of them in every-day life — oh ! that was scarcely to be stood. Poor Matthew, no wonder he was unhappy if such were his associates ; but then his own religious feelings were so very fine drawn, that there might perhaps be some slight exaggeration. What should she do ? If she advised him to try a little longer, he would only perhaps think she was wanting in proper principle,' and so, after nearly as much time spent in reflection 264 Sackcloth and Broadcloth. on the subject as Matthew himself had passed, she, being at Vantage Park when she received her letter, resolved to consult that very polished and delightful man the Vicar of Fernwood. END OF VOL. II. COLSTON AND SON, PRINTERS, EDINBURGH, Ill UNIVERSITY OF tLLINOIS-URBANA 3 0112 051398698 *?^:^